#b/c it's only been what almost three months so ten chapters so far

[alteredphoenix]

So should I assume Ice Head Gill isn't doing too hot in the current Jump rankings because I almost never really see the chapters get talked about much on r/manga anymore compared to when it debuted.

[roggenmuhme]

Strawberry Colada

The Pearls x Reader Summary: You get drunk and your unsuspecting gem girlfriends have to deal with it. There's always a first time for everything, right? [A series of short one-shots/Human Antics series] Wordcount: 2.3k

I hope this whole collection isn’t too ‘out there’ for you to enjoy, a lovely person on discord had this prompt idea and it … just took over. I legit couldn’t stop thinking about this, so here goes nothing. So far I have Jasper, Bismuth and the Diamonds planned; if you have any input/ideas, I’d be glad to hear them! (But I can't promise anything, some characters are incredibly hard for me to write unfortunately) As always, feel free to contact me for anything really - imbutahumblefarmer#5583 on discord! Also tumblr is being weird with the format again - can also be read here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23864869/chapters/57363457

Warning: Detailed descriptions of nausea, along with the more uncomfortable feelings of being drunk. Be careful, please (no vomiting)

Dedicated to that one time I fell asleep cuddling a clorox bottle. The hot, humid air around you quickly became overwhelming as you pushed past a couple standing irritatingly close to the exit. Your hand clenched around your smartphone, the only thing grounding your upset stomach right now. You definitely had had one shot too many with your friends an hour earlier and the wild dancing afterwards didn’t help either. As you fought to keep the bile down, you swore off Jägermeister for at least a month. Pushing open the heavy, black door, you greedily breathed in the cold air. It felt almost as good as the ice-cold glass of water you had downed minutes ago, a desperate attempt to keep the nausea at bay. Stumbling away from the entrance, you hastily looked around, searching for any sign of your girlfriends. You had texted them fifteen minutes back, when it became obvious to you that you had to end the night early, too sick to continue. They had answered in seconds, you knew how vigilantly Pink Pearl watched her phone (she had been enamored with the device ever since she got it, because it meant constant and fast communication with you) and now all you had to do was wait for them. Easier said than done, in your drunken stupor all of your thoughts flew to your gut, you knew you had to keep moving or else its contents would soon find another home on the streets - and you hated vomiting.

Pacing around in front of the dimly lit club entrance, the dulled bass soon blended into the background and seconds turned into hours. You cursed yourself for being so careless with alcohol this time, falling victim to the peer pressure of your friends. In the end, it was your fault for accepting too many drinks and you knew tomorrow wouldn’t be fun. But right now, you had different problems on your hand. Just as you were about to check your messages once more, someone yelled out your name as if it wasn’t two in the morning and they hadn’t seen you just hours ago. Quick steps followed and soon an enthusiastic Pink hugged you from behind, her arms digging into your stomach. As much as you wanted to appreciate the sweet gesture, you nearly expelled  your hearty dinner in that moment. “H-hey”, you croaked, slowly turning your head to meet a loving gaze. “C-could you let me go?�� In an instant her arms were gone and she appeared next to you, a sweet smile on her face. “Hey!” You tried to reciprocate her grin, but it looked rather pained. Somebody pointedly cleared their throat behind you and you didn’t have to turn around to know who the culprit was. Although you were slightly compromised right now, you still made a show out of turning around slowly, clearly trying to annoy Yellow Pearl. When you finally faced both Blue and Yellow, the latter rolled her eyes at your antics, but you knew she didn’t really mean it. Blue Pearl promptly rushed over to you to greet you with a gentle hug, her voice nearly too quiet to be picked up by your abused ears. “I’m so glad you want to go home so early.” You forgot your upset stomach for a moment as you patted her back, melting into her touch. It was adorable how they all missed you the instant your back was out of the door, even grouchy Yellow. Said gem brought you back to reality with a snide comment, one hand touching her chin. “You look absolutely disheveled, what have you been doing?”, she leaned in to inspect you closer, only to recoil in horror. “Stars, you reek!”, her tone was seriously offended, her face scrunched up as she blinked rapidly. “Oh...”, was all you could muster, suddenly aware of you unkempt your whole presence was. A wave of nausea forced the thought into the background, a hand flying to your mouth as your cheeks comically puffed out. “Oh no”, Blue put a hand on your shoulder, as did Pink. With two concerned pearls to either side of you, you only managed to blurt out a ‘let’s go’, hoping you’d make it to your apartment without any accidents. As you tried to power-walk your way back home, the alcohol hit you once again, making you stagger with each step. Blue and Pink stabilized you with a surprisingly firm grip (sometimes you forgot how strong they could be despite of their slender builds) while Yellow took the lead, arms crossed behind her back, throwing you a glance every couple of minutes.The silence was overbearing and your mind too focused on that dreadful feeling in your gut. You couldn't take it any longer.

"Please…", you huffed out. "Tell me something. Talk to me."

Next to you, Pink piped up, her voice excited. "Blue and I made a batch of your favorite cookies!"

An image of said cookies flashed through your head and your stomach turned at the thought. As much as you loved a homemade batch, food was the least appealing thing you could imagine right now.

You made the most disgraceful gurgling sound. "About anything else, please? No food, I beg of you…", you heaved out.

Pink let out a surprised noise, seemingly at loss for words. Even in your inebriated state you could feel the guilt creeping up, they had no clue what you were going through (not that you could explain it right now, anyway) and were just trying to help you. “Ugh”, you tried talking through a surge. “S-sorry, I can tell you why tomorrow, but I’m j-just not up to speed.” Blue clutched your left arm a little harder and Yellow looked at you a little longer than necessary. Yes, they were definitely worried for you. “B-but it’ll pass”, you took a deep breath. “Promise!” Pink gave you a small smile at that, but you could still see concern in her eyes. You owed them a detailed explanation tomorrow. The chatter picked back up, Yellow and Pink taking turns. One was more or less bickering, the other eagerly talking about the evening they had spent without you. Blue practically hang from your arm, slightly massaging your tense muscles when she felt another tremor working its way through you. You got accustomed to walking after a while, your overloaded brain phasing in and out of the situation. When you finally arrived at home, it felt like you had teleported to the location. Your aching feet told you otherwise. To your amazement, the nausea had died down a bit, probably due to time and fresh air. You’re were still hammered though.

As the Pearls ushered you as quietly as possible into your shared apartment, you could feel the exhaustion creeping up your eyes instead. Your walk became even more sluggish, you barely managed to kick off your shoes (much to the displeasure of Yellow, who gave you an indignant sigh) and you blindly wobbled to your bedroom, all three of them following you. As you simply face-planted into the incredibly soft bedding, Yellow was getting winded. “No, no, no!”, she picked you up by the back of your shirt, hauling you back into consciousness. “You’ll ruin the sheets.” Struggling to find your footing, she only released your top after you were out of the door, the soft giggling of Blue and worried gaze of Pink following you. After closing the bathroom door forcefully behind you, she left you alone. Now it was only you and your haggard reflection in the mirror. “Goodness”, you steadied yourself on the sink while you poked your eye bags. You looked very… unfavorable, to say the least. Nothing a full night of sleep couldn’t fix, though. Sighing, you sat down on the toilet lid to wrestle yourself out of your clothing - all those zippers and hooks had been easier to put on a couple of hours ago. Somewhere during the struggle - probably between wiggling out of your socks and fighting with some knots in your hair, your eyes simply clamped shut. You fell asleep then and there, outfit still on, slouched on the toilet seat. After ten minutes of no noise - especially not the tinkling of the shower head -  Yellow decided to check up on you, the other two in tow. As the three of them peered into the bathroom, Yellow had to suppress a groan at your sight, while the Pink and Blue laughed silently. Rolling her eyes, she strode up to you, lightly touching your shoulder, trying to wake you up. Your head lolled back in response, eyes flickering open for a moment, promptly closing again. She tapped your chest with her index finger once, as if to chastise you. “You should feel honoured that you’re my human”, her voice was barely above a whisper as she lifted you up with a sour expression, the others quick to help her. Together, they carried you back into the bedroom, freeing you of your restrictive clothing. Pink and Blue quickly found their usual places right next to you, cuddling up to you with ease. Your subconscious made you curl into the both of them, Pink lovingly stroking your hair away from your face. Yellow sat on the edge of the mattress, frowning while she watched the three of you. “Why don’t you join us?”, Blue’s voice was hushed, trying not to wake you up. Yellow raiser her chin in response. “And dirty myse-” She didn’t get to finish that sentence as your hand shot up and pulled her towards the cuddle pile with an iron grip. “C’mere.” She squealed in surprise, face immediately on fire. After a minute of adjusting herself, she eventually settled into a comfortable position and reluctantly drifted off, as did the others. You woke up to the sound of soft breathing and an unfamiliar pressure on your stomach. Looking down, you first saw Blue resting on your chest and further down a lightly snoring Yellow. Pink’s face was nestled in the left side of your hair, her breath warming your scalp. Groaning as quietly as you could, you strained your neck to take a look at the time, only to be greeted by Blue’s head shooting up, a tired smile on her lips. “Morning”, you grinned at her, promptly pressing your hand against your mouth. You had the most terrible morning breath, even you could smell yourself. A wave of humiliation washed over you, along with an agonizing headache. She only giggled and pressed a kiss to your forehead instead, then quickly got up to wake the others. After Yellow basically propelled herself out of bed in shock and Pink finally (after many gentle words and loving touches) was ready to let go of you, you were forced to take a shower and brush your teeth, no matter how bad the headache was. To Yellow’s credit, you did feel better after getting clean. The sun was still painfully bright and your head wasn’t done with throbbing to the beat of some imaginary techno tune, but you felt like you could at least stomach some food now. The smell of your favorite breakfast hit you as soon as you left the bathroom, guiding you to the kitchen, where an excited Pink Pearl prepared a hefty plate for you and Yellow and Blue sat at the kitchen table, a hushed conversation going on between the two. As soon as Yellow caught your eye, she crossed her hands over her chest, her voice shrill in annoyance.  “Well, why didn't you tell us you were drunk?”

"Uhm…", you blinked at her for a second, a bit lost. "I thought you weren't familiar with the concept and I swear I didn't plan to escalate like this yesterday. I'm so sorry."

You looked down to your hands, nervously fiddling around with the hem of your shirt. It wasn't like you were lying, in all your excitement you had forgotten to warn them - going out was such a normal thing in life and you weren't usually one to get that wasted. This didn't absolve you of your guilt at all, you had probably scared the ever-loving shit out of them still. They were a trusting bunch that believed you when you told them something - that was perhaps why they hadn't fussed over you yesterday. You had assured them that everything had been alright, after all. Pink sat the plate down at your usual place, a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

"We know you didn't mean to hurt us. But we were worried!"

You said nothing, your face hot with shame, hands now tightly clutching your shirt. “Come, sit down”, Pink lightly pushed you towards the table and you reluctantly plopped down, your non-dominant hand immediately clasped by Blue. She gently stroked it with her thumb, a gesture of reassurance. It helped a bit. Yellow rolled her eyes at your sorry form. “Stars, you are so dramatic!” “It really isn’t much of a problem”, Blue piped up next to you. “Just tell us next time, okay?” One shy glance at each of them later, you reluctantly nodded. “I’m still sorry I fucked up.” “It’s okay”, Pink giggled a bit at your puppy eyes. “I think you’re paying enough already.” As if to illustrate her point, your head throbbed once again. “...Maybe.” As you finally dug in, one last thought got the better of you. Something didn’t really add up here."Wait - how did you know I was drunk?", you asked perplexed, the fork in your hand coming to a grinding halt. Yellow didn't say anything, she grabbed something from her lap instead: Pink's smartphone, cluttered with a million stickers. Holding it between her index finger and her thumb, she began to waggle it in a 'gotcha' motion, her face the ultimate deadpan. The google logo was displayed on screen."You know, your human communication devices aren't that bad after all."

[scribbles97]

Left Behind -- Chapter 16

All of the fluff in this chapter... what could possibly go wrong with a Tracy family pizza night?

PART 1 /  Chapter 14 / Chapter 15 / Chapter 16 / Chapter 17 / Chapter 18 / Chapter 19 / Chapter 20 / Chapter 21

Read on Ao3

It had been hours since Kyrano’s revelation, yet she still couldn’t bring herself to look away from the information in front of her. 

 Jeff could be alive. 

 Although she had called off the search and forced herself to come to terms that he was gone, part of her had never truly given up hope. 

 That was the reason she had kept John’s program on Thunderbird Five. No matter how much time may have passed she couldn’t simply let it all stop. It wasn’t like running the program that kept up the search cost anything more. The space station was still running its primary functions first and foremost. Looking for Jeff was simply a background task. 

A background task that may have been futile in its efforts. 

 Not even Thunderbird Five could reach that far out into space.

 Four years and they had absolutely no way of knowing. Their efforts could be too little too late at that point. 

 And how long would it take to build a new ship? One equally as capable of deep space exploration.

 Time was not a luxury she was willing to afford, despite Kyrano’s assurances that things would come together if she gave him time to make the arrangements needed. 

 If Jeff was still out there, there had to be a way to reach him. 

 Her grasp on computer engineering wasn’t strong, but she knew enough about the ships she had helped Jeff design to know that Thunderbird Five could only send signals of an interpretable quality so far into space. Messages from the Calypso took months to make it as far as earth, not that she was meant to be keeping an eye on it, but the ship was a part of Jeff’s legacy; she felt a duty to keep an eye on it and ensure the crew's safety. 

 She almost dropped her glass of wine as the thought hit her. Jolting upright in her desk chair she reached for her comm,

 “Hiram, are you available?”

 His reply was stunned but quick, “Y-y-es Mrs T-tracy?”

 “Can I speak to you in my office?” She asked, looking for schematics and old designs she knew she had saved just somewhere. 

 “Of c-c-course. I’ll be right d-d-down.”

 The flight plan had been published online as part of a PR push before the launch. The Calypso’s intended target coordinates available for everyone to see despite the warnings she had issued about Gaat. 

 Thank god they hadn’t listened to her.

 The predicted flight path of the Zero-X was next to join the screens before her and her heart lurched. Taking a breath, she pressed the palms of her hands into her eyes. 

 Perspective Lucy, She told herself, put it in perspective.

 Pulling her hands away she looked at the two maps again and the numbers her computer had generated for her, the distance automatically calculated from one set of coordinates to the other. 

 Fifty Astronomical Units was a hell of a lot less than ten thousand. 

 “M-m-mrs Tracy?”

 Lucy looked up and smiled at the engineer peaking around the edge of her office door, waving for him to join her. 

 “Hiram,” She swallowed, “You remember the Calypso?”

 He nodded, “I still receive updates from B-b-braman.”

 “How long does it take those updates to reach us?” She asked, biting her lip once the question was out in the open.

 The man shrugged, pushing his glasses up his nose as he tilted his head slightly, “W-w-well, it depends on the earth's orbit. N-n-normally between th-three and four months.”

 It felt like a huge time frame, three or four months of still not knowing, of just having to watch and wait would be torture. 

 At least it would mean knowing though. 

 It was a chance of finding out if Jeff was there. 

 “Oh.” Hiram stated, adjusting his glasses again as he peered at the holograms, “Of course. The Calypso is in the same area of deep space as we predict the Zero-X is.”

 Pursing her lips, Lucy nodded. She didn’t trust her voice in that moment, too fearful that the answer would be something she didn’t want to hear. 

 “Is there any way--” She started, throat catching before she could finish.

 “To get a s-s-signal out there?” He asked, eyes widening for a moment before he turned thoughtful at the problem he had been presented, “It would take an awful lot of p-p-processing power on Thunderbird Five’s part, I w-w-would imagine some reworking of the computers onboard would be r-r-required.”

 Something in her stomach flipped.

 “It’s a possibility though? We could cut the delay down to weeks instead of months?”

 “Oh yes!” Hiram nodded quickly, “Cutting the time down is simply a c-c-case of reworking the systems at both ends. I imagine B-b-braman could redirect the p-p-power on board the C-Calypso to strengthen its signals to us. Although…”

 She sat forward, not entirely understanding all the computer speak he was uttering under his breath as he tilted his head from side to side and rubbed his chin. 

 “What? Although what, Hiram?”

 Looking up to her again, he reached to the hologram, “If the C-c-calypso was, for ex-x-ample, half the distance between Earth and the Oort cloud, the time could be c-c-cut down s-s-significantly. You see, the ship would act as a r-relay and strengthen the s-s-signal before it sent it on further into the s-s-solar system.”

 “And the same vice-versa?” She guessed, “If someone could find a way to send signals back, the Calypso would strengthen them before sending them on to us?”

 “Yes, I would believe so.”

 Her mind was made up, “How? What do I need to do?”

 “It would t-t-take time,” Hiram bit his lip, glancing back to the holograms, “I would have to look into the specifications of both ships and--”

 “Do it,” She sniffed, “Hiram, please, if it means-- if there’s a chance-- I can’t tell anyone about the possibility of Jeff until we have some form of proof. If this means I can find that proof.”

 The man nodded once, smiling slightly as he did, “M-m-mister Tracy saved my life, if I c-can return the favour I won’t rest until it is done.”

 “You have access to whatever you need, just ask and I will personally see to it.”

 Hiram smiled slightly as he stepped back, “I g-g-guess you got me to s-s-stay on the island for a while after all.”

 She laughed softly, shaking her head at him, “If you’d be more comfortable at home…”

 “No, thank you,” He shook his head, “Here will d-d-do just fine.”

 ***

Scott slung his arm around her shoulders as he joined her in the hangar, waiting for Val to disembark from Thunderbird One with her extra special cargo. Lucy tried to ignore the reminder that she had to look up to him those days, that she had to look up at most of her boys now that they were all young men. 

 “So,” Scott started, “What’s the occasion?”

 Shaking her head, she smiled to herself, “No occasion.”

 He frowned at her, smiling as if he thought he was onto something that she knew he wasn’t. 

 “So what warrants using Thunderbird One to bring pizza over from the mainland?”

 The question had been one she had expected, so it was easy to turn to him with a smile, “All my boys are home, am I not allowed to spoil you all?”

 He hummed with a grin as he shook his head, “If you say so Mom.”

 She sighed as Thunderbird One rolled down to it’s cradle, “Alright, so I was hoping it might cheer Alan up after I knocked him back again yesterday.”

 Scott’s face twisted, the whole island had heard the argument between the youngest and his mother. Alan wanted to be seen as the same age as his older brothers, capable and mature enough to fly one of their ships despite still only being a teenager.

 The kid hadn’t exactly done much to prove that he was mature enough to be involved in International Rescue. 

 “You know he’s still sneaking into the training room and going on the simulators?” He murmured.

 “Who is?” Aunt Val asked as she stepped onto the gantry, warming bag in hand, the waft of steaming pizzas filling the room. 

 “Alan,” Mom shook her head, “Who else, Val?”

 Val shrugged, “Just checking, could have been Brains for all we knew now that he lives here.”

 “Really?” Scott asked looking between them, it was the first he had heard of the scientist staying on the island permanently.

 “Only whilst he completes some research and updates.” His mother cut in, “It’s not forever.”

 He knew better than to question further what the research and updates were, he would be told when he needed to know. 

 As for Alan.

 “So what are you going to do?” He queried, “I mean, Alan is leveled with Gordon’s scores for the Thunderbird Three sim. He’s beaten Virgil’s initial trial score too you know?”

 The raised eyebrows and folded arms told him, yes, Mom was fully aware of Alan’s scores on the sims. 

 “He’s still too young for the academy,” His aunt cut in before either said something to rile the other up, “Give it six months, he can apply for the program and from there he’ll be able to fly a Thunderbird once he’s suitably trained.”

 Scott sighed as they stepped into the elevator, shaking his head as the doors closed, “That’s going to be a long six months.”

 “The rest of you did it,” His Mom stated as she leant back against the wall, “He can too.”

 He agreed that it was only fair that the four of them all went through the same training before they went straight into working as IR operatives. They needed to know that each of them all had the same capabilities and knowledge. Having different skills and areas of interest was one thing, but being able to rely on one another to do whatever was asked of them was something that could only be achieved through training. He knew, he’d seen it first hand as first Virgil and then Gordon had joined him running ops, the basic knowledge was there but had needed putting into practice and it was only then that their capabilities had started to shine through. 

 Still, that didn’t mean that Alan would be any more willing to wait. 

 “Just make sure I’m not here when you tell him that,” Scott shook his head as the doors reopened and he stepped out into the lounge. 

 “Tell who-- is that pizza?” Gordon asked as he sat up from where he had been lounging, eyes widening at the sight of the warming bag.

 Scott had to laugh, nodding as Aunt Val set the bag down on the central table of the lounge.

 “Fresh from Gunero’s,” She smiled, “They were fresh out of fish food though, so nothing for our resident guppy!”

 “Hey!” Gordon laughed as he reached out for the boxes, “Former Olympian here! I’ll swim back over there and get a Hawaiian if I have to!”

 “Seeing as the sharks are still about in the cove, you’re still banned from going anywhere near the ocean at the moment.” Their mother stated, “I mean it Gordon.”

 “She does.” Kayo stated as she entered, “I spend half my day at the moment keeping an eye on where you are.”

 Gordon grinned, “And spend the other half eying up something you like, huh?”

 Had the comment been aimed at anyone else, Scott would have cuffed his little brother around the ear. The glare Kayo was throwing at the blond though spoke volumes, and he actually feared for his younger brother’s life. 

 “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Gordon.”

 Behind Scott, Aunt Val failed to hide her snort under a cough as she unboxed the pizzas. He smirked, looking to Gordon with raised eyebrows, daring him to say something more. 

 “Tan, don’t murder him before dinner please.” Mom sighed, nudging Gordon to get his legs off of the sofa and make room for the rest of them.

 “So where are my other darling siblings?” Gordon grinned, “Or aren’t they eating with us tonight?”

 “We’re here, don’t you dare start without us.” Virgil grumbled as he joined them with Alan and John following.

 “We wouldn’t dream of it,” Scott shook his head, reaching for the meat feast pizza on the far side of the table, “Was just figuring out whose was whose.”

 “Good hike?” Mom asked, holding out a box to Alan.

 “Saw the sea eagles nesting up on the peak,” John nodded, reaching around Kayo for the box she had just opened and taking the veggie pizza, “In a few months we might have chicks again.”

 “And we got a great view of One taking off and coming in,” Alan grinned, eyes landing on Mom, so clearly waiting for her reaction. 

 “Alan Bartlett I thought I told you--” Their Grandmother turned the look of hope to one of fear in an instant and Scott had to snort. Mom might have been the one in charge, but nobody argued with what Grandma said. 

 “Alright alright,” Alan whined, “No talk about training over dinner.”

 Scott shook his head as Aunt Val grinned at him, mouthing something about the money he owed her from their bet. Apparently his youngest brother wasn’t as subtle as Scott gave him credit for. 

 “I hope you got my order right Val,” His Uncle’s voice broke over the top of the chatter.

 Aunt Val didn’t even bother looking as she held up the box, “Texan spicy, no mushrooms, extra jalapeño’s, just like you always have.”

 He smiled and kissed her quickly on the cheek as he took the box, “Thank you darlin’.”

 Part of Scott wondered what outsiders thought of the relationship that wasn’t. His Aunt and Uncle, married but nothing like a couple except for very rare occasions. Mom had once explained it as a case of two people that still cared deeply for one another yet had fallen out of love. He wasn’t sure he quite understood how that could be possible, but had never felt right in asking more about it. 

 Sometimes, in their family, that was the best idea.

 He frowned as he looked around, “Where’s Brains and Kyrano?”

 Their mother groaned as she too realised they were missing, setting her box of chips down and standing, “Probably in the labs, I’ll go.”

 It surprised him that she volunteered, after running around for the rest of the family the whole day she usually sent someone else in her place to find any stray members for dinner. The rest of the family had quietened though, all munching away on the fresh treats none of them had realised they had missed quite so much. 

 Before he could say anything though she was gone. 

[duhragonball]

Nanwum IV scheming

So I’ve got less than 6000 words to go on this month’s Camp Nano goal, and there’s six more days in July, which means I’m juuuuust caught up enough to get ahead of myself and think about how to handle this year’s National Novel Writing Month in November.  

For anyone just joining us, I’ve been writing this damn wienerfic for the past five years, and I’ve been using National Novel Writing Month (or Nanwum as the kids like to call it.) to power through the project and test my skills.   I’ve won three times, in 2017, 2018, and 2019.    This fall will be my fourth run.

I feel like I need a stronger plan for this one, since my first attempt in 2017 was much more structured, and I think that was a huge help.    2018 was good in the sense that I finished quickly, wrote thirty days in a row, and got an extra 10k past the goal.   I won in 2019, but it was kind of a mess, and I feel like I should take steps to keep the same thing from happening in 2020. 

So this is kind of my wishlist of stuff I want to achieve this November.   Dunno if I’m going to pull it all off, but I at least want a list of goals to score myself against.

1. Hit 50,000 words by November 20.    I’ve done this before, mostly out of fear that if I fell too far behind that I wouldn’t be able to get caught up in time to finish.  Now that I’m more experienced, fear isn’t as much of a factor, but the strategy still works, so I need to do it because it’s smart.   This would require me to write an average of 2500 words per day for the first 20 days.   

2. Write for thirty days in a row.   I pulled this off in 2018 and it felt pretty good.   In ‘17, I purposely scheduled days off for myself, which seemed like a good idea, but I think it does help me more to write at least a few words each day, if only to maintain momentum.   If I can hit goal #1, then I don’t expect great things from those final ten days.   In 2018 it was more of a victory lap.   But the idea is to keep me moving on those first 20 days.   

2a. I’d like to establish an 800 word/day minimum goal, but I’m not sure if that’s realistic.   If successful, I’d be pulling down 58,000 by 11/30/2020.   

3. Write 7000 words in one day.   So I’ve set two records for one-day writing.    The first was the clothing-optional Luffa #69, which I just pounded out in October 2017 while I was talking myself into the Nanwum experience.    That was about 6,000 words, but I’d need to look up the exact number.    The second time was November 11, 2018.  I’m more proud of that one because I had set out to hit 6,000.   Luffa #69 was just me on a roll, and wanting to finish the chapter in one day.    If I had managed to wrap it up in 3500 I would have.    

So my official record stands at 6,044 words in one day.    I’d like to break that, and I want to break it in a big way, so I’m aiming for 7000.   The way I see it, if I fail, then boo-hoo, I’ll still have a big one-day total.  

I’m thinking that maybe my best bet is to attempt this on day one.   Historically, I usually go into these things with a lot of momentum, and I’d be coming off of a day off from writing, so I’d be as fresh as possible.   So basically, 10/31, then 12:01 on 11/1 and I knock out a thousand words to start things off, and see where things go from there.   

The best way to make this work is to plan ahead just what I want to write.   It would also help if I had multiple things to switch around in case I get stuck.    What made 11/11/18 work so well was that I had a big dramatic fight scene that I’d been looking forward to, but also a couple of other chapters I could touch up.    I need similar conditions for 11/1/20.

Off the top of my head:

a.) Luffa Annual #2.  I had some fun doing a Christmas side-story with the characters, and I sort of wanted to make it an annual thing.  The trouble with Annual #1 was that I didn’t start it until December, and I couldn’t get it posted in time for Christmas, so it’s probably for the best if I just make this a fun thing I do on the side for Nano.   I’m not sure what I should do for the annual this year, although a magical girl/sentai kind of story.   Dunno how to make that about Christmas, wait, I’m an idiot, I’ll just have them fight a giant half-reindeer/half-pine tree monster that shoots missiles shaped like egg nog cartons.

...

You know, I say that like it’s a joke that I plan to workshop into something better later on, but honestly, that’s probably as good as it’s going to get.    Sorry to spoil everyone.   Pinedeer confirmed for brawl.

b.) Mega Chiaotzu?    Fuck it, Mega Chiaotzu.

c.) Look, I don’t want to get to spoiler-y, but I should be pretty deep into the Xenoverse phase of the story by November, so I had thoughts in mind for a Time Patrol mission to the Ginyu Force leg of the Namek Saga, basically for the sole purpose of having Luffa guest-star in DBZ Episode 66, the episode that inspired the character.   L U F F A C E P T I O N, if you will.

d.) On that note, I need to start introducing my Time Patrol supporting cast members, such as Excitebike, Big League Chew, and Dewar.    Man I almost forgot Dewar’s name for a second, I’d better do him first.   

I dunno, I think those four ideas ought to carry me past 7k.     I don’t expect to finish all of them, or even any of them on 11/1/18, but that should keep me busy.  

To summarize all this, if my plan goes well, I’d be looking at 7000 words on the first day, then I’d need to write 2263 words/day to hit 50k by 11/20.   Then I could take it easy and write 800 a day through the 30th.   That’s going to be tough, but do-able.   2000 a day has been a decent cruising speed for me in past years, but I feel like I’ve really fallen off of that lately.    The goal here will be to push myself to get back into that mode, and I think all the work I’ve been doing in January through September will really get me where I need to be.   Of course, I gotta finish July first, so if you’ll excuse me.

[ongaku-ato-kakikomi]

1. The Awakening

Author’s Note: First chapter of this series... I hope some of you will like it. It’s pretty much like the game in the beginning, but things are gonna change later on.

Pairing: Wheatley x Reader

Warning: None.

Summary: Wheatley wakes you up from a coma.

Masterlist

“Hello?” Wheatley waits a few seconds in front of the closed door before he tries to knock again, using a moveable metal arm he somewhat has control over. “Anyone in there?”

He hears some shuffling inside the room, then it stops

“Helloo?” The shuffling stops, like his voice scared you. “Are you going to open the door? At any time?”

You don’t seem to be walking towards the door even though he asked you too. That might be a problem, since Wheatley can’t seem to be able to open the door himself. He should be patient with you though, you did just woke up from years of suspension.

“Hello? Can you- no?” He doesn’t hear any movement from your part, which makes him sigh. “Are you going to open this door? Because it’s fairly urgent.”

The fact that you’re still not walking towards him makes him a little frustrated.

“Oh, just open the door!”

He hears a squeak from you.

“Ah, that was too aggressive, was it…?” He makes the sound of someone clearing his throat, then talks louder with a cheery voice. “Hello, friend! Why not open the door?”

He waits for a little while, but still nothing.

“Could be Spanish… could be Spanish...” Yes, that might be the true problem, of course. “Hola amigo! Abue la puerta! Donde esta-no. Um...”

He groans in frustration when his mind can’t seem to find you any other excuses.

“Fine!” He shakes his sphere head (which is also his whole body), squinting his only blue eye at the closed door. “No, absolutely fine! It’s not like I don’t have, you know, ten thousand other test subjects begging me to help them escape. You know, it’s not like this place is about to explode!”

He hears you gasp, but still no movement. He squints his only eye even more, using the moveable metal thing to give three loud knocks to the door and make you react.

But still nothing.

“Alright, look, I’ll be honest. You’re the last test subject left. And if you don’t help me, we’re both going to die, alright? I didn’t want to say it, you dragged it out of me. Alright? You hear me? Dead. Dos muerte.”

He suddenly has the horrible thought that the suspension turned you deaf, and so you have absolutely no idea where you are or that you should open the door.

“Hello? Hellooooo!” He tries to knock louder. “Open the door-”

A rush of hope hits him when he sees the door finally open.

“Ha! I knew someone was alive in there- Aaaah!”

He wasn’t expecting you to be in such a bad state. Your face was paler than what he saw in your file picture, your (e/c) were dulled and confused, your (h/l) (h/c) hair was a huge mess and your whole skin was full of dirt.

Good thing he can’t smell you.

“Oh. My. God. You look terrible-good! Looking good, actually.”

You step away in fear when he enters the room, which is something he’s not used too. Someone? Afraid of him? That’s a first. He can’t help but feel pity for you.

“Are you okay? Are you- Don’t answer that.” He shakes his head to try and recollect his thoughts – now is not the time to asks stupid questions. “I’m actually sure you’re fine. There’s plenty of time for you to recover. Just take it slow.”

“PLEASE PREPARE FOR EMERGENCY EVACUATION.”

Your eyes go wide and he sees you start to panic. Which is a bad thing (but at least now he’s sure you’re not totally deaf).

“Stay calm! ‘Prepare’- that’s all they’re saying! ‘Prepare’.” His words seem to calm you down a little, but you’re still having a few difficulties to breathe. “It’s all fine. Alright? Don’t move. I’m gonna get us out of here.”

He moves up to the center of the room with the help of the management rail, giving you a last look before disappearing in the ceiling.

“You might wanna hold unto something...” The ceiling closes behind him as he starts to take control of the room. “Word of advice, up to you.”

Just as he finishes talking, the whole room starts to shake really hard because of him moving it around. He concentrates on going to a place where he’ll be able to evacuate you and the whole room. He starts to get worried when he hears you whimper.

“Are you alright down there?” Your whimpering only seems to continue. “Can you hear me? Hello?”

When you don’t seem to react to his words, he puts the room down. He’s glad to hear your whimpers stops as soon as he does that, but he still pops down from the ceiling right after, only to see you sitting on the floor right next to the bed while you’re holding onto it.

“Are you okay?”

Your dulled and confused (e/c) look back at him and, after a few moments, you stand up and stare back at him in silence. Some time passes, and he remembers how long you’ve been put in suspension and how it might have done some terrible damage to you, which would also explain why you’re not talking.

“Most test subjects do experience some cognitive deterioration after a few months in suspension. Now you’ve been under for… quite a lot longer, and it’s not out of the question that you might have a very minor case of serious brain damage.”

A lot of hair suddenly enters your lungs and tears appear at the corner of your eyes.

“B-but don’t be alarmed! Alright?” Wheatley doesn’t like that you seem to panic even more, and so he tries something else. “Although, since you do feel alarmed, try to hold on to that feeling… because that is the proper reaction to being told you have brain damage.”

It doesn’t work. You’re still panicking.

“Do you understand what I’m saying? At all? Does any of this make any sense?” You only look back at him with the same confusion. “Just tell me- just say ‘Yes’.”

You tilt your head at him, thinking hard for a second.

Before you jump.

And then you smile at him proudly.

“Okay. What you are doing there is jumping.” You lose your smile to give him back your same confused expression. “You just… you just jumped.”

Your expression seem to turn to a disappointed one, and Wheatley feels the need to make you feel better.

“But never mind. You can try again. Say ‘Apple!’.” He nods proudly at his own choice of word. “‘Aaaaaple’!”

You concentrate really hard on the word he wants you to say, your eyebrows frowning while you shut your eyes as tightly as you can.

Then you jump again.

“No, that’s-” Wheatley gets cut off by an alarm going off. “Okay, you know what? That’s close enough. Just hold tight.”

He only has time to see your eyes go wide again before he disappears inside the ceiling for a second time, starting to move the room around immediately.

“ALL REACTOR CORE SAFEGUARDS ARE NOW NON-FUNCTIONAL. PLEASE PREPARE FOR REACTOR CORE MELTDOWN.”

Wheatley accidentally hits a bunch of walls, destroying some of them.

“Okay, look, I wasn’t going to mention this to you, but I am in pretty hot water here.” He destroys more walls just when he says that, and he gets worried that you might have gotten hurt. “How are you doing down there? You still holding on?”

He suddenly wishes that you could tell him anything, but he’ll have to hope that you’re still alive and in the room.

If only this wasn’t happening.

“The reserve power ran out, so of course the whole relaxation center stops waking up the bloody test subjects…!” The room stops when it hits a partial metal wall, and he groans. “Hold on! This is a bit tricky!”

He manages to move up and therefore continue his journey towards safety, his concentration then going back to his ranting.

“And of course, nobody tells me anything! Noooo. Why would you tell me anything? Why should I be kept informed about the life functions of the ten thousand bloody test subjects I’m supposed to be in charge of?” He stops when he sees a possible opening in a nearby wall and he goes towards it. “Oi, it’s close! Can you see better than me? Am I gonna make it through? Have I got enough space?”

He doesn’t need your answer (which he probably wouldn’t have got anyway) since he’s already trying to make through.

“… ah… just… I gotta get through here...” The room crashes a little, but he can tell that he’s almost there. “Okay, I just gotta concentrate!”

And sure, he eventually makes it, continuing his path soon after.

“And whose fault do you think it’s going to be when the management comes down here and finds ten thousand flipping vegetables- Aght!” He hisses when the room hits some more metal walls. “See, now, I hit that one… I hit that one...”

The room moves around some metal pipes as he continues to move around, internally hoping to not destroy everything until he reaches destination.

“Okay, listen, we should get our stories straight, alright? If anyone asks-- and no one’s gonna ask, don’t worry- but if anyone asks, tell them as far as you know, the last time you checked, everyone looked pretty much alive. Alright? Not dead. Okay, almost there!”

Wheatley moves towards a wall with the words ‘DOCKING STATION’ written in yellow on it.

“On the other side of that wall is one of the old testing tracks. There’s a piece of equipment in there that we’re gonna need to get out of here. I think this is a docking station… get ready!”

Right after he says this, he hits the wall one time, opening it enough to see what’s inside.

“Good news: that is not a docking station! So there’s one mystery solved.” He moves the room back a little. “I’m gonna attempt a manual override on this wall. Could get a bit technical. Hold on.”

He moves forward and hits the wall a second time, opening the wall a little more.

“Almost there! Remember: you’re looking for a gun that makes holes. Not bullets holes, but-- well, you’ll figure it out.” He moves back again. “Really hold this time!”

He hears you scream in fear when he hits the wall for the third and final time, this time destroying it completely but also getting the room stuck between two rooms made of glass. Wheatley chuckles in victory before he comes down the ceiling, seeing you still holding on the bed.

Thank god, you’re still alive.

“Whew! There we go!” You shakily stand up and walk towards him, before looking ahead behind the destroyed wall with curiosity. “Now, I’ll be honest, you are probably in no fit state to run this particular type of cognitive gauntlet.”

You look back at him in worry.

“B-but… um… at least you’re a good jumper! So… you’ve got that. You’ve got the jumping on your side.”

You awkwardly smile back and nod, which makes him feel like you’re trusting him a little.

“Just do your best and I'll meet you up ahead. Also, my name is Wheatley. Just so you know who I am. No big deal.”

You take a few seconds before giving out a hesitant nod. You then walk a few steps, stops, and look back at him in worry.

“It’s fine! Just go ahead.”

You sigh, then walk again.

“That’s the spirit!” He closes his eye when you scream and crash through the glass. “Well… good luck!”

He moves on his management trail towards another path, hoping that you’ll be fine until you two meet again.

[starlightinhumanform]

The Art of Love: Chapter 3

Fandom: She Ra (2018)

Ship: Glimadora 

Summary: Glimmer has to let Adora come over to her house in order to work on their project, despite her hesitation to do so. Adora’s just happy to be there. 

Warnings (for this chapter): Mild language, (please tell me if anything needs to be added)

Genre: High School AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, Rivals/Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Fluff

A/N: This chapter was a lot of fun to write and I hope you enjoy it! Any and all notes are appreciated and if you comment telling me what you think I might actually sell my soul for you. Love you all 🖤✨

Ao3    The Art of Love Masterpost    Fic Masterpost    Fic Request Info 

Glimmer liked her room; it was covered from top to bottom with posters and old art projects and on one of the walls was a mural that she and her mother had painted years ago.

Currently the floor was littered with wire, clay, and several pallets of paint. Like her room, Glimmer’s face, hands, and arms were covered in smudged splotches of colour. She hummed softly to the song playing in the background, moving her head gently from side to side in time with the music. She stopped her swaying to hold the paint brush in her hand as if it were a microphone, miming a karaoke solo.

This was Glimmer’s natural environment; surrounded by art and creating some of her own. Here, she was free of judgment from anyone else and, for once in her life, knew exactly what she was doing; she was comfortable.

Her phone buzzed with a text notification and she frowned at the Unknown Number flag. It was probably just a wrong number or some sort of scam, but it was worth looking at.

She used her thumbprint to open it and scowled even deeper at the message:

Hey it’s Adora!

What do you want?

Actually more importantly how did you get my number?

Bow gave it to me

Glimmer raised her eyebrows; this was a level of traitorism she had never thought Bow capable of. She switched to her and Bow’s conversation, making sure to leave Adora on read.

Wtf?? You gave Adora my number? Without asking?

No wait I take it back you shouldn’t have to ask me- you know I hate her.

She wished her words could convey the growl she was directing at her phone as she shaking fingers typed but she settled for sending a stream of profanity.

Once again, she changed the conversation pulled up on her screen. The blue light reaching into her eyes suddenly seemed very harsh.

Adora was typing and the blinking dots undulating in that friendly little line made her sick. Not because she was worried about what Adora was going to say (she couldn’t care less) but because of how betrayed she felt.

I heard Weaver was going to be having a surprise check on the models tomorrow

So?

We need to have the model done or almost done or Weaver’s gonna mark our grade down

Glimmer curled her lips incredulously at the piles of art supplies surrounding her and let out a small laugh.

Yeah well that’s not happening

Please Glimmer I really need to get an A on this. Are you sure you can’t get it finished tonight?

Ok #1 yes I’m sure. I have a life outside of making models of atoms. #2 You can afford not to get an A on everything. Got it, princess?

Please Glimmer. I can help. Is there anything I can do so that we can meet up before school and put it together then?

No cuz I have all the supplies and everything here and with the clay I’m using, it has to dry on the wire.

Ok um well I’ll just do the model?

Ha. Weaver’ll find out in a second, you’ll get complete credit for the project and I will get a big fat 0 (which by the way, I ACTUALLY can’t afford)

Then what do you want me to do? I’m trying to be helpful. Let me help??

Nope

Why not?? I mean seriously? Why don’t you just except help?

Glimmer struggled to resist the urge to fling her phone across the room. God, it was so obvious in her head why she couldn’t except help, especially from Adora. If she excepted it, she would be admitting defeat, admitting she couldn’t handle things on her own, admitting that Adora was more capable, that everyone seemed to be more put together than Glimmer in her floundering world. Not that she was going to let Adora in on any of that.

You wouldn’t know how to do what I want.

You could show me

What?

I could go over to your place and help and you could show me what you want me to do. Besides, you already said that all the materials are over there!

I mean, if that would be ok with you.

Glimmer rolled her eyes; that was the last thing she wanted and very, very far from ok.

Where did you even hear about this whole stupid “surprise check”?

From Weaver. I heard  her talking to another teacher while I was volunteering.

Lmao she’s still letting you volunteer after earlier today?

Yeah lol I told you she would

Glimmer noticed to small grin that had momentarily spread across her lips and grimaced in response. Why should she care if Adora was still kissing up to Weaver or not?

Why does it matter so much if we pass this check or not?

She said that if we don’t, she’s going to to mark off 30% of our total grade. So the highest we could get would be 70%

The sickening feeling settled into her stomach with a definite sort of permanency. There would be no way for her to bring her grade up to a B if she got a C on this project now. Assuming they did everything else right (which knowing Glimmer’s luck, they probably wouldn’t).

She groaned and threw her head back before glancing down at Adora’s message which was shining up at her expectingly. Her mother wasn’t going to be home for another few hours so she could hopefully get Adora in and out before that would become a problem.

Fine.

What?

You can come over but don’t expect to have fun, you’ll be working the whole time

Great!

Adora’s message was followed by a line of disgustingly happy and friendly emojis. It struck Glimmer as frankly repulsing.

She swallowed the taste a bile in her mouth and sent her address; there was no way this was going to go well. What she hated the most about it was how normal this would seem to anyone else: just a friend going over to her science partner’s house to work together. Except they weren’t friends and Glimmer wished they weren’t partners. She didn’t want Adora to come over, made they seem far too relaxed and grossly platonic. It reminded her of something she and Bow would do; after all, Bow was the only one whoever came over. Glimmer winced at the thought of him, still feeling betrayed by her best friend.

Oh wow we actually live pretty close I’ll be over in about ten minutes!

Glimmer rolled her eyes; How wonderful.

That gave her ten minutes, but ten minutes to do what? She got the sudden urge to be very busy; as if she needed to prove to Adora that she had actually been productive.

“That’s stupid- pull yourself together,” Glimmer muttered to herself.

The self-imposed demand did nothing to stop the boiling feeling in the pit of her stomach. She was grateful for the fact she hadn’t eaten dinner yet because if she had, it would’ve been attempting to climb up her throat.

The comfortable chaos surrounding her was suddenly becoming very overwhelming and nothing resembling comfortable.

She curled her knees up to her chest and hid her head between them, squeezing her eyes shut and hoping she could block it all out. She was out of breath and and it almost made her laugh. How do you get out breath just sitting here?

She let out a breathy giggle; having a nervous breakdown right now wouldn’t help anything. Besides, what would dear, perfect Adora think?

Glimmer took a deep breath and began organizing the supplies into separate piles so she could simply point out what she wanted Adora to do. She wanted to keep things as simple as possible; her goal was the same as the past few days: interact as little as she could. She wanted to pretend that Adora wasn’t her partner, that she wasn’t trying to get her to join her legion, wasn’t coming to her house and acting like a friend.

She shuffled around her room, muttering to herself and trying to sort through the mess she had made. The chaos seemed so natural to her, it almost felt strange to be cleaning it up this way. This was her house, her world; why should she have to clean it up for anyone?

Glimmer paused and blinked her eyes at the pile of laundry in her arms; nobody was making her clean.

She sighed as she threw the laundry into the hamper and made eye contact with her reflection in the mirror, “You haven’t cleaned in three months; you know you’re only doing this because you’re worried about Adora will say, you know that, right?”

The reflection stared blankly back at her.

Glimmer scoffed and threw her head back, her thoughts butting up against each other inside of her mind. One side muttered about how it was the logical thing to do while the other took the low route of calling her a loser. Both had good points.

She didn’t have a time to decide which to stand with, however, as the buzzer by her door rang, its sharp sound making her jump and the hair on her arms and the back of her neck stand up straight. Well, here we go I guess.

Her head seemed to float as she made her way to the door, as if those weren’t her legs making their way forward; as if someone else was in control of her body.

Glimmer opened the door to Adora who was beaming like the sun shone out of her smile- or maybe her ass.

“Hey!”

“Hi?” Glimmer actually wasn’t sure what to do next; usually Bow just tackled her without asking if he could come in, “So, uh, we have work to do.”

“Sounds great- I’m ready to get started!” Adora smiled again and then stared at Glimmer who stared back.

It seemed like two minutes before realization hit Glimmer upside the head like a baseball bat and she awkwardly shuffled to the side to let Adora through the door, “Um, you should probably come inside.”

“I mean, yeah, unless you want me to stand outside the whole night,” Adora laughed.

It sounded like little bells ringing and Glimmer wanted to gag.

Adora took a couple hesitant steps inside and looked around the house with her big blue eyes that seemed wider than usual. Glimmer had been trying to use the time to figure out what next socially acceptable step would be, but she was suddenly very aware where those big blue eyes were staring: the Chinese takeout containers still sitting on the counter from the night before, the embarrassing amount of her art spread across the walls, and, worst of all, her latest report card strewn far too casually and far too near to where Adora could see it.

Glimmer snatched the report away as quickly as she noticed it, hoping Adora wouldn’t have an opportunity to see it, but it probably just made it that more obvious.

“Did you make all of these?” Adora’s bright eyes flicked from one piece of work on the walls to another and Glimmer felt her face go red.

“Oh, yeah, unfortunately.”

Adora turned to her grinning with far too much excitement, “What do you mean ‘unfortunately’?! They’re amazing, Glimmer, amazing!”

The girl reach forward and placed her hands on each of Glimmer’s shoulder’s,shaking her gently. It was all so intense: Adora’s grip on her shoulder’s, the colour of her eyes, the expression on her face that Glimmer didn’t know how to describe as anything other than starstruck. Glimmer was uncomfortable; she never signed up for any of this. Far too intense, far too familiar, as if she and Adora were something more than partners- and they were hardly even that and certainly not by choice. She hadn’t wanted to even talk or sit next to Adora and it made Glimmer’s head swim to find herself standing across from the Image of Perfection herself and, more importantly, that Ms Perfect was in her living room, shaking her and trying to compliment her on her art. It was far too weird for Glimmer.

She pushed back suddenly as if she had snapped out of a curse- not too harsh, but hard a enough make Adora blink as she stumbled back. Everything suddenly got very quite and Glimmer could feel the blood rushing to her face; she was acting like an idiot.

“I, I guess I- I’m sorry that was weird,” Glimmer heard the words she should have been saying coming out of Adora’s mouth instead; it was strange and surreal in a way. Not that she was going to admit the fact that shewas the one who had made the situation awkward by overreacting. If only Adora could stop being so perfect, so much better than her at everything, maybe then Glimmer could think straight. Even now, Adora was doing a better job of apologizing and just acting like a normal person.

Glimmer shrugged, “We should get to work.”

Adora rolled her lips between her teeth, like she was trying to decide whether or not to say something and Glimmer prayed she would settle on maintaining the awkward silence instead of just making it worse.

After a moment (which of course felt longer in Glimmer’s mind), Adora nodded and it seemed like the gesture was more for herself, a reassurance of the decision she had made, and less for Glimmer to understand what was going on. The blond looked sad; it made Glimmer wonder if Adora didn’t like the conclusion she had come to and why.

Adora nodded again, this time more certainly, and offered Glimmer a small smile that held the same odd sadness that Glimmer couldn’t understand, “Yeah you’re right. That’s the whole reason I came over, right?”

Glimmer responded to the awkward laugh Adora let out with a tight-lipped grimace. She had never seen Adora this uncomfortable- shifting on her feet, running her hands through her hair in a manner that seemed almost compulsory, chewing on her bottom lip; Glimmer couldn’t help but wonder if the girl felt as out of place as she looked, if maybe she expected more of Glimmer’s house or was uncomfortable in a place so messy. Was she judging the cheap furniture and worn down carpet; so used to a spoiled life that she felt threatened by how Glimmer lived? It made something hot and volatile boil in the bottom of Glimmer’s stomach- a mixture of anger and shame that threw themselves at each other like a chemical reaction.

Glimmer rolled her eyes and stomped past Adora, her steps punchy and short, “Yeah, come on, let’s go.”

Adora followed the demand, trailing like a sad puppy after Glimmer as she stomped down the hall.

Glimmer swung the door to her room open and threw an arm inwards, indicating the direction Adora should walk before stalking in herself.

Adora’s gaze wandered about, stalling on the art work far too long for Glimmer’s comfort before jumping from pile to chaotic pile of materials on the floor with glazed over eyes.

She turned her stare toward Glimmer, a smile once again beginning to bubble on her lips, “So... what are we doing? Also, uh, what is all this stuff?”

Glimmer raised her arm to point at a pile, moving it to another as she spoke, “Clay, paint, wire modeling stuff. You’re going to be working with the clay to make it into little balls to represent the protons on the model.”

Adora nodded and Glimmer began to think she was maybe she was being bit just a little too commanding, “I mean, if that’s ok with you?”

Then she remembered what a mess this entire project was; she didn’t care what Adora thought or felt, she just wanted the girl to get of her house and her life as soon as possible.

“Oh yeah, that’s totally fine!” Adora beamed a smile at Glimmer as if she found no greater joy in life than rolling clay into atom models. God, how could she act like that and still convince people she wasn’t a complete fake?

Glimmer was losing count of how any times she had already rolled her eyes that night but let herself do it once again before brushing past Adora to begin working.

Adora followed suit, sitting cross-legged a few feet away from Glimmer so she could just see her in the corner of her eye; the rough shape of Adora taking up space in her peripheral vision and reminding her how wrong everything was in this situation. This was Glimmer’s world, her place of comfort- her room, her art- and Adora dared to turn that all upside down, just insert herself in it, claim it and take space in it and take it from her? Glimmer fumed, glaring daggers at the carpet in front of her and clenching the paint brush in her hand.

She focused on the swirls of paint on the clay she was holding, staring at it with much more hate than it deserved. Glimmer focused on the colours and reflections of light she was creating her hand but the hint of Adora was still there in the back of her mind and she could feel the heat rising to her face and the sensation of barbed wire wrapping around her throat. She took a breath through her nose, trying to steady herself; the last thing she wanted was to have another breakdown in front of Adora, if only to spare herself from the fake sympathy.

Glimmer glanced over at the other girl who was dutifully rolling the clay into little spheres like Glimmer had instructed, humming softly to herself. She was nodding her head from side to side, just as Glimmer did when she was alone. It made her realize just how quite the room was, especially in comparison to the music Glimmer usually had blaring, and once more she felting stingingly out of place in what was supposed to be her domain.

Adora must have felt Glimmer’s stare in her direction because she glanced up, making eye contact and offering a grin. She held up a round lump of clay between her thumb and slender index finger. Her usually immaculate fingernails had gathered a layer of soft clay beneath them; she’d somehow managed to get a tan smear of it across her face as well. How the hell did she do that? We’ve only been here 5 minutes.

The image was comical- Adora somehow covered in clay and her overly enthusiastic smile beaming with pride over the more-than-slightly-lopsided ball in her hand. Maybe Adora could be a mess too, a mess like the rest of us, a mess like Glimmer. Glimmer giggled and those bright blue eyes crinkled back in response.

Something inside of Glimmer recoiled; it’s not like any of this was real. Adora had probably carefully smudged that stupid clay on herself just so Glimmer would think they could ever be anything like each other.

“Is this ok?” Adora snapped Glimmer back to the present with her question. She was still wearing that same goofy smile.

Glimmer shrugged; there was a part of her that wanted to tell Adora it was shit and that she would have to start completely over just so that she could feel what it would be like to have the roles reversed- the mess up better at something than the perfectionist.

She nearly opened her mouth when a logical thought popped into her head, reminding her that telling Adora to start over would just increase the amount of time she would be around Glimmer.

Glimmer sighed and pointed at the pile of unpainted clay balls she had made earlier, “Use those as a reference. You have the the size pretty close, but try to make them rounder.”

Adora nodded and set back to work like a studious pupil, hunched over the small object she was modeling. Her blond hair was still up in its customary ponytail but it was frizzy after a long day and thick, golden strands were falling out along the edges. They created a sheer curtain between Adora’s face (and concentrated hands as she was holding the clay only an inch or two away from her nose) and the rest of the world. Glimmer just barely see through it to Adora, her eyes piercing with focus and her tongue sticking out from between her lips like a cartoon character as she worked. She kept taking breaks every few seconds to brush the hanging locks out of her face, effectively creating a layer clay on the fringe of her hair as she used her messy fingers to push it back. That’s gonna be crusty in the morning.

It was a strange situation for Glimmer, seeing Adora so... She couldn’t settle on word- Concentrated? Normal? Natural? She settled for uncomposed. She didn’t even know if that was an actual word or not, but it seemed the most fitting. It almost made Glimmer uncomfortable; Adora wasn’t supposed to look so real- that’s not the role she was supposed to play.

After a minute more, Adora straightened up and held the clay up once more and Glimmer realized that she had watched Adora’s entire process. The lump of clay was far rounder now and it had only taken her approximately three minutes based on Glimmer’s count.

“How about now?”

Glimmer gave a nod, “Yeah, pretty good. Now we just need make uhhh,” she stopped for a moment to count how many ‘protons’ were already completed, “About 60 more.”

Adora groaned dramatically and flopped backwards onto the carpeted floor and lay there for a second with her eyes closed and arms thrown above her head before glancing over at Glimmer, “What time is it anyways?”

Glimmer pulled her phone out of her back pocket to check the time but was distracted by a text from her mom:

Hey honey. My coworker called off so I’ll be staying late tonight. Probably won’t be in until 2 this morning. Sorry ❤️❤️

Glimmer sighed, apparently loudly as Adora turned her head again in Glimmer’s direction, “Something wrong?”

“My mom says she won’t be back until two,” she grimaced, “So, knowing her, she’ll probably be home until five.”

Adora gave a bland frown, like she didn’t know how to respond, “Oh. Sorry about that.”

Glimmer shrugged, “It’s fine, it means we can stay up later to finish this anyways. Speaking of which, how long can you stay tonight?”

“I can stay all night,” Adora seemed far too casual, twirling her pulled up hair between her fingers now that she was sitting up again, “My parents think I’m staying with Cat so yeah basically I’m free the whole night.”

The thought of Adora spending the night at her house made her shift from side to side, her palms sweating. Having someone sleep over was not something Glimmer did regularly, not even Bow had spent the night more than once or twice. Again, it felt as if Glimmer was being forced to cross lines that separated peers from something much more familiar.

She creased her eyebrows, her thoughts suddenly diverted, “Wait why did you tell them that you were at Cat’s and not here?”

Is she ashamed of me, that she would have to work with someone as lowly as me?

Adora looked down, blushing and obviously embarrassed. Yup that settles it- she didn’t want to tell them that she was having to work with me, that I was going to ruin her perfect, straight-A-on-everything record.

“Oh, uh, my parents are pretty strict so they don’t like me going to people’s houses that they don’t know. Sometimes it’s just easier to lie, you know?”

Glimmer assumed that in itself was a lie but she was tired and they had a lot of work left to do, so she dropped the subject.

Her stomach grumbled and it made Glimmer remember Adora’s question. She looked down at her phone for the second time, “It’s around six by the way- you asked a minute or two ago.”

She paused and turned her head to look at Adora who had begun to roll clay between the palms of her hands again. Well if she was going to be staying a while...

“Hey you,” Glimmer waved her phone at Adora once she had looked up again, “Wanna order some Chinese food?”

[layla256]

Key to Her Heart Chapter 2/52: Children’s Games

And here we go, the second chapter! I know the Slayerfest would have probably been a better episode to do this prompt with, but I don’t really have access to the episode since I’m on a cruise ship with no internet right as I’m writing this, so I figured I’d go with the next episode in season two.

Cause I love me some season two. Wonder why?

This was hell to write. Frankly, there’s about 200 words missing from this chapter, mostly because of the 2000 word limit. I was gonna have Faith finally show up in all her Single-Slayer glory, there was an entire conversation Buffy has with Spike about Ford and their friendship, there was a lovely torture scene where Spike’s feelings for Buffy start to come through, there’s an entire sub-plot with Buffy’s Mom and her gallery.

None of which I got to touch. So I’ve decided, since I have the extra time on my hands, I’ll start writing shoot-offs of the series. Things that have nothing to do with the Prompts as I’m writing them, but will definitely flush out the over-all story.

The prompt this time was: The most dangerous game.

Again, Slayerfest would have been perfect, but I barely remember the episode. I’ll have to start re-watching when I get home.

 Buffy wasn’t sure if she wanted to be flattered by Spike’s defense of her supposedly sullied honor or still horrified that his response to her assault had been to slaughter an entire frat house in her and her friends’ names.

Being fair, they were sacrificing teenage girls to a giant snake demon, so she wasn’t exactly upset that they were dead, but a voice sounding incredibly like her mother insisted that murder was still a very wrong thing and wasn’t to be encouraged.

Either way, Buffy had some serious thinking to do, which she figured was best done at the Bronze with bestie back up.

“Well,” Xander said, “I’ve given my opinion on the guys, so . . .”

Willow and Buffy both sighed. “‘Fuck ‘em,’” they quoted. It had been his mantra all night. Sure, he’d been the first on the Let’s-Stake-Spike train right along with Giles when he’d first heard, but the second his actual intentions had been revealed, they suddenly changed their tones.

“Extenuating circumstances,” Giles had called it, while cleaning his glasses for the fifteenth time that conversation.

“Well, someone got a potty-mouth while I was gone!” a strained voice called, bringing Buffy’s attention around to the familiar figure behind her.

“FORD!” She yelled out, not seeing the grin on his face.

  Spike couldn’t believe his fucking luck! He knew that Faith was a royal bitch to everyone (Buffy had complained about it plenty of times for him to get the picture), but to have a childhood friend turn her over to a Master Vampire to save his own skin? Spike had originally had his doubts when some posh human came and offered him the slayer on a silver platter in exchange for immortality. Had he not been able to smell the sick and medicine on the kid, he would have smelled a trap instead. Kid was dying and desperate, and Spike was just the kind of bad, rude man to take advantage

He would kill Faith, Dru would be able to drink her dry, then . . .

Then they would leave. Just like he wanted three months ago. His Dark Princess all healed up, they’d paint the town red before moving onto the next. This was, literally, the sole reason he came to this ruddy town.

Not why we stay, his demon whispered. Never before had he felt so strongly the urge to physically kick the damn thing. Yes, he knew bloody well that wasn’t why he stayed, or why the idea of leaving left him feeling more bereft than before, but it was completely and utterly a non-issue.

Before he could remind himself all the reasons why it was a non-issue, a hand came across his face, scratching as it went.

Ah, Dru was in that kind of a mood today then.

“Stop all that glowing,” she demanded. “You’ll burn up my daisies!”

Spike sighed heavily, drawing on a full century of loving Dru through all these fits to keep his temper. “Dru, Princess, ‘m not glowin‘.” He calmly took both of her hands into his own, holding them firmly so she couldn’t attack him again.

“You are!” she insisted, struggling in his grip. Normally, she could have broken it by now, but that mob had really done a number on her. “You glow with her! I’ll not burn up with you! No sunshine for Daddy’s princess!”

Spike was in game face in an instant. Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, that’s all he sodding heard about. Every damn night his Dark Princess insisted on bringing up her wretched sire, asking after him, commenting on whatever he was doing, all of it. Frankly he was fucking sick of it at this point.

“A hundred,” he growled at her, shaking her in his grip. “A hundred fucking years, I’ve stood by you. When Darla left cause she couldn’t put up with your fits, when he left because of that fucking soul, I stayed and took care of you, loved you through every sodding demon you opened your legs for. Kept you safe and happy, and stayed. Never strayed a once. So whatever Miss Edith told you, get it out of your head now.”

As he panted with unnecessary breath, he saw tears well up in her eyes. Immediately, he felt like a pillock. He knew it wasn’t Dru’s fault. Between the visions and the regular bouts of insanity, the poor girl couldn’t tell up from down half the time. It had been decades since he’d lost his temper with her.

“Princess,” he whispered, moving to bring her into his arms. “Princess I-”

“Princess wants her Daddy!” she wailed, crumbling to the floor.

And, for the first time in a hundred and eight years, Spike let her and walked out of the room.

He had a Slayer to kill.

 “Let’s go people-watching,” Ford suddenly said, drawing Buffy out of her Algebra-induced state. Something she was grateful for because, frankly, she was getting sick of those trains. However, when his words registered, she gave him a sarcastic look, raising her eye brow at him in what looked like a very Spike-ish expression. “Come on,” he needled, sitting up straight on her couch. “It’ll be just like old times! You used to love playing ‘Story Time’.”

Buffy shuddered at the name. “Yeah, until we made that amazing love story.” Buffy didn’t have to finish the rest. It had been her favorite story by far, full of drama, romance, and perhaps a hidden connection to the Dutch throne (did the Dutch even have a monarchy? It wasn’t something she’d considered when she was ten) rivaling any she’d come up with before. All of which had come crashing down when she’d caught the morning news and discovered the guy was actually a serial killer and the woman his latest victim.

Story Time stopped being fun after that. These were actual lives. Sure, it was fun to joke that the old man feeding the pigeons was a retired CIA spy who had a Bond Girl retiree waiting for him at home, but for all Buffy knew he was a widower trying to make it day by day.

“I don’t know Ford,” Buffy finally said. “It’s just not a fun game anymore. Besides, it’s gonna be dark soon.”

Ford shook his head. “Look, I know this club, it’s just full of a bunch of teenagers. It’s, like, ten minutes from here. No big deal.” He smiled at her, exuding confidence and almost jittering with energy. “Come on. For me?”

Buffy sighed. “We’re back by nine though,” she caved. “I’ve totally got to actually finish this Algebra homework or Ms. Jefferson’s gonna eat my soul or something. She wasn’t very clear.”

 Buffy already wanted to leave, and they hadn’t even spoken to anyone.

A vampire club. Ford had taken her to a fucking vampire club, and she was pissed.

Sure, she knew these kinds of places existed. There were a few in LA. Hell, there was a ball held there every now and then. She’d thought it sounded glamourous when she’d first heard of it in high school. The pictures she saw in one of the goth kid’s lockers showed big ball gowns and costumes everywhere. She’d even thought about going to one once. If only for an excuse to dress up.

Then she found out that A.) Vampires and demons were real and they were far from glamorous, B.) She might be one of them, and C.) Some of the people at those things took the whole thing way too seriously.

She wanted to tell Ford that moment that she was going home. Fuck the game, fuck this club, and, a tiny bit, fuck Ford, but she couldn’t bring herself to do or say it. He was still her friend and, frankly, she wasn’t comfortable leaving him wandering Sunnydale by himself at night.

“Let’s pick,” Ford said, his tone an odd one that Buffy couldn’t quite place. She looked over and saw a smirk across his face, but it wasn’t mischievous or knowing. It was frightening. It reminded Buffy strongly of her night at the frat, and she found herself moving away from him carefully, gently reminding herself that she hadn’t had anything to eat or drink in hours, so nothing was in her system.

While Buffy was focusing on her breathing, Ford seemed to find what he was looking for. “Oh, how about them!” He pointed below them. “Those two probably aren’t going to murder each other tonight.”

Buffy wanted to scold him. The game wasn’t fun or entertaining, and what had happened to that poor girl wasn’t something he should be making fun of. However, her eyes drifted to who he was pointing to, and her throat closed.

Spike. Spike was here with Drusilla.

And apparently this Vampire Bar had a few more actual vampires than Buffy had originally thought.

“Ford,” Buffy said, “I’m leaving. Let’s go.”

Ford shook his head. “What? You don’t like my new friend?”

Buffy’s eyes widened. “Friend? Since when do you even know Spike?” Before Ford could answer, she was shaking her head. “You know what? No. Doesn’t even matter. So low on the mattering scale I can’t even see it. We need to leave. Now.”

Buffy knew how Spike was. If he was there with Drusilla, they were planning on feeding. Buffy couldn’t protect everyone.

Ford seemed to hesitate but nodded. “Alright. We’ll go out the back way, so he doesn’t see us.”

And Buffy was so thankful he hadn’t argued with her, she didn’t even think of how bad an idea that was.

 Spike was mere seconds away from ripping the little wannabe behind him apart with his teeth when one of his men signaled him. Ford had actually managed to get the slayer into the alley. Bloody hell, he certainly owed the kid.

Moving quickly, he left Drusilla behind. She hadn’t spoken to him since the incident that morning, but Spike frankly couldn’t bring himself to care.

Stepping outside with a grin, he started swaggering towards the two figures, curious why he didn’t smell Slayer. Taking a deep breath, Spike scented the medicine and sick from the boy, the beer and vomit from the alley, and finally, a familiar vanilla and steel.

Buffy.

He must have said her name aloud, because the two turned and looked at him, a smile on the boy’s lips and terror on hers. “Spike,” Buffy hedged, putting herself between him and the boy. The lying little shit. “Spike, please. He’s my old friend, just leave him alone, please.”

Suddenly, it all fell into place. The shit hadn’t lied. Not to him at least. He was just a sodding fool. A sodding fool who hadn’t tried to sell him Faith, but Buffy.

“Buffy,” he said firmly. “Go home, lock your doors, and make sure your mum’s all tucked in.” He stalked towards Ford.

“Spike please no. I don’t know what he said—”

She was cut off when Spike grabbed Ford by his throat. “He sold you to me Buffy,” Spike growled through his fangs. “Swore your blood to me in exchanged for being turned.”

Kill the demon demanded. He was inclined to agree.

“We- We had a deal!” Ford gasped, clawing at Spike’s hands futilely.

“Not anymore,” Spike declared.

 The next night, Buffy was sitting next to Ford’s grave, a stake clutched in her hands and tears in her eyes. “I’m not talking to you,” she said, not even bothering to look at Spike as he approached from behind. “You had no right to have your minions haul me off while you—” she cut herself off with a choked sob.

Spike sat next to her, gently taking the stake from her hands. “I didn’t turn him,” he assured her, “But I wasn’t letting you stay for what happened.”

Buffy wanted to be furious with him. To hit and scream until her heart stopped hurting.

Instead, she just sat next to her friend’s killer and cried on his shoulders.

[sazandorable]

Descriptions Of Lord Asriel That I Cannot Fucking Handle

(spoilers, btw)

So. Surprisingly probably no one ever, it turns out i just Can Not Handle Lord Asriel. I feel personally victimized by Lord Asriel and everything it means about me. I remembered liking him a lot but I never realized how this fucking man apparently shaped my tastes for all male characters and father figures ever. (DISCLAIMER THO: YEAH OK I DO HAVE MY OWN DADDY ISSUES BUT HE IS COMPLETELY DIFFERENT FROM MY DAD AND UNRELATED TO THEM. Shocking, yes.)

On first rereading attempt I excruciatingly managed to get through the first chapter and finally just stopped there and screamed in a pillow and stepped away to collect myself, and it took me over 6 months to even consider going back to it.

Which I’m doing now, but that means I still had to reread that first chapter again.

And yeah. Y e a h.

Have a collection of my suffering through the first 3 chapters of the first damn book

"Good evening, Wren,” said Lord Asriel. Lyras always heard that harsh voice with a mixture of pleasure and apprehension.

This is the third thing said about Lord Asriel ever and is also where I first lost it back in October and I’m STILL absolutely losing it, WHAT A SENTENCE.

Gods, Lord Asriel explains everything about me and my tastes in character kdfljdkgjldjgfljglfdgjfg DAMN IT.

jesus, every ten lines i need to take a break and calm down

The Butler looked uncomfortable. Guests entered the Retiring Room at the Master’s invitation only, and Lord Asriel knew that;

THIS FUCKER WHO JUST LIKES TO DO WHAT HE WANTS AND MAKE PEOPLE UNCOMFORTABLE ABOUT IT

Lyra’s uncle moved across to the fire and stretched his arms high above his head, yawning like a lion. He was wearing travelling clothes. Lyra was reminded, as she always was when she saw him again, of how much he frightened her.

that lion simile is totes uncalled for

(Stelmaria:) “You should rest.”

He stretched out in one of the armchairs, so that Lyra could no longer see his face.

“Yes, yes. I should also change my clothes. There’s probably some ancient etiquette that allows them to fine me a dozen bottles for coming in here dressed improperly. I should sleep for three days. The fact remains that —”

He’s snarky and funny and he makes you want to bundle him up under five blankets and he’s still intimidating I hate him so much

“There are only three dozen bottles left of the ‘98.”

“All good things pass away.”

HE SAYS THIS SHIT ABOUT A FUCKING BOTTLE OF WINE (and still intends to drink it)

Then Lord Asriel stood up and turned away from the fire. She saw him fully, and marvelled at the contrast he made with the plump Butler, the stooped and languid Scholars. Lord Asriel was a tall man with powerful shoulders, a fierce dark face, and eyes that seemed to flash and glitter with savage laughter. It was a face to be dominated by, or to fight: never a face to patronize or pity. All his movements were large and perfectly balanced, like those of a wild animal, and when he appeared in a room like this, he seemed a wild animal held in a cage too small for it.

*burrows face in book*

*slowly rolls over and crawls on floor to a cliff from which to throw self off*

Too much. Way too much. What the fuck.

(also please note there has been absolutely zero physical description such as hair or eye color, and yet this is the most eloquent and striking description of any character so far)

He seized her wrist and twisted hard.

“Lyra! What the hell are you doing?”

“Let go of me and I’ll tell you!”

“I’ll break your arm first. How dare you come in here?”

“I’ve just saved your life!”

They were still for a moment, the girl twisted in pain but grimacing to prevent herself from crying out louder, the man bent over her frowning like thunder.

b y e

what the fuck is that last simile oh my god Pullman PLEASE stop making Asriel sound like legit pagan god

There was a knock on the door.

“That’ll be the Porter,” said Lord Asriel. “Back in the wardrobe. If I hear the slightest noise I’ll make you wish you were dead.”

She darted back there at once, and no sooner had she pulled the door shut than Lord Asriel called, “Come in.”

I can’t quite put into words what it is exactly that tickles me so much about the fact that Asriel calls out so fast without giving Lyra any spare time to hide properly, but it does. (He’s a ruthless ass, basically.)

And then I won’t copy that but he basically tells Lyra that he won’t help her but still deliberately makes sure she can see what he’s going to show everyone, he keeps telling her to stay out of this but also decides to show her, knowing full well that she’ll be interested. And of course he enrolls her to be his spy. The amount of misplaced and unexpressed fatherly pride he has to be feeling right now. We get absolutely no hint of it in the text, but. He’s so mad and unkind with her but what he must be FEELING right now, seeing Lyra suddenly wildly jumping out of a wardrobe out of nowhere saving his life like a proper little spying little shit. Like father like daughter lakdklskflanfklsdnf GET OUT ASRIEL AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH

As soon as the door closed, Lord Asriel looked across the room directly at the wardrobe, and Lyra felt the force of his glance almost as if it had physical form, as if it were an arrow or a spear. Then he looked away and spoke softly to his dæmon.

ex c u se me. things that are uncalled for, 2: this

She came to sit calmly at his side, alert and elegant and dangerous, her green eyes surveying the room before turning, like his black ones, to the door from the Hall as the handle turned. Lyra couldn’t see the door, but she heard an intake of breath as the first man came in.

“Master,” said Lord Asriel. “Yes, I’m back. Do bring in your guests; I’ve got something very interesting to show you.”

HE’S SO DRAMATIC

WHAT A FUCKING DRAMA QUEEN

WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF SET-UP HE JUST SAT ThERE WaiTING WIth his COFFEE

STOP HIM

THIS IS An ADuLT MAN AND HE JUST DOES THAT FOR SHITS AND GIGGLES

And this was just chapter one.

Chapter 2, just a paragraph later:

“Master,” said Lord Asriel. “I came too late to disturb your dinner, so I made myself at home in here. Hello, Sb-Rector. Glad to see you looking so well. Excuse my rough appearance; I’ve only just landed. Yes, Master, the Tokay’s gone. I think you’re standing in it. The Porter knocked it off the table, but it was my fault. Hello, Chaplain. I read your latest paper with great interest...”

He moved away with the Chaplain, leaving Lyra with a clear view of the Master’s face. [...] Lord Asriel was already dominating the room, and although he was careful to be courteous to the Master in the Master’s own territory, it was clear where the power lay.

how does anyone ever handle Lord Asriel in-universe. Also please note how he blithely and pointedly lies to the face of the man who just tried to murder him. This asshole I just

Then he just goes on being as dramatic as possible and pointedly and dramatically ignoring people and showing off a mutilated human head to a bunch of old men with no warning, presumably also just for the shock factor and shits and giggles again.

(Lyra’s narration also mentions quite a few times that she wishes she could see it and wants to hear more about scalping and i also love this child so much)

Lyra looked again at her uncle, who was watching the Scholars with a glitter of sardonic amusement, and saying nothing.

Asriel: *just stands there saying and doing nothing*

Me: *points at him* fuck you

She woke up with a start when someone shook her shoulder.

“Quiet,” said her uncle. The wardrobe door was open, and he was crouched there against the light. “They’ve all gone, but there are still some servants around. Go to your bedroom now, and take care that you say nothing about this.”

“Did they vote to give you the money?” she said sleepily.

“Yes.”

“What’s Dust?” she said, struggling to stand up after having been cramped for so long.

“Nothing to do with you.”

“It is to do with me,” she said. “If you wanted me to be a spy in the wardrobe you ought to tell me what I’m spying about. Can I see the man’s head?”

Pantalaimon’s whiter ermine-fur bristled: she felt it tickling her neck. Lord Asriel laughed shortly.

“Don’t be disgusting,” he said; [...]

He says this but he laughed. Like father like daughter fuck me I bet he’s just so conflictedly delighted that she grew up this way and they got to have this little spying family bonding.

“[...] Do as you’re told and go to bed.”

“But where are you going?”

“Back to the North. I’m leaving in ten minutes.”

“Can I come?”

He stopped what he was doing, and looked at her as if for the first time. His dæmon turned her great green leopard-eyes on her too, and under the concentrated gaze of both of them, Lyras blushed. But she gazed back fiercely.

“Your place is here,” said her uncle finally.

once again Lyra’s direct and completely spontaneous request for Exciting and Adventurer things, but also urgh, urgh, urgh, that gaze, and how Asriel needs a minute to tell her no. He thought about it. He pictured it. And then he said no but she put that thought in his head and he didn’t say no immediately and uhrgikdfhgjfdhjghfkghkdg.

“[...] Do are you’re told and go to bed, and if you’re a good girl I’ll bring you back a walrus tusk with some Eskimo (sic) carving on it. Don’t argue any more or I shall be angry.”

And his dæmon growled with a deep savage rumble that made Lyra suddenly aware of what it would be like to have teeth meeting in her throat.

Lyra compressed her lips and frowned hard at her uncle. He was pumping the air from the vacuum flask, and took no notice; it was as if he’d already forgotten her.

WHAT A GOOD NICE DAD

and this is the end of that but we get a flashback in chapter 3 of Asriel’s visits:

[...] and he called her to stand in front of him and tell him what she’d learned since his last visit. And she would mutter whatever she could dredge up about geometry or Arabic or history or anbarology, and he would sit back with one ankle resting on the other knee and watch her inscrutably until her words failed.

i was just about to yell “WAIT THE THING ABOUT ASRIEL IS JUST BIG DICK ENERGY” but no it’s not just that, it’s definitely also a lot of gratuitous being a bastard.

and then he leads her on with questions about her dirty nails just to make her lie then reveals he saw her playing on the roof, but then instead of chewing her out about it he’s just 

watching her sardonically.

And then he listens to her talking about what parts of the roofs are or aren’t accessible and encourages her to explore the undergrounds.

“I’m surprised you haven’t found that out.”

(fuck you!)

then he gives her pocket money (in gold) and asks her if she respects the Scholars and Stelmaria laughs when Lyra answers ‘yes’ and Lyra blushes.

relatable.

ok that’s it thanks for coming to my TED about how much i love and hate Lord Asriel his terrible parenting and his fucking incredible ideas of family bonding

[caspian-skye]

The Apoptosis Project: Winter Holiday

Merry Christmas to those who celebrate, and a happy holidays to all! I’ve always been a fan of the season, which ends up translating into obligatory Christmas-y chapters in my stories. So, here’s the (not) Christmas chapter from The Apoptosis  Project! 

This is from chapter 21, and references something from my old story as well, so it might not make 100% sense standalone. But still, it gives a good insight into some of the series’ most important characters.

With the end of December, the Winter Holiday came. Of course the holiday was created to celebrate the end of the Great War over a hundred years before, but Caspian was happy to have nearly two weeks off, and a chance to unwind from the constant assignments and training exercises of Sentinel. The dorms held nowhere near the luxury of his family home; glass walls with views of the ocean, marble and mahogany floors, and a bathtub large enough to lay down in, that he didn't have to share with three other teammates.

Lazula hardly seemed to be slowing down. Every day since break started she woke up at the crack of dawn, and trained until after Caspian woke up. He admired her commitment, but every night a small part of him feared she'd wake him up the next morning and drag him to her custom-built practice arena.

The night before the Holiday, every member of teams CRLN and LSLI --apart from Noxis, who disappeared the minute after their last class together-- came to Skye Manor along with their parents. All were dressed in their nicest clothes for the countless pictures that would inevitably be taken that night-- aside from Caspian, who wore the most repugnantly lurid sweater he could find in the discount store in Cyrreine Mall. Red bells attached to the tree sewed to the front of the green sweater jingled with each step, almost matching the sweater's crimson collar. To complete the look were thick brown pads of leather at each elbow. Extra protection, just in case.

He had been helping out with preparing the feast for dinner, and afterward sat on the bench of his mother's grand piano, a shining antique in the corner of the living room. After a few minutes of practice, Snow walked over with a curious look.

Caspian smiled. "Hey, wanna learn how to play?"

Snow nodded. "Okay."

Caspian scooted over to the far side of the piano bench, giving Snow just enough room to sit next to him. "Hm... where to start..." he pondered. He had played as a hobby for quite some time. Apparently he was drawn to the instrument when he was only a few years old, and his mother taught him from there. "Well, the piano has eighty-eight keys, and this might seem like a lot, but there are really only twelve notes so it's not that bad."

"Eighty-eight does not evenly divide into twelve," Snow noted. She cocked her head. "How are there eighty-eight?"

Caspian paused. "I... actually I'm not sure..." he replied. "But that's not important for now. Let's start with the C-Major scale." he pressed a key on the piano, and eventually worked his way up. "It starts at C, and goes down the alphabet until F. Then it wraps back around to A and B. This scale just deals with the seven white notes in its range, so it's a good place to start."

"There are an extra three notes at my side of the keyboard," Snow commented.

"What?"

"There are an extra three notes at my side of the keyboard. The keyboard starts with A, but its highest note is a C. That's why there are eighty-eight notes."

Caspian looked to Snow in surprise. "Well, mystery solved I guess!" he responded with a laugh. But how did she notice so quickly? He pulled a sheet of simple music out from behind the one he had been practicing on, and pointed to the first note. "Anyway, the C corresponds to this note, here. The next note is G, so I'd press this one. The whole song goes like this," he concluded, and began to demonstrate.

"May I try?" Snow asked after he finished.

"Go for it!" Caspian permitted, scooting further to the end of the bench.

Snow lowered her hands to the keys. Her eyes drew up to the paper, then back down. Caspian watched in confusion and surprise as her fingers moved deftly over the notes, striking them with both perfect cadence and accuracy.

"...You're telling me you've never played piano before?"

"I haven't."

"Huh. I remember being stuck on this song for weeks..." Caspian replied. He turned the page. "What about this one?"

"Actually," Uncle Douglas interrupted, suddenly appearing behind the two. "Snow, can you help your mother and I with something for a bit?"

Snow nodded and stood up, leaving Caspian at the bench. He glanced up with a disappointed look. "Maybe later then," he offered. Caspian sat for a few moments, and after deciding he still didn't have enough room for a slice of pie, shuffled through his music to find a song celebrating the Winter Holiday. He cracked his knuckles, and began to play.

A handful of measures in, a soft voice began to match his notes, singing the words accompanying his play. Lilly came to his side, leaning on the piano as she sang.

Determination struck Caspian. He could feel everyone's eyes on him. For them, for Lilly, and for his honor, he wouldn't miss a single note. The song played out for what felt like ten minutes, but couldn't have been more than a couple. When he finally finished, he leaned into the piano and let out a deep breath.

Judging by the applause, the duet went well. He and Lilly made a pretty good pair.

"That was pretty!" Laurel complimented. "You're definitely the better singer of the two of us."

Lilly smiled, but shook her head. "I'm flattered, but I have to disagree. That's clearly you. I don't have anywhere near your range."

"All I do is scream over a wall of guitar and drums," Laurel dismissed. "You can actually carry a tone."

Lilly held out the corners of her dress, looking at Laurel's thrashed black sweater and matching jeans. "Whatever the case, someone like me is no fit for a punk-metal band," she admitted.

Deciding the pressure of one song was enough, Caspian walked back to the couch and took a seat next to his sister. As he sat she eyed his sweater with disapproval.

"I hope whoever designed your shirt got fired."

Caspian threw his head back with laughter. His sister was hardly one for jokes, and this one was one of her strongest in a while. As he recovered, his eyes flicked to the doorway, where his father stood.

There was a peculiar look on his face. One maybe of shock, or sudden realization. As their eyes met, Headmaster Skye nodded, and turned back into the kitchen.

The night wore on for a few more hours before everyone began to settle into the many guest rooms of the house. Morning came, as did the time to exchange presents. Lazula was touched by Lilly's album of pictures of the two through the years, and was particularly amused by Rowan's joke gift of a cheap plastic trophy, "because she didn't have enough of them."

Caspian gifted Lilly a new set of tea cups. Vintage, imported straight from Mistral. It cost him a small fortune, but as his parents practically owned half of Port Cyrreine, and a sizable share of the Schnee Dust Company, money was never an issue. He had genuinely no idea what to get Laurel, but judging by her reaction to the set of high-quality guitar accessories he assumed she might use -a set of picks, straps, and a new stand- he did well.

His gift to Snow was one of the very last opened. He made sure to sit right next to her as she did, waiting and trying to conceal the eagerness in his eyes. She undid the wrappings slowly and methodically, undoing each length of tape and gently unfolding the paper in stark contrast to Rowan, who somehow managed to unwrap each gift in one savage tear.

Finally, Snow opened the box. She paused, and as usual her blank stare gave away nothing.

"Is this for me?"

Caspian grimaced. "Y-Yeah... I have the receipt if you don't want it..."

Snow set the box down, and pulled the plush doll from it gently. She held it to her chest, and a smile began to form. Small at first, but it grew into the biggest, cheeriest one he had ever seen from her. He glanced at the corner of her eye.

Crows' feet.

"I love it," Snow said, hugging the doll tighter. "Thank you so much."

"Of course," Caspian replied, his smile beginning to match hers. "I saw it when we went to Cyrreine Mall, and couldn't help but think about you."

Snow held the doll in front of her before setting it down on the box. Still kneeling, she turned to Caspian with arms outstretched. The hug lasted longer than he expected; probably because neither of them knew the proper amount of time for a friendly hug, and were waiting on the other to disengage.

Afterward, Caspian and his friends opened one of Rowan's new board games. Though Lazula and Laurel hardly ever played, after enough insisting that it was a holiday, and the game could be played with up to eight people, they joined as well.

Meanwhile, Caspian's mother and father walked along the path through their expansive yard, under its trees and through the bushes that would erupt with life in a few months' time. "Do you remember the vision I told you about, after I was almost killed in our last fight with Vladimir?" the Headmaster asked.

Headmistress Skye nodded. "Even before we had them, you told me you saw Caspian and Lazula, in our living room. Caspian was smiling."

"I saw that exact scene last night, after Caspian played that song," the Headmaster stated. He took in the cool air. Clouds had rolled in, but it hadn't yet started to rain. "I don't know if it means anything. I just wanted to tell someone."

"You saw the scene you saw all those years ago..." Headmistress Skye reflected. "It makes me wonder, but it also reminds me." Her gaze fixed on him, and she stopped suddenly. "When are we going to tell Lazula?"

The Headmaster turned to face his wife. "About?"

Her eyes narrowed. "You know what I'm talking about."

The headmaster sighed, then nodded. "It's best we wait for now," he decided.

Headmistress Skye's eyes clouded with doubt. "Not telling her just... doesn't sit right with me. We're lying to our own daughter."

"We haven't told her any lies," Headmaster Skye maintained.

"We haven't told her the truth, either."

Headmaster Skye shook his head. "I'm sure you understand what's at stake here," he insisted. "When the time is right, I'll be the one to tell her."

Without a reply, the Headmistress turned, and made her way back to the front door.

--

That night, once all gifts had been opened and a feat of leftovers was had, Snow stood alone in her guest room. She held the doll in her arms like a child, rocking her slowly back and forth as she watched her reflection in the mirror propped up on the dresser. The muffled tones of the piano from downstairs made their way into the room.

Snow paused, locking eyes with her reflection.

She quickly stepped over to the bedside, laying the doll down under the covers before returning to the dresser. She leaned over it until her nose nearly touched the mirror, and put her fingers to the edge of her eye.

The change was slight, but there was no mistaking it.

Her eyes had tinted the slightest shade of blue.

[roidespd-blog]

Chapter Twelve : ORLANDO NIGHTCLUB SHOOTING

June 11, 2016. Pulse, a gay nightclub in Orlando, Florida, was hosting its weekly Saturday event “Latin Night”. Around 2:00am on June 12, last call for drinks were announced to about 320 people inside the club. At the same time, a mad man, who-shall-not-be-named as he doesn’t deserve to be talked about as a person ever again, arrived by van armed with a SIG Sauer MCX semi-automatic rifle and a 9mm Glock 17 semi-automatic pistol. At 2:02am, he bypassed an off-duty Orlando police officer called Adam Gruler who tried to engage and stop him. He went into the building and began shooting patrons. Dozens were killed in the 2 minutes between 2:02am and 2:04am when Gruler, after calling for assistance, received additional aid from officers arriving at the club. The shooter retreated farther into the nightclub and kept on killing. At first, some patrons thought the gunshots were firecrackers or part of the music. Some of the survivors described afterwards a scene of panic and confusion caused by the loud music and darkness of the nightclub scene. Most people took refuge in bathrooms, waiting for death. One of them shielded herself with bodies. Some escaped by crawling out the patio exit near the bar. A bartender took cover beneath the glass bar. A recently discharged marine veteran working one of the nightclub bouncer immediately recognized the sounds of gunfire, jumped over a locked door behind which dozens of people were already hidden and paralyzed by fear. He then opened a latched door behind them, allowing approximately 70 people to escape. As the gunman started shooting in the main room, police officers entered the facility and a shootout was engaged. The police reported that many people escaped or were rescued during this early exchange of gunfire, as a few police officers were running in and out of the building pulling out victims. According to a man trapped inside a bathroom with fifteen other people, the shooter shot multiple times into the closed bathroom door, killing at least two and wounding several others. One of the people trapped in the bathroom with the shooter afterwards said that he burst into the bathroom, went to the stall next to the one he and a friend were hiding in and shot the people inside.

After the shootout, the gunman retreated to the women’s bathroom where he held hostages. Meanwhile, some of the people trapped sought to send text messages to friends and relatives, either to inform of the situation or to say good-bye.

Rescues of people trapped inside the nightclub commenced and continued throughout the hostage crisis. Because so many people were lying on the dance floor, one rescuing officer asked “if you’re alive, raise your hand”. People were pretending to be dead with bodies surrounding them in order to not get killed themselves. One of the survivors later said he felt something poking him while on the floor. He thinks it could have been the shooter checking to see if he was dead. By the beginning of the phone calls from the shooter to multiple sources, nearly all of the injured patrons from the club had been extracted from the building, except for those held hostages in the bathroom and a few in dressing rooms.

No shots were heard between the exchanging gunfire with the first responders and three hours later.

At 2:35 am while in the bathroom, the gunman placed a 911 call in which he pledged his allegiance to the Extremist Islamic State. At 2:48am, he talked to a crisis negotiation team for 9 minutes. He ordered the end of the bombing in Syria and Iraq and claimed to have explosives on him. During this time, more people escaped. Four people hidden in a dressing room took the exist from the north side of the building while the police helped eight people escape through an air-conditioner vent. At 4:29am, some survivors who escaped informed of the gunman’s plan to put explosive devices on four hostages in each corner of the club. An information that turned that to be a lie on the past of the gunman as no vests or devices were found afterwards. It prompted officials to mount a rescue operation. At 5:02am, the police blew a hole in the outer wall of the restroom, but missed the mark and ended up with a partially destructed wall in the hallway between the two bathroom. On that occasion, the rest of the survivors escaped through the hole. At 5:14 am, the gunman entered the hallway and engaged in a shootout with the police. At 5:15am, officers reported that the gunman was down. He was shot eight times and killed in a face out that involved 11 officers who fired a total of about 150 bullets. More than three hours after the first attack.

49 innocent people died that night. 53 were wounded during the attack, some critically. 38 were pronounced dead at the scene, and 11 more at local hospitals. Of the 38 victims to die at Pulse, 20 died on the stage area and dance floor, 9 in the nightclub’s northern bathroom, 4 in the southern bathroom, three on the stage, one at the front lobby and one out on a patio. At least 5 of those were killed during the hostage situation in the bathroom. As for the wounded, a least 76 surgeries were performed on the patients, with some discharged as far as September 6, nearly 3 months after the shooting occurred.

The attack became the deadliest mass shooting by a single shooter in United States History, bested a little over a year later by the Last Vegas shooting of 2017. It is still the deadliest attack on LGBT people in History in the U.S, surpassing the 1973 UpStairs Lounge Arson Attack (see the June 10th article Chapter Ten : Queer Community vs Violence).

Here is the complete list of the fallen brothers and sisters we’ve lost that night :

Stanley Almodovar III, 23

Amanda Alvear, 25

Oscar A. Aracena-Montero, 26

Rodolfo Ayala-Ayala, 33

Alejandro Barrios Martinez, 21

Martin Benitez Torres, 33

Antonio D. Brown, 30

Darryl R. Burt II, 29

Jonathan A. Camuy Vega, 24

Angel L. Candelario-Padro, 28

Simon A. Carrillo Fernandez, 31

Juan Chevez-Martinez, 25

Luis D. Conde, 39

Cory J. Connell, 21

Tevin E. Crosby, 25

Franky J. Dejesus Velazquez, 50

Deonka D. Drayton, 32

Mercedez M. Flores, 26

Peter O. Gonzalez-Cruz, 22

Juan R. Guerrero, 22

Paul T. Henry, 41

Frank Hernandez, 27

Miguel A. Honorato, 30

Javier Jorge-Reyes, 40

Jason B. Josaphat, 19

Eddie J. Justice, 30

Anthony L. Laureano Disla, 25

Christopher A. Leinonen, 32

Brenda L. Marquez McCool, 49

Jean C. Mendez Perez, 35

Akyra Monet Murray, 18

Kimberly Morris, 37

Jean C. Nieves Rodriguez, 27

Luis O. Ocasio-Capo, 20

Geraldo A. Ortiz-Jimenez, 25

Eric Ivan Ortiz-Rivera, 36

Joel Rayon Paniagua, 32

Enrique L. Rios Jr., 25

Juan P. Rivera Velazquez, 37

Yilmary Rodriguez Solivan, 24

Christopher J. Sanfeliz, 24

Xavier Emmanuel Serrano Rosado, 35

Gilberto Ramon Silva Menendez, 25

Edward Sotomayor Jr., 34

Shane E. Tomlinson, 33

Leroy Valentin Fernandez, 25

Luis S. Vielma, 22

Luis Daniel Wilson-Leon, 37

Jerald A. Wright, 31

Criticism was expressed over the decision the delay the breaching of the nightclub through the bathroom wall by over 3 hours, citing the lesson learned form other mass shooting that officers can minimize casualties only by entering a shooting location expeditiously, even if it means putting themselves at great risk. To that, the Police Department answered that the situation had changed from an active shooter in the club to an hostage situation and could not be handled the same way. Immediately after the shooting took take, many people went to donate blood at locate blood donation centers and bloodmobile. Although ironically, a controversial federal policy in the United States forbids men who had sex with men from donating blood, urging straight people to go instead. A victim’s assistance center was opened on June 15 to provide help to what turned out to be almost a thousand people. Furthermore, the two main hospitals that treated the victims, Orlando Regional Medical Center and Florida Hospital, announced that they will not be billing the survivors or pursuing reimbursement. Multiple fundraisers raised close to 32 million dollars to help victims and families in the months that followed.

The Pulse never opened its doors again. There were plans to sell the property to the City of Orlando and turn it into a memorial for the victims and survivors, though the city backed out after the price tag of 2,25 million dollars was asked. The owner then created the OnePulse Foundation and plans for a memorial site and museum are on the way, with an opening slated for 2020.

Without going into any specifics about the gunman’s personal life and motivations, it is imperative to point out that before his attack on Pulse, he was interrogated three times by the FBI due to relations with terrorist-affiliated individuals and organizations. He was twice under investigation (but no convincing evidence were found). He was on a no-fly list, meaning he wasn’t allowed on any airplanes. Nevertheless, the shooter was able to go into a gun store and LEGALLY buy a semi-automatic weapon. He went through a three-day background check and still went through the cracks. Then Las Vegas happened and they did nothing. Then Parkland happened and they did nothing.

As of June 11th, 2019, there’s been 149 mass shootings in the United States since January 1. For fuck’s sake! There’s been a mass shooting TODAY (Aurora, Colorado) with 4 people injured.

People were quick to point out that this was a terrorist attack trying to destroy the American way of life. Sure, it was. But let’s remember that first and foremost, this was a hate crime. This was an attack perpetuated on a minority group, on the basis of exterminated them, a few rounds of bullets at a time.

On a personal note, it broke my heart when I heard what happened in Orlando three years ago. I saw the news coverage and I broke down. One of the victims had the same name as me. I was a 25 year-old french boy living in Paris and I felt like I was about to die with the rest of my community. When you kill one of us because of who we are, we all bleed. Those 49 deaths, 53 wounded victims and almost 200 survivors were our brothers and sisters and mothers and fathers and friends. And I’m not just talking about the LGBTQI+ community. There were the brothers and sisters and mothers and fathers to US ALL.

Where are we, three years later ? Is that just another massacre ready to resurface each date of the tragedy’s anniversary and then forgotten for another year ? I’m no one. I can’t influence anything on anyone. BUT they’ve been living in me for the past three years, one way or another. The faces have been on my wall for three years. The names have been on my wall for the past three years. Their memories have not been forgotten by me for the past three years. The Time magazine cover asked the question : WHY DID THEY DIE ? They shouldn’t but they are. Let’s celebrate them by protecting each other more.

[thekrazykeke]

wRoNg (Release the Beast) Part I {Revised}

Fandom(s): DCEU, Suicide Squad

Relationship(s): Joker x reader

Rating: Mature

Summary: What would you do out of love and self-preservation to protect your family? How far would you go to keep your secrets?

Warning(s): Mind games and emotional manipulation. Mystic-y stuff. Power plays. Violence. Smut. 

Tagging: @ashmuck @alexisbagans143 @toxic-ink @kirsty-lou666 @coppercurlzz @snow-massacre @suckerforsmilex  @lovelylittlekittn @melaninharleyquinn @roneykuni @twilight-loveer @ms-clown-queen-of-crime @jokers-queen-of-hearts @keya168

Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three (Part I) Chapter Three (Part II)  Chapter Four Chapter Five

A/N:  When you see this §, it means that J and the reader have temporarily linked up, so to speak, or synchronized. Some Assassin Creed fans may recognize this terminology, which is basically, the reader experiences what J feels, he feels what she does, etc. More shall be revealed as the story and plot continues. 💋

~

Chapter Six

An angry man’s power will shut you up Trip wires fill this house with tip toed love Run out of excuses for everyone So here I am and I will not run

Time had a strange way of progressing in a rapid and sluggish manner when in the presence of the Joker. He moved about in this manic, illogical rhythm, never fully staying true to the script he laid bare for everyone else to see. After Marisa’s death and subsequent proclamation that you were his Queen, he swiftly hid you away again.

You can still remember how he called out the few goons he’d hired to patrol the area, lined them up in a straight line before opening fire on them with his customized AK-47.

“Y/N, get in the car. Please, get in the car.” Leo was speaking to you with patience only a hair’s breadth away from collapsing. Not once in the entire time he’d been working for your family had you given him such trouble and now you were just rebelling for the sake of it.

“I will. In a second.” You murmur, trying to peer around the taller man’s body to see what J was doing.

“Well, boys and girl, it’s been a wiiiiiiiiild ride for some of you…” J’s voice rang out.

“You don’t need to see this.” Leo insisted grimly.

“Moving at the drop of a hat, protecting my assets and being lots and lots of great fun. I have not fully shown my appreciation for your, ah, s a c r i f i c e.”

“Mr J, please do–”

With a firm hand, Leo grabbed your elbow, opened up the passenger’s side door, shoving you inside just as gunfire broke out, along with J’s maniacal laughter and the cries of panic, fear, and pain.

It’d been three months since then. The current location you’d been moved to closer to the heart of the city and meant for disgraced high society family members, celebrities desiring anonymity, corrupt politicians, etc. Even if people knew your face, no one was stupid enough to oust their neighbor, fear of scandal or retribution, depending on the person, enough to silence another’s wagging tongue.

“Miss Y/N, please come away from the window.”

Blinking, you lifted your head off the clear surface of the windowpane, turning to see a man in his early to mid twenties had stopped about an arm’s length away. “I was just trying to find something to occupy my time, Toby.”

“It’s Tobias.” he corrected automatically. “And Romina is here for your daily lessons.” Beckoning with his fingers, Tobias encouraged you to follow him. “All work and no play makes Toby a very dull boy.” You whispered in the boy’s ear before taking off with a chuckle, amused with how he froze for a second before hurrying to catch up with you.

Sad as it was to say, you’d been reduced to one of those bored housewives on reality TV, seducing and playing with the staff’s minds just to pass the time. Unlike most, you hadn’t done it in a truly malicious way, it was just to prove a point, if only to yourself, that you weren’t afraid of a man like the Joker and he didn’t control you. Steadfastly, you ignored the faint voice at the back of your mind scoffing and pointing out the constant hypocrisy of your actions and beliefs. You knew exactly who to push and play with so that they wouldn’t go running back to J to tattletale.

The two of you walked down the hallway in silence for the most part. You had one-sided conversations about anything you could think of while he tried to be a decent foot soldier.

“You’re dismissed.” Flicking her fingers in a ‘go away’ gesture, Romina pushed off the wall she was leaning against, barely sparing the youth a glance as he flushed subtly in indignation but ultimately walked away. “We’re working on sit ups and push-ups today.”

“But we did that last session.” You pointed out.

“And in a street fight, you would be dead.”

“You always say that even if it’s not a relevant topic.”

“Clearly, the truth hasn’t sunken into your thick skull then.” Done with the conversation, in an imperious tone, Romina commanded, “Come.” Stalking off towards the plaza’s basement which had been transformed into a training center. Grudgingly, you followed after her.

While the Latina made no secret that she didn’t like you, the two of you reached somewhat common ground on the fact that you were a walking target and if you weren’t brought up to speed on self-defense, you’d be dead in less than five minutes once the news that you were the Prince of Genocide’s significant other, just like the news of your father’s dirty dealings were leaked.

Everything in the dark had a way of coming to the light.

As soon as we stepped through the basement doors, a chorus of greetings were directed at Romina, some rowdy and jeering while others were packed with innuendos and playful. Gaze darting all around, once again marveling at what money and fear had gotten a man like J.

“Come on. We can practice over there, it’s quieter.” Gesturing vaguely, Romina firmly grabbed you by the elbow, a floor mat in hand. Without waiting for your agreement or disagreement, she led you to a wide open area with natural lighting, placing the mat onto the floor, next to a woman who was doing her own exercise.

Romina gave a pointed cough and you flushed, realizing that you were shamelessly staring though the woman didn’t glance at either of you. Deciding you’d made a fool of yourself long enough, you did as Romina wished, getting in position for some push ups.

“Okay, just like we practiced. Tuck your elbows…”

Normally, the bar was set for ten push ups, fifteen max, but today she made you do an extra five. Your abdominal muscles were on fire, your arms were throbbing and felt like wet noodles. Romina was pleased though, so you supposed your suffering either amused her or she was genuinely happy to see you not act like a total wimp.

It might have been both.

To reward you for your success, she made a humongous batch of pancakes and eggs with a pitcher of chocolate milk, when you’d first started this workout type of thing, you’d balked at the idea of eating so much, but the meal was entirely too delicious to ignore. Seeing that no one else batted an eyelid at your intake also helped with your confidence as they ate just as much, if not more than you did.

“Alright, alright, alright.” Leo clapped his hands sharply. “Look alive, people. Mister J is on his way back to this site and we know–”

When the room began to clear, ready to return to their normal stations, or suddenly invent something really important to be doing, you snuck away from the household’s staff members and bodyguards, filled with cautious excitement at the thought of seeing J first. He hadn’t seen you in awhile either, so maybe, just maybe…

“Y/N, what are you doing out here?” Closing your eyes briefly, you resisted the urge to stomp the ground with your foot out of frustration. “Y/N, we need to go back inside, to your quarters preferably.”

“Aww, Toby, I knew you were trying to get me into bed.” You teased.

“H-Huh? NO! Of course not. I respect Mr. J way too much to even think of–”

In a moment of pure happenstance, you caught a flash of signature, neon green hair before the gangsta himself came into view.

You were paralyzed. Utterly transfixed by the sight of him after weeks and weeks without his presence.

True, most of the time, you couldn’t even stand him. He loved to poke fun at your former comfortable, cushy lifestyle. He mocked your emotional moments of weakness. But there was just this presence that radiated from his very being. He exuded his will into the universe and made everything in his sight kneel in submission.

“What is she doing out in the open like this, vulnerable and exposed for everyone to see?” Like a whip, J’s voice pierced the silence that had enveloped the area. “Boy!” Tobias flinched at the snarl. “I’m talking to you. Explain to me what’s she’s doing out here.”

“B-Boss, that is…”

Feeling a tendril of pity, you spoke up over the brunette’s stammering. “I was getting claustrophobic, staring at the walls of my room all day.”

“Wha-?” he cupped a hand to his ear, pretending to barely hear. “You got bored, basically that’s what you’re saying, yes.” Leaning up, he laughed though there wasn’t any mirth in the tone; the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. “Do you think your brains would look better splattered all over the kid’s face or the pavement near the pool? Because, honey, I can list at least five tactical positions a sniper, or even just a lucky son of a bitch, would have to be sitting in order to kill you.”

You skin paled and you swallowed but said nothing as J made a slow circle around you, stalking you almost, a continuous growl rumbling in his chest. “Boss, maybe you should…Calm down? You’re scaring Y/N.” Tobias spoke up, hesitant but hopeful.

J’s head snapped around, eyes wild as he stared at the younger brunette.

“I-I mean…”

“Did you just…Did you just call my…Who gave you the right to call Y/N by name?” Tobias was silent at J’s question and the green haired crime lord whipped his head to stare at you. “Oooh, I see.”

“Baby, no–” You tried to reach out and cup J’s cheeks, make him stop and see sense but he dodged your touch, teeth grinding.

“Are you fucking her?” J’s eyes widened a little, breathing becoming more labored.

Tobias blanched.”W-Wha?”

“A-Are you fucking her, or maybe you just want to, hmm?” J repeated himself, putting special emphasis on ‘fucking’, enjoying the way Tobias flushed slightly and shrunk in on himself.

“No sir! No, I swear I wouldn’t. I-I-I don’t want any beef.”

“Oooh, you don’t want no beef? You don’t want no beef? Don’t want no beef?” He was getting more and more agitated, that much was clear, to you and to Tobias.

“Sir, please! She’s not, we’re not, I have no interest in her, like that.” Now Tobias was babbling, making excuses to calm a raging beast.

“Why, is she ugly?” He ran his hands through his hair, a small smile appearing on his lips.

“No, sir! She’s, she’s beaut–” In a fluid motion, J pulled his gun from the gun holster and pulled the trigger.

BANG!

You covered your mouth to stifle the scream as Tobias’ corpse fell into pool. J grabbed you by the nape of your neck, eyes swirling with mania, “That’s your fault.” Turning to Frost, always a shadow to his boss, Joker stated in a frigid tone, “Get that thing out of my pool – it's contaminating the water.”

“Yes, Boss.” With a decisive nod, Jonny whistled and a couple men appeared from various locations, ready and willing to help with the cleanup and disposal.

J glanced back at you, running his tongue over his silver teeth. “Get your ass in the house before I kick it all the way there.”

As soon as he let go of your neck, dropping you that small distance to the ground, you stumbled to your feet and took off like a bat out of Hell, occasionally glancing back. J prowled after you, his features might as well have been carved from stone.

You were going to get it. You were reaaaaaalllly going to get it.

Dread swirled around in your stomach as you perched yourself on the bed, Joker’s bed, to be precise. His room was only slightly bigger and more extravagant than your own. You felt uncomfortable, as if you were invading some sacred territory as silly as it was to think, but it was true. Even though the two of you were married, he never brought you in here. You fucked in your room, against the wall, the floor, in the bath or shower, but it’d never been here. Clenching the violet silk sheets in your fist, you tried to will yourself to stand. To run out the door and keep running but your feet didn’t budge.

Hearing a door open and close, you turn to see J coming out the bathroom, he was dressed and looked extremely well polished in black slacks and a white dress shirt. Wait, he was leaving, again? Before you could ask, he ordered in a curt tone, “Face down. Ass up.”

“What?” Dumbfounded, the words slip free of your lips without permission.

“Since you persist in acting like a child, causing problems for everyone around you, I’ll treat you just like the unruly, disobedient child that you are by disciplining you.” He raised nonexistent eyebrows. “Face down. Ass up.” Hearing in his tone that he wasn’t going to change his mind, your lips firmed and slowly, ever slowly, you did as he commanded. Laying on your belly, your mind drifted as you heard him take off his belt, the leather brushing against your blue jean clothed buttocks.

WHAP!

The first hit was just a swat, deceptively soft. Hands clutched at a pillow, and you breathed in, trying to relax, because wow, that didn’t hurt.

WHAP! WHAP!

The next two, in rapid succession, stung a little bit more and reflexively, unable to help it really, you made the aborted motion to rise up.

Big mistake. He pressed the palm of his hand against the dip of your back, forcing you back down again. Then he pulled your jeans down. Embarrassed, you tried to use your hands to shield your panty clad behind. J let out an enraged snarl, roughly forcing your hands out of the way so he could get a better look at what you were wearing and you knew that you were in for it, as you never had the time to really dress up before he ambushed you for sex. Today, you’d felt daring and donned the lingerie. He would assume that it’d been done to further tease Toby, not because you just wanted to feel pretty and sexy.

WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!

Legs twisting and fingers trembling, you gripped the pillow to you in a death grip. These hits from the belt hurt even worse and internally, with all your might, you prayed that this was the end of the punishment. The gods weren’t listening because soon Joker hauled you over his legs, one hand circling the nape of your neck and easily held you in place as he yanked your underwear down to reveal your bare bottom.

You couldn’t even utter a word of protest before J’s hand descended on the soft flesh.

SLAP!

Once again, humiliation burned through you, because while it hurt, your body was having a decidedly different reaction to the pain than expected.

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

As soon as it’d started, it was over.  Trying to prove yourself independent, you attempted standing but couldn’t even manage to half sit up right so Joker ended up depositing you on the bed.  With all that touching, of course he would notice your predicament. “You’re wet for me.” It's a statement, not a question and you both knew it to be true as your pussy lips were drenched in your juices. Soaked. “Tell me what you want.”

Silence stretched out between the two of your for a few seconds then several minutes. He scoffed at your stubbornness but just before Joker could get up, in a hoarse tone, you whisper, “I want you. Please Daddy.”

“The crap I put up with for you, I swear...” The words are growled and the sound created a fresh wave of moisture. You cried out as his tongue ran across your nether lips, lapping up your juices before swirling around your clit. Moaning, you tried to hold of the inevitable, but when he sucked your clit in his mouth, nipping it, you came with a scream. While you were coming down from the high of your orgasm, Joker was stripping of his clothes, and you couldn’t help gazing at his lean, muscled form. The tattoos that covered practically every inch of his skin. Well, you amended to yourself mentally, licking your lips as you looked at his cock; long, thick and hard, most every part. Ignoring your nerves, you decide to return the favor. 

Pulling him close, you kissed him, running your hands over his chest, down to his hips and penis. Running your fingertips gently from the base to the tip, you swiped your thumb over the pre-cum gathering at the tip. He groaned. Wrapping both hands around his shaft, you were about to take his cock in your mouth, but he stopped you, pushing you back. He got in the bed on his knees, reaching for your hips and pulling you to him. You felt him slide against your heat and you both moaned. Lifting you up slightly, he aligned himself with your heat. Then you rolled your hips backwards, taking the tip inside of you. He went in slow, letting your body adjust. You rocked your hips against him until he let out a low growl that made your inner muscles clench. He began moving and you met him thrust for thrust as he got a little bit rougher, then he brushed up against your g-spot and it was just too overwhelming. You came with a short scream for the second time that day. He snarled as you clenched around him, slamming into you a few more times before going still, hot jets of his release spilling inside you.

~

§ It was late evening but dark enough to pull off an ambush. By the last account, both sides were down to a handful of men each. He and the boys would come in from behind and mow them down.

“Boss, we’re pulling up to the area now.”

As if he couldn’t see that. Idiots, the whole lot of them. Still, sometimes it paid to reward idiocy.

“Good.”

He noticed the driver’s shoulders lost their tension at that single word and didn’t bother to stop the slow smirk that spread across his face.

THUMP!

“What the hell was that?”

Oh? Could someone have actually shown a bit more of a brain and managed to figure out about his arrival? Goody. It’d make the bloodbath all the more entertaining.

“It’s the Bat! Oh God, shoot it! Shoot it shoot it shoot it shoot it–”

A bubbling feeling welled up in his chest. First, he snickered quietly, then giggled and changed into a slow, high pitched, insane cackle as he saw the Dark Knight standing in the middle of the road.

“BATSY BATSY BATSY, COME AND PLAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!”

Reaching over, Joker stomped his foot on the gas pedal, hands on the wheel. “Boss, what are you doing? Boss, Boss?!” The car was on a direct head long collision for the dark armored vigilante. Mere few feet from hitting him, the Bat threw three batarangs at the vehicle; two projectiles hit the windshield, and the first broke the glass and another struck the driver in the throat and narrowly missing Joker’s face, while the final took out the car’s wheel. The vehicle swerved. J kicked the dying individual out of the driver’s seat, trying to regain control of the car by grabbing the wheel and force it back into the proper lane, but it was too late. It hit something and the world t i l t e d. The screech of sparking metal, putter of an engine dying, was annoying. Oh. Dying.

Laughing again, that’s how ol’ Batsy Batsy Batsy, found him. Or dragged him out of the tin can of a car. 

“It’s over Joker.”

“Then do it! K-Kill me!” Suspended in mid-air, held up by the throat, J spread his arms in an arcing motion. “DO IT!” He could see the indecision. The rage. And something so dark and delicious, that all it needed was a push. “COME ON! Put me out my misery, just like I did your precious little R-OOMPH!”

He was punched in the gut. Dropped unceremoniously to the ground as he vomited his lunch back up. “O-Oh, hit a sore poin--” A right hook to the jaw shut him up. Then a left. An uppercut. Joker was laying on the ground, groaning and laughing with pain as Gotham’s supposed savior sat on his chest, repeatedly punching him in the face. The world went dark after the seventh blow. § 

You didn’t know what it was that woke you up so suddenly, except an acute feeling of wrongness. Your face felt swollen and bruised although no one had hit you, your limbs bound by something tight; you processed this all in a few seconds, the exact amount of seconds it took to realize that there was a stranger in your, J’s, bedroom and he was about to stab you. In the span of a single breath, time was suspended as attempted killer and intended victim stared at each other, then, without even thinking twice, you rolled, hitting the ground hard and landing on your shoulder.

Shock waves of pain rolled up and down, as well as through you. The pained scream that tore from your lungs was loud but the assailant would not be deterred. He approached you quickly again and was about to swipe at you when the door was kicked in.

It was Leo.

He didn’t waste a second telling the person to stand down and just started shooting. Romina, where the hell she even came from you didn’t know, seamlessly moving around the dark haired man, getting you up on your feet and hustling you out of the room. Leo covered the two of you, which was more than necessary as more men were coming from each which way. You didn’t know who they were but as they were cutting down the staff and some of J’s men, you knew they weren’t friendly.

“Get in there!” With firm hands, Romina shoved you into a room, slamming the door shut. Frost was already inside, features placid and calm, gun out and at the ready. His large frame dwarfing and almost blocking the sight of a pregnant red haired female.

“What’s going on?” Frost said nothing, merely unbuttoned his suits jacket, draping it around you. “What the fuck is going on?” He raised a finger to his lips, a wordless command to shut the hell up and normally you would protest but when a thump hit the door, you went quiet.

For hours and hours and hours, gunshots rang out followed by the screams and yells of the dead and dying. It was early morning, maybe dawn, when the walkie talkie, sitting on the desk let out some static and then you heard Romina saying that she and Leo were coming back.

“Is it over?” The redhead inquired in a trembling voice. “It’s over, right? That means that I can go home.”

“What even happened? I’m completely lost here.” Waving my hands around with agitation, I glanced at the taller man who, after saying ‘Copy’, into the device, had clicked it off and set it back down. “Someone tried to kill me. How did that person even get inside?”

“They just came out of nowhere. They, they, they knew the hidden passageways and emergency exits. Frankie didn’t even…” Overcome with emotion, the pregnant lady couldn’t continue.

“We have a snitch.” That’s the first thing that came out Leo’s mouth when he burst into the room, ignoring how Frost had a gun leveled on his forehead, finger on the trigger, and the small scream the pregnant woman let out. You had jumped too but feeling safer in the daylight, you thought her reaction to be a little dramatic. “Or at least we had one until Lucy Liu here got all overzealous with working him over.”

“Say that to my face, and I’ll come over there and kick your ass, you self righteous pussy.” Romina snapped, getting all up in Leo’s space. It should have been intimidating, but as she was an inch or two shorter, it just seemed silly. “You’re just upset that I had the balls to do what you couldn’t.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me if you did have a cock underneath those jeans. Wanna whip it out and see who’s bigger?”

Frost whistled sharply, causing the bickering duo to pause. “The boss is gone. I noticed some of Penguin’s guys, a few of the Riddler’s and the one who got into the boss’ room is Two-Face’s specialty. Did you kill them or not?”

“We got them.” Romina spoke firmly. Looking at the pregnant woman, her tone gentled. “You can go, Myra. Would you like an escort home?”

“No, I…No, thank you.” Despite Myra’s weak protests, Romina took her by the arm, saying something that was probably comforting in a too low voice, closing the door behind them both as she left, most likely to be an escort for her anyway. Looking at the remaining two men in the room, Jonny’s feature placid, while Leo couldn’t hold eye contact, the feeling of wrongness increased. 

“Where is J? He wouldn’t miss the chance to be apart of something like this.”

For a long time, neither said anything. “The Bat got Mister J.” Leo rubbed the back of his neck. “He’s in Arkham Asylum.”

Again, there was this long period of silence. “…What?”

“It’s an institution for the criminally in–”

With an impatient hand, you cut him off, “I know what it is! Mother and Father used to funnel money there all the time to pay for better security, better staffing. I know… What I want to understand is what happened, why attack us in this specific place, at this time?” As you spoke, you paced back and forth. “There was a snitch, as Leo said. Who was it? Who are our enemies, who are our allies?” Taking a deep breath, you glance at them both. “Tell me everything.”

And so the explaining began. Jonny even brought a couple maps, blueprints, anything current and relevant to the situation currently happening. During that time spent talking, Romina came back with clothes for you to change into, obligingly standing guard while you used the bathroom and got dressed into something presentable.

Then the conversation continued.

“So, to summarize, Two-Face, the Penguin and Riddler are all making moves to seize J’s territories while he’s locked away in Arkham?” Looking at Jonny for confirmation, only to receive a single nod. “I…” Breathing in deep, glancing around the room at Romina, Leo, and Jonny. These were the people who knew how to fight best, who would do their best to support you. “Letting them do that is obviously not going to happen and I have some ideas but implementing them might be tricky, a little bit scary and crazy.”

“Girl, we got you. Just tell us.” the black haired woman said in a gruff tone.

“There are abandoned buildings here and here…” Pointing at the map on the table. “And a sewer connected to both areas here…” Grabbing a marker, you start circling little points. “If we do this just right, we can come up from behind and ambush them while the ‘peace talks’ are happening.”

“I feel there’s a ‘but’ in there.” Leo commented wryly.

“Killer Croc lives down there and I don’t think he’d appreciate the boys dropping in unannounced into his home.” Leo stared at you with blatant horror. Jonny’s features were serene. 

Romina...Romina looked thoughtful.

Before you could try and further explain your point, Jonny’s cellphone rang. Glancing at the brunette, you watched a practically one-sided conversation occurred, with him occasionally grunting and making affirmation noises to signify that he was listening. Once the call ended, he glanced at Romina. 

“The Penguin rescinded his claim for the Smile and Grin Club. He still wants to talk to....” He crooked his fingers. “‘Joker’s woman’.” Crossing his arms, he gave you an indescribable look. “Says he has valuable information.”

“Oswald doesn’t want any backlash. He’s always been afraid of J.” Romina explained, taking note of how confused you still looked. Nodding, you accepted that. “If we meet him right now in a neutral area, it’ll be showing that you understand he made a mistake.”

Leo scoffed. “A ‘mistake’? This guy knew exactly what he was doing, He’s pussying out because everyone knows that Arkham doesn’t hold the Joker for long.” Romina rolled her eyes. He glanced at you. “Meet him at the very club he was trying to claim, then you show him that nothing is forgiven.”

“Must you do everything in your power to one-up me? Is your masculinity that fragile?”

“Excuse you?”

“Last I checked, neither of you were the Boss’ woman.” Jonny cut in, ending the escalating argument before it could change into an all out screaming match, as it was known to do. “Miss Y/N, what’s your next move?” Caught like a deer in the headlights, you had the attention of both Leo and Romina, both of them were your protectors, but they had very different view points and valid concerns. 

“....Tell him to meet us at the Smile and Grin.” Although you were looking at Jonny’s face, you heard Leo crow with delight and could practically feel Romina radiating disappointment. “We’re not going in there to break his arms or legs but his actions cannot be ignored. So, only one of you will accompany me.”

“Wait, what? No!” Just as easily, Leo’s good mood evaporated. Romina didn’t look very surprised. “It’s my job to protect you.”

“I’ve said what I had to say.” Looking at Jonny once more, you asked, “What time is the meeting supposed to take place?”

“Midnight. I’ll tell him the location has changed.”

“Good. That gives us time to clean this place up. Get reinforcements to move to this house to secure it.”

Although you didn’t know it at the time, this is the pivotal moment where Jonny, Leo and Romina started to see you as Joker’s Queen, and not the little girl bequeathed the title but really didn’t know anything. They watched, quietly impressed, as you actually participated in getting the scene of the carnage and destruction cleared away. You didn’t turn your nose up at the arriving goons who also joined in to help get the place looking decent. 

That took the better half of the day. 

Once everything was fixed up and tidied as best it could, the time was nearly eleven p.m. Romina hurried you through the showering process and you dressed quickly. That all done, you were seen off by a stoic Jonny and agitated Leo. There was no time to reassure either of them that things would be fine since in a squeal of tires, Romina drove away, the motorcycle pretty much hidden underneath darkness of the night.

Arriving at the Smile and Grin should have taken twenty minutes, tops, with the speed she was going. The two of you never made it there. He never had any intentions of letting you arrive at the meeting place. The creature you thought was a myth but was whispered about even in socialite circles.

The Dark Knight. Batman.

You could only vaguely make out his figure standing in the middle of the street and saw him throw something. Whatever that was, it exploded, flipping the bike, and subsequently, Romina and you, off and suspended in midair. Time seemed to slow down as you met the eyes of the caped crusader, in your peripherals, you could see Romina reaching out, futilely trying to catch or shield you. Then you closed your eyes and your body hit the ground with an unforgiving vengeance. 

“Y/N!!!!” The yell of your name was the last you heard and the Batman’s cowl as he leaned over you before you lost consciousness.

The next time that you woke up, it was in a comfortable bed. These sheets, that ceiling...You knew this place. But, that meant...No. Shaking your head, you threw the covers off of you, seeing the expertly applied bandages on your arm, leg and torso.

Knock-Knock!

Grabbing the clock off the bed side dresser, you launched it at the door just as it opened. That didn’t stop the individual from entering, revealing it to be Bruce Wayne. The bad feeling in your stomach increased and you glared at him. 

“You were in an accident.”

“That you caused.”

“Batman caused the accident.”

Snorting, you laughed a bit hysterically. “Dissociate much? Bruce, you are Batman. The same vigilante that tried to murder me in the street, like a mongrel.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be you. The woman, Romina, she was meant to be alone. Meet Cobblepot by herself. By the time I noticed that you were also on the bike, it was too late. Besides, we have something else to address.”

“More than you needing to be administered to Arkham for possible psych evaluation? Do enlighten me.”

Bruce, tired of the games, reached out and snagged your wrist, the one that wasn’t injured. “Do you think I’m a fool?”

“What the hell are you doing? Get off!”

“I know your parents made a deal with the Joker.”

The expression, ‘you could hear a pin drop’ is appropriate after his declaration. There wasn’t any need for you to say anything, judging by his darkening expression. “He’s not a good person, Y/N. Why can’t you wake up and see that?” Bruce yelled right in your face but you didn’t flinch away.

“So, you think that you’re the city’s savior? Wearing a suit of a flying rodent, beating up criminals and throwing them in jail just so they can break out later, you think, you think that makes you superior? Why don’t you open your eyes, the Gotham that you’re trying to protect doesn’t exist. It never did!”

“You’ve changed.” Bruce said with growing horror. “He’s gotten to you, warped you.”

“No. I just… I’m awake now. The Wayne family, my family, several other elites, we were supposed to be the pillars of the community. To give to those in need. Throwing a couple million dollars at a charity or orphanage doesn’t make you…” Placing your hands on your head, you do a little spin, exhaling explosively. “Have you even seen the Narrows, the West Hills? We have failed.”

“Just because one part of the city is rotten doesn’t mean the entire city deserves to be painted in the same brush.”

“I can see that I might as well be speaking a foreign language to you because you just don’t get it. Even I still struggle to understand but you’re not even trying and… Never mind, Bruce. Batman. Whatever you call yourself when you fight crime in your pajamas.”

Backing away from you, shaking his head, Bruce walked back towards the door he’d entered, slamming it on the way out. Running over there, you twisted the knob but it was locked. 

This arrogant little fuck boy didn’t know who he was dealing with if thought a locked door was going to cage you. Glancing at the window, a slow smile spread your full lips. 

[tessbenser]

Three On a Match: Chapter 1

Chapter preview below the cut. 

August, 1994

Frances ***

If anyone had terrible luck, it was Frances Murphy. Not just bad luck, not merely a haphazard pile of unfortunate circumstances jumbled together like a badly tossed salad of crappy events. Honest to God, unequivocally terrible luck. If something were going to happen to Frances Murphy, putting money on it going poorly was a safe bet.

The alarm blasted a deafening shriek. Before Frances could even gather herself enough to groan in an appropriate manner to the jarring jolt back into consciousness from a dream which wasn’t a gargantuan pile of suck, she was hit square in the face by a down pillow with unfairly sharp corners, one of which caught her in the eye. “Get up, fuckwit!”

Frances blinked sluggishly, slamming her fist down on the clock radio to silence the racket.

Margot carried on shouting, “If you make me late, I swear to god I will circulate as many copies of that picture of you running around in your first training bra as I can afford to print. And I babysat. All summer!”

Frances frowned at her sister, the foul-mouthed pillow flinger who had taken it upon herself to ensure Frances’s misery over the last three months. It appeared she was to be unwavering in her efforts at the dawn of the school year. “It’s only 5:45. Did you change my alarm?”

Margot rolled her eyes. “Oh my God, Frances, it’s like you’re trying to be a dipshit.” Her little sister’s angelic and impeccably made up face contorted to something horrible and ugly when she swore. The pure, unabashed disdain matched Margot’s dark red and gray cheerleading uniform incredibly well. “I have to be there early. Melanie and Courtney want to show me my locker and where all the other cheerleaders meet before school starts, so I need to be early. Super early. I told you this, like, four times!”

Margot had spent the entire summer bragging to Frances about the apparently impressive feat of making the J.V. Cheer Squad as an incoming “freshie.” According to Melanie-and-Courtney, the two-headed conventionally attractive cheerleading monster that had apparently adopted Margot, her achievement was something akin to walking on water, raising the dead, and curing acne with the wave of a single pom. Before Frances moved back home, Margot hadn’t expressed an interest in cheerleading but after Melanie-and-Courtney’s prescribed diet of regurgitated jock cock or something, Margot was a total convert to the teenage cult of popularity.

“Christ, Frankie! I do not have time for your dipshitery! I would like to make a decent impression at this school even if you don’t. Get up right now!”

Frances cast a withering look at her sister, and then rolled out of bed before another down pillow in a pastel case could make contact with her already sore face. She slouched past her teeny tiny cute baby sister and tried to remember a time when she didn’t look at Perfect Margot without her guts twisting in dislike. She and Margot had never been braid-each-other’s-hair besties, but they had once upon a time existed a bit more peacefully. Or so Frances thought she remembered. Her mind was awfully cluttered with other garbage these days; it was hard to keep track of the minute details of whether or not she had ever gotten along with her Precious Baby Sister.

Once she was locked in the bathroom, Frances raked a hand through her long, colorless hair and dropped the boxer shorts she had worn to sleep on the floor. She bent over the tub, twisting the taps to turn on the shower, and then pulled her massive, sleeveless “WORLD’S GREATEST DAD” shirt over her head. She quickly peed while squatting over the toilet, and then stepped into the shower spray before she got any wise ideas about slinking back to bed.

Last year before the first day of school, she had climbed up the drain pipe and through her bedroom window at five in the morning. She’d hidden her clothes in a garbage bag stashed in the back of the closet because they smelled like gasoline, bonfire, and weed and fallen asleep in a matching pajama set she never actually wore, looking the picture of innocence. An hour and a half later when her Dad came in to wake her, Frances had put on an Oscar-worthy performance, convincing him that she had lost track of time studying to prepare for the Ever-So-Important Junior Year at Saint Francis that she got to bed late, and no really Daddy, that’s why I slept through my alarm.

Frances snorted as she shampooed her hair. That was back before her Dad had even considered that his Gorgeous Frankie could ever be anything less than an honest, innocent little lamb. Back before her Dad could even fathom calling his child a whore.

Frances tilted her head back, rinsing the shampoo out of her hair.

“You look like shit, Frankenberry.”

“Oh Sam… You’re just jealous you didn’t spend your evening fucking The Man or any man for that matter.”

“Before the first day of school? I’m so disappointed in you. Let’s go pray about it.”

The memory skittered unwelcomed and uncoordinated across the forefront of her mind like a spider. It was a clumsy, clunky conversation, one that seemed to Frances pathetic and naive in hindsight. Nothing was ever smooth between Sam and Frances, and for maybe the hundred-thousandth time since May, a dark discomfort spread from Frances’s belly through her limbs, cool and unpleasant, at the thought of him. She was so ashamed. She was so ashamed and embarrassed, both that she missed Sam and that they had been so stupid.

There was a violent successive thumping on the door. “WHAT PART OF EARLY IS NOT PENETRATING YOUR SKULL?”

“NOT A GOOD ENOUGH REASON TO USE THE WORD PENETRATE, MARGOT!”

Frances wondered if you could drown in a shower. Frances knew you could drown in a glass of water, so a shower could do the job, couldn’t it?

“COME ON FRANCES!”

Frances twisted off the taps. She stepped out of the shower and started violently toweling off her hair, as if she could begin undoing the shame she carried around with her by making her hair dry. As if she could be clean, free of it, if she just got herself put together in this fogged up bathroom.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the steam-clouded mirror just as she was heading out of the bathroom and averted her eyes. Frances hadn’t liked mirrors, not in months. As a child she had been a classic narcissist, obsessed with her fair complexion and fine, smooth hair. All of that had disintegrated since the Spring. There was nothing to see there anymore. Nothing worth looking at. Certainly nothing worth admiring.

“It’s almost six fifteen!” Margot moaned dramatically from just outside the door. “C’mon, you promised we could get there early. Please? Please please please?”

Frances turned to snap at her sister but – in perhaps the very first and last display of warmth she would show Margot in 1994 – she chose to bite back the caustic retort she had prepared. Frances took a breath. Took another. Looked her sister in the eyes and said, “Can you just give me like… ten minutes to get dressed?”

Margot rolled her eyes, but she and her brilliant new white sneakers trounced off to the living room to let Frances get dressed in peace. She selected a pair of cut off jean shorts and a black shirt from a still not unpacked box in the corner. Her mother had been on her case about unpacking all of her things since she’d been exiled here after Memorial Day, but Frances was more than comfortable with being difficult. She supposed now that she would be wearing clothes other than her work uniform or her pajamas, it might be worth it to move the clothes from old beer boxes and back into her actual drawers for convenience sake.

And yet.

Something about the idea of moving the artifacts of her destroyed life into the baby pink plywood furniture of her childhood seemed far too morbid.

“FRANCES! COME ON!”

“God, Margot, keep your briefs on!” Frances shouted back, hopping around, pulling on a treasured pair of Doc Martens and tying a worn old red flannel around her waist. She hoisted her backpack over her shoulder and took one single deep breath. Frances emerged from her bedroom, feeling perhaps the first glimmer of optimism at the prospect of a new start at this new school. Couldn’t be all bad, right?

“That’s what you’re wearing? God, do not tell a soul we’re related. I’ll be the laughing stock of the squad if they find out I came from the same family as the Sexy Lumberjack.”

Well, so much for that theory.

Ben ***

Despite overwhelming opportunity to disprove this thesis, Benjamin Franklin had utterly fantastic luck.

Even when circumstances seemed to dictate that his luck should be shit, the universe seemed to smile upon him. Take, for example, his totally embarrassing name.

His name was Benjamin Franklin. No middle name. He shared his name with a founding

father and a chain of craft stores. His dorky parents had let their ridiculous obsession with the American Revolution overwrite the parts of their brains that did logic when he was born, and in choosing the name Benjamin Franklin, they had essentially damned him to a life of people thinking he was a) kidding b) lying or c) utterly insane whenever he said his name.

And yet, as luck would have it, Ben was actually pretty good at steering into the skid that was his sort of embarrassing name. He would play along, and people thought that was grand, By the time he was ten, Ben could charm the pants off any passerby who thought to inquire about his name.

That was just the kind of life that Ben had. It was a lucky one. His parents, history nerds though they were, were doting, supportive, and kind. His siblings were significantly younger than he was, but rather than being bratty or attention hogging, Abbie and Georgie were generally pretty self-contained and well-behaved. Even though he attended the same school where his father taught history, Mr. Franklin was by far the most well liked teacher at Antioch Community High School, considered smart and funny and fair by most students, and Ben too enjoyed a level of popularity as a result.

And it was this, and only this, that gave Ben the ability to pull himself out of bed on the first morning of his senior year of school. Things had been shit these last few weeks, but things usually just worked out for him. He just needed to get over himself and get out of bed. Things would work out. Things always did.

Ben yanked off the covers, standing to stretch. He let himself shift into autopilot, going about the same morning routine he’d had for the last five years. Skipping and hopping over the piles of clothes and and other debris, he got dressed without thinking too hard about it - he had to spend the day babysitting freshmen for National Honor Society, so he had to wear the navy NHS shirt anyway. He was lacing his shoes when a knock came at his door.

“Ben, Daddy says fifteen minutes,” A tiny voice squeaked through the door. Ben stood up, snatching up his backpack slouched against the wall near the door, and opened the door. His little brother, George, was standing outside, all dressed in his first day of school outfit: a striped polo, new khakis that were a bit too big, and brand new sneakers that lit up when he walked. These shoes had real shoelaces, a fact that George had been rubbing in his little sister Abbie’s face since their mom had made her get Velcro shoes when they went shopping two weeks ago. George was starting the second grade; Abbie was starting first.

“Okay, I’m heading down,” Ben said, smiling as he stopped to ruffle Georgie’s bowl cut.

“Staaaaaaahp,” George whined, pushing Ben’s hand away. “Now it’s all messed up!” He was frantically smoothing out his hair, and Ben shook his head, smiling. Little Georgie was awfully finicky about his appearance for a seven year old boy. Their younger sister Abbie was content to show up to school in a mismatched outfit with her hair in a frizzy halo of red curls covered in mud, but George wasn’t happy until he had examined and approved everything their mom put out for him.

“Okay, kiddo, let’s go eat breakfast,” Ben said eventually, putting his hand on Georgie’s shoulder and nudging him toward the stairs. George took off at a run, and Ben groaned because he was sure that he would be in a full tantrum by the time he got to the foot of the stairs because Ben dared to touch his hair.

...Of course he was right. George was red faced and motor-mouthing to their mother by the time Ben ambled into the kitchen. His luck really wasn’t what it used to be.

“Morning,” his father said, looking up over his cereal. Joseph Franklin was the only self-respecting man approaching middle age who thought nothing of starting his day with Fruit Loops.

Ben nodded, heading over to the coffee pot and pouring himself a cup before moving to sit down at the table.

“Mom says that’ll make you short,” Abbie said from across the table. She was a sight, wearing yellow tights, a yellow tutu, and a yellow sweatshirt. She was sitting on her feet so she could see properly across the table, but Ben supposed she had managed to put on yellow shoes as well. “Mom says coffee will make you short,” She repeated when Ben didn’t respond. “She says it ‘stunts your growth.’”

“I’m already pretty tall,” Ben said, rolling his eyes.

“Benjamin, please stop being so grumpy,” His mother scolded as she stepped into the room, George hiding behind her legs. She was wearing a red blazer with shoulder pads that made her look kind of like a football player. Her hair was teased high in a way that seemed to only be popular among teachers and administrators these days.

“He’s just nervous about the big day.”

“What’s there to be nervous about?” Ben said quickly, feeling his blood pressure rise. He was fine. They were the ones with an issue.

“Well, you know, first day of senior year. First day of school since Penny…” His father trailed off, perhaps realizing how god damned insensitive he was being.

Since Penny had left for college, since Penny had dumped him over Dairy Queen saying he was “too depressing to be around these days,” since Penny had decided to turn into a total bitch and never actually call him to say if she got to Northwestern alright even though she promised she would and swore that they would still be friends? The possibilities were endless.

Ben breathed heavily out of his nose. He counted to three and reminded himself that he was Ben Franklin. Things just worked out for him, even when they sucked.

“Well we should hit the road,” His father said, rinsing his cereal bowl and moving smoothly toward the attached garage as if he hadn’t just accidentally reminded Ben of all the reasons he did not want to go to school that day. His dad stopped, kissing Abbie, Georgie, and their mom all on the tops of their heads as they bent over the table to finish their breakfasts, and then grabbed his keys from the hook over the counter. “Ready, Ben? Let’s motor.” He pressed the button for their new automatic garage door opener.

“God Dad, just…. don’t. Say. That.” Ben said, dumping out his coffee and following his dad out into the garage. He flung himself into the passenger seat heavily, and his dad fiddled with the radio for a moment before backing out of the driveway.

“Buckle up,” his dad said after a moment, and Ben heaved an uncharacteristically moody sigh as he pulled the seat belt around himself. “You alright, champ? You seem a bit more riddled with teen angst than is your usual MO.”

“Why do you talk like that?” Ben found himself wondering aloud, the words spewing from his mouth before he could remember that his dad wasn’t actually the reason he was a in an awful mood.

Joseph Franklin had always been an incredibly patient human being, and he very politely did not react to Ben’s unnecessary level of snark. “I’m just worried about you,” he said, as if Ben had never spoken at all. “You have not been your usual self since Penny left for school. I know it’s not easy, bud, but that’s fairly common when it comes to first loves. That’s why they are firsts. They end, and there are lots after.”

“Says the guy who married his high school sweetheart.”

“We’re the exception, not the rule kiddo. Your mother and I were made for each other.”

“And me and Penny weren’t?”

“Don’t get defensive,” His father said, stopping at a stoplight. “I’m only saying that I know you feel bad, but that you can’t just expect to feel better by throwing all that badness at other people.” He made the turn into the staff parking lot, continuing to go on about being a good person and a good example, especially since Ben was National Honor Society president and he was going to working with impressionable freshmen all day, but Ben kind of just tuned him out, hoping that he could just stay positive and not bite anyone else’s head off during school today.

His father parked the car, and Ben hurried out before his dad had even finished telling him to have a good first day. Ben strode inside with single minded resolve to throw his shit in his locker and stop being a total dick for the rest of the day. Things worked out for him. He just needed to tap into some as of us untouched internal source of luck.

He reached his locker without incident, the school still sparsely populated with forty-five minutes still to go until the school day started. He had to try his combination twice to get the damn thing open.

“Hey white boy!” Ben looked up as he was closing the door to see his best friend, Joel, striding toward him with the kind of confidence that nobody wearing a National Honor Society shirt had any right to have. “Heading to cafeteria to herd some ninth graders?”

“Yeah, in a sec.”

If Ben had to pick a favorite thing about Joel Clark, it was his complete unwillingness to discuss emotional matters. When Penny had unceremoniously dumped Ben in the Dairy Queen parking lot two weeks ago, Joel had taken the news like a weather report, blinking twice before summarizing, “Oh, that’s bull,” and then dragging Ben to an end of the summer kegger that some mutual acquaintance was throwing. None this “first love” garbage that Ben’s parents had been spouting, nothing mushy or fabricated like the few girl friends he had run into since the dumping. Just beer and an agreement that Penny sucked and they didn’t talk about her anymore.

“So… should we do the whole ‘Senior Year is gonna kill it, we’re totally getting laid’ bit, or is that too Fast Times at Ridgemont High?” Ben asked as he and Joel took off the hall.

“I feel like it’s more like Carrie.”

“Skipping it then?”

“Oh, absolutely. Can’t tempt fate.”

“They always kill the black guy first,” Ben said.

Joel stopped, flinging an arm across Ben’s chest to stop him. “Dude, that’s racist,” He said in a serious voice.

They locked eyes for a moment.

Joel laughed first, like he always did, and Ben laughed with him. Joel shoved Ben playfully, Ben stumbled a little for dramatic effect, and they started off down the hall again.

Joel and Ben stepped into the cafeteria, totally empty except for the small group of navy NHS t-shirts all gathered around a table in the far corner.

They got greeted by a smattering of “hey Ben”s and “hey Joel”s as they took up their spaces in the group, falling easily into routine just-back-from-break questions.

“Sorry to hear about you and Penny,” Sarah Freeman said in the middle of the business as usual conversation, and the whole group went completely silent.

“Thanks, I guess,” Ben mumbled, feeling heat climb in his face. He was so over talking about this.

“Okay, people, buses are arriving!” sang Mrs. Williamson, the NHS advisor. “Please remember to be polite and friendly as you help the new students find their way around. And stop telling people about the pool on the third floor, Dominic, we all know it was you last year.”

Sam ***

Samuel Keddy knew better than to believe in luck.

Luck was something for children, like Santa Claus and the saying “everything happens for a reason.” It wasn’t real, it didn’t mean anything, and it certainly should not be impacting the way a person lived their life. That was the mistake that people usually made, Sam thought, trusting that the universe was controlled by something as stupid as luck.

In the fourth grade, Sam had this stupid blue rabbit’s foot he had carried around, hoping that if he kept it close, luck would win out and save him the horrors of having his lunch stolen by the sixth graders.

He didn’t eat his lunch once in the fourth grade. It was always stolen, and he was always hungry, and nobody and nothing did a thing to change it. On the last day of the fourth grade, he chucked the damned rabbit’s foot at the head of Chuck Finn, one of his sixth grade enemies. The end result was a fist fight, which nobody won, because the playground attendant broke it up right after they had each landed a swing. Sam started the next school year with a note about disciplinary problems on his permanent record and a week of detention. Luck? Fuck no. A lie, like justice and fairness and Santa Claus. Something to tell the kids to help them sleep at night.

So Sam knew there was no such thing as luck. The world wasn’t nearly that organized.

“Samuel!”

Sam pulled the covers over his head.

He heard his door open. “Sam, you need to get up right now,” his mother’s commanding voice invaded his bedroom, and he heard her click on the lights. “I need to be in the office in forty minutes, I will drop you on the way, but you need to get up right now.”

Sam rolled over, firmly keeping the blanket over his head.

“Damn it, Sam, now!” He heard his door slam and the flimsy wooden cross above the door clattered to the floor. Sam slowly turned over, and after a moment of deliberate stalling, he pulled himself upright. He took his sweet time pulling on his white dress shirt, gray pants, and his navy blazer with the St. Francis crest on the breast pocket. He did up his shoes, annoyed to discover that they were a little tight - like his mother said they would be when she had tried to drag him shopping last week. Sam wondered how long he would be able to put up with the pinching of his toes before he finally agreed to let his mother buy him new shoes.

He glanced briefly in a mirror and saw that his dark hair was a long, stringy, dirty mess that certainly did not abide by his private school’s dress code. Good. If they were making him go back – and they were making him go back, no matter how much he had protested and fought and whined and bargained with his parents and the administration – he wasn’t going to come quietly.

Sam cut through the foyer to avoid saying goodbye to his father and went immediately to sit in the passenger seat of his mother’s Jetta.

“God, do something with that hair of yours,” Sam’s mother said, slamming the door as she climbed into the driver’s seat in a pair of royal blue scrubs. Her black hair was tied up in a neat plait, her bangs hanging heavily over her eyebrows. When she didn’t fluff them up and spray them, Sam thought the bangs made his mother look incredibly young. Like an anime character who ought to have been wearing a sailor suit uniform instead of scrubs.

His mother rooted in her purse and tossed a small, foldable hairbrush at him. Sam let it bounce to the floor while his mother pulled out of the driveway.

“Surgery today?” Sam asked, ignoring the hairbrush and playing around with the radio until his favorite rock station from Chicago came in clearly.

“Jesus, Sam,” His mother said, switching off the radio. “Fix your damn hair. You know how much trouble your father and I went to to keep you in school, and you will show up looking presentable.”

“I don’t even know why–”

“I don’t want to hear it, Sam!” His mother shouted, braking suddenly at a stoplight and flinging her arm out so it hit Sam’s chest and kept him from flying forward. “Put on your seat belt for Christ’s sake!”

Sam rolled his eyes, but nonetheless buckled himself up.

“We have been over it a thousand times. We are keeping you in this school so that you can actually get an education! We want you to stay in one place, to learn something, and now that that girl-”

“Mom, for the last time, none of this was Frankie’s fault-”

“Sam! Enough! I don’t need to explain this to you again. You are going to stay at St. Francis’s because I said so. You are going to stay out of trouble, because I said so. You’re going to join an academic club, and you’re going to improve your grades, and you’re going to go to a good college like your sisters because I said so! Is that clear?”

Sam shook his head in disbelief. “Why is it the end of the world if I don’t do well in school? Worried about what the other moms will think?”

A look crossed his mother’s face lightning fast, and it occurred to him that she could kill them both with a sharp jerk of the steering wheel. He’d hit the soft spot. His mom, Dr. Lily Keddy, had been trying desperately to fit in with the other parents at Sam’s schools, with the neighbors on their block, with her co-workers for as long as Sam could remember, but it was never easy or smooth. There was always judgment: judgment about her having married a man with two preteen girls, judgment because she was a surgeon while her husband worked in insurance, judgement because she had been in the Navy, judgment because she had married a white man and adopted his white daughters but then dared to produce a kid who was definitely not white...

They had pulled into the school’s parking lot. “Can you just drop me off here?”

His mom stopped the car, her brown eyes flashing as she through the car into park. “I’ll walk you to your first damn class if I have to, Samuel. You’re going to do better this year, is that understood?”

“Yeah, fine, got it! Whatever!”

“And drop the goddamned attitude!” Sam’s mother shouted.

“In a church!” Sam shouted as he unbuckled and pointed to the steeple of the chapel on the high school’s campus.

“I think God will understand! He had a smart ass for a son too!”

Sam slammed the door of the car, his hands curling into tight fists. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to just become this perfect kid his mother thought he should become. He had been trying for as long as he could remember, but Sam had never been able to measure up to his sisters Dorian and Iris who were perfect and brilliant and responsible. Dorian was a lawyer, and Iris had started her surgical residency, and Sam was the fuck-up.

Sam had always been the fuck-up, who struggled in school and couldn’t play nice and who stole money from a Catholic School fundraiser to pay for an abortion. He argued with teachers, his grades were unimpressive, his focus was shit and his talents mediocre. Sam was good at the guitar and good with fixing cars, but his parents didn’t reward that. Those weren’t desirable strengths. They were signs that he simply wasn’t applying himself in the areas that his parents thought mattered. He just got trapped in the middle of the road, never being good enough for his parents or bad enough to get sent away from them.

Sam hurried to his first class, slinking into the only empty seat just two minutes before the bell was set to ring, earning a sidelong glance from the teacher.

“Hey, sweetheart, having a rough morning?”

Sam turned to see he had chosen the seat in front of Jim Peterson, who was possibly the worst human he had ever had the misfortune of encountering. Jim was your typical brand of asshole, who liked to zero in all everything that made a person different and then make sure that everyone around him noticed too. When it came to Sam, Jim had a few favorites he liked to share: Sam being half Japanese, Sam getting caught ditching gym class to smoke cigarettes and having to serve weeks of detention by cleaning up the bathrooms after school, and Sam being the only person who still talked to Frances at the time that she got kicked out of school last year.

At least Jim never made a big deal out of Sam liking boys.

That was the only secret Sam seemed to still have left. Sam supposed that, if nothing else, those drunken make out sessions with Jim the summer after their sophomore year had bought his silence in that respect. At least Jim hadn’t been the shining example of asshole he was now when they fogged up the windows of Jim’s Volvo… Though that brief escape from Jim’s predictable bullying and assorted other bullshit was mostly Frances’s doing.

Frances had been really very popular, due mostly to having an older boyfriend who bought beer for underage morons, until she broke up with Kurt and was expelled last May. Apparently Jim and his jock friends only liked the parties, and when those stopped, Frances, and Sam by association, were quickly phased out of the reigning teen royalty at St. Francis. Before long, Sam was back to being shoved into lockers, called unrepeatable names, and having zero friends at this damn school.

“Come on, Spicy Tuna Roll, how come you won’t talk to me? Run late because you were working in the rice field?” Jim leered, and his other jock friends tittered with low laughter as their teacher brought the class to order.

Jim was too stupid to even properly be racist. He started miming karate chops and reversing his R’s and L’s just before the class let out, and Sam bit his tongue. His mother would be so proud. As the jocks all chuckled and high fived over Jim’s blatant display of racism and idiocy, Sam decided he needed to put his foot down. He was not going to spend his senior year of high school playing punching bag to the closet case who was far too comfortable living in a shit hole excuse for a suburb.

Parents be damned, he just wasn’t capable of shutting up and staying out of trouble.

Sam winked at Jim on his way out of class. “Catch you later, stud.” Sam exaggerated the swing of his hips as he walked out of the door on his way to gym class, and there was a collective “ohhhhhhh” of schadenfreude from the football and lacrosse players still loitering in the back of the math class.

Sam Keddy didn’t believe in luck because he didn’t have any, good or bad. He just had himself.