#sorry to insult the sewage

[saltygilmores]

Thoughts While Watching Gilmore Girls-Season 2 Episode 15-"Lost And Found" Aka Rory Loses Dean's Shitty Bracelet That She Didn't Even Care She Lost , Aka BraceletGate, Aka QuarterOnAStringGate, Part 3

Now for the contiuation of Gilmore Girls 7-10 MInutes At A Time Because That's All I Can Tolerate of Lorelai Gilmore. Or Until I Reach My Max Number of Screen Shots (30).

Where we last left off, we were witnessing the complete miscarriage of justice wrought by AmyShermanPalladino wherein Dean The Butt Forrester is taking Rory to a town wide book sale and sulking like a little bitch while Jess Mariano is stuck slopping some bitch's gutters (and not sulking like a little bitch about it, I might add), some bitch being Lorelai Gilmore. This scenario has to violate some international treaty against war crimes. R: You sure you don't want to look around? DTBF: I did. R: For five minutes. DTBF: It was 20 minutes. Then I stopped. And you continued for another two hours. R: It has not been that long. DTBF: *shows Rory his watch* R: Oh, sorry. Thank you for mansplaining the concept of time to us, Dean The Butt Forrester. Speaking of time, I think it's time for your weekly ButtScout meeting, better get going.

Judging by the four identical BOOKS BOOKS AND MORE BOOKS fliers affixed to the same door, I'd venture to guess there is a book sale going on. Maybe I'm wrong. Dean:

EVERY GOD DAMN TIME. DEAN "WHAT'S IN IT FOR ME" FORRESTER! AND LORD OF THE RINGS IS LIKE FOUR HOURS LONG. THIS DOES NOT SEEM LIKE AN EVEN EXCHANGE, DEAN THE BUTT. WHY AM I SHOUTING. I JUST HATE DEAN THE BUTT FORRESTER SO MUCH. Well, if it means Dean shuts up for four hours (if he doesn't talk through the entire movie) maybe it would be a welcome relief for Rory. Crossroads with Brtiney Spears came out the week before this episode aired. This movie is 1 hour and 34 minutes long. Rory, follow my instructions very closely: open one of those books, place DTBF's hand in between the pages, and slam down. Enjoy his screams of agony. You're welcome. Rory, struggling to juggle an armload of books that DTBF isn't offering to help her carry, goes into Don't Make Dean Angry/ Don't Drop The Books mode and agrees to go. But the tone of her "Ok" wasn't pleasing to DTB and he snaps back with a WHAT? I thought you liked Lord of the Rings.

No, I think you misheard the girl. What she actually said was "I want to see your genitals crushed with a lawnmower 100 times so you can never reproduce or have sex with Lorelai again" Oh, that was me, sorry.

Love Rory in this moment. Here's your crown, your majesty 👑

.......

Who could have ever predicted the answer to that question, huh. Dean is a sub-humanoid butt astronaut. Jess Mariano would NEVER just sit back and watch as Rory walked around struggling to carry things.

Oh god, it's all down hill from here people. The bracelet has escaped. I repeat, the bracelet has escaped.

DTBF: Where's your bracelet? You're not wearing your bracelet. Where is it? R: I took it off. DTBF: Why? R: Because I got a rash. Well, that's what happens when you wear a bracelet made out of a quarter on a string. Who knows what sorts of bacteria were lurking in the payphone that Dean fished it out of?

Simpsons and Gilmore Girls are such a winning combination. Rory looks terrified at how Dean might potentially react to her losing some cheap ass gumball machine bracelet. How would he react if she actually lost a gift worth more than 25 cents? (irrelevant, he would never gift her anything worth more than that). Joke's on her, it's going to be her Mom who really loses her shit about the cereal box bracelet.

Oh this does not sound good. "You go browse the astronomy section, we'll see Lord of the Rings and then watch Autumn in New York later and mock it all afternoon." Lord Of The Rings, Fellowship of the Rings: 2hr 58 minutes Autumn in New York: 1hr 43 minutes Browsing the Astronomy Section, Possibly To Research What Distant Black Hole Her Boyfriend Emerged From: 5-10 minutes probably. In the Dean the Butt universe, everything benefits him in the end. Me, me, me. Sure he was married, but I'll say this about Rory, still kinda proud of her that she makes him wait over four years until she finally put out. If he was a little nicer maybe Rory would at least give him a handy or even two during the 3 hour movie. (ps, where did they go to watch AINY if Lorelai was at home with Jess? Did poor Rory get stuck spending the afternoon in the Forrester living room, with Clara interrupting and Dean's parents in the next room audibly discussing with one another how their son was an unfortunate accident that should have been left at the local Safe Haven unwanted infant drop off, and now Rory can't even hear the movie?) Rory agrees to this "deal" just to shut Dean up, a deal which benefits her in no way whatsoever.

A double dose of nightmare fuel for ya'll so you can suffer alongside me. When you have to say "I'm not bored" to convince someone you're not bored... Moments ago Kirk was haggling with Gypsy over saving a nickel on a used book for charity and Kirk still comes out looking like a shrewder bargainer than Dean.

You know, it's a good thing they serve nutritious lunches at Chilton (even if Rory only chooses to eat two slices of white bread most of the time) and that there are restaurants nearby who cater to the Gilmores even though they never pay for their food, because otherwise Lorelai's child would be subsisting on a diet of Ragu sauce, salsa, Triscuit, and Coke (with lemon). I guess it's marginally better than what Jess would find when he opened Liz's fridge as a child. Roaches and empty promises. Now you're sad. I'm taking you all down with me on this sinking ship of an episode, damn it. My will to live watching another one of these DALA (Dean And Lorelai Affair/Dean And Lorelai are Assholes/ Dean And Lorelai are having Anal sex with each other) episodes is kind of like the Titan submersible. Quickly imploded after a short descent. Nothing remaining. Mere atoms scattered into vast nothingness. Gone. It's so much worse when you've seen the show multiple times and already know that Lorelai's "goodwill" towards Jess in the next scene goes down as quickly as Lorelai goes down on Dean after he helps her change her water dispenser. We see Lor looking around and listening suspiciously, as Lorelais do when Jesses are in their house. Not hearing any sounds of gutter-slopping, she slips outside.

This whole god damn episode exists because this smol infant just had to pick up that fucking quarter on a string. Why didn't you leave it on the bridge or return it Rory?! Why Jesstopher, why? I hate you right now. Your actions have consequences! People (me) are in pain. Don't you even care? Lorelai: Jess? Jess to Lorelai who treats him like shit: I'm sorry, was I being too loud? Stop being so nice. Ugh. Lorelai offers Jess some cold crappy leftovers. Figuring she probably put arsenic in his take out container, he politely declines, but then a second later he changes his mind, probably figuring death by eggroll sounds more peaceful than continuing to slop this bitch's gutters all afternoon.

Do you ever just want to get inside Jess Mariano's mind? I desperately want to know what he's thinking here after Lorelai says she and Rory ordered every chicken item on the Chinese restaurant menu in one night. I'm just saying, that "ambitious" is loaded.

Lorelai gets out the special plates reserved for special Poisoning occasions.

I'm probably the only person who gets a small chuckle every time Jess is offered meat (see also: a hot dog) knowing Milo Ventimiglia is a lifelong vegetarian, so I like to pretend Jess is a vegetarian as well.

L: "We have Garlic chicken, kung pao chicken, Szechuan chicken, chicken in brown sauce." All those poor chickens gave their lives just to end up feeding Lorelai Gilmore, isn't that a pity. (PETA, pay me for your new slogan). L to J: This chicken has these hot peppers in them, if you eat them, you'll die.

But enough about your fantasies again, Lorelai. Jess politely accepts some food, offers to wash his hands before eating, gently chides Lorelai about how the Gilmores neglect their basic nutrition and home repairs, suggests he found a bumper sticker from the 1950's in her gutter, all in good fun, proceeds to have a perfectly nice if awkward conversation with this bitch who doesn't deserve it. We know Lorelai is going to erase the memory of this impeccably polite behavior from her mind in a few moments after Braceletgate gets underway. Sorry Jess, you can't win. You try to be nice, she tries to poison your food, and failing that screams at you for taking her daughter's quarter on a string given to her by a Butt named Dean. 14 years later she's married into your family and still saying someone should throw a football at your face. Not even worth trying to curry her favor. Just be yourself, hunny.

Just admiring his gigantic watch. #AdmireTheBaby #ThePeppersAreTainted

#AdmireTheBaby Lorelai plays "Geting to know Jess" and we find out some obvious things. School is "still there" and he's not involved in any after school activities and he would like to throw a ball at an athlete's head. Well, of course he has no extra cirriculars. He spends all of his free time being underpaid by his uncle to work in the diner. What extra cirriculars do you think Jess might enjoy? Let me know in the replies.

It's okay, my little socially anxious baby, we still love you. I won't ever make a "Wow this thing knows how to talk" Lorelai-style remark. I can promise you that. I've been on the end of those comments and they hurt. I love seeing Milo eat with his crooked lip. Yes, I feel bad for him, after he said half his mouth is scar tissue from biting his lip so much while trying to eat, and he doesn't even feel it anymore. That being said, I still love him eating food vertically like he's gonna deep throat it. Egg rolls, hot dogs, popsicles and string cheese. The Milo is about to feast. Let's watch.

Beautiful end to this part of my recap. CHOMP! To be continued.

[punchdrunkdoc]

Just Breathe - Ch.14

Summary: Six months after the events in Gotham Square Garden, Bruce is struggling to find balance between his role as Batman and his responsibilities as Bruce Wayne. His life is made even more complicated when he learns that someone knows his secret identity.

Notes: This is a multi-chapter, slow-burn Battinson/original female character story with romance, angst, and crime solving!

Also available on AO3

Masterlist

Reference pics and stuff

"I love you, Beth."

The overwhelming joy Beth felt at that confession lasted only an instant.

It was quickly followed by despair. 

She stepped away from Bruce, breaking his hold and putting an end to the best few minutes of her life. Dancing with Connell had been like swimming through sewage; his thoughts and secrets flowed through her mind, coating it in a layer of filth until she’d felt faint with nausea and disgust. 

But then Bruce had appeared. 

He'd rescued her from her own personal hell, banishing the feel of Connell with his strong arms and his gloved hands as he’d pulled her close. He'd made her forget all the awful stolen memories, until there was just the two of them, barely moving as they held each other. She'd felt his breath on her neck, his thumb stroking against her back, the long strands of his hair brushing against the arm she’d wrapped around his neck. 

It was perfect. 

She’d wanted to stay in that moment with him forever. Where there was no city to distract him, or abilities to keep them apart. Where they were just two people, spinning around, locked together like binary stars. 

But then he'd lifted his head and said those three little words…and that perfect moment imploded. 

She felt the tail-tell burn behind her eyes that signalled the onset of tears.

She needed to get out of here. 

She gathered the train of her gown and spun on her heel, pushing her way between dancing couples and ignoring the disgruntled mutters as she barrelled her way to the exit. 

When she reached the relative quiet of the hallway she took a deep breath and tried to ignore the wrenching pain in her heart. 

It felt like she’d left half of it behind. 

She glanced back and could see Bruce slowly making his way to the exit. He was trying to be discreet and she was grateful he wasn’t adding to her dramatic scene by racing after her. But the look on his face was determined, and he didn’t break eye contact with her, even when an older woman grabbed his arm to talk to him. 

Beth inspected her surroundings, looking for a place to regroup. The second door she tried opened into a small study. She’d taken two steps inside when she felt a gloved hand grasp her arm and gently usher her further into the space.  

It was Bruce. 

“We need to talk,” he said, closing the door behind them. The music from the party became a muffled hum, and she was suddenly aware of the pounding in her chest. 

She wasn’t ready for this conversation. 

“Why did you run?”

But it looked like there was no way to avoid it. 

“Beth?” Bruce repeated. “Why did you run away from me?” He took a step closer, but paused when she stepped back. He shook his head. “I told you something back there that I’ve never told anyone before.”

She closed her eyes, and could feel a tear escape and run down her cheek. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” He whispered. She could hear the hurt in his voice. She opened her eyes and saw the anguish in his. 

“Because it’s not real.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You don’t love me. You can’t.” She looked down at the floor, as the words babbled from her lips. “You just got used to me being around. I’m the only woman in your life and you…misinterpreted what you were feeling. You feel responsible for me and it made you-“

“Shut up.”

Her head shot up. “Excuse me?”

“I said ‘shut up’. Don’t insult me, Beth. I know how I feel. And I love you.”

She shook her head. “No. I know how you feel. I’ve been in your head, remember? You have feelings for someone else - Selina Kyle.”

“What?” He scoffed. “I’ve barely thought about her in months. Not since I met you.”

She shook her head again, and started to back away as he stalked closer. He ripped the glove from his right hand and threw it on the floor; the left quickly followed. She jolted as the back of her legs hit the large mahogany desk behind her. 

He stepped closer, until his feet bracketed hers, and his bare hands came to rest on the table either side of her hips. He leant closer. “I love you, Beth.”

She bit her lip, still so scared to believe him. It didn’t seem real, that anyone could truly love her. Let alone this wonderful, complex, beautiful man. 

His eyes followed the movement as her teeth sank into her bottom lip. “I guess I’ll have to prove it,” he murmured, before bending down to press his mouth to hers. 

She gasped, her mouth parting in shock, allowing him to deepen the kiss. His tongue swept into her mouth and he palmed her head with one of his hands, his fingers burying into the silken strands. He boosted her up until she was sitting on the desk and stepped between her legs pressing against her. His free hand swept down the full length of her back and up again, the friction like trails of sparks that shot through to her core.

She was powerless to resist. Couldn’t help but respond. She tilted her head, changing the angle of the kiss, meeting his tongue with her own. Her hands came up to his face and she stroked her thumbs against his jaw as her fingers swept into his hair. 

The deluge of physical sensation was so overwhelming - his taste, the texture of his skin against her searching hands and wandering lips, the force of their lower bodies pushing against each other - that it took a moment for the other sensations to penetrate. 

His thoughts.

And his feelings for her.

She saw herself through his eyes, via the prism of his memories. Their first meeting over a year ago where he was impressed by her stubborn intelligence; when she saved him in the junkyard, her rushed words of reassurance meaning so much to him; the hours he spent watching her and learning about her, growing more intrigued with every revelation; the smiles he hid from her when she amused him; the connection he felt to her; his bone-crushing fear when she was in danger... 

She saw herself padding around his house wearing his clothes and sensed how right it felt to him; she watched as he brought her out of a nightmare with his touch and a fantasy of a kiss under the stars…

He poured everything in his heart into her, until the truth became an undeniable fact.

He loved her.  

He really loved her. 

She broke the kiss, staggered by the depth of his feelings and by her own desire. She was panting, her skin on fire. She pictured herself lying on the table behind her, her skirt pushed, writhing in pleasure as he licked-

She jerked and her eyes flew to his.

That was not her fantasy. 

He stared back at her, his eyes dark and heavy with lust as he imagined pulling her to the edge of the table and slowly thrusting into her…

Her breathing sped up and she licked her lips, her fingers clenching on his shoulders, as his own pressed into her back. 

She’d never considered this aspect of her ability. His wants and desires were amping up her own, like a positive feedback loop. She felt like she could climax just from seeing the images in his head…

But then his control over his thoughts slipped for a moment. A trickle of doubt crept through his mind as he worried that he wasn’t experienced enough. She caught a fleeting glimpse of a previous encounter with a woman, and it was like a bucket of ice water dousing her passion.

She jumped away from him, breaking the contact.  

“What’s wrong?” he rasped, his hand reaching out to her.

She backed away from him. “We can’t do this.”

“We already are doing this,” he countered.

“So we need to stop, before we go any further. It can’t work between us.”

“It was working pretty well until you got spooked.”

‘Yes, because I saw you having sex with another woman,’ she wanted to yell. But that wouldn’t be fair - it wasn’t like he was consciously picturing someone else. It was just how the mind worked. He had a moment of uncertainty about his sexual prowess and his brain free-associated with memories of sex. He probably wasn’t even aware of it. 

But she was.

It was yet one more example of why touching him would always hurt her in the end. 

But the alternative - where they were together but unable to physically express that connection - would hurt him. He was perhaps the only other person on the planet more touch-starved than her…so it wouldn’t be fair to deny him that kind of intimacy. 

He needed to be with someone who could take his hand when he was feeling uncertain; who could hold him when he was hurting; kiss him and make love to him and show him through touch how much he was cherished.  

And that could never be her. 

“I need to go,” she said, avoiding his eyes. She started to smooth her hair back into place. 

“No, we need to talk about this. You got mad at me for pulling away when I got scared, but now you’re doing the same thing.”

“I’m not scared,” she protested.

“Yes you are. You’ve finally accepted the truth - that I love you - and it’s freaking you out.”

“I’m not freaking out, and I’m not scared! I’m…I’m…I’m fucking angry!” she yelled. She brought her hands up and stared at her clenched fists. She wanted to rip the skin from her bones, claw at her cursed flesh until she blunted all sensation. “I hate this! I hate that I can’t touch you. I hate that this is keeping us apart.”

She looked up at him, and felt heated tears run down her face. “I love you too, Bruce. I love you so much, and I want to be with you more than anything. But I just can’t.”

She turned and ran from the room. 

 ———

 Bruce stared out the window, but he couldn't see much of the garden terrace beyond the glass - only his own reflection. His hair was mussed, the gelled strands sticking out from the actions of Beth's hands; his bow tie was loose and there was a hint of lipstick staining the collar of his shirt.

The evidence of their passion should have sparked some...feeling...in him. A lingering trace of lust, a sense of loss that their encounter was cut short. The words that were repeating in his mind - I love you too, Bruce - should have evoked joy, anger, frustration...

But all he felt was…empty.

He was numb. 

He'd put his heart on the line and confessed his love - a feat that would have been unthinkable several months ago - but it was all for nothing. 

Beth loved him. Wanted to be with him, as much as he wanted to be with her. But she was adamant it could never work between them. 

She'd looked distraught as she'd raged against the ability that kept them apart. 

An ability he was willing to work around...but one that she saw only as an immovable obstacle.

And who was he to argue with that? He had no idea what it was like to live her experience. To dread contact with another person's skin. To constantly worry that a stray touch could reveal something horrific, or hurtful. 

Like tonight.

Looking back, it was now obvious that she'd seen something in his thoughts that had made her jump away from him in surprise. 

One second she'd been staring up at him, her lips parted, her cheeks flushed, her breasts pressing against his chest with every panting breath, looking ready to dive right back into their kiss...and the next she was across the room, a mile of space between them. There had been a flicker of disgust on her face, which she quickly hid...

Which meant she’d seen something. Something other than the memories of him falling in love that he'd projected to her. 

It didn't matter what it was. It only mattered that she had seen something. Something that justified her keeping those boundaries - those barriers - between them.    

And he needed to respect that, even if the grief hollowed him out.

It all just proved that he wasn't destined to be with anyone. The solitary life he'd chosen for himself when he'd taken on the Gotham project was the path that was meant for him.  

He was fated to be alone.

He felt the vibration of his phone alerting in his pocket and checked the display. 

Beth is with me. I'm driving her home. I'll talk to you later --Alfred. 

He switched off the device. That last sentence had the ominous ring of an oncoming lecture - no doubt brought on by Beth's dishevelled appearance and tear-stained face - and he couldn't handle that now. 

He could think of a better way to spend the rest of the night. 

He made his way out of the house and to his car where he'd stashed his suit. 

It was time to get back to his city and hit the streets.

 ———

 Several hours later, Bruce returned home to the Tower, his jaw throbbing from a car-jacker's lucky right hook.  

He'd been a little distracted tonight.

Patrolling the city had not succeeded in banishing the memories of Beth and their earlier encounter. And as an added bonus, he'd been tormented all night by thoughts of 'what-if?’.

What if Beth didn't have her ability?

Would they be together?

The answer he'd come to...was no. 

Without her ability, she never would have discovered his secret. Which meant they never would have had that conversation under the stars. They never would have been friends. She wouldn't be in Newsome's crosshairs, and never would have had a reason to live with him in Wayne Tower.

He never would have gotten the chance to fall in love with her. 

And she wouldn't be the same Beth without her gift. It had shaped her, for good and for ill. And he loved who she was - a brave, optimistic woman whose beautiful smile guarded a lonely, desperate heart. 

So without her gift, she wouldn't be his Beth...and they never would have found each other. That revelation had led him towards an even more dangerous question:

If Beth didn't have her ability...and they'd never fallen in love...

Would he be better off?

He didn't have an answer for that.

But the dilemma had distracted him enough that he'd ended up with a battered jaw. 

He rubbed at the emerging bruise as he entered the penthouse. The moment he stepped foot inside, Dory came running from the kitchen, looking distressed. "I've been trying to reach you all night!"

He froze, then pulled the phone from his pocket and stared at the black screen.

He’d turned if off. 

He'd turned it off hours ago...and something had happened. 

"Dory, what...?" he whispered, barely able to get the words out as a million worse-scenarios flicked through his mind. 

"There was an accident on the way home from the party. The limo was hit by another car. The hospital called and-"

His stomach went into free-fall as her words penetrated. He started running back to the elevator. "Which hospital?" he barked over his shoulder. 

"Gotham General," he heard her call as he entered the car and stabbed at the down button. “But they said that-"

The rest of her sentence was cut off by the closing doors. It didn't matter - he'd hear it all first hand when he got to there. 

Finally reaching the parking garage, he sprinted for the Corvette. The tyres screeched as he backed out of his space and gunned towards the exit. He normally took better care of the vintage car, but tonight he couldn't give a damn if the thing collapsed into a pile of scrap metal, as long as it got him to the hospital first.   

He clenched the steering wheel as he drove towards the highway, his heart pounding with terror. 

Please, just let her be okay. 

Please.

He chanted the refrain under his breath the entire journey. It was the only thing stopping the toxic thoughts in his head from overwhelming him. 

Thoughts of finding her on the brink of death, or unconscious and hooked up to machines...

Or worse...

Abandoning his car at the front entrance to the infirmary, he raced through to the emergency department. He grabbed the first nurse he could find. "There was an accident last night north of the city - a limousine was hit-"

"Yes, I know the case. The driver - Mr. Pennyworth - is over there in Bay 3," she pointed to a curtained-off cubicle to the right. "Are you family?"

"Yes."

"Well, he's going to be fine. He woke up just a little while ago. He’s a bit groggy from the concussion, but he'll be fit for discharge soon."

The relief at the news did nothing to dent his anxiety. "And the woman? The passenger?" he asked, his voice breaking. 

The nurse gave him a strange look. "There was no passenger. The paramedics only found one person at the scene."

Bruce shook his head and pushed past her, his panic rising. He wrenched open the curtains surrounding Alfred's bed. The older man glanced around at the sound, his eyes taking a moment to focus. "Bruce?" he rasped.

Bruce dropped to his knees and grasped the sheets of the bed. "Alfred, where's Beth? What happened?"

Alfred swallowed and licked his dry lips. “We’d just reached the intersection by the old mill and something slammed into us from the right. There were no headlights, no warning. Just the impact. We spun around and ended in the ditch.” He closed his eyes, as if trying to relive the events. “I think I got out to check on Beth - I could hear her calling my name - but then…nothing. I woke up here. They’ve just told me they couldn’t find her - Bruce, I’m so sorry.”

Bruce rose and staggered away from the bed. He could see the nurse's lips move as she asked if he was okay, but the sound was muffled by the ringing in his ears and the pounding pulse of his heart.

Beth was missing.

-----

CHAPTER 15

-----

Taglist: @hollandorks @grunge-n-roses5 @xmxrfx @neptunesands @caramelcandescence  @blossomedfloweroflove @wanderdreamer @angelsarecallin @stephenismyking @rabbitdictionary @starshipvelociraptor @yanna-banana @batmanlovesnirvana  @bees-fart-too @hypnoash @eravanaaaah @anescapistreality @beigetrash @shimmeringgrim

If you’d like to be added, just let me know…

[doloresdraws]

‘When I look back on my life It's so hard to face you I never wanted to fight this fight I'm ashamed of the truth No, I don't want to hurt you, baby I don't want to hurt you, baby I didn't mean to hurt you, baby

God, I'm sorry’

When I look back on my life I never wanted this fight (I don't want to hurt you baby) If I could turn back time (I don't want to hurt you baby) I would make it alright (I don't want to hurt you baby)

I love you, I love you sunshine’

Unbelievable, but I painted something new and even managed to finish it in two sittings.

Finally a proper painting of my Sabbat Nosferatu character Fox for our upcoming Sabbat game set in San Francisco. Since his story didn’t start yet I can only share something about his background.

Fox came to San Francisco from a small town in Ohio to escape a brewing unhappiness and resentment towards his mother and responsibility of caring for his two younger sisters that in his eyes slowed him down. He was tired of having to act like an adult in his family and also having to endure the looks and gossips of his classmates, because everyone knew what his mother did for a living to be able to take care of her three kids.

He had these naive dreams that living in California will bring him more and better opportunities to make good money and to live the life he often saw on tv growing up. He really wanted to become something, to prove his mother that you can get money with honest, not self-degrading work. He really hoped that he will be able to earn enough money to ensure that his sisters will never end up in the same line of work as his mother.  Of course the reality was not quite how he imagined, he struggled to find work at first, having to even spend a few nights sleeping in the park, but with his determination and eagerness to do just almost any work he was able to find various construction work and other small odd jobs to sustain his basic human needs. A lot of his colleagues were of Mexican and Venezuelan origin and through daily socializing with them he actually picked up some Spanish. He was still looking for a better, stable job but even though he often had little money to go on, he was adamant to stay clear of any criminal work. After about 6 months he was able to secure a job as the sewage treatment plant worker, it wasn’t as glorious work as he dreamed of and the surroundings were often very unpleasant, but he hid his pride and put his best efforts to do his job well. He quickly became very good at it and was even promoted, with the extra money he was able to rent a small apartment.Although far from how he imagined it, his life for the next few years was quite good, he managed to find himself a girlfriend and was planning to get marry to her, the biggest problem was that Gloria was in the US illegally, so he had to figure out how to make it happen.

Unfortunately everything changed when Fox got into an accident during his work when a gas pipe exploded and a fire had started. He was one of the few people injured, but unfortunately for Fox, he was the one who got the most severe burns that covered about 40% of his body, unfortunately also his lower half of the face, neck and hands. After this accident his life spiraled quickly, his company had friends in higher places, so instead of paying for health bills of their workers, they actually scapegoated Fox and sued him and his group of workers for the accident. He had no money for a fancy lawyer, so he lost the case, together with his medical bills his debts started piling up. His personality changed, he was angry or didn't speak at all for days. Gloria tried to help him and tried to be by his side, but he hated the fact that he could see the pity on her face whenever she looked at him. So he really started being mean to her so she would leave him alone, right now he didn't want anyone around. One day it got out of hand and he pushed her out of the door and told her never to come back, that she should get back to her Taco country or something offensive like that. He also managed to shout some Spanish insults at her, his words really hurt her as she ran away with tears.After a few days he felt really bad for breaking the things between him and Gloria in such a horrible way. He knew deep down that he needed her and wanted her by his side, even if it hurt to see how she looked at him, he knew that she was worth it. She actually never showed him where she lived before, so obviously the only places to look for her were the areas where she used to work. He hated to go outside and interact with people as they would always look at him the same, with pity and disgust, but he wanted to try to make up with Gloria. Yet when he asked in the bar the manager said that Gloria didn’t come to work in a last few days. He then went to ask around in the market she used to help and one of the women there told him that two days ago there was a police investigation and that they took a lot of people without proper papers away and that Gloria was among them.

Once again Fox felt absolutely helpless, she was probably detained and ends up deported back to Mexico and there is nothing he can do about it. He had no money, he didn’t even know where exactly she was. That night he bought a few bottles of tequila, drank as much as he could before he felt sick and threw up, which fucking hurt as all of his scars weren't fully healed yet. He hated himself, it was his fault she ended up on the street and now she is gonna end up back in Mexico with her last memories of him will be him yelling all this horrible shit to her face. He was ashamed of himself.

After this his life got even worse, now he had no emotional support, no friends, no job, painful scars that made him look like a monster. He usually spent his days staring at the ceiling, he couldn't really drink much as it was just too nasty, so he just existed for a while. His debts forced him to find work, but he couldn't do physical jobs he was used to anymore, he managed to find some odd jobs, probably because people felt bad for him which he resented. He even worked in 7/11 store, but all of his jobs were just temporary, he couldn’t keep any of them for more than for a week. It was not that his employers were unhappy with him, but Fox couldn’t just stand all the stares and pity looks he got from his employers, coworkers and customers. It didn't take long and he couldn’t keep up with the rent and when he lost the apartment, he became homeless. He could of course get back to his mother, but he actually didn't even notify neither him or his sister about his accident, he didn't want to be a burden and also he had too much pride to ever getting back to that shitty small town. All he wanted was to hide from people, to be spared of their pitiful glances and their talk about how strong he was. He wasn’t strong, he was a shitty, pathetic person who abandoned his family, resented his own mother, he failed his sisters and he treated the person that he loved as a Punchbag for his spite and insecurities, and now she will probably end up in some kind of human trafficking ring, because of him.

I will talk about his Embrace in more detail in some future post, but basically he was a shovelhead who somehow managed to get a chance to prove himself to the Sabbat. Although he loves his pack( some more than others) he still isn’t quite convinced by the Sabbat’s ideology, his biggest difficulty being the ever-present unnecessary violence, he still tries to cling to the last bits of humanity inside of him and that often leads to dissatisfaction from the Bishop and thus reflecting badly on his pack. He is torn between trying to fit in and wanting to measure up to his fellow Cainites and to do what feels right in his heart…

I am honestly very excited to finally play a Nosferatu. ❤

Fox © me/doloresdraws lyrics  ©  Hurt by Meg Myers

[stabbyrime]

About the coffee thing with Rime... He would totally make you make him coffee, take a sip, insult it like "you call yourself a 'barista' and serve me sewage water?" then you're like "if it's so bad, then throw it out" and he's like "............." [takes another sip in silence]

HAHA AGREED he totally complains just to complain.

Although I can't make fun of him too much bc I will only drink coffee if it's iced and/or it has an ungodly amount of syrup in it 🤷🏻‍♂️ sorry it's just disgusting without it.

Maybe that's how I make him like my coffee, just put a bunch of syrup in it 😂

[juliandev0rak]

Earl Grey 

She makes him tea, he lends her his coat, and it’s all a bit too domestic for Beatrice to handle. 

Beatrice is forced to confront the truth, and she doesn’t think she’ll ever tire of earl grey tea. 

a continuation of the Vianan series because I couldn’t help myself 🦉🐰

characters: Beatrice Viano my apprentice, Lysander Lonan, and Leila Lonan (@leila-of-ravens’ ocs)

pairing: Beatrice Viano x Lysander Lonan / Vianan

words: 2094

warnings: more nerds pining 

read about their first meeting written by the lovely @leila-of-ravens 

and part 2 here

Beatrice wakes up in a haze, noticing that it’s much brighter outside than it usually is when she wakes up. The clock on her bedside table tells her that it's nearly 11:30, and she’s very late to the library. She hadn’t meant to oversleep, but it had taken her hours to get to sleep last night, her thoughts plagued by a dark haired man with chalk on his face.

On her way to the library she stops by the kitchen, deciding that working on an empty stomach isn’t a good idea. She asks Hestion the cook if there are any leftovers from breakfast and is handed an entire tray of pastries, somehow still warm despite the late hour. On her way out she eyes an empty teapot and decides to ask for tea as well, her brain reminding her that a certain research partner is fond of earl grey. 

She manages not to drop anything on the walk to the library but has to knock on the door to be let in because her hands are too full. A few seconds pass and the door opens a crack. Lysander’s face appears in the crack and he opens the door further when he realizes it’s just her. 

“Good morning, Beatrice.” He says, his face pulling into the tiniest smile. Beatrice is quiet for a minute, taking in the familiar face she’d been trying not to think about all night. Finally she clears her throat and steps into the door he’s holding open.

“Good morning, Lysander. I’m sorry I’m late, but I brought tea!” She says, managing an only slightly altered tone of voice as she brushes past him. He shuts the door and they walk to the work table together where Beatrice sets down the tray of pastries and tea.

“I was wondering where you were, you’re usually very punctual.” Lysander says, taking his usual seat across from her. 

“Yes, I overslept.” She explains, grabbing a tea cup for something to do with her hands. “Would you like some tea?” 

“I can make it.” He reaches to grab the cup from her but she shakes her head, causing his hand to falter in mid air. 

“It’s no trouble, I’ll pour.” She doesn’t know where the urge came from, but she’s determined to make this cup of tea for him. It’s the least she can do for being two hours late to their planning meeting. He watches her silently as she pours the tea and carefully adds a splash of milk. She hopes he doesn’t notice the way her hands shake slightly as she hands the cup to him

“Thank you.” He says, accepting the cup. He takes a curious sip and finds it perfect, just how he would have made it. 

“You’re welcome. Have you found anything interesting yet this morning?” Beatrice asks, reaching for a croissant from the tray.

“Yes, actually. I was just reading about attempts to start a school in Vesuvia nearly two hundred years ago.” Lysander replies, his voice rising in volume as it always does when he’s about to explain something.

“Really? I wonder why they were never successful? There’s been plenty of interest in a school, I can’t imagine it’s only a recent development.” Beatrice ponders, now busy preparing her own cup of tea. She plops in three sugar cubes and a large splash of milk, turning her tea the color of parchment.

“Do you always take your tea with so much sugar?” Lysander asks, his eyes trained to her as she takes a sip and then adds yet another sugar cube. She deems it good enough and takes another sip before answering.

“Yes, I like things to be quite sweet.” She explains. “It’s a bad habit, perhaps, but I can’t stand bitter drinks.” 

“You must dislike coffee then.” He says, perhaps not even aware that he’s smiling at her more widely than he usually does. “Somehow I suppose I should have known you would like overly sweet drinks.” 

“Hey, it’s not overly sweet, just sweet enough.” She laughs, taking in his expression with a matching grin. “I think maybe I need sweet drinks in order to be sweet.”

“I think you do that on your own.” Lysander takes a sip of his own tea, his facial expression and tone of voice betray nothing of his emotions. He seems wholly unaware of his offhand comment’s effect on Beatrice whose face has turned bright pink in response.

“So uh.” Beatrice stutters, not sure what to say now. Lysander seems completely unabashed as he continues to sip his tea. “What else did you find in that book?” 

“Oh yes, it detailed the first Count of Vesuvia’s attempts to start a school, but it seems there were always more pressing matters. Vesuvia was busy at war for many years, and there wasn’t much time to think about infrastructure such as public education.” He explains. “Or a proper sewage disposal system.” 

“Hey! Don’t insult Vesuvia just because Umbra is the pinnacle of modernity.” Beatrice teases.

“You’d be surprised how far Umbra is from modern.” Lysander says quietly, and although his tone hasn’t changed, Beatrice can sense that it's a sensitive topic and decides to drop it.

“Well, I suppose I’d better get to work then, we wouldn’t want people to think that Vesuvia’s headteacher is slacking off.” She smiles, reaching for the stack of books she’d been going through the night before. The two of them lapse into their usual routine of silent, focused research.

“We should finalize a list of subjects so we can assign teachers.” Lysander says after an hour or so has passed. Beatrice looks up, slightly startled by the break in silence and nods. He walks over to the chalkboard in the corner and Beatrice stands to join him. 

“We’ve already decided on reading, writing, literature, and history.” Beatrice says and Lysander nods and writes them on the board. His handwriting is neat and somehow very like him and she can’t help but remark “You have very lovely handwriting.” 

He turns to look at her but doesn’t reply, just half smiles and turns to continue the list. She chides herself for always making things awkward with her weird compliments, but she can’t seem to help the words from bubbling out of her. They finish their list and soon enough return to their respective book piles. 

She finds it difficult to focus, however, because the library is cold. Beatrice reaches to put her hands in her cloak, only to find she isn’t wearing it, she’d been in such a rush to get to the library that she’d forgotten it. She suppresses a shiver and tries to cast a warming charm on her thin blouse and trousers. It does the trick for a few minutes but she’s quickly shivering again and decides she should probably just run back to her room to get her cloak. Just as she’s considering standing up she looks up to see Lysander watching her intently. 

“Are you cold?” He asks. 

“Oh, I- uh, yes a little.” Beatrice replies, crossing her arms to keep a bit more body heat in. “I forgot my cloak, I think I’ll head back to get it.” 

“No need, you can wear my coat. I’m not cold.” Lysander says, already shrugging out of the sleeves. She watches in surprise as he hands the dark fabric coat over.

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to get cold, it’s not a far walk to my room.” She protests, face already turning an embarrassing shade of pink again. 

“I’m not cold, honestly.” Lysander insists, still holding the coat out. “It’s more efficient than going to get your cloak.” 

“Well alright, if you’re sure.” She says, grabbing the coat from him. “If you need it back let me know.” 

He simply nods and turns back to his book. Beatrice gives him a smile that he can’t see and pulls the coat on, trying not to notice how it smells like him, earl grey and fresh parchment. The coat sleeves are a bit too long for her and she rolls them up, trying to focus on her book rather than her swirling thoughts. 

A few hours later she remembers that she’d agreed to visit Leila today, and it's already getting late. 

“Lysander, shall we take a break to see Leila? We said we’d visit her at the shop today.” Beatrice says, shutting the heavy history book she’s been reading.

“Oh yes, I’d almost forgotten. We’d better leave now before she’s left waiting too long.” Lysander’s voice is laced with affection like it always is when he talks about his younger sister. 

“Oh, here let me give you your coat back.” Beatrice stands up, pulling the coat off.

“You’ll be too cold outside.” Lysander says,“You can just give it back to me later.” 

“Oh, alright, if you’re sure then, thank you!” Beatrice smiles, trying not to stammer through her words. She usually prides herself on being quite eloquent, but of course it goes away around the one person she’d most like to be eloquent around. 

They leave the library and hail a carriage to the shop. Beatrice would’ve normally preferred to walk but she remembers that Lysander isn’t fond of crowds and decides not to suggest it. When they arrive Leila is already standing outside waving at them.

“I was wondering when you two would show up.” Leila smiles, pulling first Lysander then Beatrice into a hug. After the greetings have been exchanged she guides them inside and to the corner booth Beatrice always sits in when she visits her friend. 

“Lysander, why don’t you look over the menu while I show Beatrice something.” Leila suggests, pulling Beatrice up from her seat. Beatrice looks at her in question but Leila just gives her a knowing look and turns back to look at her brother

“We both already know I’ll order earl grey.” Lysander says, sounding slightly confused.

“Yes, well, check over the menu for grammar errors then.” Leila replies. He looks at her blankly but decides to humor her, dutifully picking up a menu. “Come along then, Beatrice.”

“Will Lysander be ok alone? I feel bad leaving him, what did you need to show me that you couldn't show him?” Beatrice questions once they’re out of earshot. 

“He’ll be fine, the shop���s nearly empty.” Leila smiles, continuing to pull her friend into the back of the shop where nobody can hear them. “And I just needed an excuse to talk to you alone, Beatrice.”

“About what?” Beatrice asked, still confused as to why she's been towed away. She fiddles with the sleeves of Lysander’s coat and the always observant Leila immediately notices.

“Is that Lysander’s coat?” She laughs. “Oh Beatrice, you’re in deep.” 

“What? He lent me his coat because I was cold, there’s nothing to it.” Beatrice says defensively, burrowing her hands into the coat’s pockets. She finds a piece of chalk and pulls it out to look at it, a smile growing on her face before she can contain it. 

“See, this is what I’m talking about. You like him!” Leila grins, pointing a finger at Beatrice’s face.

“What? Who?” Beatrice sputters in confusion.

“Now you sound like Brigit.” Leila jokes. “Who else, silly? Lysander!” 

“I do not like Lysander!” She argues, “I mean of course I like him, just not in.. that way.” 

“Oh come on, Beatrice, don’t make me get Lysander to use his veritomancy on you. You like him, admit it!” Leila pokes another finger at her in the air and Beatrice sighs, she knows she’s been beaten. 

“Well... maybe a little.” She concedes. It’s probably about time she admits that fact to herself, though she wishes she didn’t have to.

“I knew it!” Leila says happily, almost in a screech.

“You knew what?” A voice says behind them. Both girls whirl around to see Lysander standing there, still holding a menu.

“Lyse I thought I told you to wait at the table!” Leila frowns, but there’s an undercurrent of affection in her tone that matches Lysander’s.

“I could still see you from the booth,” He laughs, and it’s a sound Beatrice really hopes she’ll get to hear more of, “Can I order my tea yet?”  

“Oh fine, one earl grey coming up, sir.” Leila says in faux exasperation, her smile giving away her real feelings, “Anything for you, Beatrice?”

“I’ll have what he’s having.” She replies, looking up to find that Lysander is once again staring back at her.

“Yeah.” Leila says, still grinning smugly. “I bet you will.”

[ourimpavidheroine]

WAIT SOMEBODY TOLD YOU QI WASN'T QUEER ENOUGH?

Well, not precisely. What they told me was that they preferred not to know Qi’s sex because it made it harder for them to see Qi as genderfluid when they did know it. (There was a lot more to the comment than that but that is what it boiled down to, fancy words aside.)

So look. There’s a reason why I screen comments on my fic, and it isn’t because I am afraid of criticism. I mean, if people don’t like my fanfic then my world isn’t going to come crumbling down, you know? (Which reminds me, I got a rec a month or so ago from one of the more newly active Wuko blogs that liked my fic with caveats. With caveats! I fucking died of laughter. I’m still laughing. I got a caveat! And I was the only one to get them! LOL!) I mean, people have their own opinions and they are entitled to them. I’m never really sure why they feel it necessary to come to my fic and take the time specifically to tell me why they don’t like it, but meh. I’m not going to somehow change my fic to please anyone but myself so I fail to see the point but whatever. It’s your time, use it as you see fit. Just don’t be disappointed when I don’t give it my time or attention. (Or, you know, be disappointed.)

No, the actual reason I screen comments is because I am not having people’s homophobic sewage/purity wank in my space. Not having it. It’s my fanfic and I control it, not the people who read it. And I am not having that shit in my comments. Not for me and not for my readers. Same goes for negative comments about neurodiversity, etc. I don’t allow that sort of thing in my space. I don’t follow that stuff on my blog here, I don’t publish comments on my fic or messages in my inbox that deal with that at all. I delete that shit. I’ve always been upfront about that and I’m not going to change it, so there it is.

Did the reader who made that comment about Qi mean to insult me? Unless I am very much mistaken then no, they didn’t. They had been a long time reader at that point and a frequent commenter as well. I didn’t feel the need to fire back, I just didn’t publish the comments they made. Have they commented since? I can’t be 100% sure without going in right now and spending a few hours trawling all my comments on 1.5 million words of fanfic but I don’t think so. Am I sorry they aren’t reading any longer? Well, sure. I mean, as a writer you hope people like it all. But listen, the vast majority of people reading my Wuko fic stop reading as soon as Qi gets involved and only a tiny percentage of them even bother with the Beifong stuff. It’s been like that for years. I know damn well that what I am writing is not going to satisfy Wuko fans who are looking for quickly digested, by-the-fanfic-books trope fic and/or smut, and I’ve known that for nearly six years now and still write the way I do. It’s fine. If I was writing for hits/kudos/comments then I would write totally different fic than what I am doing. (And then I wouldn’t get caveats, LOL! Sorry, I bet I sound salty but I’m not, truly. I was just really amused.)

So yes, sure I am sorry when long term readers who leave kudos/comment stop reading my fic. (I mean, I might have other long term readers but if they aren’t logged in and leaving kudos and comments then I have no way of knowing.) It’s really lovely to see familiar names pop up and honestly? Some of you have been around so long I feel sad when you disappear off the map. But there are lots of reasons that can happen: people’s lives change and they don’t get online much any longer, or they are struggling with some kind of illness (mental or otherwise) or maybe they’ve just outgrown my fanfic because that happens, too. My hope as a writer is that my readers get something meaningful out of my fic whether they read just one story or all of them. Am I going to try and convince readers to stay, however? No. I’m not going to do that. I don’t have the bandwidth, for one thing, and for another, I’m a writer, not a crusader. Sure I could have taken the time to try and convince that reader that saying you liked it better when you couldn’t tell what sex Qi had is homophobic as fuck but you know what? My comments section is not where I am going to do that. The last thing I need is for a vulnerable young queer person to read someone dismissing their gender and/or sexuality in the comments of a fic that includes a character that celebrates it. Queer people - like disabled people (and that includes neurodivergent people of course) - do not need to justify and/or explain their lives, their identities, their entire selves to others, regardless of how well-intentioned people are. That is not why queer people exist, any more than it is why disabled people or people of color or anyone else exists. And that, my friends, is why I screen those comments.

[coltdancer]

You Matter to Me (A Rapunzel’s Tangled Adventure Short Story)

A security breach of the alchemy lab results in a daring decision that has consequences for Varian.

Set after Eugene and Rapunzel are married, Varian has explored, learned, and returned to Corona as the Royal Engineer/Alchemist and Cassandra has completed her personal quests and returned to serve Corona as a member of the guard.

Inspired by CJeanne's/OriginalDisneyDescendants absolutely beautiful work here on Tumblr (not sure it’s around anymore), she graciously allowed me to run away with my own story. This is pure hurt/comfort FLUFF, my people. My happy place, my M.O., my zone. **AND NOW THERE IS ART by @lizpotentielle​!  

“What did he take?!” Cassandra shouted, dodging the ornate vase launched at her head, nearly careening into the wall of royal portraits when the move shifted her balance but did not account for her speed. “Uh...I’m not sure, exactly!” 

“What did he take?!” Cassandra shouted, dodging the ornate vase launched at her head, nearly careening into the wall of royal portraits when the move shifted her balance but did not account for her speed.

“Uh...I’m not sure, exactly!”  

Ahead of her, his long legs giving him an advantage, Varian lunged toward the Soporian thief and very nearly made an impressive tackle, but the body-check inadvertently shoved their target through the door leading down to the dungeons and aided his escape. 

Cassandra sprinted past and Varian scrambled to his feet to join her.  

“We can catch him when he hits the cells!” she huffed, concentrating on skipping steps without twisting an ankle.  

“Not if he beats us to the sewage outlet; it’s how he got in. It will already be open,” Varian panted just behind her, and they hit the bottom to find that indeed, the doors leading through the main thoroughfare of the dungeon were all hanging wide open, providing the bandit a clear path.

With a straight and unhindered shot, Cassandra pulled the bolas from her belt and hurled them towards the Soporian’s legs with a grunt.  It was enough to make contact and wrap around the man’s ankles, sending him pitching forward.  He writhed impressively mid-air to skid across the floor on his shoulder, the glass vial he had stolen skittering from his pouch and across the bricks, out of his reach.  Varian pounded past him, dodging the swipe of his arms and making it to the end of the hall to shove the wooden door closed and block his exit.  

Cassandra breathed with relief when, panting heavily, he stooped to scoop up the vial and inspect it.  Because Varian had interrupted his heist, the vial likely wasn’t what the thief intended to make off with, but Cassandra knew that any number of the alchemical compounds Varian held in his main lab could be potentially serious or deadly in the wrong hands - the negative rumors and town talk that would create buzz in the neighboring kingdoms almost as much so.  

Best to keep these things quiet.  And most definitely out of the wrong hands.

Cassandra placed her knee between the Soporian’s shoulder blades to finish rolling him onto his stomach, reaching for his free arm to pull behind him, when he suddenly flipped onto his back and had her by a fistful of tunic and a dagger blade to her throat.  

Varian’s cry of warning was swallowed with a gasp.  The edge of the blade was close enough that her skin prickled and she froze, daring to make eye-contact.  Cold, brown eyes - so dark they were nearly black - narrowed with malice and she sat back as the thief used his impressive core strength to right himself, the knife never wavering from its precarious position against her jugular.  Even had she been wearing her armor, her neck would have still been exposed.  She made a mental note to rectify that if she was so lucky, her jaw clenching when he drew his legs close enough toward himself to reach down and release the bolas around his feet.  

“I was warned about you and your skill, my dear,” the thief breathed silkily, leaning in close enough that Cassandra could smell his breath and sweat.  It was repulsive.  He was rising smoothly to his feet and guiding her with him, a cruel twist to his mouth as she felt the cold metal press against her skin.  She held her breath and stood, his free arm unnervingly blocking a counter-attack to his midsection. She chanced a glance at Varian.  He looked slightly horrified, but surprisingly calm, and stock-still.  She knew his mind was racing with calculations and weighing his options.  She tried to shake her head to warn him not to do anything, but a nick at her neck and her stronger arm wrenching painfully behind her made her stop.  The muscle in Varian’s jaw clenched and he made a move to reach inside his vest.

“Ah-ah,”  the thief warned, “You keep your hands where I can see them, pretty boy. And unless you plan on accompanying me, just hand that tube over, and I’ll let this little wench go.”

Varian’s eyebrow shot up at the insult and something dangerous flashed in his eyes that Cassandra recalled from long ago, and then it was gone, replaced with a resolve that she decided in an instant she did not like one bit better - just as he threw his head back and swallowed the entire contents of the vial. 

“Well, can’t say it will do much for you now…” he responded dryly, suppressing a shudder, both Cassandra and her captor gaping in shock.

“It might if I slice you open and siphon what drains from your guts…” the Soporian snarled, just before he drew back and head-butted Cassandra in a rage.  

Spots and stars exploded from the contact and she felt herself tossed to the ground as the man lunged forward, swinging.  There was a whoosh and the clang of iron as a cell door slammed shut.  Cassandra shook her head and squinted, wincing at the sound as Varian locked himself safely inside and away from the blade.  His eyes darted to hers and back again, assessing that she had not yet recovered from the blow. 

“Wow, that’s exceedingly graphic.  You Soporians are so violent,” he quipped, keeping the focus on him.  “How about ‘no’? I rather like my guts where they are, thanks.”  

“They said you had a smart mouth, you little traitor. Didn’t know when to shut up.  Perhaps I should just let you keep talking and at least garner the satisfaction of watching what it does to you.”

And he did sound just a little too eager for that, Cassandra thought, blinking widely and trying to focus on Varian.  The alchemist almost looked bored, his shoulders dropping with a long-suffering sigh. “Absolutely nothing,” he responded.  

“What nonsense is this?”

“Do you even know what you took?”

There was just the briefest of pauses.  “Yes.  It was Belladonna.”

“Or you grabbed bimberrry juice,” Varian rolled his eyes.  “Tell me, did you actually see ‘belladonna’ or did you just snatch a vial marked with a letter ‘B’ on it, because that’s all you could read?”

The Soporian’s eyes were practically bulging and all he could do was splutter, and Cassandra felt her stomach unclench.  She wanted to laugh.  Instead, she felt for the hilt of her sword.  

“Yeah, that’s what I figured.”  

The sound of metal releasing from its sheath as Cassandra brandished her own blade grabbed their attention then, and with one last glare and clang on the iron bars of Varian’s safety cage, the Soporian bolted down the corridor toward the sewage grates.  

Cassandra lunged after him, but halted abruptly, rushing back to the closed cell.  She was patting down her pockets and looking around frantically on the floor, but the keys were nowhere to be found.  She looked up to find Varian dangling the keyring over his index finger. When had he snagged those?

She choked out a laugh. “ Why do you keep bimberry juice in your lab?”

He shrugged.  “For medicine. Makes it taste better.”

“Oh.  So it was really just bimberry juice?”

“No, it was belladonna.”

“ WHAT ?”

“Cassandra.  That low-life is getting away.”

“We have to get you out of there.”

“Go catch your man.”

“What - no!  Open the door.  We have no idea what that stuff will do to you!”

“I’m pretty sure I have a good idea.” “I am going to kill you.”

Varian tilted his head, a wistful, amused expression crossing his features. He shook his head.  “Sorry, but I’m not going to need your assistance this time around, Cassie.”

Her eyes widened with realization and she gripped the handle, rattling it furiously.  

“ Varian . This isn’t funny. Please tell me you have some kind of antidote.”

He smiled, but the beat of silence was too long.  “Of course.”

Cassandra’s stomach dropped like lead.  “ VARIAN. OPEN THE DOOR -- ”

With a huff of a chuckle, Varian stepped forward and through the bars pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead, stunning her momentarily speechless in its acceptance.  “He’s getting away, Cass. Let me handle the science stuff. You catch the bad guy so he can answer for this.  Go on, now.”

She was horrified and angry and... scared ...which made her angrier, still, and she whipped around with a howl of fury intended just as much for the fleeing criminal as the maddening man she was leaving behind to potentially die a slow death.  

 Corona did not see a lot of high crime; the populace had nearly as infamous a reputation for squelching suspicious activity as the kingdom guard.  When the infrequent circumstances arose, however, the reaction was generally well-executed and swift.  Today’s heist was no exception, but it had created quite a stir.  The chase had resulted in Cassandra pursuing the Soporian interloper through the drainage tunnels below the dungeons and out the spillway into the moat, a sure test of her endurance, before gaining enough ground to make him change course right into the trap Eugene and his guard had waiting.  

And then it was over.

Cassandra had been anxious to report to the Captain, but he’d taken one good look at her, pulled a face, and insisted she shower first.  He might also have alerted her best friend and Princess to her need for a good meal and in the meantime paid his own visit to the newly occupied dungeons to question their captive.  She was begrudgingly grateful for the respite.

Now, as lamps were being lit and the sun dipped low on the horizon, Cassandra finished giving Eugene her version of the events and he scribbled notes in his parchment book about as furiously as she recounted them.  He had grown so very efficient in his role and Cassandra could not help but be impressed - they squabbled to the point of aggravation sometimes, but she knew he took the role seriously and worked hard.  She had often dreamed of holding that position.  However, even as Eugene carefully closed the book he was writing in, his fingers lingering over the cover that reeked of Rapunzel’s handiwork with a small smile, Cassandra found she did not harbor ill will or even any resentment.  She’d made her choices.  The fact that she has been able to return to Corona and work her way into duty at all was rewarding, and the capture they made today proved once again that she was capable and Eugene’s faith in her was justified.  But with the recounting of that chase and how she wound up jumping into the muck after their criminal, she was freshly reminded that she had left another man behind.  That was not a decision she could commend, no matter how logical it was.  No matter how confused it left her.

She blinked and looked up.  Cassandra wasn’t sure how long she had been silent, mulling it all over again.

Eugene leveled her with a penetrating gaze before standing from behind the desk.  He was disconcertingly adept at reading her. “C’mon,” he barked, and just like that Captain Fitzherbert was put away and he was “Eugene” once again.  “Rapunzel was getting Varian a change of clothes.  Let’s go check on him.”

Cassandra tensed, but knowing Raps had been with him and Eugene had procured his statement of events earlier as well...that had to mean Varian was fine and nothing untoward happened as a result of his daring strategy earlier.  Her shoulders relaxed marginally and she cleared her throat, rising to follow him from the room.  “How...how is he?”

Eugene snorted as he opened the door, sweeping his arm toward the threshold in a polite motion to usher her through first.  “Been puking his guts up all afternoon, but whatever that nasty stuff was that he concocted and choked down seemed to do the trick.”  He shuddered and grimaced.  “Did you see that stuff?  I’ve seen Shorty consume more appetizing sludge than that black tar-slime he mixed up.  But...I guess if you’re poisoned, you’re not too worried about the taste, eh?” 

Cassandra felt her jaw clench, ire returning as they walked down the hall toward the infirmary.  She could see Rapunzel hovering at the door and as they neared, a bundle of clothes clutched in the princess’ hands. “Since he was foolhardy enough to do it to himself instead of oh, I don’t know , smashing the bottle on the bricks, I’d say that’s what he gets.”

Beside her, Cassandra could practically feel the dubious eyebrow Euguene was lifting.  “A split-second to take a single course of action and save the Kingdom’s face - oh! and you,” he unnervingly summarized, and she just knew he was wearing that smug, all-knowing expression on his face as they came to a halt, muttering a “Yeah, it scared the hell out of  me, too.”

Eugene bent to kiss his wife on the cheek.  Worn thin by her concern (not that she’d admit it openly), Cassandra glowered at him and rather unceremoniously snatched the garments from Rapunzel’s grasp, continuing on for the infirmary door.  Rapunzel stammered, unsettled, and reached out to halt her progress into the room.  “Cass - I don’t think now is a good time -”

“Ah, Sunshine?  Why don’t we just let Cassandra go on in.”

“But Eugene -” the princess hissed, even as the Captain of the Guard began to wrestle her away.

“Trust me.”

And God bless Eugene as he tugged on her arm and Rapunzel fell silent.  Cassandra yanked the door open and stalked into the softly-lit antechamber, marching across the floor toward the only partitioned area that held anyone at the moment, on a mission to give Varian a piece of her mind for the worry she’d been fighting all afternoon - 

And was halted at the edge of the make-shift curtain by the unmistakable sound of retching.  

It took a moment for her to compose herself before she took a step forward to peer around the curtain where Healer O'Shea, a kindly man with silvering strawberry-blond hair, was positioned in front of an obviously still very ill alchemist. The doctor glanced up at her briefly, one eyebrow arched in silent query.  He was bracing Varian with a gentle hand to the shoulder and supporting a basin as Varian’s whole body strained forward with a round of horrible, empty gurgles that made Cassandra cringe.  Finally, he coughed and spit with a pained gasp.

“That’s it, lad.  I think you’ve just about got it all out - and then some.  This should be slowing down, now,” the physician murmured with approval.  “Let’s try a little bit of ginger tea this time around, see if we can settle that stomach and start getting you rehydrated.”

Varian, if he registered what was said, did not outwardly respond.  In fact, he seemed unaware of anyone standing there at all.  Chalky white and panting for air, he was slumped over a bolster wedged between his arms and his stomach - the only thing that seemed to be holding him upright on the edge of the cot.  Cassandra nodded, subdued, as the healer dipped his head in silent excusal, leaving her alone with Varian and feeling exposed.  Whatever she was expecting after speaking with Euguene, it wasn’t this.  

He looked... dreadful. 

And just like that, she felt her anger dissipate.  If it was even truly anger, to begin with.

“I’d rather you not see me like this…” 

It was such a low rasp she wasn’t sure she heard it.  But a few moments later, Varian mustered the strength to lift his head, the hint of a smirk in his voice, “Unless you came to make good on your offer?  You’ve got your sword, right?”

Cassandra let out the breath she didn’t even realize she was holding, stepping closer.  “You must be joking!”

“Only - mm, only half -” he grunted, then went positively ashen with a small groan and barely managed to find the basin beside him as his stomach heaved again.  

If she thought it was bad mere moments earlier, Cassandra was certain Varian’s insides were trying to claw themselves out, now.  His grip was white-knuckled and desperate as he fought through it, bringing absolutely nothing up, his stomach completely devoid of even the thick and tarry-looking charcoal Eugene said he had been bringing up for hours.  Cassandra found herself reaching out to awkwardly pat at the shirt plastered to his back.  He was hot to the touch and she could feel the muscles coiling angrily beneath her hand; it had to hurt.

Varian folded over the pillow again, trembling from exertion, and she managed to grab the bin from him before it could clatter to the floor.  “Please, jus’...” then his head was in his hands and he gave up trying to talk.  She wasn’t sure if he was begging for her to leave or for it to just be over.

Cassandra felt utterly inept; maybe it would be best to just leave the change of clothes for him and excuse herself quietly.  He was a mess and she did not know what to do.  She would have wanted to be left alone in this sort of scenario, but then, Varian was nothing like her.  He was tenderhearted and tactile and...this was definitely Rapunzel’s department.  The healer had disappeared to make the tea - naturally, she thought, setting the garments she held down on the bed.  She hadn’t planned to stay, for goodness sake, and in no way would have agreed to play nursemaid.  Sure, she and Varian certainly shared a level of comfortable camaraderie with one another; there had been the occasional long conversation when neither could sleep, mutual royal projects or endeavors, one exceedingly rare late night at the Snuggly Duckling when they’d both imbibed a bit too much and had chatted and giggled all the way back to the castle on Fidela.  She looked back at the miserable man beside her and remembered leaving him behind in the dungeons.  While not as powerful as fear, guilt was a fair motivator.  Cassandra would be the first to admit she was no good at the “soft stuff”, but she realized that she wanted to try for him.  

She chewed thoughtfully on her lip, searching the room and wracking her brain, then her eyes landed on the washstand against the wall.  Quietly, she stepped over to it and pulled on the silver levers, letting the water run hot before filling a large basin from a stack of them on the side.  She absently wriggled her fingers under the stream, as she almost always had since her return to Corona, marveling at what Varian had done with all the pipes and his huge fancy boiler mechanism, smiling faintly at a memory - and was quickly reminded of the man across the room.  Cassandra threw a few of the folded rags over her shoulder and slowly returned to the bed as the healer arrived with a small cup of warm, pale liquid.  

“Just a sip or two at first,” he told her and relegated the task by handing the cup off to her once she set her wares down on the bedside table.  She stood there, gaping at the doctor’s back as he traipsed over to his desk and resisted the urge to tell him this was his job.  She was beginning to smell a conspiracy.  

“Hey, you still with me?”  she asked gently, prodding Varian to sit up and relinquish his hold on the massacred cushion beneath his arms. 

His breathing was a little easier and with a pang, she hoped he hadn’t dozed off.  She picked up the tea and held it before him.  It looked inoffensive enough and smelled pleasantly of meadowsweet, but Varian grunted with disapproval, turning a nasty shade of pale and green when she pressed the cup to his lips.  Stubbornly, she waited him out until he finally took a few sips.

“There. Not so bad?” she murmured.

He managed a noncommittal noise in reply.  

Cassandra went back to chewing on her lip, wondering how long it would take for the tea to come back up, if it was going to.  “I bet you have some ideas on how to improve on the formula,” she finally added with forced brightness, and set it down, her smile fading when he said nothing.

Yeah, he was in pretty bad shape. She watched him drag in a deep breath, releasing it heavily.  “You gonna be sick again?”

He seemed to be taking inventory. “No…” he swallowed hard, “...not yet,” he finally whispered, still breathless.  

“Uh...Raps brought you some fresh clothes…”  she offered quietly, but it just sounded silly when he could barely even hold his own head up.  She frowned, and then pursed her lips in frustration.  Why was this so hard?

Time for a purely practical decision.  He needed help, and she ...could help with this.

“What’r y’doin?” Varian slurred, sounding agitated and batting altogether uselessly at her when she reached for his shirt. “Cass -”

“Hey, hey! It’s alright,” she soothed, enclosing his wrist in her small hand, waiting for him to look at her.  He swayed against her and the magnitude of what she was asking wasn’t lost on her.  Suddenly, her gracelessness no longer mattered.  “Can I...Can I help you with this?”

His eyes, dull and bruised, slid closed. To her dismay, a small tear trickled from the outer corner and he nodded. He was exhausted.  

Though she knew he couldn’t see it, she smiled with much more confidence than she felt.  Maybe he wouldn’t hear it, either. She gave his shoulder a squeeze.  “Okay.  It’s okay, Varian. You’ll feel better soon.”

She pulled the sweat-dampened shirt over his head carefully, steadying him as his chin dipped toward his chest. She tried not to, but could not help but notice that his shoulders were peppered with a similar smattering of freckles as his face. It absolutely did not soften her smile.  She turned to the bowl on the table to drop in the rags, swirling them around in the hot water to warm them up.  “You know, what you did today...that was really stupid, Var.”

“This is supposed to make me feel better?” he mumbled irritably, and she cringed.

Speaking of stupid… 

“Sorry, that came out poorly,” she muttered, abashed, wringing out a rag and gently pressing it to the back of his neck.  He jumped beneath the initial touch, then sagged with a mewl of relief that made her stomach feel funny.  Cassandra swallowed and drew the washcloth along the sweep of his shoulders, concentrating on removing the clammy layers of sweat and salt down his back and arms.

“I mean,” she tried again, slowly, “It worked, but it wasn’t worth your life.”

Varian sighed.  “Admittedly really dumb.  I’ll do better next time.”

Cassandra paused then, rag dripping over the bowl as she reached out and snatched his bearded chin, lifting it so that he was looking at her. “No!” she replied, eyes wide with alarm.  “Varian, do not scare me - us… ”  She took a breath, recovering herself and dropped her tone.“Don’t scare us like that again.”

He blinked dazedly but held her gaze until she reached up to gently wash his face, ignoring that funny feeling that came again when his eyes fluttered closed and he trusted her to it.  She placed the rag in his hand so that he could make a pass or two at his front, then helped him thread his arms into the clean shirt, lifting it over his head.  His hair was sticking up in all different directions and she bit down on a giggle. The urge to tame it with her fingers was strong, but Cassandra busied herself with the teacup instead, steadying it when his hands shook and encouraging him to work on it some more.

It did seem to be helping.  With the modicum of relief from his nausea and taking in some fluid, the tension was draining from his posture.  He could no longer keep his eyes open.  She took the empty cup and gave in to thread her fingers through his hair - purely under the pretense of smoothing it back into place - and he leaned more heavily against her. She thought she heard her name, the ghost of a whisper on his lips when he was suddenly dead weight in her arms.    

“Varian?!”  The alarm in her voice and the shattering of the teacup drew the attention of the healer, who was quick to rise from his notes and return to the bedside, helping her ease Varian’s limp form to the mattress.  

Cassandra stood by with wide eyes as he took Varian’s wrist and measured the pulse with practiced ease, gently tilting Varian’s head toward the lantern on the table, pushing back his eyelids and watching the pupils react to the light. He then took a moment to remove the instrument around his neck, listening to the sound of Varian’s breath in his lungs, the rhythm of his heart.

“It’s all right,” he assured her, straightening and reaching to pull up the blanket.  “He’s just finally passed out.  No small wonder.  Maybe he’ll be able to get some rest, now.”

Cassandra let out a shaky breath and pursed her lips together, swallowing hard.  Relief washed over her with astonishing force and she blinked against her silly, watering eyes.  Healer O’Shea was watching her carefully.

“You may stay a bit longer; make sure our winsome engineer is comfortable,” he murmured, skirting the foot of the cot and bending over with a crack of his back to pick up the broken pieces of the smashed cup from the floor.  “But then, unless you wish me to remove you from Captain Fitzherbert’s active duty roster, you’ll let me give you a check-over and will retire to get some rest as well, hm?”

The tumult of the day’s emotions and weariness threatening to overwhelm her, all she could do was nod in agreement.  She knew there was nothing she could do for Varian, but found herself at war with the decision to leave him - again .  He did not budge in the least when she needlessly fussed over the blanket, resting her palm across his chest, reassured by the gentle thump of his heartbeat.  Somewhere, sometime over the course of their friendship, she realized how very much she’d grown to care for him.  In the quiet of the infirmary, now, she could admit how right Eugene’s earlier dig at her had been: today had scared the hell out of her.

“What are you doing to me, you big nerd?” she whispered incredulously. 

Cassandra scoffed then, and rolled her eyes in exasperation, swiping at her eyes once more and shaking her head.  The healer cleared his throat across the room.  She straightened and followed his gesture to a new cot, but not before she took one last moment to return the kiss Varian had bestowed upon her from behind the cell door, her lips pressed tenderly to his forehead as she bid him a silent goodnight.  

 She did feel better, Cassandra admitted, after a few hours of sleep and some breakfast.  Much to Eugene’s chagrin, she even reported for duty.  The Captain, however, seemed assuaged by her reasoning that she needed the distraction and she accepted his compromise to take off after lunch. 

She was returning from the kitchens (making her way through the Great Hall since a steady thundershower rendered the courtyard an undesirable path) when Cassandra caught the back of a familiar mop of black hair heading in that very direction - and likely to the old ammunitions holds that had been converted to his main lab, near the garden.  

“Varian?” she called, both concerned to see him up and about when she’d left him very much unconscious the night before, and relieved.  

He turned at the sound of her voice and smiled wanly, waiting for her to catch up to him.  “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.”  she narrowed her eyes.  “You’re looking…better?” she offered unconvincingly, to which he chuckled sheepishly.  

“Yeah, I know...I’m kind of a mess,” he muttered, gesturing to himself, and she was dismayed at how hoarse his voice sounded.  

“You look pretty peaked, actually,” she revised.  “Are you sure you should be out right now?”

“Released on my own recognizance,” he puffed, but quickly deflated under her stare.  “Yeah, okay.  So, released once I kept down some lunch,” he admitted.  “I just wanted to give the lab a once over, make a few notes.”

“Right.  Where we’d find you slumped over the workbench at dinner time because you lost track of the hour,” she chuckled at the indignant noise he made. “Varian, I know you.  And, I know what you went through yesterday with that stuff - it could have killed you!  May I remind you of the antidote you spent all afternoon and evening bringing up --”

“Okay, okay...keep pushing it, and you can see what I had for lunch, too,” Varian groused, looking decidedly uncomfortable and definitely too pale.  

And darn it, she’d let her blunt mouth run away with her again.  “See?  All you need to be doing right now is taking it easy.”

She stepped behind him to take Varian by the shoulders and direct him toward the other end of the hall, toward the bath chambers.  “THAT way.  Go use those hot showers you made possible.  If you still feel like you’ve got it in you to check your lab, then we’ll talk.”

He spluttered as she began pushing him across the floor, but she could tell he wasn’t putting up much resistance, physically.  “I don’t have clean clothes…”

“I’ll bring you some. Go on.”

Varian planted his feet and glowered at her, but then his shoulders slumped in defeat.  He threw a longing glance at the bath doors and looked back at her. “It....would feel nice…”

Cassandra smiled triumphantly. “Right?”  

When he continued to look uncertain, she could tell he was at war with something he felt he needed to do and what he wanted to do. She frowned and reached out to touch his elbow, lowering her voice.   “Hey.  What’s got you so determined to push yourself right now?”

He was silent for a moment, then met her eyes. “I really should make some notes.  I - I need a way to better track, and secure, my inventory,” he answered ruefully.  “Yesterday was a reminder of the real danger in some of the work I do, and how imperative it is to protect the kingdom’s assets - both from misuse and misconstruction.”

While the solemnity of his response was reassuring, Cassandra couldn’t help but think Varian had completely overlooked another important aspect of the “kingdom’s assets” - his own well-being.  

Security detail was one of her specialties, not his, and before she could second-guess herself, she suggested, “How about you get that shower, take a load off and rest.  You could...tell me what’s going on in that big brain of yours, and I could write the notes down for you.”

Varian’s expression shifted so swiftly to surprise that Cassandra found herself back-pedaling in case she’d offered too much.

“I mean if you - if I -”  she rolled her eyes with irritation at her bumbling and huffed, feeling her cheeks burn.  “If you trusted me to.”

Varian’s eyes softened and the smile he gave her made her stomach do that weird thing again.  His voice dropped.  “Of course I trust you,” he reassured her, and then it was his turn to look embarrassed.  He reached up to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck.  “It’s just...you’ve done a lot already, you know? And this doesn’t really matter all that much to…”

“It matters to you.”

“Well, yes.”

“Then it matters to me.”

Varian blinked, confounded.  “Wow, Cass - that was almost….touching.  Eugene would ask if you hurt yourself.”

“GO,” she growled good-naturedly, punching him lightly in the arm.

Varian flinched playfully and wobbled, off-balance, but even as Cassandra steadied him with an apology, he only chuckled and assured her he was fine, at last giving in to her suggestion and plodding off to the bath chambers.    

She had been right, too, after hurrying back with clean clothes from his chambers - while the hot water and steam had brought back some color to his face, it had also left him rather loose-limbed and, if possible, wearier.  She took him by the arm and steered him toward the steps of the garden tower, prodding him along like a drunken villager to his rooms.  They were cold and felt damp with all the rain, so she set to starting some kindling in the grate of the bedchamber to chase the chill away as Varian kicked off his boots then crawled into his bed and collapsed with a groan.  The flames soon took hold and, after placing some larger logs, Cassandra glanced over her shoulder.  Varian hadn’t moved.

Thunder rumbled outside and a gust of wind splattered rain more heavily against the window, but the chill was dissipating and heat was spreading out into the room, now.  Cassandra poked at the logs for something to do, hoping that if she gave him enough time, Varian would drift off to sleep and actually rest.   It would certainly do him a world of good.  Her eyes wandered over the eclectic arrangement of artifacts and trinkets on the mantle; some of them she recognized, but others she did not.  She tilted her head quizzically at a glass urn, filled with what looked like a marbled mixture of ash and sand, labeled with nothing more than sketched flames. 

“Go ahead, open it,” Varian spoke drowsily. “Spread some of it across the fire.”

Cassandra threw him a wry, “why are you still awake?” look, but reached up to gingerly remove the jar, setting the lid on the mantle’s ledge.  She pulled out a scoop of the fine granules and studied them more closely.  They sparkled slightly in the light of the flames and she found herself curious, scattering them across the expanse of the grate.  The powder sparked and popped, surprising her, but then the flames were suddenly awash with changing color, blazing from jewel-toned blues and greens to bright oranges and pinks.  

“What is it?” she breathed, delighted as the flames continued a steady burn of flickering color.

“Just a mix I’m still trying to get right,” he replied, but she could hear the surprise in his voice at her interest. “Potassium and copper chloride, lithium chloride...some alum. Sugar and salt.”

Cassandra shook her head fondly at his list of mostly unknown, scientific ingredients, still mesmerized.  “It’s beautiful.”

“Yes, it is,” he responded groggily, but she could feel his eyes on her, instead.

Cassandra felt her cheeks redden and she offered him a small smile, uncharacteristically self-conscious with the attention.  She felt warm all over.  “How are you feeling?” she asked finally, replacing the jar and coming to stand at the bedside.  

Varian shrugged half-heartedly. “Eh. Head hurts a little, but it’s not too bad.”

Translation: enough for him to mention it, though.  Cassandra frowned, tugging the covers from beneath him and pulling them up to his chest.  She stepped over to his desk and plucked the blanket from the chair. It was obviously one Rapunzel had knitted for him, large and heavy and very soft, its colors mirroring that of Ruddiger’s fur.  It...smelled faintly like Varian.  She wrapped it around her shoulders and then, after a moment’s consideration, rummaged in the armoire for an extra pillow and situated herself beside him on the bed with a quill and one of the parchment books he kept on the table.  Varian wriggled under the blankets and finally settled on his side, snuggled surprisingly - and comfortably, she realized - close to her hip.

“Okay, first things first,” she began, and Varian craned his neck to look up at her.  “You need a better lock.  Maybe more than one. And lock it every time you leave...even for just a few minutes.”  

Varian hummed in agreement, nodding against the pillow.  “I should talk with Xavier.”

“Noted.  How often do you check inventory?”

“I…”  Varian frowned.  “Not enough,” he admitted ruefully.  

“It seems redundant much of the time, I know,” Cassandra responded patiently, adding to the page, “Especially if you’re the only one in there and you’ve not left all day...but, I recommend it.  Sometimes you catch discrepancies.  We do the same with armor and munitions.”

“Makes sense,” Varian yawned.

Cassandra’s mouth twitched and she glanced down at him.  “Line of sight,” she added quietly. 

“What about it?” he asked, fighting to open his eyes again.

“We should rearrange your workspace so that your back isn’t to the door.  So that you always have a line of sight when someone comes in.”

“I hadn’t thought of that...that’s a good idea.”  

“We should also add a sentry. I’ll talk with Eugene about it.” She scribbled down a few more notes and he yawned again.  “I think that’s enough for us to start with,” she assured him, leaning over and whispering, “Get some rest.”

“...Cass, could you….?”  Varian stopped himself short, his cheeks turning pink as he burrowed into the pillow.

Cassandra set aside the parchment book and quill, brow furrowed.  She tried to surmise what he could possibly have wanted or needed that would embarrass him so after everything he’d been through.  Tentatively, she reached out to comb her fingers through the long fringe at his forehead and he sighed as if he had been waiting for exactly that... oh.  When she’d done it for him the night before, he’d finally relaxed enough to let unconsciousness claim him.  She could not help but smile now as it seemed to work again.  He really was a tactile creature.  

“How’s that?” she asked, her thumb circling gently at his temple.

“Mmm.”

“Mmm?”

There was barely a grunt, but he seemed to nestle in just a little bit closer.  She sighed and sank into a more comfortable position, allowing her eyes to close for a respite.  Just a brief one, she compromised with the part of herself that railed against the domesticity of the whole thing.  The rain continued to patter at the window and it was warm, cozy, and... nice , she decided, with Varian tucked against her side and breathing deeply.  She would slip out once Varian was asleep.  Her fingers continued threading through his hair and he hadn’t stirred in the slightest.  As she began to drift off, herself, Cassandra had one last thought before the morning sun would finally wake her hours later:  that Euguene’s ridiculous grooming habits had worn off on Varian and she now had the perfect dig that would drive Eugene bonkers.

Varian’s hair was definitely thicker and softer.

[fuck-customers]

I’m looking into how I can anonymously report, but my store had a sewage leak a few days ago and not only are we having to clean it up without proper equipment, they’re making us disinfect products and put them back out! Stuff that’s had piss and shit particles all over it! I’m sorry but Lysol wipes aren’t gonna cut it, everything that was even slightly touched should be thrown out! And I overheard my DM joking about us working in piss water with her boss, adding insult to injury.

[entoman-created-by-the-tallgreys]

Flip a Coin, Do you feel Lucky Punk ?

Other thing's i am Willing to Share with my Data, With ! Women ! ! ! is that i've seen and bin with ALOT of women, no ! i Didn't fuck any of them. i'm not allowed, aka the gray's agenda. i can only have sex with the new women of the new age of the new order aka the age of fire. and that is not the point. this is about what i gather of the women of this era, of this Model. thay Have endless Mental Mental Problem's, thay attack the Ppl who are trying to Help them, And thay can't Understand Context ! 

thay Can't understand Human Emotion, thay Insult everything, there Colder then ice, there selfish, All the Hard work you do on them is always in vain, Getting at mad them for being stupid them is either funny or thay roll there eye's, thay never take anything you do Serious, thay all think there a Queen or thay are the Greatest of the Greatest WITH OUT PROOF !!! all of them Say YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND ! ME !!! and if you say all other women say that, THAY GET PISSED THAY GET PISSED FAST ! - 

thay Don't want you to EVER Compare them to any other female ? Even if your trying to get them to see a error all other female's make, the female Ego is too weak, too Sensitive and too dumb, i'm Sorry, i need to put that last one, and it's true, a female has a fucked up, id, ego and thay have no Super Ego. 

We Human's are at a Cross road and i'm not Betting alot of Money on the Gray's agenda, YAH !!! i Talk alot about it becuz it is the thing that tis suppose to Happened is a thing, that is to Change everything and it is the reason why i am alive and thay rule and Governed over men, for fuck sake i am Soldier of the new World order, of the new age, i'm in a way kinda there Property,  . . .  thay Programed my brain like a fucking Computer Chip, my Brain is a Circuit board to them, and thay forced the agenda into there telepathically, do i wouldn't disobey, if i do thay kill me, if thay fail the agenda thay need to clame all of the soul of there hybrid's. aka also kill them. or we got the Choice to take are own life if thay do it it's a Horrible death if we do it get got the chance to make is Quicker and Much less painless if we can BUT THAT'S ONLY if thay lose the war for the world and the agenda .... 

AND THAT IS NOT THE POINT !  

My Point is data on women and what is wrong with them . . . Are "Women" aka the Female Gender, WORTHLESS ! to the male gender ! universally ... 

NO !!! - that would be insane, i want you to look in nature other female's THAT are not Human ! are thay worthless, do thay hold up to there male Counter part's or in any way do thay do better then a Man, of what ever Race your, Your Looking at ! fuck ! go look at even a Plant's and Tree's & See if male's do better.

My Point is Clear, the Human woman is FUCK ED ! UP !!! 

and any one willing to defend them aka other male's are Simp's, your not a hero, you not doing an act of Good your Defending, Radioactive Sewage i Say Rad shit becuz, you can grow thing's in shit, NOTHING Grow where it has bin infected by Radiation. aka Rad Poisoning. 

.... Sorry, to make this So Long winded, but women are Worthless, in the Human/Chimera World, Women are worthless, and thay attack every one, there friend's, there co-Worker's, there Ally's, EVERY ONE !!! 

women are like a Wild animal, a Big cat at that, thay attack every one with little to no thought of what thay have done, human woman, Never Copy any of the data a man has gathered, you cannot teach a female Anything, and what thay repeat to you is only a false echo of what you gave them, thay Learn to Sound like thay Herd you but you Quickly learn that is a lie becuz thay keep asking question’s that contradict there first like of i get it. and there minds quickly erase anything on a subject you's thought them. 

YES !!! there god dam Brain burn's a fucking Library ! of fact's you gave them, . . ..  took man year's to Gather the data took a Woman sec's to get rid of all of it, in her own head and Phone. it's not sexist to keep Pointing out all the thing's, women are doing wrong but thay will say it you will/are. 

Even tho i was one of those People that was able to Listen to a women and i Was Able to understand her Problem's thay keep attacking Me and saying i didn't understand, i didn't listen And i ignored, When i Clearly didn't, and or i don't get her and thay really Piss's off a Man, above all, when a man, take's there god dam time out and let's you, Drill his ear over n over n over, with there Personal Problem's, and try's to help THAY FUCKING TURN ON YOU !!! WTF !!! 

And Women wonder why there Such a hated gender ! WOMNE FUCKING TURN ON EACH OTHER ???? Where the fuck is that Girl Power now ?? BFF and then one Back Stab's the other One ??? Any way, no matter what you do women will also Attack you and say your toxic ???? toxic, ??? thay can't see there enemy's from there friend's, women can't see the forest from the tree's ! 

And Even if YOU DO !!! Solve one of there Problem's thay just churn out one after the next after the next ..... like a fucking parasite !

I'm at the Point where i Say a Woman's brain is a Mental illness factory, Once You Cure on Virus in them there god dam Brain Create's a New one a More Horrible one and Much more powerful one and many other's along the way ! 

the D.n.a of  Women is the first to go, there Gene's are so FUCKED !!! there the first of all of us to Decay away ! the first to Go, . . . i Know thsi is and Has Bin 1 hell of a Long rant in total of 3 post's, on here Starting off with Unbalanced Gender's, then - it be better if we all Went Extinct ... 

but the Data needed to get pumped out on women, and i know, i know the Women are Going to go Crazy over it ... when do thay not ? 

many simp's are Going to attack the post's .... i don't give a shit, you can't shoot the Messenger but you can't fix the Women ! 

and the Women will turn on the Simp's and destroy them .. for thay already are ! there attacking there Friend's ! - there attacking there allies's, Becuz of insanity. the only one's that can fix them are the one's that Made Humanity aka the gray's, if that fail the agenda, Kiss Humanity good Bye becuz God Isn't going tt Save Humanity, Fair is fair, all thing's went to hell, in a Hand Basket, just Another race in the massive Universe that died out ! 

and the Action's taken, where all governed by other being's free will, Air go ..... fooling choice's but Free none the less, your not truly free in less your allowed to fck it all up. 

So My Point is this. Get away from the Women there Bran's are rotting away, the gene's that Hold up a Woman's Brain are Going away and Going fast, and i Know alot of Guy's are that way too, i see ..... Lot's n lot's of Insane, and retard Zombie Men, and No i don't just Mean the Simp's.

i Know, you all think it was a troll post, and NNO ! i'm not Kidding, i'm trying to get the world to understand, to see ! what little of it is left for i know the Mass's seriously Won't like this Post, it's not for them but it is About them. 

if the Gray's, fail this agenda . . . thay fail the chaos on earth fail to Clame the soul's of Humanity again. Humanity is fucked. and there is no Easy or Nice way to say it, Humanity. is a think that Happed in the long, long time ago and NO ! we can't just go to a different realm where Human's exist for We Won't exist ANY WHERE !!! no realm, no time life, that is it for Humanity WHERE ! FUCKED !! and Yah ! i know the Gray's are extremely mean, Cruel and hatful but thay Created Humanity to Life them self's if Man kind die's THAY DIE ! all of them, the tall's the Mantid's the short's, tall white's ! you get the Gist, if THAY die WHERE !!!!!!!!!! FUCKED !!! 

either way Humanity was fated to Become fae, aka Insectoid's, it is the very agenda of the gray's IT IS the very reason Why thay  Created Humanity and thay need a rough Draft so thay Created the Ape Men, from there own DNA mixed with the Best and Most Intelligent ape's on the earth. and i Know many of you are Going to Say RACIST ... i say FUCK YOU !!! thay Showed and and told me, and i Know the History of Humanity ! the real one. 

( and if i Say where those Ape Men are today, People are Going to REALLY !!! Call Racist and so i Won’t Point a finger, i’ll just let you Look to What call a Racist Stereotype ) 

( I’ll Give you a Hint, there Human’s and i Wasn’t talking about Big foot, i do think there is some kinda of Link as in thay too where a early Experiment of the Gray’s ) - Aka Ape and tall Gray D.n.a might of Gone Horribly wrong )

[ Back to the Point ! ] 

and the Reptilian's where always there to Governed Humanity ! one way or another the Lizard has it's, Claw Over Humanity since the time fo the stone age's. 

but the reptilian's where always the Puppet of the gray's fi the Lizard fucked up humanity or did a thing thay where not Allowed the gray's would utterly destroy them ! in utter Rage!  and Wraith ! of the Like's YOU ! have never seen, thay make a Werewolf look like a edgy Puppy !

OH ! and i Last thing about Human woman, of the Last Model for i didn't find my kin yet ! i Wasn't able to judge the new women the one's ppl keep calling hybrid's but there not there just Upgraded Human's, thay Got a Shit ton more Insectoid in them but, there not Hybrid's for you can't make a Hybrid of a Chimera ! 

OH ! And the other thing With and about women is you always Need to Explain your self for Everything you do and or do around them, and this also piss's the women off for some doo reason ! Women don't like you needing to Explain to them over n over ! 

thay Get Pissed off at you, mainly becuz i think there starting to see how fucking stupid thay are and thay get Narssistic injury off of that ! also, this Needing to Explain every god dam thing you do and say ..... this will drive you Mad ! 

every time you think you can't just talk and be Social it's like hitting a fucking land mine, over n over n over n over, when you think you where cheeky YOU WHEREN'T if you thought that was Clever, NOPE ! TOXIC DICK HEAD ! and the longer a female is with a man the more Toxic and hatful she get's About you and your Nature, and to a female your Innocent's is a sin, it doesn't' exist ! it's bullshit ! 

you Quickly, just Want to get the fuck away from a Woman, but there is No Good Quality thay enjoy ... Woman are Just Stupid and Asshole's there for there Stupid Asshole's. and any male that is with a female i want to say ... i Warned to, don't turn your Noise up to thsi thing i wrote and think SEXSIT ! ... just you wait n that little Cunt will turn on you too EVEN IF YOUR JUST FRIEND'S ! ... She will turn one you for Some God forsaken reason She will turn on you and try to destroy you ? 

and then she will get with there Girl friend's and thay will all attack you and then once thay no longer need each other THEN !!! THAY WILL All attack each other or just bale and or Ghost Each other !!! and give them a Cycle of drama !

. . . 

and if you Still Think i’m a Sexist Man, a Sexist Asshole, i Just Want to Let you know that in all of the data, and Exp With the Gray’s and Research, i’ve Come to the Conclusion that the Gray’s, All female, thay got no Male’s Left ! 

And none of them have dick’s and thay all got a Slit .... Eww don’t think about that too much - 🤮🤮🤮

Thay, Got no Male’s Left . . . the gray’s Hate and or Super Jealous When thay need to make a female but will Flirty with a male WILE IT’S STILL IN THE TANK !!! - both the Gray’s and the fact there Hitting on Children - 🤮 

( My Point is My Faith is in Women, And I’m Also, flipping a Coin becuz the Agenda is Large really Large aka take Back the entire world destroy all Government’s and Secret society’s and give the earth tot he New Human’s with in 40 Month’s aka that what time is left thay bin doing it for a very Long time ! )

( And Wipe out, 8 to 10 billion human’s and all Animal’s on the Earth for a new age ! ) - the age of fire ! ) 

[ as you can see i’m flipping a Coin wondering if it Land’s on Head’s, or tail’s, not going to Define head’s or tail it just Mean’s if it Work’s i wonder if there Going to Win ! ] - i’m flipping a Coin, and hoping yet Wondering if they’ll Win ... yet is fear thay Shall not, and we all are all Doomed ] - [ it’s one Hell of a Mighty Big Agenda and such a Small Amount of time ! tis hard to to be afraid ] 

So it’s Women in the end that will either fuck it all up and doom us all ! or it’s women that will tough it out and Save the Human race, i Mean the Entoman Race but it was What Humanity was to Always Become ! 

Any Way, i’m Outta Here ! - i Hope my Post Was Informative - ✌🏻 Peace ! 

[matiasalbcam]

CAMINOS, 6th Semester

A review.

Like i said in the previous post, the sixth semester of Caminos is known for being death incarnate, or the main source of grief and sadness in the career. Let’s begin analysing it:

-Civil Engineering and Ecology: A nice small subject. A nice subject when taught by a proffesor and kinda terrible when taught by another. The good proffesor was really interesting, as she had worked all around the globe doing the studies of environmental impact of great civil projects (like the panama channel!), so she had a lot to say. We learnt a lot from her. Then there was this guy that was a asshole, that always complained about how in Cambridge everything is great and here no, because we suck. He insulted us not one, but many times! Incredible. I hate him so much.

-Maritime works: Really nice subject, so nice in fact that i want to work in the sea only because the proffesor, the greatest guy in the world (Vicente, i Love you :3 :3) really sold me the idea of the sea being nice and great and beautiful and a splendid place to work in (?). Also you learned a lot and it was easy to pass, everything i asked from a subject.

-Hidraulic Structures: Here is when problems start. Here is when the semester, that from the two previous subjects may seen as easy and nice, start to go to hell. Go to hell because there is no time for everything! I like this subject! Is the only time in my academic life where i have got a honorific mention ( i was in fact the best student of that year. A 10,9) But when i first got to this semester, i dedicated all my time to this one and Geotechnics, failing everything else because i had no time! And like me the 90% of my classmates!!!!!!. But matias, you complain about the time but what does this subject has that requires so much time? Ah, i’m glad you have asked. This subject has the PROJECT. To pass this subject, you and your classmate must do a project about providing water to a population, with everything that it entails. First you need to obtain how much water it need, then you need to find where in the world are you building your dam, then you need to design your dam, then the pipes between the dam and the population... And to things fine, and believe me, the proffesors are quite exigent, it requires a lot of time. Me and my classmate spent like 300 or 400 hours in total doing the project. 400 hours! Thats probably a little less than my final career project lol. You learn a lot? yes. The proffesors are good? Yeah. Is kinda insane to have it in the same semester as geotechnics and Concrete? ABSOLUTELY.

Sanitary Engineering: Basically water treatment and stuff. Not bad, tho nowadays is taught by a psicopath teacher for what i’ve been told. Is extremely funny because 90% of it is make up stuff, without any kind of logic. Like, the design parameters of water sewage treatments plants dont came from logic and science, come from experience. There is thousands of them around the world and they have idk, around 2 or 3 meters of depth because of scientific facts? NO. Because it works well. I guess. 

Geotechnics: Ja, geotechnics. Not a difficult subject, if you dedicate your entire time of study to it when you have 5 other subjects. Ah, you want to study everything? You dont want to be 8 years in the career? man, sorry. That’s not possible...  The thing about geotech is that is full of little things. If a deep foundation rest in sands, then you need to aply this. Ay, but if its rock? Then remember the right formula! Uff, dont forget that if the pile is hollow, then you need to take into account the shear resistance. But only if its sand or clay! Also, also, important, if permeability is low then in case of earthquake you need to apply this correction factor! And so on, and so on. Hundreds of little things that you need to do exercises to learn them, a lot of them. Then you need to pray that in the test enters what you know, for is not an exercise you have seen, a creative exercise that they love so much, then you are fucked. Is a subject of happy ideas.

Concrete and metalic Structures: Concrete, as everybody knows it. HORMIGÓN. Is the subject with the most credits in the career (9) and despite it, it feels is much more than 9 credits. Is a lot. There is no end to the exercises, to the theory. There is no end to the buckling of concrete beams, to the unions of metallic pieces. There is always a armor to design, a moment to obtain. I passed it, but only because i learned my lesson the previous year and study what it entered in the partials. But matias, my naive classmates told me, study design under shear effort, they have to ask it. They have asked 4 times about unions, they have to put an exercise of shear effort. HA, i told them. Last year i thought the same, after they had put 6 times buckling, and what they did? Put another buckling problem. And indeed, they asked us again a union problem. It was the only thing i studied, and i passed without problem. I have good memories of the subject! The proffesors, okey, one proffesor is lovely and the rest is meh and i’m sad that there is a lot about it that i genuily i have no idea, but i had no time to learn it properly.

[reddit-terf-cold-takes]

This is tagged as “humor.” I do not think that word means what they think it means.

Just getting that out of the way before “LEL LOOKIT THE STUPID TRA TIF IGNORING CONTEXT AND SATIRE BECAUSE T MAKES TIFS STUPIDER also why does it hate being called a butch lesbian I don’t get it”

Typically, humor is (a) supposed to make one laugh, (b) be easily recognizable from the same non-humorous bullshit they spew every day. This does neither.

Well good golly gee, I hope this person religiously uses “he or she” and “Mr. or Mrs.” to refer to people if they’re not sure of they’re male or female!

(Also guys language NEVER EVER CHANGES OR ADAPTS BASED ON SOCIETAL CHANGES. That’s why regional slang don’t real.)

Also they whined about being called a “garbage person”, which is quite frankly insulting. I mean, one goes about caked in filth, smelling of sewage, and demands respect for collecting and spewing garbage, and the other’s a garbage person (who performs an essential societal role that few others want and don’t get nearly the respect they deserve.)

Okay look can you NOT flagrantly display how you did little to no research on the topic, have zero respect for the feelings of others, and spend about five minutes on KiwiFarms reading ableist outraged neckbeard incel screeds? It’s not a good look.

I feel really sorry for her husband. Seriously, her “joking” came out of fucking nowhere and this poor guy has to listen to his, erm, “loving” TERF wife spew this garbage.

Like, I’d honestly be surprised if he didn’t say “With all due love, honey, are you having a stroke?”

Suddenly, STRAW MEN! Straw men EVERYWHERE.

Also, is a blatant misuse of the term “misandrophobic” supposed to be funny? Because I don’t use the term myself, but I believe there are some out there who use it to describe the fact that trans men are practically ignored in both TERF and trans discourse.

(Also lol I’m way more used to seeing stories where the wife and the trans woman end up splitting because the cis partner is - unsurprisingly - not attracted to their partner anymore. Because they’re not the opposite sex. Can we get directions to this magical place in real life that accepts us and treats us with dignity and kindness btw?)

Not sure whether to feel sorry for her husband or not. Depends on if his wife started acting despicably AFTER they got married, which happened to my mom (which is part of why I suspect she enabled my father’s emotional and psychological abuse towards the rest of my family).

[capfalcon]

brave new world

(basic summary: 9 times tony stark tells homophobes to fuck themselves and 1 time steve rogers does it for him. also, slight warning, inflammatory hate against LGBT+ people. nothing really bad, but if you’re sensitive to these things, just be warned. also, slight mentions of sex.) 

1. “how does it feel, to sully captain america’s reputation with your previous actions involving romantic affiliations with men?”

tony laughs at that one, a true laugh. “buddy, until you’ve seen steve so drunk that he can’t walk in a straight line, or until you’ve seen him swear at 4 in the morning, you have no idea what his reputation is.”

2. “how does the rest of your team feel about your lifestyle choices?”

“if you’re referring to my sexuality, sorry, i didn’t know we were calling it a lifestyle still. i must’ve missed that when i was busy saving your ignorant ass. and i have no clue, why don’t you ask them?”

3. “you’re corrupting the youth with your false messages and immoral relations!”

tony sighs at this one. “buddy, the only thing the 3 thousands kids that are currently stark employees are being corrupted with is science and work experience. and as for immoral relations, i wouldn’t sweat it, we aren’t going to have any relations after this.”

4. “you’re and the rest of them like you are all going to hell!”

happy groans at this one. it’s almost too easy. tony flips up his sunglasses and flashes the man a smile. “see you there, pal.”

5. “you’re leading those who follow you down a path of sin!”

tony gives the woman a shit eating grin. “that’s the same thing i said to my best friend when he ordered pineapple on pizza for a college party.”

6. “mr. stark, you are a symbol across the world. how can we trust you to be in control of your immoral sexual urges on the global scale?”

tony laughs at this one as pepper smiles besides him. “trust me, when i’m having immoral sexual urges, i’m not the one in control.”

7. “how does dr. banner live and work in close proximity with you when he is aware of your lifestyle?”

he rolls his eyes at this one. “with great caution. i nearly set him on fire the other day, and he almost released a deadly virus in my lab 4 days ago.”

8. “you’re ruining the name of stark industries.”

this one hits a little too close to home. tony looks tired and bored, unamused, but there’s a flash of anger in his eyes. “that must be the reason why we’re one of the most efficient, useful, powerful companies in the world. your insult would mean a lot more if you weren’t using stark tech to record every word i’m saying. i bet the quality’s great too,” tony says, a small smirk on his face.

9. “why are you in favor of gay marriage when it is unnatural?”

“unnatural? french bulldogs are unnatural. large metal buildings are unnatural. electricity, tap water and sewage systems are unnatural. two people in love isn’t unnatural, but your stupidity is.”

1. “captain rogers! we are so grateful for your support in our goal to spread the message that true americans only recognize traditional marriage! also, how do you feel about your teammate mr. stark’s romantic affiliations with men?”

the team freezes. no one had ever really talked to cap about this. steve looks confused for a second before anger flashes over his features. 

“look here, pal,” he says, hands gripping the microphone, his voice sharp, “i don’t know where you’re getting this idea of “true americans.” i’m irish, and when we first came to america, we were treated like filth. we weren’t allowed jobs, we weren’t given the same pay, we were treated like the scum of the earth. a kid that wasn’t born here but was raised here, or a person who’s become a citizen or even a person that isn’t a citizen can still be an american.  and as for mr. stark’s romantic affiliations, i’m quite pleased with them. probably because they include me.” 

the press room breaks out into chaos, and tony’s smirking, his arms folded across his chest. “you had to make it complicated, didn’t you,” he scolds, but his eyes are bright, shining.

steve smiles at him, pulling him in for a kiss. it’s nothing terrible, nothing that wouldn’t be allowed on a kid’s show, and yet, when steve pulls away, his ears are red. 

“you wanna go do some more immoral, non-traditional things where there aren’t 500 cameras?” tony asks, his smile devious.

“god yes,” steve breathes back.

as they’re leaving, tony throws up the middle finger. 

(so much to address. firstly, i’ve officially stated my views on pineapple on pizza. secondly, i’m not really a bottom tony kind of person, but it fit the story, so excuse me on number 6. also, this was kinda inspired by the incredible fic Tony Stark Takes a Liberty and the Universe Thanks Him by RurouniHime on Ao3.you should read that, it’s great. also, steve rogers is a bamf and i apparently love protective steve because this is the second one i’ve written in as many days.)

[scourgewins]

(Hello, everyone, Writing Entity here! Sorry I’ve been dead!! I’ve been struggling a bit with the next installment of Mafia, as well as working on some other projects. Anyway, this story is part of a larger work (that I really need to get around to finishing). Just some Sammy and Jack shenanigans, not Mafia related. I think this is what one would call a drabble. Hope you enjoy it!)

(Warnings: None? Let me know if I should add any.)

Sammy Lawrence sat down at his desk and began to review the sheet music he’d written. He’d stayed up late to finish this song, and had had to endure some interruptions from an eager Bendy, so he figured there would probably be a few mistakes. After editing it a bit, Sammy smiled at the paper, pleased with the result.

His smile of pleasure was cut short as he remembered the next step: he had to take the music to the studio’s lyricist, Jack Fain, whom Sammy despised more than anyone else here. The man had little to no musical knowledge, and was pompous to the point where Sammy couldn’t stand it, and had punched him square in his stupid face. It had happened multiple times, and each time he’d been severely chastised by Henry, the keyframe animator, who always seemed to know where the trouble was and always put a stop to it. Sammy decided it would be wise not to punch Jack, at least not today, since Henry was still keeping a wary eye on him and Jack would surely run to him for help.

Sighing, Sammy arranged his music and walked slowly to the infirmary, which served as the entrance to Jack’s ‘lair’.

Sammy peeked toward Jack’s haven in the wall, then down at the sewage in front of him, clapping a hand to his nose so as not to smell the acrid fumes.

“Jack!” he called. The lyricist made no response. Sammy knew he’d heard him. The composer called Jack’s name again, more forcefully this time.

There was silence a moment longer, until an irritated voice called, “What do you want, Lawrence?”

Sammy glared in the direction of the voice, “I’ve finished the music for the next episode. Take it. I also want to see the lyrics you wrote for that other song.”

“Why can’t you come to me?”

“Why do you think, genius? I’m not wading through this muck.”

There was a loud sigh, followed by a splash as someone stepped into the sewage water. Sammy gagged slightly; he would never understand how Jack could stand working down here, surrounded by all this filth. The lyricist sloshed into view, wearing high rubber boots, and a clothespin on his nose.

He scowled at Sammy, as he approached, and the musician returned the look with equal vehemence. Jack stepped out of the sewer, staining the floor with his footprints. Wally’s not going to enjoy cleaning that, Sammy thought to himself.

The two exchanged papers, and Sammy examined the lyrics before him, humming his song to himself to see if they’d fit. As usual, they didn’t. The composer sighed deeply, resisting the urge to smack his coworker.

“Are you kidding me, Jack?” Sammy clenched the paper in his hand, “I went over the measures of this song with you! I literally spent a half hour playing the song for you and telling you how to write the lyrics!”

Jack snatched the paper back, “It became so monotonous, though. My talents were not allowed to flourish.” He straightened the paper out methodically.

Sammy’s glare, if possible, deepened, “It’s a cartoon song, not Shakespeare!”

“Who’s to say cartoons can’t be sophisticated in that way?” Jack countered.

“The laws of music!” Sammy had had this argument with Jack countless times, and the idiot never understood. The musician was nearing the end of his patience. Making one last attempt, Sammy ripped the lyrics from Jack’s hand again, and shook it, “This,” he gripped Jack’s other hand, the one which held the sheet music, and held it up, “and this, cannot make a song!”

Jack snatched his hand away, snarling in anger, “Well, maybe my lyrics could be better, if it weren’t for the mundane music I’m forced to attach to it!”

“Do not blame your lack of musical knowledge on me!” Sammy shouted, “I’m not the problem here!”

“”But your music is! I can’t work with such a complete lack of talent. How dare you even call yourself a composer, let alone a musician!”

Sammy clenched his fists, feeling his fury rise, “I’ve had to modify every lyric you’ve ever given to me. That’s not my job!” He jabbed Jack hard in the shoulder with his finger, “It’s your job to make good lyrics in the first place!”

Jack clutched his shoulder in an irritatingly dramatic way, and eyed Sammy with an arrogant defiance, “How dare you insult my art?!”

“How dare you insult MY art?!” Sammy returned.

“You can’t even think of an adequate insult!”

“Again, words aren’t my job! They’re your job!”

“I can’t work with such a neanderthal!”

“That makes two of us!” Sammy advanced toward Jack. Jack seemed to know how this usually ended for him, and took a step back, obviously intending to retreat back to the sewers. As he did so, the hand that still held the music Sammy had given him loosened, and the paper fluttered out of his grip. The two artists watched the paper as it slowly made it’s decent, right into the sewer water.

Sammy watched as the paper steadily absorbed the liquid, and sunk. He turned slowly to face Jack, who was already making his escape up the stairs to the infirmary. Sammy sprinted after him, determined to wring his neck.

[accio-ambition]

No Good Deed (9/15)

Summary: Killian Jones is a gentleman. He and his brother pride themselves on the matter, even if it ends with harm to them. So when an angry ex of Killian’s client bites him, he tends to the wound, watches it heal, and thinks no more of it.Until he wakes up in a closet on his ship with no memory of what happened the night of the full moon.

Fleeing from the unknown, the brothers Jones find Storybrooke, and with it, Emma Swan, who is a lot more familiar with their situation than anyone could expect. And when an old foe comes to their new home, Killian has to rely on new talents to keep those he loves safe.

Rating: M for language, violence, some sexual content. (better safe than sorry)

Content warnings: violence

happy Thanksgiving food coma to all my American friends and happy Friday to everyone in the rest of the world! Who wants to feel some thing?!

I’m especially grateful and thankful for @killiarious, @wellhellotragic, and the mods at @captainswanbigbang for all of their hard work and dedication. mwah!

AO3

Chapter Nine

He doesn’t say anything: he doesn’t wake Emma up to tell her how important she is to him. He doesn’t mention it when they wake the next morning, nor as they drive back home or when they sit down to eat. Killian doesn’t know when to tell her, or even if he should. Now knowing about her last attempt at love, and knowing that it had resulted in her wolf condition and the multitude of other, unseen scars he’s sure she bears, he fears that any hint of this overwhelming emotional connection would cause her to run. Not only would that break Killian’s heart, but they’ve bonded on such a deep level. They’re in each other’s head quite literally. They depend on each other during the full moon. They’re family.

Fate, as it goes though, doesn’t allow Killian much time to ponder the matter. He’d always thought fate was something of a personal matter, shared only between the two parties of it and himself. But it seems that word got out: Killian Jones loves Emma Swan. And, as it tends to do, fate speeds events up.

At home, Killian and Emma spend all of their time in the happy little relationship bubble, whether they considered themselves a couple or not.

(Killian does, for the record. Emma might be more hesitant to do so, but her spending many more nights in his bed than her own, it’s a bit difficult to say their not a couple at all.)

It sickens Liam, a fact he has no issue in voicing and a matter which they enjoy teasing him over.

“Are you serious?” He asks indignantly, walking in to the living room to find the two of them curled up together on the couch. They’re spread out, huddled beneath a blanket, watching some silly Hallmark movie.

“What’s the matter, Liam?” Emma inquires, fully aware of the reason. “It’s cold tonight. Want to join?” She lifts up the edge of the blanket behind her in invitation.

Huffing, Liam storms back in to the kitchen. Killian can hear the fridge open and shut, the clink of a beer bottle. His brother comes back in and thumps down on the armchair beside the couch. “As a reminder, little brother, I’ve spent so much time at Elsa’s because I didn’t want to disgust you such as you are currently disgusting me.”

Emma giggles into his shoulder. Killian shrugs. “Well, Swan here hasn’t got a place of her own and she pays her part of the rent in a timely manner every month,” he says. “She can do whatever she wants here.”

“Within reason,” Liam groans. He takes another sip of beer before shaking his head and repeating himself. “Within bloody reason.”

But outside in reality, where Emma still runs the sheriff’s department with an iron fist and Killian monitors Storybrooke’s marina with an eagle eye, there’s something...odd in the air. Though he can’t put a finger on anything specific, Killian has found himself feeling paranoid a lot more often. His hackles come up like the hairs on people’s arms or the backs of their necks raise when they feel someone watching them. He’s constantly looking over his shoulder, catching a familiar scent on the wind that he can’t quite recognize. The breeze either picks it up too quickly or his mind is diverted to a visiting captain or the ring of a phone, and when Killian tries to focus on the scent again, it’s gone.

Emma doesn’t think anything of it when he asks her about it. The smell’s showed up daily for a week, putting him on a dangerous precipice. Though she can’t detect it, Emma can feel his anxiety through their bond.

(At least, he thinks, it’s distracting her from the overwhelming sense of adoration and love he feels in other moments, like when she winks at his from across the dinner table. Otherwise, he wouldn’t know quite what to do with himself.)

It’s too late, or too early, for him to be staring sleeplessly up at the ceiling one night. He’s got a slew of boy scouts visiting the harbor tomorrow, he needs his rest to deal with them civilly, but unconsciousness alludes him. He’s wracking his brain from where he might know that mysterious scent from.

“Killian, you’re scaring me,” she mumbles into his chest. Killian chuckles; he should’ve known Emma was awake just as he was.

“I’m sorry, love,” he murmurs back. Pressing his lips to her hair, he adds, “I just can’t shake the feeling.” A small shiver runs down her spine and she burrows closer to him. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from whatever may come.”

She glances up at him. “Even if it’s just your overactive imagination?” She asks.

“Even if,” he assures her. Even in her exhausted state, Emma pushes up on her elbow to kiss him. As she settles back against his chest, Killian says, a bit insulted, “I thought you happened to like my overactive imagination.”

Shrugging, Emma smiles against his skin. “On occasion.” He retaliates by pressing at her side, making her laugh and squirm. “Stop, stop it, we have to sleep. We’ve got work tomorrow.”

“And we have a functioning coffee maker,” he reasons, lifting the blanket from her body and covering it back up with his. “We can sleep when we’re dead.”

“Yeah, but we’re not dead yet.” She pokes at his chest. “Work is still going to expect us to be there and being productive whether we sleep tonight or not.”

Killian groans. She’s right, but she makes his blood sing and he wants to make sure that nothing would ever happen to her. He isn’t quite sure he could survive that. Conceding, Killian wraps an arm around Emma and pulls her close. Her breathing evens out shortly afterwards, and Killian is out for the count without another thought.

The next morning, grumbling as he makes his way down to his office building, Killian shivers and pulls his jacket closer to his body. It's cold, it's dark, and being anywhere but next to Emma in bed is not ideal. But he’s got the Boy Scouts to prepare for and he forgot his phone on his desk, and, as his love so aptly reminded him at dinner the night before, he's expecting an early morning call from a cruise company interested in starting day trips to and from Storybrooke and Portland.

(For what reason the entire marine world starts before sunrise, he'll never know.)

So here he is, in one of the last places he'd ever want to be at this hour, struggling with numb fingers to unlock the door to his office. He drops his keys and groans, because that's just how this morning is going.

And then he senses it: something in the air, a slight tinge to the scent that he wouldn't have noticed save for the fact that it's so out of place here in Storybrooke. It smells like - Killian sniffs and squints, trying to place the smell, because it's impossible.

It smells like the Hudson River.

He's certain of it. He wasn't around that water for too long once his senses heightened, but even a human nose could pick up the unusual hint of brackish water and sewage that makes the Hudson from all the rest of bodies of the water. There's nothing even close to that smell in this town.

But that doesn't make sense.

Quickly, Killian sniffs again and spins around, following the trail. It's coming from down the road, the source not too far. Looking off in the distance, he spots the faint outline of a shadow. It's shorter than the average man and seems to have what looks like three legs. He's sure that has to be the source, but how could a single person have that much of the scent of the Hudson so far away from the river itself?

His footsteps curious, he makes his way toward the figure. When a storefront alone separates them, the figure begins to move: he turns and starts jogging away, the ends of its hair flipping this way and that.

It's been quite a while, he'll admit, but as soon as it clicks, Killian calls on his wolf speed and runs until his chest hurts and his lungs threaten to explode.

It's Milah's husband. Mr. Gold. It has to be. A wolf's hide would keep stench longer than human skin and it would linger. That, combined with the stature and the appearance to him alone...there isn't even another possible answer. It's him.

The floodgates open and anger floods Killian's veins. This is the man who changed his life, who tore him away from the only real home he'd had in New York.

And as sudden as it comes, the madness leaves. If he hadn't left New York, Killian would've never met Emma. He would've never known what true love is. His footsteps begin to slow, his breath becoming less labored. In a certain light, Killian has this man to thank for the life he has now, even with the transformation.

But if Gold's here, something is amiss. This monster hasn't shown his face in months, nearly a year. And now that Emma is such a prominent figure in his life, it can't be good.

He feels the scent all around him, seeping into his pores and washing over him like nausea. No matter how hard he tries, now that he’s identified the scent, it follows him everywhere. Regardless of how many showers he takes or what delicious food surrounds him, Killian can still catch a whiff of Gold.

It scares him, though he doesn’t say so. He’s sure Emma can tell something is wrong even if he does his best to hide it - she’s bonded to him. If she can’t tell how frightened he is, then something would be very wrong.

Although it seems that it is.

Shortly after Gold’s appearance in town, the full moon once again appears. The two of them drive out to the old highway, sitting at the tree line until transformation overtakes them. Killian’s muscles start their monthly stretch, welcomed more than in his earlier transformations, and before he knows it, his eyesight is better, he can hear a rabbit a couple yards away, and the wolf within isn’t hiding anymore.

He turns around, ready to run after the woodland creatures with Emma, to find her still a human. Her eyes are wide in surprise, or maybe shock. To be fair, he’s never seen another wolf transform. Perhaps, neither has she. Killian cocks his head to the side, asking her if there was a problem.

She shrugs. “Give it a few minutes,” she says aloud. “Maybe I’m too tense or something. I need to relax.” Closing her eyes, Emma opens her palms and stands there, basking in the moonlight.

Five minutes pass. Ten. A full quarter hour goes by, Emma still in her peaceful stance and Killian itching to run. With a sigh, she opens her eyes. Her shoulders droop and she looks forlornly out into the woods. He can feel her desire to run, to get out there and stretch her muscles, through the bond. Approaching her, he nuzzles her hip, getting her to focus on him instead of her sadness.

“Don’t worry about me,” she says on another sigh. “Go ahead. Catch something for me.” Emma gestures to the truck. “I’m going to go home and sleep. I’ll come back in the morning to pick you up. Sound good?”

Killian whimpers in reluctant agreement. He watches her circle the front of the cab, get in, and start the engine. With a final wave, Emma turns back to town, the truck’s headlights leading the way through the dark. He watches until those lights disappear before trotting into the woods alone.

Emma’s inability to transform plagues his thoughts as he hunts rabbit and squirrel. When the sun crests the horizon, Killian makes his way back to the old highway spot, still troubled. True to her word, Emma sits in the driver’s seat, shadows dark beneath her eyes as she stares blankly forward. Silently, he gets in the passenger's side, gratefully taking the blanket and cup of coffee she offers him.

A pin could drop during the car ride home and it would echo for ages. Emma continues to stare out the windshield. She seems to be on autopilot: clicking the turn signal, checking her blindspot, and so on. Life only returns to her expression when they pull up to the house and she shuts the engine off. She takes the keys from the ignition and then sits, hands folded in her lap.

“I’ve never not changed before,” she says quietly. Staring at her clasped hands, Emma’s face goes vacant again. She bites at her bottom lip.

He hates to see her like this. Hasn’t really ever seen her this, to be frank, though he can safely say that it’s not an emotion he wants to see frequently decorate her face. Reaching a hand over, Killian grasps her hands.

“Is there any chance you’ve somehow been cured?” he asks just as softly. He’s not sure how that could have happened, but it’s the only reason he can think as to why Swan wouldn’t have transformed with him this month.

She shrugs, intertwining her fingers with his. “I haven’t done anything you haven’t done.” She sighs, rubbing at his knuckles in calming circles. Her shoulders deflate as Emma looks at him finally. “Is it bad if I admit that I don’t want to be cured? I like being able to run wild. Especially with you,” she says. “And now it’s just part of who I am.”

Killian chuckles for a moment. “No, that’s not bad at all,” he assures her. He brings her hand to his lips. “I love you no matter what you are or aren’t.”

A small grin appears on her face - a little pained, very much concerned, but Killian doesn’t let it phase him. He tugs on her hand a bit harder, forcing her over the console so he can kiss her properly, do his best to assuage her of her worries. When Emma pulls back, breathless, her smile has transformed into one of genuine pleasure. She unlocks the door and starts up toward the house, Killian a handful of steps behind her. As she fumbles with her keys, he comes up and rests a hand on the small of her back.

“Maybe you’re coming down with the flu or something?” he suggest as the front door swings open. “Have you ever been ill at the same time as the full moon?”

Emma considers his words, her tongue peeking out from between her lips. She sets her keys down on the hall table and makes her way into the kitchen. “Not that I can remember,” she responds, lost in her own world. She shrugs and reaches for the coffee machine. “You’re probably right. I have been a little nauseous lately. It’s probably just a stomach bug.”

Killian hums in confirmation as he pulls out two mugs.

But the full moon comes along the next month, and Killian once again transforms while Emma remains sitting beside the side of the truck bed. Her expression elongates into one of worry and sadness when she realizes she still has two legs while he’s loping along on four. Killian nuzzles up against her neck, pushing her gently and licking her cheek.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” she admits quietly, scratching the fur of his neck. “Go ahead. Have fun. I’ll be here in the morning.”

Again, he has to watch her slowly and morosely pile into the truck and drive back home with a solemn wave. When he comes to, paws turned back to hands, the next morning and makes his way back to the old highway, she’s once again sitting there. The truck’s engine is still running and, when he gets in the cab, Emma offers him a cup of coffee.

“How was it?” she asks, throwing the gear shift into reverse.

“Would’ve been better with you,” he says into the cup. He sips at his coffee and relishes in the warmth that spreads through his body. “How are you feeling?”

Emma shrugs. “Alright.”

“You’re not still sick, are you?”

“I mean,” she hesitates, checking each direction before turning on to the main road, “I kind of have a headache.” She sighs. “And I haven’t gotten my period yet. Maybe the two weeks are convincing this month.”

A groan comes unbidden from his lips. He can feel Emma’s glare even with his eyes closed. “Dear go above, help us all.”

As expected, and completely fairly, Emma smacks him in the chest. “Don’t be an ass,” she chides him. “If you’re an ass about this, I’m withholding sex for the foreseeable future.”

Taking her hand where it still rests on his chest, Killian holds it up. He presses a kiss to her palm with a smile. “Perish the thought, love,” he says.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” she says with a chuckle. “Works every time.”

“You make me sound predictable.”

Scoffing, Emma takes her hand back and glances quickly at him. “You, a warm-blooded man, predictable about sex?” She teases him. “Yes, you are predictable.”

“I’ll have to change that then.” At that moment, Emma pulls up their drive and puts the car in park. Killian surprises her, leaning over the center console and kissing her breathless, for all his worth. Pleasure spreads through the bond, the feeling moving swiftly in both directions as Emma meets him push for pull.

And then the disgust sours the connection.

“Ugh,” Emma grunts, shoving him back into his seat.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

She wipes her mouth, a distasteful look on her face. “You taste like outside.” Then she sniffs and her nose crinkles further. “And you smell like wet dog.”

Killian laughs, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Well, there are very logical reasons to both of those quandaries.”

“Yeah, well, until you solve those quandaries and shower, you need to stay away from me.” She sticks out her tongue in disgust again before exiting the car. “And get out of the car before you stink it up!”

His next transformation is one of the most unnerving yet. He misses the woods, but it’s the third month in a row that Emma’s not transformed. To say he’s worried, concerned, terrified, would be an understatement. All of his primal instincts intensify during the full moon, but none more so than his need and desire to protect his pack, his Swan.

So instead of running through the damp leaves and dodging the thick trunks of Storybrooke’s trees, Killian’s curled up in wolf form on their bed, his muzzle resting in Emma’s lap. She’s stroking his head, scratching behind his ears while he tries not to show how much he enjoys her ministrations.

“It’s okay to give in,” she murmurs, eyes unseeing as she stares at the wall. His ears cock down, his brow bone doing the same in confusion. Emma chuckles. “You’re so mellow and content through the bond, I know you like it. It’s okay to show it. I’m not going to judge you.”

A sound akin to a groan rips from his throat and Killian settles heavier on to her lap, letting his tail wag and his tongue loll out for a moment.

He’s so happy that it takes him longer than it should to realize something was off about his Swan. Pulling his tongue back behind his teeth, he presses his nose into her stomach, sniffing in earnest as Emma continues to pet him. His tail slows down.

“What’s up?” she asks, relaxing further back into the pillows behind her.

“Are you quite sure you’re not sick, Swan?” he asks her through their bond, an alarm going off in his head. He could bathe in Emma’s scent: it’s comforting and familiar, hints of cinnamon she’s fond of and wildflowers reminiscent of sunshine in addition to the musk of the woods around town adn the salt of the ocean. He knows that, as a pack, they share the last two notes, something he believes represents the best of their worlds splendidly.

But now, “Your scent is off,” he explains.

That gets her to focus, Emma humming in confusion. “How so?” She asks.

“There’s something,” he sniffs again, “fresh about it. Something new.” He pushes aside the hem of her pajama top and digs his nose further into her stomach, forcing a soft “oomph” from Emma. Killian’s surprised to sense a tinge of scent he associates with the Hudson River, like the dirt in the water he fell in after first transforming. caught off guard, Killian pulls back. His Swan’s never smelled like that before. “You kind of smell like me,” he says.

“That’s not surprising.” As best he can, Killian furrows his wolf brows. Emma nudges him off her lap and flips to face him on her side, grin growing on her lips. They both know and realize their scents linger on each other, are a fundamental part of the other’s, but Killian’s never smelt it this strong on her before. He hasn’t the slightest idea why, or what she means.

Her hand curls around her face, her fingers scratching through his fur. His eyes slide close, a sound echoing deep from his throat. She giggles. “I think that’s part of why I haven’t changed,” she murmurs.

His ears perk up, eyes shooting open. “You’ve figured it out?” Killian asks, straightening up. “How come you haven’t told me?”

Emma shrugs. “I wasn’t sure. But I got some pretty damning evidence earlier today.”

As if his attention wasn’t already piqued, Killian nudges her hand a little harder than necessary. “What?” he asks. “Love, what’s wrong?”

Licking her lips, his Swan smiles “I’m pregnant,” she whispers, a secret between the two of them. “I’m, like, 97 percent sure I’m pregnant.”

The news hits him like a ton of bricks. His response of “How?” comes out more as a reflex than as an actual question. She shoots him an incredulous look and he immediately regrets the word, lightly barking out a scoff. They live together, they run as wolves together - they haven’t been celibate, to say the least. He shakes his head, ruffling the scruff at his neck. “What I mean to ask is how did you come to that conclusion?” he rewords.

Chuckling, Emma pulls at the velvety softness of his ear. “I’ve been so focused on trying to figure out why I didn’t change that I sort of missed my other, more annoying monthly visitor,” she explains quietly. She shrugs again. “I took a test a test yesterday and another one this morning and they both came up positive.”

“A test?”

Rolling her eyes, she teases him, “Yes, a test. I know you’ve watched TV before. I know you know exactly what I’m talking about.” But her mouth hangs open a moment too long and Killian cocks his head to the side. Her cheeks redden and she looks away from him. “I mean, it might have been a couple more than a both times.”

Hesitantly, Killian asks, “How many more?”

She shrugs. “Maybe a half dozen more?” she admits shyly, one eye squinting close and her nose scrunching up adorably. At another look from him, she sighs. “Think about it, Killian. Have you ever heard of a pregnant werewolf? It might just be like my period - it comes back after the baby’s born.” Her hand drags down the side of his neck, her nails calming against his skin. Slowly, she moves from his neck to rest on her belly. His current vantage point doesn’t belie the apparent child within it. “Besides, you said it yourself. My scent’s already changing.”

Still processing this new development, Killian nudges Emma’s shoulder, making her giggle as she falls on to her back once more. Her laughter becomes full fledged as he nuzzles his nose into her stomach. The mixed scent that emanates from there does seem stronger.

Perhaps Swan is right.

“You’re okay with this, right?” she asks, drawing his attention back to her face. Given the past few minutes, it’s surprisingly neutral, though when Killian looks deeper into her green eyes, he spots fear. Concern. Uncertainty. She shakes her head. “I mean, there’s no backing out of it for me now, I’ve got to deal with it somehow, but, I mean, if you want-”

Were he human at the moment, Killian would have kissed her to stop her worrying. It’s got to be the happiest news he’s heard in his life, second maybe only to his 18th birthday, when he finally came to live with Liam permanently.

No, this was definitely better.

Alas, it was the full moon, and he was in wolf form while Emma was a human, and would stay so for at least the next handful of months. Still, he tries to express the feelings of...euphoria he feels through their bond, lovingly pawing at her arms. She smiles wildly, and he can only hope that she understands just how happy he is right now.

“I’m here for the long haul,” he promises her. “I’ll protect you from everything and anything. I’ll protect the both of you.” He licks the back of her hand, his tail thumping harshly against their bedsheets. An interesting thought pops into his head, his tail coming to a sudden halt. “How can I still talk to you when I’m like this and you’re not?” he asks.

“It is still the full moon,” Emma reminds him, tapping him on the snout. “I guess some things stick, pregnancy or not.”

With a sigh, Swan pushes him off her lap and eases herself from sitting to standing. Killian whimpers at the loss, but also in concern for her. Knowing of her delicate condition as he now does, he can only imagine exertion and swift movements weren’t the best for her. The emotions must bleed through their bond, for Emma chuckles. She leans far enough on the mattress to scratch behind his ears. Unwillingly, Killian’s eyes close and a silly little smile comes across his lips.

(Gods above, he loves her.)

“I’ll be back,” she tells him quietly. “I just really want some Pringles.”

And with a kiss to the tip of his nose, Emma leaves their room. He can hear her footfalls as she makes her way down the hall and descends the stairs. Killian stands on the bed, circling around before settling on the mattress, head hanging heavily off the edge. As he hears the cabinet doors open and close in the kitchen, he stares out into the dark hallway.

A child. They’re having a child. And while that news makes him over the moon, it comes with its own problems and issues to worry over. Neither of them have much experience with children in any capacity, let alone the child of two werewolves. Already, things he wouldn’t have expected we’re happening: Killian would’ve never imagined a transformation without Emma. Now, he looked forward to the next few full moons solo.

But afterwards - would Emma be able to transform after the baby was born? Would the babe itself be born with their affliction?

Oh god, he thinks, adjusting himself so his tail was tucked beneath him. Raising a child was difficult enough. But raising a child who changed with every full moon.

“I could hear you thinking downstairs.” Swan’s voice makes him jump, his hackles rising. He’d been in such a tizzy that he’d failed to hear her come back to bed, red tube of chips in hand. She chuckles through a mouth full of chips. Before sitting back down in bed, Emma narrows her eyes at him. “Are you going to be like this the whole time?”

Cocking his head and his brow, Killian asks, “Like what?”

She sighs, pulling back the covers. “If you’re going to be like this for the rest of the pregnancy, I’m kicking you out.”

Killian barks a scoff, watching her as she goes about getting comfortable and ready for sleep. She’s singlehandedly messes with the sheets, pulling their quilt down to the foot of the bed with one while the other is stuck in the Pringles can. “You can’t kick me out,” he says. “I pay rent here. I lived here first.”

She flops back with a groan, the top sheet floating down on top of her as her head sinks into the pillow. “I’ll make Liam kick you out,” she threatens, though her words hold no malice.

Once she’s mostly still - his Swan has never really been a sedentary sort of woman - Killian curls up next to her, his jaw resting atop her hand. “That’s unfair, love,” he complains. “I’m allowed to worry for your well-being, especially in your current condition.”

Emma’s hand flips over beneath his jaw. Her fingers curl up under him, scratching at the fur of his chin. Killian sighs in content through his nose, his exhale strong enough to ruffles the hem of her shirt.

“Everything is going to be fine,” she reassures him softly. “You said you’d protect us, and I trust you.”

“But what about-”

“Killian.” Her voice is stern. It’s in the quiet that follows Killian offhandedly thinks. These conversations are interesting: Emma speaks aloud and hears his response in her mind, but somehow, all of their idiosyncrasies come through the bond. Hidden emotions and discussions carry on between the two of them regardless of their form. She breathes in deeply, her pulse slowing in her wrist and her chest expanding. “I’m scared too. I haven’t been this scared in a very long time,” she admits, a waver in her voice. Fear in the bond betrays her attempt to cover it in her vocal cords. “Everyone I love leaves me. I’m afraid that I’ll lose the baby or you’ll come to your senses.” She gently squeezes his jawbone.

He licks her wrist, a sign of support and solidarity. “Nothing can keep me away from you,” he promises. “I love you, love.” Then he moves to rest lightly on her stomach, hearing the gurgling and flow of her bloodstream. “And you, little pup.”

She chuckles to herself, her hand resting on his head. “There we go,” she says. “I can deal with you if you’re like this for the next couple of months.”

“Oh, good, I may stay in my own home?” he jests.

Emma nods. “You can stay.”

[neverplannedonnewsies]

Brooklyn

The boys go to Brooklyn to convince Spot Conlon to join the strike, but there’s a twist.

This is my first fic, so I hope people like it! (and don’t judge me too hard). This just kind of popped in my head so I wanted to write it. Coach is my character.

----------------

As Jack, Davey, and Les stepped off the Brooklyn Bridge Jack slowed to a halt and let out a piercing whistle that made Davey jump.

“’m sorry” Jack said in response to Davey’s glare, “that’s just how I let someone know we’s here.”

Within moments a girl came running around the corner, a few newspapers tucked under her arm. “How’s it goin’, Coach?” Jack called as she approached.

“Fine. What’re you doin’ here Kelly?” the girl asked in a no-nonsense manner.

“We’s hear to talk to Spot.”

“Take’s all three of ya, huh?” Coach said, taking in Davey and Les standing slightly behind Jack.

“For this it does.”

Coach shrugged, motioning for them to follow her towards the docks.

-----

As they approached a group of Newsies lounging on a pier, Davey’s eyes were drawn to several different guys, trying to guess which one was the famous Spot Conlon. One boy had a thick scar running down the length of his face, another was taller than Davey and had easily 20 to 30 pounds on him. All of them were intimidating in their own way and easily could pass for the leader of one of the roughest boroughs in New York. So it was no small surprise to Davey when a girl of medium build came forward with a slight smile on her face, spat in her hand, and held it out to Jack while the rest of the Brooklyn newsies stayed back.

“Jack Kelly! Decided to visit the better side of the bridge huh? What’re ya tryin’ to pawn off new recruits on me?” she asked, looking at Davey and Les.

“Naw Spot, I just-“

“YOU’RE Spot Conlon?” Les burst out before Davey could shush him.

“You bet your fancy hat I am little man. And I’m gonna ignore the way you said that since you’s new.” Spot had lost her smile and was looking at Les with eyebrows raised.

“Sorry,” Les said, a little more subdued.

“You are forgiven” she pronounced in a queenly manner, the start of a smile returning, “Now who are you?”

“I’m Les, and this is my older brother, Davey.”

“It’s pleasure to meet you,” Davey threw in, eager to smooth things over. After all, they needed Spot on their side, no matter what gender.

“I suppose it is” Spot said with a nod of acknowledgment and turned back to Jack, “Now what’re you doin’ here, Kelly? I suppose it’s got somethin’ to do with the jacked up pape price? You’re wastin’ your time comin’ here, it’s the same all over. Stinks like sewage but I don’t see what we can do ‘bout it.”

“We do and that’s why we’re here - we’re strikin’” Jack declared, causing the others to look up. “The Manhattan newsies are officially on strike and we need support. We didn’t sell papes today, and tomorrow we’re gonna be stoppin’ the wagons. We need Brooklyn and all the other boroughs there with us.”

“We’ve got a reporter who has promised to get us on the front page of the Sun. With all of us working together and that kind of publicity, Pulitzer will have to take us seriously,” Davey said, stepping forward with Jack.

Spot crossed her arms and let out a laugh of disbelief. “Oh you think so huh?”

Davey stood firm, “That’s what I know. Are you with us?”

“No.”

“Spot come on!” Jack pleaded, “You know what Pulitzer’s doin’ ain’t right, and you know as well as I do most of our kids can’t afford the jack up, they’s barely makin’ enough to survive on as it is. And it’s only gonna get worse! We need to take a stand now, and we need Brooklyn there!”

“Jack,” Spot said, getting serious, “You know I’d help you if it was just me. But I have a lot kids to think about beyond myself and this ain’t no small spat you’s gettin’ into. Your boys are all rarin’ to go today, but that’s cuz they’s angry. They’s also young and don’t fully understand what they’s signing up for. I know,” she said, raising her hand to cut off Davey’s protest, “I know you ain’t takin’ this lightly, and it ain’t just for fun. But there’s somethin’ to be said for gettin’ caught up in a group’s emotions. And I cannot put my kids in danger without knowin’ you’re really gonna see this through, and not just take off when it gets ugly and the excitement wears off. You’s gonna have to make do with the other boroughs.”

“Spot ya know the other boroughs won’t join unless you do.”

“Then that’s their choice. I ain’t tellin’ anyone what to do outside my own turf. If they follow me then I’m sorry, but I ain’t changing my mind.”

“What would it take to prove to you that we’re serious?” Davey asked, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice.

Spot sighed, tilted her head back and stared at the sky for a moment before answering. “If you’s stand your ground tomorrow. You stand your ground and show you ain’t gonna run when things get rough, then I will agree to help you and try to convince the other boroughs to do the same.”

“But tomorrow is when we need ya! We’s gonna need all the help we can get to stop those wagons!” Jack said, frustration evident in his voice.

“Please?” Les stepped forward with his best puppy-dog eyes. Spot’s face softened for a moment looking at Les.

“Sorry shortstop. Everyone has gotta prove themselves at some point, even you guys. Those are my conditions and I ain’t changin’ my mind.”

“Fine.” Jack turned on his heel, heading down the nearest alleyway, kicking a trashcan in frustration as he went.

“Please respect my kingdom, Jack” Spot’s voice floated after them, colder now, and oozing with irony, “I know you’re frustrated, but you’s still in Brooklyn. Don’t make me remind ya again.”

­­­­­--------------

“I still don’t get it - why is everyone so afraid of Brooklyn?” Davey asked as they headed back across the bridge. “I mean yeah, Spot was intimidating, very self-assured, and her boys were huge, but why exactly is everyone so scared?”

“Cuz she’s smarter than the rest of us put togetha” Jack said, “and she may not seem like much when yous just talkin’ to her, but she’s the fiercest ‘n most loyal person I know. She’d protect her kids wit her life, and I’s seen her do it. That’s how she got to be in charge. Doesn’t matter what or who it is, or how many, somethin’ threatens her kids she flies into action like you ain’t never seen.”

“Seems like the pape price raisin’ is a threat to her kids.”

“Yeah but Spot plays it defensively. Offense really ain’t her style, another reason boys are so afraid to cross onto her turf. You heard her, I kicked a trashcan and she took it as an insult.” Jack kicked a stone as he walked on. “She’s big on respect, going both ways, another reason she’s such a strong leader. Very strict morals, which ya gotta admire. She never goes back on her word.”

“So that mean’s she’ll help us after tomorrow right?” Les asked eagerly.

“Yeah… after tomorrow.” Jack said, worry creeping into his voice.

“Don’t worry,” Les said, strutting confidently ahead, “We’ll stop those wagons, and then Brooklyn will be here.”

[nyctolovian]

I’m dying inside so hey look its a fic lol

It’s for voltron bingo.... And its hurt/comfort but after writing it, it doesn’t feel like hurt/comfort... BUT ITS ABOUT HUNK OVERTHINKING SO ENJOY YOURSELVES!

“Team four, step up.”

With a gulp, Hunk stepped forward at the same time as a lanky pale girl with long brown hair.

Iverson looked around the crowd and back at his clipboard. “There should be one more person. Where’s McClain?”

Someone from the crowd of students yelled, “McClain said he had to go to the bathroom during break! I think he’s still in there!”

There were several giggles and murmurs.

When Iverson cleared his throat, the noise died down. “The two of you just stand there first,” he said as he pointed to the spot beside team 3.

The girl nodded and walked over to the spot before resuming to stand with hands behind her back.

Hunk shuffled beside her. There was a long moment of quiet before he whispered, “Hi! The name’s Hunk.”

“Robin.”

Then, there was an awkward silence.

“I’m a mechanic.”

The kid gave him a look with an emotion Hunk couldn’t identify. “Engineer,” she replied.

Hunk could feel himself experiencing a full blown meltdown on the spot. She’s been only giving one-word answers. Disinterest? Annoyance? Despise? Oh no… How was he going to work with someone who hates him?

Getting by in the Garrison is probably hard enough but doing that when your teammate for most of your time here hates you? That’s not going to work out at all.

What if the other teammate hates him too?

Or what if he really wasn’t suited to be a mechanic? There were a whole lot of other people who had really good engineering knowledge and skills. And this was the Garrison. Of course there’ll be people way better at this than him.

Maybe he really shouldn’t have joined the Garrison after all. He didn’t really fit in. All the kids here were the best across the nation - no, in the world! How was he supposed to compete with them? He doubted he could even befriend anyone here. They all felt so out of his league.

A small brown kid ran into the room.

“Welcome back, McClain!” a tall boy with jet black hair joked. “How was it like in the sewage system?”

McClain let out an exaggerated gasp. “Hey! Stop making fun of my height, Yang Wenming! I’ll get taller than you one day!”

“McClain!” Iverson yelled over the conversation. “You are very late!”

“Sorry, sir!” McClain said as he stood at attention. “The washroom had a malfunction!”

Iverson gave him a look before he sighed. “Your team’s over there,” he said, gesturing to Hunk and Pidge.

“Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!” he said as he pushed through the bunch of students who have yet to be called forward.

There was a snicker from Wenming and another playful jibe, “Was the malfunction because you got stuck in the toilet bowl again?” Hunk couldn’t see McClain, who was significantly smaller than most of the kids in the crowd, but judging by the way Wenming suddenly buckled, McClain probably gave him a nasty jab in the ribs.

“Quiet back there!” Iverson roared, rubbing his temples.

“Sorry, sir!” Mingwen and McClain both said at the same time.

“This is why I already told Commander Holt that I cannot handle kids,” Iverson mumbled into his palm. Then, he resumed to organising the teams.

After some time, McClain squeezed out of the crowd and jogged over to Hunk and Robin before slotting himself between the two of them.

Hunk felt a sinking feeling in his stomach as he watched McClain stick his tongue out at Mingwen now that he was safely out of Iverson’s line of sight. He pointedly looked forward.

This small kid seems to be from one of those popular loud extroverted bunch. From his experience, those were the meanest ones. They’d make fun of people endlessly and Hunk, being the large boy that he was, used to be a frequent victim of such attacks. He could almost hear the insults already.

“Hey,” he heard a loud whisper.

“I’m Lance!” He wore a large sunny grin.

“I’m Hunk. I’m the mechanic.”

“Robin. Engineer,” the other teammate replied.

“Cool cool cool!” Lance said in his bubbly voice. “I’m the pilot! Hope we’ll have a nice time working together. I’m going to be a fighter pilot so be prepared to handle some insanely good flying!”

“We’re only first years, McClain,” Robin said. There was a slight smile on her lips. “No one becomes fighter until their third year.”

“It’s never too early to aim high! Even if it may be a little hard considering my…” Lance gestured to himself, “height.”

Hunk sniffed in amusement.

“I finally got the two of you smiling!” Lance said, crossing his arms. “Gee, the two of you were standing so stiff out here I would’ve thought it was winter or something.

Robin’s eyes widened and she covered her mouth. “I’m too nervous,” she murmured in slight embarrassment.

“Same here,” Hunk admitted.

“You guys need to lighten up! We’re going to be the best team out here,” Lance chuckled.

“McClain!” Iverson yelled.

“Sorry, sir! I’ll stop talking, sir!” he yelped, standing at attention again.

Hunk and Robin had to bite their lips to stop their own laughter.

The tension in Hunk’s chest was gone now, laughed away. He looked at the small kid, who obviously couldn’t stand still even after Iverson’s reprimand. Maybe life at the Garrison won’t be that bad.