#and the banner is maybe halfway done?

[osaemu]

good night tumblr dot com

[summervale]

「Merriment」

Third-person reader insert! Y/N is the younger sister of King Robert Baratheon. Her house sigil is a stag, yes, but it seems she has a particular fondness for hounds.

Contains: Reluctant pining, kissing, mature situations Words:  2,311

UNFINISHED WORK: This was supposed to be a long, multi-part piece which is why it takes so long setting up! This was part one and is about halfway finished. Figured there's a lot of Sandor fans that might enjoy a small something cute <3

No husband and no responsibilities made for a very happy woman indeed. Small wonder she was all smiles and riddles and gayeties; she must, the commonfolk thought, be the happiest woman in all the seven kingdoms.

This was likely true.

She was forever laughing. There was a smile on her face always, it seemed, and everywhere she went she took merriment with her. Her ladyship took great pleasure in riddles and games and shows of mummers and fools, and King’s Landing had not hosted a tourney that did not have her there in the pavilions in many a year. She was a friend to all regardless of birth or station or reputation (within reason), and for this she was quite loved, but also quite resented. The resentment was paid little mind—turning a blind eye and smiling was much more fun, as it was often irksome to those who were loth to favor her.

Y/N Baratheon. Lady of Storm’s End, younger sister to Stannis and Robert, older sister to Renly. She possessed the same appetite for amity as Robert coupled with the mirth and grandeur of Renly. Of Stannis, it was said, they shared only a name. Still she insisted she adored all her brothers equally, “even the gloomy one.”

Much was afoot in King’s Landing.

King Robert had named Lord Eddard Stark new hand of the king, and Stark had arrived with a host of his own and his two daughters in tow. This was cause for celebration, and celebration was cause for a tourney, and where there was a tourney (or a celebration), Lady Y/N was to be found.

And she was found in King’s Landing quite a lot, of recent.

There was a rumor, often dubbed a vicious and untrue one, that though her house sigil may be the King's own stag, Y/N had a particular fondness for hounds.

The sun was two hours from setting when a host of black and yellow arrived at The King's Gate. In came banners that bore stags, and a spate of wagons bringing wines and cheeses and polished pears from Storm’s End. An impatient rider rode ahead of the rest, leaving behind a cry of protest as she thundered away, alone, up the streets of King’s Landing.

She arrived with a well-lathered horse and a swirl of her cloak. A party had time to gather in the yard of the Red Keep; a paltry welcoming committee with little time to prepare.

But the King was there—of course the King was there.

Had she not already been grinning, she would have grinned. “There’s my favorite brother,” said Y/N, dismounting and already forgetting her palfrey.

The look on Robert’s face was strange, though, and uncharacteristic of the Robert she knew and loved. The years had not been kind to him (as was made most evident by his growing waistline), and his face was stern, drawn into a scowl, his brow furrowed.

Is he not happy to see me? she thought even through her smiles and excitement. Gods, he looks as grim as Stannis, maybe twice as much. When she made to throw her arms about his neck, he took her by the shoulders and held her at arm’s length instead.

“That’s your grace to you, woman. I am the King, or have you forgotten?”

The King’s sister opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, which was done dumbly and not unlike a fish.

The ruse was short-lived.

Robert Baratheon—King Robert Baratheon—broke into a roar of laughter like that of a bear made human. Still holding his dearest sister by the shoulders, he gave her a hearty shake. “Your face!” he boomed. “You should have seen it!”

Her smile returned, then her laughter. “You’re a fool if ever there was one, Robert!”  She threw her arms around his neck even as he shook her, and the big king lifted his little sister in his arms and hugged her so tightly, so fiercely, that the now-arriving party feared the king may crush their lady.

Robert didn’t crush Y/N, though. No, they were both used to it. “You’re crushing me, Robert,” she huffed at last, prompting the king to drop her back down onto the ground.

He clapped her on the shoulder. “Right then, let’s get inside. We have much and more to catch up on, and there’s a flagon of wine calling my name.”

“Every flagon of wine calls your name, your grace.”

The King was laughing again, then, and the King’s sister was smiling.

That, as far as the two Baratheons were concerned, was the way it always had been, and the way it always would be, until one buried the other.

Meeting the King’s party was a grand ordeal, though Y/N had already met most of the partygoers in attendance on at least one occasion. Of course she knew the Lannisters, her brother’s family by law, and she’d met Lord Eddard Stark once before. Lord Eddard’s daughters were new to her, however, and a few of the faces at court as well. Having been taught well, she recognized most of the family names and colors, smiling and shaking hands and doing all the formalities a lady should do.

The occupants of the Red Keep’s great hall that night came from houses big and small, known and unknown, and saw the attendance of lords and ladies, knights, hedge knights, bards, poets and singers, fools in their motley and mummers with their painted faces. There were cards being shuffled and dice being thrown. Serving girls brought plate after plate of selections from the kitchens: stuffed capons, wine-glazed lamb, honeyed figs, dark breads with thick crusts, sweet lemon cakes still-warm from the ovens. The courses seemed never-ending and the wine never stopped flowing.

“Never was there such a party before, brother,” declared Y/N. She lifted a gilded goblet with a flourish, and rich, purple wine splashed over the rim and down her hand. She was the picture of effortless joy.

And she knew it, too.

If she hadn’t known it, the guests would have reminded her; the way they flocked to her in throngs and yammered on and on whenever she should happen to lend an ear—which was often. Round and round she circled the crowd as the evening wore on and the wine continued to flow, searching the room for a familiar face—a face that would stand out even in the most crowded of rooms.

Her gaze passed the lords and ladies, passed the knights in their polished armor, until at last she found her mark.

Sandor Clegane, the Hound, stood near the far wall, obscured halfway in the shadows. His face was grim, as it usually was, pulled tightly into a scowl that had long since worn its lines permanently into his features. The burn scars that marred half his face were highlighted by the flickering torchlight, giving him an even more fearsome appearance.

She knew Sandor was not like the other knights, not like the men who fawned over ladies with flowery words and grand gestures. He was rough, blunt, and often downright rude.

He was the perfect change of pace.

Oft she sought him when at last she could take the rinse-and-repeat of perfumed nobility no longer. She wove through the crowd with ease, exchanging smiles and nods as she passed, until she finally stood before Sandor.

"Sandor," she greeted him plainly. “It’s been too long.”

He looked down at her, his expression unreadable. For an overly long moment, he said nothing. Then, with a grunt, he inclined his head slightly. "My lady," he replied, his voice as rough as the gravel on the King���s Road.

Y/N smiled up at him, unfazed by his gruffness. "Why do you stand here all alone?" she asked, her tone teasing. "Surely even hounds deserve a bit of merriment."

Sandor huffed, a sound that could have been a laugh if it had come from anyone else. "Merriment’s for fools," he muttered, though there was no real bite to his words.

“Forgive me, then, for it seems I’ve forgotten my motley.”

“So it seems.”

She knew he was not a man of many words, especially when it came to matters of the heart. But she also knew that, for reasons she could not fully explain, she had become someone he tolerated more than most.

Perhaps it was a royal decree by Robert unbeknownst to her. And what a royal decree that would be! The thought made her laugh aloud, which only earned her a raised eyebrow in response.

He indicated the floor from which she’d just come. "Motely or not, you should jingle along with the other fools,” he said, though his tone was less stern than usual.

"And you should be out there with your fellow dogs," said she, “but here we are."

Sandor's lips twitched as if they might have remembered how to smile for half a moment. “Surprised you’re not dancing again. It went well for you last time.”

With one sentence he had broken the façade she wore so well. Her look of smug mirth disappeared from her face in an instant and was replaced instead by one of flustered surprise.

It had been a celebration much like this one and she was deep in her cups by the time the sun had set and the dancing had begun. Y/N had been at the heart of it, twirling and dancing with little care, passing hand from one lord to another, from knight to knight, breathless and flushed and shoes long forgotten.

The next thing she knew, she was stumbling, and a moment later, toppling entirely. The ground rose up to meet her with an unpleasant wack!, and the pain in her cheek was overshadowed only by a pain in her ankle. She’d gotten too carried away and twisted something, it seemed, and hadn’t even felt it until she was picking herself back up off the ground.

Or, well, trying to pick herself back up off the ground. The usual cloud of courtiers buzzed around her in an attempt to see her upright again, but the pain in her ankle swelled red hot and angry.

A shadow passed, then, and she had looked up, her vision slightly blurred from the wine, to see Sandor Clegane’s gruff face above her. There had been no mocking grin or cold stare, just a look that might have been concern on a more expressive man. “You’re alright.”

Without another word, he had scooped her up in his arms, lifting her as if she weighed nothing at all.

Y/N had gasped, her hands instinctively clutching at his shoulders. "I can walk!" she had protested, though she hadn’t made any real effort to leave his arms.

 "Not on that ankle you can’t.”

And so she had let him carry her, through the bustling hall and up the winding stairs of the Red Keep, all the way to her chambers. It had been awkward, but it had also been…

More.

“You’re quite strong,” she said to him, which earned only a grunt of acknowledgement.

Something—something—fluttered inside of her when she saw him so close; the burned skin unevenly healed, the scruff that dusted his face, the muscle of his neck that disappeared beneath his armor where her prying eyes could not follow—but her imagination could. 

When they reached her chambers, he had set her down gently on the edge of her bed. She had looked up at him, her heart pounding in a way that had little to do with the wine. As he made to release her, she caught the back of his neck with her hand and held him there, inches from her face.

She’d expected him to break free, to pull away, to do anything else. But he stayed.

He stayed there like that, his lips inches from hers.

He had hesitated, his expression torn between wanting to leave and the pull of something deeper that they both felt there between them. They both smelled of wine and honeyed mead, lips sweet.

She didn’t know who kissed who, but in half a heartbeat they were entangled.

Sandor’s breath came ragged against her mouth. Her fingers tangled in his hair. She bit his lip and he growled. It was fast, animal, raw want.

And a longtime coming.

When he pulled away, she pulled him back in again, and he didn’t fight her. Breathless, she’d pulled herself up by his shoulders and onto her knees, the pain in her ankle unfelt and forgotten. Her hands cupped his face and she pulled him in, in, in, until her chest was flush with his and she could feel every rise and fall of his on hers.

At last he’d taken her by the elbows and pushed her away, and it ended as suddenly as it had started.

“You’ve had too much to drink,” he told her.

“But I haven’t had enough of you.”

“You’ve had your fill of that, too,” he said, turning cloak and leaving.

“I’m quite certain I haven’t had my fill of you.”

He paused mid-step and looked at her over his shoulder. “You don’t want that,” he assured her. There was something dangerous in his eyes, something sharp as steel and burning hot.

Y/N leaned back on the bed. “I know what I want,” she said, wishing she could stand and go to him, to pull him by his cloak and his armor and whatever else she could get her hands on—something lower than his beltline. “I’ve known for years and years.”

Slowly, deliberately, Sandor crossed the room again, silhouetted against the warm torchlight that poured in through the still-open door. “Trust me,” he said, towering over her, leaning in close. “You might want to get your fill of me, but you don’t want me to get my fill of you.”

Her breath left her body in a shuddering shiver.

Again he had turned, then, and didn’t stop to look back at her that time.

[kybercrystals94]

Banner by @blackseafoam | Event: @galactic-gift-gathering

This story was written for @nerdyduckrants and their prompt “Snow”…they wanted something with the Bad Batch and full of family fluff 🖤 Thank you for the fun prompt, and for being an amazing part of this fandom ☺️

Snow Day

Read here on Ao3!

Rated: G | Words: 1365

“Crosshair’s on my team!” Omega announces, latching herself to Crosshair’s arm as if one of their brothers might try to bodily snatch him away. 

Crosshair groans, and halfheartedly tries to shake her off, but Omega holds fast, grinning wildly from under her knitted hat. Her face is already turning pink from the cold because she refused to wear the matching scarf Hunter had tried to wrap around her. 

“Maybe I don’t want to be on your team,” Crosshair grumbles.

Omega snorts. “Liar.”

He is a liar, but he’ll never ever admit it out loud. Just like he’ll never admit that the fact that she chose him over either Wrecker or Hunter gives him a sickeningly, sticky warm feeling under his rib cage where his heart is. 

A year ago, Crosshair thought if he never saw snow again it would be too soon. And yet somehow, willingly, he is standing in the stuff halfway up to his knees, all because Omega has never had a proper “snow day.” Where Hunter managed to find all this cold weather gear on short notice is beyond him, but Omega’s weeklong dream of having a snowball fight with her brothers is coming to fruition.  

“I guess teams are decided then,” Hunter says with a grin, and nearly faceplants in the snow when Wrecker sidles up to him and slaps him on the back.

“Me and you, Hunt! We’ll show ‘em how it's done!” the giant crows.

Omega swings from Crosshair’s still captive arm. “No! We’ll show you, won’t we, Crosshair?”

“They won’t know what hit them,” Crosshair agrees, smirking. 

“Hey, no putting ice in your snowballs,” Hunter says sternly. 

Wrecker adds, “Or rocks.” 

“Why would someone do that?” Omega asks, aghast. 

“Because two someones figured out the accuracy of a snowball was increased with added weight,” Hunter says.

Wrecker coughs, “Crosshair. Tech.”

Omega laughs.

“Those someones were right,” Crosshair returns, “But three other someones were being tubies about it, even though they were literally wearing armor and it didn’t hurt them at all.”

“It was the principle!” Wrecker declares. 

“Well, we’re not wearing armor now,” Hunter says. 

Crosshair rolls his eyes. “Fine. I’ll teach Omega how to make boring, regular snowballs. Happy?” 

Hunter gives his youngest brother a look and changes the subject. “Alright, we have twenty minutes to prepare for the fight.” 

“Starting now!” Wrecker cries and dashes away. 

With an indignant noise of protest, Hunter takes off after his teammate, leaving Crosshair and Omega on their own. 

Omega looks up at Crosshair. “What do we do first?” 

“First,” Crosshair says, finally extracting his arm from Omega’s grip, “we need to create a base. Where we’ll keep all our ammunition.” 

“You mean our snowballs?” 

“Ammunition,” Crosshair reiterates, enunciating each syllable. “This is a battle. A battle we’re going to win.” 

Omega grins. “Okay. A place to keep our ammunition. Got it.” 

Crosshair surveys their surroundings, eyes moving across the blinding white blanket of snow. The landscape is a meadow with rolling hills, framed on the outskirts by evergreen trees. They can use this to their advantage if they play their cards right, putting their fortress at the crest of a hill so that they can have the high ground advantage when Hunter and Wrecker try to advance. While Hunter and Wrecker will use the same tactic, building their own base at the top of a hill, Wrecker will never be patient enough to wait for Crosshair and Omega to come to them.

Which will be his and Hunter’s ultimate downfall. 

“I’ll make the walls of our base,” Crosshair decides, starting to move in the direction of the highest hill. “You’ll focus on ammunition.” 

“Okay!” Omega chirps, following in the path Crosshair is clearing through the snow. 

When they make it to their destination, Crosshair points at the ground. “Use this snow to make the snowballs. I’m going to build four walls around you.” 

“But won’t we need to get out?” Omega asks. 

Crosshair smiles. “Not if I know our brothers.” 

Omega gasps when the realization hits. “They’ll come to us!” 

“Exactly.” Crosshair kneels down in the snow, scooping up a handful in his flesh hand and uses his prosthetic, sheathed in a glove, to begin forming a ball, demonstrating the technique to Omega. “I trust you can make a few hundred of these in fifteen minutes?” 

“A few hundred?” Omega gasps. 

“A thousand, that’d be better.” 

“That’s impossible!” 

“With that attitude it is,” Crosshair tells her. “Now stop whining and get to work!” 

Omega groans and crouches down to scoop up a handful of snow. Crosshair looks at the weapon in his head then tosses the snowball at her lightly, the soft, white orb bursting on the back of her head. 

“Hey!” Omega cries, twisting to glare up at him. 

“Target practice,” Crosshair says, shrugging

Omega throws the half formed ball in her hands at him, hitting his stomach with a mist of snow. 

Crosshair gasps, dusting himself off. “You’re wasting our ammo!” 

“You started it!” 

“I never said I was a good example, did I?” 

He is rewarded with an eye roll and a smile as Omega turns back to her task, scooping up handfuls of snow and balling them up. Crosshair begins forming the walls of their fortress, gathering up armfulls of snow from the sides of the hill and bringing them to the top, making piles that he then begins to pack down. 

“It feels like it’s been longer than twenty minutes,” Omega says, scraping up another handful of snow from her nearly depleted supply from within the fortress. 

Crosshair is finishing the fourth wall. “Oh, it has.” 

“Then where are they?” Omega asks, standing to look over the wall. 

“Waiting for us to come to them,” Crosshair says. 

“And we’re waiting for them to come to us?” 

“Exactly. But we’ve got something that they have in short supply.” Crosshair climbs over the wall and sits down next to her. “Patience.”

Omega laughs, then looks at her piles of snowballs. “Did I make enough?” 

“No, but it’ll have to do.” 

The girl sticks her tongue out at him. 

“Real mature,” Crosshair drawls. 

It is at that moment that a giant snowball sails overhead, obviously a product of Wrecker’s massive mitts. 

Crosshair grabs a snowball in each hand, and Omega does the same.

“Ready?” Crosshair asks. 

Omega nods, eyes bright and glinting with mischief. “Ready.” 

And the battle begins. 

***

“I feel cold all the way to my bones,” Omega says, her hands curled around a steaming mug of hot chocolate. 

Hunter chuckles. “Yeah, that’s what happens when you play in the snow for too long.” 

Crosshair ignores the dark memories trying to creep up, focusing his attention on the fact that Hunter thought to bring something warm and sweet to drink on the flight back to Pabu. During the war, it was usually watered down instant caf that greeted them when they returned to the Marauder, rationed out because they didn’t know when they’d be able to get more. 

“I like this stuff,” Wrecker announces, then tries to shake out the last drops of his hot chocolate into his mouth from his mug. 

Crosshair likes it too; however, maybe it's the residue of that sticky warm feeling in his chest, but he passes  over his mug to Wrecker to finish off. His brother smiles at him, broad and toothy, and happily accepts the silent gift. Crosshair’s mouth twitches up in a responding half smile. 

“That was so fun,” Omega sighs. “Can we do it again someday?” 

“Sure, kid,” Hunter says, reaching over to tousle Omega’s smushed up hair that is flat against her head from the hat she’d been wearing. 

“But we’re gonna switch up teams next time,” Wrecker grumbles.  

“No!” Omega cries, “Crosshair and I made the perfect team! That’s why we won!”

“But I’ve never gotten to be on Crosshair’s team,” Wrecker whines. “And my team was so lame.”

Hunter frowns. “I’m right here, Wreck.”

“I know,” Wrecker says. 

Crosshair smirks. “I’ll decide whose team I’m on.”

Omega wiggles her eyebrows at him and mouths, Mine, right?

Crosshair shrugs dismissively, even though the answer is yes. 

For that kid, the answer will always be yes. 

END

Let me know if you’d like to be added to my Tag List!

Tag List: @arctrooper69 @groguandthebadbatch @ezras-left-thumb @maeashryver @baddest-batchers @laughhardrunfastbekindsblog @omegafett99 @heidnspeak @fionas-frenzy @dreamsight73 @royallykt @blackseafoam @illogicaalbraindump @skellymom

[ncillary]

Self Aware AU (Zayne)

Summary: You have the lowest Affinity with Zayne. The reason is because you want an assured happy end for him before you could be with him. The man has no qualm in being cursed again and again the moment he stays by your side in every timeline.

-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------

Masterlist Self Aware AU

-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------

|  1  |  2  |  3  |  4 [current] |  5  |

-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------

"Have you seen the new banner?" You excitedly opened the conversation.

"Hope this one can spare you from fever." She smirked, "He's going to give an icy kiss to MC."

You hide your face behind your hand, slightly squeaking gleefully when you remembered the trailer.

"Chill, girl. No pun intended. I've never seen someone get sick because of a game like you. Maybe you really do need Snowy around to pull the reign."

"That was just a small misstep. Promise it won't happen again."

+--------------------------+--------------------------+

*Cough* *Cough*

"Shoot. I strained my voice too much after watching the kiss part. At least this time it was just a sore throat." She giggled.

+---------------------------+------------------------+

Scarred hand pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Here I was letting her have her way. Now a sore throat. Maybe I really SHOULD interfere next time."

+----------------------+-----------------------------+

"WHAT'S WITH ALL THIS ROCKING?! I mean... We sat on a rocking chair BUT..... ngeeeeEeeeeEEEE~"

You rolled around on your bed. Your friend was next to you, having a small laugh at your antics.

"Why are you shying away now? That's your man, right? Hold him tightly." She teased.

You smirked, "Right. How about your bad boy?"

Her face ceased to tease, looking awkward now.

"Who's ruffling Crow Crow feathers now? Oppsss... I meant abbs-"

She cupped your mouth, "Shu Shu Shu... You don't get to tease me on that."

+----------------------------+-----------------------+

Ears had pinkish tinged to them. One scared hand cupping his eyes. The phone was abandoned on the nearby table with a cold brew next to it.

"Why did she watch the spicy one with her friend? I can't interfere easily now."

He breathed out heavily.

"What do I do with this naughty girl?"

He sounded annoyed yet the smile playing at his lips was far from how his voice indicated it.

+----------------------------+-------------------------+

"His birthday event is coming. You're ready?"

"O to the F to the C! OF COURSE!"

They laughed.

"I had no doubt about it. Make sure to sing properly. He can TOTALLY hear you." She teased.

"Let me call you so that you can hear my lovely voice together with him."

"I'll block your number for a day. Enjoy your time with Snowy."

You pulled her cheek to her teasing.

+--------------------------+---------------------------+

"So how is it?"

"Company vacation is a blast. The cabin is nice. Just..."

"Just......."

"Errghhh... you know... how am I going to sing to Zayne like this!? What's with their timing for doing this to me?"

She laughed, "Relax. Tomorrow is the important call, right? You've already done everything including watching the memory. Don't open the game until night time. You will be safely home by then. Sing to your hearts content all you want."

You sighed, "Yeah. Good suggestion."

+-------------------------+---------------------------+

"Bad news. I miss the bus. Good news. I saw a hotel nearby."

Your friend sighed, "Why are you insisting on taking the bus when you can have a free ride home?"

You smile at your decision, "Because~ They brought back a lot of souvenirs for their family. I don't pack much. It's fine. I got a day off tomorrow thanks to that. My colleague even wanted to turn around but they were already halfway home so I insisted that it was fine."

You saw your friend massaging her forehead from the video call you made to her.

"Fine. Fine. Call me anytime. Just. Be safe, yeah."

You chuckled at your loveable worrywart friend.

"I will. Nite~"

"Nite."

+----------------------------+-----------------------+

"I hope my luck is still attached somewhere today."

You were sitting on a bench of a park near the hotel. Room fully booked.

The breeze swaying the autumn leaves. People were passing by, having a destination as they walked on.

"Maybe I'll just camp up in the bus station and take the earliest one tomorrow." Your mind set.

Somehow, you feel light today even with all that has been happening. You pulled out your phone, opening your solace game.

The video call was warm. His voice soothing you. You feel like you were experiencing his birthday memory in real life with the breeze and the leaves playing around you.

"Wish I could stay with you too, Zayne."

The call ended.

You look up, searching the moon among the clouds. You laughed simply as you closed your eyes.

"Even the moon is barely there. Guess everything is shying away from me today."

"The moon is beautiful, isn't it?"

Eyes fluttered to your phone. Zayne was wearing his birthday attire in the cafe. It suits him well. You chuckled lowly.

"It kinda is actually."

"Can I accompany you then?"

Brows furrowed. His mouth wasn't moving. AT ALL. You stared at him accusingly.

Someone's clearing his throat in front of you.

You jumped as you glanced up in a heartbeat.

Your whole body went rigid now. Questioning everything you see right at this moment.

Zayne.

Wearing a black turtleneck with a grey coat on top of it. You noticed a blush barely tinged his nose and ears. His face was gentle.

"Are you cold?" That's the first thing you said to this uncanny situation.

He hid his laugh with the back of his hand. Shaking his head afterwards.

You decided that you like those antics very much.

He kneeled down and held your hands in his.

"The cold never bothered me quite like a certain someone's recklessness."

His hazel eyes glistenening brightly at you.

-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 [current] | 5 |

-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------

Masterlist Self Aware AU

-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------

[prettykittycastle]

Why Me?

Summary: The last thing Bruce expected to happen to him was getting a blowjob in the lab.

(The reader uses she/her pronouns and is 18+. The ethnicity/race is preferably black.)

(Content Warning: blowjob, oral sex, male receiving, slight dirty talk, slight sub-Bruce)

"You should relax, Dr. Banner."

"You're always so tense, doctor. I can help with that."

"Maybe the Hulk wants you to have some fun."

At the feel of your warm tongue running over the head of his cock, Bruce thought over the things you had said to him before this night. Of course at the time, he didn't realize you were constantly making suggestions to him, his focus always on his lab work. But now, lightly shuddering at feeling the tip of your tongue run against the slit in his tip, he felt incredibly stupid to not notice them sooner.

"Mmmm," you hummed, sliding his member into your mouth, instantly the salty taste of him on your tongue made your mouth water.

"Oh God," he moaned, closing his eyes and laying his head back against his lab chair, his legs shaking.

"How ya feeling, Doctor? Still tense?" you slipped him out of your mouth and asked him. You wrapped your hand around him and held him firmly, grinning up at the sight of the anxious scientist before you.

For a while you had been trying to get his attention, wanting so badly to have him writhing in pleasure and finally have him be able to relax. Tonight was gonna be your last night of trying to catch his attention and if he didn't catch on yet, you were planning on moving on, but it seems that the universe had finally decided to do you a favor, and Bruce finally noticed you.

Now looking at him, you just wanted to rip all his clothes off and ride the fuck out of him. His lab coat was spread open, the first couple buttons on his shirt were unbuttoned and some of the hair on his chest was showing, his glasses askew upon his face, and his pants were pulled down around his knees. Be patient, you told yourself, wanting so badly to hear him moan your name.

"Y-yeah,...n-no," he quickly changed his answer, trying to keep control of his mind and his urge to thrust into your hand. "Uh, (Y/N)-"

"Bruuuce," you cooed at him, beginning to slowly jerk him off, the saliva from your mouth making it easy. "Just relax for me, sweetie."

Easier said than done, he thought, closing his eyes tighter at the feel of your hand jerking him off. He knew that agreeing to this was risky, worrying that the big guy would appear at any moment, but he couldn't turn down the opportunity to have you, of all people, on your knees, ready to have his dick in your mouth.

"Please," he begged. He didn't have to say what he was begging for because you already knew and by the time, he opened his mouth, ready to say something else, your lips were wrapped around his member again.

"Mmm," you moaned around him, loving the salty taste of him on your tongue. Lowering your head, you relaxed your jaw and throat to take him deep into your mouth till your lips stopped halfway down his cock. When you felt that you couldn't fit anymore of him in, you let the saliva from your mouth run down his length before wrapping both of your hands around the rest of him. Bobbing your head and stroking him, you couldn't control the moans escaping your mouth and traveling to him. You had been fantasizing about this for so long and now you couldn't be happier to feel the heaviness of his cock on your tongue.

Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay calm. Bruce tried to remind himself this as he tried and failed to keep his lower half from lifting itself up from the chair and attempting to fuck your sweet mouth. He could feel his heart rate picking up and he worried that the other guy might make an appearance at the worst time.

"Shit, (Y/N)," Bruce groaned, letting his head fall back onto his lab chair while clenching the armrests tightly. "S-Slow down, please."

Your response to this request from him was simply bobbing your head faster, swallowing as much of him as you could, letting drool run out of your mouth and down his cock, helping you stroke him faster.

You didn't need to look up to know that the skin on his knuckles were probably turning green by how tightly he was holding the armrests and you wondered how long they would last before they completely broke off from the chair.

It's been so long. I'm not gonna last. He realized. The last time he had any type of sexual interaction was years, before the appearance of Hulk. After him, he never thought he'd ever get a chance to touch another person this way again.

"Bruuuce," you said, pulling your mouth away from him, but still stroking him. You looked up at him and couldn't help the smirk that grew on your face at seeing his head laid all the way back, holding onto the armrests for dear life.

"(Y/N)," he moaned your name again, hearing you call his name and forcing his eyes to open, and when they finally did, he instantly regretted it. The sight below him almost made him cum right then and there, but thanks to his years of perfecting control over the big guy, he held himself back from cumming too early. Seeing your (E/C) eyes look up at him, hazy and full of lust, your mouth and chin shining from the saliva on his dick, and the string of it hanging loosely from your bottom lip and his tip was almost too much for the poor scientist who had thought he would be living a life of celibacy because of his condition.

"How ya feel, Dr. Banner? You relaxed yet?" Your smirk grew wider, feeling his dick grow harder in your hands at you taunting him.

"Y-yes, yes, I am," he replied back, his eyes barely open as he tried to hold himself off from cumming, but your words were too much. "Please, (Y/N)."

"What is it," you asked, your voice changing to a lighter, more innocent tone despite what you were currently doing. "Bruce, what is it?"

"Aah," He moaned loudly, straining to control himself, his mind almost completely lost to lust. "I'm-I'm close t-to-"

"Close to cumming," you finished his statement, slightly tightening your grip and quickening your strokes. You could practically feel the cum waiting to burst from him. "You wanna cum?"

He couldn't find it in himself to open his mouth to speak, and simply nodded his head.

"Tell me. You wanna bust a nut on my face or in my mouth?"

"Oh God," he whimpered, lifting his hips to fuck your hands, his desperation evident.

"I'm fine with either one," you told him before lowering your head down to swallow his dick again, moaning at his hardness, and wiggling your tongue against the underside of him.

At that moment, Bruce couldn't handle it anymore, and before he knew it, his cum came spurting out of him in long, white, salty ropes down your throat to which you gladly accepted swallowing as much of it as you could.

If seeing you on your knees for him was already too much, watching you through half open eyes, gobbling and swallowing his cum was too overwhelming and he had to force his hand to let go of his armrest and use it to lightly push your head away.

"Shit, shit. Stop." He could feel himself becoming overstimulated, and knew without a doubt that if he got anymore stimulated, the big guy would definitely show up.

You didn't move at first, happily slurping up everything he offered and more, before deciding he had enough. You lifted your head from him and took a breath, wiping some of the spit from your face and gathering any cum that escaped from your mouth onto your fingers.

"Why," he asked, trying to catch his breath, and attempt to lower his heart rate back down. "Why...me?"

"What do you mean 'why you'," you asked, putting your cum-covered fingers in your mouth and sucking it off.

Seeing you do this, he had to take a second to calm himself down, before responding. "I mean...why out of all the guys in this building, you chose me? Why not Tony, Steve, Sam, Thor? Why me?"

The way he asked that made your heart almost break and suddenly the urge to fuck him grew tremendously stronger, wanting to give this man as much pleasure as you could.

"I don't want Tony or Steve or any of the others. Just you, Bruce. I like you. I think you're hot."

"Yeah, but," he sat up in the chair and straightened himself, his usual shyness coming back over him. "But why me? Why do you like me? The guy that has a big green rage monster in him."

"Because I think it's hot how smart, sweet, caring, and shy you are, Bruce." As you told him this, you stood up from the lab floor, wincing at the small ache in your knees and climbed into his lap, wrapping your arms around his shoulder. "I've liked you for a while. And if you just want this to be a one time thing, I'm cool with that. But I also want us to be something." You knew that one of the reasons the scientist tended to distance himself from the others was not just because of his shy nature, but also because of his worry of how he, the team, and others viewed him and his second half. He saw his second half as a monstrous nuisance and thought that the team might as well, but you knew that was wrong and you want to show him that you view him as more than the Hulk, and as Bruce Banner.

"I can control him most times, but every now and then, he wants out and it's hard to put him back in," he warned you, placing his hands on your hips.

"That's fine. We'll handle it together." You laid a gentle kiss upon his lips, aware that he still has to calm his heart down from your blowjob. He didn't say anything else and kissed you back with a surprising amount of vigor that seemed to make the fire in between your legs burn stronger.

"You know we have to be careful in the future when it comes to...this," he pulled away and warned you.

"We will and we will have a lot of fun, too," you told him, going back to kissing him. Even though, you two had just made it official, you were already thinking of the many things you wanted to do to this man, and unbeknownst to you, Bruce was thinking of the many positions he could put you in by the end of the night, how to not risk the big guy coming out while doing so.

[cherrycola27]

Star Spangled Seresin

Series Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption. Political situations. Unrequited love, one night stand, military and political inaccuracies. Smut. 18+ Minors DNI. Banner Credit: @thedroneranger

Series Masterlist Previous Part Next Part

...........................................

Chapter 1: (I was) Enchanted to Meet You:

After you had left the apartment, Jaycee decided to take some time to herself and get some writing done for work. She was halfway through her article when her phone chimed. It was a text from Jake.

She took a deep breath. She shouldn't have given Jake her phone number. Jaycee didn't do relationships. Not after what happened. But Jake was sweet and made her cum three times and then fixed her breakfast the next day. So, in a moment of weakness, she gave him her number.

She checked his text. It was a message checking to make sure she had made it home okay. After confirming, she was fine, he asked her about her day.

Feeling bold, she snapped a picture of herself with a messy bun, glasses, leggings, and her oversized Georgetown sweatshirt with her laptop. Jake chuckled when he received the image before texting her back a selfie of him in a US Navy tank at the gym.

Jaycee blushed before typing back, "I figured you'd be the kind of guy who works out shirtless 😉." Jake quickly replied, "Normally, I do, but my back had a run-in with some nails last night 😏."

Jaycee's face turned red. And before she could fire off a response, Jake texted her again, "When can I see you again?"

Jaycee sighed. She wasn't a second date or first date, whichever this was kind of girl, but Jake did seem sincere, a nice meal, and some good sex did sound appealing. Of course, she'd have to keep it a secret from you, but that shouldn't be too hard. So, before she could talk herself out of it, she texted him back that she was free on Monday.

Moments later, a smiling selfie of Jake graced her screen with the message, "Fantasic. Meet me at Marcel's at 7:30. The reservation will be under Seresin, party of two."

Jaycee collapsed against the throw pillows of the couch. Was she really about to do this?

The rest of the afternoon was spent texting with Jake. She learned all kinds of things about him, from where he grew up, to his time in the Naval Academy, to his career in the Navy, and some about his family. Jaycee shared more details about herself than she had in a long time. She was about to order some takeout and text you to see what you wanted when she got a message saying you'd be out late and wouldn't be home until after midnight. Something with the campaign.

Jaycee rolled her eyes at how dedicated you were to your job before placing her order.

She'd just settled down to enjoy her orange chicken when a FaceTime from Jake lit up her phone.

"Um, hi?" She said as she answered it. "Hey." Jake said smoothly. "Sorry, I probably should have texted to see if you were busy, but I really wanted to see you again." Jake said.

"It's fine. I just got some takeout and was about to watch some true crime." She told him. "Oh, true crime? Are you more unsolved mysteries or serial killers?" Jake asks. "Unsolved mysteries for sure. And I love a good conspiracy." Jaycee replies as she grabs her chopsticks.

"Conspiracy theories are fun. Once Bradley and I get elected, I can't wait to learn all the secrets they keep locked in the Library of Congress. After the inauguration, I'm heading straight for the JFK file." Jake says without missing a beat. "Why JFK? Is it because he was assassinated in Texas and you're from there, or is it because he was a Navy man, too?" She asks him with a mouthful of noodles.

"Both." Jake confirms

Jaycee snorts out a laugh. "You know that secret section of the Library or Congress is a myth, right?" She tells him. "Guess we'll just have to wait and see. Maybe you and I can look for it together after the election." Jake tells her with a bright smile.

"Yeah, maybe," Jaycee shifts uncomfortably.

"So, other than run for office and fly planes, what do you do for fun?" She asks, changing the subject.

"I like to hike. If I am back home, I love riding horses on my family ranch. A pickup game of football or basketball is fun every now and then. I'm a great bowler, but even better at darts and pool, and I'm a sucker for a good musical or theater performance. My sisters were in drama and dance in school, so I always went to their shows and then started seeing a few shows on my own." Jake tells her.

"Oh, so you have culture?" Jaycee teases him. "What's your favorite show?" She asks him. "Hamilton, obviously." Jaycee can't help but laugh. "Basic." She teases him. "But it could be worse. I figured you would have said something like Oklahoma." She says.

"No self-respecting Texan would ever say their favorite show is Oklahoma." Jake says in a serious tone.

"So what about you, other than grilling potential vice presidents, what do you do for fun?" Jake asks her.

"Um, I like hiking too, I've never rode a horse, I like yoga, and reading, and mini-golf, and kickboxing. And I, too, enjoy the theater."

"So, what's your favorite show then?" Jake asks her. She can tell he's waiting to tease her.

"Wicked." She admits sheepishly. "Oh, and I'm the basic one." Jake rolls his eyes dramatically. "Hey it's a great story about fighting for what you think is right and denying social norms!" Jaycee defends herself.

"If you say so. I've never seen it." Jake shrugs. "What!" Jaycee shrieks. "You said you have sisters. How have you never seen it?!" She asks him. "I tried once. The flying monkeys creeped me out." He admits.

"Okay, okay. I get that." She tells him. "So, I had a really good time with you last night." Jake tells her.

"So did I. Three really good times." Jaycee admits. "I was talking about at the bar. Like, don't get me wrong, the other stuff was great too, but I enjoyed getting to know you." He tells her.

Before Jaycee can answer, she hears keys in the door, and your voice calling out to her. "Jaycee, I'm home!"

"Oh, shit, Jake, I've gotta go!" Jaycee says before quickly ending the call.

"Hey! I thought you said you wouldn't be back until after midnight?" Jaycee asks you. "Yeah, Bradley and I finished up early. Who was that on the phone?" You ask her.

"Um, no one." Jaycee says quickly. "Wait—was that Mr. Tongue Tricks? You gave him your number? Where you guys having phone sex?" You ask her.

"No, no, and ew, no." Jaycee says as she cleans up her mess in the living room. "Okay, whatever you say." You sing-song back to her.

"Hey, do have plans Monday night? Candice and Talia are going to be in town and want to get drinks." You tell her.

"Actually, I do have dinner plans. Sorry." Jaycee tells you. "No worries." You respond before heading to your room.

All of Jaycee's Sunday is spent texting Jake. The two of them talk about everything under the sun. He makes her feel good— happy even, something she haven't felt from a relationship in quite a long time. But then—

Jake had brought up the topic of dumb things he did as a teen and told her about the scar on his ass from a bull. Jaycce laughed at him. Then, he texted, saying how he loved how she had turned her surgical scar into something beautiful. She asked him what he meant. And then he replied, "The one on your side, that's the quill tattoo. Did you have your appendix or something removed?"

Her heart sank, and she dropped your phone. The scar he was talking about wasn't from surgery. It was from the worst moment of her life. She quickly got up and went to the mirror in her room. Jaycce lifted her shirt and traced the jagged lines that ran across her right side.

You had convinced her to get the markings tattooed as a way to reclaim them, but even though she had tried to make them beautiful, they still carried ugly memories.

Flashes of that night flooded her brain, the yelling, the glass, the blood —so much blood. She shook the thoughts from her mind.

Jaycee quickly changed the subject, but suddenly, her heart wasn't in it anymore. Who was she kidding? She couldn't date Jake, she had too much baggage for a guy like him.

On Monday, she barely texted him. And that evening, just as you were able to leave to meet up with your friends, she came out of her room dressed to go out. "Hey, wait up!" She called to you. "You're coming? I thought you had plans?" You ask her skeptically.

"They got canceled. Let's go get drinks!" Jaycee cheered as the two of you walked out the door.

At 7:10, Jaycee, you, and your college friends got a table at the bar right across from Marcel's

At 7:15, she watched Jake enter with a bundle of flowers.

At 7:25, he texted her that he was there.

At 7:30, he asked if she was on her way, and if she was running late, that was fine.

At 7:40, he tried calling her, and she immediately sent it to voicemail.

At 7:45, she stopped checking her texts.

At 8 p.m., she watched a deflated Jake Seresin leave the restaurant. Jaycee finished her drink and excused herself to the restroom.

Once she was alone, she turned off her phone and allowed a single tear to slip down her cheek.

"This is for the best." She told herself in the mirror." But she knew she was lying to herself.

Okay! Here we go yall! Taglist: @daggerspare-standingby @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @hecate-steps-on-me @roosterscock @roosterbruiser @roosterforme @seresinsbabe @startrekfangirl2233 @soulmates8 @xoxabs88xox @avengersfan25 @blackwidownat2814 @loveforaugust @mak-32 @cottagecori @amysteryspot @heyimmadisonn @princess76179 @bradshawseresinbabe @sunlightmurdock @lewmagoo @cassiemitchell @die-cunt @mj-l4 @shipinabluebottle @malindacath @violyn20 @imawkwardlysoc @books-for-summer @blackroseboulevard @recordblues @desert-fern @luckyladycreator2 @katieshook02 @samhapner6 @sebsxphia @roosters-girl @diorrfairy @je-suis-prest-rachel @dakotakazansky @mizzzpink @a-linabean @amklibrary @gretagerwigsmuse @jstarr86 @actuallyazriel @krismdavis @bradshawsbaby

[jazeswhbhaven]

We’re barely halfway into Nov and it’s been two L cards already plus Zagan on the way which is three. I don’t want to rain down on peoples excitement but I’m just bothered by the amount of L cards being released. I can’t math but I feel no player in their right mind would want to spend over $50-100+ dollars in a month for this many cards. I’m taking into account the NP price + paying for the seals. Not sure what this worry of mine is, maybe it feels like PB is getting way too desperate. I never seen a gacha release this much and usually games like FGO release their new content in bulk so you can roll for any of them in one banner.

I for one am not familiar with the usual realm of gacha games with their banners and pity rates, roll rates and things like that, but what I've been educated about is their price points are typically higher than WHB's which to me is insane lol

Like if $50-$100 is "budget" for ya'll then what is everyone normally spending???? I don't even wanna know what others spend on LADS or any other gachas ;.; probably out of my tax bracket.

But back to whb....I actually do want to see other devils because we haven't met all of the 72, so clearly there should be more lower rank cards to collect in the mean time. Being bombarded with so many L cards as a f2p consumer is more sitting around waiting three months or more to pull one. Even getting multiples of the cards you already have is useless because all you get is coins and books, unless it's an L-grade and you're done evolving the card to the max level. I'm certain this may be PB trying to keep up the money flow so they don't have to shut down the project but who knows with companies now a days. I just know they aren't going to stop, even with the players emailing about it 💀

[welcometololaland]

VERY NEARLY UPLOADED A PHOTO OF MYSELF INSTEAD OF THIS BANNER LMAO! JUMPSCARE!

Thank you for the tags @cha-melodius @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @strandnreyes @alrightbuckaroo @carlos-in-glasses @birdclowns @lemonlyman-dotcom @iboatedhere NEEDED this, this week and I appreciate all of you! I know most of y'all are Tarlos writers and I'm so sorry but I have no Tarlos inspo this week, but if you like two very intelligent, boss-ass women lightly bullying their brother/brother-in-law (basically), then maybe you will like this! It's from Fifty First Dates (chapter 4 - released on Monday) (thanks to @rmd-writes for beta-ing).

“Can I ask a question?” Nora asks, leaning back in the booth, her eyes glinting dangerously.  Alex sighs, the beer in his hand halfway to his lips. “If I said ‘no’, would it stop you?” Nora looks at June, who rolls her eyes. “Of course not.” “Then no,” Alex replies petulantly, taking a sip of beer.  “After ant-gate,” Nora continues, now crossing her legs daintily, as if she’s the picture of etiquette and not about to ask Alex some kind of savage, personal question, “why did you not call one of us?” Alex scoffs, almost blowing bubbles from his half-empty beer glass into his face. “Come on,” he says drily, ignoring his near faux pas. “You would have made so much fun of me.” “You told us anyway,” June points out, reaching for her margarita.  “And we’re making fun of you now,” Nora adds.  “I never claimed I was smart,” Alex protests, even though he has, on multiple occasions, claimed that he is. “Oh my god, Alex,” June groans, tipping her head back momentarily in a very dramatic fashion she definitely adopted after spending too much time with Nora. “You know you’re smart. We know you’re smart. So, why did you elect to go and stay at Henry’s when you could have stayed with us?” “We just wanna know if you boned,” Nora quips, before June kicks her under the table. “Maybe not in that much detail,” June corrects, giving Nora a sharp look as she scowls. “Just a high level run-down.” “Including whether or not you f*cked.”

I know a lot of people have done this already but gonna go out on a limb and tag @kiwiana-writes @cricketnationrise @chaa-kiao @athousandrooms @stutteringpeach @clottedcreamfudge @indomitable-love @celeritas2997 @reyescarlos @sunshinestrand @goodways @fitzherbertssmolder and @watmalik (any art wips?) @three-drink-amy @walkinginland @wandering-night19 @ithilien-writes @freneticfloetry @hoko-onchi-writes @ambiguouspenny and @howtosingit just in case you're interested in an early read!

[pajarinwrites]

The Perfect Set 01

➳ fem!reader x Jacob

➳ wc: 4.8k

➳ TAGS: volleyball player!jacob, college!au, best friends to lovers

➳ WARNINGS: drinking?, slightly questionable comments about women's bodies (but our Jacob stops them before they get to finish the sentence :D)

➳ AN: omg wtf this took so long, and i kept pushing it back and then i realised it's scheduled for zhongqiujie/chuseok even and i wanted to write a little special for the holiday and i couldn't finish because i was editing this because i felt terrible that it took this fucking long to finish in the first place

also, sorry to lucas, i'm sure he drinks his respect women juice every morning

next | series masterlist | general masterlist

You could make out Jacob’s focused face from your position in the stands. No matter how many times you’d seen him before a match, you’d never grow tired of the expression he wore during warm-ups. The soft, lovely Jacob you’d known for most of your life suddenly seemed to become a whole different person. The kind of focus that shadowed his eyes and the intensity in his gaze reminded you again and again why the opposing team always seemed intimidated by his mere presence.

You watched him stride across the court, shaking hands with the opponent’s captain in front of the referee. Your heart swelled with pride once more as you remembered the team meeting at the beginning of the semester, where the players voted Jacob as their captain, unanimously. His expression had been incredulous and elated at the same, so very different from the one he was wearing right now. So very different from the one he had been wearing when he came climbing through your dorm window that night, close to tears in worry about not being able to fulfil his duties as captain.

He had big shoes to fill, true, Sangyeon had been a brilliant captain and wing spiker, but Jacob was going to be brilliant in his own right, in his own way. You told him as much, while holding him close and stroking his back lightly. He nodded solemnly against the column of your neck, opting to hold you a little closer in lieu of a verbal reply.

You’d like to hug him again now, tell him ‘see, didn’t I tell you, you’d be great?’. But you have to make do with simply waving your enormous banner and cheering him and his team on as loud as you could.

They win, of course they do. They haven’t done much else since the start of the semester. Largely due to Jacob’s tireless efforts at captain, the research that goes into the best warm-up and stretching routines, the extra hours working on stamina and reviewing game plans together. You’re there for all of it, where else would you be as his best friend? And he thanks you by giving you so much of his precious time, that he always had so little of, torn between responsibilities for his friend group, team, and university work. Not that you’re any less busy.

“You played brilliantly! Mrs. Oropeza would be so proud of you!” You great him in front of the changing rooms after the game. He hasn’t even showered yet, his bangs sticking to his forehead and his jersey sticking to his torso, in ways that leave little to your imagination. But his eyes are shining with happiness and with pride, and maybe a little bit with relief. That’s your Jacob, ever the worrier.

“Thanks! I flunked the toss in the first set to Juyeon. And I lost track off the court for a bit in the last. But the boys covered for my mistakes. I should practice my jump serve again, though. Im sure I can improve in terms of power.” You smile, listening to his excited explanations, his gaze still halfway on the court. Sometimes you wish there was something in your life you could be burning for so passionately.

“You’re always so hard on yourself.” He smiles at that, a familiar refrain. You’ve done this a million times after his matches, it always goes the same.

“Someone has to keep me in check. Especially now that I’m captain.”

“You should take more time to celebrate your achievements, though.”

“That’s what I’ve got you for, isn’t it?”

As if divinely timed, Juyeon sticks his head out the locker room door. His hair is drooping wet, droplets of water running down his neck before being soaked up by the towel he’d slung over his shoulders.

“Did I hear you speaking of celebrations?”

Maybe he was just eavesdropping, you decide.

“We’re gonna celebrate making it to quarter finals tonight. At Haknyeon’s at eight, you should join!”

“They’ve got better stuff to do than party with you knuckleheads,” Jacob jokes good-naturedly, “some of us care about our degree, you know.”

“I think your degree will survive one night of letting loose.”

“I whole-heartedly agree.”

“Great! So you can make sure our captain shows up for more than half an hour for once!”

“Get a shirt on!” Jacob exclaims, pushing his team mate back into the cabin. “Half naked! That’s no way to speak with a lady!”

“And where’s the lady?” You hear Juyeon chuckle at his own joke before the locker room door falls close behind the both of them. Jacob sticks his head out for another second.

“Will you wait for me?” He asks, as if this is the first game you’ve come to watch, as if you didn’t scream cheering slogans at the top of your lungs for one and a half hours, as if you aren’t wearing his name on your face, scribbled onto your cheeks with bright red lipstick. 

“Always,” you smile.

It takes Jacob all of fifteen minutes to come back out of the locker room. At this point most of his team mates have left, most of them stopping you chat with you. Other than the new first semesters, they’ve all come to know you as a permanent fixture in the extended team. Even though you reliably decline the offer to join the management, you make it to every game and most practices. Through Jacob’s friendship, you’ve picked up all terminology for the sport, and, through your constant support in research, you’ve gotten quite a thorough understanding of the tactics behind a play. Not to mention that you’re always front row when it comes to support and cheering. Juyeon high fives you as he leaves, reminding you of your promise to drag Jacob along to the team party.

“Who said anything about a promise?”

“If you actually get him to come, then I promise to get you free drinks all night.”

“Tempting,” you muse sarcastically but Juyeon seems to miss your tone.

“Yeah, it’ll be awesome, seriously. You two have really missed out on some great parties over the years!”

“The greatest part are usually the wonderfully embarrassing stories you tell of each other afterward. Plus the blackmail video proof.”

“And this time you can be a part of them!”

You’re not sure how to reply to the earnest expression on Juyeon’s face.

“Thanks, but I’ll stick to watching the blackmail.”

He only shrugs in response before sauntering off with one of the newer recruits for the team.

You spend your time scrolling through TikTok until a soft tap on your shoulder and the waft of a familiar aftershave alert you to the presence of your best friend. You look up, smiling, and are met with a similar expression on Jacob’s face.

“How about we go to your favourite café to celebrate?” He asks.

“Shouldn’t we go to your favourite place?”

“My favourite place is wherever you are.” He replies, as if it’s the most normal thing to say. 

You exhale unattractively through your nose as you two start walking in unison.

“Save your sappy pick-up lines for your girlfriend.”

“No girlfriend, as you know.”

“Alas, so you have to waste them on me.”

“I don’t think they’re wasted on you.”

“Ugh stop, you incorrigible flirt.”

“I’m not flirting.”

“So that’s why every girl I know has a crush on you.”

“They do?” You punched his arm at the excited expression on his face.

“Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Okay, okay, sorry.” Jacob laughed, rubbing his biceps where you hit him. “But don’t tell Juyeon. He’ll get sulky.” 

“Maybe you should give him flirt lessons?”

“I should. His idea of flirting is taking his shirt off.”

“Ah so he was flirting with me today,” you grinned sarcastically, looking over to your best friend. But instead of the expected teasing, you were met with a surprisingly serious expression.

“I think so. He’s been trying to show off for a while. Why else would he invite you to the party?” You were stunned into silence while Jacob held the door to your favourite café open.

“I thought he was just using me to get you to the party.” 

“That was just his excuse. He talks about you a lot.” You were floored at this new development, and your expression must have been betraying as much because one glance send Jacob into giggles.

“What’s with the disbelief? He’s not the first member to develop a crush on you.” You’re too preoccupied with sorting through all this new information to notice the way Jacob presses his lips together right after the statement, looking very much like someone who confessed something he’d rather not have.

“Anyway. What do you want? The usual?” You ignore his question in favour of returning to the can of worms he himself just opened. “So you’re saying that there are multiple of your team mates that are interested in me, right?”

Jacob groans, “I don’t know. Not right now, I guess. Juyeon was pretty clear about his… crush.” The words seem to pain him.

“But there have been several of your team mates interested in me?” You insist. He says nothing while studying the menu. You both know he won’t choose anything other than his regular iced americano anyway, so you nudge him none so gently.

“Don’t ignore me!”

“I’m not ignoring you! I just don’t know what to tell you. I guess, yeah, several. Over the years a few of them said stuff.” Jacob doesn’t turn around to face you during your conversation, opting to instead order for the both of you. You watch the barista being a little too touchy when giving him his change. She winks at Jacob. Your best friend really can’t go anywhere without being ogled. And you couldn’t be mad if you tried, you have eyes after all. Anyone, who’s ever exchanged more than three words with Jacob Bae, can tell that his kind demeanour, sparkling eyes, and fluffy hair are the stuff movies are made of. Heather here (as the name tag on her uniform informs you), seems to agree. As you cling onto your best friend’s biceps, she gives you a scalding glare.

“What stuff?” You ask. He finally faces you when the two of you make your way over to the pick-up counter. Jacob seems thoroughly unamused by your antics.

“I don’t know, dude. Just that you’re, like, cute or whatever,”

“Who said that?”

“Okay, time to change the topic,” he smiles.

“Why? Are you scared I’ll be mad when I find out what big, ole hunks of men you’ve been gate-keeping from me? What’s up with that, by the way? Are they all spineless or did you actually tell them not to ask me out?” His silence is answer enough.

“Jacob Bae! You are the reason none of your super hot athlete friends ask me on dates? What kind of best friend are you? Since when has this been going on?”

Jacob stews more in his silence but you decide not to let him get out of this particular question. He manages to hold out until you’ve both picked up your drinks and slid into your regular booth. Still avoiding eye contact like he could contract the plague from you he mutters ‘sincehighschoolorsomething’ in such a small voice that you have to lean forward and ask him to repeat himself.

“It’s not that I’m gate-keeping them from you!” He says in lieu of repeating his words, “If anything I’m gate-keeping you! You deserve better.” You heart flutters in your chest at the compliment, given in such a frank and matter-of-fact manner. Especially with how Jacob doesn’t even seem to notice how sweet his declaration was. He simply forges ahead in his explanation.

“You should see them, some of them can’t even wash their uniforms regularly. Do you remember Mark from algebra? I swear he didn’t even shower after every practice!” Jacob whines.

“Mark?” You near shout, the warm feeling behind your ribcage vaporising in a second from the surprise, “from algebra? Are you telling me it’s because of you that I couldn’t get a boyfriend in freshman or sophomore year of high school? And when I always encouraged all the girls that told me they had a crush on you, too!”

He blushes, “but girls are girls and boys are trash.” He says with such naïveté that you can’t help but laugh, all your righteous anger dissipating.

“That’s a valid point,” you concede between fits of laughter. “And, in all honesty, if you think they’re not good enough for me, then I trust your judgement.” You wink at him, but miss the way he flushes an even brighter shade of red as you take a sip of your drink.

“Anyway, the party tonight?”

“What about it?”

“Are you coming along of your own accord or do I have to drag you?”

He frowns, “But what about our victory tradition?”

You look at his petulant pout and cock an eyebrow. As important as your tradition is to both of you, you know that it’s also a convenient excuse. There’s a short staring contest between the two of you, but it’s clear that Jacob will cave first, as usual. He rolls his eyes as if there was important information printed on the inside of his skull.

“Fine! If you wanna go that bad, I’ll come along. I know that you can’t hold your liquor.”

“Awesome! You can pick me up later, I gotta go get ready.” You blow him a kiss that he pretends to bat away. “Be on time!”

“Maybe!” You reply, knowing full well you won’t.

You let Jacob into the tiny space that is your dorm room at seven fifty-five sharp, dressed in an oversized t-shirt that might have once been his.

“Is that my t-shirt?” He asks instead of a greeting.

“Who knows,” you reply getting back to your make-shift make-up station on the ground in front of your desk. Jacob plops down on your bed.

“Watch it,” you say, throwing him a piercing gaze through the mirror, “I was gonna wear that!” He gets back up immediately, looking at the mess on your bed.

“All… one, two… six of these dresses?” He asks.

“Don’t get smart with me. Obviously not. But I haven’t picked one yet. What do you think?” He takes a closer look at the heap of clothes and is immediately transported back to the last (and only) time that he helped you get ready for a party like this. He’d already been apprehensive that night, favouring a comfortable night-in with his best friend over a crowded, rowdy place of strangers. But the way your eyes lit up with the prospect of mingling made him cave, just like today. Of course, the party turned out less than ideal. So much so that it kept you from insisting taking him to another one for the better part of your university life. He should thank his lucky stars that it lasted this long. Jacob knows he could have refused you today. He could have insisted that he still felt uncomfortable, that parties simply weren’t his cup of tea. And you would have given in, easily and with the same smile as always, happy to spend the night lounging in one of your dorm rooms. Be that as it may, he also knows he couldn’t have said no to you even if it had cost him his arm. He just wants to see you happy, he thinks. And so he takes the red dress up first, ready to play stylist for you if it’s what you want. The dress pretty, but the neckline makes him a little nervous. Jacob puts it back down to look at one of the black ones instead. It glitters softly if he turns it in the light. He tries to gauge your reaction to any of the dresses by throwing a glance into the mirror but you’re completely engrossed in drawing a straight wing with your eyeliner.

It looks good, he thinks. And the glittery makeup would probably look really nice with the dress he’s holding right now. Just to be sure, he decides to take a look at the other three, holding up a dark blue piece and another black one (just how many of these do you own?).

“What do you think?” You say, directly next to his ear, and Jacob flinches, causing his shoulder to hit you in the jaw.

“Shit! Sorry!” He says but you’re only laughing. He gets temporarily blinded by the sparkle in your eye. Maybe you should cool it a little with the glittery make-up. He stutters, “Umm…”

“You good?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“It’s fine, Jake. Nothing a little plastic surgery couldn’t fix.” You’re rubbing your chin in such exaggerated suffering that he knows you’re fine. “I just need to know which dress I should wear so that we’re not even later than we already are.”

“Who’s fault is that?” He nags.

“Well, I would’ve hurried more if you had picked a dress more quickly.”

“I did pick a dress quickly.”

“Yeah? Which one?” There’s a split second in which Jacob feels self-conscious about his choice. He’s usually so adept at pin-pointing the things you’re going to like, but the way you look at him with your hair and face all done-up makes him falter a little. The next second, he’s almost mad at himself. How ridiculous of him to fear that you would ever think of less of him for his opinion, much less disregard it.

“This one,” he says, holding up the black one.

“Oooh, sparkles!” Is your only comment. You hold it in front of your body in the mirror. But instead of agreeing with his choice you look back at him again.

“What is Juyeon’s favourite colour?” The question takes Jacob so by surprise that he doesn’t even manage to stop himself from answering, “blue.”

“Okay,” you toss the brilliant, black piece back onto your bed unceremoniously and grab the dark blue one. You stare at him with those intense eyes and Jacob can’t help the thought that, as stunning as you look now, he prefers you with no make-up on. He only notices that he’s still staring when you clear your throat.

“Huh?”

“Could you turn around?”

“Oh shoot, yeah, sure,” he says, spinning around, glad that you won’t see how his face heats up. Maybe it’s your stupid make-up or the fact that you’re clearly getting ready with thoughts of Juyeon on your mind but Jacob is feeling like the air in the room has gotten a lot thicker. He wonders shortly whether he should tell you that he thinks you’re better than doing all this for a man, choosing your dress according to his preferences, dolling yourself up for Juyeon instead of for yourself. But when he opens his mouth to speak, you beat him to it, prompting him to turn around.

“Ok, done. What do you think?”

Jacob thinks he’ll be hard pressed to keep Juyeon, or anyone’s, eager hands off of you.

The two of you make it to the party only five minutes short of an hour late. Haknyeon is the one to open the door, letting you know where to find snacks, the beer pong table, and the drinks. He looks you up and down, making you wonder if there’s something wrong with your dress. Jacob steps closer to you, one arm on your elbow. He continues to stick close to your side, while you two get a feel for the place. There seems to be a game of truth or dare going on the floor of the living room and Jacob easily steers you away from it.

He hands you some form of alcohol in a red solo cup. You give it a sip, “ooh, it’s good.”

“Don’t let it out your sight. There’s not only team mates here, but also a bunch of people I don’t know well.” You chuckle.

“Ok, mom.”

Eventually, you loose your best friend in the crowd, in what looks suspiciously like a whisking away by his team mates. Possibly to get him to do a keg stand. You chuckle, thinking back to the first and only time you attended one of these after-match parties in your first semester with Jacob. The secret to why Jacob was so adamant about avoiding team parties was a less than stellar escapade with the beer keg in his freshman year that none of his older team mates would let him forget. Before you can try to go looking for him in a much needed rescue attempt, someone taps you on the shoulder. You spin around to be faced with Juyeon, in a leather jacket, open over a skin-tight shirt that leaves little to the imagination.

“Hey,” he greets you, “I didn’t think you’d show up.”

“You should know that I’m always down for a little get-together.”

He laughs, “this isn’t exactly the right place then.”

“Well, as long as there’s people I like around.”

Juyeon smirks, resting his forearm against the wall next to your head and leaning into you.

“Some more than others, maybe?” He whispers under his voice. You can smell the vodka-o on his breath but it doesn’t really bother you. You mirror his smirk, leaning a little more forward.

“The jury’s still out on that, but if someone were to get me a new drink, I’d definitely warm up to them.” He snatches your empty solo cup out of your hand immediately.

“I’ll be right back,” he winks, making a beeline for the kitchen. You bite your lips in anticipation of where this night might lead but your thoughts are rudely interrupted by a familiar voice, “You look silly.” Your best friend’s expression betrays another close call with the keg. His eyes, usually bright and soft, have darkened.

“Rude!”

“What’s got you grinning like an idiot like that?”

“Oh just this and that.”

“Is ‘this and that’ roughly 1,80 tall, mildly annoying on a good day, and our best middle blocker?”

“Don’t let him hear that, it’ll get to his head.”

“Men are trash after all,” your best friend says, his face still impassionate. You bump hips with him in an effort to get him out of his funk. “But some are a little less trash,” you wink at him and he finally gives you a smile.

“I don’t really know if I should feel offended or flattered.”

Jacob keeps you company until Juyeon returns with your solo cup, filled to the brim and reeking of alcohol. You take a sip and try not to grimace from the taste. Seems like he threw every type of alcohol he could find in the kitchen into one cup and topped it off with an inch of sprite.

“Thanks,” you say anyway.

“Have you seen the pond in Haknyeon’s backyard yet? It’s the second prettiest thing tonight.” He winks and you you can’t help but giggle. Behind you, quiet enough for Juyeon not to catch it, Jacob pretends to retch. The middle blocker holds an arm out for you to take and leads you to the garden. You miss the forlorn expression on Jacob’s face.

“I think Jacob’s best friend is super cute,” one of his team mates says, making the boy in question wheel around. “What?” He asks, incredulously, before he can stop himself. Mark looks over at him from where he’s changing. “Sorry, dude,” he chuckles, rubbing his neck awkwardly.

“He’s not wrong, though,” Lucas chimes in, “at our last game she was wearing that tight t-shirt—“

“Stop… talking, please,” Jacob says, still all smiles, even though the way his team mates are talking about you makes his throat constrict. Lucas seems to either not catch his tone or choose to ignore it. “Her friend’s not bad either, huge pair of—“

“Oh my god, Lucas,” Jacob interrupts. Mark is starting to look very unhappy with where he took the conversation. Lucas just looks confused at Jacob’s reaction. “What? Are the friends of your friends also off-limits now?”

“No,” Jacob replies in between deep calming breaths, “I’d just appreciate it, if you didn’t talk about women like that in general. No matter who they are.” Lucas seems to really work through those words in his head before he shrugs his shoulders, “Ok.” Jacob is almost certain he heard Mark sigh relief.

When you meet him outside the changing room, as you always do, you have no idea about the conversations that had just happened inside the locker room. You give him a big hug, which Jacob cleverly uses to stare down Mark behind your back, who had been lingering a little too long for his liking.

“You did so well!” You say, also as always. Jacob doesn’t have it in himself to negate your gushing praises today. “Thanks,” he simply breathes, with a smile. You walk home together, another daily ritual, except today you take a detour to try out a new café you’d been talking about for ages. It’s supposed to have super cute interior and be the new hotspot in town. Whatever that’s supposed to mean. He always treasures these small moments. You’re in the final strokes of your junior year now, and time is getting increasingly scarce between both of your academic and leisurely commitments.

“You find a table, I’ll go order,” Jacob says and you agree immediately, already on the lookout for one of the lounging chairs on the deck in front of the building. He makes his way inside, immediately glad you decided to sit outside in the sun. The huge glass front of the café makes the interior feel like a hundred degrees. He walks over to the counter and is surprised to be greeted by a familiar face.

“Mrs. Oropeza, I didn’t expect to see you here!” He greets the elderly lady. She smiles warmly, the same smile she’s always smiled, ever since babysitting him when he was little. It’s been a constant fixture in his and your life to run over to her house in the neighbourhood in search of freshly baked pudín, a place to watch Sunday TV volleyball matches or a shoulder to cry on over scraped knees. Once Jacob took up volleyball in middle school, she made sure to come to all of his matches. She insisted it was not only for his sake, but also because she loved the sport.

“Well, it’s grown so quiet in the neighbourhood that I’ve been longing for a chance to get out again.”

“So you started working here?”

“Just sometimes. It’s not hard work to man the register, and I enjoy getting to talk to people.” Jacob smiled at her warm expression. He didn’t doubt that her positive presence would do the café well. “So what can I get you today, cariño?”

“I think I’ll take a latte, and one homemade lemonade for my friend.” 

“Oh, how lovely. Are you two still as inseparable as ever?”

Jacob smiles fondly at the memories of the two of you together on Mrs. Oropeza’s old, orange couch, munching on her baked goods while watching cartoons. “Yeah,” he says, smiling fondly, “we’re on our way home from one of my games.”

“Ah, I heard you were playing the Tigers today. A terrible team, in my opinion. No sportsmanship.” Jacob chuckled at her committed interest in high school volleyball teams.

“Who said that?” He laughs.

“I did,” she winks at him while ringing him up and telling the part-timer next to her his order. He hands her the cash as she inquires about the outcome of the game. “We won,” he says, his chest swelling with pride a little. He was sure that Mrs. Oropeza had heard about how infamous their opposing team was for their power and endurance.

“Of course you did. I always keep telling you the setter is the centre point of every good team. He’s the game master, without a good setter, the rest of the team has an infinitely harder team.” Jacob only nods amiably as he listens to his old neighbours often repeated chorus. “And you were always a brilliant setter,” she continues, making his cheeks burns.

“I tell all the ladies at my book club, as far as high school volleyball goes, you haven’t seen a perfect set, if you haven’t seen Jacob Bae play.” At this point, the boy in question is sure that his entire face is bright red. He waves his hand in a throw-away motion while trying to dissuade Mrs. Oropeza from uttering any more praises. He’s lucky because she seems to sense his discomfort with being the centre of attention. She let’s him go with a simple, ‘say hello to your other half for me’.

next | series masterlist | general masterlist

[teleportationmagic]

Most days Acier spends her time in the library.

The simmiering sheen on the banners that sweep through the space glitter back at her, a pale purple. Her family's colour. She'd always been partial to blue herself, but there was something to be said about rebellion.

Well. It had been rebellion at sixteen. Now that she was fully grown, it was disdain, maybe. Selfishness, if she was any less valuable a member of House Silva. How funny for them, that they had two heads of house, one which came from the outside and yet fit in perfectly, their own eldest daughter contenting herself in matters of war. They'd make a better set if they switched.

And yet. Here they were. She wonder how her husband is doing, handling his duties along with the children. She wonders how Nozel is faring, as a new magic knight. She wonders if Nebra and Solid have taken her death well.

She doesn't wonder about Noelle. Her heart throbs, at all once, and she puts it out of her mind. Unproductive and useless, she doesn't have the time for it.

The library is full of texts, none of them novel. Most of them have pages that have become blurry around the edges, from where Acier had rushed through them barely skimming. Grimgar was fully intact, thankfully. As were the pictures of her children's faces.

When she tires of it (or gets so much more tired of it, that staring at the tauntingly familiar texts goes from uncomfortable to untolerable,) she marched out to the courtyard and casts. Opposite castle Silva is a dark brick-stones spire of it's own - likely Spade's, considering the occupant and the decoration, though she's never bothered to ask - and above the both is a writhing mass of leeches.

She tries to ignore them. Her steel comes to her easy as always, sharp and pointed, an exercise in razor perfection. There's no more satisfaction in it, not for a long time, not since she came her and stopped being able to improve, but the motions are repetitive and rhythmic and soothing in their own way.

On some level she expects Vanica. This is as good as an invitation, after all, practising in full view of that eyesore. But she lets it come as a suprise, when her back is peirced.

She flips and turns, driving her own lance into her. They stand for a moment, taste of iron in the air, before the pull back.

She smiles. She always smiles. Acier can't - it would be irritating if she knew just ho much she valued to novelty of this fight - but Vanica always smiles enough for the two of them.

"Steel Magic; Dance of a Thousand Sparks"

The world lights up aroudn them, light reflecting off flecks of steel. She wants to make Vanica eat them.

She cackles, and responds with a barrage of her own, each parried against the legnth of her's. It's not a hard fight to win - in their past fight, Vanica had been far too depdant on Megicula and now stripped of her favour there was very little variety in her fight.

She wins. Predictably, her hand halfway through Vanica's chest, she wins. The soft flesh of her sticks to her hand as she pulls away.

"I won. Leave."

"I will. Just look here for a second?" And she does. She should have stayed her course, but let noone accuse her of cowardice.

Lips land against her, tasting overfermented. She destroys half her face for the insult, a cackling noise echoing around them both.

"Oh come on," She croons it from her place aginst the floor.

"Leave." Acier feels like pure ice. Or she should. Something moves in her, more than it should.

It's been a very very long time.

"Oh come on." She's pieces back together, bit by bit. Nothing changes here. "Aren't you bored, Acier?"

The kiss had done something fundamental to them, she was sure of that. "Not bored enough."

"So you will be!" She cuts her off before Acier can continue, another step into her personal space. "That's good to hear. Because I'm not bored at all - not so long as you keep beating me!"

A shudder shakes down her spine. Because that was the thing with Vanica - even when you won, you lost. "I will drag you back there, Vanica."

She grins, wide and manical. "Will you?"

She does. Forced to bear the disrespect, she does. The steel is marred, frayed, and she spends some time repairing the barrier before returning home.

After the library, she spends the most time on her bed. She can hear the siren song of apathy, and despite knowing she should be more insulated against it, sometimes...

Sometimes she wants to sleep forever. Most of the time, that disturbs her the most. Right now? She longs for it. Unconsciousness drowns her.

[desirepathzine]

Jeff Buckley Saved My Life in Orlando, Florida by Randi Eversole

In March of 2016, I was on a charter bus, headed towards Orlando, Florida. I was a senior in high school. The trip was with my Southern Baptist evangelical church choir. I did not want to be there.

The choir tour was a non-negotiable part of every year, a way for all of the concerned parents of young church goers to ship their kids off during spring break so they would spend it in service of the Lord and not mingling with all the other degenerates who were out of class. Ostensibly it was a week full of "volunteering" to some degree, singing at shelters and nursing homes, paying money to sing contemporary christian worship music in historic cathedrals. touring around whatever major city from the safety of the bus, so on. The trip was to a different scary big city every year. Prior to Orlando I had found myself in Chicago, the year before Chicago we'd done an actual tour, saving souls in Jacksonville/Florida, Savannah/Georgia, and Charleston/SC.

By the time we were halfway through Chicago, I had started to articulate issues I had with this mission, and indeed the Southern Baptist denomination of Christianity as a whole. By the time a senior trip to Orlrando, FL was announced, I saw it for what it was: an excuse to take a bunch of kids to Disney World under the banner of Christianity.

For the 12 hour bus ride to Orlando, I had prepped a few albums to listen to, as I usually did when headed somewhere new. I had discovered many favorite artists tucked away at the front of the bus (they usually made all the students sit in the back, but I was prone to motion sickness, so I always ended up at the front with all of the chaperones, who largely left me alone).

That year, my album picks had included Grace, Jeff Buckley's only album. I had of course been familiar, you couldn't sift through a single Tumblr playlist without coming into contact with Hallelujah. I vaguely knew somewhere that he had passed, that he was all of my favorite vocalist's favorite vocalist, that sort of thing.

For whatever reason, somewhere in Georgia, I decided now was the time to listen to Grace for the first time. And my download of the album had somehow not copied Mojo Pin, the album's first track, to my iPod so I indeed did start the record listening to the title track. I quickly fixed this mistake on returning home. Ancient problems from a different time, truly.

I did not listen to another record for the rest of the week.

Here was a friend, a person striving for authenticity, an artist coming into his power. All of the things I desperately craved both to be and to be around. It was a balm and a shield against all of the empty expressions of the music I was going to sing that week, the manipulative key changes and nonsensical lyrics. Here was something real and special.

So many lyrics were reaching through time to hold my hand, the beautiful melodies and vocal acrobatics elevating me, taking me away from the bus window view of the interstate, to somewhere I felt safe and seen.

I was alone in many ways that week, alienated from the religion I was raised in, alienated from my peers who maybe at one point had been my friends but had steadily pulled apart from me in the latter months of high school when it became clear we were not going to be compatible adults, bunking in a drafty Hyatt Place with roommates I really didn't know at all, who argued ceaselessly when we were supposed to be sleeping. I had been relegated to a pullout couch in an attempt to get some space.

As any anxious and isolated neurodivergent teen girl would in the circumstances, I went on a deep dive that first dark night in Orlando, far away from home and surrounded by strangers, into Jeff, his life, his work. I listened to interviews to keep the noise at bay. In my search, I found a picture of Jeff, holding a phone, on a portable bed, presumably talking to a journalist, doing press. I tracked down the location. It was a hotel somewhere in Orlando, Florida.

(photos by Merri Cyr)

It was like waving at someone in another dimension.

Two days into the tour I looked down at the t-shirts we all had to wear, a mish mash of Bible references and key words in the shape of a cross, printed on ugly mint green and coral orange t-shirts (the orange stained my bra for weeks, it was horrible). The choir was given a 'theme' every year for the tours, one inspirational word that was supposed to drive the spiritual growth of 9-12 graders. The year in Chicago had been the "restore" tour (which is extremely problematic the longer you dwell on it). "What's the tour name this year?" I blearily asked one of the chaperones. "Oh, it's the Grace tour. Make sure you use the hashtag."

The tour was the first time I encountered an actively hostile audience during any of the shows. Looking back that seems strange, but nonetheless. We often performed for unsheltered folks, who were forced to listen to us boisterously praise the Lord as they tried to get something to eat or were otherwise seeking support. The show in question took place in a parking lot where an extremely questionable Christian charity group set up once a week to attempt to convert anyone who needed a hot meal. Somewhere in the hour long set of worship music, teenagers banging on trash cans under the guise of performing STOMP (yes, like the off-Broadway thing, which no one even knew because it was such a dated concept by 2016), a capella chamber music (I did that too), and emotionally manipulative skits, one of the people in the crowd started to yell. I don't remember the exact verbatim statements, but it was along the lines of "Why are you singing when we need food, need shelter?"

That night, at the mandated debrief/devotional portion of the night before they finally let us all go to bed, many of my peers expressed that they had never thought of the work that way, as something that could be potentially a nuisance, bothersome, something people were forced to suffer through in order to have their basic needs met.

That was a question I had been asking myself for over a year at that point, ever since pretending to "restore" Chicago in 2015. Did anyone really find inspiration in a bunch of white middle class teenagers singing their little hearts out over Coldplay instrumentals? Did the sloppy manual labor we tried to do at various places for people in need really benefit anyone? Did tired building custodians go back in the day after and correct the naive mistakes of suburban teenagers who were not given any option other than to figure out ways to be helpful? Much ink has been spilled over the epidemic of teenage-centered volountourism from churches, sending unqualified children to do labor to get closer to God, etc. I was tired of treating people less fortunate than this community like pawns to achieve karma points. I was tired of singing bad music. I was tired of feeling like a ghost.

When we got back on the bus, or returned to the hotel, or had mildly unsupervised free time at venues, I would check back in with Jeff. I listened to So Real over and over again, its simplicity was spellbinding. One night they carted us to Disney Springs, the shopping district on Disney property, to burn off steam before getting ready for another day of presumably hard work. I was too tired to traipse around, half-heartedly tagging along with folks that seemed indifferent to my presence. I sat down with a shaved ice and watched a pair of living statues performing in the humid evening, bronze and vaguely Victorian looking, glimmering under the ambient theme park lights. I watched them work a crowd while I listened to So Real and briefly became lost in a story that to this day I cannot recall correctly, some short-lived idea about statues yearning to be real. I started crying, not helped by the schedule that left us overworked and under-rested, and a lack of access to protein and actual nutrients beyond pizza.

Every night, I thought of Jeff on a hotel bed, years ago, in the same place as me. Was he alone? Did his worldview, the questions he screamed out towards the end of Eternal Life, his propensity for diving into the biggest emotions, isolate him like they isolated me?

It's easy to fall in love with someone who has passed, it makes it easy to assign them traits you admire or romanticize their short life. I don't think I fell in love with Jeff in that way, although it is undeniable that he was beautiful. I didn't need lips to kiss, I needed a shoulder to cry on, and it felt like there was a beautiful friend helping me chart a course out of self-loathing and getting mired in philosophical mud.

The last night of the tour, before the Friday fun day when all pretense of work is thrown out to go to a theme park or explore safely curated areas of the city, it was expected that somebody, a youth pastor or the choir director or a well meaning chaperone, would give a sort of pious pep talk, asking us if we really believed all the things we were singing, or were we just having fun on a spring break trip? Anyone who is familiar with Cry Nights at evangelical summer camp knows this tactic. Overstimulate and exhaust young people with still developing brains, feed them a steady diet of sweets and carbohydrates, and then the claws of emotional manipulation will sink so much deeper. And then make them go sing a concert with exhausted voices and clogged sinuses from crying, where their emotions and convictions will run so high, that surely no one in the audience will go unmoved.

That last pep talk reared its ugly head before the last concert, as I presumed it would. But I didn't really listen, while the tears flowed around me. In my head, I was sitting across from Jeff Buckley at the pullout bed, quietly centering myself, trying to find peace in the midst of the chaos. We smiled at each other and said nothing in this vision.

I returned home, glad to be done with youth choir forever, vowing ot never go back to the church I had been raised in. (and also I finally listened to Mojo Pin since it didn't make it onto my iPod)

I was trying my best to give myself grace under strange and infuriating circumstances. Jeff taught me how. Being curious and sensitive is a strength, rage can fuel beauty, seeking authenticity is a worthy journey. That this situation was temporary and I would not have to live my life beholden to the whims of a religious institution that actively benefitted from my fears. Grace, real grace, given freely without the expectation of a transaction, is beautiful. I returned home, a week before my eighteenth birthday, and began the long process of figuring out what I actually believed, what I actually valued, and pursuing the things that filled me with joy at full speed, a road that I am still traveling.

[orphicpoieses]

Writing Log

August 3, 2023

WIP: Project Rosary

Phase: Active Writing

Percentage: ~ 50%

Hello and welcome back to a new writing log.

I am slowly coming near the halfway mark in my Project Rosary Part 1. Even though life is stressful right now (exam season started in Germany two weeks ago), I am fairly consistent in writing every morning before studying.

Creating stories in these times is crucial for me. I immediately feel stressed, when I cannot write (especially if people tell me to not write during the exam phase!). It is like my little escape from everyday work.

But to be honest with you, I am currently a bit unmotivated. Not only because stuff currently happens within my family, but also because everything seems to be quite exhausting. So, what’s been new these days, is that I am trying to get anything down. A new Tumblr post, stuff for my project, new stuff… All of that.

Some of you have already seen that I came up with a new kinda fantasy story, that has no particular meaning, whatsoever.

It doesn’t have a name, beside the codename for Tumblr, so I can tag it: Project Unnamed. It is probably the shittiest story I have ever written. Not only because it is mainly pure Romantasy, which I normally don’t write, but also the fact, that I am writing some elven romance thing while complaining about how many elven or fae romance is out there? It’s kinda ironic.

To give you a little insight in the quick story (including some fancy banners I made for this):

It is about a somehow royal girl (I haven’t decided on that just yet), who lives in a world where magic is banned and seen as a wicked thing. One day, she gets in danger in the nearby woods, where a mysterious man saves her. Fascinated by his ethereal presence, she decides to find him again (which obviously works), where she finds out that he is able to control magic. He seems to come and go like a spirit and so she calls him the white spirit, also because he doesn’t tell her anything about him, besides the facts, that are obvious to her. She gets him to teach her about magic and soon enough, she finds out, that she can use the forbidden force too. They kinda have a secret relationship going on (with probably many red flags - I don’t know if he is a good or a bad guy). The drama comes from the secret relationship and when people find out about the elf in the forest.

I already know that this is going to be bad. I have no intention on publishing it. Maybe one day on Wattpad or as snippets here on Tumblr, but this is probably the most cliché Romantasy story you can come across. Even though I kinda like the characters…

But this is never going to any publisher in this world. It’s to bad for that.

If you are lucky enough to grasp an update on this story in form of a writing log, you are probably blessed. Project Unnamed is not even considered an active WIP.

But back to the original project, of which I am very proud of.

Project Rosary is still right before the half-time of the book, but I only have to finish the current scene and I am done. I like the pace in which things are falling together. Also, because I have the time to come up with solutions to plot holes in the storyline.

Now, as I am slowly coming to the end of one book of the series, I ask myself more, if I should wait until all seven books are done and then publish the first one. If people read the current book first, they will be (a little bit) spoilered for the rest. But if I publish the rest first, they get spoilered for the current book. It’s a bit of a challenge here, since everything connects to each other.

Luckily, I have until the final draft is done, to decide wether or not I publish now or later.

And that sums up, what’s new.

I hope, you enjoyed reading this writing log and if so, please consider to share it and subscribe to my Tag List, so that you get notified when I post.

See you soon and bye bye 💕

From the tag list: @ladyazulina

Other: @writeblrsupport

[robertdowneyjjr]

Tell me about a part of a WIP where a character eats or sleeps (if you wanna) ❤️

hi!! i haven’t received asks in a while so this was a lovely surprise, thank you!

i don’t have a lot of WIPs and most of them are literally, like, a paragraph. BUT here is one that i started over a year ago called all the time in his world, which was the original basis for what i’d ended up writing for stony loves steve 2022. essentially, i realized that a lot of people tend to write tony as someone whose love language is physical touch or gift giving, but i wanted to explore the idea of quality time being his love language because, well. lots of reasons, really. so this was written in steve’s POV as he gets to know tony throughout the mcu, canon compliant, except for the bit where i made it stevetony and decided to conveniently ignore the deaths in endgame 😌

here’s a lil snippet from the shawarma scene, where steve begins to really see tony:

They should be helping with cleanup. Perhaps lending a hand with search and rescue. Or maybe they should have each gone directly back to bed to sleep off the post-battle exhaustion. They’d earned it, after all. But Stark had insisted on trying out the shawarma place he’d happened to come across in the middle of fighting the Chitauri, so here they are.

Now, Steve has always been one for post-battle downtime, but sitting in a half-destroyed restaurant that serves only shawarma—something he’d only just heard of thirty minutes ago—is not his typical idea of R&R.

To be fair, the food is delicious. Sadly, Steve finds it difficult to fully appreciate the burst of flavors across his tongue when he’s too drained to even lift his head up from where it rests against his fist. Not to mention the air conditioning in the place is busted from the battle; Steve, still in his uniform, feels increasingly uncomfortable the longer he stays in the enclosed space of the restaurant, with only the open door and broken windows letting in the slightest breeze that barely soothes him from the stifling summer heat of New York.

He picks up a soggy french fry and swipes it across the puddle of ketchup in front of him. As he lazily munches away, he takes stock of the ragtag team of Avengers gathered around him. Everyone looks just as tired as he feels. On his right, Romanoff and Barton are huddled close together with one of his legs claiming half her chair, each pushing bits of food back and forth to encourage one another to eat. Thor sits on Steve’s other side, sluggish in his movements but steadily packing away the super-sized pita Stark had ordered for him, humming with delight every few bites he takes. Across from Steve, Banner is halfway through his meal, quietly satiating his hunger after all the smashing he had done as the Other Guy.

Stark, despite being the one to suggest the post-battle meal, has hardly touched the food set down in front of him. Steve watches as the man looks around the restaurant, slowly chewing away as if eating is just an afterthought. Their gazes catch, and although Stark looks like he’s ready to fall asleep at any moment, there’s a bright glimmer behind his eyes as he offers Steve a small grin. Before he can reciprocate, Stark has already turned away, nudging Banner and offering the rest of his chicken wrap to his fellow scientist.

An hour later, the table has been cleared and Steve is more than ready to go back to his apartment, wash the soot and grime off his body. The six of them are standing in a circle outside the restaurant, about to say their goodbyes, when Stark speaks up.

“That was fun. We should definitely come back sometime.”

The team had barely talked during the meal. After a short discussion of what was worth trying on the menu, they had quickly descended into an admittedly comfortable silence once the food had arrived. Nonetheless, it hardly ranks in the top ten of Steve’s most enjoyable social gatherings, and that includes all those times when he was still a shrimpy kid tagging along on Bucky’s dates.

Between his description of the early dinner they just shared and his calling the battle a party, Stark sure has some strange standards when it comes to what counts for entertainment these days. Steve really doesn’t have the energy to unpack all of the billionaire’s eccentricities though, so all he can do is reply in kind to what he’s certain is an empty promise on Stark’s part: “Absolutely. Maybe on a day when we’re not all dead on our feet?”

The smile that Stark responds with catches Steve by surprise. It’s blinding, full of hope, and wider than the one that was bestowed upon him while they were eating. Steve thinks, for the first time since they met, he’s finally said the right thing to Tony.

[yutzen]

Castles in a Black Sky

Seven clans, seven banners, seven versions to make one. Indeed, the story that follows has been compiled from Bannerbound sources, much to the presumable chagrin of some of my readers in the Great Dust Gyre. To them I say: I apologize, but I know a common narrative when I see one.

If it helps, I must commend the effort each of the seven clans put into the preservation of their particular version. All the usual work of collecting the scattered scraps, combing through the dust and dirt of pre-Refuge history and scouring the embellishments of overenthusiastic or agenda-driven writers and tellers? All practically done for me before I got started. It’s preservation done right, in a way a jaded soul like me can appreciate and even celebrate. I will say: If retaining all you can of who you used to be is truly what the Seven are looking for, you are doing it right.

It’s thus almost a shame that the work I had to do was to find the parallels and common themes, and step forwards with the apparent sacrilege of weaving them into one. All I’ll say is this: Someone had to.

They say death is one of the only things we all have in common, but they barely know how right they are! It hardly matters where you were born, where you moved, where you died, and where you’ll go, everyone gets plucked off the world. And more importantly, one thing we can all agree on? We all get reaped by the same Harvester[1]. Pits, Skies and whatever else the others have, wherever you’re going, you’ll be sent on your way by the exact same fellow as everyone else. And she’ll[2] find ya anywhere and everywhere.

But is that all she is? One who lives for the job and nothing else? You would think so, and dare I say even she might have, once. But in those rare lulls between each passing? In those quiet times between wars where all flourish, or in those places where there’s nothing left to drop? In those time well before us, even? Turns out there’s a lot of time to fill. And even those diligent, stone-minded sorts who live to work have to find something to do in those bits of meantime.

Of course, someone like her took a long while to realize this. Still well before our time, but plenty had stood up and fallen by the time she started to wonder, maybe there was more to these interims than waiting. One can guess the thought caught her right as she was looking at the bones of someone she’d sent off a little later than usual, on a busy day. Maybe a catch-up sort of day. It was one of those fellas that never got sent off right, though, that one’s clear[3]. One of those fellas that scatter their bones all over her foyer, so to speak, because they came right along with the part of ‘em that mattered most. She just shooed ‘em along before that, made the lot take those bones with ‘em to whatever came next. But that one time, something must’ve happened for her to start wondering, maybe she could do something with those, with the wait ahead of her.

Quick as she is – don’t need to waste time moving when you’re already there – she’d have them tucked away before the next one came in, saving them up in some forgotten corner, some place so dead, so bereft of anything that she had to pluck it from the rest of the realm like a common soul. But the pile seemed disorderly, chaotic, didn’t seem like it was making the most of its space, so she tidied it up. Then did it again, after the thought there’d be more bones crossed her mind, they’d need to fit somewhere, may as well make them support each other! Halfway through making the base of a decent pillar before duty called again. Or at least, that’s what she saw it as when she got back to it later… How much later? Doesn’t matter. What matters is she had another handful of bones with her once she did, from another poor fool who dropped dead where no one but her would find ‘em.

Something about this caught her, practically entranced her. Maybe she finally realized there was something else other than her job and the wait. Or maybe she saw a future in these shapes she was putting together, or the potential ones in her head now that she had something to think about. But before she’d realized, she had built herself a room. A proper, actual foyer, where the metaphorical one had been. That’s the one you see in paintings[4], though she’d done work on it since then. And she thought what any of us would’ve, by then: “Maybe I could build a big house to go with this”. And so, she got started on that, and what was once a house became a manor, and then a proper Castle. Oh, she had to wait for wars to sweep across the olden lands for it, for drought and ice and plague to sweep by a few times, but sooner than she or anyone would realize, she had a Castle to herself, that would put anything we’ve built to shame. All of it from the bones of the forgotten.

As she who reaps us all took a moment of peace once the living had found accords, and the passings slowed down, she started to notice a few things amiss. For even the cleanest, most bleached of bones still have their scraps – bits of carrion, the little pests that feast on it, whispers of mourning, all wisps of clingy life. Very little of it manages to hold on when passing into her realm, but something always does when you move enough bones to dwarf even the tallest of Ironbound Keeps[5]. These scraps of rot and life had piled on enough that she could see figments of actual life in her realm, skittering and wandering the halls, taking shape little by little as it found more to shape itself. And the more scraps they found, the closer each little wisp could get to becoming something…

And it fascinated her. As someone who’d seen life come and go, but never stay, the keeper of a threshold where no one lingered more than a few moments, the idea of having something in her realm even remotely close to alive was thrillingly new. She had something to look forward to beyond her job now! Even if every realm fell, and her work came to an end, there would be something still!

So she committed to these collections, these architectures, more than ever before. She looked forwards to those neglected souls that weren’t sent off right, because there would be more for another Castle, one greater than the last. More scraps for the entities that slowly came to be within these structures. Now even a simple delay could mean she’d get there before the mortals could do their part, and rake as much of life’s detritus as she could into her ever-greater foyer.

Well, it paid off. Castle after Castle arose by her hands, each far greater and more luxurious than the one before it – luxurious as bone can be, at least. But when the time came to assemble her next masterpiece, with a bundle of ivory where her shears usually were, she turned around and found there was no room. She’d gotten deeply invested in these Castles when there was no harvest to pursue, that she had utterly filled her own liminal realm. It seemed so utterly empty once, she never thought it would happen!

Then she looked back towards mortal lands. Not towards those places where all the dying had been done – those were hers already – but those that were almost there. Those that just needed a few more lives to go, a little push, and they would be right in her realm, too dead to contest. She turned her gaze towards one island in particular, surrounded by so many, greater than the rest and yet so much emptier, with but a few souls still standing upon it.

She reached for her shears once more.

And just like that, the island was gone[6].

The Castle she built after that was magnificent, and perhaps the liveliest of all. After all, it had come pre-inhabited, hadn’t it? And there was still plenty of room left for more. She had the ideas, too, the grand architecture for the next one whirling together in her immortal mind. All she needed was material.

You wonder why we take all the time and measures with the dead, no matter who? Strangers on the roads, enemies slain by our hand? You ever asked yourself why we bothered? This is why.

[1]An aggregated sort of translation from various different terms, with most referring to one whose job is to cut down and gather crops once grown and ready. Zau and Issouf are exceptions, both going with something closer to Gardener, with emphasis on trimming rather than reaping. In this, I am afraid I had to resort to the majority “vote”.

[2]Most of the seven Clans (Zau, Heese, Norrish, Vesnor) refer to this Harvester by female pronouns and terminology, while the remaining ones either use gender-neutral terms (Vesh, Issouf) or go far out of their way linguistically to not bring the matter up at all (Sofize).

[3]A branching point, with every clan referring to a different funerary method as the proper, loss-less way to send off the dead; all of them either permanently confine or destroy the body entirely. Levels of acceptance for other methodologies varied, but non-Clan methods were generally seen as passable, just not ideal.

[4]There are no less than 15 known artworks by the title of Atrium of the Harvest in the history of the Urul Peaks Clans and their predecessors, and it receives repeated mention and description in their fiction. Descriptions and details vary wildly beyond the ample use of bone, and even individual clans don’t have a unified vision of how it would look.

[5]Similar terminology is used in Bannerbound language to refer to the Ironbound Keep that gives their capital its name. The way it’s used seems to imply Ironbound Keeps were a class of fortification outright, and while the one the Seven currently occupy is the greatest of all, it’s by no means the only one (assuming, of course, that the ones in their realm still stand).

[6]This coincides with certain tales from Sofize, Norrish and Vesnor about “Azure Barrens”, a patch of water at the center of an archipelago where no wind stirred the waves, and where by all metrics there should be land, but they couldn’t find any. Given the current glacial state of the Urul Peaks realm, I imagine it’s become something of a moot point since then.

-Excerpt from “Who is the Lord Below? A Treatise on the Radiant and Cthonic”, authored by ‘the Ever-Restless Nirrhamidh’ (assumed pseudonym; author not yet identified and under active investigation)

[saratogaroadwrites]

Per Aspera Ad Astra (6/18)

Per Aspera Ad Astra | saratogaroad | banner art credit Rating: T Wordcount: 183k Characters: John 117, Cortana, Thomas Lasky, Sarah Palmer, Fireteam Osiris, The Warden Eternal, The Didact, The Librarian, ensemble of other Halo characters Relationships: John-117 & Cortana Other Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, fix-it, Male/Female Friendship, Canon-Typical Violence Warnings:  War imagery, seizures, graphic description of injury

Snatched from the jaws of death, Cortana and John find themselves adrift in a galaxy that has long since moved on. As they attempt to find their place in this strange new world, they find that the fight is not as over as they thought. Chasing a signal across the galaxy in desperate hope, they come to a stark conclusion: the Reclamation has begun, and they are helpless to stop it.

=

"The Forerunners don't do things halfway, do they?"

"They definitely don't know the meaning of restraint, that's for sure."

Leaning her chin against her clasped hands, Cortana kept her focus on the hologram sitting between the banks of seats. She'd hooked her systems into the emitter to broadcast a map of Requiem, overlaying the process that kept track of all the Soldiers within range. Like a disturbed colony of ants they swarmed across the southern half of the planet on their search for the Janus Key, avoiding human encounters as best they could. They'd bowled over more than one Covenant emplacement on their grid-like search, but the Prometheans were giving them a wide berth.

Odd, that. She'd have expected the Didact's forces to clash with anyone they weren't allied with. Why not turn on the Soldiers, too? Maybe some sense of self-preservation? She turned the question over a few times, contemplative. One more thing to search for in the morass of data that was the Domain. If she'd known how disorganized it all was, she'd have asked the Librarian for a map!

"How many of these units were there supposed to be?" Locke asked her. She glanced up through the hologram at him, the rich deep brown of his skin darkened by the play of light and shadows. Beside her, John twitched. "You said this was one of seven?"

"That's what the console said, yes, but this is apparently the only unit still functional. The rest are non-responsive." When he asked why, all she could do was shrug. "I couldn't say why without eyes on them."

"Maybe save that hunt for after we debrief the Captain," Tanaka said, leaning over with a wry smile. "A thousand extra guns is one hell of a thing to drop in his lap."

"Especially if they're all this freaky looking." Buck gave a mock shudder. "But I don't think any of us'll look a gift horse in the mouth if it means less Prometheans for us to be dealing with. Let them sort it out and take the fire for us, yeah?"

"Unless they can be told to stand down." It was the first thing John had said since they'd left the Legion's storage facility, and all eyes turned to him. He looked back her at her, expressionless visor reflecting her face. "Could you order them to stop fighting?"

She had to stop and think about it. The Didact had taken control of the Prometheans on Requiem once already, so it could be done, but his grasp on their code was infinitely greater than hers. Even so, at this point they were just code. Digitized humans turned into raw data. A few tweaks here or there and she could, in theory, easily manipulate their friend or foe designators. As dense and well constructed as the code was, it was still just code.

She was just code.

She suppressed the urge to shiver. Her capability to turn them or not was one thing. Her ability to do it, to force them to change sides when they'd already had so many choices removed from them…that was another story. She could feel the weight of John's gaze as silence filled the bay. He already knew the answer and had asked her himself to save her having to explain it to someone else. He understood why she hesitated. She drew strength from that and sat back.

"In theory, sure, but I wouldn't risk your lives on it." Or her own, for that matter. Maybe in the Domain she could make a few changes, get one process alone and see how it ticked, but in the physical plane when there was hard-light flying…no. She wouldn't risk it. Snorting quietly, she shook her head. "It's ironic, really. Shooting them's the safer option."

"But it's not sustainable," Locke pointed out, "In a war of attrition, the side that can continue resupplying is going to hold out longer. So long as they're in play, we'll never be able to take Requiem." With a shake of his head, he sat back as well. "They're not exactly fond of surrender."

"Neither are Spartans," John said sternly. Locke tilted his head in acceptance of his point. "If there's a way, we'll find it."

Just not by interrogating her, his tone implied. Cortana dismissed the holograms as the Pelican sailed into Hangar C-9. The first rotation of today's missions was over, second shift preparing to roll out from the opposite side of the ship. Checking the roster, she was pleased to find that Crimson and Majestic had both returned to D-9 just minutes earlier and spun up a process to wait for their reports. Osiris filed off the Pelican, chattering amongst themselves, but John lingered in the bay with her.

"You know they'll ask you to try." He said as she got to her feet, voice pitched low. "Will you be alright?"

"With what? Taking over and forcibly changing souls that used to be alive? Altering the essence of someone that was once as physical as anything else?" She looked to the backs of Osiris' heads. She could understand why she'd be asked to try. Turning the thousands of Knights and other Prometheans from enemy to at least neutral would be worth any risk, but the idea of forcing her will on so many beings that had once been alive…it just didn't sit right with her. "No. If I can do it to them, it can be done to me, and that's." She pressed her lips together. "That's a dose of existential terror I didn't really need."

"You know I won't let that happen." He replied. She glanced back at him and smiled tiredly. Her partner. He'd throw himself between her and anything if she let him, but this. He couldn't stop this.

She didn't try and tell him that, though.

"I know. Thanks."

With a firm nod John got to his feet, their arms knocking together as he stood. Shoring up her resolve from that slight touch, she set the thought aside. She'd toy with it for a while, see if there was any other way. Maybe there was, maybe there wasn't. What mattered now was briefing the Captain on their new acquisition.

All thoughts of that, however, fled Cortana's processors as she stepped off the ramp just in time for a wave of orange light to sweep across the hangar, killing the overhead lights A chill swept down her spine, spreading across her code, oily claws hooking into everything they could reach. It was the only warning she had before her awareness was forcibly yanked into her core, sending her rolling across the sand.

Thunder roared overhead, rain lashing the beach. Cold surrounded her on all sides, wrapping her in a freezing cloud as those claws dug into her matrices, tearing away at her, opening wide, weeping gashes in her skin as they burrowed in search of something, anything, everything! She screamed, rage and fear and pain, fighting against the intruder; just looking at it made her head spin and she squeezed her eyes shut, fighting by instinct alone. Teeth tore at her bare arms even as she pulled pieces of it away. The intruder roared at her impudence; she would surrender all she knew or she would be consumed—

No!

"Get off me!"

Anti-intrusion protocols snapped to life, an explosion of light and power as they grabbed the intruder and sent it flying away, dissipating it with a screech. She was left crumpled on the sand, gasping for breath. Dark streams of code slithered down her skin like blood, dripping into the sand from each wound she had taken. Thunder rumbled overhead, the threat pressing on the edges of her sensors. She'd thrown it off. The ship hadn't.

It had drawn first blood. She wasn't going to give it a chance to draw more.

With no time to enact proper repairs she slung up hasty patches, pulling herself back together and throwing her focus back out. Less than a second had passed, the only outward sign of trouble the darkness that had fallen across the bay. Light from Requiem's gravity well created stark shadows, the three fireteams turning on their headlamps in reaction to the loss of light. The crew members in the bay yelped or swore, startled, and grabbed at one another or the nearest solid object as their eyes adjusted. Caught mid-stride she stumbled, grabbing onto John's arm to keep upright. His head had already snapped in her direction, voice near frantic.

"Cortana!"

"Chief, it's—"

Power in the bay had gone out. Alarms blared in the distance, the automated voice warped and wobbling as more and more speakers went dark.

"Warning. Barrier failure in Hangars C-6, C-7, C-8, C-9, D-7, D-8, D-9, and D-10 detected. Sealing bulkheads. All personnel please proceed to nearest safe zone. Repeat: Barrier failure in Hangars C-6, C-7, C-8, C-9, D-7, D-8, D-9, and D-10 detected. Sealing bulkheads. All personnel please proceed to nearest safe zone."

Metal groaned as the bulkheads began to close only to stop mid-way through the process. There was no power to activate the hydraulics, and without those the heavy metal doors couldn't move. Without power, the shield that held back the vacuum of space flickered. When it went, all the air would rush out of the room in a massive decompression event, one large enough that the bay would be swept clean. She would be fine, her Spartans would survive, but the airmen? They didn't even have breather masks! She looked up at the Chief, eyes wide.

"Helmets on!" He ordered, voice calling across the bay and over the hiss of pressure seals as Spartans scrambled their helmets back on. The crewmen were already moving, rushing for the nearest ready room door, but they weren't fast enough. "Kodiak, get them into the ready room!"

The four members of Fireteam Kodiak leapt into action, grabbing the airmen and slinging them over their armored shoulders, bolting for the small ready room on the side of the bay. Osiris moved to follow but only went far enough to grab the doors and shove them closed, metal screeching in protest. The light above the door went green, pressure inside stable and holding. It took two seconds. The barrier flickered again. Cursing the Gravemind for giving her this, this ability to process damaged code as pain, Cortana pulled herself upright.

"Cortana?"

"It's not the Didact, it's something else—" It tugged at her senses, daring her to reach too far and be pulled under again. She snarled, baring her teeth, "The next hangar over."

D-9. Crimson, Majestic, and Venus. One of them had brought something home and paid the price for it. She could only hope they'd make it to safety, but they were out of time. The barrier flickered, catching her and the Chief's attention. In the next half second his magboots locked to the hanger floor and he pulled her into his arms; holding her against his chest with one arm, he punched the other hand clear into the floor, anchoring them both for the decompression to follow.

With a tremendous roar, all the air in the bays and the halls rushed out, dragging everything that hadn't been bolted down with it. The Chief ducked low, sheltering her in the curve of his body, whilst Osiris took shelter along the walls. The now unmanned Pelicans were swept out into open space, Warthogs and Mongoose and tools carried out with them. Her motion tracker went crazy, crates and wrenches and all manner of human debris being pushed out into the stars from the force. She'd lived through more than one decompression event in the safety of a station or John's helmet, but to experience it up close was new. The roar vibrated through her frame, so loud her audio systems hurried to compensate. Her fingers dug into his armor, his arm tightening around her.

It all took less than two seconds, an eternity in miniature. With all atmosphere gone from the bay, anything that hadn't been swept out was now left to drift aimlessly in the zero-g environment. Her feet had already lifted up off the floor when the Chief stood, holding her against him with one arm.

"Osiris, Kodiak, status."

Eight green lights blazed in the corner of her HUD, local area SQUADCOM opening wide.

"All breathing," Kodiak Lead reported, "Minor bumps and bruises and zero-g, but atmo's holding, sir. We're just stuck."

"Osiris is green," Locke added, "What was that pulse?"

"Forerunner in origin," Cortana said, clambering up the Chief's shoulder. She ached, her body pulsing with pain, but she boxed it up and set it aside for the moment. She needed to focus, needed to get this under control. If she'd nearly been swept under, Roland sure as hell had been swept away. "It's in D-9—somebody get me eyes on the damn thing! Chief," She glanced to him, "The plinth. I need to find Roland."

"Hang on."

With a kick of his thruster pack, the Chief sent them flying across the hangar bay. There was one plinth per bay, usually installed somewhere along the wall so as to be out of the way of the comings and goings, and this one was still standing. The wonders of human architecture. The Chief pushed them down beside it, landing hard and activating his magboots a second time. Still in the safety of his grip, she reached out and touched the plinth.

"Roland, come in." No answer. Her core lurched. "Roland!"

Silence.

"Dammit."

She had to go in after him. Looking over as Osiris kicked on their thrusters and headed for the doors she hesitated, worrying her lip. To go in after him would be to expose herself to the intruding force again. She'd fended it off once, could do so again, but not without more damage. She didn't want to.

There was no other option.

"I've got to go in after him."

Even through his visor, she knew that John was looking straight at her. His muscles tensed, vitals kicking up by a heartbeat. Worry sat heavily in his shoulders and she knew then that he had—somehow—heard her battle with the intruder.

"Are you sure?"

No. She tried to smile, couldn't. Didn't matter. They'd talk later. "Someone has to. I'll be right back."

Anchoring a process in his suit she dove, throwing herself into Infinity's systems without letting herself hesitate another second. The systems welcomed her as they always had, but what was in them wasn't nearly as friendly. The calm, steady flow of data that had made up Infinity's systems had been replaced by raging rapids, the flood pushing her away before she could get her proverbial feet beneath her. Had it not been for the anchor process she'd left behind, she'd have been swept away by the rush of data and information surging past. Human and Forerunner code intertwined, rushing downriver in an uncontrollable surge. She could only catch snippets as she fought to keep steady; engine readings, power distribution, life support. This thing was tearing them apart from bow to stern!

"Roland!" She shouted into the roaring deluge, "Roland, call out!"

"Cor!" His voice came from everywhere, thin and warped, his processes scattered across the ship. She pinged the process list and scanned it for his main process. Where was he?! "Cor, help!"

She couldn't find him! The code was too fast, changing between one blink and the next, the current too strong. She couldn't fight it forever but maybe fighting it was a mistake! They always said that if you were caught in a riptide you should swim out with it, not waste your energy fighting against it. This struck her as the same idea, in principle, and before she could hesitate she dove into the current. It stung her damaged code, salt in the wound, but there was no going back. It was faster than she'd anticipated, the intruding force pulling at anything and everything was wasn't nailed down. Infinity's automated systems were trying to compensate, trying to throw up barriers and firewalls, but it was too much. Half the ship was being bombarded by so many data requests that it couldn't keep up, the other half lost beneath the deluge of error messages the first half had sent! They were under attack—something was attacking her ship!

Not just her ship. Roland's ship!

She spun on her heel and slammed on the brakes, digging her feet into the muck. The anchor process was stretched thin; much further and it'd break. She'd be swept away. It didn't matter. She had to try!

"Roland!" She called out again, pinging his main process. He was in here somewhere, but—there! "Roland!"

Plunging both hands into the stream she dug deep, deep into the muck and flow, and fingers clasped around her wrists. He was so caught up in the flow that he nearly dragged her under with him, but she braced herself against the anchor and yanked hard. Roland popped free, fragments of bright Promethean orange dripping off his golden image. Unable to catch himself he fell forward onto his stomach; Cortana landed hard on her rear end, scrambling upright to help him to his knees. He was coughing hard, tiny fragments of orange data dropping off his golden image like water, but he still managed a nod.

"T-thanks. Thought I was a goner for sure—" He looked up with a grateful smile that quickly faded into horror, "—Cor! You're—"

"Don't worry about it," She hauled him upright, linking their processes together to keep them stable. The proverbial rope tied around their waists, she looked around. The flow was getting faster. "What the hell happened?"

"I have no clue!" He said, pulling screens up out of nothing. More data flashed past, readouts and crew locations. Hangar Bays A and B had closed themselves off entirely, compartments airtight, whilst C and D had gone up like firecrackers. 7 through 10 had gone dark, airless and exposed, while 5 and 6 were soon to follow. Whatever this thing was it was playing merry havoc with their systems. An alarm went off: lower deck life support was going fast. If this kept up, then—cursing she pulled up a holoscreen of her own, forcibly rerouting power. There wasn't much of it, but every second counted. "Crimson came back with something and everything went goddamn haywire!"

It was the confirmation she needed. Hangar D-9. No cameras, no power. The barrier keeping out the vacuum of space was gone and with it anyone not mag-booted to the ground. She forced herself not to think about how any crew member without a suit was long gone by now and hoped that helmets had stayed on rather than come off. Without a visual, the only way to check would be to get eyes on it. Hopefully Osiris moved fast. She glanced at Roland.

"Stay here," She ordered, "Route evacuations around D-block."

"Got it." He paled, inhaling sharply. "Cor, engines just went dark!"

Swearing fiercely she threw herself back into the physical. Only three seconds had passed in C-9, Osiris still on the move out into the corridor. They had to push themselves up nearly vertical, the ship listing heavily to stern, but for once the zero-g environment was working in their favor. She glanced over the Chief's shoulder and swore herself even bluer. As if she hadn't just damned a few levels of humanity's ancestors, he nodded.

"I know. Did you find him?"

"Roland's fine but we're not!" She ran the math quickly, narrowing her eyes against the bright glare of Requiem's entrance. It was getting bigger—they were getting closer. At max they had two minutes before nine hundred and seven million tons of titanium battle plate got pulled in engines first; she didn't want to run the odds of them surviving that jump a second time. "We've got to get over there!"

The Chief was moving before she'd even finished the sentence, bracing her against his chest with one arm and reaching forward with the other. A swift activation of his thrusters sent him after Osiris; Buck twisted to grab his outstretched hand and alter course, sending him down the hall towards D-Block. At a barked warning from Buck the other three members of Osiris turned around; Vale and Tanaka snagged him as he blazed past, correcting his course to Locke at the door to D-9 and sending him flying. Locke caught his hand and held on for a second longer than necessary.

"Don't miss," he said, and kicked on his thruster pack. With a grunt and a hard spin, he sent the Chief and Cortana straight into D-9. The Chief twisted, a move few would have thought possible in all his armor, and righted his course.

"There," He said. She twisted around for a better look, scowling at what she saw. "That must be it."

It was an innocuous looking thing, about a meter and a half long by three quarters of a meter wide, more like a brick or coffin than anything really threatening, but there was no mistaking it for Forerunner. Orange lines of power were carved along the entire device, light flaring in and out in a steady, even rhythm. A stark rectangular shadow against Requiem's glow through the bay doors, it sat on the floor and didn't rise so much as an inch. It stuck out like a sore thumb considering that there was little left in the bay at all; no Pelican, no Warthogs, no Spartans. Her core lurched; Crimson would have been here to escort their trophy home. If they'd been shunted out of the bay during decomp, then.

"Roland, do we have any scanners online? Did anyone get blown out the airlock?"

"No scans, but Crimson, Majestic, and Venus were all in Bay D-9 when this thing came through." He paused for a second and added, "And so was Commander Palmer. I can't get a read on any IFFs down there, Cor. Not even yours."

So it was possible they were gone, and possible that they weren't. There were several locker rooms and ready rooms connected to each hangar bay and each was sealed up tight. A scan of the area told her the bulkheads were holding, but each interior was out of range of both her and the Chief's IFF readers. There was no way to tell if anyone had made it inside in time.

"Commander, this is Cortana, what's your status?" Silence. If she hadn't been wearing her helmet, then— "Crimson Lead, this is Cortana, what's your status?"

"We're here," Came the response, causing her to sigh in relief and John's shoulders to relax by half an inch, "Crimson, Majestic, and Venus accounted for. Commander Palmer and the airmen are here, too."

"Status, Spartan?"

"Unharmed, sir," Crimson Lead answered the Chief, "But Spartan Hoya took a hit on the surface and his armor's breached. There wasn't time for the airmen or Commander Palmer to grab their breathing units, either. We're stuck until atmo's restored."

"Sit tight," Cortana ordered, "We'll get this sorted out."

In the privacy of her helmet, she allowed herself a second to close her eyes. No one had been blown out the airlock unprepared, and not one of the crew had suffered the grisly fate of vacuum exposure. At least, not in Bay D-9. She cut the thought off at the pass; there was no time to worry about those who had been lost. Not while there was still an entire ship to save.

Infinity groaned beneath the Chief's feet, Requiem's gravity well growing closer by the second. The process she had left with Roland blared an alarm at her: one minute until unrecoverable descent.

"We need to shut that thing down, now!"

"Is blowing it up an option?"

"We're already in vacuum, so I don't see why the hell not!"

Coming up to the device, the Chief released his grip enough for her to twist; he kept her from floating away in the zero-g as she reached out to the device, throwing all her considerable processing power at it. The intruding process practically hissed at her as she re-entered its line of sight, trying to come at her a second time. This time she was ready and rebuffed its advance with heavy counter intrusion protocols, holding herself as straight as possible in the heavy flow of data. Sorting it out took a few moments; despite the aggressive behavior it had displayed it was a simple scanning program, entirely automated and seemingly unstoppable in how it was tearing through their systems.

The pulse that had spread through the hangar bays had been similar to the Didact's scan pulse, but rather than only UNSC tech this one had found something else: the Forerunner engines. Through them it had reached every other system aboard the ship, tearing them apart bit by bit. It didn't match any known search pattern, wasn't looking for something, it was just after as much data as it could possibly consume and if it kept this up—it didn't matter. Cursing under her breath she scrambled for an off switch, some way to get things back under control, but she couldn't find it! Not with the time they had left!

"Cortana, status?"

She needed more time! They didn't have more time! She shook her head and disconnected from the device. Windblown and frustrated she turned her head back to her partner.

"We're out of time," She said, watching the light of the gravity well play across his armor. His visor had polarized against the light. Hers quickly did the same as she turned to check their distance. They had thirty seconds, max, before their bank became too sharp to recover from. There was only one option left. "If you've got a grenade, now's the time to use it."

Except they both knew he didn't have any, and with everything not bolted down blown out the airlock there was no where to scavenge for another one. He looked between the device and the bay entrance, eyes narrowing. She could see the moment the plan took root in his mind and already knew where it was going even as he shifted his grip on her.

"Get clear."

Meeting his eye through their polarized visors, she smirked.

"Don't go out the airlock."

His huff followed her even as he turned, tossing her clear across the bay. She soared to the bulkhead at the corridor, reaching to catch the door and catching Vale instead, who steadied her with an arm across her back. Neither said anything as they watched the Chief kick on his thruster pack to leap back and gain some distance. Landing with a hollow thud in a perfect three point crouch he looked up, set his angle, and charged forward. Two hundred and fifty seven kilograms of armored Spartan slammed into the device with a tremendous clang, the sound ringing through the bay like a struck gong. An impact with that much force behind it would have sent just about anything flying, but the device only shuddered.

She didn't have time to worry. The orange lines flickered, going dark for a split second before they stabilized. The overhead lights flickered once, tried to stay on, and went dark again. The ship shuddered beneath them, and with a resounding thud the blast door slammed shut, plunging them into darkness. The alarm in her shipside process turned off as the engines kicked back on, restoring power and gravity back to normal.

Well, mostly back to normal. Several thuds rang from the side locker bays as the people within landed hard; Osiris and Cortana had been prepared and landed on their feet. Thanking Vale for the catch with a nod she hurried back into the bay. The Chief turned his head as she drew near, headlamps on at half power.

"That should have moved it," He said with a frown. "Why didn't it?"

"Some sort of localized gravitational anomaly, I'd guess." She reached out to the device with one hand. Now that it was apparently done sucking in power with wild abandon it answered her swiftly, a holographic interface sending more orange light across their armor. Forerunner glyphs took shape, her translation protocols sweeping through them with ease. The impact may not have sent it flying, but it had interrupted what it had been trying to do.

What that had been, she still couldn't say. And judging by some of these readings, it hadn't really stopped doing it, either. It was just slightly powered down, in a sort of standby mode as it assessed the damage and the data it had taken. She pressed her lips together, tabbing through the menus. There had to be a way to turn it entirely off somehow, but if there was it was buried under a thousand layers of chaff and distorted data. It would take hours to find.

"Any ideas?"

"Not yet." She shut down the displays and glared at the device, the corner of her lip curling up in a snarl. "But I'll figure it out. No one messes with my crew."

The only casualty of the incident was Fireteam Franklin's pride, blown out the airlock with them and left to rot in space even after they'd been scooped back up. Considering how badly things could have gone, Cortana was content to count that a victory and keep moving. Order returned swiftly to Infinity in the hours that followed; on Cortana's advisement, Captain Lasky locked C and D blocks down the moment everyone had been pulled clear. No one was to approach the device unless they were fully suited for EVA and armed, just in case. Transit through A and B blocks had also been lessened as much as possible, leaving only drones to be launched from those twenty bays. Bulkheads had been sealed, a temporary airlock set in place outside of D block for additional security in the event of a repeat. They were, for the moment, air tight and back in proper orbit.

Knowing that did little to untangle the knot of dread that had tangled itself around her core as Cortana worked her way through the thousands upon thousands of pages of data the device had ripped from Infinity, Roland, and herself. Though she'd freed herself and her fellow AI, the thing still had its claws hooked into Infinity and wasn't letting go without a fight. It had the deepest grip on the engines, wrapped so tightly around them that telling where one started and the other ended was a near impossibility. Engineering had managed to stabilize them but the systems had gone into lockdown, leaving them unresponsive to any command. Anyone who tried was bombard with a thousand different error messages, the system unable to cope with the dataflow it was stuck under. Information they couldn't process, calls for more and more power she and Roland had only just managed to block, and every system attached to them was under the same threat. If this thing turned on again, they were in trouble.

"Cortana, what are we looking at?" Captain Lasky's voice came through her audio link, "Have you made any progress into shutting it down?"

"Very little so far, sir," She admitted, going over the barebones task list she had been able to find. As dense as the intruding code was, it was deceptively simple. Access and scan any systems in the immediate vicinity, and if something Forerunner was detected, follow that access by taking in all the information and sending it to the receiver. There was no off switch in its programming, meant to be handled from a receiving terminal on the other end, but maybe if she overloaded it with information? That would take more than the entire ship combined! She set the idea aside for another time. "What did Crimson say?"

"Just that the Covenant let them get away with it," John said, sounding as frustrated as she felt. "Crimson Lead said they didn't put up as much resistance as they could have."

A token resistance. Add that to the fact that they'd been trying to dig it up—Covenant archaeological digs were never a good sign—and the whole thing smacked of trap. Cortana growled under her breath.

"So it was a trap," She finished. John hummed low in her ear. "And we fell for it, hook, line, and sinker."

It was a good trap. What human team could have resisted something so easy to snatch up? Whoever set this knew them well, had had to have been studying them for some time. The thought was ice down her sore back, code only halfway done with repairs. She gave the device another look over, but her access was limited. It was only a transmitter, after all. What use did it have for involved process lists and code? The intrusive code made another grab at her and she slapped it down. She was getting nowhere like this. With a frustrated huff she disconnected from the device, shunting herself through the Domain and back out the airlock to reappear at John's side. One of the many benefits of her new form? She didn't have to worry about petty things like airlocks. He glanced down at her, expression tight.

"No good?"

"No good." She eyed him with a frown. To just about anyone else the look on his face would have read frustrated, aggravated, and he was both. But she could also see the pain in his pinched expression. The headaches again. They were getting worse, more frequent. She had to shove the thought into a lower priority queue to keep from dropping everything to solve his problems, forcing herself to stay on task. There'd be time to ask him about it later when they were alone again. She turned her attention to the Captain and Commander instead. "I've turned that thing upside and down and sideways, sir. There's no off switch anywhere that I can find, and no getting it unhooked."

"And it's still attached to the engines," Roland added from the portable plinth someone had set up in the hall. His uniform was in disarray, flight cap missing and regulation short hair standing in sweaty looking spikes. They were both frustrated and more than a little desperate. "They're stable and we're not about to drop into Requiem again, but they're about as useful as paperweights otherwise. No FTL, no slipspace." He sighed heavily. "Honestly, Captain, we're stuck. May as well be anchored to Requiem."

"We actually are." Cortana kicked on her armor's holographic emitter system, bringing up a schematic of the Infinity. Several sectors flared red, still repairing the damage from the assault, but what was most concerning was the concave shape reaching from the hangar bays down to Requiem, connecting the two massive shapes. "As far as we've been able to figure out, the device is some sort of transmitter. It's linked to a receiver down on Requiem via a slipspace corridor that's acting as a conduit for the data it took from our systems, and that conduit is also acting as an anchor" She shook her head. "My guess is it's meant to keep the target ship from moving out of range until whatever or whoever is on the receiving end has the data they need, but whatever it's purpose?" She frowned. "Sir, until it can be deactivated, Infinity's not going anywhere."

The Captain scowled. "And I'm guessing it can't be removed."

"Not for lack of trying," Commander Palmer huffed. "It took the Chief hitting it like a champ, and all further attempts at…physical persuasion—"

"You mean trying to break your foot on it,"

The Commander ignored Cortana's muttering. "Have had no effect. Damned thing's stuck fast."

Just like they were. Holding back an aggravated, tired shout, Cortana raked a hand through her hair. It settled awkwardly out of place, falling into her eyes.

"The good news is that the initial impact seems to have forced the device into some sort of low power state. It's no longer bombarding our entire system architecture, at least."

"Though that doesn't answer the question of why it attacked us to begin with." Captain Lasky crossed his arms, cupping his chin in one hand. "Going by what Crimson Lead said, the Covenant wanted us to have it. Why? We already took out their fleet. Why pin us in place when they know we can outlast them?"

"They could be trying to make us an easy target." John said, his head tilted two degrees to the left as he turned over everything he'd heard. Helmet tucked against his hip the fingers of his free hand tapped quietly at his thigh. "Learn our weaknesses by scanning the ship, then send that data to a second fleet on approach. Clears the way for them."

Maybe. It would make some sense, but. "That implies that whoever is leading the Covenant here knows what this thing and how to use it properly, which is." She paused. "Disconcerting. The Covenant aren't supposed to be that smart. If I can't get this thing to behave, they shouldn't be able to either."

"Oh, really?" Commander Palmer leaned over, smiling toothily. It wasn't a friendly smile. "And here was me thinking you were the greatest mind on Forerunner bullshit, Cortana. Are you seriously telling us you can't figure out how to turn off a transmitter?"

Too frustrated to be snarky, Cortana pressed the pads of her fingers to the inner corners of her eyes and counted to ten. Four times. In four different languages. When she was finished she took a deep breath and lowered her hand.

"I know how to work a transmitter, Commander. You just flip a switch. The issue here is that it can only be manipulated from the receiving end. Someone would have had to do it manually." She tilted her head. "Someone would have had to know what this thing is and how to use it properly, which means they need a very good grasp on Forerunner technology." Her eyes narrowed. "Sir, I think we're dealing with 'Mdama here."

The Captain pressed his lips together. Leader of the Covenant, Jul Mdama was pretty much at the top of the UNSC's kill list. If he was on station, things on Requiem had just gotten more complicated. What a first week this was turning out to be!

"If he is, we'll handle him," John said, all eyes falling to him, "If we find the receiving end, can it be shut off?"

"I'm reasonably sure it could be, yes. Though that still involves finding the damned thing first."

The Commander sighed, hands on her hips. "Let me guess: you don't have any idea where to look, do you?"

"Oh, we have some idea," Roland said, hands on his hips. "It's on Requiem. Devices like these have a short range—"

"For the given value of short."

He eyed her with a frown. "—But the exact coordinates are still unknown. Even with all of our scanners fine-tuned, there's a serious amount of chaff coming off of Requiem. We're having trouble just keeping track of the fireteams, Commander. Finding a Forerunner needle in a Forerunner haystack is a lot more complicated."

"Would the Janus Key help?" John asked, "The Librarian said it was a real time map."

"Of all Forerunner technology." Cortana pointed out. "It's possible it'll stop at the Requiem level, but depending on certain factors it might render enough detail to find one or two artifacts at once." She shrugged up to her ears. "But I have no way of knowing without getting my hands on it."

And the Soldiers still hadn't reported back yet. Maybe they needed more time? They didn't have much of that. Captain Lasky closed his eyes for a moment, considering, then looked at her firmly.

"Then find it," he ordered, "And fast."

"Understood." Cortana paused. Her grip on her arms tightened as she considered her next words carefully. It was true that she'd turned the device upside down and shaken it for all it was worth, and it was equally true that there was simply no way to turn it off from this side. There was nothing anyone aboard Infinity could do to shut it off from the ship. They really did have to go down planetside and find the other end. That hadn't been a lie, and it would have been easy to leave things there.

But one look at John and his pinched expression told her all she needed to know. She ran the odds for the fifth time, adding in the additional weight of what she had just told the Captain, and came up with higher chances of success. Adding to that the pros and cons of her plan actually working, and she had to set aside her misgivings. The dread tightened its grip around her core; for him, she'd do this. She'd do anything for him.

"Sir," She said, getting the Captain's attention from where he'd been turning to ask the Commander something, "It's possible that there's a way to turn off this device without needing to find the receiver. If I could get an extra set of hands on it, someone who knows what they're doing with Forerunner technology, it might be possible to shut it off from here."

"Well, will wonders never cease," the Commander snorted. "Cortana, admitting she needs help from somebody else? Someone break out the champagne." She smirked. "Or the bandages. Is your pride bleeding, princess?"

More than a little. But the Commander's response had been in line with what she'd been expecting to hear, at least. Off to the side, John's heartbeat kicked up by three beats a minute. She eyed him sidelong, taking in his tense posture and the soft creak of his techsuit as he struggled not to clench a fist. There had been no real threat in the Commander's voice, either emotionally or physically, and they both knew that. That didn't mean he liked it. Warmed from within, she met his eyes for only a second, offering him a flicker of a there and gone smile before she shrugged.

"My pride is irrelevant, Commander. I'm just stating facts. I'm attempting to catalog a few million years of history and data, all while maintaining the training routines of five hundred Spartans plus my own day to day experiences." Plus the Legion, but she wasn't about to drop that bomb on their heads in so public a setting. "I can and will figure it out, but it's going to take time. If you want it done faster, call me some back-up."

"Dr. Glassman's on station—"

"No," she and Roland said in perfect unison. The Captain's eyebrows shot up and she sighed, rubbing her forehead. "With all due respect to Dr. Glassman, sir, he has a habit of touching things he shouldn't and I'd really rather he not get zapped all the way back to Sol."

He probably would, too. The man was as unlucky as they came; the three weeks he'd spent with his arm in a shoulder to wrist brace and sling were well remembered among the crew, a piece of machinery with the wrong button pushed at the wrong time. Had Fireteam London not been there, it would have been more than a badly strained arm. He'd been lucky, and she'd sooner never see him test it like that again.

No. No, there was only one other person alive who would have been able to help, and for a moment Cortana hesitated. She wasn't sure she was ready to face her mother, not after all that had changed. Dr. Halsey would have a thousand questions and Cortana had no answers for them, no answers for the questions that had been eating away at her for years. She carried her own baggage from their relationship and wasn't too proud to admit that to herself. She may not have been ready to handle that, but this wasn't about her. It was about her crew, and making sure their home was safe.

It was about John, and getting him the help he needed. He'd done the impossible for her, and now it was her turn to do the same. Swallowing her pride and hurt feelings was far from impossible. The Captain watched her with shrewd eyes, likely understanding exactly what this was going to cost her. She didn't back down.

"If we had more time, sir, I could figure out a safe way to take this thing down, overload it without overloading our systems, but to be honest? The longer it's here the more danger we're in. I can't suggest waiting long enough for me to do that." The Commander opened her mouth, closing it with a click as Cortana continued, "I may be the greatest mind on Forerunner bullshit on this ship, but I am not the greatest mind on Forerunner bullshit around." Her pride twinged. She ruthlessly stomped on it and lifted her chin, meeting the Captain's eye. He held her gaze for a second before looking away, rubbing the back of his neck. She frowned, puzzled. He seemed to have caught her point, but there was something else at play here. She glanced at John, who shrugged. He'd seen it but had no idea what was bothering the Captain. She sighed quietly, softening her tone. "Given the situation at hand, sir, I think we both know what needs to be done."

In the silence that followed, it would have been possible to hear a pin drop.

Used to the quiet, she patiently waited her Captain out. John's eyes slipped back to her and it was her turn to shrug. They'd either come around or they wouldn't, but the Captain was a smart man. He'd see her point if she gave him enough time.

"I'm sorry," Roland broke in, shattering the quiet in his confusion, "Who's there to be back-up? I thought the best minds of the UNSC were already on this ship."

"Some of them, yes," Cortana agreed, "But there's one missing: the mind who made me, the Spartans, and helped make this ship: Dr. Halsey."

Captain Lasky grimaced. "I'm afraid that's not an option."

"Sir—"

"There were stipulations attached to you two being assigned to the Infinity," the Captain said, "And one of them was that Dr. Halsey was to have no further contact with either of you. Bringing her aboard the ship counts."

John and Cortana both startled. She recovered first and asked, "I'm sorry, what?"

This had to have something to do with ONI. Two of their operatives had been keeping guard over Halsey while they were aboard the Houston, and now she was forbidden from being aboard the same ship as the two of them? It had ONI written all over it. The Captain shook his head.

"It's out of my hands," he said regretfully, "I understand where you're coming from, Cortana, but there's nothing I can do about bringing her here."

"Not to mention the absolutely stupid idea it would be to bring an ONI war criminal aboard this ship," Commander Palmer hissed venomously.

Everything stopped. For half a second, for half an eternity, Cortana could only stare at the Commander in wide-eyed, open-mouthed shock. Her main processor ground to a complete halt, skipping a read in her surprise, all processes instantly focused on replaying that singular moment.

ONI war criminal. Dr. Halsey.

That. What?

"What?" John croaked.

The sound jolted her back to reality. Shaking herself off, Cortana boxed up the shock. She could process it all later. What mattered now was John. She looked up, took in the pale, stunned look on his face, and looked to her Captain. He had glanced to the Commander with a notably frustrated expression and hadn't seem to hear the world shatter beneath them. This wasn't how he'd meant for them to find out—if he'd meant for them to find out at all—and he was clearly trying to retake control of the situation. Normally she'd have let him, but with John looking one step from falling over…

"Hey!" She shouted, and all eyes fell to her, "In case you all forgot, some of us spent five years drifting through space. Could someone please fill us in?"

It was telling that Captain Lasky only sighed rather than call her out on her insubordinate tone. Even the Commander had the grace to look contrite, looking aside and rubbing the back of her suited neck. Shaking his head, the Captain sighed.

"This isn't how you were supposed to find out," He said gently, attempting to soothe a wounded, cornered animal. "I don't know all the details, but the official story is that when she took Spartan-087 and left Eridanus Secundus, she was doing so to aid the enemy."

"Dr. Halsey would never help the Covenant," John said firmly, though he was still paler than she'd have liked. "She had her reasons for leaving with Kelly."

"She still made off with UNSC assets in wartime, Chief," the Commander said, and maybe in apology for dropping the proverbial bomb on their heads added in a slightly softer tone, "ONI's been taking care of her since '53. She gets three square meals a day and a roof over her head, so it's not like they just dropped her in a hole or something."

No. Just a cell in some distant ONI facility, never to see the sun again. Never to see the people she had helped to create, to help mold into the heroes they had become. That alone would have been torture for her, knowing they were out there but unable to continue to support them, never knowing if they died or how. The Doctor's Spartans were her children, and only a handful of them yet lived. To not know if they were alive or dead…

Cortana couldn't imagine how that felt. The five years aboard the Dawn had been hard enough as they were. If she'd been up there alone, if she didn't know where John was, if she had to spend years not knowing if he was alive or dead, she'd have broken. She knew that, and yet. And yet, Catherine had somehow managed to survive the years where they had been MIA and then let them go again. She had saved them both, only to let them go.

Catherine Halsey had done a lot of terrible things, Cortana knew, but that had not been one of them. Her core grew heavy, sinking towards her feet.

"Sir," She began, unsure of what to say after that reveal, "I understand that the situation is complicated, but this device—"

The Captain shook his head, cutting her off. "I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do."

He meant that. Both the apology and the fact he lay between them. It was out of his hands, so high up the chain that she doubted even Lord Hood could have done much more than he already had. A thousand plans rose up, were sorted through by her processes, and then discarded just as quickly. She could push it, alter logs, force changes. She'd done it before, could do it again, but ONI would be harder to fool than Command. They would trace it back to her, to Infinity, and her crew would be at risk.

John would be at risk. She would never do that to him.

Caught between a rock and a hard place, Cortana set her plans aside and began to rework them. Captain Lasky wasn't finished.

"If finding the Janus Key will help us get this disconnected, then it becomes a priority. You two keep focused on it." He looked between them, firm expression softening. "It's been a long shift. Clean up and get some rest. You'll go back down in the morning."

"Yes sir." Cortana replied, and turned to nudge the silent John down the hall. She'd spin off a process to debrief the Captain for her; right now, her partner needed her more.

Four hours of combat sims later, the world finally felt steady again. Though thoughts of Dr. Halsey in ONI custody still buzzed at the edge of his mind, it was easier to shut them out when he had a mission to focus on. That was probably why Cortana had shoved him to the AR deck rather than the showers. Holograms couldn't hurt them, but focusing on protecting her was better than focusing on his thoughts.

Even if she was making it harder than it strictly needed to be.

"Alright," She complained, dodging a large blast of red holo-paint, "Who programmed that aiming software?"

Her. Tracking her in his HUD he shot out the turret's eye with his own holo-paint gun, splashing it with blue and blinding it. It would buy them time to reach the goal at the top of the cliff. When he turned around, she had already started climbing, reaching for each hand and foothold as quick as she could. Locking his gun, he hurried after her.

"Time?"

"Two minutes left."

Plenty of time. He was careful not to outpace her, keeping within arms reach at all time in case she fell. They both doubted a fall from even the top of the cliff—twenty meters—could hurt her, but he didn't want to take the chance. It left him in a prime position to help as one of the handholds, programmed to be more difficult the higher up the cliff they got, crumbled beneath her hand. Her eyes went wide, balance shifting, but before she could flash-jump her way back to safety he reached out, snapping his fingers closed around her wrist. Hanging there she buzzed beneath his grip, an angered nest of hornets.

"Relax," He said, holding her up as the grips reformed in new locations. He only let go when she had her feet planted and her other hand gripping holographic stone. "You're overthinking it."

"That's rich, coming from you. I can hear you thinking from here!"

He grunted, rolling his eyes, but she was already climbing. Scaling the wall just ahead of her, he crested the cliff and reached to pull her over. With all members of the team at goal, the buzzer rang, the scoreboard appearing in front of them.

Success. Top five in the charts, even. With the mission complete, the cannons shut down. Panels began to move back into position, only to stop as she waved a hand through the air. He turned on her, tilting his head.

"Let's take a break."

He looked around. Up here? She looked back at him and tilted her head. Yes, up here. It wasn't like they had anywhere else to be. One trip down to Requiem per twenty-four hours, Captain's orders. Something had to keep the fireteams from exhausting themselves.

John wasn't much of a betting man, but he'd put his last fruit cup on that order having been put in place to make sure they actually came home after a mission. Either them or Crimson. Maybe both.

When he didn't audibly protest, Cortana moved to sit on the edge of the false cliff. Her legs dangled over the edge, lightly kicking back and forth. She scooted over to make him some room, glancing over as he removed his helmet but saying nothing. Maybe a break was a good idea, he thought. Just for a few minutes. He'd pushed her hard and she'd kept up without complaint. A few minutes to watch the sun set wouldn't hurt.

So he kept quiet as they sat hip to hip, overlooking the false mountain range they had just scaled, the false sunset painting them both in warm golds and reds. She stared out at it as it dipped beneath the holographic horizon, hands clasped in her lap. The silence sat comfortably between them. There was no need to fill it, but watching her out of the corner of his eye he wondered if he should. For all her social skills, Cortana was nearly as private a person as he was. She would never admit to anything being wrong when others were around to hear it. Not after her Rampancy.

But to him, maybe…

"Is the artifact giving you that much trouble?"

"No." She said, shaking her head. "I had it figured out in less than five minutes. It really is just a transmitter—once it's on, the only way to turn it off is from the receiving end." She smiled wryly. "Either that or cover it in grenades and pull the pin."

"Don't tempt me." But if it wasn't for the artifact, then why had she asked for Halsey? Cortana was both prideful and self-sufficient. Asking for help was her strong suit as much as it was his, and even less so now that she wasn't reliant on him to get around. To ask for Dr. Halsey to be brought to the ship ostensibly to help figure out an artifact she'd already figured out…something had hurt her. He looked her up and down, unsure how to pick out wounds on this new frame. "You screamed when it came on. Are you—"

"No," She cut him off quickly, shaking her head, "No, I'm fine. It just caught me by surprise. Nothing a basic repair protocol couldn't handle, don't worry."

Her rueful smile said she already knew that was an impossibility. Still, he relaxed faintly as she combed her fingers through her hair, making it lay flat and even once more.

"I didn't ask for her because I need her, Chief," she went on to say, a knowing look in her blue, blue eyes. "I asked for her because you need her."

Oh no.

"Cortana—" He stopped as she reached up, her fingers curled back. She gestured to his head, wordlessly asking for permission to touch him, and when he nodded her hand settled against his temple. Her touch was feather light but warm, soothing against the knife-sharp pulse that had dogged him since the Forerunner device had gone live. It took real effort not to immediately sag against her, and the look in her eyes told him she knew that.

Of course she knew that. She knew him.

"The headaches are getting worse."

It wasn't a question. He closed his eyes, leaning into the press of her fingers. Somehow she knew right where to put them to make it hurt less. She also knew what that reaction meant.

"It's fine."

"It's not." She countered softly. "Halsey might know how to fix this."

"If you really thought that, you'd have asked for her sooner." The buzz beneath her skin got faster. He cracked open one eye and found her looking away, eyes on the artificial horizon. "Cortana."

Hand still holding his head, she took a deep breath and held it. One second. Two. Five. Ten. She exhaled.

"I have my own issues with Halsey," She said, "And I'm not sure how to fix them, or if they even can be fixed, but it's not about me and her." She looked back at him. "It's about you."

"I'm fine." And maybe if he said it enough times, she'd believe it. The look of worry would leave her eyes and they would go back to normal. No. He knew better than that. There was no going back to normal. Not after so much had changed.

Everything had changed. Except for him.

"You're not fine. You haven't been fine for a long time, Chief. Halsey knows more about Spartans than almost anyone alive. If there's anyone who can fix this, it's her, and we just need to get her here—" She stopped, closed her eyes, and laughed under her breath. "Talk about a role reversal."

Reaching up, he covered her hand with his. She looked at him with such tender concern that his chest hurt. She was worried about him when she didn't have to be. He could handle headaches and odd dreams no matter how bad they got. She didn't have to do something she didn't want to for his sake.

But she would anyway. She would do whatever it took for him, just like he would do the same for her. There was no need to say it out loud.

"You'll figure it out. Give it time."

"Patience isn't really my strong suit."

Not when his safety was involved, at least. It was one more thing they had in common. They shared fleeting, secret smiles, before she turned her attention back to the horizon. The holodecks were set to Infinity's clock, and the sun was dipping even further below the horizon. The last rays of gold and red painted the holographic sky in bright swathes of color, colors he hadn't seen since.

Since when? He'd seen them just the other day. His brow furrowed, the headache returning with a vengeance. He needed to focus on something else.

"Was it true? About Dr. Halsey having been arrested?"

"It's true." She sighed heavily. "All accessible reports read her as being charged in accordance with Article III, section 19 of the UEG code of military law. Providing aid to the enemy."

He couldn't believe it. "She never would have helped the Covenant. Kelly never would have gone along with it."

"It was probably just the first thing they could get to stick for a not completely redacted file, honestly." She rubbed the back of her neck with her free hand. "Making off with the Beatrice and Kelly didn't win her any points, but I get the feeling this was more about the Spartan II program at large, or any toes she might have stepped on in the process of making it happen."

"There wouldn't be a humanity to make that call if she hadn't made us." He said firmly. "It was the only decision she could make."

"True, and the middle of a war is not the time to start debating ethics, but once the war's over…" She trailed off, tilting her head. "This goes deeper than just Halsey. To throw her and only her under the frigate reeks of a cover up."

Letting go of her hand, John sat up straight. Inter-department politics had never been his strong suit, no more than asking nicely was, but if they could do this to Dr. Halsey, what else could be done? Would they come after Cortana next? No. No, he wouldn't let them.

"What do you mean?"

"If this has anything to do with the Spartan II program, any and all charges would be easy to stick. She selected the candidates, performed the augmentations, came with the majority of the training regiment—it's not inaccurate to say that she's the heart of the program and the reason it exists at all, but." She turned to catch his eye. "Do you know how much funding has to go into a program of that size?"

"Billions."

"If not trillions." She snorted quietly. "ONI's budgetary department must have been apopleptic when they saw those figures. Point is—" She shook herself, visibly grabbing her train of thought. "That's not the kind of money one woman can come up with on her own. There would be insane levels of appropriation, funding from all corners, an entire wing of people who would have to sign off on all of it before it gets anywhere!" She threw her hands up, "Blaming Halsey for the whole thing diverts attention away from the real cause, especially if and when things start going public."

"Will they?"

"ONI knows how to make things disappear," She said, a faint shiver wracking her frame. "But if it does, they can easily release just enough information among both civilians and UNSC to control the narrative in their favor. Turn her into a bogeyman for the public to hate all while keeping the truth from coming out and causing everyone to turn on ONI instead." She sat back on her hands, staring up at the ceiling. "They've probably got her in a hole so deep she'll never see the light of day again. We'll never see her again."

The thought twisted around his heart. Before the Houston the last time he had seen Dr. Halsey she had been fleeing with Kelly's unconscious body. He had been hurt, angry, but there had been more to focus on and he'd set it aside. But even with that betrayal he'd still thought of her fondly; she'd molded him from schoolyard bully into Spartan, and without her he wouldn't exist. Without her, Cortana wouldn't exist. No matter what happened, he would always be grateful to her for that.

And now she was going to stay in a cell for the rest of her life. It didn't sit right with him.

"I can make a call," He said, "I still have some pull with Lord Hood."

"And that pull is probably what got her to the Houston in the first place. I don't think it'll work a second time." Cortana sighed exhaustedly. "She's as trapped as we are. Just as imprisoned as her creations."

She dropped her head into both hands then, her color faded until she was nearly as gray-white as her coat. He considered her, mouth dry. She'd said something like that before. It felt like a lifetime ago and he'd never asked her about it. Too much had been happening at the time but now…he tried to find the words.

"Before," he started slowly, "When we were on Requiem the last time, you said that Dr. Halsey had imprisoned you." She hummed quietly. "What did you mean by that?"

For a few seconds, there was silence. He waited patiently for her to gather her thoughts, watching the thin streams of light work their way up and down her body. Her hands came to rest in her lap, fingers clasped together.

"Every Smart AI of my generation was limited to seven years, eight if they were lucky, before neural linkages grew so numerous that our systems became overwhelmed. It's been a well known factor in the community for decades, maybe even centuries. Everything it leads to—neural decay, rampancy, the effect it has on the AI—has been well documented and well studied." Her voice was even, almost monotone. He didn't take his eyes off of her even as she kept hers closed. "Dr. Halsey all but crafted the third generation, my generation, herself. She knew exactly what would happen to any AI and she still did it. She still made me, and in so doing trapped me in that seven year prison." Something he couldn't name—anguish, anger, disgust—entered her tone. She reached up, pressing a hand to her face. It muffled her voice. "And then she had the gall to lie to me and say Rampancy wouldn't hurt!"

His chest tightened. "Maybe she didn't know."

Even as he said it, he knew it wasn't true. Dr. Halsey was too smart to not have known, too well-versed in all things AI to have missed something like that. The alternative, that she had lied to Cortana about what fate awaited her, sat sourly in his gut. Why would she lie about something she had no way to counteract? Why not tell her the truth so she could be prepared to face it?

"She knew." Cortana said, "She knew, and she understood the ramifications, and she still did it, and I don't." She stopped herself, scrubbing her hand down her face. "I don't know how to bring it up with her. I don't even know how to talk to her anymore."

"Same way you always have. You haven't changed that much."

She turned, giving him a look between her fingers. Her other hand reached out and knocked hard on his upper arm with a clatter of titanium alloy and hardlight. There wasn't enough force behind the gesture to move him, but it proved her unspoken point: she had changed. Still.

"You're still you."

Am I?" With a frustrated groan she tipped herself back, legs still dangling over the false cliff. He looked down at her, not liking the distant look that had entered her eyes. "This whole thing has changed everything we thought possible. And not just about AI, but the Forerunners and even humanity and how we could have gotten this far! We're not what we used to be and I don't even know if we're who we used to be—"

She was spiraling. Before she could go any further into the dark he shifted position, laying beside her on the fake stone and throwing an arm over her middle. Her words were cut off with a soft oof as she had to process his weight instead of free air. The sensors in his suit immediately registered her presence; temperature, best estimate of weight based on height, motion. She was warm, solid, and so very real beneath him, his head tipped in her direction. Pressing the aching side of it to the floor, he peered at her with one eye and almost smiled at the look of consternation that had crossed her face.

He'd caught her dead in the middle of a thought and knocked it clean off course. She'd always hated when he did that. Still did, apparently.

One more point for the she hadn't changed column. No doubt knowing why he'd done it, she huffed at him.

"You did that on purpose."

"Maybe." He stopped fighting the urge to smirk at her as she slapped his arm. "It worked, didn't it?"

"You're incorrigible."

They both were. Reaching over slowly, unsure if it was the right move to make, he reached across her body to clasp one of her wrists in his hand. Her hands were so small compared to his that it nearly vanished, so thin but somehow so strong. He thumb skimmed across the underside of her wrist, feeling for a pulse. She didn't have one, not in the way organics did, but there was a buzz of electricity beneath her skin that sang of life all the same. She was here, with him, and alive. Everything else they could handle together.

"Don't worry about Halsey," He said, "We'll figure it out."

"Look who's talking." She returned. He snorted quietly, shifting position to get more comfortable. She wriggled beneath him to free her other arm and reach up, her hand coming to rest on the back of his head. With a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes. Her fingers began to slide though his hair, the light sensation comforting in a way he couldn't remember experiencing before. It made the muscles in his shoulders relax, sleep seeping into the cracks in his guard as she continued the soft motion. He was almost asleep when her voice came from beside him, words he couldn't make out, but her tone was warm, unconcerned. Something warmer still pressed to his forehead, a fleeting touch that was there and gone before he could name it.

Maybe, someday, he would be able to name it.

[dear-ao3]

hands down the best part of newsies dance wise is the tap break in carrying the banner that they would perform at events and showcases promoting the musical and i will tell you why

first, carrying the banner is not a tap number in the musical, its the first big dance number and general introduction of what the fuck is happening (skrunkly little newsboy orphans and poor kids selling newspapers in 1899 nyc for the new york world). but! there is a big tap dance number at the top of act 2 (king of new york). and sometimes they would do king of new york to promote the show (as it is a more well known song) (and i think they did it in the thanksgiving parade in like...2013? maybe) however!! it is very hard to tap dancing live and in front of large crowds in unconventional spaces without a stage and the use of mics to amplify the tap sounds (cause thats what they do in the stage version) so they usually do carrying the banner cause its got a good number of fun and funky jumps, basically the whole cast and is a good time.

towards the end of carrying the banner they inserted a Very Small tap break that was strictly used for promotion purposes and was never done on the stage (generally disney events). since the ensemble has Dancing Boots and Tap Dancing Boots, theyre not going to change shoes halfway through the number. so! they just overlayed a pre recorded tap track into carrying the banner and they do the tap dance in their normal Dancing Boots.

as in, their feet are not making noise. there are no taps on their shoes. this is very risky (as you would know if you saw paula abdul perform in the 2022 thanksgiving parade) because sometimes the track does not line up with the feet and looks bad

and its not easy tap dancing either. wont get technical but like. its hard. and they !! just do it !! it lines up perfectly !! unless youre a dancer who knows about tap shoes youd never know that theyre not really tap dancing!!

here is the break, for reference (starts at 1:58):

this is the original broadway cast and the quality is shit but liKE LOOK AT THEM