#benji rowe

[oddcryptidwrites]

Trick or treat!

Since you're anon I can't send trick, so TREAT time! Here's another character from Neon Squad, a new Athens WIP coming to a blog near you soon!

Here's Benjamin "Benji" Rowe, your local genderfluid shapeshifter (any pronouns)! Xe is the only member of the Squad bound to the Rosa strain of Neon. While he can shapeshift, it's painful and not something he enjoys doing, plus there's a few things like his eye color, height, and build that he cannot change. They're the only member of the Neon Squad whose "talent" is actually something they trained in before and after being exposed to Neon: archery!

Benji is my third favorite character from this cast and she is babey :)

[infamoussparks]

Chapter 8: Reunions & Relationships

Approx. 4700 words; 30 minute read

He recalled the conversation and found it to be strange, especially paired with Lucky giving him this paper. Benji suddenly had the realization that this could be one of Celia’s doves and he swallowed his worry that Lucky was working with Celia. Her name hadn’t come up in the conversation between Makayla and the others in the office, but this dove couldn’t simply be a coincidence, right?

“... the hell, Umbra? I told you a full blackout!”

“Fetch, I did exactly that. But you heard her! She was having a panic attack. I couldn’t just leave her like that.”

“I don’t care if she was having a baby, you need to follow instructions.”

Makayla groaned softly as the arguing voices started to come in clear within the small room. Both of the voices immediately halted and Makayla struggled to open her eyes. Once fluttered open, the bright lights within the sterile white room were grating on her nerves. She didn’t even try to move her limbs, just turned her head to the side to take in both Fetch and Benji standing over her bed.

“... Hey, losers.” Makayla smirked and then winced. Pain flared at her core. Fetch frowned unimpressed and Benji looked Makayla over before clearing his throat.

 “Makayla?” Benji spoke cautiously as though afraid to cause her more pain with his voice alone.

Makayla forced a single laugh, “I’m not gonna break.”

“She’s fine. Clearly.” Fetch rolled her eyes, shifting her weight to her opposite hip and crossing her arms over her chest. She looked absolutely pissed.

Makayla was tickled pink internally. Good. Let the neon punk be annoyed by her. She enjoyed knowing she was under Fetch’s skin. Makayla went to move her arms and realized she was cuffed to the side of the medical bed.

“You think these will hold me?”

Benji sighed, “No one is holding you here, we just have some questions for you.”

“I’m holding her here. I’ll be honest,” Fetch barked.

“Fetch.” A fourth voice cautioned. Delsin entered the already cramped space. Fetch rolled her eyes and pouted. Makayla felt herself mimic the same expression herself. Delsin turned his focus to the bed, “So… Makayla Grayson, correct?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s me. What else did Benji tell you?”

Benji interjected, “Nothing, just your name, honest. I haven’t seen you in years.”

Makayla sighed, “Yeah, well you dropped out. So did I. College wasn’t working for me.”

Delsin glanced between the two, “You went to college together?”

“Had one class together, but we were in different years.” Benji confirmed.

“Interesting,” Delsin seemed as though that was something newsworthy. “Makayla, you’re working for Celia?”

Makayla laughed, “Not for her, just with her. I liked the promise she offered.”

“... Which is?” Delsin prodded.

“Freedom.”

“Same ol’ song and dance from Doves. Let’s lock her up and figure out next steps.” Fetch sounded impatient.

Delsin gave her that look. Oh, boy. Fetch was in trouble and Makayla loved to see it. She smiled to herself. “Fetch, meet me in the office.”

“Fine. I’m bored of babysitting anyway.” Fetch flipped Makayla off as she turned to leave the room. Makayla returned the gesture with a loud clanking of handcuffs against metal.

“Makayla, listen,” Delsin sighed and spoke a little softer, a little kinder, “We need as much information as you can give us on Celia and her plans. I don’t want to hold you here and I’ll let Benji uncuff you. But if you can help us, I’d appreciate it.”

“Why?” Makayla insisted, “Why should I help you?”

“Because we can give you freedom, too. The right way. You’d have safety here and a place to train and you clearly have friends here already. Just… think it over, yeah?”

Makayla looked from Delsin to Benji and back to the beanie-wearing man before offering a small nod. Maybe Celia’s version of freedom was a bit skewed to being more like a personal vendetta than an actual, attainable goal.

“How long do I have? To think it over?”

“A few days. Benji, here,” Delsin tossed a set of keys to Benji and he caught them easily with his left hand. “Let her free in a minute. I gotta make sure Fetch is in the office.” Then Delsin left.

Makayla was alone with Benji and while she didn’t consider them “friends” she knew Benji had vouched for her and tried to help her, even if the darkness was his fault.

“How long?” His voice pulled her from her thoughts.

“For what?”

“Since you’ve been a conduit? One of us?”

“Oh,” Makayla turned her attention to the ceiling, “Four years.”

“So, you knew while we were in school?”

“Yeah. But you can’t fault me. You never said anything about your powers, either.” Makayla snapped back. Benji looked hurt but he approached her side and started unlocking the cuffs as promised.

“We’re good here. I mean, I think you’d like it here. No one forces you to use your powers if you don’t want to. And I’ve really learned about a deeper level of control,” Benji spoke softly, a kindness mixed with his words, “Not that you don’t have control, just that… it’s an option.”

Makayla rubbed her newly freed wrists and sat up carefully, already feeling a lot better. She checked her stomach and saw only a smudge of scar tissue that was already fading.

“You didn’t have to save me back there, you know.”

“I couldn’t stop myself. You were–I was so worried about you.” Makayla could see the honesty in his eyes and for a moment they reminded her of Cassidy’s eyes. Her best friend. Her ride-or-die. Her would-be girlfriend, if the accident hadn’t happened. She pulled her attention back to her hands and blinked away the tears that seemed to suddenly be tugging at her eyes.

“I don’t know what they want from me here. At least with Celia I just do what I’m told and even then I’m pretty shitty at that, too. But here? Fetch wants me dead and Delsin doesn’t seem too keen about allowing me to stay…” Makayla took a breath and looked at Benji again, “I have no place to go if I don’t go back to Celia. And I’m not sure what will happen if I do. I failed.”

“Then just stay here. I promise they’ll come around.”

“And if they don’t? Then I’m back out on the streets. Alone.”

Benji gave her a quizzical look, “Listen to me, Mak. Pleas—“

Makayla snapped, “You don’t get to call me that! Ever! There's only one person who can call me that and it isn’t you.”

“I’m sorry. Makayla, please listen to me. I’m not your enemy here.”

“You’re not my remedy, either.”

Benji took a step back and composed himself in silence. Makayla sighed loudly, the rush of air messing up her fringe in a gust before the black and neon green strands fell back into place over her forehead.

She started again, “I’m sorry, that was… Listen, I’m just nervous. I only know you here and you can’t vouch for me forever. Plus, I dunno if you know this about me but I’m kinda on everyone’s hit list here.”

Benji laughed, the sound breaking the awkward nerves in the room, “No shit, really?”

Makayla twisted and threw her pillow at him. Benji caught it an inch from his face.

“Listen, I don’t need saving but I’ll help as much as I can. Celia is acting really weird lately and assigning what should be my missions to Orion. It’s not fair and something is up.”

“Let’s get you settled in and then I’ll tag along when you go to talk to Delsin and Fetch about everything, deal?”

“Deal.” Makayla smiled and suddenly felt relieved, like she had been holding her breath and finally surfaced. It was a weird feeling for her, but something told her she could relax here. Maybe she could even trust someone other than herself for once.

“Remember to breathe, Dr. Hutch.”

The lessons were hard but Rosaline was pushing herself anyway. For Caly, she reminded herself. For Caly.

Originally Eugene had tried running a few simulations with her using his power to project holograms, but these didn’t seem to work with Rosaline’s magnification abilities. It was hard to unlock a more mental-focused power with something that demanded a more physical approach. But after a few more tries, Eugene had an idea and phoned a friend. It took a bit for them to arrive but when they entered the training arena Rosaline instantly felt a wave of calm and encouragement from them and now they were sitting cross-legged on the floor facing one another.

“Please, call me Rosaline,” Rosaline concentrated on her breathing as instructed, “Like in yoga class… I’m finding my center.”

Her teacher reached out and touched her hand, “Stop that. This isn’t yoga. I want you to focus on connecting yourself to your power, not your center.”

Rosaline took a deep breath and pulled her long, red hair into a messy bun atop her head, which nearly matched the size of the pink bun her teacher had atop theirs. They spoke like they’d taught people how to really connect to their powers all their lives, but something creeped into the back of her mind, like that was a lie or a façade somehow. Like maybe this was just how they taught themselves. And maybe that was enough. Rosaline didn’t need to see transcripts or a list of names of successful students, she just needed to make this work. For herself. For Caly.

“Okay, Garrett. Let me try it again.”

Eugene sent an email. Another call for help. At first it bothered him to have to rely on others for help when he was a powerful conduit with connections, to boot. But it was these connections that were a boone to his power, not a fault of it. So now Eugene reached out unabashedly and continued to work while waiting on responses.

This response came at lighting speed. As expected. Childe was one with the Internet, after all.

They seemed happy to help and Eugene toasted his half-empty cup of coffee to them from his side of the computer screen.

“I just need to attack this from both sides. If we can crack this database wide open we’ll be saving a lot of conduits. I have a feeling Stratego may have additional facilities that we simply don’t know about yet.” SEND.

The reply came quickly. {I’m on it. I’ll be in touch.}

“I’ll drink a coffee for you, Childe. Thanks so much.” SEND.

{LOL! Thank you.}

With this being worked on, Eugene finally felt like he was making big strides instead of banging his head against the wall. Amazing what a small breakthrough, some powerful conduits and a few cups of coffee could accomplish.

The meeting between Makayla and the Heroes went better than Benji was expecting. Fetch had seemed annoyed at first, but as she was taking in what Makayla offered, she started asking more questions and by the end of the meeting seemed to be a little more amicable toward the toxin user. Benji was pleased.

Now, Benji was alone in his dorm which felt odd after spending so much time with Caly in here. He was sort of at a loss on what to do with the silence… video games? Art? Homework? Nah, not homework. But his eyes landed on his desk anyway and zoned into the folded paper he had left there. The one from Lucky.

He picked it up from his desk and turned it over in his hands. It was an origami dove and he wondered if maybe Lucky needed help afterall. 

“Are you okay? Do you need help?”

“I’m better now, thanks. Take care of Caly. Good luck, Benji.”

He recalled the conversation and found it to be strange, especially paired with Lucky giving him this paper. Benji suddenly had the realization that this could be one of Celia’s doves and he swallowed his worry that Lucky was working with Celia. Her name hadn’t come up in the conversation between Makayla and the others in the office, but this dove couldn’t simply be a coincidence, right?

Benji was flicking at the folds of the paper when something told him to unfold the dove and he pulled it apart carefully. Inside on the paper was the following message:

Grasp your FREEDOM, now Consider this your invite Accept your calling

“Oh,” Benji whispered to himself after reading the note, “I need Makayla to tell me where to go… I need to warn Lucky about Celia.” And he started tossing things into an old backpack. This was his hero’s calling, he could feel it in his bones.

“Benji? What are you doing here?” Lucky spun around running to Benji with a look of concern on her face. She grabbed him by the wrist and tugged him back into the shadows away from the entrance of the abandoned train yard. Benji thought she’d be happy to see him but her actions spoke louder than words.

“Are you safe? I unfolded the origami you gave me and I came as soon as I knew where to find you.”

Lucky gave him a puzzled look and moved her hand from his wrist to interlacing her fingers with his. Benji felt his cheeks warm and was thankful for the shadows for once in his life.

“Are you okay? Is Caly?”

“Yeah, Caly is fine. I’m fine,” Benji was trying to read her. Something seemed off but he couldn’t figure it out yet. It didn’t help that her hand felt warm in his and it was throwing his senses off. No one ever held his hand. This was new to him and it was really nice.

Benji shook himself to pull himself together, “Listen, Lucky. You may be in danger. That origami dove you gave me? It was one of Celia's, right?”

Lucky furrowed her brow, “Yeah, how did you kn–”

“Celia is using you for some self-important job. She’s going to hurt you once she no longer needs you,” Benji cut in, “You need to get out. Now.”

Lucky’s eyes searched his face. Benji wasn’t sure if she was finding what she needed or not. He just hoped she believed him.

“It may be too late for that. But you shouldn’t be here. If she sees you here…” Lucky’s voice drifted off and she quickly glanced over her shoulder as if she heard something he missed. “Good luck, Benji. You need to leave.”

Benji felt a rush of… something. Like a splash of water in his face. It was a strange sensation and he realized he had felt this once before with Lucky. She went to drop his hand and he grabbed her hand back quickly, holding it between both of his hands now. He was searching her face now and she looked slightly terrified.

“I’m not leaving you here. Come back with me,” His voice was a hushed whisper. He was begging her.

Lucky seemed to hesitate for a moment. It gave Benji a surge of hope. But then she glanced at their hands and she gently pulled hers away again, “I wish I could. I have to stay. For now.”

“Is she hurting you?”

Lucky seemed caught off guard by that assumption, “What? No. I mean, I can leave soon. I’ll find you again, I promise.”

Benji shook his head. He was not accepting this weird flow of words from Lucky. Something was clearly wrong and he decided to stay. What did Fetch tell him? Sometimes you gotta trust your instincts and choose the lesser evil. Let’s hope she wasn’t wrong.

“I’m staying with you, then. I want to see what Celia has planned for myself.”

“Benji I don’t think that’s a good idea…” Lucky started but noticed Benji seemed to have made up his mind. She sighed, “Keep your power hidden but ready. Something is changing and I’m getting nervous.”

Benji nodded as Lucky took his hand again and led him into the tunnel that held their small cohort of a team and Celia’s hidden base for Operation Freedom.

The knocking was loud. Then louder still.

“C’mon, Benji! Open up! I know you’re skipping class,” Fetch’s voice was muffled beyond the dorm door. “I’m letting myself in on the count of three.”

Fetch counted as she found the key she needed and then she unlocked the door to Benji’s room. She was hoping the conduit was just asleep since he was now off babysitting duty and had just used a massive amount of power at her behest. So, when Fetch opened the door and found the room all but empty, she was very, very confused.

And then she noticed something on Benji’s empty desk. A piece of paper that had familiar folded lines which had been smoothed out.

Fetch entered the room and picked up the paper, reading the message inside before fisting it with anger that all but set her neon ablaze. She left his dorm room, closing the door behind her but leaving it unlocked and headed not back to the office, but to another dorm down an opposite hall.

Another loud knocking on a closed door but this one was quickly answered.

“Yeah, yeah, what do you wa–oh, Fetch.” Makayla raised a single eyebrow while standing in her doorway.

“We have a problem that I think you can help with,” Fetch held up the scrunched paper in her fist and Makayla looked from it to Fetch’s face before nodding quietly. “Meet me in the office, now.”

Delsin and Eugene were already in the office planning lessons for the upcoming semester when Fetch crashed that party with Makayla in tow. She stormed to the desk and slapped the paper down on the wood.

“We have a big problem. Benji is gone.”

“Gone?” Delsin read the paper and then looked to Fetch and passed the paper to Eugene to read over as well.

Makayla sat carefully on the armrest of the couch, as though she may need to bolt from the room at a second’s notice, “He’s with Celia. I know where her base is.”

“We are not going to her base. It would be like walking into a trap,” Delsin strategized.

“Smart. I see why people call you the ‘Hero of Seattle’,” Makayla seemed to relax a bit on her perch.

Delsin nodded and then leaned into her bubble, “That’s why you’re going instead.”

Sweat beaded along her forehead as Lucky pushed her abilities and dodged an attack aimed at her head. She had been standing still with her eyes closed, tapping into her luck and relying upon it to guide her actions. It wasn’t a perfect dance, not yet anyway. But Lucky was determined to fine-tune this new skill.

“Too slow!” Her brother’s voice shouted from someplace in front of her, a noise like a razor upon glass alerted her to a new barrage of his mirror shards flying her way. Lucky dove left but as predicted, she was a second too slow and one shard sliced into her calf.

Lucky cursed under her breath, rolling until she sat up and could check the damage. It wasn’t a deep cut but she still frowned at being cut at all.

Orion approached her and stood over her, hands resting on his hips. “I told you to just fight me normally. This whole pushing your luck is going nowhere.”

“Stop being such an ass about this, Orion. I really want to try this. I think I can make it work somehow,” Lucky reached up to him and Orion grabbed her wrist to pull her to her feet while rolling his eyes.

The pain was sharp and sudden. Lucky gasped and glanced down seeing a shard driven up and under her ribcage. She blanched and stumbled forward into Orion’s arms. He held her gently, whispering into her ear.

“You trust too easily, sister. You need to build your pain tolerance before you try new tricks.”

“... Orion… Why?” She inhaled and held her breath, her fingers finding the shard before she wrapped her hand around it and yanked it from her skin. The pain caused tears to escape from the corners of her eyes and she pressed her bloodied palm to the wound as the shard fell to the grass at her feet.

Orion pushed her away from his embrace and ran his index finger under her chin, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. “Anger looks good on you, Lucky. Ready to fight me now?”

Lucky narrowed her eyes, forcing celestial light into her hands. The one over her wound flared with pain as she focused on cauterizing the wound with the heat. She flicked her free hand upward to latch around Orion’s wrist, the burn registering as pain flashed across his features. Lucky smirked internally knowing she had bested her brother for a moment.

Orion yanked his arm from her grasp and immediately summoned more mirror shards to his aid with a flash of golden crescents flickering in his eyes. The shards flew like arrows loosed from an invisible bow and Lucky dodged them all gracefully.

While Orion pulled more shards from thin air, Lucky forced celestial light in his direction. It flew like a thrown sparkler, sparks flying and her aim true. As it reached close enough to Orion, Lucky clapped her hands together and the sparks of light exploded in his face. She was quickly disappointed as the smoke cleared and her brother appeared from behind a mirror shield he crafted to protect his face.

Lucky scowled but then she was hit with sudden dizziness and her steps faltered. A glance down told her the stab wound was still bleeding and that this mini skirmish needed to quit while it was just between the siblings.

Benji caught her in his arms before she hit the ground.

“Lucky!” He was looking her over quickly and then his eyes started fading into this blue-gray color and Lucky reached up one hand and cradled his cheek. Her touch canceled his call to his power and he looked back down at her.

“I’m fine. Don’t hurt him.”

“But he hurt you.”

“And I’ll do it again if she wimps out with our next sparring session,” Orion cut in standing before them both. His arm was sporting a burn mark in the shape of her hand and his face looked marked by small dots of burns. So she had hurt him with her attack. Lucky smiled to herself. “I’m leaving. Let Celia know I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“What? Where are you going?” Benji shouted after him as Orion turned and started walking toward the city.

“To the bar. I’m hunting for trouble.”

“I hope it eats you alive, brother,” Lucky called after him and then she moved to sit in the grass, leaning back against her hands to relieve some pressure from her wound. Orion scoffed and waved but never looked back.

Benji dropped to sit next to Lucky, his eyes still darting from her face to her wound. He looked concerned for her and she gave him a soft smile.

“I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“You aren’t healing?”

“Oh… Yeah. About that,” She shifted a bit and winced just a smidge, “My power is luck-based and that’s pretty rare to drain. So healing is a slower process for me. I will heal, it just takes a little longer than most other conduits.”

Benji frowned a little at that but then sighed softly, “What can I do to help?”

Lucky gave him her full attention and for a moment said nothing at all. No one had ever offered to help her before. No one had ever seemed to care. She searched Benji’s eyes but only found genuine kindness. Her heart fluttered for a moment in her chest.

“Stay with me?” He’ll get hurt if he stays, Lucky thought to herself, But he isn’t going to want to leave you, not like this.

Benji just nodded and scooted closer to her on the grass, “Yeah, sure. I’m here, Lucky.”

“Thanks, Benji.”

The bar was a loud, public place with a thin haze from cigarettes and cigars lingering in the air. By the time Orion pushed through the doorway and approached the bar his face was fully healed and the mark on his arm had faded to a shadow of color. He asked for something strong and smooth and let the bartender work their human magic on a drink that met his requirements. He took a long sip from it before taking a moment to look around him and start to narrow in on a target.

A lot of people were keeping to themselves at the bar, or enjoying the company of friends at the few tables scattered throughout. A few people seemed to be running on liquid courage, while alone with a potential partner for the evening. But as Orion took another long sip from his glass, ruckus laughter pulled his focus and he narrowed his eyes at a man with a slight build and blonde, spiky hair. The man was not alone and he demanded an audience. Orion felt his pulse rise with the thought of stealing that attention for himself.

“... tell us about your new boyfriend, Luca…”

Orion smirked and finished his drink, slamming the glass on the bar before leaving his spot and heading for the blonde, a single, overheard name whispered under his breath, “Luca.”

The goal was simple: Push. If this guy was a conduit, push harder. Orion was looking for a fight and starting one in this crowded bar would be easy for him. A necessary release of anger, energy and power. He wanted to feel something tonight and either Orion would get his ass handed to him, or he’d get what he wanted–it was simply up to the tipsy, laughing blonde that was in his sights.

The night would be a smashing success either way.

“What do you mean?” Benji asked Lucky curiously. The two had been up all night talking and the sunlight was beginning to creep into the space they were sharing within the abandoned train yard building. It had been easy to talk with Lucky about anything and Lucky seemed to enjoy his company, so he stayed. Benji was also sticking by in case her unpredictable brother came in and decided round two of fight club would start before Lucky was fully healed.

“I mean, I think something is going on between Celia and my brother. Orion has been really combative with me for a few days now and just the other day Celia gave him a ‘secret mission’.” Lucky put the words in air quotes, “I’m starting to suspect Celia has it out for me somehow.”

“You should come back with me. I’ll protect you,” Benji took Lucky’s hands in his own, “I mean, the warehouse will take you in. We have Makayla healing there now.”

Lucky gave him a quizzical look, her brows furrowed in a way that read as her trying to understand what he had just told her. “Makayla is staying at the warehouse?”

“Yeah,” Benji confirmed, “At least, I hope so. She seemed like she was done with Celia’s bullshit and now hearing a similar story from you… I think you may be in trouble if you stay here.”

Lucky held his gaze and Benji felt a strange pull toward her. The way the sunlight was playing off her light skin and catching on her dark eyelashes… He shook his head slightly to shake off whatever was washing over him at the moment.

“Okay.” Lucky gave him a curt nod.

“Okay?”

“Okay, I’ll meet you there. As soon as I know my brother is back here safely, I’ll sneak out and find you.”

Benji tilted his head slightly and gave her a slight frown, “Why are you protecting him?”

“I’m not,” Lucky quickly answered, “I’m protecting you. You need time to get back to the warehouse and let them know that something big is coming and it’s going to get bad. If I’m right, Celia is priming Orion to fight by her side and knowing him as well as I do, well, he’s not going to stop until he gets what he wants out of this.”

“What does he want?”

“Control and power.” Lucky answered. “All of it.”

[lovefrenchisbetter]

The Row Benji Pull

[spryfilm]

Movie review: “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem” (2023)

“Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem” (2023) Action Running Time: 95 minutes Written by: Seth Rogen, Evan Goldberg, Jeff Rowe, Dan Hernandez and Benji Samit Directed by: Jeff Rowe Featuring: Micah Abbey, Shamon Brown Jr., Hannibal Buress, Rose Byrne, Nicolas Cantu, John Cena, Jackie Chan, Ice Cube, Natasia Demetriou, Ayo Edebiri, Giancarlo Esposito, Post Malone, Brady Noon, Seth…

[thenerdsofcolor]

Capturing the Perfect 'Ninja Turtles' Look with 'Mutant Mayhem' Cinematographer Kent Seki

Capturing the Perfect 'Ninja Turtles' Look with 'Mutant Mayhem' Cinematographer Kent Seki #TMNTMovie #MutantMayhem @TMNTMovie

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem is officially in theaters! And if you haven’t seen this one yet, we cannot recommend it enough. It’s spectacular! And part of the reason this one is special is because of how beautiful and charming the movie looks, from it’s wonderful animation style to the filmmakers’ abilities to put some challenging but gorgeous action sequences on screen. And none…

[bob-the-movie-man-film-reviews]

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem (PG): How to Milk Turtles Without Nipples.

#onemannsmovies review of "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem" (2023). ##TMNTMovie. Animated yarn that the kids will enjoy. 3/5.

A One Mann’s Movies review of “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem” (2023). The “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles” have been trotted out to the cinema for each new generation of kids. Looking at IMDB, there have been films in 1990 (then sequels in 1991 and 1993), 2009, 2014 (and then 2016) and as recently as last year’s “Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: The Movie” on Netflix. And…

[yikes-aemond]

Hello!!!! How are you? Are you willing to do a Benjicot X Tully!Reader oneshot?

Benji being a little puppy in love with a serious, blunt, very introverted and book-loving Tully, since they were children, and that is the reason why he often bothered her. Tully! Reader has a habit of throwing things at his head when she loses her patience.

Many hugs 💖💖💖🤗🤗🤗

You can hear it in the silence.

pairing: Benjicot Blackwood (fancast!Kieran Burton) x Tully!fem!reader (no physical descriptions of reader)

warnings: none, pure fluff

summary: You and Benjicot Blackwood meet as children and proceed to hate each other for years. Until one day, you didn't.

word count: 3.1k 

author note: Thank you so much for the request! I’m sorry it took me a little while to complete it, but I hope I did your story idea justice. I’m hesitant to say this because I should be working on the next part of “I love you. It’s ruining my life.” but I have an idea for a part 2 to this story, so let me know if there is interest! Love you babes. Happy reading! 

On your tenth name day, Benjicot Blackwood put a frog in your bed.

First light had not yet broken. You floated in that hazy space, not quite dreaming and not quite awake, content to stay beneath the warmth of your covers. 

You had stayed up too late the night before. After stealing a half dozen honey cakes from the kitchens, you had wandered to the library, seeking comfort from the rows upon rows of books until the hour of the wolf ushered in your name day. 

You did not recall how you made it from the library to your bed. Your father most likely. 

Lord Elmo Tully was prone to sleepless nights, and often took to walking Riverrun at night to ease his troubles. On more than one occasion, he had found you face down on a study table, cheek pressed into the page of a book, after spending too many hours lost in tales of knights and princesses and children of the forest. And each time he found you, he would pick you up gently, careful not to wake you, and carry you back to bed.

Elmo Tully was not always the most present father. But he did not discourage your preferences for reading over needlework. He defended you when the Septa scolded you for ink-stained hands and unkempt dresses. And he did not try to force friendship between you and the other ladies your age.

You would not call yourself a lonely child. Although you often kept your own company, you did not mind the solitude, did not mind the quiet and peace compared to the noise and chatter that often accompanied children your own age. Sure, there were those in Riverrun who called you strange when they thought you and the rest of the Tullys were out of earshot, never daring to speak too loudly when your grandfather was the Lord Paramount. 

Not that the whispers bothered you. As long as you had books and honey cakes, you were happy to be alone. 

A fact that you were rudely reminded of when you rolled over in bed on the morning of your tenth name day, seeking out the touch of your favorite doll. But instead of feeling the soft, plush doll, you felt something slimy and cold and wet. And then you heard a distinct croak. 

Screaming, you leapt out of bed, sheets twisting around your body. Frantic to get away from whatever creature had scurried into your bed. You landed on the floor with a harsh thud. From your vantage on the floor, you saw a frog leap from your bed toward the window on the far side of the room.

Frogs were not an uncommon sight at Riverrun. After all, your home was surrounded on all sides by rivers and moats and marshland. But never in your life had you heard of a frog sneaking into someone’s bed. 

Only when you heard laughter on the other side of your chambers’ door did you realize what had happened. 

You cheeks flashed hot as you picked yourself up off the floor. Seeing red, you threw the door open, a glare so disapproving on your face that it would have turned a lesser man to stone. 

But not the idiots who stood before you. 

Your brothers, Oscar and Kermit, were clutching onto each other, eyes nearly in tears from the force of their laughter. You would have words with them later. You knew the real culprit behind the prank. 

Leaning against the wall with an insufferable smirk on his face was Benjicot Blackwood. Heir to Raventree Hall, your brothers’ best friend, and the bane of your existence. 

“Something amiss, my lady?” He had the audacity to ask. 

At the age of two and ten, Benjicot was tall for his age. He had not quite grown into himself, all long limbs and sharp angles. Despite his prowess with a dagger and sword, he had not yet matured out of his love for boyish pranks. 

And he especially loved tormenting you.

Benjicot had no younger siblings. His aunt Alysanne was the closest relative to his age, but she had little patience for Benjicot, preferring her bow to most people. A sentiment you shared. 

You first met Benjicot when you were seven, and he was nine. For the last three years, Benjicot had spent a few weeks in the high summer months as a ward at Riverrun, training and sparring and hunting with your brothers. The three were thick as thieves—Oscar and Kermit had loved Benjicot instantly. All close in age, all young and eager to prove themselves.

You had never been close with your brothers. You had little in common with them. But when Benjicot came to stay, and when you watched them laugh and joke and share secrets, you felt that sharp pang of otherness. Felt the sting of always being on the outside, both from your own family and the rest of those who resided at Riverrun. 

And now he had dared to pull a prank on you on your name day. 

“The only thing amiss is your presence here, Blackwood. Were you not supposed to return to Raventree Hall yesterday?” 

Benjicot shrugged. “I wouldn't dream of missing your name day.” 

You wanted to launch yourself at him, tackle him to the ground and remove that insufferable smirk from his face. You resisted the urge, but just barely. 

“The best name day present you could have given me would have been your absence.” You sneered. 

Huffing a laugh, Benjicot straightened and grabbed your brothers by the shoulder, nudging them away from your chambers. “Sorry to disappoint. I had rather hoped you would have liked the frog.” 

Turning away from you and following your brothers, Benjicot called out over his shoulder, "Perhaps you should have kissed the frog, my lady. Could have turned it into a prince like in all those fairytales you love so much.” 

You clenched your fists and tried to think of clever response. But nothing came to mind, so you settled for slamming your door closed. You could still hear the echo of their laughter in the hallway. 

Back against the door, cheeks hot and flushed, you slid to the floor and wrapped your arms around your legs, bringing your knees to your chest. 

It was not the first time Benjicot Blackwood made you cry. 

No matter how hard you tried to ignore Benjicot during his yearly visits, you were never successful in escaping him. Every year he managed to find you, tease you, get under your skin and stay there. 

There was the year he hid rotting fish in the floor boards of your chambers. The smell was so unbearable that you had to move rooms. 

Or the time he startled you when you were helping a kitchen maid carry a sack of flour, sending the sack flying and leaving you looking like a ghost. 

Passing you the salt instead of sugar for your tea, causing you to spew tea all over the dining table at breakfast. 

Hiding your favorite books in the armory. (When you finally discovered the books, you chased Benjicot around the training yard, hurling the books at his head, much the amusement of your father and brothers.) 

Sending you on false errands on supposed orders from your father, resulting in you interrupting a meeting of the River lords that left you so embarrassed and humiliated that you refused to come out of your chambers for three days. 

Benjicot never went too far, never did anything so terrible as to warrant true ire from your father and grandfather. Each time you voiced your hatred for Benjicot and his pranks to them, begging them to send him back to Raventree Hall, they patted your head, said boys would be boys, and moved on. 

With each passing year, your tolerance for the pranks grew less and less. Even if you had come to expect them. 

So, on your fifteenth name day, you were not surprised when Benjicot sought you out in the library. 

You knew he had arrived for his stay earlier in the day. He was delayed in returning to Riverrun this year—a skirmish with the Brackens had resulted in weeks of tension and negotiations amongst the River lords. 

At seven and ten, Benjicot was nearly a man. He had grown into his height and filled out in his shoulders, lean and strong and, if rumors were to be believed, now lethal with a sword and dagger. 

Never backed down from a challenge. Fearless in a fight. Ruthless to those who crossed him. 

Your brothers, with all the cleverness in their heads, had nicknamed him Bloody Ben. 

You could not quite merge the two Benjicots in your mind—the boy from your childhood who teased and taunted but was quick to laugh and joke, with the man who had taken his first kill with a smile on his face. 

When Benjicot appeared before you, leaning over the table where you sat with your book, you were not sure what to make of him. 

Snatching the book from your hands, you watched as his eyes skimmed the first few lines on the page, before he smirked down at you. “A romance? I did not take you for a simpering romantic.” 

You rolled your eyes and grabbed the book back. “And I never took you for a deaf half-wit, Blackwood. I distinctly remember telling you at the last assize that I never wanted to see your face again.”

Last year’s assize had been rather uneventful. That is, until the closing feast when Benjicot had teased you relentlessly for reading a book at dinner that you felt compelled to throw the book at his head. Of course, you missed his head, instead hitting a poor servant who was tasked with carrying the roast pig, sending both the servant and pig to the floor. 

Your father and grandfather had been less than pleased. 

Benjicot looked at the ceiling to hide his amusement before glancing back at you. With a smile on his face, he said, “You wound me, my lady.”

You narrowed your eyes, shooting him a look of disbelief. “And you annoy me, my lord.” 

Rather than be put out by that insult, Benjicot looked delighted. He leaned a little closer into your space, so much so that you felt the hair on your arms stand to attention, your skin turning to gooseflesh at his proximity.

For as much as you hated Benjicot, hated the way he teased you, hated the way he sometimes made you feel like an outsider in your own family, he was one of the most handsome boys you had ever met.

Dark, wavy hair that never seemed controlled. Eyes that turned green in the sunlight. A small scar on his upper lip that somehow made him look distinguished. 

You hugged the book to your chest and tried not to fidget under his gaze. You exhaled slowly before asking, “Why are you here?” 

Benjicot held your eyes for another beat before breaking the contact and straightening to his full height. Reaching into the pouch fastened at his hip, he said, “I have a present for you.”

You leaned back in your chair and crossed your arms. “I have never much cared for your presents. They tend to crawl or smell.”

Laughing, Benjicot pulled a necklace out of the pouch. “You will be pleased to know this gift neither crawls nor smells.”

You were stunned to say the least, eyes wide and mouth parted in surprise. You probably looked like a fish, but you could not help it. 

The necklace was beautiful. A delicate, silver chain with two gemstones at the end. A mud-red ruby and a blue sapphire—the perfect representation of House Tully’s colors. Simple and elegant. You were at a loss for words, and you felt your cheeks flush at the gift. 

Your heart skipped a beat as Benjicot approached you. The smile he was giving you was one you had never seen before—warm and soft. All traces of teasing gone from his demeanor. 

He stopped just before you. Holding out the necklace for you to take, he asked, “Do you like it?”

You stood, heart hammering as you took the necklace from him. You turned the necklace over in your hands, admiring the detail in the braided chain and the quality of the stones. Your throat felt parched, but you managed to say, “It’s lovely.” 

You glanced back up at Benjicot to find his eyes already on you, face closer to yours than you remembered. “I’m glad you like it, my lady.”

You had never seen Benjicot like this. Had never seen him be this sweet or shy before. You were not even sure he was capable of being sweet. 

Of course, there were moments over the years when he had shown you kindness. He was not always playing the jester. 

When you had twisted your ankle while walking in the godswood, Benjicot had insisted on carrying you to the maester, even when you protested that you were fine and perfectly capable of walking on your own. 

When you had gotten sick with a fever two years ago, leaving you bedridden and delirious for weeks, Benjicot had brought you dozens of books from the library, anything to keep your mind sharp and spirit strong.

And when you had mentioned that your favorite sweet was honey cakes, Benjicot brought you a batch from the cooks at Raventree Hall, claiming that Raventree’s cakes were superior to all others. (They were.) 

You had never felt more aware of yourself than you did at this moment, standing before Benjicot. You were in uncharted territory. Heart thumping in your chest. Palms beginning to sweat. Cheeks warm and flushed. You were nervous. And you had never been nervous in front of Benjicot before. 

You smiled, small and shy and a little embarrassed. You did not know where you found the courage, and you could not hold his gaze, but you found yourself asking, “Will you put it on me?”

Benjicot’s smile widened, nodding eagerly as he took the necklace back, your hands brushing in the exchange. Only for a moment, but enough to send a small jolt through your arm. 

You turned, giving him your back so that he could not see how deeply you were affected by the brief touch.

But with your back to him, you did not see how Benjicot looked at you. Did not see the way his eyes softened and traced your form. Did not see how his own cheeks flushed. Did not see how he had to swallow his nerves as he gently moved your hair off the nape of your neck. 

You felt the cold press of the chain against your neck and chest, felt the warmth of Benjicot’s fingers as he fastened the clasp. His touch lingering perhaps a second or two longer than necessary. 

You turned before Benjicot had a chance to step back. Your chests nearly touching with how close the two of you stood.

You had never been this close to a boy before. Had never felt your breath mix with another. Eyes locked on each other, gazes searching. 

Benjicot slowly raised his hand, fingers leaving a feather-light touch against your cheek as he moved a lock of hair behind your ear. 

You watched as his eyes shifted down to your lips before returning to your eyes. There was a question in his gaze, one you were not sure you knew how to answer. 

You had read about kisses in books. Kisses shared between a knight and a fair maiden after a daring escape. Secret, daring kisses between two lovers caught on opposite sides of a war. Passionate kisses. Sweet kisses. Slow and deep, or fast and hot.

You had never been kissed before. Had never given much thought to who would claim your first kiss. You had assumed the kiss belonged to your future lord husband, as propriety demanded.

But in that moment, in the quiet of the library on your name day, you wanted to give that kiss to Benjicot.

Maybe somewhere in your heart, hidden and buried deep, you had pictured the kiss being with Benjicot all along. He could have easily been another brother to you, with his obnoxious pranks and teasing smiles.

Except that you never thought of him as a brother.

He was Benjicot Blackwood. Someone who was always there, even when you did not wish for him to be. Strong and dependable. A force to be reckoned with, one who demanded your attention and settled for nothing less. You could not imagine a world in which he did not exist in your life.

You licked your lips and slowly closed your eyes. 

Benjicot took your cheek into his hand, tilting your head slightly to the right. You felt his other hand pull at your waist, bringing the two of you even closer together. 

You knew what was about to happen. Knew that despite all the teasing and hostility and pranks, you were about to have your first kiss. You had never dreamed of this, never thought you would ever be in this position. But the moment felt right—

“Benjicot!” 

You had never moved so quickly. The two of you leapt apart, both breathing heavily as you turned to see Oscar and Kermit stick their heads into the doorway of the library. 

When they spotted the two of you, they smiled, completely oblivious to what they had interrupted. 

You had never hated your brothers more. 

“Come on, Benji!” Kermit shouted, gesturing for Benjicot to come join them. “Father wants to see you.” 

Benjicot nodded, and you watched as he transformed into his usual easygoing demeanor and started toward the door. But at the last moment, he seemed to change his mind.

Turning to you, his back to your brothers, Benjicot reached for your hand and brought it to his lips. A quick press of his lips to the back of your hand had you flushing red all over again. 

“Happy name day, my lady,” he whispered. 

And then he left.

You did not know how long you stood there, unmoving and still as a statue. At some point, you returned to the table, leafing through your book without comprehending a single word. More than once, you caught yourself reaching for the necklace, seeking confirmation that the gift was real, that the moment with Benjicot was real. 

You finally gave up on reading your book, moving to lean against the windowsill and watch the sun set over the training yard. 

You replayed the afternoon over and over in your mind. And the longer you sat with the knowledge that Benjicot wanted to kiss you, and perhaps more surprising, that you wanted to kiss him, the more you wished that your brothers had waited a few moments longer. 

Just before the last light faded and gave way to night, you spotted Benjicot walking across the training yard with your brothers trailing behind. You watched as Oscar gestured wildly, apparently recounting some unbelievable tale to Kermit and Benjicot. Even from a distance, you could see Kermit roll his eyes, exasperation clear on his features. You watched Kermit shove Oscar playfully, causing him to lose his balance and fall into the dirt. 

And while Kermit and Oscar continued to pick at each other and squabble, Benjicot’s gaze shifted to where you sat at the window. Any surprise he felt at finding you watching them quickly dissolved into a wide grin. Ignoring your brothers, Benjicot lifted his hand and waved. 

You answered his wave with one of your own. A soft, secret smile on your lips as you held his gaze. A thousand unspoken words between the two of you. 

A happy name day, indeed. 

final author note: I hope you enjoyed! Any feedback is greatly appreciated. (I think everyone in the taglist below asked to be tagged in all my Benjicot/Davos Blackwood fics, but if I'm wrong, please let me know!)

taglist:

@alifeinspiredd @crownofdecitreadingrespectfully @altaircc

@someblessedgal @devildelilah

[fianllyclean]

Hey, bestie!

Maria, @taylorsmygirl13 and I both collectively feel like vomitting because we can’t believe that the tour is:

A. ACTUALLY HAPPENING.

B. IT IS ?! SO SOON?!

We have missed you so so so so so much. I think that everyone can collectively agree that when we left our final show on the rep tour that we didn’t think we would go the number of days it has been since we would next see each other. Almost 5 years, one pandemic, 2 degrees, 5 birthdays, 4 records, a bunch of happy times, a bunch of sad times, moving cross country, and new friends later, here we are about to embark on this new journey of tour!!!! I’m collectively just here to say how freaking much I am so thankful to be able to have tickets to the 2 shows that I was able to get. But most importantly that Maria and I are actually living a dream that we talked about for almost a decade. Being at opening Night! We are hecking excited to let all these emotions of the last 5 years out together and share this night with you, T. Maria and I became besties (I mean look at our prom pics in 2016 Lol, because of you.) She has taught me so much and led me toward some of my greatest accomplishments while always encouraging me to constantly keep pushing. I genuinely can’t wait for you to experience her radiant happiness that she emits into any room that she walks into, because every human deserves it. When you realize that she has been there on your side since 2006, at the age of 8 and is now 25. Wow what a journey and special relationship that is. She’s been there for every release day; midnight music video release, traveling hours for tour, spreading your message with her tiny students, and thanks to you, grown into the most successful and beautiful lady I know.

So excited to see you opening weekend at the Glendale shows!!!!

Glendale Night #1: Section C, Row 13, Seat 1.

Glendale Night #2: Section 129, Row 30, Seat 9.

Thank you for giving us a reason to see the desert 🏜️ 🌵, we wouldn’t go the middle of no where for no one else :)

We are so so so so so mega excited to see you and I want nothing more but for you and Maria to squeeze each other and share all these years of memories in conversation.

P.S. Tell Mer and Liv to not worry, I’m bringing Temptations for them and a special “nice to meet you” gift for Benji. 🐱🐈

WE CANT WAIT TO SEE YOU FRIDAY ☘��🇮🇪AND SATURDAY🪩🤠

@taylorswift @taylornation

[fallstaticexit]

Benji has always been a bit different from the other Briars. There's no doubt he loves his family but money talks and his phone is always ringing.

prev / next

Benji: Go for Ben.

Ami: Guess who had a very amazing 6 month check up.

Benji: Obviously it’s our best girl-

Finn: Hi papa! S’ Finn!

Benji: Hey, buddy. Had a good day in school?

Finn: Uhhhh huh!

Ami: He was the line leader a 4th day in a row.

Benji: Line leader today, global powerhouse tomorrow, you know.

Ami: Are you sitting down?

Benji: Yess...?

Ami: So...don’t make a big fuss but, Mama and Baba invited us over for dinner.

Benji: Ami...

Finn: Yay!!!

Ami: You have to come this time, Ben. Baba is starting to get antsy.

Benji: Well Baba thinks Papa is a big stinky poopy head.

Finn: [giggles]

Ami: He does not. You know Baba. He’s...traditional. He doesn’t understand the vast complexity and nuances of the corporate world. He values family.

Benji: I value family! Our technology advances the modern family dynamic. Servos pick up the slack so parents can spend more time with their kids-

Ami: I know that, Ben but Baba is old school. He thinks you can work and play and you do too much work. It’s just dinner.

Ami: Tell papa, Finny.

Finn: Yeah, papa. S’dinner!

Ami: Your mother and father will be there. So no excuses.

Benji: [grumbles] ...yes, dear.

Ami: We love you. Dress casual. That means wear jeans. Bye-Bye.

Benji: [groans]

Secretary: Sir? You have a representative from the Landgraab Foundation on line 2 about the merger.

Benji: Take a message, please. I have dinner with my in laws.

Finn: Hellloo! Yooohooo!

Mama Ito: Oh, I am so glad you all were able to come for dinner. You all look like you’re hungry!

Elliot: Thank you for having us.

Benji: Oh yeah. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.

Baba Ito: Mhm. No big hot shot meeting to tend to, Mr. Hot Shot?

Ami: I thought you said you’d behave?

Baba Ito: What! I only make small talk. They don’t small talk in those big shiny offices?

Baba Ito: How was your trip back home, Willow?

Willow: Oh, it was lovely! I’ll take any chance I can get to see our family.

Baba Ito: So your mother makes time to visit family in the states, eh? When is the last time you seen your family, Benjamin?

Ami: Baba...

Benji: I mean...it’s been...some time...

Willow: I was just telling Benji that we’re invited to his Uncle Silas wedding this fall. Perfect time for the kids to meet the rest of the family.

Benji: And that does sound lovely, but the quarter ends at the beginning of fall. My schedule will only allow one trip, and that’s for Winterfest.

Baba Ito: Tuh! You think you have it so good, business man. Next thing you know, you’re an old man and time has passed you by. What then!

Elliot: Mr. Ito is right, beta. He has alot of wisdom we can all learn from.

Baba Ito: Heh. Yeah. Yeah! I am right, aren’t I?

Benji: My company can’t run itself, you know!

Finn’s Inner Monologue: I sure don’t know what the heck is going on here and I’m not sticking around to find out. See ya next episode!

[styleslookbook]

Backstage at Mitch's New York show, Harry was pictured wearing The Row 'Benji' sweater. Photo via mitchrowland.

The Row Benji Sweater ($1,950) worn with Adidas sneakers

[oddcryptidwrites]

Oc Bag Game

@anyablackwood tagged me in this and I'm gonna leave it an open tag for anyone to hop on and play!

Rules: Name five things (or more!) your OC would have in a backpack or any bag at school.

(Since I've already done this for IASH, and most NYTF characters don't carry bags, I'll move onto the Neon Squad universe, since I've been giving them love in my head recently)

Cassander (on his person, he doesn't carry bags):

Wallet

Car keys

Aspirin for his knee

Handgun + bullets

Cell phone (that is 5+ years out of date because he refuses to upgrade)

Felix (in a small cross-body bag):

Protein bars (at least 4)

Epipen (as many as he can fit)

Whatever the most recent thing he stole is (which Cassander will make him take back)

3 weeks old phone (the screen is already cracked)

Wallet (likely lost) with no money in it

Max (in a fancy messenger bag):

Notebooks (one for each class he's taking)

Exactly 3 random pens

Epipen (1)

His laptop (fancy) and charger

Phone with a built in wallet case (with his student ID in the front)

Expensive headphones

September (tote bag):

Jar of dirt (large)

Black cloth (about 1'x1')

Approximately $49.38 in cash and change in a coin purse

A flip phone

Bones (who knows where they came from)

A piece of paper with entirely incoherent writing on it

Briana (expensive purse):

Excessively large water bottle (empty)

Fifteen used tissues (shoved in a side pocket)

Three empty chapstick tubes (and one half-used)

Epipen (1) (Notice a trend yet? it's because they need the epinephrine, but not for allergy purposes. It's about to get excessive)

Sunglasses

Wallet and keys to her car, connected together with several key chains

Dead phone

Benji (also a tote bag):

Six tubes of lipstick in varying colors

Epipens (3)

Metal mint tin full of hair ties, clips, earrings, and 100$ in cash

A single rock

Two handguns, sixteen bullets between them

Drivers License (loose)

KiKi (bookbag which hangs on the back of her wheelchair):

Literally so many books and notebooks the bag hardly closes

Ancient laptop with a fraying charging cord

Ungodly amount of pens and pencils

Lab coat and goggles

Student ID (on a lanyard attached to the bag)

Phone without the notifications turned off

Wallet (somewhere)

Tylenol bottle (almost empty)

Several used and unused epipens

Dina (in a duffle):

Scarf pins

Chapstick (one tube, cherry flavored)

Epipens (6)

gym clothes

combo lock

Phone and chunky headphones

weightlifting belt and gloves

Cael (bookbag):

Sketchbook (mostly full)

Pencil pouch full of colored pencils, pens, graphite pencils, you name it

School-owned laptop and his personal laptop (both are dead and they have no charger)

wrist braces (2)

Dead phone

Loose SmarTrip card (almost empty)

[infamoussparks]

Chapter 7: Sound Choices

Approx. 4800 words; 30 minute read

“Doves…” Fetch tensed as she spit the name from clenched teeth, neon dancing at the ready behind her fingertips. Delsin held an arm out as though both protecting and preventing Fetch from making the first move.

“Ms. Walker. Pleasure to see you again,” Celia spoke nonchalantly from behind her rabbit mask, her head tilting in an uneasy fashion, “And you as well, Mr. Rowe.”

“I’ll help where I can,” Rosaline was in the office and speaking to Eugene while the screen of the laptop reflected off each pair of glasses.

Fetch was discussing something quietly with Delsin at the other side of the desk. It didn’t seem too heated at the moment but it definitely gave off the impression of being a super serious conversation between the two.

Benji sighed softly to himself as he sat on the couch beside Caly. He offered her markers and paper and they were drawing together to keep the kid occupied. Caly seemed content to be in a room full of adults and was now wearing one of Benji’s t-shirts. She hadn’t exactly been dropped off with clothes of her own and Rosaline had seemed too busy to bring anything extra for the small child, but Benji had plenty of t-shirts and didn’t mind sharing one with the tiny girl. It looked like an oversized dress on her and Caly rocked the look regardless.

“I like that kitty, Caly!” Benji grinned and added some orange color to the small cat-shaped art Caly was drawing. She flashed a huge smile at Benji and seemed to appreciate that he recognized the animal so quickly. She went to clap or sign but the paper fell to the floor off the couch and she immediately reached for it, nearly falling off the couch herself. Benji reacted quickly, grabbing her by her outfit which pulled the shirt up slightly but saved Caly from a scary tumble to the concrete floor.

“I’ll get the paper, Caly,” Benji spoke softly as he retrieved the paper from the floor and then knelt before the toddler, “Are you ok?”

Caly nodded but her face looked twisted as though the fear of what had nearly happened was settling in. Benji scooted himself back to the couch and right up against the small child before he realized some of the markers were uncapped and had accidentally left a mark on Caly’s leg. He reached out to wipe away the lines before he noticed a black smudge that wasn’t exactly going anywhere… and it looked familiar somehow.

“Hey… uh, guys?” Four pairs of adult eyes came to rest on Benji, “I think you need to see this…”

Eugene narrowed his eyes at the mark that Benji had found on Caly’s thigh. “Is that a… a QR code?”

“What?” Fetch was making her way toward the couch now with a look of intense curiosity. Delsin stayed where he was and Benji watched as Delsin exchanged some sort of look with Rosaline.

The shutter noise of Eugene’s phone brought Benji’s attention back to Caly, who was still drawing on the paper and ignoring the attention. Strange, Benji thought to himself. She definitely doesn't act like a 4-year old.

“I think this is coming up with a backdoor to Stratego’s website. Hang on a minute,” Eugene was looking at a basic encrypted website on his phone and he moved back to the laptop to scan the photo he took of the QR code with this bigger screen. In a minute he had the website up for everyone to look at on the laptop. 

Delsin was running a hand through his hair, his beanie in his other hand suddenly as he seemed to be processing this information. Rosaline was studying Caly in silence. Fetch was pacing the room, her black boots moving back and forth in front of the couch. Benji took it all in while wondering what was going on. He hadn’t heard the name “Stratego” before.

“Can you hack it from there? Looks like you need a password,” Delsin pointed out the obvious.

“Yeah, I’m on it. I can also compare the code from this page to the code on the main website to see if I can find anything to help me with this. I’ve got this, Del,” Eugene said. The laptop screen showed a basic website login screen that was an odd crimson color and had an owl logo near the top, in the center. Below that was the word “WELCOME” and then below that was a white field with a blinking cursor clearly waiting for the correct password to grant access to whatever was stored here. Benji suddenly felt uneasy, like maybe he shouldn’t be here for this part of the discussion.

Before he could mention anything about possibly leaving the office, Fetch sat on the other side of Caly and caught Benji’s eyes, “This stays here, not out there. Top secret stuff. Understand?”

Benji nodded. He was stuck now and he knew it.

But it did feel good to be trusted with whatever this was. It gave him a little bit of a boost as a potential hero-in-training. 

Suddenly, everyone was talking over one another. Commands, lists, ideas, strategizing. It was a little overwhelming and Benji was lost in the sounds of voices all speaking at once. He turned his attention to Caly, who had been focused on her drawing but was suddenly frozen, a marker in her grip leaving a mark on her paper that was bleeding and spreading as the ink continued to flow. He went to reach for her hand but before he could touch it, Caly let go of the marker and it fell to the floor. He bent to pick it up and was suddenly was hit with a wave of calm. As if everything was going to be okay. As if everything was going to work out just as planned.

He sat back and handed the marker to Caly and she shook her head at him as she hummed softly. She seemed to have switched from art to music. That seemed right to Benji, somehow.

“... but they marked her? With a tattoo?” Fetch looked angry, gesturing to Caly from her seated space on the other side of the girl.

“It’s not an ordinary tattoo.”

“What do you mean, Dr. Hutch?” Eugene asked over the top of the laptop screen. He was typing furiously but Benji couldn’t see what was on screen now, he only assumed as much from the amount of typing sounds he heard.

“Kids grow too fast to tattoo so young. The design would stretch and be unrecognizable in a few weeks, if not sooner. That has to be the work of a conduit,” Rosaline spoke and her hazel eyes were fixed on Caly, “Maybe an ink user? Or someone who could alter pigments within the skin?”

Caly’s soft humming was slowly becoming louder and Benji looked from Rosaline to Fetch. Fetch eased herself back into the cushions on the couch and closed her eyes for a moment. She seemed to be relaxing instead of remaining heated from the discovery.

“Of course. They had conduits there, they could have been using them on each other too. Like in Curdun,” Delsin grumbled and strode closer to Eugene behind the desk. Rosaline stepped to the side to allow Delsin some space between them.

Rosaline’s voice was quieter now as she spoke up, “This website may not only have a backdoor to Stratego, but a way to learn more about Caly?”

Now everyone seemed to be exchanging glances. Rosaline yawned suddenly and pulled the desk chair over as she dropped into it. Eugene’s typing seemed to be slowing as well and Delsin replaced his beanie on his head with a half-hearted motion.

“It’s possible,” Eugene said, “I’m so tired though. Could we break for coffee?”

Fetch straightened from her spot on the couch, “You too? I thought it was just me.”

“Definitely not just you. I’m ready for a whole nap,” Benji chimed in.

Then everyone seemed to realize at once as five pairs of eyes fell on Caly, humming from her seat. She gave them the biggest smile, content that the room seemed calm and quiet again. Her humming stopped abruptly and the edge of sleep stopped just as quickly.

Now everyone was looking wide-eyed at everyone else.

“Holy shhh–” Fetch cut herself off, but everyone was thinking the same thing. Immediately, coffee and doubling down on hacking this website seemed to be the first priority in the room.

It had been several hours and Eugene felt like he was on the edge of cracking the code. Or cracking up with insanity. It was hard to tell which. Delsin, Fetch, Benji and Caly had left long ago, each with their own agendas, but Eugene had coffee and he had Rosaline, oddly enough. The doctor had decided to stay to try to figure out the password based on what she knew about Caly. Nothing had worked so far but neither conduit was any closer to giving up, either.

“Would you help me with something, Eugene?”

Eugene sat back in his chair, sipping his coffee and letting his eyes rest, looking away from the screen for a moment, “What’s on your mind?”

Rosaline perched slightly on the edge of the desk, “Remember how you offered to assist me with… expanding my powers? Or getting to understand my limits?”

Eugene nodded.

“I’ve… heard some whispers in the hallways in regard to trust and the school itself. I would be willing to test my limits with possibly calming the situation, if you’ll grant me time to explore my abilities.”

“Ah, yeah,” Eugene sighed, “We’ve had some unfortunate instances lately with a group of conduits who seem intent on pulling the warehouse into chaos. Delsin, Fetch and I have done our best to avoid any issues, but we’re seeing more students off campus than on these days and that’s worrying.”

“Let me try. I may predominantly work with babies but I know a few things about the human condition as well. It comes in handy for working with adults and I would be willing to try to use what I know here as well.” Rosaline held her coffee in her hands, twisting the cup slowly as she spoke.

Eugene contemplated her offer. It wouldn’t hurt to have her try. And if anything, her abilities could be an amazing boon to the warehouse team overall. “I’ll have to run it by Del and Fetch, but I have a feeling they’ll oblige.”

Rosaline offered a small smile, “I hope they do. After everything the warehouse has done for Caly and myself, this would be a small way I could repay my debt.”

“You don’t owe us anything, Rosaline. I hope you know that.”

Rosaline nodded but Eugene could see her mind was made up and she was here to help for as long as she would be useful to the team. He was secretly relieved about that because after everything they had come across in such a short amount of time it seemed that getting help on their side was as important as ever.

Eugene took his phone from beside the laptop and sent a text to the group chat consisting of the heroes of Seattle with Rosaline’s proposition. He received a text back immediately from Delsin who was in. Fetch did not reply, but she had never been much of a phone person. He put his phone down and turned his attention to the laptop. He had the new backdoor Stratego website up in one window and the code for the website in another. He was scrolling the code when he had a thought and brought the website to the forefront. He moved his cursor into the password box and typed in a single word. Then he released a shout of accomplishment. The password was cracked and the website began to load the next page.

Rosaline moved to stand directly behind Eugene as the website loaded and Eugene made a note on some scratch paper on the desk, circling a single word.

“That’s her. That’s Caly,” Rosaline breathed as she neared the screen from over Eugene’s shoulder. The video conduit pulled his attention back to the screen and there he saw a photo of Caly and a blog of sorts with information and updates on her status. He started to scroll through but noted that a lot of the experiments were heavily detailed and he instead closed the laptop before Rosaline could read forward too far.

“I’ll show this to the group. I’m glad we have this though. Hopefully I can use it to discover more about the team behind Stratego and what their goals were. Also, this gives me a way to get information on a potential… criminal,” Eugene spoke carefully, choosing his words slowly as he sat back in his chair. He could use this new database to aid him in a search for records on the other ‘Projects’ kept by Stratego. He could try to find information on whoever Cindy Signet was too. This could help answer so many questions.

Rosaline seemed curious as she raised a single eyebrow but said nothing.

“I think…” Eugene hummed, “that you should join me in the training room. If just to show you where it is and how we run powers in there. Plus, I could use a good stretch.”

Rosaline contemplated the offer and checked her watch, noting the time. “Alright. I could use more coffee afterward.”

Eugene chuckled, “I can help with that. Follow me.”

Rosaline followed behind Eugene, leaving the laptop in the safety of the office while Eugene ran scenarios in his mind that could be used to help Rosaline push her powers or encounter new ones. He didn’t know much about magnification and he was curious to find out more about it from the doctor at his heels.

It was late afternoon and Delsin and Fetch were atop the roof of the warehouse meeting up for what felt like the millionth time that day. Fetch was tired and hungry, the day fallen to plans and schemes built around what-if scenarios that may never come to pass. She watched Delsin send a text to a new group of people pulled from his contacts–two new additions to the normal office team that now made up the new “Stratego Situation” group. Her phone buzzed lightly in her back pocket and she didn’t bother to fish it out, already knowing Delsin was summoning Eugene, Rosaline and Benji to the rooftop. 

So it didn’t make her feel any better when a familiar tingle lit the hairs at the back of her neck in a timely interruption of the oncoming discussion. A swirl of paper fragments wove between them, fluttering quickly before coming to rest at the top of a capped exhaust stack, revealing Celia in their wake.

“Doves…” Fetch tensed as she spit the name from clenched teeth, neon dancing at the ready behind her fingertips. Delsin held an arm out as though both protecting and preventing Fetch from making the first move.

“Ms. Walker. Pleasure to see you again,” Celia spoke nonchalantly from behind her rabbit mask, her head tilting in an uneasy fashion, “And you as well, Mr. Rowe.”

“Celia. To what do we owe the pleasure?” Delsin spoke harshly but did not move his arm from in front of Fetch. She growled lowly behind him, clearly frustrated with the forced patience.

Celia hummed softly not bothering to move from her perch as she addressed the question. “I want the same thing you do, Delsin Rowe. I want freedom for our kind. I want us to be in full control. Isn’t that something you still want, too? Isn’t that the final outcome for this place, your warehouse? Your school?”

“What? No, that’s so–”

“Fetch.” Delsin snapped her name and the neon user bit her tongue. She glanced between Celia and Delsin from her space slightly behind him and felt her anger blooming in her chest.

“Celia, I don’t think you understand,” Delsin started again, “That was the past. I was younger, we were both younger then. Now we have the world at our powered fingertips and all I want is for people like us to feel accepted and acknowledged without feeling afraid of who they are.”

Celia laughed. It sounded cold and empty. “And you train them to build their power so they can hide it for the rest of their lives? I think you can do so much better than that.”

There was a sound of commotion from below and Fetch heard Delsin curse under his breath. There was a clatter of what sounded like multiple powers clashing at ground level and Fetch realized too late that Celia was only a distraction.

“Maybe you should take a few minutes to really look at what you want from this idea of yours; are you helping your students or are they simply pawns in your version of Curdun Cay?” Celia tossed out a single hand and a whip of paper shot through the air at blinding speed. Delsin and Fetch both leaped away from one another to avoid the attack. Fetch shot neon in response, her missiles of bright light finding their mark just a second too late as Celia leaped over them and landed a few feet away on the rooftop.

Celia shouted, “You owe me a thank you for taking down Stratego, by the way. I hadn’t known that faction was still operating. It’s as dead as our enemies now.”

“We don’t owe you anything, Doves!” Fetch shouted in response. With the chaos erupting below and now on the roof, Fetch readied a new shot but Delsin told her to hold. She did as she was instructed and then Eugene was at her side, angels of blue pixels lining up before the Heroes for added defense and support. Celia cocked her head, her mask tilting to one side before she laughed again. This time it sounded full of vitriol. And then she vanished in a swirl of paper speeding toward the opposite end of the rooftop.

A scream from below had Eugene gasp and he looked over at an angel who was hovering just off the side of the building. A flash of steel wings glinted with the sunlight as a male student flew up to the roof. He was panting slightly, a grimace on his freckled face, “She’s back. The poison one.”

A splash of water was heard over a rupture of shouts and then the steel wings folded and the male student took a calculated dive from his height. Fetch huffed at seeing Brent and knowing his twin sister, Jean, was bringing water to a gas fight. This wasn’t going to plan. At all.

“Celia brought her friends. Of course she would. What is she after?” Fetch hissed and flared her neon at her hands. Colors of pink and yellow arched up her arms.

“Caly. I think.” Everyone turned around and faced Benji who was rolling his shoulders and standing behind them on the roof. “I ran into Rosaline on the way up here and she said Eugene told her to get Caly and stay in the training room.”

“I did. When Rosaline and I got to the rooftop door I could see Celia and I sent her back downstairs,” Eugene confirmed.

“Great,” Delsin griped and then blew out a rush of air before quickly forming a plan, “Eugene, with me. We’ll tail Celia. Fetch? You take Benji and go after the intruder. Everyone protect Rosaline and Caly at all costs.”

Before anyone could alter the plan, Delsin was off rushing in a trail of smoke toward Celia’s game of chase, Eugene and his angels regrouping and falling in line behind him.

“Sure, Smokes. You and Gameboy go after Doves. I’ve got Hazard.” Fetch was furious, fists balled up at her side as neon licked up her arms. But she was ready this time. She knew what was at stake. She knew Hazard’s ability and how to counter it now. She wouldn’t be caught off guard, not again. Never again.

Having Benji with her was a risk but he had an incredible power and a plan started forming as Fetch nodded to him and bolted off in the opposite direction, Benji following her closely as he utilized his parkour skills to the fullest of his abilities leaping over items on the roof with ease.

“How much power do you have stored up?” Fetch dropped into a crouch at the edge of the rooftop, surveying for Hazard below. A burst of neon green gas caught her focus and she narrowed her eyes, tracking the girl like a trained sniper. Old habits die hard.

Benji crouched next to Fetch on the rooftop, “I’m full.”

Fetch cocked an eyebrow and then rolled her right shoulder backwards, loosening up for the battle ahead, “Good. On my signal I’m gonna need a full blackout. Think you can handle that?”

“A full blackout? But it’ll affect you, too. Are you–”

“Benji. You wanna be a hero? Sometimes you gotta trust your instincts and choose the lesser evil. Hazard is a menace and I can handle a little darkness.”

Benji worried his lip for a moment before nodding and taking a deep breath. Fetch watched him carefully and then stood tall and strong, looking focused and calm.

“Follow me, but keep to the rooftops and out of sight. On my signal, full blackout. No hesitation,” Fetch shook out her arms and legs and tested her knees. She was ready to spring to the ground from this distance with her brilliant neon on full display, “And if things go wrong, don’t let Hazard get too close. Keep her as far from you as possible.”

Fetch tracked the neon green bursts for a moment longer before dropping to the ground in a bright display of her own neon colors. She had planned for this location drop and was smirking with satisfaction when the poison girl flit right into place. Hazard paused in her movements, turning to face Fetch with all the confidence of a bird with puffed feathers. She shifted her goggles up over her fringe and gave Fetch the biggest grin.

“I see you woke up! I hope you enjoyed your timeout, Neon Princess.” Makayla hissed out the name like a slur.

“I’m back for my rematch, Hazard,” Fetch snarled in response.

“‘Hazard’? I like that one. Thanks,” Makayla inspected her fingernails for a moment and Fetch tensed seeing the girl bring her hand close to her face in such a familiar move.

Fetch let off a missile of neon directed at the girl before her and it landed at her feet. Makayla leapt backwards, dropping her hand and the toxic gas with it. Without direction, the gas was useless and dissipated quickly into the air. Makayla frowned with the distraction.

“Okay, fine. You’re on. But you’ll have to do better than that, Fetch.”

Fetch straightened her posture, her hands flicking forward with neon ebbing and flowing like waves around her arms. “I never miss my mark.”

Makayla reached up and quickly adjusted her goggles back into place over her amber eyes. She smirked and seemed to welcome the challenge. Then she acted. A blast of green gas was forced toward Fetch but the neon user was quicker and tossed up a shield which lasted long enough to prevent the gas from being breathed in as intended. Makayla took another leap backwards and quickly glanced behind herself. Fetch was all rough edges now, colored in neon light and looking more dangerous by the second. But this spot was perfect as it was the back wall of the warehouse with no place to run. A deadend. Makayla would need to rush past her to get free, or use a new trick.

Fetch wouldn’t let either happen. Revenge was on her tongue and it tasted bittersweet.

Makayla blew more gas toward Fetch, but the neon user instead wasted no time and raised one arm to the sky, releasing a blast of Neon straight into the air. Fetch watched as Makayla flinched and then followed the neon blast with her eyes before she burst out laughing.

“I thought you said you never miss? I’m right here!”

Fetch shrugged, “Maybe I wasn’t aiming for you.”

Makayla stopped laughing immediately and started looking around for anything that would be broken or could possibly trap her right here. Fetch watched as the girl started to slowly be swallowed in a dense fog that was building from the ground up. As it came for her as well, Fetch crossed her arms over her chest and waited.

Benji wasn’t sure what the signal would be but when he saw the neon flare fly straight past him into the air, he knew. He crouched on the rooftop and dug deep into himself. Using his power always made him feel uneasy and nauseous. He hated his specific power. It had always been one thing to be teased about his skin tone and how he “blended into shadows” or “disappeared at nightfall”, but it was another thing entirely to control those shadows now. Controlling the only thing people compared you to in jest was a harsh reminder of how others viewed you. Benji knew not everyone saw him this way and he had been reminded of that when Lucky touched him but it was a hard idea to shake completely.

He shook the feeling of his heart being in a vice grip and poured his focus into calling forth shadow in a way that was an ultimate power move. The shadows rushed from his fingertips and crawled over the edge of the rooftop in a mass of what looked like a shadow waterfall. He could feel when the shadows hit the grass and he pooled and pushed them together, building the shadows into a dense darkness that took over the area and blocked out the light.

Benji worried for a moment about Fetch, but the release of power was a high unmatched and he found he was pushing himself to really make this the best blackout he’d summoned. He would become a true hero, if only by his own standards.

Nothing was coming down. Nothing was loose or shaking. Whatever Fetch had aimed for had missed its mark, of that Makayla was sure. She shook out her hands and started pooling more toxic gas when Fetch seemed to be fading into a fog.

Makayla wiped at her goggles. Sometimes they steamed up when she was in the heat of battle. But the fog didn’t wipe away. Now she shook away her gas from her fingertips and moved the goggles up into her hair. The fog seemed denser and Fetch was surely receding into it. Which is when Makayla looked down at her own hands and noticed the same thing happening to herself. The fog crawled up her body and was slowly pulling her into the darkness.

Panic began to set in.

Makayla swallowed heavily and tried to wave the fog away, but it didn’t budge. The color was slowly shifting from a light gray into a light black, each second passing by in slow motion. The darkness blotting out the sun from overhead and devouring Makayla into shadows she could not escape. A strangled cry came from her throat as the panic took hold and she realized she was fully lost into darkness. Her breathing came in quick heaves, her hands started to shake and her knees collapsed onto the soil beneath her. She realized she was sobbing, wailing quietly to herself as she wrapped her arms around her middle and rocked herself in one place. The darkness was inescapable. This was terrifying.

It was so dark. She could no longer see anything. Not even her own body that she was holding so tightly her fingernails were causing pain to her sides. She was sobbing so much she could feel snot dripping from her nose but she couldn’t regain control here. This was her nightmare come to life.

Then, with an unexplained quickness, the darkness began to recede. It was pulled from her like a million blankets over her head and she gasped for air, a full mess of tears, ruined makeup with snot and spit dripping down her chin.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry…” A voice laced with heavy concern and regret came from her right and she looked quickly in that direction like a wild animal caught in a trap with no place to run. A man stood there, his eyes glowing a soft gray color before he blinked and the shadows disappeared just enough to make out all of his features. His brow furrowed with recognition as he took in her sorry state. “... Makayla? Is that you?”

“Ben–Benji… ?” Makayla choked out his name and then a bright neon blast knocked her backwards into the grass and everything went dark for the second time.

[thenerdsofcolor]

NOC Review: 'Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem' Goes Full Turtle Power

“Go ninja, go ninja, go!” Those were the immortal words uttered in the finale of arguably the last good movie based on Laird and Eastman’s Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. That may be a controversial statement for fans for the Bay-produced 2014 and 2016 films, the 2007 cheaply animated movie TMNT, and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles III. But as a fan myself, whether for nostalgic or legitimate reasons,…

[theforbiddeneden]

Metal Hammer Magazine December 2023 Enter The World Of Sleep Token - Revista Metal Hammer Dezembro 2023 Entre no mundo do Sleep Token

"We'll never see the band at this level again" Sleep Token fan Benji Purdy

A deep, distorted voice is coming through the PA of Los Angeles’ El Rey Theatre.

“Do you think they want you to cry?” it’s saying. “Do you think they like it?”

A second voice, lighter in tone but still distorted and oddly inhuman, replies.

“Not as such,” this one says.

“I think they just want to know that I am feeling something, feeling what they are feeling, perhaps.”

The audience in this ornate, 800-capacity venue stands silent, entranced by the voices. The band onstage are masked metal sensations Sleep Token, tonight playing their first headlining show in the City of Angels as part of their month-long North American Rituals tour.

The dialogue that is playing out around us is hugely significant to everyone in this sold-out crowd. It marks the first time crowned frontman Vessel – the lighter voice – has broken his silence in public. The deeper voice he’s communing with belongs to Sleep, the god-like entity at the heart of the band’s lore. As the conversation continues, you could hear a pin drop.

“Do you think that this amount of crying is healthy for you?” Sleep asks.

“I don’t know,” comes Vessel’s response. “But at least I feel something. If I don’t feel anything then why would I even do this?”

At this, the crowd lose their minds and a wave of mania ripples across the floor. That the voices are pre-recorded doesn’t matter. Nor does the fact that this isn’t, strictly, the first time it’s happened – Sleep Token have been doing throughout this tour. But modern metal’s most enigmatic band have done something they’ve never done before: they’ve cracked open the door and given us a tantalising glimpse into their inner world.

This show isn’t the biggest Sleep Token will play this year. In December, they will headline London’s Wembley Arena. But Los Angeles, together with New York, is one of the epicentres of the US music business, and the buzz that’s surrounding the anonymous band suggests that America is paying attention to them.

More than that, La La Land has always had a thing for cults, from the Manson Family to Scientology, as well as the countless smaller ‘spiritualist’ groups that operate in the city today. An anonymous, masked British band with their own mysterious, quasi-religious mythology? LA never stood a chance.

“There is a new atmosphere at these live shows, an electricity,” says Benji Purdy, an American fan who also acts as moderator on the band’s official Discord server. He first saw Sleep Token when they supported metalcore act Issues on a 2019 US tour. After witnessing their headlined show in Portland, Oregon a few days ago, he says they’re an entirely different beast this time around.

“We’ll never see this band at this level ever again,” says Benji. “They are catapulting themselves.”

2023 has been the year Sleep Token’s cult success went fully overground. On January 5, the band released Chokehold, the first single from then-upcoming third album Take Me Back To Eden. Twenty-four hours later, they chucked in another new song, The Summoning. By the time the track hit TikTok, videos of listeners reacting to the genre-defying sound were reaching users around the world, with some even hitting a million-plus views.

Their social media profile was helped by celebrity boosts from Slipknot frontman Corey Taylor, Architects singer Sam Carter and Lorna Shore’s Will Ramos. And in May, they announced that Wembley date. All 12,500 tickets sold out in just 10 minutes. Sleep Token had officially become a arena band.

Chris Lody, a Sleep Token fan based in Coventry, set up a subreddit for the band back in 2018 after discovering they won their nomination for Best New Band at the Metal Hammer Golden Gods. The same year, he saw their first headline performance at St Pancras Old Church in front of 150 people. He’s had a front row seat to their dizzying rise.

“To go from that to Wembley in December, it’s incredible,” says Chris. “Creating the subreddit was a bit opportunistic really. Nothing like it really existed and I wanted to see what other people were saying about the band.”

It took a while, but fans eventually began to head to Chris’s Reddit page to share their own interpretations of Sleep Token’s music, art and lore. After the release of Chokehold and The Summoning, the page exploded with new users.

“The volume of people posting day-to-day is massive now,” says Chris, adding that it has grown from around 6,000 users to 34,500 at the time of writing. “We’ve had to take on more moderators just to maintain a bit of order.”

Much as the fandom has expanded, so too have the opportunities afforded Sleep Token. This summer, they stepped up to festival headliner status in the UK, with appearances at Portsmouth’s Takedown in April and Manchester’s Radar in July. Radar organiser Joe James admits they lucked out with the timing of the band’s booking.

“We got them at that sweet spot that every promoter dreams of,” he tells Hammer. “We’re a festival that wants to book progressive, contemporary music. Sleep Token tick all those boxes: they’re doing something fresh and are at the top of their game at the moment.”

Headlining the first day of the festival gave the band a full “limitless” rehearsal time, which in turn resulted in a truly headline-worthy performance.

“It looked and sounded amazing,” Joe enthuses. “They are so massive now, but they don’t behave like they’re blowing up just yet. I truly think they’re the next Download headliners of the new breed.”

It’s 4pm in Los Angeles when Hammer arrives at the El Rey Theatre, and queues are already stretching around the block in both directions. Some fans have brought chairs and blankets to sit on, while others are propping themselves up against the walls of the venue, clinging to the scant shade to avoid the glare of the Californian sun.

Amy McLaurin and her friend Sarah Hibbert are standing at the venue barrier. They’re from Virginia, and arrived at the El Rey at 9am, despite having fast-track passes that guarantee them priority entry.

“I found them on TikTok,” she says of how she discovered Sleep Token, with a nervous smile that suggests she’s worried any gatekeepers will leap out and chase her away at any second.

The pair saw Sleep Token for the first time a couple of weeks earlier in Baltimore, but couldn’t risk booking flights to come more than 2,000 miles to repeat the experience. It’s doubly impressive because Baltimore was Amy’s first ever gig, full-stop.

“I’d never really found an artist I loved enough,” she says. “Right now they’re everything I want in music. I listened to rock before Sleep Token, but not much metal – I’ve actually discovered more metal through them. I also met Sarah at the Baltimore show and we both decided to fly here.”

“They make you think about things you otherwise wouldn’t want to talk or be open about,” adds Sarah. “These songs can mean something different to everyone, a universal pain we all feel but some might be less able to express that.”

Vessel famously doesn’t do interviews – the only one he has given was to Hammer in the band’s early days – but their fans have been more than happy to pick up the slack. Sleep Token’s official and unofficial social media channels are full of running narratives, memes and jokes.

It hasn’t all been deadly serious, either. In April, a fan-filmed clip of an audience member at a gig in Sydney letting loose a “sinister” fart during the quiet part of the song Atlantic went viral. Similarly, after the release of The Summoning, a section of their fanbase dubbed Sleep Token “metal’s sexiest band,” largely thanks to lyrics such as

"THEIR MUSIC TRANSCENDS THEIR PERSONALITIES" SLEEP TOKEN FAN CASSIE KNOX

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“THERE ARE SECRETS LEFT TO BE UNCOVERED”

Daniel Owen is the man behind the artwork of Sleep Token’s first two albums, 2019’s Sundowning and 2021’s This Place Will Become Your Tomb.

WHEN DID YOU FIRST COME INTO CONTACT WITH SLEEP TOKEN?

“Around early 2018. I ended up becoming one of their lead visual creatives from [that year’s single] Jaws through to This Place Will Become Your Tomb, and some initial development on Take Me Back To Eden.”

HOW MUCH OF A BRIEF WERE YOU GIVEN IN EACH CASE?

“The briefs behind each project have varied greatly in scope, but usually only restricted to a few lines – in the case of Sundowning per song - or a paragraph to explore the central idea of This Place Will Become Your Tomb. Symbolism throughout history has always been a communication method that encapsulates a sense of power and reverence; my work for the project has always aimed to champion atmosphere while masking a considerable amount of intention below the surface. “One example would be the Sundowning sigils as a whole: being informed by the passing of time and mirroring the positions of a clock face, referencing the namesake of the album. Individually, each sigil was a cipher I'd developed that represented a hidden selection of elements relating to the singles that later served as artwork – eventually all would be removed from streaming services and become an intentionally forgotten to reflect one of the central themes of Sundowning and its primary cover. A beautiful part of working with a band is that there's an unparalleled level of bravery involved with taking the kinds of creative choices that many are too hesitant to pursue.”

SLEEP TOKEN PUT HIDDEN ‘CODES’ IN THEIR SONGS AND IMAGES. ARE THERE ANY SECRETS IN YOUR ARTWORK THAT FANS STILL HAVEN’T DISCOVERED?

“There’s certainly some things I’ve left seeded within my work that’s ready to be pulled from the future if I’m called upon. There are still some secrets left to be uncovered.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

‘Or are you really here to cut me off? Or maybe just to turn me on’ and ‘I would be lying if I told you that I didn’t think that I could be your man / Or maybe make a good girl bad,’ combined with a raunchy bass drop in the song’s second half. This sexiness is something the band have leaned into on this US tour. During The Offering, members have been seemingly kissing through the masks, reportedly prompting a suitably ecstatic reaction from the crowd each time.

There are other, more wholesome displays of fandom, from fluffy crochet plushies to homemade necklaces. A video of guitarist IV putting on a cowboy hat given to him by an audience member at a gig in Dallas has yielded close to two million views on TikTok. Back at the barrier at the El Rey stands Cassie Knox, who has come to LA from Houston, Texas. Cassie has now seen the band eight times, including at Radar in the UK.

“Sleep Token have a big thing about community,” she says matter-of-factly, when we ask whether it gets lonely following the band on tour. “I met two girls last night in San Diego, they’re here with me and we’re also going to Anaheim [the next gig on the tour].”

While every fan has a personal answer for what Sleep Token mean to them, Cassie’s response seems to be shared by many. “They taught me self-love,” she says, holding a sign stating as much.

In May, shortly before the release of Take Me Back To Eden, several select fans were invited to an exclusive listening session for the album in London. Chris Lloyd, who runs the Sleep Token subreddit, was one of them. He won’t divulge too many details of the event, but offers an anecdote that highlights the band’s dedication to keeping their enigma intact.

“We got there and there was just this stage with curtains,” he says. “They opened at the start of the album and we thought there was a Vessel mannequin just in a chair. It was really dark and there were loads of smoke, but it was really exciting. Then right at the very end of the session, the ‘mannequin’ stood up and it was actually Vessel – he’d just sat perfectly still the whole time! It was insane.”

The band show no sign of changing their minds when it comes to preserving their mystique. Hammer’s request for an interview with Vessel is, predictably, turned down. But this anonymity is something that their devotees embrace. The golden rule of Sleep Token fandom is to never, under any circumstances, divulge or speculate on the members’ real-life identities. Still, that hasn’t stopped some people trying.

“The mystery surrounding the band will always be a key element that draws people in,” says Discord mod Benji Purdy. “It’s a rabbit hole and people love diving into them. But I have found that since [2021 album] This Place Will Become Your Tomb, there has been a culture shift within the fanbase between those who want to respect the band’s wishes to stay anonymous, and those who have a general lack of respect and think the band don’t care.”

This ring of secrecy is intact today. Before the show, Hammer is sitting at a table in the taco restaurant adjacent to the El Rey. We can hear and see the security manager briefing in front of the venue.

“Tonight’s show is Sleep Token,” the security manager says, marching along his ranks like a general on the eve of battle. “Their whole deal is that they are anonymous. If anybody – anybody – tries to go where they shouldn’t, you MUST. STOP. THEM.”

In reality, transgression seems to be the furthest thing from anyone’s mind. The people queuing outside the El Rey are here to Worship, after all.

“Their music transcends their personalities as individuals,” Cassie Knox tells us. “Everybody has a part in this music, and from the messages that the band have put out, it seems like that’s exactly what he [Vessel] wanted.”

By the time the doors open, the excitement is palpable. Airport-style security gates mean everyone is thoroughly searched before entry and it seems half the audience has brought along trinkets, gifts and signs in their own expression of Worship. One fan has turned up with a bouquet of roses so big it is seen engulfed her head. They all make it through security without issue.

While some fans have been dressing up in full Vessel cosplay elsewhere on the tour, there’s no such regalia tonight, although many have covered their faces with painted Sleep Token sigils. Equally, it’s striking just how youthful the crowd is as a whole.

“It’s been like this the whole tour,” reveals Matt de Burgh Daly, guitarist/keyboardsist with support A.A. Williams, as he sits down next to Hammer to grab a bite pre-show. Williams and her band previously supported Sleep Token on their 2021 UK tour, and now they’re on these US dates, suggesting they’re within the headliners’ circle of trust.

“It’s funny actually,” Matt says between taco bites. “This is actually one of the smaller shows on the tour, I think. But we’re pretty nervous.”

Oh?

“Yeah, our drummer’s broken his arm – he’s having to play Def Leppard style!”

With its art deco exterior, crystal light fixtures, chandeliers and blood red decor, the El Rey Theatre feels more like it should be hosting a seance than a metal show. It’s not your typical dive venue. But where Sleep Token aren’t your typical metal band, sonically or visually.

From Hammer’s vantage point, a dark balcony overlooking the main floor, it looks like nearly everyone is adorned in some kind of Sleep Token memorabilia, be it t-shirts, hoodies, or even smaller items like necklaces or homemade earrings. A queue stretches from the merch stand to the barrier throughout the entirety of A.A. Williams’ set and right up until Sleep Token themselves appear.

Sure enough, the headliners’ arrival elicits a frenzy of activity. An extended shriek of pure ecstasy greets the band as they march onto the stage, and it’s not long before the audience is singing along ardently, tears literally streaming from some fans’ eyes.

Detractors may point to the prevalence of piano ballads in Sleep Token’s sound, but there’s no shortage of heft in tonight’s set. Chokehold is explosive, its pendulum riffs cutting through the air like a buzzsaw. Hypnosis has the booming, almost floating menace of a great Deftones track, fans waving their arms wildly throughout.

Even in terms of physical presence, there’s a marked difference from the band that toured in support of 2021’s This Place Will Become Your Tomb. Back then, Vessel seemed like a solid, rooted entity, his movements stiff and minimal, clinging to the mic-stand like he was tethered to it. This time out, he’s a ball of kinetic energy, bouncing, dancing and stalking his way backwards and forwards across the stage, even dropping to do push-ups during The Summoning. Bassist III and guitarist IV are similarly lively, headbanging furiously and commanding circle pits and walls of death with finger gestures and head nods.

The Take Me Back To Eden songs are especially visceral live. Vessel skitters across the stage during Vore like someone having an ancient entity, switching between howls and soulful melodies before intoning the song’s key lyric: ‘I want to give you all, but nobody else will ever go?’

For all the excitement, background chatter falls away completely when segments of conversation between Vessel and Sleep play out. The distorted voices discuss everything from the fandom to the role the masks play in their mythology.

“In order for all of this to work there has to be a certain boundary in place,” Vessel says, his unearthly, pre-recorded voice spilling from the speakers. “They need to be able to project themselves onto this, without anyone else’s identity getting in the way. In turn, I need to be able to show my true self to them in a way that does not compromise their ability to connect.”

There’s certainly no shortage of connection as fans roar along to the likes of The Summoning, The Love You Want and Alkaline, some moved to tears as the music takes on new dimensions, the closing rave-metal thrust of The Offering ending the night on an exultant and triumphant note, before Vessel clasps his hands in thanks as Whitney Houston’s I Wanna Dance With Somebody (Who Loves Me) plays incongruously over the PA.

So where next for Sleep Token? In a year where they have notched up a Top 10 album in the UK – Take Me Back To Eden peaked at No 3 – and sold out venues around the world, it’s hard to say exactly where the ceiling could be for them.

“I could easily see them playing arenas here in the States within two years,” Benji states. “The demand here is insane – as seen by the number of people who’ve lined up at every almost every show of this tour.”

For a British metal band to break into the US market is no mean feat, and the buzz and excitement Sleep Token are generating here is starting to catch up with the noise that surrounds them back home.

Equally, their pop sensibilities enable them to serve as a gateway, their success on TikTok showing they don’t just appeal within the metal sphere, but to wider audiences whom then tumble further down the metal rabbit-hole after discovering them.

Uniting newcomers and dyed-in-the-wool metalheads alike, Sleep Token are a new breed of band, transcending genre boundaries by simply refusing to stay in one, and backed up by a mystery and spectacle all their own. They are as at home supporting Slipknot and Architects as they are appearing at festivals like Reading and Leeds – testament to just how influential and breakout they’ve become.

Crazy as it may seem, 2024 will likely be an even bigger year for Sleep Token, and they’ve already booked some of the world’s most iconic venues in that period. With Wembley Arena and Alexandra Palace shows in the diary for next April, Sleep Token will be looking to cement their place at the top of the mountain. How long before the Worship of Sleep Token becomes a religion?

SLEEP TOKEN PLAY WEMBLEY ARENA ON DECEMBER 16. TAKE ME BACK TO EDEN IS OUT NOW VIA SPINEFARM

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MASKS REVEAL THE ARTIST’S VISION

Mario Garvera and Beatrice Rebondi are MysteryStar, an art studio specialising in masks, costumes and accessories. They also created the Vessel mask

WHAT IS YOUR BACKGROUND IN MASK-MAKING?

“We’ve always been drawn to the dramatic and theatrical aspects of expression, along with our shared love of music. We have produced thousands of pieces together over the decades. We never make replicas of our masks; they are, and always will be, one-off characters, created especially and never to be repeated.”

HOW DID YOU BECOME INVOLVED WITH SLEEP TOKEN?

“In early 2019 they were looking for a workable mask, as they hadn’t found anything wearable that could work onstage yet. We provided [Vessel and Sleep Token’s management] with several sketches and worked out together how to keep Vessel’s character essence and vision, while creating something that could work on a human head and be practical onstage.”

WHAT WERE THE BIGGEST CHALLENGES?

“It took several modifications, especially around the shape of the head. We had to accommodate certain parts of Vessel was adamant were integral parts of the full-face mask for the photoshoots and a mouth - less one for tge stage perfomances. These were the first two masks that we made for Vessel.”

WHY DO YOU THINK WE FIND MASKED BANDS SO FASCINATING?

“Masks have always been important to humans since perhaps the beginnings of civilisation. Ancient tribes created masks, for recounting their history and transmitting knowledge of their young; for healings and for warding off their enemies. In addition, it could be because masks are a created expression of the artist – the one - who created it, as well as the one who wears it – and as such reveal something of the artist’s mind and their vision.”

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CR:

Transcription English Version from theforbiddeneden

[womanexile]

People crediting TR because Harry is wearing items by The Row lately BUT I know TS has been wearing stuff from that brand over the years and especially after her break up with YB (when I mean especially I mean she's been wearing The Row A LOT), even in the TTPD cover she's wearing their briefs. But what got me 👀 is that the sweater Harry was wearing at the Mitch concert is called 'Benji' like come onnnnn now

When I saw the name of the sweater I was like 👀

But yes I looked back & TS has been wearing The Row since the start of the midnights era.

Even her Fresh Out the Slammer look she was wearing The Row

[nessieart]

дворняга

WC:7.8k

Summary: What if...HYDRA captured you?

Warnings: Canon typical violence, blood, gunshots, mentions of implied SA (but never specified), made up supernatural elements probably.

Italics signifiy speaking in a foreign language

Main Masterlist.

1954

The night air nips at your skin as you creep through the bushes, the only light coming from your now burning house. The smell of smoke permeates the air and rises high up into the moonless night. The orange glow from the flames pouring out of your house cast long shadows from your hiding place. When you reach a better vantage point to see the front of the house, you gasp, then clap your hand over your mouth to stop the scream that wants to bubble up.

There, lined in a row all kneeling in the dirt, are your brothers. Charlie seems to be talking to the men around him, head held high as he glares at the man you assume is in charge. You can't hear what they're saying, but you see the man standing in front of your brothers let out a hearty laugh.

Junior and Benji share a look, and you hear Aiden yell at Charlie to stop. You think you hear him say your name, but the roaring house fire is loud, and so is the blood rushing in your ears.

You notice the cuffs on your brother's hands and forearms, arms tightly bound behind them. Probably to stop them from Shifting, you think. The man in charge bends over to say something to Charlie, and a moment later, they all shout, Charlie hasn't made a move the whole time. You wonder what they said, because in the next moment, Aiden jumps up to lunge at the man, and then a resounding CRACK fills the air. And Aiden falls to the ground unmoving.

The scream escapes you now, but the sound is drowned out as another crack goes off, and Benji falls in a heap next to Aiden.

No, this can't be happening.

One of the men comes up and unfolds a baton, the end crackling violently with electricity, and shoves the end of it into Junior's side. He lets out a strangled scream and slumps forward as the pain passes.

Charlie's head falls forward, shoulders slumping in defeat and looks right at you, hiding in the dark in the bushes.

You scramble back in the dirt and go to get up and run. As you turn to run, you ram into a solid body and get knocked back down in the dirt.

Looking up, a giant mass of a man stands before you, his hair is stringy and long to his chin, there’s a mask covering the bottom half of his face but you’re sure he’s sneering at you. There's black paint or coal smeared across his eyes, and the crystal blue of his eyes shines that much brighter in the firelight from the house. They look cold and distant as he stares down his nose at you. A gleam catches your eye at the fingers on his left hand as they glint in the light from the fire. He clenches his fist, and there’s a mechanical whirring sound. He’s dressed in all black, from his combat boots to his pants and the tactical vest with long sleeves.

How did you not hear him come up behind you? “P-please,” you plead. There’s tears running down your face, making tracks in the dirt that’s smudged on your cheeks. He tilts his head to the side as he looks down at you, inhaling deeply.

“Poydem so mnoy, lepestok,” his voice is deep and gravely. It sounds like he has to force the words out of his mouth. It sends shivers down your spine, and you shake your head at him. He growls as he crouches down to your level, eyes flashing dangerously at you as his brow lowers over his eyes. In one swift motion his hand goes to his hip and he flips a knife through his fingers with practiced ease a few times before he grasps the handle and places the sharp tip under your chin so you can look up at him.

He smells like charred wood and machinery, gunpowder, leather, and dried mint. It reminds you of a cold winter's evening.

“YA ne budu sprashivat' snova,” his knife presses into your chin a little harder, making you whimper, “lepestok.”

“I-I don-don’t kn-know what y-you’re saying,” you tell him softly, afraid to speak above a whisper. “Please, pl-please let me go.” You reach up to touch his hand that's holding the knife, but his silver hand catches you before you can and holds your wrist in a crushing grip. You let out another whimper as he squeezes his fingers tighter.

He hauls you up by your wrist, your feet barely touching the grass beneath you. You bring your other hand up to try and pry his metal fingers from you, but his grip is unrelenting. He picks you up higher and brings your face closer to his, his cold, dead eyes narrowing above the mask.

“Ty poydesh’ so mnoy, lepestok,” he growls out. You would have felt his breath fan across your face if it weren't for the muzzle keeping it in. “Ili ya ub'yu togo, kto ubezhal.”

That last sentence has the hair on the back of your neck stand on end, you tug your arm again, eyes glowing and fangs extending.

“Let me go, or you'll regret it, asshole,” a growl bubbles up and out of your chest, skin rippling as you go to Shift.

Before you can blink, the man with the metal arm grips the front of your shirt and slams you down on the ground hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs. You're dazed as you look up through blurred vision at him hovering over you. His metal fingers dig into your collarbone to keep you down, and from his back, he pulls out a metal ring. He places it around your neck, and it closes with a deafening shink.

The pain is instant, causing you to arch up and let out a scream so loud it has you seeing spots. Silver, the collar around your neck. It burns into your skin, and you try and claw it off, only burning your hands in the process. The skin around your neck is raw and red within a few minutes, and you sag back into the ground, panting heavily and eyelids heavy.

The metal armed man grunts in satisfaction, pulling you up with him to stand and flopping you over his shoulder. You hang limply in his hold as he treks back to the men near the house.

“Come, enough struggling, Little Petal,” his voice is deep and accented as it rumbles through you.

You struggle to swallow the lump in your throat, raw and hoarse from screaming, “f-fuck you,” you croak. All the energy leaves you as you're carried across the grass, the heavy boots of the man carrying you thump loudly in your ears.

He comes to a stop and dumps your body on the ground unceremoniously, and when you loll your head to the side, you see Junior and Charlie still kneeling side by side. Junior has a few bruises littered around his face and body, and Charlie has a gash along his hairline that's trickling blood down his face and into the dirt. They both give you pained smiles, eyes filling with tears that soon spill as they look at you.

“Why didn't you run, Flowers?” Junior husks, eyes bouncing between your own.

“Co-couldn’t leave yo-you,” you manage to say. The men around you speak in that foreign language as you talk to your brothers.

“Where is the other Shifter, Soldat?” A man sneers, his accent heavy. Eastern European, Russian, you think.

“Gone,” is all the metal-armed man says. You peer up to him, his eyes are trained ahead, unseeing and blank. In the next second, the man in charge steps forward and strikes him across the face with the back of his hand. The other men around snicker to themselves. The man, Soldat, barely moves, just his face turning with the force of the blow, his long, stringy hair fanning across his face, and you think he's staring down at you now. His face is impassive, and he turns it slowly back to face forward again.

“Where?” Charlie whispers to you, eyebrows creased in worry.

You give him a smile, you hope, though it's probably more of a grimace, “I hear there's Sunshine out in Shiprock,” you speak the code you know only your brothers would understand. A look of relief fills their faces. Your muscles tense as a new wave of pain goes through you as the silver collar settles on your skin. You crawl towards your brothers, trying not to focus on the lifeless forms of Aiden and Benji.

You almost reach them, fingers barely grazing Junior's knee when a boot between your shoulder blades shoves you back to the ground. You whimper at the pain from the collar and the full force of the person standing on you.

“Sdvig. ili umeret',” the man above you sneers. He presses his boot down harder into you, and you yelp, hands reaching and fingers digging into the dirt. The silver collar digs into your skin more, and you struggle to fight through the pain.

You can barely make out that your brothers are yelling at the man to stop and that you can't understand what it is they want. After several moments or hours, you can't tell, Charlie's voice reaches your ears. It's frantic, and he's trying to be soothing, but you can tell he's panicking.

“Shift, he wants you to Shift, Flowers! Do it!”

“Can't,” you rasp, “silver.”

“Tell her to change! Or one of you dies!” The Head man says, and when you peer over to Charlie and Junior, they're both pushed to the ground as well. The man over them cocks his gun and aims it at Junior's head. “Sdvig!”

You try with every fiber of your being to Shift, but the pain and the silver won't let you. “I can't!” You shout, tears pile in your eyes, and you can barely see when the man above your brothers shoots Junior twice before the light leaves his eyes. Your skin ripples as you hear Charlie let out a deafening roar. He screams he's going to kill every last one of the men in the clearing. Threatens them with such violent deaths that if they lay another finger on you, they'd regret it.

You're yanked up by the collar, and when you look up, the metal armed man is holding you. His eyes are empty as he stares back at you, and you let out a low growl. It hardly escapes your throat, but the warning is there.

“Shift, Little Petal, or he dies,” the Soldat speaks into your ear. When you look at Charlie, his eyes are glowing in anger. And then you look at the bodies of your brothers. Lifeless and unmoving, tiny pools of crimson paint the dirt.

You were all happy and laughing not even an hour ago, and now your house was a crumbling pile of flaming ashes.

“Why me?” You ask him, and when he doesn't answer, you look at the Soldat again. His brow is pulled low over his eyes, a question in his gaze. Did he even know why?

The man standing over Charlie laughs. It makes your blood run cold. “Because you are female, my dear,” and the implication isn't lost on you. Your heart rate kicks up, and you look at Charlie. His eyes have faded, and he stares at you in shock.

He says your name softly, like a prayer, pleading, “fight them, every step of the way. You fight. Don't let them-”

Crack

—--

You don't remember the pain, and you don't remember much of anything after the gunshot went off.

You do remember sinking your teeth into the man who shot your brothers. The warmth of his blood coating your mouth as you tore at his jugular. His body lay in a bloody heap beneath your paws. Your face, chest, and paws stained crimson as you look at the rest of the men gathered around. Fear and shock mar their faces, all except Soldat. There's a glint in his eyes. He seems amused even under the muzzle. He's the only one that could hold you back, but he all but threw you at the man now dead at your feet.

The remaining men around are all shouting in Russian for the Soldat to do something. They take cautious steps back to put themselves behind the metal armed man and far from you. He crouches down and extends his metal fingers to you. His stare is still blank, but it's not as cold as it was before.

“Come, they will not hurt you, not with me here,” Soldat says, his voice low and gravely. When you don't make a move toward him, he tries again. “they do not speak English. Only he could,” he nods his chin to the dead man at your feet, and his hand still extended to you.

A man in the back speaks up, voice wavering and uncertain, “zastavit' yeye podchinit'sya!”

You hear the Soldat growl and stand, his metal arm whirring as he clenches his fists. He says something back to the men, and they all flinch and hastily make their way back to the SUVs parked a few feet away. Except for one, he catches by the collar of his shirt and tosses him at your feet.

When you look up to the Soldat, he gestures to the man trying to scurry away from you, “The boot on your back,” he says calmly.

You growl, head going low and eyes flashing. You lunge and sink your teeth into the man's shoulder, he yells in pain, and you tighten your hold and rip away, blood spraying out onto the ground around you. The man gurgles for a second and is dead in the next.

You've silently crept your way to stand by the metal-armed man, head coming up just below his chest. His flesh hand comes up, and his fingers dig into your fur. The silver collar around your neck is a dull ache compared to the pain in your chest, heart shattered in a thousand pieces.

Your eyes close at the contact, you may have killed the man responsible for your siblings' deaths, but you can't bring yourself to look at them again. So when the Soldat takes a step towards the vehicles, you don't hesitate to follow. There's nothing left for you here, and getting them to leave lets Leon get far away from the death and destruction left behind.

—

You've lost count of the days, or months, or years maybe, that have passed since you followed Winter. It suited him. It was a better name than Soldat, in your opinion.

The silver collar around your neck doesn't pain you like it used to. The scars along your collarbone and neck never seem to heal.

The thin mattress and even thinner blanket sit in the corner of the cage they keep you in. Cage is a relative term. At least a cage has a view. the one you're kept in is just a concrete room with no windows and one door.

You only see Winter on rare occasions. He tried to protest once but was quickly punished for speaking out. You went to intervene, but the collar had a shock system in it, and you collapsed to the ground in a heap and was pulled out of your Shifted form. You lay naked and in pain as the aftershocks of the electricity coarsed through your system.

You only Shift to your human form when they tell you to. The electric shocks let you know when, any other time you're Shifted. It's easier that way, easier to deal with the handlers that were assigned to you. No one talked to you anyway. The men around the compound only sneered at or talked about you.

The heavy metal door to your cell opens, bright fluorescent light streaming into the dark room, and you shuffle up onto all fours. But the man at the door isn't your usual handler. He seems nervous and won't meet your eye. He shuffles on his feet, holds up an electrified baton, it crackles violently, and you pad out of the room and wait for instructions. You know the drill by now, do what they say or else. The or else usually results in some form of pain.

“khodit, dvornyaga,” (walk, mutt) You're not sure when you picked up on understanding Russian, but you could understand the basics. Maybe you have been here a long time. You shake the thought out of your head as you follow the man down a few corridors, twisting this way and that. You've ascended a few flights of stairs, and when he opens the next door, the room is vast and cold concrete. In the center of the room sits a strange contraption, surrounded by monitors.

On the opposite wall, there's another set of heavy metal doors. They roll open and in staggers Winter, fog rolling along the floor as he exits. Two men in uniform enter next, making him walk forward, but his legs give out, and he collapses to his knees, panting heavily. There's a man in a lab coat that follows behind and a final man with a maroon beret on his head. The handler, you think. There's a folder in his hands as he goes to wait by the contraption.

You make your way over to Winter, tail low but swishing slightly. You nose over his hair and down his face and into his neck, he brings his flesh hand up and digs in your fur. His hair is wet, maybe a little frost bitten like he was laying in a heap of snow. You put yourself under his arm, and he uses you to lean his weight on so he can stand again. Winter’s hand lazy finds your head and pats once, huffing out a heavy breath. He's barefoot, wearing the bare minimal tact outfit; a black vest and pants.

You felt like you hadn't seen him in years, but there he stood just like the first time you met him. Tall and broad and menacing. His shoulders straighten, and he cracks his neck from side to side.

You glance into the room he just left, and you see some kind of chamber. The door's ajar and fog is rolling out of it in a steady stream. You can smell the chill of it in the air, like the scent of the first snowfall of the year right before it happens. What was that machine? It makes a chill run down your spine.

When you go to pad back towards Winter, you're stopped by the man who collected you from your cell. He stands in front of you with the baton pointed at you, his face trying to be stern, but falls short when you growl at him.

“Time for you to Shift, Mutt,” he sneers. He raises the baton to your face, and it crackles in anticipation. Your ears go back, and you lower your head as another growl leaves you. You take a step back when the man advances.

There's panic in his eyes, frantically searching around the room as his heart kicks up a little.

“Leave her. She will comply after she witnesses this,” a man across the room calls. He's standing with the two men in matching camo and rifles in their hands. He ushers Winter towards the strange contraption and forces him to sit.

“Come closer, little mutt, and witness first hand total compliance,” the maroon beret man calls, a smug look on his face. The men with rifles secure Winter's arms down with bindings and then the metal arms above hum to life and shift down on either side of his face.

Winter makes eye contact with you for the briefest of seconds before the ends of the metal arms clamp around his face. One side completely obscured his face and the other framing his cheek. They tighten so he can't move his head, and the lab coat in the back flicks a few switches and you can hear the electricity hum to life and in the next second you see the metal armed man tense and scream in pain.

The sound makes your fur stand on end, the pain and agony leaving this man sends your mind reeling. What the hell were they doing?

After a moment, Red Beret opens a red book with a star on it, matching the red star on Winter's shoulder. He starts a series of phrases in Russian. You can't hear it over the rush of blood in your ears or over Winters screaming. And then the machine shuts off, metal arms retracting and raising away from the man in the chair.

He convulses with the aftershocks of the electricity, head twitching slightly. The Red Beret says one final phrase, and Winter's eye twitches before he looks up at his handler, eyes cold and distant.

“Good morning, Soldier,” the handler says as he places the red book down.

“Ready to comply,” the Soldat answers. His voice is rough as he forces the words from his mouth. Another shiver runs up your spine, but you take a few steps closer. The Soldats head lowers slightly, eyebrows furrowing low over his eyes, and his gaze cuts to you before you can take another step.

“I have a mission for you. Sanction and extraction. No witnesses,” the handler picks up a manilla folder, thick and full of papers, and holds it out for the Soldier to take. Without breaking eye contact with you, he takes the folder and rises to his feet. Your hackles stand on end, and your stance widens, head low as a growl escapes your chest.

Something about the way the Soldat moves is off; different. This isn't the same man you've known. He's cold and menacing. Things he's never been around you.

“And take the mutt with you,” the handler says, amusement in his voice. A pile of black tact gear is thrown at your feet, and in the next second, a harsh jab of the electric baton is shoved into your side. You yelp and go to dodge the next jab but a metal arm grabs you by the collar and holds you aloft, the electricity runs through you violently and the aftershocks make your skin ripple and a shudder runs through you. The Soldat drops you, and the collar turns on, and it forces you to Shift, and you let out a strangled yell through clenched teeth. He steps over your prone form and walks out of the room.

“Hurry after him, little mutt,” the handler says as he folds his arms across his chest. “Or do you want to try again?” He glances at the machine behind him, and your eyes widen. You scramble to grab the clothes and hastily put them on as you run to catch up to Soldat.

It's a one-piece bodysuit, and after you shove your arms and legs into it, you zip it up. The all black suit is a little baggy on you, but it fits well enough. The pants are cargo like, large pockets on either leg. The top is like a vest, the sleeves are cut off at the elbow and the neck is long and baggy, you can pull it up over your head and it covers the bottom half of your face as well.

You catch up to the Soldat, he puts in a code for the door, and the heavy metal of the doors creak and groan to life as they open just enough for you both to fit through.

The sheer cold hits you in the face, and a full blast of ice-cold wind forces its way through the door. You're keenly aware that you aren't wearing shoes as you follow the Soldat outside. He seems unaffected by the cold as he crosses the walkway and to a small aircraft, it's a little bigger than a helicopter, and plane-like. The ramp in the back is already down, and he climbs aboard, not even sparing you a glance.

When you finally shuffle your way inside, it's a little warmer, only due to the fact the wind isn't blowing inside. To your right, the Soldat stands at a rack of supplies, you notice he pulls a pair of boots out and shoves his feet in them, then a few knives find their way into various parts of his suit. He shifts over a little and extends his hand out to you, a pair of combat boots that look like they'll fit you in his hand.

You grab them before he can drop them, pulling them tight to your chest.

“Tha-” you cough and then clear your throat. It's been a very long time since you've had to use your voice. “Thank you.” It's rough and doesn't sound like you, but it comes out all the same. He nods and makes his way to the pilot seat, strapping in and plopping the manila folder down on the seat next to him.

“Read it,” he spares you a glance before he starts the aircraft and begins the preflight measures. When you sit next to him, he pauses, “aloud.”

When you open the file, it's all in Russian. No surprise there, but you can't read it. There's a photograph of an older man, a candid shot of him exiting a car. His hair is white, cropped short on the sides and fluffy on the top. His mustache is also white. And then you're struck by the fact that this photo is colorized.

“This,” you clear your throat again, “this photograph is in color,” you show him the image, and his eyebrows furrow, eyes moving along the photo, the paper and then your face. It's like he doesn't seem to grasp the concept. “It's in color,” you say more to yourself. Your fingers trace along the photograph, the lines on the man's face, down his chin and stopping the suit he wore. He was very well dressed.

“Ho-,” you cough again, this one longer than the last. “Howard St-Stark…” It's mostly mumbled to yourself, but the Soldat can hear you. “Born 1917, in New York… head of Stark Industries…. Worked on Projects PEGASUS, and REBIRTH, and co-founder of SHIELD. A lot of this is in Russian, I can't read it.”

He hums in acknowledgment, pressing one final button and then a switch, and then pulls a lever, and the aircraft takes off. It's faster moving than you thought it would be. After 20 minutes, the Soldat engages the autopilot and then turns toward you with his hand out. You hand him the folder, and he reads through it, eyes scanning over every detail. He takes a few pictures out of the folder and gives them to you, one of the target, Stark, another of a metal briefcase, and another of the car you assume he'll be driving.

“Those men, they want what's in the briefcase?” You ask, flipping through the pictures again.

He hums again, “HYDRA.” And when you give him a questioning glance, he nods to the pictures and motions to the folder, “HYDRA wants whatever is in that case. A serum. It says here, retrieval at all costs,” he reads a few more pages before he puts the folder down, having gathered enough information.

“Do you remember the night we met?” Curiosity getting the better of you, and when he doesn't respond, you look up at him. There's a blank look in his eyes and his brows lower. He searches your face for a moment, as if trying to place it. He shakes his head no, and you deflate

After a few silent moments, he looks at you out of the corner of his eye, “Dvornyaga,” your head whips around to look at him, “those scars. How…?” The question hangs in the air. Did he really not remember how you got most of them?

“I remember when I was 9 years old, and I climbed the tree in the backyard,” you’re staring out the window at the clouds that pass, running your fingers over the newest scar you can’t heal from. “Mama and my brother, Aiden, always used to worry I’d fall out and hurt myself. Papa used to laugh and say, ‘Well at least she’ll learn to land on ‘er feet,’” you let out a sad chuckle. “I did fall, sprained my ankle, and got a really big gash on my leg ‘cause I landed on a rock.” You turn to him and lift your pant leg, “It healed in a few days, and the scar never showed.”

The Soldat’s brows are pulled together, the question in his eyes as they scan up your leg - which is now littered with scars - and back to your face.

“The silver stops me from healing all the way. Everything they do to me stays on my body like a morbid reminder. This is a reminder of what I am and how I got here.”

You pull the zipper of your tact suit down to your navel, exposing the skin and standing to show him the biggest scar you had. Its jagged edges to the left of your belly button is about 6 inches long, “You shot me with a silver bullet once, all because they told you to do it. It was after you brought me in, the night they killed my family. The doctors dug it out with silver tools. Sometimes, I can still feel them burning me from the inside.”

—

It was late in the evening when you and Soldat reached the interception point. Hidden behind a treeline from the main road, you sat behind him on a motorcycle. One he stole from a bar a town over. He may have broken someone's nose to get it.

“I still can't believe it's 1991…” You shuffled the newspaper in your hands. On the corner near the bar was a newspaper dispenser, and you didn't hesitate to take one as you walked by it. “So many things have happened. So many things I've missed…” your hand scratches at the silver collar around your throat absent-mindedly. You've gotten so used to it that it's like a second skin.

“Where are we again?” You've asked this question multiple times and have received no answer each time.

He sighs heavily, hands tightening on the handlebars, “It doesn't matter. Now be quiet,” he hisses the last bit out in Russian. A sign that tells you he's fed up with you talking so much.

Another hour rolls by, and you're about to say something else when a car drives by. You recognize it as the same one from the photos.

“Hold on,” is all he says in warning before the motorcycle comes to life and Soldat speeds away. You scramble to hold on, newspaper flying into the wind and arms circling his waist and gripping tight. He speeds up to the car quickly, pulling up to the passenger side he winds his metal arm up and punches the side of the vehicle, a tire blows out as the car struggles to stay in its lane, but fails and crashes violently into a tree.

The Soldat skids to a stop and backtracks toward the car, shutting the bike off and stepping off. The skin from your elbows to your fingertips ripple, fur coming forth, and claws extending as you follow behind the metal armed man. He forces the trunk of the car open, the metal straining with the force. There lies the briefcase, and when he opens it, 4 or 5 pouches of glowing blue liquid are inside.

“All of that,” you gesture to the car wreck, “for these?” You look up at your companion, and he just gives you a silent side-eye. He shuts the briefcase and goes to grab it when you hear a car door open and someone falls out with a pained grunt. You both share a look before you round the car.

There on the ground in a bloody, disheveled heap is none other than your target, Howard Stark. Soldat makes his way over to the injured man. You right behind him, claws bared. Stark is whimpering in pain, and when the Soldat fists a chunk of silver hair in his hands and pulls Stark to a kneeling position.

“Pl-please, my wife,” he grunts heavily, and his eyes focus up to the Soldat, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “S-sergeant Barnes?”

Barnes? Who..? And then the Soldat brings his metal fist up, but you stop him before it could make contact. He glares at you, and if it were anyone else, they'd be running away as fast as they could and putting as much distance between him and them. But you aren't afraid of him. You give the Soldat a pleading look, and he drops his arm but doesn't let go of Stark's hair.

Stark winces as you peer around your grumpy companion, his hand going up to try and gain purchase on the hand, gripping him too tight. He eyes you warily, grunting in discomfort. You're sure he has a few broken ribs, maybe a sprained arm or leg. It's definitely a broken nose.

“He called you Sargeant,” you say. “Do you know this man, Soldat?” He doesn't respond, only glaring down at you when you step closer to Stark. When you get close enough to smell him, you take a few inhales, circling around the back of him and stop. He doesn't smell unpleasant, all things considered. He smells musky and metallic; probably from the blood. But there's something else on him, something pleasing, and it makes you hum.

“Ho-Howard?” A strangled cry comes from the car, and your head swivels around at the sound, eyebrows lowering. Another person?

“My wife, please, please,” Stark pleads, and you make your way around the car to the passenger side. The door is jammed shut, and you give it a few hard tugs before it finally creaks free.

The woman, Stark's wife, is bloody and broken but alive. She looks at you with wet eyes, big and round, as she chokes out a sob. Her cheekbone looks shattered, maybe a broken arm and a few bruised ribs. When you lean in to rip the seat belt from her, you smell it again, that pleasing scent that was also on Stark. You hum quietly, claws easily tearing the seat belt from her body, and she sags. You catch her and her fingers flex in your forearms.

“What are you doing, Mutt?” Soldat asks, letting go of Stark and stopping you in your tracks.

“What - your arms,” she lets out a quiet gasp. Oh yeah, fur, oops. You hum again, nodding when she looks up at you. You shrug and help her out of the car. She leans all her weight in you, and you support her around the car toward her husband.

“Helping. They're hurt, Winter,” he flinches at the name, and you go to move around him, but he stops you again. A growl starts low in your chest when he doesn’t move.

“No witnesses,” his voice is low and demanding, but you won’t be swayed. There’s something about these two that tugs at something inside you. You have to know what it is. The woman lets go of you, and you let her crawl towards her husband, and they embrace, hands fleeting and worrying about one another.

“No one has to know,” you reach out to him and place a hand on his chest, but he flinches back out of your reach. “I’ll stay. Take the package and leave,” you say for only him to hear. “HYDRA will think they died, maybe me too…”

“Did you say HYDRA?” Stark asks. He and his wife are still kneeling on the ground, and he straightens up a little when the Soldat turns to glare at him. “you've been with HYDRA this whole time?”

“You know him. You called him Sergeant,” You crouch down to their level and give him a reassuring smile.

Stark nods, eyeing the man over your shoulder, “Sergeant James Barnes of the 107th. He is - was - Captain Steve Rogers best friend. He was my friend, too. Barnes fell from a train in the Swiss Alps, and Steve was devastated. We all thought he died," Stark looks up at the Soldat again, and you turn to look at him too. “I'm sorry, Bucky.”

“Who the hell is..?” You mutter to yourself. The Soldat, Barnes - or whoever he is - starts breathing heavily, eyes wide and unseeing as he takes in Stark's information. “Winter..?” You stand and take a cautious step towards him, his eyes cut to you, and there's something in them that makes you pause.

You've heard of Captain America and his sacrifice. But you don't know the details, or maybe you forgot them. You take another step towards him and stare up into his eyes. They seem distant and lost.

“Bucky?” You ask hesitantly. His eyes soften slightly.

“Dvornyaga,” he brings his metal hand up to the side of your face, palm resting on your neck. In one swift movement, his fingers clasp around the collar and crush it. A small jolt runs down your spine, and then the pieces of offending metal are in scraps on the ground.

Your eyes glow bright, and it’s like a thousand pounds has been lifted off your shoulders. The tears well up big and fat in your eyes before you laugh, digging your fingers into the tact vest of the man who has freed you. The tears fall freely when you blink and look up at him, “Why did you do that?” You hug him, wrapping your arms around his neck and squeezing as tight as you could. His arms stay at his side, but he can smell you now, and he remembers. Maybe only a sliver of a memory, but it’s there.

“Petal,” he says softly.

“Stay,” you say into his neck, but he shakes his head no. He pulls you away and walks toward the trunk of the car wreck and shuts it, leaving the briefcase behind, and then takes out his pistol. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end, and you shuffle in front of Stark and his wife. He raises his gun and shoots, shattering a security camera not even 10 feet from you.

“I'm not him,” he says quietly, “don't think I ever will be. But I can try.”

He nods and makes his way to his motorcycle. As he speeds away, you have a small thought that you hope to see him again one day. Maybe you could find out who this Sergeant Barnes is, or was, together.

——

Howard and his wife, Maria, were wary but thankful that you intervened and saved their lives. Admittedly, you also had a part in their crashing, but they had other things to worry about at the moment.

When you offered to run and get help, Howard had worried it would take too long, but you assured him you were very quick.

“Let us go with you,” Marisa insisted. “Our son, he'll be so worried, please?”

You aren't sure how you've kept your humanity for this long. If the year was right, and you're sure it is, you've been mostly Shifted for 30 years. Give or take, with the way HYDRA kept you and tortured you, you weren't sure the details. You noticed your mannerisms were more dog-like now than you used to be, but Howard and Maria didn't seem to notice as they limped together while you guided them back to a main road.

“You stopped Sergeant Barnes from killing us. Why?” Howard breaks the silence after a while. “Why? Aren't you with HYDRA as well?”

Why did you? You just had a feeling? Because you could smell something on him? You don't even know what it is.

“I- I don't know,” your brows pinch together as you wait for them to catch up to you. There’s headlights heading towards your group, and you step into the street with arms raised. The car pulled to a stop, and you ran to the driver's side. “please, my - they - uh, they need help. There was an accident. Can you take them to the nearest hospital? Please.”

The man behind the wheel relents, and you help Howard and Maria into the back of the car, shutting the door behind them. When you step back and walk away, a voice calls out to you.

“Wait, aren’t you coming?” Maria has a look of worry on her face, and when you go to tell her no, tears gather at her waterline, and you sigh.

—

You sat in the ER waiting room, Howard had been checked out and sat with you while he waited for his wife. His arm was in a sling, suit jacket long forgotten and slung over your shoulders. His face was cleaned up only slightly, small amounts of blood under his nose remained, but at least it wasn’t broken anymore. There’s a dark bruise forming on the side of his face where it met the steering wheel, his brows pinch together as he studies you, hazel eyes flicking around your face.

“I never did get your name,” Howard says quietly, fingers fiddling with the strap of the sling around his other arm. You hum softly, tugging his jacket tighter around you. It smelled like him, and Maria. But there was just something else there, hidden in the fabrics of the jacket you couldn’t put your finger on.

A young man comes barreling into the ER waiting room, skidding to a stop and heaving gulps of air as he spins around frantically. His dark brown hair is a poofy mess on his head, like he’s been pulling at the roots. The dark red hoodie he wears has the sleeves pulled up over his elbows, and dark gray baggy sweats sit low on his hips. Howard also notices the young man and goes to stand, but lets out a grunt of pain, and you shoot up to help him stand. He puts his uninjured arm over your shoulders, you place a hand on his ribs, he takes a limping step forward, and you guide him.

“Tony,” Howard calls out, a little strained. The man - Tony - whirls around at Howard’s voice, and his eyes go wide as he rushes toward you both. “My son, Tony,” Howard says to you, and you nod. Tony comes to a stop in front of his father, and you let him go to take a step back. Tony is tall, not as tall as Howard, and they both tower over you.

“Dad, what the hell?” Tony says in a panic. He takes in the sight of Howard, reaching his hands out when Howard staggers a little. “What the hell happened? Where’s mom?” He cranes his neck to look around the waiting room, and his eyes find you, eyes narrowing slightly, “who is this?”

Howard places a hand on his son's shoulder, calming him with a quiet hush, “she sav - helped your mother and I. There was an accident,” he pats Tony's shoulder and speaks over his protest, “we're fine, just a few scraps and bruises. Really.” A minute later, Maria is wheeled out, her wrist has a brace on it and the gash on her forehead has a few stitches, but she looks a lot better than she did when you arrived. You sigh in relief.

“Tony,” Maria sounds relieved, “oh my boy,” There's tears welling up in her eyes as her son rushes to her side, helping her out of the wheelchair and hugging her carefully.

When Howard makes his way to his family, you feel an ache in your chest. Sure, you're happy they're together, and you did what you could. But you miss your family, miss your brothers, and maybe you miss Bucky as well.

You slip the jacket off your shoulders and drape it over a chair, and make your way towards the exit. There's nothing left here for you now. Might as well find somewhere to lay low for a while. Outside there’s a well-dressed man leaning against an expensive looking town car.

“Hey? Hey!” A voice calls out behind you, and when you turn to it, it’s Tony rushing towards you, “wait, please.” He stops in front of you, heaving a sigh and running a hand through his hair. “I just uh, I wanted to thank you. For helping my mom. And my uh, my dad,” he rubs the back of his neck. “so, thanks. Really,” he sticks his hand out, "I'm Tony, by the way.”

You look from his face, to his hand, and back again. “I'm… I-“ your brows pull together. Why couldn’t you remember your name? The only word that comes to mind is the one HYDRA gave you. And you can’t tell Tony your name means mutt. You let a whine escape your mouth when you can’t think of anything, a tear escaping your eye as it slides down your cheek.

“Oh God, don’t cry, miss, I’m sorry!” Tony places his hands on your shoulders when you almost crumple in on yourself. He brings you a little closer when you let out a sob, and you cling onto the front of Tony’s hoodie. He has one arm slung around your shoulders, and the other hesitantly pats your head, trying to be soothing. You take a deep inhale, and you freeze. Something in you seems to right itself, like everything was only ever leading to this moment, and you lean your head back to look up at Tony’s worried face.

He smells like everything right, like sunshine after it’s rained forever. It’s the scent you couldn’t place on Howard and Maria. It makes your heart stutter and your stomach fuzzy. Everything is warm, and it overtakes you, moving up your chest to your face. He smells like home. And you haven’t had somewhere to call home in so long. The ache almost overwhelms you.

His brown eyes scan your face, and he brings his hand up to wipe away a few tears. His finger tips leave a trail of sparks in their wake as they move along your face. Did he feel it, too? Tony’s lips part slightly in surprise, and his eyes seem to light up when he drags his eyes to yours. Those pouty pink lips curve up at the edges, and he's looking at you like you're not real.

“You,” you breathe out, “you're mine.” It’s whispered into the space between you, and Tony leans his forehead against yours. Your fingers tighten into his hoodie, and he hums.

“What is this? Why does it feel like,” Tony brings a hand up to rest over your heart. He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, his nose brushing against yours. “like everything suddenly…”

“Like it all makes sense now?” You ask, heart leaping into your throat when he hums again as his nose brushes against your cheek, and he grins.

“You smell like flowers.”

****

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