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arty-shadow-morningstar · 3 years ago

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A Failed Betrothal (9)

Hey, look guys. I am finally updating this fic.

But I also have bad news. I have a very severe case of writer's block with this particular fic and have exams in next month. So I decided to put this on hiatus for the foreseeable future. I really want to finish this and I have some ideas on how to continue but I just don't know how to move this forward. I do want to finish this since it is my first official fic I have posted here.

Thank you everyone who has been following this story so far and for being so patience. There is some good news. I have Chapter 10 half-written and will post it some time if I ever finish it. Love you guys.

[Masterlist]

(Part 1)(Part 8)

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(Words in English is bold)

Chloe watched the scene unfolding in front of the entire school. Marinette and her ‘fake’ boyfriend were ‘tearfully’ saying goodbye. There were a lot of ‘I will miss yous.’, promises and some tears. Honestly, at this point, she was hoping for them to have their tongues down each other's throats. But both of them are too stubborn to admit that they actually like each other. They would be a very cute couple if they actually dated. Fuck that curse that makes them ‘fall in love with each other’. Like it was some Harry Potter bullshit.

Luka even said that their melodies harmonise with each other. That is a sign that they would make the ultimate couple. But no…. Both of them were too stubborn.

If only those two stop dancing around each other.

At least, Tim was still going to be in Paris to help the Miraculous Team’s search for Hawkmoth. The past week had been spent catching up on each other’s life, complaining about hero (vigilante) work and narrowing down the suspect list for Hawkmoth. So far everything has been pointing towards Gabriel Agreste. It would be hilarious if Hawkmoth had had the Black Cat Miraculous under his nose for over a year.

Damian and Marinette had finally finished their act and-

Holy Shit! This must be a dream.

They were kissing.

Full-on lip-locking in front of the entire school.

And where the hell is her phone?!

Chloe frantically looked through her bag. This was a certain possibility that Chloe was hoping would happen when Damian volunteered to be tribute. She needed proof that her ship had sailed and rubbed it in Tim’s face that she had won the bet. (He claims to know his brother and said that his younger brother would never kiss Marinette for the sake of an act.) When her yellow phone emerged from the bottomless pit that was her bag, he was already gone on his way to Gotham. She hoped at least someone got a picture of the kiss. She was not letting Marinette live this down.

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“Hey, before I go, Dupain-Cheng, you are tolerable and I wouldn't mind having you as my bride.” Damian said in a low voice. Which sent some shivers through Marinette. It was illegal to sound that sexy.

“Well-,” Marinette cleared her throat as her voice came out in a higher pitch than intended. “Well, you were an amazing fake boyfriend, even if it was for a week and thank you for doing this. Shame that I never got to kiss the Damian Al Ghul Wayne.” She teased.

Damian’s ears tip turned red to which Marinette was proud of until the blood son of Bruce Wayne smirked, looking towards the courtyard where many students were gathered to see the couple’s goodbye.

“We have to fix that, won't we?”

He proceeded to kiss her.

Marinette froze in shock at the contact before her brain kicked in and she began moving her lips against his.

It ended too soon for both their liking.

“You bastard.” Marinette hissed while their foreheads touched each other.

“True. Um... Goodbye, Dupain-Cheng. I have a flight to catch.” Damian said before he got into the car taking him to the airport. His cheeks were flushed. The same went for Marinette.

Marinette admittedly was still very dazed and in a blissful state of mind. Absent-mindedly waving goodbye to the spot where the car was. Damian Wayne was one hell of a kisser. And that bastard had to do it in front of the entire school. How was she supposed to not fall in love after that mind-blowing kiss?!

She wasn’t sure if she would be able to concentrate in class today. (Not that it mattered. She already knows all of the material. She has a few PhDs under her belt and is currently taking some online college courses. Her new role as Ladybug had made her unable to take as many courses as she would have liked in the recent years.)

She was broken out of her state by Chloe and Alix swinging their arms around each of her shoulders.

“Soooo,” Alix began with a teasing smirk “How was it?”

“How was what?”

“Mari-bug, how much did you enjoy your goodbye present? I swear that the entire courtyard got hotter.” Chloe said with too much glee and a glint in her eye which Marinette didn’t like.

“You guys see me kiss Damian all the time. So what if our last kiss before we see each other in person again got a little out of hand?” Marinette tried to shrug it off nonchalantly. Hopefully, the class wouldn’t question the fact that she hadn’t kissed Damian at all until today and Chloe’s insane plan to get Adrien off her back worked. He hasn’t approached her at all since he had tried to prove that Damian was trying to cheat on her with Lila of all people.

Chloe was going to be smug for days over the fact that her plan worked.

“Anyways, we are still on for tonight, right?”

“Yes, Marinette, stop worrying. We will be there. And Tim is getting close to finding well... you-know-who.”

“Who? Who are you trying to find?” The unwanted voice cuts in.

The trio rolled their eyes and proceeded to ignore the orange-clad Liar, switching the topics to Chloe’s mother up-coming fashion show. (Alix just nodded along and hemmed and hawed where appropriate. Pretending to understand the difference between different fabrics and styles.)

“Hey! I was asking you. Who is this you-know-who that you were trying to find?” She blocked their path. They were plotting something for sure. She just has to find out what.

“None of your business, Rossi.” Chloe snapped.

Lila started tearing up, “But I jus- just wanted to ask a question. I- I am sorry if I disturbed you.”

“Lila asked you a question. No need to be so rude about it.” Alya joined in, sneering.

“Well, she was very rudely interrupting our conversation, Alya.” Marinette pointed out.

“Lila is just very sensitive and you made her cry.” Alya said as she comforted the Italian. “You guys are the biggest bully ever to make her cry like this. She asked a question. No need to get so defensive over it. Just answer it.”

The trio resisted to roll their eyes.

Just another day of dealing with Lila’s bullshit and the class’s herd mentality.

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Someone knocked on the door of Tim’s room in the Wayne Penthouse. (Room was too generous a word. It was more of a no man’s land after a tornado had gone through it with computer screens everywhere set up like a command centre.)

“Jason, for the last time, I don’t know where your guns are. Don’t you have like trackers on them- oh. Hey, Chloe. Marinette.”

The two Parisian girls came in and made their way through no man’s land, trying to not to step on the mess on the floor. Along with them came the tantalizing aroma of coffee.

Marinette offered Tim the cup of coffee to which he perked up. He snatched it and took a sip, instantly feeling energized.

“Woah, where did you get this?”

“It’s Marinette’s special brew. She makes it when she has lots of commissions or when the finals are coming up. Honestly, I don’t know how she ingests the stuff. It would be better if she sleeps instead.” Chloe replied as she removed some of the things on his bed and made herself comfortable.

“Sleep for the weak, Chloe and it’s normal coffee with some magic infused in it to give me a boost.” Marinette retorted as she sat beside Chloe.

“Normal for you maybe. That stuff has the maximum amount of espresso shots legally allowed.”

Tim took another sip of the nectar of the gods (Marinette mentioned that Kwamis were a little like gods, right? If some of their magic is used in this coffee, then coffee is truly the nectar of the gods.),“You are my most favourite person on the planet right now. (Kon was off-planet) This is Heaven, Paradise and every good thing in the world in a cup. You are my new bestie.”

“You have to fight Queenie for the title and it’s nothing. I thought you might need it. This is the least I can do for all your help.”

“Well, your theory seems to check out,” Tim replied, “You said the Butterfly and Peacock brooches were lost in Tibet years ago, right? Gabriel Agreste and Emilie Graham De Vanily, his then girlfriend and now ‘late’ wife, were there on their around-the-world trip and one of their stops happened to be Tibet, specifically the area where you said the Miracle Temple would be. And I matched up the lack of akuma attacks with the periods of time when Agreste was out of town. It mostly matches up although there are a few inconsistencies. It’s possible that Mayura was using the Butterfly during that time to throw us off track because his assistant and the top suspect for Mayura, Natalie Sancouer, had stayed behind during those trips when the akuma attacks happened. At least, that’s the theory. I also found something you might find interesting in the blueprints of the Agreste Mansion.”

Tim tapped on his keyboard a few times, pulling up the plans for a butterfly window and an underground lair on one of the screens before showing the two girls.

“The workers were paid off to keep this a secret. Oracle, our resident tech genius back in Gotham, found something else too. A few months before Hawkmoth’s first debut, Gabriel Agreste purchased everything necessary for a butterfly garden. There are also a lot of receipts for butterflies which I bet is how he has a constant supply of akumas.”

“So either Gabriel is secretly a butterfly enthusiast or he is Hawkmoth.” Marinette groaned at how the man didn't know the meaning of subtle, “How have we not caught him yet?”

Chloe side-hugged the ravenette, “He’s a coward that doesn’t come out of his dark hole that often because he knows you would utterly destroy him when he does appear and you are not preoccupied with saving Paris. I mean your mother is an assassin for crying out loud.”

“Yeah, I would.” Marinette absent-mindedly nodded in agreement before stiffening as she realized what Chloe said.

Marinette went out of her embrace and looked at her with a sharp look, “Wait. What did you just say, Chloe?”

Chloe scoffed, “Don’t try denying it, Dupain-Cheng. The room full of weapons your family has, how good at martial arts your mom is, how you don’t flinch at the sight of blood.” She listed off the reasons with her fingers.

“That- That doesn’t mean anything and there are perfectly reasonable explanations for them-” Marinette denied.

“And you really should be careful when you talk about things that are supposed to be secrets in public places. I know and understand Japanese too, Mari-bug. I heard you and Damian talking about having assassins for mothers on one of your ‘dates’.” Chloe smugly said.

Marinette sighed and flopped onto Tim’s comfortable bed, knowing there’s no point in keeping Chloe from snooping further into her family business.

“As long as you don’t go around telling the others about my family secret, I won’t have to cut out your tongue.”

“Or your fingers,” she added as an afterthought as she brought out her hidden switchblade and started playing with it. “And remember that I am good with needles and threads and know how to hold someone down while sewing their mouth shut.” She pointed her blade in Chloe’s direction.

Chloe nervously moved away from the bed, closer to Tim and hid her hands under her legs. Tim scooted away not wanting to be near a possible dead-woman walking, childhood promises be damned. He lived with assassins for siblings, and knows that threats like that are very real.

“You are joking, right?” The blonde said. “I mean, I did apologize for bullying you all those years ago. We are friends now.”

“Maman takes her secrets seriously, especially this one. But I think she trusts you enough to keep something as important as this. Although you did just say it in front of Tim. Superhero or- Sorry I mean Vigilante or not, that is not something you should casually bring up in a conversation in front of anyone.”

“You can tell Mama Cheng that I am not going to do that anymore. And I will take this secret to my grave. Promise.”

“You better or you get into it earlier than you think. So Tim, I don’t know you very well but can I trust you to keep my family secret as well?”

Tim didn’t like the way she was looking at him. He tried not to show how unnerved he was with the look in her eye. He had faced many different villains and psychopaths. Something tells him that Marinette was better to have as an ally than an enemy.

“Yeah. Yes. Definitely. I would very much like to keep my tongue and my fingers.” He quickly replied. He was also not willing to lose any more of his body parts. Thank you very much.

“Great, now that’s settled.” Marinette put away her switchblade and clasped her hand in front of her, all the while with a smirk on her face that would not bode well for Hawkmoth. (Somewhere across Paris in his mansion, Gabriel felt a chill run up his spine.)

“Let’s get started on our game plan.”

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(Part 10)

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#maribat #ml x dc #damian x marinette #A Failed Betrothal #damian wayne x marinette dupain cheng #damainette

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kainissoable · 3 years ago

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Which Silent Hill game is Rowan on about now? - A guide

Silent Hill 1

PS1 and looks it

"Have you seen a little girl around here? Short, black hair. She just turned 7 last month."

Harry is the best video game dad

Crying over Lisa

Dealing illegal drugs and summoning eldritch hell gods. Get you a cult that can do both.

Silent Hill 2

"I'm looking for my wife Mary. She died 3 years ago but I'm not crazy I promise:)"

Crying because everyone deserved better.

Wow those monsters have ass

50/50 whether I'll write an essay on symbolism or post Pyramid Head thirst.

Silent Hill 3

Heather is my daughter and I love her. (She's also the only female PC 😔)

More crying

Similar look and vibes to one but better graphics and sexier, scarier monsters.

The UFO ending is canon and you can't change my mind.

Silent Hill 4: The Room

Being bullied by ghosts and hitboxes simulator

Getting emotional over villains again? Yes, of course

Bitching about limited inventory and cardboard protagonist

Will I ever shut up about how much better Eileen would be as the protagonist? Unlikely

Homecoming

Makes sense if Alex is trans. That man is not remotely cis-coded and this it the hill I will die on.

"Better" combat but at what cost? America why?

Main colour palate is grey with the occasional searing orange or red. If you feel the need to adjust your screen contrast, it's Homecoming.

I talk about it like BO2 - with fondness, while also being 2 seconds away from strangling the entire dev team

Downpour

If I'm screaming with rage, it's Downpour. As a monsterfucker, I am personally offended by this game.

Accidentally chuck your weapon in a bottomless pit instead of healing? Yup, that's Downpour.

Sidequests? Okay?

RIP everyone you deserved better writing and a coherent plot.

PT: Silent Hills

Screaming and sobbing with fear

The best game never made

Lisa the ghost is girlfriend shaped and she scares me so much

Why was this game cancelled?

Stares wistfully into the distance thinking about what could have been

#ro rambles about silent hill #hope this helps :)

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guardianoffandoms · 4 years ago

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Here’s my gift for @voxymoxyboxy for the Sam and Max secret Santa! I hope that you like it!

SHOCK, CRACKLE, POPPERS!

Summary: After Sam and Max escape the pit of hell using Santa’s sleigh, The Soda Poppers decide to trap them in a way they can’t escape!

A chill runs through the main office of hell. Said office had always been about 2 degrees above comfortable because it is hell, after all. Our Dubious Duo, Sam and Max, have escaped the pit of hell and are working on a plan to put the Poppers in their place! However, that plan isn't exactly panning out.

Sam had been in the process of creating a cake so he could trick the Soda Poppers into sending themselves into the pit. This plan had one flaw, the Soda Poppers, while they are annoying, and pesky, and a pain in the ass, they are also remarkably perceptive when someone wants to hurt them. Case in point, when Sam was creating the cake, Peepers realized that he was up to something and quickly alerted his brothers. Together they trapped our duo in cages deep below hell, to wither and suffer for all eternity.

“SAM! THE WRITER IS TRYING TO BE EDGY!” Max whines before Sam interrupts.

“Quiet onion-head, you can break the fourth wall later! Right now we gotta get out of here!”

Sam looks around the room, assessing the situation. He and Max were trapped in cages suspended above apparently bottomless chasms, connected only by brick pathways that had an elevator at one end and an endless number of more cages at the other. Sam scratches at his neck only to discover a collar wrapped around his neck. After a moment or two of trying to pry it off, Sam shrugs and decides to ignore it for the moment.

“Well nice to know interior decorators go to heaven.” Max deadpans.

“Hey Max! Look up there!” Sam exclaims, pointing at a speaker resting atop the elevator.

After a few moments, the speaker screeches to life. They quickly wished it stayed off.

“Hello, Sam and Max!” Specs’ voice rings out. “And welcome to your permanent resting place! We have trapped you in- Hey! Move it!” “No Specs! You can't hog the Announcer of Doom!” they hear Whizzer wine

“Yes I can! I called dibs!”

“Max, I found our personal hell,”

“Being forced to listen to their nasally, annoying, prepubescent complaining for the rest of eternity?”

“I was going to say reruns of care bears but yeah that too.”

“ENOUGH! Sam and Max, for getting in our way we created a perfect trap! One where Sam can't talk or Rube Goldberg his way out! And Max, you can escape, but you have to leave Sam behind! Try to free him, and Sam will pay the price! HAHAH-” The speaker cuts off before Peepers finishes laughing, leaving our duo confused by his warning. Well, one confused and the other concerned.

After a few moments, Sam and Max’s gazes move from the speaker to each other.

“Well that was ominous.” Sam grimaces.

“Yeah, but come on Sam, it's the Soda Poppers! Those pint-sized halfwits couldn't work a mousetrap! Let's get the hell outta hell!” Max exclaims, pulling himself up on the bars of his cage for effect. His show of confidence working wonders on Sam, his grimace turning back into his trademark smile. “You’re right little buddy! Now let's get you out first since apparently you can escape without me, so your cage must be faulty in some way!” Sam exclaims as he looks over Max's cage.

Sam quickly notices that Max's cage is closed by a padlock and chain. “Alright max! All you gotta do is undo the lock. If you got a paperclip this would be a gre-” Sam is cut off by a loud crunch and the bang of the padlock hitting the ground. “Well Sam, while a paper clip would have worked, my jaw needed the exercise!” Max remarks as his cage door swings open and he wanders over to Sam. “You’re a menace to biology little buddy.”

Their jovial attitude was short lived, the closer Max got the more static seemed to build around Sam's neck. “Max, don't touCH TH-!” Sam's plea quickly turned into a pained whine when Max touched the cage. At the noise, Max stumbles back and the speaker crackles to life once more.

“Uh oh! Looks like you found out our plan!” Whizzers voice screeches out. “If you touch Sam's cage, he gets ZAPPED! If he tries to help you free himself, ZAP! No talking, no ideas, no planning!” The reality of the situation starts to set in, and Max was ready to behead three child stars. “Have fun with your cage! Bye-bye!”

The speaker goes quiet, and so do our heroes.

Sam lifts himself up from his fallen position to gaze at Max. He couldn't get out alone, and nobody could read him better than Max. Meanwhile, Max is shivering. Not from hell's new climate, but shivering with rage. He whips around to Sam and sharply grins. “Alright Sam, what's the plan? Because I got two paws, a gun, and the will to make murder a felony in hell.”

Sam smirks at the lagomorph before standing up and observing the lock on his cage. It was a simple lock and chain, same as Max’s. However, Sam did not possess Max’s biting force nor his probably illegal teeth, so they’d have to improvise. He motioned towards the lock and did a hand gesture for a gun. Max quickly understood Sam's bad charades and pulled out his gun to shoot the lock. Before he could pull the trigger, Sam falls to the ground, electricity flooding his body. After a few moments, the shocks stop and Sam lays on the floor catching his breath.

“We got a plan B, Sam? Because as much as I love hearing your pathetic whining, the fact that I'm not causing it kinda sours the enjoyment, ya know?” While his banter was playful, Sam could see the anger building in Max. Satan help the Soda Poppers, because not even god can save them now. Leaning against the side of his cage, Sam holds up his pointer finger and gives Max a wink. A look of realization crosses the lagomorphs face, followed by a grin that he quickly covers with a look of pure grief.

“Sam. Sam, come on. You can't give up that easy! You never give up that easy!” Max exclaimes gesturing around him. ”Come on Sam, we made it to hell! We can make it out, Sam! SAM!” as he spoke, Max started to cry.

“Sam we’ve known each other forever! You can't just give up!” Max looks at Sam,and Sam nods before taking off his hat. Max gazes at the hat a moment before- “FINE THEN! THEN THIS IS THE END SAM! HAVE A NICE AFTERLIFE!” Max yells before storming towards the elevator.

Meanwhile, the Soda Poppers are watching this play out from the main office of hell. A few moments after Max stalks towards the elevator, the camera feed cuts out, leading the Poppers to believe that Max was leaving without Sam. The elevator rises, its doors opening to reveal Max, looking sullen and angry. As the elevator doors close, Max turns to the Poppers.

“Well well well, it looks like the freelance police are over!” Specs proclaims joyfully. Max grimaces and responds, “yeah, turns out Sam wants to do this on his own. Has a whole plan that I'm apparently not smart enough to comprehend so whatever. I've got a wedding to officiate anyway.” Max mutters walking to hell's kitchen next to hell's meeting room. Opening the fridge max pulls out an odd looking concoction, resembling a cake with a bright red candle.

As Max walked back to the Poppers, he shoots the bell at the top of the ice cream truck now parked inside the office. The bell ringing causes Specs to close his book and now all that needed to happen was the Soda Poppers blowing out their candle.

“Hey Whizzer.” Max spoke casually. “Mind showing me your new trick again? I couldn't see it last time because Sam was in the way.” “Of course I can! Or my name isn't Whizz-rael the Tormentor!” Max pulls out the cake so the fire lights the candle. At the sight the Poppers jump for joy. “Aww! You remembered!” “Yep, I sure did, wouldn't miss your birthday for anything!”

As always, the word ‘birthday’ makes the mariachi band show up. And as they finish their song, the soda poppers blow out the candle. Sending them straight into the pit. “CURSE YOU SAM AND MAX!” their voices cry, growing fainter the further they fall. As the portal closes, the elevator opens again, revealing Sam!

Max smiles, running over to Sam. “TA-DA! Another case closed, another set of lives ruined! I say we head home and eat junk food till the cows come home! What do ya think, Sam?” Sam grins at Max’s antics before pointing to the collar still affixed to his neck. Max pauses. “Oooh, right, kinda forgot about that.” He jumps up on Sam's back and grabs the collar before snapping it with his teeth. Sam pulls the remaining metal off, rubs his neck and turns to Max. “Thanks Max, another minute in that thing and I'd have pulled a Cujo!”

“You mean go feral and kill helpless civilians? Sounds like fun! Can we? Can we please?” Max pleads, his smile too wide to appear anything but dangerous. “Sorry little buddy but you gotta wedding to officiate and I've gotta reload my gun.” Sam remarks, walking towards the exit. “Yeah, you’d think the Soda Poppers woulda taken that but eh, made it easy for you to shoot your way out.” Max replies, walking instep with Sam. “Yep, now let's get outta hell before beelze-bub eats all the hors d'oeuvres.”

#sam and max: ss2020 #telltale sam and max #sam and max freelance police #sam and max #set in 2:05 #soda poppers

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floatingpetals · 5 years ago

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Boys in Blue || Pt. 11

Pairings: cop!Stucky x F!Reader

Warnings: Steve’s a little cheeky, and then all the fluff, no joke, tooth rooting fluff

Word Count: 3500+

Summary: (Cop AU) There was just one crappy thing after enough that happened to her. It possibly couldn’t get any worse, or so she thought until she saw the dreaded flashes of red and blue behind her. Could things get any worse?

A/N: I have NOT forgotten about this wonderful story. I hope you all haven’t either lol. This part is completely fluffy like I said in the warning. Because it is a warning. I just want you all to know that you might die for cuteness overload. So yeah. Fair warning. I hope you all enjoy it and let me know what you think!

The gifs are not mine, credit to the owner.

Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Series Masterlist

Y/N grumbled under her breath, hitting the breaks as she yet again caught another red light. She let her head fall back against the headrest and let out a heavy sigh. She was so close to being home. It was her day off and she was supposed to be relaxing. But no. Instead, she’d been running errands all day and didn’t get one second to take a breather. She was exhausted and just want to kick her shoes off. Literally.

Robert, Maddie’s oldest, was turning four this weekend and Maddie was at her wit's end. Lexi had learned how to walk recently, although Y/N would never admit to her friend that the ‘first time’ Maddie saw her daughter walk it technically wasn’t the first time. While it was a huge milestone for Lexi, it meant Maddie’s little girl was getting into anything and everything she could, basically a walking tornado.

Throw in the fact that Robert now thought he was a big boy who didn’t need to listen to his mother since he was turning four and with Jason being gone to work most of the time, Maddie needed an extra set of hands getting the party-ready. Of course, in a very Maddie fashion, she let some of the slightly more important details wait until the last minute. Such as the cake, decorations, and food. Not willing to let not only her best friend down, nor her godson, Y/N stepped in to help. She didn’t mind, Y/N would do anything for her best friend, but even she had a limit.

Only one thing turned into two, that turned into three and now it was six o’clock in the evening and Y/N was ready to pass out. She had already dropped off everything to Maddie’s house, who was incredibly appreciative and swore up and down she’d pay her back somehow. Now Y/N was on her way home to slip out of her jeans and into her comfy sweats.

During all the excitement, she didn’t have much of a chance to speak with either Bucky or Steve. Not that it mattered much, both had work and needed their focus on their jobs. She would send them texts every once in a while, and would occasionally get a response back, but they all had been rather busy today themselves. At one point, Steve jokingly mentioned the full moon was the reason for so many idiots running around today keeping them on their toes. She knew they’d call her once they got off like they always did, so Y/N didn’t think too much of it at the time.

She was almost home, sitting at the red light right down the street from her apartment. Mentally checked out and on autopilot, Y/N slowly put her foot to the pedal when the light turned green. She hadn’t seen the car that pulled up behind her, a familiar black and white dodge she knew well. But she did notice when the car flicked it’s light on, that wonderful dreaded red and blue. Y/N jumped when the sirens went off with the lights, her heart hammering in her chest.

Muttering an oath under her breath, Y/N turned into a gas station parking lot. It was like Deja vu all over again. Once again, Y/N had no idea what she could have done, but today she was too exhausted to even get slightly worked up about it. She let out an irritated groan, her eyes closing shut for a moment and let her head fall back against the headrest. She just wanted to go to bed.

The rhythmic tap on her window pulled her out of her thoughts. She let out a heavy sigh and reached to roll down the window, not once sparing a glance at the officer. She was already reaching for her purse beside her on the passenger seat when the officer spoke.

“License and registration ma’am.”

Y/N’s froze, recognizing the voice anywhere. Snapping her head to the window she stared into a pair of familiar blues and a wide grin.

“What the fuck Steve?” She growled.

Steve let out a laugh, not looking the least bit sorry and crossed his arms to lean against the window of her car. He titled his head to the side, smirking his stupid smirk that always made her stomach flutter and flip.

“You’ve still got a mouth on you, huh?”

“You know what, Rogers.” Y/N grumbled, narrowing her eyes in exasperation. Steve laughed through his nose, his smirk morphing into a smile that caused the corners of his eyes to crinkle. “Isn’t it illegal to pull me over without cause?”

“What makes you think I don’t have a reason?”

Y/N didn’t respond, instead sent him a flat glare. Any other time she’s snap back, but today she was all out of snap juice. All it did was cause Steve to cackle and simply shake his head.

“Oh, come on. Don’t be mad.” He snickered. “You weren’t answering your phone and Bucky and I were getting worried.”

Y/N paused, confused. That didn’t sound right.

“But you haven’t text or called me?”

“Yeah, we have.” Steve frowned. “Where’s your phone?”

“Um,” Y/N grabbed her purse and dug around in its bottomless pit. She could have sworn she looked at it before she left Maddie’s and didn’t have any messages from them. It definitely hadn’t gone off since. Finally finding it, Y/N tossed her bag aside and turned the screen on. Sure enough, there were several messages and missed calls from both Steve and Bucky. “Oh. I guess you did.”

Steve snorted with an amused smirk and shook his head. There were moments when Y/N spaced, whether she was exhausted or just checked out for a minute that Steve always thought was adorable. It only took him one glance at her phone to see it was on complete silence. No doubt she flipped it on at one point during the day completely unaware she did. Y/N ducked her chin bashfully and glanced over to Steve.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

“Nah, it’s alright, baby girl. We had a feeling you weren’t intentionally doing it.” Steve reassured her and leaned in to press a kiss against her temple. “I just clocked off and was driving back to the station when I spotted you.”

“Ah. Where’s Bucky?” She asked, glancing over his shoulder. He was supposed to be on patrol today, but one of his stipulations for the next week was always to be with someone. Steve typically was the one he picked as a partner, Sam being a close second if Steve had other things he needed to get done for the day. It made seeing him go back out on patrol a little easier knowing someone else was there to keep an eye on him.

“He had his therapy session push back to 5:30. He should be done by the time I get to the station.” Steve explained absently and brushed some hair from her face. “I gotta pick him up, but we were wanting to know what you wanted to do tonight. Although from the look on your face, you’re about ready to crash. I can tell Buck you might need a rain check.”

Y/N tried to hide her disappointment, but it was hard when all she wanted to do was melt into her mattress. She wanted to see the both of them tonight, even though she’d probably pass out on them. Although, cuddling with them did sound like an incredibly appealing idea.

“I doubt he’ll listen to me though.” Steve rolled his eyes. He already knew how that conversation would end. “You good to drive? You look that exhausted.”

“Yeah, It’s right around the corner.” Y/N said. Any further she probably wouldn’t feel very comfortable with that idea, but she could see the gate from where they were sitting. Steve was quiet, mulling over whether he should drive her the short distance or not. She was right though; it was right around the corner and he could always sit and watch her just in case.

“Alright, text me when you get home. And turn your phone off silent.” Steve leaned in to press a kiss to her cheek. Y/N hummed happily and mumbled an okay. She waited until he was in his car before she pulled off and went the short distance to her apartment.

She had barely kicked off her shoes before she fell face first on her bed and let out an over the top groan. Her feet were killing her, her back was sore, and she had no clue that she was so exhausted. It took her less than five minutes to hit the mattress and she was out like a light. It wasn’t until a heavy weight settled beside her on the bed and the familiar smell of oak and chocolate that caused her to jolt awake. Blearily she realized who it was. The boys must have let themselves in with her key, either that she forgot to lock the door.

Bucky inhaled deeply, snuggling as close as he could by pressing his front against her back and his arm around her waist. They must have run home to change, she could feel the texture of his favorite Henley against her cheek. He began pepper soft kissed up the column of her next, his nose skimming against her skin. Y/N’s lips curled up in a blissful smiled and nestled back into his hug.

“Maddie run you ragged?” Bucky whispered against her hair. Y/N nodded slowly, still too tired to form coherent sentences. “Well, Steve’s ordered some Chinese. While we wait, do you want me to make you a bath?”

That sounded like a wonderful idea. Y/N mumbled an unintelligible noise of agreement and began to wiggle out of his grip. Bucky snickered and held her fast, locking her against his front.

“Nope, you stay put.” He stated. “I’ll get it started and then bring you in when it’s ready.”

Cracking an eye open, Y/N watched Bucky crawl off the bed and make his way towards her bathroom. He paused to press a kiss to Steve’s lips when the other man walked into the room. He murmured his plans against Steve’s cheek and went off to do set up things in the bathroom.

Steve cocked his head to the side and smiled warmly at Y/N from where he stood leaning against the door frame. She flopped over on her back and opened her arms in invitation. Steve laughed when the effort of holding her arms up was too much plopped beside her and crossed the distance to the bed. Carefully scooping her up in his arms, he drew her close with a happy hum. She let out a sound of content and nuzzled her nose into the crook of his neck.

Steve allowed his eyes to fall shut, listening to her soft breathing and the sound of Bucky starting up the tub. He lived for moments like this when there wasn’t a care in the world, and he had his best girl in his arms. He could spend the rest of the evening snuggled up with her, maybe a movie playing and Bucky on the other side of her. It had been a long week, and he was ready for a much-needed break.

The sound of the tap turning off made him crack open an eye and turn his head towards the bathroom. He could see Bucky bent over the tub, dropping in a bath bomb from the basket she kept under the sink. He spotted several candles set up already, the soft smell of eucalyptus and mint filtering out the open door. Y/N inhaled deeply, the corners of her lips turning up at the smell.

“You two are too good to be true,” She whispered against his skin. A shiver went up his spine, his cheeks flushing. He started running a hand through her hair and pressed a kiss to her temple.

“Why’d you say that?”

“Cause you are.” Y/N shrugged. Steve snorted and shook his head.

“Nah, I think it’s you who's too good to be true.” He countered. She pulled her head back, a brow raised in disbelief. “You are! Never thought I’d ever love another person as much as I do you. I don’t know how you put up with both of us, but my hearts happy you do.”

Y/N opened her mouth to argue, that she was the lucky one and not the other way around when Bucky walked in the room and made an over exaggerated noise of disgust.

“You’re both gross, sappy, and I love you. But the baths done and I’m not letting all my hard work go cold.” He smirked and began untangling her from Steve, who was quite content on keeping her there. He paused when there was a knock on the front door. Steve groaned and let Y/N go. “Go get the food, I’ll put our girl in the bath.”

Steve whined and reluctantly pushed off the bed, dragging his feet as he went to get the food. Bucky scoffed and shook his head, helping Y/N up and towards the waiting tub. She grumbled and leaned back against him, knowing he wouldn’t let her fall.

“Want me to help you get in?” He asked and rested his hands on her hips. Y/N thought about it for a moment before nodded sluggishly. Bucky chuckled fondly and helped her get undressed, occasionally peppering soft kisses on the skin he revealed under her clothes. She pulled her hair up, not wanting to deal with getting her hair wet or having to wash it. She didn’t have the energy to deal with that tonight.

A few moments later, Bucky was helping her settle in the tub when Steve walked in. He plopped down on the closed toilet seat and took in a deep breath of the calming eucalyptus, letting his head fall back against the wall with his eyes closed.

“Foods stayin’ warm in the oven.” He said, rolling his head to the side and looked over the two with hooded eyes. Bucky was crouched by the tub, one arm resting on the lip while the other arm was draped over the side. He was absently swirling shapes in the bubbles in the water. Y/N had melted in the warm water, watching Bucky’s hand swirl the water with a content smile.

Warmth grew in Steve’s stomach. It was so domestically sweet that he swore his teeth would rot out. He loved every second of it too. The only reason why he hadn’t decided to join her in the tub was the fact it could possibly contain all three of them. They already tried that, and it ended poorly.

“Do we wanna watch a movie while we eat, or catch up on The Good Place?” Bucky broke the silence as he reached for Y/N’s bottle of her favorite body wash and loofa.

“Don’t know if I could focus on The Good Place,” Y/N sighed. Bucky nodded and started to run the loofa up her leg. “I can do that, you know.”

“Shush.” He remarked, completely ignoring the hand she stuck out to take over. “We’ll put something on, pig out on dinner and probably pass out. Do you work tomorrow?”

“No, I took off today and tomorrow so I could get ready for this weekend. Didn’t think I’d have to do everything all in one day though.” She grumbled.

“Well, at least you got it out of the way so you can prepare yourself for Saturday,” Steve said, watching Bucky help her sit forward to get to her back. “Buck and I have off too, a miracle in of itself.”

“We also both grabbed bags incase you had off, so we don’t plan on leavin’ after you fall asleep.” Bucky paused, his hand resting on her shoulder. “If that’s okay with you?”

“No, that’s an awful idea. I don’t want to share my bed with my boyfriends.” Y/N remarked smartly. Bucky scoffed and flicked water at her in retaliation.

“Lean back you brat.” He rolled his eyes. Y/N giggled but did as he asked. “If I didn’t like you a lot, I’d splash more water on you, but you’re lucky I understand the struggle with hair.”

“Have I ever told you how charming you are? You just sweep the ladies right off their feet, don’t you?” Y/N quipped.

Bucky stopped and swiveled towards Steve. Steve blinked and raised a brow.

“Do you hear this? I was all sweet and made her a bath, even helpin’ her and she’s givin’ me attitude.” Bucky complained in faux exasperation. Steve shrugged and cross his arms over his chest, a smirk playing on the corner of his lips.

“I hear her. Cant’ say I blame her though. You’re the one who pulled her over first.”

“Yeah! This is payback!” Y/N interjected. Bucky groaned, rubbing his temple with his dry hand. “Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time!”

“Alright, enough outta you,” Bucky growled, leaned forward to quiet her with a kiss. A peal of laughter slipped from her lips despite Bucky’s best attempts at smothering her, his mild irritation the funniest thing all day for her. Bucky nipped at her lower lip when she didn’t stop and let the loofa plop in the quickly cooling water. “You’re such a brat.”

“Mhm,” She hummed, a cheeky grin on her face. “But you love me.”

“I do,” Bucky sighed. “I question my sanity sometimes, but I do.”

He pushed off the tub to stand with a groan, stretching his arms up over his head and reached for a clean towel. Steve stood as well, stepping around Bucky to leave, gently squeezing his hip as he passed.

“I’ll go get Netflix started and get the food on plates.” He said before Y/N could ask where he was off too. He could see her scowl while he made his retreat. As he walked towards the kitchen, he could hear Bucky teasings.

“Alright, you heathen. Let’s get you out before the water gets colder.”

Steve heard Y/N giggle and stand in the tub, smiling to himself as he set up the television in her living room. By the time he had the food waiting on the coffee table, Y/N and Bucky emerged from her room with Y/N in her favorite pjs. She pouted when she realized they were going to sit on the couch and nod her bed like she thought.

“No cuddling?”

“We'll eat first and then move to your room to finish the movie,” Steve assured her.

Y/N nodded and sank into the plush cushions next to Steve, tucking her legs underneath her. Bucky took up his spot next to her, eagerly grabbing a plate to fill up with food.

“What do you wanna watch?” Steve asked as he flipped through the movies. Y/N paused in filling her own plate and glance up.

“Um… Coco!” She wanted a movie she’d seen plenty of time before and didn’t have to focus too much on to follow.

Steve nodded, agree with her selection and turned the movie on. He grabbed his own plate and the three settled in to enjoy their dinner and movie. Half an hour later the food was gone, and Y/N was slouched against Bucky’s side, her eyes dropping shut now with her belly full. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and jerked his chin to her bedroom. Steve didn’t need to be told twice, already shutting down the tv to move into the bedroom.

“Wake up baby girl,” Bucky cooed. Y/N’s face scrunched up and she shook her head with a whine. He grinned. “Guess I’ll have to pick you up then.”

By the time Y/N processed his words, he had already scooped her up in his arms and heading towards her bedroom. Her eyes flew open with a squeak and her arm flung to wrap around his neck. She knew his muscles weren’t just for show, but it always caught her off guard at just how strong he was.

Steve, ever the planner, had her television on with Coco pulled up where they last stopped. The sheet was pulled back for Bucky to gently deposit her in the middle of the bed while he was in the bathroom changing out of his clothes. Bucky pressed a kiss to her forehead and grabbed his own bag beside her dresser.

“Be right back.”

When Bucky stepped in the bathroom, Steve paused with the brush in his hair. He smiled at Bucky through the mirror, his heart growing in his chest at the blissful expression on Bucky’s face. Bucky wrapped an arm around his waist, resting his head between Steve’s shoulder blades.

“You okay, Buck?” Steve set the brush on the counter and wrapped his arms around Bucky with a squeeze. Bucky let out a relaxed sigh and pressed a lingering kiss to his back.

Steve twisted around in Bucky’s arms and wrapped his arms around the shorter’s neck. Bucky stared at him for a moment, his blues eyes dancing with a light and happiness Steve hadn’t seen in a long while. The corners of his eyes crinkled while Bucky tugged Steve forward and kissed him, humming contently. He rested his forehead against Steve, holding his boyfriend tight.

“Never better.”

527 notes · View notes

phantoms-lair · 5 years ago

Text

Mirror’s Gaze part 17

Didn’t think this would happen? Honestly me neither. But I wanted to get it done for the 50th Anniversary of Scooby Doo tonight, so victory!

Previously on Mirror’s Gaze

They met again in the diner and Arthur wondered if there was an end to Shaggy’s appetite. He wished, perhaps selfishly, that he had Lewis’s cooking to fill the bottomless pit. No, definitely selfish, since Lewis already had to cook for Vivi when he couldn’t even eat himself. As it was, the accumulated food costs had been adding up to a horrifying number. He tried to keep it to a minimum to keep costs down, but it seemed like he’d never be full again. Still it was getting harder not to not to start crying when he saw the total rising.

He had tried to get away with just a glass of water, by Velma had shot him Vivi’s ‘you’re not taking care of yourself’ look (And why did anyone but Vivi even have that?) so he’d ordered a large plate of fries. Maybe he should start looking for all you can eat buffets. Normally they were more expensive, but it might currently be the more cost-effective option.

The afternoon had been productive at least. The list of ex-Fezness employees had been huge, but the number of employees who could both build an animatronic robot and program in behavior was much smaller. In fact only five names came up. Louise Clayton, Marcella Garrett, Bertrum Reynolds, Frank Lambert, and Matthew Luna.

Velma was devouring the hidden file, apparently craving the knowledge it contained like this body craved food (once she was sure Arthur was actually eating). “This is fascinating. I can’t believe Professor Mansfield, his assistant, and student created this.”

“That’s not the only thing, look at this.” Fred pointed out one of the names on Arthur and Velma’s list, then at the front of the file.

“Jeepers, do you think there’s a connection?” Daphne asked.

“Very likely.”

Arthur craned his neck to look at the front of the document. Ah. “So time to call the police?” It was far from open and shut, but it was a reasonable connection.

Fred and Daphne looked at him oddly, though Velma was still engrossed with the document. “We haven’t caught the culprit yet,” Fred pointed out. “But don’t worry, I’ve got the first workings of a plan.”

“Why would we catch the culprit?” Arthur asked, confused. “I mean, yeah, citizen arrests are a thing, but this is literally what the police are for. We’ve found the clues, put them together in a reasonable fashion, now we turn over the evidence to the authorities who can legally make the arrest and build a case so they can be prosecuted.”

Why were they looking at him like he’d grown an extra head?

“There’s nothing to be worried about,” Velma hadn’t looked up from the document. “It’s not like it’s a real evil AI. There’s a human controlling it.”

“Of course there’s a human controlling it.” Arthur was baffled. “And do you know what humans can have? Guns. Especially humans with a lack of respect for law and order. Not to mention none of what we found is admissible in court since it was obtained without a warrant.” He gestured to the document. “Or through illegal breaking and entering.”

Fred frowned. “It wasn’t like we were trying to rob the place, Arthur. We were looking for clues.”

“Which to do legally you need either permission or be a member of law enforcement with a judge-issued warrant. Evidence obtained otherwise is non-admissible and can compromise the integrity of a case, sometimes even causing it to be thrown out.” This was his job, at least one of them.

“Arthur may have a point,” Velma conceded. “Most of the clues we find wouldn’t fly in a trial. However, it’s almost moot in a case where the culprit is caught red handed and confesses, so as long as we catch him, it’ll work out.”

That seemed overly optimistic “Okay, but can we get back to my other concern. Mainly, what if he has a gun?!”

“You worry too much,” Daphne patted his shoulder. “It’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

Arthur groaned, resting his head on the table. Even Vivi at her most enthusiastic didn’t completely discount risk. Misjudged, maybe, but never discount. His first impulse was to bow out now. Go to the police on his own, present his case, and hope they followed up. The problem was, he couldn’t rule out the kids doing something foolish in the meantime. He sighed. The best thing he could do to keep them safe was to stay and hope to mitigate. “Okay, what do you have so far? We can build on that.”

“Sure,” Fred felt a bit thrown off his game. Usually he just made the plan and everyone else went along with it. “We need to lure the robot out again. We can assure the creator wants this.” He tapped the file in Velma’s hands. “We just need someone else to announce they have a copy, maybe that it’s being patented in memory of Dr. Mansfield. The robot should come for that.”

“While basic behaviors could be programmed in, being able to react quickly enough to capture a person would require real time input from someone who was watching what was happening. So the culprit would have to be on site.” Velma deduced.

“Still might not be easily noticeable, if the commands are being given via a smart phone it’ll blend in with everyone trying to record it.” Arthur pointed out. “We could probably make a signal blocker without too much difficulty, especially if we can assume it uses similar systems to Fezness. But that won’t catch our culprit red-handed,”

“A blind?” Daphne suggested. “The robot is going to cause a lot of chaos, but judging by it’s fingers I bet it would have some trouble picking the actual folder up without losing pages.”

“And we catch our culprit when he goes for the file.” Fred grinned. Sure, it didn’t involved building a trap, but he had to admit coming up with the plan together was fun. “He won’t come close if there’s a lot of people there, so we have one person hiding in the podium ready to catch him the the act while everyone is distracted.”

Which would be the most dangerous location, being alone with the criminal while he was at his most desperate. “And who would the one in that position?” Honestly, he was expecting it to be Fred. He was the leader, after all. If it was their team, he knew Vivi would have insisted she be the one of the front line, at least before Lewis became a ghost and thus immune to conventional weapons. (She’d still try, but it would be possible to talk her out of it.)

So it was to Arthur’s surprise that everyone turned to look at him. And it was too automatic to be because he was older and more experienced. They expected Shaggy to be the one to get close.

“And why exactly do you think me, the one least wanting to do this, should be in the most dangerous position?” Of course, he was planning to anyway to keep the kids safe, but wanted to hear what they said.

“Would you do it for a Scooby Snack?” The question was automatic, Fred asked it without really thinking.

The fork fell from Arthur’s hand and clanged loudly against the plate holding his mostly eaten eggs. “Excuse me, I must have misheard. Did you just try to get me to do something dangerous by bribing me with dog treats?” His voice seemed to freeze the air around him. They’d never heard this scathing tone from Arthur and certainly never from Shaggy.

Fred, Daphne, and Velma froze, trying to switch tracks to the suddenly hostility radiating from Arthur.

“Raggy roves rhem!” Scooby barked back. “Re’d reat rhem rogether rall rhe rime. Ri...ri riss Raggy.” The great dane broke down into quiet sobs.

The cold fury seemed to wash away from Arthur, leaving an awkward atmosphere.

“We’re getting him back, Scooby.” Daphne promised. “It’s not going to be too long now.”

Scooby let out a low whine and rested his head on the table. He’d never been away from Shaggy for so long in his life. And phone calls were better than nothing, but nowhere near the same.

Arthur tentatively patted Scooby on the head, as if afraid him being a facsimile of his friend would just make it worse. “Just another couple of days. No more stops, okay.”

“Rop ror rood?” Scooby asked, a small smile showing he was joking.

“Yeah, don’t think either of us would do well if we didn’t stop for food.” Arthur agreed. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down the rest of the way. “Look, I’m going to check on the Fezness patents so we can build our signal jammer better. Let me know if anything comes up.” Arthur headed to the counter to pay his bill and then left.

The Gang watched him go, still in mild surprise. Velma took over petting Scooby.

“Well yeah, it sounds bad if you put it that way,” Fred said uncomfortably.

“True, but how else could you put it? We have been bribing Shaggy with dog treats.” Velma pointed out, subdued.

“Because he likes them. But right now that’s not making me feel better.” Daphne sighed.

Arthur had hoped leaving would help him cool his head. Instead it was the opposite, as his mind replayed the conversation he’d just had, he felt himself get more and more worked up. As the patent information blurred together, Arthur realized he’d never be able to focus like this. He pulled Shaggy’s phone and dialed his own number.

It rang a few times before he heard his own voice answer. “Like, Shaggy here. What’s up Arthur?”

Arthur took a deep breath. He hadn’t exactly thought this through. “Um, so, the thing with the Scooby Snacks?” “Besides that they’re delicious?” Shaggy chuckled.

“Seriously?” Well, at least that confirmed what Scooby had said about Shaggy liking them.

“Yeah, like, you should try them.” Shaggy suggested.

Technically he currently had Shaggy’s taste buds, so if Shaggy liked them, right now he should too. But the thought of eating dog biscuits turned his stomach. “I’ll pass. This was more about them being used as a bribe to get you to do dangerous things.”

To Arthur’s surprise, Shaggy laughed. “That part of the mystery already?”

“That part...how often does this happen?” Arthur asked, shocked.

“It’s cool man. Like, I’d really rather we didn’t run into mysteries. But to tell the truth, this part; I wouldn’t want anyone else to do it. Between track and gymnastics I’m the fastest and the best at escaping. Me and Scoob are the most likely to get out okay. The snacks are just, well, free snacks.”

Arthur felt most of the tension leave him. “You don’t feel you're being taken for granted here?”

He could almost see Shaggy shrug. “Like, probably a bit. But then again, I probably take them for granted a bit too. Part of being human, man.”

“Shaggy, are you ready? We need to get back on the road!” Arthur heard Vivi’s voice calling out.

“Be right there!” Shaggy called back. “Sorry, got to go.”

“Vivi stops for no man,” Arthur agreed. “Scooby misses you.”

“I miss him too. Like don’t get me wrong, Mystery’s groovy but no one can replace Scoob.” There was such a profound sadness in his voice.

“Soon,” Arthur promised. “We’ll get you two back together soon.”

The call ended and Arthur admitted he did feel better about things.This was just part of a group dynamic he hadn’t expected. He turned his attention back to the signal jammer and almost didn’t notice when Fred entered the computer lab.

“I talked to Dr. Gardner. She agreed to help with our plan.” Fred said quietly. “And...I’ll hide under the podium.”

“Fred, my problem was never being the one under the podium. It was the knee-jerk reaction of going straight for a bribe when it looked like I was refusing.” And the dog treat thing, though that was apparently a non-issue. “No is a complete sentence.”

Fred looked like he’d been caught kicking a puppy. Arthur sighed. “I don’t like it, but I did talk to Shaggy and he’s okay with it, which is the important thing. Just respect it if he doesn’t want to do something, okay?”

“Okay. And that goes for you too. You and Velma can focus on the robot while I catch our culprit.”

“It’s fine. I can do this. This is the most dangerous part and Shaggy would never forgive me if you got hurt.”

“And what if you got hurt?” Fred countered.

“I think Shaggy would rather lose his original body than his friend.” Arthur could have kicked himself the moment the words left his mouth. Hurt didn’t mean death.

“No one’s going to die,” Fred said, as if he could make it so through sheer stubbornness. “I don’t know why you think this is so dangerous. We’ve done this a hundred times before. But if it makes you feel better, what about this—"

Arthur smiled as he heard Fred’s newest addendum to the plan. This he liked a lot better.

~ “Thanks for coming everyone.” Dr. Gardner stood alone on the podium in the middle of the outdoor stage. “Professor Mansfield planned to unveil this today as the capstone of the Robotics Festival. Since he can’t be here, I’ll be unveiling it in his stead. This was a joint project between Floyd and myself, along with one of our most promising students, Tabitha Reynolds. May I present -”

F̥̰͎͊͊͛ͩ̎̌̚o͖̬̱͔̯ǒ̙̮͈͕̹̰̙̆ͫͤ͛l̰̰̠̭͎̔ͩ̚iș̩̹ͥ̐̐h̘͕̖̜̑ͥ̋ͪ̐̀ ̣̠̯̮̂ͅH̥̼̳͍̥͇̹͐̽̂u̾m̟ͥ̿ͨ͛ȃ̹̝̥͗ͫ͂n̙̯͙ͮ̈͂͋ Yͯ̐͑̅ͥo̤͈͔͍͖̹u̹̪̗̣͇̺̬̎ͬ͒ͥ̓̓̚ ͒̓̄d̤ͫ̎̌̐̚o̲͔̻̭̜͍̺ͮ̎͐ ͇̤̩͊ͯͪ͐̓̊̇n̍ͤo͈͕̻̞͂̎̇͐ͫͮ̚t̉̃ͦ ̳̣̰̜͐̉̇ͯc͎̽͐͗ͨͤͮͣo̙n͚͇̗ṭ͖͇͓̻͇̼̅r̖̦̝̖͔̹͛͑̍͌ͧ͆o̞̱͛̈̎͑͋l̹̝̰̠̝̥ͩ ͓̟̖̤̤̣̈́ͬͣ̏̇̈́t͇̖̻̰̙̳̲͌͊h͑͛ͬͣ̄e̜̩̰̱̜ͩ̅ͬ̑͗̚ ̼͎̻̊͌̇͗mͪ̓̋ã̮̳̫̖̲͌c͎̻̞͖͉ͨ̆̈̉̃h̰̝̜̫͖̒̓ͨi͖͓̻͗̎n͒e̯̲̙͉̓̎̅͒͐ͩs̥̰͕̿̑ͯ͗͐̚ͅͅ,͔̰̒̍ͥ̌̑͐ͭ ͍w̞̦͇̥͚̲̋̂͑̇̍͋ͩe̟̼̙͆͑̅̓ͮ ͍̞̺̝̘͉̑͊ͅc̟̟̮̬̰̥̉ͬ̈́ͮó̱͇nͩ́̈͒̊̂t̤͕̭̟̯ͥͤ̃̈́̔ͩ͋ȑ̤͍̟̲̖̾̊ǒ͔͙͇͓̳̺l̺̖͎̣̎̈̆ͯ̍̉͐ ͚̝̮͖y̅̐ͪ̐ŏ̰̦̭͔̿̇̓̈͌͗uͧ̔

The robot who’d taken Professor. Mansfield appeared again, floating in the air. It swooped down on stage, causing Dr. Gardner to dive to the side to avoid it.

“Anything?” Velma asked over her phone. “Not yet.” Daphne was watching the stage through a pair of binoculars. “No one’s heading for the file. They’re all running away from the robot.”

“Roger.” They wanted the culprit to feel safe enough to get the file in the first place, so wouldn't be using the signal jammer until he’d made his move. Daphne was the look out, keeping a close eye on the file from a distance. Velma was ready with the signal jammer she and Arthur had put together, waiting for the signal from Daphne. Fred was also waiting for said signal to spring his trap. Arthur had been in the front of the crowd and was now by Dr. Gardner’s side, ready to help her escape. Scooby was likewise guarding Tabitha.

Somewhat thankfully, the robot was ignoring the student for now and focusing all its attention on the doctor. Shaggy had been right, though. His body was built for speed and it was easy to keep up with Dr. Gardner and help pull her away. If he'd had a better idea of how strong he was, he would have just picked her up and bolted. As it were, there was plenty of destruction happening from stampeding crowds when the robot swooped down to try and grab Dr. Gardner. One near miss resulted in Arthur pulling her out of the way just in time, causing the robot to barrel into a scale model of Stranshaw.

“Someone’s going for the file!” Daphne reported. “He’s close. Closer….closer....He shoved it under his jacket and he’s in position, NOW.”

Fred hit a switch, causing the door on the bottom of the podium to burst open as the net launcher fired out, trapping the man where he stood. At the same time, Velma hit her switch. The robot, without any new input, crashed into the ground and stopped working.

“We did it!” Velma cheered as Arthur helped steady Dr. Gardner.

“Let me go!” the man on the stage snarled.

Tabitha gasped. “Uncle Bert?”

“Sorry Tabitha, but your Uncle was behind the Rampaging robot and the kidnapping of Professor Mansfield.” Velma explained.

“But why? You knew what this school and project meant to me!” Tabitha asked, distraught.

“It’s because of the project,” Velma explained. “Because your Uncle is working on his own version of the same thing. Sub-Atmosphereal Three-Dimensional Locomotion via Podiatric-based Apparatuses, or in other words, jet boots. The apparent propulsion system on the back of the robot was just for show. What really made it fly was his prototype jet boots. But they’re not ready. My guess would be the power supply is too bulky to be practical. Then he found out Professor Mansfield was working on the same thing, and was just about ready to publish and patent. He needed to keep Mansfield out of the way until his were done. That said, we knew he’d jump at the chance to see Mansfield’s notes, that how we knew he’d come for the file if he knew where it was.”

“But where is Professor Mansfield?” Dr. Gardner asked.

A stubborn expression set Bertrum’s jaw, but Arthur just grinned. “No worries. He’s going to tell us. Enlightened self-interest if nothing else.” Their culprit cocked an eyebrow. “Please enlighten me on how giving up my trump card is in my interest.”

“Because you’re not motivated by spite.” Arthur said easily. “If you were, the robot would have been given a test run against the executives at Fezness that cost you your old job. But you’re not out for revenge, just profit. And the fact that you’d backstab your own niece means you wouldn’t trust anyone else. So Mansfield is kept in a secret location where you’re taking care of him, since you don’t really want him harmed, just out of the way till your own patent goes through. Right now you could be charged with kidnapping, corporate espionage, and reckless endangerment. You’d go to jail, probably medium to low security, and while admittedly getting a job after you get out will be hard, it’s not impossible. Telling us upfront shows you never intended Mansfield harm and may get you a lesser sentence.”

Then Arthur’s eyes hardened. “Now if you were to turn this into a hostage situation, that would all change. Mansfield is restrained somewhere without access to food or water. That can easily turn lethal, especially since he’s not a young man. You’ve put him in a situation where he could die if your demands are not met. Now the main charge is attempted murder. There’ll be no lesser sentence for cooperation. You’ll be in a higher security prison with more violent tending inmates. And you can kiss any prospects when you get out goodbye.”

“And if Mansfield actually dies? Premeditated murder. You’ll never see the outside of a cell again. I’m not too familiar with the laws of this state, so I don’t know if it’s to the end of your natural life, or if the state shortens it for you. But I don’t think it’ll come to that. At the end of the day, you’ll do what’s in your own best interest. And right now, that’s telling us where Mansfield is.”

Bertrum held Arthur’s cool gaze for a second. “He’s in a storage shed on the outskirts of town. Unit 24.”

“Good work,” Arthur almost jumped. He hadn’t noticed the police getting there.

“Of course, Betrum Reynolds wasn’t the only one engaging in some Corporate Espionage.” Fred declared. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Jorkin?"

“What are you talking about?” The gruff man folding his arms and tried to look intimidating.

“He’s talking about you being a spy for Crawford Loan Agency, and their sister company CLA Limited.” Velma grinned. “When Professor Mansfield was starting out he needed money for his work, money he got from the Crawford Loan Agency. In order to pay them back, he gave them a percentage on his patents. The problem was he’d gotten to a point where he didn’t need the loans anymore, he’d had enough money to fund a college. Jorkin was placed here to look for an opportunity to get him back under their thumb. Initially it was a planned meeting to attempt to get him to take out another loan. After he was kidnapped, though, Jorkin helped the agent from CLA break into Mansfield's office to steal his research. Needless to say, I don’t think the college will be keeping you. And considering the fact that your misogynistic views cost CLA an in with Dr. Gardner, I don’t know how interested they’d be in keeping you either.”

“You worthless bitch.” Jorkin’s meaty palm went straight for Velma’s throat. It never got there though, as Daphne grabbed said arm and Judo-tossed him onto the podium, smashing it under him.

“Don’t you dare touch my friends!” Daphne snarled. Scooby growled menacingly and he, Fred and Arthur closed ranks around Velma.

“Attempted Aggravated Assault on a Minor!” Arthur called out to the police, who were already in the process of cuffing Jorkin as Reynolds was being escorted to a squad car.

“We’re aware of the laws, son.” said the cop cuffing Jorkin. “Incidentally, using Mansfield location as a bargaining chip would have been False Imprisonment, not attempted murder.”

“Oh I know,” Arthur said easily. “But I was banking on the fact that Reynold’s didn’t.”

Velma snorted and soon the whole gang was laughing. It was the kind of laughter that was a release of nerves, but laughter nonetheless. Though Arthur was a bit confused when Jorkin grumbled about meddling kids and everyone else just laughed harder.

“I can’t thank you enough. If you’re ever looking for a higher education, Strenshaw Technical Institute would be happy to have you.” Professor Mansfield was having a recommended stay in the hospital to make sure he was alright, so Dr. Gardner was seeing them off.

“We’ll keep it in mind.” Fred shook Dr. Gardner’s hand.

“Hey Mister, Hey Mister!” The young boy they’d seen the day they arrived, Tommy, ran up to them. “It works great!”

He held up his dog, Saddie, for them to see. Only instead of a missing hind leg she now had a mechanical one made of plastic. Very familiar pieces of plastic.

“That’s what you’ve been working on all this time?” Velma asked.

“Well, yeah.” Arthur shrugged. “I could help, why wouldn’t I?”

“It’s not a bad design at all.” Dr Gardner said, examining it. “Who knows, you may be the next Arthur Kingsmen.”

Arthur’s eyes widened as the Gang turned to look at him. “What do you mean?”

“Kingsmen currently has the patent for the most advanced prosthetic arm around, as well as a few animal prosthetics. There’s a few more elitist members of the engineering and robotics community who aren’t very happy at being outdone by a car mechanic, but talent is talent.”

“The arm isn’t perfect, though. There’s still the nervous feedback issue, not to mention waterproofing.” Arthur looked a little sheepish.

“You’re familiar with it?” Dr. Gardner looked surprised.

“Yeah, I know the guy, just didn’t know he was famous.” Arthur admitted. He hadn’t known anyone outside Tempo knew about his arm.

“Well next time you see him, let him know Professor Mansfield would welcome him at SIT too.”

“See, he’s perfect,” Daphne whispered to Velma.

Velma sighed. “It’s not happening, Daph.”

“Sure it can, you just need to think positively. We have at least another week to-”

“Daph, it’s not going to work because he’s not a pedophile.”

Velma’s response caused Daphne to stop short. “What?”

“Arthur’s 26, remember? Much too old to even be thinking about dating someone our age.” Velma said sadly.

Daphne looked like she’d bitten a lemon. “I completely forgot. And here I was just making things worse by getting your hopes up. I am so sorry Velma.”

Velma just shook her head. “Don’t be, I always knew this was going to happen.”

Daphne raised an eyebrow. “You knew?”

“Well, not the body switching, obviously. But I always figured my first crush would be an older guy. A teacher or professor or something.” She’d always pictured a good looking posh man, maybe in tweed. Arthur was exactly nothing like her imagined first crush. He was down to earth and smart without any academic airs. And yet somehow he was so much better than anything she’d imagined.

“That’s just how is goes, though. Mind you, if you and your crush getting together wouldn’t be a felony, maybe it’s worth actually asking him?” Velma nudged Daphne in the ribs gently.

Daphne turned beet red as Fred called out to them, “Coming girls? We need to check out so we can get back to the road.” They probably could have stayed and finished up the last day of the festival, but after seeing how lost Scooby looked without Shaggy, none of them had wanted to waste any more time.

Thankfully they were all mostly packed and most of it was transferring the luggage to the Mystery Machine. Fred and Daphne had gone to settle the bill while Arthur and Scooby went to get some snacks for the road. Velma did the last sweep of their shared rooms, making sure nothing was left behind.

Satisfied there was nothing left but her laptop, she flipped it open to wait for the others to get back. She had been looking up the Mystery Skulls themselves and seeing what kind of cases they had solved. There were several kidnappings and returning stolen items. She scrolled through them until one headline caught her eye. She had to read it a few times just to make sure she’d read it correctly

‘Lewis Pepper, Local Private Investigator, Dead After Accident During Cave Investigation’

She read the article and cross referenced it with an obituary from The Tempo Times. It seemed legit.

“But if Lewis Pepper is dead, who have we been talking to on the phone?” She narrowed her eyes. “Arthur, what are you and your friends hiding?”

~~~~

Zalgo text: Foolish Human You do not control the machines we control you

This case probably could have been done better, but at this point I’m just glad to be done with it.

Notes: Signal jammers are normally illegal, they slid by on this because it wasn’t effecting normal service, just the particular signal affecting the robot

#Scooby Doo #MSA #Mirror's Gaze #Ghost Writing #It's back!#Fred Jones #Daphne Blake #Velma Dinkley #Scooby #Arthur Kingsmen #arthur as shaggy #Lets try for a quicker update next time

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da-chi · 5 years ago

Text

Let me tell you something...

Possible triggers: Internalized aphobia, non-explicit sex mentions, mentions of anxiety.

Excuse my grammar/wording/spelling/sentence placement problems. English isn't my first language and I tried my best.

So. I’m usually not one to talk about personal stuff with friend or family, much less online, but I felt the need to write AND share the story about how I dealt with being a-spec and just finding out recently (today) that it is ok to not have all the answers right at this moment, and that I’m not the only one who felt like didn’t belong, like something in her didn’t fit in “normalcy”. So here it is, I hope you don’t get bored.

All my life (or as far as I can remember) I’ve always felt off. Off like something was missing in me, or the way I viewed things.

I was a kid who liked “boys” stuff for a while, and then I started liking “girls” stuff, and then it was all a mash-up of both, which my mother always accepted and supported, so I felt like that “off thing” wasn’t my tastes or my gender identity. I always got along with boys better than with girls when younger and that was never questioned either, not by my family nor myself, so that wasn’t “it” either. When growing up I started getting along with older people better than kids/teenagers my own age, and I started having a better relationship with girls than with boys. Mind you, I thought all of this was normal, and it is, but I never stopped and asked myself “Why am I going around trying to fit in? What am I looking for? What ‘s missing?”.

I had a few crushes when I was a teenager, all of them were boys who looked a certain type of way, all of them impossible to have: one of them liked my best friend, the other was too old for me, and the other liked the most popular girl. The interesting thing was that I never felt the “urge” to be with them, or the pain from not being able to be in a relationship with them. I was content with just being their friend, even helping them get together with their own crushes. The thought of being in a romantic relationship never crossed my mind. I never once thought that me not having any sort of interest in love and even sex while my peers were already experiencing all of that was “unordinary”.

During the time I was 16 I thought for a while that maybe my lack of interest was probably because I just didn’t like boys, so in my last year of high school with the help of alcohol (pls kids don’t do this, drinking underage is illegal) I had my first kiss, ever. With a girl. And I didn't like it. Nope, it wasn’t because it was with a girl or just because she didn’t kiss well, because she did, I think ( I was inexperienced, ok?). It was because the act of kissing struck me like nothing more than just a very long exchange of saliva and an awkward tongue swords play. Me being me ignored that fact by just thinking “probably it’ll feel different when I actually like someone.”

2 of my 3 best friends had never had any sort of relationship and were not in a rush to be in one, so I thought I was just the same as them.

……………………….

Brief pause to pat my young, innocent, oblivious, and confused 16 yo self.

*pats*

Ok let’s continue

……………………...

Didn’t really think about the matter again until I was 17, moved to another country with a different language and the family I hadn’t seen for 14 years started asking the questions people asked my mom instead of me “Any boyfriend? Do you like someone? How many boyfriends have you had? None? Why? Are your standards that high? What’s wrong?”

And then I remembered. I remembered never wanting a boyfriend. I remembered never really liking someone. I remembered craving friendship with multiple and all sorts of people, but never craving something that should be normal to crave for at my age. I remembered always thinking that something in me felt like was “turned off”, and never really thinking about it (Now I know it was because I was scared of what I would find if I looked into it, scared that I wasn’t “normal”). I remember my mother being asked about me and my lack of any type of interest in the matter and her saying “there’s no rush. It’ll come when it has to come.”

I did not, in fact, know what was wrong with me.

The anxiety I’d had since the age of 14 started getting worse and worse and the voice inside of my head wouldn’t stop asking what was wrong with us. That voice started attacking me, calling me names like “heart of ice” or “ice queen” (as cliche as it sounds), would never shut up about how I would end up alone because no one ever could love someone who couldn’t love. “How can you love romance books and not like someone real? Are you nuts? You probably are. You are broken.”

I got scared of myself and others too.

I always was a bright, outgoing yet shy person; my friendly nature always making me want to be close to people, but after my anxiety became a bottomless pit I started pushing people away in an unusual way. I would get close to them enough to call them friends but after a while, I would distance myself from them, never replying to texts or always canceling on them, for instance. I made sure I kept myself close enough to never feel lonely but the moment I felt too close I would take 2 steps back. (This, sadly, is something I still have to deal with and am trying to change, not only with friends but family too.)

……………………………..

Months after I felt my first “like” for someone (which honestly it was just me being completely dazed by his kindness, nothing more). It was fast and stupid and didn’t make sense, I was learning a new language and starting a new job and we just got close and I knew it had no future but I didn’t care because I had hope again, hope that I wasn’t broken and could finally talk about butterflies and fireworks and even heartbreak.

He liked me back (surprise!!), but I remember not being happy, nor excited, nor…. Disappointed.

“Probably if I kiss him I’ll know if I really like him. Perhaps, if I kiss him, I will feel something again.”

After a very, very uncomfortable and wet and too long for my liking kiss, I remember feeling nothingness, emptiness, the kind you feel when you aren’t hungry nor full. Like when you listen to a song you used to love but feel nothing and think nothing, just an “Oh. Cool. That’s a nice song.”

It didn’t work out of course.

“Probably he just wasn’t the right one.”

I lost a friend and a little bit of myself after that.

……………………………..

At the age of 18, my best friend confessed to me, he told me he had liked me for a long time. Of course, my oblivious self didn’t notice and hurt him, hard.

Worst part, I didn’t like him back. I was so afraid because I knew what that meant. My best friend would leave me because broken me couldn’t make herself feel something for him. (I was in a dark place guys, pls bare with my drama.)

And yet, I would never lie about something so serious, so I didn’t. And I was right, he said he couldn’t deal with just being my friend, and he was completely right. I could not ask him to still be friends when he felt so much for me. I just didn’t understand (because how could I?), but I agreed and respected his feelings. He was several years older than me and had had past serious relationships, so I trusted his experience.

After several days of no communication whatsoever, he texted me again and devoted all his free time to win me over, no kidding.

(Later I would find out it was my mother who convinced him that he had to fight for me, that I was just, for some reason, scared and closed off to the idea of having a relationship. She blamed my dad, whom I didn’t have a good relationship with for a good chunk of my life, for being the reason why I never let any man get close enough to me. How could I blame her? She never suspected I was different because I never told her anything.)

And a month later, I started liking him. Like, really, really, liking him. We started going out and eventually, I fell in love. I loved the way he would make me feel. I loved how much he accepted me and how open-minded he was. I loved we liked most of the same stuff and that our hobbies were so alike. I loved how different he was to my dad. I loved how gentlemanly he was. I loved many things about him; I loved him in my own, different way. Different, because kisses for him were butterflies and summer and oceans and to me never felt any different than just two mouths moving against each other; they weren’t disgusting, they weren’t meaningless, they just were kisses. Different, because he needed sexual affection, and I didn’t. Different, because sex was such an important thing for him, that I would do it just to make him happy. Different, because to me, joining hands and cuddling were more than enough to show my love. It was different, not less or more, even if he believed until the last day that he loved me more.

I broke up with him two years later and it was painful and ugly and illuminating.

Heartbreak meant that my dependency on him needed to be replaced with dependency on myself. I needed to trust and listen to myself more than ever. I needed to stop looking for validation and assurance that “yes, you are normal, you just take your time.”

I needed to stop listening to the voice that repeated “you will always hurt whoever approaches you because you can’t give them what they need” over and over again.

Being alone trying to find answers made me join a talented community that welcomed me with open arms and a lot of love and acceptance. A community that gave me the gift of meeting extraordinary people who, in their own way, felt the same as me and never rejected/judged me for that. Made me realize that my taste in stuff is broader than I thought and that it was ok to like certain stuff. It made me accept myself and others. Made me take pride in who I was and never, ever, feel bad about it.

Thanks to this community, and these people, I got to understand I was Demiromantic Asexual (with gray areas).

That not wanting kids is not some crazy millennial nonsense like my family kindly (haha) makes sure to let me know every time I bring the topic up.

That being indifferent to kisses and sex but needing affection and hugs and touches is not contradicting.

That being open to being with someone but also being happy alone is normal.

In my 20s I wholly comprehend I still have a lot to learn about myself, that I might not fall fully under one label but many and I don’t know yet, but that’s what growing up means. And for the first time in my whole life, I’m excited to see what more I have to offer.

……………………………..

Notes: Special thanks to @kkazulwolf because they were kind and awesome enough to listen to me, let me ask questions and reassure me It is ok.

#aspec positivity #personal #accepting oneself #sorry for the wall of text #sorry if it was boring #i just needed to open up #resolved internalized aphobia

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naturepointstheway · 5 years ago

Text

Caught on a bad day (Life is Strange fanfic)

In the alternate timeline where William is alive, Chloe tells Max the latter caught her on a ‘good day’. What if Max had caught her on a ‘bad day’ instead?

Max pauses in the middle of the path to the Prices’ door, taking in the changes to the house before her, with its fully complete blue paintwork and the ramp--

Wait. A ramp?

The Prices never had a ramp.

Shit, shit, shit. What else have I done?

She tries, and fails, to stop herself from imagining the worst. Did she hurt Chloe? William? Or perhaps Joyce? Surely, people need ramps to their house all the time, not just people who need more accessibility due to a disability or aging. William and Joyce weren’t even that old anyway, so why would they need a ramp? Or maybe they were fostering or had adopted a child who needed a wheelchair. That had to be it.

Chloe. Chloe... please be okay, God please be okay...

She takes a deep breath, another, another, and still her chest squeezes back in the vice of anxiety. Panic swells inside her, turns her stomach with that bottomless sick feeling as she walks up to the front door, her hand poised to knock.

Okay Max, you can do this. Come on.

She tries to swallow, but her throat is too dry, too parched with apprehension as she knocks gently on the door, stepping back to wait until someone—please, please let it be Chloe—answers.

Instead, it is William that answers the door, immediately breaking out into a warm smile on seeing Max.

‘Max Caulfield, we thought we’d never see you again.’

A rush of nostalgia and relief on seeing William’s still-warm smile swells in Max’s heart, despite the shock at the changes so far.

‘I could never abandon Chloe like that. I might not have kept in touch, but…I couldn’t not see her again after coming back here.’

‘Come inside.’

William steps aside, and Max, trying to keep down the rising panic squeezing at her insides, walks into the hall of the house at once familiar and strange. She hears the door click behind her, followed by William’s voice.

‘She isn’t in her old upstairs room anymore, Max, instead we’ve converted the old garage into a new room for her. Makes it easier for her to get around. Got her wheelchair and everything now.’

Wheelchair. Chloe’s in a wheelchair. Shit what have I done?

Max steps up to the door that once led into a garage, but now leads into Chloe’s new room in this new timeline. What has she done to her best friend, her partner in time and crime? She tries to keep her composure as William addresses her once again.

‘I must warn you, Max, she’s having one of her bad days.’

Max stares at the door; it’s so not right that there is no ‘wrong way’ sign.

‘W-what do you mean?’

‘You already know about her car accident two years ago. Has she talked to you about it?’

Shit, shit, shit.

‘I...don’t think so.’

‘A driver illegally cut her off, and she ended up...’ a heavy pause. ‘The accident left her paralysed from the neck down.’

Max leans a hand on the door, willing herself not to pass out. Chloe...Chloe paralysed. Neck down. Unable to feel a thing. Unable to dance, let alone go out to enjoy concerts and go down in the mosh pit.

I fucked up. Well done Max. You’re a loser. A fucking loser. You don’t deserve Chloe. She deserves a better friend than you.

William’s hand on her shoulder brings her back to the present, or whatever present this fucked up reality is.

‘Max, you look like you’re going to pass out. Do you need to sit down?’

‘N-no, I think I’ll be fine. I need to see Chloe. Please. I haven’t seen her in five years. Will she be okay enough to see me?’

‘She has very regular headaches like now, as her body redirects all the pain toward her head.’

‘God.’

‘But I think she’ll be glad to see you, nevertheless.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Are you sure you don’t need to sit down?’

‘No, I think I’m okay.’

William, despite clearly looking concerned for her, knocks gently on Chloe’s door, and opens it just enough for Max to see it is dark inside, like all the curtains have been drawn.

‘Chloe?’

Silence. William opens the door a little more, looks inside, before turning to address Max.

‘I think she’s sleeping right now, but feel free to go inside. It’ll be a pleasant surprise for her to see you when she wakes up.’

‘Thank you.’

William stands aside so Max can step through the door, and stops still on the threshold, feeling the blood drain from her face as she surveys the dimly lit interior, and the bed with—

Oh god, Chloe! My Chloe!

It is wrong, so wrong, so very wrong to see her best friend motionless in a hospital bed, hooked up to a ventilator, a drip, and God only knew what else. Even in the dim light, Max sees the thick tube running from Chloe’s throat to the ventilator with its silent vital sign readings, and she hates herself more than ever. It’s so wrong to see Chloe without her usual blue hair, instead left as its natural blonde. Instead of punk posters and graffiti, the walls are nearly bare, save for a photo here and there, and what appears to be a pinboard with desperately few bits of happiness and comfort tacked to the cork.

What Max wouldn’t do to tear apart the house until she finds that goddamn photo, to undo all of this, even at the cost of William’s life, undo, rewind all the last five years, until she’s back in her old timeline, back with an able-bodied, blue-haired Chloe, and not this...ghost...

She wants Chloe, her Chloe from her timeline, her beautiful blue-haired badass, who dared her to kiss her in another time, in another morning, in another life. She’d willingly hunt for another hundred bottles in the junkyard if it meant bringing back the Chloe she’d grown up with, running around Arcadia Bay in their pirate get-ups.

Max takes a deep breath, forces herself to step over the threshold into the dimmed bedroom, hearing William close the door behind her as softly as possible. Chloe’s head is still turned to the side, looking for all the world like she’s in a peaceful sleep, were it not for the soft ventilator-aided breaths, or the drip in her arm, or that tube running from her throat.

This is my fault. All my fault. I’m so sorry, Chloe, you didn’t deserve this. You deserve to dance, to go to concerts, to dye your hair blue, to fall in love, to stomp around the house in your big boots...to...what have I done to you. My fault. My fucking fault.

Max can’t help but think that Chloe in this reality has never painted her nails electric blue, nor etched a tattoo on one arm that Max has, on more than one occasion, wished she could sit and trace and trail with her fingers, following its designs from forearm to shoulder. Now, instead of a tattoo needle carving art into her arm, it’s a drip delivering pain killers into her bloodstream. Rather than a necklace of bullets, she has a tube taped in place to her throat.

She can’t bear to look at Chloe a second longer, not now anyway, and turns her attention elsewhere, immediately spotting a wheelchair in a corner, her heart dropping to the core of the earth at the sight. There is enough light for Max, on closer examination, to see it also has a tube similar to what Chloe in the bed has now. Max reaches a tentative hand to the wheelchair, tracing her fingers over an armrest before pulling her arm back, fingers covering her mouth, brows knitted together as she fights back tears. She can’t move her eyes away from the odd things at the top of the seat, where Chloe’s head would be were she in the chair. Max wonders if they were there to help keep her head still.

I can’t believe I put Chloe in that chair...or the bed.

Max tip-toes away from the chair, not wanting to wake Chloe, and takes note of the sign on the bathroom door, and manages the weakest of smiles at the words.

Gas masks optional. That’s so Chloe.

What she wouldn’t give to see that ‘wrong way’ sign again. Strange how one can miss such a little thing that otherwise might be ignored as part of the scenery.

She doesn’t dare touch the huge computer screen nor the mouth-operated joystick; knowing her clumsy self, she’d probably break it, though there was no reason she couldn’t use rewind to fix it. Still, better safe than sorry. She allows her fingers to trail along the edge of the desk, one foot in front of the other, back toward Chloe’s bed, and stops when she sees a familiar bracelet with spikes. Picking it up, Max allows a little pinprick of relief to see some sign of the Chloe she knew from her old timeline.

Still a punk at heart, Chloe. Never change.

Strange how something as small as a punk bracelet with spikes could make her feel just a tiny bit calmer, at least until she catches sight of the drip right in front of her, delivering morphine to her best friend’s bloodstream. She wishes she can block out the whoosh of fluid flowing from the drip into Chloe, lying so still right there.

Legs weak and shaky, Max moves to the small wooden chair across from the bedside, lifting it up to move it closer, but not too close, to Chloe. Slumping back into the seat, Max watches Chloe sleep for a moment, sees the way her chest rises and falls with each shaky breath, before she leans her elbows on her knees, letting her face drop into her hands, palms pressing into her eyes.

It isn’t long before Chloe’s voice, hoarser and wearier than Max ever heard it, drifts into her ears.

‘Either I have so much fucking morphine in me that I’m hallucinating seeing Maxine Caulfield, or you really are here. The fuck you been the last five years.’

Max raises her head to see Chloe has woken up, her face turned in her direction. But instead of the pissed off look Max expected, her heart skips a beat to see, instead, the smallest of smiles, one she hasn’t seen since...this morning, really, when she woke next to Chloe on her double bed after a night at the swimming pool at Blackwell. The smile, though sullied by the tension of pain in her eyes and the corners of her mouth, is still enough to melt Max’s heart.

‘C-Chloe!’ Max has to use all her willpower not to immediately jump up and draw Chloe into a hug, lest she hurt her. ‘I’m really here.’

‘Damn, perfect timing as always, Max. You caught me on a craptastic day, dude. Shame, since we haven’t even seen each other in five years. Liked your letters and selfies but… could’ve made an effort to visit more often.’

‘I’m the worst.’

‘How long have you been here watching me sleep anyway, you creep?’ Max relishes the snarky tone—so Chloe.

‘Not long, actually. William told me you were having one of your bad days.’

Chloe grimaces, turns her head so she stares up at the ceiling. ‘You have no idea. Doped up all day on morphine and my head still feels like it’s gonna implode. Or explode. Whichever happens first.’

‘Ugh, sounds crummy.’

‘God, I hate this. All of this.’ Chloe nods over at the machines, ‘Two years of this crap. Prick. Ditched my car with his SUV. Woke up in hospital unable to feel a thing, let alone move a muscle. Back snapping like a twig was last thing I felt.’

A shiver prickles at Max’s back, and she can’t help a little shudder of horror.

‘Jesus. I... I don’t know what to say.’

‘Don’t.’ Chloe clenches her jaw, squeezes her eyes shut. ‘Fuck. Fuck. Sorry. Talk makes it worse.’

‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t bother you.’ Max can’t help a twinge of guilt.

‘Shut up,’ Chloe’s voice is softer, but still painfully hoarse, ‘I’m glad you’re here.’

‘You are?’

‘Um, I haven’t seen you in five years. Of course I am. Makes a change from my usual visitors.’

‘Visitors?’

‘All the friends who never visited me or just left me all together.’

‘Chloe, I should have visited you more.’

‘Not like we could just waltz out of here anyway.’

‘I’m never leaving you again, Chloe, okay? I mean…if you need rest, I can leave you alone, read a book.’

‘Or we can still chat like old times,’ Chloe’s voice sounds more strained than before, her eyes closing almost against her will, ‘Don’t be surprised if I drift off again.’

Max allows a hint of gentle teasing into her words. ‘I’ll just think you’re bored of me talking about photos.’

‘Hey, if it helps me drift off with this fucking headache...can’t even with sunlight. Way too bright. Makes it even worse.’

‘It’s almost sundown.’

‘Still messes me up.’

‘That bad.’

‘All the pain is redirected to my brain. Funtimes.’

‘That sucks.’

‘You don’t say. No need to feel too sorry for me. I can do that by myself.’

‘You’re a survivor, Chloe.’

‘Platitudes I’ve heard before.’

Max hears a hint of that old familiar bitterness buried in Chloe’s words. Sure, not as bitter, nowhere near, but still, there it is.

‘I mean it, really.’ Max reassures her.

‘Doesn’t help when I’m like this. All doped up to eleven, and yet in so much fucking pain.’

Max glances back over her shoulder at the bathroom built for Chloe, still with that sign that is just so her. She turns her chair around a little so she faces Chloe more directly.

‘Your parents do so much for you. They really do love you. You’re here.’

‘More like they’re here for me, Max. They can’t even take a walk alone. It sucks.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Sorry for what? For me? No thanks. I get enough of that from people. I’m not an invalid, you know, lying here like some dying woman in a Victorian novel.’

There is a long pause, and Max casts around for something, anything else to say. Clearly, Chloe was not putting up with pity, something even Chloe in her original timeline wouldn’t put up with. She hated fake people, platitudes, and pity, and this timeline’s Chloe was no less different.

‘You have an impressive set-up with the computer.’

‘I can at least watch concert videos on that beast. And check out all the concerts. Hate myself for not being able to see them. Not today though, I’m in way too much pain to listen to any pirated youtube videos of concerts.’ Her words are broken by a series of dry coughs. ‘Throat’s dry already. Haven’t talked this much in a while. See if there’s water left in my cup. It’s on the dresser.’

Glad for something to do, Max stands up, walking over to the dresser with the cup of water. Grabbing the cup, she sloshes it around a little to check how much water there is in it—it seems to be nearly full. She returns to Chloe, sitting down next to her on the bed, bringing the cup close enough to Chloe’s lips so she can take a sip from the straw.

‘Drink up, buttercup,’ she hears herself say, watching as Chloe drinks from the straw, eyes never leaving Max’s face. Max almost can’t bear to see how much love and gratitude there is in those soft blue eyes, pupils large in the dim room. She had forgotten how Chloe’s eyes had looked, before being hardened by bitterness and trauma from a world that had abandoned her. This Chloe had none of that trauma, and so her eyes were softer and more beautiful than Max ever remembered them to be.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—

Chloe presses her head back into the pillow, turning her mouth away from the cup, obviously having taken her fill.

‘Thanks, Max.’

‘Always happy to help.’

‘Next time, grab me a beer.’

‘That’s…not going to help headaches.’

‘Wet blanket. I was joking.’

‘I know you were,’ Max assures as she replaces the drink on the dresser, ‘Is there anything else?’

‘Think...I might rest a while, Max. Like I said, caught me on a shit day. Go take some pictures or something.’ Chloe turned her head to nod at the shuttered window, with golden light leaking around the corners. ‘What do photographers call this time? Everything looks amazing at this time.’

‘The Golden Hour.’

A long pause, Chloe still staring at the curtained window, as though to reflect on this new piece of knowledge. For a time, there was little noise except for a bird twittering outside and the ventilator working to help her breathe. Max thought she might have drowsed off when Chloe turns her face back again to Max with a wan smile, her forehead crinkling with pain, eyes closed.

‘Learn something new every day, Max. Now thanks to you, I know.’

Max waits a few more minutes, still looking over at the window, imagining the view beyond. She realises she had not paid any heed to anything that was outside, but then again, her mind had been thinking only of one thing—or person, rather. Chloe, now lying before her in a bed, unable to move anything below her neck, stuck day and night, not unless she was in her wheelchair, able to move around at will, wherever she wanted. But all the most modern wheelchairs in the world could not undo her paralysis, could not help her feel anything below her neck again.

Convinced that Chloe has dozed off again, Max quietly leaves Chloe’s side, returning to the bedroom door, opening it to the soft golden light of sundown. The house seems to be very still, except Max can smell something delicious wafting from the kitchen, and her stomach growls in anticipation of dinner. No doubt Joyce is in there cooking up a meal; Max wonders if Chloe eats much, and this idle thought is chased immediately by a jolting realisation that she likely has to be hand-fed her meals.

God. No dignity for her. This sucks. Oh Chloe...

Bills and opened envelopes lie on both dressers and table, and Max cannot help but take a quick glance at them, without touching or being too obvious about it. She carefully suppresses any outward reaction on seeing the horrific bills they have to pay, even just for Chloe’s basic supplies. A newspaper article on the table catches her eye, and her hand flies to her mouth as she reads about the mysterious whale strandings on the beach.

Has this anything to do with my powers? What the hell am I doing?

Strange how seeing an article on the stranded whales she’d seen earlier on the bus ride from Blackwell Academy really hit it home for her. This surely could not be a coincidence after the snow, the eclipse, and flocks of dead birds. Was the storm coming in this reality too?

She was just fucking everything up, that’s all she was doing.

Trying to take her mind off this shit, Max drifts to the sliding door facing out into the yard, spotting at once that their old board with their innocent childhood drawings had been moved from the space it usually inhabited in her original timeline. Why over there, across from what used to be the garage…

Oh.

No doubt Chloe wanted it moved so that she could see it from outside her window whenever she could. So she could remember Max, even though there had been no visits from her for five years. No doubt seeing a reminder of Max gave Chloe hope that the former would come back someday to visit, and today that wish had finally come true.

How fitting that the wish had been granted at the golden hour, a time that granted a touch of magic to every photographer’s framed shots. If only Max had her camera now, she might have taken a photo or two of the painting tinged by sundown, or of the bird on the fence, its feathers dusted with evening light.

A few hours pass Max by, spent exploring and reflecting on changes in this old familiar, and unfamiliar, childhood home away from home. She could not bear staying long in Chloe’s old room, bereft of the smell of weed and stale pizza, of the clutter of beer bottles and cans and piles of unwashed laundry, and the walls naked for want of punk posters and graffiti borne of a life ‘dipped in shit’ as Chloe had so colourfully described it yesterday.

But then she is summoned to the stairs, eventually, by Joyce calling for Max, that Chloe is awake, that she wants to see her again. Chloe’s headache has simmered down a good bit, Joyce says when Max joins her at the bottom of the stairs. Not by much, she hastens to warn, but enough that she can talk again with Max, at least for a little while.

Max doesn’t hesitate for even a moment, rushing back into Chloe’s room, shutting the door again behind her. It is still very dim inside, a small lamp on a dresser the only source of light, aside from the glowing screens of the machines hooked to Chloe, and the heat lamp’s glow. Again, Max’s heart skips a beat when Chloe catches her eye with a smile.

Has she always been this beautiful when she smiles?

Max makes her way back to the chair next to Chloe, settling herself in it as she had before, stretching her legs out in front of her, at a loss for what to say.

‘Dude, stop.’

Max blinks in confusion, staring at Chloe. ‘Stop what?’

‘Feeling sorry for me. My parents and I do enough of that on our own.’

‘I just never expected it to be...like this...’

‘Well you never made much effort to find out either.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Just because I’m like this doesn’t mean I can’t do anything. Fuck, getting my wheelchair after months motionless in bed was so...freeing. Could actually move my ass around without help.’

Max glances over at the wheelchair in the corner. ‘It looks...very high tech.’

'My parents made sure to get the best. Even if it bankrupts them.’

‘All of this looks so impressive.’

‘I can go online, talk shit with other people, listen to music. I’m not just...sitting here like a sentient Christmas tree.’

‘What kind of music? Classic?’

‘Uh, no fucking way am I listening to that. Punk, rock, that’s more my thing. Something I’m sure you’re way into, right.’

Max can’t help but laugh a little, half in relief that this Chloe still likes the same music. ‘Uh...not really.’

‘Figured.’

A pause slips between them, Max shifting on the chair as though to find another comfortable position, while Chloe turns her head to study the ceiling.

‘Sorry to be boring tonight, Max. We totally would’ve hung out on the beach or something.’

‘What? No, no you’re fine,’ Max leans forward, touching a hand on the blankets near where she thought Chloe’s arm was.

‘I would totally watch Blade Runner tonight with you, but…pain. Joy.’

‘Do you…need more painkillers? Should I ask—’

‘Nah, stay,’ Chloe’s gaze falls back to Max, ‘Being here with you makes it less shitty. Really. I’m so glad I got to see you today, it took you long enough to visit me.’ A smile lilts on her lips, reaching her eyes, so stark in both gentleness and not-quite-hidden pain. ‘Seeing you here…reminds me so much of when we were kids running around Arcadia Bay, playing at pirates. Seems like so long ago when we were that young.’

Max lets out a soft sigh of nostalgia. ‘Seems literally like yesterday to me.’

‘Time flies, doesn’t it?’

‘We should’ve taken over Arcadia Bay while we still had the chance.’

‘But you will. You still have time, Max. And you’ll be photographing every little thing along the way.’

‘You know me well.’

Chloe winces a little again in pain. ‘Fuck. Shitty timing. Max, do me a favour?’

Max stands up, ready to do anything for Chloe. If she needed the world, the moon, hell even goddamn Pluto, she would do it. Chloe deserved so much more than this.

‘Anything. Anything you want, I’ll do for you.’

An impish grin tugs up Chloe’s lips, her blue eyes catching Max’s. ‘Anything, huh? Because hot monkey sex would be nice right now too.’

Max opens her mouth to say something, but no words come out, even as a blush creeps up into her cheeks and she has to look away, hearing Chloe’s teasing laugh, pulling at her heart with its familiarity.

‘Oooh look, I made Maxine blush!’

Omigod, Chloe. You’re impossible.

‘I…I’m…’

‘God, Max, you’re so adorable sometimes. Can you look in that drawer over there?’

Max finds the drawer Chloe wants her to open, and sees nothing but several tubs and tubes of medicated lotion.

‘Keeps my blood circulating. Or makes my headaches fuck off a little more.’

‘You need some right now?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Uh which one?’

Max finds the one Chloe wants and brings it over to her, unscrewing the cap.

‘What should I do?’

Chloe gives her a look, raising an eyebrow. ‘I don’t know, unscrew the cap, pour lotion in your hand, rub hands together, then massage lotion onto my forehead and temples. Simple enough instructions.’

‘Think I can follow those instructions.’

Chloe closes her eyes as Max rubs her hands together, sitting next to her on the bed, placing her hands on Chloe’s forehead, feeling how soft her skin is under her palms, fingers massaging lotion into her temples as gently as she can, feeling the brush of Chloe’s hair over her fingertips. Close up, Max can see the deep bags under Chloe’s eyes, the very faint line forming between her eyebrows, and how thin and pale her face has become from so much pain and weariness. It’s strange to think this Chloe is nineteen, same as her Chloe in her old timeline, and yet she seems so much older beyond her years.

Am I the same when Chloe looks at me, whether here or in my old time?

Her hands, so tender and careful, now still on Chloe’s cheeks, cupping her face between her palms, thumbs brushing over her cheekbones.

‘Is…is that making it better?’

‘You’re good at this—hell of a lot better than the nurses.’

Max can’t help a little smile, moving a hand up to brush some of Chloe’s hair back from her forehead, letting the blonde strands slip between her fingers.

‘Always wanted coloured bangs,’ Chloe says in a whispery tone, ‘Like Pris.’

‘Who?’

‘Blade Runner.’

‘Oh…I see. You’d look amazing with blue hair.’

‘Weird. I would have said the same for me.’

‘With a cool beanie to top it off when you go outside.’

‘Dressing me with your eyes are you, Max? Normally it’s the other way around.’

‘N-no, I mean...you’d look stunning.’

‘Never change, Max.’

Max draws her hands a little away from Chloe’s face. ‘How’s the pain now?’

‘Lot better than earlier today, and not as bad as it would be without you here.’ Chloe’s eyes open, meeting Max’s with a sleepy, yet achingly glad, expression. ‘You’ve made my day being here at all. Can’t believe we’re already on the cusp of adulthood.’

‘Yeah…me too.’

‘I keep wanting to go back to that time, when we were dorky kids covered in pancake flour…I still have that photo somewhere.’

Max’s breath catches in her throat, heart hammering. ‘You do?’

‘Yeah, in the album on my dresser over there,’ Chloe nods toward the wall beyond her ventilator. ‘Tomorrow morning, we can go on a trip down memory lane, get all mushy about ye olde days. Not tonight, not up for it.’

‘I can wait until morning,’ Max assures her, ‘I’m just happy we’re together again.’

‘Me too, Max. It’s been too fucking long.’

In this reality anyway. Was it just this morning Chloe had dared her to kiss her, and ended the day with an argument in her truck? Meanwhile, for this Chloe, and this Max, five years had passed since the last time they’d seen each other. At least this timeline’s Max made some effort to bother keeping in touch, even if she never visited.

Max slung her legs up on to the bed, lying back as gently as possible until her head is next to Chloe’s on the pillow, staring up at the ceiling. She allows her eyes to close, just for a minute or two, relaxing against Chloe next to her, trying not to think about how she cannot even feel the presence of her best friend next to her in the bed, like this was just another one of their old sleepovers.

‘Some sleepover, this, isn’t it?’ Max whispers, seeing Chloe turn her head toward her out of the corner of her eye. ‘I mean…when was the last time we had a sleepover?’

‘Right before you left, actually,’ Chloe whispers back, ‘I missed our sleepovers. Or, rather, when you came here to sleepover with me.’

Max turns her head to meet Chloe’s gaze, heart skipping as she sees how close their faces are to each other. She still cannot believe this is the same Chloe she knew from her old life. So different and yet still just the same in so many ways. She wonders if this Chloe would ever have double dared her to kiss her.

‘I remember. I don’t think we ever slept so much as stayed up as long as we could. We always pretended we slept all night.’

‘My parents always saw right through that.’

Max laughs a little, nostalgia mixed with sadness. ‘Yeah. Yeah they did.’

Chloe’s face softens into a small smile, her eyes never leaving Max’s, even as her eyelids start drooping again, drowsy from so many pain meds.

‘Max…you’re…you’re the only one I grew up with…who’s visited me…ever…’

Max shifts so she’s lying on her side, facing Chloe, foreheads just touching, the tickle of a strand of blonde hair against her own.

‘Chloe, I promise, I’m never abandoning you again. I’m never leaving you.’

A soft sigh, Chloe’s head tips a little against Max’s. ‘I love you, Max.’

Max allows her own eyes to close, drowsy from the stifling warmth from the heat lamp, and being so close to Chloe she could have kissed her again, like she had that all-too-brief moment this morning. She’s amazed she’s already so tired, her mind a whirl of shock, fear, love, and nostalgia, and still she finds herself drifting away, Chloe next to her.

Love you too, Chloe.

The photo could wait until tomorrow morning. For now, all that mattered was this Chloe, in this lifetime, in this thread of time.

#Life is Strange #Chloe Price #alternate timeline Chloe #Max Caulfield #Pricefield

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sugar-petals · 6 years ago

Text

BTS: They Insist You’re Beautiful

❖ angst, fluff, hurt & comfort ❖ warnings: self-esteem issues, dieting, body dysmorphia, feels

⟼ Jimin

Even at the risk of embarrassment and making it worse, the shower of compliments will never cease once he senses your self-doubt. What drives Jimin is his own second-guessing that will haunt him all too frequently, be it through weight gain or just an outfit that won’t look right because “I’m ugly. No matter what I do”. Even after years of trying to fight it, those voices remain. It’s a continuous process that never really ends, which is the hardest part. He would never want to see someone else experience this feeling, not even the tiniest fraction. That’s the reason why he moves heaven and earth and won’t give up convincing you. All too soon, he realizes it’s equally difficult as his own journey because a person cannot be persuaded when there is not a spark of belief already. He has to appeal to your moral sense first and foremost and ask whether it really is so good and healthy to dislike yourself so much. You only got one life. Jimin affirms that when you find flattering things about yourself, that makes his heart beam with endless pride, even if it’s just a detail. Be it your fingers, your lashes, your legs, your smile, your hair, anything. If need be, Jimin will sit down and rack his creative brain to rewrite “Eyes Nose Lips” by Taeyang into something that mentions these aspects only to bring that song to you in a heart-wrenching delivery, dance included. You’ll have something to remember, then, each time you doubt yourself.

⟼ Tae

So perplexed, so lost. Oh, what have you said. Is it true, do you really mean it? Taehyung does not really believe it is a joke, he can tell by your tone, but he hopes in vain, he truly does. “I’m not beautiful enough” is something so harsh to say. There has to be time for himself to wrap his head around the problem because every hug and cuddle with you doesn’t seem to shoo away the heavy words you use against yourself. An idea is the only thing he can cling to, and he’ll make it reality with his old camera. Not the one he’s currently using, the other one that’s been halfway forgotten by now. There are still countless unused negatives from last summer when there was a confident phase, a time when you would not hold yourself to a standard but instead felt carefree and preoccupied, too busy to mind your body, and happy to be on vacation with him. The pictures are casual and seem so far away. In an obsessive bout, Taehyung will glue it all together seemingly at random, but from the chaos emerges the image of your face as a giant collage. There’s pictures forming ears, forehead, cheeks, eyes, everything. Taehyung signs it without further words but a purple heart at the bottom right corner, and gifts it to you when you least expect it. What he has created may be difficult to understand at first, but later you get why he put all these images together. It means that every part of you is important for your identity to be content in life, and vice versa, that each content moment constitutes your beauty and not the sad times.

⟼ Jin

Especially with Jin, hating yourself and finding flaws to tear yourself apart about is more than a capital offense. Daresay you’re worthless and not quite the eye candy everyone else thinks you are, he’s gonna be so up in arms like the Queen of England when she’s in her “not amused” kind of mood. But still, his reaction is not as you had expected when you nitpick your outfit for the tenth time. You anticipated him trying to persuade you otherwise by all means. Instead, he sits down with you to talk it out with a cup of tea and a not-so-tense atmosphere even if the topic is a fairly important one. Self-worth and dating Jin, that interlinks, it’s a big deal. What he’ll do is empathize and tell you when he felt the same. Which you vehemently deny, how could he put himself down like that so much, what a shame! He’s Jin! “See... and this is what I thought when you called yourself ugly.” You’re quite taken aback and need some time to process it. That’s a shocker. And maybe even reassuring if it didn’t hurt so much knowing you let yourself down. It’s not about you being eye candy for others or yourself in the first place. It’s about how much value you realize you have. Heck, there are legislations on this earth whose first law describes how untouchable human dignity and worth is. Jin won’t let your melodramatic ass break the law like a bandit in the bank of self-love and legit get away with the self-hate money. That, in the house of Kim, is illegal.

⟼ Yoongi

It’s more than hard to bear for him. If he could manage that, there would be no mirrors in your home or the entire path you walk in a day. Not a single one. Yoongi would paint, veil, remove, shatter all of them just to prevent you from sizing yourself up and starting to scrutinize every time, be it in gaze — you thought he couldn’t tell? he knows how it is — or in words. Especially that glance he is all too familiar with is something that he can’t handle. When you look down at your body to find things you would want to remove or replace. You wish you could be someone else entirely that by now you cannot measure up to, so it’s tough to be stuck in this inferior body, like a prison with no windows and regular food. There’s nothing more hurtful than to see a loved one fall apart when they compare and criticize themselves into a state where it’s not even sad anymore, just dull and a bottomless pit of feeling completely devoid of hope. To the point where your daily life feels that way, too. He will NEVER permit that you will feel emprisoned like this. There is always hope and he will rap and write it out for you until you realize that he appreciates you for everything you are, including each inch of surface no matter how tortured or deprecated or shamed or rejected it may be. Yoongi will reassure you that there’s no need to look a certain way. Who is he to judge. He doesn’t own you. And he didn’t want to get to know you because you were somebody else, or wanted to be that elusive role model in the first place.

⟼ Hoseok

“Oh... come on now, you didn’t see yourself, did you?” Disparaged as your body feels to you, you will not see how much effort he puts into demonstrating that he really accepts you without condition. The conviction that a boyfriend must stick up and really state the case makes Hoseok really want to encourage you to the best of his abilities. Hell, even if he cannot fully eradicate the put-downs he sees in your eyes when you look at yourself or take a picture and delete it right away, or when you throw on layers and layers of makeup because you can’t stand your skin and the shape of your eyelids and the way your eyebrows curve, and spots here and there and everywhere. It’s a fight. Hoseok has to admit that he himself loves makeup to correct and hide things, and not to amplify and ‘highlight’ features like the stylists say with their practiced smiles. It is, after all, a mask, made up. Before he can support you, first he realizes that he has to work on and examine his own values and shortcomings so he can give you the right kind of attention in return, without an all too easy hipocrisy and condescension, something that really makes your heart full of love. That he tries to change himself so heavily and put on ridiculous clothes to get a reaction from others serves as a warning to him. Hoseok knows how the opinions of others can puppeteer someone. He’ll make you get that you can believe him, that he sees you as beautiful and even if he didn’t, that is what you are. Doesn’t he look at you more genuinely and adoringly when you wipe off the foundation and eye shadow?

⟼ Namjoon

You’re down. On the sofa, trying to get some distraction online. But even there, each perfect image of a girl that pops up on your feed is a reminder. Instagram is not a supportive place to truly feel better about yourself. He does what he can do best. He’ll reason it through for you start to finish on a global scale. Women’s most demeaning role had always been to be looked at, not as a person of action, but groomed visual value on two legs for the last 5,000 years. It wasn’t good, but that was how she attained her legitimacy in the eyes of men who would reduce her to a shell without the power to define herself, even viciously competing with other women for approval while men straight-up walked around with the beauty routine of the Grinch getting away with it. Who were you to break out of that cycle when an entire culture was so deeply entrenched with this dynamic, still, entire industries run by wealthy men capitalizing on an ideal so deliberately unachieveable. Namjoon wouldn’t dare to see himself exempt from it. He, too was raised this way. What he promised you instead was to understand it, and resist it, even if chances of winning were so small. The only hope was that you would be more in his eyes. He tries to see further, he says, and that comforts. Instagram needs to slow the hell down. Namjoon doesn’t want to measure you against someone else and make you feel pressure to be a certain way just to be pleased by your looks.

⟼ Jungkook

“Maybe I’m average. Just not pretty. And skinny, and—” That just won’t get into his head no matter how hard he tries. How could you not think you’re beautiful given that he chose you. To spend time with, to play games and bicker, to enjoy tasty food whenever. Even if it was just some ramen to slurp away at with too much spice in it and fewer noodles than the packaging had promised. You were the person whose ginormous backpack JK would always offer to carry for a mile even if his own was 33 lbs heavy already, just so your injured shoulder won’t act up again after the bike accident last year. In his gym logic, especially since your shoulder muscles are good-looking and deserve this rest (that’s how he thinks don’t look at me strange okay). How could you not see it? Jungkook thought it to be a hopeless cause even singing cheesy songs at karaoke could not fix. So the last resort it has to be and that is cooking you buckets of kimchi and noodles and fried rice and vegetables and dumplings and a gold-encrusted, sparkling rice cake dessert. That good stuff. Jin even drops by to give him some ingredients. You won’t go to bed hungry and moody with that diet bs. He’ll make sure that next day you literally have to roll out of bed because the meal was so good and ample, forget skeleton skinny, you eat your pancakes and Japchae as prepared by chef JK and don’t look back because love very well starts in the stomach. Yes, and indeed: Self-love, too.

[masterlist]

#bts scenarios #bts reactions #bangtan fluff #bts fluff #bangtan angst #bts angst #bts x reader #bts reader insert #bts imagines #bts as boyfriends #sub!bts #bts hurt and comfort #x reader #hurt and comfort #bts #bangtan

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urbanlegendarium · 7 years ago

Text

The Story of Mel’s Hole

My dudes, I’ve been away for awhile but that’s not to say I haven’t been doing any research on urban legends while I’m gone. So I’ve recently found a new obsession with the story of Mel’s Hole and let me tell you, this story is absolutely insane. I want to start by saying that it is almost certainly a hoax but it is a very, very entertaining one despite that. This thing really goes off the rails fast and once it goes off the rails in barrels down into a bottomless pit of bullshit from which it will never return. So let’s dive into Mel’s Hole shall we?

So the story starts off with a fax to Coast to Coast AM in 1997, basically this guy calling himself Mel Waters claims to be in the possession of a bottomless pit that has been on his property in Ellensberg, Washington since he bought it in 1993. So Art Bell is obviously into this and he gets Mel on the phone and the two start talking. The story starts grounded enough, Mel basically says that he’s had this hole on his property ever since he bought it and that the last owner knew about the hole as long as they owned the property too. So from here we can understand that this hole has been around for at least a couple generations but it’s totally been a lot more. He also gives some information on the appearance of the hole, saying that it is around 9 feet in diameter and that it has a three foot stone barrier around it, so imagine a rather large well in the middle of the woods.

So anyway, Mel starts to describe some of the properties of this hole. Basically he says that when he yells into the hole there is no echo, animals won’t go near it, and that he’s been lowering fishing line into the hole for an indeterminate amount of time that has gradually amounted to 80,000 feet of fishing line and counting. Now for those of you who can’t tell, 80,000 feet equates to about 15 miles of fishing line. So Mel here has a hole that goes down at least 15 miles but we still don’t have any clear indication of where the bottom is.

Mel goes on to describe that his neighbors have used this hole for garbage disposal for as long as he can remember. And these people are dumping everything under the sun down there. I’m serious, people drop garbage bags, tires, old refrigerators, even dead cattle. In fact, the people of Ellensberg, Washington didn’t become aware of the bottomless nature of this hole until they realized that after years of dumping their shit down there it never seemed to fill up.

So it’s around here that the story gets a little wacky. Mel tells this story about how he met up with a hunter who had an experience with the hole. The two meet up in a diner and the hunter tells Mel that when his dog died he buried the dog by dumping it into the hole. Now, questionable ethics aside, something really weird happens a few hours later. While this hunter is walking through the woods he sees a dog that looks identical to his old one, down to the same collar and tag. Unfortunately the hunter claimed that it appeared that the dog was hunting with someone else, which is...strange. But anyway, we now have a bottomless hole that brings dead animals back to life in some guys backyard which is pretty extraordinary if you ask me. This was especially extraordinary to Mel, so extraordinary that Mel went so far to write in his will that when he died he wanted to be dumped into the hole. Alright dude, whatever you want.

Other than that not much else happens in the first call, at this point Art Bell was allowing responses from the audience who gave everything from suggestions on how the measure the depth of the hole to volunteers to be lowered into the hole. Beyond that that was the end of the first call, Mel would call a total of five times. That’s right, that was only chapter one of this journey of ours.

So when Mel calls again a few days later he claims that the government has confiscated his access to the hole. From there the second call mostly consists of Art Bell and Mel Waters ranting on property rights and how the government can’t tell you where you can and can’t walk on your own property. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t some juicy stuff in this part of the story, for one we learn that Mel grows some dank weed.

Basically, when Mel tells the government agents (who are wearing yellow suits for some reason, thought I should bring that up) that they can’t restrict his access to his land, they tell him that they could pin a drug lab on him. And you know what, Mel doesn’t even deny this! No seriously, Mel straight up admits to having a drug lab where he researches “Native American plants not native to the Washington area.” And he doesn’t give any indication as to what those plants are but he assures us that what he’s doing is not illegal and that he’s simply “experimenting with natural herbs that can cure the flu and the common cold.” Like, yeah, sure dude, I don’t wanna kill your buzz but you sound ridiculous right now.

So weed aside, Mel gives us a little more information on the hole. For one, he claims to have met people who have seen the hole shoot a black beam of light into the air. And I’m just gonna tell you now that we never learn anything more about the black beam of light. Like, we just know that the hole does this from time to time, Mel’s never seen it but that’s OK. So we have a bottomless pit that brings dead animals back to life and releases negative light sometimes but never when Mel is in the room, OK.

Other than this the second call is just kind of boring. Mel talks about how the government agents are giving him an “offer he can’t refuse” and whatnot but there’s really not much else here. Onto the next call!

So for me this is really where the story loses itself. When Mel calls again it has been like two years, it’s now the year 2000 and Mel claims to have been living in Australia operating a wombat rescue operation. How has he managed to fund his move to Australia and a complex wombat rescue operation? Why, with the $250,000 monthly stipend he receives from the U.S. government for leaving the country and never talking about the hole again of course. No seriously, Mel at this point is living large in like Perth or something. So why is Mel calling Coast to Coast? Well he went back to America. Why did Mel go back to America when he wasn’t supposed to? He got homesick.

Was curing homesickness worth giving up $250,000 a month, Mel? Was it!?

Apparently not because when Mel gets back to America he gets wrapped up in a conflict between a police officer and a civilian that ends in the police officer asking Mel to come down to the station to fill out a police report as an eye witness. The next thing Mel knows he’s waking up in an ally in San Francisco twelve days later with IV holes in his arms, all his back teeth missing, and bruises all over his body. He also finds that the government has frozen all his assets in this time so it’s obvious that the feds captured him for returning to the U.S. So Mel is flat broke, stuck in San Fran, and the only thing he can do is tell his story to the world on Coast to Coast AM.

Most of the third call is Mel recounting what I just said and how he’s going to stay with a relative for the time being. But he goes on to say that he’s still researching the hole and that he has a few contacts he can talk to. This is where we learn that the hole has some other strange properties, that being that weird, parallel universe stuff occasionally appears around it. Specifically, Mel finds an old Nazi pistol that fires silently and an envelope of 1943 Roosevelt dimes. Now what does he do with these things? Well apparently he gave the gun to a friend who was a collector, I mean, whatever, dude. And as for the dimes, Mel claims to have used them for jewelry and sold them, not knowing that a dime from 1943 with FDR on it is a bit of a weird thing.

Now what reminded Mel of these weird aspects of the hole is the fact that he claims to have found someone who had one of his pieces of jewelry. He asks to look at the jewelry and finds that the dime was a little off, basically pointing out that the dime is from 1943 and has a mint mark of “B.” He goes on to recount some other experiences he had with the hole, most notably that a radio he had near the hole started to play broadcasts from the past.

OK, so this is a part of the story I’m a little shaky about, the Nazi pistol came up in this discussion and I’m not sure if the pistol is what made the broadcasts happen or if it was the hole but either way it’s still weird.

Other than this there isn’t much else to this call. Mel vows to call again with information on the hole and that he’ll be back someday. And of course Mel does return, two years later in Northern Nevada.

So Mel calls Coast to Coast again in 2002 and it’s in this call where the really good stuff happens. So after the third call Mel does more research into the hole and mostly comes up empty handed. But after awhile he gets contacted by some Native Americans (Native Americans show up a lot in this story for some reason) who want to learn more about the plants he’s cultivating. He gets in contact with the Native Americans and he tells them his tale of the hole and the Native Americans immediately know where they should go for more information.

So they go to Northern Nevada and meet with a group of Basque shepherds who claim to be in possession of another hole. So Mel spends a good chunk of time befriended these Basque shepherds until finally they agree to take him to the hole. And this hole looks pretty much exactly the same as the one in Washington except it has this strange metal “collar” as Mel puts it, all around the hole. And this metal collar is weird, man. Mel explains that the collar makes no sound if you hit it and that it radiates warmth, citing that the Basque shepherds camp next to the collar in the winter.

So Mel and the Basques conduct a series of experiments with the hole to find out its depth and properties. They have a winch and a cable that reaches down 1,500 feet and they use this to do some strange things. For one, they lower a bucket of ice down into the hole and when they pull it up they find that not only is the ice no longer cold but it can also be lit on fire. This fire ice produces heat indefinitely and one of the Basques takes the fire ice and uses it to heat their cabin.

Next they decide to use a live specimen, so they take a sheep and they try to take it to the hole. Now this sheep is freaking out, it does not want to be anywhere near this hole, so they have to knock it out. When the sheep wakes up it starts making these horrifying noises before it gets lowered down into the hole. Now this is where the story just loses everything, it hasn’t just gone off the rails, the story is now miles away from the track perpendicular to the rails.

The first thing they notice is that the hole seems to be absorbing the sound of the sheep’s screams. There is no sound coming out of the hole. When they eventually feel like it’s time to pull up the sheep they find that there is no sound or movement coming from the box they lowered it in. They take the sheep out and find that it’s dead, so they perform an autopsy.

The first thing they notice is that this sheep is cooked from the inside out, now that alone is weird enough and it’s pretty creepy too but Mel goes further. Inside the sheep they find a massive tumor where its organs used to be. This tumor is pulsing and slimy and everyone is freaking out, it’s terrible. So they decide to cut open the tumor and what do they find? A fetal seal, no seriously, a fetal seal with flippers and a snout, it even has an umbilical cord. And this thing is moving, slowly but surely it moves towards the edge of the table until Mel picks it up and lowers it to the floor. Mel then notices that the seal has human eyes and the two have a moment. I’m talking a spiritual experience between Mel Waters and the alien tumor seal. Mel then adds last minute into the story that before this he was diagnosed with terminal cancer and that after meeting the seal his doctor found that the cancer was gone.

THE. ALIEN. TUMOR. SEAL. CURED. HIS. CANCER. GUYS.

So after this long moment, the seal nods to Mel with a look of infinite compassion and leaps back into the hole. WhAt?!

This is about where the fourth call ends. The fifth call is mostly just dealing with the aftermath of what happened in the fourth call and it’s still pretty great. For one, the fire ice can now destroy houses.

So the fifth call starts with Mel telling Art Bell that after months of burning in a furnace the fire ice crashes through the floor of the Basque shepherd’s cabin furnace and all. It’s here that we learn a bit about the properties of the fire ice. So this shepherd had noticed that when he was in his house his skin would feel dry and everything just felt really dry. Finally when the fire ice crashes into the floor it’s almost like it makes everything get drier faster, but the shepherd still sleeps in the house though, it’s whatever. So what we can assume is that the fire ice absorbs moisture and as it absorbs moisture it gains weight and it absorbs more moisture exponentially with more weight.

So one day the shepherd comes back home to find that his entire home has been reduced to wood dust and that the furnace that he was burning the ice in has now sunk further into the earth. So the Basques call up Mel and Mel calls a contact he has in the government or something and the government confiscates the ice. And I guess the government is used to dealing with problems with bottomless hole byproducts or something because they don’t take any more action beyond taking the ice away.

So after this Mel talks about the seal again. Apparently the seal has started to return to the surface and this time it can talk, sorta. Well, I kinda think it’s a little better than talking because the alien tumor seal doesn’t just talk, it communicates telepathically through the shepherd’s boom box. That’s right, this alien tumor seal communicates through a boom box! And I’m assuming it speaks Basque which would be insane.

And you know what happens? One of the Basques tries to record the conversation but unfortunately everything the seal says just comes out as static. But apparently the seal says some interesting stuff about how the ice could destroy the Earth and how there are people from other dimensions who want to live on Earth once a nuclear apocalypse has taken place. Yeah.

And there’s some other stuff I didn’t talk about, namely I skipped over this guy who calls himself Red Elk who calls Coast to Coast from time to time who claims to not only have visited the hole but be aware of the complex doings of the parallel universe beings that come from the hole. I’d listen to that stuff but honestly it seems a bit too out there and I don’t want to entertain the stereotypes of Native American spirituality from a guy calling himself Red Elk. Maybe one day, guys, but I’ve had a lot for one week.

But I think it’s safe to say that this story is fake. Like, it starts off well enough, with a strong basis for a story with the bottomless pit. But once the alien tumor seal comes into play it gets a bit weird. So a lot of you are probably asking why I even decided to talk about this if it’s such an obvious hoax. Well for one I just kinda thought it was a fun story but it’s also got a major following of people who are searching for the hole. Yeah, there’s apparently a good number of people looking for the hole and the history of how this story came to be is pretty weird in of itself.

For one, people who have searched for the hole can’t find any evidence of a person named Mel Waters ever living in the town of Ellensberg, Washington. Now that government cover up story is a pretty good one because it’s possible the government just destroyed all documentation of Mel ever being alive. But I think it’s safer to say that Mel Waters was a fake name. Mel does give an email in some of the calls though so if you’re interested in investigating I guess you have a lead there, I’ll post the recordings of all the calls at the end of this post. But the fact that Mel found every possible excuse not to reveal his bottomless pit to the world tells me that what he was saying was a lot of hot air. It also would be far from the first time Coast to Coast got prank called, it’s just interesting that this guy called five times over the course of about seven years. But his story left enough of a mark to become somewhat of a modern urban legend which is interesting in its own right.

youtube

#Aliens #UFOs #I want to believe #Urban legends #Mel's Hole

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rinskiroo · 7 years ago

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The Spaces Between: Port Nowhere

At least on Port Nowhere he could ditch the disguise and get a decent haircut and shave. He paid his tab at the barber and slipped his red jacket back on and headed back out onto the main concourse.

The madame of this haven of criminals had built herself a small empire on the once dilapidated station. Not only had it become a hub of shipping illegal goods, information brokering, and money laundering, it had grown into its own little pirate town complete with restaurants, a school, holo-game arcade, and a few elected officials to keep the place running smoothly (and maintain at least the veneer of legality). There were, of course, all the things less-than-reputable types preferred as well: cantinas, gambling halls, and a brothel.

“Theron Shan, I knew it was only a matter of time before you darkened my door.”

He had been sitting alone, nursing a scotch and enjoying the view, before a supple figure with a smooth drawl took up residence in his lap.

“Captain, you’re looking as colorful as ever,” Theron said. She had long multi-colored locks, twisting and curling together into intricate designs and flowing clothing of rich fabrics that left little to the imagination. Even draped in the fancy cloth, he could still feel the outline of the blaster strapped to her thigh. “I hear it’s Mrs. Riggs now, though.”

“Surprise, surprise, SIS information is wrong. Baby boy took my name, sugar,” she said as her full lips curled into a smirk. Her fingers ran through his now short hair and then along his cheek and jaw. “You see Ryaamis for this? He does good work.”

Theron grinned and nodded. “Best shave I’ve had in months.”

“Mmhmm.” She leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss just to the corner of his lips before moving from his lap and sitting in the chair across from him. With a flick of her wrist, she summoned a half-dressed young man with a plate and a waiting drink. Everything that surrounded her was an over-the-top display of her wealth that even oligarchs and nobles would cringe at. “Little bird told me you’ve gone off the deep end. Seeing conspiracies everywhere. Think even the Republic brass have been infiltrated by a thousand-year-old ghost.”

“Only about three-fifty or so. Still a young guy.”

Te’Jal Starfire might have played dumb, acted hard of hearing, pretended not to know a rancor from a lothcat, but Theron knew it was (mostly) an act. If the way the once lousy smuggler seemed to manage her riches well enough to afford her excessive eccentricities was any indication, she was a hell of a lot smarter than most gave her credit for. It had made her a valuable asset to the Republic, as well as a thorn in their side. Since setting up her own town however, she’d stayed out of galactic politics.

“Why are you here, Theron? I’d like to think it’s to see me, but the way you’re swirling that drink and staring at the stars like a sad puppy—someone break your heart, sugar?”

Theron chuckled and stared down at his drink before pushing it away. “No, nothing like that. You know me, I torpedoed it before it even had a chance to start.”

“Typical.” She smiled again and took a long drink from her glass. “You should meet my sister. She’s coming in later—I think you’d like her. She’s like you, her own made-up moral code that gets her into trouble with her superiors. Fun, too, once you get a few drinks in her.”

“I didn’t know you had a sister.” It seemed the SIS files were indeed lacking, or perhaps she’d manged to have some of them purged. He wouldn’t put it past her.

“Lot you don’t know about me, spy-boy.” She gave him a wink before finishing her drink.

Theron polished off his as well before he got to the real reason he’d made the trip out to the pirate station. If she didn’t like his request, there was a good chance he’d be booted out the nearest airlock. “I actually want to talk to your brother.”

Te’Jal’s face went from the light, flirtatious glances to a frown and a glare. “He doesn’t take requests. ‘Specially not from SIS. Not after what y’all did to him. What? You think I don’t know about that?”

“I wasn’t on that op, TJ. I wouldn’t have let it go down like that.”

“You think that makes it any better?” Her words were harsh and sharp. Even though she was the younger sister, she had a protective streak a kilometer wide for anyone in her family, blood or found. Plenty of unfortunate people had learned that the hard way.

Theron sighed. “I can pay.”

She softened slightly at the promise of credits. “Tell you what, spy-boy. You make my sister laugh, I’ll give you a lead—a small lead.”

“Really?” It was an utterance of disbelief and not gratitude. Though he should have expected that sort of unconventional trade from her.

“You know how favors work around here, sugar.” The sultry smile returned as she stood up and sauntered up behind him. Her arms draped over his shoulders and she planted another kiss on him, this time just below his ear. “You gotta give some to get some.”

“I know it’s Port Nowhere, but let’s make sure to get all our supplies on board before we’re too drunk to remember that this is only a layover. Two days, max.” Jas looked each of her crew in the eyes as she gave her responsibility speech. Not that she would blame them if they slipped and let off some steam before all the tasks were done. All she wanted to do was slide into one of the hot baths. They’d been cramped on the Defender for months, zipping from crisis to crisis—nothing too strenuous, but they’d all gotten a bit claustrophobic in the confined space.

“I got those massage appointments for tomorrow morning,” she called after Kira as the crew dispersed. “Don’t sleep in.”

“You better be there, Master, or I’m taking both for myself. Back to back. With that cute Mirialan.”

Jas grinned and shook her head as she trotted down the ramp off the ship. It was only two days, but she was going to cram in as much relaxation and down-time as possible. Scourge was the only one not enthusiastic about their pit-stop, but Jas had promised to carve out some time where they could do some meditation and discuss more about Revan.

“Oh, it’s so good to see you!” the shorter human with the colorful hair wrapped her arms around Jas and squeezed her fiercely. “I missed you!”

Jas returned the affectionate embrace and kissed her on the cheek. “You as well. How’s Corso? And Guss?”

“Corso’s good—out overseeing some merchandise right now. Guss is, you know, Guss.”

“You’ll tell him I stopped by? And that the invitation is still open?”

Te’Jal shrugged her shoulders with a bit of a wince. “I’ll let him know.”

Jas liked Te’Jal’s Mon Calamari friend. Guss had once been a Jedi Padawan, not a very good one, but Jas was never one to give up on people. He was a snarky swindler, but at least now he was using his gifts with the Force to assist the people of Port Nowhere. Despite its illegal dealings, they often leaned towards assisting the Republic when necessary.

“Come on, there’s someone I want you to meet.” Te’Jal grabbed Jas’ arm and pulled her further into the cantina—the most crowded of the several on the station.

Jas tried to resist, tried to tell her friend she really wasn’t in the mood for loud conversation and the bottomless glasses. Te’Jal had a way of making people feel guilty. It was like her super power to convince people to do what she wanted. That, and making them think it was their idea.

“This is what my sort of people call networking, Jedi.”

“In a brothel?”

“Sometimes, the less clothing, the better deal you can make.” She shot her back a knowing wink and continued pulling her hand further through the crowd. They all parted for Te’Jal like she was a queen—and she was, to them. Even if Jas disliked many of her methods, she was proud of her old friend. Te’Jal pulled her up to the semi-private lounge that overlooked the dancing men and women and the bustle below, right into the ambush.

“There he is—I want to introduce you to my good friend, Theron Shan.”

The grin of being with an old friend and the giddy mood of the station fell away, replaced by the stoic mask of the Jedi Knight she was supposed to be. Quietly, she wondered if he had followed her out here, or if the Force found it amusing to intertwine their paths so frequently. There would be no reason for him to follow her, unless there was new information—

“Theron, this is my sister that I was telling you about. Jasati, Jedi Master, Knight of the Republic, Hero of Tython, etcetera, etcetera.”

“What? I don’t get introduced by all my titles? I’m hurt, Captain.” He held out his hand towards her and for a moment, she just stared at it.

“Oh, right, you’re a spy. Theron Shan and I have met, TJ.” It had taken her a second to figure out why he was pretending he didn’t know her—that they hadn’t attacked Korriban and saved Tython together. And had once had a lovely walk around Carrick Station together that she still thought about even after he had been a huge ass on Manaan. And then again on Oseon. “Did you set this up?”

“Me?” Theron looked surprised at the suggestion. His hand dropped awkwardly back to his side. “I was just here chasing a lead. I didn’t know you two were—how does that even work?”

“In the non-incestuous meaning of the word, sugar. Now, you two enjoy some drinks and the view. Our deal still stands, spy-boy.”

Jas had her hand over her face. This was not how she was expecting this evening to go. “Wait, what deal?”

“Can’t I just pay you for the information?”

“What information?”

Like the whirlwind she was, Te’Jal was gone—flitted off to schmooze some other patrons and left Theron and Jas with orders to enjoy a bottle of wine and “live a little.” Theron poured a couple of glasses and offered her one. She took it, but they sat in silence for several minutes. Jas leaned over the railing and watched the beings below while Theron lounged on one of the plush chairs. He figured they’d sit up here for an eternity of thirty or so minutes and then he’d have to come up with something else to offer the Queen of Port Nowhere in exchange for a conversation with the former Imperial spy.

He took a sip of his wine. Might as well enjoy the view.

Theron had first read her file when a young Jedi saved the Temple on Tython from an unhinged former Padawan. He had unintentionally followed her career—from super weapon to super weapon, thwarting gangs and Sith, saving those that had fallen by the wayside. He had approached her once, on Nar Shaddaa, and he always wondered if she remembered, but never asked. She was softer then, he thought as he looked at her now. No longer nearly as wide-eyed and there were lines starting to form on her face, though none of it detracted from her beauty. It served as a reminder that there was wisdom and strength in that pretty blue package.

“What titles?” she asked, pulling him from his thoughts, and his staring.

“Hm?”

“Titles that Te’Jal neglected to list when she ‘introduced’ us.”

“I was voted ‘Most Likely to Accidentally Set Himself on Fire’ back at the Academy.”

She turned around to face him fully, her eyes squinting in confusion at him. “I don’t believe that’s a real thing.”

“After meeting your Padawan, I really thought sarcasm would be something in your toolbox. Or at least, a language you understood.”

She glanced down at the drink in her hands and then back up. Her shoulders shrugged slightly as she walked towards him and settled onto the ottoman in front of him. “I tend to believe people when they tell me things, Agent Shan. Especially things about themselves.”

“I’ve heard the Force is a useful lie detector.”

She was giving him that judgmental Jedi look—the way she stared at him with those unblinking violet eyes and her patient, even breathing. “It’s called trust, Theron.”

Ouch. He was pretty sure he needed to go find a medkit for that burn. He wondered how much of his pride it would cost him to just apologize. He should have realized she never would have outright killed people, even freakish experiments, who couldn’t defend themselves. With as much as he had followed her escapades, he knew she often chose to offer mercy to her enemies.

“I’m sorry.” And he meant it. He let down those walls just enough so she would know. He was truly contrite.

Jas blinked and shifted slightly in her seat. “For what exactly? Because you said—”

“I would do almost anything to keep the Republic ahead in the arms race with the Empire, but I shouldn’t have put it on you. And I shouldn’t have snapped at you in the middle of a mission.”

“And Oseon?”

Theron ducked his head and laughed lightly. “Yeah, that, too. Being in hiding always puts me in a bad mood.”

He felt a clink against his wine glass as she pressed hers against it. “I should also apologize for being so annoyed with you.”

“Nah, I deserved it.” He grinned as he looked back up at her. “Here’s to everyone makes mistakes. Even Jedi.”

“Rogue SIS agents especially.”

“That’s the truth,” Theron agreed as they both took drinks from their glasses.

“So what’s this information you’re trying to get?”

“The Captain knows someone who might have some information from inside the Empire—maybe even some Revanite contacts.”

“Okay, and what does she want?”

“You to laugh.”

Jas paused, the glass just millimeters away from her lips as she went for another sip. “What? Why?”

His shoulders shrugged. “Have you been down lately?”

She looked almost uncomfortable at the question. “No, I’m fine.

It wasn’t very convincing. Theron discovered what a terrible liar she was. He wanted to reach out and grab her hand, the way he had on Carrick Station. Find another terrible pretense to wrap his fingers around hers and drag her around on another long, meandering, totally pointless walk. But he had been reminded, quite readily, that she was a Jedi, and that she took it quite seriously. No matter what his gut told him about how close she had walked next to him, or how she had squeezed his hand back. Maybe it had been in his head the way she’d looked at him after Tython.

“Tell me your best joke,” she said, again pulling him from his wandering thoughts.

“A joke?”

“You’re supposed to make me laugh. Go on.”

“O…kay… Where do spies sleep?”

“I don’t know, Agent Shan. Where do they sleep?”

“Undercover.”

She groaned and shook her head. “That’s terrible.”

“I know. Oh, how about this: How do you get down from a bantha?”

She had an amused grin on her face as she shrugged her shoulders.

“You don’t, you get it from a goose.”

“That’s—jokes are supposed to be funny.”

“It is funny!”

“No, it’s not!”

“Then why are you laughing?”

A small snort escaped her and she covered her face to try and stop the laughter she was trying to hold back. “Because it’s so bad!”

[AO3] [Masterlist]

#fanfiction #swtor #shadow of revan #theron shan #jedi knight #smuggler #jasati #te'jal #theron x jas #i guess when i don't stick to prompts i get long winded

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appleblossomgirl0305 · 8 years ago

Text

Stripped

A/N: My ms2sl submission. I’m so excited to be part of such a meaningful effort. Thanks so much to the organizers for making fundraising to fight cancer such a delight! This story is canon-divergent in that none of our District 12 favorites were reaped. There are quotes borrowed directly from canon sprinkled about throughout the story. Everlasting gratitude to Xerxia for her amazing support and incredible betaing skills.

Rated E for sexual content.

Trigger warnings: I’m always so worried about missing trigger warnings, but here are my best guesses: discussions of/allusions to reluctant prostitution (both male-female and male-male) and forced sadomasochistic activities (none depicted); guys stripping for money.

Also on AO3.

The sound of the gravel under my feet felt impossibly far away. The shivering had started a few hundred feet back and now I couldn’t stop shaking. Anguish for what I was about to do, trickled like ice water through my veins. I thought I might be sick, felt the bile clawing its way up my throat, but squeezed my eyes shut and swallowed it back down. I forced my small, measured steps forward; if I stopped now, I’d never get my feet started again. Desperation, true desperation, forces us to do unthinkable things. We do them because the alternative is so unendurably heartbreaking that there really is no choice.

I thought of Prim, lips blue, the sound her shallow, labored breaths making me lightheaded with terror. She had caught the pneumonia from Mrs. Fairborne and it had taken up residence in her frail lungs like it would go down with the ship rather than be fought off. And Prim’s malnourished body scarcely had any fight left.

My mother had tried everything in her arsenal of knowledge, but the fathomless blackness that seemed to swallow the blue of her eyes told me everything I needed to know.

“What does she need?” I had asked quietly from the kitchen table as my mother stared vacantly into her empty teacup.

“Something we don’t have. Antibiotics. From the Capitol.” I could feel the despondency pulling her down into that bottomless pit inside her. She’d clawed her way out once, but I was pretty sure if she gave in this time, it would swallow her whole. And when I dared to look into those eyes, I feared it would suck me in too. The last time she’d sacrificed Prim’s and my childhood in the exchange, we didn’t have much left to barter with.

“How much?” I demanded through clenched teeth, knowing the handful of coins I had saved wouldn’t be nearly enough.

“A hundred,” she whispered, never looking up from her cup. My heart bottomed out as I realized I had eighteen coins and no more.

The screech of the chair legs as I pushed myself violently away from the table jarred her out of her stupor.

“Order it. I’ll be back in the morning.”

She didn’t ask, just nodded and lost herself in whatever vision lay at the bottom of her cup. I both loved her and hated her for not asking how.

I had tiptoed into my mother’s room and quietly raised the lid of her trunk, something I hadn’t done since I was ten years old and used to play dress up. I stared at my mother’s dresses; colorful, silky remnants of the merchant girl she had been before my father stole her heart. With my head pounding, I pushed them aside until I found the deep maroon satin one that my mother had called a negligé, a color nearly as deep as the stain of her cheeks as she had pulled it off of my ten-year-old frame, telling me that one wasn’t for play.

What had been a pretty dress in my child’s mind, was significantly shorter and tighter on me now. Despite the fact that I was still small and thin, the lacey fabric clung to my modest breasts and hips, barely covering my ass before the lace trim ended high on my thighs. I closed my eyes and took a slow breath in through my nose to calm myself at the thought of how much of my skin this sad-excuse of a garment left for Cray’s glazed eyes and groping hands.

I focused on Prim and the image of her healthy and happy. Unbidden, the vision of her frail, feverish body flashed before me and I grabbed a long, gray coat with pearly buttons out of the trunk, pulling it on over my near nakedness. The coat was far too thin for the chill of the night, and only went to my knees, but it would have to do. I slipped into a pair of her silken slippers, ridiculous footwear, but my worn hunting boots wouldn’t do.

I strode purposely thought the living room and out the front door without meeting my mother’s eyes. It was better that way.

I quickly stopped by Gale’s house, foregoing the front door to tap lightly on his window. When he swung it open, looking sleepy and confused, I quickly whispered, “Prim is worse. I’m going to Cray.” I couldn’t meet his eyes as I forced myself to continue, “If I’m not here in the morning, make sure you collect the money from him.”

“What the fuck, Katniss. Wait!” he whisper-barked as I shoved myself away from his window and started hurrying towards town as quickly as my slipper-clad feet would allow.

Gale knew what I meant. Cray, despite being the middle-aged head Peacekeeper, was infamous for paying for the use of young women’s bodies. The fact that prostitution was illegal in District 12 didn’t seem to faze him. He was rumored to pay extra for virgins. And there had been whispered insinuations amongst the impoverished, starving women of the Seam that he paid a premium for virgins who let him do unspeakable things to them. Things that involved manacles and whips and blood. I shuddered at the thought and swallowed down the bile that rose in my throat. I would swallow my terror, my pride, consume my very self if it meant Prim could live.

As I approached the town square, my gait slowed of its own accord. My teeth started to chatter. I still had a few moments before I had to queue up with the other desperate ones to await Cray’s favor. I knew he would choose me. He had made no secret of his interest, which seemed to inflame with every passing year that I refused.

I ducked into a nearby alley, to steady my breathing, as it had become so high and tight in my chest that I was feeling light headed. I closed my eyes and leaned against the rock wall of the alley, focusing on the feel of the cold, rough stone against my hands.

I felt him before I heard his tentative, “Katniss? Are you alright?”

Peeta Mellark, in all of his golden, blue-eyed glory stood in front of me, several of his town friends standing a few paces away. He was leaning down, his kind face just inches from mine and I had the irrational urge to bury my face in his broad chest and wrap myself in the warmth that was radiating off of him. I had adored Peeta for years, but had never allowed myself to imagine losing myself in those feelings before.

“Katniss?” His voice was quiet, but resonant. He reached out and gripped both of my upper arms in his large hands and warmth radiated from that point of contact through my body, infusing me with the strength to meet his eyes. They were luminous in the moonlight filtering down into the alley and I thought that if I could just hold on to the kindness reflected in those eyes as I endured whatever the next few hours brought, I might survive it.

I heard the scrape of Cray’s door opening and turned towards the noise. Peeta’s grip on my arm tightened as he whispered, “Katniss, you shouldn’t be out here…” All at once he seemed to take in my appearance, my thin, decorative coat, my ridiculous slippers. And when he looked at me, I became acutely aware of how little I had on under this coat. I felt the textured lace rub against my tightening nipples and brush against the hot skin of my thighs. I felt how desperately my body wanted to bridge the distance between us.

But that was madness, and I had Prim to think of now. “I have to go, Peeta.” I whispered and wrenched my arms away from him.

He called after me and looked as though he would follow, but then Gale was there, blocking the end of the alley. He was breathing hard and as he grasped my shoulders pushing me back into walled area, I felt none of the warmth. I looked back at Peeta, who was still hovering a few feet away and pleaded with him, “Please, Peeta, just go.”

Peeta hesitated, obviously reluctant to leave, but Gale said softly, “I got her.” Peeta nodded and walked slowly back to his friends.

“Gale, move. I have to go.” My voice was brittle.

“No.” He shook his head vigorously.

“Gale, I thought you of all people would understand.” I was furious at him for making this harder. I had been stripped of my choices and now I was being stripped of my dignity. The least he could do was look away.

“I do understand, believe me. I just can’t bear it. Not you, Catnip, not like this.” He swallowed hard and looked away, over my shoulder. “I have an idea, please just promise me you’ll wait a few minutes.”

I watched over Gale’s shoulder as Cray led another dark haired girl into gaping maw of his lair and I shuddered at the loss of my last hope and the violent relief that surged through me.

Gale ran off in the other direction, and, thankfully, Peeta and his friends had moved on. I slumped against the wall, feeling like I’d never have the energy to move again.

Haymitch Abernathy, District 12’s only surviving Victor and one of its most dedicated drunks, stumbled into the alley. Despite him being one of the most famous people in our district, I knew almost nothing of him. In fact, other than the few times I had seen him buying white liquor from Ripper at the Hob, I seldom remembered he was there. As I stalked towards him, I considered my chances. He could have had his choice of any woman in the district. And he chose solitude. Not solitude – that sounds too peaceful. More like solitary confinement. But everyone got lonely sometimes, right? And I could actually see his pocket bulging with coin.

I followed him down a side street towards the train station, until he stopped and slumped against a wall with his head bowed. He barely glanced up at my approach. I planted my feet in front of him and I tore open my coat, brandishing my lace-covered body, painfully aware of every jut and angle of my bony frame. But he was drunk and I was here, that had to count for something.

Not even affording me a cursory look, he sneered, “What the hell is that about?”

My teeth threatened to start chattering again, whether it was from my lack of clothing or my mortification, I wasn’t sure. I clenched my jaw and murmured, “I need money.” My words were coarse and I belatedly planted my hand on my hip and assumed what I hoped was a provocative pose.

“What for?” he asked, his eyes never leaving my face.

“My sister,” I croaked. “She’s sick.” My teeth were still clenched so tight my jaw ached.

“She that little blond girl? Works with your mama?” He asked, gesturing towards the Seam with his chin. His awareness of my family perplexed me, but I nodded, tipping my head back slightly to keep the tears that were fogging my eyes from falling.

For a brief moment his eyes bore into mine, and the one thought that shot through my mind was “Seam.” Then he glanced away, gesturing for me to cover myself up.

“No offense, but your seduction routine needs work. Scratch that, it’s just not really your thing.” I scowled at him, horrified to be rejected so summarily. “On the other hand, if there’s a market for looks that kill, you’d make a quick million. But I guess all your patrons would be dead.” He chuckled at his own joke, “No repeat patrons. Bad business plan.” His chuckle turned into a deep, rattling cough.

“Nope, sweetheart, looks like you’re gonna have to think your way out of this one. That skinny carcass of yours isn’t up to the task.” He stumbled to the right, bracing himself before pushing off from the wall.

“I know. I was hoping," I said.

"Exactly. Because you're desperate," said Haymitch.

I didn’t argue because, of course, he was right.

He dug through his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. My face blazed with humiliation, and the pathetic hope that surged through me at the sight of it. “I’ve got thirteen, lucky number just for you.” I wondered what thirteen coins should entitle him to and it must have shown on my face because he shook his head in disgust. “I thought I made myself clear, girl, I don’t want anything you’ve got to sell. The money’s yours.” I reached for them, not trusting my luck, but he snatched them back, belying quick reflexes that were startling for his age and state of inebriation. “Promise that you won’t tell anyone that I helped you. I’ve got a reputation to protect,” he growled at me and I nodded frantically. As he emptied the coins into my cupped hands, he mumbled, “And if Ripper won’t serve me on my good credit, I may need you to barter some of those squirrels of yours for a bottle or two towards the end of the month.” I continued to nod, willing to agree to anything he said if allowed me to keep the coat on and fill its pocket with coin. Besides, a trade was something I could get behind. It was charity that made me nervous.

As I scurried back towards the town center, I fingered one of the coins. It made me sick that my precious sister’s life could be bartered for metal disks. The Capitol had something that could save her, but kept it from us unless we were willing to debase ourselves to meet their price. It was the most depraved currency imaginable. Scratch that, these were the same people that extorted us for our children each year for the Games. The injustice of it turned my stomach.

When I arrived back in the square, Gale was already there, looking frantic. When he saw me, he pulled me roughly into the alley.

“What the hell, Catnip! I told you to wait there.” He was clutching my shoulders a little too hard, his eyes frenzied as they took a visual inventory of me. I had seldom seen him this unsettled. “I thought.... Nevermind.”

“I’m fine.” I shifted my shoulders to get him to let go. He immediately loosened his grip, looking contrite. “I saw Abernathy.” I didn’t want to talk about my run in with Haymitch, I still felt like I hadn’t entirely understood our conversation.

“Oh,” Gale looked away, “Did he…?”

“No. He was a perfect gentleman. Or as much as a slobbering drunk that can barely stand up can be.” I clutched the coins in my pocket, not wanting them to jingle. I had no idea how to explain our transaction.

“Good,” Gale nodded and I heard a snort from somewhere behind him as his friend Thom emerged from the shadows, apparently finding the description of Haymitch amusing.

“Hey, Katniss,” he said, still chuckling.

“Gale?” I demanded. This was humiliating enough without Gale telling his friends about it.

Gale held his hands out in supplication as he said, “Sorry, Thom’s here to help. I’ll explain when we get there. Just follow me, okay?” Since it was dangerous being out so late, we stuck to the alleyways as we wound our way back towards the Seam.

We stopped at one of the first houses that lay on the town-Seam border, just past where the road turned from dirt to cobblestone. It was a town house, but just barely. I recognized it as Leevy’s new house. Leevy had been my neighbor growing up, but was now married to the widowed Tanner. It was seldom talked about as he was in his fifties and had married Leevy seemingly without any courtship or celebration, and she had been known to be intended for Thom. As we crept up her back porch, I glanced at him, wondering if this was difficult for him. I also realized that I had wondered about Leevy and how she was, but that it had been washed away in a flood of my own worries.

Thom knocked softly and Gale and I waited together a step below. The warm glow of lantern light spilled down the stairs as she pulled the door open.

“Thom,” she looked nervously at him before glancing behind to us.

“Sorry, Leevy. You have a minute?”

She nodded and ushered us inside, glancing behind us anxiously.

Leevy went straight to the bedroom, calling quietly that everything was fine. I was surprised to see Rye Mellark, the Baker’s middle son walk out of the room. He glanced over at Thom, Gale and I before sitting down by the fire and pulling Leevy into his lap.

I looked away. I didn’t actually care what Leevy and Rye were doing together, but didn’t think I could keep the judgmental embarrassment off of my face. “Why are we here?” I hissed at Gale.

Thom answered. “Leevy has been running a strip club at the Hob on Saturday nights. I thought she might be willing to help you out with your… situation.”

I glanced incredulously from Leevy to Thom to Gale. Gale stared back at me shrugging as he said, “It seemed like the lesser of evils, Catnip.”

Through my indignation, I remembered Prim’s blue lips and rasping breaths. I remembered I didn’t have the luxury of indignation. I nodded slowly. I turned to see Rye whispering something to Leevy before slipping out of the room, and then seconds later the house.

I was desperate to follow him, but had nowhere to go where Prim’s labored breaths wouldn’t follow me. Turning to Leevy, I asked, “Can you help me?”

She quirked her mouth to the side and said, “I’m always looking for new girls and you’d be a welcome addition.” I hated the desperation that clawed at me, but if this didn’t work out, there was always Cray. The thought made my skin crawl. Lesser of two evils indeed.

Leevy continued, “I generally start new girls off with ten percent of the door or up to ten coins on a good night.” I shook my head, that wasn’t enough. “Look,” Leevy said, heaving a sigh, “I can’t payout more than I make.” That made sense, but it still wasn’t enough. I turned to leave, feeling as raw as an open wound. It was hopeless.

Gale caught me just before I reached the door. He pulled me out the side door into the small yard. “You can’t give up like that, Catnip. This is a negotiation. I know everything about this makes you uncomfortable, I get it, but you have to try to make this work.”

“Have you ever stripped for a roomful of disgusting men?” I hissed at him.

“No.” He looked away from me into the darkness. “Just one.” His voice was barely a whisper. I stood stock still, like I would with a spooked animal, but my eyes felt as big as saucers. He leaned against the building so we wouldn’t have to look at each other and I was grateful for both our sakes. “Remember a couple of years ago when Vick broke that window at the grocer’s?” Of course I did, I had thought Gale was going to skin his brother alive. It was an incredibly expensive window. I knew Gale had worked extra shifts in the mine and assumed he had somehow made enough to cover it. “Well, I couldn’t make enough in the mine to keep him out of jail.” He scrubbed his hand over his face and continued, “Leevy came to me and explained that her new husband was... well, he likes boys. That their marriage was a front for him and an opportunity for her to escape the Seam. She told me he’d pay good money.” His voice faltered and I reached for his hand in the dark, wanting him to stop talking, but knowing I couldn’t ask. He squeezed it tight and said, “I let him suck me off and he paid off our debt to the grocer. It was a stroke of luck, really, but,” he dropped my hand, “it kind of fucked me up. I don’t want you to have to go through that, Catnip. If I could think of another way, you know I would do it. We need to figure out how to make this work.”

“That’s --” what could I possible say? I hated that he’d been through something like that and it made a lot of other things make sense. There had been a time, a couple of years after I aged out of the reaping, that I had feared Gale was going to ask me to marry him. As much as marriage wasn’t something I had the slightest interest in, it seemed strange when his attentions shifted so decisively away from me. Since Gale and I weren’t really talkers, I had assumed he had read my reluctance, turned his affections to someone more receptive. I had never imagined he’d had to do something so debasing. In fact, I don’t think I even knew men did things like that. But I hated that it made his shoulders slump and caused his voice to sound ragged with pain. So I whispered the only thing I could think of, “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want your pity,” he bit out, sounding angrier than I expected. “I want to figure out how to spare you from feeling like this. I’ll go to Leevy’s husband again if I have to, to keep you safe from Cray.”

“No. You know I’d never ask you -” He cut me off as he swung around to grab my shoulders.

“I know that, Catnip.”

“But ten isn’t enough, Gale. I can’t lose Prim.”

“I know. Let’s go in and see what we can come up with.” He slung a long arm around my shoulder to herd me back into the house. “Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” How could I possible refuse, when I understood the lengths he would go to to help me.

When we re-entered the sitting room, I almost ran right back out. Rye was back, with Leevy perched on his knee, but several more chairs arranged around the fire were now inhabited by Peeta, Madge and Delly.

I froze mid-step, and Gale bumped into me from behind. I shot an accusatory glance at Leevy and she just shrugged. “Rye said they wanted to help.”

As soon as he caught sight of me, Peeta stood, offering me his seat. Even through the potent fog of fear, worry and frustration, I felt a zing of excitement when I met his electric blue eyes. It had been like this for years. Sometime around my seventeenth birthday, after Gale had started working full-time in the mines, I took over the weekly trades with the Baker. And sometime during that year, Peeta began answering the bakery door in place of his father. The startling difference between catching glimpses of him from behind his father and being confronted full-on with his morning-tousled curls, cheeks flushed from the heat of the ovens, his kind smile had shifted something inside me. It had opened a crack that made my stomach flutter uncomfortably on trading days. And on the morning that he asked if he could walk Prim and I to school, the crack had widened into a fissure of longing that made me slow my pace to catch a lingering view of him in the hallways at school. By the time I turned eighteen, it had become a chasm, hot and deep and full of desperate longing. I always felt a throb of desire whenever his sky-blue eyes met mine.

As always, this wasn’t the time to indulge in staring at his broad shoulders or his skin the color of warm honey. With significant effort, I tore my eyes away from him.

Delly Cartwright waved enthusiastically at me as I took a place leaning against the wall. Madge tilted her head in greeting, but continued with what she was saying. “What if you offered some kind of contest? You know, like the winner gets a kiss from the girl of his choice?”

Rye snorted and Leevy explained, “I don’t think a kiss will cut it. The men who can afford to pay for this type of entertainment generally expect something in return. Let’s just say, there’s a lot of groping involved.” My stomach clenched, and we were back to this conversation, but now we got to have it in a crowded living room. I should have just gone to Cray and avoided this extra humiliation.

Gale threw in a suggestion. “How about some sort of bare-knuckled fight at intermission. Let them get their violence from something more direct.”

“Who’d want to watch a bunch of naked guys fighting each other?” Rye sneered at Gale. There had never been any love lost between Gale and the Rye.

“Who the fuck said anything about guys being naked? Anything you want to tell us, Mellark?” Gale sneered right back. I rolled my eyes, glancing over at Madge to silently mock them, but caught Peeta’s eyes instead. I felt the magnetic pull of his gaze and didn’t manage to pull away quite as quickly as last time.

“I would,” giggled Delly. Then she started flapping her hands like was trying to take flight. She jumped out of the chair, blond curls bouncing and shouted, “That’s it!”

“What’s it, Delly? The fight?” Madge was trying to avoid getting slapped by Delly’s enthusiasm.

“No, the naked guys!” Everyone groaned and turned away from her, but Delly kept bouncing and chirping excitedly. “Not for the guys, obviously. Who else has money to spend on the occasional party or entertainment, besides the town boys?” She looked around expectantly. “The town girls! And I can guarantee that they would throw down their birthday money to watch some of you boys take off your clothes.” She was giggling and pointing around the room.

Everyone was looking at each other incredulously until all eyes landed on Madge. She was nodding thoughtfully. “She’s not wrong.”

Rye jumped up and pulled his shirt up over his head, striking a pose in front of the fireplace. “All you needed to do was ask, ladies.”

“Not you, Rye,” Delly said, rolling her eyes. “Them.” She was pointing straight at Gale and Thom. Gale looked at me in surprise. I shrugged. This all sounded completely insane to me.

As Rye grumpily pulled his shirt back on, Delly and Madge explained that the guiltiest pleasure among the oh-so-proper town girls was to ogle and fantasize about the Seam men that emerged from the mines every afternoon.

“I mean, it’s like a parade of hot, sweaty, dirty men that are totally off limits.” Delly bit her lip and described the men who were basically enslaved to the Capitol trudging through town every evening on way back from mines. All I saw in those guys were the stooped backs and squinting eyes and endless piles of blackened laundry that ended up in Hazelle’s washbasin. That, and Gale’s spirit leaching away like the color from an over-washed shirt, with each passing day spent underground.

Thom piped up, “I’d do it.” He looked to Gale who shrugged one shoulder and nodded., “Beats the alternative. I bet MIca’d be in. And maybe Chester?”

“Can you dance?” Delly asked, cocking her eyebrow at Gale.

“Sure. What does that have to do with anything?” He looked so suspicious, I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling.

“Well, you can’t just stand up there and shuck your clothes.” Delly stood and started swaying her hips. “You’ve got to strip. Like, to music. It has to be a show!” She looked at Leevy for support and Leevy nodded.

She walked to the television and switched it on to a Capitol station that no one ever watched. While the picture was fuzzy, there was a beat-heavy song playing as background. Leevy began to dance sinuously as she slowly unbuttoned her sweater and slid it off her shoulders. “It’s got to be a seduction,” she called out over the music.

She stalked over to where Gale was leaning against the wall and grabbed both of his hands. She led him around the various chairs and began to sway in front of him. He began to move his shoulders. Leevy shook her head, “No, from the hips.” She placed her hands on his hips and began to direct them.

Delly piped up, “Peeta can show you, he’s a great dancer. Right, Peeta?”

Peeta stood and looked at me, “I’ll help however I can. For Prim.” And if I hadn’t been completely in love with him before, I was now. Hopelessly, achingly.

It took me a moment to pull myself back into the conversation. Delly had taken charge. She was talking about costumes and decorations and how best to spread the word. As much as I’d never thought very highly of her, I had to grudgingly admit that she was really good at this.

Gale looked over at me and shook his head, looking incredulous. “This is completely insane.” I nodded in agreement. I was exhausted, and it was starting to become apparent that this was getting away from me. I needed this money to take care of my family, but it had nothing to do with any of them. How was I going to repay all these people?

Then Peeta was propped against the wall beside me. Not touching, but close enough that I could the feel the heat of him even in the warm room. I had the frantic urge to bury my face in his warmth and feel those strong arms wrap around me. I felt my face heat and feared he could see every desperate thing about me written on my face.

“I know this sounds questionable, but believe it or not, Delly knows what she’s talking about. If there had been a class in school on being boy-crazy, Delly would have aced it.” He quirked an eyebrow at me before adding, “She also helps a lot with her parent’s business. I’ve known her all my life, and I swear she’s not as silly as she comes across.”

I nodded; that actually made sense. “It’s not that. It’s just, why? Why is she helping? Why are you?”

He looked down. “Why wouldn’t we? Your sister is a lovely person. Everyone likes Prim.” I couldn’t argue with that logic. She was the sweetest, kindest person in District 12. She was beautiful inside and out. When she had made it through her last Reaping, it seemed as though everyone had breathed a sigh of relief. I has assumed it was mostly because of her skills as a healer, but it was probably more than that too. It was hard to be around her and not want wonderful things for her. The horror of her illness, that I could still lose her rose up my throat, threatening to choke me.

“I have to go home,” I croaked, afraid I would do something crazy, like start to cry in Leevy’s livingroom.

“Can I walk you?” Peeta asked, looking concerned.

“No, I’m fine. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” When you teach my friends and neighbors how to striptease. This really was madness.

Gale and Thom were slipping on their coats as Leevy added, “Talk to Chester and Mica and anyone else you think might-”

“Asher,” Madge blurted out, blushing, referring to a particularly handsome boy our age that, despite his Seam coloring, had dark blue eyes and dimples. “Make sure you ask him.”

Delly was fanning herself as she added, “Yes, him for sure.”

I thanked everyone, promising to come back early tomorrow to help get everything ready for the “performance”. Gale and Thom worked the early shift in the mines tomorrow, so they arranged to meet us as soon as they got off.

“Be sure to have all of the guys keep their mining clothes on,” Delly instructed.

“But they’ll be filthy,” Thom objected.

“Exactly.” Delly was biting her lip with such a lecherous look in her eyes, that I started to understand how this might actually work.

Gale, Thom and I walked home in silence. Thom broke off a few houses before mine. When we reached my porch, Gale grabbed my hand and I thanked him for everything. I yawned and squeezed his hand. “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you guys.”

Gale shook his head, “Every one of us is indebted to your mom and Prim for something. Even if we’ve paid them something paltry for their medical help, it is nowhere near what is owed. Besides,” he stepped lightly on my foot with his gigantic boot, “don’t tell Delly, but it might be kind of fun to be lusted over by a room full of town girls for a night.”

I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t keep the small smile from pulling the corner of my mouth up. “See you in a few hours, pervert.”

As I quietly slipped in the front door, I was startled to see my mom sitting at the kitchen table in essentially the same position I’d left her in the night before. She was wringing a cloth napkin in her hands as I dropped the coins from Haymitch on the table. She didn’t look up as she choked out, “Oh, Katniss.” She gripped the cloth until her knuckles were white, then pursed her lips and nodded, scooping the money off of the table. “How much do we have?”

I wanted to explain, to tell her I hadn’t done what I knew she was assuming, what I had thought I would have to resort to. But then I remembered I wasn’t entirely out of the woods yet and kept my explanation to myself. “Thirty-five.”

“We still need-”

I cut her off, “I know, I’ll get it.”

She looked at me with a new kind of pain her eyes, a shade of anguish I’d never seen there before. Then she closed those blue eyes that were the exact shade as Prim’s and whispered, “Thank you.”

She slipped on her shoes and pulled her shawl around her frail shoulders. “I’ll go call on Mayor Undersee. Hopefully he’ll be willing to take this as partial payment up front and put in the order with our agreement that we’ll pay the rest on delivery. The train will be here Sunday afternoon.”

Thin gray light was just starting to filter into the room as I shed the red neglige and yanked my wool nightgown on before slipping into bed beside a feverish Prim. She seemed even smaller and I curled against her, lightly kissing the top of her sweaty head. As I surrendered to exhaustion, I resolved to fix this, to help her however I could.

When I woke a few hours later, the sun was streaming in through our bedroom window. For a moment I thought her mangy cat, Buttercup, was lying atop her chest, before I realized that the purring sound was coming from Prim. I sat up, panic coursing through me.

My mother was there, holding a cool cloth to Prim’s brow. “Her lungs are filling with fluid,” my mother explained. “If we don’t get the medicine soon, she’ll drown.” I recoiled. How could someone drown in their own body? How could this be happening to Prim?

My mother, seemingly unconcerned by my distress continued, “I was able to collect payment from several patients this morning. It wasn’t much, another eight coins, but Mr. Undersee made the order for us. Hopefully Prim can hang on until the train comes.”

I kissed Prim softly on the brow and whispered, “Hear that, little duck? The medicine is coming and all you have to do is keep fighting for a few more hours. I know you’re doing the best you can, but you need to keep it up just a little longer.”

I pulled on my clothes and headed over to Leevy’s house. I snatched the neglige off of the floor and slipped it on under my tunic. It would save time if this all fell apart and I needed to resort to other tactics.

I took a quick detour into the woods to collect some strawberries. It was a small token, but I knew how much Madge enjoyed them, and I figured Delly and Leevy might like them as well. As I kneeled amongst the low-growing plants, smelling their subtle fragrance, I let my mind drift to Peeta. I wondered if he liked strawberries. I bet he did. The thought of placing a juicy, red fruit against his soft pink lips, watching his tongue lick the juice from them, sent a throb of longing through me. It wasn’t the first time I’d had thoughts like this about him. It was his lips, his eyes, that I envisioned each time I slipped my hand into my underclothes. Each time I’d shudder in pleasure, it was his name on my lips.

I was tempted to do exactly that right now, laying in a bed of strawberries. But I needed to get to Leevy’s and I was worried that Peeta would somehow see traces of my desire for him on my skin. As I slipped back under the fence, I felt that persistent throb where it had settled distractingly between my legs. Damn, this was going to be a long day.

When I got to Leevy’s it was nearly midday, but she was just getting up and still wearing her rumpled sleep clothes.

Yawning, she told me to start gathering the things she’d laid out on the table into a box while she got dressed. There were gauzy scarves, a stack of bed sheets, rope, a make up box, several lanterns and a couple bottles of wine. I added the satchel full of strawberries to the top of the box as Leevy emerged from her bedroom.

As we walked towards the Hob, she kept glancing at me nervously. I looked down into the box as I cleared my throat and said, “Thank you, Leevy. I don’t know how to repay you for your help.”

She swished her hand in a dismissive gesture, “This is a great deal for me. If this works, I get cut of the door, and get to keep my clothes on for the night. Not to mention getting to enjoy Hawthorne naked.” She winked at me and I shook my head. “I suppose that’s nothing new for you.” She stated it matter of factly, but I knew it was a question.

“It's not like that between us. It never has been.”

“Maybe not for you…”

I shrugged, “Maybe he wanted something more once, but not anymore.”

Leevy looked unconvinced, but then blurted out, “My marriage isn’t real. I’m not cheating on him. He doesn’t want me. It was just an arrangement.”

“Yeah, Gale told me.” I didn’t know why she cared what I thought, but it was obvious that she wanted me to understand. She nodded and seemed to want to say more, but we’d arrived at the Hob. I felt vaguely embarrassed as we walked past Greasy Sae and Ripper’s stalls, like they could tell what we were up to. But I knew they would avert their eyes and let me go about whatever I needed to do. They understood desperation. They understood the lengths we had to go through to take care of our own.

Leevy led me to a back corner where broken tables, pallets and general disarray dominated. She began to drag things against the walls. I dropped the box and helped her. She took the pallets and arranged them so they were woven together into a low scaffolding about two feet high. We were just trying to wrestle a large sheet of plywood onto the pallet when Peeta appeared at my side, lifting the burden out of my hands. I watched as Rye did the same to Leevy’s side and she directed them, wiping her sweaty face with the hem of her shirt.

Once they had placed the second piece of plywood, I realized it was a stage.

Rye sauntered back over, Peeta trailing a few steps behind. “The Mellark brothers reporting for duty,” Rye intoned, snapping a crisp salute at Leevy, before reaching over and grabbing her ass.

I glanced over Peeta’s shoulder and saw Madge and Delly standing awkwardly against the wall. I realized they had likely never been in the Hob before. I grabbed the bag of strawberries from the box of supplies and made my way over to them. Leevy hollered over to us that there was no snacking until we finished setting up. Madge peeked it the bag and flashed me a smile before popping a berry in her mouth, winking and miming Leevy cracking a whip. I hadn’t spent much time with Madge since we left school, and it felt good to be with her again.

Delly let out a girlish giggle before linking her arms through Madge’s and mine, and leading us over to the others. She explained how she’d spread the word about the performance at the knitting circle that morning. Dropping her voice conspiratorially, she added, “Aspen Fairborne was there, which is practically as good as a Caesar Flickerman announcement. I’m sure every girl in town had heard by lunchtime.” I remembered Aspen from school, she was an efficient gossip then too.

We set about transforming the area. I tried not to watch Peeta as he fixed tables and tossed spare pallets like they weighed nothing. When he stripped off his sweaty button-down shirt to reveal a tight undershirt clinging to this thick, muscular torso, my body clenched so hard I shivered. His arms were mouthwatering. I had spent years fantasizing about his forearms, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, flexing deliciously under a dusting of flour as he kneaded dough with those gigantic hands. Now that I was treated to the sight of the entire length of his arms, thick with muscle, powerful and enticing in equal measure, I knew years of fantasizing about feeling them wrapped around my slight frame lie ahead me. I followed his arms up to his expansive shoulders, the damp cotton of his undershirt clinging to his broad chest and tapering down to his taut stomach. I wanted to reach under that fabric and feel the flex of his muscles. My fingertips itched to trace every inch of him, every glorious ridge and valley.

My meditation on Peeta’s lusciousness was broken by the guys arriving like a herd of elephants from the mine. Gale, Thom, Mica, and Asher came tromping into the back room with their soot-blackened boots and dingy gray coveralls. Their entire bodies looked as though they’d been sprinkled with coal dust. There was a masculine joviality that I’d never witnessed and it made me oddly jealous. Gale had never laughed like that with me, bouncing off his friends like pinballs as they jostled their way into the room.

“Hey, Catnip,” Gale bounded over and slung a filthy arm around me. I bobbed and weaved like a prizefighter to keep my head from ending up anywhere near his sweaty armpit.

“You stink, Hawthorne!” I scowled at him. He just laughed, trying again to pull me against him as I jumped back. “Gross.”

Leevy was calling the boys over, holding a pile of damp towels to hopefully mop up some of that offensive stench. Gale informed her that Chester wasn’t able to make it after all; his wife had vetoed the idea.

Under Madge’s direction, Peeta and Rye set an old door across a couple of jury-rigged sawhorses to create a passable table. I was wiping it down when Peeta sidled up beside me and picked up a rag to help me.

“So, are you and Gale…”

He didn’t finish the statement, so I prompted distractedly, “Are we what?”

He cleared his throat, but his voice still came out strained, “Are you… together?”

“What? No! Why would you think that?” I tried, and failed to keep the irritation out of my voice.

“Um, because you’re always together. Because he’s the only person besides Prim that I’ve ever seen you touch.” He looked down at his hands, before adding, “Because he obviously loves you.”

I felt my face heat, but this was too important to ignore. “Not like you’re thinking. He’s my best friend, but we’re not together.”

As his eyes drifted up to meet mine in a shy smile, I felt a warmth light in my chest. I liked when he looked at me like that. Like I was the only thing he could see.

“Could I, um,” he put the rag down and faced me, “Katniss, could I take you out sometime? On a date?” I could see the flush creeping up his neck and coloring his cheeks. I wanted to follow its path with my lips. I looked away.

“I… I don’t really go out much.” I answered lamely.

“We can do whatever you want, anything at all. I’d just love the opportunity to spend some time with you.”

“I can’t really think about anything like that until Prim gets better…”

“I understand.” His shoulders slumped and he cast his eyes downwards and I missed the warmth of them immediately. I needed to not screw this up.

“But,” I blurted out too loudly, then dropped my voice self-consciously, “I’d really like that.”

“Yeah?” He asked with adorable hopefulness.

“Yeah.” I answered, feeling like I might burst from the bubble of happiness floating up from my belly and buoying my heart.

He grinned at me, and as his eyes locked on mine I was lost. It wasn't just the exquisite blueness of his eyes. It was as though they were lit from behind by his soul. With kindness. With hope. With strength. When I looked into those eyes, I felt like everything would be okay. I wanted to share my burden with him because he would help me bear it. I wanted to share my heart with him because he would protect it. He would cradle it in those huge, calloused baker's hands and keep it safe.

And as I looked back and forth between his mesmerizing eyes and his capable hands, I felt something rigid inside me loosen and warm. Something melt.

Before I could do something insane, like tell him every hope and dream of him I had harbored these many years, Greasy Sae startled me by hoisting a large cast iron pot onto the makeshift table while her dreamy, silent granddaughter followed behind with a stack of bowls and spoons.

As Peeta and I set the table and started ladling out the soup, we couldn’t keep from glancing at each other and exchanging heated looks. I felt ridiculous, I wasn’t an exchanging-heated-looks kind of girl, but every time I felt those sliver-of-sky eyes on me, my entire body would flush with heat. And I couldn’t seem to keep my eyes off him.

As the smell of dinner wafted through the room, everyone drifted over to eat. Leevy and Delly had done an admirable job getting the boys cleaned up. They were clad in clean undershirts, similar to the one Peeta was wearing, with the long-sleeved upper half of their coal-dusted coveralls tied around their waists. I was surprised to note that this look really set off their muscular arms and shoulders, their sinewy chests tapering down to trim waists. They looked good, but the loose coveralls left enough to the imagination that it was hard not be curious about what lay underneath. I stared intently into my soup, mortified to have caught myself thinking such things about my friends and neighbors. This was most decidedly unlike me and I shot a scowl at Peeta for awakening whatever this was inside of me.

“I saw that look, Everdeen.” Leevy plopped down in the seat next to me. “They look good enough to eat, right?” she drawled lecherously as she ran a finger down Asher’s muscular arm. “Finish your food, boys, we’ve got to get the choreography dealt with before the doors open in about an hour.” She turned to Delly and Madge, “You two need to get out there and gather up your lady-friends. I assume that, despite their interest being piqued, they’re going to need some blond, blue-eyed escorts. You too, Rye. You know how to wrangle a crowd.” She winked at him and he blew her a kiss.

“Alright, listen up strippers.” Four dark faces turned to her with eyebrows raised. “I know each of you knows your way around a seduction scene. But this is a little different than getting into a girl’s britches. Stripping is all about restraint. It’s about holding something back until your audience is begging for it. It’s a playfully naughty game we play. You’re all going to learn to be teases tonight.”

“Oh, don’t worry about us, we’ll have these ladies eating out of our hands by the end of the evening.” Thom waggled his eyebrows comically.

“Or with any luck, we’ll have them eating other things.” Mica added, grabbing his crotch suggestively. All of the guys cackled like a flock of hens.

Asher jumped up on the table and began gyrating ridiculously. I dipped my head forward to hide my smile. Peeta slid his chair closer to mine and reached for my hand under the table. Though startled at first, I turned my hand over and he wove our fingers together. His fingers were so long, they brushed against the sensitive skin just above my knee sending a delicious shiver up the inside of my thigh. It felt better than I could have imagined to be touched like this. I realized with startling clarity that I was willing to do whatever I needed to to get more.

Leevy assembled the guys in front of the stage and began coaching them through a series of coordinated dance steps. She called over her shoulder, “C’mon, Peeta, you’re up.”

With a quick squeeze to my hand and another graze of his fingers even further up my thigh as he disengaged our linked fingers, he was up and quietly demonstrating how to gyrate their hips. Despite their collective initial reluctance to learn anything from a town boy, Peeta’s dance moves quickly won them over. He had a way of moving that was alternatingly sinuous and rough, alluring and masculine. I stared at him, admonishing myself not to let my mouth hang open as he punctuated an undulating roll of his hips with a percussive stomp. His movements were captivating and hypnotic. This was a side of him I never could have imagined, and I wanted more. More of his sweetness, and more of this newly-discovered spicy side.

They quickly worked out the basic choreography, who stood where, and how each one would get there while maintaining the allure. Leevy worked out that they’d need to keep their boots on initially, but with the laces loose and no socks on so they could be kicked off. The coveralls ended up being a surprisingly good garment choice for stripping. They started out with them fully on, buttoned up to their chins. They could be slowly undone, revealing the rippling undershirts below. When it was time to lose their pants, they needed to do little more than allow them to drop to the floor. If they kept their feet planted as they gyrated in place, the coveralls would slide down their legs of their own accord, making them relatively easy to step out of. Leevy assured them that she had adequate undergarments for them that they would change into shortly.

I was so mesmerized by the unfolding show, that I hadn’t noticed people arriving until Madge was there tapping my shoulder, slightly breathless. “Can we start letting them in?” she asked.

I hollered at Leevy that it was time to move “backstage”. Peeta and Rye had erected a series of blankets and sheets into a fabric walled area behind the stage that would serve as a dressing room. The ladies had also arranged a number of lanterns around the edges and the miner’s hats with their battery-powered headlamps had been set on the tables bordering the stage. I handed Madge the cash box and headed backstage.

Leevy and Delly were busy artfully applying “dirt” to the guys with burned corks. Even I had to admit they looked really good. Thom was shoving a pair of coveralls into Peeta’s hands as I approached. Peeta was shaking his head, while Thom implored him. “We need you up there with us. We’ll never remember all of the steps and keep the pacing right without you. Don’t let us make fools out of ourselves in front of all of those ladies.“

Peeta turned and caught my eye. As much as I despised the very idea of a room full of women, town girls, no less, ogling Peeta, I understood why the other’s felt they needed him. “For Prim?” I asked quietly and he nodded, repeating my words just as quietly. I averted my gaze as he started to strip off his clothes to don the “uniform”.

“Oh, I don’t care if you see me,” he said teasingly. Then his voice dropped temptingly as he added, “In fact it’s kinda the other reason I’m doing this.” The urge to climb him like a tree and make him mine was almost overwhelming, but acutely aware of the fact that we had an audience, I exclaimed, “I mind!” while placing my hand over my eyes. He laughed, a deep husky sound that I wanted to hear a thousand more times. In order to give myself something to do other than fight the intoxicatingly strong urge to run my hands over every square inch of his skin, I peeked out the curtain. The place was already filled with over a hundred women. All of the tables were crowded and there were women lining the walls.

As I peered into the sea of blond hair and shrill voices, my stomach twisted with guilt. I felt Gale's large frame move in behind me to look through the gap I'd made.

"I'm so sorry Gale," I whispered, "this was a horrible idea. You don't have to go through with it, I'll find another way."

"Oh we're doing it. I didn't suffer through Peeta Mellark's dance lesson for nothing. And you know what? I think being objectified by a room full of girls may be just what I need." When I turned to look up at him, there was a cheeky grin on his face that was like finding something you hadn't realized you'd lost. The pinched look around his eyes had softened and he looked more himself than he had in ages.

"I'm afraid they might try to eat you alive," I grimaced up at him.

He puffed out his chest and struck a ridiculously seductive pose, "Go ahead and let them try."

I slipped out from the curtained area to a chorus of nervous masculine banter:

“I feel like Finnick Odair. Someone, get me a trident!”

“Uh, don’t quit your day job.”

“I’m more than a pretty face and flawless body.”

I chuckled to myself and vowed to find a way to repay their kindness.

Ripper had set up a table near the entrance and most of the women I could see through the crack in the curtain appeared to be holding a glass of some sort. And based on the rapidly increasing volume of their laughter, shouts and catcalls, it was time to get started. Leevy and Madge went around turning on all of the headlamps, angling them so they illuminated the stage. Between this light and the lanterns draped with the gauzy silks, and Ripper’s contribution, the place had been transformed into a romantically lit bacchanal.

Musicians that I hadn’t seen arrive began to play, and the crowd quieted, turning their attention towards the low stage. As the deep, heavy notes of a washtub bass and resonant drum thrummed through the room, I couldn’t quell the nervous butterflies of anticipation that fluttering madly in my stomach.

Leevy handed me the bottle of wine. Though I wasn’t much of a drinker under normal circumstances (who could afford to drink alcohol when I had a family to take care of), I gratefully accepted the bottle and began gulping down large swallows of wine. As it settled in my belly, I felt the foreign, but delicious warmth of it spread through my limbs and up into my cheeks.

The guys shuffled out onto the stage and took their places. The crowd of women erupted into raucous catcalls of lustful appreciation. The whoops and hollers unsettle me. With the exception of the holding pens at the Reaping each year, I had never seen a group of women this large. And this festive atmosphere was about as antithetical to the Reaping as you could get. These women were seriously enjoying themselves. The sight of these beautiful men, standing stock-still, displayed before them for their entertainment was intoxicating.

And then the boys began to move.

It was subtle at first; a slow sway punctuated by the hollow sound of their bootheels hitting the stage as they marked the beat. Then their arms came up in a resonant clap and their heads snapped up, illuminating their faces. The place went wild.

“Here we go!” Leevy’s eyes were lit with excitement and I understood what a complete disaster I would have been as a stripper. Every aspect of this made me want to crawl under a rock. I was so grateful not to be the one on that stage, receiving this overwhelmingly appreciative attention.

Peeta caught my eye just as he stripped the second sleeve from his mouthwatering arm. He was all I could see as he licked his lips, glancing down shyly as he slid the sleeve from his thick shoulder. He held my eyes as he slowly pushed the hem of his tank top up, exposing a few inches of honey-gold skin and muscular stomach before he spun away and stomped a few steps back. When he reached behind his head and pulled the top over his head, the sight of his rippling back made my knees weak. When he threw me a smile over his now bare shoulder, I realized that he knew exactly what he was doing to me. Sweet, lovely Peeta knew how to put on a show. I was shocked, bewildered, and impossibly turned on.

As he toed off his boots, he rocked his hips back to pull the loose fabric tight over his ass and upper thighs, and as he stood up straight, the loose coveralls dipped low to show the cut of his hips. Still with his back to the audience, he slipped his thumbs into the cinched fabric and began to shimmy it down the over the swell of his ass all set to the delighted cheers and whistles of the women, many of whom were now on their feet.

When he turned around, he was standing in a pair of snug boxers. I tried and failed to keep my eyes from traversing the bulge at the front. It was impressive and my breath caught as I was able to mentally draw the outline of his thick cock. The thrill of arousal ricocheted through me, making me weak from the force of my desire.

All five guys made their way off the stage and began to circulate around the room, stopping at tables to dance and tease at closer range. Women began holding coins above their heads in a bid for the guys attention and with nowhere to put them, the guys hands were filling with coins. Leevy swooped in with a small satchel and unobtrusively gathered the coins. She really had thought of everything.

As I watched women crying out to Peeta and brandishing their coins in invitation, a wave of white-hot fury nearly choked me at the knowledge that these other women got to see him. That they were experiencing the exquisite unveiling of every inch of his flesh right alongside me. And as I watched their greedy hands caress and grab at him, I knew with absolute certainty that I wanted him all to myself. I wanted his eyes, his mouth, his skin and his cock. I wanted his smile and his laugh and his moans of desire. I wanted every bit of him, and I wasn’t willing to share.

As the boys made their way back to the stage amidst a frenzy shrieks and whistles, I was so relieved that those horrible women had stopped touching him. I had to keep them from ever touching him again. His eyes found mine again as he toyed with the waistband of his boxers. Oh my goodness, he was the worst, most tantalizing tease. I vowed to get Leevy to teach me some of her secrets so I could make him ache like this. The throbbing between my legs was becoming more persistent the longer he held eye contact with me. I was too hot and felt half-crazed. I needed to touch him soon or I would die.

With a ridiculously dramatic drumroll, the guys glanced around and nodded at each other. Then they all dropped the last shred of fabric that covered them from our libidinous stares. The room erupted in screams and applause. Each of those five men was standing there in all their naked glory, hands planted on their sculpted hips, heads thrown back in laughter. Rather than obscene, they looked perfect -- like this was how they were always meant to be, unencumbered with silly social trappings like clothes. They high fived each other, scooped up their clothes and made their way off the stage to thunderous appreciation. I watched Peeta as he slipped the coveralls on over his nakedness, tying the sleeves at his waist. And I hated that any part of him was hidden from me.

Peeta made his way to me through a knot of admirers. He walked towards me slowly, like he was unsure what sort of reception he would receive. A shy smile danced in his eyes and toyed at the corner of his mouth. It was all too much. The golden expanse of his bare chest glistening with sweat as stood in front of me still breathing hard. The heat of the room combined with the warmth of the wine infusing my limbs was making me feel faint. There was a nearly tangible sensual vibe in the room, and it settled over us like a layer of smoke, thick and oppressive. My body felt heavy with want, hollow with need. The constant buzz of arousal I’d felt all day finally overwhelmed me and I grabbed his hand, pulling him behind the curtain of the makeshift dressing room, then further behind the rack of clothes.

My heart was fluttering like a hummingbird trapped in the rafters as I turned to face him. I was immensely thankful that the light filtering through the various fabrics made it as much shadow as light. I was afraid that I must look deranged with desire. I certainly felt that way.

I pushed him him against the only solid wall in our small enclosed space. I had to ride this wave of brazen courage or I’d never have the guts to make him understand how I felt about him.

“You did an incredible job out there. I just have a couple of suggestions for you.” He nodded, looking confused, but hopeful. I took a deep breath of lust-heavy air and kicked off my boots before quickly shedding my pants and pulling my tunic up and over my head. I was left standing in the neglige. His eyes were so wide, it was nearly comical. I bit my lower lip and pulling the twine from the end of my braid and shaking hair out into long, cascading waves. He made a small noise in the back of his throat as my hips began to sway.

“Katniss, you might actually kill me.” He ground out sounding like he was actually in pain. He was slightly slumped against the wall, making us nearly face to face as we stood with our bare toes touching. My knees felt weak again and I figured I could save the teasing for another night. Instead, I ran my hands up his bare chest, as we stared at each other, our eyes glazed with want.

“I need to…,” I huffed out a frustrated breath; I sounded deranged too. I tried again, “I mean, can I kiss you?”

He made an incredulous noise, “Yes! For the love of all that is holy -- please!” The way he was looking at me, like it all took all of his considerable strength to stand there and wait for me to act made me feel like I wasn’t the only one battling insanity.

I wrapped my arms about his sweaty neck, levered up on my toes and tentatively brushed my lips against his. This wasn’t my first kiss, but the others had always been done out of curiosity or a fear of rejecting someone too harshly. I had always felt embarrassed and been acutely aware of their breath, their stubble, the developing crink in my neck at being held at an uncomfortable angle. Nothing had ever felt like this. Like I would literally burst into flames if I didn’t lick every square inch of his skin. I started with his plump bottom lip, gently running my tongue along it.

He gasped in response and it broke whatever spell had been holding him still. He wrapped those glorious hands around my hips and hoisted me onto the three-legged table leaning on the wall behind us. The kiss had been disorienting enough, the feeling of my feet leaving the floor had me clinging to him. As I wrapped my legs around his hips he groaned into my mouth and I felt the rough sound reverberate through me to my very core.

I began placing open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, down the slope of his neck. I tasted salt and cinnamon and man. It was more intoxicating than the wine.

“Oh, Katniss,” he rasped, “I’ve always wanted this. I’ve always wanted you like this.” His words were making me dizzy. I sucked his earlobe into my mouth and he moaned, rutting against my center. The jagged pleasure that ripped through me made me cry out and he pulled away so he could see my face, fear written in every line around his eyes.

“Please, Peeta,” I whispered hoarsely, “please do that again.”

He closed his eyes and swallowed audibly, looking as if he was in acute pain. I uncrossed my ankles from over his ass to scoot back, afraid I’d done something wrong. His eyes flew open and I was sucked into the swirling abyss of their blueness, lost at sea. He grasped my thighs in both hands and pulled me back against him. I rolled my hips experimentally and gasped when I pressed just right against his hardness. That’s when I understood what felt so solid and so good. His jutting erection was for me. I couldn’t keep the wonder from my face as I smiled up at him.

“That, um,” my voice was so thick with lust, I cleared my throat and tried again. “That feels really good.”

“Yeah?” he quirked a corner of his mouth up in a sexy, sweet, cocky smile as he pushed against me, still gripping my thighs almost too tightly. I couldn’t suppress my moan as he reached his hand behind his back to grasp my ankles, securing them against the small of his back, then slid a hand behind me to cup my ass. That change in angle did wonderful things to me, and I rode a prolonged wave of pleasure as I slid along the entire rigid length of him.

“Oh,” I breathed, biting down hard on my lip to keep the pleasure from overwhelming me.

“Could you?” He asked, incredulous, “Could you come like this?”

“Yeah,” I panted, not sure there was an alternative at this point. My body was pulsing in need for him. Warning bells were blaring somewhere deep in my subconscious. I knew how reckless it was to allow myself to feel this way about him. He could never be mine and I was starting to realize that I couldn’t have him like this once and live without him forever. I willfully pushed the thought to the back of my mind and gave myself over to the delicious sensations coursing through my body. I began writhing shamelessly against him.

I was strung as tight as my bow string and as I imagined letting an arrow fly into a sky as blue as his eyes, I felt my orgasm surge through me. My entire body shook as the waves of pure bliss peaked, and I bit down on my hand to muffle the hoarse broken sound that escaped me. I was utterly wrecked by this man.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck.” Peeta gasped and the dirty word was made decadent by his beautiful mouth.

His nostrils flared and his jaw clenched tight as he tipped his head back, breathing hard. When he had mastered himself he wrapped one of those incredible hands around my face and met my eyes. “You are so fucking gorgeous when you come. More beautiful than I ever imagined. And trust me, I’ve imagined it a lot.” He grinned at me, eyes positively dancing. He laid me back on the table and growled, “I have to see it again.”

“Peeta, I can’t! I just-” I started to laugh, but then his hands were pushing the satiny neglige up my thighs and he was kissing his way down my neck and over my breasts, biting each hardened nipple softly as he descended. I was far too exposed, this was ridiculous I had to put a stop to it. I reached down to tap his shoulder to tell him to stop but then I felt his hot, wet tongue press against my clit and I lost the ability to use words. It felt like nothing else I’d ever experienced. Coming was the result of pressure and friction not butterfly wings and rain. But that’s what it felt like as his soft tongue made gentle circles around my clit. I was positively aching for him again, teetering on the edge of sanity.

He pulled away and I wanted to scream, to fight whatever had disrupted that incredible feeling. I pulled my head up looking down the plane of my stomach to catch his eyes. They were so dark with longing, the blue had nearly been swallowed by black. He watched my face intently as he slid first one, then a second finger inside me. Though they slipped in easily, they felt too full, stretching me uncomfortably. He adjusted his hand and began to move his fingers inside me.

“Oh,” I moaned, this new sensation causing me to writhe wantonly to increase the pressure of his fingers. And as I watched he licked his lips and then touched the very tip of his tongue to my clit. I thought I would die from the pleasure, from the sight of him, cheeks flushed, eyes bright, doing this to me. I dropped my head back against the table with a dull thunk as I exhaled a long shuddering breath.

He began to lick faster and harder, twisting and stroking me inside and and out until I couldn’t even feel my body. I spiraled into a universe of tortuous pleasure as I came and came and came.

When I regained conscious thought I opened my eyes to see him propped above me looking torn between concern and cocky satisfaction. “Good?” he asked.

“Amazing,” I sighed, sliding bonelessly off the table onto my knees before him. “Let me show you how good.”

I eased his coveralls down and his unbelievably hard cock sprung free and slapped against his hard stomach. He was still leaning over, gripping the edge of the table, staring down into my eyes. Without breaking eye contact I licked him from balls to tip, eliciting the most delicious broken sounds from deep in his throat.

“I can’t--... l won’t be able--....” I sucked the head of his cock into my mouth and he shuddered so hard I thought his knees would give out. “Oh, fuck, Katniss, you feel like heaven!” Emboldened by his rasped out words, I ran my tongue down his shaft as I sucked as much of him as I could, my hand stroking what I couldn’t fit. He groaned and pulled out of my mouth with a wet pop. He managed to get one hand between my face and the head of his dick as he exploded in jets of come.

He collapsed onto the floor next to me, pulling me down on top of him. I sprawled across the broad expanse of his chest, his stomach still clenching with the aftershocks of his orgasm. I could feel the echo of his heartbeat reverberating through my own body. If I had thought that my manic need for him was dangerous before, I had been mistaken. This was was the feeling I couldn’t live without. My stomach dropped as I realized I would never take a full breath again without his arms around me. I had endured starvation before, but this was an entirely new kind.

I heard Madge’s voice through the curtain, asking if I was in there. I called back that I’d be be out in a minute and heard her footsteps retreat. As much as I absolutely hated that this needed to end, that Peeta would get up and get dressed and go back to his home above the bakery to a life that couldn’t realistically include me, I needed to get home too. The crushing weight of this reality threatened to steal the breath from my lungs, but I pushed the panic down and stood up.

I pulled my pants and boots on as Peeta shed the miner’s garb for his real-life clothes. A sob caught in my throat as he caught me around the waist from behind and planted a kiss on my still bare shoulder. There were no two ways about it, I needed to feel his mouth against my skin again.

We made our way back into the main room. Most of the women had dissipated, but several were still lingering around the edges and Gale was sitting at one of the tables with a girl on each knee, his long fingers wrapped in their corn-silk hair, and another draped over his shoulder sucking on his neck. My concern about them eating him alive wasn’t that far off mark. He didn’t look like he minded too much. I supposed death by town girl wasn’t such a bad way to go.

I was still fighting my way out of my dreamy, post-orgasmic haze as Leevy sauntered over and placed the satchel bulging with coin into my palm. She looked like the cat who had swallowed the canary as she happily stated, “Eighty-six coins is your cut.” I sputtered that I didn’t need that much as she handed Peeta handful of coins. She shook her head and said that everyone had gotten their cut and the rest was mine.

Peeta called over to Rye that he was going to walk me home.

Jingling the coins in his pocket, Mica called out, "We might need to plan a revival around the Harvest Festival. What do you think?"

"I dunno," Gale responded, tipping his chin towards Peeta, "you have any more of those fancy dance moves, Mellark?"

Peeta raised an eyebrow and grabbed Gale's olive branch, "I might have a few." He winked at me and my heart skipped a beat. Damn. He had my number and he knew it.

As we rounded the corner of the Hob, I saw Haymitch Abernathy leaning against the side of the building. He slurred out, “Now that’s what I call using your head, Sweetheart.” He held up his flask in salute. I shot him a grin as I passed him.

“What was that about?” Peeta asked, lacing his fingers through mine.

“Just some advice he gave me once,” I murmured. The warmth and weight of his hand in mine was one of best feelings I could have ever imagined. Considering the experiences we had shared over the past day, it seemed such an insignificant gesture, but in this moment, there was nothing I wanted more than for us to hold on to each other forever.

We wound our way through the Seam towards my house. It felt as though the closer we got to home, the less believable the events of the night became, already fading into a storied memory. As we arrived at my door, Peeta placed a feather soft kiss against my lips and I wanted a thousand more just like it. But standing on my porch, with Prim fighting for breath not twenty feet away, the impossibility of this working out between us loomed up before me.

“Don’t do that,” Peeta admonished softly. “Don’t try to pull away from me. I won’t allow it.”

“Peeta,” I began, he didn’t need to make this any harder than it already was.

He cut me off, his voice full of unwavering conviction. “I’m just warning you now, I’m never letting you go. Not unless you can convince me this isn’t what you want.”

“It’s not that.” He had to understand this, “But you know this will never work. Not here.” I looked down, not wanting to see even a sliver of hurt in his eyes.

But when he tipped my chin up, his eyes were alight with unadulterated hope. “Then you and I will change the rules. I would literally do anything to be with you.” The intensity in his eyes stole my breath away. I leaned in and gave him a kiss that I hoped conveyed that I knew exactly how he felt.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said matter of factly before he stepped off my porch and into the night.

I tiptoed inside placing the fat purse on the kitchen table. Tomorrow I would be able to assure my mother that I had been able to raise the funds without doing any of the things she feared for me. I looked forward to seeing that particular pain leave her eyes. As I quietly undressed I heard Prim’s hoarse whisper in the darkness of the room.

“Katniss? Are you okay?” I sat on the edge of the bed and felt her forehead, it seemed to be a little bit cooler.

“I’m fine, little duck. The question is, how are you?” I was terrified of the answer, but so grateful to hear her voice.

“I’ve been better, “ she laughed, which morphed into a wracking cough. When it subsided, she added, “But my professional opinion is that I’m going to pull through.”

The elation that welled up in my heart, threatened to split my chest wide open. I was smiling so big you could hear it in my voice as I laid down beside her. “In that case, I have a story for you.” I unspooled the events of the last twenty-four hours like the fairytale they were. When I got to the part where Peeta kissed me goodnight, she sighed and said, “Finally. You’re finally going to let yourself love Peeta Mellark.”

I stared at her, eyes bright in the moonlight and said, “I guess you’re just going to have to stick around to see what happens next.”

The following day, when I stepped out the front door to go collect Prim’s medicine from the train, Peeta was leaning against the porch post, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, those delicious forearms on full display. And when he held out his hand to me, warm smile daring me to try to resist, I grasped it in both of mine.

#mores2sl Fall 2016

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from-story-to-screen · 5 years ago

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A Compilation of some of my favorite Writing Prompts

The royal family employs no bodyguards. A would-be assassin discovers why.

Two gay guys and two lesbians have to pretend to be straight for an entire weekend, pretending to be each other’s dates for a wedding.

You, a time traveler, accidentally introduces 21st-century slang to Shakespeare.

Angel/demon romance, where the demon is the stuffy, orthodox one and the angel is like “hold my beer”.

A dating service where matching is based on people’s search histories. You’re a serial killer, you go on a date with a writer.

You have many of the abilities of a Disney princess. You can talk to animals, people burst into song around you, it seems every other day a “prince charming” type falls madly in love with you. As one of the most feared mafia enforcers in New York, it’s tough, but you make it work.

Dating an immortal and you find a photo album of their exes dating back a century. All the exes sort of look like you and the immortal’s been dating all of them in the hopes of getting you to remember your first life when you first met them.

You are what mankind believes to be the devil. However there are three things that they’re got all wrong: 1. Everyone goes to heaven, no matter what they do in life. 2. You’re the only one who’s ever escaped heaven. 3. Heaven is absolutely fucked.

The world goes through 2000 year natural cycles of magic and non-magic. The non-magical cycle is about to end any day now.

After Lucifer was kicked out of heaven, he decided to make his own paradise. Both compete to have the best afterlife, sadly you lived a sin-free life and got sent to heaven. God is throwing a very boring, sin-free party. You spend your time trying to get kicked out so you can go to hell.

You come from a family of highly respected heroes. All three of your big brothers are known as powerhouses, but you rarely see them since they’re always saving the city. One day you realize that the only way to see all of your brother is to become a villain. Turns out you’re better at it than you thought, and family dinners suddenly become the most amusing time of day.

Write a completely ordinary story about an ordinary person’s life with an almost unsettlingly idyllic environment, but at the end reveal that the main character is an unreliable narrator and has actually been on a murdering spree the entire time.

Your roommate is literally the devil, surprisingly, he is the best roommate you’ve ever had.

Every person on earth is born with a tattoo on each arm. One matches your soulmate, and one matches your worst enemy. However, most people have no clue which is which. You do, because they are both the same.

Grim Reaper, not tied to any particular religion, they just personify death and collect the soul and take them...where? What if they’re like afterlife HR? Where they go depends on their belief.

A show/book where each chapter has a new story with a new set of characters and each chapter ends in a cliffhanger. In the final chapter(s), they show conclusions for all the stories, and reveal that the stories connect like puzzle pieces.

Twilight, but Bella stays in Arizona and it’s about Charlie Swan finding out that his best friend is a werewolf and the town doctor he’s trusted for years is a vampire, and he helps stop the vampires that are murdering everyone.

A guy who runs for president and wins but suddenly realizes that he doesn’t want to be president and just starts doing ridiculous things to try to get impeached but it never works because they always end up miraculously being the right thing to do. 100% approval rating, most popular president ever.

The Purge but it’s 24 hours where retail workers can be as rude as they want.

You’re part of a community that lives on an island, no other land mass in sight. When a crime is committed, the person responsible has to “go find more land” to redeem their honor. Someone has yet to return. You’ve just been caught stealing.

Your alternate universe self comes to kill you. The only thing is, you are the evil version.

A seemingly bottomless pit was found, for which the depth can’t be determined. Over time, scores of people began using it to illegally dump trash, many have jumped in to die, while others jumped believing that they’ll find life’s answers within. Today, the truth about the hole is learned.

Your phone rings; the number looks familiar. You pick up to hear your own voice asking you for help.

Your daughter has been begging you for a pony, and you told her to write a letter to Santa. On Christmas morning, you find a fire-breathing horse in your front yard, and a package by your front door. Looks like she wrote a letter to Satan, and he delivered.

You’re an assassin with a 6th sense. You help ghosts seek out vengeance for the wrong that was done to them when they were alive.

If the eyes of an animal are on the sides of the animal’s head, they are a “prey” species. If the eyes are on the front, they are a “predator” species. Explain why nature designated dragons as a “prey” species.

In a world where what doesn’t kill you literally makes you stronger, you run a clinic that gives people near-death experiences.

The wrinkled fingertips are just the beginning of the transformation. We just always leave the water too early.

Since you were 8 years old, you’ve been helping people and giving things away for free; the only condition: that one day you’ll call on that person for a favor. You’re now 33 and owed 10,000 favors. You decide to call them in all at once.

As a babysitter you are putting a young girl to bed. She says, “Don’t worry, there aren’t any monsters in the closet. Daddy keeps them all locked up in the basement.”

The reaper does not bring death, he follows it. The reaper is not an omen of doom, he is a guardian, sent to protect your soul on its way from one world to the next. The things that wait between the worlds are...unpleasant.

A photographer and a sniper meet in a bar. Neither is aware of the other’s occupation. They talk about “how to take the perfect shot”.

You are the devil and you have been summoned via a satanic ritual. As you manifest yourself, you find yourself in a quaint living room and meet a sweet old lady who just wants some company.

Art museum guards don’t guard the painting in fear that someone might steal them, they guard the artwork in fear that someone might get too close and fall in.

The devil mixed up your paperwork and gave you someone else’s personal hell, which to you, is heaven.

When the police came to announce you the death of your husband, you refused to believe it. “That’s impossible,” you said. “Unfortunately, it’s the truth, miss,” answered the policemen. “It’s impossible,” you say again,” because he’s in the kitchen making dinner”.

A man who sees ghosts checks himself into a mental institution, oblivious to the fact that the facility has been closed for almost 30 years.

You’re in charge of assigning every child on earth the monster under their bed. One child in particular has caused every monster assigned to them to quit. You decide to assign yourself.

You have an ATM that gives you the exact amount of money you need to survive for the day, how you spend it is your choice. Today you are given $70,000,000.

Every time a person makes a promise or bargain, a tattoo is etched onto their skin. You just went out with friends drinking so much, you passed out. Upon awakening, you can’t recall what happened and realize that your whole arm has been inked black. Someone knocks on your door

“Welcome to hell! As the seventh human to ever arrive here, you are now an official member of the 7 Deadly Sins!”

Your oldest brother is a military genius. Your little sister has cured 3 types of cancer. The twins are working on a new method of locating planets fit for terraforming. And you...you are mom’s favorite.

I know i’m getting close to finishing my time machine because I’ve caught several older versions of myself trying to sabotage my lab.

Dream superpower: the ability to manipulate probability.

Every time you die your injured limbs and body parts are replaced by machines and you slowly become less and less human until the point where you have no human body parts left and must decide whether you will continue to fight for humanity, with which you have no remaining connection.

There’s a love triangle but then the girl realizes she’s asexual and gets a puppy and a cat and the two boys fall for each other. Boys realize they were only fighting for the girl because they wanted to impress one another other.

A ghost and a zombie come from the same person. Ghost watches their zombie body stumbling around with dismay.

A tattoo appears on people’s skin at key points in their life and they must figure out what they mean.

The asteroid that hit the earth and killed the dinosaurs was actually a UFO and humans are the aliens.

Four roommates are extraterrestrials who have taken human form in the hopes of learning about earth’s culture. Unfortunately, each alien is from a different planet and believes the other three are normal humans.

Your super power is that you are average at everything you do. (flying, communicating with aliens, curing cancer, etc.)

The year is 2030. The first astronauts have landed on Mars. They find a cave with a single human skeleton and 4 words written on the wall.

You have the ability to hear the honest answer to any question just by looking at a person and mentally asking the question. It was all fun and games until you looked in the mirror and asked a question you shouldn’t have.

A woman is cursed by the gods to kill any man she falls in love with. She falls in love with a man who was cursed by the gods with immortality.

The remains of the human race live in a glass dome with no entrance or exit, which protects them from the wasteland on the outside. One morning a dusty handprint appears on the outside.

Suddenly, all over the world, all children start drawing the same thing over and over again.

Your doorbell rings and it’s a person from an alternate universe who says “i just wanted you to know that you are my favorite book character and i know how it ends and i want to change it.”

You get a deep cut for the first time in your life; instead of bone or muscle, you see wires.

“My domain is time,” said the genie. “Instead of three wishes, you get three decisions. Go back and choose again.”

You’re an archaeologist working on a dig when you uncover a thick pane of glass. You dust the dirt away, and see the inside of a massive bio-dome, hidden for too long. Only one organism is inside, and it was meant to be forgotten.

A child is kidnapped. Outraged, the monsters living under the bed and in their closet vow to find them.

You die. As you go up to paradise, you notice it seems to be in ruins. Then you find the corpse of god.

“And the legions of Hell rose from the great split in the earth, but they did not emerge in a geyser of flame. The demons and monsters varied greatly, from delicate, sapphire wings to great, lumbering monstrosities. At the head of the army walked Lucifer himself, a dark cloak flowing beside him. The forces of Hell had arrived, to save humanity from Heaven’s wrath.”

Write a superhero story that’s narrated by the villain, who leads the reader to believe that they are the hero. However, due to the biased narration the reader only realizes that they’ve been misled in the final sentences.

Since the beginning of time, humanity has believed that death is universal. Everything that is born must also die. We’ve created our world around this single fact, worshipped gods, sacrificed and prayed, but when we finally make contact with the rest of the universe it is discovered that death is in fact not real. Most aliens believe it’s a silly old legend, and it is determined that only humans do in fact die. Write what comes of this discovery.

You’re alone in your room when suddenly, you disappear and arrive in an unknown location. Turns out you’re in hell and this time, the tables have been turned. You’ve been summoned by a demon who needs your help.

They say that “history is written by the victors.” Turns out, so are fairytales; they’ve been twisted by the “heroes” of the fairytale world to make themselves look like they’ve always been in the right. You are a fairytale villain at a support group for characters like you.

You’re a wealthy and famous writer whose bestselling children’s series, about a young girl escaping her house nightly to battle monsters in a fantasy world, has brought you endless success. Following your daughter’s eighth birthday, you start to notice strange cuts and bruises on her in the morning, which she casually dismisses. Your curiosity gets the best of you, and one night you enter your daughter’s bedroom far past her bedtime, but it’s not the room you know that you step into—it’s the world of your own series’ Book Five.

You’re a demon who governs the creation of Personal Hells; parts of Hell created for the truly despicable designed specifically around them. You’ve just gotten a submission for someone who doesn’t seem to be afraid of anything.

Apparently the tooth fairy is a pretty controversial figure among skeletons. some think she is a thief that steals mouth bones others think she is the true skeleton queen.

“I would probably win an Oscar for Best Supporting Actress in a biopic about my own life.”

Why can’t the pirate get the princess for once?

Conversation prompt: “We’re a team of highly trained professionals.” “No you’re not, you’re all wearing friendship bracelets.”

You have been accepted into a school for supernatural creatures. You decide to let your teachers and classmates guess what you are.

A story about vigilante Victorian prostitutes hunting down Jack The Ripper.

Every person, at exactly midnight on New Years following their 22nd birthday, possesses the body of their soulmate; people run around trying to figure out who they are so they can find one another, leave notes for the body’s owner to find with their address. There are language gaps so people have to translate it and travel to different countries carrying the notes they’re left. Write about the search and adventure of one.

A retired supervillain is in the bank with his 6 year old daughter when a new crew of super villains comes in to rob the place.

For as long as you can remember, you’ve worn glasses. Your parents always made sure you had them on and formed the habit. One day you forget them and realize you can see something no one else can.

The character wakes up multiple times a week with inexplicable bruises on their arms and legs. The day they graduate from college, an agent from the CIA approaches them and introduces them to Project Nightlight.

I hit play and watch myself in the recording. But what i see isn’t what i remember.

At birth, everyone has the date they will die imprinted on their arm. You were supposed to die yesterday.

Every baby is taken away by the government and returned when they are ten years old. They never remember what happened in those years, but they always recognize their parents. You, however, remember everything. And those aren’t your parents.

You were born with the ability to know what is buried beneath your feet. You have worked for years alongside archaeologists finding lost cities and ancient treasures. However, today is the first time you have ever said “We should not dig here.”

A man calls 911 and says in a soft voice, “I am currently sitting next to the little girl you are looking for. She is safe, for now, but if no one comes to get her quick enough, i will be forced to do something unspeakable to her kidnappers”.

Human emotions can be bottled and sold on the black market. You are in desperate need of money and sell yours. It will take months to grow back, leaving you empty inside. The next day you meet Her.

You are a recently hired psychiatrist in a mental hospital. Some of your patients insist that they were once staff, but are now being held prisoner/hostage by the actual patients that now run the hospital.

A depressed guy moves into a house which is inhabited by 7 demons, each one corresponding to a different Deadly Sin. But, they are trying to help him get back on his feet.

Your girl is a member of a shadowy organization bent on ruling the world. Your best friend is a CIA operative, and your dog is a secret escaped lab experiment. And you? Well, you run a website debunking conspiracy theories.

You slowly begin to realize that all your friends are undercover agents tasked with keeping you alive. Then, at your birthday party, with every one of your friends surrounding you, the people trying to kill you finally find you.

You adopt 4 teenage girls. As they grow up, you begin to realize that each one of them represents a horseman of the apocalypse. All hell breaks loose when Famine steals War’s significant other.

In the future, virtual reality has flourished. One of the more controversial uses is prisons. Whatever crime you commit, you have to relive it through your victim’s point of view. It’s your first day in prison and you’re terrified because of what you did.

#writing prompts

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