#BUDDY GET IN HERE EVERYONE'S TURNED TO WAX

[arataka-reigen]

It's been 10 chapters since sanji last showed up. His crewmates are dying and he is just out there hunting dinosaurs for food.

[peachesofteal]

Dad!John Price/female reader The Ocean anthology - previous

You haven’t been inside a bar this crowded since you graduated from university. 

You settle in the corner, avoiding nearly everyone’s eyes, hands cupped around a chipped glass full to the brim with beer. 

You weren’t expecting an island on the brink of a full winter assault to be so… lively.

The room is a party. A party full of people who know one another well enough to call them by first name. There can’t be more than one hundred people living in this town year-round, and you think they might all be inside this dimly light pub, crowded around the waxed cedar bar, laughing and smiling with like they’ve not seen each other in eons. Like they’re long lost, disjointed members of the same family.

Well, all most all of them. 

You don’t see the Ranger. The Caribbean blue eyes, brusque moustache and beard, low brim black beanie, all are missing.

Somehow, it doesn’t surprise you. 

He didn’t seem the socializing type.

Still…

You hadn’t expected such a… clipped welcome. 

And you surely hadn’t expected your ferry buddy, the spunky six-year-old girl who talked to you for most of the ride, to be his daughter.

Somehow, that made his cold, distant nature even worse. 

Here’s a man capable of warmth; his smile said, when he scooped his daughter into his arms. Here’s someone you can trust. Someone who is friendly, genuine.

Just not towards you. He was stiff, uncomfortable, and even though the drive to town was fairly short, he barely spoke to you, answering your questions with the shortest syllables possible. 

He was every bit the Ranger you had heard so little about. Every bit the man turned myth.

And handsome. Rugged.

Older.

Your new friend in the backseat was better company than the man you’d be working with for better part of a year, the Ranger who you’re afraid you can’t do it without. Can’t navigate the island or the tides without him, can’t do half the work you needed to do without a partner. The thing his role is supposed to be, when needed. 

Worse was, the provided housing is a duplex, and he’s on the other side, a fact he gritted through his teeth this afternoon when he dropped you off, gesturing to the right side of the house with a callous wave. His front door was as green as the forest. 

The other was black. 

Your boss did warn you. 

She was tactful, cautious. The island itself carries a reputation; one some may be intimated by, but not you. 

Who are you to fear stewards of the land? They are more akin to you than others, after all.

John though, she lamented with a mournful expression, John was different. 

“John is less than pleased about this placement but assures me it won’t be an issue.”

“Less than pleased?” 

“He’s… protective, but he’ll warm up to you in time, I’m sure. A few days, and he’ll be showing you the ropes. Don’t worry.” 

You keep your nose in your beer. When you’re finished, the next one comes immediately, without prompting, and the bartender swoops low, voice heavy in your ear. 

“On the house.” He winks, and the woman to your left slides closer, curiosity wet on her lips between her drink and the question you know is coming. 

“You’re the scientist?” 

“No, the marine biologist. Cetologist, to be specific.” You cut to the quick and she stares at you, rightfully so. You have the good grace to grimace. “Er, sorry. I’m uh… not great with people.”

“That’s alright. Neither are we, really.” She lifts her drink with a cheers, gesturing to the room, and knocks it back. “So, what’s a cetologist?” 

“I study whales.” She nods knowingly.

“Ah. You’re here for the pod.” 

“Well, I’m interested in the humpbacks too, but yes. I’m mostly here to study the residents.” You were only here to study the pod, but you never said no to a whale, no matter notoriety, or size. You might be getting paid to study the residents, but you were going to soak up every second you could on this island. It’s wilderness was protected and almost pristine, an untamed landscape of mountain and sea too great of a call for you to resist.

The woman stares at you, intrigued, thin veil of amusement dancing in her eyes. “We’re happy to have you. You respect us, we’ll respect you.” The bartender pauses, shining a glass with a hole pocked rag, and glares at her. “Most of us will. Can’t say how John’ll take to ya.” 

“Oh, I work on my own mostly.” You lie, giving her a fake smile that feels awful, and she humphs. 

“Well, it was nice to meet you…” she flounders, and you provide your name, letting it settle in the air, others turning to give you a questioning look, like they’ve been waiting for it too, and she grins, repeating it with a handshake. “Skip the shortcuts through the forest at night.” She adds over her shoulder, hopping off the stool and wading into the crowd without another word, leaving you confused. 

Skip the… skip the what? 

“Ignore her.” The bartender hastily reassures you, but the emotion doesn’t touch his eyes, lingering gazes in the room enough to have you swallowing the rest of your beer in haste and beelining out the door. 

The walk to your rental is short, up the street and take a left, then another, until you reach the only house at the top of the hill, a duplex with a sweeping, wide planked front porch. 

The top step creaks beneath your weight. An ember glows in the dark. 

“Jesus chr-“ Your heart slams against your ribs, pulse thundering between your ears.

He’s silent. The cigar illuminates his face, a flicker of brilliant blue, crystal clear and piercing, pinned onto you like a laser. 

“It’s late.” It’s the admonishment of a father, and indignant rage flourishes down your spine. 

“I’m an adult, thanks.” He’s unmoved by your spite. Settled like the cedars that grow at the heart of this place, tall enough to blot out the sun, wide enough to build houses, boats. 

He pulls. The orange cinder burns red, honeyed smoke and mahogany sweetening the air. 

The smoking is attractive. It's intriguing, dangerous, and draws you closer, other foot coming to rest on the top step, tempting fate.

"You shouldn't be out around here late."

"The entire town is down at the bar." You shoot back, still rising in anger, rattling with it. You’re a grown woman, who is this guy to tell you what you can and can’t do?

His jaw flexes, mouth tightening into a straight line, invisible string pulling him taut before he speaks again.

"They live here, know their way around. It's not always safe." The protest builds, words coming quick, rapid-fire, but before you can speak, you lose your voice to a chorus of howls.

Wolves.

[buddierecs]

fluff buddie fics.

all of these are general audience, teen and up or not rated (no smut) make sure to kudos/comment on these amazing works :)

cinnamon kisses by: tawaifeddiediaz "buck wakes up from a nap, cuddles eddie, proposes, and devours cinnamon rolls, in that very order." word count: 3.5k important tags: sleepy cuddles, getting together, first kiss, soft buddie, friends to fiance. if i loved you less by: spaceprincessem "buck can't use his phone for two days. eddie sends him text anyways" word count: 1.9k important tags: soft boys in love, getting together, love confessions, text messages

got me feeling like it's all gonna be okay by: wafflesofdoom "eddie struggles to voice his want for physical affection to buck as their relationship turns romantic, and buck helps him embrace his clinginess again." word count: 8.3k important tags: established relationship, light angst, ptsd lucky just to linger in your light by: hattalove "in which eddie accidentally waxes poetic about buck to the new york times." word count: 4.9k important tags: getting together, pining!eddie diaz, gay disaster!eddie diaz

the ordeal of dating your captain's (adopted) son by: polish_amber "or, the au where miscommunication abounds as eddie seeks advice about his new relationship, bobby despairs over his adopted son's career prospects and his refusal to talk about it, and evan buckley-nash juggles training at the fire academy, building a family with his new boyfriend, and trying to work out how to tell his overprotective dad that he's already chosen the life he wants, actually. It takes a goddamn tsunami, of all things, to get the story straight." word count: 60k important tags: miscommunication, firehouse 118 crew as family, bobby nash is evan buckley's parent, light angst, protective!bobby nash, developing relationship those two firefighters by: darkfairytale "#thosetwofirefighters starts to gather a following on social media, as everyone tries to figure out if those two cute firefighters from the 118 in LA are a thing or not." word count: 64k important tags: crack treated seriously, oblivious!buddie, internet, social media, slow burn

and here, too, am i by: daisies_and_briars "six months into their marriage, eddie is still struggling to decide whether or not he wants more kids, when he knows buck does. The universe may not scream, but it certainly talks." word count: 41k important tags: established relationship, married!buddie, parenthood, very soft i got all my sisters with me by: ipretendtovesane "eddie's sister has a baby, buck meets the diaz girls, and they're sickeningly in love for nearly seven thousand words" word count: 6.7k important tags: meet the family, established relationship, christopher diaz has two dads a discovery of boxer briefs by: princessfbi "he had to be dreaming, right? or maybe just in heaven and painfully aware of the warm fluttery feelings in his chest that were making him dizzy. because there, in eddie’s kitchen, was buck in a pair of socks with one pooling down his ankle like the elastic had been overstretched, an oversized hoodie, and a pair of grey briefs and it shouldn’t be the thing that made eddie’s head spin but it was." word count: 3.6k important tags: lazy mornings, cuddling, soft!buddie, sharing clothes, morning kisses

i'm cold but you light the fire within me by: beulaugh "buck shows up for career day at eddie's school, and both of them struggle to rein in their attraction." word count: 22k important tags: different first meetings au, teacher!eddie, first kiss, careers day it's golden, like daylight by: rarakiplin “hmm,” buck hums, and eddie feels the vibration of it under his mouth. buck’s nose nudges against the side of his head. “have you thought about that?” eddie laughs against buck’s shoulder, unwilling to lift his head. “thinking? right now?" “shut up,” fingers dig into his ribs, “i mean, would you want to? be married again?" word count: 8.7k important tags: secret relationship, weddings, first dates, getting together i'm someone you maybe might love by: allyasavedtheday "five times someone realises buck is in love with eddie and one time buck realises he's in love with eddie." word count: 6.5k important tags: 5+1 things, feelings realisation, love confessions, first kiss of accidents and inevitabilities by: tawaifeddiediaz "the one where they accidentally kiss, and the cards fall right into place." word count: 3.5k important tags: accidental kissing, soft!eddie diaz, getting together sounding like the rest of my life by: coupe_de_foudre "eddie does a Ravi and swaps shifts for a bit, only everyone on b shift is convinced that he and buck are married. they might not be as wrong as eddie initially thought." word count: 6.6k important tags: pining, getting together, didn't realise they were dating hey now, hey now by: fallingthorns "after returning to the 118, eddie becomes a full-time paramedic and ravi becomes buck's partner. eddie absolutely doesn't feel anything about that, not at all." word count: 10k important tags: 5+1 things, jealous!eddie diaz, paramedic!eddie diaz, getting together, grumpy!eddie diaz 911, what's your emergency? by: coupe_de_foudre "the 911 operator!buck fic that no one asked for but got anyway" word count: 20k important tags: different first meeting au, getting together, idiots to lovers the kermit verse by: hattalove "how is eddie diaz like kermit the frog? let buck and christopher count the ways." word counts: 8.7k important tags: getting together, first kiss, christopher diaz is a national treasure and i just want to wrap you up, want to kiss your lips by: bucksbuddie "five times buck steals eddie’s clothes and one time eddie gives them to him." word count: 9.8k important tags: 5+1 things, getting together, soft!buddie, light angst, sharing clothes, sharing a bed whatever life throws at you by: flirtyhale "it's his first day back after two whole weeks off. two whole weeks of spending his honeymoon in hawaii. with his best friend and love of his life. buck sits in the locker room, and doesn't want to take his wedding ring off." word count: 12k important tags: marriage, boys in love, honeymoon, family feels tell the whole wide world and this room by: hattalove "in which we learn about fermented milk products, discover that dolphins are sex fiends, and realize that sometimes, it really is all about knowing and being known." word count: 5.2k important tags: established relationship, marriage proposal, kissing

nobody knows you, baby, the way i do by: allyasavedtheday "buck and eddie bet hen and chimney that they know each other better than they do and a rivalry ensues. featuring one-upmanship, codependency, ravi as reluctant quizmaster and eddie believing his will is the ultimate trump card." word count: 3.7k important tags: bets and wagers, feelings realisations, first kiss

[seat-safety-switch]

I’m a plumber. My father was a plumber, his father was a plumber, maybe his father was a plumber. We don’t know for sure. Grandpa was eaten by a tiger working at the zoo that one fateful afternoon, but this story isn’t about that. Where I work is a little company called Fel-Pro.

Maybe you’ve heard of Fel-Pro. You probably use their products. They’re one of the pre-eminent gasket manufacturers of the 21st century. Wherever there’s two tubes in your car that have to have a nice tight seal against each other, chances are Fel-Pro sells something to replace that seal. Are they as good as factory? Experts employed by Fel-Pro mumble and change the subject. Here’s the important thing: they have money, and some of that money goes to feed my kids by way of me fixing their office plumbing once in awhile.

Now, it’s not all roses. My plumber and custodian buddies who work in other companies, they say that people mostly stay out of their way while they’re working. Maybe once in awhile, they’ll get a Super Dad who chats a bit about power tools, or asks some basic questions about their toilet at home, or doesn’t want to take responsibility for having left a cast-iron shit in the tank and then trying to cram it through the manifold using thirty pounds of toilet paper. The usual stuff, right?

At Fel-Pro, it’s different. These motherfuckers have opinions about plumbing, as you would expect from their careers. As soon as they hear even the smallest pinhole leak, the bathroom is filled wall-to-wall with engineers, trying to figure out if it’s a gasket interface issue. Once they realize it isn’t, they start discussing ways to make it a gasket issue.

Anything that leaks is caused by inferior gasketry, even if the pipe itself has split in the middle. They could solve that by making a sort of very long, pipe-shaped grommet gasket to replace the pipe entirely. Yeah, yeah. And then a bunch of these pencil-necks start climbing over top of me to take measurements with their Mitutoyo digital calipers, and video-chat with the toilet manufacturer’s engineers just to call them rookie-level chumps. All the while, the bathroom is slowly filling with water up to our waists, the water-shutoff valve having been removed years before to prevent these eggheads from being tempted to fuck with it.

As any professional would, I started ignoring them, but it turns out that showed up on my performance review. Everyone at Fel-Pro has to be vigilant against leaks, said my boss, a dour expression on his face. He thrust a diagram on how to apply the proper torque pattern to the wax seal of a toilet.

Don’t get me started on how angry they get when they see me using hardware-store silicone bathroom caulking to solve the problem. That’s not the ideal thermal interface, they moan, and start bringing out all kinds of high-zoot polymer compounds, emblazoned with safety warnings in Chinese. Those make the room spin pretty good, and sometimes they get worryingly hot on application, but I must admit they work a treat. One engineer brought me something he stole from a tour he took of NASA and told me to seal a leaking air conditioner drain with it. Well, mission accomplished, buddy: Jim, the custodian I share an office with, had to use a plasma cutter to remove it last week.

It’s gotten so bad that I’ve started only doing plumbing repairs in the middle of the night, when the engineers are likely to be at home, berating their spouses for daring to bring Scotch tape into their home.

[jamiesfootball]

Please tell me more about Jamie Tartts occasional good ideas!

This was actually the first fic I started working on for the fandom. Unfortunately I started it about 2 weeks before season 3 aired and a lot of it got jossed.

The premise was a 5+1 that circled around the 'I'm not sure you realize how well-adjusted that is' of it all. So- Five Times Jamie Gave Someone Surprisingly Good Advice and the One Time the Favor Was Returned.

Roy - tries to help him fix his relationship with Keeley by explaining, from his point of view, why she needs her space and how best to give her that space

Nate - It's not too late. You didn't burn all your bridges, if that's what you were worried about. I might actually try to salvage this one. The base of it was that Jamie stumbles upon Nate in the rain when he has a flat tire. He offers to help him change his tire, and they end up having a discussion about the events that led Nate to leave Richmond in the first place.

Dani - Asks the team about a word someone called him on Bantr. Accidentally outs himself in the process. Honestly thought they knew - it's not like he hides it. Jamie backs him up on not wanting to label himself (in this version, everyone knows about Colin being on Grindr anyway)

Colin - a lot of stuff about self-esteem and friendship, but the most impressive feat I managed here was that I also gave him a boyfriend named Michael:

Colin hooked up with Mr. Abs - whose name turned out to be Michael - that night, the next morning, and then on-and-off for the next few months. Right up until Colin asked if maybe they could try going steady.

Mr. Abs dropped him like a hot potato and the name 'Michael' was dead to him forever more.

Ted and Beard - This one is the other one that I may try to salvage as a stand-alone. In this one, Jane and Beard are having another rough patch, and Ted has some thoughts on the matter. In trying to get Beard to see his reasoning, he asks Jamie to chime in on this hypothetical situation. What ends up happening is Jamie giving them both a rundown on toxic relationships, accountability, and how some things in a relationship are just mean.

Ted just didn't know what to do with himself when he saw his friend hurting and holding his wounds close to his chest. He's done every dance short of the Macarena to get his buddy to open his arms and share the load.

Beard's closed-lipped demeanor is a standard in their relationship, the soupçon in the magic that makes them work, but the man doesn't always seem to realize that you can't add the same ingredient to every recipe and hope for a good result.

+1 Jamie - this one was actually one of the less defined of the bunch, but circled around the concept of bodily autonomy, especially as an athlete and public figure, with a big emphasis on whether or not he should still get waxed, and how between living with his dad to living as a professional athlete, even choices that are his don't feel like his (this was before we knew his mum was alive)

[distant-velleity]

Magnetism

Summary: The moment everyone's been waiting for, a non-memey first kiss for Chrysos and Santiago. Word count: 800+ A/N: I stayed up a little too late writing this last night because it was only supposed to be a 30-minute drabble before bed... then I had the idea to add imagery and metaphors and similes and some tension and--you get it. Anyway, enjoy! <3

-

When they finally escape the hustle and bustle of the post-victory party, the waxing moon is hanging high in the sky. The air has settled to be deliciously cool for a near-summer evening, soothing the heat they still radiate after emerging from the crowded cafeteria. 

“Well,” says Santiago, gently nudging Chrysos’ shoulder with his as they walk, “here’s to the merman right next to me, who contributed to Night Raven’s first Spelldrive win against Royal Sword in a century.” 

He raises his distinctly non-alcoholic plastic cup of fruit punch, its translucent red contents lightly sloshing about in an imitation of wine. The sight causes Chrysos to snort.

“I didn’t do that much,” he argues, objectively. “Draconia got the final hit in, in the end.”

“Yeah, but who had the sense to use the flashy spells I taught him? Who took the initiative when the Ignihyde and Heartslabyul reps started arguing? Who helped Jamil give Malleus the perfect opening for a coup de grâce?” Santiago barely has to reach over to tap Chrysos on the chest. “I say it’s the guy right in front of me.”

“That’s… You’re…”

Chrysos doesn’t fancy himself a poet, but something about the way Santiago smiles fondly at him could be considered poetry—something about the ambient green lighting, the glow reflected in those golden eyes creasing with affection, the shockingly pure stutter it inflicts upon Chrysos’ heart. Something about the way he drops genuine praise shamelessly when he’s on the high of victory-inspired euphoria. Something about their proximity, the way that they’re drawn together like two magnets of different poles.

“I’m what?” asks Santiago teasingly.

“You’re…” Chryso grumbles a little under his breath. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Nuh-uh. Not for you. This is the truth right here, buddy.”

Chrysos, growing a bit red in the face, is glad that Santiago looks away to chug the last of his punch and toss the cup into a bin after saying that. 

It’s just the heat and humidity of having been stuck with so many people in one place, he wants to think, but even he knows better by now.

Meanwhile, they approach the wishing well in the courtyard, where emerald firelight gives way to the pearlescent illumination of the moon and the stars. 

“Hearing praise coming from your mouth somehow feels unusual,” Chrysos remarks, to hide how good all this praise makes him feel. To hide how he feels about it coming from this very sweet, very pretty beastman.

Santiago slows to a stop before the well.

“Then…” He opens his mouth to say something—before, apparently, quickly thinking better of it. “...Ahh, nevermind. That’s cheesy, even by my standards.”

“What?” Chrysos furrows his brows, coming to stand so close to the other that their arms—his crossed and Santiago’s prone at his sides—brush and press against each other. “So now you’re going to shut up? Just because it’s unusual doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear more.”

It’s Santiago’s turn to have his cheeks darken, one lanky hand coming up to hide his mouth. “But it’s sort of…” 

He hesitates for a few moments, maddening in how they feel like they last an eternity, then shakes his head with newfound determination. 

“You know what? It’s now or never.”

Chrysos holds his breath as Santiago leans in a little closer and caresses his cheek with a feather-light touch that gradually becomes more grounded, more confident. 

The beastman’s eyes, normally bright with a challenging sort of spirit, are semi-lidded but still possess the fierce earnestness of the sun. Their inherent brilliance puts to shame the moonlight veil draping over their surroundings; and while he searches for the courage to speak up, those eyes express the beginnings of what he wants to say. 

A gentle breeze blows past them amid the silence, carrying with it the entwined scent of the rainforest and the sea. 

“If you can’t believe in my praise,” Santiago murmurs at last, “then how about this?”

When their lips meet, gravitating towards each other in a slow start but quickly seizing the moment and pulling together, it’s not at all the messy thing Chrysos had been expecting. Instead, it’s drawn together by a sentimental magnetism that draws power from their polarizing differences. Rough but careful; desperate but precise; passionate but planned. It feels like someone has stolen the air from his lungs in the best possible way, replacing his senses with the endless freedom of flowers, fruit, and the open sky. 

It’s undeniably Santiago, and Chrysos—unafraid to use that forbidden four-letter word—loves it.

…Eventually, the sensation of their breaths thinning from metaphorical altitude leaves them with no choice but to pull away from the kiss. 

“I hope I did that right,” Santiago whispers, a little sheepish yet giddy with basking in the afterglow of it all.

“There’s no such thing as ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ when kissing,” Chrysos replies breathlessly, “only good and better. When it comes to you, at least.”

It’s hard to miss the way Santiago puffs up with pride, eyes glimmering.

Chrysos’s smile, one he hadn’t realized was tugging at his lips, grows. “Now hurry up and do it again. Even better this time.”

“On it, boss,” answers Santiago with an affectionate lilt to his voice, leaning in for another kiss.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The Lost Cause prologue (part 2)

On October 7–8, I'm in Milan to keynote Wired Nextfest.

My next novel is The Lost Cause, out on November 14; it's a hopeful tale of the fights we'll face after we address the polycrisis. Bill McKibben called it "The first great YIMBY novel":

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865939/the-lost-cause

As with my other books, I've had to produce my own audiobook for this one. Amazon won't carry any of my audio, so I make my own and pre-sell them through Kickstarter, along with ebooks and hardcovers (including signed, personalized hardcovers). The Kickstarter's going really well, and there's still time to back it:

http://lost-cause.org

Yesterday, I kicked off a serialization of the book's prologue, which jumps straight into the action:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/06/green-new-deal-fic/#the-first-generation-in-a-century-not-to-fear-the-future

And now, here's part two:

He was so surprised he fumbled the sledge, then squinted at me. I held the flash under my chin, squinting. “It’s me. Brooks. Palazzo. Richard’s grandson.”

That was when the siren blatted down on Verdugo, blatt blatt, two toots, and a crackle of PA. “On the roof, this is Burbank PD.” He did drop the sledge then, said, “Fuck,” and produced a water pistol from the suit’s marsupial pouch. He handled it with extreme care, shedding a glove to delicately peel away a big blob of some kind of plastic or wax over the business end. His hand shook.

I knew what it was. Hydrochloric acid. It was the weapon of choice for one-­on-­one white nationalist killings. It worked great, because even if you didn’t kill your victim, you’d leave them with skin melted and fused like cascades of melted rubber, a reminder to everyone who saw them that even if President Uwayni took away everyone’s guns, the American resistance was still armed and fucking dangerous. Gramps and his buddies would sometimes make jokes about Medicare for All, and how it was gonna go broke paying for acid burns when the big one came. I’d always found those jokes incredibly gross, but I learned to tune them out. They were coming back to me now. I took a step back and his hand jerked and I cried out, flinching in anticipation of the stream of acid that didn’t come.

“Dammit, boy, don’t scare me. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I don’t want to be hurt. Mr. Kennedy—­Mike—­you know my gramps. He relies on me. He’s getting old and frail. I’m all he has.”

I was crying now. A drop of clear liquid fell from the squirt gun’s business end and sizzled on the roof. I whimpered. “Please. Just put that down, we’ll go get the cops and—­”

“I’m not going anywhere. Listen, kid, turn off your camera, okay? I gotta say some things to you.”

“Mike, please—­” I was crying harder now. His hand was really shaking, and his finger was on the trigger, and the gun was pointed right at my face.

“Just do it, okay?” He pointed the gun at the ground, and I found I could breathe again. I pretended to turn off my screen and triggered the sound file I had of the “Recording paused” announcement.

“All right, kid. Straight talk. I don’t expect to survive this. I knew that was a chance from the start, and it was a sure thing once you got here and sounded the alarm. I made my peace with that possibility a long time ago.” He took some deep breaths that the voice-­ shifter made into the sound of a wind tunnel. He pulled the ghillie suit’s mask down and exposed the rest of his face. His lips and chin were shiny with wet sweat in the reflected flashlight beam bouncing up from the roof.

“God dammit, I’m not gonna kid you, this is a stupid thing to die over, but I was gonna die eventually. But you don’t have to. You can get out of this in one piece. You can carry on the struggle.” His real voice was hoarse with emotion.

Something about his real voice and his real face made me more scared, not less. Gramps’s friends were usually just . . . ​sour. But there was often this undercurrent of violence in them, a bowstring tension that sometimes snapped. Usually that just meant yelling or throwing something or storming out and slamming the door so hard the whole house shook. But every now and then, it turned into punches, and everyone in the room would pull the fighting men apart, and once or twice there had been blood on the floor before they were separated.

I had never been in a fight, not since grade school anyway, and had never thrown a real punch. I found the idea of punching someone literally unimaginable. But I was finding it incredibly easy to vividly imagine this guy punching me.

“Mike, you don’t have to die, we can talk to the cops. This is Burbank PD, not LAPD. They’ll negotiate. They’re not gonna shoot you. Not if you don’t give them a reason to. Why don’t you put down—­”

The roof was flooded with blinding light and the roar of a quadrotor as a BPD drone rose up over us, floodlights set to max. We both staggered back, hair blowing in the rotor wash, and squinted. Mike involuntarily squirted a small stream of acid that arced over the roof, then got his gun under control.

“THIS IS THE BURBANK POLICE DEPARTMENT. PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS AND LACE YOUR HANDS OVER YOUR HEAD. COMPLY IMMEDIATELY.”

He swore fiercely and pointed his gun at the drone.

“No!” I shouted. “Jesus, Mike, do you want to fucking die?”

He stared at me. His eyes were wild and unhinged. His mouth worked soundlessly, and then he shouted, “What the fuck does it matter to you?”

“Because—­” I almost said, Because I want to fight on your side and we need you. I could have sold the line, even though I didn’t believe it. Even though he was a terrorist kook whose cause was both idiotic and terrible. I could have sold it because I’m a good actor, even by Burbank standards, where the star of the school play might be moonlighting from their job as an A-­lister for one of the studios. But I didn’t say it. I didn’t want to lie to this guy. “Because there’s enough stupid death out there. Because I don’t want to explain to Gramps how I saw his poker buddy blown away by BPD on my high-­school roof. Because it’s a stupid way to die. Because it won’t accomplish a goddamned thing.” I found that I was angry. God, why did people have to be so stupid? Why was I sitting around with this idiotic person having this idiotic argument, waiting for the cops to storm the roof and maybe kill us both?

“Fuck this,” I said. I stalked over to him. The drone dipped toward us, making him flinch, and I was able to grab his stupid water pistol full of acid and wrench it out of his shaking hand and send it skittering over the smashed solar panels. “There,” I said, and turned to the drone. “I’ve disarmed this goddamned idiot. Don’t shoot him. And don’t shoot me—­I’m a bystander.”

The drone’s PA clicked back on. “That was really stupid, kid.”

Mike looked like he wanted to cry or punch me.

“This whole thing is really stupid,” I said. “But it doesn’t have to be violent, too.”

“We’re coming up. Lace your hands behind your head.”

Mike opened his mouth.

“Just do it,” I snapped. “I just saved your fucking life, asshole. Do what the nice policewoman says.”

They burst through the roof door a minute later, and we both laced our hands behind our heads. They cuffed and searched both of us, relieving Mike of a long hunting knife and what I took for hand grenades, but which turned out to be flashbangs.

After patting me down and conferring, they uncuffed me and led me away from Mike, who was looking miserable and scared.

They took a statement from me in the cruiser, tapped my ID to their scanner, conferred a while longer, read messages on their screens that I couldn’t see—­the cops all had polarizing privacy screens on their devices—­and finally let me go.

The cop who opened the back of the cruiser for me was a big, jowly guy, someone who would have looked perfectly at home with Gramps and his pals, rocking a red trucker cap and complaining about “illegals.” But he was tender with me as he helped me up and asked me twice if I needed help getting home. I pointed out that I lived a ten-­minute walk away—­he knew that from my ID, of course—­and that I hadn’t been hurt.

There had been six Burbank PD SUVs on the street when they led me down, but by the time they let me go, there were only two. The other one had Mike in the back, behind reflective windows. Even though I couldn’t see him, I could feel his eyes on me as I turned and started to walk home. It was 3:27 a.m., and I was both completely wired and completely exhausted.

I let myself into Gramps’s place by the back door, made my way back to my bedroom, stripped off, and pulled the covers over me.

Who was I kidding? I wasn’t going to sleep after that. I rolled over and hit my screen. I had a notification that my livestream had been archived and that I could toggle it private if I wanted to, but that it was also going to be subject to FOIA requests because I’d used the 911 option and it had gone straight to Burbank PD.

I reviewed the footage. It was crazy of course—­the dark night slashed with my flashlight beam, the screen’s night-­sight flicking off and on—­but the audio was good and once things stabilized, the image was clear enough. I jumped it up to 3X and listened to Mike Kennedy in chipmunk mode spouting his crazy Maga Club garbage. Even at that speed, I picked up on stuff I’d missed, little bits of inflection and vocab, and most of all, how scared he sounded. He’d been more scared than me. I guess that made sense, because he was so sure that he was going to die. Look at it that way, I had saved his life.

And as soon as I looked at it that way, I knew it was true. I had saved his life. I’d saved a man’s life the night before. A man who had been ready to kill me. Or if he hadn’t been, he’d said he was.

The realization let something loose inside me and I started to yawn. I pasted a link to the video into my feed and dialed the syndication wheel all the way open because why not, it was freaky and everyone shares freaky stuff wide as possible.

I tapped out a message to the Burroughs High attendance office letting them know I was going to be late for school, then I put my screen down, thumped my pillow, and, amazingly, fell asleep.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/07/met-cute-ugly/#part-ii

My next novel is The Lost Cause, a hopeful novel of the climate emergency. Amazon won't sell the audiobook, so I made my own and I'm pre-selling it on Kickstarter!

[dirtanddistance]

Valley Vertikiller 30k: Good Soup

Back when I was in college, I learned I had a knack for something: pressuring my peers to run races. It started with convincing my college bestie to run a beach 5k with my family when she came to our house for Easter Weekend. That 5k spiraled into multiple half marathons, and 13 years later she continues to update me with the latest races on the calendar. I ran my brother's first 10k with him 5+ years ago and, fast forward to now, we put our third marathon together in the books this past summer.

Last year, a friend in my running club introduced me to the Valley Vertikiller, a 30k trail run with a mile of vertical climb with the option to register as a team of 5+ runners, cross-country meet style. As a counterbalance to my ability to drag others into running shenanigans, I am also very easily dragged into running shenanigans. You can read that race report back in the timeline, but long story short, one vegan grilled cheese and bowl of butternut squash soup later I was sold on registering for the next year as soon as it opened.

Thus, we find ourselves in July 2024, signing up for Vertikiller as soon as it opened and making a team in the hopes of convincing enough minions to join me. Quickly one registration turned to four. We would languish being one down from a full team for months, constantly begging everyone around us to join our delusional antics, until all at once it seemed we were ten instead of just a few.

Race day finally came, on Canadian Thanksgiving weekend, and we all rolled up to the mountain in our race day best. This squad had everything: the first time trail racer, the 'definitely a top finisher', the 'this is the farthest I've run', and a handful of 'we're just here to have a nice trip through the woods'. We had goals ranging from impressive finish times, to personal bests, to 'just finish the course' and 'beat the cutoff'. Hopes and spirits were high, and I managed to convince the majority of the team to don a few face gems which would later become the talk of the aid stations. After a blessing by a member of Semath First Nation, we were off into the woods!

The journey to the first aid station was uneventful; I remained fairly close to my trusty running buddy and face-gem originating accomplice (side story: the face gems originated when we ran Diez Vista 50k, which happened to coincide with Coachella this year. We joked about DV50k being our Coachella and staying festival ready, and the rest is history). Pulling up to aid station 1 a few k's farther in than advertised, I was greeted by latin dance music, a friendly face from the run club, and more Fireball than could reasonably be consumed by the entirety of the team. I browsed the plentiful non-alcoholic offerings and snacked on assorted unlabeled candy until one friend, then my run bestie, filed through. Reunited with my ride or die, we took off back into the forest and left the scenic overlook behind.

The jaunt from the overlook aid station to the second one was, again, farther than expected and involved a decent amount of walking up hill, and sometimes walking not uphill, and an incident of 'oh is that the photographer? Nah that's just a guy with binoculars. Wait no he's the race photographer start running!'. Eventually, we traversed through sufficient gorgeous fall foliage and reached the second aid station, where the harbingers of bestie's doom were first encountered. I will not go into detail, but waxing poetic about how you did not get a food aversion after the last time you vomited up something you were eating at that aid station is now officially added to the official race day taboo list. Let's just say there was some extra sauce left on the appropriately named trail Extra Sauce. We stumbled on together (grateful to not be reenacting the infamous Family Guy contagious vomit scene), Garmin ticking ever higher mileage with each passing minute. The minutes were hours, the hours were days. An entire lifetime passed in the span of a moment. The Squid Line trail, I have determined, must pass through multiple dimensions as that is the only explanation for how long one spends trying to get to the end of it. At what would have been half a mile from the finish if Garmin and the course distance and the stars aligned, we parted ways as I could not be separated from the finish line by another moment of walking, and bestie unfortunately still had a bit of extra sauce. Alas, Garmin readings and stated race distances are not what they seem. Nearly 20 miles from where I started and yet exactly where I began, I was abruptly delivered unto the finish line and a gaggle of the most enthusiastic friends. We awaited the final three finishers from our squad eagerly, and enjoyed the long awaited and highly hyped grilled cheses, soup, and pumpkin pie while sitting around and toasting to our conquest. The entire team had met their goals, and as we were packing up to head home after a day well spent, one of the race coordinators commented on how lovely it was to see such a supportive group of friends, hanging around until every one of us finished, and having such a nice time together. I was too high on the joy of the day, but ordinarily that is the kind of sentiment that would leave me in tears. Moving to a new place, never mind an entirely different country, is kind of a terrifying proposition. Never in my wildest dreams when I got in the car to drive from Florida to BC did I imagine that two years later, I would be sitting on the ground on a mountainside with 9 people I call friends after persuading all of them to run 20 miles up and down a mountain with me. Moments like this are what running is all about to me these days; a fast time is a noble goal, but sometimes it's not the destination, but the friends you make along the way that make the journey worthwhile. Thank you, run family, for another lifelong memory and for making every mile sweeter <3

[ryutarotakedown]

[ID: Art of Enoch Drebber, Esmeralda Tusspells, Maria Gorey, and Courtney Sithe. They are sitting on a couch together — Enoch huddled in on himself, Esmeralda fondly placing one hand on Maria's head, and Courtney crossing her legs and arms. Each has character notes above their heads:

Enoch Drebber (33). Unemployed. Has qualifications in engineering, science and performing arts but as Esmeralda puts it, "nobody wants him."

Esmeralda Tusspells (24). Wax sculptor. Dedicated, famous and runs her own museum. There is no reason she should need housemates but she's looking out for her long-time buddy so she doesn't mind.

Maria Gorey (17). Student. Wants to be a coroner and admires her Mama dearly. She likes to assist Esmeralda and Enoch with their work. A recluse at school, but popular online.

Courtney Sithe (37). Forensic scientist. Loves her daughter very much. After two failed marriages, she decided romance wasn't for her. Instead, she likes to torment unemployed engineers and fund wax museums.

The next three images are slice-of-life comics:

Comic 1. Courtney says, "I have to go in to supervise the team today. Enoch, attend Maria's parent-teacher interview in my place." Behind her Maria and Enoch are eating cereal — Maria's bowl says "NSFHC: Not Safe For Human Consumption" while Enoch's says "Cereal Killer" in all caps. Maria, who is eating her cereal with a fork and knife, says, "But Mama, I would like to see the autopsy as well." Enoch complains, "So many things amiss here. First of all, do I look like her father?" Courtney turns and says impassively, "I think that if you told them you were her father, nobody would even blink." Maria uses her knife to tap Enoch's forehead: "Oh, I cannot wait to tell everyone my Papa is a strange ghoulish man living in my basement." Enoch scowls and says, "Alright, fine, but I'm not going to like it. Maria, stop that."

Comic 2. Maria is now holding a sparkly large knife and says with a smile, "Not-Papa, did you know you pass the litmus test for being a Tumblr sexyman?" Enoch looks haunted: "I pass the what." "The Tumblr sexyman litmus t—" "Enough," Enoch interrupts. "Maria, put the knife down." Then, "It's hardly a sizeable threat. If you'd like, I can gear you up a bomb instead." Maria says worriedly, "But bombs will destroy the beautiful corpses… think about it." Enoch responds, "There is something deeply wrong with you, child. Not that I can talk."

Comic 3. Esmeralda is working on a sculpture even as she contributes, "Félicitations! Congrats on fatherhood, E-boy." Enoch shouts in all caps, "How did this happen. Esmeralda." Esmeralda winks. "I just think it is funny, non? You blackmailed Madame Courtney to get this place and now she has made you Maria's babysitter." "This isn't funny in the slightest, Esmeralda." "Au contraire, you've been forcibly adopted into the found family and you have no way of escape because you cannot afford rent elsewhere. Funny."

Comic 4. Esmeralda says, "I am telling you, Gnocchi, if you find yourself a sugar daddy, all your problems will disappear." Enoch, turning from where he was examining a candle with a green flame, stares affrontedly at Esmeralda. "I am going to need you to stop calling academic sponsors 'sugar daddies.'" Esmeralda holds up a finger. "They provide you funding. You will provide them special services. My terminology is flawless." Enoch turns away in a huff. "You are infuriating." "I am correct."

Comic 5. This one is a single drawing of Esmeralda and Enoch. It is captioned, "Esmeralda & Enoch share a studio for her sculpting and his inventing. They are besties and also worsties." Esmeralda is quoting a Tumblr post by deactivated user @ vampirate: "gay as fuck to be a mad scientist. what are you mad about. men. are you just crazy about men." She brings a hand to her chin and sparkles mischievously. "i hear science is a man dominated field. is that what you want? to be dominated by other men?" Enoch, meanwhile, is sitting down with his head buried in his hands. An arrow points to him that is labeled "bullied by Esmeralda daily." End ID]

the height of self-indulgence. dgs goth gang housemates (modern au)

[shorkbrian]

A Midsommar Night’s Dream

Prelude - I watched midsommar so have this.

Pairing - Izuku X reader X Todoroki males

Warnings - NSFW, dead dove, do not eat. Implied incest, cult-like behaviors. Dubcon.

Music - https://open.spotify.com/track/7clyJIrLkEbXUDwj1tC9zz?si=EK3gCdOHQ3WQeK-ed9eucg 

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

Izuku’s been officially dating you for three weeks.

Three weeks.

He’s known you for far longer - the two of you solid friends since you first met. The man doesn’t know when friendship had evolved into something more, but he’s sure glad it did.

You were sweet, and kind, and far too caring for your own good. You didn’t mind waiting up for Izuku when his nights ran late, studying for his masters or taking on extra shifts.

You would rub his shoulders when he got stressed, offer to make him tea or run him a bath or anything else he needed, anything to help out. You loved him, and he loved you.

Tonight was a night that many partners might fear - meeting the family.

But Izuku was hardly worried. He was best friends with your brother Shouto, a level-headed student with good work ethics and a dry sense of humor. The rest of the family couldn’t be that bad.

A simple dinner, you had told him, dress casual and no gifts required. Still, Izuku felt obligated to bring the finest bottle of bourbon his paycheck could afford him (he’d asked Shouto what your father’s favorite was, just to be safe).

The Todoroki household was impressive; massive and imposing in the countryside, surrounded by tall stone walls and looking straight out of a victorian romance novel. Izuku knows what those look like, because he’s seen them on the covers of the romance novels you like to read. He’s always doing his best to pay attention to your likes and dislikes.

“Izuku!” came your excited little voice as the door opened after his loud knock, and the green-haired man couldn’t stop himself from breaking out in a smile.

You were almost bouncing in excitement behind your older brother Shouto as he held the door open, taking the offered bottle of bourbon from Izuku with a nod before leaving you alone together in the foyer.

“Hey, missed you-” Izuku grunted as you attacked him in a hug, and a laugh bubbled out of you both when the solid man had to take a step backwards from  the push of your body.

“Missed you too! I’m so excited for tonight, it’s so good that Dad and the rest of the family are accepting you.” A quick kiss to his cheek distracted Izuku.

You were fairly comfortable with physical touch, resting your head on his shoulder, never afraid to snuggle up to his side on movie nights, or hold his hand out in public (especially now that the two of you were dating). But Izuku had honestly expected more.... sensuality once the two of you started seeing each other as lovers more than just friends.

He had asked to kiss you one night, after you’d made him dinner and rubbed his shoulders and listened to him talk about the latest subject he was studying. Izuku had felt his heart warm, like cold wax cradled over a flame, and his love for you was bursting out of his chest. He wanted to kiss you and hold you close, tell you how much he loved you.

You had just smiled shyly and shook your head, saying you wanted to wait a bit. Which Izuku understood! This was all new, going from friends-to-dating, and he didn’t want to rush you or make you uncomfortable in any way. He was willing to wait.

So the kiss to his cheek surprised him, made him stutter and blush and hug you a bit tighter.

Then you were taking his hand, leading him through the maze of a house. He couldn’t help but notice the old-timey decorations mixed in with the more modern features, but done in an elegant, timeless fashion. A good blend of old mixed with new.

Stepping into the large dining room hand-in-hand with you, Izuku was met with the sight of the entire Todoroki family.

“Everybody-” You started, catching their attention until every set of eyes was on you and the tall man by your side. “This is Izuku!”

Shouto stepped forward, closest to the pair of you, and set his hand on Izuku’s shoulder with a smile. “Glad to have you joining the family.” 

Izuku smiled back, pulling his friend into a hug and giving him a hearty pat on the back.

“This is Fuyumi-” A tap to Izuku’s shoulder had him turning around, stepping away from Shouto to shake your sister’s hand. 

“Hi Izuku, I’ve heard such good things about you.” Her voice was soft and gentle, almost like your own. Izuku could see the family resemblance between the two of you. 

“And this is Natsuo, he’s studying for his masters just like you.” A white-haired man approached him, friendly and open, ready to shake Izuku’s hand but ultimately pulling him into a hug. 

“Sorry, I’m a hugger.” Natsuo laughed, and Izuku shrugged, completely unbothered.

“Here’s Touya.” You introduced a redhead next, a man sitting almost sullenly at the table. He didn’t rise to his feet, didn’t even take Izuku’s offered handshake. 

“This is the guy you’ve been babbling about? He looks bori-”

“Touya.”  The room, already hushed, grew even more silent, almost heavy with the weight of the voice from the man at the head of the table.

The gangly redhead shut his mouth, looking ready to roll his eyes. You pulled Izuku past him towards the imposing man who was looking at the man at your side, appraising him.

“And this is my dad. Dad, this is Izuku.”

“A pleasure to meet you sir.” Izuku shook the mans large hand, and the man nodded solemnly.

“Sit down, we’re ready to eat.”

-----

Dinner wasn’t a quiet affair. Comfortable conversation flowed easily between everyone; questions about Izuku’s degree, about his goals, his dreams, his job. He knew it was just everyone getting to know him, assurance that he was suitable for their daughter. Izuku wanted to be perfect for you, anything and everything you needed.

Enji (Izuku was not about to call your father dad) asked only a few questions, otherwise decidedly quiet at his spot at the table, chewing his food while watching Izuku respond to the rest of his family. 

It was mainly Fuyumi, Natsuo, and Shouto keeping the conversation flowing, Izuku easily keeping up with whatever they decided to talk about, asking engaging questions of his own about the family members he’d just met, laughing easily whenever you made a pun or Shouto’s dry humor jumped out.

Everything seemed to be going well. 

Fuyumi asked to be excused, saying she needed to go prepare, and Enji waved her off easily, telling you to go with her. You rose from your chair easily, but not before catching Izuku’s hand and giving it a squeeze, eyes shining as you leaned close to whisper “See you in a bit.”.

“You really love her?” Touya asked as soon as the two women left the room to go prepare dessert, leaving Izuku alone with the male Todoroki’s. Izuku assumed this would be when he gets the shake-down, the usual “Hurt her and we’ll kill you” talk.

“So much. Sometimes I feel like I love her so much that I don’t know what to do with myself.” Izuku confessed.

“She talks about you a lot. I think she feels the same way that you do.” Natsuo supplied from across the table, and Izuku felt his cheeks flush, his heart flutter. It was one thing to know you loved someone - to feel the warmth and peace it brought to your soul. It was another to know that they loved you back; it made him feel whole.

“I've seen how you treat her, I think the two of you are a good match.” Shouto said, and Izuku smiled at his friend. Shouto had been his buddy since high school, truthfully was the reason that Izuku and you had met. You’d come along with Shouto one day when he’d come to hang out with Izuku, and the two of you had become fast friends.

Natsuo was rising from the table, walking back to the little shelf along one wall where various drinks sat (and Izuku’s bourbon gift). Izuku watched the man begin to pour out a red liquid, before his attention was caught by Shouto leaving the table as well, taking his plate and exiting the room.

Then Natsuo was placing a glass of the red liquid down in front of Izuku. “Don’t worry, this is nothing more than homemade punch.” He said as Izuku eyed it.

“It’s tradition.”  Touya growled and Izuku found himself taken aback at the heat in the other man’s voice. Was the redhead angry at him for some reason? 

“Touya, calm down.” The eldest Todoroki said, and Izuku almost wanted to cower himself at the sheer dominance exuding from the powerful man. “Izuku is becoming family. You will be happy for your sister, not jealous.”

Touya huffed, grumbling under his breath before shoving his seat away from the table. “Just don’t fuckin’ hurt her, got it? She’s my baby sister.” 

“I would never-” But Touya is already storming out of the room, uncaring of Izuku’s assurances.

Natsuo sighs. “Don’t mind him, he just.... doesn’t like change.”

“What is this again?” Picking up the red drink, Izuku swirled it around the glass, trying to change the subject and hopefully smooth over the tension. Most of the tension had dissipated when Touya left, but it never hurt to be proactive. 

“It’s a tea we brew and sweeten ourselves. We grow the plants in the backyard, you’ll see them soon.” Natsuo explained.

“It’s tradition?” Izuku parroted Touya’s earlier words, before taking a quick sip. It was delicious tea.

“Yes, we like to welcome those who are approved to join the family.” Natsuo laughed a little. “Fuyumi’s husband thought we were trying to drug him. It’s really just tea.”

Izuku snorted. It tasted like tea, why would someone think the Todoroki’s were trying to drug them? Sure, the family might be a little odd, but they weren’t malicious... right?

Before he knew it, his cup was empty and Natsuo had slipped out of the room, leaving Izuku alone with the head of the household, Enji.

Where were you? And why had everyone else left the room?

“I’m very particular about who I allow in my house, boy.” Enji started, and Izuku suddenly felt.... uneasy.

“Not everyone thinks the same way as the Todoroki’s. But you seem to be a bright young man. Educated. You aren’t going to be any trouble, are you?”

The last question wasn’t posed as such. It was a statement. 

Still, Izuku shook his head. “No sir, I have no intentions of causing trouble.” Why did this casual dinner feel so serious? there was so much emphasis on being accepted into the family, on being welcomed. Izuku recognized how big of a deal that was but still... it’s not like you were about to marry him. He was planning on that a few years down the road.

“Come with me.” Enji instructed, wiping his mouth with his napkin before his impressive bulk hefted itself out of his chair. Izuku felt tiny next to the patriarch, following the man through the dark, empty house.

He wanted to ask where Enji was taking him. Where you had disappeared to, where the rest of the family had gone. But that would be rude, so Izuku kept his mouth shut.

Outside it was dark, moon shining dimly through the sky, the residual warmth of the summer day still held in the air. Izuku followed Enji through the back door, down along a path, into the plentiful, green backyard.

To a grove of trees, torches flickering from within the grove, small bushes and beautiful flowering plants dotted among the trees. A garden, Izuku realized. Those must be the plants and bushes that produce the tea Natsuo had given him.

Then there you were, in a little clearing among the trees.

Sitting on a dark blanket, knees drawn to your chest and ankles crossed in front of you as you hid your body.

Izuku started - you were naked.

Touya was kneeling beside you, a hand on your shoulder as he talked to you gently, barely sparing Izuku and his father a glance as they strode into the torch-lit clearing, Touya’s attention truly focused on you.

Shouto and Natsuo stood in the light, watching you, watching Izuku.

“What is this?” Izuku sputtered, and upon hearing his voice you looked away from Touya, a smile lighting up your face as you saw your Izuku.

“This is tradition boy.” Enji laid a heavy hand on Izuku’s shoulder. “Now strip down, my little girl’s been waiting.”

Izuku’s head swirled.

Touya stood up, shooting the green-haired man a lazy glare before moving to stand by his brothers, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Izuku...” Your sweet little voice called for him, and green eyes snapped to your form on the ground, watched as, with a nod from Enji, you slowly unfurled your body to expose yourself to your lover.

A stab of arousal hit Izuku in his gut, watching your soft-looking skin be revealed. 

Pert breasts, a squishy tummy, glistening folds ready and twitching between your legs. 

You were drenched.

There was so much shiny slick, all over your thighs and dripped onto the blanket, Izuku couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t think straight. It was impossible for you to be that wet on your own, you must have used lube or something to prepa-

It hit him; You and Fuyumi hadn’t gone to prepare dessert.

“You just gonna stand there all night like an idiot? Take your clothes off and fuck her you dwee-”

“Touya.” Enji growled, silencing his son immediately. Then the man turned to  Izuku, easily pushing him forwards towards you. “You’ve been accepted into the family; that’s an invitation you don’t want to refuse.”

With a sigh, you easily laid down onto your back, legs still spread for Izuku to look at you, hands coming up to rest shyly over your breasts.

“Don’t do that, let him see.” Shouto murmured, and immediately your hands dropped in obedience. Shouto hummed in approval, before bi-colored eyes swept up to look at Izuku, urging his friend forward with a tilt of his head down to your form.

With trembling hands, Izuku fumbled with his pants, unzipping them with a bit of difficulty, undoing his belt, working on the buttons of his nice shirt the he had worn to make a good impression when he met your family for the first time.

It took him a moment to undress, a red blush creeping up over his cheeks and down to his chest as he bared his body to the Todoroki’s.

He didn’t think he was small, but he wasn’t big either; average. Izuku was confident in his size, didn’t really know or are how he stacked up against other guys, and the girls he’d been with before hadn’t complained.

Still, he felt embarrassed to be naked in front of other people, to be on display. But there wasn’t another option, was there? (Izuku didn’t know if that was such a bad thing)

Two short strides before dropping to his knees in front of you on the blanket, his throat dry and his palms sweaty. 

“Are you-” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Are you okay with this?” 

Your head nodded yes, a pleased, yet shy grin on your face. “Of course. I want you.”

The softness of your voice, of your body, Izuku felt dizzy as he shuffled forward, close enough to touch. Still hesitant, worried about the male Todoroki members watching from the sidelines, brain racing to work through the strangeness of the situation, the utter oddity of this... ritual that was currently taking place.

But then you were sitting up, hands circling around his neck, pressing your lips to his with crushing finality.

He was a part of the family now.

It felt good to kiss you, soft lips pressed together, little huffs of breath from your nose as you kept going. Izuku took the freedom of circling his hands around your waist, almost gasping at the plushness of your flesh, melting against you with a groan as your lips kept pressing to his.

“I’m all ready, just-just put it in.” Your breathless little confession tumbled out as soon as you pulled away from your first real kiss with Izuku, a blush high on your cheeks.

But it was Izuku’s turn to blush, sitting between your legs like a fumbling virgin. “I’m not hard yet, but I can, uhm, finger you. Or we can kiss for a little bit mo-”

“You aren’t even hard? Touya’s sneering voice cut through Izuku’s babbling. “Look at my sister. She’s fucking soaking the ground. That’s not hot to you?”

Izuku stuttered, eyes flickering down to where your legs were opened, pretty little cunt twitching. It’s like you were begging to be touched, and Izuku was a sucker for begging.

“No, that’s so hot, oh my god.” He breathed, fingers instinctively reaching to swipe through your wetness, relishing the way you gasped and shuddered as his hand made contact with your body.

“She’s so soft too, got tits like little pillows. You should lick ‘em, she likes that.” Touya continues, and Izuku wants to point out that the reason he’s not completely hard yet isn’t because he’s not insanely turned on by the beautiful creature in front of him, but because he’s feeling weirded out by all her brothers and her dad watching intently from the sidelines.

Yet he does what Touya suggests, leaning forward to put his mouth on your chest, tongue darting out to drag against your skin. 

The eldest Todoroki was right about you being soft.

Izuku can’t stop his other hand from rubbing at your cunt more firmly, feeling your little hips twitch towards him, pressing your chest more firmly into his mouth.

“She’s so pretty.” Natsuo comments, but Izuku is hardly listening when he’s flicking at your clit, nursing at your tits. “She’s gonna feel real good around you Izuku, like a new fleshlight.”

“You better breed her good, boy.” Enji booms, and suddenly you’re scrabbling at Izuku’s arms, pulling his hair, whining “Please, Izuku please.”.

“Okay, shit, let me-”

“He must be really worked up, Izuku hardly ever curses.” Shouto announces, and fuck, he’s right -  but how could he not be worked up?

Izuku is hard, blood rushing so quickly to his cock that he feels lightheaded, taking himself in hand and giving his length a few dry pumps. He’s envisioning how sopping wet you’ll feel against him, staring, drooling over your cunt.

And then he’s lining himself up, kissing you hard, and pushing inside.

“Big, ‘s too big!” You panic, tears popping to your eyes but Izuku is quick to wipe them away, cooing at you and stilling his hips.

“Oh, don’t cry! Shh, I’ll go slow, ‘m sorry, I thought you were ready-”

“Natsu-” You cried, hand scrabbling into the ground above your head, reaching, searching for your brother.

“Hey, hey, I’m here.” The man was immediately on his knees by your face, clasping your hand fervently, leaning down to put a sweet kiss on your nose. “Breathe honey, in and out. It’s okay.”

“Noo I-I.... ‘M scared, he’s-he’s-ah!” A stuttered cry broke from your chest as Izuku shifted slightly, inadvertently pushing deeper.

“No, it's gonna be okay. It's just like when we do it, yeah? He's gonna be nice.” And Natsuo is looking at Izuku, fixing him with such a pointed gaze and Izuku gets the message. He’s going to be nice.

It’s not like he wasn’t planning on it - the green haired man loves you.

But then the breath is sucked out of his chest as he comprehends what Natsuo had just comforted you with, that-that.

That you’ve fucked your brother.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” Izuku chants, unable to stop his hips from inching back and forth, humnping into you in infinitesimal movements as arousal punches through his gut. “Sorry, I can’t stop-’h my god that’s-”

He can hear Touya cackle. “Damn, something really got him going.”

You were squeezing your eyes shut, clenching Natsuo’s hand so tight that the skin was whitening. Your brother didn’t seem to mind, more occupied with stroking your hair, eyes fixated on the soft jiggle of your breasts as Izuku humped you like a senseless virgin.

His breathing turned into wheezing, hitching when a presence was felt at his back.

“You can do better than that.” Enji’s hands were pressing against Izuku’s naked rear, making the green haired man flinch forward and away from the touch. But Enji merely pushed, propelling Izuku’s thrusts so that he would really fuck the warm, willing body beneath him.

“Izuk-Izu-Izuku-” You moaned, rocking your body to further spear yourself onto his cock, apparently finding the fast glide pleasurable as opposed to your hesitance earlier.

He leaned down to kiss you, both of you moaning into the kiss, hands wandering as you pushed to meet each other, Izuku’s stomach clenching tighter and tighter as he neared his release.

“She’s never had someone fuck her raw before...” Shouto mused, eyes glued to the scene in front of him, watching his best friend fuck his sister with the help of his family. “I wonder if it feels different.”

But his words were lost in the quick slap of skin meeting skin, Izuku’s grunts, your sweet little noises as you writhed and clutched at Natsuo’s hand, your other hand holding onto Izuku.

And then Izuku was gone, balls clenching and cock twitching inside you, pulsing as he shot his seed.

Your eyes fluttered shut, pulling your hand away from Natsuo to place it against your tummy, pressing right over where Izuku was still grinding against you. “Feels... feels so warm.”

Izuku was panting, sweat sticking his curls to his forehead, desire slowly swirling out of his body as he came. 

What the fuck had he just done?

Enji clapped him once on the back, before rising to his feet. “Welcome to the family, son.”

[void-inked-pen]

The Mandolin

ROTTMNT Fantasy Fic Collab Between: Me and @undercoverwizardfanfiction​

Above art by: @imaginashon​

Inspired by: @thehandleisjammed​

Characters: Mikey and Donnie

Pairings: holds charmy back if you know what’s good for you, you’ll know the answer is never (or do you want this one at your throat?)

Summary: in so many ways they are still strangers to one another but if they keep a open heart to one another they might someday call each other brothers

---

He is the master of focus.

Were words no one had ever spoken about Mikey ever. But right now, his eyes were focused (well, cross eyed) on a large red beetle situation on an even larger flower. He is only vaguely aware of Raph calling after him before he leaps out from his hiding spot like a chimera pouncing on its prey. His hands are only about to close around the bug when the beetle takes off in surprise (Mikey is only mildly sure he heard the bug ‘meep’ as it went) before he landed in the flower bush. After a few moments, and after a few of Infinity’s concerned coos, he pops his head back out of the bushes.

 “I almost got him that time!” Mikey says with a wide grin. Raph and Leo both give him a look that’s between two degrees of confusion but Donnie, under his hood, shakes his head with a tremble to his shoulders in what was probably suppressed laughter.

“Mikey” Raph calls tiredly, “we’re almost to town, can you please keep up?”

“Yeah on it!” He jumps out of the bushes and hurries over with a skip to his step.

Donnie watched his younger brother skip up to them with mild amusement. He had only known his youngest brother for a few months now and his upbeat attitude and absolutely innocent curiosity was both endearing and only slightly envious. When was the last time I was like that? The thought came out of nowhere and almost completely wiped his decent mood. But the answer that came bothered him more than the initial question; he couldn’t remember.

Trying to return to the present and not follow that train of thought any further, Donnie rubbed his tired eyes and continued following his brothers into town. Leo and Mikey were chatting away about the differences between some sort of bird, while Raph remained vigilant like some sort of escort.

“You know,” he said walking up beside the oldest. His sudden appearance startling the larger turtle. “This trip would be more enjoyable if you relaxed a bit, big guy.” Don smirked as Raph just huffed in response.

Mikey tries his best not to to smile at Raph’s tired expression that clearly says ‘how the hell can I relax with three loose hyperactive hooligans to look after’ but is grateful when Raph doesn’t say anything (except for sighing with the exhaustion of someone three times his age and on their deathbed).

Donnie and Raph walked in comfortable silence for a while before they both realized they couldn’t hear chattering behind them anymore and turned around to see the two youngest entranced by an expensive stall of goods.

Mikey turns back to is conversation partner after watching the oldest pair ahead of them settle into a calm stride. What had he been talking about again? “The Waxing Owl!” Mikey exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air suddenly returning to his train of thought, “the Waxing Owl is totally cool! You have no idea!”

“And….it’s different from a Full Moon Owl?” Leo asks. Though his expression is confused and only borderline condescending it’s a massive improvement to just a few days ago, “I mean i just wanted to know the difference between a african swallow and a european swallow-“

“Yeah yeah! Cause Moon Owls can tell the future! And if you see one during a certain moon phase that’s the kind of luck you’re supposed to get! I’ve heard entire groups of people scouring the Mist Forest trying to see one during a Waxing Moon! Its so cool and- and if you see a Waxing Owl AND a Sun Burst flower in the same month then-“ and just as it was a moment ago, Mikey loses his train of thought as his mouth drops open. Normally it would be a weird dessert he had never seen before or an extra snuggly puppy that would get his attention. But what has him now is a large storefront, he barely notices the elaborate lettering or the shopkeeper out front shining up his new door. Mikey is already standing in front of the glass with both hands pressed against it. Through the now misting up glass he can see a wooden box with a long neck and strings , “Woooooooooooow” He says “What’s that thing?”

“Hey!” the store keeper snaps hard enough at Mikey he flinched away “Off my window cretin, I just had those refinished. “

Mikey stumbles back and bumps Donnie, who nearly loses his balance as he tries to use his bad leg to keep from falling, “So-sorry Dee.” He says quietly, shoulders hunched and sad. But he looks back towards the window , “I-I've never seen anything like that before.”

Donnie steadied himself before looking up at the store window.

“You… Mean the mandolin?” He looked back at his brother for confirmation and could have sworn he saw twinkles in his eyes. “It’s an instrument you strum with your fingers and part of the lute family. I heard a famous musician used one to serenade a rich maiden into marrying him.” Donnie left out the part about how the musician was actually the family's hired fool, mainly because the story also didn't end well.

Mikey appeared to practically be vibrating in excitement as he stared at the string instrument. “I’ve always wanted to play something like that, Todd used to tell me stories about a caravan that performed music as they traveled but he didn't have an instrument of his own to teach me.”

Donnie looked at him thoughtfully before glancing back up at the mandolin again and almost balking at the base price. He subtly looked back at the store owner who appeared to be getting more and more annoyed with the four yokai’s presence. Ever so gently, Donnie grabbed the smaller turtle by the shoulders and shifted him away from the storefront.

“I think... we’re gonna have to pass on this one Mike.” He said, observing the store with a critical eye.

The younger turtle gave off a disappointed whimper and looked away sadly before hopping back into a conversation with Leo. Don could have sworn when they were leaving the storefront, the blue turtle also seemed unhappy with the price of such a simple instrument. With one more glance back at the snooty storekeeper, Donnie made a decision.

After some discussion, they (Raph) decided that staying in town was far too expensive on their already limited funds. Mikey wasn’t entirely sure why Raph was suddenly so eager to leave, especially since they hadn't visited the library yet. But it probably had to do with the wary look that the large turtle was giving Donnie, who had stayed silent after their run in with the shopkeep.

What Raph DID allow, however, was for Mikey to pick out some sweets at a baking booth that they could enjoy after dinner. It wasn’t long after that that the four of them left the town behind them. Not far enough to be gone from its sight but far enough for Raph to give a sigh of relief.

“Ok boys, let's get camp set up and dinner ready.”

“You know, if I was in proper attire, I probably could have talked that man into giving us his entire store and thanking us for it.” Said Leo with a stiff upper lip as he gathered the smallest branches humanly possible.

“yes, and attract every bounty hunter and well meaning lawman in town.” Donnie made a show of reaching over and pulling up Leos’ hood. The red slider pouts at him before readjusting his hood to allow him to see better. “Rude.” He scoffs.

Don smirks in turn before going over to where Mikey was pouring over a pot of vegetables.

“Here,” he hands over the herbs he had gotten earlier, “Keep it up. I’m going to go see if I can find any more in the forest.” Donnie says. He’s grateful when Mikey only gives him a beam in response before going back to his cooking.

Donnie makes sure to glance and ensure he hadn’t gotten Leo and Raph’s attention (Raph was too busy brushing Buddy to babysit him) as he stepped back in the direction of the town they had come from, and in a blink, disappeared…

-----

“Hey, has anyone seen Donnie?” Mikey looked up from his ministrations after hearing the slight panic from the blue turtle. Leo was looking around with a worried look, one he’d been expressing a lot more lately after they had met back up after the ‘missing ring’ incident.

“OH! He just went to gather some more herbs for me in the forest. Don’t worry, he said he’d be right back~” He said in order to calm down Leo, but somehow agitated his other brother instead.

“Wait, he said what?” Raph looked up from brushing Buddy with alarm. “Son of a- okay, here’s the deal. Leo, you stay here an watch Mikey and I’ll go after Donnie before he does something stupid!” Raph stood up quickly, dropping the brush as he spoke his orders.

“I’m sorry, but whomst are you calling stupid?” Everyone jumped as the purple turtle in question, hopped down from a tree.

“Seriously Dee, you gotta stop doing that.” Leo breathed in relief. Donnie only raised an eyebrow in confusion before walking over to Mikey.

“Okay, then explain. Where were you?” Raph crossed his arms with a knowing look.

“Gathering these,” Donnie turned around and held up a small cluster of herbs, “like I said I was.”

The two oldest glared at each other for a few seconds in silence before Raph grumbled away in defeat. Donnie, feeling victorious, turned back towards his younger brother only to see something he wasn't expecting. Mikey was looking at him with a blank expression.

“...What?” “... Why did you lie?” Mikey asked in concern. Donnie tensed up.

“I...” Don paused, looking back to where Raph had returned to his chore before putting the herbs down in Mikey's hand, “I didn’t-”

“Yes you did.” In a way, Donnie hates that Mikey can usually see right through him. And he happens to be looking through him with those eyes that still held the softness of a child far younger than Mikey. Somehow it feels harder and harder to lie to him by the day.

Donnie manages a sigh, before sitting down by the fire to give his leg, and the new stinging wound on his side, a break. “For the record, I technically didn’t lie. I did get more herbs.” Again those eyes bore into him like a truth telling light, “But, I didn’t like the way that shopkeep talked to you earlier.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out the mandolin that Mikey had been admiring.

The youngest lets out a soft gasp, hands over his mouth for a moment before he reaches out as though to take it before drawing his hands back, “W-why did you steal it thought?” Mikey asked quietly.

“I just told you, you wanted it and that shopkeep was a–”

“No-I...” Mikey pauses again, “I mean why do you steal? At all?”

Donnie felt something in his chest tighten. He had to look away in order to calm his breathing and stop the dust around him from shifting. Why do you steal? The question rang in his head so loudly it was beginning to get harder and harder to hear the crackling of the fire.

A hand gently placed itself onto his shoulder and he couldn’t stop himself from flinching and tensing up hard at the touch. But the hand didn’t move away.

“...I… I’m sorry I didn’t mean to upset you I just… I wanted to know” Mikey said softly.

It took a few more calming breaths for him to finally look back into those kind eyes.

“... You could say… it was the family business that helped me become the thief I am now,” Don sniffled, “but truthfully… It's how I managed to survive so long. Mike, not everyone has the option to follow a path of honest work. If I had tried to follow any number of opportunities towards something I was passionate about… I wouldn’t last long.” Donnie said that last line almost too quietly to hear.

“What do you mean?” Mikey’s face scrunched up in confusion.

With another deep breath Donnie prepared himself. “If i tried to follow a path academically, like I had always wanted… She would find me.” He shivered as he continued, “If I had tried to make ends meet as a crafter, I would have failed due to my magic limitations… Mike, I never had the option for much else.”

“B-but.” Mikey tries to start back up again even as he interlocks his fingers and lowers his head, “That’s not fair.”

When he looks up again he’s surprised to see Donnie giving him a soft smile. His eyes could easily be mistaken for either pity or some other emotion that Mikey doesn’t understand. But the thief reaches out and places a rough but soft hand on Mikey’s scalp, rubbing it in the same way one might ruffle someone’s hair.

“Just please enjoy it? If Raph asks where it came from you can blame me. He blames me for everything else.” Which wasn’t entirely true, but often days he felt Jupiter James’s words spoke through Raph more then Raph’s own sense of morals. And, considering Raph was one of the kindest people Donnie had ever met, made his heart ache. But as he does with everything else, Don smiles.

For a moment Mikey feels the hand on his scalp twitch like he’s considering tapping their foreheads together but instead he hands over the earned prize that Mikey takes, unable to hide the excited smile on his face, already strumming the strings with giggles in his throat. Testing them to see what noises it’ll make. It won't be long before Mikey teaches himself how to play.

Donnie has to wait until the middle of the night before he finally sees the arrow wound in his side (It was a cheap, extremely lucky shot). But as he tends to the wound, he still smiles.

To steal for himself was just for survival.

But to steal for his brother, to make him smile was an act he’d never regret.

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

Thanks for reading! 

also thank you Ash for the beautiful art for this fic~ all of this was kinda spur of the moment and im glad this turned out so fun!

we had fun writing this together~ The fantasy AU is one of my personal all time fav au’s and I highly recommend reading more in the ao3 collection

- Pen

[almostxinnocent]

Columbine GQ

Come here, by the side of this road that runs out of town. It's the night before, and you must understand: It has become urgent to tell this story one last time. Right now, as it happens again—and again. The foothills of the Rockies—the Hogbacks, as they're known here in Littleton, Colorado—rise spookily beneath a waxing moon. The stars shift and rearrange themselves. Jupiter and Venus clash. Tomorrow, the charts say, children will rule the world.

The road running between is what gaffs them. The hook is cold and silver.

The short one, who goes by Rebel—or just Reb—drives from his cul-de-sac in town out to the house of the tall one, who goes by VoDKa—or just V—who lives down in the canyon, in his parents' chalet perched among red slickrock. Out Chatfield to Wadsworth, then right on Deer Creek, the falsity of strip malls falling away, the hollering churches of heaven-obsessed believers obliterated, and then the last of the instant-housing divisions, dematerialized. Denver becomes a shimmering apparition in the rearview. The last lights go on and off in living rooms, families gather before the big-screen. Their innocence is staggering. And will soon be remedied.

Stand here by the side of this road leading out of town in the early months of 1999. Snow begins to fall. The road turns cold and silver. A muted silence descends, broken only by the two passing cars—a gray Honda (Reb's) and a black BMW (V's)—blasting loud music.

The machinations of their plot complicate even as their days seem like the same humdrum: school, work at Blackjack Pizza, computer games and those long stretches where Reb and V are left to their own devices. They've known each other since seventh grade, and now they're seniors. V is six feet four, shy and awkward, formerly in a program for gifted kids, with a mane of red corkscrew hair shot with a small shock of white, a birthmark of sorts that kinks from the back of his head. Reb is five feet six, moody, shares his buddy's passion for computer games. He has a concave chest, can't get laid and takes antidepressants.

In increments, they've come to occupy the lowest social rank of their high school. Among students of mostly white sameness, these two dress differently: in goth black, wearing combat boots and long dusters. They attach themselves to a group called the Trenchcoat Mafia, but not even among the misfits are they fully accepted. They listen to fringe punk music and begin to act out. They shout "Heil Hitler" in bowling class when they roll strikes. In the cafeteria, sitting down to eat, they suddenly find themselves caught in a downpour, drops sharply stinging their heads, clattering on the table, a fusillade of Skittles fired by the jocks who call them "fags" and "homos." The greater their humiliation, the greater their defiance, until they've built their own country—half real and half imagined—over which they've anointed themselves absolute rulers.

And what is their big idea? When they light on it and finally commit to it, when the guns are secured and the bombs are being built, they spend a month as happy as they've ever been. "What fun is life without a little death?" V writes in his notebook. "It's interesting, when I'm in my human form, knowing I'm going to die. Everything has a touch of triviality to it." But they go on living, too—V commits to the University of Arizona and attends the prom; Reb, who unsuccessfully asks three girls, meets up with everyone at the afterparties, then dutifully shows up for work at Blackjack Pizza the next night, betraying nothing.

Meanwhile, Reb's room contains an arsenal, most of it bought at gun shows: a double-barrel twelve-gauge shotgun, a pump-action shotgun, a nine-millimeter carbine, 250 nine-millimeter rounds, fifteen twelve-gauge slugs, forty shotgun shells, four knives and four ten-round clips for the carbine. V has a TEC-DC9 handgun. They have thirty-nine "crickets" and twenty-four pipe bombs. In Reb's basement, they make videotapes. They joke and boast about their fame to come, guess at what director will make the movie of their lives, claim that they will incite mass revolution. Before the camera, where they show off their weapons, they become equal-opportunity bigots. "We hate niggers, spics...and let's not forget you white pieces of shit also. We hate you," says Reb. They pick the date: April 20, Hitler's birthday. Zero Day. The end of time—and the beginning too. If all goes well, they'll bag 250, maybe 500. But even on the tapes, there are strange cracks and disconnections, flashes of two kids trying to talk themselves into something. V admits that the date is problematic because it falls near Passover and his uncle will not be pleased.

"Dude, you're Jewish?" asks Reb, stupefied.

"Half," says V sheepishly.

Reb pauses, then after a time says, "I'm sorry. I really am."

And yet all they have is each other, and this talent they share: an ability to dupe nearly everyone. It's the one thing that separates them—and, to their mind, sets them above everyone else at Columbine High School. It's what protects their secret and draws them more deeply together. One face they wear goes to their parents, one face goes to their friends, one face goes to their school, but who they are, deep down, in the damaged turbines of their being, they save for each other.

It's about to begin.

Reb is the first one out, wearing a T-shirt that reads NATURAL SELECTION. He removes a heavy duffel from his Honda, lugs it into the cafeteria, past the chaos of hundreds eating, and leaves it in the kitchen. Inside the bag is a twenty-pound propane tank with nails taped to the exterior, set with an igniter and a bell clock. Then he scuffs back to the parking lot.

It has taken them a year to plot this, to get the guns and ammo and propane, to figure out how to build the bombs and homemade Molotov cocktails—and test it all. After the first explosion in the cafeteria, they plan to open fire on anyone trying to escape from the school. Finally, Reb and V have rigged their cars to explode, killing anyone lucky enough to make it out alive.

In the parking lot at Columbine, the boys keep waiting for the cafeteria explosion that never comes. PReb straps on a black vest loaded with ammo. V, in combat boots and a T-shirt that reads WRATH, turns his baseball cap backward, picks up his TEC-DC9. The two boys cross the parking lot, and no one stops them. It's not clear who lofts the first pipe bomb up on the school roof, where an air-conditioner repairman, believing war has come to Columbine, takes cover. They seem to move now as one organism. At the side door of the cafeteria, Reb peers in—yup, 500 students dumbly eating lunch like bovine. This is the golden moment, exactly what they've been waiting for. "You've given us shit for years," V says in a Jack Daniel's-fueled rant during one of the videotapes. "You're fucking going to pay for all that shit. We don't give a shit because we're going to die doing it." But do they hate enough? Are there sudden misgivings? Instead of entering for the slaughter, Reb pulls back, and he and V move past the cafeteria and toward the grassy hill that runs up the side of the school. Some kids are eating lunch in seventy-degree weather or just taking a little air. A finger pulls a trigger, and then the two of them are unleashing bullets like Skittles.

Is this enough hate?

The killers now start up an outside stairwell, twenty-five steps in all. Inside, some students believe a senior prank has begun. But teachers are screaming for everyone to get down. In the cafeteria, hundreds hide under tables; in the library, upstairs, thirty or so huddle in small groups beneath more tables. Reb and V swing open the outside door on the main floor, about fifty feet from the library, going from dazzling sunlight to the shadowed insides of the school.

Underneath a table in the library, Patrick Ireland hears popping noises, coming closer and closer, until the two killers enter, V wielding the TEC-DC9, Reb with a shotgun. They go from table to table, peering under, pulling people up, humiliating them. "What do we have here?" says Reb just before he shoots a student in the chest. "A nigger." Reb asks one girl if she believes in God, and when she answers in the affirmative, blasts her with his shotgun. Another student remains crouched in a ball while those on either side of him are murdered. He ends up alive, covered in their blood.

After sixteen minutes and twelve murders, the killers go on. The principal, Frank DeAngelis, has been told of gunshots and, in disbelief, bolts from his office out into a long hallway that runs from the front to the back of the school, only to see a shadow at the far end, maybe eighty yards away, firing a gun in his direction. When the plate-glass windows shatter behind him, he's certain he's going to die.

Inside, Reb shoots at a short man who has just emerged from the principal's office, misses, and then is distracted by a teacher coming up a nearby set of stairs. He turns and fires on Dave Sanders, one bullet passing through his neck, another through his chest. Then he and V head downstairs to the cafeteria, where surveillance cameras catch them drinking from water bottles left on tables and shooting at the propane-tank bomb they've left, hoping to ignite it—but to no avail. They light a small bomb that sends several students scurrying. And yet, in the next twenty minutes, the killers don't fire on another soul. With hundreds still hidden in lockers and behind classroom doors, Reb and V wander quietly, almost as if in a postcoital trance. A streamlet of blood drips down Reb's face, his nose having been broken by the recoil of his shotgun. V sticks his head up into a ceiling crawl space and comes face-to-face with a friend of his with whom he was, just last night, playing fantasy baseball—but does nothing. They're already receding—or perhaps have lost heart. Later, some will call this the Quiet Time.

Tired of roaming, they return to the cafeteria, drink again from left-behind water bottles. Then they climb the stairs back to the library. There are twelve bodies left for dead here. They take their place among them, and Reb takes a shotgun, puts it in his mouth and fires, blowing off the top of his head. V raises his TEC-DC9 and shoots himself in the temple. Their feet nearly touch as they lie in the shadow of a bookstack.

The sun moves into a new quadrant of sky. The stars, unseen in the glare of midday, shift back into view. The children are dead.

Time has stopped: Let the terrible glare of time begin again.

The killers' bodies are taken from the school. There's nothing left now but aftermath. The snow begins to fall as they're hauled away. Big, locust flakes, blown by an east wind, banishing the earth, unbelievable except for the fact that they're real and cling to everyone—the camera crews jockeying for tears, the governor's entourage, which has just arrived to inspect the decimated building, and the kids, wearing tranquilized masks, who gather to mourn at makeshift memorials, held up by one another, their hair covered in veils of white.

Something cracks and falls away—and something rises. America grieves over Columbine but with a fruit fly's attention span, and immediately seeks closure. An out-of-stater appears with fifteen wooden crosses and plants them on Rebel Hill to memorialize everyone who lost their lives at the school. Kids scrawl messages on them, even those of the killers. We love you, Dylan. After a few days, Brian Rohrbough climbs the hill with two signs that say MURDERER, BURN IN HELL, and attaches them to Dylan and Eric's crosses, where they're quickly removed by a local cop. So now speech isn't free when it's the truth?

Can you feel where this is taking us? Time keeps moving backward. The teenagers are becoming

Listen: There's innocent laughter—and then, in a second, there's none at all.

Michael Paterniti is a GQ writer- at-large.

Full story is here: (I cut out large portions because it was so long) ww.gq.com/story/columbine-shooting-littleton-colorado-200404

[syn4k]

"Okay, buddy," Kharlan snapped, whirling around to point one accusing finger at the outsider, who was, as always, dressed sensibly in a zip-up hoodie, straight leg jeans, and hiking shoes. They carried no visible weapons but their messenger bag was resting by the fire like it often did. "You have two minutes to tell us why the fuck you're being so nice to us. Tell the truth or we'll kill you."

The outsider glanced up from where they were taking another bite into an apple, startled, and slowly stepped backwards as the rest of the party formed a silent circle around them, weapons drawn. They chewed and swallowed as Kharlan glared at them, arms folded, then slowly and deliberately wrapped the apple up in a piece of wax paper before putting it into their jacket pocket.

"You look a little too nervous for an innocent person," sneered Kharlan.

The outsider looked back at her with a level but slightly confused gaze. "Yes. I'm... surrounded by people brandishing weapons who could kill me very quickly."

Kharlan stepped forwards. The outsider flinched but held steady as she lowered her face to theirs. "You," she said, "are putting a stain on my party's reputation. Nobody knows where you came from. Nobody knows what your motives are. You have not raised a single fist in defense of us and it is a disgrace to have you here with us."

The outsider nodded once. "That's fair," they said. "I'm not a fighter."

"Then why the hell are you here?"

The outsider glanced around them a little. "Can y'all please back up a little? I can't think clearly when I'm nervous."

At a glance from Kharlan, the nearest party member shook his head, and the outsider sighed before continuing. "Okay," they said. "Y'all are the only people who didn't turn me out at first contact when I tried to tag along. I get tired easily and I don't like fighting. I'm usually the one held hostage in tight situations. But I haven't caused any problems for you either, now have I?"

"People whisper about us because of you," said Kharlan, cold and unimpressed.

"People gossip all the time," said the outsider. "It's a natural part of life. You can't help that. You can just decide to ignore it."

"Give us one good reason why we shouldn't kill you right now," demanded Lheliem, Kharlan's second in command, hoisting their weapon threateningly towards the outsider's chest.

"I've only spent my own money," said the outsider. "I haven't stolen from any of y'all. I've paid for my own food and board."

"And yet, you've done nothing for us," said Lheliem.

The outsider lifted one eyebrow. "Are you sure about that?"

"Yes."

"Well," they said, swaying slightly to one side, "do you happen to remember that innkeeper in Tiem who glared at us the whole time we were in the commons room?"

"Yeah," said Kharlan. "But what does that have to do with-"

"He recognized you and was actually going to claim a bounty," said the outsider. "But he'd heard of the stranger who'd ran with one of the filthiest mercenary groups in the region and who hadn't committed a crime, ever. I promised him I wouldn't tell and I don't break my promises. I convinced him to let you stay, because if the nice guy trusted these thieves, then he could trust them too."

The entire party shifted uneasily. Kharlan scowled but said nothing.

"I paid to get a ride from the merchant in Hymoth. I didn't have any money but I did a day's work of labor around his farm and in return he let you guys on under the premise that you wouldn't try to pull anything. And you didn't because I told you not to."

Kharlan's scowl grew deeper. "And you didn't tell us any of this?" she asked.

"You would have killed me for betraying you all," said the outsider with almost chilling casualness. "And then y'all would have died."

Someone behind them scoffed. "If you can't fight, how come you didn't die when you got cornered by thieves? Everyone gets cornered by thieves."

"Turns out, nobody ever asks them why they're stealing or killing people," said the outsider. "Only times I've been alone is when y'all were out somewhere else. I bought them drinks and offered to listen to their troubles if they didn't slit my throat."

"With whose money?"

"Nobody's," said the outsider. "I offered to do the dishes for the innskeeper for a free drink or two."

"There's no way that's worked every time," protested Lhiliam.

The outsider shrugged. "It's worked so far."

"These aren't reasons," said Kharlan, moving forwards. The rest of the party followed, and soon the edges of their blades were only an inch from the outsider's torso. "This is evidence of your betrayal."

"You could keep me," said the outsider.

"Why the fuck would we do that?"

"People will ask about me if you kill me," said the outsider. "And they'll ask about me if you let them go. People remember kindness. They remember honesty. They recognize if it's gone and they'll kill you if I leave because tell me, what kindnesses have you ever shown to others in the time you've been here other than not killing me on sight?"

Kharlan's face became a perfect mask of rage and fury, and she stepped back for a minute, hand trembling in rage. "You- you-"

The outsider patiently waited for her second word to dissolve into the night air before talking. "You have every right to turn me into mincemeat. I'm not debating that. I've made a fool of you all just by being here. I'm the hopeful idiot in the middle of every bleak situation and I'm undoubtedly the weakest link. I'm just letting you know some things before you go ahead and run me through."

Kharlan blinked, and the outsider sighed. "There's just one request I have," they said.

"And that is?"

"If you're going to kill me, please decapitate me. It's the quickest and easiest way to die and while I don't fear pain, I'd rather not die in horrible agony."

Lhiliam blinked and gestured for the rest of the party to back off. Slowly, they complied. Kharlan looked at her second-in-command, stunned, but they looked steadily at the outsider, who gazed silently back.

"We're not going to do that," they said firmly.

"What?" asked someone else in the group.

"They're telling the truth," they said with a sigh. "Everything they've said lines up, which means they've saved our asses several times without any mention or hope for gratitude and without us even knowing. I think we owe them an apology."

"No," said Kharlan, coming back to herself and stepping forwards, weapon still aimed at the outsider. "I am going to cut your arms off and you will die horribly and slowly of blood loss."

The circle broke out into muttering, and Kharlam glared at them all in equal turns. "What?" she demanded. "Are you going to believe this clown?"

"Yeah," someone said hesitantly. "Like, if they'd had it in for us, they would have tried to do something or call in an ambush or something by now, but they haven't." The entire party looked silently at the outsider, who didn't move a muscle, and the person continued. "And they kind of have a point. We don't have a reason to kill them."

Kharlan rolled her eyes. "Nobody acts like this without having some sort of ulterior motive," she said, placing the tip of her short sword at the base of the outsider's neck.

The outsider nodded gingerly. "True," they whispered.

"Then what is yours?" hissed Kharlan, pressing the tip of the blade a little harder forwards.

"I'm just trying to help you," whispered the outsider, and Lhliliam moved forwards to place a hand on Kharlan's arm and move it slowly backwards. The leader stepped backwards, and after several seconds of silent staring between the two, she gestured rather angrily for the rest of the party to put their weapons away as well. The outsider took a deep but cautious breath and stepped backwards once more, still hesitant.

"You're good," grumbled Kharlan, not meeting their eyes. "Stay. Leave. Do whatever."

"Thank you," said the outsider.

"We were about to kill you and you're thanking us?" asked someone incredulously.

The outsider shrugged awkwardly. "It's just manners," they said, and Kharlan laughed hollowly, rubbing her eyes. "I don't know how the hell we ended up with you," she said.

The outsider shrugged again. "Me neither, if I'm being honest."

"So, you're staying?" asked Lhiliam.

"Yep."

"Why?"

"I already said why," said the outsider, taking the apple out of their pocket and unwrapping it, biting into it with a crisp crunch. "Now uh, please excuse me, but it's getting late and I'm going to sleep." Stepping backwards, they turned and made their way out of the circle, which had opened to make a path for them, before pausing at a voice.

"Hold on," said Kharlan. "We never got your name."

"Pandor," said the stranger without turning around.

Lhiliam chuckled. "Yeah, that tracks."

As Pandor walked off and the rest of the party wandered around doing various things, Kharlan glanced at her second-in-command. "Was their name familiar to you?"

"Never heard it before, but it suits them," said Lhiliam with a shrug.

character who The Power of Friendship's their way out of every single situation and has plot armor. the team they're in gets more and more annoyed at their stubborn cheerfulness until one day it's revealed that the character has been trying to befriend the entire party because it turns out, they just tagged along one day and ended up being so helpful and genuinely useful that the rest of the party helps them stay around. Bonus points if everyone else is dressed like your typical dark fantasy grunge haunted eyes protagonists and the Power of Friendship guy is just dressed in casual modern day clothes. they're just here to help

[laurie-stark]

Unwanted-Peter Parker

Summary: Y/n Stark gets more than she bargains for when she joins her Pops, Captian America, for the civil war of the century.

Pairings: Tony Stark x Daughter!Reader, Natasha Romanoff x Daughter!Reader, Steve Rogers x Daughter!Reader, Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Warnings: swearing, fighting

A/N: Just so you don't get too confused, Y/n is Tony Stark's biological child, however, she was raised by the Avengers and refers to Natasha and Steve as Mama and Pops. Also I wrote this a year ago LOL. Enjoy x

Part Two

New York, 2016

This was bad. Very, very bad. I had seen the secretary come in the compound over the screen of the security monitors. He marched into my home, unannounced and unwelcome, holding himself with purpose. I followed him over the screens, tracking his movements. I watched as he was led through the building, up the elevator and into...the conference room? Oh this was bad. Very, very bad.

I raced as fast as I could. By the time I got the to conference room, the whole group was already sitting in front of the secretary. I saw Wanda first. Her back was to me, but I could see her rigid frame and I knew something was happening. My  father saw me approaching through the glass walls. He shot me a look that said "Don't do it. Don't come in here." I didn't obey.

The secretary stopped speaking abruptly when I walked through the doors. He gave me a quizzical look, did a once over and immediately looked at my father. Surely I don't look that much like Tony.

"Sorry I'm late, no one informed me about this team meeting," I gasped, short of breath from all the running. Of course, this was pushing it. As much as I wanted to be a part of the group, fighting was not my style, so I often got left out of important Avengers activities. I got to live with them, but that was it. Tony rose from his seat. He mumbled an apology to the secretary and gently ushered I out of the room. I would have fought back, but seeing the look on my father's face was enough to shut me up. And I never shut up. The secretary resumed his story. Something about golf and a heart attack.

My dad turned to face me. "Look kid, I get that you want to know what's going on, and you will, but today isn't the day."

"Okay," I said. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, it's okay to be curious," he replied, walking back into the meeting. "Stay upstairs, okay hun?" I nodded and started the trek back up to my room. I shut the door and flopped onto my bed. Out of my long list of pet peeves, this was number one. Sure, I didn't want to fight, but come on family, I should at least get to be in on what's going on! Maybe I could help. I have powers for God sake. I am more than capable of helping the Avengers. But they always saw me as the little girl who needs protection.

"April, pull up security footage of the conference room please," I asked. April, the AI I built, that was modeled after Friday, projected the video surveillance from the ceiling. "Volume up." The group was in the same position as from when I left. The secretary was passing around the room. There was a thick white book being passed around the table.

"The Avengers were formed to make the world a safer place," Steve said quietly. "I feel we've done that."

The secretary looked down at him. "Tell me Cap, do you know where Thor and Banner are right now?" What? You were so confused. Why did the secretary care where my uncles were? No one answered the secretary's question, so he kept talking. I racked your brain to find the answers on my own. "...this is the middle ground." The secretary pointed at the book, now lying untouched on the table.

"And if we come to a decision you don't like?" Natasha asked.

"The you retire," the secretary responded. With that, he left the room and I scurried back downstairs.

Everyone was in the living room. I sat in the stairwell, again being uninvited to this group discussion. I listened to them fight. I figured out what was going on. The United Nations were being ungrateful little bitches and hated that they didn't have control over my family. So they gave an ultimatum: give in or give up. From the sounds of it, Uncle Rhodes, Vision and two of my four parents were in agreement with the accords. Steve and Sam were against it. Wanda hadn't said a word. Tension was growing high, I could feel it. I heard my father conclude that he won and a thud of the accords being tossed on the coffee table. Someone got up and left. Before I had the chance to act, the door to the stairwell was torn open. Steve pushed through and nearly stepped on me.

"Eavesdropping?" He smiled.

"You kicked me out, what else am I supposed to do?" I retorted. I noticed the tears welling in Steve's eyes. "Pops, what's wrong?"

Steve's glance fluttered to the ground. "Peggy. She, um..." was all he said. All he had to say. I  was smart enough to read between the lines. I stepped forward and hugged Steve. He smiled, grateful that he had me. I knew how much Peggy meant to him. When I was little, he'd always tell me the story about how they met, how they never got that dance. And every time I would make him dance with me. He even took me to visit her once. I was ten and it was Christmas time. Steve told me that he wanted his favorite girl to meet his favorite niece. Now that was all but a memory. I held him tight before telling him to go. It was okay, I could handle the others. He left without a second glance.

Within days the team was scattered. Steve and Sam had gone to Peggy's funeral. Natasha was off to the signing of the Accords in Vienna. And then all hell broke loose when the bombs went off at the signing ceremony. As always, I  were left home. I had no idea what was going on. At first this break in the team was about the Accords, but somehow Steve's old pal Bucky got involved. I didn't know what to think. The next thing I knew, everyone left for Berlin to rescue Steve and Sam from jail, leaving myself, Wanda and Vision at home.

When night fell, I was in my room, sulking as one would say. I was spending my evening flipping through Tumblr. There was a new superhero everyone was talking about. He called himself Spider-Man. New York based, focused on small neighborhood crimes. By YouTube footage alone, it was obvious he was a rookie. Soon enough, though, I accidentally conducted a full fledged search on this guy. He seemed shady. Sure, he's helping old ladies cross the street and all, but he just has a vibe. I couldn't put my finger on it. April broke me out of my research when she told me that there was a security breach in the compound. I pulled up the security camera footage and saw Clint Barton in my living room with Wanda levitating a knife at his nose.

I rushed downstairs. When I got to the living room Vision was holding Clint by the neck. I watched in silence as Wanda used her powers on Vision. She made it look easy. Slowly, Vision sunk to his knees. Wanda pushed further and the floor gave way. Vision was pushed through all seventy-four thousand levels of the compound. Wanda and Clint were about to turn to run out when you revealed yourself.

"Now was that really necessary?" I smirked. "We just had the floors waxed."

"Y/n," Clint warned.

"I'm not sitting on my ass," I said. Clint smirked and nodded. He knew he couldn't stop me anyways.

One car ride, plane flight and van trip later, I was in Germany. As it turns out, Steve wanted Clint and Wanda on his side, along with some ant dude named Scott. Scott was cool. Him and I sat together on the plane ride and watched Die Hard. He was asleep in the van when we pulled over in the airport parking lot. Clint told me to stay in the van. For once, I listened. I heard voices belonging to Steve and Sam. Clint slid open the van doors abruptly, shaking Scott awake. I chuckled to myself as he fangirled over my Pops. A voice over the intercom said something in a language I didn't know. A voice I didn't recognize said that the airport was being evacuated.

"Stark." Sam muttered.

Scott looked puzzled. Clearly he hadn't been filled in either. "Stark?" he asked.

I step out of the van. "Yes?" Steve and Sam look at me with wide eyes. Clint gave Steve a sheepish shrug. Behind their little blue car stood Bucky Barnes. I knew who he was. I learned about him in school. I knew he was some evil super soldier that attacked Natasha and Steve. He looked scary. He looked exactly like the type of guy to hurt my Mama and Pops. I held his glance until Steve spoke up.

"Y/n, what are you doing here?" Steve whisper-shouted. His voice always got quiet when he 'yelled' at me.

"I hitchhiked." I replied, knowing that at this point Steve didn't have the time to argue with me. He shook his head in defeat and took a deep breath.

"Suit up."

The airport was huge. Our group got suited up and started for the runway. I didn't know how Steve knew where to find my dad, but I followed him anyways. Before I could get any closer, Bucky held me back.

"It's, uh, not gonna be safe. You should stay here and keep low," he said. I frowned. I did not come all this way to not fight. But even still, I nodded. Bucky scared me. He and Sam took off in another direction to find the getaway jet. I laughed. This whole thing was ridiculous. My attention turned to the sound of my father and Rhodey flying down from the sky.

"Ross gave me 36 hours to bring you in," Tony started. "That was 24 hours ago. Can you help a brother out?"

"You're after the wrong guy," Steve replied nonchalantly.

"Your judgement is askew. Your old war buddy killed innocent people yesterday-"

"And there are five more super soldiers just like him. I can't let the doctor find 'em first Tony. I can't."

"Steve," Natasha approached him slowly. "You know what's about to happen. Do you really wanna punch your way out of this one?"

I took this as my cue. "No, but I will," I said, emerging from my hiding spot. I looked at the faces of your family. My gaze fell on Tony and my smile dropped. He looked angry.

"You brought my daughter into this?" Tony yelled, turning to Steve.

"Technically, I brought myself," I said. "You really think you were gonna leave me out of all the fun?"

Tony pinched his brow. "Y/n, this is serious."

"No it's not," I objected. "No, this got personal the second you thought you were gonna loose Pops to Bucky." No one moved after I said that.

"Alright, I've run out of patience," my father finally spoke. He cupped his hands around his mouth. "Underoos!"

Before I had a chance to process, a red and black blur whipped past my head. It landed on top of a nearby van. It was Spider-Man. As in the Spider-Man. He had taken Cap's shield from him. I said nothing. My father could have recruited me, but instead he chose this little neighborhood nobody. That hurt a little. The Spider-thing and my father bantered for a minute. So he's never even been in a real fight before, I thought.

"You've been busy," Steve smirked.

Tony turned back to Steve. "And you've been a complete idiot. Dragging in Clint and Y/n, rescuing Wanda from a place she doesn't even want to leave, a safe place. I'm trying to keep-" he paused, sighing. "I'm trying to keep to keep you from tearing the Avengers apart."

"You did that when you signed." Steve kept his cool. My father did not.

"Alright, we're done. You're gonna turn Barnes over, you're gonna come with us, now, because it's us! Or squad of J-SOC guys with no compunction of being polite. Come on."

Everyone stood still, waiting. Steve put his web-cuffed hands in the air. Clint shot them free from a mile away. I saw Scott -or a tiny version of him. Spider-Man noticed too, right before Scott grew and kicked him in the face. My dad flew off to retrieve Wanda and Rhodey was ready to take on Cap.

"Hey Mr. Stark, what should I do?" Spider-Man asked. He sounded young.

"What we discussed, keep your distance, web 'em up!" My father barked, as he flew towards Clint and Wanda.

"Okay, copy that," Spider-Man replied. He shot a web at me first. It caught my arm and I got whipped to the ground. I glared at him.

"Really?" I hissed.

"Just following Mr. Stark's orders," He said before swinging off after Bucky. I was left on the ground once everyone dispersed. I tried pulling my hand out of the sticky material that was shot at me, but it was stronger than glue. I was forced to watch the action unfold and wait until Natasha ran past me.

"Mama, a little help here?" I called out to her.

She stopped for a second. "Sorry honey, I really don't want you getting hurt." She ran off and I groaned. No one ever wants me to get hurt. I suppose I should be grateful, but in a moment like this, gratitude is hard to find. I started toying with the web. I wondered if I could break down the molecules. Surely there had to be some sort of H2O compound in it somewhere.

My power surged through me, the current flowing to the hand webbed to the ground. I managed to manipulate the water out, just as I predicted I would. The substance melted off my hands. Gross, I thought. I wiped the remaining web on my pants and got up. The water from the webbing fell to the ground with a splash.

I stood up and examined my surroundings. Natasha was on the ground fighting Scott, who shrunk down and flipped her over her own head. The Black Panther was on the other side of the roof, battling Steve. I didn't move. As much as I wanted to be included, I couldn't bring myself to fight. Not now at least.

The two teams assembled, divided by a line on the pavement. How cinematic. I was on Cap's side. I never meant to fight against my father. If anything, I thought it was funny. I looked out at the team in front of me. They were all lined up, Rhodey, the cat, Tony, Nat, the Spider-brat. Vision hovered above them. A bead of sweat trickled down the back of my neck. I were scared. I wasn't made to fight.

"What do we do Cap?" Sam asked.

"We fight." Steve moved first. We followed in suit. My dad's team mimicked my team's actions and walked closer. We  broke into a jog and then a full out run. This was really about to happen. I hoped that my family would go easy on me. I knew what I was doing. I reassured myself of that. I have done a bunch of training, especially with Wanda. I could move the freaking elements with my mind and manipulate gravity! As if the Spider-Man could beat that. I am Y/n fricking Stark. I can do this.

I put a smile on your face, contrasting everyone else's bitter looks. "I call the spider!" I yelled, just as everyone began the battle. Spider-Man heard me and slowed down just a bit. I cocked an eyebrow. He resumed his pace and ran straight for me. I ran headfirst towards him. He threw out his arm to web me, but I was faster. With a swish of my hands, I changed his gravitational pull and made his feet flip out from under him. He landed on his back with a hard thud. As gently as I could, I morphed the pavement under him to trap his hands. "Careful there, Spider-boy. Don't wanna get stepped on." I walked away. I made it about ten steps before I heard the sound of concrete cracking. I turned around and saw that Spider-Man was breaking free of his restraints. I was shocked. He has super strength. Great. I should have moved out of his way because the second he got one hand free, I was webbed against a truck.

"For the record," he said, getting up in my face. "It's Spider-Man." He swung off into the airport through a glass window. I watched the glass rained onto the ground. Taking a deep breath, I quickly removed myself from the webs. I needed a plan. A strategy. I thought about at the opposing team. Everyone was scattered around the airport. I thought about who would be easiest to fight. But then I realized, the strategy wasn't about how they'd fight, but who. There was no way in hell that my parents or Uncle Rhodey would even think about fighting me. The Black Panther didn't know me, so he was a threat. The worst Vision could do was pick me up and fly away, so he was in thr safe zone. That left the spider. I smiled to myself. Rematch time.

By the time I found Spider-Man, he had already webbed Sam and Bucky to the floor. He was perched on top of a light post, saying something about impressing my father. Sam's mini falcon whizzed past me and grabbed Spider-Man by the web. He got pulled out a window, banging his side into the pane on the way out. I ran over to Sam and Bucky. Quickly, I destroyed the webbing and helped them up. They both gave me a quick "Thanks kid," before running back out. I followed them, staying loose on their trail.

Once I got outside my eyes scanned the area for the Spider. I saw Wanda piling cars on my father and Natasha fighting Clint. Then I spotted him, fighting Cap. He was underneath a jet bridge . Cap threw his shield at the support beams and the whole thing fell on top of Spider-Man. He caught it of course, but Cap ran away. I formed my plan.

"Hey!" I called out. I walked around the collapsing jet bridge. I stood in front of the struggling boy. Or man, I didn't know. "Remember me?"

"Heh, how could I forget such a pretty face," he grunted, starting to fold under the weight of the jet bridge. "You wanna give me a hand?" I glared at his face comment, but lifted the jet bridge anyway. He ran out and I let it fall. Both of us stopped for a minute, gasping for breath beside the rubble. He was close enough to hit. So I did. Without warning I threw a punch of air at him. It hit him right in the chest and he got blown back into the side of a van. "What the hell man?" He got up and shot a web at me. I dodged and threw another gust of wind. It shot him out of the air. He webbed at a pole and swung past my face. I redirected his gravitational pull, but not before he got a kick to my face. We both got thrown in different directions. I landed hard on the ground, pain shooting up my spine. I got up first, now angry. Forgetting about my powers, I lunged at him and threw a punch. I missed and he shot webs at my feet, holding me down. Immediately, I dissolved them and Spider-Man's eyes widened. Well, his mask's eye holes did anyway.

"How did you do that?" He yelled. "What kind of witchcraft-"

"Its not witchcraft," I spat. "It's called manipulation of the elements, look it up. I figured there had to be some water compound in this and I was right. All I had to do was remove it."

"That's so cool! And how did you do the foot thing earlier? Was that just the wind you do or do you have telekinesis too? Are you like the Scarlet Witch?" He rambled on. I took this to my advantage and caught him off guard. I used the van he'd hit earlier to become his gravitational pull and yanked. He went slamming into it and groaned. When he tried to get back up, I was already five steps ahead of him. Morphing the earth metals in the van, I contorted it into a shell that crushed Spider-Man until he was covered and stuck.

I heard Scott say that he was gonna tear himself in half over the earpiece. I got distracted from holding Spider-Man down and turned to see a giant Scott. Spider-Man broke free. He tore the shell off himself and threw it at me. I was wacked across the side and fell the the ground again.

"Holy shit!" he says, looking at Scott. His back was to me and I gave him one last wind push. He fell on his face and I laughed. "Oh come on, don't you have some dolls to play with or something?" I just scoffed and walked past him, stepping past his hand that was on the ground. He let out a yelp and you kept walking. Dolls, I thought. I'm thirteen I don't play with dolls. I watched as the rest of the battle went down. I wasn't quite sure what to do. I jumped when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

Natasha was standing just behind me. "Come with me." We started jogging off. It was natural for me to listen to her. I realized about five seconds in that technically she was my enemy right about now, but I shrugged it off. I ran through the fight, past the big Scott and towards a warehouse. I could see the outline of a jet get bigger as I approached it. Natasha stopped behind the entrance. She was waiting.

"So what do we do?" I asked.

"We wait to fight," She replied, not taking her eyes off the horizon. I came to realize this probably means I would be fighting her. Maybe she wanted to use me as a hostage or something. No, that's silly. Right?

Steve and Bucky got closer to the building I was in. They nearly made it until Vision laser beamed the shit out of a nearby communications tower. Wanda caught it before it fell, giving the two men time to race towards the jet. I stepped out to help Wanda. The both of us were able to hold the rubble long enough for Steve and Bucky to get through. I panted, proud of myself for getting this far.

A searing pain sliced through my brain. Both myself and Wanda fell to the ground, screaming. I could barely look up to see that Rhodey was sending some sort of wave through the air. The tower fell and Natasha was quick to haul me out of the way before I got crushed. I might be better than Spider-Man, but I definitely don't have his super strength.

Steve and Bucky still managed to get through the falling paces of metal and concrete. Natasha left my side and marched swiftly towards the two men. I couldn't hear them, but I could sense the tension from a mile away. Natasha lifted her arm, taser aimed and ready. Steve held his shield up in defense as Natasha shoots....the Black Panther? I guess she's on our side now? The jet started to take off and you watch an Natasha continues to battle the Panther. I fell to my side, wiped out.

My father flew into the warehouse just as the jet leaves. You thought maybe he was going to fight Natasha for betraying him. I was wrong. He was coming for me. He landed beside me and dropped to his knees. His helmet closed and I could see the worry plastered on his cut up face. He knelt beside me and gently held me up.

"Are you okay?" he asked. I nodded, not really able to make words. He looked over at Natasha, who was looking at us. She had an apologetic look, but I know she doesn't regret letting Cap go. My father let me go and charged off after the jet plane. I lied down, enjoying the feeling of cold concrete against your skin. I closed my eyes.

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

I paced around the living room, driving Nat crazy. I knew that the second my father got home I would be in deep shit. So when Friday alerted me that Tony was home my heart rate went up 29373%. The battle, this fight, it ended worse then I could have imagined. Natasha told me that my father could have died. Rhodey was paralyzed from the waist down. I had no idea if I'd ever see my Pops again. This was bad. Very, very bad.

I slowly walked down the main hall towards the front doors. I was scared. My hands and the back of my neck were sweating. I knew exactly what was coming. Every time I had asked my dad if I could be an honorary Avenger, I got the same lecture. That it was too dangerous, I didn't have the proper training and it's too much for his little girl to handle. Even when I asked to just be a part of the business side of the team, Tony laughed and said no. I've broken a lot of my father's rules, but this was the line. And I had gone so far over.

As I approached the front door, I could hear my father speaking. I heard another voice too. My heart dropped. It was Spider-Man. Why was Spider-Man here? I ducked behind a wall and listened in to the conversation.

"...outstanding job kid. Your fighting technique was on par. And, listen, I know we're not allowed to have kids on this team, but if we need you again, we'll call." I heard my father say.

"Thanks Mr. Stark. This was so cool," Spider-Man replied. I wondered if he had his suit on or not. I wanted to know who this guy was. I revealed myself from behind the wall. The two looked at me. I looked at my father first and fought the urge to burst into tears. He looked awful. His face was all cut up and the black eye he got was still a little swollen. I glanced at the figure beside him and frowned. Spider-Man was a kid. He looked like he was my age. He had a mop of curly brown hair and doe eyes. He was almost equally as beat up as my dad and I gracefully took credit for that.

"Y/n, this is Peter. He's, uh, one of my interns. Kid, this is Y/n," Tony said. My annoyance turned to anger. Now my father was lying to me?

"How old are you?" I asked, eyes narrowing. I knew that I sounded rude, but this kid had kicked me in the face twice. I didn't think he deserved my manners.

"I'm fourteen," Peter gulped. A year older than me. And I kicked his ass, I thought. "You gave me quite a fight back in Berlin."

"Yeah and I beat your ass doing it."

"Speaking of which," Tony spoke up, "I have to talk to Y/n about that. Happy will take you home Peter." Peter nodded and said goodbye to my father. He said goodbye to me, to which I didn't reply. Peter frowned at that as he walked out the door.

My dad turned to me when the door shut. "What," he began, "were you thinking?"

"Well I-"

"No. This is where you listen. Do you know how dangerous that mission was. Do you know how many people got hurt? You saw what happened to Rhodey, that could have been you!"

"But it wasn't" I retorted.

Tony's frown deepened. "That is not the point. You put yourself in serious danger, and for what? So you could feel a little more included? You could have died. This was my one rule, my one ask of you, and your broke it."

"Oh, come on now, I'm a Stark, it's in our blood to not listen to our fathers." My father gave me the coldest look and I shut down. I took a deep breath. "Look, I didn't know that it was gonna be this bad. You know me, daddy, I'm not a fighter, I'm not some hero. You think I would have gone if I knew it would turn out like this? I thought this was just gonna be another one your you and Pops' stupid fights. And yes, I could have gotten hurt, but I think I handled myself pretty well. You saw what I did you that little protege of yours. I beat him to the curb."

"Y/n you were reckless. Peter was prepared for this, he was ready."

"And I still beat him."

"Y/n you're not listening to me. This is why I chose Peter over you. I would have taken you if I knew you wouldn't do something stupid. But you did anyway." And with that he walked away, leaving me, teary-eyed in the front hall.

Tony came by my room later that night to apologize. He said that he was sorry for being harsh, that he just cared about me and I scared him. I knew he meant it and I forgave him, because that's what we do. Besides, it wasn't Tony I was angry with. This is why I chose Peter over you. Tony's words echoed through my head. I knew that he loved me more, I'm his daughter, he had to. But I were jealous. Jealous that stupid Peter Parker got the praise for the work I've wanted to hear for ages. And mad at that stupid spider for being stupid.

This is when I decided that I hate Peter Parker.

[bloodskipper]

Bo Sinclair x reader | Hell or High Water | Pt. 7

WARNINGS: drinking/alcohol consumption, cigarette smoking, LITTERING?

"Just keep your bike chained up out front," Bo called over his shoulder.

You kept your feet planted, pondering over this man you had now known for a total of 10 minutes. Tall, dark and mysterious, there was something magnetic about him... or maybe you were just shit out of luck. Either way, you jogged to meet up with Bo.

"Took ya long enough," he joked, quoting your earlier turmoil. He smiled while taking the last drag of his cigarette and flicking it into the street. You had completely forgotten you had a cigarette in your hand, so you followed suit.

"If everyone is supposed to be on vacation this week, why are you still here?" you asked, wasting no time.

"Somebody's gotta stick around for folks like you who need a little help, a little guidance. There's another guy who works with me and we switch off vacation every other year. This year is his year," he replied casually. "I can relax plenty when I get off at nighttime."

"Seems like a town that's pretty easy to relax in."

"You could say that, yeah."

Before your conversation continued, you recognized you were passing the House Of Wax. Bo noticed where your attention had turned to, asking, "You know about the House?"

"Definitely! I've never been, but I've heard a lot about it."

"I could show you around inside sometime, if you wanted."

"Sounds fun! I'm down to go," you said, trying to mask your excitement. Such a charmer, this guy. "What else is there to do around here?"

"Not a whole lot. The way it is right now ain't too different from the way it is most'a the time. We got a little dive bar owned by my buddy, but that's about it."

"I walked past it," you remembered. "I only got to look through the windows for a second. Ya wanna grab a drink before we turn in for the night?"

"Normally I'd say yes, but-"

"He's out of town. Right," you chuckled. "Sorry, I keep forgetting that's what we're dealing with."

"No worries..." Bo trailed off, looking down at his feet. "I did just pick up a 6-pack, if beer is something you're interested in."

"Nothing sounds better right now," you said without hesitation. "It's a nice night. Maybe we can take a walk or chill outside."

"Yeah? Man, beautiful and easy-to-please," Bo said turning his head to you. "What's better than that?"

"Free's always fun." You blushed before suddenly stopped in front of a large plantation-style home, overtaken by its hugeness.

"Well, here we are!" Bo proclaimed, climbing the grey concrete steps onto the home's front porch.

"Wow. Nice place!" you smiled. You turned your head and pointed to a vehicle parked to your left. "This your truck?"

"Sure enough," Bo said sticking his key into the front door.

"That's so funny." You laughed audibly a few times. "You and Lester have the same exact truck. You know that?"

Bo shifted to face you and the vehicle behind him. He took a moment glancing between you and the truck before stating, "Huh. Well I'll be. I never rightly noticed." He turned his key into the deadbolt and pushed the door open with his foot. The top three buttons on his work shirt were already undone before he stepped fully into the front room. From where you were standing, you could see he had taken off his trucker hat and placed it onto a hook on the wall. Beyond that was muddled darkness.

A feeling of skepticism shot through you and your heart picked up its pace. So much had happened today and you barely had a chance to stop and process. First the cancellation, then the lostness, the roadkill, Lester... Bo...

"Ya comin' in?" Bo called. You could faintly hear his rummaging through the fridge.

"Yep! Sorry!" You quickly bounced up the stairs and shut the door behind you.

As you slowly stepped into the home, you first noticed a strong smell of wax emanating throughout. Everywhere you looked, you could see either a lit candle or the dripping remains of one. Natural light seemed to be rather sparse in this place, but you didn't mind. You were strangely a fan of the comfortability this setting had to offer.

The state of the house was that of a bachelor - barely clean enough, but messy with random items and clothing strewn about haphazardly.

Can't win 'em all, you thought.

Stepping into the kitchen, you found Bo holding two bottles of beer by the handle, swiftly opening and closing drawers with his other hand. With his work uniform removed, he seemed a bit more muted. Sweaty hair from a long day's work hung on his foreheard and you noticed his arm definition without the cover of his long sleeved button down. You became intrigued with the idea of hanging out with someone like this after he was off the clock.

"Got a bottle opener?" he asked coolly.

"Not on me," you replied.

Bo aligned the lips of the bottle caps with the kitchen counter's edge, swiftly hammering them with a fist. The bottle caps popped off and he offered one of the two beverages.

You took the beer and clinked it against his.

"To the House Of Wax!" you shouted, taking a long drink.

-

So everyone knows... I am above drinking age and have had quite a great time with meeting new people at bars. I apologize if this is not an experience you're familiar or comfortable with, so please let me know if there are any other CW or TWs I should add!

[poesparakeet-fics]

Read it here or on AO3!

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast, Beauregard Lionett & Caleb Widogast, The Mighty Nein & Caleb Widogast Characters: Caleb Widogast, Essek Thelyss, Beauregard Lionett, Jester Lavorre, Caduceus Clay Additional Tags: Shadogast - Freeform, dunamancy, Empire Siblings - Freeform, Prank Wars, Tickling, rib tickling Summary:

What happens to a ticklish wizard when he manages to piss off too many of the people who love him? Allies are made and lessons are learned.

FIC

“Caleb Widogast!” Caleb jumped as he walked into the kitchen of the Xorhaus, unsure of what he could have possibly done to upset anyone this early in the morning. He was even more surprised when he saw who. “Essek?” Caleb stammered, taken aback. The drow was perched on a large kitchen chair with a cup of Caduceus’ tea in his hands and a pinched look on his face. “Schatze, I’m sorry, were we to meet? I hope you weren’t waiting long, I--” “No.” Essek corrected him sharply. “I am here to have tea with Mr. Clay at his request, to discuss the situation in Savalierwood. But he just told me that he healed some pretty distinct injuries for you, yesterday?” Caleb felt a guilty cringe fold his stomach in half. He sighed, looking at Caduceus. “So that just came up, ja?” “Yeah,” Caduceus responded, “thought it might be why you slept in.” “Ja, I had a bit of a fall--” “A fall? From where?” Essek’s gaze was intense. Caleb dropped his eyes to the floor. “Oh just, you know, clumsy--” “Really? You clumsily practiced dunamantic phasing on your own and fell through the floor?” “I think it was three floors, actually…” Caduceus mused quietly. The cringe came to the surface and showed, unbidden on Caleb’s face. “Essek, I--” “I have never limited you. It was the one thing I asked.” “I know, I--” “Caleb.” He froze when Essek cut him off, meeting the elf’s gaze once more. Essek stared him down hard before continuing. “I had… better masters than you had, when I was a young wizard. Infinitely gentler, certainly. But they would have whipped me for practicing phasing magic by myself. Truly. You could have cut yourself in half, dismembered yourself, crushed yourself, suffocated in a wall--” Essek seemed to cut himself off with a wave of his hand. “The point… the point is it would cause me a great heartbreak if irresponsible use of the magic I taught you led to your demise. Please promise me again, and keep it this time.” Caleb ducked his head, feeling like a rightfully scolded school child. “I will, ja. I am sorry.” Essek gave him a look that said he didn't entirely believe him. “I do trust you. I do not trust your curiosity. It’s only a virtue if it doesn’t get you killed.” Caleb laughed softly, nodding as he sat down at the table with them and accepted a teacup from the still-silent Caduceus. He winked at Essek. “I think I could say the same to you, but fair enough. If I do it again, I’ll let you whip me.” Essek smiled back, but the doubt didn’t leave his expression. ... “CALEB!” Beau’s voice thundered from upstairs, and Caduceus almost dropped the knife he was using to prepare vegetables for dinner. He spun around to see the wizard in question with his hands in his component pouch, running as fast as he could through the kitchen and out the back door. Beau’s quick steps followed, but by the time she was in the kitchen they could both hear the familiar woosh of a misty step from outside. She stopped stock-still in the kitchen, hands clenched into fists, looking… different than Caduceus had ever seen her. What was it? “Uh… hey. Did you get some new clothes.?” Beau turned to him silently, eyes burning holes in his head. It was pretty scary, actually. “Oh! Uh… is that what this is about?” Beau’s clothes were bright magenta where they had once been her usual cobalt blue. She was still staring at Caduceus with her fists clenched. Veth and Fjord were creeping wearily into the kitchen behind her. “I think it looks nice--!” Veth offered, only to choke off in a scared squeak when Beau rounded to face her. Beau reached out to yank Fjord’s hat off his head and put it on. “Hey!’ Fjord protested, before clamping one hand over his mouth to hide a smile. “Oh. I see.” As it perched on Beau’s head, the hat instantly turned the same bright magenta of her robes. When she handed it back it returned to its usual color. The whole room was biting lips to keep an amused smile off their face, lest they become the new target for her fury. Beau took a deep breath before bellowing again. “CALEB!” She spoke into the air, her voice loud enough to hear throughout the house. “I KNOW THAT SPELL DOESN’T GO FAR. I KNOW YOU’RE HERE, AND I AM GOING TO FUCKING GET YOU, DO YOU HEAR ME? I AM GOING TO DO DOPE MONK SHIT TO YOUR NERVOUS SYSTEM, TIE YOU UP AND FEED YOU TO A ROOM FULL OF TIEFLINGS. You will FUCKING SUFFER! THINK OF A NEW NAME, CAUSE CALEB WIDOGAST IS A FUCKING DEAD MAN! ” At the end of her tirade Beau took a deep breath and started to walk upstairs again, but not before spinning around and jabbing a finger at everyone in the kitchen. “ANYONE caught harboring the wizard will share his fucking fate!” … "...CALEB WIDOGAST IS A FUCKING DEAD MAN! ” Caleb was sitting cross-legged on the floor of his hiding place in Fjord’s empty bedroom when Beau finished her threats, but by the time she was climbing the stairs again he had disappeared with a crackling pop. When the disorienting suck of the teleport spell faded he was standing on a clay path in a dimly-lit garden next to a trio of small towers made of iridescent grey brick. An arcane weather-vane creaked in the darkness. He started toward the door. “Caleb?” A head of pale curls popped up over the top of a bush of dark purple flowers, a frown of concern on the face beneath. “Essek, hello. Ah… may I spend the night?” Essek walked toward him as he pulled floral gardening gloves off of his hands, eyes narrowed wearily. “Of course, I am always happy to have you...” He reached Caleb and placed a distracted kiss on his cheek. “... did something happen at home?” “Yes.” Caleb answered, only to stutter as Essek’s worry grew, “Oh, ah, nothing bad. Well, nothing very bad. I just need to avoid Beauregard for a bit.” Essek’s worry immediately evaporated to be replaced with amused annoyance. “I see. What did you do this time?” They both started to stroll through the garden toward Essek’s back door. “Oh, just some illusion work. It will go away by morning. She deserves it, after stealing my spellbook while I was sleeping.” “Mhmm.” Essek hummed, linking his arm with Caleb’s. “But wasn’t her stealing your spellbook revenge for…” “The magic spiders, ja, but I had to do that! She--” “--the disappearing ink, yes, I remember. Are you sensing a pattern here, chathtiu?” Caleb sniffed and turned his nose up. “I have no idea what you mean.” Essek’s smile turned indulgent as he pulled Caleb into his home. “I’m sure you don’t. Beauregard does have a way of pushing your buttons, hm?” “She is the expert.” “I should ask her for advice, one of these days.” Caleb only laughed, pulling the smaller man into his arms. “You have your own way of pushing my buttons, don’t you schatz?” Essek smiled back. “You’re right, of course. I do.” ... Caleb stalked through the library of the Xorhause, circling it room by room. While his books were sitting on the desk he’d been working at the night before, their holsters were missing. He shifted the papers on his desk, panic rising in his chest. Where were they? “Caleb?” Jester was standing in the doorway, his holsters dangling from one finger. Caleb let out a sigh of relief. “Jester! Danke! Where were they?” “Sorry, I think Sprinkle must have stolen them.” Caleb shook his head, the tension in his chest easing. “That’s alright. I’m just glad they are found.” He reached out for them, stopping short when another figure entered the room. It was Beau, her clothes now back to their normal deep blue. Their eyes met for a moment, but the monk just breezed past as though she didn’t even notice Caleb was there. It had been a week since the incident with her clothes with no revenge or further threats, and Caleb was starting to wonder if he’d finally won the war. He shrugged his holsters on as the two women sat down on the sofa. He missed Jester’s giggle until it was too late. “Hey Caleb?” Beau asked. “Uh, ja?” Caleb cringed a little, turning around. Beau’s look was positively predatory. “Fuck you.” Caleb was about to respond when the sensation of fingers digging into his ribs flushed all the air out of him in one squeal. He spun around clumsily, hands flapping, but nobody was near him. He craned his neck to look down, his arms helplessly hugging his own ribcage while his knees buckled. That’s when he realized where the sensation was coming from. “Wh-what? No, I-- ah! Please!” His fingers fumbled with the buckle of his holsters to try and escape the traitorous leather trap, but the buckle was trapped under a magical seal of iridescent purple wax with the image of a skeleton key pressed into its surface. “Fuck!” Beaureguard was grinning like a gnoll. “What’s that buddy? Fuck you?” “Aah!” Caleb’s whole body convulsed and hit the carpet as the tickling escalated, even more invisible fingers reaching out from the leather to stroke delicate bones under pale skin and plain cloth. “No no! Please!” “Can I try?” Jester asked, giggling. “Nein!” “Sure, go for it.” “Fuck yooooou Caleb!” Caleb couldn’t answer her with words, he could only wail wordlessly. He writhed on the ground, trying desperately to resist the currently useless instinct to lock his arms at his sides so he could try and pull the holsters off over his head, but it was no use. All he could do was paw uselessly at the leather before Beureguard hissed the trigger word again and all he could see was stars. “Uh… everything alright in here?” Fjord’s voice came from the direction of the door. Caleb couldn’t see him over the sofa. “Fjord!” Caleb screeched. “Plea-hee-se! Evil!” It was all he could get out before his voice cracked and his laughter turned silent, his head thrown back against the carpet. “Huh?” Beau answered in an exaggeratedly casual tone. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Just getting a little payback for my pink phase. Stole his holsters and Essek cursed ‘em.” A wave of betrayal strong enough to overpower his ticklishness gave Caleb just enough breath to shout “WHAT?!” before the laughter overtook him again, tears building in his eyes. “I helped with the ruse!” Jester piped up. “Uh-huh.” Fjord nodded, “can he breathe?” “Hmm? Oh, I guess we can check. Good boy, Caleb.” The sensation stopped all at once, and Caleb rolled flat on his back to gulp in air. “See? He’s fine.” Caleb sat up, hands held out in supplication even as he struggled to catch his breath. “Beau, please, I’m s-” “Fuck you and your apology.” Any strength Caleb had recovered melted away as he squealed and flopped back down on the carpet, limbs curling uselessly against his body. The tickling fingers coming from the inner panels of his holsters might as well have been sucking his very life-force out. Fjord lets out a sigh. “If you’re going to torture him for a prank, you at least have to let him apologise. Good boy?” Caleb didn’t get up this time, too scared to trigger someone’s wrath or sense of mischief. He was still giggling, partially from phantom sensation and partially from the panicky tension of knowing that any of them could trigger the curse at any moment. “I’m sorry! Bitte!” There was a beat of silence before Beau turned to Fjord again. “There, I let him apologise. Can we go back to the torture now?” “Wait!” Caleb squeaked, rising unsteadily to his knees. “Please Beau, we can talk about this--” “Oh, you wanna talk now? Cause when it happened you were happy to teleport away to your fucking boyfriend’s. So… you know,” she finished with a grin, “fuck you, fuck you, FUCK YOU.” “Nein!” Was all Caleb could manage before his laughter stole his voice away, only to crack and go silent once more a moment later. Tears leaked from his eyes to roll into the fluffy carpet beneath him as he crumpled. “Oh, he’s so cute when he cries, I love it!” Jester clapped her hands while she watched from the sofa. “This is the best curse ever.” Fjord made an agreeable sound. “I wonder if Essek could make something more remote? Then we could tickle him wherever we are. That would be fun.” Caleb couldn’t respond to the idea with anything more than pained wail through his hysterics. The others pretended not to notice. “Yeah, I do worry that he goes without when we’re gone.” Jester cooed. “Pfft. Yeah, I don’t think Essek is letting that happen.” Beau snorted. Caleb started to beat at the floor with one hand, hiccups punctuating his laughter. “Aw, alright. Good boy.” The sensation stopped again, but Caleb couldn’t stop his laughter. “Please, pleaheese, *hic* bitte--” “Focus on catching your breath.” Fjord suggested, “It’ll do you more good than begging will.” Caleb let out an exhausted little sob before obeying, his lungs working overtime to suck in air. He wiped the tears from his eyes and tried to make the hiccups go away with little success. When his breathing finally evened out Fjord gave him a reassuring smile. “See, that’s better.” Fjord soothed. Beau’s grin got wider. “Hey, Caleb?” “No!” “Fffffffffff…” “Mercy!” “...uuuuck you!” “Aaii!” Caleb let out a little yelp at the sound of the words, then… nothing. He’d clenched his eyes shut in anticipation, and when he slowly opened them Beau was glaring at him. “Hey! How come it didn’t work?” Caleb let out a huge sigh of relief. The curse must have expended all of its energy. “Is it done?” Jester questioned. Caleb was wondering the same thing. He tried to examine the buckle of his holsters as subtly as possible. The seal was still there, which meant whatever the curse was, it was not over. He needed to get out of earshot as quickly as he could. “I thought it was supposed to last longer than that. Can you message Essek?” “Sure!” Caleb started to cast for misty step as subtly as he could, hoping he was close enough to his lab to lock himself inside. “Hi Essek, it’s Jester! So, your awesome curse thingy is SO great, but like, but it ran out of tickles? Do you know why?” Whoosh. Caleb hit the stone floor of his lab with an oof, dragging himself to his feet and transmuting the door of the lab into stone for good measure. As he groaned he saw that the room looked quite different compared to how he had left it the night before. The large chalkboard he used for calculations had been moved into the centre of the room. In one corner someone had drawn a symbol-- a skeleton key, like the one on the seal trapping him in his holsters. Next to it someone had written in familiar, looping script: I will not practice phasing unsupervised. X100 Caleb whipped out the enchanted little book he and Essek used to send messages between them, only to find a new one waiting for him. You have 30 minutes. Caleb was glad nobody was there to watch him gape like a fish between the chalkboard and the book. Essek couldn’t be serious. He frowned and grabbed up a quill. You are a traitorous snake! There was only a single silent moment before the page shimmered and revealed another message under Caleb’s. Noted. Now you only have 25 minutes. Caleb took a moment to say every curse word in every language he knew. Then he stood up, snatched the chalk and started writing.