#those things are just shiny premature deaths

[laurelwinchester]

hot take but maybe overprotective carla left laid back/adrenaline junkie/it's better to ask for forgiveness than ask for permission beau because he thinks it's appropriate and reasonable to give a sixteen year old child a motorcycle

[honysuckl]

Blood in the Water | Leila & Honey

PARTNER : @amonstrousdream TIMING : Current. LOCATION : Darkling Lake. SUMMARY : Inspired by the crabs, Honey pretends to also be turned obsidian. Surprisingly, Leila offers to help. WARNINGS : Self harm (sort of)

Did Honey expect this to work? Not as much as she needed. Her expectations were tempered by piling failures—those jollies around town never amounted to the siren call she needed. Of course, this would all add up. Make itself into a cacophony of oddities when paired with the town’s usual quirks—one too brazen for her family to ignore. That was the hope, at least. But the reality was this was fun. This was funny! She laughed in preparation, though she had certainly done just that. Alongside her were a bucket of paint, ready hands, and a dream. Those crabs had caused a buzz with their obsidian attire. Imagine if something more human-like followed that fashion trend. Cause running fits of terror before the cracks ‘claimed’ them too. Ha! She looked to one such openings beside her. A darkness so blank it invited her to imagine whatever she liked, perhaps even those funny little crabs. But it also invited her inside—hungry and waiting. A simple step would have it closing back up again around her, devoured once more. She scratched at her arm until her own darkness shone: streaks of dripping ebony. Oh, how lucky. Her transformation had already begun.

Honey added more streaks of darkness to herself, though without the need for further injury. Her hands instead scooped out handfuls of the paint—so thick it refused to lay flat on her skin. A perfect texture. She had covered most of her legs when she heard it. That familiar crunching of a human, or something close enough. No no no! Too soon! Weren’t all the tourists supposed to be crowding the beaches of the lake? Get out of the forest, you bawbag! Disappointment of the prank’s premature death was soon replaced with irritation upon recognition. Oh no. It was her. The last she had seen the woman had been that dreadful night. She had hoped it would have been the last. But with Metzli’s insistence, she knew it was only a matter of time. How funny that it was Fate itself who taunted her first with the woman’s presence. Honey let out a growl. “Rach air falbh! Piss aff!” 

When her mind got to be too noisy of a place, Leila had always found her refuge somewhere away from people. She hadn’t really had much of a chance to go out on her own since she’d settled in Wicked’s Rest. There was the shop and her customers that busied her days, and then the friends that had slowly made their presence apparent in her life. Metzli. Ariadne. Cassius… Hell, even Teddy when they found their way into the Party Thrifter’s walls. But for as many things she had to be happy about, it felt as if she had three times as many to be upset about. First, there was the matter with the little dreamer with the dreams darker than midnight who she was determined to at least try to help. And then, there was Honey. Honey, Metzli’s best friend in the world. Honey, who Leila was fairly certain, absolutely loathed her. 

She had been trudging her way through the forest in hopes of ridding herself of some of her worries. The trees would give her comfort. But as her footsteps crunched through rocks and leaves in the April air, she had to do a double take. At first, all she saw was a woman covered in dark, thick liquid- like the blackest paint she’d ever seen, like blood, like Metzli’s blood. She was smeared with darkness that glinted like the goddamned crabs that had decided to live in the alley outside the back of her shop when they could no longer enter the shop itself. And then, the figure spoke, and Leila’s stomach dropped. It was Honey. She really did have the worst luck imaginable… Usually, she would apologize. Scurry off down the path from wence she came. But the bizarre scene that was set out in front of her kept her glued to the spot, mouth agape. 

“Why do you look like the shiny crabs?”

The sun was not as accepting as the moon. Where its acceptance ran short was met with a swift end. Honey had been relying on that prejudice to keep that woman away. But no! Of course Leila would be the sort of vampire to snatch herself up a protection charm. Letting herself prance around wherever she liked, with whoever she liked. Ugh. Honey’s disappointment was quickly replaced with determination. Her eyes made quick to search for the charm. None of the various trinkets strewn about Leila stood out. But those made the best charms, didn’t they? The pendant around Leila’s neck looked especially promising in its mediocrity. It also looked very rippable. She should take it and give it to Metzli. It would certainly serve them much better.

But how quick Honey’s mind forgot, the lure of that plot distracting her from the first. The question was a quick reminder. Yes! Like the crabs! Exactly! Pride of the trick working did cause a smile. A second of amusement before she remembered the source, the present company. Her scowl returned to her face, as the paint returned to her hand. She sent that handful straight to Leila. “Acause I wanna look like the shiny crabs.” Her hand went scooping for more ammunition. “Now piss aff afore I shove this one right down yer damnt throat!” Certainly a waste of the materials—there was still so much of herself to cover! Not that her anger made her considerate.

If there had been any doubt in Leila’s mind that Honey greatly disliked her, the scowl on the woman’s face made it incredibly evident. The mare was a blight, not only on whatever it was that Honey was doing, but on the whole of Wicked’s Rest- or at least the places that Honey frequented. Leila had never wished for darkness so much. The dark was her greatest ally and had been her sole companion for centuries. In the shadow of night, the mare could dissolve into nothingness. She could become nothing in the real world, reflecting what she had felt inside for years. But in the light of day, she was trapped in place. It refracted off her already shimmery skin, made her too visible, and kept her trapped in the waking world. 

A fistful of black paint was hurled in her direction. Leila tried to skitter backwards to avoid the spray, but was too slow. Paint splattered across her shirt, her face, her hair… She was sure, in Honey’s mind, she deserved it. The mare tried not to let her appearance perturb her too much… though, it had been a favorite shirt. If Honey wanted to hate her, fine. She would go…

 She was about to turn on her heels when she started looking at the paint with a bit of a sharper eye. It wasn’t shiny enough. Honey could threaten her all she wanted, but Leila wasn’t about to let a project be done wrong. Without really thinking, she marched over to the paint bucket, pulled out the knife Metzli had given to her, and dragged it across her palm. She held her fist over the bucket and watched as glittering dust fell like miniscule stars into the bucket. It wasn’t like it would kill her to lose it. And at least now Honey couldn’t say that the mare had never tried to be nice… “It’ll be shinier now. More crabby.” Leila said before pulling her hand back to her chest and turning to go. 

When that knife revealed itself, Honey laughed at the ill-placed mettle. “Oh aye, fancy a doin’?" How funny! Perhaps she would have respected the display if it had anything backing it up. Metzli had already revealed the woman’s lack of fighting prowess, so this too would lack the usual thrill. But she wasn’t one to turn down gifts so flippantly. Yes! A fight! Well, for as long as Leila could manage. Honey replaced the paint in her hand for her blade, one that was eager to taste Leila’s blood. But it seemed the only one tasting would be Leila’s own blade. Not an unsurprising action, for Honey herself had done the very same in the past. It amused her greatly to see people’s reactions. She would offer no such repulsion to the display, but the blood itself did make her pause. It lacked the familiar dark ichor that ran through her own veins. That expected night sky was instead just its stars. Glossy. Glimmering. Oh Metzli, that liar! This was not one of bloody nights, but one of dark dreams.

Honey watched the blood join the paint. Those dripped stars relented to the darkness of her concoction, but in stubbornness kept their shine. In doing so, the mixture became an ebony that turned to white at just the right angle. Indeed, it did look… a touch more like obsidian. Honey grumbled. She was too annoyed to feel grateful. Though, she was grateful for the idea it sparked. Leila was keen to help, aye? Let’s see how much energy that assistance of hers had. “Can ye scream? Like the chicken who kens the cookin’ pot. I need eyes on me.” 

She wanted to keep walking. God, did she want to keep walking. Leila knew the woman did not enjoy her presence, and while her name was sweetness, Honey had more sting than a swarm of bees. She’s done her one nice act, she could disappear now like Honey had wanted her to. And yet. Leila wanted to know what this woman was up to. If Honey was going to sit there and paint herself obsidian like one of the crabs, there had to be more going on. And so, rather than continue down the path from whence she came, Leila stopped and turned at the tree line.

Could she scream? She wanted to laugh at the question. She had spent years screaming in pure terror from the dreams gifted to her by some other mare. Those years were followed by nearly two hundred years of making people scream. She hated it, but she was good at it. “I can scream…” Leila replied, hesitation mingled with pure curiosity ripe in her voice. “I can scream so that half the town comes running and all eyes are on you… I can scream and make them think I’m terrified.” The question that followed seemed foolish, but the mare asked it anyway. “Are you asking my help…?” And if so, she added mentally, why?

Honey watched the treeline begin to slowly claim Leila. For one so desperate for presence, this was one departure she did not mind. In fact, it was wanted, despite her questioning. Her plan would be fulfilled regardless. She was well versed in how to get people to scream in all the ways that mattered. Fear, of course, was the second easiest. Still, there was a curious tilt to her head when Leila bit upon the bait. With the passion of a self destructive fish, too! How unexpected. Honey would have been more charmed if not for the bile in her throat. But she could still have her fun. Her lips twitched with amusement.  “Oho, aye?” That twitch turned to laugh. “Piss yer trousers, too, eh? Would really sell it.” A joke that thought itself a dare. Another test for how far that generosity would last her. 

Honey’s fingers played with that concoction beside her. Blood and paint truly became one, turned into a swirling galaxy by the will of her hand. She placed a touch on her arm, for there were far more pressing tests to be had. It settled like all the other smears before it, but with a desperation to shine. A desperation only matched by its yearning for attention. Perfect. Her own was stolen by the question whose answer was as obvious as the glint on her arm. “Naw. Am doin’ one a’ ‘em polls. ‘People a’ the Wicked who can survive the wolf attacks!’” She let the farce ring in the air for a beat before she rolled her eyes. She returned to her chuckling. “Aye. Am askin’ for help.” Then she returned to rehoming the mixture upon her skin.

The woman bit back a huff and a roll of her eyes. Perhaps she’d come off a bit too strong with the whole screaming thing. But Leila was confused and frustrated to say the least. What did Honey want from her? From the first interaction, she was convinced that Honey simply wanted nothing to do with her. First the button fiasco, then the painting evening, now this… Wait… no, she was actually chuckling. Was Honey actually amused with her? Had that been a joke? Her mind was trying to catch up and reprocess whatever the hell this strange encounter was as words kept tumbling out of her mouth. “Don’t think I can do that on cue, but if you’ve got a water bottle, a stain’s a stain.” 

The paint really did look like the shiny crab shells now. Perhaps, she thought as Honey smeared the paint mixture across her arm, it was the one good thing her dusty old blood was capable of. Creating things to scare people. But this time, it wasn’t her doing the scaring- not really… and if helping somehow brought Leila into slightly better graces with the one person Metzli cared about most in the world… well… “Alright, then. What is it that you’d like me to do, exactly, save the screaming and potential soiling of my pants for your own amusement and the selling of my fear?”

So the mares can piss. Good to know. Did that make dreams a type of liquid? A wondering for another time, for the present called for a different kind of fluid. “Nooo. No water on me. Well, no yet. Soon be aplenty swishin’ ‘n swashin’ all ‘round me.” Good performances needed a grand finale! Especially if any hoped to be at least a whisper in this sort of town. Many made quick to remove any off the lips, replacing them with supposed ‘facts’ and ‘normalcy’. Oh, the werewolf downtown? Yeah that twere just a big doggie! Or a really dedicated cosplayer! So many truths nowadays were kicked under the rug known as ‘cosplayer’. Honey’s little jolly would instantly be discarded just the same, deemed as paint on the skin. Which was fair, for it was the truth this time! But what if the woman screaming of obsidian jumped into the waters… only to never return? Of course those who liked to hush would find their explanatory normalcy. But it would far less easy. 

What is it that you’d like me to do. Oh, they both knew the answer to that, didn’t they. Honey gave Leila a knowing look, one that spoke for her. I want you to leave. Not the situation specifically, but the entire town. No, the entire state! But she knew any encouraging action for that want had its consequences. Metzli’s fondness was both Leila’s curse and blessing. “Is all I need. Got all else all good ‘n ready right here. Once am done, gonny go screamin’ on down yon hill.” Her head motioned towards its direction. “Will keep runnin’ on past all the duckies playin’ in that big ol’ pond. You be there to help give their eyes ‘n ears guidance. Then- splash! Poof! Am gone into the waters. Foooreeeever. Well. ‘Til the moon pops up.” In the time it took to explain her plan, she had finished covering her arm. That left the other as her only bare limb left. So close. “And you, eh. Whatever. Leave? Swim? Leave? Dinny care. Is a nice day for all sorts.” Which made it so perfect. So many waiting eyes. 

Leila didn’t need Honey to speak for her to know the answer to what to do. She was starting to get the feeling that the woman would love nothing more than for Leila to be swallowed up by the earth never to be seen again, or be sent running to another continent, or simply stop existing all together. As long as she was there, she posed a threat to Honey and her relationship with Metzli… She had never wanted to hurt anyone. Not in a million years. But her existence was constantly hurting someone, now- dreaming and awake. She swallowed down the lump in her throat threatening to make useless tears start. No use. 

The mare watched as her blood mixed with the black paint slowly covered Honey’s body, transforming her into a dark and shimmering thing. If it had been Leila sat there covered in paint and blood, she would have been no more intimidating than a puppy or a wet cat. But Honey… Honey was already a force of a person, but with her crab-like disguise, she was down right fear-inspiring. To be on her bad side was already scary enough. By some miracle, Honey only asked her run. Scream and run. And, obviously, make enough of a show that people came running to look at the goop covered creature that would dive into the lake. 

Leila had no idea why Honey was so determined to scare people into thinking she was a crab, and if she was being frank, she didn’t care. Two favors for a woman who would much rather the mare simply disappear from Wicked’s Rest altogether.

There was emphasis on the word leave. She didn’t believe for a moment that Honey didn’t care if she came back or not. The fact that she had suggested it twice spoke volumes enough. Run and make a scene and then get out of here. “Fine… I can do that.” Leila ripped at the fabric of her shirt with a cringe- thank god it was just a shitty t shirt- and tied it around her hand. She didn’t need people asking questions about why she was leaking glitter instead of blood. “I’ll make a scene and get out of your hair. Whenever you’re ready.”

Honey wasn’t blind. She was well aware the effects her antics had on Leila, and wanted to see every last drop of that delicious irritation. While she wasn’t one to play with her food, it was instances like these she made an exception. Like a cat with a ball, she just couldn’t help herself! But when the irritation turned to sadness, when she could see those tears wanting to show, her joy turned unsettled. Always swayed by the emotions of those around her, that look made quick with Honey. Sadness and quilt and mixture of confusing feelings. As dark as the paint on her skin, yet it had her face softening. Before those feelings could fully have their way with her, to turn her face and heart to mush, she forced her attention solely on that paint. There was no point in amusing those thoughts. If she wanted to be successful, to scare that wee thing away, she needed to be comfortable with a few tears. Yes. With a huff, her expression settled back to ambiguity.

With Honey’s full attention, her second arm was quickly consumed by the paint. That made all limbs accounted for. Now it was time for the icing on the cake! Some paint was slapped onto her neck, with a few bleeding out onto her chin. As if the obsidian slowly consumed her, with her head as her only salvation. But for how much longer? Aye! That’s the question she wanted to leave in all the bystanders’ heads. With the paint added, all that was left was to let it dry. Like a fledgling still learning to fly, her arms flapped with abandon. Maybe if she kept it up, she really could have flown. Though, it wasn’t her turn to go running just yet. She looked pointedly at Leila. “Well. Go on, lass. Wait for me by the waters. Trust ye ken when is time for the screamin’s.”

It really was the most bizarre sight the mare had ever seen. 

A grown woman, potentially just as old if not older than herself, smeared with black paint and sparkles, flapping her arms like a chicken whose feathers had been significantly ruffled and was trying to take flight. What only made it worse was the fact that Leila knew the barbed words that the other undead woman had a knack for. It took all of her strength to keep a bewildered giggle from burbling up and escaping her before she could stop it. That was the absolute last thing Leila needed. If she laughed, she was quite certain that she wouldn’t have to worry about Honey and Metzli anymore, because if Leila laughed, she might become a pile of glittering dust twirling about in the afternoon breeze. 

Eyes as sharp as daggers turned back on her, and the mare felt herself standing a little straighter. As if she were toeing some invisible line that Honey had set into place. She let go of a little sigh and turned on her heels, marching back down towards the water. At least she was sure that Metzli’s friend was getting a great big kick out of ordering her around… or maybe she would just enjoy the part where Leila was running away and screaming. Either way, she would put on a show to help Honey. If not for herself, then for Metzli’s sake. 

Back to the trees Leila went, this time fully claiming her. Good riddance, to her and the mess of feelings she wrought. In the absence of voices, Honey’s ears returned to the whistling winds. This company too offered its help, and soon those winds had the paint dry. With the paint secured, it was her limbs’ turn to settle. Settle into motionless, as if carved from true obsidian. She forced them at an angle, stiff and stubborn, with only the hips offering any sort of momentum. A carving come to life. Oh, but one more finishing touch: the touch of privacy! She threw on a pair of glasses—her one last act of fluidity. Then, she ran. Sort of. Her self-inflicted rigor did not allow much aptitude. Oh, but her voice was free to do as it pleased. Her screams silenced any of the surrounding critters, leaving only her shrieked panic. 

“The obsidian! The obsidian got me!” Honey cried, paired with blubbering nonsense. It all rushed out of her mouth in a great mess, the same as her body down the hill. Down to where the trees parted upon her first sets of panicked eyes. Only the eyes followed as she continued, for fear turned their own bodies to rigor. If only they had learned to move against it the same as her. Though her arms were stuck in an eternal bent and her legs refused to bend at the knee, her hips were quick. She moved as fast as the shifting glint on her skin. The crowd gasped and cried with each of her step. She could have laughed, but she disguised it as yet another scream of incoherency. Screaming and stumbling and shining, she finally found herself upon a ledge. It was here that the crowd remembered they could move. Oh, but it was far too late for that! “Obsidian!” The paint shimmered one last time, bidding the audience adieu, before a well-placed trip sent her into the waters. Never to return. 

The woods swallowed her whole once more as Leila trudged back down the leaf strewn path. The sweet earthy scent of spring was kicked up with every step she took, willing herself further and further away from an incredibly complicated situation. For a moment, there was painfully familiar solitude. The trees, tall sentinels staring down at her while the birds that called their boughs home fell silent as she crossed their path. Alone. She had been alone so often, and yet she had never stopped to consider how much it bothered her. If Honey had her way, Leila would be out of town by evening, never to bother her or Metzli again. But… Leila swore she felt the trees pull in closer. Alone again. No, no, not again…

The mare stumbled forward along the path and started to run. Right into the presence of people. Ordinary, normal people. The scream that left her mouth was something ancient. Fear. Real and true fear. But it wasn’t the false fear of the Glimmering Obsidian Honey monster that burst through the brush moments later, shrieking before she stumbled into the depths of the lake. It was fear for the life she had finally escaped coming back for her. She kept running away, and all the while, the fear of loneliness nipped at her heels like a hound waiting for the kill…

In the waters Honey remained. Down in the depths, she found her temporary home. If only it had a window to the shore above, but all she was allowed was trickles of light. She yearned for more—to see the scene that followed her splash. Her imagination supplied what the eyes could not. She could see so clearly the following stampede that made a vacation into a war; it was as if she never left. It all entertained her as she waited. Waited and waited and waited down in the depths. Waited until the streaks of light disappeared, leaving her in the dark. A darkness that knew no up or down, left or right. It had no end, yet pressed against every surface. So empty, so suffocating… That was enough of that. When her head breached the surface, the moon greeted her in its wonderful glow. In the privacy of night, she could finally laugh. 

[much-the-millers-kid]

Trilogy of Fairy-Tale Lineage Stories, how I interpret them, and just random opinions

Descendants, Ever After High, and The School for Good and Evil are very similar in that they all feature the children of fairy tale characters. They have a lot in common, but they also have a lot that makes each one unique, so thought I’d give my semi-brief breakdown of each one.

Disney’s Descendants: Disney as a corporation sucks, this is a cheap rip-off of Ever After High (which I’ll get to in a moment) and in general Frustrates me. It ultimately kinda has a ‘Your family background and people’s first impressions don’t define you’ but then certain characters do have a certain look and plots are dependent on the Happily Ever After Singing and Dancing together at the end. However, I’ll concede that the music has a lot of bangers and how dare the songs be epic and everything else be ‘eh.’ Also, the original book plot are way better than the movies (I cried at Carlos being forced to admit furs were his mother’s one true love and not him). If looking to get a very young sibling/cousin/whatever into looking at things from another’s perspective, not a bad intro at how kids reflect their parents and how it can be hard to change that, even a sea away, but it is possible.

Ever After High: Ironically, despite ultimately being a doll advertisement, a more mature look at things than Descendants. EAH never got an official ending due to lack of funding, but there’s enough mini-storylines that it kinda works? Don’t get me wrong, I feel it ended prematurely, but between Dragon Games and Thronecoming and all the other specials that are culminations of the arcs, it kinda works in a ‘there’s no Happily Ever After, just new Once Upon a Time’ kind of way. The characters don’t easily fit in good or evil, despite the whole premise being the headmaster trying to fit students into those boxes. The “Good Guys” can be selfish and vain, and the “Bad Guys” can be nice and try to help others, and it’s done in a way that doesn’t seem forced or hokey. Like, Audrey from Descendants is mean to Mal just to be a jerk and obvious ‘called the god guy but actually mean’ and meanwhile Apple from EAH wants her happily ever after, but because she’s been told all her life that’s how to keep everyone safe. EAH has nuance. Good for a child (or anyone really) who wants a look at how upbringing can shape you but not define you, and how appearances and first impressions aren’t all that matter.

School for Good and Evil: (note: this is based on the first 3 books because I haven’t seen the Netflix series and I kinda lost interest after they separated Agatha and Sophie) Much darker tone than the other two with the threat of death being much more prevalent, but also very much matches the themes of ‘First impressions aren’t always what they seem.’ Kinda the culmination of the previous two, and also goes more into paralleling the real world, especially because while the other two are about characters who grew up in these worlds, SfGaE focuses on two characters that grew up just reading the stories, so they do more of the same questioning that the audience does. Despite this, they don’t always get a clear answer, which I like, because there aren’t always clear answers.

Do I think any of them are bad? No. (Well, maybe Descendants, but that’s more on Disney as a corporation) They are all good, for different audiences. Descendants introduces how people try to put people in groups, but it’s more complicated than that, good for really young audiences. Ever After High introduces questioning why things are the way they are and seeing things from another’s perspective, and is good for slightly older than the Descendants audience but wanting bright and shiny. School for Good and Evil introduces questioning whole systems, including those in our own world like beauty standards and gender roles, and having there be fewer clear answers, and is better for a more mature audience that may be into some darker themes.

They all have their strong points and weak points, and if you have a favorite, it’s ultimately opinion. I may not enjoy all of all of them, but I like how they use fairy tales as a way to help guide critical thinking with what good and evil really mean, and if that sort of thing interests you, I encourage you to check it out.

Tldr; Disney’s Descendants, Ever After High, and School for Good and Evil are all similar in the fact they can be summarized with “High School offspring of Fairy Tale Heroes and Villains learn not to judge by appearances,” but they have differences that make me glad they all exist for the audiences that enjoy them.

[adobe-outdesign]

Pokemon Worldbuilding Headcanons

Exactly what it says in the title. Some are based on the game, some on the anime, and some directly contradict both because the Pokemon lore is made up and your feelings don’t matter.

Biology

Pokemon heal faster when unconscious or asleep--thus, they faint easily from pain or exhaustion in order to recuperate.

During evolution, a Pokemon converts itself into energy and reforms itself. Evolution is optional, and a Pokemon can choose if and when it evolves. Evolution is triggered by both an environmental circumstance (ex: winning a battle), and by the Pokemon storing up energy over time until it has enough to transform.

Stress evolutions are when a Pokemon evolves prematurally in order to win a battle or when they’re in a life-or-death situation. This can result in the evolution being smaller than normal and possibly weaker as well.

“Trade evolutions” are a loose grouping of Pokemon that typically evolve when they start working with a new trainer. The exact reasons for the evolution varies by individual, and therefore can have multiple causes.

Ex: a Pokemon may evolve after it learns something from someone else. While the easiest way to achieve this is through trade, they may also evolve by training under a wiser, older Pokemon.

Trade evolutions are somewhat rare in the wild, but not unheard of.

Pokemon that evolve via stones cannot store enough energy to evolve naturally. The stones contain extra energy that they can tap into in order to aid in evolution.

Everstones work similar to sponges; they absorb the extra energy a Pokemon would normally store up to evolve, thus preventing them from doing so. They’re mostly used for medical purposes (as a Pokemon evolving when badly injured could worsen its injuries) and to help prevent stress evolutions in Pokemon that don’t want to evolve.

Pokemon types are based on the type of energy they utilize, rather than moves or appearance. Ex: Charizard is not dragon-type despite looking like a dragon because it doesn’t use dragon-type energy. New energies are discovered all the time and Pokemon are reclassified as needed.

Pokemon typing also changes as they (Darwinian) evolve. A Pokemon that’s normal/grass used to be normal-type, has started to gain grass-typing, and will eventually be only grass-type.

Humans are descended from Pokemon. They used to be psychic-type before becoming normal-type and then losing their typing all together. At this point they no longer are energy-based nor do they lay eggs, so they’re considered a separate-but-related family.

This is why some people still show psychic powers; those abilities never completely went away in some bloodlines.

Pokemon have been domesticated for so long that there’s actually no such thing as a “wild” Pokemon anymore (with the exception of legendaries). Wild Pokemon are technically feral, and any given Pokemon will quickly adapt to living with humans if caught.

Pokemon used to look different hundreds of years ago, and have slowly undergone Darwinian evolution over time as they were domesticated.

“Most trainers will legendaries shortly after their journey starts” statistic false. Most trainers will see no legendaries in their lifetimes. Ash Ketchum, who’s seen every single legendary in existence, is an outlier and should not be counted

However, areas where legendaries are known to live are oftentimes marked as no-catch conservation areas. People will oftentime travel to these parks to admire “common” legendaries (such as the bird trio) in their natural habitats.

Battles

Not knocking out a Pokemon you’re trying to capture is more of a honored rule than a law. The reason it’s done is to give the Pokemon ample time to flee--otherwise, someone may one-shot a Pokemon that doesn’t want a trainer, resulting in the Pokemon being unfairly knocked out and the trainer wasting their time.

If you give the Pokemon time to flee and it chooses to stay and fight, it’s potentially interested in accepting you as a trainer and you just have to prove yourself. If it flees, you should leave it alone.

Pokemon used for battles are specifically trained to not cause permanent harm or injury to their opponents (ex: that fire blast isn’t as hot as it could be, so it’ll only cause minor burns instead of third-degree ones). While the attacks used might look violent and cause some pain, serious injuries are very rare.

Wild Pokemon are also pretty good at restraining themselves if they’re just battling for fun or to test a trainer. They will not, however, restrain themselves if they feel threatened or are hunting. Trainers are advised to use caution when fighting wild Pokemon and return their Pokemon to their balls if necessary.

Psychic-types (Mr. Mime especially) are used to create protective barriers around arenas/trainers to protect people from flying debris and stray attacks.

Refs always have a few Pokemon on hand that know moves like stun spore or sleep powder in order to stop any fights that get out of hand.

Pokeballs

While some trainers different Pokemon by using different types of Pokeballs, decorating them is also a popular way to do it. Some people draw symbols or initials on the buttons, some add stickers, some paint them, ect.

Stores also sell semi-transparent hard shells that snap over the balls. These come in different colors and designs, so you can have a Pokeball that has a galaxy design on top instead of plain red if you want.

Most trainers keep about 40 some Pokemon or less, which they rotate between their party, the PC, and daycares/Pokemon sitters to keep them enriched and active. Some people keep more, but they generally spend all of their time caring for them and therefore aren’t trainers.

The general rule of thumb is to not leave a Pokemon in the PC for more than two weeks. If you fail to take them out after a month, they will be automatically removed and released back into the wild.

Pokeballs create little miniature simulations of nature, making them feel bigger on the inside. Different types of pokeballs have different or more advanced simulations, which may increase how much a Pokemon likes being in it.

Pokeballs create an invisible “tag” for the Pokemon by altering their energy when they’re first caught. These tags affect nothing, but Pokeballs are programmed to automatically check for one before they’ll activate.

Many poachers and other illegal groups produce their own illegal Pokeballs that do not check for tags before capture.

If a Pokeball breaks, it automatically releases the Pokemon inside and removes their tag.

Tags fade after about a month to allow for other trainers to capture a Pokemon after it’s been permanently released. The tag is automatically refreshed every time a Pokemon is brought back into its ball.

The standard Pokeball pattern is based off of the patterns of the Foongus line. Pokemon are very attracted to their markings, so the balls are painted the same to make the Pokemon like them more.

Eggs

Rather than combining genetics, Pokemon reproduce by combining their energy together (this looks a bit like two Pokemon evolving at the same time). Because of this, they lack reproductive organs and chromosomes.

Gender is a loosely defined concept for them. Pokemon can change their sex upon evolution if they want to, and some will change their sex over time (ex: legendaries are usually genderless, but will gain a sex to breed and then lose it again afterward).

If a Pokemon doesn’t display sexual dimorphism, the only way to determine their sex is to have a Pokemon Center do a blood test.

Eggs aren’t laid, but created. The pregnant Pokemon fosters energy in their body. When ready they separate the extra energy from themselves (once again, looks a bit like evolution), which forms into the egg. This causes them no pain, and means they have short gestation periods.

This also means Pokemon never look pregnant. The only way to tell is by getting them tested or paying attention to changes in behavior. Many trainers end up with eggs out of nowhere because they had no idea one of their Pokemon was pregnant to begin with.

In the wild, some species of Pokemon will lay hundreds of eggs (such as fish and bug Pokemon) to ensure their survival. In captivity, Pokemon rarely create more than 1 or 2 eggs at a time, likely because they understand their young are safe with their trainers.

Pokemon develop more quickly in their eggs than IRL animals. They can technically hatch shortly after the egg is made, but they usually spend extra time inside maturing. By the time the egg hatches, the baby already has fur/feathers/whatever, and can walk and eat solid food. This helps ensure their survival against predators.

Young Pokemon are differentiated by being “mature” or “immature”; an immature Pokemon will still gradually grow and change appearance, while a mature one is fully grown until it evolves. A Pokemon cannot evolve until it’s considered mature (excluding mega evolution for single-stagers).

To use Vulpix as a canon example: a newly hatched immature Vulpix is about 8 in tall and has one white tail. A mature Vulpix is about 2 ft tall and has six red tails.

In the wild, Pokemon mostly breed amongst their own species. The exception are Pokemon with uneven gender ratios (so if a Pokemon is 7:1 male vs female, the males will actively breed with anything in their egg group). Inter-species breeding among captive Pokemon is much more common, and usually based on the Pokemon’s personal preferences.

Hybridization in Pokemon born from two different parents is very rare, but it does happen from time to time. It’s more common in Pokemon that look similar or are distantly related.

“Perfect” hybrids, Pokemon that have equal amounts of traits from both parents as well as typing and abilities, are more sought after than shinies. They usually can’t breed due to their mix of energies.

[pyroclastic727]

Emperor Belos, Prophecy, Luz, Eda, and the Big Plot

Ok so it’s 1AM and I’m really just putting my conversation with @wanderings-and-wondering​ into a post for you all. Loosely inspired by @kelltheowlenby ‘s chosen one post.

So on Twitter somewhere (I don’t remember where), the voice actor for Emperor Belos described his character as a “megolomaniac” and “omnipotent.” That got me thinking about Emperor Belos, and the weirdly perfect events of The Owl House. If there’s a godlike figure ruling over the Boiling Isles, then are any of the things that happened to Luz an accident?

Anyways, so here’s what I’m predicting: Emperor Belos has been using prophecy to shape Luz’s entire experience, in order to use her for his benefit. 

How did I reach this conclusion? Simple. Alex Hirsch and Dana Terrace both wrote for Gravity Falls. That’s a show where they’ll introduce unimportant things as plot devices in season 1, and then they end up being part of a massive conspiracy in season 2. 

Let’s begin the breakdown, shall we?

First off, prophecy. In true Gravity Falls fashion, we were introduced to the really fascinating and downplayed existence of the Oracle Track. I mean, people have the ability to predict the future! To see various paths that could happen, and manipulate people based off those tracks! Can you imagine the potential in that?

Emperor Belos can. He has prophets at his disposal. The Emperor’s Coven does every type of magic, and they’re comprised of gifted kids with intense work ethic, like Amity. With enough people, he could see anything. Every way in which Luz would enter the Isles, every way she would accumulate power, every way to break her and bend her to his wishes.

And Luz is so easy to manipulate. All you need to do is threaten someone she loves. I mean, she challenged Boscha to a near-death match to restore Willow’s honor. Imagine what she would do if Amity, King, or Eda were in trouble.

Before we can figure out what he does next, first we need to know what Belos’s motives are. Fortunately, he’s pretty easy to figure out. I mean, he presides over a broken system. People are confined to covens, where their power is restricted by magical branding. The Emperor’s Coven holds all the excess power, since they can use any type of magic, including the excess created by magic restrictions. His system even tears people apart, going so far as to make Lilith willing to submit her own sister to the coven.

Ya boi Belos wants power. He likes seeing people do whatever he wants. He likes being secure and worshipped. The only problem is, now there’s this Luz. She takes magic directly from the island. She’s a human and somehow manages to make extremely powerful spells. And when she works with other people (mainly Amity), she makes their spells a whole lot stronger. Her power is immense and contagious...something Belos doesn’t want in the hands of someone like Eda.

So if Belos doesn’t want Eda to have access to Luz’s magic, then why did he let Eda raise Luz to be so powerful? 

That’s all explained by the prophets. Look, he knows stuff we didn’t know when the series started. Things like: Eda is the only person who would teach Luz how to draw glyphs and cast island-fueled spells. Owlbert would lead Luz into the demon realm. Lilith would pressure Eda to join the coven while being unable to bring her in--reminding Eda of the coven’s power without using it prematurely. Luz would grow attached to Eda and Amity, two people who can be easily taken and used by the Emperor’s Coven.

Emperor Belos planned this. He wanted Luz to learn how to use the island’s magic before he took her magic. He wanted Luz to get this false sense of security, where she could focus solely on learning. That’s the best way for Luz to become the most powerful spellcaster on the Isles--to let her feel safe enough to learn however she wants to.

And now, Emperor Belos has a plan to control Luz. Here’s some fast facts about Eda. She’s currently the most powerful witch in the Boiling Isles. She is wanted by the law and has been chased for ages, though people have largely let her off easy for her crimes. 

Look, Eda could’ve been arrested ages ago. She’s up against the man with access to all the power in the Isles. The only reason she’s free is because Belos knows she’s useful if she teaches Luz and connects with Luz.

Why? Because Eda is now a bargaining chip.

Look, everyone in The Owl House has a trigger, a way of being manipulated. With Amity, just dangle a sense of acceptance in front of her and she’ll bite. With Eda, offer her something shiny or put Luz in danger. And for Luz, all you have to do is take the people she cares about and put them in trouble.

The people Luz cares about most are Eda, King, and Amity. While King and Amity are great, Eda is the key. Luz left her home because her mom didn’t let her follow her dreams. Eda is the mom who lets her follow her dreams, the family she has been craving, where everything is perfect and she doesn’t have to try so hard to patch things over. You take Eda away, and you take away the number-one thing behind Luz being here.

So now we have the perfect storm. Episodes 15-17 developed Luz and Amity, giving Luz an ally, and lulling us into a false sense of security. Lilith popped up in episode 17, reminding us that the Emperor is pushing harder for her to take Eda in. Luz knows a lot of spells, and at this point she’s learning entirely from the island. She’s at an excellent power level. She doesn’t need Eda to teach her spells anymore.

So now is the perfect time for Emperor Belos to use Eda against Luz, starting the darkest part of The Plot and casting the entire first season in an entirely new light.

[lazyevaluationranch]

I was wondering if you would be willing to share the titles of your resilience-inspiring lesbian farm books? My google search led me to a book titled “Attack of the Lesbian Farmers” which, while certainly inspiring, is not exactly what I was looking for.

Here are two very different books in the Farm Lesbians Write Honestly About What Went Wrong And How They Got Through It genre. Hopefully at least one is to your taste.

It's nearly fifty years old now, and can be hard to find, but Country Women: A Handbook for the New Farmer is deeply important to me. Country Women was a black and white xeroxed magazine written by a collective of woman-run farms in California in the 1960s. (There are some issues scanned at the Lesbian Poetry Archive). Each issue was half articles about feminism and half articles about small-scale farming. In the 1970s, the how-to articles on farming were expanded and organized to make the book, along with some scattered journal entries, lovely hippie-style line drawings and poetry about wood splitting, bees, and gazing at one's beloved while fixing the tractor on a summer day. The contributors have names like Jean and Ruth Mountaingrove, Ellen Chanterelle, and Sam♀ Thomas. 

It's written in an informal and pragmatic style, mostly organic hippie farming, but using pesticides or conventional medications when necessary.

This afternoon the Anderson brothers began teaching me how to graft fruit trees - the careful joining of life with life. Even more than I loved gaining a new skill, I loved learning from two old men who have so very much to teach me. I admire the audacity of eighty-three-year-old men setting grafts that will not bear fruit for years: the total involvement in a process they love. Those trees will stand and live; I doubt whether Jake or Fred even stop to wonder if they'll pick the fruit. I want to live my life with that kind of harmony and purpose. I want to be planting seeds the day I die.

The first lamb was born today. Premature and dead. Olivia, the mother, seems to be all right though. I had a dream a few weeks ago that the lambs were born tiny (like mice) and pink. And that I struggled to save them, but they were too small to feed. The lamb today was small and pink, its fleece plastered against its body, thin and sparse. For a moment it was nightmareishly like my dream... This is my first animal death. The beginning of a long cycle. It seems even harder to have death come before life, than to have an old one die giving birth. Hopes for the future stillborn.

Driving home today, I suddenly realized that this really is going to be a sheep ranch, that I have done, and am doing, and will do it. That I'm making my livelihood from the land. The canyon is fenced now. There are  sheep out there on pastures that were open hillsides two years ago. 

The very act of building this place, the simple actions of tamping dirt, stretching wire, dumping hay in feeders, has profoundly changed my sense of self. I'm doing things I never dreamed I could do, and I'm doing them easily without even considering whether I really can. Last night I was talking with Susan about fencing the front meadow for feeder calves, and I realized that I could say that realistically, no fantasizing, no bragging: I can fence the front meadow as soon as I get done with the hay barn and get a little more money.

Like almost every other farmer in America today, I'm in debt and hoping for a good season. I'm only at the beginning now, and I know there are many struggles to come and overcome and come again: Someday I too, like my neighbours, will be counting carcasses killed by a marauding dog or watching the spring oats be wash away in an "unheard of" late storm. No matter how prepared I am, there us always that vulnerability - to the weather, other animals, disease - that seems to strike when things are finally going smoothly. But inside me there is also this incredible joy: This life is real and good, and it has made me strong and real and good too. 

I gotta stop or I'll type the whole book into this post. One more: 

My father is here this week ... working on the truck whose engine has been alien to me. I am learning now what I could have learned at 7, 11, 15. Beneath my truck, side by side, lie his seven-year-old son and his twenty-five-year-old daughter, both of us learning for the first time how bearings fit together, how to remove pistons. And here beneath this truck the patriarchy stops: he has passed his knowledge to his daughter, and from me  it will pass to sisters, from sister to sister to sister. 

That's this book. The things women weren't supposed to know in the sixties. They found people to teach them; they taught each other; they learned through bitter loss. The book says: we have gone before you and you are not alone. Here is what we have learned, and here is how we have learned it. We have failed, and we have wept, and we have gotten up and gone on, and it was alright. Here is the fire, passed from hand to hand to hand. Here is the light that will never be put out. 

The week after we first got goats, we received a package in the mail from my coolest relative, a veterinarian who was the first woman to graduate with a specialization in large animal medicine at her school. People thought that women just weren't physically capable of handling large animals. (Hint: the bull weights 1100 kilograms. It doesn't much matter if the veterinarian weighs 50 kilograms or 150 kilograms.) I remember staying with her a child, in summer, laying on the stainless steel operating table in the barn; it always felt cool when the heat was unbearable.

The package, of course, contained Country Women. An old well-loved copy, with notes on long-ago calving dates penciled in the margins, and random scraps of paper with sketches of possible gardens and goat sheds as bookmarks.  A light passed from hand to hand, a light that will not go out. It was like receiving a video game quest artifact.

Country Women is rooted in second wave feminism, which is not everyone's cup of tea. For something more modern and story-focussed, consider Hit By A Farm or Sheepish by Catherine Friend. These are collections of short, funny autobiographical essays about farming and relationships. Their tone is honest and wry, self-deprecating. You can see Catherine Friend's blog here and decide if you like her writing style. She wanted to call Hit By A Farm "Sheep Sex and Other Disasters" but her editor didn't think it would sell. 

In Hit By A Farm, Catherine - a professional writer - goes along with her partner Melissa's lifelong desire to ranch sheep, and describes the results from the perspective of the slightly reluctant farmer's wife as they start a farm in Minnesota.  Sheepish is written fifteen years later, when they're thinking about quitting the farm, after all the shiny newness of farming and the relationship has worn off. There are different mistakes then, different sorrows, and new joys. 

From Sheepish: 

We rarely pay attention to middles. Perhaps we ignore them because they're problematic. The middles of our beds often sag. The middles of our bodies sag. The middle of a long story told by your brother-in-law is likely to sag, and so you'll need another beer to stay focused. Everyone needs a reason to keep going when they're in the middle. 

And:

Don't expect a farm to fix your life, for once the romance dims, you must still muck out the barn and stack hay bales and give that sick goat an enema...Although there are tons of stories about starting something new, there just aren't that many about how to keep doing something, about how to slog through the middle when the going gets tough.

The quotes are all from Sheepish; I can't find our copy of Hit By A Farm:

My spinning wheel continues to torture and confound me. I realize I'm not interested enough in the craft to really commit to learning it. After a few more tries, I tuck the wheel into a corner of our living room and turn it into what Melissa likes to call a Dust Accumulation Research Project. Clearly our wool market will continue to be the wildly unlucrative wholesale warehouse.

The patron saint of spinners is, interestingly enough, Saint Catherine. She was a Christian martyr in Alexandria. In 307 AD, she was condemned to be torn apart by the spokes of the wheel.

Well. No wonder.

Spoiler: things get pretty rough, there’s illness and hard winters and financial issues, but they do not, in fact, give up the farm or each other. 

The book says: We made it. You will too.

[bored-storyteller]

Re-posted, because everyone hates Ruven, even tumblr

Hi Anon! Thank you so much for asking about Ruven! I love him so much you know!

I tell you, this is the basic information that I wrote, usually I never say too much more (for example the whole question about his "disease") because I prefer that he is slowly known in roleplays or stories. If anyone wants to interact with him (roleplay or not) or if you want me to publish some stories about him let me know, I'd be happy. Very few people really know him.

Original Character Profile

Image

(when I have time I will make a full graphics card, I promise)

General information

Name: Ruven Nightclock

Age: 27 years old

Height: 1.83 m

Birthday: October 12th

Profession: Doctor

Favorite food: Custard tart and milk tea

Description:

Ruven is a distinguished man, a perfect gentleman we would say. Classy, well-mannered and full of culture to offer.

His deep voice is quiet and delicate, he never really needs to raise it, he perfectly knows how to manage his words to express his emotions.

He will always greet you with a gentle smile and a slight nod, and he will never fail to respect you as long as you don't give him a reason.

Sure, he might seem perfect, but people aren't always comfortable with him. Whenever he meets someone new, that someone might get the feeling that Ruven wants something from them, that he is trying to find something, that he is suspicious and probing. In truth he has no interest other than to satiate his curiosity, and if it is pointed out to him he will have no problem admitting it.

He is not a sneaky man and despite this merit or defect, he will know how to stay within his limits when it comes to the intimacy of others. Well, but if you want to make him a confidence you will see the same light that you will see in the pure eyes of a wagging puppy come in his one clear eye .

He might also be scary, especially if he talks about medicine. He doesn’t have many problems in describing even rather bloody scenes without realizing that these could offend the sensitivity of others. From time to time he might even propose to try some new "experimental medicine", but don't worry, he is not a sadist, he would never do anything that would jeopardize someone's health.

However, his knowledge goes well beyond the medical field, and if by chance you happen to visit his office, you will be able to see what great culture those sturdy dark wood bookcases, that shiny desk of his and practically every corner of the room contain. if you make him love you enough, he could also show you his collection of maps and globes.

History:

Ruven belongs to a world different from ours, but which basically reminds us of past eras that some remember with fear, others with nostalgia.

If in our world technology has taken hold, there it was not necessary, and mechanics governs the technique supported by what we could generically define magic, or rather some kind of alchemy always and in any case studied under a scientific criterion.

Ruven was born in a small provincial village in the state of Lyroran, but after the premature death of his parents, which occurred before he could have a clear memory of them, he grew up in the capital, Ceneraria, under the affectionate gaze of his wealthy paternal grandfather who for first he guides his beloved nephew on the path of knowledge.

His strong curiosity manifests itself from the earliest years of his life, and this passion of him leads him once he grows up to have a brilliant academic career in medicine that will result in his beloved profession as a doctor in the populous city.

He is currently a very respected and in demand doctor, he is esteemed for his great skills and in-depth knowledge that go beyond the scientific field.

You must know that there are several worlds. It is a difficult concept to explain and perhaps even Ruven would not know how to do it well, but know that they exist, each developed in a different way and with different characteristics, but basically all with a beating heart similar to the others.

Now, some worlds are perfectly aware of other realities, and are aware that if you want they are perfectly achievable, but the price to pay is said to be extremely dangerous, although no one has ever really found out what it really is. Crossing the threshold between worlds is an arduous undertaking and absolutely forbidden in the world of Ruven.

Yet, how can someone as hungry for knowledge as our doctor not attempt at least once to cross a new world? If it had only been once ... instead he became more and more refined in details and technique, and one day - good or bad - taking a step in his studio, he suddenly found himself in a golden light, and his feet a moment afterwards they rested on the fresh dew-soaked grass of an unknown land.

And since that day, Ruven has become able to travel between worlds, coming and going as he pleases. Of course, at first it was difficult, it was funny to see the dear doctor so awkward, but now, oh, who can stop his curiosity?

Still, the price has been paid. Something strange happened to his body. His right eye was completely disfigured; there is no longer an iris or pupil, and the skin all around him has taken on unhealthy gray and yellowish shades. But the most worrying thing is that this dubious disease has not had the slightest consequence, beyond appearance. No pain, no visual impairment despite the fact that there is no longer any pupil in which light can pass. I mean, it's hard to worry when you don't feel any pain, right? Or maybe Ruven is just sinning negligence, pretending not to see so as not to lose the treasure he found.

Yet, he is gradually realizing it, of how every now and then he misses his memory, of how he finds himself in places where he does not remember well how he got there, or of how, sometimes, he wakes up with a strange bloody metallic taste on the tongue. But that's the only thing his curiosity is afraid to investigate.

Relationship:

Biri: is a very small golden dragon and basically Ruven's pet. He is barely larger than a hand and he often and willingly perches on his master's shoulder or under his long raven hair. Biri's left wing is a mechanical wing, it was made by Ruven when he saved the little one from a storm.

Biri is an affectionate and cuddly pet, even if at first it might be a bit suspicious.

Celesia: Celesia is Ruven's providential young assistant. She looks at him with deep admiration, and although there are only six years between the two of them, the girl sees the doctor as an extremely more mature man than she is.

According to Ruven, she is a very intelligent and competent girl, he trusts her and leaves her to run the studio when he is away. Celesia will become an excellent doctor herself.

Zaafir (another main Oc of mine): Zaafir is a vampire who lives in our world and has existed since the time of ancient Egypt. He is friends with Ruven and they both share a deep love of knowledge, albeit for different reasons. There is an outstanding pact between them.

Family members: The death of his paternal grandfather was for Ruven the greatest pain in his life. Despite this, he is grateful to have been able to enjoy his presence and his guidance until adulthood.

He has practically no memory of his parents even if he respects their memory and loves them with the sweetness of which a child is capable. His very profession is a legacy he learned from his father.

Ruven's family is still alive with his maternal grandmother who, according to her grandson, is still in great shape despite her venerable age. She lives in a provincial town outside Ceneraria where she lives in her little house among her perfumed flowers and her cats, her nephew does not fail to visit her every time he has a break from his commitments.

Another mention perhaps a little more important than the others should be made to his aunt Nadja, his father's younger sister who was only ten years old when Ruven was born. The tragic death of her older brother in a tragic accident had left her tremendously shaken especially because she had already lost her mother, so she became very attached to her grandson who basically grew up with her as if he were a younger brother.

[mountphoenixrp]

We have a returning citizen in Mount Phoenix:

                                    Rán, the Goddess of the Sea,                    whose origins stem from Ancient Scandinavia.                                She is now a City Council Member                                        and the owner of Böljande.

FC NAME/GROUP: Park Soo Joo / Model GOD NAME: Rán PANTHEON: Norse OCCUPATION: City Council Member, Owner of Böljande HEIGHT: 1.78 m DEFINING FEATURES:

Her eyes are of a cloudy gray.

She has a tattoo on her left forearm with 9 minimalistic waves

PERSONALITY: A careful face, but a tough attitude. As the keeper of drowned souls, Rán can be perceived as cold and unpredictable, and she carries the weight of this image well, not caring to hide her true nature to anyone. Nonetheless she is rather good company to keep because she can show warmth and empathy when these qualities are necessary. She is very animate with her facial expressions and hand gestures. A renowned great host, she loves to fill her home with guests for late night dinners or raves (at which she DJ’s). Quite ambitious and greedy, she was taught early in life of the importance of education and wealth, and as this idea grew on her, so did her voracity for money and power and all the luxuries that come with it. Her captivating presence suggests her as promiscuous and manipulative, a woman who could threaten both men and women, but with Rán seeing is not believing. Like the legends of her people, her life is an entanglement of secrets and half-truths, yet she shows no remorse when telling some of her embellished past-life stories. Rán sees herself as someone who is deeply caring and always listening when you think she isn’t, someone to have as an emergency contact when you need to bury your secrets deep in the mountains. Her words are in-adhesive to those who seek answers, her songs are beguiling to those that eavesdrop, yet they recapture the true tale of her troubled life.

HISTORY: [tw: briefly mentions domestic abuse, death, and sort-of cannibalism]

The cold moonlight shines on top of the black and blue sea

a young goddess, descendant of the red and blue, with eyes bright like moonstones and hair as silver and shiny as a coat of lynx. born of the North Sea and bound to it by blood, compelled to it by love. she is forever untamed like the creatures of the deep, always longing for an extra inch like the waves that wash up on the shore. it is a new day, for yesterday has been done away with and the sea-creatures of tomorrow are yearning for another chance. to prove themselves, to live like their mothers did — before their self-destruction.

The hand that couldn’t touch that ray of sunshine

born without wings, she never went too far. singing and daydreaming lying on her back in the beds of sand were how she spent most of her youthful days. the young Rán dreamed of becoming strong and glorious, with wings like Freyja a goddess she often envied. what could she do to have wings like the goddess of love; to have a reputation so destitute of monstrosity? the others made fun of her indifference, her inability to fly over the sea and shoot the breeze with their cousins. “how can someone like us even dream of such nonsense”, they said. “if we were meant to fly then what do we have these tails for?”, “maybe she’s too busy learning how to fly that she doesn’t have time for real scholarly work”. they teased her endlessly but she didn’t listen, her mind drifted into thoughts of touching the chariot of Thor.

The unfair stories

a chorus sings at dusk, their melodies are like the pouring out of smooth, fine waters. who could resist such an enticing sound? the sailors could not. it wasn’t so much that they were answering the call of the siren, but being hypnotized by the aura of it. surely no one on the island wished for their deaths, but merely company that they were after. visitors to bring spirits among other gifts. sadly, these visitors never left the island for the inhabitants were poor hosts, not knowing to feed their guests who seemingly had forgotten to eat. it is a sad coincidence such men traveled the coast, unaware of the dangerous creatures of the sea. her cousins, maidens who loved to play wicked games, attacked ships and drowned and often ate the flesh of the men, for fun. when word got around to the gods, her people were to blame for their songs that tempted the toughest of men. punishment was in order. and when it all was said and done, the others took to the seas and spread vicious rumors of the flesh-eating seductresses, “they’ll steal your goods and eat your heart out” they said. everyone laughed at them if they did not have pity, how beautiful fish-tailed songstresses were to turn into savages so easily. this was the tale she heard of her ancestors, and though she and the others on the island were but the offspring of the latter, the stories stuck like hair on her head. she would soon become the renowned fearsome ruler of the stormy seas, and in doing so maintained her status the same way her cousins did.

A black island is among the lowly settled water fog

perusing about on the coast of a small uninhabited island she frequented in her youth, in search of fresh meat, she came to realize prematurely that the shore had been blackened by waste and littered with the debris of human carcasses. surely her weekly antics haven’t caused this? what once was a haven for local birds and land critters alike is now what appears to be an ocean dumping, a burial site for a wasted lifestyle. the now older goddess emerges onshore with plastic bottle caps in her hair in lieu of seaweed. ultimately the toxic black waste would seep through into her body, penetrating through her lungs and corrupting her natural-given powers. it brought tears to her eyes to know this was only a sign of what the future is to bring, poisonous waters and death-clad shores. the others pretend not to know, the land-dwellers turn a blind eye.

A worn out and humid ferry, a small boat leaves

no longer was the island fit to rest on, no longer was the ocean, her home, as pure and flowing as her voice. the now frail goddess let out the call, that velvety magnetic cry that lured in men and women alike, the one her dear husband despised so. only this time her voice croaked, she was sure no one had heard her, not even the king of the seas. shortly thereafter, a lonely man appears on the coast, as is expected, you could see in his eyes the despair of her voice had not struck him yet until he reached the oil-slicked sand beneath her limp body. it wasn’t enough for him to help her escape for her life, he wanted to be a part of it. she was like nothing he had ever seen before, and he knew he would never see her again, not like this. an arrangement was made, once they reached land, dry and clean land, the goddess would exchange vows with this strange man.

The flower petals fall and the tears dry

a goddess who arranged a deal with a human so that she would not perish like her sisters, grew to adore the man whom she thought was sweet, sensitive and caring. he showered her with fresh flowers daily, clothing that showed off her womanly figure, and jewelry that matched her eyes. the man was so proud of himself for finding what he believed to be a treasure, he did not want to share her with anyone and soon the loving man became very possessive. he accused her of going out late at night to have drinks with other men and singing to locals that traveled by their house. sharing the wealth was what he called it, though one day came when she swore she did no such thing, the man would strike her in disbelief, this was not the first, but one of many occurrences. it was obviously time for Rán to cease playing house and deal with this man just like she did all the others, he had become like the poisonous waters of her past. honestly she surprised herself, living contently in the mundane life of a human, this was far from what she wanted for her life. she wanted to go back to the golden days, back when she and Ægir would get dressed up and throw ragers to entertain the gods in the home they built together. unfortunately, returning wasn’t so easy anymore.

My last move was to put down my long hair

Rán couldn’t stand to take another beating from a mortal who knew nothing of her life, once again she had to teach one of nature’s great lessons – don’t fuck with a goddess. for her there was no justification, similar to when humans get bitten by snakes and someone needs to suck the venom out to survive, this is how she chose to view this incident; sucking the venom out of her life with no other reason given the circumstances. only now the corollary was tremendous, the strength in her powers had returned except they were not the same as before, they were not only destructive but dark and consumed almost every aspect of her being.

The truth that can’t be hidden comes out

primarily to avoid persecution from the locals, she returned to the black island to lay the man’s remains to rest in her own way. the bottom of the small boat that once carried her away from this place was covered in black waste and debris. she could hear her daughters singing in the meadow, but their songs were not like the ones before, there were tears dripping down their faces. one song spoke of a massacre, brothers and sisters being choked with plastic rope, another was about beauty and how her daughter’s lips became blackened and they were losing their hair. there Rán stood shocked in silence, she realized she was not looking at all of her daughters, about a handful of them were missing. when the others finally ceased their singing and wailing, they cried out to her, “save us, help us! will you leave us here to die?” she could not answer without weeping for her lost children. the others pointed her to a pile of breathless sea-creatures with plastic rings around their necks and glass stuck in their skin. some had perished from eating toxic algae, others just from swimming in contaminated waters. day by day, the pile grew bigger. it is a new age, for an era has been done away with and the sea-creatures of tomorrow are yearning, for time, for life, for survival. Finally –after so many years were spent struggling to find understanding and acceptance among the land-dwellers, wandering and self-loathing and coming to terms with her life choices. she reluctantly returned to the waters, her home, for a final goodbye.

tears dry, time stops

If only I had insufficient comfort that means nothing

within the community of mount phoenix, a small company is born, to protect and maintain the life of living beings both in the sea and on land. a promise the goddess made to herself to give back what time took away. focusing on ethical production, reducing water pollution and environmental devastation, creating a way for people to indulge in luxury without destroying the habitat of others. Rán decided her time on the island would be better spent giving back to her community and using her platform to advocate for the creatures whose voices are seldom heard. truly though, she came to the island in search of something or someone. perhaps, if she could not return to her home – Aegirheim – she would make one here in Mount Phoenix.

a dark tale to be continued.

POWERS: Rán can create, shape and manipulate water of a spiritual or destructive nature. can cause natural ocean disasters such as tsunamis, monsoons, and whirlpools to manifest. She carries a net that she uses to capture and trap the souls of the drowned. A widely known power is her ability to transform her physiology to that of the merfolk and vice versa. Some of her merfolk abilities include aquatic life communication, hypnotic song or ‘beacon emission’ which can lure someone towards her, and depending on the mental capacity of the victim, can cause paralysis or dementia. She can also influence strong emotion with her singing voice or a musical instrument. As the personification of the sea, she is capable of returning to her godly form as a body made completely of the ocean, but is less likely to do so.

STRENGTHS:

Not afraid to go to the murky waters of the emotional and spiritually unknown.

Great at keeping secrets, has strong intuition and perception of others.

Values trust and a deep connection with others she considers as a friend or lover.

Electronically adept, her favorite way to escape is through casual gaming and social media so she does well with a smartphone and computer.

WEAKNESSES:

Despite needing to have complete and total control of a situation, she doesn’t have full knowledge or control over her newer, darker powers and will avoid transforming out of her human likeness because of this.

Craves deep emotional connections, but does not like to appear vulnerable so she is less likely to reach out first.

Claustrophobic.

[supernatural-freek]

Love Me, Trust Me, Leave Me To Drown

Dean x Sister!Reader, Sam x Sister!Reader

Synopsis: You stayed, and like the giant space cat thing promised, your memories of before have long since left you. Things are good, things are great, but then Jack shows up like a glitch in the Matrix, and those floodgates open right back up. Soon, the one secret you didn’t know you were keeping might very well destroy everything you have.

NOTE: The long awaited Part Two!

MASTERLIST (PART ONE) (PART 3)

.

Okay, if anyone ever tells you that Sam can cook, kill them. Literally just stab them right in the fucking face because they are lying to you. Sam can’t cook for shit. You want breakfast made for you? You go right up to Dean and you give him puppy dog eyes and he will make you a feast.

“It tastes great,” you told him with a strained smile, desperately trying not to throw up whatever the fuck you just ate. Same called it porridge, but God damn, it didn’t taste like it. It tasted like a dog pissed on cardboard and then you burned a fucking Wendigo on it and then you ate it.

Holy shit, you were never going to look at porridge the same ever again.

Sam’s sweet little smile made you feel a little better, but it wasn’t enough to make you swallow down another mouthful of-of-

You shuddered. It didn’t need to be thought about.

“I’ll make it every morning,” Sam decided, watching you earnestly. You narrowed your eyes. He played the doting brother really well, but he was just a demon in disguise. A demon whose torture speciality was really fucking bad food. 

If this was what was waiting for you in Hell, you were going to cry. And then find a way to live forever. Perhaps they’d let you off the rack if you just agreed to whatever they wanted straight away?

Sam was still waiting for an answer though, and your smile withered to a grimace. “Sure bro,” you answered heavily, resigning yourself to your fate. You’d just get Dean to smuggle you burgers from the outside world. He loved you enough for that.

You brightened. Dean. Your other brother would save you. Dean would do anything for you. He always had, even when John didn’t approve. You’d always adored him for that.

Grinning brightly, you shoved the bowl back at Sam and got to your feet. “Thanks for the food, Sam! I’m gonna go find Dean!”

You bounced away before Sam could say anything. You were weak for your brothers - anything they asked you to do you would do. Even if it meant pretending to like rat poison. 

Yuck, the aftertaste that lingered in your mouth was even worse how was that possible-

“Dean!” You cheered, bursting into his room without any sort of warning. Thank God he wasn’t naked and masturbating to the bad pornos he loved so dearly. Thank God it wasn’t him fucking someone. That would be awkward on all fronts.

Pfft. ‘Fronts’.

Anyway.

Like the actual drama queen that he was, Dean had thrown himself off the bed when you’d kicked his door open, and so he was laying on the floor, blinking up at you in a daze. “Y/N.”

You sprawled out across his bed, burying your face in his pillow. Ew. It was kind of sweaty. “Clean your shit,” you mumbled.

Something poked your ribs. “What?”

You raised your head up to stare over the edge at him. “Sam is trying to kill me with his cooking and I need you to smuggle me actually edible food so I don’t die a premature death.”

Dean snorted, getting to his feet and simply laying over the top of you. You grunted in protest as his weight pushed you into the soft covers. Fuck. He was a heavy son of a bitch. “What will I do?” Dean pondered.

“Get off me for one. Christ, what do you eat?”

Dean huffed some sort of offended noise. “That’s rude. Do you want my help or not?”

You instantly let go of the weight thing. “Yes.”

Satisfied, Dean rolled off of you and instead laid down next to you. It was like being at a sleepover. Except it was your brother. Your brother who was literally just a grown child with stupidly adorable freckles. This man was precious. 

“Let me tell you a secret,” he whispered, just like a high school girl.

You rolled your eyes but indulged him anyway. “What?”

“Sam knows he can’t cook for shit. He just likes to fuck with you.”

You shot up, mouth hanging open. Fucking what?!

Oh, Sam better watch his fucking back. Cause you were gonna be standing behind him with a fucking knife that traitorous little bitch.

You barely heard Dean’s protests as you vaulted off the bed and sprinted down the hallway, intent on finding Sam and shaving his entire fucking head. You couldn’t believe he’d made you eat that disgusting pile of dogshit and hadn’t said anything.

What had you done to earn this betrayal? Dean was the one who was always being a dick and playing pranks, and instead, Sam had turned on you? You were just his sweet, innocent little sister! What the fuck!

“Samuel!” You roared, voice echoing and doubling.

“Hello?” An unfamiliar voice answered you, and you faltered in your rampage, immediately seeking out the owner of the tentative greeting. You found him easily, tucked away around a corner and peering at you with large eyes.

“The fuck are you?” You asked gruffly, coming to a stop. He was young, whoever it was that had appeared in the bunker. Vaguely familiar too, but you couldn't, for the life of you, figure out where you knew him from. "How'd you get in here?"

The boy frowned, looking adorably confused and concerned. "It's me," he answered nervously. "Its Jack."

Jack. Yes, you remembered him now. Memories appeared like fog in the morning, cementing in your mind as if they’d never been gone in the first place. Of course you remembered Jack. The son of Lucifer, but also the son of Kelly. 

A wide smile broke out across your face. “Jack!” You greeted eagerly, immediately reaching for his hand and tugging. You’d always been so easy with tactile actions - Dean hadn’t spoken to you for almost two weeks after you’d given Jack a tight hug and an affectionate pat on his cheek.

Jack followed without much protest, but there was still a hesitance in his movements, as if he’d noticed that something wasn’t quite right in this situation. You couldn’t for the life of you think why. You and Jack had always been close. It was like Dean and Cas.

You were friends.

“Samuel!” You roared, upon entering the kitchen and finding your brother eating a nice fresh salad. “You have some explaining to do!”

Sam looked up, brow furrowing in mock innocence. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” he answered. His eyes flicked to Jack, behind you, and something about him visibly softened. He’d always loved Jack like he’d love a son.

You scowled at him. “Whatever the fuck you made me eat before - you know that it’s worse than shit.”

“You said you loved it.”

“Because you’re a pussy, Sam, and I’d hate to hurt your feelings.”

Sam’s mirth fell away. “Watch your language,” he warned. “Dean’ll have your head.”

You scoffed, twirling away from Jack to grab a bottle of Coke from the fridge. “Dean can kiss my as-”

“Finish that sentence, sis, and I’m going to lock you in your room for a week.” Dean’s voice was gruff, but teasing, and you grinned as you took a swig from the bottle of soft drink. 

You threw him a cheeky grin. “Just means I get to sleep for ages.”

Dean returned your smile, and then sat next to Sam, screwing his face up at the healthy food. You hid your snort in another drink of Coke. God, both your brother were such wussies about certain things. 

Jack, who’d simply watched the interactions up until this certain point, spoke up, his voice soft but forceful. “Y/N, who gave you those memories?”

Time seemed to come to a complete standstill.

What the fuck, Jack?

You had no idea what he was talking about - absolutely none, you swore it. All of your memories were real, you’d lived these things. You knew Jack and you knew Cas and you knew Dean and you knew Sam.

(Deep down, you knew something was wrong with them. You’re memories were shiny, as though someone had tampered with them. No. No. They were real.)

“Jack.” Dean’s voice brooked no room for argument. He needed an explanation. You all needed an explanation.

Jack’s wide eyes flitted over to you, something like unease passing over his face. “Her memories,” he said, suddenly unsure. “They aren’t real. They’ve been implanted. It’s why she didn’t know me until I introduced myself.”

Your mind went very, very, very very very very far away from your body for a very long pause. No. No, you remembered Jack. Of course you remembered Jack! You’d taught him to play tag, running around the bunker in a frenzy, loud laughter bouncing off the walls. You’d-You’d introduced him to ice cream and-and-

It was real. It had to be.

“So where did I come from?” Your voice doubled and echoed as your body swirled around the room. You were still sat in that fucking chair of course, but your body was swirling anyway. “Who am I? Am I a Winchester?”

Nobody said anything for too many heartbeats.

Right.

Of course.

Of-fucking-course.

Dean’s voice was steely and yet still wounded when he said, “We’ll get Cas. We’ll figure this out.” He pushed away from the table and stood up, his green eyes hooded and his face shadowed. “I need some air.”

You reached for him. “Dean-”

He winced away, hurrying off with almost-silent footsteps. You looked to Sam, eyes wide and pleading. He didn’t look up from the table, fork limp in his hands.

You looked to Jack, who just looked back with bottomless eyes that made you fall and fall and fall.

[alwaysmarilynmonroe]

When most people hear the name, “Veronica Lake” usually one of three things comes to mind – that incredible peek-a-boo hair, the Film Noir’s with Alan Ladd or possibly Kim Basigner playing a Miss Lake lookalike in L.A. Confidential (1997) – fun fact, she won the Best Supporting Actress Oscar for that role. Although, with Veronica’s heyday being well over half a century old, that’s sadly usually as far as it goes.

However, with the Classic Hollywood Era being hugely timeless and forever coming back into fashion, the genre is becoming less of a niché subject and more Stars are on the public radar. If you’re a long time Vintage Lover like myself, you’ll be aware that unfortunately, a lot of our favourites don’t have many books written about them, or if they do, they’ve been out of print for a number of years and can be hard to find, or very expensive. Therefore, when I came across the news that Dean Street Press were publishing a reprint of Veronica’s Autobiography, which was first released in 1969, I was absolutely ecstatic! As most who know me are probably aware of my love for Blonde Bombshells, it may not be as well known that Veronica is my other favourite, after Marilyn.

There have only been two books published on Veronica, which I must add, astounds me – and one of them is this one which was co-written by ghost writer Donald Bain, who sadly passed away in October of 2017. The other is by Jeff Lenburg and I am fortunate enough to have both. However, Lenburg’s book is fairly controversial as he takes a lot of his information from Veronica’s mother, who claims a lot of detrimental things about her daughter – yet was estranged from her for many, many years. I think it’s actually being reprinted this summer and I will read it again, but would definitely advise new fans to stick to Veronica’s own words.

The republished version of Veronica’s Autobiography features a new cover with a stunning publicity photo of her in Ramrod (1947) which was directed by her then Husband, André de Toth. The book is a shiny paperback, with a non crease format, so even when you’ve finished reading, it will be in great condition and can take pride of place on your bookshelf! At 215 pages and 27 chapters, it’s not a huge length, but definitely a substantial read and full of personal anecdotes from the Golden Age of Hollywood.

Broadcaster and writer, Eddie Muller adds a new Introduction and his following words really stuck with me, their relevancy still to this day does not go unnoticed,

“I’ll point out instead that while the public has granted Sterling Hayden, a legendary boozer and hash-head, a legacy as a heroic, larger-than-life iconoclast, it has branded Lake’s life after Hollywood a steady downward spiral of abasement, worthy of only pity. Blame a cultural double standard that applauds reckless rebellion in men but shames it in women.”

As the chapters do not have titles, I’ve decided to write down a snippet of information which sums up the pivotal points and various timelines in each section.

______________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 1:

– Starts in 1938 and traces Veronica’s move to Hollywood with her mother, step-father and cousin on the 4th of July. Veronica enrolls in the Bliss Hayden School of Acting and has her first role in a movie as an extra in RKO’s Sorority House (1939).

Chapter 2:

– Veronica’s signature peek-a-boo hairstyle is unintentionally created on the set of Forty Little Mothers (1940) by Director, Busby Berkeley who stated, “I still say let it fall. It distinguishes her from the rest”.

Chapter 3:

– Director, Freddie Wilcox sets up Veronica’s first Screen Test, whilst at home her step-father suffers a collapsed lung.

Chapter 4:

– Veronica joins the iconic William Morris Agency and recounts her knowledge of the infamous Hollywood Casting Couch and how she turned away from the many advances.

Chapter 5:

– Veronica meets her first husband, John Detlie and has her named changed by Producer, Arthur Hornblow Jr., who, after a second Screen Test, decides to cast her as Sally Vaughn in her breakout movie, I Wanted Wings (1941).

Chapter 6:

– Focuses on the location filming of I Wanted Wings (1941) from August 26th 1940 in San Antonio, Texas.

Chapter 7:

– Continues filming in Hollywood for I Wanted Wings (1941) and elopes to marry her first husband, John Detlie.

Chapter 8:

– Veronica discusses the first 8 years of her childhood and her move to Florida in her teen years and the two schools she attended in Montreal and Miami.

Chapter 9:

– Recounts various appearances in Miami Beauty Pageants as a teenager.

Chapter 10:

– Returns to 1941 with the release of I Wanted Wings (1941) and focuses on the worldwide phenomenon of the famous hair. Also finishes with Director Preston Sturges hiring Veronica for the role of The Girl in Sullivan’s Travels (1941).

Chapter 11:

Veronica shares the news of her first pregnancy with her mother and how her third trimester would coincide with the physical demands of filming Sullivan’s Travels (1941).

Chapter 12:

– Covers the filming of Sullivan’s Travels (1941) from May 12th 1941 and the revelation of Veronica’s pregnancy. It’s simply incredible when watching the film all these years later to come to the realization that she was between six to eight months pregnant!

Chapter 13: – The filming of This Gun For Hire (1942) and The Glass Key (1942).

Chapter 14:

– The filming of I Married A Witch (1942), So Proudly We Hail! (1943) and The Hour Before The Dawn (1944). Veronica also discusses the deterioration of her marriage and the tragic loss of her second baby, Anthony, who died a week after being born two months prematurely.

Chapter 15:

– Veronica divorces John and retells various anecdotes of the Hollywood Lifestyle in it’s heyday in the 1940s.

Chapter 16:

– Veronica discusses the filming of Star Spangled Rhythm (1942) and also her dating history during this period. She shares some fascinating stories of various celebrity anecdotes which include such Stars as, Errol Flynn, Katharine Hepburn, Howard Hughes and Gary Cooper.

Chapter 17:

– The filming of Bring On The Girls (1945), Duffy’s Tavern (1946) and Hold That Blonde! (1945). Veronica recalls marrying her second husband, Andre de Toth and shares a moving story from her visit to The White House in January 1945.

Chapter 18:

– The filming of Miss Susie Slagles (1946), Out Of This World (1945), Ramrod (1946), The Blue Dahlia (1946), Saigon (1947) and The Sainted Sisters (1948). Veronica and Andre expand their family as she has her third baby, a boy named Michael. She also talks about her and Andre obtaining their Pilot Licenses and how the death of her step-dad deeply affected her.

Chapter 19:

– Features a highly entertaining story of Veronica flying her plane, whilst carrying her forth child, in her fifth month of pregnancy. With her on board is her secretary Marge, who up until then had never flown before.

Chapter 20:

– Veronica gives birth to her forth baby, a girl named Diana and talks about the turmoil of her relationship with her mother, who decided to sue her for, “lack of filial love and responsibility” and over $17,000.

Chapter 21:

– The filming of Slattery’s Hurricane (1949) and Stronghold (1951). Veronica discusses her frustration with Andre’s prolific spending, which results in them filing for bankruptcy and ultimately, the deterioration of their marriage.

Chapter 22:

– Veronica moves to New York in 1951 and continues her acting career through various television appearances and the stage. She enters her third marriage to husband, Joe McCarthy, which she admits was volatile from the start and they divorce after just four years, in September 1959.

Chapter 23:

– Covers the years 1959 through to 1961. Veronica discusses her time taking a job as a cocktail waitress – which contrary to popular belief, she actually quite enjoyed. She also talks about the traumatic accident which resulted in a severely broken ankle, which caused her inability to act for two years.

Chapter 24:

– Delves into her relationship with Andy Elickson, a Merchant Seaman, who she met during her time working in the Martha Washington Hotel and focuses on the period between 1961 and 1966. She also writes about a high note in her stage career; appearing in Best Foot Forward in 1963.

Chapter 25:

– Veronica discusses her move to Miami from New York in 1966.

Chapter 26:

– The filming of Footsteps In The Snow (1966) and Flesh Feast (1970) which was then known as Time Is Terror and was originally shot in 1967.

Chapter 27:

– Ends in October 1967 with Veronica discussing her reading performance of The World of Carl Sandburg, which she describes as one of the, “finest moments” of her life.

______________________________________________________________________________

Veronica’s words are full of honesty, she does not sugar-coat her flaws and her anecdotes convey a great sense of humbleness towards her career and lots of self criticism to her talent, the latter which saddens me. I’ve noticed many of the great Stars rarely seem to have any belief in themselves. If only they could see how loved and appreciated they truly are. However, her loyalty and generosity towards her close friends and even acquaintances does not go unnoticed. It’s refreshing to see her be able to share her own story, without various opinions and conspiracies that have grown over the years being included.

Overall, there’s only two downsides that springs to mind. Firstly, as the book was originally published in 1969 and finishes at the end of 1967, we’re missing the six final years of her fascinating life and tragically nothing can be done to change this. Of course no one is at fault, it’s just a shame that those last years will remain mostly a mystery to us. It would have been wonderful to read about her time in England. Lastly, in the original edition, a number of pages featured very rare photos of Veronica throughout her years, including her own comments. Sadly, only a small version of the cover photo reappears at the end of the newly republished book. I’m assuming this is down to cost and or copyright, but it would be nice to see these rare treasures reappear in the latest edition for fans that are not fortunate enough to also own an original copy.

Ultimately, Veronica always maintains her true self and comes across as not a Screen Icon, but just like one of us – albeit with some extraordinary Hollywood stories. She’s simply, and I mean this in the most complimentary way – a human being. It’s been almost a decade since I discovered Veronica, eight years in fact and I for one have not only became even more endeared to Miss Lake, but, I have also developed a warm space in my heart for my fellow 5’2″ little lady, Miss Connie/Ronni Keane.

Lastly, a huge thank you to Dean Street Press for believing in the popularity of Veronica and so wonderfully reprinting hers and Donald Bain’s special words for us all to enjoy.

For anyone who wants to see more of Veronica, I’ve amassed a fairly large archive of photos over the years which can be viewed on my blog devoted entirely to her; missveronicalakes.

Follow me at;

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For inquiries or collaborations contact me at;

meganmonroes@icloud.com

Veronica: The Autobiography of Veronica Lake; Book Review. When most people hear the name, "Veronica Lake" usually one of three things comes to mind - …

[jaehotbuns]

come to me

rating: pg 

word count: 2668

characters: you x chanyeol

genre: fluff!

summary // after a rough day at work, all you wanted was to drive aimlessly around for hours to relieve your thoughts. and although you didn’t expect your uber driver to take you on a date to cheer you up, you were glad that he did.

Both of your index fingers and thumbs were placed at two lower corners of your first report to your department manager as you handed it to her for review before final revisions. You quickly pulled your quivering hands back to hold at your stomach to try and keep yourself still, to not show her how nervous you were. A measly fashion article for a teen’s magazine about what shade of pink matches their skin tone was one thing but you were just freshly transferred to one of the more prestigious sections of the building. And the head was just as intimidating as the rumors made her out to be.

Her large blue eyes scanned over your large stack of paper that was compiled of the final product as well as all of the notes and magazine clippings of inspiration as beads of sweat were threatening to spill over your forehead. “Rewrite it,” she said nonchalantly as she slid your heavy document over the desk as if it was nothing.

You quickly caught your papers before it could fall off your desk, “what about it should I change?” Your eyes were shaking as you held the draft close to your chest.

“Everything,” she said disinterested as she began to type away on her desk. “You need to remember that you’re not writing for children anymore. This isn’t Vogue but it sure isn’t Teen Vogue.”

You nodded and said a quick “thank you for you time,” before heading towards the door to escape from the suffocating atmosphere from her penthouse office.

“Oh and one more thing,” she called out as your sweaty hand was ready to turn the golden doorknob. “I don’t need your notes with your product, it’s the results that matter.”

Your face burned with embarrassment as you nodded and closed the door softly to her office. The sounds of your heels clanked in the halls back to your cubicle, alerting many other colleagues who had been mouthing off about you ever since you came.

“I heard she was only promoted because she sucked up to her former manager.” “I mean how else would she have gotten here? She needs that many notes to write a shitty article?” “Yeah, I can’t believe she was assigned that instead of us.”

Your mind wasn’t at ease until you left the office at almost exactly 12am after writing multiple revisions for your manager. You knew that since you were new, it wasn’t going to be easy to adapt to the new standard of writing and sophistication but you didn’t expect to need to write 14 before you got the final okay. Tears of relief almost escaped your eyes when you heard her say, “you have promise. I just need to push you to see if you can handle it. Nothing is easy in this world to come, so keep trying to improve.”

Her words were kind yet had the delivery of a warning or threat and you weren’t really sure if you could handle that type of pressure and workload every single day as well as the snarky comments surrounding you while you were trying to work. You definitely didn’t want to stay here long enough to become one of your gossiping coworkers either.

With heavy feet as well as a heavy mind, you dragged yourself to a bench at a park to wait until someone was able to accept your request of, “I just need a drive aimlessly, feel free to refuse.” And many drivers did refuse, they would rather have a solid destination to get on with their next customers rather than drive in circles in the busy streets so they didn’t linger too far from their customer hub.

You felt as though you’ve sat enough when you felt the midnight chill raise the hairs up on your arms as well as the developing sensations of pins and needles on your bottom. As soon as you stood up you heard a car pull up near the park and honk, not seeing who requested the ride. You looked down at your phone and didn’t realize that someone had accepted; you were probably too lost in thought.

Trying not to get the heel of your black pumps stuck in the crevices of the park’s path of bricks, you waddled over to the shiny and freshly polished black Sedan. “Chanyeol?” You asked to confirm that you had the correct driver.

He turned to face you, taking you back at your handsome Uber driver whose veins were prominent as one hand gripped the steering wheel while the other was placed on the back of the passenger’s seat. “Hop in,” he smiled. You tried to smile back as you sat in the back but could only muster up an emotionless curling of the corners of your lips. “Destination anywhere, right?”

You nodded slowly as you pulled your seatbelt into its chamber, making a satisfying click before you leaned back into the cool seat. “Just my luck, I wanted to drive around before I called it a night.”

You closed your eyes to regain moisture; sitting and staring at nothing in the breeze had probably dried out any tears of stress that could have formed. “So that’s why you were the only one who accepted my ride?” You laughed, not meaning to sound as self deprecating as much as it had came out.

You didn’t need to open your eyes to know that he looked back at you before pulling out of the street corner to start driving to who knows where. “That tough, huh?” You felt his face turn back around to focus on the road, the red and blue lights filling the blackness of your closed eyelids every once and awhile. “Rough day?”

“You could say so,” you replied. Was it a tough day? Head in chief was definitely nicer and less demanding than what you had expected but it was no less than the Devil Wears Prada. But you knew one thing for sure, you were stressed and uncertain of your career and future.

You opened your eyes slightly to see him looking directly into your ears from the front mirror whilst you were stopped at a red light, “do you want to talk about it?”

A ball formed in your throat as a sweet smile of concern followed his question, causing you to look away. “I wouldn’t want to bore you to death with my life problems.”

He laughed carefreely, easing your thoughts almost at how contagious his happiness was, “enlighten me. I bet it’s better than the story I heard today of how this guy made the world’s best inventions of apple and broccoli sandwiches or how a mom was late because the nail tech did her nails coffin instead of stiletto.”

A genuine grin spread across your face as he started to drive once more, reaching the highway instead of the loud and crowded city. “I think I’d rather hear those stories to be honest.” Chanyeol shook his head, the waves of his fluffy black locks bouncing every abnormality in the road. He was waiting for you to air out your problems.

You weren’t the type to express your feelings to anyone close but here you were, ready to reveal them to a complete stranger. “I just got transferred to a new department and I don’t know. It all feels like the Devil Wears Prada and it doesn’t help that I’m in fashion.” You saw him nod and use his free left hand to rub his chin insightfully. You knew that 2 sentences wasn’t going to satisfy his curiosity. “I had to write around 15 drafts until my boss was happy and she said I was good but it was only going to get harder but I thought, ‘I don’t even really like this job too much to go through this.’ You know?” Chanyeol nodded. “Maybe I should just be grateful that I have a prestigious job…”

Chanyeol shook his head, “don’t put down your problems like that. You have every right to feel what you do without being guilty.” He pulled out of the highway and into a parking lot of a relatively secluded strip mall. “I’m feeling hungry how about you?”

Now that he had asked, you realized that the only food you were running on was a bagel for breakfast and a quick microwaved spaghetti and meatballs you had at 12. With all what was on your mind you realized, “wow now that you mention it I haven’t ate in 12 hours.”

“Unacceptable,” he said with a scolding finger shaking in front of you. He reached over to his phone that was mounted on a holder and ended the right prematurely. “Let’s go eat, I haven’t eaten all day.”

“This is out of your own time though, I couldn’t ask you to do that.” You also felt as though he was feeling bad for you after your little sob story.

Chanyeol was adamant on his decision and pulled the key out from his car and closed the door to open your side and let you out. “I was going to get McDonald’s after my last ride anyways. And besides I’d rather eat with company at a restaurant than eat at home alone.” He held his large hand for you to take, “c’mon.” You were hesitant. “Or we could drive for another 30 minutes and you can watch me order a number 2 at Mickey D’s.”

You rolled your eyes playfully and took his hand graciously to step out, he slammed the door and locked the car afterwards. His hand was placed at the small of your back to guide you to where he was planning to take you but not too close to touch you. Gentlemanly, you thought. “So what is this great restaurant that you’re so keen on?”

Both of you walked until you saw the infamous red and yellow sign resembling one of McDonald’s but even better. “Denny’s, my favourite.”

“You’re not making fun of me are you?” He looked at you cautiously before opening the door for you.

You turned back to face him, “nothing better to have at midnight than some pancakes and shakes, right?”

Chanyeol’s face practicably beamed in your reply and hummed in agreement, “you’re going to make someone very happy someday.” Your cheeks flushed, wondering if he was implying him. But the thought was pushed out of your head as the hostess placed the two of you at a cubicle of the empty diner.

After flipping through the menus in a hungry flash and ordering, both of you sipped on a birthday cake milkshake, agreeing that one would be enough for you two one top of what you had ordered. “So do you do this with all of the people you drive?” You asked, pulling away from your straw.

His veiny hands rubbed the glass, wiping away the cold condensation in the process as he shook his head with his mouth still sipping on the milkshake. “Spur of the moment.” He wiped his hand on a brown napkin, “and I’m assuming you don’t go eat with all your Uber drivers too?”

You nodded, lips curved in his witty reply. “Do you do anything other than Uber?” Both of you thanked the waiter after they served you hot plates of food; pancakes, sausage links, eggs, and toast.

“I’m actually in a band, I play the drums.” He took a bite of his food before continuing his thought. Your eyes were settled on him as you began to dig in, filling your empty stomach with a satisfying warmth and weight. “I can’t really have a regular job with set hours so I work on my own time.”

“What’s your band called?”

“Exo,” he said nonchalantly as you nearly spat of your mouthful of sunny side up eggs.

“No way! I was listening to your song ‘Tempo’ on the way to work!” The corners of Chanyeol’s eyes creased in excitement at your reaction. “I’d want to make something I’m passionate about like you.”

He frowned a little bit, “you can do that.” You shrugged, can you? “Think about it this way. Are you planning on staying there forever?” You shook your head. “Are you happy with where you are?” You shook your head. “Have you looked at any other options.” Again, you shook your head, struggling to understand where he was getting at.

Chanyeol put down his cutlery and clapped his hands once. “That’s what the problem is. You’re stressed because you think you don’t want to be doing this forever as if you have to but the reality is, is that you don’t need to stay there.” You almost felt stupid to not realize that. “You don’t need to suffer, it’s just temporary afterall.”

You didn’t know what to say after, “thank you.” But to play off how much insight he gave you you joked, “maybe motivational speaker should be a third job.”

He chuckled and placed his hand lightly on yours and grabbed it more firmly when he saw that you were comfortable with his touch, “hey, just know whenever you’re down, I believe that you can reach better things that you can enjoy.” He noticed the grateful tears that were glossing over your eyes but didn’t acknowledge them to embarrass you or to risk the chance of them spilling. Instead, he ruffled your hair lightly to comfort you.

Once the waiter set the bill on the table after you two finished eating, he reached for the receipt but you had already snatched it away so that he wasn’t able to pay. “C’mon, I dragged you here. I have to pay.”

You shook your head and placed out a 50 bill which was enough for your food as well as a generous tip, “no your company was a priceless therapy session for me.”

Chanyeol still insisted but cursed under his breath when he realized that he forgot to grab his wallet from his car’s compartment before locking it. “Alright, but the ride’s on me and I’ll repay you back next time.”

You looked at him flirtatiously, “there’s a next time?”

“I hope so,” he said shyly before walking you out to the car. As he was fumbling with his keys, he took off his heavy leather jacket and placed it on top of your shoulders as he saw that you were shivering. He unlocked the car and opened the door to the passenger seat and closed it after you had sat down.

When he got into his seat, he reached over to secure your seatbelt, taking your breath away at how close he was to your face. He didn’t seem to notice your pink face as he started to reverse out of the driveway with his hand at the back of your headrest.

On the ride both of you had continued your conversation and had exchanged all of the contact information that you two had. A sense of sadness washed over you as you reached your front door. You wanted to invite him inside but you had work at 7 the next morning and it was already about 3 in the morning.

His hand was touching the back of his neck awkwardly, silently debating whether it was too brash to kiss you when he had just met you but you leaned in and quickly sneaked a “goodnight” kiss before turning to enter your house. But that peck had given him reassurance in your returned feelings and he turned you around to give you a more passionate kiss; his hands rested at your waist with yours wrapped around his neck.

Chanyeol had left you breathless as he pulled away, “good night,” he said before walked slowly from your front steps and waving back one more time. You closed the door behind you and finally heard his car pull out when he was sure you were safe.

You weren’t sure about how this came about, but you were happy that it did.

[iamkatehardy]

Out of Reach (James Delaney x Reader)

Hoping this time it works! I’m sorry for the mess, and I’m sorry I didn’t put the Keep Reading button, but I’m trying all the possibilities now!

Requested by : @outofbluecomesgreen  The idea is hers, and absolutely amazing, so thank you babe ❤

A/N: This story will explore the development of the relationship of James and (Y/N). It starts in their early life, when everything seemed simple, before James sails to Africa. 

The FF will be divided in 3 or 4 chapters, and each one of them will probably depict a different stage of their relationship. This one is about how they met. Hope you enjoy it, let me know what you think!

Warnings: Brandy is involved, just that 😁

Chapter 1

1802

London, a place where boundless wealth was the neighbor of the most hideous misery; where the luxury, wasting and extravagance of some coexisted with the famine, premature death, and vicious despair of others.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, you were born into a noble lineage, in the bosom of one of the richest and most influential families of the entire kingdom. Generally, someone from outside your reality would see you as lucky; another insufferable little lady that could have anything she wanted, and possessed all sorts of titles, including the most wanted bachelorette in town. Gentlemen from all over the Kingdom tried to ask your hand, but you always made their life a hell, in various ways.

You just couldn’t abide all the rules, etiquette and protocols of the court, and that often gave your parents a headache. If you weren’t a daddy’s girl, you would probably be disowned; but you and your father shared plenty of things, including an immeasurable passion for the sea. Something about the immense blue ocean fascinated you, thrilling you and soothing you at the same time.

Another French lesson, something you could never stand, awaited you; and when you saw your father getting ready to go out, you assumed it could be the perfect opportunity to skip the class. Having business with East India Company, he  spent a considerable share of his days in the docks.

“Father?”

“Yes, my precious?” – He turned around to face you, while dressing his overcoat.

“I was wondering…” – You stepped closer, giving him a sweet look you inherited from your mother.

A little chuckle escaped his lips; he knew that look: you were about to ask him something and he wouldn’t be able to refuse.

“You know how much I hate Margaux and those classes…”

“Darling, your mother insisted…” - He put his hand on his forehead, sighing.

“I know, Da.  But if you’d take me with you, she wouldn’t oppose to your will… Plus, I haven’t been in the docks in a while; I would love to go with you. Please?” – Both your voice and eyes were so pleading that for a while he forgot about the troublemaker within you.

“What did you ever ask me that I didn’t happily give you?” – He caressed your cheek. – “But get your coat, it’s cold out there!”

It was a chilly winter day. The wind was blowing from the water towards the land; as you took a deep breath in, a familiar scent filled your nose, calling memories of your childhood.

Sailors caused less problems if they were kept busy, so they were swamped in tasks in the ships, minding their own business, at least until they laid their eyes on you; your arrival caused a stir among them, turning heads.

James was one of the most troublesome sailors, meaning he was doomed to scrub the wooden decks, despite his expertise in other areas. The constant murmurs of his mates made him a little curious, so he got up with the excuse to get more holystone, and he finally caught a glimpse of you.  You looked fierce and proud, but so damn beautiful he couldn’t stop looking at you, at least until the captain smacked his neck hard enough to bring him back to reality; the back of his neck stung, and he rubbed it to ease the pain. The captain’s yelling echoed in the whole dock, you couldn’t help but overhear it, and you turned to see what was going on. Being a troublemaker, you could relate to the situation, so it made you smile. After being lectured, he lifted his head again, and his eyes met yours; it was hard to meet his eyes for long though, they were like the ocean, so deep yet so tender, so full of life, so mesmerizing… Those were the eyes you’d never forget, the same eyes that would never forget you.

Your father was there for business, meaning he had little to no time to keep you company, and you got bored too easily  to simply follow him and his friends while they discussed their affairs.

“Father? Do you think we could take a quick look at that ship?”  - You walked by his side, clasping your hands behind your back.

“My love, I wish I had the time, but right now it’s impossible.”

“Then maybe someone could. “ – You stopped, pointing in the direction of the ship were James was, and giving your father a warm smile.

“I’ll arrange it for you. Just don’t get in trouble ok?”

“I won’t.” – You solemnly promised, although you knew that was a hard promise to keep.

You and your father approached the ship.

“Sailor?” – Your father called, and James turned around.

“Yes, Sir.” – James’s answer was dry; he knew that getting attention from people like you and your father often meant bad news for people like him.

“My daughter would like to have a look at the ship, could you please join her and show her around?”

“With all due respect, Sir, I don’t think this ship is the place for such an exquisite lady.”- He gave you a courtly nod, but his remark outraged you.

“I insist…” – You narrowed your eyes, and he couldn’t help but think you were a spoilt little lady used to get what she wanted at whatever cost.

“Listen, boy, this is my ship, meaning it’s her ship. So if she wants to take a look, she will be taking a look, and you’ll be escorting her. Are we clear?” – The finger of your father was mere inches away from James’s face, and you smirked, victorious.

“Yes, Sir.” – James nodded. – “Ma’am.” – He offered you his hand, to help you come on board.

“Thank you.” – You took his hand. It was rough and calloused, with a firm grip, unlike all the nobles you had met before, but t seemed to perfectly fit yours.

You father left, and you wandered around the deck, amazed with every little thing.  James observed you attentively; you didn’t look so stuck-up after all. Your fingers traced every detail engraved in the shiny hardwood.

“That’s…”

“I know what that is, sailor…”- After interrupting him, you came a little closer. – “I’m familiar with ships.”

He clenched his fists and teeth, calling him a sailor made you look pretty stuck-up once again.

“Oh, come on, why do you look so angry? It was you who didn’t introduce yourself! I’m sticking with sailor, until Your Grace choses to unveil his identity to me.”

He resisted his urge to chuckle.

“James. James Delaney, ma’am”

“Delaney, huh? Sounds familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it… Anyway,  James, I’m (Y/N), and it’s a pleasure to meet you.” – You extended your hand, and before he could bow to kiss it, you shook his hand firmly, surprising him.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, ma’am.” – His lips broke into coy smile

“No,no, no, please, let’s dispense with the formalities shall we, James? At least when my father is not around…He takes those things seriously, I don’t really care.” -  You shrugged, and fluttered your long eyelashes.

Many hours have passed, but none of you noticed it until the Sun was about to set. You were both hesitant at first, but James made you feel weirdly comfortable; you both enjoyed each other’s company, and how the talk effortlessly flowed between you, almost as naturally as the silence between two strangers would. You had known each other such a short time, and yet, it felt like you knew each other forever. You found out you had more in common than any of you had foreseen, but there was a lot more to discover.

“You’re not so bad, after all…”

“Oh, no, I’m just as fucked up as they say! Well, I must go now, or my father will really impatient. He doesn’t quite endure delays. But I’m coming back. One day…” – You gave him another charming smile.

“I’ll be waiting.” – He kissed your hand. The golden sunlight seemed to enhance the way your eyes shone; they were sweet and captivating, making it really hard for James to say goodbye just yet.

And he did, every single day he wondered when would you be the next person to show up in the docks; he would follow your father with his watchful eyes, waiting for the day he’d bring you with him again. He secretly longed for one more talk with you, for your company.

Once your father grew suspicious of your interest in the docks, you were forbidden to accompany him there, or to go on your own. Restrictions never worked with you, imposing rules only made you want to break them, this one wouldn’t be exception.

When the night fell, after stealing your mother’s darkest cloak, and your father’s most expensive brandy, you sneaked out through the window and headed to the docks, knowing you’d probably find James, since he was supposed to be guarding a ship ,that was supposed to set sail in a few days. The night breeze was chilly, and you involuntarily shiver, maybe a nice swig of brandy would help; it smelled and tasted kind of fruity, making the experience less bad than you expected it to be. A few swigs and steps after, you finally reached your destination.

“James?” - You called, probably louder than you than you meant to.

He was tired, almost falling asleep, but he could swear he heard his name being called in the distance, so he immediately got alert. After pulling back his blanket, he swung his legs off the bed, and groggily rubbed his eyes.

The tipsy version of you thought it would be a good idea to keep calling.

“James Delaney! I summon you!” –Inspecting the ships, trying to remember in which he was staying, you whispered once again.

James came out of the compartment, wondering who could be calling him so late at night; he came across you, and it left him completely bewildered.

“There you are!” -  You ran towards him, shaking the bottle in your hand.

“What are you doing here?!”

“I told you I’d come!” – Giving him the most fetching smile, you delivered him the bottle.

“Have you been drinking?” – He inspected the bottle and then you.

“Hmm hmm…” – Shaking your head in denial, you rolled your eyes.

“Of course not.” – He chuckled, after a low grunt; he perfectly knew you had. – “Does your father know you’re here, by any chance?”

“Why would he? He doesn’t own me, nobody does!”  - You defiantly crossed your arms over your chest.

“I bet he thinks differently, and this visit will put me in a lot of trouble.” – Taking a deep breath, he slowly tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear, and you bit your lower lip.

“Don’t sweat it and spare me the speeches, I bet Delaney means trouble in some kind of dialect…” – Looking down, you kicked off your shoes.

“I wish I could tell you that you’re wrong, but you’re probably right…” – He opened the bottle and gulped down some brandy.

“Plus, it’s not usual for someone as insubordinate as yourself to fear any kid of trouble… But if you want me to go, I go!”

“No…” – He took another sip from the bottle, both brandy and your presence made him feel a lot warmer inside; something he hadn’t feel in a long time.

By the time he finished gulping the brandy, you had climbed on the edge of the ship, and tiptoed on the narrow bar; he almost spat his drink on the floor.

“(Y/N)?” – He called softly, to avoid startling you and causing you to fall overboard.

“Yes?” – You spun on your feet as swiftly as possible, turning to him.

“Can you come down here, please?” – He extended his hand to you, trying to convince you to come back to the deck.

“No, I can’t!.” – Giggling, you reached for the back of your head, and undid your hair. Shaking your head lightly, your hair fell over your shoulders, just before the wind blew through it, and made it cover your face. – “James…If I fall, will you pick me up?” – You opened your arms, closing your eyes and savoring the sensations, the freedom, with a smile on your face.

“No, the water is freezing; I wouldn’t pick the fucking King, if he fell!” – He laughed.

You opened your eyes just to glare at him, with indignation.

“Well, we shall see about that…” – You closed your eyes again and smirked, laying your head back.

He took another sip of brandy and silently approached, catching you off guard, picking you up and throwing you roughly over his shoulder, as he stepped away from the edge of ship.

“Are you out of your mind?!” – He sat down, leaning again the mast, getting his breath back. You tried to release his strong grip, but he wouldn’t let go. Managing to trap you, he made you sit between his legs, as he held you tight into his chest, so you wouldn’t get away and cause any more trouble. – “I would certainly pick you up, ma’am, but please don’t fucking jump. You crazy little thing!”

“I wasn’t going to jump!” – You laughed out loud. – “I’m not that crazy… Ok, maybe I am! But I was just curious about your reaction.” – You cheekily remarked, and stopped resisting his grip, leaning your head against his shoulder instead. Once again you stole the bottle from his hand.

“You’ve probably had enough brandy , miss…” –

“Oh, really, says who?” - You turned your head to face him.

His piercing gaze lifted from the bottle to your face, and the hair rose in the back of your neck. You wanted to believe it only happened because of the cold, but perhaps the real culprit was James’s warmth.  

“Me…” – Whispering, he pinched your nose playfully, before stealing the bottle and gulping the remainder of the brandy on it.

“Hey!” – You slapped his leg, with a surprised look on your face, before bursting into laughter once again. “Since we’re on a ship… I love sailor songs… Do you know any?”

“No.” – His face was guilty, you knew he did, so you insisted.

Alcohol started working quickly once it entered your bodies, and in a matter of minutes the shyness and resistance were gone. James ended up singing a few sailor songs, and he even accepted your challenge to dance; he couldn’t dance like you did, he seemed to have two left feet and stomped on you every five seconds.  For your own safety, you decided to simply link your arm on his, lifting your dress with the other hand, spinning around and singing, like you both thought drunken pirates would do. After some time, you both were so dizzy you fell to the floor, rolling on the deck and laughing.

You laid with your arms spread, getting your breath back; James was fun, he made you feel like you hadn’t in ages. Around him everything was carefree, adventurous and natural.

Being a troublemaker, James was very vigilant, even when he was drunk. Something got his attention, and he got up, looking around.

“Come back here…” – You giggled, opening your arms for him, making him sign to lay back in the neck and relax.

“Shhhhhh…”

“Don’t hush me!” – You sat down, giving him a threatening look

“Shhh!” – James saw a light in the distance, and he could hear voices of officers calling your name. – “Oh fuck, this is all I needed…” – He rubbed his forehead.

“What?” – You raised your voice.

“Shut up! Come! They already have more than enough reasons to expel me, if they find the daughter of the owner here, I won’t only be expelled, I’ll probably hang too.” – He extended your hand to you.

“We’ll hang together then!” – You shrugged, and James sighed in annoyance, grabbing your arm and getting you up.

“Put these on! Quickly, please.” - He grabbed your shoes on the other hand, handing them to you.

“I won’t, they are awfully uncomfortable, James.” – You tipsy tantrums were funny to James; he wished he could laugh, but not when you were about to get caught.

“Ok, fine…”- James took a deep breath and to clear any evidence of your presence on the ship he decided to throw the shoes, which probably costed more than his salary, overboard.

You looked at the shoes sinking, then at James’s face, and you couldn’t help it but laughing uncontrollably.

“Shhhhh!” – He made you sign to hush, but the more he hushed you, the more you wanted to laugh.

Your father was worried sick, and sent officers to search the whole town, including the docks. The officers approached, following the dim lights on every ship. James grabbed your hand and ran with you to his room, before they could get a glimpse of your both. You should be worried, but the adrenaline had the opposite effect in you, you felt more alive than ever and laughed happily.

“They’ll search here as well, they’ll search everywhere…”

“Never had hide and seek been so interesting…And your face, lovely!”

“Can you take this seriously for a second?!” – James whispered.

“Hmm hmmm…” – You shook your head, laughing. Your eyes barely open, from how tipsy you were, but it also showed how true your smile was. – “James, I’ve been in trouble for most of my life, but I swear, I haven’t had this much fun since I was twelve…” – You hug him tight, laughing against his chest.

He heard the steps of the officers in the deck, and his instinct was to hide with you under the bed. There was little room, so he laid on his cold floor and you laid over him.

“What are you doing?!” – You whispered.

James was sick of trying to hush you; you just wouldn’t comply, so he put his hand over your mouth gently. You tried to speak, but his moth stopped you, so you bit him lightly, making him take his hand back , and laughed.

“What’s so fucking amusing in getting us killed, huh (Y/N)?!” – He put his hand on your mouth again, but it wasn’t enough to muffle your laughs anymore. – “I’m probably going to regret this, but here goes nothing.”

He moved his hand to the back of your head instead, bringing you closer. As the officers stormed into the room, before you could say anything, or laughed, he firmly pulled your body against his, brushing his lips on yours. You tried to fight it as first, but you just closed your eyes and let yourself savor the moment. Lacing his fingers in your smooth hair, he lightly slid your tongue across your lower lip, causing you to gasp lowly; your lips parted and he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue inside your mouth. You teased him, nibbling his lip, and he sighed into your mouth; you both surrendered to the delicious feeling.

The officers searched everywhere, including the small wardrobe, but luckily for you, not under the bed; they soon left, ready to search in another ship. You and James broke the kiss, and you just looked into his eyes for some seconds.

“I’m sorry…You wouldn’t stop laughing, I…” – He whispered, but he was lying through his teeth, he wasn’t sorry at all. You put a finger over his lips, hushing him.

“James Delaney, you’re quite a character! You just can’t apologize when you should, but you apologize when you shouldn’t…” – You planted a lingering peck on his soft lips, before you both came out of your hideout.

[flwrpotts]

chasing cars

let’s waste time/

chasing cars/

around our heads/

x.

It’s the sort of moment that cracks the planet of her in half, sends her completely out of orbit, into the lightless region of space where life is not possible. There aren’t enough pages in the world to describe the naked horror that sinks its teeth into Betty, spluttering and terrible. It is the sort of minute that splits her entire life into before and after.

F.P is holding his limp body, and Jughead is dead. He’s dead. She is watching, and his chest is not moving, and the curve of his throat is lifeless, and he is dead.

This winding, rotted to the core town killed him and the secrets they didn’t know how not to keep killed him and Betty killed him too, didn’t she? All those months ago, when he had spun out his escape fantasy, the shimmering fantasy of the open road.

She should have gone, Betty now realizes. She should have said yes, let’s leave, let’s run away, only instead she just took a sip of milkshake and now the only person who has ever really understood her is dead. Oh, god.

It seems impossible that time should keep stubbornly spinning out, second after second, that things should keep existing when the entire world has just ended. She cannot believe that there are people in the world who don’t know, people who are going about their day to day lives when the fucking sky should be falling in, Riverdale should be burning to the ground.

Something in her chest rips, and then there are tears on her face. Betty is distantly aware that Archie and Sweet Pea are trying to muscle her away from the scene, keep her from looking, but the premature grief has closed around her throat, and Betty Cooper is no longer a girl who cares about things like propriety. She fights against them, hysterical with hair in her face and metallic blood in her mouth from where she bit down on her tongue. The sound she makes isn’t human, more like the high, keening wail of an animal.

She manages to break away from them, the two boys still shell shocked themselves, and she stumbles to F.P, who is laying Jughead out in the grass.

“Fuck, fuck,” she says, ineloquent and sobbing, sinking down to crouch beside him, to run a hand through his tacky, blood matted hair.

He looks like something from the stained glass windows at the church she attended as a child, like one of those bloody, Biblical stories that they were never taught in First Communion for fear of being too gruesome. He looks like something old and primal, something out of a story about justice and evil. Jughead’s always been a martyr.

F.P claps a hand on her back, intended to be comforting, and Betty flinches hard, curling further into Jughead’s lifeless body. She presses her face into the side of his neck, and the smell of his skin lingers, under all the sweat and blood, that familiar Jughead scent of cheap boy shampoo and flannel. Her fingers knot tightly in the collar of his shirt, and then she feels it, the faintest fluttering against her knuckles.

Hope is a dangerous, neon lit thing in her chest, and then Betty’s first aid training is kicking in, she is digging her fingers in looking for a pulse, she is whispering please don’t be dead please don’t jug pleasepleaseplease.

Her fingers are blood slicked and shaking, and she is fully aware that she is acting hysterical, but she’s sure that she felt it, sure that that was his heartbeat under her fingertips, however faint. She will yank him back into life with the force of her will, she will pull him straight up out of the grave and into her arms because it is impossible that he is gone, that death can be stronger than the love shredding her chest wide open.

He wouldn’t just leave her. Jughead wouldn’t just- wouldn’t just die. Not before they were able to fix Riverdale, not before the story was over, not before they’d gotten their happy ending.

Her fingers continue to fumble at the crook of his neck, flailing and pressing hard into his carotid artery, waiting for the steady pressure of a heartbeat. A hand touches her shoulder, gentle.

“Betty,” Cheryl says, softer than she’s ever spoken to her. “Betty, there’s no pulse.”

“Yes, there is,” she insists, voice ragged from the saltwater clogging her throat. “I felt it. There was a pulse. He isn’t dead.”

Her fingers keep prodding at the fragile skin of his throat, all desperation, willing to do anything, anything, for that faint fluttering she felt to come back. “God fucking damn it,” she hisses through tears, movements becoming more frantic.

A hand closes over her gently, pulling her away. Toni. Her face is contorted with grief, mascara streaked down her face, but her voice is firm when she speaks, no coddling. “Betty. There isn’t a pulse. It’s over.”

“Oh, God,” Betty whispers. “Oh, Juggie. Juggie, I’m sorry.”

x.

Chewing on a pen. Tying his shoelaces. Pulling on his beanie. Sitting with his feet kicked up on the desk of the Blue and Gold. Ordering Pop’s. Writing notes to himself. Kissing her palms. Pulling on a jacket. Standing with his arms folded. Taunting Reggie. Spilling a milkshake. Smiling at her. Drinking black coffee. Reading true crime novels. Listening to Pink Floyd records. Washing dishes in the trailer. Giving Toni a piggyback ride. Knocking knuckles with Archie. Rolling his eyes. Asking too many questions. Wearing layers of flannel. Riding the motorcycle. Making popcorn for the movie. Hauling her up onto the kitchen counter. Climbing up the ladder to her room. Laughing at a dumb joke. Playing video games. Eating the fourth slice of pizza. Kissing her with his eyes shut. Breaking into the Sisters of Quiet Mercy. Wearing the Pop’s uniform. Sitting on the couch. Saying I love you, Betty Cooper.

All of it, gone.

x.

She doesn’t cry, at the funeral.

The day is beautiful, the first true day of spring, and attendance for the service is low. Funerals are a dime a dozen in Riverdale these days, and most people skip the Mass in favor of enjoying the sunshine for the first time in what feels like years. Outside the window, Betty can see a fleet of kayakers out on Sweetwater River.

Betty puts on the same dress she wore to Jason Blossom’s funeral, and it’s amazing how little things change, even when the world has been ripped clean apart. She cannot help but remember the last time she wore it, standing with Jughead in her childhood bedroom, him in his oversized suit and clashing beanie, the way he had smiled at her, so tender she couldn’t breathe.  

But despite the church that doesn’t even fill up to the back row, everyone important is there. Toni and Cheryl and Sweet Pea and Fangs and Archie and Veronica and F.P, always F.P. The people who really cared, the ones who knew Jughead beyond the emo loner or the Serpent royalty.

She thinks he would have liked it better this way. Jughead could never stand the posturing, the crowds of false mourners at Jason’s funeral, play acting at grief. He would hate a big funeral, an event with the entire school and a framed portrait of him at the front. But Gladys doesn’t come, and Betty will never forgive her for it as long as she lives.

The entire thing is stiff, awkward. F.P goes first, and everyone holds their breath, watching him stumble to the front of the room, all whiskey breath and barely held together sadness.

“Jughead was,” F.P begins, eyes red rimmed. “He was-”

His voice breaks, and the tension in the room is something awful, like watching a car crash. F.P struggles to speak, but the words choke, and then it is just a man falling apart on a stage, his child lying in a coffin three feet away.

Surprisingly, or not, it’s Alice that stands. Eyeglasses on and voice flat to avoid betraying a tremor, she reads the speech he’s prepared: a simple, ineloquent thing about his son, his brilliant boy. When she finishes, she presses a hand to her mouth, and the tears that run down her face are silent.

After that, everyone is speaking, laughing through their tears, reminiscing about Jughead Jones, about his moods and his beanie and the goodness that ran straight to the marrow, to the bone.

Betty doesn’t contribute much, a few stories about his beanie and his unironic love of Tarantino movies, about the time he tried to check out sixteen books from the library when they were kids.

But most things are too true, too sacred to be spoken aloud, shared with other people. She keeps the real memories for herself. When he kissed her for the very first time, mouth tentative against hers and so much happiness it streamed like sunlight out her molars. After the fight at his surprise party, when she showed him the ugliness she was capable of and he pressed his lips to the jagged cuts on her palms. The first time he told her he loved her.  

No one will ever know of that night on the couch, when she had peeled off her pale pink dress and told him she wanted all of him. Or about the way they had slow danced in the diner at Pop’s at one forty five in the morning on a Tuesday, because Etta James was on the jukebox and they were in love.

She doesn’t really give a eulogy at all, just a couple scrappy, strung-together sentences.

“I once gave a speech, where I said that Jughead was the soul of Riverdale,” she says when it’s her turn. “He wasn’t. Nobody can be the soul of something else. But he was the best of us, and now he’s- he’s gone. He’s just gone.”

She doesn’t know why she even bothered with it. She could seize every dictionary in the English language and still wouldn’t have the words, the ability to capture the absolute loss of him, the worlds that have burned down inside her.

She makes it through the entire funeral, the entire week, without crying, without truly falling apart. She takes the flowers and the casseroles and the pitying glances and uncomfortable hugs without flinching, a model Cooper; the Teflon, appropriate person she was raised to be.

It’s the ultimate defense mechanism, slipping into the shiny veneer of Elizabeth Cooper, even when she doesn’t know it means anymore. Her hair remains in its ponytail and her cardigans are pastel and no one can see the the way her bones ache with exhaustion when she has to get out of bed.

She sits through the service, and she says her piece, and she hugs the people she needs to hug, and then she walks out of the tiny, shitty Church with her palms smarting, the pain less than what it should be. If she were to touch a wall, a perfect red handprint would come back. It feels like his blood on her hands.

Are you alright, Betty, Veronica had asked her, the morning after when she was still in the hospital for dehydration and nervous exhaustion. Yes, she had replied. Are you alright Archie had asked as she helped F.P write the guest list and pick out wood for the coffin. Yes she answered. Are you alright, her mother had questioned, zipping up her black funeral dress, and Betty said Yes, I am.

She is not alright. She is a mess.

She is staring at the kitchen table, in this house that had never even held a real family, and she cannot stop thinking that he will never again sit at the table eating breakfast. He will never again smile or tell a joke or kiss her on the mouth.

She throws the lasagna that’s sitting on the counter, hard enough that the pan shatters, leaving jagged shards of glass across the floor. She cannot stop looking at the chair he once sat in, back when they still worried about things like where Polly was, and then she is shaking and then she is crying and then she is screaming and crying and shaking, entirely undone.

Alice walks in when she’s still throwing things- staplers and glasses and cake stands, anything fragile, anything big enough to do some damage in the wall. She wants to unmake the world the way she has been unmade.

Her mother grabs her as she sinks into the floor, and her ankle is sliced open on glass, but she doesn’t care, the pain in steadying.

“Mom,” she sobs. “Mom, he’s not coming back. I don’t know what to do. He isn’t coming back.”

“I know, baby,” Alice replies, rocking her back and forth like she is six instead of sixteen. “I know he isn’t. I’m so sorry.”

x.

She dreams about him.

Never about anything special, never memories. Nothing about that night, the one with the blood and the wet grass and the gouges in her hands so deep she’d had to get three of them stitched up the next day.

She dreams of them doing common, everyday things. Sometimes they’re mini golfing. Other times they’re sitting at her kitchen table, licking envelopes. Or sitting on the couch, watching reruns of I Love Lucy. Walking Vegas, doing homework in the Blue and Gold office, playing Scrabble. She has one dream four nights in a row that they’re sitting in Mrs. Higgins homeroom, listening to the morning announcements.

He never speaks to her, in the dreams, and Betty wakes up choking on her tears every time, gasping for air like she’s been sprinting for her life. After, she lies awake until morning, watching as dawn slides across the wall of Thornill’s dark, still guest room.

Sometimes, she wishes she’d just dream about the night he died instead. It might hurt less.

x.

She packs up her things into cardboard boxes on a Saturday morning and moves out of her childhood home. She can’t stand to be there anymore, that glass house where they never did anything but hurt one another. Alice cries when she leaves, but Betty is too tired to feel anything like guilt. She’s spent so long burning up pieces of herself to keep her mother warm, it’s almost a relief to have nothing left to give.

She goes to Thornhill, fleeing into the dark embrace of the Blossoms like her sister before her. Cheryl is lonely and welcomes her with open arms, refers to her as Cousin Betty and dotes on Nana Rose. Veronica is there, too, officially cutting ties with her family, and so is Toni, who never really had a family to begin with.

It’s like a strange, backwards summer camp. Betty dyes her hair one night, ruining the porcelain bathtub with boxed brown hair dye from the drugstore. She doesn’t recognize herself after, starts when she catches her reflection, and it’s something of a relief. She stops going by Cooper too, and takes on her mother’s maiden name instead.

But for all she tries to erase the person she was, she clings onto Jughead. There’s something awful in the way that people refuse to bring him up around her, as if it’s going to bring up the memories when she never stops forgetting.

She tries to stop time, that way. They eat breakfast Betty talks about his collection of WW2 documentaries. Archie brings over Pop’s and she recites his signature order. Toni pulls out her Serpent jacket and she talks about Jughead’s, about the way it felt against her sweater when he lent it to her.

“Nobody cares about your dead boyfriend,” Cheryl snaps once, when the anniversary of Jason’s death is coming up and everyone is on edge.

“I do,” Betty replies evenly.

But she feels everyone else start to forget. It feels impossible, that they should forget him, forget about Jughead, about the quirks of his mannerisms and his deep down beliefs and his boundless, unfathomable kindness.

He was the only one in Riverdale who ever really understood her. The only one able to see past the ponytail, the only one who got it was like to feel like an outsider, even when you were inside the room.

They were meant for one another, Betty knows. He was the boy she was going to marry and have an apartment with and maybe adopt a cat or have some kids or go on adventures and solve mysteries, whatever. All their possible, bursting futures died with him, every opportunity to leave Riverdale and start somewhere fresh.

She’s digging through the cabinets, looking for toothpaste, when she sees the pill bottle. Leftover medicine from the time Jason broke his leg in ninth grade. Betty eyes up the pills for a few seconds, considering.

Might as well complete the Romeo and Juliet parallel she thinks, mentally tallying how many pills she’d need to knock her out and never wake up.

But then she starts, sees herself in the mirror. Blonde hair is coming in at the dark roots. She closes the bathroom cabinet and heads downstairs.

x.

There are no happy endings, here.

[the-energon-hole]

May I also have headcannons of TFP Megatron, Knockout and Predaking with female reader who never experienced genuine romance? She is usually confident and suave, but when it comes to romance, she is not. She quietly confesses that her previous exes never appreciated her nor made her feel beautiful, safe and warm: only wanting to use her. Then the mechs do what her exes failed to do, making the reader feel loved from their compliments, gentle caresses and telling her why they love her.

((A/N - I went a little slow with this one because I didn’t want to mess it up- it took me awhile to think about it so I hope you like it ))

Megatron

-To say that Megatron has never experienced genuine love would be a bold face lie probably told by the Autobot propaganda committee to make him look like some kind of unfeeling monster. He felt a deep love for all his fellow Cybertronians to the point he would overthrow an entire government in order to get them the freedom of choice they so truly deserved, he loved his position as a gladiator in the pits of Kaon as he was big on entertaining the masses with his bulk and combative wit, and he somehow found himself in some kind of romantically love with a squishy little human that managed to charm and seduce him in a way no one before her had ever accomplished, he was sure many have tried as he was quite the catch back in the days of his youth, but as time went on and he became a battle hardened and deeply scarred warlord- well, the prospect of bonding became a thing of the past. Yet, here you were, simply leaking regality while still possessing such a flirty and sensual attitude that it was hard to resist any command you threw at him. You could snap your fingers and demand he serve you his soldiers head’s on a spike and he would do it if it gave him any kind of chance of winning over your seemingly cold and unfeeling heart. It was actually kind of dangerous if you look at it objectively, the great and powerful Megatron becoming an enamoured slave to an insignificant and feeble little human, but really when has playing it safe and staying in one’s lane ever actually accomplished anything meaningful or significant. It was the risk takers and the trend setters who would always be remembered and always be kept in histories light as the ones who have made an impact to the way society was run, and he was hoping that maybe by being a said trend setter that maybe you would keep him in your radiant light that he has been craving to be in since you began to prove your worth to him in a way no other Cybertronian ever had before.

-You had him wrapped up around your little finger and the power was beginning to go to your head as you noticed so many vehicons refused to look you in the eye as you passed them by them in the halls of the ship, and you also noticed all of Megatron’s subordinates showing such great respect by offering up their frames as a way of pleasing you to get into your good graces so many times that it made your heart flutter a little with delight to know you can basically do whatever you wanted and get away with it because you were the favorite of the biggest and baddest bot in all of Cybertronian history. Truthfully however, at times, you felt like all of this attention and doting on should be given to someone who is more deserving of it than you. You were never seen as the most prime specimen of beauty in your culture and a long streak of messy and bad break ups seems to only continue to taunt and emphasize that to you. Lovable as never something you thought yourself to be as time and again you have been shown that every single one of your partners had to be that constant reminder that you were far from perfect and that you deserved to be alone forever because you were not their ideal woman. It was depressing honestly, and you sometimes had bad days where you couldn’t function because of those taunting and dark thoughts, they were there to remind you time and again that you were the embodiment of bitter energy and that romantic love will always be something that is unattainable by you- no one understood that as they would spout some fairy tale nonsense about everyone having their proverbial prince charming and how everyone will experience this amazing euphoric feeling in their lifetime. It was a load of crock, which was why you stopped sharing your secret affinity for things like finding your one true love amongst so many individuals- it was like trying to find the sheep amongst a pack of wolves, impossible and something you cannot foresee yourself being able to do. It hurt, but you know what, life goes on and you have to go along with it.

-This wasn’t a conversation you were really that willing to have, as it all started when Megatron expressed his “undying devotion” to you and exclaimed how he wished to hold you in his spark as someone who was more than just his dear little human spy and that he would do anything to keep you happy and safe so long as he is living and functioning, you got angry as you didn’t believe him. You yelled and screamed and called him a liar- and it seems this wasn’t the reaction he was expecting, it wasn’t that the feelings were not mutual, you actually felt great attraction towards Megatron, you just can’t trust yourself to know a difference between romantic attraction or sexual desires. The not being able to distinct between the two has gotten you in so many bad situations that you just decided completely to ignore those feelings. You broke down just thinking about it as you told this magnificent mech that it wasn’t him it was you- so many before have tricked and lied to you to manipulating you into thinking your romantic feelings were real, but really it was just them taking advantage of you and abusing you to the point you still question your emotions to this day. It frustrated and angered you more than it did make you cry, but all of these emotions surfacing, well it was hard to not become a little emotional remembering all of the bad shit you had to go through to get to this point. That was when Megatron stopped speaking words as you felt him grip your face to look at him from your position on a countertop- you had no idea what was reflecting in those normally cold optics, but you could have sworn in that moment there was a shimmering sparkle that was present that made you stop feeling so anxious and feel some kind of comfort that you never have before. That was all this moment was, just staring into one another’s eyes- his reflecting genuine love and compassion while you were sure yours reflected fear and anxiety but also a little bit of a new emotion that was a mix of hesitant understanding and a little bit of longing. You wanted to kiss him in that tender moment, so you reached up and he lifted you so you can nuzzle and plant a small tender kiss on his faceplate. Is this what love was, real romantic love? It felt good- and it felt better knowing Megatron was a mech of his word and would love you with his whole being without anger or an ounce of mistreatment.

Knockout

-You two had a whole lot in common, considering your personalities were almost one in the same. He enjoyed being the shiny and outstanding mech who was colored a deep and enticing color that it made others stop and admire his appearance whether eti was the mindless vehicons or some humans who noticed his alt mode parked outside somewhere- you liked to dress up and show off your appearance while wearing designer and beautiful clothing that made people stop and stare because they were admirable and jealous while wishing they could too look like that. You both also enjoyed having laughs and trading quips back and forth that others might interpret as hurtful exchanges but really were just sweet and innocent words that indicated you both were playing a long standing game that was only reserved for the two of you to know the rules and partake in. It could be constituted as flirting as you weren’t afraid to admit that this mech was most definitely the most attractive of all the Cybertronians you have come to witness- true he was rather a bit of a coward, but he was good looking so he had a pass to be just that. You were a little afraid of dying as well, and really, who in their right mind wasn’t afraid of a premature death so when things get to hot for you two to handle you are always the first ones to bail and retreat back to the sanctum of his lab on The Nemesis ship. It was fine though, as he was always there to check you for wounds and you were always there to buff his finish and vacuum his interior should anything happen to his appearance- it was nice to have someone to fall back on like this, and though you have thought that so many times before you had someone to “ride or die” with, maybe Knockout was the real deal this time? You hoped so, he is a good friend and the best being in the universe- you hope nothing can spoil this fun and fulfilling relationship. You two were one half of the same person after all, which was why the friendship was soon beginning to bud into another thing- it was there, but you didn’t know really what that thing was. Knockout has an idea of what this relationship was slowly stepping into but he didn’t want to rush you into anything, he knows your past and he wants to handle this with as much finesse as possible. That was a good thing, as finesse was his middle name so to speak, and there was no way he can screw this up… Right?

-There were so few things that Knockout had a genuine love for besides himself- he loved Breakdown as much as any mech could as they have been long time companions and long time brothers, he has a real love for the practice of medicine even if that practice is more for the dissection in order to learn and understand things first hand from the source material, and now he can say he has a genuine love for you and all of your quirky and interesting habits. He gets all star opticted when you laugh with that angelic tone and he has to stop himself from swooning when you make a bad joke directed at someone like Starscream and Soundwave because you were just so genuinely unafraid of them- it was a flex of your strength and power of them as an asset to Megatron and he loved it. You were just a human, but you were such an important key to their victory, it was intoxicating knowing not only where you attractive to look at (even if you deny it) but you were also intelligent and witty. You truly were the best rival to have when it came to having your little conversations to where you were so snarky that it made his spark swell with a new kind of emotion that he has never really experienced before. Breakdown told him it must be love but he doubted it, mechs like Knockout don’t fall in love and get tied down by some femme, no matter how amazing he thinks that femme is. Breakdown laughed at him after that, saying how similar the two of you really were, as unbeknownst to Knockout you also asked Breakdown what was going on. Wow, you guys even go to him for the same advise- it was so amusing watching you two just be so blissfully unaware of what was there that sometimes Breakdown wants to just smush your faces together until you kiss and have that “electrical shock” moment that you get when you share a moment with the one you love. You both have had a bad string of relationships however, so he will not pry or force anything and let the two of you figure it out on your own, because really that is what it comes down to. He can’t tell you both anything because you are both equally as stubborn and have to learn your lessons the hard way.

-Knockout knows your hard past and your ex lovers, Breakdown knows your hard past and your ex lovers, and you hated comparing what you have to the cherry red mech to what you used to ahve with those asshoels who made you feel so bad for having any kind of emotions towards them. You were experiencing new feelings you couldn’t describe, but you were also experiencing some old one that you wish would just go away so you never have to worry about them again. Your guts would get all funny and fluttery when you were in the same room as the Decepticon medic just like it had with some of your exs before you, but you felt so calm in his presences that it made you second guess the things your heart was trying to convey to your stubborn and angry brain- why did your body and soul literally have to ruin such an enriching and quality friendship by making you feel like this?! It must have been Knockout who said something, because you were so tight lipped about how you felt that it must have been him to bring it up, but there it was out in the open after one of your famous quip battles was stopped dead after he (or maybe it was you, no one really remembered) uttered the words “you say that you hate me, but in reality My Dear, we all know you love me as much as I love you”. You got a little panicky as you apologized for something, you are not sure what but you just kept repeating it as the good doctor could swear his breath was caught in his vent systems- well, this was not the finesse he normally had and you made him so damn nervous that the beans were spilled before he could even come up with a game plan. Here it was tough out in the open, and once you were done apologizing Knckout decided tha titwas going to be now or never to open up and try to have a for real moment with you. He stroked the top of your head with his claw as he tousled your hair a little while twirling it a little around his digit, he just let instinct take over as he has never done something like this before as he was just a broken as you were when it came to love, he went from stroking your hair to touching your face to which you froze and looked p at him with concern- there was something else plastered on your face however, it was complete trust for the mech before you. He wasn’t like all the others before him, he actually took the time to call you beautiful and he actually liked to listen to your sass and your slightly harsh words and he could meet your challenge when it came to all of these conversations you were having. You saw nothing but relaxed content and a warm disposition as he stroked your face gently with his claw that was really sharp enough he could rip you to ribbons if he wanted, but he wont, and you knew he wouldn’t- and that it what love must feel like, because you trusted him completely with anything and everything, and it was nice to feel so free instead of so caged so you couldn’t help but start laughing and giggling at how nice this situation turned out to be. He laughed too out of solidarity, and in that moment, you knew everything was going to be ok.

Predaking

-He was still very new to this world only being created and imprinted with whatever that mech wanted him to know and he has only known the kindness and compassion you have shown to him- you were not like all the others aboard this floating hell hole whom were fearful and angry at him for who he really was. He actually found himself getting excited and his spark will hammer inside of its case as he anticipated you stopping by daily and telling him all the different kinds of stories you had to speak about. He has learned so much about you in such a short time like how you weren’t particularly being forced to stay on the ship against your will, but you weren’t exactly aloud to leave it either- you were an asset to Megatron’s plan and that kind of made you a prisoner in this cage just like him. Humans weren’t all that interesting to him, but it gave you a reason to speak to him and it was enough for him as he wanted to hear what you had to say when it came to all different kinds of subject matter. You told him all kinds of fascinating tales from the human world from things about human history to things about fantasy and fiction- he found himself entranced as you spoke to him about yourself more than he was enticed by tales of heroism and politics. You for some unknown reason were an ire for his fascination, and you for some reason cause all of these strange and primal instincts to bubble up inside of him that give him the urge to just hold you close to his body so that he can bask in your warmth and maybe get a chance to get drunk on and inhale the scent in which he is teased with whenever you get up close to him and touch his body in a friendly way- you were fascinated by his tail and wings and it made him a little proud and vain to know his physical appearance impressed you in any kind of way. He thought you were a rather attractive human even if the only comparison he can make were to those of the Prime’s ally, either way however, your aesthetic pleased him and ignited all kinds of wonder and emotions he has yet to actually sit and ponder upon. Once you were comfortable enough around him and you ran out of stories to tell, you told him all about you and who you were as a person and all of the thoughts and opinions you had buzzing around inside of that small but cute head of yours. He was so enamoured with you and he has no idea why, but he made it is job to protect you whenever he can, so long as he is around no one will ever hurt you again- and whomever these “exes” were, they better watch their backs.

-He can list all day the things he likes about you, but one thing he can claim was his favorite quirks he saw in you was your need to name everyone on the ship- you gave designations to all the Vehicons to which you listed to him any time they passed by the cage while they were slaving away under Megatron’s laws. They didn’t seem to mind as you always had good names to give based on everyone’s forged frame numbers, but the one you gave to him made him feel even more vain and attractive than when you were stroke and touching his skin absentmindedly as you sat with him during those quiet nights to just talk about anything and everything. You called him a “King” and he felt himself melt a little as he purred unintentionally as you laughed a sweet laugh that made his spark sputter with content comfort and slight nervousness. You rambled sometimes when you just sat there and talked about nothing in particular but that’s ok, because it gave him a chance to sit here with you and just  quietly contemplate his new upcoming emotions- which was not allowed in the current political rule in which you both live, when it was just the two of you however alone in his cage he was allowed to think and to feel however he wanted and it was the best moments he has ever had in his short and hard life. He thought about all kinds of things when he had the chance from all things ranging  between the best ways to get away from Megatron to what it would mean for him if he just stayed and stuck through that overzealous mech’s stupid orders of violence and anger, but his favorite thoughts, the ones he finds himself having even now as you lay against him sleeping because you too have had an exhausting day and even rambling quietly to him was tiring- the thoughts most pleasing were the ones of him taking you away form this place and stashing you somewhere safe until he can figure out what is really going on in this world and what his best options for survival were. It hits him every now and again that he doesn’t really belong anywhere as there were not others like him that existed in his world, but yet he felt right at home when you two were curled up in his cage awaiting the next day of forced labor and agonizing moralistic dilemmas. He didn’t think he could ever be poetic but being in your presence and anytime you graced him with your company he felt as if the sun itself manifested into the form of a beautiful femme that preferred his company over all others.

-Another thing that always caught his attention about you was the way you always were able to stand up for yourself even if the situation was dangerous and no one was around to protect you. It was a sign of your unwavering confidence and stubborn knowledge of knowing you are right in your moralistic actions against those known as the Autobots, you were so amazing to watch as you yelled at Starscream for pushing his luck by trying to mess with you and “not really kill you but injury you a little” because he felt like flexing his imaginary power hold over you- you were having none of his nonsense that day and you weren’t afraid to tell him where he can go shove a rusty pipe. Starscream wasn’t very amused by it and in a moment of weakness on Predaking’s part he jumped into action to stop that annoying mech’s hand from hitting you off your position on a console on the outside of his cage by transforming into his alt mode to loom over the offending mech with his own sheer height and prescns. Predaking uttered words along the lines of “if you so much as touch my beloved one, I will rip the spark right out of your chest and make you regret the day you were ever created”. It worked as Starscream laughed nervously as he does when he is threatened by ones bigger than him and excused himself spouting some nonsense about his daily duties recalling his attention elsewhere, and Predaking knew he was going to go tattle to Megatron in hoping he would dole out a punishment. He wouldn’t however and would just scold Starscream for starting a situation he couldn’t really finish and for distracting others from doing their everyday jobs. He noticed a shift in your personality after that- you were unbearably quiet and you did not sit close with him in beast form as you normally would have and that made him so nervous and a little scared. Did he do something wrong earlier by protecting you from Starscream? Were you offended that he stepped in to stop a physical attack on your form because you had some plan to make him look a fool instead? His mind was so busy buzzing with all that he thought he could do wrong when you took it upon yourself, as you always do, to be the one to break the silence and address the problem in the room. You told him that it was kind of him to protect you but you couldn’t possibly be his beloved because a King like him deserved someone so much better than what you could offer- you beartted yourself as being bland and unkind and he almost balked at the sheer idea that you thought yourself to weak to be his most beloved. He just huffed in his beast form and dragged you closer to him  with his tail while he nuzzled his face against your body- and he was blown away by how good you smelled and how warm you felt, yes, if you would have him than he would try his best to prove to you that you were worthy of his love.

(05/07/18)

[sdfhsagk]

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[cloudbattrolls]

Hand in Unlovable Hand

Etuuya Vannyn | Nott Station | A Perigee Prior

Tuuya walked out of the QPIN meeting room smiling broadly, while Gliese sullenly flicked her ears and Karina sighed. It had been a success for OLSC, if in name only; the price in resources, trade agreements, and liquid assets had been steep. 

The drinker cared little; none of them had gotten shot, and they’d secured Queenpin’s agreement to pit their adversaries - the pirates raiding Nott and Firebird and her Spark trolls - against each other. Cheers all around.

The higher-ups had all left - they weren’t the kind who wasted time on pleasantries, their leader included.

Only one troll remained in the black and jade meeting room as she walked out behind them, hands in her pockets as her tail curled slowly around one of her legs.

“Vannyn. We talk alone.”

The three OLSC employees turned around in the narrow hallway, Gliese brandishing her war scythe as the taller woman looked on suspiciously.

The worm monster waved a hand airily.

“Wistim can’t kill me now, it would violate the deal. And she’s a woman of her word.”

“Yeah, right.” Snarled the blueblood, waving her weapon. “I don’t care if you helped me once, lady, I’m not leaving them with you.”

“Leave it.” said Karina, voice heavy with fatigue but no less firm for it. “This is between them.”

Her younger employee glared at her, furious and disbelieving as she clutched her scythe. 

“After what she did?!”

“I won’t ask again, Gliese.”

Muttering mutinously, the hare troll nevertheless stowed her blade back in her sylladex followed her boss down the hall. She shot a few murderous looks back at the lowblood as she went.

Ullane paid her no mind. Her inscrutable gaze was fixed on the drinker, her hair in a tight ponytail while theirs was drawn back in its usual bun.

“So did you want to chat here, or do I get the pleasure of seeing your lab?”

The medic turned and walked in a different direction, and the drinker followed her. She led them out of the dimly lit building, out into the streets of Nott (they avoid no less than three fights breaking out, as food and water were becoming scarce) through its busy docks and clubs, its antigravity sport arenas, until she had led them back to the place where they had surprised her once.

The abandoned patio next to the fleet thrift shop was as well-concealed as ever. The store next to it was out of business now; the lights were off, and some of the windows had been smashed. 

It seemed so long ago, yet it had been merely half a sweep since the Hanhai cavern massacre. Since they’d administered the only justice those poor would-be fool traitors were going to get, making sure Wistim knew she hadn’t entirely gotten away with it. 

“It’s ready.” She said, leaning against one of the crumbling walls. “Have had little time, but studied the worms enough.”

“Wonderful! It’ll be a bugger of a job getting it to them all, but I want to at least offer them the chance. It’s more than you did, medic. Do you even remember the faces of all those jades you killed?”

“Do you remember every troll you’ve eaten?”

She shot back.

They raised their eyebrows, amused.

“Not at all. But I’m much older than you. And I wouldn’t be surprised if your life ended prematurely, if the empire ever got word of what you did. Now that QPIN’s finest know...your business is so very cutthroat, isn’t it? Might want to change your name and get a new face, get off Nott station and live in a proper colony. You’d have a better chance of surviving.”

Her lip peeled back in pure disdain.

“Don’t pretend caring. Are the one blackmailing me.”

They had been admiring the view of the buildings below, but turned to look at her, their long jade shawl shifting around their shoulders.

“You never would’ve helped me otherwise, and I am trying to repair some harm I did; I could’ve asked you for so much worse.”

“Is no justification. Act like I had choice with what I did. They’d have killed me, or sold me to empire. Didn’t have power or time to fight one by one, ask if would spare me. Am yellow; they’d never care.”

The drinker raised a finger in objection.

“I know that disease you used to kill them. I saw it take thousands of lowbloods in sweeps past, before the empire all but wiped it out. It’s a slow death; you had time to make deals with them. At least to try.”

“Why you care so much? Are dead now. Nothing changes it. You’ve no right to act superior.”

They caught the sight of yellow tears running down her face before she turned away from them.

The drinker sat down on the worn stones of the abandoned patio, legs crossed primly.

“I too wiped out a cavern once.”

Her eyes widened and she took a step back before her fists clenched and she regained herself, face alight with rage.

“Then how dare you, monster! How dare you say anything to me! How dare you use me!?”

The mediculler spun back around, reaching for her psi but producing only red sparks that fizzled and scattered.

Tuuya waved a finger and clicked their tongue.

“I have a nullifier, if you’ll recall.”

She reached into her sylladex and pulled out a small bottle with a spray nozzle, and the drinker barely had time to leap to the side before she sprayed it in a wide arc.

Some of it drifted toward them...and did nothing.

They laughed.

“Well, that was anti-climati - gkkk”

They started to choke, their throat closing up, their worms...their worms were becoming still inside of them, stiffening up.

When Firebird had half burned them to death, it had been more painful...but now they were dying from the inside, their many moving parts melting and fusing together.

The QPIN troll walked over, dark yellow eyes alight with curiosity and dark satisfaction.

“You don’t breathe. So how to get substance in you? Realized - never shut up. Could still make it gas. Need air to talk.”

They couldn’t speak, weakened too much by the substance. All they could do was collapse on the cracked stone tiles as the sensation of thrashing worms petered out.

She put on gloves and picked them up, hauling them over her shoulder and taking out what the drinker blearily recognized as a short-range personal transportalizer.

With a blur of color and noise, Ullane stood in what must be her surgical laboratory - all white and silver gleaming surfaces and sharp shiny tools.

She dropped them roughly on the table and removed their black shirt and jade shawl, handling the objects as if they were filthy with only her thumb and the tip of her pointer finger. They were still too weak to move on the cold surface, worms only slowly repairing the damage and regrowing their numbers. They hadn’t drunk enough blood lately to heal faster. 

“I was trying to tell you I understood. That I wanted to keep you from going down the path I did because of my own mistakes. I hadn’t meant to kill my cavern. It was an accident.”

The yellowblood turned from putting on a surgical mask to look at them, her tail fluffed up at the end in rage as her ears pinned back.

“Why would listen to you? We’re nothing alike. Expect me to believe you care? Are incapable, you parasite.”

With a cough, the creature managed a dry laugh.

“I wish you were right! It’d be so much easier if I could just not, you know? But unfortunately, I was made from a troll, and a weakness of mine is that I rather like people. I think they’re a lot more fun when they’re not dead.”

Ullane’s eyes narrowed behind a pair of freshly-adorned surgical goggles.

“Have toyed with me, used me, blackmailed me. Care nothing for my wellbeing. Is just your sadism.”

“You recall I could’ve eaten you, right? I’m not expecting a thank you, but I could’ve made a smoothie of you the first time we met here. I was tempted, not going to lie. Then I realized you still have a conscience. You’re not like my ancestor, who made me.”

“Don’t speak to me of conscience. Your kind has none.”

“How true! But are you so full of hatred you’ll go back on a deal your own boss made? Jeopardize your position?”

“My boss is rainbowdrinker.” The yellowblood shackled the drinker to the table with metal bars around their wrists and ankles. “She won’t care. Neither will yours, so long as you function.”

The worm monster blinked, then snorted, mouth tilting in disdain.

“Oh, that’s rich! You’ll nod your head and work for one of the undead if she signs your paychecks, but the rest of us can rot?”

“Wasn’t her fault, she was betrayed and killed after I came. Am not happy, but can’t change it.”

“You are a raging hypocrite, Wistim. Honestly, all I can do is laugh.”

The mediculler turned away from them, readying her instruments for whatever grim thing she was going to do. 

“Won’t be laughing much longer.”

Unfortunately, she was right. They wriggled their limbs experimentally in the shackles, but they still hadn’t finished regrowing all their worms. Even then, flinging the restraints off would’ve require all their strength and left them unable to flee quickly - the shackles were obviously meant to hold seadwellers.

Wait, why were they thinking like that? There was an easier way.

“Give me nullifier. Or you die now.”

Ah, hell.

“Well, if you want to take it out, be my guest - it’s nestled in my ribcage, all cozy.”

She paused.

“Not getting squeamish on me, are you? Tsk tsk. That’s a shame as a medi -“

An oscillating saw was placed over their bare chest, cutting them open, demolishing worms and bone as it went.

The drinker screamed.

With the precision of her training, the lowblood made a gash a few inches across in their ribcage. She probed underneath the fractured bone with a surgical spear, pushing through white worms.

She frowned.

“Nothing here.”

Weakly, but with incredible malice, the parasitic undead smiled wide.

“Fancy that.”

Their worms surged up the yellowblood’s arm, forcing her hands together, then her feet as she cursed and yelled.

“If you’d be so kind as to unlock me...bear in mind, I’m quite hungry right now.”

Silently, Ullane unlocked their shackles, the worms around one of her hands loosening just enough for her to do it before tightening again, a writhing rope of white against her dark gray skin.

They sat up, stretched a moment, then looked at her.

“Much better. Now where’s that recovery aid serum you promised me? Consider it the last of our ties; you’ll never have to see me again. Everyone wins.”

Another thought occurred, something from the pair’s first ill-fated meeting.

“Almost forgot - time I had my worms back too. I’d love to know how you severed my connection to them, but alas, we don’t really have time for pleasantries.”

She glared at them, the hatred of her silence palpable.

They looked at their claws, unimpressed.

“Tick tock, Wistim. I’m not sure what you think you’re gaining here. You can still walk away from this unharmed. Once I free your ankles, of course.”

She was still staring at them. Why? It was almost as if -

“Okay, this looks bad, but I’m gonna assume you have an explanation, worm bag - never mind, I see the saw. Pretty open and shut case.”

Gliese Benral leaned on her cane in the now open doorway, her orange eyes trailing a telltale glow of psychic energy that faded as she came within range of Tuuya’s nullifier.

“Let her go. If she tries anything, there’s more than enough ghosts here to make her sorry.”

While the drinker disliked relying on anyone else, they knew what was in for them if they refused. They obligingly retract the white creatures, who all wriggle back into their broken chest, and put their shirt back on.

A surge of hunger and two beating bloodpushers nearby is greatly testing their ability to stay and restrain themself, but they have to get those things from Ullane. Now could be their only chance.

Unless...

“Benral. I need a favor. Wistim owes me a serum I was having her develop to help the victims of my mind control recover. She also has some of my worms she’s been studying that I would like back. I need blood soon to heal, or else I’ll lose control. If you can get those from her, I’ll compensate you - “

“Oh, shut up.”

Their ears drooped, which was stupid, they were stupid, why did they think she’d actually felt bad about what happened on the ship -

“I don’t need anything like that. As for the blood...you’re not gonna attack if she and I donate some by jabbing each other with needles, right? We can just put it in a cup.”

They blinked, utterly thrown.

“Yes, I can restrain myself.”

They tied a surgical mask over their face and stand on the other side of the room to minimize the risk.

“Won’t do it.”

Ullane crossed her arms, looking down at the shorter troll - she was nearly two heads taller.

The blueblood jabbed her cane at the mediculler’s digestion sac.

“You don’t have a fucking choice. I’m not big enough to give them all of what they need, and you’re the one who cracked their fucking ribs open. This is your fault.”

“I won’t feed a monster.”

Gliese laughed with all the condescension of an adult explaining to a pupa that Sannta Clause wasn’t real. 

“Oh okay, I can just go sing like a goddamn canary to your boss then and be like ‘Hey, your medic tried to dissect our drinker, who’s known to go eat people if they’re damaged enough. You know, right the fuck after we both agreed to not screw with each other because of pirates and Firebird. Here’s the saw. Comments?’”

The lowblood’s ears pinned back, her shoulders slumping, and Tuuya knew Gliese has won. They should have been happy, smugly triumphant. Instead they felt an odd sort of platonic pity.

Though not enough to say no to her blood when the women were done collecting it from each other. Gliese placed a cup on a table and stepped back. She and Wistim both had bandages covering where they were drained - all very sterile with needles, right into the vein. 

They took their mask off and snatched the cup up.

It’s paltry compared to what they could have drunk after what she did to them, but far better than nothing, the yellow and cerulean mixture downed in seconds. Sighing in relief, their sluggish worms stirred to action, their bones’ regrowth accelerating. The lingering pain and tension they felt vanished, the strength of regeneration seeping through them.

“Thank you. This will hold me for now.”

“Sure. Now get that stuff they wanted, Wistim.”

The medic crossed her arms.

“Is in my bioengineering lab, not surgical one.”

The worm monster yawned.

“What, your handheld transportalizer can’t take us there? Stop stalling, you’ve already lost.”

Gliese’s long ears flicked up. “So that’s why some folks claimed the two of you had gone off elsewhere. I didn’t buy it, so I came down here, but that’s neat. I want one of those. Can I add that to our blackmail list?”

They chuckled.

“I’m sure you can just buy one. Let’s get this over with.”

“You’re no fun.” She fake-whined, as Ullane took out the device and they all appeared on a larger transportalizer pad in a small room attached to a bigger lab. Its walls were semi-transparent glass, the door hard steel. 

Five trolls from olive to cerulean bustled around working on various projects - biowire rigs, centrifuges spinning around test tubes, trays with samples of what look like troll tissues and organs. Cages with animals stood on one side - the largest held three indigobirds and their branches and toys, the smallest only had some cockroaches.

The lack of white worms was evident.

Tuuya looked at Ullane, expecting her to try some sort of double-cross. They didn’t believe for an instant that the cerulean had cowed her.

She stared back, unyielding as ever.

“What you want?”

“You’re not going to try anything else? You were willing enough to drag me off.”

“No. Am still nullified thanks to you.”

She spoke even more stiffly than usual, words practically starched and ironed. 

“Hey, wait - that means I am too. I was wondering why it got so quiet all of a - “

The blueblood collapsed mid-sentence, the drinker scooping her up before she hit the floor, cradling her in their arms as she twitched.

Ullane blinked, and while knowledge was both currency and power, there was no use trying to obfuscate this.

“Benral gets seizu -“

“I know. Treated her after her zombie burning stunt. Were much worse then. Screaming, crying, she was unsure of reality. Didn’t know if she’d ever recover.”

The yellowblood looked at the drinker and the care with which they hold the young hare troll, adjusting her for comfort and so her long horns didn’t hit the room’s walls.

“You are...friends?”

She pronounces the word as if it���s something disgusting she found in her grubloaf.

They laughed softly.

“Not at all. But Tulais would hardly be happy if I let anything happen to her.”

“Boss?”

One of the workers looks up from their - probably his - biowire, and notices the trio. He smiles.

“Hey, the boss is back!”

The other four looked up and waved before going back to their projects.

The man, high enough olive he could almost pass for jade, rushed over and opened the door for them. Ullane nodded to him.

“Thank you.”

He smiled, stepping aside for them with a carefree hand wave.

“So how was the meeting? What are those oh-el-ess-see trolls like? Wait - are these two of ‘em? Why’s one knocked out?”

Gliese only shifted slightly in Tuuya’s arms while the drinker spoke smoothly.

“Miss Benral is a psychic, she’s experiencing overload. You’re quite right; we are OLSC, and the meeting went fine. Miss Wistim is just getting something for me.”

“Whaddya need for them, boss? I can grab it. Gotta wait for my crystallization to reach its peak growth anyway.”

Ullane didn’t hesitate a second, for all the world as if she hadn’t fought the drinker on the topic bitterly minutes before.

“Freezer has container labeled ‘parasitic undead sample 3’ in it in back. Fridge has rack of test tubes labeled ‘neurological parasitic recovery’. Please fetch both for me.”

The freezer? Perhaps that’s why they’ve never reconnected with those worms; Ullane keeps them in too deep of a torpor.

The olive saluted and spun around to do just that. What an endearing fellow.

Gliese’s orange eyes opened slowly and blearily, then more fully.

“Shit. How long was I out?”

“Not long.” The drinker assured her. “Want to be put down?”

“Yeah.”

They held her out, the hare troll dropping with restored balance and bearing. The blueblood looked around curiously at all the lab goings-on. Ullane’s other assistants were quite focused, barely giving her a second look as the olive came back. He held up a rack of test tubes and a metal container with a lock on it that struck them as overkill.

They raised their eyebrows at the mediculler with amusement but accept the offered objects, putting them in their sylladex.

“Pleasure doing business with ya! Oh boss, when you have a moment - we have the latest non-invasive rig integration results.”

The yellowblood nodded.

“Soon. Thank you.”

She looked at the pair of OLSC trolls, expression unreadable.

“Are free to go now.”

The drinker gave her a sarcastic smile.

“Nothing would bring me greater joy than to leave you to the advancement of science.”

They were going for the door, Gliese behind them, when the station shook violently.

“Get down!” barked Wistim, all of them dropping as it shudders again. Tools fall on the floor, clattering and sliding around, but most of the projects must be bolted to the tables, for they don’t move.

The shaking continued for about a minute, then seemed to stop.

Wistim texted rapidly on her phone, frowned, then shook her head.

“What’s going on?” Gliese demanded, still lying on the floor.

“Firebird allied with pirates, didn’t attack them. Fleet’s refusing to help, says we’re acceptable loss. They’re blockading, we’re all trapped. Whole station is being held hostage unless we give her Vannyn. Says she’ll leave us in peace if we do.”

The drinker took a moment to digest that, then shrugged.

“All right. So we hand me over.”

Gliese gaped at them in disbelief.

“She’ll fucking kill you. You know that right? The worms haven’t COMPLETELY eaten your thinkpan? Then she’ll probably destroy us out of spite anyway, look what happened on Alternia! Which was all YOUR fucking fault by the way - “

The cerulean jabbed a bony finger at the medic, but Tuuya held up a hand to stop her.

“This isn’t the time to argue. We need to get back to the Queenpin and Tulais. We should hand me over - but I never said we shouldn’t double cross Firebird. How long do we have?”

“An hour.”

Ullane’s response wasn’t fearful, merely resigned.

The drinker whistled in appreciation of the bastard woman’s cunning. Not much time at all to plan, or to get them enough blood to be useful.

“Then let’s get going, ladies. We’ve got a lot to do if you both want to survive tonight.”

They got up and swiftly walked out the door, two sets of footsteps sounding behind them.

“What about you?”

Gliese’s voice was hesitant. Concerned, for some daft reason.

“Oh, don’t worry about me.”

“She almost killed you once.”

They smiled.

“Your concern is sweet, my dear, but I won’t be letting Firebird put me down. She hasn’t earned the right. Even the medic here would be a better choice, though I worry it would fuel her hatred a bit too much.”

A tense pause filled the air, at odds with the drinker’s blithe attitude.

“You mean you...want to die?”

Gliese sounded bizarrely sad. As if it somehow mattered to her.

“It’s more that I know I deserve it. But I would rather it be someone who had the right to kill me, and wouldn’t be corrupted by it.”

“You’re fucking weird.”

There was the Benral they knew, ever ready with scathing words. 

They laughed as they walk down the hall.

“What gave it away? Was it the mass of parasitic worms?”

 “She means your social maladjustment. Perhaps not maladjustment; aren’t person. Hard to say what’s normal for abnormal being.”

Wistim’s voice sounded as she sped up to keep pace beside them, looking at them evenly.

Gliese hissed.

“So what if they’re not normal? You’ve got a fucking tail, I’m a blueblood who controls the dead, and we have a crazy flaming bird woman who wants all of us enslaved and turned into magma monsters if we don’t give her Tuuya because she’s asshurt! Normal doesn’t live here, dipshit!”

The drinker snorted as they continued onward, amused.

“She’s got a point. None of us are exactly the stocktypes of our castes.”

As the three of them rounded a corner, they came face to face with the jade Queenpin herself and Karina Tulais, talking rapidly. Karina looked up and paused their conversation, expression grave.

“We have to give you to her, Vannyn. We don’t have a choice.”

“Obviously. Now, what are Nott’s energy supplies like, and how many ships are docked here right now?”

“What do you intend?” The Queenpin asked with a cheerful smile as her deadly prosthetic legs gleamed in the hallway’s low lights.

The drinker’s bright green eyes glowed slightly as they pulled out their psiionic nullifier from where it had been attached to their shawl, perfectly obscured by its camouflage tech. It became visible in their hand, a slim silver wafer they shut off with a click.

“We can’t fight this many ships at once and not be destroyed, not after the onslaught Nott’s been suffering. So we don’t. We let them think we’re trying to run after we hand me off, but the ships we send off will be empty. While they go chase ghosts, you can hide in plain sight. They won’t know where in the planet’s rotation Nott really is when they realize they’ve been duped.”

“It’s the best plan we have on short notice.” said Karina, sighing. “Queenpin?”

The gang leader nodded, walking off and waving her hand for Ullane to follow. The yellow obediently went to her side, the two talking in low voices until they couldn’t be heard anymore.

Her dark gaze weary but hardened with grim resignation, the tealblood stared at her most difficult and most valuable employee.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Vannyn.”

“Get me some blood and I can do all kinds of things. I need plenty of drinks if I’m going to survive this little encounter, though I doubt Firebird will kill me immediately. She’s too dramatic for that; she’ll want to make a spectacle of it.”

“Probably.” Karina agreed grudgingly. “I’ll see about the blood.”

“Ask Queenpin; apparently we share a diet and a mortality status. I’ll admit she’s prettier, though.”

Their boss looks nauseated while Gliese snickered, abruptly turning to walk off herself, taking out her phone and texting rapidly.

“You want a hot dead old person date when this is all done? I bet she’d chop you up with her legs if you asked.”

“I was being silly. Now, miss Benral, I need to discuss your role. How far is your range? Quite a ways, I imagine, given the desert incident.”

The hare troll nodded.

“Yeah, I can’t give you exact numbers but at least a mile, maybe more. Fleet trained me to push the limits, since I was supposed to be controlling armies some night.”

“Hopefully Firebird will stay close to Nott, banking on the assumption she wants to make a soap opera out of whatever she does to me.”

“If she doesn’t, I’ll come after you.”

They glared at her sharply.

“No. Don’t endanger yourself. If this goes south, try to flee.”

“Where the fuck do you think we can flee if you can’t kick her ass?” The cerulean snapped back. “It’s all or nothing. What do you need me to do?”

“You can sense some of my thoughts, yes? Keep an eye on what I’m thinking while I’m facing Firebird. If I ask you all to flee, do it. If I die, inform Karina so she can marshal her forces. If worst comes to worst and you get betrayed...”

They lower their voice.

“Use Queenpin as a hostage.”

The woman swallowed, eyes wide.

“Okay.”

“Keep the station trolls safe, Gliese. I need to go put my armor on.”

They turned to leave when she spoke again.

“Wait. I...”

The drinker sighed, impatient. They really didn’t have a lot of time to prepare.

“Yes?”

“...I’m sorry, again. For what I did on the ship. I got carried away.”

“It’s fine, Benral. Water under the bridge.”

She bit her lip.

“It’s not fine. I shouldn’t have messed with you.”

They sighed again.

“That’s very nice of you. I need to go.”

The last thing they saw before going to don their white fireproof armor was the confused, lost face of the blueblood, her ears drooping.

Sentiment had no place in this struggle. She’d learn that soon enough.

All that remained was to kick the hell out of Firebird for forcing ordinary trolls into a conflict that had only ever been between the two of them, and lock her in a fireproof cell where she had to write ‘I will not be an enormous bastard’ a thousand times on the wall.

If they died in the process, so be it. 

They’d drag her down to hell with them first.