#behold the visible effects of the dark side

[epically-epic-epicosity]

The MAGAfication of Matt Gaetz and Kimberly Guilfoyle.

[rhianna]

THE ALHAMBRA. THÉOPHILE GAUTIER.

You enter the Alhambra through a corridor situated in an angle of the Palace of Charles V., and, after several windings, you arrive in a large court, designated indifferently under the names of Patio de los Arraynes (Court of Myrtles), of the Alberca (of the Reservoir), or of the Mezouar (an Arabian word signifying bath for women).

When you issue from these dark passages into this large space flooded with light, the effect is similar to that produced by a diorama. You can almost fancy that an enchanter’s wand has transported you to the Orient of four or five centuries ago. Time, which changes everything in its flight, has altered nothing here, where the apparition of the Sultana Chaîne des cœurs and of the Moor Tarfe in his white cloak would not cause the least surprise....

The antechamber of the Hall of the Ambassadors is worthy of the purpose for which it was intended: the boldness of its arches, the variety and interlacing of its arabesques, the mosaics of its walls, and the work on its stuccoed ceiling, crowded like the stalactite roof of a grotto and painted with azure, green, and red, traces of which colours are still visible, produce an effect both charming and bizarre.

On each side of the door which leads to the Hall of the Ambassadors, in the jamb of the arch itself and where the facing of glazed tiles, whose triangles of glaring colours adorn the lower portion of the walls, are hollowed out, like little chapels, two niches of white marble sculptured with an extreme delicacy. It was here that the ancient310 Moors left their Turkish slippers before entering, as a mark of deference, just as we remove our hats in places that demand this respect.

From the Hall of the Ambassadors you go down a corridor of relatively modern construction to the tocador, or dressing-room of the queen. This is a small pavilion on the top of a tower used by the sultanas as an oratory, and from which you can enjoy a wonderful panorama. You notice at the entrance a slab of white marble perforated with little holes in order to let the smoke of the perfumes312 burned beneath the floor to pass through. You can still see on the walls the fantastic frescoes of Bartholomew de Ragis, Alonzo Perez, and Juan de la Fuente. Upon the frieze the ciphers of Isabella and Philip V. are intertwined with groups of Cupids. It is difficult to imagine anything more coquettish and charming than this room, with its small Moorish columns and its surbased arches, overhanging an abyss of azure, the bottom of which is studded with the roofs of Grenada and into which the breeze brings the perfumes from the Generalife,—that enormous cluster of oleanders blossoming in the foreground of the nearest hill,—and the plaintive cry of the peacocks walking upon the dismantled walls. How many hours have I passed there in that serene melancholy, so different from the melancholy of the North, with one leg hanging over the precipice and charging my eyes to photograph every form and every outline of this beautiful picture unfolded before them, and which, in all probability, they will never behold again! No description in words, or colours, can give the slightest hint of this brilliancy, this light, and these vivid tints. The most ordinary tones acquire the worth of jewels and everything else is on a corresponding scale. Towards the close of day, when the sun’s rays are oblique, the most inconceivable effects are produced: the mountains sparkle like heaps of rubies, topazes, and carbuncles; a golden dust bathes the ravines; and if, as is frequent in the summer, the labourers are burning stubble in the field, the wreaths of smoke, which rise slowly towards the sky, borrow the most magical reflections from the fires of the setting sun....

Turrets, towers, and temples : The great buildings of the world, as seen and… http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/72946

[pawseds]

I named the comic Rough Beginnings because it came to me while I was drawing the comic, and also because that was how I strongly felt about the comic when I was first drawing it LMAO. I kind of hated it when I started doing the line work, but everything got better once I added colours. Now, I think it's alright!

I still think the ending's a bit rushed, but that can't be helped. It is great how little ghostie birdie Merlin from Sparrow Flight's cover wound up to be very plot-relavent, too. She's definitely going to appear in the comics again!

Major shoutout to @katastrofish for their moral support in the week I drew this and for being my second pair of eyes for proofreading! Sketch/thumbnails and the script(!!) are under the cut.

I wrote the script first and then thumbnailed it. And by thumbnailing it, I mean making the canvas small and sketching on it that way. I sketch on a midtone grey because I don't want to burn my eyes, and because I get to add whites that way! (Also I used my iPad for this) (It's the first time I made a full thing on it!) (it's portability is so great, I get to draw between classes and all)

As for the script: one day I read director cut for Zdarsky's first Daredevil issue, saw his script, and decided to steal the format! It's just that I sometimes go over the top in how I describe pages just because I really like to get my ideas down pat. So lo and behold, here it is!

Page 1 1.1 Wide panel. A shot of HRODWYN’s socked feet as they pit-pat across the floor. 1.2 Tall panel. HRODWYN stands in a doorway, limbs pressed to their side, penguin-like. They’re dramatically zoomed out (unnecessary tension). GAVRILL’s figure is in the foreground, dark. 1.3 GAVRILL, face in shadow, catches sight of HRODWYN. Profile headshot. Make it visible he’s unpacking? 1.4 GAVRILL smiles, face no longer in shadow. Borderless panel? Brighter colours. More zoomed in? GAVRILL: What’s up, Hrodwyn?

Page 2 2.1 HRODWYN’s tight-lipped face. Still zoomed out, looking small? Their hands are clutched together, which they stare at. Side view. HRODWYN: Um. I have something for you. 2.2 GAVRILL smiles and stands, also side view. This panel is actually connected to the previous, but the two are still separated into two panels because whooo symbolism or something GAVRILL: What is it? 2.3 A shot of both HRODWYN and GAVRILL looking down at HRODWYN’s hands. Bottom-up shot from the hands’ POV. HRODWYN: We weren’t able to visit you in December. 2.4 Speech bubble from the previous panel connects to this one. It’s a shot of a crochet sparrow in HRODWYN’s hands, with their big eyes in the background. HRODWYN (off): I was going to give you this for Christmas.

Page 3 3.1 Top-left square panel. GAVRILL scoops up the sparrow in his hands, stroking its head. GAVRILL: Oh, Hrodwyn! 3.2 Not really a panel. GAVRILL hugs HRODWYN tight at the centre of their page, kissing the top of their head. HRODWYN face-plants into GAVRILL’s chest. It’s cute and colourful. GAVRILL: Oh, my sweet sparrow, thank you. HRODWYN: You’re welcome. It matches Merethel’s and Hygd’s. GAVRILL: That's very sweet of you. Always so thoughtful.

Page 4 4.1 Shot of GAVRILL’s face as he leans back to peer at HRODWYN. GAVRILL: What about you? Do you have one, too? 4.2 HRODWYN looks up at GAVRILL, blank faced as always. HRODWYN: They're Christmas gifts, for you guys. I won't make myself a Christmas gift for myself. 4.3 Borderless panel with a little graphic of a sparrow nest and GAVRILL. Somehow convey his tone is childish with some particle effects against a plane background lmao idk what am I writing GAVRILL: You should! We can have a little sparrow nest. One for each in the family, hm? 4.4 HRODWYN’s blank face again as they think of what to say. Solid fill background. Thinner panel (a quarter of the page?). HRODWYN: …

Page 5 5.1 HRODWYN makes a sweet, polite, childlike smile. Have the same particle effects (lmao) against the white backdrop. Slightly less  than half panel. HRODWYN: Maybe, if I have the time. 5.2 Background returns to normal. HRODWYN points at the sparrow. HRODWYN: Mm! I can attach a keychain to it, if you like. I did the same for Merethel and Hygd 5.3 Borderless panel. Medium shot of GAVRILL ruffling HRODWYN’s hair and him returning the sparrow. GAVRILL: Sure! Then I can take the little friend wherever I go. Should I give it back to you? HRODWYN: Mmhm. If it breaks, tell me and I'll fix it again. GAVRILL: Mmhm. Thank you, Hrod 5.4 Third row panel. Same shot (but slightly more zoomed out) of them just staring at each other. GAVRILL looks like he wants to say something. It’s awkward. GAVRILL(thought): So what have you been doing GAVRILL(thought): Can you help me unpack GAVRILL(thought): Do you want to help me unpack

Page 6 6.1 Panel that takes up ⅔ of the page? Kind of square. HRODWYN pit-pats back to their room (towards the camera), leaving GAVRILL behind. Weird perspective that makes the distance look longer than it actually is, maybe. 6.2 Close-up of GAVRILL’s face in the same pose he was in the previous panel. He looks disgruntled and takes a breath in. 6.3 Long panel at the bottom that’s shaded (and so is GAVRILL). He looks down, dejected, as he walks back to his room to the right. But mysteriously, a little glowing orange sparrow (MERLIN) peeks out of his hair. GAVRILL: *sigh*

Page 7 7.1 These are all vertical panels growing in width. It’s of GAVRILL, in shadow, walking into his room. His bag’s shape is in the foreground. MERLIN flies along with him. Her speech bubble is different. MERLIN: Hey, don’t worry. 7.2 Same shot, but GAVRILL’s closer. He bends down to open his bag. MERLIN follows. MERLIN: It’ll take time. You’re doing great. 7.3 Borderless panel. GAVRILL holds a family picture, but his thumb covers the twins. LEYNA’s hair in it glows the same colour as MERLIN. GAVRILL (thought): Oh God, I hope so.

Rough Beginnings

First | Prev | Next About the Flight | List of Stories

This was originally a piece of flash fiction. You can read it under the cut. Enjoy!

---

[444 words, 2 minutes]

7 January 2017 Winnipeg, Canada

A little sparrow pit-pats to the front of their father’s bedroom door. They stand outside, small and penguin-like with how their limbs are pressed to their sides. Inside, their father’s ears perk. Gavrill stops his long-overdue unpacking to look at his child.

“What’s up, Hrodwyn?”

Hrodwyn’s lips press together. Their turquoise eyes fall to their cupped hands.

“...Um. I have something for you.”

Gavrill’s eyes light up with his smile. “What is it?”

He stands to walk over. Hrodwyn’s lips remain pursed, small. “We weren’t able to visit in December. I was going to give you this for Christmas.”

They raise their cupped hands and open them. A small crocheted sparrow sits in their hands and they look up at their father with big eyes.

"Oh, Hrodwyn!" Gently, Gavrill scoops up the sparrow in his hands. He strokes its soft head and back with a finger. "Oh, my sweet sparrow, thank you." He pulls Hrodwyn into a hug, squeezes them, and kisses the top of their head. Hrodwyn is tipped over and their face plants straight into their father's chest. They remain there and smile, speaking with a muffled voice. 

"You're welcome. It matches Merethel’s and Hygd's."

"That's very sweet of you. Always so thoughtful," another kiss on the head before Gavrill leans back a bit to peer at Hrodwyn. "What about you? Do you have one, too?"

Hrodwyn leans back and looks up. "They're Christmas gifts, for you guys. I won't make myself a Christmas gift for myself."

"You should! We can have a little sparrow nest," Gavrill chuckles. "One for each in the family, hm?"

Hrodwyn makes a sweet, childlike smile in polite response to their father's childish tone. "Maybe, if I have the time. Mm! I can attach a keychain to it, if you like. I did the same for Merethel and Hygd."

"Sure! Then I can take the little friend wherever I go. Should I give it back to you?"

"Mmhm," a smile and a nod as Hrodwyn scoops the sparrow back in their hands. "If it breaks, tell me and I'll fix it again."

"Mmhm. Thank you, Hrod," Gavrill says again, ruffling their hair. He stands there looking at his child for a while.

So what have you been doing—

Can you help me unpack—

Do you want to help me unpack—

He doesn't commit to an excuse fast enough before Hrodwyn, with the little sparrow nestled in their hands, pit-pat-pit-pats away to attach a keychain. He watches them go, takes a deep breath in, and sighs.

—Hey, don’t worry, she would say. It’ll take time. You’re doing great.

Оh God, I hope so.

[artingabout]

The Queen’s Thief themed nook-book made as a gift for @meganwhalenturner​

Behind the scenes:

My materials:

ae woodene booke

much paper in many layers and shades

craft knife

scissors

foamy-tape-stuff (technical term)

acrylic paints

brushes and roller

pens & coloured pencils

PVA glue

faux gold leafing

resin

metal ruler and cutting mat

milliput

fimo

wire

craft foam boards

card

black tissue

wooden dowels

chalk

This one, I’ve been planning for a while. Originally I was going to do a standard book nook, but then remembered these gorgeous wooden books I’ve had just lying around waiting for a purpose and BEHOLD!

Because I can never keep things simple for myself, I wanted to try different craft styles for each section so I’ll go through them one by one.

Phase 1 was challenging because it’s the shallow left side. I decided to do one of the iconic scenes that stayed with me long after I read the books for the first time in cut paper, because it would let me play with layers and the illusion of depth while also... y’know. Paper. It’s thin.

First off I made a background to add some perspective and depth to the box, so it looked much deeper than it is.I painted on a sky effect and then dug out this gorgeous paper that has a kind of marble texture to it and made the buildings.

Next I did a base sketch of the faces to get the sizes right and snipped out Gen since he has more layers because his arm is foreground.

I didn’t remember to take a picture of the paper I textured for his skin tone, but basically various shades of pinks/reds/browns/whites applied to watercolour paper in erratic layers to get some texture and depth. It’s sort of visible on the hand (which was the first piece I cut out and it strikes me as ironic that it’s the piece I kept losing because I was working on my living room floor 😅)

For Attolia, I picked different papers/cards to use, specifically a rather nice handmade off-white paper with dark red rose petals imbedded in it to serve as her alabaster skin with the smudge of blood.

Nothing says love like floating heads, amirite? I added some layers to Attolia’s hair and coiled the strands of the ringlets around a cocktail stick to get the curls. The crown and earring are both faux-gold-leaf card with slivers of resin as rubies. So much gold-leaf everywhere. SO MUCH. Details were added with a fine-tipped pen and some shading with coloured pencils.

The layers. So many layers. I think Gen has about 15 separate pieces to him. For his sleeves, I added some texture by using a rubber patterned stamp and copper ink, then splatted paint all over it :D

And to add even more depth to a 1cm deep space, I used thick double-sided foam tape (I have no idea of technical terms. Foamy squishy stick string) to elevate them off the background. A wee glimpse of it is visible just under Gen’s collarbone

Phase 1 complete!

Phase 2 was another beast entirely. Originally, I was planning on doing the scene from The Thief when Gen steals Hamiathes’s gift, but realised that would mean an image of Hephestia that looked very much like the image of Attolia I had already done. Plus I was planning to use The Return of the Thief’s cover which is also red, so I wanted to do something less red.

Pheris was kind enough to give me some beautiful descriptions of the half-built temple of Hephestia in TRotT and I love me some forced perspective :D And naturally, I had a slightly deeper box to work with this time (omg a whole 2-3cm! Luxury!) so of course, it had to be 3D.

"I studied the Great Goddess, shining in the darkness. The treasury was new, but her statue was much older; the wood from which she was carved showed through the gold leaf. The pillars supporting the dome were tree trunks, smoothed of their bark and inverted, so they were wider at the top than at the ground"

First up, the Goddess herself. Fimo on a wire armature with a throne made of balsa wood . Since the statue is described as old with wood showing through the gold, I figured she could look a little crudely-carved and rough. Also, she is smol and I have sossige fingers.

I cut dowels to size to serve as the inverted-tree-trunk pillars and add an illusion of depth. My art teacher would be so proud.

The altar was the easiest piece of the whole thing: chopped up foam board, some card for stability, cut and shaped and decorated with milliput to add the Hephestial Mountains, coated in black tissue to give a nice strong black base to paint. I used drybrush to get a nice stone effect (see a bit further down)

And conveniently, the entire background of the scene is black, so I added the dome for More Optical Illusions! Because hey, if it worked once, do it again :D And also started layering up milliput for the tree-pillar bits.

And the last and messiest step before fixing the pillars and everything in place. Gold. Leaf.

The last bits to get done were the pillars, which I fixed in with milliput and glue.

Once they were set and painted, I glued everything in place and gave Hephestia her orb and behold, phase 2 complete!

And both sides together.

Finally, phase 3 - the cover. To keep things (relatively) simple, I went with the blood-red cover for Return of the Thief. Gave it a nice red basecoat, sketched on the design in chalk because lol, who uses tools to draw lines? Not me!

No in-progress pictures because I did it all in one run while listening to a webinar.

And as a special treat, more gold leafing!! I love the shininess of the figures on the cover of the book and thought “hey, that’s a sensible option that won’t leave you finding gold bits in your kitchen for days!” :D

Note to self: do not do this on wood again, it is very very likely the leaf will cling to the wood and require some repainting. This is a lesson. Do not forget (this memory will self destruct within 10 seconds of leaving this post)

For comparison before I did some touch-ups because of the stupid leaf going rogue

And behold, it is done :D

[unofficial-sean]

hello it is I please tell me about flatfish chromatophores -@iwannabeasixgillshark

Oh boy, so: Flatfish possess chromatophores. They are special cells that can change color. They use these to adapt their scale pattern to blend in with the substrate they're on. Amazing stuff, and really important, too. Flatfish are demersal ambush predators and prey. Hiding is essential to survival. But have you wondered how they are able to change color? Is is a conscious or unconscious process? How do all of those cells coordinate? I may have some answers! I dug into a research paper by Derek Burton [1] which examined the physiological mechanisms of flatfish chromatophores in great detail. It is the source of all I'm about to share. Let's begin with taxonomy! What is a flatfish? A flatfish is a teleost in the order of Pleuronectiformes. They are characterized by their asymmetrical body plan as adults, where one eye migrates to the other side of the head during metamorphosis. They lie flat on the sea floor. The blind side is characteristically a pale white, whereas the dominant side is covered with color-changing scales. The dorsal and anal fins run the length of the body on the dorsal and ventral sides. The fins have highly articulate spines that allow them to prop themselves up, crawl, and through substrate over themselves and become buried. That's neat! Now, not all chromatophores are alike. Some are responsible for specific pigments and colors, some react to neurotransmitters more than the other. So how many types are there on a flatfish? Five! There are epidermal melanophores, dermal melanophores, xanthophores, iridiphores, and erythrophores. Clusters of these different cells are present in different proportions on a flatfish's body, and give each one a distinct base pattern; between species, and between individuals. Here's what these grouping look like:

And here are the proportions of cells that make up all of these distinct clusters:

The cell type that stands out the most in this graph is the great concentration of iridiphores in the white spots. As a matter of fact, the blind side of a flatfish is mostly made up of iridiphores! Why are they so bright? Well, these cells contain elongate crystals of guanin; a copper-gold allow. Shiny! These crystals can become covered by melanosomes in order to reduce their prominence. Notice how the density of iridiphores decreases from white to dark. Iridiphores are relatively inflexible when it comes to color change. But there are other cells that can take up that mantle: those present in the general scaling. Before I start talking about hormones and neurotransmitters, I'd like to mention that flatfish are not the only fish who possess chromatophores. Salmon and tilapia possess these cells, as well as others. Control of their pigment is largely hormonal, though. Given the importance of a flatfish's camouflage, they have adapted greater control over their colorful dermal cells. Their changes have some hormonal factor, but it is largely neurons that manage this complex active camo system.

I spent hours making this schematic specifically for this purpose, so behold:

It's a lot to take in. It was a lot to sort. I had to make a truth table of cells and stimuli, and sort out which effect one had on the other. This is not entirely comprehensive, either! Depending on which group these cells are in, they react more quickly or more slowly to these stimuli. For example: Melanosome concentration in melanophores in the dark band group reacted quickly when the background the flatfish was on changed from white to black. White-spot melanophores respond more rapidly to noradrenaline than dark band melanophores. If you wanna know how each cell responds to each stimuli, check out the paper! Following my colorful graphic, we can see that the chain begins with visual stimuli. A flatfish settles in a new area of sea floor. The sun is rising and the colors of the substrate become more visible. This signal is processed by the autonomic nervous system, specifically the sympathetic nervous system. Unconsciously, in the background, the work of adapting the scale's color and pigment starts. Melanin hormones are released from the pituitary gland as necessary to achieve the desired change, and neurotransmitter are released such that the right scales become the right hue and brightness. This could take dozens of minutes or hours, but it happens. The flatfish is now well adapted to its new environment. If that isn't the most fascinating thing to you, I don't know what else to tell ya! There many more questions to be answered, and this is just a simplified overview of the general physiology at play. In my future research, I will set out to determine which substrate colors and patterns are imitated by flatfish by using complex images featuring various shapes and colors. [1] DEREK BURTON, 2002; The Physiology of Flatfish Chromatophores

[bruh-haikyuu]

REQUEST: Can I request Bokuto with a soft & short manager s/o and she always helps the team cheer bokuto up when hi is in emo mode and like a lot of fluff🥺👉👈

A/N: Tumblr is being a whore with their Keep Reading button, putting it on the ask and shit smh. So I apologize for the repost.

alate. | bokuto kōtarō

word count: 1776

warnings: none

(adj.) having wings; lifted up in flight

Official match protocols only allowed one manager on the court for each team. Fukurodani Academy’s Boys’ Volleyball team always had their lenient but reliable third year managers to get the job done. Third-years Yukie and Kaori had been your final salvation against the inevitable fate of having to care for the raucous boys alone. But today with some lucky fortune of theirs, they’d somehow coerced you into taking their place.

“...Will I experience any internal combustions by the end of the match?”

The three of you stood in a personal circle at the entrance to the gym. The three managers of Fukurodani, with your two seniors looming over you like two scheming birds of prey. They didn’t even have to ask why you were so worried; despite being a second-year, this was your first time to stand on the court with the team instead of panicking on your own on the sidelines. This time, you were in the game, up-close-and-personal.

“You’ll do fine~” Yukie grinned, raising her right hand in a lazy ‘OK’ gesture. “Besides, you’re a total expert when it comes to giving Bokuto a good knock in the head.”

If Bokuto’s vanity was a chronic disease, he’d need more than just a “good knock in the head” to be cured. But Yukie wasn’t wrong. Your praises, in comparison to the others’, had a quicker, more powerful effect on the ace. Though you weren’t sure if that skill of yours was more of a blessing than a curse...

“W-well, I’ll do my best,” you muttered, fiddling with the hem of your track jacket. Your seniors exchanged a look before smiling softly at you.

“Oh, and one more thing!” Kaori piped up as you lugged the bag full of empty bottles over your shoulder. “Can you act a bit bashful when you’re complimenting the captain?

“Why’s that, Kaori-san?”

“Bokuto thinks you look cute when you’re embarrassed.”

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

‘Cute’? What did that even mean? Did Bokuto always think people were ‘cute’ whenever they flash a single praise at him? Not that you remembered... What’s with that, you grumbled, angrily trying to get the concept into your skull.

Your eyes darted back to the court where—much to your distress—the other team just had to be painfully good at blocks. Now, you just hoped that the boys wouldn’t get too disgruntled.

The score was 12-15, with Torasaka Metropolitan High in the lead. Though Fukurodani had obtained their twelfth point with a lucky read on Torasaka’s setter dump, things were obstinately bleak for your team.

“I want to try it!” you heard Bokuto exclaim excitedly. From afar, you could already spot a few sullen scowls begin to form on his teammates’ faces. “Hey, ‘Kaashi, do you want to try that block with me?”

The setter sent you a pained expression enough for guilt to comically swallow you whole. Returning his attention to the ace who’s practically bouncing on his heels, Akaashi sighed. “Bokuto-san, let’s focus on our normal blocks first.”

A child! you thought incredulously as you watched the captain stick out his tongue at him. Though Bokuto was particularly a sight to behold when he’s in top form, just how confident could he be, trying something so risky in a middle of a tight match? Or was he just a complete and utter numbskull? You thought he was rather amazing for the juxtaposition... in a Bokuto fashion, of course.

As Washio prepared to serve, you watched the ace literally vibrate with eagerness of having such an “interesting enemy”. Whenever Bokuto got extremely fired up, it was your inevitable fate that you just couldn’t look away. The way his jersey hugged his hulking frame as he flexed his muscles in preparation to follow the path of the ball, it was nearly bewitching. If he had been like this his entire life, you were sure your heart wouldn’t take being with Bokuto for a mere second.

“It’s up!” Torasaka’s libero signaled, cleanly receiving Washio’s serve (much to the player’s frustration).

In your memory, Torasaka High wasn’t a much known threat until just recently. “Their new first years block like a fort,” you remembered what Coach Yamiji had said in the bus that morning. Despite far from being as crafty as Nohebi or as versatile as Nekoma, Tokyo teams were a force to be reckoned with.

What a terrifying sport, you thought to yourself for what seemed to be the fifth time this month.

“Left! Left!”

On the other side of the court, Sarukui, Bokuto and Akaashi scrambled to follow the ball’s trajectory. Though you were only a rookie in this entire volleyball thing, you were quick to notice that Bokuto’s footsteps were a bit smaller and slower than the first two...

Wait, is he planning to delay the timing of his block now?!

It was definitely a quick from the other side. It was evident, even to you. And when the two jumped to block the ball with their ace lagging behind, the ball had already streaked over him at a dangerous angle. Point Torasaka.

Landing on the pads of his feet, Akaashi’s expression shifted between “candidly annoyed” and “visibly concerned” as he watched the captain raise his head for his team to see.

“You’re kidding me...” Sarukui groaned under his breath. Behind him, the others followed promptly with their own reactions of disbelief.

His infamous salt-and-pepper hair deflating alongside his shoulders, Bokuto whined, loud enough for you to hear from the benches. “The hell... I thought I had that block mastered. Why’d they have to make it look so easy?”

Time-out! Akaashi turned to you and the coach a with pleading stare, hard enough for your supervising teacher to shoot upwards and signal the referee for their second break of the match.

Groaning, you stuffed your face in your hands, hoping that your senior managers in the audience were praying for your good health.

“What were you thinking?!” Coach Yamiji hissed, giving the sulking ace a well-deserved smack to the side of his head. Bokuto didn’t even flinch. “You could’ve—”

“Coach. Let me.”

Snapping his head in your direction, the old man grew pale when he heeded the dark aura that spewed from your body. Even the others, though they were only watching the entire event go down, was hyper-aware of the invisible, nightmarish fog that came with your frustration.

You’d always seemed so sweet and indulgent, never angry. Never. And yet Bokuto had finally gotten you to drop the tether that held your patience together.

Walking to Bokuto, you sent him a scowl so cold, he forgot how to blink. The rest of the team, the coach, your teacher and even Yukie and Kaori in the stands shivered from the sudden gust of frosty air that oozed from you. Some of the audience surprisingly turned their heads to watch the spectacle of the tiny Fukurodani manager who seemed like she was about to trample on their ace.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

“Bokuto, you—!”

You froze. No. If you scolded him now, that only make matters worse. Bokuto didn’t fare well when he was scolded by Kaori or Yukie either. Besides, you were his manager, not his mother. But what else were you going to do?

Bokuto thinks you look cute when you’re embarrassed.

Swallowing a nagging lump in your throat, you recalled the words of your seniors. Embarrassed? How do you do embarrassed? Was that even a thing you could pull off manually? Taking in a deep breath, you tightened your fist before loosening them in front of your body. Something was better than nothing.

“B-Bokuto-senpai...?”

“Senpai?!” the others snapped towards you, jaws on the floor. Even Bokuto was stunned.

Eyeing his interested gaze, you continued, fidgeting bashfully, “Bokuto-senpai’s such a slob... If you just listened to the others... you’d be a lot cooler...”

Komi tugged at the back of Konoha’s jersey, whispering in the blonde one’s ear, “She’s pulling out the ‘Cute Tsundere’ card!”

Stupefied, the wing spiker muttered, “Bokuto’s actually taking the bait... Scary. L/N-san’s scary.”

And take the bait he did. You didn’t even realize how red you were with the way he was looking at you—and the shade was fully unintentional, much to your chagrin. But Bokuto’s sullen mood was far gone, replaced with the brighter interest of infatuation.

“A lot cooler...?” Bokuto savored your words in his tongue, before whipping out both his hands to grab at your shoulders. “Y-You think I’m cool?!”

You didn’t even have to pretend to be shy anymore. The close contact of his skin, the scent of his sweat mingled with the musky aroma of his cologne and the pinkish tint on his cheeks. It was too much, and you soon wondered if Bokuto had always seemed this charming to you.

“Y-you airhead! Of course I do,” you mumbled, lowering your sight to the floor. “You’re already really good at volleyball, but you do things like forcing yourself to do a block you can’t do just because you want attention and... and now everyone has to bear that burden.”

“Please go on a date with me.”

You flinched in his grasps. This was escalating much faster than you’d hoped it would. Unable to register what he had said, you asked him to repeat himself.

“The cute Y/N-chan thinks I’m cool. That’s like a dream come true, right? So if I become cool again, won’t you go on a date with me?”

How unbelievable. One second he almost reminded you of the small boy that lived below your apartment, and the next he was like some sort of phantom thief, ready to whisk you away from the confines of your castle and steal your heart. You smiled earnestly; Bokuto Koutarou really was a man of many wonders.

Slipping yourself away from his grip, you raised an index finger between his eyes. “If you win... I’ll consider it.”

Like a phoenix rising from its ashes, the ace lit up once more. Revived, renewed, and heart set on taking you out. While dragging Akaashi back onto the court, Bokuto made it a point that he was looking at you all the way. You giggled. What an interesting person.

From the stands, your gaze traced the motto of Fukurodani’s Volleyball Club. Pour all your soul into each ball. Bokuto played with passion, with his emotions and whenever the time was right, with his logic too. For a while, volleyball seemed like the last thing you’d want to spend your life doing. But seeing the ace’s blushing grin to you when they’d scored the final match point... it might not be as bad as you thought it’d be.

[phoenixyfriend]

Madara and Obito... In SPACE

So the preface to this mess: I don’t know jackshit about Star Wars, so a lot of this went through friends who do know Star Wars (the primary of which does not have a tumblr).

(I have watched Episodes 7&8, and Rogue One. Of the first six movies, I remember watching maybe an hour total. I have not seen more than snatches of Clone Wars. Beyond that, nothing but fic.)

Anyway! Let’s go:

As y’all probably know by now, my favorite form of crossover is what I call “intrusive,” so... I'm enjoying the mental concept of "dump Madara on Coruscant and watch him go." (Prequels, probably.)

Does Madara know what's going on? No. Can he understand a word that's being said? No! Is he going to fight the first person to aim a weapon at him, and every person after that? Yes.

Is Madara fighting fit?

Nnnnnnnnnnnnnno, not really, he’s old as balls. This is "I was on cave life support but I'm getting back up to kick ass out of pure spite" Madara.

[Image description: A screenshot of a panel of the Naruto Manga. Uchiha Madara is old and visibly ‘decrepit,’ with spiky white hair and an amorphous black robe. He is sitting on a pale throne, and there is a scythe visible to the side. He has a speech bubble saying “I am... a ghost of the Uchiha.” End Description]

Two wrinkly old guys, staring each other down: There ain't enough room in this universe for the two of us. [Palpatine and Madara start fighting to the death]

Congrats, Palpatine! Your ass is getting kicked by a geriatric malcontent who doesn't speak any language you've ever heard or feel like literally anything in the Force. You may have Sith lightning, but do you have decades of frontline experiences and over half a century of cave-dwelling bitterness?

Both of them, simultaneously, in completely different languages: Get off my lawn, whipper-snapper.

Palpatine: Behold my mastery of the Dark Side, Foolish old man! Palpatine: [shoots lightning] Madara: Oh hey, you're like the seventeenth most dangerous person who can shoot lightning I've fought. Telekinesis? Fought that. Combat precognition? Fought that, have that, and let me tell you hwat, it doesn't help if you're opponent is just that much faster than you.

Now, I’ll take a step back and acknowledge that several people advised me that Palpatine would stand a chance against Madara, likely even win, if Madara just got hacked off of his life support and is down to one eye.

But. I want a shitpost, and also to clown on Palpatine, so Madara wins easily.

Madara also deserves to be clowned on, but the entire situation is clowning on him because he’s not in his cave anymore, and he really wants to go back to his Gedou Mazou statue.

Maybe Madara and Palpatine go Old Man Fight and then Obito just pulls a Ninja Move and kills Palpatine that way. Madara was ranting and Obito just. Ninjas behind Palpatine and slits his throat like “okay, you’re obviously evil so like... bye.”

(I just love causing "Wait what" reactions in characters that are used to having total control. Like. Have you read "Unexpected Guests"? The Bleach fic? Everything that happens in Hueco Mundo and after. That energy. I want that energy.)

Madara waves his scythe around like a cane. Obito just trails after like “Gramps, no” because it’s still pre-Sanbi, so he’s Mostly Innocent (you know, on the scale of how fucked up Obito is as a person), and just wants Madara to like. Stop.

Palpatine dies but nobody's sure what to charge Madara with since he did kind of expose a Sith? And Palpatine attacked first for [handwave] reasons?

Jedi: Well sir, in lieu of charging you with assassination of the emperor, we have decided to ask you politely to return to the elderly person's retirement home from whence you came. Please leave immediately. You are frightening the senate. Madara: [incomprehensible raving] Jedi: Yes yes, very interesting. Jedi, whispering: Does anyone know his caretaker???

Obito looks increasingly put-upon as events progress. You need Obito there to... well, not translate. Nobody can translate. But to at least poke Madara into being Slightly Less Homicidal.

Anakin seems sad about his friend dying and being evil so Obito challenges him to a spar. Madara and Obito get pulled into the Jedi Temple to help train Padawans? My first thought was "they wouldn't trust someone so obviously Weird, Crazy, and Incomprehensible around the younglings" and my second thought was "well they let Yoda do it and he's all those things so I mean? YEAH."

What if they put Madara in the bacta tank and he just freshened up like a daisy because of hand-wave Hashirama cell reasons (Blame Sir Tiddyface).

From “Decrepit and Reliant on Cave Tube Life Support” to “Will Call Down Meteors With Ease”

How many eyes does he have? Whatever’s funniest. Let’s say one Eternal Mangekyo Sharingan and one Rinnegan, for maximum chaos.

Would "half my body is missing" Obito freak out if Bacta regrew his eye? Can bacta regrow something like that? When characters lose limbs they usually just get cybernetic replacements, but  the person I spoke with said that apparently they saw somewhere that that kind of thing can grow back it just takes a really long time.

I want to imagine bacta would help Obito with the Zetsu integration.

Anyway! Yes. Have Madara help train people despite being... Madara about it. You know... kind of a dick.

(I’d put example gifs but I don’t feel up to it. Y’all know what Madara’s “weakness disgusts me” ass is like.)

Obito had to get his "these fools could never make me sweat" sass from somewhere, after all.

Do you think Obito could fight the baby Jedi that are around his age while recovering? I have no idea what their skill level is at fourteen, but I want to imagine Obito sparring the Padawans.

Obito + Zetsu + Bacta = he still needs physical therapy but he can spar again!

Madara is delighted to have a baby ninja to bully. He's too old to not bully baby ninjas, and Obito is the only baby ninja. TBH Madara just makes Obito his assistant teacher.

Obito: What are we even doing here and how do we get home? Madara: I'm still working on that. Obito: But I want to go home and see Rin and Kakashi! Madara, who was like two days away from triggering the Sanbi plan: I'm working on it.

Something sticking in my mind rn is Ahsoka&Obito, since Obito is still Baby.

I think Obito would be excited to have someone his age that thought he was Cool and Talented for being able to do Chakra Things instead of writing him off as "the dead-last." Like, Rin is friends with him, but she doesn't look up to him as someone more/differently talented.  He'd be excited to get to be "The Mysterious Cool Big Bro" for once.

I feel I also just like the idea of Anakin not knowing what to do with someone Several Years Younger that is also. Ninja Skill.

Miscellaneous thoughts:

Madara is a grouchy old man even AFTER he gets effectively de-aged via bacta dunk, for the record. He's back in his prime and the Jedi have no idea how. They're all concerned about tiddyface*. (When are people not concerned about Sir Tiddyface, really.) The mokuton is a problem.

*Sir Tiddyface is that random Hashirama face that Madara had growing out of his pecs for like... convoluted bullshit reasons.

(Madara doesn't have mokuton, but he has enough Hashirama cells that it interacted very, VERY weirdly with the bacta.)

Obito spends the intervening weeks trying to learn the local language. He's very eager. Not particularly fast. Still doing it though!

I want Obito juggling kunai as physical therapy while he's waiting for Mads to get out of the bacta tank and just gains himself the adoration of a gaggle of small baby Jedi children.

Madara comes out of the bacta tank looking like he did in his prime (which I mentioned earlier but whatever), and it absolutely incites a yelling match of an argument that draws way too much attention.

Someone tries to teach Obito how to access the Force, just to see what happens. He almost turns into a statue because the philosophy behind Force meditation is only a few steps away from Sage Mode Meditation.

Anyway, Madara smacks him with a stick like Fukasaku to make sure Obito doesn't turn into stone.

Madara grumps about the lack of paper and brushes and ink. Bitches about it until someone hits up an antique store or something to get them for him. The day before he and Obito are dispatched on a mission with someone, probably Anakin for plot reasons, Madara very publicly seals things into a scroll and then tells them that no, they can't learn it, because the Force isn't chakra so fuuinjutsu won't work for them, so There.

Obito practices some Teen Rebellion (tm) and like, tries to teach the Padawan friends he's made how to do Chakra Things... but he's so bad at explaining things that nobody can get it to work even if it were possible.

In Obito's defense, language barriers. Not in Obito's defense, he's just really bad at words sometimes.

[jenniferstolzer]

Babylon 5 rewatch Episode 2.22: The Fall of Night

Babylon 5 is at the center of not one but three conflicts as John Sheridan agrees to shelter a wounded Narn cruiser. The Centauri don’t like this. Earth doesn’t like this. The Shadows don’t like this. But Sheridan has a strong moral compass and what he doesn’t like is how much the institutions around him are willing to sacrifice in the name of forging some kind of cursory peace.

Things I liked about The Fall of Nighit

1, Lennier and Vir’s friendship. If you ask me Vir, could be friends with literally anyone. He’s such an understanding soul. Lennier is by nature a little judgey. More closed off. So when they sit down next to each other and discover how much they have in common both of them look at each other like “hello what” and automatically agree to meet again. But even this exchange is done almost like spies meeting and I don’t think we stop to think about that very often. These are the attaches of two ambassadors for two of the most powerful races in the galaxy… they could very well be exchanging state secrets instead of expressing solidarity for their equally frustrating jobs.

2,  The Centauri are apparently willing to put their ships on autopilot and black out from g forces if it means when they come to they’ll be in a better firing position. This seems extremely reckless and VERY Centauri. It is the spacebattle equivalent of the hair. Big. Flashy. Not well thought through.

3, In the wake of the mass driver bombing, Sheridan gives Londo an opportunity to speak and Londo is like “NOPE” and jets before he says something that’s going to get him and his whole race in more trouble than they already are. Garibaldi then reads Londo like a literal book, delivering one of my favorite analyses of the character. Everyone thought Londo was a clown, indulging in opulence, going into debt at the casino, drinking himself to a stupor in public, but Garibaldi was his friend and knows that Londo’s not dumb, he’s actually very smart and his mind moves really fast. His error is in his judgment and priorities and he’s currently in waters he did not expect to tread. He’s scared, and he’s going to keep darting in and out of cover until he feels like he has a handle on things or he gets picked off by a hunter, whichever comes first. Also a very classic JMS line “He’s a pain in the butt, but he’s our pain in the butt.” Hunt for that or similar lines in other JMS stuff, he loves that line.

4, The ache of watching McCarthysim at work is very effective. Zach knows the guys he’s ratting on don’t deserve to be ratted on and even says so. “They’re just fooling around” but we can tell by the level of interest and tone of the Nightwatch captian’s voice that they’re gonna get blackballed. Zach can’t deny that they said what they said, but can tell that ratting them out is the wrong thing to do. In the end he relents with a bunch of qualifications but the Nightwatch doesn’t want qualifications. They want names. Thank you for your service.

5, I love that the guy there to ally with the Centauri is from the Ministry of Peace. So poignant. They’ll get peace all right, by paying off the aggressors.  

6, When the Narn ship was coming under threat by the Centauri warship, Sheridan opened a line to Londo just to spit in his face and hang up. It was amazing. Also during this crisis, Sheridan whips out a law book to smack the Nightwatch guy back in his hole. Sinclair would be proud.

7, Watching B5 come under attack is so emotionally stirring. Even on a rewatch, I don’t want to see it hurt.

8, We have arrived! The scene where Kosh reveals himself. I love that G’Kar is hiding in the plants – like he’s not a huge gecko man who people are going to notice. I also love how plaintiff his voice is, thinking if he speaks on Sheridan’s behalf it’ll help him in the political shitshow he’s currently in. I mean he’s issuing this apology for helping a Narn ship and G’Kar is very very very grateful for that. Also B5 blew up a Centauri warship so he’s pretty grateful for that too, I mean come on… I like that B5 has like a standard subway system in the middle of it and that they let the Puppet Friends ride. I miss the puppet friends. I love that the rotational gravity system means there’s a weightless portion in the center of hydroponics and that we used that to our advantage in this story. Also the vorlons in their native form play on the perception of the lesser races. They are light beings, and humans see them as angels. The rest of the races see them as prophets or gods, but none of these perceptions are perfect. We see wings and white robes and think Angel, but Kosh didn’t appear like a rennaissance painting. He’s got a butterfly look to him, too. The face he wears is a facsimile of a human not an exact human. He’s not perfect, we’re just in awe. Love that.

9 And finally a lot has been said about why Londo doesn’t see anything when Kosh appears. He’s been touched by the Shadows, so he can’t be converted by the Vorlons b/c we’re playing a game of Othello today I guess. Maybe because he doesn’t actually believe in his pantheon of gods so he doesn’t have any deities to witness. Maybe he’s lying because what he saw was his own greed and vanity. The general consensus is the first – that he’s incapable of seeing the light because he’s in the dark. For a fresh take on it, let’s look at the Vorlons through this lens. Kosh said before that if he revealed himself everyone would know him… I take this as being a side effect of being Vorlon. Vorlons are a feeling not an image. Like Magenta. Magenta’s not a real color, it exists on the color wheel because something has to connect red and purple on the color spectrum… but the spectrum of visible light is actually a straight line. The wavelengths for red and purple are far from touching, but our brains can perceive when they’re both present, so Magenta occurs. It’s imaginary, but we see it for real with our eyes. That’s Vorlons. Perhaps Londo saw a shapeless light thing in the sky, perhaps that’s what Vorlons really are… or perhaps they have no visible representation at all until they hit our brains. Our eyeballs behold something, but our brains have to construct it out of pieces. When the rest of the galaxy looked at Kosh they used the color wheel to construct him, but Londo was only given the wavelengths. He saw nothing, because nothing was there to see. I really wish there was another Centauri there to be like “I saw the goddess Li welcoming me to her arms!” and Londo’s over there like “I’m the problem” instead of not really answering that question. Maybe it’s answered in season 3, I don’t know. Did Vir see anyone up there? He must have been on break.

What I like Less about 22

1, So here’s where I’m going to talk about Keffer. I know the origin story…. that he was an unwelcome addition to the cast added per network request, but who the hell is he other than that? I think its remarkable how he slips right out of my head the minute he is off camera. We know he’s a pilot, that he was close to Carlos (whose story/death you may recall I was laughing at in a previous episode because its significance ALSO came out of nowhere), and that he made friends with the GROPOS grunts (who we incidentally learned to care about enough in that one episode that we were sad when they died…. Awkward considering Keffer’s contribution to this episode…) Honestly the most interesting thing about him is that he’s got an old-timey fighter pilot scarf he wears and he believes in ghosts and I bet you all forgot about the ghosts. Honestly, the most interesting thing about Keffer is how he’s a lesson in how not to write an interesting character – and no shade on JMS for that, I know he did it on purpose. Significant things happening to a character does not automatically make them a strong character. Keffer experienced loss, came face to face with the shadows, got in fights… a lot of stuff happened to him, but he was almost always the only named character in those scenes. We cared about the GROPOS because they cared about each other and we responded to that. Keffer was there to play cabbage head and ask questions. He’s not tight with any of our main cast who we’ve had tons more time to grow attached to, and dies for plot reasons without leaving an impact with his loss. Heck, you can see the value of interpersonal relationships on character development in action when the show used a shoehorn to try and force some in in context to Carlos a second and a half before he died. We had him drinking at the bar with command staff suddenly, we had him die as a result of a flight mission Sheridan was part of to make Sheridan feel guilty about it. Everyone was standing around going like “No, Not Ramirez” and if you recall on my previous episode writeup I was LAUGHING at how tortured this sudden human connection was. Keffer could have been made interesting. Follow me on this.

My treatment on how to make Keffer interesting:

Let’s say Keffer was introduced as an old friend of one of our characters – Fraknlin let’s say. He was a friend from the Minbari War days that helped him sneak behind enemy lines. Perhaps he was complicit in the covering up and destruction of Franklin’s notes on Minbari anatomy. As a result, the two hang out in medbay sometimes, talking about old times and comparing the current war to the one they fought together. We learn that Keffer has a fire for justice. Hates bullies. Sees the strong as absolute defenders of the weak and that any stronger race picking on a weaker one is a bigger coward than the unvierse can hold. Then when Carlos gets killed by the ghost he starts researching what it could be. Kosh and Delenn tell him to stay out of it. The audience assumes he’s going to uncover something and bring Franklin and other characters into Delenn and Sheridan’s confidence about the shadows through curiosity and honor, but we’re learning through the episodes that the Shadows are IMMENSELY powerful and have no patience for flies. When he breaks off from his squad to go have a looksee at what he suspects led to his personal friend Carlos’s death, we know this is going to kill him. He ignores the warnings of those who have more awareness and dies to bring back evidence of the Shadows to the station. Sheridan recognizes how Keffer’s curiosity and sense of judgment led to recklessness, something Sheridan himself is prone to. He vows not to let Keffer die in vain, but also states that the proof he got has changed everything… and that Sheridan would have done the same. Killing your men in the name of a mission is never the goal but there’s a line everyone crosses when the safety of the universe is at stake and sometimes things are worth dying for. Franklin walks into medbay, casts a look to the counter where Keffer used to sit all those nights, and turns away.

But that’s not what happen. Keffer’s dead now and I don’t miss him. Glad he emailed the Shadows to ISN five nanoseconds before he died.

Babylon 5 is now the last best hope for victory because sometimes peace is another word for surrender and because secrets have a way of getting out. On to season 3!

[ethanlivemere]

Half-Life²: Anticitizen - Chapter 3

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

_____________________

Chapter 3

Trespass

The true citizen knows that duty is the greatest gift.

The true citizen conserves valuable oxygen.

The true citizen cooperates with his Civil Protection team.

The true citizen’s job is the opposite of slavery.

The Consul’s brief messages echo across the pavement, each one followed by a hollow chime. It has an almost hypnotic effect, as I find myself staring up at the cluster of screens hanging over the intersection. It’s an Orwellian sight to behold: the citizens going about their day while the Consul’s watchful gaze looks down from above.

The true citizen embraces the Universal Union.

I think back to my encounter with the Vortigaunt. It had been a shock to hear English words coming from the mouth of the alien. Its voice was guttural and rough, and it continually made insect-like hissing and clicking sounds, but it spoke English nonetheless. Quite eloquently, even. Vastly different from Black Mesa, where the hisses and clicks had been the only components of their communication. But perhaps the bigger shock in seeing the Vortigaunt was not what it said, but the way it spoke to me. Like I hadn’t killed dozens of its kind in Black Mesa after seeing them slaughter my coworkers. After such hostility, I expected this Vortigaunt to charge up a bolt of green energy and attack me, and my instincts wanted me to reach for a weapon I didn’t have. The last thing I expected was for it to greet me as an ally.

“Your presence gives us hope, Freeman,” it had said. “As you saved my kin in the border world, so shall you save us again on this miserable rock. For now that the lesser master lay defeated, the greater must also fall in time.” Ah, so that’s how it is, I thought. When I killed the Nihilanth, I freed the Vortigaunts from their enslaver, and now they expected me to do the same once more. I remembered the slave camps and factories on Xen, where, for just a brief moment, they didn’t attack me – until the Nihilanth’s Controllers arrived and forced them to fight. They must have realized I was their one hope for freedom. A freedom which, ultimately, was very short-lived.

The Vortigaunt then walked to the contraption that held another one of its kind in its dark liquid. It placed its two-fingered hand against the glass and, despite its alien features, I could see sadness fall across its face. “The Vorti-cells drain power from my kin to support the Combine’s machinery. Those who enter them seldom emerge. The few who do are weakened almost to the point of collapse. Truly, it is a fate far worse than the shackles I bear.” The shackles were different from the ones worn by the Nihilanth-enslaved Vortigaunts. Instead of shining green, they were a dull gray. Their design remained very similar, though. Wrist bracelets, a collar, but also a sort of codpiece that I didn’t remember seeing on the Nihilanth’s slaves. Apparently the Combine deemed it necessary to cover the Vortigaunts’ loins – even though they housed no visible organs of any kind.

The Vortigaunt proceeded to grab a broom from against the wall and told me it had to resume its duty or suffer punishment. It seemed rather ironic, almost comedic even, that an alien race powerful enough to power factories was also being employed to sweep the streets. Recalling the instructions Jeremy had given me, I asked the Vortigaunt if he knew how I could get to the Manhack Arcade, where Barney was supposed to meet me. “Ah,” he responded pensively. “The Manhack Arcade. The hall of the unwitting executioners.” He proceeded to give me clear directions. I was to go to a place he called the Stenographer’s Chasm and then continue in a straight line. I wondered what he meant by ‘unwitting executioners’, but before I knew it, he had already said his goodbyes and disappeared around the corner.

The strange encounter had left me confused and a bit shaken, but I resolutely continued my journey and followed the Vortigaunt’s directions. I had a hard time imagining what this ‘Stenographer’s Chasm’ could be, but I could never have imagined what it turned out to be. An enormous, Combine-modified warehouse consisting of one long room that extended far into the ground, filled with rows of workers perched on stools behind desks, frantically typing on typewriter-like machines. But the stools and desks weren’t on the ground: they were mounted onto single, suspended rails that ran across the room. There were multiple levels of these rails and desks reaching all the way to the ceiling and down into the chasm. The workers had nowhere to go. My guess was that at the end of their shift or when their quota was fulfilled, the rails transported them to a place where they could safely dismount their stools. Until then, they could do nothing but work. I didn’t know what it was they were doing. What kind of paperwork could the Combine have? They didn’t seem like the type to bother with those kinds of things too much. Then again, an intergalactic empire is bound to have some unavoidable paperwork. Probably keeping track of resources and the like.

More disturbing sights awaited me, though. It all began at a building that produced a continuous sound of whirring and chugging, like a giant steam engine. Looking through the window, I saw a black and white tiled hall that was filled with enormous, diagonal pistons moving back and forth. At their base, people were working on the large engines that seemed to drive the pistons. I then realized that the engines weren’t just large, the figures knelt at their base were also small… they were children. Children, no older than twelve, were working on heavy machinery under the watch of Metrocops. And that wasn’t the only factory where children were being forced into labor. A bit further down the street was a smaller brick building that housed a large furnace. More children were stationed at a conveyor belt that lead into the furnace. They took white, ellipsoid objects from barrels and placed them onto the conveyor. They weren’t being burned in the furnace: they reemerged out of the side, attached to the ends of poles, and were transported into another machine. I had seen the white objects before on the brown-robed, flamethrower-wielding beings in the station and on posters that Jeremy had referred to as ‘Cremators’. These were Cremator heads. I tore myself away from the windows and continued my way through the industrial area. I never looked through another window again.

The factories eventually made way for a busier commercial district, which is where I find myself now. It’s the busiest place I’ve seen in this city, apart from the military parade. This must once have been a street with many successful shops, but now most of the display windows stand empty. One of the buildings still in use houses the same ration dispensers I also saw in the station. Another one showcases multiple television screens, all of which display the Combine logo.

“Can you believe it? Free TVs!” says a citizen gazing through the window.

“Don’t get too excited,” his companion replies in a cynical tone. “Those things only have one channel: the Consulcast.” He points over his shoulder at the cluster of screens overhead, where the Consul’s many faces are still naming the values of a true citizen.

But the Consulcast nor the free TVs are the reason why there is so much traffic on this street corner. In fact, I’d wager the Combine strategically placed those here so that as many citizens as possible would be exposed to the propaganda. The real eye-catcher everyone seems to be here for is across the street: the Manhack Arcade. It’s a large building that forms the corner of the street. Completely Combine-made, no recycling of old buildings. The people in the street flock towards the wide entrance on the corner, which is flanked by two Metrocops. Above it hang a number of yellow posters and banners and even more screens, all showing Combine logos and imagery.

I wonder if I should go in. Jeremy told me Barney would meet me at the Manhack Arcade, but it’s unclear if that means outside or inside. It seem risky going into a Combine facility, but it doesn’t seem like the citizens get scanned like they did at the checkpoints, and I could probably slip by the two guarding Metrocops unnoticed by hiding in the crowd.

I wait a little longer, hoping Barney will show himself. The clouds have gotten darker still, and before long a light drizzle starts pouring from the sky. Not only am I not dressed for rainy weather, I also want to avoid getting into too much contact with this water, which, judging from the greenish color of the clouds it originates from, could have all kinds of toxins or undesirable pH values. And so, when an exceptionally dense group of people approaches the entrance to the Arcade, I join them and walk past the Metrocops without either of them giving me a second glance.

Inside is a corridor that leads to the main room. Like the Stenographer’s Chasm, it’s long, tall, and extends down into the ground. Instead of rails with desks and tired workers, this room is filled with catwalks leading to strange machines. Citizens queue in front of them and when it’s their turn, they step onto a pedestal in front of the machines, grab hold of two control handles and lean forward to place their heads in some sort of virtual reality display built into the arcade.

A screen above the player allows bystanders to follow the game. A citizen near me has just started: at first, the screen shows only a grid of red lines in a black void. Then, the grid bends and reshapes itself into a three-dimensional environment that resembles a ruined building. Several humanoid shapes appear in yellow and orange tints, like heat vision, but with a clear red outline to them. The player navigates the environment, seemingly flying, and moves towards the outlined targets. The targets start moving around, trying to evade the player, but eventually he catches up to one. It’s not clear what happens, but when the player bumps into the target, the red outline disappears and a score of one hundred appears in the bottom right corner of the screen. “Ha ha, got one!” the player exclaims. Another nearby player is already at a score of eight hundred, when one of the targets suddenly rushes at him, holding up some kind of long object. The screen goes black and the words ‘GAME OVER’ appear on the screen. “Damn it!” the man shouts. “I was almost at my high score!”

Something’s not right. The way the targets move – it doesn’t look like a video game character. Much too erratic and lifelike. And from what I’ve seen of the Combine so far, I doubt they would put effort into providing ground-breaking AI technology for their panem et circenses. The Vortigaunt’s words echo through my mind: ‘the hall of the unwitting executioners’. I can put two and two together, but I don’t want to. I refuse to believe that what I fear is true. People slaughtering their own, cheering while they do it – and without ever realizing what they did. Or, at least, I deeply hope they don’t.

I don’t want to stay here any longer. Watching these innocent people enjoying the Combine’s twisted games turns my stomach. I have to find Barney. But how can I simultaneously hide from the real Metrocops and try to get Barney to see me?

As I pace through the room, I notice a Metrocop eyeing me. It’s hard to tell with the gas masks, but it seems like his gaze is following me. Is he Barney or a suspicious guard? I try to act inconspicuous and wait for a signal. Suddenly, the Metrocop turns away and walks towards a door. He interacts with the locking mechanism and it opens before him. He throws another prolonged glance in my direction before stepping through, out of sight. I wait. The door doesn’t close behind him. I cautiously make my way to the door. It leads to some sort of backstage corridor, clearly a ‘staff only’ area. I can’t see the Metrocop. I look around the Arcade one last time, but none of the remaining guards seem to notice me, so I enter the corridor. It’s cold and dark, and my footsteps are loud on the metal floor. I arrive in a small room with one of those Combine consoles. The wall is lined with a rack containing dozens of small, deactivated drones whose purpose I can’t discern. I hear the door I entered through close.

“Hey, you!” I hear from one of the neighboring corridors. A Metrocop – the one I followed in here – enters the room. “Do you have your identification?” He menacingly steps towards me. Seems it wasn’t Barney after all. Tough luck. “You are not supposed to be in here. I need to see your identification.”

Well, I seem to have gotten myself into a sticky situation. The Metrocop is trying to drive me into a corner, drawing his stun baton. “Overwatch, restricted incursion in progress in sector 8. Permission to enact civil judgement?” he says to seemingly no one. There’s a short blip and a burst of static following his question. I’m not thrilled about the prospect of ‘civil judgement’, so I decide not to wait until he gets his answer from whoever Overwatch is. I place my hands on my head, feigning surrender, while I scan the exits. The corridor back to the main Arcade hall is sealed and I can’t tell where the others lead, so I’ll have to trust my instincts.

Either the Metrocop has received his permission from Overwatch, or my eyes darting around the room have made him suspicious, because he suddenly swings his stun stick at my head. I try to duck and the blow lands against my elbow, sending a shock through my entire arm as blue sparks fly from the weapon. In response, I kick at his shin as hard as I can. He grunts and loses his balance, and I take the opportunity to dart down the nearest corridor. I hear the Metrocop’s heavy boots give chase behind me as he mumbles a status report to Overwatch. I round a corner, praying I won’t run into a dead end. I see a T junction ahead. Suddenly, I hear a deafening bang behind me, and the sound of a bullet hitting metal. Damn. He has a gun. I have to reach the junction as fast as possible. No time to look which way to go. As the echo of the gunshot fades out, I speed off into the left corridor just before another bullet plunges itself into the wall.

Suddenly, my surroundings open up into a larger room that’s two thirds Combine architecture and one third concrete rubble, remainders of whatever building was here before they installed their Arcade. I could get out through the collapsed walls and floors, but I’d be an easy shot. There’s also what looks like a Combine elevator with a bright red button inside it. I have milliseconds to make a decision. How far behind is he? Can I pull it off?

I slam my fist into the red button, rush back out of the elevator and then dive behind a half-collapsed wall. The doors close and the elevator starts to rise as I flatten myself against the concrete, bent rebar poking into my shoulder. My left arm is numb from the shock of the baton. I hear the Metrocop charging into the room. I hold my breath and pray he falls for my trick. It’s a trick as old as time. He stands still and I wait, my heartbeat ear-deafening.

“Subject is headed for top floor, secure perimeter around elevator.” I have to keep myself from sighing in relief. He isn’t gone yet. In fact, he seems to just stand still in front of the elevator. He must be waiting for the elevator to reach its destination. If he waits for the top floor units to report an empty elevator, my cover is blown.

“Copy,” he says. My functional right hand grabs hold of a loose chunk of concrete near me. I hear him walk a few steps, and then a couple of beeps. “Elevator power disengaged. Heading to your location.” With that, he walks out of the room, and I can finally breathe again. They don’t know the elevator is empty yet. They think they have me trapped in an unpowered elevator. Now to finally get out of here.

Easier said than done, as it turns out. The ruins are a concrete maze, and I constantly have to watch my step. It doesn’t help that the rain that seeps down through the broken ceilings makes everything slippery. The downpour has changed into an outright storm: the water beats down loudly on the concrete and every now and then a roaring thunderclap tears through the sky. Meanwhile, I guess the Metrocops discovered I wasn’t in the elevator after all, because I suddenly hear the cold, disembodied female voice – Overwatch, I assume – echo through the air once more: “Individual, you are charged with anti-civil activities: 63 criminal trespass, 148 resisting arrest, 243 assault on Protection Team. All local Protection units: code alert: locate, contain, prosecute.”

I spot one of the lambdas painted by the resistance group on a pillar. It leads the way down a slope of collapsed floor into a sub-street level area. Knowing the Metrocops are looking for me again, I try to speed up my pace a little while heading down – a mistake. The wet rubble gives way and I lose my footing. The world spins around me as I slide and tumble down the slope. I try to shield my head with my arms. I roll over the floor after reaching the bottom before coming to a stop.

I lie on my back as my surroundings come back into focus. I’m in some sort of underground sewer chamber: I see a ladder on the wall leading up to a manhole cover and there’s a grate in the ceiling through which light and rain pours down in a small waterfall, though the ground I lie on is thankfully dry. I do a quick damage report: my palms are chafed and I’ll undoubtedly have a few bruises, but no lasting damage. I’m lucky I didn’t hit my head on any of the protruding edges of the concrete.

I become aware of a sound, just barely audible over the storm. It sounds like a fire – no, more like a flamethrower. At the same moment, I notice the dancing orange light on the brick wall, and my nostrils are assaulted with the stench of burning flesh. I immediately jolt up. Pain shoots through my back at the sudden movement. I look around and immediately spot the source of the sound: there’s a Cremator standing on the opposite side of the room. The two lanky, leathery-skinned arms sticking out of its brown robe carry a heavy flamethrower which, I notice for the first time seeing one up close, is connected to a spherical fuel tank in the middle of its stomach with a thin tube. ‘Flamethrower’ might be an incorrect word, however. Instead of producing flames, it shoots the green particle jets I also noticed being used to clean trains in the station. It must be some sort of corrosive liquid that only affects organic matter. The source of the orange light on the walls turns out to be a burning pile of charred flesh being sprayed by the Cremator. The flesh is being set ablaze by the green particles, but not only that: where the jets hit the flesh directly, it seems to blacken and disintegrate. Despite the fact that the corpses have turned black as coal and have been turned into an amorphous, ever-shrinking pile, I can still make out just enough to see that these were once people.

The Cremator stops what it’s doing and turns its white, oval head towards me, alerted by my sudden movement. Its tiny, expressionless eyes lock onto me. I hear mechanical breathing from the Cremator’s mouth-tube as it steps closer. It tilts its head like a curious animal before it points the nozzle of its weapon towards me. I could try to run, but I doubt I could get far enough to evade the scorching cloud. I briefly wonder if I should not have moved an played dead. It probably wouldn’t have saved me from being disintegrated.

“Cremator! Stand down!” A Metrocop charges in and stands between me and the Cremator. “This prisoner is property of Civil Protection and is to be transferred to Nova Prospekt for processing.” The Cremator tilts its head again, then turns around and returns to its previous work. The Metrocop turns around to face me. I should be worried, but I’m not. Despite its distortion, I have already recognized his voice. I once again hear the click of the mask detaching and am greeted by Barney’s smug grin. I’ve never been happier to see that stupid grin.

“So Gordon, is this what you call ‘not drawing any attention to yourself’? You’ve got practically every Metrocop in the sector looking for you!” He reaches out and grabs my arm to pull me onto my feet. The numbness from the stun baton is almost gone, though it now hurts from the fall instead. As I rub my elbow, I glance at the Cremator. It seems to be minding its own business, but I don’t feel comfortable hanging around near it much longer, and I wonder if it’s a good idea for Barney to unmask himself and be so friendly with me in its presence. Barney follows my gaze and says “Don’t worry about him, he won’t bother us again. They’re not too bright, these Cremators. Mindless synths. They were made to be janitors, primarily. Destroy biological waste, contain the Xen infestation…” He looks down at the charred corpses grimly. “… clean up after the Civil Protection patrols.” He beckons me and starts walking. “The reason he was about to disintegrate you is because you are not a registered citizen or Combine unit. So to him, you would have to be either a Xenian creature or a very lively corpse. Either way, you were considered ‘unauthorized biological mass’ and had to be disposed of.”

We enter an underground utility tunnel. The sounds of the storm fade away as we follow the cables and pipelines down the dimly lit corridor. “You’re lucky I found you,” Barney remarks. “Those Immolators of theirs can give you a nasty burn. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to meet you at the Arcade, I was held up by unforeseen complications on my shift. I had just gotten back to Dr. Kleiner’s lab when I heard the local CP units go crazy over some guy causing trouble at the Arcade.” He flashes me a smirk. I tell him what happened at the Arcade, with the Metrocop I had thought was him. “You got baited,” he replies. “Some CPs will bait citizens into breaking rules, like trespassing, just so they can enact some civil judgement.”

We march through the underground network in silence for a while before I cautiously bring up Jeremy. Barney sighs sadly and lightly shakes his head. “Yeah, I heard what happened.” He doesn’t say anything for a moment, seemingly choosing his next words carefully. “Listen, Gordon… don’t worry about it, okay? I can probably pull some strings to make sure he turns out okay.” He doesn’t sound all that certain. “Either way, don’t blame yourself. Each of us knows the risk in what we’re doing. We’re all prepared to... go all the way for our cause.” I get an uneasy feeling in my stomach. Barney is being uncharacteristically serious and grim. This is not the same man I knew before Black Mesa. Then again, the same goes for myself.

His face lightens up again and he slips back into his usual grin when we go down a side tunnel with another lambda, at the end of which is a short staircase with a metal door. “Well Gordon, looks like we’re finally here.” He opens the door and the sound of machinery pours out. Not harsh, loud and aggressive, like the Combine factories, but light beeps and clicks over a soft hum. A familiar sound that invites me inside. The sound of science.

_____________________

Consul screens

Stenographer's Chasm

Piston hall

Cremator factory

Manhack Arcade exterior + Citadel

Manhack Arcade interior

Cremator

Underground

And for the first time, there aren't just images for reference, but also sound: here is the original Vortigaunt voice.

As always, really excited to share this new chapter of Anticitizen with you. We've finally reached Kleiner's lab, so from now the story will start picking up pace. And as always, please let me know what you think :)

[anobscurename]

ocean eyes – chris evans

PART I | PART II | PART III

concept: a collection of happenings, but there do happen to be a lot of references to the other parts. it’s just plotless fluff at this point. the slowest of slow burns. there will be many more parts. this is your moving in – finally – and the welcome party that follows.

pairing: chris evans x reader

word count: 2.7k

warnings: a lot of teasing, ice cream, dirty thoughts, and a touch of sexual frustration.

author’s note: so this is part four, and we finally have some mackie and stan action! also, because i believe in all ice cream flavour superiority, i have left a little “choose your own response” thing. select whichever one fits you as the reader :)

“Is that the last of it?”

“I think so.” You were breathless from the move, boxes covering almost every viable flat surface of your new bedroom.

Chris had himself a rather nice house up on the Hollywood Hills, and through one of the many windows, you glimpsed the shimmering reflection of a spacious pool. The residence boasted three bedrooms, and now one was yours. It was enough to make your head spin.

“I’ll let you get settled, then,” Chris smiled, his hand finding your shoulder in a gesture that suggested nothing more than friendship – one which your body reacted to as something more. His hand was warm, and you hoped he didn’t notice the goosebumps that rose on your arms at his very touch. The scent of him invaded your nostrils, utterly intoxicating.

You folded your arms across your chest hoping to disguise the sudden gooseflesh. There was something about him that made your hair stand on end, but in a purely unadulterated good way – some kind of magnetic energy that made you want his hands encompassing every inch of your body, committing it to his memory. When he retracted his hand, you hoped he hadn’t seen the slump of your shoulders in soft disappointment.

He had.

And if you had been paying more attention to him, and not your own suddenly raging hormones, then you wouldn’t have missed the smirk that quirked his lips at the visible effect he appeared to have on you.

“Don’t take too long, though,” he added by the doorway. The mere glimpse you caught of his cheekbones in profile had your breath stuttering erratically, even more so than the weight of your neatly packed boxes ever hoped to achieve. “We have a welcome party to get to in a few hours.”

——————

The welcome party, you were to discover later, was a party of two – just you and your cab thief – to be later joined by two of his friends who happened to be in L.A.

You banished any and all thoughts of it being a date or not this time, and found yourself much more put at ease by it once you had set your resolve. You were his friend – barely even that, if you would let yourself admit it – nothing less, nothing more. And what type of date would it be with his friends there, in any case?

So outfit choice came easy. If you were to be living together, he would inevitably become accustomed to you looking borderline homeless at times, and should the occasion call for it, like an absolute goddess the next. And so your selection of clothing came effortless, settling for something in between: a homeless goddess.

You didn’t know where Chris was taking you, so the selected aesthetic happened to be minimalistic makeup and a black jumpsuit that could either be dressed up or down, but looked classy all the same. You decided to dress it down – pairing it with a pair of old worn in Docs you had on hand – and one look at him – as he waited patiently for you on the couch – you knew you had made the perfect choice.

He had his legs crossed, ankle balancing on knee as he bounced his leg subconsciously. Dodger’s head was in his lap as he absentmindedly petted him. His legs were clad in dark wash jeans, tailored to fit him perfectly, and his torso sported a dark blue button up under a brown leather jacket. His hair was slicked back – either from a shower or from styling product, only time would tell.

Hell, he’d even shaved for this, his face appearing much more boyishly charming than anything now.

It took a moment for you to register that Steve Rogers and Chris Evans were two different people, what with him sat there in an ensemble he must’ve stolen from the costume department.

It was Dodger that noticed you first. He had taken quite the liking to you when you first arrived – three hours ago, to be precise – and it had taken almost half an hour to get him to leave your room so you could begin in the tedium of unpacking. He had been practically inconsolable, and had scratched at your door for another ten minutes after until Chris eventually decided to spend some time with him out in the garden to distract him from your loss. You knew you and the boxer were going to be fast friends. Especially now that his tail was pounding furiously in its wagging, beating the couch cushions into submission. It was then that Chris noticed you, too.

He turned his head, and time seemed to slow. A second felt drawn into an hour as he took you in. There was an imperceptible, intranslatable crease in his brow before it slackened and his face broke into a soft, boyish grin. “Wow,” he said softly.

“Is it… too much? I can go change if–”

“No!” He cleared his throat, his hurried response jarring enough to make even Dodger cock his head. “No, you look perfect. Beautiful. Great.”

His smile was contagious and you found your face splitting into a delighted beam. “You’re one to talk. You clean up nice, Captain Armani.”

He rose from the couch. Dodger followed him off to bound up to you and give your hand a soft lick. Under his breath, you could hear Chris scoff at the Captain Armani tease. “You ready to go?”

“Um, yeah… What about Dodger though? Will he be alright?”

“He’ll be fine. We won’t be out long anyways,” Chris winked – more so to Dodger than you, but that did nothing to stave off the shiver that ran unbidden down your spine. “I promise.”

——————

Chris took you to a restaurant first – nothing fancy, and very clearly nothing too romantic, that was certain; corroborated by the subtle sink of your heart – before you both began your pleasant evening stroll, vaguely in the direction of the “hidden gem” dive bar him and a few of his friends had found when he’d moved to L.A.

It would be an unfaithful recounting of events if you said it hadn’t been a bit awkward at first, but soon enough, you’d both found your footing, and the quick witted teasing and fast fire rapport was almost second nature to the both of you.

“Favourite Disney character, and if you say you don’t have one, you can find somewhere else to live.”

The mirth in his eyes suggested he was joking, but there was an edge to his voice that said otherwise. He was serious to some extent, and for some unfathomable reason, you refused to let him down. Also because you really didn’t have a place to go should this all go sideways. You mentally made a reminder to have a fail safe contingency plan if things got messy – not that they would; you were insistent on that.

“It happens that I’m in luck, then,” you retorted. “Because as it so happens, I have a top five.”

You rattled off your list, loving the way Chris’ smile grew impossibly wider at each name drop.

Your conversation – more a debate on who was the badder bitch: Mulan, Moana, or Elsa – took a natural halt outside a cute hole-in-the-wall ice cream parlour. Suddenly, memories of the first time you met came flooding back.

“Cookies and cream, right?”

He arched a brow in confusion.

“Your favourite ice cream flavour. It was cookies and cream.”

“You remembered.”

It was enough to make you laugh, the surprise in his voice. “Of course I would. You tried to convince me it was the best in the world. Stupidly so, considering [I already am an avid cookies and cream worshipper] // [my allegiances lie with {insert favourite ice cream flavour here}].”

“Yeah, yeah. Do you want some? Before we go and meet Seb and Anthony?”

“Uh, sure,” you shrugged.

He gave you a playful nudge of the elbow and headed to the counter. The order came quick, and soon you were back on your slow crawl to the pub, ice cream already starting to sweat and melt in the sugarcone.

You watched in amusement as Chris all but moaned in ecstasy as he devoured the cookies and cream. The sound was enough to make you moan yourself, but the sight – well, that was a more humourous one to behold. He ate like a starving man, and some dark recess of your mind wondered what else he might be inclined to eat with such passion–

He had caught you staring, and he paused his ministrations. “What?”

“Nothing.” You had tried to stifle your giggle with ice cream, and it had turned into a cough, and now you were outright laughing at him. “Don’t stop on my account, I just think you and your dessert should find a room if you’re going to be so vocal about your pleasure.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you want some?” He smirked, offering you his mangled ice cream scoop, half gone already.

“I’ve got my own, I think I’ll survive.” The wink came natural with your response.

“No, really, you should try some.”

“It’s just hard to take you seriously. With all the ice cream on your face.”

He paused, confusion halting his steps. And rightfully so – he still remained immaculate, not a speck out of place. “Where?”

“Right…” – you suddenly grabbed his unsuspecting hand, still clutching his treat, and smeared the icy cold goodness on the side of his cheek – “there!”

Your howl of laughter was short lived as he slowly wiped the ice cream from his face before turning his attention to you. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that.”

It wasn’t menacing by any means, more playful, but when he came at you with his ice cream cone, every intent of menace was there. You were wearing black, after all, and a stain from that cream was going to be glaringly visible for the entire bar excursion.

Easily dodging his attack, you darted to the side and held your own ice cream out, hoping it would keep him at bay. He still advanced, and you knew you were screwed.

So you said fuck it, and ran.

Luckily, you had already been quite close to the bar, and although you wouldn’t be able to tell them where exactly it was should a stranger ask you in passing, you recognized the name on the sign easily enough. Taking one last mournful bite of ice cream, you discarded the rest in a garbage can, it proving more a hindrance to your escape than a good weapon.

Exhilaration flowing through you, peels of laughter leaving your lips, you burst into the bar, hoping you’d be safe. The patrons paid you no mind as you whipped around, eyes cautiously on the door, awaiting your doom.

Chris burst in not soon after you, both of you breathless. He had lost the ice cream along the way too, and with that immediate danger gone, you felt yourself visibly relax.

Among your panting breaths, you chuckled. “Truce?”

He nodded, swallowing thickly. “Truce.”

“Hey, Evans! Over here!”

Both of you turned your attention to the man who spoke. Sat side by side in a booth, waiting for your arrival, was the ever gorgeous Sebastian Stan and Anthony Mackie, the latter having risen to wave you over.

Your heart stuttered at the sheer bizarreness of it all.

“Holy shit,” you whispered. “How do I look?”

“You look great.” When you gazed up at Chris, there was a softness to his eyes and a gentleness to his smile. It astounded you how playful and teasing he could be one second, and how heartachingly genuine he could be the next. “Except…”

Your eyes widened. “Except?!”

He chuckled, reaching out a tentative thumb. When you didn’t pull away, he proceeded. One, large and wildly beautiful hand resting on your cheek, the thumb grazing your lip, you had to remind yourself that you had just run for your life and that was the reason for your heart threatening to break free from your chest – nothing more. But there they were again, the goddamn goosebumps. You shivered, undetectable to him, but what felt like earthquake tremors to you.

He swiped away the leftover ice cream that had been clinging to your lips, and, without a second thought, brought his thumb to those perfect lips of his. Time seemed to slow as you watched him lick and suck the ice cream off his finger, his eyelids fluttering, long lashes fanning closed.

And then the spell broke as he gave you a reassuring and completely friendly smile, unfazed at all by what had just transpired. “There. Much better.”

——————

Anthony was bewildered. “Wait, so he stole your cab?”

“And you let him?” Seb had paused while chalking his cue.

“She never let’s him forget…” Chris grumbled under his breath, taking a languid sip of his beer.

That earned him a mutual eye roll from you and Sebastian, and a look passed between you.

“What a baby,” you mouthed to him from across the pool table.

“I know!” He mouthed back with a smirk while sinking down to line up his next shot.

After an initial round of drinks, you and the boys eventually found yourselves migrating to the pool table. Anthony and Seb were the only ones playing, having gotten to the bar earlier than you and Chris and were pleasantly buzzed by the time you two had entered. Chris and you decided to sit the first round out, instead opting to drink a little more before.

“And then he followed you into an alleyway and you didn’t kick him in the dick?” Anthony gave Seb a pat on the shoulder in consolation when he missed the shot, but still had his attention focused on you, and the unravelling series of events that had led you to this moment.

Seb, still cursing from his failed shot, straightened from the table. “He would’ve been kicked in the dick the moment he tried to steal my cab, I can tell you that.”

Anthony and Sebastian found your story far more amusing than you ever did, but the more you spoke about it with them, the funnier it became.

“Well, it’s not so bad. I got to meet you guys.” You raised your beer in cheers.

Seb pressed a hand to his heart, mouthing a soft “aaw”, while Anthony, although smiling his adorable gap-toothed grin, rolled his eyes. “Man, get the hell out of here with that sappy shit.”

You laughed, hopping off your bar stool. “Alright, come on, it’s my turn. You’re all fucking it up, it really can’t be that hard…”

——————

Apparently it could be that hard. And you weren’t talking about the team of doubles pool game unfolding in front of you…

You were bent over the pool table, lining up your next shot. And Chris was…

His body was pressed against yours, leaning against you, every bit as warm as you expected, and rock hard with taut muscles that you could feel individually ripple at every movement. The smell of him – something delicious and indescribable – was all around you. Affable hands – leaving a blazing trail of goosebumps in their wake – travelled down to cover your own as he “helped you” play pool.

He was speaking low, directly into your ear, each husky word shiver inducing as every so often his lips would brush the shell of your ear as either he or you shifted.

“Nice and steady. Keep your eye on the ball,” he murmured throatily. The hand that wasn’t assiting your grip on the cue idly fell to land on the dip of your waist, travelling down to rest on the curve of your hip – searing hot through your jumpsuit. “Just like that…”

You involuntarily moved beneathe him, and you felt him stiffen. He cleared his throat, the rasp still tinted in his voice, eyes hooded with something unknown.

He drew back, leaving you cold and wanting – but much more clear headed. It wasn’t entirely lost on you, the way he shuffled uncomfortably, having to adjust his jeans – particularly around the crotch area.

“You know, Evans,” you smirked. “If I needed your help, I would’ve asked for it.”

To punctuate your point, you sank the ball you’d had your eye on, and, in quick succession, sank another.

He watched you, captivated, mouth slightly agape. “I…”

You shot Mackie a wink over the table as you missed the next shot, but managed to position the eight ball right in front of his and Seb’s most favoured pocket, effectively screwing them over. He groaned, but nodded and slow clapped in appreciation of the duplicity. You mockingly curtseyed to him, before handing the cue to Chris for his shot.

“Don’t worry,” Seb said, clapping Chris on the shoulder. “You’ll get ‘em next time, tiger.”

[periminkle]

pairing: taehyung x reader genre: fluff word count: 1.2k rating: pg-13 warnings: none author’s note: i hope a fluffy taehyung can help you smile today :)

[3:24am] the stiff muscles between your eyebrows ached, your eyes on the verge of falling out of their sockets at any moment now from how long you’ve been glaring at the blue light of your laptop screen. hours of shifting from one uncomfortable seated position to the next finally caught up with your folded legs, grimacing at the pins and needles that awakened your sleeping limbs for the umpteenth time that night. well, technically early morning. 

time is just another social construct anyway.

“baby.” the deep drawl of your sleepy boyfriend’s voice pierced the dead silence of the night, which was no longer filled with the gentle clicking of your keyboard. instead, you were wracking your brain, fixated on a particular paragraph that seemed peculiar to your lethargic mind. 

tearing your gaze from the accursed print, you craned your neck to look over at the bedroom door, searching for the troublemaker. lo and behold, you discerned taehyung’s athletic form leaning against the dingy corridor, fluffy hair encased in a grey hoodie with fragments of his interrupted slumber still lining his countenance. 

if you weren’t so burnt out from your studying session, you might have cooed at his heavy lids, threatening to submerge the sluggish boy back into a state of unconsciousness. but, your current frazzled self was barely able to form a coherent sentence, instead muttering out a quiet, “mhm?”

taehyung’s padded feet shambled towards the rustic couch that you had occupied for most of the day, having written a lab report before beginning to prep for your upcoming exams. he came to a halt about a metre away from your curled up form, admiring the ruffled strands sticking out from your double dutch braid. 

the dark, puffy bags that you earned from missing sleep in favour of your studies almost brought forth a scolding, although the deep-seated affection he discovered within the depths of your irises as you gazed up at him made him change his course.

“i need my cuddle buddy.”

when the corners of your lips turned up ever so slightly he felt giddy at the sight of your tiny grin, but the longing conveyed through your eyebrows pulling up and towards one another made him scowl attractively.

“aw, tae, i promise I’ll be there in a few, okay?” despite your initial confusion at the abrupt absence of your laptop, courtesy of your drowsy boyfriend, you continued, “i just need to finish up this pa--”

your sentence was rudely interrupted when taehyung flopped onto the other, uninhabited side of the couch, laying on his stomach with his legs hanging off the edge. precipitously, he buried his head in your stomach, arms sliding behind your lower back to squeeze your torso. the force of his embrace forced all the air out of your diaphragm and you gave a few quick, successive taps to his bicep to make your surrender known.

after a few seconds, he let up his grip the tiniest bit, just enough for some air to pass through your lungs; taehyung seemed adamant on physically squashing you with his overflowing love. 

“you said that two hours ago.” his voice came out muffled from being shoved up against the cloth of his own thick sweater that adorned your body.

guilt flooded your senses as you placed one hand on top of his mop of brown curls, exposed from the force of his jump which blew his hood down. you let your digits tangle themselves within his strands as you softy replied, “i know, i’m sorry. there’s just all these final projects and exams are around the corner. i wanna be prepared, you know?”

“depriving yourself of sleep isn’t gonna help though.” taehyung brought his arms back to his sides, pushing his chest off your lap and shifting his weight to his knees. you planted your feet on the floor as well, expecting the two of you to scuffle off to bed. however, taehyung obviously had different plans, as he suddenly placed both of his hands on your shoulders, pushing you back down.

you stole a glance at the sly smirk he flashed you, suspicion seeping through your baffled features. he crawled closer and proceeded to lift one knee over to the other side of your body, sitting down onto your lap and effectively caging you in by straddling your legs. a scoff escaped your throat as the edges of your eyes crinkled in a playful smile, arms circling around his thin waist to clasp onto one another, resting on his lower back.

he leaned forward, placing his thumb on your right cheek and his pointer finger on your left, contracting the muscles in his hands to squish your cheeks together. when your mouth was effectively stuck in an adorable pout, much like a fish, he left a peck on your lips. although you tried to jut your head towards his for another, his grip on your jaw tightened to end your pursuit, resting his forehead on yours instead. 

with your gaze still trained on his lips, you read the subtle movements rather than heard his whisper of, “greedy.”

taehyung adored staring into the darkness of your pupils, always seeking to uncover more of your soul than that which already laid bare to him. with this knowledge, it came as no shock to you when you looked up to the sight of entrancing cinnamon discs, flecked with bright gold blemishes, observing your every move. you found yourself doing the same with him, trying to pick apart every detail of this wonderful man’s soul.

you could only hope that the utter admiration in his eyes were reflected in your own. 

tilting your head back marginally, you stretched an arm out to place the hood on top of his head once again. lifting your other hand as well, you grasped the drawstrings of his sweater and pulled the cords tight, swiftly covering the edges of his face until his nose was the only feature left visible. soft giggles escaped your lips as he grabbed one edge of the bundled clothing and yanked himself free, revealing the boxy grin that you adored. “oh, no you didn’t.”

“oh, yes i did.”

slipping his arms around your torso once again, he dived into the wide expanse of your exposed neck, tenderly biting down on a particularly ticklish area. you squeaked at the contact and writhed around in his grip before he was soothing the area with light kisses and some more nibbles, pressing his chest against yours in an effort to be as close as the laws of physics would allow him.

you rubbed thoughtless shapes into his back as both your breaths evened out, unintentionally synchronizing. minutes passed before you felt his lips move against your skin once again. “i have a really big crush on you.”

“taehyung, we’ve been together for three years.”

he hummed into the crook of your neck, actively sending mild vibrations down your spine—seemingly content with the reminder. he really did remind you of an overgrown toddler sometimes. “can you come to bed now?”

“okay you big baby, let’s go.” you untangled your limbs from one another as taehyung stood up onto his feet. while he headed back to the bedroom, you remained planted at your spot and began whining, stretching both arms and legs out in the air. 

taehyung let loose a hearty laugh at your childish behaviour and reached down to pick up your limp form, chests pressing together yet again as you wrapped your appendages around the tall man. “who’s the baby now, huh?”

[littleoddwriter]

Embarrassment | Roman Sionis x Victor Zsasz | ZsaszMask | Smut

"if requests are open can i just get zsasz being really dumb but with some praise and/or daddy kink thrown in?" anon

A/N: I hope my interpretation of this is alright with you. I went with ZsaszMask here, since you didn't specify who Zsasz would be with; and since he wasn't exactly listed as a character for Reader fics, I assumed you were just asking for ZsaszMask. I really hope I got that right. If not, let me know, please! 

summary; Victor commonly mispronounces words, the wrong person hears it and mocks him for it to Roman’s face. Roman gives his boy a treat and then praises him because, yes, he isn’t very skilled when speaking, but he is still such a good boy for him! With it, smut ensues.

notes; TW // Implied Murder (non-descriptive); Very quick, throw-away mention of Child Abuse in the first paragraph. KINKS: Daddy!Kink; Praise Kink; Slight pet play, too; Anal Sex; Quick Prep. PWP/Loose plot; Lemon; Smut; kind of Emotional Hurt/Comfort, too, but like, they are ZsaszMask, don’t expect too much; A little softness in the end, too.

Roman absolutely hated it when someone mispronounced words in any way, shape or form. It made his blood boil. Mostly, he believed, it was because of his parents. If he had said something wrong, even if it was just the pronunciation, then he would be punished. Obviously, he tried to avoid that at all costs as time went on, which made him hyper-aware of when other people butchered a word or even an entire sentence, as a side effect.

Unfortunately, his partner in crime and lapdog had a rather slurred way of speaking and mispronounced a lot of words. He still wasn't sure if he was just stupid and wasn't educated, or perhaps he really was just lazy as all hell.

Either way, it happened multiple times a day that Zsasz would say something wrong. Roman has stopped being truly annoyed with him for it after a while. By now, he just corrected him and moved on. Of course, he had tried to teach Victor, but he just didn't really catch on to it; and frankly, he had better things to do than teach a grown man to speak properly.

Now, usually it wasn't even a big problem anyway, since Roman was basically the only person Zsasz really spoke to. So no one normally witnessed Victor's poor speaking skills. If anything, they were his staff anyway, so it didn't matter, they wouldn't dare say something about it.

Until, of course, one day the wrong person had heard it after all.

Roman had been conversing with a potential business partner, when Victor came back from running an errand for him. It was like clockwork; when Roman was talking, he wasn't to be interrupted, so he waited until he was done to tell him anything important that might have happened on the errand. He only ever interrupted him when it absolutely couldn't wait.

Obediently, Zsasz stood next to Roman and waited. When he was done talking, he lifted his hand and excused himself to the man he was speaking with, so Victor could tell him whatever was burning on his tongue.

"Boss, Johnson's guys have defiantly got the message. Expecially himself. He's retreating now and trying to get on your better side again, but I doupt you want that. D'you?"

Roman didn't even bother to correct him, though he clenched his fists to try and stop the urge to do it anyway. They were in public with someone he didn't trust and he didn't want to humiliate Victor like that. He knew that he tried at least a little, after all. Especially when they were with someone he didn't know.

Before Sionis could even reply anything, a terribly mocking cackle sounded from his right. It was that fuck he had been trying to get a deal with.

"Is he really that fucking stupid or does he just act like it, huh? God, that's embarrassing. I can't believe you let him run around talking like that, Mr Sionis," he sneered.

For just a split second hurt was reflected in Victor's eyes. It was like a punch to Roman's gut. Zsasz was basically never hurt by anything or anyone, only few people, among which was Roman himself, could achieve that.

Zsasz straightened up and acted like he didn't hear anything, assuming his usual position behind where Roman sat, so he could watch over him.

"Well, I believe that business deal we had planning to get going is over now. Thank you so much for coming in, but it's time for you to leave, 'kay?" Roman said clasping his hands together and a big fake grin on his face, his tone strained.

The other man sputtered. "Excuse me? We were just in the middle of-"

"Yes, yes, I am aware. Anyway, I do not want to keep talking to you any longer. So get out!" His anger became more palpable by the second.

Some of his men escorted the fake fuck out, after he whispered to one of them to knock him out and bring him to their closest warehouse.

Then Roman turned around to face Victor, who looked rather dumb-founded.

"Boss?"

"C'mon, baby. I'm having him brought to the closest warehouse we own. Then you can go and have some fun with that stupid fuck, hm? How's that sound, my boy?"

His eyebrows climbing up his forehead in surprise, Victor nodded. Obviously, he knew that this deal was actually a little important to Roman, but nothing seemed to be more important than his pet being happy.

Sometimes, he really despised that.

They went to the warehouse, when it was all set up and he gave Victor all the freedom he could have wanted with the other man. It was beautiful, a sight to behold, really. The way Victor freed people from this awful world was always breathtakingly stunning to him. But when he was also upset by one of those people and had creative freedom? Just marvelous, a true masterpiece that came out of it. Such as the tally, that now sat in the crook of his elbow, always visible, always a reminder.

Eventually, they arrived back at home, aroused from the beautiful way this fake fuck has been slaughtered, and Roman also had the urge to indulge his little boy and praise him for always being so good for him. So he was set on doing just that.

As soon as they came into the bedroom, he grabbed Victor's wrist and turned him around to face him, smashing their lips together in a searing kiss. Zsasz moaned into it, opening his mouth a little. Roman slid his tongue into the other's mouth immediately, fucking it in and out of Victor's mouth, playing with his tongue.

After doing just that for about a minute, he broke the kiss, leaning his forehead against Victor's, panting.

"Be a good boy for Daddy and undress yourself and then lie down on the bed, 'kay?" Roman rasped, kissing Zsasz once more before twirling his finger to signalise him to get going.

Sionis kept watching his boy, while he undressed, folding his clothes and putting them on a nearby chair. He had taught him so well. When he was completely naked, Victor lied down on his back on the soft mattress of their bed. Then he looked at Roman, waiting for further instructions.

Getting rid of his shoes, socks, blazer and gloves, Roman climbed onto the bed and over Zsasz. He was only wearing a plain black shirt and his dark blue suit pants, now. He lifted Victor's legs, spreading them, and kneeled between them, situating them over each of his thighs, pressing his hard cock against the other man's ass. Then he leaned over Zsasz, bracketing his head between his forearms with which he supported himself on the bed. Their faces were merely half an inch apart, breathing each other's air.

"You're my good little boy, aren't you?"

Victor could only nod for a moment. Roman nipped his ear and grinned against it, his lips brushing his ear shell.

"Yes, you are. And you know what? I'm very proud of you, baby. You're always so good to me, always so good for Daddy, hm?"

Zsasz keened in the back of his throat, pushing up his hips. Fuck, he was so easily desperate when it came to being praised by Roman.

"Soon, baby. Be patient, 'kay?" Another nod, another keen. "Use your words, baby, c'mon."

"Yes, Daddy!"

"That's my good boy," he murmured.

Then he leaned back a little again, so he was able to really look at Victor. It was hell on his back, but he didn't care, as their chests and stomachs were pressed together, feeling each other breathe heavily. Victor's hard cock was poking his abdomen, just like his own was pressing against his crack.

"You've done something truly remarkable with this asshole, y'know? What a work of art! Oh, Victor, I'm so lucky, baby."

"Thank you, Daddy," Victor replied the way he was taught to, and fuck, it had Roman's cock twitch.

Roman smiled at him, fondly, adoration clear in his eyes. "I always appreciate how dutiful you are, how you know exactly when to do what, when to speak, what to say. You're so good at it, my boy. Such an obedient little doggy, aren't you? Yes, you are, of course you are."

He leaned down to press a couple of sweet kisses to his lips, smiling into them. Victor gripped onto his bicep and back, trying to keep him as close as possible, unable to not touch him.

"Didn't I disappoint you, though?" Zsasz asked, looking so unsure and like a kicked puppy.

"No, no of course not. Oh, baby, my sweet boy, never you. He was a stupid fake fucking fuck, 'kay? He didn't know you, didn't know to respect me and my assets. And now he's paid for it, hasn't he? Then you mispronounced some fucking words! Now what? He had no fucking reason to talk about you like that, especially not to me. Fuck, I wish we could kill him again, baby. The fucking audacity of this fucker!"

"But I embarrassed you."

"No, you haven't. The only embarrassment there was this fuck thinking he was being funny and saying something of value. Like I said, baby, you're so good for Daddy. Always."

He kissed him again, and again, and again. Then he finally got rid of his pants, underwear and shirt, before diving back in and devouring Victor's mouth with fervor. While he was doing that, he was blindly retrieving the lube from the bedside table and clicking it open, squirting some onto his fingers.

Roman shifted a little, so he could reach down and insert one lubed up finger into Victor's behind, making him moan into the kiss with it. He moved it in and out quickly, stretching him enough to insert a second finger, sicossoring them to stretch his rim for a third finger. It was a quick preparation, as Victor was used to it, but also really liked it when it burned, so they made sure to stretch him enough to not damage him or Roman, and then they were ready to go.

Sionis grabbed the lube once more and spread it on his hard cock, slicking it up thoroughly. Then he guided it into Victor's stretched hole, pressing in slowly but surely. When he was fully sheathed inside of him, they both moaned in unison into their still connected mouths.

Then Roman started thrusting inside of Victor, pulling out and shoving back in, in a quick, brutal rhythm that drove them both crazy.

"Such a good boy. Oh, baby, you're so good for me, look at you. Taking it so fucking well, hm? Ah, fuck! Yes, so tight even after I've been fucking you almost every day for the past decade, huh? Fuckfuckfuck, you're so good, such a wonderful little boy. Just for me, aren't you? You're only my good boy, aren't you? Say it!"

Victor's eyes rolled back, as Roman repeatedly hit his prostate, but he still tried to get out a sentence in-between desperate little moans, "Y-yes, ah, yes! Only yours. Your good boy. Ah, yours! Daddy!"

"Fuck, shit, Victor, ah, I'm gonna come. Oh, baby, I'm gonna fill you up so good, huh? Because my baby deserves the best, hm? Fuck!"

As his thrusts became increasingly erratic, Roman grabbed Victor's cock in his hand and jacked him off in quick movements and a tight grip, making him paint his own chest and stomach after just half a minute. Zsasz moaned loudly and completely unintelligible as he came.

Roman followed him soon after, pressing inside of his partner and staying there, filling him up with his warm, sticky come, moaning and groaning loudly and almost like a porn star.

After a few seconds, in which either of them caught their breaths, Roman pulled out and collapsed next to Victor, their legs tangled, their faces an inch apart and panting.

When they've come down from their orgasmic highs, Roman stroked over Victor's chest, smearing his come over it and rubbing it into his skin, smiling. The scars made it a unique and pleasant sensation to him.

"Don't let that fucker get to you, 'kay? You aren't embarrassing. I don't care that you butcher most words that come out of your mouth. It doesn't make you less of a good little boy for me, alright?"

"Okay, yeah. Thank you," Victor rasped, pressing a kiss to the other's lips.

It was all so fucking soft.

Under different circumstances, it would make Roman feel sick; but even he had a soft spot, which apparently only consisted of this human lapdog called Victor Zsasz. 

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 84: The Second Task

James almost landed on his feet this time, stumbling forward madly in what could have been anything from icy slush, to mud, to quicksand, it was so shocking and repulsive to his bare feet, and quickly found himself face first with a solid block of water. He blinked dazedly several times as he rapped his fist against this new oddity, it didn't even come away wet, then screamed as his eyes adjusted through the murky swill to the sight of the four dead bodies.

He scrambled backwards so fast he found himself tripping right over someone and ruined any pretenses of clean that bath had given by now being covered head to toe in muck like everyone else, heart hammering out of his chest, unable to find his wand, and still looking right at them.

Sirius was trying to get madly to his side, wandless as well and feeling more naked for it than if his boxers had somehow vanished in between jumps this time, but finally getting unsteadily to his feet and hurrying over to Prongs to see the exact same thing. It was a horrifying sight to behold, and looking quickly down to see James uninjured and tangled up, nearly naked with Smith wasn't even distracting him.

Nobody else even looked down to notice the same yet, all eight of them were transfixed at the four floating figures tied down to a crude statue of a merperson carved into a boulder.

"Are they really-" Lily began in a quiet, broken voice, eyes on the little girl, she had to be younger than Regulus...

"N-no!" said Black's voice was shaking too much to even poster at his usually superior nature. "This, this must have something to do with, aha!"

He lunged forward for the book, held down by the blunt end of a trident so half buried in the muck as well as them, and pulled the now dirty blue binding free, instantly flipping it open to reveal the new chapter title, The Second Task.

"So, they had to come down here and find, people?" Frank started rubbing at his chest to get feeling back in it, now leaning against the barrier for support. "That's what they meant by recovering something taken? I bloody hate this tournament."

"I'm long since past," Alice promised, shivering in more than cold despite the mud clinging to her skin. "Mind getting off of me now Potter?"

"Eh?" He glanced down and seemed to realize he was keeping her pinned down, and dutifully rolled off with a quick uttered apology. Then his already pale visage went ever worse as he did a quick look around and didn't see his clothes anywhere, with his wand in it! Oh bloody hell, what happened to the shit they left behind, did they ever find out?!

"Here," James very suddenly found himself with Sirius's pants in his face. "Thought you idiots would like those back."

Sirius did not care that thanks to his brother he now knew what his sock tasted like, he quickly shoved his hands into every available pocket before coming up with Prongs's wand, looking over to see him doing the same with his own.

"You two really are idiots," Peter repeated as he watched Prongs get dressed. "What if he hadn't thought of that eh? And after Regulus went through all that trouble with his shoes?"

"We were having some bleeding fun for once," James scowled, his voice only slightly muffled by his shirt. "Maybe if you lot had joined, we all could have gotten zapped out of there at everyone's convenience!"

"That's all this is to you, isn't it? Fun," Regulus shook his head in disgust.

Neither of them answered, as they did not feel the need to explain themselves to him. Sirius huffily put his pants on and purposely turned away from him to go back studying the no longer dead, but still really, really dead-looking four.

"So, that's Ron and Hermione huh?" He said purposefully loudly to Remus. It was admittedly a guess, but not a wild one, considering the amount of times they'd been described. "Ron's taller than I pictured. Not hard to see why Harry's got a fancy for Cho though, she's a looker, eh Prongs?" Her's was much more wild in said guess, but if Ron and Hermione were down here, logically these were people the champions would care about.

"Eh," he barely cast another look at the girl with long dark hair, he was straightening his shirt and watching Evans, who was now studying the nearest merperson's house with great interest as it sank in for everyone where they must be. Beneath the Hogwarts lake.

It was far too dark down here to get a sense of anything too far from their little bubble of air, but what they could see was admittedly attention-grabbing. The seashells acting as a sort of roadway, the tangled seaweed much shorter than they'd have thought leading to the fun question of what they used to keep that cut down here, and even the houses were something few wizards had ever gotten the chance to see in such detail. The one closest to them was thatched together very cleanly, with no front door apparent.

"I don't understand why we're already at the second task when Harry has no idea what he's going to do to get down here," Frank was frowning heavily at the four victims still. "I'd have thought we'd get a whole chapter dedicated to that at this point."

"I'm not complaining, the sooner this is over, the better," Regulus muttered under his breath as he kept going through Harry's classes, his friends of no more clue than them how any of this was going to work out.

Remus' robes were now dripping with muck and water, he still wanted to kick Sirius for the impromptu bath, but he was frowning at him for a wholly other reason as instead of putting the Bagman jersey back on, he was flipping it this way and that with a frown.

"You don't have to keep showing off Sirius, you swimming around nearly starkers did that plenty," he reminded.

"This turd's been bothering me," he said off hand, before dropping it into the mud and crossing his arms. "Offering Harry all that help, avoiding the twins, something's up with him."

"So, what, you're going to run around shirtless now?" He laughed. "It's February up there Sirius, you'd die of frostbite in minutes."

"You'd keep me warm, wouldn't you Moony," he grinned, uncrossed his arms and leered at him, the scars visible on his chest courtesy of Remus making him wince and try to avoid looking at him.

"Your knackers would fall right off," Remus shot back, very proud he barely had a change in expression.

"You'd keep me warm," Sirius repeated, quite the opposite now with a salacious grin.

Remus was saved the tongue-twisting issue of responding to that by Sirius himself, but in the future. His return note to Harry was more than distracting enough to draw everyone's attention.

"Why do you want to know the Hogsmeade dates?" Evans actually asked of him.

"To take a stroll around, obviously," he rolled his eyes at what he clearly thought was a stupid question.

"And you don't find that the least bit dangerous?" Longbottom asked as if checking his sanity, which clearly slipped a few degrees when he answered.

"Nah, I know that place like the back of my hand. Honestly, can't believe I haven't met up with Harry in there yet."

Potter was now picking mud out of his nails without a care in the world, but at least Lupin and Pettigrew were looking at him with slight concern. It was good to know they weren't all insane, Regulus decided.

He continued on with more build-up instead, including a lesson from Hagrid over baby unicorns and another pep-talk from the gamekeeper. He couldn't help but sympathize heavily with Harry when he didn't ask for help because he was too afraid of disappointing Hagrid, if that wasn't the story of his life in the shortest words possible he didn't know what was. Bolstering quickly past that found the eight of them all laughing in surprise at Ron's response to this challenge.

They all looked affectionately at the redhead floating behind them, his absurd suggestion to just shove his head in the lake and ask for, well himself back was ludicrous, but seeing him here in person really put a funnier spin on that. They were all equally eyeing Hermione with great interest. Her bushy hair was hardly subdued by the deep water, it was almost strange to see her without a book in her hand, even in this place, as that's how they always pictured her in their head.

Frank and Alice would readily admit it was a blessing and a curse not to see Neville down here, to even have the image of how he'd look like this for even a second, while also getting to admire him in the closest thing they would get to see in person.

"Do you think, if we'd ever been in the hospital wing while she was petrified, we would have seen her then?" Alice asked.

"I imagine so," Frank shivered in further unease, thinking they'd look even more dead with their eyes open and glassy.

It was a shame, Lily thought, that they couldn't watch all of this happen in real time regardless, while they stayed hidden away or something. She'd have liked to see Harry ageing before them if that had been the case, but now it seemed she may not even get to see a picture of him at this rate, let alone in the flesh.

As the twins led Ron and Hermione away to McGonagall, presumably leading them down here, they all began looking even more anxiously at his friends. What would happen to whomever Harry was down here to grab if he couldn't accomplish this task? This tournament was still years above him after all, and these two wouldn't be in real danger if he couldn't win at a game, right?

Then Dobby was shaking Harry awake, and the poor kid was having to rush down to this tournament, fearing for his best friend's life while swallowing a what exactly? None of them had heard of gillyweed!

James couldn't stand the tension anymore, he ruffled up his hair, the wet and mud causing a hilarious mess as he suavely turned to Evans and told her, "you know, I'd still come down here and get you even if I didn't have magic to hold my breath for an hour."

She gave him a sour look for joking at a time like this, the boy really had no bounds.

This remark did have the effect of getting someone else's attention though.

"What do you mean it'd be Evans down here?" Sirius Black whined like a kicked puppy. He came over and gave his friend a good prod in the side to make sure he had his full attention.

"Oh come on Padfoot, we all know the merpeople would have murdered you out of sheer annoyance, even if you were asleep. At least I have a chance at getting her out in time," James Potter more than happily teased him.

Lily was watching all of this with a single raised brow and complete disbelief this idiot thought she needed anyone's help, he knew better than anyone what she was perfectly capable of. So then it really was just a show, one her, Alice, and Frank found themselves sucked into. By the time Harry had eaten the odd plant, gotten into the water, and found himself past the grindylows, almost all of the tension had been sapped out of them.

Now Harry was actually down in the village, the first one to do so, and honest fascination as first Krum showed up, transfigured into a shark! James could have kicked himself he hadn't thought of that one, he really had been worried. Then Cedric with something odd, like a fishbowl on his head, they'd never even heard of that one. Then Harry decided enough was enough, he wasn't going to leave the poor little Fleur junior girl down here and took matters into his own hands, dragging her and his best mate up.

It was nice to have the chapter end on such a happy note for once, Regulus decided, as Harry was awarded high marks for his act of bravery, even if he should have realized they wouldn't have just left the kids down here to die, obviously, he'd known that all along... the errant thought didn't stop his eyes from lingering on the four one last time as he warned the others he was almost done, their gaunt faces and the meaning they held leaving him with a sinking feeling heavier than the mud they were still standing in. It was obvious who Sirius would have down here, whom everyone around him would be able to really answer in an instant they'd pick. It was an obvious answer to everyone, except him.

[veinwalk]

RIAIN DRABBLE: THE NORM

WARNING FOR: Blood, Gore, Torture, Drugs, Adult Themes

 The nightlife, the noisy compound that was a part of this city BUSTLING with life and sound that drowned out the ability to think. But in a club, thinking was the last thing people did. No one paid mind to what happened around them, the people they were chatting with, the wolves among the cattle. No, they were too busy with the next drink, the next body to flirt with, a chance for a one-night stand in another dirty hotel room or old car. It was, in a sense, the best place for the criminals and scum to come to mingle, for deals to go down and plans to be lost within the mindless chatter of another round of songs and people trying to yell above those. No wonder the newest target of interest to the self-titled GOD had chosen this place.

                        ’ WHERE THEY COULD TAKE ADVANTAGE, HE COULD TOO

      Frame rested rather lax with arms crossed over the top bar of the catwalk, blue eyes pinpointing the group of gang members- another budding group, trying to make some type of NAME in the city of ██████ . In reality, nothing more organized than MOST groups of criminals in this city. A bunch of gun wielding drug dealers, making their money off of selling dry-wall packed drugs and cheating their customers for more then what they get. They were HARDLY recognizable, and otherwise would be of no interest to him. More people in the background, meaning nothing to his goals. What WAS of interest was things they had a hold of- the bag loosely pushed under the table, its content SUPPOSEDLY holding a rare batch of chemicals. Now it was just in a poor game of torch passing, probably sold to them under an IGNORANT idea it was useful for another batch of cooking, realizing that was wrong, and trying to sell it off again. The Kingpin, currently, was watching over the deal- his own gang member working as the mouth.

     Earpiece buzzed with the information and conversation gotten, the higher quality of the piece muting a good amount of the background noise.           ❝ keep chatting him up. make sure you get him to open the package, don’t just take it. move it up so i can see it when you do.❞         Calm voice spoke directly to his middleman into the ear piece, watching. His position on the upper floor was beneficial- off to the side, a good view but not making him SUSPICIOUS. Just another more relax frame. Any talking he did could easily be masked by his other crew members with him, another mouth moving to chat with some ‘friends’. Everything seemed so NORMAL, nothing standing out. 

       Minutes stacked onto each other, fingers starting to tap in IMPATIENCE in spite of themselves. However, beyond that, he did nothing to make it evident that he was.

       FINALLY. Eyes followed as the bag was moved up, the black cloth moving and settling as it was placed upon the table, catching as the voice in the piece did exactly what was asked and demanded the package was opened. In it rest a clear container filled with an incredibly light yellow liquid. As the other moved the container, he gave a distant visual examination of it.            ❝ put the money on the table, and take the package. meet out back.❞           He spoke as he turned, a nod given to the other members near him. Hand moved up to the ear-piece, pulling it out and putting it into his pocket.

                                                                            ’ A MUTTERED GUNSHOT

      And another, and another. He didn’t need to see the nods back from his crew members, or them drawing their guns from their holders to know his UNSPOKEN COMMAND had gotten across. Screams and yells were delayed, movement like a wave- when his steps brought him to the stairs and eyes were back towards THE SPOT OF INTEREST, it was noted that those nearer freaked out first, the domino effect taking place. Some people hadn’t seemed to notice, music of more focus and proximity not close enough, for the fresh dead in a bloodied booth to be of interest. Then, there was movement TOWARDS the scene- his workers moving to keep the one intentionally living man of the gang from leaving. The dealers. Others focused on the door, blocking the exits, or disabling internal phones. The lack of signal service did a hand on that. Cameras already disabled earlier, eyes watching to make sure no pictures were taken. There was some time to buy.

     Riain moved over to his speaker, who had been unaware of just how things were TRULY expected to go- intentionally kept in the dark. He didn’t need someone anxious of the gunfire that was BOUND to happen. He grabbed the bag from him, taking it back over to the table and sitting in the same spot he had been- the only spot untainted by blood. The carrier and the content inside were placed haphazardly where they had been before, hands placed over each other in a manner of professionalism. Sharp blue hues stared at the other, the smile worn seemed like an ATTEMPT at something friendly but it was just wrong.           ❝ now, onto real business❞

       Words, comments, rushed out remarks that  ❛I gave what the other guy what he paid for! ’  with an expected mix of vulgarity. The brunette stopped him.            ❝ i didn’t pay for dyed water with-❞         Top had peeled off , catching a smell from it.            ❝ coriander and lemon juice? i give you credit for at least attempting to give a similar smell, but effort gets you no where. especially poor ones❞         Container placed down, with some effort to not spill the contents despite it being of no use to him. Or at least, as was.           ❝ now where’s the real one?❞  

         An eye roll was given as more excuses were given, poor insults of him being a dumb ass and this was the real thing, he  ❛ didn’t know shit ’ . The Kingpin moved from his seat, standing up and leaning over the table and getting in front of the other.               ❝ well, let me just test it then.❞         Before words could be given towards this, hand reached behind the other’s head and forced the others face to meet the liquid, the large jar-like container working in his favor as it covered up mouth and nose. Force was exerted to make sure the air pocket between the liquid and the top of the container couldn’t be reached, the tension evidently testing the skin pressed against the lip of the container. The two to the dealers side grabbed him to stop squirming, the bubbles being notable from the liquid as the other tried to breathe. OBVIOUSLY, someone wasn’t used to torture. Should’ve held breathe. He gave him 40 seconds, before releasing him and settling back himself.                ❝ want to claim i don’t know what i know again? if you want, when i get the real stuff i can demonstrate just how it really should have acted on your skin. trust me, it will give you more then red eyes and a hard time breathin’.❞       Eyes remained steeled on the dark-haired man, watching the color return to his face and making the red ring around his lower face start to dissipate just slightly- other then the areas were it seemed some under-skin bleeding had started due to the pressure. The ‘fuck you’ he got didn’t draw much from the criminal, what did gain more response was more excuses. Apparently this man did not learn. He looked at the man on his right, nodding to repeat what he just did. As he did, a gun on the table was grabbed by the king and the butt of the gun was knocked against the jar, causing it to shatter and face to hit against the pieces.                 ❝ factor number 2- you wouldn’t put that chemical into a weak glass like this.❞

           Every great teacher could get to the worst of students, when the man picked himself up again, blood rushing down his face from in between glass shards and mixing with the blood spilled from the corpses around them, the fear, the signs before the words the other was starting to crumble and would ‘beg for their life’ were there. And low-and-behold, the whimpered ‘pleases’ and ‘alrights’ came forth, spilling the fact that it was in a car parked in the back lot.                 ❝ let’s escort you back there then.❞         The words were less towards the victim and more towards his own men to grab him, which they did. The Director moved away from the table, feet carrying him towards the back door with ease- most of the people inside cowering to the sides or attempting to find other doors by this point. The gun equipped woman peeled away from in front of it as he came, following after as he opened it as did the others with the gang leader. He demanded the other show him which vehicle was his and give him the keys, and when that went through he gave the keys to the gang member and made it clear she was to start driving once they were in. The back of the Van was opened and the man was tossed in, with one the men sitting down in the back too and the other joining another in the back seat. Riain took his place in the back of the van with their hostage, closing the door as the engine purred to life. 

        ❝ so where is the stuff?❞         His voice was more calm, almost like asking a normal question about the time or the weather, but it held that undertone stemmed from what had happened before- don’t try to play me anymore.  When the other spoke as he pointed to a box locked against the back, pressed off to the corner, his workhorse reached for it and grabbed the other bag out of it. Grabbing the container when it was released, azure eyes looked it over, gently handling it with his leather gloves.        ❝ now this is lookin’ right.❞      There was a purr of pleasure to his voice as that was said, greeted only with ‘so you got what you want- let me go,’ only to be greeted with an expression that very much spoke that wasn’t going to happen.           ❝ i’ve got to test it first.❞

          Protests rang out, but it didn’t stop him as he took out the graduate pipette from the bag that had been brought- from the very beginning, he had expect the betrayal. He had planned in advance, as was evident. He withdrew some of the chemicals, not even enough to promote a visible difference in the quantity of the container, as forcefully grabbed the struggling mans arm with the aid of the other in the back. He released the chemical onto the open skin, watching it have an almost instant effect that mimicked narcotizing. It was allowed to sit for a second as the other yelled at the stinging sensation, before a medical swab was taken to it to wipe off the remaining droplet, making sure he didn’t come in contact with it himself.           ❝ there we go- that’s how it’s supposed to be.❞        More vulgarity, this time mixed with threats of his death and blah blah blah. It wasn’t the first time he had heard it, it certainly won’t be the last.           ❝ this stuff is considered government level-secret- so who sold it to you? and who sold it to them. i need to know where this stuff got lost in the trade of ignorance.❞         Riain shifted his position, ready for more lies and bullshitting and having to work more on the other to make him talk. And it started just as expected- the other not dropping the threats, refusing the easy way. He moved the chemical to the side, settling it back in the bag to keep it safe, and grabbing for a pair of pliers with one hand and his knife in the other. No use in wasting what he just got, so he’d work with what was around. He forced the others hand onto the elevated metal that was what substituted for seats, locking it in place with his knife jammed in between the palm. A yell erupted in the back, seconds waited for it to die down before words were spoken again.           ❝ for every bullshit you give me, you lose another nail. now, where did you get this?❞          First nail, cussing and threats. Second nail, begging for him to stop. Third nail, more begging with muttered words of he didn’t know. Fourth nail, some skin went with this one, tears mixing with his ability to talk and more begging for him to please stop. Fifth nail, the pliers were slammed down and the nail was rather dragged off, some of the Directors annoyance starting to ring through this action. The bone was broken. More yelling, more lying that he didn’t know. The annoyance continued with him violently retracting the knife from within the others skin, tearing a bit more as he pulled it out across rather then straight up. Grip was adjusted on it, pointing it directly towards the others face.           ❝keep this up, and by the time the medical examiners get to you they won’t be able to recognize a body out of the mush.❞           Out of the side of his eye, he saw his gang member shuffle a bit, some discomfort evident. It wasn’t atypical. Riain wasn’t usually the one to be forefront about getting his hands dirty when it didn’t concern his shows- with tasks he considered ‘underling work’, but when he did he made sure it wasn’t pretty. He wasn’t a bluffer. 

                                ’IT HAD BEEN LEARN HE KEPT TRUE ON HIS THREATS

            The dealer started to whimper out again he really didn’t know, but that was killed off as Riain shifted again, the knife moving slightly to the side and other hand grabbing for the chemical again. Those words swearing he didn’t know were instead turned to ‘wait wait wait!’ Hand withdrew slightly, resting on his knees and knife laxing. Harsh blue eyes met the others, watching the tears mix with the blood still wet coming from the glass, the moisture not allowing it to dry. ‘his name is kevin! he’s some type of informant, dealer type g-guy. apparently isn’t from here but comes here for deals! he sold me the stuff, saying it was some new potent shit that goes into some high quality crystal and can be charged a ton for. said it was chinese or russian or some shit! just- please let me go! i have a wife!’   Wife. Many who used that were lying. Not like it mattered either way, but it was a pathetic bluff. Almost as bad as saying he had kids.            ❝kevin who? where does he frequent? i need more than that. that isn’t going to buy you your freedom.❞        Cruelty between calmer words and frame again, obviously not quite pleased yet. A last name was given, and a list of some locations that seemed guessed at best. The knife was placed to the side again, hands settled near his side.            ❝alright.❞         A simple word, it seemed to drag some peace from the other until another grin reached The Director’s face, and the gun he had on him was grabbed out. Frantic words left the other, all of which were tossed away.              ❝thank you for your business.❞  

                                                                 ’ A BANG, A SHORT LIVED SCREAM, AND BLOOD

            As the sound died, the blood droplets settling, hitting himself and the other living man in the back, his frame settled slightly. For a second, before, hands routed through the pockets of the corpse, retrieving the phone and pocketing it. He could look through contacts and history later, tracking down calls and making his own leads if lies had been made.

           The next day, the news would be buzzing with a murder at a club in the middle of the night, the occupants being held hostage, and the criminals being gone by the time police arrived. There would be a burnt van, with the smoldered remains of a corpses with glass shards in their face and a hand that was completely messed up beyond repair. And there would be a man at work, the new face of some company, doing his job and running his business. No mind to the stolen phone connected to a laptop digging up information in the background, or a dangerous illegal chemical hiding within his desk. But that was just another day.  A man that should be more worried that his face might be found, the truth be released, but in a town like this? This was normal. This was business. Whether it be the lower level gangs, a infamous crew destroying the city in the daylight, another batch of people to get the blame perhaps, or just the newest criminal stepping out of the dark, it was normal.

                                     ’ IT WAS BUSINESS, AND BUSINESS WAS GOOD

[sickfics-for-days]

Blind Spot

Hello!! I’m here with my first TMA fic! Season 5 is hitting me hard in the whump feels, so spoilers for that. I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it, and boy does it feel good to be back!

They are almost out of the Dark, a fact Martin is grateful for. Ever since Jon had made his...statement, the only thing he wanted was to get to Elias, punch him in the face, then force him to tell them how to undo the apocalypse. Children was where he drew the line.

But it wasn’t just the righteous anger that fueled his desire to leave the dark empty streets behind. Jon was starting to worry him. Ever since they had arrived in this domain, he had been looking increasingly haggard, steps hastened with urgency to leave, but each one seeming to take more effort than the last. Part of the reason Martin had demanded Jon tell him about the Dark was in the vain hope that actually letting out what was building in his head would help. Much to his dismay, he found that, if anything, it made him seem more exhausted. They had been plodding onward for what seemed like hours, Martin dutifully following Jon’s lead as he was forced to watch his steps go from determined speed to the current staggering shuffle.

“Jon?” Martin breaks the silence, too worried to keep quiet any more. “Are- are you okay?”

At his name, the Archivist stops, swaying slightly in the dim light.

“J-Jon? What is it? You’re scaring me.”

Marin expects some kind of dry response alluding to fear being the point, or maybe a tired dismissal on just focusing towards getting out. Instead, his worry slides straight to panic as he watches Jon fold like a house of cards.

“Jon!”

Jon could feel it the moment they stepped into the Dark. The power of the Eye, the Watcher, the Beholding, whatever you wanted to call it, was much dimmer here. He didn’t lie to Martin when he told him that it did not find the fear of children as interesting, but children are not only afraid of the dark. It had placed them here, because the Dark had always been the most effective at blocking its power. So, it kept it fed and satisfied with those it did not care to See. Because it could not, not while Watching the rest of the domains. Jon, the Archivist and harbinger of the Eye, was cut off from the source of his power. A thin trickle remained, enough to ensure that nothing could harm them, but that was all. He chose to show Martin the avatar of the Dark, because he fervently hoped that seeing a child would cause him to reconsider before he was forced to confess that the Eye could not obliterate him with its gaze because no eye can see clearly in the realm of the Dark.

Then Martin had asked to know, to be told about this place. Of all the domains he asked for, it had to be the one that Jon really didn’t know. But he would do anything for Martin, had promised that he would. So, if Martin wanted to really understand the Dark, then he would do everything he could to tell him. He called upon the Eye to show him, and it took everything he had to pull the information that he sought. He fell into the statement, voice monotone as it always was, as he recited the horrors of children. They may be milder to hear, but they were so much more painful to feel.

Once it was done, once Martin had heard enough, Jon was exhausted. His connection to the Eye faded as if it were falling through water, just out of reach unless he was willing to dive deep to chase it. He tried desperately to keep himself from visibly trembling, exhausted from a combination of the effort of keeping the connection and being again cut off from the force that he is more and more certain is sustaining his existence. When Martin said they could go, that the children would just have to hold on a bit longer, Jon was quick to resume the path that he could just barely See through the darkness.

Each step was harder than the last. There was no way Martin could have missed his state by now. He didn’t have the energy to hide his drifting, unconsciously listing to the side, favoring his leg injury from a lifetime ago. He was so tired. Then Martin called his name, and he stopped, waiting to hear what he needed.

Stopping was a mistake. He knew that as soon as his shuffling steps came to a halt. Darkness that he hadn’t been able to see in the corners of his vision crowded in. He vaguely heard his name again as consciousness faded. Just... just need a minute. Then I...

Martin hovered helplessly around Jon’s still form. His breathing was shallow, concerningly so. Tentatively, he shook his shoulder. As expected, Jon didn’t respond.

“Okay. Okay Martin, you can do this. Your all-powerful boyfriend just collapsed and you’re in trapped in a world of darkness, but you can do this.”

He set his pack down on the ground and pulled out a blanket that he liked to sit on when they stopped for longer breaks. Folding it carefully to keep the dirt-stained spots off the outside, he placed it under Jon’s head. Then he positioned him more comfortably and sat down next to him, humming a soft tune to try and keep the fear at bay.

Martin was scared. It had been hours, and Jon hadn’t moved once. If anything, his breathing had grown shallower and more irregular. If he didn’t know better, Martin would have said this place was draining him, but wasn’t he supposed to be the most powerful person in this new world? Well, except for Elias, but that wasn’t the point. How could anything reduce him to this state?  Regardless, Martin refused to sit and watch any longer. He hovered over Jon’s prone form, desperate to end this unnatural stillness, regardless of how unnatural the world around them insisted on being.

“Jon?” He called softly, cursing himself when his voice cracked. “Jon, are you there?”

Maybe he had just imagined it, hopeful thinking and too little light giving the illusion of what he was so desperate to see, but it looked like Jon had moved. Twitched ever so slightly, but he had responded.

“Jon? Jon please, you’re scaring me,” Marin pleaded, tears streaming down his face. “It’s not safe here, and-” a sob escaped, but he pulled himself together, “I need you. Please don’t leave me here alone.”

Finally, finally, Jon moved. A low moan escaped as he rolled onto his back, opening his eyes with visible effort. “Martin?”

At the sound of Jon’s voice, exhausted though it may have sounded, Martin couldn’t help but to break into full shuddering sobs, the fear and terror of the past hours combining with the relief that Jon was back and overwhelming him.

“Martin? Martin, what’s wrong? Are you alright?” Jon pushed himself up with shaking arms before cupping the sobbing young man’s cheek. “Are you hurt?”

Martin surged forward, tears still flowing, and wrapped his arms around Jon’s neck. “Don’t- don’t ever scare me like that again,” he begged. “I didn’t know what happened to you, if you were dying or-or-or worse. You just collapsed and I didn’t know what to do...”

Jon gently gathered him closer, good hand running though his curls. “I’m sorry; I am. I should have told you, should have warned you. I didn’t want to scare you.”

Martin snorted wetly. “Bit late for that.”

“Yes, yes, I know. But I told you, Seeing the future isn’t something I can do.”

They stayed like that, wrapped together on the dark street, until Martin’s sobs subsided into wet sniffs.

“Better now?” Jon asked.

Martin nodded, pulling back. “So, what happened? Why did you...”

“Ah, yes.” Jon sighed. “It’s the Dark. It’s... complicated, but the best way I can describe it is that it cancels out the Eye. Eyes can’t see in the dark, so the Watcher’s power is limited here. We are safe enough, but connecting to it is... difficult. It took a fair bit of effort to tell you about it. And well, the Watcher is I think what is sustaining me now. Trying to go on without it is... exhausting. It’s like going on hike when you haven’t eaten for a few days.”

Martin stood up, using his sleeves to wipe the tears from his face. “So then, let’s get out of here. You do- you do still know the way, right? We’ve not been going in circles?”

Jon struggled onto his feet, grateful for Martin’s steadying hand. “Yes, I can do that much. Just, don’t ask me to smite anybody.”

Martin giggled, and this time as they started their journey, they went hand in hand.

[nature-and-music]

Magick Tricks - Chapter 3

Authors’ note - This is a collaborated story written by @kashmir-baby and @nature-and-music involving Led Zeppelin going to a Renaissance Pleasure Faire.  The year is 1975, hours before they play at a nearby venue.  Robert encourages his mates to dress up and head off to a Renaissance Faire.  The festivities are a blast for all of them, except for Jimmy who isn’t all too pleased with his costume (chosen by Robert) or the outing itself.  However something later on catches his eye and bewitches him. Please keep in mind that this is a fictitious scenario and this story is purely written with humorous intentions and later on nsfw between adults (Jimmy x Female oc).  If you are under the age of 18, please click away and do not read any further.  

Our collab was quite long, so we had to break it up into chapters.  @nature-and-music will be uploading the odd chapters and the epilogue. @kashmirbaby will be uploading the even chapters.  We will provide the continuing chapters at the bottom and the previous chapters at the top.

Chapter 2: https://kashmir-baby.tumblr.com/post/636152384435994624/magick-tricks-chapter-2

Chapter 3 - Testing the Magick Waters

The hour flew by; the boys had congregated in Robert’s room after having changed out of their costumes, where they had enjoyed a drink or two before meeting the rest of their crew downstairs. They piled into the limos that had lined up awaiting them outside the hotel, and made it to the venue shortly after. 

More drinks flowed in the dressing room as the boys prepared for the night ahead. 

“You think your bird - I mean, your maiden - is gonna show, Robert?” Bonzo asked him, winking, as he pulled on his overalls. 

“Do I think my charms are effective? Yes. More than Jimmy’s, anyway!” Robert replied, unable to resist another wizard joke. “We’ll find out now - won’t we. Jimmy, you done fluffing your hair? It’s time to go.” 

“You all indulge me too much.” Jimmy said, reluctantly turning away from the mirror. The four of them left the dressing room to walk the long hall to the stage. The crowd’s chanting was growing louder as the concert’s start approached. They reached the stairs and out they went, visible to the crowd now and greeted by deafening screams. 

Bonzo began to drum the opening to “Rock And Roll,” kicking off the show. As usual, Jimmy scanned the crowd. He thought he spotted Robert’s maiden out of the corner of his eye; he did a double take, and sure enough, there she was. She stood on the fringes of the crowd, by Jimmy’s side of the stage. He glanced over a few more times - she was watching Robert, of course. Her long brown curls bounced as she grooved to the song, and she was wearing a low cut blouse that left little to the imagination. He looked over at Robert, but he was clearly entranced and likely hadn’t noticed her. 

Jimmy told himself to concentrate as they moved into the next songs. He cleared his head and immersed himself in his playing, getting lost in his solos, and playing off the other members’ rhythms. He willed himself not to look at her, as she would only distract him. 

As the set progressed, he could feel that this was a good show - they were playing at their best and the crowd was responding incredibly. When Bonzo took over for his drum solo in “Moby Dick,” Robert, Jimmy, and Jonesy rushed off stage to down a few drinks. 

“Robert - did you see her? She’s here.” Jimmy told him as they sat down and waited for their cue to rush back out. 

“No - I hadn’t noticed. Ha! I can’t wait to tell Bonzo she actually showed. Where is she standing?”

“My side. We should tell Cole to go and round her up, invite her out with us after the show.” Jimmy replied. 

“That is a great idea. I’ll mention it to him.” Robert got up to find Cole, and Jimmy and Jonesy chatted with the roadies. A few minutes later, they heard their cue. They went back on stage to play the last two songs, and finish the show. 

The crowd shouted ecstatically as the musicians stood arm in arm and gave a bow.  Jimmy kept his eyes out for Cole as he searched for the mystery woman; he grinned, eagerly awaiting for her presence. Once the four of them walked backstage, they could hear the excited screams of women trying to push their way past the security guards, but to no avail.  Quite an ambitious and restless group that were in need of being with them.

“Should we let them through?” Bonzo asked excitedly. 

“You go ahead, I’m waiting for someone,” Robert answered, swishing his sweaty curls to further agitate the fervid crowd. 

“We’re waiting for someone, Bonzo,” Jimmy butted in giving his mate a bit of a glare. 

With a shrug of his shoulders, Bonzo gladly walked toward the guards and happily introduced himself. Jonesy noted that he would keep an eye on him, following the drummer. Finally, Cole arrived from another part of the stage, bringing her.  Jimmy and Robert felt their hearts palpitating against their chests and their blood flowing throughout; as well as in a more specific area. She was quite a marvel to behold, chocolate brown hair that was tightly curled from the top of her scalp down to her back. Her skin radiating a lovely glow from the sweat that poured down, as a result of her dancing earlier.  Eyes that placed the two of them in an almost hypnotic state. And her body, so finely sculpted that no carver with any amount of talent, of any time period in history, could so eloquently recreate with marble. 

“Oh my God! You were incredible, all of you! I’ve never seen or heard anything like it!” 

“I take it you enjoyed tonight’s performance, love?” Robert inquired, as he positioned a hand to his hip, consciously positioning his finger in a pointed motion toward his tightened member.  

Jimmy cocked an eyebrow to the overly confident singer; feeling a slight twinge of jealousy.  Not another repeat of Robert’s antics, there’s no way that he was going to charm her again.  Still, Jimmy was no angel himself, he was feeling just as needy and lustful toward her. He took a step forward and extended an open hand. 

“I’m Jimmy, this here’s Robert.  Or Percy as he’s also known,” Robert scowled at him; how dare he. “What’s your name? I never got a chance to ask you earlier, my apologies.”

“Ooh, such a gentleman. My name is Caroline.  It’s wonderful to meet you and you too, Robert,” she added shaking his hand as well. 

He seized his moment and placed an affectionate kiss to the back of her hand, whispering, “Enchanté,” as he gazed into her eyes through his lashes. 

No one could resist such a corny attempt at an introduction, her giggle definitely indicated that;  Caroline certainly found it thrilling that both of these men were interested in her.  Robert placed an arm around her shoulder, his fingertips resting just above her protruding cleavage. He informed her that the band, the crew, and the entourage were going to have a little celebration back at the hotel. She joyfully accepted the invitation and walked with Robert toward the parked limos. Jimmy could feel his skin burning up, he was fumigating at the sight. How? How could she possibly go for that arrogant and boisterous man? He was not going to give her up that easily.

Upon returning to the hotel, Jimmy locked himself in the room. There must be a way to get her back. What more could he do? When he sat on the bed, he heard the sound of paper rustling. Turning around he noticed a few small brown paper bags all sealed up.  He shook them and heard the sound of quiet clattering; these must have been the jewelry that Jonesy and Robert bought from the vendor. After opening one of the bags, a ruby ring tumbled onto his palm; it was quite a beautiful gift.  Jimmy sighed heavily, wondering if he should have bought something earlier; speculating if giving Caroline anything would have made a difference.  He lied on the bed, frustrated and unsure of what could be done.

Something dark and silver had then caught Jimmy’s eyes, his Sun and Moon book was on the windowsill. His eyes widened as he checked over the index page, quickly thumbing through the pages until he found what he was looking for; a spell. Not just any spell, an enchantment spell that would cause her to fall for him.  The instructions indicated that love can be easily conjured through simple means; acquire something that you intend to present to the one that you desire.  Of course, give her the ring.  Jimmy followed the details closely, tightly closing his fist, picturing her in his mind, and reciting the Latin incantation three times. After taking in a deep breath and opening his palm, he placed an affectionate kiss to the ruby ring.

“You will be mine.”

Chapter 4: https://kashmir-baby.tumblr.com/post/636152914146099201/magick-tricks-chapter-4