#(edit that is an exaggeration i added it yesterday i just have no sense of time)

[peridots-pixiwolf]

[Start ID. A drawing of V1 from Ultrakill in blue, yellow and red against a black background. It appears to be sliding to the left while midair, albeit with one leg bent and a wing splayed outward, gripping a gun and aiming it indirectly at the screen. Blood sprays from a couple broken wires and litters its body. End ID]

so I've been playing ULTRAKILL recently

[infiniteglitterfall]

the worst part about the i/p discourse

it's NOT the posters of Nazis with the swastikas on their flags replaced by stars of david. or the pages and pages of blood libel conspiracy theories in instagram posts about why local pride organizers are such big meanies. or the newfound insistence that jews just exaggerate and make up antisemitic incidents to smear the pro-palestine movement....

it's the fact that every. single. time. i try to post anything about any of these things, i end up in a rabbit hole SO DEEP IT'S IMPOSSIBLE TO GET TO THE BOTTOM.

Yesterday, I saw a --

YOU SEE? I went to Reddit for a second to find the link to the post about the Melbourne protest this week that had people carrying the Nazi-star-of-David posters. But first, I saw a post that began, "All I see on social media and the news is more and more attacks. Who beat up a Jewish family here, who stabbed a 1 year old in front of a synagouge. Those are two examples, I've lost track of all of the other ones."

and I was like, SOMEONE STABBED A ONE YEAR OLD IN FRONT OF A SYNAGOGUE?!?!

And I started to look that up. AND THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENS. EVERY SINGLE TIME.

Two days ago, I saw an article about Cincinnati Socialists setting up a table at North Kentucky Pride without asking, it sounds like, to hand out flyers saying the war in Gaza was Netanyahu's "Final Solution" for Palestinians. Cincinnati Pride organizers alerted the NKY Pride organizers, who kicked them out.

I was like, "okay, well, let's see what Cincinnati Socialists say about it." Then I discovered that their instagram not only "names and shames" the two Cincy Pride organizers and one NKY organizer. Which led to the Cincy ones getting so much harassment and violent threats that they resigned....

But also has a related post that goes on for pages and pages of pure blood libel.

So then I sat there fact-checking all their blood libel and finding out that not only was it untrue and impossible, but half the stuff they referenced didn't even exist.

Then I ended up fact-checking things in the "article" that they'd clearly used as their source. Fact-checking things I found while fact-checking those.

Trying to write a Facebook post about how fucked up it all was. Giving up on the Facebook post after several hours because it made more sense to write it on Tumblr, or at least to write it on Tumblr FIRST.

Then I'm also looking at the post they made "naming and shaming" the organizers, which is like... "the Cincy ones are partners! two days after Hamas's incredibly violent and brutal massacre, one of them changed his profile picture to a photo of them honeymooning IN ISRAEL two years ago! they did it through some group that COVERS A LOT OF THE COSTS FOR HONEYMOONS IN ISRAEL!!!!" and "the other one went to a protest of Hamas's massacre!!! with a sign saying to free the hostages!!!"

oh no. the fucking horror. truly how did these genocidal monsters even end up on the pride organizing committee. this is a shanda scandal.

then I'm responding to people's comments, trying to talk them down from horrible positions. telling people things like, "I know it's asking a LOT, but if people could grasp the idea that "going to Israel for your honeymoon" ISN'T "committing genocide," it would be really great. Or that wanting the hostages freed is actually something that both Israeli AND GAZAN protests have called for, and it's only Westerners who are opposed to it. Or that in fact, saying you "Stand with Israel," a few days after an incredibly brutal attack that burned multiple towns to the ground in one day, killed entire families and their pets, an attack which Hamas has promised to repeat "again and again and again" till Israel is violently destroyed... is opposing that attack, NOT calling for genocide."

then i'm like, "oh, i should edit these images to show the correct info, and i can explain that I drew arrows and added the correct info!" so then i'm doing that and working on writing alt text, and holy shit??? how many fucking hours??? did i spend on this?????? just because i read a frigging reddit post that linked to an article about it?????????

and like. i can go through and debunk all that shit in the comments. (and did. i responded to every single comment that believed this shit.) but ultimately, everyone who pulls this shit has way more reach than I do.

just. like. THAT'S ONE ORG IN ONE PLACE. And it was bad enough that I persevered and finished debunking it and commenting on it today and started telling people about it. Do you even know how many more of those I've seen?! How many I would see if I looked for them on purpose?!

The tsunami of deliberate disinformation is SO FUCKING BAD. All of it is SO FUCKING LAYERED. In any single bullshit post, there are SO MANY horrifically bad and wrong assumptions. So many of them are DESIGNED, BY HAMAS, to lead people down the path to "All Zionists should die! Israel should be violently destroyed!"

There were so many comments on a "Free Palestine Melbourne" group's instagram post (Sydney? Could've been Sydney) asking, pointedly, how many Jews are Zionists. What percentage of Jews are Zionists, again?

One (1) had a response telling them it doesn't matter what the percentage is, no percentage would justify collective punishment of Jews.

The rest all said things like, "Too many."

It feels like constantly being lied to. Just constantly being lied to about things I have looked up and verified myself from solid sources, now and in the past, by people I counted as my community.

Then just now I opened Instagram because I hadn't taken screenshots of a couple of the pics I wanted to add. And I'm hit with these:

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by jewsinschool (@jewsinschool)

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Jewish on Campus (@jewishoncampus)

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Jewish and Proud (@jewishpridealways)

Then some brighter posts (including one of a baby bat!!) and then a post which sums up a lot of what I'm feeling right now.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Jess Cook (@jessicagcoook)

It's like, yes, that, plus the uncomfortable sense that some people are getting thisclose to going, "Most Jews are Zionists anyway, so YEAH, I DO think most Jews deserve to die."

[randomstuffhewwo]

Tone Indicators, a Masterlist

Tone indicators are shorthand for words used to convey tone, which the Cambridge Dictionary defines as "a quality in the voice that expresses the speaker's feelings or thoughts". Tone can do so much to change the meaning and implications of a sentence. The intended use of tone indicators is in text, and they are prevalent on social media where miscommunication is rife, and posts and messages are often misinterpreted. Tone can be especially difficult to parse for neurodivergent people. This is not to say that neurotypical people never misunderstand tone through text, or even face-to-face, because they do — but that neurodivergent people may experience and interpret tone differently. They are simply paralinguistic signifiers used at the ends of statements to help readers fill in the blanks. They can also be called written shorthand for the poster’s (OP's) intent and emotion.

It's entirely too easy to use them, simply use them after, or even before, the sentence that you wish to clarify. "Can you explain this for me? /gen"

I'm going to make a masterlist of all the tone indicators I've seen so far, adding some that aren't in popular usage, some I personally use with my friends, some that I believe should exist, under the cut. In some cases, I've seen multiple versions of the tone indicator, in which case I've put the more popular one first (at least by what I've seen).

Tone Indicators I've Seen Popularly Used

/j: joking "i'll have to deactivate my account now /j"

/hj: half-joking "we should definitely date /hj"

/s, /sarc, /sarcasm: sarcasm "i absolutely love being sad /s"

/srs: serious "i'm just so very tired /srs"

/nsrs: not serious "my leg's hurting a little bit but i'm okay /nsrs"

/g: genuine statement "i'm thankful that you're talking to me right now /g"

/lh: light-hearted "isn't is spelled 'unnecessary'? /lh"

/nm: not really mad or upset "i think you got that fact wrong /nm"

/pos, /pc: positive connotation "the movie's back on for tomorrow! /pos"

/neg, /nc: negative connotation "i have work tomorrow /neg"

/ly, /l: lyrics "she's a, she's a lady, and i am just a boy /ly"

/p: platonic "i just want to hug you /p"

/gen: genuine question "are you okay with me talking right now? /gen"

/t: teasing "it seems your sense of humour is horrible /t"

Tone Indicators I Haven't Seen Popularly, but I Have Seen, and Also Sometimes Use

/ref: reference "it's like none pizza with left beef /ref"

/nbh: nobody here, for vague mentioning "i'm just so angry at someone /nbh"

/r: romantic "i really want to cuddle with you right now /r"

/sx, /x: sexual intent (Used for sexual innuendos, or similar hinting)

/nsx, /nx: non-sexual intent (Used to clarify the lack of any such sexual intent in a statement)

/m: metaphorical "i was just swept away by a wave /m"

/li: literal "the fish was as big as my torso /li"

/ij: inside joke "it's a whale on dry land /ij"

/rh, /rt: rhetorical "who even cares? /rh"

/hyp: hyperbole (exaggerated statements or claims not meant to be taken literally) "i've told her ten thousand times to stop playing that song /hyp"

/c: copypasta (a block of text which is copied and pasted across the Internet by individuals through online forums and social networking websites)

/f: fake "i saw this post yesterday /f", which could be accompanied by an edited or modified post

/th: threat "i will get you to read that book /th"

/cb: clickbait "this website saved my life! /cb"

Tone Indicators I Use With My Friends, or Believe Should Be Mainstream

/a: affectionate "you're a bitch /a"

/q: quote "get up, get up, there are worlds to conquer /q"

/nf: not forced "do you want to go out with me today? /nf"

/pa: passive-aggressive "looks like someone has been talking to someone else behind my back /pa"

/npa: not passive-aggressive "i think someone has stolen my pen /npa"

[knockknockchicagopd]

❛ OH, SHE ISN'T PLAYING ❜

❚❙ REQUEST BY @ocetevasgirl: Hola preciosa! Can I request prompt 8 from the fluff list with Voight? Love you 💖

❚❙ PROMPTS: “You're jealous, aren't you?” “You're calling that jealousy? If she/he can still use her/his legs, I'm not being jealous”.

❚❙ HANK VOIGHT MASTERLIST.

❚❙ WORDS: about 2k.

❚❙ A/N: this writing hasn’t been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I’m sorry about that. If you find a description about body or a word out of place, or something that it makes you feel uncomfortable / unrepresented, let me know by a private message and I will change it delighted.

❚❙ GIF credits: to my amazing @sonsofeorl.

❚❙ Tag list: @melblacc @rebelwrites @skyofficialxx @sesamepancakes @scarletsoldierrr @mondefantastique @that-chick212 @enbyamaro @inlovewith3 @ocetevasgirl @sophie-writes. If you want to be added to my tag list, send me a message.

Since you saw this morning Olivia Benson walking downstairs accompanied by Voight, your good mood got burned into ashes just in a sight. He hadn't told you that she was going to come and, actually, he hadn't why to tell you. For him, it's only part of his job. But you know it's something else for her. You have seen her how she looks at your man. The unjustified and unnecessary touches on his back, on his arm. The stupid smiles she draws to him, that you would be delighted of erasing using your fist.

You have never, ever, been the kind of jealous girl. You trust your boyfriend blindly, but you don't trust her. You can't. You have tried it with all your efforts, but then you heard her laughing for no reason and Hank responding with a fleeting smile. You haven't talked him about how you feel, because the age gap between both makes you look stupid sometimes. Fortunately, you're professional enough to not let these things affect your job and your relationship. You have learnt how to hide your emotions, even if sometimes your friends suspect that something is going on by the tic that makes you blink your left eye unconsciously.

Aware that he must be there with his amazing friend, Kim places a hand on your shoulder trying to encourage you to cross the entrance and come into the Molly's. Licking your lips as you calm yourself a little, you nod pushing the door to be embraced by the warm atmosphere inside it, covering you from the cold breeze of Chicago. Letting your eyes travel around the place, you greet some of your friends waving a hand, before landing your gaze on your boyfriend. He turns at that exact moment, not even trying to contain a smile. You show him another back, but his disappears when he sees you passing him away straight to the Unit's table without greeting him. And Olivia notices it, but you don't care.

“What's up, trouble?” Jay pulls down your hair, earning a laugh from you.

“Platt said you crashed a patrol”. Wrinkling your nose in a funny gesture, after Adam's words, you take a seat next to him.

“These aren't the things you have to learn from us, you know it, right?” Antonio makes you all chuckle, calling to his sister raising a finger to ask for more beers.

“I caught the bad guy, didn't I?”

“Yeah, crashing a car”. Atwater raises his eyebrows, leaning over the table.

“But I caught the bad guy, that's my job not to take care of the cars. I'm not a mechanic…”

“BUT A COP!” You all say in unison, as always, like a famous quote.

As soon as the beers arrive, you make another toast for your car lost in action. And everything is fun until you feel a presence behind you and the silence gets installed around your table. Gulping and licking your bottom lip, as your friends drink from their bottles trying to pretend that you all weren't doing what you were doing, you turn around over your stool forcing a smile.

“Having fun, officer (Y/L/N)?” Platt's voice gives you the kind of shivers you can hide.

“No, no, n— I mean… yes”. The look on her face causes you to swallow again. “I me—mean, no?”

“It's a simple question. Yes or no”.

“Trudy, leave the kid alone”.

Saved by the bell. Your hero.

“Crash a car is part of our tradition, ain't it?” Hank tries to put some humor in the situation, traveling his eyes from her to you.

“Hm”. The woman just replies, before walking away.

You don't know about what kind of tradition he is talking of, but at least he has saved your ass. Again. Not being able to look at him, you sip from your beer trembling yet. Probably, tomorrow Crowley will ask for a convincing explanation. I caught the bad guy will not work with her, that's for sure. Feeling a soft touch in your lower back, you raise your orbs from the bottle to your boss, who makes a brief move with his chin to point at the back door at the end of the bar. You don't want to go, you know exactly what it's going to happen and you just want to forget the intense day you have had. But he raises his eyebrows with that cockiness usual on him, about to drag you if you don't put down from your stool.

With an imperceptible sight, you end up obeying in silence under the attentive eyes of your friends. Hank walks behind you with both hands in the pocket of his jeans, as you wear your jacket to zip it above your chest. The fresh air hits your face once you reach the Molly's back alley, resting your back against the wall with your face bowed to your military black boots. Placing himself in front of you, he studies thoroughly your gesture, your lips pressed and the lack of eye contact.

“What's the matter?”

Shaking your head slightly, you cross one leg behind the other, putting your hands on your lower back.

“You're jealous, aren't you?”

Letting go an exaggerated chuckle, you roll your eyes before gluing them on him. “You're calling that jealousy? If she can still use her legs, I'm not being jealous”.

“It ain't a good moment to be sarcastic, sweetheart”.

“I'm not. She is just a colleague, right?”

Hank nods in silence tilting his head closer and you're sure he can hear your heart speeding up under your skin. He always does that, putting you nervous only to prove the power he has on you, on your body, on your senses. And you hate him. You hate how proud he feels because of it. The grin on his face causes a chill down your spine, standing up from the wall to pretend that he is wrong, that he doesn't control your reactions.

“Hm… Good to know you're conscious of her position. She's gonna stay in my house tonight. We didn't plan to need more than one day and she doesn't have a place”.

For a moment, the image of you punching his face runs your mind, keeping your hands inside the pockets of your jacket to close them in two fist until you feel your nails hurting your palms. There are a lot of replies to his words stuck in your throat, but if it's a proof of trust, you would fail miserably. This is a clash of titans and you're not going to let him win.

“That's fine”. You respond squinting at him, taking a step ahead almost facing Hank. “Anything else?”

“No”.

“Okay”.

With a feigned smile, you turn to the left to leave the alley and come back to your private party, which means to get drunk until Burgess and Hailey have to carry you home.

“What an interesting night is gonna be”. Hank whispers seeing you grabbing the doorknob, teasing you as only he knows how to do.

Kissing your lips as your steps stop dead, you turn your head about to lose your calm.

“If I see her putting a hand on your leg again, I'm gonna break every single fucking bone of her body”.

You couldn't help it. He knows exactly which words he has to use to push you to the edge. The worst part is the fun he usually has doing it. Walking towards you moving his head as if he was nodding, Hank caresses his bottom lip with a forefinger looking thoughtful.

“I didn't think of you as someone violent”.

“Fucking watch me, Voight”.

“Hm…”

Containing a laugh, he opens the door for you, pointing at the inside with a hand. Clearly challenging you. But before you can pass him away, the sergeant grabs your forearm to push you back and lean his lips over your ear.

“She booked the hotel yesterday”. His raspy voice touring your head makes you feel your cheeks burning in shame.

He has won already and you know it. Wanting to leave him again, he pulls you back again hearing the heavy snort escaping your mouth.

“She knows who you are. Told her this morning”.

Did really he? Arching up one of your eyebrows, you can't help but turn your face slightly at him. Your parted lips reveal the surprise and the confusion. Why can she know it, but not your friends? Just because she doesn't work in Chicago? It isn't fair. At least, under your opinion. It's not like you're going to act like Voight's girlfriend and take the advantage of what it means. But it allows you to smile at him when you cross your eyes in the hallways, it allows you to don't have to hide if you want to have lunch together, it allows you to not have to drive two different cars and leave his house before him to work. Small simple things that for you means a lot.

“Cut off the show, boss. Everybody is looking at us”.

It isn't the first time that Hank can't avoid touching you somehow in public, finding the stupidest excuse just to feel you. And he really enjoys putting you nervous, watching the way you lick your lips and bite the bottom one, feel the way your body gets tense when he lays his hands on you, the short frights he gives you coming behind you and whispering ‘officer (Y/L/N)’ in your ear.

Actually, there's no reason why you decided to hide your relationship. You haven't even talked about it. You haven't thought if it's because of the age gap, because of his past, because he is your boss (...). You haven't given it any importance, till you met Olivia Benson a couple months ago. That kind of sergeant who comes from New York and thinks that she runs the Chicago police department. Hank hasn't told you how they met, imagining they did when he was working on the Gang Unit.

“Admit your jealousy”. Tilting his head enough to look into your eyes, the challenging grimace comes back to his face.

Knowing that he's not going to stop, you simply nod. “It isn't fair that other women can… touch you, and I have to wait more than twelve hours just… simply to smile at you without looking suspicious”.

Hank can hear to perfection the hopelessness in your voice, feeling your fingers loosening his grip around your other forearm. It's not a question of possessiveness, but of insecurity; and he's discovering it now, thinking about since when you feel like that.

“Do you wan'me to take you home?”

You shake your head, now with guilt running under your skin because you know it has ruined his night.

“I'm okay, boss. Gonna have some fun with my friends after a long day”.

“Will you have some fun with your boss after that? End the night in my house playing pool, drinking whisky? I will let you win”.

You can't help but show him a fleeting smile, almost curving your lips. That's a yes for him and Hank feels satisfied. Holding your right hand on his, your boyfriend brings it to his mouth placing a tender kiss on the back of it, before letting you go.

Hailey and Burgess are squinting at you, knowing that their suspicions weren't wrong at all. Not saying a word and pretending normality, you sit back on your stool to have a sip from your beer. You're literally sweating right now, and it isn't because of the jacket you are wearing but because of the petty smiles appearing on the other cops.

“You know that we work in Intelligence, right, little trouble?” Antonio is the first one talking jokingly.

“Yeah, and we don't need to be detectives to know what's going on”. Hailey hums resting his arms over the table.

“How is Voight in private? I've always had curiosity. He takes off the stick of his ass when he comes home, or…?”

“Halstead, I can hear you”.

“Yeah, that was the intention, Sarge”. He replies, lifting up his beer in a silent toast.

Turning at Hank just for a second, you can't help but shrug with your eyebrows briefly frowned in a funny grimace that makes him giggle. It was inevitable, since they have seen the way and how close he has talked to you. But now, the pressure within your chest is dropping down, feeling better.

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH29

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

-----

Chapter 29: Star Death Reality Show (XII) {cw: brief discussion of menstruation}

This conversation between guys didn't last long. After all, Qi Leren and Du Yue weren’t too familiar with each other, and they wouldn't be as casual as with Dr. Lu. It was almost two o'clock in the middle of the night. It was time for Qi Leren to watch the speaker.

The temperature difference between night and day was not much in the polar region, and the sunshine of the polar day fell on the tundra, quiet and serene. If it weren't for the danger stirring, that was spying on these poor lambs, Qi Leren probably wouldn't be as uneasy as he was now.

When he came to the outside of the church, Qi Leren saw Janet’s bright clothes at a glance. She was breathing on her hands. After a while, she pulled thick gloves on her hands: "This damn weather is really enough to freeze penguins."

—It's cold enough to freeze penguins. Someone had once described a polar environment to Qi Leren like this. When Janet’s words, he couldn’t help but think of that. Qi Leren showed a smile: "There are no penguins here, and we have temperature-control suits. We won’t freeze to death."

"Hey man, this is just an exaggerated metaphor. Can you have a sense of humor?" Janet rolled her eyes at him.

Dr. Lu and Alex came out of the church. Both of them were a little sleepy. They went back to rest after the handover with Janet. Janet walked into the church, sat down on the couch, and chatted with Qi Leren boredly: "You and Lara have a good relationship?"

"Not bad," Qi Leren said perfunctorily.

"Uh-huh, I guess you’re being condescending now," Janet said with a smile.

"You’re not a worm in my stomach." Qi Leren refused to admit it.

"Come on, I still have self-awareness. I never wanted to be likable." Janet shrugged her shoulders and said casually, "Let’s change the subject. What do you think about the disappearances these past few days?"

"...It's hard to say, but I don't think this is a ‘script’. The situation has been somewhat out of control." Qi Leren frowned. "I feel that it’s dangerous. A great danger..."

"Interesting. What kind of danger is it?" Janet asked curiously.

Qi Leren glanced at her. He wasn’t sure what this woman was thinking: "In many ways. Although intelligent life on this planet is extinct, there are still large animals alive, the vegetation is well preserved, the air quality and temperature conditions are suitable for survival, and it may be used as a colony planet or sightseeing planet in the future."

Janet was suddenly taken with him and followed along his topic: "I don't want to come to this hellhole again. Unless some discerning producer invites me to be the heroine and let Lara play the villain, then I may think about it, haha."

"You hate her that much?" Qi Leren was surprised. He thought Lara was easy to get along with.

"It’s the war between women, men wouldn’t understand." Janet spread her hands. "Anyway, I just hate the way she carries herself all the time. She acts like she’s the smartest, most powerful, most understanding in the world. It’s hypocritical, but you men eat this up."

Qi Leren declined to comment.

When Janet saw that he didn't speak, she curled her lips in boredom and found a place to sit down.

It was getting late into the night, Janet complained about the importance of beauty sleep, and absently dozed off. Qi Leren had had enough sleep during the day, so now he was very energetic and wandered around the church. This church should be quite old. If it wasn’t in the polar region, it would have been overwhelmed by lush vegetation and become a green ruin.

Looking out from the church window, Qi Leren could just see He Yi's house in the southwest. He suddenly remembered that He Yi had talked about something. On the first night, he saw...

What did he see? Did someone enter the church? If so, who did he see?

Unless He Yi reappeared, it was impossible for him to know.

This night was calm, Janet slept for a while and woke up after a while. At 7 o'clock, she finally got up. She tidied up her hair and complained: "I have never lived so rough in my life, and I have never desired to before!"

Qi Leren was about to speak when he saw Lara coming with Xue Jiahui from the window, so he asked, "How do you feel?"

Xue Jiahui looked at him in confusion and shook her head: "I still can't remember..."

"It's good that we’re returning to our parent star when the program is over. It should be only temporary," Lara consoled.

When the contestants came one after another, Lara pulled the Qi Leren aside when no one was paying attention and whispered, "When you searched for materials a few days ago, did you find anything like cotton and cloth?"

"Yes, I did. What do you want this for?" Qi Leren wondered.

"I don't want it, it’s Xue Jiahui. I saw that she discarded a cloth in the bathroom with blood on it. I think she probably encountered the same problem as Annie," Lara said.

Qi Leren: "..."

"Even I don't think it’s very good. You may not know this, but this physiological condition can be contagious," Lara said embarrassedly.

Qi Leren felt that, as a man, he didn't really want to know this kind of thing. He was a little concerned that Lara didn't tell others, but instead had taken him aside to borrow necessities. Did he look like a "best friend"?

Probably seeing Qi Leren’s depressed expression, Lara added: "I asked Francis to look after her for a while yesterday and went everywhere to borrow something, but unfortunately none of them had anything."

"Then how did you deal with it?" Qi Leren asked.

Lara gave a complicated look and said, "Xue Jiahui cut up her pillow... The pillowcase was used as a liner."

As the two people whispered, the contestants had already arrived one after another. This time, the atmosphere was more dignified than the previous two times. It even faintly appeared somewhat strange, because this time, what would be announced by the speaker was not the person who had won the Best of the Day, but the person who had knocked out Xue Jiahui and left her in the church. And this man was among them.

Time passed, and at eight o'clock the speaker started. The answer they eagerly wanted to know was given in a mechanical voice: "Now broadcasting the voting results. The winner of the Best of the Day is: Mark."

"Mark?"

"How can it be him?"

"Isn't he missing?"

"It turned out to be him?"

They were all whispering in amazement, but Qi Leren was not too surprised. It had seemed like Mark had gone missing at the beginning, but he wasn’t really missing, he was hiding somewhere... He quietly glanced out of the corner of his eye at Annie who was standing in the shadows, and she was expressionless.

……

……

……

The discussion was still inconclusive, so they had to split up again. Qi Leren was in a faint hurry. Today was the fourth day. If there was no breakthrough, even if he risked being seen through by the audience, he would identify the dangerous creature "amphioctopus", or risk being parasitized or injured. He would forcibly enter Annie's house.

Although Annie's own fighting capacity shouldn’t be strong, Qi Leren strongly suspected that she was already a puppet of the octopus, and he doesn't know anything about the octopus’ fighting capabilities. He didn't have the confidence that he could kill an octopus without using a skill card. Fortunately, after listening to the broadcast results, Annie returned to her house and then left the house again with the axe to go look for materials.

After waiting for the opportunity for such a long time, Qi Leren immediately climbed into Annie's house through the window, focusing on searching for the attic. This time, they had a clear goal and had good luck. In less than ten minutes, Dr. Lu found a dark panel on the second floor ceiling, from which an iron ladder could be pulled down after it was lifted.

Qi Leren looked at the dark attic above his head and was excited. His guess was right. Annie's house did have an attic! Mark and He Yi didn’t disappear, but hid in the attic!

After entering the attic, it was dark inside. Under the illumination of the flashlight, the desks, chairs, and bookshelves here all looked grim. Qi Leren noticed that the attic was also like a laboratory, just like the basement in Jing Siyu’s house.

Dr. Lu also came up, looked around to search, and soon felt that there was something wrong with the floor in the attic. Du Yue came up to help and lifted the floor. It turned out to be a straight, dark passage below, leading underground!

"So the structure is like this," Dr. Lu said, looking at this passage "It's not that there’s a trapdoor on the first floor that’s used to enter the basement, but there’s a passage through the attic, which isn’t connected with the first floor or the second floor, but goes straight to the basement. Um... For example, it’s like an enlarged version of a sewage pipe embedded in the wall."

"Why would they have such a design?" Du Yue asked curiously.

"God knows, I don’t have a clue. Oh, it’s also possible that the owner was a hikikomori and hated to see the sun. His scope of activities was the attic and the basement, so when building the house, he simply made such a passageway," Dr. Lu said.

Although he didn’t hear any movement, Qi Leren was a little worried that someone could be in the basement, so when he grabbed the metal cross section and climbed down the pipe’s ladder rung by rung, his heart beat fast and he was extremely nervous. But after reaching the bottom, he found everything was normal and the basement was empty.

"Wow, what is this? Was there an explosion?" Dr. Lu also climbed down and was surprised to see that there was a pile of messy rubble deep in the basement and a big hole punched out of the wall.

"Do you remember that when we were in Jing Siyu’s basement, there was the sound of an explosion outside? At that time, I thought it was the church or something had collapsed, but now it seems that... It happened here," Qi Leren said thoughtfully.

Du Yue also came over. He was more active. He simply rolled up his sleeves and moved the rocks. However, several huge rocks blocked the hole and couldn’t be removed without tools: "No, I can't move them. Can I explode it again?"

Qi Leren looked at the rocks on the ground that had obviously been manipulated but still blocked their way. He could imagine what Annie and Mark had been busy with these past few days… Hey, but where had Mark gone? They didn't see Mark go in or out of Annie's house all day yesterday. Maybe he was here the whole time, or maybe he was outside the whole time.

There came a squeak sound, the hatch that connected the attic to the basement was lifted. Qi Leren immediately turned off his flashlight, as did Dr. Lu.

Deng, deng, deng, the sound of shoes stepping on the metal rungs came, and Qi Leren felt like his hair was about to fall out. He looked in horror at the metal pipe with its iron ladder. Someone was coming down!

"Did we close the attic door when we entered the pipe?" Qi Leren lowered his voice and asked.

"It was closed, I was the last one, I closed it," Du Yue replied nervously.

"Okay, don't make any noise, stick to the wall, I’ll handle it." Qi Leren said after a pause, guessing that the other party didn't know they were in the basement.

After turning off the flashlights, only pure darkness remained in the basement, almost opaque. Qi Leren closed his eyes, stroked the palm of his right hand with his left hand, and silently counted the sound of the steps on the rungs as he readied himself.

He felt as if he had returned to the sea. The sea water was cold, and the pressure from all directions became stronger and stronger with his dive. He forced himself to slow down his heart, because at this time, panic would only make his oxygen consumption faster and make him closer to death.

Just as Qi Leren constantly adjusted his own state and brought himself closer to his peak level, that person had already reached the bottom. When they were about to step off it, the person fumbled in their trouser pocket and took out a flashlight...

The flashlight’s switch gave a click, and in a moment the light lit up the people hidden in the darkness. It was at this instant that Qi Leren shot out like lightning and kicked their calf! Kicked their face down to the ground!

"Ah!" A woman’s voice let out a painful cry and the flashlight fell to the ground. She wanted to look up and see who it was, but Qi Leren swung his hand down like a knife on the back of her neck! The strength was so great that she passed out instantly!

Looking at Annie, who had collapsed to the ground and passed out, Qi Leren breathed a long sigh of relief. He felt that he had returned to the surface from the bottom of the sea and felt renewed life thrum through him.

Thank you Chen Baiqi, thank you diving training, and thank you three-headed hellhound.

-----

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[twoidiotwriters1]

Written In The Stars CXXVIII (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: From chapter 25 to 36 I just love everything -Danny

Words: 5,260 

Series’ Masterlist

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Listen to: ‘Payphone’ -by Maroon 5

Chapter Twenty-Six: Delusions of Power.

Mel spent the next days in constant anxiety. 

She even stopped her mischief out of fear of how the interview could backfire, it was keeping her awake at night. 

At the end of a particularly rough quidditch practice Ron, Ginny and her were walking back to the castle in a very grim mood, but they still were curious about what exactly had Mel added to Harry's story.

"Well, you know," Their friend replied as she undid her braid. "Talked about Barty Jr. and how his father brought him from Azkaban — and that he fired Winky, which was a complete lack of respect for the honourable work of House-elves  (Hermione was very pleased with that part), I talked about the corruption in the Ministry, that Fudge made it very clear that the main reason why he didn't want to act was because of the money he was getting from pureblood families involved... I reckon I'll never get a job in the Ministry after this."

"I hope this works out," Ginny said. "Maybe the Order we'll get more help once people read the article, your version makes much more sense than whatever Fudge wants to sell to the public."

They walked into the Great Hall leaving mud stains on their path, Hermione and Harry were having dinner already, and they seemed to be arguing.

"Is that what she was doing?" Harry was asking. "Well, wouldn't it have been easier if she'd just asked me whether I liked her better than you?"

"Girls don't often ask questions like that," Hermione responded.

"Well, they should! Then I could've just told her I fancy her, and she wouldn't have had to get herself all worked up again about Cedric dying!"

"You're still talking about that?" Mel frowned. "Listen, I agree with you about Cho exaggerating a bit, but to be fair you're slow at picking up hints."

"You're one to talk," Harry retorted. 

"I'm not saying what she did was sensible," said Hermione, throwing a nervous glance at them and interrupting before things got awkward. "I'm just trying to make you see how she was feeling at the time."

"You should write a book," Ron said, "translating mad things girls do so boys can understand them."

"Yeah!" said Harry.

"Girls are humans just like you," Mel scowled. "There are no 'rules' — Just try to get to know the girl for a change instead of just looking for a quick snog."

Harry looked back at the Ravenclaw table wistfully, Cho was leaving it with her friend Marietta, and she didn't glance his way before walking out.

"So, how was Quidditch practice?" He sighed, turning his attention back to his friends.

"It was a nightmare," said Ron.

"Oh come on," Hermione tried, "I'm sure it wasn't that —"

"Yes, it was," Ginny pouted. "It was appalling. Angelina was nearly in tears by the end of it."

Mel let out a long sigh and pushed her hair out of the way, it was starting to get a bit impossible to handle at this point and it was always messy, she really needed to get rid of half of it.

"Can't say I'm doing marvellous work as a beater if I'm honest. I'm not as strong as Angelina would like..."

By the time Mel was going to play her first game ever the atmosphere was extremely dense. Her Hufflepuff friends wished her luck in a way that let her know they already felt like the winners. She couldn't blame them, Ron was looking greener and greener with every step he took towards the dressing room. 

Mel was about to enter when Fred caught up and kissed her. She couldn't even react properly.

"For good luck!" He smirked. "Isn't that the tradition?"

Mel was flustered, she ushered him away and stood there in shock, hearing as he laughed about her reaction with George. Someone cleared his throat behind her, it was Harry.

"When did you get here?" She asked in dread.

"Just a moment," Harry said, a faint blush on his cheeks. "But I saw you were... er... having a moment. I figured it was better if I just waited until Fred was gone."

"Okay," Mel said clumsily, pushing her hair back. 

"I wanted to wish you good luck," He said. "It's your first game... when it was my game you were there so... it's my turn, isn't it?"

"You don't have to," Mel said, panicking about Harry kissing her cheek after such a long time without physical contact. She no longer knew what boundaries existed between them. 

"It's the least I can do," Harry hesitated before awkwardly stepping forward, holding out his hand so she could shake it.

Mel grabbed it and shook it firmly.

"Good luck."

"Thanks," She smiled.

Once inside and dressed in the uniform, Mel stared at her reflection in awe. 

"I'm wearing a Quidditch uniform," She told Ginny. "And I look so good..."

"Yeah, yeah, you're pretty," Ginny rolled her eyes grinning. "Let's go, before your big-head stops you from looking away..."

The good part? Ginny caught the snitch. 

They still lost.

She'd threw a bludger directly to a chaser and caused him to drop the quaffle, but Slope was dreadful, he kept missing every time. Ron was beyond miserable when the game was over, now not only the Slytherins were singing, but also the Hufflepuffs. 

Back in the common room, once she had taken a bath, she walked in and listened to Harry and Ginny's conversation as she sat down tiredly next to them, hanging her legs over the armrest and leaning on Ginny's shoulder.

"I was lucky," The girl was saying. "It wasn't a very fast snitch and Summerby's got a cold, he sneezed and closed his eyes at exactly the wrong moment. Anyway, once you're back on the team —"

"Ginny, I've got a lifelong ban."

"You're banned as long as Umbridge is in the school. There's a difference. Anyway, once you're back, I think I'll try out for Chaser. Angelina and Alicia are both leaving next year and I prefer goal-scoring to seeking anyway." 

Mel sighed, rubbing her temples. 

"You were right about how cathartic it is to be a Beater, but I think I'm not good enough for the position. Maybe chaser— or even seeker, if Harry insists on staying on the bench —"

"It's not like I want to stay there, you know?"

"If you say so," The girl yawned.

"Angelina still won't let him resign," Ginny added, making a vague head movement towards her brother. "She says she knows he's got it in him."

"Because he does," Mel rolled her eyes. "That idiot... if I could take away his insecurities by knocking his lights out with a bludger, I'd do it."

The next morning during breakfast was the moment when the bomb dropped. Two editions of the Quibbler arrived –one for Mel and one for Harry– inside they had their interviews. Not only that, but at least ten owls landed around the table, all with letters directed to them.

"It's good, isn't it?" Luna sat down between Fred and Ron. "It came out yesterday, I asked Dad to send you a free copy. I expect all these are letters from readers."

"That's what I thought," said Hermione. "Guys, d'you mind if we — ?"

"Help yourself," said Harry. 

"I'm too scared to touch any of those," Mel said hesitantly. "Don't want anything on my face..."

"This one's from a bloke who thinks you're off your rocker, Harry," said Ron. "Says Mel is probably hormonal — gross lad, honestly. Ah well..."

"This woman recommends you try a good course of Shock Spells at St. Mungo's," said Hermione.

"This one looks okay, though," said Harry, he was reading through the mail now as well. "Hey, she says she believes us!"

"This one's in two minds," said Fred who had taken the liberty to open the one's directed at Mel. "Says you don't come across as mad people, but he really doesn't want to believe You-Know-Who's back so he doesn't know what to think now... Blimey, what a waste of parchment. I would believe you in a second, Lady."

"Thank you Fred, but I'm afraid you're biased," Mel grinned, deciding to start opening letters too.

"Here's another one you've convinced!" said Hermione happily. "'Having read your side of the story I am forced to the conclusion that the Daily Prophet has treated you very unfairly... Little though I want to think that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned, I am forced to accept that you are telling the truth... and Miss Dumbledore's claims seemed to be legitimate, I had a friend who got in trouble with the Ministry and they forgave him in no time after he let go of a few galleons...' Oh, this is wonderful!"

"Another one who thinks you're barking," said Ron, throwing the letter without paying attention, "but this one says you've got her converted, and she now thinks you're a real hero — she's put in a photograph too — wow —"

"At this rate, you won't have to worry about any future dates with Cho," Mel teased.

"What is going on here?" Umbridge asked over their heads. "Why have you got all these letters, Mr Potter, Miss Dumbledore?"

"Is that a crime now? Getting mail?" Fred frowned.

"Be careful, Mr Weasley, or I shall have to put you in detention. Well, Mr Potter?"

Harry pondered his options quietly but shared one resolute look with Mel and knew there was no point. She would find out eventually.

"People have written to us because we gave an interview," said Harry. "About what happened to me last June." 

"And about how much of a fraud Fudge is," Mel concluded.

"An interview? What do you mean?" Umbridge asked.

"I mean a reporter asked us questions and we answered them," said Harry. "Here —" 

He threw his copy at Umbridge and Mel got a pleasant tug at the base of her stomach at the sight. It quickly faded as she watched the woman read carefully all they'd said.

"When did you do this?" She breathed.

"Last Hogsmeade weekend," said Harry.

"There will be no more Hogsmeade trips for you two." 

"How would've guessed?" Mel replied carelessly.

"How you dare... how you could... I have tried again and again to teach you not to tell lies. The message, apparently, has still not sunk in. Miss Dumbledore, hadn't I told you to learn where your place is? You have no right to speak like that about your Minister!"

Mel thought that if she was already in trouble, she was going to earn it fully. 

"I thought you'd understand, isn't blood status your biggest priority? That's why you're giving Hagrid such a hard time, right? I'm just following your lead," She glanced at the teachers' table, where Dumbledore was talking to Flitwick without paying attention to them, although she had the feeling he was just pretending. "I'll always be loyal to my people."

"Fifty points from Gryffindor and another week's worth of detentions!" Umbridge spat, barely able to control her anger. 

"It'll be my pleasure!" Mel shouted, watching the woman stomp away from the Great Hall.

Hermione and Mel smiled at each other at the sight of the decree.

— by order of —

The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts

Any student found in possession of the magazine The Quibbler will be expelled.

The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-seven.

Signed:

High inquisitor.

"What exactly are you so happy about?" Harry asked them. 

"Oh Harry, don't you remember what Mel said? If she could have done one thing to make absolutely sure that every single person in this school will read your interview, it was banning it!" 

If Mel was popular before, now she was almost idolized. The only student at school that had stood up against Umbridge apart from Harry. Of course, there were people like Malfoy, and kids that were related to the death eaters that were definitely not happy about it, but little did they know that Daphne and Erick had her back. Not only that, but several Slytherins were starting to realize some things, as Mel would find out in her next D.A. meeting.

The students weren't the only ones making quiet declarations, Professor Sprout rewarded Harry with twenty points when he'd done nothing but to pass her an empty watering can. Flitwick discretely gave them two boxes of squeaking sugar mice during his class and ran away almost as fast as he'd approached. 

Trelawney openly wept and claimed that Harry was not going to suffer an early death after all, but he and Mel would live to a ripe old age, become Minister of Magic and have twelve children. Since she didn't specify which part was for each, Mel blushed deeply at the mention of babies.

Even Cho forgave Harry for his silly mistake on Valentine's day, and she was telling to anyone who was interested that they had shared a lovely date the day he'd done the interview, and that she was very proud of him. 

Fred was another person who was taking great pleasure in strutting around the castle with Mel by his side. Students would look at him with sneers and faces of contempt, and although Mel didn't appreciate being treated like a prize, she was definitely enjoying the way Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle and Nott would glare at her from across the hall without being able to touch her.

Seamus approached her and Harry before their Transfiguration class.

"I just wanted to say," He said, avoiding their eyes, "I believe you. And I've sent a copy of that magazine to me mam." 

Mel was so pleased that she hugged him, Seamus didn't know how to respond. That night a party took place in the common room, she hadn't seen her friends this happy for a very long time, and she was proud to be part of it.

"What you did was foolish and impulsive”

"I'm aware."

"I thought we'd agreed on keeping a low profile this year," Dumbledore stared down at her over his glasses.

"We agreed on keeping my lessons a secret. There's nothing in that interview about my lessons with you, Professor. However, we never said I couldn't talk about Fudge."

They were outside the main entrance of the castle, Dumbledore had asked her for a private word as she walked past the entrance after finishing diner. Neither Harry nor Umbridge were near, which could be part of the reason why Dumbledore had asked her now. She didn't know what he'd been doing outside at this hour, but she was more worried about the lecture she was about to get.

"This is not the time to take things lightly," Dumbledore said gravely. "You know you're one of Voldemort's targets, he wants to use you to his advantage and now you've turned into a person of interest for the Ministry as well."

"I already was," Mel replied. "I merely talked about Fudge, I kept you out of the conversation! They might accuse me of slander, but then again they're probably too afraid of you to try it."

"And you're planning to live under my shadow?" Dumbledore asked.

Mel's annoyance increased. 

"Of course not! I've improved lots this year, I daresay I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself —"

"You have to grow up first before making such decisions," Dumbledore replied in a hard tone that took her off guard. "That kind of behaviour is what kept Aberforth from turning into his best self. You mustn't follow his lead. Matthew would've wanted you to be better."

"Give me a break, won't you? I'm fifteen — I want to have fun, I hate that I have to act like an adult when all my friends are allowed to fool around and —"

"You've been given enough freedom," The man replied. "Haven't I turned a blind eye to your acts of so-called justice? It wasn't wise of me, but I allowed it. Why?"

"Because you hate Umbridge as much as everyone else?"

"Because you wish to be something else than just a Lastname. What you haven't realized is that you already are Mel, but what you're representing right now is no better than what you used to be. You're repeating history and that won't help you." 

Mel was about to reply when a woman's scream reached them. They both turned to the oak doors, hearing attentively. Two trunks came down flying and landed roughly at the foot of the marble staircase, Umbridge walked down in tiny cheerful steps, Trelawney stumbled down holding a bottle of sherry. She was looking around frantically.

"NO!" She yelled, and the students inside the Great Hall walked out to see the scene. "NO! NO! This cannot be happening... It cannot... I refuse to accept it!"

"You didn't realize this was coming? Incapable though you are of predicting even tomorrow's weather, you must surely have realized that your pitiful performance during my inspections, and lack of any improvement, would make it inevitable you would be sacked?" Umbridge asked cruelly.

"You c-can't! You c-can't sack me! I've b-been here sixteen years! H-Hogwarts is m-my h-home!"

"It was your home, until an hour ago, when the Minister of Magic countersigned the order for your dismissal. Now kindly remove yourself from this hall. You are embarrassing us." 

Surprisingly, McGonagall stepped forward and hugged the woman protectively.

"There, there, Sibyll... Calm down... Blow your nose on this... It's not as bad as you think, now... You are not going to have to leave Hogwarts..."

"Oh really, Professor McGonagall?" Umbridge sneered. "And your authority for that statement is..?" 

Dumbledore opened the door completely, his figure stepping into the scene.

"That would be mine," He said.

Mel followed him, but she stayed behind as he reached the place where Trelawney was.

"Yours, Professor Dumbledore? I'm afraid you do not understand the position. I have here an Order of Dismissal signed by myself and the Minister of Magic. Under the terms of Educational Decree Number Twenty-three, the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts has the power to inspect, place upon probation, and sack any teacher she — that is to say, I — feel is not performing up to the standard required by the Ministry of Magic. I have decided that Professor Trelawney is not up to scratch. I have dismissed her."

"You are quite right, of course, Professor Umbridge. As High Inquisitor you have every right to dismiss my teachers," He smiled the same way she would do whenever she could get away with something. Her father's smile. "You do not, however, have the authority to send them away from the castle. I am afraid that the power to do that still resides with the headmaster, and it is my wish that Professor Trelawney continues to live at Hogwarts."

"No — no, I'll g-go, Dumbledore! I sh-shall l-leave Hogwarts and s-seek my fortune elsewhere —"

"No. It is my wish that you remain, Sibyll," He turned to McGonagall. "Might I ask you to escort Sibyll back upstairs, Professor McGonagall?"

"Of course. Up you get, Sibyll..."

Professor Sprout hurried to help Trelawney by holding her other arm and Professor Flitwick held out his wand and exclaimed "Locomotor trunks!" the objects floated in the air and followed the group of teachers.

"And what," Umbridge continued, so angry she could barely speak, "are you going to do with her once I appoint a new Divination teacher who needs her lodgings?"

"Oh, that won't be a problem," said Dumbledore. "You see, I have already found us a new Divination teacher, and he will prefer lodgings on the ground floor."

"You've found — ? You've found? Might I remind you, Dumbledore, that under Educational Decree Twenty-two —"

"— the Ministry has the right to appoint a suitable candidate if — and only if — the headmaster is unable to find one. And I am happy to say that on this occasion I have succeeded. May I introduce you?"

On queue, there was a sound like hooves behind her and she turned at the same time that the rest. The sight almost made her doubt her sanity, but it wasn't an illusion. There, standing in the entrance was a centaur. 

"This is Firenze— I think you'll find him suitable." Dumbledore beamed.

When the crowd erupted into loud exclamations of shock, the old man spoke in a lower voice.

"It's not about breaking the rules for the sake of provoking," He told her. "Is memorizing your way around them, so you can use them in your favour."

The sentence 'I must not tell lies' was throbbing on the back of her hand. Hermione was already waiting for her with a jar of murtlap which she and Harry took turns to use. She knew Harry had felt the first day of her detention because he quickly approached to examine her injuries, although she rejected his help.

"Now you know how it feels," She said calmly. "Now you understand why I couldn't just ignore you, right?"

Harry looked uncomfortable, yet he had no choice but to admit she was right.

Daphne Greengrass was one of the first students to arrive on the day of the D.A. meeting, but she wasn't alone. A total of eight Slytherins had accompanied her and though they looked tense, they wanted to know what Umbridge was hiding, they wanted to learn. Once again, the group welcomed them with open arms.

"You know," Ron told her while he took a break from being Hermione's partner. "I reckon you may be right, maybe not all Slytherins are evil."

"Took you long enough," Mel patted his back lovingly. "Now be a good boy and practice with one of them."

"What?!"

"Are you afraid of snakes, Ronnie?" She raised a brow.

"Of course not!" He said, his ears gaining a reddish colour. "Hey — Hey, you! What's your name?"

He walked up to a fourth-year Slytherin so they could practice together, Mel's chest swelled with pride. It was Harry's turn to walk up to her.

"Okay, you win," He sighed, looking rather impressed. "We haven't got any fights — I guess we can all be friends."

"Can you write that down and sign it?" Mel smirked.

"Nah," He walked away with a smile.

Their first divination class with Firenze proved to be highly interesting. When Mel walked in she felt slightly disoriented, like she had walked out of the castle without really wanting to.

The classroom floor had become springily mossy and trees were growing out of it; their leafy branches fanned across the ceiling and windows, so that the room was full of slanting shafts of soft, dappled, green light. 

The students who had already arrived were sitting on the earthy floor with their backs resting against tree trunks or boulders, arms wrapped around their knees or folded tightly across their chests, looking rather nervous. In the middle of the room, where there were no trees, stood Firenze.

"Harry Potter," Firenze walked up to them and shook hands with Harry.

"Er — hi– Er — good to see you..." The boy replied awkwardly.

"And you," said the centaur, inclining his white-blond head. "It was foretold that we would meet again. Miss Dumbledore, you continue to grow into your power, I see."

"Er..." Mel accepted Firenze's hand and shook it, trying not to stare at the bruise on the centaur's chest. "I... I suppose?"

She remembered the night Firenze had saved them from Quirrel, he'd said something about her 'vibrating', she knew enough about herself now to guess he meant her magical skills were quite good.

"Professor Dumbledore has kindly arranged this classroom for us," Firenze said once the students had taken a place on the ground, "in imitation of my natural habitat. I would have preferred to teach you in the Forbidden Forest, which was — until Monday — my home... but this is not possible."

"Please — er — sir —" Parvati had raised her hand, "why not? We've been in there with Hagrid, we're not frightened!"

"It is not a question of your bravery but of my position. I can no longer return to the forest. My herd has banished me."

"Herd?" asked Lavender. "What — oh! There are more of you?"

"Did Hagrid breed you, like the thestrals?" asked Dean.

Mel cringed at the question, Dean immediately realized his mistake, but it was too late.

"I didn't — I meant — sorry..."

"Centaurs are not the servants or playthings of humans," said Firenze calmly.

"Please, sir... why have the other centaurs banished you?" Parvati insisted.

"Because I have agreed to work for Professor Dumbledore. They see this as a betrayal of our kind."

Harry and Mel shifted awkwardly in their places, they could still remember the way the other centaurs had treated Firenze after helping Harry and her to leave the forest.

"Let us begin..."

[Firenze] swished his long palomino tail, raised his hand toward the leafy canopy overhead then lowered it slowly, and as he did so, the light in the room dimmed, so that they now seemed to be sitting in a forest clearing by twilight, and stars emerged upon the ceiling. There were oohs and gasps, and Ron said audibly, "Blimey!"

"Lie back upon the floor," said Firenze in his calm voice, "and observe the heavens. Here is written, for those who can see, the fortune of our races."

Mel laid down between Ron and Harry, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. The centaur's words resonated on her mind. 'Here is written, for those who can see...'

Erick's words also came to her mind.

'Knowing what's written in the stars won't help you.'

Maybe it would have. Maybe she could've skipped her whole thing with Harry and she'd be dating someone else for real, happy to have everything she wanted in life, including her best friend.

A thought crept inside her. If she would've known everything, more importantly, if she knew what's waiting for her in the future, if she still had a chance with Harry... No, she needed to get rid of those thoughts as soon as possible, they weren't even that close. Worse yet, he was dating Cho! 

All those novels she'd read for years had messed up her mind, she needed to get a grip on reality. They were over for good, she was sure someone out there was her second chance, and she just had to look around.

"I know that you have learned the names of the planets and their moons in Astronomy," Firenze's voice brought her back abruptly, "and that you have mapped the stars' progress through the heavens. Centaurs have unravelled the mysteries of these movements over centuries. Our findings teach us that the future may be glimpsed in the sky above us..."

"Professor Trelawney did Astrology with us!" said Parvati excitedly. "Mars causes accidents and burns and things like that, and when it makes an angle to Saturn, like now, that means that people need to be extra careful when handling hot things —"

"That is human nonsense."

Ron snorted beside her, Mel had to kick his foot to shut him up.

"Trivial hurts, tiny human accidents... These are of no more significance than the scurryings of ants to the wide universe, and are unaffected by planetary movements."

"Professor Trelawney —"

"— is a human," Firenze replied without getting upset. "And is therefore blinkered and fettered by the limitations of your kind."

If Mel was honest, knowing there were things that humans simply couldn't comprehend was comforting. She could be smart, but at the end of the day, she was still human and had her limits. After a whole year of feeling out of control, the idea was a glorious revelation.

"Sibyll Trelawney may have Seen, I do not know... but she wastes her time, in the main, on the self-flattering nonsense humans call fortune-telling. I, however, am here to explain the wisdom of centaurs, which is impersonal and impartial. We watch the skies for the great tides of evil or change that are sometimes marked there. It may take ten years to be sure of what we are seeing." 

Their Professor pointed to a little red dot that was right above them. 

"In the past decade, the indications have been that Wizard-kind is living through nothing more than a brief calm between two wars. Mars, bringer of battle, shines brightly above us, suggesting that the fight must break out again soon. How soon, centaurs may attempt to divine by the burning of certain herbs and leaves, by the observation of fume and flame..."

If that was really true –and she figured centaurs could be trusted to an extent– then she would live long enough to see the next war. Her hands closed in tight fists, trying to control the way they were starting to fidget.

Firenze asked them to look for shapes in the smoke of a fire, but it didn't feel like he was actually expecting them to see things. On the contrary, it was more like he was just babysitting a bunch of children he didn't find particularly clever.

Either way, he also mentioned how this technique was sometimes useless for centaurs since they could interpret the signals wrong, so in conclusion, no one should ever fully trust their own minds. Mel got the feeling that he wasn't trying to teach divination, more like rational and individual thinking. Which, in Mel's opinion, was more valuable than any kind of fortune-telling.

"He's not very definite on anything, is he? I mean, I could do with a few more details about this war we're about to have, couldn't you?" Ron whispered.

Mel didn't want to know more. Actually, she'd been comfortable in her ignorance, and she was happy being the popular, nice girl from school. Still, she knew she had responsibilities to attend. Responsibilities that she would have to pay attention to eventually, even if she didn't feel like it. A war she had to fight. 

It wasn't just her and her mother now, it was the baby,  Sirius and her uncle Lupin. It was the Weasleys, the Dumbledores, the Longbottoms, Hermione, Erick, Daphne, their classmates, and of course, Harry. 

The bell rang and Mel gave a start. Her breathing was erratic, her hands were sweating. She got up hastily and picked up her things in a hurry, but before she could leave, Firenze called her and Harry to stay for a second longer. Ron stood there, unsure of whether he should leave. Firenze noticed this and allowed him to stay, only asking him to close the door.

"You are friends of Hagrid's, are you not?" Their Professor asked them.

"Yes," said Harry.

"Then give him a warning from me. His attempt is not working. He would do better to abandon it."

"His attempt is not working?" Harry frowned.

"And he would do better to abandon it," Firenze nodded. "I would warn Hagrid myself, but I am banished — it would be unwise for me to go too near the forest now — Hagrid has troubles enough, without a centaurs' battle."

"But — what's Hagrid attempting to do?"

"Hagrid has recently rendered me a great service," said Firenze after a moment of contemplative silence. "And he has long since earned my respect for the care he shows all living creatures. I shall not betray his secret. But he must be brought to his senses. The attempt is not working. Tell him. Good day to you."

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @kylosleftbuttcheek @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight @omiwashere @t-rexs-world​ @just-here-to-escape-from-reality​ @21bruhs @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @dielgonacoffee​

[noona-clock]

Which One? Joo Hyuk - Part 5

Genre: Coffee Shop!AU

Pairing: Joo Hyuk x You

Warnings: None

Prologue, Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, Epilogue | Words: 1,862

Joo Hyuk had told you to come ‘whenever’ today, assuring you the shop usually wasn’t busy on Sundays.

The only problem was... when should ‘whenever’ be?

You knew you could be like one of those casual, carefree people and just... go when you felt like it. When you had time.

But what if the time you chose to go ended up being unusually busy? Then you would feel like a fool, and you’d either have to wait for things to die down or just come back another time.

...This kind of thinking was just one reason why you were currently single.

You were so tempted to just message him and ask when you should come, but you didn’t want to sound like a weirdo. He had already told you any time would work!

So, you decided to simply... pick a time.

It was currently half-past nine in the morning, so how about you go over there around 1pm?

But maybe that would be when most people would go. It was right after lunch, and anywhere from 1-4pm was the time most people needed a caffeinated pick-me-up.

You couldn’t really go later than that, though, because there was a Tigers game tonight. It was an away game, so you weren’t actually going, but you still made a point to watch every away game on television.

So... what if you went now?

The shop was open, after all, and it was Sunday morning. Most people weren’t out and about on Sunday morning, and if they were, they weren’t at coffee shops.

Actually, the more you thought about it, the more it made sense. Now was the perfect time! So, you gathered up your camera equipment, grabbed your phone and keys, and you headed off to The Mug.

Of course, you still worried about it as you drove there. Because you were ridiculous. And the idea of seeing Joo Hyuk again after yesterday just made you nervous! He had rescued you from an awkward situation! He had put his hands on your shoulders! He had smiled at you! He had looked at you from afar!

Not to mention all the flirtatious messages the two of you had been sending back and forth.

Speaking of... maybe you should message him. Just in case.

Once you parked outside of the shop, you slid your phone out of your pocket and brought up your conversation with Joo Hyuk on Instagram.

And before he could make fun of you, you closed the app and put your phone away. You lugged your camera bag out from the passenger seat, heaving it over your shoulder before heading up to the entrance.

Rather than let your nerves get the best of you and keep you waiting outside of the door as you gathered the courage to walk in, you simply took a small breath and pushed your way inside.

Joo Hyuk was behind the counter, and he visibly perked up when you walked in. A smile appeared on his lips, and he lifted his hand to wave at you.

“Hey,” he greeted, his eyes locked on you as you made your way to the register.

“Good morning,” you said with a somewhat bashful grin. “I probably should have messaged you before I left, but...”

“No, it’s fine,” he chuckled, his smile growing (and making your heart grow, too. Or at least glow.) “You could’ve just come in for a drink if we had been busy.”

“This is true,” you agreed, nodding.

“Speaking of, do you want anything?”

“Well, that depends,” you sighed as you gripped the strap of your camera bag. “Are we going to talk about what you guys were wanting or did you want me to just take some pictures first?”

“We should probably talk,” Joo Hyuk nodded slowly. “That way you know what to take pictures of.”

“Ah, yes, that makes sense,” you chuckled. “In that case, my usual green tea latte. I need lots of caffeine.”

“Because talking to me will be so boring?” he asked teasingly as he reached for a fresh mug to get your drink started.

“N--no!” you retorted. “Talking to you is not boring, I just -- it’s Sunday morning! I was out late last night!”

Joo Hyuk raised his eyebrows and glanced at you with some surprise. “Oh yeah? Did you go somewhere after you left here?”

You blinked... and then you chuckled guiltily.

“No... but being out after 9 is late to me,” you explained with very warm cheeks.

“Ah, got it,” he murmured. But you could tell he was trying to hold back a grin. Or even a laugh. Or something which would give away the fact that he was thoroughly amused by your statement.

“Okay, then,” you sighed. “I’m going to find a table and set up shop.”

Ji Soo walked through the Employees Only door behind the counter just then, and he immediately furrowed his brow and frowned at you. “Ooh, good luck with that. Doesn’t look like there’s an empty seat in the house.”

You turned around quickly and saw quite the opposite. Joo Hyuk had told you just five minutes ago there was only one customer here, and he hadn’t been exaggerating. But you decided to play along, anyway. “Oh, darn, you’re right. I don’t see any place to sit.”

“Well, I’ll try my best to find you once I finish your drink,” Joo Hyuk added.

You flashed him a grin before heading off to a table by the window and getting out your phone. You opened up the editing app you used for Instagram as well as examples of all the different presets he could use.

Joo Hyuk joined you just a few minutes later, your green tea latte in hand. He set it down carefully on the table before grabbing the chair across from you and pulling it over so he could sit next to you, instead.

“So,” you began, avoiding looking at him so you could continue to breathe properly. “Did you have any ideas for what you want your theme to be?”

Joo Hyuk didn’t answer for a few moments as he rested his chin thoughtfully in his palm. And then he said, “No. I have no idea.”

“That’s okay,” you chuckled. “I have plenty.”

You showed him all the presets you had, but after a few examples, you realized he wouldn’t get a clear idea of how it would look since the pictures you had in your phone didn’t have the same lighting as the shop.

“Here, you take a selfie,” you told him, handing him your phone.

“What?! Why?!” he grinned.

“So we can see what the pictures I take here will actually look like! Go on, just take a selfie,” you prodded as you gently nudged his elbow.

Joo Hyuk took your phone with a sigh, but he still held it out and did as you requested.

When he handed your phone back to you, you glanced at him in disbelief. “So, that’s what it’s gonna be like, huh?”

“...What do you mean?”

“That’s how your selfies turn out just on the fly? No filters, no shifting angles? They just look that good without even trying?”

Joo Hyuk laughed shyly, and if you had the courage to look over at him now, you would most likely see his pinkened cheeks.

“So not fair,” you sighed. And then you opened the picture up in your editing app and showed him how it would look with a preset on. You went through several different ones until he stopped you. You had just selected a bright but slightly warm-toned preset, and to be honest... you agreed with him 100%. It fit the atmosphere of the shop to a T, and it would look good on pictures with both people and coffee as the subject.

Now that you had gone over the logistics, you decided to go take some pictures. Joo Hyuk said he really wanted pictures of everything: the shop interior, the drinks, the customers...

“What about you guys? You and Ji Soo?” you asked.

“Pictures of us? Do you think we should post pictures of us?”

“Well, yeah,” you chuckled. “That’s -- I mean, that’s what everyone has been talking about since you guys opened.”

Joo Hyuk’s head jerked back in surprise, and you were surprised that he was so surprised. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean -- ever since the shop opened, all I’ve been hearing about is the guys who own this place and how --” you gulped, but you decided to just tell him. “--how good-looking you guys are.”

Joo Hyuk looked genuinely perplexed, and it was genuinely adorable.

“So, yes, I would most definitely post pictures of you two on Instagram,” you confirmed.

“Well... I mean, I guess,” he shrugged, a very bashful grin on his lips.

“I’ll take pictures around the shop first so you guys can get all the drinks prepared,” you told him, standing up and reaching for your camera.

Joo Hyuk nodded and loped over toward the counter.

Honestly.

What was he doing owning a coffee shop when he could be on the cover of magazines? The guy was a model, plain and simple!

You spent a good half hour taking pictures around the shop. You snapped the chairs and tables, the fireplace, the patio, and you even went outside and got some exterior shots, as well.

By the time you’d finished, Ji Soo and Joo Hyuk had lined up several drinks on the counter. You took pictures of those - both individually and in groups - and then, it was time for the real fun to begin.

“Okay,” you began, tilting your head in thought. “Ji Soo. You pretend to be making a drink, and Joo Hyuk, you stand at the register. Pretend I’m not here, so don’t look at the camera.”

You proceeded to take their pictures and direct them in a mini-photoshoot, telling them what to do and how to pose and whether or not to acknowledge the camera.

When you ran out of ideas, you thanked them for humoring you and looked down at your camera so you could go through all the shots you’d just taken.

“Wait, what about you?” Ji Soo asked.

Your head snapped up to shot him a puzzled look. “Excuse me?”

“We want our customers on our feed, too! You’re a customer!” he grinned.

“...Absolutely not,” you chuckled. “I’m a photographer, not a model.”

“Oh, come on,” Ji Soo taunted, reaching across the counter to try and take your camera away from you. “Just a few, I’ll take them!”

Joo Hyuk put a firm hand on Ji Soo’s arm then, and he raised his eyebrows at his friend. “She said ‘no,’” he told him. “We’ll find other, willing, customers.”

Ji Soo let out a very dramatic sigh... but he still pulled his arm back. “Yeah, okay. When you put it that way.”

Ji Soo then took one of the drinks you’d photographed and began gulping it down. While he wasn’t looking, you shot Joo Hyuk a grateful look and mouthed ‘Thank you.’

He simply nodded.

...And then he winked.

Oh, god.

Part 6

[the-signs-of-two]

I made a post yesterday asking if you would be interested in hearing my thoughts on Sherlock and the Sherlock fandom in light of the recent influx of Good Omens-stuff, which has made some people in the Sherlock fandom afraid that the fandom is dying. I received nothing but positive responses, which both surprised and delighted me to no end, so here we are.

This is going to be a bit of a long and rambling one, so strap in.

First of all, I need to talk about some personal stuff that I haven’t really talked about on this tumblr before. That is my Asperger’s (I was diagnosed less than a year ago, I’m still processing it and I haven’t received an “official diagnosis”, just the word of a psychologist specialising in girls and young women with Asperger’s – just putting that out there). I know a lot of people in the fandom have similar problems, so I’m not sure how much I need to explain. But I do want to say that the way Asperger’s is generally written about and portrayed online (on sites like Wikipedia or the like) is, in my opinion, often very negatively worded and gives an exaggerated idea of what Asperger’s is, at least when it comes to milder cases such as me.

A characteristic of Asperger’s is what’s known in English as “restricted and repetitive interests”, which I find to be a very negative term. I much prefer the Danish term særinteresser (“special” or “peculiar” interests). Basically, it means that a lot of people with Asperger’s develop a keen and often very intense interest in a certain quite niche subject – if you’ve heard Cabin Pressure, think of the way Martin obsesses over planes and memorises an enormous amount of plane trivia.

For me, it’s always been an abnormally strong obsession with various media. I’ve obsessed about various franchises through the years, but Sherlock and Sherlock Holmes has been the one and only for at least 4-5 years now. It doesn’t necessarily mean that my interest is stronger than other people in the fandom who spend a lot of time and get a lot of enjoyment out of Sherlock, but it certainly is stronger than the average fan and it has some, shall we say, specific expressions. I LOVE talking about Sherlock – I find it really difficult to describe the kind of excitement and positive energy I get from talking Sherlock, but think of the way children get excited when they do something they love and the excitement is just bursting out of them. I don’t need something new to talk about either. I write meta when I get a good idea or I get inspired by other people’s meta and throw in my two cents, but generally speaking, I don’t need something new to discuss in order to discuss Sherlock. I just want to talk about it! I try to keep it to a minimum on here because I think people… wouldn’t really… care…, but I’d love to discuss things like what I think characterises Sherlock and John, what I look for when I watch a Sherlock adaptation in the characters and in the relationship between the characters, my top ten Sherlocks, my top ten Johns and my top ten adaptations (side note: if anyone is interested in that, PLEASE drop me a comment or an ask, I’d be absolutely delighted).

So… all that to say that I consume Sherlock and Sherlock Holmes and participate in the Sherlock fandom because it gives me an immense sense of satisfaction as well as an outlet for my excitement that doesn’t bother my surroundings. That is what I think the core of fandom is and always should be: enjoying and celebrating what you love unapologetically in a safe, supporting environment, where you don’t have to rein in your feelings in fear of negative social consequences. And I think that’s always very, very important to keep in mind – it’s all about enjoying what you enjoy.

In my opinion, all fandoms should aim to promote that enjoyment and reduce negativity. Of course it’s the internet – negativity is hard to get rid of completely. But, speaking only for myself, I’m here to have fun.

That is why it will always be my opinion that no matter what you ship, that should be met with acceptance and respect. I don’t ship Adlock or Sherlolly (just to mention two prominent ships in my fandom that I am not a part of), but I would never ever argue that shipping Johnlock is “better” or “more correct” than shipping anything else. Shipping Johnlock is simply my preference and, frankly, I don’t consider it my business what other people enjoy. I can join them in loving the show as a whole and then we may go our separate ways when we want to talk shipping. I hope and believe that Johnlock might be made canon someday. But even if it does, I don’t think that matters much when it comes to shipping. Johnlock becoming canon matters for representational reasons and for the people who already ship Johnlock, but shipping is separate from and can live without “the canon stamp of approval”. What’s canon and what’s not doesn’t legitimise some ships relative to others because, again, shipping is about enjoyment and I think everyone ought to be free to enjoy whatever the heck they want to enjoy.

That applies to other fandoms as well.

As a quick disclaimer, I haven’t watched Good Omens. I probably will at some point, it looks really good (but I’m not gonna lie: I’m mainly interested because of Benedict, Mark and the setting).

So… Good Omens. You can probably guess what I’m going to say: people may enjoy whatever they enjoy. Some might leave Sherlock behind and make a full transition to Good Omens. Some might be really into Good Omens now and return to Sherlock in a while. Some might just be experiencing a short crush on another fandom and return to Sherlock very soon. Some might just be dipping their toes into it. As Moriarty would say: It’s all good.

I’m fully familiar with crushes on other fandoms. I go through such phases too every once in a while. I recently went through an intense The Lord of the Rings-phase after watching the Extended Editions and all (yes, ALL) of the additional material.

However, I’m also fully familiar with the fear that you yourself or other people in a fandom are moving on. Whenever I go through one of these phases where I get really into another fandom for a while, I get really upset because I think I might be leaving Sherlock behind. And our fandom is in a very precarious position at the moment. It’s been two and a half years since we last had any new content and that content was… uhm… a mixed bag. We don’t know if we’ll ever get more and, if we will, we don’t know when. And if we won’t get new content, somehow we’ll have to reconcile ourselves with S4, which is really hard. Fandoms tend to stagnate after a while if no new content is added, and I think that’s what a lot of people fear is happening. And it’s a very natural fear, whether you fear you yourself losing your interest in a fandom or the fandom itself shutting down: you don’t want something that has given you so much enjoyment to end.

But I don’t think we’re there. There’s still so much to do and talk about and analyse and create in this fandom. People post new fanfics and upload new fanart every single day. I’m able to reblog tonnes and tonnes of great content from other people in the fandom on a daily basis. I have nearly 1000 followers on here (as a side note, it is absolutely crazy and I am so blessed and thankful to all of you!). Of course, many of them might not actually check out what I post anymore, but seeing as I almost exclusively post Sherlock stuff and have done since the very beginning, clearly there’s still a lot of people who are interested in this content. Heck, even the creators are still desperately trying to keep everyone invested by trying to get us all drunk on themed cocktails.

So my final comments are these: I understand both the appeal of a new fandom (especially a fandom with a cast and crew as supportive of their fans as GO seems to have) and the fear that you or others might be moving on. But I want to stress the importance of having a fandom driven by excitement and enjoyment. So those who are really into GO at the moment should absolutely not be made to feel bad about that. People should be free to post and enjoy whatever the heck they want and that goes for everyone. I, for one, don’t think our fandom is anywhere near done and I will continue to post all Sherlock-Sherlock-Sherlock for the foreseeable future while we wait for S5.

Tagging the people who asked for this: @colourfulwatson @anchored-in-high-tide @catwillowtree @gelos @johnlockedinwarstan @why-are-you-cryingg (your username will not link for me for some reason, I’m sorry, I hope you see this) @cherylbombshellofthegay @royalworldtraveler @flowery222 @ebaeschnbliah @sherlockslove112

[scribeofmorpheus]

As Fate Would Have It Part 10 (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Catch Up Here!

A/N: Okay guys, so it's here. The big One-Oh! (which coincidentally is being published on the 10th of March -which is also Bucky’s birthday! Fate is a tricky thing) For this chapter, I wanted to do something special. But also, I'm still doing the before Endgame race with myself because I want to get to a good climax with this story before April! Which is not very far away. *Gulp!* Anyway, here it is! I hope you enjoy it. Ask to be added to Tags!

Remember: Reader’s alias is Helen Rushman but everyone calls you Elle! You are also an agent with the Red Room (Black Widow’s) who is acting as a double agent within Hydra.

Words: 3782

Warnings: This chapter is hella long. Like when I was editing it I was also surprised by the word count. LOL! Some angst, a lot of fast-paced scene jumping and a bit of steam towards the end... Which means!!! The next Chapter is going to be the smutty chapter! Also, sorry I haven’t proofed I want to write the next chapter quickly!!!

Tuesday Morning.

You had made sure to dress up in your more flattering clothes today. Your make-up a little more glamour than usual. You made sure to buy a magazine about with a headline to do with the upcoming Expo. When you got to work you noticed the security had been doubled and employees were now required to show their ID at the main desk. It wasn't surprising, what was surprising was that there had been no news about the break-in yesterday.

"Morning, Elle," Agnes greeted you as you boarded the elevator.

"Morning Agnes."

"What's with all the security, all of a sudden?"

The elevator had filled up with several other women and men including Kathy. She gave you a knowing look before pretending to not eavesdrop.

"Beats me," you lied. In the corner of your eye, you noticed Kathy's lip curl upwards.

When the elevator stopped at your floor, you, Kathy and a few others got off. You made your way to your desk, unpacking your magazine and displaying it in a very obvious place before heading over to the kitchen to make two cups of coffee. Once you were done, you took both cups, placing one on the far edge of your desk while drinking from the other as you read the magazine -making it seem rather obvious by having it cover half your face.

"Sir, I really think you ought to consider reporting what happened to the authorities," a muscled man in a black suit and tie urged Howard. "The security breach--"

"Security. Which is exactly what I'm paying you for. Making sure there isn't a security breach. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an office to stare blankly out of, Old Boy." Howard slapped the muscley man on the shoulder like they were best pals. Tim, the aforementioned man, simply held in an exasperated breath and walked out of the office space.

Howard walked down towards his office, glancing over at you, he noticed the magazine you were reading, he visibly stalled for a moment. "Ugh… Helen, can I have some coffee sent to my office?" He asked in a low lilt.

Before he could walk away, you stood from your seat and grabbed the coffee cup you had placed by the edge earlier replied in a sonorous voice, "Already done, Mr Stark." You gave him a charming smile as you handed him the cup of hot coffee.

"Well, I do say, if you keep anticipating my needs before me I'll be forced to give you a raise," he smirked as he took a sip of his coffee.

"Then I suppose I ought to do just that," you answered back harmlessly. Stark seemed slightly caught off guard by your oddly flirty mood today. "Anticipate your needs, that is." You picked up the magazine and sat back down at your desk. Flipping the pages absentmindedly as Stark walked to his office, every now and then stealing a glance at you through the window.

A few hours later, a call came through. It was one of Howard's countless number of dates. She was all giddy and you could practically sense her blushing through the telephone cords. You rolled your eyes, swooning was never a good look on anyone. But then again, maybe you were bitter for another reason. One reason in particular.

"So, tell Howie I'd love to go with him to the Gala," she chuckled like a love-struck puppy.

You held back a sigh, "I'll pass the message along." You ended the call and gathered up all the files you had finished sorting through. You knocked on Stark's door.

"Come in."

"Here are the files you had me sort through," you placed them on his desk. "Sir, if you don't mind my asking. What's with all the increased security today?"

"Oh," he smiled, "Don't let that trouble your pretty head. Probably a disgruntled employee trying to steal Stark secrets. Wouldn't be the first time. Won't be the last. Innovation is a lucrative business, that's why you should never keep your secrets lying about for anyone to find."

You pretended not to have a clue as to what he was saying, pursing your lips out like you were struggling with keeping a single train of thought.

"Ah, it's no worry," Starks waved his hand around dismissively. "Any messages?"

Ah, he was expecting a callback, "No, none sir. Will that be all?"

"Yes, that will be all."

You turned around to leave, making sure not to rush out too quick in case...

"Helen," Stark stood from his desk.

"Sir?"

"I gathered from your reading material that you're interested in the Expo."

"Indeed I am. The 'world of tomorrow' is too thrilling an idea to not be." You flipped your hair to the side.

¨"Ah, see there's a Gala coming up this Saturday. And the most eligible bachelor, like myself, can't be seen without a dame on his arm, such as yourself. Would you like to accompany me?"

You walked over to him, slow and suggestive, "On one condition."

"Name it."

"It will remain a strictly casual, friendly outing."

Stark laughed low, "It's a deal then. Pick you up Saturday."

Later that Day

"Report," Yelena demanded. Her cigarette stained tips rolling an unlit cigarette. This time Yelena had a tape recorder in place of a notepad and pen. The air was cold and damp, a draft kept creeping in through the ajar container door. In the distance, you heard faint sounds of trains moving past.

"Hydra made contact. Turns out they have another agent in Stark's employ. I think she's there to keep an eye on me too."

"Who is she?"

"She goes by the name Katherine. I don't have a last name."

"What's the mission?"

"Stark got a letter from the SSR. Apparently, he's meeting with a big shot within that organisation this Saturday. She wants me to record their session using a listening device."

Yelena cocked a brow your way, lighting her cigarette finally as she sunk into her chair, "Did you bring it with you?"

"To a highly clandestine meeting with my handler who's not a Hydra agent?" You asked rhetorically. "No. I did not."

"Mind the attitude, tovarich," Yelena warned. After sucking in two long puffs, she continued, "If this meeting is important enough for a Hydra operative to break their cover keeping an eye on you, then this could finally lead us to Erskine's research. Do as they say and report back to us after."

As you stood up to leave, Yelena whispered to you with a hint of concern in her voice, "Tovarich, if Hydra had an agent keeping an eye on you, it means they don't trust you. Be careful."

You were stunned, momentarily, but regained your composure when you remembered who you were talking to, "It wouldn't be the first time." You left the train car with no other words spoken. The faint smell of smoke still lingering on your coat.

 Wednesday

"Come on, Buck. It'll be fun. Dancing, music, a chance to get out of your apartment!" Steve urged his best friend who was laying down on his couch in his slacks and a vest. Steve busied himself with trying to clean up the place a bit. Putting dishes in the sink and tossing any clothes laying about in the hamper. "When was the last time you went out?"

"The last time I let you talk me into doing something…" he retorted, not needing to finish his sentence.

"Yeah, but you never actually talked to Elle. It could have been a misunderstanding."

"He kissed her Steve!"

"On the lips?"

"N- No… but that's not the point."

"Then what is?"

Bucky sat up from the couch, "She broke up with me! And then when I see her after three weeks she's letting her boss give her a non-platonic kiss on the cheek!"

"Oh, Buck. You're jumping to conclusions. And even if that were true, wouldn't you want to know, beyond a doubt, how she felt. You know, before you leave for--"

Bucky chucked a pillow at Steve, "Why do you have to be such a good guy all the time. Why can't you just brood around my apartment like I'm doing?" he asked rhetorically.

"Because if both of us start brooding, we'll never leave this apartment." Steve picked up the pillow Bucky had thrown and used all his strength to playfully hit Bucky back.

"Ough!" Bucky exaggerated.

"Come on. Dancing. Music. A night out. You need it." Steve urged his friend, bringing over a cup of burnt coffee.

"When?" Bucky asked as he sipped at the bitter liquid.

"Friday," Steve said with a smile.

Bucky simply nodded, "Wipe that smug smile off your face. Guess we're going out."

When Steve got to his apartment he made sure the first thing he did was call Sally and let her know everything was in place. Steve prayed them playing matchmaker wouldn't backfire on them.

 Friday

You had spent most of your week in a rebuttal battle of flirting with Howard. To say it had been taken more of your energy than you'd have like would be an understatement. In a way, you were glad you had agreed to go out with Sally tonight.

You looked in the mirror to see if your outfit complemented your lipstick -you chose rouge. You wore a red dress with a black lace pattern over the satin red and black pumps. You chose to wear lacey fingerless gloves and a small necklace.

"Hey, darlin' you almost ready?" Sally asked from your doorway, her hands fitting in a pair of large fake pearls. "Red?"

"What's wrong with red?" You shot back defensively.

Sally smirked coyly as though she was a mastermind checking all the boxes in her to-do list, "Nothin' it's just… The blue dress is perfect for dancin'. It twirls around you like magic!" She said excitedly.

You bit your lip to keep from smiling, "Alright I'll try on the blue one."

A few minutes later you called Sally back into the room and she gasped like it was the first time she'd seen the dress, "It's absolutely gorgeous. Give us a spin!"

You twirled round and as though the dress was a part of you, it flowed around you in cascades. The material breezing across your knees. You giggled like a teen.

"I suppose this will do."

"Come on then Hun. Let's go before we miss the bus!" Sally linked your arms together and rushed you out of the apartment.

***

Bucky kept running his hands through his fingers, whether it was nerves or just him not being out for a while, he couldn't tell, but he promised Steve he'd stop his brooding and have a fun night out. The Stork Club was filled with people, young and old. Somewhere by the bar cheering with friends while others were at the far end dancing to the live band. Bucky had almost missed the lively atmosphere of places like this. But every time he thought of going out and dancing with some broad, she'd always have the same face and the same laugh. She would always be Elle and it drove him crazy.

He couldn't close his eyes without seeing her face. Even now, in this club, hidden amongst the crowd, he saw her. She looked beautiful as always, the blue dress complementing her figure in a cool aura. She looked like a breath of fresh air amidst all the ladies wearing brighter reds and yellows and greens. He saw her rouge coloured lips and could almost taste their kiss atop the Ferris-Wheel in Coney Island. He could almost remember the exact thoughts he had as the sun set. That was the moment. Maybe if he had told her how he truly felt… Maybe if he had fought harder and not been the gentleman afraid of keeping her from her future. Maybe…

Then she disappeared as though she was never there as the crowd of dancing people grew in number.  

Bucky closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, he was convinced he was starting to hallucinate her now. "I'm going to go to the bar. I need a drink." He told Steve.

"Don't get lost," his friend teased.  

"A whiskey, neat," he asked the bartender.

"Buy a girl a drink?" A woman's voice spoke beside him. Bucky turned to look at her. She was beautiful he couldn't deny, and the way she looked at him… he was almost tempted to buy her that drink but he knew it would simply be an excuse to forget about Elle and that he'd regret it the next day.

"Sorry, Doll. Some other time," he gave her a weak smile, her lips turned downwards, she was disappointed but he didn't care. He downed his drink and went back to find Steve.

***

You walked away from the dancing crowd, feeling the heat in your cheeks. You needed to catch your breath. Sally followed after you, giggling with warmth. You'd be lying if you said this wasn't exactly what you needed. Then you saw someone familiar on the far end of the room.

"Steve!" You shouted in surprise as you saw your little friend alone in a corner. "What are you doing here?" You marched over with Sally still on your heel.

"Uh… Elle, hey! Um, this is a surprise..." Steve fidgeted about.

Without warning, you wrapped your arms around him with a big smile on your face. You didn't realise how much you'd missed him in the last month.

"Wait, if you're here, does that mean--" before you could finish your question you heard that oh-so-familiar voice speak behind you.

"Elle?"

Your breath got caught in your throat and your muscles felt petrified. You were frozen there.

"Bucky..." you whispered too low for anyone to hear.

"Oh my, now this is quite the coincidence. All four of us at the same club. Must be fate!" Sally chimed in from behind you. She quickly grabbed Steve's arms -who looked a little apologetic- and rushed him to the bar. "Steve, how about we get a drink. Catch up. I'm absolutely parched!"

Sally dragged him away as she mouthed an insincere "Sorry," before winking and disappearing.

After a few breaths, you finally had the courage to turn around and meet Bucky's eyes. When you looked into his beautiful blues again for the first time in a month it felt as though you'd been knocked off your feet. You'd almost forgotten how easy it was for him to make your heart race and your cheeks flush. How easy it was for him to turn your steeled conviction into a brittle wall made of plaster.

It was as though time stopped. Everything melted away and all you could focus on was the man standing in front of you.

Bucky snapped his fingers, putting on cool airs in an effort to break the silence, "I should have known Steve was up to something. Usually, I'm the one nagging him to go out." He gave an awkward smile as he rubbed the nape of his neck.

You laughed awkwardly not wanting to fall back into the silence, "Tell me about it. I should be able to smell Sal's devious plans a mile away by now. I guess I've just been too preoccupied with work."

Bucky's head snapped up at the mention of work. His jaw clenched for the briefest moment. It was his tell. "How is it. Your new job?"

"Honestly, I miss the Dinner. I miss Hal constantly nagging Annie and Sally mothering everyone…" You wanted to say I miss you but you stopped yourself. "Working for an obnoxious genius can be quite draining."

"You seemed pretty chummy to me," Bucky blurted out. He cursed at himself, seemingly regretting his words, but it was too late, you heard him.

What do you mean?" You looked at him, puzzled by his comment. Then it hit you. The pink flowers, Sally's odd behaviour. The setup. "The flowers, they were from you."

"You got them?" Bucky's tone relaying his shock. "But I never gave them to you..."

"I saw from my desk. I assumed one of the secretaries threw them out. I guess they reminded me of the peach tree flowers at the picnic."

Bucky's eyes lit up then, "I thought the same thing." He smiled, genuinely and it made your heart flutter.

"Why did you throw them out?" You placed a hand on his forearm. Bucky looked down at the contact longingly.

"I saw you. And Stark. You seemed… close."

You laughed, something about the idea of you and Stark being together tickled your funny-bone. Maybe it was the irony of the fact getting close to Stark was part of your mission. Or, perhaps, it was because Bucky thought Howard could replace him. If Bucky knew how you truly felt around him, he'd understand how absurd that thought was.

"Howard's known for being a harmless flirt. He cares more for his work than anything. I don't think he'd know what to do I he ever got into a real relationship."

Bucky took a step closer to you, "So then… you and him?"

You smiled, taking the other step forward, "Strictly professional. I promise."  

Bucky smirked, the look of an idea crossing his mind glistening through his eyes, "Well since we're here." He held out his hand. "The band is playing our song, Doll."

There it was, that charm and charisma you'd been craving for so long. The special way he called you 'Doll'. His smile and his outstretched hand. A part of you screamed to stay away, to spare him from any dangers or heartbreak that had convinced you to end things a month ago. But you were tired of being that cautious, good little soldier. For once, you saw what it was you wanted. What you craved with every nerve and cell. And for once, you weren't going to deny it. After all, it was just a dance. One, harmless, short dance.

Your lips turned upwards, your eyes glued to his. "I'd love to."

Bucky took your hand and twirled you towards him. Over his shoulder, you saw Sally bounding and bouncing about, no doubt proud of her intervening. Steve also seemed quite pleased with himself.

When the band played something slow, you rested your ear on his chest and listened to his heartbeat. With each beat, you felt joy begin to build within your own heart. All night you'd had this large smile that refused to subside -and so did Bucky.

The two of you stumbled out of the crowd of dancing bodies and headed towards the back exit in need of cool air. The band's lively music, still audible from the amber coloured alleyway. You lifted your head and took a deep breath, condensation forming when you breathed out.

"God, I missed this," You admitted to Bucky as you blew at a strand of hair that had come undone from its pin. On instinct, Bucky tucked it behind your ear, but as soon as he realised what he did -touch you as though you were still familiar with each other- he cleared his throat and bit his lower lip. "Sorry, a force of habit."

Before you could stop yourself you blurted out, "I've missed you, Buck."

Bucky placed one hand around your cheek, the other around the small of your back. He held your gaze for a moment, as though looking for any indication you didn't like where this was going, you didn't give any such signs. He leaned in and you closed in the distance. And after what felt like an age stretching out forever, his lips met yours and the two of you were lip-locked in a passionate embrace. Lost in the heat of the moment, you leaned into his touch. Your hands folded across his back, a moan escaping your lips as he guided your body towards a wall, pinning you there while one hand moved achingly slowly from your waist to your thigh. His grip was greedy and a little rough causing you to quiver, he could feel your body shake against his chest making him deepen your kiss even more. You let out a second moan when he suddenly stopped.

"Why did you stop?" You asked with deeply flushed cheeks and swollen lips.

Bucky's thumb graced your cheek as if trying to make sure you were real, you tilted your head against his hand, letting him know you were with him in this moment. "Do you have any idea what effect you have on me?" There was a tinge of pain hidden in those words, it made you rush to cup his cheeks and reassure him.

He clasped both your hands, "I just, I need to say this."

You had a feeling that whatever it was he was about to say, it had the power to change things forever. You swallowed hard, almost afraid of what he was about to say, but you owed him this much.

"Okay," you whispered softly.

"Before you, I had never really felt anything close to what I feel when I'm around you. I felt… I feel invincible, like I can do anything! I never imagined it could feel like this, being with someone. But then, I had to let you go, because I was convinced I couldn't be the one to hold you back from your new job, from your new future. But… I hate that I didn't fight for you. I hate that I decided to take the high road. You drive me crazy, Elle…"

You flinched when he called you Elle. More than anything you wanted him to call you by your real name. You wanted to be completely transparent with him.

"I want you back," he kissed your knuckles before letting them go. He brought his hand back to your face, his eyes boring deep into your soul you felt like you couldn't breathe as long as they were on you. "I need you back."

"James Buchanan Barnes… I never stopped being yours. You had me at 'Hello'." You kissed him again this time it was less greed and passion. It was tender and soft. It was a silent I love you.

The vibrations of Bucky's laugh travelled through the kiss making your knees buckle.

"Want to get out of here?" He asked with an extended hand.

You placed your hand in his, "Lead the way."  

As you walked away from the club, rain clouds began to form and in no time, the smell of rain filled the air with promise. 

 Part 11 is Here!

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[believerindaydreams]

the one that happens after the Baker one

"We're going to be okay," Tuco promises Angel Eyes, as he shuts and locks the broom cupboard. Wishes he had a name to call the man, that wouldn't sound so stupid to say aloud in public.

(trigger warnings: in which various racist comments are made, and Tuco is bratty and unwoke on the subject of feminism.)

He ought to have known better than taking Angel to such a questionable joint- but a part of him had already been itching to get back to a place like this, sizzling neon lights and watered beer, girls who'll spit in your eye once they notice who you're with and why. Living at the hacienda's so safe. And Angel had been the one to suggest it.

"Blondie told me stories. But countrified, prettied up for my benefit-" this with a sardonic look in his eye, the one Tuco used to think was bitter but has since decided is Angel's idea of humour. "I wouldn't mind getting a notion of what the scene looks like to you."

"You promise not to talk too much?" Anybody else, he'd be on pins and needles, ready to cringe at an overplayed hand (it's different for him, that's the whole shtick). But by now they've gotten to know each other; Tuco has a rather definite idea that if he told Angel to shut up, he'd actually shut up. At least in this particular context.

"Easily done. Lay out any ground rules that make sense to you."

Simple as that, eh? "If I say we leave, we go and no argument. Let me take the lead unless some damn cowboy decides that beating me to a pulp sounds like a fun Friday night out, then you do whatever makes sense. Even if that's just leaving, I don't want to look after somebody in a fight when they don't want to be there. And since it's your idea," Tuco had said, drawing just enough irony into his voice- "I'll let you stake us out for it."

"Fine," Angel had said. Before adding, "Anything you win, keep for yourself."

Now that's where the trouble had come in.

Being so broke they'd started dipping into the stake for tequila money, that had not been a good state of affairs. Not that the best room and board he's had since leaving Brooklyn is anything to sneeze at- who's he kidding, the hacienda's way better than that rusty tenement. But there hasn't been a word about the green stuff since meeting Angel, and while that's strangely reassuring, it also worries him what'll happen if the bubble bursts. (How the hell is Blondie managing alone, with only half their cash? Maybe his partner will come back when he gets hungry enough).

Tuco knows better than to stare and lick his lips, watching Angel count out enough money to keep him and his partner for months- but the notion crosses his mind, to just grab the cash and run. Not gonna happen. It's a bank, and there's such a thing as cops, and he could confidently set his life expectancy at three days pus or minus a couple, after a play like that. Doesn't stop him thinking about it. It's a free country.

"We're not doing the hustle, obviously," he explains once they're on the street. "I only do it with Blondie, and anyway we'd have to split up for that. And I'm not dressed for it."

In lieu of his usual eye-catching gear, he's plumped for the skirt-chasing outfit: khaki pants and matching drip-dry jacket and a shirt with just two colours in it, something Angel's been giving him weird looks for ever since they left the house. It's slightly uncomfortable, wearing it for a night like this. Somebody who looks too crazy to fuck doesn't have to worry about anybody trying. Not like Blondie, fending off the offers with a stick whenever people notice he's pretty.

(In a way he's always been jealous of that. But also, it'd just be another problem, make him more vulnerable than he is already, and he'd just as soon give that a miss.)

"Then what did you dress for?" Angel asks.

"A few drinks, a few hands of poker, nothing too messy- I guess you're not looking for a girl at the end of the night, huh? So we won't do this by the book."

"Certain companionship wouldn't necessarily go amiss," Angel Eyes says, taking him by the hand. Thin white gloves for a change, suitable for cardplay, and he's guessed that someone must be getting fairly horny in his partner's absence, but this is almost comical. By Angel's usual standards, they’re practically fucking in the street. He should have gone with that blue-toned Hawaiian shirt after all.

Then again, Baker finally getting the hint and going yesterday means that he's fresh out of options again. And deprivation always gives him an appetite.

"...see how the night goes," Tuco mutters, in a deniable fashion; and then takes his hand away because there are about fifteen good reasons for them not to be seen like this. "And we'll have a few drinks, like I said."

"I don't often drink in public," Angel Eyes says. There's a vibe of transgression there, that he would expect, but maybe not with that much wryness to it. As though it's a private joke instead of a statement of fact.

"Why, you want people to think you're on the wagon?" Plenty of good reasons for that. He's done it himself with girls a couple times, if he hasn't ordered yet and it looks like that'll impress them. "I know you're not a teetotaler, with all the red wine that goes into your soups."

"Believe it or not, the way I cook them burns the alcohol content off. There's no risk of intoxication from my venison stew, I can assure you."

"Oh. That's a little disappointing, I thought it made it more fun...well, if you don't want to, you don't want to. I can fix you up, there's a couple tricks so nobody will know the difference."

"Just the one...shouldn't hurt. No."

Cue a sudden warmth washing through his gut. The tense, attractive quality of that rueful craving- somebody who knows better, not even trying to resist temptation- that doesn't sound like buttoned-up Angel Eyes one little bit, that sounds like him. Or somebody who's been listening to him an awful lot, the last couple months.

Skirt-chasing gear, yes. The clothes he wants other people to see him in, when he wants to fuck them. Damn his instincts.

And damn you too, Blondie. I hope you get back soon...

Which had been the last thought he'd spared for his partner that whole evening, two bars and three nightclubs and a few hands of poker. That he thinks had gone a little better than usual, without having to juggle the hustle and betting and trying not to drool over Blondie looking zesty, although Angel Eyes proves more of a distraction there than he'd like to think. Angel’s certainly never going to cut it as a cardsharp; he’d easily been the weakest player during that Carson foursome, and calling his playing tonight desultory might be kind. Too busy staring at the room, like a wet-behind-the-ears tourist. 

Him ordering the expensive mixed drinks, the ones he'd never had the money to risk trying before. Angel had held off for a while, until they'd accidentally landed up somewhere halfway clean, with a bartender willing to open a new bottle of whisky on request, and had downed the shot in one.

That had been a good two hours ago, but if Angel's not drunk enough to be desperate now, Tuco's at a loss for what's wrong with the man. The moment there’d been a crash on the door downstairs,  Angel had grabbed him and made for an exit as though he’d be rehearsing. 

"Look, these police raids happen all the time. They round you up, you're in the slammer for a night, all a man like you has to do is pay bail and get out." He glances at the door again. Sooner or later somebody's going to look in here and then they're going to be in for it.

"I am not going to let anyone take me anywhere," Angel says, flipping a gun out from somewhere under his coat. No doubt it's loaded. Tuco's positive he knows how to use it.

"You said you'd listen to me, huh? You gonna break a promise? Right now it's just a raid. The cops shove some people around a bit, somebody gets beaten up, they'll survive that. You start shooting, they start shooting, people end up dead. And I'm the kind of guy who's ready made for a target."

"If I have to, I'll use it," Angel says stubbornly; but he shoves the gun in his pocket, and actions always matter more with him. "I can't afford a run-in like that."

"Okay. I said to trust me, I'll get you out of this."

His mind's been working on it, while his mouth's been busy; there's shelves of cleaning products, buckets, a mop cart. Too bad he didn't bring his Duluth- damn it, this is exactly what's wrong with wearing something too stylish to pair with a canoe pack. "You see any rubbing alcohol?"

Wordlessly, Angel takes a bottle down from a high shelf, wraps his fingers around it when they won't cooperate. It occurs to Tuco he might be drunker than he realised.

But the basic idea's solid, he just has to make it work. "Now- um. We take everything off the cart, put it back on the shelf, you hide inside under the tablecloths. Pour some alcohol on me, I'm going to be drunk."

"You are drunk."

"I know, I want to look it. Make me messy."

There's something much too sexy and familiar at once, about the way Angel Eyes almost chokes in disbelief- Blondie ought to know better but still does the same thing, when he's caught off guard. There's something even worse about how fast Angel intuits what he wants, mussing up his hair but good and trickling alcohol down his shirt and adding an artistic scruff of dust to his collar. Fuck it, he's getting a hard-on like nobody's business. Tight pants too, that's not going to help.

"If I were a janitor," Tuco says, with what he's aware is a slightly exaggerated dignity. 

Glances around, paws hopefully at the ventilation duct. Out comes- yes! a beat-up but serviceable edition of Playboy, two of them in fact, and it's not quite what he had in mind but maybe the detail will sell it even better. "Now Angel, you hide yourself in the cart, and for the love of- of somebody or other, don't sneeze."

"You're sure you know what you're doing."

"I better be sure, or with a trigger-happy idiot like you I'm dead. Get movin'," and the last sentence sort of slurs into a yawn, but Angel must get the idea because he disappears from sight.

Now all he has left to do is dab on alcohol like a 'specally good cologne, arrange the magazines in a convincing position and fall asleep on top of the cart, his legs dangling down. Easy.

So easy, in fact, that the next thing he knows is a click of a door unlocking. He snuffles noisily, inches his position slightly so his face lies against the cart's hard plastic; it's easier to fake sleep that way. His breathing's nice and loud when the door opens.

"Hey, you. You work here?"

He keeps snuffling away, happily enough. Two cops, maybe? Not more than that but there must be more around within earshot.

"I guess this idiot's been snoring his way through the whole raid. Stole a magazine to look at the dirty pictures- well, he probably can't read."

"Lusting after them white women," somebody else says, in a mock high-pitched tone. "All right, get him cuffed and bring him down to the station, we're done here."

"Fine. Wake up, you-" at least he's not being handled too harshly, the cop doesn't seem to want to touch him. He sits up after a bare minimum of shoving.

"What's your name, bud?"

"Janitor! Janitor- comprehende? Americano," Tuco says with considerable eagerness, and offers up his stupidest smile. It's one he's practiced in mirrors. "No speaka English."

"Oh christ, you're one of those...."

They take him out to a squad car, him blathering cheerful Spanish for every step; shove him inside. Could be worse, Tuco figures; he's done Angel Eyes enough of a favour that he can probably count on a bailout. He listens to the engine start up with no small satisfaction.

He's just settling against the seat to recommence that nap, when a familiar voice pipes up.

"All right. If you're here, where's Angel?"

"Baker?"

"One and the same. Now think about that question very carefully, because if you don't have an answer by the time I round this corner, you won't live long enough to worry about getting arrested."

"Back inside," Tuco says immediately. "I left him in a broom cupboard."

"Right. We're going back to get him."

"...so, you were a cop all along?"

"Good lord, no," Baker says. "I'm only borrowing this squad car. We'll use mine for the real escape."

The fact that they get away with the operation scot-free says more about the damn improbability of anyone stealing a police car and then giving it back inside of two minutes than Baker's street smarts, Tuco figures.

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

"You were following me," Angel says, once they're back at the house. He looks dead on his feet and Tuco doesn't blame him. "Baker, if you ever do anything like that again, I will-"

"You'll what?" Baker asks, in a jaunty, top-of-the-world fashion. His enthusiasm fades at Angel's frozen glare; Tuco finds himself watching the interplay with genuine curiosity.

Angel turns his head, glances at him. "I will never go on a hunting trip with you again. Ever. Understood?"

"Angel, you wouldn't- would he?"

Now they're both staring at him. "Yes. I think he would," Tuco says.

"Okay, okay! I promise. But you have to admit, I came in handy."

"You were not, and I don't owe you a damned thing. You're needlessly theatrical, it's going to get you killed one of these days, and as for Tuco, my partner and I had it under control."

(He doesn't like the notion, that he might be claimed as anyone else's partner; but he does enjoy the way the words make Baker droop in his tracks.)

"...understood."

"Good," Angel says, casually wiping his knife clean on the cuff of his shirt. "Now go away. Don’t call me, I’ll call you."

"I still say you need a better bodyguard."

"I'll take your opinion under advisement."

"You really are awfully happy together, eh?" Baker asks. "Well. I guess I'd better just go and tell that sweet Blondie he ought to take up with me, since it looks like you two won't be needing him any time soon..."

Tuco eyes Angel; Angel eyes him back.

Baker's bluffing.

He doesn't know what brought Angel to that conclusion, but to him it's obvious enough- Blondie's pushing up their value a little, reminding Angel the two of them have other options. They know each other well enough to trust the other's play, even at a remove.

It's a smart thing his partner's doing, a good move. Maybe he wouldn't have thought so this morning, but that'd been before realising he was still this desperate, that the mere chance to grab a little hard cash had made him stupid enough to stick around in a place long after his instincts had told him to leave. If they'd been smart and kept moving, they never would have been at risk in that raid in the first place.

Then again, he wouldn't have found out that Angel is a gun-happy maniac, and that's worth knowing. And Blondie's coming back. He's bound to.

"Give him my best regards," Angel Eyes says, languidly. "He's welcome to a bowl of soup here whenever he likes."

Tuco opens his mouth. Shuts it again. Years of habit are strong; they don't tell people they're partners, or the whole hustle doesn't work...so he'd better not say anything. Blondie's the one who's always the most worried about secrecy, anyway.

"I'll let him know," Baker says.

He looks rather hurt when he goes.

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

"Here, you'd better take this back," Tuco says at dinner, pulling the remains of Angel's stake from his pocket. So much for turning a profit; he'd blown through it rather freely, what with drinks and tips and prairie oysters.

"You might keep it for next time," Angel says, in a distinctly abstracted way. Twice already, he's dipped the spoon into his coffee cup instead of his soup bowl, sipped it without apparently noticing the change in flavour. 

"No, no." If this is the way Blondie wants to play it, this is the way they'll play it.

Though it proves an awfully hard thing, to sleep alone that night.

[im-a-writer--im-in-distress]

Salt (Insert-version)

Writer: im-a-writer—im-in-distress.tumblr.com

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Insert with: Theo Raeken

Others: McCall pack

Rating: #NewGirl, #GhostOfDepressiveHolePast

Words: 1800+

Warning(s): new girl; mention of deceased relative.

A/N: 1) This idea of Theo smelling salt started weeks ago, but I couldn’t figure out how to move with it. Then yesterday, I worked out in a little during a 10-hour car-ride to my grandparents’ place. I finished it today, just a little while ago. The initial “salt” concept is the same – (I wanted to portray that no matter what) – but the comic and the pack and all that, that was just stuff that popped up as I wrote. I kind of really like this for a couple reasons, so I’m just going ahead and posting it as is. 2) (I get the feeling there may be a series based off this coming someday.) 3) As always, I tend to write things as an OC-version first and then edit to a reader-insert. But if you’d like to read the OC-insert version, you can find that here.

It was a Tuesday after third period when Theo first smelled salt. On particularly stormy days, an edge of saltiness did hang on the breeze as it rolled in from the sea, but that was miles away. On any normal day, even a chimera like Theo Raeken couldn’t smell it. But that day, a new saltiness appeared.

It clung to the walls of his lungs as he paced through the halls of Beacon Hills High School, stealing his focus. This new scent bothered him. There were plenty of weird things in this town; a new anything never meant something good.

The chimera found himself on edge, a place he never wanted to be. He couldn’t bring himself to care about anything important. Certainly not school, but that didn’t often make his priority list. Not his pack and their constant need for supervision. Not even the newest toy of the McCall pack.

Though at least she peeked his interest.

She was a transfer student from abroad. She’d spent the last few years in Cyprus where her mother worked. Her father was in the military there, but was killed in action last month. That’s when they moved back to the town where her mother grew up. She was friendly and enjoyed playing the piano and couldn’t wait to make a fresh start in California.

Or that’s what she’d said in her introduction speech when she’d first walked into Theo’s class. Then she took the spare seat next to him in the back even though the teacher had directed her to the open desk on the other side of the classroom. She smiled at him, helping herself to his textbook, and then waved the instructor on when she noticed everyone was still staring at her. The balding man straightened his Bill Nye tie and cleared his throat, adding to the uncomfortable aura that tainted the room, and then turned to the chalkboard.

She then turned to Theo and reached a hand across her body towards him. “I’m Y/N.”

He took it, pushing a breath out of his lungs. The scent of salt was back and distracting him. “Theo.”

Y/N smiled and turned back to the lesson. Theo watched her for the rest of the period. She didn’t seem like someone who had just lost her dad. He got the impression perhaps they hadn’t been very close, she and her father. She was bright and friendly and really, really talented with a pen soaked in boredom. Her color-coded notebook that she pulled from her bag had every page covered in many, boxed pictures.

They were more than doodles. Comics, he realized. Over-exaggerated expressions and assets with unfortunate proportions detailed people in her life and moments floating around her. She’d tried to take notes, but her pen had started marking down the balding professor in his fifties with pinched features and a Bill Nye the Science Guy tie that was so long it dragged on the floor. A series of three boxes illustrated how he would trip over it every time he went to move.

Theo snorted to himself at the accuracy of the representation, and Y/N glanced at him. He was sure she would slam the notebook shut and blush or tell him off, but she gave him a simple smile before a new look crossed her face. He went stiff, blinking at her. She tilted her head and gazed at him, not saying anything. She wasn’t quite seeing him; she was just looking at him. He didn’t know what to make of that. Then she returned to her comic and started another box below the previous.

Theo watched her pen trace the lines of a new person on the right side of that new box. It was a male in a tight t-shirt and a cheeky smirk. His proportions were complimentary; someone the artist rather liked, he guessed. He was looking at the empty space beside him with a smug pleasure. Her pen sketched something behind him, peeking up from behind the desk like a fat lightning strike. Motion lines were drawn around it like it was waving back-and-forth. Theo’s brow crinkled at it. Then she drew two fluffy ears atop his head, and she leaned back, pleased, a giant grin aimed his way. Theo’s jaw dropped.

She muffled her laughter in her hand, trying hard not to draw attention to herself. Theo’s eyes bugged out of his head as he grabbed her notebook and held it up to his face, staring at the little figure. He’d been drawn into her comic as a smirking, wolf-eared cartoon!

She was still laughing when he looked at her. She shrugged at him, and took her notebook back from him. He resisted her; having caught her attention, he took a single finger and pointed at her. You next.

A look crossed her eyes, and she laid the notebook back out to fill in the blank space. The girl she drew next to the wolf-boy was different that he thought she’d draw her. Different than he’d draw her. This figure was young, very young, with pigtails and bows and a Sunday School dress. She had paint smudges on her face and tainted fingers holding up a finger-painting in celebration. A wide grin took up half her face, but it didn’t mess up the proportions; it was just a happy kid.

Y/N stared at the comic, clicking her pen on the table for a moment. Then she rocked her head like, Eh, good enough, and handed it to him.

Theo wasn’t sure what he made of this representation. It was her, sure, but so young. Like she was only happy when she was little. Simple kid joy. Theo didn’t know why that bothered him. He traced the lines with his eyes: the pigtails held with bows, the paint on her cheek and fingers, the painting being waved in the air with a giant smile plastered on her face. It was almost comedic, like Y/N was making fun of the situation. Then he realized what the little painting was of.

It was Cyprus.

The island was smudged and shaded in different concentrations as though in different colors, like it was an afterthought. Like an adult brain found a shape in their child’s mess.

But it was there. And it was intentional.

And something sad rose up in Theo’s gut. It had been bugging him all day. The bell had rung not long after that, and Y/N had skittered away with her notebook in hand.

As it turned out, he and Y/N didn’t have fifth period together, but seeing her come into the room for sixth surrounded by the McCall pack had something boiling. She hadn’t noticed him yet. But then Lydia did. And the sudden stop in her friend and a crinkle on her nose made Y/N search for the cause. She caught sight of Theo and waved, returning to her search. Lydia yanked her hand down and whispered something to her in a harsh voice, something that Y/N shot her a shocked look for and glanced at Theo with a confused expression.

Theo turned away in his seat. He didn’t need to see any more.

Halfway through class and Theo had found his gaze once again on the new girl. She sat across the room with the McCall pack, Lydia and Stiles sitting in front and beside her respectively, and the kitsune glaring at him from the corner desk. He snarled at her.

Y/N looked uncomfortable. Like she couldn’t breathe. She was stiff and awkward, and Theo could smell the panic from all the way across the room. The McCall pack was oblivious, per usual. Not a clue one they’d claimed as their own was trying not to freak out.

And on top of that, the salt scent was back and stronger than ever. That was worrying him more than it had reason to, and it was all because of this incessant need of his to be close to that girl. It made him crazy that they hadn’t noticed something was wrong; he couldn’t even go investigate the scent and trust they’d watch out for her. His leg was shaking, and he knew all three of that pack could sense his frustration. They kept shooting looks at him.

It was when Y/N shot out of the classroom at the sound of the first bell that Theo realized she hadn’t unpacked anything. She had been sitting on the very edge of her chair, bag in her lap, body made small and tense, eyes glazed over as she focused on staying calm. She hadn’t even taken out a pen to fiddle with.

And that realization made Theo shoot out the classroom door through the McCall pack without even a second glance back when Stiles started cursing at him.

They didn’t try to follow him. They didn’t try to follow Y/N. It irritated him that that annoyed him. He was chasing after some human girl. He had bigger fish to fry.

Theo shook his head and cleared his mind. Students making their last stop at their lockers crowded the halls, but thankfully, that salt scent was much more potent than any human stench. He picked it up passing an adjacent hallway aimed away from the main entrance, and he started after it. It was stronger then, and that wasn’t because there only a few stragglers around him. There was more of it in the air, a thicker stream rushing up his nose. He narrowed his eyes as it got stronger and stronger, his steps faster as he followed it deeper into the emptying halls. He followed it around another corner and then—

It was gone.

Theo sniffed the air; the salt was dimmer now. It was behind him. He turned around and found the stream again. It was dispersing, its source gone now, but there was still a concentration of it near him. He could smell it. And he could… hear it?

The chimera shook himself clear of his tracking instincts. He needed to focus. Then he heard it.

He shoved the door to the empty music room open, and Y/N leapt out of her skin. She whirled around from her place on the piano bench, her hair flying around her and bright, shimmery streaks painting her cheeks.

Theo stared at her as she stared at him, both at a loss of what to do. Her bright eyes sparkled with water, her pale skin tinted with red. The grand black piano casting a large shadow behind her made her look small. And Theo remembered the pigtails in the comic.

Y/N turned away from him, somehow trying to hide the fact that he’d seen her crying. But it didn’t matter. He could smell it clearly. It was her. The salt was from her tears.

He closed the door and came to stand behind her. The saltiness of her scent brought a sadness that chased away the fear of the unknown. It didn’t mean there was a monster. It just meant there was a human girl who was utterly heartbroken.

And he wanted to be around the day she drew a comic of herself that smiled as an adult…

[gdelgiproducer]

Kunze on “Tanz”: StoryArchitekt Q&A section (Vol. 6)

(Most of the questions in this section date from the 2009 revival era or the time immediately following. All translations are rough, and anybody who knows the language better can feel free to correct me, especially with the answers.)

Q: I saw TdV yesterday in Stuttgart (it was a great performance, the performers did some things a little differently). But I’m wondering how you could cut so much (from “Knoblauch,” “Draußen ist Freiheit,” “Wuscha Buscha/Mumm,” “Seid bereit/Wohl dem Mann,” “Totale Finsternis,” “Warum soll ich denn dein Blut nicht saugen...” etc.) and the show still run as long as in Vienna. Today half the show is missing, but it’s still just as long. Or did the extra few minutes caused by adding “Stärker als wir sind” make up for all those cuts? A: Half the show is not missing, that’s a great exaggeration. Only the superfluous material has been cut. Doesn’t the audience like that? (source)

Q: Question: if it’s only superfluous material, why was it written in the first place? ;) But seriously though: it was bad enough just cutting spots in “Wohl dem Mann” and “Knoblauch,” or the second verse of Chagal’s song in the crypt (“Man wär gern würdevoll zumindestens im Sarg...”). A: An author always hates editing most. He is always forced into this position - by the producer or the director, or by the audience - when it’s a bit too long. When forced to make cuts, the author tries to take out only that which doesn’t disrupt the dramatic arc when removed. That’s what I mean by “superfluous.” (source)

Q: Hello Michael, I’d be very interested to know how Count von Krolock became a vampire and why you, or rather Jim Steinman, used existing melodies, as in “Totale Finsternis,” and didn’t write something new. Best regards. A: On the first question, you’d have to consult the lyrics to “Die unstillbare Gier.” As for the existing melodies, we used them because they fit perfectly. (source)

(Note: The answer to the following question -- and indeed the question itself -- requires context. It references the answer to another question [by the same person asking the question that follows] which, rather than belonging in the Tanz category, referenced multiple shows, and thus was grouped under a more general heading. In their initial question, which can be found here, they asked if Michael regretted the choice not to open Marie Antoinette in a city with more of a musical theater scene, and then moved on to Tanz, asking what Krolock really meant when he said “Und Alfreds Seele gehört längst mir” in the song “Sie irren, Professor.” If Alfred, like Sarah, was someone that the Count had singled out for special attention, why was Alfred labeled a gift to satiate his comrades’ hunger in the ballroom scene? In order: Kunze didn’t regret opening Marie in Bremen because the show was an artistic success; Krolock’s line in Tanz meant that lovestruck Alfred had long since abandoned Abronsius’ boring world of science and logic because he found the lure of Krolock’s world of darkness -- and mystery -- more interesting [though he went out of his way to point out that, unlike Herbert, Krolock is not gay]; and the vampire’s bite is a sexual metaphor.)

Q: Thank you for answering all my questions, but I’m still a little confused about your answer to my last question. I asked: “If Alfred, like Sarah, was someone that the Count had singled out for special attention, why was Alfred a gift to Krolock’s subordinates?” You responded that the vampire’s bite is a metaphor for a sexual act. But what about Napoleon’s page in “Unstillbare Gier”? Did Krolock bite him, or was he mourning the young man’s death for another reason? Best regards. A: You’re absolutely right, you’ve uncovered an inconsistency. In my opinion, Krolock consumed the page’s blood because he was at the point of starvation. (source)

Q: Hello Michael. Regarding the question about Napoleon’s page, do your lyrics necessarily imply that Krolock literally consumed the page himself? Perhaps I’m reading too much into it, but mentioning Napoleon in connection with 1813 brings to mind the Battle of the Nations, which could be described not only as the beginning of the end for him, but as the inevitable result of his lust for power. The page (or his vision of Napoleon) fell victim to Napoleon’s power, and thus also Krolock, if one understands him as a personification of greed. Would that be an acceptable interpretation, or is it too far off-base? With kind regards, Malte A: Well, I’m stunned. Is it vain of me to suggest, based on questions like this, that I have the smartest fans anyone could ask for? I would never have come to this conclusion myself, but I like it! (source)

Q: Hello Mr. Kunze, did you create Krolock with a specific performer in mind? What would you think of Ethan Freeman (who, just like Borchert, has previously played Lucheni) as Krolock? Has any thought been given to casting him? Sincerely, Tine A: I never think of a particular actor when writing a role. Having a person in mind when I write would make the part too “real.” Ethan Freeman would be a wonderful Krolock. I hope I get to see him play the role one day. (source)

Q: Do you think that Dance of the Vampires’ failure on Broadway has affected the show’s future in the U.S., and do you regret this? A: Yes to both! (source)

Q: “Bevor euer nächstes Jahrtausend beginnt, ist der einzige Gott, dem jeder dient die Unstillbare Gier.” These lines made much more sense at the time of the premiere, when the turn of the millennium was only three years away, than today. As we’ve already passed that point, are there any alternatives for these lines? If so, why haven’t they been changed? A: After the turn of the millennium, I changed the lyrics to “Sobald das nächste Jahrtausend beginnt, ist der einzige Gott, dem jeder dient, die unstillbare Gier.” Sadly, the financial crisis in the first decade of this millennium seems to have fulfilled the prophecy. (source) (In the comments section, the fan who asked the question responds -- presumably in clarification -- that the audience felt it more directly in 1997, when Krolock sang to them from the 19th century of the next millennium, which [for him, as for them] would dawn in 2001. If the lyrics had stayed the same, it would be the case for Krolock no matter when the audience saw the show, however, the audience may think of the next millennium as a long way off. While they found the 1997 lyrics more effective and easier to understand, they were glad there was an alternative that might be more palatable for some members of the audience.)

Q: This poster for Tanz der Vampire, which can be found in Stuttgart, reminds me too much of the Twilight films, which have triggered a mass hysteria among teenage girls. In my opinion, this poster (similar to the Sissi feather heart) gives the wrong impression. What do you think about this? A: I’m less concerned than I would be about Elisabeth, which was about a real person that I didn’t want to see commodified. Both Twilight and Tanz der Vampire are fantasies on a vampire theme. (source)

Q: What made “Millionen Bücher blieben von den Menschen, die mal waren...” better than “...von den Menschen frührer Zeiten...”? Why was this changed? A: It’s not better. I like them equally. (source)