#A Wandering Eye doodle from the Left Behind idea - that idea does have its own name but I'm still debating it hmmm

[sysig]

Silly guys, the lot of you’s (Patreon)

[stochastiz]

based on this post from @taavicleric and the idea their doodle sparked for me:

Looking back, my memory of that night has a veil of impossibility encompassing it. As I think about how to explain it I find myself struggling to find the strings that connect the moments, to fill in the times before and after the snippets I recall. It all seems like it could've been a dream, but I wouldn't still have the tiny key on a chain around my neck if it all came from nothing more than a reverie.

I was alone in a home that was far too ostentatious for someone like myself, left to wander the winding halls and behold the Rococo boiseries that lined the walls and ceilings. I shuffled my feet through the plush carpets and ran my fingers along the labyrinthine designs of the wallpaper, reveling in every aspect of the sumptuous atmosphere. Crystalline chandeliers dripped from the ceilings of the rooms I entered and candlesticks were abundant across surfaces, the candles they held casting warm glows everywhere I turned. I did my best to keep my hands in my pockets or clasped behind my back as I leaned in to regard the vases and trinkets and sculptures and candelabras that seemed to line every available surface, while the voice of my inner child constantly chattered about how cool it would be to try to stack them and what if there was something hidden inside and what does that engraving feel like? I was far more mature than that voice, though, and could remember consuming enough expensive-tasting wine that I doubted my hand-eye coordination would play nicely with the forces of gravity that would surely pull the delicate figures from my grasp. Every moment felt fragile, like too sharp of an exhale could shatter the scene I was exploring.

As the asymmetrical gadroons and sinuous engravings that decorated every object in sight began to swirl in front of my eyes, I sought the comfort of a plush duchesse brisée along a wall of what I could only imagine was once the study of a wealthy aristocrat. I gave my eyes a short reprieve from the excessive ornamentation they were bombarded by as I sank into the cushions, quickly fading from consciousness. Between the influence of the libations and the depth that evening seemed to take on I can't be sure how long I dozed, but when I gently roused the stars were still in the sky.

As I came back into my surroundings I relished in the velvety ambience the room seemed to embrace me with. I could imagine a crackling blaze in the fireplace, casting dancing shadows between baubles on the mantle and reflecting off the gilded inkwell its affluent owner would have dipped his quill into. I gazed towards the open roll-top desk that served as the central fixture of the room and was surprised to see a rich banyan hanging over the high-backed chair sitting askew in front of it. While everything else I remember of the home had a museum-esque quality to it, simply arranged for display, I could've sworn someone had just pushed away from the desk and left but a moment ago. I held my breath as I squinted at the doorway, but I heard no footsteps and saw no movement.

I approached the desk, acting on impulse as I swept the banyan from where it was draped and wrapped it around myself. The silk gave me the comfort of a beloved robe, though I couldn't have ever dreamed of owning anything as finely embroidered. I sat in the chair and pulled it forward so my legs were tucked comfortably under the desk, crossing my arms around my midsection as I took in the tabletop. The exact gilded inkwell my mind's eye had conjured moments before sat at the back corner of the leather writing surface, a white quill pen sitting within. I lifted the pen and felt briefly mesmerized as I watched the black ink drip from its once-white tip back into the pot. When I finally blinked and set the quill down I looked around the rest of the desk, taking in the elegant floral designs embossed into the wooden surface. Vines and flower petals encased the edges of the tabletop and the curving legs it stood upon. I lost myself in following the fanciful marquetry as it danced around the table, finally pulling me back to the writing surface.

I couldn't stop myself as I reached for the small handles of the drawers that served as the back edge of the tabletop. All but one easily pulled forward at the first tug, revealing nothing but stale air and dust that hadn't been moved in at least a century. The final small drawer didn't budge though, and it wasn't until I traced my fingertip along the surface of its rose-petaled shape that I discovered the minuscule keyhole hidden at the center of the design. I sat back in the chair, letting my arms fall to my side as I deflated in defeat. I tipped my head back and stared at the ceiling for a moment before noticing that my hands were perfectly aligned with the pockets of the banyan I wore, as though it had been tailor-made to fit me. I slid my hands in, seeking all the comfort I could muster as disappointment dripped like ink through my veins. My left hand found only the soft lining of the pocket, though the fingers of my right alighted upon a small metallic object. I pulled it out, drawing a candle from across the desk closer so its glow could reveal what I had found.

It was a tiny skeleton key, with an intricate and swooping handle that matched the curves found everywhere else in the home. It was barely half the length of my index finger, and even its delicate teeth seemed perfectly designed to match the decor. I looked between the key and the locked drawer, willing my breath to slow as a building excitement overcame me. I knew this was it, this was why I was here.

It took all my focus to stop the trembling of my fingers long enough to align the key with the lock, but it slid in and turned with no resistance. I took another deep breath as I withdrew the key, placing it back into my pocket. I pulled the small drawer open.

There was a small scrap of yellowed paper inside, and as I lifted it I could see the glint of the still-wet ink on its surface. In a flourishing longhand script the words "use it well" had been penned. When I put the paper down I saw that it had been sitting atop coins of pure gold. Their surfaces each had uniquely etched embellishments, but I didn't pause long enough to examine them as I scooped them all up and into my pockets.

I looked once more around the room as I stood, knowing I couldn't wait a moment longer but hoping to commit every possible detail to memory, wishing with all my being that this wasn't a fading dream.

I flew through the halls of the home and somehow made it back through the main doors, not even glancing over my shoulder as I left it behind. The gravel of the path crunched under my feet as I ran as fast as they would take me through the crisp night air, a peal of laughter burbling up from deep within my chest as I ran and ran into the darkness.

When I awoke in my bed the next morning I was still wrapped in the banyan, and I clutched it tightly around myself as I made my way to the pawn shop. I was practically vibrating as the purveyor examined the coins, muttering about where they could've possibly come from. I smiled and shrugged, knowing they would never believe me if I tried to tell them. I purchased a simple necklace chain from them with a minuscule fraction of the sum they gave me, immediately threading it through the head of the key and clasping the chain around my neck.

The money they gave me in exchange for the coins was enough to turn my life around and then some, enough to let me leave my old life behind and become the version of myself I've always dreamed about. I've never tried to explain to anyone more than mumbling something about an inheritance. Most people I've come to meet haven't seemed to want to dive into a conversation about deceased relatives, so I've simply left it at that.

I still wear the key around my neck, and maybe someone will inherit it from me when I pass.

author ramblings and links to resources about rococo style I used for inspiration under the cut (if you're like me and like having visuals):

Fashion and Decor: A Cultural History - Rococo: French Frivolity

Galerie Atena: The Rocaille, The History of an Ornament

Britannica: Rococo Design

Fashion History Timeline: Banyan

The whole rococo style idea is 100% from my annual rewatch of Over The Garden Wall and I will not apologize for that

I would honestly love *constructive* feedback on this. I'm absolutely aware it's not a masterpiece by any stretch of the imagination. But I feel like it's relatively coherent as a 'story', and it's a thing I managed to make and am putting into the world. Which is sort of a big deal for me right now.

Also @lemonizzy is my sideblog, I originally posted the idea there because I still can't work up the courage to break my imaginary rule of only being able to post textposts to this blog :P

[itsmoonphobic]

Dream SMP characters and my interpretation of them:

-Techno: The smell of Dirt and soil,blood,wine and old books. Silk pillowcases,golden jewelry,mosaics,stained fingertips, grand staircases,scented candles,storyteller,lazy smiles, secretive,slow dancing,sad resting face,elegant language,cold weather,confident,doubts himself,philosophy, messy braids,glowdust flakes, poetry,graceful movements,neat and cursive handwriting, greek mythology, oriental music,pale skin,libraries,sarcasm, long-lasting friendships,quotes,frosted windows,layering clothes, know-it-all,rude but endearing,pile of papers,cherry blossoms,muted colors,overthinks everything,devotion,logical thinking,insomniac,scattered mind,castle walls,laid back,tired eyes,long debates,show over tell,lingering touches,rulebreaker, dirty palms,old movies freezing feet,old habits,late nights studying,early riser,skips meals,eye bags,tea with milk,velvet jackets,dimly lit by streetlights,ancient wood floors,flowy curtains,art museums, gravely morning voice,echos in the middle of nowhere,sleepy whispers,nostalgia everywhere,red lipstick stains,loves animal more than people,calm and quiet, healing stones,parked car conversations,sharp jaw,obsessed with memes,violins,doves, doves,floats instead of walks,unbroken promises,twisting and winding hair around fingers,nail biting, repeating phrases,mist secret scars,rumors,always wearing earphones,metaphorical, emotions fragile as a flower, speaks with his eyes,fluttery eyelashes,dog lover,forehead kisses,calligraphy,pretty knives,cares too much,lopsided grins,messy desks,talks for hours no,rolling his eyes all the time,powerful strides,wants to conquer the world,slender hands,good grades, dusty book covers,wax stamped envelopes,vintage mirrors

-Phil: The smell of cold air,pine trees and sandalwood.Dead birds and mothballs,stops on the sidewalk to make sure nobody is left behind,morning person,herbal teas,crows,eats breakfast outside,constellations,family portraits on walls, chirping and whistling,crime documentaries,cool father figure, graveyards,weeping angels,meteor shower,many friends but only a single close one,contagious laugh,fragile teacups,fog, early mornings,fuzzy blankets,springs of thyme,bare feet, empty streets,rosemary stems,flickering lanterns,burnt wood bowls,feather collector,antique silverware,a sky full of stars, skylights,torn pages,overstuffed bookshelves,makes you feel comfortable whenever you talk to him,organized,full of ideas, believes in magic,gives the best advice,lost in his own way, warm hugs,scrapbooks and bullet journals,old cars,soft features,daydreaming,bright eyes,getting lost in the woods,moonlight,self knitted sweaters, stargazing on tailgates,the universe,hand in hand with wandering hearts, garage sales,questioning life but feeling at peace,attic bedrooms and haylofts,pursuing science and desiring art, photo albums,hopeless romantic,dark chocolate,open windows and quirky morning rituals,actually knows what brunch is, succulents,a kind-hearted loner,free-spirit,plaid button-ups, always ready to let you rant,abandons projects quickly, complicated past,bold moves,goes with the flow,aims for things that seem unachievable,lives in extremes,knowing smiles,constantly busy with something new,soft touches,love at first sight,naps alot,subsequent tea stains,sparkly eyes, abandoned barns,handwritten notes,feather quills,fascination with the sky,whispering secrets to the wind,great with kids, takes a backpack everywhere,hugs trees,big winter coats,road trips,knows tons of medical info,bites his nails,comforting presence,lost souls,city lights from a high rise

-Wilbur: The smell of fire,smoke,caramel and coffee. Stands up for people who can't for themselves,emotional wreck,loves his family too much but still yells at them,soft turtlenecks,sits in different spots every time he eats dinner,chipped nailpolish, songwriter,probably depressed,wakes up in the middle of the night to write down random thoughts,heartbroken teenager songs,dark psychology and deep meanings,globes and maps, wants to travel and make lots of memories,curls of steam, earbuds in,spattered ink,good singer,keeps to himself,old music and dusty vinyl,the type of person that you could stare at for hours,loud laugh,ride or die,dreams about his future, believes in fresh starts and new beginnings, messy and tangled hair,summer nights,soft features,deep thinker and dimples, having crushes,musicals and theater, half finished diaries and laptop stickers,mixtapes,quirky love notes, secretly kinda insane,always ready for coffee,thrift shops, beachy waves, bonfires,probably drives too fast,cutoff jeans, cream and sugar,nude colors,always creating new problems for himself, fights for equality,long debates and tired eyes, tapping a rhythm and humming quietly,spends all his time on social media,beanie galore,trench coats,foggy glasses,cozy sweaters, dancing around his room to the Beatles,looking out the window when the sun is setting,birkenstocks,guitar strumming on a warm summer evening,bells and chimes,subtle sadness, the feeling of diving into a deep pool,perfect proportions,too many playlists,holding hands,pretty boy,sew on patches and bomber jackets,candid photos,warm sun on bare skin,dancing silhouettes on the sunsets,beach walks at midnight,messy but cozy room,different mood every minute,singing his favorite song at the top of his lungs,sharp grins,haunted houses, paranormal stuff,late night snack runs with friends,explores creeks and lakes,double checks everything he does,walking through hot sand,backyard campfires,acoustic songs,photo booths,train platforms at night,s'mores,sun bleached arbors

-Tommy: The smell of plastic,fresh cut grass and musk. Does the bare minimum at School,unless genuinely interested in a topic,doodles on the side of his paper,movie marathons,empty coca cola bottles everywhere,rope swings,glossy nailpolish,lots of energy,life of the party, kidcore ,can always make you laugh,loves photography,eyestrain and bright colors,bruised knees and untied shoelaces,paperballs in class,brand new red converse,denim jackets,pins and clips,chalk drawings in the middle of the road,every text contains emojis, garden sprinklers,graffiti,wreck this journal,vibrant dyed hair, scribbles and highlighter pens,carnivals,involed in many things, watermelon flavored anything,loves to climb trees,screaming on playgrounds,oversized t-shirts,stained glass windows, anklets,skateboards and hula hoops,milkshakes on the front porch,social butterfly,always in a hurry,pinkie promises,tangled headphones,melted crayons and gummy bears,bean bags and hummingbirds,spinning around till he gets dizzy,chaotic and crazy yet so fun to be around,rushing into things too quickly, roller coasters and derbies,doesn't get knocked back by criticism,cans of fizzy drinks and neon lights,skips school,tye dye shirts and nitendo games,impulse and class clown,sticks stickers on stranger's things,pickpockets his close friends,has to carry a walkie-talkie around with him at all times,sleepovers and sneaking out through windows,pockets full of change and random buttons,stands out in crowds and makes friends easily, pretends to be fearless but is scared of the littlest things,trips and rips his jeans daily,uno cards,social butterfly,music discs, fights with his family but would actually kill for them,broken handwriting,flannels and jerseys around his waist

-Tubbo: The smell of honey,fresh bread and citrus. Lowkey soft, hugging a teddy bear,pressed flowers,eats alot of bread,big hoodies,fairy lights and blanket forts,prank calls while holding in your laughter,beeswax candles,sidewalk dandelions,gentle cuddles on the couch,pastel yellow and cute doodles,flower crowns and diasy chains,plays the ukulele,fascinated by bees and supports local coffee shops,outdoorsy sunshine addict, sparklers and iced lemonade,festivals with fireworks and fireflies in mason jars,homework done as soon as its assigned, watercolor paintings,giggling uncontrollably,long hugs and lazy cartoon afternoons,park dates and forehead kisses,cutting pants into shorts,messy wild hair and pear lollipops,has tiny random braids decorated with golden yarn,hearing the crinkle of leaves underfoot,suprise piggy back rides,adult swim shows and lip gloss stains,being goofy without meaning to,bounces in his step and stops to pet stray animals,baked bread and washi tape bracelets,bike rides and summer picnics,rolling down a hill in the spring and bringing home grass stains on his jeans, waving at someone across a crowded room,spontaneous hang outs and self made clay rings,sitting in the warm sunlit grass on early spring mornings,rock painting and hiding them for other people to find,picking apples from trees but needing to be held up in order to reach one

-Ranboo: The smell of peppermint tea,denim and rain. Is there for everyone but never themselves,regrets things they said but can never find the nerves to apologize,clumps of mascara and winged eyeliner,writes down every tiny thing in notebooks, loves children and their friends,forgetting that they already grabbed a waterbottle,drawing on condensation windows,rainy days and puddles,always on the edge of a breakdown,elevator music and long limbs,old tape recordings and cassettes,moss covered ruins and greenhouses,wanting to be in multiple places at the same time,different colored socks,long hugs and head pats,reading under the covers,collages and spray paint,record players and walks alone through the woods,loves playing by creeks and collecting stones,always wondering and worrying about things they shouldn't,vivid dreams and leather jackets, silver necklaces and piercings,snoozing their alarm clock, seeing the moon in the early morning,blurry photographs and windswept hair,downpours and comfortable silence,wrapping gifts and handing them over with shaking hands,sitting on a rooftop and spontaneous plans,lofi sounds and long train roads,deja vu moments,randomly dissapears and sipping tea, cold concrete and city parks,tickets and brochures from places they visited,dusty parchment and desperately trying to be a good person,wikipedia articles and lace-up boots,often loses track of time while talking to people they love,sings to the radio and avoids conflict if possible,can't sit still for five minutes, perpetually in an emo phase and knows more than they let on, hawaiian shirts,henna tattoos and sparkling water,sleeping in complete darkness and the relief of falling into bed,midnight thunderstorms and anticipation for the coming day,lucky charms and the sound of rain hitting the windows

-Dream: The smell of apples,eucalyptus,vanilla and green tea. Freckles and smiley faces,glow sticks and wrinkled linen, probably a really good singer,wild laughter and jellyfish, popular,tanned skin and cruising with the top down,doesn't take shit from anyone,analytical and self assured,beachy waves and dreamy sunsets,running barefoot,likes being active and on the go at all times,sassy and dramatic as fuck,dream catchers and hammocks,glow in the dark stickers on his phonecase, feisty and a sense of danger,brought home stray cats when he was a child,falling in love with strangers,waking up early and continue laying on the bed,golden hours and 4pm naps,soft aching hands burried in messy hair,center of attention,static and heavy breathing,old percy jackson books under the bed, throwing pebbles at the closed windows of his friends' room, retro diners at 2am,adrenaline junkie and nighttime thriver,will go insane if cooped up indoors for too long,deadlines till last minute,oversleeping and coming home past midnight,naturally a really good surfer,hugs from behind and neck kisses,checking the fridge at 1am,ice cream in bed and cat cuddles,always picks up over facetime

Might make more parts for some of the other guys :)

[thebigqueer]

Uhh I don’t know if you’re still taking fanfic prompts (if you ever were-sorry my Tumblr is MESSY) but uhhh I saw this headcanon where Nancy Bobofit is on a date with her boyfriend and sees Percabeth and is jealous of their relationship and your writing is pretty frickin good and if you’re not too busy if you could give your thoughts on this?

oh my god i remember seeing that headcanon on pinterest ahhh memories of my baby days ahahahahahahh but anyway yeah! sure!

(and yeah you’re fine. i’m still taking requests, but i have quite a few to get to so i’ll be taking a while to get through them.)

thank you for the prompt, and i hope you like this one! and, as always: i do little to no editing on these fic prompts, so please don’t be too judgmental on them because i’m not gonna be giving it my absolute best. 

Droplets of sunlight drip through the leaves, sprinkling over Percy and Annabeth in dapples of gold. A breeze gently caresses the demigods’ faces. Today, Percy and Annabeth soak in the afternoon sunlight, allowing the moisture of the air seep into their skins. Percy’s arm lies lazily over Annabeth’s shoulders as she draws her sketches.

Annabeth has been more focused on her work since the two have been planning on heading to New Rome in just a few weeks. She’s been working hard on new sketches, brilliant designs, muttering under her breath ideas to improve her structures. Percy's been watching her, admiring how easily she can brush past all her school work in just the matter of hours and turn right to her new designs. He supposes that’s because she’s truly passionate about it; of course she’d make time for it.

Percy, on the other hand, has been struggling quite a bit with time. He’s only ready to let go of this place, go on new adventures with his girlfriend and start making a new life for himself. He’s too focused on the future ahead of him, which means he hasn’t exactly spent too much time worrying about his own work. He knows he should keep up with it, but he’s already been accepted to the university. All he wants to do is think about that new future, about all the possibilities.

Percy twirls his fingers through Annabeth’s curls, feeling the softness under his fingertips. The golden locks spill out again, gleaming under the setting sun, and his breath hitches as he looks at her. Her tanned skin emanates a certain kind of glow as the sunlight drapes over her, and her gray eyes sparkle with an intensity he’s so used to seeing. She’s absolutely beautiful. 

He leans his head against her shoulder, a dopey smile coming across his face as her body heat seeps into his skin. Annabeth keeps doodling, and Percy keeps thinking about her, basking in this familiarity with her. 

This is just the way things are. It’s the way he always hopes them to be forever. 

~

Several feet away, by a different large tree, a girl sits by her own boyfriend. They’re turned away from the sunlight; only a shade spills over them. The girl’s usual flaming hair droops under the darkness, almost washed out of color. A hollow feeling spreads through her chest as she watches her boyfriend lie next to her, his chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm as he wastes away in his dreams. 

She isn’t sure why she feels this way. Why can’t she just be happy with him? Why does she have to feel these... feelings? 

As he dozes off, she finds that she’s able to slip away from him again, wander back to her own fantasies and daydreams. She thinks of the girl in her AP Stats class, the one who lent her a pencil the other day. They haven’t been friends long, but something about her strikes Nancy in her core; it’s a warm, gooey feeling, something she’s never quite felt before with anyone else.

Nancy sighs; she just doesn’t understand why she has to think about her right now. Isn’t she supposed to enjoy her time with her boyfriend? Why can’t she just... stop?

She watches over the landscape of the park, her eyes absorbing all the people, the colors, the vibrancy of the place. It seems as though only she lies in the shadows of the tree, isolated from the rest of the world.

As she roves over the features of the place, her dark eyes fix themselves upon a boy and a girl lazing around several feet in front of her, smiles gleaming under the golden sunlight. The boy lies over a blonde girl, his own darker hair falling into his eyes as he speaks to her. The girl’s mouth opens as she offers a silent laugh in response. They seem to be living in their own world, Nancy notes, but not in the same lonely isolation that she’s in. Their world is bright and warm and sunshiny, filled with an intimate laughter. 

Hers is dark and lonely, filled only with despair. 

A flame bursts in her, a hot rage that she had no idea she was capable of. Since sixth grade, she’s been working on her anger issues and kleptomania; she even stopped going to that stupid school. But now, as she watches them, she can’t help but to want to steal one more thing - their happiness. 

They watch each other adoringly in a manner that indicates that they’ve found some kind of comfort with in one other. Their eyes sparkle with love, with pure admiration, with something so profoundly happy that an even hotter burst of anger erupts in Nancy’s chest. Why can’t I have that? she wonders.

She thinks again of the girl in her AP Stats class. Nancy couldn’t help but to be mesmerized by her features the other day, the way her dark hair swooped gently over her eyes, the way her lips seemed permanently glued into a small, mischievous smile. She’d doodled on Nancy’s notebook, a little flower, and laughed quietly as if they were sharing a secret. 

Nancy looks over at her dozing boyfriend once more, watching his eyelids flutter as he slips farther and farther into his dreams. She knows she’d never be happy with him; she knows that she only started dating him for the sake of dating. She felt like she was falling behind on something, and she only wanted to catch up. 

She sighs, her breath blowing out into the Spring air. She leans back against the tree now, letting her head swivel left and right as she watches the people of New York City mill about, allow the sun to sprinkle over them. 

And then, just to the left, she spots her: the girl. Today she’s wearing white shorts over black tights, with a dark purple top to match. Her short hair flows dreamily with the gentle breeze, its dark wisps trying to keep pace with the current. A sweet, tingling laughter flows from her lips, drifting along with the wind. The soft sunlight catches her skin and a dim glow surrounds her skin. 

Almost as if she can sense Nancy staring at her, the girl’s head turns. For a moment, she merely stares at Nancy, not quite registering her. A beat of silence passes, and Nancy swears that her heart has stopped working. The air stills as if waiting for something to happen. 

And then the girl smiles brightly as recognition swoops over her features. Her mouth opens and moves, but her voice drowns out before it can reach Nancy. Nancy shakes her head, confusion written over her features. The girl, after thinking for a moment, pulls out her phone and taps furiously over it. 

A moment later, Nancy’s phone pings with a new text:

Claire The Stat Sage: hey!!! wanna come over here? we’re doing a small picnic!! you can bring the bf too!!!

Nancy reads the text several times, absorbing each letter, letting the words imprint themselves over her mind. Some exhilarating burst of joy gleams within her chest, bright enough to rival the sun. Her blood tingles underneath her skin, saturated with excitement. 

For a second, she contemplates the invitation. Should she bring her boyfriend? Nancy turns her head to him, watching for a movement, watching for some kind of opposition. 

When he doesn’t move, she makes her decision. 

She steps forward, towards Claire, the warmth of the Spring evening blanketing her in its comfort. 

Claire smiles at her as she approaches. “Hey! You didn’t bring your boyfriend?”

A pang of guilt strikes Nancy, wondering if perhaps it was a better idea to just wake him up and bring him. But then she gazes past Claire, towards the sun, basking under the glory of it.

She likes not being under the shadows of the trees anymore. 

Shrugging, she plops down, a small smile floating over her lips. “He’s sleeping. He can catch up when he wants to.” 

[generaldisdainn]

Four of a Kind

AO3 link

Rating: MA

Pairing: Kristanna

Previous chapter

The wonderful @epbaker​ drew some GORGEOUS artwork that’s loosely inspired by this fic that you can find here!

The lovely @ahtohallan-calling doodled the title of the fic which you can find here!!

Chapter 10

Kristoff, Anna, Ryder, and Sven were all scrunched together in that order on the sofa, watching Ryder play Breath of the Wild on the TV.

“So let me get this right,” Kristoff said, “it’s called ‘The Legend of Zelda’ but you’re Link, the guy who has to save Zelda?”

“Yup,” Ryder responded, most of his attention devoted to the game.

“And you’ve never been able to play as Zelda?”

“Nope.”

“Wow, sucks for Link,” Kristoff said. “He does all the hard work and Zelda gets the glory.”

“Well, she’s still a major figure in the games.”

“Yeah, but isn’t she not in some? And Link is in every one?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“So it should be ‘The Legend of Link,’ right?”

“Well, no, because Link is supposed to be a player avatar. You can name him other things, too, so it wouldn’t make sense if—”

“Wait, you can name him something else in this game but you decided to name him Link?”

“No, you can’t name him something else in this game, because this is the first game with voice actors in it, so—”

“These games have never had voice actors? ”

“ VETO!! ” Sven shouted and shot up from the couch.

“Aw, c’mon!” Anna complained. “I was having fun listening to them bicker!”

A few weeks ago, the four of them came up with the concept of a “veto”. It gave the person who declared it the power to force the other three to stop what they’re doing and do whatever that person wants.

“We are not spending another weekend like this,” Sven declared. “We are going to remind ourselves what real nature looks like. We’re going hiking, bitches!”

Sven was immediately met with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

“Ugh, fine,” Kristoff mumbled.

“Yeah, I’m okay with that,” Ryder said.

“Oh my god, that sounds so fun!” Anna squealed. “Are there good hikes around here?”

Sven seemed to begin to answer affirmatively, but the words caught in his throat. He pulled his phone from his pocket and rapidly typed something. A few seconds of silence passed.

“Yeah, of course there are!” Sven said. “Do you think I would use my veto power if I didn’t have a plan? We’re going to...um...” His words trailed off as he began scrolling furiously before suddenly stopping. “...Reinpikk Gorge! It’s got, uh...a big waterfall?”

“I’m sold,” Anna said, standing up. “Let’s go.”

“Alright, this might actually be fun,” Kristoff conceded. “Let’s be ready to go in fifteen minutes.”

* * *

Kristoff knew he was doing the thing he hates again; pretending to be excited about something for a girl. When he was seeing Samantha, he would always try to find time to go to wine tasting events with her, even though he couldn’t stand the people, the atmosphere, or the wine. She loved those things for reasons Kristoff could never really understand. Hiking was another one of those activities; he tried to feign excitement as much as he could for Anna’s sake.

But if he was being honest with himself, the moment they rolled into the parking lot of the park, he found himself drawn to its natural beauty. He’d done landscaping work on multiple occasions; he had to admit nothing compared to the real thing.

“I mean, just look at that, guys,” Sven said emphatically. “I hope everyone is now realizing just how brilliant of an idea this was, thank you, thank you, tips are not necessary but very much appreciated.”

“Give it a couple hours and a few dozen mosquito bites,” Kristoff said, half-sarcastically.

“You ever heard of bug spray, wise guy?” Sven said.

“I’m just excited to bother you guys about all the different plants,” Ryder chimed in.

Anna was silently giddy, eager to be in nature, happy to be past her problems with Kristoff, and glad to be such close friends with the three of them. As they all climbed out of Sven’s car and prepared for the hike, she could feel her excitement growing. She began to wander away from the car, Sven and Kristoff too caught up in their own argument to notice.

“Uh, Anna?” Ryder called after her. “Where are you going?”

“Oh, is nobody following me?” Anna said, spinning on her heels and noticing Sven and Kristoff still at the car. “Hey, guys! We get it, you’re an old married couple, now come on!”

Kristoff found himself once again getting wrapped up in Anna’s own excitement. He caught up to Anna while Sven did his best to stifle his urge to shout after him. After all, this was his idea, and if Kristoff was only going to be excited because of Anna, then Sven would happily take that.

* * *

“You have no idea where we are, do you?” Kristoff asked Sven.

“Hush, getting lost is half the fun!” Anna said, slapping Kristoff’s arm with the back of her hand.

“So I’ve been seeing a lot of perennial weeds, which means we’re near water,” Ryder said.

“Yeah, obviously we’re near water, Ryder,” Kristoff grumbled. “That’s one of the defining characteristics of a gorge.”

“No, I mean we’re closer to water than we were,” Ryder corrected. “There’s also a higher concentration of evergreens, which is important because--”

“Okay, we get it, Doctor Plant,” Sven teased. “Look, none of y’all had to follow me off the trail, I just wanted to channel my inner Lara Croft.”

Anna imagined Sven in a too-small blue tank top and tiny brown shorts. She was amused as much as she was repulsed by the image. She couldn’t deny that she wanted to be a little adventurous as well; she hadn’t been this immersed in nature since she and Elsa left her parents. She looked to her right and spotted a large boulder, covered in cracks and crags, perfect for climbing.

“Hey, Kristoff, can you come over here? I need a spotter,” Anna said, already walking off in the direction of the giant rock.

“Wait, Anna, we should--” Kristoff turned to see Sven striding confidently away, Ryder close behind studying the flora. He let out a sigh, but if he was being honest with himself, this was an ideal scenario. Just him and Anna, completely alone, separated from everyone by a veil of nature. Completely unafraid to be himself. He quickly caught up to Anna.

“God, I forgot how fun this is,” Anna remarked, searching for a handhold on the rock face. “Did you ever do anything like this?”

“No, not really,” Kristoff answered absentmindedly, his gaze affixed on Anna’s ponytail fluttering in the gentle breeze.

“I used to go rock climbing all the time,” Anna said as she began to scale the rock, making Kristoff nervous. “I used to…” Anna’s words trailed off as she strained to reach a new handhold, trying to plant her feet where her hands had just been. Kristoff moved under her, his hands upturned, prepared to catch her if she slipped.

“You used to…?” Kristoff said.

“Oh yeah, I used to have a dream of...of climbing Mount Everest, but...then I learned people...regularly die on the way--”

Suddenly, her hand slipped. She shrieked as she fell backwards off the rock. She hung in the air for a second that felt like an eternity. Her heart rose and her stomach dropped, her hands grasped fruitlessly at the air, and her breath caught in her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the impact with the ground.

The impact wasn’t harsh or abrupt, but rather warm and soft, like she collided with a giant teddy bear. She opened her eyes to see herself in an undignified position on Kristoff’s lap, who had collapsed onto his rear end when she fell into him. She looked up at his face just in time to hear him say “Jesus, Anna, are you okay?”

Typical, Anna thought. The two of them going to Ikea alone, her falling onto him after being separated from the other two—it’s like the universe was begging them to get together. She pressed her hand to her heart and found that it was racing, threatening to burst out of her chest. It was the combination of exertion, shock, and the sudden contact with Kristoff causing her heart rate to skyrocket.

“Yeah, I’m—I’m fine,” Anna stammered, readjusting herself, but not yet climbing out of Kristoff’s embrace. “I’m glad I asked you to follow me.” She laughed nervously.

“No kidding,” Kristoff said. “How about we just walk from now on?”

“Or you could carry me,” Anna responded, laying one arm around his neck.

Kristoff laughed. “No, no, we’re not doing that,” he said as he stood up, hoisting Anna onto her feet. “Come on, let’s see what’s on the other side of this.”

They started walking parallel to the wall Anna had just tumbled from. They didn’t say anything to each other for a little while, comfortable with just being alone with each other. Then, Kristoff remembered they had never finished their conversation from earlier.

“So, you wanted to climb Mount Everest?”

Anna snorted. “Yeah, but then I started doing research on what it would take to achieve that, and I decided it just wasn’t worth it.” Her eyes wandered, her words and her mind out of sync with each other. “And, y’know, I had other goals, more realistic ones, like starting my own animal shelter, officiating my sister’s wedding, making a perfect crème brûlée, stuff like that. And some of them I’ve already achieved, like making a group of friends on my own, being a better person than my parents are, finding someone I want to spend the rest of…” Her words trailed off. She snapped her head to look at Kristoff. “Am I talking too much? Is any of this TMI? I’m sorry if it is, I just--”

“Anna, you’re totally fine,” Kristoff chuckled. “Honestly it’s inspiring to hear about your goals, considering...well…” Kristoff shrugged, then hunched his shoulders. His eyes pointed at the ground. “...I’ve never really had goals like that.”

“Really?” Anna asked. “You’ve never wanted something so deep in your bones that you would, like, jump into a volcano to get it?”

“No, not really,” Kristoff admitted, almost embarrassed to say, knowing how driven and determined Anna was by contrast. “My parents...well, they settled in a big way. My dad had a promising career as an architect and my mom could have easily sung at the Met if she wanted to, but they both agreed to give up their potential to live much simpler lives.” Kristoff sighed, a sound dripping with regret. “Their decision must have rubbed off on me.”

“Wow, Kristoff,” Anna said, doing her best to sympathize. “I’m really sorry.”

“No need to be,” Kristoff said. “I’m fine.”

Anna knew he wasn’t fine. He looked at his face to see his normally boyish features locked in contemplation, making him appear older than he was.

“Well, you know what, Kristoff?” Anna began with an encouraging tone. “Now’s as good of a time as any. Let’s come up with some goals for you!”

Kristoff smiled a sad smile. “You don’t need to do that for me.”

“You say that like I don’t want to. I do,” she retorted. “Before my mom was a bitch, she was a guidance counselor, and I learned a few things from her.”

Kristoff’s sad smile turned cheerful, despite how he tried to oppress it; the tiny wrinkle on the bridge of his nose betrayed his true feelings. “Alright, why not?”

“Yay!” Anna clapped her hands a few times before gathering herself. “So before we come up with any giant goals, let’s start with small ones. Is there something you’ve wanted to do for a while, but never gotten around to it?”

Kristoff hummed and made a show of scratching his head. “Well...I guess...I’ve always wanted to read the ‘Lord of the Rings’ trilogy.”

“Okay, that’s a great start! Were you a big reader as a kid?”

“Yeah, but ‘Lord of the Rings’ always felt out of reach to me, and by the time I was old enough I--well, the friends I hung out with were way more into sports, so I just kinda stopped reading.”

“Well, I know it’s cliché at this point, but there’s no time like the present!” Anna’s words were bursting with optimism, their infectious energy broadening Kristoff’s smile.

“Yeah, it’s true. I guess that’s why it’s a cliché, right?” They smiled at each other, their eyes sparkling with each other’s light.

Anna blinked, coming out of her daze. “Okay, so what else?” She vaulted over a rock the size of a large dog while Kristoff walked around it. “Any places you want to see? Any skill you want to learn?”

“Oh my god, I used to want to play the accordion!” Kristoff said, his head craning back like the memory struck him in the forehead.

“Really!?” Anna exclaimed, a wave of giddy excitement rushing through her.

“Yeah, I used to be really into Weird Al when I was a little kid. But I ended up getting a guitar one Christmas instead.”

“Okay, so as your guidance counselor, I would tell you to get an accordion for yourself. As your roommate, well, not so much.”

“What about a guitar?”

“A guitar’s fine, a guitar’s nice and quiet.” Anna smiled broadly. “See? You already have two goals: read ‘Lord of the Rings’ and learn guitar! Who knows, you might start a ‘Lord of the Rings’ band in the future!”

“Yeah,” Kristoff said, something else piquing his interest. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Anna said, suddenly nervous. They stood in silence for a bit before Kristoff turned and walked in the direction of whatever he was hearing.

“Kristoff, wait!” She hurried after him. “We shouldn’t--” she started to say, but then she heard what Kristoff must have been hearing too: a massive volume of water, a sound that could only be coming from a waterfall. She rushed ahead of Kristoff, eager to see what had sold her on the hike in the first place.

First, she saw the enormous granite wall of the gorge that the water had carved out of the earth. There were shrubs and small trees dotting the surface, but for the most part the rock was bare, providing a stark contrast with the scenery of the rest of the hike. Then she saw the top of the waterfall, the river above it roiling and churning as it tumbled over the edge. Finally, once she reached the lip of the gorge, she looked down at the entirety of the waterfall as a joyful smile spread across her face.

The water leapt and danced over the rocks as it tumbled downward. Mist lifted from the torrent, forming a rainbow that arced from the top of the waterfall to the base of the gorge. At the bottom, the water gathered in a swirling mass and continued deeper into the dense forest, unimpeded and unshaken, just as it had been at the top of the waterfall.

Kristoff caught up with her and had a similar, albeit subdued, reaction. His eyes were fixed more on Anna than they were on the natural splendor. He loved seeing her this happy and excited. He loved it more than he cared to admit to himself. If this is what it took for her to be as happy as she was, he would take her hiking every day at a different gorge each time, and then cut new gorges directly into the earth once she had seen them all.

He decided at that moment that he wasn’t going to hide his feelings for her anymore. He wanted to be with her.

“Hey, Anna?” Kristoff asked.

“Look at this, Kristoff!” Anna shouted, her voice full of reverence. “It’s so, so beautiful! I can’t believe it!” She giggled and laid a hand on Kristoff’s arm. “I’m really glad we’re seeing this together. It’s just so...so…” She waved her hand in the air, like it would help her find the right word. “...I don’t know, I just like doing things with you! When we’re by ourselves, you and me, I just feel like I can be excited, and I am excited about this waterfall and this hike, and you, and…” Again, she let her words trail off before elaborating further. “Sorry. Was there something you wanted?”

Kristoff stifled his nerves. He knew he fucked up once with her, but he also knew he’d been forgiven; it was part of the reason why it was so easy to fall back in love with her.

“...Can I, um...can I kiss you?”

Anna’s eyes popped. She wasn’t expecting him to say anything like that any time soon. Her reaction made Kristoff even more nervous.

“I mean, uh…” Kristoff stammered. “I--well, I would like to. I may? I mean, ay mi? Uh...may I? You don’t have to, I just, um…” Kristoff decided to stop talking. Fully expecting a rejection at this point, he began to turn away.

Anna didn’t even expect herself to do what she did next. She turned his face back toward her gently with her hand, stood on her tiptoes, and delicately laid her lips on his. Kristoff returned the kiss, a less graceful one, but a kiss all his own. A vulnerable, tender gesture of love.

Anna lowered herself, smiling gently, her lower lip tucked between her teeth. But when she noticed Kristoff’s unsure expression, her own face twisted in concern.

“Was that okay?” she asked.

Kristoff’s eyes darted to the side. His lips were pursed and twisted to the side. Anna was beginning to fear she did something terribly wrong.

Kristoff inhaled through his mouth, preparing to speak, but then shut it again. He tilted his head, like a puppy trying to figure out where a sound was coming from. Anna was all but mortified at this point. She thought her potential relationship with Kristoff was ending before it began, right before her eyes.

Finally, Kristoff spoke.

“Do you want to go out with me?”

All of Anna’s tension dissipated in an instant.

“Jesus, Kristoff, that was terrifying!” she shouted, slapping him on the arm.

“Oh my--I’m sorry! Really, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to be!” Kristoff apologized.

“I thought you hated me! It looked like you were--oh, yes, by the way, I’d love to--but holy shit, don’t ever do that again.”

Kristoff smiled bigger than he had all day, embarrassed by his ambiguous reaction to the kiss, but also elated that she still had feelings for him. “Okay, okay, I promise. But also, yay!” he said.

Now it was Anna’s turn to look puzzled. “So, what changed? You were asking for space not too long ago.”

Kristoff responded without missing a beat. “I can’t afford to deny my feelings for you anymore.”

Anna blushed and gave Kristoff a quick peck on the cheek. “I won’t if you won’t.”

All of a sudden, Ryder and Sven emerged from the trees behind them.

“Are you guys done?” Sven asked.

Kristoff and Anna both turned to face them. “Have you guys been right behind us the whole time?” Anna asked.

“It was Sven’s idea!” Ryder accused.

“Not that bullshit again,” Sven said to Ryder. “Not the whole time,” he continued, turning back to Kristoff and Anna. He walked right up to the edge of the gorge. “Guys, can you make way for your king, please?” That, or a variation of it, is what Sven would say when he wanted a picture taken of him. Kristoff stepped down behind Ryder and Anna followed him.

“I need a pic of me in nature to balance out my Grindr profile,” Sven said to Kristoff. “That was kinda the whole motivation behind this trip for me.”

“Wait, your what?” Anna asked, like she had just heard a grand revelation.

Sven, Ryder, and Kristoff all slowly turned to look at her, each with the same expression on their face. Complete stunned silence.

Without warning, Ryder did something that was uncharacteristic of him as long as Anna had known him. He burst into hysterical laughter.

“Anna thought you were straight this whole time!” Ryder said to Sven between fits.

“Well, no one ever told me!” Anna shouted in an effort to defend herself.

“Wait, you actually never knew?” Kristoff asked.

“I don’t know, I just didn’t pick up on it!”

“Anna, don’t even worry about it,” Sven said, opting to be the voice of reason. “They’re just being stupid. But yeah, I’m like, really gay.”

Anna’s face was beet-red, but she smiled through her embarrassment.

“Actually, you know what?” Sven said with a new inflection. “I’m a package deal. Everyone get up here, we’re taking a group selfie!”

Hearing him say that made Anna’s heart lift. She knew she was an integral member of their crew now, but every time someone reiterated that fact, it made her so happy she could burst. She wrapped her arm around Kristoff and led him up to the edge, Ryder following shortly after. Sven pulled out his phone, opened the camera app, and held it at arm’s length, trying to fit everyone on the frame.

“Kristoff, crouch down, Anna, be taller, Ryder, you’re perfect. One, two, three, say bees!”

Kristoff and Anna didn’t have to say anything to smile. They couldn’t stop smiling.

[fablesrose]

Of Kings and Shadows XXI

Description: Y/n, a girl who seems to have found her calling. Being a SHIELD agent is like a dream come true. With a friendship starting to form with the Avengers, she’s the Queen of the world! What could go wrong?

Pairings: Avengers x reader, Loki x reader (eventually)

Warnings: Feels (hopefully this gives you feels😅)

Notes: Hey, guys sorry for skipping last week. Werds was hurd, so I decided to post this a day early. Enjoy!

On Wattpad –> Here

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Clint sat alone in the observatory area looking over the training area. The twins were doing their training exercises on their respective sides of the room. He was lost in his thoughts. Ones he desperately wanted a map for.

"Well look who it is." Natasha walked into the room from the door behind Clint.

Clint didn't acknowledge her presence; he just sat in silence, staring at the young pair below him minding their own business.

"Miss, Mr. Barton currently does not have his hearing aids in. He cannot hear you."

As Friday was talking a light blinked in Clint's line of vision. He perked up and looked over his shoulder to see Natasha walking around the chairs to sit by him. His eyes flicked from her mouth to her hands, waiting for her to talk.

[You're having a bad day] Natasha signed at him once she sat down and twisted to face him.

[I guess you could say that] Clint paused, not sure what else to say, but eventually continued on describing the thoughts and feelings swirling in his mind. He first jerked his head to the side towards the window facing the training area, [Doesn't that look familiar? A young agent in the training room, training with hardly any attention put on the world around her? All she wanted to do was succeed, Nat] Clint's head and eyes hung heavy with sorrow and regret.

Natasha, as quick on her toes and tongue as she was, had to think about what to say to him.

She didn't get to answer before Clint began to shake his head with an obviously forced smile and airy chuckle, [How long has it been? 5 years?]

[6 years 1 month 11 days] Natasha quickly signed to correct him.

There was a pause, Clint blinking at her, before he signed back, [You're having a bad day too.]

Natasha bit her lip, feeling a bit foolish. [I think everyone is having a bad day.]

Natasha would be right, as always. Throughout the compound, the team was dealing, somewhat poorly in some cases with the various feelings of loss. There were only two people who were blissfully unaware of the emotional turmoil rolling around the building and they were in the training room.

Luckily, most of them weren't alone. Even if they wanted to be.

It's both amazing and sometimes scary how in sync the Avengers are with each other. I'm not even sure who or what triggered it, but nearly the whole compound was feeling the absence of a particular young woman.

They could all be found in separate spaces, some started off alone, but didn't stay that way. Clint in the observational area with Natasha coming to join.

Tony was working in his workshop on some new groundbreaking invention when Rhodey knew he didn't want to be alone. Eventually, they flipped through some pictures. Rhodey didn't get to know her since he was so busy in the military at the time, but he knew how much she meant to Tony. To everyone.

Steve could be found in his room next to a desk. He's been picking up drawing again these days. He was particularly broody which caused Bucky's Steve sense to tingle. Bucky was sitting on the bed, watching Steve doodle, as Sam tried to push him off so he could sit down. Their bickering left Steve with a grateful chuckle. Bucky and Sam never got to meet her, but the way the team talked about her made them smile.

Many would have thought Bruce would be working himself to sleep in his lab, but even doctors need some fresh air. He was outside lying in the grassy field. He liked to watch the consistent repetition of Thor and Vision passing each other Mjolnir. Repetition was good for their minds. It was mechanical and didn't need much, if any, thinking. They seemed to forget sometimes that Vision remembers Y/n. He is so much different than Jarvis, after all.

And that accounts for everybody... except for one.

I don't wish you to think bad of him. Or to pity him either.

Instead, I want you to be proud. Loki has bonded with the team enough to be in sync with them. The team trusted him enough to leave him alone and knew when he needed to be.

He tended to wander around his room. His pride was large, but even he had to break down a little. Eventually, he couldn't take it any longer, so he opened a drawer and pulled out a little box stuck in the back corner. He rarely looked at it anymore, but he could never become even close to getting rid of it.

Lifting the lid, the shiny surface of an old smartphone looked back at him. He wiped the dust off with his pants and sat at the head of his bed. Before he turned it on he examined the corners and edges of the case. The color was worn, fading to the white plastic underneath.

He flipped it over a couple more times before turning it on and unlocking it. Y/n was smiling up at him, surrounded by the goofy faces of the Avengers. Loki was not included in the picture. He couldn't remember why anymore. Knowing himself, he probably rolled his eyes at the time.

He smiled a bit bitterly before opening the music app. He put it on shuffle and let the soft notes of the opening chords play out through the speakers. Listening to her music left him feeling like he was getting to know her better even though she wasn't there.

I thought I knew you well But all this time I could never tell I let you get away Haunts me every night and every day

He opened her gallery and started to scroll through the pictures. A lot of them were pictures of the team having fun. Even more pictures were of seemingly random objects, but no one could deny they looked cool or pretty. Loki smiled when he would get to a picture that had both of them in it together.

You were the only one The only friend that I counted on How could I watch you walk away I'd give anything to have you here today

He missed her. There weren't very many times they were together alone, but he finally thought that he was building friendships when Y/n disappeared, and hers was one he really wanted to cherish. He thought he was making things right. He wished she hadn't been taken or left, or whatever happened to her. Whatever the reason, Y/n was gone, and there was nothing he could do about it.

But now I stand alone with my pride And dream that you're still by my side

But that was yesterday I had the world in my hands But it's not the end of my world Just a slight change of plans

He sighed when he scrolled through all the pictures. He had his nostalgia. He knew there was nothing to be done. He has to move on, he has moved on, but a day of remembrance to keep everyone sober is appropriate. Maybe even necessary.

He quickly looked at the battery to see it was running a bit low. He pulled out a charger he got from Tony and plugged in the phone, shutting it off in the process. Loki made it so the phone could charge while still in the box and closed the lid. He placed the box gently back in its place in the drawer.  He closed it softly with a sigh.

That was yesterday But today life goes on No more hiding in yesterday 'Cause yesterday's gone

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arguably, the worst part of this whole ordeal was the deafening silence that I experienced. The natural noises of civilization, of people, of, anything living, in particular, was absent. I couldn't even hear the rumble of a machine, the beep of the camera (yes, there is still one in my room. Don't ask me, they're creeps), or the settling of the building.

The way I tried to overcome it was to use my vast knowledge of music to sing to myself. Some people have said that music was the only thing I used my head for, but I didn't really mind. Look what it's doing for me now, it's keeping me sane.

Music and just burying myself in the memories. I had to block out reality somehow, and my imagination was severely tainted with my inner turmoil, so I settled on the Avengers to bring a smile to my imaginary face. Ya know since I can't use my own.

Love, my love I gave it all Thought I saw the light When I heard you call Life that we both could share Has deserted me Left me in despair

Sometimes they made me sad. I took what I had for granted, now I have no idea if I'm even going to see them again, let alone get to talk to them, laugh with them, cry, smile, do anything. Sometimes I wish I would never see them again. It's obvious that I'm not going to break free of whatever mad science/voodoo they put on me. I really don't want to face them.

But now I stand alone with my pride Fighting back the tears I never let myself cry

I vaguely heard an alarm going off, it was different than any other alarm I'd heard. I knew it wasn't a fire alarm, I had heard that one plenty of times. I didn't pay much mind to it, there wasn't anything I could do anyway. The equivalent feeling of my heart clenching came to mind when I knew my daydreams wouldn't continue. It's been a rough... Forever.

But that was yesterday Love was torn from my hands But it's not the end of my world Just a little hard to understand

I told myself I was going to make it. I don't know for how much longer, but I was going to make it. I started to pay more attention to the groups of running soldiers, armed with weapons I had only caught glimpses of. Noxy suited up into her protective white jumpsuit. The sleeves only went to her elbows to show off her powered up black-gloved hands. I couldn't deny that I liked the combat boot style they gave me, but I didn't understand Henry's obsession with the color white.

It's been talked about how some of Henry's bases have been put under attack. Most were of rival organizations. You'd be surprised how many there are. From the looks of it whoever is attacking, out of all the bases available, had the luck to choose the one I was kept in.

Noxy walked the power walk of all power walks approaching the sounds of gunfire. The lights flickered and dimmed as she past. I felt the power within me surge as they did, the shadows powering me up. There was a group of agents just down the hall and they were under fire. Agents rushed by me as reinforcements. I couldn't see who the attackers were yet, but I could see debris flying from around the corner of the T in the hallway.

The agents had a strange mixture of fear and respect as Noxy approached. Another day at the office. They were dropping like flies and I could hear that the intruders were breaking down the defenses very quickly. The few agents who could, moved out of Noxy's way so she could stand in the middle of them and face the attackers.

That was yesterday But today life goes on You won't find me in yesterday's world Now yesterday's gone

She reached the center of the group and turned a perfect ninety degrees in the open hallway. Time seemed to slow down for a moment as I saw who was on the other side of the flashing lights that promised pain. I was only prepared for the physical pain of gunshots, but instead, I got the agony of heartbreak.

There was a moment where Noxy stood and assessed the situation. At that moment, so many things flashed across my mind as I soaked up what was in front of me. Familiar faces looked back at me and I had never felt more trapped. They froze when they looked at my face. All hands started to lower for a second, but only one.

The Avengers all had mirrored expression of horror, shock, disbelief. I wanted to cry, laugh, collapse. I wanted to do anything. Anything other than what my body showed. Noxy's gaze remained stoic as she maintained eye contact.

I don't know if it was something in the shots they gave me, or how wide they were stretching their eyes, but I could see the whites of them, even if they were at least 20 yards away. I tried to memorize the shades of blue and green looking back at me. I only wish I could have seen Tony's eyes, but he had his helmet on, the only reason I could tell he recognized me was the repulsors in his hands dimmed.

The moment came to an end all too quickly. Without batting an eye Noxy formed a plate of darkness and sent it to push the attackers back. She then hit specific points in the walls causing the ceiling to collapse. The way was blocked off completely.

Just like the physical walls of the building, it felt like the walls that were holding me away from control started to contract. For the first time in months I screamed; I cried out for any type of deliverance. I wanted to curl up into the fetal position with tears rolling down my face as I yelled until I was too tired to stay awake any longer.

I felt numb as Noxy walked away and the agents rushed around her to start the evacuation process.

For the years, I'm sure it's been years now, I've been stuck in this place I've relied on the happy memories to try and drown out the horrors I've seen. I didn't know for sure, but I had a feeling that it wasn't going to be like that anymore.

Goodbye yesterday Now it's over and done Still I hope somewhere deep in your heart Yesterday will live on

I just hoped I would be able to see anything other than betrayal painted on their faces.

Song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nrqPZFNrqCA

[neverendingparable]

"This is the Story of a little girl named Alice. 

Alice used to work for a big Institute dedicated to researching the esoteric and paranormal, where she was the head archivist. Alice's job was simple, most of the time she just sat at her desk and recorded statements. Since a lot of the recordings tended to mess up with the Institute's newer technology, she had to re-record them on an old tape player in her office. 

When she needed help or further research on a statement, Alice would call one of her archival assistants Bradley or Stellan in, or place the task on the new archivist-in-training Jonathan. Alice worked hard and she worked well. And she was happy in her routine. 

And then one day, something very peculiar happened. 

Something that would forever change Alice. 

Something she could never quite forget, even if she wanted to. 

One day, a door that had previously led into the hallways of the Institute, led into an Office building, one she was sure had never been connected to her place of employment before. In fact, she found it wasn’t even anywhere near London, or in any place she could register as Earth. 

The windows showed nothing but blank white and the doors only led into other hallways, never out into the open. 

Something had gone very clearly wrong. 

Shocked and terrified, Alice found herself unable to believe this turn of events for the longest time. 

But as she was forced to come back to her wits, she decided to get up and explore this new place. Perhaps one of these doors will lead her back home.

...

Alas, they never did. Even as Alice made strange new friends who knew more about the Office than she did, even as she stumbled upon her very own self, proud and vicious on her throne of delusions, she came no closer to coming home. 

A dimension here, a dimension there. Poor, confused Alice trying to reason her way through the mess. This odd fellow must be a Stranger, yet this one could only be the avatar of the Hunt. What lessons could Maelle be trying to teach her here? How will this further Alice's own powers, her powers of seeing, of Beholding.

She was doomed from the start, I'm afraid. Her assistants had no idea where she was and while Maelle was fully aware of her desperate wanderings, even she would not extend her hand out to save her little Archivist. 

After all, she had another one, another one who was far less bright and more curious than Alice. One whose strings could be pulled in any direction without even a hint of suspicion arising.

No, Alice, I'm afraid your time has come. You were a decent Archivist, dedicated to your job, but too much so that you would rather cloud your sight with work, rather than experience it first hand. What good is an Archivist that has lost its sense of curiosity?

Yet you have enough curiosity to finish your story. There, with that Mariella by your side, the strange woman who always seems to know where she is going, the one who befriends the odd entities of this place without a second thought, you wander the hallways hoping her intuition will lead you somewhere new. 

You did ask her several times if she can find her way to the Institute, but you fail to understand that Mariella can be just as easily manipulated as you have been. 

She could find the way to the Institute without struggle, yet we will make sure she won't. And anyway, it is too late for you to return now.

You wander down into the dusty Mind Control Facility - such irony doesn't come around often - and marvel at the sea of spider webs, overtaking the abandoned arena in waves of silver. Mariella stays at the doorway, a mixture of awe and disgust on her face. 

Fortunately for her, she is not an arachnophobe. She tries to keep it out of her hair. Unfortunately for you, you wander in deeper, statements running through your mind as everything clicks into place. Why you are here, how you got to be in this very Office at this very time. How the Web had played with you just as I have been playing with you from the very start.

You open your mouth to voice your revelations to Mariella, but falter as you feel a tickle on your arm. Your hand has carelessly brushed into one of the webs and caught the attention of a spider, black and plump, darting its way up your shoulder.

Screaming just gives them more places to crawl into. Mariella watches in horror, but she has just enough sense left not to run in after you. She runs off, to go get help. But the perfectly placed door leads her far, far away from you and it shuts after her, never to open again.

Just like the previous Archivist, you have disappeared without a trace. I am sure his fate was a lot less gruesome than yours, Alice. But there are worse ways to die. I think you don't need me telling you that."

*Click*

Maelle opens her eyes again and takes out the tape from its recorder. 

She studies it for a moment, an ironic smile playing at the corners of her mouth. For a moment, she considers leaving it for the spiders to take away, for when whatever remains of Alice inevitably returns to the Institute, she will be fully briefed on Maelle's betrayal. 

But she doesn’t want to risk it getting into the wrong hands at the wrong time, so she locks it away in a little safe where she keeps other such tapes and several checks sent from the Lucas', in case the Institute needs more funding.

She sits back at her desk and coms the receptionist, asking for the archival assistants in her office. They come quickly. Bradley has ink doodles all over his hands which he tries to hide sheepishly, Stellan doesn’t even bother putting down his coffee cup and Jonathan got too flustered figuring out where to put the statements he was filing down, so he took them along anyway.

They all stand before her, quiet but eyes hopeful. Any news from Alice? Has she been found yet? Does that mean news for them too?

The last few months have been difficult, Maelle made sure. Tensions were high, work had been unfairly distributed and they were all tired, tired of waiting, tired of guessing and ready to move on. Just let things get back to normal.

She eyes them wordlessly for a moment longer, taking on the facade of a tired boss who is figuring out how to deliver bad news. Then she shows them an envelope.

A resignation letter, signed in Alice's favorite pen. A copy of employment proof and a picture. Alice looks happy next to her wife, an american beauty, blonde and blue-eyed like the sky behind them.

Simple cover stories are often better than the dramatic ones. She found somewhere better to be and ditched her old life. It happens. If anyone would travel across the world leaving behind everything for a pretty face, it would be Alice after all.

There are sounds of disgust, resignation and relief, from Bradley, Stellan and Jon respectively. The tensions of the past months bubble over and Maelle lets them rage about being abandoned without so much as a goodbye. 

They have no reason to worry about Alice or even seek out any contact, as her disappearance seemed proof enough she had all but forgotten about their existence. 

When Maelle announces Jonathan as the new head archivist, followed by the generous offer to give them the rest of the day off after they finished their respective projects to reflect and celebrate, no one interjects.

Jonathan spends the rest of the day being congratulated from all sides, egged on by Bradley and Stellan to join them for a mandatory promotion drink. As they celebrate their new Archivist and the return to normalcy, no one spares a moment of pity towards the old head archivist of the Magnus Institute, now lifeless in a bed of cobwebs.

[dearlazerbunny]

By Any Other Name; Ch. 13

Pairings: Kylo x Reader

Genre/Ratings: Highschool AU; M (eventually)

Words: 2700

Summary: Your new lab partner proves to be nothing short of an asshole- or is he? The more of Kylo that’s revealed, the more you can’t help but think you might be falling for him just a little…

Requested Tags: @foxface9000

Click HERE for Chapter 14.

The night of, you shoved your phone under your pillow and turned the ringer to the lowest possible volume, to guarantee you wouldn’t wake anyone in the house. It turns out you didn’t need it, however, because you were wired and wide awake the entire night. When midnight rolled around you were sitting on your bed, knees to your chest, grinning stupidly to yourself at the thought of holy shit, you were actually doing this. Strangely, you weren’t nervous. The thought of seeing Kylo uninterrupted for more than an hour was plenty motivation to get your ass out of the house.

Now, what does one wear to a clandestine meeting with a handsome guy in the middle of the woods at night?

You threw on some jeans, long sleeves, and a hoodie, but compensated by doing your makeup a bit and throwing on the sneakers he had doodled on what felt like a lifetime ago. You didn’t want him thinking you hadn’t tried, late as it may be- you had a reputation to uphold, after all.

Sneaking down the stairs was the easy part- you’d mastered the trek without a squeak long ago when you were younger for late-night ice cream runs. Funny how you escalated from sweets-stealing right to sneaking out. You would have giggled for fear of being caught. The garage was a little trickier. You ended up raising the door by hand to make less noise and actually pushing the car out to the street before starting it up. Paranoid? Maybe. But better safe than sorry.

The drive was smooth, with little cars out on the road, and you turned on the mixtape Kylo had made for you (somehow he had gotten your locker combination and left it in there as a surprise). Singing along, you opened the windows just a crack to let the wind play with your hair as you flew down the back roads, headlights illuminating an ever-thickening forest. There was a little gravel pull-off that marked the entrance to the bridge’s path, and your heart gave a little stutter when you realized there was a car already there. Cutting the engine let the nighttime swarm in, filling you with the sound of crickets and pale starlight, you once again let yourself revel in the fact that you were actually here. Away. In a spur-of-the-moment decision, you grabbed a post it note and sharpie from your backpack in the backseat and scribbled a bunch of hearts and silly doodles on it, tucking it underneath Kylo’s windshield wiper before heading down the path. With luck, he wouldn’t notice it ‘til tomorrow.

Your sneakers cracked a few sticks on the way there, despite using your phone’s flashlight to see by. Eventually, you put the phone away and just ran, not caring if the mud got on the hem of your jeans or the gravel made crunching noises. Who else was out here to hear you? You slowed when you saw a black-silhouetted figure sitting on the railing of the bridge, feet dangling towards the slow-moving water beneath him. You smiled, taking in the view, before wandering up to meet him. The old boards of the bridge rattled and creaked as you crossed, and Kylo turned, hitting you with that megawatt grin that was brighter than the moon above the moment he saw you.

“All black, really? What happened to the prep princess? You look like you’re about to rob a bank,” he teased, pulling up the hood of your black jacket and shoving it over your head.

“Oh, I look like a bank robber? Hey, quit it!” You shoved off the hood with a laugh and ran a hand through your hair to fix the probably now frizzy loose ends. “I’m not the one with studs on my jeans and wearing fingerless gloves.”

“Eh.” He shrugs with a little half smile on his face. ‘You know you love it.”

“That I do.” You swung yourself over the edge of the railing to sit with him, Kylo steadying you when you overshot just a hair. You looked at him. He looked at you. Both of you had grins on your face that belied just how stupidly infatuated you were with the person sitting across from you. “Hi,” you whispered, face just a few inches from his. Close enough that you could see the stars flickering in his eyes.

“Hi back.” He nuzzles your nose with his own before putting his mouth to yours. You raised a hand and put it behind his neck, feeling his curls tickle your fingers, and you tugged a little on the strands, making him rumble deep down in his throat. God, you loved that sound. It went straight through you. “That’s not fair. If I kiss you any harder we’ll end up in the water.”

“Guess you’ll just have to deal then, lover boy.”

“Hm.” His nose crinkled and you laughed at his seemingly off-put expression. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”

“You know you love it.”

“Touche.” He grabs your hand and turns it over in between his palms a few times before lacing his fingers through your own. “Want to take a swim?”

“Kylo, at one in the morning? It’ll be freezing!”

“Aw, come on, what happened to little miss rebel over here? Sneaking out and defying her parents all to see her boyfriend from the other side of the tracks?” He peels off his socks ad shoes, tossing them behind him, before rolling up his jeans and hopping down from the ledge. You could hear the splash as he handed. “It’s not that cold, come on. I’ll catch you.”

You, however, were frozen in your seat. Boyfriend. He had called himself your boyfriend. I mean at this point, he basically was, but you’d never said it out loud before, even if you’d thought it a million times in your head- “do you mean that?”

He looks up from wiggling his toes in the water. “Mean what?”

“That- you’re my boyfriend.” The weird look on his face is enough to send you into spasms of giggles, and you grab the railing on either side to steady yourself. “Hey, I’m just asking! I don’t think we’ve ever-”

“-said that before?” He wades over to you -because of course the asshole is tall enough to reach the bridge from the water- and puts one hand on either side of your crossed legs, covering your hands with his own. “That’s a damn shame.” He smiles crookedly. “Because I’d hate to like you this much and not be able to call you my girlfriend.”

“Aw, Kylo-” you let your forehead thunk against his, just breathing him in. “Why are you so-”

“Sweet? Charming? Recklessly good looking?” He shrugs his shoulders, trying to look innocent. “Beats me, toots. I’m just working with what I was born with.”

You roll your eyes nut still have to grin, despite yourself. “Says the man who dyes his hair.” He sticks out his tongue at you, and you stick out yours back, reaching down to loosen the ties on your sneakers, then shucking them off. “Help me down, sir sweet and charming and recklessly handsome.”

You hold out your arms like a little kid waiting to be picked up by their mom and he obliges, lifting you down into the water cradle-style - but not before spinning you around a few times until you can hardly see straight. “You’re such an ass, Kylo!” You rub your eyes, trying to get your bearings. He sets you down and you can feel the water run over your ankles, algae between your toes. “I swear to god-” You take a step and immediately stumble.

“Whoa, hey there-” Hey slips an arm around your waist and pulls you in closer, much to your delight. “Don’t go breaking an ankle on me. Dr. Smith would never forgive me.”

“He’d kill you in your sleep,” you giggle, grabbing a fistful of Kylo’s similarly black sweatshirt to steady yourself with. “His wrath knows no bounds.”

“Don’t I know it.” His hand is tracing a slow circle on your back, and the shiver that runs through you has nothing to do with the cold water you’re standing in. “And- Ben.”

You pull away a little. “Say again?”

He ducks his head, like he’s embarrassed, but there’s a warm glow in his eyes. “You can call me Ben. Only- if you want to. Obviously.”

“Really? You’d let me?”

“Well, yeah. I trust you.”

Three simple little words, yet they had the power to make you a little weak in the knees. “Okay.” You pull him down to meet you, smiling against his lips as you kiss him. “Ben.”

The two of you stood there for what seemed like hours, just drinking each other in. Something about the dark made you a little bolder than you normally would be, and you kissed him like you never had before, all teeth and sharp edges and breathless want. He retaliated in kind, nipping your bottom lip and sliding his hands down your back until they were almost sinfully low. Eventually you had to pull away, out of breath and exhilarated. How far would you go, you wondered. He’s been your first, well, everything. How many firsts would you have with him?

“Hey, you okay?” Kylo- Ben- was looking at you concernedly, running a light hand over your cheek to brush away an invisible something or other. “Too much?”

“No.” You kissed him one more time, briefly, and encircled your arms around his waist. “Perfect. I’m just a little out of breath,” you admitted sheepishly, feeling your heart pump out of its chest like it did after a particularly satisfying solo run.

“Ah. I can fix that, you know.”

“Fix it? No offense, but you’re the one who caused it!”

“And why would I take offense at that?” He squeezes you into a too-tight hug before settling his hands on your hips. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do,” he whispers in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine that made you want to kiss him all over again.

“Really.”

“Really really. Since the moment I saw you, all I’ve ever wanted to do is this…” he leans in for another kiss and your eyes flutter close- only to get hit with a splash of cold water to the face. Your eyes pop open and your mouth drops- bad idea, now you can taste the water as well- and you get a lovely view of Kylo a few feet in front of you, laughing his head off at your now pissed off expression.

“Ben mutherfucking Solo!” His laughter echoes off the trees as you reach down for a palmful of water and hurl it back at him, hitting him square in the chest. “You are the absolute worst!”

He flicks you again, this time with his foot, soaking the right leg of your pants, and oh, it is so on right now. You step back and fling cupfuls of water at his face, aiming for that perfect hair of his, and he’s hitting right back- he can scoop up more water in those big hands of his- and all of a sudden it’s an all out water war, no holds barred and everything fair game. By the end of it the both of you were soaked, giggling your heads off, and a little loopy due to the late night.

“Okay, okay! Hey- stop! I surrender!” You squeal as one last drench of water comes down upon your head, and he swoops in for a kiss. It’s sloppy, with both of you laughing and off balance, but there in the middle of the stream, with rocks cutting into your feet, wet jeans chilling you to your core, and Kylo’s hands cupping your face, there was no where you’d rather be.

“God, now I’m freezing.” You pull your soaked jacket away from your body, trying to air it out. “And I bet my mascara is everywhere.”

“Here, c’mere.” He uses the pad of his thumb to wipe away water and ink under your eye. “It’s cute, in a raccoon sorta way.”

“Oh, shut the hell up.” You giggle as his thumbs come away brown. “You know, your hair is cute when it’s wet.”

“Okay, yeah, laugh it up.” He shakes his head like a dog, spraying water everywhere. “That’s how you know I love you- I’m willing to mess up my hair for you.”

“I’m flattered,’ you tease, running a hand through those black locks almost reverently. He lets you, smiling a little as you do. “And-” you rest your head on his chest- “I love you too.”

“Well that’s good, otherwise this whole shindig would be a bit embarrassing.” But he pulls you in close, his head resting on your shoulder. His breath tickles your neck and spreads a warm glow all the way down to your toes.

“Are those… fireflies?”

You turn to see flashes of light specking the trees behind you. ‘They’re huge, if they are. I wonder-”

And that was when the first beam of a flashlight hit you in the face.

“I’ve got them! They’re over here!” A gruff voice shouted and all at once the two of you were swarmed with people, on the bridge, at the sides of the creek, and a few even in the water trudging up from downstream.

“What the hell is-” Kylo pulled you closer, almost protectively, and you leaned into him, trying not to look scared. “What the hell is this?”

“I think they’re cops.”

“Cops?!” Your face went white. Oh, god, no no no, this could not be happening-

“Kylo Ren. Step away from the girl.” Kylo gently extracted himself from you, holding his hands up in the air like he was some criminal.

“No!” You grab his hand, pulling him back towards you. He squeezes it gratefully. “What the hell is going on? Somebody tell us!”

A single cop steps forward, and in the light of the flashlights reflecting off the water you can see shiny silver handcuffs dangling from his grasp. “Kylo Ren. You’re under arrest for kidnapping and endangerment of a minor. Anything you say can and will be held against you in the court of law-”

“This is bullshit! Kylo didn’t kidnap me! He didn’t hurt me!” You turn to the cop who was still reciting rights. “You can’t arrest him! He hasn’t done anything!”

“Y/N Y/L/N? You’re going to need to come with us.” Someone starts pulling on the arm not attached to Kylo, and you wrench it away.

“Kylo. I don’t know what happened, I swear to god-”

“It’s okay, Y/N.” He presses a kiss to the top of your forehead and then steps aside, releasing your hand. “Just go with them. It’ll be okay.”

Tears are streaming down your face as another cop leads you in the opposite direction, her hands firm as the manacles currently being wrapped around Kylo’s wrists. “Let go of me! I need to stay with him!” You struggle, but more cops surround you, and soon you’re marching through the woods, the stream all but a distant memory.

Police cars have taken over the small gravel parking lot in the beginning of the woods. Red and blue lights reflect off yours and Kylo’s car. You can see the little note you left him fluttering in the breeze- right before it’s picked up by a gloved cop and put into some clear plastic baggie.

“This is ridiculous. Kylo didn’t kidnap me. I snuck out! I went of my own free will. Please, somebody listen to me!” A towel is thrown around your shoulders, and you regretfully feel a little grateful. “This is a big mistake!”

“We’ve got them both. Heading back to the station now.” The female speaks into a walkie-talkie she pulled from her hip.

“Copy that.”

She bundles you into a police car, your pleas still falling on deaf ears, and shuts the door with a finality that scares you. Through the tinted window you can see Kylo being led out of the woods in handcuffs, making you want to scream and bang on the glass. Somehow you didn’t think that would earn you too many points. So you sat there, still crying, as he was put into a car and sped away.

A/N: Things are about to get interesting...

[transcendence-au]

The Manor of Alcor (2/?)

AN: Whoops! Didn’t realize this hadn’t been uploaded last month. Chapter 3 is coming soon.

Also on ff.net

Orrie walked down the east wing of the manor with his strip of paper in hand. He passed several doors with names written on them. “Sarkozy…Jans…oh, Keller.” His room was second from the end on the left side. Turning the knob, Orrie stepped inside.

The room was fit for royalty. The ceiling was high with a pretty crystalline chandelier hanging in the center. The king-size bed was lined with white, fluffy pillows and framed with silky light-brown curtains. On the other side of the fairly large room were a small walk-in closet and a tiny washroom. Around the room were other pieces of furniture, a dresser and full-length mirror to name a few. Orrie dropped his belongings by the side of his bed, taking a moment to let everything sink in.

He was actually at the Manor of Alcor, picked against all odds to solve its mystery. He managed to befriend (at least he hoped) three people already. Smiling widely to himself, Orrie pulled out a sketchbook and pencil from his backpack, flipping it to the first available page not filled with miscellaneous scribbles and doodles. Concentrating, he began to sketch an outline of the mansion, taking notes and adding details to the rooms already visited or seen. There was the parlor room, the foyer, and the east wing where the bedrooms were located. They passed several other rooms and halls, of course, but he hadn’t yet seen where they led. There was still so much to explore– judging by the building’s size and what he’d seen, he hadn’t even covered a tenth of the whole area.

There was a knock at the door. Looking up from the last of his drawing, Orrie answered it. “Yes?”

“May I come in?” someone asked. Orrie put away his belongings and went to open the door. On the other side was Cliff, no Zahia in sight. “Hey there. Just wanted to know if you want to have lunch with us. Many of the others are heading out now to enjoy some barbecue.”

“Oh. Yeah, I’d love to,” Orrie answered, stepping outside. He followed Cliff down the hall. “But, um, aren’t we supposed to be solving a mystery soon?”

Cliff waved off his words. “That can wait a bit, don’t ya think? I mean, none of us really know each other very well, and this is the perfect opportunity to talk to one another. I’m sure afterwards we’ll all go our own ways to solve the mystery, but until then we should all relax and enjoy ourselves.” Orrie couldn’t argue with that. They traversed through a few halls and a magnificent kitchen with a dining nook, spotting the old couple—the Tosettis, if what Orrie read on their envelope was correct—making their steady way to the back door. Cliff held the door open for them, which they were quite thankful for, and the four of them went into the yard where the housekeepers and some of the guests were all hanging about.

It was bright and sunny, and Orrie regretted not bringing along some swim trunks so he could enjoy the pool. If he really wanted to, though, he could always just dip his feet into the cool water like Zahia was doing, several white lotuses floating daintily around her legs. Belle, Dipper, and Dug were sitting at the table, watching some game show on an outdoor TV connected to the wall. Orrie looked around, noticing a few people missing.

“Where’s Flynn? And Mr. Connolly?”

“Siegfried was busy looking for clues already,” Cliff answered, taking a seat next to Dug. “I have no idea where Flynn is. Probably wandering around himself.” While a bit disheartened he wouldn’t be joining them, Orrie still enjoyed his time with the others through talk and games, even watching and cheering Dipper on as he, Dug, and Zahia took part in a grilled-burger eating contest. They heard the story of how the Tosettis met and saw the pictures of the Lionharts’ wedding from two weeks ago. In return, Orrie showed them all photos of his family stored on his phone.

“Oh, you get your lovely hair from your father, I see,” Mrs. Tosetti exclaimed, “When did you both decide to dye it?”

“What? Oh no, it’s natural for us,” Orrie said, subconsciously fingering his blond hair streaked with strands of royal blue. “We’ve got Kinnara or something like that on dad’s side of the family. See? My cousin’s is green.”

“I wish my hair was blue,” mused Belle, “Or– no, purple! No, I’d want it to have, like, a rainbow of streaks!” Dipper just smiled, rolling his eyes at his twin.

Hours later, when the mosquitoes proved to be too much, they went back inside. Not even one minute after the last person entered the kitchen a housekeeper walked up to them. “I’m sorry to bother you at this time,” she apologized, “But Ms. Wheatly would very much like to speak with you all right now. She’s in the parlor room. If you’d be so kind.” And she bowed and left the kitchen. The group of eight made their way toward the parlor. Entering once more, Orrie spotted Flynn and Siegfried already inside. He split off from the others.

“Sorry you missed the gathering in the back yard. We were all outside hanging out. Cliff said he couldn’t find you.”

Flynn didn’t seem perturbed. “I was in the library while you were all outside. Figured I might see if there was a clue hidden in one of the books there.”

“Wouldn’t that be a bit cliché if it were?”

“Perhaps.” That was all he could say before Ms. Wheatly scuttled into the room, closing the doors behind her.

“Apologies for interrupting your activities, but may I be so bold in asking how committed you are in solving the mystery of this manor? The Master is growing a bit impatient that none of you has found the first clue yet.”

“We’re serious,” assured Siegfried, crossing his arms, “Just some more than others. Besides, we only just arrived some hours ago. And some of us here don’t know how to hunt for clues.” Every time Siegfried spoke it was like he was in on the act. Which Orrie didn’t mind at all because that meant he could hurry the process along for them learning what they needed to do. And indeed Ms. Wheatly nodded in agreement to his words.

“I see. So you don’t know how to search for clues. In that case I’ll tell you. Listen closely. In this mansion there are a total of seven clues you need to find to solve the mystery. For all but one of the clues you will first need to find a key. The locations of these clues and keys can be deduced through the numerous hints scattered around the house.”

“What kind of hints?” Zahia asked, “They’re not super hard puzzles, are they?”

“Nursery rhymes,” Ms. Wheatly answered, “In the form of a riddle. Solve the riddle and you’ll find the key or clue. But I must inform you that not all keys are in the same room as their corresponding clue. The same goes for hints.”

The guests gave varying remarks of understanding. “So hints lead to clues or to keys that unlock clues,” Dipper clarified.

“Correct. But finding the hint is no easy task. Here, I’ll help you search for your first hint.” And then she made quite a show looking around. Exaggerated motions of opening cabinet doors and gazing all around its interior, of ruffling pillows and examining every inch of them, or checking underneath every single piece of furniture. Silly as it looked it did tell Orrie one thing: the hints would not be in obvious places.

“Oh! What do you know?” As if to prove his theory, Ms. Wheatly, while moving aside some books on a shelf a little too enthusiastically, knocked a bust of an old man over. Beneath the marble statue was a hole– the bust was hollow. Ms. Wheatly reached inside and pulled out a tiny brown scroll, beckoning the guests over to her. Orrie was able to read it as she unfurled the paper:

“Buried atop Old Smoky.”

He blinked. Old Smoky? Like ‘On Top of Old Smoky’? So were all the hints based on classical Pre-Transcendence nursery rhymes? Depending on which rhymes were used this mystery might be a little harder to solve than he thought.

“What’s Old Smoky?” Cliff asked, “Sounds like a volcano’s name.”

“Very close,” Ms. Wheatly smiled as she put the scroll in her pocket. “A mountain. Based on the old nursery rhyme ‘On Top of Old Smoky’. Does anyone know how the first part of the rhyme goes?” Orrie refrained from raising his hand, wanting to know if anyone else was familiar with the song. Nobody spoke up. “I’ll tell you then. ‘On top of Old Smoky, all covered in snow’. That’s the line. Now where or what resembles a mountain with snow on top of it?”

She let the guests explore the room themselves. Orrie saw from the corner of his eye Siegfried step away from the party. To anyone who knew his little secret they’d perhaps assume he didn’t want to give the answer right away, and to those who didn’t he looked like someone who’d rather have others do the work. But the look in his eyes implied otherwise. He was watching them. Judging them in their ability to deduce. Orrie hadn’t solved the hint yet, but there was no way he was going to let the man assume he was on to him, so he opted to look around a lamp with a white lampshade over it.

It was Dug who finally figured it out. And by complete accident too. “Whoops! Didn’t mean to!” he hurriedly said, grabbing the fishtank in the corner he nudged off its stand. He straightened the box up before all its contents, inhabitants, and the items on top of it could spill over onto the floor. He sighed with relief before blinking his eye at the tank. “Wait…is that Old Smoky?” He pointed to one of the little plastic decorations inside. Orrie had already seen the aquarium that was designed like multiple biomes had merged into one, but even he overlooked the small toy that looked exactly like a snow-capped mountain.

“Buried atop Old Smoky you say?” Dug shuffled through the items resting on top of the tank, most of them folded newspapers. It was between two newspapers that a piece of a third slipped out. Dug caught it before it landed on the floor. The piece of paper was significantly older than the rest, browner and far more wrinkled. Dug had to squint to read its faded text.

Ms. Wheatly stepped over to him. “Would you like me to read it for you?”

“Yeah please.” He handed her the paper. She cleared her throat, and everyone paid close attention as she read the article:

“Six Found Dead, Suspect At Large

Police responded to a silent alarm early Friday morning. The bodies of six victims were found scattered inside an unaddressed mansion miles outside the city limits. Investigators believe the victims were all members of an illegal cult as only two of the victims had visible injuries. It is presumed a seventh cult member was the perpetrator and fled the scene. The identities of the victims have not yet been revealed at this time.”

Dipper crossed his arms. “That wasn’t very helpful as a clue. But I can’t say this exercise wasn’t informative. Thanks for showing us the ropes on how to look for hints.”

“And who to keep an eye out for,” Belle teased, pushing Dug gently, “We may have ourselves a Sherlock in our midst.” Dug blushed faintly.

“I’m so happy to have helped,” Ms. Wheatly said, beaming. “Now you only have six more clues to find. I’ll leave this one right here in case any of you wish to read it again. If you need any more help just come find me. But first I must help prepare dinner.” She guided everyone to the doors, closing them shut behind them once they left.

A sudden grumble made them all look around. “Hrm, I’m still hungry,” Dug moaned, patting his belly.

“But you ate twelve hamburgers,” said Zahia, eying him incredulously, “I couldn’t even eat half that and I still feel a bit nauseous.”

Dug shrugged. “Can’t be helped. I guess I’ll check to see if there’re any leftovers I can have.”

“I wouldn’t mind a quick bite to eat myself,” said Flynn, “May I join you?”

“Sure. Don’t see why not?”

“I’d like to get started looking for the clues,” Dipper stated, turning toward his sister. She nodded in agreement.

“I think I’m going to take a quick rest before dinner, dear,” Mr. Tosetti said to his wife.

“I want to relax a bit too,” Zahia wrapped an arm around Cliff’s waist. Her husband hugged her back with one arm.

“Yeah. We’ve got all the rest of the day to find hints. Let’s enjoy our honeymoon a little longer.” He playfully bopped her on the nose before leading them toward the stairs. After quick deliberation, Orrie decided to follow them and the Tosettis. He was not, however, expecting Siegfried to come along.

“Are you taking a break too, Mr. Connolly?”

“I may as well. The remaining hints, keys, and clues won’t be hidden until tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? So the rest of the day is just for us to, I don’t know, relax?” Let us familiarize ourselves with our environment is what he wanted to say, but the less he made Siegfried suspicious of how serious he was in solving the mystery the less he’d have to worry about him. There was just something off about the man. Siegfried nodded.

“Precisely. Also, I wouldn’t get very comfortable with the idea of Ms. Wheatly helping us on the case.” Orrie looked ahead to make sure the Lionharts and Tosettis weren’t listening in before slowing his pace to walk beside Siegfried.

“Why not?” he whispered. Siegfried gave him a curious glance before opting to reveal his knowledge to the boy.

“Alcor is going to get a little impatient with us tonight and eliminate her as a means to encourage us to search faster.” Orrie looked up at him, horrified, but Siegfried chuckled. “Don’t worry; it’s all an act. The scene will be very convincing, though.”

Orrie nodded. “Okay then…” He wasn’t sure if he should feel impressed on how realistic the staff was going to make this an authentic murder mystery or unnerved. Maybe unnervingly impressed. He smiled at that silly musing before splitting from the group and heading into his room.

That evening—after dinner and while Orrie was lying content on his bed, drawing in his sketchbook—there was a loud shriek from downstairs. There were soon the sounds of footsteps racing down the hall and, while aware of what was probably going on, Orrie couldn’t help peeking his head out in curiosity. Cliff followed closely by Zahia rushed down the stairs. Orrie hurried after them. He caught up with the couple quickly enough and wordlessly the trio burst through the doors to the parlor. Everyone save the Tosettis were already present. And everyone included ‘Alcor’.

He was standing over a very realistic corpse of Ms. Wheatly, which was face-down in a growing pool of red liquid. Strips of clothing lay tattered beside it. Ripped pillows and bloody papers were strewn around, hinting of the struggle that transpired. Zahia gasped, hand over her mouth. Dipper and Belle stood frozen, barely able to believe what they were seeing. Dug looked ill, moving as far away from the body as possible. Siegfried seemed uncomfortable but stayed where he was at by the doors. Flynn was glaring at the perpetrator.

‘Alcor’ stared back, amused smile on his lips. “Y͟ou a̸ll̴ ̢see̕m a̷ b̨it u̸p̸s͠et͠.” He spotted the latecomers. “I d̕id̸n̷’t̨ ́th͟ink ̴s͢he’d caus͏e t͢hąt̨ m̢ucḩ of a̷ c̸ommo̕t̶ion͝.” Flynn flashed a glance back at Orrie before clenching and unclenching his jaw. When he spoke, though, it was with collected calmness.

“Why did you feel the need to do this? You are aware there are children present.” Orrie hoped Flynn wasn’t insinuating he couldn’t handle a little violence. Granted, murder wasn’t ‘a little’ violent, but considering who the star of the attraction was and the fact they were supposed to be solving a murder mystery in the first place…

‘Alcor’ chuckled. “W̷hy? Be̡ca͠us͟e yơu̵’re͏ t̨aki͟n͡g̸ to̧o lon̸g.” He rose into the air, settling into a cross-legged sit. “D̛on’t̡ t̴h̀ìnk I̶ h̨a̛d́n’͢t not̶iced M͠s. W̡hea͡t͠ly ̡hel͡p̢įn̵g y͝ou ơut̡ ea̧rlie͠r. He͝r͠ as͡s̀i̧st͢ance w͡as ͝no̶t par̵t̨ o͠f t̀he dea̢ļ. B̢ut I dec͠ide͞d to ̀let it̡ s̢l͢idè…until͝ I notįc̨ed how littl̨e h͞e͢ad̢w̵a͠y̕ th̷e teǹ of̛ yo̡ų were ̡ma̷king. So̴ I͡ go̵t r̵id̵ o͏f h͠er.”

“Wait, we were taking too long to solve the mystery with her help, so you decided to kill her?” Belle frowned. “What kind of sense does that make?”

“Why ̶do͠e͡s ̷ít̵ ͟ha̢v͟e to̡ ḿake ̡s͢ęn̴s̛e?” asked ‘Alcor’, “I̷ ex̸pected̛ ͠y͡ou to̢ ̷t̢a͟k̵e t̀h̨e mys̷t̕er̡y͞ se͟riou͞sly, s̸olv̶e it͏ q͠u̵ickĺy, and͠ yo̷u d͏i̛s͢app̕ointed̸ m̶e. I̴s͞ i͏t͠ tha̡t muc̀h ̛a su̷rp̸rise ́I too̷k̢ out̶ ḿy̡ f͏r̨ustra͢t͢íon on͡ o͟n̶é ̕of m̀y s͠erv̡an͞t̶s wh̛o, in͡c͡idenţall̵y, h͠app͟en͠s t̕o̶ b̛e̴ th̵e ón̸ly ̵o̷n̵e͏ he̶lping y̨o̡u al̕onģ?” He shook his head in mock disappointment. “Th̴is is ͏a͞ll y̧o͞ur f̡au̸lt̨, y̧o̷u ͡k̡now. S̷he̢ c̷ou̢ld hav̴e liv̶ed. B̢ut, ąl̴as͡, yo͏u lo̧st́ y̴ou͠r̨ t̷r̛ue͏ ĺover͡ fo̡r̀ c̢ourtin͡g too̷ slow͠. My ͡s͞u̸g̨gestion? Hùr̀ry i͠t ̕ùp.”

“Oh yeah? Then why don’t you do it?” Dipper narrowed his eyes at the person above him, the challenge in his tone heavy. Orrie felt a chill in the air; the teen’s anger was nearly tangible. “You’re so all-knowing, huh? Why don’t you use your omniscience to solve this stupid mystery yourself? I’m sure you could do it in an instant instead of toying with human lives.” He looked down at Ms. Wheatly; his face was unreadable. Belle, clearly troubled by her brother’s outburst, touched his arm.

“Dipper?”

His head whipped around toward her, his eyes widening slightly like he just remembered she was there. He again stared at the body on the ground before shaking his head. “Sorry. Forgot this was all an act. Just looked really…convincing.” He directed his leer towards ‘Alcor’ who, for once, didn’t look smug. “You know, I remember Alcor being someone who hated human sacrifices. Killing innocents because he was mildly upset was not his M.O. Only the worst of imposters would have gotten that tidbit wrong.”

‘Alcor’s’ eye twitched, indignation flashing in his sharp gaze. “P̷er̢h͡apş I ̢àm not̸ ás al̡l-pow̶ęrful̶ as͠ yo̧u̕ l̨ik͝é to̷ be͠lieve,” he growled. “Ńo͝r̸ as̶ m̵agn̶a̡ni̵m̸ous. Bưt…” He hovered closer to Dipper, nearly face-to-face with the boy. “I̴f you̢ k̵eep te͝s̵tíng m͡y pátįenc͝e, D̶ipper S͏t͟erl̨in̵g̛, o̡ne wo̴n’t ne͝e̡d o͠mn̛isc͡i͏e͡n͠ce t̷o fi͢g͡ure ou̷t͏ ͏wh͡o k̸i̴lle͞d ou̢r̸ ņex̛t̢ ͠p̧oten͠t͢ial͝ vìct́i͠m.” He snapped his fingers and Dipper was lifted right off his feet. The teen, completely taken aback, was too bewildered to fight the invisible force holding him. Another snap and he was thrown across the room, crashing into the opposite wall with a heavy thump! Everyone stood shocked by the action; Belle was the only one with enough sense to run over and check on her twin.

“Dipper!”

Her shout stirred Orrie to face ‘Alcor’, to call him out on his trick that went way too far. But when he turned ‘Alcor’ was gone. Beside him he heard Flynn curse in a weird language. “Where did he go?” he heard the elf mutter lowly.

The doors flew open, and two housekeepers rushed inside, one of them carrying a tarp. Cliff grabbed one of them by the arm. “Hey! This is getting a little—”

“Please sir,” the housekeeper interrupted, “We’ve got this under control.”

“You’ve angered him enough,” the other worker added, laying the tarp over the corpse. Orrie watched as the sheet’s pure white was slowly consumed by the absorbing red. “Just do what the Master has asked. Please go and solve the mystery quickly. We’ll take care of this.”

“Come on, Orrie.” Orrie felt strong hands pushing him out. Cliff stubbornly kept his sight away from the bloody mess as he guided the boy away. Zahia starred at her husband, worried.

Behind him, Orrie could hear Flynn speaking tersely with one of the housekeepers. “Quite graphic” were the only words he managed to overhear before being escorted outside. Siegfried and Cliff then herded everybody else upstairs.

“That looked scary real,” Zahia mumbled to Cliff, who nodded.

“Thought this would be a bit more family-friendly,” her husband agreed.

“Perhaps that’s just how their script was written.” The others looked at Siegfried. “That was almost the same scene they played out last time, and there weren’t any children present then. I’ll admit, though, they didn’t use magic on the guests.”

“Which was completely uncalled for,” Belle angrily spoke. To her brother and with a lot more concern, “You alright?”

“Well, I’ve been a whole lot worse,” he chuckled humorlessly. But Orrie could still sense the resentment around him.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it, Dipper. I think it’s illegal for them to actually hurt their guests. Perhaps they overdid it with the effects.”

“Perhaps.” Though Dipper didn’t look convinced. “And maybe you’re right. That was some low level magic he used. I really wasn’t that hurt.” Orrie sighed internally with relief. The party made it to the east wing. As they dispersed to their rooms, mostly gotten over what had happened, Orrie finally mustered the courage to ask the twins a question.

“Um…I know it’s kind of in bad taste to ask this now after, well, you know…but can I team up with you? For the mystery?” Belle and Dipper stared at him, a bit confused.

“You mean after what that jerk did to my bro you still want to go through with this?” Belle wondered, though she at least didn’t sound very offended. Orrie felt his face redden.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way but yeah. I’m not interested in the prize and, to be honest, the acting is a bit over the top. I came here to have fun and enjoy myself. It’s another piece of Alcor I can learn about, and that’s exciting to me.”

Dipper nodded, his expression finally brightening somewhat. “I know what you mean. That challenge you just can’t ignore. Like a puzzle that needs to be solved and answers that need to be discovered.” He smiled. “Yeah! Let’s team up. We’re here to have fun after all– to learn about Alcor and solve an unsolvable mystery.” He held out his hand. Orrie took it, gripping firmly, his own smile broadening. Belle wrapped her arms around both of their necks.

“Alright! Nerds unite!”

Orrie laughed. “Well, we can start looking for clues in the morning. Siegfried secretly told me the hints won’t be hidden until tomorrow.” “Oh! So that’s how he knew what was going on,” realized Belle, “He’s been here before. Wait! Doesn’t that mean he has the advantage? He knows where all the hints are!”

“I’m going to assume the hints change locations each time guests come,” Dipper reasoned, and Orrie agreed. He bade them goodnight before entering his own room.

The sketchbook was still on his bed where he’d left it. He debated finishing the final details of what he could remember of the garden but ultimately decided against it, figuring he’d have plenty of time tomorrow. He changed out of his day clothes and grabbed something from his suitcase that was more comfortable to wear in the evening time. Sliding into bed, he looked around his room once more.

It was still just as beautiful as when he’d first entered. But…the space, the extravagance, the lingering amazement of being here…it was too foreign. Too lonesome. Orrie was familiar with it. A bit used to it. But that didn’t mean he liked it. Didn’t mean he’d admit to his new friends that he was scared to explore the entire manor all by himself. Because he liked their companionship; it was something he admittedly didn’t have a lot of back home.

Orrie settled into the sheets, wondering briefly what tomorrow would bring. For now he was comfortable and safe and had companions nearby. And in two days time, when this was all over, he’d be ending one adventure as a pre-teen and starting another by officially becoming a teenager.

Pleased by the thought, Orrie drifted contently to sleep.

Deep in the lower levels of the mansion, the man in front of the monitors smiled. His staff had pulled off yet another spectacular performance today. Mr. Goodman leaned back and stretched. With his guests full of food, sound asleep, and certainly excited for tomorrow’s mystery he could sit back and watch with ease, the greatest of the attraction’s hurdles finally crossed. It’s never easy to set a calming, relaxing air in a home blanketed with betrayal and death, but his dear employees were always up to the task of doing it, exceeding his expectations every year without fail.

He grabbed the cane by the side of his chair and used it to stand. Leaving the office, Mr. Goodman sighed to himself. Such a shame he only caught the tail end of Terry and Ms. Wheatly’s act due to helping some crew members—the realism of her death scene always unnerved even the toughest of men—but he’d be sure to congratulate them nonetheless.

And speak of the devil…

“There you are. I’ve been meaning to talk to you, Terry.” The star of the attraction was standing by the costume closet. Already he was unvested from his suit, most of his make-up gone, his voice modifying mic removed. Terry looked back, a light smile on his lips.

“Oh, hey there, Mr. Goodman. You need something?” he asked as Mr. Goodman hobbled up to him, his cane clacking loudly against the stone tiles.

“Mostly to congratulate you on another great performance. It’s not natural to keep saying this but you are perhaps the best Alcor impersonator I’ve ever had the fortune to have.” He laughed. “I bet even the real one would agree, don’t you?”

“Thank you. That means a lot coming from you.” Terry gestured for the elder man to follow; the latter did so slowly. “You probably didn’t hear but the kitchen’s a mess after Duglas Segal requested we make him a late-night snack. We’re cancelling the staff dinner.”

But Mr. Goodman shook his head at the news. “And miss out on your friends’ cooking? For shame, Terry. You know better than to let that happen.” He and his employee chuckled at the good-humored chiding. “But,” he continued, his smile fading, “on a more serious note, Terry, I did not appreciate what you did to our guest.” He stopped walking. “Did to whom?” Terry’s attempt to look innocently perplexed did not bode well with Mr. Goodman.

“Dipper Sterling. The one you used magic on to toss against the wall.” He darkened his expression enough to tell Terry he messed up. The young man at least had the decency to look guilty. “Magic of any kind is expressively forbidden on these grounds, except in—”

“—In a case of emergency,” Terry finished, interrupting the old man. “I know, I know. But that kid was so irritating. Made me look like a fool despite all the research I’ve done on the demon. And—” He paused, noticing the leer from his boss hadn’t lessened. “And I shouldn’t have retaliated like that.”

“You shouldn’t have retaliated at all,” Mr. Goodman corrected.

A faint scowl. “…Right.” Terry, after a silent moment, took a step forward. Mr. Goodman didn’t follow. “Coming?”

“I’ll meet you in the inner chamber in a short while. I first want to congratulate Ms. Wheatly. I wonder where she went off to.”

“I heard in passing that she’s already inside the chamber. If you want to catch up with her before she heads to sleep we should probably hurry.” The other frowned. Why would she be there? She always came to see him first after her act.

“But why?” he voiced his concerns, to which Terry shrugged. So Mr. Goodman followed. He would have made it to the end of the hall, too, were it not for the muffled thump! of something heavy collapsing. Mr. Goodman stopped in his walk, turning his head slightly to the side. “You hear something?”

Terry didn’t stop. “Like what?” “Sounded like something fell.” The sound of a door slowly creaking open sent his nerves tingling, sharp and echoing in the mostly empty hall. He spun around, noticing the closet door opening up to reveal a bunch of fallen costumes piling out.

Mr. Goodman hurried to the pile. “I’ll get that!” Terry, just then noticing the old man’s action, hastened over to him. But Mr. Goodman beat him, already bent and picking up the clothes. He froze when a hand caked in dried blood appeared from underneath a large shirt he’d lifted. Props had their own room, and besides he couldn’t recall ever owning a prop like this. He started to pick it up when he saw it was connected to an arm. Confusion and unease growing, he shifted the costumes away to—

“What…Terry– Terry, what is going on here!?” That was Ms. Wheatly. Bloody and dead and buried beneath the clothing. A nasty wound was torn into her front side, chunks of clotted blood still seeping out. “H-how did Ms. Wheatly end up—” He happened to look to his side. Notice the black shoes of the person beside him. Spot the smudge of equally dried blood on their tips and edges. His increasingly frightened gaze slowly lifted.

The cold fury on Terry’s normally calm face was intimidating enough for the old man. “I was hoping this’d go smoothly.” He snapped his fingers, and Mr. Goodman was lifted off the floor against his will. Terry’s scowl deepened, and with a swift flick of his fingers, the costumes and body of Ms. Wheatly were flung back into the closet. “Can’t believe dumb luck of all things cost me my cover. Doesn’t matter; I’ll have the others move her when I’m ready.”

“Others!?” Mr. Goodman’s eyes widened. Was the rest of his staff in on this? Terry smirked.

“Oh, they aren’t the ones you should be worried about. Now, why don’t you come with me to the inner chamber, hm? I’ve got big plans for you.” Mr. Goodman had no choice as he was levitated through the dark hallway, knowing full well they were too far underground for anyone to hear his cries for help.

[thejokersenigma]

Joker x Reader - Strictly Business Part 5

Hi guys, I’m desperately trying to keep up with my writing - so here’s a new part for you!

Its a bit shorter than usual, but I felt like that was good place to finish this part!

I hope you enjoy!

As always feel free to leave comments/messages etc. I really miss them!

Also if you have requests or anything just let me know!

MASTERLIST

I soon gathered as I wandered through the building that we must be in a huge warehouse. The corridors were bare and concrete and several times we crossed large open rooms that spanned far into the darkness on either side of me, and the ceiling was nowhere in sight. I climbed a tall staircase and walked a long corridor until I had wound up in the room I now found myself locked in. It was larger than the last one, and looked more comfortable too. There was a large four-poster double bed in the centre of the room, a simple chest of drawers with a tall wing back chair between it and a door that must once have led to a store cupboard but was now a wardrobe.

There was a single window, but the curtains were drawn over it and I soon figured out why when I pulled them away to find the glass cloudy and streaky with grime so I couldn’t see out of it apart from a few shadowy outlines of what I guess were buildings or lamp posts.

When I reached a tentative hand out to wiped at the glass I withdrew my hand, searching for the shadow of filth I had wiped off, but I found my fingers perfectly clean. The grime was on the outside. The room itself was completely pristine, but the outside was far from it. The building probably just looked like one of the many grubby, abandoned warehouses scattered around Gotham - and maybe some of the other rooms here did – but this one, when I turned away from the window, looked like something close to a penthouse suite. The detailed floral wallpaper and the plush carpets that made it hard to remember there was hardwearing concrete surrounding me.

However, as nice as the room was, I was still locked in here. I had heard the latch turn when the door was closed behind the henchman that had escorted me in here. I didn’t know where the Joker had vanished to, and I wasn’t sure I was going to find out.

Despite the residual pounding in my skull from the knock out I had inhaled, I refused the overwhelming temptation to lie down on the large, cushiony bed. Instead I continued to pace, hoping the movement would keep me conscious, despite the constant drag of the drug on my mind. I rubbed at my face with my hands aggressively, willing myself to keep alert.

I continued to pace back and forth for at least half an hour before my feet began to protest and my mind was falling asleep to the same monotonous striding and turning. I was going to be asleep on my feet soon. I gave in to the urge and allowed myself to perch on the edge of the bed, soon allowing myself to fall backwards onto the duvet and cushions behind me. This is fine. I could just lie here and wait. At least I could hear if anyone approached the door.

The next I knew my eyes snapped open and I briefly had no idea where I was. It flooded back to me quickly and I scrambled off the bed, on my feet in an instant, tense and my muscles ready for fight or flight.  

There was a slight delay for my mind to catch up to my sudden movements as I scanned the room and I almost didn’t immediately acknowledged the man sat in the wingback chair. My eyes snapped back to him. The Joker. He wore the same clothes as I had seen him in earlier, so clearly, I couldn’t have been out too long. He sat with his legs open wide, a cane planted between his feet and both hands folded over the handle as he waited patiently, his eyes serious and ringed with dark shadows, his mouth a vibrant red and slightly hung open as he watched me. I stared back at him for a moment before I had an idea. If he was here… My gaze darted to the doorway that was now directly in front of me, the Joker to my right and on the other side of the bed. I immediately looked back to him, not willing to take my eyes off him for too long. If he was in here, should I try to make a run for it? I couldn’t guarantee that he hadn’t locked himself in here with me, or that there weren’t henchmen waiting on the other side as guards, but was it worth a chance if I could make a run for it?

Then a movement caught my eye and I let my eyes stray from the Joker long enough to realise that stood near to him, hidden from my view behind the thick curtains that hung around each of the posts of the bed, stood a suited man. As if reading my mind, or having received a silent order, the man strode across the room and stopped so that he now silently blocked my path to the door.

I didn’t know why I was locked in here, or why Joker was in here too, but it was clear leaving was not an option thanks to the large, muscular guard that now barred my exit. I took a breath when I realised I had been holding it. The last thing I wanted to do now was show any kind of fear. That was a weakness in this criminal’s eyes and I didn’t want to show him any weakness. I tried to gain back some control on the situation - the more I looked out of control and panicked by what was going on, the more the Joker would think he had the upper hand. That wasn’t something I wanted.

I gave the guard a brief, forced smile which I then turned on J in a way to say I would play along with their little game without a struggle. I walked past the guard who turned as I moved past him, eyes following my movements I walked around the bed so I was on the same side as the Joker before then perching myself on the edge of the bed so I faced him. Ready and waiting for the reason he was here, in my mind trying to turn this into a business meeting. I knew how to work those situations and it was clear that the Joker wanted something from me – and I in turn wanted something from him. I wasn’t in much of a position to start making wild demands, but I could make something work - this was my terrain after all.

I interlaced my fingers together and rested them on my lap. “I presume you are after something from me?” I asked, polite and formal, like I was in a meeting for a new business negotiation.

“Leave.” The Joker suddenly said, his eyes on me and I thought for a moment it was directed at me, but then I heard the door close and I glanced behind me to see the large man had left. I turned my attention back to the Joker who was still considering me over his cane. His eyes felt like they were reading every rebellious thought in my mind. His face was still deadly serious when he spoke, none of the joking I had previously known. “Well, doll.” He began, his tone matching my own and playing along with me so for a moment I truly felt we were back in my board room. However, I caught a dangerous glint in his eyes when he leant toward me and the dim light through the break in the curtains caught his eye. “You see, I’ve just been looking over the details of a job planned for tonight.” He explained, suddenly producing a familiar folder and waving it around in the air as he spoke. “When I discovered a series of scribbles and annotations on the plans.” He mused, flicking through the folder for effect, clearly not reading anything he was seeing. “Now…” He drawled, “I am pretty sure it wasn’t me…” he mused, but for a moment I thought he might actually be taking this into serious consideration. “So, either someone decided this was a good document to doodle in, or I would say someone was trying to edit a carefully constructed plan.” His eyes had been down on the papers the whole time, but now they shot up to me suggestively and I had to stop myself from flinching at the accusing look.

“And… - whilst the idea of torturing and interrogating everyone in the building does sound fun…” He drawled, tilting his head as he acknowledged the enjoyment this would give him, “It would be a terrible waste of my precious time…” He pondered to himself and I felt like he was toying with.

I could feel a lump in my throat and I swallowed. Why did I feel so threatened? Maybe because it’s you he’s talking about, muttered a voice in my head.

Suddenly the Joker was on his feet. “Of course, there are ways to narrow down my list of suspects.” He mused to himself, pacing slow steps in front of me “ – to make sure I can fit the punishment into my busy day.” He was talking as though it was only him in the room. “After all, it is hard to ignore the rather delicate feminine style of the writing,” He murmured, “and the overwhelming fact that you were the only one in my office today other than the two guards you so kindly knocked out.” His eyes now met me, finally acknowledging my existence as he stepped, the folder still clenched in his hand. I wished he go back to ignoring me as his blues eyes made me want to squirm. I couldn’t help but feel like I was in the gallows, on trial for a crime I was definitely guilty of.

“So, what I want from you, princess, is this,” my executioner summarised. “Did you by any chance try to edit my plan?”

Guilty. “Yes.” I admitted. There was no point in denying it. I expected I was probably the only girl in this entire building so my ‘feminine writing’ was evidence enough, I might as well confess. “I was bored, so I looked through your desk.” I saw his jaw tighten slightly at this. “I read through several old plans of yours, and then discovered that one.” I nodded towards the folder in his hand. “I thumbed through it and found several details that appeared to be quite flawed and possibly problematic. I used my available time to rectify them.” I said confidently, no apology in my voice.

The Joker raised his invisible eyebrows at my confession. “And you, kitten, think your additions have added something to this scheme?” He asked incredulously, with a mocking smile, and a quiet, dangerous calm voice - which was more frightening that if he just yelled at me. I swallowed back my fear, trying to keep a hold on my courage.

“Maybe!” I snapped at him, annoyed at how arrogant he was being and I watched as any sign of humour dropped from his face. I was on thin ice now.

But I’d managed to pull one over on him before – back at the party – however long ago that was. So why did he still not think any of my ideas would be any good? Maybe because he managed to pull one over on you too when he kidnapped you the small voice reminded me from the back of my mind.

I scowled at my own annoy thoughts before turning my attention back on the crime lord that still stood before me.

“Have you even bothered to read any of my suggestions?” I asked, irritated at him and now myself, ignoring the sinister look in his eyes that told me he was not impressed with my gall.

“Cute, doll.” He patronised me with a wide grin that made his eyes go almost squinty. “But all my plans go off without fail, as long as the bat doesn’t get involved,” he muttered bitterly, “and I know for a fact he’s occupied elsewhere tonight.” He added, perking up again, “I don’t require your input – however keen you are to give it.” He said snidely looking down at me still sat on the bed.

I let out a loud, heavy sigh. “Look.” I snapped in annoyance, shoving myself to my feet so I was basically eye level with him. “I’m not saying your plan wouldn’t work – hell with your madness I’m certain it probably would!” I exclaimed, throwing my hand in the air in exasperation, “but,” I said quickly, holding up a finger to him, “you’d probably end up losing at least half of your men and you risk leaving some sort of evidence behind you – you’re taking too many risks for really no good reason.” I pointed out, crossing my arms in finality.

“That’s the flare, doll.” He pointed out stubbornly.

I rolled my eyes. “You’d rather there be flare and an increased risk of the plan failing and you being caught?”

“Watch it, doll.”

I frowned, ignoring his warning. I thought for a moment. “Let me see that.” I held out my hand for the folder. The Joker hesitated, not use to people demanding things from him. He seemed to be considering between doing what I asked or shooting me.

He growled in annoyance at me, twisting his neck as if this moment was painfully difficult. I didn’t react to his behaviour, simply keeping my hand out towards him, waiting patiently until he was ready and he begrudgingly handed it over to me.

I took it from him and flicked through to the main page where I had done most of my edits on. I ran my eyes over the plan and the alterations again. I turned my back on the Joker, facing the bed and bending over to flattening the map of the museum floors out onto the duvet, barely registering that I had no longer had my eyes on the criminal still supposedly stood behind me. “Look.” I said, snapping myself back upright and proudly waving down at the paper. “Flare.”

I glanced back at the Joker to see if he was listening and I thought I saw the Joker’s eyes snap up from my ass, but I was probably just imaging it. I raised an eyebrow at him, but he ignored it, moving to my side without comment, as if nothing had happened. He studied the paper on the bed and I narrated for him, pointing out my ‘scribbles’. “You see, all these rooms have these large screens that play back what some of the security cameras are seeing - so people can see they’re being watched.” I explained, pointing out the areas where I had drawn on little boxes to represent screens. “Hack into these and you can have all the ‘flare’ of making snarky comments at someone in the room without actually risking being in that same room.” I explained, my eyes on the map, worried I’d lose my courage if I looked at the Joker’s unimpressed face. “Plus – the fact you’re on that screen will make it look like you’re in the main control room. The cops and security will run up to the top floor where the control room is, giving your men plenty of time to do what they need to downstairs without any problem - or at least with fewer cops in the way. All the while whoever is on the screen can be safe and comfy somewhere else entirely! Hell, you could probably get the connection to run all the way back here!”

Suddenly the blueprint was snatched out from under my gaze. I looked up to the Joker where he glared down at me with a dark scowl. “That smart mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble, doll.” He warned me with a low growl, before he strode out of the room without another word. I heard the lock turn behind him, leaving me alone in the room and realising I had never tried to make a deal with him and I had no idea what was going to happen to me now.

tags: @carouselcurls @aqswdefrgthzjukilop @toxic-ink @viraldragonrider @6fish6 @arkhamsurviour @theartistdetective @white-chocolate-mocha-fan @blondieinthecity

[ryukoishida]

Quan Zhi Gao Shou | King’s Avatar Fic: In which Shaotian makes observations about Wenzhou’s hands.

Title: These Broken Hands of Mine Fandom: The King’s Avatar / Quan Zhi Gao Shou Character(s)/Pairing(s): Yu/Huang (Wenzhou/Shaotian) Summary: Five times Shaotian makes observations about Wenzhou’s hands + one time Wenzhou keeps Shaotian’s hands warm. Rating: Part v. is NSFW; otherwise it’s PG A/N: Based on @andthenabanana‘s precious Yu/Huang HCs! I’m still reading the novels so I’m writing this based on the knowledge I have of the anime only. If there are inaccuracies in the fic, please forgive me!

Writing Commission | Editing & Translation Services

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i.

Huang Shaotian hates it when people teases his captain about his hands — “crippled”, they call him, often accompanying the comment with sympathetic gazes. Even if it isn’t meant to be derogatory, just a harmless joke, even if the captain himself laughs it off because he’s so used to it already, Shaotian still hates it.

“Let me go teach those bastards a lesson, captain, come on, come on, come on! I won’t let them get away with dissing Blue Rain’s brilliant leader like that! I’ll kick their ass so hard they won’t even know what’s coming for them—”

“Shaotian,” he calls his name with his usual tone — frustratingly calm, like the mirror surface of a summer lake, undisturbed by the wind. The two syllables are enough to shut the other man up, and from his seat at the computer, Wenzhou looks over at his vice-captain and gives him a reassuring smile, an expression Shaotian has seen so many times, before shifting his attention back to the game.

The captain doesn’t need his protection, Shaotian knows that — knows Wenzhou well enough that even without a terrifying hand speed, the man can carry himself and his team using clever tactics and deliberate strategies. He doesn’t doubt Wenzhou’s strength and prowess in Glory.

Shaotian finishes off his opponents within about fifteen seconds, but he does so in a surprisingly quiet manner. As he stands up and stretches, his gaze falls onto Wenzhou’s figure: he has his headphones on, and he’s completely immersed in the game before him, his fingers tapping out a gradual but melodic rhythm that has Shaotian mesmerized.

They may not be fast, but the movements of his fingers are precise and calculated, similar to well-practiced choreography that brings out the beauty and grace of his avatar’s attack and defense. It’s something that both baffles and intrigues Shaotian even after all these years of watching Wenzhou play.

The logo of Glory flashes across Wenzhou’s screen, signifying his victory, and Shaotian snaps out of his reverie when Wenzhou turns around and looks at him with an expectant smile.

Always unfathomable. Always warm.

-

ii.

“Yo, vice-captain, I think Captain Yu left this.”

One of the members of Blue Rain throws a notebook at him without another warning, and Shaotian catches the corner of it with quick reflex, all the while swearing nonstop at his teammate.

The other man just flashes him a grin and waves goodbye as he steps out of the training room, closing the door behind him as fast as he can before Shaotian decides to throw something at him.

The notebook is the one that Wenzhou always carries around with him wherever he goes. He has a habit of jotting down notes — he’s the Master Tactician and an immaculate analyst after all — so whenever the members are at a meeting and discussing about various tactics before an important match, or when he’s hastily noting down new ideas while being engrossed in the world of Glory, the notebook, its cover slightly battered and the corners dog-eared, is always in Wenzhou’s hands.

Curiosity is singing temptation in Shaotian’s mind, and he casually start to flip through the spiraled notebook. He sees the captain’s neat handwriting, the flow of blue ink across paper elegant yet powerful like sweeping rivers that carve and create valleys. It’s all data and numbers and tables — nothing Shaotian is genuinely interested in — but then he spots the little doodles on the margins that makes him sputter out a chuckle: there are messy sketches of cartoon birds and kittens, as well as more realistic drawings of plants and flowers that dotted Blue Rain Club’s hallways.

Probably products of boredom.

And here Shaotian thinks their team captain is always preoccupied with nothing but Glory gameplay.

As he continues flipping through the notepad, he stops towards the end.  Shaotian frowns in confusion: there is no writing on these pages, but the space is filled with sketches of the same person from different angles and with various expressions.

A short moment later, his eyes widen in realization, and he mutters with disbelief, “Wait, wait, wait, what the fuck, that’s me, isn’t it, what the fuck?!”

Splattered all over the lined pages are rough drawings of Shaotian sketched in pencil. A few are of him in different poses and in mere outlines and crisp shadings, though the body shape is familiar enough that Shaotian can recognize it as his own; however, most of the sketches are embarrassing close-ups of his face: his expressive eyes, the side and back of his head, the hard, impelling lines of his mouth when he talks a mile a minute and the sensual curves of his lips when he’s silent and smiling.

‘What the hell is this?’ Shaotian wonders in confusion, his cheeks burning warmer and warmer the longer he stares at the detailed portraits of himself drawn by the careful hand of his captain.

“Ah, so I did leave my notebook here,” Wenzhou starts from the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest and an amused smile grazing along his lips.

Shaotiao snaps the notebook shut, the sound like the firing of a bullet in the stillness of the room.

“Uh, yeah, you did! You shouldn’t leave your shit just lying around, you know? Who knows what would have happened if I haven’t picked it up, huh? What if—” he babbles on and on, unable to shut up as he feels Wenzhou’s gaze penetrating through his frail wall of words.

“Did you read what’s inside?” Wenzhou interrupts, his eyes glimmering with a knowing look.

“I-inside? Why would I — does it look like I would do such a thing? I do know to respect privacy, okay?”

“You did, didn’t you?” Wenzhou isn’t fooled, and Shaotian should have known better.

He sighs, and hands over the notebook in defeat when Wenzhou finally walks over to stand before him.

“I didn’t know you draw,” Shaotian mutters, head turned to the side with a pout. He has thought that he knows everything about him, but this is clearly not the case. For some reason, this fact irritates him, and it’s starting a lick of flame in the pit of his stomach that’s impossible to put out, and so the statement comes out like an accusation more than anything else.

“It’s just a hobby,” Wenzhou replies, “something to occupy my hands with.”

Shaotian considers asking about the drawings on the back of the notebook, but he doesn’t, and Wenzhou doesn’t talk about it, either.  

-

iii.

Wenzhou’s hands can be terribly distracting, Shaotian notes — not for the first time — as he leans back against his chair during one particularly boring meeting in Blue Rain Club’s conference room.

It’s three days before the big match against Excellent Era, and the core members of the Blue Rain team have gathered here to discuss tactics and strategies.

As Wenzhou talks, his serene voice washing over the room like waves lapping gently against the shore, Shaotian finds his mind wandering, and his eyes, which have been previously focusing on the stormy weather beyond the windows smeared with raindrops, have now turned their attention back to the speaker at the front of the room, or more specifically, the speaker’s hands.

For Wenzhou’s hands are constantly moving in interesting little gestures even when he talks about dry topics like laying sieges and attacking opponents — whether it’s rhythmic tapping against his notebook, or twirling his mechanical pencil ‘round and ‘round, just as he’s currently doing.

The writing utensil is twirled back and forth with so much speed that it has become nothing but a blur of yellow and black, and Shaotian is transfixed. How much control Wenzhou must have, and how nimble his fingers must be in order to balance and spin the thin pencil between his digits while he walks and speaks.

Well, the captain isn’t speaking anymore, Shaotian thinks a little belatedly.

And the pencil has stopped spinning, too.

The room has become quiet except for the humming of the air condition, and when he finally realizes that everyone has their eyes on him, including Wenzhou, who is staring at him with those chilling blue eyes, Shaotian gives them all a bright, harmless grin.

Wenzhou sighs softly, and asks, his fingers instinctively starting to twirl the pencil again, “Shaotian, what do you think of the tactic we’ve just been going over?”

“Uhhh…” Shaotian hasn’t heard or retained a word for the last ten minutes, and Wenzhou probably knows that, “it’s… it’s good?”

Wenzhou cocks up one of his eyebrows, clearly unamused.

-

iv.

Shaotian likes vegetables; he will argue his tongue off about this topic if he has to.

It’s just that people tend to put certain vegetables in the weirdest, grossest dishes. Like, who the fuck in their right mind would put okra in a stir fry? Not him, and he definitely won’t allow Wenzhou to ruin a good dish if it’s the last thing he does.

On the other hand, stewed okra with tomatoes, onions, and spicy sausages — he can consume that delicacy over two bowls of rice. So, that’s what they’ve decided to make for tonight’s dinner, along with steamed carp fresh from the market, and broth with watercress and pork.

He should probably be paying attention to the pot over the open flames, but Wenzhou has picked up a knife and started expertly chopping the scallions for the steamed fish into fine, soft ribbons. Water droplets slither down between knuckles and disappear into the gaps between his fingers, his manicured nails a contrast against the spring green of the herb he’s chopping, and the way he gently eases the blade over the stems as he cuts them, as if he’s taking the greatest care to doing it right, is somehow even more enthralling than watching his fingers flying over the keyboard while playing Glory.

Shaotian thinks he may have a huge problem: namely, Wenzhou’s hands.

“Shaotian, your stew is boiling over,” Wenzhou looks over, brows puckered in concern.

“Oh shit, shit, shit!” he tries to pick up the lid after turning down the heat but the steam gets him first, and he yelps in pain as the torrent of hot steam scalds his skin into an angry shade of red, his swearing going off like rounds from a machine gun.

The blond immediately turns the tap and lets cool water run over his injured hand, and the angry cussing quickly transforms to pained hissing as the water splashes over the burned area.

“Here, let me take a look.”

Standing close behind him with his chest touching Shaotian’s back, Wenzhou winds his arms around the vice-captain’s smaller frame and pulls his hand lightly towards them, his head lowered to inspect the wound more closely so that Shaotian can feel the other man’s every warm exhale against his cheek.

“You should be more careful,” Wenzhou murmurs, soft like his caresses against Shaotian’s sensitive skin along the inner wrist, meticulous like the way he handles a knife, calculating like he’s about to launch a final attack with a few presses of keys. “These hands are your livelihood. Last time it was the knife; this time it was a pot; what shall I do with you, hmm?”

“U-umm, I’m fine, this is fine, I’m absolutely fine. This is nothing serious at all. I’ll just go and get the ointment for it, okay? Okay.”

He’s trying to squirm out of Wenzhou’s embrace, but it’s useless because the moment Wenzhou drops a soft kiss on his forehead and finally releases him with a “I’ll go get it,” Shaotian knows he’s been utterly defeated.

-

v.

Ever since they’ve started sleeping with each other, Shaotian discovers another talent that Wenzhou’s hands are capable of.

“Ah fuck, fuck, fuck, stop fucking teasing me and get on with the actual fucking, will you? Goddamnit…” Shaotian whines into the crook of his elbow as Wenzhou’s fingers — two fingers drenched with lube — skim that spot again that scatters stars along his spine, making him shudder and curve up from the mattress with an embarrassingly loud mewl.

Wenzhou chuckles and continues the sweet torture by adding a third finger, the speed painstakingly slow — slow enough that Shaotian can feel every inch of his skin, every knuckle of his finger, entering and pulling out, leaving pinpricks of flames that spread and grow along the surface of his skin, sinking into his flesh, swimming in his blood.

“Captain…” Shaotian gasps, and the title makes him pause despite his desire for more; it sounds too stifling, too formal for what they’re doing — for what they’ve been doing for months now — but he doesn’t know how else to address him, so he tries the name he hasn’t called him with since their training camp days. “Wenzhou, Wenzhou… please, let me— I’ve gotta—”

Wenzhou doesn’t think too much of it when he sticks his index finger into Shaotian’s mouth in an attempt to muffle his mindless babbling, and it works a little until the little demon starts licking him with some sort of deliberation. Golden eyes watch him hungrily as he licks the length of Wenzhou’s finger, taking care to fondle every crease and nook, and humming appreciatively when he swallows his digit whole. He sucks on it with such enthusiasm that Wenzhou is starting to feel the effect, making him imagining that talented tongue and mouth licking and sucking on something else.  

The image is too much, too real, and like the opportunist that he is, Shaotian takes advantage of the moment Wenzhou breaks his momentum and focus, and strikes back with a vengeance.  

-

+ i.

When Wenzhou passes the folder filled with research data of their next opponents to his vice-captain, he exclaims, “Shaotian, your hand is freezing! Are you sick?”

“Hmm?” Shaotian looks down at his hands and flexes his fingers experimentally, “No. My hands are always like that during this kind of weather — shitty circulation, y’know. I left my gloves at home, so that’s probably why they feel especially cold right now. Don’t worry though!” he quickly says, “I’ll warm up properly before we start.”

“Ah,” Wenzhou nods once.

It’s true that Shaotian always seems so much more sensitive to the cold than everybody else. His hands are especially bad — the chill seeps deep past his flesh and stiffens his bones, so before every match or training session, he needs to spend at least half an hour warming up his fingers.

As the weather becomes bleaker in the winter, Shaotian’s wardrobe goes from a scarf around his neck, a long coat, and a pair of gloves to a thicker scarf long enough to wind around his neck and cover his head, earmuffs, a puffier coat, and two pairs of gloves with hand warmer packs stuffed inside.

Even wearing all those layers, Shaotian can still be seen shivering and burying his face into the warmth of his scarf during snowy days or when the temperature drops below zero. His cheeks flush with cold then, and the tips of his nose, too, and Wenzhou always finds that part of the chatterbox vice-captain sort of endearing, though of course he’ll never admit so.

The captain of Blue Rain checks the time; there are still twenty minutes until they start, so he decides to make the best of it.

“Hold on,” Wenzhou calls for him, and Shaotian turns around, topaz eyes round with confusion. He takes the few steps to close their distance, reaches out for Shaotian’s hand, and before the other man can protest, Wenzhou pulls them into one of the deserted hallways that they both know most people won’t normally trespass at this time of the day.

“Captain? What’s up?” Shaotian looks up at him through his blond fringes, the folder tucked securely under his arm when Wenzhou takes hold of both of his hands.  

“We still have some time, right?” Wenzhou only says, cupping the other man’s hands into his slightly bigger, warmer ones. He starts to rub them back and forth gently, allowing the soft friction to generate heat and encourage blood circulation in Shaotian’s limbs.

“Right,” Shaotian ducks his head low, cheeks heating up.

After a few minutes of silence, Wenzhou laughs, the sound soft like dawn mist, “It’s kind of strange when you’re not chattering away about one thing or another when you’re around me.”

“That’s so incredibly rude, captain!” Shaotian jumps in to defend himself, eyes flashing with mock irritation, “if you’ve missed my voice that much, you only need to tell me. No need to go about it in such a convoluted way and no need to be shy either, Captain Yu. Also, reverse psychology won’t work on me at all.”

“No?” Wenzhou’s tone drops a degree lower, one corner of his lips curling upwards, “I think it’s working rather well.” He nudges the turfs of blond locks by Shaotian’s temple and places a kiss there with another knowing smile.

“Hmph, whatever, whatever. Just warm me up properly,” he tilts his head up, his ardent eyes beckoning him, his message never clearer.

“Of course,” Wenzhou leans forward without a second thought.

[max-sparrow]

No- I am not the Wizard of Oz

No- I Am Not the Wizard of Oz

I feel as if I am looking at a mirage and all I see is sand- I am in a desert- helpless- As I watch the wind hurl the sand in a violent storm- something that is not real- that will never be real- that only I see- I watch it dance in front of me. My life and its truths have become a burden that is not easy to carry…

My name is Robert and I pen this story as my clock turns 1:30 a.m. I am sitting in my study at home. Presently I am captivated by distressing images and discussions of a patient that move through my head- one realization- after- the other- Almost as if I was flipping through a photo album- or perhaps even sand through an hour glass. I believe that writing this story on paper and with ink- well- it is the only way I can alleviate the burden that rests on my shoulder. This writing will be buried away in a drawer where I keep many of my sorrows. When I die, I know they will find my countless cases of distress hidden away in my bottom drawer— seemingly in shame. Yet, my experiences in life are anything but shameful- I am human and as such- I feel sorrow like any other man. In the world of psychiatry, I seem to understand the troubles of patients, unlike my colleagues. They tend to patients all day and retire to their home where they lead a normal life. While I- I am plagued by inadequacy. Although I am a Psychiatrist and I am looked upon for guidance- the truth is I do not always have the answer- No- It is not easy, but I mask my timid emotions well. Behind my glasses rests a pair of light blue eyes that look at my patients with curiosity, but I am careful with my gaze- I want to appear unbiased- I want to appear caring- But most of all- I want to appear sane. Yet, I admit- I judge my patients- In fact, on occasions I find some hard to like- and I know I am anything but sane. Yet, I give the appearance that I have the upper-hand and that I am- so to speak- The Wizard of Oz. The problem is- as I stated previously- I am human. The story that I have to tell at 1:30 a.m. rips into my flesh like a tiger pouncing on a calf as it searches for its mother in the foliage. Yet, before I tell you this story- I want to share my experience in Medical School, and how I came to enter this hellish existence. It will help you understand my predicament.

I remember attending college and taking a course called, “Madness in Medicine.” It was about the history of psychiatry and while people took it with strides- I was blown away with pity and sorrow. The idea that people in mental distress could be treated in such ways- I felt waves of shock overcome my youthful mind. As class ended on the very last day- I sat in my chair while students filed out. The professor was in the front of the room as he collected his notes. I approached him. “How? How can people be treated this way? Why would people who clearly have mental health issues- a medical condition- how could people only afflict further turmoil upon them? What can be done?” I asked him. I was naive- keep in mind- I was just a college student in my third year. And as I uttered those words- it was clear how emotionally affected I was. I realized this, and yet, I do not think the professor picked up on it, and if he did- he probably took pity on me. The professor looked up at me and studied my face for several seconds. He shook his head back and forth as his eyes trailed into deep thought and then he refocused on me as he said something that would change my life forever. “People are cruel- people are naive- but to be honest with you- I have no idea why people act the way they do. Perhaps that sounds odd- given that I am a psychologist,” He paused and chuckled slightly before continuing, “That is a good question, and I am not sure there will ever be an answer to that question. There isn’t a solution. At least not yet.” The professor looked at me in distress. Several moments passed and he said, “I am glad you got something out of this class.” He left out the door with me standing silently and in deep thought. As I stood still and calculated the professor's remarks- I realized I could be the solution. I would go into the field of psychiatry. My heart beats with love for this field of science in a rhyme that was keen to my youth and Nativity. I would complete college with an M.D. in Psychiatry. Yes, dear readers— I thought I had a solution. I would treat patients with care and kindness. I would look into the depths of their mind and solve issues like no person before… Yet, as my career progressed, and years began to unfold- one after the other- Well, I realized that this was going to be a hard journey. No matter what I did- many patients would wander down a stray road as I realized that I could not change people. Kindness does not alter the core of an individual with a mental illness, and pharmaceuticals are only a band-aid. Yet, I still thought there was a solution out there- Even after many years of practice— I would never admit to the callous remarks that professor had stated many years ago. I was sure there was a solution. But- it was stressful, and time wore on me. After a long day— to unwind— I would take to secretly smoking cigars and drinking wine in the evening as I contemplated the entire course of my life… Now that you have a greater understanding of my life- I shall tell the story that has kept me awake all hours of the night for the previous two weeks. It is a story that has broken my philosophy on life, and yet worse- broken my understanding of humanity.

I was drawing doodles on my note pad as I usually did when patients were in my office. It was not an attempt to ignore them, but rather- it was my way of dealing with stress. Trust me- I was always listening. Yet, some people thought I was taking notes and if a patient was curious or paranoid about what I was doing in my notebook, I would smile widely and show them the doodles. My patients would usually laugh or were amused by this. As I sketched out a picture- I was listening to a 23-year-old African American. We were in my office on a locked-down psych ward. She was beautiful African American girl, and intelligent - in-fact, she was going to college. I listened to her as I drew in my notebook. The way she thought- the way she carried herself- her verbal expression- she had a place in this world. However, what placed this youthful and talented individual in my hospital was that she had threatened suicide. We spoke for a long time. I enjoyed spending time with many of my patients- I liked talking to them— this was my only chance to guide them back on a road that would deliver them to peace of mind. It was the only chance I had, and I truly thought I had helped her and guided her onto a path that would drive her to success. She had been in my hospital for a week, and I finally placed my notebook down and I asked her, “Are you ready to return to your house?” She nodded her head and I stared at her soft face, youthful lips, and long black hair. She was always very reserved when speaking her thoughts. “Do you have any more suicidal thoughts?” “No,” she said as her eyes averted from my own. She had recently given birth to a child with severe defects, and I knew she blamed herself, but she was strong— I thought she could lift herself up. Believe me— I really thought this, but nevertheless, I have a lot of remorse over what I did next. “Okay, I am going to discharge you,” I said as I studied her. She was not an easy person to read, but I suppose that is a lousy excuse…

As I got into my office the next morning, I went through my newspaper. I know everybody is crazy about reading the news on electronics— all the damn gadgets, but there was something about holding a newspaper- the creases, the crumpling of paper- the flipping through pages- I enjoyed it. However, this morning was not going to be enjoyable. I read the headline- “23-Year-Old Steps in Front of Car on Highway.” As I continued to read, I would realize that this 23-year-old was no other than the soft face African American that had left my psych ward. She had driven her car by the side of the interstate and jumped into the traffic. Dead. I recall placing the paper down and closing my eyes in distress. I took off my glasses and bit the end of them as I recoiled in distress. Honestly, I thought she was going to go back to her home— I thought she was ready. Yet, ultimately I had failed her. I kept my composure as long as could, but this was where I cracked and I whispered into the air, “There isn’t a solution.” Her child would grow in a very cold world— a world where his mother committed suicide because of him— because she thought it was her fault that her son had birth defects. As I thought about this I brought my fists down on the desk with rage. Picking up my coffee mug- I hurled it at the door. Truth is, “There isn’t a solution.” That professor was right and I was naive to think I could change the world. So naive.

[another-tired-anarchist]

New book about World War Three

I am working on a book that I am going to eventually publish (not online, through an actually publisher to be sold) that is about the Third World War. I am trying to decide if I want to publish the story online at all or just wait so it is completely a surprise when it comes out. The idea is that there is a college student, Kristian Walsh, who keeps having long dreams about soldiers during different eras in wars around the world. He starts having dreams, or "visions" of him fighting in world war three, a war that hasn't happened yet. He uses his so called visions to gain intel and tries to stop the war from happening. Anyway, I am done with two chapters so far but I figured I would post a preview of chapter one to see if anyone is even interested in the book or idea.

My ears were assaulted by a loud noise that I quickly identified as a bomb going off. I felt the ground beneath my feet shake violently causing the ground rushed up to meet me as I fell to my knees, my arms grabbing my head to hopefully provide some sort of protection. Once I felt enough strength I ran behind a large building and leaned against it. I don’t know what kind of bomb it was but telling from the sound and the strength it couldn’t have been that bad.

I clutched my gun to my chest and took a deep breath. The lingering smell of iron was haunting me, reminding me of the blood that soaked the once rich soil. I glanced around me, taking note of what buildings still remained knowing they might not be here for long. I made eye contact with another soldier clad in a green camouflage uniform. He nodded at me before walking out from the building he was behind. Our base isn’t far from here but according to the explosion a mere few moments ago the Russians may have found us. That or they are close. 

I ran my fingers through my brown hair, which was damp from sweat and a lack of proper bathing in at least 5 days. When I looked at the man again he was already at least 50 feet from me. I moved my gun so it hung across my back before sprinting after him. 

“Zamoroz'te!” Someone yelled in Russian. I saw the man freeze as three Russian soldiers came out from behind a building. Being a good distance away from him I quickly ducked into a large building. In this moment I felt so grateful to be positioned in Norilsk because it is an industrial city, full of large buildings. I looked threw the boarded up window of the old shop I was in.

I couldn’t hear what they were thinking but before I knew it the man’s body was on the ground, shot through the chest by the small hand held HELLAD the man is armed with. I felt bile rise in my throat as the two men walked away. I clutched my weapon closer. I know that this is a war but seeing death this close… it is hard. I slowly rose from the cold floor where I had fallen in case they look this direction.

After checking the space around me for any signs of movement I ran towards the man. I knew he was dead but the part of my heart that still had a shred of hope drove me to check for his pulse. I looked at his face and was flooded with guilt. This man had a life, a family. He had so much to live for. I took a deep breath. We all knew the risks… But we also know that if Russia wins this it is over for us all. I gently shut his eyes. He looks like he is sleeping. I took off my top layer and placed it over him, covering his face and part of his chest. 

To replace my upper layer I donned my quantum camo, wrapping it to cover me fully before I started the walk to base. I did not make it far before I heard the near silent rumble of military grade trucks. 

Goddamn it. I turned to my south and sure be it there was a group of trucks heading my direction, the hammer and sickle immediately giving away what side they fought on. I fought the urge to run, knowing it would leave behind footprints in the fresh mud. After taking a few small steps I swore, looking down at my 3 very prominent footprints. Looking up and seeing them close I made the decision to lay on the ground, atop my prints. For the first time in ages, I actually prayed. I awoke with a start, a scream trapped in my throat. I took a few deep breaths to calm myself. My face was dampened by the cold sweat I must have broken into at some point in the night. I glances around the darkness of my small room and grasped gently at the small black and white quilt. It was a gift from my grandmother when I graduated high school. She had passed away the year previous and given the blanket to my mother. I smiled at her memory. She was such an amazing woman. With an over exaggerated sigh I forced myself out of the warmth and regretted it the moment my feet hit the cold floor.

I could hear Jonathan’s music playing from his room down the hall. I grabbed a pair of socks and walked, or rather slid, down the small hallway to the kitchen to get some food. I opened the pantry and grabbed a half empty box of cereal. I really need to go shopping, we are low on literally everything. After grabbing a cracked porcelain bowl and pouring in a small portion I went and sat down at the small wooden dining table. 

“God-” I cut my profanity short as I got up again to grab a spoon. As I was riffling through the silverware drawer Jonathan came out of his room and met me in the kitchen.

“G’morning.” He mumbled, attempting to rub the sleep from his hazel eyes. In the mornings his voice usually holds the slightest British accent that he has lost since he moved to the states when he was young. I smiled at him as he grabbed a cup and paused.

“Kristian, do you want a cup of coffee?” He asked, turning on the balls of his feet to look at me. I nodded and went back to my bowl. He handed me the cup and started walking away with the pot.

“Test in Jurisprudence?” I asked, already knowing the answer. He nodded and took a sip from the pot.

“Test’s at noon, I have been up all night.” His voice sounded groggy as he took another swig from the pot. I shook my head as he left and took another bite of my cereal. That kid really needs to get some sleep. I’ll make him go to bed after the exam. I washed my bowl and spoon (Something that Jonathan apparently doesn’t know how to do) before going to my room to throw all of my things in my bag for period one. 

I have my class for Criminology which is in the west building, maybe a 15 minute walk from our shared apartment, right outside of campus. Maybe I will take my bike. As I slung my sky blue and tan bag over my shoulder I thought back to my dream. That is the sixth time this month that I have had a dream like this and I am in the dark for the reason behind them. The air that surrounds me is cold and brisk, the autumn wind breeze gently rustling the brown and orange tinted leafs as the world moved past me.

I drew my hands into the sleeves of my jacket, a small shiver working its way out from my core as a passed the fountain. This fountain always makes me think of my little sister Mia. She is only five but every time mum takes her to visit she loves to throw coins into the water. Everyone loves her so she gets a lot of attention and always ends up surrounded by college students offering her pennies to toss in after her cute little wishes. 

I parked my bike with a sigh with a sigh and made my way quickly to Mr. Gibbs room, hoping to get there in time to get a seat closer to the board to help with my poor eyesight, as well as to set up my laptop in peace. Unfortunately for me by the time I arrived there was already five or six people there. I popped in my headphones and pressed play on my playlist Weichei and the first song to play was Bees by The Ballroom Thieves. I smiled and put in the other headphone, letting the music carry my thoughts away to a beautiful place. 

My mind wrote with such fluidity that I didn’t fully process the words appearing on the paper. I hummed along with the music, feeling it reverberate in my very soul. To my despair the class started after only three short paragraphs. I took out my headphones and set them atop my desk. 

As the teacher droned on I let my gaze fall to my paper and my eyes scanned what I had written and much to my frustration I noticed that about halfway through one of the sentences my words switched from English to Italian, as happens every so often when I get distracted or frantic. I gripped my eraser and erased my work after memorizing the lines translation. 

“Kristian! This is no time for doodling, eyes up front please.” I lightly rolled my eyes before turning back to the board. ‘I once read that I should write something worth reading or I should do something worth writing about.’ I let my eyes focus back on Professor Gibbs. He was an older man, his hair becoming speckled with spots of grey. His eyes still held that spark that only passion can give. Even after 35 years of teaching he still had his passion and I will admit, I admire him for that.

My eyes began to wander around the room, landing on random students, my mind coming up with what their lives may be like. They landed on a boy, his curly jet black hair going to the base of his neck. His eyes gleamed with a curiosity, just like my own. I wonder what his life like? Does he still have all his family or did he lose his father young like I did? What does he do after class? Does he have a girlfriend? Boyfriend?

I focused back on Gibbs, trying to take in what he was saying but my mind seemed to be against me. Looking at the clock and an hour had already passed. I smiled and looked back at Gibbs for the remaining 15 minutes. With the knowledge that I am almost free the class seemed to pass quicker and before I knew it Gibbs was telling everyone their homework and excusing us. I quite literally shoved everything, with the exception of my writing notebook, into my bag before heading to the door. After throwing a fast “Have a good day” over my shoulder I left, just wanting to go back to my apartment.

[tinkerbelllion-blog]

Mining For Memories PT. 1

Memories undealt with may cause you to go blind

they say hindsight is 20/20, but is this true?

Memories undealt with are gold mine reservoirs; broken reservoirs holding liquid gold as it leaks out the crevices like rain drops your eyes leak on your heart, each drop a memory undealt with that holds more value than the golden cistern its trapped in, what purpose does the container have when its breaking at its seems, its almost as if those forgotten memories have a voice, crying for you let them out

So naturally we guard the cistern with emotional serpents

fear chilling to the very core of our spine 

convincing ourselves we don’t have the power to face the ophidian

A glow appears behind the pot of gold like a rainbow after rain

a twinkle in your eye has you dreaming, what if I try and open the reservoir?

When tunnel vision is a thing, which eye can see the light at the end of the 

tunnel? If tunnel vision is a thing:

Is it due to the site of the destination being exciting or

Is The glare of glory blinding in such a way its debilitating

Two lights appear, a split in the road both lights only inches away from the other

perhaps a fork pointing to polar opposite avenues; so which way do you go?

Why not go down the third road, follow the darkness, call it the one less traveled

Does it exist or is it imaginary, is originality even a thing even more?

Are there rules to making decisions? Its as if I can hear my third grade teachers 

voice whisper:

You must choose within the definitive choices

There must not be fictionalized approaches

Deduction will be taken into consideration when regulations are not followed

Now may I ask,

How vital is following the light ahead of me

Abstract consciousness is created to be expressed, expressed through an aray 

of outlets, writing, coloring, painting, ooo and doodling too

Is the art of originality now getting basic creativity taken away from us due to the 

abnormality of self expression

And self sabotage is a thing

Guilt and doubt set it, a dark and blurry haze covers your eyes

A dark and confusing unexplainable weight that drives your being at a velocity 

that blinds your view of reality, leaving you without sight

chasing something you dont really want

not willing to reach out to the help in front of you,

pleading for someone to stop you, 

lacking the courage to let the help be there for you

so you continue down the third path

not seeing any light you keep wandering

curiousity blossoms into a raging fire that illuminates your foot steps

Originality is a powerful tool on this path i wander down

observing my peers who have walked down a little further, but strange nobody 

seems to be using their creativity

How is a more powerful tool comparatively less useful than the more chosen tool, copy and paste, everyone seems to be caring around

Can you define quality sustenance due to popularity? 

Is now lacking in character being viewed as stronger relevance Its almost as if the views from the outside looking in are more important to protect the overall image.

******************************************************************************************* A familiar chill rolls into the front of my brain

We are taught to color in the lines;

to stay in the box, go right or go left, follow the lighted path

Time carries on to develop this pattern to black and white decisions

Choices are made to be final, you are allowed to choose black or white

Does anyone see how various factors play a violent role in relative reality

Do you see how black and white decision markers are nothing but view points of others boundaries to attempt to determine or even define right or wrong?

Boundaries are broken when the gift of going against the crowd and picking up the originiality tool is subjected to judgement

rejecting new ideas or walks of life is a broken boundary

when boundaries are broken,

on whom does the conviction fall?

The teacher or the student

Questions are highly relevant to seeking enlightenment

Whom, What, When, Where and Why is the foundational ground to sustenance where answers are found

What do I choose? Where do I go? Whom am I? When did I get here? Why did I sign up for this? How do I get out? Eyes vibrate back and forth, Mind races, thoughts come in like a rushing force of wind

But does structure play a role in all walks of life?

Lawlessness, rebellion, or is it freedom?

How can a definitive answer be found in the midst of nothingness?

Without abstract consciousness, black and white would not be our relative reality, yes or no, right or wrong all were found in the gray space

Why is the ground we walk on ignored as if we are walking on air?

What I mean is without originality, creativity, the vision of embarking on creation, black and white, left right, right or wrong were concepts sought out in the void so we all collectively walk this earth to leave a mark but so rarely do we recognize the physical ground our feet touch once came out of blank space

if the very ground we walk on was once matter floating in another dimension formed creatively or by circumstance, why do we lack the desire to create our own reality and choose to follow the heard

so why do we ignore the ground we walk on as if we are waking on air

Is the relavance of our foundation now null and void based on the continuation of time? Will time and space ever coexist in the same spacial plane where beauty can exist simultaneously to have the ability to expand the chemical consciousness where pain lies? If the bar is not pushed will we ever reach our goal to be in the find the final destination? Being told not to go towards the set destination Patiently waiting time and space takes a toll So, in the midst of the darkness the only light is the fire from within guiding your footsteps What do your eyes see that pull you towards what is deemed to be null and void?

Serpents hissing, the growl in their stomachs deepens the hissing letting you know they are hungry and your the only thing in site, anger covers you like a tidal wave

the feeling starts to radiate down your body, slowing consuming you from the inside out, fear senses the change in your atmosphere and slides in like jelly slides out the back end of your sandwich

No hope in front of you, but the fire leading you to keep going is still lighting your pathway

stopping abruptly

a drop of fear falls hitting the ground you thought was solid, but with little light you notice ripples like skipping rocks on a still pond

what is going on

I thought i was a coward to face those snakes,

then the glow, the the split lights, and i walked away

into the darkness

trying to find a way to accept failure

i dont have what it takes, those snakes were larger than cgi

ya what they are guarding is my past but i wouldnt survive if i faced them

Do you take the chance to fail, turn around and accept uncertain death?

Learn this time around then change your answer when you come back around?

Risk- reward is an acceptable logical background So I fail if I am right and fail if i am wrong Who wins? Me or the test Human intelligence or a mechanical response to end the present

Tunnel vision is a thing you know

So where do you end up?

Stationary, head back to the forked road, or gain ground on this non lit road

somethings stings your ear, aaaah

picking up your feet you run faster than you ever did trying to catch the bus

smack, hitting what has to be a concrete wall

falling into the ripples of the floor you start flying

smack, those sandles are huge

who are you? where am i? and how did i get here? what do you want with me? Ill face the ophidian you giant freak

oh will you now? a soft, gentle like silk, yet deep and attentive voice replies

you know, the voice begins again, this is all just an illusion of your mind

your doing this to yourself, lets see you do this again, oh and this time, 

remember what i said

smack, a glow around broken golden cisterns with liquid gold inside guarded by gigantic ophidians

a thought comes to mind, remember what i said, its just an illusion

I take one step forward and the glow gets brighter, splitting to the familiar fork road lighted paths i saw earlier

i take one more step this one with confidence beautiful colors rip the ophidian off the cistern and liquid gold floods the room, looking down i see the same sandles i saw when i talked to the beautiful voice

wait these arent mine, and i dont remember taking off my shoes

i choose to do something that made me happy and even the road to get here although frightening i made the choice, a small detour and a nice bump on the head then i got redirected by some huge pair shoes, but it led me to my destination

Were you right or wrong? Who is the judge? You or the answer key? Do you allow your relatives view of your current reality take your test Or do defy the boundaries you are taught, creating your own. Expanding communal consciousness for progessive development Who teaches who? The teacher or the student, now may i ask if the positional roles are reversaible Do your memories undealt with serve you justice to the present relative reality?