#alternatively practical effects feel like you can taste them though the screen

[somekindafairy]

i dont know how to explain it but the difference between practical effects and cgi in horror is that cgi feels like you're a cat chasing a laser pointer. like buddy there is just nothing there.

[whenisitenoughtrees]

to be honest, capable (of holding you) (part 2/3)

He walks forward, crouching over the snake, and when it doesn’t stir at all, he works up his courage and pokes it, just a little. Its scales are warm and smooth under his fingertip, and he resists the urge to stroke them. He doubts he could get away with that.

“Janus?” he asks, trying to keep the somewhat hysterical laughter from his voice. “That you?”

Thomas didn’t know that Janus could turn into an actual snake, but he’s glad to hang out with him regardless. More than glad; ecstatic, even, because he’s been trying to figure out how to befriend him for ages, and this seems like a good first step. What he can’t figure out is why human-Janus is being so weird about it.

(Alternatively: Janus doesn’t trust easily. He wishes he could stop trusting Thomas— it would be so much less terrifying.)

Chapter Warnings: blood and injury, Remus being mildly unsettling

Chapter Word Count: 5,074

Pairing: platonic Thomceit

(part 1) (part 3)

(masterpost w/ ao3 links)

They don’t talk about it.

Thomas would very much like to talk about it. But whenever he goes to bring it up, Janus glares at him in a way that promises a world of trouble if he so much as breathes a word, and Thomas really does not want to set back any of the progress he’s already made with him, so he shuts up about it. He’s not entirely sure why Janus is so opposed to addressing it; it can’t be that he doesn’t want the others to know, after all, because all the others are literally parts of Thomas and as such are privy to the knowledge of everything that Thomas experiences.

As best as Thomas can tell, it’s some sort of embarrassment that holds Janus back, some sort of shame, and Thomas doesn’t get it. Surely he knows that Thomas doesn’t mind at all, that Thomas enjoys the time they spend together, even if their conversations are far more one-sided than he would like. Janus seems to be under the impression that coming to him at all is in some way unseemly, while Thomas just wants him to be comfortable enough to approach him as a human.

But as more time passes, that seems less and less likely. Thomas spends far more time with snake-Janus than with human-Janus, and Janus begins to come with him even when the sun shines bright and his spot by the window is available. Thomas becomes quite familiar with carrying a weight looped around his neck, and wishes he could puzzle out why Janus is acting this way.

The worst part is that with every passing day, he feels like he understands Janus less, not more. Because the way he acts during meetings and discussions, when he pops in to offer opinions and advice masked as sarcasm and cutting quips, is entirely different to the way he acts as a snake, when he and Thomas are alone together, when he leans into all the contact Thomas has to offer, seeking warmth, and, Thomas suspects, company. It’s almost as if he’s dealing with two entirely different people, each one unwilling or unable to discuss the other, and frankly, Thomas has no idea what to do about it.

Because he’s worried that if he pushes too hard, demands one answer too many, Janus will stop approaching him at all, in any form. And that is the last thing he wants.

So, he leaves it be, and resigns himself to the idea that human-Janus may just remain incomprehensible to him, and that snake-Janus is the closest he will get to making a friend out of him. And if that turns out to be the case, then gosh darn it, he will be the best friend to snake-Janus that he possibly can be.

This has the side effect of leading him to a snake-centric fact-finding mission, which Logan appreciates, at least, because “even if the information may not be applicable to most aspects of your life, at least you’re learning something, Thomas.” Which he supposes is fair. He learns a great many things about snakes over the course of a few days, most of it interesting, if not particularly relevant. He doesn’t know how much of this actually applies to Janus, since he’s not a real snake.

Though he does find out that snakes don’t have eyelids. That would explain the whole no-blinking thing.

Other than his impromptu investigations, they fall into an equilibrium fairly easily. Janus will seek him out at all hours of the day and wrap himself around his arm or neck, sometimes staying awake and aware and sometimes drifting off into sleep. And when he’s fed up with the company, he leaves, disappearing with neither warning nor fanfare. Thomas settles into this new routine with little effort, and decides that if this is all he’s going to get from Janus, he’ll take it.

He gets used to it, so much so that he stops looking every time he feels Janus curl around him. This turns out to be a mistake.

He’s procrastinating, as per usual. His deadline is a full week away, and even Virgil has been unable to provide the urgency that Thomas needs to push through and finish his latest project. He knows that this will only end badly, that he’s going to end up staying up until the early hours of the morning in a few days if he doesn’t get started now, but he simply doesn’t feel like it. So, he’s scrolling through Amazon instead, clicking through pages of items that he neither needs nor particularly wants.

He’s been looking at a lot of frogs, lately. Cute, decorative frogs, the kinds that sit on mantles and don’t do much of anything. And plushies, too, and those are actually tempting. He’s pretty sure that it’s Patton’s influence.

“What do you think?” he asks, holding up his arm so that Janus can see the screen. Janus hisses quietly, and he laughs. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.” He doesn’t have the money to spend on a bunch of decorative frogs, even if he had a strong inclination toward doing so, but it’s fun to look. He’s seriously considering a stuffed animal, but he’s pretty sure that Logan intends to talk him down from that, so there’s no real need to be concerned about it. Even if he ends up buying one after all, he thinks it would be worth it.

He glances down at Janus, trying to figure out if he’s enjoying this at all, or if he’s just irritated. And that’s when he finally notices the blood.

He freezes up, his muscles tensing, and blinks hard, hoping that it’s a trick of the light, or that spending so many hours doing practically nothing has fried his brain at last. But no; Janus’ scales are dotted with rusty red, and Thomas traces the blood back to a long gash trailing down his side, sluggishly oozing, slowly dripping onto his arm. He stares for a long moment, his mind stalling, and he wonders if the scent of iron flooding his nose is real or imaginary. Or rather, real by a certain standard, since everything to do with his sides is technically imaginary, but oh god, why is he bleeding so much? He thought that his sides could wave off injuries, that nothing could truly affect them unless they wanted it to? Or is that just Logan? And then there’s the question of what did this to him in the first place, and how exactly he’s supposed to treat someone who’s a figment of his imagination, and whether or not any of the real medical supplies he has would work at all—

Focus, Thomas.

It’s like a whisper in his ear, gentle and firm. Logan’s voice. The world snaps into sharp clarity, mind and adrenaline working in tandem.

“Oh my god,” he says, and Janus’ head swivels to face him. The movement is slow, almost lethargic, as if he’s operating on a time delay. “You’re hurt. Okay. Well, not okay. But you’ll be okay.”

He has a first aid kit in the bathroom. He has no idea whether that will help or not, but he won’t know until he tries, as his logic helpfully points out. So the first order of business is to get to the bathroom. He stands, setting his laptop to the side, trying to jostle Janus as little as possible. Now that he’s paying attention, more and more details filter in; Janus’ grip on his arm is looser than usual, his eyes dull and glazed. His hat, usually so perfectly placed, is just slightly askew.

He makes it to the bathroom in short order, yanking the kit out from under the sink and nearly spilling its contents across the floor. He’ll need both hands for this, and he looks to Janus with no small amount of trepidation, wondering how well he’ll take being moved. He doesn’t want to cause him more pain than necessary, and he doesn’t know how aware he currently is, doesn’t know if he’ll lash out if he feels threatened. He gives him an experimental nudge, prodding at him with one finger, and Janus hisses, shifting his coils to hold on tighter.

“C’mon,” Thomas says. “You gotta let me help you, buddy.”

There is is again: buddy. He still doesn’t think it fits quite right, but it seems to slip out anyway, and now is hardly the time to worry about it, not when Janus still shows no sign of budging.

“Please, Janus,” he says, dangerously close to begging. “I promise, I’m not gonna let anything else happen to you, but you need to let me see where you’re hurt.”

Janus’ tongue flickers out, tasting the air, and his eyes seem to focus just a bit. One minute passes, and then another, and Thomas is about to try to remove him by force when finally, he lets go, slithering onto the counter, his motions hesitant and pained, softly hissing all the while. Blood begins to drip onto the sink, the sickening red smearing across the countertop.

“Thank you,” Thomas says, not bothering to hide his relief. “Okay, um, I’ve got bandages. And painkillers, if you want them… can snakes take painkillers?” He sets things out as he names them, slowing as he hits a snag. Not only does he not know if snakes can take painkillers, but he also doesn’t know if there are any other substances in here that would do more harm than good, or if there are any special steps he should take due to his scales, or the fact that he’s cold-blooded. In fact, he has absolutely no idea how to treat a snake, and the idea that he might end up making things worse is enough to send his anxiety ratcheting up a few notches.

Is he overthinking this? He might be overthinking this. But what if he’s not?

Try to remain calm. If you don’t know enough to work within this situation, change the situation.

Logan again, though he’s not sure how that’s supposed to help. He would change the situation if he could— heck, that’s what he’s trying to do— but if it were so simple as wishing this whole scenario away, he would have done it by now. He’s not sure how to—

Oh, wait. Change the situation, or change Janus’ situation?

He has absolutely no idea how to treat a snake. But Janus doesn’t have to be a snake.

He crouches down so that he’s on eye level with Janus, who is limp and unmoving on the sink counter, tracking his motions with clouded eyes. It’s not just the large gash, he realizes; that’s the worst of it, but there are several shallower cuts, all still open and bleeding, and he swallows hard.

“Okay, so, I don’t want to make things any worse,” he says, keeping his voice low. “Do you think you could turn back into a human for me? Just so that I know what I’m doing?”

Not that he knows much about treating humans either, but at least he’d know where to start. Perhaps if Janus’ injuries were less severe, he could work with them in this state, but that prominent gash looks deep and angry, probably about six inches long, wide and painful, rending scales apart and leaking dark blood and god, he is so afraid of making this worse—

Janus stares at him, and doesn’t react.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas says, because he is. He doesn’t know why Janus only initiates contact with him as a snake, doesn’t know why the very idea of deviating from that seems to disquiet him. Asking him to be human now, like this, almost seems wrong, like they’ll be breaking what understanding they do have between them, breaking the peace they’ve found with each other lately. But then, the peace is already broken, he thinks, has been broken since Janus showed up bleeding. “I know you probably don’t want to. But I want to make this better, and I don’t think I can if you’re uh, shaped like this. I… I guess I’m asking you to trust me.”

It’s a tall order, and he is well aware of that. Janus is Deceit, after all, and Deceit is practically the antithesis of trust. He’ll probably have to work with Janus as a snake after all, and he’s just resolving himself to do the best he can when Janus shifts in place, raising his head.

Thomas isn’t sure how to process what happens next. One part of his brain tells him that the change happens slowly, that Janus’ form stretches and morphs in impossible ways, scales fading away and features rearranging before his eyes. The other part of his brain insists that the shift is instantaneous, that it happens as quickly as blinking, that in one moment, there is a snake curled on the counter and in the next, there is a man, with no gradual transition between the two. But however it happens, Janus now sits in front of him, arms and legs all present, hunched in on himself and wheezing. One hand flies to his side, clutching at his shirt.

Thomas blinks. For a second, his mind fights with itself, trying to decide on what, exactly, he just watched. Then, he decides that it doesn’t matter, that he’ll have a crisis about it later, and that there are more important things to concentrate on.

He reaches out, placing a steadying hand on Janus’ shoulder. “Easy, easy,” he says, raising his voice to be audible over Janus’ gasps. “Are you okay?”

It takes a minute for Janus to get his breathing under control, and when he does, he looks up at Thomas, his expression pinched. “Just fine,” he rasps. “Absolutely perfect, can’t you tell?” His voice is strained, tension showing in the lines around his eyes and in the thin set of his mouth. “Really, Thomas, the fuss is hardly necessary. I—” He cuts off with a slight gasp, eyes squeezing shut, and Thomas feels his heart clench.

“Hm, yeah, no, I think I’ve got the right to fuss a little bit,” he says, hoping his voice stays level. He looks him up and down, searching for the injury, and finds nothing; his shirt appears immaculate, his whole outfit as perfectly assembled as usual, not a rip or tear in sight. If it weren’t for the pain on his face, the tremors wracking his frame, Thomas wouldn’t suspect that he was injured at all, and he frowns. “Can you, uh—” He gestures— “take off your shirt, maybe? So I can see where you’re hurt?”

Janus sighs heavily, as though the request has greatly burdened him. He waves one hand in the air, and his shirt and capelet vanish, revealing his bare torso. Under any other circumstance, Thomas might be fascinated by the scales that trail all along his chest and left arm, but right now, his attention centers on the gash bloodying his side, and the thinner scratches that cover him. They all look bigger than they were before, more serious, and he hopes that he didn’t make the wrong decision in requesting him to shift. If it had been a bad idea, he would have refused, right?

“God, Janus,” he says. “What happened?”

Janus sighs again, rolling his eyes. “A mishap in the Imagination,” he says. “Unfortunately, both Roman and Remus designed the place so that its effects stick around even after leaving.”

… Alright. That’s probably something to talk about later; he doesn’t particularly like the reminder that he has no idea how most of the mindscape works. “But I thought you could heal yourselves?” he can’t help but ask. He vividly remembers the day he met Remus, the way that none of his attacks seemed to affect Logan for more than a few seconds.

“We all can, to some degree,” Janus agrees. “It’s more difficult for some of us than it is for others.” He hesitates, and the next words come out slow and almost defensive. “I am capable of it, if I succeed in persuading myself that the problem doesn’t exist in the first place, but in order to do so, I need to sufficiently distance myself from any negative sensations that accompany the harm. I am… currently finding that difficult.” He glares. “I’ll mange perfectly well, given time. There is no need for any of this.” He waves an arm to punctuate the declaration, and it might have been somewhat convincing if it weren’t for the fact that he immediately curls in on himself, face paling, like he’s pulled something the wrong way.

“Yeah, okay,” he says. “Well, how about you let me help you anyway, just for my peace of mind?”

Janus stares at him for a long moment, face unreadable. Finally, he glances away. “Do what you wish,” he says. “If you want to waste time on this, be my guest.”

He hums noncommittally, already inspecting the wound. “I don’t think that taking care of you is a waste of time,” he says, fishing through the first aid kit. He comes up with a bottle of extra-strength Tylenol, looking up just in time to see what can only be an expression of shock fade from Janus’ face, and god, what must he be doing wrong if that is Janus’ reaction to being told that he cares about him? He can’t unpack that right now, or else he might cry, so he holds out the Tylenol instead. “Painkillers?”

Janus nods slightly, and takes two dry. From there, Thomas works in silence, cleaning the wounds as best he can and bandaging them. It takes longer than he expects, and he debates whether or not the long gash will need stitches. He decides not to make the attempt, trusting that what Janus says is true and that he will be able to heal before too long. So he wraps bandages around his torso, and Janus, for his part, remains perfectly still, staring straight ahead, an occasional soft hiss the only thing that betrays his discomfort.

“Okay,” he says quietly, inspecting his handiwork. “I think that’s the best I can do.”

Janus shoots him an unreadable look. “In that case,” he says, “I believe I’ll be going now.”

He hops down from the counter before Thomas can stop him, and his face crumples like a wet sheet of paper. Thomas catches him as his knees give out, hooking his hands under his arms. He is surprisingly light, his skin cool to the touch.

“How about we don’t do that, actually,” he says. “I’ll tell you what, let’s go to my room, and I can work and you can get some rest?”

Janus hisses, trying to jerk away. It’s not difficult to prevent him from doing so; he has all the strength of a floppy pool noodle. “Oh yes, because I’m in dire need of a babysitter,” he spits out, and perhaps Thomas should feel intimidated, but looking at him, at the way all the color has drained from his face, at the way his eyes have glazed over even as they dart around the bathroom, all Thomas can muster up is a deep worry.

“I’m not trying to babysit you,” he says. “Believe me, I know that you of all people don’t need babysitting. But if you try to sink out now, I’m just gonna be stressed out, so if you’d stick around for a little bit, I would really appreciate it.”

Janus stills. The silence stretches on.

“Fine,” Janus says. “Sure. Whatever.”

Thomas restrains himself from letting out a sigh of relief, instead adjusting his grip on Janus until he is only supporting part of his weight. From the look on his face, Janus wants very much to grumble about the indignity of the situation, but miraculously, he remains quiet all the way to Thomas’ room, though he begins to drag his feet when he sees what Thomas intends.

“If you want me to rest,” he says, “I am perfectly capable of doing so in my own room. There’s hardly a need for me to take up space in your bed.”

“Okay,” Thomas says, lowering him to sit on the bedsheets and doing his level best to ignore his glare, “but then I won’t know that you’re alright. Also, I don’t see what the big deal is? It’s not like we haven’t done this before. You were just, uh, snakier.”

He knows immediately that it is the wrong thing to say. Janus’ face sets into an impassive wall, and he looks away, refusing to make eye contact. Thomas can’t tell what he’s feeling, whether it’s anger or embarrassment or frustration or some stubborn combination of the three. But he settles himself against the headboard without further argument, seemingly determined not to carry on any further conversation, so Thomas resigns himself to the silent treatment and sets up with his laptop on the other side of the bed, several inches placed between them.

The atmosphere is awkward, heavy. They both know that Thomas wants to talk, and they both know that Janus will not reply, or if he does, it will be with sharp sarcasm or otherwise cutting words, an answer that will not answer anything at all. So Thomas doesn’t say anything, merely glances over every now and again to be sure that Janus is still there, is still fine, is still breathing. Every time, he is greeted with the same sight: Janus staring off into the empty space in front of him, face blank, a faint tightness around his eyes the only indication that he is still in pain. There is a wall between them, invisible yet insurmountable, and Thomas has no idea how to breach it.

Why does their relationship feel so off-kilter now? Why are things so natural between them when Janus is a snake, small and speechless and cuddly, and not when he is a human?

“I don’t mean to force you to stay,” he murmurs. “If you’re really that uncomfortable, it’s alright if you leave.”

He’s watching him out of the corner of his eye, and as such, he sees the wince, slight though it may be.

“It’s… not that,” Janus admits. “I am grateful for your concern, truly. I just… so love being in unfamiliar territory.” His voice is a quiet drawl, but laced with exhaustion, his words just shy of slurred together.

He takes a second to parse through the words, and then smiles. “Well, that makes two of us,” he says. “I’d be alright with muddling through together. And look, I know that most of the time, when we hang out, you’re a snake. And that’s fine! One hundred percent fine, if that’s what you’re most comfortable with! But uh, I really wouldn’t mind spending more time with you as, like, a person, too, if that makes sense. Not that you’re not a person when you’re a snake! Wait—” He furrows his brow, trying to untangle his words, and looks over, certain that Janus will at least be amused by his rambling.

He’s not. Because Janus is asleep, his chin resting against his chest and his hat about to fall into his lap. Thomas feels an inexorable sense of fondness sweep over him, and with a gentle movement, he reaches over to pluck the hat from Janus’ head, revealing brown hair that falls in springy waves. He places the hat on the nightstand, casting one last look at Janus before returning his attention to his laptop.

There is plenty of work to do, and he is content to do it here, sitting in bed with Janus napping by his side. So he does, his fingers clacking against the keys long into the night, and Janus sleeps on.

-----------

He doesn’t remember falling asleep. But he must, because he wakes, and slowly processes the fact that all is not as he left it. For one, the light is off, the room dark, and his laptop is resting on the nightstand, next to the shadow of Janus’ hat. For another, there is a heavy weight on top of his chest, pinning one of his arms against his side, and in the seconds before his eyes adjust sufficiently to the darkness, he fears the worst, fears that someone has broken into his apartment and… crawled into bed with him, and the irrationality of that idea is enough to dampen his panic. He squints, trying to will his vision into focus, and begins to make out what features he can see of the face pressed against his chest, features that very closely resemble his own, and that is when he remembers: Janus on his arm, Janus injured and bleeding, Janus on his bed, Janus asleep. Janus… still here.

Janus, snuggled up against him, his head resting on his chest, his body curled into his side, latched onto him with both… no, there’s more than two arms. At least four, maybe more; it’s difficult to determine without the light on, because all that Thomas can tell is that he is being very thoroughly hugged, and that it feels very nice.

This fact is distracting enough that it’s a full three minutes or so before he realizes that there is another figure perched on the edge of his bed. Panic roars up in him once again, his heart pounding and the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, but then he notices the details, notices the poof of the figure’s sleeves, the wildness of their hair silhouetted against the light that creeps around the edges of the doorframe, the unholy red gleam of their eyes. And he… well, he doesn’t relax, not exactly. But most of his fear sidesteps directly into annoyance.

“Remus,” he hisses, as quietly as he can manage. “What are you doing?”

Remus cocks his head, his eyes shining brighter. He’s crouched almost like a grotesque parody of a cat, ready to pounce. But the Duke himself is still and silent, and it’s very odd. Almost worrying. And when he finally speaks, it’s not at all what Thomas was expecting.

“DeeDee got hurt,” he says, voice a subdued whisper, and Thomas is taken aback, both by the seriousness of his tone and the evident consideration toward not waking Janus up.

“I— yeah,” Thomas replies, uncertain as to where this is going. “I, uh, patched him up as best I could. He said he’d heal soon.” A thought occurs to him, and if Janus weren’t keeping him flat on his back, he’d be sitting bolt upright, finger pointed in accusation. “Wait, he said he was hurt in the Imagination. Did you have something to do with that?”

“I can’t keep an eye on every part of La La Land at once, Thomas.” He shrugs. “It’s not my fault if Snake from Snake Farm wandered into something he shouldn’t have.” He giggles, high-pitched and a little manic, but Thomas wonders at his tone of voice. It’s as irreverent as always, but underneath that— can it be concern? He really didn’t think Remus did concern. “Snakes should know better than to let their guard down. Your mind is dark and full of terrors.” He smiles, several rows of pointed white teeth gleaming an unnatural white in the shadows.

“I don’t even watch—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head, and then freezes as Janus makes a small sound. Seconds pass, and he waits with bated breath, but Janus doesn’t seem to wake. “Okay, then,” he continues, more quietly. “Is there a reason why you’re here?”

Remus blinks, and once again, Thomas is reminded of a cat. A terrible, eldritch horror of a cat, but a cat nonetheless. “DeeDee doesn’t like to be around people when he’s hurt,” he says, rocking back and forth in place. “He doesn’t like people knowing when he’s weak.” He sighs through his nose, his breath whistling more than is natural. “He holes up in his room and doesn’t come out for anything, usually. Not even when I bang on the door and put rats in his air vents.”

Thomas stares, trying to process that. “But he’s here with me,” he says dumbly. “He decided to stay here. He’s…” He trails off. He doesn’t need to describe what Janus is doing; surely, Remus can see it for himself, can see them engaging in what can only be labeled as cuddling. And it’s not as if this is the first time; it’s just the first time Janus has been human-shaped.

“Yes, he is,” Remus agrees, voice sharp, and he is definitely trying to convey something here, something that Thomas is missing. “Tommy-boy, Tommy-boy, Tommy-boy, you’re just not getting it, are you? Well, that’s fine. Just remember that the snakes on the plane die too, if the plane crashes.”

“Is the plane crashing?” Thomas asks, voice hoarse, hesitant, and once again, Remus smiles, wide and dangerous.

“Not now, maybe,” he says. “But it still could. It always can. That’s the fun thing about airplanes. I could help with that, if you wanted.”

“No thanks,” Thomas is quick to reply.

Remus shrugs. “Suit yourself,” he says, and then pauses. “Janus doesn’t let just anyone this close, you know. So don’t fuck it up.”

It’s such an uncharacteristic statement that by the time Thomas has recovered enough to reply, Remus is gone, melting into the bedsheets in a grotesque puddle of goo, and then, even that disappears. Thomas is left in a dark, quiet room, and he has never felt more awake.

But Janus is still here, still asleep, is holding onto him for dear life and hiding his face against his chest. And it’s something precious, something intimate, something that Thomas feels privileged to see at all, and Remus’ voice rings loud in his head: Janus doesn’t let just anyone this close. Why, then, has he allowed him this? Why has he let Thomas see him at his most vulnerable, no matter how reluctant he was at the start? Why did he choose to stay, rather than leaving once Thomas nodded off?

Each question only leads to more questions, and it’s clear that he won’t receive any answers tonight. So he settles back in as best he can, though it is a long time before he manages to fall asleep again.

In the morning, Janus is gone. He wishes he could be more surprised.

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[secreteddsworldblog]

Can I Buy You A Drink?

Eduardo x M!reader

You really don't know how you thought going to a bar to drink Diet Cola all alone was a good idea. Though you're not really in the right set of mind to make reasonable choices.

 You've recently had a mutual break up from a long term relationship. Years, not petty months, walked out the door. Regardless if you were the one who brought up the conversation when confronting your Ex about the change of mannerism towards you it still hurt. You still felt like the Dumpy. 

Even a month now since the night it ended you still felt an overwhelming sense of loss. You're no stranger to the feeling though. You've actually had worse relationships you rather not think about unless you want to go into a fit of sobs between Cola sips. 

"Another diet cola please," you had already gone through a few cans but didn't want to stop. It's your favorite drink. Why not indulge in things to make yourself better? You're actually really picky with what you drink. Nothing makes it past your lips unless its water, milk, and Cola. 

"You've had enough, sir!" The bartender was in the middle of drying a wet drinking glass with a yellowed white rag. 

How dare he deny you, you're a paying customer, and in pain, "I know when to stop!"

From just the right distance away to hear the exchange sat Eduardo who was had been deep in thought about his own moarning. He always considered himself a tough man, the definition of machismo, someone who can't be knocked down. 

Many would say he has no right to feel the way he does after how he behaved before the life changing event he had to go through. But sometimes it takes a rude awakening to trigger a well needed over due self reflection and change in character. 

Eduardo's head perked up the moment he heard a man ask for another diet cola. Who orders diet cola at a bar? Besides him that is. If someone can enjoy a diet cola enough to drink it everywhere then obviously it's someone with good taste like him.

Temporarily getting out of his own head he got up and reached the counter, " Bartender, I DEMAND you bring a pair of diet colas for my friend and I!" 

"FINE, Mr Eduardo," the bartender slammed the glass he was working on down and went to get the cold refreshments firmly holding them out, "But this is all either of you is getting tonight."

"Whatever," Eduardo passed one of the cans over to you, "Cheers!"

You'd be lying if you said you didn't feel a little bit of second AND first hand embaressment. It's not everyday a cute rando just comes up and makes somewhat of a scene for you. You have a feeling he's the kind of guy who calls out underpaid fast food joint employees when they put pickles in his friends bugers when they asked for none. 

With the sound of a 'Tink' from cans tapping you lightened up a little. It would do you some good to know new people. Not in a thottie way. You've had to move  homes for a fresh start, staying in that house with the memories were only going to make things harder for you to recover from, so you're actually in unknown territory.  

"So what's a guy like you doing drinking cola all alone?" Eduardo glaced at you from the corner of his eyes still letting the diet cola can hover next to his lips after the first sip. You didn't know what he meant by 'a guy like you'. Though you weren't the most traditionally masculine looking bloke at the bar compared to him. You wouldn't go as far as calling yourself an E-boy but you're definetly decked out in more of a casual alternative attire. Some would call you a pretty boy, like your Ex before he stopped-

"Probably for the same reason you are?" It was strange to see someone else drinking the same thing alone- Unless this is normal for a guy like him. He didn't look like a traditional loner but weirdos come in all sorts of flavors. You knew that fairly well. 

Other broken souls in the bar are getting properly drunk and a man out with the boys would only drink non-alcoholic beverages if he's the designated driver.

"I see... You come here often?" He lowered his drink to have his other arm reach over to scratch the back of his head. Eyes avoiding yours. 

"No. I'm fairly new 'round these parts," You paused for a second deciding to say something risky, "Do you want me to come here often?" A little flirting never hurt anyone. It might be too soon to get back on the sattle but you weren't looking for anything serious any time soon nor were you planning to go far while you're still healing. You just miss being who you used to be before devoting yourself to you Ex. Your confidence wasn't always real but you'd love to go back to being the cocky flirts you used to be. Seeing just how many people call fall for you knowing you can have absolutely anyone. 

Eduardo seemed to almost spit his drink seeing his subtle attempt at hitting on you be returned. "A-Are you serious?" His eyes widened a little looking at you. He must have been on the market and unsuccesful for quite some time hm? He hadn't been seen in a serious relationship since the one with his own Ex, Laurel. 

"Why wouldn't I be?" You flex your classic side smirl and eyebrow raise. You might be a little rusty and you could use some practice in the mirror before trying that on anyone else.

Eduardo seem to have trouble thinking of what to say next only to be saved by his phone ringing, "S'cuse me, I have to take this-". On his phone Mark's icon and name popped up. 

Mark had it together and seemed to have taken the loss a lot better than Eduardo. He was the more mature one of the trio and because of that he took it upon himself to look after eduardo  remaining roommates with him. 

As Eduardo went to a less crowded corner of the bar you checked your own phone. 

You had roommates of your own. Some pals who ARE locals of this town. One of them even owns a music shop a few blocks form the bar. You couldn't trust yourself to exist alone after the break up so they were nice enough to let you move in as long as you helped around the store and did you part of house chores. 

You scoffed at the text from Kasey the other roommate who has an online business and likes to call himself an 'influencer.' 

[Kasey]: Are you still being a lil bitch baby? Where are you? Bill and I are going to lock you out of the house if you stay out late again.

With a roll of your eyes you respond back saying you'll be home in a bit. Even though they were nice enough to take you in the dynamic between the three could be considered playfully rude but tipping too close over the line into toxic. Kasey could say 'Fuck you' and you could say 'Eat my ass' then go out for a movie. 

"Sorry about that. My roommate was checking up on me". Eduardo sat back down looking at your face wondering why you looked peeved. 

Rent must be terrible in this town. It seemed everyone had a roommate. "That's fine. So were mine. I have to split actually-" You got up slyly putting your coat jacket on waiting to see if the man really was interested in you enough to say anything about seeing you again.

"O-Oh wait. How often are you thinking of coming by this spot?" Eduardo didn't have many people to see when he left home. Aside from a stiff friendship with Tom. Since the incident they've bonded over their hatred for Tord. They took turns doing each other's interests like watching a sporting event when it's Eduardo's turn to pick the activity or going to a concert when it was Tom's night. It would usually end in some fight over bashing each others choices but they always silently made up and made plans for another night. 

"Mmmm. I don't know really," it was the truth. Even if you were to say what days you'd potentially show up it wasn't for sure. You'd play hard to get but this could become a good friendship. Someone who isn't calling you slurs, reclaimable between you and your roommates among themselves of course, and someone who might actually like you. "Here, let me save my number in you phone-" You reach out placing you hand on his forarm that held the phone testing to see if he'd flinch or push you away from the gentle touch. 

Eduardo felt goosebumps from around you touch. You could have sworn you saw a hint of green blush on his face. No one really touches him besides Mark when he pats Eduardo on the back when he things he needs it. "S-sure". 

You glided your hand from where it was to his hands sliding the phone out from his grasp. Your brain did a buffer effect when seeing the person that was his lock screen. A guy with small eyes, light brown hair, and blue button up. Who was this? This better not be some unnamed boyfriend. You didn't take him for a cheater. You still saved your number on his phone but took a mental note not to flirt as much until you know for sure the guy was single. Even if it's just casual the last thing you want to be is a homewrecker. 

You handed the phone over back to him, "See ya." Okay, you can spare a wink before walking away from him. 

Eduardo sat there confused. That really happened. He really got someone's phone number. He took one last sip from his diet cola before setting down the money to pay for their drinks. 

Authors note:

What's up fellow LGBTs. I didn't see any xM!Reader content much less for Eddsworld charas so I took it upon myself to actually provide for any of the other losers who simp for Eduardo. Might do a love triangle down the line tho- 

[phantomphangphucker]

Ectober Day 7: Hero - But It’s Not Funny

*a sequel to Realities Little Joke For Infinity* Highly recommend reading that first but it’s not exactly necessary.

Tony has a bad habit of adopting strays. Particularly the stupidly heroic kind that were too reckless and too selfless for their own good. So of course he wasn’t going to just ignore the random teen that literally saved the universe only to disappear into the future. Even if said teen was somewhat dead and the only hero left in a world and time that seriously needed more.

Tony grins as he finally gets the connection to work, making his face appear on the strange future teens laptop; or whatever tech people used in whatever time this kid’s in. Going a bit wide-eyed and wheezing when the first thing he sees is Phantom -in alien PJ’s, because of course the first thing he sees on the kid who showed up in a t-shirt and jeans to an active warzone is pjs- shrieking and jumping a foot off the ground while holding a full pot off coffee; which predictably sends the contents of said coffee pot flying into the air and splattering all over the teens face and floor.

Phantom looks to the screen slowly, with steaming coffee dripping off his chin, hair and eyelashes, “seriously?”.

At that Tony can’t help but bend over laughing. Straightening up and looking at the coffee pot, “what were you even doing walking around with a full coffee pot?”.

“Well I was going to drink it. But now it’s as empty as my wallet”, Phantom looks down at the pot and grumbles, “ya know what? Fuck it. I’m still gonna drink it”, then pointing his finger around and telekinetically making all the droplets of coffee on him and the floor float back into the pot.

Tony watches, a little disgusted, as the kid practically takes a full swing of the previously spilled coffee, shrugs, and sits down by his own screen; feet clearly pulled up onto the chair seat as well and coffee pot cradled between his knees and chest. Tony eyeballs the coffee pot, “you’re really going to drink that huh?”.

Phantom shrugs, “I know what’s on my floor”, looks down at the carpet and shrugs again while muttering, “a Zone damned biohazard of blood n’ ‘plasm that’s what. Oh!”, eyes widening a little, “and a sock with a questionable stain”, looking back to the screen, “‘s not like I can get sick anyway. I could drink this shit outta a radioactive waste barrel and be fine. Prob’ taste like shit tho”.

Tony wheezes both amused and pained, “please don’t kid”, that... that would definitely make him gag.

Phantom chuckles, “don’t intend to”.

The two sit in silence for a bit. Tony taking in the teens appearance. There’s hand-shaped bruising coating his neck, one of his fingers is clearly broken, and there’s a pencil-sized hole going clean through the other hands palm. Phantom doesn’t even seem to care about the state of his body, considering how relaxed he seems and the PJ’s. Plus, no way would Tony be carrying anything, including a full pot of coffee, with his hands in the state Phantom’s are.

Phantom yawns, Tony noticing that he’s missing more than a handful of teeth, before Phantom asks, “so...why’s the past tin can face-timing my laptop?”.

Tony puts on a smile, so it was a laptop. Neat. “future or not, I’ve adopted you as one of my brats. I remember you saying there wasn’t superheroes in your age”, waving his hand around, “no older generation to guide the newer. Well you're getting the older generation now”, shrugging and smiling more genuinely, “plus underroos won’t stop talking about you”. Understatement of the century, Peter was thrilled to meet another teen hero, and wouldn’t stop going on about what powers he might have or if he even has anyone to support him. The latter Tony cares about more.

Phantom wheezes, “whom the fuck is ‘underroos’?”, shaking his head, “so ya wanna be my mentor of sorts and help me blast my foes from the past?”.

Tony smirks and nods, this kid’s humour sure was something else, “exactly. And you met before, the kid? Peter?”. Sure it had been a few months but he couldn’t have seriously just forgotten?

Phantom tilts his head, “the red and blue teenager?”.

Tony grins, “you got it, kid”, eyeing the teen's hands again, “your hands gonna be fine?”.

Phantom waves one hand around, chugging more coffee, “eh don’t worry your metal ass about it. I heal like crazy”, stretching his feet out and resting them on the desk, “I’m just putting it off a while on my hands ‘cause the broken ribs and missing bits of spine are kinda more important ya know?”.

Tony rubs his temples, “Jesus Christ”, just how much damage can this teen sustain? That kind of injury should kill a person.

Phantom laughs, probably at Tony’s pained expression, “don’t worry about that either! Not like I can die twice! Haha!”.

Tony looks back to the screen at that, feeling a bit more serious, “yeah, Thanos said something like that. That you were dead but alive. And you confirmed it. What did he even mean?”.

Phantom purses his lips, “well I could explain but that also could mess with the time stream and could result in some weird immoral science crap”. Tony doesn’t get a chance to comment on that as Phantom turns his head to the side and whines exaggeratedly at the thin air, opening his mouth as wide as looks physically possible, maybe even past that, “tiiiiiiime dadddddddyyyyyyy, will this break the time stream? Your problem child has a proooooobleeeeeeem”.

Tony wheezes into his hands, “Christ”, and stares dumbfounded as a giant hourglass with purple sand comes out of nowhere and smacks the teen in the face, making Phantom fall out of the chair with a thud.

Phantom groans and begins laughing, righting himself and spinning the hourglass around, pointing the bottom of it at the screen, it reading ‘you’re fine’. Tony is so not reading into that, kid had someone like Strange in his corner. Phantom sits back down, lifting up the hourglass like it’s a weight, “Kay Kay Kay, so I’m a halfa right? Unique creature, that’s what I am. A fucked up little science project gone wrong, or right. Your choice. My folks screwed up in the lab and boom!”, he sticks his limbs out comically before righting himself and catching the coffee pot he effectively tossed in the air, “a whack-a-mole of electricity and a wormhole decided to stop my tiny little heart. Also restarted it too though! So it’s cool”, tilting his head, “wait... didn’t I already explain this?”.

Tony sighs, “sort of. We were in the middle of a war”.

Phantom quirks an eyebrow, “your point? That was, like, the bloody third one I’ve been in”, rolling his hand around, “first there was the High Ghost King, his fifty-thousand odd skeletons, and objects of near-unlimited power. The alternate future where an evil me single-handedly annihilated humanity, talk about traumatising having to fight yourself literally”, tilting his head, “and no clue if the plant guy with his army of mind-controlled people and plants or the sleep guy with his army of Walkers, counted as ‘wars’. And eh!”, snapping his fingers, “there was that guy I stole the Reality Gauntlet from! He took over the planet and turned people into clowns and shit. So that might be big enough to count as a war, even if it was just him versus me. But then the tornado guy caused storms all over the planet too so would that count then too?”, shrugging, “eh whatever. I’m sticking with three. Pariah would have eventually destroyed the Zone, which woulda ended the universe. Dan was actively on his way to ending all life in the universe, probably all death too. And grape guy, Thanos, was about to annihilate half the life in the universe which honestly would just end all life eventually... maybe”.

Tony stares at the kid before wheezing some more and falling backwards, “Christ”, righting himself and his chair, “there is something seriously wrong with your life. Like, seriously wrong”. Apparently the future was a freaking mess and fixing its crap was all on one random teen's shoulders. All because the kid died, which somehow gave him superpowers, and decided to make something good out of that death. Talk about unfair. And messed up. Really messed up. At least Tony had his team and they had each other, “please tell me you have some kind of support?”.

Phantom grins and nods eagerly, “got my guy in the chair techy, he destroyed a sataliget once! My rich activist goth, she sued one of my enemies into oblivion. And a ghost hunter who only sometimes tries to murder me and got a nanobot supersuit running through her veins; she can lowkey kick my ass if I hold back enough to avoid accidentally killing the living”, wagging his finger at the screen and getting really close, “us dead fucks are borderline indestructible immortals, halfas even more so”, leaning back and shrugging, “can still die, or fade it’s called for the spookies, though. Well, most can anyway. Timedaddy’s straight-up immortal. But if they died then, well, then the universe would literally implode from the time-stream collapsing”, and makes a little explosion sound and motion with his hands. Oh fuck, the kid was really just a damn kid. And from the sounds of it, his entire support was three teenagers. Ah Hell. Oh and some time being, ghost?, that just left him to his own devices.

Tony shakes his head, “you know what? That doesn’t actually make me feel any better”.

Phantom shrugs, drinks, swishes the coffee around, “don’t know what to tell you, man, my entire existence is pretty fucked up. My archenemy is my uncle, wants to adopt me, and gave me his inheritance. My girlfriend has a solid murder boner for me. My parents get giddy at the idea of dissecting me and are actually worse about that the odd time they’ve been successful. The kids’ at school think I’m their personal punching bag. The government would love to shoot me full of missiles and bombs. Pretty sure my sis is just using me for her research paper on ghost psychology or whatever. And my friendships are pretty much based on the three of us just being really weird”.

Tony groans, this kid probably needed more help and support that literally any other teen or hero. “ClockPops is great though. We play chess”,

Tony blinks, mentally pausing, “you... play chess? Seriously?”, this kid seemed to have more issues sitting still than Peter did. Tony finds it hard to believe he can sit through even half a game of chess.

Phantom nods and grins, “yup. Switched the pieces out for shot-glasses once, it was great. One of my teachers is cool too. He crossdressed and pretended to be his own sister to get me to try harder on a test; it worked better than it had any right to”.

Tony blinks and breathes, “your life”, shaking his head because it sounded like the future was just pure insanity, “well now I’m here and while I’m a bit reckless and a recovering alcoholic, I’m not insane”.

Phantom chuckles, “I’ll probably prove to be a bit much for you then. I’d have to be stupid to not think I’m not at least marginally nuts. Nowhere near frootloopy but eh”.

Tony sighs, being self-aware enough -or just not giving enough of a damn- to recognise that was both impressive and depressing. Impressively depressing. “A few of us Avengers are trained doctors and psychologists outside of being experienced heroes. So kid? You’ve got all of us. At least for verbal advice. Strange already went and basically confirmed that paying you a visit wasn’t a smart idea”.

Phantom snorts and rolls his eyes, sipping a bit more before staring down the pot at the small amount left. Speaking into the pot, “oh yeah, I can just imagine all the time problems that could cause. I’m surprised this is okay”.

Tony can’t help chuckling at the slightly silly image, though he’s not sure why the kid doesn’t just drink what’s left, savouring it maybe? “Same. Strange looked at me like he was questioning my sanity. He’s probably going to pester you about the Clock guy you keep mentioning”, grumbling to the side, “I just hope Loki will keep his trickster mitts off you”. Because fuck, they’d probably get on like fire and more fire. Which yeah, slightly horrifying mental image. Probably inevitable though. Loki was already impressed, amused, and interested by Phantom and literally everything the teen did after showing up. Seriously though, who’s first thought when fighting giant spaceships with mouths and other horrifying shit, is to turn it into bouncy balls and worms??? And a smoothie for a reward? For effectively saving the universe? Kid was a trickster, dabbled in death kind of literally, and ‘gave precisely zero fucks’. Loki would have a field day and probably be a horrid influence. Though thinking of it, Phantom might be a bad influence on Loki. Loki generally had reasons for anything beyond mild messing with people. Phantom seemed more likely to just go buck wild purely because he could. Even if he seemingly had a heart of gold and more self-sacrificial bones in his body than actual bones. Seemed like his entire world/time belittled and beat the shit out of him, and yet he gladly got dissected and lost chunks of his freaking spine for them. At least he had the power to back it up.

Tony quirks an eyebrow at mist, or something, leaving the kid’s mouth before Phantom goes wide-eyed and Tony jerks as an actual literal swear-on-every-ironsuit-and-the-entire-tower cartoonish rocket smashes apart what he’s assuming is-was a window; sending glass flying everywhere... and Phantom flying off-screen, the coffee pot going up in the air and sounding like it smashed apart on the ground.

Tony can practically hear the glare in Phantom’s voice, “hey! You spilled my damn coffee!”, while a robot blasts into the room, breaking more glass and bits of wood from the looks of it.

The robot pauses, seems to frown apologetically before shrugging, “apologies whelp, but it is no matter! You won’t need such things after I skin you!“. Tony chokes and gags a little at that. “Also-”, pointing to where Phantom probably is, “-that was practically empty”. Tony then stares as Phantom comes back in screen -looking all black and white- only for the robot to shoot a missile at him immediately, Phantom just sort of shrugs and lets the missile hit him in the face. This kid seriously really didn’t give a damn about his own well being.

And not even seconds later Peter walks in out of the blue, face lighting up as he notices the screen and probably Phantom’s very noticeable self on it, and dashes over. Obviously noticing Phantom’s current situation, “oh Phantom! Kick his butt!”.

Phantom does a silly thumbs up at the screen and immediately gets stabbed in the shoulder. Tony watches in slight disbelief at the kid looking at the knife, saying, “oh! You got a new knife! Shit is the handle engraved?!?”. And the robot actually stops and replies with a wide grin, “it was a valentines gift from Ember! Impressive right?”.

Tony and Peter both blink at the fight effectively stopping as Phantom pulls out the knife and looks it over, seeming impressed, “actually yeah”, pointing almost aggressively at the robot, “you got her something too right? You’re fucking horrible for that man”.

The robot rolls Its eyes, how metal is moving that organically Tony has no clue. “Of course whelp, those drum sticks you can sing into”. Phantom facepalms and Peter actually shakes his head in disappointment. Though Tony agrees, that was awful. But who talks with their enemy -who wants to skin them for peat's sake!- about presents?

Phantom makes a tsk tsk sound, “you dumbass, she got you a sick-ass knife and you got her a knick-knack? Seriously?”, Phantom walks off-screen, the two watching as what they’re assuming is cash flys over to the robot and Phantom returns on screen, “go by some flowers to make up for that crappy present. And for the love of everything, don’t get roses”, waving his hand around, “that’s so cliche. Go with tulips and forget-me-nots”.

The robot inspects the cash before flying off-screen, presumably back out through the window It destroyed, “I will have your pelt next time, whelp!”.

Phantom chuckles, shouting back, “sure you will, Skulkie! Ghost Zones greatest hunter”. Tony and Peter can feel the sarcasm in that. “Also! No you don’t have to ask! An engraved knife would be a wicked Christmas Truce present!”. Tony sighs when a ball or something slams into Phantom’s stomach and sends him flying off-screen.

Peter leaning towards the camera, “woah! You okay?”.

Phantom’s laughter echoes horribly, “right as rain! Mind you, it’s not actually raining”, righting himself and pulling himself up into the previously knocked over chair, “don't mind Skulker, he’s a poacher and I’m rare. Practically one of a kind actually. A poachers dream prize. His girlfriend has a mind-controlling guitar and occasionally attempts at world domination”. A ghost-shaped guitar floats on-screen, Phantom grabbing it, “she gives awesome presents though”, and gives the guitar a good couple strums.

Peter’s eyes go wide, “you can play the guitar?!?”, tilting his head and asking what is in Tony’s opinion a more important question, “wait, your enemies buy you presents?”, tilting his head back, “oh man that’s awesome”. Tony just shakes his head with a smile, teenagers.

Phantom grins and strums some more before the guitar floats off-screen, “all my enemies do”, shrugging, “for the Christmas Truce and my death-day anyway. But that’s normal. A ghost culture thing. Even the prison warden guy, whose got special torture weapons set aside just for little ol’ me, buys me some kind of present. Heck! Even the eyeballs do! And they’ve repeatedly tried to assassinate me”.

Tony blinks, “kid, that makes no sense. But I’m glad they’re at least occasionally nice to you”. Hell knows Phantom needs someone to be nice to him.

Peter tilts his head, “what even is a ‘death-day’? Sounds dark”.

“Oh nothing special, just the day I died. Like a birthday! But for death! A real dead-ringer of a holiday!”, and laughs loudly before rolling his eyes at Tony, waving his hand around, “eh, I’m kinda their king so be kinda a dick move to not give me gifts on literally the two biggest holidays”.

Peter practically shrieks, “WHAT! You’re a king! Oh that is so cool”. Tony blinks, “you did mention something about being the guardian of death and Earth”.

Phantom laughs some more and finger-guns while winking at Peter, “yup! Very important, much power”, and grins stupidly before pointing to the air above his head; a green floating crown bursting to ‘life’ with green mist or something wafting off, followed by a black cape with a flaming white collar and large flaming green skulls pinning it closed with a shadowy chain.

Peter cheers immediately, then adding, “Loki would love this!”. Tony points at him, “no. I want to keep that one as far away as possible for as long as possible”.

Phantom snickers, “I have chronic bad luck, so don’t count on that working out for you. Spidey probably has better tastes than you though, Ironass”.

Tony shakes his head with a smile, “you like making up names for people huh?”.

Phantom grins meanly, “it pisses people off. Which makes them easier to hit”, and holds up a fist, smacking a hand on his bicep.

Tony can’t help but laugh at that, “you got a point kid!”, though that was stupid reckless, and effectively confirmed him being tricky. One of Tony’s tech toys starts beeping so she moves to check it out. Peter taking his place in the chair. Glancing back at Tony before looking back to the screen, “hey I’ve got a question, teen to teen. What’s being a hero to you? Why do you do it? It just... it seems like your only suffering for it. Waaaaay more than normal. And not making stuff much better for it”.

Phantom hums, spinning around in the chair, “a hero's not afraid to give their life, and anything worth doing is worth getting hurt for. I do it so others will not suffer. That is all. It doesn’t matter if things change or not. If there’s still unnecessary violence and pain, then it is still a hero's place to grab their fists around it and pulverise it to Hell and back. So long as cruelty exists I will be there to stand against it. With a smile on my face and a laugh in my heart and Core. Because there is no greater joy, no greater choice, no greater path, than self-sacrifice for the sake of another. Regardless who they are, what they are. Good or bad. Young or old. And whether they support you, or not”, Phantom nods, puts his hands behind his head, cape bunching up, and looks to the side, “and maybe someday things will change. I doubt it, but who knows. But if things do, if that kind of future is on the horizon, then I think I’ll rest. Until then, I’ll be here. Doing what I do and suffering immeasurably for it. Until the world doesn’t need ‘heroes’ anymore. Till it doesn’t need me anymore”, looking back at the screen, Tony having walked back over slowly though the kid doesn’t pay him any mind, “so I guess, being a hero to me is being the embodiment of a brighter future. To absorb the suffering of the world”, sticking a finger up, “like a paper towel!”. Tony chokes at that a little; though the kids' sudden seriousness and introspection was just as startling as last time.

Tony shakes his head, “you make it sound like you’re immortal, kid. Also, that’s what a team’s for, to help share the load. The burden. Sure your ideals are noble and probably needed, but you can’t help anyone if you destroy yourself”.

Phantom smiles but something about it seems almost... sad. “In a way, I am. A ghost can not die and a human can not fade. A ghost ceases to exist when they fade and a human when they die. Yet I can do neither. So that raises the question, what is ‘death’ for a halfa? An idea? An ideal? A reality? Or just pointless conjecture. And besides, for a ghost to fade they must satiate their Obsession. Be satisfied with the fulfilment of their existence”, pointing to his chest, “and my Obsession? Protection. To protect is a physical and mental need for me. And it will never be satisfied till there’s nothing left needing protection. And it is thus that I will always be here”, shrugging and chuckling, “likely anyway”.

Tony blinks, that... that changed a lot actually. It also explained a lot. This wasn’t some kid playing hero, or even an experienced hero just doing what’s right and their job. This wasn’t someone stuck in a bad way and doing what needed to be done purely because no one else could. This wasn’t someone trying to do good to make up for their sorted past. This was someone wise beyond their years, with little to no regard for themselves, and a living -half-living- embodiment of the word ‘hero’. Watching the teen turn his head at someone -likely his mom- shouting that supper was ready. There was a rocket-powered fistfight minutes ago and his parents’ didn’t even check on him. Christ that was depressing. But it also made him want to help this kid out all the more.

Phantom turns back to the screen, “whelp that’s my queue then I guess. And let me guess? This-” gesturing at the screen, “-is gonna become a thing? Which totally cool, little warning next time. And keep this mind, walking the straight and narrow takes more time than I got. I will steal, mildly harm, trick, and lie, as I see fit”.

Tony rolls his eyes, he’d expect no different from a kid basically left up to their own devices, “we’re all guilty of that, kid”. Phantom just laughs as the screen goes dark.

Tony leans back, well fuck, he wasn’t prepared for the kid to have shit that bad. And the King situation definitely threw him through a loop. He’ll have to talk to Thor -not Loki, dear God not Loki- about that. Being a hero and a king.

Regardless, they’re gonna help the weird spooky future kid out. And Peter absolutely liked Phantom, which hopefully wouldn’t be a bad thing. Hopefully. (And it wasn’t, if you ignored Peter carrying out more than a few pranks on Phantom’s behalf).

End.

[milknette]

day 01 - cafe

i'll make a cup of coffee, with the right amount of sugar.

tumblr month: @auyeahaugust

links: ao3 | ff.net

i.

MARINETTE doesn't exactly know what makes her answer yes.

Maybe it's from all the overnight shifts she's been taking, or the coffee fumes she's been inhaling daily finally taking a toll on her brain— or maybe it's because he's the most handsome man she's ever seen walk into her cafe (fact: it's most definitely the third reason), but Marinette can't bring herself to say no to him.

And as things always come with her, a well-intentioned yes easily snowballs into a mess of epically huge proportions. (Though in her defense, she doesn't know that yet.)

Marinette plasters on a smile directed at the customer. "Of course we do!" She replies, noticing a little too late that her voice is a notch higher than usual. "It's just that we don't— uh, have it now! Out of stock, haha, y'know how restaurants go… well, maybe you don't, but there's this thing called supply and demand, and… I mean, I don't want to assume you're dumb or anything— in fact, you're probably a lot smarter than me I went to a fashion university, can you believe that? Like, I went abroad and everything. I learned a lot then, but—"

Horrified that she was tripping over her words, Marinette inhales deeply, then wills herself to stop talking. "— so, anyway! We'll probably have it in stock some time soon, so come back then, okay? I'll have a piping hot coffee ready for you to drink with those pretty lips of y— I mean! Maybe I could call you when you can stop by?"

Marinette only has a moment to reflect on how suggestive that may sound before the customer laughs, effectively breaking her thoughts from spiralling any deeper than they already were.

"Sure," he says, and Marinette briefly wonders if love at first sight has more truth to it than others may believe. "Can I have your phone? I'll put in my number."

His voice is smooth and confident, and Marinette feels the burning need to disappear into a puddle. She hands over her phone gingerly, and takes a moment to appreciate his arms as they type away at the screen.

He returns her phone and smiles. "I'm really lucky I stopped by your cafe. I didn't think there was any place in Paris that had it available," the stranger explains. "Even when I was in America, it was already hard to get a hold of. So thank you…"

The stranger pauses, then looks down at her nametag. "Marinette." He nods his head toward her as a gesture of appreciation, then disappears out the door.

The moment he steps out of her cafe, Marinette feels her knees give out and falls to the floor.

And as she always does when she makes a mess of things, she calls her business partner.

"Alya, I may have messed up… again."

ii.

"What the hell is Kopi Luwak coffee?"

It's a valid question, and Marinette has no idea how to answer. After all, she doesn't actually know what it is either. "His order?" She answers back (completely unhelpfully).

Alya sighs, then pinches her forehead. She's the more level-headed one from the two of them, and therefore the one who always has to fix whatever mess Marinette had gotten into at the time. They're at her office— Alya usually handles the more managerial parts of running the business, whereas Marinette is more on the production of food and drinks side — as she inputs the term into the search bar.

The results are quick to show up:

KOPI LUWAK: THE MOST EXPENSIVE COFFEE IN THE WORLD!

Their faces consequently morph into ones of expectant horror. Alya clicks on the link, and has to visibly stop the sudden gasp that escapes her throat. The cost of one cup of coffee ranges from $35 to $100, with a single kilogram of beans worth almost $700.

Marinette almost snatches the mouse from her hand as she quickly scrolls through the article, clinging onto the (very likely futile) hope that it's probably someone's terrible idea for a joke.

Unfortunately, it isn't.

Alya's the first to speak up, and it's a simple question. "Was our customer a millionaire or something?!"

"I don't know!" Marinette responds, panicked. "I mean, if he were it'd make sense why he's so attractive but he never said anything!"

"Why did you say we provided this?! We can't serve hundred-dollar coffee, we're barely paying rent as it is!"

"I know, I know!" Marinette repeats, pulling at her hairs in stress. "I just thought it was some other kind of regular coffee! How was I supposed to know he wanted that?!" She extends both her arms to point at the computer screen, then shakes her head. "Only an insane person would pay that much for a drink!"

Then, a pause. And in a quieter tone: "Why can't I meet normal guys? Is a cute boy too much to ask for?"

Alya rolls her eyes, then suddenly puts her hands on the table. One returns to massaging her forehead. "Okay, Marinette. We can't serve this to him. You'll just have to tell him the truth."

"But I can't do that!" Marinette frowns, as if the very notion of telling the truth is impossible. "He'll find out that I lied to him and he'll hate me and start going to another cafe instead!"

"— then you shouldn't have lied in the first place!" Alya points out, wagging her finger. "It's better to tell him now before he comes here again and finds out for himself!"

Marinette shifts in place, clearly uncomfortable with the idea. "Maybe we can find cheaper alternatives somewhere else?" She asks. "I bet if we ask our suppliers, someone's bound to grow those beans—"

"Afraid not, girl," Alya says, turning to look at the computer. "These aren't regular beans. Apparently they're made by—," she suddenly pauses, as her face contorts into one of pure disgust. "Ew!"

"What?" Marinette walks toward the computer and leans over, only to feel the need to gag upon reading what came next: Coffee beans are digested by a civet cat. Their excretions are sold as the rare Kopi Luwak.

"So you mean…" Marinette begins, shivering. "That this coffee is basically… cat poop?"

Alya looks at her solemnly, then nods. "Yup."

At that, they finally burst into laughter— though whether it's from entertainment, the absurdity of the situation, or the realization that she's helpless in securing a date with the stranger, or all of the above, Marinette can't tell at all.

iii.

They agree that Marinette tell the truth to the Cute (And Apparently Rich) Coffee Stranger even though it'll very likely ruin all her chances with him. Nothing is, as Alya says, worth spending hundreds of dollars on cat poop for.

Except that Marinette Dupain-Cheng cannot follow directions.

Instead, she contacts a special supplier internationally and pays almost a thousand dollars total to have a kilogram of the beans at her doorstep not more than a week later. (Marinette finds comfort in knowing that the coffee doesn't smell like actual feces.)

She messages the stranger, who left his contact name as a single coffee emoji:

hey we restocked and are ready to serve tomorrow! can you drop by? :)

The reply is almost instantaneous:

That's great! I'll stop by in the morning. Thank you so much!

Marinette reads and rereads that message until she finally falls asleep.

iv.

For the first time since the history of her business, Marinette doesn't arrive to work late.

She doesn't know exactly what time the Coffee Stranger will arrive, but she knows that she doesn't want to miss when he does. Marinette takes the morning shift (something that all her co-workers were understandably surprised by), and she waits.

Coffee Stranger arrives an hour later.

He greets her good morning, and Marinette short-circuits. She reaches out her hand. “Hi! I'm Marinette!"

He laughs. "I know," he says. "Maybe you don't remember me? I gave you my number. I'm the one who asked for the Kopi Luwak?"

"Sorry. Of course I remember! I could never forget you," she replies— blurting it out, to her complete horror.

Coffee Stranger, thankfully, doesn't look all that bothered. In fact, he looks entertained, more so than anything else. "Great," he responds, the smile still on his face. "Then I'll have that."

Marinette nods, and she gets to work on his coffee. She gets it done quickly (Marinette had practiced making it at home; pleasantly surprised to find that it tasted wonderful), and hands him a perfectly hot cup of coffee. "That'll be… eighty dollars."

She cringes at the cost, but the Coffee Stranger pulls out a hundred dollar bill without hesitance. "Keep the change," he tells her, as he takes a sip. "This is even better than what I've had before! Definitely worth more."

The barista blinks in disbelief. "You really think so?" She asks, to which the stranger enthusiastically nods. Marinette feels her body buzz with joy from the sudden compliment, then she points at the macarons on the counter. "Here," she begins. "It's on the house."

The stranger looks up in surprise. "Are you sure?"

Marinette smiles. "It goes great with the coffee," she explains. "I think you'll like the passionfruit flavor. It mixes well with the cat po— the Kopi Luwak."

"Perfect," the stranger responds. "Passionfruit's my favourite flavor!" He grins, then pauses. "And… it's Adrien."

"What?"

Coffee Stranger's eyes go up to meet hers. Green. A forest of green she wouldn't mind getting lost in forever. "My name's Adrien," he says, reaching out his hand to hers. "Nice to meet you.."

Marinette suddenly feels her throat dry. She suddenly forgets that she spent a thousand dollars just to make him happy. It feels worth it.

"Nice to meet you too."

v.

Adrien quickly becomes a regular.

He makes it a point to stop by whenever she's working, sometimes having his coffee to go, and other times staying in to do his work at the cafe. Marinette likes those times the most— and she almost always sneaks in a little macaron or some other snack to help him get through the day. It's small and short exchanges, but they learn more about each other and that's more than enough to make her happy.

She finds out a lot about him. He's kind. He has a sweet tooth. He lives with his best friend, a DJ. He owns a cat. (He clarified, however, that all he does with Plagg's feces is throw it away.) He's rich, but it mostly came as savings from his younger years. He was a teenage model, but nowadays he prefers being the one behind it. (A waste, Marinette thinks, but she respects his decision.) His mom's gone, and he doesn't speak much with his dad. He treasures his friendships more than anything.

Adrien tells her that he treasures their friendship. Marinette's smile doesn't quite reach her eyes when she thinks about how that's all they'll probably be.

She willfully ignores Alya's unimpressed looks and how her bank funds steadily drain into the danger zone.

vi.

At some point, Marinette can't ignore it.

The bank tells her that she can't withdraw anymore, because her funds are almost completely depleted. She paces back and forth her room, visibly stressed. Her current bag of coffee beans would likely last her a few more days— but afterwards, it'll no longer be an option.

Alya says that it's easier to tell the truth.

As per usual, she's right. Marinette promises to herself to talk to Adrien when the coffee's gone completely.

vii.

"I was lying to you."

Marinette decides to be upfront, delivering the statement along with his final cup of coffee.

"What do you mean?" His look is serious, and it's a complete change of pace from how he usually is. It makes her stomach so uncomfortable turns and her knees buckle together in fear.

She sighs. "I was… lying about the coffee." She says it quickly and in one breath, and Adrien's eyebrows knitting together makes it clear that he understood none of it.

"About what?"

"The coffee!" Marinette basically shouts, then pulls him aside as they notice the customers pile in line. Another co-worker takes over, and throws them a concerned glance before focusing on their task completely.

Marinette brings Adrien to one of the empty storerooms, and when they settle, he speaks up. "What do you mean you lied about the coffee?"

"We never sold Kopi Luwak," she explains.

"No," Adrien argues. "That's definitely what I've been drinking, though?"

"Yeah," she replies, shaking her head. "But the cafe doesn't officially sell it. I was taking from my savings to buy the coffee abroad and make it for you." As Marinette says the words aloud, she begins to realise how outlandish the very idea was.

"What did you do that for?"

Marinette frowns to herself. "I guess I just didn't want to disappoint you… or something." Her cheeks redden, and she looks down. "I wanted to see you again too… I didn't want our only meeting to be that one time."

Marinette thinks she hears a hint of laughter, but it disappears so quickly she may have imagined it. "You know," Adrien begins. "If you wanted to see me again, you could've just asked." He smiles at her, but it looks almost sheepish. Adrien scratches his head. "I mean, I was really only ordering coffee so I could keep meeting up with you."

What?

Marinette fumbles over her words. "You… me… meet up?"

Adrien laughs, full-blown now. "Yeah. I thought you were cute. And when I got to know you better, it was just… I couldn't stop myself. I might have caffeine overdose, but I think it's worth it." He turns toward her and wraps his arms around her waist, and Marinette finds a laugh escaping her throat.

"Been having trouble sleeping, then?”

"Haven't slept since the day I met you," he replies. "But I don't mind, because you're a dream come true."

Marinette rolls her eyes at how silly it all is. "That's corny."

"I like to think of myself as a corny jokes and puns connoisseur," he explains teasingly. "Maybe you'll let me tell you more over dinner?"

"How forward of you," Marinette laughs, but nods all the same. "I just have to warn you, I'm broke from all the coffee beans you made me buy."

He smiles. "Then I guess I'll have to pay for all our dates from now on?"

Marinette hums, then grins lightly. "I wouldn't be against that."

"Then it's a deal." He replies, suddenly looking at her directly. "Want to seal it?"

She has a vague idea of where he's going with this, and the smile practically blooms on her face. "Yes."

It doesn't take anymore waiting until he kisses her.

(And she's glad to say that he tastes like roasted coffee beans and a warm fire; not at all like cats or feces or anything of that sort.)

[let-it-raines]

Catch Me If You Can (34/40)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

a/n: I’m about to sit down to write some new words for the first time in about a month, and @shireness-says​ has permission to yell at me if I don’t. Now to decide what exactly I’m going to work on 🙈

Thanks to my beta @resident-of-storybrooke​ for reading all of these words and being a super cool and supportive human being. 

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-/-

September ends without anyone ever really noticing. The weather seems to get the hint, though, the daily temperatures in the eighties dipping down to the sixties for the high, and suddenly New York no longer feels and smells like melting concrete.

In truth, it’s amazing.

Killian loves summer and loves the feel of the sunshine beating down on his skin as he spends his days standing out on a baseball field, but there’s something special that happens when the leaves begin to change and the air has a crisp feel to it when he walks out of his apartment in the mornings to go to do his workouts or to physical therapy. It’s nice not to sweat as soon as he goes outside, and it’s even nicer to have the feeling that washes over him to know that his team is in the play-offs.

That starts today.

Nervous energy radiates over Killian, more than usual, and he’s not even playing today. He can’t quite yet, but he’s been approved to practice again and if all of that goes well, he’ll be able to play during the Championship Series which means he’ll qualify to play for the World Series.

If those things happen.

He’s getting ahead of himself. He tends to do that, especially lately when so much of his life is wanting and waiting for the future, and Killian definitely needs to put on the breaks.

But the smell of cinnamon is wafting through his apartment, the television is playing pre-game shows for the start of the Division Series today, and Emma is wandering around in a pair of thick socks pulled halfway up her calves with only an oversized sweater on and her curly blonde hair falling down her back in all of its unbrushed glory.

It’s been a crazy two and a half weeks full of them dealing with the fallout from the article and all of the trickle-down effects from it. Everything has been difficult. He won’t lie about that, but things are calming down a little more each day. Walsh has officially been fired from ESPN, and while Killian was tempted to take back his decision to not sue after Emma told him how Walsh confronted her in his office, he did eventually decide against it. The man isn’t worth it.

Contacting his father to confront him isn’t worth it either.

Killian thought about it, paced back and forth in his living room for hours thinking about it, but like he and Emma (and Liam and Elsa and David and Anna and Robin and every other person he knows) keep talking about, they want a reaction out of the two of them. They want to hurt them, and reacting in any ways more than absolutely necessary means that the bad guys win.

His father is not going to win. He’s taken enough. He won’t take anymore.

And if the pattern of photographers slowly disappearing from outside of his apartment door is going to be a pattern that continues, he thinks things will turn out just fine.

What crazy path to have to go through to get to fine.

His phone buzzes on the counter next to where he’s whipping together some oatmeal raisin cookies, much to Emma’s dismay since she insisted on him using chocolate chips instead of raisins.

She’ll never learn.

Robin: Are you coming to the game tonight?

Killian: Yep. I’ll be there. You didn’t think I was going to miss this, did you?

Robin: Possibly. Roland is very concerned that you’re not going to give us one of your famous pre-game talks, and we’re going to lose.

Killian: Tell Roland that I am giving a speech, if you guys still let me, and then I will be in the suite watching with him.

Robin: We’ll definitely still let you. I can’t wait for you to come back. It’s been too long.

Killian: Aye, it has. Soon though. You guys have to win so I don’t have to wait until March to come back.

Robin: I’ll try my best but no promises.

“How do you feel about this for the centerpiece on your dining room table?”

“Hmm?”

Emma slides her laptop across the island to show him her monitor’s screen where there are several artificial pumpkins and faux foliage in a long wooden tray.

“What’s this for again?”

Emma rolls her eyes at him, and he can’t help but smile at her as he cracks an egg over the edge of his bowl. “You said you were thinking about hosting Thanksgiving here. Your apartment is a very ‘a single man lives here’ place. I was thinking you might need something to make it more festive on the folding table you’re going to have to bring in here to accommodate everyone.”

“It’s October fourth.”

“And?”

“It’s October fourth.”

Emma huffs and reaches over to the bag of chocolate chips (okay, so he broke down and is making some with chocolate chips for her but only some) and grabs a few, popping them into her mouth. “I am aware of the date, Professor Jones.” He sticks his tongue out at her for her use of Will’s nickname. “I can’t look at my game notes anymore without going crazy, so obviously I’m online shopping for you to distract myself.”

“I mean, obviously. What else would you do to waste your time away?”

“Watch TV or go back to sleep. I could go pluck my eyebrows or read a book. But then I won’t know when the cookies are ready, and that’s all I’m really here for.”

“It’s going to be thirty minutes. Technically, I should refrigerate the dough for a day instead of popping it in the oven right away. It makes the cookies fluffier.”

“Yeah, but that’s too long.”

“Give me ten minutes, and I will come and look at your decorations that you’ve picked out for Thanksgiving, aye?”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Emma tells him as she gives him a mock salute and turns around to walk toward the couch, unceremoniously falling backwards down onto the couch so that her legs hang off the side.

Insane, wonderful woman.

Killian hums to himself as he finishes making the cookie dough, and even though he should let it cool for longer than this, he simply puts the bowl on a shelf in the fridge and turns the oven on, the number six flashing up on the menu to tell him it’ll be finished preheating in six minutes.

Emma’s still lounging on the couch, all of her attention focused on the pre-game show that’s on the TV and her fall decorations, and he takes the opportunity to lean down over her, pressing his hands into the soft material of the couch on either side of her shoulders and to dip his head down so that he can sweep his tongue into her mouth. She gasps at the sudden movement, even if she opened for him, and it causes him to smirk down at her as she shifts beneath him, giving him more space to settle between her legs with his knees on the couch. It’s a bit of awkward movement getting settled, especially with how Emma was laying down to begin with, but they figure it out soon enough as his hand snakes up underneath her sweater to feel the soft skin of her stomach and the firm flesh of her breast. He flicks his thumb against her nipple at the same time that he finally gets to sweep his tongue against hers once more, and he’s overwhelmed by the taste of chocolate.

She’s obviously been sneaking in a little more than he thought she was.

“How many chocolate chips have you eaten?” Killian chuckles as he palms her breast while her nails scratch just above the waistband of his shorts.

“That’s not important.”

He teasingly flicks her nipple. “But it is.”

“Nope,” she mumbles with this undeniable joy in her voice. “It isn’t.”

Sometimes he still can’t believe that Emma is his to kiss and to hold and to laugh with. There have been a million and one obstacles along the way, things he never even could have imagined, and yet they are still here.

Together.

Emma’s fingers dip between the waistband of his shorts, and he hisses at her touch before reaching his free hand up to tangle in her hair and kissing her with a purpose. She’s so damn soft and warm against him, every movement of her lips and her tongue sending a shiver down each of the vertebrae that make up his spine as her hands ghost over his growing arousal.

“Bloody hell, love.”

“That’s what you get for judging my chocolate consumption.”

He huffs against her and trails his lips over her jaw and down to behind her ear while his hand moves from her breast to lay flat against her stomach to keep her from writhing below him so much.

“You know I don’t like chocolate too much,” he says into her ear before biting down onto the lobe.

“But you like me.”

“Aye,” he chuckles before biting down a little possessively onto the skin of her neck right in a spot that he knows will show above the dress she’s wearing today, “that I do.”

“Don’t leave a mark.”

“I’m not leaving a mark.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not,” he whispers against the warmth of her skin while he purposely does keep working where she doesn’t want him to work at her skin. He won’t actually leave a mark.

Emma gasps in pleasure before moving her hands away from his waist and up to his chest to push at him. She’s strong, he’ll give her that any and every day of the week, but he’s larger than her and manages to press all of his weight down on top of her while he stops sucking a mark into her skin and simple laughs into her ear while his entire body rumbles with amusement.

“You,” she huffs, but Killian can still hear the smile in her face and feel her lips softly brush into the hollow of his throat, “are the most obnoxious man on the planet.”

“I know. I have the trophy in my bedroom.”

“Stop,” she groans, pushing at him again, and this time he listens, moving off of her and the couch only to pull her up with him. It’s probably a little too much on his shoulder, but Emma is a little slight thing and he’s feeling good this morning. She stumbles a bit when she stands, but he wraps his hands around her lower back and tugs her closer to him so that their chests are pressed together and Emma’s arms are loosely wrapped around his neck while she smiles one of the biggest smiles he’s ever seen that he absolutely has to taste. “You know, I thought this was going to go in a very different direction.”

The oven beeps behind him, and Killian dips his head down to pepper kisses across Emma’s cheek and over her mouth so quickly that every kiss is as fleeting as a whisper of air. “I had a timer going for those cookies that you keep complaining about. There was never going to be time for that.”

Her eyes roll as her fingers thread into the hair at the nape of his neck as Killian starts walking them back to the kitchen. “It’s not nice to tease a woman into thinking that she’s going to get some action and it turns out she’s only getting cookies.”

“That sounds like a euphemism.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Hmm, it should have been,” he laughs as he backs Emma up into the countertop so that he knows the stone is digging into her lower back. Killian squeezes her hips before running his hands down to her bare thighs and holding her there while his forehead presses against hers and their noses brush together. “I love you quite a lot, you know?”

“Funny thing, I love you quite a lot too. I also love cookies, so get on that, babe.”

“I thought you didn’t like that they were oatmeal.”

“I will literally eat anything. Also, I already ordered the centerpieces for Thanksgiving.”

“I expected nothing less.”

They spend the rest of the morning piddling around the apartment, not really getting anything accomplished before they both have to get ready to go. Emma, by nature of having to curl her hair and apply her makeup, takes much longer than him to get ready, so he straightens up a little before they leave. Emma’s things seem to spread like wildfire, and he’s not entirely sure she’ll ever be able to clean up after herself.

He doesn’t know how Ruby and Graham deal with it.

Then again, they don’t have to too often anymore.

A little smile creeps onto his face at the thought, his mind recalling Emma making a joke about them living together a few weeks ago, and that’s precisely when Emma walks out of the bathroom wearing a pair of skin-tight jeans with suede boots that go up to her thighs and a tight-fitting white sweater with her hair pulled back into a high ponytail.

“What?” she asks as she puts in a pair of dangling gold earrings in her ear. “Why do you have that goofy little smile on my face?”

“I was just thinking about how undeniably smoking hot my girlfriend is.”

Emma huffs and keeps putting her earrings in. “Those aren’t your usual eloquent words.”

“You’ve rendered me speechless today.”

Emma walks toward him, a sweet smile on her face, and leans down to press her hands on his shoulder and squeeze. “Good.”

And then she’s walking away from him with a pointed sway of her hips that has her ass looking absolutely spectacular. “Minx.”

“I try,” she yells from the hallway. “Come on, Jones. We’ve got a baseball game to go to, and I have to be early.”

-/-

They easily win the game against the Astros that night.

They also win the next night, even if it’s much more of a nail bitter. Killian swears that watching it from the sidelines is a million times more nerve-wracking than actually being an active participant. He feels every little mistake magnified, and his mind focuses on the mistakes more than it usually does. Instead of being able to compartmentalize, Killian keeps replaying everything to figure out how they could have done things better.

He can’t change the past, but there are always improvements to be made in the future.

Focusing on the entire game instead of simply his pitching changes the perspective, and he’s going to lose all of his nails if he has to continue completely watching from up in the family suite instead of getting to be a part of the action every few days. Belle and Ariel are fine to watch with and all, but it’s not what he’s grown used to.

The past six weeks haven’t been too terribly bad, at least recovery wise, but now that they’re one win away from moving on from the Division Series to the Championship Series, Killian isn’t sure that he can wait much longer to get back out on the field for something other than practice.

“Be patient,” Emma always tells him.

He’s trying, but it’s damn hard.

Off to Houston they go.

-/-

“Do you know we’ve been together for six months, and this is technically our first date?”

“And you only had to follow me to Texas for us to accomplish it.”

“You’re a very cheap date.”

Emma laughs as she hooks her arm into the crook of his elbow and walks a little closer to him while they walk down the sidewalk in downtown Houston. They’ve only been in town for two hours, and while the rest of his team is at the fields practicing for tomorrow’s game in what they all hope will be the last game of this particular series so they can get one step closer to the World Series.

He doesn’t even technically have to be here since he’s still on the injury list, and while the team didn’t pay for him to have a room at the hotel, he’s set in being able to stay with Emma.

So while the guys all work their asses off, he and Emma are free to wander around completely freely for the first time, well, ever.

It’s odd still not having to worry about anyone knowing that they’re together. He’s still accustomed to looking over his shoulder and around every corner for someone they know or for some inane photographer to be there. And while things are still a little crazy back home, no one is paying them any attention here.

And since Emma was very rudely heckled by a few fans (though that term is used loosely) at yesterday’s game, Killian is thankful to simply be able to get away from it all. They’re doing a damn good job at dealing with things, but there’s no need to feel the weight of the world on their shoulders – especially his if he thinks of it literally – all the time.

“So,” Emma starts as they dodge a slight puddle on the concrete, “are you still not going to tell me what we’re doing tonight?”

“Nope. I know how to plan an evening. You simply have to trust me.”

“I obviously trust you, you weirdo, but I’m curious. All I’ve figured out was that we’re not going to some stuffy restaurant, which was kind of a surprise to me.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because you’re a romantic, Mr. Jones,” Emma sighs while she pats his forearm and rests her cheek against his shoulder. “You like to do things like get all dressed up and go to a candlelight dinner with wine and flowers and really expensive small food.”

Killian scoffs, incredulous. “That is not the only way to be romantic. Besides, we are not dressed for something like that. I don’t think they let in people with ripped jeans and white sneakers on.”

“Yeah, well, this is how you told me to dress. And you have on a plaid shirt over a t-shirt, so you’re not exactly dressed up either.”

“I thought you liked it when I dressed like this. Are you complaining?”

“No, Killian,” Emma breathes out, and he can practically feel the smile in her face, “I am not complaining. I simply want to know where we’re going.”

He doesn’t say anything, just continues to guide Emma along the sidewalk and follow the path that his phone told him to take. He swears that the GPS is leading him in circles and not to the destination, but then he sees the sign a bit of a way away and lets out a little sigh of relief.

“Swan,” he starts, stopping them in their tracks and placing his hands on her hips while a smirk stretches across his face, “you may not be a candlelight dinner kind of girl, but you are very much a smash old pieces of furniture up with a hammer kind of girl.”

Both of her brows raise high on her forehead. “What?” He nods his head to the building in front of them, and she turns around to look. It takes approximately five seconds for her to figure out. She spins on her toes and looks up at him with a smile that he swears reaches her ears. “I have never loved you more than I love you right now.”

“Exactly my intention.” He winks and places his hands on her ass, pushing her forward. “Now, come on, love. We’ve got a reservation.”

They hurry inside where Killian checks them in, and a woman comes out with safety equipment for them to slip into. They both look ridiculous wearing body suits and face masks to protect themselves from any flying shards of glass or pieces of wood from the broken downbroken-down furniture that they’re about to smash. Killian had simply been looking up things to do in Houston when he found this place where people pay to destroy furniture. Immediately, he knew Emma would love it, so he booked a reservation after texting Archie and making sure that his shoulder would be okay to wield a hammer.

From the absolute beaming joy on Emma’s face, he knows that he was right in his assumption of her loving this.

The room they get assigned to destroy is ironically a set-up of an old newspaper production office, and Killian is sure that Emma is very much pretending that all of the items in here belong to Walsh or his father or any other bastard who has hurt the two of them recently or in all of their years of life.

Smashing a hammer into a computer that has to be from the nineties is quite possibly the most cathartic thing that Killian has ever done.

Fuck Brennan Jones, Walsh Osbourne, Arthur King, and every other person who has ever hurt either of them.

And after the ten minutes of their session, Killian’s arms hurt from the exertion and his stomach hurts from the laughter of it all.

Totally worth it.

“Oh my God,” Emma breathes out when they walk out of the building back and into the crisp autumn air. They’re back in their regular clothes, sweat dripping down both of their backs, and their hair will likely never be normal again. “I take back all of my teasing about you having us go to some stuffy dinner. All of it.”

“Technically, there’s still time for us to go to one of those. It’s only eight.”

“Don’t even mess with me like that,” Emma laughs before pressing up on her toes to brush her lips over his. “But I wouldn’t be opposed to going to get something to eat.”

“I’ve got a plan for that.”

“You think of everything.”

“That I do.”

It’s a pie place two blocks over. He came here the last time they were in Houston and has been wanting to come back ever since. Pies usually aren’t his favorite thing, probably why he doesn’t bake them too often, but this place is downright delicious.

He’s also glad his workouts are back to being regular because the slices of rhubarb and key lime pie that he and Emma get are practically bigger than Emma’s head, and he fully plans on enjoying all of it.

Emma is taking large bites out of both her pie and his, as well as sipping on her mug of hot cholate, while telling him this story about David and Mary Margaret and how they have a penchant for going to karaoke bars on their date nights but usually only when they’ve had a few drinks. David is always willing to go, funnily enough, but Mary Margaret who seems like the exact type of person to enjoy singing songs and letting birds dress her in the mornings, will only go when she’s had at least two margaritas.

And for some reason they always sing We Are The Champions as if they have the vocal range of Freddie Mercury even when they’re not sober.

Killian would pay big money to see David Nolan, the perennial serious guy and protective older brother, willingly go and sing karaoke. In fact, he is very much offering to take the Nolans out one night when he gets more free time.

The smile that’s on Emma’s face mirrors the one she’s had all night, and Killian’s heart is suddenly struck with how much he loves her. She came into his life like a whirlwind, even if it was a slow going one, and Killian hasn’t looked back since.

It’s a funny thing. Love, that is. The world can be going up in flames around you with broken shards of glass having a trajectory straight to your heart, but none of that seems to truly matter when the person you’ve been vulnerable enough to give your heart to has a firm enough grip on it so that the cuts seem a little less deep.

Killian’s been in love before, and even though that relationship didn’t end well, he does know that it was love. But it’s not like this. It’s not this all-consuming thing where Killian can’t imagine living life eating pie in a diner with anyone else.

He’s known for a good while that his future, whatever it may look like, is going to be with Emma, but for some reason sitting with her and laughing with her while she’s got the smallest bit of whipped cream on the tip of her nose has truly cemented the idea in his mind.

And his heart.

Emma waves her fork in the air as she chews. “You’ve got that goofy smile on your face again.”

“I know not to which you are referring.”

She scrunches up her nose. “You’re thinking about David singing karaoke, aren’t you?”

“You know what, my love,” he sighs, “that’s exactly what I’m thinking about.”

“You know,” Emma sighs as she smiles at him with her fork full of pie, “that is a pretty good first date even though it’s not really our first date. I think I might like you, Killian Jones.”

Killian scoops up a bit of his pie. “Does that mean there’s going to be a second date?”

“And possibly a third, but don’t think that means I’m going to sleep with you.” She winks at him, and he can’t help but laugh. “A lady likes to be courted first.”

-/-

They win the next day.

Four more wins, and they’re going to the World Series.

It’s almost unreal, and yet it very much is real.

They’ve just got to beat the Red Sox first.

-/-

“Are you nervous?” Liam asks Killian two days later as he sits on the examination table in the hospital waiting for his doctor to come in with the results of his six-week follow-up MRI and the reports from Archie on how his shoulder’s movement is recovering.

He’s barely felt any pain in the past two weeks besides the occasional twinge, and while Killian has tried to tamper down the hope that things are going to be okay, it hasn’t worked. His mind is already imagining him underneath stadium lights standing on that mound with thousands of people cheering around him.

That’s one of the things that he lives for. Not the only thing but a damn important thing.

And he wants to be back.

He needs  to be back.

“Yes and no,” Killian tells his brother as his fingers tap against his thigh. “You didn’t have to come and wait for me, you know? I know you have your own patients.”

Liam shrugs his shoulder and sits down in the chair they leave for guests. “You said Emma couldn’t get out of a meeting at work, so I figured you’d want someone to be here.”

“I’m a grown man. I can handle going to the doctor by myself.”

“The fact that we’re in here right proves that isn’t true.”

“Ass,” Killian mumbles underneath his breath.

“I’ve made no claims to be anything else.” Liam looks damn proud of himself for having annoyed Killian, and it seems par for the course of things. “Are you surprised we haven’t heard anymore from Brennan?”

Killian’s teeth grind at just the sound of the name, but he quickly unclenches his jaw. “No. He wanted a reaction and more money. He didn’t get it. All that came from the bloody article was that I got followed around by cameras for three weeks and Emma had to put up with shit from men who are nothing more than assholes. Why do you ask?”

“I was thinking about it is all. Mom’s birthday is tomorrow, and that always makes me think of growing up, you know? I’m so much older than you and had such a different experience with them, and I do get a bit sentimental even if our father ended up simply being an over-involved sperm donor.”

“Funny, that’s how Elsa describes you.”

Liam reaches into the box of rubber gloves and snaps one at Killian only for him to catch it and for a smirk to slowly stretch across his lips. “And you call me an ass.”

“Being an ass is simply in our blood.”

“And yet two of the most incredible women in the world have chosen to spend their lives with us.”

Killian raises a brow. “Do you know something I don’t know?”

“No,” Liam chuckles, spinning in the chair. “I didn’t mean anything like that. Emma isn’t filing marriage papers or anything. I simply mean that the two of us, screw-ups that we are, have managed to get pretty lucky with both Elsa and Emma. It’s a big commitment to be stuck with a Jones man.”

“Ah,” Killian sheepishly sighs while reaching up to scratch behind his ear, “well, like you said, Emma isn’t technically stuck with me.”

“No?”

“No.” “And yet she wears mom’s ring around her neck. You hadn’t taken that off in years, and suddenly I see someone else wearing it.”

“Yep.”

“Yep? All you have to say to that is yep?”

“Aye,” he laughs, suddenly feeling a bit shier than he has in years. And it’s in front of Liam of all people. He hasn’t been shy in front of Liam in years. “Is that…are you upset about that?”

Liam’s brow pinch together, all of the lines on his forehead focusing in one place before they fall back to their normal spot and a soft smile graces his lips. “No, Killian, I’m not. I…there was a reason we each got the same amount of mom’s jewelry. She wanted us to give the pieces to the women we love. I’ve given pieces to Elsa, and you’ve given a piece to Emma. Mom would like that.”

“Would she? Do you think she’d like Emma?”

“She’d be obsessed with her. I think she may love her more than Addy and Lucy combined love Emma.”

Killian snickers as warmth spreads across his cheeks and his head nods up and down. “That’s a lot of love there.”

“There was a lot of love in her heart.”

His mouth opens to say something else, but then the door to the exam room is opening and Killian’s doctor is walking in with a clipboard and absolutely no emotion on his face.

“Do you want the good news or the good news?” he asks, and Killian’s heart leaps.

“Both.”

“Well,” he sighs, crossing his arms over his chest, “as long as you continue to monitor your shoulder, you’re cleared to play again. Congratulations, Mr. Jones.”

[wallclockscrafts-blog]

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[abundantchewtoys]

HS Epi: Meat p14 reaction

So. I'm just going to put my thoughts under the cut due to the important events last time.

---

Vriska: perma-death or not? I wouldn't count on it, but I wouldn't be surprised either if her getting sucked into the Black Hole would be retconned. It could be said that John's retcons create seperate timelines, so that'd mean at least one version of Vriska is cursed to that ill fate.

It would seem not even Light can escape a black hole. Science: 1, magical fairy dust: 0

Guess it remains to be seen whether LE will even get sucked in as well. If not, Alternate Calliope's swansong had only the effect of ending the Green Sun, removing one of the ways LE was invincible but nothing more.

Though I guess she did manage to pocket that other character associated with 8-balls, huh? :mspa: Maybe in that sense the black hole can count as a red herring, even! It didn't kill LE, just like how Dave didn't kill him with his eggsword in the victory timeline, but an expy, Lord Noir. Perhaps it's part of why LE's eyes have stopped on the 8-balls, they're the only remaining balls to pocket, or some such.

Anyway, I presume it's back to Earth C now. I'd like to see Jane go see Roxy & Calliope, but I wouldn't mind picking up any of the other plot threads either.

---

"Jake yawns" Pfff, that continues from the previous page - John felt the moment approaching where reality yawns too hard and snaps in half. That could be taken literally, but I also think it could be that his dream may have ended right about here each time as well, meaning 'reality' ended and was replaced by the actual real world.

"and knocks on the window to Jane’s office again." So... Guess fake date night has already arrived. :P I'm guessing Jake flew over, though it could have been on his own power, he may have taken a plane.

"he’s been hovering here for way too long" Pfff, okay I took that to be in a descriptive way, but it's probably literal, Blaperile points out. I thought the window he knocked on was for her office door.

"The sunset has turned the head offices of Crockercorp into a shimmering glass monolith—a beacon, if you will, of the future, visible for miles in every direction.

Jane probably likes to think about it that way at least." Oooh, does Jake have any ideas to the contrary? That would be interesting, that he thinks it's more ominously looking.

"venetian blind" Right, her office still has that private-eye vibe going on, with the sun falling in between the shades.

"he responds with his specialty: incomprehension." ... Never mind, the narration is providing us with more detail than Jake can personally pick up on.

"The exasperated hand motions Jane tries next work better.

JAKE: Oh! The front door, of course!" Guess she can't open the window from the inside. Seems like a health or safety hazard, if you ask me.

"He whistles a quaint little ditty to himself while he waits for the elevator to go up to the top floor." Making his own elevator music then? Elevatorstuck, or the Girl from Whatsit?

"The whole place is candlelit, and Jane is reclining on her desk, sprawled out like a lounge singer on a grand piano." ... Laying it on a big thick, I see. Well, so much for making it a very public date. Guess Jane is going to try and charm him first, to presumably hilarious effect.

"Specifically: a blue lounge singer, on a blue piano" I'd say this might have worked better on Grandpa, given who he married (re: Hiveswap).

"New Prospit" So, those are both places in the Carapacian Kingdom, eh? Maybe New Derse-y's the dingy suburb to New Prospit's sprawling metropolis.

"Like all of his impulsive purchases, the tacky thing is gathering dust in a pile somewhere in one of the hundreds of spare rooms in his mansion, which now primarily functions as a very expensive warehouse for his atrocious hoarding habits." ... Well then! Guess he's really starting to fall into the same habits as Grandpa then! Could we take this to mean that some of his purchases which we derived his interests from were just things he picked up in a spur of the moment purchase?

"JANE: Come have a glass of scotch with me Jake. We have so much to discuss." So Jane is really giving off mixed signals here - on purpose? His favorite attire on a girl, but his least favorite drink. Or she wants his attention, but none of the affection he might be more inclined to give out when tipsy.

"She’s really bad at this, she thinks. “This” being seduction. She’s so bad at it, in fact, that Jake immediately recognizes her ruse for what it is. ... Jane is lashed both by the scotch in her face and how quickly her plan has fallen apart." I'm actually less convinced Jake has read her intentions than I am convinced Jane might be misreading him just as much as he is misreading her. Jake could've gulped the drink down to posture, not knowing how to handle her comment. But hey, we'll see.

"She is staring at the ceiling like she hopes it will split open and suck her into a supermassive black hole so she doesn’t have to deal with anything that is going on right now." Sorry, Jane, you're the wrong blue lady.

"JANE: Oh, no, of course not. I just wanted to...

JANE: To... talk about the economy." Next up Jake is like: "May I refer you to our mutual friend, then? He'd be better at this." :p

"JAKE: By jove the economy! Jane my dear friend please tell me all about the economy!

Jake doesn’t care about the economy. But he’s an ardent supporter of changing the subject." Jake may have a taste for adventure, but he'll flee from any battlefield of emotions gladly.

"JANE: Ah, it’s doing quite well right now actually.

JAKE: I should hope so!" Pwa-pwa-pwaaaaaah. :P So much for changing the subject.

"JANE: But it might not continue to do so in the future, which you can guess is of great concern to me, being that I am a pioneering entrepreneur." Ah yes, she'll try to prevent the economy from crashing, but in doing so, she just might make it crash, if Dave's to believed.

"adequately explain to me this conundrum which i admit i am not up to dick on.

JANE: You..." Dave and Jake are masters of ironic and innocuous innuendo, respectively.

"Jane laughs quite sincerely as he ruffles his jacket through her hair.

JANE: Oh, Jake, you really have no idea what’s going on, do you?

JAKE: Wait is this...

JAKE: Is this about the election muckup? Because i—

Jane puts a finger to Jake’s lip and shushes him. It’s a very smooth move." This is what Dirk must've gone through, actually, trying to get it through that thick skull that flirting was what was going on here.

"an awful lot of thinking as of late.

... this new universe.

JANE: You must admit that it’s a lot to grasp, and I’m not certain we’ve all taken the time to truly contemplate our place in it." Well, true, but here's the part where you lead all that thinking to a wrong conclusion, I presume.

"Who are they now? The same Jake and Jane who passed like particularly dysfunctional ships in the night a decade ago? Or is Jane wiser, and Jake kinder? Are they better versions of themselves?" Oooh, Jane has actually been thinking about some valid issues there. Well, especially valid to us, as long-time readers who now visit these same characters again after all these years have passed for us and them. Still, it's something I could see John struggling with as well.

"JANE: Haven’t we really just been... drifting these last seven years?

JANE: Drifting, both in the sense of failing to fulfill our personal potentials,

JANE: And in the sense of... well, drifting apart?" Well, the only one who completed his planet's prophecy, that we know for sure, is John, and the guy has been falling into a depression. So... yeah, everything hasn't been hunky dory for a long time. But some of them take better to drifting than others, Dave is a fine example of the former, in the sense that's his more like his natural state, though it isn't a real good one admittedly.

"The years go by so fast. And...

JANE: I miss you." Aww. But I fear she might be missing the memories more than the man in the flesh. We'll see.

"The moment goes from calculated to genuine in an instant." Oh Jane, really? I thought a little better of you. At least the moment's changing.

"Jake can’t stop himself from ..." ... Wow, Jake is really putting the moves on her, go figure! Guess the boy had practice.

"So he kisses her." Well! Guess they finally got this past them! *reads further* Ah-hoh-hum! Well, Jane's probably surprised by a) his kissing, good or not, and b) that she might actually be feeling something again for him.

"The inevitable consummation of a whirlwind romance fit for the big screen." ... Jake. Jake this is a real thing happening to you, not some movie script. Boy.

"Jane’s baby-soft palm, unmarred by the calluses of deft swordsmanship" Hah, that's the second reference to Dirk and Jake's (former???) relationship, first the kissing Dirk criticized him on, now this. :P Also, heh, guess it's a long while since Jane did extensive baking herself, then, if her skin's that smooth.

"Those rare, intimate moments that Jake was allowed to slip off Dirk’s shades and look upon his face, unobstructed, stand out more clearly in his mind than almost any other in his life." A Strider without his shades is a very rare moment indeed. It's their facade, their mask.

*reading on* Jake, being with one lover while comparing them mentally to your former one? That's not going to end well for any party involved. And here Jane might have hoped to leave that love triangle behind.

"But his hair is so much softer than it looks. His heart too. When a heart like that opens up to you, it opens up the whole world as well. A world of increased appreciation for combat, philosophy, life, love...

JAKE: Yelp!!!" *mental facepalm* Oh Jakey boy, you sure thought yourself into shooting your own foot there.

"JAKE: I

JAKE: I

JAKE: Ihavetogorightnowsorry." Pffff, he's going to fly straight back to throw himself into Dirk's arms now, right? The poor man won't know what hit him. Or maybe he will. ... In any case, this could screw up Dirk's plan to back Jane for presidency, if she realizes what this was all about and takes it personal. She didn't before, but that's not to say she'll only blame Jake this time around.

"grabs the bottle of near-untouched scotch" Oh boy, maybe Jake actually wants to get hungover before assessing what he just felt. :p

"before kicking open the latch to one of Jane’s giant windows and letting himself out." Hey what do you know, she COULD have let him in!

"she closes the window, sits in her CEO chair and speed-dials the number for her one-man Kitchen Cabinet." ... Depending on how I interpret this, she's either calling her Dad (unlikely given her current state)... or ... her personal hitman/bodyguard? ... Wait, is the fact she employed/enslaved Jack Noir canon for the epilogues?

"

DIRK: Yo, what up?

JANE: Not Jake, apparently." ... Ah. Well, the only way I associate Dirk with the kitchen is with a refrigerator stuffed with swords, so you can forgive me. The fact that Kitchen Cabinet's acronym is KC (Green) is probably not important. Oh, right, the cabinet of a politician, maybe?

"

DIRK: Wow. Going straight for the double entendre, huh?

DIRK: How much of that scotch did you have?" Dirk... was in on this. Dirk... knew. Dirk... cold. Cold hearted. But well, glad to see his gears within gears still don't run as smoothly as he'd wish.

"DIRK: Were you nice to him?

JANE: Well, I...

DIRK: I told you, you can’t be nice to Jake.

JANE: ..." So he says that, and yet what turned the situation around was Jake thinking about all the times Dirk WAS being nice to him.

"Jane squeezes her eyes shut and, very softly and quietly, bumps her head against the edge of her desk.

JANE: Why do I feel as if we’ve had this exact conversation, almost word for word, before?

DIRK: Because we have. Many times." So, it's of course similar to when Jane and Dirk talked about their misgivens about Jake in the session, it must also remind her of when Jake talked to her about his feelings for Dirk... And yet I think Dirk might be saying the truth, in that there might be a multitude of alternate Janes, even some post-victory, and alternate Dirks, who have memories of an identical conversation between the two of them, which he's slowly accumulating.

"Dirk doesn't wait. There’s a shadow cast in his doorway that is much more important than the election. Rose is braced against the doorframe" Cool. At least his biological daughter is more important to him than scheming. Though scheming might be involved in his dealing with his daughter's illness. Scheming's never not on the table with Dirk.

"She has her head tipped just so, her pale hair falling across in her face at an angle that bisects her perfectly neutral expression. Dirk sets down his phone and acknowledges her with a nod.

ROSE: Well,

ROSE: Go on." Hah, I had a feeling he might have been wrapping the conversation up quickly as he sensed her approaching. But Rose must've heard pieces, and picked up on something, migraine or not. It's going to be a pleasure to see them talk in person.

[collardimple75-blog]

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[steal-this-idea]

Babylon 5 rewatch continues...

Now with a LINK to the original post that I had let grow to unreasonable length instead of forcing the two people who will see this scroll through ever last piece of dumb shit I’ve had to say first!

JUMP TO ORIGINAL LONG POST HERE

(Learning Curve)

I’ve taken the talk on meditation to heart (the “anyone can meditate in silence” bit) to the point where I think I can become impatient or even annoyed by those who insist upon quiet to do so (think especially for certain sports like golf and tennis...like, if you’re to the point where you’re a professional, some asshole in the stands should be able to neither faze you nor distract you)

If garlic stinks then what’s saffron? (the meal where Garibaldi starts laying into Lochley’s past and Zack is obliquely commenting on it, asking if anyone thinks the food tastes funny, suggesting saffron when it starts getting awkward and concluding garlic after Lochley puts Garibaldi in his place)

Continuing my Takashima just disappeared rant: N’grath, our season 1 praying mantis gangster, gets a mention in this episode but Lt.Cmdr. Takashima? Who’s she?

I do love that the Minbari are an advanced race but not an impassionate one...which honestly makes them scarier, as the Earth-Minbari War shown to us throughout “In the Beginning” demonstrated...

Meaning does not exist independently... I wonder if this episode is where I got that idea from?

(Strange Relations)

I don’t hate the ex-wife of Sheridan revelation of Capt. Lochley. If anything, it kinda complements how Cmdr. Sinclair got appointed to run Babylon 5. I assume, like with the Minbari when the station first came online, Sheridan insisted on veto power over anyone EarthGov might select to run Babylon 5. I wonder if Capt. Lochley was far down the list too?

Zip ties: Still good enough for the 23½ century :-)

The bottle tossing Hyach is at it again...

(Secrets of the Soul)

I do like Season 5 being like a mirror of Season 1 and giving us more standalone type episodes which allows us to be given closer looks at members of the (former) League of Non-Aligned Worlds. This episode, the Hyach; the next episode, the Brakir; and the one after that, the Drazi.

And I have to say this again. Even when he’s cheesy, I don’t hate Byron.

I think Lyta made me love bangs :-)

I liked the detail of the Drazi record not being in English

Also, why didn’t we learn Byron’s secrets too? While, yes, dramatic effect for the later episode, sure...why not? I suppose also Lyta’s walls coming down during her intimacy may have simply flooded everything else out too. Hard to say. I also wonder why Lyta’s eyes went black during their lovemaking when, since this is a Vorlon-influenced memory, they should’ve glowed white? Again, I’m sure it had something to do with dramatic effect...

(Day of the Dead)

I love that Capt. Lochley hates Rebo & Zooty. It’s like, ugh...these hacks :-)

And I also love Delenn’s reaction to one of their jokes. I wonder what Mira Furlan was thinking about to get herself to laugh so heartily and convincingly?

Nice that the guest spots got end credits billing and not upfront so as not to spoil the surprise (unlike what happened with Anna Sheridan). I wonder if that cost TNT a fine with the Screen Actors Guild? I know Lucas always had to pay a fine to get out of putting traditional title screen credits over the start of each Star Wars film.

I presume there is plenty of A.U. fiction out there about who the other characters would have met had they been on the other side of the line?

Do you think Kosh would have appeared in its encounter suit to Sheridan had he been there or would it have been more open like in the death dream sequence (or even in its true squid-like form)?

(In the Kingdom of the Blind)

The Centauri are ultra racist. That dude’s not even attempting discretion: he’s gonna talk shit about Narns right in front of a Narn with not even a hint of concern that G’Kar might understand what he’s saying or be capable of feeling hurt by it.

As much as I hate what Byron did after learning how telepaths came to be and what they were intended for, I also can’t imagine an equivalent shock that could so forcefully shake the very foundations of my world and thus how I would react to such knowledge...

Would the Drakh have worked better if they didn’t have visible sclera? I just can’t help but feel if their eyes were entirely black or red instead of looking human, if it would have increased their visual menace or just made them look goofy?

But that lighting on the Drakh’s reveal though...magnificent

Isn’t that a Brakiri warship? How could it have been unarmed? I’m not in any way justifying the attack on them but, like, of *all* the ships you could’ve used to illustrate an attack on a commercial transport...

(A Tragedy of Telepaths)

I’ll admit I’ve tried using the “There’s No Bomb” technique in my desperate attempts to quell my allergies. Trying to tell my itchy, runny nose that, despite its objections, there’s no need to sneeze. There’s. No need. To sneeze...

Can’t say it ever worked though...

Byron just dropping that some worlds developed telepaths naturally which seems strange because I thought I recalled JMS mentioning that if a species were to develop telepathy they’d never advance to civilization. Being a telepath would just be another technique a predator could use to snare prey and/or a technique a prey animal could use to avoid being eaten.

Still, if I’m going to grant him this, I wonder if the Soul Hunters were an example of natural telepaths? The behavior of the two we meet in the show’s second episode is reminiscent of telepath behavior we witness in later episodes (like Byron sensing that man’s impending death and the Soul Hunter being able to pick up on Delenn’s secrets as the machine she was hooked up to slowly killed her). Were Soul Hunters like vultures originally? Always feeling for the impending death of an animal so they could eat that night? But that particular ability wouldn’t necessarily have prevented the kind of generalization necessary for the development of language, tools, and technology so the ability served them rather than limited them and as they developed and went to the stars, the idea of preserving special souls became of paramount importance to their raison d’être. Comments? Concerns? Good idea? Poorly thought out idea?

G’KAR: Would you like some jala? It’s cold.

LONDO: Get that away from me. Jala needs to be hot. It takes heat to cultivate its flavor. To consume cold jala is to insult a Centauri. I don’t even know where you got it.

G’KAR: I saw it on a tray heading into the south end of the palace. I assumed no one would mind if I took it.

LONDO: That’s right. Only Narns can stomach it cold.

It would be interesting to have a culture which marks the peaces rather than the wars. I don’t even know if that would be so far-fetched to imagine such a people given the Incas made “constellations” out of the dark parts of the sky as well as its luminous parts.

Byron’s demand for compensation is SOOO much more reasonable than his threat of blackmail. It’s a shame he didn’t think of it first...

Is the Interstellar Alliance basically the Minbari Empire? Minbar’s going to be the home office of the ISA. After the White Star fleet (which really cannot be rebuilt), the Minbari military is the strongest in the known galaxy and I have to assume it is their fleet the ISA would lean on in the event of a major war between powers. I don’t know. I just think of it like if we were to form an EarthGov right now and it actually had real power, its power would almost certainly be heavily reliant on U.S. military might, making an EarthGov like a de facto U.S. empire, no? It’s outside the scope of Babylon 5, but I wonder if such a thing will come up in the ISA’s future?

Babylon 5 did for me with telepaths what Buffy the Vampire Slayer did for vampires. I can no longer accept any alternative :-)

(Phoenix Rising)

I wonder how this telepath colony plot would have unfolded differently had Byron had the foresight to have some non-human telepaths among them so they wouldn’t be wholly under Earth’s jurisdiction?

Do you think Bester spoke to his underlings at the briefing because he *had* to or was it solely for our, the viewer’s, benefit? I just think back to when Bester first met with Sinclair...

Regarding Bester’s “How stupid do you think I am?” speech: I’m so glad JMS didn’t pad the scene by going to commercial as the music climaxed with Garibaldi holding a PPG to him. That immediate release of dramatic tension because there never was any there to begin with; that subversion of expectations, was an effective choice.

I don’t drink but after that scene, I’d probably start drinking too...

Peter’s telekinesis seems underwhelming. I suppose I could blame it on the show’s ability to do that special effect (the ring Eilerson fires in that episode of Crusade was an effect done well). But how hard was he casting those objects? I feel like I could throw harder and more accurately; like his telekinesis was really an inefficient way to go about things, y’know?

I know from reading around that had Claudia Christian remained on the show, she would’ve been the one to fall for Byron and I have to admit it’s still hard imagining Ivanova in that role. I think I’m glad she didn’t not because it would be unbelievable but just that it would be yet another tragic love and broken trust story for her and it’s like, damn, give this woman a break already...hasn’t she suffered enough?

Did Byron program his followers with that hymn? The way they gather around him before he immolates them is practically instinctual. I suppose it’s not so far-fetched. Byron *is* a strong P12 and more than once he desperately tried to get back to his people in order to calm them down suggesting his hold over them may not have been charisma alone. I don’t know...

(The Ragged Edge)

The Drazi with the vomit bag on the shuttle, haha. I love those touches they put into the show :-)

Is it my imagination or is G’Kar’s room less red?

[ihopeulikereallygayships-blog]

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The Longest Week

Okay, so here’s chap two. I was happy to write this, and had a lot of fun, while trying to put myself in someone else’s shoes. To @porkchop-ao3 I know this is not enough dear, and for now this is what al I can give, but I hope you like it. Thanks to @hoodoo12 and @xerxezra who are very lovely to talk to. Oh, @councilofrickfics I made a movie mention that had been inspired by a lovely fic of yours. Please enjoy!

_______________

Chapter 2

You couldn’t do it, and if you made one wrong move, you’d kill his babies. Zeta-7 had demonstrated how to cut crossover branches and hangover branches, but you preferred just to clear away the dead leaves instead. Rick puttered around, lovingly pruning, whispering sweet nothings. It was both adorable, and sweet.

According to gardening for dummies, the practice of cleaning up the flower beds, dead plant debris, and clearing the ground, prevented mold growth, spores, and deterred pests. Rick kept his plants happy, healthy, of that you were sure of, but was mold really all that bad? For the plants, probably, but there must have been some that that weren’t. Thoughts of Florey and Fleming came to mind, and their scientific pursuits, as well as the scandals behind those names, but what did that have to do with mold?

Funny, the places your mind would go if you allowed it to wander. Why, if you wrote a story about Rick, he would be the protector of a locked garden, a creature of the day, who retreated to the branches at night, twisting, and curling himself, until he was nothing more than a bud. Not so much a beauty and the beast sort of story, but of friendship, of the melding of minds, of spirit, and whoever would come to love this creature, would be one with the garden. A story of two souls, symbiotic, lost to each other, and built up in love.

Rick came around, checked on your progress, and swept away the debris. This brought you back to the real world, and you were determined to do a good job. With a small dustpan, you cleaned up the little pile you had made and dumped it in the marked bin. When you turned back around, you found him staring at you. The lines about his mouth deepened, and whatever he thought about made him sigh happily before he returned to his activity.

It was a simple gesture, but you were appreciative of it. When he was at peace, it was like there was an extra sun in the universe. Everything smelled better, you felt prettier, and in his shared world, you had a taste of paradise. You fed the turtles, Rick fed the fish, every so often you poke him to remind him you were there, and he laughed wholeheartedly when you pouted, because he had been overly affectionate with the hydrangeas.

When you had finished, you passed by the old bird cage to find the rose bush bare. Oh no, why this one? Hmm, Rick must have dried the roses for tea, and before you could receive one of its beautiful offspring. Perhaps one could read too many novels, and with your girlish dreams being crushed by this revelation, you swept, even if it was already clean around it. You sighed, since another disappointment had been added to your list of disappointments.

You heard the clatter of a fallen broom, and then all of a sudden a pair of arms were around you, and he asked what was the matter. Your cheeks felt warm, his breath feathering your ear.Whatever it was you wanted, he said, he would do for you. Zeta-7 wasn’t normally this affectionate, and blame it on the magic of the garden, it’s warm temperatures, and earthy scents, it’s singing plants; his version of paradise, this was where he was most himself.

You leaned into him, taking advantage of his brief confidence. A part of you had craved this sort of attention, and the current of his happiness, made you very warm in your soul, and comfortable. Lips bitten, you thought over the consequences of telling him, but you figured it wouldn’t hurt. In a small voice, you told him how you had wanted a rose. Resting his chin on your head, you felt his voice reverberate through you.

There was something he had to show you.

________

In the garage, there were several small pots with different sprouting plants. Each one had tags with words written in Latin, each had a shade of colored light on them. Zeta-7 had been experimenting with gene splicing, and the effects of light. These were the ones which had survived. One had straight stems, another was twisted like a pigs tail, two were ghostly white, and the rest were in varying shades of green.

While you were sure they were all going to be lovely, they weren’t the blue roses you had seen. From the cabinet, he took out a small, glass bottle shaped like a rose, and gave it to you. It was the concentrated essence, a perfume made from his beloved roses. Knowing you enjoyed scents, he had made it, and you wanted to cry. You had been distressed over flowers, words, and stones, and here he goes being darling, and what had you done?

You ignored him for a week, even though he was only one call away. How could you accept it? You hadn’t earned it, but he insisted, and listed all the reasons as to why you did. Whatever ability he had in seeing the best in everyone, you wished you had it too. You wanted to be more like him, because there couldn’t possibly be anyone this good, perhaps because he was the only one.

The unattainable or the mysterious, like the single blue rose he handed you, is what he was. There was so much you wanted, so much you wished to understand. The blue rose, frozen in its peak of perfection, you turned in your fingers, finding all its thorns had been cut off. He told you how it had been dipped in a chemical which would prevent it from wilting. And as happy as you were, there was still that seed of self doubt, that there was someone out there more deserving than you.

___________

It was cold when you two went back inside. You settled yourself on the comfy side of the couch while he made some popcorn. You flipped through the channels until you found some alternate version of You’ve Got Mail. The crown jewel of rom-coms, you knew the lines by heart.

When Zeta-7 returned, he smiled when he recognized the Jerry on screen. Jerry? You have heard of Jerry Smith, though you had never seen him in person. This particular Jerry was an actor, and personally you thought he wasn’t cut out for the role, but it made Rick happy. Perhaps he knew this particular one. You had seen a few photos of a Jerry in Ricks house, though you hadn’t really paid attention to the likeness.

Considering you two had shared the bowl of popcorn, it was only a matter of time before your hand found his at the bottom of the bowl. You moved the bowl aside so you could snuggle up next to him. It was charming to watch as Zeta-7 blushed terribly as he slowly draped an arm around you, and pulled you a little closer. Really, after all the attention he had bestowed on you for a better part of the day, there was no need for all this shyness.

Still, such deep rooted behaviors didn’t change in a day. Oh, but this was not the time to ruminate.  With his warmth all around you, and your head on his shoulder, you closed your eyes for what felt like a few seconds. However, when you woke, you were in your own bed. Had everything which happened been a lovely, delusional dream?

You called for him, and wondered if you had dreamed it. Hmm, you were still wearing your minion pajamas, and your hair still braided. Moving the blanket, you noticed that about your shoulders, was Rick’s labcoat. No, this was proof that it couldn’t have been a dream. Again you called for him, and he came in, the floorboards squeaked under his weight.

A cup of warm tea he set on your bedside table, before he took a seat on the nearby stool. What had happened? You asked. When you had fallen asleep, he didn’t want you to sleep improperly, so he brought you back home. Not knowing what else to do, he waited.

Rick looked ready for a nap, and you asked if he’d like to go back home, but he didn’t want to, so you told him to make himself comfortable. There were plenty of books, your living room TV, or he could tinker with any one of your appliances if he cared to, as long as he was comfortable. Yet, before you went back to bed, he encouraged you to drink the tea so you would have a restful sleep. It didn’t smell very good, but with his hands placed over yours, you had the courage to down it. Knowing his comforting presence was in the house, you felt a calm no sedative could provide.

You tugged his lab coat tighter, and lost yourself to restful thoughts, and vanilla scented dreams.

_________

Later, you found Rick in the kitchen, with the disassembled parts of your vacuum cleaner. Lately, it had been doing that thing where it was spitting out dust. After he had taken apart one of the brush heads, you were a bit sheepish to find that the problem had been caused by an earring; thankfully it was not a favorite of yours. While he was reassembling it, you set about making breakfast and giving him one word answers to his questions.

By now, you thought you would have been over the whole outbid thing, but an early morning email had reminded you all over again of what you had lost. Yesterday, with all the lovely activities you two did together, you’d thought you would have forgotten. And when you no longer answered any of Rick’s questions, he stopped what he was doing and patted your back. You just looked at him, his smiling face, unassuming, curious about your cooking technique. It hurt even more to think that you wouldn’t get the chance to see that wonder, and the curiosity when you handed him the stones you had mentally picked out.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out.

There was so much which had been building up, and you had tried to forget it all, but it only made you feel worse. Rick waited for you to speak, and when you did, you poured out every stupid little detail. You set aside the unfinished set of pancakes. Right now, all you wanted to do was leave, and go back to bed. Oh, but Zeta-7 took you in his arms, rubbed your back while you sobbed.

It hadn’t just been about the crystals and gemstones, or being outbid. You were all sorts of stressed out, about work, and just had too many things on your mind. This was when he offered to take you somewhere. Of course, you were going to need to dress much lighter, and put on a pair of walking shoes.

__________

Everyone had their version of paradise, but this place, it….it reminded you of places you had only read about.

The brightside of the Moonstone cast a calming, ethereal, blueish glow. The Sunstone and it’s weak, yellow light casted a soft warmth. Downhill, arum lilies sang praises, waving about to distract you two. Quickly you two passed them, then stopped again, your eyes drinking in all you could for a moment. This, it couldn’t be right, you had just seen an armadillo made out of citrine walk by.

You tried to adjust your goggles, but Rick’s firm grip stopped you. On this planet, you had to wear protective eye wear or risk going blind, as well as protective gloves. It was easy to forget at times that even aesthetically pleasing places could hold dangers. You were sure to stay close.

On one side, there was a vision of the sea, calm waves, which even a child would not fear. No boats of any kind, no seashells on the shore, but the sweet breezes which kissed your skin were cooling and refreshing. The purple sands clean and smooth, it’s dunes covered with cotton candy maiden grass. In another direction, white peaked mountains were partially disguised by the oncoming storm. You took his offered hand, careful to tread quietly, but you felt no danger; it had been a long time since you had felt that way.

Rose colored clouds drifted by in the cerulean sky. Zeta-7 was quick to point out the shapes he saw, before you two ran for dear life as chunks of violet Apatite rained down. You mimicked his action to tug on the gloves, which activated a deflector shield. With this safety precaution, you were free to admire their loveliness.

_______________

According to Rick, the introduction of certain invasive species had caused some of the wildlife to lie dormant until the conditions were favorable enough for their return back to the surface. The road, a single, well traveled road glittered, it’s many misshapen stones made for a colorful walkway. How had it come about you wondered, but Zeta-7 confessed to have done it. It was a funny story actually, which involved a dragon, a princess, and Geologist Rick.

There were many details which were classified information, but as you understood it, many years ago, there was a rock Geologist Rick had wanted. The princess was the rock and the dragon it’s protector. In order to protect what he loved, the dragon scattered the shards of the princess in such a way that it was everywhere and in everything. When it was all said and done, a once thriving, and beautiful land was now a dangerous, but still very beautiful land, that could not sustain human life.

The road in question had been made by Zeta-7 who over the years tried to piece together the whereabouts of the princess, and who had unknowingly had attracted various creatures to follow his trail, only to die along the way. A handful of gravel showed pieces of cats eyes, rough bits of crystal, fool’s gold, fire opals, and fine purple sand. My how lovely, but he flashed a special light on them, and they began to crawl, while others flew away. What the hell?

As Rick explained, the wildlife were made of living gemstones. And when they ceased to be living souls, they became dust, their leftover organs becoming crystals or stones. However, it was hard to tell what was living, or what was dead. Oh, but you could spend hours here, gazing upon them, curious as to what they were before, who they were before. Still, there was somewhere else he wanted to show you.

__________

Everything on this side of the planet was dead.

You had your pick of all the stones you wanted, but you had a different opinion now. How many lives had been lost because of one person’s careless actions? Why was there such a drastic change in the environment? There was so much you didn’t understand, but one day you hoped you would. Perhaps, if there was ever enough time, Rick could teach you, show you his ways, so that in some way you could understand.

Every so often, when he did take you off world, to some distant planet, or to some different dimension, your universe expanded. The more you learned, the less you knew, and unless it was all fixed, like it suddenly all stopped somewhere, then the literal universe was ever expanding. With Rick, would there ever be enough time to see it all? Only time would tell.

_____________

Curious as to why the creatures here had died, you drew your own conclusions which were not too far off from the truth. Due to atmospheric changes, the air quality on this side of the planet was not sufficient to sustain any life, which was why you two had to wear breathing masks. The crystalline plants left standing were also dead, but you would never be able to tell. Everything was more muted here, a lot more greys, and earth tones, and there was more than enough stones to pick from. However, you weren’t here to take what was dead, but to learn.

Appreciate what you had, before it was taken away.

Alright, perhaps there was no moral to the story, and you had been searching for meaning where there wasn’t any. Knowing Zeta-7, he brought you here because he wanted to show you something beautiful, something you loved, and in some way share what he loved with you. The scientist he was, saw everything fascinating, even if melancholic. Who knows what power the princess had which allowed a utopia to fend for itself against the elements, but that was beyond you. All you saw now was your own piece of paradise as he brushed away some dust, collected small samples of various stone types.

You found a suitable place to sit, while Rick scanned some geodes. His face brightened when he cracked a few open to examine their formations. The loveliest you would say was one with multiple layers of colorful agate and a crystal-filled central cavity. Each colored band represented an episode of agate formation due to chemical changes in the ground water.

Along the side of your goggles, he pressed a button which allowed you to view the chemical composition of whatever it was you looked at. Charts and lists of known chemicals made it a bit hard to see, and when you stared at Zeta-7, it went crazy, words flashed, lists, charts, even a snazzy little jingle played. You pressed the side button, which deactivated the function before you had a seizure. It made you wonder what secrets he was hiding, but then again it might have had something to do with all the places he had to visit during work hours.

For a while, you made shapes in the sand. Later, not wanting to disturb him, you dared not stray too far, and settled with circling about the group of crystalline Juniper trees. They were terribly sharp, and perfectly shaped like figurines. Why, if you were to touch their very tips, would you not bleed? As tempting, and as stupid as it would have been, you backed away, and took plenty of photos instead.

This wasn’t the time to test the theory of whether or not you were a Disney princess.

Even here, in the desert plains, the Sunstone and the Moonstone were easily seen. Was it possible, that the princess became the moon and the dragon the sun? Ricks eyes widened to this idea, and he thought about testing your theory, but then stopped. There was some things better left unknown, and this place had been through enough.

Perhaps, you were smarter than you thought, and that somehow, someway, this place could be perfect again.

_________

Zeta-7 brought you two back to his garage before his portal gun lost all its charge. You were fast to sit by the roses, whose heat lamps kept you warm. To the smallest of them, you told the story of a very special man. And in your heart, you hoped that this one would grow to be the strongest, and even more beautiful than the rest.

In the corner, Rick had placed every sample in a chemical bath. When he was done, he removed his gloves, and scratched the back of his neck. The crystals would take about three days, while the stones about two weeks. Rick knew how to form rocks and grow crystals?

From all the samples he had collected, why he could grow you a garden of gems, shape them to your heart’s desire. He rubbed his arm, eager to please, waiting for you to say the word. He would do it, why he would do almost anything if you asked him, but you pressed a finger to his lips, and shook your head. No, he didn’t have to. This was enough, you admitted, you already had your perfect gem right here. With Rick, you had more than enough, and he would never not be enough.

[stringofhearts]

Cake

SHINee Kinktober 2017 Day 3: Body Worship & Biting Pairing: Onkey (top!Key) Word Count: 3500+ Rating: NC-17

Content warnings: erotic biting, excessive use of the term “baby,” inappropriate use of the word “God,” SO much saliva, unnecessarily graphic and explicit & reads like erotica in some parts, but I love those parts, so… they stay in.

I started this for Kibum’s birthday because what do you get for the boy who has everything? The answer is smut… and cake because everybody deserves cake on their birthday ;)

Jinki’s ass is like art. Round and pert. Each mouthwatering fleshy orb enticing him at all times of the day. He has an overwhelming desire to press his finger into it when Jinki walks in front of him up flights of stairs. Being the gentleman he is, he always insists Jinki go first. He feels an itching compulsion to pinch the bottom round curve with his fingers when Jinki stands in front of him as they wait for the SM elevator for both the feel of the girthy taut flesh between his fingers and the yelp from Jinki that will inevitably ensue. The scandalized look Jinki gives him is just an added bonus.

People have told Kibum he also has a great ass and he wholeheartedly agrees, his ass is fantastic, but there is something about Jinki’s that calls to him. He’s addicted. No matter how many times he’s touched it, caressed it, kissed it, he cannot wait to do it again.

His addiction makes it hard to think about little else when he’s looking for his next hit. It’s especially inconvenient at times like this when he and the other members are meeting with the SM management team for a strategy meeting.

Due to some mix-up, the conference table in the room doesn’t have enough chairs. Jinki being Jinki has given up his chair to Taemin, while a couple of the managers go scrounge up an extra chair from somewhere else.

The meeting has been effectively delayed until the seating arrangements are settled. So, Kibum has plenty of time to check Jinki out, admiring those sinewy legs, defined hamstrings, and that beautiful ass, while doing a bit of light finger flirting.

K: Still looking for a seat? J: No, I’m standing here for my own amusement. K: You can sit on my lap. Jinki’s eyes widen from where he stands across the room and his fingers fly across the screen of his phone. J: No, thank you, pervert! K: Me? Never. I’m just being friendly. A small scoff comes out of Jinki’s mouth. Minho and Jonghyun look up from the meeting agenda they are reading… together, even though several copies lay on the table. J: Doubtful J: I’m not falling for that… again. K: Fine… Then how about—

“Where is this chair coming from? Antarctica? Let’s just start. You don’t mind, Jinki-hyung? Otherwise, we’ll be here for ages.” Jonghyun pleads, going all puppy dog eyes on him.

“No, please go ahead. Don’t mind me.” Jinki replies with an apologetic smile, as if it’s his fault for not making a chair materialize.

Kibums fingers finish typing the message and he hits enter. Now, he just has to waits the few seconds for the text to arrive on Jinki’s phone to collect the fruits of his labor.

“Jinki-ssi, we found a chair!”

Jinki smiles brightly, turning toward the doorway to get the chair from their manager.

“Thanks, Manager Hyung!”

What’s that American saying? Kibum thinks to himself. Oh right, “I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave” and boy did he like watching Jinki leave.

Jinki bends to pick the chair up and his pants tighten from the movement, outlining his ass in X-rated detail and Kibum’s brain short-circuits.

“Kibummie, what do you think?” Jonghyun turns to him to ask.

Crap, what are we talking about?!

“Ummm, I think that’s a great idea, Jonghyunnie hyung.” Kibum says quickly, trying hard to not give away that he’s lost track about what they’re talking about. If he’s inadvertently agreed to something important, he can always cite Diva law on them and force them to change it later.

Diva’s house, Diva’s rules. And let’s be clear, everything the light touches is the Diva’s kingdom.

Jinki takes his seat at the table and Kibum’s breath picks up as Jinki finally sees the notification on his phone, swiping his finger to read it.

1 2 3—

Jinki’s ears go red and he starts choking.

“Oh no, Jinki hyung! Do you want some water?” Kibum offers, biting the inside of his cheek while outwardly making a show of concern, knitting his eyebrows together.

Jinki looks at him like he’s lost the ability to comprehend words as he continues to cough.

K: Fine… Then how about later you sit on my face?

Everyone in the room, management staff and the other members turn to look at Jinki. Jinki’s embarrassment then reaches an all-time high with everyone’s attention on him.

Yeaaa, Jinki’s ass is most definitely his later, Kibum thinks, his lip quirking upward secretly.

Kibum pushes his face against the round outer curve of Jinki’s ass to just press his cheek against it. He snaps his teeth together and he can feel Jinki flinch, reacting to the sound immediately, but not realizing that Kibum is all bark and no bite… at least this time.

Jinki’s reaction is terribly precious and brings an amused chuckle to his lips. Riling up his old man is Kibum’s favorite pastime.

Kibum’s tongue comes out and he takes a long luxurious lick of Jinki’s ass cheek, feeling the soft peach fuzz that drags underneath his tongue, taking in the unique taste of Jinki’s skin.

Kibum turns his head and his mouth begins to dance across the surface of Jinki’s ass, alternating between kisses and playful licks, gripping each fleshy decadent mound tightly in his hands.

Jinki begins to whimper, rocking on the bed to apply much needed pressure to his neglected cock.

“Uh uh. Who said you could do that?” Kibum scolds, releasing his hands from Jinki’s ass as punishment, no longer aiding Jinki’s efforts by applying pressure.

“Kibum, I-I…”

“This is my time, hyung. What did you promise me earlier?”

“Kibum…” Jinki whines, but he settles down, resigned, his body going slack. “—please hurry.”

“So mouthy…” Kibum smacks Jinki’s ass with his hand and watches with fascination as the flesh wobbles like jello.

Kibum is most definitely not done.

Kibum scoots down to the back of Jinki’s thighs.

“You know the good thing about you never exposing your body?” Kibum asks before he answers his own question. “—It means I can leave as many marks as I want.”

Jinki groans, picking his hands to clutch the pillow, turning his head to the side in an attempt to see what Kibum is up to.

His own body blocks his view, just the tip of Kibum’s head is in view, Kibum’s hair falling forward, tickling the tops of the very part of his body being attended to at the moment.

Kibum’s head disappears altogether as he begins to carefully place bites on the taut skin on the back of each of Jinki’s upper thighs. Each bite is sharp and precise, with just the right amount of force and teeth, for both him, the bite giver, and Jinki, the bite receiver.

The trick to erotic biting is not to gnaw on the skin, Jinki isn’t a chew toy, or to slurp as he sucks the flesh into his mouth, that is terribly unsexy and Kim Kibum is never unsexy. The study of erotic biting is an artform and Kibum practices it as such.

Jinki flinches involuntarily as Kibum’s porcelain teeth work him over, shooting pure lust to his groin.

“K-Kibum… Hmmphhh… P-pl…” Jinki starts haltingly, his breath catching in his chest, causing his upper body to rise quickly up and down.

“I’m almost done, baby. Just be a little more patient.” Kibum says as his teeth move further down Jinki’s thigh.

An indignant whine comes out of the back of Jinki’s throat, sweat beginning to gather more intensely on the outer edges of his face. The front of his body is burning up from lying on top of the mattress, the heat just gathering underneath him. The occasional gentle graze of the Egyptian cotton sheets against his insanely hard nipples creating a painful pleasure that pulls him further into incoherence. The weight of his hips push his erection into the bed, his abdomen pressing his cock against the mattress.

“P-please, Kibum. Pleaseeee.” Jinki begs, his fingers clenching and digging into the pillow, threatening to rip it open as Kibum places the last bite.

“Tsk, tsk.” Kibum scolds again, but he draws his hand upward and runs his fingers down the cleft in Jinki’s ass all the same, his touch so feather light that he knows that Jinki is dying.

Kibum pauses, waiting for the change in the sounds coming from Jinki, the subtle changes in his body, the way his ass clenches, the involuntary continuous shift of his body looking for any kind of relief. Kibums leans in for the finishing move, his hot breath on Jinki’s ass causing every nerve ending in Jinki’s body to fry. Without a word, Kibum moves forward to lick the small bit of flesh where Jinki’s ass cheeks meet the upper part of his legs. Kibum’s teeth graze the sensitive flesh and his wet hot tongue just darting into the crevice.

“Fuccckkkkk!” Jinki’s body quivers from the sensation and his body jerks, pressing his erection into the bed, rocking down on his cock again and again. Jinki comes hard, his vision bursting into a kaleidoscope of color, without ever receiving a single touch to his cock. The sheet underneath him is now sticky from his cum. His body collapses on the bed, every muscle releasing, feeling every bit like his body has been played like an instrument.

“Awww, what a shame. You finished already. We need to work on your stamina.” Kibum coos, finally getting up from on top of Jinki’s body to admire his handiwork. The taut skin of Jinki’s upper thighs is beginning to bloom with perfectly lined patches of darkening color. “You should let Ass Appreciation Day happen more often.” Kibum says with a smile and a slap that cracks against Jinki’s skin, leaving a beautiful red mark on his ass.

Jinki jolts, body involuntarily flinching before he turns over. He’s lying in a puddle of his own cum, but he couldn’t care less. Kibum kneels above him, his legs straddling just outside Jinki’s body.

“Please fuck me.” Jinki’s voice is thick, showing every bit the effect Kibum’s ministrations have had on him. ”NOW.” Jinki adds as an afterthought, in case Kibum didn’t recognize the desperation in Jinki’s voice.

Kibum sighs dramatically, rolling his eyes.

“God, you’re so needy sometimes.”

He bends down to pull Jinki up by the shoulders for a searing kiss, lips indiscriminately mashing together before he starts pushing Jinki down towards his cock.

Jinki opens his mouth, catching the tip of Kibum’s cock just barely as it moves in front of his mouth. Kibum hisses as Jinki’s lips enclose over the head. Jinki holds the base as he shifts onto his knees, gripping tightly so he can hit the head of Kibum’s cock against his slightly open mouth, all plump lips and lolled tongue.

“You’ve been watching too much porn again.” Kibum breathes.

“Do you not like it?”

“No, it’s f-fucking n-nice.” Kibum says haltingly as he watches Jinki spit the pre-cum in his mouth back out onto his cock along with a wad of saliva. Jinki’s clasped hands spreading it all down his cock before he moves forward again.

“Hmmfff.” Kibum exhales loudly.

Each sloppy depraved slurp of Jinki’s beautiful plump lips on his cock sounds like heaven to Kibum’s ears and feels even better. The wet hot vacuum of Jinki’s mouth is perfection, the way his tongue slicks along Kibum’s cock, the way his smaller hands stroke along with his mouth. It’s sloppy and wet, masterful and inept all at once. It’s so Jinki and so damn irresistible.

Kibum watches as Jinki lets go of his cock with his right hand, continuing to work Kibum’s cock with only his left hand and his insanely hot little mouth. Kibum’s breath catches as Jinki cups his balls and he watches unblinkingly as Jinki’s right hand curves behind himself, trailing down his back, fingers spread wide as they make their way to the cleft in his ass. Kibum goes rock hard in Jinki’s mouth seconds later when a small gasp from Jinki allows Kibum’s cock to slip in further down Jinki’s throat and Jinki ends up gagging on Kibum’s cock. Kibum is torn between wanting to see what those sweet little fingers are doing and continuing to fuck that beautiful mouth.

Jinki pushes off his heels, twisting his fingers around himself to get a better angle. The muscles in his thighs go taut and are so well defined from exertion that Kibum just stares at them. He is dying to know what they feel like.

Kibum’s cock slips out of Jinki’s mouth as he leans down to kiss his complaining old man, pushing his tongue in between those pillowy lips and diving in to seek Jinki’s tongue.

Kibum lowers his body down onto Jinki’s thighs, letting both of his legs fall on other side.

“Kibum, what—” Jinki starts to bend his body back, so he can sit back on his heels.

“No. Don’t sit down. You can do this.” Kibum says, leaning forward to capture Jinki’s mouth in a bruising kiss as a distraction. Jinki’s flexed thighs feel like they were sculpted by the gods and even though, Kibum is no longer the waif he used to be*, he can feel how steady Jinki is in supporting his body. His hands move from Jinki’s sides, moving behind Jinki to grip his ass. Jinki starts to remove his hand in deference of Kibum’s longer fingers, but Kibum grabs his wrist.

“I want to do it together.” Kibum whispers hotly, his stare piercing Jinki’s.

Jinki whimpers, his body taut with concentration, sweat dripping down his body.

Kibum leans more forward, his hand running down Jinki’s right arm to assess.

“Mmmm, you fingering the sweet little asshole of your’s and getting it ready for me? You want my cock, don’t you, baby?” Kibum licks his jawline.

Jinki’s head jolts in acknowledgment and Kibum slips his own finger in with Jinki’s two fingers, plunging it deep into JInki’s body.

Jinki moans, head turning erratically as the sensations assault him. The strain on his legs to hold himself and Kibum up, their fingers fingering his asshole, and Kibum’s taunting and coaxing. The pressure in his lower abdomen starts to build.

“That’s it. That’s it. Does that feel good, baby?” Kibum and Jinki’s fingers continue to stretch Jinki open.

Jinki nods, choking more sobs, eyes tearing up as Kibum continues to guide their fingers inside him.

Kibum tugs them down onto the bed and Jinki is on him like lightning, his puffy, swollen lips leaning in for a kiss. His hands holding onto Kibum, pulling him closer as he presses his hips forward, rubbing their cocks together.

“That’s so nice, Jinki.” Kibum groans as Jinki kisses him urgently, humping his body against Kibum’s to get the friction he so badly craves.

Jinki pulls away from the kiss, a last little flick of his tongue on Kibum’s bottom lip as a parting gift. His eyes are hot, trained on Kibum’s as he moves down Kibum’s body. Jinki leans back onto his knees, raising one leg and placing his foot flat on the bed for leverage, Kibum watches as Jinki reaches down to grab Kibum’s erect cock, stroking his hand up and down it.

Jinki clears his throat loudly and Kibum looks up, meeting Jinki’s waiting eyes. Kibum hisses as he watches as a thick string of saliva falls out of Jinki’s mouth, dripping messily onto Kibum’s cock, overflowing onto Jinki’s hand.

Kibum groans at the arresting sight. “What a pretty baby you are.” Jinki smiles as his hand strokes Kibum’s cock, letting his saliva coat it entirely. Jinki shifts to line up with Kibum’s cock, the barest brush against his asshole making Jinki bite his lip and bend his head backwards. Jinki leans on his bent leg, focusing on relaxing his body, choking out a sob as he guides himself down on Kibum’s cock.

“Mmm Mmm Mmm.”

Jinki’s eyes widen from the stretch, but goddamn if he doesn’t want this. His thoughts are consumed with Kibum.

KibumKibumKibumKibum

The way Kibum makes him feel, the way he looks at him, the way he makes him work for it. There’s an uncontrollable need in him to lay claim to Kibum, to prove to him that he can be exactly what Kibum wants.

Jinki finally sinks all the way down on Kibum’s cock and he squeezes Kibum inside him experimentally, wanting to imprint the feeling of having him deep inside him. Kibum groans, reaching towards Jinki. Jinki grabs Kibum’s hand, dragging up the front of his body, where some of his cum from earlier still clings to his torso. He swipes Kibum’s finger through it before he draws the finger into his mouth sucking on it. Jinki starts to move, rocking his hips back and forth and little choked out sobs and moans begin to echo in the room.

“Fuck, you feel so good.”

“Uhhh. Uuhhh. UUUhhhh.”

Jinki continues to ride Kibum’s cock and they both start losing themselves to the moment. Jinki bends down to surround Kibum with his arms into a private world that consists of only the two of them. Jinki’s gentle pecks feel like “thank you’s” and his mewling moans broadcast exactly how good Kibum feels stroking inside of him. Kibum drinks in all of Jinki’s reactions, getting high as a kite.

Yes, be good to me, baby, and I’ll be so good to you.

Kibum groans as he thrusts into Jinki, earning more delicious sounds from Jinki. Kibum wants to sip every sweet whimper straight from Jinki’s lips, savor them all for himself, catalogue them away for future reference.

“Do you like that, baby?” He whispers.

“yesyesyes.” Jinki hoarsely murmurs against Kibum’s mouth.

Their bodies begin moving in time together. They stare into each other’s eyes, seeing deep into their dark brown depths. Kibum brushes the hair that falls in front of Jinki’s face away from his face. “Tell me how much you like it.”

“It’s so good, Kibum-ah. So good.”

Tenderness gives way to urgency and Jinki’s hips snap back faster. Two sweat-slicked bodies thumping in time to an unknown beat.

Every stroke from Kibum feels like a promise of more; more things to come, more days and nights like this, more time, and every moan from Jinki, an affirmation of that promise.

“That’s it. That’s it. Give me all you got.”

“Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t you fucking stop.” Jinki repeats with abandon.

Kibum doesn’t point out that Jinki is the one currently fucking him. It’s a technicality he’s willing to overlook.

Jinki’s thighs slap hard against Kibum’s body, echoing in the air as he impales himself wantonly on Kibum’s hard length. Kibum’s hands reach around Jinki’s body, gripping that ass he loves so much with big open palms, his fingers moving forward to graze along Jinki’s stretched rim, feeling the effects of his own cock inside Jinki’s body with his fingertips and it’s all over for Jinki.

“Ugghh…Ahh. Ah…” Jinki cries as he cums, cumming hard onto Kibum’s chest in thick quivering stream.

“God, you’re so beautiful.” Kibum groans, hands moving towards Jinki’s hips to hold him in place as he begins pumping hard into him to finish. His own release comes hot on the heels of Jinki’s and comes as a stutter, his body jerking violently into Jinki as he cums, hot and thick inside his lover’s body.

“You’re so yummy.” Kibum says, pulling Jinki close to his body after he does a basic clean-up for them and settles back into bed.

Jinki leans easily into Kibum, melting into his body. He gives a slight smile into Kibum’s shoulder, his eyes already closed, too gone to reply.

*This is not a dig on Kibum, just acknowledgment of his new fitness regimen. Minho mentioned it at a concert I think.

[sopheronipepperoni]

Someone to Lean On

[In which Sara takes up yoga to manage her stress. Liam, in typical fashion, is all in.]

"Oh boy." Sara's breath left her lungs in a whoosh. "I didn't expect it to feel quite like that."

She was curled in a ball on the floor of her cabin, back to surface and knees to chest. Her sunny hair was arrayed around her head in a fuzzy halo. The audio on the asari yoga vid had faded away heartbeats ago; quiet breaths and soft ambient music filled the space.

"Yoga is a mind-body technique which can help reduce stress levels and increase anxiety control. Your job as Pathfinder places a heavy burden on your body; relaxing and stretching your muscles regularly can increase your general wellness." SAM's voice, while it was at a normal volume, was not at odds with the soft atmosphere of the room.

"Well, it's doing something right, because I could stay in this —what is it called? Vanhasaya? —forever." Her eyes were closed; her body felt heavy as she sank into the floor. Completely relaxed.

"I believe that posture is called 'shavasana'."

"Shavasana." Sara rolled the word around on her tongue, tasting its smooth sibilants and easy vowels. She'd need to thank Lexi for the recommendation next time she saw the doctor. "SAM, can you schedule time tomorrow for another session? I'd like to try this again."

"Of course, Pathfinder. I will line up a selection of videos in the queue."

"Great." She sighed, drawing her shoulder blades in, fully sinking down against the floor. "Maybe there's something to this whole 'stress-relief' thing, after all."

Sara had always had a bit of an obsessive personality.

For as long as she could remember, she'd always had this desire to just learn more. Knowing about mechanics wasn't enough; she needed to know the nitty-gritty ins and outs, how to put together and disassemble any drone she could get her hands on, how to create mods from scratch with raw materials.

Even though she wasn't biotic, she'd done a lot of research on eezo and mass effect fields when mom had gotten sick. This event had spurred on a desire to know more about human physiology, and first aid, and pain relief. How to deal with grief, and do it well.

Alien cultures, you say? Sara was in the libraries, on the extranet, up to her elbows in Prothean artifacts and data streams, all for the sake of knowing more. She'd loved being a Recon Specialist.

Some of it was from a desire to achieve; her and Scott had come out of the womb seeking to wring every last drop of life from the universe, no matter what they did. Most of it was just her, though; she was hardwired to breathe in information and think, the way other people took in oxygen or consumed food. Knowledge was her life blood.

Which made signing up for the Initiative a breeze, all things considered. Unknown alien cultures? New worlds to explore? Sign me up, I won't look back. Adventure, here I come. Albeit, some of her panache and zeal for discovery had been tempered by the kett, and everything that had come in the shitstorm since Habitat 7. But still: climbing the dunes on Elaaden; breathing in the strange, earthy scent on Havarl; feeling the hot wind of Eos blow across her face —Heleus was ripe for the picking, and she wanted it all.

So she really wasn't surprised that when she found yoga to be helping with her stress levels, she went all in. Once-a-day sessions turned into separate morning and bedtime routines. Instead of rereading her favorite Milky Way novels, she read up on the history of yoga, on the different schools, on the way it took root amongst asari culture. She even, at one point, asked Cora and Peebee —and Lexi, since she was the one who recommended it, after all— if they had ever seriously practiced before.

Lexi: "Even though I know of its benefits, I've regrettably never devoted time to exploring them myself."

Peebee: "Naw, never got into all that New Age-y shit. Not really me, you know?" (Sara had tried to hold in her snort, with limited success)

Only Cora had any real experience. "Sometimes, when the other huntresses were feeling particularly tight, we'd practice as a group, or as partners."

Sara's brows scrunched. "As partners?"

"Sure. Partner yoga is a great way to really bond with someone. Each party has to carry their own weight, so to speak, to really get the most out of it." She paused, considering. "I didn't really do it all that often, but if you ever wanted to try it, I'd be willing."

Their friendship had improved vastly over the months; Sara recognized it for the platonic offer it was. After a few sessions of deep stretches —following particularly harry missions— another idea sparked in Sara's brain.

What would partner yoga be like with…well, with a partner?

A few weeks later found Sara with her legs up against the window in her cabin, stretched against the wall in a satisfying viparita karani posture. Her initial fervor had cooled into something more sustainable; even though she had already been in shape, she felt more lithe through her muscles, more loose, more body-conscious than before. She felt in control, for once.

The rhythms that approximated the "nightly" sequence on the Tempest were in full swing. Her cabin lights were dimmed. Half of her hair was pulled up, the other half having escaped to curl lightly against her neck. Quiet music filtered from the speakers, and she counted her breaths.

In. Out. In. Out. In—

The doors to her cabin slid open, and a shadow slanted across the floor.

"Hey, Sara—oh, sorry, didn't know you were busy."

She opened her eyes, rolling her neck back until she was looking at Liam, upside down. "Not busy, just relaxing. Come on in."

He sat on the bed, pulling up his omnitool. Since the soccer match on Podromos, they'd taken to spending more of their down time together —or all of it, as Peebee liked to tease— slowly working their way through Liam's massive movie list. Or kissing. There was also lots of that, too. Sara didn't really mind what they were doing, as long as they were together. She wasn't always sure of how much time she'd get with him, with things escalating like they were.

She slowly dropped her legs down to her chest and rolled to the side, savoring the way her back popped as she curled.

"Feeling another 'Blasto' movie? Always a cringe-worthy classic. Or how about—"

"Actually, I have an idea." She sat up, butterflies suddenly flitting around in her stomach. What if he thinks this is dumb? Oh man, potential for embarrassment and rejection! She worried at her bottom lip; Liam stopped flicking through the vids and watched her, noticing her hesitation. "How about trying partner yoga with me?"

She felt her cheeks flush, and she ducked her head slightly, in the way he had come to realize was a self-defense mechanism. It had been easier to spot her insecurities as things with the Kett heated up, and as he got to know her better. In the low-lighting, with her hair slightly frizzy from being against the floor, he thought she looked perfect. "Hell yeah, I'm game."

"What, really? You don't think it's dumb, or anything?"

He let out a soft chuckle. "Sara Ryder, rarely do you ever say or do anything that could be classified as 'dumb'. That's my part of the job, yeah?" He stretched his legs out in front of him, reclining slightly against the bed. "Besides, 'partner yoga'? Sounds like a great idea. Let's do it."

Her breath came out in a soft sound, and for not the first time Liam marveled at how relaxed she was around him, how she wasn't afraid of showing her insecurities and sharing her fears, when it was just them. When she wasn't the Pathfinder. Well, it was his job to support her; he felt damn lucky that things had turned out the way they had.

She patted the floor next to her, pulling up her own omnitool and keying up an asari vid.

"They're not going to do any kinky shit on this, right? Don't really want to see any naked bodies. Except one." He settled in next to her, arms brushing.

She flushed, punching Liam half-heartedly in the arm. "Not that kind of vid, Liam."

He laughed, a quick bark of sound. "Just checking."

The vid popped up on the wallscreen, courtesy of SAM, showing two asari sitting comfortably back to back. "We'll follow the video. Just how flexible are you, Kosta?" She couldn't resist.

"You should be able to answer that one for yourself." He flashed her a cheeky grin before maneuvering to sit back-to-back. "Let me know if I do something that hurts you." He emanated a comfortable warmth against her, and she smiled as she sank into the audio.

The video playing was one for beginners; her and Cora had never gone past the basic postures. She sat up straight, anchored to the floor; Liam's body was firm against her. Elbows locked, fingers rested on knees as they fell into alternating breaths. Then, like the asari on screen, they lifted their hands over their heads in a side stretch. She caught Liam's soft murmur of "Ladies first," before his warm hands encircled her wrists and tugged slightly upward, elongating her stretch. It hurt, but in the good way.

Their inhalations and exhalations mingled with the vid's soft audio; they were the only sounds in the room.

When they reached the back and forward bends, she felt Liam's ribs shake against her as he laughed; she was folded completely to the ground, his body heavy over hers. "I feel like I'm squishing you."

"You haven't yet," was her muffled reply. Then it was time to switch; she slid up and against him, taking a moment to really press her hips to his. She could definitely see the benefits of practicing with a partner, as he exhaled explosively beneath her. Her eyes closed as she relaxed against his back, her fingers extending forward to brush his. With a soft 'pop,' vertebrae in her lower back settled, and she sighed.

The vid played on; they didn't speak, save for requesting less or more pressure be used. For not the first time, Sara was struck by Liam's gentle care with her. Sure, she'd witnessed his obvious compassion for others: he worked tirelessly to get the outposts what they needed, and she knew that same care had surfaced in HUST-1. It even carried over into his combat style, the way he'd throw himself right into the fray to get the fire off of teammates. Off of her.

Being with Liam helped remind her that she was a woman, underneath the title of 'Pathfinder'. He treated her like she was valuable, like she was worth it, their crazy adventures and hijinks all aside. She'd never pictured herself with someone who was so attentive, so kind. Sara hoped that she made him feel the same way he made her feel. All fluttery and goofy and sappy.

She didn't know how she had gotten so lucky.

Hands slid up arms as they faced each other again and reached forward, entering another bend. Her face was starting to feel unreasonably warm; in their wake, his fingers left trails of fire on her skin. As Liam helped her fold forward —legs out wide, feet touching— she savored the feeling of his palms on her shoulder blades. She let out a soft groan as he pressed her deeper into the stretch.

"Too much?"

"Just right." Why was her voice so breathy all of a sudden?

Apparently Liam was noticing the shift in atmosphere, too; when she helped him fold down towards her, he slipped his hands up and over her thighs, his fingers stretching to press teasingly against her lower back. She lightly flinched. How much longer is this vid?

By the time they worked through double downward dog and another round of partner breathing, Sara felt like a soupy, languid mess. Completely relaxed in a deeper way, stretched out, yet also…ahem. Being near Liam always made her feel butterflies, but this?

The room darkened as the vid faded to black. Their elbows were still locked. "Thanks for trying that. What'd you think?"

"Happy to help you relax. We all need someone to lean on."

A beat—then, "You didn't. Were you thinking about that the whole time?"

"Nope. I was thinking about when we'd get to that crazy acrobatic shit people'd always post on the extranet. Next time, right?"

She laughed. "Sure, next time. If you think you can handle it, that is."

He moved around to face her, eyes molten in the light of the stars. His breath fanned against her skin. "Is that a challenge, Sara Ryder?"

She smiled against his skin. "You bet it is, Kosta."

He slid his hand up her arm, repeating the motion from before, cupping her cheek. "Looking forward to it, then." His fingers traced a bright line from her jaw to the back of her neck.

As his mouth met hers and her fingers twined in his hair, Sara decided that partner yoga was a very good idea.

[the-everqueen]

Broom conservatory prompts: "god, you're a fox!" or alternatively, Adams Knows something is up with this boy and confronts Washington about it

Eliza tastes of summer nights and sweet jasmine and the smooth, pearled inside of a seashell.

Alex deepens the kiss as though he could swallow her whole, overcome with the need for more. She presses her hips flush against him, fingers clutching at his shirt; he trails open-mouthed kisses down her throat, runs his teeth over the exposed ridge of her collarbone. Tempting to bite down, but he restrains himself. Look, touch, taste. No eating (though his heart aches with hunger) and no marks (she has opera tonight).

She tilts her head back, thick hair loose around her shoulders, and moans as he nibbles at the pulse in her neck. “Mmm, you’re a fox.”

He freezes.

Eliza opens her eyes, frowning. “What is it?”

Just an expression, Alex. Right. He shakes his head.

“Don’t tell me no one’s ever called you handsome,” she teases. He relaxes, feeling his way back to the fractured moment.

“I tend to let them know before they get the chance.”

She laughs. “You’re impossible.”

“Very,” he agrees. Just how impossible she has yet to discover: they’ve been dating since last semester, and he should warn her before she wakes up to find an actual fox in her bed. He doesn’t want to, though, not yet.

He nuzzles against her neck and she sighs. “Rehearsal.”

“Must you?” He nips at her pulse, making her shiver. “You could stay here.”

“I can’t believe the man who lives in a practice room is encouraging me to skip rehearsal.”

“I sleep here sometimes.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“I do! Ask John.”

“Are you that eager to be proven wrong?” She slips from his arms and gathers her things: coat, purse, opera score. “Besides, I can’t leave Laf alone with that many sopranos. It’ll go to his head.”

Alex pouts.

She kisses him on the tip of his nose. “You can come over later. I’ll text you.”

When she’s gone, he feels her absence inside him. He runs his tongue over his teeth, trying to catch her fading sweetness. Her magic - the same magic all humans have, the spark of talent or skill or wit that makes them fascinating to creatures like him - curls warm and gentle in his stomach like a mouthful of tea, enough to sharpen the edge of his hunger but not satisfy.

It makes his skin itch. He’s been human for too long, and it’s getting hard to hold onto the shape: a thin prickle shivers down his spine, the threat of coming undone. He pushes it aside and opens his laptop. He has a paper to write for Dr. Bartow’s class; after that, the promise of Eliza.

John comes back when Alex has reached fever-pitch, words burning at his fingertips as he hurtles towards his conclusion. Alex glances at him. “How was jazz band?”

“If I ever hear ‘Honeysuckle Rose’ again, I will personally challenge Fats Waller to a duel.” John hurls his backpack across the dorm room and sets down his saxophone case with utmost tenderness. “What are you doing here anyway? Isn’t tonight an Eliza night?”

“Opera rehearsal. Something about staging.” Alex pauses to stare at the screen, mulling over synonyms. “She’s gonna get me when it’s over.”

“Mm.” John flops next to him on the bed. “Have you told her?”

“Not yet.”

“Alex…”

“I will! I just… haven’t found the words.”

John gives him a flat look.

“Since when are you the reasonable one?”

“Since jazz band sucked out my soul.” John rolls onto his stomach. “You’re the one who came up with this arrangement, and part of the deal was communication.” His tone implies air-quotes around the last word. “I can’t keep going to Pancake Wednesday and not scream, ‘our Alexander is a fox!’”

“You should, it’d be funny.”

John swats him. Alex responds with a pathetic whine: not a human sound, but an effective one, as past domestic disputes have proven. It does little for him in the present. John sobers, his mouth turning down, eyes bright and earnest. He smells like gunpowder and citrus, tastes of overripe peaches.

“If you want this to work,” he says, “you can’t keep secrets. I get not spilling everything but this -”

Alex’s phone buzzes.

E: outside Morris Hall, meet me and i’ll drive. we can grab takeout?

“That’s Eliza.” Shutting his laptop, Alex pecks a kiss at John and catches a mouthful of curls. “See you in class.”

John grunts, burying his face in the mattress. “Talk to your girlfriend!”

“I will,” Alex promises, already moving out the door.

Later, he thinks. He’ll do it later.

***

Later comes sooner than he intended.

It looks more or less like this: him standing naked in the bedroom, arms folded across his chest, bushy tail tucked between his legs; Eliza staring at him, mouth fallen open, fisted hands clutching the sheets over her breasts. The last few minutes are a blur. He remembers her hands hot on him, her scent obliterating all thought.

He shivers.

“Oh God,” Eliza breathes. “You’re a fox.”

“It isn’t - don’t look at me like that - I can explain -”

A hysterical laugh bubbles out of her. “Can you?”

“Well, I -” And here it is, the problem he’s been skirting for weeks. What is he supposed to say? I’m a magical creature who’s been feeding off your talent and kindness since we met, but it’s fine because I love you and would never eat your heart. Stupid Alex, stupid, for not shifting sooner, for thinking he could pass as human. He ducks his head, licks his lips nervously. “I could show you?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, just gives in to the white noise buzzing under his skin. It’s easy, though not painless, like being transposed into another key. He shakes out his fur, pricks his ears, and draws on a bit of his allure, looking to Eliza for her reaction.

Her eyes widen. She relaxes her grip on the sheets, swings her legs over the edge of the mattress. “Kitsune,” she whispers.

A thrill runs through him at the naming. Names have power: she knows him for what he is, as well as what he calls himself. He lowers his ears and inches closer to her, wanting more than even he would have thought possible.

She holds out her fingers in the same way he’s seen her approach stray cats. Very carefully, so as not to startle, he noses at her hand and gives it a gentle lick. See? It’s me. Eliza lets out a trembling laugh and strokes his ears, her face lit with something like wonder. “Oh, Alexander.”

Okay, he’s past patiently waiting. In one fluid motion, he leaps onto the bed and squirms into Eliza’s lap. Blinks at her with the cuddle me? expression he’s perfected on John. She shakes her head but pulls him into her arms. “You ridiculous charmer.”

Alex nestles up against her, nibbles at her throat. She swats his muzzle. “I swear, you’re no different like this.”

He purrs.

She rubs his belly for a minute and then asks quietly, “Does John know?”

He lowers his eyes.

“You should have told me. Maybe not in the beginning, but when we realized this was going to be serious…” She sighs. “I want you to be able to trust me.”

Faeries don’t trust anyone - favors, promises, and agreements hold more weight than that transient concept - but Alex loves her and he thinks maybe that can mean the same thing. At least, he wants to take away the wrinkle between her brows, smooth it into a happier expression. He nuzzles at her chest and makes a drawn out whine.

Her mouth tugs into a smile. “I know, darling, but we’re still going to talk about it later. I think John should be included, too. We’ll go out for pancakes - no sense in breaking tradition.” She kisses the tip of his nose, just as she did earlier. “For now, we both have 8:00 AMs tomorrow. Let’s get some rest. That would be enough.”

[operationrainfall]

Title Contra Anniversary Collection Developer Konami Publisher Konami Release Date July 11th, 2019 Genre Platformer Platform PC, Nintendo Switch, PS4, Xbox One Age Rating E for Everyone 10+ – Fantasy Violence, Mild Blood, Mild Language, Use of Tobacco Official Website

Every gamer has those series that helped define them. Games that spoke to your first perception of what made a game fun, and despite quirks or faults, are still seen through the rose colored glasses of nostalgia. One of those series for me was Castlevania, which I covered last year. But there’s another big series published by Konami that also helped define who I am, and that’s the Contra series. Admittedly, they’re both very different, since one focuses on precision and strategy and the other focuses on adrenaline pumping mayhem. Contra taught me patience and the importance of learning enemy patterns, amongst other lessons. It wouldn’t be fair to cover one series and not the other, so today I’m gonna review the Contra Anniversary Collection. Yes, it came out a while ago, but the gaming world has been ridiculously jam packed for a long period of time now, and it’s better late than never. So I’m going to cover the 10 main games in the Anniversary Collection, as well as the bonus features I spent time with. Unlike my Castlevania Anniversary Collection review, this one won’t have games listed in the order I played them. Instead, I will list them in order of preference, starting with my least favorite and working up to most. So go ahead and crack your knuckles and pop some drops in your eyeballs, cause this is gonna be a big one!

Game # 1 – Contra (Arcade version)

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I really wish I could say I loved the arcade version of the original Contra. After all, I had never played either of the arcade cabinets, so the opportunity to tackle them now seemed like a good idea. The graphics were definitely more impressive here than on the NES or Famicom, which should have translated to a better experience. Unfortunately, I ended up disliking both of these arcade variants. Sure, they’re pretty, but they’re also completely unbalanced. And that’s saying something considering how hard this series is. But there’s a difference between fair and unfair difficulty, and this Contra fell into the latter category.

For one thing, enemies move much faster than usual, and the turrets that track you are no joke. They are rapid firing mechanical death machines that track your every move and trip you up in streams of bullets. Worse, there’s not any invincibility frames in this game, so you’ll respawn and think you’re safe, just to get gunned down again. This happened many times during one boss fight, and even against the basic enemies I had a rough time.

Much like in the Castlevania Anniversary Collection, I made use of the save states here to spend less time reviewing, and even then I was getting destroyed. While I did beat nearly all the other main games in this collection, I made an exception here. I just didn’t have the patience to beat this particular game. I’m happy I got a chance to see what the Contra arcade experience was all about, but I’m much happier that I don’t ever have to play this one again. Let’s move on with a step in the right direction.

Game #2 – Super Contra (Arcade version)

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Yes, I know I just said I didn’t like the arcade Contras, and while that’s largely true, at least this one felt a bit better balanced. So much so that I was able to actually beat it! Sure, it’s still a rollicking ride, and largely unfair, but not so unbalanced that it’s unbeatable. Especially with my good friend, save states. The biggest challenges I encountered here were in the top down stages, most notably the final boss. It managed to pin me in place many times with projectiles and other threats, and it took a good amount of practice to finally put it down. But at least I mostly had fun, and didn’t find the other bosses overwhelming.

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In many ways, this one reminded me of the first console versions of the original game put into a blender with Super C. Which sounds weird, but it does make sense. The thematic focus was more on organic creepy critters than robotic threats. But don’t worry, there’s still a good chance a surprise turret will take you out. I guess my biggest issue with this particular entry was it wasn’t clear which upgrades you were collecting. I grew up with Contra III, and I like knowing exactly what upgrade I’m picking up. But at least it took the sour taste out of my mouth after the last arcade experience.

Game #3 – Probotector

I should point out here that until I bought the Contra Anniversary Collection, I had never played the European releases of the games. I honestly wasn’t even that familiar with them, and initially thought they were unique entries. Imagine my disappointment when I learned that both European entries were just remakes of Contra III and Hard Corps, but with some new quirks. For one, to get published they had to replace the humans with robots (probably cause blood was too scary for the rating board back then). More importantly, both Probotector and the other EU variant had a slower framerate. At first I didn’t notice that, but when I played the games they were based on, it became very apparent. However, that’s not necessarily a bad thing, since both Contra III and Hard Corps are incredibly fast paced and challenging games. In a way, Probotector is a more laid back game.

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The one downside that I saw very clearly when I was playing Probotector was the screen size. I’m not sure if this was originally the case or is due to faulty emulation in this Collection, but it’s odd. Everything looks fine, but it’s super tiny and scaled down, which hurts the eyes. And that’s a shame, cause Probotector is actually a pretty good entry, quirks aside. It just can’t live up to Hard Corps. Honestly, once I found out that both games were essentially the same experience, I stopped playing this one and moved onto the real deal. But we’ll talk all about that later. Next up, time for a portable Contra experience.

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Game #4 – Operation C

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Much like for Castlevania, Contra had a surprisingly great portable game. I wouldn’t go so far as to say it was the best in the series or anything, but it does take many elements I associate with a real Contra and made them work. There’s various weapons, difficult bosses and long stages. In fact, the final boss in this game, some flying mecha that harasses you with missiles, was one of the harder bosses I’ve faced in this notoriously difficult series.

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Even with a limited color palette, Operation C was very visually impressive. I would even go so far as to say I liked the visuals more here than in either of the arcade games. Everything was more clear, albeit less colorful. The only real low points are that the game is relatively short, which was likely due to the Game Boy’s limitations, and that the music wasn’t that compelling. For better or worse, I grew up with fond memories of Contra III, so whenever I think about the series, I think about that game. And that game had some incredible music. Sadly, unlike Castlevania, the Contra series isn’t known for having consistently amazing music, but there are still some standout games. Operation C just wasn’t one of them. But, mechanically, this was a very solid entry, and one I’m glad I finally got the chance to play.

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Game #5 – Contra (NES)

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It was very cathartic for my childhood self to play through and beat this game. Because when it originally came out, I was a young whippersnapper, and I was not nearly as good then at gaming as I am now. I hadn’t yet learned true patience or developed the reflexes I rely on, which made the first Contra a real pain. Playing through it now, it actually holds up remarkably well. You could tell Konami was just figuring out what they wanted the series to be, and there are distinct influences from other sources, such as the Rambo tough guys, some levels that reminded me more of Ninja Gaiden, and some bosses that could have worked in the TMNT games.

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You wouldn’t be faulted for initially thinking the series was just about humans fighting other humans. Eventually you’ll come across some high tech crazy and start to wonder, and then the final level goes full Alien, with horrifying biological nightmares and monstrous entities. I feel that final stage really set the tone for later games, and how they alternate more fluidly between mechanical threats and the alien bastards behind it all.

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All in all though, the game which gave me so much trouble as a child was a lot more fun as an adult. Sure, it’s still a bit frustrating at times, and you can easily die from jumping at the wrong time, but overall this was a fun entry with the tight controls the series is known for. The biggest thing holding it back was the version that came out in Japan…

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Game #6 – Contra (Famicom)

A common refrain from gamers of a certain age was that Japan got all the best stuff. That ranged from swag to special editions to pre-order bonuses, but it also often applied to versions of games. The Famicom version of Contra was frankly the superior one. Not only was it graphically more impressive, allowing for effects like trees swaying or snow falling, but it was just more ambitious. This game has a full introduction, and even though I can’t read a word of it, it’s evident they put some real effort into making an interesting plot. One that was totally missing from the US version of the game.

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I especially found it interesting how this version has cutscenes after each stage, as well as a map that was very reminiscent of Ghouls ‘n Ghosts. While most of the bosses and enemies are the same, those foes more dependent on speed are much harder, like the spiked tank in the snowbound stage.

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Though this entry is in most ways identical to the NES one, I am very glad I could finally compare the two. The only thing I wish this Collection had was a way to translate all the dialogue into other languages. But I know that’s a tall order, and ultimately the plot is the least important aspect of any Contra game.

Keep reading for the top 4 games plus more ->

Game #7 – Super Probotector Alien Rebels

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Now, I know I spent some time earlier talking about the EU Contras. And yes, this one is pretty much an exact clone of Contra III. But that doesn’t change the fact I adore that game, so I found this one entertaining as well. It’s still a very pretty game, with tons of mechanical and biological threats to combat. I also found the robotic heroes looked really cool, and in some odd ways it makes more sense to have powerful robots fighting aliens than bare chested humans with guns.

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Honestly the only real complaint I have about Super Probotector Alien Rebels is that they didn’t try something new. With the whole robots versus aliens theme, it would have been cool if Konami had thrown in a new boss or two, or even a unique stage. Cause honestly, I’m invested in that concept. That said, if you like the series but feel the other games are too hard, this slowed down adventure should be more your speed.

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Game #8 – Super C

Now we’re really starting to get to the good stuff. While the original Contra was fun but a bit of a mess, Super C is where the series started to come together. There was no question that aliens were up to no good here, and they mixed horror with action very well. Infected soldiers, creepy skull ships and much more made this a game worth remembering.

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Not only was the balance better in Super C, but they had some really iconic fights that were echoed in later games. A noteworthy one is the freaky final boss, which is reused later in Contra III, but there’s a lot more that I loved. Take the dangerous metal spider you have to stand on top of and shoot bullets into. Also, the top down sections here were much more interesting than the first game.

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All in all, I feel Super C did a memorable job of bringing Contra into a more coherent place. It wasn’t afraid to try crazy shit, and the bosses were more significant and fun to battle. But the next game is one that has a very special place in my heart.

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Game #9 – Contra III: The Alien Wars

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This is the game that I have held up for years as my example of what the best Contra is. And there’s a few reasons. One is the nostalgia factor. I can still clearly remember playing this with my friend in elementary school on a giant TV, yelling and screaming as we blasted aliens to bits and got destroyed in return. While I wouldn’t go so far as to say I was great at the game way back then, I didn’t care. I kept playing cause I enjoyed it so much, and in the process got better and better.

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Another really obvious reason I love Contra III is the music. This is the entry in the entire series that has my favorite soundtrack. I can still hear the haunting tunes from Neo Kobe Steel Factory, the upbeat tracks of Road Warriors and the tense tenor of the boss track, Invasion. While the tunes are definitely better blaring at you from a giant sound system, they also are quite enjoyable on the portable Nintendo Switch. But it wasn’t just the music, I also loved the gameplay in this entry. Not only is it rock solid, it’s very well balanced. You won’t die for stupid reasons once you get down the patterns.

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I feel Contra III did the best job of streamlining the action while still keeping it complex. Dual guns you could swap between, bombs and shields all were in this game. And that’s a good thing, since it had some gnarly boss fights. The whole game is almost a boss rush, with grunts rushing you in between. Sure, the final stages are a bit much, and the fact you have to play through it more than once to get the best ending is a challenge, but that’s just part of the special sauce that makes a Contra. Next, we have the game that stole the gold from Contra III in a surprising upset.

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Game #10 – Contra Hard Corps

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As a lifelong Nintendo fan, this is hard for me to admit, but the sole Sega Contra in this collection has become my favorite Contra game. Which is a sentence I never thought I’d write. The primary reason is this – the staggering ambition of this game. Konami wasn’t content to sit on their laurels and phone this game in. It’s almost so over the top I can’t classify this as a Contra. There’s multiple endings, for one. For another, the primary focus of the game are out of control robots (at least initially). But then you throw in things like multiple playable characters with different weapons, and I was just staggered.

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Now, while in many ways I still feel that Contra III is the purest experience, this one is worth owning for how nuts it is. You won’t know what’s coming down the pipe next, other than the fact it’ll be angry and bloodthirsty. This is also a rapid fire Contra, making Contra III appear like it’s standing still in comparison. One jungle stage has hordes of angry critters that rush you, and if you’re not ready they’ll tear you to ribbons. Oh and did I mention there are bosses that also get some character development? Not much, mind you, but still that’s impressive. I love Colonel Bahamut, who reminded me of Dracula mixed with Dr. Wily. Or take Noiman Cascade, an obese hacker that attacks you with virtual constructs.

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In many ways, I think Hard Corps is remarkable, and it’s evident now how fully it inspired another game I love, Blazing Chrome. But Hard Corps is also really, really difficult. Even with save states, you’ll be replaying fights over and over til you get the patterns down pat. I do think the balance is a little skewed, but I still had a blast. I managed to get two different endings, but I know there’s still a handful more waiting for me. But this is one of the few games in the Collection I’ll be replaying multiple times just for the hell of it.

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Now, while those 10 are the main reason you’ll buy the Contra Anniversary Collection, there’s still more. There are Bonus JP versions of some of the games, but I didn’t have the time or inclination to play those. Mostly because I don’t believe there was enough new variation in any to justify playing them. But if you want some added replay value, you certainly have it there. Or if you want to play with a friend, I’m pretty sure all the games that originally had co-op can be played locally with a friend on Switch. Which is a nice touch.

Aesthetically, there’s really not a bad game in the bunch. Sure the series started more primitive, but even the earliest examples here had great and vibrant designs. I would definitely point to later games, such as Hard Corps and Contra III, as having the best monsters in the Collection, but there’s nothing ugly here. Even the arcade games I disliked are well animated. Musically, the game is good, not great, with the exception I mentioned earlier. Overall, the design is very solid, and I love the creativity on display in all the games.

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Another cool bonus in the Anniversary Collection is the gallery. Not only does it include tons of artwork, but a lot of behind the scenes info and even an interview or two. It even features a Contra Timeline (proving Konami didn’t learn their lesson from Castlevania) as well as a really nifty list of how many games each of the iconic weapons from Contra appeared in. My favorite is still the good old Spreadshot, but I have some affection for the Crush and Homing guns as well. However, just like the Castlevania Anniversary Collection, this compilation lacks one key feature – a music box. Now it’s not as unforgivable here as it was there, since all Castlevania games have amazing music, compared to only a couple Contra games, but it’s still a bummer.

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Altogether, the Contra Anniversary Collection is still a hell of a bargain. As a gamer that grew up playing many of these games, it’s nice having a bunch of them together in one place. I probably spent 12 hours or so playing through the entire thing. I’m a bit dissatisfied that some of my other favorite games in the series aren’t here, such as Shattered Soldier and Contra 4. But even without those, this Collection is a great deal for only $19.99. If you love over the top mayhem, giant bosses and lots of challenge, look no further.

[easyreview cat1title=”Overall” cat1detail=”” cat1rating=”4.5″]

Review Copy Purchased by Author

REVIEW: Contra Anniversary Collection Title Contra Anniversary Collection