#as honourable goose don’t punch the goose

[johaerys-writes]

For my beloved bean @solas-disapproves​ , and @dadrunkwriting! Please enjoy my poor attempts at writing bawdy tavern songs, making things rhyme is HARD but at least I made myself laugh.

Pairing: Dorian Pavus/Tristan Trevelyan

Read here or on AO3!

******

“I don’t like this place.”

Trevelyan’s voice came muffled from within his mug, his eyes scanning the room as he took a long draught of ale. The inn they had stopped at on their way to Val Royeaux was humble, to say the least; rustic, even. A shithole, if Dorian was being honest about it. The scent of cheap ale wafted from every corner, crass jokes followed by raucous laughter and fists banging on tables mingled with the minstrel’s tune, that was barely audible now. Which was probably fortunate, since the man’s lute was out of tune, his voice even more so. Really, a goose squawking and flapping its wings would be far preferable to this. At least the animal might come close to something resembling a rhythm.

“Come on, Boss, it’s not so bad,” Iron Bull said, sipping on his ale. “I’ve seen worse.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Dorian replied with a roll of his eyes. He still couldn’t understand why they were there to begin with. Sister Leliana had received an anonymous tip from someone claiming they had inside information about Duke Gaspard and the movements of his army in the Dales. They had specified the time and place they were to meet, and it just so happened to be this disaster of a tavern they were now sitting in. Leliana had assured them that her agents had found no suspicious movements, that it was unlikely to be a trap. “Even if it is,” she’d said with a small smile, “you’re more than capable of taking care of it.”

Dorian set his cup down, clearing his throat that had been half burnt by the acidic brew they called wine around those parts. At that point, he almost wished it was a trap. Anything that would save him from staying in that Maker forsaken place for one more minute.

“Right,” Trevelyan said, slapping his palms on the table and pushing himself up, “I’m going out for some fresh air.”

“What’s wrong with the air here? Not enough feckin’ roses for his Inquisitorial-ness?” Sera cackled, downing her drink.

“A couple roses never hurt anybody,” Trevelyan muttered petulantly before turning around and pushing his way to the door. It wasn’t long before Dorian went after him, dusting his robes.

“If you’re in need of roses, I think I might be able to procure a few,” he said teasingly, sauntering towards him. “But it might cost you.”

Full, rosy coloured lips widened in a smirk. Trevelyan’s hands wound around his waist, pulling Dorian close. “Is that so?”

“I’m afraid it is.”

“And what will it cost me, exactly?”

“Let’s see,” Dorian hummed, tilting his head up as Trevelyan placed a kiss under his jaw, one tender enough to make Dorian’s hair stand on end. “A decent room, for a start. With a decent bed that’s not infested with lice. Oh, and I believe a tub instead of a barrel isn’t too much to ask for. And how about some wine that doesn’t taste like last year’s vinegar?”

Trevelyan scoffed, a little puff of air that warmed Dorian’s neck. “In this place we’re in, you might as well be asking for a miracle.”

“You’re the Herald of Andraste. I’m sure you could whip something up,” he grinned.

The rough sound of boots on gravel and a pained yelp made them both jolt. Dorian blinked in surprise when he saw Bull dragging a scrawny man by the collar, his lip already bleeding from where the Qunari had hit him, Sera in tow.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Trevelyan demanded, pushing himself upright.

“Saw this one creeping after you,” he said, tossing the sorry wretch on the ground before their feet.

Dorian tilted his head to the side, studying the man. “Could it be the informant?”

“An informant with a drawn dagger, skulking in the shadows like a thief? Don’t think so, Boss.”

“What are these- these ludicrous accusations? I was only trying to defend myself!” the man protested in a thick Orlesian accent. “I’m no informant, nor was I about to attack anyone! Not before your beast attacked me,” he spat.

Trevelyan narrowed his eyes, folding his arms before his chest. “You’re not making your position any better.”

The man cowered, glancing away and back. “I didn’t mean to scare you, messer, I swear it. On my honour! On my life!” he mumbled. “I-I just came out for some air, and-”

“Who are you?” Trevelyan asked, cutting him short. “Why are you here?”

“Bardeaux,” he said quickly. “Vincent Bardeaux. I’m a minstrel. Just a minstrel. Looking for work. Heard this place might need someone to play a song or two and came to check. I was just about to leave before-”

“If you’re a minstrel,” Sera said, perching herself atop a barrel, “where’s your lute?”

“I-” The supposed minstrel paled. “It broke. In a brawl, last night.”

“How convenient,” Dorian said with a sweet smile.

“I swear it! Find me a lute and I’ll play any tune you like.”

Bull lifted a brow, glancing at Sera. Grinning, she kicked off the barrel, sneaking inside the tavern. A few minutes later, she re-appeared with a small lute and a mug of ale she had managed to swipe off a table in passing.

“There you go, fancy pants,” she told the man, handing him the lute. “Now play us a song.”

Bardeaux cleared his throat, wincing when he plucked the strings and a jarring, discordant sound escaped. He tuned the lute and straightened, clearing his throat again, more loudly this time. “ O lovely rose, my sweet soul-”

“Does this look like a Chantry gathering?” Bull smirked leaned against the wall. “You must know something better than that.”

“I know��� some songs,” the man said, squinting. “But I would hardly call them appropriate. If you catch my drift.”

“That’s the kind we like,” Sera said with a wicked grin. “What are you waiting for? Get on with it, mate, ain’t got all day!”

“I… suppose I shall.” Bardeaux prepared to start again, when Bull stopped him once more.

“Wait! You must know some about him too, right?” he nodded to Trevelyan, his eye glittering with mischief. “About the Herald of Andraste?”

“The Herald of Andraste?” The minstrel’s cheeks were bright red as he looked from Trevelyan to Bull and back. “I suppose… I do know some songs. Just a few, mind you.”

Trevelyan rolled his eyes and huffed. “Bull, no.”  

“Come on, Boss, it’ll be fun! You never get to hear any of the good stuff in the Herald’s Rest. Might as well hear it now, right?”

Dorian placed his hand on Trevelyan’s back, leaning close to his ear. “Bull is right. I think it’ll be interesting. We could see what the people say about you in this part of the world, too, hm?”

Trevelyan shot him a sideways look before his scowl broke, his lips pursing only slightly. “...fine.”

“Right!” Sera leaned back against the wall, sipping on her beer. “Crack on, then, what are you waiting for?”

“Ah… alright.” The minstrel slanted a nervous glance at Trevelyan before his fingers started running deftly down the strings.

“The Herald fancied a dark-haired lad,

With sharp eyes and a sharper tongue,

A magician he was, of great renown,

People gathered when he came to town,

He played with fire, tamed the storms,

He juggled balls and swallowed swords-”

“I’m not that kind of magician,” Dorian grumbled, already regretting having urged Trevelyan to listen to the dratted song. “That makes it sound like I go around performing petty parlour tricks!”

“I think he’s talking about a different kind of tricks, Vint,” Bull chuckled, before Sera shushed them both sharply.

“'Such skill,” cried the Herald, “such finesse!

My love to him I must confess.”

He knelt before the mage’s feet,

And took his mighty hand in his,

“There are no eyes, no lips like thine,

Your silken hair, your form divine,

I want thee with a throbbing need,

‘Tis a matter of urgency indeed,

You hold the key to my heart’s lock,

I shall not rest until I’ve had your-'"

“For the Maker’s sake,” Dorian rolled his eyes as Bull howled with laughter. “Do we really have to listen to this?” He yelped when Sera punched him on the arm.

“Oi!” She glared at both of them, waving her mug in the air and spilling beer in every direction. “He was just getting to the good part, ye daft tits!”

Trevelyan chuckled, the blade of his dagger catching the light as he twirled it around his fingers. “You seem a decent fellow,” he told the minstrel. “I hate to kill you.”

The man’s face, who had lit up momentarily with hope, twisted in a grimace of despair. “R-rock! I was going to say rock!” He bit his lip, wringing his hands. “I implore you, messer. I meant no harm! I’m just a minstrel-” He paused, gaping when Trevelyan’s blade pressed against his neck.

“You tell me who sent you now,” he hissed, his expression turning stony, “or you won’t sing another song about ‘rocks’ again. Yes?”

The minstrel, pale as a sheet, nodded with a whimper.

~

“So he was an assassin after all,” Dorian said, lying on the soft bed of their new room; the largest one the tavern possessed. It was warm and comfortable, all things considered, yet he still had to make due with an old wine barrel full of tepid water instead of a tub for his bath that night. Dratted South, he reflected acidly. “Who would have thought.”

“I did.” Trevelyan kicked off his boots and flopped on the mattress beside him. “And you. And Bull. I believe Sera knew before any of us did. Plain as day, really.”

“Hmm. I believe Leliana is getting rusty.”

“So am I.” He sighed and closed his eyes. “That was more than enough excitement for a day, thank you very much.”

“Are you quite sure about that? You do, after all, have a certain reputation to keep.” Dorian wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, propping himself on his elbow.

Trevelyan cracked his eyes open to peek at him, his lips widening in a smirk. “I do?”

“Oh, yes. Remind me where the minstrel left off…? Something about rocks and locks, was it? Or perhaps-” Dorian chuckled when a suddenly very energetic Trevelyan rolled on top of him, pinning his wrists above his head.

“How odd. I can’t remember. I’m afraid you’ll have to tell me.” He flashed him a wry grin. “Or show me.”

Dorian hummed in amusement, a shiver running down his spine when Trevelyan's plush lips closed softly over his own. “Gladly,” he whispered.

[tumbledfreckles]

No more Flirting

Jilytober Day 25 Prompt: 7th Year Lily thinking James is no longer interested in her. Read it AO3 or below

Maybe Rankin

Lily tapped her chin contemplatively over her tea as she watched Thomas Rankin from across the Great Hall. The Hufflepuff was of fair build, blonde, blue-eyed, handsome enough jawline. He played Quidditch, so he’d be fit. He was in most of her NEWT classes, all heavy subjects, so he couldn’t lack for brains. Judging by the way his mates were laughing and falling about themselves, he was humorous too.

Yes, he might do nicely.

Ignoring her friends startled looks and questions, Lily stood from the table and crossed the Great Hall. Smiling widely as Thomas’ friends noticed her beeline towards them, she politely pretended not to see the elbows they gave their mate.

Thomas turned fairly quickly at their prompts, his eyebrows raising when he saw Lily standing in front of him, “Well, this is a bit of an honour. Hullo, Lily.”

“Hi Thomas,” she blushed slightly at his enthusiastic smile and warm welcome. “Mind if I sit?”

He nodded, and obligingly shoved a mate further down the bench to clear a space for her. Lily shot an apologetic look at the boy, who shrugged and grinned. Really no hard feelings amongst this bunch, she thought wryly.

“Don’t let me interrupt the conversation,” she said when she realised they had all fallen silent. “You were all laughing so much I just had to come and find out why.”

“Thomas was telling a story,” one of the boys laughed.  

“No, I really wasn’t,” Thomas glared at him.

“Yeah, it definitely wasn’t about him falling off his broom at Quidditch practise,” another boy muttered, only to be shoved by the first one.

Thomas laughed nervously, scratching the back of his head, “There might have been a bit of an accident last night,” he admitted to Lily with a sheepish smile.

She leaned forward, her hand brushing against his forearm, “Happens to the best of us,” she reassured him coyly, making herself feel a bit sick.

“So, what do we owe this pleasure?” Thomas asked curiously, pushing a glass of pumpkin juice towards her.

Lily took a sip, “Cheers. And nothing owed. Just thought we could catch up outside of classes for once. Complain about Runes where Venter can’t hear us.” 

Thomas laughed, “We’ve been partnered together this term,” he explained to his mates. “Did you get that homework done?”

“Yeah, it wasn’t too bad once you got through the first couple translations. Kind of knew what to expect after that. You?”

“Unfortunately, not. I’ll be scrambling to get it all done tonight, I reckon,” Thomas grimaced.

“I’ll be in the library if you need any help. We could study together,” Lily put up her most charming smile, brushed his arm again, and batted her eyelashes a bit for good measure. In case he didn’t get her drift.

He didn’t, “Oh great, yeah, cheers. Sam and Mike might need a bit of a hand too. If that’s alright?”

Lily’s smile dimmed slightly, but with a bit of work she fought to keep it there, “Yeah, course. More the merrier.” She realised her heart rate hadn’t changed once during the interlude and decided it was time to cut her loses and run. “Well, maybe see you later. Better get back to the girls and ready class.  See you, bye, bye Thomas.”

After smiling around at them all, a hand to Thomas’ shoulder just in case he decided to become less oblivious, she left the group and headed back for the girls.

“What the,”

“Fuck,”

“Was that,”

Lily looked at Dorcas, Mary and Marlene respectively as she sat back down. They were looking at her in varying stages of disbelief and concern. “What?”

“Since when do you flirt with Thomas Rankin?” Mary curled her nose up. “And since when do you flirt so obviously.”

“It was like watching a dog on heat,” Marley agreed, and ignored the scowl Lily gave her. “It was, Merlin, girl. Have some class.”

“You did come on a bit strong,” Dorcas always displayed more tact than the others. She cast her eyes further down the table, “I thought you were interested in someone else though?”

“Don’t think that’s working out,” Lily admitted with a shrug, refusing to follow her gaze. She hadn’t known he was in the Hall when she’d gone over to Thomas but wasn’t sure what she would have done differently if she had.

“You seemed pretty chumming after the match last weekend,” Mary frowned. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Lily said hastily, packing up her things and shoving them into her bag. “I just, I don’t think he’s into me anymore.”

“Lily, I don’t think that’s true.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I don’t think you could be more wrong.”

Where the girls had spoken in coordination early, now they spoke over the top of each other. Lily smiled at them and stood from the table. “It’s fine,” she assured them, trying to sound bright and carefree. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll get over it.”

Another round of protests started but Lily waved them off and turned away. She walked quickly out of the Hall, keep her head down, arms crossed over her chest as she walked past the rest of the table. She had Charms next, and felt relief knowing she could chitchat with Flitwick quite happily for all the time she was early. Now there was a man who would never let her down.

Just as she reached the long corridor that led to the classroom, she was grabbed from behind and pulled behind a tapestry. A hand covered her mouth to stifle her scream. Her captor pulled at her waist and pushed her against the wall in the small, almost pitch-black alcove.

“What the fuck was that, Evans,” the voice whispered harshly in her ear. The hand lifted from her mouth so she could answer, coming to rest on the wall next to her head, caging her in.

Lily simultaneously relaxed and tensed as she recognised the voice. “What was what?”

“Don’t pretend,” James tightened his grip on her waist. “Don’t be cute.”

“I’m not being cute. And I’m not pretending anything,” Lily pushed at James’ chest indignantly, but he didn’t budge. “Oi, let me out.”

“Not until you tell me why I just watched you flirt with some thick Hufflepuff who didn’t even have the brains to know his luck had come in.”

She huffed, “He is not thick.”

“He fell off his broom, Evans! Trying to talk and fly at the same time.”

“Not everyone can be a bloody show off like you.”

“He’s a Quidditch player! He should be able to multi-task at least a little bit.”

“He’s nice,” she protested feebly, not even sure why she was bothering.

“He’s a buffoon,” James squeezed at her waist again. “And you haven’t denied flirting with him.”

“Did you want me to lie?” Lily’s eyes were finally adjusting to the dim light, and she tilted her head up to look at the Head Boy challengingly.  “Because we said we wouldn’t do that.”

“I want an explanation,” James meet her stare head on. “I think I’m owed that, at least.”

“I don’t owe you anything,” she jabbed at his chest with her index finger.

“No? So, it’s normal for you to kiss someone at a party, and then flirt with someone else three days later?” James tilted his head at her challengingly. “That’s appropriate behaviour to you?”

“Is it appropriate behaviour to kiss someone and then ignore them for three days?” Lily glared at him, “Because that’s what you did.”

“I wasn’t ignoring you.”

“No, what would you call it then?”

“Trying to make bloody sure that you didn’t just kiss me because you were drunk! Trying to make sure you didn’t freak out after months of playing at this bloody dance with you.”

“I wasn’t drunk,” Lily blinked, leaning back when she realised she’d been leaning forward, into James. “Why did you think I was drunk?”

“You smelt like that punch Sirius spiked,” James shrugged. His hand loosened on her waist. “I only realised later that you’d probably had no idea he’d dumped all that Ogden’s into it.”

Lily shook her head, “I didn’t drink it. Mary spilt her drink on me early on, and I realised what was in it when I saw the empty bottles under the table when I got her a new one. I wasn’t drunk.”

“Oh,” James looked down, into the small, empty space between them. “Good.”

“Worried I was going to say you forced me?”

“Worried you were going to say you regretted it.”

“Well, don’t you? Regret it, I mean,” Lily hastened to continue when James looked at her in confusion. “You’ve ignored me since, so I figured it was a bad kiss and you realised you’ve been wasting all this time chasing after me.”

“Is that what you really think?” James moved somehow closer to her, and his hand slid further up until his hand spanned her ribcage.

“Or that it really was just all a game to you,” Lily kept her chin tucked, gaze fixed on James’ cloak pin. “That you’d caught me and now you were done with me.”

“Is that all you think of me,” his voice was rough again, but the hand that moved from the wall to tilt her chin up was gentle. “You really think that little of me.”

“I didn’t,” she tried to explain, “But when you didn’t say anything, avoided me in the Tower, sat down the other end of the Hall, I didn’t know what else to think.”

“You goose,” he growled. “I was trying to not freak you out. And I didn’t know if you’d told the girls, seeing no one said anything to me, and I didn’t think I could be around you without making it obvious.”

“How would you make it obvious?” Lily’s voice sounded small against his harsher tone.

“Because I didn’t think I could be near you without wanting to do this again,” James didn’t wait for Lily to digest his words before he surged forward, capturing her mouth with his. The kiss was searing, hot and demanding, pulling Lily forward into him, leaving her clutching at his shirt as she tried to keep up. His tongue sought entrance and slid along hers, his hand weaving into her hair to hold the back of her head. He used his grip to change the angle, creating a gorgeous slip and slide of their lips.

Lily’s hands travelled incessantly, across his chest, to his shoulders, to his neck, where her fingernails traced lightly along his hairline. She moaned as his thumb brushed against the underside of her breast. She fought to give as good as she got, pushing up onto her toes to even out the height difference. James took pity, wrapping an arm around her and lifting, pulling her against him and holding her there. Lily took advantaged of this new angle to latch her lips to his neck, sucking at his pulse point until he groaned in much the same tenor as her own response.

Eventually they slowed and pulled back, breathing heavily. James slowly released her, but the slide of Lily’s body against his as her feet hit the floor cause a fresh sheen of sweat to break out and a shudder ran through her body.

“I could never regret that, Lily,” James whispered huskily in her ear before kissing a sensitive spot just underneath it. “And it’s not a game to me.”

“It’s not a game to me, either,” Lily responded hurriedly.  “And I’m sorry, about before. I was embarrassed that you seemed to be over me and guess I wanted a bit of an ego boost.” She winced, “Not that it worked.”

“Tosser,” James kissed her again, a balm to her wounded pride. “If he can’t work out when the most gorgeous girl in school is flirting with him, he doesn’t deserve even a hello from you.”

“My heart wasn’t really in it,” Lily admitted.

“Good,” James half glared down at her, but she couldn’t tell he was trying not to smile at her admission. “No more flirting with anybody, except me. Or you won’t like what happens.”

Lily slid her hands from James’ shoulders to back up around his neck, “If it’s anything like this, I might be tempted.”

James roared and launched at her, stealing a kiss before returning his attention to her neck, nipping and sucking even as he muttered scolds at her. Lily’s giggles turned to a gasp as his hands went to her hip and her breast, taking no mercy as they glided across her body, setting it on fire.

“Alright,” she breathed shakily. “No more flirting. I swear.”

[silenceofthecookies]

One Piece OC - Charlie

So after reading the beautful scenario @burnthoneymint​ wrote for her, I just had to properly introduce Charlie to you all. I will be writing more for her in the future to tell her full story. Until then, here’s a short introduction! 

Visual made with this creator

Basics

Name: Charlie Pronouns: She/her Occupation: Whitebeard pirate, former Thorn pirate Devil fruit: bird bird fruit type swan, zoan type

Charlie used to be part of a notoriously violent pirate crew. After her crew challenged Whitebeard and lost, she as the lone survivor was allowed to join the crew. She was pretty violent when she joined and didn’t quite fit in, but after some pushes in the right direction from some of the crewmembers, Charlie mellowed out a little and fit right in.

Appearance

Charlie is a woman with long, straight brown hair and bright blue eyes. She’s 160cm/5’2ft, so she’s pretty short. As a child, she ate the bird-bird fruit type swan. Both her wings and her arms pack a nasty punch. She loves it when people underestimate her because of her height or other features, and loves proving them wrong by kicking their ass. Usually a fluffy blue bird can be found on her shoulder or on her head. Charlie is known for having a little grin that screams mischief.

Personality

Before she joined the Whitebeard crew, Charlie was extremely violent but with a great sense of honour. She was very distrusting and constantly felt like she had to prove how strong she was to earn her place in her crew, which was a needed attitude with the Thorn pirates.

After getting used to the Whitebeard pirates, she mellowed out a lot. Most of the distrust left her, and she’s willing to trust her family with her life. She still feels the need to prove herself sometimes, however she no longer hurts her crewmembers to do so. She does, however, like to pull pranks on them.

Charlie is, to summarize it, a cheeky little shit. She loves messing around with people and is known for her stupid grin by now, instead of for her violent acts. One of the things she’s known for is her terrible bird jokes/puns, certainly around Marco. Things like ‘he took me under his wing’ and ‘birds of a feather flock together’.

Despite her usual messing around, she’s a rather sensitive person, though she doesn’t let it show unless it’s just her and Marco. Even though she knows she’s safe with the Whitebeard pirates, she still feels like she needs to keep up that strong front. Only with Marco does she really allow herself to relax.

Miscellaneous

Charlie is mostly accompanied by a small, fluffy blue bird. She found it on an island and it took a liking to her. Nobody knows what kind of bird it is, but the two are inseparable. She named him Polo.

To get her to stop hurting people, Marco taught Charlie medicine. She’s pretty good at it by now, and she likes it too.

Sometimes people joke about Charlie being a goose instead of a swan because of how aggressive she still an react sometimes, certainly when she get annoyed or mad.

Charlie has a pretty short fuse.

Both Charlie and Marco are aware they have feelings for each other, but neither speaks up because they know the crew has bets out on when they’ll get together and they don’t want to give them that satisfaction.

[hollywooduniversityalumnus]

2. where are you now when i need you most?

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

Crew members wrapping for the day spilled out of the open-doored set of Love is Everywhere when she arrived. In lieu of the typical mid-morning lecture for Hollywood 101, the professor had arranged for a special off-campus field trip that evening to a studio warehouse for a tour with one of the producers. When he had announced it, Professor Hunt had emphasized the importance of arriving on time with a particularly snide side-eye at her, so to play it safe, she had shown up even earlier than he had asked of the class. Finding the doorway he had specified for them to wait nearby, she leaned against the adjacent wall, glanced at the time on her phone, and let out a heavy sigh.

It had been weeks since the masquerade, and that side-eye had been the only time he had dared to acknowledge her existence. But, to be fair, she hadn’t given him much to work with; her proclivity for exchanging quick-witted barbs and snark with him had all but vanished, something that had all her friends, but especially Addison, worried.

Margot’s phone rang, making her jump, the sudden movement startling one of the people exiting the warehouse with a big roll of fabric in their arms. Mouthing apologies, she rounded the corner and put the phone to her ear.

“Keep your phone on you,” Ethan Blake instructed. She could tell without seeing him that he was in full agent mode – his professional voice was different than his speaking voice – so she bit her tongue from making a sarcastic remark. “This is going to be huge. Huge.”

“What is?” she asked.

Ethan sounded like he was smiling, which made his professional voice sound a little less so. “That tape you sent in a few weeks ago has captured the attentions of a certain rising director and his casting director currently looking to hire for a highly anticipated art house horror film.”

Her heart leapt in her throat. “Ethan.”

“I know. Keep your phone on you,” he said. “Even if you have to wrestle with alligators, even if you have to punch Masika in the face, whatever it takes, just keep that phone on you. This could be It. The golden egg. The golden goose. The-”

“Have you been watching Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory again?”

Her agent’s voice went from professional to sheepish. “Perhaps.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll take no more of your time. Keep that phone on and on you. Call me as soon as you hear anything. And I mean anything.”

Once she hung up, she headed back to the doorway to find a handful of her classmates idling around. Beside the doorway, the professor and a man, presumably the producer giving the tour, stood. The man, upon seeing her, held out a light brown wicker basket.

“No phones allowed on set,” he called out.

Her eyes flickered to Professor Hunt’s, who immediately focused his attention elsewhere.

Subtle.

“Actually, I have a call I’m waiting for,” she said. “It’s really urgent. Would you mind if-”

“No exceptions,” Professor Hunt emphasized. “Phone. Now.”

Margot shook her head. “I may be getting a job offer. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

This piqued the producer’s interest. Lowering the basket to his side, he asked, “May I ask what offer you might be receiving?”

She felt Professor Hunt’s gaze burning a hole in her forehead, but she kept her attention firmly on the producer. She was not unaware that her classmates had begun listening in, apparently eager to see if she would finally stir the pot after weeks of being curiously silent.

“With all due respect, sir, I’d rather not disclose that information just yet. Don’t want to count my chickens before they hatch,” she said.

The producer looked her over for a moment. “Understandable. Just keep your phone on vibrate, and step away from the group if that call comes, okay?”

She nodded.

Turning away, she made a point to immerse herself within the growing crowd of classmates gathered by the door a little way from the two older men. Addison and a few other people whose varying projects she had helped with immediately absorbed her into their conversations.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

At precisely six p.m., the professor stepped before the doorway and clapped his hands once. That was all he had to do to command their attention. All conversations ceased and the class – minus a handful of students who would be dealt with later – focused on their stern professor and his producer friend.

“Listen up, everyone. We’re fortunate the producer, Jaxson Mitchell, is giving us this opportunity. That means you will behave in a way that reflects well on the university, no exceptions.”

Margot felt his gaze burning another hole in her forehead.

The tour began earnestly, with Jaxson taking the class through several of the smaller sets that had been erected in the studio warehouse for use within the next few days. Some of the sets looked like showcase rooms in furniture stores, but with a wall missing for viewing purposes. A few of the sets, like the ornate dining room that was to be used for an important monologue, were completely enclosed for the night, and they were allowed a brief peek into them before moving on.

She was keenly aware of her phone waiting in her pocket, silent and intimidating. Though she was enjoying the tour and the amusing anecdotes that Jaxson shared, she was desperately willing for the phone to ring.

“Here’s part of the ballroom set. We’re still working on it, but as you can see, its marble pillars and glazed tile flooring will help add a sense of extravagance to the climactic scene we’ll be filming in here,” Jaxson explained.

She looked at the ballroom set and felt her stomach twist. It was beautiful, albeit unfurnished and unfinished, and it reminded her far too much of the night she was hoping not to think of.

She didn’t dare glance up to Hunt to see if he was having any similar reaction to the ballroom set. He probably was as unaffected as usual.

At long last, the tour came to a close. As they all gathered by the doorway from which they had entered, Jaxson weaved through the class, handing back the phones. Once reunited, Jenni Whitman gave hers a kiss on the back of her glittery phone case. She chuckled to herself, then felt her whole body freeze up at the feeling of her phone vibrating urgently in her dress pocket.

Oh my God.

Oh my God!

Stepping back into the warehouse, away from the din of chattering classmates, she clapped one hand over her free ear and answered her phone. “Hello?”

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

As he ticked off the attendance sheet on the clipboard in his hand, Professor Hunt tutted under his breath at the names of the no-shows who would be getting a very stern warning from him in the near future. Bianca Stone, of course, was one of them, but her father kept so many people in his pocket that any misconduct she did was waved off with little more than a slap on the wrist and, at worse, a ten-page essay that was more of a punishment for him to read and mark than it was for her to write (and he suspected it wasn’t even her writing it).

“What a nice bunch of students you have, Tommy,” Jaxson said, coming to stand beside him. “So polite. I can’t say I approve of how . . . attached some of them are to their devices, but that can’t be helped, eh?”

“Oh, Miss Whitman has a serious problem,” he said, setting the clipboard down. “God forbid she and her purchased social media following be parted for more than an hour.”

Jaxson laughed. “Cold as ever.” He clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s been good seeing you.”

“And you as well. Thank you once again for allowing us onto the set,” Professor Hunt said. “Reminded me of old times.”

Jaxson smirked. “Any chance of there being any ‘new’ times?”

Professor Hunt cocked his head to the side. “I don’t believe so. Too much to critique, so many to teach.”

Jaxson nodded solemnly. Then he lifted his gaze past Hunt and into the warehouse. “Like her, for example.”

Hunt didn’t really need to turn his head to see who Jaxson was talking about, but he did so reflexively.

Miss Schuyler stood further into the hallway separating the sets, her phone clamped to her ear as though it was the only thing providing her life. Her elated expression betrayed her; she was clearly hearing something she liked.

“What’s that smile for?”

Hunt looked at Jaxson. “What?”

“That smile.” Jaxson was genuinely curious. “I’ve not seen a smile on you in ages.”

“You haven’t seen me in ages, either,” Hunt rebutted. “And it wasn’t a smile.”

Jaxson laughed. “It’s okay, Tommy, I get it. It’s exciting, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“Seeing one of your students spread their wings and fly.” Jaxson nudged him. “C’mon, man, don’t tell me you’re not happy for her. She must’ve gotten that offer.”

“She gets a lot of offers,” Hunt said evenly. He wasn’t wrong; within a month of her attending Hollywood U, she had managed to procure key roles for projects with pop star and wild child Lisa Valentine, action film star Chris Winters, and several other celebrities who had all found her work satisfactory or better.

“All the more reason to celebrate,” Jaxson said. “But look, I’ve just got to pop over to my car real quick with some materials, and then I’ll be back to get the doors locked for the night. Do you mind getting your student? I won’t be long; I’ve still got to stop at the grocery store.”

Hunt nodded.

���🎬🎬🎬🎬 

“Thank you again, Mr. Cattrall. I look forward to working with you. It’s actually somewhat of a career goal for me,” she said. “It’s an honour.”

The velvety voice of the director she would soon be meeting for a table read for his newest film sounded pleased. “Well, then I hope I live up to your expectations.”

Upon hanging up, she felt all feeling returning to her body, beginning from her unwavering, wide smile that was beginning to hurt her cheeks. She felt her heart pounding in her chest, her lungs rapidly filling and emptying, as she looked deep into the warehouse and let out a small burst of laughter at what had just transpired.

She was going to be in a Cattrall. A Cattrall! The Spielberg of art house films, he had burst onto the scene with riveting dramas and unsettling experimental horror films and had already won the Cannes Film Festival’s Grand Prix.

And he wanted her.

Still numb, but fizzing over with excitement, Margot did a little spin and promptly bumped into another body, which knocked her off-kilter.

“Sorry, I-” She looked up to find the man she had temporarily forgotten about.

Well, that was a nice five minutes while it lasted, she thought.

“Miss Schuyler. While I assume congratulations are in order, I believe we’ll have to make them outside,” Hunt said briskly. “This set is officially closed.”

“Right, sorry,” she said. “It’s just – I’m so happy.”

Margot heard herself say it and immediately cringed. It sounded so childish, as if she was amused by everything, like finding a dime on the ground.

“And what exactly has you so happy?” he asked. “A soap opera cameo? Dancer number three in a music video?”

Without thinking, she replied, “I don’t like to reveal all my secrets just yet, professor.”

They both froze in place as the memory washed over them, a crashing wave that knocked them both off kilter.

And then he was dragging her by the elbow to the first open doorway he saw on the set, which was, ironically, the ballroom set that had yet to be finished. Before she could open her mouth, he began speaking harshly in low tones.

“That night didn’t happen, do you understand? I’ve already said everything that needs to be said. Our circumstances haven’t changed. Nothing’s changed. I don’t know what you think is going to happen, but-”

They both froze again upon hearing the loud screech that interrupted his diatribe. Pushing past her, Hunt stepped away just in time to see the giant doors of the warehouse swing shut.

“Hey! Wait! We’re in here!” she cried from behind him.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

All but running to the door, he pulled at the handle desperately, but the cold metal refused to budge.

“Let us out, you idiot!” Hunt yelled.

But it was no use. Jaxson had swiftly locked up and gone, as quick and precise as he was when he used to work for Hunt. Except, clearly, he didn’t bother to check the set one last time to confirm that absolutely no one was present. He would have to talk to him about that later.

And then Hunt sighed.

No, he wouldn’t, because Jaxson had asked him to get his student out of there. Upon seeing the presumably empty set, he had assumed that the director and his student were well on their way. No fault but his own for pulling them away for privacy.

“Oh, great,” he muttered, turning to lean against the door. “Now I’m stuck with you for who knows how long on the set of this idiotic romance film.”

Petulant as always, Miss Schuyler narrowed her eyes. “There are worse ways to spend a night.”

“I assure you, there are not,” he bit back. “Let’s just find a way out as quickly as possible. I don’t want to have to deal with you.”

Logically, the back of the warehouse would have an emergency exit. With that in mind, he began walking, weaving around miscellaneous props and tables to get as much space between her and him as possible.

From behind him, she called out, “No offense taken, in case you were wondering. Assuming you actually have emotions, or a heart at all.”

You would know, wouldn’t you? he thought bitterly.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

“Unbelievable. This is clearly a fire code violation. I’ll be drafting a strongly-worded email as soon as we get out of here.”

“If we get out of here.”

“We are not going to die in here. But someone will pay for this.”

The back of the building was glaringly bereft of exits, emergency or otherwise. As soon as Hunt had realized this, he pulled his phone out of his pocket, trying his hardest not to feel panicked at the low percentage of his battery.

Searching through his contacts list, he called Jaxson, but didn’t get an answer. He waited a minute and tried again, but to no avail.

Hm. Would Marianne still be at Faux Pas? he wondered, thinking of his magazine editor friend who was in town overseeing a shoot. This warehouse would be a bit of a detour from her drive home, but she did say she’d do anything for me.

No answer from her, either.

He huffed.

“No luck, huh?”

He turned to find her sitting on a prop chair, watching him with great interest. He rolled his eyes.

“Just look for a way out,” he snapped.

She stood, brushing off the skirt of her dress. “Prof- Hunt. Can we at least talk to each other like regular people instead of constantly being at each other’s throats? That’s going to get old fast if we’re stuck here for the night.”

He ignored that. “Perhaps there’s a side exit I missed.” He sped up his walking and felt dismayed to hear her shoes clicking against the floor as she followed.

“Who could blame a professor and student for talking when they’re accidentally locked on a set together? And we have to talk about . . . that night. Why can’t we?”

“It’s not about blame, it’s just-”

Seeing the handle jutting out from the wall made him feel relieved. But, upon pulling it and having the weak wooden door that had been propped against the wall almost fall on him, he began to lose hope that they weren’t getting out.

“Damn it!” he shouted to the fake door. And then a string of curse words that he usually wouldn’t dare to speak in front of a student, or really outside of his small circle of friends, but he didn’t feel dignified enough to stop himself.

They really were locked in for the night. And of all the rotten luck, it had to be them.

Behind him, she let out a long exhale. Then-

“Are you going to talk to me now?” Miss Schuyler asked.

His jaw clenched. “No. Not about that.”

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

The lights shut off ten minutes later.

By then, Hunt had firmly seated himself in a chair by the only doorway, rifling through his contacts list for anyone who might be able to help them on short notice. He had managed to find a signal strong enough to send a few emails, one of which was a particularly strongly-worded note about the warehouse’s glaring lack of emergency exits to Jaxson and several of the studio’s warehouse managers, but as it was well past nine o’clock on a Friday, the chances of anyone answering before sunrise were slim.

In the only other chair they could find, the one she had been perched in earlier, Margot sat shivering in the cold air of the warehouse. She had not dressed like someone who had anticipated such a predicament, with no sweater or jacket to be seen. But she had pride, and she didn’t want to ask for his jacket, nor did she believe he would give it to her.

Her phone stayed in her pocket, brightness cranked to its lowest setting and on battery-saving mode. She was sure he was draining his phone battery with all the calls and emails. She didn’t want them entirely without means to contact anyone, and it seemed pointless to try when his attempts were failing. She silently thanked the universe for letting her have what must have been the last good signal to receive her call from Penn Cattrall.

When they were suddenly thrust into darkness, Hunt let out another swear word, one that made her smile despite herself. It was so strange and alien hearing him swear, like hearing Mr. Rogers or a Sesame Street character cuss out a kid or something.

And then he fell silent, and the whole warehouse was silent, and the shivers running up her spine were not just from the cold.

Margot sniffled. “Hunt?”

No reply.

The sound of shuffling, somewhere a little ways away, or perhaps closer. It was hard to tell.

“Can you say something please?” She hugged herself pathetically, feeling tears spring to her eyes as they failed to adjust to their pitch-black surroundings. “This really sucks.”

More shuffling. The sound of impact. Another swear word, murmured so low she wondered if she had heard him think it.

Then nothing.

The silence stretched on, broken only occasionally by the sound of scratching so faint that she wondered if her mind was making it up.

Tears slid down her cheeks. She was a grown-ass woman, but as the darkness swallowed her up, she felt dizzy, weak, like the child she once was, waiting, waiting . . .

Her stomach rumbled, and she instinctively curled up on the chair, knees to her chin.

It’s okay, she told herself. He’s still here. Somebody’s still here.

“Please, Thomas,” Margot whispered.

And then a brilliant spark broke through the darkness, living for one beautiful moment before extinguishing on the concrete.

And then another.

And another.

And then-

“Got it.” Hunt’s voice was a balm to her nerves. “Now, where are those candles I saw?” As he rifled around, bumping into things, she squinted at the little flame on the tip of the match he held, desperate to see anything – an eye, a cheekbone, his chin – to confirm that he was really there, and it wasn’t a hallucination. The flame was too small to make out any of his features, but its existence was enough.

She watched from her chair as he touched the flame to the wicks of several jarred candles he managed to find on a nearby table. As the candles began to melt, strong scents began dispersing into the room, clashing with one another in a way that made her feel dizzy, like after passing around one of Crash’s “Satanic cigarettes” after a night on the town. Cinnamon and spice, something tree-like, pumpkin pie . . .

Her stomach growled, loud enough for him to hear.

“Stay there,” he said, picking up one of the smaller candles. In the dim light she could see the sharp shadow of his jawline. “I’ll see if they left any catering.”

“Okay.” Her voice was hoarse.

He seemed to pause then. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just – let’s hope they have something. I didn’t really eat dinner.” She offered him a smile that was lost to the darkness.

She heard his footsteps recede, and his dim light faded into the darkness. Once she felt she was alone, she rested her chin on her knees again, squeezing her eyes shut as a few more tears pricked at them.

It’s okay. He’s still here. Somebody’s still here.

You’re not alone.

Margot took a deep breath of pine and citrus air and repeated it to herself until she heard his return.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

He had never sworn so much in one night.

As his hip met the jutting corner of a table, Hunt found himself directing his exclamation of pain to the floor. Gasping, he leaned against the table for a moment to breathe and mutter a few more curses before continuing on his venture into the blackness.

All sense of dignity and professionalism had gone once that stupid fake door had almost knocked him down, and once the power went out, he felt his sanity slipping away like granules of sand through a sieve.

That is, until he heard her cry.

How weak Miss Schuyler’s voice had sounded, speaking desperately into the darkness as though he had somehow disappeared into it, leaving her beside herself, cold and scared. He had briefly considered giving her the silent treatment, but upon hearing that, he had shrugged off his jacket and was prepared to make the potentially treacherous journey of heading over to her chair to give it to her when his mind cried out to him, reminding him of the box of matches he’d confiscated from Spencer Yamaguchi a day earlier. What that boy, aptly nicknamed Crash, had planned with those matches, he did not know. But now, as he strained to remember where he had seen those obnoxious scented candles in the warehouse during the tour, he was grateful for the stunt major and his affinity for having campus contraband on hand.

He pulled the matchbox out and began striking the matches. The first few gave him no flame, and he wondered if perhaps he had confiscated a matchbox prop.

But then he heard it.

“Please, Thomas.”

The sniffle that accompanied those words conjured up a painful image that had seared itself into his memory. A woman in a beautiful blue gown standing before him, the glimmering night sky a backdrop to the tears sliding down her face, cowering as he yelled at her for deceiving him, for making him enjoy a night with her, for making him feel.

He didn’t like feeling. Didn’t like when other people made him feel. Only a few had been able to, but he had let them, because he-

Don’t think about that, he reminded himself.

He struck the next match with vigor, and the small flame that burst from it made his heart soar, even as it extinguished itself almost immediately. He let it drop and pulled another out.

Hunt shook his head as his next attempt also puttered out quickly. What kind of weak matches are these?

He worked through a few more matches, lighting them for seconds before they went out, until . . .

“Got it.”

Now he was on another search, this time for a crumb of food to feed the hungry woman he was unexpectedly stuck with for the time being. And, as he bashed his knees and hips against props and furniture that seemed to move directly into his path, he prayed that he would find something that would sustain her for the evening.

The mini fridge he found had a few large glass bottles of . . . something. Assuming they were not alcoholic – though, since this warehouse neglected to have an emergency exit, he couldn’t entirely rule out other blatant violations - he took them out and replaced them with a five-dollar bill from his wallet, hoping that whoever owned those drinks wouldn’t mind.

And then he felt his way around nearby until he nearly upturned a fruit bowl and took the lone banana within it. A paper plate close to the fruit bowl teetered over the edge of the table, but he set down his candle to catch it. Two slightly stale blueberry bagels and a few little packets of room-temperature cream cheese spread. More than he had expected to find.

He took great caution in maneuvering around the furniture he’d knocked into, but he still caught himself a few times on the hip. He had a death grip on the candle, the food plate held close to his chest. He hadn’t found utensils but was more grateful to have found anything at all.

As he neared the light emanating from the candles on the table, he heard her whispering. He didn’t have to strain his ears to hear her.

“He’s still here. Somebody’s still here.”

He set his candle down and she let out a yelp.

Pretending as though he hadn’t heard anything, he laid out the food on the table so she could see it. “I found some bagels and drinks. And a banana.”

Miss Schuyler emerged slowly from the darkness, barely illuminated from the dancing candle flames. Dragging her chair closer to the table, she sat and twisted the cap off one of the bottles. Her eyes met his as she took a long sip. Finally, she set the bottle down.

“Snapple.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“Half and half. Half iced tea, half lemonade.”

“Oh.”

She pulled apart one of the bagels and ripped one of the cream cheese packets open before turning back to him.

“Are you coming to eat or what?” she asked.

For a moment, there was silence again, but then the screeching of chair legs against concrete made her wince. And then he was in view, sitting close – but not as close as he had weeks earlier – and unpeeling the banana enough to break it in half and take the top piece.

“The rest is for you,” he said. “I had the foresight to eat dinner.”

“Lucky you,” she drawled.

He sighed.

“Are we going to talk now?” she asked. She sounded defeated, already knowing the answer.

But they were the only ones stuck in that warehouse for the night. Just him and her, and no one would blame them for talking. Just himself, but he knew her well enough that she wouldn’t usually let up so easily. Something was wrong.

“About the masquerade? I suppose we could.” He chose his next words carefully. “As long as we talk about what happened a little while ago. When you were crying.”

“You heard that.”

“There’s not much else to listen to.”

She sighed, swallowing a bite of banana. “I would say ‘don’t feel sorry for me,’ but I already know that’s not going to be a problem.”

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

“I’ll be right back. I promise.”

She had always been afraid of the dark, but her parents were determined to rid her of that fear. When her Dora the Explorer nightlight broke, her father refused to repair it. Her mother caved and bought her a new one, but only let her plug it in on school nights. For two terrifying nights of the week, she huddled under her covers, armed with her favourite stuffed animals and a flashlight she borrowed from the clutter drawer in the kitchen.

Once, when Margot was really afraid, and the world outside her window was dark and storming, her mother taught her how to pretend she was somewhere else. The sky was falling, but in her head, the sun bore down, warming her skin, the crashing waves of the beach they’d visited the day her father left disguising the thunder that shook the windows.

Later, her mother taught her how to pretend to be someone else, too. They were in a car, and her mother had put an itchy thing on her head made of hair the colour of straw. As she braided the dry strands, she wove a backstory for the new person she would play, a young girl off to see her grandmother for the weekend with her mother, and fed her lines to repeat to the border patrol officer.

“Can you do that for me, sweet pea?”

When the officer asked her questions, she parroted the responses with as much enthusiasm as a tired seven-year-old could muster when she was cranky from being in the car too long. The officer let the car through, and her mother rewarded her with an entire kid’s meal to herself. A few hours later, her mother chucked her free toy out the window for being too noisy.

The little house they moved into was really one room with plastic curtains separating the bathroom from the kitchen and the bedroom. They had to share the bed, but her mother let her keep the nightlight on.

It wasn’t working. Neither did the light switch, which was supposed to tell the eclectrickle creature in the ceiling to brighten up the bare bulb in the ceiling. There was no space for a clutter drawer in their kitchen, so she didn’t know where she would find a flashlight, or if they even had one.

The world outside the window was blotted out by the darkness, and with nothing to break through it, she felt achingly alone. No stuffed animals to snuggle, no covers to protect her from the cold. No mother to run to.

She’ll be back. She promised.

Every time she woke up after slipping into a sleep, she was alone, lying on her side on the barren mattress. No sign of her mother returning yet. She passed the time by counting the popcorn bumps on the ceiling and the ants gathering crumbs from the floor and slipping through the crack on the windowsill. But she didn’t keep count of the days passing. It really felt like one big endless one.

Eventually, a neighbour lady came knocking. She didn’t like that her mother hadn’t come back yet. Other people showed up, men and women with water and fruit and cookies for her. Just like Miss Peaches, they had a weird look on their face when she told them about her mother’s promise.

Miss Peaches gave her a room of her own, a bed piled high with stuffed animals, and all the food she could cram into her mouth. After many attempts at soothing her in the middle of the night, Miss Peaches gifted her a beautiful lamp that emanated a gentle glow. When she curled up in bed, she thought of the beach again, of her mother holding the hand of a girl with straw hair.

Pretending came to her as easily as breathing.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

“What happened to her?”

“My mother? I haven’t seen her since.”

He swore. “What about your neighbour?”

She kept her gaze focused squarely on her knees. “Miss Peaches died a few weeks before I came here.”

It sucked, losing a maternal figure twice. She really had grown to like her, even if the first year was rocky because she was still adamantly waiting. Miss Peaches had been the one to encourage her into acting and had cheered her on for the few roles she had in high school plays. When she got accepted into Hollywood U, she promised to be there for her first ever movie premiere, walking the carpet as her companion.

Another promise broken.

Hunt let out a heavy sigh. “You’ve been through it, huh.”

“And still going through it, clearly.” She chuckled to hide the sniffles. “Not a fan of the dark, obviously.”

“It should be afraid of you,” he murmured.

As weird a statement as that was, she felt the laughter bubbling from her belly. Looking up at him, her face split into a huge smile as she let herself laugh.

“What an idea. The dark being afraid of a person. I’ll have to run that by Cattrall. If anyone could pull it off, it’s him.”

“Penn Cattrall?” Hunt said. “The director?”

She nodded. “The phone call earlier. He wants me to be the lead in his next film.”

“Penn Cattrall?” Hunt repeated.

And just like that, any good mood she had dissipated. “Yes, the Penn Cattrall. Why does that surprise you so much? You’ve been monitoring my progress at Hollywood U, haven’t you? Seen all the projects I’ve contributed to? I’ve earned this and you know it.”

Silence.

Of course.

She turned her attention back to the Snapple. It must be the unsweetened kind, she mused, because the taste was slightly bland and-

“I know you have.”

Slowly, she looked back up. Hunt’s face was hard to read in the darkness, but she assumed he must’ve pulled his mouth into a grimace, like he always did once he said something he thought he shouldn’t have. She strained to see it on him now.

“Since you came to Hollywood University, you have been extraordinarily prolific with your projects. Though, obviously, you had to be in order to stay enrolled after the tiff you had with Miss Stone-”

“Her false accusation, you mean?”

He brushed off her interjection. “-That incident helped accelerate your career in ways that your fellow students only dream of. You’ve amassed an impressive catalogue, and your growth, both professionally and personally, is palpable with every credit.”

Though her cheeks warmed with his unexpected kindness, she sensed a “but” coming up.

“But,” he said, then paused thoughtfully. “You’ve got a long way to go still. A lot more to learn. Things you need to know to make sure your career has longevity and meaning. I have so much more to teach you.”

Her heart twisted.

“My place is behind the lectern, guiding you. Not . . . whatever it is that you think you want from me.”

The second part of his statement should have bothered her more than the first.

“No, it’s not.” She set the glass bottle on the table and straightened in her seat. “Your place is behind the camera. It’s what you were meant to do, it’s your passion!” She squinted at him. “I don’t understand why you retired. You were one of the greats. Are one of the greats, I mean.”

Hunt exhaled, a sound bordering on sadness. “Some things cannot be,” he said cryptically.

And then he stood, picked up his candle, and disappeared again into the labyrinthine set.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

He just knew the heart-shaped bed in the honeymoon suite set was a middle finger from the universe. Gaudy and overloaded with the cliché colour scheme of nauseating reds and pinks, the sheets were slippery silk and the pillows were fluffy from lack of use. He set his candle on the end table and pulled off his suit jacket, before remembering that he had meant to give it to her earlier.

He could practically hear Priya scoffing at him. “You’ve gone soft,” she had accused him, his office suddenly too small to have such clashing egos within it. He had denied it then, but now . . .

“So I tell you about my whole thing with the dark, and you leave me in it again?”

He winced at Margot’s harsh tone. “I was just-”

Standing in the doorway, she set down her own candle and crossed her arms over her stomach.

“And here I thought we were actually getting to know each other. We weren’t done talking. You said we could talk about-”

“We did talk about-”

“No, we didn’t!” She stepped forward, closer. “I know you feel something for me. And before you say anything, remember we’re not in class right now. You don’t have to teach me all the time. Don’t act like it’s your cross to bear.”

He didn’t budge, staring down at her with furrowed brows. “It is my job to always push you, to be firm if it means you reaching your full potential.”

“So you do care about me.”

“As a student. Look, this thing you feel for me, it’s just a crush. It’s fake love, the kind people eat up at the movies.” Gesturing around the room, he scoffed. “Look around this set! None of this is real, yet when this movie comes out, people will swoon for the romance as though real love can be like that. But it’s all fake. Manufactured. Lies.”

He heard her swallow hard. The next words she spoke came out weakly.

“My feelings for you are not fake. What I feel for you is more than just a formulaic Hollywood romance. It’s real. And real feelings are about spending time with someone and enjoying their company, even when you’re just eating stale bagels together. Sharing our vulnerable sides, our deeper thoughts. Trusting one another. Even when the other person is being ridiculously stubborn.”

He turned away from her, ignoring the pang in his chest as he did.

“Thomas.”

“Don’t,” he said, but his voice didn’t come out as stern as he wanted. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his temples. “I just want to rest. It’s clear no one’s coming until morning. Might as well take advantage of this silly set piece. I’m sure there’s another bedroom you can stay in.”

“You-” She picked up a pillow from the bed and screamed into it. “It’s not like I want this. I would love to not have feelings for my surly professor.”

“Great. Then it’s settled.” He primly pulled back the silk sheets and slipped under them, sliding a little too far from the texture. “Good night.”

He closed his eyes and stilled.

And then, once he heard her walk away, he opened them again.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

She didn’t bother trying to navigate through the warehouse in the dark. Knowing her luck, she would probably trip and break her leg, or bleed out on some fancy imported carpet and get billed for the damages.

And Hunt would scold and scold, because that’s all he does, she thought bitterly.

For a while there, she might have thought they were getting somewhere. She didn’t expect him to do a complete one-eighty and want to dive head-first into a relationship or anything, but she did think that the progress they’d made would’ve lasted.

Two steps forward, five steps back.

Like she had done when she followed him into the garish honeymoon sweet set, she clung to the wall until she caught sight of the other candles still lit up on the table. Instead of sitting on her chair, she opted to slide to the floor, placing her candle beside her.

The warehouse’s temperature had dropped even more. She hadn’t noticed it earlier, but there was even more of a chill about the air. She hugged herself and tried to keep her mind off the cold. She tried to imagine the beach, then any other memory that included the sun and its blessed warmth.

None of it worked.

After what felt like an eternity of grinding her chattering teeth together, she pulled out her phone and turned on the screen, blinking at the bright light. Just past midnight.

It was going to be a long night.

“Your cell phone has been charged this whole time?”

Hunt stood over her, jacket draped over his shoulder.

She curled her knees up to her chest. “I was just checking the time. Still no signal, if that’s what’s bothering you.”

“Did you think to try to call or text one of your little friends to help us?” he asked. “You could have tried. I did.”

“I was watching you drain your phone battery and thought it might be a good idea to preserve mine.” She rolled her eyes. “Go back to bed, professor.”

She heard him step closer. Then, something draped over her lap, a shock of warmth and textures with an exquisitely quilted inner layer. Instinctively, she snuggled underneath it, but she looked up at him in confusion.

“There are enough pillows to make a barrier,” he said quietly. “That way we won’t touch at all, and we can both get some sleep. Come along.”

“Seriously?” she asked.

He held out a hand, an olive branch. “Seriously.”

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

The screech of the warehouse doors opening startled them both from sleep. Jackknifing out of his lying position, he immediately dove for the suit jacket that had fallen to the floor as he slept. She was a little slower to get up but finally stood and dusted herself off.

“Tommy?”

Hunt clenched his jaw. “In here.”

Seconds later, Jaxson warily poked his head through the doorway, apprehensive of the wrath he was sure to receive from his old friend. What he didn’t expect was the presence of the student, groggily rubbing her eyes with the back of her hands at the opposite side of the room. But seeing the disturbed sheets and pillow strewn about the heart-shaped bed and the deliberate space between them now, he couldn’t help but smirk even as Hunt stalked towards him.

“Where do I even begin?” Hunt seethed. “Who was the absolute idiot who approved of this studio warehouse’s design? I need numbers, and I need them now. This is absolutely unacceptable . . .”

As Hunt began his rant, Jaxson watched as the student slipped past them and through the doors, bringing her phone to her ear as she walked.

[arlome]

From your prompt list, I chose 1 from each category, you can decide if you want to use them all in 1 fic, or several 😜 Angst - 8 Fluff - 3 Random - 4 Kisses - 6 😎

Okay, so, because you’re being a greedy bitch (:P), I’m taking the mother of artistic licenses here and writing for three different ships! Here we go!

1. No’ 8, angst ( “Nobody’s seen you in days.”) + no’ 4, random (”If I die, I’m hunting you first”) - Deckerstar: 

- 1. The penthouse is silent and dark when she arrives, the eerie stillness causing her low heels to echo loudly across the marble floor. There are no dust sheets thrown over the furniture, so she takes this as a tentatively positive sign and ventures further into the luxurious apartment.

“Lucifer?” she calls out, craning her neck and bending a little forward to try and glimpse his silhouette on the bed, or leaning against the railing; he’s not standing at the bar or reclining in his chair, and she has a brief flash of panic rush through her entire system at the thought that he’s disappeared again, after all. 

A few extra steps bring her to the foot of his bedroom steps, and, at last, she spies his long form spread-eagled over his ridiculously expensive silk sheets. 

“Lucifer!” She climbs the three stairs hurridly and enters the open room. “Are you alright? Nobody’s seen you in days!”

The sight that greets her isn’t pretty, for a change. 

His face looks like it’s been used as a punching bag; his left eye is swollen, upper lip split and oozing blood. She gasps loudly at the bloody image he makes and drops on her knees at his side.

“What happened?” she demands to know, her fingers fluttering over the black-and-blue bruise on his forehead; he flinches and winces at the contact and she withdraws her hand, an apology ready on her lips.

“My brother came to visit, Detective,” he rasps, and she blanches.

“Amenadiel did this?” she asks, horrified - she knows the brother’s don’t always see eye to eye, but this is excessive! 

He shakes his head and winces again. Her heart clenches a little at the sight; he must be in considerable pain.

“My other brother,” he clarifies. “I have many, Detective. This little punch-up is courtesy of my brother Michael.”

“Would you like to report him to the police?” she asks softly. 

He laughs quietly, but there’s nothing soft or funny about the sound. The mirthless laugh is followed by charged silence.

“What can I do, Lucifer?” she asks gently; her knees begin to ache due to the unnatural position, but she pays them little heed. 

His hand on hers is warm and surprisingly strong.

“You’re here,” he says simply.

And it’s enough.

- 2. He presses his hand tightly against the gaping wound in her abdomen and curses all the powers in the universe and his Father, most of all. 

“Try not to move, darling,” he pleads with her, pulling her further into his lap. She winces at the movement and blanches in pain, and he starts cursing his own name inwardly.

“If I die,” she croaks, her slick fingers brushing over his in an attempt to distract him, “I’m haunting you first.”

Her attempts at feeble humour are completely lost on him.

“That’s not how it works, Detective,” he grouses, the fingers of his other hand digging into her shoulder, “and you’re not dying.”

She laughs softly and winces in pain.

“Sure feels that way.”

He curses again, this time aloud.

“Hold on, Chloe,” he pleads with her again. “Help’s on the way.”

2. No’ 3, fluff (”Have you seen my hoodie? noooo, You’re wearing it, aren’t you?”) - Carolight:

Dr Dwight Enys is a busy man. He’s a young, overworked ER doctor at Royal Cornwall Hospital, volunteers at a women’s shelter as an on-call physician and works for the Navy veterans program in his very little spare time. He barely has time for social life and leisure, as his rather neglected girlfriend never fails to remind him, but there is one practice he can never pass upon - he runs.

Every morning at five o’clock - even when he’s on call at hospital and should really be sleeping - he dons his suit of sporty armour and goes flying; a 10 km run for both body and soul. He greets all cats and dogs on his way, welcomes the morning ahead of the birds, and arrives back exhausted but happy, ready for the bracing day ahead.

This morning, however, is slightly different. For starters, it’s five-thirty and he’s yet to leave the house. Upheaving sofa cushions and banging wardrobe doors, he curses quietly, trying very hard not to wake Sleeping Beauty up. 

“Dwight?” 

Well, fuck; he didn’t mean to wake her.

“I’m sorry, love,” he calls from the bathroom, head buried in the wash bin. “Go back to sleep?”

“What is it? Why are you making so much noise?”

Her voice is sleepy and husky, and for one long second, all he wants to do is crawl back into bed with her.

“It’s just - have you seen my hoodie, Caroline? I can’t seem to find it...” 

There’s nothing but silence for a few seconds, and Dwight almost thinks that she’s gone back to sleep, but the sound of her stirring in bed convinces him of her alertness.

“Noooo?” comes the high pitched reply.

Dwight sighs and rises from his kneeling positing in front of the bin. He makes his way slowly to their bedroom, only to find Caroline cocooned rather comfortably in a fuzzy duvet.

“You’re wearing it, aren’t you?” he asks, resigned and not a little fond. 

She smiles at him cheekily and throws aside the heavy fabric, flashing him a glimpse of his stolen hoodie.

“Come back to bed, Dr Enys,” she murmurs enticingly and he smiles.

After all, sometimes staying in bed is good for your health. 

Doctor’s orders.

3. No’ 6, kisses ( needing to kiss to hide from bad guys) - Phrack:

The thudding of heavy feet is getting louder and coming closer. There’s two of them, one pistol between them, against 10 thugs from the docks, all heavily armed.

“We’ll never outrun them, Miss Fisher,” Jack pants, almost doubled in half, bracing himself with one palm against the brick wall in the alley they’re currently hiding in. “Where are your red-raggers?” 

Phryne is leaning with her back against the same wall, chest heaving, and shakes her head. 

“Too far away; they’ll never make it in time.”

Shouts and bullets fly close enough to be almost upon them, and Jack straightens and takes a step closer, no doubt seeking to do the honourable thing and try to somehow shield her with his body.

Dear man, she thinks and yanks him forward by the lapels of his coat.

Jack looks at her in astonishment as she tugs both hats off their heads and throws them far out of sight.

“Phryne?”

She smiles almost wickedly at the poor man, as she pulls him downwards to her level.

“All part of the job, Detective Inspector,” she purrs and crushes her lips to his slightly open mouth.

It takes a few moments for him to realise what’s happening, but when he finally clues in, his reaction sends a jolt of pleasure down Phryne’s spine. His arms come to encircle her as he pulls her to him rather enthusiastically, his lips urgent and insatiable against her delighted mouth. He actually moans into the kiss, tasting her with relish, biting at her lower lip with great ardour, as if they are alone in the world and not being chased down by a small mob.

They’re making quite a scene, there’s no doubt about it; one of his hands migrates from her waist and is trailing up her thigh, one of his legs is pressed tightly against her centre. Phryne trembles and shakes in his arms with a force that has very little to do with adrenaline, and everything to do with their waltz. Slow and close indeed.

The thugs pass them by with little notice, except some half-hearted jeers and wolf-whistles, and continue on their goose-chase down the docks. Jack’s lips trail down Phryne’s throat and his fingers slip up her skirt.

“Jack!” she gasps in delight and arches into him. She always knew he was a very passionate man. “Jack!”

But the sound of his name pulls him from the lustful haze and into the present, and he starts a little at their position and takes a step backwards, flushed and a little horrified.

She reaches for him before he can get too far away from her.

“I’m sorry if you think I took a liberty, Inspector,” she throws at him, smiling mischievously, the sound of her voice breathy with need. Jack recognises her jab and smiles ruefully.

“Let’s call a spade a spade, Miss Fisher,” he replies, and Phryne’s is delighted at the gravely sound of his voice. “You kissed me.”

“You kissed me back.”

Jack smiles and leans over just a smidge.

“And I’m not here to apologise.”

She pulls him back to her and pushes her fingers into his coifed hair.

“Come back to Wardlow with me, Jack,” she breathes in his ear and he shudders. “We can discuss the case over drinks in my private parlour.”

His strong hands are warm against her blouse and she flexes a little against his lovely fingers.

He smiles his crooked little smile, his eyes dancing.

“How can I refuse, Miss Fisher?”

AND THAT’S ALL SHE WROTE. PHEW.

[memento-mariii]

Okay, so now that I've watched the movie,

Here's some spoiler-free review of Captain Marvel.

Carol. Carol. Carol. I'm in love with her. I would give out my heart and my left spleen for her. If she wants to kill me, I would let her and it would be an honour.

We all know Carol as this badass lady from the trailers, right? Well guess what, on top of that, she's surprisingly adorable. She's so awkward and clueless when it comes to earth culture oh my God-

You know those dudebros right, the ones who go "HeR acTing'S sO FlAt, sHe sHOuLD SMiLe mORe"? Well, this movie proved they haven't got a leg to stand on. The stark contrast between Vers, the stoic amnesiac soldier, the fierce and vibrant pilot Carol, and Captain Marvel-who's been through some shit but came out a hundred times more stronger-was so crisp, so spot-on, so flawless. Phenomenal acting on Brie Larson, really. You can really see why got that Oscar.

(Conclusion-anyone who has a problem with her acting after actually seeing the movie is a triggered incel, pass it on).

Young Nick Fury is amazing and he and Carol's banter is delicious.

There's a tendency I hate in movies with female leads and male deuteragonists, in which the male "supporting role" actually overshadows the "lead" when it comes to plot relevancy. The 'She's a Strong Independent Woman who'll introduce us to the Plot, but it's actually Average Joe over there who's going to come up with a simple plan at a critical timing to solve all the conflicts in it" trope. Or as I like to call it, the faux-female protagonist plot. Well, that wasn't the case in this movie! I was afraid because we all know Samuel L. Jackson is a household name and obviously sells tickets, but he stayed as the perfect supporting role while still remaining relevant. I am glad.

We get a scene where Fury loses his eye. It's a very dramatic and emotionally charged moment.

Goose is a good kitty and deserves all the ear scritches she gets. Or whatever it is that cats like(I'm a dog person can't you see?!)

You will fall in love with the aliens in this movie. You will. You'll see.

The action choreography is phenomenal. It doesn't only look good, they look like they actually hurt. Her punches carries a 'heavy' feeling, if that makes sense.

The answer for "What was Captain Marvel doing in the Infinity War?" was solved curtly and swiftly. No loose threads left hanging in the end.

The core message moved me. It inspired me, and it's a message that will be relatable on an instinctual level to every woman living in this day and age, especially if she's working/studying in a male-dominated field. It's also a message we as women need to hear, a message that cannot be emphasized enough.

Oh, and also:

There are two end credit scenes. The second one is CRUCIAL to understanding Avengers:Endgame so don't even think about leaving the theatre, mmkay?

[misssophiachase]

Protection

25 Days of Klaroline + Tropes (I’m a little late)

When former first daughter Caroline Forbes and her former bodyguard Klaus Mikaelson have to part ways professionally can either of them deal with the imposed distance given their unresolved feelings and what will bring them back together again?  

I'll stand in front of you, I'll take the force of the blow. 

Daytona Beach, Florida

“This is Spring Break, Care, when are you going to start having some fun?” Her roommate Katherine drawled as they made their way from their hotel towards the packed beach. It wasn’t the first time she’d mentioned it that week and Caroline knew it wouldn’t be her last.

“I’m having fun…”

“Oh yeah, if fun means having your nose stuffed into a book,” she scoffed, placing her oversized sunglasses on her face. “There’s many things to be seen scenery wise but the inside pages of your pathetic, romance book aren’t one of them.”

“Trust me, your running commentary on the local beach talent has provided me with more than enough visuals, nose in book.”

“I only say this because I care,” she insisted. “Someone as hot as you deserves to have some fun at least…”

“I’m having fun...”

“The fact you keep repeating that you’re having fun means you’re really not.”

“Always looking out for me, aren’t you, friend?” She drawled. 

“Look, I know you still have feelings for him.” She stopped abruptly on the street, placing her hands on Caroline’s shoulders and spinning her around. “After eight years in that close proximity, I can understand. Although, I’m surprised you never ravaged each other senseless.” They’d only known each other six months but she was fast becoming acquainted with her roommate’s direct nature. 

“It wasn’t like that, what we had was purely professional...”

“Sure it was,” she drawled. 

“It had to be,” she conceded, slightly regretful she’d never made a move. “Fine, I’ll lose the book today.” 

A few hours later and Caroline was stretched out on a towel, soaking up the warm, Florida sun in her newly acquired, white bikini. Not that she’d ever admit it but Katherine had a point. It was supposed to be their term break so Caroline figured a bit of relaxation wouldn’t hurt.

Caroline was the type who needed to have a busy brain and schedule at all times and studying law at Harvard was the perfect excuse because if not other thoughts would creep in unexpectedly. Her life had been so different six months ago and Caroline was having a difficult time letting it go completely.  

6 months ago - Washington DC

“Caroline!” The young blonde had been a thousand miles away, staring out onto the wintery, Presidential Inauguration parade and only coming to when her mother broke her reverie by tapping on the cold, frosted glass window to grab her attention.

“Huh?”

“I know this is going to be difficult, darling,” Liz cooed, pulling her closer. “After eight years in the White House, life is going to be very different from now.”

Different? Caroline was extremely buoyed by the fact she would have a relatively normal life and wouldn’t have to hide behind Secret Service detail anymore. But at the same time she felt a heavy weight settle over her chest knowing it meant she’d never see him again, including those crimson lips which would frown in frustration whenever she argued back, those dimples that would flash unexpectedly when she thought he had no sense of humour and those dark, knotted, blonde curls that were begging to be touched.

Caroline had sent her mother the contrived smile she’d mastered over the years and one Liz was still yet to see through. Caroline made her way towards the front door, knowing it would be the last of her final duties as first daughter.  The relief was immense for the most part but the lack of his presence was eating away at her firm resolve.

“Someone looks like they’re going to a funeral,” he chuckled. Caroline would know that accent and know-it-all tone anywhere. Why was she going to miss him again? He looked immaculate as usual in his black suit and crisp, white shirt as he approached. “Going to miss me?”

“Urgh, you wish.”

“Don’t pretend you’re not going to miss my witty sense of humour.” Caroline didn’t respond, just rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. “I guess I’m only surprised about your expression because of all the times you fought me about your security detail.”

“What can I say? I don’t like pushy people,” she shot back. “So sue me.”

“Well, after today you are fully in charge of your own destiny and I for one am pleased to not have to put up with your…”

“My?”

“Uh, interesting character quirks.”

“You’re no longer responsible for me, Mikaelson, so just say it.”

“Opinions,” he answered, still somewhat diplomatically.  “Every single one of them in their bossy glory.”

“I’m not the only one with opinions,” she replied, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You wear yours like a badge of honour.”

“As do you,” he quipped. “I’m not sure if the men at Harvard or the world are really ready for you, Victory.” Hearing him use her secret service codename was almost like a punch to the chest knowing it would be the last. 

“As long as they don’t tell me what to do, it will be fine,” she teased. “And I think you can call me Caroline now.”

“Force of habit,” he explained. “I think it took me five minutes to work out why you chose that codename. I’ve never met anyone more competitive and set on winning at all costs.” 

“I’m determined and tenacious, what can I say?” She huffed defensively. “Plus, I seem to recall beating you on a few occasions at pool, Mikaelson.”

“I suppose I can break the news now. It was only because I let you, princess.”

“A likely story,” she smiled, thinking just how much she’d miss their easy banter after being in such close proximity for eight years. “Maybe one day we can have a rematch and I’ll school your ass just like last time?”

“Maybe.” It was non committal but Caroline didn’t expect any less from her aloof, former bodyguard. 

He regarded her seriously and even though he was good at keeping his emotions hidden she swore there was something telling in his eyes. Almost like he was going to miss her as much as she him.  Time seemed to stand still, until she heard a car horn from the driveway. Her mother never was very patient. 

Then just as quickly as he’d appeared, Klaus had left, the only parting gift a knowing smirk and the flash of a rogue dimple before walking away, one last time. Knowing that he wasn’t coming back to protect her was more difficult than she thought. She’d been desperate for independence but now she wasn’t quite sure what she wanted. 

“Caroline.” She could barely hear her name it was uttered so quietly amongst the nearby chatter on the beach, an underlying growl accompanying it. Goose bumps formed over her naked skin and suddenly the hot, Florida sun was no competition for the shiver that rippled through her body. She’d know that voice anywhere. But why here and why now?

“Klaus,” she inquired, removing her oversized, floppy hat and peeling away her sunglasses, resting on her elbows to get a better vantage point to check she wasn’t dreaming. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

His good looks hadn’t faded in six months, that much she could tell in his tight fitted, navy polo shirt and an oversized pair of aviator sunglasses, his blonde hair curling over his ears teasingly.

“You have to come with me, right now.” His voice was low and decidedly urgent but Caroline never was one to give in easily, especially given he was no longer assigned to protect her.

“I’ll do no such thing,” she refused, suddenly feeling a little self conscious in her skimpy bikini. At least her awkwardness hadn’t diminished her stubbornness.

“Well, maybe you’ll come along for me then? Niklaus always has been a questionable sort of character.” Another familiar voice interrupted, she’d recognise that serious tone and chiseled jaw anywhere, even unusually attired in casual clothing.

“I almost didn’t recognise you without a suit, E,” she chuckled, her hand covering her eyes so she could see him amongst the bright sunlight.

“A suit on Daytona Beach? Not the kind of ensemble I was going for on this particular occasion.” Caroline looked between them, Klaus’ crimson lips were pursed and Elijah’s brow furrowed. This obviously wasn’t a social visit. She’d thought about Klaus a lot the past six months but never imagined their reunion being quite like this.

“What’s with all the chatter? I’m trying to suntan here,” Katherine murmured lazily, finally turning over onto her back to see what all the commotion was about. As soon as she cocked her left eyebrow approvingly, Caroline knew they were in trouble, even if it should have been the other way around given their profession. “Well, well, who do we have here?”

“Look, there’s no time for chit chat,” Elijah shot back. “We need to get out of here.”

“Charming,” Katherine drawled. “And go where exactly? You may be cute but the creepy, stalker vibe isn’t doing much for me, mister.” 

“Who’s your mouthy friend?”

“Katherine…” Caroline attempted knowing that if anyone could make a scene it would be her brunette best friend scorned by a gorgeous stranger. 

“Why don’t you do us a favour and buzz off,” she growled. Even though she was wearing sunglasses, Caroline knew that if looks could kill Elijah would be a hot pile of ash right now.

“Katherine, these are my friends,” she explained, albeit cryptically.

“Well, your friends need to learn some manners.” Although Klaus had been decidedly somber since his sudden reappearance, Caroline couldn’t miss the slight smile tugging at his lips. He did always like to see his uptight brother berated. Today was obviously no different. 

“They are my friends,” she continued. Caroline wasn’t sure of the threat but if it was nearby she didn’t want to cause more of a scene.

“Before…”

“Before I started university, you know when I was living at my former house.” Katherine seemed to be processing what she was saying and Caroline wasn’t sure what else she could say. 

“Oh that pretty, white one,” she mused, finally catching on. “Why didn’t you say so?” The girls gathered their belongings and made their way through the throng still unsure of the threat. Caroline couldn’t help but watch everyone around them. In one respect being in a crowd had its advantages but at the same time you didn’t know who was close by either. 

Katherine stumbled a little on some loose sand, stumbling forward slightly. Caroline noticed Elijah’s strong arms catching her before she fell. She steadied herself but not before slapping his hand away. 

“Get off me you oaf,” she growled, stomping ahead. 

Klaus gave Caroline a curious look, his eyebrows now firmly raised. “And you thought I was difficult, Mikaelson.” She didn’t bother to catch his ensuing expression. 

2 hours later

“Where the hell are we?” Caroline asked, looking around the impressive house. Shortly after leaving the beach, Elijah and Klaus had ushered them into a nearby jeep and driven them down the coast. 

“Your new home for the next few days.” 

“I’m sorry what?” Katherine whined, her brunette pony tail whipping around so fast they could hear its impact. “We have a home in party central on Daytona Beach and it’s been paid for upfront.”

“Well, I’m so sorry to ruin your plans,” Elijah groaned. 

“And we all know that this beachfront, private property is a hell of a lot better than your meagre accomodations in that questionable environment.”

“Wow, I never took you for such a snob,” Caroline accused, raising her eyebrows in Klaus’ direction. 

“Says the former first daughter,” he chided. It was as if they’d been transported back to their presidential days. 

“Were they always in the foreplay stage like this?” Katherine asked Elijah, looking between the two expectantly. Caroline felt her skin flush, choosing to divert her gaze downwards. Katherine always knew how to make a situation decidedly more uncomfortable.

“I didn’t work with the First Family but every time I saw these two together it was exactly like this.”

“Hey.”

“What can I say the annoying brunette has a point. Nik.”

“Annoying? Excuse me?”

“Do you ever do anything but complain? And here I thought the car ride and ten thousand questions was going to be the worst it would get.”

“Well, call me crazy but after you kidnapped us from the beach I feel like it’s the least we deserved and being Caroline’s former, secret service, hottie, detail doesn’t count.”

“Klaus was my former detail, he doesn’t work in the service anymore.” Caroline responded, her attention solely focused on Klaus. She’d said it before thinking about the consequences. 

“Have you been keeping tabs on me, Victory?” He grinned knowingly. Caroline may have done a little research over the past few months but never wanted his arrogant ass to know that. 

“You wish, Mikaelson.”

“Victory? Oh just great, so who exactly have I absconded with? For all I know you’re all part of some Government cover-up. I really should have listened to my mother when she said never go anywhere with strangers.”

“Someone’s been watching too much Designated Survivor. Will you be quiet for more than five seconds if we tell you what’s going on?” Elijah sighed, his frustration with the feisty girl at its absolute limit. 

“I’m not making any promises but start talking, broody,” she insisted, making herself comfortable on the oversized couch. Caroline took a seat nearby, careful not to be too close with Klaus, scared of the unresolved feelings it would evoke. 

6 hours later.... 

Caroline couldn’t sleep. She’d found her way into the kitchen around 3am and boiled the kettle knowing that the only thing that would help was chamomile tea. She’d never been a tea fan until Klaus had suggested its calming effects during a presidential tour of India when she was restless due to the jet lag. 

When Klaus had appeared from nowhere earlier, Caroline knew he wasn’t secret service but the urgency in his tone and the trust she still felt towards him was enough to leave in a hurry without much information. Finding out exactly why he was there was another and more terrifying prospect, hence her insomnia. 

“There’s been a very real threat made against your father,” he’d admitted. During his time as President, threats weren’t unheard of but now it seemed so unexpected. 

“But why?”

“The current President has made some comments about your father’s actions and time in the Presidency. His more extreme followers have taken them personally and are out for revenge.” Given just how unhinged his successor was, Caroline wasn’t surprised but the fact her father should suffer made her feel suddenly ill. 

“What? I need to be with him now...” She’d attempted to make it to the front door before he grabbed her round the waist and pulled her backwards. He’d touched her before but this seemed very different and decidedly more intimate. Caroline decided to blame it on her highly strung emotions. 

“Get off me! I have to see my father is okay.”

“Your father is in complete lockdown, so too your mother at their place in Houston. No one is getting to them,” he whispered, pulling her closer. She could feel his heart beating against her, his mouth lowered as his hot breath tickled her ear. “The best thing you can do is stay here until this is over. That’s what they want.” She stilled, knowing that it was probably true. 

“Why are you here though?”  

“After leaving the service, I started my own private protective company with my brothers. We still work as consultants for the Government.”

“And let me guess, my father insisted the consultant, who happens to be you, intervene?” He chuckled against her hair, calming her considerably. 

“He figured I was the only one who could get through to your stubborn self.”

“Sell out,” she growled, not bothering to pull free. For some reason being cocooned in his arms felt so right.  “If we get through this, I have every intention of raising this with him and kicking your ass, you can quote me on that Mikaelson.” 

“Why do I feel like this is deja vu?” He yawned, making his way towards the stainless steel fridge and opening the door, breaking her from her trance. The glow from inside cast light on his toned, not to mention bare, torso. From what Caroline could tell in her shock, the only clothing he was wearing was a fitted pair of grey boxer shorts. 

“Do you mind?”

“I’m hungry,” he muttered, rifling through the fridge. “And I figured you needed some lemon,” he said, placing one on the kitchen counter, just like in India all those years ago. “You’re welcome.”

“Do you always walk around half naked?” 

“I didn’t expect to run into you if you hadn’t noticed. And just so you know that singlet and short set isn’t completely innocent, sweetheart.” 

“Excuse me for being kidnapped at short notice with no proper change of clothes, unlike mister organised.”

“It’s bloody hot out, not that I owe you an explanation given I’m trying to protect you, Victory.”

“But in eight years together you were always clothed and professional but now you’re just...” She faltered as he turned to face her. If she thought the side view was impressive, front on was even better. Caroline had lost all sensible thought, her mouth dry. 

“Just?” Caroline knew two could play at this game, picking up the nearby knife and waving it in his direction to keep him at bay.

“I’m armed and dangerous and given my current emotional state you should be worried, naked boy.”

“If I knew my partially naked form would have created this reaction, I would have done it sooner.” 

“You smug ass,” she scowled, knife still well and truly poised. She was losing all resolve, the grip on the knife weakening with every second.  

“You conceited princess,” he growled, removing it from her grasp and pulling her towards him greedily.

“I hate you so much,” she panted, feeling every last shred of willpower slip away.   

“Well, luckily I hate you too,” he growled, his crimson, lips taking hers hungrily, his tongue finding its way into her hot and waiting mouth. It was as if eight years of pent up sexual frustration was playing out. 

His hands caressed her back, making their way lower to cup her taut ass, lifting her onto the kitchen counter, while not breaking their connection.  His hands found their way to the hem of her singlet, his fingers teasing the sensitive skin underneath. Caroline’s skin felt like it was on fire, her nipples tingling in anticipation of his touch.   

“So, this is what you two get up to without supervision?” Elijah asked, interrupting their frenzy. They broke apart like startled animals, albeit reluctantly. 

“He started it,” Caroline accused, licking her lips self consciously and attempting to push him away, her hands shaking. 

“No, it was definitely her, I mean she had a knife and....”

“Ooooh kinky,” Katherine whistled appreciatively appearing from behind. “Please don’t let us stop you.” She pulled Elijah away strategically and Caroline had to admit she was glad. The fact that those two might have been playing nice finally was a bonus. 

“I’m sorry, we really shouldn’t...”

“This might not be the best time but there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you for years, Victory,” Klaus admitted, pulling her closer and placing a chaste kiss on her temple. 

“And what’s that?” They were both silent obviously scared to admit their true feelings after such a build up. 

“How about a game of pool?” He suggested. “Each time we sink a ball we confess something and then...”

“Winner takes all?” Caroline smirked.   

On FF HERE

[lexinthelibraryofdreams]

A White Christmas

Imagines found at @thefandomimagine 1) “Imagine enjoying a white Christmas with Steve Rogers.” 2) “Imagine dancing by the light of the Christmas tree with Steve Rogers. One of his favourite records playing in the background.”

Words: 3027

So, I know I’m pretty late for the Christmas party, sorry ‘bout that. Hope everyone had a great Christmas (or any other festivity you might celebrate) and hope for everyone that 2018 will bring a little more hope and all.  Still, hope you enjoy reading.

You were standing on your balcony, watching the snow fall over the city. The wind was cold against your bare legs, you didn’t even dare to touch the metal railing. Even though you shivered slightly, you enjoyed being outside, watching the flakes fall to the ground as your every breath was visible in front of you. It hadn’t been promising the last days and you had almost given up on it actually snowing before Christmas but now it had suddenly started. The door behind you slid open soundlessly and you smiled as arms slid around your waist and enjoyed the warmth radiating from the body behind you. “Morning”, he mumbled into your ear and you could feel his chin on your shoulder. “Good Morning” you replied as you leaned against him, “had a good night?” He hummed quietly and you put your hands on his. “You’re cold. How long have you been out here?” he asked before covering your cold fingers with his own hands. “What time is it?” you replied and he turned slightly to take a look at a clock inside. “Almost six thirty.” You closed your eyes. “For about an hour” you answered his question after a moment of silence. He tensed slightly. “Nightmares?”

You shook your head. “No, just- just a restless night. Nothing unusual.” Now you finally turned around in his arms, snaking your own around his neck and pecking him on the lips. His blue eyes looked into yours and you smiled, ruffling through his hair. “C’mon, let’s go inside. It’s starting to get uncomfortably cold out here.” He huffed out a laugh and you gently shoved him inside, closing the door behind you. “Breakfast?” he asked and you nodded, starting to prepare the table as he made you both some breakfast. After a moment of comfortable silence, only disrupted by clattering plates and the sizzling pan, you paused your movements and looked over at him. You’ve been together for almost three years now but even today you almost couldn’t believe it. Even though you seemed like a normal couple, your boyfriend was far from ordinary. Of course you had heard of the famous Steve Rogers, better known as Captain America, in the media, especially after the attack on New York but you never had imagined to know him personally, let alone to share a bed with him. After he had moved into the apartment across the hall, you quickly got to know him, helping him with assembling a big part of his furniture. Granted, you had thought it was funny but then you remembered that Ikea hadn’t really been a thing during the Forties so you didn’t say anything. Plus, you were handy with tools and enjoyed working with him. He had paid you for your help with a date, only the first of many. A smile played across your lips as you remembered his awkwardness in the beginning, something that had vanished the more you got to know each other. He later had offered to get you a job in the Avengers Tower but you refused. You worked as a nurse in a hospital nearby and despite it being a hard job, you loved every minute of it. Plus, it has given you the opportunity to patch Steve up after several missions now, when he simply walked home instead of letting someone see to his injuries. “Found something you like, Y/N?” he teased you as he noticed you staring. You snapped out of your trance and grinned slightly. “You wish.” He only chuckled at that and set down the pan on the table.

After breakfast you insisted on a walk and he agreed with a smile. Both of you put on booty, warm coats and scarfs. You also put on a hat and some gloves, then you left the apartment. To your surprise and delight, the snow had actually stayed and you pulled Steve towards the park around the corner. “Don’t be too enthusiastic, Rogers” you said, rolling your eyes as you watched him. “I spent seventy years frozen in ice, so excuse my lack of excitement for the cold.” Despite the seriousness of the situation, his eyes gleamed and you nudged him slightly. “Don’t you pull that card on me.” He laughed and pressed a kiss on your cheek, before taking your hand in his and interlacing your fingers with his. You walked in silence for a while, before you spoke up. “Think you might actually be able to stay over the holidays?” you asked quietly and he looked at you. “Honestly? I don’t know but I hope so.” He gently squeezed your hand and you nodded slightly. “Maybe you should tell Stark I’m going to kill him, if he picks you up in the next few days. I want to spend at least one Christmas with you by my side instead of with you running around, punching bad guys” you said but despite your light-hearted tone he knew you were bothered. “He hasn’t called me yet so I guess nothing will come up. Plus, since Bucky joined, we’ve got someone to fill in for me.” You nodded again. With Steve came his friends. You liked them, you really did but since all of them were part of the Avengers, he never just hang out with them. Instead, meeting up could mean he wouldn’t come home. Bucky was the newest addition to the team but the oldest friend Steve had and the two of you got along really well. He was able to give you some sort of insight on how Steve had been before the Super Soldier program and that made you feel closer to your boyfriend.

“Sorry. Didn’t wanna ruin the mood” you said but he stopped and pulled you into a tight hug. “Don’t. You have every right to worry. Let’s just try to enjoy this Christmas as much as possible, alright?” he asked and you agreed, hugging him closely before breaking apart. “I always wanted to go to that big Christmas market. How about it? Maybe after lunch?” you asked, now much closer to your usual self again. He nodded with a smile and you made a little jump which caused him to laugh. The time until lunch was spent with walking past shops and watching the people inside through the windows. When lunchtime came around, you went to a small Italian restaurant close to your workplace and compared Steve’s pre-war Christmas experiences with those he had made after defrosting. Some of you colleagues came by after a while and you greeted each other. Your next shift fortunately was in the next year and you enjoyed your free days, especially since the two of you could spend more time together.

After lunch, you made your way over to the market, strolling past the booths with and arm hooked with Steve. You got some punch for the two of you while he lingered next to a booth with leather-bound sketchbooks. As you passed him his cup, he flashed you a smile and you continued your walk. Apart from the huge amount of food sold almost everywhere, there were lots of people selling home-made things: knitted scarfs, gloves and hats, small whittled figurines and kitchen utensils out of wood, lots of candles and Christmas lights, cards,  glass figurines, jewellery and much more. You spent a lot of time with just looking at all the stuff and sometime during your stay it started to snow again. You leaned against Steve, one head against his shoulder as you walked across the market, going unnoticed in the crowd. With the high amount of media presence of, well, everyone these days, it was almost impossible to go out as a couple without someone recognizing Steve and asking for a picture but now, in the crowd of people, no one paid enough attention to the people around them to even acknowledge you two were here.

It was starting to get late as you walked away from the market, making you way home. You walked in silence and enjoyed it. Sometimes, you simply needed each other’s presence without any small talk and now was such a time. Once you reached the apartment, you unlocked the door, letting the two of you in and taking off your coats and boots. “You know, I say we unwrap the presents today. I want you to have yours in case Tony suddenly decides to take you on a trip tomorrow” you said and Steve agreed. “Fine with me. But you’ll have to wait until after dinner for that” he said with a slight grin and you raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re cooking a Christmas dinner” you teased and he nudged you in the side. “I know how to and since it’s the first time we can really spend Christmas together, I want it to be special” he explained and you pulled him in for a short kiss. “No need for being so defensive. I’m just teasing you” you said with a grin. “So, what are we having for dinner, chef?” He huffed a laugh and put his arms around you. “Roast goose with potatoes and vegetables. Simple but my mother used to make it for Christmas and I want to give you a sense of how it was during my childhood” he said and you brushed your finger along his jaw. “Well, then I’m honoured I get a taste of the classical Rogers family Christmas” you said with a gentle smile. You knew that Steve’s past still troubled him and you were happy when he shared some part of it with you.

After he started his work in the kitchen, you went into the bedroom and collected the presents you had for him, quickly wrapping the one you had bought on the market, and put them under the tree. Then you showered, putting on the dress you had bought for Christmas and returning to the living room. It already smelled delicious and you stepped into the kitchen, snaking your arms around him from behind. “It smells great. I can’t wait to taste it” you said and pressed a kiss to his neck which you had to stand on your tiptoes for. You weren’t exactly small for a woman but Steve was even taller. Not that you minded. You could hear the smile in his voice when he thanked you and you prepared the table. It was part of your routine, the one that wasn’t cooking, prepared the table and afterwards both were cleaning up again. It brought some balance into your life and you never had once argued about something as trivial as that.

The meal Steve had prepared indeed was delicious and you thanked him with a long kiss for it. Afterwards, you watched some cheesy Christmas movie but you focused less on the story and more on the man sitting next to you. Somewhere close to the end, you summed up the day in your head and smiled. Your family always had celebrated Christmas with a big party, after you moved to New York, you hadn’t celebrated at all due to always taking shifts during the holidays but now with Steve, it was something in between and it was perfect. It was simple but you hat enjoyed every minute of it and you felt extremely grateful for having him. Your attention returned as Steve stirred next to you, leaning forward to shut off the TV. Then, he turned on some music and the soft tunes floated through the room. It was one of his favourite songs and you couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across your face as Steve gently pulled you of the sofa and into his arms. “What are you doing?” you asked despite having an idea of where this was going. “Guess” he replied, kissing you softly and then starting to sway to the music. It was nothing complicated, no waltz or anything but perfect for slow dancing and you put your arms around his neck, looking up at him. He studied your face with a content expression and you leaned up to press a kiss on his lips. “I love you. You know that, right?” you said and he smiled, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear. “I know. And I love you too.” He leaned down to kiss you, this time lingering and leaning his forehead against yours after pulling away. “I just- I just wanted to thank you. For everything. I never thought I could have something like this but with you-it just seems so easy to be with you.” You brushed your thumb across his cheek, smiling and replied quietly “Maybe it is easy because we fit so well. All I know is that I’ve never been so happy in my entire life and I honestly don’t want this to end.”

He pulled you even closer and you ran your fingers through his hair. “Me neither” he mumbled and kissed you again. For the rest of the song, you stayed quiet, simply enjoyed being close to him and swaying to the sound of the music. It had taken some time for you to teach him how to dance but you were a patient teacher and he a willing student, so the two of you harmonised pretty well. Now, you danced in the dimly lit room, only illuminated by the lights on the Christmas tree and a few candles on the coffee table. After another song, he slowly distanced himself from you. “What do you say? Presents?” he asked and you smiled. “Sounds good.” Both of you settled down on the sofa again and you took your presents from under the tree, handing them to him. You had three, neatly wrapped and each adorned with a red bow. “Three presents at once?” he asked and looked up at you in surprise. “Well, I thought the fit you and I just didn’t wanna decide on one, y’know” you explained, the motioned for him to open them. The first one was a watch that was actually from the 40s, which you had found in an antique shop you had visited with a friend and that immediately had reminded you of him. The second one was a new phone with an included letter that promised him your help for getting along with it. The last one was one of the sketchbooks he had found earlier on the market. The leather binding had a star imprinted in the front. When he looked at you again and thanked you, he looked unfamiliarly touched and you kissed him with a soft smile. “You’re welcome.”

After admiring the presents for a moment longer, he gently put them down onto the coffee table and suddenly looked slightly nervous. “Well, let’s hope my present is able to keep up with that” he started and you looked at him curiously, then he continued “You know, I thought a long time about what I could give to you and you didn’t make it very easy for me since you seem to have everything you need. And when I finally found the – hopefully – perfect present, I asked Tony to keep me out of the Avengers business for the holidays since I wanted to spend them with you and I didn’t want anything to interrupt us this time.” You raised an eyebrow, slightly confused. “So, this is why you were so sure you wouldn’t be called away?” He nodded and absentmindedly took your hand in his, brushing his thumb over its back. “I thought about the time we had spent together and as you said it earlier, I don’t want this to end. I love waking up with you, spending time with you, even if we don’t say a word it has been a long time since I felt so close to anyone. You understand me and know when I need some silence or distance and you respect that without a word and I love you for everything you’ve done for me. You might not even realize all the small things but I do and-“ he paused, looking at you and your heart seemed to jump out of your chest. He certainly wasn’t one to hold a speech like this for nothing and there was only one thing running through your mind right now that would fit the situation. Still, you waited, growing more nervous with every second and hoping you weren’t misinterpreting anything wrong.

“I want you to know, that you’re an amazing woman and I want to spend my life with you.” He reached into the pocket of his jacket that was draped over the backrest next to him, pulling out a small black box and your breath hitched. Your eyes started to burn as he slid off the couch, down onto one knee, his eyes never leaving your face. Before he continued, he opened the box, revealing the ring inside and you blinked quickly to avoid crying. “So, I just want to know: Y/N Y/L/N, will you marry me?” You nodded before whispering a “Yes” and he pulled you in for a kiss before sliding the ring onto your finger. You hugged him close, few tears running down your cheeks. “I love you” you said, your voice shaky and he smiled and replied “I love you too.” Gently, he brushed away the tears and you settled onto the sofa again, him hugging you tight as you examined the ring. Slowly, the shock was replaced by joy. You really could say, that you never have been happier before. Maybe you weren’t extensively rich or talented but you had a job you loved and a man by your side you loved even more. Nothing was perfect, you knew that, but your life right was pretty damn close to being perfect.

You simply held each other for a while, as you sat in his lap while leaning against him, before you said something. “I hope you do know that I am bound to invite my mother, right?” He laughed quietly and pecked your cheeks. “I think, with you by my side, I might be able to survive that.”

And again a story that I might continue. Maybe the wedding or something like that? Dunno, tell me if you want more.

[queenk00k]

Oneshot about the ending of TST because I had a lot of feelings about it at the time

During:

“Minho! Minho! No, MINHO!!!” Thomas screamed, making several attempts to surge forward and reach his friend but to no avail. Jorge grabbed at his arms and used his superior strength to hold Thomas back, preventing him from moving any further towards Minho.

“What are you doing? We have to go! If we don’t leave now, we are going to meet the same fate!” Jorge shouted at Thomas, fighting to be heard over the chaos that reigned over the camp.

“I can’t leave him! I promised!” Thomas choked, tears spilling down his cheeks and a flurry of emotions engulfing him. What was he supposed to do now? How were they meant to go on without Minho? He had promised his friend, one of his best friends that he wouldn’t leave him behind and now all he could do was watch Minho being dragged away by guards. Thomas looked at Newt pleadingly, willing for the boy to say they should go after him but he simply stared at Thomas, shaking his head whilst his eyes filled with tears.

“There’s nothing we could do, Tommy.”

Thomas shook his head, staring at the ground in shock. Nothing we could do. A small part of him believed Newt, knew that if they tried to go after him they all would have been in that Berg, but a larger part of him felt guilty. Felt as if it were his fault that Minho had been taken away. And Teresa. Teresa had done this, she had betrayed them. Betrayed him. He thought they were close, thought he could trust her, but the person he thought was one of his closest friends had stabbed him in the back. Thomas knew then that he couldn’t do the same thing to Minho. He had to honour his promise.

He had to go after him.

Immediately after:

Minho slowly and groggily opened his eyes to the sound of engines and low, harsh voices. He could feel that he was being held upright by a firm, vicelike grip on his upper arms and he squirmed, trying to get a look at his surroundings. He looked to his left and locked eyes with Teresa, her eyes swimming with tears and a silent apology on her lips.

Suddenly, he remembered.

He had been taken by WICKED.

Minho glared at Teresa, before struggling against the guards’ grip.

“Hold him steady!” Someone yelled from his right as Minho elbowed the guy holding him in the stomach and broke free, lunging at Rat Man.

“I swear, I am going to break your ugly shuck face!” he spat at Rat Man, his face red with anger. Rat Man looked shocked for a moment, before recovering his composure as two guards stepped in front of him, protecting him.

“Think you’re tough hiding behind some shuck guards, huh? Face me yourself!!” Minho screamed.

Rat Man looked almost bored.

“Someone sedate this boy, for goodness sake,” he said, rolling his eyes. Someone came from behind Minho, jabbing his neck with a needle. He felt himself go limp, his eyes closing, his limbs failing to work no matter how hard he tried.

The last thing he thought of before being engulfed in darkness was Thomas made me a promise. He’ll find me.

A week:

A week had gone by, and Thomas wasn’t any closer to coming up with a solid plan. He could hear the whispers from the others, see the looks they shot him when they thought he wasn’t watching. Thomas knew the others were getting restless, frustrated with their reluctant leader.

Newt approached him one night, as they all sat morosely around a flickering campfire. Thomas was glumly poking the dying embers with a stick, half complete ideas running through his mind. Newt sat down next to him, looked at Thomas and didn’t waste time cutting corners.

“Do you actually have a plan?”

“I’m working on it,” Thomas replied.

Newt sighed. “It’s been a week and all we’ve done is sit in this same spot and go over information we already know. I don’t know what’s worse, sitting around and doing absolutely nothing or following you on a wild goose chase.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“A week, Tommy. He could be-“

“Don’t say it.”

“He could be dead by now.”

Thomas stood up abruptly, his eyes burning and his chest heaving. He walked away from Newt without another word. He couldn’t let himself think that Minho was dead, couldn’t bear it. He also couldn’t bear this sitting around, having no idea where to go next. How were they going to break into WICKED?

Ironically, Thomas couldn’t help thinking that if Minho were here, he would know what to do.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Minho wasn’t here. Minho was being held captive by WICKED, having God knows what done to him. Thomas shuddered at the thought. What were they doing to him? He found it difficult to sleep at night, tossing and turning in his sleeping bag, thinking of what Minho was going through. He knew how vicious WICKED could be, knew the lengths they would go to, to get what they want.

Thomas also knew how tough Minho was. When it was getting really difficult, Thomas could almost find himself smiling at the thought of the sarcastic klunk that would spill out of Minho’s mouth. He knew Minho could handle himself.

He just didn’t know what it took for Minho to finally crack.

A month:

“ALL!”

Another blow. Minho reared his head back as best he could with the little strength he had left, and spat a mouthful of blood into Lincoln’s face. Lincoln snarled and brought his fist back again, punching Minho in the face again.

“I could easily do this all day, kid. Pick a name!” He raised his voice ever so slightly but it remained frustratingly calm. Minho blinked slowly as the fluorescent lights above him began to dance before his eyes.

Another hit. Minho almost forgot what it felt like to not taste blood in his mouth.

“Answer me.”

“All of them, you slinthead, shuck-faced piece of klunk,” Minho managed to get out, smiling ever so slightly.

Lincoln’s brow furrowed, letting go of Minho and letting him fall to the ground.

“Your trial is over,” he said after a few moments of tense silence.

Minho let himself be taken out of the room, shocked and sore, his face feeling broken in all sorts of places. The guards dragging him along the dank corridors stopped abruptly outside his door, using a swipe card to open it. They shoved Minho and slammed the door shut, the sound echoing through the empty room. Minho didn’t have any energy left in him to do anything but lie on the ground in a ball, wishing for sleep.

He would deal with the caked blood on his face later.

A few days passed, and Minho hadn’t left his room. He had been given plenty to eat but he refused to touch it, convinced it had been poisoned. He grew weaker, doing nothing but sitting against the wall, staring at the door.

Watching.

Waiting.

Waiting for Thomas.

Two more days passed and he couldn’t move from his position on the floor. Minho still refused to eat, and he was paying the price. At some point in the night, the door clanged open and Rat Man walked into the room, flanked by two emotionless guards.

Minho groaned.

“What the hell do you want?” He managed to get out, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Rat Man actually had the audacity to laugh.

“We’re here to feed you, Minho. It has come to my attention that you refuse to eat anything we give you, so I have decided to take matters into my own hands,” he answered, pulling out a syringe.

Minho weakly shook his head.

“Don’t.”

“It’s for your own good, Minho. This will sedate you whilst we pump your body with all the food and drink you’ve been missing out on. We need your body perfectly healthy for harvesting,” Rat Man said, grinning as Minho tried his best to scoot his body away from him.

“Hold him down, one of you. It shouldn’t be too difficult.”

Minho tried to swat the guard’s hand away but he was easily overpowered, and he winced at the feeling of the needle piercing his skin.

Minho didn’t know how long he was out for, but he woke up feeling nourished and refreshed. Stronger.

He stood up triumphantly, sure it was a fluke somehow, but then the room started to spin.

“Woah.” Minho put both hands on the wall to steady himself, taking in deep gulps of air, his eyes squeezed shut.

Once he opened them again, he looked towards the door.

That’s when the hallucinations began.

Six months:

It had been six whole months since Minho was taken. A plan had finally formed but it was taking a lot damn longer than Thomas expected. There had also been some complications. WICKED were still after them, so they were still technically on the run. Not to mention the Cranks wherever they went. Brenda was luckily still on her dose of the temporary cure from Thomas, and she hadn’t needed a top up yet. Everyone was getting more anxious by the day, more scared, more apprehensive. Newt had slowly been getting crankier and crankier, often bursting out in anger at Thomas or anyone else in the group, and then realising his mistake soon after. Thomas figured it was stress, and being away from Minho for so long. They were all thinking the same thing.

They were all assuming Minho, Sonya and Aris were already dead (Thomas couldn’t forget about Sonya and Aris, they were important as well but Minho was the most important person…well, in Thomas’ life, now Teresa had done what she did).

Admittedly, Thomas figured there was a strong chance they were dead already, but he had to keep hope alive. He couldn’t just leave for the safe haven without the others. Especially without Minho. What would happen if they got there and found out they were still alive? How could Thomas live with himself?

More importantly, how could Thomas live without Minho?

To say the last six months were difficult would be an understatement.

Luckily, the group had the Right Arm on their side. And someone else.

Gally.

Turns out he wasn’t dead after all, though it was sure a damn shock to see him again. Thomas never thought they’d be going to Gally for a safe place to stay, but it was him who opened the door.

“Gally?”

Gally raised his eyebrows. “Thomas,” he said, and ushered them in. He nodded at Newt and the others as they all filed into the room.

“Sit down, and tell me your plan,” said Gally, wasting no time (as if they had time to waste, anyway).

Thomas took a deep breath and dove into his idea. Once he was done, Gally leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head, his brow furrowed.

“You know how much work that’s going to take, right?”

“I know. But I know we can do it, we just need to put our minds to it. We need to be determined,” Thomas replied.

Gally sighed. “Besides, haven’t you thought about what would happen if we all bust into WICKED, and they were already dead? Harvested, or whatever you said WICKED were doing to those kids? What a waste of time, effort and probably lives.”

“We know, Gally, but we have to make sure. We have to do this for them.”

Gally looked up at the remaining Gladers, Brenda and Jorge and the Right Arm. “And you’re all on board with this?”

Jorge nodded. “We are. Thomas has kept us alive and kicking for this long.”

Newt scoffed. “Barely,” he said.

Brenda shot him a filthy look. “We’re in.”

Gally nodded and looked directly at Thomas, his hands folding on the table in front of them.

“Okay, if we’re going to pull this off we’re gonna need more people. And a shit ton of explosives.”

A year:

Minho was having a tough time discerning what was real and what wasn’t. He had no concept of time. He was haunted by visions of his friends, taunting him, dying in front of him. He hadn’t left his room for a very long time. Minho wasn’t sure how long he was going to last. He didn’t know what to do. Part of him thought there would be a point where he would snap, and crazily try to make his way out of this place. The other part of him felt as if he was doomed to lie in this room forever, slowly going crazy until WICKED did whatever they wanted with him.

One morning he woke to voices outside his room.

“…he’s been here a whole year. When is Janson going to do something with him?”

“The man is still convinced that Thomas and the rest of them will try to come rescue him. He’s mad, if they haven’t come in an entire year then they won’t come at all.”

“They aren’t in the safe haven yet, though. They’re still out there.”

“They’re probably waiting for more people. They aren’t coming back for this kid.”

An entire year? Minho thought, his heart sinking. He really was going crazy…he could not have guessed that he’d been here for a whole freakin’ year.

Thomas wasn’t coming back for him.

He had left him behind.

Minho shrunk back against the wall and let himself cry for the first time in a long time.

He closed his eyes, decisions running through his mind. If he did try to escape, and was successful, what then? What was he supposed to do on his own? Newt had always been there for him and Thomas…Thomas promised he would be.

And now he wasn’t.

“MINHO!” Minho jerked awake to the distant sound of someone calling his name. He sat up straighter, turning his head towards the door. He knew that voice…

“Minho!” Even more distant. Minho’s heart dropped with disappointment. Probably another hallucination. That wasn’t really Thomas.

An earth shattering BOOM resonated through the building and Minho stood up. Sometimes, when the hallucinations got this realistic, he had to be ready to fight. Either that or Janson had finally gone crazy and just wanted to kill them all with a couple of bombs.

Minho heard footsteps and voices in the corridor.

“Where is he?”

“Thomas, I said I don’t know! I remember seeing them take him somewhere down here when we first arrived…my memory is kinda hazy.”

Huh. So Aris was a part of his hallucinations now.

“Hey, what are you kids doing-“

Gunshots, a muffled cry, a thump as the body of a guard hit the ground, a clang as the door opened.

Minho saw Thomas and his other friends, staring at him in shock.

He stared back.

No one said a word.

Minho looked down and saw a gun that flew out of the guard’s pocket.

He had done this during these hallucinations plenty of times before. He picked up the gun, and calmly pointed it at his friends. They all backed away in shock, all except Thomas.

“You’re not real,” Minho said. His response was well-rehearsed by now.

Thomas lifted his hands.

“Minho, we’re real. We’re very real, we’re here to get you and we need to leave right now,” he said, his voice shaking with emotion.

Minho’s hand shook. Normally the Thomas in his hallucinations admitted to not being real.

But he couldn’t breed false hope.

“You’re not real.”

“We are real, Minho! Would you please put the gun down?” Thomas look dismayed, his eyes filling with tears. “My God, what have they done to you?”

“YOU’RE NOT REAL! YOU CAN’T BE!” Minho screamed, his hand really shaking now as he stepped closer to Thomas and aimed the gun directly at his head. “It’s been a year! You can’t be here! This can’t be happening!” Tears threatened to spill down his cheeks.

Thomas gulped. “I know. I made a promise. And I know it’s been so long and I’m so goddamn sorry but I’m here now. I kept my promise,” he said, his own tears falling down his cheeks and onto the floor. “I’ve missed you, man.”

In that moment, Minho broke. His arm slackened and he allowed Thomas to take the gun from him, watching through his tears as Thomas tucked it into his belt.

“I’ve missed you too.”

As they ran from the compound, finally winning this major victory against WICKED, Thomas examined the boy beside him. He ran just as fast as he ever did but with a hardened look in his eyes, dark purple bruises on his skin, tear tracks still visible.

Thomas knew it would be a long time to get the old Minho back, if at all.

Sure, it was a victory getting Minho and the others out, but it was also a loss of sorts.

[ecotone99]

[MF] Round Trip

I knew I'd taken something. Or had I? Maybe I hadn't taken anything...maybe I could convince myself it was this putrid coffee causing my tilted delusions and not the blotter strip that was now chewed into a spit ball. I needed to do this...or something...or nothing, and pretend it was something. I needed to get out of the tube, I'd been cooped up in it all week avoiding the sun. I had my portable tube to avoid the rain and my reliable, old, carpeted and air conditioned tube would be waiting when I was done. Now my journey, through time, linear and back again, sideways and off at an angle. It's came like a bolt of lightning. A friend of a friend asked if I wanted some weed. "No" I said, "But I'd love one last trip, nobody has LSD anymore, man." Do dealers even say 'Man' in this day and age? They probably say strange alien things like 'Blasto' or 'Goose'. Dealer: "You want acid, brah?" Brah! I knew it'd be cool...not mainland like man or dude. Dealer: "Look, brah, I can get you acid". I knew in that moment it had to happen, I knew I'd chew it up, hop in the Prius and crash straight through the sunset to my destiny, which hopefully wasn't prison or a cave. We like to think the states is all but mapped, but maybe it's not. Maybe I'll get jumped and raped by Native American troglodytes, my pathetic drugged up cries for help braided with the breeze. No...that sounded terrifying, instead I was living the dream, it wasn't my dream but I'd be living it anyway. Finally it was my turn to let loose and do something crazy, like buy a multi coloured hat or not pay my bill at a restaurant or stab a penguin to impress a sexy Satanist. But do what specifically? What was the day going to bring? Hopefully I could squeeze the dregs of an experience out of the empty toothpaste tube of life.

I was 42, balding and a functioning alcoholic. I hadn't taken acid since I was 23, and to be honest I'd loved every trip I went on. Except for that one time, but we've not thought about that one time for a long time, there was a penis involved and we buried it in the ancient trunk...not a euphemism. But still, this was a change for me, and a sheet of 10 was too much, way too much, but it was done now. I'd just have to wait it out like shit pains. In the words of the late, great Alan Watts "Go through the middle". Normally I drank. Mainly I'd drink to get happy, I'd drink to avoid sadness and I worked to pay for drink. It never really negativity affected my life, I just glided by, like dandelion spores on a cow fart.

My life? Life? My life so far is sketchy. Like a pencil, except with less lead for the bullet. A mixture of times gone by, intense present anxiety all washed down with a whisky sour that tasted like an ash tray. I could pull at those life weeds that seemed to grow from my soul, but they'd always snap off just before they were uprooted, and two days later a clone would appear with friends. I'd just realised I was sat in my sitting room watching the TV. When did I get here? Something was buzzing, loud, loud...It was touching me!

"Honey, are you ok?" My girlfriend looked confused and frightened. "Yeh, I'm good, I just ate some bad sausage and now I feel guilty". She looked at me...she squinted...her eyes swelled like balloons. "You're drunk". "Yes" I said. "Dave gave me cannabis whiskey, but I didn't realise until it was too late, now I'm high, Hiiiiii!". She didn't look impressed and laughing in her face wasn't helping things. "Jesus, Frank, grow up." She sat down and I stopped and watched her watching TV. The show was about bees...she must like bees or something, why else would she be watching it? I stared at my partner of 20 years and reminisced about all the Polaroid moments we'd shared. Happy, smiling, the great love I felt for this delicate flower. Although right now her face looked like a Picasso that'd been in a fire. She couldn't know of this adventure, the coffee adventure, it was just Dave's whiskey. Who the hell was Dave? You could blame anything in life on someone you don't know, just make up a name 'Larry' and say "Larry made me do it! He forced me!" Yeh, sorted, he'll get the blame now. "Forced you to do what, honey?"....Shit, did I say that out loud? "Nothing, just talking to myself." My girlfriend walked in the room. "Did you say something?" How did she do that? I could have swore she was on the sofa. Did she just teleport or did I lose track of time? Did she even speak? "The thing...about Larry". She looked more confused than ever "Who the hell is Larry, and speaking of people I've never heard of, who's Dave?" She started at me for a second...or maybe a minute...maybe a year, I couldn't tell. She grabbed her purse from the counter top "I'm going to my mother's, I'll be back at 10pm, do the dishes, don't drive if you're high and stop drinking with Dave, whoever the fuck he is...love you." The kiss loomed at me like a wardrobe falling on a toddler, but the kiss itself was gentle and comforting. She slammed the door and I screamed out "No guns". Last week she'd given me a look I'd only ever seen out of the tube, for a moment I suspected she was one of them. I mean, she was always talking to them, she drank coffee with them, she'd even dated a few of them before we met. Could it be, that they, the insufferable 'they' had snatched her unsuspecting body from under my nose, recruited her for their evil purposes? No, she was clean. She was cleaner than a hookers kid, a filthy hooker who felt so unconsciously dirty that she'd scrub that child like the tires to an old Jeep.

I'd keep my eye on her though, just incase she slipped up and told me to "Have a nice day, now". I'd always recoiled at the very presence of plastic pleasantries. Here I am having a perfectly horrible day, with shit under my nose and piss on tap, when all of a sudden, out the dank cloud covered sky, a spotty necked teen with more shassy than teeth tells me to "Have a nice day". Now I feel obliged to at least try. Ok, you pimple faced throw back, I'll smile at the next person I see. Yes, that'll show the little fuck. I'll smile, and the victim of said smile, this stranger, this urchin, their heart will swell to bursting with gratitude and Buddha himself will congratulate me for filling my karma bar to capacity. There'll be cake, and I'll give a speech, I'll thank everyone but my mother, and she'll look at my auntie Barbara with that 'What an ungrateful little prick' look in her eyes and I'll grin smugly...lock me in a cupboard now you wilting old sow.

Then out of the heat and sweat I saw the woman I was going to smile at. A bag lady with no hair, at least not on her bald head. She'd be the one I'd punch to the moon with cheer. She got closer to her fate, and then... we made eye contact. At the last second I looked at my coffee. She wasn't worth it I figured, she'd only have told me to go fuck myself, spittle covering my once dry and sterile face just as she hits the 'Fffff". Now look what that snot nosed teen had done, he's ruined an old bald lady's life. What was in this coffee? It tasted like coffee but it brought on waves fear and heavy anxiety. I'd only ever felt fear similar on rollercoasters or strangely enough when taking to attractive nuns. I hated the fun fair, it didn't make sense to me to call something fun when not everyone would find it fun. Some people find torture fun but they don't call it the fun rack. Or maybe they do in this degenerates house. Maybe everything to do with torture has a double entendre stapled to its forehead. The skull crusher was now called the party hat, and the fingernail bamboo were now happy sticks. Who knows what depraved things go on behind hypothetical closed doors.

I decided to sleep on the hood of my car, driving wasn't an option, the coffee had hit me like a ton of bricks. I toyed with the idea of chewing through the windscreen, that way I couldn't be arrested for being behind the wheel. No judge in the world would buy that story. "So officer, you found the suspect behind the wheel?" "Yes your honour". "Did you witness him enter the vehicle?" "Yes your honour, he chewed through the windscreen". "Bailiff, have this officer put to death immediately for lying in a court of law". I was hungry now and breakfast seemed like last year. I rolled my head around to the left and caught sight of Everest's peak in the form of a Wendy's. That's where I would find the holy grail, all wrapped up like a breakfast burger, fully edible with inner peace located just under a pickle. I flopped off the hood and hit the floor like an old roll of carpet, with blood in my mouth I stood up, licked my teeth and spat a crimson mist into the air. I aimed my bone sack towards the light. One tactical forward lean and I was careering towards my destination with gusto, too much gusto, I flipped over a fence and landed sitting up looking at the burger joint, which now looked kind of dirty, just like a good slut should. Just what I needed, a filth grilled lardwich to snap me out of my coffee funk. What was in that coffee? I was sat slumped on a step just to the left of the entrance to Wendy's, when one of 'them' asked me if I was ok, "Yes" I said. "It's just my heart, the valves are wonky and they pump blood directly to my nose, the can't cure it, it's like cancer of the hair, you can shave it off, but it'll just grow back". I had a feeling her demeanour had shifted from concern to fear. "Just kidding" I said. "I'm having a stroke, now leave me alone, I'm tired." It worked, she disappeared back into the store looking confused.

I looked to my right, there was a dog tied to a post. He was a slave alright, a slave to the good life. He wasn't allowed in the store, but there were treats coming, I could tell. "You from round here?" I asked it. "Yeh, not far, you?" Oh my Christ, I thought. A talking dog. To be fair I had asked it a question, if I didn't want an answer, why did I ask? "Hey, buddy. I asked you a question, you live far?" He was getting demanding, he was acting aggressively and I was in for it if I delayed any longer. I mustered enough courage to say "I don't like dogs anyway, don't trust em, as far as I could throw em". A face appeared from behind a wall. "Take a hike then, buddy, you started taking to me". It was a man, not a dog, the dog hadn't said a word. Unless it was a ventriloquist, a very talented...no probably not, probably just the owner. I shouted "I'm having a stroke!!" I think I said it to the face, but I might have said it to the dog.

It was time to leave, the confused waitress was probably finished amassing her army of staff to forcibly removed me from the premises. I was supposed to eat here, but that was over now, I was pretty sure McDonalds was next. I might end up killing someone over there, better get it over with sooner rather than later. I stood up and stepped on the dogs paw, it yelped and scuttled back to its master. The master shot me a look of hate and disbelief "You drunken idiot, you nearly broke my dogs foot". "Dogs don't have feet, they have paws, and that dogs due a death. If it wasn't me It'd be Venezuelan hitmen". The master stood up and dragged his flea ridden ventriloquist dog away from my space. He mumbled something about 'drunken' something about 'cunt' and something about 'terrorism'. The last comment didn't make sense but I just figured he was a right wing nut with a racist dog and spiders behind his eyes. No wonder he was upset, poor bastard. I walked towards the McDonalds and tried to comprehend the dangers I could potentially face on the road. There was a set of traffic lights, but I didn't want to cross there like one of 'them'. I'd run straight across the freeway like Frogger and hope for no traffic, if I was unlucky enough to run into a semi, I'd look it in the eye and be the bug all over its front face thing. I'd scar the driver with my blood and guts in his grill, even if his last 10 murder rapes had been like water of a greasy bastards back.

I walked past a bench with a bald man sitting on it. I shouted "FROGGER!" He looked at me like I just yelled "RAPE!" His strange bald face started to speak "Who's raping you?" Oh my Christ, I'm thinking one thing and saying another. I loudly whispered "Frogger, but that was the 80's, I'm having a stroke". That stroke line was working a treat. I ran across the road avoiding all traffic and landed on some grass. I could lay here awhile, get my bearings.

submitted by /u/LookBackInAnger1982 [link] [comments] via Blogger http://bit.ly/2Z3hS00

[mechagalaxy]

Honour of the Clan

I fought with the Blood Eagles, a proud and storied clan. Well I served with them. How much fighting I did was debatable, as I was the lowest member of the clan by seven levels, and the guy seven levels above me was Lazy Charlie, what the experienced pilots called a “camper” who had a passel of medals and a bunch of mecha ranging from 75ton through 100 ton that made my Dread look like a sick child. My Dread was my pride and joy, it along with Corporal Haggis Keradon and Tech Sgt Chen’s Nephillax were the only non Holmes in my lineup. I could not quite qualify to buy a Nifthel, but by the end of the war I hoped to.

The Enemy came with terrible machines, the kind you see in the videos. Tower, Megazome, Dilophos, Aspis, Ignis, and something spikey, either a Skraig or Nakshi, my cockpit recorders were damaged too much to make sense of it, but it went through my formation like a hot knife through butter.

I got my ass kicked. That was their leader.

The next wave came in Megazome, Fides, Dilophos, Oggun and Daemon. This time I gave a better account of myself. My Dread spread the joy around with a spread of Black Rain that covered both the Dilophos Chen was facing, and the Megazome that came for me. It staggered them both, and while the Dilo was stalled, Chen nailed it with a Galaxy Eye and it caught the shields still fluxing from my missiles and killed it stone cold dead.

My Dread was dodging like a mad thing, I was only in my seat by virtue of the fact the straps pinned me like a butterfly on a peg board, as I was thrown against them in all three dimensions dodging an improbable array of fire weapons spouting from a Megazome that had a grinning silver skull overlay on its cockpit, and if I had to guess, a couple of Core of the Dragons under the hood. I figure he was rocking Sekmet CPU or Thermal Analyzers, because even with Core of the Dragons he was putting out way too much plasma for non enhanced mecha, but neither one of those has precision for crap, so my little Dread stayed unburned for the moment.

My Keradon and his Fides had exchanged shots, the Fides was hurt, the Keradon had zero armour left on the left flank. That is what it looks like when you trade body blows across a fifteen ton weight difference. I cut loose with my second Black Rain and added my damage to Corporal Haggis’ Kerradon work, and the Fides shook as way more missiles hammered home than on my own target. I don’t know if he was running fire or laser shield, possibly a mix, but he had stacked missile vulnerabilities that made him easy meat for me.

My luck ran out as the Megazome found my range, whipping a Mother In Law across my knees, burning the myomer bundles, melting the main structural members, and literally cutting my off at the knees. I rode my mecha down, getting a great view of the flaming ground before I smashed into it.

Sgt Chen and Corporal Haggis finished off the enemy front line, but his second rank went through everything I had, we left them one Oggun standing naked of armour, but it was standing when we were scrap. Lost again.

So far I had brought nothing to the Blood Eagles but a couple of losses on the board. I took my orders and pushed my machines close to the repair base I used to defend. The enemy chief took it from me, and now I got to watch them use our supplies to rearm. He caught me on the way back from an attack and flattened me again. Forcing me to retreat to the plateau where I was effectively caught. Not that I was going to attack him. My Dread vs his Dreadnought was not a match, it was a match to an origami paper sculpture.

I watched and reported movement, my Clan Leader, Elizabeth Chu told me to hang tight, keep watch, and keep talking. I didn’t see the point, there wasn’t anything I could do. I was weaker than anyone I could see.

Then I guess I got forgotten. Not by the Blood Eagles, by the enemy chief. I guess he was unhappy with his lineup, because instead of switching into his Red Ants and sprinting into the canyons to hunt Elizabeth, he switched into his Red Ants and moved to the repair gantries.

No fisking way. No way. He was stripping the weapons from his main lineup and beginning to put them into his main. He was actually trying to set up his Red Ant lineup MID WAR!

I radioed my Clan Leader, and she told me to take a mass reading, don’t trust just the point mecha, as they can trick you by putting up a low tonnage point mecha, and the real formation is still behind. I did a mass scan by stomping my Dread’s feet, and reading the returns. No fisking crap, his formation was not only way lighter than mine right now, it was virtually unarmed!

I attacked. We cut through them like it was a targeting range. I kid you not. They outnumbered us badly, out maneuvered us easily, I mean I had to shoot five or six times just to hit them, they were that much better than me. Of course, I had guns, and four times the armour, almost none of his machines had guns, and some of them had no equipment either, so it was like a game of whack-a-mole played with live munitions.

My report went out to the Clan. I retreated to the plateau to rearm. Elizabeth didn’t bother to switch out of her Ants, she took her armed Ants against his unarmed, and slaughtered him. Dave dropped by in his Ogguns, with his waddling Apatotron looking like Mother Goose protecting her goslings. They made it look way easy. I dropped by to repeat the performance as the enemy chief struggled to get his weapons back on his main lineup.

We got six more wins before he switched back. He never risked finishing setting up his Red Ants before the battle finished.

Two wins, that is all I contributed, and I got punched out six times, so my net effect to the clan was minus four. I cost them, not contributing at all. I was depressed as I slumped towards the mess tent.

As I came in the door there was a cheer, and Dave pounded me on the back, thrusting one of his own beer into my hands.

“There is the hero of the hour, good job kid!”

I was not in the mood to be mocked, and snapped at him

“Are you fisking kidding me? I got my ass kicked and I know it. I got punched out six times, only picked up two wins, and they were bullshit because I jumped a guy in unarmed Red Ants. I didn’t do shit to help us this war and I know it!” Our Clan leader was laughing as she came and gave me a hug, ruffles my hair like I was a kid not a warrior and broke the news to me.

“You surprised some people out there kid. We expected them to get sixteen wins off you, but you scared them when you went deep on their number two, so they warned off their lower players from trying you. They left six more almost sure wins untaken, and might have been able to get more, we can’t be sure. Then you caught their leader out of formation. You got your two, but we got ten off him. Because we got those wins, a lot of his higher campers figured they weren’t going to win, and decided not to risk the XP and cost of levelling up in a losing fight and just held their ground and didn’t go hunting at all. You kept them from getting maybe twenty points they could have taken. A decent chunk of that score we won by is yours, one way or another. Don’t worry kid, you did your part. You did your share for the Honour of the Clan”

As she said the last, she rasied her own beer in salute, and I joined as I cracked my own open.

Raising my beer I returned the salute and joined the Blood Eagles as we roared

“For the honour of the Clan”

Damned if that beer didn’t taste like victory.

John T Mainer 28840

[royalalbertamuseumblog]

The RAM reading list – science literature as recommended by RAM staff

By: RAM Staff

In honour of National Science Reading Day (20 September) and Science Literacy Week (18-24 September), we asked our staff of curators, researchers, science enthusiasts, and history buffs to recommend some of their favourite science-themed reads. We hope this list inspires you to find your next great read - enjoy!  

“E=MC2: A Biography of the World’s Most Famous Equation” by David Bodanis

(This book was recommended by two staff members - so you know it’s good!)

“E=MC2: A Biography of the World’s Most Famous Equation” by David Bodanis is a great book for the non-scientists like me. The author takes each part of the equation (including the equal sign) and provides a historical review of the scientist behind the symbol. Very engaging.

-  Lucie Heins, Assitant Curator, Western Canadian History

Not really science per se, as much history as science; but the history of the science of the component parts of the famous equation.

Fascinating stuff!

Breaks down the component parts and explains where the ideas behind the theories of the independent parts (e.g.: mass). It is done in such a manner that anyone can understand it, as it is not written by a physicist or scientist, rather a more generalist writer, albeit with a (formal) science and economics background.

-  Sean Moir, Collections Manager

Elephant Memories: Thirteen Years in the Life of an Elephant Family by Cynthia Moss

One book that still resonates with me is “Elephant Memories: Thirteen Years in the Life of an Elephant Family” by Cynthia J. Moss. I read this book shortly after I began working as a natural history interpreter at The Mammoth Site of Hot Springs, SD.  The book helped me develop a much greater appreciation for the remains of the extinct elephants that I walked past every day.  It helped shape my mental image of how mammoths might have lived their lives. It’s not the only reason that elephants and mammoths interest me, but it was definitely an influential piece in shaping my fascination with them.

-  Chris Jass, Curator of Quaternary Palaeontology

Honk, Honk, Goose (Canada Geese Start a Family): April Pulley Sayre

This is a fantastic read for children to start learning about birds during breeding season. It presents facts about how Canada Geese find their partner, mate and take care of their goslings. It is a fun interpretation, where children are encouraged to make sounds like a father goose protecting its family would for example. It also provides context for children as to why some birds may make noises or chase you away (e.g., have you ever been dive-bombed by an American Robin?) during breeding season. This can help alleviate your child’s fear of birds, as they come to the understanding that they are protecting their partner and family and to stay clear of their nest.

-  Diana Tirlea, Assistant Curator, Quaternary Environments

Next Time You See A Maple Seed: Emily Morgan

This is a fantastic book, which not only teaches you about a maple seed (a samara) but also engages the readers by getting them to ask questions. Questions like, where does this samara come from? What is a samara? What will happen to the samara once it lands on the ground? It has brilliant images of not only seeds and the plants, but also children interacting with the samaras. It also engages children by asking them to try out some activities and to explore their environment (outside) by looking and asking questions about what they see and find; whether it be big or small.

-  Diana Tirlea, Assistant Curator, Quaternary Environments 

  Only the Cat Saw: Ashley Wolff

This book is all about observation, which is one of the key elements to new scientific discoveries, part of the development of questions (hypothesis) and record-keeping during research. This book is geared towards young children. It provides lovely two-page illustrations, without text, to see what “only the cat saw”, as the cat adventures out during the evening while the whole family is getting ready for bed and/or sleeping. Many of the elements which “only the cat saw” are nature-based, such as a thunderstorm or an owl catching a mouse. It is a fantastic book, all about observation and discovering what you can see if you pay attention to details!

 -  Diana Tirlea, Assistant Curator, Quaternary Environments

The Science of War: Canadian Scientists and Allied Military Technology” by Donald Avery.  

While Anthony, our curator of Military and Political History, hasn’t had a chance to read this book yet (it’s on his list), he wanted to, in his words, “put a plugin for the real science… you know… Social Science!”  

-  Anthony Worman, Curator of Military and Political History

RadioLab (Podcast) by  Jad Abumrad and Robert Krulwich

While not a book, RadioLab is the perfect way to introduce yourself to the latest in scientific advancements and theories, in an engaging and entertaining way, that in no way reminds you of a high school science class. In fact, it took me a couple of episodes to realize that it’s a “science podcast” at all, so enthralled I was in the topics they selected and their narration and storytelling techniques.  If you prefer a book, you can find a complete list of science-themed literature that has inspired their episodes here: http://radiolabreads.tumblr.com/

- Nathalie Batres, Marketing Officer      

Non-fiction Recommendations by our curator of Quaternary Environments, Dr. Alwynne Beaudoin

Your Inner Fish: A Journey into the 3.5-Billion-Year History of the Human Body. By: Neil Shubin (2008) 

Palaeontologist Neil Shubin looks at body structures - hands, arms and legs, teeth, structures for smelling, seeing and hearing - and shows how their development is reflected in the fossil record. Elements of the human body plan are ancient and are recorded in some of the earliest fossils with bodies (as opposed to single-celled or multicelled organisms). He starts with the discovery of the Tiktaalik on Ellesmere Island, a fossil of a creature intermediate between fish and early land-living tetrapods. Shubin shows how palaeontology contributes to our understanding of human growth and development. He finishes his survey by examining how some human frailties (such as hernias and hiccups) may have a link to our genetic past, and thereby makes a good case for the continuing value of palaeontology. Shubin packs a good deal of information into a deceptively simple and readable format.

 The Crystal Desert: Summers in Antarctica. Houghton Mifflin Books. By: David G. Campbell (1992)

This is one of my all-time favourite books. It’s a meditation on fieldwork and science. It won several literary awards, an indication of its fine writing. Campbell focuses on his biological fieldwork on King George Island, one of the South Shetland Islands off the Antarctic Peninsula. He spent three austral summers there. Campbell characterizes this as the 'banana belt' of Antarctica, yet it is still a place where life hangs on a knife-edge. He describes the flora and fauna of the island, and discusses the discovery and use of the island by whalers, hunters, explorers, and, more recently, tourists. He examines the human impact on this remote area, and describes the difficulties of fieldwork and study in such an unforgiving landscape. Campbell sets his studies into the broader context of the human and natural history of one of the most remote and yet wildest places on earth.

The Song of the Dodo. Scribners, New York. By: David Quammen (1996) 

Quammen is one of the best science writers around. He is a very fine prose stylist and his writing is always a true pleasure to read. In this book, he examines the ideas of island biogeography, starting with the life and career of Alfred Russel Wallace and finishing with modern conservation dilemmas. Along the way, he visits many of the world's major islands, including the Malay Archipelago, the Galapagos, the Hawaiian Islands, Mauritius, Madagascar, and Guam. All of them have vulnerable plants and wildlife. He examines scientific ideas about conservation and the reasons for island endemism. He includes interviews with researchers and accounts by scientists of their findings and presents different sides of the conservation debate.

 Jacquard's Web: How a Hand-loom Led to the Birth of the Information Age. By: James Essinger (2004)

Computers and information technology permeate modern life and every aspect of scientific endeavour, so it is interesting to trace their development. Essinger starts with the invention of the punched card by Jacquard to speed up silk-weaving in the early 19th century. He continues by tracing the use of punched cards as controllers by Babbage in his design for his analytical engine, and then by Herman Hollerith in his design for a tabulating machine for the 1890 US census. The account moves into the 20th century and the development of the electronic computer, principally by IBM, during and after WWII. The demise of the punch card occurred by 1984, although Essinger points out that it is still used for a few applications. Indeed, I vividly remember using punch cards as a grad student in the late 1970s and early 1980s.

A Mathematician Reads the Newspaper. By: John Allen Paulos (1995) 

In a series of short pithy essays, Paulos examines some of the numerical and statistical absurdities and assumptions bandied about in newspaper articles. Although the idea of reading a newspaper may seem rather quaint today, the idea of reading news stories is not, and much of what Paulos has to say about critical thinking and numeracy is as relevant today as it was in 1995. Fear not, you don’t need math skills to read and enjoy this book, just a willingness to look carefully at what you read in the media. In an age when “fake news” is a thing, Paulos’ call for numerical literacy is even more important. His take-home message is not to become blinded by the apparent authority of numbers and statistics but to examine what assumptions underpin the way in which information is presented. Good advice for everyone!

Fiction Recommendations by Dr. Alwynne Beaudoin

The Martian. By: Andy Weir (2011) 

Mark Watney is stranded on Mars after his crewmates leave because of a massive storm and because they think he is dead. Fortunately, he has a sense of humour as well as science smarts, so it’s a pleasure to follow his story through his diary. He has to exert all his science and technical engineering skills to work through many practical challenges, hoping to survive until the next Mars landing four years’ hence. His first problem, extending his food supplies, he tackles by growing potatoes using human waste as a fertilizer. Then he re-establishes communication with Earth by finding Pathfinder (an old Rover module) and getting it working. The NASA scientists, once they realize he's alive, scramble to devise rescue plans and avoid a PR disaster. Here, we see the scientist as hero and contrast lone science (Mark) and team science (NASA). Not only for nerds, this is a terrific read!

We hope you enjoyed the list and be sure to share with us your own favourite science-themed book by tagging us on social media!