#She isn’t like a normal human at all. Her skin is elastic (almost like that black goop that ppl thought was solid until som time ago)

[mylove-thresher]

JUMPING UP AND DOWN!!,,,!!,! I DREW!,!,,,!!!!,,

yo cuando mujeres sobrenaturales

[itsthemoofacewriting]

It’s heaven in your arms - Chapter 2

Welcome back!

You guys, I was so nervous posting this and everyone’s been so lovely ;_;

I don’t know if anyone picked up on it, but my title has two meanings. One, because it’s a bed sharing trope and two, because Ace died in Luffy’s arms. I’m a monster, I know.

Summary: It may have been two years since Ace’s death but, for Luffy, sometimes it still felt like just yesterday. Or, sometimes, something beautiful can blossom from a place of hurt. Raining: K+ 

You can also find this on AO3 and FFN. 

Enjoy!

It was supposed to be a one-time thing.

But when he’d shot her those excited puppy eyes and asked if they could have another sleepover, she’d found herself caving. Even more so when the thought cropped into her head that maybe he was asking because he was struggling. She’d rather know where he was if he was going to be upset than worry about him being all alone out on the deck.

She’d raised an eyebrow when Luffy had arrived with Zoro in tow but that had been quickly snuffed out when he’d smugly said, “A one-time thing, huh?”

From there on the second time turned into a third time and then a fourth and now she’d lost count of how many times this had happened. It wasn’t every night, mind you, as they all had watches and if one of them couldn’t be there, then it was an unspoken rule that the others would sleep separately. Although she couldn’t be sure that Luffy and Zoro didn’t in the men’s room, but she’d seen those bunks and they’d never mentioned it.

The point was, it’d turned into a routine that no one blinked an eye at, and she’d even got them bathing regularly because there was no way either of them were getting in without being clean.

She’d also never slept better than she did when she had those two in her bed, piled in whichever way they found themselves throughout the night. Luffy liked to be the big spoon, which was something she felt like she shouldn’t know but did, he almost insisted on it even as he climbed in first and took an end. It was a funny sight when Zoro ended up in the middle, his hulking figure being cuddled up to by Luffy. The person on the other end was hardly left out when he stretched his arm to curl around them. It was like he was trying to keep them all close.

When they weren’t being spooned by Luffy, another favourite was when Zoro would lay on his back, an arm thrown out either side and she’d naturally gravitate towards him until her head was on his chest or tucked into his shoulder. His beefiness made a nice pillow, something Luffy must have agreed with as he normally mirrored her on the other side.

She’d stopped being flustered by all of this long ago, it was easy to get over when they did it all the time and neither said anything about it.

She did, however, question whether it was right that she had a preferred sleeping preference with the both of them and that she was ranking them.

.

.

.

Nami was sunning herself on her lounger, it was a pleasant day with the sun out, the ocean still and the background noise of Luffy, Chopper and Usopp running around in the distance. Footsteps approaching caught her attention only to see Robin making her way over, two drinks in hand that must have come from Sanji and a third arm holding a book. She greeted the other woman silently, turning her head to smile at her before facing the sun again and closing her eyes to enjoy the warmth on her skin.

There truly was no better way to spend the day-

“My invitation to your little sleepovers must have got lost in the mail.”

Nami was ripped from her peace as she gaped, feeling heat flush through her body at this finally being acknowledged. She shot a nervous look at Zoro who was sleeping only a few feet away from her sun lounger against the railing. Just because he looked like he was asleep, didn’t mean he was, but when he didn’t move or twitch or give any indication that he might be awake, she let herself relax slightly.

And focus back on the woman next to her still staring her down for an answer. Even though it was a statement, she felt the need to explain herself.  

“No- Robin! It isn’t… like that?” She could almost feel the ghost of Luffy’s breath against her skin and Zoro’s arm wrapped around waist, an unwelcome reminder to contrast her words.

Robin hummed, a look in her eye that told Nami she didn’t buy it. “You three looked adorable all cuddled up this morning.”

Of all the ways she thought she was going to die throughout her life, at the hands of Arlong, dropping from Skypiea or on Whole Cake Island to name a few, she never imagined this would be it. Embarrassed to death.

How was she going to explain that this had started with comforting Luffy and snowballed into whatever the hell they were doing now.

She didn’t have to either as Luffy came barrelling over with a chirp of “Nami!”, unaware of their conversation or her embarrassment only to make it worse by squeezing himself onto her sun lounger, ignoring how close they were or that he was practically laying over her. He chattered excitedly next to her, telling her about what him, Usopp and Chopper had been doing, at one point using her straw to take a long gulp from her drink and all the while she was very aware of Robin’s eyes on her the whole time.

“It’s sweet. I’m happy for you three,” Robin said as soon as Luffy bounded off after telling her his short story.

He was out of sight soon enough, but her eyes naturally trailed over to Zoro, only to find his eye trained on her already. She couldn’t be sure whether he’d heard what Robin had just said, but the smile he gave her before closing his eye again certainly didn’t help.

It was full of warmth.  

.

.

.

‘It’s sweet. I’m happy for you three.’

Robin’s words replayed in her head, over and over.

The last couple of weeks washed over her. Robin’s words bringing to the forefront how Luffy and Zoro’s behaviour had changed.

Luffy was the first one up in the mornings, unable to wait for either of them to wake up as he heard Sanji bustling around the kitchen and the lure of food too strong that he’d hastily take off, plastering a hurried kiss on the cheek or forehead of whoever was closest. Sure, it’d stunned her at first, but he’d done it to Zoro too and the other man hadn’t even blinked, so she’d let it go. Even if it did take her by surprise each time.

Then it just left Nami and Zoro by themselves to wake up together. He was so casual as he stretched, murmuring out a “mornin’” as he removed his arm from wherever it was laying against her body and it lingered a second too long, brushing against her skin. It was more subtle than Luffy’s gesture, but this was Zoro. It might as well be the same act.

She felt like an elephant in the room needed to be addressed, yet neither of them acted like anything had changed.

Outside the bedroom it changed too.

Where she used to be alone in the library as she drew maps, Zoro would now be napping against her desk or on the sofa, saying how it was quieter in there and because she was so cranky, they wouldn’t be disturbed. Luffy would soon gravitate towards them, asking questions about her maps that he didn’t really listen to the answer to, or he’d go lay his head on Zoro’s lap whilst he slept, a rare moment of calm that would punish them later as he bounded around.

Luffy would find her more often too, clambering over her seat if she was sun lounging or bringing over things that he’d found and deemed ‘cool’. Kind of like how a cat would bring mice to its owner to impress them… not that she was Luffy’s owner.

They still hung out with their other friends, but instead there’d be Zoro’s arm casually thrown over the back of her chair and Luffy at her other side, a hand constantly finding a way to touch her or draw her into his chaos.

Small shifts, so subtle it had taken her this long to piece it together.

It was almost like…

Almost like they were in a relationship. The three of them.

It made her stomach churn, but she didn’t know if it was in a good or bad way, like how it did when she was dreading something or excited.

And then the final puzzle piece slotted into place.

Oh.

She was in a relationship with them. Or at least the early stages but it was all there, for everyone to see and she’d missed it every step of the way. Her thoughts were jumbled. Too many fighting to be at the forefront and how had she not figured this out sooner?

Her mind had been running for hours whilst she was squished between Zoro and Luffy, staring up at the ceiling. It was still dark outside and all she’d done all night was drift in and out of sleep. She had more hours left to sleep, but she couldn’t calm her mind enough for it.

She rolled onto her side to face Zoro, in his sleep Luffy sensed her movement and filled the slither of free space to spoon up behind her, his breath heavy against her neck. She studied Zoro’s profile, from the scar covering his eye, which when he slept like that she couldn’t tell if he was awake, to the strong line of his nose, the normal severe expression softened in his sleeping state. Even when he slept on the deck, he didn’t look that relaxed, this was something privy to her and Luffy.

There was no way around it. She was attracted to him, and she couldn’t deny looking down at his lips a few times recently as he spoke. They looked dry, like he needed a good slather of lip balm over them, but she it didn’t stop her from entertaining the thought of pressing her lips against his. Luffy’s on the other hand, looked softer and she wondered if the texture was the same as his skin, still soft like human skin but there was a hint of resistance, of elasticity there. She was attracted to Luffy too, his carefree grin and contagious enthusiasm. How weir-

What she wasn’t expecting was for Zoro to suddenly stretch and stir, making a noise of contentment before he rolled over to face her and she didn’t have the sense the clamp her eyes shut in time. She stared back into a lone grey eye.

“Y’alrigh’?” Zoro slurred out, still caught in the grasp of sleep as he settled into his new position.

“Yeah.” She sounded too awake for how early it was and too vacant, unsure, that it caught his attention.

“What’s wrong?” More coherent now.

“Zoro… is this not a bit weird?” Luffy’s arm tightened around her, and he snuggled further into her back.

Zoro had already turned to face her, his arm haphazardly thrown over her, but after her question she could feel the shift, how he was looking at her before but now she could tell she had his full attention. He stared at her, all the signs of sleep or tiredness from before gone from his face. His eye was trained on her and it felt like she was being accessed, that he was trying to look through her.

Another second passed until he answered with a shrug.

“I dunno, maybe, but when have we ever done anything by the book?”

He made a good point and when had she ever cared what others thought?

Her silence seemed to make him take a step back, second guessing the intention of her previous question, as he asked, “Do you want to stop doing this?” The arm over her waist lightened, like he was ready to remove it at a moment’s notice and if she thought she was being accessed before, it was nothing compared to now. His gaze scrutinizing, flittering around her face for any sign of discomfort.

She considered it for a second but the thought of going back to an empty bed permanently made her ache. There’d be no whispering as they tried to go off to sleep, no elbows digging her in the night, no snoring in her ears and it wouldn’t be like an oven all the time with their combined body heat. It’d be cold and silent.

It sounded awful.

“No,” she whispered and Zoro’s arm rested back over her body like before, palm splayed across her waist and squeezing slightly, like he was encouraging her to continue. “But what if- what if this…” ‘doesn’t work out’, She wanted to say.

It didn’t matter, he was on the same page. “This is Luffy we’re talking about. And it’s me.”

He was telling her to trust them. Trust that this would all be okay regardless of the outcome because it was them, and they’d been through hell and back with each other since the very beginning.

And she did, the instinct flaring up instantly to calm her down.  

“Yeah, okay,” she agreed, body relaxing and mind going blissfully silent with that little piece of reassurance.

“Good, then go to sleep, you’re gunna wake up cranky otherwise.”

He was pushing his luck, but she’d let it slide right now mainly because one, she didn’t want to wake Luffy (he was almost as bad as a baby when woken) and because he’d just been very sweet just then, in his own gruff way. And she was feeling generous.

A moment after closing her eyes there were warm lips pressing against her forehead and she sensed a slight hesitation there before they were gone. She cracked her eye open to look at him, but his eye was clamped shut stubbornly, pretending that he hadn’t done anything. There was no mistaking the blush on his cheeks though.

In the morning, when Luffy performed his routine of frantically jumping out of the bed to chase Sanji to the kitchen, he placed his usual hurried kiss on her cheek but this time around, she leaned into it with a smile on her face.

.

.

.

Since that night, things had changed. Everything seemed easier, casual touches that she no longer overthought and, if anything, she leaned more into them.

All of it felt more natural but then maybe that was because she’d relaxed.

Like déjà vu, Nami was on her sun lounger the next day. The hot weather from the day had simmered down into a mild evening and she was making the most of the quiet before they did it all over again tomorrow. Robin was next to her too, reading with the little light naturally left, she’d be moving indoors soon to carry on.

Nami’s eyes stung a bit, from the lack of sleep the night before and she hadn’t napped, but she felt lighter after last night. So much so that she confessed, “I’m in a relationship with Luffy and Zoro.”

Robin stopped reading and turned to smile at her patiently. “It would appear you are, are you happy about it?”

“Yeah,” she said, feeling her cheeks go rosy. “We can make arrangements though, it’s your room too,” she added as an afterthought.

“As long as it stays pg, it doesn’t bother me at all.”

She spluttered, her previously rosy cheeks turning red as it spread hotly across her face and down her neck. She’d only just wrapped her head around the fact she was in a relationship with them, she couldn’t even think about that yet.

“Besides, I believe I have somewhere else to sleep tonight.”

Robin looked over her shoulder and Nami peered behind her to see Franky walking off to his workshop.

Oh.

Nami’s grin turned teasing, it was only fair with what she’d had to put up with recently, except her fun was interrupted by Luffy calling from the women’s room stopped her in her tracks, Zoro poking his head out of the frame to grunt at her. Honestly, as if it wasn’t her room.  

“I believe you’re being called for by your boyfriends,” Robin teased, twinkle in her eye.

“This isn’t over!” Nami pointed her finger at her.

“I didn’t doubt it.”

She crossed the deck, on her way to her room when the thought from last night popped into the forefront of her mind and how she could actually act on it now.

Zoro’s mouth opened when she appeared in the doorway, no doubt something snarky about her being the last one present but she couldn’t hear it over the blood thumping in her ears.

She marched over to them on the bed, a woman on a mission and Luffy looked at her curiously until he yelped as her hands cupped his face and brought him into a kiss. He hesitated for a second until his hands gripped her arms and his lips responded in kind. Whilst it was clear he lacked experience, enthusiasm dripped from the kiss and it more than made up for it as his lips moved eagerly against hers. She angled her head, encouraging him to do that same and trying to keep up with the frantic pace he was setting, all the while batting down a smile. It was him all over, joyful and chaotic and she didn’t know if she’d ever get enough of it.

They pulled apart and there was a split second of relief in his eyes, like maybe he thought this moment was never coming, before it was trampled by his excitement, and he beamed at her.

“You want one too?” She teased, looking over at Zoro, eyebrow raised in challenge.  

Zoro’s response was a heavy palm on the back of her neck that had them both leaning in, over Luffy, to meet in the middle for a kiss much different from hers with Luffy. Zoro’s pace was slower, more thorough as he took his time against her lips, yet it was firm. He had a bit more knowledge, he was surer in himself, and it showed as she sunk into the kiss, for once letting herself be led. She enjoyed it just as much and she knew she’d relish taking her time to pull apart the differences between them, savouring the way they both made her feel.

A daring swipe of her tongue across his bottom lip and then they broke apart, Luffy in the background demanding another kiss when Zoro smugly said, “Took you long enough.”

He wouldn’t look so smug when she pushed him off the bed tonight.            

Luffy’s pleas weren’t ignored when Zoro said, “Captain,” to capture the other boy’s attention and tugged on his vest to kiss him and it made her feel warm, a flutter in her stomach because whilst she wasn’t a part of the kiss, she was a part of them. The three of them.

Luffy looked dazed and then elated when they broke apart, grin splitting his face and there was a glint in his eye that told her more kisses would be demanded before they went to sleep.

She’d get changed and brush her teeth before getting in bed, maybe check that both of them have done that already because she didn’t remember smelling or tasting mint on their breath, when something caught her eye.

There was a space in the middle for her already.

And she smiled; her boys.

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

It’s been a while since I’ve had a fic practically write itself, I’ve missed that.

Luffy and Zoro may be idiots most of the time, but they’re both emotionally smart, it’s been shown time and time again. Nami, on the other hand, is in some cases but she’s also a bit of a worrywart too. So yeah, they kinda eased Nami into what was developing because they didn’t want to freak her out.

As always, please excuse any errors.  

If you got this far, thanks for reading, it means a lot.

[masonscig]

holiday

pairing | mason x aimee lin

word count | 2.5k

warnings | cursing, innuendos [it’s mason and aimee u know what to expect]

author’s note | so our friend group decided to do a little secret santa type gift exchange and i got the lovely @masonsfangs – i couldn’t NOT write maimee !!! not gonna get super sappy on main but i’m so grateful for your friendship, becky and i love you so so so much!

•─────────────────•

Out of all the fucking times he has to run out of cigarettes, it’s the moment he needs them the most.

His hands were quivering ever so slightly in his pockets, but no one would be able to tell unless they were looking for it. And even then, he was hidden by the shade of the door frame – not dark enough, but it’d do.

Why the fuck did he agree to a holiday party? In what world was he the type to go to parties, much less celebrate anything?

The laughter of the surrounding agents, mingling in clusters around the room, pounded at his eardrums like a mallet to its surface. The music flooding through the speakers was even worse, grating at him so intensely that he could feel the individual droplets of sweat start to bead across his palms.

A century’s worth of annual holiday festivities at the agency, and he chooses to attend when there’s ample sound technology to add to the already irritating sound of each voice – he could normally block them out if he needed to, but in a crowd this size? He was lucky if he could manage a couple of seconds where he could hear himself think.

He wasn’t looking for her, no matter how many times Farah tried pestering him about it.

“You got here pretty early, Mason,” Farah started, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. “It’s almost like you’re… waiting for somebody –”

“I’m not,” he snapped – two words were an effort to say.

He was straining himself trying to adjust to his surroundings, but it was like no matter how hard he focused, the noise was still deafening, still restricting.

“Well, tough luck. You know she’s fashionably late to everything,” she said. “Said so herself.”

Farah waggled her arm in front of Mason’s eyes, flashing the bright screen of her phone, the string of charms nearly striking his face.

“Yeah, I get it.” He’d been at the party for nearly a fucking hour and she hadn’t shown. He was growing more and more frustrated with each minute.

By the time a few agents had loaded up the table with platters of both human and… not so human foods, he was ready to bolt. The smell of the sweets mixed with the eggnog was overwhelming.

He’d barely been able to manage a couple minutes at Haley’s Bakery each time he went before he dipped out because he craved fresh air.

“Mason,” Nat called from a couple feet away, approaching him with furrowed brows. “You look pale. Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine. I’ll manage.” Two word sentences were all he could handle – he hoped Nate wouldn’t notice the slight waver in his voice. He did.

“This isn’t an obligation, by any means. You’re free to leave at any time –”

The side door burst open, and she strode through, her heartbeat faster than normal. A soft flush painted her cheeks, likely from the frigid December winds.

Mason pushed away from the wall, leaving his shaded door frame for the first time that night, completely ignoring Nat’s vocal realization as she figured out why he was there in the first place.

Aimee approached him, still panting from the effort. “Thank god. I thought I ran here for nothing.”

Something about her was different – a good different.

His eyes raked over every inch of her, his nausea fading away as he settled on each change.

Wild curls free from their normal elastic constraint, cheap stud earrings traded for tasteful emeralds, lashes thinly coated and curled, lips a soft rouge – even the flannel was traded for a tinsel lined sweater.

“What’re you looking at?” She asked, lip raised in annoyance.

“Who do you think, sweetheart?” Quick flirtatious retorts were the fastest way to get him feeling like himself again.

She rolled her eyes, trying to hold back a smile. “Oh, shut up.”

His stomach churned as he watched her take a few steps toward the main area. She stopped when he didn’t follow, sneakers squeaking against the linoleum as she swiveled around to throw a look his way.

“You coming?”

He shrugged, hands still trembling in his pockets. “I’m good here.”

Her brows pushed together, brown eyes (almost black as the night sky) flitting across his face.

He should’ve fucking lied better. He didn’t need her worrying and bitching at him because he was a little uncomfortable.

She closed the gap between them, sliding an arm around his waist. “Let’s go.”

“Damn, you really wanna do it outside? You’re adventurous today,” he teased, shoulders instantly relaxing as soon as he felt her hand slip underneath the hem of his henley, cool fingertips grazing the small of his back.

“Maybe,” she grinned, tugging on his torso, leading him to the back doors.

“You haven’t said a word to anyone else here,” he said, planting his feet.

“Since when do you care?” She laughed, flicking a thick curl off her shoulders, clearly not used to the feeling of it on her neck. “You don’t want to be here anyways.”

“Fuck off. I’m just trying to save you from some weird tension with Rebecca.”

She huffed. “Fine. I’m saying hey to Farah, Nat, and… Rebecca, and we’re dipping. Meet me outside.”

He shot her a look, and she shot one right back, challenging him. “Sure,” Mason said finally, shrugging, then strode towards the door with a second glance.

The feeling of the freezing air against his exposed skin was painful to say the least, but holy shit did the knot in his chest vanish the second the night sky was in view.

Within minutes, Aimee pushed through the doors, keys in hand.

“Seems like you were looking for a way out,” he said, trailing behind her.

“Don’t flatter yourself, sunshine. I can think of quite a few places I’d rather be than here,” she winked, unlocking her car and slipping in.

He perched against the side of her hood, feeling the rumble of the engine beneath his hip. Normally he’d be fumbling for a cigarette right about then, but Aimee’s pulse in his ears was the perfect comedown.

The window squeaked as it rolled down, her lips just barely visible over its edge. “Dude, get in. It’s freezing.”

He took a step towards her, pressing his forearm on the top of the door, using it as leverage to lazily bend down. “Where are you taking me?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she teased, her breath curling and twisting in translucent streams around them, their faces close enough that he felt the warmth of it. “It’s a surprise, dummy.”

He pushed away from the window, making no hurry to walk around the front of her car. Through the windshield, he could see her reel her arm back and motion like she was going to lay on the horn, but the sound never came – a muffled cackle met his ears instead.

He settled into the passenger’s seat, wondering how the fuck it felt colder inside of her car than outside of it. “Jesus Christ it’s freezing.”

He kicked a few wrappers out of his way so he could spread his legs comfortably.

“Once we start moving it should warm up.”

“Or we could heat it up on our own,” he said, head lolling to the side, a lazy grin slowly spreading.

“Oh, keep it in your pants,” she laughed, tossing him a glance over her shoulder as she backed out of the parking spot.

The ride there was calm. The stuttering purr of her engine, the soft gusts of warm air, the faint sweet smell of her gloss – sensations he could handle. Hell, sensations he’d come to tolerate.

Aimee’s quiet hum was the loudest of them all, but he didn’t mind it, oddly enough. He found himself timing her soft intakes of breath between hums with the hypnotising cadence of her heartbeat.

Aimee was a symphony without even realizing it.

“Hey, I’ve got a pack of cigarettes in the glove box and a lighter in my cup holder. Knock yourself out,” she said, breaking him out of his train of thought.

“Thanks,” he murmured, reaching for the lighter and the handle of the compartment.

He placed it between his lips, flicked the lighter, and inhaled, but… he didn’t need to. Force of habit, he guessed.

She pulled into a gravelly patch on the outskirts of Wayhaven. He was familiar with the quieter parts of town, but even this terrain was new to him.

“It’s just down this path,” she said, tossing a blanket over her shoulder while walking away.

He flicked the cigarette onto the ground, grinding his heel into the bud without a second thought. With a few brisk strides, he caught up to her, slinging his arm around her neck over her thick mass of hair.

“You look good with your hair down.”

She tried holding back a smile. “I didn’t do it for you, but I’m glad I have your stamp of approval.”

“I know you didn’t do it for me. I’m enjoying it, though.”

She laughed, her free hand raising to grip his forearm. “I’m happy to distract.”

“Distract me from what, sweetheart? You haven’t even kissed me yet,” he teased, leaning in to speak into her ear.

A slight shiver made its way up her back, but she quickly masked it. “You were uncomfortable.”

They reached the clearing, the edge of the cliff open, overlooking Wayhaven. Aimee laid the blanket down and plopped down wordlessly, patting the seat next to her.

She still hadn’t explained what she meant, and he was too prideful to ask.

He sunk down onto the cold blanket, dangling his legs over the edge alongside hers. They weren’t up too high – far enough that most of the stars were visible, but close enough that the carolers strolling downtown were mere background noise.

The wind whipped at Aimee’s curls, strands tossed around her face like a halo of coils, the scent of her shampoo filling the space between them.

“Your face was contorted when I walked in. Like you’d sucked a lemon or something,” she said, kicking her feet.

“I was fine.”

“You were not.”

“Yeah, I was.”

“You know I’m right.”

He scoffed, leaning back onto his elbows. “No.”

“Whatever you say, honey,” she teased, leaning over, shoving her arm against his, but he didn’t budge.

He eased back onto his elbows, nonchalant. “I didn’t really care to be there. You’re right about that much, detective.”

“Ouch. That almost hurt,” Aimee laughed, pulling her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. “‘Thank you, Aimee’,” she said in a voice like she’d swallowed jagged rocks – her worst impression of him yet.

He grumbled in response, settling into his propped up position as the crowds thinned downtown. He wasn’t sure how much time passed before she spoke again.

“They’re gonna be turning on the lights, soon,” she said offhandedly, voice barely above a whisper. Like she didn’t want to interrupt whatever was about to happen.

The lights caught his attention before he could think of a quip. Line after line of Christmas lights lit up, a net of stars hovering above the businesses below. The wind must’ve shaken some of the wires – the breeze made them nearly shimmer.

Nothing was said for a while – the hum of the occasional car passing and the rustling of the tree branches was comforting enough.

Mason caught himself stealing a couple glances her way. Something was still a little different about her. Something he couldn’t put a finger on, but it was undoubtedly there.

“They’re like stars,” he murmured, feeling a little different himself as he watched a shit-eating grin stretch across her face.

He was more surprised with his own reaction than Aimee’s childlike expression at the lights.

“Is that holiday cheer I’m detecting?” She said, whipping around, shifting her weight to her hands so she could lean closer to him.

He shifted, reaching out to her, wrapping a curl around his knuckle. He tugged just hard enough to elicit a soft gasp, followed by her smirk, one that was becoming so familiar to him that he wondered for a split second if to others they looked like mirror images of each other.

“I don’t know, are you gonna show me the true meaning of Christmas or what?” He asked, pulling her even closer – so close that their cold puffs of breath intermingled.

“I would, but I don’t feel like getting arrested for public indecency tonight,” she laughed, her breath a soft gust against his face.

“Then why’d you bring me out here?” He asked, dropping his hand, shifting back to lean on both of his elbows.

She shrugged and turned back to face the town. “Thought I’d show you this place in case you wanted to come back. The warehouse rooftop might get old someday.”

His brows furrowed. She’d never gone out of her way to do something like this for him. She just wasn’t the type.

It’s what he liked about her.

Shit was simple. No complications. Just good, casual sex.

But this was… different. She was different.

And then it dawned on him

That’s what was different about her – holiday cheer? Whatever the fuck she wanted to call it, Aimee had a lot of it.

She didn’t have to say it out loud. Her expression was enough proof.

“Rooftop works fine.”

He didn’t know why he said it. He wasn’t upset with her for bringing him there. He was just… taken by surprise.

Not a bad surprise at all. Just unexpected. Kind of… nice.

She’d brought him somewhere that meant a lot to her, completely unprompted, and didn’t try to jump his bones. 

She rolled her eyes, sighing heavily. “This is the thanks I get for trying to get you to branch out.”

He sensed a shift in her demeanor – she was definitely a little upset with him. He hated damage control in most situations, but with her he’d rather do it before it blew into a bigger fucking mess he wouldn’t be able to clean up.

“Aimee,” he said, waiting for her to turn back and look at him. “Thank you.”

He held her gaze, knowing good and well it was hard for him to convey sincerity, but he’d be damned if he didn’t try.

He pushed himself up into a sitting position, their faces close.

A genuine smile stretched her lips thin in a wide grin, eyes crinkling at the corners. Aimee traced the pad of her thumb over the stubble on his chin. “Don’t mention it.”

She tugged his chin forward, lips meeting his in an enveloping kiss, Mason’s experience at the party long forgotten, cigarettes a distant thought.

He’d humor her by indulging in at least the reflective aspect of the holidays.

The shittiest parts of Wayhaven couldn’t touch his best moments with Aimee.

––––

[austarus]

Harry Wells x Reader Crisis of Infinite Wells (Part 4 of 5)

**A/N: The picture/edit/gif does not belong to me. It belongs to @moonymartell​ and @countlesswells​

** *Insert angel face emoji*

Word Count: 7267

Part 1    Part 2    Part 3    Part 5

‘Systems Online,’ a pop-up signal had indicated on the tablet you held with flashing red and white lettered lights. But the adrenaline in your veins would not subside. Taking in a breath of rushed air, you walked towards the monitors on jittery feet with the notion of checking on Nash. Looking back up at him, his eyes were shut, and his lithe body was reclined in the chair with machinery hooked up to him. You dread ball up in the pit of your stomach as silence hung in the air.

“Did it work?” Ralph questioned, glancing to everyone then back to you; confusion written on his face.

“Is there something that should have happened?” Barry followed up beside Ralph.

“Well if there was a big bang sound, followed by multiple spontaneous sparks flying everywhere and the room’s electricity short-circuiting along with small fires combusting from the machinery then we’d be in trouble.” You watched Nash’s neurological and physiological vitals rise and fall within homeostatic values on the monitors. Normal. Stable. “I- According to my theoretical calculations- yes, I’m getting science-y right now-,” you exhaled while you gestured with your hands as you spoke, “each psyche that had manifested itself into Nash’s being should have effectively split from his psyche and returned to their respective bodies in each dimension harboring a Harrison Wells doppelganger. Harry and the others hypothesized that their bodies must be unconscious, but alive in order for their psyches to remain intact within Nash’s mind.” The others looked unsure. You rubbed your exhausted eyes. “It’s just like how when you and Iris used the Mindscape Machine to enter into Nora’s mindscape when she went into Grace’s mind. Sherloque said you both would enter with your psyche’s and they had to be intact in Nora’s head in order to ensure you’d be able to return to your bodies unharmed. If the psyche is harmed and killed in any way, then the body essentially dies,” You took a step towards them away from the monitors with the tablet held close to you. “The reverse should be correct as well. If the psyche is absent from the body, the body must be preserved at stable levels in order for the psyche to return and realign itself in its proper body. That’s what we’re relying on. Hopefully they all made it back to their respective bodies.”

“In this case, it’s the multidimension of Wells,” Chester interjected, lowering his voice to a whisper. “So freaking cool.” Allegra rolled her eyes as she continued to cross her arms.

“Nash would have felt the absence of a Wells in his psyche if another doppelganger’s psyche had deteriorated due to its unconscious body not surviving. Wolfgang would be able to pinpoint who it is because he has a neurological roster of the Council of Wells that he had implemented into his own mind, therefore his own psyche.”

Iris spoke up after you finished, running a hand over her forearm as she resisted the urge to itch the patch of skin. Side effects from remaining in the Mirrorverse for too long. “So, they get back to their bodies. Then what? How are they going to get here?”

“Each Wells should be able to use their intelligence as well as tapping into their own resources on their Earth and use the dimensional coordinates they have to get relay their dimensional coordinates and the states of their Earth’s back to Earth-Prime,” You answered in a heartbeat with a snap of a finger. “Sherloque, Harry, and Wolfgang should be coming as soon as they wake up. They work fast and everything.”

“Ugh,” Cisco groaned in irritation, throwing his head back, “not Herr ‘off-you-go’ Wells.” The rest of us giggled at impending misery. “I swear if he makes one snide remark.”

“Wait, how do you know if we’ve got all the Wells and their dimensions? Is there some sort of algorithm the satellites are tracking?” Kamila added from beside Cisco. You watched his eyes melt a bit at the fact that she takes interest in understanding his areas of expertise like how he does to her photography and artistic nature.

You gave Cisco the honors of explaining that one. He turned to his lovely girlfriend. “My babies up in the heavens, god bless my mechanical genius, are calibrated with the finest technology to identify any molecular or subatomic shifts produced by any wave of dark matter or antimatter.” Kamila grinned at him as he continued. “But we won’t know for certain until Grumpy Cat, Tea Leaves, and Herr Prim-Posh Pants summon themselves through to correctly calibrate the DCP (Dimensional Communications Projector) to the actual dimensional values. You know, the Wells touch and all. God, but I swear if they break anything-”

“-They’re not,” you giggled as you cut off your annoyed friend, “I already told Harry that this area would be a ‘No Throw’ zone. The guys know better than to throw things that aren’t theirs too.”

“What about Nash?” Cecile pointed at the unconscious man.

Right, this part. “I will stay here to monitor any changes to his vitals until he wakes up. I already have a universal blood sample from our very own speedster in case Nash’s body were to start entering a state of flux. Barry’s cells should be able to repair any damage in Nash’s body if that were to happen. Just like he did to Ralph.”

“But Ralph’s body is pure elastic. It can bend and readjust itself to anything. Nash’s human.” You make a very excellent point, Cecile.

“Don’t worry, I’ve already run tests on myself and Cisco in order to ensure that the small blood transfusion would work on non-metas.” You fist-bumped your bro, who nodded approvingly. “Tiny increments should be able to do the trick.” Cecile nodded at you, giving you a motherly proud look before it contorted into a pointed one. You knew what she was going to say, but before she had a chance to say it the meta alarm went off.

“I guess that’s our cue to leave things to you,” Barry smiled at you, before nodding everyone to the direction of the door.

“Don’t die out there,” you teasingly yelled at their retreating figure.

“We’ll try not to.”

“And Barry, you need to do a prognosis physiological and biochemical report on your body from using the artificial Speed-force. Can’t have you losing your speed halfway through the day.”

“Yes, mother, I’ll be home before dinner to do homework,” Barry snickered, as he waved you off as he left with the others.

You rolled your eyes playfully at your antics with him and the others. Taking a seat in front of the monitors, you gave Nash another look. No matter how many times I can joke around with the others, I still feel the weight of their lives on my shoulder. You chewed on the inside of your cheek as your eyes flickered onto the screens. You need to wake up soon Nash. Running a hand through your hair as you set your head against your arm which leaned on the metal table. I need to know I didn’t kill you.

***

An hour had passed, and you felt your head was down to its last brain cell. You blinked slowly as you laid it against the cool metal. Nash was still unconscious, and you were starting to get worried. His vitals were still substantially at equilibrium. You shut your eyes for a moment. Allegra strode in with an annoyed look on her face as her eyes landed on Nash then to you.

“I don’t get why you care about him,” her rushed voice caused you to lift your head up. She continued while you quirked an eyebrow at her. “Why you’re wasting time watching over him. I mean after everything he’s done to me and the rest of us. Hell, he took your boyfriend away from you for some shit myth-busting. How is it that you still try to make yourself available to help someone like him?” It pisses me off and so does his existence!

“Allegra, Nash’s a human being too.”

“Ugh, whatever.” The young adult padded over to where some tech lied in attempts to obtain the thing that Cisco had described he needed.

“Ok, no. I can’t do this today.”

“Excuse me?” she narrowed her eyes at your change in tone. What’s got her panties all in a sudden twist?

“I’m am so tired of your bullshit attitude towards him,” You threw out, standing up from your chair with flared nostrils. “Your incessant whining when we don’t tell you every little detail about us, and how you treated the rest of us like dirt as if we haven’t been trying to stay by your side.”

“I haven’t-”

“Do you honestly not remember the way you treated Joe and Cecile? With rudeness and hostility and utter venom? When they had tried to get you to trust them to keep you safe from your cousin? How you were so pissy at Iris for not telling you about Team Flash? How you sneered and lashed out at Frost for trying to help you with your boy problems? We’re just going to sweep all that under the rug and call it a day?” You rhetorically asked with utter frustration. “And Nash, what is your problem with him? That he didn’t tell you that his adopted daughter who died right in front of him is your doppelganger? That’s your reason to emotional and mentally abuse him?! Boohoo, he didn’t tell me the truth. I’m a journalist I have to know the truth.”

“I don’t know wh-”

How can one person be so selfish? “Yes, you do. I’m a family practitioner, I know the signs of abuse even if it isn’t physical. 1) The silent treatment you give him whenever he tried to approach you to see if you were alright or if you needed help. 2) Not taking any responsibility for your toxic behavior towards him. 3) Pushing him to the point where he questions himself and his sanity because of how much you openly despise him. 4) Leading him to believe almost everything that goes wrong around you is his fault when it’s not. That’s gaslighting. 5) Using shame and his guilt to make him feel worse about himself regarding problems he already deeply regrets and works every day to make up for it. 6) Appearing indifferent when he’s clearly hurt/sad/upset. That’s called lack of empathy. And 7) ignoring him when he’s trying to express his feelings or trying to explain himself to you, but obviously because of all of the above you never gave him the fucking chance.” I get that her upbringing was rough but isn’t it hypocritical of you to pry at everyone’s hidden secrets when you have some of your own. We barely know anything about you other than the CCPD records and your meta abilities.

You had taken a few steps closer to her, seething and seeing red. Allegra struggled to retaliate, “I didn’t know-“

“No, you clearly didn’t because every time he tried to talk to you, you always shot him down harshly. Nash tried to give you time and space, always hoping that you would be ready and one day just listen to him. Do you not know how hard it is to wake up every morning to see the doppelganger of your dead child? Do you not understand how hard it is for him to relive the memory of her death over and over again? How much grief he’s carried in his heart and all of a sudden, by a stroke of chance his daughter’s doppelganger is part of Team Flash on this Earth?”

“…”

“You call yourself a journalist, but only when you don’t get what you want. You used that card so many times against Iris, especially when you snooped on her computer and found out about the crisis.” You took in a breath from your heated speech to calm down. Your headed started to pound even more Never in your life have you gotten this ballistic. You counted to 10 and regained control of your breathing and your tongue. Allegra was downright speechless, stunned in her spot at your ebullient words. “I’m not sorry for everything that I’ve said. You needed to hear it to wake up from that closed off and childish world you live in. Because whether you like it or not, he’s family too. And he’s here to stay, just like you. That’s the truth. You have trust issues, even when you’re with us. All of us. You doubt yourself and hesitate. That’s another truth. And you just use him as a punching bag to let out your frustration and pent-up annoyance on someone who only wants to protect you. Penance for not being able to protect his own daughter.”

“I didn’t ask for him to protect me. I’m not helpless.”

“We don’t ask for a lot of things in life to happen, but they do so anyway. Barry got struck by lightning. Frost and Caitlin watched their father die. We’ve lost so many precious souls. But life goes on. Is Iris helpless when Barry saves her? Is it true when vice versa happens? Frost distracts the baddie in time for Cisco to work his tech magic. Is he helpless? Is Ralph helpless when Sue took down those assassins even though she knew he was Elongated Man who is more than capable of handling a few bullets?”

“I- No?”

“Having another person around isn’t a sign of weakness, but strength. Surrounding yourself with people who love you, who you can call family isn’t an exhibition of helplessness. Allegra, you have a home now. A family that will always want the best for you whether you choose to trust us or not. And no matter what happens, Nash’s resolve is to ensure your safety even though he knows you are your own person. For his dead daughter’s sake. That’s how he believes he can redeem all that he’s done. Is that wrong?”

“But he manipulated me and then basically started the crisis.”

“Then I guess you don’t know the full story about that either,” you mocked her. Some reporter, huh. “First off, Nash told you about Team Flash before Team Flash told you about Team Flash. Why? I can only assume that he wanted you to know before you found out the hard way. Meaning if something where to happen to you unexpectedly like Blackhole targeting you because of your affiliation with Iris. He wanted you to already be aware of them and to know who to go to in case things got rough. Secondly, he gave you the push you needed to not fear your powers. To trust yourself. He foresaw that you’d need your powers and so would the others. So, where in all of that does Nash win and leave you for ruin like Eobard Thawne has done to the others? Was it wrong for Nash to indirectly help you in his own awkward bargain-y kind of way?”

Allegra ran a hand through her hair as you spoke, wanting desperately to prove you wrong that Nash was just using her. “It’s just… weird. I’m her doppelganger, I’m my own person. I’m not… her. I don’t even know her name.”

“Her name is Maya and if you asked Nash, he’d be more than willing to tell you about her, and you’d see for yourself that you and she are not the same.”

Allegra nodded at your words, looking as if she would contemplate it. You hoped anyway. The man didn’t need to be broken further. “How do you know all this?”

“It’s honestly pretty simple to push his buttons a bit before he spilled his pent-up feelings to me after we exorcised Eobard out of him. And I’m pretty sure Harry’s been giving him hell for Nash’s unsuccessful attempts with talking to you.

“Who’s he again?”

“An evil murderous speedster that has a thing for ruining Barry’s life and ensuring his existence in the timeline. Not the first time that’s happened, but the crisis allowed for us to do an exorcism was very… eye-opening.” You grinned mirthlessly to yourself causing her to smile a bit. You sighed and took a seat, gesturing for her to take it. Rubbing your eyes, you spoke up, “Nash isn’t the only one.”

“I don’t understand”

“4 years ago, Zoom was terrorizing Earth-1 and Earth-2. A speedster that could breach back and forth if all 52 breach-points weren’t sealed. It was terrifying to say the least. Barry, Cisco, Harry, and I breached over to Earth-2 with a 24-hour time limit in saving Jesse. She’s Harry’s daughter. His pride and joy, his one weakness but his true.”

“You sound like she’s yours too.”

In a way, she kinda would be if- “She’s a brilliant young soul who rivaled her father in intelligence and had a high-spirited personality. Later on, she was accidentally gifted with speedster abilities when Harry and the others tried to regain Barry’s speed. Abilities that Harry still dreads to this day because he’s an overprotective grouch. You’d like Jesse if you met her. Any who, I’m going off topic-” You laughed to yourself. “We had a strict time limit to find her before Zoom and his meta-minions expunged us off the multiverse. And Barry, he went undercover after kidnapping his nerdy doppelganger- “

“-so, Barry basically kidnapped himself- “

“-Yeah. A lot of weird shit goes on with us, but those are all stories for another time.” You waved the thought off before continuing. “So, he was undercover, and he met up with Joe and Iris’ doppelgangers on Earth-2’s Jitters. Barry couldn’t help himself when it came to protecting them when Earth-2 Killer Frost and her boyfriend crashed the little party in search for Barry and us. In the name of Zoom, they were sent out to kill of the breachers. Barry got involved when we were supposed to be incognito getting in and getting out. He sped E-2 Joe to the hospital and E-2 Iris away before she could shoot at E-2 Killer Frost. Even though, Harry told him that these doppelgangers were not his Iris and Joe, that he shouldn’t get involved with the people there. Barry saw the differences and, I kid you not, yelled at Harry that even if they were doppelgangers, they were still his Joe and Iris. He had a sense to protect them, just like Nash does for you.”

“That’s…”

 “It’s a lot, I know. We’ve all been through a lot in these past 6 years. Just… just think about it. Give Nash a chance to talk to you. To explain everything to you from his point of view. Because deep down, he knows you are your own person, but that you’re special just like Maya. Just as what Barry saw on Earth-2 with Joe and Iris’ doppelgangers. Lives worth risking for.”

You watched as Allegra took in a breath, really letting everything sink in before nodding at you. The gem that Nash had given her was still in her jacket pocket. It amplified her UV powers into mentally confusing the person in front of her. She fiddled with the tech in her hands. “I need to go give this to Cisco. He’s probably wondering if I drowned or not.” You nodded at her with an understanding smile as she retreated out the speed lab. Sighing harshly, you allowed the tension to leave your body as you reclined back in your seat. You shut your eyes. I hope I made the right decision to speak my mind to her.

“Didn’t think you thought that highly of me.” Your eyes fluttered open as you took a sharp intake of breath. Nash chuckled to himself at your dismay. His head felt incredibly murky as he blinked the dark spots away. He remained reclined as he rolled his head to the side, the feeling of his limbs returning to him as he urged his fingers to twitch and curl.

“Nash?! You were awake the entire time?!” Nash just smirked languidly at your embarrassed outburst, ignoring the slight throbbing sensation in his head. “Why didn’t you chime in?”

He watched you slowly sit up with worriment. Nash noted your continued exhaustion. “I was intrigued on what you had to say on my behalf.”

“Worried I’d tell her to UV your existence off the planet?”

“No, you wouldn’t do that.”

“And how do you know that? I can be pretty mean.”

And pretty bossy when you berate me for running into danger. But in either case, still pretty. “I understand. But then the question begs, why would you go to such great lengths to defend me?”

“I didn’t defend just you, Nash.”

“But almost the entirety of the conversation revolved around me and how I felt. My regrets and intentional self-punishment. You could have told her that you didn’t care and that she could continue to give me the cold shoulder… but you didn’t. Isn’t that right, little lady?” Nash coyly mocked you, causing you to roll your eyes at the Wells doppelganger. “Like you said, I’m a human being as well.”

“And a dumbass,” you muttered in a hushed voice to yourself as the taller man moved to stand up, he swayed not quite oriented yet. You were on your feet at once to steady him back into his seat. “Let’s do a couple of tests before you do any gallivanting across the city.” You checked over the monitors, noting that some vitals had dropped below normal which could be due to him waking up from the psyche-neural mental surgery.

“Do you want to take Barry’s blood?” You held up the syringe of speedster blood O-.

“Pass. I’m not a vampire.”

“I know you’re not a vampire, you idiot! This should speed up your body’s biochemical processes for you to retain homeostatic levels and for your mind to reorient itself to the psyche-neural splicing.” Nash stubbornly agreed to the blood administration. He rolled up his sleeve while you pulled out the necessary equipment to work your medical magic. You were just about finished when the geological myth-buster spoke up.

“Thank you… I owe you a favor.”

“Huh?”

“I said, thank you.”

“Sorry, just one more time. I don’t- I don’t think I… caught that correctly.”

“How does Harry even put up with you?”

“You can ask him yourself when he gets here,” you responded cheekily with a huge toothy grin on your face. You won’t lie and say that your heart didn’t jump that Harry would be coming soon. “Now what’s this about owing me a favor?”

Geez don’t smile like that at me. Nash pushed away those pesky thoughts. “I honestly really hoped you wouldn’t catch that, but,” He paused for a moment to collect his words as he sat up, now not taking for granted the silence within his own mind. “After you put the Psyche Segregator on me, I realized something. The favor you owed me, protecting Allegra, it’s… a favor without an expiration date.”

“So?”

“It wouldn’t be fair if I did not do the same.”

“I’m not following.”

“Gods! What I’m saying is, that I owe you a lifelong favor. But only one.”

He owes me a favor. A lifelong favor. A favor that’s lifelong. A favor that doesn’t expire. An expirationless favor. I get a lifelong favor. A dumbass owes me a favor. “…”

“What’s it going to be?”

“… I can’t think of anything right now.”

Nash only blinked at you. “Seriously, you can’t come up with something in that ditzy head of yours?”

“Hey, I take great offense to that!”

“Good, it’s the truth.”

You put away the medical equipment and disconnected the screens that held his vitals. While you were up, you gave him a water bottle and some food to help with the dizziness. Nash felt his strength return to him as the blood transfusion allowed his body to work faster in restoring itself. “You never told me; did it work? Are they…?” You trailed off pointing to your head as he stood up.

“No mo-”

Swouush, swooush

The crackling sounds of atoms and the fabric of this dimension cut you off. You turned around to see two breach-like holes open up in the middle of the speed lab, familiar and friendly faces exiting safely. They pocketed their newly synthesized dimensional extrapolators.

“Vhy don’t you take ein gut look, schatz?”

“Oui, we’d be more zhan ‘appy to answer zhat for Nash.”

You greeted them cheerily with a hand wave as they approached you and Nash. Wolfgang nodded at you before making a beeline to where the DCM remained. Sherloque tipped his hat to you before nodding at Nash.

“You guys made it safely.” :D

“Zhat we did, petit fluer. A few bumps on zhe way, but nozhing eizher of us could not ‘andle,” Sherloque piqued up,

“Then that means-,” You pulled out caramel vanilla flavored chap stick out of your pocket and applied it to your lips. Your heart waited in anticipation not even wanting to waste time to even fix your hair. Harry will be here soon. The boys just watched you carry on with a dumbstruck smile on your face as you stood in place and waited for a breach to open up. Wolfgang resumed working on recalibrating the DCM for the others.

“Did you just put on chap stick?” Nash asked with quirked eyebrows and an incredulous look.

“Well, yeah? When I see Harry, I’m going to wanna kiss him, duh.”

“You didn’t get enough from-”

“-Sherloque, don’t-”

“-when you were making out wizh ‘arry in Nash’s ‘ead?”

You shut your eyes and groaned, blood rushing up to your face as you covered it with your hands. “They did what?? Seriously, in my mindscape?” Nash’s flare-up caused Sherloque to snicker as he smirked at your bashfulness.

“Ja, zhey did zhat.” Wolfgang sighed, pulling up new schematics one the computer screen. He worked diligently with any piece of technology at his fingertips. “Alzhough, Sherloque vas zhe unfortunate one to valk in on zhem. Gott sei Dank bin ich es nicht.”

“Oui, zhey were getting very ‘ot and ‘eavy zhat it took Wolfgang and moi to interrupt zhem from what people on zhis Earth would say ‘rounding zhe bases like deux ‘ormonal teenagers.”

“Sherloque, stop! Please!”

Your cheeks were on fire and you know they could see the colored hues. Sherloque and Nash continued to tease you while you attempted to ignore their playful jabs. No Harry yet. It’s been… 15 minutes. Don’t panic. He’s ok. Probably held up or something at his Labs. He’s ok and he’s with Jesse. Just breathe. “I-I should probably run some small physiological diagnostics on you guys since you just crossed over and we don’t know if the dimensional travel will negatively impact you or not.”

“Great, she gets nervous and all of a sudden to distract herself, the little lady wants to run tests.” Nash facepalmed while Sherloque just gave you a look.

“Hey, I’m not nervous! How many times are you going to offend me today?”

“As many times as necessary.”

“Everyzhing zhat you’re doing right now are common gestures of being nervous. You keep playing wizh your fingers and biting on your bottom lip. You did zhat last year whenever we were discussing Cicada.” Sherloque added much to your chagrin.

You pouted with crossed arms. “I don’t do it often.”

“Yes, you do.” Both Nash and Sherloque responded simultaneously and you felt yourself shrink a bit under their combined blue gazes. Before you could say anything, Wolfgang let out low whistle. The three of you turned to him as he began to speak.

“Systems are all online und fully functional. Zhe ozhers should be sending us zheir dimensional coordinates und ve can commence vizh zhe cataloging soon.” The German man continued speaking as he finished typing up a few more algorithms on the computer. “I’ve already uploaded ein copy of zhe roster from my mind zhat vay ve could check zhe ozher Vells off Stück für Stück.

You nodded at Wolfgang’s words, but felt your stomach squeeze in your lower abdomen. “What about Harry?”

“Ve vill just have to vait until he shows up, schatz.” Wolfgang adjusted his glasses as he gave you a brief glance. You weren’t the only one to notice that since arriving on Earth-Prime that Wolfgang wouldn’t meet your eyes. “Do no vorry, Harry vill come.” Your shoulders sagged at the idea, an action Sherloque picked up on which prompted him to give his two cents.

Mh, une distraction semble être de mise. “(Y/N), Wolfgang ‘ere told me an interesting story about ‘is Earzh and a particular person ‘e ‘ad come across. Say, your doppelganger for instance.” The Frenchman took off his fedora to card his fingers through his dark locks whilst Wolfgang momentarily froze. Nash stretched fully before retreating out of the room, knowing he wouldn’t be needed and wouldn’t allow himself to be psychoanalyzed by the one and only Sherloque Wells. Sherloque smirked as Nash left and Wolfgang’s reaction. Il n’y a pas de mal à partager des histoires.

“Nein, halt- Ich-”

“-He told you or did you deduce it from him like you do to everyone else?” You questioned your friend slyly before turning your head back to the German Wells. “Wolfgang, you knew my doppelganger?”

“Ja, ve… ve used to be close in university.” His cheeks dusted pink as he fumbled about with the wiring of your Earth’s extrapolators. “She vas zhe one zhing zhat remained constant zhrough zhe years.”

“What happened to her? You’re talking as if-”

“She passed avay. Ja, she did. She vas terminally ill… Multiple Sclerozis.”

So that’s probably why he doesn’t like to look at me for too long. “I’m sorry. My brother- he died a few years ago from Multiple Sclerosis too. I guess the apple doesn’t fall too far from the family tree even across the multiverse, huh?”

“Ja.”

Ok (Y/N), way to make it super awkward. “I should- leave you to your sciencing. Sorry about that.”

Wolfgang just nodded his head in thanks before sending a glare to the detective while Sherloque advised the both of you to venture out to the breakroom for to make drinks. With a smug look on his face, obviously. Qu’est ce qui retarde ‘arry? The same thought echoed hauntingly in your mind as well. You allowed the French detective to pull you down the corridor for some coffee and tea, but your mind could not for the life of it let go of Harry.

***

You waited. Patiently, if I might add. It’s been 2 days since Wolfgang and Sherloque had popped over. Obviously you had gone home to shower and change before coming back with some snacks. The cataloging was running smoothly. Wells one by one projected themselves over via the DCM and recounted their dimensional coordinates as well as establishing the state of their Earth in this new dimension. But you grew uninterested in the different variations of your boyfriend. Each second ticked away at your heart. Like a fool you’d look up at the different sounds that would come from the center of the Speed Labs only to be met with disappointment. Sherloque eyed you as you waited around like a lost puppy for the Earth-2 man, even at points getting up and pacing. The detective saw the anxiety ooze from you at the fact that Harry hadn’t arrived yet, so he did his best to distract you from your worries and thoughts. But he was running out of stories of Earth-221, interesting cases, and discussion topics to tell.

Barry had sped in a couch for you and Sherloque to sit in as you waited for Harry to make an appearance. The detective calmly sipped at his new flavored tea, one that you had provided. Wild Raspberry Hibiscus. You blinked the sleep from your eyes, willing yourself to be alert. You had already consumed 4 cups of coffee with espresso yesterday, but those sleepless nights were slowly pushing against you. The two of you sat in silence with only the hums of working electricity and noises from the DCM.

“I zhink,” Wolfgang took a step back from the computer monitor, “I should retire for zhe nacht.” The German took off his glasses and rubbing his closed eyes. Es war eine mühsame Aufgabe, aber sie musste erledigt werden. “I’ve reprogrammed zhe system in order for it to catalog incoming Vells automatically.”

“I’ll keep my eye on it,” Sherloque piqued up, gesturing with his porcelain teacup to the DCM and subtly side glancing at you. Wolfgang only nodded at his doppelganger.

“Yeah, you should go rest. Sorry if it seemed like I was keeping you here,” you stood up and stretched, walking over to the German Wells.

“Nonsense, zhink of it as a favor to Harry,” Wolfgang waved off your statement. You offered your hand to the platinum-haired Wells which he shook gently before bidding your goodbyes to each other as he strode through the dimensional breach. Which reminds me. You scrunched your face and blinked a few times over then turned back to the seated detective.

“Sherloque, you don’t have to say here. You should go back home to Renee.”

“I- Comment puis-je lui dire? … Renee and I didn’t exactly work out. Encore.” You observed him as he set his teacup down, Sherloque chuckled sadly to himself. Je ne sais même pas pourquoi j’ai voulu recommencé ca va faire 8 fois.

“You deserve better. You really do, Sherloque. Love will find you.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“Hey, head up,” You found yourself sitting beside the now cynical man as you wrapped your arms around him in a comforting hug. “It could even literally run right into you one day when you least expect it. But it doesn’t mean you can run yourself ragged from sleep loss.” He sighed, shaking his head slightly and reciprocating the gesture of affection. You knew he had no problem with loving, it was the fact of having that love fully reciprocated without it becoming superficial.

“I cannot, I promised ‘arry I would not leave your side in zhe case zhat zhere would be some sort of delay on ‘is end.”

“He asked you to do that for me?”

“Oui”

“Do you think… something happened to him?”

“I wouldn’t worry. ‘e’s a capable and determined man, plus ‘e ‘as ‘is daughter wizh ‘im. Now come on, I believe zhe bozh of us deserve a change of scenery.”

“I’m feeling the need for Jitters coffee actually.”

You pulled said man off the couch and moved towards the direction of the door. Sherloque raised an eyebrow at you incredulously as he scrunched his nose in disgust at the prospect of coffee. “Coffee at zhis hour? Its 10 PM.”

“WHAT?”

“Well you’ve been on zhe Netflix entire time, peeping up every once and awhile to see if ‘arry come or not. I’m not surprised you lost track of time.”

“I guess I can drink some hot chocolate from the breakroom.”

“No need to get up,” Nash’s voice caused your head to snap up as he stepped into the Speed lab with a cup of hot chocolate in hand, “I figured you’ve had too much coffee in your clumsy existence within the past 12 hours.” In truth, Nash had made, dumped, and re-made hot chocolate 7 times in the past 2 hours because he had no idea on how you’d react when he’d make it. He had no idea why he impulsively decided to make one of your favorite drinks instead of letting you waste away at the prospect of coffee. The adventurer talked and scolded himself because you clearly don’t need him to help you out. You’re a capable, independent ditz after all with a war veteran of a boyfriend on the way. Although, Harry’s delay did ease the unsettling feeling in the pit of Nash’s stomach. Finally, the myth-buster had made a decision and added some peppermint extract to give it more flavor with some marshmallows. Fuck it, I’m going to do it anyway because… I secretly want to see her smile at me while it lasts. FuCk.

“I resent that statement, but I do thank you for the hot cocoa,” you hummed in contentment of the fresh brew. Nash saw the weight momentarily leave your shoulders and your body visibly relaxed. You saw him eye you oddly but chose to shake it off as you took another long sip. “Mm, I never got to ask, but have you met any vampires?”

“What?”

“Vampires. You said you weren’t one and I obviously know that, but I’m intrigued if you’ve encountered any on your travels through the multiverse. Cisco accidentally met one when he saved Breacher a year ago.”

“Do you always come up with bizarre questions to ask?” Nash poked your cheek as the three of you moved back to the couch. You batted his hand away. Sherloque baby blue eyes followed the banter between

“I don’t know if I should take it as a compliment or a criticism.”

“Take it as you will. I honestly don’t care.”

“Well?” You asked with furrowed eyebrows as you were seated in between Sherloque and Nash on the couch. You blinked a few times and shook your head a bit.

“Well, what?”

“Have you caused any trouble with any vampire?”

“Why is it that you think that I always cause trouble?” Nash countered your question with his own. He ignored the mockingly smug look on Sherloque’s face.

You shot Nash a look before retorting and Sherloque held in a laugh. “I’m not even going to answer that, Nash.” Nash stammered a bit before succumbing to that determined look on your face, the sparkles hidden in your eyes as they twinkled with curiosity.

“There was this one time-”

“-I knew it!-”

“-Would you let me finish before judging?” He lightly scolded you as you took another sip of your hot cocoa, your head started to throb against the hardness of your skull. “Anyway, before I was so rudely interrupted,” but you did not look in the least regretful, “this was before I met Maya. I had… overheard in a tavern on a dark Earth rumors of the Alexandrite Crown or better known in the dark legends as the Queen’s Crown. A crown thistled with alexandrite gems but infused with Thallium and Platinum. Poisonous according to the naturally occurring substances on that Earth.”

Nash continued painting the pictures to his adventure and his encounter with a Vampire Clan in a clash over the Alexandrite Crown and the mystical way of obtaining Chrysolite in order to cleanse it from the noxious spirit that’s locked away within. You hung onto each word as you pushed away the blurriness in your vision and the hazy state of your mind. With each second your head got heavier, feeling like lead and your eyes threatened to droop, but you needed this distraction from worrying about Harry’s wellbeing. Taking one deep breath, you shut your eyes as your body went out of commission. The geological adventurer breathed a sigh of relief, lowering his voice to a stop as your head gently lolled to the side, resting against Sherloque’s shoulder. Both men observed your breathing pattern relax to soft puffs of air.

“Sleeping powder, impressive and you even stalled until it took effect. Maybe zhere’s hope for you just yet,” Sherloque smugly spoke up as he readjusted you to rest your head onto his lap.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nash narrowed his blue irises at the detective.

“Non, nozhing. What else did you bring?”

“Huh? What-I didn’t-”

“I’m a detective Nash, I notice zhe most miniscule of things. Bring over zhe pillow and blanket you ‘ave ‘idden in zhe vacant room beside zhe corridor.”

“How did you…?”

“Skill, mon ami. Skill. Just because I’m not in your ‘ead does not mean zhat I cannot see zhrough your pure intentions.”

Nash sighed in defeat as he pulled up the blanket and pillow. He first covered you with a fluffy blanket, ensuring that he would not meet Sherloque’s eyes. “She gets cold when she falls asleep.”

“And zhe pillow?”

Nash handed his doppelganger the pillow, who placed it on his lap before setting your head on it to sleep comfortably. “You already know so I’m not going to even say anything.”

The detective quirked a teasing, but knowing eyebrow at the explorer, “Be honest wizh yourself, what prompted you to essentially drug her?”

“Okay, with the way you’re saying it, you’re sounding as if I’m going to do vile things to her. And you know what? I’m not going to even pretend to not be offended by that.”

“Well in reality you technically did drug her, but zhat’s beside zhe point.”

“She hasn’t been sleeping well. You know it. I know it. Hell, everyone on Team Flash noticed, but no one had the will to reprimand her to take a day to rest.”

“You mean ‘zhe ‘eart’ to.”

“Whatever!-”

“-Shh!-”

“-The little lady needed to sleep. She can’t be running herself ragged while making sure everyone around her stays safe and healthy.”

“Zhat’s very noble of you, Nash. C’est ironique, non? Elle ne peut pas être tienne mais tu ne peux pas t’empêcher de désirer quelque chose que tu ne peux pas avoir.” Ta logique t’a réprimandé pour avoir préféré profiter d’un instant avec tes amis. Tu vas devoir apprendre à t’en contenter.

“What did you just say?”

“Nozhing!” Sherloque just gave the other man a mysterious smile as he took off his fedora and tossed it onto a spare and vacant table on the side. “You know it’s nozhing to be ashamed of, right? Caring about ‘er and ‘er safety, zhat’s what zhis team does to a person. It doesn’t make you weak. You should know zhat by now.”

“…”

“You just need to know not to tip over zhe line.” Sherloque knew his doppelganger didn’t like being deduced, didn’t like his actions thoroughly analyzed to told what and how he was feeling. But sometimes, he needed a little push in the right direction by the detective in order to fully face the intentions behind his actions. That was one of Nash’s flaws. The ability to push aside all the pain and emotions behind current actions in a little box and thrown out the window in order to press on with the adventures that he lived on. Sherloque had discretely gone through some of his recent memories and noticed it occur with not just you and Allegra, but with the members of Team Flash as well.

“I know what I’m doing,”

“Zhen I believe you have some… patching up to do wizh a certain teenager.”

“She’s not a teenager, she’s a young adult.”

“All in zhe same wizh ‘ow she was acting.”

Nash left with a slight huff as he had every intention of turning in for the night, mentally contemplating a few things. Rubbing his eyes, the explorer took one glance back from where he stood in the corridor. He dismissed the skilled detective’s words, but yours had echoed in his mind. The detective reclined back on the couch, his own mind wandering in the depths of his own nightmares and regrets. He took one look at you before shaking his head. Sherloque smirked as his ears perked up to familiar sounds causing the detective to tilt his head back.

“Eh bien il était temps”

German and French Translation:

Deux - Two

Mh, une distraction semble être de mise - Hm, a distraction seems to be necessary right now

Il n’y a pas de mal à partager des histoires – There’s no harm in sharing some stories.

Qu’est ce qui retarde Harry? - What is taking Harry so long?

Comment puis-je lui dire? – How do I say this?

Encore – Again

Je ne sais même pas pourquoi j’ai voulu recommencé ca va faire 8 fois – I don’t know why I tried an 8th time.

C’est ironique, non? Elle ne peut pas être tienne mais tu ne peux pas t’empêcher de désirer quelque chose que tu ne peux pas avoir – It is ironic, no? Even though she cannot be yours your heart can’t help but to secretly desire something dangerous

Ta logique t’a réprimandé pour avoir préféré profiter d’un instant avec tes amis. Tu vas devoir apprendre à t’en contenter. – Your logical mind scolded you to relish with your friendship instead. Something you will have to learn to become content with.

Eh bien il était temps - Well it’s about time.

Mon Ami – My friend

Stück für Stück – Bit by bit

Es war eine mühsame Aufgabe, aber sie musste erledigt warden - It was a tedious task, but it needed to be done

Gott sei Dank bin ich es nicht – Thank God I didn’t

Schatz – sweetheart

Petit Fleur – Little Flower

[gamechangeroo]

Part 3/3

Click to read the Prologue and Chapter 1 first.

Chapter 2: Whether You Are Under or Over Them, Tables Are Places of Conversation

Gintoki woke up to a table crashing through the divider between his bedroom and the Yorozuya den. It was a loud enough projectile that he almost arrived in the waking world fast enough to dodge it.

Almost.

Instead, it startled him upright in time for him to feel the full brunt of the pain as the edge of the table crashed into his quadriceps, and the face flung forward to smack his torso.

He ended up sprawled on the ground, pancaked beneath it in a drowsy haze of achy irritation, listening to the annoying screams of idiotic children coming from the next room.

“How dare you barge into a lady’s home at this hour?!”

“Did I interrupt naptime, little girl?”

“How about you go to hell, sadist!”

Crushed into the floor, Gintoki swiveled his head to stare at his miraculously unharmed Justaway clock flashing merrily away mere centimeters from the table’s edge. The hour hand was smack dab on the three, which meant he had only been home for two hours before the bastard beagles had sniffed him out. Damn.

He sunk deep into the furthest depths of his drowsy brain to poke at parasite-kun with a mental stick. This is your fault, asswipe!

As it had done since ‘the convenience store incident,’ the thing wholly ignored him, hiding in the metaphysical plane where sadistic cops could not bring handcuffs and arrest warrants. Lucky it.

Back in the annoyingly physical world, Gintoki heaved the table off of his abused chest with a short grunt, and shuffled out into the firing zone. There he found Kagura being dragged across the floor by her unbound hair courtesy of a disheveled Sougo, whose forehead was bleeding rather copiously. Most importantly, however, the table that usually rested in the center of the room between two couches was conspicuously missing.

“Danna,” Sougo greeted, spraying flecks of blood from his lips as he spoke.

“Tax thief,” Gintoki returned, scratching the skin that lay just below the elastic of his boxers. “What brings you to my humble abode?”

“We have your sword at the station,” Sougo said, barely dodging a fist Kagura sent at his jaw. “How about you come with me to pick it up?”

“Nice try,” Gintoki shot back. “My sword is right here.”

He waved a hand toward the innocent, wooden sword lying next to the upended table on his futon in the other room. He had taken to buying his Lake Touya in bulk these days, which was a particularly great strategy for times like these when he needed his next one quick.

“I see,” Sougo assented. “In that case, why don’t we just go for a drive? There’s a cool new sweets shop that just opened near the Shinsengumi barracks that I know you would really like. My treat.”

He had to give it to the kid; Sougo had returned his suspect claim with one of equal bullshit. Actually, Gintoki didn’t have to give him anything at this hour of the morning. He settled on staring the intruder down dully.

However, Kagura was still short enough so that these sorts of lies flew over her head, and she instead used the opportunity to scoff and sneer at her opponent.

“Too little too late, sucker. Team Yorozuya is already getting some sugar from a different daddy.”

Sougo looked curiously between Gintoki and the girl who was trying to stab his left eye with a chopstick, uttering a simple, “Oh?”

This little alien child was far too gullible, and far too willing to share their shady Amanto food deals with government dogs, who might find ways to take the parfait train away!

Grinning wide, Gintoki quickly started doing damage control: “Yup! We landed a fat cat client, who throws money at his problems until they go away. Or, rather, throws money at us until we fix them. By them I mean poodles, and by fix I mean not shitting on his sofa.”

After only a half second of confusion, Kagura nodded, playing along, “That’s right! We’re training a fat cat to shit money on us!”

That’s not… not off base. It would have to do.

It did not do though. The brat obviously was not drinking their Kool-Aid. He opened his mouth, looking like he was about to ask more seemingly-innocuous questions that were actually terribly insightful traps, when Kagura’s foot met his face with frightening speed, and Sougo, like the table earlier, flew across the apartment and crashed through a door – their front door this time.

Executing her version of damage control, Kagura gave Gintoki a cheerful thumbs-up, as if to say, I got this.

Well, Sougo was not drilling for state secrets anymore now that his head was busy drilling into their door. It would have to do.

After giving the victorious girl a half-assed head pat, Gintoki took a moment to put on some pants, a shirt, and his yukata, before dragging Sougo out of the hole his body had made in their entranceway. The bloodied and likely concussed officer nodded shortly in thanks, as he staggered out of the house, Gintoki in tow.

“I appreciate your cooperation, Danna,” Sougo said, opening the back door of the police car for him.

“What better way to show that I’m an upstanding citizen who would not even consider breaking the law? I would never impede the grand process of Justice,” Gintoki quipped, waving to Kagura as she flapped her arm lazily back at him from the balcony, seeing him off.

“You’d better bring me back some good stuff, Gin-chan,” she hollered.

Gintoki had no idea if there existed any food in Edo that even came close to the godly succulence that came out of the ovens in the Foryunthustoriphyxnarfyndalvnuduraqiualinoytfusian embassy, so this was a rather tall order now that her standards were so high. Maybe the imaginary sweets shop next to the Shinsengumi headquarters would exceed his expectations.

...

Kondo Isao stared down one fish-eyed Sakata Gintoki from across the black, square interrogation table. A dim, flickering lamp swayed back and forth above them, shadowing the hollows, crevasses, and scars on both faces, showing each man the light and darkness of the warrior in front of him. These two figures alone in this arid, windowless room painted a severe, powerful image.

With a harrumph, the leader of the Shinsengumi folded his arms in front of him, and said, “Now, when it comes to the sword ban in Edo, we normally turn you a blind eye. The good you have done not just for the government, but for the whole city, isn’t something any of us here will be soon inclined to forget.”

Gintoki’s expression remained unchanged. “But,” he prompted.

A firm smile was there and gone on his lips in half a moment before Kondo continued, “But. When you start using Laser Swords, heads higher up than us start to take notice. If we don’t do something to reprimand you, it could be our jobs on the line.”

“Laser Swords?” Gintoki asked incredulously, the mood in the room changing suddenly from solemn to just… strange.

“Well, what do you call it?” Kondo returned, leaning forward in his chair and looking somewhat eager. “We had a bit of a poll here in the office to decide what to put on reports, and Laser Sword won, though Disco Stick was a close second.”

“I wouldn’t call the Disco Stick anything, because I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Gintoki replied obstinately, and crossed his feet on the table, rubbing the edges of the dirty soles against the clean, cold metal. “I am being brought in on false, unsubstantiated charges.”

Kondo nodded calmly before turning around to face the interrogation room’s one way mirror, cupping his hands, and yelling at his own reflection, “Oi, Yamazaki! Write down another vote for Disco Stick!”

After staring intensely into his own eyes for a few moments, Kondo turned back to Gintoki, looking satisfied that his request had been done.

“There is a lot of compelling evidence piling up, Danna,” Kondo resumed. “We have two eye-witnesses claiming a white-haired, permy samurai cleaved a convenience store in half with the wooden sword that we found at the scene. This is the same sword many of us have felt the brunt of at one time or another. We know what your weapon looks like.”

“What a terrible conspiracy theory,” Gintoki drawled and yawned outwardly, while steaming internally.

Two eyewitnesses? Who else could they be, but the cashier and Robber #1, and how dare they team up against him – particularly that cashier! That convenience store worker was working with the man who was about to slit his throat for money to throw the man who saved him from said man under a bus! Thankless bastard!

“Kondo-san, you know my weapon, and you know that it is no Disco Stick. Are you sure your pair of witnesses weren’t flying high on a little illegal disco of their own?”

Take that, cashier! We’ll see who is taking who down by the end of all this!

Now Gintoki was not just a rebel; he also had a cause. For each question Kondo asked him, he had an answer to give that undermined the reputation of a certain someone.

Where was he this evening at midnight? Well, human beings are notoriously terribly at remembering precisely what they were doing and when they were doing it. Everyone rewrites their own history in their own minds to make themselves out as better. We are useless witnesses, us humans. Didn’t you know, Gori-san?

Did he stop at a convenience store this evening? Well, convenience stores in Japan have been going downhill these days. Rumor has it the main chains like Eight-Twelve have been hiring felons to man their registers to cut costs, and not the mild sort of felon that ended up in the slammer because the slipped on a banana peel and bonked heads with a high-flying government leader. No, they’re hiring the sorts of felons that slipped on a banana peels and pushed a high-flying government leader to the ground in order to keep their balance. Terrible, dangerous thugs. Didn’t you know, Gori-san?

Yes, but, did he stop at a convenience store this evening? Well, they are called convenience stores, but they are not convenient at all. It is a well-documented fact that convenience store employees are trained to make customers feel inconvenienced and uncomfortable, because the more down in the dumps they are, the more likely they are to purchase the comfort food lining the aisles! Didn’t you know, Gori-san?

“Enough with the Gori-san!” Kondo finally snapped, successfully diverted from the line of inquiry, as Yamazaki burst through the door.

“The result just came in,” Yamazaki announced with all the gravitas his plain visage could muster, carrying a slip of paper to Kondo’s side. “Here it is, Chief Gori-san.”

“We are conducting a serious investigation, and all anyone can do is crack gorilla jokes?” Kondo scolded, holding the paper in front of his face to hide a shamed flush that colored his cheeks. The teasing was totally getting to him. “I am severely disappointed.”

Thoroughly chastened, the everyman in uniform apologized, before skittering out of the room. With this little show of leadership, the gorilla seemed to get a bit of his groove back, and summarily began scanning the paper under Gintoki’s dull-eyed stare.

As he watched the Shinsengumi leader’s eyes swing back and forth like a beady typewriter, Gintoki bounced a leg impatiently beneath the table.

Just what evidence had they pulled on him? It better not be too incriminating, because he needed out of this government-sanctioned dungeon that smelled like each member of this stupid sword-club rubbed their armpits on the walls after they worked up a sweat arresting innocent men and women every night. It was about time for his pre-breakfast breakfast at the Foryunthustoriphyxnarfyndalvnuduraqiualinoytfusian embassy, oi.

At long last, Kondo finally glanced up, cleared his throat, and regarded Gintoki with a firm gaze.

“It is all here,” he said.  “This makes things very clear.”

There was decisive evidence?! Shit. Gintoki waited with baited breath.

“What you’ve done tonight comes with serious consequences,” Kondo warned – his expression severe. “You have swayed many of my men. The voting majority is now in favor of Disco Stick.”

It was Gintoki’s turn to fling a table.

“WHO CARES ABOUT THE NAME!”

Twitching beneath the flung projectile, Kondo coughed, “You say that as a winner, but would you still be whistling that tune from my shoes? I lobbied for Cumming Wood with all I had.”

Gintoki was not necessarily proud of what he was about to do, but his blood sugar levels were low. Anything that would get his mouth near a parfait sooner was on the table, or, in this case, underneath it. With a sigh, he lifted one side of the table, and crawled next to Kondo before placing the table softly on top of both of them.

From his place on the floor, the gorilla stared at him with a quizzical expression that was somewhat prolate due to the table crushing his face. Gintoki scooched toward the befuddled commander and whispered in his ear, “Just how much does Cumming Wood mean to you?”

Kondo’s face tensed, as he started to catch on. In a low voice, he returned, “What… what do you mean?”

Well versed in these sorts of negotiations, Gintoki knew what Kondo was actually asking: What do you want for it?

Gently, so as not to spook his prey, Gintoki murmured, “I mean, if you were to let me go now, and let these underlings of yours know, as you and I do, that I had nothing to do with any of this, I might be able to convince those guys to do a recall vote.”

“A re-recall vote?” Kondo repeated, entranced. He scooted closer to Gintoki, causing a table leg to clang loudly against the nearby wall, as the base wobbled on top of them both.

“Cumming Wood is a great play on words. They obviously haven’t thought about it hard enough, so they just need some time to… reconsider,” Gintoki proposed casually.

Kondo’s face almost could not contain his wide smile, as he slipped deeper and deeper into Gintoki’s web. “It is a great pun, isn’t it!”

“Yes,” Gintoki affirmed – his voice soft, but commanding. “I could help your men realize that they made a terrible mistake. Really, we’ve all just made mistakes here. You guys didn’t vote for Cumming Wood, you guys brought in the wrong man. If we all own up to these errors, we could all get exactly-”

“What the hell?”

Dammit!

“Toshi!” Kondo screamed like a man who had just been sucker punched by his own self-respect. He pushed the table off of both of them in a flash, wrapping his arms around his own body, as if to cover up his misdeeds. “This isn’t what it looks like!”

“No, but I don’t actually know what it looks like.”

One Demon Vice-Commander stood in the doorway of the room, his expression a grand mixture of frustrated discomfort and all-consuming confusion, looking like he would rather be absolutely anywhere else. If Gintoki had offered him a choice between continuing to stand right there, and doing the backstroke in a pile of Saduharu’s diarrhea a few kilometers out from this spot, Gintoki honestly did not know which the guy might have picked.

“Hijikata-kun,” he greeted jovially enough from his spot on the floor next to Kondo’s interpretation of ‘A Deflowered Maiden is Greeted by Her Father.’

If this asshole’s existence had to ruin his chances at bribing his way out of here, Gintoki’s existence might as well serve to cause Hijikata some mental agony. He waved his fingers impishly.

To his credit, Hijikata appeared to regain his mental footing rather quickly. It only took a few seconds for his expression to change from DEFCON(STIPATION) 1 to neutral, as he strode quickly to Kondo’s side.

“Kondo-san, the results from Squads 5 and 8 just came through,” he reported, blatantly ignoring his superior’s shamed position on the floor. “I would recommend we discuss them outside.”

Staggering to his feet, Kondo grimaced and shook his head, muttering, “No, that won’t be necessary.”

The gorilla put a hairy-knuckled hand on his Vice-Chief’s shoulder, and squeezed it lightly. He continued, “I… I have been compromised. You’ll need to take over the investigation from here.”

“Huh?” Hijikata had the decency to look halfway alarmed, as he glanced between Gintoki and Kondo. “What did he do?”

Kondo waved off Hijikata’s concern with a sad, distant smile – his eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “He… he used Cumming Wood against me.”

Immediately, Hijikata’s expression shuttered, and he pushed a sniffling gorilla toward the exit.

“No need to worry. I’ll take it from here,” he said, firmly slamming the door on his superior before the man could say another word.

The room fell into an incredibly heavy silence. Hijikata stood stiffly with his hands still on the door he had shut, while Gintoki eyed him from his spot on the floor. He watched the tense back of a man that knew he had to follow Cumming Wood, and Gintoki realized he had a decision to make. Did he want to get out of this Shinsengumi hell hole sooner than later, which meant playing nice with this police dog whose leash was a little too long for his short temper? Or, would it be more satisfying to kick this mutt while it’s down and rot in jail forever?

Neither! Neither is good! Is there any option where Gin-san can escape while kicking the dog?

He heard the flick of a cigarette lighter, as Hijikata turned to face him. Gintoki gave his most surly expression in response to the man’s sharp gaze, but did not speak. He was using inhuman amounts of self-restraint right now, which the world should recognize and justly reward!

After another eon of quiet, Hijikata stepped over the upended table and strode over to the one chair remaining upright, sitting where Gin-san’s butt had been only minutes before. Gintoki took this as a victory, and sneered.

Catching the sneer, but not the meaning, Hijikata let out a put-upon sigh.

Finally breaking the silence, he said, “I suppose now is as good of a time as any.”

“Huh?” Gintoki snorted, as sparking hostility gave way to confusion. That was not really the opener that he was expecting.

Giving him a long, assessing look, the Shinsengumi devil uttered, “You’re an idiot.”

Finally in familiar territory, Gintoki welcomed this insult as a declaration of war.

“Says the man who follows the orders of Commander Cumming Wood!”

“Shut it!” Hijikata bristled. “You leave Kondo-san out of this!”

“I’ll leave him out of it if you jackasses leave me out of it!” Gintoki yelled indignantly, as he scrambled to his feet. He was feeling the urge to tower over his opponent.

By the red splotches creeping across his face, Hijikata looked about ready to rise to the bait himself, but settled for blowing an aggressive puff of smoke in Gintoki’s direction, which, where this guy was concerned, was a pretty lukewarm shot to fire. Mr. Mayo was holding himself back. Maybe it had to do with how there were probably half a dozen or so Shinsengumi ducklings watching his performance through that one way mirror, or maybe he realized he needed to take a shit when he entered the room and now he was stuck here, or maybe Gintoki didn’t really care enough to guess. All he knew was that he had spotted a weak point, and there was no way he wasn’t about to exploit it. Gintoki walked toward the man with heavy steps.

“There wouldn’t be a situation to leave you out of if you a– wait, what are you-”

The bastard paused mid-sanctimonious speech, shock paling his face, as Gintoki lifted the cigarette from Hijikata’s lips, put it between his own, and inhaled.

Jutting out his jaw in a show of dominance, smoke leaking through his nostrils, Gintoki hissed, “You take my freedom? I take your cigarette.”

All at once, Hijikata’s face lost all traces of humanity, leaving only a beast out for blood. Gintoki sneered in victory and prepared to parry any attack this hot tempered loser would try to throw his way.

However, just as soon as his temper had flashed, Hijikata slammed a lid on it. The only signs of its existence now rested in his hands, which were gripping his uniformed thighs so tight that he might have been close to bruising his own bones.

“Yorozuya,” he hissed, sounding like a viper with a sore throat. “Stop acting like a child and listen to me.”

Who wanted this stupid cop’s olive branches if he was going to give them out covered in demeaning insults? Gintoki knew just where this asshole could shove his pathetic attempts at half-assed anger management.

Taking another drag from the cigarette, Gintoki threw it lazily to the ground, stomping it to ash with his boot.

“That one tasted like secondhand shitty cop. Gimme another,” he demanded in as derisively provocative of a tone as he could manage, gesturing toward the rectangular bump in Hijikata’s uniformed pocket.

Hijikata pupils were so dilated by this point that his irises were completely consumed by black. The atmosphere around him vibrated like the air above summertime pavement dances and shimmers on the hottest days of the year. Gintoki blatantly ignored the warning signs and reached out to pick the prick’s pocket.

The tips of Gintoki’s fingers brushed the box and lighter, before pinching their edges and lifting them. He rummaged about in the package, taking out a cigarette, and began showily flicking the lighter.

Hijikata’s lips cracked into a crooked, cutting smile.

“Okay,” he said. “You win.”

...

Lounging about on the cold, stone floor of the Shinsengumi holding cell, Gintoki ignored any regrets that came to visit, while also doing his best to ignore the real world smells of piss and human suffering that emanated from his immediate vicinity. There really wasn’t any way this terrible fate could have been avoided. Hijikata might as well have ordered Gintoki to snatch his cigs at sword point, considering how coerced this hapless citizen had been into committing this non-crime.

Speaking of non-crimes, just how long could these shitty excuses for cops keep him here for rustling the jimmies of their commanding officers? Gintoki let this question echo throughout his mind to make sure that his friendly, neighborhood brain parasite heard about the unfair dilemma its host was being put through. However, to his complaints, the indignant prisoner received no response inside his head or out.

[greenhanded-redthumbed]

Just A Small Town Boy

Clark grew up with his parents telling him how he fell from the sky. He wouldn’t believe them if it hadn’t been for the other things: that he’s strong enough to lift a tractor, that he can start a fire a hundred metres away with just his eyes, that he can fly. They tell him that he’s a miracle child: a gift. And that everything he can do just makes him more perfect, even if they have to hide them away for now. 

Not yet, they insist, they’re not ready for you yet. 

He accepts it, practicing to control his powers at night in the field next to their house. He wades through the wheat stalks that rise to his shoulders and is careful not to face anything important (he’d accidentally demolished far too many walls growing up, and even though his parents were more than happy to keep up with the continuous renovations, he still tries his best to keep everything in one piece). He learns to avoid certain bright lights that bring about a burning in the back of his eyes, to keep headphones with him for when his hearing runs rampant picking up anything said for miles and to always have an elastic around his wrist to keep him present and remind him to use human strength rather than super strength. (The Kents have an entire draw devoted to the elastics and other such trinkets ready for them to give way).

Clark’s gotten better at controlling his powers over the years, with the reports of alien sightings around Smallville dropping as he gets older. But he can’t stay forever.

He loves his parents dearly - loves the farm too, it’s the only home he’s ever known. And as much as he’d love to stay here, he can’t. He can do things no one else can, he can help people no one else can. But there’s not that many people in Smallville, and not much to save them from.

So he leaves, heads to the big city to pursue a career in journalism (because how else is he going to know who’s in trouble). Clark considers working with the police, but a quick read of the papers tells him of the high levels of corruption - all of them probably aren’t bad, but Clark has never been good at reading people and thinks he’s better safe than sorry.

His spotless record, good grades and glowing letters from his high school teachers is enough to land him an internship at one of the bigger newspapers in the city. The Daily Planet.

Clark turns up for his first day bright eyed, watching the chattering reporters move around the cubicles on the office floor - some darting forward with bundles of papers in their arms as they reach a breakthrough while others meander slowly and chatter greetings to their coworkers.

He doesn’t know what he expected - certainly not his own office and free reign, but maybe something more than cramped square metre cubicle with a desk crammed in (the walls of the cubicle barely reach his ears so the full-time, seasoned journalists can see if there’s someone to make coffee for them). 

Occasionally, someone drops off a list of some kind for him to grab files on:

“I need the profit margins of these companies on my desk by six”

“Can you get the M.P.D crime stats to me by this afternoon?”

“I want you to pull up all our previous stories on the mayor and check what our bias is.”

It’s not exactly saving anyone, but it’s a foothold as a journalist. He’ll get there. 

And he does - after a few months or so of perfecting his coffee-making skills and navigating the achingly slow computer he’s been given, a file is dropped unceremoniously into his cubicle. Clark pulls the headphones from his ears, letting the office chatter settle around him and turns to see one of the reporters looking down at him. The dark-skinned man would be shorter than him if he was standing, bulky and dressed in a neat, navy suit - Clark recognises him instantly as one of the more senior reporters.

“What do you need Mr. White?” Clark asks, one hand moving to fiddle nervously at the hair at the nape of his neck. It’s the latest manifestation of his fiddling - he doesn’t have his parents stockpile of rubber bands and always seems to lose them in the mess of his tiny desk. 

Mr. White, Perry as Clark recalls, “I want you to write this report. Twelve lines. Puff piece: local orphanage.” 

“Write a- write a report?” Clark stutters, surprised it’s not just another files request.

“Yes, Kent,” Perry White says slowly and Clark jumps at his own name, “You do want to be a reporter, don’t you?”

“Y-yes, of course,” Clark stammers, pulling the paper-thin file closer, “I’ll get on this right away, sir.”

“I’m not ‘sir’, Kent. Not yet anyway,” Perry says turning away. He calls back, “On my desk, tomorrow at five.” Clark’s too nervous to remember he doesn’t know which desk is Perry’s. He supposes he’ll just have to work it out when he comes to it.

As he goes to open the file, he notices a face watching him over the cubicle divider. A fellow intern, with long black hair and pale blue eyes that make her features seem sharper. Colder. Like she could open her mouth and freeze him to the core.

“Um, hi?” he starts, “We haven’t met, I’m Clark-”

She cuts him off. “A newbie.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. She’s not wrong or particularly rude. Just matter-of-fact in a way his southern hospitality hadn’t prepared him for. 

“Yes, a newbie-” He replies with a grin. She cuts him off again by picking up the file from Perry and flipping it open. 

“What are you doing?” Clark questions, hoping he’s not going to end up in a fist fight with a fellow intern for this story. 

“Just checking this out, don’t worry,” she mumbles preoccupied scanning through the loose sheets, “I’m making sure the big dogs aren’t screwing me over.”

She looks up at him and her face briefly contorts into a smile - not a warm one, a happy one. A cold, practiced greeting to show no harm done, a I don’t mean to be a weirdo going through your files I’m actually a rational and normal person kind of smile. “But Perry’s right, this is a bludge.”

“Okay?” Clark replies, honestly confused by the whole interaction more than anything, “Well, it was nice meeting you Ms…”

“Lane,” she answers him, “Lois Lane, the top intern. That’s not an official term, but it’s the truth.”

He offers her a smile and a nod before turning his attention back to the file that has once again been dropped on his desk. It’s only two loose sheets, almost no info and a basic piece. But at least it’s him who’ll be writing it. One step at a time.

(When it’s printed in the lower corner of page twelve two days later, he cuts it out and sends it back home to Kansas. Ma and Pa are deliriously proud and request copies of all future articles. He doesn’t find out until Christmas that they’ve turned one of their walls into a display for his published pieces.)

Three weeks after his first article, a new intern moves into the cubicle next to him. (Ms Lane’s now one of the people bringing bludge stories and requests to his desk. She must have been right about being top intern). The new intern, Ms Lang, is a city girl. Born and raised in Metropolis. But she has a warmth that reminds him of home. Warm brown skin and wavy brown hair and warm brown eyes that seem to shine when she smiles.

He’s more than a bit enraptured. 

She leans over half way through her first day to talk to him. “So, how long have you been an intern here?”

He grins back and the office fluorescents suddenly shift to the warm summer sun reflected off the wheat fields. “Almost five months now.” 

“Huh, good to know,” she replies and he notices her nails are painted the same shade of pink as her dress. 

“Why’s that?” he asks before she can disappear back into her cubicle.

“Because on my tour round here I heard you were the new top intern. And I want to get there faster than you.” Then she’s gone, back to becoming the hardest working journalist of Metropolis.

It took Clark a moment to let her words sink in. He knew the Daily Planet requires journalists to show their replacements around. He cranes his head over the wall of his cubicle and catches sight of Ms Lane on the other side of the floor. She’s arguing with a colleague over something or other and doesn’t so much as glance at him. It’s kind of surprising that she thinks so highly of him. It’s also kind of the best.

It’s around this time he makes his first appearance as superman. He puts on the suit his father left him (the one Pa and Ma kept for him until he turned sixteen) and sets out to help people. It’s strange, giving in to the sounds and sights and smells he’s been blocking out all his life. He can hear the whole city buzzing beneath him as he floats above it, tuning in and out of conversations like a radio.

He decides to start small - he picks cats out of trees, clears trees off of roads and flies the dying to the hospital at super speed. An alien in primary colours zipping around the city catches the attention of the Daily Planet pretty quickly. He reads the article one of the reporters, Mr John Corben, writes on him and is happy to see it’s mostly good (wary, but still praising his actions).

Clark steps up his attempts at heroism - he now shows up to confront active shooters and floats above witnesses for particularly nasty cases. Praise starts getting thrown his way, with t-shirts and fan-blogs. They treat him like a celebrity.

Then his first supervillain arrives. He calls himself the Ultra-humanite and the papers obligingly print it in their headlands ‘Superman vs Ultra-humanite: Shocking Defeat for the Man of Steel’. The Ultra-humanite - Clark doesn’t even know his real name - isn’t like the regular street thugs and gun-wielding cowards. He can’t match Clark physically, so he does it mentally. He outsmarts Clark at every turn with automations and traps and a thousand other misdirections. 

The Ultra-humanite also introduces Clark to a new weakness: a small, almost fluorescent green rock he calls Kryptonite. It leaves him weak and dizzy. All the hyperawareness sinking away as the world dulls and blurs. He can safely say he doesn’t like it.

It dawns on him that he’ll need help. So he turns to the person he thinks he can trust. 

“Right,” Lana says slowly as he hovers in front of her, work shirt unbuttoned to show his famous emblem, “So you’re the superman with the superpowers who wants help taking down a supervillain. Super.” 

“You don’t have to be apart of the fighting or anything,” he assures her, “I just need a plan or something to get the upper hand on him.”

They’re on the roof of the Daily Planet. It’s the only place he could think of that wouldn’t have security cameras or be too suspicious to visit. Enough people still smoke to make it an acceptable break spot.

“You want me to outsmart a supervillain. Outsmart a supersmart evil genius supervillain.”

“Or help, just offer any insight,” Clark says, bringing himself back to the floor and doing up his shirt. That seems to calm Lana down, and she tilts her head slightly, gazing dazedly out at the horizon

It takes her a minute, but when she looks at him again he knows he made the right decision to come to her. “So he’s found ways to outsmart all your super powers.” Lana starts slowly, “Because he studied Superman.”

“I guess so,” Clark says.

“So,” Lana continues, “Use your abilities as Clark Kent. The ones he doesn’t know about. Track him down in his lair like a reporter - with paper trails and good old investigation.”

He does, tracks down all the stores that sell the fancy equipment the Ultra-humanite - a man, Clark learns through his investigation, who is called by the far-less threatening name of Gerard Shugel - and traces the sales back to accounts and addresses. 

He finds Shugel’s lair, crashing in dressed in full Superman regalia to see that very man tinkering on his next trap. It’s easy for Clark to apprehend him on his own turf. Just carrying him to the police station and leaving his address for them to search through. Clark was raised to believe that everything gets easier with practice, so he knows he’ll be ready for the next supervillain to threaten his city. And he knows he has someone to turn to when he gets out of his depth. 

 After a year of intern work, Clark finally gets a position as a full-blooded journalist. (Investigative, which is the same department as Ms. Lane. There are some whispers going around that two newbies handling a department is risky business, but those are shut down by an icy blue glare.)

They work side by side in matching offices, with Clark dibsing the police corruption case. (Which Ms. Lane thinks is undignified but lets him have it so she can keep working on her inquiring into the company practices of one of Metropolis’ largest businesses. Something called Lexcorp.)

Lana inherits the role of top intern, a placement which Clark confidently informs his replacement of. He knows it’s not long until she’s on the detective side of the office and looks forward to it.

He knows that the people are ready for him now. And more importantly, he’s ready for them.

[finefeatheredfriend]

The Bodysnatchers!

This time on Eileen reads the EDAs we’ve got a thrilling and gorey adventure with Eight and Sam and some Zygons, brought to me by my laptop’s text to speech function cause I’m too distracted to focus on actual reading lol

I liked this book! It was a bit slow at first and it took me longer to really love the book than it did with Vampire Science, but the Victorian setting and some really brilliant lines won me over in the end haha! And we had Litefoot in this! And the Zygons (and some nice ones as well, what??), which for some reason I didn’t recognise on the cover, but I still got spoiled by myself because of my brilliant idea to use text to speech. 

I was rooting for something to happen between Sam and Emmeline, but alas. There are some parts that I will interpret that way though, even though they were definitely not intended that way lol. 

Still no naked Eight, so that’s a big minus.

I’m going to write down my reactions to all the EDAs in this series of reviews, and here are some of the highlights and my favourite quotes:

‘splendid, we’re where we’re supposed to be. I'm getting the hang of this.’ Doctor stop ahahsgahga

‘Leela is married, with children I believe’ I’m sorry what

what is it with me and shipping Sam with any woman she comes across hahah

(please let something happen between emmeline and sam)

'That didn't do much for your image, did it?' said a voice behind her, as though stealing her thoughts. Sam pushed herself up on to her elbows and looked round. The Doctor was just a few feet below her, leaning back against the wall with his hands behind his head, looking so relaxed she wanted to hit him. 'I missed my footing,' she said huffily. 'Several times,' said the Doctor, nodding.” Oh my god Doctor I love you ahahahahah

“Sam opened her mouth to protest, but the Doctor effectively plugged it with a jelly baby which he produced out of nowhere” that is such a Doctor thing to do ashafsgsfs

it’s so weird that the normal zygons are so soft (they have voices like songbirds????)

“bigger and nastier people than you have tried to suck my brains out before with no success whatsoever - well, not much anyway.” ... am I. am I really going to say it. am I really. ok no I won’t but seriously eileen get your mind out of the gutter ffs

I love how the doctor went ‘eeny meeny miny mo. hm. which one of these do i like the most? eeny!’ I love him

“That was a very uncool piece of headgear,' she said weakly. 'Not my style at all.' 'Oh, I don't know. I've got some rather fetching photographs. I thought we could blow them up and have them printed as T-shirts.” doCTOR (this is the kind of brother/sister dynamic that I love about these two)

Sam pretending not to know it’s a Zygon impersonating her just to say ‘who’s that gorgeous person?’ aaaah i love her

‘Is my nose really that big?’ ‘Only in certain lights’ DOCTOR NO

I was promised lots of naked eight in the EDAs and so far they have NOT delivered

AAAAAAAH SAM NOTICED EMMELINE’S BREASTS

‘Confusing emotions’ ‘jealousy’ aaaaah Sam I love you please be gay

“'That's assuming that the elastic band hasn't snapped of course.' 'Elastic band!' He grinned. 'I'm joking. It was one of those really thick ones. There's no way it would break.” I’m screaming I can’t stop laughing

‘My motto is never to get too attached to thing’ ‘does that include people’ oooooh (in clueless voice) that was way harsh Sam

‘nimble as a ballerina’ oh my god I love Eight and thank you for this hilarious image in my head omg

As usual (I’ve only done one of these before but still lol) this section is way longer than I expected haha!

And also as usual, you’ll find the unabridged version of my liveblog under the cut! (It’s technically just for me to be able to go back to so I can see how I reacted to reading this for the first time, but read it if you want to!)

I bolded my favourite quotes and reactions again! Enjoy ahaha

this one’s a bit slower

I mean in the way that I don’t absolutely love it from the first page on like I did with Vampire Science

but I love the Victorian era vibe it’s giving off

I can’t wait for Eight and Sam to show up though

oh that’s so the doctor - accidentally setting a book on fire ahahah

oh no it was an original printing of Sherlock Holmes aaaaa

oh I love it when companions get to dress up for trips

name dropping the BBC ahaha

AAAAH she’s in Nyssa’s room!!! I was wondering whose room it was when they mentioned that in Vampire Science! and obviously if it was Nyssa’s room then it’s also Tegan’s old room since they shared

I love Eight and Sam so much

“’How do you want to look?' asked the Doctor. 'I dunno. Cool. Confident.' 'You definitely look cool,' said the Doctor. 'In fact, you'll be one of the coolest people around.The 1890s equivalent of a... a Spice Girl.' 'I think I'd better take that as a compliment,’ said Sam carefully. 'Otherwise I might end up giving you a slap.’” omg

‘splendid, we’re where we’re supposed to be. I'm getting the hang of this.’ Doctor stop ahahsgahga

“'No, this is Earth all right. Smell that air.' Sam did so, almost choking on the sulphurous fog. 'Only London smells like this,' said the Doctor cheerfully. 'It has a certain... ethos. A certain bouquet.’” have I mentioned how much I love Eight

when Sam falls onto the Doctor and he hits his head and he goes 'what pretty fireworks, are they yours?” oh my god doctor I love you

Aaaaaah jago and litefoot!!!!!!

oh well or just litefoot but still!!!

‘Leela is married, with children I believe’ I’m sorry what

touch telepaths. time lords are touch telepaths. how did he get that information about the constable’s wife

first a house keeper called mrs hudson and now a revolting man called mr stoker looking hungrily at emmeline i see what you’re doing here

“Sam did as instructed (put her foot in the noose of the rope), and felt herself being hauled upwards at an alarming speed. It was as if there was not just the Doctor, but a ten-man tug-of-war team heaving on the other end.” wow the Doctor is STRONG

oh no it’s emmeline’s mum sitting in that armchair but she’s gonna be dead isn’t she

but the way emmeline describes the figure sitting there it sounds more like a man somehow

oh ok I was right it’s her dead mum

please don’t die please don’t die please don’t die I like you emmeline pleeeaase don’t die

why is Sam so jealous of emmeline :(

ok good, Sam likes her now and feels bad about thinking awful things about her that makes me happy

“’Great,' said Sam sardonically. 'I've always wanted to wallow knee-deep through -' 'Shh,' said the Doctor, holding a finger to his lips.” Oh my god anahahahahha (this reminds me of all the times they did this exact same thing with Lucie lol)

what is it with me and shipping Sam with any woman she comes across hahah

(please let something happen between emmeline and sam)

“She would rather die of curiosity than betray her ignorance and inexperience in front of Emmeline and the professor.” oh I love Sam

“As the more petty concerns of life began to filter back into her consciousness, she found herself hoping that Litefoot and Emmeline had seen little of her graceless descent. 'That didn't do much for your image, did it?' said a voice behind her, as though stealing her thoughts. Sam pushed herself up on to her elbows and looked round. The Doctor was just a few feet below her, leaning back against the wall with his hands behind his head, looking so relaxed she wanted to hit him. 'I missed my footing,' she said huffily. 'Several times,' said the Doctor, nodding.” Oh my god Doctor I love you ahahahahah

“Sam opened her mouth to protest, but the Doctor effectively plugged it with a jelly baby which he produced out of nowhere” that is such a Doctor thing to do ashafsgsfs

“Even though she bent her knees to cushion her body from the impact of landing, the unexpectedly short fall jarred her legs and caused her to lose her balance. However she managed to convert her momentum into a forward roll and sprang immediately to her feet in what she hoped looked a professional and athletic manner.” god I love how Sam always wants to look like she knows what she’s doing

BRAVE HEART TEGAN oh my heart

“The Doctor: ‘This has the effect of drawing out their fierce but latent aggressiveness and, supposedly, making them more single-minded in battle.' 'Stupid, you mean,' said Sam,'like most men.” Sam I love you. and this reminds me of that scene in the 50th where Liz 1 says something similar

can you believe zygons look like that because they’re sterilised and normally look ‘’’’dainty’’’’ and white and have smooth skin instead of suckers???

also I love how the doctor just spends soooo much time explaining every single little detail about zygons while they’re sitting not even that far away from three actual zygons they’re currently hiding from

oh no Emmeline is a zygon

I’d be more shocked if I hadn’t accidentally seen this while setting up the text to speech 

“A trap,' said the Doctor with almost child-like wonder” I love him. How many times can I say that before it gets boring to see this in my reactions (i don’t care cause I’m going to say it as often as i like so that’s gonna be a LOT)

it’s so weird that the normal zygons are so soft (they have voices like songbirds????)

“You have no choice, human. Either you each enter a cubicle or you die.' 'Hang on, that means we do have a choice,' said Sam with a cheeky bravado that she didn't really feel.” me

“bigger and nastier people than you have tried to suck my brains out before with no success whatsoever - well, not much anyway.” ... am I. am I really going to say it. am I really. ok no I won’t but seriously eileen get your mind out of the gutter ffs

“As Litefoot blundered along, he found himself thinking about the nature of the astonishing beings whose clutches he and his friends had fallen into. (...) Were they physically attracted to one another despite being genderless?” interesting your mind took you in that direction - thinking about alien sexuality..? okay

the Doctor is wearing a wet suit I repeat the doctor is wearing a wet suit someone help me

and he’s wearing goggles and flippers I can’t (it’s actually a face mask and not goggles but I don’t care I’m just going to imagine him wearing goggles)

ugh and when it said that the doctor was stripping down... I was expecting more of this scene. although I must admit that the image of the Doctor standing there in just his long johns before he puts on the wet suit was... a nice thought. (and he ‘expertly folded each item of clothing’ as if he had all the time in the world agxjagsgsg)

what the fuuuuuuck

that guy who witnessed his friend being killed by a zygon is ‘hacking away’ at a young man’s mouth because he made a joke at his expense omg

eeew now he’s got the youth’s tongue in his hand

I love how the doctor went ‘eeny meeny miny mo. hm. which one of these do i like the most? eeny!’ I love him

gaaah an Ace mention!!

double punch!! (how)

“What time is it?' she asked, her voice faint, rusty. 'Time to go,' replied the Doctor.” an icon

“That was a very uncool piece of headgear,' she said weakly. 'Not my style at all.' 'Oh, I don't know. I've got some rather fetching photographs. I thought we could blow them up and have them printed as T-shirts.” doCTOR (this is the kind of brother/sister dynamic that I love about these two)

“Suddenly Tuval registered the Doctor's attire, and the Zygon's borrowed features creased in puzzlement. 'You have changed, Doctor.' The Doctor looked momentarily alarmed. 'Not again, surely?’” anxhkavdbz

Sam pretending not to know it’s a Zygon impersonating her just to say ‘who’s that gorgeous person?’ aaaah i love her

‘Is my nose really that big?’ ‘Only in certain lights’ DOCTOR NO

‘Sam, who was blushing wildly but trying to appear cool’ I love you Sam

oh and also - the doctor’s only wearing his long johns and that’s already a nice image but

I was promised lots of naked eight in the EDAs and so far they have NOT delivered

“Magnificent,' the Doctor murmured, examining the readings once the straining of the TARDIS's ancient engines had faded. 'When it comes to the crunch, the old girl never lets me down.' He flicked a couple of switches.” the Doctor really does love the Tardis noise ahsgsggahdgs

Oh no

Oh no Doctor

it’s ok you didn’t mean to kill them all

but oh god

I am so sorry

“The Doctor left Emmeline and Nathaniel Seers to the end. He awoke Emmeline first, greeting her with the charming smile and silken voice that Sam had observed him employ often in the past to get them out of awkward situations. She knew, not without a slight sense of superiority, that this kind of treatment would have caused most of her mates at Coal Hill to go weak at the knees.” I’m screaming but also same

“The simple choice is this: work together under my guidance or PERISH” doctor, a little bit less of the dramatic (i’m kidding pls keep doing this)

aw I thought emmeline was going to step forward to go first but then her father did

AH HE SAID NO AND NOW IT WAS EMMELINE AFTER ALL I LOVE HER

Jack choked on shit (that’s a twisted reference)

AW SAM let it out it’s okay to cry and show feelings sometimes!!!!!!!

I love her

AAAAAAAH SAM NOTICED EMMELINE’S BREAST

‘Confusing emotions’ ‘jealousy’ aaaaah Sam I love you please be gay

“'That's assuming that the elastic band hasn't snapped of course.' 'Elastic band!' He grinned. 'I'm joking. It was one of those really thick ones. There's no way it would break.” I’m screaming I can’t stop laughing

“You know, I've been far more conscientious since I regenerated. I even keep my room tidy sometimes.' 'Congratulations,' said Sam drily.” AhahahHhha

HE WAS SINGING A VENUSIAN LULLABY

‘My motto is never to get too attached to thing’ ‘does that include people’ oooooh (in clueless voice) that was way harsh Sam

‘nimble as a ballerina’ oh my god I love Eight and thank you for this hilarious image in my head omg

‘That other doctor, will you meet him on your travels?’ and the Doctor shudders and says ‘I sincerely hope not, once was enough’ ahsgdga tell that to then curator from the 50th lol

[glitterghost]

His vision is slightly hazy, maybe he’s had a little too much to drink. He isn’t sure who’s to blame for that. Maybe Jessie for the multiple bottles of champagne she brought, but more so Gordo. He brought the harder liquor, sneaking it in unnoticed under Elizabeth’s radar. But mostly Carter blames himself. Who else is there to blame really? It’s been a rough year and it’s nice to feel... less. Less pain, less loss, less alone. Not that he’s ever really alone though. He has family. He has pack. But looking around, he see’s everyone paired off in their own little bubbles. Mate to mate. Joe and Ox sitting at the dining table talking. Discussing. Always ready for the next step the pack needs to take. Always planning. Always on guard.

Carter finds Kelly sitting on the floor in front the coffee table. A board game spilled open. Money and pieces scattered around both his brother and Robbie, who by the look of frustration on his face, Carter is more than pleased not to be stuck in a game of who buys (and fights over) properties. Or how much bargaining it normally takes to get Kelly to give up certain avenues and tone down his competitive gaming streak. But Carter knows Robbie has a lot he can bargain with, if he’s smart. And he is smart. Who knows, he thinks maybe Kelly will be tempted to agree to one of Robbie's offers. At least that’s what the soft look on Kelly’s face is saying while he’s watching Robbie, a handful of money fanned out in his palms with his brows furrowed in more concentration than Carter thinks he himself has ever put into anything in his whole life. But it’s endearing to see their exchanges. Even if Carter won’t say it aloud. Sweet almost. However they end up, Carter knows it’ll be good. Knows as nerdy as Robbie might seem (and that would be about level 7 out of 10. Computer geek extraordinaire with possible L.A.R.P’ing somewhere in his childhood.) He can clearly see how much Robbie cares for Kelly and that’s all that will ever matter to him. If Kelly is protected and happy, then everything is good and well.

A light pressure on his arm tugs his focus away, it takes a minute before his semi wobbly vision readjusts itself to the form the beautiful face of his mother, Elizabeth. She is smiling at him, like she caught his secret moment of fondness moments ago. But she isn’t saying anything. But oh how her smile still beams brighter than the Sun, which can never match the comfort and warmth she carries. It'll always be second to her. And he remembers again, that he isn’t the only one paired off alone and lonely. She is too. Or, maybe she isn’t but he can feel the loss of her mate, his father, humming beneath her skin. She’s strong. She’s so very strong and Carter wishes that somehow he inherited just an ounce of that strength. She never hides her grief, she flows through it's river, which eventually empties out into a vast ocean of stronger emotions of love. For family, for pack, for him.

Elizabeth’s eyes flicker to the right almost too quickly for Carter to notice. But he does and he follows the line down to the floor closer to the hearth. A steady fire burning now for hours, and there, a foot or two next to the flames is the timber wolf. The most curious of all curious things to have happened during the year. His paws out, muzzle stretched across them. A vintage party hat is strapped around his furry face. The silver and golds shining from the flames flickering across it. There had been a year attached to the hat once but somehow lost and forgotten and torn away or fallen off.

“I really don’t think he liked you putting that on him.” Elizabeth’s laugh is like a soft ringing bell. The kind they say that rings when an angel gets it’s wings. Or something like that. He’d heard it in a movie once. A Christmas one he can remember watching with his mother and father. When they were all safe, warm, happy and whole. Kelly was young and Joe was just a baby, wrapped up in his mothers arms.  It’s a tiny memory. One of those where maybe it happened or maybe it didn’t but you never question it too hard.

His face feels warm, a flooding of heat from the alcohol he’s sure is painting all sorts of shades of pink across his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to snag the elastic in his fur. I just thought it would be fun. Maybe make him feel like he’s a part of the celebration.” Carter tells her, while remembering how it had happened.

“Now be still.” Carter had teased, gently gliding the silver and gold party hat over the timber wolfs fur, careful to avoid any snags. But of course he hadn’t been so lucky and the wolf's unsure gaze turned into a sharp yelp emanating from it's mouth. Carter had cringed too, feeling guilty for causing any pain. Instinct had been to press his fingers into the wolf’s fur and massage the area affected.    

The laugh lines at the corners of Elizabeth's eyes deepen as she watches him relive the moment in his mind. Those lines tracing a well laughed and loved life. Her smile softening away some of his embarrassment. 

“Oh, my sweet boy, I don’t think he cares too much about that. He probably just enjoyed your hands in his fur. Trust me, all thoughts forgotten about what happened the instant you touched him like that.” 

The heat that floods Carter’s face now he’s certain isn’t from the alcohol. When he turns to look at the wolf, he finds golden eyes raised to meet his. As if he’d never been asleep. As if he’d always been listening. Carter wouldn’t doubt that he hadn't been.

With the evening dwindling closer to midnight, Elizabeth turns the radio dial to the local stations yearly New Year’s Eve Countdown. The announcer's voice is husky and soothing and talking of challenging years and spouting hope and optimism for the year to come. And he wants to believe what the guy is saying. That maybe, just maybe things can get better.

A loud bang sounds from the distance. And with the year it’s been, Carter’s heart stutters. Taking a minute to realize that it’s just the sound of the towns New Years fireworks display and not that of a shotgun from enemy fire. The popping and sizzling sounds are phantom noises creeping through the trees but heightened to all their ears.

When the official countdown begins, everyone is leaning in closer to their mates and Carter stands counting down next to his mother, her arm draped over Jessie's shoulder and they're both grinning, eyes sparkling. Its infectious and he’s laughing and smiling too because the year is almost over, almost wiped clean with the wash of an incoming year. Burying all the hurt and the trauma that can never be forgotten but can be less. Because it’s been such a tough year for all of them and they know the next year won’t be perfect but they hope for it to be better. And that thought leaves him feeling light. Leaves him wanting to shed his skin of grief and leave it behind. And he’s so close. He has his family. He has pack and maybe even mate?

His chest blooms heavily with the thought and with only a minute to go, Carter turns towards the fire but timber isn’t there. A silvery gold battered mess of broken paper and cardboard litter the floor. His elation is toppled with a sense of panic and urgency. He didn’t notice when the wolf had left. Carters eyes catch Robbies, questioning. Robbie just shrugs like “…well Elizabeth said he didn’t like it.” but his face reflects sympathy for Carter before he turns his attention back to Kelly and resumes the countdown.

Mark, who Carter had only seen when he and Gordo first arrived passes by, a glassful of champagne in hand. He leans in calmly, closer to Carter’s ear.

Keeping his voice low and only loud enough for Carter to hear, he nearly whispers, “The fireworks spooked him. He took off a few minutes ago.” Mark squeezes some of the tension in Carter's shoulder before joining Gordo by the Christmas tree. He wants to ask someday how Mark always knows these things. Like he's psychic to what they all are feeling. There is so much mystery to Mark that Carter is sure only Gordo will ever able to unravel. However Mark could decipher and know the things he did, Carter was grateful to his uncle. For being a rock and a source of secondary strength when one didn't realize he needs it.

With everyone still counting, he follows timbers scent to the front door that stands ajar. Outside the air is cool and clean and Carter realizes for the first time how over heated he'd been. The goosebumps spring to life on his arms underneath the cotton of his shirt. The cold biting and sucking the heat from his skin.

He scans the tree line for the wolf, his scent still fresh and recent but not finding him. He thinks about what it must be like to be alone in an unknown place, stuck as a wolf and watching everyone else celebrate in their human form. How lonely it must be. A mirror to his own loneliness of being surrounded by friends, family, pack and yet still so alone.

There's only a millisecond of thought before Carter is pulling his shirt over his head, tossing it across the porch. Head spinning from the force of the action and the alcohol but it doesn't stop him. His hands fumble over his jeans before they too, are lost somewhere in the darkness. Carter shifts quickly before the timber wolf can catch wind of him. He can hear the countdown from the others inside. All their voices blending and mixing, counting down in unison, as pack. "10...9.. 8..." when he leaps off the porch, his howl resonating into the night. Putting all the sadness and hurt and longing the year has shoved down his throat and regurgitating it back into the world. Cleansing himself of it while also calling out to the only one that could possibly relate. The only one he wants to release of this..this.. ache to.

Carter scans the tree line again, his wolf eyes seeing more clearly than before. And there, a howl. His head turns and the timber wolf emerges from the dense forest. And Carter runs and runs, paws slapping into the ground. Nails sliding into the earth and launching him quicker, faster towards the other wolf. "5...4...3.." When he finally catches up to the timber wolf, he pounces on and into the him, nudging him roughly and snapping at him in an eagerly playful way before taking off towards the shadowed tree line he'd emerged from. The timber wolf just spares a second before yipping and howling and catching up with Carter and snapping his teeth back at him "...2....1..." and they bring in this new, unblemished year of endless opportunities and chances of friendships and fondness and maybe love through the forest, howling out their “awoooo's" together. Not alone. Never again alone. But as pack. As Mate. As halved wholes, figuring out how to fit together to mend one another's holes and to be made anew.

[bottled-bliss]

We could belong in this world - Part 2/2

Credit where credit is due, this edit by the kind and lovely @headedstraightforthekastle served as inspiration. I am now done with this story that I hope you enjoy. If you enjoy pain, that is. [Part 1]

“Frank?” Karen says with some hesitation. She has learned to keep her hopes in check. The fact that she’s able to get through to him when he’s semiconscious or asleep doesn’t mean he can actually see her now.

“Karen.”

The harsh gravel of his voice turns into a hill of rolling sand, breaking and falling apart with a sharp exhale. She’s afraid that he’s been holding it together for so long that he doesn’t have enough strength left not to go to pieces. Even though she no longer has a heart, she can still feel it shattering. She’s been talking to him all this time and he couldn’t hear a word. She’d thought she was in hell for a while. But this couldn’t be hell, not if Frank was with her.  

“I don’t understand,” he tells her. The room feels impossibly small and incredibly big at the same time. It was empty without her and now she’s here, standing so close but too far apart from him. “Where have you been?”

“Around. Here and there. But mostly here, every day,” she replies and her voice starts resembling more of an echo. “Following you to work, watching you sleep. Wow, that… sounded less pathetic in my head.”

“How’s that possible? How didn’t I…”

“See me?” Karen finishes the sentence for him. “That’s the thing about ghosts, they’re invisible most of the time.”

With that simple but not so simple sentence, everything Frank knows and believes about the world gets thrown out the window. For most of his life, he’d thought that death is final, you kick the bucket and it stays down. There’s one fact this new piece of information verifies however- mortals don’t know shit about anything. “Ghosts aren’t real,” he says, so that he can introduce a bit of reason to the conversation. He slumps down on the bed, his mouth hanging open as he stares at her. From that angle, the light hits her differently and he notices her body’s edges flicker ever so slightly, like she’s constantly shifting between being solid and being transparent.

“In that case, I’m not real and you’re talking to yourself,” she quirks an amused eyebrow and crosses her arms over her chest. “But I have to tell you, for a hallucination, I’m feeling pretty self-aware.”

Her outline stops flickering for a second or two, shining bright silver instead, almost making her glow, and then resuming its previous activity. His brain has trouble processing what his eyes are seeing, but as far as hallucinations go, he imagines he could do a lot worse. His mind is racing with questions, to several of which there might be no answer, but he’s able to concentrate and pick out the most ridiculous and somehow most important one. “Are you okay?”

“You still worry about me,” Karen gives him a smile full of affection. “You can stop worrying now, Frank. Nothing hurts anymore. I’m untouchable, quite literally.”

He nods. “Good, that’s good.” He hides his face in his palms. What is he saying? It’s good that you’re dead? “Goddammit, Karen…”

“I know.” Her voice trails off.

For a few moments, there’s no sound in the room besides Frank’s deep breathing and he looks up in a panic, fearing he’s lost her again, to find her sitting on the floor in front of him with her knees bent and legs to one side, waiting, giving him all the time he needs because he’s always been the slow one. He can’t remember if he ever apologized for all those times he made her wait.

“Seeing you like this hurts in all sorts of ways though,” she says.

“What do you want me to do? Move on?” he chokes out and laughs bitterly.

“You should consider it,” Karen replies. “There’s not much else you can do.”

“You haven’t moved on. Why should I?” he snaps at her and for a moment, it feels like their old life, when they’d argue over the risks she took and he would raise his voice and accuse her of not giving a shit about him. He has long since regretted those arguments. Karen presses her lips together, trying to hide a grin. “You think this shit is funny?”

“No, I’m sorry, it’s just…” In the end, she can’t stop herself from smiling. “I’ve missed this.”

Frank has seen that playful smile on her face many times before and it always makes him see stars, without fail. “Me too,” he says and bends forward, his hand hesitating over her cheek as his skin crawls with static electricity. It’s how touching her used to feel, sparks flying, only somehow different. He groans and almost balls his fingers into a fist. “Don’t think I’m ready to watch my hand go through you just yet, to be honest.”

“It’s okay,” Karen tells him, leaning her head a bit closer to his palm and closing her eyes. “This is fine.”

But ‘fine’ isn’t what he should be aiming for. Dead or alive, Karen Page deserves more than just ‘fine’ and he’s gotten away with doing the bare minimum for far too long. Frank takes a deep breath and hopes that whatever force is holding her to the physical world, will be kind enough to let them have this. Her cheek feels cold to the touch, not exactly like ice and it doesn’t have the bite of a cold burn either, but he wouldn’t pull away even if it did. He wonders how pressing his lips to hers might feel. Her eyes flutter to him and her chest heaves with emotion. “Not completely untouchable then,” she smiles, reveling in his caress as his thumb brushes her cheekbone.  

He has to be very careful with the way his fingers move on her; he feels he might put a dent into her skin, or what it is that ghosts have instead of skin. “What’s keeping you here, Karen?” His voice breaks. Let her rest. “Is it me?”  

“No. At least not in the sense that you mean it,” she says. “I don’t know how any of this works. You’d expect death to give you access to some of the secrets in the universe, but I haven’t learned anything new.”

“And that pisses you off,” he lets out a sound that seems like a choked-up chuckle and Karen responds with genuine laughter.

“It really, really does.” She covers his hand with hers and sighs. “I don’t have any unfinished business, Frank. I certainly don’t feel shackled to this place, this existence. How can I even be sure there’s anything beyond this? There was no light I could have followed. I remember being on the ground, closing my eyes and--”

“Don’t…”

“—when I opened them again, I was next to you, looking at myself, still bleeding. And you. You were bleeding too but it was like you hadn’t noticed.”

“Karen, don’t,” Frank begs. What good does it do her to remember this? And he doesn’t want to be reminded either, he doesn’t have to be; the dry, metallic smell of her blood is still fresh in his memory. Her fingers fold around his and the previous tingling sensation settles into something softer and soothing. It’s not surprising that she can do that; she’s had that effect on him ever since they first met.

“I wasn’t scared, after the pain went away,” she assures him. “I was confused. Extremely confused. Then I got angry. And after that, I was just…”

“Lonely.”

Karen nods slowly. “Being invisible doesn’t come without its disadvantages.”

“Murdock sensed your presence. I thought he was crazy, having a breakdown or something, you know, too much guilt,” Frank tells her, struggling for breath, “but I wanted him to be right too. And now, I don’t know what- don’t know how…”

“Hey, take it easy.” Her free hand flies up to his face, tender fingertips tracing his jawline as he inhales sharply. “I can’t have you dying on me,” she tries to joke.

There’s a moment of silence before Frank starts laughing hysterically, a few tears escaping his eyes as he drops to his knees and crushes her in his arms, forgetting to worry about the elasticity of ghost skin that feels so much like human skin. Karen’s fingers dig into his back and they feel like real, solid fingers, doesn’t matter if they might glow in the dark. Karen was always aglow from within anyway, bathed with light even in the darkest corners of the city. “I should’ve kept you safe,” he cries into her neck.

“There was nothing you could have done,” Karen says as she squeezes him. “You can’t blame yourself for what happened.”

“I should have been better, taken better care of you,” Frank continues in a frenzy of anguish and shame. “I should have kissed you longer and told you I love you more often, every day, I should’ve made you happy.”

“I was happy, Frank.” She pulls back and looks at him, eyes gleaming as she forces down a sob. “So happy I couldn’t believe it. No regrets. I have none and neither should you.”

His lips part and he draws a long breath, trying to calm himself down. “I can do better. I can still do better.”

Karen’s heart is conflicted between sinking and soaring. She knew this was coming and even though reason dictates that she put a stop to it right away, something inside her wants to jump at the chance. Maybe, just maybe… “No,” her voice comes out nervous and unsteady.

He raises a brow in question. “You got somewhere else to be for the next fifty years?”

“Are you listening to yourself? I’m dead, Frank, and you’re still alive and--”

“I was as good as dead and you took a chance on me.” Tearing himself away from her, he stands up abruptly and Karen does the same, looking at him in disbelief. “What kind of life do you think I got without you anyway?”

“A real one!” Truth be told, her resolve is shaken both by the prospect of spending the next fifty, sixty, ten thousand years with Frank and the fact that they’re fighting again, being their usual stubborn selves around each other like they’re normal people in a normal relationship. She’s enjoying it so much that if he yells at her, she might kiss him.

“Who says this ain’t real?” he insists. “Nothing’s more real than you and me. For crying out loud, Karen! Not even death could keep us apart. I don’t know how or why this happened, but it did and you want to do what? Haunt dark, gloomy spaces for eternity? You like that better than staying with me?”

“Of course not.” Her tone softens. “But this isn’t what I wanted for you.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want you getting shot in the throat, but here we are,” he huffs.

“You could have a life, with breathing people-”

“I don’t want breathing people, Karen,” he shouts and then whimpers. “I want you.”

The speed with which she rushes into his arms would have made him stumble back, under different circumstances, if she wasn’t as light as a feather and soft as a cloud. The two of them were always an odd pair and they’re even odder now, but who cares? Who cares, when the iciness of her lips touching his makes him melt, when her savage tenderness seeps into his bones and burns him from within, making the stars tremble in the sky?  

“Do you think this will be enough?” she asks him later, sitting on the windowsill, feet dangling over the side of the building as she enjoys the view. “How long before you get tired?”

Normally, his first thought would be to grab her and pull her back inside. Since there’s no danger of her getting hurt, he has to reign in his protective instincts, let her do anything she wants. “I don’t know. How long before the universe implodes?” he smirks behind her back. “I won’t get tired.”

“And when…”

“When it’s over,” he can’t see her face, but Frank knows she’s worrying her lip. “I’ll come find you. Wherever you are. Okay?”

She doesn’t know how she managed to find a hole through death’s barrier, but if she did it, she can trust Frank to punch his way through it as well. The man is unstoppable. They both are. They can do this. “Okay.”  

The ghost begins to make its rounds across the garden. No, it’s not a garden, even though there’s grass as far as the eye can see and so many wildflowers growing in it. A meadow? It’s something else, something quiet and peaceful. The grey pillows scattered around the ground hold the promise of restful sleep. Not for her though. Not for her. She’s not entirely sure those are pillows anyway. Who would choose to lay their head upon such a hard surface? What is this place, if not a meadow? It will come to her, eventually. It always does. For the time being, she has to look for him. The other half, the missing part of her soul.

She can’t remember exactly how long she has been waiting, but it must have been a long time because the sky was different when she first arrived here. The city far ahead was different too. This she knows because they used to live there, together, before her life was stolen and after. Long after. The river claimed the place they had called their home some time ago. It was a sad affair and she’s glad he wasn’t alive to witness it. She will show it to him, when the time is right. They had been so happy there, he had been so happy. He. His name doesn’t come to mind easily these days. His face never fades from memory though. The dark eyes, the harsh jaw, the soft mouth, his hair turning grey as the days went by. And his voice, calling her name. The word itself escapes her but his tone as he said it still remains. A promise. He has never broken his promises to her. I will come for you. He won’t break this one either.

Each day, she gathers wildflowers, not too many, and places them across his headstone –that’s right, not a meadow, a graveyard- in case he turns up while she’s not there, to let him know she’s on her way, that she hasn’t left him. The carving on his grave stone used to confuse her. The letters were all wrong, it didn’t look right. There’s a large crack in the middle of it now and it makes the words even more difficult to read. She doesn’t need to read them though, she knows they’re fake. It’s just a place for him to lay his head. It doesn’t mean anything.

Sometimes, she gets angry with him for this long delay. But if she thinks about it carefully, she seems to remember he has done some things that people called bad, wrong, maybe even evil. She knows something those people didn’t know; his heart- and even if there was some evil in it, it was never enough to condemn him. Her opinion doesn’t matter much, as other entities decide these things and her testament wouldn’t affect their decision. He’s probably trapped somewhere. Somewhere bad. It will take him a while to find the way out, but he will.

They wear each other’s marks. He is hers, he has to be returned to her. He will walk through the endless void of purgatory or the unforgiving fires of hell and he will come find her. Nothing can stop him. Nothing will.

It’s alright.

 She can wait.

AO3

[midnightcindy]

The Break of Day: Chapter 6

BIG trigger warnings for this chapter... a little smutty but mostly mature themes of abuse. 

Louis tried to shake the dream as he lay in his bed, but the more he stayed in his cave, the more it troubled him. When evening finally came, he quickly dressed and headed to the streets above. He was hardly in the mood to hunt, but he figured the distraction of the city would be better than ruminating over the strange dream. He strode toward his usual hunting ground, hoping for another easy target to pass the time.

He didn’t have to walk far before he felt the presence of another vampire near him. That wasn’t unusual; New York crawled with his kin. What did strike him, however, was how closely this body was following him. No matter which way he turned, which back alley he traversed, it stuck near him, just far enough so as not to be detected. At least, Louis could tell, that is what they were trying to do. Clearly this being had never stalked another vampire before, and certainly not one as ancient and powerful as Louis.

Louis rounded a corner as he normally would, but quickly hugged the wall. He could feel the aura getting closer, the creature covering up their smell so that he couldn't scent them. They at least did that right.

When the steps paced around the wall, Louis latched onto their collar, and shoved his stalker against the building. The smell hit him just as their back hit the wall of bricks. He gagged as her aura filled him all at once. “Grace?”

“I’m sorry!” She chuckled, hands raised in defeat. “I- I was trying to get ahold of you, but I didn’t know where you lived, so I was trying to do some snooping, and I figured, ‘hey, this is where he was hunting me when we met, maybe he hunts here often,’ then look, here you are, so…”

Louis rolled his eyes, shoving off of her. “Good,” he said sarcastically. “You found me. Now what would you like to say so I can be on my way?”

Grace pursed her lips and shoved her hands in the pockets of her oversized coat. She opened her mouth as if starting to explain, then quickly abandoned that idea. Her eyes drifted and she shook her head. “I’m not good at lying,” Grace laughed. “I just wanted to spend more time with you. Maybe grab another drink?” She winked playfully, nudging Louis with her elbow.

Louis narrowed his eyes, and stayed silent for an uncomfortable stretch of time. He was analyzing her face, scrutinizing every feature. Her wink wasn’t honest, and Louis could see the wrinkles at the corner of her mouth, and the way her fingers rubbed her palm. “You are right,” he said, watching her twitch. “You are a horrible liar.”

Her eyes widened, falling soberly to the ground. She sighed, almost sadly. “I…”

Louis rested his arm on the brick wall behind her, caging her while whispering, “Do not take too long. I have yet to hunt tonight and am rather irritable.” His eyes flashed red, making her gulp.

Grace finally met his eyes. “I’m… afraid.”

Louis didn’t shift. “Of me? I wish that were true. Then I would not have to be bothered by you so often.”

“No… I’m just afraid, and… you made me feel safe… I,” she said, voice lilting with hope, “was wondering if you could hide me for the night.”

Louis didn’t dare meet her pleading eyes as she looked up with him. Those deep brown eyes, shimmering like a doe- he was scared he might give in if he looked into them too long. He shoved off the wall, immediately stalking away from her. “I am not a bodyguard, child. Hire someone if you need protection.”

“Please!”

Louis paused, his skin prickling with the familiarity of the sound. The distress in her voice sounded strangely like his dream.

She ran to his side, lightly grasping his arm. Her voice cracked as she spoke. “Please, I’m begging you. I’ll do anything! You don’t understand… what he’s like…”

Louis turned to her then. “He?”

Her eyes widened. “Oh,” she stammered, realizing her admission. “I- I didn’t mean…”

“Robert,” Louis asked, but already coming to his conclusion. “Your master, he’s hunting you, isn’t he? And he’s getting closer. That’s why you keep near me.”

She swallowed thickly, eyes shutting tight as she nodded.

Louis studied her face again; this time noting the tired eyes and worry lines stretching her skin. Could he really let her into his haven? Perhaps he could just set her up with someone else for the night. He knew Irina’s address was back in his abode, maybe she would take in the girl. Then, Grace did what he had feared. She stared up at him, eyes glistening under the street lamp, and any sense of reserve he had was washed away with a single tear studding her cheek. Shrugging her arm off, he continued walking slowly, grumbling. “This way.”

Louis could feel her excitement as she bounded along behind him like a child. He was thankful she at least did not hold onto his arm as they walked.

_____

Louis pulled back the curtain for Grace and she descended into his dwelling. “Cozy,” she said, staring at the pile of blankets and pillows that formed his bed. He watched as she wandered toward the bed, slipping off her coat.

Louis rolled his eyes, and strode to the table to set down his own coat. “You may stay only for tonight. You are free to use my bed if you are tired, but do not touch anything else-” He choked on his sentence when he turned back to see Grace pulling up her dress. “Wait!” He shouted in horror, averting his eyes from her almost naked form. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Oh,” Grace said, stopping. “Would you rather I keep my clothes on? Whatever you like.” She pulled her dress back down, but tugged at her collar to leave her shoulders and neck bare.

“W-what?” Louis shook his head, completely disheveled as he tried to forget the image of her dark purple panties, trimmed with lace. “What are you talking about?”

“You said yourself you were starving,” she said, walking toward him, pressing her long nails into her tender skin. “Would you like to bite it yourself, or do you prefer to drink from open wounds?”

Louis was staring at her flesh, trying to back away from its dishearteningly delightful scent. He put out his hands and pushed Grace back so she was a safer distance from him. “D-Drink?” Louis couldn’t see straight. He was so confused. “Why would I drink from you?”

It was Grace’s turn to look confused. She pulled her hand back from her neckline, cocking her head. “You’re not? I- I figured you were expecting this, inviting me back to your place and all…”

“You begged me to!” Louis cried, hands running through his hair.

“Well sure,” she said, giggling, “but I can’t expect you to control yourself when I’m in your home. Besides, consider this payment.”

Louis just stared at her, jaw slack. He let out a stuttering cry, unsure how to respond. Then, he stared down at the open flesh of her neck. It was strangely thick, rigid and rumpled beneath the surface. These weren’t markings from childhood, those human imperfections would have been erased with the venom. Rather, these were scars that had built from years of healing and opening, repeatedly. Scars only formed on vampires from years of abuse. Louis’ eyes focused on her face, and his heart felt cold. In a single second of sympathy, he reached out and felt the battered skin. Who could have done this to you? Moreover, he thought, why would youlet someone do this to you?

“I’m sorry if you don’t like it,” she said, pulling her straps and collar back up. “You can drink from any other place, though! I don’t mind-”

“Grace,” Louis cut. She paused. Louis swallowed heavily, aware of the weight of what he was about to do. Stepping to her, Louis fell to his knees at her feet. He began to lift up the hem of her dress, but stopped before asking, “May I?”

Grace swallowed heavily, but nodded, trying to smile.

Continuing his inspection, Louis lifted her dress up around her hips, his heart sinking as he saw what he had suspected. The tops of her thighs, though supple and rich, were covered in winding, rippling scars. He lifted her skirt higher, trying to ignore both her heavy breathing and the gorgeous pair of lace panties before his eyes. But where the elastic hugged her hips, rugged, faded marks splayed the surface, twisting over her hipbones and continuing up onto her stomach. Louis closed his eyes. He did not need to see more, and let the fabric fall back to her knees.

Standing again, Louis met her eyes, his voice soft. “I’m not going to feed from you.” In a moment of tenderness, a foreign compassion that he wished he had been able to give to his younger self so many years ago, he reached out and traced the lines on her neck.

Grace was speechless. Her mouth fell slack, letting Louis’ palm run gently over her collarbone.

“I am allowing you to shelter here as long as you like,” he said, pulling away with an unsteady hand and turning back to the table. “There are books here to entertain you, and a bed for you to sleep. I want nothing more from you.”

Louis jumped when he felt two arms encircle his waist. Grace pressed her cheek to his back, her voice light, but broken. “Thank you.”

A smile flashed over Louis’ lips, but was easily replaced by the frown he was accustomed to. He pulled away from her without a word. He decided that after seeing her body, being so close to her flesh, he could not trust himself with her in his bed. His appetite was worse than before, but he knew that blood wasn’t what he needed to sate him. So, slipping on his coat, he ascended to the outside world, leaving Grace to rest.

________

When Louis returned just before dawn, Grace was sleeping peacefully, her back facing Louis. For a moment, Louis was struck by her gentle form. She curled around one of his large pillows, hugging it to her chest and burying her face in it. A knit blanket fell over her legs, tangled between her knees and falling off her hip. Her side curved against the cushions, the candlelight flickering over the small strips of exposed skin. She made the ramshackle bed look intoxicating, and Louis felt tired just watching her sleep. An inkling of himself wanted to curl in behind her, joining her in whatever dream world she was wandering in.

But instead, he slinked off his coat and draped it over the table. He wandered over to a plush chair, dusting off the seat before sitting easily down into the worn cushion. His eyelids felt heavy. He had been out all night as usual, but his apathetic effort at a hunt proved fruitless. Louis rested his chin in his palm, leaning against the chair’s arm with his elbow. He leaned into the prop, and started drifting away, watching Grace’s motionless form.

That was when Grace sat up in bed, gasping. Louis’ eyes shot open, and he stared at her, staring back at him. When they met eyes, Grace’s shoulders relaxed. “It’s just you,” she said, curling her knees to her chin.

Louis nodded, crossing his hands on his lap. “Rest well?”

She smiled, her cheeks flushed. “Mhm,” she moaned, yawning and stretching. “Thanks for letting me sleep.”

“Of course,” Louis said, staring at his hands instead of the slip of her dress on her thighs as she situated into a sitting position.

They sat in silence, Grace holding her knees as Louis watched her stare at the candles. After a while of peace, she whispered, “No one has ever done something like this for me.”

Louis cocked his head, not saying a word.

She continued watching the flickering flames, speaking quietly. “I’ve never hated being a vampire. When Robert changed me, he told me he was giving me a gift. I never saw it as anything else when we were together. He said we were going to rule the world.” She smiled bitterly, her eyes overflowing with memories. “He still thinks that he’s a king; but I don’t think I was ever meant to be his queen. I think… now… that I made a very good pet…”

Louis watched a single tear fall from her lashes, and she held her legs tighter to her chest.

“Robert drank from me every single day, like a snack between his meals. He always told me I was the sweetest treat, that I was special to him. Sometimes, he would let his friends have a taste, too, when I was ‘misbehaving.’ I found out later it was just because he liked the way I looked covered in my own blood.”

Louis’ blood ran cold, watching her touch the rippling scars along her neck.

“So, I ran away. It’s been two months now since then. I usually go out to clubs looking for someone to let me crash in their place for a night. It’s pretty easy, finding anyone take me home. It’s always for a price, whether they want sex or blood, but-” she paused, straightening herself to finally look at Louis, “at least I’m the one giving it.”

Louis stared back at her in awe. “And still, you are so full of life,” he said softly, thinking to the way she always teased him, how much she giggled and bounced with every step.

Grace smiled weakly, letting her knees fall to either side as she tucked them under her. “It’s my choice. Where to go, what to see, who to fuck, who to feed. For the first time, no one is making me do any of that. How could I not be happy?”

Louis shook his head, letting it fall forward. “You’ve been so abused, why aren’t you angry?” He was shocked when he heard his own voice rising. “They took you, strapped you down, drained the life from you.” His fists balled and ripped at the material of the chair beneath his nails. “And you can just forgive them for that?”

Too suddenly, Grace’s hand touched his own, and his fingers fell slack. His head snapped up, and she was before him, her face nearly brushing his. “I can feel it,” she said, her opposite hand resting on his knee. “The hatred inside of you. You’ve held onto it for so long, Louis… don’t you want to be free?”

What is happening? Louis’ body felt strange; like he was falling forward against his will, being pulled toward her body like a magnet. “W-what are you doing?”

“I can help you let go of it,” she breathed, eyes glowing bright, but not red with bloodlust. This was a golden glow, a strange, new power swelling inside of her. “You just have to let me take control.”

Louis’ cheeks felt hot, and suddenly, he couldn’t think of anything more delicious than her lips. All he could picture was throwing Grace back onto his pillows, and fucking her until they were both delirious. He wanted to bury himself inside of her, her mouth, her cunt, it did not matter. He could feel it- licking her, feeding her, fucking her, pleasing her and letting her please him. He shuddered, a whimpering moan falling from his lips as he fell forward onto her body.

Then, it was gone. Like that, his lustful thoughts faded, and he slumped back in his seat, panting and sweating.

Grace stood in front of him, covering her face. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she backed away slowly. “I… I can’t do it… I’m so sorry…” With that, she flew to his table, grabbed her coat, and was gone.

Louis sat back in his seat, panting. “What,” he began, pressing a hand to his warm cheeks, “What was that?”

[robertjacobsugdens]

*SCREAMS* 12 ROBRON.

12. author and editor agent au

All of Robert’s opinions on literature and writing are his own and I don’t condone them. Also, I know nothing about publishing, I’m so sorry.

There’s a leather-boundcollection of his father’s novels in one of the drawers of Robert’s desk atwork. Expensive, unopened, collecting dust. He’s not even quite sure in whichdrawer it is anymore.

It’s a gift from Diane, givento him years ago when he finally got promoted to agent. He had known fromseeing the finely decorated box and the unshed tears in Diane’s eyes what itwas. He’d told her he’d open it later, in private, but he’d chucked the wholebox into the first open drawer as soon as he’d gotten into work.

Jack Sugden is an icon. Hisnovels have been translated in every language Robert can think of, speaking auniversal truth many authors try to find in their work, but rarely manage. That’swhat his obituary said.

The fact that he foundcritical and commercial acclaim only a few short years before his untimelydeath, after a lifetime spent on a Yorkshire farm, only adds to the legend.

Robert is his son, andsometimes it feels like that’s all he’ll ever be. He was supposed to follow inJack’s footsteps, continue writing the great British novels of the twenty-firstcentury. He managed to get one book out, trading on his father’s name.

Robert had been young at thetime, too young probably, barely twenty, writing on the heels of his father’sdeath. He had written a pretty little thing, not a word that was true orworthwhile in it. His last name had been the biggest thing on the cover, biggerthan his name and the title. The critics had torn him to shreds, gleefully.

He hasn’t really writtenanything since.

He tells himself it’s becausehe’s too busy with work. Too busy managing people who actually have somethingto say and the talent to do it, if he’s had too much to drink.

So, work is fraught, butRobert can deal with fraught. Some would say he thrives on it.

He likes to think this is whyhe’s been assigned to work with Aaron Dingle.

-

Aaron Dingle has quickly risento fame on the back of a brilliant debut novel and in the process has burnedthrough four agents. Robert’s pretty sure he’s seen Graham Foster, who got intopublishing after seeing active duty in the military, shed a tear of joy whenChrissie announced she was reassigning him to another author. But then again,his new assignment is Joe Tate, so his relief is probably going to beshot-lived.

Robert likes the challenge.

He’s read Aaron’s novel andhas been blown away by it. There’s something ugly and jagged in it, reminiscentof Chuck Palahniuk and Bret Easton Ellis, but he manages to overcome theirfaults by anchoring everything in an underlying layer of tenderness. There’s ahuman core to it, a human heart, pulsating under all the blood and guts. It’snot always evident, sometimes hidden under Aaron’s utilitarian and unembellishedlanguage, but it’s what’s drawn Robert in and gripped him tight until the verylast page. It’s simply brilliant.

Robert doesn’t trust it,doesn’t trust him. It doesn’t helpthat everything about Aaron seems designed, from his lack of media presence(social or otherwise), to his secretiveness about his upcoming projects.  There’s something scratching at the corner ofhis mind, something unpleasant, leaving claw marks all over his mental pictureof Aaron Dingle. He wants to know what that is.

-

Robert doesn’t know what hewas expecting, but this isn’t it.

Aaron’s young, younger thanthe few pictures of him on the internet led him to believe. He’s alsoattractive, with intense blue eyes, dark hair, and a broad chest his rattyblack hoodie is doing nothing to hide.

“What?” Aaron asks, his facesour.

“I’m Robert Sugden.” Robertintroduces himself. Aaron blinks at him. “Your new agent.” Robert clarifies.

“Sorry mate, I haven’t got anythingfor you.” Aaron says, not sounding particularly sorry.

Aaron has a deal with theagency where he doesn’t have to show them anything until the deadline. Adeadline that has been generously set for next spring. Maybe too generously, ifyou ask Robert. He doesn’t like going into situations blind, especially not atwork. This is why he’s here.

Robert quirks an eyebrow.“Nice try, mate.” He says,shouldering his way past Aaron into the apartment.

Robert’s been around writersfor the best part of his adult life. He’s seen eccentric and he’s seen ascetic.Aaron’s flat however, is something new. It’s… normal. Average. Messier thanmost, maybe, but fundamentally what one would expect from a man in his mid-twenties.There’s almost no art on the walls and the few books on the shelves are allcheap paperbacks of action novels, the rest of the space is occupied by dozensof indie albums. Robert knows none of the artists featured.

“You done?” Aaron asks,leaning on the now closed door, arms crossed and an annoyed look on his face.

“Do you have a ghostwriter?”Robert asks, in lieu of an answer. “Someone who actually writes the books youput your name on.” Robert continues.

“Is this a wind-up?” Aaronasks, his voice dangerously low.

“So, you’ll have no problem showingme some new material.” Robert concludes with a smirk, moving for the door.

“Sit down.” Aaron barks athim, stopping Robert in his tracks. He sits on the couch.

Aaron leaves and comes back aminute later with his laptop and a journal. The laptop is a cheap one, thejournal however, looks expensive. It’s black, leather, and it looks on theverge of exploding, pages and loose sheets of paper held together by an elasticband and a prayer.

Aaron sits next to Robert onthe couch, so close that Robert can smell his laundry detergent.

Aaron starts writing, laptopbalancing on his knees and journal opened on the other side of the couch whereRobert can’t see it. His fingers fly over the keyboard, stopping only longenough to glance at the journal and then go back.

Robert’s spent his fair shareof time waiting while authors finish writing something at the last minute,usually playing Candy Crush on his phone, but this is different. There’ssomething happening here and it’s mesmerizing. Aaron writes with an intensityhe hasn’t seen in a long time, like if Robert touches him Aaron’s skin willelectrocute him.

Eventually Aaron stops, asksfor Robert’s email address, and wordlessly sends the whole thing over.

Robert opens his email andstarts reading.

“This isn’t from the newbook.” Robert says.

“It’s a scene that didn’t makeit past outlining.” Aaron replies, laptop now on the floor, arms crossed acrosshis chest.

Robert can see why it didn’t.It’s a good scene, written in Aaron’s signature sparse style, but it would havebroken the flow, interrupted the action awkwardly.

Robert smiles.

This is going to be aproductive partnership.

-

“I want Graham back.” Aaronsays, the following week when he finds Robert back at his door.

“Too late for that. He almostquit the business because of you.” Robert jokes, pushing past Aaron to getinside.

“You’re my punishment, then.”Aaron replies, but he’s not throwing Robert out, so that’s a start.

“Tell me about the new book.”Robert says, falling onto the couch.

“No.” Aaron replies, crossinghis arms.

Robert shrugs. “Tell me aboutyourself, then. You’re a very difficult man to stalk on the internet.”

Aaron blinks at him, makingnot move to answer, but he looks almost pleased. Then again it’s difficult tosay what with the stubborn lack of expression or reply.

“Your first book then. I’mdying here.” Robert tries.

Aaron sighs, clearly defeated.“What do you want to know?”

-

“No.” Aaron says when he opensthe door and finds Robert on the other side, but this time he at least letsRobert in of his own volition. Robert takes it as a win.

-

It’s been a difficult day atthe office. Chrissie has been breathing on his neck about some manuscript hehasn’t read yet, despite the fact that the author is a friend of a friend of animportant person. On top of that a new author they just signed recognized hislast name and asked questions about his dad.

Normally it wouldn’t faze him,but it’s near the anniversary of Jack’s death, which means he’s been thinkingabout their relationship more than usual. They’re not happy thoughts.

He should go home, shower, goto bed early and hope he wakes up tomorrow feeling better, but he doesn’t. Hegoes to Aaron’s.

“You look terrible.” Aarongreets him.

The fact that even Aaron’ssurly company is better than nothing, says everything about Robert’s state ofmind. Not that he’s going to tell him that.

“Thank you for your kindwords.” Robert replies, sinking into Aaron’s couch. “I shouldn’t have comehere, I still have a ton of work to do.” He continues, without actually makingany move to get up.

Aaron shrugs. “Suits me. I’vegot writing to do.”

They spend most of the eveningin silence, Aaron tapping away on his laptop and Robert reading through a newnovel set during the American Civil War. He doesn’t mind the occasionalhistorical novel, and all things considered, this is a rather well-written one,but the central conflict of the book is the relationship between a father andhis son, and today it’s just cutting too close to home.

He’s just about to give up andgo home when Aaron closes his laptop shut.

“Come on, let’s go.” Aaronsays, getting up.

“Where?” Robert asks.

“Pub. I can’t see you mopingin my flat like this.” Aaron replies. Robert gets up.

“I’m touched.” Robert says,sarcasm dripping from his words. “If you’re not careful we might even becomefriends.”

“Don’t even joke about that.”

-

They’re talking about Aaron’sfirst book. They do that a lot. Every visit, actually, which means once a week.

Part of it is curiosity,Robert genuinely loves the book, and it’s not every day you get to pick theauthor’s brain about it, not like this. Aaron is unguarded and unpretentiouswhen he talks about his work and Robert appreciates it.

Another part however is purelyprofessional. Robert hopes Aaron will let something slip about his newendeavor. Or that he’ll get to know Aaron’s process so well he’ll be able toguess. He knows which one he’d prefer.

“Now I know why they don’t letyou do much press.” Robert replies to one of Aaron’s particularly gruffremarks.

“You cook?” Aaron asks, out ofthe blue, instead of replying to Robert’s comment.

“Why?” Robert asks, warily.This is an abrupt change of conversation, even for Aaron.

“Because I’m starving andyou’re asking too many questions tonight.” Aaron replies, getting up from thecouch.

Robert laughs but followsAaron in the kitchen.

Aaron’s fridge and pantry arevirtually empty, but there’s enough there to make some pasta and that should beenough to appease him.

“You need to do the shopping.”Robert says, putting a pot of water on the stove.

“Don’t cook much.” Aaronreplies with a shrug.

“You’re gonna get scurvy.”Robert insists, putting all his ingredients on the counter, olive oil, garlic,chili peppers, an egg, and a box of spaghetti.

“Thanks, Mum.” Aaron replies,hoisting himself up and sitting on the counter, close enough that Robertbrushes against his leg every time he goes to take something. As soon as thewater starts boiling Robert throws some salt in it and then the spaghetti.

“What are we having?” Aaronasks, looking at the assembled ingredients with skepticism.

“Pasta aglio e olio.” Robert replies, over-pronouncing the words. He putssome of the oil with the garlic and the chili peppers on a skillet on mediumheat.

“Fancy.” Aaron says. Robertcan’t quite tell if he means it or not.

“I spent some time working asa waiter in an Italian restaurant.” Robert sneaks a glance at Aaron. He looksperplexed, like he’s trying to figure the math out in his head. “It was while Iwas at uni.” Robert continues.

“Did you pay your waythrough?” Aaron asks. It seems innocent enough, but the underlying question isthere.

Robert has no illusion thatAaron doesn’t know exactly who he is, but this is the closest they’ve ever beento openly discussing Jack Sugden. There’s a queasy feeling in his stomach. Robertstrains the pasta once it’s cooked through and puts it in the pan with theseasoning.

“How old are you, anyway?”Aaron asks, completely changing course.

“I’m older than I look.”Robert says, his shoulders sagging in relief, a tension he didn’t realize hewas holding, suddenly dissipating.

“So, like, forty-five?Forty-six?” Aaron asks, laughing already at his own joke.

“Oi!” Robert protests, buthe’s laughing too. “If you’re done making fun of me, tea’s ready.”

-

There’s something about AaronRobert still can’t quite put his finger on. Like he’s hiding a secret thatRobert should be able to crack. A secret he’s hiding in his writing, and ifonly Robert put more effort in it, he could find that out.

Robert doesn’t really knowwhat would happen if he did find out, but he thinks he’d like to know.

-

Aaron’s deadline isapproaching, which means their evenings together get quieter. Aaron writing andRobert reading. It’s nice, being able to share silence with someone, neitherone of them feeling the need to fill the space up with chatter to feelcomfortable.

-

It’s not that Robert didn’tsee it coming, all authors get stressed as their deadline approaches, it’s thathe didn’t see it coming quite like this.

Aaron’s been stressed for awhile now, spending more time pacing the room than writing. He won’t tellRobert what’s bothering him though, which means Robert’s feeling helpless. Hedoesn’t like that.

“Aaron, come on, what’swrong?” Robert asks for what feels like the thirtieth time.

“It’s not working.” Aaronreplies, cryptically. “I need you to go.” He says eventually, turning towardsRobert.

Robert rolls his eyes. “Notlike this.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get yourbook.” Aaron replies, sharper than usual.

“You know that’s not it.”Robert says. “We’re friends.” He continues, testing out the word ‘friends’ likeit’s new in his mouth. They both know that’s not quite it, that there’ssomething more brewing between them, but they’re taking their time, waiting forsome sort of arbitrary deadline to pass. Still, Aaron doesn’t seem in the moodfor their flirting tonight and Robert won’t push it. Not yet.

Aaron scoffs.

“Let me help you.” Robertsays.

“I read your book.” Aaronsays, the conversation changing course so fast it’s making Robert’s head spin.

“What?”  Robert asks, stomach sinking to his knees.

“Your book. I read it.” Aaronreplies, like it clarifies everything.

“Thanks for the sales boost.”Robert says as he gets up from the couch and goes for the door.

“Robert, wait.” Aaron says,gripping Robert’s wrist.

“When?” Robert asks.

“A month ago.” Aaron replies,letting Robert’s wrist go. Even in all of this Robert misses the contact.

“And you didn’t think to bringit up? Was it that bad?” Robert asks, voice too cutting to be a joke.

“Rob.” Aaron says, softly.Then his face sets into something unreadable as he continues. “It was fake. Allof it. There wasn’t a sentence that was yours in it.”

“Thanks for the review.”

Robert makes sure to slam thedoor shut on his way out.

-

Robert hadn’t realized howengrained into his routine Aaron had gotten until it’s a week later and he’s atthe office, stubbornly late, half working on a new manuscript from one of hisauthors. It’s a romance novel, not exactly his expertise, but her sales have beenreally good so he’s not going to complain.

“No Dingle house call tonight?”Leyla asks, only her eyes visible on top of the wall dividing their desks.

“Not tonight.” Robert says.Leyla shrugs and sits back down, going back to her work.

This is stupid. They’ve had afight. If Robert gave up on everyone he’s ever fought with he’d live incomplete isolation in a secluded cabin in the Icelandic woods.

Robert quickly puts his jacketon and drives to Aaron’s place. He’s halfway through mentally rehearsing hisspeech about how he can’t let Aaron’s temper tantrums ruin his career when hegets to Aaron’s door. It’s a good speech, too. Just funny and apologetic enoughthat he knows Aaron will see right through it.

They’ve been circling eachother for the better part of four months now, it was only normal that thetension would snap, one way or the other. Robert would have preferred sex, buthey, there’s always time.  

Except, when he knocks on thedoor no one answers.

Robert tries Aaron’s phone,but after a couple of rings Aaron sends him to voicemail.

-

Robert gets to work early, thelack of sleep propelling him out of bed at an indecent hour. The night beforehe’d tried calling Aaron again a couple of times and even waiting for him infront of his building, but either Aaron was avoiding him, or he was busy.Robert isn’t sure which option he likes less.

He’s just reached his deskwhen he stops dead in his tracks. There’s package on it. It’s an envelope,something big and bulky inside.

“They left that for you lastnight.” Leyla says, already at the office, looking no worse for wear, despite clockingoff later than Robert the night before. “After you left.”

“Who left it?” Robert asks.

“Not sure, he was one of yourauthors though. Scruffy, black hoodie.” She continues, taking a sip of her tea.

Robert rips the envelope open beforeLeyla’s last word has even left her mouth. Nestled inside is Aaron’s black journal.Still held together by an elastic band and a prayer. Now that he’s looking atit up close he can see that the black leather is scratched in places, some ofit just wear and tear, other scratches look like As, probably done with a pocketknife. Robert holds is in his hands, it’s heavier than he expected.

There’s a post-it note stuckto the other side. In Aaron’s messy scrawl is written read it – Aaron.

There’s something intimateabout reading someone’s work, there’s always pieces of them stuck in it, glassfragments of their lives stuck in the pages. There’s parts of Aaron’s book Robertknows are autobiographical, without Aaron having to say it. They vibrate at adifferent frequency than the rest and Robert can tell.

But this is different. Aaron’sbooks have been edited and polished, deemed by Aaron safe enough to be read byothers. This isn’t polished, was never meant to be read by anyone else. Robertcan appreciate the effort Aaron must have gone through to part with it.

Robert hold the journal and heknows he has to make a choice. He could chuck the journal, unread, inside thesame drawer that houses his father’s novels – the bottom left one, wrap it backup and leave it in Aaron’s mailbox after work. He could get reassigned, hedoubts Chrissie would hold this particular failure against him.

Or he could read it. He couldfind out what Aaron wants him to know. He could give it back to Aaron inperson. They could talk. There’s something terrifying about it, about beinggiven such power, about being trusted so blindly. He could fuck it all up soeasily.

In the end, Robert’s self-awareenough to know his choice was made months ago when he knocked on Aaron’s door.

He starts reading the journal.

It’s messy, but by now Robert’sgotten good at deciphering Aaron’s writing and his lack of a filing system. Thereseems to be a mix of things, half written scenes, bits of dialogue, some ofAaron’s own journal entries, even a few shopping lists.

Robert devours all of it, thisinsight into Aaron’s life and Aaron’s writing. He reads the scenes that wouldgo on to become one of the best debut novels of the century and he understandswhy Aaron is so secretive about his first drafts.

There’s none of Aaron’s roughand hard-won gentleness there, none of the tenderness that devastated Robert onhis first read. It’s all ugliness and pain, wrapped around the protagonist,around the author, like it can protect him from the wounds life has inflicted.

Aaron writes like the windbecause writing comes easy to him, Robert’s learned this much. He writes and hewrites, because writing eases the pain, and there’s a lot of pain. The gentleness,that’s hard-won, that takes effort, that takes multiple drafts, multiplerewrites.

The journal is an apology forthings that aren’t Aaron’s fault and a defiant defense of things that are.

If Robert weren’t already morethan half in love with Aaron this would be it.

He stops reading right before hecan get to the entries about Aaron’s new novel. He wraps the journal back up,reverently.

-

Robert gets to Aaron’s flat inrecord time. He pounds on the door so loudly he’s pretty sure someone is goingto call the police on him. It doesn’t matter, it never mattered, but itespecially stops mattering the moment Aaron opens the door, bleary eyed and inhis pajamas.

“It’s 10 am.” Robert says, inlieu of a greeting, shouldering his way past Aaron and into the living room.

“Yes, I own a watch.” Aaronreplies, but it lacks the usual bite. He’s eyeing the package in Robert’s handslike it’s about to explode. In a sense, he’s right.

“I read it.” Robert says,thrusting it into Aaron’s hands. Aaron’s fingers close around it, his whiteknuckles betraying his worry.

Before Aaron can say anything,Robert grabs his hoodie and crashes his body into Aaron’s, one of Robert’shands coming up to cradle Aaron’s head, the other on Aaron’s back.

Aaron tenses, just for asecond, his hands still holding the journal in front of himself, between hisbody and Robert’s. Then he relaxes, his hands coming to rest on Robert’s back.

They stay like that for whatfeels like forever and no time at all, Robert’s eyes closed and Aaron pressedsolid and warm against him, smelling of sleep and the laundry detergent Robert smelledon his first visit.

Robert opens his eyes andtakes Aaron’s face between his hands. They’re still impossible close, Aaron’shands now on Robert’s hips. Robert takes a moment to take it in, to look intoAaron’s eyes, to feel the touch of Aaron’s skin, to taste the anticipation onhis own lips before he tastes Aaron’s.

Aaron makes a noise offrustration in the back of his throat, and deciding he’s had enough, kissesRobert like it’s the only thing he wants in the world. If he feels even afraction of what Robert’s feeling, it is.

They end up on Aaron’s couch,their couch, not even making it to the bedroom.

-

The dedication for Aaron’ssecond book reads:

ToRobert. He knows why.

[okageshadowkingfannovel]

Book 1: Chapter 8

After the sharp crack to the back of his head, Ari awakens to a view of his bedroom ceiling. He’s sprawled out across the bedroom floor though the sheets entangling one leg make a desperate attempt to keep at least some of him in the bed. His heart is still pounding and he feels a cold, clammy sweat drying across his skin.

A nightmare?

He untangles his leg from the bed sheets and gets up slowly. He aches all over, presumably from the fall. For some reason, he’s still wearing his clothes from yesterday. Maybe he got home so late after the circus, he just crashed? Or no, he missed the circus last night. His head feels so heavy, he can’t remember.

Ari rubs at his eyes, hoping that’ll clear up some of the fog still thickening up his thoughts and memories. As he changes his clothes, he tries to think through the nightmare that sent him tumbling out of bed. Not much comes back to him save for a feeling of dread deep down in his stomach.

Once changed, Ari leaves his room and heads downstairs. The house feels still and quiet. Ari guesses that his father’s already gone off to work, his mother’s probably already in the kitchen, and Annie’s doing whatever she does during the day. As predicted, when he steps into the kitchen, his mother is set to work wiping off the counters.

“Oh, good morning, Ari,” she says, looking over her shoulder to smile at him, “what’s wrong, honey? You look pale.”

“I-I had a nightmare … I think.”

“Oh, poor thing. Let me get you something for breakfast.”

“No thanks, Mom. I’m not really hungry.” The dread is taking up to much space.

“At least have a slice of bread.”

Not accepting another word, his mother pulls out the remaining bread from the bread box, cuts him a thick slice, and smears some butter over it. Ari takes it and has a bite to satisfy her.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“You know, it’s such a beautiful day outside. It’s so peaceful here,” she says, sighing with pleasure, “forget about that dream and go have some fun in Tenel!”

Ari stuffs the rest of the bread into his mouth. Thinking it over, it probably would be good to get his mind off that disturbing dream. Mouth still full, he nods and smiles his thanks to his mother. Feeling hopeful and full of bread, Ari leaves the kitchen and walks through the foyer towards the front door. Stepping out, he’s greeted by sunshine, abundant, buttery sunshine, filling up the courtyard. A nice breeze blows through. The air still has the faintest hint of morning chill, but that sun feels warm on Ari’s skin. Stepping further out, he stretches his arms into the air, banishing the aches in his back and the worries on his mind.

Hmm. Well, it WAS a dream.

I am the same old ordinary boy.

What a relief!

That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it? Ha ha ha ha ha ha!

“Too bad!”

With a whistle, Ari’s shadow bursts out from under his feet, the surprise of it sending him to the ground.

“This is nothing but reality! You are the obedient servant of the Evil King Stan - forever!”

As Ari looks up into the yellow eyed, yellow mouthed face of Evil King Stan, the living shadow, his memories of the night before and even his nightmare come back to him. He stares slack jawed, as the weight of reality falls heavily upon his shoulders. He sold his soul to a freaky shadow so that his little sister wouldn’t be stuck speaking Pig Latin for the rest of her life.

“Hee hee hee. We’ll be together for a long while, boy. Get used to it! Ha ha ha ha!”

There’s that laugh - that horrible, ugly laugh.

Ari feels like he might throw up. Slowly, he picks himself up off the ground.

“Now, slave, firs-”

Ari starts running.

“What are you doing?!”

He runs around the courtyard, through the trees, doubles back, runs through the courtyard again, round the side of the house …

“Are you actually trying to run from your own shadow?”

Every time Ari looks over his shoulder, the dark shape of Evil King Stan is right there, just behind him, never growing distant, never losing ground. Eventually, his legs tire and Ari’s forced to stop his fruitless attempts. He doubles over panting, fresh drops of sweat forming on his neck.

“That may have been the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen a human do, and I’ve met some pretty stupid humans. It’d be funny if it weren’t so pathetic.”

“This can’t be happening to me,” Ari whispers to himself, “it can’t. I’m just an ordinary boy. Things like this don’t happen to ordinary people.”

Before Ari can sink any further into a state of panicked denial, a small white whirlwind appears and James materializes.

“Good morning, Master!” he says giddily with a bow, “a lovely day, isn’t it? How about breakfast, Master? Madam’s omelet is simply divine!”

“James! We don’t have time for breakfast! From now on, I’ll use this boy and initiate my plan for world conquest! As I was about to explain …” Evil King Stan trails off for a second and Ari feels an accusing glare heating up the back of his head. “To begin, I’ll drive the nearby village of Tenel into an abyss of nightmarish horror! Ha ha ha ha!”

The butler’s jagged smile widens. “I’m so proud of you, Master Stan! So proud to be in your fiendish service!”

Sounds a bit vague to me, Ari thinks, wait, can he read my thoughts?

“Your James is always at your side with passionate devotion! Or at least …” James’ grandeur suddenly turns sheepish. “… after I finish my second omelet.”

With that, James quickly turns and walks straight through the wall of the mansion. Ari can hear the faintest sound of “good luck, Master” on the wind.

Ari wants to say something about the strangeness of King Stan’s devoted minion, but then he thinks saying it to an evil possessed shadow would be even stranger.

“Well, my reluctant servant, off to the village! Let us go, and no more of your human nonsense. I’ve no time for your mental breakdowns!”

Suddenly, King Stan melts back down into the ground and Ari’s shadow is just his shadow again. He stands there in silence for a moment, still reeling from the catch up of last night’s events and what just happened.

Maybe someone in town can help me.

Ari is still unclear on whether or not the shadow can read his thoughts, but he supposes it can’t be helped either way. He can’t walk about brain dead. He starts on his way down the path and, unable to break habit, stops by the three gravestones.

“Whoever you guys are, please pray for me …” he whimpers with hands folded.

He then heads towards the crossroads and Tenel, constantly mindful of the seemingly normal shadow at his feet. After the morning he’s had, he keeps expecting it to pop up all of a sudden, like some horrible jack-in-the-box.

“Hey Ari!”

Up ahead on the pathway, Ari finds a villager waiting for him. Ari’s seen him around Tenel, but has never talked to him much. He’s a beefy, tall man with a wide smile and curious eyes.

“Oh, g-good morning.”

“Ari, I heard you learned a funny trick,” says the man excitedly.

“Trick?”

“Everybody in the village is talking about it! Your dad is so excited. He’s told everyone!”

Suddenly, Ari hears that tell-tale whistle sound and feels that strange looming sensation behind him.

“Funny trick? What is that, mortal?”

Nervous sweat forms on the back of Ari’s neck as he eyes the large villager. The man stares at King Stan, mouth agape, eyes wide.

“Wow! That is amazing! Where’d you learn to do that, Ari?”

“Do? Do what now?”

“What is he talking about, slave? Humans perplex me sometimes.”

This only makes the man laugh. “Marvelous, Ari! You should consider joining the circus! You’d be a hit!”

“Uh … th-thanks?”

“Enough of this! Slave! The village!” Stan yells before disappearing.

“I understand,” says the man, still chuckling, “you must be very busy today.”

Ari nods and turns away to continue on down the path.

Maybe the village elder … He’s old and knows a lot. Maybe he can help me.

“Oh dear! What am I going to do?”

Ari looks up and sees an elderly woman at the crossroads staring into tops of the surrounding trees. She absentmindedly fiddles with her braid of long, silver hair, eyes filled with distress. As Ari gets closer, she turns to him and can’t help the tears slipping down her cheeks.

“Oh, young man! My hat’s blown away in the wind. It’s stuck up in that tree,” she cries, pointing into the tallest branches.

Ari barely catches sight of it in the swaying branches and dancing leaves, but sure enough, he sees a pale straw hat with a pink ribbon caught up in the tree’s clutches. He almost suggests going into Tenel to buy another hat, but the old woman cuts him off before he can start.

“It’s my favorite hat. My late husband bought it for me …” She trails off into wailing.

“Heh heh heh, whimpering old lady!”

Ari only jumps slightly when King Stan pops up behind him this time. It unnerves him that he might be getting used to it.

“What powerless animals human beings are! Slave, behold the power of your Evil Master!”

Ari looks over his shoulder and watches as the living shadow stretches itself up like pulled taffy, reaching up over their heads and easily plucking the lost hat from the branches.

“I am completely elastic! One advantage to being a shadow, I suppose. It’s a trivial task to retrieve your silly, lost hat! Behold!”

King Stan holds out the battered old hat to the woman on his pitchfork fingers. The old lady seems overwhelmed, staring wide-eyed at it. She takes it gingerly and places it back upon her head.

“Th-thank you. Thank you! Thank you so much!,” she says, a smile exploding across her tear stained face, “my goodness! You must have been sent straight from heaven!”

“Hey, old bag! You don’t understand! If I can so easily stretch myself in such a way, imagine what other horrible powers I must have. Think about what I might do to you and your pathetic little village! I am pure evil, through and through! Evil King Stan! The name says it all! Fear me! Beg for mercy! Kneel and grovel before me!”

Instead, the lady presses her hands together and bows her head. “Oh, thank you, God, for sending these kind people to help me in my time of need.”

“No! No, no, no!”

With a roar of frustration, “Evil” King Stan disappears.

“Well …” says Ari awkwardly as the lady continues to beam at him with gratitude, “I-I’ll be going now.”

“Take care, young man. Please thank your friend again for me.”

As Ari leaves, he wonders if the old woman’s vision is impaired. She didn’t seem at all freaked out by a living, talking, suddenly stretching, suddenly disappearing shadow. The open gates of Tenel come into sight and outside the entrance, a group of younger kids all stand huddled together, whispering. One of them, a skinny girl with brown hair, looks over and spots Ari coming down the path.

“Here he comes! Here he comes!”

Ari is beginning to notice a pattern. Strangely, this is the most attention Tenel has ever given him. Before he can slip by into the village, the three kids surround him, gazing up at him with bright, shiny eyes and expectant, gap toothed smiles.

“Hey there, Ari,” the trio sings in unnerving unison.

“We heard your shadow is really cool,” says the skinny brunette, “will you show it to us?”

“Please, please, please!” cries the other two - a finely dressed boy with primly cut blond hair and a much younger boy with a closely shaved head.

3 … 2 … 1.

“What is wrong with you?!”

The three children gasp.

“Omigod,” says the girl, “it speaks too?! Awesome! Is it alive?”

“Hey, girlie! What do you think I am?! I am the Evil King Stan, a symbol of incomprehensible evil!”

“Hey! It tells jokes too! I want one!”

The bald kid giggles wildly. “Yipee! The shadow! The funny shadow! I saw it! That’s so cool, Ari!”

“Shut up, small fry! Gaze upon my horrifying visage and fear it! Cry! Pee your pants!”

That only makes the trio laugh harder.

“Let me just say,” starts the finely dressed boy, after stifling his laughter, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Shadow.”

“Don’t get fresh with me, you suckling! Do you know who you’re talking to?!”

“Ha ha, Ari’s father told us you’re a kind, gentle shadow.”

“What?!”

“I think it’s cute that he’s shy,” murmurs the skinny girl, “but you tell such good jokes, Mr. Shadow.”

“You wanna be our friend?” asks the youngest boy sweetly.

“No, you repugnant whelps! I am the Evil King Stan! I am no one’s friend! You’ll rue this day, small children!”

And once again, he disappears.

“Awwww, where’d he go?” asks the girl.

The three kids look at Ari pleadingly.

“Uh, he’s, um … resting. He’s not really used to … new people. And he’s cranky. I mean, you know how it is.”

The kids just stare at him silently for a beat, but then turn and wander on down the pathway.

“Why would a shadow need rest?” asks the littlest boy.

“I think it’s just shy. Ha ha,” answers the well dressed kid.

“Well, I like it,” exclaims the girl.

Once they disappear out of earshot, Evil King Stan pops up out of the ground beside Ari.

“Strange, strange,” he muses, yellow eyes narrowing into thin diamonds, “… based on my predictions, as soon I appear in this world, humans should be awed and terrified, fleeing in every direction. Then, overwhelmed and quaking with fright, they are supposed to swear their obedience to me!” Stan starts waving about angrily, like a kite caught in a strong wind. “But, but … Look at their reactions!”

Ari eyes the shadow, examining it and thinking.

“Are you sure you’re really … evil?”

King Stan stops flailing and glares down at Ari, towering himself over the boy.

“What?! A lackey like you making fun of me, your master?!”

Ari shrinks back. “Well … I mean, you haven’t really done anything evil yet.”

“Just you wait, boy. The only thing we have to do is display my evilness through action! I’ll show these humans what terror I can bring!”

King Stan turns towards the village and glares through the open gate.

“So, this is Tenel Village? This is it?”

Ari shrugs, unable to help himself. “This is it.”

“This is no task for I, a vessel of pure malevolence! But hey, I might as well do it! Ha ha! Now, how should I go about doing this?”

Ari considers himself to be pretty average when it comes to intelligence, but in the moment, he comes across a fairly decent idea.

“… what if … what if you speak to the village elder?”

“Is he in charge of this pathetic little plot of humanity?”

“Well … well, no. We have a village council. My dad’s assistant manager actually. But anyway, the village elder has a lot of respect in Tenel … a-and he knows a lot about the history of the world and stuff. So, if there’s anyone who is going to know about … about the utter horror and-and despair your presence is supposed to bring …”

“Ah, I see your point, slave! Strike fear into the heart of the village elder and the rest will fall like dominoes.”

“Sure …”

And I can ask the village elder about getting myself out of this mess.

“Good work, slave! You’ve become surprisingly cooperative.”

Ari chuckles nervously. “Yeah, well, I did … swear to be your … loyal, devoted servant for the rest of my life. Ha ha.”

“Ha ha! Yes! Now, forward, slave! Take me to the village elder!”

The shadow disappears and Ari practically flies through the village gates. The village elder lives in a large house neighboring the Church and the Tenel village office. He runs, passing bustling, worrying, chatting villagers and all the businesses with their water shortage signs. For once, he’s glad he’s not one to draw too much attention to himself. The village elder’s house is large, though not quite so mansion and behemoth like as the ‘Nameless Dwelling.’ Impressive, but cozy seems the best way to describe it. Ari runs up and knocks, and then, uses the wait to catch his breath.

The door opens and a pretty young woman with mousy brown hair looks down at him. She’s the village elder’s daughter.

“Oh, Ari, so nice to see you. What can I do for you?”

“I … I need to see the village elder … please,” he says, still panting. Tenel’s not a large village, but he still ran at top speed. “It’s urgent.”

“Are you ok? I’d offer you some water, but …” She trails off sadly.

“No, no, I’m fine.”

“It’s a shame. I don’t even have water to clean house. Come on in. Please forgive the state of the place.”

She turns and leads Ari inside.

“Grandfather’s just up in his study,” she explains as they begin a trek up a set of stairs, “he’s trying to figure out the ghost problem.”

Ari pauses mid-step. “Ghost problem?”

“You haven’t heard? There’s a ghost in the Church.”

A shiver runs up Ari’s spine. So many questions flood his mind, he’s not sure what to ask first.

“How- … I mean … what-”

“Nobody knows how it got in there,” she supplies, “but supposedly, it’s been there for weeks, and that’s why the Church has been closed.”

“Does that mean … does that mean the village council knew about it?”

“Yes. They kept it hush-hush so as not to cause a panic, I guess. But I think everyone found closing the Church pretty suspicious anyway.”

Ari follows her to the door of her grandfather’s study. She knocks softly.

“Grandfather, you have a visitor.”

“Who?” comes a slightly annoyed bark through the door.

“It’s Ari. He says it’s urgent.”

There’s a brief pause.

“Who?!”

She sighs and opens the door.

“I said it’s Ari!” She gestures to the boy sheepishly peeking into the doorway.

Ari’s only ever been in to see the elder a few times. Most of the important village information comes from his father, but every so often there’s a matter that only a village elder can solve.

The village elder is a no-nonsense, but welcoming old gentleman. His mouth is hidden behind a thick, white mustache and his eyes are hidden behind thick, white eyebrows. He wears Tenel’s traditional clothing, a silk jacket in orange and green blocks with fancy embroidery for ties, and a matching cap. He sits at his desk, mountains of books caging him in.

“Oh, Ari,” he says pleasantly, standing up, but unable to leave his literary prison, “come in, come in.”

Ari steps inside and the elder’s granddaughter shuts the door behind him.

“Good morning, sir, I-I’m sorry to bother you, bu-”

“Bother? No, no! The only thing bothering me at the moment is the ghost problem. It’s most concerning.”

“If he’s concerned now, just wait til he meets me, heh heh heh,” King Stan whispers from … wherever he goes when he’s not around.

“Yeah … yeah, your granddaughter just told me about it … I didn’t know …”

“You don’t know the half of it,” says the elder, slapping the open page of the book in front of him, “do you know about the Evil King?”

Ari’s heart jumps. “Um … well, actually, ye-”

“The Evil King is the ruler of the ghosts. They all are his evil minions. He is a fearful King of Terror!”

“Yes! YES! This one understands!”

“300 years ago, an Evil King called Gohma destroyed half the world.”

“I-I know, bu-”

“But a hero called Hopkins defeated Gohma after a pitched battle. Since then, the world’s been peaceful.”

“H-Hopkins?”

“But lately, there are rumors that ghosts have been sighted. And of course, we have the ghost currently haunting the Church … it might be that a new Evil King has arisen.”

“Mwa ha ha ha ha! Ha ha ha ha ha!” a laugh echoes throughout the study.

“Hmm? What was that?” asks the old man, standing up and looking curiously around the room.

“Prepare yourself, old man!” The voice grows louder, meaner, more menacing. “For your nightmare has just become reality!”

“Ari, what is this?”

“Oh-oh no …”

Suddenly, Evil King Stan pops up from the ground behind Ari, puffing himself up so that he reaches the ceiling, looking down upon the poor old man at his desk.

“The Evil King has indeed arisen!” thunders King Stan, his voice booming, “I am Evil King Stanley Hihat Trinidad XIV, the reincarnation and successor of King Gohma! I have been freed and the world shall quake at the very sound of my name! Fall to your knees and beg for mercy lest you be overwhelmed by my diabolicalness!”

The study falls into silence as the village elder gapes up at the shadow looming over him. Ari damns himself, wishing he had asked his questions before the elder launched into his history lesson.

“Ha ha,” the village elder suddenly chuckles.

Ari stares at him, not sure he heard correctly.

“Ha ha ha,” the elder carries on, “cute trick.”

“WHAT?!”

“But seriously, Ari, an Evil King is a fearful, terrifying creature. So terrifying that … that any ordinary people like us would drop dead just looking at it! That flimsy, flat shadow? It could never pass as an Evil King. It’s funny, Ari, but you might want to work on the act a bit. Ha ha, ‘overwhelmed by my diabolicalness.’ That’s rich!”

Ari looks over his shoulder at King Stan to see him shrinking and looking distressed.

“I hate this village!” he roars before disappearing into the floor.

“Anyway,” continues the elder, “I pray the Evil King rumors are just that … but we still have the reality of the ghost haunting the church …” he trails off in thought.

“Sir,” Ari asserts himself before some other bit of monologue can begin, “um … hypothetically speaking … if the Evil King did rise, and let’s say … he was so weak that he needed to possess the shadow of someone who promised away their entire life … um, how would one go about defeating the Evil King?”

The village elder rubs at his chin, seeming to give the matter serious thought. “You said the Evil King is so weak he must essentially leech off a human being?”

“Y-yes, that’s right.”

“Well, the answer’s rather obvious.”

Ari perks up, a bubble of hope rising in his chest. “Really?”

“He’d probably have to kill himself.”

Pop! There goes the hope bubble.

“K-kill himself?”

“I mean, if the Evil King depends on a host to exist in this world … you kill the host.”

“O-oh … and-and there’s no other way?”

“Well, I suppose if the person were reluctant to take his own life … you could hire a hero to kill him. It’d be for the safety of the entire world, so a genuine hero would be all too ready to make such a sacrifice.”

“I see … and there’s no other way besides killing the person?”

“I mean, this is all hypothetical, Ari. But in my opinion, killing the host would be the surest way to prevent the Evil King from regaining his strength and plunging the world into a nightmarish new age of terror and chaos.”

That’s it, then, Ari thinks, I’m doomed.

“Thank you for your time, sir. I hope you get the ghost problem figured out.”

“I hope so too - especially since that’s probably what’s messing with the village’s waterways, causing the water shortage … and of course, there’s the village treasure to consider.”

“Treasure?” Ari asks flatly, still feeling numb from the elder’s “solution.”

“Not even I’m entirely sure what it is. The only reason we know it exists is from some ancient inventories and writings. It’s written that it’s something very important. Most believe that if we were to ever lose it, the village would be lost.”

“Oh …”

“Well, Ari, I’m afraid I must bid you good-day if there’s nothing else. I’m sure there’s an answer in here somewhere,” says the village elder as he buries his nose back into the pages of the open book.

With the conversation clearly coming to a close, Ari turns round and leaves the study. The village elder’s granddaughter is nowhere in sight. He sulks back down the stairs and lets himself out into the sunshine and the noise of a village worrying about its ghost problem. Unsure of what else to do, Ari walks a little ways and finds a clear, out of the way little spot between houses. There, he sits down in the dirt, and does absolutely nothing.

“Slave! Did you hear what that old fool said about treasure?!” King Stan pops up excitedly out of the ground before Ari.

Ari doesn’t respond. He’s found a particularly interesting patch of grass and has started plucking out the blades.

“We’re in business! We’ll get the treasure of Tenel and laugh as they all wallow in misery! He he he! If it’s indeed an important treasure, it must be something very powerful! Perhaps it can enhance my already substantial abilities. I’ll be unstoppable, slave! Then, they’ll have to submit to me!”

Again, Ari says nothing.

“Oh, by the way, slave, what was all that ‘hypothetical stopping an Evil King’ business?”

It takes a minute for Ari to register the glare of suspicion bearing down upon him.

“Huh? Oh - OH! Well, uh, I just figured … you know, to be … successful, we gotta … know your weaknesses - I mean, what little there are - so that we are … prepared?”

King Stan stares at him for an awkward beat, but then nods emphatically.

“True, slave, this is good thinking. As idiotic as he is, the old man was right about one thing.” The shadow points a sharp finger at Ari. “You are my greatest weakness. If you perish, I will have nowhere to go and thus, will disappear into nothingness. A tragic, pathetic end to what should be my great and terrible reign!”

“Exactly,” says Ari glumly, his shoulders drooping.

“So no dying!”

“I’ll try my best,” he replies, sighing heavily.

“Now, back to the matter at hand. We must get into the church basement and plunder that treasure!”

“But the church has been closed for weeks.”

“That’s where you come in, slave! I command you to figure out a way to get into that church!”

For a moment, Ari stays in his place on the ground.

What would happen if I just didn’t do anything? He’d be stuck, right? He’d have to move on to somebody else, right?

“Slave! Don’t just sit there! Get to it!”

“Hey Ari! Hey Stan!”

Boy and shadow pause from their exchange and look to see Annie standing there and smiling. Immediately, Ari’s eyes fall to the vibrant pink shadow puddling out across the ground. Despite this, Annie seems oddly happy and upbeat. She beams at the two of them.

“St-Stan? Do you forget who I am, little girl? I am an Evil King! How dare you address me without a title?!”

Annie pouts playfully. “Oh, come on, Stan! We’re all friends now. Besides, Evil King Stan is such a mouthful. It’s annoying to have to say it all the time.”

“Slave, talk some sense into her!”

“You’re not upset about your shadow anymore, Annie?”

She looks down at it fondly, picking a dainty foot up to see her pink silhouette mimic the action.

“Not anymore. Everyone keeps telling me how cute it looks! All the boys are noticing me, saying it makes me look even more feminine!”

Ari chuckles. It figures she’d work this out to her advantage. Typical Annie.

“I’m glad.”

“Stop this! I am not anyone’s friend! Slave, we are wasting precious time!”

“What’s Stan going on about?” asks Annie, tilting her head cutely with curiosity.

“King Stan! King!”

Ari hesitates to answer, but …

“He wants to get into the church basement.”

“Oh!” Annie exclaims, “is he going to fight the ghost?”

Ari and Stan exchange looks.

“Fight the lowly whelp haunting the church …” The king muses to himself.

“I’m sure if you ask dad, he’ll let you in.”

“What?”

“What?”

Ari and Stan exclaim in unison.

“Yeah,” Annie says, clapping her hands, “I’m surprised dad didn’t ask you sooner, Stan! You cured me of the Pig Latin curse. Of course, you can rid the Church of the ghost!”

“Of-of course, I can. Yes. YES! Brilliant, Ari’s sister! Yes! Slave!”

Ari looks up at Stan, another stone of dread added to the pile building up in his stomach.

“Let us go find your father! We shall tell him of our plan to … rid the Church of this low level ghost.” For some reason, Stan feels the need to wink obviously. “Perhaps he will let us in to assist the town.”

Ari swallows nervously. He was hoping the village office restriction on the Church would be a road block for Stan’s plan. Unfortunately, Annie just came in like a wrecking ball and demolished that road block. Stan may have abundant confidence in facing off with low level phantoms, but Ari … not so much.

“Um … King Stan, remember that thing we said a minute ago … about the ‘me not dying’ part?”

“Worry not, my cowardly slave …”

Ari thinks that was unnecessary.

“… I am the King of Ghosts, remember? If I just look at that pathetic glob of ectoplasm, it’ll go running off back to the underworld or whatever dimension it slithered out from.”

Surprisingly, this gives Ari just the barest taste of reassurance. True, humans around Tenel didn’t take Stan seriously, but a ghost should be a different story.

Right?

Chapter 1 • Chapter 2 • Chapter 3 • Chapter 4 • Chapter 5 • Chapter 6 • Chapter 7 • Chapter 8 • Chapter 9 • Chapter 10 • Chapter 11 • Chapter 12 • Chapter 13 • Chapter 14 • Chapter 15 • Chapter 16 - Finale

NOTE: Okage Shadow King is owned by Sony Computer Entertainment and Zener Works. This novelization is purely a fan-work and the writer claims no ownership over the characters, general plot line(s), etc.

[secondgenerationnerd]

Broken Arrow pt. 1

Author’s note: So this Fic was inspired by the song by Daughtry of the same name. I will post the next chapter in the next day or so. Love you *evil laugh because of the fic

Rating: M for swearing and suggested intimacy

“Subject name: Lian Alice Nguyen-Harper. Age: 17 years, 9 months. Species: Human. Race: Mixed; Caucasian, and Asian. Powers: None. Disabilities: None. Height: 1.68 meters. Weight: 85. 28 kilograms,” Irey’s voice is cold and detached. Lian wonders how long she’s been awake. Jai gives her a look from the control center that tells her it’s been at least 36 hours since his sister has slept. Lian reties her ponytail, making a mental note to slip something into Irey’s food at lunch. These monthly assessments are hell on the speedster,” Testing: Reaction time, facial recognition, agility, and reflexes. The test is comprised of five levels at one-minute intervals. Is the subject ready?”

         “Ready to go,” Lian says, checking her quiver one last time. The arrows are different than her normal ones. They’re specially designed by Jai for these tests. Lian takes her place. She takes a deep breath in like her father taught her. When the first hologram comes at her, she releases it along with an arrow.

The first round is easy, just hitting targets as they run at her. It takes nothing for her to draw the bow and fire arrow after arrow.

The second and third rounds are similar, only faster and adding weapons (short range at level two, long range at level three). Lian flips and slides around the room. She might not be an acrobat like Mar’i but she can hold her own in the field.

In the fourth level, they introduce civilians. Lian fires an arrow into the neck of a bad guy, narrowly avoiding the old woman in front of him. A little harder, but she’s got this.

At the last level, the holograms change into people she knows. Well, heroes and villains. If the report wasn’t going to the league, she would totally shoot the Damian hologram in the ass. The timer on the clock tells her she has 5 seconds left. The last hologram comes at her. Lian freezes. It’s her mother. Well, Cheshire, but there’s no difference really. The time runs out just as the hologram thrusts its fake blade through her chest. Lian exhales.

“Test has ended,” Irey begins reciting the data for the camera, while Jai jumps down and walks towards her. He removes the sticky patches on her skin that have been sending her vitals to his laptop.

“You ok, babe?” He asks. Lian nods,” The computer was on randomize. I didn’t ken- “

“It’s ok,” Lian assures him. Ok, it’s not, but he doesn’t need to know that. She nods at Irey, who’s turned the camera off and is now typing on her laptop,” How worried should I be?”

“We have one more round of tests on Mar’i and Jon to run. Then we’re done ‘til next month.” Jai’s arm wraps itself around her waist.

“You two have a break anytime soon?” They’re both still watching Irey, whose face is blank as she reviews the footage and makes notes.

“Yeah. Here in like two minutes.”

“Good. I might go find Batjerk and tell him he needs to spend some time with his girlfriend.”

“I will never get over the fact that Damian Wayne is dating my sister.” Jai shakes his head.

“I don’t think anyone is over the fact that we’re dating.” Lian points out,” I know Uncle Jason isn’t.”

Jai groans,” You know, most boyfriends only have to worry about their girlfriends’ dads. Not their psychopathic, gun loving godfathers.”

Lian laughs at this. She stands up on her tiptoes to kiss him,” Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

Jai smiles at the kiss, pulling her closer to his chest and holding the back of her head with one hand. Lian’s missed this. Missed him. They saw each other every weekend when their team would meet up at their tower, but the days in between were typically hell. Lian pushes the bad thoughts from her head, burying her hands in his hair, trying to deepen the kiss,

Of course, Damian chooses that moment to walk in. Lian and Jai breakaway, more annoyed at being interrupted than embarrassed at being caught. Jai grumbles under his breath-something about their teammates and cockblocking. Damian raises an eyebrow at them,” Really?”

“I’ve caught you and Irey doing worse things,” Lian says to her co-leader. It’s true. A few weeks ago, she’d walked into Irey’s room to ask her friend a question. To say they were in a compromising would be an understatement. Lian’s not sure who was angrier- Damian or Irey. Well, maybe Irey because the speedster had dropped her in the ocean about a mile from the tower.

“Because you refuse to knock on the door before entering a room,” Damian replies simply,” Mar’i also wanted me to inform you that lunch is ready.”

He walks over to Irey. The resident super genius doesn’t look up as her boyfriend slides his arms around her, but her fingers pause in their typing. Lian smiles at her friends. Despite his assholeishness, Damian is always sweet with Irey. He’s the only one who can pull her away from her work when the others have tried everything. Actually, now that she thinks about it, Irey’s the only one that can pull Damian from his work.

“what?” Jai asks as Lian snorts.

“When two workaholics fall in love,” She says with a gesture to his sister and her boyfriend. Jai laughs at his.

“So, are we ‘when two smartasses fall in love?’” They start towards the living area.

“More ‘when a smartass falls in love with a dumbass,’” Lian playfully bumps his hip with hers. Jai acts offended, trying hard not to give her the smirk that he knows drives her crazy. Lian rolls her eyes as she pushes ahead. She bites her lower lip to keep from smiling.

“Don’t forget you fell in love with this dumbass,” Jai teases.

Lian doesn’t bother answering him. Instead, she tortures him a little by pulling the elastic from her hair, letting the black locks fall down her back. She grins at the small groan Jai gives.

“You’re gonna kill me one day, Lian Harper.” Jai looks at her like she’s everything to him.

“That’s the plan,” She says with a wink. Lian enters the living area. It’s a mix of a living room, dining room, and kitchen. Her other best friend and godsister, Mar’i Grayson, sits on the kitchen counter, rubbing her leg in pain. Lian walks up to her,” Charley horse?”

“You would think being half Tamaranian would mean I do not have to deal with Earth shit like this. Perhaps that was not in the gods’ plan for me,” Mar’i grumbles. Lian smiles at her lack of contractions. Mar’i had grown up on Tamaran until she was 8 years old. Until her mother passed away and she had been sent to live with her father. She understands English far better than when she first came to earth, but some things she just couldn’t grasp.

“Here you go, Shooting Star,” Jon Kent hands Mar’i a warm towel. Mar’i takes the towel with thanks, pressing it to her upper thigh. Jon blushes and looks away. Lian rolls her eyes at this. Superman’s son has been dating Batman’s granddaughter for almost two years. He’s been sleeping with her for at least a year and a half of that (Damian tried to murder him when he found out), yet he still blushes at the drop of a hat.

Jai, Damian, and Irey join them a minute later. Lunch today seems to be leftovers and whatever sandwiches Mar’i could throw together. The team sits at the table. Irey is on one side of Lian and Jon on the other. Lian laughs at some story Jon tells them, about a mission that he and Damian had gone on years and years ago. Damian does that weird -tt- thing of his. Lian can see the smile on his face.

Irey talks about a marathon coming up. She’s more or less back to her old self- bouncing up and down in her seat, eating more than all of them combine, tightening her fiery ponytail. The life has come back to her intelligent green eyes. It’s a wonder that anyone knows she and Jai are related let alone twins. Irey’s fair and freckled complexion and short, lean body completely contradicts her brother’s tan skin and tall, muscular body. Jai’s hair is pitch black and styled messily. His warm brown eyes meet hers, grinning over leftover lo mien. Jai and Irey talk about the experiments together, switching to Korean. Neither of them realizes they do this when they talk, just the two of them. No one on the team is surprised by this, so they talk amongst themselves.

Everything in this moment is perfect.

“Oh, Jesus Christ, are they at it again?” A gruff voice asks. Mar’i and Lian both look up. Jason Todd looks at his goddaughters, leather jacket covered in soot and a burn mark across his cheek. The girls jump up, Mar’i actually flying over the table. They throw their arms around him. He hugs both of them tighter than normal. Damian gives his older brother the customary head nod. Irey and Jai smile at Jason, Irey a little easier than Jai.

“What are you doing here?” Lian asks, looking behind him,” I thought you and Dad were on that mission. Is he with you?”

Lian is so wrapped up in searching for her father that she misses the sad look Jason gives her. The others catch it though. They all recognize it and their stomachs drop. Lian moves away because her dad has hidden from her before. Just before he jumps out and hugs her. He always does this. Ever since she came back from the dead. Lian turns, a big smile on her face.

“Uncle Jay, where’s Dad?”

“Lian, what do you know about our mission?” Jason asks. He desperate to keep her from finding out what happened.

“You and Dad were responding to a level 3 threat in Bolivia.” Lian’s still looking around,” Dad said it was personal- “

“It was your mother.” Lian’s smile drops. None of her friends can tell if she’s breathing,” It was your mom, kiddo. We-we found her and tracked her to a hotel in Bolivia. There some bad people after her though. They found her there and-”

“Jason Peter Todd-Wayne,” Lian tries to keep her voice from cracking,” Where are my parents?”

“Lian…there was a fire. Your dad…he went back inside because your mom was there,” Lian’s blood goes ice cold. The room starts spinning. She’s going to throw up,” The-There weren’t any survivors. I’m so, so sorry, honey.”

Irey covers her mouth. Jai looks at Lian, trying to figure out what’s going on. Damian and Mar’i are both silent. Jon looks like he’s going to throw up. It takes Lian a minute to speak,” You’re lying.”

“Lian- “

“You’re lying to me. You’re lying. Dad’s ok,” She can’t breathe. Why can’t she breathe?

“Honey. We looked at dental records. It’s your parents,” Jason tries to hug her. Lian shoves the gunner back.

“No! No! You’re lying!” Her throat feels like it’s ripping at the scream. She slams her hands into his chest. Jason lets her,” Dad wouldn’t-he wouldn’t have left me alone! He-he said he could bring Mom home to us, t-t-t-to me! HE SAID WE COULD BE A FAMILY AGAIN!”

Her body finally gives out. She collapses on the ground, screaming. Someone’s holding her, but she isn’t sure who. She screams and screams and screams. Two days ago, she and her dad had been eating breakfast. She was telling him about some stupid biology test she had. Dad had given her a kiss and hugged her tight. Just like he always did before he left for a mission. She’d taken a moment to let him hold her. Like always. He’d told her he loved her. He called her pum’kin. She reminded him he promised to not call her that anymore. He’d laughed and sent her on her way.

Lian screams and screams and screams until her voice gives out. The moment it gives is worse. Because as soon as her voice gives out, she’s silent. All the light fades from her eyes. She lays in Jason’s arms. Unmoving. Unfeeling. Gone.

Alone.

[therachelperspective]

BOOK | The Clothes Make the Girl (Look Fat?): Adventures and Agonies in Fashion by Brittany Gibbons

I have officially confirmed that Brittany Gibbons and I are the same person. 

I have read both of her books now and through both of them wrote copious notes that illustrated how she and I share many of the same experiences, attributes, body type, thoughts on certain topics, almost everything plausible that we could have as similarities. Some people will say that they read a book and swear they could have written it themselves. That is me with Brittany Gibbons. 

Her sophomore novel, The Clothes Make the Girl (Look Fat?): Adventures and Agonies in Fashion, documents her personal grapples with something every plus-size woman struggles with at some point or another (if not all the time) – fashion. It’s not just trying to find clothes that will fit on your body, period; it’s the mental frustration we face alongside it, like coming to terms with the number that dictates this entire process, and the fact that those numbers when shopping store to store are hardly ever consistent. When a larger woman tells you that the struggle is real, you best believe the struggle is real. And Brittany Gibbons, thank the Lord, approaches these and other topics with wit and pure honesty about every battle she has experienced when it comes to the clothing on her back. If you thought her first book was legit, her second is right up there with it. 

In true memoir style, The Clothes Make The Girl follows a general chronology of her life. We begin more or less in her adolescence and conclude with post-baby body. Along the way, Brittany not only cracks jokes about her exploits – a comic relief I really grew to appreciate – but she also constantly reminds readers that there is nothing wrong with their body. I wrote down so many quotes that were positive affirmations – reminders that FAT. BODIES. ARE. NORMAL. BODIES. Right away from the prologue, “Real women [...] are not defined by their curves, thigh gaps, or chest size.” 

Furthermore, shortly thereafter in the Introduction, another spectacular truth: “We hold jobs, we go out with friends, and we date. We do normal human activities and feel a healthy desire to do them in clothes that make use feel confident and beautiful and are reflective of our personalities.” Let’s be real, not many of us plus-size ladies have personalities rooted in elastic banded sweatpants and Looney Tunes (not out in public, anyways).

Before I started reading The Clothes Make the Girl, I noted that I was already at a comfortable, confident standpoint with my body. Granted the current fashion scene has produced far more plus-size fashion than in years past and I can actually say that I have numerous outlets within which I can easily find stylish digs for my size 18 body... I wondered what the experience of reading this book would feel like for someone who wasn’t already at a body positive stage in their life. The beauty of this book, however, was that even though I am at that stage, I was able to find a renewed sense of self-assurance in myself, proving that it is a quality piece of literature for women (or any plus-size person) to read. It’s not solely for those starting their journey; it can be a tool for everyone feeling discouraged or in a rut when dealing with their bodies and fashion.

Despite every topic covered in The Clothes Make the Girl, I believe the most poignant section of the entire book is an intermission of sorts titled “You Have My Permission To Hate Yourself.” 

Let me repeat that louder for the people in the back: 

You have Brittany’s permission to hate yourself. 

What sets Brittany Gibbons apart from other authors who tackle body positivity is that, sure, many will tell tales of their own personal demons, but I don’t recall any author or novel off the top of my head that outright told readers that it was okay to hate yourself and your body, and that it was normal to do so. “You don’t owe anyone shit,” Brittany says. “And only you get to decide how you feel about [your body] today.” Hell yassss, Gibbons. Hell yes. And some days, you’re allowed to be unhappy with it. That doesn’t mean you have to beat yourself up over it, or go on some extreme diet to change it.

While the major struggle in plus-size fashion lies in finding quality clothes for our double-digit bodies, another that Brittany touches base on that makes her literature all the more relatable is what happens when the clothes (especially pants) are finally found and worn. Many of us whom have never seen the light of a thigh gap are very familiar with the concept of chub rub and the sorrow of eventually rubbing holes through the inner thighs of our favorite bottoms. “I’ve buried more jeans than there are Batman movies” is a beyond relevant statement from this book. We try to salvage them as much as possible, but its occurrence and their ultimate disposal is inevitable. I’m glad to see its inclusion in The Clothes Make the Girl. 

There were times in this book, just as there were in her first memoir, where she lost me a little (those pregnancy and babies chapters) but that doesn’t negate the fact that her logic and wisdom about plus-size lifehood were still present with flying colors. The Clothes Make the Girl is an excellent representation of life in plus-size fashion, and how rough it truly is. Brittany Gibbons touched on many of, if not all, the things I felt were important, especially in regards to legitimate ups and downs of body/fat positivity. 

I give her major credit for extending her memoirs while also touching on a very specific topic; depending on said topic, I might consider that a difficult task. My only qualm might be that I felt the book ended a bit abruptly.

I don’t consider this to be a 5-star novel like her first (which still remains my only 5-star to date), but it was still a good quality read. I will always enjoy Brittany’s comical nature in the face of adverse subject matter and our seemingly unending list of resemblances. I’m sure as long as she continues to publish, I will absolutely continue to appreciate and enjoy her work.

FAVORITE EXCERPTS

"[...] Even Anna Wintour isn't dressed like Anna Wintour all the time."

"... Don't let anyone ever make you feel bad for liking clothes and doing your hair and wearing makeup. You are allowed to enjoy yourself in this life..."

"... We also hold jobs, we go out with friends, and we date. We do normal human activities and feel a healthy desire to do them in clothes that make us feel confident and beautiful and are reflective of our personalities."

"I am a normal being with a body that fits into some things and not into others."

"My insecurities came from other people telling me I should have them."

"Loving your body is about being comfortable in your body, and only you get to set the parameters of that, only you get to decide what it looks like, and only you know where your finish line is."

"The sexiest women I know are sexy because they feel sexy for themselves first."

"Your priority in this life is you."

"What you are feeling about yourself right now is fine and normal and allowed."

"... Take a shower and start over knowing that ninety percent of the people out to judge you are inside your own head."

"... You need to realize that you don't owe anyone shit. our body is yours, and only you get to decide how you feel about it today."

"Buy yourself clothes that fit. They may not be the size you think you should be, but who cares?"

"Thunder Thighs is a ridiculous insult. As if having thighs as loud and as powerful as thunder was a bad thing... That basically makes me an X-Man."

"When your jeans don't fit, buy a bigger pair. Larger jeans are worth the dinners with your best friends, the gelato during a semester in Italy, sleeping in on Sundays if you are tired, and a movie night on the couch with someone you love."

"Never apologize for your body. Ever."

"I won't hide my stomach to keep up some illusion that only thin bodies are beautiful."

"Body love is hard work."

ABOUT BRITTANY GIBBONS (from the back cover)

Brittany Gibbons writes the award-winning humor blog BrittanyHerself.com and runs the Facebook group CurvyGirlGuide.com. She gave a 2011 TED talk on the reinvention of beauty and is the author of New York Times bestseller Fat Girl Walking: Sex, Food, Love, and Being Comfortable in Your Skin... Every Inch of It. Her writing has been featured in the New York Times, Huffington Post, Redbook, Woman's Day magazine, Marie Claire, Los Angeles Times, The Stir, and Babble, among many other publications and sites. Brittany also hosts a weekly Google talk show called Last Call Brittany and the weekly podcast Girl's Girls. Brittany lives in Ohio with her husband and three children.

The Clothes Make the Girl (Look Fat?): Adventures and Agonies in Fashion by Brittany Gibbons Publishing | Date | Pages

MY RATING: ★ ★ ★ ★ ✩

I'm fairly certain that any book Brittany Gibbons publishes, I will enjoy it. Many of the notes I took with The Clothes Make the Girl were because I agree with her statements so much. Our ideas, body types, etc. are so similar, it's almost as if I could have written this book myself. She may have lost me a little bit with the baby-centric life and fashion (as did also happen with her first book), but her logic and wisdom were still there.

I wasn't sure how well I could get into this book at first (it took me a long time to get a good pace started), but it really is an excellent representation of life in plus-size fashion. And the truth is that it is rough. But she touched on all the major points that I felt were important. The best overall part of this book was absolutely the chapter/intermission having permission to hate yourself and your body. Not everyday is as easy as the previous... and that's okay.

This was a good extended memoir while also touching on a specific topic. That's not always easy to do for my tastes in literature. However, I did feel that it ended a little abruptly. While I don't think this is a 5-star book like her first, it was still a good quality read. Especially as I once again go through a shift in my own personal style, and of course, the every day occurrences in fashion for a plus-size woman.

[topbeautifulwomens]

#Skin #Deep #Beauty #and #How #to #Keep #it #canada #curl #fashionstyle #filmmaking #likeforlike #makeupjunkie #maquiagembrasil #polishgirl #wakeupandmakeup #water

Soil has been which includesned to the pores and skin masking our bodies. Each undergo significant erosion from wind, h2o and solar injury if still left unchecked. Sandthorn is one of these exceptional vegetation which have proven to be very handy in landscape recovery and beauty treatment of the skin.

Erosion Management The Filth Bowl of the lnine30’s was the most tragic land calamity ever to hit the North The usn continent. Cattle overgrazing by ranchers and over farming by sodbusters taken off virtually all of the grasslands from America’s prairies, leaving the unprotected soil to periodic rain washouts and recurrent guiding winds.

A tale circulating in those times taged of an old Nebraska farmer sitting down on his front porch for the duration of a horrendous filth storm. As soon as questioned what he was seeing so closely, he drolly replied, “Oh, I am just counting them Kansas farms as they go traveling by.”

This kind of are the methods of erosion as soon as the land just isn’t safely and securely cared for as it have to be. Related illustrations have been discovered in northern China, Pakistan and quantities of the Indian subcontinent, exactly where the systematic elimination of old expansion forests and the consistent under plowing of surencounter floor have triggered serious soil erosions and landslides.

But agronomists shortly discovered that the sandthorn shrub was hugely useful in aiding bind world and for good soil conservation actions; therefore, thousands and thousands of acres have been at some point replanted with it.

The Residing Barrier Merely as soil handles considerably of the ground we stroll in, so does yet another type of material protect the sensitive internal areas of our bodies from put on and tear, knocks and actual physical damage, and extremes of temperature. Skin is the entire body’s most significant and heaviest organ. It covers virtually 21½-sq.} toes (2 square meters) on an grownup all around 9 to fifteen pounds (four to seven kilograms), symbolizing about one-12th of the body’s total excess weight. If you have ever worn an overcoat that large, then you’d start to take pleasure in how heavy your skin is.

Such as a shower evidence raincoat skin retains out most of the water and other fluids to which it’s uncovered, although it is not entirey water-proof. H2o is repelled by the normal oils and waxes produced in the little sebaceous glands just under the area of the skin. Individuals sebaceous items also keep the skin adaptable arid supple.

Skin insulates the body way too. Beneathneath is a delicate, yellowish layer named subcutaneous fat. It performs like the padding in a quilted coat to keep the body warm and also absorbs knocks and bumps.

The globe is full of microscopic germs. They float in the air and lie on the stuff we contact. Even objects that are seemingly clean have germs on or in them.

Skin helps prevent germs from inputing the body. Under a microscope, the skin’s surface displays numerous useless, flattened cells that interlock and overlap tightly, like tiles on a roof. Couple of germs can penetrate this barrier, which entirely covers wellnessy skin. But they can enter the body through cuts or breaks in the skin.

The natural waxes and oils on the skin’s surface incorporate germ-killing chemical substances. These are the body’s own disinfectants, supplying additional basic safety against germs, yeasts, and other possibly unhealthy microscopic organisms.

Dermatological Wonder The landscape of the skin, much like that of the earth1 undergoes numerous transformations over a lifestyletime. It encounters distinct varieties of erosions brought on by the substances of local weather, negative diet plan, psychological upset, overuse of chemical cosmetics, and sluggish growing older.

Two types acquainted to many older individuals are rosacea and eczema. The very first ailment is characterised by dilation of the facial capillaries, acne breakouts like pimples, and occasionally thickened skin on the nose. Specific food – this kind of as tea, espresso, alcoholic beverages, and those that are spicy – are relevant with worsening of rosacea. A present go through means that the warmth in coffee or tea may possibly be guilty.

Eczema is an all-bordering phrase, sometimes used synonymously with dermatitis, to clarify infected, scaly, itching skin that may be because of to any number of brings about. Current reports imply a achievable romantic relationship in between this problem and impairment in the skin’s metabolic rate of the necessary fatty acid linolenic acid. Clients with this condition improved when presented dietary supplements that contains a natural supply of gamma-linolenic acid.

A female someplace in her nineteen sixties, Lisa J. of Taylorsville, Utah endured with rosacea of the face and eczema of the scalp for many several years. But when she started drinking an unique fruit mix containing forty two % sandthorn berry extract, she started realizing advancements in her look. In just two months most of the dry, rosy red patches on her nose and face experienced disappeared. And inside a month her scalp had fixed as well. The skin doctor she had been seeing for some 20 years was amazed by the outcome of things on her subsequent pay a visit to to him. She attrihowevered this to her daily two-ounce use of AlpineV with the sandthorn drink. He instructed her to stay with whatsoever she was performing.

The Beauty in Fatty Acids Fatty acids are common denominators for all life forms. Not entirely the volume but also the type of nutritional fat plays principal roles in being health. The human body absolutely needs sure essential fatty acids in the forms of alpha-linolenic acid (an omega-3) and linoleic acid (an omega-six). Therefore they’re termed “essential” fatty acids (EFP’s).

But most people are deficient in them and do not even know it. Info from the 2006 Wellness & Wellness Developments Databases, designed by the All-natural Advertising and marketing Institute of Harleysville, PA, show that almost one-3rd of the all round inhabitants were deficient in omega-3’s. An even greater proportion were regarded as deficient in gamma-linolenic acid (GLA) (another omega-6 EFA).6 However all a few of these EFA’s are crucial to the health of the skin. A couple of placebo-managed reports over the previous 15 years have demonstrated that they improve the signs and symptoms of rosacea, eczema (sometimes called atopic dermatitis) and related inflammatory skin head aches.

It so occurs that sandthorn berries are high in all three of these essential fatty acids,eight incorporating other people to be mentioned in the next chapter. Sandthorn yields 20-36 percent alpha-linolenic acid (an omega-3) and 35-forty three per cent linoleic acid (an omega-6).9 Patients with eczema were given sandthorn berry extracts for four months; during comply with up they confirmed enormous improvement in their condition. The benefits were attributed to the high content material of EFAs.ten

Mother nature’s Very own Beauty “A man of 40-5 seems well known, but a woman of the identical age is over the hill.” So wrote feminist creator Nancy Friday in her thoughts-jarring ebook, The Vitality of Beauty. “We stay in a tradition, she proceeds, “that trades in the forex of seeing and being considered. We need to have beauty not just for others; we want to look the way we truly feel, that’s fairly younger, quite potent, and quite gorgeous, although we’re maturing.”

Nature has incorporated the “natural cosmetic” for women to gain this. It lies within the beautifying elements of the sandthorn berry. Palmitoleic acid is a principal constituent of skin fat and will help to maintain skin softness even though decreasing wrinkles. Sandthorn has a very “high content” of this crucial omega-7 fatty acid, “which is strange in the plant kingdom,” states one famous authority.

Diseases of skin swelling also fare well with this specific berry. Jap and Russian studies have revealed extracts of sandthorn will minimize inflammation and market the regeneration of clean skin in many occasions. My own dad Jacob Heinerman took daily intakes of a certain beverage containing 42 percent sandthorn berry for the very last six months of his life (he handed absent in his snooze at age ninety three in early Feb. 2007). His skin before this was as thin and delicate as parchment paper. But when he went on the berry juice the skin on his fingers and forearms began possessing again some of their natural tone and elasticity. To me, this was the very best testomony of all to sandthorn berry being character’s own cosmetic wonder for recreating skin deep beauty misplaced years before.

The post Skin Deep Beauty and How to Keep it appeared first on Beautiful Women.

source http://topbeautifulwomen.com/skin-deep-beauty-and-how-to-keep-it/