#THE THING. the thing he does with his shoulders when roy barrels into him. he reacts like he thinks hes gonna get hit

[valarinde]

— anything for me, Coach?

[dearabby1990]

Chapter 50: There’s no place like home

Your last day blew by like a breeze hanging at the beach with everyone constantly screaming at them about wearing sunblock not wanting to hear the boys mothers if they come home completely burnt. The night fell fast and morning came before everyone knew it. Everyone rubbing sleep from their eyes and packing their bags stuffing souvenirs in their carry on bags. Eddie grabbing everyone coffee before heading to the airport. Piling into the van to the airport you lay your head on your husband’s shoulder staring at the last of what the island has to offer before it’s a distant memory but so glad that Steve gifted you a few disposable cameras for your trip photos to look back on 10 20 years from now. Boarding back home was a nightmare the boys were cranky and whining so you gave gareth and Jeff enough money to run to the Roy Rodgers just inside the airport to get everybody something quick to eat. You noticed while having them on this trip cranky teen boys equals hungry tummies all of them calming the moment they finished eating. Mike got the window seat home as promised causing him to stick his tongue out at Dustin earning a swat to the head from Eddie causing you to chuckle. You all fell asleep on the flight back being woken up to the sound of everyone boarding into the Hawkins airport Lucas stands up and stretches “ahh home sweet home I had fun but I miss my bed” everyone laughing as they grab their carry on heading off fo grab their luggage. Finally getting your bags and heading to the van to drop everyone off gareth had his own car and offered to drop off Jeff and freak beings you had to speak to the boys mothers at drop off to let them know all went well. Mike was the first drop off on the way home. His mother surely didn’t wait for you to even knock on the door as she came barreling outside pulling him into a bone crushing hug “oh Michael I missed you so much I hope you were well behaved for Jamie and Eddie” she peers over him at the both of you as you walk to the front yard “he was the perfect gentleman mrs wheeler you have no worries when it comes to him he was a big help with me too” she smiles at her son giving him an extra squeeze and a kiss on the head “okay mom enough can I call el now?” She rolls her eyes go ahead she left a few messages for you I left them next to the phone” with that he runs off inside leaving you all laughing “before i forget mrs wheeler I got you a little something while we were away I hope you like it” you take out a small white bag from your carry on she takes it and her face softens almost like she wants to cry “thank you.. you didn’t have to get me anything really” you shake your head “you’ve been such a help with the wedding & honestly just being there for me when I need a motherly figure this is my way of saying thank you” both sniffling with smiles she goes into the bag pulling out a small bracelet with two pearls on it “I went to woman who catches oysters and other things she said when you find twin pearls in one it means good luck I let her know beforehand it was a gift so we put your name on the paper as she said a prayer over it and I had it made into a bracelet so you wouldn’t lose them” she hugs you “thank you it’s beautiful I love it” “you’re welcome Karen it’s not a problem really” she goes back in for another hug “call me mom” she whispers “really?..” she nods “of course if you’re comfortable with it” “you’ve always been like family after mom passed you women were all I had I won’t let my father ruin anymore relationships or my life thank you for just being you” Eddie watching the whole time getting a little emotional himself just happy you have more people that love you as much as he does. Heading back to the car Lucas is the next stop walking him to the door & knocking as he digs his last bag from the van. Erica opens the door “oh hi Jamie.. MOM THE DOOFUS IS HOME AND JAMIE IS HERE!!” She grins at you and you laugh as Lucas walks up to the door rolling his eyes “could you be any louder I don’t think the people in the next town heard you clear enough”

As he stomps upstairs to his room his mom enters from the kitchen “Lucas be sure to put all that dirty laundry right into the laundry room” “hi Mrs Sinclair” “hello Jamie I hope he wasn’t any trouble?” Shaking your head “absolutely not he was very well behaved the entire time and a big help to me when Eddie wasn’t around” “good im glad he remembered his manners” “before I head out to drop off Dustin I got you a little something” “oh dear you didn’t have to do that” “I know I wanted to get all the moms a little something lord knows you ladies do and go through a lot on a regular basis figured you’d all deserved a little something” she pulls out the beautiful wind chime made of all types of beautiful white and pink shells “ohh this is absolutely gorgeous thank you both I’m gonna hang it right on the front porch” she gives you a hug and scurries outside hanging it on an old planter hook “perfect thank you it’s beautiful” “you’re very welcome I’d hate to run but Mrs henerson might take my head off if I don’t get dustin home soon” she laughs “you’re right be safe and thank you again!” You wave goodbye heading off to your last stop his mother patiently sitting outside drinking a coffee “ohh dusty you’re home!!” She runs pulling him into her embrace “I’ve missed you so much I hope you were a good boy the whole time?” “Jeez mom stop it let me take my stuff in first” dragging his luggage inside “Mrs Henderson he was a perfect gentleman the whole time I promise you but before I run and let you two catch up I have a little gift for you” “oh dear thank you” handing it to her she takes the bag and pulls out a large sun catcher made of different stones pearls & a scattered shells tied with fishing line and ribbon “oh my goodness will you look at that it’s absolutely stunning” “you hang it in your window & I promise you it’s like something out of a fairytale I got myself a few too I got one for my bedroom and the nursery” she lights up “That’s right you two are expecting do you know what you’re having yet?” “No but I will by my appointment in 2 days they say they can tell then beings the date of my last menstrual cycle and I’m so excited nervous but excited” she laughs “that’s normal dear I have some old baby stuff from when dusty was a baby I’ll go through them and drop off anything you two could use” “Thai you we’d really appreciate it” “anytime dear let me get inside though I have to check on supper and make sure dusty isn’t digging in it already” “have a lovely night mrs Henderson!” You hop into the van letting out a huff of air you’re so tired all you want to do is sleep and Eddie can see it “tired princess” “Mhhm” you lay your head on the passenger door and drift off. When you wake back up you jolt up confused on where you are and how you got here only to be pulled back in by the touch of Eddie’s hand on your back “it’s okay beautiful just me lay back down” you’re very confused but guess Eddie must’ve carried you in when you got home how you didn’t wake up was beyond you. Were you really that tired? Eddie was starting to get a little worried wondering why sleep would hit you so hard so suddenly he figured it was the vacation and hoped the next two days he could give you the time you needed to catch up on rest for your appointment. But when you woke up that morning to get ready to goto the doctor he noticed you looked more tired then you did when you got home. “You okay love?” You huff trying to slip on your shoes “yeah… just… just really tired can you grab me a coffee on the way please?” He gets up coming across the room to you crouching down to your level looking you in the eyes as he takes a hand and rests it on your cheek caressing your face as he sighs “yeah sweetheart we’ll stop somewhere on the way let me help you tie your shoes and we’ll get outta here” you nod giving him your feet as he ties them in double knots so you don’t trip resting his hand at the small of your back guiding you to the van opening your door and helping you inside. When he starts the van you start to smell exhaust causing you to gag.

At first Eddie doesn’t seem to notice as he pulls out of the driveway and starts down the street but the fourth time when it was too loud not to hear he whips his head eyes wide and pulls over “Are you okay Jamie?! What the fuck?!” You rip open the door letting you breakfast cover your shoes. Eddie runs around to your side of the van holding your hair rubbing your back “let it out princess it’s alright” when you finally finish you start to cry “oh no honey it’s okay it’s not your fault” “I feel so gross I’m sorry!” “No need to be sorry here let me take these off for you your sandals are in the back I’ll grab those and take my water sweetheart” you sip from the bottle hiccuping trying to stop yourself from being upset but you’re so embarrassed and emotional. Eddie changes your shoes to sandals wipes you with a spare rag & dumps a bottle of water over it to dampen to wipe your face “there good as new love now let’s get going before we’re late” he gets back in starting it up but this time you roll up the window “Ed’s the exhaust is making me queasy can you roll up the windows?” He nods & before you know it you’re at Dunkin’ Donuts your husband running in to get you both a coffee and grabbed you a bagel to help settle your stomach to which you gladly took and finished quickly. Your coffee was delicious as always you loved the sugar free coconut flavor with extra cream and three sugars Eddie had it memorized just as you remember his Carmel extra extra him and his sweet tooth. Pulling into the doctors office he helps you out of the van holding your hand as you walk inside to check in. “I have a 11 o’clock appointment with Dr Oswald my name is Jamie Munson” the older woman fixes her glasses as she looks up at you and your husband “okay take this clipboard and fill out the packet and bring it to me when your finished when you hear your name called is when the doctor will see you” taking the clipboard and pen from her “thank you” you find a place to sit Eddie sitting next to you with a hand on your thigh looking over at the paper as you fill things out “family medical history… blood type? Sweetheart I don’t know what blood type I even am” you giggled “Ed’s that’s for me not you but we can always figure that out later I’m type O negative just so you know for emergencies i have anemia & could need a blood transfusion after having a baby if I lose too much blood” his eyes bulging out “how much blood is there supposed to be normally?! This shit sounds terrifying!” You glare “Edward munson you’re not helping quit being a jack ass please I need your support not for you to give me a damn heart attack” “sorry sweetheart I just.. I don’t want anything bad to happen to your or the baby is all I’m nervous too we’re both doing this for the first time although you have to do the hard part which breaks my heart but also fills it with something I’ve never knew I needed I’m sorry I didn’t mean to scare you just bare with me too I wanna be the perfect husband and the perfect dad everything our dads couldn’t be and I know you’ll be the best mom anyone’s ever seen other kids are going to wish we were their parents you’ll see” you smile at him blush brushed across your cheeks as you finish filling everything out “take this to the desk for me would ya handsome?” You wink at him “how can I say no to you” “you can’t” both laughing he takes it and gives it to the receptionist and sits back down just as he was ready to say something “Munson?” You perk up seeing a middle aged nurse with red short hair and Winnie the Pooh scrubs on Eddie takes your hand helping you up as you follow the woman to the back she weighs you and measures you and takes some blood before your settled into a room “here honey put this gown on you can leave your socks on but everything else has to come off the doctor will be with you in a few minutes” handing you the pastel yellow gown she shuts the door and leaves. You strip down feeling the chill of the air conditioning and shiver Eddie looking at the plastic displays of the female reproductive system messing with different parts.

You try to tie the gown closed but no such luck as you can’t reach “hey Ed’s can you stop playing with the plastic uterus for two seconds and help me please?” He looks up and you and turns red coming to tie up the back for you “there ya go pretty lady all set” you turn to him and he lifts you up onto the table as you sit and wait for the doctor to arrive. A few minutes go by before the door opens “Hello there Mrs Munson I’m Dr Oswald I’m your OB and I’ll be the one delivering your little one” you both listen as he introduces himself “I’m guessing your the new dad right?” Eddie nods smiling with a strong sense of pride “okay your bloodwork is pretty good just keep taking your iron supplements and I’m going to give you a refill on that prenatal prescription you have already now let’s check on baby lay back for me dear” you lay back hearing the paper crinkle beneath you “this stuff is gonna be a little cold at first” squeezing the blue colored jelly onto your stomach making you shiver “check on the heart beat first then after we’re finished we can see if we can tell what the gender is.. sometimes they do move too much to tell but we’ll see” you giggle as he presses the mechanism against your tummy trying to find the right spot when we does it sounds almost as if the ocean had its own heart beat you snap your head towards Eddie smiling “there we go that’s baby’s heart beat and it sounds perfect… now let’s see here if he can turn this dang monitor on… ah here we go… hmm??” You furrow your brows “is everything alright Dr?” “Yeah everything is alright but if you look here..” turning the screen to face you and Eddie “here is baby A and here is baby B” your eyes practically pop out of your head. “Two babies?!” He takes off his gloves printing the sonograms “yes two perfect little ones & from what I saw & will show you on your sonogram you get the best of both worlds” you turn to Eddie confused shocked but had a warm fuzzy feeling in your chest “I don’t understand doc” Eddie asks the obvious for the both of you “you’re having twins see here baby A is a boy and baby B is a girl” a sob escapes you before you can even catch it “is that why I’ve been so tired lately?” “It’s a factor yes but we also need a higher dosage of your iron supplements normally one baby takes a lot of their mothers body now two babies is a double whammy but as long as you do right by yourself and take your medications everyday you should have smooth sailing throughout your pregnancy congratulations Mr & Mrs Munson here’s your sonograms we'll call you with your next appointment you two enjoy the rest of your day and try to take it easy Mrs Munson” “thanks doc we appreciate it have a good one” Eddie waves him off before looking at you his mocha eyes glistening as he smiles at you showing off those dimples you love so much “wow sweetheart a boy and a girl??.. This is the greatest day of my fucking life!” You bubble out a giggle before reeling your husband back in “Hun don’t curse in here there’s kids in all over this building” his cheeks red as he laughs “oh come on mama let’s get out of here we have to go celebrate let’s goto your favorite spot” “fries and a chocolate milkshake?” “Yup and whatever else your heart desires lets blow this popsicle stand!.. Man everyone’s gonna freak when they find out I’m scared as shit but so god damn happy!” Twirling you around in the parking lot as you laugh “okay okay that’s enough you’re gonna make me yack and I’d very much not want to do that so let’s go babies want food” helping you into the van as Eddie heads to his seat walking around the back of the van he couldn’t help but let out a small victorious fist bump to the heavens before hopping into the van looking at you with such adoration reaching over to touch your tummy “hey there little ones you take it easy on your mama in there and we’re so excited for your arrival I love you both already” you sniffle holding his hand’s against your stomach smiling at your husband. You’ve prayed endlessly for a life just like this one closing your eyes basking in the feeling of

contentment, love, peace and everything you wished to have growing up. You can’t wait to call Robin & tell her she’s gonna spaz. You & Eddie enjoyed some fries burgers and shakes to celebrate your little family & took you right home after so you could relax but of course the moment you get home you had to run and pick up the phone to Call her & let her know everything knowing steve is definitely close by her so two birds one stone. You’ll have to get Eddie to radio the boys and everyone tomorrow maybe have a small bbq get together and announce it but for now you’re on the sofa with your husband laying your head in his lap as he has one hand playing with your hair and another rubbing your tummy watching movies with you for the rest of the night.

[saywhatjessie]

Angels on Richmond Green

Day seven of the Advent calendar! Using this list. Day 6: Making snow angels. Fandom: Ted Lasso - Pairing: RoyJamie & TedTrent 1.2k[Ao3]

“I don’t know if it’s fair for Jamie to be out here doing all the work,” Ted said, frowning.

Roy snorted. “Nah. He needs this too. Trust me.”

They were on the fifth day of the heaviest snowfall Richmond had seen in decades. Business had closed, schools were shut down, and Nelson Road had kicked out all footballers and coaches, citing canceled matches and unsafe working conditions.

At first Jamie had been excited, bouncing around Roy’s kitchen.

“I never got snow days in Manchester,” he’d told Roy. “Everybody’s too used to the cold and shit, This is mint.”

That attitude had lasted exactly one day.

“Good Lord,” Trent said, fascinated, “I’m not sure if I ever had that much energy.”

Roy grunted. “Pretty sure the kids will flag before Jamie does.”

When Roy had found himself shut inside his house with a bored and whiny Jamie and an equally bored and whiny Phoebe – staying with them while her mother dealt with all the things that could go medically wrong in a fucking blizzard – he’d turned to the Diamond Dogs group chat in desperation, hoping maybe Higgins with all his fucking kids could find him some solution.

What he’d found instead was Ted and Trent, snowed in together at Ted’s, with an equally desolate Clara and Henry.

Ted had proposed they all meet up at the Richmond Green and let the kids get their sillies out. Roy had the better idea to let Jamie get their sillies out while the three actual adults sat nearby on a bench to kvetch.

Well, Roy and Trent were kvetching. Ted was just happy to be there.

The three of them watched Jamie run around in the snow, little Clara Crimm on his shoulders as the smallest of the three children as Phoebe and Henry chased Jamie around and tried to push him into a snow drift. Roy didn’t try to hide his smile as Jamie laughed. Ted and Trent were more embarrassing about each other than he could ever be about Jamie. Probably.

Clara shrieked and threw her arms wide, saying something the three older men couldn't hear, but marking the rest of them cheer with her, Jamie lifting her from his shoulders and placing her on the ground so she could barrel toward them with the other kids.

Phoebe got their first. “Uncle Roy! Uncle Roy we’re making snow angels!”

“Great,” Roy said. “Sounds fun.”

“No, we’re making snow angels,” Henry said, gesturing at all of them. “You guys, too!”

“Oh, are we?” Trent asked.

“Yes, Daddy!” Clara said, breathless from her little legs doing the run. “And Jamie will judge!”

“Wait, why doesn’t Jamie have to do it?” Roy asked, brows furrowed.

Jamie loped up, cocky grin on his face. “Wouldn’t be fair, would it? I’d win right off.”

“How you figure that?” Asked Ted, looking more amused than insulted.

Jamie snorted, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket. He’d taken off his big heavy coat when he’d started running around. “S’all about muscle control, innit? You gotta be strong enough to move the snow but now flail around or you’ll ruin it. I got the best muscle control.”

Trent hummed. “There’s some truth to that.”

Roy pulled a hat out of his pocket and stuffed it on Jamie’s head. “Put your jacket back on, you muppet.”

Jamie grinned, grabbing Roy’s wrist before he could pull his hand away and kissed his palm. “Keep your hair on, grandad, I’ve got like four layers on. And you’re the one about to lay down in some snow.”

Roy growled, making the kids giggle.

“Well, no time like the present!” Ted said, brightly, and then hurled himself onto an untouched patch of snow.

“Dad, no fair!” Henry called, jumping after him. “You got the best spot!”

“Snooze you lose, mother goose!” Ted said, brushing his arms and legs back and forth. “Remember: Jamie said muscle control.”

Henry laughed, finding a smaller fresh patch near Ted’s head. Phoebe and Clara shrieked to go find their own snow spots.

Jamie grinned over at Roy and Trent. “You better find some good snow or your angels will be shit.”

Trent turned big sad eyes on both of them. “But my hair.”

Roy rolled his eyes, yanking Trent closer to him, making him stumble a bit. Roy steadied him before reaching around Trent for his hood and pulled it up over the beautiful hair Trent was so worried about. He tucked some wayward strands away, buttoning the neck to keep it closed and pulling on the strings to keep it secure. He ran his hand down the hood to check his work and gripped Trent lightly on the neck, affectionately.

“There,” He said, taking a step back in satisfaction. “Hair’s all tucked away.”

Trent was just staring at him with wide eyes before looking around him at Jamie. “He really does just do that, doesn’t he? How do you usually react?”

Roy turned and saw Jamie shrug. “Half a chub, usually. Sometimes butterflies or whatever. It’s kinda sweet in a daddy way.”

Roy growled and Trent laughed, a little disarmed.

“Excuse me for solving a fucking problem,” Roy grumbled. “I’m making my fucking snow angel over here.”

“Need help getting down, grandad?”

“Fuck you.”

Jamie did end up having to help Roy up. Not like it mattered: his shit knee didn’t give him the proper range to make a decent snow angel. He knew he’d lose.

“S’alright, babe,” Jamie said, reassuringly, his arm gripping Roy firmly around the middle. “The angel’s skirt is just asymmetrical, innit? That’s fashionable that is.”

“Fuck you,” Roy said, but he put his arm around Jamie’s back and held him closer, anyway.

All the kids had already bounced back to their feet and Ted was helping Trent to carefully step out of his own angel.

Ted was frowning at Tren’t hood. “I miss her.”

Trent patted his chest, comfortingly. “She’s there, darling, just didn’t want to pick ice out.”

Ted still pouted so Trent gave him a little peck.

Jamie made a loud buzzer sound. “That’s a point deduction. There’s no PDA in snow angels.”

“Oh? Then what’s this?” Trent asked, gesturing at Roy and Jamie’s walking snuggle.

“We’re clearly just bros, ain’t we Royo?”

Roy grunted, moving his hand to grope Jamie’s arse.

Jamie didn’t even jump, just smiled wider.

“Jamie, who wins?” Phoebe asked, giving her puppy eyes.

Jamie hummed, rubbing his hand over chin before nodding decisively.

“Ted.”

Ted whooped, pumping his fist while the kids all groan.

“But wait!” Trent said. “Doesn't the winner buy hot chocolate for everyone?”

“That they do, Trent Crimm!” Jamie grinned, and the kids all cheered.

“Well hot dog, all right. If that’s the price of victory.”

The price of victory, or hot chocolate for seven, couldn’t have been more than £40.

The nap that Jamie and Phoebe fell into when they got home, each curled into Roy’s sides on the couch, was definitely worth way more.

[gointothevvater]

Her full profile is finally here! Seven pages of information! I may have gone down the rabbit hole just a tiny bit! 

.

St. Cecilia Jameson

Gender: Cis female

Status: Alive

Occupation: Singer for British rock band Stiletto ("Like the knife or like the shoe?" "Yes.")

 Family: Elizabeth Robinson, née Wallis (Mother), Bryony Robinson (Older half-sister), Esme Robinson, née Davies (Grandmother, deceased), Herakles Zafeiriou (Biological father, though she's never met him), Evander Zafeiriou (Older half-brother, who she's also never met, though they've exchanged family photos and stories via email)

Voiced by: Florence Pugh (Speaking), Lzzy Hale (Singing)

Age: A few months younger than Pickles

Date of birth: December 15 (Sagittarius)

Place of birth: Oxford, England

Birth name: Felicity Robinson (Initially, only Sammy knows this, though the rest of SnB learns it at Esme's funeral)

Nicknames: Ceelie (By Pickles and Sammy, mostly, though the Dethklok boys pick it up eventually), Star (By Magnus), princess (By Skwisgaar)

Ethnicity: Half English, half Greek (Though she's unaware of the latter for most of her life)

Height: Five-foot-one

Sexuality: Bisexual

Relationship status: It's complicated. It's always complicated. She's unlucky in love. 

Current location: London, England

Appearance: St. Cecilia is a petite woman (She's half a head shorter than Pickles!) with golden skin and long white-blonde hair, which she wears in a high ponytail. She has thick, dark brows and bright brown eyes (Skwisgaar says she has "wolf eyes"). She has three white marigolds tattooed on each shoulder, a labret piercing, and a vertical collarbone piercing at the hollow of her throat. Her ears are pierced three times each, in which she wears two silver hoops and a silver stud on each side, and she has a small black star beneath each eye. She has a Christina piercing, nipple piercings, and a belly button piercing. She has a No Time For Antivenom tattoo on her sternum, and a European robin tattoo at the back of her neck. Along her spine, she has a tattoo reading "to thine own self be true." She has a shitty stick-and-poke crown tattooed behind her right ear. She has a pear body type, with wide hips, a small chest, and an even smaller waist (Nathan can encircle her waist with his hands). She typically wears a black muscle shirt, ripped dark jeans, heavy boots, black driving gloves, and a studded black leather collar with a D-ring at the front. She also wears a Gibson pearl guitar pick on a necklace, which was given to her by Pickles when they first started dating in the 80s. She wears a silver cuff on each ear, and her tongue is pierced with a simple silver stud. 

During flashbacks to the Snakes N' Barrels era, she's shown with darker blonde hair cut in a mullet style, and only her labret and ear piercings, plus one on the right side of her nose. She wears a cropped white tank, with high-waisted jeans and black Converse sneakers. She wears mismatched armbands, one black, one striped, and the same collar she wears in the present.

Her more casual look consists of a black button-up shirt with the sleeves pushed up, which she wears tucked into a pair of leather pants. She wears pumps instead of boots, and her hair is twisted up in a clip. She keeps her collar, but doesn't wear the pick necklace or her ear cuff, and she switches her hoop earrings for studs. She doesn't apply her stars.

For fancier occasions, she wears a black dress with spaghetti straps and a very short, flared skirt, black opera gloves and black strap pumps. She, as always, wears her collar with it, and she pulls her hair into a high bun. 

Personality: St. Cecilia is cocky, witty, and teasing, but ultimately good-natured. She's a bit selfish and stubborn, but she does everything with 110% effort, hoping to impress people, even if she winds up getting hurt in the process. She'll do literally anything for validation. To say she's vain would be an understatement. She's something of a coquette who flirts with both men and women, and is she has a tendency to "think with her dick," as Tony once put it. She's slow to anger, but quick to jealousy, and she holds grudges for far too long. She's the playful type, but it's largely in a chill way. She's an obvious extrovert, and the role as frontman for Stiletto came very naturally.  

Skills & Hobbies: St. Cecilia writes good poetry, great song lyrics, and terrible erotica. She likes plants and is quite the chess player (Though she hasn't managed to beat Charles even once), which she learned during her school days. She also learned to fence, ride horses, and speak fluent Latin there.

Musical Talents: She's a classically trained singer (When she was little, she was part of her church's choir), and she writes most of the song lyrics and some of the music for her band, Stiletto. In Snakes N' Barrels, she played lead guitar on a white Jackson Pro Series Rhoads RR3, but during their reunion concert, she plays a more modern Gibson Explorer '76 Reissue 2010 Cherry. She took piano lessons for several years as a child, and she's still pretty good. Nothing outstanding, but if Stiletto needs to incorporate a piano into a song, she's perfectly capable of playing it herself. 

Relationships: 

-Pickles the Drummer: Their relationship is a complicated one. They've known each other for ages, and they've been together through the highest highs and the lowest lows, all the way down to rock bottom. She partially blames him for her late teens and early twenties being the fiasco they were, and she cut off contact with him for a long time after the SnB breakup. During the run of the show itself, the two reconcile somewhat and even become more or less friends before Abigail shows up and things start to crumble again. They have a hard time admitting it, but there's love between them, and there has been for a long time. They're both afraid to try getting together again, though, as there's a mutual fear of the relationship ending as it did the first time, with them hating each other again. They're back together at the end of Doomstar, but there's no way of telling if the love between them is enough to keep them together or if they'll just fall apart all over again. 

-Magnus Hammersmith: They were more off-and-on than anything, but they were together for years, even though quite a bit of it was long-distance. It wasn't supposed to be a serious thing. It was just supposed to be a quick fuck. Then it was supposed to be a performance to annoy Pickles, but Magnus quickly realized that St. Cecilia's feelings for Pickles were too strong for her to be any use to him in his revenge plot. The basis of their bond formed because they understood each other on a level they've never known with anyone else: Former Snakes N' Barrels guitarist St. Cecilia Jameson and former Dethklok guitarist Magus Hammersmith both understand on a fundamental level what it's like to be left behind and forgotten. Magnus caught a bit of feelings, and when Roy Cornickelson's funeral came around, Magnus warned St. Cecilia not to attend. It was their last interaction, and it forever cast him in a positive light for her, even after she learned what he was doing with the Metal Masked Assassin. 

-Nathan Explosion: They get along pretty well. Their first meeting was at a singers-only Crystal Mountain party, and they ended the evening with a quickie in the coatroom. He wrote a song about the encounter, but Pickles never figured out that it was about St. Cecilia, which Nathan thinks is just the funniest thing. He mostly sees St. Cecilia as one of the guys once she meets with Dethklok again for the SnB reunion. It's a "been there, done that" kind of deal. She's not brutal, but she's funny and she's fun, and goddamn, is she pretty, and they would absolutely hang out if they could get their schedules to line up.

-Skwisgaar Skwigelf: St. Cecilia is nothing short of enchanted by Skwisgaar. It's not a crush, exactly, but she has a huge amount of admiration for him. They've practiced together a time or two, but she's a little rusty and winds up with her fingers bleeding because her calluses have gone soft. He tends to tease her over her soft hands. A guitar god, he tells her, can't have hands like a princess. His calling her “princess” becomes a bit of a thing for them. The two of them often have brunch together, talking shit and drinking. She's good for him; He's never had a female friend before.

-Toki Wartooth: Within the series itself, St. Cecilia hasn't given Toki much thought. He's cute, but he's just sorta there. His incident during the SOBERTOWN USA concert really scared her, and she more or less avoids him after that. Post-DSR, though, their relationship changes. He, like her, was hurt by Magnus, and even with him dead, Toki misses him terribly. St. Cecilia misses him, too. As sad as it is, this becomes their common ground. Their other connection, odd as it sounds, is pole dancing. St. Cecilia does it for exercise, and Toki did it for money, and they often compete to see who's better on the pole. 

-William Murderface: St. Cecilia actually has a begrudging fondness for Murderface. He's awful, but he's also pretty funny, and she likes to hear him talk about knives and medieval weaponry, as her family home is full of such things. They clash over things, of course, but she likes being around him more often than not.

-Charles Offdensen: St. Cecilia really likes Charles, actually. He's basically the only person on the show who's really "on her level" class-wise. He attended Harvard, and she attended Oxford, so they have a great deal to talk about. They play a lot of chess and fence on occasion, and if it weren't for her feelings for Pickles and his obligation to the Church, they just might have gotten together.

-Dick Knubbler: They're friends, in a way. She thinks he's kind of a weirdo, but he knows how to have a good time, so as long as he isn't hitting on her, she likes being around him. 

-Abigail Remeltincdrinc: They became friends mostly due to the fact that they were both women in the music industry (And both working for Crystal Mountain) and supporting each other seemed the right thing to do. Abigail getting involved with Dethklok and catching Pickles's attention quickly became a sore spot, and they drifted apart after that. After DSR, things got even worse. Abigail, naturally, is glad that Magnus is gone, while St. Cecilia is devastated by the loss. They had something of a falling-out over it, and they haven't really spoken since. 

-Edgar Jomfru: Despite being very different people, St. Cecilia really enjoys Edgar's company. He merely tolerates her at first, but she grows on him, to the point where they're legitimately friends come Doomstar. The two of them often have lunch together on the roof of Mordhaus so they can get some fresh air. 

-Family: St. Cecilia's family consists of her mother, Elizabeth, her older sister, Bryony, and her now-deceased grandmother, Esme. St. Cecilia has a very formal, cold relationship with her mother, and she has no desire to change that. As far as she's concerned, her mother doesn't deserve to have a good relationship with her. St. Cecilia adores Bryony, though. Though Elizabeth brags about her, Bryony remains modest and is very close with her sister because of it. Though there's seven years between them, they may as well be twins. Esme, who passed away in 1993, was more of a mother to St. Cecilia than Elizabeth ever was, and St. Cecilia still misses her terribly. She was a big part of getting SnB off the ground, and the boys even came to her funeral.

-Snakes N' Barrels: St. Cecilia adores all the boys, of course, but Sammy is the only one she really kept in touch with after the breakup. He was her favorite long before Pickles joined. There was a pregnancy scare not long after the band took off that somehow, against all odds, brought the two of them even closer. Sammy was St. Cecilia's first love. Her relationships with Tony and Snazz were much more professional, though none of them were anywhere near professional. The crown tattoo behind her right ear was done by Tony on a drunken night in, and it was too good a night for her to even consider covering it or getting it removed. 

-Stiletto: She gets along with them all quite well! She's known Niamh McLoughlin, their bassist, the longest, and their friendship dates back to their school days. Lex Clarke and Priyanka Dayal, the drummer and the guitarist respectively, came as a package deal, as they've been more or less married for years. St. Cecilia adores them and the sweetness of their relationship. She's a little envious of them, actually, though she would never say so.

History:

-Childhood: St. Cecilia was born in Oxford, England to Elizabeth Robinson. She was raised more or less at her family's girls-only boarding school, away from her mother. When she was fourteen, she fell off a horse during an equestrian class and badly injured her shoulder. She was one of the popular girls during her school days, up until she hit fifteen and decided that she was no longer a child and had a right to demand respect from her emotionally distant mother. She quit the piano lessons she had been taking for several years and took up the guitar, though it aggravated her injured shoulder and even as a teen, she developed a dependence on painkillers. This rebellious period stretched until she was sixteen and ran away with the help of her grandmother. St. Cecilia was given her name just before she left, so it would be easier for her to hide, as well as a hefty sum to tide her over until she could get herself settled. She was only in LA for a few weeks before she met Sammy at a bar where the SnB prototype band was playing. Naturally, Snazz and Tony weren't thrilled with the idea of Sammy's kinda-sorta-girlfriend trying to become their lead guitarist, and when Snazz disparagingly referred to St. Cecilia as Yoko, she broke his nose (How could he have not expected violence when a Beatles-loving British girl was called such a horrible thing?). This earned their respect and is an event that they laugh about to this day. 

-Snakes n' Barrels era: St. Cecilia stuck with the band for several months before they found Pickles, and she was smitten with him the moment she heard him sing. Esme was an important source of financial support during their formative years. The band made it big after not too long, and they all grew quite close. St. Cecilia ended up in an ill-fated off-and-on relationship with Pickles as time went on, and to this day she doesn't remember the first time she told him she loved him. It wasn't long after his first OD and his following stint in rehab that she told him, and they were both drunk in celebration of his release. His tolerance, even post-rehab, was far higher than hers, though, and he remembers, though he sometimes hates that he does. Though there was genuine love between them, the stress of the band and both of their substance abuse problems drove a wedge between not only the couple, but also the entire band. Coupled with Pickles fucking groupies behind St. Cecilia's back and St. Cecilia's becoming a rather serious Vicodin addict to combat the pain in her injured shoulder, the band was doomed. Pickles came to see St. Cecilia off on her flight back to England, saying he would meet her there when his next residuals check came in, but he never made it, and they didn't speak to each other for years afterward. It hurt, but St. Cecilia supposed it was for the best. A clean break, and all that.

-Preklok: After SnB broke up, St. Cecilia returned to Oxford, staying with Bryony in their mother's guest house as she tried to figure out her next move. Despite her gift for writing lyrics, she had no talent for writing books, and that idea quickly went down the drain. She still received a large amount of money in residuals, but she was reduced to a mere socialite, though it mostly agreed with her. At her mother's insistence, she attended a few classes at Oxford University. She absolutely loved it. In 1992, Esme passed away. St. Cecilia only told Sammy about it, but he took the initiative and brought Pickles, Tony and Snazz with him to the funeral. St. Cecilia was initially pissed, but she really appreciated the support. That was the only time she saw Pickles between SnB's breakup and their reunion concert. He was devastated when her parting words to him were "I love you with everything I am, but I never wanna see you again." In the mid-90s, she posed for an issue of Playboy, and Pickles has a copy of the issue tucked away somewhere. It wasn't until 1998, when she moved to a little flat in London, that St. Cecilia reunited with her school friend Niamh and the idea of Stiletto came about. They found Priyanka and Lex at an open mic night at one of the local clubs, and they hit it off, both as friends and as bandmates. They played at many clubs and pubs, and they were soon found by a scout at another open mic night. They signed with the UK branch of Crystal Mountain Records and were assigned the surly but efficient Melinda Glasscock as their manager, and within three years, Stiletto was huge, due in part to St. Cecilia's residual fame from Snakes N' Barrels. Their first tour was through Europe, but the second came to America, where St. Cecilia met Magnus in a bar post-show. They got on really well, and she invited him to her hotel room for the night. They exchanged numbers and got quite close over time, with her even flying him out to London from time to time so they could hang out. Magnus knew who she was from the start, and while he planned to use her feelings for Pickles to get her on his side, that soon faded and he came to genuinely like her. She wouldn't learn who he was until later on. A few years before canon, she had a quickie with Nathan in a coat room at a singers-only part at Crystal Mountain records, and he used the fact that she couldn't fit her mouth around his dick as inspiration for Dethklok's infamous song "Glasgow Smile."

-Season 1: 

-St. Cecilia's first mention within the confines of canon is during Performance Klok, when Pickles mentions he hasn't been in a serious relationship since the '80s despite the fact that he would certainly thrive under such attention. 

-She first appears in Snakes N' Barrels, during the documentary the Dethklok is watching. The guys are a little critical when they (Save Nathan, who's known for a long time) learn that part of SnB's downfall was due to Pickles's failed relationship with St. Cecilia. There's some comedic nonsense talk about fucking one's guitarist before Pickles goes to speak with Charles. Though St. Cecilia is working on an album with Stiletto when she's asked to go the reunion, she manages to push through and finish in time, though she arrives nearly late. She finds Pickles backstage, and when he sweeps in to kiss her, she pulls away a bit, saying they can't do this, as she's spoken for. She lets him hold her close, though. The rest of Dethklok finds them like that, and St. Cecilia excuses herself to go find Sammy, Tony and Snazz. There's some talk about Pickles not leaving Dethklok, which he says he won't, but they're rather worried after catching him with St. Cecilia in his arms. Meanwhile, she manages to find the boys, and they meet with Pickles backstage. While the boys partake of the Totally Awesome Sweet Alabama Liquid Snake, St. Cecilia doesn't, as she once humiliated herself by passing out on stage and doesn't wish to repeat the incident. She presses a kiss to Pickles's palm before they go on stage, an old ritual that they were never able to shake. What happens is far worse than someone just passing out, and she and Pickles leave the stage amidst the chaos while the medical Klokateers take care of the boys and see them off to the hospital. It's a disaster. She's embarrassed and angry, and she turns down Pickles's offer of a ride home and calls someone instead, as she didn't get her money converted and can't pay for a cab. This someone turns out to be the man who's claimed her, Magnus, and Pickles is none too happy about it. He tries to stop her from going with him, but it doesn't work. 

-She isn't seen in Dethkids, but she is mentioned. When Pickles starts drinking harder than usual, he finally gives in to the urge to call her, to talk about how Sammy and Snazz and Tony are doing, and to tell her that she should steer clear of Magnus. He's so drunk, though, that she barely has even an idea of what he's talking about. 

-Offscreen, but somewhere between the two SnB episodes, Magnus and St. Cecilia abruptly break up. She has a feeling something was going on with him, but his sudden disappearance really hurt her. They had been together off and on for years, after all. A few weeks before he left, he bought her a little pink knife and showed her how to use it, just in case he wasn't around to protect her. When he left, he left his guitar behind, and she still has it as of Doomstar. 

-Season 2: 

-She's mentioned by Seth in Dethwedding, though only as "that British chick" he thought Pickles would eventually have married. Pickles nearly decks him for even mentioning her.

-St. Cecilia's next appearance is in Snakes N' Barrels II. In part one, during the advertisement for the SOBERTOWN USA concert, she's missing from the band lineup, and Pickles is both relieved and a little concerned by her absence. 

-In SnB II part two, Nathan, Skwisgaar and Toki find her among the crowd at the SOBERTOWN USA concert. Nathan asks if she wasn't invited to play, but she says that she was: She just didn't think it was right to play without Pickles. Realizing that Pickles is sneaking around backstage, she leaves to go find him and try to keep him from doing something he'll regret. She only finds him just as Tony, Snazz and Sammy start freaking out, and she only just manages to keep Pickles from killing Rikki Kixx, though she honestly doesn't mind the thought of him dead. She pulls Pickles away from the stage, where he calls the Klokateers to take care of Sammy, Snazz and Tony, and she sets to icing down his bruised knuckles. She tells him that she and Magnus broke up, and he's thoroughly pleased about it: She's too good for him, anyway. That irritates her a bit, but she tells him to call her sometime, though she insists he do it when he's not drunk off his ass. 

-Season 3: 

-Ironically, when Pickles calls her in Dethhealth to inform her that he's dying, he's in fact drunk again. She wants to go to Mordhaus to see him, but he tells her to stay where she is, as he doesn't want her seeing him like that, though she's seen him at rock bottom as it is. At the end of the episode, he's drunker and higher than ever, but he calls her again to let her know he's all right. She can't understand him, though, so he puts Nathan on to explain. She’s thoroughly relieved, but she’s still considering going to Mordhaus to see him. She implores of Nathan, "Take care of him, all right?"

-Offscreen, in the time between Dethhealth and Dethmas, Pickles goes to London for a while to appease St. Cecilia, and to their mutual surprise, it's not really all that different from how it was when they were actually together. There's lots of cuddling and kissing and great sex and just... Hanging out. It's easy for them to be together. They have their share of problems, but the old spark between them is still there. Pickles is honestly a little scared of that: What if he falls for her all over again just for her to break his heart like she did last time? The fact that she has Magnus's guitar makes him doubly suspicious. He starts drinking harder than ever to drown out the thoughts of her. 

-In Rehabklok, when Pickles's drinking is brought to the attention of the band and he's sent to rehab, he tries for a while to blame it on St. Cecilia. She broke his heart, and he drinks to cope. It makes perfect sense, until he starts to really think about it and realizes that he's equally at fault for how their relationship (And also SnB) fell apart. He realizes, after many years, that he hurt her as badly as she hurt him. And that makes him feel even worse. He talks the doctor into letting him call her to apologize, but it doesn't go well: She's a little offended that he would even consider blaming her for his drinking, given he was a drunk long before they met. "Is that what I am to you now? An excuse to get drunk and act a fool?" Not long after that, Pickles realizes the real cause for his drinking.

-Just before Charles goes to speak to the UN in Doublebookedklok, he calls St. Cecilia and cryptically asks her if she speaks Latin. She owes him a favor for getting her out of some legal trouble, so she can't really refuse. Several months before, she punched a scummy paparazzo who called Magnus washed-up, and Charles used his reeducation program to keep those involved from pressing charges or damaging St. Cecilia's reputation. 

-Season 4:

-In Fanklok, before Charles meets with the band to discuss Klokikon, he welcomes St. Cecilia to Mordhaus and presents her with an ancient-looking journal that belonged to Aurelius Isambard, one of the original prophets of the Church of the Black Klok. She's taken down to the basement, where she's introduced to Edgar Jomfru, and gets to work. 

-In Diversityklok, after he's spoken to Edgar, Charles speaks to St. Cecilia. He finds her engrossed, but thoroughly worried. She asks if this is real, and she's even more worried when he tells her it is. 

-Offscreen, St. Cecilia has been hard at work translating the journal, and she's come to a passage that seems to describe the growing tension between the band. It also mentions an approaching star, and she takes to sitting on the roof at night to observe the sky. 

-In Prankklok, when Pickles tells Nathan that he's not allowed to drink any tequila during their friender-bender, Nathan tells him he can't visit St. Cecilia when they stop in London. Pickles reluctantly agrees. Not long after, we see Pickles on his phone, though, debating on calling her just before he notices the storm warning.

-Offscreen, St. Cecilia approaches Charles about a phrase repeated over and over in the journal: Fata sidus oritur, the star of fate is born. 

-After Charles breaks the news about Ice Festival to Skwisgaar in Bookklok, he goes to speak with St. Cecilia and Edgar in the basement. She's tacked two star maps to the wall: One from the previous week and one from the previous night. There's a spot near the center of the first map that seems bigger on the second one. She looks like the world is ending when she tells him it's the Doomstar. It's real. It's coming? When? Soon, she says. Far too soon.

-When Charles tells the boys he's going out of town in Dethcamp, it's to take St. Cecilia to an observatory, where they meet with Ishnifus and spend a few days tracking the Doomstar's movement as it comes closer and closer to Earth. 

-In Going Downklok, when Pickles shows up all decked out for his meeting with Abigail, Nathan is quick to ask, "Don't you have a girlfriend?" Pickles insists he doesn't; He and St. Cecilia was hurt and angry the last time they spoke. On top of that, he believes she's all the way in London, and Abigail is right there. 

-Offscreen, between Dethdinner and Breakup Klok, St. Cecilia is tagged in the video of Pickles leaving Dethklok by a drunken Toki. She's incredibly hurt. Pickles has nothing, he said. She, apparently, is nothing.

-In Breakup Klok, Pickles tries to call St. Cecilia to invite her to his wine tasting, but she refuses to answer and sends him straight to voicemail. Towards the end of the episode, after the escape from Salacia, Charles requests a check-up on Edgar and St. Cecilia back at Mordhaus, and Pickles is stunned and angry to learn that she's been more or less within arm's reach for months. Had he known, he's certain things would have been different-- He wouldn't have tried to make a move on Abigail and he wouldn't have fucked up his chance to get back with St. Cecilia again.

-Offscreen, St. Cecilia speaks to Charles about staying at a hotel for a few days, just until Roy Cornickelson's funeral, after which she'll return to Mordhaus and her translation work. The day of the funeral, though, she receives a call from Magnus telling her she absolutely cannot attend, as he can't guarantee her safety. It's the last time she has contact with him before his death. We also see her watching the news about Dethklok's breakup and the insinuation that Abigail caused it, and St. Cecilia chucks a bottle at the TV, mirroring Pickles's actions in SnB II.

-In Church of the Black Klok, St. Cecilia is fetched from the hotel by Klokateers and taken to the Dethsub, where she meets with Charles, pointedly ignores Pickles, and goes to work with Edgar instead. 

-The Doomstar Requiem:

-In "One of Us Must Die," St. Cecilia can be seen on one of the slides, staring up into the sky with Isambard's journal held to her chest. Towards the end of the song, reading from the book, she sings, "Dethklok, they must be rejoined/Evil, it must be destroyed/No more apathetic stoics/They can learn to be heroic/Write the song that will be our salvation..."

-In "Training," while carrying the journal, she sings the lyrics, "As the prophecy foretold, the Doomstar has been born/And you all will be endowed with a power known to none." Nathan, Skwisgaar and Murderface are looking at the art of the Prophecy, but Pickles is watching her. Ishnifus places a hand upon her shoulder, and they sing together, "The Deth lights are within you all waiting to be woken/And when the five are united, the evil will be broken," in a show of solidarity.

-In "En Antris et Stella Fatum Cruenti," just after Ishnifus is killed and the Doomstar goes red, we see a shot of Charles, Edgar and St. Cecilia at the Church, watching the sky. 

-In "Morte Lumina," in a mirror to Nathan and Abigail's kiss, we see Pickles approach St. Cecilia, and she presses a kiss to his palm (Which is a really significant gesture between them) before he pulls her into his arms. 

Trivia: 

-The stars on her cheeks are actually a makeup trick, as she's afraid to have a needle so close to her eyes. 

-She smokes Honeyrose Cherry cigarettes (Which have roughened her voice a bit), but she doesn't drink to excess, save when she's with Pickles. He's a terrible influence on her, but she adores him just the same. Considering him and Magnus, she has rather bad taste in men.

-Her signature scent is Estée Lauder's Cinnabar, which features notes of jasmine, orange blossom, cloves, and patchouli. She uses a cinnamon body oil when she wants to get Pickles's attention. It always works.

-She wants nothing more than to be loved, but she's keenly aware of the fact that most of the people who "love" her only want to coast on her fame. It's resulted in her having a hard time trusting people. The fact that Pickles and the rest of Dethklok don't need to coast off her is part of why she likes them so much.

-She's an iced coffee addict, and she prefers chocolate, caramel, or hazelnut varieties.

-She was raised Catholic, and while she lapsed a long time ago, she has occasional bouts of Catholic Guilt. Her name is related to her religion, as St. Cecilia is the patron saint of music.

-Her preferred alcohol is Bombay Sapphire gin, though she also likes white wine and champagne.

-She's a plant mom. Her flat is full of plants, including a little devil's tongue cactus she bought at a farmer's market in LA when she first came to America. It's traveled the world with her! It lived in the cupholder of Snazz's van for several years, and now it lives in her kitchen, perched on top of the microwave.

-She has a pretty serious oral fixation. She's always got something in her mouth: A cigarette, a pen, a popsicle, someone's fingers, a dick. Depends on her mood. Getting her tongue pierced helped a little, as she can play with the stud, but some habits just can't be broken.

-She and the rest of Stiletto own a condo building in London together, and she naturally has the penthouse to herself. It's very airy and open, with lots of mirrors and plants and exposed brick. One corner of her living room is just a huge window that looks out on the city. It's her favorite feature. Magnus is too nervous to go near it.

[fullmetalscullyy]

day 20 - fireplace

24 days - 24 oneshots | a collection of christmas themed oneshots to celebrate royai | prompt list can be found here

read on ao3

rated: g | words: 1719

“Do you have a stocking?”

Riza removed her head from being buried inside her book. She regarded the young alchemist, completely puzzled. Why was he asking her about what she wore underneath her trousers to keep her legs warm in the winter?

“A stocking?”

“Yeah,” Roy replied, not picking up on her confused tone.

“What do you need one for?”

“It’s – No reason,” he hurriedly deflected. His gaze averted from hers quickly.

“What –?”

“Do you have one?” He asked again, just wanting her to answer yes or no.

But why would he want just one? It was a very strange question, Riza thought.

“I mean… Typically I wear two at the one time. I think everyone does.”

“Wear,” Roy echoed, looking at her as if she’d grown two heads.

“Well… Yes,” Riza answered, just as baffled as he was. “What else do you use them for?”

“You hang them on the fireplace,” he explained.

“Hang them on it? But they’ll rip. The material is only thin.”

His expression grew even more incredulous which led Riza to believe something may have been lost in translation along the way…

“I don’t know why they’d be hung on the fireplace, other than hanging them near it for them to dry more quickly,” she continued. “Or, to heat them up before wearing them outside if it was a particularly cold day.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Roy lifted his hands and waved them in front of him hurriedly. “What are you talking about?”

“I wear stockings outside in the cold,” she explained. “I would maybe hang them by the fire to provide some extra warmth before going out but wouldn’t keep them there or pin them to it. They’d rip. What are you talking about?”

“Christmas stockings!”

Riza blinked at him. “Are they adorned with a particularly festive pattern?”

“What?” He was exasperated now and looking at her like she’d really lost it.

“I don’t know!” Riza huffed defensively. She half turned away from him, shooting him a glare out the side of her eye. Embarrassment coloured her cheeks the longer he stared at her with disbelief.

Realisation dawned on Roy’s face and he let out an elongated “oh”.

“No! No, not winter stockings like we were outside in the snow!” He scrambled to correct himself, realising where he’d gone wrong with his wording. “No, I’m sorry. I wasn’t clear enough. I was talking about a Christmas stocking. It’s what we put little gifts into from Santa,” he explained further. “They’re hung up on at the fireplace because he’ll come down the chimney and fill the stocking up before he leaves.”

Riza’s shoulders slowly relaxed, peeling away from her ears. “A Christmas stocking?”

Roy nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! I sometimes get some fruit. Or a little toy. Probably two or three of them. Aunt Chris always tells us that if we’re bad they’ll be filled with coal,” he whispered conspiratorially. “I’ve never had coal though.” He beamed with pride.

“Oh.”

“So, do you have one?”

Riza shook her head. “I don’t.”

The excitement slowly died down on Roy’s face. “You… You don’t have one?”

“We don’t really celebrate it,” Riza replied. Her tone was subdued but steady as she spoke.

She never remembered celebrating it and couldn’t understand why a sadness would wash over her whenever she went into town and saw all the other children her age incredibly excited as they clutched at their gifts.

Roy fell silent and contemplative. He stared down at his lap with a crease in between his eyebrows.

Riza watched warily, wondering what he was thinking.

“Don’t worry about it,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s not really a big deal.”

“Okay…”

He was too casual and brushed it off too easily after seeing his excitement while explaining the tradition to her initially. Riza thought it was rather suspicious.

He grinned at her and went back to studying his alchemy books without another word.

Too baffled by his reply, Riza kept her mouth closed and continued on with her chores.

She expected nothing from the holiday and knew she would receive nothing, so Roy’s comment didn’t really bother her. It only left her perplexed as to where the thought had suddenly stemmed from.

Deep down inside, in a compartment that was almost too dark for Riza to see into, there was a tiny sliver of hope. Memories of seeing her school peer’s faces light up when their parents bought them gifts in town filled Riza’s mind. Just once… Just one time, Riza would like to experience a joy like that. To have someone think of her and buy a gift for her out the goodness of their heart.

But she knew that would never happen. Riza quickly squashed that tiny piece of hope, feeling foolish for ever thinking such a thing.

*          *          *

It was the day Roy was due to leave for the train station that he came barrelling into the living room. Father was working in his study and Riza was working on patching up some of her old clothes. The trousers she was working on had holes in them at the knees from her gardening, so she was currently working on applying patches to them. They would be mismatched but they were only worn for seeding vegetables and tending to the tiny number of flowers that still clung desperately to the soil in Mother’s old garden.

“Hey.” Roy’s face was flushed as he skidded to a halt in the doorway. His hair was mussed up, dishevelled, and he was breathing heavily.

“What’s wrong?” Riza was instantly alert. Her clothes were shoved to the side and she rose to stand.

“Nothing,” he reassured with a shake of his head. Roy smiled at her, a small one, but it was completely genuine. “Come with me.”

“Why?”

“Please,” he pleaded. “I don’t have much time before I have to leave, and I just finished getting your surprise ready.”

“Surprise?” She stared at Roy, wondering if she’d misheard him.

“Yes, surprise!” he beamed. “Come on!”

Once Riza was close enough, Roy grasped her wrist loosely in his hand and tugged her gently towards the stairs.

She jerked her hand away and it made Roy falter. There was a beat of silence as he looked back at her, surprised by her sudden rebuttal of his touch.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she dismissed, resisting the urge to rub at her wrist. It didn’t hurt, but the action had startled her. She initially didn’t like it but… His hand had been warm, and his touch had been gentle. It wasn’t rough and he didn’t pull so hard he tripped her up. He just wanted to move along with her. He wasn’t harsh of uncaring. He was calm and encouraging.

“Okay.” He glanced down at her twitching hand then back up at her face. “Sorry, I didn’t – I’m sorry for grabbing you. If you didn’t like it,” he added, suddenly looking fearful and ashamed.

“Oh. It’s okay –” Riza stuttered, trying to ignore the reminder of his warm hand encompassing her wrist, pulling her along with him so they could walk side by side. Her cheeks turned pink and she became mortified by her knee jerk reaction to recoil from him.

“Riza?” His voice was soft as he called to her, a hint of a smile on his lips. He jerked his head towards the stairs. “I have something to show you,” he tried again. “A surprise. Would you like to come with me?”

Riza nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

“Awesome,” he grinned. He climbed one step before turning around to wait for her to catch up. He set the pace but ensured they remained side by side as they ascended the staircase.

Her surprise was in her bedroom. Riza was confused immediately as he gestured for her to grasp the handle to her own room.

“What –?”

“Go inside and look,” he urged without further explanation. She was sure the smile on his face may split it in two. He looked extremely proud of himself.

She glanced around but her eyes came to settle upon the ancient, unused fireplace in her bedroom. Something was pinned into the wood. Something red and white.

A Christmas stocking, just like she’d seen in town weeks ago.

“What –” She blinked at it, wondering what that was doing in her bedroom –

“Here.”

He lightly tapped her elbow before walking further into the room. He approached the hearth and stopped, removing the stocking from it’s pin. Extending his arm, Roy held it out to Riza for her to take.

She was too surprised to move.

“It’s for you,” he added, seeing that she was still unmoving. “It’s your stocking, Riza! Look.”

On the side of it, near where the toes would sit in a normal stocking, was her name. It was embroidered in gold thread. Tears threatened to spring to her eyes, but she was still too shocked to let them fester.

Roy lifted her arms slowly and gently and pressed it into her hands. It left Riza no choice but to take a hold of it. And it was heavy. It was bulging in places. Looking down at the top she could see a box crudely wrapped in brown paper. There was more buried underneath, and it felt like there were quite a few.

“No opening them until Christmas Day though,” he teased, lifting a finger to waggle it in her direction.

“This…” Riza swallowed the lump in her throat.

Just once… Just one time, Riza would like to experience a joy like that. To have someone think of her and buy a gift for her out the goodness of their heart.

“Merry Christmas,” he winked.

“Roy –” She wanted to protest. This was too much for him to give her. He’d spent his own money on her. She couldn’t accept it.

“Think nothing of it,” he assured, trying to placate her. “Aunt Chris sent over the stocking and some of the goodies. I picked up a few in town. Can’t have Christmas without a stocking filled with gifts now, can we?” He flashed another smile at her.

“I…” Riza didn’t know how to respond.

“Hope you enjoy them.” He lifted his eyebrows playfully.

“Thank you,” she breathed, trying to rid her eyes of the tears forming in them.

[alecmagnuslwb]

Halloween Wonder

Read on AO3

“I wanna be the wonder ladies for Halloween,” Lian says coloring a picture of Princess Diana herself on the coffee table in the living room. Roy pops his head up from where he’s reading a magazine on the couch. Jason’s out patrolling for the night so it’s just the two of them. It’s nearing her bedtime, but she gave him the doe eyes around eight o’clock requesting she have just one more hour to see JayJay.

“You mean you wanna be Wonder Woman?” he asks leaning forward and looking at the picture she’s coloring. She’s taken some liberties with Wonder Woman’s costume design trading the usual red, blue and gold for pink, purple and silver.

“Yeah! But you and JayJay gotta be the other two,” she declares. She flips through her coloring pages pulling out one of Donna and another of Cassie, the current Wonder Girl. She waves them in his face. “You can be Aunt Donna and JayJay can be Wonder Girl!” she says with glee.

Roy eyes the coloring page and remembers Donna’s old red costume, he’s not sure he’s got the curves to pull it off quite the same way his old flame and dear friend did.

“You sure you don’t want us to be Green Lantern and Superman, make the Justice League or something, kiddo?” he asks, pointedly not mentioning Batman, Jason would never go as Batman no matter how much Lian begs.

“Nope,” she says happily turning back to her own coloring page with a beaming smile. “Wonder ladies!”

Roy sighs looking down at the pictures in his hands, the things they do for their little girl. 

***

Jason doesn’t make it home early, so much against her protests Lian is sent to bed only complaining lightly after Roy promises that they’ll be doing her requested Halloween costumes. Jason slips into their bedroom hours later, shower fresh and free of his gear.

Roy sits up from where he’d slumped down into bed trying to stay awake to see him. Jason smiles walking over to the bed and kissing Roy lightly once before flopping over him and onto his side of the bed.

“Lian picked her Halloween costume tonight,” Roy says as Jason pulls the covers up.

“Oh yeah, what dynamic trio will we be this year?” Jason says smiling. They’ve been letting Lian pick what they’ll all be since she was three, surprisingly this is the first year she’s picked any other supers usually sticking more to animated characters. Last year was particularly memorable when she begged to be Maleficent and Jason and Roy sported their best Scar and Gaston. Alfred had made the most elaborate and movie accurate costumes Roy had ever seen which was saying something since he’d done so well with other duos the years before.

“The Wonder fam,” he says with a smirk.

“As in?” Jason asks and Roy smirks.

“Diana,” he says pointing to the wall where two rooms down Lian is sleeping peacefully. “Donna,” he says gesturing to himself. “And Cassie,” he finishes pointing at Jason.

“And before you ask there’s no changing her mind,” he says.

Jason huffs. “Well at least she didn’t want me to Batman,” he says with a shrug. He grabs his phone from where he’d tossed it on the nightstand and sends off some text. It dings almost immediately with a response. “Alfred said he’s on it, we just have to swing by the manor tomorrow so he can get updated measurements for Lian since she’s gotten taller since last year.”

Not for the first time in his life Roy wonders if Alfred ever sleeps considering the late hour.

***

“You know Donna is never going to speak to you again if she finds out about this, right?” Jason says enjoying the view of Roy in his tight red one piece costume, but obviously holding back laughter as well. Roy adjusts his dark wig flipping the hair over his shoulder.

“Yup,” Roy says eyeing himself from every angle in the mirror. He looks good dammit, turns out he does have the curves to pull of the look, Donna can get over it if she finds out. Alfred’s really outdone himself with his seam work this year.

“And you know that there’s a 98% chance we run into Dick and Babs tonight and they’ll tell absolutely everyone?” Jason adds on from where he’s sat on the bed.

���Yup,” Roy says turning away from the mirror to face Jason. Lian had chosen Cassie’s most recent costume for Jason and Roy would be lying if he said Jason isn’t making the black leggings and skirt combo work. “You know they’re gonna see you in this get up and tell everyone too, right?”

Jason just shrugs. “Yeah, but everyone’s afraid of me, so the jokes will end real quick.”

Roy hums conceding the point. Lian comes barreling in a moment later, a pair of black wireless headphones in hand. She crawls up onto the bed next to Jason and settles the headphones around his neck. He flips his blonde wig out from under them and smiles at her.

“You look great Wonder Woman,” he says fixing her crooked tiara.

She smiles toothily at him and flexes her arms kissing her tiny biceps, the little ham.

“Can we go get candy now?” she says hopping off the bed and pulling Jason along to where Roy is still admiring himself in the mirror and grabbing his hand too.

“Yeah, yeah,” Roy says giving himself one last glance as they’re dragged out of the room. “Let’s go get candy.”

***

Trick or treating is a success. Thanks to Dick and Barbara’s well thought out Halloween safety plan for all the kids of Gotham Lian hits half the city before finally tiring out.

They run into Nightwing and Batgirl about halfway through their journey Roy already carrying a damn near full pillowcase of candy and he’s fairly certain Dick’s laughter can be heard from outer space once he’s taken in their costumes. He doesn’t get to cackle long though Lian declaring there’s no time for laughing when candies on the line and skipping away from the silly adults.

Roy’s carrying two nearly full pillow cases of candy now and Jason, wig discarded into one of the bags, is carrying Lian easily like she’s still two weighing barely a thing and not eight. Her little lasso is wrapped around Jason’s arm and her head resting on his shoulder.

“I’ll put her to bed,” he says quietly once they’ve made it into the apartment Roy plopping the two sacks of candy down heavily onto the table. Roy nods, kissing Lian’s hair once.

“Goodnight, Wondy,” he says and she snuggles in closer to Jason. Jason heads upstairs while Roy drags the two bags of candy over to the couch. He throws his slightly aching feet up onto the coffee table and starts digging in knowing there’s no way Lian will notice if a few pieces are gone.

He grins triumphantly when he finds a double pack of Reese’s cups tearing into them. He’s working on the second one when Jason finally comes down the stairs, hoodie, headphones, high tops and skirt now gone. If it weren’t for the Wonder Woman insignia on his top and the star pattern on the leggings he’d just look like he was about to go for a run.

“She all good?” Roy asks as Jason sits down next to him digging into the open pillowcase. He pulls out a long Twizzler opening the plastic with his teeth. Jason nods.

“Our little Wonder Woman is out cold,” he says before taking a bite of the candy twirling it around on his finger. Roy smiles digging back in and taking out a Hershey’s bar this time.

“You and your chocolate obsession,” Jason says shaking his head as he grabs a tiny box of nerds and pours them directly into his mouth.

“At least I have taste,” Roy grumbles eyeing the box of nerds in disgust. Jason shoves at him lightly making direct eye contact as he pours the box of nerds onto his tongue. Roy moves the bag of candy out of his way popping the last piece of chocolate bar in his mouth before crawling over and placing himself in Jason’s lap, bracketing his hips.

Roy leans in about to kiss Jason when he puts a strong hand to his chest and stops him.

“Sure you want to kiss me with this terrible flavored candy in my mouth,” he says feigning annoyance sticking out his tongue that’s now tinged blue. Roy shrugs.

“I’ll risk it,” he says leaning in to kiss him slow and deep the taste of tart Nerds and chocolate mixing together on their tongues. Jason moans his hands going to Roy’s thighs and trailing up along the stars on the side of his costume. He freezes when he reaches the lasso tied to his belt.

He pulls back abruptly leaving Roy chasing after his lips.

“We really have to take off these costumes,” Jason says still out of Roy’s reach.

“That was the plan,” Roy says with a smirk attempting to lean back in, but Jason stops him once again.

“No I mean like before we continue this in any way,” he looks down between them and pulls the long dark wig off of Roy’s head tossing it to the other end of the couch. “It’s too weird.”

Roy looks down himself and can see what Jason means, Gaston and Scar getting it on last year was fine, but being dressed like very real people they know is a different game when the haze of lust clears.

“Good point,” he says settling back on Jason’s thighs. “But you’re carrying me upstairs, my feet hurt.”

Jason rolls his eyes, “You’re the one who chose to wear high heeled boots.”

“Costume accuracy Jaybird, not everyone gets to be the super gal who wears sneakers,” he defends with a smile. Jason leans in pecking him once on the corner of his lips.

“Fine princess,” he says hefting up off the couch with Roy in his arms not even faltering a bit. “Hold on.” He says as he heads for the stairs carrying Roy like he weighs nothing. Roy can’t wait to get these costumes off and continue what he started on the couch.

Hours later, costumes long gone and both sweaty and sated Roy’s phone dings with a message from Donna, it’s a photo form Dick attached with a series of crying emojis.

He smirks, she’s just jealous he looked so good.

[terrorhqs]

[tw: blood, major character death]

A week after the takeover, the Promethean is well on its way to finish its trek. Cutting through calm and complacent waters, the crew and guests note that the ice that had once held them hostage has dissipated overnight with the dark and the gloom. Perhaps the deaths of the soldier and the girl sated the beast, some whisper — it’s leaving us alone. No, their comrade scoffs. Too easy. You heard the French - the thing killed a boatload of them before it left them alone! Two people are nothing but crumbs to it. It’ll be back.

“You’re all buffoons”, another chimes in. “The Agathe? Mutineers all along. It’s as Estrada said. They killed their crew and are killing ours too.” 

Amid the new tension borne of the mutiny, suspense heavy as wool hangs over the ship as it resumes its course. Lookouts are silent as they watch the ice, dread fraying their nerves, the same thought trawling across their conscience. Surely, it will reappear. After everything, it will come back.

But nothing parts the ocean, not even the breeze. An uneasy quiet descends upon the ship as those with an interest in completing the passage outnumber those who seek to return now that the waters promise an easy journey. An end to all of this is feasible — the only question remains: will all that’s been lost have been worth it? Is there any end that justifies the means?

It’ll be weeks, months yet before the Promethean reaches Hong Kong, but a call rings out in the midst of the morning. Wick and Bastien, high atop and on lookout, wave down wildly at the deckhands below. 

“Land! Land ahead!”

A seaman relays the message, bursts into the captain’s quarters where Marcus waits, in covenant with Hugo. Both men snap their heads at once, when they see the rallied cry that’s being picked up among the ranks. Both men, yes, to the slack curl of their jaw, can hardly credit it. It cannot be, their dark eyes say, pupils flashing. Even down to their mannerism, they have begun to look the same. 

“Land, sir. Lookout’s caught sight of land. Of a city - and its harbor!”

The vice-admiral-made-captain starts in his seat, brow furrowing, skeptical. “You’re joking. Even you must have looked at a map, we’ve got quite a way before even—”

“I swear it!” In his haste, he doesn’t mind his manners. As frantic as anyone’s ever seen, even Estrada cannot deny the truth from his eyes. “The lads are calling for you up-deck, Sir. The whole world is. A port awaits us.”

The rest of those onboard join the watch on the upper deck, curious clamoring seizing even those under the watchful eye of a musket barrel. There is no mistaking it - an oceanside city perched on low, rocky stone worn by lapping waves is clear through the spyglass. Slender, shimmering buildings of white spiral towards the sky in spires; others buildings are lower to the ground, and all are built with the same stone upon which the city sits and all are half-hidden behind a mist. 

“Make plans to dock.”

—

“Don’t stand up, Dowling. It’s only me. I come bearing news.”

Silence. In the space between the bottom of the floor and the door, Malachy’s silhouette shifts. 

“Too much of a coward to face me, Estrada?” Ragged voice tears through the air like a dagger, muffled through the door. “State your peace and leave.”

“Is that an order, captain?” A humorless, hollow laugh. “This is a gesture of goodwill, Dowling. I’d mind yourself until I’ve said what I’ve come to say.” He pauses. Perhaps to hide his own disbelief. Perhaps to spite Malachy. “We’ve fucking crossed it, Dowling. We think we’ve found the passage and we’ve found a way through. Hell, we might have already crossed it. We’ve got a city in sight and we’re making plans to dock in their harbor.”

A long pause. “No. No, that can’t be. It’s far too soon. A week, that’s not enough.”

“Say it as much as you want. By the time we lay anchor, you can come see for yourself. I reckon, see, that it won’t even be a day. As a truce, I’ll let you out—supervised, of course, and never too far from my sight. But freedom, Dowling. You’re to partake in it as well.”

“Thrilled, are you?” A soft thump on the other side of the door as Malachy leans against it. “How neatly this all transpires for you as soon as you seize the helm. Should’ve mutinied sooner, I bet you’re thinking.”

“Not here to question it. For your sake, I hope you don’t either.”

— 

Up close, the mist that cloaks the city shifts with every step taken. Appearing transparent once, then cloudy with a thin, greenish film next, then shimmering with an opalescent, abalone sheen. It is cold, but not cold enough for the thick coats that have proven imperative for standing outside in the Arctic. A strange humidity permeates the air - it is thin and thick, at once, and one feels a shortness and a swelling in every inhale - not painful, nor is it natural. The luster visible from the sea is procured from shells embedded into the foundation of every building, in between the stone and plaster - old and weathered, they glint in the light that parts through the mist. Perhaps the first thing that can be glimpsed, like a maroon carpet of colour, is the red sands on the eastward beach. Ground to a fine point, blanketing uniformly around the village until the paved streets begin to stretch on, it resembles a carpet of leaves or clipped gems as much as a natural phenomenon.

No other ships are docked at the silent harbor. Cobblestone lines the path up the crumbling seawall and into the city where townsfolk mill about in the marketplaces and town square, a vast space eclipsed by grand, towering edifices - a spindly cathedral demarcated by an unfamiliar brass symbol of the very tallest of its spires; an ancient, squat tavern; an inn with patrons streaming in and out like shoals; a surfeit of various shops of every variety, marked not by words or names, but by images painted into the overhanging signs. As the sun begins to dip below the horizon, one realizes there is an absence of gas lamps that dotted London in abundance. Instead, white wax candles spill over every ledge, every crook and cranny, their bases melted into the stone and bedrock and wood. 

Townsfolk cast strange, curious glances at these newcomers, but their gazes never linger long before they carry on with their businesses. The accents are implacable, though they speak English - not even a mishmash of any known dialects, but entirely unfamiliar. Not even the Promethean’s most well-traveled guests can narrow their tongue or the origin of their accents down. 

The shops and inns here refuse currency - one takes what they need, and they carry their debt with them until it's repaid, metaphorically or literally. 

— 

Malachy emerges from the boiler room a fragmented man, gaze trained on the multiple barrel ends that follow his every movement. Every breath he takes lifts his entire body in a heaving pulse-thrum. Hair unkempt and eyes wild with animal fury, his lips lift into a sneer as he finds Marcus in the crowd of muskets.

“Is this where I’m supposed to thank you for your mercy, Estrada?” He appraises the armed crew. “And your lackeys, for their restraint?” 

“Chin up, Dowling.” The vice-admiral’s lips curl into a grimace. “Even you cannot deny this good fortune. Certainly this justifies some of the trouble.”

“It justifies nothing. If you’re wise, you’ll not let me out of your sight.”

No more is exchanged between the two men before Malachy is ushered up the main ladderway, up to the upper deck and onto the dock, one armed escort in front and behind him. The rest of the crew begin to disembark, all who aligned with Malachy closely followed by another who wasn’t. 

The dock creaks beneath their feet, and the procession is slow, tentative, upon reaching this new port. Everything is familiar, and yet nothing is - not even the screech of a gull to announce their arrival.

Then, a scream, feral and hoarse. 

Behind them, Jules takes advantage of the momentary awe and sweeps the legs of her captor, knocks them into the harbor waters. A musket fires. The narrow dock doesn’t allow much in the way of room, and those who have not yet made it out of the ship clamber back on. Captors shout for their captives to STAND STILL, MOVE BACK down into the lower deck, but the chaos and the overlapping shouts overpower them. Smaller squabbles break out as the rest milk the opportunity given to them by Jules’ commotion. Ahead of them all, Malachy slams himself into the guard in front of them, tackling them both to the ground. His second escort scrambles for a clear shot, musket trembling - only to lurch back, struck in the shoulder. Behind him, Ephraim had broken free and wrestled the gun from his warden, his aim true then and now as he holds it steady on Malachy’s escort, who wordlessly surrenders his own weapon to Malachy. 

On the boat, chaos descends. Roi has easily overtaken his guard, pinning them to the side of the boat. Before he can hurl them into the water, Mariah throws himself onto his back, pinning the steward’s neck into the crook of his elbow. A flash of silver in his free palm - but then Laurents is on him, twisting their arm back until the knife drops to the ground with a clatter, and drives his fist into the mercenary’s gut, allowing Roi the chance to break free. Elias dives for the dagger and slashes at the ankles of Fahra’s guard, who had her wrists firmly in their grip. He cuts deep, cuts an unthinkable and irreparable gash over both calves; enough to maim, perhaps, if another one of Estrada’s hounds had not stepped in. The second man, bigger, wrangles the steward into a deathgrip. They both take the fall, tumbling several paces across the teak. In the somersault, the snowfall of movement and limbs, Ayla Dowling steps in with a lifeline. A physical rope, no time for metaphor, no time for anything but the hard gnashing of the present. The doe loops the rope around the guard’s neck, and, with a vicious tug that no one would’ve wagered on, pulls him off Elias and onto the planks. She waits no second before helping Elias up, and together they join Jack, the sergeant’s dagger blocking Violet’s aim on August.

Some paces away, Noemie leads the rest of the Agathe survivors through the skirmish and off the ship - they start down the docks, but Katja blocks their way, and it’s her musket to their none. She grabs Tristan by the arm, presses the musket to his stomach - if you want him alive, you’ll do as I say. A gun close by goes off, causing all of them to flinch. In that instant, Nyima breaks from the hostage group to lunge at Katja. The two scuffle, until Nyima gets a grip at the barrel of the musket, shoves it into the air - it goes off. Tristan tries to pin Katja down, and she hisses, points the gun at him - Nyima yanks the barrel back. It goes off again - whether by accident or as a result of the scuffle or by intention, it finds its mark. 

A wail cuts through the air, and for a moment, the bedlam stills. Nyima clutches a weeping wound on her chest, collapsing into Tristan’s arms. Ever the protectress, she is restless still even with her grievous wound, tries to force herself before the rest of the Agathe survivors as they fall to her side. This is one of the last attempts, the last slingshots of action in her muscles and spirit: to interpose between her friends and Katja. The translator backs away, wide-eyed, but still in possession of her wits - weapon poised to fire again if they tried to seek retribution. 

“Call Jonathan! Casimir! Help her!” Emma begs to no one in particular. She is quick to kneel, had already torn off half the scarves she was wearing, and is pressing dry palms, wet cloth, crimson sash to Nyima’s blooming chest. The petal spreads, swallows the entire front of the amulet’s dress. For all her time spent in gardens, for all that she turned stem and stalk to see the wonders of the world, this is a flower Emma cannot understand. Cannot weed out, or stall, or even conceive of. The blood flows, pours, goes over easy; a swell like the motion of waves, on what was once a ferocious, then a frozen, now an utterly becalmed sea. Nyima’s hand raises to Emma’s cheek, and, like the curl of a gentle claw, wraps around the jawline. Tristan falls to her other side. She whispers something to both of them, a voice that doesn’t carry, a wisp already flattened into velvet by the winds. Then she presses her own face into Tristan’s thigh. Her Judas, her Captain; it’s hardly appropriate, isn't’ it, that he’s the one that has been betrayed again—that he’s the one left behind. Perhaps this is why the cook smiles to him, last. To assure, as much as assuage. To promise there is another turn to this story, even as her own is already fading. 

By now, Malachy and his officers and Marcus and his loyalists have found the source of commotion and gathered, wordlessly. Jonathan weaves through to reach Nyima - there’s shifting, the subtle sounds of men taking aim,  and Ephraim immediately raises his gun to Marcus. It takes his own Captain’s voice to make him lower it, hip level, eyes murderous.

“Let them go. Let her…” Malachy pauses, swallowing through his hoarseness. There is no doubt as to the injury’s severity - the bleeding has not abetted, thick rivulets seeping through Emma’s fingers and pooling on the fallow ground. Malachy Dowling was a man of many wounds; some borne within, some hidden, but most of all witnessed. He knows what a death mark looks like. Nyima’s body is a canvass of carnage.

Not much for Jonathan to do, no, not much for anyone to do at all. Doing has led them here; the rough, loud, prideful fall of it. The impossible tally. The Captain, the former Captain, rises his voice once more. “Let them care for her in peace. You’ve had the upper hand, and now - now neither of us do.”

It’s Tristan’s cry that announces it; the death, the finality. Emma’s face is as white as the sky above them. Hands as rusty as the sands on this beach, on this strange place of salvation. Ayla and Noemie huddle closer to lift her up, lift her away from Nyima, but she won’t go. It seems no one is going anywhere, anymore — the whole possibility of it has been culled. Bones resting as slack as burlap; as unconscious as the flotsam left after a flood. 

Behind him, Edward and Jaya usher those they knew to be aligned with the old command off the docks and into the city. Marcus watches, impenetrable, his own musket held limp at his side, unmoving, unspeaking. 

Then he extends a hand to Katja, like a faraway tyrant, the stone hewn statue of one, calling home its acolytes. He waits until the thief, once-translator, now trembling toll paid in blood, comes into his shadow. Lays a hand on her shoulder, protective and proprietary all at once. Lays a gaze, then, like the snag of a chain; drags it over all of them that remained up deck. Only then he begins to speak.

“So that is how these things end: the pointless brutality of it. Man’s obsession to keep a code of honour that has long stopped serving. Has everyone seen it, looked their fill? Good. I am nothing if not prophetic, hm? Now. Now. Let us make sure no other prediction of mine will see the garrish, gruesome light of day. Have you all had enough of mutiny and cockfights? Are you ready to make something of your life?”

His body turns to the rest of the crew, a full recoil, almost a repose.

“Seems to me this is as good a place to start as any.” 

To his own, Malachy offers his own words. Exhaustion permeates his words, weighs them heavy as lead - the fight is over, all there is left to do is rest. Regroup. Loss, they all know by now, regardless of their alignment, is consumptive. It eats and it steals and it offers nothing in return. “Let us not forget the dangers that have led us here. Betrayals. Mutinies. Guns at our heads as we lived and slept. A beast that knows not of compassion nor mercy. Just because we are alive does not mean we are safe - do not let your guard down. Rest, and we will regather. Salvation, whether it be here, or home, awaits us in unity.”

OOC: We hope you enjoyed today’s plot drop, lovely members and lurkers! The Promethean has landed in strange new lands where nothing is at it seems, with tension aboard boiling over into a chaotic climax. The crew has mostly dispersed into the city, with each side of the mutiny looking to gain their bearings and regain control. 

A poll will be posted in the discord so that you can choose if your muses retreated with Malachy Dowling or stayed anchored with Marcus Estrada. Please remember that everyone who helped Mal/Jules stage the insurgency is no longer a crew member. However, if your character has motives for staying (a loved one, a status as double agent, suddenly undecided etc.) you are welcome to have them remain on the Promethean. Just be sure to keep us up to date if any major loyalties have shifted, and, as always, to have a blast writing & plotting through these little rats’s conflicts. 

There is, of course, much to explore in this nameless port city, including NEW LOCATIONS, listed below, and new NPCs with which to interact as sideblogs. These will be ran by the admin team: K., Venli, and Rhi, and will be strangers to the rest of the crew, each bringing their own motives, mysteries, and intricacies into the interaction. Keep an eye out for the follow post within the next few days! More locations will also be added as the plot and exploration of the area progresses. As of now, THE CAPTAIN is an active muse and may interact with the rest of the characters. Have fun, and happy writing!

AT HANGMAN’S TRINKETS.  

At the other end of the port, pushed far enough from the seaside that it almost looks like any other village, splays the tight, narrow venue of the store. If most buildings on the docks look comely, a peace that alludes to most corners of the world where the ocean laps the shore, this one has a marked touch to it. It draws the eye, the firm painted a gaudy russet, as red as the sands that litter the eastward beach. Despite its hue, the sign has been battered into something closer to dried blood by the gale, and the marks on it are illegible. Could be any human language, or not at all. Perhaps what makes the shop stand out even more is the absence resounding in the harbour. The maroon posts are entirely devoid of any other ship, not even small fishing vessels anchored at half-length on the wharf. It should make the Promethean loom, but instead it diminishes it; could be soothing, could be dangerous, the way the quiet waves knock it about, with very few inhabitants coming to stare at it, to help tie it to the pier, or even to barter. Yet there is plenty of bartering to be done further inland. The rest of the expanse might be barren, but the shop is bright and bundled up, like an old woman sat by the fire. A string of fairy lights are hung over it in a diagonal row, the sash of it lolling slack enough to catch a taller sailor’s head and dapple it with warmth. At the counter, a young, plucky clerk spreads their arms in welcome. Behind them, vials, jars, and tinkling bottles litter the entire front wall. It is such a kaleidoscope of size and color that any customer might be more dazzled than tempted to purchase. From camphor oil to whale teeth necklaces, from silk handkerchiefs  to beads of black glass, everything seems ready to be displayed, bartered, and doubted. The clerk is nothing but exhilarated to have someone to talk to at last. Their bronze face is dappled with the hanging lights, and a nose ring stretches from their septum to their ear. That golden chain makes them look both older and younger at once — as they chuckle and lapse into chatter, already ready to soak up all the information visitors might bestow, it becomes more and more difficult to gauge their age. Or their intentions…. How much will you share?

HIGHWAYMAN’S REST.

Perhaps the most striking front belongs to the port’s hotel, a polished three-tiered complex that occupies the main street. Oddly enough, despite the fact that the port seems all but deserted, the building has the most upkeep in the area. The outer walls are painted olive green, in a stark contrast with the houses’ cream-colored front and the greyed, saltwind-bitten outstretches of wood along the pier. The double doors allow a glimmer of light to cross the threshold, since its glass panels are painted with scenes that resemble the stained glass on churches and temples all over the world. Once inside, the vista opens on a waiting room decked with paintings and sculptures, with works of art that don’t seem to resemble anyone in particular. In order to ring the receptionist’s bell, you have to wrangle your hand through a number of small statutes. One bust on the receptionist’s counter, reads king sylvester stuart. Another, an effigy that seemed carved in filigree, depicts josephine robespierre.  On the usual, there is no one in the waiting room, and no noises pour from above. For all intents and purposes, it feels as if the entire establishment is deserted; or perhaps never used in the first place, simply spruced, polished, and displayed for the hollow beauty of it. On the fourth clanger of the bell, the receptionist finally walks into view. A door in the wall opens, and they step through with a merry gait, not allowing anything to be glimpsed behind them. At once, they are ready to sort the visitor with the best sets of chambers for their disposition. They try to strike up a conversation, one hand already on the ledger, and do not even presume to ask for money until after the end of the stay. Their demeanor might almost foster the sense of a homecoming; only their remarks, and the parental, proprietary style of their speech, makes it feel more like a transaction instead. For all the luxury that defines the hotel, a visitor may wonder if, in fact, they’re being sold something else underneath. However, after such a long journey of darkness and water, who can say no to even a few hours in an ivory bedroom—for a dalliance, a tumble into unconsciousness, or just to experience the decadent beauty of those who’ve had easier lives?

THE SIREN’S SORROW. 

Coming up from the docks, the hard-teak stairs lead into a bulky tavern, a building more squat than inviting, which carries a barrack’s efficiency about it. The place’s foundation looks rooted into the scaffolding itself, the moldy, barnacled pillars somehow supporting the weight of the place. At the ground level, the dingy, round windows open up into the street, but it’s difficult to peer through the grime crusted over the glass pannels. At the upper level, which the two-storied construction seems to be bowled over, the blinds are drawn shut, their velvet dusted a bile-yellow even from afar. Yet through it all, what actually grabs the visitor’s by the throat, is the strange allure of the place. Not a disparaged charm, mind you—most of these sailors have spent their pay and day in shindigs far worse than this. It is not much, in way of grotesque, just as it is not much in way of poetry. But a certain shimmer permeates throughout, like mist gathering over the shingles, and it renders the place noble and faraway. One might almost expect to see a lighthouse cave around it. When the doors open, the interior is low-ceilinged and vast, the chambers burrowing further than the outside lets on. Depending on how the sunlight, which is still paltry further off the Arctic glare, the main room of the tavern looks both too hollow and too overcrowded, all at once. Truth be told, no one can be certain if it’s not the most beautiful place they’ve ever seen; if only because it peals out to a sense of humanity, a sense of being rooted down. It takes a while to realize that the humanity, for all its urgency, is slightly skewed at the corner. Takes a while to gather up the questions, rather than just gawk at a bar stool that isn’t nailed down into the ship’s timber floor; at a glass that isn’t canister, but actual earthenware, tangible and frail. When the questions do gather, the barkeep is there for the tending. Jaded, old, he seems to have borne both the glow and the gloom of the place, allowed it to mantle them from brow to navel. They seem, also, like the kind of man who has heard a story for every life the sailors wished upon, for every lie they cast over dice. What will you ask him?  

[chasseurdeloup-retired]

Gimme Gimme Gimme || Otto, Nadia, Dot, Nic, Alain, and Kaden

TIMING: Current LOCATION: The docks SUMMARY: A deal gone wrong

Otto glanced at his unfamiliar reflection in a broken pane of glass double-checking the glamour runes carved into his collar bones were still functioning correctly. Sunken eyes, a thicker jaw and plain brown eyes looked back at him. Different enough from his day to day appearance that he could pass without someone recognising and the spell would hold for a few hours now that it was in place. Hand-offs were always tricky businesses even more so when you didn’t know the other parties you were involving yourself with so precautions had been taken. Namely in bringing Nadia along as back-up along with a trusty shot-gun. Spells were useful in a pinch but if things went sideways little beat the pure destruction the end of a shotgun could bring about. Unfortunately, tricky business was simply the life of a newfound criminal trying to find their footing in a small town full of strife.

He glanced over at Nadia who carried the delivery in a nondescript brown box padded and covered in protective runes as an extra layer of precaution as they made their way into the boating house on the docks where the arranged trade-off had been arranged. Boats bobbed silently, crusted sea-salt clung to several surfaces and the splosh of water was broken by the occasional bay of a seagull outside. They’d scouted the perimeter already, checking their entrances and exits before heading inside and even then Otto kept to the pillars as cover. He checked his watch and when he spoke his voice was an octave lower, “they should be here soon. Not met this person before…” in other words, he didn’t trust them at all. But then again, you didn’t live in this job if you truly trusted anyone

Adjusting the box to one hand and pulling her hood up a little more, Nadia grinned. This was what she really needed. A good job, the potential for a bit of action, a shotgun on her back, and a revolver at her side. And she was back to being more connected with her body again. She’d been hungry that morning. Hungry. It might’ve been because she’d forgotten that she even had to eat, but it had gnawed at her stomach in the most pleasantly painful way. Even better was that she’d been able to go somewhere and grab herself something without worrying about someone looking for her. Plus, Nadia wasn’t fighting, and she was back to being the one in charge. So she was ready for whatever Otto’s job managed to throw her way. Part of her wanted something easy, a quick drop off, nothing major, maybe a bit of smooth talking if need be. But another part of her wanted some action. She’d be thrilled either way.

As Otto caught her eyes, Nadia gave him a wink. He was a fun guy, from the jobs they’d run together before. Almost as good with his words as she was for a guy who didn’t have a built in lie detector and emotional radar. Plus, his magic was wicked cool. Following him in, she leaned against a pillar and waited. “Cool, cool. Well, don’t worry, as long as they’ve got a pulse, I think I can figure them out.” She could read his distrust like a magazine at the dentist’s office, so she wasn’t feeling quite as blase as she might have seemed. If Otto was worried, she should probably be a bit worried, too. But being a little worried was always healthy. She took out her revolver and opened the chamber, making sure it was loaded. The shotgun was double-barrel, two bullets in. Everything looked good to go.

Everyone had a secret talent. Some people could juggle or burp the alphabet backward. Dot’s secret talent was getting involved in the shadier shit a town had going on. Her other secret talent was being able to do a really fast crab walk. She didn’t like that one as much as she liked getting involved in crime though. She loved that. People would ask her to do jobs and most of the time she didn’t care if she was getting paid or not, though she didn’t tell people that part. She liked the thrill of it. Breaking rules was fun and she liked when she made things inconvenient for other people. She wasn’t a career criminal, not even close, but she never said no to a job. It hadn’t taken long after she moved to White Crest for someone to approach her doing something for them. After doing a couple of jobs, she proved that she wasn’t a complete imbecile and then this job was given to her. It was simple, a hand-off, nothing she hadn’t done before.

Walking to the meeting spot, she was glad that she actually took her gun and knife with her this time. She relied on being a siren far more than she really should. As she saw the two in front of her, she popped her lollipop out of her mouth. Grinning at them, she spoke in a cheerful voice,“Hello, lovelies. Are you here waiting for me?” She might not have been an idiot, but she was never professional. “It’s like we’re all having a little secret party,” She shook her shoulders at them. She considered asking them if they wanted a lollipop, but she only had green apple left and those were her favorite.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, Otto lifted his head to eye the newcomer. He didn’t recognise them, but then again he didn’t recognise most people in town on first meetings considering most of them weren’t really memorable enough to truly warrant him paying them all that much attention. But this sort of situation demanded a new sort of attentiveness for a lack of it could cost you so much more if you made the slightest misstep. Yet, that wasn’t the vibe he got from the woman he saw approaching; lollipop and all. It was… intriguing to say the least, her grin was infectious and brought one of Otto’s own about. Cocking his head his eyes sparkled with newfound mischief.

“Seems so darling,” he greeted pushing off the pillar “and it does, doesn’t it? Little rave is just what everyone needs… Let off some steam, have some fun. Shame we don’t have music to set the mood.” He knew Nadia had his back in this, it was one of the few constants he actually trusted in this situation which was saying something, “now as much of a sweet-tooth as I happen to be, I’m curious to see the sweetener to this little party hm?”

Looking at the girl walking towards them, Nadia grinned. Good, a pulse. The other woman’s emotions weren’t nearly as easy to read as Otto’s, but that wasn’t a problem. Nadia only needed a sense of what she was feeling to make sure nothing the wrong sort of shady happened here. Not that there really was a wrong sort of shady. Shady was always fun, even if it went to shit. But, taking in the girl’s appearance, her laid back nature as she had a lollipop of all things in her mouth, Nadia couldn’t help but feel that this was going to be nothing but the good kinds of fun.

“I’m all up for parties,” Nadia said. She jerked her head towards Otto. “This guy throws some of the best, I swear. He might not look like it now, but he’s a fun guy. Isn’t that right, Kelly?” She gave him a wink. She was glad that he trusted her still, even after all that she’d told him. Maybe not completely, maybe not the same way that he had before, but the trust was still there. She could feel it, after all. She hefted the box with their delivery into her arms. “Maybe when all this is said and done, we can actually have a party, to celebrate. Music and everything. And booze. So much booze.”

Maybe she would offer these two her lollipops… They seemed like fun and Dot loved some good fun. She had expected a bunch of people with sticks up their asses who would tell her that she’s too immature to be in this business. The type that took themselves way too seriously. Those people were exhausting at the best of times and she wasn’t doing this to be exhausted. Based on the grins these two had, she liked them so far, but she wasn’t naive enough to forget that this was still a job.

It took quite a bit of self-control to stop herself from beatboxing right there and tell them to dance to the music. Slipping the strap of her bag off her shoulder, she waved it slightly at them. “I think this is the sweetener you’re looking for and that’s what I’m looking for,” She nodded to the box. She liked this part a lot, the anticipation right before a handover. “I know a guy who can get us more than booze,” Dot told the woman, a sparkle in her eyes. Sighing, very dramatically, she continued, “But I guess the job comes first. What was agreed to is in the bag.”

Kaden didn’t know much about the situation at hand, but he knew Nic asked him to be here. That was enough. No matter how weird his relationship was with hunting right now, he wasn’t about to drop his loyalties. If a hunter was in need, one he trusted, he was there. The place by the docks looked sketchy enough, seemed appropriate. “You know what it is we’re looking for, Nic?” he asked, making sure for the fifth time tonight that his gun was loaded properly and ready to go. “Probably a little late to ask for details but if you need all of us here, I’m guessing it’s something big and bad.” He wondered if this was some big monster take down, something like the bounty Montgomery had made a call for a while back. Shit, hadn’t thought about that fucker in a while. The thought of the trophy room sent a shiver down his spine. But he trusted Nic and Alain, despite any differences of ideals they had, would never chop off someone's head and keep it. Which was good enough for him. His brow furrowed as he picked up a sound off in the distance, closer to the boathouses on the docks. Looking in that direction, he saw a small flash of movement and a figure headed into one of them. “Hey,” he whispered, nodding over towards the boathouse. A quick glance back and it was clear where the hunters were headed. Whatever shady shit they were looking for, pretty sure they found it.

While Nicodemus still couldn’t quite wrap his head around what a turn it had been with the Bossman, now known as Roy Chambers, he didn’t question Erin when she told him she might have found a way to figure out what the fuck he was. All he did was agree, make a few calls, then pack up what was necessary before making his way to the agreed upon meeting place. It was gonna be a long night. Shit, it had been awhile since he had worked with one hunter. Let alone a whole gaggle of them. That was just the bounty way. He worked his jaw as he double-checked the edges of the knife he carried. “Reckon it ain’t somethin’ that’s gonna be easy-breezy,” he muttered as he slid it back into its sheath. “But hell, it ain’t ever is.” His fingertips lightly tapped against each other as he cocked his head. Looked toward the same place Kaden had heard the noise. A short nod and a quiet grunt of agreement followed. The calm that settled over him before most hunts began to run its course. “Ain’t no time like the fuckin’ present,” he whispered as he started to move, boots quiet. “We goin’ in quiet or goin’ in loud?”

While Alain was still unsure of why it was that Nic had asked all of them to come here, he was relieved to see that he was not the only clueless one here. It was reassuring to be with familiar faces, and with people he knew he could trust, but some details would have been great. On the one hand, he doubted that she would put them all in mortal danger without warnings, but on the other hand, if the hunter needed back up, this could not be good. “Going in loudly when we have no idea what’s in there, that sounds like a really shitty idea, Nic,” walking beside him, the hunter repressed a yawn. He had managed to get a bit of sleep lately, but he was still having too many nightmares to get rather proper rest. Tired or not, he still would help, because while he never signed up for anything, he had always acted like it was the case. With no idea of what to expect, he had left his sword home and gone for shorter blades, and probably for the best, all things considered.

“Stop yawning, slayer,” Kaden said, giving Alain a small nudge. “Isn’t this your normal hours, anyway? When all the creatures of the night come out and shit?” He was giving the other hunter some grief, sure, but he did kind of hope he wasn’t too exhausted to be here. One mistake on a hunt, especially one like this where the details were sparse and the threat seemingly high, well, that could be deadly. Kaden nodded at the suggestion to keep it quiet as they headed in. There were a few entrances and it was best they split up if they were trying to go for a surprise attack. A few gestures and nods and it was figured out. Kaden creeped up to the side door, listened a moment, and heard voices inside. They seemed occupied. For now. Good enough for him. He did his best to slowly and silently open the door, sneaking through and hiding behind a crate near the entrance. With his pistol in hand, he leaned around the corner to get a better look at what was going on. Three people as far as he could tell. None of them werewolves as far as he knew, either. One guy, didn’t recognize him, two women. The one was also unfamiliar, but the other... Was that… “Nadia?” he found himself saying out loud. Or rather, whoever was in her body. Shit, he didn’t mean to do that. He also didn’t mean to keep walking forward. But he had and he fucking tripped and stumbled over a rope on the ground. Putain. So much for his stealth approach.

They were in the middle of the transaction, the briefcase being opened and the requested black-steel music box embossed with silver images of graeco-figures deifying some strange entity revealed, nestled within a bed of foam to protect it from any harm. “As discussed, acquired and undamaged.” Though not tested, Otto didn’t know what this thing was meant to do but the less he knew the more deniability he had regarding it. Closing the lid once more and clicking it shut the runes engraved across its surface glowed a bright purple before fading from sight once more to prevent anyone untoward tampering with it. “Wonderful, in that case let’s exchange and maybe after this we can all go cele-” but any further remark was cut off, by the sudden intrusion of another voice from a stack of crates nearby. Shit. His eyes cut to the man he didn’t recognise who tripped over the rope in judgemental frustration.

But this stranger’s focus seemed to be on Nadia, recognising her - or recognised the old her most likely. But there were perks to this being the Nadia he’d worked with for so long and on so many occasions. A silent language that a subtle look or expression could convey a thousand messages. So the curious look between Nadia and this stranger and the thin smile that followed spoke volumes. Play him, buy us some time. In the interim, Otto subtly scanned the nearby vicinity for options they could run, but who knew how many more people this dude might’ve brought along. The warehouse might be surrounded.... They had their guns but a firefight was never ideal if it could be avoided.

His eyes passed a few of the boats moored nearby. Maybe if they could rig one up it’d be a decent means of escape… Otto glanced at the other woman unsure if he could trust her or if she’d staged this whole thing. What he did know was he wasn’t going to die because of some fucked over job.

Things were going good. Easy, even. And then Kaden fucking Langley literally tripped his way into the meeting. Nadia pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to maintain her control. But, hey, things were still going well. Just not easy. Well, she didn’t care for easy, anyway. She made sure the box was with the others, and she gave Otto a wink. She knew what to do here. “Heya, Kadie!” she said with a sweet smile, letting it reach her eyes. Nadia Diaz had a great smile. Very charming. Easily disarming. Perfect for getting people to let their guard down, even if they knew they were locking eyes with a rattlesnake. The problem with Kaden was that he knew. He knew what she was, had looked at her and really seen her. He wouldn’t be fooled again. Not for long, at least. But she still had the advantage. He didn’t want to hurt her. Well, actually, he probably wanted to hurt her really, really badly. But he didn’t want to hurt Nadia Diaz. She gave him a wave. “Been a minute, yeah? How’s it going? What are you and your friends doing skulking around the docks at such late hours?�� She walked a little closer to him, attempting to block Otto and the other woman to give her partner time to think. She knew the bastard would still be quick on his feet. She just had to play distraction. In a stage whisper, she said, “You know that dangerous people hang around the docks, right?”

For all the things Dot had done, she had never been caught before. Sure, she had gotten in trouble with the cops before, gotten a slap on the wrist for trespassing or some community service for fighting, but this was different. Had he been alone, she would have just gone for her gun, but as Nadia pointed out, he had friends. Her lips pressed as she looked over at Otto, trying to hide the rising panic she felt. She was no professional at this and she knew it. She began to inch towards the door she had come through, bag on her shoulder. The deal wasn’t happening with company. Kaden being here was no good sign. Blanche had liked him, but Dot had never really been around him enough to form an opinion other than ‘fun to make fun of on the internet’. “This is a closed, invite only party,” She chirped, popping her lollipop back in her mouth. “Very exclusive rave you just wandered into and partycrashers are no fun. Unless they’re me, but you’re not me, so no fun,” She rambled around the candy. “So. Shoo.”

Alain had a point and Nicodemus nodded in agreement. “Yup, you got a pretty good fuckin’ point there.” He muttered to Alain as he crouched himself and followed behind Kaden through the door, his own gun drawn and a hand over the knife on his belt. Better to survey the area, get the lay of the land, and--Goddamn it, Kaden. Nicodemus pursed his lips and breathed in sharply. That’s alright, he thought. The rest of them could go around, surprise. And then that was also shot to shit at the word friends. He nodded to himself, resigned. “That’s fine,” he grunted quietly. “Knees gettin’ tired anyway.” The hunter stood and worked his jaw as he walked beside Kaden, pistol resting against his shoulder. He glanced at the briefcase between the three of them. The way it looked, the three of them were all talkers. Time wasters. He sucked at his teeth. “Could save us all some time and fuck off,” he said with a tilt of his head as he took a small step forward. Mediation wasn’t a skill he spent time or money on. “Chattin’ ain’t what we’re here for.”

Alain’s eyebrows raised as he gave Kaden an Italian salute. Of course it was ideal to him for things to be happening at this time of the day, but lately he had had to skip a few cemetery trips in order to rest a little. It would be fine, it had to be fine. Besides, even if he was not at the top of his form, he had to be here for these two hunters. Although that did not mean he would agree with everything they did. Are you fucking kidding me? Breathing out loudly, his eyebrows furrowed as he recognized Nadia. What in the goddamn hell was she doing here? He did not suppose that now would be the time to question her life choices, but from the look on his face, you could get an idea of how disappointed he was. The other two, he did not know, but he was not impressed. “Cute,” he said with a sucking sound of disapproval. Now that their plans of being quiet had gone down the drain, he supposed that the least they could do was not to waste their time trying to have a conversation with these people. “Yeah, let’s get this over with,” he agreed.

Shit. There went the stealth approach once and for all. And it was painfully clear which Nadia he was dealing with. At least he didn’t have to worry about this being some weird hostage situation “Hello Janet,” Kaden replied, using Blanche’s nickname for the ghost with disdain as he stepped out from the shadows, properly this time. He kept his fingers ready on the trigger of his pistol just in case. Nadia was no danger to him, but the ghost, Janet or Cordelia or whoever she was, would kill him without a single remorse. He knew that much. “Funny I could say the same to you. Dangerous and all that. Good thing none of us are out here wandering all alone.” The other hunters had seemingly given up the pretense of stealth as well. He peered around Nadia’s body to get a better look at her cohorts here. “Hey. No one move,” he said, holding his gun up, aimed at the woman trying to make a break for the door in the back. “My invitation is right here so how about you show us what you’ve got there.” Kaden wasn’t sure if these were the calls to be making or what exactly they were here for but if it was to break up something or extract something, it was going to be a lot harder to do if anyone fled. “You wouldn’t want to ditch the party early. We’re just getting started.”

Otto had hoped he could slink away to at least get on board one of the boats, having made it several steps backwards though mindful not to blindly signal his intent or direction with his body language. But as another burlier man stood up behind Kaden holding a pistol he knew this evening was likely very soon going to go to hell in a handbasket. What was it with people and guns? They were so… primitive. But it didn’t change the danger they posed either way. His magic ebbed near to the surface, practically urging him to throw the first shot at these intruders and yet he bided his time. No need to give away his game just yet. He’d purposefully not tapped his reserve at all just in case, always just in case. His leather clad grip tightened on the briefcase handle, shifting it out of the line of sight of these assholes while running through the list of options that were fast running short. Think Nova. One thing they did have in their favour was positioning. These guys were too closely spaced and that tipped the balance in their favour. Maybe if they could carall them some density spells would be enough to immobilise them where they stood. Give them enough time to get the hell out of dodge. The guns were trained on the others for now, that counted for something at least. He took a few more steps, nearing some crates stacked up. Just in case things went sideways, cover never hurt. “Sorry, I was taught better than to hang around and talk to creepy men following me at night. Avidazen.”

“It’s cuter when the kid calls me that,” Nadia said conversationally, one hand on the strap of her shotgun, the other resting near her pistol holster. “Speaking of, let her know I said hey, and I want my gun back.” She pretended to think a bit before she perked back up. “Oh! And tell her next time I won’t fucking miss, ‘kay?” She checked on Otto and the chick that was with them, hoping that the two of them would get out before she had to do anything serious. She took a step towards Kaden as soon as he pulled a gun out. Like second nature, she smoothly pulled her own revolver out and leveled it at him. “Sorry, babe. Put the gun down. I think we both know which of the two of us is more likely to shoot someone, yeah?” Could they not just fucking leave? “Party’s over, folks!” she called out to the people with Kaden. “If you could let us be on our way, that’d be so fucking nice.” She tried to avoid the look of disappointment on… Alain’s (she thought that was Alain’s) face. She needed to stay calm. She needed to keep her cool. She… really fucking wanted to kill Kaden, still. She’d take the shot as soon as they all lowered their guards, and then she was making a break for it.

Bro, Dot was not fucking into this. She was so not into this. “Listen, Kandy, Blanche wouldn’t be happy if you went around shooting her ex girlfriend so like what if you put down the gun and I head out.” Dot loved fights, she really did, but she liked them when guns weren’t drawn. She was pretty out of her fucking depth here. “I don’t want to fight, ‘cause we all who’s gonna win and it ain’t these two,” She nodded toward Otto and Nadia with a shrug. “I mean unless you want me to fight with you guys, would that get me off the hook? I might not be too much help, I’m literally a TA, but I got a gun.That wasn’t a threat to clarify. What do you say Mr. Thickness? Kandy? Tall Napoleon?

Nicodemus wasn’t in the mood. These people talked too fucking much. He sure as shit wasn’t Kandy. Tall Napoleon? Nope. That only left one option. Jesus fucking Christ. He glowered but didn’t move his eyes from the one near the briefcase. He shook his head. “This ain’t a conversation.” His stance shifted and the dirt under his boot crunched. They weren’t going the easy route of just handing off the briefcase, were they? Fine enough. The three hunters had a job to do and they would sure as shit see it through. One way or the other. He spat to the side. His hand tightened around his gun, finger under the trigger guard. A second passed before he took off into a dead sprint. Straight toward the briefcase.

“Blanche? What the fuck does pipsqueak have to do with this? Leave her out of--” Before Kaden could finish, it looked like Nic had the briefcase covered, for now. And he was getting shit started. Great. Fighting was better than talking anyway. “No one leaves til we get what we came here for.” Kaden took a shot at the door, hoping to scare the obnoxious TA lady. Catching Alain’s glance, he gave him a quick nod to her. If he had the TA covered, then that left him free to deal with Janet. He knew Nadia had a gun trained on him and while he had a feeling Nadia would do what she could to save him, bullets fired real fast. He ducked behind a box briefly before taking off towards her. Maybe if he could get there fast enough, disarm her, he could help Nic. If he needed it.

Well shit. Those were the initial thoughts that went through Otto’s mind as Popeye McGee took off in a sprint straight at him. Shoving his hand into his pocket and drawing out a pile of iron filings these were dusted over the briefcase, there was a moment of concentration before an aura of purple seemed to circle the briefcase and seep into its essence with it suddenly becoming heavier in his grip. Backing up towards the dock he extended his arm back fighting against the significantly increased weight “hey now, back the fuck up or I drop it and then nobody gets their due!” With the weight of it now and the water finding it again would be a job for anyone. Not impossible, but more work than whatever this job was worth.

Well those were some crappy nicknames coming from Iago - yes, he had read Othello a while ago - Alain deadpanned as she approached them, probably hoping that she could switch sides like that with no consequences. Considering that she was a skinny woman, and that it didn't take too much to knock someone out (much to most people's surprise), it didn't take much for Alain to get rid of the betrayer and leave her down. Glancing over at the drama queen with the suitcase, the hunter tilted his head to the side and looked over at Kaden to communicate his fed-up-ness with someone, then back at the magician. "You do realize that even if you drop that suitcase, you still have to deal with us next? This doesn't change much for you. Or... Well, it does. It gets things a lot worse."

This was all going to shit. Nadia could see that clearly. Fuck the briefcase, fuck the payment, and fuck that bastard charging at her. It wasn’t particularly smart to run at the woman with a gun trained on you, but Nadia had to give Kaden credit. The guy had balls. Too bad that wasn’t going to save his life. Finger on the trigger, she smiled as he got close and, as she pressed down, gave up control for a brief moment.

Nadia always seemed to be around for the inevitable unhappy ending, and her eyes widened as she watch the bullet from her own gun connect with Kaden’s chest. It was like the cabin all over again. She tried to drop the gun, tried to step forward, but she couldn’t move. She wasn’t really in control at all.

Even though Nadia wanted to gloat, there wasn’t anytime. “Too fucking slow,” she told Kaden before she turned on her heels and started running. “It’s not worth it!” She yelled at Otto, hoping he’d take the hint. They needed to fucking leave.

Kaden was running full out, eyes on Nadia. The gun was drawn, she looked ready to shoot, and Nadia might, but Nadia would never let her. He had to count on that. He had to. He kept running at her. He was sprinting, he almost reached her. Until he didn’t. Something hit him. No. Worse. Something shot him. Putain. Kaden dropped down and screamed out in pain, hand clutching to his chest. Fuck, fuck. Where did it hit? Upper. Near the collarbone. Not heart. Fine. He’d be fine. He hoped. But fuck it hurt. “Fuck off, Janet! I’ll make sure your soul is banished to fucking hell!” He curled up by one of the boxes, hand pressed against the wound, blood spilling out. Aw shit, he saw black at the corners of his vision. He tried to fight it off but he was slipping. He looked around for something to press to the wound, hold it together, so he could hold himself together, too.

The tides were turning fast, one person choked out and a gunshot that echoed across the warehouse with two individuals advancing on his space. Apparently not deterred by the notion of losing the thing they came for. Otto’s eyes slid across to Nadia and then to the pile of cash in the backpack the woman had brought along, with her out cold it was there for the taking. So Otto abruptly dropped the case which hit the ground with a dull thud, shoved his hand out in the direction of the bag and curled his fingers muttering the simple summoning incantation. The bag jerked as if tethered by some unseen force before it arrived in his hand leaving him standing there with the two men making ground fast. His hand shoved once more into his pocket and a scattering of iron filings were tossed out in an arc through which Otto pushed an open palm. The magic radiated in a sudden conical shockwave, reverberating around normal air suddenly growing denser and slowing those that moved through it. Giving him enough time to turn and hightail it after Nadia towards one of the boats. “Unhook the rope! I’ll get the engine!”

Nicodemus breathed in sharply through his nose. If the case went into the water, then the fucker holding it wouldn’t be far behind. He moved with an intensity he hadn’t carried with him before. An intensity that if they didn’t get this fucking job over and done with, there was a lot more to lose. A hell of a lot more. Langley was shot, Alain had knocked someone out, and the two left behind were scrambling. Something slowed his progress and he strained against it, sweat gathering at his temples and the back of his neck. It didn’t matter, he thought, as he continued to brute force through it, muscles and tendons bunched as he worked to push through it. The case had been dropped and as far as he was concerned, he didn’t care if any justice or whatever other asinine bullshit happened. The case was what they came for and it’s what they would leave with. He pushed further, stepped closer. Fuck, he hated magic. Vurals withstanding. Blood gathered between his teeth but it didn’t taste like copper when he managed to get closer to the case. Just a few more steps and his hand would be able to wrap around its handle.

With quick fingers, Nadia untied the rope from the dock, more than anxious to get the hell out of Dodge. But the anxiety, the stress, it wasn’t really hers. She wished she could get rid of it, for good. But at least she had control for the time being. She gave a smirk and waved at the men still left on the docks. Win or lose, it didn’t fucking matter today. She turned around and sank down into one of the boat seats as they drove away, running a hand through her hair and laughing breathlessly. “What a fucking shitshow, huh?” She closed her eyes, not even paying attention to an answer. What a fucking shitshow. She never seemed to get paid enough for these things.

[aquietwritingcorner]

Royai Week 2020 Day 4

Word Count: 1830 Author: RealityBreakGirl/AQuietWritingCorner Rating: T Characters: Roy Mustang, Riza Hawkeye Prompt: Crackle Summary: Bonfires cast shadows. And those shadows aren’t still. And for Riza Hawkeye, even with the bonfire is happily crackling away and people are celebrating around her, the shadows remind her of other living shadows. Roy notices, and does what he can to help.

 Crackle

 Celebration was in the air. The sun was down, but the air was alight with laughter, stories, songs and general cheer. Food was being cooked, drinks were being passed around, and the wonderful smells of it wafted through the air. A giant crackling bonfire stood in the middle of the courtyard of Central Headquarters, the last of the debris and renovations from the Promised Day burning up in it. The soldiers who had been working so hard on it and those that had fought in the battle were all here in an impromptu celebration. The fire had been lit by none other then Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist, himself.

He had come, along with his faithful lieutenant, to check out the progress and had been more then happy to light up the bonfire himself, pleased to get rid of this last bit of destruction that was left and moving forward. Riza had teased him a bit about how eagerly he had done it, and Roy had just laughed at her words. As the party kicked up, Roy had made his way through the crowds of men, talking and laughing with them. Riza had stuck with him for a bit, but she was still rebuilding her strength after her blood loss on the Promised Day and the stress her body had been through as a living hostage under Bradley and Pride. When he had noticed her feeling tired and weak, he had found her a metal drum laying on its side and sat her down on it while he went to get them both some food.

He had two plates piled high with food as he walked back to her with a smile and high spirits—until he saw her. She was still sitting on that barrel near the fire where he had left her, but she was far from relaxed. She was stiff-backed, her knees bent at an angle that would make it easy for her to move if she wasn’t so stiff. Her arms were by her side, holding white-knuckled to the barrel, stiff and straight. Her face was pale, her eyes wide. Concerned, he hurried to her side, not sure what had happened, but determined to find out. As got closer to her, he could see her breath was gasping and a light sheen of sweat on her forehead. He put the plates of food down and knelt in front of her.  “Riza?” he said. “Riza can you hear me?”

She didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge him, and her eyes weren’t focused on him. Her breathing picked up, and he saw a slight tremble forming in her. She wasn’t here with him. That much was obvious. It wasn’t the first time that he had found her in a state like this over the years. She had found him similarly before. The question was, why was she reacting like this? What had set her off? He followed her gaze and realized that her eyes were locked on the dancing shadows made by the crackling fire.

It suddenly clicked with him, and Roy understood what was happening. The shadows that her eyes were locked on looked like they were moving on their own—just like one small homunculus had shown her that he could do, that he had threatened her with. He needed to get her away from here, away from the reminder. Roy looked around trying to find a place that would be away from the direct flickering light and spotted a small alcove that the architecture had formed. That would do.

Looking around again, Roy spotted a private that was walking nearby and wasted no time getting his help. “Private!”

The private jumped, and turned to look at him, dropping into a salute. “Sir!” he said in response

Roy waved off the salute “Give me a hand. The Lieutenant isn’t feeling very well and I’m going to take her somewhere a little quieter. I need you to carry the food and then get us some drinks.”

“Of course, sir!” the young man seemed eager to please and took the plates of food that Roy handed him.

Roy turned his attention back to Riza. “Riza,” he said again, quietly. “We’re going to move, alright? I’m going to take you somewhere safe. We’ll talk about the stars,” he said, referring to when they were children and would sit on the roof, hiding from her father and talking about the stars. He hoped something in that would strike a chord in her. He stood, standing to the side of her, and put his arm on her upper arm to give her a gentle tug up. She gasped sharply, paling out a bit more and stiffened, but otherwise didn’t resist too much. Roy couldn’t help but wonder what was going through her head but kept a hold of her and walked her towards the alcove. The Private followed behind with the plates dutifully. Riza didn’t say a word the whole way, although her eyes kept flickering between the shadows as if she was waiting for one of them to strike.

The alcove wasn’t far, and part of it was deep in shadow. That was he part that Roy led her towards, knowing that she had a preference lately for places that were either completely lit, or totally dark. She almost seemed a little relieved as he sat her in one of the darkest parts, where she couldn’t see the flickering light anymore. He took the food from the private who then hurried away to find them drinks.

Roy took advantage of moment alone and knelt next to her. “Riza? Riza talk to me. Its Roy. Riza, listen to me. We’re in Central. We’re at headquarters. It’s summertime now.”

She still wasn’t saying anything, although her eyes didn’t seem to be focused on anything in particular now. Did that mean that she was coming out of it? Or did it mean that she was falling deeper into it? He wasn’t sure, and he didn’t have time to find out as the private arrived back quickly with drinks for them.

“Is there anything else I can do, sir?” he asked.

Roy shook his head. “No. She just needs to rest for a moment. Thank you for your help, Private.”

“Of course, sir. If you need anything else, please let me know.”

The private left then, and Roy didn’t think another thought about him. He was focused on Riza. He needed to find a way to break her out of this. “Riza?” he said. “Riza, I want you to drink some of this.” He picked up one of the drinks, and pressed it to her lips, tipping a little of the liquid in her mouth. She blinked, it seeming to surprise her a little, and her hand came up to the cup, which relieved Roy. She was responding to outside stimuli, at least. Roy wrapped her hand around the cup, letting her control the flow.

“That’s a girl, Riza. Drink what you can.” He kept his hand on it, just in case, and helped her lower it when she was done. “Are you with me?” he asked her. “Riza?” Her eyes met his slowly, but she still wasn’t fully present with him, he could tell.

Alright. He needed to keep grounding her. He needed to break the hold of the memory, but she wasn’t to the point that she could describe was around her yet. In that case, he needed to get her to respond to more outside stimuli. Best way to do that at the moment was through some normalcy. He sat down beside her, shoulder to shoulder, and coaxed her legs to lay flatter then her curled up position.  He sat the plate on it, sitting his own on his.

“Here. I want you eat a little of this, alright?” he said, picking up some of the food. It wasn’t much, just some vegetables that had been roasted on a stick, but it was something that she could focus on that was solid, real, and involved most of her senses. He placed it in her hand and encouraged her to start eating on the kabob. Once she did that, he started talking, keeping up a steady stream of conversation. He described what was around them, letting her know what was happening around them. He reminded her of times they had shared, of things they had done. He gave her memories that no one else could have had about them, to reassure her that it really was him.

He kept a close eye on her as he did, noticing as she slowly she began to focus more on him then on the shadows around them. She began to lean more into him instead of holding herself stiff. Her own fingers chose her food, instead of letting Roy choose it for her. She chose to pick up her drink, instead of Roy nudging her fingers towards it.  Finally, she was looking at him, herself again, exhausted but aware.

“…I don’t remember moving here,” she said, her voice tired, and looking around a bit.

“I brought you here,” Roy said gently. “You needed to get away for a bit.”

“…Away for a bit?” Riza was quiet, and for a moment, Roy wondered if she had retreated again, but she let out a sigh and leaned her head over on him, burying her face in his shoulder.

“It was like he was there again,” she said after a few moments. “The way the shadows were moving. I could hear the party going on, hear the crackle of the fire, but I couldn’t focus on anything but those shadows.”

Roy wrapped an arm around her, pulling her in closer to him. “I figured it was something like that,” he said. “That’s why I got you away from there.”

“Sorry,” she said from his shoulder. “I ruined a good time.”

Roy shook his head. “No, don’t be. It’s alright. We’re all still getting used to new things that bother us.” He gave her a kiss on the forehead. “If you’ll stay by me with mine, and help me when they overwhelm me, then I’ll help you with yours.”

“Deal,” she said tiredly. “Roy?” she said after a moment.

“Yes?” he responded.

“…Can we just go home?”

He smiled, giving her another squeeze. “Of course. You’re more important to me than any silly party.”

He could feel her sigh against him and gave her a squeeze before moving to get up and help her up. They moved at her pace, slipping out of the celebration together, leaving the crackling fire behind them. He kept his arm around her as they left, doing his best to keep her secure, and swore a new vow, if only to himself, as they left.

He wouldn’t waste anymore time. She had stood with him for years. In moments like this, it was his turn. He would stand with her and support her, no matter what.

[prettylittlebrownskingyal]

I hv this college AU in my head where all the bat kids (of age so i guess no Damian) are in uni and meet/hang with the teen titans and young justice bunch Wally snd Dick do sports together, Steph and Duke judge from afar while fooling around with board games. Jason and Victor Stone play beer pong idk i fuck with it

Note: you know, I was just gonna say YES, I LOVE THIS and then my dumbass brain went, “Write a thing. Write a thing. Write it hoe.” so here’s 1.5k of utter madness.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption. Lot’s of it.

He may not remember how he made it back into his bed, with only one shoe, no socks and glitter in his hair. But he definitely remembers how it all started.

The break begins with Dick banging on his door at the ass crack of dawn, a disgruntled Tim in tow and a bellini in hand.

“Carpe diem, baby bro.”

They fumble their way through making breakfast, keeping Alfred on facetime even with all the swearing and cursing and dropped utensils. Damian pops across the screen from time to time to whine about being bored at home and mock their collective incompetence.

It’s a huge spread; they’re cooking for mostly college athletes, after all. Dick goes around forcing extra bits of bacon and pancakes and fruit onto the freshman’s plates. Bart and Jaime dig in earnestly, but Tim takes an extra dose of coaxing because he’s too stubborn for his own good. Dick persists though, roping in a sagely Steph to remind Tim that he’ll probably be the first one to pass out anyways.

“Hey. Hey! No assignments at the table, today’s about getting wasted.”

Raven flips Wally the bird, slapping her laptop closed and leaning over to slip it back into Kory’s tote.

“Do something productive,” Garfield says. “Take this and knock it back. Show us who’s boss.”

She leers at the offered beer with disinterest. “It’s not even 10 yet.”

“Exactly, daylight’s burning.”

“I seriously doubt our only goal today is to just get wasted.” Duke’s worried voice draws the attention of all the seniors. They exchange amused glances over his head.

“You poor, innocent little bean,” Zatanna says, throwing her arms around him. “You’re in a frat house full of NCAA athletes and scholastic decathlon nerds who don’t get the chance to drink for most of the semester. Today is absolutely about getting wasted.”

***

He’s somewhere between buzzed and tipsy. Happy in the warmth of the sun.

It’s the first time in a while that he’s felt the tension of school slip away from his shoulders. His assignments are done, his family and friends are all around him and he’s having the time of his life watching Cass mix extra vodka into the already triple spiked rum punch. It’s both disgusting and delicious. And judging from the way Kon’s draped himself over Tim in a nearby lawn chair, it acts fast.

Barrelling straight towards blackout drunk for no other reason than the glory of college is an utterly fascinating idea and Jason finds it hilarious how willing most of them are to participate.

Dick’s already been amped up to giggly and incoherent. He and Wally are hunched over a phone, snickering at something Jason hopes is just the front camera opened up to their stupid faces.

“Here you go, buddy.” Roy’s voice grabs his attention as he passes over a plastic-wrapped sandwich to him. “You good?”

It’s the third time he’s asked for the day. Despite the fact that Jason is kinda wasted, he knows that Roy’s probably a little uncomfortable being around most of the people he loves, watching them get hammered while he’s stone cold sober.

“Yeah. You?” he asks through a bite of tuna on whole wheat.

“Peachy. Wanna go let Steph and Babs crush our asses at poker?”

****

“Can we go get fro-yo?”

Tim’s voice is soft and buttery, the way it gets when he’s shit-faced. Jason can hear Kon murmuring in agreement and Duke’s firm denial over the base of a Rihanna song. They’re a mess of gangly legs, draped over each other on the lumpy couch. He’s so caught up in watching they way their alcohol-induced affection is driving Duke up a wall that he misses Raven taking her turn.

He groans as the ball lands in a red solo cup. Kory grins wildly, hooking her chin over Raven’s shoulder; their both wearing looks of smug victory and he just knows he’s going to have the worst hangover tomorrow as he plucks another half-filled cup between his fingers, forcibly gulping down the amber liquid it holds. Vic slides over for his turn. He throws the ball and lets out a hiss as it misses the cup in the middle of the table, completely. Garth gives Jason a sympathetic head shake as he steps up to throw back the beer.

“It’s not fucking fair. How are you both star football players, bro? You guys suck at this.”

Vic laughs, pointing a finger at him. “I’m letting that slide because you’re the one throwing back my drinks for me.”

“Hey,” Raven intones. “It could be worse, Kory wanted to do this with tequila.”

“I’m actually hoping to leave college with my liver intact. Please, and thank you.”

Steph’s laughter, bubbly and sharp, cuts over the music. “Remember in freshman year when you got high and asked me how likely it was you’d survive a liver transplant?”

“You’re in med school, I thought you would know!”

She still laughing at him when she turns back to the complicated game of jenga she and Cass have had going for the past hour. He’s way too mellow to even begin to understand it, but he strongly suspects Cass is cheating.

***

Somewhere along the lines of beer pong and pizza Artemis Crock and Cissie King-Jones, the ace co-captains of the archery team, talk Duke and Tim into doing shots. He watches for a good ten minutes before he’s suckered right in alongside them. When Tim does inevitably pass out, Kaldur— who’s sober and very amused— lugs him off to bed.

That’s right along his memory get’s fuzzy. He knows there was dancing. He remembers being tugged along by Kory, yelling Beyoncé lyrics at the top of his lungs as he’s sandwiched between his siblings and his friends.

There are flickers of Kyler Rayner doing body shots and double dog dares with Mia Dearden and Connor Hawke. He has a video on his phone of Bart doing a keg stand while Wally looks on with a mixture of horror and pride plastered across his face. There’s a whole album of Dick trying to pet a stray cat, his nose red and the pictures getting blurrier and blurrier as his allergies set in.

After that, he thinks it was suggested that they all go outside to watch the sunrise. Someone— one of the redheads — had placed a steadying hand on his back as he swayed from foot to foot. He’s pretty sure he confessed his undying love to them.

****

When he does wake up, it’s because his head feels ready to fall off his shoulders and his mouth tastes like ass. The whole house stinks of sweat and the floors are sticky with spilt drinks. He bumps into Kon in the hallway, they exchange withering stares and a fist bump before parting ways.

He finds everyone in the kitchen— with the exception of Roy, whose a chipper bastard— in a similar state of dissonance with their bodies. Dick’s got his head in Kory’s lap and his feet in Wally’s. Tim sits across the table from them, staring at a glass of water like it personally offended him and Steph’s on the floor to the left of him, forehead pressed to the fridge. She has glitter in her hair too.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” Roy laughs. “You look like shit warmed over.”

“Thanks, man.” He spares him a glance, “Did you put me to bed last night?”

“I did,” Kory answers, her voice rough like gravel.

“Thanks, dude. Where’d my shoe go?”

“Dunno. Found you without it, I think.”

In the living room, Jaime’s lying face down on the couch with a pillow over his head, Bart keeps shuffling over to check his pulse and then back to the kitchen to gulp down water. Roy feeds them all toast and grins when a fresh-faced Cass breezes in through the doors. She plops a bottle of Advil onto the table gently and then sweeps away to watch the ensuing chaos.

“Me. First.” Tim growls, snatching it out of Dick’s hands.

Steph rouses herself then, looking around the room bleary-eyed. She clocks Jason and his head full of glitter, raising one hand to twist her fingers through her blonde locks, and then her other one to point at him like, “Hey, same.”

Donna drags herself in a little bit later. She immediately flings herself into a chair and drops her head down onto the table with a clunk that surely worsened her hangover headache. Vic and Kaldur, fairing better than the rest of them, snort through their breakfast as Roy peels off his sweatshirt to place it under her head.

He finds his shoe floating in the tub of quadruple rum-punch when their cleaning that evening. Garfield laughs so hard at him for a good ten minutes before clutching his skull and dropping down onto the porch steps, weakly.

At a quarter to four, Duke walks down the steps wearing the face of a man who knows nothing but utter betrayal.

“I’m letting you all know,” he calls. “I am not doing this again next year. I feel like death and I wanna call Alfred and cry.”

“Aw, Duke,” Dick coos. “Same.”

[holylulusworld]

Aftermath – Part 16

Summary: After Dean tried to sacrifice himself to defeat Amara while Sam got kidnapped by the BMOL, the reader and the Winchesters try to find back a way into a “normal life”.

MoC set in Season 12

Pairing: Dean x Reader x Sam, Mary Winchester, Jody, Ketch, Roy, Dr. Hess

Warnings: language, angst, blood, injured reader, characters death, fighting, violence, badass reader, explosives

Aftermath Masterlist

“Finally some alone time…again,” Ketch snickers.

“Back off, bastard!”

“Well, your lovers are gone. No need to say ‘no’ to my offer. Be my good girl and you will live. Either way, I’ll have my fun.”

“I don’t think so,” you say grinning hearing the intruder alert. “Sorry, your time is up, Mr. UK.”

Staring into the barrel of your gun Ketch wants to say something. This time you shot right away.

“That was for Eileen and all the other hunters you killed, asshole.”

“You okay?” Mary asks entering the room.

“Yeah. You?”

“I’m fine. Let’s meet up with Sam and the others, Y/N.”

Following Mary, in the corridor, you have to fight your way through to meet up with Sam. Gun aimed you hide behind a wall while BMOL members fire into you and Mary’s direction.

“Shit, we have to follow that way to meet the others,” Mary curses.

“I know. Any suggestions?”

“I’ve got a dazzling grenade,” Mary whispers.

“Do it!”

“Okay, 20 seconds. Cover your eyes, Y/N.”

Blinding the enemy Mary and you strike. Shooting the enemies you make your way toward your destiny.

“You okay?” Sam asks hiding behind a wall.

“Yeah. Ketch is history. You?”

“We lost Walt,” Sam sighs.

“Shit. Where’s Dean?”

“He and Roy took out the enemies outside. He should be here in a few moments. The office is locked.”

“Dr. Hess is here…she’s important.” Mary whispers before shooting another BMOL member.

“Alright. I count to ten and then we take those assholes out. I’ve got enough!” You order.

“Count, Baby.” Dean chuckles.

“Sneaky bastard! How did you manage to sneak behind me?”

“Training. Hunter skills. You were distracted by Sam’s ass.”

“Pervert. Okay, let’s strike,” Sam whisper.

“10, 9, 8, 7, 6, fuck it go!” You yell and all hunters start to fire their weapons. Falling to the ground the BMOL members lose their battle.

“Fuck, I’m shot.” Roy groans.

“How bad?” Mary asks.

“I’ll live. Go get the boss and end this. Tell them to fuck off!” Roy mutters.

“Let’s do this! I found this little fun bringer,” Dean says grinning. Showing you explosive.

“You and your toys,” you joke watching Dean placing the explosives at the electronically locked door.

“Here we go,” Dean snickers.

The door bursts open and you see a woman swallowing hard.

“Dr. Hess I guess?” You ask. “You’re in charge of this whole ‘operation’?”

“Uh…well…kinda,” the woman stutters. “You need us, there’s evil out there we can help to defeat.”

“Listen to her, Winchesters,” a voice out of a computer says.

“We pass,” Dean grunts shooting the computer.

“Bastard!” Hess yells.

Grabbing a gun Hess tries to shoot Sam but Jody is faster. Shooting her in the forehead Jody ends the operation.

“I found more of those nice things,” Dean says grinning.

“Okay, Mary, Jody can you help Roy? Sam and I will copy their files and check their database. Dean, you prepare the explosive and you have 10 minutes to grab their shiny toys.”

Smiling Dean kisses your cheek to grab as many weapons of the BMOL as he can carry and to prepare the explosives.

“Alright, Sam. First, we will copy all useful data and then we will use this flash drive to send those bastards a nice gift from Charlie.”

“Gift?”

“A very evil computer virus created by Charlie. She gave it to me before…”

Gently squeezing your shoulder Sam keeps an eye at the door. Waiting for you to finish your task he kisses the crown of your head.

“Okay, this should do it. Times up. Let’s get out of here, Sam.”

“Are you done playing ‘computer games’?” Dean chuckles carrying a heavy looking bag.

“How many weapons did you steal?” you scold.

“Just the best stuff, let’s roll and blow this building up.”

“The others?”

“Jody texted all hunters are out and safe. Roy will live.”

“Good. Let’s go home, boys…”

Leaving the building just in time you watch Dean grinning like insane. The whole bag is full of weapons and artifacts.

“You robbed their whole storage, I guess.” You say laughing.

“Well, they are assholes but look at the stuff. Awesome!”

Right before you can enter the Impala the whole building explodes. Dean did a very good job.

“Remind me to never let you play with explosives in the bunker, Dean.” You tease.

“Hey, that was your idea.”

“What do you think did she meant with the somewhere outside, Sam?”

“I got no clue, but we will defeat it…together…”

One month later…

Looking at the positive pregnancy test you smile. You’re happy and scared at the same time. What now?

“Hey, Baby. What’s up?” Sam rasps.

Showing him the positive test you wait for his reaction. A bright smile crosses his face before he picks you up to twirl you around.

“Whoa! What are you doing here?” Dean asks curiously.

“Y/N is pregnant,” Sam says smiling.

“Awesome! But how? I mean…I thought you’re on birth control?”

“When Ketch kidnapped me and locked you in I forgot to take my pill. I never thought … I don’t know who the father is.” Crying you hide your face in Sam’s chest.

“We are both the father, okay. Don’t worry, Baby.” Dean says stroking your back.

“Sam will change the diapers and I’ll teach him everything about girls.” He chuckles.

“Him? What about a girl?” You stammer.

"Well, then I need to check every boy getting near her with my 45'er." Grinning Dean kisses your cheek.

Smiling Sam strokes your back. “We’re happy, okay. We always wanted to have kids.”

“But we’re hunters.”

"Well, we know how to protect a child. All those other people don’t. We know what’s out there and this is the safest place.”

Sighing you nod. “I need to see a doctor for an ultrasound picture.”

“Good. Let’s go.” Dean claps his hands and picks you up.

-------

“Does the father want to see the babies too?” The doctor asks.

“Babies?”

“Yeah, twins.”

“Oh, my god.” You squeal. “Sam, Dean come in, we are going to have twins.”

The young doctor looks stunned at the two huge men entering the room. Both smile at you holding one hand. “Look, twins.”

“Look like beans to me.” Dean chuckles.

“Yeah, our beans.” You say smiling at your men.

The noise of fluttering wings fills the room. Castiel looks worried around.

“Sam, Dean we need to bring Y/N back to the bunker. The angels know there’s a new vessel for Lucifer and a new vessel for Michael.”

Mouth agape you stare at the angel. “Wait…what? How?”

"Well, as far as I can see there's a little girl from Dean and a little boy from Sam in your body."

"How did we do this?" You giggle happily.

“Shit, don’t know but great work team.” Dean chuckles kissing your cheek.

Sam grins like he’s insane squeezing your hand hard. “Sam stop or you’ll break my hand.” You scold smiling.

“We should really…” Castiel insists.

“You know Dean now you really need your 45’er to keep the boys away.”

"No," Sam says smiling. "She's going to have a brother to protect her.”

Looking between both brothers you smile …

THE END?

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[artisticvicu]

The Writing Marathon | Crystal Heart - ‘True Survivor’

[2017 beginning] [2018 beginning]

[2019 beginning] [prev]

Diggory grinned in their direction. "I can do that. But only if you do the same."

A strange tension filled the room and for not the first and probably not the last, he desperately wanted to be able to see Iro's expression.

"Sure." The chair creaked as the sound of footfall told him Iro had stepped towards the fire. "Get some rest, Roy. We'll see what else we can get you to do in the morning."

"You too, Iro." Diggory shifted deeper into the mattress. "Good night."

"Good night."

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. Time moved on farther than either of them were comfortable with. Wherever Arcane and Egos had sent him, there didn't seem to be an end to his stay. Even Iro voiced how strange the length of time was as the first month rolled past. By the time they reached month four, it was hard to remember there had been anything before.

The weather changed as it would anywhere else. It went from snow to cold rain to heat. There wasn't a surplus of food beyond the initial stores that got them through the longer snowstorms in the beginning but the lands seemed plentiful with game to hunt, fish to catch, and flora to cultivate. It was peaceful.

"This is starting to get ridiculous," Iro commented, dropping the latest catch onto the porch. Diggory made a face as the thought of having to scrub the porch before nightfall. "Are you certain you can't control anything?"

Diggory walked the length of the porch to the barrel tucked against the outer corner of the railing. The back of his hand bumped against the rail first but there was no hesitation nor surprise like there had been those first months. While he still wasn't sure of the land beyond the cabin, he knew his way around his temporary home. It helped Iro kept things where they belonged now that the place was cleaned up. The small bucket - though it was probably closer to a small flower pot than a bucket - was hanging upside down where it was supposed to be. The water within the barrel was cold against his hand and rapidly cooled the bucket. A smile played at his lips. "Nothing has changed, Iro," he assured the other. "I will let you know the instant it does."

There was a huff from the other as their footfall approached. The other was light on their feet but Diggory could hear their footfall as surely as he could hear his own heartbeat at night. "I know." The bucket was pulled from his grasp. Iro touched their fingers to his and Diggory wrapped his hand around the offer appendage. Iro squeezed his hand in turn. "It's just, I'm getting anxious. If we're not separate from the time passing back home, then we're wasting time without being able to do anything."

"I know," Diggory assured them. He gave a gentle pull and Iro followed. The other pressed their forehead to his shoulder as he pressed the back of their hand to his chest. "I'm worried too. I left several people I hold dear without a word of where I was going and I fear for the ramifications that followed my disappearance." His grip tightened on their hand. "But I still believe that there is the possibility that very little if any time has passed back home. I believe what we experience here is outside of normal time and it's just a matter of finding the exit."

"But I've gone as far as I can and have checked every nook and cranny of the surrounding mountain."

Diggory felt his heart constrict with his next words.

"Only what'll allow you to come home before dark. You haven't gone beyond that boundary."

He didn't want Iro to leave.

But if it meant they could get out, Diggory knew he would survive just fine without the other's company. It hurt, but it was the truth and it reassured him on some level.

"I can't go farther than that," Iro countered sharply, their forehead still firm against his shoulder even as they shook their head in denial.

Diggory smiled as a soft breath of a laugh escaped him. "Yes you can. Just follow the river. It'll give you plenty of food and water with more chances to-"

"I'm not leaving you behind!"

His breath caught in his chest. That hurt. That hurt far more than he had ever thought it would be cause he knew, just knew that he could not follow Iro out beyond the boundaries the other had set in those day trips. Not when he couldn't see. They wouldn't even get past the boundary more than a few yards before they would have to stop. It was all he could do to swallow against the dryness in his throat. "Iro," he tried but the name came out weak. It would have to do as he reminded the other, "I'll only slow you down."

Iro shook their head no again, this time more violently as their other hand came up to grab at his shirt sleeve with enough force that Diggory thought the other was going to manage to put holes in it. The bucket his the floor splashing cold water over his bare feet. It probably splattered Iro too. "I don't care. If I leave this place, it'll only be if you were at my side. I don't..." Iro sucked in a rattling breath and it was all Diggory could do to keep his hands firmly wrapped around the other's hand he had yet to release. "I'm not strong enough to do this on my own."

Diggory offered the other a tight smile even without them looking at him. "Yes you are. You could make it to the other side of this planet without me and still be ready to take on the rest of it. You're a true survivor, Iro. You could make that journey."

"But I don't want to be alone."

[next]

[fullmetalscullyy]

the last dance - chapter 9

summary: “Congratulations on your wedding, sir,” she smiled widely. “You’re one step closer to becoming Fuhrer.” Post-Canon. Roy Mustang marries a Drachman Princess to secure Amestris’ ties with the country, while also furthering his political career. Riza Hawkeye works behind the scenes to make sure he reaches the top, however once he does, where does she go next? He’s hit his goal of becoming Fuhrer because he got married, so what is Riza’s purpose now? Will she finally atone for her sins, like she’d planned?

read chapter 8 | rated: m | read on: ao3 + ffnet

Riza’s breath was frozen in her throat.

Words may have been spoken but she wasn’t sure. Roy encompassed her vision completely, just like old times. However, Riza did notice that the rest of the team filed out the room, even Annika, and left her and Roy alone.

He stepped forward and Riza flinched. She didn’t know why. Roy stopped, continuing to simply watch her.

“Riza?” he called to her quietly.

She broke.

She took a shaky breath in, feeling tears threatening to overwhelm her. Why was he here. Why now? Why, when she couldn’t have him, did she want to fall into his arms and never leave them?

Her eyes close and the weight of everything that’d happened in the last half hour crashed into her at once. She was a free woman… But she had nothing left. She was out of the military with this “scandal” and she no longer worked for Roy. She’d lost everything trying to set things right, only to fail miserably.

Arms enveloped her and Riza fought against his hold. She didn’t deserve it.

Roy shushed her. “It’s okay,” he soothed, readjusting his grip so he could hold her even tighter.

“No, it’s not,” she sobbed. Her knees shook and felt herself falling. She didn’t fall hard though. Roy caught her and eased her onto the floor, following along with her. The pair of them knelt on the rich carpet, Riza a sobbing, pathetic, mess in his arms.

“I tried,” she told him. “I tried to make things right, but I failed.” Her eyes squeezed closed tightly. His scent flooded her and made her want to cry harder. She didn’t deserve comfort from him.

“I know,” Roy murmured. A hand was pressed on her hair and smoothed down her short and greasy tresses. “You were amazing,” he soothed.

“What?” Riza asked, blinking her eyes open.

“The strength you had to do that, to offer yourself up to be executed of all things,” he added, choking on the word he stressed. “I wish I could possess half of that.”

She pulled away, meeting his gaze, but Roy had cast it downwards.

“The Elders approached me. I explained your thoughts on the matter, but they still insisted. I…” He glanced down. “I know this was what you wanted, and I, of all people, would never want to take it away from you, but… I couldn’t say no to them.” He met her eyes and saw how pained they were. “I took so much from them already… I couldn’t leave them out.”

Riza pressed a hand to his cheek. “You brought them so much back too, though remember?”

“So, did you,” he stressed, giving her a tight squeeze. “And I couldn’t have done it without you. Havoc’s right. Everything falls apart with you, Riza. We all need you. The world needs you. I need you more than anything,” he finished, his voice dropping to a whisper.

The reminder of Annika popped into her head, and Riza froze.

“What about Annika?” she asked before swallowing past the lump in her throat.

Roy shifted in place, glancing away from her. Riza’s grip on him loosened, finally understanding. She realised the position they were in and moved away. As she did, Roy’s head snapped back to hers, his brow furrowing.

“Riza?” he asked uncertainly.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lose it like that, sir – I mean… General,” she finished lamely. He wasn’t her commanding officer anymore. Old habits die hard, but she was just a civilian now, she supposed. General would justify for now, until she figured out where she sat in this world now.

“What –?”

“I’ll let you go, General Mustang. You don’t need to stay any longer.” Riza could feel her shoulders rounding in on themselves, so she stood and straightened her spine. Roy rose in a hurry, meeting her gaze with his own worried one.

“What are you talking about? Of course, I do.”

“Your wife will be wondering where you are, General.” Riza cursed as her voice broke on the use of wife.

Realisation seemed to dawn on Roy, but Riza couldn’t figure out why.

“Oh. No, you misunderstand,” he stated, shaking his head. Roy approached her hurriedly as Riza watched his movements cautiously. He gripped her hands tightly, anchoring himself to her. “She’s my wife, but I don’t love her.”

It took Riza a moment to grasp what he was saying.

“Excuse me?”

Roy shifted uncomfortably. “I wasn’t sure how to bring it up. And these were her words, not mine, but what I have with Annika… There’s no live. It’s an arrangement. A marriage of convenience for us both.”

“It’s still a marriage.”

“Yes, I know that, but she won’t mind.”

Riza frowned. “I won’t get in between a marriage, General –”

“It’s Roy,” he interrupted. “Please. And don’t worry about it.”

Riza snatched her hands back. “No, I won’t –”

“Riza,” Roy soothed her, trying to calm her down. He sighed in frustration, running his hands through his hair. “I’m not explaining this very well.”

“No, you’re not,” Annika interrupted, appearing from nowhere.

Riza jumped about a foot away from him, fear prickling over her skin.

Annika noticed and waved off her reaction. “Riza, my dear, relax. Roy has always appeared to have been excellent with words but when it comes to you, it all goes out the window.” She shot a look at her husband. “I wonder why?” she asked allowed, shooting Roy a pointed look. Roy rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Riza, look,” Annika stated. “There’s no love between us. Never was. I used him, and he used me.”

An unsettling feeling settled in Riza’s stomach at the implication of her statement. It climbed up her throat and Annika appeared to have noticed. Her eyes widened in horror.

“No! Not like that!” she reassured Riza. “No, Roy helped me get away from my abusive father, and I promised I’d help get him to Fuhrer. We agreed from day one that if someone else was to come along, we would end it. I would be a disgraced Princess if I was divorced and wouldn’t need to travel back to Drachma to my awful father – which, don’t worry, I am very happy about – and Roy said I’d be free to be with anyone I wanted to be. I said the same to him…” Annika cast her gaze between the two of them. “However, I see that the person he’s been in love with has been with him all along.” She shot Riza a pointed look.

The dread in Riza’s stomach had left, and in its place, several emotions were churning up inside the organ, too difficult and muddled to name.

“Do yourself a favour, Riza, and jump at this chance you’ve been given. You’re an amazing woman who I admire so much.” Annika gently grasped her hands and gave them a squeeze. “Make him happy,” she smiled. With a final squeeze, Annika turned and left the room without another word.

“Riza?” Roy called to her. It sounded far away as Riza stared at the door Annika had exited. She may have stood there frozen for seconds, for minutes, she wasn’t sure.

“Is that true?” she whispered.

“Every word,” Roy replied with confidence. He smiled sheepishly at her. “She was right. With you, I’ve never been able to find the right words, or the right time. One thing happened after another and then I was too scared of messing anything up. But I do love you, Riza. You’ve known that for years and it’s never changed.” Riza felt tears spring to her eyes. “And I realise how much that marriage must have hurt you. I apologise for that, but it was necessary to get her out of that home.”

As Riza’s brain caught up with her, she couldn’t help but notice the similarities between her childhood situation and Annika’s. Had Roy helped her because Annika reminded him of herself, and their childhood together under Berthold Hawkeye?

No, surely not…

But it certainly sounded like something Roy would do.

Both Riza’s hands were back in Roy’s grip as he met her eyes with a soft smile.

“What will you do now?” he asked quietly.

“I… I don’t know.” She really didn’t, and that terrified her. She was still reeling for the judge’s decision. Her brain hadn’t even thought about where she would sleep that night.

“Come and work for me again,” Roy offered.

“I can’t,” she whispered. “The military won’t let me.”

“The Fuhrer is your grandfather. I’ll be Fuhrer after that,” Roy argued. “I’m sure you’ll be able to.”

“It wouldn’t be fair.”

“Riza, you offered yourself up to be executed for what you did in Ishval. The majority have praised you for your actions. I wasn’t joking when I said I wish I had half the strength you did.”

She studied his eyes, trying to discern if he was lying, but he wasn’t. The truth was all there in those dark orbs, laid out before her for Riza to accept.

“Or,” Roy added, giving her hands a squeeze. “Private security is also another venture you could find yourself in.” His eyes flashed, with… mischief? “Then you won’t be working under me.”

“What?”

“Annika and I already spoke after your trial went live and are readying the divorce papers.” Riza’s mouth parted in shock. “Discreetly, of course. No one knows and it won’t be public until next year sometime.” He sounded displeased by that admittance. “It wouldn’t be good publicity if I was to be divorced right before becoming Fuhrer, no matter how much I want to be.”

“Why?” Riza asked. She still couldn’t grasp what he was saying.

“So, I can be with you, of course. Only if you want to.”

Her mind and her emotions were being jerked in every direction today. Just when she thought she’d got a lid on one surprise another came barrelling at her at full speed. She needed to sit down. Or a drink. That last one sounded better.

Unfortunately, there was no drink available to her in the courthouse, so she sank into a couch behind her. Roy followed suit, his hands not leaving hers, but instead of joining her on the couch, he knelt in front of her.

“Do we deserve it?” she asked.

His smile faltered. “Annika has opened me up to many different ways of thinking. Before I met her? Absolutely not. Duty came first for us always. However, we’ve conquered our demons and rebuilt what we had a hand in destroying. For me…” Roy dropped his gaze. “It doesn’t ease the guilt, but my soul feels more at rest now that I know by job is done.”

“I felt the same way,” Riza admitted in a whisper. “That’s why I was so okay with all this.”

Roy nodded. “I understand. I was too, however Grumman said I would have to wait until I became Fuhrer. And God knows I didn’t want to leave you to do it alone. It felt like I was abandoning you, but I still had work to do.” Roy shifted on his knees, giving her hands a tight squeeze. “So do you, if you’re willing?”

“Everything is done.”

Roy shook his head with a dry smile. “Someone still has to keep my sorry ass alive. The best person to do that is you. If you decline, I won’t fight it –”

“Okay.”

A heavy breath left Riza as she accepted his offer because there was no place better for her than by his side. Whether that was as his bodyguard, or, further down the line, his wife, Riza didn’t care. She just wanted him.

Roy edged forward and pressed his lips gently against hers. Riza whimpered and wrapped her arms around his shoulders tightly. His arms snaked around her back and pulled her flush against his body. Her tears dripped onto her cheeks, but she didn’t mind.

They were happy tears. It had been a long time since she’d experienced that.

[placetobenation]

Melody Time

Release Date: May 27th, 1948

Inspiration: N/A

Budget: $1.5 million

Domestic Gross: $1.81 million

Worldwide Gross: $2.56 million

Rotten Tomatoes Score: 80%

IMDB Score: 6.4/10

Storyline (per IMDB): Segments: “Once Upon a Wintertime,” two lovers rescued from an icy river by friendly animals; “Bumble Boogie,” bee beset by musical instruments and symbols come to life; “Johnny Appleseed,” story of the legendary pioneer tree-planter; “Trees,” mood piece set to musical treatment of Joyce Kilmer’s poem; “Little Toot,” story of a heroic little tugboat who saves an ocean liner; “Blame it on the Samba,” Donald Duck and Jose Carioca have the blues blown away at a Latin cafe; “Pecos Bill,” story of the legendary cowpoke, his trusty mount Widowmaker and his sweetheart Slue Foot Sue.

Pre-Watching Thoughts: We continue to trek our way towards the end of the 1940s with the fifth straight package film released during this time. It’s been no secret in doing these reviews that the package films have not held up that well which isn’t to say they’ve been bad which they aren’t, but compared to what I have watched prior to them I have seen a downturn in quality. Fortunately, we only have two more to go and hopefully this film ends up slightly better than what Make Mine Music was, but I’m not holding my breath on that one.

Voice Cast: Much like Make Mine Music, we have some big names for the time brought in to serve as either the narrators or singers for the segments though some of them also provide voices for the characters in a few of the segments. We first have Buddy Clark who sings the title song and provides the buffers between segments which he does a fine job at, and then for the Winter Wonderland segment we have Francis Langford performing in what would be one of her final performances on the big screen. Next we have composer and musician Freddy Martin who leads the orchestra in playing “Flight of the Bumblebee” and then for the story of Johnny Appleseed, we have radio personality Dennis Day who narrates while also voicing Johnny and his guardian angel. We then have a returning group as the Andrews Sisters tell the story of Little Toot and following that, we have bandleader Fred Waring along with his group the Pennsylvanians as they perform the music for the poem about trees. For “Blame it on the Samba”, the Dinning Sisters perform the song while organist Ethel Smith performs the organ and makes a live action cameo playing the organ while Donald and Jose dance for her. Finally for the segment on Pecos Bill, we have a few more live action cameos as legendary actor Roy Rogers narrates the story of child actors Luana Patten and Bobby Driscoll while Bob Nolan and the Sons of the Pioneers sing the story of Pecos Bill. Those involved did well in their jobs and they were pretty big names for the time, and for some of them this would be the peak of their careers while for others it was just another step in their careers.

Hero/Prince: N/A

Princess: N/A

Villain: N/A

Other Characters: So again much like Fantasia and Make Mine Music, we don’t have any main characters as we just have characters that are specific to their own segments and we don’t see them intertwine. For the first segment, we have the couple that is known as Joe and Jenny though they do not speak at all, and we also have the animals that accompany them as well as help Joe save Jenny in the end. We then have the bumblebee who goes through a wild ride in “Bumble Boogie”, and then in our first major segment we have Johnny Appleseed and his guardian angel along with the pioneers and animals featured as well. Next we have Little Toot along with the other tugboats who shun him when he causes chaos before accepting him when he saves a ship during a storm, and then we have the return of Donald Duck, Jose Carioca, and the Aracuan bird who join Ethel Smith in dancing the samba. Finally, we have Roy Rogers, Luana Patten, Bobby Driscoll, and the cowboys who sing the story of Pecos Bill, and in the actual segment we have Pecos Bill, his love Slue Foot Sue, and the cowboys of the town they live in. This was fine as again these characters worked well for the segments that they were featured in and really besides Donald and Jose, they wouldn’t work well within the other segments especially since nothing connects them together.

Songs: Once again much like Fantasia and Make Mine Music, we have a film where each segment is basically either a song animated or a segment that is mainly sung by someone so those will not be included here even though they were considered. However, we do have one song that is included in here and that is the title track for the film entitled “Melody Time”, and it is pretty similar to Make Mine Music in that it was written so that the film could have a title track. It was a fine song to start things off for the film and works well for the film, but much like the other title tracks of the package films it doesn’t stand up to the other major Disney songs.

Plot: Not to sound like a broken record, but we once again have a film that is pretty much in the same vein as Fantasia and Make Mine Music in that there is no overarching story in the film, instead it is a series of segments set to music that may feature some dialogue or narration. Each segment was completely different from the other ones so there was no real flow between segments, and the only buffer to each segment was a magic paintbrush that would showcase who was up next while we heard the narrator hype the segment. It was fine for what it was since it was pretty much just a bunch of animations around the music aside from telling the stories of Johnny Appleseed and Pecos Bill, and it worked well for a film like this as again it was the same style of Fantasia and Make Mine Music.

Random Watching Thoughts: I didn’t think Radio RKO Pictures was still around even at this point; Trigger: The Smartest Horse in the Movies; Once again, we have a title song made specifically to intro the film of the same name; It is kind of interesting how they make it seem like you are watching a variety show given how many segments there are; Kind of funny that we have a segment about a winter wonderland given that the film was released in May; I don’t know why, but this animation just feels very un-Disney like; They had to find numerous ways to make a variety of hearts to put over the romance in this segment; How did they go from being on a pond to being in a river so quickly, and where did that waterfall come from?; It is interesting knowing that since this was before TV, their guest stars were mostly stars on the radio; Fun fact: the segment about the flight of the bumblebee was originally considered for Fantasia; That poor bee went through so much with the instruments blowing him around and stalking him; I feel like Johnny Appleseed is not talked about much in the modern day for how legendary a pioneer he was; I wonder if Johnny ever at any point in his life grew tired of apples and wanted to grow something else; It’s always funny that the pioneers were so excited to travel out west completely unaware of the dangers they were going to face; They really made apples seem like nature’s greatest gift; You have to be so dedicated to your craft if you pay no heed to any animals that are ready to attack you; When has a skunk ever been referred to as a black and white cat?; You want to know how to tame animals when they are prepared to attack them, just pet them softly and they will fall in love with you. Typical Disney logic; There is no jubilee quite like an apple jubilee; That chipmunk on Johnny’s shoulder again looks suspiciously like Dale, but where’s Chip?; You must be very happy with your life if you spend 40 years just planting apple seeds before falling asleep under a tree and dying peacefully; Even in death, Johnny feels like he can continue planting the frontier until the angel tells him he can plant in heaven; Little Toot was basically acting like a disobedient toddler even though he wanted to be a help; How strong was Little Toot that he could push that big ship around with such ease to cause it to crash into the city?; I get that Little Toot had to be punished for what he did, but forcing him out into the ocean by himself seems a bit harsh; Even the buoys and lighthouse had no sympathy for Little Toot; Is it a coincidence that there just happened to be a ship in need of help so that Little Toot could redeem himself?; I feel like by this point they were scraping the bottom of the barrel by doing an animated segment about a poem to a tree; This “Trees” segment seems like it could’ve fit better in Bambi; Good to see Donald, Jose Carioca, and the Aracuan bird one more time, almost like they were the poster children for these package films since they have been in a bunch of them; I like how Donald and Jose were figuratively and literally blue until the samba brought the color back to them; Also, is it coincidental that there is always a live action female whenever Donald and Jose are around?; I wonder if you ask someone what they know about Roy Rogers, they might mention the chain of fast food restaurants that are named for him; I know Texas is the biggest state in the continental US, but talk about your exaggerations when they showed the size of Texas compared to the other states, plus we apparently have the Gulf of Texas which replaced the Gulf of Mexico; So Pecos Bill was raised by coyotes similar to how Mowgli was raised by wolves in “The Jungle Book”; Fitting that the welcoming committee for the desert is a flock of vultures; Fun fact: the scene with the tornado was edited out of the video release originally due to Bill smoking a cigarette yet somehow the scene with Bill chasing the Native Americans was kept in; Nothing comes between a cowboy and his horse expect for a beautiful woman; Western weddings were very complex, especially back in the old days; That bustle must be strong as hell to keep Sue bouncing repeatedly until she was able to bounce to the moon, and how did she survive in space?

Overall Thoughts: Overall, this film was just slightly better than Make Mine Music but it is still not that great of a film which is unfortunate. Again, I want to make it clear that these films are not bad per se and they are fine for what they were, but when you are comparing them to the other films in the Disney canon they do not hold up that well. These package films were already kind of maligned to begin with and I was hoping that perhaps they were more underrated and underappreciated, but sadly that has not been the case. We only have one more film left in the package era before we begin the new decade and jump right back into the major films, and hopefully the last package film can end this era on a good note. As for Melody Time, it is a perfectly acceptable film for what it was though it definitely ranks near the bottom of the ranks of the Disney film canon.

Final Grade: 3.5/10

[titheguerrero]

More Than Just Dander

First, a sort of meta-comment in the form of a shout-out to HCRenewal's intrepid editor, Dr. Roy Poses, for his just-published analysis of what we might call "blogging: rise and fall." He sees decline reflected in publications long  devoted to health and health policy, yet now flaking off. Methinks, however, despite the usefulness of his overview of recent decades, Dr. P need not fret excessively. Water spilling out of the barrel's lip will slow down once folks come along and punch a whole bunch of little mid-section tweet-holes in it. Information still flows. (Sort of.)  In any case, surely there's overlap between blogs' and tweets' readerships. Surely well-researched and -reasoned long form still has its place. Unfortunately, hard to know for sure: it's hard to measure. Nobody's polling these folks and to my knowledge information scientists haven't published much--a quick search inside Google Scholar bears this out--that's of a quantitative nature. So we're left with admittedly rather unsatisfactory anecdotal reports on people who need blogs like ours and find their way to it. Congressional staffers you know who you are. Rightly or wrongly, I'm hopeful. Maybe we shade this a little by the suspicion that many younger social media users share with me a short attention span. Hence they come to rely more and more on quick hits. In any case, let's hope this is evolution and diversification, not just entropy and a race to the bottom. Now to my theme of the day. Yet again the dander hath risen for I've lost count how many times around what ails our health delivery systems. And so is my lunch: the gorge, too, hath risen. The miscreants' very relentlessness is nauseating. More, then, on two of them that keep cropping up here like those small burrowing insectivores in this tedious yet oddly riveting game of Whack-A-Mole. A. Chicanery at the VA: looking back and looking forward. On balance, and despite its many flaws, VA health's operation in all its enormity is not itself a miscreant. Different story for those folks trying to destroy it from within, on the dubious premise that lest we privatize it it's irredeemable. Search this blog on "VA Cetona" for detail on such matters. Why does this even happen? We've described the VA's Shadow Rulers (search here on that as well) in these pages. The SR's fall in the 0.1%. Why do they need or want the headache of trying, in what's fated to be a futile effort, to upend and hollow out the health lifeline extended for nearly a century to patriots returning from the military? When the left gets power it tries to expand and improve government. (Of course the efforts can unfortunately go awry, viz. Hillarycare in the 1990s, and cast shade on future attempts.) When the right gets power, at least in the two generations since an actor became president in 1980, government is seen as "not the solution but the problem." The response may be to try to rejigger and downsize. "Drown the baby in the bath." Or, perhaps far more likely, something else now happening in the VA and throughout the Trump kakistocracy. Namely, don't seize power to return it to the people. Seize it in order to use it in a third-dimensional play to drain resources. As for the first two dimensions, don't even try to improve--David Shulkin's mistake (see below)--or eliminate (despite Mick Mulvaney's baby drowning proclivities, hugely unpopular) care provided by the VA. Not when there's a third way: divert those resources. In fact, from the earliest instances of frontier exploitation to the newest frontier we have--our heretofore private personal information--despoliation has been the watchword, the core motive, the secret sauce: don't ameliorate. Don't eliminate. (Honestly: viz., Shrub's expansion of guvmint.) Despoliate. It is, as Shrub used to say (maybe), one of our country's most basic pieces of strategery. Such a strategy was discussed (and surely it's as old as the hills) by Times tech reporter Steve Lohr in a recent piece on, of all things, artificial intelligence. ("Elixir of prosperity [or] job killer"?) Lohr makes clear that what's old is new again, linking the asset of private data to all the other assets that've been strip-mined. "In the American model," notes Lohr, "coming from Silicon Valley in California, a handful of Internet companies become big winners and society is treated as a data-generating resource to be strip mined." As Buffy the Vampire Slayer once said, "can you spell 'duh'?" Strip mining started with the earliest settlers, and now ... data, the final frontier. Same deal, though. The American model, and economic maldistribution, and so much of our plight is bound up with this baked-in trait, which seems to've seeped into society's DNA. Or else originated there. Find a mine. Strip it. Let others pick up the pieces. But let's go back to that last credible VA Secretary. How do we know that Shulkin pissed off the strip-miners? Why, just read what he himself wrote in a scholarly publication just a few months ago in the prestigious New England Journal. In a piece entitled "why the VA needs more competition," he and closely-associated Michigan colleague Kyle Sheetz first declared, unequivocally and repetitiously, competition: good!!! Emphasis in the original through repetition. Clever. After reassuring their audience how much they liked competition they let the cat out of the bag in the final paragraph of a long-ish article: "Privatizing the VA by offering unregulated access to private-sector providers is probably not feasible, necessary, or the best way to care for veterans." That's exactly what the quietly-undermining, unelected Trumpsters pushing for strip-mining veterans' health care didn't want to hear. We know (see below) how that came out. Similar in emphasis is a piece just out (January 2019) in the equally prestigious Annals of Internal Medicine, by (no pun intended) veteran federal health official Carolyn Clancy and her own VA/AHRQ colleagues. I'm perplexed at the way Clancy herself has hung in there (and yet she persisted) at the federal agencies to which she's contributed greatly over recent decades. I'm perplexed about how, within these agencies,she's been bounced around, most recently landing as the VA's "Deputy Under Secretary for Discovery, Education and Affiliate Networks." (That top's spinning so fast what I just wrote may already be superannuated news.) In any case Clancy et al. put their shoulders to Shulkin's wheel extolling the May 2018 federal MISSION legislation streamlining VA and non-VA care, and the ostensible role their new Center for Innovation might play in such an effort. They pointed out all the right innovation-cum-research caveats about the need for adequate data: "paying for value could backfire without accurate measurement of costs and outcomes." In this case they were certainly correct: privatizers in this particular world aren't interested in evidence-based anything. They're profiteers. (See: "Department of Education." See: "Department of the Interior." See: Environmental Protection Agency.) Shulkin's words saw the light of day about a month after the MISSION legislation, in the final days of June, 2018. But here's why I put Shulkin having "liked competition" in the past tense. By the time his NEJM piece appeared Shulkin, also accused of what I still deem to've been truly flimsy ethics violations, was already gone from his organization. By the end of March the Orange Man had already fired him. As a personal fiasco this was unseemly, since the VA secretary was a rare bird who both consented to be a hold-over from early administrations, yet managed early on to be a current POTUS favorite. Surprising? In this White House? In none of these events was there ever put forward any really compelling justification either for privatizing VA care or for starting with the assumptions that outside "leaders" and outside doctors could do a better job than--what with all their flaws--VA medical staff. Suzanne Gordon, a distinguished journalist and author, admittedly parti pris as a fellow of the Oakland-based 501(c)3 Veterans Healthcare Policy Institute, has just published an American Prospect piece on "Trump’s under-the-radar push to dismantle veterans' health care." Her central thesis is worth quoting in extenso.

[The Republican] strategy will not only erase what has been the most successful American experiment in government-delivered health care, but will also send veterans out into a private system that is more expensive, less accountable, and unable to meet their particular needs. The key notion underpinning the Mission Act, that the private sector can offer comparable care to the VHA, is deeply flawed. Study after study (after study) has found that the VHA generally outperforms the private sector on key quality metrics, and that private providers are woefully unprepared to treat the often unique and difficult veteran patient population. The most recent evidence came in a Dartmouth College study published in December, which compared performance between VHA and private hospitals in 121 regions across the country. The results: In 14 out of 15 measures, government care fared “significantly better” than private hospitals.

Gordon also has a new book out on this subject, as most supporters of the traditional VA system already know. Worth a look. Meanwhile the Senate and White House and those advising them clearly never really cared about quaint ideas such as "studies," "evidence," or "data." They cherry-pick a few quotes about the brusqueness of some VA care, which often is admittedly more bureaucratic than today's "consumer-facing" and endlessly-polling private-care organizations. You can find those quotes as well as I can--any search engine known to man will do the trick. Recent events on the larger political canvas make it abundantly clear, in the meantime. It's not about quality. It never was. It's about callously starting with a dismissive attitude toward government workers, then back-solving from there. Having worked for years at the VA, I can vouch for its quality as well as its struggle to assist the really needy patients who depend upon it. In fact, this new study shows quite rigorously that the VA was already dramatically reducing wait-times within multiple VA installations, right down to private-sector levels. So this branch of government has listened and successfully striven to achieve a performance level that's not just high-science but also high-touch, as medicine's "customers" (yechhh) have come to expect. The present furlough of federal employees proves the point. If you can dismiss someone as human collateral-damage, you don't start first by examining the good things they've done for you. You're an elephant poacher. Take the spoils and leave the carcass to rot. B. More on the Opiate Eaters Who Eat Very Well. Speaking of despoliators, Dr. Poses and I both wrote here recently on how, in the world of dangerous narcotics, this single family of mostly physicians, the Sacklers, garnered a much more grand market share than they like to let on. Time to add to that and earlier reporting with a few updates. When, in a different venue than the VA I was providing front line medical care to privately-insured patients, I noticed an arresting change. I saw more and more folks arrive in my office in shop-till-you-drop mode seeing opiate renewals. Always OxyContin, Percocet or Vicodin. If I didn't provide the "fill" they'd go next door. The demand built and built. The drug makers kept assuring they were safe and effective. At free dinners they paid an army of fellow physicians to regale us with the same message. Then those patients started to die on me. OD courtesy of "safe" Purdue (and others') product. Then in the past very few years, and I honestly should've seen it coming but didn't, the crisis spilled over from doctors' exam rooms into the political arena. It's actually something, unlike the VA, that's garnering a certain timid degree of nonpartisan interest in finding practical solutions, call it consensus even, starting with decriminalizing measures. But I find it gorge-raising to see the usual suspects continuously fighting the notion that as a society, we blew it with opiates. We blew it. With their help. I've spent a fair amount of time looking at similar medico-legal crises, including the far-reaching tobacco and environmental lead poisoning matters, as well as narrower ones such as evolving surgical and pharmacological approaches to certain diseases. In every case our tort system, combined with the deep pockets of those who are (allegedly) truly guilty, conspire to perpetuate Bleak House-style court battles over culpability. Strip miners seem to believe--or want us to swallow whole the absurdist notion--that they leave the world a better place. In the case of Purdue, this false consciousness is undoubtedly propped up by the Sacklers' prowess as culturati: one can hardly turn around, as I recently did at the Met in New York, without finding their name plastered on this gallery or that institution of higher learning. But the motive, be it within the strip miners' organization or that of a cultural organization, comes down to the same thing: "we need the money." Allegedly. Recent disclosures from "sources," including internal Purdue emails, clarify all this. Fortunately for us it turns out the founder's (Raymond's) son Richard was an early adopter--relatively so--of email. Both were physicians, but Richard was of the first generation to be granted an American MD. Email was barely used at all in 1995 when Microsoft first added a TCP/IP stack to its operating system, with the introduction of Windows 95. Then email really took off, by 2001 having a fair amount of penetration in the business world. So maybe we shouldn't be so surprised that Purdue Pharma was squirreling away some of Richard's pronouncements in an archival time capsule for our delectation nearly a generation later. According to a new court filing recently revealed in the NY Times, Richard Sackler said some, um, fairly incriminating things to say in these internal emails. Still earning his spurs as head of daddy's (and Uncle Mortimer's) company after a couple of years or so in the saddle, and undoubtedly aware of the dramatic uptick in addiction issues that I saw in my own clinic in those turn-of-the-century years, he allegedly blasted everyone else in sight--except, of course, his own ever-so-cultured family. "[T]he launch of OxyContin tablets will be followed by a blizzard of prescriptions that will bury the competition. The prescription blizzard will be so deep, dense, and white...." said Sackler fils. Based on no evidence reps were told to claim a “less than one percent" risk of addiction. As for that small subset of patients who did find themselves hopelessly addicted, the claim was to be made that “We have to hammer on abusers in every way possible.... They are the culprits and the problem. They are reckless criminals.” Now, hot off the press in 2019, the Guardian reports how this overall attitude has been replicated within the lobbyist-influenced government of Messrs. Trump and Azar. Since 2015 (pre-Trump! pre-Azar!) chair of the FDA's own Anesthetic and Analgesic Drug Products Advisory Committee, Kentucky anesthesiology professor Raeford Brown has bravely characterized the rift that now mires down the FDA in tackling this crisis seriously. Admittedly with cover from many in Congress, Brown said this to interviewers.

I think that the FDA has learned nothing. The modus operandi of the agency is that they talk a good game and then nothing happens. Working directly with the agency for the last five years, as I sit and listen to them in meetings, all I can think about is the clock ticking and how many people are dying every moment that they’re not doing anything. The lack of insight that continues to be exhibited by the agency is in many ways a willful blindness that borders on the criminal.

Scott Gottlieb, who's tying your hands? Is it this guy? The FDA seems to be replete with such interlocking-directorate staff, all trying to assure  the "level playing field." And what is that playing field? Who are the players? We can answer this. Talk to the drug reps (I have). Except of course those who wake up and see what they're really doing, burn out and bail out. Talk to the lobbyists and the investors (I have). The watchword is not "safe and effective." It's blame-the-victim and lucrative. Let's get our motives straight here. You can do that just fine without listening to us at Health Care Renewal. Just listen to Richard Sackler in a time capsule from 2001. Ever wonder why the strip-miners need so much of our patients' loot? Well, take a little trip to Davos, Switzerland, where the rich and rich go to rub shoulders and tell each other how smart they are: YouTube offers a hint here. B'bye--too much dander, got to go take a bath. Article source:Health Care Renewal