#this prize will indeed come into play in later story

[witch-of-fanart]

Halloween Party pages 35-37

Winners announced and mystery prize revealed!

[princepsumbra]

>continued from here; @chevaleri

When he was younger, Leo created a game for himself. Not with the intention of passing what few ideal hours he had; rather, discovering that which set him apart from his brother.

The game itself was simple: he would sit, and observe, and try to see the world through Xander's eyes. What made him tick? What thoughts ran through a crown prince's head? Most of all, what traits did he possess that Leo lacked?

(Answers Leo now has, and understands, accepting--even appreciating--how their differences form a type of strength when put together.)

He falls back into this old habit now as he tracks Xander's flitting gaze across the office. What does he make of the papers, the neatly organized books, the little plush toy so out of place among it all?

They are improving at closing the distance instilled in them during childhood. Instead of assuming, Leo nearly asks his opinion, but the king beats him to the punch, replying to the earlier question. Words are filed away for later; best they tread familiar ground before venturing into more unknown territory.

"Summers here are indeed brighter than what we're accustomed to," Leo agrees, relaxing somewhat. Diplomacy is easy. Smooth ground, unlike the pitfalls waiting just around the corner. He can tell where Xander is headed with this. "There are a number of royals attending this monastery, either as students or faculty. I've complied a list for my own notes; you are more than welcome to browse it at your leisure."

Leo leans down in his seat, reaching for a knee-level drawer. There's a bit of shuffling before he unearths a slim leather volume. He closes the drawer, then places his prize atop the desk and slides it over. "I hope I have made a favorable impression of Nohr.

Here comes the crux of the matter. Leo doesn't bother hiding the twitch of his brows at such a bold admission, or the clear concern Xander exhibits. It's not shock at the knowledge Xander cares--it is the obvious emotion that surprises him.

Leo clears his throat. "I...I am glad to put your fears at rest, Xander. You were missed as well." Hands fold atop the desk, gloved fingers laced tightly together. "Accept my apologies for the lack of letters. Time moved differently while on the mission."

Did they achieve anything? Death, a history preserved as a story book, familial betrayal. It almost sounds like a Nohrian stage play, with the star herself chained up below the monastery proper.

"In a sense. Our final outcome was not what I'd strived for, though I am not alone in feeling we will regret sparing her life." He knows he's speaking as though Xander knows all the details. "It is a long story, and one I am not sure how to properly tell. For now, I can best summarize it as a dying girl used her remaining strength to pull us into her illusions. We were meant to piece together a fragmented history, and in the end, let her take her secrets to her grave."

Now Leo exhales, eyes shadowed with memory. "Enough of that. Please."

[startselectscreen]

My Game of the Year 2022

10. Old World

From the developers of Civilization 4, comes this one which compassess how addictive and fun that game was and multiply the number of hours spent playing this game. It meets Civilization with Crusader Kings with its heritage tree, having some political aspect to it.

9. Pokemon Scarlet/Violet

Another Pokemon game that I’m interested in, its a shame that the framerate chugs throughout the game, performance wise but man I still love Pokemon. I do find it weird that the mount that they give us looks like a bike with a Pokemon living in it and Pokemon centers are like sizable kiosks that contain a center, a shop where you can buy items and ™ shop where you acquire crafting items from defeated Pokemon and League Points . Anyways, the UI like Archeus is clean and simple and the open world aspect is atmospheric. I do love that you can do gyms at any order since it scales with your level. Titan hunting and raid bases from Team Star is fine, each to its own right. These two new features at the start feels frustrating due to its difficulty with Titans and Raid bosses having life bars and with titans you live to defeat them twice, granted later on it's pretty easy to defeat them.  The terastablize feature is like from Sword which can use to empower your Pokemon but you can only use it once and it recharges when you go to the Pokecenter. 

8. Tunic

Tunic manages to exceed my expectations, the exploration and music does a great job to immerse yourself into this game. Even if there’s not much of a story, it just compels the player on its other aspects of enjoying this game. It may be an insult or compliment to compare this to Zelda or any Souls game but the spirit of this game is really Zelda-like and Tunic was once called “Zelda like a Fox” before the game came out. To that end, this game is a wonderful and enjoyable experience to had by all

7. WoW Wrath of the Lich King Classic

This expansion of a well-loved MMO is considered my favourite, it basically continues where we left off in Warcraft 3 and its expansion, The Frozen Throne and focuses on the Lich King and your journey to Northrend. The leveling can take awhile to cap but the quests and the scenarios as you progress with leveling is interesting and while you still get that same old pop culture reference that Blizzard’s been keen on doing, it is still enjoyable to the very least.

6. Pokemon Legends Arceus

Arceus is still an enjoyable game withstanding its core frustrations, the game is like a open world Safari Zone from its base games but no movement restrictions required. It’s fun trying to catch more Pokemon to achieve more research tasks and getting more stars that your Pokemon will obey you at any level. Being a standalone game, it feels like a breath of fresh air to just catch Pokemons like its slogan.

5. Persona 5 Royal (PC/XBS/X)

This port of a game that came out a few years ago is now on recent consoles is very fun indeed. You play as a character nicknamed Joker, part of the Phantom Thieves which is a group of students who steal hearts or change their ways by staging grand heists and taking their most prized treasures. As a JRPG, much like its previous game is fun, tons of Social Links/Confidants to Max out that will help level your Personas with its interesting parde of characters that you’ll get to love and enjoy.  The palaces where you infiltrate are kinda difficult with a lot of backtracking through simple puzzles tends to be annoying but its satisfying in its own right.

4. God of War Ragnarok

I wasn’t sure to add this on my list since I didn’t complete this game but the hours spent playing this warrant it. It just amazes me how fun this action game really is. I mean, sure there aren't many subtle changes since the previous game but it is still enjoyable with Kratos just hurting a bunch of his enemies. Just beating the living shit out of mythical creatures and Gods is so satisfying when played right.

3. Sifu

Sifu is basically a love-letter to movies featuring martial arts, it’s not intended on its accuracy on what it portrays, it's a kung-fu game that a French studio, Slowmo had made. The story starts as a simple revenge tale, your “sifu” (master) gets killed before your eyes and you get revenge by finding those who killed him. The certain vibe of this game feels cool through the techno beats of the club to the first stage and the museum level where it becomes that scene from “OldBoy”. It is a fun yet challenging beat-them-up that makes you think twice before playing. The combat is difficult and what keeps the momentum coming is how you learn from each mistake, everytime you either age up to giving up and doing it all over again. It sure is a love letter to kung -fu movies but disappointing is the voice acting not being authentic. It was also criticized by its Chinese aesthetic as some complained about its accuracy but it doesn’t seem intended to be it. Each level is unique in its own way and it just gives a vibrant and rich experience. 

2. Weird West

Coming from the makers of Dishonored, raised my eyebrow, as a top-down Wild West fantasy shooter. It was tempting at first to dismiss the game, it felt terrible and the controls and the camera felt flimsy at best but as I continued on playing it, I had a blast. This game is very underrated, few had played this game and talked about it but there’s alot to talk about with this game.

1. Triangle Strategy

Triangle Strategy plays out like a traditional tactics game, it lays out like a grid-based RPG that familiarizes a mix of tactical strategy and role playing aspects into a pretty aesthetic. To call this similar to Final Fantasy Tactics is a disservice to how unique a tactics game this is. To that end, it is nice to play another one of these games and plus its replayability entices you into playing it even after you have beaten the game which is 50 hours long. Fans of the genre should seriously get this game, whether you like Final Fantasy Tactics, Fire Emblem or any tactics game similar to this, the game mixes a grid, tactical base strategy with great roleplaying aspects provided to its fullest extent. Artdink really outdid themselves with this game, it is just incredible. Withstanding the visual graphics, it is recommended to everyone who is looking for a tactics game or any game at all that contains role-playing elements to it. Plus the game is basically Game of Thrones in a tactical, JRPG.

[alexandrite-dragoness]

P3 - Band AU

This AU has characters split into four different bands, along with what instruments they play! There is a plot I have in mind but imma just put these bits here for me to look back on in future reference.

♪

BANDS:

Band 1 — Lotus Moon

Lead Singer (Rapper): MC

Guitarist: Ryoji

Drums: Junpei

Electric Keyboard: Fuuka

Genre of choice: Rap, Hip Hop and some Pop/Rock

Songs of choice: Anything ft. Lotus Juice (Deep Mentality remix, Deep Breath Deep Breath)

♪

Band 2 — SEESaw

Lead Singer/Keyboard Guitarist: Mitsuru

Guitarist: Akihiko

Bass: Shinjiro

Drums: Ken

Genre of choice: Pop, easy-going

Songs of choice: When Moon Reaches Stars, Burn my Dread

♪

Band 3 — Lyra Hearts

Lead Singer: FeMC

Singer/Guitarist: Yukari

Keyboards/Beat: Aigis

Genre of choice: Pop, girlband

Songs of choice: P3P-exclusive soundtrack (Sun, Wiping All-Out), When Moons Reaches Stars remix (Yukari focused, sorta)

♪

Band 4 — Strega (rival band)

Lead Singer/Bass: Izumi

Guitarist: Takaya

Keyboards: Chidori

Drums: Jin

Genre of choice: Rock, Metal

Songs of choice, Unavoidable Battle, Darkness, Master of Shadow

♪

Band 1, 2 & 3 together — S.E.E.S.

Genre of Choice: Pop, Rap (mixmatch; duet)

Songs of choice: Any song ft. Lotus Juice + Yumi Kawamura (Mass Destruction, Starless Sky, etc.)

Maybe I'll squeeze em into two bands instead of three once I figure out who can do what for the first two bands ;; maybe...

♪

Basic Plotpoint:

Not too much to add here but I like to imagine this AU consisting of these bands actually competing against each other to win a grand prize of some sort. Strega gets the upper hand most of the way through as they've been around longer than SEES in regards to their music careers. While the rival band does indeed pull dirty tricks to get ahead of the competition, the three main bands decide to join together to create the ultimate band to defeat Strega once and for all. Ikutsuki is the head of the bands while also secretly orchestrating Strega too and gives them the unfair upperhand behind the scenes.

And what's a band story without some drama? Shinjiro has argued with the band members numerous times before quiting to do his own thing. But later on he comes back, and Akihiko was more than happen to have him back in the team.

Strega used to be a four-person band a year before until their lead singer and bass player suddenly passed away. Knowing this they had to adjust with what they have and even altered their way of playing to still make it big. The other three bands didn't know about this (as Junpei then mocks Strega for their attitude) until Mitsuru mentions the story to them. Ikutsuki has been shown to pressure Strega to win the finals or else he'll cut them off for good, which gives the main cast a bit of sympathy when they found out about it, but know they have to stay focused to defeat them. After the grand finale, they offered Strega to join their group and so both cut ties with Ikutsuki altogether. In the end they were brought under Korijo's support.

(any thoughts or ideas are appreciated)

[spidermilkshake]

"Sunny Shine"

A more dolled-up digital thing! We get a little fanfic vignette dohickey to go with this lovely digital drawing. Ethaniel is a real name I've known given to a real child by the way... XD Given FNAF's settings seem to have been largely centered in Utah the number of newfangled and hybrid-type names popping up in my Security Breach stuff will make sense.

Below this cut is the Story time! It is decidedly fluffy. XD

Sun was not supposed to, it knew. But once the boy's cries softened enough that he could choke out a whimpering account of what happened, the Daycare Attendant became caught up. By design, it was caught between two unbearable transgressions: It had, ever since the After-Close Halloween Prank incident, been explicitly banned from the ventilation systems, yet that was where 4-year-old Ethaniel's Freddy Fazbear Super-bounce ball had ended up, and its nerves were specifically grated at by its childcare programs the longer it detected tears on the boy's face. Ultimately, it made a choice, and had one protocol be manually overridden in that second of pause.

There was no need to damage any vent grates, thankfully, since the one Ethaniel's prized ball had disappeared into was already hanging open by a single half-stripped screw. It was dark, but due to the lighting of rooms it passed leaking through the periodic grates it did not quite dim enough to trigger Sun's mode shift into Moon-mode. The Daycare Attendant flinched in anticipation of the raucous clang it made as it dropped down a level and landed on its palms. It couldn't take too long; with noise like this, someone in kitchen staff or a ticket-taker would report the strange bangs. Its head revolved around, scanning each direction down a four-way split. Something brightly-colored caught Sun's eye and it sunk down into the narrow passage, hip segment needing to revolve the wrong way around in order to fit. The ball! ... The balls, plural. With a stunned silence Sun ogled the veritable hoard of lost toys, wondering if these had all been here this whole time, and how indeed so many had ended up only in this dead end passage somewhere above one of the staff kitchens. Its long fingers gave a furtive fidget; it could finish with these pretties later--for now, it plucked out every one of the globular forms it could make out and squeezed them tight between the fingers of one hand. A full set! Thankfully not any more than that. It needed its other hand to climb on the route back out.

Ethaniel had sat, flopped and pouting on the ground on the far end of the play zone, watching and waiting where his mechanical playmate had vanished into the wall, ten feet off the ground. Gradually, a series of low clanks and thunks began to grow in volume through the dark, echoing tunnel of dusty, galvanized metal. The boy stared--half scared as this was exactly the sort of place The Monsters would come from, and how their nearing presence would be sensed--but hopeful that something much friendlier would pop out of the ventilation warrens. And, like a bright yellow ferret, Sun materialized in the shadows and popped out, one arm dragging itself with a shrill grunt of disgust through a large cobweb, the other arm's hand crabbed up close to its torso--clutched around something. The boy perked up.

"Oof!" The Daycare Attendant made the ten-foot drop in the form of a rolling somersault, springing harmlessly back up though studying itself very warily on all parts vent-grime and spider-silk were now clinging. It grinned down at the pre-schooler, "Well, it needs a bath about as bad as I do, but lookee what I found!"

The boy gasped; his own arcade prize--the best he could afford due to most of the cabinets and party games being geared towards the slightly older audience--sat in Sun's large palm with just a bit of dust stuck to it. Between each finger was the Super-bounce with the designs of the other band members--a Chica, a Bonnie, and even a much-coveted Rockstar Foxy. These were varying levels of crusty, but with the promise of a good disinfecting the full set was as good as new. Ethaniel jumped to his feet and clamped himself onto the heavy photosensitive fabric covering Sun's leg in a tight hug. The robot squeaked, knowing how much dead insect matter was likely to be on that fabric by now, but chuckled anyways.

"Ohoho... well, now we all need a clean-up. Hold on tightly--let's go!" Sun strode off, pace slowed owing to having a passenger, hand balancing four colorful orbs and a processor humming with a bright, odd fuzziness.

[silkling]

Hi Silkling, could you please write a TFP story where Sierra discovers the Autobot's secret and joins up with Team Prime? TFP never really did much with her, and I think that a shame. I think Smokescreen would make a good partner for her.

Absolutely! Great to see you again in my ask box! :D your last prompt was super fun to write to, so I’m looking forward to this one! Now, I admit, I never paid much attention to Sierra, and the show didn’t give us a lot to work with, so I’m going to have to come up with some of her characterization. And I agree. So I’m mashing her with Smokescreen. It’s gonna a be great. I love Smokescreen very much! I even have a whole AU of my own for him. He’s a tiny happy dumbass and since Sierra has basically no canon personality, I can make her be his long-suffering but still very fond best friend.

———————————————————————————————————

Sierra had been having a good day. Emphasis on the word had. It was the weekend. She had packed a small picnic, grabbed her favorite book, and hopped on her bike. She’d ridden out to the popular hiking trails, intending to take a short hike and finding a nice place to spend the afternoon with a her novel and her snacks. The sun was out, the weather was great, and she had nothing to do today. It was perfect. So, of course, the laws of the universe demanded that something go wrong.

‘Murphy is a cruel bastard and and I’m going to punch him in the face when I see him in the afterlife.’ She thought viciously, staring up at the hulking titan that had just crushed her lunch and bike under a single massive metal foot with a sense of numb disbelief. ‘At least I still have the book.’ She ignored how the thought echoed with a note of hysteria as she shoved said book into the messenger bag over her shoulder.

“Are you Sierra O’Niell?”

She was only slightly surprised when the massive robot spoke. Because why wouldn’t the giant robot that had just moments ago been a jet be able to speak? Honestly, what even was her life at this point. She was more concerned with the fact that the thing knew her name. Her initial instinct was the demand how it knew her name. But she’d seen the movies. She knew that would only confirm it’s suspicions.

“Who?” she forced herself to ask instead, surprising herself with how steady her voice was. It was the shock, she told herself. It had to be. It was making her emotionally numb. “What are you?”

The robot seemed startled, before it snarled something that was most definitely a curse. It started speaking, though not to her, and it took Sierra a moment to realize it must have been talking over some sort of built in communication system. “-wrong human, Soundwave! This pathetic fleshling you pointed out to me doesn’t even know who I am talking about.” It paused. “What do you mean it’s not the wrong human? I just told you-“ it cut itself off. “Ah. I see.” A sinister grin twisted at metallic features. “Thank you, Soundwave. I will return with my prize shortly.”

Oh, Sierra did not like the sound of that.

Sure enough, the robot turned to face her when it was done. “It seems you lied to me, little fleshling.” it sneered. “My associate tracked the signal of your personal communications device. You humans never go without it, I’ve been told.”

She blinked. “You hacked my phone?” she sputtered, and oops, she’d just confirmed her identity. ‘Stupid, Sierra.’

It’s face twisted into a cruel expression of glee. She did not like it. “Indeed.” It began bending down, and then a large hand was reaching towards her. “You shall be coming with me, human. Soundwave has seen how Jackson Darby is fond of you.” it purred. “You will make a lovely bargaining chip against that pathetic human runt and his Autobot protectors.”

And wait, this was because of Jack? How did he come into all this? If this thing was after her because of him, that had to mean he knew about it and it’s…friends. Did robots have friends? She didn’t know. And wait, Autobot?

She stiffened, scrabbling away from the large metallic hand, shunting those questions to the back of her mind to be answered later. Escape the terrifying metal monster now, murder Jack for pulling her into this later. Clearly though, the robot disliked her attempt to flee because it only growled and stepped towards her again.

That’s when she heard the roaring of a powerful engine. It made the robot pause too, and they both looked to where the sound came from. Then, over the crest of a hill, a white and blue sports car came flying in. It had red accents and bold 38s painted onto its doors. Sierra was impressed. She was no car person, but even she liked this one. Only, the car started breaking apart once it hit the ground, unfolding and growing into the form of, you guessed it, another robot.

Sierra despaired for her luck. ‘Murphy is going to die a second time for this. He’d better be prepared.’ She thought with vicious hysteria.

Except, to her great surprise, the new robot didn’t try to help capture her. No, instead it rammed full force into the tall jet robot that had tried to snatch her up. Said jet yelped before quickly getting back to its feet. Sierra heard the should of metal and gears shifting, and saw the newcomer’s large hand change to some sort of weapon, though not one she could recognize.

“Terrorizing humans now, Starscream?” it taunted. “Can’t say I’m surprised, you always were one to sink so low.”

The first robot, Starscream, apparently, snarled in outrage. “Pathetic Autobot!” it roared, and oh, so this newcomer was Autobot?

Except, from the two names she’d heard already, that didn’t sound like the type of name these robots seemed to have. She did notice the little face badges they wore, the white bot bearing a red one proudly on its shoulders while the jet robot wore a smaller, pointier face on its chest. So maybe those had something to do with the whole ‘Autobot’ thing? Hell if she knew. Sierra was clever, and she’d always been good at puzzles and mystery solving, but she didn’t have enough information for this whole…thing.

“I’m not the one who’s picking on defenseless humans, ‘Con!” the car robot barked, smirking at the skinnier jet.

The jet only snarled, lifting an arm that she was just noticing had a freaking missile attached to it, and the white robot stilled briefly, before shooting her a frantic look and oh, would you look at that, she seemed to be right in the blast radius of the missile, and oh god she was going to die-

Except, there was that shifting sound again, but much larger, and then car robot was leaping towards her. It hit the ground in car form, it’s driver door open as it slid sideways in her direction, and then she was swept up into it and the door slammed shut. Tires squealed, and then they were peeling away to the sound of a missile screaming and impacting where they had been a half second before. The jet roared in outrage, but the car robot was speeding straight towards civilization, and it seemed to want to avoid that because when she glanced at the rear view mirror she saw it leap into the sky and transform before flying away.

Sierra slowly sat up from her ungainly sprawl, pulling the seatbelt across her chest on reflex before sitting back against the driver’s seat and wheezing. Her heartbeat, which she only just noticed had been thundering wildly in her chest, started to slowly calm, and she had to force herself to take deep, even breaths to keep herself from hyperventilating.

Now, Sierra wasn’t an irrational girl. She was among the top students of all her classes, she was smart, she knew a lot about various topics, and she had a good understanding of how people worked. She was clever, she knew she had a good head on her shoulders. She kept some of her interests closer to her chest, and she played the good, polite, quiet girl for the adults, because she wasn’t without manners, thank you very much. All that meant, though, was that she wasn’t prone to screaming in terror and running like a madman when she was freaked out by something. She would prefer to understand something rather than be irrationally terrified of it.

This, though? This was a bit much, even for her. As her heartbeat calmed, a sense of nausea built in her throat. “Excuse me, robot?” she squeaked. She wasn’t even sure if she could communicate with it while it was in car mode, but it was worth a shot.

“It’s Smokescreen.”

What?

“What?”

“My name is Smokescreen. Not “robot”.”

It sounded miffed. Which, okay. That was fair. If someone called her just “human” she’d probably be upset too. Hell, she had been upset when that other one, Starscream, had called her a “fleshling”. Smokescreen’s voice also sounded very male, and she paused before asking.

“And you’re not an “it” either, then?”

“No, I’m a mech.” A pause. “Uh, a male, by your definitions.”

“Okay. Smokescreen. Well, I’m Sierra, and as grateful as I am for your rescue you should really, really stop and let me out. Humans don’t handle extreme stress very well and I’m about to be sick.”

“Sick?”

Oh god, did robots even get sick?

“I’m about to vomit. Which means I am very close to expelling internal body waste, and it will be right in your seats if you don’t let me out so I can barf behind some rocks.” she informed him tightly, fighting down a gag.

There was a brief moment if silence as Smokescreen seemed to process her words, before he turned off the side of the road, drove behind some rocks, and popped open the door. “Please don’t be sick in me.” Oh, now he sounded sick. Sierra felt a little bad.

She didn’t say anything to that, instead stumbling out of the car and out of sight, before promptly bending over and tossing her breakfast. She gagged on bile, and after a moment of pause to make sure there was nothing left in her stomach, she stood and made her way back to where Smokescreen was waiting. She pulled her water bottle from her bag, taking a sip and washing out her mouth with it before spitting it to the side, and then she proceeded to drink everything left in the bottle. She tucked it away, turning to her impromptu ride, and opened her mouth to speak, when-.

“Oh slag.” He beat her to the punch.

She was confused, recognizing that as a curse of some sort, and then she heard the beeping from his radio.

“Um, hold on for a minute, alright? I gotta take this.” He sounded anxious, and didn’t give her a chance to answer before there was a click as he did just that.

She heard muffled noises over the radio, though she couldn’t make out the words being said.

“Um, yeah. There was a ‘Con signal. I was close so I checked it out.”

More radio noises, angry sounding ones.

“I know, I know! But I was closest and no one would pick up their comm. so I thought I should st least check it out! It was a good thing too, Starscream was there and he was about to snatch up a human!”

A pause, and then an explosion of garbled noise from the radio. Sierra got the feeling that Smokescreen was wincing.

“Well what was I supposed to do? Let her be taken? Plus she’d already seen him so it wasn’t like seeing me was going to do much damage!”

A growling noise, followed by a hiss of static.

“Yes, Ratchet. I know. And I am sorry, alright! I know I went against code again but if I had waited a human would’ve been in Deception hands and as new as I am to this planet, even I know that’s bad!”

Wait, planet? Was this giant ass robot an actual alien? That…honestly made sense. With that day she’d had, she wasn’t even surprised. Smokescreen was still having his discussion with…whoever was on the other end.

“Yes, I’ll bring her back to base. I’m not going to apologize for saving her, though.”

More angry static.

“Yeah yeah. I get it.”

He sounded tired, defeated. Sierra felt bad, and wondered what was being said to make him sound like that when he’d been so bright before.

“No, you don’t need to send a ground bridge. I’m close to the base anyway. I’ll be there soon.”

There was a click as Smokescreen disconnected from whoever called him, and then she could tell he was talking to her when he spoke next. “Mind hopping in? I gotta bring you back to base. The boss can explain everything. I promise you won’t be hurt or anything.”

Sierra hesitated for a moment, then sighed. She knew she probably shouldn’t, but at this point what was the harm? Besides, her gut instinct was telling her that, based on what that Starscream character had said about Jack, she wouldn’t have to worry about being hurt. Not if Darby spent all his free time around these weird alien robots and came back fine. Mind decided, she slipped into the car’s open door. It shut on its own, and she buckled herself in once more.

“Thanks.” He sounded grateful. And then he was driving off.

He wasn’t saying anything, and neither was Sierra, and she let herself be alone with her thoughts. They drove for a while, and Sierra let herself enjoy the landscape that passed by Smokescreen’s window. He really was a nice ride, she mused. Sleek and fast, and his engine purred quietly as he drove along the highway. She didn’t know much about cars, but she knew his car mode was a good one.

Soon enough, they were coming towards a large mesa. Smokescreen drove right toward its side, not even slowing as he approached, Sierra tensed, about to protest, when a previously invisible door opened in the rock face. She shut her mouth, her eyes blowing wide. Oh. That explained that. Their base was hidden in plain sight. Which…she supposed was fitting, for alien robots who disguised themselves as cars and jets. Smokescreen took them through a tunnel, and then they were coming into a large central chamber. Sierra peeked out if the window to see two other robots there. One, stocky and painted in red and white. The other…was absolutely massive. He towered above the red and white bot, and she had a feeling he’d tower over Smokescreen too. He was broad as he was tall, with wide shoulders and a heavy looking chest, his metal armor painted in red and blue. Sierra didn’t know how she knew, but she just knew that this large one was a he, a mech, as Smokescreen had said.

The door at her side popped open, and after brief hesitation she unbuckled herself and stood up. There was that sound of transformation behind her, and she glanced back to see Smokescreen rising to his feet in his robot mode. Then a voice spoke and she snapped her head around to see the large bot speaking.

“Greetings, young one. My name is Optimus Prime. My companion is Ratchet, and you have already met Smokescreen.”

Ratchet. That’s who Smokescreen had been talking to earlier. “I’m Sierra.” she said after a moment. “Sierra O’Niell.”

Optimus tilted his head downwards in her direction. “May I inquire why Starscream was attempting to abduct you, if you know?”

“You’re very polite.” she remarked dryly. “He said something about wanting to use me to get to Jack Darby, so that he could in turn use Jack to get to the “Autobots”. I’m guessing that’s you guys?”

Optimus shared a look with Ratchet, then looked back at her. “Indeed. Myself and my team are Autobots. Starscream is a Decepticon. Our factions are enemies, I am afraid.” he explained. “We are not from your world, Sierra O’Niell. We hail from a planet called Cybertron. Our two factions were at War on our home, and that War destroyed our world. The Deceptions came here, searching for energon, and we have followed them to keep them from destroying your planet and it’s people in their quest for it.”

Sierra turned that over. She’d guessed they weren’t from Earth, so that wasn’t a surprise. The rest of the information was new, though. And appreciated. “What’s energon? And how does Jack fit into all this?”

Optimus sighed. “Energon is an energy source, and the very lifeblood of every Cybertronian.” he explained. “It is a natural resource that was once common on our home, and somehow Earth too produces it in great abundance.” he explained. “Jackson, Miko, and Raphael became involved with us by accident. They were seen with my Autobots when they mistakenly were pulled into a battle with the Decepticons, and the Decepticons assumed they were our allies. In order to protect them, we took them under our watch and guard to ensure they could not be harmed.”

So, Esquivel and Nakadai were part of this too. She shouldn’t be surprised. She’d seen the cars that picked those two up, now that she thought of it. Speaking of which….

“Jack’s motorcycle is an Autobot, isn’t it? And Miko and Raphael’s cars?”

Optimus hummed. “Indeed. Arcee, Bumblee, and Bulkhead were the ones to initially partner with and save the children in that first encounter. After they were brought into the fold, it made only sense to assign them as their Autobot guardians.”

Sierra nodded as she took that all in. Then she frowned. “I’m involved now too, aren’t I? I would have been involved regardless, if the Decepticons were really after me, but Smokescreen saving me just means my involvement is going to be more pleasant than it otherwise would have been.”

Optimus and Ratchet shared yet another look, before casting their gazes to Smokescreen. The white bot fidgeted under their combined stares, head ducking and looking uncomfortable. “While we are not pleased that the youngling acted on impulse and charged into battle against protocol, we are pleased that he saved your life, young Sierra.” Optimus said after a moment.

Sierra blinked. “Youngling.” she repeated in confusion. Then she narrowed her eyes. “You’re not getting him into trouble for saving me, are you?” she asked heatedly. The very idea insulted her.

Optimus twitched as if startled, then rumbled a soft chuckle. “Youngling, yes. It is a term used by Cybertronians to refer to those of us who are not yet fully grown. Smokescreen is the equivalent of a human teenager.” he explained. “And worry not. In this instance, we can overlook the breach in regulations. It would send a poor message to punish a bot for upholding the Autobot creed.”

Sierra relaxed at that, nodding. Then she narrowed her eyes. “I’m going to want to have a discussion with you later about why you’re letting teenagers fight in a war, but I know now isn’t the time.” she said threateningly.

Both older bots startled back and her tone and words, and Smokescreen squeaked from behind her. She turned and drew a harsh line across her mouth before he could say anything, and she watched as he stared, slack-jawed, before closing his mouth with an audible clack. That done, she returned her attention to the apparent leader. There was one more thing she wanted settled.

“You said the others got guardians, right?”

A nod.

“Well, if I’m going to need one, and something tells me I will, then I want this one.” she jerked her thumb over her shoulder at Smokescreen.

Optimus’s eyes narrowed in what she realized was a faint smile. “If Smokescreen agrees, then I have no issues with that.” he hummed. “All I ask is that you remain here until our liaison with the human government arrives. Agent Fowler will want to discuss some matters with you before you return home.”

Sierra blinked. So the government knew about all this. That was good to know. It meant she wouldn’t get in trouble for conspiring with aliens if it ever came to light. She could also understand why they kept this whole thing a secret, even if governments hiding things from the public wasn’t always a good thing. In this case, it was a good thing.

“As long as I’m home before my curfew.” she agreed.

Another bow of that great head, and then Optimus was turning to stride away. Presumably to make contact with this Fowler. That left her and Smokescreen with Ratchet.

The stocky bot glanced at them, then turned to that odd console she’d noticed earlier. “Smokescreen will show you around.” Was all he said, waving them away with a dismissive flip of his hand.

Sierra, taking that as her cue, turned to the youngest bot. She thrust out her hand. “What do you say? Partners?”

He seemed confused, before slowly crouching and extending his hand to tap a finger to her palm. “Yeah, sure.” he seemed a little awed that she’d want to partner with him.

She smiled. “Good. In that case, why don’t you give me a ride and show me around your base?”

Smokescreen seemed confused. “Ride?”

“On your shoulder. I’d like to see it from your perspective.”

He blinked, then shrugged and put his hand, palm up, on the floor. Sierra took that as her que to climb up, and he carefully transferred her to his shoulder. Cool. Very cool. She just wanted to ride on the giant alien robot, and now she got to. That was cool.

She saw him look at her out of the corner of his bright, shining blue eyes, and she smiled warmly. “Well? Show me around your home, big guy. I’d like to get to know you.”

Smokescreen perked up, the little protrusions on his back wiggling with his apparent joy, and Sierra grinned a little wider. Oh, he was cute. How a giant robot could be endearing, she didn’t know, but he did it. He was sort of like a puppy. A giant, metal, alien puppy. She held on as he started walking, and she listened with half an ear, processing and noting what he told her as the rest of her mind turned over the events of her day.

It had been stressful, and scary, but now that it was all done and she was fine…

‘Yeah.’ she thought, watching her new partner eagerly show her around the small, hidden base he called home. ‘I think I’m gonna like it here.’

———————————————————————————————————

And that was that! I hoped you like it! It was fun to write. The show didn’t give Sierra a last name or a real personality, so I had to kind of do that bit myself. And I was right! I did enjoy writing this. The prompt inspired me to write this faster than I thought I’d be able to. I do not expect to be able to fill a prompt this quickly again. Unfortunately. Also, Sierra is definitely going to be the straight man to Smokescreen. He’s going to need it. Badly.

Until next time, friends!

[mortalfaerie]

To Fake an Engagement (M.F.)

part 2/?

matthew fairchild x (fem) reader

word count: 1904

synopsis: part 2 of this series. after james and cordelia marry, matthew is being a bitter idiot, and reader goes to talk some sense into him. later, they go to anna’s party and things get a little flirty. no coi spoilers.

You hadn’t expected the next year to amount to much. Certainly, Matthew would forget the deal, ask for his ring back, and probably wait for Cordelia to divorce James to try to romance her. 

But, Matthew Fairchild surprised you. He had engaged you for walks, written you letters, and seemed to often hover to your side whenever you were in a room together. For the two months to follow, he even seemed to drink less. 

However, after the wedding, he seemed to slump back, drink more, and refuse company. Finally, sick of his dramatics, you went directly to his house and demanded he see you. When he came down to the parlor after being called by Charles, he was disheveled and obviously hungover. He had flushed despite himself when he saw you.

You had glared over the rim of your teacup as he idly stared into his. Finally, he muttered, “I’m sorry.” You were frustrated, but managed to ask, “Sorry on what account?”

He shot you a glare briefly and replied, “You know what. Shall I spell it out? I disappointed you. I am a disappointment, Y/N."

You softened, and schooled your tone. “You are right that I am disappointed, Matthew, but that does not make you a disappointment. I am disappointed that you have neglected my letters, that you seem to have scorned my company. I am disappointed that you will not accept my attempts to comfort you when I have so freely given them.”

He nodded, not meeting your eyes. “I admit to that.” he replied.

“And I am hurt, because I have become so fond of your company in recent months and you have-” you shook your head in exasperation, “ripped it from me without ceremony.”

Your voice had broken on the last word, so you took a long sip of your tea and collected yourself. When you again looked up, he was looking at you with a soft, sorrowful look. “I am so, so sorry, Y/N.”

“I would prefer your commitment to change to your sorrow.” You said in clipped words. Mathew raked a hand through his golden hair, the light catching on the piece of silver on his third finger. Your family ring, still in place. 

“I can make no promises.” He said finally, meeting your eyes again. He did truly look remorseful.

“Then promise me you will try, Matthew.” you said, gesturing to his disheveled state. “I am not asking that you quit your vices entirely, I can hardly say I am without vice myself, but I am asking that you try to control them.”

He was looking into his cup of tea when he replied, “I can try.”

“Thank you.” you breathed, and set your cup down. Matthew was seated across a small, circular table in the parlor, and you reached over to cover his hand with yours. He looked up with surprise, and you offered a small smile.

“I did not come entirely to schold you.” you said. Matthew smiled wryly, and it was good to see his face not in a mask of brooding and contemplation. “You came for Oscar, then?” he asked, and before you could respond, he lifted his free hand to his lips and whistled a high tone. You could hear a thump noise upstairs, followed by the patter and clacking of clawed feet on the floor, and saw a flurry of yellow fur bounding down the stairs and into the parlor.

You laughed, your hand still over Matthew’s and offered your other to Oscar, who happily sniffed and licked it. “Hello, old chap.” you cooed to the golden retriever, who thumped his tail of the carpet in approval. Eventually, he went to go curl himself around Matthew’s chair, comforting his person. 

You smiled, but answered, “No, I do love to see Oscar, but not him.” you drummed your fingers on the table and continued, “I want you to come to Anna’s party with me.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You want to schold me for my drunkenness and then have me escort you to a party?” 

You playfully glared at him, but squeezed his hand to ensure he knew you were only kidding. “Yes, I want you to take me. I want to have fun with you and my friends. No flask, though.” you added. “I would not stop you from drinking Anna’s liquor, but you needn’t bring reinforcements.”

Matthew mock pouted but conceded. “Oh, very well. You shall have naught but gentlemanly propriety from me.”

He laced his finger through yours over the table, and tapped your ring finger with his free hand. “I see you still have my ring.” he commented. 

You nodded. “I have upheld my end of our deal. I keep it in my pocket at home, as to not have my parents suspect you are courting me in earnest, but I wear it in private.” 

He pressed a kiss to the ring, and said, “You wound me, Y/N. I am courting you in earnest. Was an engagement not the prize of our bargain?”

You blushed. “Well, if they are to think that, it will be when there is an engagement.”

Catching you in your words, he grinned. “When indeed.” 

-

The night of Anna’s party, Matthew, regally and ostentatiously dressed as always, arrived on time in his carriage to escort you. Your parents had known Matthew to be a good friend of yours for 2 years now, and thought little of your sharing a carriage alone. Once inside the carriage, he pointedly showed you his pockets were empty of his flask, and you were pleased he had remembered.

You made an interesting pair upon arrival- you, dressed in an elegant but sensible blue party dress, layers of chiffon secured with a cinching midnight belt, and ivory lace sleeves and collar peeking out beyond the hems. Matthew, on the other hand, wore a brilliant purple waistcoat and evergreen colored blazer, which he quickly discarded in the heat of the party. 

You both drank, though it was clear Matthew exercised effort to be moderate in his drinking, but it was enough for you both to lose inhibitions as he turned you about the makeshift dance floor in Anna’s parlor, you giggling when he dramatically turned you and to your surprise, lifted you off your feet. The two of you staggered away from the dancing couples, laughing, both red faced, as he pulled you against his chest and your laughter was muffled in his shirt. 

He hummed to the piano music, where a vampire had seated herself and begun to play jaunty country dance music from the previous century, but to your surprise, he made no move to release you from his embrace. Neither of you did, really. When you had contained your laughter, you had contentedly rested your cheek against his chest and listened to him hum. He was warm, and the smell of him- clean linen, sandalwood, and the hint of wine that you both had earlier, was at once rich and comforting. You stood like that, lost in the rightness of the feeling of his arms around you, for probably 5 minutes before a voice caused you to jump apart.

“Matthew! Y/N! I take it you two are enjoying yourselves?” Anna asked, sauntering up to your corner of the room. 

You blushed, and busied yourself with adjusting your skirts as Matthew, quick and cunning as ever, invented a story of how yes, you were enjoying yourselves, but you had a sudden dizzy spell and had to leave the dancefloor. He had been steadying you, he claimed, and you nodded along. Anna, an older sibling herself, was a master of seeing through invented stories and gave you a look that said she didn’t believe it for a moment, but it was all good fun. Her attention was grabbed by another partygoer, and she moved on quickly.

You shot Matthew an incredulous look when she passed, and he gave you a bemused smirk. “Horrible thing, corsets? Making girls everywhere faint and swoon.” 

You scoffed and playfully nudged him, but he laughed in response. “I recall you were the one insisting we leave the dance floor.” You pointed out.

“Yes, because you were laughing so hard you could barely breathe!” he exclaimed. 

“Because you-” you set in, but quickly realized you couldn’t remember what had started you two in laughing, and the both of you began laughing again. 

Falling into a comfortable silence, the two of you leaned against the wall behind you, watching other couples dance, drink, and be merry. At some point, you leaned your head against his shoulder, but he didn’t move away. Instead, you felt him shift his weight and rest his head on yours. After a few moments, you yawned, and felt him chuckle beside you.

“Oh Cinderella, has midnight come so soon?” he teased, and you wrinkled your nose in mock disdain. 

“I think it is well after midnight now, and you are hardly Prince Charming.” you retorted.

“Is that so? If I am not, why have you danced only with me all night? If this were a ball, people would say we are in love.”

You were glad then that he couldn’t see your face, because you felt the hot rush of blood invoked by his words. You cleared your throat. “Well, this isn’t a ball.” you pointed out.

“And thank the Angel for that.” he remarked, and drew an arm around your shoulder. “Otherwise, I’m sure you standing alone with me in a corner- and, touching, my Lord,” he feigned shock, and continued, “would be the scandal of the season.”

You laughed. “I think James and Cordelia took that honor already with her confession and their swift marriage.”

You felt him stiffen at the mention, and he replied, “Ah, yes. That would be difficult to beat.” and there was a hint of bitterness in his voice. Wanting to take his mind off of it, you turned out of his grasp and extended a hand.

“Dance one more set with me, and then you may take me home.” You said.

“Methinks the lady doth command boldly.” he said, an eyebrow playfully cocked.

“I believe it is the waltz.” You smiled and added, “And now you can hold me as close as you like and no one will breathe a word of scandal.”

There was a strange, momentary burst of color in his cheeks, but he nodded and took your hand, letting you lead him again onto the dance floor.

-

On the carriage ride back to your house, you were seated on the same bench beside each other, despite having room to sit opposite. You were drowsily leaning into his shoulder, and he was tracing patterns on your hand with his, when he again tapped the ring on your hand. 

“I think you should hide this away before your carriage turns back into a pumpkin, Cinderella. Otherwise your parents will think I am courting you in earnest.” He mused playfully, echoing your earlier words. You yawned and deposited it in your pocket, immediately missing the feeling of it.

“Oh, yes. Thank you for reminding me.” You murmured sleepily. He hummed pleasantly, and then said, “You know, if you did become Y/N Fairchild, we could cause all the scandal in London and no one would be able to scoff.”

You laughed, and replied, “I will consider that when you make your proposal.”

“When indeed.” He remarked again.

[willow-salix]

TAG MiniBang 2021

Because the combined bad influences of Flyboy and Sonata were at work here we also decided to bend the rules a little and post early...

I was privileged to work with one of my best friends on this project,  @misssquidtracy​ . We went a little rogue (seems to be a theme for us) and shared both parts of the challenge with both of us contributing to the art and the writing. Squiddy provided a beautifully done pallet knife piece as the background for my foreground art and we plotted the story together to ensure that it worked for both of us. We had been looking forward to sharing the writing but unfortunately, due to life constraints on her part she was only able to write a little of the fic but what she did add perfectly compliments the tone and style of my writing. 

Big thanks to @tagminibang ) @godsliltippy​ ) for organising this event.

So, here it is, our offering to the TAG Mini Bang. We hope you enjoy it. 

Ting ting ting

“Not again,” Virgil groaned, hauling himself up the stairs from the kitchen to the lounge. He regretted ever giving Gordon that bell, he really did. Yes his brother had gone through a tough time, yes he had scared the hell out of them when the Chaos Crew had left him at the bottom of the ocean in his mangled craft, yes they were incredibly grateful that he was alive and mostly whole, but if they had to hear that dinging one more time they might possibly murder him themselves. 

“Yes, Gordy, what do you need?” 

“I’m lonely, and I’m hungry, come and sit with me for a bit?”

“Sure-”

“But maybe make me a sandwich first?”

“A sandwich?” 

“Yeah, with extra cheese and a pickle on the side, not too large a pickle but not too small that it’s gone in one bite. I want to taste it, you know, but not be overwhelmed.”

“Sure-”

“And can you get me a drink too? One of my special milkyshakes, you know, with the ice cream and frozen banana in it?”

“Coming right up,” Virgil sighed, heading back down to the kitchen again.

“Gordon still demanding everything and anything?” Scott asked as he jogged in from the poolside. His T-shirt was sticking to his chest and his hair was damp with sweat but he still looked like he could do it all again. Not that they would have time, they were lucky if they got to do any planned exercise at all, usually they were forced to skip it and work out on the job when a call came in.

“Of course he is,” Virgil growled, slapping a slice of cheese on a piece of bread with far more force than necessary.

“What did the cheese do to you?”

“It’s guilty by association.”

“Ah,” Scott said, like that explained things perfectly. 

A few slices of chicken received the same treatment and Scott wondered if the meat had actually been dead when it arrived on the island or if Virgil had simply smacked it into submission so well that the chicken had flown clear into next week and arrived as sandwich filling.

“Can you fix his drink?” Virgil asked.

“Can’t gotta shower this off before Grandma accuses me of stinking up the place again.”

“Any excuse,” Virgil scowled. “It would only take you a second.”

“A second too long, bro, I’m escaping while I can and you’d be wise to do the same,” Scott said, heading for the stairs and freedom.

“How can I escape when Gordon needs help?”

“You’re forgetting one important thing,” Scott told him wisely. 

“I am? And that would be…”

“John’s home.”

Virgil snorted out a laugh. “He’s less likely to do it than you are.”

“No, you're misunderstanding me. If John’s home that means…” Scott let his sentence trail off into silence heavily filled with insinuation.

“Sel’s here,” Virgil finished triumphantly, catching on perfectly.

“Give that Tracy a prize,” Scott grinned, shooting triumphant finger guns his brother’s way as he headed up the stairs. 

And they said that John was the genius in the family, they hadn’t seen Scott at his most devious. Virgil wasted no time in yanking out his phone and texting the witch to come and take over.

“Here’s your sammich, Squidward,” Selene cooed, plonking the plate down on Gordon’s lap while smacking a kiss to his forehead. “Virgil started it but I finished it for you, Brains called him down to his lab with some kind of air filter emergency so I took over. I brought you some of those crisps you like from my private stash too.”

“The cheesy curl ones?” Gordon asked hopefully.

“Yep,” she grinned, waggling a family sized bag of Quavers in his general direction.

“Did you bring my drink?” Gordon asked around a mouthful of chickeny goodness. Say what you wanted about Virgil but he made a damn good sandwich, even if Gordon could taste that this was made with a little less love and a little more impatience than usual.

“No, sorry, did you want one? Virgil didn’t say that. I’ll go get you something, just wait right there.”

"Not like I can leave if the mood takes me," Gordon grumbled as he opened the chip bag. 

She was already gone, only to race back in a few moments later with a can of coke.

“What? What’s wrong, boo?” Selene asked when she saw the pouting look of disappointment on Gordon’s face.

“It was supposed to be one of my special milkyshakes,” he whined.

“Right, got it, my bad!”

She was gone again, taking off to the kitchen where, upon closer inspections, she did indeed find the beginnings of a milkshake. There were two scoops of ice cream already in the blender, melting in the warmth of the room. A half peeled banana sat abandoned on the counter next to a carton of milk. 

“Typical,” she groused as she set about breaking up the banana, pouring the milk and setting it to blend as she tidied the mess away. Once done she poured it into a tall glass, added a straw and a few slices of fresh banana to decorate the edges, just as he liked it, and delivered it to the waiting aquanaut.

“Great, thanks, Sel,” he grinned, handing her his now empty plate and swapping it for the glass. She put the plate on the coffee table and sat on the couch opposite him.

“Anything else I can do for you?”

 “Sit with me and keep me company?” he begged, looking so miserable and pathetic that she couldn’t say no.

“Of course I will.” 

Gordon swung his injured leg up and she moved to sit next to him on the couch, placing a cushion on her lap for him to rest his cast covered foot on.

Gordon settled down with a contented sigh, sucking happily on his straw, the milkshake level in the glass steadily dropping.

“I’m bored,” Gordon bitched five minutes later.

“That peace lasted a long time,” Selene laughed, putting her phone down on the side table to give him her full attention. “What can I do to help? Do you want to watch something or play a game?”

Gordon made a face. “You’re crap at games, Sel.”

One eyebrow rose in disbelief. “I wouldn’t exactly say crap…”

“You tried to play with Alan and died three times in two minutes, lost all your lives and were forced to float along behind him as a ghost for the rest of his turn.”

“Anything is crap when you say it like that,” Selene huffed. 

“Only when it’s true.”

“Tell me then, oh great games master, what do you want to do?”

“Nothing.”

“Then don’t moan you’re bored,” she pointed out.

“I mean there’s nothing to do. No one is around.”

Selene gestured to her chest. “Am I suddenly invisible?”

“No, of course not,” he scoffed. “That would be far too cool, why don’t you have witch powers like that?”

“Because I live in the real world, not a movie?”

“Lame,” he declared, dismissing it.

“Back to the original point that I am, in fact, right here. Therefore your comment that no one is around is redundant.”

“I meant no one I can do anything with.”

“Thin ice, bub, thin ice.”

“I meant like my brothers or someone. Alan is busy revising for his final exams, Virgil’s with Brains and I’ve no idea where Scott is but I think he’s avoiding me, which is just mean if you ask me. I’m a delight.”

“Yeah, you sure are,” she drawled, not sounding too convinced. “You’re also forgetting a brother.”

“Who?”

“John? You know, gorgeous ginger love of my life that’s chilling in his room right this minute? That brother?”

“John? No way.”

“What’s wrong with John?” she squawked indignantly. Her man was the most perfect of people, amazing and fabulous, just all round awesome. Although she might be a tad biased.

Gordon shrugged, scrunching his nose up in a ‘meh’ kinda way that said everything and nothing.

“No, come on, tell me what you meant,” she demanded.

“No offence, Sel, but John’s a bit…”

“A bit what?” she asked, her tone warning him that he was in very dangerous territory.

Gordon, with the grace of an elephant and confidence of a man that knew he was injured and therefore wouldn’t get slapped, plowed on.

“A bit boring.”

“Boring?!” she hollered, her voice travelling to the four corners of the island so effectively that Alan lifted his head, wondering if some distant God was echoing his thoughts as he slogged through his history homework.

“How very dare you!” Selene continued, working up a good glare that Gordon was completely immune to. He simply sipped the last of his milkshake, smacked his lips and raised an eyebrow, daring her to do something about it.

“He is not boring.”

“Matter of opinion,” Gordon shrugged, handing her the glass to put down on the table. 

“Right, that’s it, you can besmirch my fun factor but I will not allow you to do so to my man. That’s a step too far.” She gently, for which he was thankful, shoved his leg off her lap and dragged his hover chair over from its spot beside Virgil’s piano.

“Get the hell in, hoppy, we’re going for a ride.”

-x-

"You deal with him, he's driving me nuts and pissing me off at the same time."

"Me? I'm the very picture of perfection, I could never drive anyone nuts."

John declined to comment on that one for fear of never stopping, he had twenty-four years worth of stories after all. 

“The pissing you off is subjective too,” Gordon finished triumphantly. 

"He's your problem now," Selene announced, shoving Gordon's hover chair further into the room before making her escape, slamming the door shut behind her. 

John closed his eyes, praying for patience. His fiancée was well known for her legendary patience when it came to pampering and mothering his family whenever any of them were sick or injured. She'd spent almost every day with Gordon since his run in with the Chaos Crew and had done so with relentless cheer, for her to have given up now was not a good sign. 

"What did you do?" 

"Nothing!" Gordon protested hotly.

"Are you sure?" 

Gordon averted his gaze, suddenly taking great interest in a dust particle dancing across the shaft of sunlight filtering in through the window, "Yes, I'm sure. I wasn't doing anything. That was part of the problem."

"Ah," there it was. "Is there anything I can do to help?" 

"I'm so bored," Gordon wailed. "And your girlfriend is being mean to me."

"Fiancée," John corrected him, not looking up from his work. 

"It's not my fault I hate sitting around doing nothing all day. I’ve gone from a physically and mentally intensive, fifty plus hour a week job, to sitting on my ass from dawn until dusk. Can you blame a guy for getting twitchy?"

"Unfortunately, you don't have much of a choice at the moment," John reminded him, quite needlessly he thought. 

"Gee, thanks for the reminder," Gordon huffed, trying to cross his arms although the cast and sling he was sporting prevented it. That just seemed to annoy him even more. 

"I can't do anything right now! How do you do it?" 

"Do what?" John asked, squinting through his magnifier at the small window frame he was carving from a piece of polymer clay. 

"Just sit around all day."

John raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "I don't sit around all day."

"OK, float around then. It's not like you're actively running around like the rest of us are."

"I'll pretend I never heard you say that," John scowled, wishing Selene had dumped his brother into the sea instead of into his quiet, peaceful room. 

"You're sitting around right now," Gordon pointed out, gesturing to the desk John was  sitting at, which was currently doing double duty as a work table for his latest project. 

"One day you'll learn to appreciate the benefits of a quiet, occupied mind and a still body," John told him. 

Gordon sighed, propping his good elbow on the desktop, his chin resting in his upturned palm as he watched his brother fiddling with tiny things that seemed utterly useless to him. 

"What are you even doing?" 

"Working on a series of book nooks for Sel's side of the bookcase," John answered, sounding slightly distracted as he measured the finished window against its place in an intricately carved brick wall. 

"Why?" 

"Because she likes them."

"I mean why are you making it? Can't you just buy her one? It's not like you can't afford it."

"Where's the challenge in that? Besides, things are always more special when you make them yourself."

Gordon yawned and leant forward to rest his head on the tabletop. 

"Do you want to help?" John offered, although honestly Gordon's version of helping was always patchy at best. 

Gordon scooted closer to look over John's shoulder, eyes darting over the rectangular box that he was building the nook inside. About the size of two thick books sandwiched together, the nook already had a little cobbled street and two shop fronts in place. The tabletop was scattered with a selection of impossibly tiny screwdrivers, picks, scalpels and other instruments of possible torture that he couldn't hope to name. 

"Pass," he announced decisively, flicking the control of his hoverchair so he spun in a wide circle, pointing to the door. "I'm out."

"Peace at last," John sighed, flicking his magnifier back into place over his right eye as he set aside the window to be baked later and reached for a fresh blob of clay. 

-x-

"What ya dooooooing?" Gordon yodelled, slamming the bedroom door open so hard that it smacked into the wall and shook several picture frames. He scooted his way into the room without even waiting for an invite. 

"Gordon!" John huffed, clutching his heart where it was trying to leap out of his chest from the shock of his brother’s sudden, and very noisy, entrance. 

"Hi, I got bored, thought I'd drop in on my favourite big brother," Gordon grinned as he glided his hoverchair closer. 

"Are Scott and Virgil busy?" John asked, that would be the only reason Gordon would have promoted him to his favourite. 

"Yes," Gordon admitted, "but that's not the reason why I'm here."

John turned his head to shoot him a raised eyebrow of doom, clearly communicating without words that he didn't believe him in the slightest. 

"So, what are you doing?" 

"Working on this book nook," John replied patiently, holding up the small cauldron he was crafting. 

"The same one?" 

"Yes."

Gordon’s eyes nearly fell out of his head, "Still? It’s been four days!"

"Yes," John hissed out, starting to get frustrated by the constant questions. 

"Why?" 

"Because it takes a long time. If you're going to do a project you should do it right."

"At the speed you're going it's gonna take forever," Gordon snorted, casting an assessing eye over the work John had already done. 

"That doesn't matter," John assured him. "It's not really about the time it takes or the end result, it's about the process, the journey to get there."

"Sounds lame to me," Gordon yawned. 

"Obviously," John drawled, rolling his eyes. 

"What do you mean by that?" Gordon demanded to know, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. 

"Because it's you."

"Hey! Rude."

"Accurate," John said, placing the little cauldron down and selecting another piece of clay which he placed on a ceramic tile. 

"Why?"

"Because it requires a calm mind. It's good to slow down sometimes and just be still."

"Says the console jockey." 

Console Jockey? He did not just say that!

"So you don't think my job is stressful? Or as tiring and important as yours?" John snapped, wondering if it was bad form to smack your injured brother around the head with a partially constructed book nook. He glanced at the nook, he had put a lot of work into it… It would be a shame to waste it. That thought alone saved Gordon. 

“Well, yeah I get that it might be a bit stressful, but it’s not like you have to do much that puts you in danger, not like us,” Gordon continued, digging his hole even deeper, a hole that John was looking forward to shoving him into.

“We all have our specialities, you couldn’t do your job without me doing mine,” John retorted, trying very hard not to let Gordon’s comments get to him. Gordon would never understand what it was like for him to be stuck so far away from the action, away from his brothers when things were going wrong. 

Gordon, thankfully for him, had been unconscious from the moment he had activated his emergency code. He hadn’t heard the frantic calls going out over the comms as the family mobilized to help him.  He hadn’t heard the desperate scramble as Thunderbirds took off, racing to the scene. But John had heard it all. 

John had been the one to stay on the line with Gordon, talking to him the entire time, knowing that he probably wouldn’t hear it but feeling that he needed to say it all the same. He wanted to know that if his little brother regained consciousness for even a second he would hear a familiar voice, that he would know that they were coming, that they would rescue him. He would know that he wasn’t alone.

 He knew what it was like for people that were in danger, knew the comfort they got from someone talking to them, listening to their stories, being there for them verbally if not physically. John was often the one that spent the most amount of time with those they rescued, keeping their spirits up as much as possible until his brothers got there. 

His brothers were seen by their rescuees as the real heroes, the ones that leapt in and plucked them out of danger, but John was the one that got them that help, the one that made sure the rescue played out as best it could, liaising and coordinating until the job was done. But Virgil, Scott, Gordon and Alan were the ones that got the thanks , the ones that got the hugs after they dropped their charges off, not John. 

Not that he minded too much, he knew that his job was just as important as theirs, maybe even more so because, when someone put out that call for help, when they sent their desperate plea out into the world, they deserved to know that someone would always be listening out for it, that someone would hear and that help would come.

He knew all of this, and he knew that Gordon did too, it was just the frustration of inactivity that was making him say the things that he was. John just wished that that knowledge made it easier to listen to. 

“I might not be doing the physical rescuing,” John continued, feeling the need to push his point home. “But I work just as hard, when you’re home you’re off duty until a call comes in, you can relax, swim, watch movies and laze around until you’re needed. When I’m up there I’m on duty 24/7 and even when I do manage to catch some sleep it’s not deep or particularly restful. Any little noise, any call that triggers the system's keyword algorithm gets transferred automatically, I have to go from asleep to awake in seconds to take it.”

Gordon was quiet for once, watching him closely. John didn’t like it, it made him feel like an exhibit in a zoo. And here we have the little seen Tracy, see how he stays inside his hide and hardly ever ventures out… he knew how they saw him, why they likely thought he had the easy job. 

“These help, they give me something else to focus on. I need to keep my mind active and challenged while still trying to relax.” John paused, trying to think of a way to explain his thinking that Gordon might understand. 

“These are almost like a meditation,” he started. Gordon understood meditation and finding your zone. “Creating something out of almost nothing. It keeps my mind focused, helps with finger dexterity and hand eye coordination with the added bonus of it relaxing me. It’s good to slow down and take some time to do something creative, you should try it some time.” 

Gordon listened to his brother and he tried to take in all his words, he tried to understand the meaning behind them, he really did, but it just didn’t make any sense to him. He understood about wanting to be lazy, to sit around and do nothing sometimes. He loved to laze on the couch with his snackies and an Into the Unknown marathon playing out on the holoscreen, but that was watching something exciting, interesting, to him that was relaxing. This...whatever it was that John was actually doing, made no sense whatsoever to him. The idea of trying to relax by actually thinking...that was the most alien concept of all. 

Gordon knew, probably better than his family gave him credit for, what it was like to be mislabelled. Within every sibling pool, there were the mandatory roles: the serious one, the caring one, the smart one, the funny one, the calm one, the angry one, the one who sang in the shower, et cetera. He’d proudly embraced the role of ‘the funny one’, and had diligently flown the flag for the humour camp for as long as he could remember. If a brother came home from a rescue in a slump and needed a cheery pick-me-up, it was Gordon who stepped up to the task, irrespective of his own mood. His smile and laugh were infectious, and he had yet to encounter a frown he couldn’t (eventually) turn upside down.

But with every ‘role’ came misconceptions. Scott was serious, therefore people were quick to automatically assume that he was a killjoy.  Similarly, John’s intellect and preference for solitude often went hand in hand with him being branded antisocial, since there was apparently no possible way someone could enjoy their own company so much, yet still pursue and maintain meaningful relationships with actual people.

Gordon was no stranger to this treatment. He liked to laugh and be spontaneous, and consequently, was often regarded as the Tracy who didn’t take his work seriously, the Tracy who had the attention span of a gnat (albeit a very handsome one), and the Tracy who couldn’t be trusted with anything that required delicacy, be it physical or emotional. His affinity for making people laugh, though an exceptional quality, frequently acted as a double-edged sword. On the one hand, his relentless optimism made him the most effective of the bunch when it came to emergencies involving children and young adults. On the other hand, it sentenced him to a fate where the bad jokes he cracked would always be two steps ahead of the secret deep thinker that lay within.

“Let me see it again,” Gordon sighed, trying his best to be a supportive and understanding brother, since he did feel a little bad about the things he had just said. He hadn’t meant to say them, they had just come out. That was the trouble with being laid up from an injury, not only were you out of action but you were in pain, and pain made you grumpy and less likely to monitor the things that came out of your mouth the way you should.

He knew that John worked hard, hell he knew that what his brother had said was right, John was never truly off duty. They were all aware that he didn’t get enough sleep, enough down time, enough time to relax and just be. They knew that if John was on Five he would consider himself on duty, at work, and therefore he’d never allow himself to take time out. Things had changed since Selene had blundered her way into his life, now he spent a lot more time on the Island, which meant that he was finally taking some time out for himself. If one of the ways he chose to do that was by crafting ridiculously tiny things out of clay to stick in a hollowed out box that was his business. Gordon wasn’t there to judge, he was there to spend time with his brother.

John moved aside a little so Gordon could get a closer look, trying to resist the urge to smack his hand away every time Gordon reached for a tiny piece that had taken him hours to perfect. 

“These are really small,” Gordon mused, poking at a window that John had just finished painting, leaving behind a smudged fingerprint. “Woops, sorry, Bro.”

“Maybe you should try making something of your own,“ John suggested, carefully removing the window from his brother's possession and picking up a brush in order to attempt a fix.

Gordon nodded and John passed him a ceramic tile and a miniature rolling pin. 

“How about you try cutting me out a few shop sign bases?” John suggested.

“Do I get one of those scalpel things?” Gordon asked, a little too eagerly for John’s liking.

“Maybe we can work up to that,” John hedged, subtly moving the scalpel out of his brother’s reach and passing him a square cookie cutter. “Use this cutter for now.”

Gordon shrugged and spent a few minutes rolling and squishing the clay trying to get the thickness to the exact measurement that John insisted on. It wasn’t easy or fun.

“Nope!” Gordon announced, giving up and pushing the tile away. “It’s still boring. Pass.”

He swung his hoverchair around and headed in the direction of the door. “Later, Bro.”

“Oh...OK...later, I guess,” John stuttered, wondering just what he had done to deserve such a chaotic family as his.

“Oh, hey, boo, where are you go- WAHH!”

John’s head shot up as Selene’s yelp rang out from the hallway.

“Sorry!” 

“So you should be, you little shit,” she grumbled to his retreating back as she thumped into the room.

“What happened, love?”

“Let’s just say that if his chair had wheels I’d have lost a few toes,” she said, wincing in imagined pain. 

John scooted his desk chair back and patted his lap in offer, one that she happily accepted.

“So, why was Gordy doing his boy racer bit? What did you say to him?”

“Me? What makes you think I said anything to him?”

“Because I know you two?” 

“Fair,” he sighed, sliding his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. “I don’t know what to do to help him.”

Selene turned her head to look at him, not liking the helpless look on his face.

“Babe, you are helping him, you’re there to keep him company or talk to him if he needs it, that’s more important than anything. What happened to make you think that you weren’t helping?”

“He was asking me about these again,” John nodded towards his work area on the desktop. “But he didn’t seem to understand, that or he just didn’t want to.”

“He’s Gordon,” she sighed. “You know what he’s like, he’s full on, he’s in your face and he’s not at all subtle. Taking his time with things just doesn’t compute with him.”

“It would do him good though, if he doesn’t learn to embrace it he’ll be exactly the same as he was last time.”

“Was he really that bad?” she asked, concern lacing her voice. 

John nodded. “He doesn’t do inactivity well. When he had his hydrofoil accident his therapist talked him into signing up for a virtual college degree in Environmental Management of Rivers and Wetlands. It was supposed to take him at least a year as a part time course with ANU in Canberra, but he blew through it in the first semester and earned himself a distinction for his insights on the impact of Anthropogenic Noise on Wetland Habitats. His professor was so impressed he offered him a fully funded PhD, citing his time with WASP and the time he spent in the bathyscaphe as practical experience that would make up for his lack of degree. Obviously he turned it down, but he still likes to rub our faces in it now and then.”

“Wow,” Selene breathed. “Forget his professor being impressed, I’m impressed.”

“He has a phenomenal brain,” John said, a small but very proud smile on his face. “When he actually decides to use it to its full potential, that is. There is nothing he can't do when he chooses to focus on something, he’s all in. It really helped him to feel like he was gaining something and moving forward even though he was sitting still.”

Selene nodded, understanding completely. She knew that all of her boys were wicked smart, but Gordon always presented himself as the least academic. He was more of a doer, wanting to be out in the field, learning as he went, diving in head first to every situation. 

But as Selene and John both knew, appearances could be deceiving.

“If that’s what helped him last time, then we need to find a way to convince him to try something new,” Selene insisted. 

“I tried, he’s not interested.”

“That was with your things, babe. We need to find something that’s a little more him, and I think I know just the thing.”

-x-

“I have arrived!” Gordon yodelled, announcing his entrance in his own unique way. He slid his hover chair in through the open door like the boss that he was, bringing his shining presence in to brighten up his middle brother's obviously dull existence. “Didja miss me?”

“Like a hole in the head,” John grumbled, turning to look at the grinning face of his brother. His eyes immediately began to water as they were assaulted by the far too bright colours of the shirt Gordon was wearing, a tie dyed monstrosity that Selene had made for him for his birthday. 

“A little more gratitude, if you please," Gordon huffed. 

“Grandma finally released you?”

“Yep,” Gordon stretched out his injured leg and patted the air cast on his now slingless arm. “Got time off for good behaviour.”

“I find that hard to believe,” John teased, then nodded to Gordon’s arm. “How’s it feeling?”

“Not too bad, my grip still isn't great but Grandma promised me that once the bone has finished knitting I’ll just need to exercise it and build the muscle strength up, then it’ll be as good as new.”

“That’s great, it won't be long before you're able to go back out with Virgil and stop, how did Sel put it, 'haunting the house like the ghost of Christmas future'?"

"Can't come soon enough," Gordon sighed, butting his chair right up close to John's, knocking his arm in the process. "What you do- you're still doing that? Still? It's been a week!" 

"It's not like I get a huge amount of down time," John pointed out. "I'm only here now because Sel said she'd dump me if I didn't make an effort to come down earlier in the evenings so I could actually eat a meal with you all."

"You actually believed that threat?" Gordon laughed. 

"Of course not, she'd never dump me, but I thought I had better humour her and let her feel like she at least had a little sway," John shrugged, pushing aside the little piece of doorstep he had been painting. "Honestly, it's nice to come down for a meal and family time, I hadn't realised how much I'd missed it until it was happening again."

"I guess we all got a bit too caught up in International Rescue after we lost Dad," Gordon admitted. 

"Like we had nothing else in our lives," John nodded, completely understanding. 

"Yep."

Gordon fell silent and John let him, concentrating on mixing the perfect colour acrylic to add a few highlights to his stones. 

"Can I have a go at making something? I bet I could do it quicker than you," Gordon asked, reaching towards what Selene called the sharps tub. John smacked the lid down on it just in time. 

"Actually, we got you a present."

"You did?" Instantly distracted, Gordon sat up straighter, excited by the prospect of a gift. "What did you get me?" 

This," John answered, opening his desk drawer and extracting an interestingly shaped bottle, upright with a thicker, rounded bottom and a thinner neck, ending a cork stopper. 

"Wow, is that an original?" Gordon asked, taking the bottle carefully and turning it to  study it from all angles. He knew exactly what this shaped bottle was, there had been a collection of them in Commander Shore’s office that he would stare at every time he got called in for some reprimand or another.

"19th century," John nodded. "Sel found it in a little shop in Mayfair. They assured her it was a genuine, used on a ship, captain's decanter from around the time of the civil war. They hadn’t fully traced it when Sel bought it but they think it came from one of the ships that fought in one of the smaller skirmishes around 1861.”

“This is really cool, thanks,” Gordon smiled, still turning the bottle over and over.

“It’s to hold this,” John continued, drawing Gordon’s attention back to him.

Grinning, John delved back into his desk drawer and pulled out a rather faded and quite dusty box. He brushed the dirt off the top and slid it over to Gordon. 

"A ship?" Gordon frowned. 

"Yep, Selene and I thought that you needed a little project of your own, so she had the idea to get you a ship in a bottle. You don’t see them a lot these days, but apparently her Grandfather had a couple and they always fascinated her.”

“So you put the ship in the bottle?”

“Yep, instructions are inside, go nuts.”

“Pfft, instructions,” Gordon snorted. “No one needs instructions, they’re a waste of time.”

-x-

“Ouch,” John hissed, hopping in place on one foot as he bent down to pick up what looked to be a tiny piece of mast that had attacked the sole of his foot. “Gordon, why are there bits of ship all over my floor?”

“Because I dropped them,” Gordon replied, his voice muffled due to the tongue of concentration that was peeking out from between his teeth.

Huffing, John gathered all the pieces off the floor, both pieces of ship and bits that they had been cut out of, and deposited them on the desk next to Gordon.

“How’s it coming along?” John asked, settling in his own chair. He’d only been gone a day but Gordon had managed to take over the entire bedroom, spreading his belongings, bottles, snack wrappers, his phone and a discarded hoodie, all over the place, as well as half the contents of the vintage ship box.

“It’s ridiculous. I think it’s missing pieces or something, it’s broken.”

“Well it was an old kit, but we were assured that it was complete,” John frowned, sliding the tray over that Gordon was supposed to be storing all the pieces in. “Have you checked the contents list and matched each piece to make sure they’re all there?”

Gordon looked at him blankly, like he was talking a foreign language.

“Did you check that everything was there before you started?" John elaborated.

“Of course I did,” Gordon promised, crossing his fingers and hoping his brother didn’t see. 

“Against the list?” John clarified.

“I eyeballed it, OK?”

“Not good enough,” John insisted. “That’s not how you go about doing things like this, you can’t just slap them together and hope for the best.”

“Why not?” Gordon whined. It worked for him in almost everything else he did in life. 

“Because this happens," John gestured to the mess surrounding them.

“Fine, I’ll read the damn instructions.”

Leaving Gordon to it John slid his almost completed book nook over and picked up his paintbrush to start adding some finishing touches before he started on the wiring for the lights. He’d barely done more than five minutes when Gordon started huffing.

John waited a little longer, trying his hardest to ignore the ever increasing sounds of frustration and impatience from his brother. In the end he couldn't stand it a moment longer, he had to ask the most loaded question ever.

“What’s the problem?” John asked, pushing his own work aside.

“These instructions don’t make sense,” Gordon bitched, flapping the paper in John’s face. “Look at the little picture here, you have to stick this little pole into that hole in the deck but the deck doesn’t want to stay together and that piece there keeps sliding and the pictures make no sense.”

“That’s because you missed around eight steps in between,” John told him, praying for patience. 

“No I didn't, I followed the pictures exactly,” Gordon insisted. 

“The steps aren’t in the pictures,” John explained. “See right there?” he pointed to the words above the pictures. “The pictures are a diagram of each finished stage, not how to get there. They are for reference only, not instructions.”

“Urghhh, this is going to take forever,” Gordon pouted, crossing his arms. “What’s the point?”

“The point is that by the end of it you’ll have something unique that no one else does, something you can be proud of and know that you built with your own two hands.”

“I’m not sure it’s worth the effort,” Gordon muttered.

“It is,” John promised. “I’ll help. How about I read out the instructions and you follow along? We’ll get through it quicker that way.”

Gordon wasn’t convinced, but John looked so hopeful that he didn’t have the heart to refuse him, especially since he and Selene had gone to so much trouble to get the things for him in the first place. He might be a miserable little sod, but he wasn’t that ungrateful. He knew that they had gone out of their way to get something they thought he’d like, the least he could do was make the thing, even if he knew he wouldn’t enjoy it. Maybe John was right, working together they could get through it quicker, and that could only be a good thing.

“Alright,” Gordon agreed, “let’s give it a go.”

Slowly, methodically, John read out each piece that was needed and Gordon located them, storing them neatly in a wooden box that Selene provided when she popped in to bring them drinks an hour or so later. She stayed just long enough to steal a kiss from John and drop one on the top of Gordon’s head before she beat a hasty retreat, not wanting to get roped into helping. She wasn’t the best at following instructions and didn’t want to get grumped at.

By the time they had all the pieces checked and catalogued they had discovered there were indeed two pieces missing, but thankfully they were easy fixes, just a small , round piece of wood to represent a porthole, which they could easily make a replacement for and a piece of mast. One snipped toothpick later and that was sorted too.

John started with the first set of instructions, reading them out patiently as Gordon found and fitted them together. 

“So, how’s work been?” Gordon asked, like a chatty hairstylist, as he carefully dipped the end of a thin dowel into a small pot of wood glue. 

“Same as ever,” John deadpanned, “a bunch of idiots that got themselves into trouble and needed help, and only half of them related to us.”

Gordon sniggered, glancing at John, seeing the sly smile on his brother’s face. He’d forgotten just how amusing John could be when he delivered something sarcastically witty with such a serious tone. Gordon hadn’t realised how much he’d missed it, wondering just what his more serious brother would come out with next. John was always like that, he seemed so quiet and reserved but, when he was relaxed and in company he was comfortable with he’d take you by surprise by letting loose a zinger that you couldn’t help but laugh at.

“Let’s not talk about work,” Gordon suggested, “we haven’t hung out properly in ages, you’re either up in Five or there are other people around.”

“Is that your way of saying you’ve missed me?” John teased.

“Maybe,” Gordon allowed, “but if you ever tell anyone I said that I’ll deny it and tell Grandma you want her to make your birthday cake this year.”

John held his hands up in surrender, although he couldn’t hold in the laugh that bubbled up as he reached for the instructions again.

“OK, let’s get this done before we stop enjoying each other’s company.”

They worked slowly but steadily over the next few hours, putting together the structure for the first mast. Once it was done they called it quits and abandoned it for another day, the smell of something tasty coming from the kitchen proving to be too much to ignore.

-x-

 “Gordon, that’s my finger.”

“Oh, sorry, can you just like… I don’t know, yank it off?”

“If I wish to leave half my identifying fingerprints behind, yes.”

“Do you really need them?”

John didn’t dignify that with an answer, the look he threw at his brother communicated his thoughts perfectly. 

“OK, OK, I’ll get some dissolver from Virgil’s studio, wait right there,” Gordon instructed him, grabbing his crutches and hobbling his way out of the room. 

John sighed, keeping his hand perfectly still, the hull of the boat dangling from his fingertip. He was still there five minutes later when Gordon clumped his way back in, Selene hot on his heels. She had the glue dissolver under one arm, a large bag of chips under the other and a plate of sandwiches in each hand. 

She dumped the plates on the desk, then the chips, before turning to see the state her fiancé was in.

“Do I even want to know?” 

“Probably not,” Gordon winced, dropping down into his abandoned desk chair and reaching for a plate.

“Can you at least help me before you start stuffing your face?” John asked, waggling his hand, which made the boat sway violently from side to side.

“Can’t, eating,” Gordon mumbled around the massive mouthful he had just taken.

“What did I say?” she demanded to know. “No hurting the hands, you know how I feel about that.” 

John wiggled his fingers again, drawing her attention to his plight. He looked so pathetic with the half built little ship swinging from his hand that Selene took pity on him, intervening when he looked like he was about to grab the thing and yank it off himself, fingerprints be damned.

“Oh for the love of the Gods, let me do it!” Taking his hand she used a paintbrush to smear glue dissolver around the area of skin it was stuck to. She took her time, rewetting and using the brush bristles to push the dissolver under the boat, trying to  ease it free from his skin with minimal pulling.

“Thank you,” he sighed, sitting patiently while she worked. Thankfully it didn’t take her too long, although it took a lot of cursing under her breath and the odd ouch from him to get there. 

“One boat,” she announced, placing it triumphantly on the desk. 

“Fanks,” Gordon said, spraying chip crumbs as he did so.

“Welcome,” she said, brushing at her leg which had unfortunately been in splatter range. Still holding John’s hand she bestowed a kiss to each of his abused digits before releasing him. 

“Right, I’m out of here. Play nicely, you two, I don’t want to have to send Grandma in to babysit you both.”

“It won’t come to that,” John assured her, reaching for his own sandwich. “We’ve not got much left to do now. We just have to attach the rigging to the masts, check that they fold properly then insert th-”

“I’m out, I don’t need to hear anything about insertion, not after you just glued a boat to your hand,” Selene declared, her exit swift and to the point, the door shutting firmly behind her.

“She has a point,” Gordon admitted, swallowing his last bite. He pushed the chip bag in John’s direction, although there was barely more than a handful and a few crumbs left in it. 

“But we’ll never admit it to her face,” John insisted, steadily munching through the large sub she had brought for him. 

“Never,” Gordon agreed. 

-x- 

Gordon sighed dramatically as he crutched his way down the hall from his bedroom. John’s bedroom door was open but his brother wasn’t inside. The ship, now fully rigged, sat beside the bottle on the desk, just waiting to be placed inside once some sand had been poured in as a base. Gordon had chosen all different shades of blue to represent the sea and had even watched a few videos on how to do sand pouring art, something he’d never expected to find even remotely interesting, yet he couldn’t bring himself to go in and make a start on it.

John had barely been home the past week and when he had it had only been for food and enforced sleep. Even then he had been known to sneak out of bed the second Selene was asleep, being discovered on numerous occasions sitting at their father’s desk until the small hours working on this, that or the other. 

Emergencies, and therefore the need for their services, had seemed to increase three fold, something Selene was blaming on the moon phase and mercury going retrograde and, for want of a better explanation, they were all inclined to agree. There was no rhyme or reason for the surge in idiots that were calling in at all hours of the day and night with trucks caught under a too low bridge causing a pile up, hands stuck down toilets, drunks climbing to the top of electricity pylons and repair men getting trapped inside ATM machines they had been fixing.

His brothers had been on the go near constantly, whether it was from rescue call outs or working on their plan to find their father,  but none more so than John. While Selene had always been good at what she liked to call Tracy Wrangling, none more so that when she was dealing with a stressed out Scott, even she had admitted defeat and left them to their own devices. Self preservation was key after all. 

John had been dealing with not only rescue calls and Chaos Crew sightings, but signal tracking, GDF liaising and general hoop jumping, all of which had kept him far too busy.

It had been over a week since they had done anything to their project and Gordon was feeling the loss. Not so much of the project, although that really had helped with his frustrations at his lack of physical ability, not that he would ever admit that to John, but in spending time with his brother.

Much to his surprise he’d found that he was reluctant to work on it alone, it had become their thing to do together. It was a time where they would hang out, shoot the shit, reminisce about childhood memories, times that they had spent together talking about their hope for the future where they would find their father alive and bring him home.

Both of them knew that it wouldn’t be easy, that if they did manage to find him there would be no telling what physical or mental state he would be in. Gordon knew from experience just how tough physical injury, limitations, and recovery could be on the mind and the body,  especially in someone who had been as active and viril as Jeff Tracy. 

They all knew, although no one seemed to want to talk about it, that as hard as it was going to be to actually locate him and hopefully bring him home, that would only be the beginning of what could potentially be an incredibly long and difficult journey of rehabilitation and reintegration into the family and the world as a whole. 

John had been right, taking some time to be quiet, to slow down and think while keeping your mind and hands busy really was a productive way to spend your rest hours and, stupid as it sounded, Gordon didn’t really want that to end. 

He was only a week or two away from potential cast removal and a return to physical activities like his beloved swimming and strength training in their home gym and, while he couldn’t wait to get back to it, he knew he’d feel the loss of his enforced quiet time. 

He glanced again at the abandoned ship on the desk and turned away, clumping down the hall towards the stairs. So it would take them a little longer to get it finished, Gordon was fine with that because for once he wasn’t feeling the need to rush.

-x-

“Remember to pour it slowly,” Gordon instructed as he held the funnel in place, its long pipe reaching right down into the bottom of the jar. “Start with the darkest one, that’s going to be our base colour.”

“I’ve got it,” John assured him, selecting the tub of midnight blue sand and scooping some out into a smaller pot to make things easier. At Gordon’s nod he began to slowly and steadily pour the sand into the open neck of the funnel. As he watched Gordon expertly directed the tube, allowing the sand to pour out to pool in the bottom of the bottle.

At Gordon’s signal John stopped pouring and waited while Gordon carefully removed the tube and used a long metal skewer to poke and prod the sand into something that looked vaguely like waves.

“The next colour up,” Gordon requested and John did as he was asked. They repeated the process four more times with different shades of blue, John pouring in a little at a time, Gordon directing the tube to deposit  more in one place than others, mimicking the movement of sea waves as best they could. In between each layer Gordon used the skewer to poke and mix the colours here and there, blending the layers into a smoother transition.

“That’ll do,” Gordon said confidently, twisting the bottle so John could see the full effect. 

John had to admit that he had been pleasantly surprised when Gordon had announced that he had ordered some coloured sand and looked up how to do sand art on the internet. He hadn’t really known what to expect, although he would admit, if only to himself, that he had thought that Gordon would be a little heavy handed and impatient, but once again he had proved him wrong. He really had done his research and the result was a beautiful mix of colours that really did give a perfect impression of a gently moving sea.

“That’s looking great.”

“I know,” Gordon grinned, modest as always. “Where’s that resin gone?”

“Here,” John answered, pushing it across the desk towards his brother. “Make sure you read the instructions and measure the amounts accurately or it won’t set and you’ll ruin the sand and the bottle.”

“Yeah, yeah I got this,” Gordon assured him as he did indeed read the instructions through properly. Once he had familiarised himself with the ratio of resin to hardener, he measured carefully and poured them into a mixing jug. Once it was fully mixed he slowly, gently, poured the mixture a little at a time into the bottle on top of the sand. With each little pour he waited for the resin to trickle down between the grains, slowly adding to it until all the sand was covered. 

“And now we wait,” John said, carefully placing the bottle in the patch of bright sunlight coming in through the window. 

“Wanna watch a movie?” Gordon offered casually, not really expecting his brother to agree. John hardly ever watched anything with just him, they had vastly different tastes in movies and John usually made some polite excuse to escape.

“Sure, sounds good.”

“Really?” Gordon goggled, his eyes almost falling out of his head. “You don’t have anything more important to do?”

“More important than watching a movie with my little brother? I don’t think so,” John grinned, retrieving Gordon’s crutches from where they were leaning against his bookshelf and tossing them to him one by one. “Come on, last one to the lounge picks the movie.”

“Hey, no fair!” Gordon yelled, scrambling to his feet as he fumbled with his crutches. “You’ve got legs like a giraffe and neither of them are broken!”

“Sucks to be you,” John tossed over his shoulder as he took off down the hall to victory.

-x-

“Careful,” John warned.

“I am being careful,” Gordon snapped. “I got this.”

“Your hand’s shaking.”

“Thanks for that, Captain Obvious.” He steadied his, only slightly shaky, hand by propping his elbow on the desk for stability. “OK, let’s do this.”

They both held their breath as Gordon maneuvered the body of the boat through the opening in the bottle, making sure each sail stayed carefully folded down and the strings remained untangled before he fed it down the neck and into the bottle.

“Phase one, complete,” John intoned in such a serious voice that Gordon couldn’t help the laugh that he snorted out.

“Pass me those long nosed tweezers?” Gordon asked, holding out a hand.

John slapped the requested instrument into his brother's hand like a nurse in an operating theater, provoking another burst of laughter.

“Thanks.” 

“Welcome.”

Making sure the strings of the sails were still dangling outside of the bottle, Gordon carefully moved the body of the boat further down into the bottle with the metal skewer until the stern touched the top of the resin and sand layer. 

“Now the sails,” Gordon whispered, hardly daring to breathe as John moved in to help, taking over the holding of the strings while Gordon reached in with the tweezers.

Gently, working together, they started the delicate process of tugging gently on each string, unfolding the paper sails and locking them in place.

“String one.”

“Got it. Watch number four sail.”

“Yep, thanks...OK… can you just give string five a little pull? Perfect.”

“Sail three is flopping!”

“Gah, hang on, just got to tighten that...yep that’s got it.”

“Maybe if I gather…”

“Yep, that’s good, do that again.”

“This next bit is going to require a delicate touch, maybe I should-”

“Hey! I can be delicate!”

“It’s not coming up...back sail two is stuck, release it...careful!”

“There, saved it.”

John gently pulled the strings a little more and there it was, their ship, sails proudly upright and everything. He kept hold of the strings, while Gordon held on to the boat with the tweezers as they carefully lifted the bottle from its side to its proper upright position.

Using the skewer John maneuvered around Gordon’s hand and nudged the boat into a better position before he carefully released the strings. They both held their breath, hoping and praying that the sails wouldn't collapse the second the strings fell. 

The boat, with its sails, stayed strong.

“Yes!” Gordon cheered, holding up his free hand for a high five, grinning when his brother’s palm smacked against his own.

“Scalpel,” Gordon joked as John handed it to him so they could lop off a little of the trailing strings. Then, using the skewer, they arranged the strings around the edges of the boat. 

With the boat finally upright and in place, they added another layer of light blue coloured sand with a sprinkling of white to mimic the tips of the waves. They finished it off by pouring in a little more resin, both to set the sand and hold the boat in place, using the tweezers to make sure it was correctly positioned.

“Phew,” Gordon breathed, leaning back in his chair and stretching out his cast covered leg. “We did it. Go team.”

“We did,” John smiled. “And it looks damn good.”

“It really does,” Gordon agreed, shifting his head to look at the bottle from all angles. 

“Nothing left to do but let it dry and put the stopper in,” John said. “How do you feel now it’s done? Was it worth the time?”

“I still think we could have done it a lot faster if you’d just let me skip a few steps in the instructions and do it my way, but it wasn’t that bad,” Gordon admitted. “I’m oddly proud of it.”

“You should be, you did good,” John leant back in his chair, crossing his arms as he relaxed. “Are you going to stop teasing me about my book nooks now?”

“Pssh, no,” Gordon snorted. “Ships are cool, yours will always be boring.”

He didn’t see the bottle of water coming until it was too late.

-x-

Gordon walked straight to John’s room from the infirmary,  feeling oddly free without his crutches and casts. Six weeks was a long time, after all.

The bottle with its little ship sat exactly where they had left it in the center of John’s desk next to the abandoned book nook that was still not finished. It took him very little time to insert the cork stopper and pour a little of Selene’s spell bottle sealing wax around the top, a bright, cheery yellow wax that matched his beloved Thunderbird Four.

He smiled as he thought of his little craft, waiting down in her dock for him, ready to be taken out when the next call came in. It had been a long and frustrating time but finally, blessedly, that time was over.

He poked an experimental finger into the wax seal, checking that it had set properly. It had, and he couldn’t help feeling a little sad about it. It had been a project that at first he’d had very little interest in, but slowly it had turned into so much more. Not just something to wile away a few hours but a chance for him to reconnect with the brother he spent the least amount of time with. 

Years ago, back when he had been small, John had been his everything. When Alan had been too tiny to be of any use and Scott and Virgil had been too old to be bothered with him hanging around, it had been John that had been there for him. It was John that had patiently listened as he read aloud from his sealife books, who had watched movies with him, played with him, and spent the most amount of time with him. Back then, their three year age difference had seemed like so little but so much at the same time, an older brother that made him feel wanted and included when the other two saw him as an annoyance.

Gordon couldn’t quite put his finger on when things had changed, when they had slowly drifted apart. John had seemed to grow up so much faster than he had, Alan had welded himself to his side, looking up to Gordon as he had to John  and things had never been the same again. 

It had been too long since they had been able to just hang out, to laugh, to tease each other without things going too far and one of them getting annoyed. It had been nice and Gordon had realised that he didn’t want to go back to nothing but hollocalls to Five when an emergency came in or the odd family dinner and movie night where he had to share with the rest of the family. John was the only brother that Gordon didn’t spend one on one time with as standard and he realised that, no matter how much he might blame it on John being so far away, in reality it was as much his fault as John’s.

Gordon picked up the bottle, leaving a box in its place. The model kit of the Mercury Project space capsule and its launch pad had been hard to find even with his junker contacts. In fact, he had almost given up and  admitted defeat before he'd thought to look at the label on his ship box and sent the shop owner an email.

Smiling to himself, knowing that there was no way John would be able to resist that challenge, he took the finished bottle, with its little ship, to his room where it would take pride of place on his bookshelf, a constant reminder that even in the worst of times, positivity could still be found.

“Thanks, Bro.”

[fanficshiddles]

Obsession, Chapter 1

Summary: Robyn is a journalist who starts covering a serial killer in the city, Tom. He takes an interest in the pretty journalist and starts paying attention to her. But she quickly learns it’s not a good thing to have a serial killer become obsessed with you…

WARNINGS FOR THIS FIC: RAPE/NON-CON, STALKING, HARASSMENT, MURDER, BODY MODIFCATION, DRUGGING, KIDNAPPING, VIOLENCE, OBSESSIVE BEHAVIOUR, MANIPULATION.

-

Robyn sat at the bar with a few of her girlfriends in the club, drink in hand while she swayed back and fore to the music. It felt so good to be out.

A tall shadowy figure stood in the corner of the club, watching her every move. Watching the way her hips swayed whenever she went to the dancefloor to let loose, the pretty blue dress she wore hugging her figure beautifully.

When Robyn ordered another drink, she foolishly left it at the bar when one of her friends dragged her, yet again, to the dancefloor.

The figure made his move. He swiftly crossed the club and as he passed the bar, he stuck his hand out and dropped a small pill into her drink. No one noticed as it quickly dissolved, everyone was too busy wrapped up within themselves and others, lost to alcohol and music in a sea of sweaty bodies.

He headed out into the crisp night and made up camp just along from the entrance. Biding his time.

-

Robyn felt funny. The drink suddenly hitting her, even though she could’ve sworn she hadn’t had many. But she definitely didn’t feel right and she knew something was wrong.

She headed to the cloakroom to get her jacket, well, stumbled there was more apt. Her vision was starting to get fuzzy and her limbs felt heavy. Just managing to hand over her ticket in return for her jacket, the woman watching the cloakroom sneered at her. ‘Ridiculous how drunk people get.’

Robyn barely registered what she said as she started to make her way outside. But as soon as she hit that fresh air, she thought she was a goner.

She stumbled to the side, but strong hands captured her just before she fell into the wall.

‘Woah, easy there, darling.’ A smooth voice reached her ears. One she was sure she had heard before… But she was struggling to focus, trying to remember where she knew that voice from.

The world was spinning, all she knew and could feel was being held against someone. Alarm bells were ringing within her at that voice, she knew she had to fear this man. But she couldn’t place why.

‘Come on, let’s get you home.’ He said softly, his large hands holding her and guiding her down the street.

‘No!’ She garbled out as she tried to push away from him. But she was far too weak, her bones felt like jelly. And even if she hadn’t been drugged, she wouldn’t have stood a chance against him anyway.

‘Shhh, shhh. Come now, kitten. Don’t want to make a scene now, do we?’ He said firmly.

It suddenly hit her. She knew who it was. It was the same man that had been toying with her for the past seven months. The same man who had, up until now, kept his distance from her. Or so she’d thought, anyway.

It was Tom.

That voice was the same voice that called her every single damn night for the past month. Saying barley anything else but utter filth to her with that sinful voice that she so wished wasn’t so captivating.

But what terrified her the most. Was the fact that the very hands holding onto her so strongly, were the same hands that had committed such evil, despicable crimes that made her skin crawl merely thinking about.

What he was capable of…

She did not want to make him angry, in fear of becoming another statistic on the news.

When she started to comply, not trying to get away from him, he hummed in approval. ‘Good girl, that’s better.’ He purred, leading her away.

But not far down the road, her legs gave way as she lost consciousness. So she was scooped up into his arms and carried home. Her purse was raided for the key as he let himself into her home and carried her straight through to her bedroom.

Robyn was still out cold when she was laid down on her bed and her clothes were carefully removed.

Tom breathed in sharply as he took in every inch of her, his heart hammered in his chest at finally having her like this. Stripped naked and so vulnerable to him.

Slowly stroking up her inner leg, he marvelled at how soft her skin was. Unable to resist, he lifted her foot and kissed her inner ankle. Then he started working his way up her body, kissing and licking as he went, until he came to the main prize.

Breathing over her softly, he pressed soft kisses to either side of her cunt. Then slowly started to lick her, delving between her folds and up over her clit. He draped her legs over his shoulders and continued eating her out like a man possessed.

Robyn’s body was reacting well to the assault, he could feel and taste her getting wetter. But she started to come round briefly, though she still felt like her body was so heavy and as if her mind didn’t belong to her anymore. She managed to glance down, her stomach churning when she saw a strange man with a head full of curls down between her thighs. A beard scratching against her sensitive skin while his tongue focused on her clit, forcing her to cum even though she didn’t want to.

She tried to reach down to push him away, but she just couldn’t. She passed out again, her mind going blank.

When she came to a little while later, it was to the sight of the man above her. In any other circumstances, she would’ve said a very attractive looking man. One she was sure she recognised somehow... He was smiling sweetly down at her as she tried to scream, because she felt a very large presence pushing into her, forcing her body to accommodate him, whether she wanted to or not.

‘N… no…. p…’

‘Shhh, hush now.’ He whispered, leaning down flush against her he stroked her hair and kissed the side of her lips. ‘Relax, kitten. It’s about time I took what’s mine.’ Was the last she heard before passing out once again as he thrust deliberately into her.

-

When Robyn woke in the morning she felt so groggy, like she had the hangover from hell. She could barely remember what happened last night as she sat up, her whole body felt achey and like she had been hit by a bus.

She didn’t remember drinking that much. In-fact, she couldn’t remember anything from last night after dancing with her friends to her favourite song, it was all blank…

But when she got out of bed and stood up, she paused as her blood ran cold.

Parting her legs, she reached down between her thighs and whimpered as she felt a very sticky mess there… Slowly dribbling out of her and down her inner thighs.

‘Oh no.’ She cried, panic hitting her.

She was naked, which wasn’t exactly unusual because sometimes she did sleep naked. But having a man’s cum inside of her was NOT usual since losing her boyfriend.

Running into the bathroom, she jumped straight into the shower and did her best to get as much of it out as possible. Then she just sat there in the shower, in tears. Shaking. Not knowing what to do, or even who did it.

But then she realised… what if he was still here?

Shaking with fear, she turned the shower off and grabbed a towel. Wrapping it tightly around herself, she slowly made her way out of the bathroom and inched her way through her house. Checking in each room carefully, then she darted for the door and made sure the chain was on.

Only then did she relax a little.

Though not for long. A few hours later, after much contemplating of what to do, her phone rang.

She glanced at the number. She knew exactly who it was. In a weird hope of desperation for someone familiar, no matter who they were, she answered it quickly.

‘I think that’s the first time you’ve answered me so quickly, kitten.’ The voice on the other end of the phone purred.

Then it suddenly dawned on her. The voice, it was so familiar… She couldn’t place him last night, why he had been there… But she had heard that same voice last night, and now she knew why it sounded SO familiar.

‘You… You were there last night.’ She stammered.

A low chuckle reached her ear. ‘I was indeed. I must say, it was nice to finally lay claim to what belongs to me. Even if you were unresponsive… This time. Do you know how becoming you look when you cum?’ He growled.

Robyn let out a sob, it had been him. He had been inside her home… Inside her. Before hearing anything else, she hung up on him and turned her phone off.

She slid down the wall and started crying.

Not only was he a serial killer. And a stalker. He was a rapist too.

And she knew that she was not just his victim. No. She was his toy. One that he was having fun playing with.

She screamed, not just in fear or pain, but in anger.

Now she knew that his threats weren’t just threats. They were promises.

- - -

Seven Months Earlier

Tom was sitting at his desk in his office, doing some work to keep his company running smoothly as always.

His secretary knocked on the door and popped her head in. ‘I’ve got your morning newspaper, Sir.’

‘Thank you, Chloe.’ Tom smiled and motioned her in.

She rushed over and handed him the paper, then she picked up his empty coffee cup and headed out to make him another one. Knowing how he always liked to have coffee on hand in the morning.

Tom sat back in his chair and looked at the newspaper. He frowned when he saw the headline.

The Choker Strikes Again!

‘The Choker?’ Tom scoffed as he narrowed his eyes at the paper. ‘Who is responsible for this?’ He quickly flicked to page eight, where there was more on the story.

He scanned through it until his eyes landed on the journalist who’d written the story.

‘Robyn Green.’ He hummed, stroking his beard. ‘Well, Robyn. It seems I shall have to pay you a visit.’ He growled low.

[iclaimedtobethebetterbard]

his name was chad - chapter 1

Fandom: Sanders Sides Characters: All the sides Rating: Teen & up (see Warnings) Relationships: Lamp (with a focus on Logince and Moxiety), Dukeceit Warnings: Language, sexual humor/innuendo, mostly non-graphic violence, temporary major character deaths, minor animal death (not all of these are in this chapter, but I like to put general fic warnings on the first chapter) Word count: 1782 Notes: Based on that one short Thomas made ages ago; fic is mostly to be treated humorously. 

Read on AO3!

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My writing masterpost

Summary:  “We thought it’d be fun to make an apocalypse game!” Roman explained. “One we can fully immerse ourselves in!” “Well, technically,” Remus put in, “it’s part apocalypse, part western, part post-apocalypse, part zombie apocalypse—” “No! No zombies! We’ve been over this!” Roman snapped. “Right, right, I keep forgetting. Part horror, part thriller, part mafia game, part—” “I think we get the picture,” Logan interrupted. “A mishmash of ‘edgy’ genres you both enjoy, am I correct?”

 Chapter 1

“Everyone!” Roman shouted from the common area at the top of his lungs. “Hey, everyone, c’mere! Right now!”

“What the hell do you want?” Virgil demanded, rising up at once.

“Wait, wait, wait wait wait. Logan! Patton!” Roman called for their other boyfriends.

Remus popped up between Roman and Virgil, making them both jump. “Janny!” he added in an ear-grating shriek.

“What on earth is the matter, Roman?” Logan inquired as he and Patton made their way into the room.

Roman glanced around just as Janus rose up in the corner, taking up residence lurking in a dramatic puddle of shadow. “Good, everyone’s here. Come see what me and Remus made!”

“Oh, you mean the thing you two have been holed up working on for two weeks now that nobody has been allowed to ask about?” Logan said, sounding interested.

“Yeah, that!” Roman grabbed his and Virgil’s hands. “Everyone come on!”

Patton followed just behind his three boyfriends; Remus and Janus, somewhat surprisingly, followed at a more leisurely pace, Janus leaning on Remus as he wrapped an arm around Janus’s waist, held his hand, and talked a mile a minute in a voice too low for the others to make out.

Roman led the group to the workshop he and Remus shared, having everyone gather in a huddle around a table with a large piece of fabric covering whatever was on it. “Ready?” he asked dramatically.

“No, can I take a nap first?” Virgil inquired sarcastically.

“Some other time, my stormy darling. Behold!” Roman drew the cloth away with a flourish.

“Ooh, it’s a little world!” Patton exclaimed.

“Fascinating,” Logan commented, leaning closer to examine the miniature landscape, dotted with buildings and trees. “What is it for?”

“It’s a game!” Remus piped up from the back of the group. He let go of Janus and elbowed his way between Virgil and Patton. “And we’re going in it! Blood and guts and gore and death!”

“What?” Patton inquired, sounding distinctly nervous.

“What do you mean, in it? What do you mean, death?” Virgil demanded.

“Oh, cool your tits, the death is just for realism,” Remus said, waving his hand.

“That is not reassuring!”

“No, no, wait, listen!” Roman interrupted frantically. “He’s explaining it all wrong! Virgil, listen, I promise it’s not that bad!” He paused. “Well.”

“See?” Virgil pointed an accusing finger at him. “What the hell are you two up to?”

“We just thought it’d be fun to make an apocalypse game!” Roman explained. “One we can fully immerse ourselves in!”

“Apocalypse?” Virgil demanded, sounding torn between delight and outrage.

“I don’t know…” Patton put in hesitantly.

Logan looked up from where he had still been examining the table. “This is an impressive level of detail work, Roman, Remus. You should be proud of yourselves.”

“Don’t encourage them!” Virgil snapped. “Not when they’re apparently trying to get us all killed for fun!”

“What?” Logan blinked. “Oh, that. I imagine it will be harmless.”

“Yeah!” Remus backed him up immediately.

“Yeah,” Roman echoed a beat later, less certain.

“Logan,” Virgil said, “they are trying to put Patton in an apocalypse. In what world is that a good idea for anyone?”

“Well, technically,” Remus put in, “it’s part apocalypse, part western, part post-apocalypse, part zombie apocalypse—”

“No! No zombies! We’ve been over this!” Roman snapped.

“Right, right, I keep forgetting. No zombies yet. But it is part horror, part thriller, part murder mystery, part mafia game, part—”

“I think we get the picture,” Logan interrupted. “A mishmash of ‘edgy’ genres you both enjoy, am I correct?”

“Oh, that’s a good way of putting it.” Remus nodded.

“It will be fun, I promise,” Roman said. “We made it! Just for everyone in this room! So it’ll be okay. We made such cool character designs for everyone, you’re going to love it, just please can we play just one time please?” He turned pleading eyes on all three of his partners.

“And you’re sure this will be safe?” Logan asked, just to be sure. Both Patton and Virgil looked too nervous for his liking and could likely use the reassurance.

“Absolutely!” Roman assured him.

“Probably,” Remus amended.

“Shut up! We know what we’re doing!” Roman smacked his brother’s arm.

“The effects will look, feel, sound, and smell realistic,” Remus said. “Try not to die gruesomely. Or don’t, it will be lots of fun to watch guts going everywhere.” He lit up and looked over at Roman. “Hey, can we add—”

“For the sixteenth time, we said no zombies on the first run!” Roman stamped his foot.

“Boo.” Remus rolled his eyes and glanced back to Patton. “But yeah. It’s safe from the outside. We’ll just be on the inside, you know?”

“What does that mean?” Patton asked nervously.

“Don’t worry about it,” Remus said instantly, grinning very wide indeed.

“Patton.” Roman took both Patton’s hands in his own. “I would never ask anything of you if I wasn’t perfectly sure I could keep you safe. It’s all just effects, I promise.”

“You’re sure?” Patton said.

“I promise,” Roman repeated. He glanced up at Virgil, who was hovering darkly just behind Patton’s shoulder. “And that goes for everyone here, Doom and Gloom.”

Virgil narrowed his eyes and looked over at Janus, who was standing a little distance away from the rest of the group, examining his gloved nails. “And what do you think of all this?” he demanded suspiciously.

Janus looked up, blinking comically wide and raising his eyebrows. “Hm? Oh, I’m sorry, I was under the impression that you ‘don’t like liars.’ Why would you ask me?”

Virgil growled under his breath. “You know you’re self-preservation too,” he snapped.

“Oh, yes, of course, it’s just fun to make you admit it.” Janus gave Virgil a very self-satisfied grin.

Virgil glared at him. “Just shut up and answer my question. Are you going in there?” He pointed at the landscape on the table.

“Maybe. I haven’t decided.” Janus shrugged, seeming disinterested. “You should definitely go, though, I’d love to watch you get taken out by tripping on a rock or something.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

Janus smirked. “I suspect your boyfriend collection would be unhappy with that idea.”

“Fuck off, you know I didn’t mean it like that!”

“Oh, is it bullying Virgil hours?” Remus inquired, looking up from the landscape on the table.

“No, hey, wait—” Patton began in protest.

“Shush, Daddyo, it’s all in good fun,” Remus said without looking away from Janus.

“Isn’t it always, darling?” Janus responded as if Patton’s interruption had not taken place.

Remus grinned. “Ooh, fair point.”

“I hate you guys,” Virgil announced.

Janus blew him a kiss. “Thank you ever so much.”

Remus draped himself over Virgil, with his chin resting on Virgil’s shoulder. “So whatcha talking about?” he asked.

“This loser won’t tell me if he’s participating in the game or not,” Virgil snapped, jerking a thumb at Janus.

“Ooh, ‘loser.’ Very nice. Classy. Screams ‘seventh grade,’ that’s how you know it’s a mature and grownup insult,” Janus commented.

“Baby, you aren’t playing?” Remus gave Janus a pair of very distressed, pleading puppy dog eyes. “I worked so hard on it! You’re going to be so sexy, I made you such a cool backstory!”

“No, no, of course I’ll play,” Janus assured him composedly. “I was only messing with Virgil.”

“Hey!” Virgil snapped.

“I’d love to see all the horrors your mind has come up with,” Janus went on with a startling sincerity, serenely ignoring Viril. “You’ll have to be sure and show me everything.”

Remus lit up. “Oh, I will!” He pushed away from Virgil and ran to take both Janus’s hands in his own. “I made you a whole lair thing, it’s so cool, it has so many—”

“Why don’t you show me?” Janus inquired, raising one of Remus’s hands to his lips to press a kiss to it.

Remus vibrated with excitement. “Yeah, okay!” He glanced over at Roman.

“You can go ahead early, you have a little more setup to do anyway,” Roman said, waving his hand. “We’ll catch up to you.”

Remus grinned and drew Janus close by the waist—and they both vanished.

Virgil yelped, looking distinctly alarmed.

“Never fear!” Roman assured him. “They’re just in the game!” He pointed down at the landscape; two little tokens, in green and yellow, had appeared on it. “Is everyone ready to go?”

“How long will this take, again?” Logan asked.

“A couple of hours,” Roman said. “Time goes slower inside the game by default, but Remus and I can mess around with it a little if we need to.”

“And the goal of the game?” Logan asked.

“To have fun! Also not die. There’s a little bit of a story but there’s also lots of room to play around. Don’t worry, the only thing that happens if you die is you’re out of the game and you come back here. The winner gets a minifigure of their character! And bragging rights.”

Logan and Virgil both perked up at this second prize. Roman snickered. “So, is everyone ready?” he asked again.

“I just feel like it’s a little scary…” Patton said.

“Oh!” Roman snapped his fingers. “I knew I was forgetting something. We made a filter for you, Pat! It puts you on easy mode. Way less things will want to attack you. And me and Remus both have some of our mod abilities available for emergencies if you need us to change something!”

Patton thought about this for a minute, then nodded. “Okay. I think I can try it out, then.”

Roman grinned and kissed his cheek. “How about you, Gerard Gay?” He looked over at Virgil. “You in?”

Virgil grumbled to himself for a moment, then shrugged and nodded. “Yeah, fine, whatever. Jan went in, and he’s a better judge of safety than you or Remus.” He glanced away and mumbled, “Plus it sounds really cool, or whatever.”

“Normally I would be very offended, but I’m just happy you want to play.” Roman offered Virgil a dazzling smile. “Logan?”

“I will participate. I am curious to see what you have come up with.”

“Oh, I love you all so much!” Roman declared. “Alright, everyone come over here.” He shuffled them around until each of them was holding somewhere on one of his arms. “Now, the game will drop us in randomly within a certain area and timeframe, and then we just have to find each other! Have fun—it’ll start off easy and get more challenging as we get used to it!”

Roman pulled at the fabric of Thomas’s imagination itself, and there was a funny yanking feeling in everyone’s gut, and the world went dark for just a second.

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@fivehargreeves05 @theimprobabledreamersworld

[beauregard-s]

Cherry Vodka [Part I] | Richie T. + Eddie K.

Pairing: Richie Tozier x Reader x Eddie Kaspbrak (21+)

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: language, nsfw material but no explicit sex (yet), alcohol, polyamory mention, kind of a modern au too

Anon said:  “ okay so based off that art you reblogged of the richie x bev x eddie, what about like a reader x richie x eddie fluffy smut based off that (i hope that makes sense bahahha)”

A/n: Yeah, I had to split it in two parts because 7k words... I’m sorry it took me so long to post it, dear anon, if you’re still outta there. I rewrote and changed the plot of this one three times and it’s inspired by this post and by the song Sleep Apnea by Beach Fossils, by the way.

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“Richie…” “What, doll?” You felt his hand trailing down the small of your back, slowly and treacherously. 

You rolled your eyes from your book to meet Richie’s little smirk. He had his black wayfarers on, even though the sun was down in the horizon now, and behind those you knew his eyes have been glazing all over you. He was all careless laying on his side right next to you on the towel, unruly wind-dried curly hair, head up resting on a hand, the other free one teasing you because he just couldn’t help it when you’d put on that black high-cut swimsuit of yours. Eddie shared the curly-haired boy thoughts but, on the other hand, he laid peacefully flat on his back by your right side. Arms resting under his head, eyes closed, but here and there he’d peek at your and Richie’s constant bickering. You, laying on your stomach in between them, were still in your swimsuit from earlier. After lunch, it was Richie’s idea to go to this lake nearby by his parents' vacation house. It was also Richie’s idea to spend spring break there. Usually, your break trips would include their other friends, who ended up being your friends too over time, but that was being a harsh semester for quite everyone. With Bill and Stan stuck with their academic duties, the best idea was to drive to the Tozier’s vacation house in a small town in Pennsylvania. It was a simple, untouched, two-floor house. Richie told in the car his parents bought it when he was a teenager so they could travel and spend some time there, but ended up not doing that as much as they intended on once it was too far from his city. “For fuck’s sake, Richie!” Laughing was not what you intended, but you did it and you heard Eddie giggling behind you. Richie’s hand had finally made its way to your hips now, while he leaned closer. “Come on, toots. Just one kiss…” He whispered in his best charming tone, but you pushed him away, playing cool although you felt your cheeks burning, the known hots already hitting you like a truck. “No! Fuck off… I already told you we should stop doing this,” you muttered. “You always say that,” it was Eddie who reasoned, and you turned for him, eyes threatening him with no words while he shrugged. “Yeah, and I’m sticking to it,” you retorted. Indeed. It had been over a month since you last… Did what you did. “Plus I think Stan has been suspicious…” Richie snorted, “yeah, like lil old he would give a single fuck about it, y/n.” You breathed out, closing the book because now your concentration was ruined. Richie, Eddie, and you met at the creative writing class, 8 am on Tuesdays, your first semester of college. You remembered as it was today how you found them “lost” less than 10 feet away from the lecture hall but arguing like an old couple without realizing that. You helped them find the right way, and Richie flirted with you as you walked into the class, while Eddie scoffed at him for making them get lost and almost late. You knew those boys had been friends their entire life, but from that moment on the three of you became inseparable. If someone needed to find one of you on the campus, the other two would probably be found at the same place. The pureness of your friendship didn’t last long. It only lasted until the first party you went to together, when you lost to Richie at a snooker game and he claimed a kiss as his prize, the smooth motherfucker he was. You kissed him and only that, but ten minutes later you were making out in the bathroom. You made him swear he wouldn’t make things complicated between you two and he had been keeping his promise ever since. Eddie was a whole out of the curve story though. After what happened at said party, you noticed how fidgety he got about the matter of you and Richie been together once, although he did a great job hiding it. Took a while for him to leave it alone, but you didn’t. Something pestering inside wouldn’t let you. You were at his dorm, studying for a complicated final exam while the sky fell apart in rain outside when you asked him why he got upset. He denied to his death he had jealousy of you and Richie running through his veins, but you knew he was lying when his eyes started to avoid yours, saying ‘Richie’s a better ladies' man, anyway’. You shoot your shot without really thinking about it, told him ‘he was just as desirable as Richie’ and it seemed to light a spark between you two. You were the one who leaned closer but he closed the gap, nervously, pulling you into his lap as soon as you kissed him back, building up his confidence. Just like when Richie and you had your thing, you felt no need to hide from him what happened between you and Eddie. It was an embarrassing talk, but it worked. The three of you quickly and naturally warmed up to the facts: you were friends with benefits with both of them and there was nothing complicated about that for you. But you wanted to keep it low because casually making out with your best friends regularly here and there over time whenever you all desired to was none of people business. Eddie rolled over to lay on his stomach, just like you were, shoulder to shoulder. After a couple days constantly under the sun, you noticed he had more freckles than usual over his nose and cheeks, a few on his shoulders. “You’re being more uptight about it all than me, and everyone knows that being more uptight than me is a big deal...” His self depreciative statement made you flash a half-smile, but didn't stop you from leering at his soft lips because you remembered how he tasted like mint whenever you’d kiss. And it had been a long time since you did for the last time. “I’m just being cautious, Spagheddie.” He smiled at the silly nickname, just when you freed yourself from Richie’s grip, grabbed your book and got up, leaving them on the grass while you walked towards the backdoor. “Where ya’ goin’?” Richie called, but you didn’t look back. “Taking a shower!” You shouted. ‘I fucking need to cool down,’ you thought to yourself. In your silly head, about a year ago, this whole situation was a great idea. Now you found yourself utterly screwed. There was pining going on since the very first beginning in between you and them. You always knew it was there, you just didn’t expect it to escalate like it did. You thought once you had tasted from Richie and Eddie, you’d be done. Checked them out of your possibilities, life goes on, but now you were bonded to them in a way you never intended on. You fell for them. For both of them. And that was making you act up. Since your high school years you understood you were an afraid-of-commitment kind of person. No big deal, no attachments, no pain, so you weren’t ready to fall for a single person alone. Falling for two at the same time made your brain short circuit. You had debated the matter with yourself multiple times before. Since you became aware of it happening, you weren’t able to choose between them, you didn’t even know someone was capable of splitting their feelings like that. Your only solution was to stop it somehow. You couldn’t just leave them completely, so you decided to break the colorful side of that mess of a friendship. It wasn’t easy because it was not just about physical bonds. They were everywhere around you. Eddie would buy you coffee on the test mornings he knew you were tired after studying the whole night and hand it to you kissing your forehead. Richie would always hold your hand, keep you close and protect you somehow, doing that thing where he’d distractedly run his thumb over your knuckles. You knew that maybe you were not just an arousal let-out for them too and that made things even worse. You ruminated the facts the whole time you were under the cold water upstairs, and when you came down later, all damp hair and sleep clothes, you found them both in the kitchen, struggling with dinner although it was just frozen lasagna for three. Beach Fossils played from Richie’s phone, open vodka bottle on the wood table in the middle of the small kitchen. Richie was the one who first noticed you there, smiling over his shoulder. “Gonna leave you watching Eds so he doesn’t implode the house while I take a shower, doll. Help the poor man.” he said, walking past by you and running upstairs. “You’re talking like you weren’t the one struggling to turn on the oven!” Eddie shouted at him. You laughed just like Richie did at distance, joining Eddie by the stove. “Do you want a hand there?” “Never mind,” he said, closing the oven door with a proud grin, “it will be ready in twenty, I guess.” “Talented boys you two are!” you scoffed. “Oh shut up!” He faked a disgusted face at you. Your eyes laid over the cherries you bought the day you arrived, placed in a fruit basket on the counter and, while Eddie sat down at the table you grabbed a glass, the vodka, and a handful of cherries. He didn’t ask you what you were doing, but your peripheral sight allowed you to know he was keeping full attention on you while you fumbled around. You mashed the fruits in the glass until they were a reddish pasta, collecting the seeds and pouring alcohol over what lasted in there. As you swayed everything together, you remembered drinking it once, but not quite where was it. You gulped it turning around to finally face Eddie, and he was splayed in a chair, a ghost of a smile on. “The hell you doin’?” he asked lowly and you shrugged. “I don’t know… But it worked.” He raised his brows, getting up and walking towards you. “Yeah? Is it good?” You hummed in response, feeling it burn down your throat. In the deep of your mind, watching Eddie coming closer and closer, you knew what was about to happen, but you didn’t act fast enough against it. “Let me taste it” And he did. Not from the cup but straight from your lips. Eddie leaned in and kissed you softly, an arm around your waist while his free hand went for the back of your neck. And you ease in melting into him was embarrassing, leaving the cup onto the sink as soon as he pressed you against it before the glass ended up shattered on the floor. His tongue slid over yours, hands going to grab your hips, lifting your shirt a bit in the process. You instantly wished he took it off, already built up after spending that time alone in the middle of nowhere and with that aching tension all over the place. You had sex with Richie twice already over time, one of them a bit drunkenly, the other completely sober and thirsty for it, but you had never done it with Eddie. And you wanted it bad. Been wanting for a long time now, since that fucking rainy day in his dorm. But you knew you couldn’t, not when you shouldn’t even be kissing him like that after managing to stick up to your chastity for over a month now. So your hands palmed his chest and gently pulled him away. “Holy fuck…” Richie’s whispered voice made both you and Eddie startle. He was right there, at the kitchen entrance with a towel around his waist, mouth agape looking at both of you and you had no idea of how much time was standing there now. But he for sure saw shit happening. “That was the fucking fastest shower ever,” Eddie said, so casually it disturbed you. “N-no… I just came back to grab my phone.” Richie muttered. You froze, having no idea of how to move or what to say now. Yes, they were pretty aware you messed around with both of them, but one never saw the other in the act. Never, nor even a peck, and now Richie just witnessed a goddamn show. You were ready to tell him how you were sorry because you had just denied him a kiss when you were sunbathing outside and you have been constantly denying him for weeks now, but he didn’t give you the chance. Richie grabbed his phone over the table and stopped the music. You had the hint that maybe he wasn’t upset once he had that little mischievous smirk of his while he made his way out of there and upstairs again. Of course you didn’t talk about the matter over dinner, but Richie acted like nothing happened and Eddie just followed the lead completely unbothered. You tried to go on as naturally as they did, but something about Richie’s furtive looks over you made you think he was definitely not cool about catching you and Eddie together in the kitchen. You just couldn’t tell if either he was jealous or whatever was that and it pinched you from the inside the rest of the night while you watched old TV shows reprising until it was past one in the morning. That was when Eddie started yawning and decided to go upstairs, to the room that’d be Richie’s formerly, kissing your forehead and smiling nonchalantly before shoving Richie’s shoulder. So it was Richie, you and silence in the living room lighten up by TV flashes here and there. He was already sleepy, laying on the couch he had been sleeping since he insisted on leaving his parents’ bedroom for you, claiming he'd be a terrible host if he had you or Eddie without a bed. You, curled in the armchair, hated unsolved matters and worse than that, you hated when said unsolved matters had to do with Richie because you knew how he internalized everything he felt if it was slightly messed up. So you went straight to the point to avoid any evasions from him. “Did you get jealous of me and Eddie?” You asked right away, eyeing at him from your safe place. He looked at you, dead in the eye, no single sign of emotion perpassing his face. “Not at all, sweet thing,” he said, shrugging. “Why would I be?” You didn’t explain it, because you knew he knew where you were trying to get at, so your raised eyebrow was enough. But Richie raised his back and you had to get up because the lack of words from him, the one who’d never shut up, was bothering you beyond belief. You walked over the couch, passing a leg over his, straddling the Tozier boy for his slight astonishment, his reddish lips curving in a half-smile. Richie also had freckles, darker and more numerous ones than Eddie’s, all over his nose and cheeks, some across the rest of his face and none on the rest of his body. When he sat up with you still in his lap, you could smell that cologne you didn’t know exactly which was, but that you loved. Loved how its scent would stay ghostly on your clothes after you made out in his truck like a mark of his, just like the hickeys he’d give you sometimes, on hidden places so only you could see them. “Don’t fucking play dumb with me,” you whispered now, “I’m sorry, okay?” Richie snorted. “I’m not lying to you, y/n/n. I’m definitely not mad at you nor at Eddie. You’re making up things in your pretty head, doll” His hands drifted up your thighs. “I miss you, that's true. But it doesn’t make me jealous of that hell of a scene I saw earlier.” You noticed how he swallowed dry. “So you trying to convince me you’re not utterly disgusted and hurt?” Richie snorted once more at your tease and the light air of his relieving a lot of pressure from your chest. “Far from that, y/n/n...” The way his voice slowed down and his eyes drifted away from yours to his restless fingers on your skin...You finally understood where the problem laid on. And you wouldn’t even need the light pink shade of his cheeks to assure that. “Oh God, you liked it…” You whispered in disbelief and Richie laughed, hands on your hips now, pulling you closer. “What if I did, doll?” He didn’t let you answer, lips on yours before you recovered from your shock. He kissed slowly and passionately, it was always like that, kisses that after a few seconds already got you wanting to rip his clothes off. He was warm against you, bare chest pressed against still clothed yours. As earlier with the Kaspbrak boy, you had the urge of pulling away from him for your own sake, but you couldn’t this time. Richie peppered kisses all the way from your mouth to your jawline, kissing the spot that got your underwear ruined every time, earning himself a low whimper from your lips. You felt dizzy. “Eds is my best friend, toots,” he whispered against your skin, “there’s no one I’d be more glad to let spend time with you, touch you...” His hands ran up your sides underneath your shirt and your nails dig into his shoulders. “Kiss you.” He sucked a hickey on the crook of your neck that finally had you moaning out loud. “Richie-” His name. You could feel him smiling at that. “Or have you.” “For fuck’s sake, Richie…” You knew how to read in between his lines and in his darkened eyes when he pulled away to look into yours, glasses off. You knew he couldn’t see you quite well, but you could see him. If Richie was implying what you thought he was… “I told you I’d never lie to you, and I’m sticking to it.” Richie didn’t smile this time. “And believe me when I say I wish Eddie had taken you right on that counter.” You were the one dry swallowing now, thoughts running a mile a second. “For you to watch?” You scoffed, trying to hide how flustered you were. Richie remained serious when he laid down again. His moves underneath you let you feel him hardened under you. “No. I’d for sure join.” You read him again, tried to find whatever proved you he was just teasing. But he wasn’t. And that left you speechless, made him smile, tapping your hips gently. “But go to bed, toots. We can talk about it any other day. When you're ready and the cat doesn’t get your tongue.”

[5typesoftrash]

SPNPrideWeek Day 2: MLM / Pride

REUPLOAD because I posted this to the wrong blog. This got a little more pride-centric than mlm-centric but I hope it still counts! (Slight content warning for the t slur) @spnprideweek

~~~~

Cas wakes up at 4:00 on the morning of June 27th, and he can’t get back to sleep. He doesn’t mind; he’ll spend the time making coffee and pancakes. He pushes himself out of the bed he shares with Dean and makes his way into the kitchen.

Sam wakes up at 4:45 for his run and Cas smiles and invites him to sit for breakfast. They eat together, their companionship warming them in the cool hours of the morning. Cas saves a plate of pancakes and three strips of bacon for Dean later.

Sam’s back from his run before Dean wakes, but once he does he goes in search of Cas immediately. He finds him calmly reading a newspaper at the kitchen table and wraps his arms around his shoulders. “Good morning,” he murmurs happily, pressing his lips into Cas’s hair.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas replies, setting down his newspaper. “Would you like breakfast?”

“Breakfast sounds great,” Dean replies, walking around to sit next to Cas. Cas watches him, messy and sloppy but still beautiful. (Still Dean Winchester.) He resists the urge to reach over with a napkin and wipe the syrup off the corner of Dean’s lips – Dean licks it away before he can. Castiel’s lips turn up in a fond smile and he leans back in his chair.

“Don’t have to be so creepy,” Dean mutters when he finishes, but his eyes twinkle with amusement. Cas laughs.

“I apologize, my love,” he says easily.

Dean shakes his head and reaches for Cas’ hand. “Come on. We have a parade to get to.”

Cas grins. “Indeed we do.” He calls for Sam, who appears a moment later.

“We leaving?”

“Yep!” Dean tells him. “Get some shoes on and let’s go.”

Sam disappears and reappears, and they head down the steps to the Impala.

Their house is beautiful; a large four-bedroom two-story with bay windows overlooking the lake. Jack and Claire live there with Dean and Cas, and Sam and Eileen stay over on occasion.

Eileen teaches sign language at a local middle school now, and Sam teaches criminal psychology at the university. Dean found a job at a dealer doing what he loves, restoring old cars and fixing up new ones, and Castiel is a photographer for a magazine.

It’s peaceful. It’s perfect. Surprisingly little has changed after the end of the world. Castiel enjoys his family and his house and his few prized possessions, including his camera.

He’s bringing the camera today.

He settles into the front seat – Sam isn’t allowed in the front anymore, not since Dean and Castiel got married. Sam likes to argue that Dean is playing favorites and Dean argues that Cas was barred from the front seat for thirteen years.

The three of them travel a few miles into town for the festival. This has become a yearly tradition for them; they meet up with Eileen, who takes Claire to pick up Kaia from Jody and Donna, at the entrance. Jack stays home, but always ends up there somehow. The rest of them get their faces painted, wave their flags around, eat cotton candy, and have an excellent time.

Today there’s a protest. A new anti-trans bill has been passed that prevents anyone under the age of 18 from having access to life-saving medical procedures, such as hormone therapy and gender affirmation surgeries. The six of them hold up the trans flags, their voices loud and angry. They chant with the crowd, yell, and sing.

A man stands off to the side with a sign reading ‘God hates trannies’. Jack walks over to him.

“Why do you have that?”

“Cause I want them to know they’re going to hell.”

“I think you’re wrong,” Jack tells him. “Why does god hate them?”

“Cause they’re freaks of nature.”

Jack tilts his head. “They’re people. People are people. Why do you hate people just on principal?”

The man opens his mouth as if to retort, then pauses. “Cause… that’s what I was taught when I was a kid.”

“What if they taught you wrong?”

The man looks subdued. “How do I fix it?”

Jack smiles. “Do you have a marker?”

The man produces a Sharpie from his jacket and holds it out. Jack takes it and changes the words on the sign.

God hates loves trannies people!

The man looks at it, then picks up his sign and joins the crowd as Jack walks back to his family. They hear him shouting “God loves trans people!”

Cas pulls Jack close to him. “I’m proud of you, Jack,” he whispers. “You have done so well.” Jack looks up at him with happiness in his eyes.

“He was hating people. I wanted him not to hate them.”

Cas kisses his hair. “I know you did, bee.”

Dean leans over. “I’m proud of you too,” he promises. “You’re such a good kid. I’m glad you picked us.”

Cas wraps his arm around Dean’s waist and Dean puts an arm across Jack’s shoulders, and the three walk back to the Impala together.

“Dean,” Cas whispers. “I love you. I love you more than the sea loves the stars. I love you more than the sand loves footprints. I love you more than anything in the world, and you need to know that.”

“I know,” Dean whispers. “I know, and I love you too.”

Two years ago, he’d never have been able to say that, but today he can and does easily. Just for that, Cas kisses him deeply once he’s done securing his five-year-old into the car.

And as they drive home, Dean’s hand rests on Cas’ thigh.

[agentwhiskeysdarlin]

Witchcraft

Pairing: Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x Reader (no y/n)

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: fluff, mentions of smutty times, make-out session, jack cracks a bad joke, a few curse words and I believe that’s it?

Word Count: 1,601 

Author’s Notes: HELLO I AM BACK!!!! After two months I have finally returned to the writing world. First getting sick and then my mental health being terrible just hasn’t been the right time but hopefully I am back at this again. Of course I had to make my come back with my favorite cowboy because it’s me. I was listening to my spooky playlist the other day and the wonderful song “Witchcraft” by Frank Sinatra came on and well this happened.  As always @clint-aww-no-barton​ is always here for my mental breakdowns and my constant frustration. Reminder if you want to be tagged in my fics please let me know! I hope you all enjoy!!

Also here is link to listen to the song if you never have! “Witchcraft” by Frank Sinatra

ao3 link for story 

    You ran your hands down your black dress for the hundredth time before using the Bronco’s side mirror to fix your makeup one last time.

  “Darlin’ could you come help me with this, you know come give me a hand,” Jack let out a laugh at his own joke motioning at the fake hand he had been struggling with. 

  You rolled your eyes but couldn't control the laugh that followed as you rounded to the driver side. You instructed Jack to turn and face you before working on pinning the hand to his suit jacket. After finally getting it in place you brushed down his arms giving him a smile. 

  “Now you are the perfect Gomez,” you reached up and softly brushed his hair with your fingers making sure all the little pieces were sleeked down in place.

  “And you darlin’ are the perfect Morticia,” Jack threw you a smirk before pulling you down for a kiss.

  You kissed him back but only quickly before pulling away and letting your finger come up to rest on his now pouty lips.

  “Can’t ruin my lipstick,” you chuckled at his sad puppy dog eyes while you whipped the little bit of red that was on his lips. 

  Jack settled his hands on your hips and pushing you back as he stood up straightening himself out better.

  “You ready to make our grand entrance?”

  “I think so,” you let out a soft breath trying not to let Jack know you were nervous but who were you kidding the man could read you like a damn book.

  “Darlin’ you know there is no reason to be so nervous. I know this is our first even together as a couple but everyone at Statesman loves you and they will be happy for us,” Jack had taken your hands in the progress of his speech.

  “I know I know,” you looked up at him with a small smile and squeezed his hands.

  “Then let’s go my love.”

  Jack straightened up tall and put his arm out for you to grasp at his bicep with your hand. You held your head high as the two of you walked into the party that was already at full swing. Everyone was dancing to the loud, fast pace music, but the second you and Jack entered the room it seemed like all heads turned to you. Tequila and Ginger were pretty much front and center, both of them wearing shit eating grins the second they saw you.

  “Here we go,” you mumbled probably too low for anyone to hear.

  “Well it took you two long enough!” Tequila’s words slurred from his lips as he patted Jack on the back.

  “It really did but I’m happy for you both. Hurt her Jack and everyone will be on your ass,” Ginger’s smiled faded to a serious one for only a second before throwing you a wink.

  “No need to worry Ginger. I don’t plan to ever let this one go,” Jack looked down at you and you smiled way too wide back up at him.

  The two of you continued your way through the crowd receiving the same reaction from literally everyone. You felt yourself relax as each person found out about the fact that Jack and yourself were finally a couple. Jack stole away to get you drinks while you continued to socialize. 

  “Darlin’ you want to go find a table?” Jack’s hand placing on your lower back was the only warning you got before his voice was in your ear.

  “That would be great,” you let out a sigh after the last person walked off.

    You made your way to a table and as you sat down the familiar notes of one of your favorite songs began to play from the speakers and you lit up. “Witchcraft” by Frank Sinatra wrapped around you. You glanced over at Jack across the room still trying to make his way over but colleague after colleagues were coming up to him trying to set their best impressions on the senior agent. You knew that with the newness of your relationship status your cowboy may not act his normal ways around his fellow Statesman agents. You let yourself get lost in the music humming to yourself and glancing around the room at all the other people dancing. You were pulled back when Jack sat your drinks down on the table and reached out a hand to you. You stared at his hand for a second before looking up at him with a smile. 

  “May I have this dance darlin’?” 

  “Of course you may,” you took his hand and followed him to the dance floor. 

  He pulled you flush to him, one arm around you and the other holding one of your hands. He started to sway, moving you in time with the song. He leaned down against your ear and began to sing. 

  'Cause it's witchcraft

Wicked witchcraft

And although I know it's strictly taboo

When you arouse the need in me

My heart says: yes, indeed in me

Proceed with what your leading me to

It's such an ancient pitch

But one that I never switch

There ain't no nicer witch than you  

  You closed your eyes and the entire world melted around you. It was just you, Jack and his voice. You were finally with him. After months of longing looks and shy advances it had finally happened and you had never been happier. You could feel the tears clouding your vision before you could stop them and you tried to blink them back. Jack pulled away as the song ended no intention of you two moving from your spot until he saw your face. Pure worry crossed his features as he pulled the two of you off the dance floor and straight out of the room so you two could hear each other more clearly.

  “Darlin’ hey what’s wrong?” Jack searched your face as he lifted it up with his fingers.

  “I’m fine, I promise. It just hit me we were finally together and yeah it got to me,” you laughed at yourself as you motioned at your face and rolling your eyes. 

  “Oh my sweet girl. I am so happy we are finally together,” his hand reached up to cup your face and pull your lips to his.

  It didn’t take long for you to kiss him back, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him even closer. Jack let out the softest growl and backed you up against the closest wall. 

  “Hey… whoa sorry!” Tequila interrupted and you and Jack jumped slightly pulling apart.

  “Yes Tequila?” Jack asked almost a little irritated but smirking down at you all the same.

  “They’re doing a costume contest and you guys are in the running so you might want to get back in there.”

  “We will be right there,” you giggled even though your face was fully red with embarrassment.

  “Shall we pick this up later?” Jack asked with one last peck to your lips.

  “Absolutely cowboy,” you smirked.

  Jack went to walk away and you pulled him back and reached up to wipe off the lipstick that had been smeared across his lips before pulling a mirror out and fixing your own quickly. Jack watched you before the two of you walked hand in hand back into the room. The music and dancing had stopped and Champ had taken the stage, one person and another couple stood next to him.

  “Alright and our winner of the costume contest is…our very own Gomez and Morticia! Jack you two get on up here!” Champ motioned for the two of you to join as the crowd applauded and cheered.

  You followed Jack, hand in hand on stage and then the man turned on the works. He started walking around acting like Gomez Adams, kissing your arm and you couldn't help the laugh that escaped from you no matter how hard you tried to channel your own character. The crowd laughed before Jack finally kissed your cheek and took the mic from Champ.

  “Thank ya’ll for the win everyone,” Jack threw a hand up in a wave before grabbing your hand and raising it in the air with his in victory.

  You two walked off stage, Jack collecting your small prize for the win before pulling you toward the door as quickly as possible. A few people stopping you to congratulate you as you were on your way out and Jack was ever so the gentleman. You finally reached the door and he pulled you out and to the Bronco. 

  “Darlin’ would you do me the honor in spending the night tonight?”

  “Wait really?” You looked over at him to be sure he was serious.

  The look on Jack’s face alone told you he was serious and it made a deep desire bubble up in the pit of your stomach mixed with nerves.

  “Jack I would love to,” you smiled at him shyly.

  When you reached the Bronco Jack opened the door for you but before you were allowed to get in his turned you around and let his lips connect with yours again. He finally let you go and you climbed in, Jack soon following. The two of you started down the road and Jack reached for you resting a hand on your thigh. You laid your head back and looked over at him as he drove. You had no idea the spell he had on you but you didn’t mind, you were willing to be under it for the rest of your life. 

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[musicainextenso]

Stravinsky (1882-1971)'s L'Histoire du Soldat, or A Soldier's Tale was born of economic constraints and marketability in the very uncertain final year of the Great War. Originally conceived of as a touring theater piece for a shoestring budget, A Soldier's Tale could easily travel and be produced as its slim pit orchestra required only seven musicians, and its onstage performers numbered three narrators, a dancer, and two actors.   The content of the story was crafted with savvy as well, offering a well-worn favorite tale of Faust but told through the exotic lens of Russian folklore, “The Runaway Soldier and the Devil”. The story also sets the soldier, a zeitgeist hero of 1917, as the main protagonist.  Furthermore, the deliberate separation of narrative text from musical numbers meant that translations for tours could be easily and quickly written, and that the musical numbers could also be played separately as a purely instrumental suite.  In short, it was a genius theatrical concept conceived for success during extremely volatile times.   Indeed, the first performance of the work in Lausanne was very well-received.  Despite the very difficult circumstances, A Soldier's Tale was well on its way to greater success, with subsequent performances in Switzerland programmed.  And then, a coup de grace stopped cultural life dead in its tracks: the 1918 flu pandemic.  In an effort to contain the menacing virus, the Swiss government shut down all performance venues for the year.  An eerily familiar fate, which is repeating itself a century later… A Soldier's Tale is also remarkable for another, more personal feature: woven within its musical DNA are the crossroads of the composer's earlier folk nationalist and future neoclassic periods, against the backdrop of then-current pop cultural trends. The listener can simultaneously identify the Russian nationalist compositional techniques and ethno musicological influences as found in earlier works such as Stravinsky's Rite of Spring (1913) and Petrouchka (1911), while detecting forebodings of his neoclassic style which would inspire other theater pieces to come such as Pulcinella (1920) and Apollon Musagète(1927-8). Occasional American riffs taken from the popular music of the time, including a US ragtime and an Argentinian Tango, vacillate between nonchalance, seduction, and the grotesque. In this trio adaptation reworked by Stravinsky himself, the story of the soldier's trials through damnation is condensed into five selected movements: 

I. Marche du Soldat, depicting the Soldier's leitmotif as he marches through life II. Le violon du Soldat where the Soldier plays his prized violin by a stream in the woods III. Petit Concert, describing the Soldier recuperating his violin from the Devil after a thrown card game and playing triumphantly upon it IV. Tango - Valse - Rag, the dances the Soldier plays to a bed-ridden princess, successfully rousing her from her illness and thus winning her hand V. Danse du Diable, the Devil's ultimate victory dance as he reclaims the Soldier's soul.

The fable's moral, as recited in the original full-length version by the narrator during the final Lutheran-inspired chorale, is this: “You must not seek to add to what you have, what you once had; you have no right to share what you are with what you were. No one can have it all, that is forbidden. You must learn to choose between.”

(source: ligetifestival.ro)

Melinda Béres - violin 

Aurelian Băcan - clarinet 

Eva Butean - piano

Enjoy! - Editor-in-Chief

[scotianostra]

The second of our murder stories today......

On February 10th 1306, John Comyn, a leading claimant to the vacant Scottish throne, was murdered by his arch-rival, Robert the Bruce, whilst in a Dumfries church.

Forget Braveheart, far from betraying William Wallace, the Bruce was inspired by him and, after the battle of Stirling Bridge he realised that Edward’s army could be defeated and Scotland eventually freed from English domination, but how best to go about this?

Setting Scotland free  could not be achieved without an established leader and this would have to be sorted out quickly.

  There were really only two men who could step up and become King, John Balliol had been out of the picture for too long and by this time would have been about 60 years old, Scotland needed a younger, more ambitious monarch, only two men were ready, and able to step up, Robert the Bruce himself or his arch enemy John “The Red” Comyn.

  The two men were always at each other’s throats and distrusted each other completely.

The Bruce suggested that they could both meet in a church and discuss who should be the next king. With their supporters outside, the meeting took place by the high altar of Greyfriars Monastery, Dumfries. Nobody knows exactly what happened, but history tells us that Robert the Bruce murdered the Red Comyn in Greyfriars Monastery Blackfriars that day.

I like to dip into the old newspapers of the day, whatever the post, be it modern or like this ancient, and just like today they had their own agendas and bias, this was a typical English account

  Robert de Brus, aspiring to the kingdom of Scotland, sacrilegiously killed the noble man John Comyn at Dumfries (where the justiciar of the king of England was then sitting in the castle) in the church of the Friars Minor, because [Comyn] would not consent to his treasonable action. Robert de Brus junior, earl of Carrick, grievously killed John Comyn, the greatest man in the whole nation of Scotland after the king, because the same John refused to consent to the treason of the same Robert and of the Scots against the king of England There are also some fuller narratives that give details about what had been going on, or at least their version of the events.

  The first comes from a section of the Flores Historiarum written shortly after 1306 at Westminster Abbey – which of course was closely associated with Edward I.  

In it, The Bruce meets with various Scottish nobles, ‘first secretly and then openly’; he tells them that, as they know, his father was not made king because of Edward I’s trickery, but now, if theycrown him, he will wage their war and liberate Scotland. Many perjurethemselves and agree. But when he asks the noble and powerful John Comyn for support, Comyn ‘firmly replied no’ – ‘so he slaughtered him’ in the Franciscan church at Dumfries.

This narrative was expanded in the fuller ‘Merton’ version of the Flores, possibly written for Edward II’s coronation in 1307. In this fuller account Comyn is given an eloquent speech saying the king of England has subjugated Scotland four times, and all Scots, knights and clergy, have therefore sworn fealty and homage to him for both the present and the future; so ‘let me take no part in this – truly, I shall never give assent in this matter, lest I am forsworn’. They argue at length, until Bruce draws  sword and strikes the unarmed Comyn on the head; but the extremely strong Comyn tries to seize the sword from his assailant’s hands, and throws him down. However, the traitor’s attendants, rushing up to free their lord, stab Comyn with their swords. Comyn escapes to the altar; but‘Robert followed … and the impious and cruel man sacrificed his holy victim’. It is the most dramatic of all the accounts of the killing.

There are a number of other English versions of the murder, some written a decade or so later, they all believe that Robert Bruce was planning to become king well before Comyn’s death, which, though plausible is obviously based on hindsight.

  One thing that the English chroniclers all agree on is Comyn’s insistence on upholding his homage and fealty to the English king, basically he was happy to be ruled by an English king.  I have to say though, not just the English agreed with this, but it was only natural that the concept of the ultra-loyal, ultra-honourable Comyn was a vital piece of English propaganda against Robert I. Moreover, it would have been vehemently promoted by the rest of the Comyn kin, since the killing at Dumfries had transformed its members from leading upholders of the Scottish cause into dependent allies of Edward I who looked for his support in the bloodfeud with Robert I.

Okay enough of the English versions, let's look at what the Scots were saying and firstly we have The Scotichronicon (what a great name eh?)  by chronicler John Bower who was a canon and abbot at Inchcolm Abbey on the Firth of Forth, a great place to visit by the way!.

  In The Scotichronicon Comyn  is consistently and famously portrayed as agreeing to help Robert Bruce become king in return for Robert’s lands, and then betraying this agreement to Edward I, remember I said about this in my post a few days ago about Bruce taking Dumfries. Well reflecting on this, Bower depicts Comyn as overcome by ‘the spirit of iniquity’; in other words he is an agent of the Devil. It is a theme in these chronicles, on both sides of the border, indeed in Europe as a whole to make statements like this, or comparing men to biblical figures, remember these stories were all written by deeply religious figures.  The Comyns are shown to having a strong aversion towards William Wallace, for instance deserting him at Falkirk out of jealousy and ‘clear wickedness’.

  Gesta Annalia, an important medieval chronicle detailing our history also points to the famous crown-for-land offer between Comyn and Bruce going on to say  Comyn destroys this unity by betraying the agreement to Edward I, and that is why Bruce kills him. I have to say that this is the main gist of the story that I have understood to be true.

  Gesta's accounts again head in the religious directions saying that God makes his greatest intervention in Scotland’s wars etc, etc. He says Bruce decided to put the public good before his own private interests and therefore approached Comyn humbly with the offer and he is clearly acting under divine influence.  How does Bruce respond to God’s call? Only goes and murders Comyn in a church causing him to be excommunicated by the Pope!

  Of course the most partisan version that we have of what happened is from John Barbour, author of The Brus. In this it agrees with Gesta, and other Scottish Chronclers the Comyn had proposed the deal and offered to support Bruce's claim for the crown in return for all of Bruce's existing lands and titles.

None of the religious nonsense for Barbour, this version is much more secular, and when it comes to the actual killing, Barbour’s account is succinct and brutal;

Sa fell it in the samyn tid That at Dumfres rycht thar besid Schir Jhone the Cumyn sojornyng maid. The Brus lap on and thidder raid And thocht foroutyn mar letting 30 For to quyt hym his discovering. Thidder he raid but langer let And with Schyr Jhone the Cumyn met In the Freris at the hye awter, And schawyt him with lauchand cher 35 The endentur, syne with a knyff Rycht in that sted hym reft the lyff. Schyr Edmund Cumyn als wes slayn And othir mony off mekill mayn. Nocht-for-thi yeit sum men sayis 40 At that debat fell other-wayis, Bot quhat-sa-evyr maid the debate Thar-throuch he deyt weill I wat. He mysdyd thar gretly but wer That gave na gyrth to the awter,

To sum things up the best explanation the English sources can offer for the intention to kill his rival is Bruce's innate wickedness, which is an understandable attitude for them to take in the circumstances but not especially convincing. Gesta, Fordun and of course Barbour are going to be more sympathetic to King Robert. All make the explicit claim that a written agreement existed between the two that Comyn had broken.

To go back to Barbour’s poem, in it he exonerated Bruce's sacrilegious murder  as the just slaughter of a traitor. But this is no mere whitewash. The grave suffering which Bruce endures after his inauguration as king in 1306 represent a series of chivalrous and moral adventures in which Bruce proves himself worthy of his prize, but the murder, and it’s ramifications, that he was excommunicated, played greatly on his mind. You only have to look at the last hours of his life when he asked Sir James Douglas to carry his heart on a crusade, one which he was never himself able to take during his life due to the days events of February 10th 1310 in Dumfries.  

You can read the full epic poem The Brus here  https://www.gutenberg.org/files/44292/44292-h/44292-h.htm

[thetypedwriter]

The Captive Prince Trilogy

The Captive Prince Trilogy Book Review by C.S. Pacat 

Now, one of my absolute favorite things to do is to re-read. 

Many people find this strange. 

How do you enjoy a book you’ve already read? They say. You already know what happens, isn’t it boring?

In short, the very simple, very concise answer is: no. 

I adore re-reading my favorite books for several reasons. 

One, it’s comfortable. I love slipping back into a world flush full of characters I cherish. It’s like slipping back into a warm bed on a cold morning. Re-reading the Harry Potter series for me, for example, is the same sort of reasoning people watch Friends over and over again or whatever amenable show of their choice. 

It’s easy, it's familiar, and it’s beloved. 

Second, often with re-reads you are able to pick up on things that you missed the first time you read through, or even the second. There is symbolism, foreshadowing, and minute details that become glaringly obvious in retrospect and whenever I discover one of these tidbits I become overwhelmingly jubilant. 

Third, sometimes nothing else sounds good. If I’m having a book lull and nothing seems to catch my attention, I know I can return to a treasured novel or series and that it’ll satiate whatever reading needs I have at the time. 

This happened to me very recently. As my to-read pile dwindled down to books given to me by others that I held trivial interest in, I resorted to re-reading a book series that I love to death: All for the Game trilogy. You can find my review of this series here. 

More commonly known as the first book in the series, The Foxhole Court, these books have continually given me merriment and joy every time I’ve read them, including this time. I read all three novels in about four days and I enjoyed every single second of it, even though this is the third time I’ve read the series start to finish. 

After finishing The King’s Men, I was once again bereft of reading material and woefully bored. Hence, as any normal person does, I resorted to fanfiction and to looking up books that people found were similar to The Foxhole Court. 

To my surprise, on every list was a trilogy I had never heard of called The Captive Prince. Scoffing in skepticism-how could something even compare to my beloved foxes? I decided with circumspect that I would “try” out this series. 

I was very much right. The Captive Prince trilogy almost had nothing in common with Nora Sakavics’s The Foxhole Court other than the hate-to-love trope (but it’s not like Nora invented that by any means) and slow-burn romance. 

That being said, I very much enjoyed the series. 

The trilogy was first self-published by author C.S. Pacat in 2013, the same year that Nora Sakavic self-published The Foxhole Court. What a good year for literature. In all candor, the authors and their backgrounds seem to have more in common then their series do. 

The Captive Prince revolves around Damen, the true and rightful heir to the throne of Akielos, being sold as a slave to the prince of Vere, Laurent, by his own brother who has usurped the throne after the untimely death of their father. 

Thus unfolds a truly complex and intriguing series involving intricate world-building, political machinations, Damen’s lofty goal of trying to go back home and take his rightful place on the throne, Laurent’s ongoing war with his uncle, the current Regent of Vere until Laurent comes of age, and some truly surprising twists and turns. 

This trilogy took me blissfully by surprise. 

Is this trilogy a romance? Yes, it is. Very slow burn and with the aforementioned enemies-to friends-to lovers trope that we’re all enamored with (don’t even pretend otherwise). I saw the synopsis, caught wind of the word “slave” and almost gave in and tossed this book away permanently. 

I don’t like relationships with unbalanced hierarchies of power. In truth, it makes me uncomfortable because I truly think the relationship can’t be mutual, equal, or consensual when one person in the relationship inherently has more influence and control over the other. 

I thought Captive Prince was going to be another smutty, cheesy, poorly written rendition of a “slave” being given to a prince and low and behold, they fall in love anyway despite the numerous and lengthy immoral implications within that framework. 

Much to my surprise, the Captive Prince took its own turn. 

Number one, while Damen is sold as a slave to Laurent, there is nothing explicitly sexual in nature that occurs between them (much) until further later on in the series. This is mostly because of Laurent himself, who loathes Damen for reasons that I won’t get into. 

The society they live in, however, does not have the same chaste control that the Prince of Vere does, but instead of coming across as lascivious and self-serving, the gratuitous display of sex and sex slaves in the novel actually serves more of a commentary of being toxic and something that Laurent wants to change once he is properly king. I appreciated this commentary. 

Secondly, Damen and Laurent’s relationship was genuinely good to me. Often with books of this romantic and superfluous nature, the relationship seems fake, forced, or like I said before, inherently unbalanced and therefore coerced. 

However, Pacat does a very good job of insisting that while Damen is technically Laurent’s slave in status, he is never actually Laurent’s slave in action, belief, or treatment. It was very refreshing to see how much power Damen amassed, even with his slave status, and the control he was able to wield and hone. 

Laurent and Damen also authentically compliment each other. Where Laurent is cold and calculating, Damen is warm and trusting. Where one is manipulative with mind games another is strategic on the battlefield. They meshed well together. A fact that Pacat showed time and time again. They made each other better. And in the end, they both realized this as well. 

Thirdly, this series was truly well written and didn’t focus solely on the romance. For a trilogy found under the romance section at Barnes & Noble, I was chagrined to find that for the most part, politics, war, scheming, and an overall plot heavy series dominated most of the pages. 

While Laurent and Damen’s relationship does have focus, it wasn’t the only focus, and if anything, their relationship played well and clearly into the events that were going on around them. 

That being said, similar to The Foxhole Court, please be warned that there are triggering aspects of this book. Namely rape, slavery, prostitution, drugs, violence, torture, etc. If this is something that is concerning to you, please research the warnings and risks attributed to this novel before diving head first. 

Lastly, people, the sheer vocabulary of this series was astonishing. I had to look up so many words that I didn’t know. Instead of being annoying, I loved this. I love learning new words. 

However, reading YA most of the time does not stretch my vocabulary limits. This book certainly did and I wholeheartedly appreciated it. Some words included: chamois, dishabille, chicanery, sobriquet, nascent and damascened. I will be very impressed if you know all these words without having to google them like I did. 

I know I should have probably written separate reviews for all three books in the trilogy, but because I read them one after another and in such a short amount of time, the whole series kind of blended together for me in one gargantuan novel. 

I can’t say that I hated that. Lengthy books are an absolute prize when you’re enjoying them. In addition, Pacat released short stories with differing material, one is an epilogue type of deal and most of the others show insights into side characters from throughout the series. They’re all very fun to read if you needed something more like I did once I was finished. 

Recommendation: The trilogy as a whole was really fun and surprisingly well-written. Damen, Laurent and other characters were continuously fleshed out and the writing itself was nuanced, symbolic, and just fun to read. The world-building, while not the most incredibly original thing that’s ever surfaced, was still gripping and entertaining. 

It was almost like a fantasy take on Ancient Rome or Greece, which is very much up my alley anyway. The romance wasn’t cheesy, but was instead fluid, dynamic, and situated well within the plot as a whole. It wasn’t the Foxhole Court, but that’s okay, because what can be? Better off to be something new and distinct than trying to copy something or someone else. 

As Oscar Wilde once said, “Be yourself, everyone else is already taken.”

Indeed, Mr. Wilde. 

Score: 8/10