#I’ll figure out the name later I just gotta scroll & find art with him

[seven-thewanderer]

sometimes I’m relieved to think before I type

I almost just typed “Return of the Hatman!! :3”

[sylvanfreckles]

Between the Dragon and His Wrath

(yes it's finally here)

Rating: T Major warnings: graphic violence, mention of miscarriages and stillbirths in chapter three (the tags are for the entire fic) Fandom: Supernatural

Summary:

Great is the Daughter of Heaven, whose hand is a net and whose embrace is death.

When Castiel investigates a series of omens, he finds himself at the center of a deadly plot to free an ancient entity from the darkest plane of Hell. As his time runs short and the enemy’s power grows, Sam and Dean must race to save him before he becomes the final sacrifice to unleash chaos on an unwary world.

. . .

Chapter One: The Angel of Thursday

. . .

“I'm serious, Cas, you just gotta ask. I'll ditch this gig and come help you.”

“You're already three hundred miles away,” Castiel replied. His phone sat on the dashboard in front of him, his call with Dean on speakerphone so his hands were free to page through what little evidence he'd managed to collect. He was tracking down some fairly unusual omens—missing persons, strange carvings or graffiti in other languages—and Dean, typically, was trying to interfere.

“I'll speed.”

“The sheriff said he'd be here in ten minutes.”

“Just tell him to wait for me.”

“Dean...”

“Look, Cas, it's just.... All these weird scribbles? Sammy can't crack them either, and if the two of you can't figure it out there must be something bad going down, right?”

“They're dirty limericks that have been badly translated into several ancient languages,” Castiel replied. He picked up two of the photographs from the case file and held them up to study. “I deciphered them late last night.”

“Ooh, how dirty?”

“Dean.” Castiel set the photos on the seat beside him and glared at the phone. He refused to admit it had been his phone call with Claire, of all things, that had gotten him on the right track. He'd expressed frustration that a piece of jumbled 3rd century Greek verse seemed to reference the island of Nantucket, which had been known by a much different name until the 17th century. Claire had given a dirty laugh and, to his growing concern, recited an obscene limerick about a man from Nantucket.

It had fit, with some inconsistencies due to translation errors. He would never admit to Dean that he'd spent most of the night with photos of the other graffiti sites in one hand and his phone in the other, scrolling through a database of dirty limericks to finish the translations.

C'mon, man,”Dean said, his voice dropping to a more serious pitch. “This case, it just...Sam thinks we need to go into deep cover and we might be out of touch for a couple days. Maybe you should head home? Wait for us?”

“I'll be fine.” Despite his irritation, Castiel couldn't help but smile. Dean hated any of them taking a case alone, no matter how small it seemed. “Sheriff Kent just wanted to show me the latest site himself, it's probably more of the same.” More filthy poetry. Castiel had often admired humanity's achievements in the arts...but he was beginning to wish mankind had never invented the limerick. The Neanderthals would never have done something so crass.

“Be careful. You find something big you just get out of there, all right? We'll handle it together.”

Castiel rolled his eyes and looked out the window as the crunch of tires on gravel heralded the sheriff's arrival. “I have to go.”

“Promise me, Cas!”

With a huff of exasperation, he picked up his phone and stared down at Dean's name. “Good-bye, Dean.”

His friend's shout of protest was cut off when Castiel ended the call. Of course he would back off if this looked like more than he could handle. Despite what the Winchesters seemed to think, Castiel was well aware of his own limitations. Particularly with Heaven so low on power.

Shuffling the papers back into their folder, he climbed out of his truck to greet the man walking toward him from the sheriff's car. “Agent Anthony?” the man held out his hand in greeting and squinted at the badge Castiel was holding up for him. “I'm Sheriff Kent, I spoke to you on the phone? Thanks for coming all the way out here.”

Castiel grasped the sheriff's outstretched hand and tucked the wallet back into his jacket pocket. “Well, I was in the neighborhood.”

Kent snorted. “I doubt that. Not unless you're here for fishing and hunting permits.” The sheriff was a tall, rugged, sandy-haired man with the deep tan of someone who spent most of his time outdoors. “I told you, there's nothing much out here. You should've let me send you the reports instead of wasting your time,” he continued, turning to lead the way down the trail that lead to a little-used boat ramp.

“You know how it is,” Castiel replied, thinking of Sam's advice on pretending to be a law enforcement agent. “The boss wants me to be thorough.”

The sheriff glanced back at him, eyebrows raised, gaze traveling from Castiel's face down to his shoes. “Uh-huh. It's right over here.”

The area was little more than a single dock, a boat ramp, and a covered picnic pavilion with three picnic tables. The driveway that lead from the main road to the ramp itself had been barricaded due to the investigation, though the sheriff explained that most people parked along the road and took the trail down unless they were hauling a boat.

Yellow caution tape was wrapped around two of the picnic tables in the pavilion, marking out a rough square about six feet across. Castiel shuffled under the tape while Kent held it up, then knelt down next to the markings etched into the concrete slab that made up the floor of the pavilion.

“Just gibberish,” Kent said dismissively, leaning back on one of the tables. “Coupla kids getting into occult stuff, trying to summon Cthulhu or something. Happens all the time.”

“That wouldn't explain the missing persons' reports.”

Kent let out a harsh sigh. “It's a small town, Agent. Kid runs away, mom freaks out and files a report, we catch 'em two weeks later down in Reno turning tricks for bus fare back home. It happens.”

Castiel looked up at the sheriff, eyes narrowed at the man's callousness. “None of these have returned.”

The sandy-haired man spread his arms out with an unconcerned shrug. “Maybe they got lucky.”

He ignored the sheriff's biting tone and turned back to the symbols etched into the concrete. They hadn't been scratched in very deeply, and despite the shelter of the picnic structure some of the text had already crumbled away in the recent rains, but there was enough for him to realize this was something completely different from what had been found at the other sites.

“It's Sumerian,” he announced after a few moments. That was the oldest language he'd found so far, which could mean this site was more important than the others.

“You mean it's actual letters?” Kent's voice went up in astonishment.

“More like pictographs,” Castiel replied. “Symbols representing words and ideas.” He leaned in closer and rested his hand on the concrete, wishing he could have gotten here even a few days earlier. The entire engraving was unfamiliar to him, which meant this was either copied from a lost text he'd never seen before...or something new.

Whatever it was, it wasn't another limerick.

“Great...woman...of heaven,” he muttered, tracing over the symbols. “This might be the symbol for the underworld, but it's not quite correct, see?” he turned to gesture to the sheriff, forgetting for a moment that it wasn't one of his friends behind him, and Kent just shrugged.

“You can read that chicken scratching?”

Castiel ignored the comment and stared down at the symbols again. “It could mean...queen of heaven?”

“The hell you talking about?”

He stood up, brushing his hands off and scanning the empty marina around them. “Possibly a reference to Inanna, but that doesn't make sense.” At Kent's confused stare he continued. “Inanna was a goddess of fertility and war. You couldn't summon her with a ritual like this.”

Kent was staring at him, expression unreadable. “What kind of agent are you, anyway?”

“I have to make a call,” Castiel said and brushed past Kent to climb back up the trail to the road. This was more than simple demonic activity—this was someone trying to summon a goddess.

It was time to call for backup.

“You're wrong you know,” Kent called after him. “It's not 'queen of heaven'...it's 'daughter'.”

Castiel spun around, only to see that the sheriff had vanished. He held himself still, listening for any sign of movement, then turned to hurry up the trail back to the truck.

The hint of sulfur in the air was his only warning, and Castiel threw himself to the ground as something big launched itself at him out of the trees that lined the trail. His angel blade was already in his hand as he rolled to his feet, brought up to guard against the massive arm that was swinging down on him. Even guarding, the creature's attack sent him staggering and he took a couple of quick steps back to dodge out of the way of another blow.

The creature on the path gave a bellowing cry and charged at him. He had little more than an impression of a bull-like head, mouth open to reveal rows of jagged teeth, crowned with curling ram's horns. The thing was taller even than Sam, and at least three times as broad, but for all its size it was monstrously fast and was inside the angel's guard before he had time to react. Castiel made a desperate swipe at the creature's arm but his blade merely skidded across the thing's toughened hide before it was knocked out of his grip.

Castiel reacted instinctively and managed to turn away from a blow that would have caved his ribcage in, though it glanced off his side with enough force to drop him to his knees, breathless. He rolled as a huge, cloven-hoofed foot came down toward him and tried to use the momentum to kick both feet up into the creature's groin. The creature bellowed again, more in fury than pain, and Castiel was unable to dodge the clawed hand that seized him by the leg and flung him into a young maple tree at the edge of the path. The tree's core gave with an audible crack and he slumped to the ground, his breath a shuddering rasp in his chest and his vision graying at the edges from the pain.

The monster was charging again. Castiel tried to roll to his feet, but cried out as pain exploded across his back as the creature caught him and raked its claws from his shoulders to his hips. The wounds burned as though infected with hellfire, and he was unable to defend himself as another clawed hand caught at his shoulder and flipped him onto his back.

He could feel dirt and debris being ground into his open wounds as the creature leaned down over him, one massive hand planted against Castiel's chest. The stench from the beast's mouth was nearly unbearable—sulfur and rotten meat and decay—as it leaned closer, throat rumbling as though in laughter.

Castiel could see his angel blade, just barely out of reach. With his left hand he pulled and twisted at the creature's wrist and with his right he grasped for the sword, fingertips just brushing against the rounded pommel. The monster noticed his movements after a moment and grabbed his free arm, wrenching it around until his shoulder was nearly pulled out of the socket. The creature's nails dug into the flesh of his forearm as his arm was bent back at an awkward angle until his elbow was practically screaming in protest.

In a last, desperate move he summoned his Grace in his left hand, pulling it away from healing his wounds to deliver a smiting blow that would burn this abomination out of its own body. He felt his eyes flare with light as Heavenly power surged through his body...then the creature was letting out a cry of fury and ragged claws were carving lines of agony across Castiel's eyes.

He screamed, the tentative hold on his Grace breaking apart as the Heavenly power evaporated, his focus broken in the sudden, blinding pain. The monster was immediately back on him, alternating savage claws with hammer-like blows. His stomach, legs, battered chest...even his ruined eyes, nothing was safe from the fiend's wrath. The creature bellowed, as though in triumph, and hoisted Castiel off the ground and over its head. He was vaguely aware that he was spinning, flying, falling...then he was flung down and struck something solid and knew no more.

…

Awareness crept back in slowly. Castiel didn't know how much time had passed but his injuries had begun to heal, if only slightly. The wounds from the creature's claws were like burning lines that were drawing the heat away from the rest of his body, leaving him weakened and chilled. His back was a flare of agony, but his eyes had fared even worse. His left eye was swollen shut, and his right eye wasn't much better. He managed to pry it open just enough to catch a glimpse of the space around him, but his vision swum and he was forced to blink several times to clear the tears that welled up in his damaged eye.

He seemed to be in a small partition inside a larger space. An old horse stall, perhaps, in one of the old barns he'd seen on journey up from the bunker. The walls were wooden, but on three sides the slats were spaced far apart enough that he could see the larger room beyond. The air was thick with the smell of blood and straw and the sickly-sweet odor of mice, and light streamed in through gaps in the ceiling and between the boards that covered the windows.

Castiel could hear someone moving outside the stall—feet shuffling through the straw, hints of a tune being hummed, the unmistakable sound of a blade dragging through flesh. He tried to roll to his stomach to get his hands under him, intent on standing up to get a look at his captor, but flinched back with a hiss of pain when his hand came into contact with the dirty straw beneath him. It was mixed with broken glass so that any attempt at movement would cut his body even further.

It was then that he noticed his shoes were missing, and that his captor had stripped him down to just his shirt and slacks. The thin fabric did little good to protect him from the glass, and even trying to settle back down the same way he'd been lying when he woke up was causing the shards beneath him to bite at his clothing and exposed skin.

The air around him was suddenly far too still and quiet.

The humming had stopped.

“I'm a little surprised to see you alive,” Kent announced. He was at the door to the stall, arms looped through the vertical bars of the door and fingers laced together. His sleeves were rolled up, though that did nothing to disguise the splashes of dark blood on his shirt. “Ozzy's little friends don't usually last more than one playdate.”

Castiel gingerly swept the glass and straw away from in front of him, clearing enough of a patch so he could push himself up to his knees. He was in no shape for a fight, but he could at least maneuver to a more defensible position. “What do you want with me?” His voice was gravely with pain, but he'd managed to keep any tremor out of it.

“Just to answer a few questions,” the sheriff—fake sheriff—sounded a little too cheerful at the prospect. “Who are you, what are you, why are you here...that sort of thing.”

He stared up at the man wordlessly. “I told you over the phone,” he began, but Kent interrupted.

“Cheap suit,” the fake sheriff announced. “Fake FBI badge. Now that could make you a journalist or a blogger, you'd be surprised what crawls up out of the woodwork for a case like this. But you could read an actual Sumerian invocation, so I'm thinking hunter.”

Kent leaned in closer, dark eyes focusing on Castiel's face. “Then you survive Ozzy. You should have bled out there on the trail, but here you are. So I'll ask again.”

There was a pulse of power in the air and Kent's eyes flared purple. “What are you?”

Castiel met the witch's gaze, mouth set in a stern line. He let the silence stretch on, eyes never wavering. His head was clearing as his Grace worked to mend the damage to his body. It would likely still be hours, if not a full day, before he recovered enough to attempt an escape but at least the pain was more bearable.

Kent broke the silence first. He grimaced and pushed himself back from the bars to call over his shoulder. “Ozzy! Bring our guest out here for me, would you?”

There was a heavy thud of footsteps in the barn beyond Kent's shadowed form, and Castiel forced himself to scramble to his feet with his back to the wall. The glass cut into his bare skin but he ignored it, focusing on finding some way to defend himself as the stall's slatted door was thrust to one side and the hulking beast that had attacked him on the trail loomed before him.

“Have you ever seen a Gallu?” Kent asked, almost conversationally, as the creature pushed its way in through the door. “They used to drag souls down to the lower planes of Hell for their masters. Luckily Oswald here is loyal to me.”

The Gallu was at least seven feet tall and four feet across. As Castiel had seen before, its head was almost bull-like, with the exception of numerous sharp teeth bristling out of its mouth. Huge, curling, ram-like horns crowned its head on either side, connected by a heavy brow that overshadowed small, dark eyes. The arms were long and muscular, ending in hands tipped with cruel, jagged claws. It walked on cloven hooves the size of a buffalo's, its legs bent back against themselves like a satyr's and covered with coarse hair that feathered out in ragged strands over its hooves. It could almost have been mistaken for a Minotaur, except for the lack of any semblance of humanity in its form and presence.

Gallu were part of a lower order of demons, lacking true sentience but brutally efficient at chasing down any soul that dared escape the confines of Hell. Crowley had supposedly trapped them all in one of the lower planes, preferring to govern Hell through bureaucracy rather than cruelty, but somehow this one had escaped. Or been summoned.

Castiel braced his hands against the wall, eyes flickering from the Gallu to the open doorway behind it. In his current state he was no match for the creature's speed and power in a direct confrontation, but if he could get around it he had a chance to escape. Its movement would be limited in the building and the Gallu had been made to track humans, not angels.

It struck, its speed just as lethal as it had been on the trail. Castiel tried to dodge to one side but the Gallu wrapped one massive hand around his left arm and pulled him forward. His feet slipped out from under him and he collapsed to his knees, his other hand flying out to break his fall. Broken glass tore at his slacks to dig into the flesh beneath, scraped across his palm until his hand was slick with blood.

He was pulled forward before he had time to regain his feet, the Gallu dragging him across the broken glass to the door of the stall. Castiel gave up trying to stand and aimed blows with his free hand at the creature's wrist. The Gallu growled in annoyance and hauled at Castiel's arm, pulling the angel off his feet and swinging him into the open barn beyond the stall. Before he could get his bearings the creature backhanded him hard enough to make white sparks explode in his vision, the force of the blow wrenching at his shoulder and elbow as he was knocked to the floor.

“Just hold him here,” Kent was saying. The Gallu yanked Castiel up by the arm and dragged him inexorably toward a long table in the center of the barn's open space. A partially-dissected corpse took up one end of the table, with lumps of organic matter filling a half dozen wooden bowls and a basin below the table rippling with partially-congealed blood.

Castiel was spun around and slammed shoulder-first onto the surface of the table. The Gallu placed one massive hand on his chest to hold him in place, the other wrapped around his wrist to stretch his arm out for examination. He couldn't see much of the corpse past the creature's bulk, but he'd seen the colorful ribbons braided into the blond hair.

In the files he'd gathered, one of the missing persons had last been seen with her hair decorated with ribbons in her school's colors. They hadn't just been runaways...Kent had been taking them.

“Shall we?” Kent said brightly. He had a short knife in his hand, the blade flecked with rust. Without another word he dragged it across Castiel's arm, tearing sleeve and flesh as he went. The witch studied the wound for a moment with a frown before reaching for a different knife and cutting Castiel's arm with that one as well. This one was silver, and Kent carefully watched for a reaction before setting the knife down with a puzzled frown.

“Next should be holy water, but I never touch the stuff,” he commented. “I supposed we could start with a few discovery runes, but if you're not reacting to iron and silver...”

His voice trailed off as he looked over the long table, then he smirked at Castiel and reached for another item. His angel blade.

“Tell me you're not the kind of guy who goes around carrying the one weapon that can hurt you,” Kent said teasingly. When Castiel refused to answer he pressed the tip of the angel blade to the inside of Castiel's elbow and dragged it down toward his wrist.

Castiel screamed. The bulb in the battery-operated lantern that hung over the table exploded, and Kent took a step back in shock.

He twisted, trying to free himself, but the Gallu's hold was relentless. Kent staggered forward, dropping the angel blade to rest the tips of his fingers on Castiel's wound, which was glowing with the faint sheen of Grace.

“I don't believe it,” Kent whispered, bringing his fingers up to press Castiel's blood to his lips. “You're an angel.” For a few long minutes Kent stared at the glowing wound in Castiel's arm, almost in reverence, while the Gallu leaned more of his weight against the angel's chest.

Kent suddenly took a step back and brushed his hands off on his thighs. “I'd better get moving. We'll need more supplies to keep an angel here, and I should call the girls. Better keep our guest entertained, Ozzy.” The Gallu gave a satisfied rumble as Kent strode away, but paused when the witch called over his shoulder. “And keep him quiet!”

Castiel tried one last lunge for his angel blade but the Gallu was faster. It twisted its fist in the front of Castiel's shirt and whirled around to fling him out into the open floor of the barn. The angel rolled and tried to push himself up to his feet, only to be knocked back down under the creature's onslaught. Ruthless claws tore at the flesh of his back, tearing open the half-healed wounds from the earlier attack. He tried to fight but he was easily flipped over and then the Gallu's hand was on his neck, squeezing until the bones creaked and his throat closed.

The Gallu lifted him by the throat and slammed him back down so his head bounced off the floor of the barn. And again, the grip on his neck tightening with every gasp of pain Castiel managed to choke out. He flailed useless at the hand on his throat as his wounded body grew weaker, the new slashes across his back burning fever-bright as they leeched the heat from the rest of his body.

Clawed fingers caressed his face, almost gently, tracing the jagged cuts the Gallu had left earlier that day. His left eye was still swollen shut, and the vision in his right was beginning to swirl and fade as his injuries multiplied.

Castiel tried to scream as pain erupted across his face, but could barely get a breath past the monster's grip on his throat. The Gallu was dragging its claws along the wounds it had left early, reopening the ones that had begun heal and tearing them even deeper.

He coughed, tasted blood in his mouth, and let the pain send him spiraling back into darkness as the Gallu dug into his wounds a second time.

. . .

There we go! Chapter one of seven!

You know how it goes! Likes and comments feed the muse and the muse makes the whump.

Okay, love you, bye!

[devil-in-the-d3tails]

It’s the End of the World as We Know It - Chapter 1

summary: During the international quarantine in your first-ever pandemic, the people around you slowly begin to disappear. As the world grows quieter and quieter, you find yourself all alone-- no power, no friends, and only one goal: to find whoever of your friends might be left and reunite with them.You're naive to think anything can be that simple. As you're faced with ever-increasing loneliness, you run into some boys who apparently went to the same high school as you. Will you join forces with them to figure out your strange circumstances together, or will you brave loneliness in a world that is slowly crumbling apart?

Link on AO3!

words: 4,452

rating: M - Mature

genre: angst/humor, romance, adventure, apocalypse AU, reader-insert

warnings: sort of depressing content, a smidge of violence, cursing

a/n: hello, hello! this is my first fic for haikyuu (originally posted on AO3), and i wanted to post it on tumblr as well just for shits n gigs. please enjoy!

- Beginning of the End -

It was a Thursday the day everyone disappeared.

The world was quiet outside, but it was loud in your phone, on account of the international quarantine. Everyone was tweeting, making dumb videos, playing video games. You would sit in your room for hours on end, scrolling through your phone as you mourned the loss of your senior year of high school. No prom, no graduation, no more arts and crafts club. It was bad enough that your closest friend group had been disbanded before your senior year even started-- it was just bad luck, but they all left to live in different states while you were left alone in suburbia.

You stayed home with your mom while your dad went to work-- he was considered an essential worker, as he worked in the grocery store. Your mom was much more active than you, constantly cleaning or cooking or going for a walk. It was admirable, but it irritated you how she would always try and get you to interact with her activities. She did it because she was probably worried about you, and she was probably lonely. You were lonely, too-- your friends lived miles away in the vast expanse of the suburbs, and your home was tucked into the fringes of soccer mom society. Your backyard was larger than most, and it was perfect for when you would host kickbacks with your friends. Recently, however, you had no reason to use the large space.

On Thursday, you decided to put down your phone for a while and play fetch with your dog. She was the biggest and fluffiest best friend you’d ever had, a german shepherd named Indie, short for Indiana, as in the archaeologist. You thought the name was fitting, because she could find almost anything with her nose-- you and your mom had trained her to do that a few summers ago.

Your mom had gone on a walk before you decided to play fetch with the dog. You had left your phone on the kitchen table. It wasn’t until the sun began to set and you felt your arm begin to ache when you noticed that she’d been gone for a while.

You gave Indie her stick, though she sniffed and whined at you stressfully. You frowned, and let her inside as you checked your phone. A few notifications from your friends’ group chat:

 4:47pm

Kimi: Anybody else’s power go out?

Callie: omg i thought it was just Ohio!

Kimi: Nah, we got it in Connecticut, too.

Emily: New York, too!

They were asking if you had experienced the same thing.

 6:48pm

Me: i didnt notice, i was playing with indie. wbu, sami?

 Sami had moved to L.A., about two hours from your home, so you guys were able to hang out most weekends if you took the train or if she drove out to you. She didn’t even read the chat.

 6:48pm

Me: bitch i know ur in quarantine smh read my message

[Kimi, Callie, and Emily liked your message!]

 You dialed your mom’s number as you went to turn on the T.V., only to be met with static. You frowned, and surfed a few channels only to be met with more static before you turned it off. Her voicemail blared through your phone speakers, and that was when you started to worry.

You hung up, called your dad.

“Hey, honey!” He answered-- he must’ve been on break.

“Dad, did the power go out?”

“Yeah, for a couple minutes there. Did it happen at home, too?”

“Yeah…” You trailed off. Indie licked your hand, and whined some more. “Hey, mom’s not answering her phone and she’s been on a walk for a while. Like, three hours.”

“Huh.” Your dad let out a contemplative sigh. “Well, I’m sure she’ll be okay. Maybe she’s talking with the neighbors and her phone died.”

“Maybe.”

But maybe not. You had a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach, and Indie could sense it as you sat on the couch. She slowly tried to inch her way into your lap, as she never really had a good idea of her own large size. You just let her and scratched her ear.

“Listen, honey, I gotta go. But we can make mac-n-cheese for dinner, how’s that sound?”

“Good, dad.” You said, biting your lip. “Okay, see you when you get home.”

Then, you hung up, and you waited for your mom.

[-]

When your dad got home, you went out to search for your mom. On your tour of the neighborhood, you came across others who had broken quarantine and were searching for their loved ones, too. Saying they went for a walk, or to the store and they didn’t come back.

Your dad remained the voice of reason, saying things like well maybe their phone died, or this is all just some big prank we’ll all laugh about later. You stayed silent.

[-]

Saturday was when your dad didn’t come home. His car was nowhere to be found, but you didn’t trust yourself to drive your mom’s car just yet. Or rather, you didn’t want to drive it because you didn’t want to be reminded that it was permanently vacant. You walked all the way to the store an hour after he was supposed to have gotten off. Manager Dan wasn’t there, either-- nobody had seen your dad at all that day; he was a no-call, no-show.

You walked all the way back home.

9:52pm

Me: my dad’s gone now too

 10:05pm

Callie: fuck.

Callie: my sister…

 10:06pm

Kimi: I still haven’t heard from Sami.

Emily: Yeah, me neither.

 10:15pm

Me: we should check in every day with each other

[Callie and Emily liked your message!]

 10:32

Me: Kimi?

 [-]

It’s Thursday again.

Emily has stopped answering by now, and the frantic search parties that used to pass by your window every now and again have stopped, too. Even Twitter is quiet-- it seems with every passing day, more and more people go silent. As you lay on your bed with Indie at your feet, you keep refreshing your feed on every social media app, but nothing changes-- all of the posts are old. It feels like your world is shrinking while at the same time expanding into a terrifying void.

 5:38pm

Me: callie?

Callie: im here.

 You breathe a sigh of relief, which turns into a sob into your pillow.

 5:39pm

Me: idk how long we’ll have wifi or even electricity.

Callie: my parents are still here. Come to ohio, seriously.

 You bite your lip. You think about Sami, and how many times she pried the truth out of you when you were sad, how she was the only one who would sing with you at karaoke, how you promised to move to New York together.

 5:39pm

Me: i have to find sami.

Callie: please just come here. We need to stick together.

Me: i’ll find sami and we’ll come to ohio. Then we go to NY to look for em and kimi.

 5:45pm

Callie: okay. Please text.

Me: i will. I promise i’ll come to ohio.

 You bite your lip, and glance at your phone’s percentage: 43%. You sigh, and put it on the charger while you go downstairs to scrounge for breakfast. You only woke up about two hours ago, though you can’t sleep much, anyways. You think to yourself how your mom would be scolding you for waking up so late.

As you eat the last poptart, Indie lays down on your feet. You toss her a couple crumbs, she eats them gratefully. You sigh, and look at your now empty pantry-- you have to try and go to the grocery store, whether you like it or not. You only have your permit, but you know that you’re a terrible driver. Still, you get up and put on shoes and grab your jacket. You probably don’t have to worry about cops or the law anymore, anyway-- you suspect everything has disappeared.

You look at yourself in the mirror; you didn’t think your outfit for the apocalypse would be sweatpants and a hoodie. With a sigh, you change into jeans and a long sleeve, layer a flannel on top of that, and your favorite jacket on top of that. It’s cold outside-- much colder than you’re used to.

Based on the incredible silence on Facebook, you figure that most of the adults have disappeared. As you drive further and further into town, you notice some obvious signs of looting from once pristine houses: trash littering lawns, doors left wide open. You get the haunting realization that you’re perhaps the only person left in your neighborhood. It’s amazing how quickly things can turn in just a few days.

When you pull up to the grocery store, you notice there’s only one other car there-- a white van, stationed by the curb and still running. You actually pull into a parking spot like some kind of society bootlicker, and cautiously put the car in park and turn off the engine.

You watch the van for a moment, slowly becoming hyper-aware of the very real possibility that you might run into robbers. Your stomach growls, and you take a deep breath. You should’ve brought Indie.

Grocery bags in hand, you exit your soccer mom minivan and lock it. Steeling your nerves, you put one foot in front of the other. As if on cue, two figures hurry out of the store, glancing behind them before they notice you. The automatic doors have long since stopped running, so they just pause in the doorway while you freeze on the curb, the fumes from the van tickling your nose.

They’re both boys holding bags you assume to be filled with groceries: both around your age, one of them has gray and black spiked hair, and eyes as wide and aware as an owl’s. The one next to him has dark, short, almost curly hair, and his gaze is calculating and cold.

You take a small step back, unsure of what to say. They seem just as apprehensive, when the van door slides open forcefully.

“Hey, what are you doing? Get in!” Another boy, this one of a larger build than the two in front of you with jet black spiked hair, snaps angrily.

“Kuroo, we have a situation.” The curly-haired boy says evenly, though he’s tense. His knuckles are white holding his bags.

“Huh?” The one who must be Kuroo says, and cranes his neck to the side to spot you. “Oh, shit.”

“U-um…” You stutter out, and you suddenly feel extremely cornered-- it’s three against one, and what if they want to take your car? What if they have some kind of weird cult and need a girl for breeding? “I’m just gonna get some-- some poptarts and leave.”

“Holy shit!!” The gray haired one seems to have broken out of his stupor, and he rushes over to you, dropping his bags and their contents on the ground in order to grab your shoulders. “Another person! A-a girl!”

“Yes, she’s a girl…” The curly-haired one sighs, puts his bags in the van and begins to gather up the other one’s forgotten groceries.

“First one I’ve seen in a while.” Kuroo grins and hops from the car to stand beside the gray-haired one who still hasn’t let go of you. You don’t have the balls to tell him to get off-- you’re not sure how dangerous these boys are. “How long have you been hiding out?”

“Come with us! We’re at the high school.” The gray-haired one beams-- how could he possibly be smiling?

You don’t know what to say, so you look away. Your voice seems to be caught in your throat, and that’s extremely frustrating-- but you’re not about to cry in front of these guys.

“Quit it, Bokuto.” The curly-haired one is eyeing you carefully, though not as if you’re a threat. He seems to be the only one that can actually sense your discomfort. The one that’s holding you-- Bokuto-- sighs, and lets you go, instead putting his hands on his hips.

“We should at least help her.” He points out, and grins down at you. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“She’s not gonna tell you. Let’s just go home.” Kuroo shrugs, and you cross your arms.

You tell them your name, if only to spite the taller one. He turns with a grin, and it only just occurs to you that perhaps, that was reverse-psychology. You huff, and look away with a little bit of a blush.

“Like I said, I just need to get poptarts and some other things and then I’m going back home.” You mutter.

“We’re wasting gas.” The curly-haired one calls, as he has already sat in the front seat.

“Hold on, Akaashi!” Bokuto calls. “Listen, there aren’t anymore poptarts in there. None whatsoever.”

Your heart breaks a little, but you keep it together.

“There’s, like, rice and stuff, but I think that’s it.” He shrugs, and turns to get into the van. You bite your lip--  might as well ask rather than waste your time wandering around all alone.

“Is there any dog food left?”

“Huh? Dog food?” Bokuto is right back in front of you. He and Kuroo speak at the same time:

“You’re gonna eat dog food?” Bokuto says. “You have a dog?” Kuroo says, and the two boys glare at each other.

“Yeah…” You say, though you still haven’t gotten an answer to your question. “I mean, I have a dog.”

“Yeah, it’s in aisle five.” You hear the one called Akaashi tell you, without even bothering to turn to look at you.

“I know that.” You snap-- your dad used to work in this store, you know it pretty damn well. Akaashi glances back at you then, probably a little surprised by your defensive tone. You huff, annoyed at yourself for being so touchy. These were the first people you met after about three straight weeks in quarantine, and they might be the only people left for miles. You need to play nice.

“My dad works here.” You explain, looking down at your shoes. Kuroo nods, exchanges a glance with Bokuto. “Well, he used to.”

A silence falls over the group-- they know. You all know, now, what it’s like to lose a parent, or any loved one, for that matter. You blink quickly to fight back any tears that might threaten to escape.

“We’re staying at Karasuno High-- it’s the high school near Flat Top.” Kuroo says. “If you want to join us, we’re kind of setting up camp there.”

“There’s more of us!” Bokuto explains. “We’re gonna find some mattresses after this to bring ‘em back so we can all stick together.”

“Oh, cool.” You say half-heartedly, unsure of why exactly they’re inviting you over as if it’s some kind of fun sleepover. “Wait, you guys went to Karasuno?”

“Yeah! You, too?” Bokuto lights up, and you look at the three boys a little closer, though you don’t seem to recognize them.

“Yeah… but I don’t think we were in the same circles.” You finally smile a little, albeit sadly, now that you’re remembering all the things you’ll never be able to return to now that school and society are essentially gone.

“You ever go to any volleyball games?” Kuroo asks, obviously encouraged by your smile. You shake your head.

Akaashi has exited the van by now with a sigh, coming to stand beside his two friends as he takes a look around. “We need to get going. If you want to join us, you know where to find us. But it’s gonna be dark soon.”

That seems to smack some sense into the other two, and they exchange glances with one another. Kuroo nods, Bokuto sighs, and the two get back into the van. Akaashi pauses, and you accidentally lock eyes with him.

His gaze betrays nothing, and you wonder for a moment how he ever became friends with these two. He reaches into the van, and pulls out a familiar blue cardboard box, gives it to you.

You take the poptarts, and glance up at him questioningly-- he puts a finger to his lips with just the hint of a smile. You smile back.

“Listen, it’s great you have a dog-- keep him close. And get home before it gets dark. And…” He glances to the side uneasily. “Get a baseball bat or something.”

A chill goes up your spine at that last part, and you frown, but nod to the boy in front of you anyways. He returns the nod, and gets in the back of the van. You both share a glance at each other one more time, and it feels as if he wants to say something more, but he doesn’t. He just slides the door closed, and Bokuto waves to you out the window.

“Byee! Hopefully we’ll see you later-- hey, where’d you get those poptarts?!” Bokuto’s voice fades away as the van drives off, and you are once again left alone.

[-]

You gather a fair amount of stuff-- rope, for some reason is included in your loot. You always saw people in the movies get rope, so you figure you’ll find some use for it.

There aren’t any baseball bats, but you do find a hammer and a paring knife. It’s small, but better than nothing. You load up on the dog food, and even manage to haul two huge bags of kibble into your car. As you load it up, you can’t shake the feeling of someone watching you. Even though you look around and make certain that you’re the only person present, the feeling doesn’t go away. You sort of wish you’d gone with those boys now.

You aren’t surprised when the street lights don’t turn on, but you take that as your signal to leave. Even though you want to scrounge for more supplies, you don’t want to risk it. Akaashi’s words of warning hang over your head like a humid fog.

As you drive home, you can’t stop chewing on your lip. Even with your headlights on, it’s hard to see, but you don’t want to turn on your brights and draw more attention to yourself. Just get home, lock the doors, and check in with Callie.

You park the car in your backyard because the garage door won’t open-- the power’s finally gone out. You close the backyard gate and lock it as soon as you’re out of the car, but somehow you still feel uneasy.

As you enter your dark home, you softly call out Indie’s name, and you hear her scamper up to you.

“Good girl,” You whisper, and scratch her ear. You decide to leave the larger groceries in the car for now, as you don’t want to go back outside and keep making trips of transferring the supplies into your house. For now, you need to sleep so that you can ignore the hunger in your belly and stretch out your rations just a little further.

Indie guides you up the stairs and into your bedroom as you set your bag down heavily. You come across your phone with dismay, finding that it hasn’t charged at all since you left, and is now at 7%. You bite your lip, and open up the almost abandoned group chat.

 9:57pm

Me: callie im gonna come to ohio soon. I think we are gonna lose connection tho. Idk if this will even send, but ill see u in ohio. I love you.

 The message doesn’t send. You shudder out a sigh, and you’re grateful when Indie nuzzles into your side.

Your phone finally shuts off, though it’s useless now, anyway. You crawl into your bed and Indie curls up next to you, and you fall into an uneasy sleep.

[-]

“Shh!”

You jolt awake at the hissing sound that’s coming from downstairs. Indie is tense and alert, and she licks your elbow. You sit up, and vaguely note the time: 3:37am.

There’s some shuffling, and you see the beam of what you assume to be a flashlight shakily illuminate the walls downstairs. You didn’t close your bedroom door when you came in, because you assumed that you were alone.

‘Stupid…’ You think to yourself as you grip Indie’s collar. She begins to growl, but you shush her quickly, though she flattens her ears back at you. Letting out a shaky breath, you crawl off of your bed as silently as you can manage, and reach for the hammer and paring knife in your bag.

Indie follows you as you venture into the hallway, and you perch behind the bars of your stairs as the hushed conversation down below becomes clearer.

“Just find whatever food you can and let’s go.” A deep male voice cuts through the silence.

“We need to check the car! There’s nothing here.” A stranger male voice answers, and giggles. “We should find the girl instead.”

You tense, and grip the hammer a little tighter.

“I don’t care about her. I just want her stuff.” The deep voice asserts, and you wonder what you should do next. Storm downstairs and hammer them to death? You’ve never fought anybody before, let alone killed someone. Your hands are becoming clammy, and you don’t notice the pregnant pause in the conversation downstairs.

It isn’t until you see a head of brown hair come into view that you’re snapped from your thoughts. Indie can’t help herself-- she barks, and bolts down the stairs before you can stop her. The two boys yell in surprise, and you watch as she tackles the tall one with brown hair. Meanwhile, the other one comes into view-- he has large, droopy eyes with spiked red hair, and he looks excited when he catches sight of you.

“There she is!” He coos, and begins to walk upstairs. You gasp, and you know in this split second that your home is no longer yours-- you need to get away. In one fluid motion, you run into your room to grab your single bag of groceries. It’s heavy, but you don’t notice as adrenaline rushes through your veins.

When you turn to run down the stairs, the red-head catches you by both of your upper arms. He licks his chapped lips, and your knee jerks out to hit his groin. He yelps and doubles over, and you fly down the stairs.

“Indie!” You whistle, and she actually bounds from the living room over the couch, to skid by your side. You swipe the car keys off the counter, rip the sliding glass door open, and use the fob to unlock the car. You open the passenger for Indie, she leaps in as you toss the bag and your hammer and knife in behind her, you slam the door closed, and hop over the hood of the car.

As you turn to open the driver’s side door, you watch as the red-head runs in slow motion from your stairs to the exit to your backyard. You don’t breathe or shake as you turn the ignition, throw the car in reverse, then drive, and plow through your flimsy backyard gate as you push your little soccer van to its limits.

Tires skid as you swerve onto the street, and you press down so hard on the gas, that a few minutes later, you don’t register that you’re going 90 miles an hour in the suburbs. Houses pass you at incredible speed, and you ease up on the pedal when Indie licks your cheek. You stare straight ahead, and subconsciously, you drive towards your high school. Those three boys were nice to you-- they warned you, and you didn’t listen. They even tried to help you and include you, and you flat out denied them.

You slam on the brakes as you turn into Karasuno High’s parking lot. It’s only now that you realize that you didn’t fasten your seat belt, and you shut off the car with a shaky breath. The front of the school looms over you, and you wonder for a moment if they’re even here-- was it all a joke? What if they turn you away because you were such a bitch earlier? No matter how many scenarios you run through your head, you come to the same conclusion every time: you can’t go back home, and you’re already here, so you may as well investigate. You grab your hammer and get out of the car, and Indie follows behind. You close and lock the doors, pocketing the keys, and turn towards the school you’ve known for three and a half years.

The front gates are locked, of course. You wander the perimeter of the school, Indie trotting beside you the whole way. The school looks different in the dark-- it feels different, too. It’s like you’re walking in a dream, or some sort of in-between space. You shouldn’t be awake, and you definitely shouldn’t be here, but you are. It’s strange. Everything is bathed in moonlight, so it’s all a very specific shade of blue that makes you feel like you’re underwater.

You come upon the gym in the back of the school, and you’re startled to hear voices coming from inside. You tip-toe up to the doors, and Indie sniffs curiously. 

“If your leg gets cut off, would it hurt?”

“Please just go to sleep.”

“Duh!” A third voice chimes in, and the second voice groans.

“How, though?” The first voice presses.

“‘Cause your leg got cut off, dumbass.” Third voice answers.

“Where’re you gonna feel the pain?”

“In your leg…” The third voice trails off.

“Exactly, man. How’re you gonna feel the pain in your leg if--”

“--if your leg is gone?!” The first and third voice finish together, and you hear the second person groan.

“I’m going outside.” He says, and as his voice gets louder, you stumble away from the door just as it opens.

You blink rapidly and your jaw drops-- Akaashi stands in front of you, brows furrowed and eyes wide. You can’t believe they’re actually here.

“Akaashi?” Someone calls from inside. Akaashi opens his mouth to respond, but glances at Indie when she sniffs his hand curiously. He pets her absent-mindedly as his gaze wanders back to yours.

Bokuto and Kuroo pop up behind him a second later, and they’re just as surprised as Akaashi. Indie sniffs them in turn, and her tail begins to wag.

You drop your hammer with a thud, and sniffle like a toddler before letting out a sob you didn’t know you’d been holding.

“C-can I stay with you?”

[crownedbyluke]

Long Road Ahead (Chapter Fifteen)

Estelle Finley has been friends with Ashton Irwin and Luke Hemmings for three years. When the boys bring her along on a jam-packed road trip to Cape Cod with the rest of the band, their adventures are just beginning. Through long hours driving, exploring cities, and hidden secrets, something more is bound to happen on this journey. How will this road trip change Estelle’s friendship with the friends she’s come to love so dearly?

Word Count: 2,560

{Chapter One} {Chapter Two} {Chapter Three} {Chapter Four}{Chapter Five} {Chapter Six} {Chapter Seven} {Chapter Eight} {Chapter Nine} {Chapter Ten} {Chapter Eleven} {Chapter Twelve} {Chapter Thirteen} {Chapter Fourteen}

The sound of my phone buzzing jolted me from my sleep. My eyes slowly adjusted to the bright sunlight shining through the windows of my room. There was a text from Luke.

L: Hey little dove. We gotta head out soon. 

E: Okay. I’ll be out in 5.

I blinked a few times, the memory of last night ebbing back into my mind.

“I love you Lu.”

He kissed me with all of the passion and love he could muster up. It felt like I had been away from home and this was the moment it was finally coming back. His hands pulled me closer, desperately grabbing as if I’d fade away. My fingers tangled in his hair, gently tugging. He let out a small moan. Before I had time to think, Luke lifted me up. I instinctively wrapped my legs around his waist. It felt slightly weird how needy we were since we had kissed already. 

“You’re mine,” he almost growled, gently dropping me onto his bed. 

I nodded in agreement, pulling him back towards me. We kept kissing for what felt like hours until Luke sat up and moved away from me. 

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“What changed between getting back and now?” he asked. 

I sighed, unsure how to phrase the thoughts that had been causing a storm inside my mind. 

“I’m tired of fighting. I want to be happy and pretending to be that perfect daughter again made me feel disgusting. I used to do that all the time before college and before I met you and Ash. It doesn’t feel right or even remotely okay anymore. I watch Mikey and Crystal all the time and they’re so happy together, and deep down I know we could be that happy too. I’ve dated plenty of guys and none of them make me feel the way you do. I just want to be with you, Luke. Is that so horrible?” I asked.

He nodded, needing a moment to process my words. I pressed a kiss to his cheek before getting up. I felt his eyes on me as I walked towards the door. 

“I want this little dove. I really do, but I’ve got to take care of some stuff first okay?” he asked as I reached for the door. 

“Take your time. I’ll wait.”

A smile came over my face. It felt easier to breathe now that everything was out in the open. I checked over my outfit in the mirror, adjusting my black crop top and green sunflower shorts. As I pulled my denim button up over my shoulders, I felt secure. Once again, it was in Luke’s hands and I was putting all of my trust in him. He was it and I just hoped he’d feel the same once he handled everything. I grabbed my stuff and headed over to his room. He opened the door a second later. 

“Good morning,” I said with a smile.

“Morning. You look beautiful as always,” he said. 

I felt my cheeks flush from the compliment. He took my bag out of my hand and gestured towards the elevator. There was a weird tension between us, not exactly sexual or nervous, but just unsure. We checked out and headed to the car. 

“Do you want to drive again?” he asked after putting our stuff in the trunk.

“No, you can.”

I climbed into the passenger seat and moved it so I could relax. Luke turned the radio on, handing me the aux chord. It was simple, but meant that he wanted me to tell him what I was thinking. I scrolled through some playlists before I found the perfect one. The soft acoustic guitar from the beginning of “Hesitate” by Jonas Brothers started to fill the car. My nerves kept me from looking over at Luke as the chorus hit. As the second verse started, he put his hand on my thigh. I glanced over still nervous and caught the goofy smile on his face. Maybe this feeling wouldn’t last, but right now, it was me and Luke in the little happy bubble of our own. 

                                                     --

Ashton was running after Calum when we pulled up. It made me wish even more that we didn’t have to leave. 

“My lady,” Luke said, opening my door for me. 

“Why thank you good sir,” I said, taking his hand to get out. 

“There they are!” Crystal yelled from the porch. 

“I brought her back in one piece as promised,” he said. 

I laughed at them, feeling grateful Crystal had us go in the first place. Ashton came running around the corner with the familiar playful smile on his face. 

“Bugs!” he cheered.

Before I was able to tell him to slow down, he was wrapping me up in one of his bear hugs. 

“Don’t break her!” Crystal yelled, now coming down the stairs.

“She’s fine!” Ashton said, releasing me and gesturing as if he was Vana White. 

“Good, because we have lots to discuss,” she said. 

“Lots and lots,” I said, smiling. 

Girl talk was much needed right now and talking about almost having sex with your best friend after being into him for three years was not exactly Ash territory. 

“Don’t keep her too long. I missed her,” he called.

“No promises!” she said. 

We sat down on the side porch in one of the bench swings I felt her watching me. 

“Spill.”

“It went well okay?” I laughed. 

Her look intensified as she analyzed my face.

“I don’t see any hickeys so clearly not that well,” she said. 

“Oh my god Crys! That didn’t happen.”

“So what did?”

“I told him about the threat from my dad and after we got back, we kissed.”

“That’s it?” she asked, sounding shocked. 

“Yes! Why are you so surprised?” I asked.

“You had post-sex glow so I was hoping things had gone extremely well,” she said with a shrug. 

My laugh rang in my own ears. I hadn’t realized that we looked so glowy. 

“Well, are you two at least together?” she asked. 

I felt a sudden unease wash over me with the question. Even I had no real answer to that one. I looked at the ocean, hoping in some way it would magically present the answer. 

“I don’t know. He said he had to figure some stuff out,” I said. 

“That’s not a no though right?” she continued.

“Right, but I don’t know what those things are.”

“I’m sure he’ll tell you once he’s done,” she said, putting a comforting arm around my shoulders.

“I hope so.”

                                                     --

LUKE’S POV

“What was the name of Estelle’s real estate agent again?” I asked, pulling out my laptop. 

“Junie. Why?” he asked. 

“If her dad can take her dream home away, I want to know why and how, and if I can prevent it,” I explained. 

Ashton looked at me with surprise. My fingers flew as I searched for the office’s number. Once I had it, I dialed without hesitation.

“Hi there. I have a few questions regarding finances on your properties,” I said once someone answered.

“Of course. How may I help?” she asked politely. 

“Once a property is purchased and finalized with a move in date, can anything happen to change that?” I asked.

“Logistically speaking, no. However, we have had instances of the bank of a client deciding to back out of mortgage financing which lead to the client scrambling to find a new one,” she said. 

“In the event of a client using a trust fund, would that change that process?” I continued.

“Most likely, no. Typically, we take trust money right away just for financial security and then we require the client to obtain a mortgage through that bank still.”

I asked a few more questions before ending the call. Ashton kept staring at me as I finished up some research. 

“What?” I asked.

“What are you trying to do?” he asked.

“Estelle worked her ass off to get that house and I don’t want that to get taken from her for wanting to be happy.”

“Dude, I’m moving in with her. I’ve got that handled,” he said. 

“What about the threat to our career?” I asked. 

“I believe our record label wouldn’t let that happen.”

“So what does he have that makes him think he could?”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got our publicist on it,” he said with a wink.

It still felt like I was missing something. Maybe I was being paranoid, but the pit in my stomach told me otherwise.

                                                      --

ESTELLE’S POV

My heart was beating extremely fast, the nerves about what I was going to do sinking in. I was hovering over the call button, just waiting on the courage to call.

“Elle?” I heard Calum call from my door.

“What’s up?” I asked, tucking my phone away. 

“How’d it go yesterday?” he asked.

“Good. Tiny bit unresolved right now.”

“Are you going to be together finally then?” he continued. 

“I don’t know. I’ve gotta make a phone call though. Can we talk later?” I asked. 

He nodded, giving me a small smile. I locked the door after he left. My hesitation from before was gone, leaving me to just click my dad’s name. The ringing felt longer than normal causing my nerves to rise. 

“Estelle,” he said upon answering.

“Hello father,” I said. 

I felt my leg starting to shake, anxiety growing the longer the pauses were.

“How was your art gallery opening?” he asked. 

“It went well. Only one reporter asked me about you,” I said, getting to the point.

“And how did that go?”

“I said exactly what you wanted me to and gave her some winks so she’d write up something nice for you.”

“And how did your friend react to that?” he continued.

“He was surprised, but as you said, we’re just friends,” I said, trying to hold back the bite in my words. 

“Good.”

“Do you mind explaining why I can’t date him? I would have assumed you’d be thrilled by the press it could bring,” I said, slightly hoping to angle it better.

“We both know how you and the press interact,” he said, his tone getting sharper. 

“And we both know that I’ve gotten more mature since then. The college mistake was not entirely my fault and after that passed, I did everything you asked. I’m media trained, have my own job, and rarely ever do anything that would reflect bad on the company,” I argued. 

“Do you honestly believe the life of a musician is suited for you?” he asked, changing the subject sort of. 

“Luke is not every musician that parties all the time,” I said, gritting my teeth. 

“Really? Is that why a photo of him kissing someone who isn’t you was all over the internet five days ago?”

The memory came back full force, images swirling around as I took a deep breath. 

“He reacted badly to the news of the inability of being together because of you,” I said, digging my nails into the palm of my hand.

“What makes you believe he won’t react badly whenever something doesn’t go his way?” he pressed.

“Because we’ve been friends for three years! While you were out producing Inked and sticking your head farther up Wesley’s ass in the hope that he’ll be the promise child, I was working hard to gain my spot as a teacher. Unlike my brothers, I have listened to you and kept my head down. I am an adult now and if you can’t understand that enough to let me love who I want then you’re no better than when Mom left you,” I fired off, feeling how heavily I was breathing. 

“Estelle Rose Finley!” he yelled. 

“Harass Wes or Parker, but stop treating me like her,” I said. 

“Watch your tone,” he warned. 

“I love Luke and if I want to see what a relationship with him would be like, I can do that without needing your permission.”

“We’ll see about that,” he said, angrily before ending the call.

I took a few deep breaths to calm myself down. I hadn’t meant for the phone call to go that way or end in a big argument. My hands were shaking and there were nail marks indented on my palm. A tear fell onto my leg causing me to wipe at my cheeks. There were plenty of tears that had fallen from the anger that my father caused. It was rare for me to lash out or let him get under my skin. I felt exhausted from the conversation and it was only midday. There was a knock on my door, making me pull myself together. Ashton was standing there, concern all over his face. 

“I heard you yell. Everything okay bugs?” he asked, stepping in and gently putting his hands on my shoulders. 

“Yeah. Just another phone call with my dick of a dad.”

“Were you crying?”

“A little. I got really angry,” I explained.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“It was just about Luke. He keeps trying to control my choices when I’m an adult. It’s frustrating,” I said with a shrug. 

“I don’t mean to pry, but your mom left?” he asked hesitantly. 

“Oh, um, yeah. She left him when I was in my first year of college after the whole party incident,” I explained. 

He moved to sit on my bed, nodding as if to say go on. 

“When she found out about him threatening to move me, she lost it. I was already away for a couple months, so I didn’t know he was being mean and controlling towards her. I guess it was the final straw.”

“Where is she now?”

“She lives in England and has her own design house. We don’t really talk that much,” I said.

“And Wes and Parker?” he continued. 

“My brothers. Wes is three years older than me and Parker is two years younger.”

“You’ve never mentioned them.”

“I know and I’m sorry. My family isn’t the best at doing family stuff. They probably don’t even know I got my master’s degree,” I said with a sigh. 

“Weren’t they at your graduation?” Ashton asked, giving me a look of surprise. 

“I didn’t walk,” I replied, not meeting his stare. 

“Why?” he pushed.

“My dad didn’t want the press showing up and finding out I’m a teacher.”

“Why?”

“Doesn’t fit into the Finley legacy,” I said, quoting the exact words I was told.

“That’s ridiculous. You’re an amazing teacher. Those kids love you and you make their lives so much better. He should be proud that he has a daughter willing to do that,” he said, reaching over and wrapping his arms around me. 

“Thanks Ash,” I mumbled, returning the hug. 

His pride brought a few tears to my eyes. I had given up on searching for my father’s approval, but hearing how highly Ashton thought of my career, made it worth it. My family was awful, but at least I had friends that supported me. 

“Estelle!” Crystal yelled from what I assumed was the stairs. 

Ash and I broke apart, heading towards the landing to find out what was going on. Crystal looked nervous, almost unsettled. 

“Yeah?” I called as we headed down. 

“Um, your, uh-”

“Hello there daughter.”

A/N: I KNOW AND IT’S GONNA BE EPIC. Tell me all the feels please. 

tagged loves: @bbycal​ @emptysanity​ @floraldawg​ @cakesunflower​ @tommossoccer​

[mattygraygubler]

our campus: chapter 1 (tom holland imagine)

summary: tom and reader go to the same college and y/n is tasked with being his tutor, they don’t really get along at first (because i love reader and tom hating each other trope)

warnings: drinking, mentions of being roofied

word count: 1.3k, nice and short to start off

a/n: bold is emails, the school is small liberal arts, i called it AU at one point but that’s simply bc a is the first letter of the alphabet

for a list of characters click here

to be added to the tag list send me an ask !

masterlist

✰✰✰✰✰

“Y/N can you stay after class today?” Your professor asks as you walk into class. You nod, anxiety already filling your stomach. What could she possibly want to talk to you about?

Today’s discussion in political conflict was a continuation of your unit about revolution, today you were discussing the Cuban Revolution and Fidel Castro. 

You still managed to participate in the discussion a bit, you loved Professor G and her class was one of your favorites. 

“Alright that’s all for today, let’s wrap up a bit early.” G says. 

“Wanna grab some food?” Emily asks you. 

“G wants to talk to me, but I’ll see you at mine later? I got a delta chi invite so we’ll see what everyone else heard about and then we’ll see.” 

“Ok!” Emily said. The rest of the class emptied out as you approached your professor. 

“Y/N,” She said. “I have a proposition for you.” “What’s up?” You asked. Normally you wouldn’t refer to a professor so casually, but G was different. She’d been your advisor since freshman year, and had helped you through some really difficult times. 

“So I have a student, his name is Thomas, and he’s struggling a little bit. He’s a theater major but is taking some of his big requirements this semester.” “Like what?” “Statistics, writing, astronomy, and comparative politics.” “Oh. He really went for it.” You said. Writing and stats were required, as was a science course and some type of history. All four of those classes you had taken, and excelled in. 

G laughed, “He really did. I was wondering if you would be interested in tutoring him. I know you couldn’t fit T/Aing into your schedule, but I’d be able to give you some credit depending on how often you meet.” 

“How often would we meet?” 

“Twice a week, maybe, for about an hour?” You sighed. You didn’t necessarily need the credit, but there was a chance you could graduate early, so you agreed. 

“Fantastic! Here’s his email,” she said, scribbling it down on a piece of paper. 

“I trust you, but I don’t necessarily trust Thomas, so if you could let me know when and where you meet, that would be great.” You nodded and told her to have a nice weekend, drafting an email on your way home. 

TO: tholland@school.edu

FROM: y/email@school.edu

SUBJECT: Tutoring (from Professor Gonsky)

Hey,

My name’s Y/N, Professor G reached out asking if I could tutor you. I don’t have a ton of room on my schedule, but I could meet for our first session Sunday at the library from 4-5.

If you could meet me in the AU honors study room that’d be great. 

Y/N

By the time you got to your room, you had an email. 

TO: y/email@school.edu

FROM: tholland@school.edu

SUBJECT: Re: Tutoring (from Professor Gonsky)

Bet. Aren’t only honors college students allowed in there? 

Sent from my pants

You sighed. Of course G would ask you to tutor this kid, she knew you wouldn’t say no. He was probably some dumb frat boy on the verge of expulsion. 

But he was a theater major… Maybe he was actually a nerd that was stupid. It was possible. 

TO: tholland@school.edu

FROM: y/email@school.edu

SUBJECT: Re: Re: Tutoring (from Professor Gonsky)

I am an honors college student. I’m allowed to bring guests. 

4pm Sunday. Don’t be late. 

Y/N

You heard some knocks at your door and went to open it. As the only one with a single, your room was always used as the movie night room, the crying about a boy room, and most importantly, the pregame room. 

You opened the door to your three best friends, all carrying large bags of stuff. 

“What’s up guys,” you said. Emily pulled a handle of svedka blue raspberry vodka out of her bag and winked at you. 

“Let’s get fucked.” She simply responded. You laughed and let your friends inside. 

There was some mild chatter as you all got ready in your not-very-large room, with Ally making fun of Emily for “forgetting” to bring underwear. 

“Wait, Y/N, what did G want to talk to you about?” Emily asked. “Ugh, she wants me to tutor some stupid kid.” “Is he a freshman?” Emily followed up. “No, he’s a junior, he’s one of her advisees, so he’s gotta be a junior.” 

“So she’s making you tutor him?” Isabelle said. 

“She’s not really making me. I’m getting a credit for it.” Your friends groaned. 

“Y/N you could’ve graduated after freshman year, give it up, you don’t need any more credits.” Ally said. 

“Hey!” You retorted, throwing a pillow at her. “I’m double majoring!” “And minoring, who does that?” Isabelle said. You rolled your eyes. 

“Leave me alone, it’s only like two hours a week.” 

“PLUS!” Emily shouted, starting to bounce on the balls of her feet like she always did when she was excited. “What if he’s cute!! OH OH OH! What if he’s hot for teacher.” She said and shimmied her shoulders. 

“You’re ridiculous.” You replied. “Plus he’s a theater major, which means-”

“He’s either gay or not cute.” Ally finished. She was the only theater major in your group. “What did you say his name was? I probably know him, it’s not a huge department.” “Thomas.” You replied. Ally scrunched her eyebrows as she applied her lipstick. 

“Thomas… Nope, no Thomas. There’s two Toms, or maybe he goes by his middle name?” 

“Maybe.” You replied, then asked quickly where Emily got her top, trying to change the subject. It was just tutoring, and your friends were wayyyy too boy crazy. Except for Ally, who decided her college lesbian phase was not a phase. 

Pretty soon you were all checking snapchat and instagram dms, trying to figure out which party to go to tonight. 

“I got sig ep and delta chi, like always,” You said. 

“I got sig ep too. And PSK.” Ally said. 

“Sig chi and Zete. But please, please, can we not go to zete? I think Garrett is rushing.” Isabelle said. Garrett and Isabelle had an on-again off-again thing last year, his freshman year and your sophomore year. 

“I got…” Emily said scrolling. 

Emily was every frat boy’s dream, petite and blonde, great smile, and the most bubbly person you know. All of your friends were gorgeous in their own ways, but Emily, with her massive flirty personality, could always be depended on to have a fuck ton of invitations to frat parties. “Sig chi, sig ep, beta, aepi…. Ooooo I forgot to tell you guys! I met this boy today, his name is Harrison, and he gave me info for the delt party!” 

“No.” Isabelle and Ally said immediately. 

“Why not?” Emily pouted. 

“Emily, how can you remember every person you’ve ever met’s name and yet you can’t remember the name of the only frat that roofied one of us?” Ally asked. Emily’s jaw dropped. 

“Y/N, I am so sorry, I totally forgot.” “Hey it’s ok! It was two years ago, the guy was a senior, and they were kicked off for a semester. I haven’t heard anything bad about them since being reinstated, maybe the guys in it now are different.” 

“Emily, you see Harrison again and actually find out if he’s a nice guy, and if he is, we’ll go to delt next weekend.” Ally said. 

“Alright so delta chi?” You asked. 

“We always go to dchi. I heard sig ep has an ice luge…” Isabelle said raising her eyebrows. 

“Bet.” You said and got up, grabbing your keys and phone, sticking your pepper spray in your bra, just in case. Your mom got you and your friends all bedazzled pepper sprays following the roofying incident freshman year. 

You all took one last shot and headed out for the night. 

[shinyportalsandthings]

The Error of Your Ways - a Shang Tsung x Reader story

Seeing that Shang Tsung’s Mortal Kombat 11 design is based on the actor who portrayed him in the movie, I got very inspired. Thus, here’s a story for those of you think Shang is The Hot Stuff (note that this is based on a merging of the MK11 and movie versions and he may be a bit...more gentle but still stabby). If you like sassy, powerful sorcerers, this one’s for you.

Summary: You had an invitation and you showed up to the destination. The invitation was meant for someone else and the destination...another planet entirely. You are now a combatant despite having no martial arts ability and your only hope is to figure out a way to open the portal back to earth. That sorcerer, Shang Tsung, has your attention...and you, his. Can you use that to your advantage? Should you?

Warnings: Some violence, language, naughtiness. But it’s not SUPER naughty. Female protagonist.

* * *

The smile was cruel, practiced; it did not reach his dark eyes which were fixed unnervingly upon you. He stood with perfect posture, hands behind his back, long black hair pushed behind his ears. "A mistake?" the low voice rolled out. The ornate gold and plum armor did nothing to hide muscular arms. Surely those arms had throttled many a sarcastic warrior.

"Yes," you steeled yourself, willing your hands not to shake - at least for the moment. You gestured to the glowing doorway that, even now, slowly dimmed. "I was just…I was helping my friend, you see. He was the one who got the invite. I have it here." You unfurled the scroll and held it up. Truthfully, your best friend bribed you to see what the invitation was about as he was - shall we say - indisposed with his partner. Though he'd made it sound like they were on the brink of a love session, you know they were likely just watching Netflix and binging on ice cream after your friend won the state martial arts championship. How far away his cozy, nerdy apartment seemed now…

"Well," Shang Tsung said, "You possess the invitation, therefore, you are admitted to the tournament."

"But I don't want to be admitted to the tournament!" you yelped. "I don't practice any martial arts!"

His smile widened, showing teeth. "Well, then, this will be a short contest, will it not?" His eyes twinkled with dark amusement.

You already knew this was unlike any tournament on earth - the portal alone gave that way, as well as the strange warmth of the invitation's paper. Was it paper? Or leather? Difficult to tell but the ink glimmered unnaturally even when held still.

"But I'm not Darius," you said, waving the invite around.

Shang Tsung stepped towards you and held out his hand. You placed the invitation in his palm and his brows rose. He held it up, inspected it from all angles, and then rolled it back up. "I see no reference to the name Darius anywhere. Or any name at all."

You stared at him. "Shit." Thoughts whirling, you pointed to the portal, now a faint circle. "Can't you just throw me back?"

"Oh, I think not," he said, shaking his head. He placed one edge of the rolled invitation below your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. "But I'll make you an offer."

His eyes held yours as you nodded slightly. "Ok, what…what kind of offer?"

"You may be the final combatant. Perhaps watching the others battle will give you some sense of strategy. And after that, you will fight…me." He smiled, lowering the invitation from your chin.

"I can't fight," you said quietly, heart hammering in your chest. Your curiosity had melted away to fear.

"Then I suggest you start learning." He laughed low, turning away and raising his hand in a half-wave.

* * *

"Are you..taking notes?" The tallest of the two brothers asked, pausing with his foot outstretched to his brother's face.

"Yes, yes," you nodded, hastily scrawling down the series of moves that got them to that position. You'd attended enough martial events that you had a general idea of most movements though never experienced the timing yourself.

The brothers looked scary in the traditional sense, with dark red claw marks on their arms (reminiscent of blood) and sharp armor protruding from their shoulders and knees. Their masks hid the upper portion of their faces, short metal horns protruding at the top. They knew your situation - in fact, everyone did. One woman scoffed openly at you and a tall, masked warrior said he looked forward to watching your skin melt. Thankfully, the brothers had been reasonably friendly.

The brothers in question looked at each other for a moment, then motioned you to join them. You eagerly set down your scroll and quilled pen (what was this place, evil Hogwarts?) and bounded over.

"Yeah, writing won't do you no good. Gotta get in there," short brother said. "I'm Gim. This here's Arch. You can call him Archie."

"No she can't," Arch groaned. "Stop it. It's Arch. Like Arch-Nemesis!" He struck a fanciful pose, one knee raised and his arms akimbo, chin raised and head turned to the side.

Gim sighed. "Yeah, anyway, heard about what happened. Sucks. Lemme show you some moves."

"Oh I bet you will," a voice said from behind them. In unison, they turned to see a shirtless, smirking warrior. A smooth metal patch covered the right side of his face, a softly glowing red eye punctuated the menacing look.

"Fuck off, Kano," Arch said, "Get out of here."

Kano grinned, then nodded to you. "See you later, sweet cakes. I'll be the one to fight you." He turned and sauntered off while the brothers glowered at his back.

"Stay away from that guy," Gim said.

"Don't have to tell me," you replied, shaking your head. "Bad vibes."  

As if on cue, you glanced over to a hill and there upon it was Shang Tsung, eyes trained to you and the brothers. He stood perfectly still and kept staring until you lost your nerve and looked away. When you looked back, he was gone.

"Hey," Arch said, waving a hand in front of your face to get your attention, "Let's do this thing."

The brothers did their best to give you a a rough overview of moves…but time was not on your side.

* * *

There was no small amount of food: fresh fruits, flavored waters, skewered meats. The festive platters and decorative ferns belied the nastiness of the situation: Most of the tournament battles would end in death. Oh, there was a choice, but according to the brothers, most of the combatants chose a fatality for their defeated opponent. Ruthless.

The tournament itself had already begun, though you did not attend the battles. Two warriors down already, many more to go. You heard the cheering just over the hill.

"So this is it? This is how I go?" Your fingers brushed over one of the island's flowering bushes.

"Perhaps," a voice said behind you. You spun around and came face to uncomfortably close face with Shang Tsung.  "Or perhaps not."

Scowling, and feeling particularly gutsy, you jabbed a finger at his chest. "You're a cruel monster!"

He glanced down at your finger, then back to your face. "Is that so?" he asked, but the voice carried no malice. Just amusement.

You really, really wanted to punch his stupid smirk. Instead, you jabbed his chest again. "Yes! You know full well I can't-"

His fingers wrapped around your hand, pulling it away from his chest. "Please don't do that." He said simply. "I'd not have the other combatants think such behavior is appropriate."

"What." Your face flushed as your gaze flickered to your hands, then back to him. He had not yet released your hand. "I, uh," you stammered, then yanked your hand from his grasp. He was handsome, dangerously so, and that only made the embarrassment worse.

His lips quirked into a smile, which made your face burn even more red. "It would seem you haven't watched any of the matches. A shame, it's quite entertaining."

"For psychos!" you barked louder than intended.

"Please," he drolled, "tell me what you really think."

Your hands balled into fists. You would not be treated so cavalierly, certainly not when there were men and women fighting for their lives (though Arch said many fought simply for glory and power). Gim had successfully taught you a punch move which you had perfected to the best of your ability (such as it was). You decided to use that newfound power and threw a fist directly at Shang's face.

So fast you barely registered the movement, Shang's hand caught your fist, twisted your arm behind your back, and yanked you close. Your eyes widened as your chest pressed to his.

"I think you need more practice," he said with an infuriating smirk as he looked down at you.

"Let me go," you said, mouth dry.

"As you wish," he replied, releasing his grip.

You rubbed your arm though it did not hurt, and took a few steps back, glaring, waiting for him to speak. Your anger had cooled significantly.

"Join me," he smiled slightly and held out his hand, "as I watch the next battle. I think you'll find it most invigorating."

"Do I have a choice?"

"Of course," his brows rose. "There's always a choice, my dear."

You placed your hand in his and allowed him to lead you towards the tournament site.

* * *

Your breath caught in your throat as Kano circled Arch, whose armor had done little to thwart the rough kicks and powerful punches. The brother was down on one knee, now, and struggled to stand.

Kano wiped some blood off his nose, grinning. "Got you right where I want you, fancy boy." He kicked at Arch's face, sending the helmet flying and Arch falling onto his back.

Arch's eyes held fire as he looked up at the bigger man. "Kiss my entire ass."

With that, Kano's upper lip curled and he raised his fists for the killing blow.

"STOP!" you yelled, leaping to your feet. Shang Tsung remained seated, slowly turning to watch you. You froze, unsure what to do now that you had the attention of Kano, Arch and the entire crowd. "Please! Don't kill him," you said more quietly.

"Are you fuckin' kidding me?" Kano barked. "It's my right!"

"Please!" You held up your hand and squeezed between some benches as you approached the men. "You don't…you don't have to kill him," you said. "He's beaten. It's over." Once, a long time ago, you'd talked a friend out of violence using this same tone of voice. It worked then, surely it would work now?

It would seem not. Kano laughed, full and loudly, then brought down his fists.

You did the only thing you could in that instant: You launched yourself at him, plowing into his dense form, and managed, through sheer luck and surprise, to knock him over.  The spectators let out a righteous yell, some booing, others cheering. Kano immediately leapt up, trying to kick at you, but you rolled away, then scrambled to your feet. He snarled, then launched himself at you - only stopped, at the last moment, by a firm hand on his chest.

Shang Tsung shook his head. "It's over, Kano. You won. She is not your opponent today."

"Like hell she ain't! I'm gonna tear her hair off and shove it up her-"

"Quiet," came Shang's command. Kano glowered at you, chest heaving, looking rather like a rabid dog straining against its collar. He backed off, however, and was declared the victor.

Shaking, you turned to watch as Gim helped Arch to his feet. They both looked your away and nodded their thanks as Arch dragged his foot behind him; surely it was broken. Lots of him was broken but he was alive. Gim might not be so lucky.

The crowd slowly disbursed, some looking at you and whispering to each other. A few shook their heads in disappointment for the lack of bloodsport. You sunk onto a bench and looked at your hands; they trembled.

"Here," came Shang's voice. You looked over to see he had produced a kerchief. "For your wounds."

Wounds? Oh yes. Skinned knees and elbows. You took the kerchief and winced, brushing away the grit and slight blood. "Thanks."

He sat beside you and leaned over, watching you. "A very brave act for someone who claims she has no fight."

You opened your mouth to say something rude, then thought better of it. Perhaps he had brought you to that fight to help somehow, or perhaps it was just chance. Either way, he hadn't let Kano pummel you to death. "I have fight, I just don't FIGHT-fight." You sighed and closed your eyes. "I like the brothers, they're nice. I couldn't let him die like that." You opened your eyes and looked at Shang for a moment, then continued. "Here," you said, offering the kerchief back.

"Keep it," he said, holding up his hand. "You might need it again." With that he rose, put his hands behind his back, and strode away.

You tucked the cloth into your pocket and sat for a while, alone, and listened as the wind moved softly through the plants and reeds. After a little while, you rose and found that the scratches on your knees and elbow had healed.

* * *

Four days. Four days you'd been at the tournament, eating your fill and sleeping fitfully in the dark castle-temple. Each combatant had their own room but there were no true doors. Surely some shady business occurred from time to time.

And just how did time work in this strange place? Four days here could be four minutes on earth…or four years. There was no way to know except to ask someone and the only two friendly faces were nowhere to be found.

You tried to make a new friend. "Excuse me, ma'am? Miss?" With her back turned, you couldn't tell the age. The woman slowly turned, eyes blazing red and mouth filled with monstrous teeth.  "Do…you…know…when uhhhh the next battle is?" Surely it wouldn't do to run away in fear.

"Nnnnnow," the mouth said, jaw moving strangely and fangs glimmering in the light.

You nodded and stepped backwards, managing to wheeze out a "thanks" before hurrying around a corner.

Pushing your hair back, you meandered through the halls, at last arriving to the conclusion you were frightfully lost. The building hadn't looked this large from the outside but this was, probably, the least surprising thing that had happened so far.  Well, time to backtrack-

A hand gripped your throat like a steel vice and slammed you against a wall. One glowing red eye blazed against the wane light, a sneer on Kano's lips as he leaned in close. "Gotcha."

You couldn't yell, could barely breathe as you clawed at his hand. He smelled like blood, though his face was clean.

"See, I thought all day what I should do to you." His fingers tightened their grip, "And then I thought…yeah. A shiv would be nice."  

With that, he released your neck but even as you gulped down air, your eyes widened. A sharp, cold sensation entered your abdomen, followed by a searing pain you had never before experienced. You looked down to see a knife sticking out of your side, your own blood seeping down.  Kano released the handle and grinned at you. Your knees wobbled, then gave out entirely and you fell to the ground.

"You look good in red, sweet cakes." He tapped his chin with one finger, a little of your blood staining his skin. "Think I'm gonna see how much red you got."

There he paused, however, the smug expression melting off his face as though he'd seen a horrific creature just beyond your edge of vision. He slowly looked down and put his hands over his stomach, where five blades emerged. He coughed, blood spurting forth from his lips, eyes wide with surprise. As he crumpled to the ground, Shang Tsung stood behind him.

He took a deep breath, then said without humor, "Fatality." With that, he scooped you up and proceeded to walk steadily and speedily down the hall.

The pain made your vision hazy but you knew full well that it wasn't safe to be in this position. Each step he took also caused the knife to jostle, bringing fresh sensations. "Put…me down," you gasped; talking was almost enough to cause you to pass out entirely.

"Nonsense," he said. "That is not a simple blade, it is magical and we must treat it with magical means."

"Magical," you whispered, "What, how?"

"It will leave a scar. Consider it a gift of survival."

"Please…" you started to say but the world fell dark and you could speak no longer.

* * *

You awakened with a gasp. You were yet clothed in the same outfit (desperately in need of a wash) and lay comfortably on a chaise in a reading room. The shelves were lined with books of many shapes and languages, most you did not recognize; did most cultures have the concept of a book?

The wound! You lifted your shirt - indeed, there was a bright pink scar a couple inches from your bellybutton. If Kano missed your intestines, it was luck. If he hadn't, and you were healed, it was certainly magic and skill. You felt none the worse for wear and sat up, then hopped to your feet….

…much too quickly. White dots flickered in your vision and you stumbled. Strong hands grabbed your shoulders and guided you back down to sit on the chaise.

You looked up at Shang Tsung; his eyes didn't seem to hold any worry or concern but his hands lingered on your shoulders overlong.

"Did you…" you waved vaguely at your abdomen.

"Of course not," he said sharply. "You may think me a monster but no real man would-"

"No, no, that's not what I meant! I meant, heal. Heal this. Me."

"Oh. Yes." He sat down beside you. Instead of his usual golden armor, he was clad in a long, black leather jacket, simple black shirt and dark plum pants.

"Thanks."

"I've brought you clothing," he said, and gestured to a folded pile on a table.

"I'm not going to wear one of those ridiculous skin-tight bathing suits."

His lips quirked into a subtle smile and an eyebrow raised. "I would expect not. No, I think you'll find these suitable though they are to…my tastes."

You were very curious as to the clothing - black and grey it would seem - but sat still for a little while longer. "Kano, he…" your voice drifted off.

"He was an evil man and died fittingly." Shang's shoulders lifted in a shrug.

"I feel like I should say thanks but you're also the one that brought him here." You looked at him pointedly.

"I did, yes." His eyes flickered briefly over your face.

"Why do you do this?" Your voice was soft; you genuinely wanted to know.

He seemed to choose his words carefully. "I have no choice."

"You said there's always a choice," you pointed out helpfully.

"Not for everyone. Not for me." With that he stood and held out his hand. "Come, you should rest further in your room."

* * *

You admired yourself in the mirror. While he might be mysterious and terrible, Shang Tsung certainly knew how to select an outfit. The sleeveless shift held leather panels at the front and back, which arched over your shoulders. The cloth was soft, black and came to a pointed V in the back, right at the midpoint of your calves. The bodice held a V though not nearly as daring as you might have liked. You smiled a little at the reflection, turning this way and that. Slightly intimidating, certainly comfortable and very-

"Breathtaking," came Shang's voice beside you.  

You startled, turning towards him, having heard neither footfalls nor movement.

His eyes trailed slowly over you. "I'm glad to see it fits so well."

Cheeks turning a particularly vibrant shade of crimson, you turned away from him and to the mirror. "I like it, I have to admit."

"You'll find that the cloth provides more protection than you might expect." He reached up, tracing a finger along the edge of the leather at your shoulder. He didn't touch your skin, but he might as well have for the shiver it gave you. "Magical, of course."

"Of course." You wondered if he'd truly let you die at the hands of a combatant. Perhaps not, since he saved you from Kano, and yet…there was much to consider. Not the least of which was the sensation you felt when he stared at you. "I should go," you said awkwardly. "To watch the contestants." That made them sound like they were in a pageant. You winced slightly and pivoted on your heel - the boots were also new, black, and delightful.

You felt his eyes upon you as you left.

* * *

"I heard he killed 100 men and drank their blood!"

"Nah, he's not a vampire."

"You sure?"

The combatant shrugged. "I'm not."

You smiled, listening into their conversation. You couldn't be certain Shang wasn't a vampire but their conversation gave you an idea. The next battle, you would sneak into his bedroom - assuming you could find it - and see what information you could find. That was, of course, even assuming he didn't invite you to sit beside him for the battle.

Fifteen battles, now. The stakes were becoming higher. You'd lowered your guard but hearing the guttural sound of someone's life being choked out of them, well, it had a tendency to bring everything back to laser-like focus. Your only chance now was if Gim was your opponent - or maybe that slightly friendly, monster-mouth woman.  

"Are you looking for something?"

The voice startled you from your thoughts and you spun to see one of the bare-chested, masked helper warriors. They didn't seem to have names. Maybe you'd give this one a fun name, like Bob.

"Yes," you said, feigning confidence. "I'm looking for Shang Tsung's room." You paused, then added, "I'm going to leave a present," and gave your best lewd wink.

Though you couldn't see the warrior's face, you had the distinct impression he looked confused. After a moment's hesitation, he replied, "Yes, this way."

He led you down a hall that seemed to go on for a mile. At last, you reached the end and gazed upon two ornate wooden doors. A dragon and a cobra were carved into the wood, interlocked in some eternal struggle. The warrior gestured to the door and gave a slight bow.

"Thanks," you said as you planted a hand on the doorhandle, then added, "Oh, you can go. Now. You can go now. Thanks."

Instead of leaving, however, something quite miraculous and terrifying happened. The warrior's form shifted, as though a mist was blowing away, and there before you stood Shang Tsung.

Your stomach gave an uncomfortable heave and panic trickled up your spine, coursing its way along every nerve. Your jaw dropped, eyes widened.

"Tell me," Shang said nonchalantly, inspecting his fingernails before looking up to meet your gaze. "What of this present?"

Caught. Completely and utterly caught in the act. He was no fool, surely he knew what you'd planned. You wracked your brain for some meager excuse. "I was..just…" you gestured futilely to the door. "Cleaning! Going to clean your room. Bet you didn't expect that." You smiled broadly, hoping the bead of sweat that trickled down your brow wasn't evident.

"Is that so," he said, then planted a hand beside your head, against the door, locking you in. He leaned closer. "Why would you do that?"

"As thanks. You know, for healing me. I assume you're a bachelor, I mean, there aren't a lot of women here who won't try to kill you, so you probably have a very messy room." Far, far too much babbling. Keep it simple, stupid.

His lips quirked into a small smile, eyes crinkling with delight. He said nothing.

"And I just thought well, I can help! I can do that." STOP TALKING. "You know, to….yeah." Your voice trailed off.

He took a deep breath, then laughed once, straightening and dropping his hand from near your head. You felt both relief and disappointment in equal measure.

"Well, you're neither a good thief nor a good liar. I hope you have another plan," he smiled slightly.

"Fine," you said, "Fine, I was trying to get into your bedroom to see if you had some documentation about the portal. OK?"

"You might have simply asked."

"Asked for the documentation?"

"Asked to enter my bedroom."  His lips quirked; truly he enjoyed watching you squirm.

"I," you started and looked away, "wouldn't know how to ask that."  The hallway had become unbearably warm all of a sudden. Didn't they have A/C?

He laughed again and turned, gesturing for you to follow him back down the hall. You fumed at his response, marching after him, hands balled into fists. Neither of you said anything as you exited; you sped past him and he grinned after you.

* * *

He had a silly name, The Shockening, but his attacks were devastating to his opponent. He seemed to evaporate into the ground, then reappear behind - what was his name? oh yes - Bexas, pummeling him with a flurry of fists.

Bexas' main weapon was a magical chain. It appeared to do his bidding when he whispered to it - sometimes it behaved like a javelin, other times a lariat. Shang seemed particularly interested in the weapon, eyes following its every move.

Unfortunately for Bexas, the chain, however magical, was still comprised of metal. The Shockening let loose his namesake power, sending a ferocious bolt of electricity up the chain and to Bexas' hand.  He convulsed, but did not let go. The Shockening grabbed the chain and whirled it up, sending Bexas flying directly into the crowd.

His smoking form landed at your feet - you were far too annoyed at Shang to sit next to him this time - and he lifted his head. You leaned down, a little afraid to touch him as a few tiny bolts of electricity trickled off him.

"Th…the name," he rasped quietly, "Wind…Windwillow." And with that, he gave his last breath.

You blinked, staring at his form, then looked up as Shang gleefully declared a victory…and fatality at that. He picked up the chain and roped it around his arm.

So, the name of the magical chain. You tucked that away in case it might be useful. What a lovely name for something so violent.

The crowd roared its approval and The Shockening paraded around the circle, arms held high. The nameless warriors quickly came to retrieve the body at your feet.

"I trust you are unharmed?" came Shang's voice.

You nodded. "He didn't land on me. Thankfully." You watched the warriors walk away. "Why do you do this? Really, Shang. Please tell me." You turned your gaze to meet his.

He took a deep breath and sat beside you. "Power. I wanted it so desperately."

"That doesn't really answer my question." The crowd had filtered out. You were alone with him now.

"There are powers well beyond that of human understanding," he said, looking over to the temple. "Events set into motion for millennia, every small decision an adjustment to the cogs."

You shook your head "I don't really get it but can't you just…leave? Stop doing this?"

He smiled slightly though it didn't reach his eyes. "Leave all this?" he gestured to the expanse of the island. "Whatever for?"

"You know exactly what I mean."

"Ah. It is not so simple," he said and turned to look at you again, "for me. I made my choice and this is my…" his voice hesitated.

"Punishment?"

"Trajectory," he said, then patted your hand. "I appreciate your concern."

"Well, I could be very wrong but I don't think you're nearly the monster you pretend to be," you said quietly.

You then sucked in your breath as his fingertips traced over your knuckles. Your cheeks again reddened.

He smiled lightly, arching a brow. "Are you certain?"

"N-no," you stammered.

His hand came to rest over yours, fingers interlocked. You cleared your throat, pretending not to notice. It did no good. "Maybe you just need a nice hug and you'll come to your senses," you joked.

He stood. "Is that your present to me, then?" That smirk, back again.

You stood, too. "What? No! I was kidding."

"I wasn't," he said. His eyes twinkled with delight, a more real delight than he seemed to exhibit at the end of gruesome matches.

"Fine," you said, cursing yourself for wanting to go through with it. "Maybe it will help." You stepped up in front of him and, before you could lose your nerve, wrapped your arms around him.

His hands alighted on your bare arms, then slid along and up them until they were solidly around you. He felt warm and far, far too good in this position. You rested your head against his neck and hoped he couldn't hear the hammering of your heart. You felt, rather than saw him smile.

"Is it helping?" you asked quietly after a little while, not yet ready to pull away.

"It may be," he replied and tightened his grip ever so slightly. His hands rested chastely at your back though your mind betrayed you terribly with thoughts of where they might go. Where you wanted them to go. Obviously, it was time to release him but you…couldn't yet bring yourself to do so. He was solid and warm, his cheek now resting against the top of your head and you felt your body might melt into a puddle.

His hand slid up to rest on the back of your neck. You pulled away a bit then, looking up at him, alarmed, confused, and uncomfortably aroused.

Blessedly (or cursedly), your eyes caught sight of movement off to the side: one of the warrior minions come to give a report on something of importance.

Shang's upper lip twitched in annoyance as he released you to deal with the intrusion.

"I should…I should find Gim! Make sure he's OK!" You immediately regretted your outburst but hurried away before you had to answer to Shang's incoming question.

* * *

Gim, as it turns out, had been training hard. He, too, knew the odds were not in his favor, and with his favorite sparring partner unable to spar (with seven broken bones, no less), he resigned himself to exercising constantly. He'd thanked you, grimly and profusely, for saving Arch. He told you he was filled with regret it hadn't been him - he was convinced if he interfered, Arch would be killed anyway. Afterwards, he survived two matches against truly vile opponents. You made another acquaintance, a woman, blond and strong but reasonably kind.

This, in turn, filled you with regret. What had you been doing with your time? Fraternizing with the enemy? Maybe even…flirting? You needed to remind yourself that he was, for all intents and purposes, truly wicked. Probably.

Eleven combatants left and no more would be arriving to the island. This was it. If there was a move to make, it had to be now.

* * *

You had a plan. No, you had five plans. Plan one: sneak into Shang's bedroom by climbing on some ledge (somewhere) from some other open window. Plan two: bribe a combatant to distract him; though he could change shape, he couldn't be in two places at once (that you knew of) and if you kept your eyes on him while bribing someone, well… plan three: some variation of plans one and two. Plan three: ask to go into Shang's bedroom and clobber him over the head. OK, you had two plans.

None of this prepared you for stepping out of your room and being cornered by Shang. He walked up to you, and you retreated until your back hit a wide column.

"Enough," he said and, before you could ask what he meant, slid his hands to either side of your face and leaned down, pressing his lips to yours. You were completely unprepared for the ravenous kiss he bestowed, the way his hands flowed down your face, over your neck, grazing your breasts, and encircled your waist to pull you close. You were also unprepared for how your body reacted of its own accord, returning that kiss with just as much passion, fingers curling around the lapels of his jacket. You lifted your knee slightly and his hand whipped down to catch it, pulling it up and pressing you against the column. You felt him, from lips to chest to shin, felt his hunger and need pressing to you.

You pulled back slightly, broke the kiss, and stared at him momentarily, panting. "Bedroom," you whispered.

He didn't even nod, but you felt a cool mist along your skin and the area around you seemed to speed by. So that's how he got around…. in just a moment, you both alighted inside his bedroom.

You'd expected sumptuous bedding, skulls and candles, but only one of those was correct. Indeed, the circular bed, pushed up against the wall, was adorned with a red quilt. The headboard was simple: bars that held up a plain, rounded, thick wood board. The walls were decorated with a few sparse tapestries and many, many bookshelves. The far wall displayed weapons of various types, presumably from fallen warriors. A table nearby held a couple blades, including the one used to stab you, and Bexas' chains. No candles but instead magical lights that floated in place, dimming now.

After glancing around, you looked back to him. He seemed to be waiting…perhaps for you? You answered him by grabbing the front of his coat and shoving it off his shoulders. He smiled momentarily, shrugging off the fine leather and throwing it onto a chair. His hand found your jaw, holding you still for a moment as his eyes trailed over your features. He then leaned to your ear and whispered, "Magnificent," before nibbling at your earlobe.

You giggled, ticklish, and squirmed against him, which he clearly found delightful. His lips then found your neck - not ticklish there - causing you to gasp and then let out a small, unexpected moan.

"Yes," he whispered to your neck, hands fiddling with the bindings of your shift, "You will be mine."

Emboldened, you pushed him towards the bed but just before it seemed like he would fall backwards upon it, he spun you and pushed you down gently, hands planted to either side of you. He smiled lightly, legs between yours as his gaze trickled over your form. "Again, and again." He placed a finger at the demure V of your bodice and pulled down lightly. Apparently, it held some secret, for it gave way at his touch, his fingers trailing over the space between your breasts, pulling it down all the way to your bellybutton. You were surprised…but delighted.

He did not push the shift apart, so you reached up to work his shirt out of his pants and tug it upwards. He obliged, pulling it up and off, revealing what you already knew to be true - he was exceptionally built. Lean, hard muscles, a few interesting scars, and all his attention focused on you.

But there it was: The chain, catching your attention on the table, beckoning. You didn't want to, wanted instead to simply enjoy time in this most primal of dances. But this was it. This had to be.

You sat up and planted your hands on his chest, guiding him to the side and rolling him onto his back. He looked surprised, eyebrows raising, but offered no resistance. You grabbed his wrists and pinned them above his head - obviously no danger to him but he also clearly liked where this was going. You put a finger to his lips and then held up the finger while you hopped off the bed and grabbed the chains.

He looked quite surprised indeed but remained as he was even as you returned and clambered onto the bed. The chains were much lighter than you feared, making the next part of this easy - from the physical perspective.

You pulled away and turned, just barely whispered "Windwillow" to the chains. The flickered with light. With that, you wrapped one end around his wrist. He started to sit up, so you sat on his hips - again, certainly no challenge for him but quite interesting. He smiled, one brow quirked, as you looped the chain through the headboard and brought the other end back through.

Here, you hesitated. This isn't want you wanted, not really. You undulated a little on his lap while you worked up the nerve to bind his other wrist. He hissed, pushing his hips upward and you genuinely considered giving up the plan and having your way with him right there.

And yet.

Swallowing hard, you created a chain loop around his other wrist, effectively keeping him in place. You leaned down and kissed him - hard. Soft. You slowly pulled back up.

"Whatever you want," he whispered hoarsely.

You hesitated only briefly. Then: "Tell me how to open the portal."

"What?" he said sharply, going still.

"The portal. Tell me how to open it. Please. After I do it, I'll come back and let you go. I promise." Even knowing he'd probably kill you for it.

His lip curled into a snarl. "Is this a jest?"  He yanked hard on the chains but they would not budge.

"No. Please tell me." You felt tears stinging your eyes.

His lips pressed firmly together before he snarled, voice low, "You will pay for this. I assure you."

You nodded.

And so he told you the words to whisper to the portal to take you back to your world - at least you assumed it was your world. Surely you couldn't stay here regardless.

"I'm sorry," you said as you slid off him, fastening your shift. He looked completely enraged, unsurprisingly, laying there prone and painfully aroused. "I promise I'll come back."

You hurried away and dared not look back.

* * *

Well, it was done. You told the other combatants they had the option to leave and return to their respective worlds - six took you up on the offer, including Gim (carrying his brother), the blond, and the toothy woman. Five stayed behind, excited to claw their way to victory.

You returned to Shang's room and were only slightly surprised to find a broken headboard and no sorcerer. The chains were also missing. This sent a feral surge of fear along every nerve. You hurriedly made your way back to the portal, looking around every moment, wary.

Of course he would wait until you'd whispered the opening words to the portal and the destination. Of course he would.

You heard the crunch of footfalls on rock behind you. Slowly, you turned. He stood with his hands behind his back, face stoic except for the slight frown-sneer. Goosebumps rose on your arms.

"You betrayed my trust," he said.

You nodded. "I did." There was no arguing it.

You stared at each other for a while until at last you broke the eye contact and looked away. "I'm sorry. I really am. I wasn't…I didn't intend for it to be that way but I had to save them."

He snorted.

You looked back to him. "Come with me." You held out a hand, inviting.

His eyes dropped to stare at your hand for a moment. Then, he let his hands fall from his back and rest at his sides. He slowly stepped towards you, not unlike a predatory animal approaching its prey.

Your hand trembled slightly. "You can start over. With…..with me." Why? Why offer that to him? Surely these few meager days weren't enough to justify such an offer. And yet.

He raised his hands and put them on the tops of your shoulders. His grip was strong. You weren't sure if he was going to draw you into a hug or reach up and throttle you so you let  your hand fall to your side.

Without another word, he shoved you backwards, into the portal and the last thing you saw was his scowl.

* * *

You awoke with a start. Where-? There on your couch, morning seeping in through the blinds. You let out a slow, shaky breath. In your hand, a crumpled flyer with crude lettering: Mortal Kombat!!! Fight and win!!! Come to the arena at Central! Personalities welcome.

So….so that was it. A dream, a nightmare, something. Had to be it. Had to.

You slowly rose and trudged to the bathroom to take a shower, stripping off your shirt and shorts. Looking in the mirror, your breath caught in your throat: There, on your side, a pink scar line, freshly healed where none had existed before.

* * *

Three months passed.

Darius proposed to his partner, won three more championships, and thought you were a complete nutso but loved you anyway. The season edged towards fall. You sorted your scarves and fall clothes, started to box away the skimpiest of summer clothing. The scar faded to a faint, angry white line.

Now you sat at a sushi bar, poking some edamame and considering your food options. The tea had long since grown cold.

Someone sat two stools down. You glanced over and gave a nod of acknowledgment, then did a double-take: By the Gods, he was a doppelgänger for Shang. The hair was shorter, pulled into a ponytail, and the build a bit lighter, but the face? The face was the same, the posture the same, even the slightly-arrogant eyebrows…the same. He wore dark pants and a fine, light grey collared shirt.

You gasped and stared brazenly.

He ordered a tea, then set about looking at the menu. Still, you stared. At last, he set down the menu and turned to look at you. "Hello, miss. Can I help you?" The voice was similar - not entirely the same, but so very close.

"I'm…I'm sorry," you started. "You looked like someone I know. Knew." You glanced away.

He must have felt sorry for you because his eyebrows raised. "Oh? How disappointing for you if it makes you look so sad."

"No," you held up a hand, "not at all. Sad yes, disappointed no. It's hard to explain." You considered your options - sound a bit crazy or a lot crazy. You opted for both. "I had an elaborate dream and it's bonkers. There was a man in the dream who looked just like you."

The Not-Shang smiled a little. "Oh? Well then, tell me about it. I'm very curious now." He swiveled fully on the stool to face you.

You took a deep breath. Hey, it's not like you'd ever see this guy again, maybe it would do some good to get this off your chest. You didn't dare truly explain to your friends. "I accidentally took the place of my friend in a martial arts championship on another world. Yes, I know, why another world? No idea. Dreams, am I right? Anyway, the man who ran the tournament knew I couldn't fight. I thought I'd die, then I thought I might not die, then I realized that I….well, I was drawn to him. We started to become intimate, and.." you paused here, clearing your throat.

The Not-Shang arched a brow and waited for you to continue.

"I tricked him. I tricked him and opened the portal and while I saved some of the warriors, I think I hurt him more than I realized."

"Oh, I see," he said simply.

"And, I think I really…came to care for him." You looked away, at the cup of cold tea. "I wanted to save him, too, but he wouldn't let me."

"That's a very sad dream," he said. "I can see why it stayed with you."

You nodded, feeling a surge of embarrassment. "Right," you blurted and slapped your hands on the bar. "I should go. Nice talking to you." You stood and gathered your things, then dropped some money on the plate.

"Hmm," he said, "As long as you're here, why don't you come to dinner with me, [Y/N]?"

You froze in place. "I didn't tell you my name."

"Oh? Well, how interesting. Lucky guess, I suppose."

You slowly turned and stared at him, unsure what to do or say.

He stood and smiled slightly. "One hour, I'll pick you up." With that, he turned, leaving you confused and alarmed.

* * *

The doorbell rang. You'd hoped he'd sweep you into his arms but no such dramatic event occurred. He was probably still mad and had questions or concerns. Still, he arrived dressed to impress in a black suit, black shirt and dark red tie. You'd rightly assumed he'd use the occasion to dress up so you chose a suitably sultry dress, one that draped low in the back and skimmed above your knees.

His eyes trailed over you and you felt your skin prickle. "A lovely dress," he said, brows raising.

You smiled a little. "Thank you."

"But not," he continued, "the kind one wears for very long. Shall we?" he extended his elbow and you wondered if you were overthinking his meaning.

He did not have a car, which was probably just as well since he wouldn't likely know how to drive it, so you took a taxi to a nearby restaurant. It was cozy, dimly lit, and provided a modicum of privacy.

You felt strange asking him about what happened so left that off your conversation. He asked you about Darius, and you told him, asked about your job, and you explained it.

Too much small talk. You brushed your leg against his calf. His eyes raised from the plate before him and held your gaze. Your lips quirked. "Oops. Sorry."

He nodded, then steepled his fingers and leaned in. "Tell me more about this dream. You say you came to care for the man?"

Your fork clanked on the plate with surprise. "Yes. I didn't know him long but I liked his company. A lot. Liked his spirit."

You glanced away, then, before slipping off your shoe and sliding it up his calf. "And of course, I enjoyed the way he looked at me."

"I see," he said, seemingly ignoring your ministrations. "Perhaps he was fond of you, too. However, from what you say, you betrayed his trust."

Your foot dropped back to the floor. "Yes," you let out a slow breath. "I did. That wasn't my plan at the start. I was going to…."

He raised his brows, awaiting your answer.

"Have my way with him."

Likely-Shang chuckled and lowered his hands to the table. "How bold. I can see why he liked you."

"Yes," you said, "maybe so, but he still shoved me back to earth."

"Maybe he didn't know what to do with you. Perhaps he wishes he had not done so. Perhaps he is still learning to tame his brash decisions."

You felt his foot slide along your calf.

"I think," you began, "he should still make some brash decisions."

Likely-Shang's lips quirked for a moment and he flagged down the waiter. "Check."

You kept your hands off him on the ride back to your apartment. He kept his hands chastely on his lap. As soon as your door was closed, however, he grabbed your shoulders and pushed you to the wall. He slid a knee between yours. You could feel the heat emanating off him.  You still had questions, many of them, but your head was fuzzy with his nearness and all of those thoughts could wait.

"Shang," you said, eyes flickering down to his lips and back up to his gaze.

"Yes?"

"Is this revenge?" you managed to say, placing your hands on his chest.

"Absolutely," he smiled and leaned down, kissing you with that familiar hunger as he slowly eased the dress off your shoulders.

And he did enact his revenge, several times, in fact.

* * *

So it was that you took the time to know him quite well after indulging your desires, and found that he was an equal match for you in most respects. But time was never on your side and soon enough, you would need to help protect him from those who claimed him as their own.

The End…for now

[imjustthemechanic]

Natalie Jones and the Golden Ship

Part 1/? - A Meeting at the Palace Part 2/? - Curry Talk Part 3/? - Princess Sitamun Part 4/? - Not At Rest Part 5/? - Dead Men Tell no Tales Part 6/? - Sitamun Rises Again

The mummy reappears, but under circumstances that raise more questions and answer absolutely none - and our heroes already had no answers.

Sir Stephen wasn’t the only one who’d had a particularly nasty shock.  Natasha may not have seen the first man disappear, but she’d definitely seen Allen’s reaction to it, and had noticed how he refused to take the gas mask off the one who looked like Barnes for fear it would happen again.  So in the afternoon, while Sam and Clint went to an arcade and Sharon took Sir Stephen to the Louvre to try to distract him, Natasha took a cup of coffee up to their room for Allen.

He had been gazing mindlessly out the window at the boats on the canal. She set the cup down on the sill and stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.  It was still something she had to decide to do and then make herself, feeling more like part of an undercover identity than something she would do naturally.

“I know Sir Steve’s upset,” she said.  “How are you?”

 Allen shrugged.  “It’s like he said.  I just keep seeing it.  I wonder if I’ll do that when I die.”

That thought hadn’t occurred to Natasha, and it was a bit of a shock. Allen wasn’t quite a real person, he was something she’d constructed by accident.  He felt like flesh and blood.  He ate and slept and remembered an entire lifetime that had never happened.  He hadn’t vanished when they’d shut the Grail down, so it didn’t seem likely that he would just disintegrate when he died – but when Barnes had touched her hand, Nat hadn’t noticed anything odd about him, either.  Was there any way to know?

Maybe there was.  “The blood on the cloth vanished when the rest of him did,” she said.  “You bleed and it hangs around – I’ve seen it.”

At that, Allen actually managed a small smile.  “That kind of helps, actually.”

Nat patted his shoulder.  “I think we need to do some research,” she told him.  “Want to find a library?”

“Research on the mummy?” he asked.

“No,” said Nat.  “On true crime.  I want to know if anything like this ever happened before, and if so, what was the motive behind it.”

Just a couple of blocks to the southeast was the Bibliothèque Crimée, which seemed appropriate enough.  It was a modern building with blue and white tiled walls and a rainbow-painted railing at the sidewalk.  Nat settled down with her laptop at one of the pale wooden tables, and connected to the library wi-fi to read up on art heists.

Over the course of the afternoon they dug up news stories about art thefts in France, the UK, and the Americas – and not one of them was anything like what had happened to the mummy.  Art thieves took small things, easily transported and hidden, and ones that were not too famous unless they were planning to ask for a ransom.  The sarcophagus of Sitamun was the exact opposite of that: huge, unwieldy, and instantly recognizable.

“What are you thinking?” Allen asked.

“I’m thinking it had to be a heist for hire,” said Nat, resting her chin on her hands as she scrolled through an article in French about the theft.  “Somebody out there wanted it specifically, saw the opportunity, and hired Barnes and his brother, or whoever they were, to get it. The question is, what do they want it for?  The sarcophagus valuable, but they can’t sell it or show it off for fear of being reported.”

“Maybe it’s a very complicated murder attempt,” Allen suggested.  “Maybe they’re going to give it to somebody they secretly hate and see if the curse works.”

Nat chuckled.  “Now there’s a plot for a heist movie!” she said.

“Or maybe it’s something in this.”  Allen poked the newspaper photograph of the sarcophagus, indicating the inscriptions. “Maybe there’s some special magic or something in there?  They want to learn how the curse works and use it themselves?”

Natasha hadn’t thought of that.  “Somebody’s gotta have a translation,” she said.  A google search was unable to find it, so they emailed the curator of antiquities at the Victoria and Albert Museum to ask.

Much later, when they were back at the hotel, Natasha’s phone dinged to tell her the reply had arrived.  The contents, however, were disappointing.  All that was written on the sarcophagus was the usual list of Princess Sitamun’s titles, her relationships to various other members of the royal family, and some standard blessings for the afterlife.  There was no hint of a curse, or of anything unexpected at all.  Nat finished reading it for the second time, then set her phone on the bottom bunk next to her and flopped back onto the mattress.

“No good?” Allen guessed.

“Nothing,” said Natasha.  “What the hell did anybody want with that mummy badly enough to pull such a dramatic stunt?”

“Maybe just the thrill of the chase,” said Allen.

“It’s almost looking that way,” groaned Nat.  “The thing about Barnes is still bothering me, too.  There are hundreds of guys named Jim Barnes in the United States, so it’s not like I can track down just one of them easily.  I looked through the Times website and they’ve got two guys by that name on their staff, but neither is a reporter and neither is in Europe right now.”

“So we know he was an imposter, and practically nothing else,” said Allen.  “That’s a shame.”

“Don’t start,” Nat warned him.

“Start what?” he asked innocently.

“Teasing me about almost making a date,” said Nat, propping herself up on her elbow to look at him.  “I’m still mad that he tricked me.  I don’t want to hear about it, or about grandchildren, or any of that stuff.  You’re not allowed to be that kind of father.  Understand?”

Allen looked startled, but he nodded meekly.  “Yes, Ma’am,” he said.

It was very early in the morning on their third day in Paris when Nat was awakened by her mobile phone ringing.  She opened her eyes when the tone began to play, then buried her face in the pillow and groaned softly.

The jingle played a second time, and from the bunk above she heard Allen ask in a sleepy voice, “you gonna get that, Ginger Snap?”

“Yeah,” she grumbled, and reached to pick it up off the table at the end of the bunk.  Nat had a very short list of people she would be willing to answer the phone for at this hour, but the caller turned out to be one of them – it was Fury.  She swore under her breath, then pressed the button and put the phone to her ear.

“I hope it’s a reasonable hour where you are,” she said.

“No, because I’m still in England,” he replied, “but I figured you guys needed to know as soon as possible – they found the mummy.”

Nat was suddenly wide awake.  “They did? Where?”

From the bunk by the window she heard Clint mutter something, followed by, “what kind of stupid time is it?”

“I’m not allowed to tell you outright because they don’t want sightseers gathering,” said Fury, “but since it was stolen by disappearing guys with the same face and all, I asked the Gendarmerie to let you take a look at it.  They’re sending a car, so you’d better get dressed.”

“We don’t know what was going on with those men,” Nat protested, although she was already getting out of bed.

“Nobody else does either,” said Fury, “but you’ve dealt with stuff like this before.”

“No, we haven’t!” said Nat.  The Grail had been completely different.

She wasn’t going to pass the opportunity up, though, so after hanging up she reached up to give Allen a shake, then crossed the room to wake Sir Stephen.

“Everybody up,” she ordered.

“Why?” asked Clint.

“They found the mummy,” said Nat.

“So?” he asked, from the top window bunk.  “It’s not like she’s getting any deader.”

Fortunately everybody else was a little more enthusiastic.  They dragged Clint out of bed with the promise of espresso, and there was just enough time for everybody to wash their faces and throw on some deodorant before the Gendarmerie cars pulled up outside the hostel. The French police looked just as annoyed at having to get up before dawn as the CAAP, and nobody spoke much as they drove out into the countryside for what felt like hours.

In fact, it was hours – by the time they arrived, the sun was coming up.  They pulled over to the side of the country road, just above a steep slope down into a wooded valley.  Through the trees, Nat could just barely see yellow crime scene tape.

“There,” one of the cops said, pointing.  He had a heavy accent and somehow managed to imply that this was at least a third of his English.

They had to be very careful climbing down the hill.  It had been raining overnight, and the autumn grass and fallen leaves were slippery and treacherous.  Clint would have fallen on his face and slid the whole way if Nat hadn’t been in time to grab him, and a moment later she had to pass him on to Sir Stephen so that she could take Allen’s hand before he lost his footing on the slick ground.  There were several scrapes and bruises before they finally came to the tape, and ducked under it.

From the top of the hill, the yellow tape had been visible through a break in the trees.  Now that they were up close, Nat could see that it was literally a break: branches had been smashed by something heavy crashing into them.  The fallen thing had rolled down the hill, hit the trees, and then shattered on a boulder in the middle of the small stream at the bottom.

It was the sarcophagus of Princess Sitamun.

“Oh, no!” Natasha exclaimed.  She hurried forward the last few steps, climbed over a broken tree trunk, and pushed aside a white-suited forensics specialist who tried to stop her.

She had hoped for a moment that it was some trick of light and shadow that made the sarcophagus look broken, but it wasn’t.  The lid had snapped in two and was lying in the gravel on the shoreline, while the body was broken into three large pieces and countless tiny ones, leaning on the boulder and strewn across the shallow stream bed.  In the middle of it all, half-in and half-out of the water, was the mummy itself, broken in pieces and twisted almost beyond recognition as a human body.  Nobody would be getting any DNA, or anything else, out of it now.

“Madame!” the specialist said.  “You must not touch!”

“Non, pas vraiment,” Nat agreed, drawing her hand back.  “Je m’excuse.”  The stream had probably already washed a lot of evidence away and her poking around wouldn’t help.  The police had to figure out who had done this terrible thing to such a treasure and punish them for it… but whoever it was, she thought, when she found the guilty parties Natasha would break their necks herself!  The spy in her had been angry yesterday.  Today, the archaeologist was livid.

She must have looked it, too, because as she rejoined the others back at the tape, they all moved away from her – except for Allen, who put an arm around her shoulders to comfort her.

“So somebody took the mummy and the sarcophagus,” he said, “and then just threw it away?  That doesn’t make any sense.”

“No,” Natasha agreed.  “None of this makes sense.”  They had to have missed something important… but what?

[thelovers-thedreamers-and-me]

a work of art known to me as “you do know he’s not fucking wearing that, right?”

i’m gonna put most of this fuck squad recap behind a cut because this session we started recording it and just the notes i took while listening to the recording cover 4 dang pages. this was a fun one, though, with plenty of saida shenanigans and one (1) fantastic name generator example. so, like, if you want more fuck squad content, good news, i guess

“Oh my god I think I have father issues.” “[singing] Welcome to the fuck squad!”

Llydor Philkirk, the resort owner, confronts Saida about the prank Yoni pulled, and somehow Saida manages to convince him that she’s innocent. 

Saida: “Phil... philkirk, phil spector”

Llydor Philkirk: “Be sure to be professional with the suspects.” Saida: “PROFESSIONAL WITH MY DIIIICK”

“Yoni, you wake up-” “Ugh, Not again.”

Maddela: “I get belgian waffles. Fantasy belgian waffles.” “From the neighbouring kingdom of Belgia”

Sergei: “She can teleport, what the frick!” Saida: “She obviously killed everyone. Let’s frame my ex.”

I had to try and figure out how long it takes to make creme brulee off the top of my head. Thanks for that, guys.

“Ladies who brunch, the RPG”

Saida: “Oh my god, I knew you fucked him, because we’re 12 and that’s SOOO scandalous!”

As the Fuck Squad got brunch, we had to put the game on pause because Saida’s husband was delivering more wine to us.

Saida: “He ran the criminal empire. I was directly under him, in both rank and sort of personage....” Rhonia: “Like a fake fantasy pyramid scheme!”

We had a long discussion about whether Tarand wanted to turn Saida into a vampire somehow.

Saida: “I did what any rational woman would do- I took all my jewelry, I didn’t say anything, and I ran.”

Saida: “You can’t kill someone when it’s true love.” Sergei: “didn’t you kill your husband?” Saida: “That was different.”

Saida: “The point is, I used to have everything, but now I have nothing, and I think I made bad choices.” Yoni: “You have us! So yes.”

Saida: “I’m having a lot of feelings seeing him again!” Sergei: “SO ABOUT THIS MURDER”

Saida: “PRO-BLE-MAT-IC. That’s four claps. It’s a big word.”

“Roll to hug.” Sergei: “What do I roll for that?” The beard: “What are the grappling rules in pathfinder?” Me: “We’re not bringing up the fucking grappling rules. We don’t say those words in this house.”

“Roll to grab Sergei’s junk.” Saida: “ABSOLUTELY NOT! Junk grabbing is what got me into this mess! That and fucking my boss.”

Sergei: “I have a great idea! How about if I talk with birds.” Saida: “Can’t be worse than what’s happening right now.”

We then have a solid ten minutes of everyone at the table just mocking Tarand for eating breakfast.

Saida: “Who do you think you are, Dr. Phil?”

Tarand: “It was rude of you [to douse my sex partner in garbage water]” Yoni: “But it’s not rude for you to walk up to our brunch table?”

Saida: “Are your ears broken?” Yoni: “maybe they’re filled with garbage water.”

Yoni: “Oh my god we should all get levels in bard for this!”

“Roll stealth to do bunny ears behind his head.” 

Maddela got caught doing bunny ears behind Tarand’s head.

Rhonia: “He might have wanted to commit-” Saida: “I heard he wanted to kill me” “That’s a commitment.”

“If you’re afraid of dying, have you heard the good word about Desna?”

Saida: “I’m getting closure, would you like to go back to making fun of him?” Sergei: “Yes, that was a lot more fun!”

Saida: “So apparently I’ll meet you at 7 and Yoni invites you to pull the stick out of your butt.”

Yoni: “I’m gonna do a heal check to see if you have elf syphilis.”

Apparently this is fucking FATAL now because Yoni gives Saida a full gynecological exam.

“Jesus christ, yoni, this is taking so long, and at this point you are just rummaging in there!”

“You know even if I want to fuck Tarand you just destroyed my down-below.” Sergei: “She’s still got two hands.”

“We know you’re straight, Saida. No need to rub it in our faces. No need to parade it around town.”

“Almost like I’m a GM who prepared.”

Saida: “I’m wearing a chic trail walking outfit.” “Where did you get it?” “Fantasy MEC? I dunno, I stopped into the hotel gift shop.” “How much did you pay for it?” “Iunno, a dollar?” “YOU DON’T HAVE THOSE”

Saida: “What should I wear to go meet tarand?” Sergei: “Something slutty. But not too slutty.” Me: “I feel like this murder mystery has gone off the rails a bit.”

Sergei: “I’ll roll perception. I roll literally a 1.” “You walk into a tree.” Saida: “I’ll roll. I roll a 2.” “You almost walk into the same tree that Sergei walked into but see him walk into it and stop.” Rhonia: “I also rolled a 2.” “You also walk almost into that same tree.” Saida: “We shouldn’t have had all those mimosas at brunch.”

Rhonia: “Would a bird know what kidnapping is?” “The eternal question- what do birds know?”

Sergei casts Commune With Birds using his magic pants, and we all do some expert bird calls that were good things to listen to with my ears. Turns out that the last person to see Laurelia alive was quite possibly Sprit the gnome. 

“Birds, man. They know shit.”

They make a list of things to ask Tarand on Saida’s date with him that Saida just never asks him at all. 

“I think Rhonia will interview the staff.” “So you’re interviewing people instead of just fucking around and doing fuckshit all. One sec, gotta scroll down to that point in my notes.” Sergei: “Oh, she’s going down, like, seven pages.”

Rhonia orders the charcuterie for 21 and a half and offers it to servants who are willing to speak with her about the case, while Sergei and Saida throw a cocktail party in the next room over. They have a yelling fight about it, in which Rhonia yells at Sergei for patronizing her.

Sergei: “I feel so bitchy!” “That’s cause y’all are BITCHES.”

Sergei: “Dude, you can’t have interviews with people in your jammies.” Rhonia: “I CAN and I WILL!”

Rhonia interviews Remardt the dwarf, who reveals that Sprit’s been working at the Philkirk for a long time because she has magic inclinations and that means she’s able to use the magic items they use to be a really good bellhop. 

“Stop making dick jokes in the next room, you’re ruining the audio! I’ll listen to this later and wonder what the fuck is wrong with my friends.”

“sprit’s an eldritch horror!”

Rhonia: “She plays pranks?” “Yeah, she prays planks. She planks. Welcome to 2014!”

Sergei rolls another 1 on perception so he can’t listen in.

Saida: “This is the best cocktail party.” Sergei: “I think it’s just us getting drunk in our room. With SNAAACKS.”

“You’re not monitoring my drinking as closely as you thought you were.”

Llydor: “Would you like to come in? It’s relevant to the case.” Saida: “YES. Also we were just having a cocktail party and we are half in the bag.” Llydor: “Good. You’ll be about as useful as you usually are.” Sergei: “Hey. I have commune with birds.” Saida: “And I have commune with my ex-boyfriend.”

Turns out there’s been another victim, whose body was found in the river.

“The victim was a woman named Shareena.” Rhonia: “It’s tarand’s girlfriend!” Saida: “The garbage water lady! His garbage wife!”

Saida: “WE GOTTA GO WE GOTTA GO WE GOTTA GO We’re still half in the bag.” “This is a great murder investigation.”

Saida: “I’m gonna talk to Tarand and make him confess with my vagina.”

Upon arriving at the crime scene, the first thing Saida does is mock the new murder victim over her dead body by making high-pitched noises. 

Sergei: “I’m gonna make a heal check-” Yoni and Saida: “She dead!”

“I’m not gonna say I spent a whole lot of time trying to reverse engineer forensic investigation into this system, but....”

Saida: “I’m gonna roll knowledge nature. I’m gonna faaaaaaaaail I rolled a natural 20 bitches!”

“So for all of you who rolled real well on their knowledge nature checks- which is all of you except THIS BITCH.”

“Fantasy-S-I!”

“We gotta find that boyfriend. But first I’m gonna talk to birds.”

Saida: “ I roll perception... Ohhhh.... critical one......” “You don’t know if she’s dead.”

“There is a torn scrap of paper in a nearby bush.” Sergei: “Oh. Bushpaper.”

Saida: “Yoni, want to go steal everything that’s not nailed down?” Llydor gives you a weird look.But he rolls a natural 1 on his sense motive so he’s tricked int thinking this is just a game you play.

Yoni: “Hey Doctor Phil, you have any necromancers on staff?” “That’s not my name, and no, we don’t have any fucking resort necromancers, what kinda joint you think this is?”

Saida: “Hey Rhonia, can you make me a list of questions to ask Tarand?” “I love how you guys are just all relying on Heather as the one person who takes notes, right?” Sergei: “This investigation is going so super well!”

Saida: “Bitches bitches bitches listen. And Sergei. Sergei, are you okay being a bitch? Okay. Bitches bitches bitches listen. I’m gonna ask Tarand tonight. Take his spellbook. Wait, no, that’d be weird. I’m gonna fuck him and take his spellbook. Good plan. That’s what I should do.”

Saida: “Can we see who cast it? Is it like an IP address? I’m gonna roll perception.” “The DC is 15 plus the spell level. You didn’t make it. You didn’t make it. Everyone gets bees! You brought in Dr Phil so now I’m Oprah.”

Saida: “Alright so hold on. We got a new dead bitch in the river.” Llydor: “It would be nice if you didn’t call the murder victim a bitch.” 

 Yoni: “We’re gonna go back to your hotel and eat and drink your shit until you get a necromancer.” 

The next step in this murder investigation is getting full nude and going to the hot springs. Of course.

“You’re outside the resort so she doesn’t come when you snap your fingers. Unlike in the resort when she DOES come when yoni snaps her fingers. EYYYYYY. Why do you let me GM for you?” 

They question Sprit while Sergei and Saida discuss swinging with each other. Loudly. Next to the mic.

“Everyone’s really drunk, welcome to the fuck squaaaaaad!”

Saida: “Reaper, I respect your monogamous relationship but I am gonna objectify Sergei heavily.” Reaper: “HARD SAME. We got something in common.”

Saida: “We gotta get me all skanked up. And I’m gonna sober up for, like, tennnnnn minutes.”

Saida goes on her date with Tarand with Sergei and Yoni at the next table “Like the moms on toddlers and tiaras doing the dance along with the kids” to coach her through a power pose.

Meanwhile, Maddela is breaking into Tarand’s room because she cares about solving the mystery. Weird.

Tarand: “When you left I was a little bit... taken aback.” Sergei: “Taken aback- that’s DILF-speak for crying in his cheerios.”

Saida uses her gauntlet of memories to punch Tarand and see a memory of his. (This is technically assault.)

Saida: “Wow, that makes me sound real bad.” “I WONDER WHYYYYY”

[in tarand’s memory.] “You pull a small square box out of your pocket, and you look at it. You sigh. You put it back in your pocket.” Yoni: “It’s probably poison!”

“Saida, if you must know... It was a ring. I was... Interested in you. But Now....” Saida: “You’re more interested! Because I’m a woman of mystery!”

Saida rolls sense motive, gets a 3, thinks he’s totally more into her.

Sergei is singing I Will Always Love You from the booth behind them.

What is this game

“I moved on, Saida. After you left.” Saida: “BOOOOOOOO.”

Saida: “So, once more for old time’s sake.” “Absolutely not.” Saida: “I think so.” “I don’t think so.”

[After emotional conversation where Saida gets rejected sexually] Saida: “Oh by the way that chick you banged is dead. I hair flip and walk away.”

Tarand now thinks Saida killed his girlfriend. For some reason. Sergei, Yoni, and Saida proceed to laugh about it loudly at the next table over.

Saida: “I’ve had a lot to drink and I’m very angry.” “In character, or...”

Saida: “We should go to another bar, this one sucks and is full of shit. Also we just cussed out that man and I think we should leave.” Sergei and Yoni: “We????”

Maddela: “So how long was that whole exchange?” “Painfully. Painfully long. You have SO MUCH TIME.”

Maddela breaks into the room and hears that Tarand’s boyfriend is in the shower. She goes through Tarand’s shit and I have to decide what he has.

Rhonia: “Are you gonna poison the sex toys because I feel like you should poison the sex toys.” Maddela: “.... I do have itching powder.....”

In a startling display of common sense, Maddela ignores the call to up the fucking prank game.She takes the first sheet from the notepad and does a rubbing to read what he was writing. There’s a lot of shit to Saida, but the last one is to Shareena, thanking her for services and pointing her to a tip.

Saida: “Can I get him drunk and try to fuck him?” Rhonia: “You missed your chance.” Saida: “That’s a long word.” “It’s three short words.”

Saida: I’m gonna show up hammered at his room later. Last time I was sober. This time I’m gonna be hammered and belligerent.”

Rhonia: “Bobbie had to pull all this shit out of her butt right now so be gentle!” “Yeah, I wasn’t expecting you to actually do some CSI shit.”

Maddela lies and says there wasn’t anything about Saida in there. Saida rolls well on sense motive, but Maddela gets a nat20 on her bluff check so Saida suspects nothing.

“Does anyone have roofies?” “I have drow poison.” “Oh, that’s perfect.”

Saida goes up to bug Tarand.

“I thought I made it clear that it’s over between us.” Saida: “Even if it’s over we can still fuck.” Sergei: “I love this game.”

Sergei: “Stick your tongue in his mouth!” “That is gonna be a roll of some sort!”

He closes the door on Saida because she’s being a sex pest.

Saida: “Your boyfriend’s hot!” “That’s why I’m in here with him instead of out there with you!” 

Sergei: “SET FIRE TO THE DOOR”

Saida: “I knock again and say Please let me in before I set fire to the fuckin’ door.” “Saida, you’re drunk.” Saida: “You’re drunk!” “I haven’t had a drink all day. Well, I had one appletini but that’s not a real drink.”

“Do you want to use a spell?” Saida: “How about Anticipate Peril?” Sergei: “Girl, you’re in danger!” “In danger of not getting dicked tonight!”

After a long discussion of whether Saida can burn down the door or electrify the doorknob as a prank- “Why is my party like this? I have done nothing in my life!” Sergei: “You mean why is Saida like this?” Saida: “Hey whoa now!” Sergei: “I’m just an enabler!”

After a few minutes discussing whether what Saida did was harassment. (It was.) Sergei, Saida, Maddela and Reaper go to the Hidden Serpent. Rhonia stays in the hot tub. We roll to see if there are any hot guys at the bar. There aren’t. Any average guys? There are a couple of elf 4s. 

 Saida: “I walk over and I’m pretty sultry about it. And in the actual way, not the shitty way I usually am.” “You are usually pretty shitty.”

Saida: “You’re lookin’ good.” “Thanks, you are too.” Saida: “What’s your name?” “My name is...”

God I love random name generators.

Enro Monsterblower refuses to be referred to by his first name only. He works running the roller coaster. He gives everyone a roller coaster ride and then bangs Saida. 

“He gets a natural 20 so he’s real good at sex. You roll a 17 so you’re okay but you’re not as good as Enro Monsterblower.” Rhonia: “Nobody is.”

“It’s not, like, a really good roller coaster because technology hasn’t been invented yet, but you don’t have anything to compare it to so you think it’s pretty dope. Better than anything you’ve ever experienced on the roller coaster front.” Yoni: “That being said, it’s shit.”

Maddela takes home a hot babe who I didn’t manage to name.

Then they wake up, and a huge blizzard has hit overnight, and now they’re snowed in.

“Well, only one thing to do now, Monsterblower, and thaaaat’s fuck.”

“Also the murderer is gonna cause people to die.” Saida: “Not if I murder everyone first!”

[omgnsfwisnsfw-blog]

10: One and One

To some, a delay would invite the possibilities of losing focus. To some, maybe anticipation turns to an overeagerness to just get to it. That overeagerness is like a sugar high and the subsequent crash. He couldn’t speak for his partner, but for John the concept of time was just a little blurred. The goal for him remained the same as always: to succeed. That means procuring the Television championship. That means kicking off NSFW the right way. So here he was. Trying to figure out just how to do that. The small text on the glowing screens strained his eyes so he adjusted the pair of narrow framed reading glasses on the bridge of his nose to minimize that impact. He used his index finger and thumb to scroll through a video gallery on the ‘streaming’ network, stopping every once in a while at one of the descriptions. He was seated at the scuffed up wooden round table in her dining room. The other three chairs of various makes were at this point vacant. An open notebook was laid before him and he used his left hand to tap the eraser end of a pencil on the page. All lights were off in the house except for the two bulbs in a glass fixture overhead. John went to press play on the next clip when he heard the front door open. Her steps and movements in the living room were loud and boisterous. She may have announced herself but he was concentrating on the last bullet point on the page. Finally, she stepped into the room he was in and and flicked on the lights via a switch just to the right of the door way. John looked up at her wryly, taking the reading glasses off and carefully folding the arms shut. “I’m hoooooome,” she called out, flopping unceremoniously into the opposite chair. She looked quite happy, and perhaps slightly tipsy. John tucked the glasses into the front pocket of his t-shirt, “how was it?” “Christ, that was great. I got a good feeling about this one, Church. I mean, she’s funny, she’s smart, she’s, okay, a stone cold fox… yeah. She’s shaping up to be a keeper.” “That’s good.” “Yes. Yes it is. You have no idea how fuckin' hard it’s been to find a good woman in this town,” she waved a hand, “Anyway. What’ve you been up to all evening? I mean, obviously you didn’t throw a wild party or nothin’ while I was gone.” John liked that she did her own thing. He was starting to see the enjoyment in what would be a healthy isolated where someone somewhere would eventually just say hello. He closed the notebook, “Homework.” “That so?” she leaned over a bit, giving a cursory glance to the notebook on the table, “Figure it ain’t Trig 1.” “It’s about our job.” “Thought it might be,” she gave her chin a tap, a tic of hers when she was recalling something, “Is that what all the other notebooks are for? Notes? I mean I didn’t read any or nothin’, I just, y’know. Noticed.” “Yes. Most of them are just that. You forgot something,” his tone was without judgment as he placed a small box with a flip open lid on the table in front of him. “Aw, geez, my fuckin’ cigs,” she picked the box up and pocketed it, “Shouldn’t leave those things laying around. Didn’t need ‘em tonight anyway. I really have been trying to cut down.” “We aren’t each other’s keepers - however we are partners,” he flipped the notebook open to the first page. Each line was filled with tiny, precise, neat writing, “when I came back, I was under the impression that muscle memory would be a enough to get by. However, that was not the case. My first weekend back in this business, I failed. It wasn’t just about losing, it was that I embarrassed myself. I gave the impression of being a wash out. I could barely breathe. I was not ready. And of course, there was the issue of time. You can’t defeat time,” he paused, “but that is actually the easiest thing to resolve. It’s like sharpening a knife. It’s been,” he turned two pages, “eight years since you’ve competed full time. Your last appearance was here in your current city of residence at a local outlaw show. Three years ago. You can’t wipe that away but you can treat your body better.” “I know, I know. Seriously, I rarely touch these things anymore. Carry ‘em around mostly out of habit, but nowadays I only light up if something’s really fuckin’ wigging me out. Which I think’s progress, considering I used to be a fuckin’ chainsmoker. But… you’re right. I’ll try harder,” she took the pack out of her pocket and tossed it instead into a nearby drawer. “I get your point. But what do all the notes have t’ do with anything?” “Body and mind. That first night, nobody saw me on my hands and knees wheezing and coughing. Nobody saw me laid out on the concrete for nearly an hour. Here’s what they did see: a tremendously unprepared wrestler outmatched by the vigor of youth. When I started, I could count on my strength and ability to burst through any mistakes that I would make. Twenty years later, I’m a little slower and with none of the experience to show for it,” he turned to the next page, “If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle. That’s from Art of War. So I went back to the drawing board. The red head from last month, she had been on a slide but that doesn’t seem to matter to her, nothing to be honest seemed to matter to her. Her movements were devastating but they were also sloppy. She took one too risks,” two more pages, “and the sadomasochist was powerful and deliberate and despite having an advantage in numbers, he relished too much in the aftermath of his every blow. He gave me time to recover and deliver receipts.” “And he was probably angling to go after your feet.” “Correct. Hobbling one’s leg in this case would have been a very sound strategy.” “Anywho, this is… kinda fucking amazing. You notice this kind of stuff about everyone?” “Not without due diligence. Think about it, Mike. The baseball stuff we watched last night. So what you see on the TV, it’s the end result of deliberate planning. What happens is somethings at the mercy of circumstance and the ability of the player but there is always a plan. The pitcher and the batter. It’s a man trying to hit a ball out of thin air. Look at their eyes. Look at their body language. That is the real game. The opponents have prepared for each other. The batter knows by habit what that pitcher’s worst throw is. The pitcher knows by habit how to make that batter swing just too late. Now who can execute? It’s the same with our sport.” “Holy shit. I didn’t think you were even paying attention, you didn’t seem that into it.” John shrugged, “I couldn’t tell you what the score was. So in the traditional sense, yes, I wasn’t paying attention. But I saw what I wanted to see. After my first defeat, I learned that I was not in shape and I did not know my opposition. After my first few wins, I could see that this was going to be an uphill battle. The idea of training isn’t exclusive to us. All of us should be reviewing tape. All of us should know what each of us is capable off and how to counter it,” finally he turned to the page that he had been writing on earlier, “that is what I am doing now.” “Eh, you didn’t miss much, game was a fuckin’ blowout. Mets gotta figure out how t’ beat the goddamn Braves, that series was a fuckin’ embarrassment,” reaching over to the counter, she grabbed her hat and jammed it on her head. She’d forgone it for her date, “Anyway, on one hand, yeah, you’re absolutely right. BUT. Do we really need t’ put this much work into Team Fuckface? Not t’ tell you what to do, but I’d think this level’a study’d be better placed on Ruthann. Especially after a bye week.” He pushed back in his seat and stood, “That was earlier this afternoon. In a different book. Our debut is what matters at this moment. And on the cover of their book,” he pressed his index finger on the page, “they are vulgar human beings with no redeemable qualities. And as true as they may be, they are not be taken lightly. Like me, the boy is a former collegiate wrestler and under all of those corner cutting measures is the pure base of a professional wrestler. He talks and talks and talks and more often than not, he backs up those works. Angel of Death isn’t just some local big man. He’s a mercenary who accepts payment for blood. He extracts that blood through untapped skill. They are a team in name only. They are one and one and their only chainlink is cash and all of the evils it summons.” He stopped and he could almost predict her response. John sometimes left awkward moments in the air and just as she opened her mouth, he continued, “Graveyards are littered with the bones of the people who are just happy to be at the dance. They loved this sport and many of them were vanquished by the ones who leech onto it like a parasite. We can’t just be good people. We can’t just be on the right side of history. Our love for this business won’t matter. What will matter is knowing who they are, what they do, why they do it, and making sure they don’t take advantage of our perceived weaknesses.” “So we kick their teeth in. But… first we study on how best to fuckin’ kick their teeth in,” she grinned, the one she tended to get when she had designs on ring-related violence. “Y’know, I got the network on the Roku. So we don’t gotta hunch over our phones. Want me to bring up anything in particular, or do we start from the beginning?” “From the beginning,” he started towards the living room and stopped short at the door way, “The boy’s official debut. I eliminated him. He chose to run his mouth before that and made many enemies. I picked the bones. If I knew what I knew now, he would have left much earlier. Watch his eyes. Not what he does. Everything he does is crisp and nearly perfect. His eyes in the most perilous moments betray his actions and if we play it right, they’ll betray him next Friday, too.” “Gotcha.” “And big man. So happy to do something on his own when he uses his unbelievable strength to toss out that strange little man who thought no-one was watching when he snuck out of the show last Friday with other people’s belongings. Look at him when the boy takes all of the credit and never bothers to come to his aid just before he was dumped out." John turned back around to face her. He held one finger up from each hand. "That is the essence of Collateral Damage. One and one.” “Not like us,” Mike said it with absolute certainty.