#and b) it only seems to occur to them that the driver is listening and that they may have to continue pretending AFTER they say all that

[niuxita21]

Sorry. I got carried away with the gay stereotypes. I too have a lot to learn. And I went a bit too far sending Elena to kidnap you. I’m sorry. Ana, you and I are a team and complement each other perfectly. And you’ve taught me a lot about the business world, but I know other things as well that I can teach you.

Bonus: Ana’s reaction to Mariana saying she could teach her other things... 

[miraculous-voyage]

[F] Charles B, Adonis – Lack Of Love

During my usual after-hours commute, I was filled with pre-winter fatigue and the nocturnal bad habits made me crave a warm drink; something not very easy on the stomach and preferably with high sugar dosage. Given my strong instant gratifying appetite, a massive cup of hot chocolate would complement the ice-frozen climate. Cinnamon spiced chocolate smell amidst the misty, soaking-wet street was the go-to remedy for my loaded head. As usual, during the perfect daydream in the valleys of paracosmic comfort, the phone started buzzing with a huge inflow of notifications and messages, leaving my peace of mind behind. Apparently some promotional stuff from apps the intention of which is to supposedly comfort our solitude in this self-consuming black hole of social media. However, on the productive side of things, it was THE perfect instance to check the time. It was 17:19; at that instant my attention-deficit thought patterns made me think it was 7 pm. A chest pain followed by an instant denial of the forthcoming realization, that the sole antidote of my today’s longing should have been mitigated in a haste. A split second of silence; only then did my other voice of anxiety made me check it again. I could not assume I was done with it, could I? And yes! Sure the tension was released, I knew I had time but how much did I have? Indeed the revision of the average shutdown of most cafes was very close to 6 pm. The quest then began! Contrary to my usual commute I could use the shortcut through the park and so I did. 

The tunnel connecting the main street was as if a passage to the underworld, because of the ever-present mist. Upon racing to the end, the few trails were to be taken, which pretty much randomly must have led to the other end of the park. As I was walking, I sensed that on the left side of me the space got emptier and vaster. A little picture of the trail through the mist opened up - the flat green area was to my left, and a large canal of water to the right. I closed my eyes, imagining surfacing over the water, enjoying the gentle perfume of foggy petrichor. Not surprisingly, I hit my head on a long brick wall with egg-shaped spears on top. A checkpoint situated around plenty of nice little kiosks, and to my luck, one was sparking from the end of the mist along the wall. Even though I was getting closer to it, the spark outcoming from the kiosk seemed to fade. So I started running toward it. Upon arrival, I took a deep breath next to that uncanny cubist-shaped kiosk. A delicate stained glass was projecting the light from inside. I cleaned the vapor off the glass and it was empty dark inside. Not to my surprise, the time was 18:03 and the shop was closed. To dissimulate the anguish, I took a moment to smoke. Car sounds occurred from far away drifting closer and closer to me. A corvette appeared from the mist flashing lights on my gloomy face and parked right near the shop. The driver looked at me and yelled: “I am the barista, sorry we are …” and then I interrupted,  “I know, I know!” I did not miss the chance to tell my convoluted story of my arrival at this store hardly bearing my unfit body. With eyes of compassion and empathy, he gladly suggested taking me over to his place where he could offer his specialty stuff. Therefore, filled with immense gratitude and joy, we got into the car.

In the state of perfect mental release, punchy dirty baselines were buzzing in my ear. It was the sound of nautical 808 kicks that I missed so much and in an instant realized the potential connection point with my fellow barista. I exclaimed, “Man, this is some OG stuff!”. “I knoow right! He replied. “I got a couple of vintage gear and a huge desk of records, check it out as we get home.” As we reached his place, he gave me a short house tour. Of course, I helped myself to examine the precious record collection. “Dude, hang in here, I’ll go make you the best stuff ever, also you can give them a listen. Here is the nice little turntable setup.” He told me and left to carry out his initial promise. Humbled with such a warm welcome, I submerged myself into dusting the 12 inches. “Detroit, breaks, couple of ambient tracks…”  I was thinking to myself with great curiosity. One record, however, was separated, perhaps, he played it recently and so I gave it a listen. It had this typical obscure black cover with a terrible sleeve condition reminiscent of that old newspaper from the 90's that you used to wrap a lunchbox. I played it and it went “... Lust to have it at my will. Just for pleasure and the thrill. I can't seem to get enough. Hurting from the lack of love .. '' Otherworldly vocals, venting out the bitter-sweet aftertaste lyrics that open up the gates of divine rapture. This was all I wanted - the seminal Chicago acid classic, “Lack of love”. “Ahh you got me, bro, that I've been playing it on repeat these last few days.” He grinned. “What is it that makes it so special for you?” I asked him. He replied, “If you are so curious, take a seat, this will take a while. '' So I did and he continued. 

“I had this dream a few days ago. I found myself in front of a massive limestone fortification bastion. The walls were the only thing gleaming in the vast space of darkness under a full moon sky. Someone was watching me from above the wall. Unexpectedly, that person jumped, falling like a feather in the air… She landed right in front of me. A charming girl radiating enigmatic energy. She was pointing in a certain direction, trying to take me somewhere. With no strict hesitation, I followed her and the walls were slowly disappearing. Oh, and then… yeah, and then we both found ourselves in a picturesque cityscape with neoclassical skyscrapers around. Yet, all I could think of was her; she was ingenious, and exuberant, just as the first friend at school you always wanted and finally met. She took my hand and led me to this cozy flat roof terrace next white watchtower. We just sat there enjoying the view and did not communicate a word. I had no urge to impress, show off, or put any effort. I could stay silent for hours, I was at peace. Suddenly, the picture started to shake and blur, then I found myself in the ruins of a building amidst a ghetto. It looked as the wrecked version of my childhood school. She was missing, and I started looking for her with no success. To my astonishment, I was surrounded by raging giants, destroying everything on their way and that was when I woke up from fear. Listening to this record resonates with the bitter aftertaste mood induced by the dream.”

I took my time to digest the scenic narrative and came back to him “Tell me why you feel sad about this dream?” “It felt lonely, a treacherous journey out of the devastating mess”

“Gosh, I can imagine! If you could be leading the situation instead of her, perhaps, she would be the one anxious to lose you in the first place. Conversely, I am amazed at your coping, you take the best of the moment to enjoy the music and be in good company with yourself”. He did not react, instead he suggested having a smoke. It was pretty dark and cold by then so I felt like I must get going. Realizing that it was indeed pretty late he smiled and returned to me, “By the way, thanks for the comment, I feel kinda relieved as if I understand now!” Flattered by his upbeat response, I farewelled him, and got going. There I was again in the mist, walking into the freezing, gloomy surroundings of the park. The imagery from the dream, and the music was still swirling in my head. The overall narrative was downhearted just as the music. Nevertheless, there was some sort of a flipside sense of empowerment hearing the spiritual confession of the musician and the listener's experience in relation to it. Besides, all the frustration, the rush, and the disappointment were left behind knowing that I made someone feel better... maybe just for a moment.

“Heey! Sorry I totally forgot” someone was crying from behind breathlessly which sounded like the barista guy.

“Here’s your hot chocolate!”

[winterrose527]

Prompt: Person A backs into Person B’s car.

Truly adored this one. Here you go, my love!

****

He was really starting to hate King’s Landing.

It wasn’t that he’d ever liked it. Even when they’d come to the capital for their eighth grade class trip, he and Jon couldn’t quite understand why anyone would want to live here.

And now, he did.

Well he didn’t want to but he did live here. He had for about two months. His family company was expanding and as the heir apparent he was in charge of opening the new office, a soft launch for his future as its leader.

With that in mind, he’d gone with very little argument. It wasn’t that there weren’t good reasons. It had given him a convenient excuse to get out of a relationship that had run its course without hurting anyone’s feelings, he was getting to build a team from the ground up, and he’d even gotten a pretty great apartment close to the beach.

Not that he could go anytime other than at night because it was too hot. And even with the salt air it still smelled like garbage.

None of that was anything compared to the people. This city was like a magnet for selfish, aspirational, people with non-existent moral compasses. And not only that, but there were a lot of them.

Which led to his least favorite thing about King’s Landing: the traffic.

It felt like he lost hours of his day to traffic. He would have taken the subway, but the line that would have taken directly from his doorstep to his office (the exact reason he’d chosen the apartment) was under emergency construction, because of course it was.

The light was green and yet the car in front of him wasn’t moving. He looked and saw that the driver was – is she plucking her eyebrows?

King’s Landing had turned him into something he hated. Robb Stark was officially a honker now.

“MOVE!” he yelled, even though his windows were up as he lay on his horn.

As though he was inconveniencing her, she made a big show of stopping what she was doing and started to drive. He went to place his foot on the gas and -bam.

“What the fuck?” he asked the general world.

A gold – yes gold – convertible had just backed up into his SUV.

He got out of the car, ready to let this person bear the brunt of every bit of frustration he’d been feeling for the past two months.

“Are you alright?” a voice asked as soon as his door closed, it was getting closer as they came around his car, “I am so sorry!”

“Yeah well –“ he started and then stopped. “I…uh… are you okay?”

It wasn’t exactly what he had planned on saying but he also hadn’t planned on the person who hit him being the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life.

She shook her head, slender fingers brushing back naturally golden hair (after two months here he could spot the difference), “I’m fine, I am just so embarrassed. And sorry. Is your car damaged?”

“Um, I don’t know,” he admitted, realizing he should have been thinking about that rather than wondering how her legs could seemingly go on for miles though she would hardly make it up to his shoulder. He started walking towards her and she turned and lead him around his car. And then bent over. “Looks good to me.”

“Thank the gods,” she said with a hand to her chest, straightening up and peering over at him, “Are you sure you’re alright?”

He nodded, “It was just a little love tap.” Her eyes widened and he blushed, “What a stupid fucking thing to say, huh?”

She laughed, “Original, though.” Then held out her hand, “I’m Myrcella Baratheon.”

He shook her small one, and introduced himself, “Robb Stark. Can I ask you something?” She nodded, her hand still in hers, “What is a girl like you doing with a car like this?”

This girl was all class. Her structured white shorts and silk button down, fresh face, pale nails as opposed to the garish red pointed ones so many women down here wore.

The car was decidedly not.

“It’s not mine,” she told him and his stomach clenched, wondering if it belonged to a boyfriend that was clearly in no way good enough for her. “It’s my older brother’s. He’s… the actual worst.” He opened his mouth and she smiled, taking her hand up and holding it up in front of her, “The worst. Look at his license plate.”

He glanced at it and saw that it read KING JOFF.

He laughed, “It hurts.”

“Hey Robb, I know I just rear ended you and all, but can I show you something?” she asked.

Anything he might of said. Instead he just nodded.

She turned and walked down the length of the car and he followed her and then she pointed at the rearview mirror.

“Do I need to see a neurologist or is that not a mirror?” she asked.

He leaned over and his jaw dropped, “That is not a mirror… I think it’s some sort of…mosaic? And definitely not legal. You could have taken out the whole city with this thing.”

“Thank the gods, I thought I was going crazy, it’s just that my car is in the shop-,” he smirked at her and she rolled her eyes and smiled, self-deprecatingly, “For a standard tune up. I should have known there would be a catch when he offered to let me borrow this one.”

“Yeah I don’t recommend you drive this thing,” he told her, then asked stupidly, “Do you need a ride somewhere?”

He watched as a blush rose on her cheeks and she demurred, “That’s alright. I can’t inconvenience you anymore than I already have. Thank you, though.”

He nodded, because he did have a meeting he was supposed to be at in about ten minutes.

“Well… could I maybe have your number?” he asked.

She nodded immediately, “Yes, of course, I won’t be on his insurance so please just get a quote and send me whatever it is. I’ll make it right.”

“Oh,” he shook his head, realizing that while that was the normal reason to have asked the woman who just rear ended you for her number it was absolutely not something that had even occurred to him. “No that was actually my way of asking you out.”

A smile landed on her face so quickly that it brought one to his own.

“You’re asking me out?” she asked.

“Trying to,” he agreed.

She crossed her arms over her chest, thinking something over and asked, “And what if this was my car?”

“Um,” he laughed as he thought about it, “Well I’d still ask you out. I would just never ever agree to drive anywhere with you in it.”

She giggled, and then informed him in a stage-whisper, “I drive a hybrid.”

“Family dinners must be interesting,” he teased.

“Oh you have no idea,” she smiled.

“I’d like to,” he told her.

She grinned again and then knocked a pair of tortoiseshell sunglasses off of her head and onto her nose, “You know, you’re a lot smoother than the last guy I rear ended.” He opened his mouth and she told him, “Kidding.Do you have your phone?”

He pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to her. She typed her number in and then handed the phone back to him.

“Are you going to be alright getting this back in there?” he asked, gesturing to what looked to be a private garage.

She nodded, “Thankfully he didn’t cover the windshield in crystals.”

He chuckled, “No because that would be tacky. Well get home safe, Myrcella Baratheon. I’ll call you soon.”

She gave him a heart stopping grin and then opened her door and eased into the driver’s seat. He went around his car and got back in, easing back into traffic.

Thankfully it was fairly light the rest of the way so he was only a little bit late for his meeting.

It was a busy day, some final interviews that people had wanted him to take part in, some calls with his Dad and Jon up north. So it wasn’t until later, as he walked the beach still in his suit, his shoes off and the sand beneath his feet, that he had a chance to call her.

He scrolled through to M, but Mom was the last entry.

“Was it Marcella?” he asked the sea.

He scrolled up just to be sure, but the only Marcella in his phone was a girl he’d met on a vacation in the Summer Isles. He deleted the contact because he hadn’t spoken to her in a full five years.

No girl had ever not given him her number before. He knew that it happened, it just hadn’t ever happened to him. There weren’t many that he asked for, and only when he felt something that seemed reciprocated. And though they’d only had a limited conversation, it seemed like they had.

She’d been so sweet and sorry and cute, pointing out her brother-

He scrolled up to the Ks and would have laughed if he wasn’t so busy sighing in relief when he saw King Joff waiting for him.

Without hesitating he pressed call and listened as it rang once, twice.

“Hello?” a soft voice asked.

“I’m uh, looking to speak to the king,” he greeted her.

Her giggle filled his ear, “Don’t even mention him I am in SUCH trouble. How are you Robb Stark?”

“I’m better now that I found your number, two scares in one day? Is this what it’s going to be like with you?” he asked.

“I’m free tomorrow night,” she informed him, “Want to find out?”

***

Two months later…

“And of course,” he sighed as he slowed down behind a bright yellow SUV.

“I would think you’d be used to the traffic by now and besides,” Myrcella noted at his side, “I would have thought you’d be fine being late for dinner with my family.”

“Your mother already hates me enough,” he pointed out, “I can’t afford to be late on top of being northern, being a man, being unrelated to you, being sexually attracted to you, being liberal, being alive…”

The light had turned green and yet the cars in front of him hadn’t moved. He went to go honk his horn but Myrcella grabbed his hand before he could.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hello,” he returned.

“Do you know what’s nice about traffic?” she asked. He raised his brow and she smiled, “I get to do this.”

With that she leaned in and kissed his lips softly. He kissed her back less so, his fingers carding into her hair as she opened her mouth to his.

Cars had started honking all around him, but in that moment he didn’t care.

He was really starting to love King’s Landing.

[archivingspn]

2019: Twitter- Eric Kripke

therealKripke: “In honor of #SPN300, here's my original #SPN pitch from 2004. The pilot story is very different, but the tone always rang clear to me. Could never have imagined what this show became and the good it's done. Humbled and grateful beyond words to you all. #SPNFamily @cw_spn ‘[images of spn pilot’s 4pg script]’“ - 12:08 PM Feb 7, 2019

[source]

                                                                                                       1

Supernatural

Pitch by Eric Kripke August 30, 2004

I. TONE AND WORLD

In one sentence, this is X-FILES meets ROUTE 66. Two brothers, cruising the dusty back roads in their trusty 64 Mustang, battling the things that go bump in the night. But much more than that, it's a show about an obsession of mine...

Throughout the U.S., (especially the MIDDLE, where I'm from), we have a folklore, as uniquely American as baseball, as rich and varied as any world mythology, and almost nobody knows it. For instance, Robert Johnson sold his soul to the Devil, at an abandoned Mississippi crossroads, to be the world's greatest guitarist. But he died violently, poisoned at age 26, screaming about Hellhounds as he choked on his own blood. In the shadowy north woods of Minnesota, lives a creature named the Wendigo. Translated from Native American, it means "evil that devours.” It feeds on human flesh. And even today, dozens of witnesses say it's very real.

There are literally HUNDREDS of these stories and legends and urban legends. There are dark and dangerous things out there in the corners of our country. So here's a show that travels the diverse highways and byways of supernatural America. Black woods, ghost towns, those tourist trap mystery spots. Really, a show ABOUT our country-the bloody, beating heart of America.

Unlike X-FILES, this show isn't Vancouver rainy. It's brighter, more colorful, more VISCERAL, and more irreverent. The humor here is extremely important to me—but it has to arise from the characters and their attitudes. The characters can be funny, but the weekly stories have to be SCARY AS SHIT– I'm talking THE RING; how what you don't see is much more terrifying than what you do. I'm talking about making this series as scary as I possibly can, until you guys call and yell at me.

But I also want the tone to be GROUNDED. Where BUFFY, for example, felt HEIGHTENED, our show should feel like OUR WORLD, real-life America. With a darkness that bubbles and boils just beneath the surface. And I want to keep the weekly stories CREDIBLE- leave 'em with a question mark, the possibility of a rational explanation. Something early X-Files did very well.

Finally, I want this show to capture a certain SPIRIT. For one, that youthful electricity of dropping out and hitting the open road; the freedom of wide-open American spaces. But also, EVERY road trip story-from FEAR and LOATHING to Kerouac to The Odyssey, are inherently mythic quests, hero's journeys, real Joseph Campbell stuff. The way STAR WARS, LORD OF THE RINGS, and MATRIX are all the same story, with the same beats. So our series, too, is an epic hero's quest-- across the United States. Almost like a modern western, and our heroes are gunslingers. Or, as I like to call it - it's STAR WARS in TRUCK STOP AMERICA.

                                                                                                                2

II. CHARACTERS AND FRANCHISE

Now, let's get into establishing our characters, and launching our franchise.

So if this is STAR WARS, meet LUKE SKYWALKER. SAM HARRISON, 21. Think Jake Gyllenhall, or Tobey Maguire. Smart, funny, handsome, maybe a little type-A. He just graduated Stanford with a 4.0, and now he's heading back down to L.A., where he lives with his Aunt and Uncle, he'll spend the summer clerking at a powerful law firm. And in the Fall... Harvard Law, thank you very much. Pedal to the metal, Sam is cruising the track to success. But, like all good Luke Skywalker heroes, Sam is vaguely restless. He tells his girlfriend, maybe he should drop everything this summer and blow off to Europe. But of course, he doesn't. He has too many responsibilities.

Sam's well adjusted, successful life, it's a real triumph, especially considering his background. Fifteen years ago, his dad JACK became increasingly dark and depressed. He drank. A lot. Until Mom and Dad were in a car crash. Dad was driving. He lived. Mom didn't. That triggered a schizophrenic breakdown in Dad. He swore that twisted, dark, horrific things caused that crash and took Mom away. And those same dark things were chasing after him. Dad was institutionalized. But he escaped. And disappeared.

Sam is ashamed of his tragic past. Hates his Dad, blames him for killing Mom, and NEVER, EVER talks about it.

Now, Sam's mythic CALL TO ADVENTURE, the events that will change his life forever, begin simply enough. When his big brother DEAN rolls into town. Meet DEAN HARRISON, 25, think Colin Farrel. If Sam's the good kid, Dean's the troublemaker. If Sam's Luke Skywalker, Dean's Han Solo. Charismatic and dangerous. Cocky confidence masking a troubled soul. Sam hated Dad, but Dean was older and remembered Dad in brighter days, and he worshipped the man. Sam buried his past and ignored it, but Dean was haunted by it, never quite got his shit together. Dean never went to college. Just sort of traveled around. In fact, Sam hasn't heard from Dean in almost 3 years, which Sam clearly resents.

And now... Dean makes Sam a proposition. Let me drive you down to L.A.- it's just one day, we'll get a chance to catch up a little. Reluctant, Sam agrees.

At first, they're enjoying the electric, carefree pleasures of a ROAD TRIP. Top down, radio blaring, singing their lungs out to AC/DC.

But then... at twilight... on an empty stretch of highway... Dean's driving. And he has to make a confession. (Though I'm sure we'll break this up into a few different scenes.) "Sam. There's something I need to tell you," Dean says. “I went looking for Dad. And I found him. Took just about every dime I had, but I found him. And I've been with him, for almost 2 years." Sam is shocked and betrayed: "what?! Why didn't you tell me?!" But Dean continues: "listen. I know this is hard to believe. But Dad WASN'T nuts.

                                                                                                                    3

Demons really DID kill Mom. Dark, awful things WERE following Dad. I know. Because I can see them. Because they're following me, too."

Obviously, Sam is BEYOND freaked and well aware that schizophrenia is hereditary. Dean goes on, getting worked up-“so Dad figured out how to kill these things, and he showed me how. Until they caught up to us in Baker. They got Dad. Before I got them." "What do you mean, you GOT them?” asks Sam. “I killed a demon. In human form," says Dean. “You killed somebody?!" "No, I killed a DEMON, it only LOOKED human.” (Which could be a scary, visceral teaser, by the way.) Anyway, DEAN continues: “Listen to me, Sam... it was Dad's wish, his DYING WISH, that I find you, that I teach you the way he taught me.” At this point, Sam goes into placating, survival mode. “Okay. Sure. Just calm down." But Sam's terrified-of his own brother.

Meanwhile, as this conversation's going on, Dean isn't going to L.A. He takes a detour-- for all intents and purposes, kidnapping Sam. They pull into a small, faded, all-American town in Central California. It's 1950's American optimism gone to seed. Basically, they pull right into the pilot's SELF ENCLOSED B-STORY. Whatever it is, the story should be simple, giving us room to focus on the brothers. It should be based in Folklore. And it should be personal—the job their father never completed.

Now, here's an example of exactly the kind of story I'm talking about. The real life ghost story of the "Weeping Woman," a sobbing wraith in a bloody white nightgown. She murdered her children by the river side, as revenge against her unfaithful husband. And today, it's said she lures unfaithful men to the river and drowns them. And sure enough, several MEN in this town have turned up dead by the river's edge. Anyway, something like this. And Dean, despite his smart ass jokes and references to the movie Poltergeist, seems to be taking this SERIOUSLY.

But Sam doesn't believe a WORD of it. First moment he's alone, he calls his Aunt and Uncle. “I'm with Dean, I think he's sick.” They tell him—"cops in Baker found your Dad's body. And a truck driver's body, too. Dean's the suspect. You have to get away! Where are you?!” But before Sam can answer-he pivots, right into Dean. Who grabs the phone, SMASHING it, furious: “Dammit, Sam, I'm not insane," Dean says, “Caspar the unfriendly fucker is really out there!"

Then, as Dean delves deeper and deeper into the ghost story, dragging a reluctant Sam along with him... INEXPLICABLE SUPERNATURAL phenomenon begin to occur, which SERIOUSLY RATTLES Sam. We'll have several good, scary set pieces. And soon, Sam doesn't know WHAT to think. And in the B-STORY'S climax, he'll even save Dean at some crucial point. (Though we'll be careful to leave things open ended, with just the possibility of a logical explanation.)

Afterwards, a beat in which Dean, vulnerable, says to his brother-"I've been thinking. And you're going home, Sam. You're smart, and you've got everything going for you. I don't care what Dad said, I can't let you live like this... Still," says Dean, "it was nice having you around. When you're with somebody... you just don't feel as crazy as

                                                                                                                   4

often." Sam's very conflicted, and he feels awful, but he can't just abandon his old life. So the brothers part ways. Sam hitchhikes up the road. Meanwhile, thanks to his Aunt and Uncle, the cops have been searching for Sam, and now they find him.

At the station, Sam tells the cops, Dean's in Colorado by now. But a patrol car has spotted Dean's parked Mustang at a nearby motel. The police grab SHOTGUNS, they're going to take Dean with force. And in the face of ONE PASSING COP, Sam sees-a glimpse. A shimmer. Something DEMONIC and INHUMAN flashes across the cop's face-and then it's gone, just as quick. Did Sam imagine it? Is he going insane, too? Or is Dean really in danger? Are dark, awful things really after him, like he said?

This is Sam's crossroads moment. And he makes a decision-he takes off. Steals a car. Beats the cops back to Dean. Warns him at the last minute. It's very TIGHT and very HECTIC, but Sam and Dean get away. Escaping by the skin of their teeth.

As we leave Sam... he doesn't know if he's losing his mind. He doesn't know if Dean's a hero or a homicidal schizophrenic. All he knows is-Dean's his brother, and he needs help. And for now, that's enough.

III. THE SERIES ITSELF

I think the overall GOAL here, is building an engine that gives us SELF ENCLOSED STORIES. I am gonna pitch some very simple mythology, but STAND ALONES are a format I really believe in, they're the shows I loved and grew up on. Like the best EARLY episodes of X-FILES.

So basically, our two heroes, avenging their parents' death, cruise the golden backroads of America-picture chrome diners and bucolic farms and dusty Route 66 towns. Places that are mythic and American, but also haunting, in a way. Places where horror can strike in broad daylight. Sam and Dean are kind of like classic gunslingers, or dragon slayers, finding-and KILLING—the monsters of American folklore.

So first question-how do they find the damn things? Dean tracks these creatures in a low-tech way. He scans obituaries for strange deaths. Dean also has a loose network of contacts - defrocked ministers and trailer park psychics, who impart information to our heroes whenever necessary.

Second question-how do they KILL the damn things? The answer—they have no fucking idea. They're outgunned and desperate and in completely over their heads. They don't have a WATCHER, like in BUFFY. They don't have an OBI WAN. They're on their own. Each week, they gotta figure out what the hell they're dealing with, and how the hell to kill it. And a lot of the time, they're wrong, and they have to improvise. Whether it's finding a ghost's remains - and burning them into dust; or loading a shotgun with silver buckshot, our guys will do whatever it takes to get the job done.

[woodstockbtswriter]

Never

Genre: Angst/Fluff

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader

Word Count: 1.8K

Warning(s): A non-graphic near-death experience.

Author’s Note: This is one of several stories inspired by these kissing story prompts. This is also probably the angstiest thing I’ve ever written, but I took a slightly different approach to “life-or-death” so things didn’t get too dark or dramatic. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! 💕

Prompt: Kissing Hoseok in the rain because the situation is life-or-death.

Never

It was a stupid argument. You knew it was stupid, and you knew it was stupid to be so angry. But you were. Angry and stupid. And wet.

Cold raindrops mixed with the hot teardrops on your face, making tracks down your cheeks, and no matter how many times you wiped your eyes, more rain and tears fell.

You were chilly, too. The night was dark and the air was cool and the rain was icy. And you were soaked to the skin.

It was stupid to be so angry, but it had been even stupider to think you could walk home.

In your defense, it wasn’t raining when you stormed out Hoseok’s door. But now the rain was unrelenting.

Water streamed down the sidewalk, flowing around your feet and into a storm drain in a noisy rush. Scowling and tugging your dripping coat tighter, you sought shelter in the doorway of a storefront, but it wasn’t quite deep enough. You flattened yourself against the door, but errant raindrops still reached you. 

Watching the rain continue to sheet down, the thought occurred to you to call Hoseok. He was the last person you wanted to call right now, but it was late, and you didn’t know who else you could ask for help. The streets were deserted, businesses were closed, and all your other friends were probably asleep.

You fetched your phone from your pocket and opened a rideshare app, hoping as you did that the device would prove to be waterproof as advertised. With trembling fingers, you searched for a ride, but there were no drivers anywhere nearby. By the time a car could pick you up, you could walk the rest of the way home.

The speed dial button to call Hoseok seemed to glow brighter on your phone screen as you stared at it. But you weren’t ready to admit defeat yet. Your anger was still too hot, and you didn’t want to give Hoseok the satisfaction. Besides, you were both so worked up when you left, you doubted he would answer even if you did try to call him.

With a bitter sigh, you stowed your phone, and stepped back out onto the walkway, resigned. The rain that immediately pelted you felt even more frigid than before, but you ducked your head and hugged your shoulders, left with no other option than to press on.

As you walked, the cold seemed to seep into your bones, and once again you thought about calling Hoseok. You tried holding onto your pride, recalling every little detail of your argument in an attempt to warm yourself by fanning the flames of your anger, but your temper was cooling as fast as your temperature.

The further you sloshed along, the stupider everything seemed. Your angry tears soon became sad, miserable tears, and you quickly decided you didn’t want to be mad anymore. You just wanted to be dry and warm. And home, with Hoseok.

Reaching a covered bus stop, you plopped onto the wet bench and pulled your phone out again. Mercifully, it was still working, but when you started to call Hoseok, you hesitated, your finger hovering over the dial button. You’d calmed down, but what if he hadn’t? What if he was still upset with you? You were sure walking out on him in the middle of the fight had only made him angrier.

A gust of wind blew as you sat vacillating, and you shivered. Looking up, you noticed the rainwater was starting to flood the streets, and worry and fear began to well up inside you. Your predicament wasn’t merely stupid anymore - it was rapidly growing dangerous. 

Still shivering, you lifted your phone with your mind made up. You couldn’t keep walking, and you couldn’t stay here. You had to call Hoseok. But before you could even dial his number, your boyfriend’s face lit up the screen. Relief washed over you, and you immediately accepted the call.

“Hobi!” You gasped, cupping the phone to your ear to hear him over the storm.

“Are you home?” He asked brusquely, obviously still mad.

“N-no.” You replied through chattering teeth.

There was a pause, then Hoseok’s tone changed.

“What’s all that noise? Are you - are you outside? Tell me you’re not outside in this weather.”

“I t-tried to w-w-walk home.” You shuddered, the wind picking up around you.

“You tried to what?!” Hoseok exclaimed, quickly getting worked up again. “You’re outside walking?! It’s pouring out! What were you thinking, are you trying to freeze to death?! Aish jagi, I thought you ordered a ride, if I’d known you were - You should have called me, why didn’t you call me?!”

More tears gathered in your eyes, and started spilling down your cold, wet cheeks.

“Hobi, please.” You plead, unable to stop shaking, and a sob escaped you. “I need your help.”

“Where are you?” Hoseok demanded, and you thought you heard the jingle of car keys.

“The b-bus s-stop in front of the b-b-bank.”

You could tell Hoseok was hurrying out of his apartment and towards his car.

“Listen to me, jagi, stay right where you are,” He told you, his voice firm, “I’m on my way. I’ll be right there.”

It was less than five minutes before you saw bright headlights beaming through the rain, but in those minutes you felt yourself slowly freezing, more and more by the second. Eventually, you grew so numb you didn’t even feel the cold anymore - or your fingers or toes. But you still shivered violently, your teeth clenched so hard your jaw ached. By the time you recognized Hoseok’s car approaching, you didn’t even have the strength to be relieved. 

Hoseok’s tires cut tracks through the flood waters as he pulled up to the curb in front of you, and the second he was parked, he flung open his door and began running. Splashing water with every footfall, he reached you in two heartbeats, and threw his arms around your thrashing frame.

“There you are!” He cried, crushing you against his chest, and his body heat hit you like a surging wave.

Hoseok held you tight in his strong arms, attempting to keep you still. His cheek was flush with yours as he held you, and the temperature of your skin shocked him.

“Jagi, you’re like ice!” He leaned back, taking your head in his hands. “What were you thinking?” He asked again, but this time there was absolutely no indignation in his tone as he hastily began kissing all over your slick face. “You could have hypothermia, you could have frozen to death.” He lamented, his eyes red with tears as he pressed his warm lips to your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, your chin, and between your eyes. “Do you know how scared I was?” He was growing frantic now, his voice getting louder and higher. “Why didn’t you call me?!”

“I was m-m-mad at you,” You answered feebly, barely above a whisper, “and y-you were mad at me.”

Hoseok paused to look you in the eye, his own eyes flashing sternly as he grasped your face.

“Jagiya, look at me.” He commanded, and you groggily met his piercing gaze. “Now listen. I will never be too mad to help you. Ever. Do you understand?”

You nodded weakly, and Hoseok gave a curt nod back. Then his expression melted, promptly returning to one of heartfelt concern. With sudden urgency, he bent to touch his lips to yours, and as he kissed you gently, your heart began to thaw.

“Now come on, we have to get you warm.” Hoseok huffed, breaking the kiss. He didn’t wait for a reply before he swept you up into his arms.

You curled into his chest as he dashed back out through the rain to his waiting car, where he deposited you in the passenger’s seat before running around to climb in behind the steering wheel. When Hoseok was settled, he cranked up the heater first thing, and blessed hot air blew forcefully through the vents.

“What do you say we get you home and out of those wet clothes? How does cuddling under a fluffy blanket with a cup of hot chocolate sound?” Hoseok asked, shifting the car into drive before finding your hand and taking it. “Maybe after a hot bath?” He added, pulling back out onto the road, his windshield wipers rapidly streaking back and forth.

You gave another small nod, and regarded Hoseok’s face, your clothes dripping steadily onto his floor mats. He sniffed as you watched him drive, his eyes never leaving the road as he wiped leftover tears from beneath them. You could tell he was trying to be brave - for you.

“Take your coat off.” Hoseok instructed you as he headed back towards his apartment. “And hold your hands out in front of the air vents.”

You did as you were told, and by the time you were parked in his garage, you’d regained feeling in your limbs. You were still soaked, but you were no longer freezing, and had finally stopped shivering.

“I’m so sorry, Hobi,” You spoke up, your voice now much steadier, “For everything. I’m sorry for arguing with you, I’m sorry for storming out and for worrying you, I’m sorry you had to come rescue me… And I’m sorry I didn’t call you sooner.”

Hoseok pressed his mouth into a tight line, his dimples showing. He didn’t look at you.

“I know, jagi.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have gotten so upset. And I never should have let you walk out the door. I should have gone after you right away.” He shook his head, sniffing again. “You could have died, jagi. You do realize that, don’t you?” 

Hoseok turned to look at you, and you felt small under his gaze. But he wasn’t glaring at you; his expression was pained.

“If something had happened to you, I could never forgive myself.” He let out a shaky breath. “I can’t lose you, jagi.”

You reached for Hoseok’s hand, and squeezed his fingers.

“Let’s never fight again.” You suggested, and the faintest smile tugged at the corner of Hoseok’s mouth.

“No more fighting.” He agreed, kissing your fingers. “It’s a deal.”

“I love you, Hoseok.” You managed to give a small smile back, warm blood finally reaching your cheeks.

“I love you, jagi,” Hoseok said, “Forever and always. No matter what.”

He then looked you straight in the eye again, and the love radiating from him was a palpable heat.

“You could never do anything that would make me stop loving you.” He added, gently moving a dripping strand of hair from your face. “Never forget that.”

Feeling warmed to your core, you shook your head and promised:

“Never again.”

Bonus: Ever

[kgraces]

With a Fearful Trill

@badthingshappenbingo

Bad Things Happen Bingo Prompt: Captivity

For @sassydefendorflower​

Read it on Ao3 here!

The clouds overhead threaten rain, and Dick is seriously annoyed with himself for forgetting his umbrella that morning. The streets of Blüdhaven are crowded, as usual, and the cracked pavement under his feet makes for an uneven walk. Dick takes a sip of his cold coffee, mind alight with some sort of nervous energy. He can’t place it, but something feels off as he walks home from work. 

Dick stifles a yawn, stepping over a particularly mangled piece of concrete. His shift at work was a tough one; he’s wrapped up in a nasty homicide case as both Officer Grayson and Nightwing, and his brain feels sluggish after hours of wading through evidence. He checks his watch, frowning at the way the numbers seem to blur together. He thinks he’ll have time to get in a quick nap before patrol, at least. 

The foot traffic thins as Dick gets closer to his apartment, so it catches Dick off guard when a man pushes past him, hitting his shoulder roughly. Dick stumbles a bit, and before he can recover his footing, electricity arcs through him. Getting tazed hadn’t been a part of his plans for the day, and Dick only has a moment to mourn for his nap before he crumples to the ground. The sole of a boot enters his line of vision before it connects with his temple. He loses consciousness, sinking into the peaceful dark.

When Dick was a kid, he used to try to joke with Bruce about the stupid ‘Boy Hostage’ nickname. Of course, Bruce was never fond of the ‘X days since our last kidnapping incident’ whiteboard, but Dick thought it was hilarious. He mentally resets the counter back to zero when he wakes up tied to a chair. 

Years of vigilante experience honed into instinct kick in as soon as he regains awareness. He keeps his eyes closed and his body lax, listening hard to determine whether or not he’s alone in the room. He was kidnapped as a civilian, so he can’t fight his way out, but he can use his skills to help himself however he can. 

Still, this is probably going to suck.

Once he figures he’s alone, Dick carefully opens his eyes and takes in his surroundings. A dimly lit basement greets him—underground, if the chill in the room is any indication. A short window close to the ceiling lets in weak sunlight through a heavy layer of grime. He’s mostly uninjured—for now, a voice in the back of his head sings—but restrained at his wrists and ankles. His head aches from getting knocked out, and his muscles feel stiff, but he’s okay. He just needs to tough this out until Bruce can track him down and orchestrate a rescue from Batman...

Dick’s blood runs cold.

Bruce is off-world with the Justice League.

Before he has a chance to really let the panic set in, he hears heavy footsteps and the jingle of a set of keys. The lock turns, light spilling into the room as a burly man steps across the threshold. He smiles, a nasty thing, and shuts the door behind him with a heavy thud. He holds up a cell phone, still smiling, and Dick recognizes his own phone in the man’s hand. 

“Mind explaining why your daddy ain’t answering his phone?” The man says, a sneer creeping onto his face and into his tone. 

“Call the WE number,” Dick says, voice more tremulous than he feels. Judging by the last vestiges of daylight leaking through the window, it’s still dusk, and if he knows his little brother, he’ll still be at work. Dick can only pray Tim will answer. The man dials the number, leaving them both to wait with bated breath.

“What do you need, Dick?” Tim’s smooth voice comes over the line after a few heartstopping moments. “I’m a little bit swamped right now.”

“I’m afraid Mr. Grayson can’t come to the phone at the moment,” the man says, tone oily. Dick hears Tim’s sharp inhale over the line. “If you want him back in one piece, it’ll cost you.”

“I need proof of life, first,” Tim says coolly. The man sighs, as though he’s exasperated already, but he presses the phone against Dick’s ear, regardless.

“Tim?” Dick says, voice breaking just a little—the perfect image of a frightened civilian. His brother hums softly in acknowledgement. “Don’t worry about me; I’m fine. I’ll be okay.” He starts to ramble a little, but he’s cut off by a sharp blow to his ribs. He exhales a wheeze as the phone is jerked away from him.

“One million dollars and you get him back. Every hour you delay will cost him.” The man hangs up before Tim can reply, but Dick isn’t worried. Tim’s already tracking him, and the cavalry will be here soon enough. 

He looks up at the man holding him for ransom, disdain etched on his features as he looks into beady eyes. The man scoffs and shakes his head, turning to exit the room again. Dick wants to make a quip, some sort of stupid pun, but he can’t let himself seem too much like Nightwing, not right now. He bites his tongue and sits silently as the door swings shut again.

His headache worsens as the time passes. The light from the small window fades little by little, but it’s hard to track the time. Dick waits patiently, but his limbs itch for movement. He hates being restrained like this—cut off from grounding himself in motion. Nervous energy builds up in him, and he has to tap his fingers against the wooden chair arm to stop himself from losing it. He hopes Tim hurries up.

The next time the door opens, it isn’t to a vigilante, but rather to Dick’s captor. His smile is meaner, somehow, and he’s holding a hammer in his hands. Dick’s breath catches in his throat. Has it already been an hour? He doesn’t know, but judging from the man’s impatient pacing around the room, Tim is late.

The hammer swings, and Dick’s hand shatters under the force of the impact. He stifles a sob, and bitterness flares to life in his chest at the chuckle he hears at his side. He’s definitely got a few broken bones, but it’s not enough. The weapon hits Dick’s fingers next, and he nearly screams as white-hot agony roars through him. The man steps back, admiring his handiwork, before he snaps a photo with Dick’s phone and presumably sends it to Tim. 

Dick glares up at the man, hair matted with sweat as it falls into his eyes. He nearly snarls out a threat, but he has to resign himself to acting as a civilian would—terrified and vulnerable. He hates it, but it’s the role he has to play for now. The man leaves again, and Dick lets out a shaky breath. 

What’s taking his brother so long?

Another hour must pass. The sun has gone down, casting the room in shadow, and when the door to the small cell opens again, the light is blinding for a moment. Dick cringes back when he hears heavy footsteps. He can’t go very far with his limited range of motion, though, and his arms strain against the zip ties lashing his wrists to the chair. He hears a heavy sigh, but it isn’t his captor. 

No, the sound is mechanized, warbled by vocal modulators.

Jason.

His younger brother is at his side in an instant, using a knife to free him from his restraints. Dick hears him curse lowly at the sight of his mangled hand, so he offers Jason a reassuring smile. It probably comes across more as a grimace, but he tries his best. 

“C’mon,” Jason says, helping Dick to his feet and steadying him when he stumbles. “Tim’s going crazy upstairs. Someone needs to stop him before he permanently cripples someone.” 

“You left him alone to deal with them?” Dick asks, raising a brow. “That’s just not fair.” He pauses as a thought occurs to him. “Wait, how many guys are up there? I’ve only seen the one.” 

“Ah,” Jason says, and Dick can hear the cruel smile in his tone. “That guy. There were five others, but last I saw, Tim was going toe-to-toe with that one. Last man standing and all, you know how it is.” 

“He saved him for last on purpose,” Dick says with a sigh. His brothers are ridiculous sometimes. Overprotective over him, even though Dick is the eldest and should be worrying over them, instead. 

They make their way up the stairs, with Jason supporting most of his weight, since his legs are still wobbly from being restrained for hours. Dick can hear the sounds of the fight grow louder as they reach the first floor—sounds of shattering glass and wood splintering reaching him, along with the telltale thwack of Red Robin’s bo staff hitting its target. Dick almost winces in sympathy, but the pain in his hand keeps him from feeling bad for the guy.

“Let’s get out of here, Red!” Jason calls, sounding amused. “I got him, and GCPD is already on their way.” 

“Fine,” Tim replies, tone lilting on a whine. He emerges from one of the rooms branching off from the hall a moment later, looking perfectly put together, despite the fight. “Want the last word, Hood?”

“Don’t I always?” Hood passes Dick over to Red Robin and draws a firearm, heading toward the room Red had just left. Dick sighs, shaking his head as he hears both Hood and his assailant start shouting. He turns his attention to Tim.

“Thanks for the rescue,” he tells his little brother. 

“Like we would just leave you there?” Tim asks, tone sardonic. Dick grins at him. “Let’s get you back home, okay?” Dick nods and lets Tim lead him out into the night. One of the Batmobiles is already waiting at the street corner, and as soon as Tim gets Dick settled in the backseat, Jason joins them, sliding into the driver’s seat and starting the car. Tim pulls down his cowl and sends an unimpressed look toward Dick.

“What?”

“You’re an idiot for letting yourself get injured like that,” he says. “Also, B’s losing his mind.” 

“You told Bruce?!” Dick practically yelps. 

“Alfie insisted,” Jason says, turning to look at him. Sometime between starting the car and now, he’d tossed his helmet onto the passenger seat, leaving him with just a domino mask obscuring his features. “No one says no to Alfie.”

“Especially once those assholes started hurting you and broke the terms of the deal,” Tim grumbles. “They only waited half an hour.” He glances over at Dick, reaching out to examine the damage done to his hand. “Sorry they had the chance to hurt you, Dick.”

“It’ll heal,” he says easily, brushing off Tim’s concerns. He ruffles his little brother’s hair with his uninjured hand. “Please tell me Bruce didn’t come back to earth over this.”

“Okay then, we won’t tell you,” Tim says, grinning wickedly. Dick groans, letting his forehead rest against Tim’s shoulder. Tim and Jason laugh, but Dick can’t muster up a scowl to send their way. He’s safe, and he’s hurting and exhausted. Tim seems to notice him droop, slumping against his side a little more with each passing moment. “Get some rest, Dick. We’ve got you.”

“Sleep it off, Dickiebird,” Jason says. “You’re in for a hell of a lecture when you wake up.”

“Prolong the inevitable,” Tim agrees, nodding along. “We’re taking bets on whose lecture will be worse: Bruce or Alfred.”

“Nah,” Dick mumbles, smiling a little as Tim carefully wraps an arm around his shoulders. “Dami’s will be the worst of the bunch.” His brothers both snort, and Dick falls asleep to the sound of their laughter.

His brothers have him. He can rest easy.

[etherrealoblivion]

A Joint Effort

Prompt: I just thought of this for some reason, but imagine everyone in the bau all high as fuck, in one room together.

Words: 1,905

A/N: for the bad b*tches in my MGG group chat. Love y’all.

Content Warning!!!!: Drugs (weed)

MASTERLIST

~

It had started out a regular Friday evening. Well, as regular as a Friday evening could be for the sorry few that worked in the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI.

After a particularly draining case, the team decided a night out would be the best way to unwind. More precisely, Morgan decided and convinced the others with much help from Garcia.

So that’s how a mother, a genius, a spy, a hacker, a playboy, a boss, and a millionaire all ended up stumbling home, drunk off their asses down the empty streets of D.C.

Sadly, J.J, who had been the designated driver, didn’t get the memo until after her fourth drink. Garcia, the messenger, was a little late on delivering it. By then, everyone else was already wasted so Hotch figured it was time to go home. Or, actually, to crash at Rossi’s place. He was nearby and had enough bedrooms for everyone to rest peacefully, although the team had a slight notion that the party wasn’t quite over.

This thought was confirmed quite quickly for as everyone plopped down amongst the plethora of cozy chairs in Rossi’s living room, Morgan found the millionaires liquor cabinet, shamelessly helping himself to the array of drinks there.

However, before he could indulge too far, a small wooden box caught his eye as he was about to select a fifty-year scotch.

Alcohol didn’t seem to affect his profiling skills as he deduced what was in the box as if there was a note written on it.

Smirking, Morgan wondered whether or not his team members would. Rossi would, for sure. Garcia, definitely probably. Hotch? Reid? Hmm.

“Hey, Rossi,” Morgan said, putting on a voice of drunken interest, “what’s this box, here?”

Rossi’s head snapped to where he was standing, confirming his suspicions. Before he could speak, Reid piped up, stammering slightly.

“That’s an 1870’s oakwood Captain James box. Collectors quality. Only four hundred were made.”

“Isn’t that a lot?” Garcia asked, taking off her heels.

“Yes, for the era. But three hundred and seventeen were lost to the ocean on the shipwreck of the Casterberous. Interestingly enough--”

“Actually,” Morgan butted in, slowly opening the box and smiling as he saw what was in it, “What I was more interested in was what was in the box.”

Rossi, always composed, shrugged and stood walking towards morgan.

“What can I say? In our line of work, one tends to need to . . . destress every now and again.”

Hotch snorted, finally realizing what the mystery box contained. Dave had told him of his habit, but Hotch never really given it much thought. Everyone had their vices.

“What’s in it?” Prentiss said, trying to steal a glimpse.

“Wait . . .” Garcia paused for a moment, shot Morgan a look to which he smirked knowingly, then burst into laughter, clutching her sides and rolling back on the couch.

J.J looked from Garcia to Rossi, the latter standing with his hands in his pockets, looking sheepish. She quickly put two and two together.

“Oh my god!”

“What?” Reid was still confused. “What, what is it? What have I missed?”

Morgan raised his eyebrows at Rossi questioningly to which the older man nodded softly. So Morgan placed the box, lid open, on the coffee table. So that everyone could see the set of pre-rolled cigarettes laying on purple satin within.

Prentiss smiled.

“Well, well, well. David Rossi, do my eyes deceive me, or is that Acapulco gold?”

Everyone but Reid laughed, who was looking at the cigarette curiously.

“I don’t understand. Cigarettes? Prentiss used to smoke, I don’t see the big deal.”

J.J. pat his head.

“You’ll learn, Spence. You’ll learn. May I?” she directed the last part to Rossi, gesturing toward the box.

He waved a hand.

“Be my guest. As long as no one is uncomfortable?” he phrased it as a question.

Murmurs of assent filled the room, everyone but Reid and Hotch reaching for one of the neatly rolled cigarettes in the box and Rossi going to fetch his lighter and put on a quiet record for background noise.

“J.J? You don’t smoke tobacco?”

Morgan laughed. Pretty boy was a genius at most things. This not being one of them.

“Spence,” J.J. took the lighter from Rossi and lit her cigarette, a pungent smell quickly filling the room, “it’s not tobacco.”

A look of comprehension finally found its way onto Reid’s face, causing everyone looking at him to shake with laughter.

“Oh.”

Morgan slapped him on the back, handing him a lit joint. “‘Oh’ is right. Now listen, no peer pressure, Pretty Boy. You get uncomfortable, stand up, and go to bed, no judgment. But, if you wanna chill out for a while, get that genius mind to calm down, take a puff of this.” And Morgan brought his joint to his lips, steadily taking a drag and blowing it out with practiced expertise.

A moment of hesitation was all Spencer needed, quickly reassured by the ease with which his friends and colleagues began to smoke. Then, he brought the joint to his mouth and took a deep breath.

As expected, he coughed immediately, a horrible hacking noise as blue-ish smoke expelled from his mouth and nose.

His friends started to giggle, already feeling the high hit them.

Hotch finally decided to join in after a few minutes of watching everyone enjoy themselves. Reid recovered surprisingly quickly, barely coughing the second and third times and not at all by the fourth.

It suddenly occurred to everyone that they’d all been silent the whole time. Garcia, of course, was the first to rectify this.

“Okay, when was the last time everybody got high? Go.” She pointed to her left where J.J sat sprawled out against her.

“Um. Oh god. Three months before I found out I was pregnant with Henry. Although I’m not sure you’d count that as ‘high’. It was one hit from a bong at this party I went to.”

“A party?!” Prentiss said, surprised. “When? Where?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes!” everyone exclaimed.

“Okay! Jeez. It was when we had that weekend off after the Garner case. I went down to New Orleans to see Will and . . . one thing led to another.”

“Is that why you kept texting me asking for pictures of my cat?” Garcia giggled, absentmindedly petting J.J’s hair.

“Yeah. . . I wanted to make sure it wasn’t a robot. Don’t ask.”

After a bit of laughter, everyone recovered and it was Hotch’s turn next.

“Four years ago. After the Nieman case in Tampa. Haley was the one who suggested it. It did help me relax, but the taste is something I couldn’t stand.”

Everyone nodded slightly, accepting this answer as valid.

Rossi shrugged, gesturing to the now empty box. Clearly he had smoked recently, probably within the month so the question passed to Morgan.

“I’m gonna be honest. I . . . partake whenever we have free time.”

“So. . . ?” J.J asked.

Morgan sighed.

“Last weekend.”

Wow. Garcia started to laugh which caused a domino effect on the rest of the team. Reid was finally relaxing into the feeling, laughing along with his friends.

“Y’all think that’s real funny, huh?” Morgan said, unable to stop the smile forming on his face.

“Yep,” Reid said through another puff, suppressing a cough. “Only because it makes so much sense.”

“Oh yeah?” Morgan got a mischievous look in his eye. “Okay, Prentiss. Your turn.”

Emily, who had been laughing heartily, suddenly froze, looking nervously around the room.

“I, er, I don’t recall.”

Morgan chuckled.

“Well then, allow me to refresh your memory. Last weekend I’m minding my own business when I get a call from Emily here. She’s going off about how expensive movie tickets are and how it’s cheaper to buy back-alley weed. I tell her not to worry, I’ve got my hands on the good stuff right here. Needless to say, within the hour we were both high off our asses.”

Prentiss had turned bright pink, taking a sip from a water bottle she’d withdrawn from her purse. Looking back, she should have known better than to hide her face from a group of seasoned profilers.

“Oh, damn, Emily!” Garcia bounced on the couch, shaking J.J who groaned. “Why didn’t you tell me! You know I am always one phone call and thirty-five minutes away.”

Emily glanced at Derek, smirking. “That’s the problem, Pen. Sometimes you can be a little . . . much.”

Garcia gasped softly, “Emilia, you offend me. I’m offended. I’m chill! I’m a chill person,” she added, a little shrilly, sending the group into yet another fit of laughter.

“What? Look at me now! I’m relaxing on the couch, totally at peace.”

In her defense, she was. Absentmindedly braiding J.J’s hair and working out the knots in it. One sharp pull made J.J wince.

“Ow! Yeah, ‘at peace’ my ass.”    

“Shush! Reid, go.”

Spencer opened his mouth but Morgan spoke first.

“Aw, come on, Baby Girl. You saw how Pretty Boy here coughed. He hasn’t touched a drug in his life.”

“I-”

“Oh, come on. People don’t only cough when they’ve never smoked before. Besides, he went to Caltech AND got a doctorate at MIT. Those Ivy Leagues have the most toked up students anyway.”

“Well, I-”

“Nah,” Morgan interrupted. “Pretty Boy’s been sober his whole life.”

“Actually . . .”

Morgan’s head snapped to Reid, as quick as he could under the influence. Which, in retrospect was not all that quick.

“Kid. You’re telling me you’ve done this before?”

Reid went even pinker than Emily had.

“Not, uh. Not exactly. I’ve certainly never smoked a joint with anyone. But, well. That wasn’t the question.”

“What was the question?” Garcia asked.

“You’re the one who asked it!”

She simply shrugged, reapplying her lipstick smoothly. The high was slowly wearing off everyone.

“You asked when the last time everyone got high was,” Reid explained, his hands gesticulating wildly. “While I have never smoked - really no one should, the things it does to your lungs - I have ingested marijuana before.”

“What!?” Morgan and Garcia exclaimed, prompting an even louder Shh from Rossi. Hotch was smirking softly, lighting several candelabras around the room, attempting to clear the air of the stench.

“What?” Reid asked, annoyed at their shock. “I might be nerdy but I’m not a prude.”

Prentiss laughed and remarked to J.J, “Next thing he’s gonna be telling us he’s not a virgin.”

“Actual-”

“Stop, right there, kid,” Morgan butted in, settling down on the couch for the night. “That’s not the kinda thing I wanna hear about right now.”

“But you were curious about me getting high before!”

“Yeah, that’s your business.”

Prentiss butted in, “Besides, we should just focus on the now. It seems while we’ve all partook before, but never together like this. This time it’s a… a…”

“A joint effort,” Reid said, glancing around the room with a playful smile.

A collective groan followed his quip and several pillows were thrown his way.

“You’re lucky I’m barely stoned,” Garcia said. “I’d come over there and give you a proper pillow fight.”

Rossi leaned forward over the old box.

“Ladies, gents,” he lifted the purple satin lining revealing several more pre-rolled marijuana cigarettes, “the night is still young.”

And so, the FBI profilers hotboxed David Rossi’s living room, laughing about nonsense and learning much more than they’d wanted to about Spencer Reid’s sexual history

[veiledfox]

Provisionally Licensed Kitsune

A trip through the Tori resulted in Kyuushi coming out in what appeared to be a normal, modern Japanese City. Though, quickly, she would find that it was far from a normal that she knew within her realm. Even from the alleyway she had stepped out into, she could see people walking by who had animal ears, tails, wings, fangs, claws. Some people who were partially rock or metal, others that had longer limbs or differently colored skin. She even caught a glance of what looked to be a pair of clothes walking about entirely on their own.

With the vast variety in appearances she had seen in just these brief initial minutes, Kyuushi decided that she might be fine without hiding her ears and tails. Deciding against such a thing, and leaving them be, both visually and physically present on her as she walked out. Blending into the crowd rather quickly, and walking alongside so many varied and interesting people. All seeming to just... be going about an average life. 

She could feel some glances shot her way, and hear some mumbling about her tails and ears, sure, but everything she could make out seemed... positive, more than anything else. Comments from a girl with Cat ears walking by with her friends on how pretty the fur of her tails was. Words from a pair of boys walking behind her about how much they like the the shade of red that her hair and fur was. A child with their parent walking just a little to her side commenting, rather loudly, how cool they thought she looked.

This was the first realm Kyuushi found herself actually feeling comfortable enough to not hide her Kitsune traits. As long as she kept her Human form, refraining from turning into that of her Feral self, she would be fine. Accepted as she was, allowed to go about her time here without having to worry about whether she could find somewhere to be alone to let her tails and ears free every handful of hours.

Already, she was getting to be quite excited to learn about how this realm worked. Though it seemed it wouldn’t take long for her to learn the next thing, hearing a nearby explosion and watching a car get launched into the sky. She could tell from it’s trajectory that it was going to land atop a car that had stopped just on the road beside her after it’s driver heard the explosion. Their car was an open roof, however, if the one falling crashed down on it, the person would be crushed. 

Quickly acting, Kyuushi would hop on top of the stopped car, standing over the driver who had begun panicking realizing the trajectory themselves. Though when the car came down upon them, Kyuushi would use her hands, and her tails, to catch the car with a groan of strain from doing so. She was a fair bit stronger than she had been some decades prior. Thanks to her travels through the Gate and some of the subtle things that kept with her after leaving the realms she’s been to. If not for that fact, she wouldn’t have been able to do such a feat as this.

Being brought to a knee under the car’s weight, however, Kyuushi would groan out as she begins to angle it forward, letting it slide in her grasp for the front to touch to the road, and the top to rest partially against the front of the vehicle she hopped onto to save. Looking to the driver and asking them if they’re okay, and if they could exit the vehicle as, while they remained, she had to hold the car, and it was making her arms ache to do so. 

Once the driver had gotten out, she began to ease the vehicle above her down bit by bit while getting off the vehicle herself. Doing her best to prevent any big damage befalling the one she had just prevented from being smashed. Eventually managing a delicate balance where both would be fine until some form of professional crew could arrive to remove the car. Finding the driver after, and double checking that they were okay. 

Before she could be answered, however, herself and the many people surrounding them, who had begun to applaud her action, would all duck as another explosion could be heard. Another car sent flying, though this time it hit the side of a building, getting stuck within it. A third explosion, though this time followed shortly after by two more, but instead of vehicles, she could see a flaming man soaring through the sky, chasing after someone with what looked to be a cape acting as wings.

Some of the people surrounding her crying out to one of the two airborne people with the name “Endeavour”, cheering them on and, some people, nearly praising this “Endeavour”. Following after the two flying people, Kyuushi manages to just barely keep pace on the ground. Watching the exchange between them in the sky above. Flames being sent the caped man’s way, and guns being pulled by the one with the cape, fired at the flaming man in retaliation. 

Along the way, Kyuushi would catch sight of someone else following the fight, a man who looked to have bright red wings sprouting from his back, catching up with the other two, though on the opposite side of some buildings from them. As the man with the cape would turn a corner, however, it would be toward the red winged man, who seemed to launch something at the man from his wings, resulting in him being forced to the wall of the building behind him, and pinned to it, unable to move as the flaming man flew in and punched at his face, rendering him unconscious. 

The moment the man went limp from being knocked out, Kyuushi could hear countless people cheering. Crying out Endeavour and Hawks in praises. It seemed to her that they appeared to be heroes of some kind within this realm. In the same moment her mind pieced that together, however, it began to wonder if that wasn’t just something special, but it was their job. If there were more people of this realm with unique powers of their own who worked under the title of Heroes. Then going on to wonder about just how varied and wild both the Heroes and Villains of this world could get.

A flaming man, a man with red wings, one who could use a cape like wings to fly, her mind was set ablaze with curiosity. Such driving her to follow the two as they would collect the man and bring him down to the ground to be taken in by police and a medical team. Trying to listen in on as much as she could about their work and their system, whatever might be said as they briefly converse. Though sadly, she wouldn’t be getting much information through such means.

Instead, Kyuushi began to seek out an internet café. Assuming they had the same type of place in this world given how similar it was to her own. Thankfully, with some asking of civilians, it wouldn’t take long before she found her way to one. Quickly seating herself at a vacant computer, and opening a browser to begin her research. Eventually finding that Heroes apparently owned a license that marked them as a Hero, and listed that as their job. That, due to some events that apparently occurred before she arrived, anyone looking to become a Hero would need to first acquire a Provisional License while they’re still in training before they can do heroic acts using their “Quirks”, and be protected by law in doing so.

Every page she would pull up would have that term. “Quirk” or “Quirks”, it made the Kitsune curious, eventually searching what the term meant. Discovering that, the big difference within this version of earth, Humanity had evolved to begin developing mutations called Quirks for a long time. That Quirks were vastly varied, and could lead to things like people looking like anthromorphic versions of animals, having parts of vehicles as natural parts of their body, or even being able to change their form completely.

Reading all this information, she began to wonder how her Kitsune genetics would adapt to this realm’s laws. What kind of Quirk she may develop, though many would likely find her normal powers and magicks to be Quirks themselves. Especially having read about the existence of shapeshifting Quirks, she herself being able to turn into not only her Fox self, but other creatures too. Not to mention her kinetic magicks which would undoubtedly be akin to telekinesis based Quirks in this realm.

There would be a brief moment where Kyuushi broke out of her deep thought and wonder, remembering she needed a name to this location to mark down in the journal back home. Searching for the name of the city she was currently in, and finding the result that came up reading Musutafu City. Memorizing the Realm of Musutafu as a name she should remember for once she can write it down after returning home. Though she did consider listing it Realm of Heroes instead.

Her last set of searches for information would be for how she may earn a Provisional License herself, having briefly seen when reading about it the first time that students at Hero Academies would earn them through tests. Just, given her age, she surely couldn’t just become a student at one of these academies and earn it normally. She had to find another way, if she wanted to be a Hero in this world. Though, in that same vain, she’d surely need a Quirk to develop too.

 The rest of this visit, Kyuushi would be continuing her research within the Cafe. Thankful that this earth still used Yen, and would accept what she had, allowing her to buy a drink, and a bagel after a few hours of initial research. Returning home as the sun began to set on Musutafu, after buying a keychain of a Hero that, supposedly, was now retired by the name of All Might. A keychain which would act as her anchor to the realm, so that she could return again.

Dedicating her second visit to carefully following Heroes around, watching and observing what they do through the day. Figuring as much she could about the ins and outs from an outside perspective about the Hero-centric society that was within this world. Managing, somehow, to keep from being found the whole while. 

Her third, however, would be when she starts to experience some development. One of the particular villain chases she was following began getting rather out of hand. Dangerous for civilians even, and she found herself having to intervene to keep civilians from harm. Though, as she would begin to try and keep horrid accidents from occurring, Kyuushi would find herself having to move quickly from place to place. Stopping one thing from happening, before catching another, and moving another person from where some rubble would’ve crashed atop of them.

By the end of it all, however, she would find herself... looking... at herself...? Multiple of herself, as a mater of fact. Looking across the space where she had been saving people, stopping rubble, and keeping collateral to a minimum, and seeing three copies of herself. Though each one had one less tail than herself. Still having five herself, one copy had four, while another had three, the next had two. Never having even noticed any change, nor having done anything knowingly to cause this multiplication, but as she approached the copy of herself with four tails, she would find that they were all just as sentient as she was.

The one thing that seemed to be unique to this, however, was that they each recalled different portions of the damage control they just handled. One recalling saving a child who was separated from their parent and getting them back to their mother. Another recalling redirecting some rubble that was about to crash onto a trapped Woman, before getting the woman free from the rubble that was on top of her and seeing her safely away. The third recalling holding up a collapsing wall so that a couple could get out of the way and to safety before they could be crushed.

Kyuushi and her copies would converse, trying to figure how to reverse this splitting, and trying to understand how it even happened in the first place. One of their first attempted methods of reversing it being to touch in differing ways, but they would find that it couldn’t be done with just any random touch with each other. Only when pressing open hands together, lining them up, would they rejoin. Kyuushi proper holding her hand forward, and her copy with four tails pressing her hand to the original’s. Palm to palm, and each finger matching up with the other’s. Thumb to thumb, index to index, and so on. A brief flash of blue taking the four-tailed copy’s form, and next they knew, the copy was gone.

Having had the four-tailed copy rejoin her, Kyuushi could remember the copy’s experiences within their damage control, but also her own. Finding out in this moment that, while they wouldn’t share experiences while separate, she would acquire those of her copies once rejoined. Soon after having the three-tailed and two-tailed copies join back with her, resulting in having a full memory of every little thing that her four selves did to protect the people of Musutafu. 

She would be recognized for her actions here, however, the people she had saved finding her after and asking if she was a Hero and what her name was. When told that she wasn’t a Hero, they would begin wondering why she wasn’t. Over the next two visits to the Realm of Musutafu she would find out that the people she had saved had begun a petition of sorts, seeking for Kyuushi to be recognized officially. It would be the third visit after her Quirk developed that she would get news that there were Heroes wishing to meet with her.

Meeting with them, she learned that she had been watched during her prior visits, and after assessing what she’d done, and all she has helped, they agreed that she deserved at the very least a Provisional License for the time being. Presenting her with one for her efforts, and allowing her to work with Heroes from then on. Though informing her she would need a title to go by, which she would give a very simple, yet effective answer to that.

Kitsune. Calling her copies the various numbered tail variations while she herself would be “Kitsune Prime” of sorts. “Ichibi” for the one-tailed, “Nibi” for the two-tailed, “Sanbi” for the three-tailed, and “Yonbi” for the four-tailed. Keeping “Gobi”, “Rokubi”, “Shichibi”, and “Hachibi” in mind for the four other copies she knew she would eventually have able to join her. 

Ever since, Kitsune has been a Provisional hero the people could trust to help keep damage to as low of a minimum as she could whenever she was around. Though many would wonder where she went in the times she would disappear from Musutafu, during her travels back home.

An odd side effect Kyuushi would find herself facing, however, would be the fact that, within the Realm of Musutafu, she would have greatly enhanced senses due to the copies multiplying the strength of things like her sense of smell, and her hearing. Which, to a degree, would carry over back into her regular life back home and across the rest of the realms she could travel to. Though, instead of being quadrupled while in Musutafu, they would merely be doubled in strength elsewhere.

It would be the visit after gaining her Provisional License that Kyuushi would discover that activation of her Quirk would simply be a mental focus thing. Like some other Quirks she had read about, she would simply need to think about splitting, whether it’s consciously or subconsciously, and her Quirk will activate, splitting copies from her based on the amount of times she believes is required.

[shadowhuntertrash]

High Notes

Chapter 7

I dont own anything Cassandra Clare does 💕

  The first thing Thomas noticed when he woke up was the unfamiliar weight across his stomach. He opened his eyes to investigate and felt his heart skip a beat because he remembered now where he was.The memories of last night flashes in his head like a movie and Thomas had to fight the groan rising in his throat.

   He was in Alastair’s room. He slept with Alastair. Thomas felt himself blush at the thought. He hadn’t slept with Alastair; he had just slept next to him. Or under him, his mind suggested unhelpfully. Thomas blushed furiously and looked down at Alastair.

  Alastair always looked peaceful when he slept. His head was cushioned against Thomas’ chest, his arm slung over Thomas’ stomach. It was so very intimate that Thomas couldn’t help but smile and stay frozen hoping against hope that he could lay there for a while longer. 

   Fate seemed to be in a good mood because Alastair remained asleep for another ten minutes. Thomas watched his face, the way his eyes moved under his eyelids. The way his mouth ghosted with a smile or a frown. The way he twitched when something occurred in his dream. Thomas wished he was able to read minds, he wanted to know what Alastair dreamed about. Thomas almost laughed at the thought, knowing that if the roles were reversed and Alastair looked in on Thomas’ dreams he would find them filled with himself. 

   Alastair started shifting his eyes fluttering as if he was trying to open his eyes but they were too heavy, Thomas assumed that’s what they felt like. Thomas sighed and Alastair froze. Thomas cursed himself mentally and stretched his arms as if he was just now waking up. He yawned loudly and Alastair scrambled off of him with much more grace than Thomas could dream of having.

   “Good morning.” Alastair said, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot. Thomas smiled at him as if this was completely normal. “Good morning. Sorry for crashing.” Alastair snorted and Thomas smiled wider. So cute.

  “It’s fine. Is your head still hurting?” Alastair asked softly stretching. Thomas’ eyes drifted to where Alastair’s shirt had ridden up. He was toned and Thomas knew for a fact that he had a six pact, how was it even allowed to be that attractive. With his stupidly hot and stupidly smooth skin and his beautiful eyes. His full lips- nope.

   Thomas cleared his throat and shook his head. He started feeling around him and checked his pockets. He looked up curiously at Alastair. “Where’s my phone?” Alastair lifted an eyebrow and started looking around as well. Eventually Alastair picked up his phone and chucked it at him, a blur of red that landed roughly on Thomas’ lap. 

   He flinched at the impact and Alastair rushed out an apology which Thomas just waved off. Thomas turned his phone on and it lit up with a picture of him, Matthew, James, and Christopher. Lucie had taken it and it had an aesthetic that Thomas loved. The sun was setting in the background so all you could see of the boys was their shape, they looked like shadows and he loved it.

   He had a bunch of texts from James, Matthew, and Christopher. The memory of standing in front of James and Matthew’s door came back and Thomas screwed his face up and shook his head. He did NOT need that to stay in his head. 

   He decided they didn’t need to know where he was yet and threw his phone back to the bottom of the bed and flopped down. Alastair was still standing next to the bed with a crooked smile on his face. His phone case was clear but there was a polaroid picture of him and Cordelia is fancy clothes from some party.

   Cordelia’s words fluttered back into Thomas’ head. ‘Thomas, be careful with him.’ He flicked his eyes up to the ceiling not wanting to be caught staring at Alastair right now. He ran over the words in his head. Did she mean to be careful with him because Thomas could get hurt? He knew it was likely that his… affection was not reciprocated and that he would likely get hurt but for some reason that didn’t feel like what she was trying to say.

   Was she insinuating that Thomas should be careful with him because Alastair was fragile or something of the like? Thomas was growing frustrated. He couldn’t hurt Alastair if Alastair didn’t like him. Cordelia was off her rocker, she must be to think Thomas could ever hurt him, he wouldn’t ever even want to. 

   Thomas was pulled out of his internal monologue by Alastair's smooth voice. “Do you want to go get breakfast? It’s,” He paused to check the time on his phone and chuckled. “It’s eleven so the other’s probably already ate and the hotel breakfast isn’t serving so we can go get something.” Thomas groaned. 

   He was supposed to have gone to practice with the boys at nine. No wonder he had so many texts, he felt bad but at the same time he had never missed any rehearsals before and wanted nothing more than to go eat with Alastair. 

   “Alastair.” He groaned dragging out the ‘r’. He briefly wondered when they had become close enough to not freak out about being themselves with each other. When they started being friends and not acquaintances. He had been under the impression that they weren’t friends but Alastair had acted as if they were lifelong friends since the moment they saw each other. Well, besides him calling Thomas ‘Lightwood’, but honestly Thomas didn’t mind it.

   “Lightwood.” Alastair said in response laughing and dragging the ‘d’ for an unnecessarily long time. “I was supposed to meet the boys but if they ask when I get there tell them I woke up right before going there. Don’t mention breakfast.” Alastair laughed and nodded. “We haven’t even been on this tour a week and you’re already skipping? Deal anyway cause I’m hungry and need socialization. Where are we going?” Thomas shrugged to show his indifference. “You pick.” Thomas said, finally getting up.

   Alastair flopped on the bed laying where Thomas had been moments before. Thomas was trying to breathe correctly as it hit him at full force the fact that they had been sleeping together. As in cuddling, snuggling, dating kind of thing. Thomas and Alastair. Oh god oh god oh god.

   Thomas could feel himself start spinning into a panic attack he took a few staggering steps and sent Alastair an exasperated look that he was sure would have scared him had Alastair not been draping his arm over his eyes. “I-I’m gonna c-change. I’ll b-b-be right back.” He said all but running out of the room, ignoring Alastair’s distressed calls. 

   The hallways started spinning and Thomas fought it rushing to his room. He got to the door before realizing he had no idea what he did with his room key and Christopher was out with James and Matthew. They’re going to be upset Thomas thought distraught. He stood there shaking staring at the door too conscious of everything around him. No one had passed the hallway thankfully but Thomas felt bad. He felt as if he needed to get out of his body, like he was itchy and someone was wrapping their hands around his neck. 

   Thomas turned and slowly slid down the door to his room. He had almost calmed himself down when he saw Alastair walking quickly towards him. “Stupid hotel has too many hallways are you okay?” He asks kneeling in front of Thomas, not too close which Thomas was eternally grateful for. Thomas just nodded before stopping and shaking his head. “G-give me a second.” Alastair nodded and sat back on the balls of his feet.

   Thomas sighed and rested his head on the door. He gave it another five minutes and when he thought he was in the clear he sat up more and ran a slightly shaky hand through his hair. Alastair reached forward tentatively before deciding that was the wrong thing to do and retracting it. 

   “What set it off?” Alastair asked quietly. Thomas blushed, how was he supposed to say sleeping with him had? “I guess I just got stressed about missing rehearsal already.” Alastiar frowned, I was only joking you know that right? "I wasn’t trying to freak you out, it’s totally fine you missed. You weren't feeling well anyway.” Thomas nodded and leaned forward a little to rest his forehead on Alastair’s collarbone. 

   He always got touchy after panic attacks. Normally it was James or Matthew who received it but they weren’t here so Alastair would do. 

   Alastair brought his hand up hesitantly and started rubbing soothing circles on his back. Thomas felt his heart skip a beat and was glad Alastair couldn’t see the blush on his face. “I’m sorry.” He said so quietly he was sure Alastair hadn’t heard. Alastair let out a breath and Thomas would have given anything in that moment to know what Alastair was thinking.

   “You don’t have to apologize for things like that Thomas. Not with me or anyone I promise.” Thomas smiled weakly and pulled away, running his fingers through his hair. Alastair followed the movement and Thomas laughed lightly. “Okay. Thank you.” 

   Alastair shook his head a playful smile on his lips, “As much as I’m loving this, I’m rather hungry and you’re a snack but I’m thinking IHOP?” Thomas blanched and started sputtering while Alastair laughed standing up and reaching his hand down for Thomas to take.

   Thomas took it, avoiding eye contact because did Alastair just freaking flirt? Did he just call Thomas a snack? That was a good thing right? He made a mental note to ask Matthew what it meant later. They walked together in silence, not uncomfortable but calm, and when they got to the car Alastair casually opened the door for him. 

   Thomas raised an amused eyebrow, Alastair wasn’t one to exactly be a ‘gentleman’. He was a nice person but he didn’t really go out of his way to help other people.

   Alastair got in the driver's seat and turned on some music before pulling out of the parking lot. They listened to a few songs before one of Alastair’s songs came on, his voice filling the car. Alastair blushed and reached out to turn the channel but Thomas grabbed his wrist to stop him and just started singing along.

   When the song finished Thomas turned to look at Alastair with an excited look, and was surprised to see Alastair still blushing. “Okay but hear me out,” Thomas started excitedly. Alastair turned to look at him for a second before turning back to the road. “I’m listening.” He said with an amused tint to his voice. Thomas ignored it and went straight to his idea. 

   “What if the last few concerts we start doing random groups for a few songs? Like we do our normal concerts and then mix up the groups and each mixed up group could sing a song?” Alastair pulled into the parking spot in front of IHOP and turned to look at Thomas. Thomas could practically hear the gears turning in his head.

   “So what like we put names in a hat and draw kind of thing? Or we just break the groups up?” Thomas thought about it for a minute before nodding, “I think the hat idea would be fun don’t you? We could stick to having a solo, a group of four and a duet but have them different every night.” Alastair threw him a crooked smile. “Honestly, that sounds super fun and I’m one hundred percent down.”

  Thomas smiled brightly at him as he ran through possibilities. The only thing he didn’t want to happen was get the solo part. He hated doing things solo but he felt like it wouldn’t be the end of the world. He knew some fans wouldn’t like it, but they couldn’t please everyone.

   Thomas and Alastair spent breakfast talking about the tour and what to expect and how excited they were. It was an hour later when they finally parted ways and Thomas walked into the building they had supposed to be practicing in for the last few hours.

   Thomas walked in the main room and was greeted by a load of questions. “Where did you go last night?” “Why are you late?” “Why weren’t you answering your phone?” “Are you okay? Don’t do that again you scared us!” Thomas just shook them off with a roll of his eyes.

   “I had a migraine so I went to go get some meds from Matthew’s room but Matthew and James were uhm…” He cleared his throat uncomfortably and was pleased to see the blush rise up on Matthew and James’ face as they realized what he had walked in during. “Anyway they were busy so I went to go see if Lucie happened to have any, but then I wound up at Alastair’s and threw up and then passed out there for the night. Nothing happened.” He said glaring at Matthew who was now wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

   Matthew nodded emphatically. “Oh of course and so you just woke up right?” Thomas nodded slowly knowing by Matthew’s tone that Matthew didn’t believe it at all. “Oh okay then why did you leave me on read for the past two hours?” Thomas froze realizing he didn’t have a good answer to that.

  “Okay so we might have gone to have breakfast, and I might have slightly ignored y’all because I was tired and wanted to have breakfast with Alastair.” Christopher and James laughed while Matthew mocked offense. 

   He put a hand to his chest as if Thomas had physically hurt him. “Thomas you wound me! We haven’t even had five rehearsals yet and you’re already skipping out?” Thomas rolled his eyes and noticed for the first time a boy, around their age, standing off to the side watching the boys interact with unreadable eyes.

   Thomas froze and just stared for a minute. He had dark black hair and startling green eyes. He was tall and slender, ghastly white skin poking out from the sleeves of his shirt. Thomas cleared his throat embarrassed at having been staring. “Sorry I didn’t see you there, I’m Thomas.” The boy put on a polite smile and shook Thomas’ outreached hand.

   “I’m Jesse, I’m the sound manager. I’ll be working with y’all for the trip. I’ll mostly be around before concert nights just to make sure things run smoothly and obviously I’ll be here for the concerts and such.” He said in a slightly monotone. Thomas was getting mixed vibes from him and didn’t quite know what to think of the unreadable boy in front of him.

   He had a feeling that this person was going to be important but didn’t quite know why or how. Thomas shook his head plastering his smile back on when he realized it had fallen slightly. He clapped his hands and turned back to his band mates. 

   “Okay so are we still practicing?” The boys nodded and went to grab their respective instruments while Jesse went around the table to the board that had a bunch of buttons and slidey things and Thomas was greatly appreciative of the fact that he didn’t need to know what they did. 

   “What song are we practicing?” Thomas asked Matthew as he slid the guitar strap over his neck and began tuning. “Do you want to do a new one or an old one?” Matthew asked him, adjusting the microphone to his height. “How about 7 Years?” Matthew nodded and looked at James and Christopher who both nodded back. “Okay.” Matthew said pointing to Jesse who pushed some buttons and pointed back signalling them to start.

Once I was seven years old my momma told me

Go make yourself some friends or you'll be lonely

Once I was seven years old

It was a big big world, but we thought we were bigger

Pushing each other to the limits, we were learning quicker

By eleven smoking herb and drinking burning liquor

Never rich so we were out to make that steady figure

Once I was eleven years old my daddy told me

Go get yourself a wife or you'll be lonely

Once I was eleven years old

I always had that dream like my daddy before me

So I started writing songs, I started writing stories

Something about that glory just always seemed to bore me

'Cause only those I really love will ever really know me

Once I was twenty years old, my story got told

Before the morning sun, when life was lonely

Once I was twenty years old

I only see my goals, I don't believe in failure

'Cause I know the smallest voices, they can make it major

I got my boys with me at least those in favor

And if we don't meet before I leave, I hope I'll see you later

Once I was twenty years old, my story got told

I was writing 'bout everything, I saw before me

Once I was twenty years old

Soon we'll be thirty years old, our songs have been sold

We've traveled around the world and we're still roaming

Soon we'll be thirty years old

I'm still learning about life

My woman brought children for me

So I can sing them all my songs

And I can tell them stories

Most of my boys are with me

Some are still out seeking glory

And some I had to leave behind

My brother I'm still sorry

Soon I'll be sixty years old, my daddy got sixty-one

Remember life and then your life becomes a better one

I made a man so happy when I wrote a letter once

I hope my children come and visit, once or twice a month

Soon I'll be sixty years old, will I think the world is cold

Or will I have a lot of children who can warm me

Soon I'll be sixty years old

Soon I'll be sixty years old, will I think the world is cold

Or will I have a lot of children who can warm me

Soon I'll be sixty years old

Once I was seven years old, my momma told me

Go make yourself some friends or you'll be lonely

Once I was seven years old

Once I was seven years old

   Matthew stopped singing and Christopher and Thomas stummed the last notes. Jesse smiled at them. “That was really good guys.” He said in a sincere voice Thomas smiled back at him. “Thank you.” He said politely watching Jesse start turning things off. Thomas turned to James who had also started packing up. “Are we done already?” Matthew raised an unamused eyebrow.

   “We have been practicing for hours, you didn’t bother to show up so I think you should practice a little more.” Thomas rolled his eyes. Most people would have found that rude but he knew that Matthew was just stressing over everything going well. Thomas had already planned on practicing extra anyway.

   The boys packed up and left after saying goodbye. Thomas continued plucking a few notes before he got out his notebook and a pencil to start writing. 

   About two hours later Thomas met up with the boys who were doing an instagram live with Cordelia, Lucie, and Alastair. Thomas smiled when Matthew flipped the camera around so they could see Thomas. “And here’s the late one. He decided to get breakfast with a friend instead of coming to rehearsal today.” Matthew said while Thomas laughed and rolled his eyes before turning the camera back to him.

   “Anyway back to the questions.” Matthew said squinting at his phone screen. “This one is for you Jamie, Levy wants to know what your favorite song is by The Beautiful Cordelia.” James screwed up his face, a tell tale sign he was thinking and finally looked back at the camera with  a smile. “Probably I Love It, that was a really good song.” Lucie laughed and nodded. “I loved that song Cordelia wrote most of it.” Cordelia blushed and rolled her eyes before looking at the phone and smirking as she read the next question. 

   “Thomas this one’s for you. Who were you skipping rehearsal for?” Thomas blushed and debated telling the truth or not. He didn’t want Alastair to get the wrong idea if he lied, he didn’t want him to think he was embarrassed or anything but he also didn’t want to say Alastair because then people would start rumors and Thomas didn’t want there to be dating rumors between them because then he would have to continuously deny something he wished would happen.

   Thomas shrugged. “I’m skipping that one.” He said calmly watching and Alastiar, James, Lucie, and Cordelia’s eyebrows all shot up. He mouthed tell you later and went around the couch where Matthew was sitting so he could read the questions coming in.

   There were quite a few that just said Thomas is all caps when he came into view but eventually they went back to questions. Thomas read them and then picked one he liked. “Alastair, this one wants to know if you have any new songs in the making.” Alastair smiled as Matthew shifted the phone so they could see him. “I do actually. I’m not sure yet when I’ll release them though.” 

   A bunch of comments began flooding in about how excited they were about the news. Thomas laughed reading them. He read one that asked when they’re first official concert was. “The first concert is happening tomorrow night.” Thomas chuckled at the excited comments. “I am very excited as well. I’m excited to meet you guys tomorrow.” He said  straightening and stretching, his muscles sore and fingers aching from hours of guitar. 

   Matthew started laughing and handed Thomas the phone. “The comments.” Matthew said unable to refrain from laughing hysterically. Thomas raised an eyebrow at his friend and looked at the comments, immediately blushing bright red. Apparently his shirt had ridden up to reveal his toned stomach.

   “Guys!” Thomas said eyes wide as he read the highly inappropriate messages. Thomas covered his face with his hand, handing Matthew the phone back. He hadn’t stopped laughing and couldn’t take it so Thomas thrust it in James’ hand instead. James took one look at the comments and started laughing as well.

   Thomas flipped them off with a groan, turning and walking to his room. He wanted to get a moment alone, something that would be scarce to come across the next few months. He let out a deep breath when he stepped into the room. He sat on his bed and pulled his songbook and guitar out.

   There was something different about writing and practicing. Sure he played the guitar in both but practice felt more forced and it automatically annoyed him, writing was more of a stress reliever for him.

   He got his phone out and took a video of the new song he was writing so the boys could practice it if he happened to be late. He was singing so Matthew could hear it first before he tried to just read the notes.

   When he was done he took a shower, turning the water as hot as it could go trying to ignore the growing pit of anxiety in his stomach over the fact that in less than twenty four hours they would have to go in front of tons of people performing songs that meant more to Thomas than any of them would ever know.

   Thomas shook the thought off and put new clothes on heading back to Lucie’s room to hang out for about an hour before he went to sleep, hopefully socializing would help distract him.

[spaceskam]

what i would do to get into your head

for @malexweek day 2: trope day! here’s my loose interpretation of the huddling for warmth trope (apart of this universe)

ao3

Michael had been completely and utterly terrified for the entire day.

“What if they bully me like in bad high school movies and throw me in the dumpster?”

“Michael, it’s music class. I’m almost 99% sure they won’t do that,” Isobel said, pushing his backpack all the way there. 

As much as Michael was glad he tested out of the alien-specific power training classes, he was terrified to be the only one in an entirely human class. He knew it was going to be difficult to make friends. Sure, they might talk to him and be normal, but he would know they didn’t mean it. 

“Can’t you just come with me?” he whined. Isobel smiled and shook her head.

“Sorry, we can’t all be geniuses or prodigies like you,” Isobel mused, kissing the side of his face and shoving him into the room.

Part of Michael expected everyone to look over at him, to stare and gawk, but they didn’t. Instead, they went on with their day. Michael took a deep breath and nodded. He could do this. He could.

Michael had technically been able to join music since his sophomore year, but he’d gotten scared both then and his junior year and chose to work in the library for his extra period. Which was fun and all, but he wanted to do music. He was passionate about music. He played three instruments and wanted to show it. But that was just difficult when some heavy anxiety weighed on his chest the way it did.

But, with the help of Isobel, Max, and his mother, he’d finally enrolled in music.

It did help that Alex Manes was also in the class. He, while not alien, was an outcast in the purest form. He was antagonistic and brutal and… easily one of the hottest people to ever grace the universe. Michael had never actually spoken to him, but he’d seen how he parted the hallways like the red sea with his presence alone. He’d seen him get in fights in defense of other aliens. He’d even seen him smile. That image seemed burned into his brain. It made him feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside.

Michael sat in the far corner by himself, hoping not to bring too much attention to himself. He would happily blend into the background. Except, that almost immediately backfired when Alex Manes himself walked right up to him. He was even more gorgeous up close.

“You’re in my spot,” Alex said, staring him down with his dark-lined eyes. Michael’s eyes slowly widened. He thought about pointing out that it was the first day of school and there was no way he had a specific seat. But, of course, he couldn’t find those words.

“Sorry,” Michael said, fumbling to grab his bag as quickly as he could and move out of his way. He moved over four chairs, leaving three between them so he wouldn’t bother him. Alex watched him with a raised eyebrow. Michael tried to ignore him.

Eventually, the teacher, Mrs. Wilks, walked in and immediately began talking. Michael listened as intently as he could, trying to ignore the way Alex never seemed to stop staring. His eyes burned into the side of Michael’s face and sufficiently made it impossible to focus.

Which is how the next three goddamn weeks went.

Michael would struggle to pay attention every single day because of Alex and it got to the point Mrs. Wilks pulled him to the side to make sure Alex wasn’t bullying him. And he wasn’t. He was just staring. 

“Michael,” Mrs. Wilks said at the beginning of class, “Why don’t you come up here and play for our warm-ups.”

Michael stared at her with wide, reluctant eyes. He knew she was just doing that to get him away from Alex, but that would just get more eyes on him. He was fine with just Alex’s, but everyone else?

But, Michael was compliant to a fault and he found himself sitting in front of the piano.

He played for warm-ups and even roughly sight-read the pieces they were doing. He was rusty, but it worked well enough. By the time it was almost over, he found that he was actually comfortable playing in front of that many people.

"Wow, thank you, Michael," Mrs. Wilk's praised as the class came to an end. She clapped and basically forced the class to join in which was uncomfortable to say the least. Thankfully, the bell rang shortly after and the room cleared out within a matter of seconds.

Or, almost cleared out.

Michael had turned to put his sheet music back in his bag when the piano bench creaked with the weight of another body. He looked over his shoulder to see Alex Manes sitting there, straddling the bench and looking right at him. He didn't say a word and still, Michael's cheeks got hot. Alex smiled in response which just made his face burn even brighter.

"You're good," Alex said, "And you're also good at biology."

"I-I guess."

"No guessing, you're the only alien in that class and it's because you're ridiculously smart," he said. Michael had no idea what to say.

"Thank you?" he offered. Alex rolled his eyes.

"You wanna tutor me?" Alex asked. Michael's eyes went wide again. "Why do you always act so shocked when anyone talks to you? Like, you're not invisible." Michael was silent. "Well, do you wanna? I suck and you're the only person I think I could handle being in a room with for more than five minutes."

Michael swallowed harshly and Alex looked way too amused.

"B-But your dad," Michael said lamely. As hot as Alex Manes was, his father was a proud xenophobe. The mention wiped all amusement from Alex's face.

"There's a shed behind my house, no parents around, no distractions," Alex said, eyeing him, "I'll pay you."

"Um, yeah, sure, I can tutor you," Michael agreed. Alex nodded, standing up. The bench was bracketed by his knees still and his studded belt was all but right in Michael's face. It was pretty hard to focus on anything else.

"I'll meet you by your truck after school."

"Okay," Michael agreed lamely.

He watched Alex walk out of the class and tried not to think too hard about what he'd just agreed to.

Michael floated through the rest of the day on autopilot, his mind stuck on what was set to happen that evening. A tutoring session with Alex Manes. That was it. There was nothing weird or sketchy about it. It was simply tutoring. So why did it feel so goddamn nerve-wracking?

For his own wellbeing, he didn’t tell Isobel, but he did let his mother know that he was going to be home late because he was tutoring. He even typed out Jesse Manes’ name and didn’t send it, keeping it there just in case he needed to send it quickly. Was that too paranoid?

As Michael made his way towards his truck at the end of the day, he couldn’t help but immediately notice that Alex looked goddamn picturesque as he sat on the hood. It should’ve been disrespectful that he just took over his truck like that, but… damn. The angle of it all made his legs seem impossibly long in his skinny jeans as they hung over the edge. He was leaning back on his arms and the sun seemed to be beaming down just for him, his face turned towards the sky with his eyes closed. It only occurred to Michael at that moment that Alex knew which truck with his without even asking. Oh, he had feelings about that.

“Hi,” Michael said as he walked up to his car. Alex slowly opened his eyes and tilted his head towards Michael, not budging from his place on the hood. Michael’s whole body tensed up at that.

“It’s about to rain,” he said.

“Is it?”

“Yeah, can’t you smell it?” Alex asked, tilting his head back again and breathing in deep. Did he know how risque that looked? “It’s in the air.”

“Oh, uh, cool,” Michael said, clearing his throat and shifting awkwardly. Alex hopped off the hood of the truck and headed towards the passenger side door. 

“Let’s go.”

Michael couldn’t help but obey.

Apart from Alex’s whole thing was he seemed to make the conscious decision to optimize space. He had his leg pulled up to the seat, but his thighs spread far apart while his head laid back and occasionally gave directions to his house. Logically, Michael knew it was a power thing. Illogically, Michael was sure he wanted him to wreck from being distracted.

However, instead of wrecking, his truck started sputtering before slowly to a stop. Embarrassment flooded him and he looked over to Alex who just smiled.

“I can fix it,” Michael insisted. Alex smirked and nodded.

“I believe you.”

Michael quickly jumped out of the truck and Alex, for some reason, followed. He popped the hood and started tightening all of the cables around his battery and alternator and anywhere else for good measure. Alex was looking over his shoulder which made it infinitely harder to locate all the cables.

And then, to make it worse, it started sprinkling just like Alex had said. And then it very quickly started storming. Alex laughed, as the sky drenched them and made it even harder to try to tighten things. Michael grunted and jogged back to the driver's seat and turned the key but it still didn’t work. His battery was dead.

“You’re an alien!” Alex called to him over the sound of the rain, “Do your little electrical thing!”

“It’s not my specialty!” 

“I believe in you!”

It was a hollow thing, Michael knew that, but it made Michael feel like he could run a goddamn marathon. He started at Alex for a moment, watching as he spread his arms out wide and smiled up at the sky that covered him in rain. He was even more gorgeous than Michael ever could’ve imagined.

After double-checking that Alex wouldn’t be totally freaked out by him actually using his powers in front of him, Michael went back to the front of the car and tried to channel all of that energy under his skin and in his blood, his hand hovering over the battery. He took a couple of controlled breaths, just like his mom taught him, and just tried. 

A small bout of energy came from his palm and went to his car battery, ignoring the rain. He added a little telekinetic umph to turn the ignition and he grinned as the truck roared to life. Laughter bubbled out of him as he did so. It was the first time he had done something so useful with his powers. His mother always taught him not to rely on them, but… That felt good.

“I told you,” Alex said, suddenly way too close and, when Michael looked over his shoulder, he was right there. He was so close and looking at him and smiling and covered in rain. “You’re good.”

Michael felt chills douse his skin from head to toe, feeling frozen as he stared at him and basked in his praise. He almost forgot about the rain. Instead, his eyes followed a water droplet that traced over Alex’s impeccable cheekbones.

“You ready to go?” Alex asked, voice low and right there. Michael gulped.

“Yeah,” he agreed. Alex raised both his eyebrows suggestively and nodded his head towards the cab of the truck.

Michael dropped the hood and they both got back inside, sitting for a moment. It was going to be a bitch to dry his seats without a mildew smell and his shoes were going to be so goddamn squishy and his hair was going to be so gross, but Alex had laughed and he said he believed in him and, god, it made everything better.

Alex finished directing him to his house and then told him where to park so his dad wouldn’t ask questions before they both ran into the shed, laughing slightly. Michael had never felt so confident in his life than in those few seconds, even as the chill of being soaking wet set in.

Still, they sat side by side on the floor, their backs against the little bed in the corner. Michael was still buzzing with power which seemed to keep his own coldness at bay, but Alex was already starting to shiver a little bit as he rubbed his hands together. He eyed him a little as he pulled out his biology textbook (human biology only, alien biology had to be taught at home or, if you were lucky, a progressive sex ed teacher might give a run down).

“If you need to go inside and dry off, I don’t mind waiting,” Michael said. Alex looked at him with those big, intoxicating eyes.

“I’ll just get wet again coming back out here, don’t worry about it,” he said, leaning closer. Michael just nodded, looking back to his book.

“So, most of this is just a review,” Michael started.

Just like in class, Alex didn’t seem to be paying attention. His eyes were burning into the side of Michael’s head, intense as hell despite the fact he was shivering. Michael did his best to ignore it along with his own chill. However, he stopped being successful at that when Alex’s teeth started chattering.

“You’re cold,” Michael said dumbly. Alex grinned through it. His eyeliner and mascara was somehow still perfect even though his hair was plastered to his forehead and frizzy. He was as picturesque as always if you disregarded how cold he looked. 

“And you’re warm,” Alex said, leaning in until their sides were pressed together as much as he could. Michael’s mouth went dry. “You can share some body heat, can’t you?”

Michael felt his eyes widen as he realized what he was saying. Alex just kept that smile in full force. How the hell did he exist? More importantly, why was he even giving Michael the time of day? Of all the people in the world and beyond, Michael was the least worthy of that attention.

But, still, he let Alex come close. He even dared to drape his arms over his shoulders and Alex leaned in even closer, almost balling up to feed off his body heat. Alex’s eyes were on the textbook as he did so which somehow made it all the more exhilarating. This was okay. He was allowed to touch another boy like this. Not just another boy. Alex.

Michael’s eyes went back to the textbook to try and focus, but Alex’s eyes seemed to take that as a sign to go back to staring at his face.

“Right, so, uh,” Michael breathed, scanning the page for something that was more interesting than him. He failed. “I'm assuming you remember Punnett squares. Fun fact, my people’s DNA is a little different and instead of just dominant and recessive, we have a triple combination and the third goes into our power skill and specialty. So we have dominant, recessive, and regnant genes types. They mix the same way yours does, it’s just a little more complex.”

“How does that work for Punnett squares?” Alex asked, still shivering and his teeth chattering. It made Michael feel guilty for some reason, so he rubbed his arm in hopes some type of friction would help him warm up.

“My mom said it’s like they use capital letters, lowercase letters, and superscript letters that stand on their own,” Michael said, shrugging slightly.

Alex didn’t answer right away, breathing in deep as a chill shook him. Michael looked back at him and saw that his lips were starting to tint a little bit purple. He couldn’t even acknowledge how close they were, he was just concerned. He frowned and tried to remember if it was normal for humans to get so cold just by getting wet, but he didn’t actually know. The shed also didn’t have any heat, so maybe Alex had one of those deep-seated chills that were impossible to get rid of. Michael hadn't actually had one of those before.

“Hey,” Michael said softly, “You really need to go dry off or get under a blanket or something, you’re gonna get sick.”

“Warm me up,” Alex requested.

“I’m trying, but it’s not working,” Michael said back.

Alex looked at him in the eyes, his brows furrowed like he was trying to make sense of something that Michael wasn’t aware of. He looked all over his face for what felt like a million years before he leaned forward and pressed his icy lips to Michael’s. Bells seemed to ring in his mind, every inch of Michael trying to battle with the fact that he was both shocked and not shocked at all. It added up. But, still, how the hell did Michael get the pleasure of his attention?

Alex pulled away, but he didn’t go far.

“I am so confused,” Michael breathed. 

“Should I have asked first? Sorry,” Alex said, forcing a little laugh, but he genuinely seemed a little nervous. It was the first time Michael had ever seen him look nervous. “I just am really fucking intrigued by you.”

“I just…” Michael said, trailing off once he realized he didn’t really have anything to say. Nothing worth substance, anyway. Not when his mind was just on Alex.

Michael leaned back in just a little, meeting him in a kiss. Alex smiled against his lips and moved his hand up to his cheek. Pathetically, Michael was trying to remember the last time he kissed someone and it counted. He couldn’t actually come up with anything and, instead, focused on Alex and not being a terrible kisser.

“Warm me up,” Alex repeated against his lips, but this time the connotations to his words were so much different and Michael’s skin felt like it was on fire. 

He wasn’t quite sure how to be confident like Alex, but he fed off the request and let it play into his people-pleasing qualities. Michael kissed him deeper and moved his hand to the hem of his damp shirt, slipping beneath it to get a little skin on skin contact. Alex nodded in approval as he tilted his head and slid his fingers into Michael’s hair.

“Tell me if you wanna stop,” Alex told him. Michael couldn’t find a reason to want to.

It was a slow process of just kissing and touching and turning to face each other entirely. Alex, bold as ever, tugged Michael into his lap as he leaned against the bed. Michael grabbed the blanket off the bed and pulled it over them. Alex smiled as they huddled beneath it, pressing close to each other as Michael used his TK to tuck it in place so he could keep his hands beneath Alex's damp shirt. Skin to skin contact, right? They hid under the scratchy blanket, touching and breathing and rubbing and kissing and slowly undoing all the cold. 

It didn’t go further than that and it seemed like it actually was mainly for warmth, but the kissing was definitely for more than just warmth.

“I like you,” Alex told him, holding him close and still gliding his hand up and down his spine, “But you’re very unapproachable.”

“No, I’m not,” Michael laughed, shaking his head, “ You’re unapproachable. You can be scary sometimes.”

“Don’t let me scare you,” Alex shot back, sealing his statement with a kiss as his hand squeezed Michael's thigh over his tight, wet jeans, “I promise the only things I wanna do to you are out of the kindness of my heart.”

And the words, as sweet as they were, were set with the dirtiest tone of voice that had ever been used on Michael and his face started to burn again. Alex grinned and shook his head before kissing him again. 

They stayed there until the rain had stopped and they were warm, sharing kisses. Michael felt special in a way he couldn’t articulate. He knew that, whatever this was, couldn’t be shared. He was an alien, Alex was a human, that was a no-go zone. He couldn’t tell anyone despite the fact that he wanted to scream from the rooftops. He wanted to tell everyone that this guy had chosen him. That he’d wanted him. He was special.

But, eventually, they had to move and Michael’s phone going off signaled that.

It was his mom’s ringtone and he basically dove out of the blanket to get it, ignoring Alex’s low laughter in response as he leaned where the textbook had been pushed to grab it. He answered on the third ring, pressing the phone to his ear and answering with the greeting from his parent’s native tongue like he was taught to. It was a respect thing.

“You said late, but I didn’t know you meant this late,” she said, voice tame, “Where are you?”

“Um, at the library,” he lied, ignoring the way Alex kept rubbing his thigh, “It was raining really hard so we waited at school until it slacked off before heading that way to be safe.”

“Mhm,” she hummed, mildly disbelieving but still choosing to accept the explanation because he’d never lied to her before, “Well, are you almost heading home? Dinner’s soon.”

“Yeah, I was about to leave. I’m sorry I didn’t keep you updated,” he said.

“As long as you’re safe. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Michael waited until he was absolutely sure the call had ended before he dropped his phone, his lips parted. “I just lied to my mom. I never lie to my mom.”

Alex’s fingertips gently reached to the back of his neck, spreading his fingers to cover the most space and slowly guiding him back to being chest to chest. He was going to be the death of him.

“I’m a bad influence,” he hummed matter-of-factly. Michael rested his forehead against Alex's, feeling a little intoxicated at the way Alex was staring at him from this close. There was just something about his eyes. 

“You’re the best bad influence I’ve ever had.”

Alex grinned and tilted his head to kiss him. His tongue parted Michael's lips, reminding him just how warm they could be if they just got close. It had his mind wandering to just how close they could get. Michael didn’t want to leave, but he knew he had to.

“We’ll have to schedule more tutoring sessions in the future,” Alex told him, voice low and almost a little commanding. A whole new layer of chills rose to Michael’s skin, but it had nothing to do with being cold.

“You want to?” Michael asked. It was a packed question. Do you want to do something we have to keep secret, do you want to do something this risky, do you want to do something that could get us both in trouble, do you want to put up with me and all of my bullshit? He didn’t know if Alex knew all of the questions that came alongside his small one, but Alex nodded.

“I want to.”

And that was good enough for him.

[justfandomwritings]

Urban Legends (Part Four - Chris Beck)

Pairing: Chris Beck x Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings:  nada

Summary: (Y/n) Watney was something of an urban legend at NASA. Commander of the Ares I mission, (Y/n) was the first human to set foot on another planet. She heard names like Neil Armstrong and smirked. She was on her way to being the most famous astronaut in history, and she was determined to bring her brother along for the ride. She recommended Mark to Vincent Kapoor. She helped him get on the Ares III mission to Mars.

Her brother was stuck on Mars because of her, and she was determined to bring him home.

After all, if he was the first human to die on another planet that would thoroughly steal her thunder; and she couldn’t have that. 

Start From the Beginning With… Part One

Previously On... Part Three

‘What’s in a name?’ For a rose, not much. Roses weren’t sentient beings. Being called a rose didn’t shape them in any way. They didn’t respond to their name. They didn’t know they were called roses. They didn’t have personalities or lives that were in any way shaped by experiences tied to that name. 

A rose would smell as sweet by any other name because a rose wasn’t conscious to choose how sweet it smelled.

A person, in fiction or in life, did not have that luxury. 

Names held great power and sway over minds. 

Sure, if you chanted Bloody Mary in the bathroom mirror three times no woman was going to miraculously appear over your reflection’s shoulder to kill you. But every bump for the rest of the night, every creak of the house settling, hoot of an owl outside, thud of a family member on a midnight snack run, was going to unsettle you. 

Because the woman showing up to kill you would mean that she had the power, but your frightened attentiveness proves her name holds a weight all its own.

In reality, names can hold just as much sway. They shape who we are. They influence our friends, our attitudes, our lives. They are by far the most important thing in your life over which you have no say. 

Unless of course, we’re talking about nicknames. 

Then again, most people don’t get any say over those either.

(Y/n) and Amy came to a quick and surprisingly easy understanding. 

Like her brother, Amy was a doctor. Though Amy had no ambition of going to space, she applied her trade to similarly impressive, groundbreaking fields. She was, as (Y/n) only learned after weeks of living with her, one of the country’s foremost leaders in cancer research, a job that had brought her to MD Anderson, and by extension Houston.  

While the hours weren’t quite as hectic as running shifts in a hospital, Amy still found herself in and out of the apartment at odd, though thankfully predetermined times. 

At the beginning of each week, Amy would walk into the kitchen and paste a magnetic calendar to the fridge detailing her schedule for the week and when she would be out of the apartment. 

(Y/n) used this as a template to work out when she could take over the living room. While she’d been staying there, (Y/n) had preferred working from the hotel room, and that continued when she’d moved in with Amy. There were too many eyes at NASA, curiously watching her every move. Every mouth went still when she walked in the room, and on more than one occasion, (Y/n) had walked down the hall to find coworkers pressing ears to the door of the office she’d commondiered, trying to listen in on her. 

The hotel had been easy and convenient to turn into one massive office, the apartment less so. 

(Y/n) was acutely aware of the favor Amy was doing for her and just how above and beyond she had gone for a woman she’d never met. (Y/n) had to help her brother, but she didn’t want to repay Amy’s support by trashing her place. 

(Y/n) “borrowed” a rolling whiteboard and several rolling supply carts from the Space Center. Knowing when Amy would be out, (Y/n) could spread her supplies all over the apartment and pack them away just in time for her roommates return. 

Amy would, quite regularly, walk in to find (Y/n) only just rolling the last cart back into her room. In which case, she would always ask, “Anything?”

And (Y/n), unable to bear answering out loud, would shake her head. 

It was on one particularly rare occasion that Amy came home early and found (Y/n) sitting on the floor surrounded by maps of what appeared to be Mars surface. 

Amy was by no means a ninja, but most people would’ve thought she was because her entrance to the room didn’t seem to wake (Y/n) from her papers at all. She could’ve let her keep working. Amy actually considered slipping past and saying nothing. (Y/n)’s concerted efforts to clean up before Amy got home were largely unnecessary. Amy didn’t really mind the mess. What she minded a great deal was (Y/n) seemingly working herself to death, and that glazed look to her eye was what changed Amy’s mind. 

Amy let her bag hit the floor at the corner of one of the maps with a loud thud. 

(Y/n)’s head jerked up. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t know it was so late. I’ll clean up.”

“No, I’m early.” Amy waves away the suggestion and joined (Y/n) cross legged on the floor. “Any progress?” 

(Y/n) wordlessly shook her head and diverted her eyes back to the map she was clutching in her hands. “He’s still on the move, has been every day.” 

“Maybe it’s just an extended test run?” Amy suggested. “You said it would take a significant amount of planning to get to Ares IV.” 

(Y/n) unclenched her fists folding the map in front of her and laid it out on the floor between her and her friend. “Some people at NASA think that,” (Y/n) nodded, “but I don’t.” (Y/n) traced a circle around the Ares III site, “Before he embarked, Mark drove this loop on a charging cycle, always staying within walking distance of the HAB.”

Amy followed (Y/n)’s finger carefully, “So he was making sure his vehicle functioned properly?”

(Y/n) snapped and pointed a finger to Amy, “Exactly! But why? That’s the question we’re all arguing over. Some people at NASA think the loop was just a quick check to see if his adjustments worked, and that this drive is meant to be a long-haul test for Ares IV.” 

“And you?” Amy prompted.

(Y/n) ran a shaking hand through her hair with a heavy sigh. “My brother’s too intelligent for that. I mean, I could buy that he would do a longhaul test to get estimates of the rover’s power supply and capabilities, but he was so cautious the first time to stay at a distance where he could save himself. He wouldn’t just abandon that. If this were Ares IV prep, he’d have stayed in close to the HAB. I think the laps around the HAB were prep for this.” 

“Maybe,” Amy pondered for a moment. It’s not that she thought she could come up with anything new; she wasn’t the rocket scientist after all. Amy imagined (Y/n) had thought of everything by now. She really just hoped that she could be an ear for (Y/n)’s ideas. “Maybe, he wanted to try it over different terrain? You said the Ares III site is flat, right?” 

“Then why wouldn’t he go this way?” (Y/n) lined a rough path towards Ares IV. “Wouldn’t you naturally head in the direction of your end goal? Any little bit of practice helps; he wouldn’t waste it heading the opposite direction.”

Then a thought occurred to Amy. “You say you’ve all been arguing over the why he’s doing this right?” 

“Yeah,” (Y/n) tossed the map back into the piles scattered around the floor.

“Well maybe that’s the wrong question.” Amy snatched up the map (Y/n) had just abandoned and held it up for her. “If he was going the other direction, you wouldn’t be questioning it. You would assume it was a test run because that’s the direction of Ares IV.”

“Right.” (Y/n) didn’t really see where this was going.

Amy snatched up a sharpie off the mess on the ground and drew a generically straight line towards Ares IV, not at all the path Mark would have to take but it made a point. “You would never ask ‘the why’ if he’d gone this direction because you know ‘the what’. So start asking yourself ‘what’ is he going to that’s more important than Ares IV.”

There was a moment of silence. (Y/n) stared at the aerial photo of Mars Amy was clutching in her hands. Her expression was, for that long pause, entirely unmoving. Her chest didn’t rise or fall. She didn’t blink. To Amy, it was like someone hit the pause button on her roommate.

And then, all at once, they were in fast forward. 

(Y/n) threw herself across the floor, grabbed Amy’s bag and shoved it into her hands. “Drive.” 

“Where are we going?” Amy asked.

(Y/n) was in a flurry, snatching a folder off the couch, grabbing a map from her cart that was almost as tall as she was, and ripping the Sharpie from Amy’s hand. 

“NASA.” 

(Y/n) raced out of the apartment at top speed, and Amy didn’t ask question, only followed hot on her heels. 

(Y/n) didn’t even notice. Her eyes and ears were tearing through her pockets till the moment she sat down in the car. 

“My phone, damnit!” She finally pulled it out of her back pocket as Amy cranked the car.

“Henderson!” Amy was sure whoever (Y/n) called must’ve been on speed dial because no human could type as fast as she got that man on the phone. “Meet me in Meeting Room 13A with Kapoor, Sanders, and Montrose.” The usual pause of one-sided conversations followed. “Yes, it’s important! I’m on my way in now. Tell the gate I’m coming.”

As Henderson went to hang up, (Y/n) shouted down the phone, “And get JPL on the line!” 

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“Please state your name and purpose for your…”

“She’s with me.” (Y/n) cut off the guard, shoving her pass across the driver’s seat into his hand.

Amy sat as far back as her seat allowed and stared straight ahead with bug-eyed horror. 

“Miss Watney,” The security officer ducked down to check that it was, in fact, her. “Apologies.” He handed back the pass and waved their car through.

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“So you’re going to be, like, famous.” 

(Y/n) snorted, immediately followed by a pained groan as she felt her beer going up instead of down her throat. “Yeah, I guess,” she wheezed. “But not in the celebrity way.”

“No,” Mark rolled his eyes, “in the ‘my-face-will-be-on-the-cover-of-history-textbooks’ sort of way. Poor you,” he mocked sympathy.

(Y/n) stole a cheese covered fry from Mark’s plate and made a show of dropping it into her mouth. “Yep,” she smacked down with a smug grin.

“Do you get to pick your nickname?” Mark asked. He grabbed his next cheese-coated fry and inelegantly slurped the sticky yellow off his fingers as he talked. “Cause you don’t want it to be something weird. It’s going to be under your headshot for millennia.” 

(Y/n) hadn’t really thought about her nickname. She hadn’t thought about millennia either. She’d been far too present in the here and now to think to think past the news she’d received that morning. She hadn’t made it to customizing her spacesuit yet, and she definitely hadn’t confronted the fact that soon, very soon, every human alive, potentially every human for the rest of forever, would learn her name.

She was a bit busy confronting the contract NASA’s in-house attorney had just made her sign. A boring suit in a back office at Johnson Space Center had just confirmed for her, ‘Congratulations, Miss Watney. You’ve been named Commander of Ares I. It seems you will be the first person to set foot on Mars.’ The finer details like eternal glory and monogrammed jackets hadn’t really crossed her mind yet. 

“Why don’t you pick one for me?” (Y/n) stole another cheese fry. She felt like she’d earned it. 

Mark thought about it for a second. “Well you could just go with Princess. It’s worked for you this long.”

(Y/n) glowered.

“Fine, fine,” Mark dismissed. “You could play up the space theme, go with something like Nova or Andromeda.” Mark immediately shook his head, thinking better of it. “Nova’s overused, and people might mistake it for your real name. Then you wouldn’t be the famous one. Plus, Andromeda’s a mouthful. Gotta have something those little first graders can spell out on their pop quizzes.”

(Y/n) shook her head and laughed under her breath. Mark pretended not to notice, and (Y/n) didn’t press the issue. She’d let him have his fun.

“You could play up being first!” Mark faked excitement. “What about Gold or Alpha, maybe Uno!” He clapped his hands like a child on Christmas.

(Y/n) arched an eyebrow and waggled a fry, soggy with cheese, in his face. “Don’t think I won’t throw this at you.”

“War?” He pushed with a smirk. “Ya know, because Ares is.” 

The fry flew out of her hand and smacked Mark across the cheek.

“Hey! I wasn’t done! I’m full of great ideas!”

(Y/n) snickered all the way to the bathroom to wash her hands, her brother shouting nicknames after her as she went.

“Big Red?” He called out. “What about Pathfinder, first rover, first human?” 

In the end, her team had named her Skywalker. She wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or not.

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(Y/n) stormed into the room already unrolling the map under her arm as she went.

Amy followed sheepishly behind. It wasn’t that she felt out of place. She’d spent her life dealing with high pressure situations. That sort of setting wouldn’t phase her, and neither would the company. She wouldn’t have made a very good doctor if an important director or important decisions made her clam up.

It was more the banging down doors and disturbing what was an otherwise serious atmosphere that wasn’t Amy’s forte. 

“This is Dr. Beck.” (Y/n) didn’t turn around. Already her attention was stolen away by magnetting her massive map to the massive whiteboard taking up the back wall. “No, not the one who’s up in space, his sister. Who as it happens, has just figured out what my brother is doing.”

“She has?” 

“I have?”

The questions came up from Teddy and Amy.

Amy knew it was Teddy because she’d met Mitch Henderson on several occasions, and Vincent Kapoor once. Annie Montrose did the usual NASA press conferences, including the one where Amy’s brother was announced as a member of Ares III; Amy kept a recording of it saved to her computer. She didn’t understand his interest, but she was proud of him nonetheless. 

Teddy’s face had only graced Amy’s memory once. Watching the announcement that Mark Watney was alive. 

“She has.” (Y/n) turned. “You have,” She smiled at Amy. 

(Y/n) produced her stolen sharpie from her pocket and turned back to her map. The cap had ruptured from the ill-treatment (Y/n) had given it on the drive over, and dark blue ink was slowly leaking out over (Y/n)’s fingers, not that she noticed. 

Standing on her toes, she drew a circle around the top corner of the map. From their usually brief conversations and the simple process of osmosis, Amy knew it was Ares IV’s campsite.

(Y/n) extended the line down a few inches across the paper then paused to draw an arrow. 

Amy was smart enough to guess that was where Mark was now. 

Then she continued the line down to the bottom corner of the paper and drew a massive X.

Turning back around, (Y/n) stabbed the tip of her marker into the crosshairs. “He’s going for Pathfinder.”

Crackling over a speaker in the center of the table announced another member of their gathering. “Oh God.”

“Bruce,” (Y/n) braced herself against the wood. “Can you get it working on our end?”

“Yeah, but there’s no telling what state it’ll be in when Mark gets there.”

“He’ll fix it.” (Y/n) said.

“It’ll take a lot of work. Pathfinder’s been abandoned up there for decades without any kind of maintenance.” Bruce contradicted.

(Y/n) leaned over the intercom and said with unwavering certainty. “He’ll fix it.”

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Taglist:

Forever Taglist:

@maybe-a-fangurl / @libbymouse / @geeksareunique / @deathbyarabbit​ / @spilltheearlgrey / @ryanbarnesrogers /

Series Taglist:

@multifandombabelover​ / @cutiepiemimi13​ / @captainscanadian​ / @harishaanne​ / @andtheytoldustotellyouhello / @diabla-seis66 / @thebestofoneshots​ / @harishaanne​ / @bitch-imma-head-out​ / @hero-ically​

[mackenzieparker]

ok lets do this one more time, yeah? for real this time. this is it. my name is nika (she/hers, est). i like to write and hang out cool communities like this and for the last first time, i have brought a brand new muse to y’all. below you’ll find all the details on a ms. mackenzie “mack” rae parker, plucky country gal and badass babe. please love me and her and smash that like button or send me a dm (discord ichoosenikachu#4859 )  to plot.

( tw: drunk driver, death, sexism )

B A C K S T O R Y →

meet mackenzie rae parker, born august 17, 1989 in grove, oklahoma. mack (as she’s gone by since she was a kid and it won’t be changing anytime soon) was born to two loving parents Steven and Margaret Parker, the youngest daughter of three boys: morgan, matthew, and merritt. yes, her parents did have a thing for m names--and no, it didn’t help her momma remember her name any better, like they told their kids growing up. 

Maggie and Steve loved their daughter--their whole family, really--to bits and pieces. It had been Maggie’s dream to have a little girl when the couple first got together and when they had first received the ultrasound, well, they were overjoyed. When Mackenzie came into the world, there was cause for joyous celebration and laughter. Everyone was happy the Parker’s finally had a little pink bundle of joy. 

Little Mackenzie’s personality was--well, let’s just say she had never been one to shy away from an exciting situation. Her brothers’ had taught her early on that life wouldn’t always be easy so she had to be tough enough to take it head on. In fact, they made it a point to remind her whenever they had a chance. Buts she was also their little sister, and fiercely protective of her. And while it annoyed Mack to no end, she adored her brothers endlessly. 

Mack may not have been the strongest Parker in the household, but next to her Momma she was the wittiest. Her comebacks were always sharp and as she grew up, she honed her sarcastic, dry wit in addition to her own athletic talent.

Mack loved her Momma. In fact, if she had to pick favorites her Momma would have won every time. It wasn’t that she didn’t like her father. Her father was a good man--he was a local mechanic at Grove Automotive, always greeted everyone with a smile and cared deeply for his family. But Mack and him were never as close as she was with her momma. Maggie understood her daughter’s firey nature but compassionate heart and saw the way it warred within her--especially after she’d gotten into a fight with one of her brothers. 

( tw: drunk driving & death ) When Mack was twelve, though--tragedy struck. Maggie was on her back from work after parent teacher conferences; she was the local kindergarten teacher at Grove Elementary, when a drunk drive t-boned her car and Maggie was killed on impact. thankfully (if one can say that in this situation) no one else was in the car. but suddenly the Parker family had lost its matriarch and Mack, the one person who might have been able to understand her. 

She had always grown up as a tomboy--a fact that even her momma, a woman who had been raised in South Carolina to rather traditional parents couldn’t stamp out of her. But even so, after Maggie Parker passed on, Mack became even more of one, almost shunning all that was feminine away from her, as if any reminder of her mother would be the end of her as she knew it. And, for her, it might have been. It was no secret she had been the closest to Maggie--and her death hit her the hardest. Mack got rid of all her dresses, all her skirts, anything that reminded her of her mother--save for the small box of photos and momentos she kept heavily hidden under her bed. On her worst days, she’d pull the box out and talk to the photo of her Momma--it was the only time the blonde ever outwardly expressed emotions, specifically crying. 

To distract herself from the grief, Mack threw herself into everything she could in high school--archery, debate, robotics club, anything to keep her mind off of the encroaching cloud that now lived around her heart. It was in Robotics club, though, she learned she had a real knack for using her hands. She had learned early on about cars and the like--her father’s occupation and brothers’ fascination with the thing gave her unparalleled access to a number of cars being torn apart and rebuilt from the ground up. But Mack--Mack was always more excited about what flew above their heads than right next to them. A junior in high school, she had made the choice that she wanted to be an engineer--one who would eventually design an entire new fleet of Boeing Jets for commercial use. She had only ever flown on a jet once--to see her grandparents after her momma’s passing--but it had been the only thing to give her relief from her sadness that day. It’s where her love affair with aviation began. 

Mack graduated top of her class (nerd, her brothers would always joke) and soon found herself enrolled in the University of Oklahoma’s prized engineering program (boomer sooner!). Of course, she wanted to stay close to home--one, to keep the costs down but two, leaving her family felt wrong, even six years later. And for the most part, Mack loved it. She got involved in all sorts of things--engineering clubs, intramural sports, and even, yes, a sorority. It went against all the things she hated in relation to femininity, but her mother had spoken so highly of her experiences in the organization, and Mack felt a pull to join her. To her surprise, she didn’t hate it--and it was with those women she really started to learn about feminism. 

You see, when Mack would go home, all the women in town would ask her about if she was seeing a boy. Mack had never understood why it mattered so much if she had a boyfriend or not--she was getting her degree in mechanical engineering, wasn’t that a tad bit more impressive than whatever guy she might be seeing? But soon, it occurred to her that the women in town would never understand anything other than her finding her future husband at school. The fact shocked her, considering it had never occurred to her in the slightest that she’d ever go to school to get a husband in the first place. After the shock worn down, it enraged her and made her work harder. Because now, she was getting disparaging comments from the folks back home and the men in her internships and co-ops. Women can’t build things--they’ll break a nail. Why are you in pants? Your legs would look better in a skirt. Mack had never been one to bit her tongue, and on more than one occasion was able to test out what her brothers’ had taught her growing up. No one was going to tell Mack what she could or could not do. And certainly not because of her gender. 

Mack eventually graduated college--though deeply in debt thanks to all those added fees for science labs #thanksUofOklahoma--but realized that going back home would never be realistic for her. So, she packed up her truck, Betsy, and headed west. Originally, she had meant to go to Seattle or Portland--that’s where Boeing was, that’s where her dream landed. But something about Charming, CA caught her eye--and she found herself intrigued. Plus, it sure didn’t hurt that no one seemed to care when she applied to work as a mechanic in their autoshop. Now she’s been here about 8 years and she hasn’t grown sick of it yet. She still has dreams of working for Boeing, but as she grows more comfortable in Charming, they seem to be slipping to the wayside. 

Mack’s vibe is...well, she’s a loyal friend, a good listener and kind, though not sunshine and rainbows. Growing up without her mom really changed her--she still had a compassionate heart but it’s not as obvious as it once was. She’s still sassy, sarcastic and witty, but she is friendly as well. Smart too--and a bit of a nerd, loves herself some comics and documentaries. all around, she’s genuinely a good egg, just a little...rough around the edges at times. 

H E A D C A N O N S →

Mack never, ever goes by Mackenzie. In fact, you’ll never know its her full name unless she drops her ID. The only person you’ll ever hear call her that is her father--or brothers--when something is wrong. 

Her favorite food is chicken cordon bleu. She knows it sounds fancy but literally, her favorite is the one where you buy it frozen and pop it in the oven. She is a simple gal, truly. 

Her favorite shoes are her various pairs of converse, although for work she can be seen wearing docs so she doesn’t get oil all over her shoes. 

Betsy, her truck, is very special to her--she takes extra good care of it. She’s a 1967 Chevy C10 Pickup in a robin’s egg blue color--and her pride and joy.

Even though she loves her truck no matter what, the woman has worked on enough bikes for the various motorcycle clubs around town to know that if she had even gotten enough money--she’d get herself a nice bike. Flying down the road on open asphalt? Doesn’t get better than that. 

Mack loves classic rock. Like love loves it--but also the women of the 90′s like Alanis Morisette, Liz Phair, The Cranberries--she loves a good women rock group. 

P L O T S →

friends

exes

situationships/flirtationships

fwb

slowburn

coworkers

any connections to the motorcycle gang

literally i suck at listing plots out, just hit me up and i’ll be EXCITED TO PLOT!

[theendofthematerialgworl]

Demon Actors and Unsolved Mysteries (Part 1)

Title: Demon Actors and Unsolved Mysteries (Part 1)

Summary: You, a demon duke of hell, were to be joining Ryan Bergara and Shane Madej on their episode about Annabelle the doll, as a promotion for your movie. What you hadn’t expected was to meet another demon.

Warnings: Some swearing, mentions of toxic mothers and cults

Word Count: 3,424

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When you had gotten to the Buzzfeed building that Shane Madej and Ryan Bergara worked at shot Buzzfeed Unsolved at, you hadn’t expected to feel the pure demonic energy emanating from the building. 

“Do you think it’s haunted?” You asked your driver, who had long since figured out that you were, in fact, a demon. To be fair, she had also been there when you had become a demon, after essentially taking a demon property on a dare and becoming a Duke of Hell. “Could be, but I think Ryan would say that he wasn’t going to work there if it was.” “Fair enough…Maybe Shane’s fans were right and he really is a demon.” “I wouldn’t be surprised.” Your driver sent you a teasing look, and you rolled your eyes. “Oh, hush.” You walked into the building, checked in, and made your way to the shooting location. You met Ryan first. “Hi.” You said, smiling as you shook his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.” “It’s nice to meet you, too.” Ryan described the episode to you, and how you would be shooting where you were at now, then would meet at the on-site location to use the spirit box and whatnot. Just then, Shane appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. “Hi!” You greeted him, turning around to greet him. “It’s nice to meet-” You paused for a moment. One look at Shane Alexander Madej and you knew that he was, in fact, a demon. Just like you. “you.” You finished, holding out your hand for him to shake. “Likewise.” He said, shaking your hand. Your eyes met, and a moment of solidarity seemed to occur. You wouldn’t expose him, and he wouldn’t expose you. There was, quite simply, nothing to worry about, on your part or his. A few minutes later, filming began. “This week, on a special episode of Buzzfeed Unsolved Supernatural, we investigate Annabelle the doll as part of our ongoing investigation into the question: Are ghosts real?” Shane shook his head, and you made a so-so motion with your hands. “There is it, the head nod is back, everybody! He’s dusted it off, he had it-” “I audibly uttered ‘no’ this time.” “Anyways, we are going to be going to the real-life home of the Warrens, and we are going to be paying Annabelle a visit in real life. And, today, as you can see, we are joined by (Y/N) (Y/L/N), who stars in Annabelle Returns.” “Hello!” You greeted, smiling and waving. Oh, the irony. Thank Satan most of my duties are topside. “Before we start, what is your stance on ghosts and demons?” “I think that ghosts and demons exist-” Shane blew a raspberry, and you rolled your eyes. “but most of the hauntings are bullshit. Also, if I were to get proof, I would want it to be a demon or ghost flinging me like a rag doll so that I hit the ceiling and break all of my bones.” “Oh, okay.” Shane said. “So, you’re a shitfish.” “Dude!” Ryan said. “Ignore him, he’s an asshole.” Oh, it is on, Madej. “Yes. Though I must ask, for clarification, do you believe in demons? Not even ghosts, but just demons?” “No, I don’t.” “Interesting.” You said. “I mean, you know, I don’t necessarily believe this is a haunted doll-” “It’s a demon.” You and Ryan said in unison. “That’s fine,” Shane said flippantly. “It’s killed people.” Ryan told him. “Is that-wait, really? Like, with a knife?” “I hope not.” “No, not with a knife!” You said. “How is a doll supposed to do that? Just, like, take a knife from the kitchen and do the ol’ stabby stabby?” “You know, it’s in a case, right?” “Yeah, it’s in a case for people’s safety and protection.” “Are we allowed to like, tap on it?” “I’m sure, yeah, you could probably tap on it.” “Make little faces at it.” “Yeah, sure. What are you gonna do?” “Who knows what I’m gonna do in this place?” “I wouldn’t advise doing anything.” You said. “Yeah, well, you think demons are real-” “Of course, I think demons are real, why don’t you?” “Because it’s bullshit!” “Science can’t explain everything!” “Yes, it can, fuck you!” “You know what, Shane, you do what you wanna do.” “My goal, I wanna say, is for us to have a car crash-” “That seems dangerous-” “-on the way home.” “Jesus Christ!” Ryan said as your eyebrows went up so high they nearly passed your hairline. “I’m bucklin’, you better buckle up, ‘cause we’re done for.” “Oh, my God.” Ryan groaned. “Please don’t kill me, I have things to do in life.” You said. “We’re goin’ into a ravine, baby.” “Alright, let’s just, let’s get this over with, let’s get into it.” “Let’s, before Shane makes any more stupid comments.” “Hey!” “In 1952, Ed and Lorraine Warren established the New England Society for Psychic Research, or NESPR, to investigate reported hauntings. While Ed and Lorraine have since passed away, NESPR is led today by their son-in-law, Tony Spera. Over the decades, NESPR has looked into many paranormal events that would later become famous movies, including the Perron family haunting from The Conjuring, The Haunting In Connecticut, and perhaps most famously, The Horrors of Amityville. None of these events, however, have captured imaginations quite like Annabelle. “According to NESPR, Annabelle’s story begins in 1970, when a 28-year-old nursing student named Donna received a Raggedy Anne doll from her mother as a birthday present.” I-Hang on, what? nice mom For her 28-year-old daughter normal-normal mom gift Yes, Shane, such a normal mom gift. “Oh, you’re 28? How ‘bout a diaper?” (laughter) yeah, I haven’t really gotten any Ninja Turtle action figures from my parents, uh, since I was 10 Maybe it was a nostalgic thing-you know “you’re 28 now, here’s a doll. remember-remember when you used to like them?” What the fuck, Shane? I-I don’t think- I don’t know “She gets it she’s like ‘you know I pay rent, right?’” Ryan joked. “Cool, mom.” Shane said. “Yeah, I live on my own.” “Thanks, coulda used a blender.” Ryan laughed. “Maybe some socks.” “A) Only a fool would give you a blender, Shane.” You began. “And B) I think if my mother, that toxic bitch, had ever given me a Raggedy Anne doll, I would send her a video of me burning it, because those thing creep me the fuck out, so whatever the girl did is absolutely fair play.” “I am offended that you would ever think that.” Shane said. “What would I do with a blender that would be so unforgivable?” “Shane, I once saw a video of you drinking a sandwich.” “Wait, what-?” Ryan started. “We have a few mutual friends, yet have never met before now.” The rest of the story went on. “Donna would keep the doll on her bed in the apartment she shared with her roommate, Angie. Shortly after receiving the doll, Donna and Angie began to notice it in positions they hadn’t left it in. Sometimes, even finding it in a new room. On a few occasions, Donna has said to have left the doll on the couch only to later come home and find it on her bed behind the closed bedroom door.” hypothesis one: Angie is a little trickster. What about that? because-let me tell you something-if I got a roommate who has a doll at age 28, I might…not like them “I might say ‘Hey, maybe we get rid of the creepy doll?” “Counterpoint,” Ryan said, “if you have a roommate who is 28 years old and they’re into dolls, maybe you don’t mess with that doll.” “Maybe I do, counterpoint, counter counterpoint.” “No, I’m gonna counter, counter, counter your point.” At this point, this was worse than one of Hell’s obligatory meetings. “That person is probably weirdly attached to that doll, probably not the best call to touch it.” “No, but the best way to then get rid of that doll that they are very attached to, is to make it seem like it’s haunted. ‘Oh, we better throw this doll out, it’s got ghosts in it.’” “Okay, first of all, the correct term would be possessed, Shane, you should know this by now, and secondly, counter, counter, counter, counter, counterpoint: The roommate probably would have known that Donna got the doll from her mother as a gift and probably isn’t that attached to it, and you bring up that if it is possessed, the best thing to do is to soak it in holy water and then burn it.” “No, you do not do that!” Shane and Ryan protested. “I mean, everyone knows that I won’t go within seven feet of holy water, churches, the like. Too many bad memories, because, ya know, my mother the cult leader. So I would probably be the one doing the burning, and not the one touching the holy water.” Ryan opted to continue. “Their friend Lou had a bad feeling about the doll and told Donna to get rid of it.” Good! “Donna didn’t listen, not even after finding pieces of parchment paper, which they did not keep in their home, with messages such as ‘help us’ and ‘help Lou’ scribbled on them in a child’s handwriting.” Jesus Christ “One day, after noticing drops of what appeared to be blood on the doll’s chest and hands, Donna and Angie decided to contact a medium. The Medium conducted a seance, which revealed the spirit of a seven-year-old girl named Annabelle Higgins living in the doll. “Stories differ, but some say that her body was found in the field where Donna and Angie’s apartment was later constructed. The medium said Donna and Angie made Annabelle feel loved, and that the spirit wanted to stay. Donna felt bad for the girl, and gave permission for the spirit to live inside the doll.” “Would you still burn it now?” Shane asked you. You paused for a moment, considering. “It depends on whether or not the doll started to hurt people.” “Fair.” Ryan said. “Thank you!” You exclaimed. “What if I go there,” Shane said suddenly, “and I give Annabelle permission to live inside me?” “Awful idea!” “You’ve given spirits permission to rip your spine out!” “Also an awful idea!” “I’m gonna see if I can trap Annabelle in my soul.” “I don’t think that’s a place anybody wants to be.” “Certainly not a place I’d want to be.” You agreed. “I feel bad for Annabelle.” “That’s why I’m gonna trap her there.” Shane said. “Oh, boy.” You muttered. “This…This does not seem good.” “In a Shane Prison.” Ryan said. “In the Shane Prison.” Shane agreed. “In the Shane Prison.” You said, in a resigned tone of voice. The story continued. “Lou, however, was not as accepting of the spirit’s good intentions. One night, Lou awoke from a bad dream to a sensation of paralysis. He looked down at his legs, and saw Annabelle, who began to crawl up his body to his chest, where the doll started to strangle him. Lou eventually passed out. In the morning, he was convinced the encounter had not been a dream.” People have one sleep paralysis dream and they think it’s a demon, I swear. You thought. I do think it’s a little hard to kinda wrap my head around how plush hands could-like there’s no articulation in her- it’s a Raggedy Anne doll it’s like a little paw. So how did she (wheeze) I mean- she’s just giving him a hug really “If you squeeze like really hard, like take your arms like this-” “Where, how is it squeezing?” You mimicked Ryan’s motions, grinning at Shane. “If she figured out how to make her hands harder, it could work.” You said. “Just do it, Shane.” “Yeah, take your hands and then squeeze your neck.” “I’m not gonna do that.” “Do it!” You and Ryan insisted in unison. “No!” “Do it-I’ll do it.” “No!” “Yes!” You exclaimed. “Just do it for the science of it.” That seemed to get Shane to do it. He stuck his hands near his neck vaguely, looking as though he’d rather be anywhere else. “Now imagine you have little plush hands. Now take them and just kind of squeeze.” “Like this.” You demonstrated, sticking your fingers together and grinning as you squeezed your neck lightly. “Yeah, it kinda hurts a little bit.” Ryan said. “If she did it for long enough then she could probably strangle him for real.” You agreed. “No.” Shane said. “I mean, it’s a doll full of fluff.” Shane put his hands down, as did you and Ryan. “Hey, I love you.” He said in a weird voice.8 You and Ryan were cracking up. “Okay, I just-” Shane interrupted him with a scream. “What is this show?” You exclaimed. “Hell.” Ryan joked. “I mean, I disagree, but okay-” Back to the actual story. “The day after Annabelle allegedly tried to strangle Lou, he and Angie were preparing for a road trip  when they heard a loud wrestling noise in Donna’s room. When he went to investigate, Lou found no evidence of anyone being in the room, thought Annabelle appeared to have been tossed on the floor. “As he approached the doll, Lou suddenly doubled over in pain, clutching his chest through his now blood-soaked shirt. He opened his shirt to reveal claw scratches in the Mark of the Beast. It’s said Lou’s chest healed almost immediately and that all signed of the claw marks had disappeared within two days.” it’s death by doll! if-if we’re going your original- “oh, oh, it was crazy. you shoulda seen-I mean it’s… it’s gone now, but it was nuts!” well they said that the blood came through the shirt in the moment how does that even happen? “But I don’t understand why the demon would heal it quickly too, like Doctor Queen Medicine Woman. Like why is the demon just doubling back right away and being like ‘yes, I’m making you bleed, now I’ll put a little triple antibiotic on it.’” “Neosporin’s quick.” Ryan said. “Not that quick.” “Fast acting.” You waved a finger in the air, pointing it an Ryan. “No, that’s not-” “When I fell into that pile of bricks of when I was younger, put some Neosporin on the back of my head, didn’t even need stitches.” “That sounds awful, number one.” You said. “Number two…What the fuck?” “You didn’t get that checked out?” Shane asked. “No, it healed naturally.” “Okay…” You muttered to yourself. “Okay.” Shane said. “Again, things falling into place here.” “No kidding.” “The thing is, it’s a doll that’s walking around by itself. It’s possessed by something, I think the laws of physics maybe go out the window when you’re talking about the doll.” “I mean, when I started acting, I decided that the laws of physics are bullshit and nothing matters, so I am totally on board.” “That’s convenient.” Shane said. The story went on. “At this point, Donna decided enough was enough and contacted a priest. Another higher ranking priest then contacted Ed and Lorraine Warren. The Warren’s determined the doll was not actually possessed, as according to NESPR, inanimate objects cannot actually be possessed. Instead, Annabelle was being manipulated by an inhuman demonic spirit, which was using the doll to search for a human host. “According to the Warrens, the demon was only a few weeks from completing its infestation, which could have resulted in the death of Donna, Angie, and/or Lou. Though they didn’t believe the doll was possessed by a girl named Annabelle, the doll continues to be referred to by that original name. The Warrens asked a priest to perform an exorcist blessing on Donna and Angie’s home and Donna asked the Warrens to removes Annabelle from the apartment. Annabelle, however, would not go without a fight. “While driving the doll back to their house, the Warrens claimed the car would swerve on its onward that the brakes would fail. After several near misses, Ed crossed the doll with a vial of holy water, which allowed them to finish their trip. Back at the Warrens’ home, the doll resumed it’s haunting, moving throughout the house on its own and even levitating out of a chair next to Ed’s desk. “While visiting the Warrens, Father Jason Bradford, a Catholic exorcist, reportedly picked up Annabelle from the chair it was sitting in and said, quote, ‘you’re just a rag doll Annabelle, you can’t hurt anyone.’ End quote. Then threw it back down into the chair. Lorraine instructed Father Jason to be extra cautious while driving and to call them when he got home. Three hours later, the Warrens got a call from Father Jason, saying his breaks went out as he entered an intersection and that his car had been totaled.” what were his exact words there? oh, no oh god. You’re not going to, are you?  Shane- what were his exact words? apparently he said, “you’re just a rag doll Annabelle-you can’t hurt anyone “Okay, good to know. We’ll commit that to memory.” “I hope you don’t.” Ryan said. “I hope you do, but you’re not getting in the car with Ryan and I, I’m not risking that.” “She’s just a rag doll, guys.” “I’m gonna call you a lift on the way home.” “Absolutely do so.” “She can’t hurt anyone.” “You’re gonna be in a separate car from me, I think.” Shane looked over at you. “Don’t look at me, you’re not going in my car if you say that. No way in hell, Shane.” “It would be crazy if I died. I mean, I know I say that a lot, but it would be cool to go out from one of the big guns.” You and Ryan opted to instead ignore Shane and continue. “This was the not the only car accident allegedly caused by the doll. One visitor to the Warrens collection reportedly banged on the case that houses Annabelle and taunted it, begging the doll to prove it was haunted by scratching him.” You turned to look at Shane. “Are we sure that wasn’t you?” “No, it was not.” He said. “Oh, okay, then. Sure.” Ryan sighed. “After Ed asked the man to leave, the man got on his motorcycle with his girlfriend and rode off. According to Lorraine, the girlfriend later told the Warrens she and the man were laughing about the doll when the man suddenly lost control of the motorcycle, crashing into a tree and killing him.” (muffled) what? yes? (wheeze) I like-I just like the description that they were laughing (wheeze) about the doll what are you doing right now? you’re laughing about the doll no, but I love the idea of them being like Shane laughed, then screamed, miming the motorcycle driver. You and Ryan laughed. “What’s the most disrespectful thing I can do to her?” Shane asked. “I’m not gonna help you workshop our death.” Ryan told him. “Yeah, Shane-” “Didn’t you say that the way you wanted proof was for something to slam you into the ceiling?” “Well, I mean, yeah, but I don’t want to die! Sure, I’d love to be slammed into the ceiling, or have a bone broken, but I don’t want the demons to eat my heart or something!” “Wait.” Shane said suddenly. “What I creep her out and then she’s afraid of me? And then she gets in a car accident.” You laughed. “Yeah, ‘cause she drives home. She’s gonna get back into her Prius.” “She’s like, I don’t like this place anymore, get in her little Malibu Barbie car.” “Yeah, her little doll car.” You snickered. “It’s all pink and it’s got, like horns for the little thing on top, the little decoration. Gets in ‘see ya, motherfuckers! I’m out!’” Shane fake screamed. “Look, I know if she does something crazy, that’s probably the series finale.” “Sure.” Shane said. “It doesn’t have to be, but okay.” “But boy do I want this one to be real just so I can see you get your ass kicked by a Raggedy Anne doll.” “Wouldn’t that be beautiful.” “Yeah, same, me too. But it’s not gonna happen.” “And I promise you that I will not help you, I will laugh.” “I’ll help you.” You told Shane. 
“Aw, thank you.” “…Maybe. Maybe I’ll help you.” “Great.” “Actually, I’ll probably run away.” Ryan said. “Yeah, agreed.” “Yeah, it’ll be very funny.” “I disagree with that, but alright, Shane. You do you, my dude.”

[hellyeahomeland]

“The English Teacher” | Directed by Michael Cuesta, Cinematography by Giorgio Scali

Sara: Not really related to this image specifically, but this week’s episode was directed by Michael Cuesta, whom you may remember as the directing executive producer for the show’s first two seasons. He directed some of the best episodes of the show: the pilot, “The Weekend,” “Marine One,” “The Choice.” I was really, really happy to see that they brought him back for the penultimate episode. That feels fitting and so, so right. 

Related to this image specifically, opening on an image of Carrie literally split in half in the frame feels symbolic. She’s being pulled in two competing directions, her loyalty to Saul fighting with her desire to prevent a nuclear war. 

Gail: When the episode first started I wondered if she had escaped custody and was standing and waiting to have a passport photo taken like Brody in “The Choice” (again, a Michael Cuesta episode). (My tin foil hat has been all over the place lately!) But then it occurred to me that it’s actually the mirror of the opening shot of Carrie in the first episode this season. The close-ups of Carrie in both scenes have a lot in common, especially that we can only see half of her face. In episode one, the other half of the frame was black and here, the other half is white. I think Sara was right when she pointed out in last week’s Director’s Chair about the transition images at the end of “Designated Driver.” Carrie’s life has always been somewhere in between the black and white. 

Ashley: The way this carefully pans down across her face, only to find that she is actually cuffed to the chair, is pretty well-done. We’ve seen her in cuffs too many times this season, and trapped in other ways more often than that.

Sara: This image of Carrie watching the suicide bomb footage on TV really calls to mind the visuals in the opening credits of a young Carrie watching war and terror play out on a television screen.

Ashley: How many times has Carrie seen something awful and life-altering on television? She was in this position in season five when she saw Quinn in the gas chamber. Shocking and devastating and just kinda the life of Carrie Mathison, tbh.

Gail: I agree with both of you, this is a great callback to Carrie in the credits and Carrie in “New Normal.” Carrie’s unconventional methods often come at a high price and this scene is another reminder of that. (And how amazing is Chris Bauer, who plays Carrie’s lawyer?! Sara, he’s even giving you some sweet ‘stache!)

Sara: Love the mustache. 

Sara: Tag yourself I’m Wellington. 

Ashley: We are all Wellington.

Gail: Pretty sure I’ve been Saul all week trying to get my kids to do their e-learning. I’m tagging my son as Zabel and my daughter as Hayes. My husband is full-on Wellington, knowing I’m right but refusing to get involved.

Ashley: The sharp difference between Zabel’s terrible beard and Saul’s luscious beard is one of the best things this show has offered us.

Gail: I love that Saul’s body language tells a story too. He can hardly bring himself to look at Zabel, let alone face him.

Sara: John Zabel is a real fuckin’ slime ball and Hugh Dancy has been so, so good in this role. You can tell he must relish getting to play this evil character, going up against these actors and actors that he’s known so intimately, though entirely offscreen, the last ten years. 

Sara: I love this detail of Saul moving one of his books back just a millimeter or so. It really emphasizes how meticulous he is and also begs the question if he’s going to realize Carrie had them all splayed out on his living room floor. Does he keep them in a specific order? 

Ashley: I WAS WONDERING THE SAME THING. And I’m surprised he has so many of them — he was looking at one volume specifically, so I initially was wondering if his commie shelf was just to hide that particular book.

Gail: No small detail seems to escape Saul’s attention. Such a small movement, but it says so much about who Saul is. And yes, Ashley, some of those books were just decoys! Carrie figured that out as she was sorting the books, which is also a great detail about who Saul is. Saul’s red book collection of asset communication is also his hobby. As Carrie says, the best lies have to have truth in them.

Sara: Ben Savage as young Mandy Patinkin is some of the most inspired casting ever. I know he’s already played a young Mandy Patinkin, but I am still in awe. The flat bill cap was an excellent detail. #hat

Gail: I love how he is wearing a trademark Saul plaid shirt, too!

Gail: Another shot of a character with only half of their face shown. This time it’s a young Saul who already has his fair share of secrets.

Ashley: Spoiler alert, she doesn’t shoot him.

Sara: IJLTP.

Gail: We don’t get this close-up shot in this scene until Saul drops his facade and asks her if she’s reading between the lines... He wants to pull a fast one on the useful idiots in the Oval Office and wants her help to do it (ugh, Tasneem agrees!). From a distance, we see Saul in his office somewhere in the West Wing, playing the part of National Security Advisor, but as the camera moves in for this close-up, we see Saul as who he really is: the smart and strategic spy.

Sara: There were quite a few extreme close-ups of Saul this week. What does it mean in an episode where we learn more about his heroic past than potentially at any other time this series? For me this really put into perspective how much we don’t know about Saul. Carrie alludes to snippets he’s revealed over the years, but even she--presumably his closest confidante--doesn’t know. Saul is the opposite of an open book, pun intended. 

Ashley: Let’s crack his spine open and see if there’s a note.

Sara: This slow push on Carrie as the judge reads the list of charges against her is devastating, and not just for Carrie. It is for the audience too, because we know the truth. It goes without saying that Claire is magnificent here.

Ashley: Listening to all of the things Carrie Mathison is being charged with — specifically because we know the character, we have known her for a long time — is painful. For Claire, who has lived in Carrie’s skin for so long, it must have been torture. 

Gail: Carrie’s lawyer is dressed in red, white and blue while Carrie is dressed for a funeral. I’m sure neither is a coincidence.

Sara: I do not like the context of this shot, but I love the shot itself. IDNLTCOTSBILTSI.

Sara: Linus being the only one in a room full of military brass and West Wing staff who understands that something’s fishy here is a very “of course” moment. I love how they’re framed in shadows here. In a way, he and Saul have both been running a “shadow” government all season, working in the background, out of sight.

Gail: Saul has his own circle of trust now and Wellington’s circle is only bumping up against it, no Venn diagrams here. Saul is playing his cards close to the vest, knowing he is on borrowed time. (See what I did there?)

Sara: I loved the payoff of the Carrie/Jenna relationship this week. Jenna coming to the realization that Quinn did before--nothing is worth the damage they cause--plays like a terrible déjà vu moment. Carrie just sits there, silent, as Jenna walks out. As staff writer Jonathan Redding said, “She was never going to become another Carrie. She can’t make Carrie’s trades.”

Gail: I think Carrie sits silently as Jenna walks out because she can’t argue with her. Carrie herself came to the same realization back in season four. Interestingly, as Jenna has her realization that nothing is worth the damage they do, Carrie is sitting at a dining room table, just like Quinn was when he had his realization in “Gerontion.” Except this time Carrie is the one who everyone thinks is guilty of a crime she didn’t commit. So. Many. Parallels. 

Ashley: Putting Carrie at the dining room table is interesting — she’s surrounded by empty chairs. You can’t help but think of all the people she’s lost, and yet another person is walking away. She’s completely alone.

Sara: ICONIC MOMENT IN TELEVISION HISTORY. 

Gail: Did Carrie swipe a pair of Saul’s glasses from his house? They look similar to asset Anna’s glasses as well. Not sure if that means anything, but it’s interesting.

Sara: Gail, you can read my tin foil hat theory on that in this week’s TCWTW. 

Sara: I love love love this transition that reveals the teacher in the photo is the Russian translator. It’s inspired. 

Gail: Me too! I also love that she is in focus while everyone else is not, which adds importance to her character as well. The first shot of her mirrors the photo of The English Teacher. We don’t see her full face until she talks to Saul directly in this scene, a small detail that reveals who her character is important to.

Ashley: Her shoulders are squared, head cocked, listening — the contrast from the girl she was in the photo is evident even from behind.

Gail: Usually when a character is having an important moment, you see their face and reaction on camera, not the back of their head. Breaking that rule with Anna over and over again throughout the course of this scene is extremely effective. She’s a faceless, non-threatening fly on the wall and surely not the high-ranking Kremlin (and presumably male) official they are worried about.

Sara: The framing of these characters in this shot is amazing. Anna stands in the camera’s focus, head tilted ever so slightly. The other men don’t even notice. You can see how she’s been such an effective asset. Hidden in plain sight.

Sara: Kusnetsov’s book is Our Mutual Friend by Charles Dickens. This is the last novel Dickens ever wrote, which is fitting here. 

Gail: According to Wikipedia, the book explores the conflict between doing what society expects and the idea of being true to oneself. When you set that concept against Andrei’s role as a double agent, the theme takes on new meaning.

Ashley: Nerds.

Gail: Saul doesn’t yet know how important Anna is, but Michael Cuesta and Giorgio Scali are giving the audience a subtle clue here. By shooting Anna from a low angle it alludes that her character is powerful and has influence, something Saul will come to realize shortly.

Sara: We all agree that it was 100% intentional to cast an actress to play young Anna that looks just enough like Claire Danes to make you think, right? I don’t mean that Carrie is the lovechild of Saul and Anna (the timelines don’t match!). More that Saul has a type, no?

Sara: ...And in case we had any doubt that they’re drawing a parallel between Anna and Carrie, we have this transition. This episode is filled with loaded transitions.

Gail: Carrie in the center of the frame, caught in between the dark and light, is an ongoing theme this episode. We see it here again as she makes her way toward Saul’s library.

Sara: There are multiple pans over Saul’s giant collection of red books, most of the titles unreadable and blurred. But where do we land at the end? The camera holds on this book, A Woman’s Vengeance by James Payn. There is almost no info about this book on the internet, which leads me to believe it’s fake. Yet it’s in the public domain. Did they just like the title? 

Gail: I read a little about it online. It was published originally in 1872, volume 2 of 3. I read an excerpt of it on Amazon, and the first chapter is titled “A Good Night’s Work.” Having this close-up shot of these books that follow our introduction to young Anna, Saul’s asset who is clearly a woman scorned, makes this book title (and the title to its first chapter) feel very fitting.

Sara: If the Wikipedia entry about The Secret Agent is any indication, this book is a doozy. Basically everyone suffers and dies at the end and an innocent person is accidentally killed. 

Gail: That Wikipedia page is crazy! It also says that Ted Kaczynski, the Unabomber, loved this book and closely identified himself with the character of the “Professor”... which ties into Saul’s alias, Professor Rabinow. I live for this stuff--always a mark of a good production when the depth of the details matches the intensity of the show.

Sara: The phantom horizontal line on the seven. 

Ashley: That is like the ONE thing that I, Ashley, actually noticed and mentioned first. Give me a shout-out, man, I mean, DAMN.

Sara: Shout out to Ashley, who noticed and mentioned this first! 

Gail: Homeland always gives us the best bokeh. I love its use here. We have a window into Saul’s biggest secret, the details surrounding it are hazy to us at first, and we can’t see the full picture yet--just like this shot.

Sara: IJLTP.

Ashley: I love how old-school Carrie is — she’s so visual, and in her own way, just like Saul. She lays it all out and uses her hands to put it together.

Gail: Her bulletin board, highlighters and thread have been replaced by notecards and old carpet that I’d like to think Mira picked out, but the result is the same as we watch Carrie put all of the pieces together. It’s HIGH RED y’all.

Sara: “High red,” omg. I’m obsessed with the sequence of Carrie assembling the book timeline and figuring out Saul’s method of communication. For me it’s one of the all-time best Homeland scenes. 

Sara: The editing in this scene is exquisite. The use of jump cuts adds to the tension and uncertainty as Carrie herself attempts to splice together these disparate clues into something greater, some sort of truth. 

The scene is almost completely free of dialogue. Claire has to convey Carrie’s journey to the truth here through only her actions. I love the shots at ground level of her literally on hands and knees flipping through the books. There is a sense of desperation and urgency to it that is thrilling.

Sara: The Smile. 

Gail: I see what you did there and I approve. IJLTP.

Ashley: I’m a little surprised that Carrie isn’t a bit more conflicted here.

Sara: Cutting Carrie and Saul together at the moment where their minds finally sync is … quite literal, actually, but it works. In these twin shots of Carrie and Saul I’m struck especially by how Saul is against a light background while Carrie is cloaked in darkness. 

Gail: These back-to-back shots give the impression that Carrie and Saul are on opposite ends of the same book which rings very true to me. The black and white imagery continues here as Sara points out. We see Carrie just barely ahead of the darkness, looking toward the light.

Ashley: Mandy just does things with his face sometimes and it’s amazing to watch.

Sara: Another extreme close-up of Saul as he realizes that Carrie lied to him. 

Gail: Saul’s line from earlier in the season rings in my ears here. “You are vulnerable to him in ways neither of us can imagine.” But to build on my thoughts on his earlier close-up shot, I think it’s an effective tool for us to get a window into what Saul is genuinely thinking and feeling at that moment. The massive implications of Carrie’s involvement in a play being run by Yevgeny are devastating and Saul realizes it in one stunning and heartbreaking moment.

Gail: Anna saving Saul’s life gives so much more weight and importance to who she is to Saul. He owes her his life and, thirty years later, his career, too.

Sara: There is something fantastical about this part of the flashback. The backdrop and extreme lighting looks sort of … fake? It almost looks like they’re on a film set. I’m interpreting this as a reflection of Saul’s memory: we all want to see ourselves as the hero in our movie of our lives.

Sara: Shout out to Gail for realizing this Charlotte Benson character was featured last season with Ivan. 

Gail: I love a good easter egg and a good callback. Details like this and recurring characters like Scott Ryan give their world realism. I stan.

Ashley: This is such a terribly effective moment in the show. We haven’t seen Yevgeny at all in this episode, and yet he’s ever-present; closing on “kill Saul” is so fucking… ugh. Stupid Homeland.

Gail: All of Yevgeny’s shots in this scene are done with a steady camera, which gives the impression (illusion?) of his control of the situation. Have we had a scene where Yevgeny isn’t leaning? My God, he’s even leaning when on Zoom for Spies.

Sara: As Yevgeny reveals the full extent of his play--“Kill Saul”--the camera zooms in on him. Eventually he takes up almost the entire frame. It gives the feeling of stakes being continually raised. And he’s still got that trademark smirk and nonchalance, despite what he’s telling Carrie to do.

Sara: Meanwhile, the camera stays mostly the same distance away from Carrie but pans in semi-circles around her, back and forth, back and forth. It’s an interesting choice as she comes to the realization of what Yevgeny is suggesting. The camera is almost like the wheels spinning in her head as she understands the full scope of the choice she must make.

Gail: As Carrie and Yevgeny go back and forth, each one trying to figure out what the other one knows, the shots start to go back and forth as well, mimicking their dance. In film and television production, there is a term called the 180 degree rule. What it means is that there is an imaginary line running through a scene, from side to side, with respect to the camera. The rule of thumb is that the camera should never cross the line because it causes the viewer to feel disoriented and confused. But when used effectively, we get the powerful effect that it had here in this scene. We (the audience) feel the same disorientation as Carrie, the same unsteadiness that is reflected in the handheld camera that shoots her. As I mentioned above, when we see Yevgeny on the computer screen, he is centered, steady and in control. Quite a contrast between the two.

Ashley: I repeat… stupid Homeland.

Ashley: We’ve seen so much darkness in this episode, mostly related to Saul — Carrie, for her part, has been pretty much in bright spaces. Despite everything that’s happened to her, I believe that this is the darkest point in her life.

Sara: Carrie hurriedly walks out of this vast, empty mansion as the lights dim behind her. The weight and horror of this decision is splayed across her face. The darkness follows her. The question now as we head into this final chapter: can she outrun it? Or will it finally catch up to her? 

Gail: Staying just ahead of the darkness and trying to find the light. Here Carrie is again living somewhere in between.

[tb5-heavenward]

the infinite depth of a moment

@tmntvicky​

What about during the flight in TB2, getting Gordon to the hospital

The boys ditch the submarine pods at the surface, leave them bobbing on the waves like little yellow winecorks, so FAB-1 has room to pull into the cargo hatch. This is closing behind them almost before they're all the way inside, and though there'd been a few brief moments of air and light and sunshine on the surface that made it seem as though everything might just be okay---the hatch closes, and even the high powered halogens seem dim after the sun of a cloudless sky.

FAB-1 has stopped, but Parker is moving, already clambering out of the driver's seat to circle around and open the door. Penelope stays exactly where she is, still holding Gordon, and beginning to feel, irrationally, as though she can't let him go. He absolutely isn't moving, from what she can tell he's barely breathing, and she's never before in her life held someone who felt so broken in her arms. She can't tell what's wrong, only that it must be very nearly everything. The thought occurs to her, flawlessly logical but curiously distant, that this must mean he's dying.

Except for the obvious fact that he just can't.

Around them, FAB-1 cracks open like an oyster as Parker moves around it, pulling cleverly concealed switches and levers, splitting the vehicle apart along invisible hinges and seams, coming apart to allow Scott and Alan better access to the back seat. It's not a small car, but it's suddenly crowded. Automatically, protective, Penelope feels her entire self curl inward, holding Gordon even closer as her head bows and her shoulders fall, as though allowing anyone to take him away will mean losing him forever.

"Let him go," Scott's order is sharp and immediate, and his hands are and brusque and ungentle as he pushes her back. She has to fight past her instincts to let him do so, reluctantly loosening her hold, though the weight of Gordon's head and shoulders remain still cradled in her lap, and she stays as still as she can manage. Alan's circled around to the other side of the car, with no need for similar instruction, and clambered up behind the folded forward driver's seat, crouching, poised and ready for whatever Scott expects of him.

Scott doesn't even need to say anything. There's no fussing and fretting from either of them, no tender touches or fearfully posessive search for his pulse at the neck, as though the beat of his heart is something that belongs to her. Penelope had tried, but hadn't been able to feel anything through the thick neoprene of her gloves, and had scared herself with the thought that there might just be nothing left to feel. Scott and Alan don't bother with such trivialities. They just rearrange his limbs where he lies across the bench seat beside her, quick but careful, and looking for signs of something that she can't see.

They don't bother to waste time with anything like a stretcher or a backboard, and Penelope feels a flutter of disconnected panic for the condition of Gordon's spine, and the shattered state she'd found him in. For a moment she wants to protest that they might hurt him worse, but she restrains herself, out of sudden horror that she might've already done so. It hadn't occurred to her underwater, pulling him from the wreckage of his poor twice-broken submersible, feeling the dead weight of his limbs trailing heavily, limp in the water, and only wanting to get back aboard FAB-1 as fast as she could. She'd been careful, of course, as careful as she could've been---but she hasn't ever saved a life this way before. She still doesn't know if she actually has.

Between the pair of them, wordlessly, Scott and Alan seem to agree to take a calculated risk in taking him away from her, and they do so unceremoniously. Scott nods curtly at Alan, and Alan moves obediently into position, offering a brisk count of "one-two-three". They both seem to know exactly how and where to place their hands, handling their brother like he's no more than a complex, cumbersome object that needs to be taken from A to B, where A is the backseat of FAB-1, and B is a medbay that Parker's already folded open, ready and waiting at the side of the cargo hatch. He seems to know to move automatically back, as Scott and Alan cross the floor, to gently deposit their brother into the slight hollow inside, and immediately go to work on and around him.

This process underway, Parker also knows to return to FAB-1, and help Penelope shakily to her feet, and then out of the vehicle. He steers her purposefully across the cargo bay to the head of the gurney, and his hand lingers just long enough to give her elbow a reassuring squeeze.

Alan's engaged a bright holographic comm at the far end of the gurney, and Scott's gone promptly to work with some sort of handheld scanner that Penelope's never seen before, though she pays it very little attention, fixated on Gordon. Immediately up from the depths, briefly beneath the sunlight he hadn't opened his eyes to see---he'd looked almost peaceful, almost like he might've only been sleeping. 

She'd hated the hope that had fluttered in her chest, then, because she'd known it for a lie. She'd had to pull his helmet off once he was safely aboard FAB-1, to keep him from suffocating in the absence of air from the near empty O2 canister still slotted into his helmet. It had held out only just long enough for them to reach him, but was failing by the time she arrived. The onset of hypoxia would've worn an unfairly handsome face, if it hadn't been for the bluish tint of his lips, the bruising shadows beneath his eyes.

Impulsively, as Scott announces the transfer of a medical scan to Tracy Island, Penelope reaches out to brush a hand through Gordon's hair. It’s a gesture more for her own sake than his, because he seems far and away too far gone to have even the remotest idea that she's there, or that he's been found, or that he's safe---or that there's no one here with him now who could even begin to bear to lose him, so of course it simply won't be allowed to happen. Her fingers weave deep between his curls, thick and damp with the humidity of the ocean air, and she softly whispers something that stays trapped within the confines of her helmet, unheard by him or anyone else.

The comm at the far end of the gurney flashes and flares with the transmitted results of the medscan. Penelope's gaze is torn unwillingly away from the terrible stillness of Gordon's face by the sudden bloom of bright red and blinking icons and indicators, heart and lungs and brain, alarms beeping with mortal urgency. With her free hand Penelope numbly reaches up to toggle her radio back on, just in time to hear the steel in their Grandmother’s voice as it comes over the open comm line---

"Virgil, no. Forget about Tracy Island. You need to get that boy to a hospital. Now."

From the comm at the end of the the gurney, the next logical place for her gaze to be drawn is towards Scott, still standing tall where he leans over his brother, grim but determined. "FAB. Virgil, get John to clear you a flight path. No further than fifteen minutes out. Ten would be better."

“I’ve got one,” John cuts in, silent up til now, but listening as ever. "Already clear, EOS just coded your flight vector. GDF fliers are on approach to offer an escort to their nearest medical facility."

His voice is crisp in her ear, though she's heard true calm from him often enough before to perceive the distinction of deep anxiety now---but he's not as fierce as Virgil is, answering, "Pushing all power to turbo, Mach 9 in t-minus six seconds. Tell them to call clearances ahead, there's nothing they've got in the skies that'll get ahead of me. And brace yourselves. Touchdown in eight minutes."

Scott's been inhumanly calm, and he's no less so as he answers, as though this is anything even remotely like a normal rescue. "FAB, Virgil. Keep her steady, we're gonna get him on O2 and prepped for the ER. Eight minutes."

Eight minutes seems like barely any time at all and an yet still an eternity, all twisted together, when this whole ordeal has stretched agonizingly from minute to minute, second to second, ever since they'd first learned that Gordon was in trouble. Penelope has no idea how long any of this has taken, time seems to have lost almost all meaning. And even as her fingers continue to gently tangle through his hair, gloved fingertips pressing lightly against his scalp, and her heart breaking quietly, she wonders how much longer it will be and how she can possibly endure it.

And then he stops breathing.

(to be continued)

[fallenqueen2]

BatFamily Week 2020 Day 7: Time Travel

Day 7: Nightmares | Time-Travel | Mythology AU

Ao3 Link

Batfamweek2020 Tag

Tags: batfamweek2020, Time Travel, Alfred and Dick visits the past, Dick Grayson as Batman, Damian as Robin, Dick Grayson as Robin, Bruce Wayne as Batman

Created for @official-batfam-week

Alfred blinked as the yellow light faded away, revealing the cave. Normally this wouldn’t be cause alarm, but as Alfred had been out visiting Dick in the penthouse, it was unnerving.

What was more unnerving was the display case that was void of the usual uniforms he had grown accustomed to. Alfred stepped up to the bat computer that looked a few models behind the one he was used to and checked the date.

“Oh bollocks,” Alfred muttered as he took in the date, many years in the past.

“Agent A, status report.” Bruce’s voice crackled from the speakers around Alfred.

“Oh… Master Bruce,” Alfred sank into the chair, hand resting up over his heart as he felt a surge of emotion at the gruff tone.

“I’m afraid something unusual has occurred Master Batman,” Alfred did his best to keep his voice monotone and calm, sitting up straight in the familiar chair with practiced ease.

“You’re here too! I thought the blast had just hit me!” Richard’s adult voice rang through the speakers next and something inside of Alfred’s chest unwound at hearing Dick’s voice.

“We’re heading back so I can get some answers,” Bruce cut in, Alfred had expected nothing less.

“I’m driving B!” Dick cackled and Alfred smiled, he had not heard that laugh in a long time and it warmed his soul.

“I don’t think so,” Bruce retorted, sounding like it was a knee-jerk reply.

“Come on B! I’ve been driving this thing since I was 13!” Dick whined causing Alfred to smile at the old, familiar banter.

“That makes it worse, get in,” Bruce grumbled as the radio cut out, leaving Alfred in silence.

Alfred wandered the cave with his hands clasped behind his back as he took note of what had changed and what had remained the same after all the years.

Alfred must have gotten lost in a mixture of the past and his present as the Batmobile (numerous versions in the past) roared into the platform. Dick gracefully leapt from the passenger seat still clad in his sweatpants and a faded Bludhaven PD sweatshirt. He had a large, if not pained smile on his face as Bruce rose from the driver’s seat. The cape and cowl casting a looming shadow around him, but neither men flinched as they had come to know that shadow meant safety and home.

“Tests, then explanations, right B?” Dick chirped as he gave Alfred a tighter than necessary hug, the butler pleased to return it as he felt relief he had someone to share this experience with.

“My best bet would be time travel that involves some sort of time displacement.” Dick tuned into his detective side as he and Alfred allowed Bruce to run his tests in silence and little to no eye contact. Bruce looked unnerved each time he looked too closely at Dick in particular. Alfred could relate, but he refused to look away from the man he raised, from his son.

“You’ve had experience with this sort of thing then?” Bruce grunted, leaning back going a shade paler when the DNA matches turned up positive for both of them, confirming who they were.

“A couple of times, time travel is more of a Speedster thing. The multi-verse seems to be universal. You haven’t told the League about me, uh little me yet right? All my magical contacts will be of no help in this time period. It looks like we only have two options, one we wait for the spell to run its course and pray we get swapped back. Or we hope someone in our time figures the spell out and reverses it. Both options include waiting it out.” Dick ticked off two fingers as he spoke, swinging his legs like a child from where he was sitting up on an exam table.

Alfred smiled fondly at the sight; glad there was still some light in his eldest Grandson. Bruce meanwhile blinked slowly as he tried to take in not only the words but the actions that no doubt caused him to see the child, Dick Grayson, he knew almost superimposed over this adult version.

“You have that much faith in your allies then?” Bruce shook his head slightly.

“I trust them to stop it nothing to bring us home, they know I’d do the same for them, have done it for them in a heartbeat.” Dick turned serious before he was smiling easily again. Alfred had grown used to Dick’s Batman’s moments, but he could see that the seriousness had thrown Bruce off for a moment.

“In the meantime, I doubt past me will have any qualms about me cooking dinner for us in his kitchen,” Alfred spoke up, knowing Bruce was a minute away from questioning Dick again and not being so passive about it.

“Sounds great Alfie!” Dick launched himself from the table and started up the stairs up towards the manor.

“Remember Master Bruce, no capes in the manor.” Alfred chided gently before following Dick up the steps.

“Hey B, do you think we can watch some Grey Ghost while Alfie makes dinner?” Dick asked quietly, toying with the hem of his shirt when Bruce finally joined them in the kitchen in his pair of sweatpants and hoodie.

“You want to watch that?” Bruce was shocked, he would have thought that Dick would have outgrown wanting to watch old detective shows with him.

“It’s been a while… That’s all right isn’t it B? I mean I get that I’m not really Dick Grayson, will the one you know at least…” Dick trailed off; shedding the cock-sure version of himself he had shown down in the cave. Alfred paid attention to their conversation as he cooked on autopilot; he understood why Dick was acting like a lost child now. Down in the cave that had been business, he had to report to Batman as he had for most of his life. However up in the manor, in their home and Bruce bare-face and relaxed in normal clothes, memories must have bowled Dick over causing him to lose his balance. Alfred could relate and he was never gladder for the routine, ease of cooking.

“Come on chum, I think we can watch a few before Alfred is done with dinner,” Bruce said softly, settling his hand on Dick’s shoulder and Dick’s face lit up and he let out a happy laugh as he and Bruce left the kitchen to head into the living room.

Alfred had never felt so at peace as the sounds of Grey Ghost started up in the background and the soft voices of Bruce and Dick mingled with the sounds. Alfred only wished the other members of their family were there to have this extra time with Bruce, but he hoped that both he and Dick would get some sort of closure when this was all said and done.

Alfred found that cooking was in many ways not only a dance but a battle and he gladly lost himself in that battle as he did his best to prepare his son and grandson’s favourites as this may be the last time he and Dick had a family dinner with Bruce. Finally, the food was prepared and plated, Alfred wiped his hands down as he looked at the food with satisfaction and left the kitchen to tell Bruce and Dick that dinner was ready.

Alfred’s words dried up in his mouth at the sight that greeted him and all he could do was smile fondly and picked up a blanket from the empty chair. Grey Ghost was still playing on the television but no one was awake to watch it at the moment. Bruce had one of his arms laid out over the back of the couch, his other hand tangled in Dick’s hair as if he fell asleep while he had been stroking Dick’s hair. Dick was curled up against Bruce’s side, face peaceful and ear pressed firmly to the older man’s chest as if he fell asleep listening to Bruce’s heartbeat.

They both looked so peaceful that Alfred didn’t have the heart to wake them up for a meal, he carefully draped the blanket around the two and sat on the chair to watch the two sleep, both their slumber peaceful for once and Alfred found himself grateful to whoever hit them with that blast, they had allowed them both this chance to see Bruce again. 

Alfred found himself following the other two to the land of unconsciousness and while Alfred knew in his heart that he would wake back up in his present he couldn’t find it in himself to stay awake, he was content and his heart healed in a way he hadn't ever hoped for so he allowed the darkness to drag him under.