#which is why it works when I put on a bracelet in that slot along with the tail

[tearlessrain]

making sims 4 cc is a terrible hobby. I make a tail accessory for adults. it works perfectly. I make a tail for children using the same process and an edited version of the same mesh. it distorts the movement of one arm in exactly one CAS animation, but not if the sim is also wearing one specific base game bracelet, in which case it works normally.

[five-rivers]

Loved 8

Danny found himself without human senses or even a rough analogue of a human body. Even so, he still had an understanding of his surroundings, alien senses leaving impressions on his mind.

His body was soft, boneless, rounded, unformed. He was intimately connected to, part of, and entirely surrounded by an infinitely greater being, whom he was dependent on. He was known, all of him, by this being.

If he’d had eyes to cry with, he would have, knowing that he would never be able to know this being as he himself was known.

Amusement and affection – or, at least, things that were like them – pressed into him as the being contracted around him. An object was inserted into the single orifice he currently possessed.

Slowly, Danny became aware of an intense… discomfort in that area. He couldn’t call it pain. He currently had no sense of pain. But he could feel it and he didn’t like it and it was growing—

He woke up, tangled in blankets, skin slick with sweat, head and teeth aching.

Except, he didn’t. He was in the Dream. But if he were in the Dream, what had that been?

Already, many of the details were slipping through his fingers. He could no longer recapture what he had felt, although the general events were still somewhat clear.

He… had sleeping here somehow peeled back the layers of metaphor through which he experienced the Dream? Or had that just been a different metaphor, no truer than this one?

He sat up – or, rather, he tried to. An unexpected weight around neck stalled him. Overnight, the chain of Clockwork’s Love for him (and his Love for Clockwork in return) had more than doubled in size. It had also been reinforced by thick, colorful, silk ropes wound in and out of the links as well as other, smaller, chains.

There were also two of them, now, leading in opposite directions. As if Clockwork’s Love was simply too great to be confined to a single representation.

More carefully this time, Danny sat up. At least the collar, despite being far, far heavier, was no longer configured like a neck brace. Danny could turn his head to look at things.

The dog, evidently sensing an opportunity, deposited itself in Danny’s lap. Danny, not knowing what else to do, started petting it, running fingers through shadowy fur. He had always wanted a dog. Although, he didn’t remember telling Clockwork that…

“Maybe I should name you,” said Danny. He wasn’t sure how he felt about naming a personification of his hate, but he wasn’t sure if that’s what the dog was, or if the dog was just a container for his hate. It was confusing. “How about Cujo?”

The dog wagged its tail agreeably.

“Cujo it is, then.” He sighed and looked around the room. It didn’t have a door or any other visible opening. Honestly, in comparison to everything else he’d experienced in the Dream, that was pretty pedestrian. He supposed he’d just have to wait until Clockwork came back.

Maybe he could take a look at some of those interesting objects along the wall in the meantime? Something in his mind whispered that they were his and they were toys. They could take his mind off the pain building in his jaw and temples.

He stood up and walked almost all the way to the edge of the depression in the floor before being brought up short. He stumbled and sat down abruptly. What-?

The end of the chain was buried in the floor at the center of the depression.

Oh. Well. This whole room was part of Clockwork, too, so Danny really shouldn’t be surprised. It wasn’t like the chain hadn’t acted like a chain before.

Still.

Being forcibly trapped in, well, a crib was infantilizing. Not that everything else about all of this wasn’t. This just seemed like a step further.

The collar hummed lightly against Danny’s throat, eliciting a croon as he reflexively attempted to harmonize. The act settled him somewhat, and he gazed blankly at the runes surrounding the depression. The drop between the depression and the rest of the floor was too high for him to get over by himself anyway… no, that wasn’t right… couldn’t be… he couldn’t see the runes if that was the case, he’d be too short… but the lip there was definitely too tall, he knew it…

He tore his eyes away, squeezing them shut against his suddenly raging headache. The dog, Cujo, padded over to him and sniffed him gently. Danny whined, trying not to cry.

It looks like your horns might be growing in as well, said Clockwork’s avatar, running a hand through Danny’s hair. Poor baby. Teeth and horns all at once. That must hurt.

“Horns? Like Nocturne?”

Yes. They will help you navigate the other layers of the Dream once they are fully grown. With practice.

Danny let Clockwork’s avatar lift his head, resting his chin in its palm. “Layers of the Dream?”

You did not think the Dream was as simple in structure as that place you call reality, did you, little Love? This place you have become familiar with is only the closest layer to that place, no matter how deep you go.

“But—” said Danny, trying to work out how that could be. The answer slotted itself neatly into Danny’s mind. “It’s… like a tesseract?”

More than that, but essentially, yes. The avatar was gathering blankets around Danny again, swaddling him. Danny squeaked and tried to twist away, but the avatar easily anticipated him, and the fight quickly went out of him.

Danny was carried from the room and brought to a long table covered in bowls. The bowls contained pastel orbs of various sizes and colors. A single piece of furniture shaped like a basket woven of silver strips sat next to it. Clockwork’s avatar set him down gently on this piece of furniture and several of the strips peeled off to wrap securely around Danny.

Time for breakfast, said the avatar, happily.

Mentally and emotionally, it was easier to eat the orbs than the obviously alive things of his previous meal. Physically…

Danny asked why the orbs were so tough and difficult to chew. The avatar murmured something about practicing using his teeth. Danny wasn’t exactly in a position to refuse, so he was filled to satiation and beyond, until every piece of food on the table had been eaten.

By the time Clockwork’s avatar lifted him again, he felt exhausted and disgusting.

“Can I go home now?” he asked.

You are home.

“You know what I mean.”

It would be remiss of me to let you go when you are still in so much pain. Besides, sleep is necessary for children such as yourself to properly digest food.

“Don’t want to sleep,” said Danny, alarmed. He didn’t want to go back to the place he was before, where he could not see, hear, smell, taste, or touch.

That is not the only place you may go, said the avatar. In fact, it is rather unlikely for you to return there unless you do so on purpose. It touched the place where one of Danny’s horns would eventually bud. It was tender and Danny whined. Which is not something you can yet do. It paused. Perhaps I could guide you to a… cozy layer. One you might find educational. Would you like that?

“I wanna go home. I feel icky.”

I will set up a bath for you when you wake up.

Danny moaned and tried to tuck his face into the avatar’s shoulder. “Don’t want a bath.”

You do need one eventually.

“Don’t wanna.”

The avatar lowered Danny back into the nest of blankets.

Sleep well.

Danny woke up. This time in an actual crib. A mobile with star shapes hung overhead. He reached up with a chubby baby hand. A medical bracelet jingled around his wrist.

With some difficulty, his hands lacking dexterity, he turned the bracelet over. The writing there was incomprehensible and made him slightly dizzy. He huffed and rolled over before pushing himself up onto hands and knees.

The room he was in was dark, and far more defined than he was used to in the Dream. He could see picture frames on the walls and clocks. Every wall had at least one clock.

He grabbed the top of the crib railing and pulled himself up into a standing position. The rest of the room looked normal. Lived in.

The door opened, letting light in. A figure walked through the doorway and picked Danny up.

“You’re awake already! Ready for the day?”

“Clockwork?” squeaked Danny.

“Hmm, yes. But there’s something else you can call me here, hm?” The figure shifted, light falling on a feminine face and long hair.

“Mama?” tried Danny.

“There we go,” she said.

“Where are we?” asked Danny, lisping his words slightly. He wasn’t sure he had teeth right now. He put his hand in his mouth, feeling his gums. “’s different here.”

“Yes,” said Clockwork, walking out into a hallway. It was bright. There were clocks here, too, evenly spaced on the walls. Danny hid his face. “Oopsie daisy. Too bright, baby?”

“Mhm,” said Danny.

Clockwork balanced Danny on her hip and fiddled with a dimmer switch. The lights dimmed to a more comfortable level. “I’m sorry, baby. I keep forgetting about your eyes.”

“What about my eyes?”

“You’re photosensitive. That’s what the bracelet is for. You need low light.”

“Mama?”

“Hm?”

“What is this place?”

“Ah,” said Clockwork, putting him in a highchair. “A world within the Dream. Once,” she punctuated the word by clipping Danny into the seat, “it was much like the place you were first born. But we came to understand it completely and everything that thought or dreamed opened themselves to us. We engulfed it, brought it here. Now everyone is happy.”

Clockwork put a sippy cup on the little table on the highchair and then several pieces of cereal. Danny didn’t recognize the brand.

“Do I have to?”

“You need energy for today,” said Clockwork.

“But I just ate so much.”

“Not here. Come on, sweetheart. It’s just a little bit.” Clockwork sat down in one of the chairs at the dinning room table, brushing her hair over her shoulder. She smiled. “Isn’t this nice?”

Danny shrugged.

“I know you don’t care for the other part of the Dream, that you find it frightening, so… If you like this place, you can stay here. It’s just like the other place. The one you like. Would you like that?”

“My friends are there.”

“I can bring them here. It’ll be difficult, but very possible.”

Danny shook his head. Clockwork sighed.

“Well. Let’s just see how this day goes before you decide. Maybe you’ll like being here so much you’ll never want to leave at all. Give it a chance. Just for one day, okay?”

“Okay,” mumbled Danny.

“And that means eating your breakfast.” She ruffled Danny’s hair. “Okie-dokie?”

“’Kay.”

Clockwork smiled, eyes crinkling. “We’re going to have so much fun today, just see!”

[spencersawkward]

switchblade faith // spencer reid - chapter 2

summary: one month after joining the BAU, Clea is still settling in. between solving murders and getting acclimated to DC, the only comfortable thing in her life is her friendship with Dr. Spencer Reid.

word count: 3.5k

masterlist

Richard Slessman's bedroom looks like something straight out of a serial killer documentary. floral wallpaper taunts Morgan and I as we walk inside. a model airplane hangs above his bed; cheap medals-- the kind kids get for participation-- decorate the area above his desk, which is littered with books about forensics. there's a carousel of CDs, too.

"whoa." is my brilliant analysis.

"we should have Garcia check out this guy's laptop." Morgan starts to wander around the room, trying to piece together Slessman's head just by examining his things. a group of cops are already huddled at the table with the laptop open, and I realize too late what they're doing.

"log in password." one of them plucks a post-it off the screen, starts to type it in.

"wait, wait--" Morgan and I nearly lunge toward them, but the crackling sound of a fizzing motherboard tells me we're too late. the screen goes black.

"it's not turning back on." Genius #1 observes. Morgan sighs and squeezes his eyes shut in frustration.

"yeah, and it won't. it's a false password."

the cops stare up at us blankly.

"it triggers a complete shut down of his system." I clarify. they share a look, deservedly feeling stupid. I want to roll my eyes, but Morgan's told me that the police on these cases get defensive most of the time; they don't like us on their turf. one glance from my partner, though, and those guys flee the room without another word.

I pull out my phone and dial Garcia's number in the hopes that she can salvage whatever's left of this asshole's computer. we arrested him an hour ago and we can only hold him with probable cause because we don't have any charges yet. this house search could be our only chance to get him in custody.

"well hello, my fresh-faced beauty queen." Penelope answers on the second ring. a slight smile turns up the corners of my mouth.

"hi, Penelope." I watch Derek plugging something into the laptop, then opening another monitor next to it. "listen, Morgan's trying to set up Richard Slessman's computer and I was wondering if you'd be able to hack into it."

"oh, kitten," she sighs contentedly. "that's my bread and butter."

"great. I'm putting you on speaker." I press a button and wait for Morgan to talk. he's typing furiously until a tab pops up with the words "Deadbolt Defense" in bold above a box for a password.

"what's the six at the bottom of the screen mean?" I ask.

"remaining password attempts until it wipes the hard drive." Morgan replies. shit.

"Penelope, there might be a journal or document or something that tells us where Heather is." I inform her.

"what system are we talking?" she asks.

"Deadbolt Defense?"

"Deadbolt is the number one crack-resistant software out there, hon. you're gonna need to get inside this guy's head for the password."

my heart sinks. when my colleague double takes, it makes me think that this is a rare occurrence.

"babygirl, are you serious?" Morgan complains. my shoulders droop. Penelope has been nothing short of genius since I got here. slicing through sealed files and unfurling secret criminal records is always ridiculously easy for her.

"sorry, handsome."

"thanks anyway." I hang up and shove my phone into my back pocket. "so... what now?"

"now," Morgan takes another look around the room. "we get creative."

...

somehow, I wind up in the attic. I don't really know how this happens, seeing as I started by flipping through discs in Slessman's weird quasi-childlike bedroom, but it's certainly an interesting space. Christmas lights are strung about, along with some shawl-like material that drapes raw ceiling.

the laptop sits in front of me, password cursor blinking mockingly while I sit in the chair. my head is aching. despite having the unit go through every single one of the CDs in search of the most-played one (hoping it'll crack the password), there's been nothing.

at least there have been other successes since we got here: we know that Slessman isn't operating on his own. he's the submissive in a partnership with Timothy Vogel, a prison guard where he was incarcerated a while back. the problem is that Vogel was onto us and fled to the kidnapping site, which we can't find. I feel useless sitting here with nothing to offer.

I consider going back downstairs and perusing the room again when I hear footsteps on the stairs. Reid's head pops into the room, spinning a bent paper clip between his fingers.

"hey." I greet curiously.

"I've been thinking about the CDs." he responds, walking over to me. I rub the heels of my hands against my eyes.

"we tried it, Reid. there's nothing there," I slam my back to the cushions with an exasperated groan. "if we don't find something, this girl is dead."

instead of replying, Reid bends down next to the laptop in front of me, squinting at the DVD slot in the side. he pokes the end of his bent paper clip into the small opening.

"I think we may have missed the obvious." he murmurs, working diligently. I scowl.

"what do you--?" in response to my question, the DVD slot pops open and out slides a copy of a Metallica CD. Reid and I look at each other with wide eyes before I snatch the disc out of of the computer and stare at it. "what made you think of this?"

"it was the only empty case." he shrugs. I grin at him.

"okay, okay," we still don't have the password. I read the cover of the case he hands me. "I'm an insomniac who listens to Metallica to fall asleep. what song would make me do that?"

Spencer frowns, grabs the thing back from my hands, and scans the track list within the span of a second.

"'Enter Sandman'." he says. I watch the puzzle pieces fall into place in his brain, those lips parting with a slight smile playing at the edges. his eyes gleam with satisfaction.

"you are a national treasure." I type like the wind, unlocking the screen and immediately digging into his files. Spencer peers over my shoulder as we search for any indication of Heather's location.

"fucking bingo." I mutter when a video feed pops up. it's black-and-white, showing a crate in the corner of the room with a light hanging above it. Heather's inside, eyes duct taped and hands tied in front of her.

Spencer is already dialing Hotch's number. the blood drains from my face as I watch her trying to breathe through the gag in her mouth.

nothing in the feed is helpful in terms of finding out where she is. it's a nondescript room with wooden floors, mostly shrouded in darkness except for the light hanging overhead.

"wait a minute." I pause what I'm doing.

"hm?" Reid asks. I hit a few keys, trying something.

"I'm lining up the last twelve images." I explain as he watches me work. the photos sit in a grid on the screen, causing my heart to stop in my chest when I notice what I've been meaning to find. "look at the light."

"it's shifting positions like it's swaying," he notices. "like the earth is tilting."

"the ocean." I nod. we share another glance, both of our hearts hammering. we're so close to solving this, I can feel it in my chest. "we need to tell Hotch. find out if there are any piers or docks near here. there's no way he could get the webcam image from the middle of the ocean."

Reid nods, runs downstairs as fast as he possibly can. when he goes, I notice the board in the corner of the room: Go, mid-game. I've never learned how to play.

...

by the time I get back to my apartment that night, my limbs feel like jello. I collapse into the chair by my door and rub my eyes again. my head is still pounding now that the adrenaline rush has subsided. we ended up finding Vogel at the docks; Heather is safe. Hotch was shot in the arm, but he'll be fine. and I'm still a little in shock.

I hate the rumble of my stomach as I realize I haven't eaten since this morning. my head was too full of other thoughts to even consider food and after such a long day, I can barely fathom getting up to change into pajamas.

my phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out to see that Garcia texted me.

what are you up to? followed by a series of emojis that make me smile. I sink deeper into the seat before replying.

nothing why?

can I bring over takeout?

I stare at the message for a second with surprise. Garcia is fun and we've had drinks as a team, but I've never hung out with her one-on-one before. I'm curious.

sure. what genre of food should I expect?

Thai. send me your order!

that sounds so good right now, I almost order it myself. part of me is nervous about hanging out with a team member by myself, except she's been so friendly to me. Penelope was the first person to make me feel at home, aside from Prentiss.

I wait patiently for her to arrive, watching some TV and working my way through some leftover paperwork. my thoughts are everywhere right now, but when she tells me she's downstairs, I try to put it all out of my mind.

"hey!" I open the door to see Garcia with an armful of plastic bags.

"I have your curry, and I got chicken satay and spring rolls and fried rice in case you're still hungry." she beams at me. her bracelets make a pleasant clinking noise as she waves the goodies around.

"a woman after my own heart." I smile, stepping aside to let her in. we head upstairs and before long, we're settled on my couch with a full display of food on the coffee table. I heap my plate while she looks around my space.

"this place is so cute!" she says through a bite of spring roll.

"thanks. I've had it for about two years now. that window over there was really the selling point." I point to the enormous view of downtown DC, which is sparkling right now. there's another chair set in front of it, where I sometimes read or nap in my free time.

as we eat, Penelope and I gossip about work and the city and everything else. she's really easy to talk to. when I ask about her life, she doesn't seem guarded at all; unlike a lot of FBI agents I've met, she wears her experiences on her sleeve.

"how are you liking the team so far?" she asks a similar question as I received this morning. I smile to myself before answering truthfully.

"everyone is great. Hotch is kind of terrifying, but I've worked with people like him before." I shrug. he reminds me of one of my old professors: perpetually stoic to the point where he doesn't even seem like a real person. she laughs.

"he's super nice once you get to know him."

"really?" I look up.

"definitely. he's just always got that scowl on his face. don't let it put you off." she pats my hand reassuringly. I sigh, finish chewing my bite. there's been something prodding me since visiting Garcia's tech lair for the first time, when she showed me her collection of puppy calendars and fuzzy pens.

"can I ask you a question?"

"anything, my love." she smiles warmly. I hesitate, hoping I don't ruin the moment somehow.

"how did you get involved in the FBI? you just don't seem very..." my sentence trails off.

"government oriented?" she laughs. "I used to do a lot of hacking in my free time, and I got into some stuff that the government didn't like. and, um-- you know that saying, 'if you can't beat 'em, join 'em'?"

I nod.

"it was like that, except they hired me. and I love it." she finishes the last spring roll. I think on this, imagining Penelope doing something so serious that the American government hired her on the spot for her skills. it's interesting.

"so you don't profile at all." I state.

"technically no, but I've picked up a couple things." she smirks.

"oh, yeah? like what?"

"well, it's obvious that you're never home, based on the lack of decoration here." she refers to the mostly blank walls of my apartment. aside from a couple photos of my friends and family, there's not much unique to me. "and you've obviously got a candle addiction." she points to the various spots around the living room, where half-burned pots of wax sit patiently awaiting their next light.

"that's definitely true." I laugh. she gets up and starts to smell the various candles.

"I like this one a lot." she sets down my chai vanilla one. I let her go through my things, despite the fact that Garcia is incredibly reserved about people touching her own little office trinkets. she picks up stray books and memorabilia, occasionally making a comment.

while she does, I finish my curry. I'm way too tired to resist her search, anyway. I'll be curling up in bed soon and praying that tomorrow is a paperwork day. eventually, she settles onto the cushions again.

"you seem tired," she says when she glimpses the dark circles beneath my eyes. "I'll get out of your hair."

"what? oh, I'm sorry." I draw myself up a little more. "this last case just took a lot out of me."

"they all do." she gives me a soft expression, then pats my knee as she stands.

"Penelope." I say as she gathers up her coat and purse.

"yes, darling?"

"thanks. for the food and for coming over." I smile gratefully at her. the tech analyst stands at my door with a look on her face that makes me think we're going to be good friends.

"anytime." she heads out, leaving me on the couch. I stare at the mess of empty takeout boxes that I told her to leave. now that I've eaten, getting up to clean the space is even more difficult. I trudge about the apartment, wash some dishes, and head off to bed.

my body is too exhausted to remember the dreams.

...

"oh my god, I'm so sorry!" I practically sprint into the conference room, swinging my bag down by my feet as I grab the last open chair. JJ is standing at the front of the room with a new case on the screen. everyone stares at me as I settle in. "my train was super delayed."

"everyone is allowed to be late," Hotch barely glances up from the case file. "once."

a chill runs down my spine and my face flushes an embarrassing red as JJ passes me the remaining file. keeping my head down, she notices my discomfort and clears her throat.

"okay, you guys are heading to Arizona today." she clicks a button. some pictures pop up for us to see. "Bradshaw College in Tempe has had six fires in seven months."

it's a video recording of a building from the outside, and two students talking about a fire inside. the camera shifts to show them in their own dorm, examining a strange wet spot leaking into their room. and then one of them catches on fire.

he burns to death on tape. it's jarring, the shrieking noises he lets out as the flames engulf his body. they travel up his legs alarmingly fast, so much so that it's obviously chemical.

"the first fire was in March, the second in May. the third didn't happen until September." JJ explains once the clip is over. "and then two weeks later, there were three that happened in one night."

"he's speeding up." Prentiss observes from her spot next to me.

"82% of arsonists are white males between seventeen and twenty-seven. female arsonists are far less common, with motives usually limited to revenge." Reid sits across the table, adjusting his watch.

I raise my eyebrows at his fact and look more at the crime scene photos. burned flesh is definitely an uncomfortable sight, one that makes my stomach churn.

"sounds like he's a student." Morgan taps his pen against his fingertip and leans back in his chair.

"I wouldn't be so sure," Hotch continues to read the document. "we don't want to rely too much on precedent."

at this, I press my knuckles to my chin and try to think of other suspects. he's obviously doing these during the school year, but that doesn't necessitate that he's a student. he could be working on campus-- a professor, even.

"there's a rapid escalation. he's gone from the damage to a building to something far more satisfying." Morgan closes the file and we all look to Hotch.

"wheels up in thirty." he says. I get up to grab my go-bag and gather some things from my desk, my cheeks burning at the memory of being late again. I've never done that before, but I don't want to start now. maybe it's best if I start coming in early, just in case my train gets delayed again. I can't risk losing this job, or being moved to a different department. it was enough of a hassle switching from sex crimes to the BAU. I really want to settle into this position, and that includes having the unit chief not hate me.

"hey." Prentiss catches my wrist just as I'm hurrying out of the room. I turn to her.

"hi."

"a little birdy told me that you and Reid pretty much single-handedly solved that case yesterday." she smiles.

"oh, no. it wasn't just us." I shake my head.

"quit being modest. nice job." she nudges my shoulder as we walk down the steps to the bullpen. "also, I brought a couple of those horticulture magazines that I told you about. we should read them on the jet."

"no way!" I pause at my desk, grinning.

"one of them has a whole section on caring for orchids."

"orchids?" Morgan overhears her from his desk. he appears deeply concerned with our discussion.

"if you have to ask, you wouldn't understand." she smirks. he turns his attention to me in hopes of a clearer answer.

"it's plant care." my explanation seems to be enough to bore him, however, because he just shrugs and returns to packing his bag up. Emily waves the stack of magazines at me before I head over to her desk.

she doesn't really seem like the type of person to be into it, but when Emily caught sight of the air plants I've got scattered on my desk my first week, we got wrapped up in a conversation about them. there's a special magazine subscription as well that has a bunch of helpful tips about where to buy and how to keep them healthy.

I'm flipping through one of the copies on the way to the elevator, my nose buried in a section about how much to water Hoyas, when Reid and JJ pop in next to me. the blonde is on the phone with someone, presumably the Tempe police. I haven't seen much of her recently-- she's been staying behind for most cases-- but she sends me a sweet smile before returning to her call.

"what are you reading?" Spencer's eyes hungrily run over the paper, as if seeing something he hasn't already absorbed in that big brain is unbearable. his hair is slicked back as usual, and his tie is sort of crooked; he's not aware of it. I hold the material between us so he can take a peek.

"a magazine about plants that Prentiss and I like."

"fascinating. can I see?" he grabs it before I can answer, although I don't think he means to. his fingertip runs down the page quickly, and then he's flipping them like mad, staring at the pictures. my eyes widen at how eager he is; I guess his curiosity is enough to override any awkwardness.

"did you know that owning indoor plants is actually correlated to overall mood improvements?" he asks me once he finishes reading, attention still focused on the back cover. the elevator door to the main level slides open.

"no, but I'm proof of it," I take back the reading material and put it in my bag. we walk out into the lobby. his long legs mean that my pace has to quicken a bit in order to keep up. "something about taking care of them is quite nice. they don't need as much attention as a pet, but they still rely on you."

"interesting." he nods.

"I like to think so."

"maybe I'll get one." he muses more to himself than anyone else. I smile at his open-mindedness, keep my eyes on the tiles we're walking over. maybe he, Prentiss, and I can have our own affinity club. he would become more knowledgeable than both of us combined within the span of a week.

[patchoulimademoiselle]

Fruit. (Part 2.)

Tony Stark (Sugar Daddy) x Reader Insert.

Word count: 3.9k

Warnings: Sugar daddy relationship, alcoholism, drunk driving, language, slight foot fetish?, public displays of affection, reader is a little brat. 

(Chapter 2 of the Guns n’ Glitter series.)

A fluttering of lips against your face, you turn away and bury yourself under your covers, desperately trying to cling to sleep for as long as you can. But Tony is persistent, hands on your hips tugging you against him.

His voice is low and hoarse in your ear, "Wake up." A chill ghosts up your spine as he squeezes your hip. "We're going out today, remember?"

Yes, you remember, his fingers laced with yours as you drove his car, he told you everything he wanted to do today, each statement followed with a kiss to your knuckles in promise. But you feel exhausted. Well not really, just too comfortable to get up, and his hands on you aren't helping. He kisses the back of your neck, baby hairs standing to attention at the sensation. "No," is all you can say, pushing your face further into the pillow.

What time is it? It's a Saturday, why is he rushing?

"Come on baby," He says, a strain in his voice as he tries to be patient. "The longer we lay here, the more time we waste."

That's right, you only have two days, you're only staying for the weekend, and that has you letting out a deep sigh through your nostrils, turning to look at him.

"Five more minutes?"

He smiles, "Only if you kiss me."

Yesterday you wanted nothing more than to stay up with him, but now, Saturday morning washing over you, you just want to sleep in.

So you do kiss him, a hand in his hair as you pull his face closer to yours. It's disgusting, too sloppy and too wet this early in the morning, a mix of morning breath and an occasional mash of teeth, but he's set on devouring you, his tongue in your mouth ever so slowly pushing you to lay on your back. But you've done worse.

He slots himself between your legs, hands on your hips pressing you firmly against the mattress, and when he bites your lip, the moan that comes from your throat sounds painful, scratching it's way up and out. He swallows it, humming in approval, lips pressing to yours gently to sooth his previous action.

"You know," A huff of breath against your lips. "Believe it or not, this was supposed to be innocent."

You scoff, nails scratching his scalp, his eyes slip closed. "You're the one who climbed on top of me." You press a kiss to his chin, the hairs of his beard tickling your face.

"I can't help it, you're just so," He catches himself, thumbs rubbing little circles against your hips. "You're perfect, and you're stalling." His eyes snap open, glaring at you. "You little devil. Get up."

He's off of you before you can protest, grabbing you by your wrists and pulling you with him. Cool air bites your bare skin, the warmth of the covers was all that was protecting you from the insanely low temperature of AC in your room. He smiles at you, running a hand through his hair.

"Put on something pretty? Be ready in twenty. I'm not kidding."

You do put on something pretty, something that makes him want to say fuck it and take you back to bed like you wanted all along. But first, you freshen up in the bathroom. You brush your teeth, then walk through a delicate skin care routine, products applies with the light tap of your ring finger. You apply a light layer of makeup, slick your hair into a pony tail with some gel, then you get dressed.

You put on a little pink dress with thin straps, shoulders bare and thighs proudly on display. You dress it up with a pair of heels and a mini bag, a cuban link chain on your neck, matching diamond earrings, and bracelets that jingle every time you take a step.

"Tight," His pinky finger is caught between his teeth when he sees you, because, "My god, you don't disappoint, do you?"

"I live to please, Mr. Stark." A bat of your eyelashes, and an air kiss against his cheek, you know you'll be in trouble later.

But for now, he lets you play your part, teasing him and winding him up, because he lives for reminding you of who wears the pants in the relationship.

He pick a different car this time, the Roadster, and for a moment you think he's going to let you drive again. Reading your mind, he kisses your cheek, not on your life, and holds your hand to help you inside.

The first stop is breakfast, the sun barely risen as you leave the garage, and you're squinting against the bright light to take a few pictures. Because daddy's rich, and he's taking you out today, and you can't help but feel entitled. You work hard for the things he gives you, so damn right you're going to brag about it. Because who else can say they have Tony Stark wrapped around their finger? He drives with the top down, giving you the perfect view of the State of California.

Breakfast is more like brunch, he drives you across the state to take you to a restaurant in L.A. It's nice, on the water and not too crowded since it's so early. The sun feels warm on your skin, a mimosa in your hand, Tony takes pictures on your phone for you. Your outfit is adorable, you get many complements, the kind that makes Tony's left eye twitch if someone stares at you for too long.

"You look like you're going to have a stroke." You say, nodding to his water. "Are you hot? Drink something."

He shakes his head, plucking the lemon from his ice water. "Keep it up." Is all he says, taking a sip.

You smile, faking innocent. "What?"

He has the nerve to smile back, mocking you. "You know exactly what." He says, looking up as the waiter brings your food.

You ordered an omelette with hash browns, and Tony ordered a stack of blueberry waffles. He pours the syrup for you both, and per his request you feed him a piece. You also order a fruit bowl, sharing it between you. Your fingertips and lips stain red from the strawberries, which earns you a sweet kiss from across the table.

"Blueberries or strawberries?" You ask him suddenly, his eyes floating up from his food to your face.

"Do I get to weigh my options?" He raises an eyebrow.

"You can walk me through it." You trace the rim of your glass with a single finger, and his eyes catch it for a moment before putting his knife and fork down.

"Well, they both stain." He says it with a deviant little smirk that turns your face the color of your lips. "But strawberries taste sweeter."

"Then why do you like blueberries so much?"

"I don't necessarily like them," He says. "But I don't mind them."

"You prefer strawberries but choose blueberry pancakes?" You ask.

He lets out a huff, reaching over for your mimosa. "Must you question everything I say and do?" He counters. "Is this boring you?" He's teasing you, so you don't respond. "There wasn't a strawberry pancake option on the menu, sweetie."

You are a bit bored, your pestering is a bad habit, find anything to pick apart simply because there is nothing else to do. So you decide to occupy yourself with another task, the man sitting across from you more than willing to receive your antics.

"Is this strong enough for you?" He asks, pulling a face, placing your drink back down in front of you. "Want some wine?"

Under the table, you slip your feet out of your heels. "It's not even lunch time." You point out. "Will they serve it?"

"Did you forget who you're talking to?" He waves down the waiter, and sure enough a bottle of their most expensive wine is brought out to you.

He pours you a glass, then another, matching your one with two for himself. Your cheeks are flushed with color before you can even finish your food, and of course Tony notices, eyes dark as he watches you tap your nails against your wine glass.

Thoughts cloud his mind, The smooth look of your skin in the sunlight, face glowing and kissed by the sun. The pout of your lips, tinted red in color from fruit juice and wine. Your cheeks are flushed, eyelashes fluttering against your cheek bones each time you blink. You're comfortable, relaxed, and that's all he wanted for you today.

But then his eyes wander, down your face and to the jewelry sitting on your collar bones, jewelry he bought for you. The dress you wear is tiny, he imagines that if he looks under the table he'll see your bare panties between your legs, it hugs you like a glove, reflecting the sunlight, and there's something seductive about the way your curves move fluidly each time you shift in your seat. And then, that ghost of your touch traveling up his leg, he thinks he's imagining it at first, but then you bite your lip, resting an elbow against the table to lean forward.

He reaches a hand down, catching your foot just as it reaches the top of his thigh, and you fail at concealing a gasp.

"Forgotten our table manners, have we?" He raises an eyebrow at you, making you sit up straighter, clearing your throat.

"Of course Mr. Stark. My apologies." You decide to play coy, holding your head high, reaching a hand up to fluff your pony tail. "How do you like the wine?"

To your surprise, he doesn't let you go, fingers inching up to your ankle. "It's sweet, strong." He says, "Fruity."

"I like it too." You say, bracelets jingling as you reach for another piece of fruit. "But I think I've had more than enough."

His finger slips, over your ankle and down the arch of your foot, and you flinch in response, knee knocking the table. Your eyes widen, and you're quick to save your wine glass from tipping over.

He laughs, dropping your foot. "I agree."

He holds his hand out suddenly, eyes glistening with a sense of mischief, and you're hesitant to place your hand in his. Slowly, he guides your hand to his mouth, sucking your fingers clean of syrup and fruit juice. His tongue slides across your skin, dipping between your fingers and trailing up to the pads of your finger tips. His tongue is hot, warm, his eyes never leaving yours as he licks you clean, as he tastes you. Then as if nothing happened at all, he reaches over to dab your lips with a napkin, kissing the underside of your wrist before letting you go.

He waves down the waiter for what feels like the tenth time, leaving you flustered, wanting something much sweeter than fruit. But Tony has the day planned for you already, so you bite your tongue and let him drag you around the city, stealing one last sip of wine before you leave.

Your nail appointment is booked for noon, and it takes over two hours to get done. But being tipsy helps the process, bursting into a fit of giggles each time you look over at Tony. He sits beside you with his phone in hand, playing a game, which he lets you watch occasionally. He looks like a bored child, dragged out for a day of shopping with their mother.

When asked what color you want, Tony's hand on your thigh, you decide to let him pick.

"Red," he says, lips lingering at the corner of your mouth.

Red like those strawberries, like the juice he licked from your fingers, like the wine that's clouding your judgement. Red like the car he let your drive yesterday, red like your cheeks, because you know what he's implying. Red is his color, and now he's making you wear it.

But you continue to tease him, crossing and uncrossing your legs, arching your back to stretch your spine, shifting back and forth to pull your dress down. His eyes hardly ever leave you, looking up only when you turn to smile at him. He tells you to behave, which you blatantly ignore, shifting in your seat to face him. He doesn't complain though, taking in the sight of you, watching you relish in the feeling of being pampered.

On a couple accent nails, you get crystals and rhinestones, fingers catching the light as you hold your hand out for his credit card to pay.

Keep it up, his eyes are screaming consequences at you for your bratty behavior. But you can't help it. He's torturing you with a good time, so you're returning the favor. You thank him with a wet one right on his lips, his hand on the small of your back to guide you out of the salon and back into the warm California air.

Your heels click against the pavement, hair swaying in tune with the switch of your hips, and you can't stop staring at your new nails, hands spread out in front of you as you examine them in the sunlight. Tony has good taste, the red really does suit you after all.

"Are you hungry?" You just ate a couple hours ago, but you can go for a snack. So you nod, grabbing his hand and lacing your fingers. "Want some ice cream?"

Ice cream. Tony Stark has a wicked sweet tooth, or maybe he just wants to see your lips wrapped around an ice cream cone. Either way, he buys you one, strawberry for you, cookie dough for him. You let him have a lick, and you're half tempted to smear it across his face.

You're surprised that you don't get any on your clothes, especially with the rate your ice cream is melting under the sun. It takes several wet napkins to clean your hand free of that sticky feeling, because you don't think you can handle Tony licking your fingers a second time.

There's something cute about watching Tony eat ice cream, something that makes you take a picture of him, which earns you a scolding about being addicted to your cell phone. You remind him of your age difference, which has him grabbing your hip and rolling his eyes. You're just trying to get a rise out of him, and it's working, the remnants of his ice cream gone, both of his hands on you now.

"You like my age." He says, voice low and eyes squinting against the sun. "In fact, if I were closer to your age you wouldn't like me at all."

It's true, you don't like men your own age. You're too mature for that, you're chasing a career, and boys your age just want to get drunk and party all the time. Tony is a business man, an established business man, someone who encourages you to work hard and chase your dreams. Boys your age could never.

So you seal his affirmations with a kiss, "Just don't let it get to your head."

It's far too late for that already, his hand in yours as you drag him down the street.

You decide to stop in the shopping mall, Tony tucks a wad of cash in your purse and tells you to go crazy. So you do. Gucci, Chanel, Fendi, you're reaching for cash more than you can keep track of, burning through it far too quickly. When you ask for his credit card instead, he appears unphased as you run up his bill, handing him receipts to sign and bags to carry. You spend hours shopping, trying things on for him, dragging on the occasion as long as you can.

He hardly ever lets you go shopping. He much rather prefers to gift you things, let you order online instead of getting up and going to an actual store. He prefers the privacy and convenience, but today he's in a spoiling mood, tolerating all of your antics so that you can treat yourself.

You don't mean to act like a brat, he just makes it fun. You truly do appreciate all he does for you, and you decide to remind him of that when you're ready to go, wrapping your arms around his neck in a tight hug.

"All shopped out?" He asks, lips pressed to your ear.

"My feet hurt, and I'm hungry again."

He can hear the pout in your voice, which makes him laugh, an arm tucking around your waist. "I bet. You might as well have run a marathon in those shoes today."

You pull back, looking down at them. "They're cute."

"Very cute." He kisses your nose. "Let's go."

He loads your millions of shopping bags into the trunk, and you take your heels off while you wait, letting your hair down just for a moment to massage your scalp. You reapply a bit of lip gloss and blot your forehead using your phone camera as a mirror, refreshed by the time he's finished stacking everything in the trunk.

He takes you to an authentic Italian restaurant for dinner, the menu's written in actual Italian, which Tony has no trouble translating for you. You knew he was Italian, but hearing him speak it is another story.

You order pasta and a salad, trying to be good after eating an entire basket of bread sticks. But good never lasts too long when in Tony's company, a glass of champagne is set in front of you and all morals are out of the window. You drink until you can no longer feel the pain in your feet, twirling your fork full of pasta to feed to him across the table. You're not a light weight, but he makes sure you're responsible, encouraging you to drink water and eat more bread.

He lets you sample off of his plate as well, speaking in hushed tones as he fusses over you. Are you sure you're okay? Take a break and drink some water. No more. Okay fine, this is the last one. Yes, drinking out of my glass still counts. Watch your arm, don't set it on your food. It's cute, and it keeps you smiling all night.

Tony made good on his promise to treat you today, good food, a fresh set of acrylics, and cute clothes. You felt thoroughly spoiled, shopped out and ready to go back to the house.

But he isn't finished yet.

"You got to do everything you wanted," He says, wiping his mouth clean on a napkin. "Now it's my turn."

You groan, thinking that he's going to do some shopping for himself. If that were the case, he could have been doing it with you the entire time. But that isn't what he meant at all, your eyes wide as he walks you to a jewelry store, hand firm on your back just in case. You're tired, and drunk, but nothing beats the sight of diamonds.

"I have something special in mind." He pulls his shades from his face and tucks them onto the collar of his shirt, like the true asshole that he is. Too cool to even make eye contact with the poor guy behind the register. "Something custom."

It's not everyday that a store owner sees Tony Stark walk in, so Tony cuts him some slack, flashing him a smile.

"Of course. What do you have in mind?"

It's whispered behind his hand, out of earshot and out of your line of vision. You're instantly annoyed, stepping away from him to look at the display case behind you.

He's back on you in an instant, hands next to yours on the glass, his chest against your back. He kisses your cheek, sensing your change in mood. "It will only take about an hour. Until then, let's take a look around?"

With all the spending he's already done on you, you figured he would be done. Apparently not. "Sure," You say, turning your face against his lips, stealing a quick kiss. "Thank you for today."

"That's the whole point of this, isn't it?" It's his own weird way of saying you're welcome, but it makes you roll your eyes anyway, stealing another kiss.

You're undeniably handsy, clinging to his arm as he walks you around the jewelry store. You're a bit bored though, your collection is already large enough to be over the initial excitement of basic diamonds and gold. But something does catch your eye eventually, nail between your teeth as you stop dead in your tracks.

"See something you like?"

Nail tapping against the glass, "That one." It's a cuban link chain, encrusted with pink diamonds, "I don't have a pink one."

He realizes that you don't, so it's added to his tab. So is a pair of earrings, an anklet, another necklace, by the time his custom piece is done, you've run up the total three times what it would have been originally. Oops, he doesn't seem to mind though, once again swiping his card, not blinking twice at the price. You consider this payment for making you stay out so late.

He's silent as you walk back to the car, arm tight around your shoulders, he holds the bag just out of your reach, and you feel like a child being restricted from having too much candy. You just want to hold your spoils.

"Are you still not going to let me drive?" You ask, and the laugh he lets out actually shocks you.

"God, no. You can barely keep your eyes open. Yesterday was different." Yesterday wasn't different, but you don't complain as he leans you against the car, walking off to place the jewelry bag in the trunk with the others.

You take it upon yourself to climb in, landing hard against the passenger seat. You pull your hair free form it's pony tail and kick off your shoes, placing them up on the dashboard. You can tell that he's tired too, letting out a little huff as he gets in the car finally. You smile, raking your nails across his scalp, and he enjoys your touch for a moment.

"I was going to fuck the shit out of you," He says, eyes barely open, "But I think we're both a bit too tired for that now."

You visibly deflate, pouting as you lean over the console, kissing his forehead. "Can't hang old man?"

He laughs, pointing a finger at you. "You're drunk, and we have a long ride home."

He does have a point though, by the time you do actually get home you doubt you'll be able to do anything.

"I got something for you." He says, breaking your silence.

You laugh, "You got me a lot of somethings."

"No," He shakes his head. "A special something."

"I want to see."

"Tomorrow. I promise." The smile he gives you is dazzling, washing away your annoyance almost instantly. "We need to sleep."

He looks a little guilty, but you don't hold it against him, enjoying the warmth of his hand on your thigh as he drives.

The radio down low, wind blowing your hair, you can barely hear him when he asks, "Did you have fun today?"

You nod, doing your best to look over at him. "Thank you."

He pats your thigh reassuringly, the touch comforting. "You're welcome, baby. Anything for you."

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

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[werezmastarbucks]

Whitmore Guy - Martha

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four

Kai Parker x fem!Reader slowburn

whatever gifs I’m going to use on this one, I hope the creators are okay with that

word count: 3612

warnings: none

music: offspring - the kids aren’t alright, blink-182 - home is such a lonely place

Y/N was staring at him without realizing it. If only she knew how easy it was, she would be horrified. She would have goosebumps all the way from her pretty head to her little toes, and she would form a perfect line on her mouth as she clenched her teeth so hard it hurt her canines. The beauty of oblivion is that you’re… oblivious. He couldn’t really figure if the feeling of almost grasping, almost realizing, almost suffering, was good on her or not. He hoped he would find out soon enough to manage to fix her if anything. Just the way she’d fixed him.

Y/N’s been staring at Mal, whose last name, as she learnt from his file, which inevitable went through her, as she was the college filing dumpster, - Osbourne. How cool is that? his eyes said to her when she looked up to nod with amazement. Mal Osbourne, the IT guy at Whitmore. He joked that Hoppus was too rare, and Swayze made him feel sad, so he chose Osbourne. Turned out he changed his name when he got of age, because he hated his family or something like that. That was the only thing he was uneasy to talk about. Mal didn’t say what his family name was before, and she didn’t press. She was still torn between investigating and being painfully disinterested in other people’s drama.

Mal was biting his lower lip busily as he punched the vending machine again. The soda can got stuck in between the springs and the glass, and he turned, flustered, to give her a look. Y/N shook her head in empathy. They shared passion for Dr Pepper, and this one can has been stuck there for the whole morning. It being Wednesday, an official mid-day of the week when you’re already tired, but not tired enough to give up completely, they invented the watch. Every fifteen minutes one of them was visiting this very vending machine to see if the can has fallen through yet. She was replacing him now, and Mal welcomed her with a grunt.

“Can’t believe not a single person came and tried to get it out”.

“Maybe they know”, Y/N examined the lit insides of the machine. Dr Pepper was tightly propped against the glass, its dark red tin can dented a little.

“How the fuck did she even get in there…” Mal muttered under his breath. She could not believe this grown man’s dedication to a tin can. “I mean, what’s the story behind it? Why did you do this to me, Y/N? It’s almost two in the afternoon, and all I’ve been thinking about today is this goddamn Dr Pepper”.

She bumped her fist on the machine really hard, and somebody jumped while passing them. A couple of concerned glances shot at their backs.

“It moved!” he almost yelled. “Bang it, and I’m gonna shake it”.

So, they assaulted the vending machine, putting a stop to their patient watch that lasted for nearly five hours. Her hand was sore pretty soon, from the bumping, but as Mal leaned back and shook the monstrous machine, all the items came into movement. A couple of packs of crisps fell out of the slots.

“Bonus points!” Mal shrilled. Dr Pepper was almost out.

Y/N puffed.

“Now, you bang, and I’ll shake”.

“That’s what she said”, Mal replied knowingly, letting her swap places with him.

Their hard work paid off, and in couple of minutes they were running heads first into the basement, hands full of crisps and soda. And that was Wednesday.

Thursday was long and tedious, because a second year student has broken her leg AND lost the keys from her car all in the same evening, and she had a mental breakdown. The hospital seemed to have a problem finding her insurance, and the insurance company refused to pay for the services of the guys who came to open her car for her and accidentally took of one of the doors; Professor Atkins, teacher of chemistry which the girl was specializing in, refused to believe the whole story although t was blatantly true, in spite of being utterly stupid; Y/N was running like a remote control car with five wheels between the insurance office, hospital and college; at six in the evening she realized it was already the twenty-fifth of May, and she still didn’t have a plan for Caroline’s party. At six forty-five she was crying in her office, her head in her hands, but her tears were not tears of a defeated person. She was very angry and couldn’t scream so she just sobbed all the nonsense away. She really hated Thursdays in general, too.

At six fifty there was a knock on her door, and she moaned, sensing, rather like an animal, that her salvation and relief has come.

“Dude”, she howled. Mal’s head penetrated the space of her office.

“If I’d known you’re falling apart, I would’ve brought a gun, not a coffee”, he said in his ever joyful voice, full of undetectable mockery.

He slid into the armchair and watched Y/N as she grabbed the cup and started drinking.

“Don’t choke. You called me, m’fair lady? What’s up with the party I never heard of?”

She nodded.

“Exactly. I forgot about this party like four times. I need you to help me. You never seem to go home or have personal life, so”.

Mal pouted, as if admitting the heavy truth.

“IT sphere… you know, it’s a lot of work. All the buttons that don’t glow… and the websites that have been blocked… deleted reports”, he scowled, “are the worst. So much pain and suffering in this place, it’s unbearable. I crack every day, too”.

He looked at Y/N almost tenderly. These looks usually made her question her sanity. Sometimes it felt like he was Alex, the name, the tattoo on her right forearm in thick, black letters. She took two more big sips and decided solid that she’d tell Mal about him. Share that and see how he feels about that. Mal’s been nothing but great help these last weeks, and they bonded, and Y/N realized that part of her nervous strain was due to this new mysterious character, almost a time bomb, smirking at her kindly across the table they lunched at. But at least that was positive hysterical energy.

“I kind of accused you of lying about having a girl, Mal. Just now”.

He gasped. His ringed fingers interlocked together on his stomach. He put up his foot which indicated he was getting comfortable, as if to listen to a story.

“Ah. You meant that. That I can help you with the party you irresponsibly forgot about four times, because I don’t have anything better to do anyway, because I don’t have a girlfriend I’d claimed I had”.

She just nodded, sucking on her coffee like a thirst victim.

“That’s a… that’s a very sad story”, he scratched his right brow as his eyes shot somewhere above her ear, out of the window. He was daydreaming. His glance was calm, while his body started saying he was nervous.

“And you already seem pretty sad, so…”

“Go on. Distract me, please. And I’ll tell you a sad story, too. Let’s see who’s gonna kick ass in being sadder”.

Mal shuddered with a light burst of laughter. This, too. His sudden flashes of humor, when he laughed at things people usually don’t laugh at. And still, he was seemingly worth it.

“Okay. So, I dated this girl, Martha Hopps”.

“Martha Hoppus?”

He let out a clattering sound he made with his tongue that Y/N couldn’t understand the physics of.

“No, her last name is Hopps. She uh… moved to Mystic Falls. That’s kind of why I came here. I tried to land a job in the town, but nobody needed an IT specialist there, so I went for the closest place, which is”, he motioned towards Y/N as if suggesting her own office.

“You said, dated?”

“Yeah. But, I mean, I’m still in love with her. Obviously, otherwise, I wouldn’t be here”.

There was a change in Mal. Just as he started talking about the girl, his eyes went down, and Y/N couldn’t see the dark pupils anymore. His hands were rubbing each other, patting fingers, and he tilted his head. Y/N unintentionally felt her long-abandoned maternal instinct, kicking its way through her stomach like a crazed lion riding a tractor – for in front of her there sat a boy. His forehead was marked with three distinct, and somehow cute, sharp kisses of puberty; his skin was in need of sunlight, pale like milk, but soft; his boyish demeanor, the shirt with Van Halen logo, and a tacky bracelet on his left wrist – all that was a part of his pattern. He was suddenly fragile, like a petal.

“Her family… uh, they decided that I wasn’t worth her”, Mal looked up bravely, and Y/N withstood it.  

“They separated us. Even before I could actually… you know, lay off my plans for the future, marrying and stuff maybe, you know?”

“What do you mean – separated?”

“Well, they brainwashed her big time. Her family together with friends, they are all kind of… religious fanatics”.

“Wait, Hopps, you say? Mystic Falls is a small town, I think I would remember a family of fanatics…”

She shuddered at the memory of that insane coven that was raging in the town five years ago. She couldn’t actually remember how they dealt with them; only that those were first class supernatural terrorists, witches bound on idea to kill all ‘abominations’ and release humans of Mystic Falls…

Mal shrugged indifferently.

“They moved in recently. I followed them. We met in uh, Ohio, that’s where I come from. Her father was like, you’re toxic to her. We wish you were never born. Whoosh. Next thing I know, she doesn’t talk to me. At first it’s like, Mal, I question your beliefs. Then, Mal, I think you’re cheating on me. I’m like, who told you that? Stupid, you’re the woman of my whole century. She’s like, my family knows. She…” he sucked the air through his teeth, “I think she loved me less that I loved her, you know? Sometimes it happens. She had to choose, and she chose them. Plus, there was so much whispering along the way, Jesus. The things they were telling her about me”.

Y/N felt she was swaying while sitting in her chair.

“God, why would they do that? You’re so cute”.

“I know, right?!” he exclaimed, feeling the connection. “It’s a case of… I suppose… loathing out of principle. I did one…” he licked his lips, staring absently through her desk. His finger froze in the air indicating the number One. “Maybe two bad things, and they’re like, that’s it! You’re going down, we’re going away, you’ll never see her again”.

Caffeine started to kick in, and Y/N found herself fixing her hair in abrupt movements.

“Well? And then?”

“And then they cut us in two”.

They both paused for a moment.

“What two bad things did you do?”

Mal sighed.

“I mean, no one’s perfect, right?”

“Oh god”, Y/N slapped the surface of her desk as the poisonous realization started to crawl into her brain. “Oh god, please, no. Please, Mal, tell me you’re not an obsessive psycho who’s been stalking a girl and beating people and saw nothing wrong with it”.

“Oh my god”, his pretty face grimaced, “Jesus, Y/N, I meant I stole her dad’s car once, and then I lied about my age! What… what kind of people do you hang out with?”

She wondered if he was having fun inside. This man, this pretty picture, was ineffable. He seemed to be saying exactly the kinds of things she wanted to hear. People, a wise man once said, were way worse than monsters. Monsters, beasts of the night, have a purpose. They have a code. People, on the other hand, are completely crazy.

“But you do look like a… like there’s a little doorbell in your head that goes off constantly… like you kill pets for fun…”

Mal stood up, lifting himself with both hands.

“Screw you, Y/N”.

She jumped.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Mal”, she ran around her desk, trying to catch him as he walked out of her office. She clutched the hem of his shirt and scratched the skin on his shoulder with her nails by accident. Mal hissed in pain, but stopped. She had that weird sensation again, like a light zip coming through her body when she touched him. It wasn’t painful, didn’t bother her, but it was curious. That happened for the second time already, but they’ve been contacting hand to hand for weeks now. Passing each other things, patting on the shoulder, shaking hands in sealing the deals about cans of sodas…

He looked at Y/N like she was betraying all the laws in the world. His eyes were beaming warnings, but deep inside, there was also this frail shade of cold that unnerved her way more. She couldn’t tell if she believed even a single word he said. The guy often acted like a sociopath. His sudden outbursts of laughter, his trust in her that was childish if not alarming, and these stories. And yet, she wouldn’t let go of his shirt, until he shrugged her hand of, though, thankfully, pretty gently.

“You don’t believe me. You think I’m making this all up”.

“That’s exactly what a manipulator would say”, she blurted, and grabbed him by the fabric of his shirt again, just in case. The knuckles of her fingers perceived the warmth of his body. “Prove she exists, and I’ll get on board with you, and I’ll do anything to help you get Marta Hoppus back”.

“Hopps”.

“Right”.

“Bringing you coffee was a mistake. Your eyes a rolling”.

Mal stepped away and took out his phone from the back pocket of his jeans.

“I meant to delete all, but I kept one picture of us, just in case”.

He stalled for a second before giving her the phone, like he was afraid to entrust her a treasure he’s been keeping. Y/N looked at the screen and saw Mal, smiling like he was a normal, happy guy, with a young girlfriend in his arms. He held her tight, with both arms. They took a picture in a big mirror, somewhere at a mall. She was kissing his cheek while managing to look in the mirror, too, and Y/N could see her face.

No, she’s never met that person, but the photograph was it.

“It was taken last year”, Mal said, as if reading her mind, “in Seattle. We were travelling”.

“I’m from Seattle”, Y/N said, absently.

She’s just realized she hadn’t been afraid Martha Hopps was not real; she had hoped for that.

“Dude”, she gave his phone back to him. Mal was watching her carefully. “If you love her, you have to fight. But I still can’t grasp the whole idea of them moving her from Ohio to… here”.

He scratched his head and gave the empty corridor a wandering look.

“Well, I’ve… you said yourself I’m a sophisticated guy…”

“I never said you were sophisticated, I said you’re weird”.

“Same thing. I may have a thing”.

“What thing?” she narrowed her eyes.

“I may have been diagnosed with ASPD back in the day”.

“I knew it!” her triumphant shriek was so sudden, Y/N dumbfounded herself a little.

“To be honest, I’m impressed you detected me in, like, twenty days”, Mal nodded, “people usually only see what the want to see”.

“I have a thing for serial killers”, she brushed it off with her hand, ignoring Mal’s fainting smile.

“Oh, Y/N, why does it always have to be that extreme with you. This guy never killed anybody, ever, in his life”.

“What will you do with her family when you get to her?”

Mal shrugged.

“I already got to her. I found her. I guess now you can call me a stalker. I don’t do creepy stuff”, he added, before she could open her mouth, “but she still doesn’t know her ex-boyfriend is here. Wanting to get her back very much. I don’t know. What would you do to people who took away the love of your life from you? Deceiving you both in the process?”

Mal was the kind of person you could tell practically anything. The man could take a joke and keep a secret. Now, though, as she started seeing him as a person with pretence instead feelings, that was all presented in slightly different light. Him being friendly to everybody, charming people the second he saw them, was his mechanism of infiltrating the community. Him sticking with Y/N and befriending her at first sight may have been his method of imitating social life and learn to cope. Even use her, maybe. He’s been living here for some time, with virtually no interest for the place itself, with the sole reason to be close to Martha Hopps; and he treated the whole IT thing like a joke. He was indisputably good at what he was doing; Y/N could see him run across these halls all day long, without a tired sigh; but this perfection in his performance was what must make one suspicious. He always ate at the same time, every day, and understood every joke and said all the right things.

The look he was giving her said cold. His brain was derived of emotion, and to think that this person could be loving someone was close to fantasizing. Y/N recalled the boy in her armchair, minutes earlier, hurt by the memories.

“I would tear them apart”, Y/N said. “If somebody took away the thing I love the most, I would tear them apart, limb from limb. But they’re her family, Mal”.

“So?”

“So, there are, you know, types of people to kill…”

His eyes narrowed.

“Wait. You’re talking seriously now? About tearing them apart?”

“God, well, I’m telling you the one hundred percent. Of course, in reality, you do less. But anyway, there are different types of close people. You can get away with separating your loved one from one type, but not from another”.

“I don’t get it”.

They started walking slowly down the corridor. Y/N couldn’t really tell where they’re going until she saw a vending machine prepped against the wall, and noticed Mal slide his hand into his pocket. He was hungry again.

“Say, you come to their house where they live now, and you choke them all. Theoretically. You don’t really have a right to choke people”.

“I know that, Y/N. I’m a bit sociopathic, much better than I used to be, by the way. It’s far from spree killing”.

“Yes, well, and what then? Where do you go from there? She may still love you, say, you talk everything out, and she realized that they had tricked her into breaking up with you. But even if you move on, go to another state, buy a house and live there, get married. You’ll always be the guy who killed her family”.

He stood at the machine, looking at the rows of packs. His face was highlighted by the pale light from the inside of the glass. Outside, the sky took on an orange shade of the closing sunset. She won’t get to it once again.

“And you think that’s fair. That you should just let it slide, all the things they out of hatred. You know, I’ve had a lot of that when I was a kid. I was always the bad child in the family”.

He put the coin in and pushed a button. Y/N couldn’t even watch the string spinning slowly, she was focused on Mal and what he does next. The cold shiver of realization went through her body. If he’s violent; if he’s aggressive; if he’s pretending to be her friend, all this trauma right now may make him act out. And Damon just won’t manage to run in here on time. She didn’t even have a pencil with her in case she had to protect herself. Y/N looked at his hands, lean, strong and pale, fingers, long and dexterous. Mal always touched and held things sturdily, to make sure they won’t escape his grasp. He never dropped anything and never made mistakes.

“You? You’re the bad child?”

“Uh-huh, I had this sister, she wa- she’s my twin. I say ‘was’ usually, because I haven’t spoken to her in years. She was better at everything. Better at school, at doing the chores, at turning on the TV, talking to people, understanding things. Feeling things. She was the good one, and I was always the defective brother”.

“Don’t say that”, Y/N snapped. Mal looked at her, surprised, and then squatted a little to get his pack of chips out.

“You know they were wrong, right? You’re a big guy now, you’re an adult. You must understand why adults do all that. You’re spared of fear they must have experienced”.

“That’s a good point. But it doesn’t help to know that. I still have hard time dealing with… crazy families. We’re going to the basement?”

“Why?”

“I have my speakers there, and we can make a playlist”.

“Right”.

Walking past the windows, they looked outside, at the orange sky.

“Tomorrow’s gonna rain”, Mal said. He tore the pack open with a loud rustling. “You want some?”

Y/N looked inside.

“I’m gonna puke if I put anything else in my mouth today”.

“That’s what she said”, Mal commented gravely.

[senaar-ika]

The Pixie & The Bard: Ch. 1

Hi there. It’s been a while. I honestly just haven’t had the creative energy or motivation to write recently. I moved house and started working more and I’m about to start a new semester of university. What with the world being a flaming trash bin my brain hasn’t quite been up for much. 

Welcome to all the new followers and thank you to everyone who’s stuck around. I’ve had this first chapter of a multi-chaptered fic sitting in my drafts for a while so I thought why not share. I hope you enjoy!

Summary: You’re working as a fairy at a Renaissance Festival in the New York countryside when you meet Charlie and Henry. A father and son who are quite the pair. You flirt with guests at the festival for fun all the time, but something feels different about this one . . . 

CW/Tags: nothing major, just heavy flirting, awkward dad Charlie, literally too much Henry but I promise his relationship to reader is important, also E making up shit about renaissance faires, this is mostly just me longing to dress up like a fairy and go to a festival and watch people joust ok 

Word Count: 2.6k

Chapter 1 - An Chance Encounter

The festival grounds are surrounded on all sides by forest. Trodden down dirt walking paths snake past vendors and performers, ultimately leading visitors to the main events in the center clearing. The Fairy Tree -as it is affectionately known by performers and guests alike- is your territory. The ancient sycamore tree looks like something right from the pages of a storybook with its sprawling roots, knotted trunk, and layers of thick branches. 

Your inner child sprang out on your first day when your manager led you to the tree, explaining that your character should mostly keep in a close radius to it. She didn’t have to tell you twice. You were up the tree and swinging casually from the branches in minutes. Some of the other fairy cast members wander the festival, making mischief and spreading glitter. But you’re perfectly content to hang around your tree. 

Of course you’re safe, never climbing too high or swinging too recklessly. You keep a little wooden flute at one hip and your bag of “fairy dust” at the other. Piping out mysterious tunes from up in the tree only to surprise guests who happened along past. If they have children you often toss a handful of sparkling fairy dust down, relishing their squeals of delight. 

Today is Saturday. First Saturday to be exact. First Saturday is always the busiest, or at least that’s what the returning cast members have been telling you. First Saturday always falls on the first weekend when schools are closed for the summer, so the families turn out in droves. You likely won’t get a real break today; it’s all hands on deck. 

You lean against the trunk of the old fairy tree, one arm hugged as far around it as you can. You’re only about ten feet up, but it feels like you’re part of the forest. A breeze rustles the leaves, bright and green for the start of summer. You close your eyes gently. In the distance you hear a horn sound and a wave of cheers rise up, carried by the breeze. 

Afternoon tournament already? The day has flown by. Cast members don’t get to have any modern technology on hand while performing, so you tend to gauge the time by the schedule of festivities. Afternoon tournament started at two. You’d been up in the tree since lunchtime. The tournaments, which include jousting, sword fighting, and axe throwing, pull the biggest crowds. Meaning smaller attractions got a bit of a break. 

Carefully you slide down to sit, resting your back against the trunk and balancing your legs horizontally along the length of the branch. You breathe in deeply, just listening for the familiar sounds of the tournament. 

“Dad, look!” The whisper-shout of a young boy pulls you away from the quiet, but your first glance at the boy’s father nearly fells you from your perch. Tall, dark, and built like one of the festival’s knights. He’s focused on his phone, typing furiously. The boy tugs at his father’s sleeve, trying very hard not to look away from you, as if he’s afraid you might disappear.

“What is it, Henry?” It isn’t sharp, just distracted, offhanded, but the bassy richness of the man’s voice sends a flutter to your chest. 

“There’s a lady up in the tree! Look!” You smile down at the boy, Henry, leaning forward a bit so that the iridescence of your wings catches the light, and you wave. The dad glances up briefly from his phone only to do a double take.  

“Hail and well met, gentlemen!” You called, pitching your voice up and putting on your character’s fairy accent. “Ye wouldn’t happen to be lost would ye?” 

Henry is quick to speak up, “My dad is trying to get a good phone signal!” The dad’s face turns a ridiculous shade of pink, his expression sheepish and embarrassed. You giggle, swinging your legs over the side of the branch so they dangle. 

“I dunno what that is, young lad, but perhaps he’d have better luck with a carrier pigeon?” One of the top rules was to always stay in character. No talking about modern life. Immersion is key and after all you’re here to make magic. But Henry seems confused.

“You don’t know what a phone signal is? Don’t you have a phone?” Ah so he’s one of those smart kids. Before you can say anything, Henry’s father cuts in.

“She’s a fairy, Henry, look. Fairies don’t have phones.” The dad explains, gently. His voice is practiced, as though he has to explain a lot to his son. You nod along with him, crossing your ankles and propping your chin on your hand. 

“Aye, he’s right!” You chime in, “And you two look like . . . hmmm.” You scrunch your face in consternation for a moment. “Ah! I know! A knight and his squire?” You point from father to son.

Henry starts to laugh and his father smiles, looking from you to his son and back. 

“Yes! Young squire Henry and the brave knight Sir . . .” You trail off, gesturing towards the boy’s father. 

“Charlie,” He finishes, holding your gaze steadily. You feel your grin widen and you tilt your head, reminding yourself to stay in character. 

It’s not like flirting with guests is discouraged; actually, it’s almost expected of most fairy cast members. You’ve just never been caught off guard like this before. Something about this man, Charlie, sends your heart racing. Perhaps because he seems far too dashing for a dad, or maybe it’s how quickly he is willing to play into the immersion of your job. 

“So the brave knight, Sir Charlie, and young squire Henry find themselves at the Fairy Tree.” You slide yourself over to the trunk and begin climbing down, using the little foot and hand holds nailed into the tree. “Trying to relay a message with no luck?” 

When you reach the ground, Henry bolts over to you. “Why didn’t you just fly down?” 

You crouch down to his height. “Flying for me is like running for you. It’s so exhausting!” 

Henry nods, understanding, and looks back over his shoulder at his dad, still standing a ways back. Charlie smiles at the two of you before glancing back at his phone. 

“My dad is trying to send a picture of me to my mom.” There it is. You feel something in your chest sink a little. You should’ve expected it really. Hot dad and cute kid? There has to be a mom somewhere in the picture. Henry, unaware that his simple statement shook you, continues on. “She lives in LA, but I get to come see my dad every month. He likes to take me to do things like this.” Oh, hot divorcee dad. 

“And what have ye done around the festival today, young lad?” You actually smile as Henry carries on in that childlike way, just talking. Simple statements. Pouring out their day for you. 

The two of you plop down to the forest floor. Henry absentmindedly plays with the grass and pebbles. You pluck a couple of clovers from the grass and begin stringing them together. Usually the fairies are encouraged to tell stories to the children, but this particular child seems happy to tell you the story of his day. Henry is just finishing up recounting how they had eaten turkey legs and french fries for lunch when his dad approaches. 

“I’m surprised to see such an adventurous pair missing the tournament,” You remark, handing Henry the bracelet of clovers you had woven while he was talking. “But I’m glad to hear your stories, young Henry.” 

“There’s a tournament?” Henry’s eyes light up as you slip into your role, telling him all about the lore of the festival.

“Why of course, young Henry! Every sixth day the King holds tournaments where our bravest and strongest knights may show their skill! There’s sword fighting and jousting and horses, and of course all the fair maidens of the kingdom come as well!” You try to avoid looking up at Charlie, squatting down beside his son, for fear of stumbling over your words. “The fairy folk like me perform great songs and dances for the royal court, and all the guests like you cheer and awe at all the talent!”

Henry is hanging on your every word, completely frozen and enraptured in your performance. 

“Unfortunately for you, the tournament for today is probably just finishing up.” Seeing the boy’s face start to sink with disappointment you add, “But! After the tournament the fairy folk will lead a parade back to this very tree and we’ll tell stories! There’s always a bit o’ music with our stories. I play this!” You pull your flute from its slot on your belt and hold it up for Henry, whispering your next sentence. “If you and Sir Charlie aren’t in a rush, I suggest you stick around, the parade should be arriving any minute now.” 

“Can we stay, dad?” Henry turns excitedly towards his father, eyes still wide. Charlie’s face breaks into a full grin that goes all the way to his eyes which crinkle at the corners. A noticeable dimple also appears on his cheek. Stay in character, you have to remind yourself. 

“Of course, honey, if you want to.” Charlie places a hand gently on his son’s back. 

It seems as though Charlie’s about to say something to you, but before he can you’re overtaken by the sound of jingling bells, flutes, and footsteps crunching along the dirt path. 

“The parade!” Henry scrambles to his feet, turning in the direction of the noise. 

You catch Charlie’s gaze as you both move to stand up as well. He mouths a silent “Thank you.” You smile and give him a wink, lifting your flute to your lips. Moving quickly, you dance back to the tree and climb up to hang by one hand from one of the handholds nailed into the trunk. The tune of your flute matches up with the commotion coming up the path. 

At least once a day, a large group arrives at the Fairy Tree led by cast members like yourself. It’s part of the job, performing like that. So why are you so nervous? 

The parade rounds the forest bend, finally coming into sight. Two fairy cast members lead the group, one with a tambourine, the other a pan flute. A dozen or so children are close behind with a couple more fairies mixed in. Bemused parents and adult stragglers make up the rear. 

“Aha!” The performer with the tambourine, halts the parade and points to you. “Kind guests and members of the parade, this is our sister Dewdrop!”

You hop back down to the ground, lowering your flute, and slip into the loose script that formed around storytime each day. “Are we to tell these fine folks a story today, Evergreen?”

And with your line, you settle. This is just your job. You do this every day. Every day there’s a new story. Every day there’s a new crowd. 

You and the other fairies sit the little ones down on “toadstool” seats while the adults gather around. Henry choses the seat closest to where you stand, you notice, so you make sure to give him a smile when you can. Like a good actor, you dance your eyes across the crowd, trying to bounce rather than stick to anyone in particular. But.

But you can’t help but get stuck on Charlie. He’s watching you so intently, occasionally glancing down at Henry as he laughs at all the silly jokes and goofs. Today’s story is one about how the king of the festival was trapped and magicked to dance for eternity by the trickster pixies until a kind hearted fairy saved him. The stories are always a bit silly like that. 

When you and the other fairies take your final bow, all conducting the children in a chorus of “The end!” and tossing handfuls of fairy dust, you make eye contact with Charlie again. Everyone is clapping politely. He’s smiling at you. You hold his gaze for just one second longer. He’s the first to look away, clearing his throat and raising his gaze to the treetops. You barely have time to process what just happened before Henry is tugging at your skirt. 

“You didn’t tell me your name is Dewdrop!” He exclaims, somehow still thriving off of the high energy of the show. 

You giggle, dropping down to his level. “You never asked, young Henry!” 

“That’s a funny name.” He scrunches his nose in such an innocent way you can’t help but smile. 

“Well all the fairies are named a bit differently than you humans.” You explain, “We’re given names that connect us to nature and-” 

“Wait a second!” Henry interrupts and suddenly runs over to his dad. 

They converse softly for a moment, Charlie leaning down so Henry can whisper in his ear. Charlie seems to be thinking hard about whatever his son is saying. He flicks his eyes over to you for what seems like a millisecond, you can’t even be sure he did look at you. Then he nods and Henry scampers back over to you. 

“My dad says we can come back tomorrow! I want to see the fighting and the contests like you said!” Your heart seems to stop for a second before you become very aware of it beating in your ears. 

“That - That’s wonderful, young lad!” You shake yourself back to this fantasy that is reality. “You must stop by the tree and say hello then.” You chance a look over at Charlie to find his eyes locked on you. He smiles and gives a slight nod of his head. 

He steps forward reaching for his son’s hand. “Alright, Henry, let’s get going now and let our friend get back to doing … fairy stuff.” Henry’s face scrunches in a way that your years of working around children tell you he’s not thrilled at the idea of leaving. So you swoop in with a little assist. 

“Sir Charlie’s right, young lad.” You take a pinch of fairy dust from the pouch on your belt, “I’ve got official fairy business to attend to around the festival. But here, I’ll give you a bit of parting sparkle so that you’ll shine until we meet again!” With a flourish, you dust Henry’s flower bracelet with the glittery powder. 

That seems to satisfy the young boy as he gives you a toothy grin and turns to leave with a quick “Bye! See you tomorrow!” 

“Well hang on just a second!” You decide to milk this moment a tiny bit more, just for fun. “That’s no way to leave a proper lady! Give us a bow and a fare thee well!” 

Henry looks confused for a second but Charlie elbow’s him lightly. “Like this,” he whispers. He executes a wonderfully low bow, crying out “Fare thee well, Dewdrop! We shall return on the morrow!” in an over the top sort of faux English accent. 

You laugh, fully, almost definitely out of character. That’s when Charlie looks up from his bow, holding your eyes as he rises back up to his full height. After a second, he clears his throat and elbows at Henry again, muttering “Your turn.”

Henry does his best to imitate his father, but his bow is a bit shaky. “Fare thee well, Dewdrop! We shall . . . Dad what is it?” 

“We shall return on the morrow,” Charlie mumbles, failing to conceal a smile. 

“We shall return tomorrow!” Henry finishes and stands back upright. 

As the two of them finally start down the dirt trail you call after them. “Safe travels, Sir Charlie and Squire Henry! T’was a true pleasure that our paths should cross!” 

“Bye!” Henry yells back. 

Charlie looks over his shoulder at you one more time. You wave. He smiles. And then they turn the corner. And they’re gone. 

[hoshizoranoseirei-a]

Hyunki entered the bar completely done with the day eveyone felt his entrance as he walked to the bar. “Can I have a scotch. Clean and make it the best youo have.” He leaned on his arm as the bartender poured his drink. As he waited his thoughts ran past the events of the day and reminded him why he was in the bar to begin with. He could hear the clicking of pool balls and walked over to the tables. “You fellas mind if I join in?” He raised his glass and took a sip from his drink easily swallowing. 

Jae had just needed a calm night. So he’d gone to teh pool hall down the street from his apartment, sipping a bourbon as he played pool by himself. HEaring a voice, the male turned, running a hand through his hair. The table next to him was refusing to let someone join, and he nodded at the male. “You’re free to join me.” he offered, moving to chalk the end of his stick again. 

Hyunki tilted his glass in thanks and approached the table, setting his drink on the side of it. “The name’s Hyunki. You?” He chalked his own stick and looked at the man in front of him. He was far beyond the word handsome and he held himself like he knew it. Hyunki could tell this would be fun and settled in for a good time.

Jae found the other greatly attractive, and he could see the confidence. With a grin, he took another drink of his bourbon. “Jae.” He answered. “You play much?” He asked. Pool was something he’d started a year ago at his company. He wasn’t the best, but he was good.

Hyunki knew better than to fall for attractive men without knowing which way they swung. ‘Been ther, done that.’ He thought as he watched Jae sip his drink. “Not really, I spend most of my time in the office. I’m a biochemist so not much time to hang out at bars. I just had a bad day today is all. I don’t even know how to play really, those guys missed a chance for free money.” He spoke the last part loud enough that the other table could hear. He shrugged and took another drink of his drink. “How does this work again?”

The halfling smiled at the other male, giving an obvious once over. “I play a little. Mostly during long days.” he mused. “I don’t play for money, mostly for fun.”  he answered, going to set up the balls in the triangle. Taking the white ball, he set it at the opposite end and lined the stick up to make a shot. “Just make the white ball hit another to make it in a pocket.” he said, eyes lining up and taking the shot. The balls broke with a loud crack, scattering among the table, though none made it into the slots. “The first one to make a certain style of the balls shoots to get those in. As long as you make shots, you can go until you miss.” he explained, twirling the stick around his hand before going to take another drink. “You make a shot with the other player’s ball and it’s their turn. 

“Yeah, I’m just gonna hit whatever. I don’t care. I just want to let off some steam.” Hyunki sipped his drink again and sat on the side of the table. “Sorry if that bothers you, I could leave you alone if it does.” He let out a sigh and thought back to why he was here in the first place. He had been working on a new project with his boss when he had seen the one person that made him want to drink until he was numb. The one person who knew he wasn’t straight. The one and only person Hyunki had embarrassed himself n front of. Hyunki swallowed the rest of his drink and turned his attention back to the person at the table with him. Jae was better looking than Hangyeom but it wasn’t just that. Something about Jae was different and Hyunki liked it, though he refused to believe that was the case. 

A fight broke out at the bar and Hyunki winced as glasses and bottles were being broken everywhere. “Oops, my bad. Should’ve been a bit more careful.” With a deep breath he centered his emotions and brought any residuele bad energy back to himself. “My fault.” He mumbled under his breath, smoothing out the few wrinkles in his shirt. He looked back at Jae and smiled. “Sorry.”

Jae watched the other, shrugging. “No big deal. I could use some company.” He felt the surge of energy, eyes briefly flickering around the pupil. He tilted his head as there was suddenly a fight, then hummed thoughtfully as it suddenly stopped. He subconsciously fiddled with the protection bracelet his father had made and given him the entire time, eyes watching Hyunki. “Are you okay?” he wondered aloud. He moved to stand closer to the table. “It looks like you might need more than one game of pool.” he mused, eyes glancing towards the bar where the mess was being cleaned up. 

Hyunki chuckled a bit. “Yeah, maybe. Real bad day.” Hyunki raised an eyebrow at Jae when he spotted the bracelet. “A protection band? I wear mine as a anklet.” He lifted his slacks just enough to see the item decorating his ankle. “Easier to trick people when needed and I don’t get yelled at when I’m at work.” He smiled a bit and dropped his pants leg so that it brushed his dress shoes lightly. Hyunki mindlessly pulled out a jade hairpin and spun it between his fingers. It had been passed down through his family for generations and given that he was an only child he inherited it instead of a female. It served as a second nature to spin the hair piece when he thought he might lose control, he’d been doing it since college. “Pool might not help at all.”

Jae gave a glance at his wrist. “My father made it for me when I was young.” he replied. “I never take it off.” he shrugged. The bracelet was the only consistent jewelry in his career, though he did have a love for earrings. He watched the other man for a moment. “Crowds don’t usually help after a bad day. The park is quiet and just about empty this time of night. We could go there?” he asked. “Sometimes fresh air and quiet helps me out.”

Hyun-Ki shrugged. “Might as well.” After paying for their drinks, he followed Jae out of the bar and to the park walking along the paths until they came to a bench. They sat down and Hyun-Ki let out a loud sigh. He pulled his legs up in front of him. “It’s always the people you least expect to see that show up out of nowhere.” He wished he still had a drink and that he could just drown everything in alcohol so he could forget, at least for a little while.

Jae walked alongside Hyunki, letting himself relax at the familiar surroundings of nature. The witch half of his blood liked nature the most, it relaxed and gave him the energy he needed in his day to day. Moving to sit next to the other, he leaned back, hands tucked into his jacket until Hyunki spoke. Looking at the other, he tilted his head, red hair falling into his face. “Ex, or something more complicated?” He asked.

“More like the only guy I have ever fallen in love with but found out he was straight after completely embarrassing myself in front of him.” He spun the jade hairpin again. “Oh, and he had a girlfriend too.” He laughed at himself. “I spent the next two years drinking my problems away before refocusing on my degree. I never expected him to show up at my job and start asking questions about me and my life right now. Plus I have to work on my current project with him because his company is helping with the costs and such.” Hyun-Ki really wished he had chosen a different line of work but he loved what he did even if that meant that he had to work with the one person who had seen him at his weakest. He stopped spinning the hairpin and pointed it at Jae. “So I would say more complicated than an ex.” 

Jae whistled low. “Yeah, I would definitely call that more complicated.” he mused, looking away from Hyunki as he nodded. “I would say ignore him, but honestly, work puts us all in a situation we don’t like at one point or another.” He licked his lips as he thought. He had been put in several awkward positions given his own sexuality, being one of few bisexual idols out caused a few awkward situations. Somehow, sitting with Hyunki didn’t feel awkward. “A game of pool may not be a whole lot, but maybe some fun that’s a little more exerting would help?” he offered, slowly looking back at the other. 

Hyun-Ki bit his lip, picking up on what his companion was implying. He turned his head and took in every detail he could that made up the man next to him. “Depends on what you have in mind.” Hyun-Ki placed the hairpin he still held back into his pocket and turned to face Jae fully, a smirk decorating his face as his eyebrow shot up. “What exactly is it you want, mister?” 

Jae gave a an arched brow, cocking his head to one side. “I mean, you’re absolutely beautiful. And I’m sure we could both use some stress relief from time to time. I don’t see why we can’t help each other.” he offered. “My place isn’t far. We can switch numbers after and hook up whenever one or both of us needs a release.” He shrugged, moving to brush some of Hyunki’s hair from his face. “What do you say?”

Hyun-Ki stood up and brushed his shirt to get the non-existent wrinkles out of it. He turned to Jae and waved his arm in a lead the way manner. “After you my good sir.” Hyun-Ki smiled as Jae walked in front of him, gladly watching as he walked away a bit before following. “Where exactly do you live? Exactly how far is not far?” Hyun-Ki asked bumping lightly into Jae as he walked side by side with him. 

Jae paused when he noticed Hyunki was slightly behind him, turning to look back. “I live a few blocks away. Had a long day at work and didn’t want to go home yet, so I went to the bar.” he answered, glancing at the other as they walked the path back to where his loft was. “Happy I did, too.” he mused, laughing quietly as Hyunki nudged him. “We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Hyun-Ki nodded and silently walked next to Jae as they progressed to their destination. He was beginning to second guess his decision but pushed any doubts to the back of his mind, just wanting to forget about Hangyeom for the night. He fell slightly behind Jae as his thoughts wondered, merely following Jae back to his home as an instinct. When Jae stopped Hyun-Ki almost bumped into him “Sorry.”

Jae noticed the way Hyunki went quiet, but didn’t comment on it, moving to unlock the door and turn the living room light on. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, hmm?” he asked, reachign up to run his fingers through Hyunki’s hair. 

Hyunki leaned forward and whispered against Jae’s ear. “Do you really want to know?” He din’t really plan on telling Jae what he was thinking, he was buying himself some time to think of a convincing lie. He was not going to screw up this chance to get his thoughts of Hangyeom to vanish. He ran a hand down Jae’s chest, letting come to rest on the other’s hip as he thought frantically for a good lie.

[fredheads]

me? trying to shake off the cobwebs by writing pool smut? ending up with different smut instead? its more likely than you think. 

pool smut is coming. i swear. 

don’t click the read more if you don’t want to see exactly what i just described. @fredsythe 

When Fred's seemingly endless search for a summer job had led him to lifeguarding at the town pool, FP had assumed that he would be out of a job again within the month.

It wasn't that he didn't have faith in his best friend’s ability to perform rescues and remove splinters and keep little kids from wiping out on the deck. It was more the question of whether Fred, already mopey because all the lifeguarding slots at the public beach had been full, had the patience to go through with the training once he learned how few babes (his self-professed reason for coveting the position) frequented the small outdoor pool in the centre of town.

Surprisingly, FP couldn't have been more wrong. Fred adored being outside for hours in the sun, and his firm-but-friendly way with the kids meant the denizens of the public pool were happier and more well behaved than FP had seen it in years. He'd also accumulated a gaggle of adoring preteen admirers who served as a kind of miniature pool patrol, snapping at kids to walk, not run, and ensuring Fred had very little to do at work but wave at eight-year-olds and soak up the season.

Not that he didn't take it seriously. It was astonishing - and adorable - to watch Fred treat the position with reverence, wearing his plastic red whistle as seriously as a lieutenant and even snapping at FP for littering once while he was visiting Fred at work. That Fred had once been the most obnoxious, rule-breaking nine-year-old at this exact pool was completely forgotten.

“Man, they love you,” FP comments from the base of the lifeguard tower as he watches a girl of about twelve rush back to her mother's waiting minivan. She'd just presented Fred with a homemade friendship bracelet that he was laboriously tying on his wrist, as importantly as one might perform surgery.

“Who, Stacy?” Fred replies, admiring his wrist. “She's the sweetest kid.” He drops his voice to a whisper, leaning down a bit from his chair toward FP. “And her older sister's a total bombshell.”

Ah, there they were. The babes. FP scowls and stares at the lapping turquoise water. Fred Andrews could find a girl to hit on in the middle of the desert. And she'd want him back. And have an annoying friend for FP, so he couldn't complain.

“When are you off?” He asks, shielding his eyes from the sun and taking the excuse to gaze up at his friend. He never got tired of seeing Fred in uniform - if a tiny pair of red swim trunks that clutched his thighs for dear life could be considered a uniform. There was a matching tank top, but Fred never wore it. His red whistle was nestled snugly against his blond chest hair.

“Right now.” Another lifeguard is approaching them from the changerooms, and FP raises his hand to wave at Sierra. His classmate had no reason to resent her job at the public pool - she and Tom Keller were secretly going steady, and were completely infatuated with one another. That was a load off FP’s mind too - no worries about Fred and Sierra picking up a summer romance while supervising the kiddy pool.

“Get lost, Andrews,” Sierra teases Fred, rattling the base of the lifeguard stand. “My turn up there.” She turns her gaze to FP. “Hi, FP.”

“Hi.”

“Hold your horses.” Fred jumps down as Sierra pops on a pair of huge sleek sunglasses, smoothing her hair down with her free hand. “Bye, Sierra. See you tomorrow!”

She waves from the tower as they head out, Fred stopping at his locker to retrieve his bag and car keys. He tosses his towel around his neck and hops into the beat-up red convertible he and Artie had restored back in June. Fred, rather than being tired of water and sun, was now intending to tear off to the beach to spend the last of the day on the sand. FP eases himself into the passenger seat, along for the ride, and they speed off.

Fred’s talking as they drive, taking the scenic route down the coast, but FP isn’t hearing a word of it. Instead, his gaze is fixed with nuclear intensity on the thin blonde hairs that run along the inside of Fred’s very exposed thighs.

Fred, who would be naked if it wasn’t for those tiny shorts.

His tan is as even and as smooth as butterscotch - his flat stomach against the waistband of his shorts is the same gold as his gangly arms. But it’s the crotch that FP’s zeroed in on - and below that, the tiny crescent moon of pale skin that’s just visible where the leg of his shorts had ridden up an imperceptible millimetre. The shorts were so short that the crescent was almost in line with his -

“FP?” Fred must have realized he’d lost him, taking his eyes off the road for a moment to glance at his friend. “Earth to FP? You okay?”

“Pull over,” FP says, before he can think too much about it, his heart thumping in his throat. He can feel the same pulse beating in the front of his shorts, and his hands are going damp. He unbuckles his seatbelt.

“What? Why?” Fred asks, brow furrowing, but obediently eases the car to a stop at the side of the empty road. “Why?” he asks again, more urgently, probably because the last time FP had asked him to pull over he’d vomited all over the inside of the car.

But that’s not his motive today. FP wastes no time in climbing over the centre console into the drivers’ seat, letting both of his warm hands land on and squeeze the thighs that had been torturing him since they’d sat down.

“Because,” he grunts, feeling his back hit the steering wheel as he maneuvers himself to straddle Fred’s lap, already eyeing the place where the pulse throbs in Fred’s neck, longing to put his mouth there-  “you look fucking scrumptious right now, that’s why.”

“FP!” Fred yelps, surprised, as FP moves his hand to the front of Fred’s swim trunks, grabbing him through the thin fabric. There’s a pop as Fred reaches for the door handle behind him in a panic, the door flying open and Fred tumbling backward out of the car.

FP sits up worriedly, momentarily anxious that he’d gone too far. Fred’s standing tanned and barefoot on the side of the road, clutching his towel in front of him, looking all the more naked for it. His hair is mussed from the fall, and FP barely keeps the urge in check to lunge for his friend and sink his teeth into Fred’s lip.

“Are you serious?” Fred asks, gesturing wildly to the car, and then to the surrounding pavement. He drops the towel, which puddles at his feet. “Right here?! By the side of the road?!”

“Why not?” asks FP plaintively. All the blood is rushing away from his head, and he can’t come up with anything better to say. His tone is insistent, not aggressive. “What the fuck am I supposed to do? You’re sitting there practically naked next to me, you have no idea how good you look-”

“You’re a fucking freak,” Fred replies, and FP’s stomach runs abruptly cold. A thousand apologies bubble up to his lips in the space of a millisecond, but before he can even get one of them out Fred’s climbing back into the car and slamming the door behind him, diving into FP’s lap and wrapping his legs around the back of FP’s knees like a needy octopus.

“Fred?” FP gasps, but that’s all he gets out because then Fred’s kissing him, his mouth and tongue as hot as his sun-warmed skin, one of his hot little hands sneaking down to yank FP’s shirt out of his waistband.

“Backseat,” he whispers against FP’s lips, grinning like a jack-o-lantern on Halloween. “At least we can lie down and no one can see us if they drive past.”

FP doesn’t have to be told twice. He pulls Fred into the backseat with him, laying his friend down on the second-hand upholstery and straddling him again. Fred reaches out and grabs another towel off the floor - in the summer his car became a reservoir for beach equipment - and lifts his hips to lay it out under him.

“New car,” he says, and grins. The Ford may have been new to Fred, but it had probably had about fifty owners before it ended up the heap that he and Artie had pulled from the junkyard. FP laughs and kisses him again.

He knows it’s risky. But he also has a feeling it won’t take long, and that anyone speeding along this road on a day like today is probably in an awful hurry to get to the beach. Besides, they’ll be able to hear approaching cars. Theoretically. One of them would probably notice.

“Tell me again how fucking scrumptious I look,” says Fred urgently, hooking his bare legs around FP’s waist.

“You jerk, I thought you were really mad at me,” FP complains, squeezing one of Fred’s thighs in his hand. Fred had little thighs but they were all muscle - lithe and firm under his palm. His hands are sweating, but his mouth is as dry as the Sahara. With Fred laying down under him like this, he can see the trail of hairs leading down from his navel to below his waistband.

“You’re so stupid,” says Fred teasingly, reaching out and tangling a hand through FP’s hair. His voice drops an octave. “Tell me what you wanna do to me.” It’s a command, not a plea.

“Take those fucking shorts off,” FP replies instantly, bending down to press his hot mouth against Fred’s neck. His hand slides up slowly until he’s fingering the hem of Fred’s swim trunks, torturing himself. With his free hand, he scoops it under Fred and squeezes his ass. “Wanna put my fingers in your ass.” His voice is low and breathy, warm air against Fred’s jugular. He whispers the next one. “Wanna put my tongue in your ass.”

Fred moans, a red flush climbing over his cheeks that has nothing to do with the sun. FP gently slides Fred’s thighs apart, pushing them open with his hand and pulling himself higher against the other boy so that his crotch drags over Fred’s.

“Go on-” Fred pleads, thighs shaking just a little against FP’s hips.

“Wanna taste you,” FP growls, kissing his neck, one hand trailing down to slip under the waistband of Fred’s shorts. “Wanna eat you up.”

Fred moans and lifts his hips up off the backseat, his hands coming to the sides of his swimsuit and helping FP drag them down. The hair on his chest is bleached blonde from the sun, but his pubic hair is darker, brown like his head. There’s a patch of white around his groin where his skin has never seen the sun. Fred gets his swimsuit all the way down to his ankles before he reaches out and grabs FP’s head again, pushing him down toward his crotch. FP wets his lips.

“God,” Fred moans when FP takes him in his mouth, all the way down his throat. FP makes the most of his tongue- he’s talented with it after years of chewing gum in class - lapping at the underside of Fred’s cock, playing with the head. Finally, he readjusts himself, taking Fred further into his mouth, and the stuttered moan that escapes Fred’s lips makes the hairs rise all the way along the back of his spine.

Fred’s ankle scrapes along the back of his hips, his legs crossed above FP’s ass, the two of them pressed so tightly together that FP’s sweating from Fred’s body heat. Fred’s yanking his hair hard enough to hurt, but FP focuses on the task at hand, rolling his tongue around Fred’s cock, hitting all the places he knows from practice Fred likes best.

“FP-” Fred whimpers finally, and FP grabs the hand that’s not holding his hair, squeezes tight. Fred’s ankles dig into the backseat and he arches his back as he comes, straight down FP’s throat. FP swallows, closing his eyes after and trying to commit every detail to memory - the sun on his skin, Fred’s thighs around his hips, Fred’s slick chest underneath him, the heat of the car, the way he tasted, the ache from kneeling, the chlorine on his skin.

Fred’s gone limp beneath him on the backseat, gasping for breath. FP buries his nose into Fred’s neck and breathes in the chlorine smell, sneaking his arms underneath him and helping him sit up. Fred leans against the door and gestures to the bulge at the front of FP’s shorts. “Let me-”

“It’s okay,” says FP, reaching down into his underwear and beginning to stroke himself off, building a rhythm. “Just keep looking at me.”

Fred nods, holding his eye contact with a smirk. The hickey FP had left on his neck is swelling into a red bruise, and something about the thought of Fred going home with a reminder of FP’s mouth on him sends him over the edge in record time.

“Fred,” FP chokes out as he comes into his hand, the name sweet in his mouth, his eyes never straying from his lover’s long eyelashes, the golden skin on his face.

Fred surges forward and kisses him before FP’s even withdrawn his hand, still completely naked in the backseat. He grabs the towel from underneath them and pushes it into FP’s lap, moving his hands to either side of FP’s face so he can kiss him properly.

FP cleans off his hand while Fred holds his shoulders and kisses him over and over on the mouth. When he’s done he sets the towel aside and presses back into the kisses, running his tongue along Fred’s teeth and bumping their foreheads together.

“Let’s go home,” says Fred between kisses, reaching for his abandoned swimsuit, which had fallen under the seat. His arm is too short and he just lets his hand hover, focused more on swapping kisses than getting dressed. His voice is breathy and hoarse. “Get you all cleaned up.”

“You mean shower together?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Love you,” FP murmurs, savouring the taste of Fred’s lips against his. His heart pulses the way it always does when he admits those two words, as though waiting for another shoe to drop.

“Love you.” Fred smiles and their teeth bump. He turns his head away as he finally grabs his swimsuit off the floor, sliding lower in the seat to pull it up over his hips. Cracking another grin, Fred climbs back into the front.

“I’ll drive.”

“Okay,” FP echoes, watching dazedly as Fred slides back into his vacated seat, readjusting the rearview mirror. He moves slowly as he climbs back up into the passenger side, eyes glued to Fred like he’s drinking him in.

Fred steers the convertible casually back on the road, and FP closes his eyes for a moment, letting the clean summer air whip through his hair as they pick up speed.

[aurantia-ignis]

L,M,N,O, & P :D

L: Your favorite fanartist/author gives you one request, what do you ask for?Do… I even have ONE favourite… ^^; I have a lot of favourite artists/writers from different series and with different styles, so what I ask for would depend on who offered me the request slot haha. Off the top of my head though…. For writing, I’d ask sad-goomy for either the superhero Lona AU or the GrimMara AU, and artpharos for the SoDa superhero AU. For art, I’d ask Miu for Lona with Silvally and an army of Rowlet family.M: A person who got you into a fandom and what fandom they pulled you in toMizu, or Atowaito on twitter, got me to watch Yes Precure 5/GoGo and it was a really fun watch! Also both artpharos and Sakami got me into Gundam Build Fighters and it’s such a shame barely anyone ever talks about it ;__; N: Your favorite fandom (for the people; not the thing you fangirl over)HmmmmMMmm! I think maybe a selective group of people from the Tales fandom ^^; To be honest I don’t really spend a lot of time talking to new people or strangers because I’m bad with building social links lol O: Choose a song at random, what ship does it remind you of?I picked up a playlist and shuffled, and it went to “The Time Has Come (Pikachu’s Goodbye)”Obviously it reminds me of Pikachu and Ash/Satoshi’s friendship LOL–Next shuffle was “Team which is the character theme of Taichi and Agumon from Digimon Adventure 02 so it’s another friendship piece HAHAHANext shuffle was Sakura Kiss (Piano). Being from Ouran, the first thing that pops to mind is my OTP of Haruhi/Tamaki. Although I preferred the art and humour style of the anime, it unfortunately ended way too early, and I followed the manga all the way to the end. Ouran is still one of my all-time favourite series, and definitely my favourite (reverse) harem series. And this ship here? I would go down with this ship. THANKFULLY IT’S CANON AND NO TRAGEDIES ARE INVOLVED. ;w;P: Invent a random AU for any fandom (we always need more ideas).Since you’re the one asking… Lonashipping it shall be => I used an AU prompt generator and this is what it gave me:

…which is hilarious. So let’s do it!

- Moon is a regular high school girl who is actually good at studying so maybeeee not so regular. She intends to become a vet one day due to her love for animals.- One day she comes across a strange small owl getting attacked by what looks like vicious hellhounds and she tries to chase them off. - The owl gives her a magical bracelet called a Z ring, and with the power of moonlight she transforms into Lunaala, a magical being with enhanced strength, speed, and defense. At this point Moon is screaming internally about how unscientific everything is because owls aren’t supposed to talk and magic isn’t real, but with the hellhounds trying to rip them apart she decides to magic battle first, chat later.- With the power of a crystal that the owl gives her, she defeats the hellhounds. The owl, who calls himself Rowlet, explains that they come from the magical Fairyland. Queen Lusamine of the Aether Kingdom has suddenly invaded the Luna Kingdom, imprisoning Princess Cresselia and bringing darkness to the land. - Rowlet was sent by Princess Cresselia to the human world to find someone who can inherit the powers of the legendary heroine Lunaala, to fight against Lusamine and her evil henchmen. Unfortunately, the hounds caught up to him when he reached Earth, and in the battle, the Z ring’s sources of power, Z-crystals, were scattered all over the earth. (actually just scattered in Moon’s hometown, because magical girl plots are always considerate of the fact that main charas are too poor to globe trot) - Rowlet asks Moon to fight for the Luna Kingdom and retrieve the Z-crystals, but like a sensible human being, she refuses, because she has School and Life to deal with. She returns the Z-ring to Rowlet and wishes him luck in finding another heroine. - Unfortunately due to the powers of plot, it appears that Z-crystals get tainted by negative human emotions, causing the human it comes into contact with to become a Monster of the Week villain. Moon couldn’t stand by and watch Rowlet and her townspeople get hurt, so she reluctantly puts on the Z-ring again. - Cue episodic structure of Bad Guy attacks using power of Z-crystal, Moon saves the day and retrieves the Z-crystal and gains new Z-move. - Of course Queen Lusamine realises that someone’s put a spoke in her wheel so she begins to send stronger henchmen down. This includes people from the Sol kingdom, brainwashed by Lusamine’s dark powers to fight for her. - Moon defeats every one of them until Lusamine sends this Dark Prince against her. Yeah, this is actually still a Lonashipping AU HAHAHA- The Dark Prince has a (star powered) Z-ring of his own and rides a powerful creature called Silvally. He weakens Moon and takes off with the Z-crystal she had been trying to retrieve. This happens a few times and Moon is getting seriously tired of being on the losing side, even though she hasn’t officially lost to him yet.- Obligatory break episode when Moon meets a random stranger called Gladion who looks somehow familiar. She buys him malasada and they talk and get along well enough. Gladion tells her that he has a younger sister, who is in grave danger, and his goal is to save her by finding something important. Moon shares with him her worries about having too many responsibilities heaped on her that she doesn’t feel ready to shoulder.- Neither of them realise who the other person is by the way- But when they do find out the drama is great- Moon is furious and accuses him of pretending to be friendly to get hold of her Z-ring. Gladion retorts that he had never thought of her as a friend. - Their biggest battle yet ends with Gladion seriously injured, but Silvally tries to protect him and Moon stops from delivering the final blow. Unlike the hellhounds which vanish into thin air, she can’t bring herself to kill either of them. Hellhounds arrive and carry Gladion off.- Back to episodic Z-crystal collection for a few eps. Moon is uneasy about why there has been no action from Lusamine. - Final Z-crystal collected. Return of the Dark Prince, in a brainwashed form similar to the other Sol kingdom folks. This time, his powers are enhanced dramatically and Moon struggles to fight him. But Gladion hesitates before the finishing blow, giving Rowlet the chance to rescue her. - The tables are turned and Gladion is defeated. They take the (moon powered) Z-crystals from him. Gladion blacks out and Moon takes him home. - Obligatory hide the strange man in the closet so parents won’t smell a rat- When he wakes, he tells her that Lusamine has both his sister and Silvally in her clutches. Moon suggests they work together to bring down Lusamine. - They travel to Fairyland together. - Ok I need to stop because this thing is getting too long and too detailed omg. Just random points from here- Rowlet’s true form is actually a powerful Decidueye. - Obviously Gladion and Lillie are both Lusamine’s children. Lusamine herself had actually been controlled by the Demon Lord Faba, who sought to rule over the whole of Fairyland. - The Sol Kingdom had fallen under Lusamine’s reign not too long after the Moon Kingdom fell.- One of the major final bosses is a huge monster Darkrai. She turns out to be Princess Cresselia. - Lusamine herself changes into a giant jellyfish monster for the final battle. - After they win, they banish the Demon Lord back into the demon realms.

[some-kind-of-starlight]

The Carousel Kingdom, Chapter One- How The Rollercoaster Starts

Virgil Parma just wanted to have a nice day at the fair with his friend Patton- but the universe had other plans. It all begins with a little red carousel- and, like a carousel, the story spins onward.

Word Count: 1,930 (which, despite it only being chapter one, makes this the longest story I’ve ever written!) Characters: Virgil, Patton, random OC who runs a bakery with their girlfriend Warnings: brief description of heights, overthinking, mention of a cliff (please tell me if I need to add anything else!) Pairings: Eventual Prinxiety & Logicality, platonic Moxiety for this chapter

Enjoy!

Virgil Parma liked constants.

The purple lamp, always sitting on his nightstand. The clock on his wall, always five minutes behind. The mug in the kitchen, always left out for the next morning.

It was the little things, grounding him and reminding him that his world wasn't going to be flipped upside-down on a whim.

Well. As he thought.

It's not what he would have expected, at least, as he heard a familiar knock at the front door.

Rushing from his bedroom to open it, he was met with the smiling face of his friend Patton Coeur- and, not a second later, two slips of paper being shoved in his face.

"Virgil!" Patton exclaimed excitedly. "Are you ready to go to the fair? I brought the tickets," he wove the paper around," and some snacks!" he said, bouncing the bag on his shoulder to show his point. "So all you need to bring is yourself! And, uh, maybe a water bottle. We don't want you getting dehydrated!"

Virgil leaned off the doorframe and made a movement back towards his bedroom. "Yeah, Pat, just let me grab my bag." He darted to his room and grabbed the backpack off his chair, giving it a quick check to affirm everything was inside, then started back to the door.

"I, uh," Virgil started, making his way back to Patton, "actually packed some snacks and stuff too. And I thought it'd probably be a good idea to bring something to calm me down just in case, so..." he held up a plastic fidget cube. Patton nodded approvingly.

"Good idea, Virge! And the water bottles?"

"Already in here," Virgil stated, tapping his bag softly.

"Great! Then if you're ready, let's go!"

Virgil stepped out the door and pushed it softly closed, locking it and linking arms with Patton as he turned around.

The two walked and chatted amiably, Patton talking about the bakery their old friends had started- "They have the best muffins, Virge, and everyone is so nice! I was thinking about applying for a job there later in the summer, it seems like it'd be a good place to work!", as well as recounting a book he'd been reading about emotional intelligence.

Virgil nodded along, giving positive affirmations and mentioning the song he'd been working on lately- "I think it's going pretty well, there's a couple lyrics I could probably fix, but it's doing pretty good for the most part. It probably won't be much longer before you can hear it." Patton smiled proudly at him, gently bumping Virgil's shoulder and telling him he couldn't wait.

After fifteen minutes or so, the pair reached the entrance to the fair. It wasn't very big, but it looked packed with activity- and the place felt homely, in a way, with the rolling fields beneath them and the familiar rides glinting in the summer sun.

Patton stepped up to the booth at the gate and placed the two tickets on the counter, gently tapping it as he did so. The person inside quickly turned from the computer they sat at, smiling when they saw him.

"Patton! Good to see you here!", they said as they took the tickets and scanned them with the computer. "Good to see you too, Amicus!" Patton replied. "How's Token of Confection doing?"

Amicus withdrew two wristbands from a nearby drawer before turning back to Patton. "Good! Amelie figured out a new chocolate sugar cookie recipe the other day, you've got to check it out next time you stop by!" Amicus turned to Virgil. "How's it going, Virgil? Been a while since I last saw you!"

"It's going pretty alright," Virgil supposed. "Guess you're doing pretty well too? You seem happy."

"Can you hold out your wrist for a second?" Amicus interrupted, holding up a wristband. "Great! Yeah, I'm doing good! Amelie and I are happy together and we've been working on getting our baking business rolling." Amicus tucked the bracelet around Virgil's wrist and motioned for Patton to hold up his own.

"I'd love to be there now, but my mom wanted me to run the ticket booth for the first couple days. I'll be back at Token of Confection soon enough though! Can't wait to be back in the kitchen with Amelie. I promised her I'd bring her some cotton candy, she wants to try to figure out how to incorporate it into some sugar cookies." Amicus smiled fondly as they sealed the wristband around Patton's arm. "She's so creative. I'm glad we found each other."

"And we're glad you're happy!" Patton beamed at them as he withdrew his arm. "Are we all set?"

"You are! Have a good day!" Amicus gave a quick wave before turning back to the computer behind them.

"Nice to see that they're doing well," Virgil mentioned as they entered the fairgrounds. "I can see why you'd want to work at a place called Token of Confection. That name is right up your alley."

"Isn't it? I was so excited when I found out that's what they were calling it. It's such a cute name!"

"It is. So," Virgil said suddenly, "what should we do first?"

"Oh! Uh, how about we go on the ferris wheel?" Patton pointed at the ride in question. "We can get a good view of the park and then decide from there!"

"Smart idea, Pat, sounds good to me. Let's go!"

It was a short walk to the ferris wheel, and luckily the line wasn't too long. Patton and Virgil didn't have to stand around much before they found themselves seated in a car and the ferris wheel beginning to turn.

"Oh, Virgil, look!" Patton motioned to the ground below. "They've got one of those teacup rides! Ooh, and a slide! We should go on that first, it looks like it's closer to here."

Virgil gave him an affirmative thumbs-up before peering out of the car himself. As they rose off the ground, he could see the slide and teacups Patton had mentioned, excited people racing about between the rides. Out a little further, he could see the peaceful rolling fields around them, houses dotting the horizon line. They were like two opposite worlds. And in between them...

Well.

That was odd.

On the edge of the cliff that the fairgrounds sat upon was a small carousel. It was a good ways away from the fair itself, still only a few seconds' walking distance, but obviously not meant to be a part of the festivities. Its faded red tent was torn in several places- and badly enough that Virgil could tell from so far up.

It was... strange, to say the least.

"Virgil!" The sudden outburst from Patton interrupted his thoughts. "What's got you fascinated over there, spot something cool?

"There's this weird carousel over there, set away from everything else. Do you see it?" Virgil did his best to point out the little red tent to his friend. Patton squinted as he followed his finger to the carousel.

"Oh! There it is! It's so cute and tiny!"

Virgil laughed. "Yeah, I guess it is. I hadn't thought about it that way. Kinda weird that it's set apart from the fair, though, isn't it?"

"It looks kinda old, maybe it stopped working and they had to move it aside."

Virgil shrugged. "That'd make sense. Still, I think I'm gonna go check it out when we're back on the ground."

"I'll come with you! Maybe we'll find something interesting!"

"Interesting" was one way to put it, Virgil thought.

Now that the pair was standing in front of the carousel, they could see all the intricacies they had missed from the ferris wheel. Golden filigree bordered the tent, as well as the base, and the poles were the same shining color. Though the tent was faded and damaged, flecks of glitter still glinted in the fabric, and the underside of the canopy was dyed a beautiful midnight black. After a bit more scouring, Virgil even noticed a golden carousel ring sitting in a slot inside the frame of the tent.

But perhaps the most intriguing things were the intricate painting in the center pole and the frontmost carousel horse. The center pole was decorated by a beautiful painting of a castle, surrounded by beautiful skies that wrapped seamlessly around it. Fluffy clouds floated by gently in the background. Virgil was tempted to reach out and touch them.

The horse, on the other hand, was intriguing for different reasons. It was the most detailed out of the horses on the carousel- intricate roses were carved into its flowing hair, and a bright ribbon of fabric was draped from the saddle. Virgil swore you could see threads etched into the wood if you looked close enough. The poles that were supposed to carry the horse seemed loose, as if a hole was cut out of the pole and the horse haphazardly shoved between, rather than going through the wooden carving.

And, perhaps the most odd thing- while the others looked worn and dull, this one looked almost new. A fine layer of dust coated it, but Virgil had given it a quick swipe with his hand and the paint had looked crisp and bright underneath.

All of it just made Virgil more confused. He leaned against the carousel pole and hit his head against it lightly with a soft thunk.

A soft hand fell upon his shoulder and Virgil jumped before realizing it was just Patton.

"Hey, Pat."

"Hey, Virge. You doing alright? I saw you bonking your head on the pole I was getting kinda worried." Patton gently lifted his head off the pole as he spoke. Virgil only tightened his grip on it.

"It's just so strange, Patton. This random carousel is just here, with one weirdly-new looking horse," he clapped his hand gently against the pole for emphasis, "away from the fair it's assumably supposed to be at. And it doesn't." *thunk.* "make." *thunk.* "sense." *thunk.*

Patton gently guided his hands off the pole and gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder. "I know, V. It is weird. But sometimes weird things happen, and they don't need some big, cosmic explanation- you just saw them in a weird place at a weird time. Someone was probably trying to replace the horses and realized they didn't know how, or they didn't have time to finish before the fair opened."

Virgil nodded. As much as the explanation didn't satisfy him, as much as he wished it would- he supposed he had to walk away eventually. And Patton's reason was a better reason than none.

Virgil sighed, wearily, and made to take a step back- but before he did so, he brushed the dirt gently off of the horse's forehead and rested his own upon it. A tribute to a mystery unsolved or a mystery nonexistent- he didn't know which. He supposed it didn't matter.

Virgil stepped away, linking his arm with Patton's as they turned back to the fair. But before they could take a step, a bright light shone in the corners of their eyes.

They turned around just in time to see the carousel horse glow, in a second turning into a jumble of light, tumbling off the carousel and coming to rest at their feet. And in the blink of an eye the light was gone again, fading away to reveal- not something, really- but a someone.

Their eyes snapped open and fearful gold irises met Virgil's own.

And in that moment, Virgil's world was flipped upside-down.

[pkansa]

Stop me if you’ve heard this one before.  A smaller watch customizer has been seeing success, and decides to put their hat into the production ring.  Yeah, that’s right, it’s not a story we hear all that often when it comes to Kickstarter campaigns.  When it’s successful, you get some really lovely stuff – see brands like MKII and Orion.  The latest one to jump one is right here in my neck of the woods, with the Alexander James NDR001 campaign wrapping up very soon.

  Given that Alexander James calls Chicago home, I don’t know how this project missed hitting my radar.  Good thing I had a backup system (accidentally) in place with the TBWS Podcast where they were just talking about the Alexander James NDR001.  As of this writing, the campaign is not quite 100% funded yet, but I don’t know how it couldn’t hit that mark.  I mean, just have a look at the watch.  The proportions on – and in – the 316L case (which I believe is a 40mm) are just right.  I rather like how the hands are the same width as the applied indices – it’s a bit of parallels that speaks well of the design.  Since we’re on the subject of the dial, you’ve actually got three different choices here.

  With the Alexander James NDR001, you’ll be able to chose from a textured black dial, a grey sunburst dial, or (my favorite) the white “snowflake” dial, which has the appearance of freshly-fallen snow.  Everyone will have their own preference, of course – based on where you’ll be wearing the watch or what you might already have – but that white dial looks to be something else.  Topping the dial you’ve got a lovely bit of sapphire, and surrounding that, you’ve got a luted ceramic bezel insert on the 120-click unidirectional bezel.

That bezel – along with the printed water resistance rating (200m) should clue you in that the Alexander James NDR001 is intended – at least in terms of design heritage – as a dive watch.  With the classic looks and brushed oyster bracelet, however, this is a watch that could easily work into a variety of situations. Purists may argue, but I’ve got no problem wearing a good-looking dive watch with a suit, so long as I can fit it under my shirt cuff.

Tucked into the case of the Alexander James NDR001 is the Seiko NH35.  Why that movement?  Well, affordability and reliability aside, Alexander James started out as a Seiko modder, so this is a movement that he is familiar with.  Makes sense, then, that it would continue on into his production watch.  You interact with the the movement via the screw-down crown, which I do want to focus on.  The crown itself sticks out a bit, without any sort of crown guards.  In fact, it looks sort of like you can see the crown tube, right?  Well, that’s actually part of the crown itself, and I imagine it lends some extra structure to the assembly.  At least, I hope it does, since you could certainly catch this on a door jamb, say.  While a flush crown may have been more what we’d expect, with the crown sticking out, it should actually make it easier to work with the crown.  We’ve all had watches that it becomes a very frustrating game to get the threads to engage to screw down.  That should not be the case here.

As I mentioned, the campaign for the Alexander James NDR001 is currently running, wrapping up on February 14, 2019.  Right now, it’s sitting at just over 88% funded.  If you want to help them hit that goal, well, get on over to the Kickstarter.  There are still some early bird slots sitting there at $300 (which is a $50 discount off of retail); once those are gone the next pricing tier hits at $325.  There’s a lot to like about this design, especially at this price.  I’ve been talking with AJ to see about meeting up to see this in person, so if that works out, be on the lookout for a fuller review.  For now, though, I do really like what I see for this inaugural production outing with the Alexander James NDR001.  It’s a break from his homage mods (which look great on his site), but it’s a necessary next step for him to make the move into his own designs.  We here at WWR like it, and can’t wait to see this project be successful.  project page via alexjameswatches.com

Review Summary

Brand & Model: Alexander James Watches: NDR001

Price: $350 retail, with early bird pricing starting at $300

Who’s it for? Whether or not you’re in the modding scene, a clean, classically-inspired dive watch is for just about everyone

Would I wear it? Yes, I do believe I would

What I’d change: While I get that it keeps the dial simpler, I do miss having a date window (I don’t mind that it’s exclusion left us full-size numerals, though)

The best thing about it: Those dials, from the indice/numeral choice to the interesting textures they’ve got

Tech Specs from Alexander James

Movement: Seiko NH35

Water Resistance: 200m

Case Diameter: 40mm

Lug to Lug Height: 48mm

Lug Width: 20mm

Thickness: 12.6mm (14.3mm to crystal’s dome)

Crystal: Blue AR Coated Low Double Domed Sapphire

Case Material: Stainless Steel

Case Back: Solid Metal

Bezel Style: Coin Edged

Bezel Insert Material: Ceramic (lumed)

Lume Type: BGW9

Bracelet: Stainless Steel; Oyster Clasp

Kicking it off with the Alexander James NDR001 Stop me if you’ve heard this one before.  A smaller watch customizer has been seeing success, and decides to put their hat into the production ring.  

[lovetheplayers]

Concert Review: A spectacular Taylor Swift at Mercedes-Benz Stadium

Last year, shortly after the release of the “Reputation” album, Taylor Swift posted an Instagram video with paper cutouts of the stage she had designed for her stadium tour. Seeing that stage brought to towering, flamethrowing, fireworking, gargantuan snake-hissing life inside Mercedes-Benz Stadium was truly a spectacular thing to behold. And that was just the main stage; there were two smaller ones at the opposite end of the field also put to dramatic use. Swift said she wanted to get as close to the fans as possible for the  “Reputation Stadium Tour” and she succeeded, making even the massive MBS seem, at times, intimate.

Before we get to Swift’s hit-filled headliner, let’s start with the night’s two opening acts: Brit electro-pop queen Charli XCX and Camila Cabello, the former member of Fifth Harmony whose ubiquitous “Havana” includes a shout-out to East Atlanta. Charli XCX surely deserves MVP for getting the still-arriving audience fired up with a set of danceable hits like “Boom Clap,” “Boys,” “I Don’t Care” and a sing-along solo version of “Fancy” without Iggy Azalea. Cabello infused her opening slot with some agile dance moves and nods to dancehall favorite Sean Paul and icon Prince. Our favorite: “Never Be the Same,” a proper power pop ballad that showcases Cabello’s soaring vocals.

But the night was really all about Taylor Swift and her wall of sound and vision. The entire stage – including the floor – was made up of seamless video monitors that projected not only closeups of Swift and her troupe of backing vocalists and dancers, but eye-popping, crystal clear imagery. It’s truly a wonder. When jets of flame – hot enough to be felt on the floor midfield – and fireworks burst from the set, we thought for sure MBS’s newly-completed roof would, literally, be toast. And what about the sound? Garth Brooks had an audio debacle when he performed an inaugural concert at MBS, but those troubles are long gone. Swift’s sound was impeccable – from the pounding opener “Ready For It?” to the tender “Delicate,” which she crooned drifting over the audience in a lighted gondola.

Another way Swift connects with fans on this tour is by giving every concert-goer a bracelet switched on just before the show and synchronized to pulse and glow in time with the music. MBS was a constant sea of moving light, which helped add the aforementioned intimacy. The lights also helped propel the narrative of the show, which tells of Swift earning her “bad reputation” after intrusive tabloid coverage of her love life and a nasty social media war with Kanye West and his wife Kim Kardashian, who described Swift as a snake. Swift laid claim to the reptile and has made it a centerpiece of the show. Snakes slither across the monitors, coil around microphones and tower over the stages. “Look What You Made Me Do” and boisterous show-closer “This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things” are a big middle finger to West/Kardashian wrapped in power pop sophistication. Swift went silent for a few years in a self-imposed exile where she obviously licked a few wounds, found real love and discovered a much more powerful version of herself.

After arriving at the second stage on her gondola, Swift was rejoined by Charli XCX and Camila Cabello for a rousing version of “Shake It Off” before she picked up her guitar for “This Love” from her previous album, “1989,” and an effective acoustic version of the moody “Dancing With Our Hands Tied” from the new one. Swift then walked through the audience shaking hands on her way to the other small stage for a trio of tunes including “Dress” and fan-favorite “Bad Blood,” which was sung as she crossed back to the main stage inside the chest of a floating python. Swift certainly knows how to work a theme.

What Swift gets so right is the pacing of the show, easily transitioning from the choreographed dance numbers to strapping on her guitar to sitting down at the piano for a moving medley of “Long Live” and “New Year’s Day.” While this tour primarily draws on the “Reputation” album, there were enough past hits like “Style,” “Blank Space” and “You Belong With Me” thrown in to keep the fans happy. Swift excels at deftly blending and reimagining her early catalogue so that it fits seamlessly with the new, edgier tunes. Massive tribal drums and crunchy power guitars also helped give much of the evening a true rock ‘n roll feel. Swift has come along way since her innocent, country music days. This is a woman in full command of her stage and the audience – many dressed in Swift’s various music video incarnations – were loud and proud in their adoration. She, in turn, was chatty, funny and had some nice things to say about Atlanta and the new stadium.

The bottom line is this (and other artists should take note): Swift has set the bar sky high for what a stadium tour can do. It’s no small feat to bring 60,000 people together and make them forget they are in a sports arena. The “Reputation Stadium Tour” is a fabulous spectacle from a top-notch showman, who also happens to be a damn good singer/songwriter. If you can pick up a ticket for Saturday night’s show, it’s worth every single penny.

Link

[cashtonwoah-blog]

Ashton Irwin Imagine // Escape

Warnings: Swearing, depression/self harm. Individuals may find this triggering., viewers discretion is strongly advised. Please seek support if you feel affected by this. My messages are always open if you want to chat!

Although this imagine is quite sad and personally dark, it does have a happy ending!

"Babe? Please talk to me. " I hear Ashton mutter through the key hole to our bathroom. I couldn't speak, I just needed to be alone right now. I’d had a crap day at work. My boss had a go at me for being 5 minutes late. Like really? The traffic into town was hectic and my car was playing up, even before I left. She shouted at me as soon as I walked into the door, straight away putting me in a bad mood. I then was greeted by an angry customer, who also reminded me that I was 5 minutes late to her beauty appointment. I normally loved my job, however recently I'd become distant. It was now the summer time in LA, which meant I could no longer wear a long cardigan to cover my arms with. Plus my boss was getting funny with me wearing bracelets to hide my wrists. I used to be good at covering my scars. I’d be able to cover them with heavy foundation and powder, so much so that Ashton didn't know I used to hurt myself the first 6 months of us dating. I remember the day he caught me though.

“Y/N, which shirt should I wear to the dinner ton-” he said, carrying two choices of shirts. He stopped his sentence as he walked into the bathroom. He could see the blood in the sink, dripping around the edge of the sick and onto the floor. He then noticed the blood on my wrists, and the blade in my shaky right hand. He ran over to me, grabbing the razor out of my band and throwing it into the toilet. He then grabbed the nearest white towel and wrapped it tightly around my arm. He then grabbed me, pulled me to the floor and pulled me into a deep embrace. 

“Wh-why did you do this to yourself?” he questioned my actions. I sobbed into his chest.

“I don-don't know i-I'm sor-sorry” I sobbed back. I fully knew well why I did it. Just everything had recently been too much. From work, college and family stuff, I wasn't coping. My only release was through hurting myself. If i’d just remembered to lock the door, none of this would have happened. 

“Please promise me you won't do this again” he asked me softly. I looked up at him. His blotchy red eyes were wet just like mine. How could I promise such a big thing? Yet I could see how much it was affecting him,

“I promise” fully meaning it. 

Or so I thought. Sat here after a stressful day. My boss had made me work double the amount of time I was supposed to, my car had broke down, my Mum had phoned to say I had to pay her for some shopping she did for me a while back, and to top it all off, Ashton and I had plans to go out to dinner with the other 5SOS boys to celebrate the release of their new album. I just wasn't up for it. We’d argued just before we were due to go out, over who was going to drive to the restaurant. 

“Ash just let me drive, you’ll want to have a drink and i’m not fussed about drinking!” I huffed.

“You won't, you’ll moan later that you will be the only sober one there” he said, rushing around the room trying to get ready. 

“Well lets get an Uber then!” I suggested, trying to diffuse the tension.

“Ubers are expensive, Y/N!” he exclaimed. 

“Uh you always make our plans so difficult!” I screamed, shutting myself in the bathroom door. 

“Y/N please open the door. I’m worried about you” Ashton said on the other side of the door, snapping me back into reality. I was still laying on the floor, black mascara smudged around my face. I stood up and looked at myself in the mirror, seeing my reflecting made me cry more. I opened the cabinet on the wall and grabbed my hairbrush. Ashton didn't know but I'd hidden a spare razor inside my hairbrush. I took my top off, releasing my bare skin. I admired the scars I already had present on my wrist. I traced a finger along the new and old scars, thinking of where to place my newest addition. I felt further tears fall from my eyes. Suddenly, I heard a loud bang, and saw Ashton barging through the door. He’d actually smashed our wooden bathroom door to get through. I froze, unable to move. Before I could do anything, Ashton once again snatched the razor away from my wrist. He help me tight once again, as I collapsed into his arms. I was so exhausted and emotionally drained, I drifted off to sleep in his arms, on the bathroom floor. 

*A few days later*

“A wellness centre? You're kidding right?” I asked, looking at the leaflet.

“I think it would be a good break for us both! Plus its more of a spa in Holland Y/N, surrounded by beautiful lakes” Ashton said, smiling as he beckoned my body onto his lap as he sat at the dining room table on his laptop. I sighed, reluctant to sit. Since having my meltdown the other day, Ashton had been researching holidays for us, and had come across a wellness centre in Europe. The aim of the centre was to allow individuals to “explore and heal their emotions”. Yuck, I thought. 

“I think it would be a great idea babe. Some time off work. I’ve been able to push back some album promotion stuff too with the guys, they’ll continue it without me” Ashton said. 

“Ash you can't do that, your album has just come out, you need to promote the shit out of it!” I sighed. 

“Yes, but my priority is YOU Y/N” he replied. I smiled at this comment, still feeling bad for him. Him and the other 5SOS boys had been working so hard on the album. I couldn't take Ashton away from that. 

“You won't be taking me away Y/N, I need a break too. And I think you could do with one too” he replied, cocking his head to the side and pouting. You couldn't disagree. You did need a little therapy to help you deal with your depression. You'd been to a therapist and doctor endless times, however no medication or yoga position or music cured you. 

“Deal, but I want the window seat on the plane” I sighed, finally giving up.

“Deal” 

***************

“Welcome, to Escape, a wellness centre” you heard a women at the front desk say to you in a calming voice. You calmly sighed, already feeling relaxed. A bell boy came and took your bags as you checked in. Ashton squeezed your hand and smiled at you, kissing you on the cheek. You were given the keys to your room, and were amazed at how big the room was. You had a king size bed, TV, free mini bar and ensuite, followed by a balcony which had an amazing view of the lake.

“I think I’m going to like it here” I whispered. 

*************

The only downside to being at this wellness centre was the group therapy. I totally got why Ashton was so desperate for us to come here, it was due to the therapy techniques. They had couple counselling, 1:1 therapy and this; group therapy. Ashton had made my go to every single activity on offer. I groaned as soon as Ashton said it started at 9am. I crawled my body there, sitting in a circle with him on my left, and the session leader, a blonde girl called Marissa, on my right.

“Welcome to group therapy, my name is Marissa, and I will be leading this session” she welcomed everyone. Throughout the whole session, Marissa went on about our star signs and have they have emotional connections with one another etc blah blah blah. But towards the end of the session I started to agree what she said. She said that the actions we take out on ourselves are never permanent, and that we should not be reminded of them. She also said that pain was never permanent and that any difficulties could be dealt with closely. I decided to book a 1:1 therapy slot with her straight after. 

“So tell me Y/N, what brings you here?” she asked me in my session. I sighed, just wanting to run out of the room and cry. I hated talking about myself. 

“Well, I don't know if I’m honest. My boyfriend thought it would be good if I came to see you. Al this kinda stuff seems, well rubbish to me”.

“I see. What would you like to talk about?”

I became silent, just wanting to burst open like a balloon, and spill out all of my worries, concerns and fears. I didn't feel confident enough yet, so I decided to open up about the main reason why I was here.

“My attempt to destroy myself a few weeks back”.

“Describe what happened”.

And so I did. I sat there, for 45 minutes, telling Marissa every single detail of how I felt recently. My work stress, my college deadlines, dealing with dating a famous person. I spoke about how my Mum and Dad had gotten divorced when I was young. I talking about the time my Dad and Mum physically fought in front of me. I talked about how my first boyfriend cheated on me, breaking my heart. I was finally able to open up to someone. And I felt so safe afterwards. I finally felt open, and ready to talk to Ashton about how I felt. At the end of the session, Marissa handed me a positive quotes book. At first I sniggered, but turning through the book as I left made me smile. Inside was a small pack of crayons with a colouring page on each page. Each page had a self healing quote. At the front of the book it read

“Every time you find yourself healing a little more, colour in a page”

I decided to colour in the first page, to commence the first chapter of my recovery. The first quote read:

“Healing is an art. It takes time, practice and love”

I walked back into our room, jumped on the bed and started colouring in my first book. As soon as I got comfy, I heard our door unlock, and was greeted by a very relaxed looking Ashton, in a dressing gown, who had just come back from a massage. I giggled.

“Someone looks happy” I said to him. He smiled

“I could say the same for you” he replied. “Do you fancy hiring one of the boats to go on the lake tonight?”

“Sounds lovely” I replied, heading to my wardrobe to choose something to wear to dinner. 

***************

I hopped onto the boat, and slipped on my 5SOS merch hoodie, noticing the temperature on the lake dip from earlier. Ashton slipped on his black merch hoodie too.

“We have good taste” I giggled at him, pointing to our matching outfits. Dinner at the restaurant in the centre was beautiful. A buffet full of every food you could think of, from meat to salad, pasta to potatoes. Ashton went up and got fifth, probably sixths. I chucked at my boys’ appetite, that boy could compete in an eating contest and thrash everyone, shame he never ate my cooking. I saved room for desert, admiring the chocolate cake. We spent a few hours in the restaurant, discussing our last few days in this beautiful place.

“Hold on tight!” I heard the boat captain shout. He drove us out onto the lake, I could see the bright sun beginning to set around us. I took a few pictures and selfies of our beautiful surroundings. 

“Ash”

“Yeah?”

“I am so sorry”

“What for baby girl?”

“For how I've been around you recently. For feeling low, for doing stupid stuff to mys-” I said. I was interrupted by Ashton wrapping his entire chest around me, kissing my forehead. 

“Baby you don't need to apologise. I’m so sorry you’ve been feeling this way for so long. I wish I knew what to do, I now know how to help you more. That’s why I thought coming here would be good, for the both of us.” he whispered. 

“I feel so much better coming here Ash. I emotionally feel healed. Like when this trip is over, I can go back to work. Actually fuck that, fuck this job. I’m quitting. That place never made me happy” I sigh.

“That's my girl, always grabbing life by the balls!!” Ashton screamed and cheered. I feel a finger trail along my left arm. “What about...this..baby?”. I instantly know what he’s talking about.

I sigh. “Honestly, I don’t know. I’m scared Ash. I don’t want to do it anymore. I won’t let myself do it anymore. When we get back, i’m going to go and see a proper psychologist. I want to stop Ash, and I think with you by my side I can”. I sighed, looking at the beautiful sky.

“I won't let you go, Y/N, I'm here. Always”.

Masterlist

[abakersquest]

CHAPTER FOURTEEN – STRIKE THE FLEET

Polly sat on the spar of the God’s Fortune, watching the light of the rising sun play out over the rolling waters outside the cave they’d hid in for the night. Her grandfather woke her for the early morning watch before taking Wally out to check the rest of the small island for any possible food. While there was plenty of water to drink onboard, the food stores were minimal for the crew of six. She found she rather liked having the new faces around, even if the circumstances were a bit dire. They all seemed like wonderfully interesting people who could keep up with her amazing grandfather, which was good. He’d never admit it out loud, but she knew he always felt a little lonely coming home from the Weather Eye every day and seeing none of his old crewmates aboard. She did her best of course, but for Captain Blackeye, there was as much love to share as there was strength and bravado, so just her alone wasn’t nearly enough. It was good to see him really smile again, like she remembered.

The lush tropical thicket of palm trees and brush kept Wally’s head on a swivel, both on watch for any strange island creatures and to take in all the exotic flora he’d only ever read about or seen dried for shipping. Blackeye insisted on taking point, cutting a path with his harpoon as they went. The trip had been rather silent, aside from their cutting and pushing aside of vegetation, so when the captain heard his small companion fall to the ground with a grunt he spun quickly on his heels and readied for anything, except for the sight of Wally on the ground, rubbing his toes ruefully.

“Well… That was embarrassing,” he grumbled.

“Hahaha! I shoulda known! Look at the size of your hoppers lad, it’s a wonder you c’n even walk through this!”

“Perfectly normal size for a wallaby, thank you. But it was odd; it didn’t feel like I tripped on a rock or a root…” Wally eyed the ground carefully, spotting a small shock of something white, mostly buried. He got back on his feet and approached the object, carefully digging it up. “Oh! Well there’s a slightly familiar face.” Wally pulled it up to reveal a very stylized statuette of an Icthyite holding a fishing rod. “Hello Old Jab, fancy meeting you here on…” a thought slowly slotted into place and Wally looked past what he thought he’d seen but clearly glossed over. Buried by vegetation were the remains of stone walls, burnt and bashed by some great force years ago. As he turned around, Wally realized he was standing within the borders of what’d once been a home, and just in the corner of the wall under roots that had erupted through it were two skulls, one much smaller than the other, clearly burnt as well.

His eyes had been focused on the nature, and not the thing it’d conquered. He now saw past the growth and realized there were several other old broken walls and artifacts of life buried by nature and time.

“You were born just at the end of the war, right lad?” Blackeye said quietly.

Wally looked to him silently unable to find the words he needed.

“So you probably never saw how bad it really got ‘cause of the war. Betcha saw a few towns in Planae and never realized they used t’ be twice the size they are now.”

Wally thought back to the crater left behind where Marsu once stood.

“Lotsa hands worked hard to keep the fightin’ from the people… They didn’t always succeed. This used to be Sarsi Town… A little nothin’ of a place that nobody ever heard of ‘til the war came callin’. That’s when Isto the Red came by n’… Well. You can tell.”

“Who’s Isto the Red?” He asked quietly.

“Captain of the Red Razor Fleet,” Blackeye said, closing his good eye for a moment of reflection. “One of many people who willingly joined Kota’s army when they came callin’. Those ships we were fightin’ yesterday, those were his. Seems dark magics raised ‘em and their crews off the seafloor where I’d put most of ‘em meself.”

Wally slowly set the small statue down, finding it difficult to look back up again. “Why go out of their way to destroy a small village…”

“Couldn’t tell ya f’sure,” the captain idly scratched at his gills. “But… it might be ‘cause I was born and raised here.”

Wally quickly looked up to the captain’s eyes just as he looked off into the distance at nothing in particular. “Ain’t like it was luck that found us an island with a cave to hide the Fortune in, Mister Walter.”

“I’m… I’m so-”

The captain waved his hand. “Bah, empathy ain’t what I need, ‘sides it was years ago anyway. Right now focus on gettin’ our stores filled… And tellin’ me how you even know the first thing about Old Jab.”

Wally recognized the need to talk about anything else immediately, the captain’s expression was entirely neutral, but he could feel it was a sore memory. “Well… A cook I worked for once used to be an Icthyite sailor, had one made of driftwood to watch over the kitchen. Said, ‘the watchful eye of the first on the ocean was always a good thing to have.’”

The captain gave a single sharp laugh before moving on again. “Guess there was somethin’ to be said ‘bout Animana’s takin’ in of all those refugees then, gave the world one damn clever wallaby. And damn clever’s what we gonna need now more’n anythin’.”

Wally didn’t feel particularly clever, in fact he felt woefully unprepared. In all the stories he’d ever heard from the chattier war veterans, none of them ever acknowledged there being people from other nations joining Sauro’s forces. The fact those were the kind of people who’d willingly kill the innocent, just to send some kind of message to their enemy must be why they didn’t. In the end, they were the same faceless and nameless enemy they had to be, it was easier to think of them as some intangible concept than someone who’d been your neighbor or friend before the war came.

He slowly tried to shake off the fact he was walking through ruins reclaimed by nature, and thoughts of the lives cut short all around him, but all of it just made his heart feel like a steel weight in his chest. His downcast gaze drifted to his wrist and the bracelet his sister had made him, bringing the unavoidable thought of Kota’s army attacking Animana once more. He flinched as an image of his family under attack flashed in his mind’s eye.

Desperately, he fought back tears at an all too obvious realization. No one came to save Sarsi Town; the great heroes of the era were all otherwise occupied. Try as he might to think of all the lives saved by them, all he could think of was those they failed to protect, and how they suffered. How many people could be suffering now as he lingered on this gravestone of an island? How many was he letting down right this moment? Doubt and indecision planted his feet, clenched his fist, and screwed his eyes shut as he tried to banish them from his mind. There was no omniscience, no great ability to be all places and face all dangers, only doing what you could in the moment to solve the problems directly ahead of you. He knew that absolutely, but in this moment, knowing that and believing it were two different things.

That’s when the foreshaft of a harpoon smacked him square on the head.

“OW!”

“AIN’T YOU THE WALLABY SPENT YESTERDAY THROWIN’ MAGIC FLAMIN’ CANNON BALLS AT GHOST SHIPS?!” Bellowed the old shark.

Wally rubbed the new sore spot on his head, looking up at Blackeye.

“You know how I got this?” Blackeye tapped his lifeless eye, producing an entirely unexpected tapping sound. “Obsidian, only thing matched the shade right and didn’t make me itch. I got this after Isto carved the real one out of me skull. After I sank three of his ships n’ broke a mast with his back! I couldn’t save the people o’ this here town, but I damn well avenged them! That’s what you gotta do. You can’t save everyone, don’t care who you are. You save what you can, and make those responsible pay out the nose for the rest, understand?!”

He slowly nodded and sighed out all his frustration and doubt. “Thanks captain…”

Blackeye began to walk away. “Thank me with food, not words.”

---

Later that day, as the crew of the God’s Fortune sat around the small table once more to enjoy lunch and plan, Blackeye explained the history of Isto the Red and the Red Razor Fleet. In the fifth year of the war, Isto made a name for himself as a raider, deftly emptying the holds of Unified Front supply ships and even sometimes taking whole ships for himself. The 8 ships in his fleet soon became the tip of the spear for Sauro’s naval forces all along the Icthy Isles. Isto’s abilities as a Water Mage and a sailor made him Blackeye’s most powerful rival on the sea.

“Odds are,” Blackeye swallowed his mouthful. “That next time, it’ll be all eight, and we’re gonna have to go in hard if we wanna take’em down. Means no holdin’ back nothin’.” He reached out his hand and patted Polly on the head. “’Specially you, sunshine.”

Polly gasped. “Really grandpa?! Y’ mean it?!”

Curious and pensive glances abounded before the two Icthyites as they conversed.

Blackeye chortled and waved to the unsuspecting audience, “show’em what you can do dear.”

Polly happily nodded, smiling at everyone at the table before a rainbow hued shimmer of light danced across her scales and she vanished from sight.

Needless to say everyone but Blackeye recoiled in shock. They all quickly scanned the room until Polly’s spoon seemingly levitated off the table and started wiggling in the air as, what was clearly Polly’s voice, made what she believed to be spooky noises before she reappeared in her seat with a giggle or two.

“Polly’s a Light Mage, ain’t seen if she’s got any Dark magic yet, but for now what she can do’ll help us take on those undead beasties. Oh,” he leaned toward Hector and Rozzi. “And in case you’re wonderin’ those ain’t got a smell on account’a bein’ ephemeral.”

“Remarkable,” said Wistea. “I never would have guessed. Light and Dark attributes are actually exceedingly rare across all the races of Mondia. In fact there are hardly any entries in ‘Greybark’s Guide to the Ephemeral’ or ‘Ashberi’s Cardinal Structure’ that cover the exact nature of either magic.”

Hector rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “That explains how you were able to sneak up on us in Areca. Tell me, do you know if you can make other things invisible aside from yourself?”

Polly smiled and replied, “made the Fortune invisible a few times so we didn’t have t’ pay port fees.”

He turned to Blackeye. “Captain, how likely are we to run into the enemy fleet again?”

“Ain’t no ‘likely’ about it,” the captain proclaimed. “We run on Galaga, they’ll be there. Isto ‘n the Rogue got holdin’ grudges in common in my experience. They’ll drop whatever they’re doin’ if they think it means crushin’ us.”

The knight nodded contently. “We can use that to our advantage then. Wally, Rozzi, have you gotten pairing your magic down yet?”

Wally and Rozzi shared a thoughtful look before they nodded and Rozzi replied, “Ready to go, I’d say.”

With a confident smile, Hector rose in posture. “We managed to scuttle one of their ships but there’s no telling if they’ve had the time to raise it again or not, so we might just be dealing with seven, either way, I have a plan that can help us deal with the fleet when we draw them all in. If you all approve, of course.”

“Let’s hear it, Mister Cani,” the captain leaned back in his chair with a slim smile on his face.

---

The next morning aboard Isto’s flagship, The Grim Reaper, a gurgled shout came down from the crow’s nest and the shambling crew increased their pace and readied for combat.

“ISTO! What are these disgusting undead doing?” shouted the Rogue.

“They’ve spotted the Fortune, general. Just as I expected, Old Blackeye tried to come in over the rocky shallows route thinking it’d baffle us. He must think I’m just another mindless undead.”

“You still can be, Isto,” the Rogue said dangerously. “Don’t do anything to make the idea more appealing. Mobilize the entire fleet; I want them to be ash before midday.”

Isto paused and thought before saying, “Sir, it may be wiser to stagger our-”

“ISTO!” The Rogue hollered. “DO NOT UNDERESTIMATE THE FLAREBEARER! VAPORIZE HIM UNDER THE VOLUME OF YOUR CANNON FIRE! IS THAT UNDERSTOOD?!”

Isto simply nodded before gesturing to a nearby zombie. It raised its gnarled arm and rang a corroded bell, the signal to gather the fleet.

Aboard the Fortune, Captain Blackeye watched at the ships came into formation, finding something odd about how they were dispersed along the shoreline, but reserved that thought for later. He proceeded to count the ships off as they entered into an inverse wedge formation. “HAH! Looks like they’re a ship down after all! We might just pull this off, Mister Cani.”

Hector nodded. “Here’s hoping. Ready you two?”

At the very start of the Foredeck, Wally and Rozzi stood side by side, eyes locked on the distant flagship and the general making his way to the forefront.

“Look at that, bet he’s got a gloaty speech and everythin’ ready.” Rozzi commented.

Wally knit his brow. “He caught us off guard the last time, so he doesn’t know what we can do. Why don’t we show him just how fast we’ve grown since then?”

“Happily, Sir Wally.”

With that, the two linked the hands closest to one another, holding the furthest out toward their target. Flashes of flame and jets of wind spiraled around their clasped hands faster and faster as they put more and more power into the oncoming spell. They spoke in unison as the words entered their minds, “TWO FORMS COMBINED TO ONE SHAPE, TWO HEARTS TO TWO HANDS AND STRIKE! TEMPEST BURN!”

Around them formed a shining aura of white light and ahead of the Fortune was born a towering tumult of wind and flame. The burning cyclone shot forward at incredible speed, vaporizing the water beneath it, creating a path of steam clouds before bashing full on into the Reaper. The explosion of force tore a sizable hole in the ship’s starboard bow, and knocked the Rogue clean off his feet. Slamming him back first into the deck. He unleashed an otherworldly cry of hate and frustration before shouting, “KILL THEM! KILL THEM ALL!!!”

The flanking ships in the formation moved to pincer the Fortune with cannon fire as it entered the dense steam cloud. Isto, with a gesture, snuffed the flames on his ship with sea water and closed off the new wound by freezing it.

“Pah, pitiful strategy. No matter where you emerge from that cloud, the cannons will reduce your tiny ship to splinters.” Isto watched carefully for any motion and grew suspicious as nothing moved or stirred from it. “FIRE INTO THE CLOUD, FLUSH THEM OUT!”

Shots rung out from the chase guns of every ship, creating a large plume of sea water that cleared away the cloud, leaving nothing but the sight of empty water.

“What?! Impossible! Where did they-”

The air ahead of Isto rippled , revealing the imposing mass of Captain Blackeye just as he delivered a massive right cross into Isto’s face, sending him flying through a mass of undead behind him.

“Never could see what was right in front of you.” Blackeye said with a sneer.

Isto hopped back onto his feet and matched the captain’s stare, his lean figure made to seem larger with the broad nature of his thick black jacket that matched the dark blue of his scales but contrasted heavily with his silver underbelly. As he stood he hunched, the back injury given to him by Blackeye forcing his once tall figure into a painful curve that further diminished the threat of the long saber that was his nose.

“That as tall as you get nowadays, Isto? If you’re lucky maybe you’ll manage t’ stab me in the thigh, y’ crusty ol’ marlin!”

“Oh Arias…” Something slithered out of his shadow and slunk up his leg. His body was then yanked and tugged harshly, old bones snapping and reshaping by brute force alone, returning the rapier-nosed pirate to his full height. “I’ll be aiming much higher than that.”

With the force of a tensioned spring, Isto launched himself at Blackeye, who barely managed to dodge the tip of his nose spike by hopping to the left, blocking a following sweep with his harpoon.

“WHAT SAY YOU, OLD KING OF THE SEA!” Isto growled. “WHY DON’T WE SETTLE WHO’S THE MASTER OF THE WAVES HERE AND NOW!”

The Ragged Rogue began to charge toward the dueling pair, only to be blasted backwards by a large ball of flame that smashed him into the Reaper’s foremast and displaced a number of zombies violently. He growled and collected himself as Wally and Hector slowly faded into view.

Hector winced. “Oof! Wally, you weren’t kidding about him being ugly.”

Two giant pins jutted violently from the Rogue’s back. He yanked them free with a war cry and barreled toward them.

The knights moved in perfect sync, blocking his dual strike with some doing.

Hector grunted as he struggled to hold back the Rogue. “Damn strong too!”

Wally said nothing, changing his stance to lift a leg and boot the Rogue away. With a smooth turn he bounded off after the catapulted fiend.

“Right, task at hand.” Hector said to himself as he followed after Wally.

The shuffling undead made their way toward the two battles only to be stopped by a dense wall of brambles that bloomed from the deck.

“Seems the plan is working thus far,” said Wistea as she appeared, her hands on the bramble wall.

“I can hear Hector gloating already…” Rozzi said under her breath as she manifested atop the wall, a thrust of her arm to the left sending a powerful gust over the amassed blighted, pushing several of them over the ships railings.

Beside her, the Ragged Rogue bounced off the top of the bramble wall, a ball of flame following his course, deflected deftly by his enormous pin swords.

“Little help Rozzi!” Shouted Hector as the two knights rushed toward the wall themselves.

She spun her finger in a circle and sent a small whirlwind their way, giving them an updraft to clear the wall with. As Wally did just that, he blasted a few of the undead away to secure a landing spot before the two of them continued on.

Rozzi huffed. “Well! So much for keeping the fight in one place…”

Wistea called up to her. “Rozzi, hop down! I can fix this!”

The red panda backflipped off the makeshift wall with ease, watching it bend over and turn into a bridge to block the amassed undead from both battles.

“Yeah, I can work with that.”  Rozzi jabbed her sickle into a gap in the brambles and began a spell. “Eight forms to one shape, from heart to hand and defend! GALE RIVER!” A much more powerful burst of air turned the bridge of brambles into a two way makeshift pressure cannon, shunting corpse after corpse out into the sea.

At the helm of the Fortune, darting between the enemy fleet, Polly gleefully shouted as she deftly steered around the few cannon balls fired her way. Her part in the plan was simple enough; she’d distract the cannoneers and, if possible, disabled the rudders of all seven ships. Coming into position behind one, she unsheathed her dagger and pointed at the pintle-and-gudgeon linkages on its rudder. Two beams of light shot from the short blade and evaporated the rusted metal in short order, leaving the rotten rudder to drop loose off the sternpost. With a triumphant howl, that was similar but of a much higher pitch than her grandfather’s, Polly sailed on to the next ship on the line to do the very same.

Blackeye continued his duel with Isto the Red on the foredeck, powerful jets of compressed water blasting back and forth between them, each only managing glancing blows. The captain drove the blade of his harpoon into the deck and shouted a spell, “BREAKER WAVE!” Ahead of him formed a tall rushing surge of water that raced rapidly toward Isto. The sinister marlin dove forward, his now lean and hunchless form allowing him to easily swim through the mystic wave, catching Blackeye off guard and driving his natural spear into Blackeye’s shoulder.

The mighty captain ground his teeth and stopped a cry of pain dead in his throat as a swipe of his harpoon barely cut Isto’s coat, the marlin having leapt back just in time to dodge it.

“Proud ‘Blackeye’ Cofresi,” Isto’s words weighed so heavily with mockery it was a wonder they reached Blackeye’s ears at all. “Mighty champion of the sea? DON’T MAKE ME LAUGH!” Isto rushed forward, thrusting and slashing at Blackeye who defended himself with his harpoon. “DO THEY PRAISE ME? THE ONE WHO TOOK YOUR EYE? THE ONE WHO SLAUGHTERED YOUR FAMILY? I’VE SUNK AND STOLEN MORE SHIPS THAN ANY SAILOR THAT EVER LIVED! BUT THEY PRAISE SOME OLD NOTHING FOR GETTING LOST OVER AND OVER AGAIN!” The final clash opened the distance between the two warriors that Isto filled with a shout. “WHAT MAKES YOU SO DAMN SPECIAL?!” Isto drove forward with all his might, aiming his birthborne blade straight at the old shark’s heart.

Blackeye quickly raised his hand, allowing it to be pierced, pushing forward to catch Isto’s face in his impaled palm. Mighty and bloodied fingers now dug hard into the marlin’s skull.

“For a start… Don’t talk so much.” Blackeye lifted Isto clean off his feet and slammed him down into the deck, shattering the planks beneath them and dropping them down into the next deck. “Next… Get a better ship.” Once again, Isto found his head used as a battering ram against the floor, dropping the two sailors down to the gun deck and then to the hold, where the swirling mass of shadows holding the ship together retreated at the midday sun now shining into the space. “Last… Take a hundred years to practice, and maybe then YOU’LL BE HALF AS GOOD AS ME!” With all his strength, Blackeye drove the back of Isto’s skull into the top of the Reaper’s keel, violently breaking both in the process. As sea water quickly surged into the large gash in the hull, he planted his foot in the unconscious pirate’s chest, pulling his hand free from the spike before spitting on Isto’s crumpled form. With his good hand he set to climbing back out.

Closer to the quarterdeck, Wally and Hector’s fight with the howling mad Ragged Rogue raged on. With a violent burst of power and speed he knocked the two of them away and carved up sections of the ship with his almost invisible threads, flinging them hard at the duo.

The two leapt from the barrage and quickly scrambled to use the rear mast for cover. Wally panted looking up at Hector. “Any ideas?”

“Well,” A bit of mast exploded off forcing Hector to duck. “Seems to me he matches your power and my speed… But do you think he can match both at the same time?”

Just then Hector quickly shoved Wally’s head down, the two narrowly avoiding decapitation as a thread off the Rogue diced through the mast. It shimmied in place, held by nothing more than the ships aged rigging.

“Only one way to find out...” Wally replied as he poured more magic into the Flare.

Hector did the same with his own sword before the two quickly ran on either side of the failing mast toward Kota’s General. With mystically assisted reflexes, Hector knocked the assailing threads aside, allowing the knights to close the distance. In almost perfect unison their blades struck, when Wally swung low, Hector swung high, trading off every second strike, forcing the Rogue to act defensively.

With every block the Rogue shouted. “WORTHLESS! USELESS! POINTLESS! AS IF EITHER OF YOU COULD EVER-”

Wally broke his guard, and Hector capitalized. A streak of blue white sparks exploding out of the newly made gash in the Rogue’s chest. As he screamed in their faces, Hector blocked a strike meant for Wally, which the wallaby took advantage of, severing one the general’s arms at its elbow.

Just then something shook inside the two knights that halted their assault for barely a second. “ENOUGH!!!” With a slash from his remaining arm the Ragged Rogue managed to send Hector and Wally skidding backwards on their feet, arms trembling as they barely managed to block the blow.

As the general’s severed arm flew back to its place Wally turned to Hector. “Did you feel that too?”

Hector nodded once. “Was that what I think it was?”

Wally nodded firmly, glaring at the Rogue ahead of them.

Once more the two knights charged, swords at the ready, magical energy sparking off the edges of their blades as they rained blow after blow on their opponent. The air grew white hot, and they moved faster than they ever had before, tearing apart any defense the Rogue had. In unison they spoke “TWO FORMS COMBINED TO ONE SHAPE, TWO HEARTS TO TWO HANDS AND STRIKE!”

Hector’s final strike shattered the Rogue’s pins and he shouted, “THUNDER!”

Wally shoved the flare forward, burying it in the fiend’s chest as he shouted the final word of the spell “BURST!”

A ball of fire and lighting engulfed the monster who unleashed an entirely supernatural howl of pain and hate. The din of magic launched off the Stellar Flare and out into the open air, carrying the violently thrashing Rogue with it. The reaction grew and grew until its light was brighter than that of the sun, finally detonating with an almost deafening burst of noise and force, vaporizing the entirety of its target.

Seconds after, the ruined ships lost all cohesion and began to falter. With nothing to keep it at bay, water exploded into every gap and ruined seams, reclaiming the once sunken ships. With the Reaper listing forward quickly, Rozzi, Wistea and Blackeye made their way to the rear of the ship where they found Wally holding onto an exhausted Hector to keep him from sliding.

Rozzi smiled. “I swear, I leave you boys alone and everything goes to pieces.”

“Slightly at fault meself,” Blackeye chuckled. “I put an extra hole in this heap ‘bout a minute ago.”

As the Fortune came into view, Wistea planted her feet and outstretched her vines to the ships railing. “All aboard, as they say!”

Rozzi hopped on top of one vine and slid her way down to the fortune. Blackeye clenched his teeth around his harpoon and took hold sliding down with his good hand while holding the other in his vest.

“Afraid we’ll have to pass Wistea… Hector’s in no condition to slide down anything at the moment. But we’ll catch up.”

The Planaetian nodded at Wally and Hector and once the others had arrived aboard the ship, leapt off the sinking vessel and tugged herself to the deck.

With a tired smile, Hector asked, “Wally, how embarrassing is this going to be?”

“Oh we’ll be living it down for a while, I’m sure.”

Hector gave a faint laugh. “Fantastic, wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The wallaby carefully scooped up his fellow knight as best he could given the overall size differences between them, took a few preparatory steps back, and set off into a running leap toward the God’s Fortune. For a brief moment the act seemed heroic and iconic, worthy of the nobility and courage of both participants until Wally’s foot clipped the railing of the Fortune, sending them both into a tumble that turned into an ungainly roll onto the deck of the ship, culminating in both of them huddled into a gangly mess against the far railing. Both unable to quantify the embarrassing landing with anything but groans of pain.

Thankfully the embarrassment and soreness were washed away by an undeniable feeling of elation. The Red Razor Fleet had been returned to the ocean depths, and a powerful enemy defeated along with it. It was their first true and absolute victory.

<[Chapter 13]–[Index]–[Chapter 15]>

[awhitershade]

A&P by John Updike

In walks these three girls in nothing but bathing suits. I'm in the third check-out slot, with my back to the door, so I don't see them until they're over by the bread. The one that caught my eye first was the one in the plaid green two-piece. She was a chunky kid, with a good tan and a sweet broad soft-looking can with those two crescents of white just under it, where the sun never seems to hit, at the top of the backs of her legs. I stood there with my hand on a box of HiHo crackers trying to remember if I rang it up or not. I ring it up again and the customer starts giving me hell. She's one of these cash-register-watchers, a witch about fifty with rouge on her cheekbones and no eyebrows, and I knowit made her day to trip me up. She'd been watching cash registers forty years and probably never seen a mistake before.

By the time I got her feathers smoothed and her goodies into a bag -- she gives me alittle snort in passing, if she'd been born at the right time they would have burned her over in Salem -- by the time I get her on her way the girls had circled around the bread and were coming back, without a pushcart, back my way along the counters, in the aisle between the check-outs and the Special bins. They didn't even have shoes on. There was this chunky one, with the two-piece -- it was bright green and the seams on the bra were still sharp and her belly was still pretty pale so I guessed she just got it (the suit) -- there was this one, with one of those chubby berry-faces, the lips all bunched together under her nose, this one, and a tall one, with black hair that hadn't quite frizzed right, and one of these sunburns right across under the eyes, and a chin that was too long -- you know, the kind of girl other girls think is very "striking" and "attractive" but never quite makes it, as they very well know, which is why they like her so much -- and then the third one, that wasn't quite so tall. She was the queen. She kind of led them, the other two peeking around and making their shoulders round. She didn't look around, not this queen, she just walked straight on slowly, on these long white prima donna legs. She came down a little hard on her heels, as if she didn't walk in her bare feet that much, putting down her heels and then letting the weight move along to her toes as if she was testing the floor with every step, putting a little deliberate extra action into it. You never know for sure how girls' minds work (do you really think it's a mind in there or just a little buzz like a bee in a glassjar?) but you got the idea she had talked the other two into coming in here with her, and now she was showing them how to do it, walk slow and hold yourself straight.

She had on a kind of dirty-pink - - beige maybe, I don't know -- bathing suit with a little nubble all over it and, what got me, the straps were down. They were off her shoulders looped loose around the cool tops of her arms, and I guess as a result the suit had slipped a little on her, so all around the top of the cloth there was this shining rim. If it hadn't been there you wouldn't have known there could have been anything whiter than those shoulders. With the straps pushed off, there was nothing between the top of the suit and the top of her head except just her, this clean bare plane of the top of her chest down from the shoulder bones like a dented sheet of metal tilted in the light. I mean, it was more than pretty.

She had sort of oaky hair that the sun and salt had bleached, done up in a bun that was unravelling, and a kind of prim face. Walking into the A & P with your straps down, I suppose it's the only kind of face you can have. She held her head so high her neck, coming up out o fthose white shoulders, looked kind of stretched, but I didn't mind. The longer her neck was, the more of her there was.

She must have felt in the corner of her eye me and over my shoulder Stokesie in the second slot watching, but she didn't tip. Not this queen. She kept her eyes moving across the racks, and stopped, and turned so slow it made my stomach rub the inside of my apron, and buzzed to the other two, who kind of huddled against her for relief, and they all three of them went up the cat-and-dog-food-breakfast-cereal-macaroni-ri ce-raisins-seasonings-spreads-spaghetti-soft drinks- rackers-and- cookies aisle. From the third slot I look straight up this aisle to the meat counter, and I watched them all the way. The fat one with the tan sort of fumbled with the cookies, but on second thought she put the packages back. The sheep pushing their carts down the aisle -- the girls were walking against the usual traffic (not that we have one-way signs or anything) -- were pretty hilarious. You could see them, when Queenie's white shoulders dawned on them, kind of jerk, or hop, or hiccup, but their eyes snapped back to their own baskets and on they pushed. I bet you could set off dynamite in an A & P and the people would by and large keep reaching and checking oatmeal off their lists and muttering "Let me see, there was a third thing, began with A, asparagus, no, ah, yes, applesauce!" or whatever it is they do mutter. But there was no doubt, this jiggled them. A few house-slaves in pin curlers even looked around after pushing their carts past to make sure what they had seen was correct.

You know, it's one thing to have a girl in a bathing suit down on the beach, where what with the glare nobody can look at each other much anyway, and another thing in the cool of the A & P, under the fluorescent lights, against all those stacked packages, with her feet paddling along naked over our checkerboard green-and-cream rubber-tile floor.

"Oh Daddy," Stokesie said beside me. "I feel so faint."

"Darling," I said. "Hold me tight." Stokesie's married, with two babies chalked up on his fuselage already, but as far as I can tell that's the only difference. He's twenty-two, and I was nineteen this April.

"Is it done?" he asks, the responsible married man finding his voice. I forgot to say he thinks he's going to be manager some sunny day, maybe in 1990 when it's called the Great Alexandrov and Petrooshki Tea Company or something.

What he meant was, our town is five miles from a beach, with a big summer colony out on the Point, but we're right in the middle of town, and the women generally put on a shirt or shorts or something before they get out of the car into the street. And anyway these are usually women with six children and varicose veins mapping their legs and nobody, including them, could care less. As I say, we're right in the middle of town, and if you stand at our front doors you can see two banks and the Congregational church and the newspaper store and three real-estate offices and about twenty-seven old free-loaders tearing up Central Street because the sewer broke again. It's not as if we're on the Cape; we're north of Boston and there's people in this town haven't seen the ocean for twenty years.

The girls had reached the meat counter and were asking McMahon something. He pointed, they pointed, and they shuffled out of sight behind a pyramid of Diet Delight peaches. All that was left for us to see was old McMahon patting his mouth and looking after them sizing up their joints. Poor kids, I began to feel sorry for them, they couldn't help it.

Now here comes the sad part of the story, at:least my family says it's sad but I don't think it's sad myself. The store's pretty empty, it being Thursday afternoon, so there was nothing much to do except lean on the register and wait for the girls to show up again. The whole store was like a pinball machine and I didn't know which tunnel they'd come out of. After a while they come around out of the far aisle, around the light bulbs, records at discount of the Caribbean Six or Tony Martin Sings or some such gunk you wonder they waste the wax on, sixpacks of candy bars, and plastic toys done up in cellophane that faIl apart when a kid looks at them anyway. Around they come, Queenie still leading the way, and holding a little gray jar in her hand. Slots Three through Seven are unmanned and I could see her wondering between Stokes and me, but Stokesie with his usual luck draws an old party in baggy gray pants who stumbles up with four giant cans of pineapple juice (what do these bums do with all that pineapple juice' I've often asked myself) so the girls come to me. Queenie puts down the jar and I take it into my fingers icy cold. Kingfish Fancy Herring Snacks in Pure Sour Cream: 49¢. Now her hands are empty, not a ring or a bracelet, bare as God made them, and I wonder where the money's coming from. Still with that prim look she lifts a folded dollar bill out of the hollow at the center of her nubbled pink top. The jar went heavy in my hand. Really, I thought that was so cute.

Then everybody's luck begins to run out. Lengel comes in from haggling with a truck full of cabbages on the lot and is about to scuttle into that door marked MANAGER behind which he hides all day when the girls touch his eye. Lengel's pretty dreary, teaches Sunday school and the rest, but he doesn't miss that much. He comes over and says, "Girls, this isn't the beach."

Queenie blushes, though maybe it's just a brush of sunburn I was noticing for the first time, now that she was so close. "My mother asked me to pick up a jar of herring snacks." Her voice kind of startled me, the way voices do when you see the people first, coming out so flat and dumb yet kind of tony, too, the way it ticked over "pick up" and "snacks." All of a sudden I slid right down her voice into her living room. Her father and the other men were standing around in ice-cream coats and bow ties and the women were in sandals picking up herring snacks on toothpicks off a big plate and they were all holding drinks the color of water with olives and sprigs of mint in them. When my parents have somebody over they get lemonade and if it's a real racy affair Schlitz in tall glasses with "They'll Do It Every Time" cartoons stencilled on.

"That's all right," Lengel said. "But this isn't the beach." His repeating this struck me as funny, as if it hadjust occurred to him, and he had been thinking all these years the A & P was a great big dune and he was the head lifeguard. He didn't like my smiling -- -as I say he doesn't miss much -- but he concentrates on giving the girls that sad Sunday- school-superintendent stare.

Queenie's blush is no sunburn now, and the plump one in plaid, that I liked better from the back -- a really sweet can -- pipes up, "We weren't doing any shopping. We just came in for the one thing."

"That makes no difference," Lengel tells her, and I could see from the way his eyes went that he hadn't noticed she was wearing a two-piece before. "We want you decently dressed when you come in here."

"We are decent," Queenie says suddenly, her lower lip pushing, getting sore now that she remembers her place, a place from which the crowd that runs the A & P must look pretty crummy. Fancy Herring Snacks flashed in her very blue eyes.

"Girls, I don't want to argue with you. After this come in here with your shoulders covered. It's our policy." He turns his back. That's policy for you. Policy is what the kingpins want. What the others want is juvenile delinquency.

All this while, the customers had been showing up with their carts but, you know, sheep, seeing a scene, they had all bunched up on Stokesie, who shook open a paper bag as gently as peeling a peach, not wanting to miss a word. I could feel in the silence everybody getting nervous, most of all Lengel, who asks me, "Sammy, have you rung up this purchase?"

I thought and said "No" but it wasn't about that I was thinking. I go through the punches, 4, 9, GROC, TOT -- it's more complicated than you think, and after you do it often enough, it begins to make a lttle song, that you hear words to, in my case "Hello (bing) there, you (gung) hap-py pee-pul (splat)"-the splat being the drawer flying out. I uncrease the bill, tenderly as you may imagine, it just having come from between the two smoothest scoops of vanilla I had ever known were there, and pass a half and a penny into her narrow pink palm, and nestle the herrings in a bag and twist its neck and hand it over, all the time thinking.

The girls, and who'd blame them, are in a hurry to get out, so I say "I quit" to Lengel quick enough for them to hear, hoping they'll stop and watch me, their unsuspected hero. They keep right on going, into the electric eye; the door flies open and they flicker across the lot to their car, Queenie and Plaid and Big Tall Goony-Goony (not that as raw material she was so bad), leaving me with Lengel and a kink in his eyebrow.

"Did you say something, Sammy?"

"I said I quit."

"I thought you did."

"You didn't have to embarrass them."

"It was they who were embarrassing us."

I started to say something that came out "Fiddle-de-doo." It's a saying of my grand- mother's, and I know she would have been pleased.

"I don't think you know what you're saying," Lengel said.

"I know you don't," I said. "But I do." I pull the bow at the back of my apron and start shrugging it off my shoulders. A couple customers that had been heading for my slot begin to knock against each other, like scared pigs in a chute.

Lengel sighs and begins to look very patient and old and gray. He's been a friend of my parents for years. "Sammy, you don't want to do this to your Mom and Dad," he tells me. It's true, I don't. But it seems to me that once you begin a gesture it's fatal not to go through with it. I fold the apron, "Sammy" stitched in red on the pocket, and put it on the counter, and drop the bow tie on top of it. The bow tie is theirs, if you've ever wondered. "You'll feel this for the rest of your life," Lengel says, and I know that's true, too, but remembering how he made that pretty girl blush makes me so scrunchy inside I punch the No Sale tab and the machine whirs "pee-pul" and the drawer splats out. One advantage to this scene taking place in summer, I can follow this up with a clean exit, there's no fumbling around getting your coat and galoshes, I just saunter into the electric eye in my white shirt that my mother ironed the night before, and the door heaves itself open, and outside the sunshine is skating around on the asphalt.

I look around for my girls, but they're gone, of course. There wasn't anybody but some young married screaming with her children about some candy they didn't get by the door of a powder-blue Falcon station wagon. Looking back in the big windows, over the bags of peat moss and aluminum lawn furniture stacked on the pavement, I could see Lengel in my place in the slot, checking the sheep through. His face was dark gray and his back stiff, as if he'djust had an injection of iron, and my stomach kind of fell as I felt how hard the world was going to be to me hereafter.