#they have one (1) filter. and it's split perfectly in half between them

[parasocial-paradox]

hey so it's been less than 20 seconds. can we put a sock in it maybe

[iloveitwhen]

jasonette but like siblings but like angst- like that whole trope where they are blood related and got separated, or they didnt get separated idk thats cool too i just want some sibling jasonette😅

Wow. ok. uhmmmm. this is a lot i think?? I got a little jk a lot carried away and this past week was super busy so i’ll finish the second part later??

Again... a lot...

Jason is walking home after another night at the bar when he sees a small woman, teenager? Slip into a dark alleyway and two men follow in after her a few moments later. 

Jason curses and bolts across the street, what was this girl thinking? How stupid do you have to be to go into a dark alley where no one will hear you or care to help?

He jumps into the alley to find one man already slumped on himself on the floor and the other getting kicked in the teeth by army boots then falling limply. 

Jason curses again, impressed this time. He scans over the men noting that they probably had pretty good concussions judging from the dent in the garbage can the first man was laying next to and the way the second guy’s head smacked onto the concrete when he fell. He lands his eyes back on the woman, no, definitely a teenager, with a smile on his face that instantly falters. The girl is in a fighting stance and waiting for him to attack so he quickly raises his hands to placate her.

“I’m not here to fight you, I saw you get followed and I was coming to help.” 

“Nobody helps in Gotham,” she states, a dangerous edge to her voice that held a carefully hidden accent. 

“Not from around here, are you?” 

The girl narrows her eyes, “I was born and raised here, take a step further and you won’t be waking up tomorrow.” 

Jason pockets his hands and smirks. He likes her, she’s a fighter, she reminds him of himself when he was younger. 

“Ok. Just make sure you make it home safe. A girl’s going to get some unwanted attention at a time and place like this.” He turns around and crosses the street but as soon as he’s out of her sight he turns back and hides in the shadows to track her and make sure no one else tries to catch her alone. Just because she could handle herself the first time doesn’t mean she’s necessarily safe from the next attempt. 

The girl exits the alley and starts toward the direction of Jason’s apartment calmly as if she didn’t just get attacked. At least that means less walking for him. After a few minutes she slips into another dark alley, of course she does, and Jason crosses the street again going into his own empty alley before pulling his helmet on and scaling the building. As he peers over the side of the building his helmet scans the area giving him feedback he would normally miss due to the horrible lighting and telling him that the alley was empty. He figured she had somehow gotten into one of the buildings and decided to go home by rooftops since he was already up there. 

However, as he landed on the opposite rooftop his feet slipped from underneath him. Jason managed to roll out of it but before he could get his footing his hip was kicked into and he stumbled, tripped over a seemingly perfectly placed rock and smashed his head on the side of the stair house. Then, just as quickly as this all transpired, there was a body behind him, they hooked their fingers under his helmet and lifted it to expose his neck and press a knife with jagged points onto his neck. How did he know the knife had jagged points? Good question, it was, as previously mentioned, against his neck and piercing into his skin, drawing blood. 

“Why are you following me?” a girl’s voice filters through his mask and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes. His mask let him know through the constant visuals that the voice belonged to a female in their late teens, not that he didn’t already know that. 

“Making sure you got home safe,” he says carefully, weighing his options and trying to decide if he should let her feel like she got him or escape with a slight nick on his neck. 

Eh. Jason preferred to not have a bleeding neck no matter how small the cut. 

“Lies,” she hisses, digging the knife a bit deeper as a warning, maybe getting out sooner was a better idea. “What do you want?” 

“Knife off my throat first,” he manages without pushing his neck further onto the blade. 

A second later the girl releases him and jumps back with enough space between them to react if he ended up deciding to attack her. 

Jason gives her a quick glance as he stands up, a hand to his throat to check for blood. 

“I wasn’t lying-”

“You’re not fooling anyone you Red Hood wannabe,” she snaps. Jason just laughs in surprise, no one has ever accused him of being a Red Hood wannabe. He's the one who made the mantle into something to respect, something to fear. He stops laughing and levels a glare at the girl, his helmet telling him unhelpfully there was no match of facial recognition in any database. 

“I am Red Hood-” he started to growl out but she cut him off again. The audacity. 

“Red Hood wouldn’t have been caught by the person he was trailing, Red Hood wouldn’t have been caught off guard, Red Hood doesn’t have a stupid streak of white hair on his head. He may have been a theatre nerd but he wouldn’t do that.” 

Wait what. 

“What are you talking about?” But it was more of a demand than a question. 

“You’re not…” she trailed off waving her hand in the air trying to find a word, “slick. Same jacket, same shoes, same build, yeah. You’re not fooling anyone.” 

“Ok. Whatever, I’m going home.” He turns and starts jogging across the rooftop towards home. So much for helping out. 

“Where is he?” she calls out after him.

“Right here, princess,” he spat before jumping to the other rooftop. 

But as soon as his feet leave the building a big dark blue warbly hole appears and swallows him before he can react. Unfortunately for him the other side of that weird black hole was a face full of concrete. 

“Prove you’re him.” 

Oh this girl was something else. Jason shakes his disorientation away, he didn’t know how she did that, nor did he care but he was pissed. He swings his foot around and connects with her ankle, she falls as expected but easily bounces right back up and hops out of his range. 

“Do that again and I’ll have to break my no killing kids rule,” he growls out, staring her down for a moment. Her face was finally lit by the dim yellow street lamps and he could see the entirety of her face and all the raw emotions she was trying to hide. For a split second familiarity passed through him, like when you see someone at the library then at the store a few weeks later or you see an old school friend ten years later and can’t quite place them. Jason dismisses the feeling and turns to go. 

“Wait.” She says it so vulnerably that Jason gives her a chance, when he turns she pulls up her sleeve and shows off her forearm. 

In the center of her arm is a faded black tattoo that was a writing symbol, but because of its name and one of its uses it was used to brand child soldiers in Gotham from a particular gang that Red Hood obliterated as soon as his first order of business in Gotham. 

‡

It was the double dagger, or better known in Gotham as the death dagger. The children were expendable although highly trained and dangerous, they could give Damian a run for his money in the child assassin department. The tattoo was a reminder to the children and to the people they came across that they were soulless, emotionless, their lives and actions were not their own and they would give their lives willingly for the mission

Meaning who they were before was dead. No family, no connections, no one would notice if they went missing and no one would be able to identify their bodies if and when the time came. Sometimes poor families would sell one of their children and promise to forget them and to never contact them. 

Jason was led to assume that this was another child soldier looking to thank him, or kill him. It was 50/50 these days, some of those kids just never recovered. 

“So what is it that you want? You want my autograph across your head?” Jason asks dryly. 

The girl just huffs and pulls her sleeve back down. 

“I want to know if my brother is underneath that mask.”

I want to know if my brother is underneath that mask.

The words struck Jason deep in his chest but it only fueled his anger. He didn’t know why that hit so deep but he was not in the mood for this nor would he be at any time. 

“Just because I ended that gang doesn’t mean we’re family. Go find your other assassin siblings to play house with.” 

“Annette,” she calls after as he turns his back again. A strike of familiarity pulses through him and when he hesitates she continues, “that was my name before I was initiated. I was one of the first. Daddy’s little girl,” she was still talking louder than necessary since he hadn’t turned back around. “I’m the only one left from The 13.” 

Right. The 13. That’s what everyone called the first batch even as they were killed off, they were the most ruthless being the oldest and were also the most aggressive in proving their worth. It was common to find a number from 1-13 placed strategically behind at the crime scene, whoever had the most successful missions would be highly rewarded, or so he was told. 

“Do you remember?” 

“I remember destroying that gang and their stupid leader and having to kill some of your little friends and I also remember The 13 died within the first year and a half and were easily replaced by their younger friends.” 

“Do you remember me?”

“Look, kid,” he finally turns to look at her, “I don’t care, ok? Yay whoopdeedoo I saved you, get in line. It’s what I do, kill bad people and let the rest walk away. You’re not special.” 

“Annette Marie Todd,” she says hurriedly, like it’s a last resort. “Jason Peter Todd,” she continues, “just you. Me. And a blitzed out Mom.” 

Jason did not like this, he knew the Dagger Children were ruthless and expert manipulators but this was pushing it. He spun around to face her, ripping off his helmet, she already knew what he looked like and it was in the way of his death glare. 

“You don’t know who you are messing with. If you really were a Dagger you’d know that I am not one to be fucked with.” He slides his helmet back on and without a backward glance he runs off to the next roof and continues home. Thankfully not another portal thing opens up in front of him. 

———————————

Jason didn’t have a sister. He did not have a sister. He would remember having a sister. He would remember having a Dagger for a sister. But Annette was such a familiar name. And she had said her name was Annette Marie Todd. Todd. 

No that’s stupid. Impossible. She was just messing with him, for all he knew she could have been subtly showing her face in random places for him to react to the familiarity of her face and she could have said the name sometime in the last few months for him to vaguely recognize the sound of her name but not place it. 

But the Lazarus pit did alter his memories from childhood, it was like looking through a fog of red anger, or maybe it was always like that even before the pit, and it also completely wiped out other parts of his memory. But a sister? No. No way. 

Hours of this, circling around the possibilities and shifting around on his bed trying to get comfortable until he finally drifted off in a very restless sleep. 

Jason found himself in a familiar apartment, the one he lived in before his “mother” died. He looked around and it was more of the feeling of familiarity that convinced him where he was than anything else. He steps aside for a younger version of himself to run by him and turns to the window that led out to the fire escape and watches him climb out of it and close the window. Jason turns back around to see what Young Jason was hiding from. A man hands a thick envelope to his mother, Catherine Todd who had wrapped herself in a thin silk robe, her bony frame visible as well as her happy focus on the money inside that envelope. Jason couldn’t make out the man’s face but he turned around and grabbed the small hand of a little girl in pigtails. She turned her head and faced the window sending a smile but he couldn’t quite make out her face so he instead turned to himself sitting outside.

As he turned his surroundings changed but in his dreamstate he paid no mind to it. This time he was standing in an aisle of a store as a child. He looked around and found his mother dressed embarrassingly in a thin tank top and ragged jeans and flip flops. He feels a squeeze of his hand and looks down, his little sister is looking up at him and pointing to a rack of stuffed animals of Clifford the Big Red Dog that were suddenly there. He sends her a smile and looks up, intent on catching up with his mother and asking her to buy one but as he chases her his intent slips from his mind and instead he wants to taste the cupcakes he just saw. He opens a case and takes a bite but yelling makes him turn around and there is Batman towering over him. Instead of a tasty cupcake he is holding something thick and metal, a crowbar. He throws it at the man and turns to run away and jumps out of the parking garage and jumps into the air flying up. But he’s too slow, he tries kicking and swimming in the air to propel himself further away from Batman but a hand wraps around his foot. 

Jason jerks awake, breathing heavy and feeling uncomfortably hot. This was much more mild than his usual nightmares, if it could even be called a nightmare, but it was bad in a different way. It wasn’t unusual for Jason to be getting chased in his dreams by one thing or another and it always ended before whatever or whoever was chasing him got him but it was getting a little old honestly. 

His head was pounding so he slipped out of bed and poured himself a glass of water from the kitchen. As he takes a sip he recalls his dream and how he had looked down at his sister. But that couldn’t be right. 

A searing pain in his head forces him to tighten his grip on his cup before it goes away again. Stupid head. Stupid dream. Stupid girl trying to get in his head. 

As he lays back down a memory of clear grey eyes flashes across his mind’s eye. 

---

Throughout the next few days Jason tries to ignore the headaches and his dreams of the young black haired girl with grey eyes and of getting chased which was more frequent and more urgent than he remembered them being. It was just all a big waste of time. At least the Dagger girl wasn’t trying to find him anymore, he didn’t know how he would react if she showed up again. 

After another dream of getting chased, this time he was just so tired of it he got a few good punches in on the Bane/Joker demon that was chasing him when his phone buzzes, startling him awake. He ignores it in favor of a cup of coffee and checks the time on the oven that he never uses, it’s almost two o’clock. 

His phone buzzes again several more times in quick succession. He finally heads over and clicks his phone on to see five messages from Stephanie. 

Replacement’s replacement🤰

so u have a little sister and u never told me???

anyways shes at the big house and getting interrogated by bruce and i think hes ready to adopt her

hello

so rude

i mean it looks to me shes tellin the truth but like seems sus for obvious reasons and ur the only one that'll actually know so… hurry up??

Jason curses and rushes to grab his things before running outside and zooming to the Wayne Manor on his motorcycle. 

welp i’ll add with another part soon that i havent finished yet but anywho let me know if jason is too ooc or something😁😁

[miracle-sham]

Seduce a Bat With a Thieving Cat.

| {Maribat2k20 Dickinette – Day 1: First Encounters} |

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] |

|Triggers/Warnings: Explicit language/some swearing. |

| It's just another typical night on patrol when the Gotham History Museum is broken into, luckily Nightwing's on the scene, that is until everything goes off the rails. |

| Or alternatively, |

| Marinette's not your typical barista, so when she serves Dick Grayson coffee, everything goes sideways. |

| Word Count: 4751 |

»‹•›«

| A/N: I'd just like to preface this fic by mentioning I had already written 2k of this fic by the time Miraculous786 posted their First Encounters fic and after reading it considering the similarities (Dick's PoV during the museum bit, Marinette wielding the Cat Miraculous and hunting down a Miraculous from a Gotham Museum) I was kinda disheartened because y'know I was worried I might get accusations of copying but as I had already written 2k I decided to keep going because I had a different enough plot and I didn't want to waste what I had written so far. |

| If you want to be tagged in future oneshots/fics, or a specific Au, then comment or senf me a DM/ask! |

| Also side note, Don't Like? Don't Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

»‹•›«

The night started out like any other Monday patrol. Except it's Monday, so of course it all goes off the rails not even halfway through the patrol. Because that's just Dick's luck.

 His comm buzzes, as Red Hood of all vigilantes, pipes up. “Just caught sight'a the tiny Catwoman copycat. Looks like she's got her eye on the Gotham History Museum again. O, you got anything on show in there that might pique the kitty's interest?”

 Oracle responds a second later, robotic voice overlay sounding charming as ever. “A bejewelled Armlet, which is the newest piece from the ancient Tibetan Jewellery collection is probably what our copycat burglar's after. She's targeted that specific collection before. Nightwing you're closest to the museum, try to cut her off before she can steal the piece.”

 “Got it!” Nightwing salutes, knowing Oracle is probably watching through a nearby security camera, as you do. He flips off the roof he's on and shoots the grapple mid flip—because he's physically incapable of not being showy, you can take him out the circus but you can't take the circus out of him—to change his route for the Museum in question.

 “Wait isn't that the collection where a bunch of perfectly preserved jewellery pieces were found in a two-hundred-year-old monastery and the pieces themselves are estimated to be thousands of years old?” Robin cuts in, followed by an “Eep!” and a series of crashes and clatters.

 “That's the one,” Oracle responds, sounding faintly amused, most likely watching whatever Robin's doing—which is probably nothing to worry about otherwise Oracle would have alerted them.

 Not that that'll stop me from worrying, Nightwing thinks ruefully.

 Red Hood scoffs. “Pretender, did you fucking seriously memorise facts about some fancy old jewellery?”

 Nightwing can practically hear Robin's frown through the comms, and boy does that make his heart clench.

 He, Robin, hesitates before answering. “I— one of my parent's last few archaeology gigs before they died was in Tibet where they were a part of the team that found a weird frog statue that's now on display at the Louvre. The statue has the same insignia as the box that the jewellery was discovered in.”

 The comms fall silent because well, they've all got their own parental issues so when it's an unspoken rule to not use that as ammo when it comes to bio parents. But the fact that Robin memorises facts relating to digs his parents went on, when they couldn't even remember half his birthdays. It's a painful reminder that the kid still loves his bio parents despite the abuse he suffered from them.

 The comms stay relatively silent (as silent as you can get, with six people's Comms hooked to the same frequency, all echoing in various white noise background sounds from their environments) until Nightwing reaches the Gotham History Museum. When the casual patrol chatter, as opposed to the white noise, starts back up, He filters out the sound out and circles the museum, keeping an eye out for their copycat burglar.

 Twenty minutes pass and there's still no sign of her nearby. Nightwing double taps his comm. “Looks like our kitty cat's a no show. Are there any other places she might tar—” A loud wailing alarm cuts him off. “Shit.”

 He whirls around, searching for the origin of the alarm. There, third skylight over, leading into the ancient Tibetan section added specifically for the bejewelled armlet's appearance at the museum—the section, not the skylight. If the skylight had been added then that would just be bad security choices on the Museum's part.

 “Nightwing. Report.” Batman growls in demands over the comms because Batman's incapable of speaking in something other than growls and guttural grunts.

  “Turns out, Oracle was probably right. I got eyes on the cat.” Nightwing responds, finally catching a glimpse of the copycat burglar, grappling her way out the skylight that the blaring alarm is coming from. Making a split-second decision, he sprint-swings after her. The chase is on kitty.

 “Whatever you do, don't engage,” Batman orders, voice sounding like someone dragged a beat-up thug across a gravel driveway.

 So Nightwing does what any self-respecting rebellious bat does, and ignores the order. “Engaging now.”

 “Nightwing.”

 Of course B tries to use the Robin Listen™ Voice. He pouts, turns off his earpiece midswing and continues to chase after the copycat burglar. He's a good few places behind, but his long legs and familiarity with the museum roof, is slowly but surely helping him catch up to her.

 She glances back at him and puts on a burst of speed, and upon reaching the edge of the museum's roof, pole vaults herself over the edge, just missing the next roof, and hurtling towards the street below—not a dangerous move at all.

 Nightwing has a split second of panic as he watches her as she's seemingly plummeting to her imminent demise, then decides to do the Vigilante Thing™ and dives after her.

 He reaches an arm out and is so close to catching her when the pole she used to vault extends out and wedges itself between the two buildings either side of the street. The copycat burglar then uses the momentum from the fall to perform three pullover flips on the pole-bar—like she wasn't just nearly falling to her death.

 Because of her move, Nightwing's forced to regrapple and swing by her in order to not crash into her. He spots a rooftop with two taller buildings either side and thinks to himself, a good point to ambush her at—provided she heads that way, if not, I can always grapple over to the other side of the street.

 There are gargoyles on both the taller buildings, so it doesn't take much to grapple up to one and hide behind them (like the bat he is)—to keep her from realising he's still here.

 Nightwing watches as the copycat burglar finishes her pullover flips and stabilises on the pole-bar, then walks across it like a tight rope—fortunately heading towards the building that he's planning to ambush her on. Finally, today's luck is looking up!

 Once she reaches the building, she steps onto a window sill and grabs the pole-bar. Nightwing studies her and the pole-bar as it contracts and compacts to a baton size. The copycat burglar attaches it to her belt then scales the side of the building seemingly effortlessly.

 She takes the path of least resistance as she reaches the top. Which is surprising to Nightwing considering she only just "lost" him. She then starts crossing the middle roof with the two taller buildings on either side.

 It's at that moment, he decides to drop in on their copycat burglar. And by drop in on, he means flip over the gargoyles he was hiding behind, and then triple backflips off the roof he's on, so that at the end of his fall he collides with her, pinning her to the ground. Unnecessarily showy, but who's he to not put on a show.

 Nightwing pulls out a pair of manacles and handcuffs her wrists. She turns her head enough to get a good look at him and gives him the most unimpressed glare he's ever seen. And I've lived with Batman, he thinks to himself, surprised at how good her unimpressed glare is.

 He leans down, trying to intimidate her. “Where'd you put the armlet you stole.”

 She hisses—like actually hisses, like a cat or a snake.

 However, having been used to villains making weird noises upon being captured—Manbat anyone?—the sound doesn't startle Nightwing as much as it probably should. That is until he catches sight of her slit pupils, and cat ears and tail twitching. Of course, his immediate thought is and they call Batman a furry.

 Unfortunately, in the split second where his thoughts are distracted, she mutters “Cataclysm,” beneath her breath. There's a horrible creak of metal rusting and warping followed by a clatter, as she yanks her hands away—causing the manacles to shatter in two.

 “Hey, wait a second!” Nightwing protests, he's about to ask what she just did, when she twists underneath his pin and flips the both of them over.

 Having not expected the flip, he's caught off guard once more but his reflexes are too well trained to be completely overwhelmed by the move, so he cartwheels out of the flip and out of her range. “That was my favourite pair of handcuffs you broke!”

 She raises an eyebrow at him and slips into a defensive stance. “You have a favourite pair of handcuffs?”

 Mimicking the action by getting into his own fighting stance, he starts to edge towards her, causing her to edge away from him—forcing them both to circle each other.

 “They were a good pair of handcuffs okay!” Nightwing defends, as he scrutinises her form—Clearly self-trained, considering this stance and her earlier moves. It's similar to Jason and Steph's styles, in the 'learnt to fight to avoid getting hurt worse' kinda way.

 “Emphasis on the were.” Is her dry response.

 He dive forward rolls towards her and jumps up, and using the momentum gained from the roll, throws an uppercut at her. “How about you give me the jewellery as compensation?”

 The copycat burglar narrows her eyes at him and blocks the uppercut with her elbow. “The jewellery is worth way more than your flimsy handcuffs.” She retaliates with a roundhouse kick to Nightwing's chest.

 Dodging with a back handspring, he pulls out his escrima sticks. “No?” He shrugs, “well it was worth a try.”

 She eyes his escrima sticks and gives him a tight-lipped smile. “It really wasn't but go off I guess.”

 That was definitely a twinkle of amusement in her eyes there! Nightwing grins then falters. “Y'know, if you're in trouble, you don't have to do this. I can help you.”

 The copycat burglar scoffs and throws a punch, which he easily blocks with one of his escrima sticks.

 “You don't understand.” She scowls, retracts her punch and spins before trying to jab him in the ribs with her baton.

 He blocks with one escrima stick and strikes back at her with the other. “I don't, but if you explain then I could.”

 Hissing through her teeth in pain, she glares at him, tail whipping viciously back and forth and cat ears laying flat against her head. She counters his block and strike, by swiping at his escrima sticks with her baton, knocking them from his grip.

 “Shit!” Nightwing back handsprings again, to get enough distance between them as to give him enough time to retrieve the sticks.

 She thwacks him in the neck with her expanding baton, throwing him off balance and leaving him breathless.

 With his moment of weakness, the copycat burglar grabs him and throws him at the nearest rooftop wall.

 “Fuck! Me!” He yelps between breaths, temporarily stunned, body aching from the impact.

 “No thanks, I'd prefer to take you out to dinner first.” She mutters, probably not intending for him to hear, as she pins him against the wall before he can recover.

 Blinking and wide-eyed, Nightwing stares at her for a solid three seconds then waggles his eyebrows. “I'd be up for dinner with you, just gotta let me help you with whatever's forcing you to steal the jewellery.”

 She sighs and glances away for a split second, then leans in really close and whispers in his ear. “There's nothing you can do to help me.”

 Leaning back, the copycat burglar places a finger over his lips—silencing him before he can speak.

 Nightwing flushes bright red and his heartbeat spikes.

 “My name is Minou Purrdu, and I'm sorry.” She purrs, pulling something odd out of her baton, a black and yellow spinning top.

 With her finger still over his lips, he's unable to ask what she's apologising for.

 She whispers under her breath, “Venom,” and stabs the spinning top into the side of his neck.

 Gasping, Nightwing is left completely paralysed by whatever the spinning top actually is because it's clearly not your standard spinning top. Unable to move—he can only watch as Minou Purrdu cups his cheek, frowns, pulls away, and begins pole-vaulting her way across the roof and out of sight.

»‹•›«

 Nightwing's not sure how long the paralysis lasted but as soon as it ends, he slumps back against the wall and melts, tipping his head back against the brick. His mind stuck on repeating the encounter as he processes what happened. Shit, he thinks while grinning dopily—face flushing bright red again (not that it faded much whilst he was paralysed), I thought I had a thing for redheads but obviously, I've got a thing for badass ladies instead.

 He's about to get up when Catwoman, original cat burglar extraordinaire, jumps down onto the roof he's on and gives him a very judgemental look. “I'm guessing the kitten got away with the jewellery, hmm? A shame, I quite fancied the look of it.” She stops, tipping her head to the side and raising a hand to one ear. She shakes her head but continues. “Oracle has some things she wants to say to you, I'd recommend turning on your comm unless you want her send Batman, Robin, or Red Hood here to see you like this.”

 Huffing, he rolls his eyes, “thanks,” then taps his comms back on. “Hey.”

 Catwoman nods to him and then takes her leave across the rooftops—Probably to go tease Batman or something.

  The comm buzzes and an unimpressed sounding Oracle greets him. “Clearly the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.” She pauses then adds, “I recorded your entire "fight".”

 Nightwing splutters in response. “What.”

 “Awww, did you get your feathers ruffled by the kitty cat, Big Wing?” Red Hood cuts in with a teasing sing-song tone of voice.

 “I hate you both,” Nightwing grumbles, pushing himself up off the ground and wall.

 “Sorry to interrupt, but I was looking through the museum's private notes on the jewellery collection, apparently some of the pieces are thought to be magical artefacts,” Robin interjects, sounding somewhat strained.

 Red Hood scoffs, “so you're saying our copycat burglar's—”

 “Minou Purrdu she called herself.” Nightwing chimes in.

 Red Hood clears his throat. “—Got her hands on multiple magical artefacts and we got no idea why she's doing it or if she's working with anyone.”

 “We might get another chance to catch her, the museum has a few other jewellery pieces from the collection, in the back,” Robin informs them, a familiar thwip of a grapple line in the background.

 “So we'll monitor the museum for any suspicious activity.” Oracle sighs. “Also Nightwing, Agent A's currently dealing with B but he wants to know the extent of your injuries from the fight.”

“Gotcha.” He swipes on his gauntlet computer and sends a quick analysis of his injuries—mostly minor bruising—and sends it to the Batcomputer for Agent A to see. “Done.”

 “B's being grumpy over the stunt you pulled, so I suggest doing a final loop once you finish patrol before heading back.” There's a clacking of keys as Oracle types away at something, most likely checking the security cams nearby.

 Nightwing readies his grapple. “You're a lifesaver O.” Then swings himself off the building to double back to his patrol route.

The clacking pauses and she laughs. “I know.”

»‹•›«

 The next morning, as she's sprinting down the pavement, Marinette's phone starts ringing. She stumbles to a stop, barely managing to dodge the other civilians walking down the path and fumbles to get her phone out her pocket. She curses and glances around her then steps off to the side to take the call. She catches a glimpse of the caller's ID before she answers, “Adrien? What is it?”

 “Ah, you're awake already, mornin' Mari!” He greets cheerfully, sounding far too awake for eight am on a Tuesday morning. Although then again, he wasn't the one who spent last night (morning?) hopping across rooftops at godforsaken hours and getting chased by the local spandex-wearing vigilantes. 

 There's a clatter behind Adrien followed by the whir of an appliance, he pauses, probably distracted by whatever made the noise. There's a faint rustle-woosh as he shakes his head. “I'm just calling to check up on you after your late night last night, after all, today's your first shift at the coffee shop.”

 Marinette huffs good-naturedly, “I woke up extra early so I wouldn't be late,” Translation: I did not get a wink of sleep last night. “I'm less than a minutes walk away right now.”

 Adrien sighs. “Mari, you really need to get better sleeping habits.”

 “Mhmm. Alright, I'm nearly there” She responds, busy checking her surroundings once more.

 “M'kay, chat to you inside?” And she can just hear the feral grin in his voice as he makes the pun.

 Marinette groans at the awful pun. “Really? Whatever, see ya!” And quickly ends the call, before setting off at a brisk pace to get to the coffee shop.

»‹•›«

 Once she reaches the coffee shop, Marinette's just barely on time for her shift. She darts into the back room and throws on the nearest apron of her size and slaps her name tag onto the apron.

 With the apron and name tag on, she stumbles out the back room and scurries behind the counter to join Adrien, who's chatting to a customer; a superhero fan, if I were to guess, from all the superhero badges and patches on their jacket. As she passes by him to get to her station, he raises a hand without glancing back at her. On instinct, she high fives his raised hand.

 Marinette reaches the empty till and waves over the next customer. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots Adrien starting on his customer's order. She smiles as the customer she waved over, approaches.

 The customer that approaches, is a pale thin-faced man, with balding grey hair and wearing a shirt and jacket from the latest Gabriel Agreste fashion line. “I need a triple shot, venti, half sweet, caramel macchiato, with three pumps of vanilla and extra whip. And I need it pronto, girly.”

 “Of course.” Marinette's smile turns paper-thin as a wave of fury washed over her. This is not my morning, she internally laments. But at least Adrien doesn't have to deal with this bastard. He doesn't need a reminder of the fact that his sperm donor managed to escape his crimes thanks to being an old, white, corrupt businessman.

 He glares at her, then sniffs pointedly and pulls out his phone.

 Marinette scurries away from the till to go and get started on the order. It's not enough to stop her from wanting to break the customer's nose but it keeps her occupied for the moment being.

 As she passes Adrien, he gives her a concerned glance. She responds with a shrug and the shake of her head, she flicks her gaze back to her customer and then to Adrien; silently conveying it's fine, don't worry. I can deal with it.

 He frowns but doesn't press, instead continuing as he was doing, in taking his customer's order to said customer.

 Sighing, Marinette then gets started on her customer's hell order, carefully making the coffee step by step, to ensure its right. Because as much as I'd love to tamper with his drink, I'd rather not lose my job not even five minutes into my first shift.

 Thankfully it doesn't take too long to make the order but as the equipment isn't that far from the counter, she could hear all the impatient huffs and scoffs from the customer throughout the duration of making the coffee. After she adds the final touches, Marinette carefully carries the order over to the customer and goes through the payment process with him.

 The customer leaves with a scowl. Good riddance, she scoffs internally. She surveys the coffee shop and surprisingly there's no one else in the queue. She shuffles towards Adrien, looking quite pale, as he hands over the change to a customer who then puts the change in the tip jar and leaves.

 Eyeing him carefully, Marinette gently nudges him in the side and softly questions. “Hey, you feeling okay? You're looking kinda pale.”

 Adrien glances back to her and nods. “Yeah, I just…” He takes a second to breathe, “that customer you were serving, he was wearing his brand.”

She makes a pained face. Shit, I was hoping he wouldn't notice.

 He huffs and grins fragilely. “You're doing your 'Heck I had hoped you hadn't realised that' face.”

  Marinette rolls her eyes. “Close, it was a 'Shit, I was hoping you hadn't realised' face but technicalities, technicalities.”

 Just as he's about to respond, three giggling people stumble into the coffee shop, a man and a boy with black hair and blue eyes, and a girl with blonde hair and blue eyes.

 Adrien stiffens as they approach, so Marinette does what any good friend would do and grabs him by the arm to tug him a step behind her.

 “Nuh-uh!” She wags a finger at him, “I'll deal with the next customers, you go take a five-minute breather in the backroom.”

 He wavers and glances between her and the approaching group. He shakes his head and grimaces. “Alright,” then scampers off to the backroom in a very cat-like way.

 Some things just don't change, she muses to herself, and tenses, throwing on a quick but genuine-looking smile to greet the new customers.

 As the three reach the counter, the tallest of the three (the black-haired blue-eyed man), leans on the counter and smirks in a way that can only be described as flirtatiously. The other man groans and the woman bursts into giggles.

 Marinette refrains from mentally calling the flirtatiously smirking one 'The Chat Noir of the three'. “Hi, how may I help you?”

 The blonde girl shoves the men and boy out of the way and flashes Marinette a dazzling grin. “Hey, can I get a grande Spoiler Surprise hot chocolate and a warmed coffee waffle please!”

 Marinette nods, quickly racking her brain for the recipe to the Gotham Special, and adds it to the till. “Anything else?”

 The black-haired blue-eyed boy—Who I really need a better internal nickname for him because he's starting to sound like the blue-eyes white dragon with how much I'm repeating that, Marinette thinks absently—half-heartedly glares at the blonde girl before turning his gaze to Marinette and asks, “could I have a quadruple shot Venti espresso with sixteen addition shots of espresso and one of the add energy packets.”

 “Timmy, no!” Gasps the man.

 “Tim, yes.” 'Tim' responds, grinning mischievously.

 The blonde girl barely holds back her laughter, doubling over from the effort.

 Marinette stares at him in concern but as soon as she spots the very prominent bags beneath his eyes, she nods—in solidarity and adds the coffee order to the till. “Okay, anything else?”

 The blonde girl and Tim share a look before darting off to grab a free table booth, leaving the man at the counter with her.

 The man stares after the two before turning his attention to Marinette. “Can I get a grande White Chocolate Mocha, please.” He pauses, “And I'll pay you triple the price of the entire order in tips if you make Tim's drink entirely decaf. Please, he's had three black coffees already today.”

 Marinette nods her head slowly. “I–uh, sure, okay. And is that all?”

 He nods, “Yep, that's all.”

 She adds the final drink to the order and puts it through the till. “That'll be twenty dollars…”

 The man hums thoughtfully and hands over a twenty-dollar bill, “Cool, so I'll pay you sixty bucks in tips if you make my little brother's drink decaf.” He then adds, “I'm Dick by the way.”

 “Marinette,” she points to the little name tag attached to her apron before getting started on the worst of the drinks, the (now decaf) twenty shot venti espresso. “And that's way too much for a tip, I can't accept that much.”

 “Hey, no, you deserve it for making that abomination of a drink that my little brother ordered and anyway it's not like I can't afford to tip you that much.” Dick divulges.

“Oh.” She responds noncommittally, unsure how to respond and so continues to pour the shots of decaf espresso into the venti cup.

 Just as she finishes pouring the final shots into the cup, a customer switches the café TV to a news channel. “Late last night, there was a break-in at the Gotham History Museum. The only item stolen was an artefact from the new Ancient Tibetan display. Fortunately, the thief was caught on the security camera. From what can be seen in the footage, the thief appears to be a Catwoman copycat.” A news anchor reports before cutting to the footage of the break-in.

 Marinette puts the twenty shot venti espresso on a tray and places the tray and drink on the counter between her and Dick.

 “What's your opinion on Minou Purrdu?” He inquires, with a curious look on his face, head cocked to one side.

 Thanks to anxiety, Marinette's immediate response is to laugh awkwardly as she internally panics—Oh fuck, he must be Nightwing. Don't be here to arrest me, don't be here to arrest, please—turning away from the counter, she gets started on the white chocolate mocha. “Uh, who?”

 Dick rubs at the back of neck somewhat sheepishly, “it's that new copycat thief's name apparently.”

 “Huh. I guess the thief must be a fan of puns then.” She comments, avoiding answering his question as she mixes the relevant ingredients into the cup to produce the drink.

 “Oh? What makes you say that?” He asks, body language showing him to be genuinely curious—probably not here to arrest me then, hopefully.

 Marinette finishes making the white chocolate mocha and carries the cup over to the tray, explaining her reasoning as she did so. “Well, Minou Purrdu is a pun. Minou perdu is french for lost kitty, and so by adding a purr to perdu, the thief made it a pun.”

 Dick makes a noise of contemplation, he then spies his drink and grins in a way that's flirtatiously feral enough to rival Chat Noir (she was definitely spot on when she nearly mentally referred to him as the Chat Noir of the three), then points to the mocha, “hey, you mocha me crazy.”

 Marinette sighs in poorly concealed amusement and it's at that moment, Adrien walks out the employee room and joins her behind the counter.

 He glances around and spots no queue, “need any help with the order?”

 She nods and turns to him. “If you could grab one of the coffee waffles and warm it please.”

 “No problem!” Adrien nods and heads over to the glass food display to get a coffee waffle.

 Dick pokes at up his mocha cup and whistles through at the heat. “This coffee's really hot but not as hot as you.”

 Marinette, midway through turning away from the counter to go grab the ingredients needed for the Spoiler Surprise hot chocolate, chokes and flushes bright red. Nope-nope-nope-nope-no! I am not doing this! Absolutely no way am I getting a crush on Nightwing who's currently a civilian and probably is maybe hunting down my secret identity to arrest me!

 Adrien, the traitor, puts the now warmed up coffee waffle on the tray and grabs a napkin. He quickly scrawls down a string of numbers that look suspiciously like her personal phone number. He waggles his eyebrows at her, winks, then hands the napkin to Dick. “She's too shy to do it herself, so here's her number!”

 She squeaks in surprise—ironic considering the drink she's currently making—and covers her face with her hands, thankfully having not been holding the cup of half-made Spoiler Surprise hot chocolate. Otherwise, she definitely would've spilt it.

 Quickly, she finishes the hot chocolate and puts it on the tray. “Here you go.”

“Thanks! and here's your tip.” He places down three twenty-dollar bills on the counter and winks, before picking the tray up and bringing it over to Tim and the blonde girl.

 Marinette spins around to face Adrien. “Oh my god, why would you do that?”

 He smirks, “because we're in a new city, why not have some fun and follow through with your new crush?”

 She groans. “We need to talk in private as soon as our shifts end.”

 Adrien's smile falters. “Alright.”

»‹•›«

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little oneshot! Comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated! |

@maribat-2k20

[rataltouille]

HOUSE PLANTS, UPDATE 1

this has been long overdue. typical, really. [novel intro found here.]

the story is currently eight chapters in but it's also a very strange eight chapters. i’m not really happy with half of these words because they're unnecessary ™ and dull ™ and serve no purpose whatsoever ™. i’m simply choosing to ignore that i need to cut them out. :’] here’s a note i made that perfectly captures my feelings so far:

before we go into the excerpts, i want to talk a bit about how house plants is structured because the format is whack. each chapter ranges from 3000-4000 words. A few vignettes, around 500 words, are sprinkled between these chapters. the chapters narrate events from the fictive past, while the vignettes are snippets into the fictive present [the point from where lilith is retelling the story]. additionally, an important plot thread is told entirely in the form of an epistolary [through letters] and so there's a bit more of confusion to navigate through. fun times.

and now for the excerpts. they're from the first three chapters and are very weird out of context. i think that each update will feature excerpts from three consequent chapters, but that may change as we get closer to spoiler land.

excerpts:

chapter one

the novel kicks off with an odd vignette featuring an unhinged willow and an innocent lilith. chronologically, this is set way back, the earliest scene ever, around when lilith was ten or eleven. it’s meant to establish a sense of unease and to thread the unsettling undertone i’m going for. it's also major foreshadowing but we don't talk about that here. i’m not giving away much because there's not many excerpts to scrape out from a dialogue-heavy vignette like this.

”Here, let me help, mother.”

I tried guiding your palms to the rim of the pot, but you moved them away. From the brief touch, my fingers came away with moisture. On second glance, your knuckles were bathed in sweat. Your veins pulsed and your hands shivered. You gave me a wide-eyed glance, dumped the plant atop the brown, and stood up. You wiped the dirt away on your jeans. From below, with sunlight teetering over your golden hair, you were a personification of God. But were you, really? Does God fear their children? Does God volunteer to garden? I didn't know what God truly meant. I don't now either. But I’m certain it wasn't you.

”Sorry, Lilith. My pollen allergy is acting up.”

It's stunning how it ran in our blood, lying effortlessly.

chapter two

immediately after this we’re pulled off into the linear non-vignette chapter thing, aka the second chapter. [god what am i doing with this structure]. it starts with a soft little reminiscent bit about juniper?? i’m exploiting the tense a lot but it's been fun. (:

The first time she smiled at me is knit into me, like I’m not myself without it. I’m not. She breathed change and I ran with it. Whenever she gazed at me, with sunset dripping behind her head, or with rain clouds dotting her hairline, she’d smile. It was the sound of a ukulele in a winter draft, the kiss of dew on my favourite hemlock, the fond mythical curl of my father’s arms around me. There’s a phantom of love everywhere, and I almost caught it sneaking around her. Even now, Juniper dozes so soundly; she’s replaced everything I wanted you to be and everything you never were. You’d know, of course. You always have.

willow is officially introduced soon after, and so is one of the major plot threads, i.e. lilith’s correspondence with her dad. this excerpt is to show how the family feel about each other became, like i mentioned, there’s a lot of tea to be split here. not gonna lie, this paragraph reads as kinds pure.

You— the town called you Wistful Willow, but they did so behind your back and on postcards to neighbours— had a special lilt in your tone every time you spoke his name. ”Isac,” your lips would curl, almost a smile, and I’d smile back. You loved it, the sound of his name. It had become a ritual for us, pouring our sorrow and joy and unrest and comfort into those two syllables. A fallback plan, I suppose; there was always father to rely on amidst chaos.

willow is constantly at home and she’s probably not seen the outside world in a million years. she either cooks, reads, sits in a bathtub, or does everything at the same time. not odd at all.

The bathroom door, thick oak painted ivory, was right across where I stood. The house was large and empty, and I had three places— study, bedroom, garden— to myself. I lived only with you, so it was mostly quiet, except on Saturdays when we got father’s mail and watched TV together. That Saturday we had seen an old movie from the 70s, a random romance that neither of us cared for, but watched out of duty.

The door was shut. From it came the sound of pages rustling, not unlike a delicate breeze playing with the fronds of croton plants. I knocked softly.

”Come in, ” you said, a splash of water punctuating your voice.

I entered to find you half-immersed in the bathtub, one hand holding a novel, the other limp across the rim. There lingered the scent of soapy water, rose-tinted, and all over the tiled walls was the water’s reflection, a glow of opulence. You were half-naked, your garments drifting like algae. Your habit of reading in the bathtub had been increasing lately. You looked at me, questioning.

there’s also the introduction of lilith’s best friends marcy and faun, where they lay down in the middle of a field after a tiring cricket match and banter all through the evening. i’m really enjoying the trio’s friendship; it's both fun to write and they’re just so pure.

”If you insult Henry one more time, Marce...”

”He actually named the butterfly.” Her eyes were wide and amused; she dug up mud with her nails and flicked it upwards, glanced at me. ”Lilith. He named his fucking butterfly.”

”Faun, it's dead. You keep it in a box, ” I said.

”The dead don't magically lose their names, ” he countered.

Our laughter drafted into town. I don't think it heard.

chapter three

this is kind of uneventful but it sets up some major subplots. i might push it to later in the book, but i’m happy with where it it's right now. lilith randomly keeps reminiscing throughout so that’s convenient. this excerpt is about willow and thus is unreliable as hell. willow ain't good and lilith ain't 100% sincere narrating this right now, so don't let its pureness fool you.

People in town, I’d hear, found you odd and unsociable, cold and distant. I always scoffed when they told me so. They only knew the Willow who never attended community gatherings, who’d gaze out absentmindedly from the porch, who’d more so see than observe, hear than listen. They didn't know the Willow who was my mother, who hated loud noises, who loved her novels with a passion, who spoke so serenely— and rarely— that you hung onto her every word. Only I saw this side of you, and that suited me just fine.

there’s a scene where lilith [accidentally] spies on marcy and another guy. their conversation makes lilith tangent off in her head.

Marcy spoke detachedly, like she was speaking through a filter of not caring. I worried for her and her charade. It didn't help that scented letters confessing love often found their way to her locker, or that roses were shoved in her face as if her admirers loved her so much that they forgot she was allergic to them. Idolisation and adoration took extreme forms; she was stalked for a month and sent death threats. She would put on a disguise of indifference and seem unbothered, but at night she’d soak her pillow and lose sleep, then inform us the next day about her insomnia so casually that we almost forgot how easily she hurt.

i’m not going to lie, the last line in this excerpt was just me indulging myself with the knowledge of the climax. i need to stop slipping in random tone changes like this lol.

My walk home finished quick, though my feet expressed exhaustion. I was right on time, too; you were sitting by your coffee table, glasses crooked upon your nose, a new novel— this one a bright red sky, gold print, gauzy— resting beside warm coffee. You barely smiled, but that was because you were daydreaming. I was familiar with every tell: your eyes would tilt towards my forehead, your lips would stretch, your fingers would drum on whatever you were holding. I’d always let you be when you drowned into your head. Did you ever notice that, Mother? Have you ventured out of your mind to witness my efforts?

and finally some food for thought. yes, that pun was intended. i’ll see myself out.

”Dinner’s ready, dear,” you called. I groaned out my fatigue and left my room, hoping to abandon my unflattering thoughts. In the kitchen, I helped you set the table. Soon we were both sipping hot carrot soup with a side of breadsticks. You were already invested in the novel. I held the spoon, the heat barely registering, and watched you drift through fiction and reality like a will o’ the wisp. Maybe I could read for escapism, too. It would do me good.

that’s all for today! thanks for reading so far; support is, as always, appreciated. hope you liked these excerpts ✨

[what-is-your-plan-today]

CSI: Rogers and Barnes- The Serious Cereal Serial Killer Ch 10: Surprise Surprise

Part 2 Co-written with @icanfeelastormbrewing​

REMINDER! Episode Warnings: Bad Language words. SMUT… (NSFW) NO UNDER 18s!!!!

Please read Part 1 first!

It felt to Steve like the afternoon lasted a goddamned month, but eventually he started to see everyone filtering out. He popped his head out of the door, thanked everyone for their work and apologised for his outburst earlier. Wanda smiled at him and then asked him if he needed anything else before she left. Steve’s eyes flickered to Katie who wasn’t looking at them, but he saw her shoulders tense a little. He dismissed Wanda and then it was just him, Bucky and Katie left in the room.

“Well…” Bucky smirked, standing up “I’ll leave you to it.” “Hang on, I need you to take my kit bag to yours.” Katie said, standing up

“That’s very presumptuous of you…” Steve looked at her, his eyebrow raising slightly and she shrugged, giving him a grin before she turned back to Bucky.

“I’ll walk down with you.”

Bucky nodded and then smiled to himself as Steve crossed the room, his hands gently dropping to Katie’s hips, as he dropped a soft kiss to her lips.

“What was that for?” she looked at him.

“Do I need an excuse?”

“No, suppose not.” she smiled at him. He gave her a wink in response and then turned and headed back towards his office “Don’t take forever getting ready…” She rolled her eyes in response and grinned at Bucky who smirked as she linked her arm through his and they headed down to the parking lot. Steve moved back into his office, grabbed his own bag and headed into the locker rooms. After a quick change into his outfit, he straightened his hair slightly, his hand running over his now present again, albeit shorter than it had been, beard before he stood back, taking a final look at his appearance. Deciding it was as good as it was going to get he took his bag and headed back upstairs and into his office. With a final check of his emails he glanced at his watch and, deciding that they needed to move sharpish, he closed his laptop down and grabbed his jacket.

He pulled his office door closed behind him, locking the door as always before he walked over to the key-safe and tapped in the code, placing the key on the right hook. Once he’d shut it all and secured it he turned to see Katie walking back into the main room. Not that she didn’t always but she looked especially good in a pair of dark jeans, a pale blue low cut sweater that hung off one shoulder, giving him a flash of baby pink bra strap (to which he could only hope to god she was wearing the matching bottom halves to because Jesus wept that lace did things to him) and a pair of tan-boots with a small heel. Her hair, which was starting to grow out of the short style was now hallway between her chin and her shoulder and she had pulled the longer side round into a braid. Her green eyes shone underneath a pale gold colour on her lids and her lips were slick with a clear gloss.

“You look amazing.” he said as she smiled at him, shyly, picking up her tan leather jacket from her chair.

Taking another look around the office, to double check they were alone he walked over to her and dropped a kiss to her cheek.

“So do you.” she said, stepping back to take in his white T- shirt, black zip up leather jacket, jeans and boots. He smiled, blushing slightly before he dropped a hand to the small of her back as they made their way to the elevator.  They exited the station, bidding goodbye to Heimdall who simply nodded at them, it wasn’t uncommon for them to leave together so they weren’t bothered about that in the slightest as they headed to the Subway Station chatting away.

If Steve had been trying to time it any better he doubted he could. Their train pulled in just as they walked onto the platform, it wasn’t crowded meaning they could get seats and for the first time since leaving the station Steve relaxed and tossed his arm around Katie’s shoulder, pulling her in for a kiss. She smiled at him, softly, then spotted the cheeky twinkle in his eye. “What?”

“Just wondering if you wanted to check whether Curtis was driving?”

She rolled her eyes before she smirked back “He’s retired actually. Hurt his arm in an accident, so I heard. Severed it from the elbow down.”

“Ouch.” Steve frowned, suddenly feeling a little bid bad for the guy “That’s…a bit shit!”

“I’ll say.” she shrugged “Anyway, you gonna tell me where we’re going yet?”

“Nope.” he shook his head, grinning. “You’ll see soon enough.”

She looked at him for a moment before she shrugged, changing the subject “How was Momma Rogers?”

“Oh, she’s fine.” Steve said, scratching his neck “I errr, I told her about us. Well, she kinda guessed actually but…” “I bet she took it better than Tony.” Katie smiled and he let out a snort.

“Yeah, you’re not wrong. She’s, well, a little excited shall we say.” he left it at that, deciding not to completely divulge the conversation he’d had with his Mom earlier. Some things just needed to stay between Mother and Son.

Although the ride in took them 30 minutes or so it seemed to flash by and soon they were emerging out of the Subway onto 50th Street.  Steve saw Katie shoot a glance over her shoulder at something, and he knew exactly what she was looking at, they were in the theatre district after all. Taking her hand in his he gently gave her a tug and led her down the sidewalk, which was busy as usual, leading her down to their first destination.

“You’re taking me to Joe Allen’s!” she said, giving his hand a squeeze and he glanced down at her, grinning as they turned on to 46th

“I knew you were a Detective for a reason.” he said and she nudged him with her elbow.

“Dick.” she smiled, before she looked at him “You know I love it there.”

He didn’t reply, simply squeezed her hand as they approached and then he let go to get the door for her. Greeting the maître d he gave his name for the reservation and they were led to a table at the far side of the restaurant where they were seated.

“Do you even need to look at the menu?” Steve teased and Katie shook her head, grinning.

“Nope.” she smirked “Mussels to start and the…”

“Turkey burger.” he finished for her and she shook her head.

“You know it is ridiculous how well you know me.” she looked at him and he shrugged.

“Almost 11 years now doll.” he said simply, smiling as someone arrived to take their drinks order. Given than neither of them needed to look at a menu the Waiter took their food orders as well with a smile and left them to it.

Steve leaned back in his chair and eyed his girl for a moment as she took a cursory glance around, Bucky’s words echoing in his head. Maybe now wasn’t the best time to raise this but he wanted to leave her with no doubts as to exactly what he was feeling and thinking. He wanted them to work, wanted this to be the start of something good, which he felt it was, and he was done letting external influences and other people sabotage their relationship. He’d lost her once because of that, and he was damned if he was going to lose her again.

"So, Bucky told me Wanda has been at it again?" Steve asked taking a deep breath.

He saw Katie's mood turn a bit sombre and she rubbed at her temple.

"Please, Stevie…can we not talk about her?" she pleaded more than asked.

"Ok, I don't wanna dwell on it sweetheart, but you do believe me when I tell you I'm not interested, in the slightest, don’t you?" Steve asked looking at her intently.

Katie just nodded but she wasn't looking at him, instead Steve saw her fiddling with the cutlery, making sure it was perfectly lined up on the table.

"Are you that concerned? Coz you have no reason to be." he insisted "Look at me, Doll."

"I know." she sighed and lifted her eyes to look directly into his "I know you'd never do that to me. Not after everything we've gone through, but it just..."

"What?" Steve asked smiling fondly at her, leaning on the table.

"I don't like people touching my stuff." she blurted out, shrugging.

Steve couldn't help but chuckle at her bratty outburst and he leaned back in his chair.

"So, I'm your stuff now." Steve scoffed, with a smirk. He had to admit, it amused him when she behaved that way.

"Yeah.” she pouted, before her face split into a grin as she clocked the look on his own features and she smiled, flirting "You're my hot stuff."

Steve laughed loudly at her words, tilting his head back and grabbing his left pec. "I fucking love you." he said grinning widely.

"Yeah, you do." Katie replied also smiling widely.

"Say it." Steve commanded her "Say it back, doll."

"Nope" she said popping the p.

"Doll..." he insisted tilting his head and raising one eyebrow.

"All right.” she said, shrugging before she cocked her head to one side and gave him a coy smile. “I love you, Stevie." she purred.

******

The food, as ever, hit the spot perfectly. Katie declined desert but Steve asked for 2 spoons with his Key-Lime Pie as he knew full well that she’d end up eating half the fucking thing, and she proved him right. After a slight discussion about who was paying, Katie trying to go halves but Steve telling her over his dead body was she paying for anything on their first date, they headed back up the street, past the subway station they’d emerged from earlier and then Steve brought them to a halt on the sidewalk opposite the Gershwin Theatre.

“What are we do-” Katie began to ask him and then she stopped dead, suddenly realising where they were. Her hand tightened around his and her eyes grew wide. “No, you’re…” she looked up at him, her voice practically a whisper “You got us tickets?”

Licking his lips slightly he nodded “Yeah.”

Her face broke into the biggest smile he could ever remember her sporting and his chest flooded suddenly with warmth as she gave a squeal and threw her arms around him. He laughed and pulled her into a hug.

“I mean, if you don’t wanna go, I can always sell them…” he teased and she hit him on the chest.

“Don’t even joke about that…” she shook her head. “I can’t…I can’t believe you did this. I’ve wanted to go for like forever…”

“You may have mentioned it once or twice.” he said simply “You finished staring at the theatre or do you wanna go inside? I mean it is a pretty interesting theatre…”

She simply rolled her eyes, the grin still plastered on her face as she nodded and they headed over to the crossing, joining the crowds of people walking across the road. Steve led them over to the ticket office, where he picked up the tickets and they walked into the foyer, Katie glancing around as she took everything in, her eyes sparkling.

“D’ya wanna get a drink sweetheart?” he asked, his arm curling around her waist. She nodded and he steered them over to the bar, where they waited to be served, Katie’s eyes still darting all around before she turned to him when he nudged her and asked what she wanted.

“Can I get a prosecco?” she asked, her tone hopeful and he laughed.

“You can have whatever you want.” he said softly, and she grinned, nodding. He placed the order and paid, handing her the glass before they headed over to a spare spot a little to their right by a tall table.

“I can’t believe you did this.” she shook her head looking at him “And kept a secret. You’re like the world’s worst liar…” “Why do you think I asked you not to start digging?” he asked, swallowing a mouthful of his beer. “I wanted it to be a surprise.” “I thought I knew you well enough now that you’d never be able to surprise me.” she smiled softly.

“Well like I said, I’ve had long enough to get to know you so…”

Her reply was cut off as the voice over the PA system announced the show would be starting in 15 minutes, so with a smile he suggested they find their seats. Steve was pleased to find they were actually pretty good. They were in the mezzanine,3rd row back and their seats were at the end of the row which pleased Steve as firstly he could stretch his long legs out properly into the aisle if he needed to and secondly  he’d be able to slip out without disturbing too many people if he wanted to get them another drink. He wasn’t bothered about missing the odd bit, it wasn’t really his scene after all but this wasn’t about him after all.

Having said that, 20 minutes or so into the first act he was pleasantly surprised to find he was actually enjoying it. He did love the Wizard of Oz after all, it had always been his favourite film growing up as a kid and Katie’s too for that matter. However, what he was enjoying more than anything was Katie’s reaction. Every so often he’d steal a side glance at his girl to find her mouthing along to the songs, unsurprisingly she knew every word, and he smiled to himself, his hand dropping to her leg, curling around her thigh. She smiled, not taking her eyes off the stage and dropped her hand to lay it on top of his, her fingers gently playing with his hand in the way she always did.  When the interval came he disappeared and returned a little while later with more drinks and she took hers from him, turning to him as he sat down, leaning over to catch his mouth in a soft kiss.

“You ok?” he asked her softly, his fingers brushing the back of her neck.

“More than ok.” she replied, her eyes bright. “This is perfect Stevie, thank you.”

Perfect, fucking perfect. Steve slid down into his chair, a huge shit eating grin plastered across his face as the second act started.

**** “That was amazing!” Katie gushed as they joined the throng of people, heading towards the exit. “The songs, the lighting, the whole production, I just…” she sighed happily as her hand curled around Steve’s and he looked down at her smiling. He was just about to reply when her face split into another grin and she jerked them both sharply to the left.

“Honey, what…”

“Merchandise!” she grinned, “I just want to look.”

Steve allowed her to lead him over to the counter, as she peered down, clearly mulling something over.

“I might get a programme…”she mused, before she wrinkled her nose “Mind you I’ll never look at it again…already got the soundtrack….oohhhhh check that out!”

Steve glanced up and saw her eyes had fallen on a black hoody with the show’s logo adorned on the chest in diamantes.

“I need that.”

He laughed, “At eighty bucks you don’t need it.” “I do.” “No, you want it.” “Nope.” she shook her head “It’s a definite need.” “For you to actually need it, then I’d have to ruin all your shirts” he teased and she glanced at him shaking her head.

“Yeah, you still owe me for that…” she snorted before she turned to lead them both away from the stall. “Oh, can I just nip to the bathroom before we head out?” “Sure, I’ll wait for you by the exit.” he said. She smiled, leaned up to kiss his cheek, before she headed off.

Steve watched her go for a second before he turned back to the Merchandise desk. Pulling out his wallet, he asked the attendant for one of the hoodies in a small, he had ruined her shirt after all which he still hadn’t replaced. With a smile he took the bag and headed towards the exit, doing up his jacket as he went. It wasn’t long before she returned and wordlessly he handed her the bag. She took it from him, frowning before she grinned at the contents and shook her head, laughing.

“You didn’t have to get me this.” she said softly.

“Well, as you reminded me, I still owed you for your shirt.”

“Steve, I wasn’t hinting at that, you didn’t…” “I know.” he cut her off softly “But I wanted to.”

She smiled at him again, “You’re such a dork.” she glanced in the bag again before she looked up at him, her face soft “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome Doll…” he said, wrapping his arm round her “Now, not sure about you but I could do with a drink. Fancy heading to The Rum House?” “Oooh yeah!” she grinned as they started to walk back towards Times Square “Haven’t been in there in…well, I can’t remember the last time actually.” He pulled her in closer, dropping a kiss to the side of her head, relishing the fact that he was simply able to do so, in public, show anyone and everyone who was looking that she was his girl. It hadn’t been easy at work, for either of them, but now Tony knew as well it would mean they could relax once they both left the station and enjoy being with one another away from the office. He knew that dating in semi-secret wasn’t perfect, far from it, and moreover that it couldn’t go on for ever, but Steve was damned sure he was going to make it work for as long as they needed it to.

Hand in hand they weaved through the tourists and locals, all going about their business and it wasn’t long before they reached the bar. Steve, ever the gentleman, nodded to the bouncer who opened the door for them and he waited for Katie to walk in before him, his hand gently on the base of her back as he steered them over to the bar. Both of them removed their jackets and waited until a bar tender was free and made his way over to them. Steve’s hands gently dropped to her waist and he pressed a soft kiss to the side of her neck, making her smile and lean back slightly into him.

Katie was a sucker for gin, but seeing as they were in The Rum House and he was on his first date with her, Steve convinced her they should make it a special night to remember and he ordered one the bar's signature Rum cocktails for them both. A Mojito for him and a Berry Daiquiri for his girlfriend.

His girlfriend, Steve had smiled when he had uttered those words to the bartender.

They stood listening to the background jazz music while they waited for their drinks by the bar before Steve spotted a stool was spare. He offered it to Katie but she shook her head and instead gently nudged him back onto it so he was perched on the edge, one foot on the rung and she moved to stand between his legs, snuggling into his neck when she suddenly tilted her head back to look at him.

"What cologne are you wearing?" she asked.

"Same as always. Gucci Guilty, why?" Steve replied tightening his grip around his girlfriend’s waist.

"Well, I don't know. It's doing things to me tonight." she confessed biting her bottom lip. "Or maybe it's the fact you're being particularly lovey-dovey. Not that I'm complaining."

Steve didn't say a word, he just smiled and reached up, his hand gently gripping the back of her neck and he brought her lips to his.

"Do you know that PDAs make some people uncomfortable?" Katie asked once they broke the kiss.

"I don't give a shit, doll. I’ve waited long enough and we have to hide it everywhere else." Steve shrugged with a grin plastered on his face.

******

Bucky looked up from his phone on which he had been checking his messages while his date was in the restroom and felt his mouth drop open.  He couldn't believe his eyes when he spotted Steve and Katie by the bar, easily recognising the punk gently kissing his girlfriend from the other side of the room.  Fortunately, they hadn't spotted him. How could they? Steve was all over Katie and she was smiling all gooey eyed at him, blatantly they had no eyes for anyone but each other. And, to be honest, Bucky was happy for them. They deserved to be enjoying themselves, all loved up as Christ knew, the tension at the station was getting harder to handle each day…or should that be Wanda was getting harder to handle each day. Bucky loved seeing his best friend happier than he had ever seen him and he had to admit he had a soft spot for Katie since he had met her a couple of months prior.

His stomach flipped when he realized he was going to be busted as Steve had broken the kiss when the waitress had placed their drinks in front of them and now the punk was scanning the place for a free table. No turning back now. There was no way he could stand up without Steve spotting him almost immediately and hiding under the table was out of the question.

He saw Steve look directly at him and open his mouth to say something but he frowned and closed it immediately. He turned to Katie, spoke to her and Bucky saw her look in his direction, her eyes wide open, an understanding look on her face. Next thing he knew, they had both grabbed their drinks, jackets and Steve was dragging Katie towards his table.

"Buck! Of all the places! What are you doing here? Can we?" Steve asked pointing at the vacant chairs, just moving one for Katie to seat before sitting himself on the one next to her.

"Same as you, I guess." Bucky deadpanned.

"He's on a date. Stevie. Come on, let's leave him alone." Katie said squeezing Steve's arm.

Bucky gave Katie his best smile of gratitude but it was too late.

"Yo, Captain. Katie?"

"Sam? What are you doing here?" Steve asked dumbfounded as Sam sat next to Bucky.

"I'm on a date." he said with a broad smile. "With him." he said pointing at Bucky with his thumb as he saw Steve's puzzled expression.

Bucky shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose as he heard Katie sigh and saw her purse her lips to avoid laughter. He was about to speak, better later than never, he thought but then Sam chipped up again.

"I thought you and Wanda were.." Sam began to ask Steve but stopped and jumped slightly on his seat when Bucky kicked him under the table.

Katie rolled her eyes at him and muttered under her breath “bitch.”

"No." Steve chuckled, and he looked at Katie who shrugged before he turned to Sam "I'm with Katie." he added holding her waist and placing a kiss on her head.

"Oh." Sam said surprised at first but then just nodded with a big smile on his face "Cool." he said before turning to Bucky "Why didn't you tell me? I've been missing a lot, man!"

"Sorry" Bucky said apologetically.

"Sorry? The juiciest gossip of the station for years and you didn't tell me?" Sam insisted.

"It wasn't for me to tell. They want to lay low." Bucky protested

"And just like that we're supposed to be cool?" Sam asked Bucky, faking annoyance.

"Sorry to interrupt your Married with Children scene, but you two are together as well and I had no idea!" Steve scoffed.

"You're clueless, Stevie." Katie chuckled.

"You knew?" he asked looking at her surprised.

"Yup. Not that they ever told me, but you only have to read the signs. Follow the yellow brick road, Captain." she shrugged.

Bucky could see Steve's mind whirring, trying to place the pieces in the correct slots. Signature Captain expression and all.

"So, Alex...?" he asked Bucky.

"Alex was Alexander, and Sam is Samuel, not Samantha as your ma believed." Bucky nodded and looked at his friend trying to read in his eyes an acceptance he was desperate to obtain.

"Hey Sam. Did Buck tell you he learnt what cunnilingus is today?" Katie tried to help Bucky out.

And just like that Steve spat his drink, making everyone laugh.

"That so?" Sam asked raising an eyebrow at Bucky.

"Yeah, it's a right. That's what it is." he said grinning and hi-fived with Katie.

"And now if you excuse me gentlemen, I need to go to the restroom." Katie said standing up after pecking Steve in the lips.

"And I'm buying all of us shots. Be right back." Sam stood as well.

“Hey, Sam…” Steve gently touched his arm as he moved to walk past him “Me and Katie, no one else on the job knows other than you guys and Tony. I’d appreciate it if it stayed that way, at least for the foreseeable.” “My lips are sealed man.” Sam said, patting him on his shoulder as he headed to the bar.

"Listen, pal..." Bucky said to Steve who shook his head.

"You don't have to say anything, Buck." Steve cut him off raising his palm and Bucky sighed relieved as he saw Steve smile at him.

"Gotta admit I was worried about you finding I was bi. I wanted to tell you so many times, Steve." Bucky said with a mixture of emotion and worry. “I just, guess I was scared how you’d take it…”

"You really did take all the stupid with you, didn't you?" Steve chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t give a shit Buck. As long as you’re happy.”

"Till the end of the line?" Bucky asked, holding his fist out.

"Till the end of the line." Steve nodded, bumping his own against Bucky’s.

Katie returned and took the seat next to Steve and his hand dropped to her leg, smiling as Sam returned with a bottle of tequila and 4 shot glasses, plus a load of sliced lemons and the salt shaker.

The 4 of them settled into a comfortable chat, talking about anything and everything BUT the job, and Steve found himself on more than one occasion just listening as Katie laughed and joked with Sam, more often than not at Bucky’s expense, but as he looked at his best friend he could tell he was loving every second of it. He observed a few little moments between Bucky and Sam, gentle touches and it warmed Steve’s heart to see his friend so blatantly happy.

Half an hour or so passed and they’d emptied their second drinks, and half the bottle of Tequila as well. Noticing their empty glasses Sam nodded to them.

"Want another round?" he asked.

Steve hesitated and looked at Katie who leaned over his ear to whisper "While they're here your flat is empty."

And that was enough for Steve to jerk up holding Katie's hand.

"Sorry, we're on a date and we've got, erm, places to be." he said holding Katie's jacket open so that she could put it on.

"See you tomorrow at the station, guys." Katie quipped.

"Bullshit, see you at breakfast." Bucky snarked back as she flipped him off, Sam roaring with laughter.

"Yeah, whatever. Behave." Steve said before dragging Katie out of the bar into the chill streets of Manhattan.

***** “I’ve had…” Katie undid the belt on her jacket as she walked through to Steve’s living room, “the most amazing night, thank you…”

She shrugged off her jacket, tossing it onto the back of the sofa, Steve doing the same with the bag containing her hoody and his jacket before he dropped a kiss to her lips.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it doll…” he said gently, kissing her again, pulling her to him as his hands wrapped around her back. Her arms looped around his neck as he reached down and hooked his hands round the back of her thighs, easily picking her up. She giggled, wrapping her legs round his waist, her nose brushing against his as he carried her down the hall. As they walked he heard 2 dull thuds on the floor, indicating she’d kicked off her boots and he smirked against her lips as he dropped her gently on his bed. He shucked off his own shoes as he reached behind his head and grabbed a fist full of his T-shirt, yanking it over his head before he dropped down on the bed, settling his hips in between her legs in the space she made for him as she ran her hands through his hair. He smiled softly at her before he pressed his lips back to hers, kissing her deeply, his large hands gently sliding up the side of her ribs, pulling off the top she was wearing. His fingers lightly brushed over the soft skin of her belly, stopping as he reached the waistband of her jeans. With an easy movement, his hands popped the button, sliding down the zip and he shimmied down the bed to slide the denim down over her legs, letting out a soft moan as he found out she was, indeed, wearing the matching pair of panties to her bra. He pressed soft kisses to the inside of her leg, working his way up from her knee to her thigh and she let out a sigh, her hand tangling in his hair.

“Glad your beard is pretty much back…” she said and he chuckled as he reached the top of her leg, his lips ghosting across the top of  the lace garment, placing a soft kiss just below her navel.

“You have an unhealthy obsession with my facial hair…” he said, as he hooked his fingers into the lace he was currently nuzzling at her through.

“I like the way it feels…”she muttered as he gently slid her underwear down.

“Yeah?” he asked, deliberately brushing his whiskers back along the inside of her thigh.

“Yeah…” she nodded, her hands once more in his hair, running down the back of his neck to his shoulders, and back again. He let out a sigh at her touch as his hands slid up the outside of her legs, before he gently nipped at her skin just below her hip, as she arched her back, letting out a soft cry.

“You know I heard you before…” he teased, his lips continuing their movement across her belly once more.

“What?”

“You, and Natasha…and a certain something being a right…”

He glanced up at her in time to see her open her eyes and grin at him but before she could make any snarky come back he set his mouth on her causing her unuttered words to die in her throat as she let out a low groan and began writhing in pleasure as his tongue and lips worked her over. He felt her hand tangle into his hair, and heard the rustle to the side as her other gripped at the sheets. Her sweet, salty tang on his tongue set every nerve in his body on edge and the more he tasted the more he wanted. He knew he was groaning himself with each lick and suck he gave her but he was aroused, really aroused and the warm feeling across his stomach was getting harder to ignore the more he worked her. He focused his attention back on her little bundle of nerves, licking at it before closing his lips around it and sucking it into his mouth, gently grazing with his teeth and with that he felt her body convulse, her back arched and she let out a strangled cry, his name on her lips and it made him slightly smug to hear. Steve held her down gently, one strong arm over her small waist and as her hand gripped his hair harder, she groaned brokenly once more pushing on his head, too sensitive now in the throes of her orgasm. Taking the hint, he moved his mouth and crawled back up the bed, taking in her flushed appearance as she looked at him, her chest heaving.

“Good?” he asked breathlessly, staring at her, seeking confirmation despite the fact she lay completely and utterly undone beneath him.

“God, yes…” her voice was gruff, as she kissed him, the fact that he could still clearly taste her on his tongue meant that she would be able to too, and the fact that she didn’t care made him shudder.

She began to trail her hand back down his chest reaching for his buckle her fingers gently grazed his stomach, lingering there before moving down to his jeans. He bucked at the touch as she slowly undid his belt, taking her time as she locked her eyes onto his again, lust had turned into softness. He stared right back at her, her eyes reminding him of emeralds, deep green, speckled with dots of brown, the slight ring of amber surrounding her pupil reminded him of the sun. Telling him of the power she exuded over him and the warmth she brought to his life. He was aware that his breathing had quickened and he let out a low growl before he kissed her, harder and his hands slid underneath her. She arched her back slightly allowing him to undo the clasp of her bra and he placed a gentle kiss on each shoulder as he slid the straps down over her arms, removing it completely. He was achingly hard now, and he needed to do something about it so he quickly stood up, shedding the rest of his clothes and in a flash he was on her again, mouth hungrily covering hers as his hands trailed up her legs, to her hips, up the side of her body and then onto her breasts teasing gently. She groaned, rolling her head back on the pillow at the sensation, her hips bucking upwards.

"Fuck." he seethed out at the feeling of her grinding up against his rock hard crotch, and he nuzzled at her neck with his nose again. She dragged her fingers up his spine as he buried his face in the side of her neck working at the pulse spot beneath her ear, the little noises of pleasure she was making were music in his ear. Her hips began to move, pushing up against him again, groans falling from her lips at the sensation as he nipped slightly at her neck and then moved his mouth to her chest, taking her right nipple in. Her groans were growing louder now and Steve couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted to be in her, surrounded by her, feel her. But before he could do anything about it, Katie sat up slightly, pushing on his shoulders. It was just a hard enough shove to make him understand she wanted him to lay on his back, and he was more than happy to let her take control.  As she straddled him his hands tangled in her hair, pulling her face down to kiss him and as he did so she reached down between them, taking him in her hand. He groaned but didn’t release her mouth as she adjusted position to take him in. Slowly she slid down onto him, a dirty moan flowing from her mouth which he swallowed with his kiss as she stayed pressed against him, and she began to move, rolling her hips forward. She was quick to find a rhythm and her mouth fell open against his lips and she let out a shaky moan before sitting up fully.

The sight of her on top, illuminated by soft light streaming in through the slight cap in the curtains was almost enough to tip him right over there and then. He wanted to touch her, so he did, bringing her hands up to run them up her sides until his hands cupped her breasts, thumbs running over her nipples as she let out another moan. As she picked up the pace his hands went to her hips, pulling her down onto him harder, thrusting upwards to meet her for every move she made. She continued to move, quickening, her eyes never leaving his.

“Stevie…”she groaned, as he tilted his hips up harder and he let out a groan himself, increasingly determined to get her there again before he lost it. As he felt himself beginning to tip over the edge, his hand moved from her hip to stroke at that spot between her legs and that did it. He felt her tense up and tighten around him, crying out loudly and unbridled as she shook. The sight of her coming undone on top of him, her cheeks flushed, lips pink, mouth open in a now silent scream, was simply incredible and quite possibly the single most exquisite thing he had ever seen. All of that, coupled with the force of her heat tightening even, more made him lose himself.

“Fuck, Doll…” the curse fell from his lips as he thrust upwards, before he spilled himself inside her again, the wave of pleasure deeper than anything he’d felt before. Katie collapsed forward onto his chest, her tremors subsided, both of them panting. He held her close, his fingers running up and down her spine as she let out a soft “hum” of contentment and he sat up, wanting to see her face to face. Still cradling her close he pushed the hair that had fallen over her face back behind her ears and she reached up, running her hands through his, causing him to close his eyes at the sensation of her nails on his scalp.

When he opened them again and looked at her something flashed in her eyes as the slight gleam of light through the curtains caught her face. She was looking at him, features soft, almost as if she was seeing him for the first time. His breath quickened slightly as he simply looked at her, seeing the adoration in her eyes, no one had come close to ever making him feel like this.

“God, I love you.” he whispered, pulled her closer, his nose rubbing up against hers.

Without missing a single beat, she spoke in return as their noses continued their lazy dance, the words coming easily.

"I love you too.”

It wasn’t the first time they’d said that, but for some reason right there and then it just felt different. Like it meant more, as if they were both understanding there and then in that moment that this was it for them, that this was the start of their forever. The realisation lit a fire in Steve’s chest and he kissed her softly, grinning like a total idiot as she was smiling too, the kisses growing softer and shorter until she pulled away completely, her hand gently on his cheek, fingers tangling in his beard. He could see that her eyelids were heavy, clearly exhausted from the exhilaration of the entire day and night, and with a last kiss to the tip of her nose, he set them both down in the bed and slid a hand under her and pulled her to him, chest pressing into her back. He placed a final soft kiss on the back of her neck before he pulled the covers back up over them and closed his eyes.

Right there Steve knew that there wasn’t possibly any man on the planet that could claim to be happier than he was.

[inkheart01]

Escape from the Stars

Prologue (1/??)

Life was simple when they were just kids worrying about exams and homework and that cute date next week, it was easy when finals and work were the most pressing matters, when worrying about that math test you crammed for was eating at you like an illness. But now they're fighting for their lives and every moment could be there last. 

It wasn't supposed to be this way, it was just supposed to be another summer, another camp. It was supposed to be fun, a way to de-stress, a getaway from life's worries, even for a week. But life rarely likes to make things easy.

So i thought i would stick this up here seeing as i’ve put it up almost everywhere else and love talking about this. Ask me anything about EFTS and i will give you an essay. These guys have one braincell between the lot of them and its permanently on vacation. Please send them help.

Cold, harsh rain lashed against the imposing concrete building, forcing any who had dared be outside to turn back and head for shelter. Lightning split the sky, brilliant and bright enough to see the array of radar dishes spanning far into the horizon over the dusty earth.

Turning away from the windows and to the inhabitants of the building, scurrying around frantically in their pristine lab coats, clutching their clipboards and shouting orders, he clicked, the sound losing itself amid the chaos. Truly an overreaction for the fierce storm outside. They were perfectly safe in the building.

Perfectly safe…

“Jade, let’s go!” “Mum! Where's my passport?” “What!” “My passport! I can't find it!” “Did you check my bag?” “...thanks!”

The spindly form slinking through the shadows stopped, humming silently. Perhaps they weren't afraid of the storm, but what it could conceal. He had certainly used it for his gain, if the wreck outside had anything to say.

Another hum was followed by a mechanical hiss and a sharp inhale. These small creatures couldn’t help him if they were panicked out of their minds.

Slipping silently down the hall and into a dark room, the creature allowed a smile to pass his usually emotionless composure, needle teeth glinting like ivory. Here was the vent opening he was looking for, at just the right height for him to get into the air filtration system. He lowered the hologram that camouflages him with his surroundings as he reached for the metal grate.

“Of course I’m on my way...what, no. The bus will be here any second...I told you-oh. Give me a second...yeah. Ian!” “Hey Rochelle, Have you seen Adam? “Yeah, I’m on a call with him, his mums driving him to the station.” “Thanks. He wasn't answering me and I got worried.”

Nimble fingers slipped into the gaps before a scream split his composure. With a growl, he covered his ringing ear and whipped towards the scientist. 

They were backed against a wall, shaking like a leaf behind a purple clipboard as he ripped the cover off. The human trembled as they adjusted the glasses slipping down their nose, wide eyes never leaving him.

Moving slowly, he dropped the grate as he approached the petrified scientist, a thin wisp of blue leaving his maw to pool on the ground like fog.

As he leant down, ruby eyes casting a soft glow on their face, the scientist’s body-wracking trembles slowly stopped, leaving them swaying and yawning, and with eyes wide in even more terror. He briefly wondered if he had used too much, and then they went limp.

“Pocket knife?” “Check.” “Taser?” “Check.” “Walkie-talkie?” “Check. We’ve gone through this half a dozen times. I have everything.” “Calle, you know we worry.”

He swore and wrapped one of his thin sets of arms around the body that moved bonelessly. Guilt slowly seized control of him, because next time he would need to be far more careful. Arms still around them, he cleared the desk hidden in the dark and positioned the scientist on the chair, draping them over the table.

Once he deemed it an acceptable, albeit not desirable, sleeping position, he returned to the vent. Too much time had been wasted on this lone scientist. 

With a grunt, he slithered in, slim limbs pulling and pushing him through. He had a layout of the vent system, but everything was much different when inside. Taking a left, he hoped he was going the right way as a fork in the path came up. 

Not five minutes later and he was pretty certain that he was lost. Every turn looked the same and the map he had memorised was just turning into a jumble of lines. He was seconds away from cursing out every god he knew when a small breeze brushed softly against his face.

Oh. There we go.

‘Come on, Jade. The plane leaves in two hours!’ ‘I’ll be there, Jemma. I promise. Traffic’s just a pain.’ ‘I told you to take the train with me to avoid this.’ ‘Mum insisted’ “My baby’s all grown up!” ‘Oh...well...just hurry. Please?’

Breathing deeply, a wisp of soft blue left his mouth again, muddling in with the filtered air and staining the metal. It travelled quickly, spinning and dancing through the heavier air, joined by more and more strands until the vent was nothing but blue.

Slowly, ever so agonisingly slowly, the screams died down, leaving an eerie and suffocating silence that closed in like a wet blanket.

As he crawled back through the vents, he wondered if, again, it had been too much. He knew he had restrained himself this time. He knew. But Humans were fragile, their bodies so easily breakable and their self-destructive tendencies could have made them even weaker. 

Surely not, he rationalised, he had been careful, using much less and being oh so picky with the intent. He had intended to calm them down, and unlike the first time, there was no trace of drowsiness in his intent.

They were so terrifyingly fragile. And so completely at his mercy. For any of his kind, the amount would barely be enough for their emotions to calm. And yet. And yet on a human, they were oh so delicate. 

“Anna, anything we need?” “Nope. Last month's stock up is more than enough.” “Good. River, anything we should know?” “No boss. All the money is sorted.” “Don't take any this time. Sam, is the gear ready?” “Of course. I cleaned it all yesterday.” “Anika, Dan. Is everything planned?” “Naturally. We have everything sorted.” “Let’s keep them entertained, shall we. Emily, how’s the hideout?” “Andy made strawberry cake!”

Nearing an exit, he pushed his thoughts deep down, turning his focus instead on the cover he had to get through. It was easier than the last, considering the bodies slumped in the hall, yawning and engulfed in blue.

As he slipped silently from the vents, wincing at the harsh red light and silent alarm that blared through the building, he noticed quite a few of the dazed scientists would gasp weakly, struggling to get their tired bodies to respond enough to escape his presence. It was a futile endeavour, but a few did manage to flop onto the cold tile. Perhaps some could withstand his particular set of skills, he would need to look into it more. If he planned to stay. 

He hummed as he stepped carefully over the unresponsive forms, ever so sweetly moving through the halls. The room he needed was closer to the other side of the complex.

“Quick! We have to leave now!” “This is a bad idea. Arlajullian’s going to kill you.” “Well, I’ll deal with her when she catches on.” “Milkanaheilm!” “Shush, they’ll hear you!” “Like there not going to hear us leave.”

Moving through hallway after hallway with barely any noise, it wasn’t long before he reached his destination. The communications room was like another dimension, dark and vibrant with a red glow amid buttons and screens, his glowing blue mist staining the floor. It was thinner here, not so much the opaque fog, but more like thin wafts of a dying campfire.

A soft groan pulled him from his thoughts, and he turned to see one of the rooms only other inhabitants pulling themselves up against one of the consoles, reaching desperately for a large button.

Humming, the creature moved quickly to the human’s side, lifting their thrashing body out of the fog. 

“I’m warning you”, he spoke, language broken and voice as soft as he could get, “Prepare. Your kind’s in danger”

[necromagicae]

very, very messy necromancy rambles under the cut from a discord convo haha...

tldr;  necromancy is wild bro

Stefano [FEMALE SYMBOL] Today at 1:48 PM ...this said. How strong are Clara's construct? Is it a fixed thing, or can she pump up a specific one to give it more strength/agility/so on?

Red Mage Irma. ♢Today at 2:18 PM she is capable of pumping up a construct to give it more strength/agility/so on yes, though this takes more time/energy from her specifically because she is trying to find a way to do it which doesn't involve dipping into shoving souls into things. this is actually her main field of research in necromancy.

i still need to work out the details and i'd appreciate any feedback/input, but the basics i have so far is soul-powered vs mana-powered as a general rule of thumb any construct directly powered by a soul is capable of taking more complex actions, (some super advanced ones even being able to be self-sufficient/even relatively self-aware), being able to be more easily augmented, require way less mana usage from the mage (as they typically only really need to worry about keeping the bonded soul under their control, not actively animating the entire structure to move per say) and are overall way more of a threat the Huge Downside being there is WAY more room for error, and if you lose control for even a second that is how you end up with Rouge Zombie out to Eat You and Anything Else Near It. Messing with souls is tricky and stuff gets messy fast.

mana-powered constructs, by comparison, are basically more like a computer with a simple code/command put into it. They typically can only do basic commands for the most part ('sit here attack thing that comes by'), take way more mana from the mage on the initial 'boot-up' and if being actively influenced will also drain more from them compared to the soul-powered ones, and while they can be augmented, this requires even more mana than the animating itself does. the upside is they require waaayy less active maintenance. they basically are laptops with a mana-powered battery that the mage needs to recharge every now and then, but the battery are long lasting and only drain when the thing is actively in use. soul-powered, by comparison, drain way faster, only that unlike these guys a soul-powered losing battery results in Rouge Construct, where in this case, it just causes the magic to stop animating it and it just returns to a normal pile of bones/flesh. The huge upside being ya know, they wont try to eat your face, and their is way less room for error. they are also more 'set aside and forget' friendly.

Stefano [FEMALE SYMBOL]Today at 2:22 PM Mmmmmh. How does a rogue zombie devolve into "Eating You and Anything Else Near It"? Is it because any living being with an actual soul has "find food > eat food" as an existential imperative?

Red Mage Irma. ♢Today at 2:22 PM Yeah basically They get reduced to their base survival drives with 0 filter. The most overpowering one being 'eat food' Only they never get full So they just.. Keep going Well, survival if you cut out the part of your brain that yells at you for doing things which are dangerous to you own well being, I should say

Stefano [FEMALE SYMBOL]Today at 2:26 PM Would it be wrong, to say that mana-powered constructs are more golems than undeads?

Red Mage Irma. ♢Today at 2:27 PM Not really, because technically they are Clara is capable of doing both, she just prefers one because its less of a hassle

sats (birb)👻Today at 2:29 PM i would say the difference between an undead versus a normal construct is the material it's made out of. an undead can be a construct, and a construct can be undead, but it's a venn diagram more-so than the same or separate categories.

Stefano [FEMALE SYMBOL]Today at 2:29 PM Tiny, absolutely inconsequential question. Is it possible, with a finite amount of energy, to perform what amounts to a perfect reincarnation? As in, taking an untarnished soul and attach it perfectly unto a host body?

sats (birb)👻Today at 2:30 PM would you count Az's floette's resurrection a perfect reincarnation from finite energy, or no?

Red Mage Irma. ♢Today at 2:30 PM I actually have a whole separate ramble about that specifically!

sats (birb)👻Today at 2:30 PM oh boy

Stefano [FEMALE SYMBOL]Today at 2:44 PM [Irma, taking out the Exposition Truck] "actually"

Red Mage Irma. ♢Today at 2:45 PM the tldr being 'yes... kinda... but...'

basically if its just the necromancer doing it, off their own power and nothing else. stuff gets messy fast. Soul splitting being the Biggest Issue. In order to call back the soul of the dead they need to give it something to latch onto in this world, that being half of ones own soul. So the person will come back! ...as a glued together soul, with some memories missing, and having memories which aren't quite theirs, and possibly even being bound to the mage in a way which lets them feel the pain the other is feeling, and a whole other number of unforeseen consequences to both the person who was resurrection and the mage themselves. (such as 'what happens if the glues together souls try to complete themselves?' 'who knows! but do you reeealllly wanna be the first to find out?')

not soul-glued resurrection basically requires drawing energy from some manner of godlike being capable of reaching across the other side and dragging back the soul wholesale, and wouldn't have any of the messy fallbacks. possibly because the god just takes care of all that stuff itself, or because it doesn't need to worry about that at all.

basically what separates a proper cleric from a necromancer. all clerics are necromancers, not all necromancers are clerics.

I'd say Az's floette is a bit of an edge case tho, it was brought back from a machine which certainly had godlike energy and was powered by like a a lot of pokemon souls. so its possible it skipped over any of these steps entirely, and that perfect resurrection which doesnt need/result in the above is possible but needs A Lot of sacrifice in order to make the soul stick. certainly much more than a normal mage would be capable of doing alone. so its possible cases like Az's floette just arent taken into account simply because they arent the 'standard' way a resurrection would happen

Stefano [FEMALE SYMBOL]Today at 2:47 PM Yeah, that was "finite" energy, but on a scale that would usually be way beyond feasible limits. A solid answer!

[bookaddict24-7]

MUSIC MONDAYS:

A series where I recommend a book, review it, and create a short playlist to give a sense of what the book is about.

This review may contain spoilers.

Disclaimer: I received a copy via Edelweiss in exchange for an honest review.

This week’s feature is a book that I almost gave up on. I read the first couple of chapters and I was worried about where the story would take me, so I was 80% sold on DNFing That Night by Amy Giles. However, I caved and broke one of my reading rules: I looked at the synopsis and the rating on Goodreads. While I admit that sometimes this decision can backfire, reading the synopsis helped ease my worries and the rating (while not always accurate) was another push towards reading Giles’s newest book. 

I’m so happy I didn’t give up on That Night. 

That Night not only handles the tricky subject of grief, but the even more dark and timely topic of grief following a mass shooting. Jessica and Lucas, the split narrators of this Young Adult novel, both are grieving the losses of their brothers. But while Lucas has found a potential outlet and has an extremely overprotective mother as a result of the shooting, Jessica is left on her own. She loses both her best friend and brother and is left to deal with her depressed mother. When the two meet, they realize that they can help each other survive their grief and their friendship quickly evolves into something that gives hope and light to their dark stories. 

When I finally let myself fall for these characters, I couldn’t get enough of them. Jess’s story was tragic and I kept hoping for something better for her. I wanted her mother to see that Jess was still there. I wanted her to try for her daughter and seeing her physically being unable to overcome her grief was so heart breaking. The complicated story of Jess and her mother added an all too realistic touch to the story because it’s not uncommon for a parent to be swallowed by their grief. Jess herself made a comment in the book that reflected on how difficult it was for her to lose a brother, but that the pain of losing a son must have been even more unimaginable. 

Lucas, on the other hand, has the exact opposite problem from Jess. While he suffers from the idea that he was the wrong brother to live, his parents are the perfect example of when caring crosses a line. From hiding car keys, to smothering behaviour, Lucas’s mother is another realistic example of how a parent might overcompensate when they lose a child. But while Lucas acknowledges that he is at times frustrated with his mom’s actions, he’s also pretty calm about it. 

Rather than having similar grieving experiences, Giles explores the complexities of loss. With these two characters, we’re given glimpses into two different but realistic forms of grief. 

Grief is handled very delicately in this book, but at the same time, it’s dealt with heavy doses of reality. There are no dramatizations, there are no fights that leave the parents wounded enough for the child to feel guilty over their lashing out, and there are no over-the-top decisions being made. One of the big reasons for why Giles handles this topic so well is because of her comprehensive understanding of communication and its importance. 

Communication is, in my honest opinion, something that is usually lacking in a lot of books that explore heavier topics. Where Giles succeeds in her new book is that she has her characters communicate. If there is a misunderstanding, it is quickly cleared up. One person’s confusion and suffering isn’t a quiet thing and it isn’t a plot device. Whether it’s between Lucas and Jess, or Lucas and his parents, or the pair and their friends--there is communication. The story has a goal for its readers and it is not the act of miscommunication.

Another notable thing that Giles does with That Night is how true she remains to the main topic of the novel. In seeking a way to make the story “refreshing” or “memorable”, sometimes an author writes a narrative that’s a little dramatic (or a lot dramatic) and at times, the topic of grief is set to the side for the better selling genre: romance. Giles does not do this with That Night. Sure, there’s romance but it’s not the main topic, it’s a side event to show us how the characters are growing and how they’re recovering. 

That being said, going back to the issue of communication, I have to say I’m impressed. There were so many opportunities for Lucas and Jess to fight big time over certain situations. But because they had this connection and honesty between the two of them, they both spoke openly about what they were struggling with (even if it took longer for one of them to open up more). Reading about their love and relationship was refreshing and I’m grateful to have experienced it. 

That Night deals with a heavy subject matter, but the characters’ growth, the lessons learned, and the masterful storytelling makes Giles’s novel a worthwhile read that I recommend to everyone who wants to be touched by a good story. 

My Rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Age Recommendation: 14+

Genres: Contemporary, Grief, Romance

Add it to your Goodreads here.

See the playlist on Spotify here.

The Playlist & Why I Chose this Music:

1. You Found Me by The Fray

I think of Jess while I listen to this song. The near-pleading nature of the song makes me think of her desperation while her mom is struggling with depression. Before and even during parts of her relationship with Lucas, Jess feels very alone in her grief, so the lyrics “Where were you?” repeated over and over again is especially poignant. 

2. Tragedy + Time by Rise Against

I picture both Jess and Lucas sitting at the beach together during the anniversary of their brothers’ deaths and reminiscing on the memories they have while listening to this song. Almost like an end-credit scene song. 

3. Beauty From Pain by Superchick

This song is such a beautiful example of how grief can cause so much pain, but how we start healing as the days go by. Jess acknowledges that her dreams have changed now that she’s gone through so much after that tragic night. The same can be said for Lucas. His hopes and dreams are different, but it’s not an ugly thing--it’s just something different. 

4. Trust in You by Lauren Daigle

Putting aside that this is apparently a Christian song, I like to think of these lyrics more for how Jess and Lucas’s relationship forms. There’s a connection of trust that these characters share that is incredibly refreshing in a YA novel. 

5. Happiness is Not A Place by The Wind and The Wave

Lucas was a bit hesitant with his emotions because of the stress the romance might bring. His grief is heavily burdened with anxiety and panic attacks and he learns that even positive emotions can amp up your stress levels. This is something that Lucas needs to work on for himself and allow himself to be happy.

6. Float On by Modest Mouse 

Lucas has a friend who speaks his mind and doesn’t have that sympathy-filter that he encounters nearly every time someone finds out who he is. While some of the lyrics obviously don’t work for this book, the easy going vibe and the positive chorus makes me think of that character. 

7. Just You and I by Tom Walker 

This song is perfect for Jess and Lucas. So perfect--especially the chorus and the first half of the song. It perfectly illustrates the support system they grow between each other, and how their unfortunately similar experiences brings them together. 

8. A Song For Mama by Boyz II Men 

I normally don’t pick an eighth song for these playlists, but I absolutely had to pick a song for moms. Despite their vastly different experiences with their mothers, Lucas and Jess have incredibly strong bonds with their moms. The women play a huge role in their grieving.

Have you read this book yet? Would you recommend it?

Happy reading!

[pendergays]

Welcome To The Dark Side (Priya x MC)(2/???)

Chapter Two: Want (Part 1)

A/N: So as it turns out, Tumblr has a limit on how long your posts can be (🙃), which is why I’m going to have to split the chapter into two and why it ends so abruptly. Don’t worry, the next chapter is airing in like two minutes. It also has smut. Anyway, special thanks to @delphinusbae, @dulcedemigoddessmasse, and @1suicidenotes1 for providing encouragement and feedback!

You’ve always been attracted to the wrong sort of thing. Neon signs in seedy bars, cigarette smoke blown from devilish smiles, that telltale glint you see in someone’s eye when they’re ready to take you somewhere you don’t know if you can come back from. A disturbing majority of the girls you’ve had fall into that category: so forbidden and so gorgeous, you couldn't help but want them. It’s an addiction, plain and simple. And all you can do once you succumb to that addiction is hope the thrill of entwined bodies is worth the empty bed in the morning.

You wake up with a pounding hangover and the first thing you notice is that the bed isn’t empty. You prop yourself up on your arms to look around. Priya’s sitting up next to you, legs swinging lazily off the bed, holding a perfectly round red apple in a manicured hand. She turns to you, a soft smile on her lips. The heavy curtains in her room filter out most of the sun, but the rays that do make it bathe her hair in a halo of soft golden light. “Morning, beautiful,” she says, and her voice sounds a little tired and a lot content. A small smile graces her gorgeous face, surprisingly unguarded. Even though she looks exactly the same as yesterday, there’s something different about her. Something softer, beneath her usual hazy veneer of loud music and louder moans.

She bites into the apple. Juice drips from the corner of her mouth, rolling in lazy drops down to her chin. Something about the action jars your memory. An alcohol-blurred scene flashes in your mind: overwhelming sheer indulgence, her teeth cutting into your neck, how fucking perfect she looked on top of you. And a trail of blood— your blood— tracing a path from her mouth to chin.

Holy shit. You actually did that. You actually let her.

Congratulations, you think to yourself, half-sarcastic and half-incredulous. You not only managed to screw a vampire, but also allowed her to drink your blood. Jesus Christ, who knows how many blood-transmitted STDs you might’ve gotten? It’s not like you took vampire Sex Ed. Shit, were we supposed to use protection? Dental dams?

The sudden flood of mental ramblings combined with your mounting panic exacerbates your hangover painfully. With a pitiful whine, you drop back down onto the bed and roll over until your face is buried in a pillow. It… smells like her. Surprisingly enough, the faint scent of saffron calms you near-instantly, your heartbeat returning to its normal pace. Even the marching band stomping away inside your skull seems to have quieted down.

You feel a warm hand on your shoulder. “What’s wrong, darling?”

You don’t know. You can’t deny that it says something about your character that you jumped into bed with a paranormal entity as soon as she asked politely. And then not-so-politely. If this was a regular hookup in a regular bar with a human, you could walk away from the tangled sheets, paint over your hickeys with makeup and never see her again. Easy as that. But this woman is tied closely to your boss, given that they’re both Clan leaders, and if you want to keep working with Adrian you’re probably going to have to see her again.

You suppress a low, self-deprecating chuckle. Wow. Only you could get entangled in some kind of criminal vampire conspiracy mere hours after getting hired for your dream job.

“One-night-stand regret?” Priya guesses near-perfectly, a hint of what could be remorse embedded in the words. You flip over, smoothing your hair out of your face and turning to her. Lying to her… would not be a good idea, especially if vampires have supernatural intuition or something equally BS. So you tell her the truth, and hope you don’t end up looking like juice box by the end of it.

“Kind of. I mean, last night was great. More than great, even.” You pause momentarily to relish in the memory of delirious heat and delicious hints of pain mixed in with mind-shattering pleasure. Your eyes begin to glaze over.... No, wait, fuck! Focus! You shake your head to clear away the remaining cobwebs in your mind, and continue. “It’s just… I don’t know. Sleeping with a vampire wasn’t really on my bucket list, y’know? Especially since you and my boss seem to be kinda, uh. Not close?” You end on a question, feeling like you’re tiptoeing around land mines.

Priya throws her head back and laughs. It’s a nice sound, filled with lazy indulgence and sweet satisfaction. Completely at odds with what she says next. “If you never want to see me again, that’s completely fine.” The words come out casually, smooth and without any trace of hesitation. “More of my human lovers do than not. Of course, then they had to be taken care of by the Council… but I don’t think that’ll be necessary in your case.” She tosses her apple core into the trash can by the door nonchalantly, before scooting forward a few inches toward you. Her eyes are a dark, rich, mahogany color, and they sweep up and down the length of your body in a way that makes you feel like you’re exposed, completely bare for her to see. She’s not smiling anymore. “You can keep a secret, can’t you?”

“Yes,” you whisper, the word slipping out of your lips not entirely because of self-preservation reasons. You want her to look at you fondly, to smile at you and kiss you and– fuck. Looking for affection from a vampire is dumb. You know that. So why are you still doing it?

The moment you speak, the smile is back on her face, as stunning as ever. When she smiles at you… it feels like the sun itself is beaming. Like everything is right in the world, even if just for a moment. Your breath catches in your chest involuntarily and you have to consciously make yourself inhale and exhale. This... this is bad. You need to get away from this– away from her. She’s not good for you. You shouldn’t want her so much.

(But you do.)

“Good girl,” she smirks, oblivious to your mental turmoil. “Anyway, even if I was going to report you to the Council, I’m sure Adrian would made sure every hair on your pretty little head is safe. He seems to have taken a shine to you. I can understand why.” She pulls your chin up to meet her half-lidded gaze, and you freeze like a rabbit caught by a wolf. Her next words come out low and soft, promising things you don’t understand exactly but want anyway. “If I’m being honest… I’ve taken a shine to you too. I wish I could keep you.”

She sighs, before letting go of my chin and turning away, running slim fingers through her thick dark hair. “Speaking of Addy… he’s awfully concerned about you. As are a bunch of other people.” She opens a drawer in her bed-stand and takes out your phone, before tossing it to you. “It was beeping and ringing the whole night so I put it away. Feel free to go and tell whoever’s stalking you that no, the evil vampiress hasn’t murdered you or done some other horrific thing.” She pauses, then grins wickedly. “Well, to be fair, you went through a lot of “little death”s last night.”

It takes you a moment for your rudimentary high-school French to parse the innuendo, and when you do, you light up a bright cherry-red. Priya laughs at your sheepish expression, but quickly turns serious again. “No, really. You have good friends.” Is that a touch of wistfulness you hear? Jealousy, even?

You don’t have time to try and figure it out. When you turn on your phone, your jaw actually drops– 46 messages and 23 voicemails?! What the metaphorical fuck?! Quickly scrolling through them, you realize the bulk of them are from Lily, though Adrian’s contributed to the rest.

Lily Spencer [11:43 PM]: Where are youuuuu

Lily Spencer [12:26 AM]: Are you getting it on w/ your hot boss? ;)

Lily Spencer [1:09 AM]: No but really where the fuck are you??? I’m legit worried smh

Lily Spencer [1:59 AM]: Are you okay??? Text me “mchanzo” if you need an emergency rescue!!!

39 more messages from Lily Spencer. Tap here to view them.

You groan. Fuck. You can already feel a headache coming on. Combined with your throbbing hangover, that’s a deadly combination. You send off a quick “Don’t worry, I’m okay!” to Lily and then check Adrian’s messages.

Adrian Raines [12:11 AM]: I’m really sorry for bringing you to Priya’s studio. I didn’t know she’d be like this.

Adrian Raines [1:02 AM]: Are you alright? Tell Priya you’re under my protection. She can’t hurt you.

Adrian Raines [1:38 AM]: Call me and I’ll be right there. I was stupid to bring you there. I’m sorry.

You cringe. Well, Adrian didn’t seem to take it too badly, but it’ll still be really awkward when you see him at work today—

Wait.

With an ice-cold, creeping dread, you hurriedly check the time at the top of your phone. Surely enough, the numbers there pronounce your doom: 9:23 AM.

“I’m late,” you gasp in horror.

Sensing your profound distress, Priya cranes her neck over your shoulder. Her eyes quickly flit through the messages, and a wry grin makes its way onto her scarlet lips. “I did tell you Adrian was awfully protective,” she says, a glaze of bitterness souring the otherwise cheerful words. “Though I’m a little offended he thinks I would hurt you. Of course I wouldn’t. You’re too pretty for that,” she remarks casually, breath hot against the shell of your ear.

You swallow and ignore the aching, tantalizing flare of arousal that sparks between your legs. Prying yourself away from her grasp, you send her a withering glare. “It doesn’t matter whether Adrian is protective or not, because he’s going to fire me anyway I’m not there in like three minutes.”

Priya shrugs, leaning back luxuriously on the medley of fluffy white pillows behind her and using only her elbows to prop herself up. A curl of coiffed dark hair falls onto her face, partially obscuring one eye. You swallow, once again hit with the “attractive girl is next to you” hammer. She’s all painted lips and painted nails and bronze legs that go on for days. The epitome of devil-may-care.

Her honeyed voice snaps you out of your reverie. “Look, angel, I don’t mean to be dismissive of your job as accountant– assistant, whatever– but I’m just saying, you’ve been blessed with the kind of beauty that’s rare to come by. An allure that doesn’t stop skin-deep.” You wonder if that’s a double-entendre, given that she spent a good part of last night with her teeth in your neck. She continues, “You’re already spectacular, but with a little makeup and one of my masterpieces, you could be the greatest model New York City’s seen in a while. Besides,” she winks suggestively, “being a model has wonderful benefits. Including but not limited to, hmm, private sessions with the head designer.”

You were wondering where all this flattery was leading up to. As it turns out, it led to complete and utter madness.

“...Priya,” you start, trying to phrase this tactfully and finding yourself wanting, “I can’t be a model. I already have a job at Raines Corp, which is quite frankly in peril because of how not on-time I am.”

The vampire rolls her eyes, taking a pillow and throwing it at you playfully. “Don’t be such a buzzkill. First of all, who cares if you’re late? Besides, Didi already called to say you can take the day off.”

You blink rapidly, uncomprehending. “Didi?”

Priya lets out an exaggerated sigh of disappointment. “Adrian. Keep up. He called me at three in the morning– so rude, I know– and when he was done thoroughly scalping me for defiling his precious little assistant, he said you could take the day off. It makes sense, which is surprising coming from Mr. Bring A Human To Work Day. You should rest.”

A variety of emotions course through you in the span of a few short seconds. Relief at not getting fired less than 24 hours after getting hired, confusion at how many nicknames Priya has for Adrian, and sheer utter disbelief at all the contradictions she’s spewing from those perfect lips.

“Hold up,” you say before Priya can distract you again. “I should rest? Literally two seconds ago you were trying to bribe me into being a model with sex– don’t try to deny it, it won’t work– both of which aren’t exactly relaxing. Where exactly would I be resting between the runway and the orgasms?”

Priya waves you off. “Don’t fret, gorgeous. We’ll have plenty of time to destress in the hours leading up to your modeling debut. But first things first– you need something to eat. Something that isn’t me, at least.”

You sputter and stumble over your words and Priya seems to delight in it, pressing a warm kiss to your cheek. “You’re so cute when you blush,” she purrs, and you can’t help the warmth that blooms in your chest like a flower under the sun. It’s not just arousal, unfortunately. You could understand that– she is, after all, one of the most attractive women you’ve ever seen– but what you can’t deal with is this, this affection. You’re not stupid. You know where this kind of feeling leads. And you absolutely cannot walk down that precarious, woefully wonderful path. Not with her.

(But why not....?)

You know why. She’s a goddamn vampire, for one, and beyond that… she’s perfect. Not for most people, but for you. You’re weak to these kinds of girls, who bite and bruise and touch and take so wonderfully. Dangerous girls, if you had to sum it up in a word. And Priya… she’s the pinnacle of that. Spending the night with her was the dumbest thing you could’ve done. And yet… you already know you’d do it again. You’d keep coming back, as long as she’d have you.

(Fuck. I’m so fucked up.)

--------

Want Part 2

[mmtions]

wedding: impossible (pt.2)

(pt.1)

michelle jones/peter parker - college/future fic (wip)

Against his better judgement, Peter has agreed to be MJ’s fake date to a wedding so she can usurp the bride, or something. Considering how much he’d like to be her not-fake date, he’s not really looking forward to it.

Despite all her apparent indifference to them both - and, really, most of her peers - MJ had become a close friend to Ned and himself. So much so that he freely told her his big, spider-themed secret. (She’s actually the only person he’s deliberately told, which is a milestone he’s not keen on analyzing too deeply.) 

She’d reacted pretty calmly, actually, only hitting him with a medium-sized Chimamanda Ngozi Adiche novel, rather than the special edition hardcover that was also in reaching distance.

So, they survived high school together, becoming an unexpectedly tight-knit trio (with absolute no parallels to Harry Potter, shut up Ned). They even survived the entry and violent departure of Harry Osborne from the group, which caused all kinds of angst for Peter, definitely revolving around the supervillainy rather than the whole dating-MJ thing, thank you very much.

And they’d even survived college applications together. Ned and Peter had been talking about MIT since they realised it wasn’t a fictional place on spy TV shows, and Harvard should consider itself lucky to get MJ as one of its alumni. It was a happy coincidence that they all lived within a twenty-minute car ride of each other, really.

None of this, however, explains why exactly Peter is currently on a ferry to Martha’s Vineyard, trying to make conversation with MJ that isn’t horrifically awkward.

He’d picked her up from her college dorm in the car guilt-gifted to him by Mr. Stark after the whole Infinity War mess, and most of the words exchanged during the whole hour-and-a-half trip had been about which radio station to play. They’re currently sitting inside the main ferry, a booth to themselves, looking out onto the passing waves. Peter’s already wearing his suit, the plain black one he last wore to graduation, but MJ told him that she’d change on the journey. (As long as she’s not expecting him to keep driving while she strips off in the front seat next to him, he’s perfectly happy with the plan).

“Hey,” she suddenly says, apropos of nothing. “Does this remind you of that time with the Vulture and the ferry splitting in half?” Because of course she’d gone into scary-research-mode with she’d first found out his double life.

“Um,” he looks around. The smell of seawater is stronger when it’s not filtered through a fear-sweaty mask, and the view isn’t quite the same, but, “Yeah, kind of, now you mention it. Thanks for that.”

She snickers. “No problem.”

And, well, he finds himself smiling, because he can’t help himself, and because this is their status quo, her making fun of pretty much every aspect of his character, and he didn’t realise how much he missed it even in the past week.

He readjusts his tie - although maybe he could just have taken it off for the journey - and of course MJ’s eyes narrow in on the movement. “I like your suit,” she says.

“Thanks,” he says. “May said I should match the tie to your dress, but you won’t tell me anything about it, so…”

Laughing easily, she replies, “Gold medal to Aunt May for remembering prom etiquette. Anyway, I’ve brought two dresses with me, and they’re different colours.”

“I’m sure I could have packed two ties,” he counters with a perfect poker face.

“Shut it, Parker.” She leans to teasingly shove at his shoulder. “Seriously, thanks for coming. I was considering Ned, but I’ve seen him on Dance Dance Revolution, and I can’t afford to lose an eye during the macarena, you know?”

He snorts. “Sure, happy to save you from that. But who turned you down before you considered me?”

He meant it as just a joke, ready for her to roll her eyes and say a cheerleader or her current debating rival, but as soon as he says it, he realises how desperate it probably sounded. He swallows, and prepares his commentary on the weather, when she frowns, a crease between her brows like every-time he says something stupid.

“I didn’t consider anyone else,” she says, and she actually seems sincere, which, honestly, has happened maybe five times during their entire friendship.

He rolls his eyes. “I’m joking, MJ, don’t worry.”

“Peter,” she says, and she puts her hand over his where it rests between them on the bench. “Seriously. You were my first choice.”

He casts his gaze anywhere but her face. “It’s okay, I’m here, you don’t need to-”

“Peter, I needed someone charismatic, and hot, and nice, and who I trust. Your waltz skills were a big bonus, I’ll admit,” and here, she grins, disarmingly casual, as if his whole world hasn’t stuttered a little bit at so many compliments coming from her mouth. “But I wanted you to come with me.”

“Uh,” he says, eloquently.

“I’m gonna go change into my outfit,” she says, abruptly, standing and edging out of the booth.  “Stay here. And try not to sink the boat this time, yeah?”

He shakes himself. “Not funny!” He yells after her retreating figure. She flips him off in response, and a mother shields her daughter’s eyes from the gesture as MJ stalks past them, duffel bag slung over her shoulder. Great.

While he waits for her to return, he nervously fixes his hair - and probably messes it up more - and considers texting Ned. Although what would he send?

(hey, has MJ been complimenting you recently? unrelated q: how’s that alien mind control detector coming along?)

He could maybe text May, but she’d get the wrong idea. Well, probably the right idea, but she’s always liked MJ, even more after the whole first semester mess that was his month-long relationship with Carlie Cooper. Even thinking her name makes the smell of burning strong in Peter’s nostrils, and he shivers. Bad mental path to go down, Parker.

He decides to just refresh Twitter, liking Pepper Potts’ (@CEOStarkPotts) tweet about fracking, and Mr. Stark’s subsequent reply about where he’d like to drill for oil, which he only likes out of courtesy because the actual mental image is bleach-drinking worthy.

He quickly finds himself then in a internet spiral, and he’s watching a Youtube restoration of a dug-up axe when there’s a cough from somewhere near. He startles, and looks up, and then thinks that maybe the ship did sink and he’s dead. Completely and utterly dead.

“It’s red,” he chokes out. At this point, it might be easier to just tattoo ‘giant dweeb’ across his forehead.

She rolls his eyes. “Cheers, Parker, consider your next opticians’ appointment postponed. Seriously, is it okay, or should I try on the other one?”

He shakes his head so fast he’s in danger of dislocating his jaw. He’s staring, definitely, but he doubts anyone would blame him. Because MJ - Michelle freakin’ “fashion is capitalism’s worst industry” Jones - is wearing this long red slinky dress that looks soft and shiny and amazing. “Nope, no,” he says. (Smooth.) “No, I think that one works. It’s, ah, you’re really - it looks good. Yeah,”

God, it’s almost the exact shade as the red on his suit. Don’t worry, Dr. Octopus, MJ is going to murder Peter Parker by just wearing spaghetti straps, you’re welcome.

She slides back into the booth, and tucks her hair - which is out of its usual ponytail and falling all around her face in all its wild glory - behind her ears. “Thanks.” Then the soft smile is quickly hidden behind a meaner grimace. “This’ll show Anna.”

“You still haven’t told me what your big problem with this girl is,” Peter points out, thankful for the distraction of conversation.

She sniffs. “It’s a long story. And I can only tell it when the sun’s down.”

He rolls his eyes. He has no idea why he likes her so much, honestly.

-

They follow the GPS’s directions and arrive at the hotel, a charming place with white stone and a long gravel driveway accented with pretty, flowering trees. Naturally, MJ pulls a face at it.

“This is so typical of her,” she says.

“It looks nice,” he rebukes.

They follow the signs to the car park, and Peter only takes three tries, amidst MJ’s laughter, to get it into the parking bay. They traipse to the main entrance, other guests mingling and following their path.

"Wait," Peter asks as they reach the lobby and join the queue of people for the reception desk. "We're staying here tonight?"

"Yeah," MJ replies casually. "The ceremony and reception are here, so."

"You booked the rooms?"

At this, MJ suddenly seems distracted by her fingernails. "Room. Singular. And, yeah. Least I could do for dragging you out here."

He's too afraid to ask the other question he has, which is promptly answered when they get up to their designated Room 342. It has exactly one double bed, right in the middle of the room, like it's taunting him.

"I-" he swallows. "I'll call reception, get them to send some more pillows so I can sleep on the floor."

"Don't be stupid," she dismisses, already chucking her bag onto the right side and popping the complimentary pillow mint into her mouth. "You can't help little old ladies cross the street if your back's as bad as theirs. We can share."

Right. They can share a bed. Sure.

"When does the ceremony start?" Peter asks, a little desperately as MJ sits on the bed and bobs a little, testing the springiness, which is not a turn-on, shut up.

"In half an hour, probably." She shrugs. "I'm not bothered if we turn up late though."

He narrows his eyes. "You want to turn up fashionably late to a wedding ceremony."

"I'm not saying I want to, I'm just saying I wouldn't be bothered," she counters, with a straight face, until she breaks and stands back up. "Kidding, kidding. Let's go. I think one of my cool cousins is here."

He frowns, following her out into the hallway and only just remembering to grab the keycard from the small table by the door. "How come your cousin is here? I thought you knew this girl from middle school?"

"Yeah, we went to middle school together," MJ agrees, and perhaps Peter should know not to be fooled by her casual tone by now. "But she's my aunt's daughter."

Peter stops. Like, he actually stops walking, right there on the patterned carpeting. "So, your cousin.”

She mockingly shudders. "Gross. I try to pretend we're not related."

“This is your cousin’s wedding,” he says slowly, the horrible truth dawning on him.

She stops at the elevators just in time to give him a side profile of her rolling her eyes. “Yes, if you want to be pedantic, I guess.”

He swallows. "Exactly how many of your family members are going to be down there?"

She finally halts as well, and turns to look at him, raising an eyebrow like he's the one being ridiculous. Then she twists her lips, thinking. "Hm," she says, and he waits with held breath. "Only the ones on my mom's side."

Yep. He's going to die.  

He throws his arms in the air. Possibly he's being very dramatic, but come on! "MJ! Are you kidding? This would have been vital information before we got here!"

Something weird and undefinable flickers across her face. "Would you have not come if you knew?" she counters, which is really beside the point.

"Of course I would've come," he says, immediately, because it's the truth. If MJ asked him to come as his date to a wedding between a disapproving Steve Rogers and Electro, he would've turned up with his shoes shined. Regardless, he thinks he has the right to be a little thrown. "You're seriously going to introduce me to your whole family as your boyfriend? To get revenge on your cousin?”

He at least expects a little contrition from her. But instead, the elevator doors slide open with a small chime, and the corner of her lips are curling, like she’s daring him to do something. “You up for the challenge, Spider-Man?”

God help him. His head rolls back in defeat, and she slips into the elevator. He has a split-second to decide: and then he’s darting forward to slide in before the doors shut. 

She looks up at his entrance, as if maybe she hadn’t been all that sure, and he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Fine, I’m in,” he says, and his smile is met by one of her own. “But you have to tell me the story behind your hatred of Anna, and I get to tell everyone you cried at the ceremony.”

She bites down on her bottom lip in that way she does whenever she wants to laugh at one of his dumb jokes but is too proud to. “Deal.”

“And,” he adds as she presses the button for the lobby, because something feels different, and he’s still sparking from the sight of her in that dress. “You have to strongly imply I’m the best you’ve had in bed.”

He’s expecting her to laugh straight in his face. But suddenly her expression is… different. Before he can work out exactly what’s going on, the elevator doors are opening again, and she’s striding away.

He takes a deep breath, and readjusts his tie one last time. Come on, Spider-Man, he thinks, and follows her. 

thanks for the amazing response so far!! I think this is going to be my last update on tumblr - I’m going to finish the rest, and then probably post the full thing as a one-shot on ao3. hope you enjoyed this next part! 

[zyad-adeust-blog]

Of Fire and Water

PART 1

AN: This is a compiled, plotted thread I have going on with @shadow-the-assassino. The whole purpose of this post is for archiving purposes and because I like to show off my rp partner’s and my hard work @w@. The premise of this thread is that everyone is born with an animal companion, and that there are a select few who have dragons as companions. Shadow and Zyad are one of the few. Stay tuned for danger, adventure, drama, and near death experiences!!!

(Zyad) As the scent of alcohol accompanies the boisterous laughter of several drunkards, the corner of Zyad’s lips quirk upward into a small smile. There's just something about stepping into a tavern that leaves her equally refreshed and excited. For here, there are different people with different trades and companions, new faces who'll forget her very own once they walk out the door, and most importantly, fresh targets. Or in this particular case, the rumors and whispers surrounding potential ones.

She traipses from each floor of the tavern, dressed as a boater escaping the midnight chill and with half a mug of jasper brandy grasped in one hand; the other occasionally taking a coin or two from unfortunate passerby who cross her path. And she'd continue traversing from one end of the room to the other, listening to bits of gossip until the words “gala” and “showcase” and “art” were filtered through the rest of the noise, making her stop and casually lean back on a post to take a swig of her drink, all while overhearing every detail that had to be offered.

Yet Zyad, self-proclaimed “infamous, elusive thief” is oblivious to the fact that she had caught the eye of a certain person who watched her every move intently.

(Shadow) Shadow sat at her usual table, the one in the corner. The hunter was not extremely keen on drink but came to taverns often to seek out new information, targets and just to observe. Maybe she liked to drink a little after some hard missions. She wasn't disturbed there by anyone; the only thing she received were the odd, nervous glances of a server maid.

This tavern is one you never want to draw too much attention to yourself. You either were feared, threatened, or killed. It's best to stay on the feared list. Many unsavory characters come to this tavern. The kind Shadow has pleasure in killing. Did she look that intimidating? I suppose being clad in black robes wearing a hood and armed with knives who have seen many victims, and having a companion of a merciless peregrine falcon, it's not hard to guess why people are afraid.

The assassin never had much table manners and that was evident here as she rested her heels on the table, lazily watching the crowds of people waiting for something interesting to happen.

So it was that something had caught her eye. This girl making her way around the tavern pick pocketing unlucky victims. Such ease and skill. Shadows assumptions were that she was a petty thief but even they wouldn't be this good. They wouldn't be this efficient. Shadow could even see the vantage points she used to eavesdrop into conversations. Definitely someone I need to keep an eye on.

Ah of course who came to crash the party only some palace guards who marched into the tavern. How brave of them to come in here, how foolish of them. It must be something important to bring them in here. They headed straight for the new mysterious girl.

(Zyad) It was not until the chatter of the other patrons quieted to a hushed muttering and the air turned deathly cold did Zyad pay heed to the oncoming palace guard brigade.

“Evenin’ gentleman,” she says once they are in front of her. But her smile does not reach her eyes. “You got a problem with me?”

“You know what the problem is,” the leader retorts. He is thick and sinewy with roughened skin that's decorated with creases and scars, and his animal-companion, a growling bulldog, stands beside him. “My brother's stuff's been taken. And you fit his description perfectly.” He spits at her feet, then points his sword to her throat, the others following his lead and drawing their weapons. "Now hand over whatever you stole and this won't have to get ugly."

Zyad's eyebrows furrow as she exchanges a glance between the blade and the stupidly brave guards standing in a den of vipers.

"Please," she breathes out as she carefully sets her mug on a nearby table, crossing her arms soon after. For a moment, all the onlookers think they might have a free show of a thief pleading for her life.

"I doubt this situation could become uglier than your face."

(Shadow) As soon as the swords were out Shadow was up on her feet.  Quietly making her way over to the guards who didn't notice her coming. For someone with swords to her throats the thief is being very brave saying smart comments like that. She must have had near death experiences before. Shadows previous guess is correct this stranger is much more than a petty thief.

The assassin was inches away from the main guard, her falcon above in the rafters.

"She has a point." Shadow grinned showing her teeth, but her hood hid the rest of her face. "If I were you I would cease your convictions in retrieving whatever stolen objects this… petty thief has taken.  I don't like trouble in this tavern and you sure don't want to make even more of a fool of yourself."

The guard’s only response was a grunt and remained firm in his position, but his true feelings were portrayed on his conflicted face.

"Besides you mustn't be that great of a guard if something got stolen, and also who exactly is guarding your master while you go on your little adventure to chase down his lost treasure?"

One thing Shadow learned is that when people are angry they can't fight effectively. She was trying to get him angry and he almost is outraged. The only problem this has is if he strikes the stranger and not her. Time shall tell in his response as for now he was visibly fuming.

"This is none of your business." He scoffed.

"Ah, but it is now since you disturbed my peaceful observations. Why don't we take this outside and I can show you just how much of this is my business. Just because you can't do your job doesn't mean you should kill someone," Shadow replied sarcastically.

It was then he whipped around, pointing the sword at Shadow’s abdomen, the two other guards attention still focused on the thief. His face twisted into a confident grin.

"I know you. Well, I know the stories and all you are is a cold-blooded killer. Don't lecture me, you criminal."

The assassin laughed again "Oh no! You got me there. You just proved I'm really efficient at my job, and if you don't step back from that girl I'll give you a demonstration."

(Zyad) Zyad snorted in sheer amusement once the now-revealed “killer” and the guard finished their banter with one another.

Sure, Zyad didn’t know who the girl in the hood was, but the thief knew when a person simply emanated “threat” and to stay far away from them as possible. However, with the way things are now, maybe a little help wouldn’t hurt from a fellow criminal, for the crowd already encircled them and blocked all the escape routes she previously planned to take.

The guard was highly livid with each word the assassin quipped back at him; and though the thief did not know her helper’s true intentions, she would do what she knew best: to adapt.

“If we’re placing bets, then I‘m putting mine on her. ‘Cause I’m pretty sure you just pissed your pants when you realized who she was,” she pointedly said to the red-faced guard.

He visibly tenses, his eyes shifting towards the thief, but his blade still trained on the assassin.

“Wow,” Zyad drawls. “I can already hear the people whispering about a failed guardsman who soiled his pants while attempting to fight a killer in a shady tavern.” She leans slightly forward, her arms loosely crossing over herself. There’s a glint of deviousness in her eye and a smile to go with it as she continues her mockery.

“You’d be the laughing-stock of this city by the morrow.”

Various, quiet snickering echoed throughout the building as the guard’s own lips twitched into a snarl while his knuckles turned white.

The thief saw the strike before he even roared his raging battle-cry. He diagonally slashed downward, the screech of metal upon metal ringing sharply when his sword was blocked by what looked like a small, gray cane that Zyad had deftly taken from her person. And the split second of momentary confusion that showed on the guard’s demeanor was more than enough for Zyad to bring her blunt weapon straight across his jaw and kick him back to the two other guards. 

The thief shoots the assassin a quick, cheeky grin, while twirling the dark gray rod. “Keep up, will ya?”

(Shadow) Shadow was surprised to say the least by the stranger’s actions. They were rather quick for a civilian, nearly as quick as hers. I think her surprise was most evident from her facial expression with raised eyebrows and a smirk.

The phase passed quickly when she turned to the guards who were now poised and ready for attack. "I don't think we will be able to leave till these fellows are incapacitated." She directed to the stranger.

"Now what do ye say die now or live to fight another day?" The assassin grinned as she unsheathed her twin calcattas. Their responses were weary grunts and strengthening of their positions.

"Very well then, don't say I didn't give you a choice."

The guards charged forward but their strikes were slow and wide and easily blocked. One of the weaker guards was struck down by being impaled in the back after the assassin blocked his strike.

"Anytime you feel like it, you can join me so I can get you out of here before reinforcements arrive."

(Zyad) When the assassin killed one the guards, Zyad quickly fanned her weapon to the temples of the remaining one, promptly striking his ribs and shoulder afterwards. His distractedness had cost him severely and she watched as his body fell to join the others.

"Last time I checked," she sheaths her metal yantok, "I'm the one who had to attack first to get you to join me in the fight," she winks at the assassin. "But do lead the way. This city's streets are still unfamiliar to me."

Until the thief was far away from the people she stole, she'd have to rely on the assassin. For now.

(Shadow) "Let's not get too caught up in the details." The assassin chuckled a little. She proceeded to wipe the blood off the swords onto the guards on the floor, then sheathed them when satisfied.

"I have a horse out back. Let's leave before this gets worse."

Shadow turned to go pushing her way through the crowd to get to the stalls out back. Following behind was her animal companion, Aldmari, following overhead.

Reaching outside there was the horse tied up exactly where she left him. She untied him and mounted up. "Now you can either steal a horse and draw more attention to yourself or just ride with me."

(Zyad) Zyad was grateful to be away from the prying eyes of the other patrons in the tavern. The stir she caused here would spread whispers about her presence within the city, no longer leaving her obscure from the different factions and other thieves. It would be another problem she'd begrudgingly have to work around.

As she follows the assassin through the crowd, she taps one of her inner-coat pockets, making sure her little companion, Iko, was still snug inside. His head peeking out a moment later was all the affirmation she needed.

Once they're outside, the thief eyes the other horses in the stall, biting her lip while internally debating whether or not she should steal one on account of the assassin's quip. The owners could always replace it. But then again...

Zyad shrugs, a sigh following after it. "I think I had enough attention for tonight." She helps herself onto the horse and sits behind the assassin.

"So... Where are we going?"

(Shadow) The assassin squeezed her heels and the horse walked onto the street. It was a glamorous part of the town and the streets were dirty, thanks to the contents of the chamber pots being thrown onto them, just like the people who walked them.

"Where prying eyes don't look, somewhere the guards won't look. They call it 'Death Alley' but really it's perfectly safe, safer than that tavern even. Well, safe for a person like me. It's the perfect place to escape guards as the city folk fear it from the stories told about it."

The poor patrons evaded their path left and right, shooting glares at the hooded rider and her female companion. People were always curious, too curious, too nosey, too interested in everyone else's business.

That's one thing that annoyed Shadow- the gossip, oh people would kill for that. None of which affected her or which she cared for in the slightest.

"Where is your companion? That's mine." The assassin signaled up to the falcon. "Aldmari." The falcon cawed ((I don't know what sound it makes??)) in response to hearing its name and merely circled the sky above, the pace of the horse appearing too slow for her.

(Zyad) The pungent smell of the streets mixed with peering eyes that often looked their way instinctively made Zyad pull her collar closer to her face and her cap further down her eyes. It seems that the cold, night air wasn't the only thing causing goosebumps to crawl all over her dark skin.

But her silent snickering at the assassin's mention of such an innocuous name (for “Death Alley” was nowhere near intimidating to the thief) left her forgetting the wind's bite for just a moment. If it is indeed safe for a trained killer, then it is even better for an unsuspecting thief. However, she’ll make no mention of that to the assassin. She might need the leverage later on.

"What a beautiful bird," the thief mutters as she glances at the hawk gliding overhead. "Mine's in my coat po–”

Abruptly, she shudders.

“Never mind. He’s on my neck now.” The blue-tailed lizard continues to climb upwards until he’s resting on top of Zyad’s cap.

“Hope your companion isn't hungry 'cause Iko's a rather eye-catching lizard,” she jokes offhandedly with the barest of smiles curling at her lips.

“You know, I never did thank you properly for helping me back there. So uh… thanks. For not letting me die.”

(Shadow) Shadow glanced back to see the lizard on top of the strangers head.

“Indeed a very eye catching lizard. It's nothing really. I like to spice up my evenings every now and then. No matter who you are or what you've done I can guarantee I hate the city guards more.”

The horse’s hooves echoed through the streets as they went deeper into the suburbs. The streets seemed to have fewer and fewer people the further they went.

Finally, the assassin turned down a dark eerie street. They passed a sign post: “Death Alley”

“What is your name if you don't mind me asking?”

(Zyad) Zyad quirks a brow upon the assassin's remark on the city's guards, a silent sigh of relief escaping her lips. At the very least, Zyad now knows not to incur her helper's hatred to the point beyond what the assassin already has for the guards.

For the most of the ride, the two remained quiet, and the thief returned to counting the horse's steps that seemed to resound louder and louder the further down they went.

It was at 526 steps later that Zyad noticed the worn sign post held together by rusted nails. A perfectly placed eerie sign for a perfectly placed eerie street. All it needed now was a few dark clouds hanging overhead marked with occasional lightning and thunder to make it absolutely wonderful and inviting.

Yet despite the dreadful stillness it held, a small smile pulled at the corner of Zyad's lips, for the potential of becoming invisible once more lay greatly within Death Alley.

As the thief thought of the many things she'd do in her spare time when she is far from the city proper, the assassin interrupts her train of thought.

The thief blinks twice before relenting with a smirk.

"Zyad." A pause. "Just Zyad. Not 'petty thief,' mind you." It's not like she forgot what the assassin called her back at the tavern. "And what about you? Or should I just assume that everybody knows who I'm talking about when I mention a 'cold- blooded killer' with a big-ass hawk as her companion?"

(Shadow) “They call me Shadow. When I say they I mean everyone besides me. You may not be a petty thief, Zyad, but you are a thief all the same.”

The horse’s strides slowed and soon came to a stop outside a house. It looked better than some of the others on the street, but it still wasn't an inviting home. There was no paint on the outside which made it look dark, which was made even worse by the fact there were no oil lamps on these alleys. Least the house had all its windows unlike the others.

Shadow swung her leg up over the horse’s neck, sliding off the saddle, and dismounted. She grabbed the horse’s reigns and gave him a pat on the neck. She turned back to Zyad.

“My real name is Iolar. You can stay here for a while eat, drink and rest if you need. “

(Zyad) "You forgot to put 'fantastic' or 'amazing' before 'thief,'" and Zyad smiles a Cheshire smile, a small chuckle accompanying along with it. She leans her head against interlocked fingers and continues on,

"But 'Shadow,' huh? Wonder if that's just self-proclaimed or you earned it from your notoriety."

However, her mind wanders from the question once the horse stops in front of what she presumes to be Shadow's residence, one so carefully more intact, yet nonetheless daunting than the other houses.

She follows suit in dismounting, and was about to make a curt farewell, but is suddenly taken aback by the assassin's offer.

Her eyes narrow.

"Iolar, thank you for the assistance earlier, but I think this is where we should part ways." It's a shame such kindness is wasted on the thief.

But nonetheless, Zyad rolls her shoulders back, turns on her heel, then takes one last glance at Shadow.

"If we ever cross paths again, I'll make sure to return the favor. Thief's honor and all that."

She heads down an alleyway and disappears without a trace.

(Shadow) "Like there's much honor in thieves." The assassin whispered to herself. "I suppose a murderer’s wouldn't be that much better."

The assassin, although she wouldn't admit it, was disappointed. She was disappointed she wouldn't have company for the evening.

The assassin brings the horse around the back and takes off his tack, leaving him running free in the paddock.

Shadow made her way inside, slowly stripping off pieces of her clothes starting with her belt and boots, then her assassin blades and outer robes. She quickly got a strong fire going giving at least a source of light.

She made her way to the kitchen and grabbed a beverage out of the cupboard, hard stuff. She threw herself down on the couch and flicked off the top. The assassin sighed "Bottoms up" and continued to drink the rum.

[quietpagan]

Trollhunters: Under Sunlight, 1

Jim Lake isn't sure what to do when he rescues a troll from being turned to stone in his own backyard, and is introduced to an entire world underneath his feet. He certainly didn't expect to find a family.

It was the biggest fear of every troll, daylight. Such a simple, beautiful thing, but only from a distance seen – never touched. An excruciating, painful death, said to last a thousand years in a few instances.

No one was quite sure what power made trolls so vulnerable to the thing that gave the Earth life. Perhaps because they were creatures of the underground, the stone and the rock, so they could never step above in the light. Some particularly dismal factions believed that trolls did something horrendous in the past, giving the gods cause to kill them with something so warm and pure, forcing them into the darkness where they belonged.  Others said that daylight itself was a curse, too hot and too bright, and that trolls were blessed to be given a sense for the gems and the stones of the celebrated earth, their eyes attuned to every nuance of shadow, their ears hearing the heartbeat of the world itself.

Whatever the reason was, trolls could not touch the sunlight without it turning their living stone still and cold, until they calcified into lifeless rock. So beautiful, but so deadly.

And so incredibly inconvenient, thought the troll attempting to dodge death in a small Californian suburb.

The main problem with daylight was that it snuck up on you. You didn’t realize that it was getting brighter – too bright – until the sun was upon you, and then it was too late.

The troll jumped a fence and slid down the wood, taking a moment to catch his breath in the shadowy reprieve. He didn’t have much time. In a few minutes, if he couldn’t find a safe route, he would probably die. But in order to get to safety, he would have to pass through the neighborhood and the tiny town beyond, in full view of the denizens there, thus exposing himself and his people.

He was exposed whatever he did, unfortunately. At some point a human would look out their window to see a statue of a four-armed creature having mysteriously appeared in their backyard. By now it was just a matter of deciding if getting caught alive was worth possibly making it to safety. One errant ray, one streak of sunlight through the buildings, and he was dead anyway.

The wood on his back had warmed considerably during his musing, and he quickly dashed away from it, hiding in the shadow of a tree, but a bit of sun caught one of his elbows and he cried out, slamming against the tree trunk as he jerked away.  

His elbow sparkled blue for a moment, but the damage was already fading, if a little sore. It was a sobering reminder of what was at stake.

He was too afraid to cry and too despaired to rage at the unfairness of it. He’d only stayed out too late raiding the humans’ public library! His price for the stolen books, it seemed, was going to be very steep indeed.

The morning sun began to filter through the leaves of the trees, and he tried to make himself as small as he could without putting any limbs out from the tree’s shadow.

Up ahead of him, the west side of the house was dark. There was a large garbage can tucked against the fence; it wouldn’t hide him forever, it was too small, but he’d have more time to think of a way to get back home.

Unfortunately, the path between the tree and the fence was washed in early morning light. He could make the distance if he was fast, but he’d take serious damage to his right side, and if he wasn’t fast enough he’d turn to stone before ever reaching the shadow.

The light was already reaching around the trunk of the tree, so he didn’t have much of a choice, but the knowledge of exactly how painful the sprint was going to be made him hesitate.

Utterly, utterly useless. Just do it. Do it. Run. Go. Go!

“GO!” he yelled, and he ran out from under cover of the tree.

The sunlight hit him immediately and he screamed in the pain, bright blue lightening crackling over his skin and blinding him. He turned his head and bolted as fast as he could, but realized within a split second that he had underestimated the distance and overestimated how fast his short legs could run. He wouldn’t make it. He was already shaking with the pain, and he collapsed only a few yards away from his goal.

He closed his eyes against the sunlight and curled into a crouch, his turning skin making him stiff and slow.

It all happened in an instant.

Then a soft, smooth sound echoed in his one working ear, and something light draped itself over his entire body. The sunlit grass under his hands suddenly was drenched in shadow, and the horrible pain stopped. He wasn’t dead.

Something – or someone – had covered him with a cloth. By the smell of flowery soap and skin cells, it was the bedsheet of a human whelp.

The front of the sheet rustled and a tiny face peeked underneath the fabric, wide eyes meeting wide eyes.

“My name’s Jim,” the little human whispered, patting his spindly fingers over the troll’s face.

And Blinky…blinked.

 Jim had been eating cereal when he saw the monster in the backyard, having trailed downstairs, still wrapped in his bedsheet, to watch the early cartoons.

His mother was already at work, even though it was a Saturday. She trusted him to look after himself as long as he didn’t turn on the stove or the oven, because he was nine and hadn’t set anything on fire for years. He still used the stove and the oven, because he was nine and knew how to use them perfectly fine, and his mom didn’t notice most of the time.

But he liked eating cereal while he watched cartoons on weekend mornings, and that’s how he saw the monster.

It jumped over the fence first and then sat for a bit, before running and hiding behind a tree. It was really too big for the tree, and as it got brighter and brighter and the monster tried to make itself smaller and smaller, Jim realized that it was afraid of the daylight.

The monster looked at the fence that led to the front yard, and Jim knew it was going to run for it. He dropped his cereal and ran for the back door, unlocking it and sprinting outside just as the monster ran out from the tree’s shadow. It sparkled with blue light and screamed in pain, and Jim swept his sheet off over his shoulders and onto the monster, sheltering it from the sun.

The monster stayed still and crouched and Jim worried that it hadn’t worked; was it too hurt? Was he too late to save it? He peeked under the edge of the sheet and met three pairs of frightened brown eyes.

They were screwed up and watering in pain, the ones on the right half-closed. The monster’s face was huge; Jim screwed up his face as it panted shakily, but his mom had said that it wasn’t polite to tell people that they smelled after that time with Toby’s nana.

The monster just looked at him and he told it, “My name’s Jim,” just to get it to calm down. The monster’s left eyes blinked. He wasn’t sure if it understood him. Part of its face, the half where the sun had hit, was grey and sparkled slightly, and Jim tried to touch the sparkles before they disappeared. The skin under his fingers was hard and cold.

He shifted the sheet further to grab the monster’s hand, but when he touched it, he realized it too was made of stone.

The monster made a low moan of pain, and Jim grabbed the other hand. It took a while because he had to make sure the sheet stayed put, but he eventually got the monster inside the house.

Of course, now this meant that he had a monster inside his house.

He still was afraid of monsters under his bed and he’d just taken a monster inside his house.

The monster stood up with a groan, and Jim felt afraid of it for the first time. The sheet slid off of its shoulders and pooled on the floor around its feet. It was very tall, and it had four arms. The only clothing it was wearing were shorts with big side pockets and suspenders; Jim had only ever seen suspenders on old people. The monster looked itself over, poking gently at the limbs that had stone crusted over them, and then turned all six eyes on Jim. It bent down halfway, a grimace of pain crossing its face, and then gave him a tiny, but grateful, smile.

“Young whelp, you have saved my life,” it said, in a deep, smooth voice. “I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

It straightened back up, and bowed its head.

“I am known as Blinky,” it – he – said, and then he collapsed against the wall.

“Ah.”

But Jim was already rushing to the kitchen, shutting all of the curtains as he went. He got a glass of water, to get the monster re-hidred…re­-hydrated, and quickly soaked a dishtowel in the sink. He ran back over to Blinky and slapped the towel over his face.

“Ow, my eyes…” “Here’s some water,” Jim said, shoving the glass into one of Blinky’s left hands. Blinky slid himself into a sitting positing and gulped down the water, and then ate the glass.

“I thank you,” he said shakily.

“It’s…okay,” mumbled Jim. “Um. What are you?” “I am a troll, young human,” said Blinky, taking the towel off of his face and wiping it over his stone arms.  “We live in secrecy underground, so that humans such as yourself are not sensible to our existence.”

A troll!

Jim watched in utter amazement as the troll raided his kitchen, eating - not the food - but the contents of the recycle bin and the trash can, as well as the flytrap from the window and the empty box Jim gave him as he finished off the cereal.

He was the weirdest-looking thing Jim had ever seen, and he’d peered into his mother’s med-school textbooks more than once. His head took up almost a third of his entire body, and he had short, stubby little legs to carry him around. His skin was blue where it wasn’t stone, and there were lines carved right onto it. He had huge teeth, so big that they didn’t completely fit into his mouth, and his four hands only had four fingers each.

Blinky chatted as he ate, roaming around the kitchen but stalwartly avoiding the windows, as well as the actual topic of trolls.

“As I’ve said, young master Jim, trolls such as I live in secrecy, and so I am unable to further educate you on our world. The mere fact that I’ve interacted with you is an unconscionable offense.”

Jim didn’t know what that meant, but he wasn’t deterred. As Blinky munched on a handful of old batteries, he sat himself down on the couch and kept asking questions.

“What’s it like having six eyes?”

Blinky paused from squirting whipped cream on top of a lightbulb, and blinked the three eyes that he could move.

“I suppose it is similar to having only two eyes, but…three times as much. I’ve never truly thought of it. It is normal for me.”

He then smiled at Jim, and gestured the lightbulb.

“Tell me, if we are exchanging questions: what do you think of me so far? Surely this is frightening for you.”

Jim shrugged.

“You’re not really scary,” he said. Blinky chuckled and looked down at himself.

“No,” he said, “To trolls, certainly I am not. But to a human, especially one as young and small as yourself, I would think even a goblin would be scary.”

“You’ve been pretty nice,” said Jim. “And you ate all our recycling, so I don’t have to put out the can tomorrow. Aren’t you cutting your tongue?” Blinky shook his head, his overlarge teeth crunching the lightbulb to dust.

“Trolls are made of living stone,” Blinky said, tapping his fingers against an arm to make a stony sound. “And I will reveal no more. It would be better for you to know as little of us as possible, for the safety of yourself and of trollkind.” “But you’re going to be stuck here all day,” said Jim, putting his feet up on the couch. “I’ve never met a troll before! Can’t you tell me anything?” Blinky shook his head. He looked around the room and made a beeline to the bookshelves in the living room, having finally run out of refuse to eat. Bits of his right side were slowly, slowly turning from grey to blue, and he rubbed his hurt arms.

“You should continue on as if nothing had happened,” he said. “I shall have to remain here until night falls, but your day does not have to be spent entertaining such an unexpected guest. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself while you go about your day.” “I was just going to hang out with Toby,” said Jim. “He’s my best friend. We were gonna play video games. But I…”

Blinky turned around a bit and caught Jim’s eye.

He really didn’t want to just leave and play video games when there was a magic troll in his house. Maybe he could get a little more out of him about trolls, maybe not, but it would be weird to just…go back to normal, like he hadn’t met Blinky at all. Things were different now. He couldn’t just leave.

“Actually, while my sojourn to the human world has been extended…”

Jim wrenched himself from his thoughts and looked at Blinky, who was leaning against the wall next to a window.

“Mmm?” “Would you mind too terribly fetching my books out of the back yard? There,” he said, pointing when Jim got up and twitched open the curtain. Blinky shot back from the glass, but the sun wasn’t even shining in the window yet.

“Er, there, yes – by the fence.” “Gotcha.”

Jim padded out the back door and picked up the books that were jumbled on the ground by the fence.

“’Arcadia Oaks Public Library…’?”

He went back inside and handed the books to Blinky, who dusted the grass clippings off onto the floor.

“You went to the library?” “Of course!” Blinky exclaimed, opening one of the books to shake out any debris. “Why else would one such as myself venture into the human realm? Your public library is quite extensive for such a small town.”

“You have a library card?” Blinky, to his credit, looked guilty.

“Well, er…I do return the books in a timely manner,” he muttered. Jim looked at him. Blinky looked back. Jim raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, it’s not as if I’m stealing a Gutenberg Bible,” said Blinky, hugging the books to his chest.

“I won’t tell anyone,” said Jim, looking curiously at the pile. “What are you reading?”

Blinky couldn’t have looked happier than if it were his birthday come early.

“Well, I’ve gotten this wonderful history of the Quaker settlements in New Jersey,” he said, toting the books to the living room and turning on the desk lamp, since the closed curtains made the room pretty dark. He sat down on one end of the couch and handed Jim the book when he took the other. “As well as a book on metalworking techniques across Europe and the Middle East and this beautiful little volume of poetry from the nineteen-fifties and sixties, the third in a series of four. It’s only just come back from being borrowed, I’ve been waiting for it for two months, the inconsiderate people kept extending it…”

Jim flipped through the metalworking book, his eyes drawn to the armor and swords.

“Ah, yes. Do you notice that detail on the nineteenth Chinese ­Dao, there? Such intricate engraving is prized by many a troll blacksmith!”

“Is that how you got your…” Jim waved a hand at the lines carved into Blinky’s skin. He looked very pleased.

“Indeed, young master! I shan’t tell you much, but trolls are very fond of decoration and detail. Our tattoos are a cultural necessity.”

They looked like they hurt, Jim thought, but he didn’t say anything. He hadn’t really seen many people with tattoos. Blinky even had them on his face.

They studied the book until it was finished, and then Blinky settled into the couch to read while Jim quietly made a phone call.

“Toby…” “Hey, Jim! What’s keepin’ ya, you’re late, dude!” “Tobes, I…uh, I don’t feel so good today. I’m just going to stay home, okay?” “No problem-o. Did you call your mom? Do you need me to bring you anything? My nana made some soup a few days ago.” Jim risked a glance at Blinky, who looked completely absorbed in an enormous historical fiction book.

“…I think I’ll just go back to bed,” Jim said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” “Yeah, sure Jimbo. Call me if you need anything. And don’t forget to call your mom!”

“’Kay. Bye, Tobes.”

Jim hung up the phone and rushed up the stairs, closing his bedroom door behind him before going over to the bookshelf.

He’d tell Toby about everything later, despite what Blinky said. Toby was good at keeping secrets, and he felt really guilty about lying to him and skipping out on their plans, but what was he supposed to do? Just leave to play Go Go Sushi and forget about the seven-foot troll in his living room?

Jim gathered up an armful of books he thought Blinky might like to see and headed back downstairs. He stopped in the kitchen to make two cups of tea, and then set the books down on the coffee table.

“Oh, what’s this,” Blinky muttered, using a finger to mark his place while he examined the pile.

“Some of mine,” said Jim. “I like science fiction a lot, but I like old westerns, too. What’s your favorite?” Blinky examined a graphic novel with an appreciative smile.

“I prefer historical fictions myself,” he said, holding up his own book. “But these graphic novels are very beautiful. Have you read V for Vendetta or Watchmen? I hear they are rather well-known amongst you humans.”

Jim shook his head.

“Well, they’re – what is your age, exactly, young Jim?” “I’m nine.”

Blinky looked a little stunned, and gently put the novel back down on the pile.

“Perhaps not yet, then. They are rather suited for an older audience. Ah ha! Asimov?”

“We had to read it for class,” said Jim. “I liked the robot.” “I have not read most of these,” said Blinky, and Jim suddenly worried that he didn’t like them. Maybe they were childish – how old was Blinky, anyway? Jim wanted him to like the books. Toby didn’t really like to read and his mom was always busy, so he never got to talk about his favorite books with anyone. Maybe Blinky would like some of his mom’s novels?

But Blinky was already picking up one of Jim’s favorites, a time-travelling western, and had started on the first chapter. So Jim picked up another, took a sip of his tea, and settled down to read as well.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t concentrate on his book as well as he would have liked. He simply couldn’t get over the fact that there was a troll.

In his living room.

Absently sipping a cooling cup of tea, with five eyes on the rapidly-turning pages of his book and the sixth that would occasionally glimpse over at Jim.

Would Blinky disappear forever? What if Jim distracted him long enough for Blinky to meet his mom? Or he called Toby to come over?

“I appear to be distracting you from your reading, young human.”

Jim looked up guiltily; Blinky was smiling.

“I understand that…this is certainly an unforgettable experience. But the less I involve you, the better. There are trolls much more dangerous and less accepting than I. To allow you to know about our world would put both us and yourself at risk.” “You said,” murmured Jim. “But I’m good at keeping secrets! I promise I wouldn’t tell anyone.” Blinky looked mildly uncomfortable at this. “As reassuring as that may be, I would not wish you to have to lie to your family and friends. Secrecy can be damaging, and I would not choose you to have to use it any more than is necessary.”

Jim chewed on the inside of his cheek. He didn’t like the idea of lying to his mom or to Toby either. But he couldn’t just leave it be.

“So…what’s your favorite color?” Blinky softly sighed, and closed his book.

“It is green, master Jim. I find the color soothing and peaceful. Yourself?”

They spent the next several hours talking and reading, as the sun migrated from window to window. Blinky wouldn’t tell Jim anything about trolls or their society, but he was significantly open about his own interests. Jim found out about his deep respect for humankind, even if he was rather derisive about some of humanity’s beliefs and physical traits; he told the troll about his mom’s busy work and described the graduation ceremony he’d attended last year; Blinky revealed his desire to drive a car, and was very disappointed to learn that Jim couldn’t get a driver’s permit for seven more years.

They discovered a mutual interest in mechanics, and Jim brought down several of his motor magazines and the little blue Vespa model his mom had given him last Christmas. They discussed the various highs and lows about scooters and motorcycles from different countries and manufacturers, and the advantages and disadvantages of scooters vs cars.

Jim assured Blinky’s eventual return by pressing upon him several of his mother’s novels and medical texts so that the troll would have to return them, not noticing that Blinky later wrote down the names of the books and quietly left them on a corner of the bookshelf.

They managed to get in a few hours of reading, now that their mutual curiosity was more or less satisfied, and Jim didn’t realize that nightfall was upon them until he came back from making another cup of tea, and found the living room empty and Blinky and his library books gone.

  A/N: I AM TRASH FOR SPIDER BOOKWORM DAD, K?

I love how Jim cooks these nice, elaborate, tasty meals for Toby and his mom, but literally all he’s eaten himself is fucking cereal. He also feeds Strickler cereal, just because he doesn’t want to waste his mom’s good food on him.

Imma start this off by saying that I have never been around children and have absolutely no living clue how a nine-year-old is supposed to talk or act. If he was a cat it might be better, but children are completely out of my experience. I don’t even remember being a child. I don’t even remember what I ate for breakfast yesterday. Where am I going with this. I completely don’t understand children. Are they even sentient by nine? Probably. Don’t they scream a lot? I know fuck-all about kids, so if Jim sounds too young or too old, please forgive me.

I’ve got a reference or two here from the book, especially the thing about sunlight turning you to stone for a thousand years, bc it’s so painful.

Anyway. This was a story I came up with while walking to my mom’s house and I was daydreaming bc wouldn’t it be cool, to see this random monster in the backyard, rescue it from the sunlight, and become best pals? I don’t have the energy to make another oc right now, so here’s some Spider Bookworm Dad and a possibility of Trollhuter!Barbara later on, if I get that far.

[yahooresearch]

Introducing Similarity Search at Flickr

By Clayton Mellina, Software Development Engineer

At Yahoo, our Computer Vision team works closely with Flickr, one of the world’s largest photo-sharing communities. The billions of photos hosted by Flickr allow us to tackle some of the most interesting real-world problems in image and video understanding. One of those major problems is that of discovery. We understand that the value in our photo corpus is only unlocked when the community can find photos and photographers that inspire them, so we strive to enable the discovery and appreciation of new photos.

To further that effort, today we are introducing similarity search on Flickr. If you hover over a photo on a search result page, you will reveal a “...” button that exposes a menu that gives you the option to search for photos similar to the photo you are currently viewing.

In many ways, photo search is very different from traditional web or text search. First, the goal of web search is usually to satisfy a particular information need, while with photo search the goal is often one of discovery; as such, it should be delightful as well as functional. We have taken this to heart throughout Flickr. For instance, our color search feature, which allows filtering by color scheme, and our style filters, which allow filtering by styles such as “minimalist” or “patterns,” encourage exploration. Second, in traditional web search, the goal is usually to match documents to a set of keywords in the query. That is, the query is in the same modality—text—as the documents being searched. Photo search usually matches across modalities: text to image. Text querying is a necessary feature of a photo search engine, but, as the saying goes, a picture is worth a thousand words. And beyond saving people the effort of so much typing, many visual concepts genuinely defy accurate description. Now, we’re giving our community a way to easily explore those visual concepts with the “...” button, a feature we call the similarity pivot.

The similarity pivot is a significant addition to the Flickr experience because it offers our community an entirely new way to explore and discover the billions of incredible photos and millions of incredible photographers on Flickr. It allows people to look for images of a particular style, it gives people a view into universal behaviors, and even when it “messes up,” it can force people to look at the unexpected commonalities and oddities of our visual world with a fresh perspective.

What is “similarity?”

To understand how an experience like this is powered, we first need to understand what we mean by “similarity.” There are many ways photos can be similar to one another. Consider some examples.

It is apparent that all of these groups of photos illustrate some notion of “similarity,” but each is different. Roughly, they are: similarity of color, similarity of texture, and similarity of semantic category. And there are many others that you might imagine as well.

What notion of similarity is best suited for a site like Flickr? Ideally, we’d like to be able to capture multiple types of similarity, but we decided early on that semantic similarity—similarity based on the semantic content of the photos—was vital to wholly facilitate discovery on Flickr. This requires a deep understanding of image content for which we employ deep neural networks.

We have been using deep neural networks at Flickr for a while for various tasks such as object recognition, NSFW prediction, and even prediction of aesthetic quality. For these tasks, we train a neural network to map the raw pixels of a photo into a set of relevant tags, as illustrated below.

Internally, the neural network accomplishes this mapping incrementally by applying a series of transformations to the image, which can be thought of as a vector of numbers corresponding to the pixel intensities. Each transformation in the series produces another vector, which is in turn the input to the next transformation, until finally we have a vector that we specifically constrain to be a list of probabilities for each class we are trying to recognize in the image. To be able to go from raw pixels to a semantic label like “hot air balloon,” the network discards lots of information about the image, including information about  appearance, such as the color of the balloon, its relative position in the sky, etc. Instead, we can extract an internal vector in the network before the final output.

For common neural network architectures, this vector—which we call a “feature vector”—has many hundreds or thousands of dimensions. We can’t necessarily say with certainty that any one of these dimensions means something in particular as we could at the final network output, whose dimensions correspond to tag probabilities. But these vectors have an important property: when you compute the Euclidean distance between these vectors, images containing similar content will tend to have feature vectors closer together than images containing dissimilar content. You can think of this as a way that the network has learned to organize information present in the image so that it can output the required class prediction. This is exactly what we are looking for: Euclidian distance in this high-dimensional feature space is a measure of semantic similarity. The graphic below illustrates this idea: points in the neighborhood around the query image are semantically similar to the query image, whereas points in neighborhoods further away are not.

This measure of similarity is not perfect and cannot capture all possible notions of similarity—it will be constrained by the particular task the network was trained to perform, i.e., scene recognition. However, it is effective for our purposes, and, importantly, it contains information beyond merely the semantic content of the image, such as appearance, composition, and texture. Most importantly, it gives us a simple algorithm for finding visually similar photos: compute the distance in the feature space of a query image to each index image and return the images with lowest distance. Of course, there is much more work to do to make this idea work for billions of images.

Large-scale approximate nearest neighbor search

With an index as large as Flickr’s, computing distances exhaustively for each query is intractable. Additionally, storing a high-dimensional floating point feature vector for each of billions of images takes a large amount of disk space and poses even more difficulty if these features need to be in memory for fast ranking. To solve these two issues, we adopt a state-of-the-art approximate nearest neighbor algorithm called Locally Optimized Product Quantization (LOPQ).

To understand LOPQ, it is useful to first look at a simple strategy. Rather than ranking all vectors in the index, we can first filter a set of good candidates and only do expensive distance computations on them. For example, we can use an algorithm like k-means to cluster our index vectors, find the cluster to which each vector is assigned, and index the corresponding cluster id for each vector. At query time, we find the cluster that the query vector is assigned to and fetch the items that belong to the same cluster from the index. We can even expand this set if we like by fetching items from the next nearest cluster.

This idea will take us far, but not far enough for a billions-scale index. For example, with 1 billion photos, we need 1 million clusters so that each cluster contains an average of 1000 photos. At query time, we will have to compute the distance from the query to each of these 1 million cluster centroids in order to find the nearest clusters. This is quite a lot. We can do better, however, if we instead split our vectors in half by dimension and cluster each half separately. In this scheme, each vector will be assigned to a pair of cluster ids, one for each half of the vector. If we choose k = 1000 to cluster both halves, we have k2 = 1000 * 1000 = 1e6 possible pairs. In other words, by clustering each half separately and assigning each item a pair of cluster ids, we can get the same granularity of partitioning (1 million clusters total) with only 2*1000 distance computations with half the number of dimensions for a total computational savings of 1000x. Conversely, for the same computational cost, we gain a factor of k more partitions of the data space, providing a much finer-grained index.

This idea of splitting vectors into subvectors and clustering each split separately is called product quantization. When we use this idea to index a dataset it is called the inverted multi-index, and it forms the basis for fast candidate retrieval in our similarity index. Typically the distribution of points over the clusters in a multi-index will be unbalanced as compared to a standard k-means index, but this unbalance is a fair trade for the much higher resolution partitioning that it buys us. In fact, a multi-index will only be balanced across clusters if the two halves of the vectors are perfectly statistically independent. This is not the case in most real world data, but some heuristic preprocessing—like PCA-ing and permuting the dimensions so that the cumulative per-dimension variance is approximately balanced between the halves—helps in many cases. And just like the simple k-means index, there is a fast algorithm for finding a ranked list of clusters to a query if we need to expand the candidate set.

After we have a set of candidates, we must rank them. We could store the full vector in the index and use it to compute the distance for each candidate item, but this would incur a large memory overhead (for example, 256 dimensional vectors of 4 byte floats would require 1Tb for 1 billion photos) as well as a computational overhead. LOPQ solves these issues by performing another product quantization, this time on the residuals of the data. The residual of a point is the difference vector between the point and its closest cluster centroid. Given a residual vector and the cluster indexes along with the corresponding centroids, we have enough information to reproduce the original vector exactly. Instead of storing the residuals, LOPQ product quantizes the residuals, usually with a higher number of splits, and stores only the cluster indexes in the index. For example, if we split the vector into 8 splits and each split is clustered with 256 centroids, we can store the compressed vector with only 8 bytes regardless of the number of dimensions to start (though certainly a higher number of dimensions will result in higher approximation error). With this lossy representation we can produce a reconstruction of a vector from the 8 byte codes: we simply take each quantization code, look up the corresponding centroid, and concatenate these 8 centroids together to produce a reconstruction. Likewise, we can approximate the distance from the query to an index vector by computing the distance between the query and the reconstruction. We can do this computation quickly for many candidate points by computing the squared difference of each split of the query to all of the centroids for that split. After computing this table, we can compute the squared difference for an index point by looking up the precomputed squared difference for each of the 8 indexes and summing them together to get the total squared difference. This caching trick allows us to quickly rank many candidates without resorting to distance computations in the original vector space.

LOPQ adds one final detail: for each cluster in the multi-index, LOPQ fits a local rotation to the residuals of the points that fall in that cluster. This rotation is simply a PCA that aligns the major directions of variation in the data to the axes followed by a permutation to heuristically balance the variance across the splits of the product quantization. Note that this is the exact preprocessing step that is usually performed at the top-level multi-index. It tends to make the approximate distance computations more accurate by mitigating errors introduced by assuming that each split of the vector in the production quantization is statistically independent from other splits. Additionally, since a rotation is fit for each cluster, they serve to fit the local data distribution better.

Below is a diagram from the LOPQ paper that illustrates the core ideas of LOPQ. K-means (a) is very effective at allocating cluster centroids, illustrated as red points, that target the distribution of the data, but it has other drawbacks at scale as discussed earlier. In the 2d example shown, we can imagine product quantizing the space with 2 splits, each with 1 dimension. Product Quantization (b) clusters each dimension independently and cluster centroids are specified by pairs of cluster indexes, one for each split. This is effectively a grid over the space. Since the splits are treated as if they were statistically independent, we will, unfortunately, get many clusters that are “wasted” by not targeting the data distribution. We can improve on this situation by rotating the data such that the main dimensions of variation are axis-aligned. This version, called Optimized Product Quantization (c), does a better job of making sure each centroid is useful. LOPQ (d) extends this idea by first coarsely clustering the data and then doing a separate instance of OPQ for each cluster, allowing highly targeted centroids while still reaping the benefits of product quantization in terms of scalability.

LOPQ is state-of-the-art for quantization methods, and you can find more information about the algorithm, as well as benchmarks, here. Additionally, we provide an open-source implementation in Python and Spark which you can apply to your own datasets. The algorithm produces a set of cluster indexes that can be queried efficiently in an inverted index, as described. We have also explored use cases that use these indexes as a hash for fast deduplication of images and large-scale clustering. These extended use cases are studied here.

Conclusion

We have described our system for large-scale visual similarity search at Flickr. Techniques for producing high-quality vector representations for images with deep learning are constantly improving, enabling new ways to search and explore large multimedia collections. These techniques are being applied in other domains as well to, for example, produce vector representations for text, video, and even molecules. Large-scale approximate nearest neighbor search has importance and potential application in these domains as well as many others. Though these techniques are in their infancy, we hope similarity search provides a useful new way to appreciate the amazing collection of images at Flickr and surface photos of interest that may have previously gone undiscovered. We are excited about the future of this technology at Flickr and beyond.

Acknowledgements

Yannis Kalantidis, Huy Nguyen, Stacey Svetlichnaya, Arel Cordero. Special thanks to the rest of the Computer Vision and Machine Learning team and the Vespa search team who manages Yahoo’s internal search engine.

[its-lifestyle]

Joy division

These days, we don’t tidy up our homes anymore, we Marie Kondo them. The decluttering guru who literally wrote the book on the subject – The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up: The Japanese Art of Decluttering and Organizing – has millions of fans all considering which of their belongings to keep or discard by answering the question, “Does it spark joy?“

Kondo apparently applies the same attention and simplicity in organising and cleaning to her cooking – she told TODAY Food, “If time allows, it does spark joy when my food is arranged in a pretty way.”

The recipe: Storage boxes and cubbies are indispensable in the KonMari method, and they have inspired our cake here. It’s based on the traditional British Battenberg (also spelled Battenburg) cake, which is assembled with two colours of sponge, sandwiched together in a chequered pattern with apricot jam and covered in marzipan.

Now, almond paste is not everyone’s cup of tea, so we went with a vanilla butter-cream cheese icing instead. However, the cakes are flavoured: the green one with edamame beans and the white with haw flakes, the thin dark pink sweet and sour candy wafers that are a favourite of many.

The pattern should have perfect straight edges but as you can see, our cake is a little wonky. It still sparks joy and we’re sure Marie Kondo would have no problem with that.

EDAMAME HAW FLAKES CHEQUERED CAKE

(Serves 6-8)

110g butter, softened 110g caster sugar 110g (2 medium) eggs 1 tsp vanilla extract 110g plain flour 1 tsp baking powder Pinch of salt 1 tbsp milk 200g fresh edamame in pods 30g haw flakes, cut into strips

Butter-cream cheese icing 75g unsalted butter, soft but still cold 50g cream cheese, soft 285g icing sugar, sifted 2-3 tbsp milk 3/4 tsp vanilla extract

Grease and line two 20cm by 10cm loaf tins. Preheat oven to 170°C.

Beat the butter and sugar until light and creamy. Add the eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Sift the flour, baking powder and salt together directly into the batter and fold in. The batter should have a soft dropping consistency. If it is too firm, add a little milk. Divide the mixture equally between two bowls.

To make edamame purée, steam about 200g of edamame bean pods until soft. Shell them and remove the skin from the beans. Place beans in a blender or mini food processor with about ½ tbsp of water. Pulse until smooth, adding a little more water if necessary.

For the edamame cake, add about 1/4 of the batter to the puréed edamame (recipe follows) to loosen it, then combine with the rest of the batter. Scoop into one of the tins. Level the top with a spatula.

To the other portion of batter, fold in the strips of haw flakes. Scoop into the other tin. Level the top with a spatula.

Bake for 20-25 minutes, until springy and a toothpick inserted in the centre comes out clean. Cool cakes on a wire rack for 10 minutes, then remove from tins and cool completely.

Make the icing With a stand mixer or electric hand whisk, beat the butter and cream cheese until light, pale and puffy, about 5 minutes. Add half the icing sugar and beat in until well incorporated. Beat in the remaining sugar. The icing should be soft and fluffy but hold its shape. If it is too firm, add a little milk. Fold in the vanilla extract. Use as soon as possible.

Assemble the cake Trim the edges of the cakes and cut each one in the centre along the length, ending up with four logs. Sandwich two different coloured logs next to each other with the icing. Spread more icing on top. Sandwich the other two logs but with the colours the other way around and place on top of the first pair in a chequered pattern.

Crumb coat the whole cake with the icing. Chill in the refrigerator for an hour, then spread icing all over.

  Sweet, sour, salty, spicy

Chrissy Teigen made her name as a model, but she is now as well-known for her bestselling cookbooks and love for food as she is for her Sports Illustrated covers. She is active on Instagram where she documents what she eats and cooks, and her vibrant, witty personality makes her relatable to her fans.

Teigen’s two cookbooks, Cravings and Cravings: Hungry for More, are filled with recipes for carb-filled comfort food, and many are inspired by her Thai mother.

The recipe: Sweet, sour, salty and spicy are words that perfectly describe Thai dishes – and these adjectives are just as apt for Teigen. Our recipe is based on the north-eastern Thai sausage, sai krok isan, which has big, bold flavours. We serve them with a refreshing dipping sauce that packs some heat as well.

FERMENTED BEEF SAUSAGES WITH PINEAPPLE-CUCUMBER RELISH Makes 4 sausages

200g minced beef 70g chilled cooked white rice 10 cloves (about 50g) garlic, chopped Salt and pepper to taste 4 red bird’s eye chillies banana leaf* cooking oil for deep-frying

Pineapple-cucumber dipping sauce 5 shallots 5 cloves garlic 100g fresh pineapple 2 red chillies, seeded 100g cucumber, seeded 50ml chilli sauce 1 tsp garam masala 100g sugar 100ml water

Cut the banana leaf into four pieces, each about 25cm x 25cm. Soften the pieces by scalding in boiling water or passing each one briefly over a flame. Set aside.

Stir the minced beef, chilled rice, garlic, salt and pepper together until the mixture becomes sticky. Divide into four portions. Form each one into a patty and press a whole bird’s eye chilli in the centre, then form into a sausage, enclosing the chilli.

Wrap each sausage tightly in a piece of banana leaf. Secure the ends with toothpicks. Let the wrapped patties sit at room temperature for about 6 hours or for 2-3 days in the fridge.

Remove the banana leaves and fry the sausages until cooked through and nicely browned. Slice on the diagonal and serve with the pineapple-cucumber dipping sauce.

Make the pineapple-cucumber dipping sauce Blend all the ingredients in a food processor until smooth. Pour into a saucepan and cook the sauce for 10-15 minutes until thickened. Taste and adjust seasoning.

Eco-friendly and local

Yasmin Rasyid is the founder of EcoKnights, a not-for-profit environmental organisation focused on sustainable development. Its goals are to raise awareness among Malaysians on environmental issues and inspire the adoption of a greener lifestyle.

One of the ways to solve the food problem, says Yasmin, is aquaponics, an organic farming method that marries aquaculture and hydroponics (soil-less growing of plants) – fish are reared in tanks, their wastewater provides food for growing plants, and the plants act as a natural filter for the water which the fish live in. This means fish and plants grow together in one integrated system.

The recipe: Eco-conscious cooking benefits the environment, and for the most part, it is also healthier and more budget-friendly as it emphasises fresh local produce, which are used in this recipe. Inexpensive fish such as sardine or mackerel is perfect for this dish.

Try to get fresh petai in their pods and once you remove the beans and peel them, be sure to split each one in half to remove the embryo and check for tiny worms – unless you want extra protein…

Petai and Grilled Fish Fried Rice Serves 4

3 red chillies 3 bird’s eye chillies (cili padi) 2 shallots, peeled 1 clove garlic, peeled 1 tsp belacan (shrimp paste) 1/2 cup roasted peanuts 2 tbsp cooking oil 2 local fresh oily fish, grilled and flaked salt to taste 1 tbsp sweet soy sauce (kicap manis) 1 cup petai (stink bean), peeled, split in half and cleaned 3 cups cooked rice 1/2 tsp sugar 1-2 kalamansi limes, juiced

Blend/pound the red chillies, bird’s eye chillies, shallots, garlic, belacan and roasted peanuts. Heat oil and sauté 3/4 of the the ground ingredients until fragrant. Add fish flakes and salt, stirring until well-combined. Add soy sauce and petai. Cook for about a minute and add rice. Mix well until rice is well-coated. Dish out.

To the remaining 1/4 of the ground ingredients, add sugar and lime juice to taste. Stir to combine well. Serve with the fried rice.

Long, cool refreshment

Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez is the youngest woman to be elected to the United States Congress (she turns 30 in October). The Democratic representative has been described as the most refreshing face of the American political scene today.

She is a deft user of Twitter (@AOC) and has over 3.5 million followers, which is a lot for a politician. In January, she was asked to teach her Democratic colleagues how to effectively use social media.

One of her big concerns is climate change, and she is pushing for a “New Green Deal” to combat it.

Ocasio-Cortez has an asteroid named after her and has been cast as a comic book heroine in a new publication set to hit shelves in May.

The recipe: Cold brew has become mainstream in the past few years, and it looks like its popularity will continue to grow. This beverage is made from coffee beans that have been steeped in cold water for 12 to 24 hours. The result is a less acidic and smoother coffee flavour.

Our recipe has a Malaysian flavour, with the use of the coconut – it’s sweetened with a toasted coconut-palm sugar syrup and for a white coffee, we use coconut milk.

Remember to serve your coffee in a recycled jar and use a bamboo or metal straw.

COLD BREW COCONUT MILK COFFEE Serves 2

1/4 cup medium coarse ground dark roast coffee (not instant) 3 cups boiled room-temperature water 1 cup fresh coconut milk ice

Toasted coconut syrup 1/4 cup fresh grated coconut 3/4 cup coconut water or plain water 1/2 cup palm sugar

Place the ground coffee and water in a large jug/French press. Cover and keep in the fridge for 12-24 hours.

Make the coconut syrup In a dry pan over medium heat, toast the grated coconut until golden. Add the coconut water and bring to the boil. Simmer for 5 minutes. The liquid will have reduced a little.

Pour the coconut water through a sieve placed over a measuring jug. Press out as much liquid from the toasted grated coconut. There should be about 1/2 cup of coconut water.

Transfer water back to the pan. Add palm sugar. Simmer until the sugar has dissolved and the syrup has thickened slightly, 5-7 minutes.

Make the coffee Place ice in a glass. Strain the coffee over the ice and add 2-3 teaspoons syrup, or to taste. Pour in coconut milk to taste. Stir before drinking.

from Family – Star2.com https://ift.tt/2VhXpTL

[healthnotion]

How to Make the Classic James Bond Vesper Martini

One of James Bond’s most enduring catchphrases is “shaken, not stirred.” But what, exactly, is being mixed in that cocktail shaker? Most of us know that it’s a martini of some sort, but that cocktail has evolved in such numerous ways over the decades, can we really know the specific type of martini that Bond indulges in?

We can if we dig into Ian Fleming’s very first novel about the world’s most famous spy: Casino Royale (the recipe was mentioned in the 2006 film adaptation of the book as well). In the story, Fleming tells us, through Bond himself, the exact recipe for the Vesper martini (an old word for evening, as well as the name of an alluring female Secret Service agent with whom 007 works on this case):

“A dry martini. One. In a deep champagne goblet. . . . Three measures of Gordon’s, one of vodka, half a measure of Kina Lillet. Shake it very well until it’s ice-cold, then add a large thin slice of lemon peel. Got it?” 

If you know cocktails, you know that’s quite a strong drink (a “measure” can either mean 1 or 1.5 US ounces, depending on the establishment). It’s between 4-6 oz of hard liquor, plus that extra half measure of Lillet (an apertif, fortified wine; i.e., a beverage meant to be consumed before dinner to stimulate the appetite). That’s at least two times the amount of booze contained within your average cocktail.  

The bartender in the novel notices this fact and responds, “Gosh, that’s certainly a drink.” To which Bond explains, “I never have more than one drink before dinner. But I do like that one to be large and very strong and very cold and very well-made. I hate small portions of anything.”

Interestingly enough, Casino Royale is in fact the only time Fleming has Bond order a Vesper; in the other books he drinks regular vodka and gin martinis. But 007 gave the recipe with such inedible conviction, that it’s become an enduring part of popular culture.

If you’d like to move beyond merely hearing about the Bond martini to actually tasting it, today I’ll go through all the ingredients you’ll need, as well as how to make it with your home bar.

If you’re ready to harness your inner secret agent, and gain a bit more savoir faire, it’s time to learn how to make a Vesper.

The Ingredients

While the Vesper is often classified as a martini, it really defies categorization. A classic martini contains gin, dry vermouth, and an olive or two. A vodka martini simply replaces the gin with vodka.

Bond uniquely combines the two spirits, and instead of using vermouth, he requests Kina Lillet. And rather than olives, Bond uses lemon peel as a garnish. It’s a drink as unique as 007 himself. Let’s briefly discuss the individual ingredients before we get into properly mixing the cocktail.

Gordon’s. Gordon’s is a brand of dry gin that’s been made in London since the late 1700s. (If you’re buying it in the U.S., however, it’s been made in either the States or Canada.) While it’s an inexpensive gin in today’s craft-obsessed market (my 1.75L bottle cost just $14 — a steal!), it accounts for over a third of Britain’s gin market, and is annually among the best-selling brands worldwide. Even snobby reviewers tend to give Gordon’s a fair shake and admit that it’s a quality product, especially at its low price point. Gordon’s Gin can be found at most liquor stores.

Vodka. Of the Vesper martini’s three alcohols, this is the only one for which Bond doesn’t specify a brand. He actually explains it in Casino Royale (the novel): “if you can get a vodka made with grain instead of potatoes, you will find it still better” — indicating that this version was made with a potato vodka. He then says, however, “Mais n’enculons pas des mouches” (a French phrase meaning “let’s not split hairs”). While Bond’s a man of impeccably good taste, he’ll also take what’s available to him — in terms of vodka, at least! For my home version, I went with New Amsterdam, a perfectly middle-of-the-road grain vodka made here in the US that I bought for about $20 (for a 750ml bottle). 

A side note: back in the early ’50s when Fleming created the recipe, the standard ABV of vodka would have been closer to 50% (or 100 proof). Most of what you’ll find today on shelves is between 80 and 90 proof, but if you really want to recreate the original Vesper, look for a 100-proof vodka. 

Kina Lillet. Here is where things get tricky. Lillet is a French brand of fortified wine that at one time contained quinine (the defining ingredient in tonic). In the late 1800s, “tonic wine” became rather popular and was marketed as a preventive beverage that would fight off fevers and malaria.

It remained popular for many decades, but by the 1970s and ‘80s, demand for quinquinas (beverages with quinine in them) had died down, and the company changed the recipe (and name — to Lillet Blanc), drastically reducing the amount of quinine. While there’s purportedly still some in the recipe, on its own, Lillet Blanc tastes mostly like a sweet white wine. It’s as close as you’ll get to the original Vesper mixer, however, and it can be found with vermouths and other apertifs in most liquor stores for about $20 for a 750ml bottle.

Cinchona-infused liquor. So where will we get that distinct quinine flavor? We can’t just add tonic; that would water down the beverage too much. So instead we make what is essentially our own quinine liquor. We do that by the simple process of mixing cinchona bark — where quinine comes from — with vodka (I used the New Amsterdam that I bought for this recipe). You likely won’t be able to easily find cinchona bark, so order it online. A pound was about $20, and you’ll get many batches of infused liquor from that amount.  

Since vodka is a neutral spirit — that is, it doesn’t have a ton of flavor on its own — it’s particularly good at absorbing other flavors and is therefore perfect for making home infusions. I used a small handful of cinchona bark — slightly less than 1/4 cup — and mixed it with about 6oz of vodka in a mason jar. I let it sit for about 24 hours, and it ended up with a wonderful quinine aroma and a deep golden hue. Filter it through cheesecloth (or a coffee filter), keep it stored in the mason jar, and you have quinine liquor for use in your evening Vespers!

Lemon. Any lemon will do; I used a serrated paring knife to cut a “large thin slice of lemon peel” as directed by Bond himself.

How to Make a Classic James Bond Vesper Martini

As Bond famously noted, this cocktail is to be very well shaken until ice cold. It’s generally accepted nowadays that this was foolish from a mixologist’s perspective. Shaken drinks tend to be those that include juice, egg whites, or cream; cocktails with those ingredients need to be very well incorporated, and even a little frothy. Cocktails that include purely alcoholic ingredients should rather be stirred in a glass of ice then strained out into your glass, as shaking will make the drink cloudy and can excessively water it down, as the shaking melts the ice.

Perhaps Bond thought that shaking would chill the cocktail quicker (he does prefer his pre-dinner drinks “very cold,” after all), and actually liked it a bit watered down, given how strong it is. We’ll never know, but since 007 insisted on shaking, that’s what we’re going to do too!

Peel your lemon and place it in the glass first. When you pour the drink, this allows the essence of the peel to be more evenly incorporated throughout the drink rather than just plopping it in at the end.

Fill your shaker with ice.

Add all liquid ingredients to the shaker. Rather than making the uber-boozy drink that Bond requested, I did half measures. Since the recipe is listed in parts rather than specific measurements, it’s easily scalable. The cocktail is still plenty strong, don’t worry. Of course, if you’re feeling plucky, feel free to go with Bond’s full measures. (Just don’t drive afterwards, or get in a fight with a member of the KGB!)

1.5 oz Gordon’s Gin

.5 oz vodka (again, preferably a grain vodka)

.25 oz Lillet Blanc  

2 dashes cinchona-infused liquor — I know this is terribly unspecific; I poured a couple small dashes directly from the mason jar and it was perfect

Shake it up! Hold the shaker in both hands and vigorously shake the cocktail for a slow count to 10, or until the outside of the shaker gets cold and frosty.

Pour into your champagne glass and enjoy! Interestingly, Bond requests a champagne goblet as his vessel rather than a standard cocktail glass with a stem and wide triangular bowl. I’ve always thought those types of glasses to be a bit feminine, and I was glad to find that Bond seemed to agree! I used an antique champagne saucer that still had a stem (which is important so that the drink stays chilled while you’re holding it), but a wide, slightly shallow and rounded bowl.

My Review

I have to honestly say that this was the best martini I believe I’ve had (I know I said above that it’s not really a martini, but it’s what folks call it, so I’m stickin’ with it). I’m not much of a vodka fan, so vodka martinis don’t do anything for me. And while a classic gin martini is okay, I don’t enjoy the olives that typically come with it, and it’s quite stiff. The Vesper, with its Lillet and quinine infusion, has a bit of sweetness that perfectly offsets the slightly bitter character of the dry gin. And the vodka adds an extra flavor that can only be described as “booziness” that is rather unique and enjoyable in a gin-based cocktail.

While I’m still largely a whiskey man, I can see the Vesper popping up in my mix of homemade cocktails to make for special evenings with friends and family. To say you’re making the classic Bond martini is sure to not only enliven the environment, but provide superb conversation fodder as well!  

The post How to Make the Classic James Bond Vesper Martini appeared first on The Art of Manliness.

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[qliksubmissionsuplex]

#TAKAYAMANIA - Exploring the career of Yoshihiro Takayama

After having looked at Manami Toyota’s career earlier, it’s now time for a second career retrospective. Today, I’m looking at the one and only Yoshihiro Takayama. Legendary pro wrestler, MMA fighter, part-time actor, singer(!), sex symbol (”The Hawtness”) and all-around cult figure. 

[The typical disclaimer: The data for this analysis was scraped from Cagematch.net - sorry about that, guys. For my money, cagematch is *the* definite pro-wrestling database around and I trust their records more than anybody else’s. Still, I of course cannot guarantee that they are absolutely complete, as it can be notoriously difficult to get information about decades-old Japanese wrestling shows. On top of that, I might have screwed something up and produced some errors when scraping or analyzing their data.] 

Overall, Cagematch has tracked 1.462 Takayama matches.

Let’s start again by looking at the countries Takayama has performed in. Unsurprisingly, mostly in Japan. Then again, he could have gone on some earlier (European) excursions that no records of exist - for example, I kind of doubt that he was sent over to Austria to wrestle a single match. To me personally, this just underscores again how incredible it was that I was able to see Takayama perform outside of Japan on one of those rare occurences in wXw in 2015.

Looking at the cities he has performed in once again cements Tokyo as Japan’s wrestling capital, followed by Osaka. It also highlights that Takayama has been all over the place - I had to cut off the graph and only limit it to cities with at least eight appearances, as the list would go on endlessly otherwise. And if you’re curious, I could not find any record of Takayama wrestling in Takayama.

When looking at the most frequent venues, Korakuen Hall once again holds a strong lead as was the case for Manami Toyota. Interestingly, Nippon Budokan comes in behind that, which underscores that Takayama has participated in a lot of big shows, as well as highlighting which promotions he has most frequently appeared in (more on that later). Add to that over 30 appearances at Tokyo Ryogoku Kokugikan (Sumo Hall) and over a dozen showings at the Tokyo Dome and this chart again underscores that Takayama has pretty much wrestled in every high profile wrestling venue in Japan.

Next, let’s look at the different promotions he has appeared in throughout his career...holy moly, that’s a lot of promotions!

Let’s limit that down to promotions where he wrestled in at least half a dozen matches for the sake of readability. Still, this showcases the impressive variety of promotions Takayama has appeared in, including all of the major promotions of the time. Given that, it should come as no surprise that Takayama is one of only two men to win all three major heavyweight titles of the time (Triple Crown, IWGP, GHC). Still, given Takayama’s well-known status as a freelancer unwilling to be tied down to a single promotion and exploring a wide variety of promotions, I was still surprised what a large chunk of his career took place in NOAH (and AJPW to a lesser degree). About 45% of his matches recorded in Cagematch’s database took place in the green ring, with another 22% taking place in AJPW. Together, both promotions take up almost exactly two thirds of his career (again, the dataset may be incomplete, especially in his earlier career which is harder to track down. I expect the more recent records to be very accurate). 

Next, let’s take a look of how his career in these various promotions unfolded over the years. The graph below only includes promotions in which Takayama wrestled at least four matches per year. Other less frequent promotions are included in the grey ‘other’ columns.

This graph tells a pretty clear story. Takayama started his career as a shoot-style wrestler, primarily in UWF-i. And if you’ve never seen young, skinny and somewhat gangly Takayama in action, do yourself a favor and check it out. After splitting time between shoot-style promotion Kingdom and AJPW in 1997, he made AJPW his permanent home in 1998. At this time, AJPW was in need of new faces, and a now fully filled-out Takayama together with his partner Takao Omori formed the iconic team NO FEAR (a rallying cry that really sums up his whole career perfectly) and really shook up AJPW’s tag team and heavyweight title scenes. 

Something happened in mid-2000 that deserves a closer look: Most of AJPW’s roster, led by Mitsuharu Misawa, left AJPW to form a new promotion, Pro-Wrestling NOAH. Takayama was among the wrestlers participating in this split and thus became a NOAH mainstay starting with their debut show on August 5th:

Starting in 2000, NOAH became Takayama’s home promotion, and he made frequent appearances there in every active year of his career until (and including 2015). But he wasn’t exclusive to them and was active in a large number of promotions, including high profile runs in NJPW. Following the split from AJPW, Takayama would only return to his former home promotion in 2009, culminating in winning the Triple Crown that had eluded him during his earlier run and holding it for large parts of 2009. 

Takayama’s popularity and his in-ring success peaked in the early 2000s. For NOAH, he was a participant in the initial GHC Heavyweight title match, losing to Mitsuharu Misawa in a hard-fought battle. He was finally able to win the title in 2002 albeit only very briefly, losing it again to Misawa in his first defense. Highlights of his NJPW tenure include participating in the final of the 2002 G-1 Climax and holding the IWGP Heavyweight title for large parts of 2003. So, why did his career peak around this time? Was it just that he finally came fully into his own, reached the peak of his craft and popularity, and was rewarded for it? That is definitely a part of it, but there is another reason for it.

Let’s look at his matches over the years and add a filter to it. Here, you see that Takayama also participated in four mixed martial arts (MMA) fights in the early 2000s, all while continuing to make frequent wrestling appearances.

Around this time, business was booming in Japan’s fight industry, but not for professional wrestling. MMA was hitting an incredible wave of popularity, thereby also deeply threatening the pro wrestling industry, which had historically portrayed itself as the “king of sports” and the real deal. However, compared to “real” fighting, pro-wrestling’s reputation was at stake and promoters were scrambling to figure out what to do to prove that pro-wrestling be strongest after all (if you want to take a look at Antonio Inoki and NJPW’s...misguided attempts to deal with this, check out this video). As a result, lots of pro-wrestlers started taking legitimate MMA bouts. It worked out well for some (Kazushi Sakuraba, Kazuyuki Fujita) and...not so well for many others. Takayama represents an interesting mixture of both - from a sporting perspective, it’s hard to imagine a less successful career (0-4, all brutal losses by stoppage). However, it was this perfectly unsuccessful foray into MMA that catapulted Takayama into new heights of popularity. While not exactly being a great fighter, he was an incredibly gutsy one, willing to absorb inhumane amounts of punishment and never giving up (NO FEAR, indeed). His fight with Don Frye in particularly is legendary and I doubt I have to say much more about it. Just go watch it if you’re not familiar. All combined, his unsuccessful MMA run made him a much more popular and well-known wrestler, and he took advantage of that in the following years.

As the graph shows, Takayama’s pro-wrestling career continued largely unchanged on top of these brutal MMA bouts. While he did wrestle less frequently in 2001 and 2002, that’s still a lot of matches on top of those fights. It makes sense that he wanted to cash in on his newfound fame and popularity (there’s a common talking point that the Frye/Takayama fight outdrew the simultaneous 2002 soccer world cup in Japan/South Korea), and of course promotions wanted to book this red-hot star. However, this lack of rest and continued punishment came with a heavy price, as Takayama suffered a stroke in 2004 and  was out of action following that. He miraculously made a comeback in 2006, but those years of punishment obviously took quite a lot out of him. 

In recent years, it seemed that Takayama was finally able to ease up on his physical and demanding style and winding down his long and illustrious career. In the last two years, he wrestled less frequently and mostly appeared in Dramatic Dream Team (DDT), taking on a lighter style oriented more towards comedy. However, tragedy struck when he was injured while performing a routine move in March, severely injuring his cervical spinal cord and leaving him paralyzed. In reaction to this terrible news, the entire Japanese pro wrestling scene banded together to try to support Takayama and his family as best as they could. Under the label TAKAYAMANIA, an effort to collect donations for him has been set up and you can see these donation boxes at promotions of all shapes and sizes throughout Japan. 

(You can also donate in some other places, like Minoru Suzuki’s Piledriver store in Harajuku. Or hand some money to a very confused Suzuki if you happen to run into him at the airport like I did.)

Since Takayama has also made quite a few fans outside of Japan, some efforts have also been made to donate to him for people who do not live in Japan and can’t make transfers to a Japanese foundation. See for example this ongoing effort.