#“I cut off my face and put a tv in its place” still baffles me to this day like my guy what happened

[gamingforeternity]

A Decision To Get Into Television.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

AAAAAH!!! Petition for the news people to show Chris's face on tv and Akio and his mom see and come to rescueee -🦖

(follows from this piece, in what I am calling the Chris Saves Himself AU)

CW: BBU, some vaguely dehumanizing language, references to child abuse and ableism

"Mom! Aki!" Emi's voice rises loud enough to filter right up the stairs and into Akio's room, audible right through his headphones while he listens to his playlist of Tristan's favorite songs and lays in bed.

Akio sniffs, sitting up and taking the headphones off, rubbing the tear tracks off his face. It's still light outside - he never knows what time it is anymore, not since he quit gymnastics. "Emi? Did you say something?"

"Yeah, you better get down here like right now! Right now!" The urgency in her voice sets his heart to beating faster and Akio pushes himself up, taking the stairs three-steps-to-a-jump. His mother is right behind him, coming out of her own room with her book still in hand, thumb marking her place.

"Are you okay, honey?" Aimi calls out. Somehow even though she doesn't skip any steps she beats Akio to the bottom. "Em? Emi?"

"I'm fine, I swear, just-... look at the TV!"

Akio and Aimi swing into the living room, finding Emi sitting on the couch, remote in hand, groaning in frustration.

"Damn it, they just cut way from his-... hold on, let's see if they cut back before this ends. You have got to see this."

"Just what have I got to see?" Aimi asks, frowning, walking up behind Emi and absentmindedly tucking a bit of hair behind her daughter's ear. Emi sort of ducks-pulls away, rolling her eyes. "I'm almost to the bit where the ship sinks, Em."

"I know, I know, don't mess with your reading time but-... but look!"

Akio's eyes scan the TV, reading the chyron - the little moving headline at the bottom - that says MYSTERY BOY FALLS FROM BALCONY IN GOVERNOR'S MANSION - IN HOSPITAL WITH SERIOUS INJURIES - POLICE LOOKING FOR CLUES TO IDENTITY - GOV. BRANCH CLAIMS LEGAL PURCHASE FROM WRU - WRU DENIES CULPABILITY...

Talking heads banter back and forth about the seriousness of the scandal, the lack of documents to prove any kind of veracity to the governor's claims.

The anchors start interviewing a woman with short, dark red hair with a cold smile that sends a chill down Akio's spine. Karen Renford, WRU Representative to the Media, reads the little nameplate beneath her as she speaks.

"Since when do you care about politics?" Akio asks, head tilted. "This is stupid. I don't care about any of this."

"WRU sponsors your team, Aki-"

"It's not my team anymore. I'm going back to my room."

He turns to leave, but feels Emi grab at his wrist, and when he looks back her black eyes are pleading. "Please, Aki. Please. Trust me, you will want to see this."

He sighs. Everything feels too heavy to add one more thing to his days right now. But Emi is his little sister, and... "Yeah, okay." He moves around the corner of the sectional and flops himself down on it. He's put on some weight since he quit gymnastics, the waistband of his jeans digging just a little into his stomach where he used to have to wear a belt.

He doesn't care. It's... actually really nice to not have to care. He kind of likes himself better this way.

If only he didn't have to be grieving his best friend's death to get there-

"There!" Emi hisses, and her nails dig hard into Akio's forearm, hard enough for him to wince. "There, Aki, fucking look!"

"Language, young lady-" Aimi starts, and then falls silent. When she whispers, "Nantekotta..." That's when Akio looks at the screen.

Where his dead best friend is very much alive in a hospital bed.

He hears a thump and jumps, turning to see his mother's book on the floor, fallen from suddenly numb fingers as she stares unblinking at the boy on the TV screen.

Akio looks back and swallows, hard, and then swallows again. Inside him there is a sudden burst of fight between the despair and anger he's been living in and a kind of awful, horrifying hope.

"Tris?" He whispers.

"I told you!" Emi says, still holding his forearm painfully. He doesn't pull away from her - he can feel her starting to shake right alongside him. His eyes flood with hot tears and he has to blink them away to focus on the screen.

"-are speaking with the boy, who appears to be a legitimate WRU product. A simple barcode scan was performed, and police have the pet's designation, Facility number, and basic identification number." Karen Renford's voice speaks in voiceover. "However, WRU has been unable to find in our own records at the Facility any record of the boy's existence or training. WRU has strict ethical protocols surrounding the age of accepted trainees who apply, and it's increasingly clear that none of our Facilities would have taken on this individual, especially not our flagship Facility here in Berras-"

Akio hears none of this.

Instead, he hears only a rushing as loud as a waterfall filling his ears, the sound of his own blood pulsing through his veins as his breaths go shallow and gasping.

Tris is right there.

He's alive and he's right there.

He's sitting in a hospital bed, cringing back from the doctors speaking to him, looking at them with wide, terrified eyes. There are bruises around his neck like someone-... bit him, or something. His arms are bruised, wrists rubbed red in circles. He doesn't sway or rock or tap like Tristan Higgs, he sits perfectly, hauntingly still.

But it's Tris.

It's him.

"He's alive," Akio says, and his voice is strangled. "Tris is alive, he's alive, but he's-... he was-"

His mother's hand rests on his shoulder and Akio tenses at the firey rage he feels right through the tension in her fingers. "His aunt," Aimi says with a voice that cuts through bone. "His aunt told us he was dead."

"She said he-... you know... did the thing. To himself," Emi says, looking nervously sideways at Akio. "That he ran away and they found him."

"He told me she took away all his stuff and stopped giving him his meds and then she took his phone... why would she say all that if he was alive the whole time, Mom?" Akio looks back up at Aimi, and she looks back down at him.

He is terrified of her, in that moment. Scared of her the way you are scared of a bear rushing at you, knowing that you aren't much more than a matchstick in its way. But he also wants - needs - her to tell him everything is going to be fine.

Instead, she pulls her hand back off his arm and turns to leave the room. She murmurs to herself in a rapid-fire string of Japanese even Akio isn't quite keeping up with, and he jumps up to follow her, Emi on his heels.

"Mom? Mom, what are you doing? Mom, answer me-"

"Mom?"

They manage to catch up to her in the den, where she's picked up her cell phone still charging, plugged into the wall, and dialed a number.

"Mom-"

Aimi holds up one finger without looking at him, phone to her ear, and Akio's voice cuts off immediately.

"Yes, hello," She says to whoever picks up. "My name is Aimi Nakamura and I am calling about the boy found in the governor's mansion today. I believe I can tell you who he is." She pauses. "Who he really is."

Another pause.

"Yes, I'll wait."

Yet another pause. Akio and Emi stay in the doorway, staring at her in baffled confusion. Neither of them dares to speak when her face looks this way. They know better than that.

Finally, Aimi takes another breath. "Yes. Thank you. Hello, Detective... Davis. Right. My name is Aimi Nakamura." She rattles off her phone number and address when she is asked for them without hesitating. "Yes, as I said-... as I said to whoever answered the phone, I know who the boy in the governor's mansion is. I have absolutely no doubt... Yes. His real name is Tristan Paul Higgs. He was born-... oh, yes, sorry. I can slow down. His birthday is March 6th... yes. I don't know his social security number entirely but I know the last four digits were 6654... his mother and I were close friends. Veronica Botham Higgs - Ronnie. She was murdered, with her husband, it was a double-... oh, you remember? Tristan survived it. Custody went to his only surviving relative, Joanne Botham..."

Aimi swallows, and Akio feels Emi's hand seek his out and squeezes it tightly, reassuringly, as their mother's steel comes flashing to the surface underneath her usual deceptive tranquility.

"Joanne Botham works for WRU. Her nephew lost his family and was given to her. And now, more than a year after she told us he was dead, he falls out a window with a WRU barcode. I think you see where I'm going with this, detective."

Another long silence.

"Yes. I need about an hour and a half. Is that too long? Perfect."

She hangs up, and turns to look at Akio and his little sister. There is a startling brightness to her that makes Akio think she's feeling exactly what he is - grief and horror and rage and that awful swell of hope.

Maybe it really was just a horrible mistake.

Maybe he's never been dead.

Maybe he's still breathing.

"Put your shoes on," Aimi says in a flat voice. "We are going to meet Detective Davis at the hospital where Tris is."

[minachuuu]

The Wingwoman [P2]

❣The Wingwoman; Part 2/2 (Here’s Part 1!)

❤ Pairing: Chuu x Idol!Reader

❤ Genre: Angst/Fluff

❤ Word Count: 5.7k

❤ Song Suggestions: Fall Again by LOONA (trust me, it will hit deeper in this half) and The Only One by Layla

Chuu was definitely used to it. Or so she liked repeating that to convince herself all the time.

She really didn’t understand why it bothered her so much, since it was not the first time a best friend of hers asked for her help on a crush. But there was a little voice in her head, always nagging, telling her this time it should have been different. 

But where did it come from? She was used to it. It was never about her. 

A month had already passed since that night, and Jiwoo was still extremely conflicted, but she convinced herself it was because of your refusal to tell her who you had a crush on. You blatantly withhold the information from her, brushing the subject aside. 

The rest of the promotions kept her focus occupied enough, but now they had come to an end and LOONA found themselves on their break week before next comeback’s preparations started, so now her mind had time to dwell on that precise night, bringing all of it full on front from the bottom of her memories.

Some girls took advantage of the situation and went out with friends or to visit family, and some decided to rest back in the dorm. Jiwoo, one of the latter, slumped on the couch and could hear the noise of the TV in the background and its never ending changing channels, courtesy of Yves who couldn’t find one to settle on.

“Nothing interesting to watch at this time of the day.” Sooyoung complained, hitting the Netflix button on the remote control, turning her body to face Chuu. “Any suggestions or anything you want to watch?”

But she received no answer back from the girl beside her. Her eyes fixated on the coffee table in front of them, occasionally blinking. 

“Can I scare her?” Hyunjin appeared behind the couch with a plain slice of white bread hanging from her mouth and another on her hand. “I want to scare her.”

“As much as I would love to see that, I don’t think we should this time.” Sooyoung responded to the younger girl. Hyunjin sighed, slouching her shoulders in defeat and gently shaking her hand in front of Jiwoo’s face. The latter shook her head, puzzled. Her eyes bolted in between both her friends who looked at her, hesitant of what to do next.

“Something is troubling you…” Sooyoung broke the tension, squinting her eyes in an attempt to see through the usually cheery girl who she knew extremely well.

“Troubling me? No! No no no!” Chuu straightened on her place, her usual smiling mask making an appearance on her face. But who could she fool? She was talking with people she had been living with for years already. “I’m just a little confused.”

“Isn’t that the same thing as troub-” Hyunjin started.

“Everyone tells me I’m usually good at giving advice on love. But I’m blank this time.” Yves grabbed the TV remote, turning it off and Hyunjin jumped the backrest of the couch to sit on the other side of the talking girl. “What is going on?”

“Who are we talking about this time?” The girl with her mouth full of bread managed to say in between bites. “Is it any of the girls?”

“No… not from here.” Jiwoo slouched her shoulder, with an exaggerated sigh escaping her lips. “It’s Y/n.”

“Y/N?!” Both girls exploded.

“But I thought Y/n liked-” 

“Who do they like though?” Yves talked over Hyunjin, leaning even closer in curiosity “Is it anyone that we know?”

“That’s the problem! I have no idea who Y/n likes!” She threw her arms up in the air, resting them crossed across her chest, her eyebrows furrowed and her lips pouted. “And it’s bothering me that they don’t want to tell me, and I don’t know how to help!”

“And they asked for your help just like that? With no information on the target?” Hyunjin talked with her mouth full, trying to connect the dots on her mind.

“Well... It’s not like Y/n explicitly told me they wanted my help.” Jiwoo let her body relax, nervously fidgeting her hands on her lap now. “They just told me they really liked someone. So now I need to help. That’s what I always do.”

“Need to?” Yves crossed her arms, her eyes squinting again as suspicions aroused inside her, there was much more about all of this that troubled her.

“Want to help. Y/n is one of my best friends, why wouldn’t I want to see them happy with whoever they like?” Chuu stood up, clearly annoyed. The other two girls backed up in self-defense, as the girl stomped all the way around the living room to the kitchen behind.

“Exactly, why wouldn’t you?” Hyunjin murmured under her breath, but loud enough so that Jiwoo snapped her head around to face them again. Sooyoung snatched the spare slice of bread from Hyunjin’s hand and shoved into her mouth in desperation. 

“Good afternoon!- Wait, it’s already dark outside?” Haseul appeared like an angel descending the stairs, sent from above to diffuse the situation. In reality she was just waking up from a light afternoon nap, rubbing her eyes and stretching her body. “Is there something to eat that we don’t have to… Wait, where is everyone? Why is the dorm so peaceful?”

“Heejin is out with a friend from school,” Hyunjin answered while hardly swallowing the bread forcefully shoved into her. “And I’m pretty sure Jinsoul and Jungeun went out on a date or something.”

“Also, Yeojin and Vivi are out on a movie, Chaewon and Hyejoo are up in their room most likely playing Nintendo or sleeping...” Sooyoung continued, counting with her fingers the entire line up. “... And Yerim… I have no idea where she is.”

“I messaged her to bring some bread from the corner store and she hasn’t answered though.” Hyunjin's eyes grew like plates when it dawn on her, turning to face the older girl. “Wait I thought she told you where she was going? I didn’t bother asking her when she walked out the door.” 

The room fell in a crushing silence as the brains of the four girls present analysed the escenario they found themselves in. It wasn’t long until...

“YOU LET THE BABY GO OUT BY HERSELF!?” Haseul, now completely awake, didn’t take long to put on her leader shoes, scolding the girls for being reckless. “Send her a message, call her or do something!”

But in the ruffle of the situation, they managed to ignore the keys rattling in the entrance and the door opening. Yerim was received by the sight of her bandmates running from side to side, she stood baffled at the girls for turning the house upside down.

“I can’t find my phone!” Sooyoung was in charge of leaving the couch cushion-free. “Hyunjin-ah! Did you hide it again?!”

“I grabbed nothing Unnie!” The girl responded, sprinting up the stairs.

“Yves-unnie…” Yerim’s voice cut through the agitation, her hand pointing at a tile besides the coffee table. “Isn’t your phone the one laying there on the floor?”

“Oh yes! Thank you Yerim! Wait-” Sooyoung snapped her head towards the direction of the voice, gazing at the figure of Choerry standing there, puzzled. 

“THERE YOU ARE!” Haseul dashed to the younger girl, hugging her. “You had us all worried!”

“DID YOU BRING MY BREAD!?” Hyunjin now sprinted down the stairs, to which Choerry responded shaking a paper bag in her hand with a smirk plastered on her face.

“Why didn’t you tell anybody where you were going!?” Haseul continued.

“But I did! I told Chuu-unnie!” The room turned to face Jiwoo, who was standing back in the middle of the kitchen. Her face revealing she had no memory of it, as it grew red as the can of soda she had in her hands, she lowered her gaze to the floor in embarrassment.

“Maybe next time tell someone whose head is down on earth…” Sooyoung continued. “Where were you?”

“We went pottery making and then took a stroll around the park, bought an ice cream, talked about a lot of stuff-” Yerim recalled.

“We? Our little Yerim going out on a date? Do I need to threaten someone?” Hyunjin grabbed the paperbag from her hand, surveilling the insides as she questioned the younger.

“No! It wasn’t a date! Far from that actually!”

“Yeah sure.” Yves crossed her arms over her chest, incredulous. “Who were you with anyways?”

“Ah! I was with Y/n-Unnie!” Yerim exclaimed, with a huge grin being painted on her face.

The mention of your name made Hyunjin and Sooyoung snap their heads towards Chuu, who slammed the can of soda against the counter, her mind tying the knots painfully. 

“Oh.” It came out as a whisper, for herself only, as she was met with the answer to a question she unconsciously didn’t want to know.

- ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ -

The days kept flying by, and LOONA was already in the middle of arrangements for their new comeback. The room rumbled with the rhythm of the bass and kick of their new song, blasting through the speakers of the practice room. 

“And one, two and three and ka, ka, ka!” The choreographer remarked each move with their usual onomatopoeia as the girls switched positions through the dance floor. “Up! Down, three and four!”

A collective sigh was released to the air when the instructor paused the music, some girls throwing themselves on the floor, others racing to get water and others panting on their place.

“Not bad for a second day ladies. You all did a great job today, but there can be some improvements. Stay where you are, but listen to the final notes.” The choreographer, only breathing heavily but not dying as the rest of LOONA, clapped her hands to get their attention. She continued to call each member on their area of improvement, to which all of them nodded and bowed. Her voice sounded muffled in the distance, as Chuu struggled to get her breathing even. “Jiwoo!”

The girl called shook her head in surprise, placing her eyes on the instructor calling her.

“Just be here. Your mind is not in practice, stay and review more whenever you can.” Those were the only words that came out of her mouth for Chuu, and yes, she was very aware of it. Her mind inhabited other places, where even though she tried to fight it out, you were always there. And speaking of the devil…

“Jiwoo? With her mind on other planets? Color me stoked!” Your mocking voice echoed through the mirror walls of the practice room making everyone turn to you. 

“Y/N!” A chorus of excitement received you, plastering a smile on your face. The familiar perfume of Chuu invaded your senses when you felt her entire body slam against yours, but unlike other times, she quickly broke the embrace, stepping back from you.

“Sorry, I… I’m sweating. I wouldn’t like to…” She stuttered, avoiding making eye contact with you.

“As if that ever mattered to me.” You interrupted, pulling her back into your arms. She stiffened, and that’s precisely when you knew there was something wrong, so you broke the embrace early. You searched through your mental library for a way to break the awkwardness that was created. “I- I loved your new choreography! Everyone’s gonna love it, I’m sure.”

“It’s amazing! I’m just having a hard time getting it.” She chuckled.

“You came!” Yerim excitedly jumped into your arms, and you raised her off her feet. “I thought you wouldn’t be able to!”

“I finished all my schedules early to come visit! I wouldn’t miss a chance to hang out with all of you!”

Some of the other girls approached to greet you, excitedly telling you all about their new comeback, the key points in the choreo and you listened to them mindfully.

“Sounds like you need some unwinding girls, would you like to go to the cafe down the road? It’s on me!” You looked at all the eyes surrounding you, wondering how you would be able to feed thirteen mouths if they all agreed. 

For your relief, some of them told you they were too tired and decided to go back to the dorm, Heejin, Hyejoo and Gowon decided to stay and practice the choreo, and Jinsoul and Jungeun agreed to your invitation. 

“Well, I guess a hot cup of coffee wouldn’t hurt.” Choerry grabbed her coat and sprinkled some perfume on. “I’m going!”

“Jiwoo? What do you say?” You extended your hand towards her, but her eyes only bolted between you and Choerry, who both looked at her hesitant.

“I- think I better stay and practice. You guys go have fun.” Chuu turned around to go back to the dance floor, not wanting to turn her back and watch you leave the room together.

The room filled with silence as each of the girls left and only the four staying to practice stayed behind. 

“Jiwoo-unnie, go catch up with them, we know you want to be there.” Heejin ordered as she stretched her legs, looking at the mirror.

“Maybe, but it would be so awkward,” Chuu shook the intrusive thoughts off her head and started walking towards Heejin, joining her on the stretches. 

“Awkward? How?” Gowon questioned, laying on the couch on the other side of the room. “I thought you and Y/n were basically best friends.”

“We are!” Chuu responded with a light hint of doubt on her tone. “But that is basically a double date for what I know. I wouldn’t fit in there.”

“YERIM GOING OUT WITH Y/N?!” Hyejoo aggressively swallowed the drink on her hand, dumbfounded.

“Yes! No? I really have no idea! But isn’t it obvious?” Chuu lost her balance and landed bottom first on the floor. By that point she gave up in the stretches and just laid facing the ceiling. The three younger girls shared some confused glances between them, welcoming an awkward silence to the room. Only Hyejoo was brave enough to break it.

“But didn’t Y/n liked-” 

“Even if that were true, why are you so upset about it?” Heejin crawled to Jiwoo’s side.

“I’m not!” Chuu aggressively stood up. ”I’m not upset about it, I’m very happy about them! What makes you think I’m upset about it?!”

But the startled looks on the three girls around gave the answer up. She snapped her head towards the mirror, hardly recognizing her image. Her fist rested on her hips, her eyebrows wrinkled her forehead, and her smile was nowhere to be found. She jumped, scared at her own reflection, before slouching back on the floor. 

She felt a knot appearing at her throat, and her sight was getting blurry.

“Okay! Maybe I’m a little upset about it! It’s just that…” She felt the first tear caressing her cheek on the way down. “They both are very good friends of mine. Couldn’t they at least tell me? Do they not trust me?”

“Unnie- Haven’t it crossed your mind that if they haven’t told us, it’s because they are not together?” Hyejoo approached the two girls on the floor, freely speaking her mind. 

“No, you need to understand. All the signs are there. They chat all day and night, go out together and…” The words struggled even more to come out, as Jiwoo tried with all her remaining forces to not burst her entire heart out. “A while ago, when I asked Y/n for their ideal type, they perfectly described Yerim; someone who always makes them smile, who always wants to see the positive in everyone, the best hugger in the world and someone who never gets tired of being together…”

“You could fit that description very well too...” Gowon whispered, but not loud enough for the other side of the room to hear clearly.

“I just…” Chuu couldn’t contain it anymore, her eyes bursted open, and her arms searched for the shoulders of the girl next to her. “I just wish I could be happy for them! I don’t know why I’m so upset! I don’t know-”

“Maybe it has to do with your crush on Y/n?” Hyejoo disrupted the atmosphere straight ahead. Jiwoo’s sobs came to a halt as Gowon straightened herself from the couch, and Heejin snapped her head towards the youngest, holding her breath. “We all knew that right? You never told me, but I just assumed everyone knew?”

“I have a… what?” Chuu raised her eyes to face Hyejoo, who had now just dawned on the realization of what she had done.

“Sorry, I just thought that…” The younger girl stammered her words. “You know, with the way you look at Y/n, how you’re always talking about them and the way you light up when you see them… I think I should stop talking.”

“No, I don’t have a crush on Y/n. They’re one of my best friends” She rested her head on Heejin’s shoulder as she evened her breath. “I just want them to be happy, I love the way their eyes glow when they taste something really good, or their concentration face when they’re cooking something for me, I adore how they remember my favorite pastry from every cafe we visit together and the way the corners of their lips… Oh crap, I have a crush on Y/n.”

The three girls exploded in a nervous giggle. Chuu swung back to the floor, her hands covering her entire face in embarrassment.

“Oh no, this is so much worse.” She cried again. “I don’t want to intrude in their relationship!”

“Maybe you should just talk to them?...” Heejin suggested, reluctant. 

“No, no, no, nobody can know.” She dropped her hands on her sides, the tears rolling directly on the floor. “I know them, they would stop seeing each other for me. I don’t want to be like that. I’ll get through it, I have to. But please, please don’t tell anybody about this.”

The three other girls nodded respectfully, visibly upset at the only solution their unnie had come to. Hyejoo shrugged at Heejin, but that was enough to communicate so much stuff. They were sure Chuu was, for once, stuck looking at the worst scenario. 

Gowon’s phone vibrated, making it the only sound joining Chuu’s sobs on the floor. She turned on the display, and a text notification popped up. It was Choerry, frantically sending messages to her. She had to unblock the phone to see them all, every single one of them on capital letters:

Y/N SAID THEY WERE GONNA DO IT.

THEY’RE FINALLY ASKING JIWOO OUT, LIKE FOR REAL

I’M SO EXCITED

I HAVE BEEN TRYING TO CONVINCE THEM FOR MONTHS AND THEY’RE FINALLY GONNA DO IT

YOU CAN’T TELL UNNIE ABOUT IT, NOTHING, NOT A WORD

WE’RE PLANNING OUT. HOW, WHEN AND WHERE.

BUT WE ARE GOING TO NEED HELP FROM EVERYONE, AND I MEAN, EVERYONE.

- ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ ❣ -

These last days of filming were usually the heaviest. Everyone had already filmed their solo and unit shots, and only the dancing group shots were left. 

In past filmings, these were the days that were usually met with dark circles under their eyes, hair and makeup department always busy, fitting a coordinated wardrobe to twelve different and very unique girls. They were all usually tired, but willing to do their best to deliver the best product yet, and go home early. 

But not this time. 

Jiwoo definitely thought it was all odd how everyone around her seemed cheerful, excited even. She was not falling behind on the energy, after all it was Chuu, the Vitamin of the group, that we're talking about. But she looked around for clues as to what kind of drug was released in the air, that even Hyejoo and Jungeun, two of the grumpiest members when they didn’t get enough rest, couldn't contain themselves. 

She wandered around the set, which was still being put together. She marveled in every detail she could identify that had a connection with the “loonaverse”, little easter-eggs that made her smile from just imagining the enthusiasm with which Orbits would connect dots that even them ignored. Her phone shook her pocket and she took it out, unblocking it to watch the notification. Your name popped up, and the text read:

Good luck in today’s shoot! It’s the last day, give your all. My Chuu, hwaiting!

‘My Chuu’... You always called her that way since the start of your friendship, and each time half of her felt like she was levitating towards the sky, butterflies filling her stomach and her heart screamed, running around in circles. But the other half of her reminded her it was nothing more but a cute nickname, only a sign of affection between friends. She even wondered if it was appropriate for you to be calling her that way, now that you allegedly had a relationship.

“Jiwoo-yah!” Chuu recognized the owner from the voice being Kim Lip, calling her from somewhere so the younger girl halted her steps to look around from her. 

What she didn’t realize was that she was directly in the way of two staff members moving a huge prop. She turned around just in time to throw herself out of the way, tripping over her two feet and falling over a rack of clothing standing next to her.

The commotion of everything crashing against the floor caused the entire set to pause and focus their attention in the way of the noise. Around five managers rushed to her aid, helping her back to her feet, quickly scanning her for any cuts or bruises. 

“Huh! Who would have thought. It really softens the impact! I need to tell...” But the huge smile she beared dissipated in an instance when a bittersweet memory invaded her mind. She sighed and put on her other type of smile, the one she always used when not so pleasant thoughts came to pester her.

“Unnie! Are you okay?” It had to be Yerim hurrying up to her side, followed in her steps by Yves and Jinsoul who were near the site of the accident.

“Yes! Not a scratch!” She answered in her typical upbeat tone. 

“Wow, even in the accidents you two seem to be soulmates.” Jinsoul sneered under her breath. Followed by her eyes deadlocking on the floor. Yerim and Sooyoung sighed in unison, before glancing at each other in a telepathic conversation.

“They’re looking for you on wardrobe!” Yves mandated, her voice releasing tension as she continued speaking. Chuu noticed the way Yves' hand reached for Jinsoul’s wrist, pulling her closer. 

“Perfect! I’ll go after helping to pick up the mess I just made…”

“No, they need you now.” Sooyoung raised her tone, almost menacingly. “And you should really hurry up!”

The suspicious tone in her older bandmate made her spin on her feet, and jog towards the room being used for wardrobe.

The brightly lit room was overflowing with clothes, and suitcases full of makeup. One of the stylists welcomed her in, directing her to a chair to do her makeup and hair. If she was incredibly suspicious of the vibe around the set, she was even more on the look-out now. Now with the strange ways her members were behaving, and… the prop. The set being placed resembled a solar system, a very abstract solar system. But the prop being carried by the staff was a fireplace. Unless the metaphors for the Loonaverse were getting wild, there was absolutely no reason for a fireplace to be on the set. 

Chuu was so immersed in her own thoughts she barely noticed her stylist putting on the finishing touches on her, until another voice invaded her train of thoughts.

“You look so beautiful!” Vivi’s cheer inundated the room, making Yeojin and Haseul, who Chuu only just noticed were in the same room as her, rush to the girl’s side. “It’s so natural but hypnotizing at the same time, it’s just perfect!”

“Wow Jiwoo-unnie. You look like a princess!” The youngest girl passed her fingers through her silky, newly styled hair. The locks falling down in waves, resting on her shoulders. Her bangs were parted and were curled to rest on her temples. “The only thing missing is a knight in shining armour!”

Haseul jokingly slapped her palm against Yeojin’s arm, another gesture that didn’t go unnoticed by the girl sitting in front of them. But the attention from her face was robbed when the stylist appeared from behind what seemed a wall of clothes, holding a dress dyed in white and mint colors, with a circle shaped skirt, perfect for twirling and dancing. The top resembling a sleeveless button-up shirt, and a teal ribbon to fasten around her neck.

The gasp was such that for a moment, Chuu couldn’t remember how to properly make her lungs function. She sprang up from the chair, and couldn’t even bring herself to take the dress for herself, doubting every movement.

“Really?! It’s for me?” The stylist nodded, fashioning a smirk on her face while extending her arm. But Chuu contained her hands to herself and squinted her eyes in disbelief. “Are you sure? But it’s so different from the rest of the-” 

“Jiwoo-Unnie! Just put it on!” Yeojin could contain her huge excitement inside her tiny body. 

The command, followed by encouragement from Haseul and Vivi, forced Chuu to take the dress and change herself. And dear, was it the dress for her. It accentuated her figure perfectly, draping on the right places, with cute details like the neck ribbon perfectly blending with her bubbly personality. She looked at herself in the full mirror, twirling and spinning. A smile being painted from ear to ear because for once, she felt like the most beautiful girl in the world.

She walked out of the dressing room and was met with a huge wave of sighs and gasps. 

All of her bandmates and managers were standing there, staring at her speechless. 

“Do you like it?” Chuu sheepishly asked the girls. 

It all resulted in an explosion of compliments and screams, the kind of commotion that followed one of the most chaotic girl groups everywhere they went. Heejin’s approving nod as her eyes surveyed her Libra counterpart from top to bottom, Kim Lip crying to no one’s surprise, Choerry hopping in her place, clapping excitedly... But it was all interrupted by the sound of the director’s megaphone from outside the room.

“Kim Jiwoo, you’re needed on stage three.” The director sounded serious, the kind of order one would like to follow immediately. 

“Stage Three? But I thought we weren’t using that one tod-” 

“Let’s go, I’ll walk with you!” Yerim quickly took her arm, dragging her out of the room. All of the other girls waved cheerfully at them as they left. Chuu’s mind started racing with suggestions that could explain everything going on. Did she have to re-shoot her scenes? No, the dress was different, and her scenes were shot outside. Maybe she had to shoot more solo parts? But why exactly her? It’s not like she had significantly more lines this time…

“We’re here!” Choerry exclaimed as she came to a stop in front of ‘Stage 3’ which was basically a giant warehouse of the shooting facility. She gently pushed the older girl towards the door, while her gentle giggles revealed the happiness that couldn’t be contained inside of her.

Chuu looked over her shoulder for reassurance from her maknae, nervous of what was waiting on the other side of the door. She swallowed hard, and with a sigh relieving the extra tension over her shoulders, she pushed open the door.

Her mind painted an entire crew, maybe even a huge set waiting for her, light and video equipment all around. But it was met with an even more confusing scene. 

Right in the middle of it all, a fireplace was the only light source in the entire room and her eyes could make up the silhouette of a white loveseat with someone sitting on it. Curious, Chuu started walking towards the lounge. Every step she took made her high heels echo throughout the room. Her mind recognized the scene happening in front of her. It was the lounge from the cafe you two had visited together 3 months ago. And with that connection, it wasn’t long until she recognized the person sitting alone in the dimly lit room.

“Y/n…” She gasped. But the tranquility of the place helped magnify the sound of every little breath, every little movement. “What is all of this? What are you doing here?”

“I came to talk with you.” You responded, not bothering to turn to face the approaching girl. Every word coming out of your mouth grasped for the air and courage you needed. “I came to talk with you about something I should have said a long time ago.”

“Oh…” Chuu struggled to contain the uproar building on her stomach at the idea of you being there. You were not talking to her, it was never about her. “There must be a mistake, I’m gonna go get Yerim-”

“No!” You cried, jumping to your feet, extending your hand towards the girl that halted her steps at your command. “There has been no mistake here. I’m talking to you Kim Jiwoo.”

The chaos in Chuu’s mind got worse when she realized you were wearing a tailored suit, and she couldn’t stop thinking, if only she could stop thinking. You worked like a magnet to her, she wanted to run away, it was the only right thing to do, but her feet betrayed her, bringing her closer to you with each second.

"Wow…" The sight of the girl in front of you was like taking a blow straight to your lungs. You couldn't think of anything else but how breathtaking Chuu looked wearing the dress you bought for her. It reminded you, that to your eyes, there was no girl as beautiful as her. "You look… Gorgeous."

Jiwoo's cheeks flared up uncontrollably at how flustered her presence made you. You frantically searched for something in all your pockets, sighing with relief when you took a crumpled piece of paper from the right compartment of your jacket. You quickly opened it, holding it for dear life. The poor light and your shaking hands made the task of reading it way harder than you thought, but you still wanted to give it a try.

“My Chuu, from the very first moment I saw you, that split second before crashing against you, I just knew I didn’t want you to hate me. I would crash against a million clothing racks just to keep you safe each time. Maybe that night I avoided attacking you, but you definitely attacked my heart…” The badly written pun forced a smile out of you, helping you release all the tension you were holding back. You crumpled the paper again, keeping it on between your hands. “You know what, I’m not reading that anymore, it was nice of Yerim to try and help with it but...”

It was a split second, but Chuu, now merely a few inches away from you noticed every little detail on your face twitching, hesitant, and how suddenly that nervous Y/n in front of her dissipated with one more sigh, before anchoring her eyes with yours. 

“I’m saying what I should have said all those months ago.” You took Chuu’s hand in yours, and while felt like she needed to pull away, there was no force on earth cooperating with that side of her conscience. “That night we shared together in the cafe, when I told you I needed to tell you something, I wasn’t lying, I really did like someone. A lot. But I wasn't brave enough to tell you the rest of the story... That someone is you.”

  “Wha-” Chuu couldn’t believe her ears, she felt the force of her legs collapse, and felt so light at the same time. “You… liked me?”

“Still like you.” You reassured her, grabbing one sole hair and gently tucking it behind her ear. You pulled her towards you, now at a distance where you could feel the other’s warm breath against your face. “I still like like you. A lot."

“I really like you too, but I realized a litte too late.” Her face couldn’t settle either on smiling or be confused. “But- but I thought you and…”

The voices in her head wouldn’t give up, so you did the only thing you knew could help silence them.

You swung your hands around the girl’s waist, completely vanishing any space between you two. Your lips crashed against Jiwoo’s, softly at first, asking for permission to continue. Her body forgot how cold felt in between your arms, your perfume filled her senses with warmth from head to toe, and it wasn’t long until Chuu relaxed in your arms, returning the kiss aggressively. She threw her arms around your shoulders, pulling you even closer, because she was not letting you go this time, and you were definitely not complaining about it.

Never in your life had you tasted such soft and sweet lips, fitting so perfectly with yours. The entire world disappeared for both of you, until your lungs stinged, calling for air. You parted, resting your foreheads together. No force or higher power in the world could erase the smiles in both your faces. The endless stream of endless giggles coming from the girl in your arms could only reassure you what you already knew. How much you loved her.

Like if they were magnets, it didn’t not take long until you united your lips again, this time, tenderly, gently, smiling through every peck.

“How was I so blind? It all makes sense now, but I did not see this coming,” she rested her head on your shoulders as you swung side to side on your feet in the comfortable silence of the room. “You got the girls and even the staff to be in on this? And I really was out there thinking that… You know what, nevermind.”

“Hyejoo told me everything that happened that night at the practice room…”

“She did? She's going to pay for it! Good thing I know taekwondo!” She giggled against your neck, causing a chill travel through your spine. “I guess I let myself go too hard, I’m sorry-”

“You don’t have to be,” You grabbed her chin and raised her to face you, stealing another kiss from her. You got so lost staring at your favorite view in the entire planet, her eyes. “There was no one else Kim Jiwoo, it was always about you.”

[lennydaisy]

SWAN SONG || The Walking Dead AU

‘You have to trust that every friendship has no end, that a communion of saints exists among all those, living and dead, who have truly loved God and one another.

You know from experience how real this is. Those you have loved deeply and who have died live on in you, not just as memories but as real presences.’

HENRI NOUWEN

                         The Walking Dead.

        Season 1-?

                                         FEM OC! and ?

This is the prologue for a Walking dead AU that I wrote ages ago, and I feel like its too good to waste. So here it is :))

‘Now to John, who's live at the scene. John, what's happening there?'

'I'm here at Central Atlanta Hospital where there has been a reported disturbance within the wards. Patients allegedly have gone rogue, biting and scratching the doctors and each other.'

'If we pan to our left here, you can see the hallways are overflowing with newly found patients from the attacks.'

Glancing up at the ancient box TV perched in the top corner of the room, eyebrows frowned as I take another bite of my bland chicken sandwich.

The screen displays a lit yellow Hospital hallway with beds and chairs cluttering the space. With no room to breathe, the patients packed together like a tin of sardines.

The camera zooms into one patient in particular, who judging by their attire is a nurse themselves. A sickly colour of unnatural grey washed over their face, a layer of sweat glistening under the cheap lights and her veins protruding from her neck as though she's struggling to keep herself calm.

'Miss, would you be able to explain how your feeling?'

I can't help but scoff at the reporter's request. She is clearly in no condition to answer any of his questions and it's downright ignorant to shove a microphone in the face of a woman who has clearly seen better days.

The women slowly turned to face the reporter, her eyes appearing to lack any colour with bags drooping down to her jaw, and glares with all she can muster. Despite clearly being exhausted from whatever is happening to her body, she has no problem expressing her aggravation towards the man.

'Not responsive I see. Well no mind, as the viewers at home can see, Central Hospital is in desperate need of doctors and nurses. So I'm here to announce that if there is anyone-'

I don't know how to describe what I just saw. Just know that it was revolting enough to put me off chicken sandwiches forever.

In the midst of the reporter's announcement, a pair of hands slowly made their way around his body. Their nails were bitten down to stumps, their fingers a troubled colour of blue as though clogged with blood. The sickly hands, lazily but purposefully, claw at the reports button-up shirt from behind. Tugging on the attachments like grips, the women who the reporter was previously questioning is now sinking her teeth into the man's neck. Trails of blood dripping from her lips as she pulls her jaw roughly away from his neck taking a clump of him with her.

The look of pure horror wash over the man's faces, and mines in probably mimicking his. I've never seen anyone's eyes pop so far from their head. The face of sheer panic and terror covering his visuals as he opens his mouth to let out what I can only assume to be a deafening scream but before a sound is made the camera quickly cuts back to the studio, where the two anchors are now shaking at the sight they just witnessed live.

'We'll be back after this quick intermission,' squeaked out the anchor, eyes still wide, never leaving the screen off camera.

'Were you recently involved in an accident?',  the convenient ad was interrupted by the television being turned off. Snapping my head to my right, only to be met by the sheepish face of Darcy, the department receptionist. Smiling weakly at me from her desk, "I'm sure it's nothing to worry about."

Nothing to worry about. "Were we just watching the same clip," I breathe baffled at the idea of not worrying about what we just witnessed, "That man just had his neck bitten into but some Wednesday Adams looking women," I laughed, struggling myself to understand what just happened.

"I'm sure he's fine," she waves her hand in my direction before quickly standing up as I did seconds before, " What are you doing?" She questions as I grab my hat off my peg.

Rolling my eyes as I make the reach for my keys, "My job," my fingers scraping the keys before they are snatched out of my reach. Looking up at the elderly women with bored eyes, I hold my hands out waiting for her to cave.

"No, half the department is already helping the city, we need you here in Kings County," she argues quickly running back to her desk, sliding into her roller chair. Out of my vision but not hearing, I hear the clashing of keys, the slamming of metal and the sound of a lock.

She locked my keys in her desk.

"Darcy- " I begin only to be interrupted.

"No" she heaves, hands crossed over her chest tightly, "It's bad enough those two are God knows where doing God knows what, I can't allow the only deputy left in the building to leave."

I would be annoyed and honestly, I am, the woman isn't not letting me do my job, but with just a simple look in her eyes I can see why she doesn't want me to leave, "You're scared," I point out pulling my chair over to the front of her desk, sitting my hat on the table.

Refusing to meet my eyes answered my assumption. She was scared and she had every right to be. What we just watched on the news isn't normal but it's not the first we've heard of this 'infection'. It's been going on for weeks, especially in the city. Residents reporting sights of people staggering through the streets, grabbing and biting anything they can get their hands on. Honestly sounds like a typical weekend in the city in my opinion, after a couple of drinks, you'd be surprised what some people turn into. I haven't seen any of these things personally but that news clip just made everything people have been bustling about all too real.

"These things are apparently migrating. It's not just a city virus, they're making their away out into places like this," her hands brushing the nonexistent lint off the top of my hat, her voice so soft, if you didn't listen closely enough you'd miss it.

"I'm not going to fill you with false hope because honestly, I have no idea what is happening but I will say this if I know you at all, something like a little virus isn't going to be the end to the bombshell that is Darcy Peters."

A small smile begins to creep onto her face, "You should have seen me in my youth," flipping her white shoulder-length hair.  Shaking my head with a giggle, I lean over her desk and turn her desktop towards me looking at the set back of work left for her to complete. Moving the mouse to the bottom of the screen I log her off, " Take the rest of the day off."

Knowing fine well she would say no, I left her no room for arguments as I hastily grabbed her coat passing it to her, "Don't tell me no Peters, Deputies orders," I said with authority behind my voice but eventually broke out into a smile at the delightful women before me.

"But what about-" she points at the computer addressing the work she still had to do. Grabbing the women's hands as I begin to drag her out the door, "Don't worry I'll handle it but you need to go home and chill out," snatching her car keys as I begin walking with her hand in hand to her beloved mustard Ford Fiesta.

Opening the driver's door, "M'lady," I bow holding the door. Shaking her head at my act, she wraps her arms around my shoulders, brings me in for a hug, slightly shocked but I hug her back none less, "Thank you, Macy," she laughs in my ear before pulling away, cupping my face like an affectionate grandmother.

Slapping my cheeks lightly she points her finger timidly at my face, "Now no running off play superhero, you're needed here," her eyes never leaving mine as though to challenge me to say otherwise. Well, I like a challenge, "No promises."

A dead look in her eyes causes me to laugh once more, "Okay, I promise I won't run off, I'll stay put. Now beat it, tell Richard I say hi," closing the door behind the women before stepping away from her car.

Just before she was about to drive off, she rolls down her window, "Oh before I forget, here's the key to the desk. Also there's something for Officer Friendly in there you won't miss it," see spoke throwing the flimsy key my way. Nodding my head towards the women, I mockingly salute her off, catching a glimpse of her rolling her eyes smiling.

Tossing the small, rusted key between my hands, I make my way back to Darcy's desk. After a couple of shakes and jiggles, the lock to the drawer eventually clicks. Pulling open the drawer, I grab my car keys stuffing them in my back pocket. That's when my eyes catch a shine reflecting out of the space. Reaching my hand in my finger brush across metal embroidery.

A Sheriff badge.

Unable to help the smile that made its way to my face as I stare down at the achievement of my friend. 'Officer Friendly's going to flip. So will someone else but for a different reason.' Shaking the thought from my head, I quickly run round to the desk of the newly found Sheriff. Going to place the shining badge on the desk, a note stops me;

Gone for a quick lapse of the county. If I'm not back by finish, I'll see you tomorrow, Officer Friendly.

Still sitting the badge on his desk, hoping that he at least makes it back in an hour, his face will be priceless. Snatching the remote from the floor, I flick the television back on, wanting to see if there are any updates on the situation.

'Government officials have requested that everyone stays inside their homes, only leaving unless extremely necessary. Until this is contained, please be cautious. This has been channel 5's news.'

Drowning out the rambling of the adverts, I absorb myself I'm my phone. 7 texts, damn I'm popular.

From Corey. Hey, can you drop me off :) Sent 07:39

From Corey. Oft okay never mind then I know I broke 3 of your car window, but that doesn't forbid access does it?? Fine two can play at that game, I'll walk. Ummmm that's when you're supposed to be the super big sister and say 'no sweet little sister, don't walk and ruin your BRAND NEW BOOTS, I'll happily drop you off' Boo you, you suck :(( Sent at 07:57

From Corey. Hey, can you pick me up ;) Sent at 17:12

This girl, I swear.

To Corey. I'll think about it :)) Sent Now.

Collecting my things, preparing myself for my leave. All too quickly trying to rush out the door, I skid to a halt and turn round to a certain desk in particular. Contemplating my options, I decided to take the newly found badge with me. For one; it is past shift time and I really want to witness his face when he gets promoted.' I'll just give it to him tomorrow when everyone's here', I thought.

Now I'm well aware that my car isn't exactly the best site for sore eyes, I'll be the first to admit that, but it was my dream car and it was the first real big purchase I ever made as an adult. My glorious, yellow Volkswagen Beetle. She's seen better days that for sure, but she means a lot to me and a couple of bumps and scratches isn't going to make me trade her in. Ever.

I grew up in Mormont, Georgia. A small county that no one has heard of and when people ask where I'm from I'm always met with the same look. In Mormont everybody knows everybody. It's a tight-knit community with no secrets. When word got out the resident widow had adopted 3 girls from the now shut down orphanage, the community was sent into a frenzy.

The same woman who was framed for burning down her old farmhouse that her husband happened to be still asleep in, was now going to be a mother of 3 very different daughters.

Without my mom I wouldn't even be here today, I would be how I am today. Mom adopted me when I was 4 years old, and even at a young age, I know that something about me was different from the other kids at kindergarten. Kids would come and leave joyfully holding the hands of their parents whitest they rambled on about what we did that day. I would leave on a bus with a woman who didn't really care enough to remember my name, looking after me in the centre was just a 9 to 5 for her and she got to go home to her family without a care in the world. I will never forget the day I was called down to the main office.

Believing that I had done something wrong, I reluctantly climbed down the creaking bunk beds steps. Looking around the room, I'm met with many stares, some glaring, some shaking their heads. I was in a room surround by judgemental toddlers.

I've never been called down to the office before. I've seen others been called down and they never come back. Tommy told me that Glenda, the houses mistress, feeds them to the two-headed man in the attic. I never believed him, knowing that he only wanted to scare me but now I'm not so sure. 'I don't want to be eaten', I thought.

One step at a time, I slowly make my way down the wooden steps that despite my lightweight still shriek under my shoes. Before I reach the bottom of the stairs, I'm met by the glorious Glenda. Her lopsided, spectacles clawed eyes boring down at me, 'Come,' she said before spinning around and heading to the room she just walked out from, 'There's someone here to see you."

'Someones here to see me? But I don't know anybody' I thought to myself as I follow behind the women with a newfound spring in my step.

"Mason this is Charlotte, she'd like to adopt you."

I guess you could say that's when I knew. When I first land my eyes on hers, I felt something that then in my short 4 years of life had never felt before, safe. Fast forward 22 years and that feeling had never left. Like the light of an eternal flame, that shine behind my mom's eyes never left, never even flickered. It's a constant reminder, I knew it when I was 4 years old and I still know it now at 26, that home isn't found in a physical building but instead found in those you surround yourself with.

No matter how hard I try, I will never be able to fully express my gratitude towards my mother. She gave me a chance and took me into her home with open arms. She says 'Thats what mothers do' and that might be true but she didn't have too. That's just the type of person she is. A heart of gold, a heart that is far too big for this world. She might not be my birth mother but in my opinion no one could do better, I don't know what I did in a past life to deserve the right to call her my mother, all I know is that I'm forever thankful for that.

Cora, or Corey, my sweet baby sister. The best way to describe her would be prissy. A real drama queen but strong-minded. When it comes to Corey no mountain is too high. Basically it's Corey's world and we're all just live in it. I take deep pride in telling her that she was an ugly baby and I'm not telling any lies. One look at her baby pictures sends a shiver down your spine.

She's your basic stressed college student who believes that the world will end if she fails to hand in one essay on time, but has no problem with partying the night before a big exam. Beginning to understand what type of person Corey is?

Then there's Ally. The big sister, my big sister. I remember growing up and always wanting to be like her when I grew up, I thought she was the coolest person in the world. She shaved off her hair when she was 18 and me and my 8-year-old self desired to do the same. Mom was mortified and kids at school did laugh at me for a while but I didn't care, I wanted to be like my sister, buzz cut and all.

As I grew up however I realised something, Ally had a darkness inside her. When I was younger I never noticed, I always saw her acts for rebellion as inspiration for my own mischief but as I got older and matured, she never. She always stayed the same. It some cases that's a good thing if you're a good person that is. I never believed my sister to be a bad person, more troubled than anything. I think why you get to the age of 36 and still rebel against your mother like an edgy teenager somethings not right.

Ally thinks the world is constantly against her, that the whole world is testing her, but that couldn't be further from the truth. I was the first to know she was pregnant, she didn't tell me herself but the positive stick sitting in the bathroom bunker was a big give away. I've seen her anger a handful of times and more often than not it consumes her, her anger is her own worse enemy and that day I meet the worst of it. There was a lot of screaming and hitting, and things being thrown in my direction. Luckily enough no one else was home when all this happened, but it was quite hard to explain why I had a black eye and Ally had burst knuckles. I lied, that's what I did.

'I got jumped,' it was the best I could come up with at the time. I made up a story of me being mugged and Ally saving the day. Mom barked up a storm, ask question after question, and I was slowly running out of ideas for my action sequence. That was until Ally spoke up,

'I'm going away for a while,' she said placing her fork down on her barely touched the plate, 'Work,' she replied to the looks that were sent her way. I refused to meet her eyes but I knew fine well that she was staring at me in particular, that didn't stop me from listening though.

'Oh, well for how long?,' Mom asked swirling around her glass of wine, 'A couple of months.'

'And what work relate thing causes you to be away for a couple of months?' Corey spoke up, her eyes never leaving Ally's as though to challenge her, 'The companies looking for a new manager, I thought I would try and run for it. It is more money,' she spoke trying to convince not only Cora but our reluctant mother too. Reluctant and our mom isn't two words that I would put together, she's a keen believer of 'if you want it, go and get it', but not when it comes to Ally.

'It seems like a good opportunity,' mother said honestly, nodding her head at her oldest daughter, 'seems like bullshit,' I muttered under my breath causing my mom to kick my shin from under the table, only to be faced with the stern stare of my mom.

'Language Mason' sternly spoke our mom making Cora laugh slightly at the use of my full real name.

'I'm just saying, she seems to go on a lot of these trips and comes back empty-handed every time, sorry for having some doubt.'

'That's enough Cora,' Mom said not breaking eye contact with her youngest who is sitting across the dinner table from her, 'yeah whatever, can I be excused?' Before she could get an answer she was already on her feet marching out the room.

Nodding sadly, mom looked around the table at the remaining 2, 'Macy, darling,  you've barely touched your dinner.'

Meeting her eyes, 'I had a big lunch,' the lies pouring out my mouth at this point.

The rest of the dinner that night was filled with awkward silence. The sound of the chair next to me scraping against the old hardwood floor breaks my concentrated gaze on my plate. Ally's hard duty boots marching out of the room and storming up the stairs.

My mom let out a sigh and placed her fork on her now empty plate, looking up at the only remaining daughter at the table. Flashing my mom a small smile, taking a sip of my now lukewarm water, "You make good spaghetti mom"

"Go check on her for me please," she practical begged, her voice suggesting nothing but defeat, "She never talks to me anymore."

'I'm probably the last person she wants to see," is what I wanted to say to my mom, but looking at my mother with her head in her hands at the thought of my troubled older sister broke my heart.

Before taking the dreaded walk up the stairs and to the door at the end of the hall, I placed a hand on my mom's shoulder, squeezing in reassurance.

'Everything will be okay.' I thought to myself.

Knocking on the door, only to receive no reply, 'I know you're in there,' I said continuously knocking on the oak door. Getting bored with being ignored, I did the brave and open the forbidden door, Ally's bedroom door.

Ally's bedroom is something, I don't know what that something is but it screams Ally. It's dishevelled yet bland, perfect for Ally I guess. Nothing but a set of drawers with half the handles missing, piles of dirty washing sitting in the corner of her room that will probably stay there for weeks, and a chipped dark wood bed. And then there's Ally, who is currently packing a bag.

'There is no business trip is there?' I asked even though I fine well knew the answer already. Throwing the last of her clothes in the bag, she stares me dead in the eye from her position at the bottom of her bed, 'I have to get out of here.'

Walking further into her room as she walks back to her drawers closing them loudly, 'Promise me one thing,' I asked looking out the window at the deserted street. Hearing no noise for behind me I continued, 'That we'll get to meet them one day,'

'I can't promise you that,' turning round to stare at her in confusion, 'what you're never coming back?' I asked softly shaking my head at the idea of her leave and never returning. Ally goes away a lot but she always comes back. We might not be as close as we use to be when I was younger but it's a comfort to know that she's here with us.

She just looked at me not speaking yet her glances spoke a thousand words. I didn't know silence could get any quieter but I was proven wrong in that moment. It was as though the whole world stopped spinning, it was like the world ended right and then. Shaking my head at my sister mentality, my heartbreaking even at the thought of what she wanted to do, 'Oh,' was the only response I muster up as I move to sit at the edge of the bed, my legs suddenly feeling like jello.

Rubbing my hands over my eyes and tugging at my hair, trying to get all my thoughts to settle down. The feel of a hand softly holding my shoulder caught my attention. Looking down at me was my sister, my big sister, that I wanted with every fibre of my being to be like when I grew up. But people change, and Ally surely did. That moment made me realise something, Ally never changed. No, she was always the same. It was me who changed, I was just too young to realise.

The day that Ally left, a part of myself left with her, and that necessarily wasn't a bad thing. No, she took the naive part with her. The sense that everything was okay now, that everything was perfect now because I had a family. Sometimes families go through rough patches and for some reason ours was never-ending.

Shaking my head, snapping myself out of my thoughts, focussing once more on my journey home. I love county lanes, there the best to drive on. You can go as fast as you want and when you go over a little hill you get those silly butterflies in the pit of your stomach. My family hates driving with me on these roads. Apparently I'm too careless when it comes to driving, I argue that I'm not careless I'm just used to acting like I'm in the Fast and Furious movies.

Speaking of radical driving, I hit the breaks slowly once I spot what's up ahead. A car parked sporadically in the middle of the lane, but that's not what's got me confused. There are people, a headcount of about ten, all banging their hands lazily on the windows of the car, smearing their faces over the glass.

Cutting the engine, leaning over to the car pocket reaching for my emergency gun, I slowly stalk my way out of the car. Holding the gun with both hands at the ground, the safety still on as I make my way closer but not too close.

"Hey, what are you guys doing, what's the problem-" my voice slowly losing its confidence as the figures around the car turn to face me and begin to walk drunkenly towards me. The noise they make doesn't sound too good, the air now filled with grunts and groans, the sounds of pain. I noticed a couple not paying me any mind, to busy eating something. Oh.

Realising exactly what I'm witnessing. Those are the sick people that has the world on edge. A group of them a coming right towards me. Raising my gun and flipping the safety off, I take aim, "Don't come any closer, I'll shoot," I announce not really wanting to have to shoot them. I might as well not have spoken, they just keep pushing, stumbling over one another as they inch closer.

Lining up, setting my sights on one, in particular, a middle-aged man, a civilian, I shoot one shot into his left leg. Nothing. A slight knockback at most but he's still alive. Trying again, I aim for his chest and the same happened again. Lastly shooting the head, that's what does it. He's down.

That one alone took up to much time, I have another 8 headed my way and I only have a limited amount of bullets. The odds were not in my favour, that much was clear. Making a dash for my car, hastily ripping my keys from my pocket. Silence.

"Come on don't fail me now!" I said through gritted teeth. Shoving the keys into the engine once more and twisting. Sounds of my struggle echo throughout the car as I feel the nonexistent sweat beginning to build as my breath becomes hot with frustration. Now as good a point as any to point out that I have 3 broken windows, no thanks to Cora. Not broken as in they don't go down, oh no, they don't go up. I mean how one single girl breaks 3 windows is beyond me. Honestly, it didn't bother me that much to begin with, it gives my car character. Right now though it's a different story.

If my internal panic with my car not starts wasn't enough, then maybe those things reaching their grimy hands in my car are. Before I knew it my car was surrounded by the creatures, some toppling over the bonnet of my car, others pushing their hands through my half-cracked down windows. I feel the lazy touch of the fingers brushing against my shoulders and hair causing my entire body to shiver.

"Please" I beg over the sounds of the deathly groans and screams. Turning the key again with my sweaty hands, my body shaking in fear of what's to come. As though Jumpstarted, my car roars to life. The sound of my own engine has never sounded so delightful and I should honestly appreciate it more.

Not caring for speed limits, I push the pedal to the metal. The shrieking of my tires scraping on the hard concrete leaving evidence of my wheels spinning. Pushing through the moss pit of things before my car wasn't as hard as it sounds, even though they look like dead weight, they are quite easy to redirect.

Speeding my car a distance away for the scene, next to the car they were previously attacking, before I slow to a stop again, looking in my rearview mirror. They're following me. Looking to my left, I see the beaten car. Curdling blood dripping from the passenger seat window with loose pieces of straggling hair stuck to the wing mirror. Leaning over slightly I see a few fingers laying on the ground. Holding back my gag, I look back up into the car, only to be met with a figure. A hard to distinguish figure. Completely devoured and unrecognisable. Those rabid animals shredded these poor souls face to shreds with any features now ruined.

Shaking my head at the sounds of the things coming closer to my car again, I slowing start moving, only to hit the breaks instantly as a thought came to my head. Looking in my rearview mirror again at the car, tears begin to build in my eyes. A mustard Ford Fiesta. That's the car. That's her car. My cheeks slightly soaked, my hands shaking once again as I roughly grab the roots of my hair. Having enough, I swat away the tears that are trailing down my cheeks, nose scrunched up as I try my hardest not to look back again. I didn't.

Driving down that road, the road that usually fills me with overwhelming joy, felt different this time around. It felt darker. The road that I knew ultimately leads me to home is beginning to feel like a drag. It's a road that I never want to drive down again because the only thought that I can think of now is: it's my fault.

[spnwatch]

Season 2: The Rankings

Whew. Oh boy.

They were still puttering about in season 1 to an extent. But now? Now they’ve really hit their stride. This season was a veritable chocolate box of delights and I ate my way through it. The overall myth arc was kind of nonsensical, but that emotional throughline? Christ. Spn buries SO MUCH emotional complexity into its leads, and they cashed in every cent in that two part finale. It packs one hell of a punch. And yeah, okay, I knew the broad strokes, the twists and turns. It’s hard not to be spoilered for a season of tv that aired over a decade ago. But reader! It mattered not!! I. Still. Wept. That’s when you know it’s the good kush.  1.) 2x12: NIGHTSHIFTER. This one just snagged the top spot by merit of its sheer ambition. Supernatural often feels like a very empty universe to me, just two guys and one car drifting from place to place. Which is fine, it makes for compelling TV, but they totally flipped the script here and this episode really dazzles precisely because of that contrast. It’s a huge, cinematic episode, a metropolitan setting full of uncontrollable elements, and it’s great to see Sam and Dean so profoundly vulnerable. The outside world is pressing up against the windows. They have sniper dots trained on them! They are, literally and figuratively, out of their depth! We’re not in Kansas any more, baby. God, I haven’t even mentioned the supporting characters. The entire mandroid rant deserves an Emmy. Victor Henrickson’s entrance! Heist movie antics! Agh!  10/10  

2.) 2x07: THE USUAL SUSPECTS. Again this episode was a cut above precisely because it showed us what the brothers look like from the outside: sketchy as all hell. It’s so good when reality ensures, because it’s great to be reminded they lead objectively insane lives! Through Linda Blair’s eyes we get to see just how unknowable, feral and amoral they appear to the eyes of polite society. Put under a microscope like this, they’re scary guys! They’re just not socialised like normal people. They don’t really care about being arrested, or about the felonies. Getting arrested is an irritant above everything else. They’re still working the case from the inside. They’re professionals; excellent liars, and totally in sync with each other. The handwritten notes they pass, like delinquent school kids! A delight! The thrill lies in watching Blair slowly unwrap their strange logic, and unravel the mystery of both the brothers and the ghost. Ugh, what a great perspective shift. I’m 100% here for it. 10/10 

 3.) 2x09: CROATOAN. Ugh, this setting. Small Town Gothic, complete with eerie mist, hostile locals and creepy Stepford vibes. Sam really shone in this episode. He’s so soothing and giant, and it made his suffering at the end all the more devastaing. The real reason this episode ranks so highly is their conversation in the surgery. It just killed me. Dean’s sheer, bone-deep exhaustion, his admission that he’s tired of the life. Sam’s despair, because he knows Dean won’t leave. The performances were so steller. I can’t even really think too deeply about it because it makes me too crazy. 10/10  

 4.) 2x21: ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE: PART ONE. I loved this finale so much more than the finale in Season 1, LOL. It might just be because I’m more invested now, who knows. The opening of this episode is a piece of art: Boston playing on the car stereo, the rain, the small cafe, the lighting. Gorgeous. I love when they have to interact with ordinary people! It adds so much: texture, humour, personality! It draws things out of Sam and Dean that we just don’t see when they have each other to bounce off of. It was so good to see Ava and Andy again. “I just woke up in freakin’ Frontierland!” The gang’s all here, folks! This episode would rank higher, but recieves minus points for the long boring speech the demon gives Sam, and killing off the first gay in the show 0.2 seconds after her introduction. Anyway. The ending of course unzipped me; Dean cradling Sam’s dead body, muttering “It’s okay, it’s not even that bad.” The elation of their reunion, so devastaingly cut short! Sam, twenty two years old, bleeding out in the mud. The sheer, hopelessness of it all. The horror. My notes for the end of the episode simply read: “Dean oh Christ. Oh my God. Oh no.” It’s just one of those scenes that stay with you long after the credits start rolling. 9/10   

5.) 2x20: WHAT IS AND WHAT SHOULD NEVER BE. I never thought I could be so profoundly upset by watching a man happily mowing a lawn. Dean’s trauma over the loss of his mother has undercut the whole show up until this point, and here it bursts to the fore. What really got me was the simplicity of it all. Just a sit-down dinner, an engagement. A beer on the porch. Fuck, he deserves it. He deserves everything. All the performances were great, they really served to show there’s a whole life in these AU characters. The fact it wasn’t all perfect was bizarrely more devastating. AU Sam’s weird straight hair and dorky jacket sealed the deal for me, as did his baffled terror in the warehouse. But even here, with no training and no idea what’s happening, he gets into the Impala! Because that’s his brother! Because I’m a huge baby I had to remove points because of how upsetting I found Sam’s quiet hostility towards Dean, HA. But that’s really just a testament to how well-realised their dynamic has become by the second season. 9/10  

 6.) 2x15: TALL TALES. Every single thing Sam does in any of Dean’s memories. Also alien slowdance set to “Lady in Red.” Also Bobby breaking them up like they’re petulant children. Gold, all of it gold. 9/10 

 7.)  2x11: PLAYTHINGS. So I’m a slut for a cool setting, obviously. Turns out, Supernatural did The Haunting of Bly Manor fifteen years ago. The swimming pool! The attic! Creepy dolls! The weird little playground! This episode has it all! I loved the saga between the ghost sister and the old lady, which would honestly make a killer movie in its own right. But I’m digressing. The main star of this episode was, of course, Dean’s profound and escalating sexual insecurities. “Well, you are kinda butch. People probably think you’re overcompensating.” FATALITY. I would’ve placed this one higher but the weird incestuous undertones kinda squicked me out... however, I did think we were meant to be creeped out by it, which is more than I can say for some other uh. Instances. It was, after all, beautifully paralelled at the end with the two sisters reuniting in death. “I can’t leave here, and you can’t leave me.” SHUDDER. Also, honestly, can Sam have one (1) breakdown on his own without Dean’s own emotional baggage taking over? Older siblings, smh. 9/10

8.) 2x22: ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE: PART TWO. This one ranks lower than part one purely because I thought the yellow-eyed demon’s overall plot was kinda nonsensical, and I cared not for John’s weird deux ex machina moment. Like do you expect me to feel sorry for that bitch? I don’t! Anyway, that being said, let’s move on to Dean’s eyes in the junkyard when Bobby asks him, “do you have that low an opinion of yourself?” They’re so flat. So dead, like a shark’s. He doesn’t need to say anything back, because it’s all over his face. That non-expression says it all. This is the culmination of the emotional arc that began with his savage beatdown of the Impala in episode 2x02. To call it survivor’s guilt wouldn’t even begin to cover what Dean goes through this episode. It’s all in Ackles’ performance; in the the way he yells, “What am I supposed to do now, Sammy?” The complete claustrophobia of it all. There’s nothing for it but to make the deal. Dean’s been moving inexorably towards this moment for the entire season. 9/10   

 9.) 2x13: HOUSES OF THE HOLY. What a kooky little episode! Magic fingers! Sam’s costcutter seance purchases! The scooby-doo placemat he uses as a makeshift altar! I love him, your honour. Obviously this episode has a lot of *~dramatic irony~* in it because of the later seasons, but it stands alone as a total banger. I was so gutted for Sam when the "angel” was revealed. So many good little Sam moments to be found in this episode. His soft, quiet little revelation that he prays every day. His awkward, earnest explanation to the horrified priest! Dean gets some great moments chasing down the would-be rapist down those dark, snow-covered streets. His speech to Sam where he explains his lack of belief is brief, but it’s a total gut punch. Rounding it off with Knockin on Heaven’s Door was just the cherry on top. 9/10 

 10.) 2x14: BORN UNDER A BAD SIGN. Ahaha I love the way Dean acts whenever Sam’s psychic powers come up. He treats him like a rebellious teen, it’s so funny. “What’s going on with you, Sam? Smokin’, drinkin’?” As if Sam’s behaviour was a) at all under his control or b) anything Dean wouldn’t HIMSELF do. Dean’s just like, this isn’t how I raised you! Truly hysterical. The whole sequence between Meg!Sam and Jo was fantastic and horrible. Sam’s huge physique is never threatening, but it really was in that moment. The interplay between them was totally spine-tingling. Meg’s impression Sam slowly crumbling away over the course of the episode was so compelling and I’m sure it will be a really fun rewatch now I know the *twist*. 9/10  

Favourite lines this season: 

The way Sam says “black cat’s bone” in 2x08

“You’re not gonna go kill somebody because a ghost told you to, are you insane?!” - Dean, 2x13

“Dean, this is a very serious investigation, we don’t have time for your blah blah blah blah.” - Sam (according to Dean), 2x15

“I’m fine, except for every single thing that’s happening.” - Ava, 2x21 

[arrow-guy]

The Lighthouse (4/??)

Summary: The town is sleepy, the people are nice enough, but life gets turned upsidedown when the God of Thunder literally falls out of the sky.

A/N: It’s been two years since I last updated this story, and it’s taken me this long to figure out where it needed to go. Good news: I’ve finally figured it out, and can get back to actually writing it. Anyway, please enjoy!

Page dividers by @carryonmyswansong​

Pairing: ThorxReader

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: None (annoying sheriff, maybe?)

Part 3

“(Y/N),” Thor calls. “There’s someone at the door for you!”

“Coming!” I shout.

I shove myself back from my desk and haul myself up from my chair. I push my hands into the small of my back and twist from side to side in a feeble attempt to crack my back. I give up after a couple of tries and pad out of my office onto the staircase.

At the bottom of the stairs, I find an agitated Sheriff Green and a nonplussed Thor facing off in the doorway. When the Sheriff sees me, he looks at Thor then back at me before his eyebrows pull together.

“(Y/N), who is this guy?” he asks, looking Thor up and down. “I haven’t seen him around town before.”

“Old friend, that’s all,” I answer, placing a gentle hand on Thor’s arm and pushing him back from the door. The Sheriff opens his mouth to ask another question and I hold up my hand, silently asking him to keep it to himself. “I trust him. That’s all you need to know.”

“Just one more question, and then I’ll stop.”

“Fine.”

“How long has he been in town?”

I shrug. “Couple days. Showed up just before the storm hit.”

“Really? I didn’t see another car in the driveway.”

“You said one question.”

“I’m just trying to gauge what’s happening.”

“Sheriff, unless I’ve done something wrong, there’s no reason to interrogate me.”

He nods and sighs in resignation. “How are you holding up after that storm?” he asks.

“Just fine,” I answer. “I wasn’t hit as hard as everyone else was this time. Could have something to do with being closer to the water, but I can’t say for sure.”

“Whatever it is, I’m glad you’re fine. If the lighthouse weren’t operational, we’d be in a helluva lot of trouble right about now.”

“Maybe, but… is there a reason you’re here, or is there something I can do for you, Sheriff?” I ask. “Not that it isn’t nice to see you, I’m just a bit busy at the moment. You know how people are about deadlines.”

“You still doin’ that editing thing?”

“Well, yeah. That editing “thing” is my job. Operating the lighthouse isn’t exactly lucrative work.”

“Is there an issue, (Y/N)?” Thor asks.

I shake my head. “No, don’t worry.” I glance back into the house. “Could you go check on Charles? He gets into trouble if he’s left alone for too long.”

He nods and squeezes my shoulder before heading off to the kitchen. The Sheriff’s eyes follow him until he notices my unimpressed expression.

“What?”

“Leave him alone, man, he’s got enough on his plate right now without you looking for some kind of trouble.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Oh please, I saw the way you looked at him. Just because you’ve never seen him before doesn’t mean he’s dangerous.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “I never said he was.”

“You didn’t have to, Sheriff. It was written all over your face.” I jerk my chin at him. “Now, what do you need?”

He sighs. “I just wanted to check up on you. No one’s seen you for a few days. Edith at the grocery store is starting to get worried.”

“It’s been two days. It’s not unusual for me to stay inside while I’m working. You know this, and you’ve never come by to check on me before, so why now?”

He tilts his head to the side. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

“Well if you don’t know, I guess that means we’re done here.”

“(Y/N)-”

“Sorry to cut this little visit short, but I have work and company to attend to. You know how it is.”

“Of course, you’re right.” He nods erratically. “I’ll see you around, (Y/N).”

“Yeah, see you around.”

He tips his hat to me and turns on his heel, quickly picking his way through the yard. I watch him until he’s in his car and driving away, and only when I can’t see him any longer do I close the door.

“That was odd,”

I slowly turn around to find Thor standing there with Charles curled up in his arms. I shake my head and scrub a hand over my face.

“Yeah, it was.”

“Does he normally act like that?” Thor asks, following me as I head into the living room.

“No, he doesn’t. That’s why it was odd.” I crouch down in front of the TV cabinet and reach as far back as my arm will go, fishing around for the metal case my father had hidden there. Looking at it fifteen years later, it seems impossibly dusty and small.

“What is that?” Thor crouches beside me and allows Charles to jump down from his arms.

“They’re old protection runes my father used to have hanging up near the front door. We took them down about five years after we moved in when he was sure this was a safe place.” I flip open the lid to reveal two substantially sized Algiz cast in silver metal. “I think it might be time to put them up again.”

“You believe the sheriff wishes you harm?”

“No, but he was acting strange. The fact that you, a literal god, are sitting in my living room leads me to think that there’s something out there that wants to get to you. If that’s the case, then we could use all the protection we can get short of calling up an actual witch.”

I pull myself up and head back to the front door. I take the pictures from the nails on either side of the doorway and set them to the side before carefully hanging the runes in their place.

“How is it that you know so much of runes and magic?”

“Runs in the family,” I answer. I straighten one of the runes slightly. “My dad said that my great aunt Lacy had actual magic, but I don’t think that got passed down to me.” I shoot him a grin. “Would’ve been cool if it had, though.”

“How do you know that it was not?”

“I think I’d know if I had magic by now.” Thor raises his eyebrows and I tap the side of my head. "Heimdall.”

“Ah.”

“If you’ve got any information on my totally fake magic, it’d be nice of you to let me know.”

“It certainly would explain why you’re the only human that I’ve been able to get through to. Believe me, I tried numerous before stumbling across you.”

“I wonder…” I head into the kitchen to clean up the mess we made at breakfast. “How many humans with magic do you know of who can talk to gods?”

“None, though one recently managed to bargain with a cosmic being who could be classified as a diety.”

“Well, then I’ll take the title of God Whisperer, please and thank you.”

Thor laughs heartily but sobers quickly. “The sheriff mentioned that you haven’t left to get groceries in quite some time.”

“I haven’t.” I bite the inside of my cheek. “I should probably make a trip to the store unless we want to eat canned soup and cereal for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

Thor laughs. “It wouldn’t be awful, though I understand your reluctance to do so.”

“I think you put too much faith in canned soup.” He just laughs harder and I shake my head.

I fold my arms and squint out the window, mulling over what I should do.

“What are you thinking?” he asks.

“I’m thinking that we need food, but I’d rather not leave you here on your own, even if you do have a vicious guard cat to keep you company.”

“Would I be wrong to think that you’re able to order groceries?” Thor asks. He smiles when I raise an eyebrow in question. “It’s something that I’ve seen Stark do in the past.”

“No, you’re not wrong. That’s actually a pretty smart idea.”

“Well, the only person who's ever accused me of being stupid is my brother,” he says, an amused smile playing at his lips.

I laugh and grab the phone from above the sink. “I’ve never really heard anything good about him, so I won’t trust his judgment.”

“I appreciate that.”

I call the grocery store and one of the clerks picks up.

“Thank you for calling Family Grocers, this is Deb, how can I help you today?”

“Hey, Deb, it’s (Y/N).”

“Hey, what can I do for you”?”

“I was hoping I could order some groceries? I’m on a time crunch for this project for work and I don’t have time to come by and shop.”

“Oh, yeah, no problem at all! What do you want in the order?”

I rattled off a list of things I’d need and she says she’ll have it ready for me in an hour. I thank her and hang up. I frown and place the phone on its’ stand before moving to the living room. I pace back and forth in front of the couch, arms folded across my chest. Daisy wanders along beside me but abandons me for scratches when Thor sits on the couch.

“You’re worried,” Thor says.

“Of course I’m worried. I don’t know what’s going on here. You can’t seem to remember what happened to you, and now the sheriff is acting weird.”

“Police on this world have always baffled me,” he says. “I wasn’t sure what to make of the way he acted.”

I shake my head. “Sure, police suck, but he’s always been pretty obvious about what he’s after. He was just… really weird, earlier. Like just off in general.”

“I see.”

I stop pacing and face him. “Do you think any of this could have something to do with you? Whatever happened on Asgard before you fell here has to have had some kind of impact outside of the crater you left.”

“It’s possible. I just can’t remember anything.” He sighs and leans back against the throw pillows. “I wish I had just a shred of what happened. But everything is blank.”

“Don’t worry about it yet.” I watch him squeeze his eyes shut and scrub his hands over his face. “We’ve got time before anything serious happens.”

“How can you be sure?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Green gave up too easily. I feel like that’s a good sign, given the circumstances. If the runes help, it should buy us time to figure things out.”

He nods. “Alright.”

I take a seat on the couch, facing him with my legs tucked under myself. He reaches out and takes my hand in his. Daisy trots over and places her head in Thor’s lap and waits patiently for him to pet her. He sighs, smiles, and scratches behind her ears. When he scratches her chin her tongue lols out and Thor chuckles.

“Thank you, Daisy,” he says. “You’re a wonderful companion.”

She licked his hand and sat on his feet, contentedly wagging her tail when he continued to stroke her head. Thor slowly begins to relax and the tension leaves his shoulders when Daisy lifts her head and he leans down to press his nose against hers. He grins when she licks his chin and I laugh.

“I have a feeling that things will be alright,” Heimdall says. “All in due time.”

I nod and run my thumb over Thor’s knuckles. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Hmm?” Thor looks up from Daisy, eyebrows raised.

I shake my head. “Nothing. Just something Heimdall said.”

“Anything important?”

“No, everything’s fine.” He nods and is quickly distracted by Daisy again. “Everything’s fine.”

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

Part 5

Thank you guys so much for reading! If you liked this chapter, please reblog, comment, or shoot me an ask! Feedback would be greatly appreciated!

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[bapyess1r]

Amphetamine

WARNINGS: SMUTTY AS HELL (even though I really didn’t mean for it to be lmao), cursing, substances

CHAPTER 14

Two months later...

Talia’s POV

I finally finished moving in. Not if my Godfather has anything to say about it. There was a falling out between us. My Godmother assured me that she would still have me watch the kids and visit me across the street. Things happened very quickly, Sam and I progressed very quickly. We had all these things to do and being together made them more enjoyable. Within these past two months, we trained more. I was starting to feel like Black Widow or something. We played with the band more and booked a few gigs at bars. Also, he met my mother finally. She was suspicious of him and his intentions for a bit until she noticed how he behaved around me, and the change in me as well. She said I’d changed for the better and that I seemed tougher. Then he met my father. I was afraid to leave them alone on the balcony together. But they sat out there, enjoying a beer and cigar, grilling as they shared a conversation and I’m sure Sam told several stories of his adventures (the PG versions anyway). I remembered being in the kitchen with my step mother, boring holes into the windows watching them as I cut up vegetables nervously. When they came inside with trays of grilled meat and smiles on their faces, I remembered feeling such a relief. He calls my dad “Chief” now. Cute.

Today we sat on the couch, watching TV as I texted my best friend, Sam on a business call in his study. Something about an update on a previous job. And with my birthday approaching, I I had hoped that maybe he’d tell me I could go with him.

Anna: maybe this time he’ll take you

Me: I really hope so… I’ve been training for MONTHS!

Anna: you’ve been training for months but he’s been doin this shit for YEARS fren.

Although I didn’t want her to be, she was right. These itty bitty months of training were nothing compared to his life. I sighed in frustration. Jump starting this new life thing was harder than I thought. “Sullivan, you son of a bitch!” I could hear Sam shouted with a laugh of relief. The rest of his response was a bit muffled but he sounded excited. I was happy for him. They must’ve found whatever they were looking for. Which meant he was gonna have to leave again very soon. I huffed, the depression already beginning to hit me.

Me: he did warn me he’d be gone a lot…

Anna: he did…

My thoughts were interrupted by a heavy plop on the couch beside me. I looked over at Sam to be met with a goofy but satisfied grin. “Hi.” I said sarcastically.

“Hi.” He said, his smile never wavering. He continued to stare at me like that for a few moments before I spoke again.

“Yes?” I chuckled, waiting for him to tell me what was on his mind.

“Sully found us an in to that Lost Treasure of Lima. We’re gonna go get it.” He grinned. “And you’re coming with.”

A jolt of excitement ran through me. “SHUT UP- REALLY?!” I screamed, making a gesture so big I almost threw my phone. He nodded proudly.

“The only reason I am letting you come along is because I know there won’t be much trouble. And you’ll be safe.” He said brushing a piece of hair behind my ear. My heart was singing! I jumped into his lap and gave him a long, passionate kiss. “Oh…” he smirked, deepening the kiss. I chuckled, breaking the kiss and he stood, pulling me up with him and walking me to his study. “C’mere. I wanna show you something.”

His study compared to the rest of his house was probably the neatest mess I’d seen. Maps were sprawled out on the floor in a corner surrounded by books and files and folders covered his desk. The walls were lined with even more books than the one in the living room. “Jesus…” I murmured as he sat me down in his chair at the desk. The amount of resources he had was ridiculous and vast. Paired with the internet, I’m sure there wasn’t a thing this man didn’t know about. He kissed my cheek as he wheeled me closer and leaned over me with his hands on the desk. He shared his research with me and pointed out places on an older map he “acquired from some idiot”. “So now what- you got a permit to hunt there or something?” I asked. He chuckled at my naivety.

“No sweetheart, we don’t really operate that way…” he smirked. I looked up at him, still not understanding. So he reworded his explanation. “There’s a secluded area on the island with very little security. We…” he winked at me. “...are going to sneak in; Do what we gotta do, steal the gold, and peace out.”

“Pause- we’re stealing this treasure?!” I exclaimed. I was truly baffled. I thought his work was a bit more legal than this. He seemed a bit worried.

“Is that gonna be a problem for you?” He asked me.

“Hell nah. I just…. didn’t think that ‘Collector of Antiquities’ equaled ‘Thief’.” I smirked, picking up a file and flipping through it myself. It was clearly evident I was going to revert back to my teenage days of thieving and sneaking around. He placed a hand on his chest and made a face.

“Ouch, babes.” He said sarcastically. I chuckled, turning my attention back to the picture of the treasure.

“So how exactly are we supposed to sneak out $208 million dollars worth of treasure off of this island without Costa Rican police getting involved?” I shifted in my seat and leaned on the arm of the chair to look at him.

“That’s where my partner comes in.” He grinned.

“Uh huh. And what will your partner do exactly?” I asked. He still wasn’t giving me an answer. He opened his mouth to answer and I waited but nothing came out. “Uh huh. I see.”

“I...... haven’t gotten that far ahead yet.” He bit the inside of his cheek as I stood to face him, leaning on the desk with my arms crossed. He hadn’t moved from his position. He stared down at me hungrily.

“Yeah well when you do, let me know. And let’s hope it doesn’t get me killed.” I booped his nose and placed a peck on his lips. He flared his nostrils and took a deep breath as he looked me up and down.

“I wouldn’t dream of getting you hurt.” He said sincerely. “So this is treasure hunter Talia Aaron, huh? ‘Don’t get me killed?’ ‘Plan better?’” He kissed my cheek rather slowly inching to my ear. I felt a smile creep across my lips but I didn’t budge.

“Yeah! I don’t wanna look stupid and I don’t wanna die. So make sure you have a solid plan before we go sneakin’ around a secured island.” I said, poking his chest to prove my point. A corner of his lips turned up as he moved closer, our noses brushing against each other’s, his lips ghosting over mine as we chased each other’s breath. He ran a large hand over my hip and brushed his thumb over my skin under my sweater.

“This ‘new you’ thing is really starting to grow on me…” He spoke slowly as our lips touched lightly. His hand traveled down my thigh and hook behind my knee to wrap my leg around his waist, making me feel his growing boner. I smirked as I tried and failed to not be affected by his arousal.

“Really now...” I said propping myself up with my hands behind me on the desk.

“Mmm…” He growled, grinding against me lightly. I betrayed myself with a grunt and laughed. “Y’know… this is the only surface I haven’t fucked you on…” He stated, gently moving the files aside behind me to clear a space.

“We should change that.” I nodded, placing a hand on his cheek.

“I agree…” he moaned just before kissing me intensely.

He lifted me onto the desk and I fell back into the bookshelf behind me, causing a couple books to fall over us but we didn’t care. I caressed his face with both hands as his tongue darted between my lips. Then he grabbed my hand and began to kiss each finger delicately before taking off my sweater and making his way up my arm. A nervous wave washed over me as I found myself enjoying it. He pulled me close to his chest and I could feel his warm breath against my ear and his nose brush against the side of my neck as he pressed firm kisses on my pulse point. I closed my eyes with a flutter, hissing at the sudden contact as he gripped my arm and inhaled the coconut scent of my hair, pushing it over my ear and to one side. He ran a hot hand down my cheek and neck, over my chest and down to my waist here he massaged the curve before my hips. I felt a long wet muscle lap at the space behind my ear sensually and a whine found its way from the back of my throat. I was shivering with lust and he wasn’t making it any easier for me. “The only treasure I wanna steal right now is right here….” he breathed, cupping my breasts, putting the tiniest bit of pressure on my nipples. My breathing hitched as he massaged away. He slipped the other strap and pushed my shorts over my legs leaving me in my black laces. I was utterly vulnerable.

“You don’t have to steal it if it’s already yours.” I managed to get out in a hushed and intimate voice, his finger running down the valley between my breasts. He dragged a long tongue across the tops of my breasts and towered over me, casually undressing himself as he stared down at me.

“God, you’re beautiful…” He said kneeling before me, his hand running over my pelvis and down my clothed center. I gasped for air after noticing that I stopped doing so for a few moments. His silver tongue licked at the skin on the inside of my thighs; Each lick moving closer and closer to where I needed him to be. I sat up on my forearms to watch what he was doing until I felt a strong arm push me back. He pushed my lacey panties to the side, teasing me as he ran his thumb over my clit, exciting me with little effort. My breathing grew heavier as he gave me one deep long lick. I squealed at the surprising sensation, my eyes opening wide. He pulled them off completely before he continued brushing his tongue over a sensitive area. I tried to move my legs around but Sam had snaked his tattooed arms under my hips, holding me down in place. I bucked and cried as he enjoyed my overreactions from the simplest act. He growled into as he picked up the pace to something inhuman and my eyes shut so tight that I began to see white behind my lids. It felt as if I were unlocking some secret level of myself that had been kept hidden for a decade. I grabbed a handful of his hair as he sent me close to the edge and he gave a demonic growl that sent an unnatural swarm of butterflies to the pit of my stomach. When he stopped just as I was close, I groaned in a needy fashion. “Tsk, Tsk, Tsk…” he sucked his teeth with a perfect shit eating grin. With a satisfied moan, he brought his lips to my chest. He took a carefully calculated lap at the bud of my nipple, suddenly taking as much of my breast as he could fit between his perfectly shaped lips. He gave a dark chuckle at my reaction. He smirked before giving me a deep, passionate kiss. “You ready for me, Princess?” He asked me, clearly expecting an answer as he grasped his clothed erected muscle.

“Yes, sir….” I nodded feverishly and he hissed at the sound of my voice. My New York accent tended to come out when I spoke slowly.

“I think I like being called ‘Sir’...” he smirked. I watched him as his eyes darted from my eyes to my lips. “You think this….beautiful mouth of yours could do a bit of work for me while I clear those files up?” He said, brushing his thumb across my plump lower lip. It was almost like I didn’t have any control of my body. It wasn’t like I didn’t want this though. He placed a finger beneath my chin and guided my lips to his. I kissed his across his strong jawline and intimately over each tattooed bird on his neck leading to his chest and abs. All the way down to his pelvis and the top of his boxers. I grabbed the hem to pull them down but he grabbed my hand to stop me. “Slowly, Princess…” He told me, pushing my hair off of my face. I did as he asked and kissed a line along the hem of his boxers, slowly pulling them down his long, tanned legs as he started to put the papers in the folders to neatly stack on the corner of the desk. He took a sharp exhale as his hard member sprang from its confines. I grabbed it by the base and took a quick lick of the tip causing him to hiss a bit. I then understood how the reactions could be so amusing. After learning that, I only wanted to please him. To make him as equal of a mess as he had made me. So I continued licking, stroking it as I did. He took deep breaths of relief as I touched him, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. He began to moan. Obviously, I was doing something right. As I chuckled, my voice vibrated against him and he bucked his hips briefly. He smiled in bliss with closed eyes, his long thick dark lashes fluttering as he gripped the edge of the dark oak wood desk. I gagged a bit as his tip touched the back of my throat and he pulled out from me, a string of saliva hanging from him. “Bend over.” He commanded lowly, slapping the desk twice.

“Yes, sir…” I mewed as I stood. I turned around slowly and did exactly as he ordered, giving my ass a little shimmy in the process. He whistled before slapping it harshly, making me gasp.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you today but my god…” He said as he played with me before gently easing himself into me. I felt a pressure in my pelvis that soon subsided after a bit of movement. He thrusted into me with care, as if I were fragile. The pain eased into pleasure very quickly and I began to want more. I groaned as he ran his hand down my spine. “Tell me what you want.” He growled.

“Faster.” My mouth spoke before I could even think. He picked up the pace to a steady rhythm but a tad more force. I grabbed my chest to settle my heart. I had never been so overwhelmed with such sensation. “Faster.” I spoke again. He pounded into me quickly with a deep growl. I could feel my back arch this time. He grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled tightly. My heart beat hard as it became harder for me to catch my breath. “Faster.” I whimpered. Any harder and I wouldn’t have had a reproductive system anymore. He let out an animalistic grunt as he pulled me up so that my back was arched against him, the back of my head resting on his shoulder as he rammed into me with demonic speed and power. I closed my eyes and I could see the white lights returning, lightly tearing. As I climbed my way to release, I snapped my head back. “Sammy, please..” I struggled to say.

“What was that?” He spoke roughly.

“Sam….please…”

“Please what?”

“Make me cum, baby please… please…” I croaked. With that, Sam’s seemed flashed pure black and he gently bit into my skin causing me pure bliss. I could feel a tear fall from the corners of my eyes as I approached climax. He grunted profanities as he sent the both of us over the edge and I cried out as if no one could hear me. He roared loudly as his grip tightened on my hip and breast.

“There she is…” He said out of breath, wrapping his arms around me, sweat trickling down his forehead as he smiled, pressing gentle kisses into my neck. I was truly glowing. I turned to kiss him and he moaned into my mouth. “God damn, girl!” He chuckled, slapping my ass before pulling out of me. He fell back into his wheeled chair as he pulled up his pants and leaned his head back. “Shit… I gotta quit smokin’.” He laughed as I began to dress myself. I was almost fully dressed when he pulled me into his lap.

“If you quit then I have to quit.” I said pushing my hair behind my ear.

“Mm… we’ll see how that works out for us.” He giggled, patting my bare thighs.

“I think we could do it!” I said feeling suddenly positive.

“For how long?” He groaned. I rolled my eyes. For a smart man, he could be so dumb sometimes. Shaking my head, I ran my fingers through his brown locks and kissed his forehead softly.

“Who the hell knows.” I patted his shoulder and stood up to grab our shirts, tossing his thin black tee shirt in his face. “You want lunch?”

“What cha makin’?” He asked me.

“I was gonna grill hot dogs. We can brainstorm and better your plan. Beer and smokes?” I said walking to the fridge and grabbing two beers.

“What happened to quitting?” He chuckled, lighting himself a cigarette as he accepted the beer.

“There’ll be time for that.” I smirked as I reached in the fridge for the hot dogs. I could hear him laughing as he opened the sliding glass doors to his backyard to start up the grill.

“You’re hilarious, sweetheart.” He said, taking a drag.

[inyourwildestdreamslove]

Bitter Love: Chapter 3

Pairing: Sweet Pea X Reader

You hadn’t seen your high school sweetheart in years. When your mere presence at a bank robbery send the thieves running for their lives it’s time you faced your past. Are you ready to?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3: Forced Love

You remember nights riding on the back of Sweet Pea’s motorcycle like it was yesterday. You could feel the wind in your hair and you felt effortlessly free. Your arms would be wrapped around his torso and he would speed up just feel truly alive. The two of you would race the moon in the sky and lay under the stars.

Tonight, however, is nothing like the carefree romps you used to have with Sweet Pea under the light of the full moon. Tonight, the air is filled with gunshots instead of stars and as Fangs reaches back and pushes you down into the floorboard you can feel yourself shaking with fear. The roar of engines echo in your ears and you can hear Fangs swear from his position in the driver’s seat. The SUV swerves to one side and almost off the road. You pitch forward and brace yourself on the interior of the door. You yelp as someone hits the vehicle from behind making the car pitch forward and a grunt from Fangs as he slams into the steering wheel. By some miracle he keeps the car in the road. The sound of motorcycle engines cut violently through the air and more gunshots are added to the fray. You hear the sound of a crash from behind you and the SUV slows down before coming to a stop. The passengers side door is yanked open and you look up into the concerned eyes of Sweet Pea.

“You okay baby?” he asks as he runs his fingers through your hair.

You nod shakily as you pull yourself from where you were wedged between the two seats.

“Where are we going?” you whimper.

“Away from here… Just the three of us.”

“Just the three of us?”

“I don’t trust anyone else right now. They shouldn’t have been able to find us.”

You just nod as you sit yourself back into the back seat. You’re cold from the wet towel around your prone form and your wet hair. Your shivering becomes worse than ever before, but the three of you have to get out of here.

Eventually, you’re lulled to sleep by the sound of the engine and silence that engulfs the car.

It’s a couple of hours later when you wake up strapped to a chair in a dark room. You’re confused and disoriented, especially since the last thing you remember is being the back seat of a car with Fangs and Sweet Pea up front.

“I see you’re finally awake…” you hear a voice from the shadows and squint to see who spoke to you.

A woman walks into the light of the single solitary bulb dangling from the ceiling.

You vaguely wonder to yourself if this scene could get any more clique…

“Who are you?” you ask your voice sounding stronger than you thought it would.

“That doesn’t matter…”

“Why not?”

She gives you a smile like you would a small a child who asks questions you have no intention of answering. Mostly because they wouldn't understand anyway.

“It just doesn’t,” she bites back.

“I don’t understand… What happened?”

Her smile is venom as she answers, “We need...The Serpents. They have become big players in a very dangerous game. Virtually untouchable. Except,” she purrs, “for one little detail. The woman that the illusterous Sweet Pea loves. It’s all very… poetic...and sad. He’s still very much in love with you… And if he’s in love with you… he can’t be in love with me…”

“So, you love him?”

She pauses and just laughs at you, “Oh! How funny! Of course not! I just need him… And I can’t have him if he wants you…” She hisses, “It’s… nothing personal...just business.”

A moment later she pulls out a gun and aims it directly at your head.

“Wait!”

“Yes?” she signs in imaginary exhaustion.

Your thoughts race with things that you could say and you can feel panic set in.

“Tick... tock…”

“You….don’t have to kill me?” you ask.

She laughs merrily at you, “That’s...just not how this works love… Besides! I’m saving you really… From a life of…dullness… your life has been very dull hasn’t it? Since you broke his sweet little heart…”

“There must be something I can I do! I don’t want to die!”

“Does anyone dear?”

“Please!”

“OH! Alright! You’ve pulled at my heart! There is something you can do…”

“What?”

“Kill him.”

“But don’t you need him?”

“If you kill him, I could take over the Serpents and I won’t need to play wife to a man.”

“I’m not killing him.”

“Why not? Does your life not mean more to you than his?”

“I-I…”

“Unless…” she purrs, “You do still love him?”

You look away from her, “Oh you dooooo!” she squeals.

“He will be so happy to hear that! He will practically do anything to keep you safe… Isn’t that right Sweet Pea?”

You glance into the corner and notice a figure in the shadows that wasn’t there before. Sweet Pea walks into the light and stands right in front of you. You gaze up at him purely baffled.

“What?”

He leans forward, his hands resting on the arms of the chair and gazes into your eyes. The roar of emotions running through you is overwhelming and you feel tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

“Leave us,” his voice cuts through the air as your begin to sob. You tuck your head down and curl into yourself as far as you can go.

“I’m sorry baby… but it had to be done…”

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this to me…”

“Because if you are going to be my queen I have to make sure you are loyal.”

“Sweet Pea! What are you even talking about?!”

“I want you to marry me…”

You stop and gaze at him in shock.

“Marry you…?”

“We love each other, you’ve proven your loyalty to me, I can provide for you, and with a little training you will be able to think under pressure. We will be amazing together. We’re meant to be together.”

“Was any of this real?”

“Of course it was real… The way we feel about one another is real…”

“No Sweet Pea… Was any of this real? Or did you just make it all up?”

“I needed to know how you felt and the a person staring down death is the most pure form of themself.”

You’re speechless as you regard the man in front of you.

“Come on, baby…. Let’s get you more comfortable and then we can discuss everything.”

You only nod numbly as you attempt to process everything. He unties you from the chair and helps you to stand up. You notice that you are still in the bathing suit from what feels like a lifetime ago. He leads you into a room where he guides you to the bed. You sit and feel the bed beside you dip, but you can’t look at him.

“We’re going to be so perfect together…” he whispers as he helps you to remove your bathing suit top. Your arms wrap around your bare breasts to shield them as he gets up and walks over to a dresser. He opens a drawer and pulls a nightgown from its debts, it’s in a deep shade of emerald green. He rolls the gown up until it’s easy to slip over your head.

“Arms up baby,” he says softly.

You do as your told and raise your arms and a moment later feel the silk fall down your body. He hands you pair of matching underwear and you hold them in your hand staring down at them for a moment.

“I’m going to take a shower my love… we will catch up some more when I get out…” he says with a smirk as he turns and walks into the bathroom.

Your eyes widen in terror as the bathroom door clicks shut. You stand up and rush over to the bedroom door and gently try it. It’s locked.

You groan as you rush over to the windows and examine them as well. Even if you could open one, you are 3 stories up and several men with guns are scattered across the lawn. You look down at the underwear in your hand before you change, putting it on in place of the swimsuit.

You glance over at the remote and turn the TV on. The news is full of your face. Your car is being pulled from the river in a clip on the bottom. The words Missing: Presumed Dead flashes across the screen. You don’t know how long you stand there staring forlorning at the TV before you vaguely hear the bathroom door open.

“Don’t worry beautiful… We can be together now…” he says as his hands come to rest on your arms, his lips on your neck.

“Sweet Pea? What have you done?” you croak out around a sob.

“Removed any and all obstacles that could keep us apart. I think you are going to adjust to life here very well…”

Three Months Later

Sitting on the balcony at your Chateau in France you gaze serenely out at the morning sun rise. You sip your coffee and rest your hand laden with your engagement ring on the keys of your laptop. Sure you had fought it at first, but you have everything you could ever want.

You have Sweet Pea, the love of your life, your freedom, your career, a chateau in France and you want for nothing.

“How is your novel coming my love?” Asks Sweet Pea as he walks out on the balcony to join you.

“Perfectly,” you say with a glowing smile at your husband to be.

“So, you’re happy here?”

“Of course I am… I’m happy where ever you are, besides I have everything I could ever want and more.”

He smiles a self satisfied smile, “I’m glad to hear that my love… How are the details for the wedding coming?”

“We will be meeting with the baker this week, I’ve already put it on your calendar.”

He just nods as he takes a sip, he already knows what you will choose, but he likes to make you happy anyway.

“I thought the little bakery we went to when we first got here would be the perfect one! Don’t you think so?” you twitter as you gaze lovingly over at him.

“Of course, if that’s what makes you happy.”

“You make me happy,” your glowing as you giggle at him.

How did you ever even live your life without him before?

I think this is the end... Probably not what you were expecting! I hope you all liked it anyway! Let me know what a comment!

Tags:

@iamaunicorn4704 @reblogserpent @xdontxcare @i-am-not-the-real-alice @wanderlust-and-poetry @personofwaves

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[johannesviii]

Top 10 Personal Favorite Hit Songs from 2001

Another list which was a bit difficult to make.  Almost none of this comes from the US charts. I was 13, I had a much better control of what I could listen to, and adolescence crisis was juuuuuuust around the corner and about to smash into me with the force of a semitruck.

For now, though, things were mostly fine.

Disclaimers:

Keep in mind I’m using both the year-end top 100 lists from the US and from France while making these top 10 things. There’s songs in English that charted in my country way higher than they did in their home countries, or even earlier or later, so that might get surprising at times.

Of course there will be stuff in French. We suck. I know. It’s my list. Deal with it.

My musical tastes have always been terrible and I’m not a critic, just a listener and an idiot.

I have sound to color synesthesia which justifies nothing but might explain why I have trouble describing some songs in other terms than visual ones.

First, please enjoy this shit ton of honorable mentions.

Family Affair (Mary J. Blige) - A bit too repetitive for my taste but damn, that beat is great.

Starlight (The Supermen Lovers) - Overplayed to death, sadly.

A ma Place (Axel Bauer & Zazie) - Too much Hetero Drama(tm) for my taste. Still a great song.

Les Mots (Mylène Farmer & Seal) - An artist I love teams up with another artist I really like and... aaaaand it’s fairly boring even if it sounds really nice. Aw.

Me Gustas Tu (Manu Chao) - My dad had one (1) tape that summer and it was Manu Chao. Needless to say, I claim overplay for that cut.

The Girl in Red (Daddy DJ) - Yepppp, I also loved that one, no surprises there.

It Wasn’t Me (Shaggy) - To be honest this song would already be pretty great if it was just a guy trying to pretend it wasn’t him cheating even if his girlfriend got everything on camera, but it’s made even better by the ending where he’s like ‘uh no that’s not a good idea I’m just gonna apologise and try to make things right’. Love that.

Carillon (Magic Box) - This was the last cut from the list. The fact that this kind of novelty eurodance track could still chart this high in 2001 is absolutely baffling to me, but I’m not gonna complain. I had completely forgotten the existence of this song until I listened to the year-end lists and had some sort of flashback, sitting in my chair, going “oh shit, yeah... this was a thing.”

10 - Music is the One-T ODC (One-T)

US: Not on the list / FR: #70

Time seems to have buried this, which is a shame. I really liked One-T. I don’t have much more to say about it though, I’m afraid.

9 - Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger (Daft Punk)

US: Not on the list / FR: #75

Aaaaaaand I don’t have anything to say about this one either. You can’t go wrong with Daft Punk.

8 - No Nagging (Froggy Mix)

US: Not on the list / FR: #31

I simply adore the fact that an anime opening was popular to the point of ACTUALLY CHARTING AND MAKING THE YEAR END LIST HERE. It’s not even the same opening in most other countries. I just checked to make sure. It’s not even the original either! What the hell. I love it. Here’s the full version.

Also, the first cd I ever bought might have been Daddy DJ, but the first one my little brother ever bought was Froggy Mix. If you ever read this, you’re 100% valid bro. I’m just saying.

7 - Rue de la Paix (Zazie)

US: Not on the list / FR: #58

This was very overplayed but somehow never outstayed its welcome. I put it on a couple of tapes, even. I’ve always had trouble with Zazie’s upper range, but she isn’t using it too much here.

6 - Clint Eastwood (Gorillaz)

US: Not on the list?? I was dead certain it would be / FR: #47

I never loved Gorillaz. You can throw rocks at me now. I enjoyed the music videos a LOT, and I always liked hearing the songs on the radio, but I never actively listened to them. Also, the Metallica fan I live with is also a fan of Gorillaz, so yeah, over-exposure and all that.

That being said, I remember seeing this music video for the first time with the sound off on a screen in a tv store and being completely mesmerized by the animation. And then that song became a huge hit, and it was one of THE sounds of that summer despite being weird and dark, and I loved it. Good memories, good times ; godspeed, Gorillaz.

5 - Butterfly (Crazy Town)

US: #29 / FR: Not on the list

This is, indeed, placed above Gorillaz. Too bad you’re out of rocks to throw at my face by now, uh?

But yeah, there’s “so bad it’s good” and then there’s “so bad it’s f█cking fantastic” and that shit lands squarely in that second category. It’s impossible to keep a straight face while listening to it, especially if you sing along to the “sugar baby” bit. And the music video is... sdfghjkjhgfd. The bit where the star tattoos fly off that guy like shurikens is hilarious. It’s so dumb. It’s so bad. I love it so much. I’m so glad I found a gif of that part. Amazing.

4 - Hasta La Vista (MC Solaar)

US: Not on the list / FR: #8

MC Solaar was (and still is, but this was his peak imho) the best storyteller in French hip hop, with strange concept-songs, and a ton of weird puns.

This is basically a mashup of Notre Dame de Paris and a western, in which the singer is starring in the main role but as a pizza delivery man.

Not making this up.

3 - Le Vent Nous Portera (Noir Désir)

US: Not on the list / FR: #29

I really, really hesitated before putting that song on the list, especially at such a high spot. I guess every French speaker reading this already knows why, but to clarify to my other followers: the guy who wrote this and sings this is a murderer. He wasn’t at the time this song came out, obviously, but still, it’s really, really difficult to separate the art from the artist in some cases, and this is one of them, because oh boy, this song is dark. Beautiful, but dark.

The problem is, it’s also great, so I’m really torn. So I decided to still put it on the list, considering how much I loved it back in the day. I think it’s still possible to appreciate beautiful things made by horrible people as long as you acknowledge that fact and never, ever try to excuse the things they did.

Also that lovely guitar is played by Manu Chao and I’m glad he found a way to land on my list in the end.

2 - L’Histoire d’une Fée, C’est (Mylène Farmer)

US: Not on the list / FR: #92

Madam, I don’t even care that I put you so high on one of my lists again. It doesn’t matter. Please sing a harmless song about fairies to wash the bad taste that the previous entry left in my mouth. This sounds absolutely stellar. It doesn’t even have a music video and it charted anyway. The guy composing the music is at the top of his game and is firing on all cylinders. It’s one of my all time favorite songs from Mylène Farmer even if it’s one of the stupidest ones. It’s colorful and it glows and sparkles, and it’s full of energy and joy with an undercurrent of mystery.

If you don’t know it yet, please give it a try. It’s great.

1 - Solaar Pleure (MC Solaar)

US: Not on the list / FR: #20

Oh boy. My mother hated this song, and once told me it was “shocking and disturbing” [sic] that I loved it.

So. Uh. This is “Solaar Is Crying”. How do I explain this shit to my English followers without sounding like a drunk weirdo rambling in a park. Uh. Here goes nothing.

This is a French hip hop song in which the singer is telling the story of a man preparing his own funeral, dying, arriving in the afterlife, ending up in paradise, forgiving the people who wronged him in life and death, becoming an exterminator angel, going to hell on a MISSION TO FIGHT EVIL, LITERALLY SPITTING ON BELZEBUTH, GATHERING HELP FROM EVERY RELIGION POSSIBLE, UNITING THEM ALL TO DESTROY SATAN ONCE AND FOR ALL, EXPLODING HIM INTO ANTIMATTER, THEN REALISING ALL OF THIS WAS IN VAIN BECAUSE THERE’S STILL BAD PEOPLE DOING BAD THINGS ON EARTH AND THE DEVIL HIMSELF WASN’T THE SOURCE OF ALL EVIL IN THE WORLD.

I swear I am not making ANY of this up.

It’s f█cking amazing.

I BEG you to listen to it if you’ve never heard it and PLEASE tell me your opinion afterwards. I would make a best-of of my favorite lines in it, but it would be 90% of the entire song. Here’s a translation of the entire thing.

Next up: Johannes turns 14 and the shit is about to hit the fan and also is that a f█cking top 15

[angelofberlin2000]

In his 14 minutes of screentime in Always Be My Maybe, Netflix’s latest rom-com phenomenon, 54-year-old Keanu Reeves — now 30 years into his stardom — skewers and subverts the personas we’ve come to attach to him.

Reeves, playing an outsized version of himself, cuts an imposing figure in his introduction. Time slows to a crawl. All eyes gravitate toward the velvet-jacketed figure with striking beauty and prickly charisma. After his entrance — a show for everyone in the farcical restaurant Maximal — he slides toward Ali Wong’s celebrity chef Sasha, offering spiritual platitudes in the face of her unfettered lust. “I missed your thumbs,” she breathily exhales. “I missed your soul” is his reply.

It’s a maniacally delightful performance that both reminds audiences of Reeves’s place in Asian-American Hollywood history and allows him to flex improvisational skills as he cycles through the various masks we have grafted onto him. There’s the impossibly otherworldly Keanu, who says with utmost sincerity, “The only stars that matter are the ones that you see when you dream.” There’s action-star Keanu, who smashes a vase against his own head in a game of Icebreaker and easily puts the jealous protagonist, Marcus (Randall Park), in a headlock — fully committed, physically graceful, and beautifully dangerous. The Keanu of internet memes and viral threads is here, too, in the very fact that he’s playing himself.

Reeves is having a dynamite year with the success of Always Be My Maybe, the outrageously violent John Wick Chapter 3: Parabellum, and Toy Story 4, in which he plays Canada’s greatest stunt driver, Duke Caboom. (Another sly nod perhaps? While born in Beirut, Reeves — who is of Chinese-Hawaiian and British ancestry — was raised in Toronto.) The actor’s more recent evolution into a meme may flatten his complexities, but it does signal why he has endured all this time, despite the persistent claim that he’s a bad actor, or just a limited one. As I’ve contended in the past, this is a gross misreading of a great actor. In her tremendous 2007 masterwork The Star Machine, film professor and historian Jeanine Basinger praises Reeves amongst his generational contemporaries: “Reeves is a neo-star fighting the concept of stardom itself, working steadily against persona to the point where no one has a clear idea of who Reeves is onscreen anymore. This has hurt him, but it has also allowed him to maintain versatility that means more to him than fame. […] His career would have been limited, and thus short lived. Instead, he has used his freedom to move on and slowly force audiences to accept him as a real actor.”

  Just take a look at the arc of his career — as a teenager going through an existential crisis in the blackhearted wonder River’s Edge (1986); the affably dimwitted Theodore “Ted” Logan from Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure (1989) and its sequel; the bodaciously supple and yearning FBI agent and surfer Johnny Utah in Point Break (1991); a bruisingly courteous SWAT officer in Speed (1994); the beatific savior Neo in The Matrix (1999);  the violent redneck in The Gift (2000); an occult detective radiating self-loathing and suicidal yearnings in Constantine (2005); and of course, the titular tenderhearted and violently dangerous assassin of the John Wick franchise. In looking at all of his performances, I am reminded of what the great Roger Ebert wrote in his review of the Bill & Ted sequel back in the early ‘90s: “I have seen Keanu Reeves in vastly different roles (the FBI man in the current Point Break, for example), and am a little astonished by the range of these performances.”

Throughout his career, Reeves has eschewed obvious transformation in favor of something trickier and more subtle. What has allowed him to remain a star, 30 years later, is a blend of virility, vulnerability, and an aura of mystery, hearkening to a bygone era of stardom that contradicts the current moment, which requires stars to seem endlessly accessible; his sheer joy for the medium that makes him a cinematic sensualist; his racial dimensions as a star; and his gimlet-eyed understanding of the female gaze. These qualities are unique in the current market of stardom in Hollywood, allowing him to straddle various cinematic contexts with ease — mainstream romantic comedies, somber indie flicks, gloriously decadent action flicks.

They come through in one of his earliest films, My Own Private Idaho, a meditative character study about two young hustlers — Mike Waters (River Phoenix), a shy narcoleptic in search of a sense of home, and the strikingly beautiful Scott Favor (Reeves), a trust-fund kid slumming it until his inheritance kicks in at 21. Reeves and his late co-star imbue their characters with a particular mix of virility, vulnerability, and mystery. I’d argue that all the greatest leading men in the annals of Hollywood stardom have existed at this intersection to varying degrees — something I feel has been lacking from modern male stars, partially because they are being formed in franchises that lack interest in the visceral aspects of humanity. (It helps that Reeves has declined offers to join Marvel, even though they’ve been trying to woo him to their stable for years.) Humphrey Bogart’s cool is consistently undercut by his own anger and self-loathing. William Holden held something dark behind his megawatt smile and gleaming blond locks. Paul Newman always felt a touch remote, like he was hiding bruised aspects of himself from the audience. Marlon Brando, of course, epitomizes these qualities. Reeves is brimming with similar contradictions. He reflects this tradition by being at once beatifically still and emotionally expressive, defined by loneliness and a yearning to be saved from it.

In My Own Private Idaho, Reeves is the object of desire not only for Mike but the camera itself. Deep into the film, Mike timidly reveals his love to Scott while they camp out in the desert, a fire crackling before them. Phoenix plays Mike as wild with energy he has no real outlet for, leading to an awkward physicality. Reeves grants his character a languid brio. He takes up space, laying close to the fire, his head dipped back to study Mike as he timidly expresses his feelings. He’s outstretched, willowy, and aware of Mike’s gaze; he examines the weight of it. The scene reveals one of Reeves’s greatest skills as an actor: being an active listener. As he studies Mike, he invites and toys with his feelings. “I only have sex with a guy for money,” he notes offhandedly as if it were a random truth, not a response to a declaration of love. But just as the prickliness of his character comes into view (foreshadowing later betrayals), Reeves displays a burnishing sincerity. Arms outstretched, he says, “Let’s go to sleep,” and proceeds to cradle Mike.

The full-bodied listening Reeves exhibits in My Own Private Idaho is a hallmark of his work opposite women as well. Reeves is a great example of what Roswell New Mexico writer Alanna Bennett deemed The Look: “The number one thing a man in a romcom needs, TV or movie, is the ability to look at their love interest REALLY WELL. The man barely even needs to speak if he just knows how LOOK at a person.” Reeves has given that look in multiple contexts — his face is bright with awe when he looks at Carrie-Anne Moss’s Trinity in the Matrix films; it has a touch of admiration when he gazes at Sandra Bullock in Speed; and it is filled with unmitigated desire for Diane Keaton’s Erica Barry in Something’s Gotta Give.

Nancy Meyer’s 2003 ode to beachside property and an older woman’s sensual awakening stars Keaton as a successful playwright who finds herself falling for two very different men — Harry Sanborn (Jack Nicholson), who briefly dated her daughter (how this didn’t disqualify him immediately continues to baffle me) and has to go through a damn heart attack before he can see what’s attractive in a woman around his own age; and Julian Mercer (Reeves), a sweet doctor with a penchant for black turtlenecks who is immediately smitten when they meet.

In the film, Reeves is attuned to the female gaze in its most literal incarnation — an understanding of how women see the world, what they want from it, and how they make sense of desire. During a dinner scene with Julian, Erica’s face and neck are flush. She’s skittish and nervous in the face of his undeniable — but never disrespectful — sexual and romantic interest. Reeves’s face shows the depth and breadth of The Look, as he glides from teasing lust to a spark of genuine intellectual attraction. At one point, when their conversations turns to women his own age, he says, “I’ve never met one I’ve reacted to” — stumbling for a moment, as if shocked by the depth of his own feeling — “… quite like this. When something happens to you that hasn’t happened before, don’t you have to at least find out what it is?” He’s a man overcome and humbled by his own desire. Is there anything sexier? Then he leans in, his face going soft, gently kissing the groove where her neck meets her shoulder. “I knew you’d smell good,” he whispers. Only Reeves could pull off a line like that.

Many actors of Reeves’s caliber are too invested in being in the spotlight of a scene to play a romantic lead like this. After the fall of the studio system in the 1960s, Hollywood no longer looked at women as a viable market, and while romantic comedies continued to get made, going forward, there was a notable shift in whose desire was centered — and how little male actors seemed interested in exploring romance and desire. Reeves’s willingness brought another layer of intimacy to his relationship with his audience, offering a more flexible, vulnerable portrait of masculinity that sets him apart from other name stars.

That intimacy is key to Reeves’s longevity. It’s what makes him such a great cinematic sensualist. In 2009, Matt Zoller Seitz argued that directors Michael Mann, Terrence Malick, David Lynch, Wong Kar-wai, and Hou Hsiao-hsien were the “the decade’s best sensualists filmmakers.” He wrote, “They share a defining trait: a lyrical gift for showing life in the moment, for capturing experience as it happens and as we remember it. The sensualists are bored with dramatic housekeeping. They’re interested in sensations and emotions, occurrences and memories of occurrences.” I’d argue that being a cinematic sensualist is a distinction that can apply to acting as well. For actors, it is about bringing texture and complication to a film, existing wholly in the moment, and a keen interest in the human body.

When we watch films, the body keeps score as much as the mind does. Reeves demonstrates an understanding of this. This is apparent in the delicate neck kiss in Something’s Gotta Give; the careful way his hand skitters across broken glass before deciding on which shard to slit his wrists with in Constantine; the calm he engenders with merely the sound of his voice in Thumbsucker. But it’s most impactful in his career as an action star. In many ways, the John Wick franchise is the perfect marriage of director and star. The third film is a tactile feast. Consider a scene early in John Wick 3, in which Reeves methodically takes apart and reassembles a gun for a single shot. This scene is, of course, a testament to the character’s skill as an assassin. But it also acts as a reminder of how out of step John is with the world around him, betraying a desire for the quieter moments in life — despite the brutal milieu he finds himself in — and a strange empathy for the world around him, whether it be object or animal. This allows a humanity to glitter throughout his performances that often feels absent from many action franchises that sacrifice character on the altar of plot.

There’s another part of Reeves’s star image I suspect has played into our abiding fascination with him. Until Always Be My Maybe, the most under-discussed part of Reeves’s persona was his race. Late in his slim but potent book-length essay Mixed-Race Superman: Keanu, Obama, and Multicultural Experience, Will Harris astutely writes about a particular aspect of the 2005 film A Scanner Darkly that, metatextually, speaks to Reeves’s whole career:

“To be mixed-race is to exist in a state of paradox. Race is an illusion that depends on purity and singleness. […] In A Scanner Darkly, set in a paranoid surveillance state in the near-future, Keanu plays a government agent called Bob Arctor, who because he works undercover, has to wear a ‘scramble suit’ in the office. The suit projecting 1.5 million constantly shifting representations of different people — male and female, black, white, Latinx — keeps his identity cloaked. Even the people he works with have no idea who he is.”

Like his persona, Reeves’s face itself is considered unplaceable. Growing up, he never read as white to me, but he has read that way to Hollywood, which allowed his career to be mutable in ways that very few people of color ever experience. But for much of the moviegoing audience, seeing his face has always been a point of connection. It’s the undercurrent of why his turn in Always Be My Maybe felt like such a significant moment in his career. It was as though something had been revealed about him for the first time, even though it had been present all along. That it was such a joyful, brazenly comedic role added yet another twist on his image. There was a sense that, even after 30 years in the spotlight, Reeves can still surprise us.

[angrylizardjacket]

ask your destiny to dance [17] {Roger Taylor}

[masterpost]

It takes Roger exactly two weeks to realise he doesn’t know Ash nearly as well as he thought he did. There’s a lot to glean about a person from their room, and what they say, but not everything, not even close to everything.

“So I guess you’re working tomorrow?” Roger asks, leaning against the bar as Ash polishes a glass. It comes as a surprise when she makes a face, shaking her head. “We’re going on a pub crawl, if you wanna come along then.” 

Ash takes her time before answering, hanging up the glass and pulling another from the rack before she finally speaks.

“I can’t, I’m busy, sorry.” And she sounds... uncomfortable about it. Roger’s never known her to be uncomfortable about anything that didn’t relate to her home life, and she can see the moment he jumps to that conclusion. “I’m going to Paris in the afternoon,” she says quickly, and Roger’s taken aback, “I don’t get home until late; train times, you know?” 

“A day trip to Paris?” He asks, and Maureen leans over to Ash with a small smile.

“Is that where you go on those Saturdays? That’s cute, Ash, little routine trips to France.” She flicks Ash with the end of her tea towel, to which Ash smiles despite herself, blushing and flicking Maureen back.

“Oi, I’m just going to Paris, nothing cute about it. I’m allowed to have hobbies, you know.” She argued back, and Maureen snickered, smiling fondly at the ginger before she tucked her tea towel into her back pocket and went back to cutting lime wedges. “I’m going to The Louvre.” Ash explained to Roger, cheeks still faintly pink.

“The Louvre?” There was a surprise in his voice that Ash had expected, and when she looks up at him, she still seems a bit defensive.

“There’s free entry once per month; first Saturday at six.” She pauses, and when his expression brightens, hers falls and she feels like she’s said too much.

“Do you go every month?” He sounds delighted at the prospect, and Ash wants to defend herself, but then he says, “you shouldn’t be catching the train so late, it’s dark even at six, love, you must get home at like midnight; just let me drive you.”

“Rog, you don’t need to do that,” but her grin is more relieved than anything else, the tension leaving her shoulders as she goes back to her work, “you guys are going out tomorrow, and besides, it’s not like I’ve never done it before.” 

“I can get on the piss with them any time; this only happens once a month.” And the way his words make Ash smile, quietly pleased, he’s already pretty sure it’s going to be worth it.

Things between them have been... weird. Good weird, sure, but that doesn’t make them less weird. They haven’t really had time for an actual date yet, they just sort of show up at each other’s homes and watch TV and make out whenever they don’t have work or rehearsals of a night. It’s been good, it’s felt safe. 

When Ash sits on the curb outside of her dorm, she feels nervous more than anything else. It’s not a feeling she’s used to; she’s never been nervous around Roger before; it takes her probably too long to realise how much she wants this to go well. When he shows up, just after midday, he’s beaming from the second hand station wagon that he’d gotten since recording the album. There’s a map in the passenger seat.

“I’ve driven there before, but not for a while, you’re going to have to direct me.” He advises as she buckles her seat belt, putting her sketchbook and thermos by her feet and unfolding the map.

It’s a long drive, just over five hours, and Ash is nervous for about three of them, which is only compounded by getting lost twice, and eventually Roger pulls over.

“You’ve been tense since I showed up; what’s wrong?” He asks, and Ash sighs heavily, picking up her thermos and pouring herself a small cup of tea.

“I don’t exactly go blabbing about the fact that I make semi-frequent trips to Paris, alright?” Ash admits, and she takes a sip of her drink, looking out through the windshield. Roger’s not sure what that means, how to respond, and after a minute, she adds, “Freddie doesn’t even really know.” And she finishes the tea, putting the thermos back, and Roger’s still quiet. When she finally looks at him, his expression is fondly amused.

“You’ve made me feel all special.” It’s far too genuine to be a joke, and Ash lets herself smile back, rolling her eyes at him.

“Don’t let it go to your head.” She warned, and Roger’s smile sharpened as he pulled back onto the road.

“Too late.” But he reaches over to rest his hand on her knee as she opens the map up again, and her heart grows warm, her anxiety easing. They turn up the radio for the rest of the trip; Ash hums along to the songs she only knows the tune of without too much hassle, yet somehow can’t seem to actually sing a note to save her life. She finishes butchering Elton’s Crocodile Rock at the top of her lungs, and Roger’s sides hurt from laughing, and she’s grinning in a way that means she knows exactly how terrible she is and how much it amuses Roger.

“I have other skills.” She says dismissively, grinning with her nose in the air as the radio host announces another song, and instead of answering, Roger sings along to the radio like he’d written the melody himself. “Showoff.” Ash laughed, and Roger’s eyes crease as he grins.

“I don’t have other skills, I gotta make use of this one.” He replied, lightly, and Ash’s expression softened.

“Oh shut it, you’ve got at least two other skills, probably.” She played along with his joke, watching him as he sings along to the rock song blaring from the radio, and it’s relaxed and easy, and she finds herself wondering why she’d been so worried just a few hours before. 

They hit Paris at a quarter to six, and grab some fast food before heading to the gallery. There’s people everywhere, and the line isn’t exactly short to get in, more than a few of them are uni students like them, looking to get in for free, and Ash says hi to a few; the fact that she goes here enough to know other people who do this regularly to is still something that baffles Roger a little. He’s worried she’s getting nervous again when she takes his hand - they’re not the sort of people who hold hands - but when he looks at her, her eyes are shinning and bright as she looks up at the building; she’s excited. 

Ash goes quiet in the gallery, looking around with wide-eyed reverence at the works around them. They move past the entrance slowly; Ash gazes at the works with their plaques memorised, while Roger reads them, fingers laced with hers. 

“Oh, hello.” Voice reverential, Ash greets a statue at the end of the hall like an old friend, and introduces Roger as such. “This is the Venus de Milo, she’s almost two thousand years old, god, look at that marble work, imagine how sharp it would have looked back then,” and then it’s like she’s opened a floodgate, and she’s tugging him along, rambling along the way about each piece they pass, little facts not on the plaques, things she can cite from the top of her head. Above everything, she’s passionate, pulling out of his grip to clutch her hands to her chest and looking up at headless sculpture of what Roger thinks is an angel, and what Ash clarifies to be The Winged Victory of Samothrace.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Ash’s moon-eyed gaze was focused on the statue’s marble garments, but Roger’s only got eyes for her. When he doesn’t answer, she looks to him, catches the way he’s smiling at her, and she feels her cheeks heat up. “What?”

“You really love this stuff, don’t you?” It’s a sincere question, and it’s as if he can see her responses flit through her mind, sarcastic, dismissive, an eye roll, flippant, she passes them all, takes a moment to really look at him, taking her time to breathe in the whole situation before responding.

“More than anything.” It’s a sincere answer, and it catches him off-guard. Ash is many things, but unapologetically enthusiastic is not one Roger’s familiar with.

Turning on her heel, Ash leads further in to the gallery, but it’s finally hits him how much this means to her, this place, these works, bringing him here. They’d been together for barely a fortnight, but they both know it’s felt so much longer than that; she’d taken a gamble, bringing him, he has no doubt she’d have left him in London if she didn’t want him to come along, and something tightens in his chest. 

He doesn’t dwell on it, he takes it in stride well enough, peppering her with questions along the way that she seems thrilled to answer. Tucking her arm into his, they make their way through the building, the babbling turning to banter easily as Roger provides his own commentary on each piece as they pass, which serves to make Ash laugh.

They get to a small painting on the top floor with a border that looks bigger than the picture itself, and Ash has gotten quiet again. 

“Who’s this?” Roger asks, the two of them stepping close to get a closer look.

“The Lacemaker.” Ash sounds a little awed, and when he looks down at her, Roger sees how fondly she’s smiling at the little painting. “She’s my favourite.” 

“’course she is, she’s like you.” Roger answers easily, and Ash makes a face, laughing a little self consciously.

“No she’s not, shut up.” She doesn’t sound like she believes him, a bit of a laugh in her words, but she’s resting her head against Roger’s shoulder and he wraps an arm around her.

“Same focus.” Roger muses, and when Ash looks to him, surprise and confusion on her face, he just grins. “When you sew, you’ve got the same look on your face, same focus.” He explains, and there’s something in Ash’s awed expression that he can’t place, and she pulls away from him too fast for him to really identify it.

She’s pretty sure she loves him.

It’s fucking terrifying.

She can’t look at him, stepping out of his grip as she feels tears well in her eyes as her emotions overwhelm her, not that it’s an uncommon occurrence, Ash has never set foot in an art gallery and not cried, but Roger didn’t need to know that. She’d really been doing well today, too. Usually she gets lost in the scope and detail of The Wedding at Cana, or even comes to obsess over the little details of The Lacemaker, but she’s also usually alone and can get away with it. 

“That’s- Rog, that’s really sweet of you to say.” And he can hear in her voice that she’s trying not to believe him, that she can’t let herself believe him. And when she turns back, she’s wiping at her eyes, and he wants to try and comfort her, but she’s already walking past him briskly, leading to the next painting.

“There’s something I’ve... well, I’ve always wanted to try here.” He hears her say, voice firm as if she’s trying to move quickly past whatever the moment she’d just had was. She leads not to the painting, but to one of the weirdly low, backless sofas that are scattered around for people to view the paintings from. This one’s empty; Ash looks around for security, and seeing none, steps up onto it. 

“And what’s that?” He asks with a smirk, the sofa giving her only about two inches of height on him. He doesn’t ask why she’d almost started crying, and for that she’s thankful. Instead, his hands come to rest on her hips, and he’s smiling at her in that way that sets her heart aflutter.

“Don’t ruin this.” She warns very quietly, amused smile on her lips, and Roger quirks an eyebrow.

“Ruin what?” He asks, shooting for innocent, a million different things running through his mind that could make her smile, but would definitely ruin the moment; he bites his tongue. 

Ash cups his face in her hands, and she can’t help but laugh as she leans in to kiss him. It starts sweet and tender, her lips soft against his, but he wraps his arms around her, pulling her close and deepening the kiss. There’s people moving around them, most ignoring them, some stare, but neither of them seem to care. She tastes mostly like the tea she’d sculled in the car when they’d arrived, and she’s got a hand in his hair when he presses kisses from her jaw, trailing down her neck, and she laughs, a little giddy. He pulls back, if only to see her bright eyed and blushing. 

“Let’s go home.” She says softly, and Roger’s never agreed to something so quickly, his heart elated to see Ash giggling and mischievous as they backtrack through the gallery, knowing that he and the art were the things that made her smile like that. 

“I didn’t ruin it.” He sounds a little smug when he says it as they walk through the streets of Paris back to his car, and Ash glances at him out of the corner of her eye, snorting.

“I could see you holding yourself back from a one-liner about pinning masterpieces to walls or something like that; I appreciate your discretion.” She tells him, deadpan, and Roger gives her a self-satisfied grin.

“It certainly wasn’t easy.” He agrees, but she still reaches out and takes his hand. When they get to his car, he goes to head around to the driver’s side, but she pulls him back for a moment, pressing a kiss to his lips. After a moment, he’s got a hand on her hips, pressing her against the side of the car, and she sighs against his lips, her arms around his neck. Her legs slide open easily as she pulls him closer, letting him slide a knee between her thighs.

“Christ,” Roger breaks away from the kiss, murmuring the word against her neck as her nails graze his scalp.

“Thank you for today.” She whispers softly, and he can hear the smile in her words. He presses a kiss to her shoulder.

“Any time, love.” He steps back from her, enough to see her fond smile, and to give one in return, before he heads around to the driver’s side and they both get in the car.

It’s well past midnight by the time they get back, and Ash follows Roger up to his flat with a yawn, flinching as the door opens and Brian, Freddie, and John all greet them with a cheer, obviously taking a pit stop in the middle of their pub crawl.

“I was starting to sober up; the walk between the last pub and the next is directly smack bang in the middle of here.” Freddie claims with a surprising amount of confidence considering his words make no sense.

“No- this place is on the way to the next pub.” John corrects, and Ash has to giggle at the sight and sound of a drunk John Deacon. It never fails to amuse her, he’s surprisingly confident and well spoken.

“Yes! Deaky is right! You two can join us!” Freddie brandishes and subsequently spills on Brian, who’s sitting beside him.

“Go if you want, I’m knackered.” Ash yawns, giving Roger’s shoulder a nudge, moving past him to his room.

“Actually, I think I’m right, I’ve been driving for a while,” Roger says, making to follow Ash, only to hear Freddie boo loudly, and John call out after them.

“Where’d you guys go?” He asks, and Roger answers over his shoulder.

“Art gallery.” He answers, and he hears Ash snort from his bedroom.

“That’s... Rog, that’s surprisingly cute, didn’t know you had it in you.” Brian smiles at him, and Roger feels a little patronised by the pride in his flatmate’s voice. He flips Brian off, along with the rest of them, since John was grinning like the cat who got the cream and Freddie looked like he was three seconds away from actually ‘awe’ing. 

“Did you kids have fun?” Freddie calls, sounding nothing so much like his own mother, wearing a shiteating grin, which only got wider as Roger told him to piss off, slamming the door once he got into his room. 

Ash was standing by his bed, pulling off the shorts she’d been wearing all day, already wearing one of his shirts. Roger can hear the others on the other side of the door already laughing and talking about something else, all three of them trying to convince themselves to get up and move on to the next pub. She gives him an amused smile and Roger just rolls his eyes at his friends’ whole situation.

They don’t speak, though Ash’s yawn triggers one in Roger, and when he’s stripped down to his boxers, she’s waiting for him beneath the covers. When he kisses her, it’s a thank you for the day, and she hums a soft, contented noise against his lips. They’re too tired to even fool around, and Ash wraps her arm around him as he turns to lay on his side, pressing her chest to his back, pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade before they fall asleep.

the ususal suspects: @deakydickfanpage @hollyissuchahoe @laueecakee @smittyjaws @crystalshines2909 @i-am-sarah @legendsaresooftenwarnings @2ptonpt @benhardy24-7 @maiilovely @mickey-yr-a-goner @butter-times @heyyouitskay @tired-eyes-fairy-lights @yepimthatperson @missieluvsmurder @ironqueen98 @ceruleanrainblues @banhbao329 @fantasticchaoticwho @ko-kitty @seven-seas-of-hi @mimisfangirlfantasy @aadjuric @rogmobile @cardybenhardy @snacfu @perriwiinkle @the-strange-fan-girl @finite-incantatem-7 @tapetayloe @florencewelchismybiggod

[whatamessz]

Fic “A Song about Breakfast”

I asked for prompts and @dreaming-powder was as lovely to send me one <3 So here are Murdoc and 2D creating music, a mysterious commercial occupying the only TV on Plastic Beach, discussions about jellyfishes and a relatively smooth sea.

Cleaned up and edited version on AO3.

1846 words | rating: general audience | 2D’s POV | Phase 3 | TW: mentions  of substance abuse | 2Doc only implied, could also be read as platonic

A Song about Breakfast

It’s around six A.M. and 2D sits in front of the huge TV in the living room.The same ancient looking and awfully frantic commercial flares over the flat screen for approximately the thirtieth time since he had opted on residing here this morning. It doesn’t matter. Zapping is pointless. There was only this specific ad on every channel every morning around this time over and over and over.

His brain is pretty much offline anyway and he has stopped questioning occurrences like this a long time ago. He just knows the thing with the endless commercial loop because watching it had happened to become one of his sleeplessness routines here on Plastic Beach and he doubted that Murdoc would care to fix the issue if he would ever tell him.

Sometimes 2D manages to nod off with the telly running, sometimes he just reaches some kind of meditative state which he always considers as the only fitting kind of meditation on a pink island entirely made out of trash.

He snaps out of whatever condition he had reached today when the commercial clock rings again and he is remembered that it’s still an advertisement for an instant breakfast.

His stomach gives a painful growl at that and he realizes just then that he’s hungry. 2D drags himself up and in the kitchen when the obnoxiously cheerful bespectacled TV man asks the off voice if it’s kidding when it promises a full breakfast in only three microwave minutes.

The decision on what to eat quickly becomes overwhelming when he opens the fridge, so he just tiredly reaches for the milk. He looks for the Cheerios and reinserts himself back on his old spot with a full bowl of cereals. Eventually it strikes the magic hour in which the usual program flickers back on and 2D just watches Cartoon Network while he tries very hard not think of long past Sunday mornings with little Noodle.

*** *** ***

It’s noon and he still hasn’t slept, that’s why he sits in the studio now, entirely unprompted, and toys with ideas his sleep deprived brain produces seemingly out of nowhere. The studio is also one of the few places with internet access on this island (though Murdoc had ensured child safety locks in every browser and all of 2D’s or the bands accounts on platforms he’s still allowed to use are thoroughly disabled or have new passwords, however that was possible).

Today’s morning obviously had left its impression. He couldn’t kill the pesky earworm of the jingle from the commercial and thanks to Murdoc’s precautions and the unstable internet connection, it takes him much longer than he would like to admit to sift through a string of 80’s TV spots on YouTube until he finally finds it. He cuts out an audio sample.

By this time, his head is a hellhole of commercial voices, intrusive melodies and his own unconnected thoughts racing.

He starts to work a song around it as a coping mechanism.

Next act. Murdoc himself emerges in the studio’s door. He looks awful.

Like he didn’t sleep in days, too, and that was probably the case, but when he takes in the image of 2D sitting barefoot and straddle-legged on the thick carpet, hunched over his synthesizer, MacBook and notepad scattered around in an apparent working mood, an uncanny huge grin slides across his face, exposing his shark like rotten teeth.

So far, 2D is unenthusiastic about this encounter. He keeps on tinkering with beats from the drum machine and the commercial sample.

“I’m honestly delighted to see you are willing to work even without my gentle requests from time to time,” Murdoc greets him and puts an unnerving emphasis on the word ‘delighted’. 2D only pulls a sardonic expression in answer. He also hasn’t decided yet if he finds Murdoc’s sensible lighter moods more bearable then the… other ones. They’re probably drug-induced anyway.

Not that he was one to talk, he mentally scolds himself. Well, at least he wasn’t like Murdoc, yet. That was his only solace.

2D decides he is too tired and too busy to pick a fight today. Murdoc obviously decides to challenge this resolution and snickers.

“Not quite the Chatty Cathy today hu, sunshine? Well, my night was great, GREAT I tell ya. Threw a party with Cyborg and the pirates. When I’m thinking about it this would be a great name for a band. No wait, scratch that, we already have a great name. And a great band. The GREATEST, if I may say so hun hun hun.” He stops to catch his breath. “Anyway, what are you working on? Doesn’t sound like one of the songs I gave you.”

2D has stopped listening at the very first sentence and scribbles something on his notepad. “’M sorry, what?”

Murdoc sighs, impatient. “The sooong. What are you doing right now? I’m curious.”

“It’s… a new thing. A song… about breakfast,” 2D hears himself saying despite of himself. The truth is, that he wasn’t entirely sure what this was supposed to become.

“About what,” Murdoc snaps incredulous.

“About breakfast,” 2D answers promptly and, to his own surprise, advances a defensive bottom lip. “It’s a song… like a commercial. Catchy, fast living, colorful, you know? Seemingly disposable and about something short lived. Just trying to sell… sss-something for breakfast. Something you can just swallow down when you’re in a hurry.”

Ok, his thoughts are really just running loose right now. He hopes he can remember that later because in this moment the stuff he just bullshat at the same time made miraculous and perfect sense in his poor, tortured head.

Murdoc’s interest suddenly seems piqued. He snatches the notepad from 2D’s thigh and skims over the lines and sentences that may or may not constitute a first attempt on lyrics, nodding appreciatively while he reads. 2D looks up, his face scrunched up insecurely.

Murdoc strides around him, still staring at the notepad and clearly thinking. “Hmmm you know what, this could really work as a concept,” he mutters and lowers himself to the floor with a groan, back to back with 2D.

2D stiffs up at that and considers leaning away.

“Any ideas on how to call it already?” The question hits him offhand and he blinks, unsure.

“Uhn… Little…Pink…stink…fish?” he comes up with, very response delayed.

Suddenly, Murdoc just cracks up and laughs harshly and genuinely until he chokes on his own spit and the laughter turns into a coughing fit.

2D can feel the vibration of it rocking his own body. As if it was contagious, 2D can’t help the smile that spreads over his face then, partly over his own stupid answer, partly because he hears and feels Murdoc laughing and he hadn’t had that in a very long time.

“You know, I also had a new idea for a song last night,” Murdoc pipes up excited when his coughing finally has subsided. “Just wait!”

With that, he takes the pencil lying next to 2D and scribbles something on the notepad. Curious, 2D leans to the side to try and spy what the bassist was doing, but just in that moment Murdoc so much as thrusts the pad back into his face, brandishing it so close in front of his nose that at first, he can’t make out anything. 2D cautiously takes the pad and stares at it, baffled.

“Murdoc, that’s just a shitty sketch of one of these sodding jellyfishes,” 2D states irritated. Murdoc had drawn the silly grinning thing just over his “lyrics”.

“RIGHT??? These are just bloody everywhere!”

“But... that’s not a song,” 2D answers again, but he sounds interested now. He thinks his overtired brain is just about to produce another idea.

“But we need a song about them on the album! They embody the experience of this place!!!” Murdoc sounds frantic now and 2D can feel him gesturing wildly.

“They even look more like candy wrappers than real animals,” he agrees and nods along, even if the likeliness of Murdoc’s drawing with the actual strange animals he remembers seeing sometimes in front of his underwater prison or in the Stylo (submarine mode) is only minimal.

“They are a plague, I swear! There was a bunch – “, Murdoc interrupts himself. “A gang? A posse? A pack? – nah whatever! There were a whole lot of them almost clogging the seawater suction pipes for the cooling system of the engine room last week! Had to get on my good ol’ wetsuit and get rid of ‘em myself…”, he mumbles and 2D giggles at the image. He himself hadn’t noticed any of that last week.

“I… can show you what I thought so far for the music,” he offers.

“Yeah yeah, go on”, Murdoc encourages him and snivels, so 2D shows him the gruesome commercial sample and that he intends on putting it at the beginning of the song.

“Disturbing. I like it,” Murdoc states with a palpable shiver down his spine.

“Did you know this commercial is the only thing that runs on every channel for at least an hour every morning around six,” 2D suddenly admits and Murdoc half turns around.

“No… what in the seven hells? Why?”

“I thought you might know.” He shrugs and goes on with his demonstration.

Murdoc taps his foot to the beat of the drum machine and chimes in with comments here and there on what he might like or would change. He only stands up one time to pick up his bass, strumming along some very simple base lines in time with the drums and piano snippets the singer had patched together so far. Somewhere along, 2D had reached his dead point where he no longer felt drop dead tired and Murdoc had seemed to come down from whatever height he was in when he first entered. Surprisingly, the companionable workflow lasts.

That really was a rarity, since many other songs before had been a true fight.

At some point, he can feel Murdoc’s little finger creep over to rest on his own. 2D, who was lazily pushing some keys on his synth with one hand, bites his lip. He takes a deep breath.

“Muds?”

“Yeah?”

“We are having a good time right now for once, right,” he starts flat out. Murdoc pauses.

“I… think so.”

“Then don’t ruin it,” 2D says coolly and can feel how Murdoc’s retreats his hand instantly.

“2D I-“

“We can maybe work the jellyfish in you know,” he cuts Murdoc off and tries changing the subject.

“The jellyfish could be the theme together with the breakfast. The jellyfish could be the brand. Don’t you wish to stab those stupid smiles sometimes”, he goes on, even when animal cruelty really is the last thing he would like to promote and the jellyfishes for sure weren’t the ones that did anything to him. Sometimes he’s just so angry.

Murdoc huffs and chuckles lowly. “Actually…. That’s crazy but brilliant. I’m a genius for coming up with these  things.”

2D sighs in dramatized exasperation. “Yes, Murdoc, you really are.”

[snowbellewells]

“Reality and Roses”

Hello, everyone! This is a (quite possibly silly) bit of fluff that I dreamed up from my own ridiculous fondness for watching (even when I’m laughing at the craziness of it while I do!) “The Bachelor” and “Bachelorette”, and then wondering what in the world Killian Jones would make of this unbelievable drama we actually call “reality”. The rest just followed from there.  It’s set roughly parallel to season seven, but where we get to see the newlywed pirate and princess set up their home together and enjoy another version of the domestic day-to-day that many of us would have enjoyed onscreen.  Their little girl is on her way, but not yet born, and Henry is off searching for his own story.  

 Obviously, I don’t own OuaT or any of its characters, nor would I ever claim to have a stake in “The Bachelor”/“The Bachelorette” franchise.

“Reality and Roses”

By: @snowbellewells  (TutorGirlml on ff.net - This is can also be found                                               there in my “Of Swans and Swords and Hopeful                                               Hearts” short story collection.)

                    “Swan! Swan!”

           Emma Swan-Jones struggles not to snort through her nose as she picks up the two plates full of Chien Po’s China Kitchen takeout she has dished up for them. They’ve already stuffed themselves on Crab Rangoon and Won Ton Soup anyway, but that doesn’t quell her desire for Sweet and Sour Chicken, nor will it stop her pirate from having at least half his new favorite carryout Beef and Broccoli (though he would swear up and down that preference was untrue if Granny Lucas were present). Lately, Emma could swear that she has become a bottomless pit in this her third trimester of pregnancy.  She can eat Killian under the table hands down, regardless of the food, but Chinese has been her go-to craving.

           She doesn’t even know yet what it is her captain wants to tell her, but the shock and almost affront in his tone lets her know ahead of time that it’s one of those gentleman fish-out-of-water, Land Without Magic things that still, almost two years into their marriage, manage to shock and baffle him. Clearly, leaving him to channel surf for their evening’s entertainment on the “magical picture box” as she dished up the main course has paid off in one way or another, if only for her momentary amusement.

           Entering the living room once more, a plate in each hand and curiosity – she’s sure – painted across her face, Emma is not at all surprised by the way Killian seems to snap to attention from the rapt focus he had been training on the television.  In seconds, he is on his feet and at her side, taking one plate from her and gently ushering her ahead of him back to the couch before which their drinks, utensils, napkins, and the demolished remnants of their appetizers are strewn across the coffee table.

           “My apologies, Love,” he murmurs, rubbing his nose along the bend of her neck and shoulder for just a moment, his warm breath ghosting over her skin bared by the boat neck sweater she is wearing and nearly making her drop her plate before she can put it down on their makeshift table and resettle in her seat.  She bites her own lip in her surprised jolt of excitement and almost turns to grab him around the shoulders and pull him back in for a proper taste of those full, irresistible lips – the food can wait after all – only for him to sit back from her on the couch, looking embarrassedly shamefaced.

           “What, Killian?” she asks, senses reeling and completely baffled, her hand settles on his bicep, grounding herself as well as letting him know he has her attention.  “What are you apologizing for?”

           Her adorable nerd of a husband gazes back up at her, a slight flush just barely visible through the unshaven scruff of his cheeks as those blue, blue eyes meet hers from beneath his dark lashes.  “For making you get up and fetch the main course alone.  You certainly are not my waitress, and I was coming to help you – truly.  I could have sworn you’d been gone but a moment – I was right behind you! – and then this…this…bloody demon transfixed me once again.” He gestures at the tv vaguely before turning to sheepishly study her face for signs of annoyance.

           Emma can’t help but shake her head, half exasperated and half humored.  It would seem that as remarkable as her True Love is in so many other respects, he is every bit as susceptible to the gravitational pull of the television as any other man.  Reaching out playful fingers to brush aside the longer fringe that has flopped over Killian’s forehead, she then cups his cheek in her hand and pulls him to her easily, pressing a short, teasing kiss to the bridge of his nose. “No worries,” she soothes with a genuine smile on her face as she meets his gaze.  “I’ve told you time and again that I may look the size of a house and like I shouldn’t be able to move, but being pregnant does not mean I can’t do anything for myself.”

           His mouth opens, about to argue that he means to wait on her hand and foot, no doubt, but she cuts him off with a shake of her head and a kiss to his mouth this time – which almost derails them completely, her low hum of pleasure in the back of her throat causing them both to dive deeper, pulled together like magnets before she finally leans away, sitting back in her own space once more. “Besides, I’m the one who couldn’t wait another minute for her Sweet and Sour Chicken,” she adds, breaking the hold of his heated stare to spear one of the breaded poultry bites on her fork, dunk it in the pinkish-orange sauce, and quickly bring the morsel to her mouth. After swallowing with pure satisfaction, she prompts, “So, what was it you wanted to tell me a minute ago? Something on the tv?”

           Killian jerks upright at that, eyes wide as he clearly remembers what had gotten him so up-in-arms mere moments ago.  Gesturing to their television’s screen, now advertising some sort of overpriced mop-and-broom-in-one wonder contraption, to which his eyes veer and Emma just barely stifles a giggle as her ridiculous neat freak almost loses his concentration once more to the advertisement’s hold.  But then, Killian focuses and looks at her in earnest outrage as he explains, “It was promotion for an upcoming program – one of those preposterous reality competitions.” The disdain dripping from his words would be enough to send Emma chuckling again, this time at how seriously he takes his evening programming, if she didn’t first press her lips together to forestall the outburst and then shove enough chicken in her mouth to keep busy chewing and not reveal how amused she is by the whole thing.

           Killian isn’t done though; in fact, he looks as if he would march right up to whatever powers-that-be control the network schedule, give them a piece of his mind and wave his hook under their noses for good measure, if he only knew where and how to find them.  He’s just gathering steam as he launches into the rest of his description. “Apparently some single, mildly attractive bloke is set up in a mansion while several comely young lasses jostle to woo him and win his hand.  That has to be a mistake. Doesn’t it, Swan?  Why, the very premise is ludicrous.  He can’t date all of them at once!  Who would stand for that?!  They called it ‘The Bachelor’, but I must have it wrong.  No true gentleman bachelor would behave in such a manner – nor try it even, if he possessed a lick of sense…” However, his voice trails off at this point, eyes narrowing as he truly registers the expression now covering his wife’s face.  “Wait a minute… Emma, why do you look like that?”

           It’s her turn to blush brightly and unsuccessfully try to avoid his eyes, though it does no good and only tips him off further.  She had once been quite fond of The Bachelor – not that she’d have ever thought to tell anyone about it by choice – but the overly dramatic, outlandish guilty pleasure had kept her company on her couch with a pint of Rocky Road ice cream in that lonely apartment in Boston as she unwound after a long skip chase or stakeout more nights than she could rightly count. “Well, I don’t know how many self-respecting gentlemen they really draw, but you’d be surprised what those ‘lovely young lasses’ as you put it, will stand for – and do – Killan.  It’s more intriguing than you’d think.”  This last is mumbled in a rush as she ducks her head and pretends to have difficulty getting an errant morsel of chicken onto her fork.  She isn’t necessarily ashamed of being a Bachelor devotee at one point, and Killian wouldn’t judge her for it anyway, but she is abruptly struck by how absurd it all must seem to someone who comes from the place and time he does, and with the sense of honor which runs so deeply through his veins.  She flushes all over suddenly, floored by how blind she had been not that long ago, how little she had known back in those days on her own…just how different it is when those feelings the show plays on – when love itself – is True.

           Killian’s eyes bulge almost comically; she has to reach out to soothingly to pat his thigh, as he’s entirely too distraught for his own good. “Emma, truly?” he asks, voice quieter but still almost aghast at the very concept.  “He dates all of them?!  The cad!! How can you watch such poor form, Swan?  It’s atrocious!”

           She grins mischievously at him, shrugging away her embarrassment and giving him a saucy wink.  “Look, it’s easier to just show you, alright?  Tonight’s Monday, so it will be on in…” she checks the clock above the fireplace, “about half an hour.  I’m guessing that’s what the commercial was about.  You can check out the season premiere for yourself, Pirate.”

           Her husband huffs indignantly as if he has no desire to do any such thing, but by the time eight o’clock has rolled around, he has finished his meal, taken both their plates back into the kitchen, brought her a bowl of the restaurant’s specialty pineapple sorbet for dessert, and settled into his place on the couch again, with her feet gathered in his lap.

           As the program starts, Emma points out various routine practices and occurrences on the show, explains how this or that usually works, and Killian seems grudgingly engrossed despite his nobler intentions.  When the appointed Bachelor flubs one of his prospective mates’ names at the cocktail party, Killian scoffs loudly enough to draw her attention. Glancing sideways, she challenges, “Think you could do better, do you? That’s a lot of names to keep straight!”

           Killian however doesn’t miss a beat, sliding his gaze across to capture hers with twinkling charm, “Any decent suitor has ways of holding onto those names which matter,” he counters smoothly, waggling his brows at her in flirtatious come-on.

           Emma does snort then, but at least partly to cover the way he makes her breath catch and her heart start beating faster.  

           Her husband is smart enough not to gloat at this, though he easily notices and reads her as well as ever, merely nodding with a secretive smile and gathering her close to his side as she leans over on him while they continue to watch. When it reaches the stage where the chosen man is going on his first intimate date with one of the women and the pair onscreen are sharing a romantic candlelit dinner, Emma tilts her head to look up at her handsome husband, studying his beloved, scruffy profile and sliding her hand over his solid chest to slip under the typical, partially-unbuttoned collar and rest her palm tenderly against the warm, inviting skin right over his heart.  “So, a little more romantic than you figured, Captain?” she questions curiously.

           Killian chuckles lightly, giving a tiny bob of his head in acknowledgment, but when he turns to look back into her eyes, Emma sees clearly that he has not yet played his last card.  Reaching the bared stump of his left forearm, brace and hook long since removed this evening for comfort’s sake, to rest beneath her chin and gently turning her face to just the angle he is after, Killian bends to kiss her slowly, languorously, stealing her breath and every thought of reality dating, exotic locales, or winning their little debate from Emma’s mind.  When he does pull back, just enough for them to each draw a bit of air, their lips still only centimeters from each other, the low rasp of words he intones in that voice she can’t ignore sends shivers all the way down her spine. “Aye, my love, I do see the appeal.” He runs that devious tongue over his lower lip before going back to hers for another taste and nearly making her melt into the couch cushions beneath them.  

           At their next pause, he gathers her closer still, nuzzling his nose with hers, their foreheads resting against each other before he looks into her eyes seriously, his question now truly concerned, “But even so, people do not seriously think that a deep relationship can be formed in this way, do they? Surely you would not have gone on a show like that?  Competed that way as if love were a wrestling match or choreographed script?”

           Emma tilts her head to the side as she considers his question, shrugging noncommittally when she answers, “Well, no, probably not.  I mean, I definitely didn’t think they were finding real love. But as a lark…who knows?  I mean, they got to travel, be pampered, live it up. It might have been fun.”

           “Fun, hmm?” Killian murmurs at her temple, his hand now gently resting on her swollen stomach, the warmth truly comforting, even as she knows he is about to challenge her again.  “Well, be that as it may, lass, luckily you are now married to an illustrious pirate captain fully aware of how to woo a lady and able to take you any place in this realm, or any other, on the fastest, most marvelous ship in existence.”

           Emma smiles up into his gorgeous face before resting her head on his shoulder and relaxing into his touch for the long haul.  “You’re forgetting the real difference that I finally understand,” Emma whispers to him lightly.  “Back then, I didn’t believe love existed anyway.  It didn’t matter if what they were selling on tv was a scam, because I didn’t think what we have was possible.  Just like you said in Neverland – not until I met you.”

           Killian’s pleased agreement rumbles in his chest, and Emma feels the vibrations pleasantly throughout her own body where she rests in his arms.  The fancy jewelry, ball gowns, televised proposals, and celebrity serenades they see before them on camera, none of that holds a candle to this man with whom she now shares her life and her home.

~~ ***~~

           And so, when Killian comes home from the station at dinnertime two nights later, and surprises her in the kitchen by kneeling before her and holding out a single yellow buttercup to match the bloom inked on her wrist, and asks if she will accept his token, Emma can hardly be surprised.  Nodding and grinning with perfect glee – and thinking how much prettier this simple flower that reflects her more than any red rose ever could – her smile feels as though it might split her face completely in half. Emma finds herself giggling as he stands and somehow manages to sweep her off her feet and spin her around, impressive baby belly and all.  “Well Love, since you have accepted this formerly hopeless bachelor’s proposal, you are entitled to the all-expense paid trip to the destination of your choice I’ve arranged.  We leave Saturday; anywhere you want to go, one more magical getaway before the little one arrives. It’s all taken care of.”

           Swept up in the romance and surprise of her husband’s plan, Emma Swan-Jones can only marvel at how her reality is so much better anything she could have imagined.

Tagging a few folks I hope will enjoy: @spartanguard @kmomof4 @hollyethecurious @whimsicallyenchantedrose @flslp87 @jennjenn615 @celestial-fire-writer @ilovemesomekillianjones @laschatzi @midnightswans @branlovesouat @searchingwardrobes @jackieorioncat @duathadun @blackwidownat2814 @winterbaby89 @gingerchangeling @revanmeetra87 @ultraluckycatnd @bromfieldhall @capswantrue @kiwistreetswan @psymplemind

[anntar-radix]

Chapter 1 (cause I’m bad at naming conventions)

“You complete and utter jackass”

“Yea, I know, I know.”

It doesn’t help that a 15.7 gigawatt arc of electric energy moving towards us at an increasing rate.

I really need to stop attracting attention from these assholes. Oh well.

“… hope this works…”

Engage defensive protocols.

Engaged.

Caster plates in position.

WARNING : SUPPLIER ARMS IN COMPROMISED STATE.

Great. Just great. The one time I can’t fix them.

“You sure this will work?!”

“Probably.”

“WHAT DO YO-”

Cast Nullify(type : Electric)

Supplying myst to caster plates.

Casting.

The plates started to dissipate the myst. Not even a tenth of a second later, the arc hit the electrical barrier that I cast up.

I smirked “Make that a yes.”

“Not. Funny. You jackass.”

“Oh get a new insulting name would ya?”

The barrier started to strain. That can’t be good.

“Once you make sure that wall of yours won’t fail on us.”

“Fair ‘nough.”

Return MystReservoir

5020326

Return MystConsumptionRate

-53.6

Not bad for a few gigawatts hitting this.

Override Nullify.Usage(100)

Overriding.

The bluish barrier solidified.

“That should hold.”

Quidel glared at me.

“What do you mean ‘should’?!”

“Oh, lay off it. You know I never deal in definitives.”

He just pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head.

“You jackass.”

“I know. That’s the third time you called me that in the past thirty seconds.”

And for good reason on his part. I keep dragging him into this shit that I find myself in. And yes, I know that I’m a bad friend. I’ve heard that comment too many damn times. Half of them from Quidel. Yet here he is.

“Do you know the quickest way to the top?” I asked, mainly cause the last time I tried to lead us anywhere, we ended up halfway across the continental U.P.. That was an interesting ride home to say the least.

“I’m trying to get my bearings, but it’s quite hard when you have several billion watts being thrown at your head.”

“Welp. Could ya hurry up?”

“Not helping, jackass.”

“Four times now.”

“Still not helping.” Quidel sprinted towards the rocky wall behind us. One dull thud later, the wall fell to reveal a small, steep tunnel going up towards the surface.

“Going up?” he said with a smirk on his face.

“About time”

And we both took a mad dash up the tunnel.

“You going to disable that barrier?”

“Let it run for a few minutes. It’ll slow ‘em down.”

“I’d still love to know why the hell they’re after you.”

“Do you want that in a list form or an MLA format essay?”

“When can I get that essay?”

“How good is your internet speed?”

He shook his head. “Really?”

“You think I’m joking.”

“And you wonder why I worry whenever you attempt to do anything.”

“First of all-”

“Don’t even start that spiel and look ahead.”

Light. That’s a good sign. Or a very bad sign.

The tunnel let out to a grassy field. Another good sign.

And then I saw ten humanoid figures marching towards us. Okay.

With weapons. Less okay

Pointed straight at us. Well shit.

-----

Well now that I got your damned attention, hello, bonjour, hola, guten tag, jambo, any number of other greetings.

If you found this, I probably destroyed the world at some point in the past. Probably. I make no guarantees or promises as you could recall. This transcript was made in an attempt to preserve some amount of the history of this place. Earth, the rock orbiting the star we call Sol, the stone we call home, was in quite the strange situation. You see, this planet, inhabited with all sorts of wildlife and the such, had a sentient type of animal called Humans that discovered – or rediscovered, one of several times, if you want to get into semantics – magic. Magic lead them to great things. Great things that improved life as a whole, or destroyed it all the same. Depended if the human was an asshole or not. Oh, and just to clarify, I’m one of these. I guess I just called myself an asshole, but, to be fair, I probably deserve all of the horrible names you could throw at me. Though the name that most called me by is Amadeus, meaning “love of god” – yes, I know its translation is ironic to what I probably did to the world.

-----

“Deus, what shit-pile did you drag me into?” It sounded surprisingly calm and low-voiced.

“All of them, knowing this damned organization.”

“I still would enjoy knowing what the damned organization is called.”

50 meters away currently.

“Ask ‘em then.” I said, pointing towards the merry band coming at us. Their weapons aren’t drawn at least. Maybe I could’ve had them wear ugly Christmas sweaters, then they could’ve be considered merrier.

“Something tells me they aren’t very sociable.”

“You have a better idea then smashing them to base elements?”

“Redirecting that pestering tank’s firepower.”

“I doubt we’d be able to trick them with that.”

A sharp crack of gunfire hit my ears and a sharp pain erupted from my leg. Well at least I know they have some people with good aim.

Pain Siphon Activated.

Still hurts like hell. Upgrade from bloody hell, but nonetheless.

“You good?”

“What do you think?!” My voice basically dripping with venom. I hate when Quidel starts this crap.

He just smirked “Well then it’s time for some fun.”

And just as quick as the smirk appeared, a blade, about 15 centimeters in length, came into his right hand. He raised the blade with a deathly glint in his eye.

“Step any closer and you’ll all be dead before the foot hits the grass.” His voice echoed around the field.

And of course a single soldier decided to take him up on his offer. Quidel’s blade sliced over his own arm quicker than the blink of an eye. The bodies that remained dropped to the ground with a nice thud.

“Did you really have to do that? You could’ve tried to talk to them.”

“Talking doesn’t require weapons and I also gave them a warning that they just straight up ignored!”

Before I could protest, he put a finger over my lips.

“No. You know that line is a straight up lie you like to tell yourself.” We both heard a gunshot in the distance. “Come on,” he said lifting me up “let’s get you home before you complain more about me killing people.”

-----

Ah, Quidel. My one longest lasting friend. I still don’t know how we came to be in the same group of friends, but life seems to baffle me in every single aspect of it. Including the fact that it needs to end. I suppose I should tell you what I know about him, though I think he does a better job at explaining himself. If not, I’ll try to tell you about it.

-----

Well… It isn’t home but at least he tried to get me in someplace that isn’t on an unending cycle of attempts on my life. The poor girl at the desk must have been terrified when she saw two random idiots walk in, one of which has a bullet in the leg, the other with a slice across the arm. As Quidel walked towards the rooms, I gave her a bit of a tip for the inconvenience of dealing with Quidel. And to a lesser extent, me and my bloodied leg. Hopefully the bleeding will stop before I have to sleep.

*****

“Son of a -”

A spark cut me off. It seems the universe is having fun cutting me off from talking today.

What sparked this time.

“Oh… great. Just great.”

That’s going to be at least a couple hundred to repair.

“What broke this time?” Quidel asked while watching the TV. Something along the lines of a house-building show by the looks of it.

“The bloody supplier arms.” With a side of incoherent muttering.

“Aren’t they made of some custom forged osmium-iridium alloy that you bragged about?”

“It’s a carbon-titanium alloy and because it’s a custom blend, it’s gonna cost a ton to repair. And it just fucking shattered.”

He glanced over. “Doesn’t look shattered to me.”

“The joint is, asshole.”

“How much?”

I took one of my several magnifiers to get a closer look at the damage.

Cracks everywhere along the spherical joint. Structural damage to the internal supply system. Large chunk of the joint is flat out missing.

“5, maybe 6 hundred.”

Quidel nearly choked on his cup of coffee. “Holy fuck. Do they want your liver to go with that?”

“Knowing my suppliers, they’d rather have more cash.”

“Don’t you think you could use something else less pricey? It seems like a chance to get a new and improved material out there.”

“As tempting as that sounds, I’d rather have my gauntlet made from my current alloy.”

“Still. You don’t have unlimited funds”

“I know, but you aren’t the one footing the bill. I know how to be thrifty, you know!”

“If only you would be willing to protect yourself then you wouldn’t have to repair the gauntlet as often.”

“I am.” I grumbled

“You really aren’t. You try to be but your refusal to let any blood be on your hands is preventing it.”

I glared at him and he just glared straight back. I knew he was right. The fact I refused to allow anyone to die at my hands was a hindrance to any attempt at self-defense I made. I just can’t bring myself to kill someone. To take someone’s life, it’s just… not mine to take.

“Says the one with a healing focus.” I finally managed to speak up.

“And I’ve taken my Hippocratic Oath and lived by it.”

“Then why do you kill the innocent?!”

“Those people aren’t innocent!”

“How would you know?!”

He just got up and huffed out the room, slamming the door behind him.

The silence in the air just reminded me of how different we could be. Me, the pacifist. Him, the military supportive healer. Both valid stances on the topic. One day, one of us will be proven wrong. But today was not that day.

[littledreamybeth]

Abused

Hey guys, for this imagine I was inspired by @harry-writings. Hope you’ll like it! Feedbacks are appreciated! GIF is not mine!!!

Trigger warning: mentions of abusive behaviour and physical assault such as stabbing. Read at your own risk!!!

Y/N finally arrived home after a long day at work. Her whole body felt very limp from the constant up and down running from office to office. She really craved for a relaxed time on the couch with her loving boyfriend Harry, cuddling against him and watching some TV while he gave her all the attention she needed.

As soon as she closed the entrance door to her house, she took her shoes off and placed it right next to Harry’s Chelsea boots. A nice and hot bath would do her good to calm her senses, she thought.  It felt like she had been run over by a car- that’s how exhausted she was. Even though she loved her job as a designer, there were still times in which her work was extremely tiring and stole all her energy.

She went straight to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water and once she opened it, she chugged down the whole liquid with one go. She positioned the empty bottle on the counter table, when she heard someone whining upstairs. Furrowing her brows, she went up the stairs to check up if Harry was present. The whining turned into heavy sobs, and it sounded very like Harry, which made her even more concerned. She had no idea he was at home.

When she opened the door to her bedroom, she was confronted with an image she had never seen before.

Harry was kneeling in front broken pieces he desperately tried to put together. Tears streamed down his angelic face, and he seemed very frightened. No wonder- it was Y/N’s favourite vase her grandma had gifted her before she passed away, and it was a very unique object for her. But now all that remained were a pile of broken pieces. Y/N couldn’t tell what hurt her more. The fact that her favourite vase was broken or the fact that Harry was crying over it because he had accidentally knocked it down.

“Harry?” Y/N choked, her heart wrenched at the sight in front of her.

Once Harry lifted up his head and looked at her, his eyes widened and showed a very obvious hint of fear. His tongue felt like it was knotted, and he had absolutely no idea for an explanation. He did not intend to break something valuable to his girlfriend, and he knew he could never replace it, which made him feel more remorseful. His vision was clouded by tears, his cheek red as a tomato, and his lips were all bitten. He looked like a lost, helpless puppy.

“I’m sorry,” he managed to croak out. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” 

He repeated this sentence all over again, supported by another wave of heavy sobs.

Y/N just realised his fingers bleeding by the pieces he tried to seat together. She instantly went towards him to prevent that he cut himself even more. She wanted to grab his hands into hers and examine his injured fingers, however, she was baffled when Harry suddenly raised his arms in front of his face to use it as a shield against her in order to protect himself. His action put a stab right into her heart. Was he thinking she was going to hurt him?

“Harry, you’re injured. Please, baby, I just want to help.”

She put her hands on his arms to break down the wall he had created. Harry had still not calmed down- quite the opposite, his crying worsened. His breathing was ragged, and he had struggles with inhaling and exhaling. Y/N could not comprehend why he was having a break down over a simple vase, but she needed to find a solution to calm him down or he would have a panic attack instead.

“Harry…” She cupped his cheeks gently. ”Harry, darling, relax. Relax, it’s okay. I’m not mad.”

“D-don’t h-hurt me p-please,” he choked and closed his eyes tightly, his voice trembling due to his crying.

“What?” Y/N was left breathless for a second, but she managed to keep her composure immediately. Why on earth would she hurt him? There was no way she could ever lay her hands on him. Even if she would have been angry with him over something, there was no possible way she would ever hurt him.

“I will never hurt you baby, I promise but you have to relax, okay? Can you do that for me?” She gave him a tender kiss on his slight sweaty forehead. 

“I need you to breathe in and out, alright? Breathe in, breathe out,” she instructed until Harry’s crying ceased, and his breathing reached its normal pattern again.

“We need to clean your fingers, babe. Come on.”

She gently helped him up and steadied one arm around his body, leading him to the bathroom. Then she placed him carefully on the edge of the bath tub while she was looking for the first aid kit. Once finding it, she grabbed the utensils that were required and made her way back to Harry. He had his head kept down intentionally as he was ashamed to look at her in the eyes. It really broke her, it really broke her that he was afraid of her for a reason she couldn’t understand.

She grabbed tiny spray bottle of alcohol and positioned herself between his legs. First she checked if there were any remaining from the crushed vase but luckily there was none. The cuts weren’t quite deep. 

“This may sting a little, hun,” she warned him and began to clean his fingers. Harry hissed at the burning sensation, clenching his teeth together. “Hold on, Harry. I’m almost done.” After sticking a plaster on each injured finger, she gave some soft kisses on his knuckles.

“Are you feeling better now?”

She only received a nod from his side.

“Harry, look at me,” she spoke gently, but it was yet an order. Reluctantly, Harry raised his head, and their eyes met.

“You don’t hate me, do you?” Harry whispered quietly but loud enough for Y/N to hear it.

“Why would I hate you, Harry?” she questioned.

“Because I broke your favourite vase.”

“That’s no reason for me to hate on you, my love. I would never do that to you. Wanna tell me the reason why you were overreacting?”

Harry’s heart began accelerate, and Y/N noticed him panicking again. She ran her hands through his hair. “Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay! You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“C-can we go downstairs, please?” Y/N accepted his plea and took his hand into hers as they went down the stairs. Arriving at the living room, they made themselves comfortable on the couch, Harry leaning against Y/N’s chest. The constant fondling on his hair set him into a calming mood.

“My ex abused me,” Harry confessed. Y/N’s heart stopped for a moment.

“She used to do that a lot. It started very harmless. First she would ignore me when I did something wrong according to her, followed by constant yelling and screaming. One day, she just hit me because I forgot to buy her the chocolate bar she was craving for. “

Y/N was shocked about what she was hearing. How could a cruel person do that to an angel-like human being named Harry?

“Another time she shoved me down the stairs while arguing, and I ended up having concussions and a broken arm. I was damn lucky though, it could’ve been my neck.” 

Y/N could not imagine how her life would be if Harry died that day. She would have never met a unique person with a heart so pure and kind. She would have never woken up with a smile covering her face and gone to sleep happily in his arms.

“Have you ever reported her?”

“No, I never did anything because I loved her. I loved her enough to endure the pain she was causing me. I loved her enough to believe she would change, but she never did. I really thought I was going to marry her someday. I could see a life with her. I did everything to avoid any arguments but it never worked out. Every day she would humiliate me, telling me how worthless I was. She told me I did not deserve to live, and how happy she would be if I was dead. I never believed anything she said, I continued loving her until there was nothing I could give her anymore.”

Tears developed in Y/N’s eyes. Now she could understand why Harry was bursting into sobs when he’d broken her vase. He was afraid she could treat him same the way his ex did.

“After a while, the love I was having for her subsided, and I stayed with her partly because I thought I was obligated to stay by her side, and partly because I was afraid of her. I feared that she could come after me if I dared to leave her. Besides, she could be very persuasive. That’s how she manipulated me, making me believe she loved me when there was nothing but hate she was feeling towards me.”

“But how did you managed to get away from her then?” Y/N asked, pressing him closer to her body. After what she had heard, it was her job to take more care of him, making sure he was safe and secured.

“She stabbed me with a knife in front of my friends. She’s in jail now.” 

Y/N’s face turned entirely pale, and suddenly she felt like she was about to puke.

“Where did she stab you?” she asked, trying to swallow the big lump in her throat.

Y/N released him from her embrace so he could show her the place he was injured. Harry pulled up his shirt, revealing his muscled torso. There was a large scar on his left hip. Y/N gently let her finger trail over it. Her heart felt so heavy, and she had no words to explain how bad she was feeling for Harry. But Harry deserved her utmost respect because he’d stood his ground. He was being treated badly, tormented and humiliated too, but he’d still remained strong. He was the strongest young man she ever met.

“Oh Harry,” she sighed. “I promise I’m not like her. I would never do that to you. I’d rather die than hurt you in any kind of way. I love you, darling.”

 She connected their lips to a soft and gentle kiss, pourong all their emotions in it.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I was just doing some cleaning when I knocked the vase down.”

“Stop, Harry. Let’s not talk about it anymore, alright? There’s nothing more important than you are.”

“But it was your grandma’s, and I destroyed it.”

“Babe, she left me more than this behind, so I still have a lot of things that remind me of her. We’re not thinking about anymore, okay? What happened has happened, and we’re not going to dwell in that any further.”

“Thank you, love,” Harry said, offering her a slight smile. “I love you and I’m so happy I met you. You make me wanna live again.”

Y/N opened her arms for him that he could lean against her body again.

“You’re welcome, Harry. I’m happy a met you too. And always remember- I’ll be keeping you safe, no matter what happens.”

[rebaobsessivelywrites]

The Profiler in the Therapist (ch 16)

You can find this entire fic here on AO3.

Fandom: Bones (TV) and Criminal Minds (TV)

Entire Fic Description:

Dr. Lance Sweets is no longer the innocent eager psychologist he was a little over a year and a half ago. His time as a prodigy profiler at the BAU was a blessing. His time in a serial killer's basement was not.

Now, scarred but healed, Sweets is 'retired' to calmer job in the FBI as a therapist. As he helps others, he helps himself. But... is it enough? What will he do when one of his most fascinating (unwilling) patients asks for help on a case? How will his new team take his past as his secrets slowly start to come out?

Entire Fic Warnings: cannon-typical violence, past torture, panic attacks, PTSD, serial killers

Chapter word count:  4,988

Chapter warnings: referenced panic attack, background anxiety, talk about serial killers

Summary: The investigation picks up speed! Featuring a very special addition to the team.

Please read the fic! First chapter, previous chapter, next chapter, master list. And let me know if you want to be tagged.

The following 24 hours were utter chaos. Sweets went to the hospital to receive pain and antibiotic medication. While there, Emily pinned down Booth and Brennan, revealed her suspicions about the explosion, and offered her aid (read: demanded to be included) in the case. Sweets chose to return to the Hoover building for the afternoon, despite the days events, as he couldn’t imagine returning to the lab yet and there was no way Emily would let him go home alone—and he knew how much she wanted to be a part of the investigation. He occupied his time analyzing Goromogon’s profile and, when it became too much, filling out paperwork for a variety of sessions and psychological assessments he had performed over the past several days. (He also rescheduled all of his meetings for the next three days.)

Upon Emily’s arrival, and over the course of the trip back to his apartment, he was brought back up to speed on the investigation. It had definitely been Gormogon; the explosion was a distraction to cut the security systems and make off with the silver skeleton. It was an inside job—it had to be—which meant Gormogon’s apprentice worked at the Jeffersonian. An FBI tech and Hodgins had both identified the source of the explosion as tricyclic acetone peroxide, a highly explosive compound that had been switched for the monomer Zack was supposed to be adding to the polymethylmethacrylate (the plastic base for the denture experiment). Hodgins was understandably upset about it.

Needless to say, everyone had gone on high alert, and Booth had called in the big guns. The FBI had the lab locked down. They were scouring every inch of the place for clues, and Cam was at her wits end. Everyone was determined to do their absolute best, but the coroner had put her foot down and sent everyone off to rest. They couldn’t do much right now, and it had been a hard day for everyone.

What caught Lance’s attention most was the tidbit Emily shared as they walked through his front door: the BAU team was home. Prentiss had immediately requested their aid (with Booth’s support and Brennan’s protests), but Strauss had unsurprisingly shot her down. But, also unsurprisingly, the team was having none of that, so—after a hefty four-sided debate—Strauss conceded to allow one more team member help the Jeffersonian. Apparently, Morgan nearly threw a fit when Hotch chose Reid instead of him.

Sweets would have paid to see that.

The following morning was just as busy. Lance was still hesitant to visit the lab, but the knowledge that Reid would be arriving at any time was enough to tempt the therapist into accompanying Emily to the scene of the investigation

The lab was swarming with its normal activity, but there was a scattering of people clad in familiar suits and jackets with “FBI” branded in bright yellow across the back as well. They were poking around the lab, carting evidence hither and yon, and hovering over the shoulders of the various employees still working despite the utter chaos. As Sweets ventured farther, Prentiss at his side, he caught sight of Hodgins glaring a hole into the side of the nearest agent and Saroyan standing just outside her office with an arm crossed over her chest and the other holding a phone to her ear. Upon spotting her, Prentiss immediately altered her trajectory, Sweets following a heartbeat later. It wasn’t long before Sweets could hear the coroner was checking on the injured member of their team. (The thought of Zack sent a pang of… something through him, and Sweets held back a wince).

Cam let out a gusty sigh, “I guess that’s all we can hope for, right now.” After a moment, she glanced up, her eyebrows twitching upwards for a split second upon noticing their approach. Prentiss lifted a hand in greeting and Cam gave her a nod in return.

She gave a brief smile at whatever she heard on the phone, “I’ll be by in a few hours to rotate with you,” she paused, listening, and her smile softened, “Thanks, Angela.” The smile stayed on her face as she hung up and turned to the pair who had reached her side, “Good morning.”

Emily smiled back, warm and friendly, “Morning, Cam.” Sweets felt himself raise his eyebrows at that; apparently, they’d moved past ‘Dr. Saroyan’ and ‘Agent Prentiss’ after the explosion yesterday.

Cam smiled in amusement at Sweets, as though she could tell what he was thinking, before her expression fell slightly, a concerned light in her eyes, “How are you doing, Lance?”

Sweets couldn’t help doing a double take, giving the scientist a baffled look, before yesterday came flooding back. He winced— how could he have forgotten what she had done for him? —but, thankfully, Cam didn’t seem all that bothered; she was busy eyeing his thoroughly wrapped hand with a surprising amount of concern. “I, uh, I’m fine,” he managed a little awkwardly, “It’s much better, and I mean, it was my fault for not being more careful anyway.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Sweets saw Prentiss glower at him—which he expected. He did not, however, expect Saroyan to give him a downright frightening glare that clearly said, ‘don’t give me that bullshit.’ Despite that, she simply said, “I’m glad your hand is feeling better, at least,” and simply left it alone.

Sweets was inordinately grateful that she didn’t push, or—heaven forbid—bring up his panic attack.

“So,” Emily smoothly caught Cam’s attention, “What did I miss?”

As the coroner began giving his friend an overview of what they had discovered—or rather, what they had not discovered—since last night, Lance examined her. She looked like she’d been up all night, with dark bags under her eyes that weren’t quite masked by hastily applied makeup. Her hair was up, as usual, but was a little more frazzled than he was used to seeing on her. But, despite everything —despite the obvious emotional and physical stress she was under— she still seemed as unflappable as ever.

And for some reason, she was able to spare the bandwidth to be worried about him.

Honestly, Sweets was taken aback by her reaction. He had… assumed she would avoid the topic. After all she didn’t know him, and he had basically broken down in front of her. She shouldn’t have had to deal with that, a poisonous voice whispered in the back of his mind, it was a completely uncalled for reaction to an accident that put her friend in the hospital!

He shook those thoughts off quickly. He couldn’t control what had already happened, he could only move forward. Cam had seen him in the throws of one of his worst flashbacks in months. Nothing could change that. Sure, she did not need the added stress of knowing how… broken he really was. Not on top of Gormogon and Zack’s injury. But she did, for better or worse, and had even helped him through it. And, well, she obviously cared, and Lance would appreciate that for what it meant; he was finding a place here, in the Jeffersonian family, and he truly was making the friends he had hoped for from the beginning.

He only wished it was under different circumstances.

Cam and Emily were still deep in conversation, seemingly debating the best approach to take with the investigation today, but Sweets found he didn’t really care enough to pay attention. Regardless of their decision, he would end up profiling— since that was what he could do best, and the rest was (thankfully) out of his hands. Even the concerned looks they each threw his way weren’t enough to make him engage in the conversation. He just… let his mind wander, cataloging what had been discovered yesterday with the profile he had started on Gormogon months ago. He did not, however, get very far.

“Hey! What are you doing with that?” a familiar voice —belonging to the very person he hoped to see here— echoed from behind him, breaking through his thoughts and any remaining attention he had for the friends in front of him.

With barely a thought, Sweets whipped his head around so fast he nearly hurt his neck, quickly pinpointing his friend’s familiar figure as he leant over an agent’s shoulder. He was wearing his standard sweater vest and tie, his messenger bag slung over a shoulder and braced by one hand while the other held a white paper cup —just the same as always. The familiar sight had Lance breaking into a smile.

“That’s evidence,” he was saying, annoyance coloring his tone in a way that was rare for him. He frowned at whatever the agent said in reply, “This was an inside job. That means everything is evidence in this case; you can’t just discard it!”

The agent straightened and turned enough so that Sweets could see his scowling face and pick out the testy reply, “And who, exactly, do you think you are?”

Reid scowled and took a breath, but before he could answer Booth appeared at their side. Sweets couldn’t help but smile as he inserted himself between them, “Whoa, there. Let’s not tear each other’s heads off, alright?”

Reid turned his glare on the other agent and bit out something Sweets couldn’t quite hear, though he could make out the obvious annoyance coloring his tone.

Booth’s eyebrows shot up and he turned to the agent who was now holding the box he had been leant over a few moments ago. “He’s right, Torres,” Booth informed him, “Why don’t you take the stuff you don’t know how to classify to Myers, alright?”

The agent, Torres apparently, gave a huff before jerking his head in what appeared to be a nod and wandering off towards a cluster of agents near the entrance to the lab.

Booth turned back to Reid and extended his hand, likely introducing himself. Reid, of course, simply lifted the hand that wasn’t holding his precious coffee and gave his trademark awkward wave, completely ignoring the gesture.

Sweets couldn’t help chuckling at the baffled look on the agent’s face.

A snort sounded from beside him, startling him, before Emily gave his shoulder a gentle shove, “Go on, Lance,” she grinned at him as he looked back at her. Cam was still standing there, watching them with amusement crinkling her eyes, and Sweets was struck for a moment at how much better she looked opposed to just minutes ago. Before he could order his thoughts though, Prentiss let out a short laugh and pushed him again, causing him to stumble a step. “Go on,” she urged again, “it’ll be more fun to watch Spencer baffle Booth up close.”

He shot his friend a fond eye roll and retaliatory shove but took her advice and made his way over to the pair, tossing a wave and smile over his shoulder for Cam as he went. As he approached, he could see Booth’s face, and the increasing bafflement leaking across it, in greater detail. The agent didn’t seem to know what to make of the genius profiler yet. It was… very familiar. The reaction reminded Lance of the numerous agents and officers the team had encountered over his time with the BAU.

“…will be hard to sift through it all, especially considering the size of the suspect pool,” Reid’s voice became distinguishable as Lance approached the pair. He was gesturing idly with his free hand, while keeping his coffee cup close to his chest and leaning slightly forward. The sight was just as familiar as the agent’s reaction, causing the sense of nostalgia to grow. Lance would bet, despite being unable to see his face, that Reid’s eyes were alight and determined. After a quick pause to survey the activity swarming around him—as though proving his point— the profiler continued, “Behavior will likely be the easiest way to inform the direction of the investigation. I’d like to start on the profile as soon as possible.”

Booth’s eyes flicked over his shoulder, landing on Sweets, and his shocked expression melted into a slight smile. “Well,” he looked back to Reid, amusement coloring his tone, “I think the guy you want to talk to just got here.”

Reid’s eyebrows shot up as he turned to see who had caught Booth’s attention. As soon as he saw Lance, a smile broke across his face. “Lance,” he greeted warmly.

“Hey, Spence,” Sweets smiled a little awkwardly before moving closer and punching (more like pushing) Reid’s shoulder in his customary greeting.

The profiler rolled his eyes and attempted to school his face into his traditional scowl, but his smile refused to budge. After a moment, he stopped trying and just beamed at Sweets, “It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah,” he huffed a sigh, “Good to see you too. I’m glad you guys caught that HSK.”

Reid’s face twisted slightly. “If you count ‘dead’ as ‘caught’… but yes; it’s good he’s off the roads.”

“Suicide by cop?” Booth asked curiously.

“No,” he turned back to the agent, shifting his bag slightly, “Actual suicide, with a gun to the chin.” In typical Spencer fashion, he made an aborted gesture towards his chin as he spoke.

Booth grimaced at that. Sweets had to agree; it was always disappointing and unpleasant when you couldn’t bring the unsub to justice. But, well… dead was better than free.

A moment of awkward silence descended, Sweets shifting his weight back and forth uneasily while Booth examined the two profilers before him. Thankfully Reid broke the silence before too long, awkwardly clearing his throat and hiking his bag farther up his shoulder, “Anyway, we should get started.”

Booth blinked as though he had completely forgotten the reason they were there, “Right.” He turned to Sweets, “Don’t s’pose you’ve got your files on you?”

The therapist offered a slight smile, “I’ve got what we need, yeah. I figured you’d want to keep the investigation contained.”

The agent gave him a wry smile, “Yeah; it’d be best to keep everything nearby for the time being.” He turned back to Reid, “What you need?”

“Just a place that…” the genius shrugged glancing around, “doesn’t present as high a probability of getting run over.”

“Sure thing,” Booth chuckled warmly and gestured over his shoulder, “I’m sure you can use Bones’ office.”

Reid gave his thanks and immediately set off, but Lance found himself hesitating for a reason he couldn’t quite place. Though… the longer he hovered with his momentum caught between one step and the next, the more he noticed how… lost his ex-patient appeared. Booth was all about hands-on investigations and hard evidence. This investigation had no concrete evidence and no solid leads, even with hordes of agents swarming every feasible crime scene and picking them over with a fine-tooth comb.

“Agent Booth,” Lance found himself speaking before he had solidified his thoughts, “I… I don’t suppose you’d, well… like to join us? We could always use fresh eyes, and I wouldn’t mind walking you through the basics while Spencer gets up to speed on Gormogon.”

The next split second was an image Lance suspected he’d never forget, as it contained two of his favorite reactions. Booth looked utterly gob smacked, like he had been blindsided by a flying tackle, while Spencer, who had halted a few feet behind the agent and was clearly visible over his shoulder, gave Lance one of his brightest smiles that practically radiated approval and joy. It didn’t last long; Spencer quickly schooled his expression into a more neutral (yet still very real smile), and Booth’s expression morphed back into his normal friendly grin (although it had a new curious edge to it), but Sweets couldn’t help being delighted anyway.

Once he had successfully squashed his surprise, the agent gave a little shrug of his shoulders, “Sure, Sweets. Why not? I don’t have anything else I can do right now.”

As the three investigators made their way across the lab to Brennan’s office, Lance allowed himself to bask in the warm feeling sitting in his chest. There was just something about Cam expressing her concern and Booth being so willing to help that settled something—a churning mass of… anxiety?— that had kept him off kilter since the explosion the previous night. Sure, things were awful right now, but at least this new team seemed to care about him as much as he cared about them.

By mid-morning, Sweets was ensconced on the couch in Dr. Brennan’s office, surrounded by mounds of paper files, several computers, and two very determined agents. Oh—and a very pissed off anthropologist. Brennan had not been pleased to find the profilers invading her office upon her return from whatever she had been doing; she had nearly kicked them out before Booth managed to convince her to let them stay.

Early on in their research binge, Spencer had called up Garcia and set her on the Jeffersonian staff and their deepest darkest secrets. Shortly thereafter Emily had poked her nose in. Lance couldn’t remember what she had said—as he had been too preoccupied with breaking down the profile he had first made ages ago and walking Booth through the more important details, explaining the mechanics of profiling when he could—but he did remember she was going… somewhere to do something to help, and that Booth seemed to approve. Sweets was rather pleased he had decided to stay; the older agent soaked up the new information like some sort of sponge. Sweets wasn’t exactly surprised—he knew Booth was a great deal smarter than he portrayed himself—but he was rather pleased with how much effort he was putting forth.

Currently, the pair was making serious headway through the impromptu profiling lesson, bent over the coffee table together. Of to the side, Reid was in his element, seated in the eye of the paperwork hurricane, flipping through files at a neck breaking speed, muttering under his breath as he sifted through piles of information. Lance, who was the closest to the genius, was barely outside of the chaos and was terrified of disturbing one of his many piles of files and notes. On the other hand, Brennan was picking away at something or another at her computer, flipping through paper files every so often and glaring at the group taking over the more comfortable seating area of her office at least once a minute. (It was… a little amusing.)

They had just gotten to the point where the agent was grasping the details Sweets was seeing and how that translated into predicting behavior when Reid sat up ramrod straight with a wordless exclamation, vigorously circling something on his paper. Three sets of eyes immediately turned to the profiler as he carefully shifted forward in his seat to hand his discovery to Lance, somehow without disturbing his organized chaos. (From behind her desk, Brennan let out a disgruntled noise that accurately conveyed her disgust.)

Mildly confused, Lance accepted the paper all the same. It was… a map, covered in familiar dots, with one section outlined in broad deep strokes. It looked almost like one of Reid’s trademark geographical profiles, but there weren’t nearly enough data points plotted out for the genius to have already circled a probable neighborhood for the unsub to live. From his spot leaning over the therapist’s shoulder, Booth voiced his own confusion, “Uhh… I think you’re gonna have to explain this to the new guy, Doc.”

“Right here,” Spencer leaned forward eagerly, miraculously ignoring the nickname, and pointed at the circled area, knocking a cascade of paper off the table in the process.

“Not really helping, Spence,” Sweets admitted, squinting at the spot his friend pointed out, “How did you determine this? You only have a handful of locations to work off, even if the unsub is obsessed with patterns and symbols.”

“Dr. Hodgins,” the profiler explained excitedly, “He did an analysis of the water the jaw was boiled in last night. The lead content suggests it was done in water from this neighborhood.”

Realization dawned on Lance like a bucket of ice water as he eyed the rough triangle sketched around the localized area, “And it fits.”

Reid nodded eagerly, “It’s far from certain, considering how little data I have to work with, but based on what I’d guess with what we do have…. I’m comfortable positing that the unsub lives in this neighborhood.”

“Wait, wait,” Booth leant forward, taking the map from Lance’s unresisting hands and turning it this way and that as though it would help him understand what it meant, “What’s this?”

“It’s a geographical profile,” Sweets said before his friend could open his mouth, “Reid specializes in them.”

“Basically,” the profiler jumped in, “it uses locational data combined with what we know about the unsub’s behavior to predict what areas they are familiar with. It is effective in narrowing the suspect pool to a more manageable size, particularly in cases where the unsub appears to have no connection to their victims.”

“That—Hodgins lives there,” Brennan spoke suddenly, startling Sweets out of smiling proudly at his friend. Somehow, she had gotten out from behind her desk without him noticing and was leant over her partners shoulder, frowning at the map.

Spencer nodded, seemingly unsurprised by both her appearance and her revelation, “There was a note of that, yes.”

Booth gave the profiler a somber look, “That means he’s our top suspect.”

“No, I wouldn’t say that,” he immediately refuted, frowning at the agent, “Not only has Garcia already cleared him, but he doesn’t fit the profile.”

Brennan frowned at him, looking torn between abject disapproval and something akin to hope, “You can’t ignore the evidence.”

“I’m not,” the genius gave her an affronted look, “Based on the behavioral profile, the unsub is a dominant personality that feels unseen and slighted, is obsessed with the idea of secret societies and the spiritual strength supposedly gained from consuming human flesh, and lives in this neighborhood,” he paused to lean forward and tap the map in Booth’s hands, “He is intelligent and capable. However, the likelihood of him working at the Jeffersonian is low; he is fixated on this team and he would have been unable to resist the temptation to use his position to his advantage before now.”

“It’s his apprentice who works here,” Lance agreed quietly, observing the agent-anthropologist pair. They obviously weren’t distinguishing between Gormogon and his apprentice as much as they should. “We’re looking for someone young, with a more submissive personality, who is easily guided and manipulated. Dr. Hodgins is none of those things.”

“That’s a relief,” Booth commented, relaxing slightly as he absorbed their argument, “but it does leave us back at square one.”

“Not quite,” Spencer disagreed again, pulling out his phone, “I’ll let Garcia know to do a background check on all the residents of the area.”

Brennan turned to Booth and started complaining about the unreliable methods they were using, but Sweets tuned them and Reid out, frowning to himself. All the talk about the apprentice and the differences in his profile when compared to Gorm—the unsub, he found himself stuck on something.

Why did the apprentice do so little?

Yes, the explosion was incredibly damaging, but it was just one incident, staged solely as a distraction. If they truly worked here, though, wouldn’t they be able to cause so much more damage? Less noticeable damage?

“Lance?” Reid’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he glanced up to find all three of them staring at him. Apparently, he had been thinking long enough for Reid to finish his call and refocus the agent and anthropologist.

He gave a sheepish smile, “Sorry.”

Reid immediately shook his head, frowning slightly. “No, what were you thinking? Anything could help,” he gently reminded Sweets of how this type of thing worked in the BAU. They shared every little thought, because anything could lead to a realization that could break the case.

“I just…” Lance shrugged and huffed a sigh, “I can’t help wondering. I mean, the apprentice planted the tricyclic acetone peroxide in one of the most secure storage areas in the Jeffersonian… so what else did they have access to? What else did they do?”

Booth and Spencer both nodded and frowned in thought, obviously agreeing and considering the possibility, but Brennan…. After a moment of silence, her standard look of disgusted disinterest, which she wore whenever Sweets was presenting a hypothesis, melted into a wide-eyed look of startled realization. “The color,” she breathed, nearly jumping out of her chair and startling all three investigators. By the time the others gathered their wits and got to their feet she was already out the door, booking it across the lab.

“Wait, Bones,” Booth called, jogging out of the office to catch up with her.

Exchanging a look, Sweets and Reid hurried out of the office on his heels.

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of it earlier!” Brennan exclaimed, “It’s too light.”

“What’s too light?” Booth finally slowed to a fast walk beside her.

Brennan gave her partner an annoyed look, “The jaw.”

Beside Sweets, Reid let out a surprised noise, followed by and excited, “Oh.” The therapist gave his friend a side-eye but was unable to determine anything beside the fact that he was excited by whatever idea Brennan was exploring. Which… did not help him, whatsoever.

“Cam!” Brennan called, pulling ahead of her partner and waving down the coroner, who stopped mid stride and gave the rapidly approaching group a baffled look. “Do you still have the tissue you used for the DNA test?”

The other scientist blinked at her for a long moment, “Uh, yeah. I do.”

“I need to see it,” Brennan announced, not breaking stride as she hurried past her supervisor and made a beeline through the various agents and scientists wandering around the lab, “And I need to look at the complete test results, as well.”

“Ok,” she agreed easily, turning to follow the anthropologist to her own office, “Why?”

“She needs to check the quality of the DNA,” Reid spoke up from behind the coroner, “to check for any characteristic damage, such as thymine dimers. Although, I don’t know why she wants to see the tissue itself,” he muttered the last bit, frowning at Brennan’s back.

The group filed into the office, Sweets venturing in last, still utterly confused. Cam hurried to Brennan’s side to let her onto the computer and pull up several images, while Reid and Booth moved to peer over their shoulders. Booth’s face was twisted in confusion, but Cam and Spencer both looked rather eager.

After a moment of rearranging the various windows, Brennan leant forward and pointed to a peak on one of the graphs, “There! In the content analysis.” She slid her finger across the screen and pointed out what appeared to be indistinguishable black granulation to Sweets. “And here,” she glanced at the others, “in the tissue stain.”

Cam narrowed her eyes at the screen before turning to stare at the anthropologist. “You think the jaw bone was exposed to ultraviolet light?” she asked, a note of surprise in her voice, “Why would Gormogon do that?”

“He didn’t do it to any of the other remains,” Sweets pointed out idly from the background, still feeling a little lost with the abrupt change in scenery.

Reid nodded, giving Lance a bright smile, “It’s unique to this victim, which means there’s something different about his procedure this time around.” He turned to Cam, “So, if Gormogon doesn’t use UV light, who does?”

Brennan gave Reid a surprised and grudgingly respectful look, “We do.” She turned her attention to Cam as well, “It’s standard procedure for skeletal remains when we put them away for storage.”

“Whoa, hold up,” Booth interjected, “Are you saying the lobbyist is here?”

Brennan shrugged, “We have over 10,000 sets of remains waiting to be identified. What better place to hide a skeleton?”

Lance could almost feel the realization and dread wash over the group, his own stomach dropping. Thousands of remains, a labyrinth of unidentified bones, all here, in the Jeffersonian. And there may be evidence somewhere in that mess.

After a beat, Cam let out a low groan and voiced his thoughts, “How do we sift through 10,000 sets of remains?”

After a beat of baffled silence, Spencer cocked his head slightly, “Well, logically speaking, with lots of people. Though I don’t know where you’d be able to find a crowd of individuals qualified to analyze thousands of remains in the hope of finding bones that don’t belong.”

Brenan’s face, once again staring at Reid, was... priceless. It was cross between respect and something akin to constipation, and Lance had never seen anything like it. It was baffling and delightful; Brennan had been so set on disliking Reid on the grounds of his chosen field, but it appeared she was losing that battle.

After a long moment of Brennan examining Spencer, who was frowning as though trying to solve a puzzle (while Booth and Cam stared at Brennan, and Lance stared at all of them), the anthropologist huffed and pulled out her phone, “I need to get my grad students here.” As she pressed the piece of technology to her ear, she turned to Cam, “I need someone to help organize their search once they arrive.”

Cam blinked, “Right. I’ll…” she took a step back, “I’ll go tell Caroline and ask Angela to help.”

Lane was still rather baffled and confused, but he found he was also hopeful. As he watched Cam disappear into the chaos of the lab and Dr. Brennan steamroll whoever was on the other side of her call, Sweets felt like they just might have a chance.