#meanwhile their descriptions couldn’t explain a square

[dearearlyarchaeologists]

Dear Early Archaeologists,

Please stop calling anthropomorphic art, especially that which depicts humans or humanoid figures from early civilizations, “grotesque”. Not surprisingly, it does not give a very good description of what the object looks like. Moreover, I’m sick of your blatant judgement, simplistic outlook, and frankly petty record keeping.

Sincerely,

The successor you did not want

[miraculouscontent]

I say Miraculous AU where Luka comes on the trip as a chaperone.

- Marinette stressing over what happened with Fu and now being guardian. Tom and Sabine are actually concerned about their daughter and want to do something about it, so when Luka visits the bakery to say “hi” to Marinette, they recognize him (he’s been in Marinette’s room in “Silencer” so they’ve almost definitely seen him before) and ask him to go along on the trip with Marinette, with them pulling all the strings to find a way for him to join. Luka isn’t a fool, so he happily agrees. Tom and Sabine like, “oh don’t forget to ask your parents if it’s okay,” and Luka’s just, “trust me, she’s fine with it.”

(optional bonus that, since the whole class but Lila went, there is actually an extra seat that they’d reserved for her before she backed out when she thought Adrien was going to stay behind)

- During the scene where Ms. Mendeleiev offers Marinette her seat, Luka moves in after the switch has been made, chiming in to offer Marinette his seat so she’s not uncomfortably crammed in between two adult men. She’s surprised at the offer, but thanks him and swaps with him, earning a nice window seat in return.

- At nighttime, Marinette wakes up (her head probably slipped and it hit the wall; didn’t hurt but she’s awake now) and slips out of her seat to go check on Luka to see how he’s doing. She giggles at the popcorn Mr. Damocles has dropped on him, finding it cute, then carefully reaches over to wipe off the pieces. She turns to leave, but her earlier motion brushing the popcorn off wakes Luka up. He gently calls her name and slips out of his seat to join her; she tries to apologize but he just smiles and assures her that it’s fine.

- While on their way to the back of the plane, Marinette trips slightly on Alya’s foot (as Alya is sleeping on Nino and her foot was partly in the aisle; Marinette didn’t bump into it earlier because she didn’t have to move to the side for Luka back then). Luka steadies her and Marinette covers her mouth to suppress a yelp, then they keep walking to the back.

- Still, the movement woke Alya up and she glances back to look at Luka and Marinette watching the sunrise together. Confused, she nudges Nino so the both of them can look together. Alya comments that she’s seen Marinette making “lovey eyes” at Luka (referencing “Captain Hardrock” and “Frozer”), but Marinette is so OBVIOUSLY into Adrien and “can’t be honest about her feelings.” Nino chimes in that he’s having “best bud struggles” too because Adrien is still as sheltered as ever and “won’t come out of his shell.” They get the idea to perform “Operation New York” as in the original and think that it’ll be totally easy with no roadblocks whatsoever!

- Meanwhile, Marinette and Luka have their talk about her getting her “clarity.” Marinette sighs and admits that it feels like people are going to talk about her and Adrien no matter what she says/does (which tips Luka off that something’s wrong), to which Luka replies with a smile that he promises not to bring up Adrien for the rest of the trip unless Marinette does so first. She agrees to that, even giving him a “thank you” hug that he eagerly returns.

- On the ride to the place everyone’s staying at, Alya tries to engage Marinette in conversation about Adrien, clearly smug and feeling confident that it will be easy, but then she realizes that Marinette isn’t paying attention and is idling on her phone. Alya nudges Marinette, earning her attention, but when Alya starts talking about Adrien again, Marinette’s phone goes off and she looks back down at it, now giggling. Alya, now annoyed, asks Marinette if she’s even listening, which gets Marinette to look up and really give Alya her attention. “Oh, sorry about that. I was texting Luka.”

- Alya is just, “?????”

- Yes, this special is very much going to be Alya and Nino suffering to try to get Adrien and Marinette alone together and constantly failing. You’re welcome.

- No sliding door lock-ins because that’s dumb and the special is dumb for thinking it. Also, when Alya goes to mock “tease” Marinette about her Adrien crush in front of Sabrina, she turns to realize that Marinette is with Luka talking to Miss Mendeleiev about where he’ll be staying since he’s not technically with the class, and/or Luka is talking to some of the New York people about how amazing Marinette is ala Jagged Stone.

- Later in the night, everyone sneaks out to the party (bonus if someone comments that they “never took Luka for the type to sneak out” and Luka just grins like, “You clearly haven’t met my mom.”; double bonus if Luka stumbled into Aeon and Jess’ room with Marinette and Adrien, so Aeon was all “those two are--!” before seeing Luka and being confused) and a few party-goers ask Marinette and Luka if they want to dance to the energetic music. Marinette grins nervously and insists that she’s clumsy and will just end up falling all over people (a few pout and complain that “it would’ve been fun” but drop the subject).

- Cue the superhero hot dog vendor (a description I never thought I would say but here we are) handing out hot dogs. Aeon (foreseeing what will happen; it does pain me to still put her in the roll of “love square shipper” but I’m trying not to change what characters do or how they act unless I’m specifically adding things, meaning the main change is just that Luka’s here) and knowing that Luka interfered earlier, sees the guitar case on his back and quickly requests that he play some music alongside Jess since they both play guitar. Luka agrees, assuring Marinette that it’s alright and he’s not interested in having hot dogs since he’d just get crumbs on his guitar.

- Alya and Nino grin because they’re finally going to do something here!! As in the original, the hot dog vendor only has two hot dogs left and Alya and Nino split them in half, handing two halves of the same hot dog to Adrien and Marinette, who eat their respective half.

- Marinette yelps as her feet leave the ground and Luka’s head darts up on alert. He immediately abandons his guitar, his hand reaching out and catching hers as pulls her back down (or at least as down as she’ll go while still floating). He looks up at Adrien - as if to consider helping - but Adrien doesn’t want it and seems to be having fun trying to figure out how to fly, even muttering to himself about how he wish Kagami were there because they could’ve done “air fencing.”

- Luka looks back at Marinette, ensuring that she’s okay. She’s staring up at Adrien, expression mixed, then looks back at Luka, his presence grounding her as she calms down. She almost seems to forget that Adrien is there, focusing on her current flying capabilities and how light on (off?) her feet she is.

- “Oh...oh!” She gasps, realizing with a grin. “I can’t fall over if I’m floating! Luka, dance with me!”

- He’s caught off-guard by the enthusiastic request, then chuckles and nods in agreement, happily taking her other hand as well as he guides her to the other people dancing.

- Cut to the next day when the group is going to the museum. Alya and Nino are absolutely exhausted because Luka has consistently gotten in her and Nino’s way, which leads to them coming up with the new scheme with Aeon and Jess.

- Nino sends Adrien to the planned room and Alya goes to send Marinette, but Luka catches on and casually asks Marinette if he can go with her. Alya cuts in to “playfully” dismiss Luka and tell him to stop “hovering over Marinette,” leading Marinette to slowly walk off with one longing look back at Luka.

- Luka intentionally waits for Alya to not be watching anymore, then follows after Marinette.

- Episode plays out mostly as normal, though because Marinette has to carry Luka off to somewhere safe, she’s not as easily able to go off after Chat until later since she had time to cool down. Aeon doesn’t die but Paris is still a wreck because Chat Noir didn’t show up, leading to the same Chat Noir quitting scene (just with Ladybug calling out Chat here instead of mid-battle) as before. Adrien still ends up having to leave and Alya still snaps at Marinette, which leads to Marinette chasing after Adrien (mostly due to just mounting stress and pressure and the loss of her partner).

- As Marinette lies on the pavement, Luka shows up, soaking wet because he had actually never gone back with the rest of the class; he’d run off when Ms. Mendeleiev explained to him that Marinette was missing. He panics when he sees Marinette lying motionless there, running up and quickly checking her for injuries and to ensure that she’s breathing. She just leans forward and hugs him without warning, defeated but happy to have him with her.

- Marinette slowly explains the situation, Luka looking horrified when she starts talking about what Alya was shouting at her about, and he listens all the way up until the end before pointing out, “You didn’t have to like him that way to want him to stay.” “W-what?” “Marinette, you can be Adrien’s friend and still want him to stay in New York with us. It didn’t have to be any deeper than that.”

- His words cause Marinette to realize something; she - and definitely her friends as well - had put so much weight to everything she did for Adrien just because of her silly crush that of course she couldn’t see him as a friend. With all the insistence that getting him permission to go to New York and wanting him to stay was due to her crush, it was all she could focus on. She can want things for Adrien and want to do things with him regardless of her feelings for him, and she doesn’t have to put a name to those feelings either; she’ll never be able to truly move on if she keeps equating any good feeling towards Adrien with crushing on him.

- That done, Luka helps her up and they slowly walk back to go inside, though stopping as they see that Ms. Mendeleiev is at the front of the building chewing out Alya and Nino; both of them for sending Marinette and Adrien away from the group for fake tasks at the museum, and Alya specifically for sending Marinette after a car in the rain. Ms. Mendeleiev states that they’ll talk about it more inside but everyone should get back to their rooms for now.

- Marinette heads back to her room alone (as she shared a room with Alya but Alya’s getting a talking to at the moment) and is later visited by Uncanny Valley, who explains that she’s needed. Marinette - now with renewed confidence in how she feels thanks to her revelation - doesn’t say that she “can’t imagine Ladybug without him” and instead states that she and Chat Noir are partners, and a partner doesn’t abandon the other. She did it once herself, a long time ago, but she was ready to face her mistakes afterwards and she hopes that Chat Noir is too.

- Cue return of Chat Noir (no LadyNoir hug because no Chat, you have to earn that back) and the battle plays out as usual. Adrien still has to go home and Marinette sends him a text for later saying, “I wish you could’ve stayed,” but with a smile on her face, confident that this really is a friend thing and that’s all it needs to be.

- Marinette and Luka end up sitting together on the plane ride back to Paris, right behind Juleka and Rose. It’s nighttime, but neither can sleep and Marinette decides to use the private time to thank Luka for what he said (really, all the things he said), but Luka assures her that any improvement is all on her and he’s just happy to be around for it. She chides him for his modesty and tells him to take the compliment because he deserves it (they’re just flirting at this point), then slips out of her seat and into Luka’s, lightly jabbing at his chest with a finger while insisting that he accept everything’s he’s done for her. He laughs and replies that he’s happy to do that and is just glad seeing her smile.

- Eventually, the subject shifts to Juleka and Rose, who are once again sitting in the same seat, all cuddled up and sleeping together. Marinette asks playfully if Juleka and Rose are like that back on the Liberty, to which Luka nods and answers that they are, all the time. They have a good giggle about it, with Luka explaining that they’re very close (possibly giving some exposition on how long they’ve been “together” which is obviously referring to dating but could be seen as friendship by writers who are chickens).

- Marinette thinks about that for a moment, fingers briefly twitching, then she settles a little closer to Luka, asking quietly, “Do you think we’re that close?”

- Luka gapes at her in response, needing a moment to study her expression - which is more confidence than he’s ever seen her show before - and make sure that she means what he thinks it might. Once he’s certain, he gives her an almost shy smile, replying, “I’d like us to be. What about you, Marinette?”

- Marinette turns more towards him, one of her hands falling upon his. She leans up, and the camera then cuts away to Juleka and Rose in the seat in front of them, smiling and cuddling closer to each other (a very obvious hint that Luka and Marinette kissed because the show is allergic to people kissing if it’s not the love square so fine, I’ll get creative)

- Just as the screen fades out, Marinette’s voice can be heard, saying, “Luka, I think I found my clarity after all.”

[idreamofplaid]

Finding Destiny

Square Filled: Plus Size for @spnkinkbingo & Late Presentation for @spnabobingo

Characters: alpha!Sam x omega!Reader; Madame Tremaine (OFC)

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Y/N always felt like an Omega. Life told her otherwise, until tonight.

Word Count: 3027

Created for @spnkinkbingo & @spnabobingo

You smelled like a garden had exploded on you, a garden with some miscellaneous spices and nature smells. Truth was, you smelled like a mess, but you’d been desperate. Living as a Beta was like being invisible. 

You were convinced it didn’t help that your body wasn’t fashion model thin, or thin at all for that matter, instead having generous soft curves in your breasts, hips, and thighs. You had spent the last ten years watching Alphas and Omegas pair up, claim each other, shower each other with their love, devotion, and commitment. It had left you feeling more and more lonely, and food was your coping mechanism. The result of that was more pounds added to a body you already thought was too large.

Meanwhile, with each passing year, you felt more and more like life was passing you by. You, too, wanted to be claimed. There were no Alpha tendencies in your makeup; you were sure you were an Omega. You longed to be cherished, protected, filled with pups. Your untapped maternal instincts were strong, and you wanted to have a mate, be a mate. The Beta lifestyle wasn’t yours, so how had you been born into it?

Initially, when your heat didn’t come. You were confused, followed by disappointed, then discouraged, and finally resigned. Periodically, throughout all these reactions, you were devastated. The devastation overtook you when you least expected it, and then mercifully would leave again so you could function and pretend to be a happy Beta.  Had it stayed with you constantly, no doubt you would have fallen into a deep depression. 

It was that unwanted and sometimes paralyzing sense of hopelessness which always returned due to your Beta status that had sent you to the establishment owned by Madame Tremaine. It was rumored that she could bring on a reluctant onset of the first heat. That’s what you were once again trying to convince yourself this was, abandoning your previous period of accepting your fate. That’s all it was, a delay. Your body just needed some encouragement, a little push to get your hormones in motion. That first heat was going to happen; it was just slow.

So, it was in that frame of mind that you entered her herb shop at the end of a narrow street in an unfashionable part of the city. Wooden shelves lined the walls, filled with glass jars of various sizes that contained materials of every description. Dried flowers hung from low hanging rafters, and a display case that was filled with what appeared to be rocks and gemstones ran the length of one wall.

The bell over the door had tinkled when you entered the shop, summoning Madame Tremaine from the rear room of the shop. She pushed aside a beaded curtain that hung in the doorway leading to the back. She sized you up, her eyes traveling over you from head to toe. You were wearing a full skirt and a peasant style blouse. It was a cute outfit, but you still felt inadequate and self conscious about your size. For a moment, you felt a little pathetic because you’d come here seeking her help at changing what nature, God, the universe, or whatever had decided should be your lot in life. 

She was, of course, sleek and dressed all in form fitting black pants and a black shirt that emphasized her long, graceful arms and fingers. She had adorned those arms and fingers with turquoise rings and silver bangles, while large silver hoops hung from her ears. You were thinking of turning around and walking right back out when she said, “What brings you to see me tonight?”

You were determined not to stutter in spite of your nervousness. You could at least pretend to have a fraction of the confidence this woman so clearly possessed. “I’ve heard you can help Omegas with the onset of their first heat.”

She looked at you again. “How old are you?” You hesitated, not wanting to answer her question. You definitely should have left. This was so embarrassing. She lifted her chin and gave a wave of her hand, causing her bracelets to jingle. “Never mind. I’m sure I have what you need. It’s just a matter of finding the right combination of smells that compose your scent. Your body will then react with them and produce the scent on its own, triggering your first heat.”

For the next two hours, she had experimented on you with her herbs, flowers, and ground spices. She began with the flowers, explaining to you, “Very often an Omega’s scent includes a floral note. We only need to find the right one, then move on to the other elements.” It wasn’t tuberose, jasmine, violet, magnolia, or plumeria. She tried at least seven others before giving up on the flowers.

She moved to a particular row of jars with purpose. “Perhaps we should try something sweet instead.” The next round of fragrances she applied to your skin consisted of honey, vanilla, chocolate, coconut, sugar, and caramel. She was beginning to look a little perplexed, making you feel like a failure all over again. Not only were you unable to find a mate, now this wasn’t working either; but you needed it too. You felt like this was your last chance. 

“How do you know it isn’t working, Madame?” You had absentmindedly grabbed your skirt and started to twist the fabric.

“Because I’m an Alpha; I could smell it if you were producing your own scent.” Of course she was an Alpha, all the confidence. Her tone had been a little sharper than she had intended. You were, after all, a paying customer. She shouldn’t let her frustration show. Madame softened her voice and tried a different approach. Perhaps you are a more rare type of Omega without the usual sweet or flowery smell. Let’s give something else a try.”

Next she went for a smaller set of jars that contained spices and pulled some tiny stone chips that were near a larger blue stone from the display case. First, she used a mortar and pestle to grind the stone chips then added some rosemary to the bowl, grinding it up as well, and finally sprinkling in some almond oil to bind it together. Your curiosity got the better of you and made you brave enough to ask, “Why did you add stones? They don’t smell.”

“Ah, but they do; it is just very subtle,” she answered, “and sometimes just the catalyst that is needed to activate the chemical process that will result in you producing your own scent.” She applied this mixture to the inside of your wrist. Still, the result was nothing. After that, she went through the motions of trying a few more things, but you knew with each passing minute this had been a huge waste of your hard earned money. 

You left her store and practically slinked to your car, wanting nothing more than to get home to your favorite robe and a glass of red wine. When you closed the door with a heavy thud, your eyes landed on the gas gauge. Dammit. It was almost on empty. You wouldn’t make it home without stopping for gas. Perfect. There would be one more humiliation before this night was through. Gas stations in this part of town didn’t tend to carry out transactions through the pay at the pump method. 

Perhaps your tendency to be invisible would play in your favor this time you thought as you pushed on the metal bar to open the glass door leading into the gas station. Your last shred of hope at maintaining your dignity had been destroyed when you’d pulled up to the pump and found a sign attached to it just as you’d expected. Pay Before You Pump. Now you had to go into this store smelling like a cheap whorehouse. 

You made your way to the counter as quickly as you could, hoping to just put down your money, dash back outside again, get your gas, and go. You mumbled $30 on pump 3 and reached for your purse. That’s when you heard it, a voice that was just the right amount of deep and smoother than the honey back at Madame Tremaine’s shop. “Where are your apples?”

The guy behind the counter looked up reluctantly from his handheld video game. “We don’t have any. Sold the last of them this morning.” He turned his attention back to his game, and you turned to see who had spoken. What kind of face went with that voice?

The answer was the kind of face you saw on magazine covers and movie screens. The man with the sexy voice tried with the clerk again. “But I smell…” Then the gorgeous hazel eyes in that handsome face caught yours, and he tilted his head causing his golden brown hair to fall over his forehead. “It’s you.” His eyes narrowed a little.

Then something happened that had never occurred in your life. You were overcome by the smells of mahogany, champagne, and leather. The smell washed through you, entering every cell in your body, causing slick to pool in your panties, and your knees to go weak. You were beginning to sink to the floor.

The kid behind the counter finally put down his video game. “Lady, are you okay?” He was a Beta. He couldn’t smell any of what was happening two feet from him. 

The mysterious Alpha caught you. He held you up while he put two twenties down on the counter. “For her gas.” He helped you out to your car, got you seated inside, then filled your tank. He walked back to you when he was done and leaned down to put his hand on your shoulder. The smell was overwhelming now. It was heady, more than if you’d drunk the champagne instead of just smelling it. 

The Alpha kneeled in front of you. That magnificent voice had softened when he spoke to you. “I don’t think you should drive. I’m going to call my brother to come get my car, and then I’ll drive you home.”

Your head was feeling too light to argue, and there was a twinge of feeling bordering on pain starting between your legs. You nodded. “Okay.” Just like that. You trusted him, trusted him completely. It felt right what he was doing, taking care of you. 

You closed your eyes and leaned your head back against the headrest. His voice sounded farther away, and you caught snippets of his conversation as you attempted to navigate all the emotional and physical feelings of your first heat. “Dean, i need you to come get the car.” Dean must be his brother. You missed the next part and then, “I’ll explain it all later. Just trust me. It’s never been more important.”

He returned to you and used that same soft tone he’d had with you before. “C’mon, let’s get you home. He lifted you like you weighed nothing more than a feather and carried you around to the passenger’s side of the car. He settled you in the seat and walked back around to take his place behind the wheel. Then, he turned to you. “I’m Sam.”  His eyes focused on yours again. “And you’re my Omega.”

You gave him directions to your house, and when you got there he carried you inside, across the threshold just like you were a bride. “Where’s your bedroom?” It didn’t seem at all strange to have this man you’d just met in your house, or to be giving him directions to your bedroom. You wanted him there. The idea of him leaving scared you a little bit. 

Sam put you down on your bed, and that fear bubbled up in your heart. You reached for him. “Don’t leave.” 

He took your hand. “I wasn’t going to leave. Just go outside the room so you can change for bed. Your smell is so strong. All I can smell is you. It’s going to bring on my rut. So, I should probably put some distance between us. But I’m going to stay. Make sure you’re okay.”

You squeezed his hand. “I’m not. I’m not okay. I need you. This is so…” A huge gush of slick ran down your thighs. You cried out. “Sam, please. I don’t know what’s happening.”

A look of concern shadowed his gray green hazel eyes. “Your heats haven’t been like this before?”

You had a nearly vise like grip on his hand now; it was starting to hurt, and you grabbed his forearm with your other hand. “I’ve never had a heat before. This is the first one.”

It took a couple of seconds for Sam to comprehend what you’d just said. Then a fierce, protective gentleness filled his eyes; he didn’t let go of your hand until he was on the bed with you, then he took you in his arms. “I’ve got you, my Omega. It’s gonna be okay. I’m here. I won’t leave you.”

“It hurts, Sam. Why does it hurt?” This wasn’t what you had imagined it would be like to be an Omega. They’re had been no one in your life to explain it to you, and you were sure the books you’d read must be exaggerating.

Sam stroked your hair, trying to soothe you. “It hurts because you need an Alpha. Your body wants to be knotted. You need an Alpha’s knot.”

You held onto him tightly. “Will that make it stop?” 

Sam whispered, “Yeah, that will make it stop.” He kept running his fingers through your hair, and then he growled. His hand stilled; his body was shaking with the effort to control himself. 

His growling and shaking surprised you, and you jumped. “Sam, what is it? What’s wrong?”

He doubled his efforts to steady himself and stopped his shaking. “My body needs you too.” His voice was much more gruff than it had been before. 

You raised your hand to sink your fingers into his hair, just as his were buried  in yours. “Make it stop, Sam. Make it stop for both of us.”

While he was taking off your clothes, it didn’t occur to you once to feel self conscious about your lack of a flat stomach, the fullness of your thighs, or any of the other parts of your body you considered to be an imperfection. He kissed each and every one of them, while telling you how perfect you were. Your Alpha made you feel beautiful. 

The touch of his hands was so gentle, even while you could feel the heat radiating off his skin. When his lips first touched yours, it was like when the match meet the candle wick, and the flame sparks to life. Sam kissed you for a long time, causing you to produce more slick, getting you ready for him. 

When at last he broke the kiss, you looked into those eyes with the ability to change color; you saw into him, found that deep place where no one but his Omega would ever be allowed to go. “Were we meant to be together, Sam?” 

He brushed his knuckles across your cheek. “Yeah, that’s how it works.” His eyes held yours, “I’ve been waiting for you so long.” The smell of leather was stronger now. It signaled the depth of the lust he was feeling, mixed with the more tender emotions.

You put your hand over his where it was still resting against your face. “It’s okay, Sam. I’m ready. Take me. Make me yours.”

Sam put his hands on the inside of your thighs and opened your legs. His eyes never left yours as he entered you slowly. The stretch pushed you to the limits of what you could take, and you knew it was nothing compared to what was to come when he gave you his knot. 

He moved inside you with a gentle rhythm that heightened your passion and your need for him. When you started to roll your hips in time with the movements he was making, Sam reached between your bodies and started to rub your clit. He gave you exactly what you needed, and an intense orgasm came crashing through you. 

While your body was still in the spasms of its release, Sam’s knot began to swell. “Yes, Alpha, yes. Please.”

Sam took you in his arms and rolled you to your side to face him while his knot continued to swell. He covered your face with soft kisses. “Are you okay?”

You clung to him, still afraid you might somehow lose him even though his body was firmly attached to yours. “Yes. This is what I’ve always wanted. You. I wanted you. I just couldn’t find you.” Tears started to slide down your cheeks. Everything about this night was overwhelming. 

Sam wiped away your tears, kissed your temple, and whispered in your ear, “Shh. i’m here. I’ve got you now, my sweet Omega.”

You buried your face in his neck. The smell of the leather was receding now, blending back in with the mahogany and champagne. “Are you sure I’m your Omega, Sam? I mean I know I must not look like the other Omegas you’ve been with.”

He held you closer to him. “Yes, I’m sure.” You felt a fresh wave of his seed pumping into your womb. Sam put his fingers under your chin and tilted your face up to look at him. “You are more beautiful than any woman I’ve ever seen.”

You smiled, and a different kind of tears filled your eyes. This time they didn’t fall. You felt secure. You felt wanted, and you felt claimed even though he hadn’t yet put his mark on you. He would though. You knew it. Sam would claim you, mark you, and you would be proud for everyone to see it. 

Sam brushed his thumb over your chin just below your lip. “What are you thinking, my Omega?”

You nodded just enough to kiss his thumb that was beneath your lips. “I’m thinking you were worth the wait.”

Everything: @gambitwinchester @princessmisery666 @onethirstyunicorn @peridottea91 @logical-princey @emilyshurley @beenlovingromansincedayoneish @fangirlxwritesx67 @waywardbaby @atc74 @ledzeppelinsbonzo @shaniquacynthia @mariekoukie6661 @tumbler-tidbits @67-chevy-baby @fandom-princess-forevermore @terrarium-jpeg @emoryhemsworth @crashdevlin @heycasbutt @jules-1999 @mrsdeannafuckingwinchester @cosicas-cuquis @sammyimpala-67 @queenoftheunderdark @dean-winchesters-bacon @mrs-meghan-winchester @timelordy-fangirl2 @sweetness47 @hobby27 @awesomesusiebstuff @kickingitwithkirk @sandlee44 @supernaturalgrandma @lonewolf471 @dawnie1988 @volleyballer519 @outcastedangel @kdfrqqg @lizette50 @sorenmarie87 @winchesterxfamilybusiness 

Sam/Jared: @girl-next-door-writes @stunudo @feelmyroarrrr @idabbleincrazy @evansrogerskitten @focusonspn @autumninavonlea @spnxbsessed @durinsbride @deansyahtzee @waywardnerd67 @fullmooner 

[hatterstan-shameblog]

💫✨💕send this to ten bloggers you think are wonderful. keep the game going 💕✨

You infected my brain with hatter stuff

You will be hearing from my attorneys

And by attorneys, I mean random thoughts that pop in my head

Good day!

That’s it, you’re getting

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Hatter Has Definitely Kissed Every Executive At Least Once And This Is How It Went:  Niragi Edition

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Rating: PG-13

Tags: violence, language, death threats, dubious consent (tagging that just to be safe), creative problem solving

Summary: Violence isn’t always the answer, but it’s usually some part of the equation (at least, it is in the Borderlands…)

“Ah, Mori, so nice of you to—“

“Shut the fuck up!”

There is an old adage—timing is everything in life—and that sentiment is truer today than ever before.

At least, it is for Aguni.

He has managed to show up in the meeting room just in time to witness Niragi holding a very loaded rifle right below Takeru’s jaw. The energy in the room hums tense and hot; one strike of a match and the whole place might explode.

“Put the gun down,” Aguni growls, mood shifting from ‘mildly annoyed’ to ‘enraged concern,’ “or I’ll snap your goddamn spine—“

“Now, now, there’s no need for all of that,” Takeru placates, “Our friend Niragi is just expressing himself.”

“I’m gonna express your brains all over the fucking wall if you don’t stop fucking talking,”

“Such a vivid description,” Takeru muses, cocking his head to one side and eyeing Niragi curiously, “is there something about the sight of blood that you find exciting? Not necessarily in a sexual way; although it’s perfectly fine if that’s the case—“

“Stop playing with him,” Aguni interrupts with an exasperated roll of his eyes. He turns his attention to Niragi and points an accusatory finger directly at his chest.

“And you,” Aguni seethes, “you’ve got until the count of three to put the gun down and step away before I snap your neck—“

“You will do no such thing,” Takeru gently chides, giving a soft smile, “I have everything under control.”

“Yeah,” Niragi taunts, sneering at Aguni, “this is none of your fucking business.”

“The hell it isn’t,” Aguni grumbles, clenching his fists at his sides and clenching his jaw. He’s just about to storm his way over and wrestle the gun from Niragi’s devious grip when Takeru holds up his hand in a bid to stop his approach.

“Do you remember our last trip to Sendai,” Takeru asks, furrowing his brow as he tries to remember the details, “it’s been…oh, a good five years since then. Maybe six, I can’t quite recall at the moment.”

“The fuck you talking about?”

“We stayed at that lovey little inn, just outside the city center,” Takeru reminisces, paying no mind to his confused assailant’s question, “we were lucky enough to catch the autumn leaves just before they began to fall. Magical experience, I so hope to go back some day…”

“Pretty sure the yakuza won’t let you back in,” Aguni adds, “barely got away as is.”

“But I did get away,” Takeru reminds him, sounding very pleased with himself, “And, if you can recall, I used a rather effective method of escape.”

“Whatever you did for those clowns won’t fucking work on me,” Niragi insists, pressing the barrel of the gun even harder against Takeru’s skin.

“I’m not so sure,” Takeru hums, “you seem like the type of man who’d be receptive to a…softer approach.”

To illustrate his point, Takeru puckers his lips and releases them with a an audible ‘pop’—an imitation of a kiss, complete with a cheeky wink thrown in at the end.

Niragi looks horrified.

“Did he,” Niragi asks, voice scratched thin as if on the verge of a screech, “fucking…make out with the goddamn yakuza?”

“Yes,” Aguni confirms solemnly, “yes, he did.”

“And it worked! Splendidly, too, I might add,” Takeru exclaims excitedly, “Almost as magical as the changing trees.”

“Takeru,” Aguni grits, “that’s not gonna work here…”

“You’re goddamn right it’s not,” Niragi spits, eyes narrowing into two knife-sharp slits, “ugly-ass motherfucker like you couldn’t even make me blink twice.”

“You’re a man who knows what he likes. I appreciate that,” Takeru says coolly, letting his gaze slip over the gun-wielding maniac in front of him, “just like I appreciate the occasional wager. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in that sort of thing, would you?”

“Takeru,” Aguni hisses, “he’s got you at gunpoint—“

“Shut the fuck up,” Niragi jabs in Aguni’s direction, before turning his attention to Takeru once more, “Gimme your terms. I wanna hear what kind of stupid-ass ideas you got.”

Takeru smirks.

“Nothing too complicated. You let me kiss you,” he explains, “and, if I don’t have you falling to your knees by the time I’m done, you can shoot me as many times as you like. I’ll even have Mori here give you his pocket knife so you can do some slicing, if you like. Could get some really unique blood spatters on the rug that way, like a Jackson Pollock.”

Takeru’s smirk tightens as Niragi imagines the scenario—no doubt in gory, brilliant technicolor, with all the drama and carnage a young man of his macabre inclinations could possibly dream of.

“Of course,” Takeru adds, “if I do manage to succeed, you let me go. No penalties, no petty revenge; we walk out of here as friendly as ever, and none shall be the wiser.”

Niragi snorts.

“Un-fucking-likely. But you know what? I’m feeling fucking generous.”

Niragi lowers the gun a smidge—just enough to allow Takeru some head movement—and shoots him a chilling smile.

“Give it your best shot, old man,” he says, “unless you’re too much of a fucking pussy…”

“I assure you, darling, that I most certainly am not,” Takeru replies.

He brings a hand up to Niragi’s face and very gently pushes a loose strand of hair behind his ear—a gesture which earns him a confused frown and furrowed, pierced brow.

“For fuck’s sake,” Aguni mumbles from the sidelines, watching as Takeru’s hand snakes around the nape of Niragi’s neck and cradles it like he would with any other lover, “are you seriously gonna—“

And, yes; apparently Takeru is ‘seriously gonna’ because he does. His opposite hand has wrapped around Niragi’s waist and pulls him sharply towards himself. The hand at Niragi’s nape performs a similar, albeit more tender, motion, guiding Niragi to kiss him fully and passionately on the mouth.

Niragi closes his eyes—whether instinctually or from the reluctant pleasure of being kissed by a man he had until this point considered his enemy, he can’t be sure. All he does is feel, letting Takeru slip his clever tongue between his lips and trying not to groan at the flush of heat flaring in his face.

A swift jab to his right kidney has him yelping out in pain, while a firm stomp to his foot has his knees buckling and his throat screeching in pain.

Niragi crashes to the floor in a messy, loose-limbed heap. His gun falls to the side and is quickly kicked just out of reach by a casual, flip-flopped foot.

Niragi looks up to see a smug-looking Takeru staring down at him.

“And that’s how we do it in Kabukicho, bitch.”

“Not fucking fair,” Niragi wheezes in protest, arm twisting so he can clutch at his aching back, “you…cheating bastard.”

Takeru picks up the discarded gun and hands it to Aguni, who snatches it from his grip with an angry grimace.

“I may be a bastard, but not a cheating one,” Takeru gloats as he watches Aguni unload the bullets from the gun’s chamber, “I kissed you, you fell to your knees, end of story. I won fair and square.”

Aguni hands the bullets to Takeru, who pockets them with a certain measure of glee.

“If it makes you feel better, I had a lovely time,” Takeru says, “I don’t often come across tongue piercings, so that was quite a treat.”

“I’ll…fucking…kill you!”

“Not today, you won’t,” Aguni says, kicking the unloaded gun back to the floor-dwelling man, “Meanwhile, I suggest you try to get some sleep while you’re down there; you just doubled your patrol duty for the next three nights, so you’ll need all the rest you can get.”

Niragi immediately dissolves into angry, breathless protests, even going so far as to pound his fist on the floor in rage. Aguni remains unswayed, and motions for Takeru to follow him out of the room.

“Brilliant addition, old friend,” Takeru commends Aguni, patting him on the shoulder thrice as they begin to make their way out of the room, “shall we do lunch?”

“Fine,” Aguni agrees, “but you and I are going to have a serious talk about risk management…”

And the two men exit the room, chatting as if they hadn’t just been part of a life-and-death experience, leaving Niragi to gather himself and his pride from the floor.

[stxvercgersslut]

Promises 1/2

[Gif Not Mine]

Pairing: Dad! Ransom x Daughter! Reader

Description: During your sophomore year your father discovers that you are coming home with more and more bruises everyday. Once he finds out where those bruises are coming from he won’t be accountable from his actions.

Warnings: Mentions of bruises, mentione of scars,

A/n: this is my first series like this that I’ve ever made so I hope that you guys enjoy this. If you do enjoy this and it doesn’t flop then I may start a Mini series with Chris Evans characters and Daughter! Reader in different scenarios. Let me know what you think. Sorry it’s short 🥺

A/n: For this particular part the reader is 16 and in 10th Grade (year 11 in England but this is based in America) and Ransom is 37 meaning that he was 21 when y/n was born. In case anyone cares 😂 (when it’s just speech bold italics means Ransom and normal means you

Tag list: @jtargaryen18 @et-lesailes @evansxxx @stargazingfangirl18 @navybrat817 @chuckbass-love @t-stark35

When someone thinks of the perfect father they most certainly would never let the first person they think of be Hugh Ransom Drysdale. In fact no one would ever picture the trustfund Playboy to be the perfect father in anyway shape or form. Let alone love a child at all or even be a father in the first place. To many, even his family, Ransom was nothing but an arrogant prick who cared little about anyone else and more about himself. Which for the most part unfortunately had been extremely true, especially due to the god awful way that his mother and father had neglected him leaving him to be raised by his grandfather. Although, that unfortunately ended with the trustfund baby growing up to recsent every last one of his family members including his mother and father.

However, all of that changed when you, a new born baby, was left on his doorstep almost 17 years ago today. Of course at first he’d been reluctant to take care of you, thinking you were nothing other then a god awful result to a stupid one night stand that he most certainly didn’t want to look after you. Especially since you were a chubby baby who did nothing but scream, poop and cry whenever you needed something.

You weren’t his, not in his mind. You may have been made from half of him but as far as Ransom has been concerned you were nothing a pest that he wanted to get rid of. Being a father was never something that he wanted, but being a single father was even worse. After less than a week the Male had grown tired of the constant sleepless nights that you brought. Always either needing feeding , changed or plated with and Ransom just couldn’t do it. That wasn’t the life that he wanted but it was the life that he got. And no matter how many times he tried to get rid of you he just couldn’t go through with it. At one point he’d even attempted to call child services after a particular rough night where you had kept him up all night the day before a very important at meal with his family , he’d gotten so close to calling but then...oh then you did the most adorable thing. You just had to go and grab his finger whilst he was feeding you. That in itself was enough to melt the playboys usually hollow heart. From that day forward Ransom had vowed to protect you from all demons. No matter the cost.

Sadly that promise was one that he had failed to keep. For weeks now you’ve been arriving home to your fathers huge house, on the outskirts of New York, with either new bruisee or new scars covering your body and Ransom had just about had enough of seeing his teenage daughter coming home everyday in pain.Seeing you, his daughter, in pain or even just covered in bruises every single time you csme home from school was beginning to anger the Male even more then he had expected. Especially since he could hear you crying yourself to sleep each night, resulting in him practically begging you to open your door to let him. But you never did. Too afraid that he would judge you for crying so much over some stupid teenagers who had taken a joke way too far for way too long. Although Ransom adored you in every single way that one could ever love their child, he could still be quite stern when he needed to. Sometimes he didn’t no that he was being unreasonable to his own flesh and blood, but that was just unfortunately the part of Drysdale’s personality that he couldn’t change no matter how hard he tried. One particular thing Ransom couldn’t handle was tears, even when you were baby he seemed to just shut himself off when you cried. Not knowing how to deal with you. But now you were a 16 year old teenager who was crying every night and coming home covered in battle scars and he just couldn’t take it anymore.

Which was why, currently, Ransom was sitting in his Beamer, parked right outside your extremely expensive private school that Ransom had of course preferred you going to, as he waited not so patiently for you to exit the school. Yeah he hadn’t actually told you that he was coming to pick you up since it was a last minute decision but he wasn’t really expecting you to turn down a quick and easy lift home. Besides, he wasn’t just there to pick you up. No he was really there to get to the bottom of what the hell was happening and why on Earth you kept getting hurt.

Meanwhile, you were currently none the wiser about your father waiting impatiently outside the schools gates in his Beamer whilst you sat in the nurses office for the millionth time this year. Today a couple seniors had cornered you during lunch, teasing you and talking about your father as well as the rest of your family like they were a piece of meat. It wasn’t fair. But unfortunately the comment “Your dads probably disgusted by you! He’ll never be proud of you so you might as well just give up now” made by Darcy, the ‘popular girl’ had been enough to hit a nerve with you. Causing you to, for the first time, punch Darcy square in the face as an attempt to defend yourself. But, like anyone could imagine, that just didn’t end well. In fact, it ended so badly that you were currently sporting a incredibly painful black eye, a split lip and a couple scratch marks from Darcys razor sharp nails. Things like this had been happening for months, even longer then Ransom had ever known. Why was t the school doing anything? Well that was easy. Darcys father was the principle and in his eyes his daughter could do no wrong. Even if she did break your nose several times. “Are you sure you don’t want me to call your father Y/n?” The nurse spoke, pulling you out of your nightmare of a trance as she handed up a clean paper towel to wrap around the ice pack. This was by far the worst incident so far and yet no one was doing anything about it. Clearly the school wasn’t as good as Ransom thought. “N.... no...I don’t want to worry him...thank you though” you stuttered whilst wiping the stray tears from your eyes as you finally stood up on shaky legs as the bell rang, signalling the end of yet another horrific day.

Ransom was stood directly outside the school gates by the time you had finally managed to convince the school nurse that you’d be fine, of course not expected to see him there but also equally delighted that he was. Maybe with Ransom there you’d be able to escape any last minute torture from Darcy right? “Hey d—“ you began before being interrupted by your fathers worried words “Y/n what the hell happened to you? Who did this?” The anger evident in his voice no matter how hard he tried to conceal it. And believe me he really did try to conceal it. This question in itself was enough to startle you. Oh no...this wasn’t good at all. If your father found out about what Darcy and her friends had been doing to you for the last few months then it would 100% end badly. Which would most likely result in you being pulled from the school. Not that you’d mind that. But despite the bullying you did have friends here. Whom of which you did not want to leave. “N..no one I....I just fell” you lied. And not very creatively at that since Ransom seemed to pick up on your attempt to conceal the truth because without another word you were slung over your fathers shoulder and taken into the school kicking and screaming. This time Ransom wasn’t taking no for an answer.

“Y/n don’t lie to me! We have rules for a reason. Come on what’s going on?! Who did this? Who hurt you? The quicker we fix this the quicker whoever did this to you gets punished and the quicker I can get you out of this school for good” Ransom explained as he finally put you down in your normal classroom. God he really did sound like a father now which was enough to make even the 37 year old himself cringe. Never had he ever sounded so weak. But at least he had a good reason.

“Dad I told you No on—“

“I know what you told me y/n but I’m not buying it! So tell me the truth!”

“Why?”

“What do you mean why y/n?!?”

“Why do you want to know so bad?”

Okay now he was starting to lose his patience. Judging by your stubbornness, which you had most certainly inherited from him, this wasn’t going to end anytime soon. In fact if you had it your way you’d most likely be answering him with the same damn response of hours. “Because you’re my daughter? Believe it or not I actually care about you y/n and seeing you come home from school covered in bruises or hearing you crying every single night isn’t nice okay!?? Please just tell me who hurt you? You’re not in trouble right now but if you don’t tell me who hurt you then you will be!” Now he really did sound like a worried father, something that he’d never been shown as a child. No worry was ever emitted from either of his parents so of course he had no idea where all of this was coming from.

You froze, hearing your own father admit that he had heard you crying each night and saw the new bruises that you seemed to come home with seemed to break your heart. Which was of course when you realised just how much Ransom really did care about you. How the he’ll had you not know this all along? Were you just blind? Maybe you were. “You promise I’m not in trouble?” “I promise now who did this to you?”

It took you almost 2 whole hours to finally admit everything to your father about how Darcy had been tormenting you for months on end, even going as far as saying cruel things about him you really anger you just to get a response. You even admitted to why you’d been crying each night. Trying to keep yourself as calm as physically possible since you didn’t want to worry him too much.

But unfortunately the ship had sadly sailed since Ransom was currently seeing red. How had he been so dumb? How on earth had he not thought that you could have been getting bullied? But most importantly why wasn’t Darcy being punished if she had her. Caught several times abusing his daughter? She hose questions continued to swim in his mind as he tried to listen to you. His mind completely filled with range once you’d finally finished speaking. “You’re leaving this school! And I’m calling the police. Clearly school isn’t doing anything about this. So we’re suing!” He spoke unexpectedly. Giving you no other choice but to just go with it. And that’s exactly what he did. Yes it was extremely drastic and most certainly not the right way to go around this situation but if it meant that you would be safe and that Darcy would get fairly punished then Ransom would try anything.

Of course what he really wanted to do was kill that Bitch Darcy, or just brutally injure her for ever even laying a finger on you. But she was only a teenager. If He did that then of course he’d go to prison and you’d have no one, resulting in you either ending up with his parents or in care. Neither of which he wanted for you. So, in order to make sure that he stuck around to make up for his failed promise he just kept his word and sued the school for all it was worth.

[heyyyharry]

Chapter 4: Chasing Shadows

(from ‘The Winter and The Crown’)

…in which Harry keeps visiting the same place in his dreams.

Word count: 8.8k

AU: queen!y/n, commander!harry

Description: Y/N and Harry set off on a new adventure to find ‘the cure’ for an ancient curse, meanwhile, the enemies are plotting to take her kingdom.

Wattpad link (Reyna as Y/N)

ANNOUNCEMENT:

For the next two weeks, I’ll be extremely busy with two exams and my job and all that adult stuff (ugh). I’ll still post blurbs and take a two-week break from the series.

***Chapter 5 will be posted on Wednesday, August 26, 2020.

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“Do I really have to be tied to a chair?”

“Yes.”

Y/N took a little knife from the tray the guard was holding, holding back a grin as Harry flicked his eyes between the blades, her and the two men in armours.

“My anxiety is peaking right now,” he said.

She snorted and waved the knife in front of his face, finding it entertaining how his breath caught as he recoiled. “Don’t worry. I used to do this for my father and brother.”

“I don’t remember what those people looked like so I cannot be sure you’re good at it.”

Y/N pressed her lips into a smile. “You’ve never met my father. And you probably shouldn’t remember my brother.” Especially when Egon had been haunting most of her nightmares.

“Sorry…” Harry mumbled. “Let’s not talk about your family then.”

“Let’s not talk at all.” She just wanted to get this done and leave. If he said something that hurt her again, she might just cry in front of him and that would be embarrassing.

Slowly and cautiously, her trembling fingers reached for his face. She was indecisive about how she should touch him, as for him, hers would be the touch of a stranger; she wouldn’t want a stranger to just grab her face and angle it however they liked. But then Harry’s mouth curled to one side and he nudged her hand with his cheek like a horse.

“You can touch me. I'm clean. They gave me a bath this morning.” His cheek felt warm against her skin and she moved her thumb gently over his stubble beard. He grinned at her tentative touch. “It was very...new,” he said, “to have five men watching you bathe.”

She couldn’t help but giggle, gaining more confident to slide her hand down to his jaw, lifting his face. “I wouldn’t even go near you if you smelled bad.”

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

“You didn’t say ‘no offence’, so I’m offended.”

He was doing it again – cracking jokes when he didn’t have to – because silence pained him. He was just as nervous as she was. And somehow knowing that made her feel more comfortable.

She lifted the knife and felt him grow tenser as she approached. “Stay still and I’ll try not to cut you.”

“Try?” His eyes grew big. Her mouth twitched as she shushed him and started on the left side of his face.

She’d lied. She’d not cut her father’s and brother’s hair nor shaved their beards; she just wanted Harry to trust her. Before this, he would have trusted her even if she’d held the knife whose blade was buried in his chest. Now they had to start over. It wasn’t easy to win his trust; neither was it to win hers.

She finished shaving the right side of his face without having cut him. His breathing steady as he relaxed into his seat. Their eyes met by accident, and the knot in her stomach also relaxed. They didn’t converse until she was done.

She put the knife back on the tray and picked up a sharp pair of scissors when the sound of the large door to the dungeon made her jump. Footsteps descended the stairs. And Lance emerged at the cell door.

Harry scoffed. “Has everyone in the castle been invited to see me get a haircut?”

Y/N ignored him and asked Lance, “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah,” he said, squaring his shoulders as he leaned back against the wall. “I’m just here to make sure he won’t lay a finger on my betrothed.”

Y/N shot him a warning look, and Harry asked, “What’s a betrothed?”

The question nagged at her yet she did not let it show. She’d explained the word to him before; she’d been six and he’d been eight. Back then he hadn’t known who she was and yet the memory had also been erased.

“Do you always talk this much?” she heard Lance ask Harry, probably to distract him from her unusual pause. But Harry didn’t look at Lance. He tilted his head to the side and asked her, “Are you feeling unwell? We can do this another time.”

“I’m fine.” She forced a grin so he wouldn’t suspect it. Her Harry would be able to see right through that. This Harry was completely oblivious to her hurt feelings.

Y/N brushed off the uneasiness and pressed her hand into Harry’s curls, being as careful as she could to test the water. She could feel both Lance’s and Harry’s gaze on her as she started cutting with experimental motions at first, and grew more confident with every snip of the scissors.

An evil idea crossed her mind. She considered giving him the stupidest haircut to make him pay for having put her through all this misery. Then, she saw that soft look in his eyes and the thought vanished as soon as it’d appeared.

Why was she mad at him? It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t remember anything. It was her fault that he was like this. Harry wouldn’t be mad at her if she were the one who forgot; he’d be patient with her because he loved her.

He loved me, she told herself. Not anymore.

She set aside all the longing to focus on trimming the back and sides of his head and ended up in front of him again. With a last snip of the scissors, brown hair floated to the floor. She took a step back to assess her work, widening her focus to take in more than just his hair. The transformation left her speechless. She hadn’t thought he would look this good with short hair. All the ladies in court were going to throw themselves at him as if they hadn’t tried before.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Harry asked, his face taut with distress. “How long do I have to hide in the dark until it looks normal again?”

Y/N let a smile sneak onto her lip as she lifted his face with the handle of the scissors under his chin. “It’s good. I’m good. Lance, what do you think?”

“Average,” Lance said without a second thought, his expression neutral. “I mean him. Not your work.”

Y/N glared at him, and he shrugged as Harry let out a scoff. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, Your Majesty.”

“Stop it. Both of you,” Y/N snapped as she put the scissors back on the tray.

Lance didn’t say another word and ordered the two guards to come with him. She knew he did it on purpose to let her be alone with Harry. If only she could tell Lance how grateful she was. They hadn’t been talking since Harry had returned.

The door above the stairs fell shut, the sound echoing across the dungeon. Y/N had her dagger at her waist and Harry was tied to a chair and unarmed, so if he tried something, she’d be able to take him. She went behind him to untie his wrists, and as slowly as she could, closed her fingers around the hilt of her dagger.

But Harry didn’t make a move. He sat there as she returned to stand in front of him. His eyes dropped to her chest, and her face burned red as she thought he was staring at her cleavage. It took her a second to realize it was the bruised marks around her neck that were holding his attention.

Without saying a word, he reached out his hand, and she gripped her dagger as he touched her there, grazing his thumb gently over the skin. “It looks worse,” he said, his forehead creased. “Does it hurt?”

She slowly shook her head. Her brain was telling her to step back because he was dangerous and his kindness might be fake, but every other piece of her wanted to hold him and never let go until the old Harry crawled back to the surface and loved her again.

“How about your wounds?” she asked, pointing to his torso. “You got a pretty bad one there.”

He wiggled his brows teasingly. “How do you know?”

She rolled her eyes. “I saw the attacker aim for that spot before I was shot.”

“Oh…” He shifted a bit in his chair, rubbing his hands against his thighs. Meanwhile, she took in his new appearance, trying to get used to it. He looked like a prince. With a crown, he could be Lance’s equal. Something stirred inside her. He could be a completely different man now. What if she’d lost him forever?

“How long do I have to stay here?” he asked.

She blinked. “What?”

“How long do I have to stay here?” he repeated the question, looking rather anxious. “I don’t–I don’t think my memory’s coming back.”

A thin edge of hurt worked its way under her skin as she tried not to let it show by keeping a straight face.

Harry combed his fingers through his hair, faltering as the unfamiliarity caught him by surprise. He swallowed dryly and went on, “So if you’re hoping to get some information out of me, I don’t think I’ll be able to help you. I cannot stay here forever.”

Y/N knew that. Right from the start, she should have known that he didn’t belong here. If she hadn’t been so selfish and begged him to stay in the North, he might have travelled the world and been married by now, with children and a wife who was gentle and kind and wouldn’t keep him in the dark or put him in danger.

“I cannot send you back to the South if that’s what you’re asking,” she said. “No one from the North is allowed to cross the South’s border.”

“I know,” he sighed and dropped his gaze to his feet. “Can I at least see Kenny? She’s the only family I’ve got here…” Y/N swallowed as she averted her eyes and clenched her fists. He didn’t notice how agitated she’d become. “Or does she not want to see me? I don’t remember what went wrong with us. I still have so many questions for her.”

Y/N could offer to answer all those questions; Kenny didn’t know him as well as she did, not anymore. But she could not do it without revealing their past. Would he think she was lying if she told him that he used to be in love with her, that he’d chosen to be with her instead of with Kenny and sworn to never let anything bad happen to her as long as he lived?

It didn’t work that way. You couldn’t make someone love you again just by telling them that they should. And she could not see him falling in love with her again, not when she was betrothed to Lance and her kingdom was at war. Her Harry would take her secrets to the grave. This Harry had tried to kill her.

“Fine,” she sighed. “You may meet Kenny. I’ll call for her and Stefan.”

“One more thing,” he blurted before she could leave. “Could you...call for only Kenny?” As she narrowed her eyes, he explained, “It’d be uncomfortable for all three of us if—”

“I see,” she cut him off, keeping a straight face. “Anything else?”

Y/N didn’t realize how vexed she’d sounded until she saw him blush. “No. Nothing else. Thank you, Your Majesty.”

She stared at him while he stared at his feet. A thousand things she wanted to say – but could not – piled up on her tongue. And when she left, Harry didn’t stop her.

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Kenny seemed disconcerted to see him.

At first, Harry had thought she didn’t like how he looked with his hair so short (he’d requested for a mirror but the guard had ignored him, even after he’d said he was best friends with the Queen. Where was Y/N when he needed her?). But having known Kenny for that many years, he could easily guess that it wasn’t his haircut that she found unpleasant; it was the fact that he’d asked to see her alone.

Kenny looked quite different now. She’d always been beautiful, but now she looked more mature, which made sense because she was a wife and a mother of a baby girl. His last memory of her had been the day he’d left Theros and they’d made a vow that they’d get married when he returned. Now he was living in the past while the whole world had moved on and left him behind.

“You look good,” Kenny said with a nervous chuckle. “The Queen did a good job.”

Harry instinctively tugged at his short curls. “I thought she was lying when she said she’d done it before.” Kenny’s face contorted a bit. He whipped his head to both directions of the aisle outside his cell. “What? Is she here?”

“What do you think of the Queen?” Kenny asked, taking him by surprise.

He took a moment to think. It was always safe to be careful with what you said about kings and queens. “She’s all right,” he said. “Cold. But I think most Northerners are. It’s the ice in their blood.”

Kenny smiled a little and wrapped her shawl around herself as if being near him made her uncomfortable. “She’s getting married next month.”

“So I heard,” Harry snorted. “She and the King make a great match, although he could be quite a dick and she’s more on the softer side.” Then he waved his comment away. “Let’s not talk about them. It’s not like we’re invited to their wedding. Wait, are we invited to their wedding?”

Kenny didn’t answer his question. “What do you want to talk about then?”

She wanted him to get straight to the point and get this over with. It’d be a lie to say it didn’t hurt his feelings.

“Us, Kenny.” Harry frowned. “I want to talk about us.”

There was a pained expression on Kenny’s face as she opened and closed her mouth a couple of times and yet could not find the right words to begin. Harry decided not to wait. “I know that you’ve told me everything you knew, but I still have so many questions about us. Some things just don’t make sense...at least to me…”

Kenny fidgeted with her fingers. “Like what?”

“Like…” He pursed his lips, hugging the bars as he leaned forward against it. “If you only married Gideon because you thought I was dead, then why didn’t we get together after you—” He cut himself off just in time, not wanting to bring up the fact that she’d had to kill the bastard herself. He didn’t want to hurt Kenny more than that memory already had. “After we’d run away,” he corrected himself, “why did I end up here in the North and left you with Stefan?”

“I already told you, Crow. You wanted to serve the Queen because you two had bonded throughout the journey.”

“Why would I choose her over you? I would never choose anyone over you.”

She pressed her lips into a soft grin, probably to calm him yet it only made him more uneasy. “You fell out of love with me on the journey. We decided to stay friends.”

The light from the torch beside his cell flickered across her cheekbones. He tore his eyes from hers. His heart sank in as he smiled sadly to himself. “I cannot imagine a world where it’s so easy to fall out of love with you.”

Kenny stayed quiet for a moment. He expected her to just turn and leave him here for the memories to consume, but then she took a few steps until she was close enough for him to touch. He didn’t. He kept his fingers wrapped around the bars, reminding himself that she was Stefan’s wife and the mother of a child. Harry wasn’t going to mess up her perfect new life.

“I love Stefan,” she told him as if she could see right through him. “I don’t want to ruin your friendship with him. Stefan cares about you.”

“I know,” he sighed and raked his fingers through his hair, only to remember his long curls were gone. As he spoke, his voice was more brittle than he thought it’d be. “Does he make you happy?”

Kenny nodded and smiled. “Very.”

“Then...I’m happy for you,” he said despite how he felt. Then after another moment, “Did I fall in love with someone else?”

Kenny seemed taken aback by the question. She shook her head slowly. “I-I don’t know. We never talked about it. Why did you think so?” There was a short pause. “Did you...remember something?”

“No. That was the only way I could see myself falling out of love with you.”

He regretted saying it the second the words slipped out. He thought he’d upset her, but Kenny only beamed and reached for his hand around the bar. Her touch was gentle and warm, and in his head he imagined himself dropping down onto his knees and begging her to come back to him.

At first, he’d cried and blamed the Queen for everything he’d lost that he could not get back. It was because of her that he’d left Kenny with Stefan. It was because of her that he’d gone to battle and lost his memory and had to live in the past while everyone he loved had moved on.

But then he’d seen the Queen in his dream one night, and after he’d woken up, she’d shown up at his cell. He could not hate her or blame her for the things she could not control. She’d suffered, too, perhaps more than he had, internally. She’d tried to mask it, but her expressive eyes had given it away. Maybe this was nobody’s fault and he and Kenny just weren’t meant to be. He should be glad that she was free from Gideon and had ended up with Stefan.

“I have to return to my daughter,” Kenny said as she tucked a strand behind her ear; he’d been staring at it the whole time, wishing he could do it for her.

“What’s her name?”

“What?”

“Your daughter. What’s her name?”

“Eva.”

“Can I see her?” He chuckled. “When they release me, of course.”

“Sure. She’ll like you,” Kenny said.

“How long are you staying here?” he blurted before she could turn away, not ready for this conversation to end.

“For as long as the King and Queen need me,” Kenny replied.

Harry didn’t know what the King and Queen needed Kenny for. He assumed that it might be because Kenny was the only person who could make sure he wouldn’t try to hurt anyone again. After all, Y/N had told him two nights ago that she didn’t trust him anymore. He couldn’t blame her. If anything, he admired her for how she’d been dealing with this whole mess.

“Maybe you should ask the Queen to let you stay,” he said brightly, trying to sound cheerful. “Then Eva could become friends with the future heir to the throne.”

Kenny’s smile faded. Harry must have said something wrong. “The Queen cannot produce an heir.”

“Oh.” His smile also vanished. “Fuck...I feel bad for her.” No wonder Y/N was so cold. But how could she know she couldn’t produce an heir?

Harry knew it was none of his business, but for some reason, he was curious. Would it be rude if he asked her the next time he saw her?

“I’ll see you another time?” Kenny said.

Harry worked up a tight smile, trying not to acknowledge the waver in his voice. “Goodbye. Say hello to Stefan and Eva for me.”

Just like that, Kenny left, without taking a second look at him.

.

.

.

Y/N was woken by Jo screaming her name in the corridor before bursting into her bed chamber and slamming the door shut with her back.

The morning sun was a diffused orb of light through the window. A tiny pulsing spurred at Y/N’s temples from not getting enough sleep, and she climbed free from the bed, light-headed and empty.

She didn’t remember how she’d fallen asleep. She’d been so afraid of the nightmares that she couldn’t even shut her eyes. She’d wanted to go to Lance’s chamber — she felt safer with him — but she didn’t want to trouble him, especially after he’d made it clear that they should keep their distance until she was completely over Harry. She should respect his wishes. Yet, she missed him.

She didn’t know how to tell him she’d grown used to having him around and depending on him so much that she felt lost without him. How could she say that when she was still hopelessly in love with Harry? And how could she still be hopelessly in love with Harry if it was Lance who made her feel safe?

Her heart lurched as Lance emerged at the doorway and gave her a tender smile.

“There you are, Your Royal Majesty,” Jo said to Lance in a sarcastic tone as she settled on the edge of Y/N’s bed. “I’ve got great news.”

“Harry finally remembers?” Y/N said.

“You’re leaving court?” Lance said.

“No,” Jo told Y/N. To Lance, she said, “I will strangle you and I don’t care that's treason.”

Lance’s mouth fell open. “Your lady-in-waiting just threatened me!” he told Y/N, and she smiled and gave him a shrug to say, ‘You might as well get used to it.’

Jo clapped her hands to get their attention. “It’s Mary! I came to see her at dawn!”

“You what?!” Y/N and Lance cried at the same time.

“Yes,” Jo said calmly. “I came to see her and I made her talk.”

“But how?” Lance asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jo said. Y/N and Lance exchanged looks of concern though neither interrupted her. “She told me about the antidote.”

Lance snorted as he walked in and stood in front of them, hands behind his back. “She said there was no antidote.”

Jo shot him an annoyed look. “That’s because she wasn’t sure if it existed.”

“What does that mean?” Y/N asked, losing her patience.

Jo scooted over for Lance to sit down beside her. “It’s The Lake of Tears," she said.

“The what?”

Jo rolled her eyes as she turned to Lance. “I keep forgetting that you’re not from here. Here in the North, there’s folklore about a witch who was born with half a heart. She was gifted with healing powers and could cure all sickness, mental or physical, but she could not cure the pain caused by missing half of her heart. The witch spent all her life searching for the other half. When she got to the top of the highest mountain in the North, it was winter, she was freezing to death and alone, so she cried and cried and her tears formed a lake, drowning her in it. Folks call it The Lake of Tears and it’s said to be the cure for all sickness and can reverse all curses and spells.”

“But it cannot bring a dead person back to life,” Y/N added.

Lance’s face was screwed up as he eyed Jo with speculation. “You expect us to believe that there’s a lake on the North mountain — the coldest part of Isolde — that’s not frozen and has magical powers?”

“Are you calling our ancestors liars?”

“You said it was folklore, so yes.”

“How dare you—”

“Enough!” Y/N snapped and four eyes turned to her. She sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry, Jo. But I’m with Lance in this. Even Mary, who was a witch, doesn’t fully believe that the lake exists, so why should we?”

“Mary does believe in it,” Jo said quickly. “She told me she and her sister had tried to find the lake but they could not bear the cold and always gave up halfway. I think such powers may exist.”

“It’s dangerous to climb that mountain in winter,” Lance said, his voice rough, and Y/N thought he’d frightened Jo a bit. Y/N knew Lance. He was just worried for her.

“It is,” she said and their eyes locked. “But you shouldn’t unbelieve in something just because it frightens you.”

Lance wanted to rebut, yet he could not figure out what to say. His mouth opened then shut and he averted his eyes, leaning forward with elbows on his knees and hands clasped together. Jo seemed relieved that Lance had given in. She sat up straight. “Y/N?”

Y/N pursed her lips, thinking for another second. “Bring me breakfast,” she said. “I’ll eat and we’ll talk more about it.”

“Yes!”

“Y/N—”

“It might be our only hope, Lance,” she cut him off as Jo skipped toward the door and left as fast as she’d arrived.

The silence sank in as Y/N stood up, arms wrapped around herself. Lance stayed seated on her bed, watching her with a look of concern.

“I was right about Harry being alive,” she said. “So I might be right to believe in this, too.”

Lance exhaled sharply. “I just don’t want you to get your hopes up and get disappointed and eventually hurt. I know you love him,” there was something painful in the way he said it, “but what if...what if he cannot come back? What if the person who loved you was gone forever? What then?”

Those were the questions that had been haunting her since the moment she saw the look in Harry’s eyes when he looked at her — the look you’d give a stranger you never intended to see again. There was not a single sign of ‘do I know you?’ or 'have we met before?' Just ‘who are you?’.

“But when I talked to him,” she began, almost like she was thinking out loud, “I felt like the old Harry was there. He might still feel something for me but his feelings are buried deep inside. I think given time I can get him back.”

Lance said nothing at all. You knew Lance had given up on you when he didn’t try to win an argument.

“I’ll leave you to rest,” he said and rose to his feet.

Just as he was about to head for the door, Y/N jumped into his way and held out her hands. He flinched, just as surprised as she was.

“S-Stay,” she uttered. “Just...just stay here with me until Jo returns. Please? I don’t want to be alone with my own thoughts.”

He took some time to consider her. “Have those nightmares been keeping you up?” It didn’t sound like a question; he just knew.

She nodded. “The same one every night…” in which you and Harry were dying and I could only save one. I tried saving both and then had to watch both of you die…

Her gaze fell to the floor. She saw his feet shifting closer until his arms closed around her, pulling her into him. As he kissed the top of her head and gently stroked her hair, she set aside the guilt and allowed herself to enjoy the comfort of his embrace.

“I missed you, Y/N,” he whispered.

“So did I,” she admitted, bringing her hands to rest on his back. “Are we still friends?”

He chuckled. “Only behind closed doors. I can’t always look soft; it’s bad for my public image.”

Y/N snorted and buried her face into his chest. He still smelled like forest and winter, the things that used to frighten her. But at this moment, with him, she felt safe.

.

.

.

“What are we doing here?”

“Am I in trouble?”

“Does this have anything to do with getting my memory back? Who are you, by the way?”

Jo swept her eyes across each face and as she stopped at Harry, her face twisted into a scowl. “You’re more annoying than I remember,” she said. “Anyway, we’re here because I need your help.”

Kenny hugged the sleeping child to her chest, the corners of her mouth lowered as she considered their surroundings. “To clean...the library?”

Jo took a look around at the dusty shelves and let out a sigh. This place did need a lot of cleaning. It seemed as if nobody in this castle knew how to read.

“As you can see,” Kenny said, lifting her baby, “my hands are tied.”

“So are mine,” Harry said. “Literally.” Then lifted his tied hands.

Jo rolled her eyes. “Someone untie him.” The blonde standing beside Harry shifted and Jo forestalled her, “No, not you. This one bites.”

The young maid shied back instantly, and when her eyes met Harry’s and he gave her a lopsided grin, it heightened the colour in her cheeks. Jo cleared her throat and shot Harry a warning glare before she gestured for Stefan to untie Harry.

“We’re going to do some light reading today," she said. "Are there any of you who cannot read?”

Harry raised his hand.

“Why am I not surprised?” Jo grumbled.

“Harry, you can read!” Kenny cried.

Harry put his hand down and smirked. “Sorry, I was just testing my hand. Those ropes were way too tight for my blood circulation.”

Jo pinned him with a glare. “I liked you better when you were dead.”

“Wow...Did I steal your money or your grandma’s jewellery?” he chuckled. “Because if I did, I’m sorry.”

Jo almost said, ‘You stole the girl I love and you're going to hurt her,’ but instead she just ignored his remark and went on, “We’re going to do some research for the Queen. I’ll explain to you later but I need your help because there’s little time and a lot of books. Kenny, you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

“No, I love reading.”

“Great. Oh, this is Natasha. She’s the new maid and she’ll also be joining us.”

“This is my first task ever, and I’m excit—”

“Thank you, Nat,” Jo cut her off, annoyed by how Harry and the new girl kept exchanging questionable glances. “Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“If you don’t want to read, you can return to your cell.”

“No. I love to read,” he said, but then his eyes quickly found Natasha again. Jo could tell the girl was enjoying the attention more than she should. Jo should be glad that Harry wasn’t going to get his memory back, but what she was feeling was the opposite; she didn’t want Y/N to get hurt.

“Will the King and Queen be joining us?” Harry asked.

“No. They’ve got more important things to do.”

“Because of the protests?”

“We’re not discussing politics here,” Jo said quickly. Harry’s sudden interest in the protests reminded her that he could not be trusted. She flicked her two fingers for the four of them to follow, and as they walked deeper into the candlelit library, Harry and Natasha were already laughing at the back of the line. Jo clenched her fists and her jaw, feeling thankful that Y/N wasn’t here.

.

.

.

Harry didn’t know what he was doing.

He flipped open the front cover of the third book and was met with the musty scent of burnt amber. They were supposed to read everything about the North mountain and folklore about a witch, her desperate search for the other half of her heart, and a lake made of tears that might or might not exist.

Jo had said that the Queen was looking for the lake, but she hadn’t mentioned what for. It was none of Harry's business anyway; he just wanted to finish this pile of books so he could get some sleep.

He’d been reading for two hours straight and his mind kept wandering to different places and he’d almost nodded off a couple of times. He rested his head on his knuckles and flipped another page, fighting the drowsiness that was taking over him. Suddenly, he felt something soft rubbing against his ankle and looked up to find the new maid grinning at him. He raised an eyebrow, his mouth curled when her foot nudged him under the table again.

Beside Natasha, Kenny was resting her head on Stefan’s shoulder and rocking their baby as Stefan read. Harry was trying his best not to wince. As if staying up so late to read stories weren’t boring enough, he had to do it with the girl he still loved and her husband, too.

He took a deep breath and decided to ignore the happy family as he picked up his book and moved to sit next to Natasha. Jo looked at him with an unpleasant expression which he also ignored. This whole night had been exhausting so he might as well have some fun on his own.

“Do you know why we’re doing this?” he asked Natasha in hushed tones, leaning in so close that their shoulders were touching. He could see her face turning red and suddenly thought of the Queen, not knowing why.

Natasha was quite the opposite of the Queen, who was undoubtedly beautiful but the sullen look on her face made her appear much older than nineteen. Natasha, on the other hand, looked young and playful and full of wonder, and she was pretty, too.

She told him she didn’t know more than he did, if not less, and that she could not wait for this to be over. “I thought my first task as the Queen’s maid would be more interesting,” she whispered to him. When her lips brushed his ear, he assumed it was on purpose. Not that he minded.

“Like what?” he asked, intentionally touching her arm with his knuckles.

“I thought I’d get to meet the Queen and braid her hair,” said Natasha. “I heard that she was the most beautiful girl in the land.”

Strange. Harry believed he’d heard this before. “She is,” he said. “I’ve met her.”

Natasha’s face brightened. “Really? What is she like?”

He tapped his chin with a finger, pouting as he glanced heavenward. “Very...queeny.”

His answer made Natasha giggle, and Jo immediately shushed them. Harry locked his lips with an invisible key and tossed it over his shoulder as Natasha tittered into her palm. Jo closed the book, hard, sending dust flying as she stood. She was just about to scold Harry when the door swung open and another maid rushed in. “Jo, the Queen was looking for you.”

“What for?”

The other maid shrugged. “She couldn’t find her dagger.”

A dagger? Harry flinched. Why does the Queen–

“Stay here. I’ll be right back,” Jo sighed as she put down the book. Before she left, she stabbed a finger at him. “Do not leave the room, Harry.” Then she and the other maid disappeared out of the door without an explanation.

Harry released a long sigh that got three sets of eyes turning to him. He waved for Kenny and Stefan to ignore him, and as the pair turned away, he whispered to Natasha, “Can you wake me up when she returns?”

He had no idea why he was so tired. Normally he wouldn’t fall asleep so easily at night, but right now his eyelids felt so heavy he couldn’t keep them open any longer.

“Sure,” Natasha said and playfully jutted out one shoulder. “You can rest your head here. I don’t mind.”

And he did. As soon as he closed his eyes, the smell of old books and her unfamiliar fragrance lulled him to sleep.

When Harry opened his eyes, he was standing in the castle corridor – the same one he’d been to in his dream the other night. There was no ceiling. Above him was a sky full of stars and the pale moonlight left long stripes of shadows on the floor. He tried a door on his right. It was locked. So was the next one. And the one next to it. All the doors in this hallway were locked. He called out, “Hello!” But all he heard was echoes of his own voice.

Nails dug into his palms, he wandered ahead. He kept on walking and walking and walking until the endless blackness began to clear like smoke. At the end of the corridor, he saw a crooked door. There was water leaking out from under it, drenching his bare feet. The water rose up to his knees, and the next thing he knew, he was swimming toward the door in desperation. He banged his fists against it and the door burst open. Water poured out, sending him rolling across the grass.

He pushed up onto his hands and knees to find that his clothes were dry again. And when he looked around, there was no door. He was standing on a hill. The air was cold. The sky was pink. There were still patches of snow here and there. He thought the scenes looked quite familiar, but he could not remember where he’d seen this before.

Suddenly, a hand grasped his wrist and he whipped around. The world rushed back in, and he saw Natasha staring at him with wide eyes.

He’d returned to the corridor, the real one. There were torches along the walls and Natasha’s skin felt hot against his cold skin.

“Where are you going?” Natasha asked and tugged at his arm. “And why are you so cold? Are you all right?”

“W-What happened?” he asked, still shivering.

“What happened? You suddenly stood up and left the room and I chased after you.” What? But the last thing he remembered was him falling asleep in the library. Did it mean he’d been sleepwalking? Since when did he sleepwalk? “You’re lucky all the guards had left their posts otherwise we’d be in big trouble.”

Harry blinked. “Why did they leave their posts?”

“A prisoner broke out of his cell,” Natasha said. “He snuck into the Queen’s chamber and took her dagger. It was the same man they’d captured from the attack. Have you heard of what happened at the border? The Queen nearly died. She was so brave. And the King–”

“Is she all right?” Harry cut her off. “Did the prisoner—”

“She’s all right,” Natasha replied, squinting her eyes, probably wondering why he was so concerned about the Queen. Harry didn’t know the reason, either. “When I crossed the few guards at the west wing, I heard them say that they’d caught the man then he killed himself in the throne room. It was insane! But it couldn’t have been worse than the massacre last year. Have you heard of it?”

Harry worked his jaw for a response, not knowing what to think let alone say. But Natasha didn’t seem to want his opinion.

“I’m sorry I frightened you,” she said, her voice softened at once. “Where are you going?”

“I-I thought I heard something.”

“Oh.”

As her gaze lingered on his lips and her fingers clutched his, Harry knew what she was going to do. And yet, he was shocked when she tiptoed and pressed her lips to his, kissing him softly and then with more passion. Why was a maid kissing him? Had everything he’d thought he’d known about the ladies in court been wrong? It didn’t matter anymore. Because when she pulled back, her moist lips parted and her cheeks flushed, staring into his eyes, all he wanted was for her to do it again. He’d been locked up and tortured by Calanthe for almost a year, and for the last couple of days, lonely, heartbroken and disoriented, not knowing who he was and whom to rely on. He didn't need more reasons to want someone.

“I’ve wanted to do that since the first moment I saw you,” Natasha confessed.

Harry stared at her, then muttered, “Fuck this,” and drew her in by her waist. They couldn’t hang him for kissing a girl, right?

Stumbling through the nearest unlocked door they could find, he kissed her against it before she pushed him back until he tumbled into a chair, and she got onto his lap, straddling him. Just as she reached for his belt, the door flew open and their heads shot to it. Harry’s blood ran cold when the light washed over him.

“You don’t have to check on me every two sec—” Y/N’s mouth froze midsentence. She stood rigid in the doorway, gaping at Harry and Natasha, who leapt out of the chair and away from each other. Natasha frantically fixed her hair while Harry adjusted his clothes.

“Please tell me you didn’t do it on my bed,” Lance groaned. It was only then that Harry realized they were standing in the King’s chamber. With all the guards missing, they couldn’t tell which were the rooms they were not allowed to enter.

“Who are you?” Y/N snarled at Natasha. Harry supposed she must be very angry right now. He didn’t know about the rules in court, but there must be one that forbade kissing in the King’s bed-chamber.

“My-my name is...Natasha...Your Majesty.” Natasha hung her head as she curtsied clumsily. “I-I’m your new maid.”

Lance eyed the girl up and down, his face as cold as ice. “Get your things. You're leaving in the morning.”

“Your Majesty, please!” Natasha cried.

Harry didn’t think when he stepped forward and blurted, “It was my idea. Please...don’t dismiss her from court. She admires the Queen and she really wants to serve her.”

For the first time since Harry had met Y/N, he finally got to see the resentment in her eyes as she looked at him. She hadn’t even looked at him like that after he’d tried to kill her. Her bottom lip quivered and her face was red. Lance seemed as cool as ever, but something shifted in his expression as if he was counting down the seconds until the Queen burst into flame. Harry thought she might, but then she said, quietly, “Get out. Both of you.”

Harry was stiff whilst Natasha wasted no time to bolt as she was afraid they’d have her head on a plate if she stayed for too long. That was when Harry saw it. The Queen’s torn sleeve and the bandage around her right arm, dark red blood spreading through it. The prisoner had probably given it to her. Something told Harry it wasn’t the physical pain that he saw in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said. The words felt useless, sucked dry by the cold air as soon as they left his lips.

He bowed to the King and Queen and was just about to leave when Y/N stopped him. “We’ve arranged a room for you,” she said. There was no more warmth in her gaze. “You can stay there tonight instead of in the dungeon. There’ll be guards outside your door. Don’t cause any trouble and they’ll keep you safe.” Her stone-cold expression wavered him, and he wasn’t sure if he should thank her or apologise again. “When everything’s gone back to normal here in the North,” she added, “you’ll be free to leave.”

With that, she waved him out of the door. He walked backwards until he was in the corridor and the King shut the door in his face. For a reason he could not explain, he felt a new sensation throbbing in his chest.

.

.

.

Harry lay awake in his new bed until early hours, and when he finally fell asleep, he dreamed again. He’d returned to the corridor and nearly drowned this time before he made it through the door and stood high and dry on the same hill.

There was no Natasha to wake him up, so he followed a pink butterfly, chasing it down the hill until he reached a cliff. The icy wind suddenly changed direction and sailed over him, cooling his face and limbs. He started walking toward the cliff. His footsteps felt so light as if the wind was carrying him. A girl was standing with her back to him, her long white dress billowing, her hair floating in the air.

“Peach?” the word slipped out of his lips.

The girl turned around. Another wind churned up, fierce and mean. Y/N was only wearing her nightgown. Was she not cold? He hurried forward, reaching out his hand to grab her and pull her back before she lost her balance on the edge. But no matter how fast he ran, he couldn’t reach her.

“Peach! Stay right there! Do not move! I'm coming!” he heard himself calling.

“Harry, I’m cold,” she said softly, and somehow he could hear her from that long a distance.

“I’m coming for you!” His voice was broken, growing more desperate, fading into the howling of the wind. The pink sky had grown dark and the trees were rattling. Heavy snow and dry leaves whirled all around him, making it hard for him to locate her. He shielded his eyes with one arm and tried to walk against the wind.

“Harry, don’t come near me.”

“Peach, let me help you. I’ll keep you safe.”

“No,” she whispered. “You’ll only kill me.”

“Peach!” Harry screamed and jumped forward as Y/N spread her arms like a butterfly and let gravity pull her under. When his body hit the ground, it wasn’t grass, soil, or snow; it was a stone floor. He wasn't hurt, yet he was freezing. He put his arms around himself, shuddering as he rose to his knees then to his feet.

Moonlight allowed him to observe his surroundings. He was in the King’s bed-chamber once again. He and the Queen. She stood by the window, the moon illuminating a side of her face. She was wearing a broken smile.

“Peach, you’re safe,” he heard himself say.

Y/N didn’t speak.

And that was when he saw the knife-hilt on the left side of her chest. Blood was pouring out of the wound, and still, she was smiling. His ears began to ring as if a memory wanted to push to the surface.

Then his eyes peeled open and he jolted upright, gasping for air, wild eyes searching for the Queen, but he was alone and the glow of the fire reassured him that he wasn’t dreaming anymore. There was no time for rational thoughts. He jumped out of bed, still shaking from the cold even though the windows were shut and the fire hadn’t died out. He shoved his feet into his boots and staggered toward the door.

.

.

.

“You were right,” Y/N said, hugging her knees to her chest and rubbing her eyes as the smoke from the fireplace made them water.

Lance was sitting beside her, one leg stretched, the other bent. He was sharpening his knife and had been doing it for so long that it might just be sharp enough to cut metal. She assumed he was just doing it to keep himself awake; he wouldn’t fall asleep before her.

“About what?” he asked, the sound of metal sliding against metal stopped, and silence ensued.

She released a breath she’d been holding. “Harry.” It was hard to say his name now; she’d just remember what she’d seen earlier right in this room. “I don’t think he’ll ever come back. I think...even if we’ve found the lake and stopped the potion from killing him, he might not remember me.”

Lance hmmed and then said, “So are we still looking for the lake?”

She tore her eyes from the flame to meet his. “I don’t want him to die. I still want him to be cured, even if it means he’ll leave me then.”

Lance rubbed his hands over his face and pushed back his messy black hair. “Fuck,” he muttered, making her giggle.

“I know what you’re thinking," she said, then faked his deep voice, “This girl is so stupid, risking her life for someone who wouldn’t do the same for her.”

But Lance didn’t laugh. “No,” he whispered. “I would have done the same for Daliah.”

Things he wanted to say, but couldn’t, stirred behind his eyes, and her heart clattered. “Lance–”

A few urgent knocks sounded on the door, cutting her off. Y/N braced herself for more bad news as she picked up the shawl resting on the foot of her bed, wrapped it around herself. Lance trailed after her, already lifting his blade.

She pulled the door open and her eyes went round. “Harry?”

Harry’s shoulders sagged in relief the second he saw her. “You’re alive,” he panted, which only made her more confused.

Lance rolled his eyes. He told her that he’d wait and went back inside so she and Harry could talk. One of the two guards finally released Harry’s arm and said, “We’re so sorry to disturb you, Your Majesty. But he threatened to cut his own wrist if we didn’t take him to see you.”

Y/N flinched. “Was he carrying a weapon?”

The guards exchanged looks.

"Did you even check him?"

They shook their heads hesitantly.

Harry scoffed, “You really should find new guards. Sorry, gentlemen.”

One of the guards growled. Y/N narrowed her eyes at Harry and his mouth snapped shut. Then she asked the guards to let her speak to him alone.

“Let me guess,” she sighed, folding her arms over her chest. “You saw a rat in your room and you want to switch to a larger room? This isn’t an inn.”

“No, no, no,” he said quickly, “I just…” and sighed, “I just wanted to check on you.”

“Why?”

He worked his jaw, yet words didn’t come out. Something was wrong and he didn’t trust her enough to tell her. Why was he here then? Had he not messed with her head enough?

“H-How’s your arm?” he asked. She squinted her eyes. “I saw...um...I saw that you were hurt...earlier. You were bleeding.”

“Oh.” She swallowed dryly. “I’m fine. Thank you. Is that all?”

“Yes.”

“Next time wait until morning to talk to me if it’s not something important.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she said and waved for the guards, but Harry quickly stopped her, “Actually!”

Her hand froze in the air, and she signalled for the guards to give her another moment. “Yes?”

Harry scratched the back of his head. “I also...I also want to apologise for earlier. I don’t know the rules here but I suppose I’ve broken plenty.”

She took some time to look at him, his face a sharp contrast of light and dark shadows. He was heartbreakingly handsome and...familiar. The strain in the air between them softened at last, even if only just a little.

“Well, you’ve been through a lot and...I guess you need time to get used to life in court,” she said, her heart stuttering in her chest. “Don’t worry. I will keep my promise and send you back home as soon as it’s safe to travel again.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” he said and smiled when she didn’t. “Should I still call you Peach? Or is it too weird now?”

Y/N felt a sinking weight in her chest and she didn’t ignore it this time. How many times had he fooled her into believing he still cared about her? How many times had he proven that she’d been wrong? She’d been chasing shadows within these walls. It was time to accept that they were nothing but illusions of the man he used to be, the man she’d lost.

“You should call me Your Majesty,” she said. “You’re right. It feels weird considering the situation we’re in.”

“Oh.” His gaze slipped from her and fell to the floor. Silence sank over them. The corridor felt too quiet.

“Goodnight,” she said.

“Goodnight,” he said. “Your Majesty.”

She waved for the guards and stepped back into her chamber. His shadow wavered underneath her door for another moment, and then vanished.

[katehuntington]

Title: Black Dog - part eight Word count: 1900± words Episode summary: When Sam gets an anonymous phone call with information about his father, Dean receives a text message with coordinates to different location. The brothers clash and split up, one following orders, the other trusting his instincts. Meanwhile, in the wilderness of Cascade Range,  Washington State, Zoë loses grip on a personal case and is forced to confront her  demons. Without back up, this might very well turn out to  be her final hunt. Part eight summary: Sam finally arrives in Nashville and is about to begin the search for his father, when an unexpected call comes in. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Swearing, smoking, weaponry. Descriptions of  torture and murder. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and   flashbacks. Descriptions of suicidal thoughts and tendencies, depression, panic attacks, hallucinations. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09​​​​​​​​ & @deanwanddamons​​​​​​​​​. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E03 “Black Dog” Masterlist

     Nashville, Tennessee      December 3rd, 2005 - Present Day

     With a sigh, Sam gets off the bus. The rain beats down on him straight away, but instead of being annoyed by it, he finds it refreshing. Finally, he’s in Nashville. It’s  taken him three days to get here. Three days of torture - which included waiting for his damn transport to arrive in the first place, being forced in a seat made for someone who is 4’8, and having to change twice to get to his final destination - but he’s in Nashville. 

     Of course, he could have hopped on a plane for a journey of only several hours, but he had a hunch he would have a bit of trouble getting through customs, carrying a duffel loaded with blades, guns, and ammunition. He might always be complaining about his brother’s driving skills or his collection of Metallica, Motorhead, and Black Sabbath tapes which he plays over and over again while he sings along, but seventy-six hours of traveling to get from Texas to Tennessee wasn’t a joy either. 

     He watches the touring car take off into the night, continuing its trip, the droplets that run down the side catching the light of the overhanging streetlights. The sound of the engine fades as the carrier merges into traffic again. Suddenly, he feels alone, left behind, and not just by the bus. It’s not the first time he experiences this uneasiness, because Sam has pondered about the fight he had with his older sibling more than once. Truth be told; he never expected Dean to leave him on the side of the road. He called his bluff, and when his brother didn’t give him an inch, he himself refused to surrender as well. If he’s completely honest with himself, he started regretting this impulsive act the minute he saw the Impala drive away, but he couldn’t let it show, he couldn’t let Dean win. He is so tired of being bossed around and being treated like a little kid. Stubborn? Maybe. Guess it runs in the family.

     Sam can take care of himself, but tracking his father will not be an easy task without Dean. When it comes to Dad, the oldest son knows him best and Sam realizes he’s going to be missing him on this search. He hopes the woman who set him on this path will call him again, because he could use a lead.

     So, what now? He decides it will probably be best to settle down in a motel and get online, see if he can find some information, then he will start asking questions. There’s not much he can do right at this moment, considering it’s 2.30 AM. It’s going to be quite a task, finding a man in a city covering 550 square miles with over 600.000 citizens. And all he has is the word of a girl he has never met, of which he didn’t even catch her name.      “This is insane,” he mutters, looking around.

     A voice of reason whispers in his ear again: go back. Dean’s words had some truth to them. What if this is a trap? What if he’s walking straight into it? Sam’s doubts will not make him turn around, though. He is here and he is not going to stop searching until he finds Dad. 

     Sam keeps his head low and buries his hand in his pockets, protecting himself from the rain as he shivers. It’s not particularly cold for this time of the year, but 39 °F isn’t anything near Texas. Raindrops bring down the temperature as well and continue to fall down on the hunter as clouds block out the moon.

     He starts to walk in the direction of what seems to be a hotel. The interstate, which lays directly next to the parking lot, crosses Highway 70. Lines of cars travel by, their white headlights and red tail lights lighting the road like it’s Christmas already. 

     Through the curtains of water, the young Winchester spots a neon sign at the entrance of the building he’s approaching. He was right; it is a hotel, funnily enough one from the same chain where Zoë spent the night in Paragould. The Hampton Inn Bellevue looks like a fancy place from the outside, and remembering the luxurious room of the huntress, he reckons this hotel will not be any different. Sam doesn’t like to waste money, but he will do anything for a decent bed after being crammed into that touring car like a canned sardine. Not that he’s planning to sleep much; he has better things to do. He has to find Dad, it’s all he can think of. 

     Right when he’s about to enter the establishment, he hears his cell phone ringing. Hastily, he takes his Blackberry from his pocket, hoping it to be the anonymous caller who tipped him off three days ago. The display announces the caller as ‘unidentified’, it might not be so far fetched. Sam picks up immediately.      “Hello?”      A relieved sigh sounds from the other side. “Hey, Sam.”

     It’s a feminine voice alright, but it’s not the ‘mysterious lady’, as Dean called the woman who passed him the information about their Dad. He does recognize the person on the other end, though. She is the last human being on earth he expected a call from.      “Zoë,” he concludes, stunned.      “Yeah… hey, listen,” she cuts to the chase. “I’m in deep shit.”

     Sam stops dead in his tracks. He thought she might be after she left so abruptly back in Arkansas, but the fact that she’s admitting that she’s in trouble means that this is serious.

     “Where the hell are you?” he asks.      “I’m just outside Darrington, Washington State.”      “Are you hurt?” Sam asks worriedly.      “Yeah, but that’s not the point.” She pauses for a moment, knowing what she is about to say might come as an unpleasant surprise. “Your brother’s here.”

     Completely staggered, Sam stares ahead with his phone still close to his ear. What did she just say? Dean is there? With her?! A million questions pop up in his head, but he finds it difficult to choose the first one to ask. 

     “What?!” is the only thing he can cry out.      “Yeah, I thought you might say that.”      “But, how the…? He went out to do Dad’s dirty laundry!” he recalls, stunned.      “Are you calling me dirty laundry?”      Sam’s eyebrows reach his hairline, remembering the coordinates John sent his brother. “You are Dad’s dirty laundry?”      “Apparently, but it doesn’t matter.” She interferes before the receiver of the call has the chance to ramble on. “Listen, Dean’s life is in danger. If he stays here with me, he’ll die. You have to get him out bef--”

     Now, it’s Zo who gets interrupted. Puzzled, Sam stares at his phone for a moment, assuming the connection might be bad. When the display shows three bars in the right upper corner, he presses the Blackberry against his ear again and listens carefully, trying to identify the sounds he hears. It seems like Zoë is fighting someone over the phone, then he hears Dean in the background.      “Give me the damn phone! Give it!”      “No! Let go!”      “Zoë!”      “Don’t Zoë me, you son of a--”      “Hand me the fucking phone!”

     The line cracks, but then the noise of static stabilizes. Dean has apparently won the fight over the device, because he can hear his voice loud and clear.      “Sam?”      “What?” he replies coldly.      “Whatever you do, don’t hang up,” Dean pleads before Sam does something he will regret later.      “I thought you were on Dad’s job?” the younger brother confronts, still angry with his brother.      “I am, this is the job. The coordinates led me to Zo,” he explains. “This is not some ghost hunt, Sam. This is unlike anything I’ve ever faced before.”

     The hunter hears the concern in his sibling’s voice and he immediately swallows back the smart response he had waiting for him.      “I need you to get over here, and while you’re at it look up everything you can find about hellhounds,” Dean demands, calm but stern.      “Hellhounds?” Sam repeats, perplexed. “As in the actual soul claimers of the crossroad demons?”      “Yep, and we’re on the menu.”      “How did that happen? You have to make a deal before they claim your soul at the arranged time,” Sam remembers from one of the lore he studied.      “They were let off the hook,” Dean claims. “Sam, you have to find out a way to kill them.”      “You can’t kill hellhounds, Dean,” Sam replies.      “No, you don’t understand. You have to find a way to kill them,” Dean repeats slowly, making sure the words sink in.

     The youngest gulps, realizing how much trouble Zoë and his brother are in. He has read some books that mentioned these creatures, but he never found anything about killing them. He turns around and stares up, letting the rain fall down on him, the water clumping his brown hair together in strands. The hunter scoffs; and he thought he made it to his final destination. He just traveled half the country to get east, now he has to travel all the way up north?

     “This better not be some excuse to get me away from Dad, Dean,” he warns.      “I wish it was, Sam,” Dean says, concerned. “Hurry it up, will ya?”      “Will do.”      “And - uh, about what happened down in Texas…”      “That’s not important now. We’ll talk about it later,” Sam replies to Dean’s unspoken words.

     Knowing they both can bury their pride and work this out, the younger brother closes his eyes as a burden falls off his shoulders. It must, for him to be able to carry a much heavier weight on them. Zoë’s and Dean’s life will depend on him.

     “One more thing,” Sam states, before hanging up. “You do know what happens when these things catch you. You don’t just die…”      “I know. You go to hell,” Dean finishes.      The young Winchester nods his head, although his sibling can’t see that. A short silence follows, after which Dean ends their conversation.      “See you soon, Sammy.”

     The line disconnects and a tone beeps in his ear, but it takes a few seconds before the young hunter actually lowers the phone and puts it away. Well, that changes things. There is no time to lose; he needs to get to Washington State and fast. 

     Determined, he stalks back onto the parking lot, observing his surroundings. No bus ride this time, he needs faster transportation. His gaze glides over the parking lot. Then he spots a silver 2005 Chrysler Crossfire Roadster amongst them. He nods, approving, knowing that the vehicle would make good time, but his conscience kicks in soon enough. He can not just connect some wires and steal a car like that! Or any car! But the thought of his brother and Zoë ending up dog food because he was too civilized to go grand theft auto isn’t something he could live with either. He’s left with no other option. 

     Reluctantly, Sam groans and eyes the vehicle, but then steps towards it while shaking his head and mumbling to himself, “I am so gonna regret this.”

Thank  you so much for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee. Link in bio at the  top of the page.

[imagineaworlds]

I Love You (Part Five) -- Aaron Hotchner

Written By: @desperately-bisexual​

Request: None.

Warnings: Cursing. Descriptions of murder and kidnapping. Being held hostage at gunpoint. All around mature content!

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Greenaway!Reader

Word Count: 5994

Timeline: Season 2 Episode 9. Day after part four.

In the morning, Hotch drove me, JJ, and Spencer to the precinct from the hotel. We were up bright and early, but we were still way behind Gideon and Morgan, who must have left hours before us. Granted, they were hunting a killer who preyed at night, whereas we were searching for one in the day. It made sense that they needed to collect themselves and their itinerary for the day long before us.

After spending the day in the field yesterday, Hotch and I planned on taking some time to look over the evidence for any patterns or discrepancies which would help us catch the Mill Creek Killer. No one was perfect, not even our Unsub. He had to have made a mistake somewhere. There had to be something pointing us to him past just waiting to catch him in the act of performing his ritual. Realistically, that was what we had to do. But it was weighing on me, the guilt of letting another woman be taken and killed just so we could catch one man.

We all immediately got to work at the office. JJ found Mr. Meyers, the reporter who had contact with the Hollow Man, waiting in the lobby for her. They went off to discuss the Hollow Man separately, while Hotch, Spencer, and I continued on towards the boardroom. Sheridan was waiting there for us. It looked like he hadn’t even gone home at all. His clothes were the same as the day before, and his eyes looked as though he hadn’t slept in days.

Hotch noticed right away. He patted Sheridan’s shoulder to gain his attention, then told him to go home for a few hours. Sheridan, surprisingly, didn’t argue. He must have been waiting for us to come in to start working so that he could go rest.

Spencer went digging into one of the boxes for a piece of paper he wanted to scan; meanwhile, Hotch and I sat down at the table to start reviewing everything the detective and his team had collected before calling us in for help. Hotch was reading while reclining in his chair and mindlessly playing with the stubble on his chin.

I leaned back in my seat and put my feet up on the table. He didn’t even look up when he told me to put my feet down. I stared at him, almost daring him to look at me, but he didn’t. I went back to the papers I was evaluating and it took him another minute or so before he told me to put my feet down again. But he still didn’t look at me.

JJ burst into the boardroom and hurried over to us. We looked up at her to see the panic plastered to her face. “We just got a call about another missing woman. Merideth Dale. 25.”

I slid my feet off the table and sat up straight. “Does she match the appearance type of the other victims?”

“Perfectly. She was supposed to meet her friend for a bike ride this morning, but disappeared after calling from the trail.”

“Mark Twain National Forest?”

JJ nodded while handing both Hotch and I new case files. We both accepted them and hastily began flipping through the pages. There was a picture of Meredith Dale attached, and JJ was entirely right. She matched the description perfectly. It had to be our guy.

I flipped to the next page to find a mini map of where Meredith’s phone was found. She had been traveling on her bike along a fairly popular path before stopping at a bench to call her friend. That was where her friend found her phone and decided to call the police.

Spencer came back and Hotch caught him up to speed. I spun around in my chair to face the bigger map of the forest that was pinned to the wall. When I realized that the path was near where the second victim was found, I stood from my chair and approached the map so as to get a better look.

“What do you see?” Hotch questioned.

I squinted and got real close to the map before pointing to something with my index finger. I glided the tip of my nail along the paper as I followed the path Meredith was last seen on, all the way down to where the second body was found. Then I traced it to where the first victim was taken then found. And so on.

Hotch realized that I was spotting something important. He grabbed a spool of string from the table and came over. As I continued to trace the path between all of the victims, Hotch followed my finger with the string, marking the spots of the kidnappings and murders with pins. When we had marked all of them, I dropped my finger from the map and took a step back to get a clearer view of our work.

The Unsub was rotating between sectors of the park, but only a few number of them that were close to the highway. The paths he was taking and the sectors he was staying in were all easy to access and easy to escape from quickly. The parking lot nearby was huge, which meant that his car would blend in easily, and he had direct paths to the park where Ellen Carroll was taken, the bike path where Meredith Dale was taken, and all of the woods where the bodies were found.

But why rotate like that? And how the fuck had we missed this?

I snapped behind me while still staring at the map. “Spencer, call Garcia. Ask her to check the park rangers’ forest search schedules.”

“What are you thinking about?” Hotch asked me quietly.

I broke my concentration with the map for a second to make eye contact with Hotch. It was the first time that he had looked at me since I asked him about having more kids yesterday. For a moment, I got lost in his eyes. I didn’t think that I could miss them so much… Yet, even just a day without them made me yearn for all of his love. I thought about how I never wanted him to look away. But not all wishes come true. He broke eye contact first to look back at the map before I began my explanation.

“He’s staying relatively in the same area with the abductions and murders. And depending on the day, he takes the bodies to a certain sector of the forest,” I said.

“Yeah, but the first one is way deeper into the forest. It would take nearly three hours to get there, while the rest of them take not even an hour. So why the change after the first one?”

“He was nervous. He wanted to be cautious to not get caught with the first body because he was unsure of how to go about hiding it at that point. But once he knew what he was doing, he got more confident, and decided to stay closer for convenience and easy escape. And he only takes them from the most populated sectors, but takes them to the more secluded ones.”

“So, then, he knows about how the forest rangers operate. He knows when the parks open, when people will be around, when officers will be on patrol, and where to put the bodies so that they won’t be found for a few days. But how could he be sure that those sectors are safe?”

I pointed back at Spencer, who immediately took the cue to repeat what Garcia was saying over the phone. “The forest is broken up into six districts, and each of them are patrolled every…” Spencer paused as a realization dawned on him after Penelope told him something. He started interrupting and thanking Garcia for her help before hanging up and running to the map. “These sections are patrolled every three to five days, officially, but with department cutbacks, they’ve had to spread out the searches even more. Now they’re only being checked every five to eight days.”

“Approximately how long it took to find the bodies,” Hotch said, the realization dawning on him, too. “That’s why he’s rotating. He's dumping the bodies in the sectors that have just been checked so that he has the longest period of time to spend time with the bodies without being distrubed.”

“So we know where he’s going to dump Meredith Dale.”

“If he hasn’t already,” I added.

“The question is, where in the sector is he dumping the body? He can’t do it anywhere near where the last body was found.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem for him. The sectors are hundreds of square miles large. He could leave the body even five miles away from the first one and we still wouldn’t be able to find her in time,” Hotch said.

I turned away from the map and slowly went to sit back down. My mind was racing for answers. The Mill Creek Killer had to know that we were looking for him. And he had to know that we were close. He wouldn’t have rushed to take another woman if he didn’t think that way. That was his first mistake, though. He rushed and it gave us time to find him.

The mini map on the desk was staring at me for some reason. There was something I was missing in that map. Something important about where the Mill Creek Killer would have taken Meredith Dale. Where could he have taken her? Supposedly her friend was just up the path, which meant that right after the call ended, he would have approached her, taken her, and run before being seen.

The hiking path.

Just across from the bench where Meredith was last reported to have been was a small hiking path that led straight into the woods. It wasn’t a popular path, and it wasn’t clearly marked. Locals and experienced hikers liked to take it, though. At least that was what the park ranger explained to us yesterday when talking to us about the forest.

“Spencer, where does the path across from the bench where Ms. Dale went missing lead to?”

“Uh…” He started to trace the map. “Saltgrass Cove.”

“That’s where we’ll find her.” I stood back up, grabbed the case file, and hurried towards the door with Hotch and Spencer following closely.

Hotch drove the undercover cop car with the lights and sirens on. We arrived at the scene first, Sheridan and his team right behind us once we called from the car. By the time we got out of the car, found the path, and ran deep into the woods, the K-9 unit had released their dogs in search of a body.

We knew where we needed to look, it was just a matter of pinpointing the exact location. The dogs would certainly help, but we couldn’t just stand around while they searched. The team and the group of officers following us tried to keep up with me as I stepped off the path and started racing through the woods.

Hotch called after me to slow down, and I tried, but when we heard one of the search dogs barking south of our location, I started sprinting again. The dog kept barking to call over the entire force until his handler commanded him to stop.

I stopped at the edge of the clearing around Saltgrass Cove when I saw what the dog had found. Hotch came speeding up behind me, taking a few extra steps past before stopping, too. Spencer and JJ stopped behind us.

We were too late.

Meredith Dale’s body was lying in the middle of the clearing, covered with leaves, just as Ellen Carroll had been found. Only this time, Dale’s face wasn’t exposed. It could have been because the last body was tampered with before we got to the scene, or maybe it was because the Mill Creek Killer hadn’t come back yet to prepare or defile the body.

Detective Sheridan approached the body and pushed the leaves covering the face to the side. He cursed under his breath then started pushing the rest of the leaves away. Hotch sprang into action, running over and telling the detective to stop immediately. Sheridan halted, but didn’t move away. He looked up and Hotch asked why they shouldn’t examine the body.

“We need to leave the body as it is. He hasn’t completed the ritual yet, which means that he has to come back. And when he does, we’ll be here, waiting for him.” Hotch turned to the rest of the officers standing around, “Search the nearby area, find spots to hide in the treeline. If we’re going to catch the Mill Creek Killer at any point, it’s going to be today. Please, do not touch anything that you might think is evidence. Leave it all as it is for now. Once we catch this bastard, we’ll start to proceed with crime scene protocol.”

Everyone threw their hands up and groaned or sighed. They didn’t understand like we did how important it was to not touch a single thing. If the Mill Creek Killer was as smart as we profiled him to be, he would know if anything was out of place. Perhaps he would even know if one leaf on Meredith’s body was out of place. But by the time he would be able to get close enough to notice, we would have him. So Hotch leaned down and started covering the body again.

Everyone dispersed except for our team. We waited for Hotch to come talk to us. When he was done resetting the body, he dusted his hands off and approached us. “He’ll be back soon. She looked like she hasn’t been dead more than an hour or so. The blood was still fresh and her skin was only just now starting to grow cold. He’s rushing the process now, so we’ll likely see him in the next hour or so.”

“Should we set up watch times?” JJ questioned.

Hotch shook his head, “No. We need all eyes on this guy. It’s easier to trick people when they aren’t in large groups. We have the upperhand if we all stay. JJ and Spencer, why don’t you guys take up the north side of the clearing, Y/N and I will take this side.”

“Sure,” JJ and Spencer answered almost in unison. They smiled at each other after realizing what happened. Then, they left together to walk across the clearing towards where Hotch wanted them to stay for the next hour while we would wait.

Hotch pointed to a fallen log hiding behind a patch of bushes. “Let’s go there.”

We strolled over around the bushes and sat on the log. I wiped off the dirt from the hem of my pants. While running through the forest, mud had collected there, which was less than ideal. And we had some time to spare with stupid things like that. Besides, it was nice to not think about the dead girl a few feet away from us.

“I’m sorry,” Hotch began hesitantly. I raised a brow, but continued picking at the mud. “About yesterday…” My brow fell. “I didn’t mean to snap.”

“It’s alright,” I responded, sitting upright. “You were right. I shouldn’t have asked about it and certainly not while we’re trying to focus on a case. It was out of line.”

We both knew that this job came first for us. We had worked too damn hard to get where we were in our careers, and even though we loved each other very much, we had to respect that our careers were just as important to us. When we first started dating, we made sure to be very clear with one another that the cases come first, not our relationship. That might sound odd to others, but it was what worked for us. It was what made sense for us. It was how we made our relationship work.

“It wasn’t that.” Hotch took my hand and flipped my palm over in order to clean the dirt off my fingertips. I stared at his jawline as he stared at my hands. “Truth is, I’m scared to have that conversation right now. Ever since Haley left, I haven’t been so confident about the idea of raising a family. I hardly ever get to see Jack as it is. I couldn’t imagine having another kid and not being able to see them just as often.”

“Aaron... You don’t have to be afraid of having a family. The right person should just… get it. Your job is important to you, but, of course, you’re going to make the time you have with your family special. You do it with Jack every time you have custody of him. I don’t think for a second that Jack hates you for doing your job. In fact, I think he admires you.”

“Yeah, but we’re both gone all the time. When would we ever make time for a kid—”

“There’s someone coming,” Sheridan whispered from the trees nearby.

Hotch and I pushed ourselves off the log we were sitting on and turned towards the clearing. The Unsub had come from the direction of the hiking trail. And he approached Meredith’s body with intent, not like a civilian who had just happened upon the pile of leaves and was curious to see what was underneath. This had to be our guy.

As the Unsub crouched and reached out to brush away the leaves, we made our move. JJ and Spencer jumped out of the treeline to the north with their guns raised, while Hotch, Sheridan, and I jumped out from the south. Once we revealed ourselves, the other cops came forward from their hiding spots, too.

“FBI! Put your hands on your head and step away from the body!” Hotch shouted.

The man hunched over the body immediately put his hands behind his head and stumbled back from the body. JJ holstered her weapon, pulled out her handcuffs, and grabbed the guy. She pushed him against the tree and turned him around to get a good look at the bastard's face. We all expected her to cuff the guy then and there, and we would call it a day, but she hesitated.

“Meyers?” she questioned. We all looked around to each other for answers, but none of us had any except for JJ. “This is the reporter who has been talking to the Hollow Man,” she told us. “You’re the Mill Creek Killer?”

“What? No!” he exclaimed defensively.

“Then how the hell did you find this place?” I asked.

“I got another letter from the Hollow Man. He told me that the Mill Creek Killer had struck again and where to go for the scoop. I showed up here thinking that I was going to meet the guy, get an exclusive or something.”

JJ’s grip on Meyers fell and she took a step back. “How did he tell you this?”

“He sent me a letter. Here, take a look at it yourself.” Meyers pulled out a piece of paper from his back pocket, and while shaking harder than a chihuahua, handed it to JJ. “I swear, I didn’t do this.”

JJ looked over the letter as the sound of a helicopter flying overhead buzzed through the trees. We all looked up to see a news helicopter hovering over the crime scene. I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. That was our one chance of catching the Mill Creek Killer, and the Hollow Man ruined it. Fuck.

Hotch grabbed my arm and turned me around so that we could talk privately for a moment. “We can arrest him for interfering in a police investigation, question him back at the precinct, but I don’t know how much help it’ll be.”

“If you thought we were rushing before…” I began, thinking long and hard about what was going to happen next with the Mill Creek Killer. With the news hovering overhead, he was surely going to see it and we wouldn’t be able to set up another sting. “He didn’t finish the ritual. He was already in a hurry to find a new victim because we were close to finding him, but now that he hasn’t completed the one thing that gives him relief, he’ll be desperate for another. He won’t wait anymore than a day. We have to find this guy now.”

“I just don’t get it. If these guys are friends of some sort, why would the Hollow Man lead the press to the Mill Creek Killer’s crime scene?”

I considered his question. Like Hotch said, if they were friends, they wouldn’t have betrayed the other like this. Even if they were a master and apprentice duo, too, it wouldn’t unfold like this. If the Hollow Man wanted the Mill Creek Killer to be caught, he would have contacted us directly. But he didn’t. He wanted the media to connect him to the Mill Creek Killer’s cases. By doing so, he has injected himself into another part of the situation. He wasn’t getting the attention he wanted for killing those prostitutes, so he resorted to diverting the attention on the Mill Creek Killer to himself.

“They’re not friends. They’re competitors. They both want the media attention, but neither of them want to turn in the other because they are fascinated by the other murders. The Mill Creek Killer has to know that the Hollow Man did this to take his attention away. So not only was the ritual ruined, but the media high afterwards. That means he’s not going to be thinking when it comes to his next victim. He doesn’t care about being careful now. He only cares about the attention.”

“He’s going to start taking them off the streets.”

“Or from their homes, their jobs, restaurants. Anywhere.”

“Hotch,” Spencer said, nearing us, “I just got a call from the precinct. A woman called 911, said that a guy just tried to kidnap her off the street.”

“So we were right,” I told Hotch.

He scratched his temple. “Alright, Reid, we’ll drop you and JJ off at the precinct. Sort out this Hollow Man mess while we go to interview the woman to see if it’s connected.”

A crowd had gathered around the caution tape surrounding the scene. Cops were standing around in the middle of the street, trying to redirect traffic and deal with the worried bystanders. One cop, specifically, was standing at the border of the scene, likely under orders to only let us in since they were waiting for us to show up and question the victim. When Hotch and I showed our badges, the cop smiled lightly and lifted the tape up for us. We ducked ever so slightly under before heading over to where the victim was standing with two officers.

We flashed our badges again to the woman and dismissed the officers so that we could talk to her alone. She had obviously been through this process of questioning a few times already, so she was already keen to tell her story again before we could even ask her to. A sign that she was still anxious about what had just transpired— and rightfully so, too.

She began to give us a detailed account of the man who approached her, what he said to her, and then how he tried to take her. Just as we had profiled him to appear, she explained that he was very handsome— which was why she had stopped to talk to him in the first place. He had approached her and asked if she had a phone that he could borrow since his car wasn’t starting and his phone was dead. When she couldn’t find her phone and he offered her the chance to come look at the car with him, that was when she declined; and when she did, he tried to forcefully take her.

“I’d been watching the news, and saw that they were looking for a guy who has been taking women during the day. I didn’t know what to do besides scream.”

We thanked her for telling us what happened, then Hotch asked if she would be willing to sit with a sketch artist in order to give us a visual of what her attacker looked like. She was more than happy to do so, and we immediately sent her along with another officer who would take her to the precinct to meet with the artist.

As we headed back to the car, Hotch got a call from Gideon. I leaned against the side of the car while he answered. From Hotch’s side of the call, I was beginning to get the gist of what was going on. Spencer, Gideon, and Morgan had finally found the way that the Hollow Man and the Mill Creek Killer were saying connected: the classifieds in the newspaper. That was how the Hollow Man was able to tell Jim Meyers where Meredith Dale’s body was.

I pushed myself off of the car and turned to Hotch. He raised a brow while still on the phone, letting me know that he was aware I had something important to say. If they were communicating via the classifieds, then that was how we were going to lure the Mill Creek Killer into our next sting operation.

It was getting late in the day, we would likely only have another hour or so to put another message into the classifieds for the morning paper. And Spencer was perhaps the only one who knew their speech patterns well enough to write a convincing coded message. But it was our only shot— it was our last shot, really.

So I told Hotch the plan I had pieced together in my head over the last few seconds, and he relayed the information to Spencer and the team over the phone. Spencer would have to write a message to the Mill Creek Killer from the Hollow Man, telling him that he was sorry for ruining his plans with Meredith Dale, so he wanted to make it up to him by giving him the gift of another victim. The location would be hidden in the message, and in the morning, we would take an agent out there who matched the descriptions of his usual victims to play dead in order to lure him in. Since he was desperate to complete the ritual, he was sure to come. I had no doubts. He wouldn’t be thinking straight, so he would fall for the trap easily. But we had to hurry.

Hotch hung up the phone with the team so that they could start working on the message. We headed back to the precinct and managed to catch the tail end of them working on it. By that point, though, Spencer was rushing as the deadline was only twenty or so minutes away. Meanwhile, JJ was talking to Meyers about controlling the Hollow Man in the media for the next day or so to keep him distracted from the Mill Creek Killer sting, and Detective Sheridan was asking around for a female detective that was willing to sit in as our cadaver for the sting. Most of the women were understandably not too keen on the idea, but there were two girls who offered and were brought to me and Hotch for consideration.

We walked them both through the plan and what the Mill Creek Killer would likely do— but it would be in a controlled space and we wouldn’t let him get too far. We just couldn’t afford to have another mess up like with Meyers. We needed to make sure we got the right guy this time. And by the time we ran through it all with both of the women, one decided they weren’t brave enough to take on the task anymore, but the other didn’t budge and insisted that she was ready.

Everyone slept at the office that night. There was no reason to go to the hotel when there was still so much work left to be done. I hadn’t even intended to fall asleep at all. Morgan and Gideon were discussing their case with us since they were struggling to connect more clues with the Hollow Man. The last thing I remembered before falling asleep at the table was looking at the pictures from the most recent crime scene. The Hollow Man had killed a sixteen year old girl prostitute behind a dumpster and her friend was the one to find her. And there were still no leads.

When Hotch woke me up in the morning, I was laying down on the couch in the break room, which had practically been turned into a second board room for our team to work in. I figured that Hotch must have moved me at some point, because he was sitting in a chair that he placed right beside me, reading through another file while tracing light figure eights on my shoulder.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” he smiled at me as I sat up.

I stretched and yawned away my exhaustion. “What time is it?”

“8:30. We’re leaving in about thirty minutes.”

“Did you guys make any progress with the Hollow Man?”

He shook his head and I shrugged disappointedly. It wasn’t a shock, but it was still upsetting that we weren’t any closer. Granted, if we were going to catch the Mill Creek Killer later, he was sure to give up his competitor after some interrogation, so maybe it didn’t really matter in the end what they did or didn’t find while I was asleep.

I stood up and stretched again for extra measure, acutely aware that Hotch was staring at me out of the corner of his eye. After a moment of waking myself up, I strolled over to the coffee pot and poured myself a cup before offering Hotch one, too. He accepted the offer and I poured another cup full, then walked back over to the couch. I handed him his drink as I sat down. I leaned forward and propped both of my elbows up on his knee closest to me and kept the warm rim of the cup pressed against my lips so that I could smell the coffee while also warming up my nose from the steam.

“What are you looking at?”

“We got the sketch back from yesterday’s victim,” he answered, holding the drawing up for me to see.

He was almost exactly how I imagined him. He was definitely attractive, if you could get past the fact that he was a total sociopath. His face was square. His eyes were light, bright, and wide. His lips were perk, perfect for kissing— which was always an unconscious factor people tended to put into consideration when it came to potential partners. And most noticeable about his appearance was his hair. He was clean shaven, and his hair was short and nicely cut. He didn’t match any physical features one would expect from a textbook sociopath. But that was definitely a reason why we hadn’t found him yet and why these women were so interested in going with him somewhere private. He didn’t look at all scary. That was what made him dangerous.

“Well, at least we’ll know if we get the right guy this time,” I laughed.

Hotch chuckled slightly but bit it back when he realized that he had let it escape him. My smile faded and I stared at his cheek for a second before feeling the urge to look at his eyes again. I let go of the coffee cup with one hand and went to hold his face in my palm. His skin was so cold compared to my warm hand, and he noticed it, too, right away. I dragged my thumb down his jawline, applying slight pressure towards his chin to make him look at me. He leaned into my touch, his eyes falling shut as he relaxed.

“We’re going to get this guy,” I reassured him. “And then we get to go home and see Jack.” He smiled at the thought. “We’re going to be okay.”

He opened his eyes and leaned towards me before kissing me. “We’re going to be okay,” he whispered against my lips. I kissed him again eagerly.

The door to the break room opened. Hotch and I immediately pulled away and looked over. “Hotch, Y/N—” JJ had come in hurriedly, but was slowly realizing that she had interrupted and regretted not knocking. “Sorry… Uh. We’re getting ready to head out. You guys should gear up.”

“Thanks, JJ,” I said. She smiled politely and backed out of the room much faster than she had come in. I started laughing once the door closed behind her. Hotch looked me up and down and started laughing, too. “Well…” I shrugged before kissing him again.

At the sting operation site, a makeup artist sat with the detective who was going to lay down as the body so as to make her look convingly dead. While JJ and Spencer were covering her body in leaves, Hotch and I reviewed the plan with her one more time. It was very possible that the Mill Creek Killer would come up to her and touch her, but we wouldn’t let him get much further than that. She just had to stay still until we decided to reveal ourselves. She would be okay, we promised that much.

When she was ready, we helped her lay down without rustling any of the leaves, then covered her face. Afterwards, when she looked as the other victims had, we all retreated into the forest to hide until the Mill Creek Killer would show up. I checked my watch to see that we had only five minutes until he was supposed to show up— at least according to the note we put in the classifieds. He could possibly have been too scared to show up on time, so we had to expect that he could perhaps show up late.

Hotch and I didn’t sit down or talk this time around. The stakes were too high to think about anything other than catching this asshole once and for all. I wouldn’t let him get away again. I couldn’t. And I was sure that the rest of the team felt the same way. In fact, I knew it. JJ looked as nervous as I did, Hotch’s silence told me that he was focusing on not jumping out too soon, and Spencer was searching the treeline frantically for any sign of movement.

Nearly five more minutes after the Unsub was supposed to arrive, we heard rustling in the forest coming from across where we stood. As a man walked into the clearing, he kept his head low, focusing only on the girl covered by leaves laying before him. He chuckled to himself and giddy approached the detective. He crouched down, tore off his jacket, and pulled out a tube of lipstick from one of the pockets. 

Once we saw the lipstick, we knew we finally had the Mill Creek Killer. The lipstick was his signature. He wouldn’t complete the ritual without it.

“Go,” I ordered quietly. Simultaneously, we all jumped out of the bushes and into the clearing with our weapons raised. Hotch ran at the Unsub and tackled him before he could put a finger on the detective. She sat up, her weapon pointed at him as Hotch put his knee on the Mill Creek Killer’s lower back and started handcuffing him. I turned to the detective, “You alright?” She nodded. “Good.” I held out a hand, she took it, then I pulled her up to her feet.

We did it. We won. We got the son of a bitch.

criminal minds family: @peggy1999​  @gorgeousdarkangel​ @marvelismylifffe​  @alex--awesome--22​

[itsclydebitches]

Re the BTD recap: "the prose is still incredibly messy in places" "To be frank, it’s not that I think this is all particularly good… just not particularly bad either." If it's not too much trouble, can I get some concrete examples for why? I feel like I often don't notice this sort of thing, so I want to know what I'm missing. Might help me to be a better writer.

Challenging request, anon! :D I feel like I need a few disclaimers here: 

The book is serviceable. It’s just not going to be winning any awards. Talking about how the prose and dialogue can be better isn’t meant to translate to, “This is the worst thing ever written.” Because it’s not. 

This is very much a pot calling the kettle black situation. Anyone here has the capability of hopping onto AO3, finding a horribly written passage of my own, and shaking it in my virtual face. So this is likewise not intended to be me standing atop a pedestal going, “Anyone - myself included - could do better.” I often can’t do better because writing is hard. 

I’m not a creative writing instructor, thus it’s often difficult for me to articulate why I think a piece of literature doesn’t read well. If you’ve ever, say, come out of a movie with a strong sense of it not being “good” but can’t easily explain why it failed? It’s similar to that. By consuming lots of media we get a sense of “quality” over “badly written” that then informs our reactions to new texts, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy to boil that response down to, “See here on page 3? They shouldn’t have done this. Fix that and it’s ‘good’ now.” 

Nevertheless, let’s try. I’ll take a passage from the prologue where Sun is facing off against these “goons” 

Two glowing clones of Sun flared into existence, one facing Pink and the second squaring off against Green. That left Brown—whom he figured was both the leader of the group and the most dangerous. Why? Because he was hiding the most.

Brown slashed a hand toward Sun. “Take him.”

“Which one?” Green asked.

“The real one,” Pink said. “These are just flashy illusions.”

Sun directed one of his clones to punch Pink in the face.

She blinked and looked more annoyed than hurt.

“That’s no illusion!” Green reached for clone Two.

Sun’s clones were physical manifestations of his Aura, every bit as capable of inflicting damage as he was. But it could be difficult to control them, especially while he was fighting. They were better suited to giving him the element of surprise, extra pairs of hands, or emergency backup when he needed it.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t sustain them long, and they couldn’t take much damage, as they drew Aura from Sun himself. If he kept them going too long, or tried to create too many clones, it usually weakened the Aura shield protecting him. But he’d improved a lot with training, and his Semblance was a lot stronger than it used to be.

Sun whipped out his gunchucks, Ruyi Bang and Jingu Bang, spinning them as he and Brown circled each other slowly. At the same time, Sun was fighting Pink and Green through his clones. Pink was some kind of boxer, dancing around and jabbing with her fists, which One was managing to block. Meanwhile, Green was trying to grab Two and wrestle him to the ground.

Brown had some kind of martial arts training similar to Sun’s—but he wasn’t nearly as good. Sun leaned back as Brown did a high roundhouse kick; he felt a breeze as his opponent’s booted foot swept past his nose with a lot of power behind it. Sun flicked his right gunchuck to loop it around Brown’s ankle and pulled him out of his stance, hitting him with the closed gunchuck in his left hand. The man took the full blow, but it didn’t even faze him.

Now let’s break down some of the reasons why this passage doesn’t work for me. I’ll work chronologically. 

As mentioned in the recap, it’s rather awkward for a PoV character to ask and answer their own questions. Especially when they’re not presented as literal thoughts. The “Why? Because...” takes me right out of the story. It suddenly sounds like I’m attending a lecture or reading an article. Sun believes X. Why does he believe this? Because of Y evidence. 

The dialogue is clunky. This problem is admittedly more obvious at other points, but there are a lot of moments where it doesn’t feel like this is a natural thing someone would think or say. Which again, is really hard to write. How people speak is quite different from how we think they speak and finding a balance between that (eliminating most pauses like “um” or “like” that would be too frustrating to read, giving characters more flowery language to serve the story’s goals even if it’s not realistic, etc.) is hard to nail. Here, Sun is often thinking things that don’t sound l like an actual thought in a panicked teen’s head.

Oh crap, Sun thought. I’m losing. How am I actually losing?

It just sounds like exposition. The reader needs to know that Sun is losing! So Sun will tell them that. 

The villains, so far, are a bit too cartoony for me. 

“You got lucky, monkeyboy,” Green said as he walked off, his companions following him through the cloud of foul vapor. “This time.”

Which is admittedly a matter of taste and does have some justification given RWBY’s early writing (think Roman). Still, it’s hard to take lines like this seriously, especially when we just had the group making fun of Velvet for cheesy quips. But the villain’s quips are supposed to read as daunting? 

Connected to Sun’s thought above, there is a lot of telling rather than showing throughout. For example: “She blinked and looked more annoyed than hurt.” There are ways of showing the reader that Pink is annoyed (indeed, just leaving it at “She blinked” would have gotten the point across) rather than resorting to, “She looked ___”. Another good example would be “ Sun leaned back as Brown did a high roundhouse kick; he felt a breeze as his opponent’s booted foot swept past his nose with a lot of power behind it.” You don’t need to reassure the reader that there was “a lot of power behind it.” The action itself - feeling a breeze, his boot passing close to his nose - conveys that on its own. 

To be clear, telling isn’t something you can’t ever do (break those writing rules!!) especially when sometimes you just want to be clear/convey something succinctly, but it is something to keep in mind. It’s another balancing act. Too much telling and the reader feels like they’re just being told a list of things to believe. Too much showing and it feels like the writer is trying too hard to make everything detailed, exciting, etc. Still, a good writer is going to be able to convey everything (Sun losing a fight, annoyance, a powerful kick) without feeling the need to remind the reader of things every few lines, “This is what’s happening. Don’t get confused!” 

After the fight starts we immediately get a two paragraph info-dump about Sun’s semblance. How it works, what his limitations are, and what that means for this fight. Again, show that! We’ve just started an action sequence. The fight is underway. The reader doesn’t want to get pulled out of the action for another lecture. Rather than hitting pause on the fun stuff to explain things, create scenarios where these details become relevant and can be shown to the reader. Right now we don’t care what Sun’s limitations are unless those limitations become important.  

We get another announcement in the form of “[Brown] wasn’t nearly as good [as Sun]” instead of (again) showing us that. Indeed, as I mention in the recap all the action that comes next contradicts this. So where did this assertion come from? If Sun knows that Brown uses a martial arts style similar to his then theoretically they’ve been fighting for at least a few seconds... but the reader doesn’t get to see that. Meyers was too busy telling us about Sun’s semblance. 

Finally, there are pockets of Meyer’s writing that are all roughly the same. Meaning, sentences have little variety to them. This isn’t a consistent problem (and it’s certainly not the worst example I’ve seen of this) but on the whole he could use a more engaging flow to his work, both in terms of sentence length and balance among actions, dialogue, descriptions, and thoughts. Otherwise you get prose that reads, “This happened. Then this happened. This happened next. See the length? It’s all the same. Very little changes. And the reader gets bored.” Again, not a consistent problem, but one he should keep working on. 

There are a number of other, smaller issues that are beginning to pop up. Such as the in parentheses pronunciation of the teams’ names, or the overuse of “he sent” whenever Fox communicates telepathically. In contrast, there are things about the writing that I’ve enjoyed. There are moments of dialogue - such as Fox’s joke in Chapter One, or how Sun’s instructions to “find Shade” literally refer to the school but also remind the reader that shade, in such a hot environment, is crucial - that I think are worth pointing to and going, “Yeah. That was a nice touch.” Overall though? It’s that, “I just came out of a bad movie” feeling. There’s too much clunkiness throughout. The writing often lacks variety or feels absurd. I’m taken out of the story more often than I fall into it. Is it the worst thing I’ve ever read? Far from it, but fans aren’t wrong when they say things like, “I’ve read better fic than this professional story.” 

[cobblepot-comfort]

Ok, here is a chapter from my Gobblepot WIP, Oswald Takes the Bullet and Jim Bites It. Summary: Oswald, now Jim's fiance, has been kidnapped by a rival kingpin and Jim is seeking help from various quarters.

Dark Angel in Disguise

Alvarez put down the phone.  He took a deep breath and walked over to Jim and Harvey, who were in the process of talking to Ed.  Ed?  Yes, you read right, Ed.  

It would be a gross understatement to say that Jim had been dismayed to see Edward Nygma - The Riddler - both Oswald’s sworn enemy and, on the flipside,  his own potential love rival - entering the bullpen.  

“What’s he doing here?”  he’d growled, bristling and squaring up ready for battle.  

Harvey had caught hold of his arm, stopping him in his tracks.  “Hey soldier boy, stand down now. Stop right there. It’s not what you think -  he’s actually here to help us.”

“Help us?  Ed? The Riddler?  Ed, who tried to kill Oswald?!”

“Yeah I know, Jim, but that’s all changed now, believe me, it's the truth….he’s a friend….he’s our ally now.”

“How come?” frowned Jim incredulously, standing back and putting his hands on his hips.

And so Harvey was forced to explain.   All about Ed, Lee, and the Narrows - and what had developed between them and Oswald.  Meanwhile Ed and Lee stood together in the doorway, looking a tad cautious, at the very least.

“Oswald is funding Lee’s medical centre?”  Jim interrupted, scratching his head and scrunching up his blond brows with bewilderment.

“Yep, but he didn’t want anyone to know.  He didn’t want other mob bosses - well, hrm, one in particular - finding out and thinking he’d gone soft.  But I think your influence is showing, Jim. He really wants to be kinder and fairer to the poorer people of Gotham.  For instance, he decided that only those businesses that can truly afford to pay should be subject to any kind of ‘protection’.  He has a list - of ‘do’s and don’ts, haves and havenots’, that he got his secretary to draw up! No - seriously! Zsasz told me all about it (I’m not sure how impressed he was though, you know how he likes administering the, ahem,  rougher stuff….)”

“But….Harv, if he’s been doing this....it was all done behind my back!  Why didn’t he tell me?”

“He was going to - apparently, so Lee tells me, it was going to be a surprise, for a wedding gift to you….but I thought I should tell you all this now, before you get up to killing Ed.  He and Lee are here to help - honest!”

Jim hung his head and smiled sadly, fighting off the burning tears pricking at the back of his eyes.  It was going to be a wedding gift! His little devil was really a dark angel in disguise….

“Anyway, Lee and Ed are on Oswald’s side, Jim, and therefore on yours.  They just want to help get him back - they have a lot to gain by rescuing him.  And - well, I don’t know if you heard about it, but the two of them are an item now.  I know you’ve been harbouring fears about Ed coming back for Oswald, although as you know I had no idea why you’d think like that - but there’s nothing to worry about there either.  And Lee is happy too, so there’s no need to worry about her anymore either.”

Jim was somewhat shell shocked.  He clearly had a lot of catching up to do.  But he couldn’t afford to get too bogged down in the details - time was ticking on.  

This was all news to him, but he was genuinely pleased for Lee, who he had once thought himself in love with - he still cared about her, and was glad that she wasn’t alone now, and had found a soulmate - even though it happened to be Ed Nygma, or even The Riddler.  

He was also highly relieved that there was no immediate danger of Ed taking terrible revenge on Oswald - or somehow deciding that he was in love with him after all and making a desperate play for him.  He knew the latter was highly improbable, and he also knew it was irrational and paranoid of him even to entertain worrying about it - but his deep-seated guilt about the way he’d treated Oswald in the past still made him feel that he didn’t deserve his little gangster’s love, and so losing him to someone else didn’t feel impossible.  

He just couldn’t help his stupid insecurity, even after many reassurances from his pretty fiance on the subject. These words could be sweet and soft or petulant and impatient, depending on little Ozzy’s mood at the time, but they always carried the same message:   “It’s you I’m marrying and you I love, Detective, I keep telling you that…..you really need to believe me!”

But for now, all that really mattered was getting his future husband back again safe and sound - to be protected by his loving arms, never to leave them again - whatever that took.

Jim had, of course, not lost any time in roughing up Gasparo Carrara to try to beat out of him any information that could lead to finding the whereabouts of Oswald’s prison.

“You think you know me? You think I’m playing?  Think again! You don’t know what I’m capable of,” Jim had growled, as he’d grabbed stubborn, smug-smiling Carrara by the throat and rammed him up against the wall.  He’d squeezed hard on his windpipe - very hard - choking him, then loosened his grip again, but continued to keep a very firm hold on the scumbag’s neck.

That had sure wiped the smile off his face!

Carrara had pleaded, spluttering,  with Harvey to intervene, “Can’t ya *cough* do something about this?!” he’d begged, throwing up his trembling hands in terror.

Harvey had just stood there, folded his arms and shrugged.

“Well - I would,” he’d said, “I mean - speaking for myself, I couldn’t care less if you talk or not - but Jim here, well, he has a personal stake in all this, so I really can’t be held accountable for what he might do.  Besides, how do you think I could stop him anyway? I mean, he’s clearly in much better shape than I am….I’d be no match for him!” He patted his belly. “Right?” he laughed and threw up his hands.

This was the ‘bad cop disinterested cop’ scenario they liked to practise from time to time, and it tended to be pretty successful.

However,  sadly Carrara could tell them very little, despite Jim’s skilled mastery of fisticuffs and fierce menace.  It appeared that Enzo didn’t even trust his ‘right hand man’ with all of his important intel. 

Carrara had not been told the whereabouts of the hideout - he was genuinely clueless.  

Even after Ed had stepped in, with Barnes’ begrudging blessing, to use his own ‘unique brand of persuasion’ he had emerged an hour later proclaiming, “Nope!  He doesn’t know anything I’m afraid! By the way, I think he might actually need a change of shorts….just thought I’d mention that….and...someone needed with a mop here, people, ewwwww….”

However, Ed’s skills weren’t going to waste.  He got to use his creative interrogation methods on any potential ‘leads’ Harvey and Jim happened to unearth in Gotham’s dark underbelly - in addition to his forensic skills, which had come in handy in checking out the tyre tracks by the old armoury.  Now at least they knew what make and model of car Enzo had used to get there before making that tormenting phone call to Jim. Yep, a Mercedes S-Class, what were the chances with a mobster….

“Anyway, I’d better skedaddle - I have forensic work  - and other, erm, stuff that won't wait,” Ed said with a wink, lifting his glasses meaningfully as he spoke.  “Anyway, gents - now we’re here - how about this one? What’s red and….”

“Erm, thanks Ed.  Off you go then, you have urgent work to do - right?” Harvey cut in sharply, jerking his head pointedly towards the door.

“Oh - um - ok!”  Ed shrugged, smiled toothily, and dutifully skedaddled off, Lee intercepting him just as he reached the doorway.  She slipped her hand through his arm, stopping him in his tracks, turned to him and kissed his cheek. He smiled round at her and said  “Awww. Neat!” They hurried out of the building hand in hand.

“Erm - Jim…..”

Jim turned round and saw Alvarez looking at him with the kind of expression that a messenger had just before he was due to be shot full of arrows.

“Alvarez?”  

Jim swallowed hard.  His heart began banging so hard and fast  it could almost burst out of his chest.  

“Jim...I just got off the phone with Gotham General…um….”  Alvarez’ brows tensed and he paused, glancing at the ground for a moment.  He licked his lips, cleared his throat and shuffled his feet awkwardly.

Jim just stood and stared.  His powers of speech failed him.

It was the look on Alvarez’ face - it sent a chill through him.

“What is it Alvarez? Come on, spill.”  Harvey instinctively spoke up and moved forward, ready to support Jim in case it was the ‘worst case scenario’....God forbid….  

“They -  erm, they admitted someone answering Oswald’s description..and...he has Oswald’s wallet and ID on him….so it looks pretty positive that…..”

“They found him!?”  Jim’s heart leapt for a moment, he found his voice again, and his eyes opened wide with hope - then he saw Alvarez’s expression hadn’t changed, and his heart sank again.

“Alvarez, for God’s sake tell me.  Is he…..?” Jim stopped and swallowed hard.  His world just seemed to stop turning for a moment.  He just couldn’t complete that sentence.

“No Jim, he isn’t dead.”

Jim breathed again, his head became light, his heart started beating again.  “Not dead, not dead..” he thought, “Thank God….not dead!”

 “But.. Jim....Jim, Oswald’s been shot - I mean, badly - and they say his condition is critical.  You need to get there asap.”

The whole bullpen was alive with speculation after the phone call and Jim’s response, and his and Harvey’s hasty retreat, had been witnessed.

When they found out what had happened every one of them was rooting for Jim and praying that Oswald would pull through.

“Oh Sandy, I feel for him so much!  I hope Oswald’s going to be ok!” Walters confided in her close female colleague and friend, Sandy Smith.  “I just want to give the two of them a huge hug, y’know?”

“Me too!” Sandy agreed.  “I hate that Enzo with a passion.  He’s a monster!”

“Same here.  Let’s hope we nail this bastard, and get justice for our boys.”

The journey to the hospital was the kind Harvey had hoped he would never again have to make.  

Jim sat silently, staring straight ahead at the moving road with haunted eyes.  His face was white as chalk. He kept playing distractedly with his seat belt. 

His pain and anguish was tangible and there wasn’t  a damn thing Harvey could say that would help. All he could do was be here for Jim.  It was the very least, and only thing he could ever do.

That other time, that time he hoped would be the last, when Oswald’s life had been in the balance,  the little gangster had rallied. Of course he had. Oswald Cobblepot led a charmed life. Everyone knew that!

Back then, Harvey had been in the first throes of dismay at the revelation that Jim was actually involved with the last person on this earth Harvey would have expected - or wanted - him paired off with.  

But now, it was different.  Harvey hoped fervently that Oswald’s customary resilience - and good luck - would prevail.  This time, it might be a bridge too far - he hoped Oswald’s luck hadn’t finally run out. He hoped for that more than anything.

He felt a pang in his heart that was genuine, and very deep - for both of them -  that hadn’t been there before.

He hoped to God Oswald was going to pull through.  It would break Jim’s heart if he didn’t, and a broken-hearted Jim was the last thing in the world Harvey would want.

Besides, he’d written a frickin awesome best man’s speech that really shouldn’t  go to waste…. 

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

Heart of Steel - VI

Description: Sir James is known throughout the lands as the most fearsome and honorable warrior. Ballads have been written about him. Men fear him. He is the most trusted knight of the King Henry. So why has he given up the glories of war and pledged his loyalty to Princess Y/N?

Pairing: Medieval AU -Knight!Bucky x Princess!Reader

Word Count: 3,400

Series Masterlist

Y/N thought she was late enough to breakfast to miss her family and any lingering guests from the ball.

She was sadly mistaken.

Her plan was to sneak out with Bucky. She was dressed in plain clothes, clothes plain enough to have her mistaken for a peasant. Bucky became uneasy when she tried to pull stunts such as this. But, as always, he would rather accompany her than refuse Y/N and have her alone and unprotected.

“Peter fetch our horses. Run along.” Bucky instructed the boy. Peter nodded and rushed ahead of them. 

But just as Y/N and Bucky turned the corner, they found King Steven in a polite conversation with Y/N’s mother.

The Queen instantly spotted her and daughter.

Y/N’s plan to sneak out of the castle was destroyed. Slowly, and with an obvious disappointment, she walked over to them.

“Y/N, we missed you at breakfast.” The Queen pointed out. But really she was giving Y/N a preview of the scolding that would come.

“I was not hungry, mother.” Y/N replied.

“Why on earth are you dressed like that?” Her mother looked her up and down, utterly disgusted with the cheap, brown dress on the princess.

Y/N knew she must lie and she had become very good at it. But before she could manipulate the words, King Steven interrupted.

“I apologize, Your Majesty. I had requested that Y/N go for a ride with me. Prince Anthony had mentioned her love for it.” Steve explained politely.

The Queen eyed him for a moment. “I see. Well, that is still no excuse for that dreadful outfit, Y/N. I agree, you should show the kingdom to our visitor. But the people cannot see their princess in such a manner. Go change and then rejoin King Steven.”

Without giving her time to argue, the Queen was leaving them, a handful of servants scurrying after her.

It left Y/N, Bucky, and Steve alone.

“You did not have to lie on my behalf, King Steven.” Y/N muttered lowly.

“A simple ‘thank you’ would suffice, Your Highness.” Steve bowed his head with an amused smirk.

It earned him a glare from Y/N. “I assure you, King Steven, I need no aid in deception. I became a master of deceit long ago.”

Steve’s face fell slightly. “I shall keep that in mind, princess.”

“Best you do,” Y/N warned. “Now if you are done with your wasted chivalry, I must bid you ado.” She tried brushing past him, but Steve gently grabbed her upper arm to stop her.

Bucky did not appreciate that at all. Though he did not unsheathe his sword or a knife, he pressed a hand to Steve’s chest and pushed him a good foot away from the princess.

“Sir James, calm yourself,” Y/N warned him cooly.

But Steve only looked mildly annoyed. He glared at Bucky’s hand, but made no move to retaliate.

“It was my mistake,” Steve claimed, as he held his hands in surrender. Then he eyed Bucky. Y/N swore she saw a smirk hidden on his lips. Steve noted how Bucky didn’t move from his place between him and Y/N. 

“I see I need not worry about you, Princess Y/N. You are well looked after,” Steve thought aloud.  

Bucky did not acknowledge the backhanded compliment.   “I find it curious that you should worry about me at all.” Y/N countered.

Steve laughed lightly at her comment. Then he looked past Bucky and to Y/N. “Forgive me. I only wished to prolong our time together. Perhaps you really could be my guide. Then it would not be a lie.”

Y/N looked unamused with his offer and wit. She glanced at Bucky for a moment before finally nodding her head. “I cannot decide if your persistence is admirable or a nuisance, King Steven,” she sighed. “Allow me to change. I will only be a moment.”

Bucky started to follow her, but Y/N held up a hand.

“Wait here, Sir James.” She ordered harshly. “Perhaps a moment alone will give you two a much needed reunion.”

Bucky eyed her, wondering what game she was playing. But she quickly escaped to her room, leaving the two men alone.

Silence settled between them. But their ears caught echoes of the hustle and bustle of the castle: footsteps on the marble floor, servants’ hushed whispers, laughter from the royal court.

“Why did you leave?” Steve finally spoke.

Bucky shifted his weight uncomfortably, but did not answer.

“Do you feel you cannot talk to me as you once did, now that you know my birthright?” Steve pushed.

“You are a king. I am but a mere knight, Your Majesty.”

Steve sighed, “Those beliefs are exactly why I never told you when we were children. You were my best friend, Buck. King or not, I still see you as such… the time that has passed means nothing to me.”

“It does not matter how much you wish it, we will never be equals.” Bucky replied harshly.

“I thought you had died. There was an attack on your village. When I never found you again, I thought you were one of the innocent who were murdered.” Steve told him quietly.

Bucky stared at him a moment, finally catching the sadness in his old friend’s eyes. The King truly was relieved to find Bucky alive and well. But their lives were different now. They couldn’t just go back to how things were when they were boys.

Bucky took in a deep breath, “For the sake of Her Highness, I think it is best we forget our past.”

————

Steve helped Y/N down the stones steps at the entrance of the castle. Now she wore a dress that was much more fitting for a princess. There was a covered carriage waiting for them.

But Y/N caught sight of a female knight wearing the emblem of Midgard. She was shorter than the men surrounding them. But she had bright red hair tied back in a tight ponytail. And she had the beauty that any princess or queen would envy.

Steve saw Y/N watching his knight.

“Y/N, this is my personal guard, Natasha.”

The knight bowed her head. “It is an honor, Your Highness.”

“It is rare to see a woman knight in these parts. The honor is all mine.” Y/N curtsied.

With the introductions over, Natasha and Bucky both mounted horses to follow the carriage, along with the royal guard. Meanwhile, Steve offered Y/N his hand as she climbed into the covered carriage.

“You do not seem like a royal who requires a personal guard, King Steven.” Y/N thought aloud as they rode towards the town’s square.

“She is more the hand of the king, my most trusted advisor. Dame Natasha sees and hears all. I trust her with my life. The bodyguard title is more for show and to calm the worries of my people.”

Y/N smiled at that, “The people only wish to see you safe.”

“Would it be too much to ask if you simply called me Steve?” He asked her quietly.

When she turned away from the window of the carriage, she was met with Steve’s pleading blue eyes. They made her weak.

“You are very forward, King Steven.” Then she sighed. “I will... only if you simply call me Y/N in return.”

Eventually their carriage stopped in the square. Commoners were already gathered around, happily waiting to catch a glimpse of a royal.

Steve helped Y/N out of the carriage. People gawked at the couple. Surely rumors would now be spreading of their engagement soon. The thought should’ve bothered Y/N more.

She started leading them towards a market, filled with foods and crafts of all sort. Bucky and Natasha were just a few steps behind. The royal guard followed their lead.

“May I ask,” Steve began, “if your mother and I had not intercepted you, where were headed?”

Y/N smiled at his nosiness, but said nothing. Instead, she bent down to smell some fresh lavender at a tent selling flowers.

Steve watched her for a moment, realizing she had no intention of telling him. “You do not trust me yet, do you, Y/N?” He finally asked her, with a sad voice.

She looked at him. “You have given me no reason to.” Her tone was cold. “I do not give trust easily, Your Majesty. Have you already forgotten that we only just met last night?”

“It is Steve… I beg you.” He instantly corrected. It seemed his title and throne embarrassed him. 

Once again, he wore simply clothes of brown and black. They were well-made, but nothing extravagant. Y/N wanted to give him the moniker of The Modest King. His mind was not poisoned with ego like so many kings before him. 

“Yes, it was only last night that we met,” Steve agreed. “Yet you have already made me lie to the Queen on your behalf. Have you put me under a spell, Y/N?”

Her heart beat a little heavier at the sound of just her name on his tongue. Y/N giggled at his question. “I am no witch. I suppose I have a way of bringing the mischief out of even the most well-behaved kings.”

Steve stared at her. It was obvious he was utterly smitten with her.

“Come with me back to Midgard,” He blurted out.

Y/N’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“I apologize…” Steve pinched the bridge of his nose out of frustration for himself. “I only meant that I have matters to attend to. I must return sooner than expected. I was only hoping you would accompany me. Your father said you have not been to Midgard since you were a child.”

“Yes, I was just a little girl.” Y/N admitted. Then a thought suddenly occurred to her. “Why did I never meet you when I was there? And why do I have no memories of you visiting Zamora as a boy?”

Steve frowned. “I was a very sickly child. They kept me locked in my bedchambers for most of my youth. My mother feared I would not make it past childhood. My ailments started to disappear the older I got… until they disappeared completely. I could not travel nor receive guests. That is why you and I have never met.”

Y/N eyes softened at his story. It only added to Steve’s terrible and heartbreaking past.

“You would not know it from the looks of you now,” She admitted as her eyes took in his height and wide shoulders. Even his thick clothes couldn’t hide the strong muscles that covered his bones.

“Yes,” Steve chuckled. “Well, I always hated the feeling of weakness that trapped me as a child. The moment I could fight it, I promised to rid myself of it forever.”

Y/N’s stomach flipped at his words. It sounded eerily similar to her conversation with Peter when he asked why she was so adamant to learn sword wielding.

Steve caught her expression drop. “Have I said something wrong?” He asked with worry.

“No.” Y/N gasped. “No, you have not. Quite the opposite, actually.”

“So you will not join me on my journey home?” Steve asked sadly. He figured her change of subject was her polite way of declining his offer.

Y/N looked uncomfortable at being put on the spot. She had trained all of her life for conversations with fellow royals and nobles. Yet Steve seemed to make her incapable of using her tricks and manipulation.

“I feel I must emphasize the invitation is without any underlying motives or false pretenses. Our kingdoms have been allies for centuries. It has been too long since a royal member of Zamora visited.” Steve seemed to become more nervous with Y/N’s silence and started rambling. “I only wish to show you my home and my people. I think you would love Midgard.”

Y/N looked back at Bucky for some reason.

Steve caught it. “You can bring whomever you wish, as well. Your guards, your ladies or servants…whomever you want. If it shall make you more comfortable, then I insist.”

“I must consult my father first…” Y/N stalled.

Steve smirked cheekily. “There is no need. I already spoke with him and your mother on the matter.”

That would explain the conversation Y/N and Bucky had interrupted with Steve and the queen earlier. 

She tilted her head at his antics. Then she bent down and smelled more of the flowers at the market tent.

“Yes,” Y/N replied without looking at him. “I shall accompany you back to Midgard.”

When she finally looked at him, Steve was struggling to control his happiness.

“We will leave in two days,” he announced. Then he reached into a leather pouch that was attached to his belt and pulled out a few coins. He handed them to the trader and pointed to a bouquet of lavender.

Steve handed them to Y/N as if it was nothing. They kept walking through the market. Bucky watched on as little girls greeted their princess with giggles and little boys handed her more flowers as they passed. Women looked at her with envy and men with desire.

Y/N pointed out things to Steve here and there, explaining their history or relevance. Steve listened closely and asked many questions, proving his genuine interest in what she had to tell him.  

Bucky never imagined Y/N ever being in danger when they were amongst her people. Zamora loved their princess. She had never failed them. If they had their way, she would stay in the kingdom forever, never being taken away by another king or prince due to marriage.

They strolled the streets for an hour or so before Steve suggested they head back.

Y/N remained quiet once again as she stared out the windows of the carriage.

“Y/N?” Steve asked with obvious nerves.

She turned to him.

“What happened to Bucky? Why did he ever leave Midgard and come here?”

Her eyes immediately went sad. “I believe that is a story only Sir James should tell.”

“He will not speak with me as he once did. It seems he sees my title as a betrayal. I do not believe he will ever view me as a friend again.” Steve confessed.

Y/N stared out the window, giving herself time to figure out if she wanted to share Bucky’s history with this man.

“He only told me once and then he never spoke of it again. There was a sickness traveling through the kingdom. I was bedridden and almost all of the servants were ill as well. Sir James watched over me, stayed by my bed for days. He filled the silence, my only entertainment being his stories. I do not think he believes I even remember, that my fever would have made me forget.”

Y/N stared off, “Your kingdom was at war. It was before Hydra. Sir James wanted to fight alongside his father, who was but a mere footman in the army. But his father refused it, instead he insisted Sir James stay with his mother and baby sister to look after them. The war was coming far too close to their home. However, Sir James was a stubborn thing, he tried to sneak out in the night and catch up with his father and the other soldiers.” 

Y/N paused, trying to control her emotions. “But just after he left, his village was attacked by a war party of savages. Bucky saw the smoke from a distance and rode back as fast as he could. But it was too late. Half of the village was slaughtered… his mother and little sister just two of the innocent lives that were taken that day.”

“And what of his father?” Steve whispered.

“His father died in battle the next day.” Y/N took in a deep breath. “He blames himself for what happened that day... convinced he could have saved his mother and sister if he had just done what his father asked. But he was just a boy,” Y/N defended. “He would have died with them. His guilt destroyed him. It haunts him still, I know.”

“I remember that attack.” Steve admitted. “It was the reason I thought Bucky had been dead all these years. I believed he was killed with his village.”

Y/N nodded. “He said he could not bare living there any longer. Everything reminded him of his family and he no longer had a home. So he left. The poor thing almost starved to death. He had no choice but to become a mercenary. So he fought for Hydra, until he could live independently.”

“It explains the changes in him.” Steve pointed out.

“What do you mean?”

Steve stared deeply into her y/e/c eyes. “Bucky was happy and careless as a boy,” then Steve chuckled at the past. “He flirted with every pretty lady he found. All the village girls were smitten with him. He was always smiling and laughing. He had the charm of a prince that I did not.”

Y/N’s heart broke. The man Steve was describing sounded like a stranger.

“But there are still whispers of his old self,” Steve assured her. “I was teased for how little and sickly I was then. Bucky always defended me. He picked fights and dragged me out of the ones I was not strong enough to win. He was protective and fiercely loyal.”

Y/N smirked, recognizing those features. “He still is,” she hummed.

When they returned to the castle, the stiffness of royalty consumed them once again.

Steve helped Y/N out of the carriage, but he held onto her hand longer than necessary. Y/N looked up at him, hypnotized by his bright blue eyes.

“Thank you for humoring me today and being my guide. I very much enjoyed it.” He dipped his head with bashfulness.

Y/N curtsied. “I shall see you at dinner tonight… Steve.”

She smirked at how his eyes lit up from her finally using his first name and leaving out the title of ‘king’.

He nodded excitedly and watched her walk into the castle, Bucky close behind.

Steve felt Natasha’s presence at his side as his eyes stayed glued on Y/N’s retreating form.

“You are dangerously smitten, Your Majesty.” Her voice was low, yet playful.

“She is a rare beauty, Natasha.” He stated quietly.

“That she is… but she will not be easy to woo.”

Steve turned to his guard, “I know.” 

Natasha nodded slowly. “Careful, Your Majesty. Make sure you are after the prize and not the challenge.”

—————

Bucky could practically feel the chaos in Y/N’s head as he escorted her back to her wing of the castle. She was caught inside her mind and Bucky wanted to know why.

When they reached her door, she stopped and her hand hovered over the handle.

Then she slowly turned around and stared at him. By some miracle, the halls were empty and there was no servants or guards around.

Bucky squinted, trying to figure out what she was thinking or why she was looking at him with such agony.

Y/N cupped his cheek with her right hand and traced his cheekbone, then moving down to do the same to his jawline.

Bucky couldn’t help but melt into her touch. As much as he tried to fight it, he couldn’t resist leaning into her palm.

“You are not alone, Bucky. No matter where I go, you will always have a piece of me. Do you understand?” Her words were in a slow whisper.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed slightly in confusion. But he covered her hand that was on his cheek with his own and nodded. It didn’t take him long to guess that Steve had told her something about his childhood.

Then Y/N stepped away, bringing them back to reality.

“King Steven has asked me to accompany him on his journey back to Midgard. He wishes to show me his kingdom. Will you join me?” Her voice had returned to her curt princess tone.

“Where you go, I will always follow, Your Highness.” Bucky answered.

“I would not hold it against you if you refused. Will it not be painful to return to your homeland, Sir James?”

Bucky shifted his weight awkwardly and refused to me her gaze.

“What is it?” She persisted.

“I…I do not like to be away from you. It makes me restless.” He admitted with slight embarrassment. It was a rarity to see Sir James lose his confidence and calm demeanor.

“Perhaps it is time for me to finally return home,” he added quietly.

Part VII

Write me a lovely book review ❤️

[qwertythepopstarian08]

Feeling Blue, Part 3

The long-awaited third chapter of Feeling Blue.

This was one of my favorite parts of the story... it introduces a new character!

I won’t tell much because this chapter is packed with surprises, but... not much action. It was a bit hard to write for two reasons: The askblog and the overall exposition of this part.

But, it’s done, and I’m excited for what lies in store! I’m planning for this story to have about five to six chapters, and the next chapter will be pretty long! So hold on, we’re not nearly done yet! Enjoy!

Description: Fresh has been gone for days. Meanwhile, Cyan has their own issues to work out.

Description: The calm before the storm, before everything comes to a head.

Cyan stared out the window, watching the rain fall with a bored expression. They were pretty much infamous for their restless demeanor, often finding little amusement in the mundane.

Ever since the Treeangle Incident, normal problems tended to tire them, and they often sought more intense issues to solve. They were a “hero,” after all.

So, when a mysterious new shape showed up, begging for their help, they’d initially been ecstatic to help, if only to find something to do. They’d expected to have to fight a monster, or perhaps rescue a lost shape. Maybe the task would involve a big bad boss…

Prior to meeting with the strange shape, Cyan had pictured a multitude of possible missions.

Sitting in a cafe, listening to an eccentric researcher’s rants, however, were not part of those missions. The odd, violet shape had appeared out of the blue. She called herself, “Composer,” claiming to be a music note, supposedly one of the most powerful types of shapes. If Cyan thought back far enough, they could faintly recall reading about shape power in the distant past, when they’d been more inquisitive, and they’d never read about any music notes.

In terms of power, polygons such as squares and triangles were the strongest. Rounded figures, like circles, typically fell in the middle. Lastly, organic shapes and silhouettes were the weakest, only having access to a few powers, if any.

So, Cyan severely doubted Composer’s credibility.

The heroic square’s attention was piqued, nonetheless, when the purple note brought up the topic of a “pink menace.” Now that was their kind of quest. A tiny, tentative smile quirked at their features, although one factor bothered them deeply.

Careless about how rude they were being, the square cut off Composer mid-sentence, their tone lilting with curiosity.

“Hold up… what was that about pinks?” They tried to keep the nervousness out of their voice as they added, “Those aren’t a problem now, right?”

Composer eyed them oddly, and for a moment, Cyan was afraid that she’d scold them for their ignorance. They were the so-called hero of Paradise, after all; it was kind of expected for them to know about potential threats.

Much to the square’s shock, the music note only smirked, seemingly satisfied with her superior knowledge. Or perhaps, she just wanted the excuse to keep talking, influencing her audience with her opinions.

Regardless of the reason, her smile sent a chill up Cyan’s spine, and they fidgeted under her gaze, taking a shaky sip of their hot chocolate. The rich drink was ice cold by now, but the square took a sip every few minutes, if only to please the shape who’d paid for it.

“I thought that would wake you up.” Composer’s voice was cool, controlled. She had command over the conversation, and she seemed to know it. She reached into her portfolio, retrieving a plain-looking pamphlet. “I had a mission in mind, an objective that I assumed you could tackle quite well. This should explain it well enough.”

Cyan reluctantly accepted the booklet, beads of glowing sweat sliding down their face. Their unease was betrayed by the shake of their hands as they turned the brochure around, staring at the covers.

It was unassumingly simple, a plain grey pamphlet with pinkish accents. The title revealed little to nothing of the leaflet’s contents, which Cyan was honestly afraid to discover.

“Guide to Hue,” they read aloud. Their eyes briefly darted up to glance at Composer. She kept smiling, smug. “A cohesive enchiridion on the subject of natural light, beat magic, and the Treeangle.”

They internally sighed; this would take awhile to digest. As a shape with a fast-paced life, the square seldom bothered with the minute details of things. But with the way Composer was eying them, they felt obligated to at least try to understand.

Cyan flipped through the booklet, skimming through the paragraphs. They felt their boredom increase as they came across several large, complicated phrases, words that made them stop to think, to dredge up whatever education they may have received at some point.

It didn’t help that they couldn’t recall much from their past. Before the famous Treeangle Incident, the heroic shape had been a fairly nomadic being. Surely they’d, at one point, been a normal shape, with a mortal existence, until they had been shattered.

Their old life vanished from memory, and because of their tendency to move from place to place, no one knew them well enough to remind them of their original self. Spontaneously resurrected by the light of the sacred structure itself, they chose to stay in Paradise to watch over it, like an odd, symbiotic guardian.

Cyan’s mind wandered, lost in thought, and they eventually lost focus on what they were reading.

It wasn’t until they came across a paragraph that caught their eye that they snapped out of their musings. They silently read, “The tint of magenta was banished from the rainbow centuries ago. Feared for its deadly power and inherent aggression, the power was expelled, and the pink color of Paradise began to die out…”

Cyan looked up at Composer. Seemingly bored of watching them read, the music note had turned her attention to the actions of the other restaurant patrons, watching them with a scrutinizing eye.

The square followed her gaze to where two shapes sat, near the front of the cafe. They recognized one of the shapes as Lycan, instantly able to tell by their spiky, pink fur and loud, boisterous tone. Lycan was accompanied by their sister, Wolfie, a greenish, mild-mannered blossom who worked at the same event venue as Fresh.

Shockingly, Lycanthropy didn’t seem to be doing anything wrong. They were seemingly content, and judging from the lack of lava, that didn’t seem to be changing anytime soon.

Composer’s smile twitched as she eyed the two shapes, her gaze flickering with a peculiar glimmer. “Such a shame.” She subtly gestured towards the blossom pair. “Even the unassuming blossoms can be twisted into absolute monsters.”

Cyan raised an eyebrow, puzzled. They voiced their confusion, “Lycan? A monster?” A slight smile quirked their features as they shook their head. Sure, the blossom could be erratic, maybe even violent, but they weren’t evil in the slightest. “I think you’re confusing them with another flower? Lycan’s not the only corrupted one…”

At that, Composer turned back to face the square, her smirk completely dropping. She took a sip of her coffee, a judgemental glare landing on the other shape, making a chill go down their spine.

“All corruption is evil.” Her voice was venomous. “It may not be obvious at first glance, but the potent nature of the corruption’s hue only makes it worse, makes it spread.”

“They may still be pink, but they’re not a bad person.”

“You misunderstand. Pink is inherently volatile.”

It was at this point that Cyan felt their anxiety skyrocket. They frowned, shaking their head in strong disagreement. They stood, collecting their things in preparation to leave.

“Actually, I feel like you’re the one misunderstanding things.” They gestured at Lycan, huffing. “Pink may be a bit scary, and I get where you’re coming from, but…”

The heroic square’s hackles rose with their anger. Frustrated sparks jumped from their form, which Composer stared at, her mouth agape in a small, “o.”

Cyan finally found the words to convey their irritation, their voice going shrill for a moment as they growled, “The danger is gone. Magenta, pink, rose, whatever you want to call it. It’s okay, Composer. No one’s evil anymore.”

Composer stared at the frustrated square for a long time, her expression blank. Her violet gaze bored into the hero, nonetheless, and her mouth slowly curved into a tiny, almost disappointed frown.

She finally let out a small sigh, looking out the window with that same, empty stare.

“I am… discontented… with your failure to understand my plight.” Her tone dropped to a condescending hum as she continued, “I should have realized that such an altruistic shape would become biased.” She then smirked, briefly turning to lock eyes with the other shape. “Although, I imagine it must be hard for a shape who was shattered to remain this way.”

Cyan staggered away from the little booth, their expression set into a grimace. Their eyes were wide and almost teary, and the sparks around their form began to intensify in severity. Crestfallen, the blue square found themselves unable to process Composer’s words, the pamphlet clutched in their grasp in a vice grip.

Backing away, Cyan added one last time, “You’re wrong, Composer.” Their tone was resolute. “The corruption is gone.”

With that, the heroic shape left the restaurant. They didn’t even stop to look back as they heard Composer chuckle, nor did they wave at Lycan when they passed. Their mind swam with conflict and anger, bitter feelings that they struggled to subdue.

Opening the door, they halted for a mere moment before breaking into a dash, sparks of blue energy buzzing around their form. They were nothing more than a blur in the dull morning sky, shining brighter than the sun as they rocketed through the air.

Normally, their dash was their favorite ability. They didn’t need wings to buzz through the air. They could just take off, propelled by beat magic. Cyan may not have had much power in terms of offense, but when they dashed, they were invincible.

Quite literally, they might add. For some, miraculous reason, the square’s dash ability was able to zip straight through solid matter, but only for a few seconds. It had saved them quite a few times during some harder fights, when the attacks became too overwhelming to weave through normally.

Right now, however, Cyan wished they could dash to escape their emotions. They clenched their fist, further ruining the pamphlet that Composer had provided them. They didn’t even want to read the blighted packet, afraid to find more of her ludicrous drabble inside. The music note was insane if she thought pink was still bad.

To Cyan’s knowledge, much of the “curse” surrounding pink in the first place had been lifted when they purified the Treeangle. It was still potent, still aggressive, but it was no longer corruptive and evil.

Some blossoms even started popping up naturally pink. It was more of a pastel rose, but pink nonetheless. This solidified the fact that magenta was part of the Treeangle’s light once again, at least in some capacity.

Cyan squeezed their eyes shut as they flew, angrily wiping tears from their eyes. They could get so worked up over this stuff, it irked them to no end. It wasn’t their fault that they were sensitive, but no matter how they tried, bad situations typically left them in tears… and yelling. Which wasn’t exactly a shock, given that they spent most of their time with Blue.

In their blind flight, Cyan didn’t even notice as another shape flew right into their path. Unable to see where they were going, they collided right with the other shape. A startled scream rang out, both shapes panicking.

Cyan’s eyes snapped open, and they flailed, their dash halting midway through. Backing away, they tried to identify who they’d run into, indecisive over whether they should yell or apologize.

However, as they surveyed the other flustered shape, it became clear that this wasn’t someone they were familiar with. For a moment, they thought it was that pest, Fresh, but the stark contrast in hue was enough to dissuade the association.

The overall build was similar, but this strange being was peaceful blue, for one thing. Like Fresh, he had catlike ears, although they drooped with anxiety, twitching intermittently. He stared at Cyan with a single, teary eye, his expression quivering as if he was trying not to cry. And instead of the vest and spiked collar that the pink menace loved, this frightened shape was wearing a simple, soft blue hoodie.

Awkward, Cyan choked out an apology. “Oh… s-sorry. I, um… didn’t see you there.” The newcomer jolted at their words, then averted his gaze, crossing his arms. Cyan hurriedly added, “I don’t think we’ve met. Sorry if this wasn’t the best first impression… I’m Cyan.”

They held out a hand to shake, uncaring of the fact that the both of them were currently suspended about fifty feet in the air. It was never too late to make a good impression. Most of Cyan’s best friends had been made in the heat of battle, or rescued from a chaotic situation. In those moments, the very extremes of their personalities had been on display, yet they were a tight group to this day.

However, the nervous Fresh lookalike didn’t seem particularly keen on making friends. He forced himself to accept Cyan’s hand, using his other hand to wipe away his tears. In terms of personality, the shape was nothing like Fresh at all. Instead of impulsive and rude, the newcomer was timid and fearful, his gaze darting around as if something was out to get him.

“M-my name is…” He hesitated, almost thoughtful. He caught sight of his own arm, his gaze lingering on the blue glow. Shaking his head, he looked back to Cyan, then continued with more confidence, “My name is Chill.”

Cyan nodded happily, glad that the mystery shape was opening up a bit. They laughed in an attempt to lighten the mood, looking around.

“So, are you new to Paradise?” They started to descend, beckoning the new shape to follow. “I mean, you didn’t know me, and I’m pretty famous around here, not to brag.”

He perked up, quickening his pace, although he still seemed a bit shaken up, wobbling in the air. Levitation of any capacity wasn’t that uncommon, but not many shapes could keep it up outside of a battle. Chill touched down softly, eying the grass. Cyan lingered in the air, floating in lazy circles around the other shape.

They repeated their question, “Did you just move here or something?” Something about Chill seemed familiar, yet strange, like a sense of Deja Vu.

“No. I just… don’t get out much.” A brief shudder went down Chill’s spine, and he added, “I don’t get why you call this place, “Paradise.” It’s more of a, well, I don’t know… “Para-DANGER.””

The heroic square chuckled at the pun, floating ahead of Chill by a few feet. Forget his earlier apprehension; anyone who made jokes like that couldn’t be up to anything bad.

“Yeah, but at least pink isn’t the danger anymore. It’s… kinda a big deal, saving the lost color of the rainbow.” Cyan’s tone briefly took on a boastful tone, and they hummed in musing. “Like I said, I’m a big hero here.”

Chill’s expression briefly twitched. His smile dropped for a second, and he tried to change the subject.

“Hey, what’cha got there?” He was pointing at something. Cyan followed his gaze to the pamphlet in their hand, which was crumpled beyond repair.

Holding up the ruined booklet, the square hummed, “Oh, this?” They grimaced as they spied the cover title again, tossing it aside with a groan. “Just some “enchiridion of hue” nonsense. No big deal, unlike me.”

Despite the distasteful description, Chill seemed interested. He rushed to catch the booklet, dashing back up to meet Cyan.

“Why would you just throw that away? I.. I’ve been, um… researching hue… this could be a lifesaver!”

Cyan scowled, rolling their eyes. “I doubt it.” They began to tire of the conversation, listlessly floating in circles, watching blue sparks trail behind themselves. “That thing had more than fact to say about pink shapes in particular. It’s probably just some opinionated drivel.”

Chill shook his head, a glimmer of desperation clear in his gaze. He flipped through the packet, eye growing wide with wonder. He dashed to catch up with Cyan, who had begun to depart, catching them by the arm.

On reflex, they jerked away, glaring at Chill with a threatening leer. He winced, shrinking back. His eyes widened, and he smiled nervously.

“Do… do you know who wrote this?” He held up the pamphlet. “This could really help me, please. I need some info, Cyan.”

His tone sounded despaired, and if Cyan squinted, they could see the other shape’s glow lessen. Cyan didn’t want any shape to have to listen to Composer, but… this guy seemed so upset already. It didn’t seem like even Composer’s words could worsen his mood.

Relenting, the square sighed, turning back to face Chill.

“Alright, see that little cafe?” They pointed towards the building they’d just left, their tone bored. Chill seemed engaged, however, his eye lighting up with hope. “I just left there. The lady who wrote this junk is probably still there. Just look for a purple music note.”

Chill exploded with happiness. He began to glow brightly, like a cerulean spotlight. Cyan had to shield their eyes as the other shape rushed forth.

“Thank you!” He pulled Cyan into a sudden hug, the little square giving a shrill squeak as their bones were nearly crushed. They tried to dash away, until they recalled their inability to go through other blue shapes, letting out a defeated sigh and reluctantly returning the embrace.

Chill let them go as soon as they did, however, already moving on to the restaurant. “Thanks a million, little dude! You’re a real hero!”

With that, he broke into a mad dash, elated. His relieved laughter echoed through the sky like a bell, filled with absolute joy.

Cyan lingered, watching him go. A small smile worked its way upon their features, and they turned to leave. However, one notion still didn’t leave them. That Deja Vu remained, prodding at their thoughts.

The longer they heard that laughter, a dim, fearful recollection swelled in their mind, inundating them with paranoid anxiety. Flashes of wide, pink eyes assaulted their memory, and they shook their head, frowning slightly.

The physical similarities could be dismissed as a coincidence. Lots of shapes looked the same; that was simple geometry. While Cyan had never seen another shape quite like Fresh, it was surely possible that there were others of his species.

But… that laughter.

That laughter was unmistakable, unforgettable. It had drilled itself into their memory, into their nightmares. Although Chill was nothing like Fresh, his voice…

It sounded exactly the same.

Hundreds of threatening notions rushed through Cyan’s mind. They hadn’t seen or heard from Fresh in days, and to their knowledge, he’d had a falling out with Blue prior to his vanishing. Blue refused to give details, but the look on their face when speaking of him hinted at a bigger problem.

Fear won over, and Cyan darted away, intent on warning the others. Fresh was no longer a villain, but if something was wrong with him, Cyan feared that it would spread like corruption.

[acsversace-news]

The first thing you need to know about FX’s American Crime Story: The Assassination of Gianni Versace is that it’s not really about Gianni Versace. While O.J. Simpson—and his fame, his race and his abusive history—were central to Ryan Murphy’s true-crime anthology in its first season, this story focuses on the man who killed Versace and the society that aided in that murder.

The new season is based on Vulgar Favors: Andrew Cunanan, Gianni Versace, and the Largest Failed Manhunt in U.S. History, a 450-page tome the journalist Maureen Orth published in 1999. Much of the book is devoted to the life story of Cunanan, the 27-year-old spree killer who shot Versace in 1997. Her reporting is thorough and revealing, but much of her analysis is dated. When Orth explores Cunanan’s demimonde of meth, escorts, sugar daddies and BDSM, it feels as though she’s unaware that this milieu isn’t representative of gay male culture as a whole.

Especially considering that Murphy—who is gay and has created some groundbreaking queer characters—has also been known to perpetuate the occasional homophobic stereotypes, the interplay between the book and the series is bound to give us plenty to discuss. At the very least, Vulgar Favors is handy for determining which parts of the show are confirmed fact and which are purely conjecture. (I’ll also be using Deborah Ball’s House of Versace, a breezy history of Gianni, his family, and the brand from 2010, along with a few other sources.)

I don’t want to call these recaps “fact-checks,” though, because fiction doesn’t have any responsibility to stick to the official record. Instead, I’ll look at how the discrepancies between what Orth dug up and what Murphy depicts reveal the show’s real agenda. These pieces may take a different form from week to week, but since the premiere was mostly a reenactment of the crime and its immediate aftermath, we’ll start with some pretty basic background stuff.

July 15, 1997

Orth’s book ends with the death of Versace and the intensified hunt for Cunanan, who had already killed four men by the time he came to Miami Beach. American Crime Story begins with the murder and goes backward from there. It’s a promising approach, because the real suspense here is in the question of how the smart, charismatic, cultured young man we meet in flashbacks ended up on the FBI’s Most Wanted list.

The show sticks fairly close to the facts in recounting what happened on the day Gianni Versace (Édgar Ramírez) died. He really was returning home from an early-morning excursion to buy magazines when Andrew, played by Darren Criss in a performance that’s already riveting, gunned him down on the steps of his palatial home (more on that later). One bullet also killed a turtle dove—a symbol that initially led authorities to suspect a Mafia hit. While Versace’s longtime partner, Antonio D’Amico (Ricky Martin), stayed at the designer’s side, the couple’s neighbor Lazaro Quintana chased Andrew until Andrew pulled a gun on him. Versace was rushed to Jackson Memorial Hospital, where he was declared dead at 9:21 AM.

Cops really did spot someone who matched Andrew’s description on the roof of a parking garage around the same time, but he escaped. (Orth doesn’t mention them tackling the wrong man.) It’s not clear what he was doing later that day, when police found the stolen red truck Andrew had abandoned and he became the suspect. The scenes that show him changing into fresh clothes and watching gleefully as the media descends on Versace’s house aren’t just plausible; they underscore how easily Andrew blended in among the town’s gay beachgoers.

One character to keep an eye on is FBI agent Keith Evans (Jay R. Ferguson). The Bureau was searching for Cunanan long before he killed Versace, and Evans was its man in Miami. Sadly, he was also inexperienced and unfamiliar with the city’s gay community. Sgt. Lori Wieder, the lesbian cop played by Dascha Polanco, wasn’t on the scene that day, but the officers who were there did find boxes of undistributed Wanted flyers in Evans’ trunk. The scene where the pawnshop owner complains to police about the legally mandated transaction form she’d filed a week earlier, which included Cunanan’s full name, is another embarrassing real-life detail. But the emphasis Murphy, who directed the episode, places on Evans’ neglect of his assignment is crucial, because it’s the first suggestion that law enforcement’s homophobia—its literal fear of engaging with gay men—contributed to its failure.

October 1990

Did Versace really know his killer? Well, sort of.

It’s true that Versace designed the costumes for a production of Capriccio at the San Francisco Opera, and stayed in the city during its run in 1990. At the time, Cunanan was living rent-free in Berkeley with his friend Liz Coté (Annaleigh Ashford), who Orth describes as a “rich and spacey debutante,” and her husband, Phil Merrill (Nico Evers-Swindell)—the couple we see in the flashback. A fixture in SF’s gay scene, Andrew met Versace at a club called Colossus. But, Orth reports, it was the designer who approached him: “I know you,” said Versace. “Lago di Como, no?” he asked, referring to his Italian lake house. It was, most likely, a flimsy pickup line. Andrew, who’d never been to Italy but had also never heard a flattering lie he couldn’t get behind, went along with it. On another night, Versace, Andrew, and a local playboy named Harry de Wildt were spotted together in a limo.

That dreamy encounter after the opera, though? It’s pure fantasy, although Andrew was known to lie about his Filipino father knowing Imelda Marcos, owning pineapple plantations and having a boyfriend. What’s important here is the conversation about Andrew’s future. “You are creative?” Versace asks, and his date answers in the affirmative. In fact, the only things Andrew ever created were fictions about himself, passed off as fact. (I won’t get too deep into that, because his lying is sure to come up later in the show.) “I’m sure you’re going to be someone really special one day,” says Versace. The distance between Andrew’s ambitions and the life he ended up with—as well as the reasons why he was such a failure—is going to be important.

The Family Business

The episode’s strangest divergence from the facts comes during the same scene. Versace explains the history of his company’s Medusa logo, recounting that he first spotted the image while playing in ruins as a child in Calabria. In fact, as Ball notes in House of Versace, he borrowed his logo from a door knocker at the Milan palazzo he bought in 1981. Perhaps we’re supposed to suspect Versace is a liar, too, but I’m inclined to believe the line is pure exposition, a hint of the designer’s humble beginnings that will soon become relevant to Andrew’s story.

Meanwhile, Versace’s mourning siblings/business partners, Donatella (Penélope Cruz) and Santo (Giovanni Cirfiera) provide some insight into the company’s status in 1997. Poor Cruz, normally a fantastic actress, has a thankless role (and a distracting accent) in this episode. All she does is sob, scream and provide dry background info that writer Tom Rob Smith doesn’t bother surrounding with believable human dialogue. For the record, it’s true that Santo, the oldest Versace sibling and the company’s most pragmatic voice, wanted to take the business public. And Gianni, after accepting a large dividend to subsidize his lavish lifestyle, agreed to do so. The plan was to make an initial public offering in the summer of 1998. It never happened. Two decades later, Gianni Versace S.p.A. remains a billion-dollar private company. None of this is particularly interesting, so here’s hoping it becomes relevant to the Cunanan story eventually!

Gianni Versace’s Fucking Insane House

There isn’t much art in this workmanlike premiere, but it does begin with a shot of the clouds painted over Versace’s bed that leads to a lovely, nearly wordless sequence contrasting Gianni’s civilized morning with Andrew’s primal scream. If you paid attention to the Renaissance-style art and the stained-glass windows and the gold accents and the massive tiled courtyard, it probably occurred to you that Versace’s home was totally off the wall. (“If Donald Trump had taste,” I said to myself, “this is what Mar-a-Lago would look like.”) Surely it was exaggerated for TV?

Actually, it was not. Built in 1930, Casa Casuarina, as the home was known, was inspired by Christopher Columbus’s son Diego’s residence in the Dominican Republic. In the courtyard of the 20,000-square-foot villa were busts of Columbus, Pocahontas, Mussolini and Confucius (all of which Versace kept). After Versace bought the property in 1992, he spent a million dollars restoring it. An army of artists and artisans filled the place with murals, mosaics and baroque furniture. Versace published a typically bizarre coffee-table book about his many bonkers properties in 1996, and in it you can find photos of the family frolicking poolside at Casa Casuarina alongside busy interiors and shots of naked men ironing. My favorite page shows a close-up of a burger, fries and a milkshake served on gilded Versace china, atop an ornate gold table. America! If you can’t track down a copy, this Google Image search should give you an idea. Look, here’s a bare-assed dude with a lampshade over his head! See you next week!

[mst3kproject]

902: Phantom Planet

You know, Captain, every year of my life I grow more and more convinced that the wisest and the best is to fix our attention on the good and the beautiful.  If you just take the time to look at it. With that in mind, I would like to open by offering you some Good and some Beautiful, in the form of crème brûlée and Lupita Nyong'o.  Fix your attention on them, cleanse your soul, and let's begin.

In the distant future of 1980, astronaut Frank Chapman and his philosophically-inclined first mate set out to search for a mysterious rogue planet that's been causing trouble in the inner solar system.  Their rocket is damaged in a meteor shower and the other guy is killed, but Chapman himself manages to land on the phantom planet, where he is greeted by a civilization of tiny humanoids! After shrinking down to their size, Chapman is adopted into the culture of the planet Ray-Ton.  He helps them fend off an invasion of the monstrous solarites and falls in love with the beautiful but mute Zeta.  In the end Zeta helps him escape from Ray-Ton and return to Earth, where he will never see his true love again.  The planet Ray-Ton, meanwhile, is doomed to collapse into a black hole.

It's hard to summarize Phantom Planet without making it sound like an action-packed adventure, but like so many other movies that couldn't afford to deliver what they promised, it's mostly a love triangle.  The leader of Ray-Ton is a guy named Sessum – his daughter Liara immediately gloms onto Chapman, despite the fact that she's already got a suitor named Heron.  Meanwhile Zeta also has a crush on Chapman but can't tell him, so she just hangs around pouting adorably until he notices her.  I guess if there are four people involved, that makes it a love square?  As usual in such cases, the romantic subplot is a lazy way to introduce tension – and as usual, there are far more interesting and compelling potential sources of tension that are completely ignored.

In this case, it's Chapman's status as stranger.  He's a foreigner who's been accepted into this society basically because they have no choice – they can't let him leave and tell Earth about their existence, and they don't want to kill him, so they have to keep him. He has stated outright that he wants to escape, and yet when he asks to know more about their technology, Sessum happily explains.  Why not have Heron fear that he's a spy or a saboteur?  The idea of Chapman working for the Solarites comes up and is quickly dismissed, but what about him being a spy for Earth?  Surely something could have been done with this, instead of introducing tension by means of a love triangle.

The other reason for having a love triangle is simply because movies are supposed to have pretty girls in them, and if you don't put them in a romance then you might have to make them important to the plot. The audience would never buy that.  Dog-like aliens, shrinking astronauts, and gravity control, sure, but women with something to do?  Bah, ridiculous!

Sorry, I'm bitter.  Let's have some more Good and Beautiful.  How about bruschetta and Jessica Chastain?

Like in Terror from the Year 5000, the love triangle is a distraction.  The time spent on setting it up and then resolving it could have been devoted to things the audience is much more interested in.  Why not tell us more about the war against the Solarites?  This is a pretty major plot point, and yet we have almost no background for it.  Why are the Solarites and the people of Ray-Ton enemies?  Why do the Solarites want the gravity control technology?  Have they ever tried to talk to each other, and if so, why didn't it work out?  Has the captive Solarite been questioned or tortured, or merely held?  If they don't want to talk to it, why are they holding it?  Is the recent attack a rescue mission?

All this could be interesting, but what would actually be even cooler is if the movie dropped the Solarites altogether.  Sessum tells us that Earth's space exploration is dangerous to Ray-Ton, so instead of introducing these other aliens, why not have the people of Ray-Ton fend off an inadvertent threat from Earth?  This would be far more emotionally effective, as Chapman is forced to confront the idea that he has harmed these people in the past without meaning to, and give him a better reason to be torn between his old and new worlds than the ending where he just has to leave Zeta behind.  It really does piss me off when a script has a much better story just staring us in the face like that and yet completely ignores it.

What do Liara and Zeta see in Chapman, anyway?  He's not good-looking and he spends most of his time on Ray-Ton whining and complaining, yet Liara attaches herself to him like a (excuse me) leech woman.  At his own trial he is loud, abrasive, and ungrateful about his lenient treatment.  He announces his intention to escape at every opportunity.  Liara's aggressive interest in him only seems to make sense if she's trying to make her existing suitor jealous.  It works, I guess, but since Heron was already prepared to announce that he loves Liara, any campaign to make him jealous seems unnecessary.

How about Zeta?  She seems to be Liara's friend – they're frequently seen together – but as she cannot speak, she is a bit of an outsider in the community.  Maybe she sees Chapman as a fellow misfit, somebody who might understand her a little better than any of her own people.  Her consent is never an issue, since she makes her own interest in him clear whenever she can.  When Heron accuses Chapman of harrassing Zeta, Zeta herself defends him as best she can.  The problem with their romance is not that, but the fact that the movie presents Zeta in a very creepy, infantilized way.

In contrast to the aggressive Liara, Zeta is presented as almost entirely passive.  She is clearly interested in Chapman – indeed, when she regains her voice she tells him it was love at first sight – but she never pursues him.  Instead, she waits for him to come to her.  The fact that she cannot speak limits her ability to assert herself, but if she wished she could still physically follow him around the way Liara does.  She does not.

As well as passive, Zeta is childlike.  Her disability renders her incapable of looking after herself, and like a very young child she cannot ask for what she wants or needs but must depend on others to give it to her.  When the Solarite abducts her, she can't even scream for help.  The suggestion is that Chapman's affection for her is rooted in a desire to take care of somebody who can't take care of herself, and the ending seems to bear this out.  When Zeta gains a voice of her own, and therefore a measure of independence, circumstances force Chapman to leave her.  

Even when Zeta can speak, Chapman talks about her in infantilizing terms.  He compliments her looks not by calling her 'beautiful,' but by saying she has 'an adorable little face'.  This sounds more like a description of a baby than of a grown woman!  What we have idealized in Zeta, by both Chapman and the writers, is the passive damsel-in-distress, a woman who is decoratively seen but never heard, contrasted with the outspoken and ambitious Liara.  Never mind the fifties, that's almost Victorian.

Ew.  Time for another restorative shot of the Good and the Beautiful. Here’s butter chicken and Adriana Lima.

Women do seem to have some kind of status on Ray-Ton, as it is apparently not considered unusual to have an all-female jury.  Or perhaps the people of Ray-Ton always have female juries, because they believe women are more fair and impartial than men.  It's impossible to say, because Chapman's trial is pretty much just a plot device – it explains why he's adopted into this culture, but doesn't really do any worldbuilding.  In fact, there's very little worldbuilding in Phantom Planet at all.  We never find out very much about how Ray-Ton culture works.  Liara claims nothing grows on the planet and her people can survive with very little food... but they must need some food, and if nothing grows there then they must have originally come from somewhere else.  More interesting ideas to put into your movie that are completely ignored.

At the end, the narrator tells us that this is only the beginning, only the beginning, only the beginning of man's adventures in space!  But in the context of the story we were just told, that doesn't seem to mean very much.  It can't be only the beginning of a partnership with the people of Ray-Ton, because Chapman says nobody will ever believe him and Ray-Ton's gravity technology will keep any humans from ever coming near their world again.  The planet Ray-Ton itself is doomed to fall apart under its own increasing gravity.  What we've been shown is a situation that has no future, which rather undermines the movie's pro-exploration message.  Depressing.

We'll close with a final dose of the Good and the Beautiful: key lime pie and Rinko Kikuchi. Good night, and may god bless.

[moonlight-escapade]

Without You (Steve Rogers Imagine - Short One Shot)

Hey guys! So this is my first attempt at a Steve Rogers imagine. I kind of found myself playing with an idea and wanted to try it out.

Just as an FYI, this is a bit all over the place. I was really impatient and wanted to try out a bunch of different things at the same time because I have no restraint. Lol.

I wanted to make it longer... but I kind of liked how it ended... hehe. I think later on I’m going to play with more Steve stuff!

I had fun writing it and I hope you’ll have fun reading it!

“Sweet heart, please come! I promise it’ll lift your spirits,” Peggy called from the bathroom to where you sat in the living room. You’d taken it upon yourself to fling your exhausted body onto the heavenly velvet sofa after a long day at the telecenter, and currently had no prospect of ever leaving it. It was exhausting staring at all those small metallic holes, the long rubber wires, the thousands of numbers and cities and states, oh! Whoever’d thought up the process was a real pill.

“Language!”

“What? Hey at least I didn’t say-“ he covered your mouth, pressing you against his chest.

You smiled as you remembered the way you’d teased Steve an entire day with all the new profanity slang you’d learned from the telecommunication’s ladies.

“But it’s not like I’m saying-“

You’d begin, and every time, he’d cover your mouth, or haul you over his shoulder, or kiss you to stop from saying the dastardly word.

“Shi-,“ you screamed as he threw you over his shoulder, cutting you off.

“Hey! But the ice cream!” You tried pointing back around his head as he carried you off, your body like doll in his arm as you hung over his back; “That mouth needs soap, not sweets!”

“I can think of something else my mouth nee-“

He bounced you up, running even faster before putting you down before him, his eyes wide and his face flushed.

“I was just gonna say-“ he placed his hand over your mouth until you finished speaking.

“Steve!” you swatted him once he moved his hand. “I was gonna say a kiss!”

He looked down at you, dazed, and laughed. His face still flush in embarrassment as he took the hand you swatted him with and brought you against him softly

You looked up at him with a cheeky smile, teasing; “I’m scandalized, Captain! What did you think I was going to say?”

“Good lord,” he sighed, running his hand over his red face as you began to giggle uncontrollably. You were cut off suddenly by the warm, strong feel of his lips onto yours, kissing you as he lifted you up against him. Lips moving expertly along the familiar design of your mouth. Breaking for air, you opened your eyes to find his glowing blue gaze fixed upon you… the butterflies in your stomach fluttering wildly as heat began crawling onto your face. Steve smiled brightly as he watched that adorable shy blush he’d always teased you about flush on your features. With one last kiss to your lips, and your cheek, he placed you back onto the ground.

“Let’s get some ice cream!” And just like that, he’d lifted you once again over his shoulder, taking you back to order two scoops of Chocolate,

“Steve-“

“And an extra cherry on that for the lady.” He looked down at you, his eyes sparkling as you reached up, pulling him down to place a kiss on his cheek.

You were twirling a photo you’d framed of you and Steve. It was from that same time, at the fair last Summer… before he’d had to go back into the bloody battlefield of War. Your stomach twisted at your description. You quickly brought the photo closer almost unknowingly tracing along the smiles and eyes in each frame of his lovely face.

It felt like years since you’d taken that photo.

It felt, in fact, like years since he’d been here. Since you’d laughed the way you had in the third square on the strip… When Steve had muttered some uncharacteristically provocative comment in your ear a moment before the camera shot off. As you stared at it, the desire to take your heart out of your chest for some kind of relief from it’s incessant breaking becoming more and more appealing. You faced the frame down on the small coffee table, not knowing which hurt most; staring at it or intentionally shielding it from your despondent mind.

“Please, please please!” Peggy called again from the bathroom, this time stepping out to make eye contact as she fastened a strand of her hair up into a roller on her head. “It’ll get you out of your doldrums!”

You lifted your head off the sofa cushion as you defended yourself. “I’m not in… doldrums…”

She raised an eyebrow.

“I’m just… I just…”

“I know my love,” she smiled softly, understanding. “That’s why I think you should come. At least help get your mind off things for a bit don’t you think?” She spoke as she walked back into the bathroom.

You sat up then, guffawing. “Right, because a room full of men clad in Military uniform, and the American flag hanging from every corner will help me get my mind of things.”

You didn’t mean to sound bitter… but it had been months now since you’d seen Steve, and the idea of going without him, the idea of doing anything more without him really, broke your heart.

“Oh pish posh my sweet,” Peggy chimed as she ran through the apartment to where you sat. “You’re coming and that’s final- ah!” She held up a finger as you began to interject.

“Final!” She smiled, poking your cheek as you tried to keep a straight face. “At least come for me. I’m going with a lad from the 45th Infantry Division. They’ve been in Sicily for months- who knows what awful Italian charm he thinks he’ll be able to work on me.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at her “blasé-ness.” But that was Peggy- she was hardly impressed by anyone. Any man for that matter.

“So I’ll need someone there to rescue me when he starts trying to do that creepy little-“ she grabbed your arm, kissing it from the fingers and up your arm as you laughed, pushing her away and nodding.

“Okay okay! But I highly doubt you’d find yourself trapped in that situation without having broken the poor guys lips before he made it past your wrist.” You laughed, letting her lead you to the bathroom.

“Maybe,” she laughed as she sat you down, pulling the pins out of your hair as she began the rolling process.

“Do you have it on yet?” Peggy called for outside the bedroom door.

“Peggy it’s too tight! Can’t go out like this! Let me borrow the other one- that light blue one!”

“No! Open the door this instant.”

You groaned.

“(Y/N)!” she warned.

You let out a breath, groaning again as you trudged toward the door to let her in. Her eyes widened immediately as she took in your frame.

“It’s just too much for me I-“ she held up her hand, stopping you as her eyes widened in amazement.

“Yes.”

“What? No!”

“Yes.” She grinned to herself, grabbing your arm as she led you toward the door.

“Wait! Peg- I can’t wear this it’s- I look like a call girl!“

She grabbed your shoulders, staring you intently in the eye.

“You look bloody amazing.” She spoke with every ounce of seriousness.

You stared at her slightly off-put in excitement.

“It’s so… breasty though… don’t you-“ your face flushed as you asked before she cut you off.

“It’s perfect!” She sang, spinning you both out the door and down to Roy from the 45th Infantry’s car.

“Bonsoir Bella’s,” he smiled lazily as he greeted you both with a heavy Southern drawl. Immediately, Peggy glanced back at you, eyes wide with amusement as she allowed him to open the car door for her. “And you ma’am,” he eyed you, opening the back door for you to hop in. You smiled politely, bending in to take a seat. As you passed the open door… his finger slightly brushed your hip. Your stomach tightened, eyes slightly widening as you let him close the door.

“You good?” Peggy smiled back at you, her expression still playful. You nodded quickly, smiling as she rose her eyebrow in silent conversation.

“Alright Signorina’s,” Thought it sounded more like See-ñer-inas, “let’s beat this!”

Peggy nodded as he started the car, and the rest of the way terrified the poor man with her characterized “English Seriousness.” Her own form of amusement as she watched them grow more and more intimidated of her.

Meanwhile, you nervously eyed down at the silky black fabric lining your figure and brushed the incident from before off. Yeah, you laughed at your silly paranoia, it was just a simple coincidence.

“And we thank our strong men-“ the announcer spoke, stopping as he caught eyes with Peggy. Her eyebrow raising slightly. “And women! For their sacrifices to our country. We are indebted to your service, to your bravery, and your resilience. Please enjoy yourselves tonight as we celebrate your victories, and those victories we’ve yet to claim!”

The audience cheered, men and women… mostly their dates, you noticed, stood in celebration. Hollering and cheering at each other- hugging and patting each other on the back. It was a heart warming sight. You knew Steve would’ve enjoyed sharing in such a moment. Oh, why did you come here?

“Well! Let’s dance shall we?” Peggy chimed beside you. Barely catching the familiar stinging in your eyes, you blinked quickly before turning back to her. With a breath, you pushed a smile onto your face. “Sure!” Wait, dance? “Wait-“

“Wonderful! Let’s find you a partner.”

“Wait- Peg-,”

But in an instant she had already bounded tables away from you. You shot up, watching her nervously, anxiously, uneasily… every emotion you had to explain the way your stomach and chest tightened and twisted and turned as Peggy seemingly bolted to find you a partner. You quickly began pushing past tables of officers, excused yourself as you found yourself trapped between pushed out chairs and laughing soldiers… army wives and fiancees laughing as they held onto the arms of their men. Your eyes watered with tears as you bumped into loving couples, kissing couples… couples just… being here, together. Pushing frustratedly through their perfect bubbles you stumbled, falling into the side of one of the many celebrating Officers as you nearly missed crashing straight into a waiter.

“Oh goodness, I’m so sorry!” You apologized desperately as you turned around. Your eyes quickly widened, a slightly relieved laugh leaving your lips as you looked up to find Roy, Peggy’s date smiling down at you.

“Roy! I’m- I’m sorry!” You laughed apologetically, straightening yourself out as you glanced around him for Peggy’s familiar head of perfect curls. “Is um, is Peggy-“

“Hello there, (Y/N),” he spoke. His voice slow as he grinned, his hand coming up to pat your shoulder to your shoulder as he stared at you through squinting eyes.

You took a breath, watching him carefully as you shifted from under his touch- trying to make your movements come off as nonchalantly as possible. You’d no idea what to expect from a drunken 45th Division Officer with hands-y hands. Well, maybe you did.

“Hi,” you laughed casually as you could, “Um, do you- have you seen-“

“Wanna dance, Doll?” He slurred, bringing his arms around your waist as you stood there, thrown off. Your mind reeled- your thoughts both dazed and screaming at you to pull away, but your body refusing to comply. You felt your heart pump anxiously through your chest as you managed to take a step back.

“Come on, sugar,” he smiled, his hands slowly moving down your sides, “Not like you got anyone rationing you.”

“As a matter of fact, she does,” a voice called from behind as you were pulled away from Roy’s shameless hold, his body quickly pushed away by…

Steve.

Your heart froze.

“Ste-?” you barely whispered as the figure came to stand before you, his shoulders tensing as his arms crossed before him in challenge.

“C-Cap..tain…?” The sleazy solider slurred, his voice raising in surprise and fear. He looked back to you, then back up at… at him. Your breath hitched as the thought- the idea- the possibility sent a burning lump in your throat to rise as you waited, paralyzed in disbelief… in shock… in… joy. Your heart literally seemed to flamed inside your chest, your arms seeming just as literally to burned where they hung beside you, wanting nothing more than to wrap themselves around the man before you.

Not a moment after, Peggy finally decided to appear after seemingly having dodged your wild goose chase throughout the entire convention hall in search of her.

“I got him, go on then,” she huffed with a smile as she pushed the drunk away, shooting a wink up at-

He turned around. Your chest exploded.

Before he even had a chance to speak, you threw yourself into Steve’s warm, comfortable, familiar, safe body- your tears falling unendingly. You sobbed, hardly knowing where to start as you pulled his collar down, bringing his face to you and beginning to press a thousand kisses to every part of his wonderfully familiar, handsome, heart warming features. To the bridge of his nose, to his chin, to his forehead, to his lips. You could hardly stop yourself. You wrapped your arms around his neck, warm tears falling down your face as the strength- the wonderfully perfect familiarness of his strong arms wrapped around you. Home.

Pressing you closer and closer to him, he allowed you… after six months, to finally breathe again.

You gasped for air as he raised himself up, his hands coming to the sides of your face as he leaned down to press a kiss onto your cherry red lips. You kissed him fervently- as though this kiss were the essence of the life force to your existence. Threading your fingers through his hair, you pulled away, staring at him in person. Just… staring at him in person. The feel of his neck and his hair… of his nose gently rubbing on yours as you embraced him, both of you breathing each other in. Just, breathing. You smiled then, suddenly- unexpectedly. Then laughed. Laughing in joy and delight, laughing in relief, laughing at the way your tears had exploded from your eyes, the way your breaths had swallowed the air around him, the way his eyes, alight and brilliant looked as they gazed down at you with every ounce of adoration… and then he smiled.

“Well, it’s nice to see you again too.”

You smiled, your hands wrapping around his waist as you sobbed with relief. His own pressing you soundly against him.

“Take me home,” you laughed, tears falling plentifully down your face as you reached up to grip onto his collar again. It was as if holding him there you could keep him closest to you. You could keep him from ever going away again. You could keep him from ever leaving your side.

“Come on baby doll,” he whispered, lifting you into his arms as the chairs and tables and couples you’d once shoved past recklessly to get through parted seamlessly before you.

“We’ve got a lot of catching up to do,” he whispered, smiling down at you as you placed your head against his chest. Closing your eyes as you listened to his breathing… his heart beat… all intact. All in one piece. All home. Here. With you.

[ciathyzareposts]

Planet’s Edge: One Line in Three Dimensions

One of several stitched-together mini-quests that I encountered this session.

          Planet’s Edge is not shaping up to be what I thought it was going to be, which was a New World take on Starflight. I think that the developers perhaps started with an intention to imitate Starflight; certain similarities between the games are too stark to be coincidences. But they removed one of Starflight‘s most attractive traits–the joy of exploration in an open universe–and replaced it with something that I’m not convinced is better. Specifically, there’s a lot more emphasis on axonometric exploration of the planets’ surfaces, which could have been done well, but so far is a bit silly and trite.

When we left off, I was headed for Sector Algieba, as I had a couple of hints that it would be the best place to start. The sector consists of seven star systems–Subra, Talitha, Regulus, Algieba, Alphard, Koo-She, and Miaplacidus–any of which would also serve as the next Nissan model. Talitha was the closest to where I was coming in, so I explored it first. The system had six planets. As with all the systems with multiple planets, it’s hard to keep track of which ones you’ve already visited since they don’t stop whipping around their suns, fast enough that a year might pass while you take a sip from a soda bottle.             

The stars of Sector Algieba.

           In Starflight and Star Control, there was a certain joy to exploring even random planets because you might find useful and valuable elements. That’s sort-of true in Planet’s Edge except that it’s very rare to find a planet that has them, you can mine them near-instantly when you do, and at the beginning of the game you can only carry 5 units of any cargo at a time. If you get rid of all your weapons, you can carry 8. So clearly element recovery isn’t going to be a big thing until I can build a ship with more room. I’m not 100% sure if I could do that now or if I need to find some plans.

Each planet has a nice textual description (when you “scan”) regardless of whether it has any utility. I was enjoying these a lot for a while, but then they started repeating. Ultimately, it turns out there are only about 9 common descriptions:           

A molten, superheated surface giving off toxic fumes.

Lots of organic life but no intelligent life, “a nice place to have a picnic.”

A small rock with a thick layer of gases.

Incredibly hot, unstable, with constant volcanic activity. 

A “jelly world” with large crystal formations. 

A surface only recently cooling down from volcanic activity, no vegetation or atmosphere.

              One of the “generic” planet descriptions.

            A desert planet.

A planet of grasses and plains with no intelligent life.

A snow and ice planet.

               All but one of Talitha’s planets were one of these. On Talitha II, however, my scan revealed a castle, “the seat of Avian government.” Oddly, the scan screen was titled “If Love Be True,” which made no sense at the time but later turned out to be related to the mini-quest that I found on the planet. Thus, it seems that if you scan a planet that has such a quest, you know it immediately because you get a title.            

I’m not sure that the game needed to be so explicit about each quest.

          We found ourselves in an Earthlike castle with guards stationed at just about every intersection. The game repeatedly referred to them as “avian,” so I guess they were bird-like. We never got a close-up portrait. Most ignored us, but a guard at a section of the castle that was clearly an arena told us that the queen had canceled all spectator sports for a few weeks. We would later meet the queen, and her two princess daughters, but let’s pause for a moment to note that these aliens are the first non-human sentient life forms that my characters–perhaps humanity as a whole–have ever encountered in-person. They apparently look like birds and live in castles and have the same type of social structure as a past Earth society. And we’re able to speak their language I guess because of information from the crashed Centauri Device? In any event, my characters managed to jump right in to palace intrigue while in real life they probably would have still be staring open-mouthed at the alien guards. For their part, the aliens didn’t react to us at all despite presumably never having seen humans before.                

Exploring the castle.

        From dialogue with NPCs, it transpired that Princes Jhenna was being forced to marry a reptilian alien from another sector. She naturally didn’t want to do this and was hoping to escape Talitha II to find her true love, a former palace servant who came from the planet Henresia, also known as Subra II. Meanwhile, some faction was planning a coup and had placed a bomb in a fountain near the wedding site, intending to kill both the queen and the princess.     We agreed to help the princess. I don’t think this was a role-playing choice so much as something that you have to do to as part of the main plot. She said that she could escape through a hidden door if we could move a heavy piece of furniture. This required us to find a “levitator,” which was on the other side of a navigation puzzle so annoying that whoever designed it should be hunted down 30 years later and forced to make it through a real-life version.             

The princess’s sister, who I guess is also a princess, explains the situation.

           The puzzle required the party to wend our way through a roughly 6 x 10 matrix of bushes, only some of which could be walked upon, and some of them had mines planted within them that would damage the party members for about half their health if they were within the one-square explosion radius. Unless I missed something, there was no way to tell which bushes had bombs without setting them off.

You can S)earch for them, which is the subject of its own annoyance. The reference card that comes with the game doesn’t mention “search” as a function when exploring on land; it only mentions “look.” (It does mention “search” later in a master list of commands, but not in the list specifically within the ground movement section.) For most of this session, I didn’t even realize that “search” existed, which means that I missed a lot of loot in various chests and barrels in the palace and probably on the Centauri outpost, too. But even when I reloaded and checked, “search” just caused the bombs to go off.

Thus, through trial and error, I had to make a map of the safe route through the bushes (this reminded me unfavorably of a level in Wizardry IV), only to discover that it still wasn’t safe. You only really control the movement of your lead character. The others do their best to follow, but they often go blundering off in their own directions, get trapped behind closed doors, get lost in mazes, and so forth. Even when I had the right path mapped, I couldn’t necessarily stop my trailing characters from wandering off it. I eventually just had to accept the damage and move on.             

My moron party members set off a bomb despite my best efforts.

          In due course, we found the levitation device, used it on the bureau, and hustled the princess through the secret door. The passage led to a courtyard where one of her friends waited with a spaceship. As she rushed aboard, she tossed something at us and told us to take it to “He Who Speaks” on Henresia, presumably her lover. The item was a “trinket.”            

Man, this would have come in handy in the Bolingbroke household over the last month.

          I tried to explore more, but the palace guards all turned hostile at this point, and without any experience gain or any place to sell looted equipment, you’re basically fighting for no reason. We ultimately beamed back to the Ulysses and moved on.            

The crew has a Star Trek-like transporter chamber for beaming up and down.

         The closest next star was Subra, presumably home of the Subra II that we had to visit to find “He Who Speaks.” We warped to the system and scouted a few planets before we were contacted by a ship. It had the same thuggish-looking alien who’d defeated us in combat before, demanding 3 “units of cargo.” I hadn’t saved in a while and wasn’t confident in my ability to win in combat anyway, so I offloaded 3 units of heavy metals we’d brought from Earth.               

Transferring cargo.

        The transfer screen above comes up at the warehouse on Earth, while you’re in orbit around planets, and when you’re trading with aliens. You hit + or – to add or subtract cargo from your ship. It’s not quite as fun as taking a lander down to the surface and looking for signs of ore deposits.              

The next quest begins.

           On Subra II, we hit the next quest, titled “Gift of the Magin.” The planet was far more imaginative and alien than Tanitha, covered with swamps, ferns, mushrooms, tall trees with sprawling root systems, and biting insects. We were attacked several times by some kind of bear-looking beast which left meat behind when we killed it.            

Firing at, and killing, a beast.

         The intelligent species was a fungus-based biped with no eyes or mouth. To communicate with them, we had to first find a writing tool called an “imastyl” which the aliens could use to write messages in the muck. One of them wanted the meat we’d collected from a beast to allow us to cross a bridge.             

The party approaches the Magin on the weird planet of Subra II.

           Living in the hollow of a dead tree, we found a woman named “She Whose Steps Are Wise,” otherwise called “The Magin.” She asked us to kill a mutant named “He Who Speaks” who lives on the other side of the river and apparently sets traps for his fellow Subraites. We fell victim to more than one of them.

We found “He Who Speaks” in a cave. He was so-named because of a genetic mutation that allows him to talk with a mouth, and he claimed that the deformity left him persecuted by his people. We declined to kill him (again, I don’t know if we had any other real option). He thanked us and asked us to go rescue Princess Jhenna. When we gave him the trinket instead, he thanked us and suggested that if we took the Magin the Talking Stick that he previously stole, she’d prize it more than his death. Jhenna hadn’t arrived yet, but he seemed confident she’d be along. I’m not sure how an anthropomorphic bird mates with a talking mushroom, but I guess that’s for them to figure out.               

I guess maybe this is a real choice, and I could have killed him to solve the quest.

         We found the Talking Stick in a cavern nearby. There was some creature called the Bladderclaw–an underground beast whose bladed tentacles came bursting out of holes and attacked us. We tried to fight it for a while, died, reloaded, then remembered we had no reason to keep fighting once we had the stick. (Perhaps there was a cache of better weapons and armor past him or something.) We left Bladderclaw in the cavern and returned the Talking Stick to the Magin. She said that since she had it back, she would be “too busy to deal with the Algiebian issue” and thus appointed us as her envoys to . . . something.

The crew wastes time trying to fight a monster.

              The next star was Koo-She. It had only one planet, Koo-She Prime, where a scan promised a quest called “Solitaire.” We beamed down into some structure beneath the surface of the planet. That’s as far as we got. We were blocked at the first door with a message that “only envoys of the President are allowed in the facility.” I guess the Magin isn’t the president because that didn’t do us any good.            

I swear to you, Sy Sterling sent us!

            The Miaplacidus system also only had one planet, and it was guarded by two ships and an orbital platform. When we communicated with them, they turned out to be staffed by the same species of goon who had previously extorted us for cargo. Here, he just demanded that we leave on pain of death. I decided I was sick of being pushed around and chose to attack.

Space combat in the game is disappointing. Basically, you just maneuver around the enemy, point your nose at him, and shoot. You can even turn on automatic firing if you want the game to shoot for you, which makes it almost just like Starflight. I assume that once I have a ship with cannons and missiles on the wings and such, I’ll have more things to shoot, but nothing really will change. Numbers show the status of your shields and your opponents. I honestly found it easiest to stay in one place and just rotate to face the foes. In the first combat, I destroyed both alien ships but then got killed by the orbital platform. I figured that was close enough to try again, and I achieved victory on my second attempt. My ship was repaired automatically afterwards, requiring no inventory of elements to do so.            

Destroying the alien ship. I have no idea why the GIF is so slow in the beginning. I have issues with GIFs.

             Miaplacidus Prime turned out to be uninhabited, but the planet had 27 units of “alien metals” to mine. Of course, after jettisoning the heavy metals we’d brought from Earth, we could still only take 5.

The Alphard system had mostly generic planets. One of them, Alphard Six, had 107 units of inert gases available.            

Those gases do not look inert.

              That left the Algiebian system. It had several generic planets and something called Ishtro Station. As we approached we were contacted by an alien who said that the world is “under the Great Protection Treaty signed by affiliates of the Galactic Enclave,” and that I would have to pay a fee of 6 cargo units before being allowed to contact the world. I tried giving him just 5, but he wouldn’t take it.           

What would you say he look like? A horse?

            Random notes:              

One denizen of Talitha II did recognize us as “humans” and said that he hadn’t seen any of us “since the Concierge locked up the Izor system.” This suggests that humans live in the Izor system and perhaps that its ruler even is one.

There is no consideration of fuel in this game, nor does there seem to be any kind of timer.

The inability to move diagonally is really annoying.

I didn’t talk much about ground combat, but it has so few options that the game might as well have offered autocombat. 

I got stuck in He Who Speaks’s cave for a while because although there was an obvious ladder, apparently the command needed to climb it was “search.” The game has a lot of weird interface quirks like that.

             Since my ship is only capable of carrying 5 units of cargo, I leave you heading back to Earth to either build a new space ship or remove my only weapon from my current one to make more space.

My suspicion is that I’ll find some quest that leads me to the first artifact and that the other seven systems will have other batches of extremely linear, named, interrelated quests. But with no open exploration and no good RPG mechanics (there’s no character development and combat tactics are minimal), everything is going to hinge on the quality of the stories that make up those quests, and I find their quality mixed so far.

Time so far: 8 hours

source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/planets-edge-one-line-in-three-dimensions/