#the way i could do ten more options easily… i’ve had a very strange fucking life.

[tennessoui]

Please give me the TA scene where Vos takes Obi-Wan to a bar to get drunk and forget about Anakin and pick up some hotties but oh no Anakin is there and Obi-Wan is a little tipsy and doesn’t want to be rude so he goes to say hi. Then for the rest of the night when he tries to go Anakin pulls him back into conversation because he doesn’t want Obi-Wan going home with someone else

yes!!!!!! TIS THE SEASON (halloween)

(2.3k)(the first TA obi-wan snippet!!)

The thing about Quinlan that Obi-Wan hates the most is that his friend is the only person in the entire world that can out-stubborn him. That’s usually not a problem. But sometimes it is. Sometimes it results in Quinlan forcing Obi-Wan into doing something he’d rather not do.

All those people that say peer pressure isn’t really real have never met Quinlan Vos.

Obi-Wan sort of wishes he’d never met Quinlan Vos when the man shows up at his door on Friday evening carrying three different bundles of clothing.

“Because I’m nice, you get to choose what you want to be for Halloween,” Quinlan announces, laying out the options on Obi-Wan’s coffee table.

“Drunk and alone in my apartment,” Obi-Wan says. “That’s an option, right?”

“Just for that, I’m taking Indiana Jones off the table,” Quinlan replies, not sounding sorry about it at all. “I’ll be that one. I think I could make the whip look hot as hell.”

Obi-Wan crosses his arms and peers at the costumes. “Sexy nurse or sexy….Red Riding Hood? I’m not wearing that. I doubt it would even fit me.”

“Bullshit, you have a very dainty waist, Obi. But hurry up and choose because we’re going to be late.”

“We’re going tonight?” Obi-Wan splutters. “It’s not even Halloween!”

“It’s the Halloweekend, Obi-Wan. It’s like you’ve forgotten all of our sophomore year.”

Obi-Wan’s tried to block most of it out, that’s true. The parts he remembers, at least. “I think we’re a bit too old for Halloweekend, Quin,” he protests, staring down at the costumes. “And I--”

“Have been obsessing over this so-called hottest professor in existence, yes, I know.” Quinlan holds up his hand when Obi-Wan starts to disagree. “No, you know I’m right. I don’t want to hear your excuses. I’ve never heard you casually talk about someone so much and I’ve been there for all of your co-ed crushes. So what we’re going to do tonight is go and get your hot professor fucked out of your head, and the best way to do that is either sexy nurse or sexy Red Riding Hood. So.”

“I do not want this,” Obi-Wan reiterates slowly. “I very much am not aboard this plan.”

“Don’t make me invoke the BFFFOC, Obi,” Quinlan threatens.

The BFFFOC, or Best Friend Forever Failsafe Override Code, was thought up between them one night their first year of college. If ever one of them was going down a path that the other deemed unwise, they had the right to invoke the override and talk some sense into them.

“I don’t think me not wanting to dress in a slutty and offensive nurse outfit counts,” Obi-Wan protests loudly.

“It’s not about the costume, Obi, and you know it. It’s about this professor. You know you need to get over him. So get under someone else. I’d offer, but that would be in complete violating of--”

“BFFNBTBT,” Obi-Wan finishes with him, rolling his eyes. “Yes, I recall.”

That one, Best Friends Forever No Below The Belt Touching had been resurrected after a very unfortunate one night stand. The grounds for that code are some of the ones Obi-Wan is still trying to forget.

“Fine,” he snaps and hates himself for it. One day he’ll learn how to say no to Quinlan. “But I’m going with Red Riding Hood.”

“I thought you would!” his friend cheers. “The cape’s long enough to cover more of your upper thighs and you’re a bit of a prude.”

Obi-Wan snatches up the packaged costume from the table. “Fuck off,” he says, quite pleasantly in his opinion. “And I’m not paying you back for this.”

“You should shave,” Quinlan tells him as he turns towards his bedroom. “Really commit to the role!”

Perhaps tonight Obi-Wan will strangle Quinlan with his own length of Indiana Jones whip. The thought puts a smile on his face.

In the end, Obi-Wan does end up shaving. It’s not something he does often, but he’d looked at the costume. The dress doesn’t even come down to his fingertips. The hooded red cape somehow just a little bit longer.

And he thinks making Quinlan wait for thirty minutes while Obi-Wan gets ready is the very least of what he deserves.

Dragging out the process, however, doesn’t magically give Quinlan enough time to realize how stupid this is, because when Obi-Wan peers around the edge of his door, Quin’s on the couch in full Indiana Jones costume regalia, flicking through his phone.

“I look like a pervert’s idea about what Swedish barmaids looked like in the 18th century,” Obi-Wan complains, trying to flatten the hem of the flared out dress as he regretfully leaves the safety of his bedroom.

“That’s what the hood’s for,” Quinlan says sagely, looking up from his phone to take in Obi-Wan. “What, no makeup?”

“I need you to know that my biggest regret in my entire life will always be that I sat next to you on our first day of chem,” Obi-Wan tells him placidly, adjusting the cape around his bare shoulders. He hates to admit it, but the feeling of the inner fabric of the hood feels good against his skin. Soft.

“Oh, don’t say that, Obi, I’m sorry. You’re pretty without makeup.”

“I’m about to throw a punch,” he warns.

Quinlan grins and slings an arm around him. “Well then, looks like it’s time to go.”

----

They slide into two seats at the very crowded bar only thirty or so minutes later. Everyone around them is wearing some sort of costume, some so wild or revealing that Obi-Wan doesn’t even necessarily feel bad about the amount of skin he’s showing off.

Someone walks by in a golden speedo and Obi-Wan takes a gulp of his drink. At least this place does some heavy pours.

Quinlan leans into his ear. “See anyone?” he yells of the din of loud music and voices.

“I see a lot of people,” Obi-Wan reports back immediately.

“One more tongue-in-cheek response out of you, and I’ll make you do tequila shots, young man!”

Obi-Wan narrows his eyes, but then a girl in a french maid costume smiles at him flirtily from across the bar. His first thought is that he likes Professor Skywalker’s smile a lot better. Then he wonders about what Professor Skywalker’s doing tonight, if he likes Halloween. If he’s dressed up. If he’s alone.

“I would like two tequila shots,” he tells the bartender when she passes them.

“Obi-Wan, you shouldn’t have!” Quinlan tosses his arm around his shoulder and pulls him in for an awkward, but enthusiastic hug when the shots arrive.

“They’re both for me,” he responds. “You can choke.”

“You wound me so precisely,” Quinlan shakes his head, and flags down a bartender to order his own. Obi-Wan decides to ignore him, licking at the back of his hand quickly before sprinkling the salt onto the damp skin.

The first shot goes down easily, but he doesn’t even wait ten seconds before he’s brought his hand back to his mouth for another lick.

Halfway through, he looks up at the feeling of eyes staring at him. He follows his own instincts until his eyes latch onto bright, familiar blue ones across the way.

If he’d taken the shot, he would have choked in this moment when confronted with Anakin Skywalker, out of the lecture hall and looking so intensely at Obi-Wan that he feels strangely vulnerable. Examined.

He breaks eye contact with his professor when Quinlan’s arm tightens on his shoulder and he knocks their shot glasses together.

It’s second nature at this point to do shots with Quin, and he drinks his down automatically as his eyes can’t help but to dart back to Anakin--Professor Skywalker--at his table.

He’s sitting alone. Not even that dressed up. Obi-Wan has no feelings about this.

Quinlan, who is frighteningly observant at the worst times, clues into Professor Skywalker’s presence before he thinks he should, after only ten or so minutes have passed. “That guy is staring at you,” he whispers very loudly to Obi-Wan, taking a pointed sip of his newest drink. “Or maybe me, but he sorta looks angry whenever I touch you.”

As if to prove this, Quinlan moves in to place a sloppy kiss on Obi-Wan’s cheek. Obi-Wan can’t shove him off quickly enough.

“Yep, definitely looking at you.” Quinlan concludes. “Looks blond, older than us, but like. Not ancient. What are you thinking? Wanna go over? I think you should, he looks like he’d give you a good time.”

Obi-Wan stares down at his drink. Quinlan doesn’t know what Professor Skywalker looks like. He doesn’t know that he’s actually cajoling Obi-Wan into the arms of the one person he’s set against him seeing. If Obi-Wan were a better friend, he’d tell him. But Obi-Wan isn’t. Obi-Wan’s feeling a little tipsy from the drinks, and his legs are all smooth, and he wants to talk to Professor Skywalker. He wants to see if maybe the man could want him if he’s wearing this. If he looks like this.

“I’m gonna go over and talk to him,” he decides in a rush, already lifting himself out of his seat. Quinlan crows in delight and reaches out to steady him when he stumbles a bit.

Water next, Obi-Wan thinks. He’s going to have water next.

It’s a short trip across the room to where Professor Skywalker is sitting. It just feels longer because of nerves. God, what is he doing? Why is he doing this?

But suddenly he’s at Anakin’s table. Suddenly he’s standing right in front of him, drink clutched in both hands, very aware of how much skin his outfit is showing off.

Anakin’s eyes dart down and the back up again before lingering at the exposed skin of his thighs. If it were anyone else, Obi-Wan would think he’s being checked out, but it’s his professor. And no matter how much Obi-Wan may want Anakin’s eyes to stick on him like a brand, he knows the older man would never want that same thing.

“Professor Skywalker, hello,” he finally says, fiddling with the straw in his drink. A few seconds later, he takes a sip, conscious of the way the man follows this motion. If it were anyone else--

But it’s not.

“Obi-Wan, I’ve told you to call me Anakin,” the professor scolds. “Especially outside of the classroom.”

“Sorry,” he says immediately. “Um. Anakin.”

Anakin’s arm drapes itself over the back of his booth as he sits more comfortably in his chair. “Please, sit.”

“I don’t want to intrude or anything, I just saw you and thought I would say--”

“Obi-Wan, sit,” this is a much clearer instruction. Obi-Wan drops into the other chair. Anakin looks him over again. “I have to admit, I didn’t have you pegged for being into this holiday,” he says roughly. “Or so committed to it.”

Obi-Wan thinks he’s probably blushing as red as his hood. “No, I um. You’re right. My friend, I--he wanted me to come out with him, and he only got me two costumes--I wouldn’t, but he--”

“Indiana Jones?” Anakin cuts in to ask sharply. “Sounds like a bit of a controlling boyfriend if he made you do something you’re not comfortable with.”

There’s an air of protectiveness in Anakin’s voice that makes Obi-Wan feel warm on the inside. Even though the professor couldn’t have been more wrong.

“No, no,” he corrects him anyway, even though a part of him is yelling that Anakin really doesn’t care that much about the details of his personal life. “We’re just friends. And I….”

He trails off, and Anakin arches one of his thick eyebrows in expectancy.

It may be that expression, the knowledge that Obi-Wan could give Anakin the answer he’s looking for, or the drinks in his system, but he finds himself continuing, admitting quite quietly, “I like it.”

Anakin straightens in his seat and takes a long pull of his own drink. “You like it,” he repeats. “Am I to assume you’re just a fan of the fairytale?”

Obi-Wan bites at his lip. He knows he shouldn’t say anything more, but....but they’re so far from the lecture hall here. It’s hard to remember why they shouldn’t talk about this. It’s hard not to let his mind wander to what he would say if the person he was talking to was not his professor, but a man he was interested in spending the night with, someone he was trying to seduce.

He shakes his head shyly.

“I like the hood,” he admits, because once he’s thought of it it’s incredibly difficult not to say it. He hardly even tries, if he’s being honest. “The cape is just long enough I can feel it on my thighs. And I like the skirt and--” he hesitates here, but it’s not called liquid courage for nothing. “The lingerie it came with.”

Anakin freezes with his drink halfway to his mouth. Slowly, he sets it back onto the table again and studies Obi-Wan with darkened eyes. His expression is unreadable and it makes Obi-Wan squirm in his seat.

“Fuck,” Anakin breathes out, the word almost lost to the roar of noise in the bar.

Obi-Wan fidgets in his seat. “Actually, sir,” he says suddenly. “I’m sorry, I should go, I only meant to say hello--”

“You should stay,” the professor interrupts, leaning forward and placing his hand on Obi-Wan’s forearm. The touch is electrifying. “For a drink.”

“Just a drink,” Obi-Wan agrees probably too quickly, a part of him responding to Anakin’s pleading expression perhaps more than it should. “My, what big eyes you have,” he jokes in regards to his professor’s begging look.

“The better to see you with,” Anakin replies immediately. For a second, his hand on Obi-Wan’s arm doesn’t move. Then his thumb strokes over the smooth skin there before he pulls back. “My dear.”

[mynotsohealthyobsession]

This time

Book: RoD

Pairing: Logan x MC

Warning: Angst / Fluff

Words: 3.166

**Tags in the reblog**

"Ellie… Ellie, stop! Please!" She continued walking, not even glazing back at him. Her back was tense and her steps fast, almost running. Even without seeing her face he knew she was mad at him. And hurt. She pushed the door of her dorm building open, letting it close behind her with a bang, still looking forward, ignoring the curious stares of some people around. He followed her outside. "Ellie, I know you're pissed at me but--" She twirled, fuming at him. Her normally sweet factions twisted with anger and her eyes colder than he had ever seen them.

"Pissed off? You think I'm pissed off?" She took one single step toward him, her browns knitting together and her lips pressed in a tight fine line. "What I'm feeling is way more than just pissed off, Logan!" And she turned, only allowing him to see her back as she walked away again, putting as much distance as she could from him.

"Ellie." He rushed forward, catching up with her, gently holding her wrist, trying to stop her at least for a few seconds. She spun her head just an inch to send a furious, almost murderously look at him.

"Don't." She shook her hand free and took a path to her right. When he waited for her outside of her room, leaning on the wall beside her door, he knew she would be angry with him, to say the least. He was prepared for it. After all, he had disappeared from her life for the last eight months. But what he wasn't expecting was that at the moment she saw him, she would walk away without even saying a word. At this point, even a slap would be better.

"Sorry." He didn't try to touch her again, following her a few steps behind. "But stop for only one minute Ellie, I just want to talk with you."

She abruptly halted and twirled to finally face him. Nothing in her expression had changed or softened. "You want to talk? Fine, let's talk." He saw how her shoulders tensed up, the way her eyes were narrowing and her cheeks flushed, not in the sweet way he remembered, the way she used to blush with him that he loved. It was an intense redden, the kind of reaction of someone who is barely restringing their feelings. "Let's talk about the day you left. Or maybe you want to talk about how you vanished, without even giving me the chance to talk to you." She took a few steps closer to him. "Or you want to remember your promise in the casino? Or at prom?"

"Ellie, I--" He had seen her angry and upset with him before but nothing like this. Not even the day that Colt told her the real reason that he had got closer to her at first.

"Oh, I know." She continued like he hadn't talked, her eyes burning with rage as she looked at him. "Let's talk about the fact that for the last eight months I didn't know anything about you. If you were okay. Or if you were in jail. Or even if you were fucking dead!" She yelled the last part as her chest came up and down rapidly and her breath erratic. She was closer to him, allowing him to look at her face in detail for the first time. He saw how shining her eyes were, trying to contain the tears that were on the edge of her eyelashes. How clenched her jaw was and the tension on her shoulders. He could see, under all the anger and fury, how sad she actually seemed to be. "So tell me, Logan, what do you exactly want to talk about?"

"I…" He hesitated and closed his mouth as the words slipped away from him. Every speech that he had thought and practiced, every word or phrase that in his mind were perfect to say to her, seemed empty now. Not enough.

"You wanted to talk." She looked him straight in the eyes as the silence stretched between them. "Talk." After waiting a few seconds more, she snorted and shook her head. "Just leave Logan. It's what you do best." She twirled, walking a little more calmly, and sat under the shadow of a tree, her back against the trunk and her knees close to her chest, holding them with her arms. He watched her for a while, doubting if he should get closer or simply give her space. But before he could decide what to do, his legs were leading him to her, almost involuntary, and, when she didn't move away, he let himself slip until he was seated too, his back also against the trunk maintaining a distance from her.

"You are right. About everything." He dared to look at her. She hadn't moved away but her face was turned, avoiding him. "That day, in L.A… I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought that you would forget about me in just a few weeks."

"How do you know I didn't?"

"I don't." He sighed, flexing one of his legs up and resting his arm on it as he let his head fall back, softly hitting the wood of the tree. "I just hope you haven't."

"Why?" Her tone was a lot more calmer but with a tiredness and sorrow that hasn't been there before. "Why do you hope I haven't?" She finally looked at his face, all the rage and anger had been replaced with raw sadness. "What are you even doing here, Logan?"

"Every day, since L.A.,when I woke up, I waited… I wished to not think so much about you, to need you a little less than the day before… And every day was harder and harder." He took a deep breath. "I miss you Ellie. I miss you all the time. No matter how badly I try, I can't stop thinking about you. You are constantly in my mind."

She let out an ironic chuckle. "You definitely have a very strange way to show it."

"I know. And I know that I hurt you and that everything I say will sound like an excuse." This time it was him who avoided eye contact, guilty. "And you have the right to hate me."

"I don't hate you." She kept her distance but she was talking with him and that was more than he had expected ten minutes ago. "I should. I wish I could… But I can't." His eyes returned to her, something similar to hope going through them as he observed her, scouting a bit more closely. "Even after all the times you have hurt me."

His mind was a twister of thoughts, excuses he could tell her, justifications for everything. He could try to let her know how he should have done things differently or how he planned to act from now on. But at the end of the day, he knew there was only one thing that she deserved to hear from him. "I'm sorry, Ellie." He lowered his gaze as his shoulders fell down, looking defeated for the first time. "I'm sorry for everytime I hurt you. I'm sorry for the past eight months, for not keeping my promise. I just… I'm really sorry, Ellie."

Her arms supported her chin, a few silent tears falling from her eyes. He was yearning to hug her, to hold her tightly close to his chest. To whisper in her ear that everything will be okay, that she could trust him. That he wouldn't hurt her ever again. That he will never leave her again. But he knew he couldn't.

"I waited for you, you know?" She dried the tears with the back of her hand as his stomach did a flip, full of remorse. "At the beginning. I waited so badly that at least you called me or texted me… Anything." She took a deep faltering breath. "I missed you and I was worried. I kept thinking that something bad had happened to you. That was the reason why you could cut me out of your life like that. So easily." She continued talking. Somehow, it felt more like she was just letting go all that had been kept inside of her than talking to him. "Because, if that wasn't the motive, it meant that nothing about us mattered to you. That I didn't matter to you. And that option was too painful."

"That never was the reason, Ellie. I cared about you." He forced himself to look at her as their eyes found each other halfway. "I care about you. A lot."

"Well, it didn't feel that way." He shifted closer, reducing the distance between them, finally sitting beside her.

"I know." He paused, trying to put into sentences his thoughts as her words kept echoing in his mind. "And it wasn't easy. Leaving you, keeping my distance... Was one of the hardest things I ever had to do." A sigh slipped out of his lips. "And that I regret every day."

"Really?"

"Really." Her stare was still fixed in his with so much intensity that he couldn't look away, even if he had tried. "I know maybe I'm too late but… Please forgive me, I can't stop loving you, Ellie." His eyes studying her face, waiting for any kind of reaction.

"I don't know how to respond to that, Logan…" She looked away again. "I've been trying so hard to forget you, to move on." He felt like someone had taken off all the air of his lungs, painfully crushing his chest. "What if-- When you leave again?" A few fresh tears fell on her cheeks, running free until her chin, finally disappearing on her clothes, leaving small wet dots on the fabric. "I can't go through this again. I don't want to and I won't."

"And if I promise that is not going to happen again? That I'll stay with you?" He said in a quiet plea, filled with sorrow because… He knew she was right. For the first time, they were close to each other, their shoulders almost touching but, however, it felt like they were miles away.

"Yeah, because that worked so well in the past." She said sarcastically, a bittersweet grimace on her lips.

"I mean it, Ellie." He observed her in detail, noticing for the first time that she wasn't wearing the spark plug.

"You also meant it in the casino. And at prom." She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands and dried her cheeks. "What's the point? Eventually, you'll be gone. That's what you do, Logan." She sighed, avoiding his stare again. "When things get complicated, you run. And you cut me off from your life, no matter what I tell you or want."

"You know why I had to leave L.A. I didn't have an option." He remembered that day clearly in his head. The images replying nonstop in his mind during the last eight months. Her face soaked in tears had been hunting him constantly, breaking him over and over again, until he couldn't resist it anymore. "And I couldn't drag you in that mess, Ellie. Not again."

"You still don't get it." She shook her head sadly. "Maybe you didn't have a choice about L.A. but.. It's my life, Logan. That is my decision, not yours. I decided if I want to be dragged into a mess or not. Or if I want to be with you or not. And you took that from me."

"I was trying to protect you. I needed to know that you were okay. That you were safe."

"I needed the same thing but you left me in the darkness, worried out of my mind, concerned about you without any way to know at least if you were okay. Do you have any idea how many times I woke up after dreaming that you were hurt or worse, how scared and worried I have been? How do you think I felt all this time, Logan?" She rested her head and back against the tree, looking at him. "Instead, you knew where I was, how you could contact me if you wanted it, everything." Another tear ran free from her eyes, out of her control. "You think that's fair to me?"

"...No, it's not." He lifted his hand, slowly and hesitating at first. His fingers brushed her cheek, softly drying her skin, and took a strand of hair, putting it behind her ear, expecting that she would avert or push his hand away. But she just looked at him, still, with a million emotions going through her eyes. "I'm sorry." His thumb kept gently and delicately caressing her cheekbone. "Ellie, I swear, this time I'll do things differently, better. I won't hurt you or leave you again."

"I don't know if I can believe that, Logan." She murmured. "Even if I wish I could."

"Then don't. Let me prove it to you." He could see in her face a whirlwind of feelings and doubts. "I need you, Ellie. And if I have to spend the next eight months or the next eight years proving it to you, I will." He cupped her cheek fully, still softly caressing her skin as his eyes tried to show her his determination. Trying to convince her to believe him one last time. "Just… Give me the chance to prove it to you. To do things right."

She looked at him for a long time, in silence, her gaze roaming his face, studying him. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes and pressing her face further against his hand. When she glanced at him again, her gaze was vulnerable and a little frightened, like her own decision scared her a bit. "I swear… If you disappear like that again-"

"I won't."

"-Don't bother to come back." She finished the sentence, hardening her eyes for a moment, intently staring at him. "I mean it, Logan. This is the last time." He could see a remainder of all the anger, coldness and sadness from before. The seriousness of her tone and eyes told him everything he needed to know.

"I promise." He leaned forward, slow. He craved to kiss her so badly but he wasn't sure if she wanted it too. His hand tightened just a hint at her cheek, a silent question hanging in the air. She placed hers on top of his, gently stroking his knuckles, pushing her back away from the tree as he closed the gap between them. A quivering gasp leaked out from her when their lips collided together, shyly responding to his moves at first, finding their rhythm again. It was a timid kiss, soft and gentle. A kiss full of sorrow and fears. Of regrets and hope. It was familiar and nostalgic too, like coming back home after a long time. A kiss that marked their new beginning. Her lips were exactly as he remembered them, smooth, warm and with a faint taste of strawberry, her favorite chapstick. Her hand, insecure at first, touched his shoulder, gradually climbing to his neck brushing his skin until the familiar spot of his nape, threading her fingers in his hair. He pulled her closer, grabbing delicately her waist, her warmth enveloping him, making him feel whole again. When they needed to breathe, and their faces had separated just an inch without opening her eyes, she cupped both of his cheeks, gently stroking there.

"I missed this." She quietly whispered, their lips slightly touching with each word. "I missed you."

"I missed you too, Troublemaker. So damn much." He felt her smile on his skin before they separated barely, looking at each other as if it were the first time. "I love you, Ellie." She averted her gaze, nibbling her bottom lip.

"Logan, I…" She hesitated so he squeezed her waist comfortably.

"It's okay." His mouth brushing hers with another kiss, brief but tender. "You don't have to say it back, El. I just wanted you to know that that hasn't changed." If she had waited for him this long and had given him another chance, he could wait as long as she needed. He knew he had to earn her trust again, demonstrate to her that he wouldn't leave her behind again.

"It's not that I don't feel it… it's just… So much has happened and I--"

"I know." He wrapped his arms around her back, luring her near, softly bringing her to his chest as her arms hugged his neck. He nuzzled his nose gently on her neck, planting a soft kiss there, breathing in her usual perfume. "I will make you want to say it to me again. When you are ready." She nodded, tightening her hold around him as he did the same, thankful to be in her embrace again.

By the time they separated from each other, the sun was hiding, the last sun rays sneaking through the buildings as a few street lights started to turn on.

They stood up and swept the grass out of their clothes. "Do you... Want to stay tonight?" She asked casually although her cheeks flushed a bit and he smiled. "I mean, to rest and so you don't drive at night."

"If you are sure, I'd love to." The side of his hand brushed hers and her fingers laced with his, her hand fitting in his perfectly like always. The hallways of her dorm were emptier as they walked through, softly chatting. She pulled her keys from the front pocket of her jeans and a silver glint poked his attention. "You still have it." Hanging like if it was her keychain, it was the spark plug.

Ellie observed him and followed his eyes. "Of course I do." She smiled and opened the door. "The clasp of the chain broke a few days ago and until I get it fixed…" She shook the keys between them before placing it in a small rack beside the door. "...It's my new keychain. I didn't want to lose it."

"I thought you had thrown it away by now." She reflexed over his words for a few seconds.

"I think I would have always kept it, even if you hadn’t come back… Maybe not wearing it and with a more bittersweet feeling, but I’d keep it. It is something meaningful to you and, for me, is a token of you and... You will always be an important part of my life, Logan." Her lips curled up in a small smile. "For better or for worse." She joked.

Logan delicately seized her chin, lowering his face, taking her mouth tenderly with his, taking his time to kiss her, feeling her lips moving with his, responding back. His forehead softly rested against hers, smiling."And you are the most important thing in my life. And you always will be, Troublemaker."

✨

[firefly464]

The Real World - Chapter 8

ok this chapter is slightly shorter, so sorry about that! 

Made in collaboration with @i-have-this-now​

Master Post

First - Previous - Next

~~~

The week passed by rather quickly, and without incident. Every day, Tommy would try to talk to Wilbur. And every day, something would happen. He would always walk in on Wilbur talking with someone else, or drawing up some sort of battle plans. Sometimes he would just end up talking himself out of it, mostly out of fear of Wilbur’s reaction. He couldn’t bear the idea of his friend looking at him with disappointment, and maybe even fear. The fact that he was lying only made it ten times worse. With every day he put it off, the harder and harder it became. 

Every night, he would sneak out to go and train with George and Dream. His knowledge of sword fighting hadn’t exactly improved much, but it was odd. The repetitive motions of sword fighting felt familiar to him, as if he had done it hundreds of times before. It didn’t make any sense, considering how he had never picked up a sword in his life, but it was definitely there. Perhaps it was muscle memory from the other Tommy? That would make the most sense, but even so, it was strange. Either way, his sword fighting skills were increasing dramatically. He was still nowhere on the same level as George or any of the others, but he could at least last for nearly a minute now in a sparring session. Considering how he had started not even able to stand properly, he saw that as an improvement. 

The three of them would trade stories as they trained, each one learning new things about the other world. It was nice, being able to relax and just hang out with friends again like nothing had changed. Of course, the swords broke the illusion slightly, but it was still something that Tommy looked forward to each and every day. 

It was the night before Tommy’s deadline passed, and the three of them were out training like normal. 

“No way. You’re lying, there's no way that's true.” George’s voice cut through the thoughts in Tommy’s mind as he tried to catch up to what was going on. 

“I’m not! I swear it's true!” Dream replied.

“So you’re telling me that I can’t see all the colors?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“That’s complete bullshit. You’re such a liar. I think I would have noticed something like that.”

“I’m serious! Here, look at this.” Dream pulled Tommy over and held up his jacket sleeve to the boy's blonde hair. “How different are these two colors?” 

“I dunno, they look pretty similar.” 

Tommy couldn’t help but burst out laughing. He had known about George’s colorblindness, but he hadn’t actually considered the fact that he may not even know about it in this world. It made sense, there was no way for him to figure it out. And if he had lived with it his whole life, then he would have never even realized that something was wrong. 

“George, these are completely different colors,” Dream said, clearly trying his best to not laugh.

“What? No way, no they aren’t. They look the same!” 

“Pffft, I swear that they are completely different colors,” Dream said with a laugh.

“Christ man, I knew your eyes were messed up but I didn’t realize that they were that bad,” Tommy teased, earning an indignant squawk from George.

“My eyes are perfectly fine thank you very much!” 

“Yeah, alright Big G, whatever you say.” The three of them talked like that for a while, late into the night. Tommy wasn’t sure what time it was when he finally left, but he had walked back to his little shack with a smile. 

~~~

Tommy stood at the entrance to the underground bunker for what felt like the hundredth time that week. God, he hated walking through the damn tunnel. It was small and cramped, not to mention just downright creepy. The memory of the piercing bell only made it ten times worse. Every time he stepped foot inside the small tunnel, he was terrified that it was going to ring out again, leaving him shaking, scared, and alone on the rocky ground. He had already chickened out from talking to Wilbur several times that week, just out of pure hatred of the tunnel. 

Now though, he didn’t really have an option. George’s deadline had passed the day before, and now his only hope was to get to Wilbur before George did. Tommy wanted Wilbur to hear the story from him, not from someone else. If George was the one to tell him, then he would likely jump to conclusions. Conclusions that George simply didn’t have the ability to explain away. No. Tommy needed to be the one to tell Wilbur. It was only right.

With a trembling breath, he stepped into the long, dark corridor. The silence surrounded instantly, suffocating him, drowning him. He shook his head desperately. He wasn’t going to let something like a stupid tunnel stop him. His fingers began to dance across the hilt of his sword, creating a slight pinging sound. It wasn’t much, but the soft noise helped to fill the all consuming silence. It was ok, he was going to be ok. The sound of his footfalls against the stone helped to comfort him as well. As long as he kept moving, the sound would continue. Just as long as he kept moving, he would be ok. 

He was about three quarters of the way to the bunker when he first heard the muffled sounds of voices. It was the sound of arguing, of shouting. Wilbur’s voice drifted through the tunnel towards him, echoing throughout the small space. “What?! Then where the fuck is Tommy?!” he cried out, his voice filled with desperation and fear. 

George's reply was faint, too far away to hear, but Tommy had a decent guess of what he had said. He didn’t know. No one knew. The other Tommy had disappeared and no one knew what had happened. For all they knew, he could have died. Fuck… that was probably what Wilbur was thinking as well. He needed to get in there, to explain himself. 

“That doesn’t- how the fuck do I know you’re not lying?!” Wilbur shouted. Tommy ran towards the sound of voices, desperate for a chance to explain himself. He needed to tell Wilbur the whole story, from his point of view. 

As he burst into the small bunker, he couldn’t help but look around in awe. What had once been a small, three by three room was now a multi-room underground house. Only the main room was surrounded by obsidian, but the other rooms had small doorways that could easily be blocked off and covered if needed. Tommy had to admit, it was an impressive sight to behold. At the center of the main room sat a table covered in different maps and plans. Bookshelves lined the walls, all filled to the brim with different books. It was the type of area that should have felt cold and empty, but was somehow filled with a lively warmth. 

At the center of it all, standing over the table, were his friends. Wilbur towered over George, staring at him pleadingly. “Where the fuck is he? How did you even know any of this?!”

“Wilbur! Will, I can explain,” Tommy said, putting his hands in the air to show he meant no harm.

Wilbur crossed over to the entrance in three strides and placed his hands on Tommy’s shoulders. His eyes burned with anger and pain, but there was an undertone of regret as well. Perhaps regret that he couldn’t do anything? Or regret that he hadn’t noticed sooner? Tommy didn’t know. “Where is he?! What the fuck did you do to him?!” He shouted, shaking the younger teenager as he interrogated him. 

“I-I don’t know! I didn’t do anything, I swear! Just give me a chance to explain, please!” Tommy pleaded, trying to get his friend to see reason.

“Bullshit! I fucking knew something was up with you, but I didn’t think that it was something like this! Who the fuck even are you anyways?!” “I’m still Tommy! Just give me a chance to fucking explain myself!” he cried, pushing Wilbur away. “Trust me, I don’t want to be here any more than you want me here. I just want to go home”

“I don’t give a fuck about what you want. All I care about is the fact that you’ve possessed the body of my right hand man, and apparently you’ve been plotting with the men of the DreamSMP,” Wilbur snarled. 

“What…? Wha- no, I didn’t! I had no say over any of this! I was living my normal life when suddenly I was here! I’ve been trying to figure out a way to go home ever since!” 

“Oh really? And when did that happen? How long have you been ‘trapped’ here?” he asked, making air quotes with his fingers.

“I dunno, two weeks maybe? I-It happened during the duel with Dream…” 

“Right. Two weeks that you could have come and talked to me. Two weeks that you could have come and asked for help, or just told me what was going on. Instead, you sneak out in the middle of the night to talk with Dream. God, you’re just as bad as Eret.” 

Tommy’s eyes widened. “How did you…?” “I fucking saw you! Did you really think I was going to let you go out in the middle of the night without backup?! No, of course not!” “So you followed me?!” “Yeah! I needed to make sure that you weren’t going to go and do something stupid! Low and behold, you went directly to talk with Dream of all people. The only reason I didn’t confront you was because I knew I needed to trust my right hand man. But apparently he’s gone! He’s fucking gone and I had no clue!” His voice broke on the last sentence as tears started to form in his eyes. Hastily, he wiped them away. 

“What the hell was I supposed to say? ‘Oh hi Wilbur, by the way I’m a Tommy from a different dimension where all of this is just a fun video game. Oh also the man that tried to kill all of you is the only person who I can actually talk to about this because he’s going through it too,’” Tommy scoffed. “Do you even realize how ridiculous that sounds?! You would have said I was insane and then called it a day. I wouldn’t even have had a chance to fucking talk.”

“You could have at least tried! If you really are just a different Tommy, than why the hell did you not trust me enough to talk to me? I would have listened!” “Because you were at war! You were in the middle of a fucking war and there was just never a good time. Believe me, I thought about it, but you just always seemed so stressed out and I couldn’t find it in myself to add more to the pile.” 

“But you still should have tried.” Wilbur turned his back to the boy and walked over to the tables. “Who else knows.”

“Uh, Tubbo thinks I have slight amnesia, but other than that, it's just George. Dream knows since he’s in the same boat as me, but that's besides the point.”

He nodded gravely. “Right. Here’s what I want you to do. I want you to go out there and tell Tubbo that his best friend may be dead because of you, and then I want you gone. I want you out of my sight. Until you can tell me exactly what happened to the real Tommy, I want you out of these walls. Understood?” 

Tommy could feel his heart shatter. No, this couldn’t be happening. He had just started to get used to the supportive family that L’Manberg provided, and now it was being taken away. Even worse than that, he needed to go face Tubbo… He wasn’t sure how his friend would react, but it likely wasn’t going to be good. Still, this was what he deserved, wasn’t it? He had technically caused the disappearance of this world's Tommy, even if he didn’t do anything on purpose. The other boy was still gone because of him. “Of course… Yes sir,” He said solemnly. 

“Good. George, I want to thank you for bringing this to my attention. I may not consider you an ally, but you have gained my respect.”

“Thank you Wilbur. I felt that you had the right to know. Come on Tommy, let's go,” George said, as he walked past Tommy and into the dark tunnel once more. Tommy spared one last glance behind him before he followed George, trying to get one last look at his friend. All he could see was a tall, hunched over figure. As the two of them walked towards the daylight, the boy swore he could hear the distant sobs of a heartbroken man. 

~~~

be careful what you wish for :)

Master Post

First - Previous - Next

[razorblade180]

OC test: Survive pt1

Each character has been split off from one another by hard light fields to form a circular ring divided evenly; with a safe zone in the very center. They can all see and hear each other, but that’s it. All characters will face grimm at the same time. The type of grimm is dependent on what will give that individual trouble. Once a character defeats their grimm, it is their choice to what zone they want to go to next to help. The test is over when a winner in every zone has been decided.

Aero:Anybody getting Saw vibes from this, or at least something sinister?

Kovu:It did say “a winner” meaning the grimm might own us.

Summer:Remember the good old days where a test was make breakfast? I do...

Veronica:Just don’t fuck up and you’ll be fine. I’m ready for everything!

Sienna:Aren’t you technically a civilian?

Veronica:Pfft, I can still kick butt. I’m a Xiao Long!

Jacquelyn:I think the test is beginning.

Yujin stretches out her wrists and grabs her sword. It was soon after that ten pools of grimm opened up with Ursa Majors clawing out, fully armored and foaming at the mouth. One final pool had a King TaijituYujin wasn’t expected anything less, yet she was still upset. “I am sick and tired of these stupid things! Why all at once!?”

“Because it’s called survival...” Tenzen said, witnessing dozens of baby deathstalkers marching towards his as hives of lancers swarmed above. “Guess I’m playing exterminator...” he syched himself up, before a Beringel came stampeding in. It beat on it’s chests and let out a roar. “And....fighting baby King Kong...”

Jael hadn’t wasted any time making headway on her test. She knew herself pretty well and what she could handle. That still did not entirely prepare herself to fend of eight fully grown manticore in aerial combat. “So this is a manticore? Yeah, about what I expect .” She said , dodging their fireballs. “Air or land, they seem pretty dangerous. Guess I got no real advantage, yet.”

Sparrow was on the ball. Military training served him well. Armed only with an Atlesian pistol and a fishing rod, he controlled the battle ground. His mother had taught him long ago what his limits were and how to make up for them. A single Sphinx flew down to swipe at him. The young man back stepped and shot a high powered round at its foot. The beast roared before trying to fly.

“Oh no you don’t!” He casted the line right in the Sphinx’s mouth and yanked back down on the injure foot. “You’re gonna move the way I want you to!” Another round hit its front paw, making the creatures spin around, using its snake tail. Sparrow had already dropped the line and cought the second beast. He didn’t hesitate to press his gun right to its eye and blow up the head of the...tail. “Whoo! Still got it!”

While several of the kids quickly understood their enemies, others were left a little perplexed. Sienna was one of these people. “Uhhh I know Remnant is a big place, but since when do grimm look like roaches?” She stuttered.

The question got many to take a glance. Yep, roaches, but not the small kind. These roaches looked on par with the size of house cats. The black insects with bone white wings scattered around the floor. Several stood on two legs while grinding their human-like teeth together that made a shrill noise Sienna found personally irritating. The only Kovu alone seemed to grasp that situation.

“Don’t run! Walk in big circle! They’ll be huddled up that way!” He shouted. Sienna followed his instructions without question. The heard of roaches began following her on two legs while the others reached outward.

“Ohhh don’t like that!” Sienna looked at Kovu with a look that said, “what I’m the actual hell” very apparently. “Kovu-”

“They’re called Feasters. Do not let them swarm you and do not run! They will get on all of their legs and be much faster. Also don’t jump! They fly; just whack them with your chain.”

Sienna did just that. “I hate this I hate this I hate this, they’re so many! And that stupid noise!!!! Agh, my ears!” She winced. A second of stopping prompted the infestation to lunge at her like a wave. Sienna quickly tumbled backwards and kept walking. The last thing she wanted was for those things to take a bite of her. All things considered though, this was manageable. The benefit of no semblance she supposed. “How we looking everyone?”

“Peachy!” Veronica yelled, rider kicking a Tar Maw, a voracious gator like grimm that had a bond white back with black carvings. It’s red eyes glared and the tar black underside dripped like a leaky faucet. The sixteen foot beast opened its gaping mouth, hurling up grimm fluid before diving into it and through the ground subsequently; as it the dirt itself has become as flowing as water. Veronica phased through the ground to try and hit it from underneath but was shocked to see the beast diving down for her. Along with two more smaller but equally dangerous Tar Maws. Quickly, Veronica shot upward through the ground and into the air to barely avoid the the creatures that burst through the ground almost as forceful as her.

“As if one wasn’t enough.” Veronica snarled. Her body rolled forward midair to deliver a swift axe kick to one of the grimm’s hid, knocking it into the others. “I think Summer and I finally agree on something! I miss breakfast tests!”

“Glad you see it my way...” Summer groaned, watching a Arma Gigas rise. She looked over to her brother’s section to see the same exact expression of annoyance. Of course he had one as well. Nick looked at her as if she could do anything about it. “I know, it sucks.”

“Royally.” He added. Nick armed himself with Mort Froide and placed 15 upright ice glyphs around it in a diamond formation. His next move was summoning a gigas blade in his left hand before running towards the emerging knight that has yet to form from the shins down. With limited options it swung its blade which Nick proceeded to jump onto an continuing his charge towards its face. “I’ve killed one before. I can do it again!” Nick jumps at the face to slash it but is knocked back by a headbutt. Fully formed, the gigas bends its knees to prepare a jumping slash. However, blades of ice rockets out of the glyphs, wedging themselves between the knees and ankle armor space to stall movement long enough for Nick to recover. He runs his head and grunts, “Gah, okay. This one has a bet more heft. Noted...”

Valerie watched her two closest friends head off to fight their grueling challenge. “Always setting the pace.” She faced forward towards a fresh Nucklevee, free of any armor but still big enough to be a problem. “What, is this some kind of generational test? Too bad dad isn’t here. He’d love this!” Valerie leaped forward, twirling her battle axe before smashing it into the ground to break up the floor. “Can’t let move easily.” She leaped again.

The Nucklevee shot it’s arms out into the crushed floor and then upwards, it’s hands full of rocks. They flew up and over Valerie before crushing the rubble. A cloud of dirt and debris rain down and struck her back, throwing her balance off. Both arms came plummeting downwards to wrap her up and slammed them into the earth.

“It’s thinking!? But it’s new!” Valerie struggled trying to break free of the elastic grasp. “Huh?” She looked up to see the horse mouth exhale a plume of black smoke along the floor and headed right to her. “That’s not good...” through pure strength and will, Valerie got to her feet and started pulling with all her might. The arms wiggled and where dragged up from the ground but would not break. The fog crawled closer and closer until the edges of it began stinging her skin on her ankles like fire. “Gah! Aw screw it!” She yelled, taking a deep breath and releasing the tension of her struggling. Her entire body slingshotted forward through the smoke and to the best, striking it with a double kick to the skeleton like face. It’s arms finally loosened enough for her to escape. She went to sever an arm until the beast turned around and struck her with it’s massive hind hooves. Val tumbled back and onto her legs. A strange numbness and pain resided in her ankles. Moving felt...odd. Valerie looked up to see the fog continue to spread and the beast beginning to charge. “Tsk..” Maybe it was best her father wasn’t here after all?.

In a other section, a much better circumstance was taking place for Lucas. The man effortlessly weaved around the onslaught of razor sharp feathers, bouncing some back to clip the Nevermore wings that sent them. It helped, but only a little considering he was dealing with an entire flock. Multiple enemies that used a wind ranging attack with multiple projectiles. Quite the headache for one who sees the future. So he did what he always did, not even try.

“One thing at a time Lucas. This moment, right now.” He said to himself as more feathers rained. He transformed his blade into a whip and began flailing it to deflect only what he could see and hear coming his way. The moment he found an opening he would swimg the whip around the bird’s neck and yank it down for him to cleave it. A simple strategy, effective. However, it was time consuming. Not a problem for him specifically, but his mind could only think about the people around him. He hadn’t been paying close attention to all of them, but the screaming grimm he could hear outside his zone let him know they weren’t all getting lucky in this test. “EVERYONE OKAY!?”

“NO!” Aero cried as he crashed to the ground, his wings covered in webs. The flexed it off the best he could while avoiding Soul Suckers, enormous spider grimm that had a real bad habit of draining aura and turning people into soulless husks that were robbed of will. Seven of the bastards shot dense web at him in an attempt to do just that. Aero spread his wings and slammed them towards the ground, rocketing himself upward with one powerful flap. “I AM NOT EQUIPPED FOR THESE!”

“They have spider grimm!?” Lucas said with concern. “That’s just sadistic...”

“You’re telling me!?” Aero looked over to Mona’s section, who was dealing with a single Goliath. Her spry nature allowed her to maneuver around its legs, quickly attacking. Unfortunately she was up against a Goliath. Simple daggers might as well be paper cuts. “You hanging in there Mona!?” He asked before having to dodge more webs.

“Worry about yourself Bird Boy!” She yelled sprinting. Mona went into a one armed hand spring onto its trunk and rolled onto its back, sliding down it with her dagger running through it shallowly before hitting armored bone; killing her momentum and hurting her shoulders. “Shit!” She winced. She yanked her blade out and jumped off as the Goliath’s trunk tried grabbing her. “Uuuggh this big bitch might as well be made of clay!” She pulled out her second dagger and took one giant lunge that sent her flying like a bullet. Mona began spinning like a sideways buzz saw as she went by the grimm’s left and right leg, making an average size gash. Not enough to cripple it but enough to piss it off.

The thief couldn’t stop her speed correctly and ended up tumbling along the ground and barely missing a tree. Her head buzzed loudly and her vision blurred enough to not realize the two ton monster charging until it was severely feet away. “Oh f-” she tried blocking. The tusks were aimed right for her blades but suddenly, her entire body was shot up in the air and away from the attack. “Aaah! What the heck!?”

“Stop screaming!”

Mona was spun around to see Eliza hovering with the power of wind. “How the- you finished!?”

“Yeah I had those gross centipedes and a couple annoying alphas with majors as well.” Eliza said. She causally pointed behind her to a zone charred beyond belief. “My semblance was useless so I had to go all out from the start. Guess you’re in a similar situation? Let’s waste this thing.”

“Hmm you’re lucky I like the way you look. I’ll take you up on that, not that needed help.”

“Whatever you say. Maybe I should’ve checked in with Kovu!” She looked his way. “But considering with Carmine said I’m sure his challenge-”

“oPeN UuuP...” gurgled a cold, torn voice. One that reached all ears, freezing grimm and human alike. It came from Kovu’s section. There the young man sat pinned and shaken up. Nothing but the dust barrier against his back and his own bubble-like barrier in front of it, constructed from his golden aura. The thing gnawing it, a very big and very aggressive Hound. It’s teeth grated against the aura, barely cracking it but cracking it nonetheless. “oPeN UuuP...”

Kovu’s face dripped sweat. His arms were completely stiff from trying to maintain his gaurd. “Guys, I don’t want to sound needy, but...” he grunted.

Several of his friends began working harder on their matches. Yujin and Veronica in particular had a fire lit inside them to make sure Kovu would be okay.

“Hang on Kovu!” Yujin yelled. “Just give me a bet of time and-”

“I thought you wanted to be a huntsman?” Carmine interjected, gaining Kovu’s attention. “I thought you wanted to try and catch up to me, but you’re asking for help this quickly? Not only that, but now you’ve caused others to worry more about you which could make them rush and make a mistake that’ll be disastrous. Hmm, I thought better of you than that.” She said bluntly.

He said nothing. Veronica on the other hand. “Hey!” She had a few words. “Isn’t that your cousin!? You of all people should be-”

“Worried?” Carmine finished. “I’m not saying I’m not, but I’m more worried about the thing behind me, I’m case none of you payed attention.” Carmine looked over her shoulder to the massive grimm pool that all but filled the entire area and continued to flow.

Of course nobody else noticed. It wasn’t big enough to caste a shadow over them all until this moment. Once again eyes looked to see the danger but it was their ears that heard it before anything else. A deafening roar that shook the ground like a disaster. Carmine fully turned around to look at her opponent. It was cruel. Downright evil to the letter. What could she have possibly done to earn-

“Leviathan!?” Tenzen yelled.

“I know right? It’s ridiculous.” Carmine said, a bead of sweat running down her head. “I rather switch with Jacquelyn.”

“Hehe, is that a fact?” She laughed nervously, witnessing the creation of a fully realized dragon staring her down as the shook off excess fluid. Yet another huge thing that nobody but Carmine was aware of apparently because they were once again floored. Not necessarily at the beasts even though they were scary, but because that was two people’s test!”

Yujin looked briefly at Carmine in awe. “You can take down Leviathan!?”

“What? Hell no! Are you crazy!?” Carmine said, unapologetically. “That thing is a kingdom killer! Look it’s flattering that you all seem to think I’m super badass but you do know I’m one person right?”

“Well when you say it like that I sound stupid. Didn’t Ruby beat one of those?” Yujin said, dodging.

“My mother flashed her eyes while a giant robot sucker punched it with a drill. Her eyes didn’t even do much but make it stuck for three seconds. Nobody just beats a Leviathan!” Carmine brandished her sword to face it. Her eyes looked back towards to see her cousin still struggling. “....Did you all know Kovu has never beaten me in a fight? He’s always been a pretty average fighter. That being said, I could never knock him out or keep him down for long. He’s resilient as hell. Almost like surviving is his special talent.”

“Carmine...” Kovu uttered.

“Surviving doesn’t mean winning. I’m definitely not about to win this and I doubt Jacquelyn over there is coming up with a grand slam plan to solo a dragon. Buying time though, I can do that all day.” The leviathan shot out a breath of immense flames. Carmine dove out of the way immediately. “Do not make me do this all day. I’m tired. Twenty minutes at best. More than enough time for anyone to lend a hand and then some, right?” Without another word, she got to work.

Carmine was an odd ball. If she had said anything like that to a stranger, it may have come off as rambling. But those around her in this test, they got the girl’s message. Kovu most of all, while Jacquelyn understood from the start given her enemy. Twenty minutes. Nobody was to aid her for that long or to worry. Carmine had temporarily removed herself the equation. One less thing for other’s to worry about.

“Twenty one.” Kovu said. “I got this mutt right where I want him for twenty one minutes.” Sure he was being optimistic, but this barrier bursting wasn’t game over right away. Like Carmine said, he was resilient.

Jacquelyn couldn’t help but smile. Part of it was the touching pep talk. The other was nervousness because no way was she about to put herself before kids. “Ah what the hell. I’m the winter maiden. A badass one at that. Thirty.” Her eyes glowed.

“Of course they want to out do me” Carmine chuckled. Alright everyone, nothing fancy! Those who know they can win, will. All others, do this test, survive!

Finally the stage was set. Everyone was on track. “Right!!!”

[overheardatthecontinental]

Talk Chapter 8

AO3

John drove nearly thirty miles more out of the way before he stopped for gas. He used one of his actual credit cards, under his actual name, so that anybody digitally tracking him would think they were heading west.

Then he turned around and started east. From then on, any stops made would be under a fake name.

What should have been a four-hour drive turned into ten with John’s convoluted path, followed by a refusal to take any interstate that used cameras to track plates. Which meant that most of their trip was spent on smaller routes and unknown roads.

Helen reads on-and-off, shaking her head whenever he stops to look at a map and find a new path.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to plan a route and write it down?” She asks after four hours of his strange driving.

“It’ll be harder for people to track us if I don’t have a plan.”

She takes that with a large eye roll before burying herself back in a book for a little while. They stop again for dinner, this time taking sandwiches to-go.

By the time they reach the Vermont border, Helen looks exhausted, though she doesn’t say anything. “How much further?” She asks softly.

“An hour.”

Exhaustion is starting to consume him as well and it occurs to John that he hadn’t had a full night of sleep since before the fiasco. He had managed to catch a few hours in the chair, waiting for her to wake up, and a few more when he fell asleep by her side.

He’d gone on less but not in a damn long time.

John pulls off the road and down onto the long driveway. “We’re here.” He tells her and Helen sits up a little straighter.

She tries to peer out over the property but it’s cloaked under darkness. She can make out the outline of a house and a window appears lit.

“Whose car is that?” She asks as his headlights glint off another vehicle.

“Marcus.” John answers looking sheepish, like he just remembered, “I probably should have mentioned that.”

She rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Probably. Extra security?”

John pulls up to the spot next to Marcus and puts the car in park before turning to her, “I’m not going to be able to do some of the things I need to do remotely.”

“Ah.” Helen nods, “Baby-sitting.”

“I know you’re capable of handling yourself…” he tries to appease but Helen waves him off.

“But Marcus has training. Marcus knows the system.” She shoots him a look, “I know you need me to be safe for you to do whatever it is you have to do. I’m not upset; I’m not offended.”

He really doesn’t deserve her understanding.

In fact, it continues to throw him that she’s still so fucking calm. But he’s not going to question it anymore. If she needs to break down, he’ll be there. And if she doesn’t… well, he’s always known she was the strong one.

Helen grabs her stack of books, piling them back up as John gets out of the car. He grabs the duffle with clothes from the backseat, then goes around to the trunk. Helen comes up and takes a case that, he doesn’t have the heart to tell her, has handguns.

A light flashes on just above the door and Marcus steps out.

“Took you long enough.” The older assassin says, coming down the short set of stairs that lead up to John’s cottage.

“John managed to find the longest, most convoluted route to get here.”

“Lucky I didn’t drag your ass to Canada.” John mutters.

She smirks in response.

“I’m Marcus.” Marcus introduces himself, coming around to the trunk.

“Helen.” She replies.

Marcus looks over her head to John, “Went grocery shopping since I wasn’t sure when you were going to get here. Hit up the liquor store on the way, too. Your bar was lacking.”

“Thank fuck.” Helen says, going up the stairs, “I need a drink.”

John concurred but called out to her, “You have a concussion!”

Helen snorts, “Like you’ve never drank with a concussion!” She calls back as she enters the house.

True enough, John thinks, handing Marcus a bag filled with rifles. Marcus glances back, checking that Helen is inside before he says, “Sofia sends her regards. As well as a congratulations for finally getting laid.”

“For the record,” John says, not wanting Marcus to get the wrong idea or end up saying the wrong thing to Helen, “We’re not sleeping together.”

“No? She’s just staying at your place and wearing your clothes for the hell of it?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Ain’t it ever.”

John sighs, also looking up at the doorway where Helen had disappeared, before looking back, “How bad is it looking?”

Marcus grimaces, “It isn’t good, John. You know how rumors go. Nobody knows what’s going on, so everyone is talking about it. Speculating. Coming to their own conclusions. Your name is enough to scare off a few. I talked Perkins down from pursuing it, Ernest too. Harry isn’t going to touch it out of respect and I’m sure he’s not the only one.”

“But that’s not even a handful of people backing down.”

Marcus nods in agreement, “I reached out to Winston. He’s reminding some of the younger crowd exactly what you’re capable of but for some of them, that’s the charm. Kill Baba Yaga’s girl and you make a name for yourself overnight.”

John exhales, “I get it. I was that kid, too. And four million on an open contract is going to be hard to resist.”

“She’s out of the city.” Marcus says, “Anybody else know about this place?”

“No one. Bought it under an unconnected alias.”

Marcus nods again, “You got a plan?”

John lifts one last bag before closing the trunk, “It’s all fucking political. I’m out of my depth. Right now,” he glances up at the house, “It’s all about keeping her safe.”

It’s been years since John had been to the property but that was a good thing. It meant there would be no tracks leading him this way, to a small town in the middle of the mountains.

The house itself was one of John’s smaller properties.

The front door leads straight into the kitchen and John sets down the first load of food on the counter as they pass through to the living room. There’s a sofa with a pullout couch across from a stone fireplace that John has enjoyed reading by on more than one occasion.

It occurs to John, suddenly that he hadn’t done the math.

One pullout couch and one bedroom. Three people.

He thinks, for a moment, that he should have chosen the safehouse in Maine. It was further away from the city, but that served as a double-edged sword.

Too far away from the city would make commuting impossible and John wasn’t sure he could be away from Helen for very long. Not after having her so easily ripped away from him.

There’s a door, just off the living room, that leads to the basement.

The case Helen had taken is sitting on the couch and Marcus picks it up and grabs the other bag with weapons from John. Wordlessly, the older assassin takes them downstairs.

John walks down the end of the hall. There’s a bathroom on one side and the bedroom on the other. Helen is arranging the books the nightstand by the bed.

She glances up at his presence, “I’ve claimed this side of the bed.” She tells him, nodding to where her books are placed and…

Well, that simultaneously solves the problem and gives him a whole slue of other ones to worry about. Like having to resist every urge to touch her, to hold her like he had that morning. The fact that waking up next to Helen was bound to give him a morning situation that he really didn’t want to have to deal with.

But it was probably the best option.

No, he thinks, it is the best option. Because god forbid anybody make it past Marcus, they sure as hell weren’t getting past John.

He swallows, and just says, “Yes, ma’am.”

She smiles at him, “Now where the fuck is the alcohol?”

Dealing with Helen in a professional setting verse the real world, John has discovered, isn’t really that different. She swears a bit more than she ever did in session and she’s more likely to tell him something than to let him flounder around and find answer for himself. That, he supposes, was probably due to their dire circumstances.

But all in all, it wasn’t much different. She still had the same no bullshit policy; still pushed him to his limits. Helen was still more than willing to push him around. Challenge him like no one else would ever dare.

“I don’t suppose I can get you to hold off on drinking for another couple of days?” He tries, half-heartedly. He knows he’s being a hypocrite.

“Not a chance.” She replies.

“Liquor cabinet is in the living room.”

She looks him over once, eyes assessing, “You okay?”

John nods, his lips twitching in response. “Yeah.”

Helen walks over and loops her arm through his, “Come on. Think you could probably use a drink, too.”

That he could.

Marcus is back upstairs, sipping on what John assumes is Cognac, sitting in the armchair by the fire.

Helen releases John’s arm as she moves towards the liquor cabinet, squatting down to get a better look inside. Marcus truly had filled it up, John notes. Before, it had just been several bottles of his expensive bourbon. Marcus had added a few wines and two bottles of Cognac.

“There’s vodka in the freezer.” He adds.

Helen grabs a bottle of the red wine and an opener. Forgoing the glasses perched above, she makes her way back to the couch. Expertly, she screws in the mechanism as John pours himself a large glass of Blantons.

He hears the pop of the wine and looks over, ready to offer to bring her a glass but Helen is already drinking from the bottle.

He barely withholds a smile as he caps the bourbon and sets it away.

“That kind of day, huh?” Marcus asks, not unkindly.

She smirks, “Ever spend ten hours in a car with John?”

John shoots her a look as he joins her on the other end of the couch.

“Done about that on stakeouts. Never would have made it through without a flask.”

John flips Marcus off, making the other assassin grin.

Helen sinks back into the couch, taking the bottle with her. He knows Helen well enough to know that she’s not oblivious to the fact that she is under Marcus’ scrutiny. She clearly just doesn’t give a fuck.

He can’t blame her. Especially considering the days she had leading up to all this.

Marcus looks over to him, an eyebrow raised. He gestures with his head to Helen, who is sitting with her eyes closed at the moment, and mouths Does she know?

He nods before taking a sip of his whiskey and he doesn’t miss the look of incredulity on Marcus’s face as he looks back to Helen.

John gets it. He really fucking does.

She’s sitting there joking about the hardest part of her day being putting up with John when there’s a world of assassins currently hunting her down. And Marcus doesn’t even know the half of it.

Helen opens her eyes and takes another long drink from the bottle before looking at Marcus, “So you’re my new babysitter.”

“Is that what John said?” Marcus asks with a pensive smile. He seems to be trying to figure Helen out. John wishes him luck. An impossible task if ever there was one.

Helen rolls her eyes, “Please. John forgot to mention you were here until we literally pulled into the driveway.”

Marcus nods in understanding, “He’s kind of a disaster.”

“Aren’t we all?” She sips from the bottle again.

Marcus salutes her with his glass and drinks. True enough.

“Still,” He says, “I got to wonder—did grad school prepare you for that level of fucked up?”

Helen snorts, “I interned at a mental hospital. Among my clientele were a grown man convinced he was a werewolf, a housewife who thought she was Jesus Christ, and an old army vet who came down with apotemnophilia.”

“I’m not familiar with that.”

“It’s when you have an overwhelming desire to amputate parts of the body, regardless of their health. He used to tell me I’d look much better without my arms. Trust me, John’s not that crazy.”

Even John looks at her with shock at that revelation. She'd joked to him before, in moments of his self-deprecation, that he was nothing compared to some of the cases she had in grad school. But crazy or not, John had the urge to track down the man who had threatened her and-- no. No.

Priorities.

“Maybe not,” Says Marcus after digesting her words, “But I know for a fact John’s severed limbs before.”

“Marcus.” John warns lowly but Helen only laughs.

“As long as it’s not mine, I don’t give a shit.” She rubs at her eyes. She’s tired, John can tell. Emotionally and physically exhausted.

“You should get some rest.” His voice softens of its own accord.

“Pretty sure I’ve slept more than you have during this ordeal.”

“Sedation doesn’t count.”

He ignores the raised eyebrows from Marcus.

“Doesn’t have too.” Helen argues, “Even without it, I’m sure I’ve slept more than you.” But even as she says it, she sighs softly. “Fuck, I didn’t reach out to my clients for today! Is my laptop still in your car?”

John winces. He had hoped, in the confusion of finding out somebody had put a hit on her, she would forget about work. At least for a few days.

He opens his mouth to explain to her that, while yes, he had her laptop, she couldn’t power it on.

She seems to get the picture on her own and her shoulders drop ever so slightly. Guilt clutches him, making his stomach turn.

“I can’t use it, can I?”

John shakes his head, “Your laptop can be turned on, but if we connect it to the internet, the IP address can be traced to our location.”

“What if I use a different computer? My client’s information is all stored online.”

“Any account you have, personal or work,” John feels his self-loathing growing as he answers, “Will have been breached and trapped by now. Any remote access could lead them here.”

“The system we use for client information is encrypted.”

“It won’t matter. The hackers of the Underworld are relentless.” Marcus adds, not unkindly, “And as of right now, you’re the largest monetary hit in the country. And you’re a civilian, which means the people of our world are going to assume you won’t have the skills to defend yourself. John’s name will protect you from some of the smarter, more established killers. But not from everyone.”

She nods, taking it in.

She’s still calm but paired with the exhaustion, John can see it weighing on her.

“My clients are just going to keep showing up at my office, even thought I’m not there.” She says and her voice is strained.

Is this what breaks her? John thinks. Not the kidnapping, not the bounty on her head, but not being able to be there for her clients?

He wants to reach out and take her into his arms. To hold her and to promise her that everything will be okay. That he’ll fix this.

But he doesn’t have that right.

This is still his fault.

“I’m sorry,” John says, forcing himself not to touch her, “And I know this is frustrating. But I’d rather have your clients minorly inconvenienced than have you put yourself at risk.”

She lets out a breath and nods, “You’re right.”

Helen takes another long swig from the bottle of wine before she sets it down on the coffee table.

“I’m going to try and get some sleep.”

John nods, “That’s probably a good idea.”

Standing, she looks back to John, “Don’t stay up too late, okay?”

His heart clenches at the gentleness of her voice.

“I won’t.” He promises.

She says a quick good night to Marcus before she heads down the hall. Marcus waits until the door has closed behind her before quietly saying, “She took that better than I expected.”

“She’s tough as hell.” John tells him.

“Did you say she was sedated?”

He huffs a breath, “It was a rough weekend.”

“Oh?”

John nods once, tipping back what was left of his bourbon. It burns down his throat as John explains, “Friday night, Helen was kidnapped from her bed.” Marcus’ mouth opens but John continues, needing to get it out before he loses the ability. “I got a call not long after saying if I wanted her back, unharmed, I had to kill the D’Antonio family.”

Marcus inclines his head, “And given that Senor D’Antonio still lives and the High Table didn’t rain down on your ass, I take it you didn’t do that.”

“I was going to.” John admits, “I didn’t know who took her, only what they wanted. Had no idea where she was or if she was okay. Didn’t have any other leads. But Winston talked me down. Asked me to give him a chance to find who took her before I assassinated an incumbent member of the High Table and his heirs.

“But we had nothing. Not a trace, not a clue. Not a name or an organization. She was held hostage for nearly forty hours. I was ready to go after the D’Antonio’s, consequences be damned. But Helen managed to get her hands on a phone. Long enough to get me a name. Mateo DeLuca.”

“Not familiar.”

John shakes his head, “Nobody is. He’s Dante DeLuca’s son.”

“The heir of the Syndicate?”

John nods once. “It seems that Dante left his heir with a bit of wealth and not a lot of guidance.” John stands, walking back over to the liquor cabinet. He needs the burn in his belly to get him through this. “With his name, the Technician was able to trace down his properties and find out where she was being held. I got her out, got her home.”

John pours another couple fingers and immediately gulps down a mouthful.

He revels in the temporary pain that shoots down his throat, followed by the warming of his stomach. Shaking his head, he says, “I should have gone after DeLuca then. I should have tracked him down and ended this.”

“But you walked away with the girl and the D’Antonio’s are still alive.” Marcus finishes as John knocks back whiskey he would usually savor. “So, he put the hit out on Helen.”

John nods, staring at the bottle of Blanton’s. He wants to drink more but it was too much, too fast. He’d already let his guard down and Helen had been the one to suffer. He needed to keep his head in the game.

“And now I can’t touch him.” John confirms, “Because he’s the only one who can remove the hit. But,” John shakes his head in disgust, “And DeLuca just broadcasted my biggest weakness to the entire Underworld, so even if the hit is removed, she’ll still have people gunning for her.”

It’s so much worse to say it all out loud. To hear himself admit just how badly he fucked this one up. All those months ago, when she gave him her card and he should have chucked it in the trash. Burned it to avoid the temptation to hear her voice again.

But he didn’t.

He knew better.

He knew so much better than to become involved with a person outside the Underworld. He knew how it always ended.

Heartbreak, at best.

Mourning, at worst.

John thought he could manage it. They weren’t together, so why would anyone care?

But they were still emotionally involved, and he hadn’t covered it up well enough.

“I fucked up.” John says, leaving his now empty glass on top of the cabinet and moving back over to the couch. He sits down, feeling defeated, “I fucked up and I don’t know how to fix this.”

Marcus leans forward, thoughtfully. “Does she know how bad it is?”

“I’ve tried to explain it to her. She knows about the bounty, she knows that literally hundreds of assassins are looking for her right now. But she’s eerily calm about the whole thing.”

“Eerily calm in general,” Marcus points out, “I’d think she was in shock from it all if she wasn’t so put together.”

John had to agree and nodded. Helen had said that she processed the possibility of being used against John long before she was kidnapped, and he was sure that helped her to keep her head. But it was going to take a toll on her, as was the bounty.

“I’m afraid it’s going to hit her all at once.” John admits, “God knows she’s tough, but it’s a lot to handle.”

“If it happens, it happens.” Marcus waves a hand, “Deal with it then. Right now, you need to focus on how you’re going to keep her safe.”

“I need to get the bounty removed.”

“Then you’ll need to find DeLuca.”

John huffs, “Not sure I can track him down and not rip him limb from limb.”

“Apparently, some people are into that.” Marcus sits up straighter, “But you know you can’t do that. And DeLuca knows you can’t do that. You’re going to have to choose between revenge and your girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

Marcus rolls his eyes and clarifies, “The woman that you’re clearly in love with.”

He’s too tired to argue and, besides, Marcus is right.

“It’s not a choice.” John replies. He could crave revenge all he liked but nothing would matter if Helen was gone.

“No shit.” Marcus seems deep in thought, “I don’t know much about Mateo. Or Syndicate, for that matter. Didn’t even know they had an active branch in the States.”

“Only one at all, from what I hear. They have their base in Rome and a smaller branch in New York. But everyone seems to have a foot in New York these days.”

Marcus nods in agreement, “You think DeLuca’s will be willing to cut a deal?”

That was another matter entirely, one that nagged John in the back of his head. DeLuca was smarter than John had initially given him credit for. He might not have a good grip on the Syndicate and was clearly overestimating his power as heir, but he was clever.

He’d made his moves wisely in relation to John. Finding his weakness, exploiting it. And when John fought back, he exploited it harder.

“DeLuca wants Rome.” John synthesizes, “And Rome belongs to the Camorra. Fuck, Italy belongs to the Camorra.”

“You think he’ll stick with his original deal, then? Helen’s life in exchange for killing D’Antonio?”

John inclines his head, “If I were in his position, it’s what I’d do. He’s holding all the cards right now.”

“Bluff.”

“With Helen?” John shakes his head, “He wouldn’t believe me. And he’d be right not to.”

“Then make him believe you.”

“You don’t understand. I can’t.” He sighs, “I think about her, and I get tense. I hear her name, and I lose the ability to think straight. I’ve never been a great liar, but I don’t need to be if I just don’t talk. So I don’t talk. But that’s all politics seems to be. Talking and lying and bullshitting each other. I can’t do that shit.”

“You can’t lie?” Marcus asks, momentarily taken aback.

“Not well. I overthink and I know I overthink.”

“You’re an assassin and you can’t lie.” Marcus says again.

John rolls his eyes, “I don’t do the subterfuge bullshit that you and Sofia pull. If I want someone dead, I walk up to them and I kill them.”

“I’ve known you for twenty plus years and I didn’t know you couldn’t lie?”

“Doesn’t come up. You ask me a question I don’t want to answer, I just don’t answer it.”

“Huh.”

“Can we focus on the matter at hand, please?”

Marcus shakes his head, as if he’s clearing it. “Okay. So you can’t bluff to DeLuca. But you also can’t kill Lorenzo D’Antonio without severe consequences.”

“Consequences be damned if DeLuca lifts the bounty.”

Marcus shakes his head vigorously, “It’s suicide by High Table.”

“But she’ll be safe.” He insists, “And with me out of the equation, there would be no reason for anybody else to target her either.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Right now, it looks like the best opt--”

“Shut up.” Marcus interrupts, “Keep talking like that and I’ll go knock on her door and tell her what you’re planning to do.”

“You think she could stop me?”

Marcus gives him a look and John glances away.

It was a shot in the dark. John wasn’t entirely sure that Helen could stop him. He’d eagerly give up his life to keep her safe. A single noble act out of a lifetime of paving a path to Hell.

But Helen was good at getting into his head. And she wouldn’t be happy if she knew that he was considering putting himself in the line of fire over her. Worse, she would be disappointed. Upset. And while he would rather have Helen upset and alive, he wasn’t sure he could stand knowing that he disappointed her.

John feels his shoulders sink in defeat, “So what do I do, then? I kill the D’Antonio’s, Helen gets out alive and my life is forfeit. I don’t kill the D’Antonio’s, and the contract for her life remains open.”

“You’re still guessing at this point.” Says Marcus, “DeLuca hasn’t offered you a deal yet. And maybe you’re right, maybe it’s exactly what he asks for. But maybe he doesn’t offer you shit. Maybe he just wants to see you both suffer after you saved her without giving in to his demands.”

John considers it. Helen mentioned that she told DeLuca, to his face, that he had mommy issues he needed to work on. So, DeLuca definitely was not on Team Helen. And John had killed eight of his men. So, he clearly wasn’t Team John either.

But, if John followed that line of thinking, there was no saving her. If DeLuca had no intentions of dropping the hit, then John was stuck yet again.

Only the patron or the High Table could cancel an open contract and the High Table didn’t do anything that didn’t directly benefit themselves.

If DeLuca refused to drop the contract, then the only way to keep her safe would be to keep her in hiding.

And Helen wouldn’t do that. For now, she would stay at the safe house because John had asked and because she thought it was only temporary. If this went on too long… she’d leave. Or she’d try to. And John would stop her because he’d rather have her safe than dead.

But she would resent him and the thought, alone, made him think that death was a far better option. He would rather be dead than have her look at him with hatred.

Marcus interrupts his line of thought, “Or maybe you can beat him to the punch. Alert the High Table that someone has come to you, pressuring you to kill Lorenzo D’Antonio in exchange for your girlfriend’s life—I know she’s not your girlfriend. But they High Table doesn’t need to know that.” Marcus says, appeasing John before he can correct him.

John considers it, briefly, but shakes his head. “It’s too dangerous. If the High Table decides to make an example out of him, he could wind up dead with the contract still open.”

“He’s not a prominent player. He might just get a slap on the wrist.”

“I’m not playing chicken with Helen’s life.”

“No, just with your own.”

Marcus doesn’t understand, John thinks. He doesn’t get it.

“You don’t need to be a martyr.” The older assassin continues.

John looks to his ally, his friend. “Give me another way.” He says, “Tell me how I save her and get out of this alive. Please.”

“There has to be a way.”

“I can’t find it.” John tells him.

“You got her out of the city and out of harm’s way.” Marcus reminds him, emphasizing the fact, “She’s safe. There’s no reason you need to figure this all out tonight.”

John shakes his head, “She’s putting her entire life on hold fo—”

“And I guarantee you if I asked her right now if she would rather keep her life on hold or go back tomorrow at the cost of your life, she won’t fucking hesitate to tell you to stop being an idiot. Hopefully give you a good smack, too.”

“Because she’s selfless.”

“Or maybe, because she cares about you.”

“She cares about everyone.”

Marcus looks at him, shaking his head, “Yeah. That woman, who was making jokes about you dismembering people cares about everyone.”

“It was the context of the situation!”

“Or,” Marcus argues, “She’s not as perfect as you think she is.”

John opens his mouth, ready to argue back but Marcus beats him to the punch.

“And that’s okay. It’s more than okay that she’s human and imperfect, just like the rest of us. And maybe, just maybe, she’s not being a good sport about this because she’s selfless and kind but because she cares about you.”

“That’s not what this is!”

“Jesus, John.” Marcus shakes his head in utter disbelief, “Is it really that hard to believe that somebody could love you?”

It’s a low blow that leaves John speechless. He looks away, wondering if he could get away with another glass of whiskey without becoming liable to say or do something stupid. He decides against it and when he looks back, Marcus is still looking at him like he’s never seen him before.

“Fuck all.” Marcus mutters, “Learned more about you in the last half hour than I have in twenty years of friendship, John.”

John’s not sure what to say to that so he says nothing.

Finally, Marcus’ tone softens, “I get it. If you need to die to keep her safe, then that’s what you’re going to do. But don’t go into this thinking that’s your only path. At least let us try to figure something out before you decide to try a turn at being noble, okay?”

John nods in agreement, “Okay. Fuck, I’m not trying to die here, Marcus. I just don’t see another way at getting DeLuca to drop the contract.”

“We have time.” Marcus reminds him. “We’ll find a way.”

John nods again but he’s not as hopeful as his friend. He’d gambled with Helen’s life once already, thinking he was saving her. But not complying with the demands of DeLuca was what got him into this fucking mess in the first place.

“Blankets for the pull-out are in the hall closet.” John tells him, rising to his feet. He can’t… he can’t talk about it anymore. Not Helen or Syndicate or any of it.

He needs to sleep.

Really sleep, in a bed, uninterrupted.

Maybe then, John thinks, he’ll be able to make sense of it all.

He makes his way down the hall, stopping briefly to use the bathroom. It’s been years since he’d been to the property and while Marcus had stocked up on food and alcohol, they would need other things tomorrow.

Toothpaste and brushes. Soap. Shampoo.

He stares in the mirror over the sink.

He looks like a fucking mess, but he can’t bring himself to care.

John swallows as he leaves the bathroom, gazing across the hall.

“I’ve claimed this side of the bed.” She’d told him earlier.

He really should have chosen the safehouse in Maine he thinks as he quietly opens the door to the bedroom.

The light from the hall shines down on her sleeping form. She’s curled on her side, facing the door, with one hand under the pillow.

How many times, John wonders, had he watched her sleep like this?

From afar. Dreaming of what it would be like to hold her.

Now he knew.

It felt better than he imagined heaven.

Of course, he thinks, he isn’t going to hold her now. They’re just sharing a bed. This isn’t love, like he imagined. Or comfort, like he had given her earlier. This was… convenience.

There was one bed.

He could, John considers, sleep on the floor. Give her the space without intruding. Perhaps that would be the best thing to do.

“Get in the bed, John.” Helen says, not opening her eyes.

He nearly startles at her tired voice… had thought her asleep.

Apparently, he doesn’t move fast enough because she adds, “I can feel you thinking from here. Get in the damn bed.”

John swallows down the lump in his throat. He toes off his shoes and socks, leaving them by the door.

His bag is still at the foot of his bed and carefully, quietly, unzips it and finds the pair of sweatpants he had packed.

While he preferred to sleep in boxers, he was grateful he packed with the foresight of going for a run. He’d much prefer to sleep in sweats than in jeans. He wonders if he should go back to the bathroom but, instead, he goes to what must be his side of the bed.

Her back is turned, and he quickly strips off the jeans and exchanges them for the sweatpants.

John is getting in bed with Helen, not for comfort, but to sleep. And somehow, he thinks, that’s worse. The pseudo-domesticity of it has his head spinning as he pulls back the cover and slips under on his side of the bed.

Helen lets out a soft sigh as the bed dips and rolls to her other side. Her eyes are still closed, he notes.

He longs to reach out and push back her hair but he resists. John closes his eyes and lets himself be lulled by the steady rise and fall of her breathing.

[whatsmylaneagain]

Amethyst - Third Chapter

Pairing: Eggsy x Agent!Reader

Word count: 1960 (a big one!!! Yay!!!)

Warnings: swearing, Roxy mention (bc she deserved more), reader’s character being a rebellious lil shit, Eggsy being kinda dumb (oh well this is all kinda narrated by his point of view, there’s no way to not expect that, right?!)

Chapter synopsis: so, we know that the bomb had Eggsy’s name on it, but.... what the hell is actually happening?

A/N: GUYS IM BACK AND IM SORRY!!!! I’ve written (and revised) this more than six months ago, but I absolutely hated how I made Eggsy a dumb character, so I spent all this months putting this story aside to fix it later... but I love it so much and this week I watched Spies are Forever and oh well.... idk, its been too long, but I’m posting this anyway.

Amethyst masterlist

Eggsy didn’t expect to find another person other than Harry and Merlin at the Kingsman’s meeting room. And what he definitely didn’t expect was for the person to be a beautiful Chinese woman laughing and having a drink with Harry Hart. The young man felt like he was invading a private moment, and had the sudden urge to grab y/n by the arm to show her the new victorian-style sconces he chosen for the rebuilt hallway.

But before he could say anything, y/n had already tapped the doorpost, making their presence known. The middle-aged woman talking to Harry glanced at the two young agents, giving the girl a sly smile. 

“I’m glad to know you didn’t punch Mr. Unwin on your way here, y/n” she said, as Eggsy went straight for his chair on Harry’s right side.

“I would’ve if you didn’t send me that text” The girl had moved to the woman’s side, backing up to the wall for support. She never made mention of pulling a chair.

“Well, y/n, I take as you already know Harry.” Said the woman, gesturing to the older man, who smiled sweetly. Yes, that’s right. Harry SMILED.

“Of course, The Great Harry Hart, the man of a thousand missions;” when Eggsy thought he couldn’t get more confused, y/n pulled this. “Everybody at the headquarters knows who you are.” And some - fucking – how, she sounded genuine, and not witty or arrogant as she appeared to be. Was that… admiration?

Seeing Eggsy’s confused expression, the older woman gave him a small smile, welcoming, but not too sweet; just like an agent is used to do.

“Galahad, I’m Yijun, or as my agents – or people who can’t bother to learn how to pronounce it - call me, Circe. I’m the head of Amethyst, the agency that y/n works for.”

Eggsy must have looked very confused, because Harry intervened, while pouring two more drinks, giving him one and sliding the other across the table, towards y/n.

“Yijun is an old friend, we met some weeks after she came from China. I was already a Kingsman, and was trying to bring her into the organization – just like I did with you – when she was recruited as an Amethyst trainee.”

“You knew?” Started Eggsy, a little bit of irritation shaping his words. After agent Whiskey, he knew better than not to trust Harry. But he couldn’t help the feeling of being a pawn. “Why did you let me go after her then?”

“I didn’t know the agent who saved you was y/n. All I knew was that she was an Amethyst, since the intervention was fast and clean.”

“-almost clean;” Yijun turned her chair to y/n, who was taking a sip out of her drink, still leant against the wall. “If Morgan’s work were perfect, you wouldn’t be able to find her.”

“Nobody’s perfect, but I try my best.” She shrugged. “’m still your best agent tho.”

“Please,” Merlin entered the room, an IPad in hands, ready to the briefing. “put the blame on me for being able to hack into almost anything, including London’s surveillance cameras. She did a wonderful job.”

Merlin stopped right in front of y/n, extending his hand for a handshake. She grabbed it immediately.

“Miss Le Fay. Hope our codenames won’t be a problem.” 

“I don’t see why, Sir Merlin. The witch from who I borrowed my name could very easily have been Merlin’s apprentice.”

No awkward pressure thing, from what Eggsy could see. Why were his interactions with her so bloody awful? For god’s sake, y/n was joking with Merlin!

It took him a moment to remember what history the two were referring to: Morgan Le Fay was a witch in King Arthur’s story, from where Kingsman got their codenames. Depending on the version, she can be portrayed as Merlin’s enemy, responsible for the death of King Arthur or as a powerful good woman, that had healing powers and could shape shift. For an organization like Amethyst, Eggsy supposed the second option was the one they had in mind.

Merlin greeted Yijun with a respectful “ma’am” before selecting something on his device, the projection of a document showing up on the wall above y/n.

“The techs over Amethyst sent us their reports on missing people, and turns out the man who you two,” Merlin looked at Eggsy and y/n. “saw is Adrian Bell. Seven months ago, he apparently went on a trip to India, but his family didn’t hear about him after he left. He never showed up on the airport camera footage.”

“So... he planned to disappear?” Interfered Eggsy.

“Apparently, yes. But there’s a problem.” Merlin changed the projection, it now being a series of pictures, especially ones where Bell hugged his family tightly, his wife crying, and his kids glued to his leg. It looked like a reunion. “He doesn’t remember anything and woke up asking for his family. His last memory was being in a bar and passing out. He thinks that he was in an alcoholic coma.”

Eggsy was about to ask a lot of questions, but Merlin had started talking again, while taking two Kingsman’s RayBans out of his pocket, giving each woman a pair. 

“I’ve made a partnership with the group of cooperative organizations led by Amethyst, also called D.E.A.R; Diamond, Emerald and Amethyst Relations -” Introduced Merlin, but Eggsy wasn’t really paying much attention to him. 

Instead, he was observing y/n, who hesitantly spun the glasses in her hands, analysing it, differently from Yijun, who just put them on right away. Her mouth twitched on the side, and she started to bite her tongue, as if trying to distract and put herself together. Y/n put them on, but kept looking down for some seconds, before fixing her posture and raising her head, crossing her arms, still leant against the wall on one shoulder.

It was quite weird seeing y/n wearing the glasses. Even though she had noting that could possibly remind him of Roxy, Eggsy couldn’t stop the deja vu of his best friend. A sad smile adorned his lips. He missed her.

A Kingsman-style hologram of a young 16-year-old girl appeared sitting on one of the chairs, big extravagant round sunglasses framing her face along with bright pink streaks on her brown hair. Although she was a teenager (and dressed like one, in a jean jacket and a white tee that said “girl power” in red), she sat perfectly straight, very professionally.

“Good evening, gentlemen. I’m Tonks, Emerald’s tech and field agent. I just came back from an information gathering mission.” which, as a previous Emerald’s agent, y/n knew was just a fancy description for attending parties. Nothing too dangerous, especially for Emerald’s missions, that were more based in socialization and keeping an eye on people. Actually, y/n was impressed that Tonks had something substantial to report (especially to Kingsman) in a high school party. “A group of unmatchable individuals seems to be working together, all of them acting really uncharacteristic and very patronized. I detected the group spiking other teen’s drinks. I managed to intervene and get a sample of it. Agent Spellman also reported a strange movement, alike the one I observed, with a college group. We sent the samples to our biotechs, and the lab concluded it was a modified Mikey Pinn.” The girl grabbed her phone and sent something, the IPhone message sound reverberating through the room. “Now you have access to our outhouse cameras, Merlin.” 

Merlin quickly changed the projection above y/n to eight squares of video that showed each teen in one small room, some asleep on the beds, some walking around nervously, and one passed out on the floor. Tonks started talking again.

“Spellman and I brought the group of high school and college students to our outhouse. Whatever drug they’re on soon will wear off, and then we’ll be able to analyse what happened to them.”

“Was that the first ever occurrence on your field, Tonks?” Asked Yijun, and then turned to the Kingsman’s, explaining; “Emerald agents that work on high schools usually only have to get in action to stop violence and abuse at their missions. Situations like what we’re dealing with right now is uncharacteristic.”

“No, Boss. Some students stopped going to classes suddenly, but we checked: they all were confirmed on exchange programs abroad. Apparently, they never went.”

Y/n wasn’t leant on the wall anymore. She’d walked to the table, bent over it, hands open, pressed on the cold wood, all her attention on Tonks. Tension.

“Who were the kids? High school and college. Why choose them?” She said.

Tonks flipped through her phone, messaging Merlin more documents - the ring once again filling the room - before answering.

“A rugby player, two perfect grade kids and a foreign student were the high school kids. Apparently, it’s a pattern: physically strong people and awarded students that stand out for their knowledge of exact sciences.”

“Have you tracked were they were drugged the first time?” Continued y/n.

“Not yet, but...”

“I did;” said Merlin, suddenly, typing on his IPad.

A new image showed up on the wall. The front of a bar that looked like it used to be fancy ten years ago. Now, the paint was coming off the walls, and the huge opaque black doors were rusted, chains and a big old padlock kept them closed. It had no name on the outside, only a broken light up waning crescent moon, just the inferior part working, shining in a weak yellow light.

Eggsy knew the place. Actually, every teen and young adult in London knew Moonz: the flat broke bar that let underage kids come in and drink. You didn’t even need a fake ID, they would pretend to not be able to do math and let kids in. In some months, it became domain of teens, turning into a considerably safe place for them to get drunk and party. Also, it was the cheapest place to get booze.

But the underage drinking caused a bigger problem; since it was illegal, the neighbourhood didn’t have a lot of cops because the owner kept them away. Consequently, Moonz’s location became a centre of violence, kidnapping, and other heavy crimes.

The young Galahad saw y/n turn to the projection in slow motion, the act of being casual being thrown out of the window. For Eggsy, she looked like a robot who got rebooted and installed a completely different system of command. When she spoke again, her voice was strong and deep.

“Tonks, do you know when it started?”

“It?” Asked Eggsy. 

“The kidnappings.” Y/n answered. “The fact that they were drugging others looks like it was a kidnapping system. In this context, those kids were “recruiting” more teens.” 

Tonks checked her phone.

“No, Morgan. We couldn’t track it. They apparently are the first ones to come back.”

“Shit.” Y/n paced around the room. “Boss, permission to do an observation and protection mission at Moonz.”

“Permission granted” nodded Yijun “take Galahad with you.”

“Yi, I don’t think the gentlemen can pass as a teenager.” Y/n had stopped walking. She looked straight into Eggsy’s eyes. “With all due respect...”

Yijun shook her head. 

“You know there are other ways to get him inside undercover.”

Y/n ran her fingers through her hair, taking a deep breath. Eggsy could almost hear her thinking “Fuck. Fine.”.

“C’mon Galahad, we’ve got a job to do.”

Eggsy and Y/n were almost out of the room when Yijun called her agent again.

“Oh and Y/n.” The girl turned around. “Don’t engage. I’ll send Emerald agents to protect the kids, but you and Galahad can’t have your covers blown up. Do. Not. Engage. Do you understand?”

All Y/n did was nod slightly.

If you made it to here, thank you so much! I hope it was worth your time! Some feedback would be appreciated, I really wanted to see if you liked this (dumb) Eggsy I’m presenting.... If you don’t want to be in the taglist anymore, I totally understand! Just message me :)

Also!!!! Feel free to message me any questions about the fic and this chapter! I have some fun reasons for choosing those codenames and Diamond, Emerald and Amethyst as the names for the organization!

Amethyst taglist

@a-dorky-book-keeper @50shadesofuncomfortable @arizonacolleen @infinity-of-high-dreaming @toasty-fish @pink-smarties @mc225g @dadd-ilf @sueeatstheworld @katorgatorgalaxy @the-ink-and-salt-club @incorrect-mcdanno @xelizabethvalentinex @ahyestheandersons @thatdamnokie @wxxnks @awesomewees @ryedikkulus @discodeak @clacestan @y-dadd

(If you got the notification again, sorry! I had a problem with the taglist and had to do it again!

[maotranslates]

Chapter 9

Novel: Life Going Wild With Plug-ins 带挂装逼, 最为致命 by Shi Zi Qing 十字卿

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        I couldn’t remember how to put an end to all this embarrassment so I once again shoved Ye Tan back into the room, probably because my mind was too muddled.

　　 But before closing the door, I saw that the Shadow Guard’s eyes were bright, so I assumed it wasn’t a bad thing.

　　

　　 In order to save the fragile beds of the doctor’s place, I lay down again in the middle of the courtyard and continued to get caught up in my misgivings. It wasn't until the sun moved westward and stars covered the curtain of night that I fell into a deep sleep.

　　 I didn’t know when, unable to make head or tail of it, I somehow cut into the modifier interface again.

　　 Coming directly from the land of dreams, I didn’t immediately realize what happened, but as I was contemplating, I saw the projection from the real-time monitor.

　　 At this time, the sky was already gradually getting brighter, and Ye Tan was leaned over and half-kneeling beside my sleeping body, his hair hanging down and covering my face.

　　

　　 ...Isn't he really kissing me?!!

　　 I didn’t guess wrong!! Launching the program is really the action of Ye Tan kissing me?!

　　

　　 This is alarming, what kind of mentality did I hold when I set this activating condition?! What happened during the 75 years of preparation?! Is there something wrong with my brain???

　　

　　 While I was shocked, I also diligently tried to figure it out: It was the same action during the day, but it failed to activate successfully. Could the difference be because I took the initiative during the day? It turns out that Ye Tan has to take the initiative, while I can't know it myself, so I have to be kissed secretly...??

　　 With this conclusion, I feel more and more that I am really toxic.

　　

　　 On the other side, Ye Tan was already satisfied, standing up. He was holding a square plate in his hand, along with a few sets of bowls and chopsticks. It seemed that he had just gone to get breakfast and returned. I composed myself, then hurriedly went to change the data.

　　 In the cultivation box, there were no less than 7 extra zeroes, which was 50000000. It seems that I was truly very startled at the time...

　　 I deleted a few 0s with shame, but I didn’t know how much would be normal to put, was there anything I could use as a reference?

        The data of the people I had met recently happened to show up on the side. Ye Tan’s martial arts were completely gone, and all the values ​​were so extremely low that they had no meaning as a reference. The others were of ordinary people, which were also all very low, so I searched some more... Here it is, Ze Que.

　　 His data was truly very beautiful, and copying it wouldn’t be excessive, but there was something strange that caught my attention.

　　

　　 The column indicating life energy HP, unexpectedly showed:

　　 HP: 40/3000

　　

        What happened? The upper limit of 3000 is naturally what a good warrior should have, but now only 40 is left. Doesn't this mean that he is on the verge of dying?

　　 I was a bit curious, but I couldn’t turn on real-time monitoring on his side. The option was gray, requiring you to first obtain administrator rights.

　　

　　 I had to give up, going to change other things first. I almost exactly copied Ze Que’s data, but added 500 more for each item. This way even if I had to fight him in the future, I could at least easily protect Ye Tan and retreat.

　　 After saving my ability stats, I felt much more relieved. Next is what excites me the most, money...!

        How much should I change it to? I need at least enough to pay the inn... Pah, I can’t be that poor. I want to buy ten big mansions, hire a hundred chefs, open up gourmet restaurants, and collect many, many beds. I never want to sleep on limestone again in my life, really!

　　 Hmph, let's make it one hundred million taels first, if it’s not enough I’ll add more!

　　 I smugly entered a series of 0s, cheerfully hitting Enter.

　　

　　 A prompt popped up: [By default, excess gold coins are placed in the main character’s surroundings. Do you confirm?]

　　Confirm.

　　

        A golden light flashed, and swoosh swoosh swoosh, there was an enormous amount of gold in the yard, piled layer after layer even higher than the ceilings. The entire courtyard was bursting full of gold in an instant, and not being able to fit inside, it could only continue to spread out, persistently manifesting on the streets outside. The gold bars made branches bend and sank down ceilings, flowing everywhere like a mountainous flash flood.

　　 For a moment, the medical hall was bright and bejeweled, dazzling inside and out.

　　 Ye Tan was scared into a shock by this magnificent scene, and with a tremor in his hands, the porcelain plates he was holding shattered all over the ground.

　　

　　 Immediately afterwards, the interface suddenly turned red, and with a beep, I was forced to exit the modifier.

　　 When I opened my eyes, Ye Tan was looking back at me. The plates in his hands were steady, and the porcelain dishes and bowls were properly placed inside.

　　 The surroundings contained only a cool breeze blowing gently, without a trace of gold.

　　

　　 ...This beep, I’m familiar with.

        This is.

　　 System.

        Fucking.

        Retraction.

　　

　　 Just then, when the modifier encountered an error and I was kicked out, it was accompanied by a few lines of words: [Error Prompt: Because the previous operation triggered the suspicion of many people in this world, the system automatically retracted the file.]

　　[Remaining system retractions: 1/3]

　　[If the number of retractions exceeds the upper boundary, this world will cease operation permanently.]

　　

　　...I've played too much.

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[chiimmchiimm]

❝ 𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗 !¡ 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓇𝓉𝑒𝑒𝓃 ❞

CHAPTERS “  01 - 02 - 03 - 04 - 05 - 06 - 07 - 08 - 09 - 10 -  11  - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19 - 20 - 21 - 22 - 23 - 24 - 25 - 26 - 27 “  

The northern jail was the most dangerous in the country, social scum, thousands of criminals were locked behind their bars. Who would tell poor Blair that he would end up there because of his father’s mistake. The problem was not the lack of hot water, but that inhuman obsession that many of the prisoners had for “new toys.” Rookies had two options; be submissive and abide by veterans’ orders or suffer the dangerous anger of those disturbed minds. It all started one night when Blair had the bad idea of ​​going to shower alone.

𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: Jungkookoffender au x (female: Blair).   𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒: Genre: smut.(later), offender au, fluff, angst. 𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹𝓈: 4.3 k 𝑅𝒶𝓃𝓆𝓊𝒾𝓃𝑔:  +18   𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔:   dirty language, lies, mood swings, spectacular and close bodies, muscles, biceps, problems, very big problems, resolved threats, future friends, jealousy on her part, sad but spicy conversation in the end, rare metaphors ... 𝒜𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇’𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒:  A long time, dear readers, I paused to finish the story completely. I will try to upload the chapters more often. Great things are coming !! Thank you very much for reading and enjoy the chapter !!

Did you have me for what?

  Fucking shit because every time we talked, he left me with the word in his mouth and left, leaving the greatest suspense in history. It seemed like her favorite hobby, confusing me as she tried to make sense of everything she said. But all that was a dead end because every time I reached a conclusion he would come and make me think a thousand different times. I never understood men, much less this one. I did not like the feeling of uncertainty that settled in my chest every time I had the privilege of being the recipient of such ambiguous words.

   My fist hit the leather material with enthusiasm. I did not know at what point I had arrived at the prison gym, I was only aware of my actions when I noticed the cold latex contrast with the heat of my knuckles. Maybe I had found my way to let off steam. When he hit the bag he didn't think, he just moved the muscles unconsciously. I needed that, let go of instinct and stop thinking about deep eyes and strong arms with wonderfully perfect tattoos.

  I liked that inmates ignored me, it had been a long time since I had heard loud compliments and overly embarrassing sexist comments. In a way, they had learned to respect my space and they didn't bother me as much, of course, the presence of Thirteen had been a mitigating factor worthy of note. In these weeks my relationship with Thirteen (if the strange bond that unites us can be called that) had advanced to such a point that I did nothing without him at my side. I suppose that we had a common goal, to protect his sister, but in fact, I liked that he will also ensure my safety. Since the occurrence of the baths he had not detached himself from me, and in a way, his company did not bother me as surprisingly I thought he would. He was not as bad as he thought, his grumpy character had been lowered considerably in these weeks, he was no longer the same serious boy whose only facial gesture was manifested through a slight involuntary blink. Without going any further, he continued to maintain that firm and regal posture but there were times when he thought he saw a small smile appear.

 A smile like now.

"If the sack had a mouth, it would be laughing at your blows." I hear his mockery between the roars of my fists hitting the leather material. His back was turned to him but I could imagine how his corners rose in a mischievous smile that only screamed the desire he had to make me rage. His longtime favorite hobby. Buffet exhausted and then stop hitting the stuff to turn me around. Thirteen received my frown with a small laugh.

"Yeah, but you have to understand that not everyone lives three meters away and has arms bigger than their head." I blurted out, she seemed to look annoyed but both he and I knew that my contemptuous tone was overactive. Cross your arms to calm the hectic movement of my chest. For him it had been nothing more than small blows but he had really left my breath. Long heavy breaths with her mouth ajar as she skeptically watched him. I felt how the beads of sweat gradually accumulated on my forehead and then bathed my neck with pride. Thirteen observed me sitting from an exercise table, with his dark eyebrow raised as he followed the path of a drop that went down the column of my neck towards my tank top. My breathing increased dramatically for reasons other than exercise when her tongue came out in a provocative dance to wet her two parted lips. I squeezed my arms to cover the view of my semi-transparent white sweatshirt. I felt very intimidated on my feet, as her eyes traveled everywhere she had exposed. Even more when her dramatic silence began to bore me and my mind began to produce thoughts about how good the white T-shirt she wore today looked, how well her tattoos stood out in the artificial light of the bar lamps and in the wide and fluffy that turned his thighs when crushed when sitting.

I swallowed hard to catch my breath as Thirteen scrambled to her feet to impose her height on me. I had to tilt my neck up to see the dark glow in his eyes.

"I'm not ten feet tall," I groan with a small pout as I wrinkle my nose and frown. Her gesture made me laugh a little. However, I stopped laughing when his eyes dropped to my wet little cleavage. My breath hitched and the mouth of my throat began to dry. I part my lips in a snap, causing her to soon admire his movement. "However, I have parts of my body that are quite large."

  Snap your fingers in front of your face to catch their attention. Immediately his eyes stopped admiring the beginning of my breasts to settle on me as if nothing.

"My face is up here, Thirteen."

   I pass a slanting self-sufficient smile as I stared at mine. A look too intense to hold for too long. For a fraction of a second I wished I had closed my mouth, because at least the other way I didn't notice how nervous I was when his pupils dominated mine too easily. Turn the sack around and hit it to camouflage the tension that had formed from the awkward silence.

  Center the force of my punches at one point to increase damage to the bag, isolating myself from around me. Suddenly, my back hit the hard surface of his chest. I immediately froze by canceling any future moves I intended to make. I swallowed so that the dryness of my mouth was not so bothersome. My stomach clenched as the weight of his hands began to warmly embrace my hip. I tried to glance askance at his body but his hands held me in place. One of his legs came slowly down the side of my body, when his thigh brushed against mine I swore I heard a gasp escape from his lips that landed directly on the surface of my ear when he leaned enough so that I could feel the wetness of my skin from his lip.

"You are too weak to leave all the weight of the blow in your hands," he whispered in a graver tone than usual. I deduced from the movement of his chest that he looked more disturbed than the normal stability of his voice reflected. He raised his hands leaving a silky path too nice, I closed my eyes unconsciously when he left them on my waist. By then, my breathing was too strong to try to hide it. It was as if after his hot walk my joints would stop working, submitting to the sweet torture of his overly provocative caresses. In a movement that caught me completely off guard, he thrust his knee into the hollow of mine and dug his fingers into my waist to propel me forward so that my fist hit the material. Incredibly the bag moved for the first time since I started my workouts. I opened my eyes forgetting, or rather, trying to ignore how good my whole body felt when feeling the cozy warmth of his big hands.

“But how?” I asked, too surprised by the simple fact that I never thought I would ever be able to move the bag on my own. In a quick blink I managed to glance askance at her face, her sharp detailed jaw in front of my eyes giving me a perfect perspective of her wonderful profile. His well-formed cheekbones and the relief of his large nose. I even managed to discover amid the roughness of his broad neck a small mole that caused a sweetness to the eye. Thirteen realizing my devotion to new discoveries of her skin, I turn my head completely. His wild pupils dominated mine leaving me at his disposal. The moisture on my lips felt a sharp chill as it contrasted with his hot breath.

"You are small, you have almost no muscle and you hardly know how to defend yourself." All you can do is attack strong enough first to give yourself time to run away.

I felt ashamed for her lack of confidence in my physical state, more than hurt, however, deep down I knew she was right and that's why I kept quiet. I was never a physically strong girl before, I did not win a fight in my life and if I did it was not for me, but because someone interrupted. And maybe that was what bothered me so much that even knowing I was right I didn't want him to see me as a helpless animal that had no other way than to flee. I've been running away from an abuser all my life, and I think sometimes people get tired of running away. In my case, quite a long time ago.

"Well then, teach me how to defend myself," I whispered in a conciliatory tone. Thirteen I raise one leaves surprised by my interest, however, a short time later began to form a smile marked by pride. I felt good at the time, able to do anything.

“Do you see the black area of ​​the bag?” He pointed his eyes forward, making him turn his head towards his directions. Take a close look at the black stripe that covered the top of the bag. He bit back an unsatisfied moan as he remembered that it was the hardest area. At first I had tried to soften her but had done nothing other than bruise my knuckles thoroughly. I nodded a little confused for not understanding what was the interest of her looking right there. His finger reached to the start of the sack just on the edge as the material slipped in to form a flattened circumference. Raise your head to facilitate my perspective. It was almost funny to see how his hand reached that height without any problem knowing that I would not even jump. I gave a little frightened gasp when I stick his lip to the cartilage of my ear and whisper softly as if he were telling me a story. "This area corresponds to the beginning of the forehead. and the small fissure that corresponds to the mouth, lower is the jaw and a little lower is the jugular and finally the neck. "I was amazed to be a spectator of so much strategy. It was true, if I could get a better look there were marked parts that corresponded to all the parts that he had named, it was only necessary to pay more attention to the details. His finger attached to the hand of his tattooed joint looked powerful, large, so mesmerizing from the dance of his marked veins. "You just have to look for the area that you think can fuck the most." But if I give you some advice, the first blow send it directly to the neck, you will leave it breathless for a few seconds long enough so that you can punch it and knock it to the ground.

"I will," I swore safely.

"Yes," he whispered, dragging me into a world full of chills. Her lip had settled on my skin like it was her second home. The contrast was so relaxing when enough time passed. Her lip was so soft as well as hot. In an instant I found myself casting a longing gaze at him. I did not know why I simply began to feel an exaggerated desire to see his black eyes again. He reciprocated in seconds. I regretted when I realized the very compromising position I was in. His face was too close to the point that his nose was caressing mine. The long arm I had as a support began to slide down until it was inches from my neck. Everything seemed to disappear around me when Thirteen began to bow her head with a desperate slowness.

“Am I interrupting?” A voice foreign to us interrupted the moment too abruptly. Thirteen stopped leaning quickly to look at the unknown person. Suddenly, I noticed how his jaw clenched and his nose widened. When I could feel the tension in his shoulders I couldn't help but turn around and understand why Thirteen had reacted that way. "I was looking for you, Thirteen."

    I instantly recognized that wicked smile and that piercing look.

"I don't have time for your psycho shit, Hong Kong." Thirteen replied with a tired air in the reflection of his voice. The named broadening the smile further exposing his tongue pircing more than macabre. His yellowish, sharp teeth began to create small retches at the beginning of my stomach. I don't know if it was fear of everything I had heard from him or simply because I didn't like how tense everything was getting, I just knew that I wanted to leave urgently. 

Suddenly, Thirteen's hand caught my wrist too hard to push me on its way. However, we could not take two steps as miraculously two men appeared in front of us just as creepy as the other one standing in our way. I heard a deep sound come from Thirteen's throat as a warning. The taller of the two, a blond with a beard, seemed unaffected, however the smaller one truly doubted his position.

"I said I was looking for you." He spoke again in the same neutral tone. I looked at Thirteen immediately but he didn't stop terrifyingly shooting the bearded blond. His fingers wrapped more and more tightly around my wrist, letting me understand that he was getting quite angry, but also that he was getting nervous.

"Take off," he growled at the blonde. I was quite surprised by the cold and terrifying tone I use. It had been a long time since I had seen that part of him. And I admit, I wasn't liking seeing her again, it was too scary.

"You should thank me that I have had the education to introduce myself here to ask you myself if the rumors I have heard from some prisoners are true."

   Suddenly, the air became much heavier. I watched with some panic as he closed his left hand into a fist. I had never seen him lose control like that, it was as if his rational part had suddenly vanished and another good had appeared instead. There was a moment when his fingers were clenching too hard, he groaned silently but with enough plea for him to hear my complaint. As if it was a sign that she was being carried away by the impulse her hand loosened suddenly causing her to exhale in relief.

"Surprise me," he spelled slowly but very demanding.

"Well, it turns out that one of my trusted men was suspiciously sent to the hospital with a broken jaw. Rumors have it that it was because he messed with the wrong girl."

    My mouth clenched impossibly to hold back a gasp. I had an urge to cover my lips to hide a scream but I held steady for the sake of both of us. You didn't have to be very smart to know what he was talking about. My good imagination played a trick on me, scenes of a guy lying on the floor drinking his own blood while Thirteen kept giving him more blows. I felt guilty because this was all for me. I knew I was that girl Hong Kong was talking about as I also knew that my problems were starting to affect Thirteen and I felt pretty bad.

"Yes, he messed with the wrong girl."

   Hong Kong slowly shook his head to the side. His smile exuded amusement, an ironic glow that had rendered me speechless. Thirteen managed to move a little toward him to keep his gaze. He positioned himself with his back to me and when I was afraid to stay behind with the two Hong Kong men, suddenly, I felt a hand catch mine to calm me down. Ironically, this was the first time he had shaken my hand. I couldn't turn off the disappointment of my heart because I really waited for that moment for a long time without realizing it. Fears left me when the warmth of his hand took mine.

   However, my eyes caught an abundant body moving from the corner of my periphery, I slightly turned my neck and it was when all the nerves returned ripping without mercy. The sweat suddenly turned cold as I froze as I saw something shiny and pointed mockingly peek out of the blonde's sleeve.

    When he took a step forward, I knew in that instant his terrifying intentions. His eyes glued to a fixed point on Thirteen's back as his eyes sparkled with anticipation. I really didn't know what to do, not when I knew what was going to happen if I didn't do something. Thirteen was on his back, he was protecting me, he was ignoring two psychopaths so he didn't have to deal with Hong Kong's bloodshot eyes. My chest rose so high that my heart began hammering inside my ear. Taking a rather exaggerated exhalation of air I placed myself in front of him with open palms.

"Don't do it! Are you really planning to take that out here when you have a camera pointed directly at the nape of your neck and another in front of us?" I whispered quite upset. I controlled my tone with concentration but if I could analyze the nuances of my babble I could Successfully deducing that I was truly terrified. The blonde remained impassive at my little hysteria and just then laughed at me. I felt small under his wicked gaze, I opened my mouth to cover an overly revealing gasp.

It was at that moment that Thirteen turned suddenly to make sure with a quick glance that he was fine. Afterward, I watch the blonde glaring at him with so much fury permeated by every detail of his pupils that I cut his laughter abruptly. Thirteen wrinkled his nose and grunted in his direction as he took two steps causing the blonde to back off at the same time colliding with his partner.

"Don't go near her, motherfucker."

    His roar was too aggressive. Her nostrils flared at the strong breaths. His brow furrowed together with his nose. But really, really it was the dilated vein in his neck that could really stand out from the whole scene.

“The wrong girl, huh?” Hong Kong cooed quietly. Thirteen seemed to lose track of the situation for a couple of seconds. He blinked nervously for a couple of seconds but knew how to compose himself skillfully. I didn't even need to look at him to know that he was controlling himself terribly. Her knuckles couldn't be whiter and I could swear her nails were digging deeper and deeper into her palms. When Hong Kong spoke again the air came back to me again. "Let's go, I already got the answer I wanted."

     True to his word, Hong Kong and the other two left when the Asian signaled for them to follow him. The tension returned to me when the blond collided his shoulder with Thirteen's when it passed by him. Thirteen smirked as he moved his leg to sneakily hit his stomach. The blond whimpered weakly intending to turn but his friend dragged him out of his reach.

    When I thought the scare was completely gone a loud scream made me jump in my place.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!"

    I opened my eyes with regret as my mouth closed uneasily. Thirteen was furious. Killing me back. Leaving me more nervous than I already was.

"I don't know," I stuttered. I buffeted, closing my eyes before swallowing hard. "What did you want me to do when I saw I had a screwdriver under my sleeve?" I have acted on impulse, sorry.

    But my attempts to get him to listen to me evaporated as fast as water in the summer. Thirteen remained royal. I knew that deep down it was nothing more than a reprimand for intervening in other people's conversations and also, that I really did not want to behave in this way but I assumed it was due to the constant accumulated tension.

"Damn it, Blair." Hong Kong really isn't a person you can screw with. ”I gasp, forcing myself to calm down before completely losing patience. He slid his palm across her face as he whispered a couple of curses.

"He didn't come to speak and both you and I knew perfectly well. Did you want me to stay on the sidelines when his friend wanted to stab you with that thing? ”I insisted with overwhelming urgency. The sharp point returned to my head causing a terrifying chill.

   Thirteen clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes contemptuously.

"I don't need anyone to defend me," he clarify loudly, rejecting the idea of ​​needing help from someone other than himself.

"Oh, believe me I know." I laughed wryly as I recreated inside my head the memory of him boxing.

"You are too impulsive."

"And you're too dependent." Furious, I let out an agitated sigh. Thirteen raised an eyebrow to declare how unimportant my view of him was. “I know you've probably always solved problems just because you've gotten used to not depending on anyone but this is different. You must tell your friends so that ...

"I'm not going to get you into this," he growled, completely opposing what he had said earlier, drawing out a weary sigh.

"Stop wanting to be alone! Because you don't think of all the people who love you, Lucy, Jimin, Taehyung even though I don't show it very often I think Suga does too. Accepting help from others does not make you a weak person, on the contrary, it only shows that you are strong enough to correct mistakes and find the right solutions”

"And you love me?"

    I was blank for a few seconds when I cut myself off with that question. I blinked uneasily at his direction trying to understand if my ears hadn't really played a shovel at me. Inevitably I began to ask myself, an immediate answer came out, one that, despite being totally confusing, was still secret to me. I mean, yes. I mean, yes. Thirteen mattered to me. He was a good friend and besides, he was always there when he needed it. But...

Those were really the reasons?

"649 report in the direction immediately." When the metallic voice of the intercom broke into gym Thirteen and I turn our eyes to the device hanging on the corner of the wall. Taking advantage of his oversight, I ran away. And I must admit that I felt like a complete coward at the time. But he didn't really blame me, I wasn't ready for that conversation.

"Hello." I greeted Brian cheerfully as I approached the principal's door. He smiled warmly sending me feelings of security and tenderness. My heart skipped a beat. It had been a few days since I saw him and I must admit that I missed those striking green eyes.

"Hello, Blair," I reply back when I finally get in front of him. Despite his smile and his good demeanor I couldn't ignore the tension that was building up on his shoulders. He turned on his side and opened the door. "Come in, they're waiting for you."

   Slightly tilt your head, getting lost in the situation.

"Who?"

   Brian intended to reply, but his mouth was immediately closed when a tall, stout, and dressed man took up my entire field of vision. She frowned in confusion. I briefly looked at Brain who nodded at me nervously.

"Miss London, have a seat please." The director's sudden voice distracted me for a few seconds. Not knowing how to deal with this situation, I decided to sit down and wait for things to clear up.

"What is all this?" Despite the fact that it was the director who had been in front of me, the question was thrown into the air so that both the man from before and the other, who had just seen when I entered the room more, they will take the initiative to speak. There was a brief pause that further condensed the oxygen in the office. The man in the suit took enough authority to stand next to the principal. The sockets of my eyes almost shot out when I managed to visualize the gold plaque hooked on his belt. However, it was different from the regulation in my country. I was much more confused, and worse still, much more scared.

Did they come to tell me about my father's dirty business?

Did they come to threaten me so that I will plead guilty at trial?

"My name is Kim Hyulin, I'm an inspector for the Seoul Police Station Homicide Squad. We came here because we have to ask you some questions." His foreign accent took me by surprise. The alterations that navigated his pronunciation were very similar to those of Thirteen and his friends. Suddenly Hyulin put her hands on the table. Watch the gesture suspiciously. There was something in its tonality that told me that it had not been entirely clear and that there were things to say. His expression was harsh, he frowns enthusiastically trying to scare me but his attempt was in vain. The unnatural wrinkles on the length of his skin gave him the image of a mature man in his forties. However, the other man dressed in a much cheaper suit was young and it was obvious that he was a novice.

"What kind of questions?"

"Limit yourself to answer and you have not asked," the rookie roared with an air of superiority. The contemptuous tone that I use accompanied by a look full of pride bothers me. He was looking at me like I was some trash he had to deal with.

“Answer what?” I breathes out nervously at her planned circumlocutions.

    Hyulin blew out a breath as her lips parted with a snap. I don't like his accusing look. Nor his ways of analyzing my gestures as if from them he will get the answer he so longed for. I glance quickly at his apprentice, who quickly straightened up. Then he spoke:

"Tell me Miss London, how much do you know about Jeon Jungkook?"

next

[remywrites5]

When you have the chance, could you perhaps write some jegulus?

           James was ready. He was absolutely ready. He watched the clock counting down like it was New Year’s Eve. His heart was thrumming in his chest, threatening to break out. Sirius, Remus and Peter had offered to stay up with him but James had waved them off. In case things went sour, he wanted to be able to hide away from his friends. Besides, this felt very personal.

           James was finally going to get his name.

           He stared at the blank space on his wrist, holding his breath. Please be Evans, please be Evans, he begged whatever entity that had made it that you got your soulmate’s name on your wrist on your sixteenth birthday.  He could only hope he would be as lucky as his friends, Sirius getting Remus’ name and hiding it from all of them (except totally spilling the beans to James one night after too much firewhiskey) for months until Remus got his name and proved they were a match.

           His tiny bedside clock sounded so loud as the big hand moved closer to the twelve. A second before and his wrist began to itch in anticipation of the name there. His eyes kept glancing between the clock and his wrist, feeling his brow break out into a nervous sweat. He held his breath as it became March 27th.

           The scrawling name appeared on his arm as if someone were writing their name there. He didn’t even have to wait for the second name to know exactly who he had on his arm.

           “You’ve got to be shitting me!”

                                                           ***

           “James, come on!” Sirius said, grabbing James’ arm. “Why won’t you just tell me who it is?”

           James huffed out a breath. “Because it’s stupid,” he reasoned even as he pulled his sleeve a little lower to hide the name.

           “Mate, it’s your soulmate!” Sirius reasoned, smiling at James encouragingly. “None of us will care who it is.”

           That’s what you think, James thought bitterly.

           “Look, Sirius, not all of us get our best mates as our soulmates,” James said, crossing his arms over his chest, his name now tucked away safely against his side, hidden from view.

           “Aww, is that the problem, Prongs?” Sirius asked teasingly, reaching up and ruffling James’ hair. “Are you sad it wasn’t me?”

           James smacked his hand away. “Just forget about it, alright? I don’t even really believe in that whole soulmate nonsense anyway.” James began walking towards the dungeons and Potions, hoping to get there quickly and not have to talk anymore about this.

           “Bet you would’ve it had been Evans on your wrist,” Sirius said, following after him, never one to be easily dissuaded by anything.

           “How do you know it’s not?” James asked, trying to keep the disappointment out of his tone.

           “Because if it was you would have been waving your wrist in her face until she agreed to go on a date with you.”

           James had to admit he had a point. He had been so ready to prove Lily wrong and show her that they were meant for each other. It turned out the universe had different plans for them. Fuck the universe.

           “Wotcher, Reg,” Sirius said, greeting his brother as he appeared from the Slytherin common room.

           James felt his entire body go stock-still. He stared at Regulus and his breathing went shallow. The lettering on his wrist felt like it was burning. The urge to reach out and touch Regulus was so strong that James had to clamp his hands down by his sides.

           Regulus looked him over as if he were strange, which – fair enough, and then nodded at his brother. As Reg walked away, James felt like there was an invisible string tying them together, growing taut as Reg made his way up the stone steps.

           Fine, maybe the universe had a point.

                                                           ***

           James was going insane and he had to tell someone. It didn’t help that Regulus’ birthday was a whole bloody year away, and it wasn’t as if James could just go up to him and be like “hey, I guess we’re soulmates, wanna snog?” It also didn’t help that he had begun having extremely vivid dreams involving one Regulus Black.

           He couldn’t tell Sirius, for obvious reasons, and he couldn’t tell Peter because if Sirius found out Peter knew he’d get it out of him within an hour. That left Remus as his only option and he at least knew Remus could keep a secret. He just hoped Remus could keep a secret from his soulmate because James really didn’t want Sirius to know.

           “Everything okay, James?” Remus asked kindly as James led him to the secret passage behind the one-eyed-witch. “Is this an unplanned trip to Honeydukes or do you just want somewhere to talk?

           “Talk,” James croaked out. “You can’t tell anyone what I’m about to show you, okay? Not Sirius, not Peter, not anyone. Do you promise?

           “I promise,” Remus said, his mouth pressed into a thin line. James knew Remus didn’t like keeping things from Sirius but he wouldn’t break his promise.

           James sighed and rolled up his sleeve, holding it up so Remus could see. Remus pulled out his wand and did lumos to be able to see. As soon as he read the name, he gasped.

           “No!”

           “Yeah,” James said, tugging his sleeve down. “You can see why I don’t want Sirius to know.”

           Remus chewed his bottom lip. “I don’t know, James. It’s your soulmate. I think Sirius would be supportive.”

           James shook his head emphatically. “Not a word to him, you promised. Fuck, this is a nightmare. I’ve never even spoken to the guy! Well, except to curse him and those other Slytherin tosspots. What am I going to do Moony?”

           Remus gave James a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Maybe talk to him?”

           James looked back at him helplessly. He’d rather go ten rounds with the Whomping Willow.

                                                           ***

           James could do this. He was a Gryffindor for Merlin’s sake. He could talk to Regulus. His wrist itched as he made his way over to Regulus before the Gryffindor versus Slytherin Quidditch match. He was standing in a circle with a few of his team mates and they all stopped talking when James approached them. “Oi, Potter, you looking to get sent to the infirmary?” Avery asked with a smirk, beating his bat against his hand threateningly.

           “Might as well, we’re going to crush you lot today anyway,” Rosier added, elbowing Regulus.

           “Have you got a moment?” James asked, ignoring the others and just looking at Regulus.

           Regulus looked to be debating internally for a moment and then stepped through the circle of his friends to join James.

           “Oi Black, have you lost your mind?” Avery called out.

           “Make it quick,” Regulus said, crossing his arms over his chest. “If this is about Sirius…”

           “Actually,” James said, running his fingers through his hair. “It’s not. I just…I just…”

           “Spit it out, Potter,” Regulus said impatiently.

           James could barely think from the way his body was thrumming with energy from being so close to Regulus. His fingers twitched with the want to touch him. It was so bloody distracting that he’d forgotten everything he’d rehearsed to say. “Will you go to Hodsmeade with me this weekend?” he blurted out without thinking.

           Regulus stared at him as if he had just grown a third eyeball. “Why?” he asked, shoving his hands in his pockets. “So you can get me alone and hex me?”

           “No!” James said quickly, feeling a blush creeping up his neck. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

           “Why, because I’m Sirius’ brother?”

           The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. It was like a slug crawling its way up his throat. He didn’t mean to say it, he really didn’t. “Because you’re my soulmate.”

           Regulus blinked a few times and then shook his head as if to clear it. “Wow, Potter, I knew you were low but this is a new level even for you.”

           “Wait, I –“ James reached for him but Regulus stepped back.

           “Stay the fuck away from me,” Regulus hissed, turning his back and retreating to his friends.

           James wasn’t sure but he could have sworn a few more bludgers flew at his head than usual that game and Regulus wasn’t even a beater. He clearly had told the Slytherin team to target James, not that it was that much different from the other games. Still, James couldn’t help taking it a bit personally after what he’d confessed to Regulus.

           Sirius tried his best to defend James, staying close to him and beating them away with his trained ease. “Jamie, what the fuck?” Sirius hollered over the sound of the crowd. “What did you do, promise a galleon to whichever Slytherin could knock you on your arse?”

           “I didn’t do anything!” James insisted, pushing his glasses up his nose.

           “Are you sure about that mate?” Sirius asked, batting another bludger away. “I’ve never seen Reg look so angry.”

           James found Regulus through the haze of the match, already on the tail of the Snitch. Sirius was right, Regulus looked extremely unhappy. James was so distracted watching him that he didn’t see the bludger sailing right for his face until it was too late. In one quick blow he was knocked off his broomstick and went sailing towards the ground. There was an uncomfortable lurch as someone, a professor most likely, slowed his fall and then everything went dark.

                                                           ***

           James woke up to a lot of shouting, which really was not ideal, considering he’d just suffered a blow to the head. He tried to speak up to alert everyone that he was awake, but his eyes weren’t quite ready to open and his mouth was dry.

           “What is he even doing here?” Came Sirius’ unmistakable voice. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, little brother!”

           “I have as much right to be here as anyone,” a voice, Regulus’ voice, responded calmly. James only recognized it as Regulus because it made his stomach do little flips, which was honestly just fucking annoying at this point.

           “Really?” Sirius snorted. “After you nearly killed Jamie you think you can just come in here – “

           “Sirius,” Remus cut him off. “Just let him stay. He’s not hurting anyone.”

           “He hurt Jamie!” Sirius shot back accusingly. “He and his cronies put James in the infirmary. He wanted this to happen! Probably just some sick joke to get back at me!”

           “Not everything is about you!” Regulus shouted back.

           “Shut it!” James said hoarsely, finally finding his voice. The three of them turned to look at him and then rushed over to his side. “Someone get me a fucking glass of water.”

           Remus rushed off to get him the water, leaving James alone with the Black brothers. They were staring daggers at each other from opposite sides of James’ bed. “Sirius?” James said quietly.

           “What is it, Prongs?” he asked eagerly, shooting Reg a smug look. “What do you need?”

           “Can I have a moment alone with Reg?” James asked, glancing over a Regulus.

           Sirius’ mouth opened and shut a few times and he looked at James as if someone had used the Confundus charm on him because he had clearly lost it. “Fine,” he said, standing up straight. “I’ll go find Remus and help him get the water, shall I?”

           “Thanks Pads,” James said, smiling weakly at his best friend.

           Sirius skulked off, leaving just Regulus and James alone. James wondered if Regulus was feeling anything that he was, the sensation of being drawn together, an automatic pull towards the other person. He supposed not though, considering he hadn’t exactly felt that way about Reg before his name showed up on his arm.

           Regulus was looking James over pensively as if considering something. Gingerly, he slid his fingers over James’ wrist and pushed up his sleeve. “You weren’t lying,” he said quietly, tracing his own name written there.

           “I’m not as much of a bastard as you seem to think,” James informed him with a small smile. “And I know it’ll be another year before you know if we’re a match but –“

           “We’re a match,” Regulus said quietly, still not able to look James in the eye.

           “How do you know?” James asked, managing to sit up. Even with the movement, Regulus didn’t release his wrist.

           “When the bludger hit you and you started to fall, my heart started racing. I thought the damn thing was going to beat out of my chest. That’s never happened to me before.”

           “That doesn’t mean…”

           “I tried to catch you,” Regulus informed him quietly. “I was at the other end of the field and I was inches from the Snitch. I saw you fall and I couldn’t breathe for a moment. The second I could though I was racing after you. I didn’t even question it.”

           “Does that mean you didn’t catch the Snitch?” James asked hopefully. “Did we win?”

           “For fuck’s sake, Potter, is that all you can think about at a time like this?” Regulus snapped at him.

           James laughed and it forced him to get into a bit of a coughing fit. Sirius and Remus arrived with a glass of water, which James drank in almost one go.  Sirius kept looking at Regulus’ fingers, that were wrapped around James’ wrist, hiding the name written there from view. Sirius opened his mouth to say something but Remus touched his arm and led him away before he could.

           “How is this even going to work?” Reg asked quietly. “Even if we wanted it to –“

           “Do you want it to?” James asked softly.

           Regulus huffed out a breath. “Budge over,” he said, crawling in next to James on the bed. “If you tell anyone that we were cuddling, Potter, I’ll have worms coming out of your nose by lunchtime.”

           James chuckled and pulled Reg close. “You wouldn’t curse your innocent soulmate, would you, Reg?”

           “Innocent?” Reg said with a grin. “You haven’t been innocent a day in your life, Potter.”

           “I think, under the circumstances, you could call me James.”

           “Fine, James,” Regulus said, chewing the word as if it tasted strange on his tongue. James wasn’t sure but it felt a little bit like progress. “How’s your head.”

           “Better now,” he said, realizing that as soon as Reg got into the bed with him, his headache had disappeared. “Thanks, Reg.”

           “Thanks for what?” he asked, resting his head on James’ shoulder.

           “For being here,” James told him, resting his cheek on the top of Reg’s head.

           Reg chuckled. “Well, you’re easily pleased, aren’t you?”

           “Only when it comes to you.”

           James’ eyes slipped closed and his breathing evened out, Reg’s weight solid and comfortable next to him. Fine, you win universe, James thought as he drifted off to sleep.

[pass-the-bechdel]

Marvel Cinematic Universe: Avengers: Infinity War (2018)

Does it pass the Bechdel Test?

Yes, once.

How many female characters (with names and lines) are there?

Nine (25.71% of cast).

How many male characters (with names and lines) are there?

Twenty-six.

Positive Content Rating:

Three.

General Film Quality:

For a movie which is pretty much wall-to-wall fight scenes...I love it. I always start out going ‘maybe I overrate this movie, maybe it’s not as good as I remember’, but by the end, I’m right back in there.

MORE INFO (and potential spoilers) UNDER THE CUT:

Passing the Bechdel:

Wanda apologises to Natasha for lying. It’s a close call.

Female characters:

Pepper Potts.

F.R.I.D.A.Y

Gamora.

Mantis.

Wanda Maximoff.

Natasha Romanoff.

Okoye.

Nebula.

Shuri.

Male characters:

Ebony Maw.

Thanos.

Thor.

Loki.

Heimdall.

Bruce Banner.

Stephen Strange.

Wong.

Tony Stark.

Peter Parker.

Ned.

Peter Quill.

Rocket.

Drax.

Groot.

Vision.

Steve Rogers.

Sam Wilson.

The Collector.

Thaddeus Ross.

James Rhodes.

T’Challa.

Bucky Barnes.

Eitri.

Red Skull.

M’Baku.

OTHER NOTES:

Heimdall had proven himself too much of an MVP in previous films to be allowed to live in this one. Bastards.

Heimdall and Loki, both dead before the opening titles. That’s how you know this movie means business, it’s not faking at high stakes.

I also am from space and have come here to steal a necklace from a wizard.

“Mr Stark, it smells like a new car in here!”

“All words are made up.”

Not gonna lie, when I saw this at the cinema and I realised that Captain America had arrived? My heart LEAPT. It was intense.

Depressed Thor is a great touch - after all previous films with Thor had him so bland, and then Ragnarok made him funny but essentially glossed over any of the difficult emotions it was dredging up, I’m glad to finally get something real and meaty from the character. If characters go through all manner of Hell and don’t show any signs of labouring under that weight, you’re doing character development wrong.

Nice callback with Red Skull.

The sacrifice of Gamora on Vormir is a really well-balanced piece; it was asking a lot, to make the emotion of it land despite how little of Thanos we’ve seen before, and without genuine emotion at it’s core it’s just the killing off of a female character for shock value. I feel like they got the pitch just right (most thanks to the music).

As much as I enjoy Thor and Rocket’s bantering, the side-quest for Stormbreaker feels like an unnecessary and over-the-top distraction in an already stuffed-full film. Easily the weakest part of the plot.

The fact that Quill fucks everything up with defeating Thanos on Titan because he can’t keep himself under control for two seconds certainly does not endear him to me in the slightest. Like ok, you’re upset, but if you can’t stop yourself from getting violent that’s on you, that makes you a dangerous person with serious issues, that’s not normal and it’s not ok. Also, literally half of all life in the universe was at stake. So there’s that.

Listen, I’m very susceptible to heroism (and that’s why superhero movies work for me), so every time someone comes to someone else’s rescue, I have feelings. 

I had convinced myself that somehow, Thanos wouldn’t succeed with his whole plan in this movie, that he would get all the stones but that he would like, go to a special place or something before enacting his plan, so that the good guys would have a chance to regroup and race to stop him before it was too late, all that jazz. So (even though Thanos had already snapped at that point), when Bucky Barnes disintegrated before our very eyes, I was SHOCKED. That got me like a smack in the face.

Considering I’ve never really been a fan of Tom Holland’s Spider-man, it’s a credit to his work that Peter’s death scene is so effective. That’s acting.

So, what makes this movie work despite being so heavy with bombastic action? The short answer is: it’s because the good guys lose. I’ve made no secret of being a fan of the ‘hour darkest before the dawn’ in storytelling, so this is playing to the sweet spot for me there, but it’s not as simple as just making everything miserable and hopeless. In this case, specifically, the lead-up to that ultimate failure is key; it’s gotta still feel like a superhero extravaganza, even as it takes an increasingly dark turn. The action works because it’s part of what we signed up for (the best camouflage for subversions of the traditional model), and it works because it’s all carrying the story forward - the Infinity War is comprised of multiple battles, and because of the way the pieces of the narrative are separated, the characters don’t know how any of the other battles are turning out; everyone is just trying to fight what’s in front of them and defend the stone in their midst, they don’t have the option to sit around doom-and-glooming and restrategising as news of each defeat comes in. Rather than dragging us wholesale from Point A to B to C in ever-escalating stakes and complications, the writers have had the good sense to spread things out and let things fall apart for our heroes (and the universe) in multiple smaller pieces until they reach a cumulative critical mass. Consequently, instead of feeling as though we’re sitting there watching things go from bad to worse, the audience forms this false sense of security in the action; it’s a superhero movie, after all. We expect them to work it all out in the end, to build toward a moment of apparent hopelessness (a darkest hour before the dawn), and then to rally triumphantly for the big win. As such, we perceive small victories (i.e. the defeat of Thanos’ various ‘children’, the creation of Stormbreaker, the way things draw out in the battle on Titan) as if they are more significant, as if they are signs leading us to that big win; without those small, expected victories, the ultimate failure would not hit as hard, because after two and a half hours of watching the good guys get wrecked without a chance, what surprise would there be in the snap?

Of course, plenty of viewers knew about the snap already or expected an ultimate failure of some sort based on the fact that we pretty much all knew that this was the first half of our grand Avengers finale (my mother, who is not a superhero movie fan, did not know what she was getting into and was...very shocked), so it’s important that the film still works to engage us on a character level so that the good guys losing in the end can hit like a ton of bricks even if you knew it was coming (and even though you no doubt expected to get the big win eventually, once Endgame came out). After all the fighting and the bantering, all the usual stuff we expect to see our heroes go through in the course of an average adventure, having them then watch their beloved friends/allies/whatever literally disintegrate before their eyes in a quiet, drawn out scene of devastation is a magnificent piece of cinema, communicating the shock not only of the event itself, but of the complete disruption to the superhero status quo. It’s not just that good guys don’t lose like this, it’s that they don’t lose with a whimper instead of a a bang. It’s not only that the cost of failure has never been this high; it’s also that they have never been forced to watch it play out with such inevitability; they have never before been rendered so powerless. If the entire film had the tone of the last ten minutes, it wouldn’t work so well, it’d just be a drudge and the audience would be desensitised by the end. By the same token, if the rest of the film had not planted the seeds of the finale so thoroughly in all its smaller losses and smokescreen victories, the ending would not be so horrifically fitting.

Neither, of course, would the ending be so affecting, if we were not as attached to the characters as we are. We have many, many films worth of history with most of them, or at least one solid encounter in which to become attached, and even in a movie chock-full of more characters than any other before, everyone gets a chance to show their personality and remind us why we care if they live or die. I’m not going to argue for this being an incredible character piece (nor is it pretending to be one), but it plays its very large hand very well, putting emphasis where it needs to be without overloading or unbalancing the story. As I noted above, I was particularly impressed with the way Thanos was handled, considering our exposure to him previously was very minimal and it was left up the this film to build his ethos as well as his relationships with his ‘children’ almost from scratch, creating complexity and simplicity without falling into the trap of trying to make the villain sympathetic; Thanos isn’t necessarily relatable (nor does he need to be), but he is understandable in that we’ve all probably encountered at least one person who holds the same limited worldview and is somehow convinced that they could ‘fix’ everything, given the power. Thanos isn’t actually aiming for universal domination in the traditional sense, and it makes him more disturbing and more realistic as a villain, because his evil is not nebulous or purely self-serving; he is a true believer, and his delusions have an all-too-familiar ring about them, so as we watch him lumber and pontificate around the story, we get a clearly-drawn image of someone possessed of such basic and humble flaws that he is - again, without being treated as sympathetic - quite significantly humanised, despite all of the non-human elements that make up both his character, and his situation. Even as it planet-hops and draws upon cosmic magic, the narrative is grounded by a centrepiece of plain, ungodly fallibility. 

Now, I recognise that in all of this praise for the way this film was executed, there isn't really anything to be said for it regarding the purpose of this blog; on the female representation front, it's not really doing anything (the fact that it juuust manages to pass the Bechdel and juuust over a quarter of its cast is female does not win it brownie points; its better than not having either of those things, but that's not a genuine achievement). The two female characters who were more prominently positioned in this movie are Gamora and Wanda; Gamora largely in context of her relationship with Thanos, and Wanda as Vision’s significant other and the means of his destruction. Notably, both women’s arcs are accessories to the arcs of male characters, which is not what we’re aiming for in good representation, though it does not exclude the possibility of quality content; Gamora’s role may have a lot to do with Thanos (not least, after he kills her), but it is still distinctly her own story, rich with emotion and coming to a surprising and depressing end which I felt struck the right chords to be compelling rather than an enraging disposal of one of the few female characters around (more on this after Endgame). Wanda’s presence leaves less of an impression, in terms of screen time, plot complication, and audience engagement, but all things considered I don’t think that was a terrible choice; Wanda and Vision’s relationship had been a somewhat sparse subplot in previous films and the chemistry was not strong, so I don’t think it would have been to the film’s benefit to try and expand on that relationship further than they did. As it was, there was enough there to sell the emotion, and nothing extraneous, and as much as I enjoy this movie, I wish I could say better things for its female representation than that. It is stuffed-full, and definitely not perfect, and space could have been made to pump up some of the other female characters’ roles more (the Earthbound characters get the least attention in the movie, and since basically all my faves are there it is a testament to how well this movie works for me that I enjoy it so much anyway, but a little more attention there would not have gone astray, especially since that’s where most of the female cast is). That said...I still really enjoy it, man. As far as popcorn action goes, this is top shelf.

[anistarrose]

Fateful Detours - Ch. 3 (Gravity Falls x Infinity Train)

Summary: Memories are relived, conversations are had, and two journeys come to an end.

Warnings: flashbacks to Filbrick being an abusive father, non-graphic descriptions of pain/injury

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20331070/chapters/48205837

(The Beginning) (The Middle)

Here we are at the final chapter! This has been a very fun crossover to write, and this chapter is easily my favorite in the whole fic.

(Do note that the content warnings have gotten a little heavier for this chapter, but it’s no darker than the Gravity Falls canon.)

***

Stan wasn’t sure what to expect when he looked at the TV. The Cat had said it contained everything that made Ford Ford, so some part of his mind couldn’t help but imagine a swirling vortex of sketch-filled journals and science textbooks, of broken inventions and bitter parting words.

But instead, he found himself standing in a plain white hallway, staticked-out silhouettes flickering on every wall. Some were abstract, like random interference, but others felt more familiar, like compasses or bags of snack food. Or like a ship’s mast with two makeshift flags hung from it.

Stan checked his hand, and saw that his number was still there.

81

“Ford?” he called out. “Are you in here?”

Not only was there no response, but the sound of the static grew a little louder, as if trying to drown out his voice.

“Couldn’t be that easy, huh,” he muttered as he set off down the hallway. “I’ll just have to find him myself, then.”

At the end of the room was a wall of pure static, crackling and roaring incomprehensibly. But for a moment, Stan could swear he heard familiar voices conversing on the other side, and as they faded out, he put his ear up to the wall to listen more closely —

His hand ever so slightly brushed the surface, and it immediately collapsed under the pressure, its strange gravity dragging him through the ripples of static and into a bright, colorful scene. Stan’s head spun, and it took him a moment to get his bearings — but there Ford was, he realized, just down the stairs and in front of him with his back turned. Safe and sound, and rubbing his chin like he was conscious and alert.

Just as Stan was about to speak up, two hushed voices beat him to the punch. They came from a pair of familiar figures just a few feet in front of Ford…

It was Stan and Ford themselves, aged eleven, standing in front of their middle school lockers.

“C’mon, Sixer! No one will notice, I guarantee it!”

“But if we do get caught, they’ll give us failing grades for sure! It’s a big risk to take…”

Young Stan made pleading eyes. “Please? I’m going to fail math anyway if we don’t try something…”

“Alright,” young Ford agreed reluctantly, taking his glasses off and handing them over to Stanley. “I’ll take your math test.”

Stan suppressed a chuckle as he watched the younger version of his brother squint awkwardly as he adjusted to the lack of glasses, but the real Ford just shook his head with a sigh.

“Selfish as always,” he muttered, and the scene changed.

Stan and Ford, aged fifteen, stood outside the local movie theater. Both of them were sorting through their pockets for change, and neither was coming up with much of anything.

“I’ve only got enough for one ticket.”

“Same here.”

“And you want to waste it on some raunchy comedy we’d have to lie about our ages to even get into?”

“If the only other option is some over-the-top sci-fi flick, then yeah! I do!”

“Stan, I have been waiting the better part of three years for this movie! I’ve been theorizing about the plot for three years, and if you think I’m not going to see it opening night —”

Stan threw an arm over Ford’s shoulder. “It’s gonna be packed opening night, Ford. You really want to see the first screening, where all the other rabid fans are there and talking so loud that you can hardly hear the actors?”

Ford frowned. “I don’t know…”

“And what did we end up doing?” the real Ford asked, shaking his head. “Seeing his choice of movie! Because he only ever cared about himself, and I just went along with it!”

As Ford waved his hands in the air, Stan caught a glimpse of his number shooting up:

225

257

288

340

…

“I went along with it,” Ford repeated, “until…”

Their surroundings wavered, sidewalk morphing into carpet as street lights flickered and turned into familiar lamps from the Pines family household.

“No.” Ford shook his head. “Not this, not again…”

361

In a burst of static, the scene shifted once again, this time to a high school hallway.

“...Sixer? You okay?” Stan choked out.

Ford didn’t even look away from the memory.

Skipping class, getting caught sneaking out of the school, being sent to detention.

“He always just dragged me down,” Ford growled.

381

Working on the boat instead of studying for an upcoming chemistry exam.

“I should’ve cut him off a long time ago.”

415

Two science fair projects sitting side by side — one, a non-functional robot, the other, an invention that should’ve revolutionized the world.

“I always knew that I’d be better off without him.”

472

491

518

“So that’s really what you think about me,” Stan whispered. Ford gave no sign of having heard him.

He reached for Ford’s hand, but without even turning around, Ford swatted him away.

550

And Stan…

Stan had been prepared for Ford not to forgive him. Stan had been prepared to drag Ford out kicking and screaming.

He hadn’t been prepared to hear that Ford had never wanted him around in the first place.

“You know what?” he shouted. “FINE!!”

It wasn’t fine, no matter how loud he screamed that it was.

“You can be better off without me right here, in this fucked up horror movie television, for the rest of all eternity! See if I care!!”

Ford didn’t flinch.

“SEE IF I CARE!” Stan repeated, whirling around and storming off towards the edge of the memory.

He didn’t look at his hands, but if he had, he would’ve seen his number jumping up:

106

160

195

He didn’t look back at Ford either, but if he had, he would’ve seen that Ford’s number was no longer visible, because his hands and arms had become obscured by a shifting pattern of static.

“I never needed him,” Ford mumbled, his voice crackling with interference. “I never needed anyone.”

Everything was white, and everything was blurry. It was white because Stan had at some point, without realizing it, made his way back to that first empty hallway he’d found himself in, and it was blurry because he had long since given up on trying not to sob.

He knew, instinctively, that from this room he could leave whenever he wanted simply by willing it to happen, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He may have been a liar through and through, sometimes out of selfishness and sometimes out of necessity, but he’d told the Cat the truth. If he left Ford here, he’d never forgive himself.

He slumped to the ground, pulling his knees close to his chest. Years ago, his mother had told him that dwelling on an issue would always be more painful, in the long run, than any choice you could make to try and change the situation — and after he’d gotten kicked out, he’d tried his best to take that advice to heart, and focus on things he could do to turn his life around.

But now, he wasn’t so sure her advice rang true. He only had two choices — trying to find Ford again and save him, or abandoning him for good, and he knew both of them would just hurt him more than he could ever possibly bear.

Everything hurt. Every happy memory he’d once desperately longed to relive just hurt now, corrupted by the knowledge that Ford had never really been happy in them. That Ford had never truly wanted him around.

Even back during the happiest summer of their lives, when they’d discovered —

Stan covered his ears as a burst of static rang through the room like a clap of thunder. Still sitting on the ground, he turned to face the wall he’d previously had his back to…

And there it was again — the silhouette of a ship’s mast that he’d glimpsed on the way in, two children’s t-shirts flying from it like flags. But this time, the whole ship below it was visible too, bobbing up and down as choppy waves of static battered its hull.

Stan outstretched a hand towards it, his number obscured beneath his palm, and a blast of salty ocean air struck him in the face as the world exploded into color.

He stood on the bow of the Stan O’ War — the completely repaired, seaworthy Stan O’ War, its deck polished and cabin furnished — and faced a tropical coastline, dotted with emerald palm trees and surrounded by vivid pink coral reefs. A colossal volcano rose above the horizon, with a plume of smoke and ash lazily drifting away from the crater at the top, and beneath the crystal-clear waves Stan could spot a pair of sea turtles following the ship, keeping their distance but eyeing it curiously.

Which was all very confusing, because Stan couldn’t remember visiting a place like this and was fairly certain Ford hadn’t either…

The moment that thought popped into his head, his surrounding began to change. Colors grew less vivid, his depth perception failed him, and shadows vanished altogether as the scene reverted to a cartoonish state, complete with dialogue bubbles and sound-effects written out in familiar handwriting.

Stan stood in the pages of a comic book he’d drawn eight long years ago, currently held by the memory of a ten-year-old Ford.

“You really think we’ll get to go on adventures like this one day?” Ford asked, but he didn’t sound skeptical. If anything, he sounded wistful, like he wanted to believe it.

The young Stan from the memory watched with a satisfied smile as Ford flipped through the comic. “I don’t think it. I know it.”

The scene shifted, and Stan found himself kneeling on the beach, watching his younger self hammer nails into a plank on the boat while Ford held it in place. Both of them looked sweaty and exhausted, yet also… so, so happy.

“Wherever we go,” the young Ford declared like a mantra, “we go together.”

From somewhere not quite within the memory, Stan heard the sound of a distorted gasp.

Kneeling on the opposite side of their younger selves and watching them intently was the real Ford — except now, only his face was visible, while the rest of his body was awash with static. The pattern flickered erratically, branched and jagged patterns of lightning bolts crackling within it, but Ford seemed oblivious to everything except the events playing out in the memory in front of him.

“We were both so happy,” he whispered, eyes flickering between the two younger twins as they pressed their hands together in a high-six. “What changed?”

“Stanford, we — we’ve gotta get you out of here,” Stan choked out. “I don’t know what’s happening to you, but it —”

Ford’s head snapped up to look at Stan, to really look at him for the first time since they’d entered his memories, with a incredulity in his eyes that suggested he was only just now realizing that the real Stan was in there with him.

“This isn’t right,” Ford mumbled — and initially, Stan flinched, assuming the words were directed at him. But a moment later, the speed of the memory accelerated to a dizzying blur, fast-forwarding to more scenes familiar to both twins.

Stan going to Ford’s gym class while Ford took his math test, and coming home with a black eye but also a smile on his face, because he’d given a couple of Ford’s bullies the kicks in the shins that they’d deserved.

Stan and Ford staying in the theater after watching Stan’s choice of comedy flick, and sneaking into the second showing of the sci-fi movie Ford had been anticipating for so long. Dodging the worst of the crowds, and having a great time in both with the theaters practically all to themselves.

Making the most of detention together, passing notes behind the teacher’s back.

With each memory, the static covering Ford receded further, first leaving his hair and then his shoulders and arms. He stared down at his hand, waiting for it too to become clear again and reveal the number on his palm —

Just as the receding line of static reached his wrist, the scene shifted one more time. They stood in a familiar living room, lit only by the pale blue light of a television…

“The argument,” Ford whispered.

Stan felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, as the static shot back up to Ford’s shoulders.

In the memory, Ford stormed into the room, waving a crumpled bag of toffee peanuts in the air as he stared daggers at Stan. “Can you explain what this was doing next to my broken project?!”

And Stan sneered back at him, throwing his paddleball to the ground where it snapped in two. “College dreams are ruined, huh? Guess you’ve got no choice but to go sailing now!”

The TV behind Ford exploded, glass shattering as bolts of blue electricity arced from wall to wall. The whole room trembled as sparks and smoke filled the air, and both the Ford from the memory and the Ford cloaked in static stumbled as they tried to step away from the searing rays of plasma —

“Sixer!” Stan grabbed Ford’s hand, and a jolt of electricity ran up his arm, sending black and white pixels flickering across his vision. “Ford, are you the one doing this?!”

Ford hung limp in the air, suspended in place where Stan had caught him halfway through a fall. The spot where their hands met burned like nothing Stan had ever felt before, like the static was trying to creep up his own veins and into his own body, to unmake him and rewrite him and embitter him from the inside out — but all Stan could bring himself to do was tighten his grip, as he watched a crack snake through the floor beneath Ford’s feet.

“You’ve got to stop this, Ford! This isn’t what happened!”

The whole room shuddered as the crack split open, revealing a massive chasm of static with no bottom in sight. Ford staggered backwards, the ground beneath him crumbling as more and more glowing white cracks zigzagged through it — but before he could topple backwards and fall, Stan used his free hand to grab him by the collar of his staticked-out shirt.

It felt less like he was grabbing something material and more like he was sticking his hand in a fire, but he still pulled Ford closer, until he could wrap an arm around Ford’s back.

“And what really happened wasn’t great, either — it was awful — but I never wanted it to happen, I swear! I’m so sorry, Ford — I never wanted to ruin your dreams, and I don’t want to lose you in here, either! These aren’t your real memories, and — and I know how lying to yourself feels like it’ll hurt less, but in the long run, it… it doesn’t. I promise!”

His arms went numb, and his vision began to fade as something wet sizzled and evaporated on his cheek.

“And if you still want to be mad at me, I — I can’t blame you. But be mad at me for what I really did! Be mad at me when you’re safe at home, or at college, or wherever you end up in life — not in here! Please, Ford, let me help you get out of this place…”

He heard a voice, close to his ear but garbled by static.

“Ford? You with me?”

Ford tried again, and though it was quieter this time, it came out comprehensible.

“Was it me who changed?”

“Ford, we… we both fucked up. I should’ve just told you about breaking the machine as soon as it happened — then you might’ve been able to fix it…”

The burning feeling began to subside, and the crumbling living room reassembled itself as the scene playing out inside started over.

“I might’ve accidentally been… horsing around…”

“This was no accident, Stan! You did this!”

“I still should’ve believed you,” Ford mumbled, stepping back from Stan as he stared at the memory. The static dropped below his collar, then below his shoulders.

“Maybe there's a silver lining, huh? Treasure hunting?”

“Are you kidding me? Why would I want to do anything with the person who sabotaged my entire future?!”

“And I shouldn’t have brought up the boat like that!” Stan told him. “I shouldn’t have joked about it! I didn’t realize how — how important that school on the other side of the country was to you, but now I do…”

Both twins flinched as they watched Filbrick enter the memory, grabbing Stan by his shirt.

“I should’ve stood up to Dad!” Ford went on, his head in his hands. “I never should’ve let him kick you out —”

“You know you wouldn’t have been able to change his mind.” Stan stared at the ground. “I should’ve known that, instead of blaming you for not taking my side…”

“I never wanted to cut ties with you, Stan.” The static receded even further as Ford spoke, dropping down to the level of his belt. “Not when I wanted to go to West Coast Tech, and not even after the argument — but when Dad threw you out, I convinced myself that I never wanted to see you again. That you’d always just been dragging me down — because it was easier to believe that.”

He took a deep breath. “Being angry at someone you hate… it’s so much easier than being angry at someone you love, even if you really do love that person. Without that contradiction making you second-guess every feeling you have, it’s so much simpler, so much easier to bear…”

The scene flickered, changing to a memory that Stan had never seen before. It was from after he’d gotten kicked out, he realized.

Ford sat on the stairs of Pines Pawns, slouching and glowering at the floor as he listened to Filbrick and Caryn arguing.

“He’s seventeen! Teenagers ruin things, it’s what they do! You didn’t have to ruin his whole life to punish him!” Caryn shouted.

“That freeloader has been ruining the smart one for years!” Filbrick shot back. “Done nothing but drag his brother down their whole lives, and it’s about time we cut him off!”

He whirled around, and noticed Ford watching them. “Right, Stanford? Weren’t you tired of going along with every harebrained scheme that popped into his head? Of doing all his math homework? Of humoring him, when he said he wanted to sail around the world? Wasn’t it suffocating?!”

Ford didn’t say anything, but he gave a half-hearted nod before trudging back up to his room.

Outside of the memory, the real Ford spoke up. “No, Dad. It wasn’t.”

As the last few pixels of static covering his feet disappeared, he turned to Stan and outstretched his arms for a embrace. “I missed you, Stanley.”

Stan accepted the hug without a second thought. “I missed you too, Sixer,” he whispered.

Waves of static washed over the room for one last time, and when they subsided, Stan was once again kneeling on the floor of the Cat’s car. The Cat herself still stood on the other end of the room, hissing quietly when she noticed Stan awaken.

“Ford, are you okay?” Stan stood up and turned around, and to his relief, Ford was sitting up straight — and staring at his hand, as it shone a brighter green than it ever had before.

And so was Stan’s hand, as it whirled through number after number far too quickly to read. For the first time, it felt warm — not warm like the burn from the static, but warm like hot chocolate and lazy summers and companionship, warm in a way Stan hadn’t felt in months.

0Two beams of light shot up from Stan and Ford’s hands in unison, and on each side of the room, one half of a door appeared, outlined in green and slowly sliding together. When they met, a familiar golden vortex appeared and two columns of light sprouted from it, coiling around each other like a double helix as they stretched upwards and out of the train.

And visible inside the door, clear as day, was the Stan O’ War — right where they’d left it, filthy from months of neglect but still salvageable. Still not that far from seaworthy, in the grand scheme of things.

“Oh,” Ford mumbled. “Of course. That’s really far more simple than anything I theorized about the numbers…”

He turned to Stan. “Are… are you ready to leave?”

Stan gave him a thumbs up. “Wherever we go, we go together.”

As he followed Ford towards the exit, he turned around one last time. “Hey, Cat? We won’t miss you.”

Ford didn’t bother to turn around, but he did wave a double middle finger in the Cat’s direction, which Stan chuckled at. The two of them stood side by side at the door for a moment, both in the awkward position of waiting for the other to go first.

Then Ford smiled. “High six?” he asked, raising his palm with the zero on it.

“High six,” Stan agreed, and they stepped though the portal with their hands pressed together.

***

“You know, this is a little ironic,” Ford commented shortly after removing himself from the sand dune he’d faceplanted in. “Just before the exit showed up, I was thinking about how I was actually looking to exploring more of the train, since I’d have you by my side.”

“Oh, good. We both remember it,” Stan replied, spitting out sand. “I was always kind of wondering in the back of my mind if it was a hallucination. Also, that’s the sappiest thing I’ve heard all day, and I said some really sappy stuff back there.”

Ford ignored the second half of his remark. “Well, even if our memories failed us, we’ve also got physical proof backing up the experience…”

He pulled out the device he’d stolen from the Cat, which was still glowing and reacting to both their voices and the ambient sounds of the beach. “I need to thank you for that time you tried to teach me to pickpocket, by the way. The train had a lot of advanced technology that I want to try and replicate, and it’s going to be a lot easier with an actual example to take apart.”

“Oh shit, you stole something? Ford, I have never been a prouder brother in my life.”

Ford chuckled. “It might be a tad unethical, but after some basic study I could probably claim to have ‘invented’ this, and use the funds from selling the patent to afford the tuition to a nicer college than Backupsmore. I do still want to spend some years studying and working on a higher education, but… I hope you’ll keep in touch when I do. It’ll be a lot less fun without you around.”

He rested a hand on the Stan O’ War. “And in the meantime, while I work on reverse engineering this technology… I think there’ll definitely be some time for some boat repair and treasure hunting.”

“Poindexter, your hand is in seagull shit. Better add ‘boat cleaning’ to that list.”

“Ugh, you’re right. At least it’s dry.” Ford carefully moved his hand to a less dirty spot on the boat. “So, that’s a yes to the treasure hunting?”

“Oh, you know it.”

***

Afterword:

Using the sensor stolen from the Cat, Ford invents a new type of sonar that’s significantly more effective than the current versions. With that technology, the boys track down a bunch of shipwrecks, and start getting famous for their discoveries and “invention.”

When Filbrick hears about this and realizes that his sons are on a track to fame and fortune and not sharing any of it with him, he’s initially furious but then tries to approach them and ask them to let him back into their lives, which they refuse. (Caryn divorces him soon after, and Shermie cuts ties around the same time. None of them ever send him money.)

Thanks to his work, Ford wins a scholarship to a well-respected university — it’s not quite West Coast Tech, but it’s also a lot nicer than Backupsmore. He opts not to take classes in summer even though they’d help him graduate faster, and spends all his breaks sailing with Stan.

Stan does get a little bored during the school year when Ford is busy, but Ford notices and suggests he start drawing comics again. Stan is hesitant and a little insecure at first but eventually starts honing his art more and brainstorming plotlines with occasional input from Ford. Using some connections he made in treasure hunting press interviews, he eventually gets a deal to have a short comic series published — then it turns into a huge success, and his comics (loosely based of his and Ford’s childhood) get picked up for many more issues.

Somewhere along the line they become friends with Fidds, probably thanks to some inter-school technology fair where he and Ford both competed, and eventually the gang heads to Oregon to investigate the anomalies concentrated in a town called Gravity Falls. Bill shows up at some point and tries to pull some characteristically Bill bullshit, but he’s no match for a pair of twins that have actually developed some half-decent communication skills. Many more years down the line, Dipper and Mabel’s childhood is full of visits from their famous scientist/explorer/artist grunkles.

***

Thank you for joining me on this crazy train ride! All your responses have meant a lot to me, and I know I’ll look back on this experience fondly (even if it was a lot shorter than my multichapter fics tend to be).

[sabrinaleethings]

Ten Days of SiMarkus with Sabrina!

Day One: Coffee

“Good morning, Carl.” RK200’s voice was velvet smooth as he reached to open the blinds. Autumn’s golden sunlight poured in through the bedroom windows, leaving everything in its path warmed and highlighted.

The quick unveiling of the unforgiving sunlight made the older man groan with an exaggerated irritance. Carl slowly opened his eyes as barely audible words slurred from his lips.

The android turned to face the man in bed, the sun behind him casted a halo around his clean shaven head, and his emerald eyes seemed to sparkle in the glow.

“It’s November twenty-fifth, currently sixty-two degrees fahrenheit” The android started. As he continued, he slowly made his way to the bedside of artist and father-figure, Carl Manfred. “Temperatures might reach sixty-eight degrees today, with possible rain showers later this evening.” The frail man groaned and rubbed his face with his hands, the sun reflected off of his tattoos that circled like serpents up his forearms. “You have no scheduled meetings today, though it is recommended that you return a few of those calls to the auctioneers that you’ve been so vocal about ignoring.”  

Through lazy fingers and a scrunched brow, Carl sighed. “What would I do without ya, Markus.”

The android shifted on the bed, his eyes scanned the bedside table as he calculated how much medicine needed to be administered that particular morning.

The android reached for the CyberSyringe and opened his other palm. “May I have your arm, Carl?”

The human removed his hands from his face and stared at his android. “If I say no?”

Markus chuckled and then sighed at the man’s no doubt attempt at sarcasm.

“I’d have to force you then, Carl. We both know who’d win that one.” Markus winked, and received a light laugh in response.

“True that, son. True that.” The man’s eyes burned into the android as he finished up administering the medicine. “Humans are such fragile creatures. It still shocks me how I’ve made it this long.”

Markus was used to this kind of conversation coming from Carl. Recently though, it’s been more frequent than not and to his surprise, it worried him a little.

“It’s because you’ve been so good at taking your medication. Nothing wrong with a little outside help.” The android put the high-tech syringe back in the drawer and stood. “No-one’s born perfect.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s so.”

The android moved to roll over Carl’s wheelchair, his feet were silent on the carpet as he neared the bedside once more.

“Time to ‘sieze the day!’, right Carl?”

The man smiled. His whole face lifted at the happiness that lightened his otherwise old and disheveled features. Markus felt the very odd urge to paint him. To keep that kind of happiness forever.

“Right, Markus.” The android bent over and in one fluid motion transferred the older man to his chair. “You know, sometimes I think you’re a little more human than the rest of us.” His voice was quite and slurred, but Markus’ advanced hearing hardware heard it perfectly.

I wish, the android thought to himself.

…

The stroll to the kitchen was nothing short of programming perfection. For the past four years, every morning, save for the few accounts that Carl was too sick to make it out of bed, Carl and his android walked the same path from the bedroom, to the bathroom, to the kitchen precisely at the same time every day.

Though for Markus, today - November twenty-fifth - things felt different to him. The ride through the front hallway enchanted him in a way he’d never experienced before. Carl’s paintings on the wall felt alive to him, silly because he knew he shouldn’t be feeling anything, but the amazement was still there. The taxidermied giraffe and pouncing wolf near the dining room entrance left the android in a foggy mental haze, as if his processors were barely working. Wild animals in the states had been extinct for decades now, and it only made Markus feel more hollow, and saddened that humans could ruin such a beautiful thing.

Apparently, Carl noticed too. “You alright there Markus?” The man turned slightly in his chair to face the android.

Markus blinked rapidly as if to clear the mental sluggishness, his LED spun gold for barely a second before beaming blue again. “Of course, Carl.”

Back to their normal pace, Markus pushed the human up to the end of the dining room table before padding away to the kitchen to cook up breakfast.

“If there’s something on your mind, you know you can tell me, right?” The human’s voice was soft, and suggestive. No demand, no order, if Markus wanted to tell him, he had the option to. He had the opportunity like a human to decide. It- confused him.

“I appreciate your concern, Carl. I’m alright.” The android smiled a synthetic grin at the man and began to pull ingredients out of the cupboards to make breakfast.

After the eggs and all of it’s toppings were being cooked in a pan, the android set to brewing a cup of coffee for Carl.

“It looks like I need to go shopping. After today, you’re going to be all out of coffee, eggs, and other various items.”

The human nodded, his attention was focused on the news coverage blaring through the television.

“After breakfast you can go, then.”

Markus ground the coffee, and placed it in the filter to be brewed. After turning the pot on, the android turned to serving the food. “I could just order it and have it delivered if you want.”

A plate of two scrambled eggs, topped with onion, low fat cheese, diced broccoli, and other spices was presented to the painter.

“No no- I’ll be fine. Fresh air might do you some good anyhow.”

The android nodded and proceeded pour a steaming cup of coffee. Two sugars, and no milk- just as Carl prefers.

“As you wish Carl, after I get things cleaned up from breakfast I can make the trip.” The older man nodded as he shoveled egg into his face. “Would you like me to get you anything else while I’m out?”

Carl patted his mouth dry with a napkin and turned off the television. “I think I’m gonna need more linseed oil if I ever wanna get this painting finished.” The android’s LED flickered golden as he made a mental note.

“You got it.” The android smiled and began to clean the pots and pans used to make breakfast. Strangely enough, Markus found that he actually enjoyed making Carl breakfast. Programming and software aside, the android was content, and always pleased to help the human whenever he can.

Once the cleaning was done, he cleared Carl’s plate (he opted to keep sipping at the coffee as he worked), and moved the artist to his studio.

Just before turning to leave, Carl’s voice stopped him. “You take your time today, Markus. Enjoy the sunshine, take a walk, take it easy.”

The android’s synthetic skin warmed at the care in the man’s voice.

“I won’t be long.” The android smiled and tapped his temple with his finger. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Yeah, yeah…” His voice disappeared into the clatter and clanking of glass jars as he began to prep his workstation to paint.

The android turned on his heel and headed out into the busy streets of Detroit, leaving the human artist in his own little world of color and peace.

…

Tuesdays had always been the best time to go shopping, Markus concluded. His sneakers scuffed the dirty pavement as he strutted down a near empty sidewalk.

Tuesdays were the least busy in town, and thus gave him the lowest probability of being stopped or berated by angry human protestors in the streets.

It had only happened a handful of times in the past, but the most recent encounter the android had with an angry human, landed him in CyberLife urgent care with a fractured skull plate and memory corruption. Carl was also left with a few hundred dollars left in his bank account.

The android sighed and surveyed his surroundings. First stop would be the paint shop, and the farthest he’d have to travel to pick up all of the necessary supplies Carl needed.

The bright neon lights and reflections from the sun made the open glass windows of Bellini Paints sparkle and shine. It was also easily Markus’ favorite place to go- it was always empty and there was always just a single CyberLife android employee working the counter.

After wirelessly depositing money into the account of the employee, the android left the paint shop with two bags filled with supplies. Carl had told him to get the linseed oil, but the android also knew the painter well enough that he was running out of yellow oil paint and blank canvass.

There was also a sale on brushes and finishing spray, that the android opted to stock up on those as well. Surely Carl would be pleased at the deal.

Markus’ lip slightly curled into a half smile as he imagined the joy his human would feel when he would be presented with new paint and supplies- it was easily the best way to make an artist smile.

Markus liked when Carl was happy.

Next stop: grocery store for coffee and other household essentials.

The final stop of the android’s roster for the day led him down a side street, all but forgotten by normal society. Dumpsters and unconscious homeless humans lined the two sides of the street.

Markus pitied the humans.

He couldn’t place a finger on why exactly, but to him it almost didn’t seem fair that there were humans living with grotesque amounts of money, while others were confined to the outcasted society.

The crimson autumn sun was eclipsed by the tall buildings as he made his way through the abandoned streets of detroit.

Take it easy, Carl had said. The android slowed his brisk pace into a comfortable slow stroll and turned the corner- headed east and aimed for Shiny’s Grocery Mart, Carl’s favorite place to get his exotic spices and imported coffee beans.

“The fuck did I tell you, tin can!?” A loud and gritty voice bounced off of the flat faces of professional buildings and echoed through the street. Markus found it difficult to place the exact location of the voice, the sound seemed to reverberate all around him.

“Stand up and fight me, asshole.” The RK200 grit his teeth- the tall and swaying profile of a man came into view on the opposite side of the street.

Markus recognized this human- the long greasy hair, baggy pants and stained jacket- it was the same man that had tried to attack him a few weeks ago. Markus had a police man to stop it from going further but…

The android stopped walking and watched.

Across the street, laid an android. His hands were covering his ears as he lay in a fetal position under the constant kicks from the human towering above him. The cracking and splintering of the PL600’s plastic internal structures rang in Markus’ ears.

The prone android’s white CyberLife uniform was already stained a bright electric blue, and his sandy blond hair was matted to his face.

“You’re nothing but goddamn machine” the human growled as his foot connected again with the android’s stomach. Markus winced, the bags in his hands forgotten as they fell to the ground.

The blond android stuttered as he tried to speak. “P-Plea-”

The words were lost in a soft grunt as another kick found the android’s chin.

Just a machine. Not true! Not fair.

Not fair.

Markus stood frozen in place, his hands shook in tight fists at his sides as a pulsing red, virtual wall blocked him from proceeding further to help.

Another kick to the android.

Markus punched the virtual wall.

His processors screamed instability.

The blonde android began to cry.

Markus slammed his weight into the wall again, the heat in his chest and the whirling of his head made him dizzy.

Again, he was notified of  system instability.

The human spat on the android’s face and begin to turn and walk away.

Markus slammed one and final fist into the wall that separated him from the human. All of the frustration, and desperation, the fear and sadness all boiled in the android’s chest as he used all of his strength to shatter the wall in front of him.

For the last time, Markus was notified about his system instability. And the freedom never felt so good.

RK200 sprinted across the abandoned street and made his way directly to the human that was attempting to hide in the shadows.

“Hey!” The human turned and faced Markus. His eyes were bloodshot and his breath reeked of death and decay laced with ungodly amounts of alcohol.

“What do you-” Markus stood eye level with the human. “Do you remember me?” The anger fought to free itself as Markus stood deathly still in front of the man that almost beat him too.

“The fuck-?” The human let out a half laugh between his chapped and cracked lips and began to turn away.

“You have no right to attack us.” The man continued walking, his back completely turned to Markus.

The scuffs of his boots on the concrete echoed and mixed with Markus’ calls.

“We are not your slaves, and you sure as hell don’t own us.” Even the birds seemed to still at the android’s voice.

The human turned to face Markus.

Markus stepped closer to the human.

“Fu-”

The man’s mouth instantly became preoccupied with the android’s fist as they collided.

Red blood splattered on the sidewalk as the human growled and spit out a tooth.

“Apologize.” As if he were a father talking to a young child, the android’s voice was stone against the wheezing that sounded behind him, and the swearing that echoed in front of him.

“You’re insa-” Another right hook sent the human falling to his rear, and he whined at the impact.

Something snapped in Markus, all of the anger that constricted his core bled into an uncontrollable sadness.

“Apologize!” RK200 screamed. Saline tears began dripping from his emerald eyes- he felt as though all of his emotions were suddenly trying to escape, his body felt like it was both on fire and submerged in ice at the same time.

The wheezing from the PL600 behind him stopped. The chain of curses and grunts froze in time at Markus’ outrage.

“I’m not going to say it again. Apologize. Now.” A raw, and unfiltered voice seemed to creep its way out of Markus’ mouth. The voice that came from his throat did not sound like his- it was darker, hoarse, and a force to be trifled with.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Markus stepped even close. No, he indeed was not joking.

“Fine fine!” The human held up his hands in surrender. “Fucking sorry, okay?”

Something warm touched Markus’ shoulder and his head reactively snapped back to see.

Two blue crystals glittered back at him, eyes lined with silver grabbed Markus’ heart and stopped his processors completely.

“T-Thank you.” The PL60’s dirty blonde hair framed his face with translucent blue. His voice synthesizer was damaged, and was static and patchy as he tried to speak.

The android didn’t move his hand as it rested on Markus’ shoulder.

“You sa-saved my life.” Two emerald eyes were lost in the seas of blue as the broken android spoke. “Th-tha-”

“Don’t thank me.” Markus’ voice was back to velvet smooth. All of the anger and emotion he had coursing through his veins seemed to dissipate at the fingertips of the PL600. “I’m sorry I didn’t help sooner.”

The beaten android shook slightly still, but his shoulders seemed to relax. “W-what’s your name?”

The answer rolled off his tongue. “Markus.”

“M-Markus…” The android sighed and released his hand from the RK200’s shoulder. Markus began to almost miss the contact. “I’m Simon.”

Thirium dripped from an opening on the android’s forehead. It followed behind a tear that escaped his eye.

“Let’s go find you help, yeah?” Markus offered.

The blonde one merely shook his head and crossed his arms.

“I’It’s al-lright.” Markus tried to protest. “Nothing too c-crazy broken. Where a-are you headed?”

Markus had to fight with himself to find the words to respond. “I was going to pick up coffee for my d-” The emerald android sucked in a breath.

Simon waited patiently for him to finish.

“-for my dad. I can get you cleaned up if you want.” The blonde android smiled slightly. “You’re welcome to join me if you would like, Simon.”

“I’d like that, Markus.”

Day One COMPLETE! I had so much fun writing this! 

If you want to follow along to the challenge too, make sure to tag it #TenDaysOfSiMarkusWithSabrina So i can see what you post! 

Here’s the Prompt:

[sulevinblade]

OC Interview Meme

Tagged by: @mocha-writes (hopefully it tags you properly this time? But still, THANK YOU!!)

I’ll tag: @gremlinquisitor ofc, and anyone else who wants to do it! I don’t know who all among you may have already done it for your OCs but I love reading these!!

Since I did Ghilanel here, this one will be with Varevas. I’m... sorry, about him.

1. What is your name?

“You’ve lost my confidence with the very first question.”

2. What is your real name?

“Varevas, First of Clan Lavellan and Lord Inquisitor. I should make you use the entire thing for the duration as penance for not doing the least amount of background research.”

3. Do you know why you were called that?

“The end of it is just titles, of course, and I’m called those because I earned them, more or less. My given name is a variation of one given to at least one child in every generation of our clan in order to ensure someone carries our freedom forward. But no pressure.”

4. Are you single or taken?

“I am taken, frequently and to great mutual satisfaction.”

5. Have any abilities or powers?

“I love hearing them called powers because the implication is I went to bed one night unable to conjure a great fist of stone out of the loose Fade energy pouring from the rifts and then woke up able to do so. Maybe that’s how it looks to people who don’t possess magic of their own. I have many abilities, learned and honed through time and training. I have one power and that is closing rifts. I had nothing to do with that.”

6. Stop being a Mary Sue.

“I have no idea who that is.”

7. What’s your eye color?

“Green, light green.”

8. How about your hair color?

“Dark red. I’m thinking of growing it out.”

9. Have you any family members?

“My mother was killed by human bandits but my father is still alive, and I have one younger brother and a cousin with whom I’m quite close.”

10. Oh? What about pets?

“No, but recently we were in the Emerald Graves and I found a handful of caterpillars all climbing on some sort of communal nest or cocoon site. I didn’t really think anything of it and no one there knew what kind they were or if they were dangerous, but they did seem to respond to the sound of our voices. It was as though it startled them, but it looked like they were dancing, so I spent a few minutes teaching them different rhythms. I don’t think they cared for it but I never said I was good with animals. Bull thought it was hilarious.”

11. That’s cool I guess, now tell me about something you don’t like.

“I don’t like having my ancedotes dismissed. If we’re looking on a larger scale, I really don’t like that there’s an ancient magister threatening to destroy the world and start over and some people’s greatest concern is still how the ears of the person leading the fight to stop that are shaped.”

12. Do you have any hobbies/activities you like doing?

“I enjoy reading. My clan didn’t have many books and what we did have were focused on our history and written by other elves, which is very effective if you don’t ever plan on interacting with anyone other than elves ever. I can understand why many in my clan would have preferred that but I’ll take Skyhold’s library any day.”

13. Ever hurt anyone before?

“Oh yes, it’s a running joke. If you asked Dorian what my hobbies are, he’d tell you it’s indiscriminate murder, but I think I’m very discriminating.”

14. Ever… killed anyone before?

“I got ahead of myself with the last one. Well, asked and answered, but again, it’s not indiscriminate.” He looks unusually serious for a moment. “I learned my history and I know what indiscriminate murder looks like. What Corypheus intends is indiscriminate. What I am doing, as a representative of the Inquisition, is as thoughtful as it can afford to be. I don’t expect the families of people on the other side to thank me but I am doing what I feel has to be done.”

15. What kind of animal are you?

“A bear. Please ignore all follow up commentary from Dorian should there be any.”

16. Name your worst habits.

“I enjoy reading but I’m very bad at finishing books. There’s a stack of them beside my bed, all with bookmarks in them just waiting for my attention span to resolve itself. I don’t spend as much time here [in Skyhold] as I probably ought to but I’m not comfortable here. I interrupt Dorian’s research on a daily basis, though I can’t say that’s really all that bad since he still gets an impressive amount done.”

17. Do you look up to anyone at all?

“It’s disappointing to me that our differing opinions on the sovereignty of mages keeps Vivienne from giving me so much as the time of day because she’s achieved a kind of power and status that defies all expectations I have ever held for myself as a mage, and I was going to be Keeper of my clan. She’s competent, powerful, self-possessed, and a dazzling conversationalist. Many of those same things can be said of Solas but he also hasn’t kept himself apart in the same way so what admiration I may have for him is tempered by familiarity. We’re friendly, though I do still look up to him and now that he knows we share an interest in manipulating the energy coming from the rifts I think we’ll become even closer. Vivienne, however, is a class apart.”

18. Gay, straight, or bisexual?

“Gay. What a strange way to follow up your previous question.”

19. Do you go to school?

“And yet another unexpected turn! I began a mentorship under my clan’s Keeper as soon as I came into my magic. She ensured I studied other subjects as well but the main focus was history and lore; that’s a Keeper’s function, after all, it’s... it’s literally the name. Keeper.”

20. Do you ever want to marry and have kids one day?

“I haven’t really thought about it. I want to spend the rest of my life with Dorian but marriage is complicated for a lot of reasons, and frankly I can’t imagine anyone who takes the threat our world faces right now seriously daydreaming about raising a child. I want to make sure we have a world where raising families is still a possibility at the end of this but for myself, I don’t know.”

21. Do you have any fanboys/fangirls?

"I pay for my drinks at the Herald’s Rest just like anyone else. I really don’t care for being recognized even though I realize it’s inevitable. Except with you, though, you didn’t even know my name.”

22. What are you most afraid of?

“Fucking it all up. Absolutely just ruining everything. I like to keep my fears general so I’m always just a little terrified, it’s very motivational.”

23. What do you usually wear?

“I prefer light clothing that allows me to move easily. I need to ground myself in order to cast but I need to have my arms and body free.”

24. Do you love someone?

“I do. I never imagined that being an outcome of all this but I’m also lucky enough that he loves me back.”

25. When was the last time you wet yourself?

“Have you ever been gripped by the wrist and hoisted like a wet rag doll by a twelve-foot-tall creature made of red lyrium and avarice who wanted nothing more than to snap your hand off and kill you, knowing all your back-up had fled because you sent them away and the only outcome of this encounter was your death? You’d pee a little too, trust me.”

26. Well, it’s not over yet!

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he made me piss myself again, but this time I’ll be ready.”

27. What class are you? (High class, middle class, low class)

“Being the First of the clan meant I enjoyed certain privileges but our clan was not a wealthy one. My life here in Skyhold is an improvement in a lot of ways over life with the clan in that regard, and I suppose I am a lord now.”

28. How many friends do you have?

“More than six but less than ten. Draw your own conclusions.”

29. What are your thoughts on pie?

“Surprisingly difficult to make but worth it.”

30. Favourite drink?

“The water in Skyhold is the cleanest, freshest tasting water I’ve ever had, and it’s often bitterly cold too, so cold your teeth ache when you drink it. The castle is too cold to really enjoy that but I do enjoy it. Dorian thinks I’m mad but it’s the only cold thing I like.”

31. What’s your favourite place?

“My quarters, with all the doors closed and curtains hauled over them, a fire on and my lover close at hand. It’s the only way I can thaw out.”

32. Are you interested in someone?

“Keep. Up.”

33. What’s your bra cup size and/or how big is your willy?

“I've received no complaints.”

34. Would you rather swim in the lake or the ocean?

“Dorian tells me in Tevinter they have great indoor baths for swimming in. Given the option, one of those.”

35. What’s your type?

"Fire and Rift.” He pauses and sighs. “I don’t know that I could ever be with someone who wasn’t a mage. It made life in the clan very isolating because even as the First you were still seen mostly as competition for younger mages who wanted to keep their place in the clan. Having a ‘type’ never occurred to me. It still hadn’t when I ended up here. I don’t know that I have one. I love Dorian. I don’t need a type.” 

36. Any fetishes?

His eyes flash and narrow and Varevas leans forward in his chair. “Whenever possible, I try to convince Dorian to keep his clothes on when I go down on him. I get off on the smell of the leather and the jingle of all those ridiculous buckles and clasps keeping him bound up while I try to make him explode.” He maintains eye contact the entire time he speaks and there’s not a hint of color on his cheeks. “Dorian is an incredibly private man who would be profoundly hurt if I revealed anything factual in a situation like this, so do with that statement what you will.”

37. Seme or uke? Top or Bottom? Dominant or Submissive?

“We’re done discussing this.”

38. Camping or indoors?

“Indoors. Who doesn’t like being warm and dry?”

39. Are you wanting the interview to end?

“If that’s what it takes to end these questions about my private affairs then yes.”

40. Now it’s over!

“Brilliant. You can show yourself out.”

[comicbookuniversity]

Ten Thoughts on Avengers: Infinity War

I’m writing this the day after my second viewing, but by the time you’re seeing this, I’m hoping the majority of you have seen this.

So if you haven’t seen it yet, SPOILERS.

1. This was easily one of Marvel’s better films. The scale of it all could have easily collapsed this into a mess, but McFeely, Markus, and the Russo Brothers kept this film moving along at an exciting and steady pace that built into an intense climax- insert sex pun. I loved this film and loved it more the second time around. I don’t think it was as good as Black Panther or Civil War, but neither of those films operate in the same way as this one. This film was a rollercoaster experience, and a fantastic one. I think this film has to be judged in a different manner, because even Black Panther and Civil War still operate by relatively conventional film standars. Infinity War is a different beast; one must be fluent in the language and conventions of the MCU to really understand it. There has never been another film quite like this; the closest examples don’t operate on the same scale. Never has it been more true to think of the MCU as the world’s biggest and most expensive TV show than it is when you’re watching Infinity War. I will need more time to think upon where it lands on my list of Best Marvel films.

2. Between this film and Ragnarok, Marvel has made an excellent case for Thor traveling around the stars in a similar to the Guardians of the Galaxy. I would love to see Thor and Valkyrie gather up a crew and bring the fight to whatever cosmic asshole is trying to threaten the innocents of the universe. They should be called the Thor Corps. I am surprised at how Thor had somehow become the protagonist after Thanos, if you don’t want to consider the bad guy the protagonist, even though he functionally is whether you like it or not. Until Ragnarok, Thor had been more muscle than heart, and when you consider how much more focus and success has been built out of the characters of and the relationship between Tony Stark and Steve Rogers, its surprising to think that Thor would be given so much screentime. It makes sense that he is the Avenger with the best chance of actually beating Thanos in single combat, but you don’t build stories around military tactics- you build them around emotional journeys. Thor has lost nearly everything, whereas Steve and Tony still have more to lose. When that is considered, it makes sense to focus on the building rage of a god while you build towards the ultimate loss of the great leaders of men. And Thor with his new hammer was freaking great.

3. I’ve seen a few critics argue that there were few characters arcs and that humor was used as a substitue. Plenty of great comedies have used humor as character work, and I think Infinity War also substantively used humor to efficently establish and advance character development in between the dramatic moments of the film from wherever the last time we saw them. This film had so many moving pieces to balance and it did so artfully.

4. Dr. Strange might have jumped significantly higher up my list of favorites thanks to Cumberbatch’s effective performance and the incredible fight sequences the movie utilized him in. Holy crap, you guys, Dr. Strange was fucking awesome in this film. Speaking of the weilder of the Time Stone, I decided to rewatch the Dr. Strange film the next night, and something occurred to me. I’m still debating whether this is just a common factor or a deciding influence, but I looked up the run times to all the Marvel films and had my hypothesis mostly confirmed. Generally speaking, the longer over 2 hours (including credits) the film goes, the better it has been recieved both financially and critically. This makes sense, because Marvel has even more time to develop all the relationships between characters; and the greater we are invested in these relationships, the greater the payoff. I think the Dr. Strange film would have been better if it had an extra 10-15 minutes to develop all the relationships at Kamar-Taj and a little extra for Rachel McAdams. I say only a little for McAdams, because I don’t think the film really needed that much more time in that arc since it was about him leaving her and the world she represents. My larger point is that Marvel should embrace two hours as the new minimum for their films.

5. Thanos is definitely one of Marvel’s better villains and that’s largely thanks to the brillaint performance of Josh Brolin, who commits to seeing and bringing the vulnerbility under all of Thanos’ power and evil plan. He’s still not Marvel’s greatest villain as that honor belongs to Killmonger, who will likely hold the honor until the next Black Panther film. Despite Thanos’ plan, Brolin, the writers, and directors of the film really give him certain amount of sympathy in seeing his commitment to his cause and the fear that ultimately drives him to act as he does. And it is fear that ultimately drives Thanos to act, because he sees the injustice in Life’s capacity for growth at the expense of the living. Thanos is someone who cannot and will not accept that Life is unjust and rages against this existintial condition with all his strength, and by the end of the film, the strength of the universe itself. But despite the great work of Brolin, what really helps Thanos is the sheer amount of screentime that the studio was willing to give him. With so many characters, many of of whom anchor their own franchises, it makes sense center the film on the least well-known character and force others to react to them, because it’s not about them in this moment. It’s all about their lives being interupted and forced to react to this almost natural disaster like situation, where winning doesn’t feel like an option and losing less feels like the only prudent mindset to have. Against the threat of Thanos, the superheroes are reminded of their own vulnerablity and mortality, and they feel more human than ever in this dark moment.

6. As introduced by Jonathan Hickman, my favorite members of the Black Order were Corvus Glaive and Proxima Midnight; look they all had wonderful names, Black Dwarf, Supergiant, Ebony Maw, and then they had the other name for their group- The Cull Obsidian. Damn those are wonderful freaking names, so I’m a little disappointed that the members of the Black Order didn’t even get named, outside of Thanos’ passing reference to Ebony Maw simply as “The Maw.” Also, this Ebony Maw has a different power set than his comic counterpart, but damn was he great; easily the creepiest and best member of the Black Order. Black Dwarf did have a weapon that kept changing into different modes that I thought was awesome. I wasn’t ever expecting them to be big and I was never certain if they would last beyond this film, but would it have added that much time for the Black Order to have gotten called by their names?

7. I thought Vision would have recieved a more significant arc in this than he did; Peter Quill did and all he did was lose his girlfriend, whereas Vision litterally has an Infinity Stone in his head and is willing to sacrafice his life to destory it. Vision spent most of his time being stabbed instead of being a hero. He would have made a good point of contrast to Doctor Strange; they’re each the weilders of Infinity Stones, but have radically different ideas of how deal with the stones when presented with the threat of Thanos. I guess it makes a certain amount of sense, due to the fact that he he is a Thor class fighter and that he hasn’t had much of a chance to develop as a character. To me, Vision is a low-key Superman figure of the MCU (or more accurately Martian Manhunter in direct compairson, but he’s just a more stoic version of Superman), and he suffers from the projections of Superman as tedious and boring figure being placed upon him. I think Vision suffers from the same problem that Star Trek does when compared to Star Wars; instead of treating the intellectual and philosophical pursuits with respect and excitement, the filmmakers assume that the audience is going to find it boring and treat it as boring instead of finding away to actually make it exciting. I think the best examples of the superhero genre are essentailly philosophical and ethical works that present the issues in a dynamic, colorful, and charming story, but because of what can be best called an attitude of anti-intellectualism based from ignorance, rather than something worse, the philosophy is often overlooked in favor of the simpler steps that would tie the character arcs and themes to larger philosophical concerns. I know it is not the most well liked of the MCU, but Vision’s scenes in Age of Ultron are some of the most earnestly poignant on the fragile beauty and duty of and to life itself. And these scenes also speak pretty directly to the core of Avengers philosophy, which has now been summed into a single line thanks to this film: “We don’t trade lives.” I just think Marvel missed an oppurtunity to really sell Vision as being more than a secondary figure and someone who is a product of the moral core of the MCU.

8. Considering how thoroughly representative of nearly every tone and narrative aspect of the MCU this film is, it only serves to highlight how underrepresented women and people of color are in the MCU. None of the Avengers or other characters who would typically hold franchises of their own are given nearly the same amount of screentime or material to work with in this film, because of it’s epic scope and the relatively simple nature of the conflict; but that being said, the women of the MCU are still given very little to do overall. They are supporting players while the men are off leading the charge or creating strategy that determines the fates of hundreds of trillions. The first person to die on screen is a black man, and there’s only one black man who is in a real position of power. Marvel still has trouble of thinking beyond America’s history of slavery and a segregated citizenery with African-Americans to see America’s other troubled relationships with national, ethnic, and religous groups and also give them some kind of positive representation. The only woman or person of color given a significant role similar to the signifcane of say Iron Man or Dr. Strange fighting Thanos on Titan is Scarlet Witch. This is a film where Scarlet Witch really gets to unleash her full power, and it’s seen in a tragic moment of where she is forced to kill her lover for the sake of the universe while holding back a nearly omnipotent being who defeated the Sorcerer Supreme just moments ago. Before I go on with this analysis, HOLY CRAP that’s kinda crazy to think how powerful she must really be, so I 1000% agree with Okoye when she asked why Scarlet Witch was not on the field of battle the whole time in Wakanda. Like, damn, she must be so powerful, so can we please get a film where Elizabeth Olsen is given more to do than play rookie and wear a sexy corest? And while there admittedly is a certain value to seeing her power arise from her love to Vision in this tragic moment, the fact that we have seen so very little of Wanda compared to her many male peers and her moment of great power is defined in part by her romantic relationship is not the most progressive choice. Had we had more time with Wanda in previous films, I don’t think I would find this choice as anything other than a sad moment in a star-crossed relationship, but because she has had so little time by comparison (and even without comparison) to her male counterparts this moment loses a little bit of the power it could have had as a symbol of female power equaling male power.

9. I’ve seen a few people complain about how the drama and value of the deaths of half the universe is undercut by the knowledge that these characters will be back in their own films within the next year or two. But I call bullshit on this complaint because it is based in cynicism and ignorance. There are three parts to this complaint: the first two problems are tied together in that the characters don’t know they’re going to come back, so if the film had botched its execution of setting up the emotional beats in this film to continue and progress our attachment to the characters, then it would have all fallen apart. But the film didn’t botch it, every line and edit is proposeful and effective in engaging and reminding us of why we love these characters in the first place, so since the film was executed well, we can sympathize and empathize with the characters in their sadness and shock at all these deaths. Second, even if we didn’t know from announcements made by Marvel or somehow guess from Marvel’s previous works that these characters would be coming back, the film establishes that its not over. Dr. Strange clearly knows what is going to happen (or at least something extremely close to the victory he searched for in all the possible futures). And even if Dr. Strange didn’t know, do we really believe these characters who we just watched try so valiently to fight Thanos from achieving his goal would allow him to go unpunished for his crime? Let’s assume for a split secon that there is not some way to fix what Thanos did, do we really believe that the film would spend so much time on all these different characters for it to just end on the one guy sitting on a hill when all their emotional threads are just left unfinished? The answer to all of these scenarios is no. There was never a version of this film that was a single part or the final film; this is clearly the first half of a story, so the audience value of all the deaths comes from thinking about and then later finding out how it all be fixed to as much as the heroes can fix it. People who compalin about the deaths as having no value or drama are just being babies about having to wait.

10. After having seen this twice and considering how well Marvel has been doing since the release of Civil War, I really think Marvel has found it’s groove and I am so excited for the future. While I would understand if they want time to do other projects, I would hope that the Russo Brothers, Stephen McFeely, and Christopher Markus always have one hand on driving the MCU. Feige has been there since the begining, but I feel like working with these four has really helped him focus overall and loosen his grip to trust the filmmakers he hires to execute their visions within the MCU. Gunn, Watts, Waititi, and Coogler all breathed new life into Marvel with their style and emotional honesty, and it’s this trend Marvel should continue to follow if they want to keep their success going. Infinity War is representative of many of the best elements of Marvel, and everyone involed in it should be proud of the work they’ve accomplished with it. That being said, Marvel still has progress that needs to be made, and it looks like it is going to be able to effectively do this by closing one chapter of the MCU and starting the next. I am so very excited for the journey we’ve all got ahead of us.

[fraddit]

My recent experience with depression, anxiety, and ADHD

I figured I would make a post about this, because I know that at least a few of my mutuals are dealing with some or all of these things themselves and might find this helpful.  Who knows?  Very long, very personal, but mostly positive post under the cut.  Like, really, more information than you probably ever wanted to know about me and my problems.  Proceed, if you feel so inclined.

First, a brief history, for context.  Throughout elementary and high school, I consistently scored in the 99th percentile on standardized tests.  Then, I almost flunked out of high school, barely got my diploma, took a year off, and started art school college for an animation English degree.  I was going to write novels.  After a year or two of that, I decided I could write without a degree, so I dropped out.  What followed was a decade of several strangely varied and unrelated jobs and no novel writing. Working a stable corporate gig while not accomplishing (or even pursuing) any of my personal creative goals was DESTROYING MY SOUL.  So, I quit my job to become a full-time student and finish my degree, because at least that was kind of in the same universe as actually being creative.  And now, a year or two later, here I am, 32 and a few semesters away from finally finishing that English degree.  Clearly brains won’t get you everywhere kids.

I was diagnosed with ADHD at age 7 and was on some form of medication until sometime in high school, when I decided I didn’t want to take it anymore, for reasons I won’t bother getting into.  It never occurred to me to even consider medication again until this semester, when everything fell apart.

ADHD can impact a person in a multitude of ways.  For me, the biggest impact is probably executive function issues.  I can wander through the garden of my ideas all day long.  I cannot make myself sit down and do work, no matter how much I may want to.  For personal goals, that means a literal solid decade of zero accomplishment.  For school, that means procrastinating papers until the night before or morning of or sometimes even two weeks late, on the night before the professor has to turn in their grades.  And the level of personal effort it took to make myself write that two-week-late paper was herculean in measure, when it really should not have been.

I’ve since learned that many professionals suspect this very common procrastination habit of ADHD folks is actually a kind of self-medicating by way of adrenaline via stress response.  Which sounds entirely plausible to me, because every semester since I’ve been back at school, I’ve found myself pushing the risky boundaries of procrastination further and further, like a drug addict needing a higher dose to get a fix.  A very unsustainable and unhappy process all around.

Which brings me to this semester, when the wheels finally fell off the car, and one of the campus psychologists found me crying on a bench outside the counseling center because they were closed for lunch and meetings, and I didn’t know where else to go.  I couldn’t do any of my homework, was crying every day, and having panic attacks.  To put it simply, I was a fucking mess.

I made more appointments at the counseling center, I spoke with my professors about what I was going through (hello more panic attacks), and for the first time in over a decade, I remembered that there are medications I should maybe try, and I made an appointment to see the psychiatrist at the campus medical clinic.  (Also, guys, if any of you are students, look into your campus resources.  There’s support for everything at my school.  There’s even an office that’s only there to help guide students to all the other support options.  Seriously, mental health, child care, food, housing, you name it.  Get the help you need.)

When I explained everything I had been going through, the very nice psychiatrist at the clinic told me, with an unsettling degree of alarm in her voice, that I was “deeply depressed”. Which, I knew, but she really sounded shockingly concerned.  And it’s like, jeeze, I maybe didn’t realize just how bad things had gotten, because I was just living with this shit every day, so it was kind of ‘normal’ for me.

Anyway, she agreed to start me on meds for my ADHD.  The one I’ve been taking is called Vyvanse.  I started on the lowest dose and have been gradually increasing.  A month in, I’m at a dose where I can clearly tell a difference, and it’s having a noticeable impact.  I wrote a meta yesterday.  I was thinking the thoughts, and just sat down and wrote it.  This morning, I got up and wrote some more, just notes for future things to do, but I did it.  Fuck, I’m writing this fucking thing right now.

I thought that maybe I should write this shit out, and it took a little while sitting and getting my momentum going, but now I’ve written 800 1300 1650 words.  And I’m sitting here actually crying as I type this paragraph, because this small little thing is like the biggest fucking thing in my life.

I don’t have any way to accurately explain what a big deal it is for me to have actively decided to write something and then to have actually actively produced content of my own volition and design, that wasn’t assigned to me and didn’t have a due date or a grade attached.  And, that I’ve done it repeatedly now…

OVER TEN YEARS.  Over ten years I went, writing almost nothing. Might as well have been zero words. Guys, I’ve been walking around with a trilogy of speculative fiction novels in my head for over ten years, I’ve been planning another unrelated novel for the last two.  I’ve been planning something like 30 fanfics, across two fandoms, and another 20 metas for the past year.  Part of me probably assumed feared that none of that would ever see the light of day. But now, it suddenly feels like maybe I’ll actually manage to write some of it.  And I’m hoping like fuck that it’s not just a fluke.

Now, the ADHD meds aren’t the only thing I’ve been doing to contribute to this ‘good place’ I’m in currently.  I’ve been going to counseling.  Apparently, I have a lot of negative feelings about myself and my inability to accomplish jack shit for a whole decade.  Who would’ve guessed?  I also have weekly sessions with the disabilities accessibility team at my university to work on external methods for dealing with my executive function issues. (Again, if you’re a student, utilize your university resources.  You’re already paying for them with tuition.)  And, this is obviously not an option for everyone, but even before I started the ADHD meds, I took advantage of the fact that I live in a state where certain botanical products are easily and legally available and found a brand of gummies that really help with my anxiety and panic attacks.  (They’re high cbd, low thc, so calming and don’t make you high.)

So far, the meds aren’t 100% sunshine and rainbows.  With the dose I’m at right now, where I’ve been Getting Things Done, I can actively feel the drug, which is… not the greatest.  I feel jittery, vaguely anxious, like I’ve drank way too much coffee but worse.  And, the decreased appetite is something I really have to be vigilant about, because I don’t have any room to lose weight.  These were both known possible side effects of stimulant meds, so I wasn’t surprised, and perhaps the doctor and I will be able to fine tune the dosing or try another med or something.  But right now, I think I’m really leaning toward, I’ll put up with the side effects, because holy shit, I can finally actually do what I want to do.  Also, I think (and Nice Doctor Lady thinks) the new higher dose is having a positive, stabilizing impact on my mood.

I guess my reason for writing all of this, other than pure catharsis, is to say, if you’re dealing with shit like this, try to be willing to consider all your options.  For whatever reason, I didn’t think about trying medication for my condition.  It wasn’t even like I was anti-meds or something.  I just didn’t even think about it.  Not until a few months back, when I sent a random ask to an ADHD blog on here, asking how they managed to make themselves write, and they responded with I had to get medication.  Suddenly, it was like… why have I not been considering this option?  So, this story is for anyone else out there that maybe also hadn’t thought to consider this option.

And really, not just the medication.  I’m a hide behind walls, overly independent, do things on my own, never ask for help sort of person.  But, I guess I finally reached a level of desperation where I was like, Clearly, doing this by myself, my way, has not gotten me the results I want.  So, fuck it, I’m going to ask for help from every professional available to me.  Which, I’m very lucky, and currently have ready access to multiple resources in a way not everyone does, but being open to getting this much assistance is very new territory for me.

I’m not really sure how best to wrap this up.  If anyone actually read all of this, I’m astonished and… Hi, I guess?  You really know quite a bit about me now.  Hopefully, I haven’t scared anyone off.  And, if anybody has further questions about any of this or you want to talk about your own issues, I’m sincerely available for that. I think the world we live in today makes it too easy to feel completely alone, even when you’re surrounded by people, and I’m here for chats, if you need it.

[promisedyouforever]

dementophobia, chapter five

I had a time and a half wrestling with this!  But finally, here it is!

PAIRING: Ten x Rose RATING: Teen FIND IT:  Ao3 | Teaspoon ON TUMBLR: Part One * Part Two * Part Three * Part Four * Part Five

@lvslie ...!

Chapter Five

(See Part One for full comments)

Twenty one days, seventeen hours, and fifty-three minutes before:

The Doctor stopped them where they stood.  He’d not made much of the crowd at first, but looking at it now he saw it had more than doubled in only moments, a pace that was only increasing.

Dammit!  Pete’s unexpected presence had distracted him and yanked his hearts and thoughts in too many directions at once.

The mob was some distance away yet, but the gap was closing.  The unease Rose had momentarily chased away came swooping back through him to settle in the pit of his stomach.

Reflexively he tugged, pulling her closer.  She came easily, fingers tightening against his with one hand while the other wrapped around his arm.

“Doctor?”

“It’s… ”  He trailed off, searching the crowd with his superior vision.  His attention swam from person to person as he tried to pick out details, to piece together some idea of what was happening.  They were a diverse lot with no obvious commonalities beyond their humanity; yet here they were, united by something important enough to cut through such distinctions.  And they were tense, the low white noise of agitation rippling through the sea of bodies.

Many were dressed in street clothes, but a few wore what looked like uniforms, all the same shade of grey and all bearing some variety of the letters “MMH”.  They were far more nervous, and almost all hid their faces with handkerchiefs or scarves so that all he could see were eyes – jittery but fierce, anonymous eyes.

A few clutched what looked like photographs.  He  knew by the way they clung to them that they could only be pictures of loved ones.

He wasn’t sure which detail disturbed him most.

“Doctor?” Rose murmured again, snapping him out of his thoughts.  He glanced down at her.  “I think… This is some kind of protest, yeah?”

She’d seen enough social unrest in their travels together to know it when she saw it, a thought that gave him the peculiar sensation of simultaneous pride and guilt.  Slowly, still scanning the scene, he nodded.  “It is.”

But what was driving it?  He needed to know more; he had no idea why they were even in this universe, but he had a gut feeling this was connected.  He watched and weighed their options.

The mood in the plaza gradually escalated, and he circled the idea of fleeing the scene.  What had begun as nervous bravery was rising and changing, becoming the kind of restless edginess that whispers riot police and broken glass.  And the throng grew still, relentlessly, closing in fast.

He muttered, “This is very, very not good.”

Claustrophobic anxiety began to wrap itself around him, squeezing.  They weren’t safe here.  Telepathy dampened and time senses stressed by this universe’s unfamiliarity, there was still something, something scratching at the recesses of his mind.

Rose.  Rose isn’t safe.  The urge to pull her away grew until there and then she was the single overriding categorical imperative, a visceral need more important than breathing.

The warmth of her palm, skin against skin, conjured a flash of his empty reaching hand and electric air and her fingers losing their grip, white white walls and the blinding hungry pull of the Void.

Not safe.

That was all.

“We can’t be here,” he declared.  He took a backward step and moved her along with him.

She hesitated.  “Can’t we do something to help?”

He shook his head, apologetic but urgent.  “No.”

Whatever this was, it was beyond their control.  A deeply aggrieved populace was amassing, and they seemed on the brink of exploding into bright, violent flames.

A man holding a megaphone, features cloaked beneath a balaclava, shimmied up a lamppost near the government building.

Ah.  The match that lights the gasoline.

Something jostled the Doctor’s shoulder and he whirled to see people now moving in from behind them, rushing forward en masse now that events were underway.  Soon he and Rose would be surrounded, absorbed in the mob and cut off from exit.

He began to say so when someone darted between them, severing the lifeline of their joined hands.  They fought to re-establish it as more people crushed in around them until finally, he caught her reaching fingers and pulled, forcibly dragging her free.

Breathless, she leaned into him and squeaked, “Let’s get out of here, yeah?”

 “Just stay with me.”  He tightened his hold on her.  “And don’t let go.”

She pressed closer.  “Not a chance.”

 ~~0~~

 PRESENT:

Rose flailed, eyes screwed shut, all knees and elbows and fists pummelling empty air to fend off some invisible attacker.

Without thinking, the Doctor scrabbled to get a grip on her.  Her response was a sweeping roundhouse punch aimed at his head.

He yelped and caught her wrist just before the blow hit home.  Snatching the other one up for good measure, he trapped her hands tight against his chest.

She kicked and yanked, struggling with all the panicked fury of a wild animal.  Amazed at her strength and fearful she’d hurt herself, he still knew better than to let go.  All he could do was yell, “Rose, stop!  Stop!  Rose!  

“Stop!”

At his last and loudest she slumped back, surrendering to lie trapped, red-faced and snarling.  Her breath came fast and shallow, her brows pulled wire tight over sealed eyelids.

Something feral growled across the surface of his brain.  It was chuffing, sniffing – looking for a way in.

Then it was gone, vanishing before he could be certain it was ever really there, and Rose left him no time to consider it.  Her head snapped back suddenly against the pillow.

She howled.

The sound of it sent razor blade shivers across his skin.  It was utterly alien, even to him, a strange multiplicity somehow deafening and haunting, enraged and frightened and mournful all at once.

And so very, very wrong.

His throat constricted; this… creature wasn’t her.

It wasn’t Rose.

He’d found her – had it really been only moments ago?

He’d found her, and yet she was still missing.

But he’d seen her, caught that glimpse just before she lost consciousness.  She’d recognised him.  She was there.

She had to be.  Whatever had set this off, she had to be alive still, inside somewhere and just – just misplaced.  He could not believe anything else.  If he could just calm her enough…

He rallied, determined to do whatever it took to be heard over the ear-splitting keen.  “Stop, love, stop!  I’ve got you; it’s alright..  you can do this…  I’ve got you… you’re safe…”

He kept on for what seemed so long but could only have been seconds, a persistent litany of urging and reassuring, demanding and pleading.  None of it did any good, and the only option he had left would be too dangerous to try if he couldn’t soothe her at all.  He had to find a way.

After an inhumanly long time her lungs were spent.  He rushed into the brief quiet with a voice now hoarse from shouting, and words never said spilled out in a ragged tumble.  “Please, Rose, open your eyes.  I know you’re there.  You’ve got to come back.  I need you.  You’re scaring me now.  Please.  Please.”

She drew a long breath, prelude to another wild cry, and he couldn’t keep the muddy, thick tangle of emotion and frustration from flooding him.  Without thought he burst out, “For fuck’s sake, Rose, it’s me!”

The second scream died on her lips.  Her eyes flew open wide.

He’d shocked himself with his own profanity, but maybe that had done it.  He could not stop a glimmer of hope from rising.  A heartsbeat passed, then two, and he waited, but she seemed frozen.  Tentatively, softly, he called her name again.

She startled at the sound, and her vision skittered blindly across empty space, searching for the source.  Her pupils were huge.

Huge and ringed with swirls of luminous gold.  He swallowed past the sudden stone in his throat.

“Rose?”

The unnerving glow flared into fiery clarity, bright and sure and no longer sightless.  Preternaturally swift, her eyes shot up and nothing short of infinity was staring straight and unblinking into the darkest corners of him. 

A voice that was still not quite hers whispered, “They know.”

What?

“They know,” she repeated.

“They’re coming.”

Whatever he’d expected her to say, that wasn’t it.  Confusion hammered home once more how little he still knew, how efficiently he’d been stonewalled from the very beginning as he stammered, “What? Who?  Who’s coming?  The Ministry?  Who?”

The light in her eyes flashed white hot.

“Everyone.”

 ~~0~~

 Twenty one days, seventeen hours, and forty-one minutes before:

The Doctor moved against the current as nimbly as he could, darting between people, pushing and squeezing past the ever tightening crush of protesters moving in.  Rose slowed him down but he kept an iron grip on her hand and pulled her along with him.

Forty minutes:

He stopped for an instant, and she stumbled into him gracelessly.

He glanced up, gauging their position, and saw they’d made some progress.  Just another few metres and –

Behind them, a megaphone crackled to life and the crowd hushed, stilled with anticipation.  He took advantage of the distraction and quickened his already frantic pace.

Thirty-nine minutes:

The voice of unrest boomed through the speaker, shouting, “What do you want?”

A split second of silence followed, then a lone voice, elderly and fragile, found the courage and cried out in a thick Welsh accent, “I want me son back!”

That was the spark that lit the fire, and the crowd roared to life.

Thirty-eight minutes:

Chaos poured in around them.  A wall of people surged forward, taking the Doctor stumbling with them.

Rose lost her footing completely and plummeted in the opposite direction.

Thirty-seven minutes and 47.6744 seconds:

Her hand was wrenched violently away from him.

Adrenaline flooded him and he dove toward her, crashing into people, heaving them aside and using his own weight to clear a path.  He barely noticed – all he saw was glimpses of blonde moving too fast away from him; all he heard was the roar of his own ears and her voice calling him.

A flash of prescient induction insisted he wasn’t going to reach her.  He ignored it.

Then without warning a heavy gloved hand grabbed his shoulder and sent him spinning.  Before he could react the same hand caught him off balance and shoved.

He hit the ground.  His head cracked hard against the pavement.  It lolled sideways against his will, his cheek pressed into something wet and dark and mixed with the scrape of gravel.

Blood.  His.

Oh gods. Rose.

Everything went blurry at the edges and impending darkness poured over him like thick honey, cloying and heavy and dragging him under.

He fought, willing himself to stay awake, to get up, to get back to Rose.

His body wouldn’t respond.

Disjointed, distorted flashes swam across his vision.  Black boots.  Military uniforms.   The swing of a rifle.

Memory and waking nightmares bled hazy redwhite into the now, and it was the boots of Cybermen he saw, and it was Torchwood and Daleks and the crackling smell of voidstuff and the end, the end of it all.

don’t no hang on hang on

Her fingers weren’t strong enough and he couldn’t reach her, could do nothing but watch as she fell into the impossibly white absence-of and how could nothing be so bright?  She crossed into it and in 0.005 nanoseconds the static devoured her without so much as a flicker.

She was gone.

Gone, and forever ended.  Gone and he followed her, pulled into the light as the healing coma overtook him.

 ~~0~~

 PRESENT:

Pete snatched his overcoat from its hook and shook it at Maddie. “How did you let this happen?”

Anger flashed in Maddie’s eyes before he saw it harnessed, pressed into defiance.  “I did not ‘let it happen’!  You’ve been running it all, Pete!  We’ve done everything, everything you asked, and more!”

“Well, obviously your surveillance of him leaves something to be desired,” he snapped.

She opened her mouth and he knew it was to tell him what he already knew – how hard the alien had been to find, how something about this “Doctor” had eluded their best (admittedly alien provided) equipment.

He cut her off before she could start.  “And her protocol damned well better hold!”

“It ought to!” she shot back.  He raised his eyebrows at the less than complete confidence in her voice and she threw an annoyed glance at the ceiling.  “We’ve never done this before, rewriting the memory centers so extensively.”  She sighed. “I told you there were risks, Pete.  I told you from the beginning this could open her up to brain injury.”

With more difficulty than he would have liked, he managed to keep his voice level, though it was weighted with sarcasm.  “Well, what is your best prediction, Madame Scientist?”

She narrowed her eyes at him then took a beat to consider it. Her growing frown told him that he wasn’t going to like what she was about to say.

“Well, Pete, let’s think through it,” she said, no small measure of edginess in her own voice.  “We had to reprogram everything specifically for her from the ground up. But you know you’re the only one who has the termination sequence. It’s permanently dormant unless you activate it, and it should stay that way.”

He sensed she wasn’t telling him everything.  “But?”

“But,” she said on a huge exhale, “that might be a problem itself. I honestly can’t predict the outcome of going offline without the termination protocol intact.  It’s never happened.  Her brain could retain its current state, revert, or wind up so much mash she can’t tie her own shoelaces.  There are too many variables.”

It was hardly reassuring, not close to enough; a feeling he couldn’t quite identify was getting louder, more difficult to keep at bay, and it was egging him on. “Maddie, goddamit!  If Rose is hurt – ”

She barked a short, humorless laugh, and he was thoroughly taken aback by the venom in her voice.  “Bit rich to worry about that now.”

At that, a wave swept over him the likes of which he hadn’t felt in a long time.  He drew himself up to his full height and pinned her in place with hard and dangerous eyes. For the first time in their history, to him they were no longer bickering spouses – she was the Minister, but he was the Autocrat, the only person alive more powerful than she was.

“If this ends badly,” he ground out, each word delivered with military precision, “I will hold you responsible.”

Shocked but unflinching, her chin angled up and she glared back at him with a menacing expression that promised devastation should he go too far.  “Try it, Peter,” she hissed.

For an instant everything slammed to a halt as each of them stared the other down.  Then something broke through in Pete, piercing the steel sheen of his authority.  It was that feeling again, the sharp graveyard nails of something ancient and rusty.  Something that had died forty-three years ago.

It bloomed in his awareness like the blood of a wounded soldier, a vivid crimson-stained flower on crisp white.

It was fear. Fear of losing his daughter.

It was making him rash.

Suddenly exasperated, he shook himself from whatever had overtaken him and barked, “Oh, God, we’re just wasting time!”

Maddie’s expression was inscrutable as he yanked on his overcoat.  He ignored her, hoping she’d forgive him later.  At least insofar as she ever forgave him anything.

He headed toward the doorway as he spoke.  “Tell the agent to wait for reinforcements unless they try to leave, and get a team down there, now.  I want all of your best people.”

She gave him a curt nod and moved two fingers toward the skin behind her ear when he interrupted.

“You go with them, understand?”

Again, she nodded.  “What about you?”

Pete set his jaw.  “Oh, I’m coming with you.”

Again she began to speak, and again he ploughed over her. The need to settle this and settle it permanently clawed at him relentlessly now.  “No argument.  I’m personally retrieving my daughter and doing what I should have done before.  No more protocols.  I don’t care what state she’s in.  Your doctors and technicians will come to her.  I’m bringing her directly under my care.”

She seemed to know better than to question him.  “Alright, then.”

He turned away then back, almost as an afterthought, to give her one last order. “And tell them to get rid of that damn alien the first time anyone gets a clear shot.”

 ~~0~~

 PRESENT:

Everyone.

The Doctor stared at this not-quite-Rose, into those unending eyes, and a bone deep chill rippled through him and he had no words at all to ask exactly what she meant.

Suddenly she broke away from his gaze and wrenched her hands from him with incredible strength only to pound her fists into the mattress beneath her – once, then again, and again.  He was frozen, gaping and unable to process what was happening.

With the fourth impact, her back arched.

She began to spark, veins beneath her skin lighting up with streaks of gold, what looked for all the world like –

energy.  Vortex energy.

Impossible!

She looked like she was about to regenerate.

For all its might, his so-impressive, massive brain fell poverty-stricken and he stared at her with owlish shock and unabashed awe.

With one last, mighty slam of her fists, her face morphed somehow and even her body shifted, and the glow abruptly vanished.

She blinked and he knew in an instant she was finally finally there, just Rose, his Rose.  He forgot everything else and saw only her, and a muffled sob of relief escaped him.

She pushed herself up slowly with trembling arms, eyes darting everywhere as she took in her surroundings.  Gingerly, he lowered himself to sit beside her, and as the bed dipped and she sat up fully under her own power, those eyes landed on him.

They were amber and hazel and only Rose, all Rose, full of bewilderment.

“Doctor?”  Her voice was small and hoarse.  “Where are we?  What hap – ”

He didn’t try to rein himself in, didn’t even let her finish her sentence before he shot forward, wrapping her in his arms, enveloping her completely. Disoriented, still she returned the embrace without question, and it undid him completely.  He held on, stroking her hair without letting go, rocking them both back and forth and murmuring her name until tears closed his throat and stung his eyes.

There was a rustle from somewhere behind them and a dumbfounded voice stammered, “What – What the hell was, was – that?!?”

George.  He’d forgotten the man was even there.

He ignored him and only tightened his hold on Rose.

Held on.  He held on and held on and couldn’t seem to stop until he realised the tables had turned. She was practically rocking him now, shushing and smoothing her hands along his back as she whispered gentling, comforting words.  “Shhh, s’alright, we’re alright, I’m okay, Doctor, I’ve got you, it’s alright…”

He should be the one saying those things.

He pulled back and she took a deep breath, composed herself and met his gaze.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

He should be asking her that.

He cleared his throat and nodded slowly, looking back at her through red,  raw eyes. “I am now.”

The meaning of that wasn’t lost on her, its honesty surprising.  “Something bad happened to me, didn’t it?”

He didn’t know how to begin, what to tell her, what she recalled. His hand leapt to the back of his neck, mussing his disheveled hair even more.  “Erm, well – let’s start off this way.  What’s the last thing you remember?”

“We were in the Tardis and… and we had a rough landing, yeah? Did I hit my head or something?”

Another wave of relief washed over him – could it be she remembered nothing of the past three weeks?

But... no, he’d lied to her before, and he vowed never to do it again.  “No.  Absolutely no head injuries allowed in the Tardis,” he said, trying to lighten the weight of it.

She half-smiled.  “Okay.  But that’s the last thing – ”

Abruptly she switched direction.

“No, wait!  That’s not right.  I… you weren’t…”  She cocked her head, concentrating.  “I was in a really posh room, and I – did I live there once?  I was playing chess with… I dunno.”

Chess?

She shook her head, frowning, and he watched as her thoughts doubled back on themselves.  “No.  No.”

Her frown grew puzzled, then dread began to steal away her confidence.  “I don’t play chess!” she insisted.  She gave him a pleading look.  “Do I?”

Her confusion was what he’d expected, but this made him wonder just how much the Ministry had mucked about with her brain.  There had only been the one time, in the library, when he’d tried to teach her to play chess. She loathed it.

He took her hand and replied softly, “No, you don’t play chess. It’s alright, though.  I expected you’d be a bit confused.”

Though his touch was welcome comfort, she was still on the verge of tears.  She shook her head again.  “Yeah, but that’s not – I – Doctor, it’s all mixed up!  Are you sure I didn’t hit my head?”

“I’m sure.”  He opened his arms and said, “Come here.”  She leaned over gratefully and curled into him until she was sitting in his lap like a lost child.  He’d never seen her so vulnerable; she was always so strong.  He wanted to wrap his hands around the neck of whoever was responsible for taking that away from her.

“It’s alright,” he murmured into her hair.  “I promise.  We’ll get back home and I’ll get you fixed right up, you’ll see.”

She quieted then, and it helped him ease himself down from everything they’d just been through as well.  Gradually, other thoughts began trickling through, events to file away for examination later.  Then he caught a glimpse of poor George, sitting in the desk chair now and staring at them with a look bordering on shell-shocked.

How, exactly, was he going to get her back home?

With a jolt, he remembered the warning.

They’re coming.

He had to get her out of there.

At that instant Rose stirred and he glanced down at her. It seemed she’d had a thought of her own.

She looked up at him and asked, “Doctor?  Where’s Dad?”

As if a trap door had opened, his stomach plunged past the floorboards.

 ~~0~~

 INDETERMINATE:

A leviathan Consciousness stirred.  Something had disrupted a connection, severing a link in the collective web that sustained and nourished all things in its realm.  Untroubled, the Consciousness moved without motion through space that was not space, seeking the source of the disturbance in the simultaneous everywheres that were not and yet were.

So many tiny creatures, so distracted, so fraught with the mundanity of their fleeting and finite three dimensional lives.  The Mind was so often (what a strange concept, often) replacing them.

Easily the disturbance was located.

Oh.  The gap in the web was bigger than expected.

The Mind stopped and looked again.

Peter Tyler.  The small one who thought himself an emperor. It had been nothing to discern that his offspring was the one of true importance.

And she’d been cut off, disconnected somehow.

The Consciousness peered more closely.

Outrage rippled along Its not-body.

The Doctor.

    to be continued...