#but lawrence Would Not but also wouldn’t be able to piece together at first why he was angry about it

[fingertipsmp3]

I think out of all the characters I have that I don’t know what to do with, Em and Lawrence are the most frustrating to me because they’re so developed and I like them so much but I have solidly no idea what story to put them in

[cow-smells]

You’re Mine [Eli Hawk Moskowitz x Reader]

Requests: 1. there’s a new girl on miyagi-do, she’s classmates with sam, hawk, miguel, tory, robby, demetri, etc... for some reason, she and hawk didn’t like each other (he can be on cobra kai or eagle fangs, that’s your choice), and one day they make a bet, which this girl wins. hawk has to be her slave for a whole week. BONUS IDEA: a stolen kiss during a fight. maybe admitting feelings for each other? i’d love that! ( @berriewrites​ ) 2. love the hawk smut but i’d also love some fluffy hawk about him secretly liking the reader who’s in miyagido but he tries to act all tough and hide it (anon) 3. AHHH CAN WE GET SOME HAWK FLUFF!? I love the idea where you swear that you don’t like him and you guys make eye contact from a distance when he’s standing with his friend group and you’re standing with yours and you get flustered and he can tell and he smirks and just ahh (anon)

A/N: this took so longggg this came out longer than expected (and honestly i could go on, but i wanted to get this out already) + real life has come hitting all at once and its been overwhelming lol. thanks for being patient and sticking around <3 i enjoyed writing some fluff (amidst a flurry of smut reuests loool :)

Words: 2981

Warnings: none

Read this on AO3

Summary: You don't like Hawk. He's a bad person, that much you know for sure. You're ready to make his life miserable when he loses a bet with you, but then you actually have to spend time with him...

   You didn't like this.

Forgiveness seemed to be a virtue that evaded you. Eagle-fang and Miagi-Do were uniting and everyone seemed to be all for the union – except for you.

Some things were simply unforgivable. For you, Hawk breaking Demetri's arm was one of them.

You and Demetri became nearly inseparable friends when you both joined Miagi-Do. He had told you all about his former friend Eli and how he'd abandoned him in the favor of bullying him in any way he could come up with; that bullying taking a turn to the extreme when Hawk took to breaking bones.

    Demetri had since forgiven him, but you hadn't.

Demetri had a softer heart than he let on, and he missed Eli terribly, so when the latter suggested they work together he gladly accepted.

But you were more objective about the situation, as you weren't a part of it, and forgiving such cruelty was beyond you.

    The one good thing about the dojos coming together was the intense dedication that grew on everyone. Now that you had a common enemy, many participants would hang around in Miyagi-Do's dojo long after training sessions, training until you could hardly move your limbs.

     The sun had ago long fallen when you and the remaining students took places around a mat, ready for the sparring session to begin.

With Daniel and Sensei Lawrence gone, you had taken to writing down names and pulling them out of a bowl to decide on sparring partners.

    All the negative emotions you felt channeled in to great excitement when Miguel called your name – followed by Hawk's.

You could have sworn you saw a look of something you couldn't read – concern, perhaps, or fear? Before he seemed to share your excitement as he stepped on to the mat with a grin that was almost predatory.

    Two could play at that game.

    “You're as good as dead,” you said, your voice dripping venom. Hawk's smirk just grew.

    “Is that so, princess? I'd like to see you score as much as a point.”

A light bulb lit in your mind.

    “Yeah?” you taunted. “What if I get three?”

Hawk laughed. “You got a lot of confidence, don't you? I'll tell you what. If you can score three points on me and win, I'll...” He bit his lip as he thought. “I'll let you boss me around for a week. Whatever you want.”

The blood rushed through your veins, ready more than ever to fight. You were grateful for the lack of your sensei, knowing this nonsense wouldn't stand if he were here.

    “Deal.”

    “Are you guys done?” Miguel huffed, standing between you two, ready to referee. “Good. Bow.”

    You bowed without intent and got straight to attacking. Hawk didn't expect it; he came from the dojo that prides itself on strike first and yours cared mainly about defense. You earned your first point within seconds.

    That only served to throw Hawk off his game further. He dived in right away for the attack and was caught unprepared when you fell, sweeping his leg.

    You earned your second point.

By that point, Hawk might as well have been fuming out the ears. His brows furrowed in anger as he looked at you like you were the most vile thing he had ever seen; that satisfied something within you.

    The flurry of hits and misses was so rapid you were caught unprepared when you managed to land a punch on Hawk, Miguel's voice rising as he named you victor.

    Hawk huffed, clearly exerted. You smiled. “You're mine.”

You were fully intending to use this bet to its full potential.

The next day was Saturday, and Hawk, true to his word, showed up at your doorstep at 9 p.m sharp, just as you had ordered.

You paid him no kindness when you opened the door, not exchanging a word with him before demanding: “Helmet?”

Hawk handed you a helmet, not looking particularly pleased about the situation but not being able to stop himself from taking in an eyeful of you anyway.

You needed a ride to tonight's party – that's where Hawk came in, beginning his work for you as a personal valet. Accordingly for the event, you were dressed meticulously, showing off your best features – and if you were to judge by Hawks reaction, you were on your way to turn heads.

You climbed on the motorcycle after him, circling your arms around him loosely; but when he kicked off and started the ride, you couldn't help but tighten your hold.

    The party was overcrowded with people from the moment you got there; Yasmine's parties tended to get a bit... excessive.

You ditched Hawk the moment you got sight of your friends, ditching the helmet on his bike to run over to Sam, Moon and Yasmine.

Yasmine didn't hide the dirty look she sent at Hawk. “Ew. Who's the freak?”

You grinned proudly. “My valet. Ignore him. Actually...”

You looked over to the drinks table; someone had tapped a keg and it was being swarmed with people.

    “Hey, Hawk!”

Hawk turned to you, the slightest furrow in his brow as he had already joined his own friends. You pointed at the drinks table. “Vodka soda!” you ordered.

He rolled his eyes, but did it anyway. Your friends watched wide-eyed as he obeyed you wordlessly, bringing over the drink. “Anything else, princess?”

    “Yes,” you gave him a judging once-over. “Don't drink tonight. I want to get home in one piece.”

He bit his cheeks and glared at you before growling “Fine” and returning to his friends.

At some point you didn't even want a drink any more, it was just fun ordering Hawk to go fetch you another one; and so, you found yourself unintentionally drunk, laughing mindlessly at anything said and swaying on your feet.

You didn't even know how late it had gotten when Hawk came in the living room looking for you, ready to go home as most the others already had.

You had earlier made him promise to take you home as well, and – something you were quickly learning was, Hawk was definitely a man of his word. He spotted you half-sprawled on the couch, laughing with Yasmine at something you didn't fully register. Your cup was askew in your hand, contents about to spill over when Hawk grabbed it out of your hand, placing it on a table nearby.

    “Come on, Y/n. It's time to go.”

    “Not yet!” you grinned gleefully, taking hold of his wrist and shaking it dumbly as you spoke. “Later! We're having fun!”

Hawk placed his free hand on yours that held him. “It's four AM, Y/n, time to call it a night.”

    You didn't reply, instead resorting to pouting like a child.

His eyes softened (the puppy eyes never failed to work) – but his jaw clenched. “If you don't come now I'm leaving you here.”

    “Fine!” you hurriedly rose to your feet, using Hawk for balance. “Bye,” you pouted at Yasmine childishly as Hawk pulled you away from her and out of the house.

The sudden quiet of the outside was nearly overwhelming, Hawk's voice sounding too loud for you. “How am I supposed to get you home when you're this drunk?”

    “I'm not drunk,” you answered instinctively, knowing that you very well were.

    “If you can make it to the bike in a straight line, I'll believe you.” You look at his bike, ten feet ahead. You decide to keep holding on to him. “That's what I thought. Listen. You gotta stay awake, okay? I can't have you falling off in the middle of the road, or making me sway, because then we're both dead. Got it?”

    “Dead. Got it.”

Hawk didn't look convinced, but placed a helmet on you and buckled it anyway.

It was about ten minutes in to the ride when Hawk pulled over. He turned to you, his voice as serious as he could make it; you simply smiled, somewhat dazed. “This isn't going to work.”

    “Hm?”

    “Y/n!” Hawk called, trying to wake you up a little. “Don't fall asleep!”

    “Yes, sensei.” you slurred. Had you been any more awake, you might have noticed the way Hawk's eyes widened at that.

Hawk had to refocus himself to go on. “I'm serious. Look... My house is closer than yours. You can sleep it off at mine, and I'll take you wherever tomorrow. Okay?”

    “Okay,” you shrugged, your mind not caring about much other than regaining the warmth of Hawk's body pressed against yours.

Minutes later you pulled up at an unfamiliar house. Hawk unbuckled your helmet and set it aside, helping you off the bike and guiding you inside, motioning Shhh as he led you through the corridor of his darkened house until you reached his room.

The most natural thing for you to do the moment you saw a bed was to collapse on it. In the seconds Hawk turned his back on you to find you Pj's to wear, you had fallen asleep.

    Looking at you on his bed, Hawk exhaled heavily. He was very aware of your hatred of him; what he couldn't understand was, if everyone else forgave him, why not you?

It certainly didn't help that you looked the way you do, that you were talented, and that everyone loved you.

So Hawk undid your shoes and pulled them off, laying a blanket on you before leaving you to sleep.

    You woke up groggy, somewhat hungover and in a strangers room; an interesting start to the day.

You didn't really want to leave the comfort of your lonesome in the room but it was clear you would have to face the music at some point, so you womaned up and left the room.

Following the smell of food cooking, you walk down a hallway to find a red-haired man in the kitchen, his tattooed back to you, muscles flexing as he flipped a pancake.

With his hair down, it took you a moment to register who you're seeing; who's bed you spent the night in.

    Hawk.

Your first instinct was to groan, to cower in to yourself in regret; but then you remember how tenderly he treated you the night prior, making sure you got safely to a bed, letting you have his bed.

You swallowed your pride and stepped in to the kitchen. “Morning.”

Hawk's shoulders jumped in fright as you startled him; you couldn't help but giggle. He quickly rightened himself, straightening his back and flexing his abs as he turned to you.

    He was good looking and he knew it. You hated him.

However, you felt your power returning to you as he couldn't help but look you up and down, your disheveled clothes revealing a bit more than they had the night before. Hawk inhaled sharply, reminding himself of who he was, how he was supposed to act: unfazed.

    “Bout time you got up.”

You frowned, looking at the kitchen clock. “What do you mean about time? It isn't even noon yet.”

    “Yeah, well,” Hawk flipped a pancake on to a nearby plate. “You wanted me to take you to the mall today, right? I have practice later, so it's gotta be now.” The Eagle-fangs were holding weekend practices of their own, something you weren't a fan of.

    “Jeez, fine,” you sneered, allowing yourself to sit at the kitchen table. Amidst the chaos that was waking up in Hawks bed, you had totally forgot you previously asked him to take you out today. Yasmine's parents were making her take tutoring lessons, Moon was doing some spiritual healing thing and Sam was with Miguel, so you were left all alone – but you certainly didn't intend on spending Sunday at home, doing nothing.

    Hawk finally shut off the burner and joined you at the table with a stack of pancakes and two plates in tow. “Eat away your hangover. I'm not gonna hold your hair up if you hurl.”

Breakfast with Hawk ended up being a surprisingly civil affair; so was shopping. There was something exciting about dragging him along after you, shop after shop, having him carry your bags and modeling clothes for him. And honestly, you were loving the effect you had on him. You knew he was trying to hide it, but you could see the way he grew antsy when you tried on bikinis. You loved teasing him, knowing he couldn't have you.

    What also didn't hurt was the way you two turned heads walking down streets together. You were undeniably gorgeous, and he... While at first you thought it was the bright red mohawk that grabbed peoples eyes, after a close inspection you couldn't deny he had fair features, too. You had to look away whenever he tensed his jaw, accentuating his jawline, or if God forbid he smiled, you had to deny the way his smile made your stomach knot up.

    As though to top off the experience of him, by the time you finished shopping, Hawk would have been late if he was to take you home, so you suggested he take you to practice with him and just take you home once he was finished. And oh my... You did not need to see him fighting. Having a whole hour to see his biceps flexing as the threw punches was doing you no favors; when you were both practicing you were too busy with yourself to notice him, but right then you had a whole hour to do nothing but stare.

At the end of the practice you rose when Hawk approached you, ready to go. When his sensei understood you were waiting there for him, he asked Hawk, “Yours?”

Hawk didn't answer; he merely smirked that Hawk smirk of his. His sensei nodded proudly. “Nice.” Creep.

You had a couple more days to squeeze the most you could out of your bet, and by all means were you planning on using them.

Hawk was taking you to school and home every day on the back of his bike – to Miyagi-do, too. It became a regular thing to see you two together, and if anyone was expecting you, they expected Hawk, too.

Just as the previous mornings, you and Hawk walked in to school together. Seeing your friends, you bid him goodbye and went to join them, your eyes lingering on him a bit too long as he said hello to Miguel.

Yasmine's jaw dropped as she looked at you, her expression scandalized. “What?” you asked.

    “You're totally in to the freak!”

    “What? No,” you denied – but even as the words left your mouth, you could hear your lack of conviction. “No.”

You looked back to where Hawk and Miguel stood; this time, he caught your eye. Then, with total audacity, he winked at you.

You felt heat rush through your body.

The smirk that grew on him suggested he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

    You hated it.

Deciding to put an end to this madness, you wordlessly leave your friends and march up to Hawk, a new rage running though you.

He stopped talking with Miguel when you reached him; Miguel visibly tensed at what he felt was a dangerous situation for him to be in.

    “Sidebar,” you ordered. Hawk smirked.

    “After you, princess.”

You hoped no one would notice when you lured him in to an empty classroom, but in all honesty, it was you and Hawk. There were always eyes on you two.

You turned to him once you were engulfed in the silence of the room. “Listen. I don't know what you're playing at, but cut it out. I own you, got it? Don't go winking at me in the hallway like I'm your girlfriend or something.”

You expected to see him cower, blush, show any sign of intimidation – but there was no such emotion. The smirk he wore only grew in confidence. “You sure about that?” he asked cheekily. “Because it seems to me like you'll find any excuse to be around me.”

You couldn't believe the audacity of this boy. You were stunted for words; he went on. “Be honest with yourself. Once the week is up, you'll still find reasons to talk to me.”

You bit your cheeks; you hated how he was right, how he read you so easily. “And look, I'm done playing this game too.”

Your stomach dropped. Was he about to reject you, without you even confessing? “I'm not playing with you,” you tried to say intimidatingly, but your voice came out too small for comfort.

    “Me neither. So...” Hawk looked down at you; you could have drowned in his ocean eyes. You averted your gaze to the side, crossing your arms.

    “Fine. We can call it off early.”

Hawk chuckled. You wanted to punch him. “You still don't get it, do you?”

You returned your eyes to Hawk, ready to chew him out when he placed his hands on your cheeks, pulling you to him for a kiss.

You could feel yourself melting in to the kiss, feeling a rush of adrenaline run through you as you finally got to experience what you didn't want to admit to yourself that you craved so deeply.

When he finally pulled away, he kept his hands on you, your noses nearly touching. “I've wanted to do that for a long time,” Hawk admitted.

You half-smiled. “It's only been a week.”

Hawk had burst in laughter, his thumbs caressing your cheeks. “You still don't get it.” Before you could protest his words, his lips met your once more.

    Maybe you could find it in you to forgive him, after all.

[matchasprouts]

Listen Closer - Chapter 8

[ i wrote like a madman <//3 sorry besties ]

First || Next || Previous || Last

Garrett hated when his phone ringing woke him up.

He struggled to find it for a moment, before finally slapping his hand onto it. He picked it up off the nightstand, vaguely aware that there were arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

“Whitlock’s chop shop-” he paused, instinctively launching into one of his fucked up openers as soon as he answered the call. “Sorry. Who is this?”

“Who is this?” an unfamiliar voice replied, and Garrett became significantly more alert, wondering what the fuck was happening. “Why do you have Detective Hoffman’s phone?”

Oh shit. That wasn’t his phone.

“Shit, give me a second,” Garrett said, moving the phone away from him as he turned around in Mark’s arms. “Mark,” he whispered, gently shaking the detective. “Someone’s trying to talk to you.”

Mark groaned in response, but took the phone after a second, pressing it to his ear while still laying down. “Hoffman,” he greeted, his voice gruff and sleepy.

Garrett immediately laid back down and cuddled up to Mark again as soon as he was no longer required to be social, tracing a finger over the detective’s chest as he spoke to whoever it was on the phone, presumably a coworker.

That got him a soft hum from Mark, who moved to wrap an arm around Garrett again. “Yeah. Okay, I’ll be there in 10. Keep an eye on Matthews.” He hung up after that, letting his arm drop back to the bed.

“Job stuff?” Garrett asked as he looked at Mark, smiling when he looked back down at him before nodding. “Man. Sucks to suck, I guess,” he teased, pressing a kiss to one of the newer marks he’d left.

“Yeah, yeah,” was Mark’s reply, pausing for a second to kiss Garrett on the head before he was getting up to get dressed.

Garrett stayed on the bed, simply watching as Mark got his clothes from last night back on. He’s legally obligated to admire his handiwork when he made partners bleed, and BOY did he make Mark bleed.

Mark came around the bed and gave Garrett one last kiss before heading out. Garrett didn’t move until he heard the front door close, followed almost immediately by his alarm. He sighed, wondering if he could just call out of work today.

….. Yeah, he had someone to kill anyway.

---

Garrett honestly loved the Angel Trap. And he told Amanda as much, because sometimes she needed the ego boost.

Kerry was laying unconscious on the ground in front of the trap and behind Garrett, who was admiring the hanging trap. The idea of someone having their ribs ripped out all at once… he loved it.

He pat down his pockets before moving Kerry into the trap, ensuring he had the key that Amanda had given him. Once he was sure he did, he picked the detective up and hoisted her up, holding her up with his shoulder as he strapped her in.

The leather straps were first secured around the top part of her chest and under around her shoulders. Once they were latched on, he didn’t have to hold her up anymore, leaving her dangling.

Next there were the straps around her waist, and then he had to stick each pin into her ribs. The sedative they used was very powerful, so he didn’t worry too much about her waking up despite the pain. He still wore his pig mask, just in case she did.

Slowly but surely, he got each and every pin into each and every rib, right where they were supposed to be.

Kerry was starting to stir. He looked up at the sound of her groaning, hissing under his breath. He scrambled to get the key out of his pocket, dropping it into the beaker of acid hanging in front of her as soon as it was in his hands.

He had to dart out after that, because her eyes were opening and she couldn’t see him. He hid behind one of the pillars in the room, watching silently as she woke up and began to struggle when she realized where she was.

Once he was sure she was completely awake, he played the tape with her message.

“Hello, Kerry. I want to play a game. Up until now, you have spent your life among the dead, piecing together their final moments. You're good at this because you, like them, are also dead. Dead... on the inside,” the tape started, echoing through the room. Kerry had stopped struggling, pausing to listen.

“You identify more with a cold corpse than you do with a living human. I believe you want to join your true family, indeed your only family, in death. The device you are wearing is hooked into your ribcage, and by the time this tape is finished, you will have one minute to find a way out. At the end of that minute... you should know better than anyone what happens then.”

Damn, where did that come from? Garrett didn’t know much about Kerry, but he knew she wasn’t that “dead inside”. At that point it just sounded like an excuse to put her in the trap.

“There is a simple key that will unlock the harness, Kerry. It is right in front of you. All you have to do is reach in and take it. But do it quickly. The acid will dissolve the key in a matter of seconds... Make your choice.”

The tape clicked off at that, and Garrett slipped the recorder back into his bag at the tick of the timer starting. Kerry was struggling again, fighting with the padlock. It took her all of three seconds before she realized the only way out was in the acid.

To her credit, she stuck her hand right in.

She cried out as the acid hit her skin, and Garrett stopped watching. He hated acid, and her screams were more than enough to tell him what was happening.

And then it calmed down, and he looked back. She had gotten the key and was struggling to put it in the lock. She finally did and…

Nothing happened. The lock didn’t move.

Amanda had given Garrett the wrong damn key.

“Shit-!” he yelled, running out to do something to stop the trap, even if he didn’t have the key. He was, however, too late.

The trap activated and the wings spread out, ripping Kerry’s ribs from her torso in a matter of seconds. Garrett just watched, staring at her exposed organs. He slowly pulled the mask off, tossing it to the ground.

“Shit…” he repeated softly to himself, unbothered by the smell of blood but unable to look at Kerry’s face.

Some part of him knew it wasn’t his fault- Amanda had rigged the trap to be inescapable, and didn’t tell him- but he still felt awful for not being fast enough. He should have checked before he put her in there. He thought it was going to be fair.

He’d known Amanda for so long now, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to trust her the same after this, especially not with traps. Either she could put together her own damn traps, or she could make them fair.

Finally, he grabbed his mask and stepped away from the body. He quickly shoved everything of his into his bag, taking one last glance at the dead detective before leaving her for her former coworkers to find.

---

Instead of going home to his apartment, Garrett went straight to the meat packing plant they used as a base. He tossed his bag on the closest chair once inside, heading straight for the room Lawrence stayed in.

“Hey, long time no see,” he said as he opened up the door, grinning when Lawrence looked up at him with a smile.

“I was wondering where you ran off to,” Lawrence replied, even though he knew that Garrett worked during the week. He gestured for Garrett to come into the room, and he did so without hesitation. “How’s work going?”

Garrett groaned loudly at the mention of work, sitting down next to Lawrence on the bed and falling back into the mattress. “I can’t wait to finish the game for my coworkers. This is what they get for being such gossipy bitches.”

Lawrence chuckled softly at his ire, readjusting himself for a second before laying back with Garrett. “Hopefully I’ll get to see it. I’m sorry I missed your first trap. It was an iron maiden, wasn’t it?

“Yeah,” Garrett confirmed. “I wish you could have seen it too, but there’s always the next one, right?”

“Right.” He could see Lawrence smile at the idea, which made him realize that that would be a pretty fucked up date.

Oh yeah. Dates. “How do you feel about polyamory?” Garrett blurted out, immediately mortified with his own bluntness. He felt worse the longer Lawrence was quiet, especially when he remembered that the doctor literally cheated on his wife.

“I suppose it would depend on the other person,” Lawrence finally answered, turning his head to look at Garrett. “Unless you don’t feel like I have to date both of you.”

“You wouldn’t have to,” Garrett assured, relaxing now that he’d gotten an answer. “You totally could if you wanted to, and you won’t have to worry about secrets because he’s an apprentice like me, but you definitely don’t have to.”

Lawrence hummed at that, looking back up at the ceiling. “I’d be willing to try it with you. As long as he’s willing too.”

“I hope he is,” Garrett muttered to himself, and they slipped back into a far more comfortable silence, just happy to be next to each other, even though it had only been a few days since they’d last seen each other.

Garrett could have stayed there forever, but he could hear Amanda and John coming through the door, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before Kerry was found.

He sat up and leaned down to give Lawrence a little kiss before standing up and heading out of the room to see the others.

On the way there, he decided not to confront Amanda, just because he didn’t want to embarrass her in front of John.

In fact, he wasn’t going to bring up the Angel Trap at all, except to say that Kerry failed.

And then his phone rang.

[perfectlymarilynmonroe]

I just saw a tiktok talking about how Marilyn had relationships with women, they mentioned Joan Crawford and Elizabeth Taylor and her acting coach, and that her therapist revealed that to the public. They even said Joe confirmed it saying that that was the reason their marriage didnt work out. I have never heard or read that before but everyone just took it as facts in those comments, could you clear it up?

Nope. All of the rumors of her dating woman have never been proven, and Joe never confirmed it. I’m really not sure where the rumors originated from, but biographers and sites continue to spread the myth.

There definitely hasn’t been anything to prove an affair with Elizabeth Taylor, as for Joan Crawford, Biographer Fred Lawrence Guiles wrote that she invited Marilyn back to her home and made a pass at her:

“Marilyn was more than ready for an affair with someone she could also admire. Her emotional life was far more complex than the public could even imagine. No sooner had she extricated herself from her entanglement with Natasha than she became involved in a serious friendship with Joan Crawford. Although Crawford’s career was again in decline, she was still a social presence of considerable importance in Hollywood. She had initiated the relationship by phoning Marilyn at the studio and inviting her to her home for Sunday brunch. Marilyn was thrilled to be taken up by one of her early idols and began dropping by Crawford’s home frequently. They found that they had a mutual interest in Christian Science. The aging film queen began to give her advice on how to dress and even offered her part of her own wardrobe, but since Crawford was petite and Marilyn was five foot six, nothing would fit. Just before Marilyn’s first date with DiMaggio, at another brunch and with the hostess slightly drunk, Crawford made a sexual pass at Marilyn and the friendship abruptly ended. Marilyn, who saw nothing wrong with lesbianism, recoiled more from shock than offense. Marilyn had a strong self-protective instinct and she must have sensed that any intimate involvement with Crawford would lead to big trouble down the road. Although she turned Crawford down, she determined to be discreet about what had happened. Within the next year and a half, her loyalty to the woman would be severely tested.”

In “My Story” Marilyn’s ghosted autobiography here is the chapter entitled: “My Joan Crawford Feud”

I met Joan Crawford at Joe Schenck's house. She was an impressive woman. I admired her during dinner. I hoped that when I was her age I would keep my looks as well as she had. Some movie stars don't seem like stars when you meet them, and some seem more like stars off the screen than on. I don't know which is better, but Miss Crawford was definitely the latter type. She was as much the movie star at Mr. Schenck's dinner table as she could have been electrifying a courtroom in a movie drama-even a little more. I was pleased to see I had made an impression on Miss Crawford. She said to me after dinner, "I think I could help you a great deal if you would let me. For instance that white knitted dress you're wearing is utterly incorrect for a dinner of this kind." It was the only good dress I owned. I wore it evenings as well as daytimes when I was going any place important, and I cleaned it myself every day. I looked at Miss Crawford's beautiful evening gown and understood what she meant. "Taste," Miss Crawford went on, "is every bit as important as looks and figure." She smiled very kindly at me and asked, "Will you let me help you, my dear?" I said I was flattered to have her offer to. We made a date to meet Sunday morning in church. It turned out that Miss Crawford and I went to the same church. After the church service, Miss Crawford said as we met coming out, "I'm so glad to see you. But you mustn't come to church in flat heels and a gray suit with black trimming. If you wear gray you must wear different gray tones, but never black." It was my only suit, but there was no sense defending it on that ground. "Would you like to come to my house with me?" Miss Crawford asked. I said I'd like to very much, and it was arranged that I should follow her car in mine. I was excited at what I thought was going to happen. Miss Crawford, I felt pretty sure, was going to offer me some of her old ball gowns and ensembles that she'd grown tired of. The house was very beautiful and elegant. We had lunch in the kitchen with Miss Crawford's four children and a beautiful white poodle. After lunch, Miss Crawford asked me to come upstairs to her room. "Brown would look very good on you," she said. "I must show you the things I've been knitting." She showed me a number of knitted dickies in different shades of brown and explained that they were to be worn under different shades of brown suits. "The main thing about dressing well," Miss Crawford explained, "is to see that everything you wear is just right- your shoes, stockings, gloves and bag all fit the suit you're wearing. Now what I would like you to do is to make a list of all the clothes in your wardrobe, and I'll make a list of all the things you need to buy and see that you buy the right things." I didn't say anything. I usually didn't mind telling people I was broke and even trying to borrow a few dollars from them to tide me over. But for some reason I couldn't tell Miss Crawford that she had seen my wardrobe in full-the incorrect white knitted dress and the wrong gray suit. "It's so easy not to look vulgar," Miss Crawford assured me, when I was ready to leave. "Do make out a list of all your things and let me guide you a bit. You'll be surprised at the results. And so will everyone else." I don't know why I called Miss Crawford up again, except that I had promised I would. Maybe I was still hoping she would present me with some of her discarded ball gowns. I think, also, I had some intention of telling her the truth about not being able to buy any fancy clothes. But when I heard Miss Crawford's voice on the phone, I had to start palavering as I'd done before. Had I made out that list of my wardrobe? No, I hadn't. That was very lazy of me. Yes, I knew. And I would make the list out in a few days and call her up again. "Good," said Miss Crawford. "I'll be expecting to hear from you." I didn't call Miss Crawford again. In fact, the next time I heard from Miss Crawford was in the newspapers. This was a year later. I'd gone to work at both Century-Fox again, and the Marilyn Monroe boom had started. I was all over the magazines and movie columns, and the fan mail at the studio was arriving in trucks. Among the honors that were now showering on me was the privilege of presenting one of the Oscars to one of the Award winners at the Academy's annual affair. I was frozen with fear the night of the Academy Award Ceremonies. I waited tremblingly for my turn to walk up to the platform and hand over the Oscar in my keeping. I prayed I wouldn't trip and fall and that my voice wouldn't disappear when I had to say my two lines. When my turn came I managed to reach the platform, say my piece, and return to my table without any mishap. Or so I thought until I read Joan Crawford's remarks in the morning papers. I haven't saved the clippings, but I have sort of remembered what she said. She said that Marilyn Monroe's vulgar performance at the Academy affair was a disgrace to all of I Hollywood. The vulgarity, she said, consisted of my wearing a dress too tight for me and wriggling my rear when I walked upholding one of the holy Oscars in my hand. I was so surprised I could hardly believe what I was reading. I called up some friends who had seen me at the ceremony and asked them if it were true. They laughed. It wasn't true, they said. They advised me to forgive a lady who had once been young and seductive herself. I have written out this accurate account of one of my "feuds" because it is typical. The feuds are all started by someone whom I have mysteriously offended-always always a woman. The truth is my tight dress and my wiggling were all in Miss Crawford's mind. She obviously had been reading too much about me. Or maybe she was just annoyed because I had never brought her a list of my wardrobe.

*From my FAQ about whether MY STORY is trustworthy:

My Story is based off of interviews that Ben Hecht conducted with Marilyn in late 1953 and early 1954 for an autobiographical work they were doing together. The project was nipped in the bud after Hecht’s assistant leaked the manuscript to a publisher in England. Marilyn lost faith in the project and the book sat away for decades after her death. It landed in the hands of the Greene family, and they published it in 1974 -  10 years after Hecht’s death. After much digging and consideration, I would not regard it as a factual autobiography. The loose information provided like her childhood, molestation, rise to stardom, relationship with Joe DiMaggio is factual, but I would not take the book word-for-word. It’s also incredibly disappointing that her name, Norma Jeane, is mis-spelled as “Norma Jean.” Marilyn’s niece, confirms this on her website as well:

MYTH: Marilyn wrote an autobiography entitled MY STORY.

FACT: No so. Ben Hecht, a Hollywood writer, concocted a half-baked manuscript based on conversations with Marilyn. The manuscript remained unpublished long after Marilyn’s death. Marilyn’s former business partner Milton Greene had it in his possession. — http://www.monaraemiracle.com/disc.html⁣⁣

In the short version, the story is a myth without factual evidence. Furthermore, there is no proof that Marilyn ever engaged in sex with a woman.

From Marilyn herself:

“A man who had kissed me once had said it was very possible I was a lesbian because I apparently had no response to males-meaning him. I didn't contradict him because I didn't know what I was. There were times even when I didn't feel human and times when all I could think of was dying. There was also the sinister fact that a well-made woman had always thrilled me to look at. Now, having fallen in love, I knew what I was. It wasn't a lesbian.” —My Story, ghost autobiography

Marilyn, however, was very supportive of gay rights, in 1960 she told W.J. Weatherby, (about Montgomery Clift): “People who aren’t fit to open the door for him sneer at his homosexuality. What do they know about it? Labels – people love putting labels on each other. Then they feel safe. People tried to make me into a lesbian. I laughed. No sex is wrong if there’s love in it.”

Following the 1953 Photoplay awards Joan Crawford made nasty comments about Marilyn to the press for her dress choice:

“Certainly her picture isn't doing business, and I'll tell you why. Sex plays a tremendously important part in every person's life. People are interested in it, intrigued with it. But they don't like to see it flaunted in their faces. Kids don't like her. Sex plays a growingly important part in their lives, too; and they don't like to see it exploited. And don't forget the women. They're the ones who pick out the movie entertainment for the family. They won't pick anything that won't be suitable for their husbands and children. The publicity has gone too far, and apparently, Miss Monroe is making the mistake of believing her publicity... She should be told that the public likes provocative feminine personalities; but it also likes to know that underneath it all the actresses are ladies.”

Marilyn’s reaction was:

"I cried all night. I've always admired Miss Crawford for being such a wonderful mother--for taking four children and giving them a fine home. Who better than I to know what that means to homeless little ones?" 

[one-leaf-grimoire]

Illusion (chapter 5)

Grey Deer Fic chapter 5! Here’s the link to the full story: link.

As you can see, I changed the name bc I wasn’t vibing with the other one.

WARNING: slight implication of *Sex* (but not with Julius, unfortunately...)

As always, I would really love to hear what you think of this chapter!

"Captain, do you have a minute-"

I stop talking as soon as I poke my head into Captain Hervey's office. It's a sizable room, with rich wood paneling and blue wallpaper making it seem cozy. Several stuffed deer heads are hanging above the severe man's desk, where he sits across from his vice captains. Both Malota and Julius turn around to look at me; obviously I'm interrupting a meeting. "A-Ah, sorry, I'll come back later-"

"Nonsense, spit it out. But make it quick." Hervey gestures me closer, and I gulp and enter the room, a paper clutched in my hands. "What's that?"

This is always a little awkward, even though I've given several of these requests to him over the years. But it's his fault for having the "only registered guests only" rule for our base. "Lawrence wants to come visit tomorrow, can I get your approval?"

Hervey lets out a snort of laughter. "Your fiance? He was here pretty recently, wasn't he? Why do you keep inviting him here, just go visit him yourself."

"Ah, well, he insists. I can't really say no to him..."

But you can, sir. I watch as he takes the paper and looks at it carefully, as if he's making up his mind. Meanwhile, I'm praying that he says NO so I have a good reason to avoid seeing Lawrence tomorrow. Malota looks bored and lets a sigh out through her vulture-like nose. Julius stares at the Captain's table silently. Another reason why I wanted to avoid asking in front of other people is because it becomes awkward like this. Neither of our Vice Captains want to hear about my personal life, I'm sure. 

"Very well. But he better be gone by dinner time, I'm not feeding him, even if he is a prince!"

Fuck! I force a smile as he signs the paper, a magical chill moving through the room as he does so. Somehow, Hervey can manipulate the barrier spell he cast around the base to let authorized guests enter after he signs off on it. His ice magic is some of the most powerful I've ever seen, and he's able to upkeep such a potent spell all day and night, subconsciously. He really is amazing, despite his faults, and it's easy to see why he's captain. "Thank you, sir, sorry for interrupting." With that, I turn and shuffle out of the room, feeling a small weight of dread in the pit of my stomach.

Why, though? Why are you dreading this? Lawrence is your Fiance, your future Husband! Shouldn't you be happy to see him?

That's probably what you're thinking, but it couldn't be farther from the truth. I tolerate Lawrence Kira, and that's all. He's 5 years older than me, always acts like he's my superior (which he is, but come on!), and really isn't the most considerate person. He always talks about how great things are expected of him, and how he needs a supportive wife to help him achieve those things and continue the Kira line. "One day." he always tells me. "One day, our children could be the King. Wouldn't you like that?"

No... Not really, actually.

But I can't tell him that. If I show any disrespect, he'll bring the hammer down, on both me and my parents. We're already on thin ice, and this marriage is supposed to save my family. When the engagement was first decided, I was only 5 years old and had no idea what it even meant. As I grew older, I was told how romantic it was going to be. Doesn't every girl want to marry a prince? I was excited to live out what seemed like a fairy tale.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the case. It soon became clear that Lawrence would never actually love me. At least not all of me. Not only that, but like I said, he's older than me, and as we spent more and more time together, he started to force me to grow up a bit faster than I should have. I'm sure you can guess what I mean. 

If I didn't have Alice, I don't know what I would have done. But when I came to her and revealed that I didn't want to marry this prince, she didn't shun me or say I was crazy. She held me, and told me that we were going to get out of this, together. And so, I joined the magic knights, as the first step of my plan. The wedding that was supposed to be when I turned 18 was postponed. Luckily, the Magic Knights are a very esteemed and legitimate career path for both Royalty and nobility, so I was able to get away with it. Lawrence's family even said they were proud that their son would be marrying a magic knight.

Well... it's been 7 years since then. There's no plans for a wedding yet. This engagement can only go on so long before Lawrence decides to break it off. By that time, I'll be able to support my family myself! I don't need a marriage, and I'll finally be free to do what I want.

That's my secret, the secret only Alice and I know. My one hope for tomorrow is that Lawrence will coldly tell me that he can't wait around any longer, and will break it off right then and there.

Of course, it's never that easy.

"Hello, Lawrence."

I stand outside the base to meet him as he transports in with the help of a spatial mage. He brushes himself off before looking up, his grey eyes quickly meeting mine. Unintentionally, I feel a cold chill down my back, something that's always happened when he looks at me like that. "It's been too long, have you really been that busy?" Lawrence asks as he walks over, pulling his cloak a little tighter around himself. The snow has long melted, but its freeze still hangs lightly in the air around us.

"Er, yes, pretty busy." I let him take my hand and pull it up to his lips, not bothering to bend over. A royal shouldn't bow to anyone, after all. His lips are cold on my skin as he kisses the back of my hand, before dropping it immediately. "I actually had a pretty big mission a few days ago, I was able to beat five guys-"

"Yeah, I'm sure. You can tell it to me over lunch." Lawrence dismisses my story kind of quickly before turning to walk towards the base. I wince and hold out a hand to stop him. "Uh-er, we can't eat here!"

"Hmm? Why not?" Lawrence throws a glance over his shoulder.

"Captain Hervey said, uh... we can't spare food right now for outsiders."

"Hmph. Fine. We'll eat in town." Lawrence sighs and turns to walk back to me, grabbing my hand as he does. "Also, what did I tell you about using filler words? Stop saying um and er so much."

"R-right, sorry." I let him pull me along, away from the base.

"Man... are they really in love?" 

Giles leans on the windowsill as the others gather around him, peeping down at me and Lawrence as we walk off out of sight. "Every time he comes, she looks like she'd rather be somewhere else."

"It's true," Alice pipes up, leaning against the wall and not bothering to look. "He's a real piece of work, you know."

"How can that be? He's a prince." Elia crosses her arms. "Who wouldn't want to marry a prince?"

"She just wants to live a normal life, I think. She's not cut out for that royalty stuff anyway."

"Nigel, shut up."

Meanwhile, Lawrence and I reach town and make our way towards my favorite resteraunt there. "There's really no other place to eat?" Lawrence asks, pulling his hood up over his head, his eyes darting around the street.

"It's my favorite! I think you'll like it, too." I squeeze his hand, causing him to smile for a moment. "You're afraid of being recognized."

"Yeah... I have a pretty big fanclub you know!"

... I doubt that...

Our base is located in a forest right outside the limits of the noble realm. We're close enough to town so we can get all of our supplies, but secluded enough that Captain Hervey is able to put up our barrier. It honestly feels like a little sanctuary for the squad, but I still like going in to town to see the usual hustle-and-bustle of civilization.

"You know, this type of place does have a little charm." Lawrence talks to me as he quietly sips his beer. His eyes keep darting around the restaurant, as if he were analyzing everything in sight. He's always been like that, cool and calculated, always scheming or sizing the world up. He's really an intelligent man, someone who can keep a level head in any situation. His magic is very strong, too, and it's interesting that he never joined the Magic Knights. When I asked him why a long time ago, he simply said that it wasn't his style. I have a feeling he'd rather be involved in the government down the line.

"I'm glad you think so. I guess not all Royals are so stuffy," I answer, playfully nudging his foot under the table. Lawrence narrows his eyes at me but can't conceal his smile. Ah! I need to stop being so cute around him, remember?

"I'm not that stuffy, am I? I can have fun... what do you and the squad do for fun, anyway?" Lawrence yawns a little, scratching his chin under his hood.

"Hmm..." I think over the past for a moment. "Well, we have little parties in our base now and then. Oh, also, the Captain lets us go to the beach on our days off! We also like to come to town to go drinking some nights."

"Ah... that sounds like fun. A little crude, but fun." Lawrence nods along with my words. "Maybe I'll take you to the beach sometime, just the two of us."

Just the two of us.

"...yeah, sure."

By the time lunch is done, it's obvious to me that Lawrence isn't about to break up with me or anything. In fact, I've somehow managed to warm him back up to me after more than a month of absence, and now...

"Let's go back to the base."

"Huh? Er- Lawrence, I told you before-"

"Stop saying ER! And I don't want to eat. Is your roommate around?"

"...probably not..."

"Good."

This is my least favorite part of his visits. Lawrence hates showing affection out in public, but as soon as we're alone and away from prying eyes, he basically pounces on me. I can't really do much but hold on as his lips crash into mine hungrily. We were each other's first kisses, but I'm pretty sure he's pretty good at it. The way he moves his lips against mine always makes me dizzy, at least. He pushes me until we're both flat on my twin bed, one of his hands bunching up the sheets next to my head. The biggest drawback of avoiding him for so long is that he gets... needy. 

However, his affection doesn't last long. As soon as he's done, Lawrence simply pulls the covers over me and gets up. I roll over, feeling a bit sore, and watch as he starts to re-dress himself. "You're leaving?"

"Yeah." Lawrence buttons up his shirt, his fingers fumbling slightly. "I assume I'm not allowed to stay for dinner." He sits back down on the bed to start pulling his shoes and socks on. "I'll come back to visit soon, don't avoid me any more, you hear?"

"...yeah. No guarantees, though." I gulp nervously, pulling the covers over myself more as he looks down at me again. "I'm a magic knight, you know! I have a duty-"

"Your duty should be our future," Lawrence cuts me off, his gaze moving away from me again. "...do you really feel like this is where you belong?"

I open my mouth to respond the answer that I always do: Yes, of course. I'm meant to be a magic knight! 

But... I can't say that any more, can I?

Because, for whatever reason, someone on my very own squad wanted me gone.

"Hey... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry."

I didn't even notice the tears trailing down my face until Lawrence reaches out to cup my cheek gently. I look up into his grey eyes, which are filled with warmth, for once. But I still get that chill.

"If something's bothering you... you know where to find me, okay? You're going to be my wife one day, hopefully soon. We can put all this Magic Knights business behind you, but you'll always carry that honor. I'll take care of you, I promise."

... "Alright." I nod slowly, reaching up to hold his hand for a second before he pulls it away. "Write me some letters."

"I will. See you soon!"

Lawrence gives me a small smile and a wave, before quietly leaving me alone in my room once again.

I stay there for a while, curling up under my sheets like a cocoon. For just a couple minutes, I feel safe.

Lawrence really isn't so bad, is he? I mean... at least I know what he wants. My attackers won't show themselves again, not yet, and they won't tell me why they want me gone. Maybe... maybe I should just listen to them, and leave...

No. That's stupid. I squeeze my eyes shut as memories start to flood back.

I can't leave... because then I'll marry Lawrence. I don't want to be near him at all! Slowly, I sit up, letting the sheets fall off my body as the more pleasant chill of the base hits my skin. I'll find out who attacked me, and purge them from this squad! I'm meant to be here, I'm meant to be a magic knight.

Eventually, I get up to get dressed, cleaning myself off before heading to the bathroom. I splash some water on my face before looking up at my reflection. I look tired and a little stressed out... but alive.

"Hello there! Enjoy your day off?"

I'm on my way down to dinner when I run into none other than Julius. I haven't seen him all day, not since yesterday's meeting, but he's heading the same way as me now. "Ah, yeah. I haven't seen my fiance in a while, so it was nice to have lunch with him."

"Your fiance? Oh, right, Prince Lawrence." Julius nods as he falls into step next to me. I glance up at the taller man, not able to read any emotion other than his usual neutrally-happy expression. Even so, his presence puts me at ease, although I doubt anyone would attack me now while everyone is awake in the base. "Is the wedding happening soon?"

"Oh, definitely not. We haven't even started planning it!" I smirk a little. And if I have my way... it won't ever be planned!

"I see... I guess, eventually, you're going to outrank us all."

"Huh?" I look up to see him smiling teasingly down at me. 

"You'll be a princess, right?"

"P-Princess?" My eyes widen as I realize that he's right. Then, I shake my head. "Ah! I don't even want to think about that..."

"Why not?"

"Too much pressure?"

"Ah, well, I think it suits you."

I look back up at him, aghast, just in time to catch his wink. "Hey! Jul- I mean, sir, that's a long way in the future-"

"Julius is fine-" He lets out a warm laugh before gesturing for me to keep up with him. "Come on... a princess can't be late for dinner."

..... AHHHHHH.

I swallow my pride and quickly catch up, pouting a bit to myself. Princess... I can't even imagine becoming royalty. And I don't want to! I'll never be a princess, not if I have anything to say about it.

Slowly, though, I feel my cheeks heat up, and it takes everything I have to keep from glancing back up at Julius's face.

Still...

It didn't sound so bad when he called me that...

[deans-baby-momma]

Rebel Without A Cause-Ch 3

A/N: This is a day late because I was so busy at work yesterday I let it slip my mind. But, hey now you don’t have to wait so long. LOL Next update will be Friday as previously scheduled. For now enjoy……and don’t forget to leave feedback. :)

“Shopping!” Jo announces, answering Maggie’s question of how she was going to be transformed into a rock music groupie. “New clothes, new make-up, whole new hairstyle,” she continued, counting off things on her fingers. “Give me 3 days and I’ll have you looking the part!”

“I-I don’t know,” the shy girl stammers. "I've…”

“Margaret,” Jo interrupts, placing a hand on her new friend’s shoulder. “You gotta just have faith.”

“Please call me Maggie,” she tells her coworker. “Margaret is such an old woman’s name.”

“Well Maggie, then we need to get you to quit dressing like a Margaret and start dressing more like a Maggie. ‘Tis a cool name though. I like it.” Jo says with a smile.

“You really think you can make me look like I belong in the crowd at a rock concert?”

“Sure I do!” Jo exclaims. “Let me ask you this, how against dying your hair are you?”

In the end, Jo convinces her to meet up at the mall first thing the next morning, a Saturday. “The earlier the better, since the families who usually crowd the mall will still be at home”, Jo declares. Maggie is still hesitant about the change of hair color but agrees to at least get a trim. Her rust-colored hair falls halfway down her back when she loosens the clip holding it up. 

'Wow! You’ve got to tell me your secret. Other than some dead ends, your hair is beautiful!“

"Good morning!” Jo chirps as she passes a styrofoam cup toward Maggie the next morning. She had been standing just outside the entrance to the mall when Maggie walked up. “Ready to be revamped?”

Maggie smiles at the blonde as she takes a sip of the steaming liquid. The coffee is sweet nectar to Maggie since she hadn’t had a chance to brew any herself in the rush to meet Jo at the appointed time. Somehow, Jo had known that and had provided exactly what she needed. Maggie wondered if this was a sign that the woman in front of her would actually be able to help her get what she needed; a behind the scenes look into the nuances of the Winchester Sex Bombs.

After work the evening before, Maggie had spent hours scouring the web and all articles related to the band. The group was made up of five childhood friends, two of them brothers. The lead singer, Dean, was the older brother to the bass player, Sam; the keyboardist (Seriously? A keyboardist in a rock band?) Meg Novak was married to the guitarist Clarence, or Cas as most know him as; the loner was Benny, the drummer. He was an unattached drifter that probably saw quite a lot  from his view on stage; Maggie speculated if that could be an angle she could use for her piece? She wanted to keep a low profile with the band, not wanting to draw the lead singer’s attention at all.

The five of them hailed from a small town in Kansas, Lawrence. They all went to high school together, forming the band in the senior year of four of them. Sam was a few years younger than the others, the baby of the group. He had joined when the original bassist had moved away to go to college. Maggie briefly wondered if that was a good thing or a bad thing. The band he left behind was finally making a name for themselves, traveling the continental US to play in a different city every couple of days, but was also leaving behind carnage and unflattering reports in their wake.

After finishing off their beverages, Jo and Maggie head into the mall. 

“Okay, first things first. The outfit!” Jo announces as she claps her hand together. “New shirts, new pants, shoes….oh, you definitely need boots, at least. The higher the better!”

“Jo, I can’t walk in heels,” Maggie informs. “I’ll break my ankle and neck. Aren’t I supposed to be able to dance and….mosh?”

“Look at you!” Jo chuckles, putting an arm around Maggie’s shoulders. “You’re already learning the lingo. But no, these boots have flat to minuscule heels. I meant they have to at least be knee-high and zip up. Easier to get off when you want to get busy, ya know”

Maggie couldn’t help but blush. The only kind of 'getting busy’ she was doing was typing up her story at the end of this assignment. The last thing on her mind was getting laid…but after some thought, it had been a while. It’s been six months since her ex-boyfriend Luke left her for Sabrina and probably twice that long since she and he had been intimate. 'Has it really been almost a year since I’ve had sex?’ Maggie ponders as they head for the Shoe Plaza. 

“Here. Go try these on,” Jo demands, shoving a pair of jeans in Maggie’s direction. “And I wanna see, so come out here and model for me.”

In the dressing room, Maggie removes her slacks and holds up the garment Jo had given her. The material is a dark blue with a few places looking worn, the fabric frayed. The left knee has a patched hole on it. As she studies them, she realizes she is going to have to practically pour herself into them. She glances at the tag, thinking Jo had picked up the wrong size but unfortunately that wasn’t the case.

Pulling the material over her hips, Maggie is astonished at how comfortable the jeans were. They aren’t as hard to button as she assumed either. Turning left then right, she eyes herself in the mirror. Maggie hadn’t worn anything this form-fitting in years, if ever. The fabric hugs her curves perfectly. Taking a breath, she opens the door and steps out.

“Oh my god!” Jo exclaims. “I was right. Look at you! Look at that ass! Those jeans make it pop,” she announces, making sure to snap her lips on the 'p’ “I swear if I wasn’t confident in my sexuality, I’d turn lesbian for you. Girl, you are hot!”

After leaving J.C. Penney’s with a few pairs of jeans, the two women head to what Jo calls the 'ideal rockstar outlet’, Hot Topic. Maggie balks at the site of the store. The lights inside are dimmed, making the place look ominous. There are floor-to-ceiling displays of numerous different styles of band t-shirts and apparel. In the back, there is a glass counter with glowing jewelry and ornaments. The place is empty as they enter, Maggie looking back and forth taking it all in. Some of the outfits she wouldn’t be caught dead in! Like the leather full bodysuit with zippered pockets throughout or leggings that were so thin, they were practically see-through. “Do people actually wear this stuff?” she whispers to Jo. A chuckle from behind causes both of them to turn to see a younger woman standing there.  She has the goth look down. Thick black winged eyeliner, a nose piercing, and her hair is jet black and lays in waves down over her shoulders. “Nah, those are mostly for aesthetic. Although, those-” she says pointing toward the transparent leggings, “-they really work if you’re trying to turn your man on. They come crotchless too,’ she continues with a wink.

"Oh my god! Why would anyone…”

“Easy access”, both Jo and the girl, Francesca by her nametag, declare with a laugh.  

“How can I help you two today?” Francesca asks.

“My friend here is going to her first rock concert next week. She needs to look the part,” Jo explains with a nudge to Maggie’s side. 

“Oooo, which band?”

“Um, Win-Winchester Sex Bombs,” Maggie stutters out.

“Ah, yes. They’re coming to the River, aren’t they? Music’s pretty good but I don’t think that’s what’s making them such a hot commodity. It’s that lead singer, Dean. He and his dreamy green eyes. And those thighs! Damn, the things I could do on those.” Francesca proclaims, Jo nodding her agreement. “Could you imagine the power of his thrusts!”

Maggie blushes at the girl’s lack of a filter. She and Jo keep talking about their fantasies if they were ever to get a night with the man as Maggie steps away, not wanting to have those images in her head as she interviewed the band. As she perused the array of clothing she picks out a couple of shirts with sayings on them that were funny and one with a picture of her parent’s favorite group, The Beatles.

Jo eventually joins her, with an armful of clothes. “Here, this is what you’re wearing with those jeans and the gray suede boots.”

Hanging on a hanger is an ivory-colored lace top with sheer fabric underneath. Maggie knows that the top would definitely show her underclothes and shakes her head. She couldn’t wear that! No way. 

@pink1031​ @spnbaby-67​ @winecatsandpizza​ @joseyrw​ @kricketc28​ @tftumblin​ @markofdean79​

[queenofcats17]

Hi there! I wanted to say I really like Charlie and the Lawrences!! If it’s ok, I wanted to send a prompt in for them? I understand if you have too many prompts right now, so if you can’t do this one, I totally get it^^ Here it is: I’d imagine at some point Charlie gets involved in the magic shenanigans at the studio. What’s the first one they experience? (I.E: they visit the studio after school and it’s teeny Sammy times, or something happens to them specifically, and no one is Ok with This™)

No worries. I’m really glad you like Charlie!

This is certainly going to be interesting. But it also got kind of sad.

————————————————-

It was a small miracle Charlie hadn’t experienced the bizarre shenanigans of Joey Drew Studios sooner. They’d been with Susie and Sammy for almost six months before they witnessed one of the transformations that were so common at the studio. Part of this may have been because they’d recently been enrolled in school, much to their chagrin. In any case, they’d heard about the transformations from their parents, usually through Sammy’s complaining about whatever shenanigans Joey had put them through, but they hadn’t seen one before that point. Despite this lack of concrete proof, Charlie wholeheartedly believed in the magic of the studio. After all, literal cartoons lived in the studio.

They’d been coming back from school that day. Their routine was that they dropped by the studio after school to hang out until it was time for their parents to head home. They’d been a little nervous when they’d first started school because they’d be leaving Shadow and her kittens, (They’d named the girl Soot since she was gray and the boy Pancake. They didn’t really have a reason for naming Pancake what they had since he was black and white, not any shade of brown. Still, that was what Charlie had wanted.) but a nice woman who lived next door had volunteered to watch the cats until the family got home.

“I’m here!” Charlie announced, opening the door to the studio. Almost immediately, they noticed that something seemed to be going on. The employees they could see were running around frantically, but not in the way they usually were.

Usually, when Charlie arrived the employees were running around delivering scripts and checking various animation cells with their superiors. But at the moment they were running around carrying buckets of ink and things that Charlie vaguely recognized as ritual components. Although they weren’t allowed to be around when Joey was conducting rituals, they knew what the components looked like due to asking questions.

“Oh, hey kiddo!” Wally stuck his head out from the hallway. “This, uh, might not be the best time.” For once, he didn’t have ink smeared all over his face.

“What’s…goin’ on?” Charlie asked slowly, hobbling toward him.

It was at that point that Sammy rounded the corner, grumbling to himself. However, he didn’t look the way he had when he’d left the house that morning. He was a toon. Again. A demon toon this time, judging from the horns poking out from his hair and the spade tipped tail flicking back and forth.

“That’s why…” Wally grimaced as Sammy and Charlie locked eyes. Charlie’s eyes widened and they dropped their backpack.

“Hey…” Sammy grimaced as well. He’d honestly been dreading this. Charlie knew about the transformations Sammy went through, but he wasn’t sure what his child’s reaction was going to be. This was weird even for him.

Thankfully, the reaction was far from negative.

“This…is so cool!” Charlie lit up, bouncing up and down as best they could without falling over. Sammy let out an internal sigh of relief, although due to his current toon state it wasn’t so internal.

“What happened? Was it Mr. Joey again?” Charlie asked, getting closer to play with Sammy’s tail.

“Yeah.” Sammy nodded, his tail swishing in irritation at the memory. “He was trying to improve Bendy’s design and, well….” He gestured to himself.

“The magic ink got in the pipes again,” Wally added. “Standard stuff.”

“Can I be a toon?” Charlie looked up at Sammy with sparkling eyes. “Please? I wanna try it too!”

“Absolutely not.” Sammy immediately replied.

“Aw, why?” Charlie asked, face screwed up in a quintessentially childish pout. “Mr. Drew knows how to reverse it, right? It wouldn’t hurt if I got to be a toon for a little.”

“It’s still incredibly dangerous.” Sammy insisted.

“But you get turned into a toon all the time!” Charlie whined.

“And every time I’m worried I’ll never be able to turn back!”

“But you do get turned back!”

“It’s dangerous!”

As the argument escalated, Wally stood there, unsure what to do. He really didn’t want to get in the middle of this. To be fair, Sammy had a point. Getting transformed into various things was incredibly dangerous and it was understandable Sammy wouldn’t want his kid getting involved in it. It was causing a bit of a scene, though.

Sammy was trying very hard not to yell, knowing how terrifying he could be when he yelled, but Charlie was full-on screaming. Their argument was loud enough that it attracted Susie’s attention. She came running from Joey’s office, looking rather concerned.

“What’s going on?” She asked, looking even more concerned when she saw Sammy and Charlie fighting.

“Charlie wanted to try bein’ a toon and Sammy doesn’t wanna let him,” Wally explained in a low voice.

“Oh dear.” Susie turned her attention back to Sammy and Charlie.

Charlie was crying and so had stopped yelling for the moment. Sammy’s horns lowered, like a cat lowering its ears.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” he said, gathering Charlie in his arms. “I just don’t want something to happen to you.”

“We worry about you, dear,” Susie agreed, joining the hug. “As fun as it might sound to be a cartoon for a little, there’s always the possibility that something will happen and you won’t be able to turn back. It’s something I worry about all the time when this happens to Sammy.”

“But I wanna try it,” Charlie said weakly. “Maybe…Maybe if I’m a toon, my legs will work better.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Susie’s expression softened. There were tears in her eyes and even Sammy looked a bit misty-eyed. She and Sammy held Charlie tighter, Sammy’s tail wrapping around both of them. It was a frankly adorable scene.

Wally took that opportunity to leave. He didn’t want to spoil the moment. Besides, Joey probably needed help setting up the ritual.

After a few minutes, the three of them drew back from the hug.

“Do your legs really bother you that much, dear?” Susie asked.

“A little,” Charlie sniffled.

“Physical therapy is always an option,” Sammy said. They’d taken Charlie to the doctor a few weeks after adopting them and the doctor had that physical therapy might help with the muscle damage in Charlie’s legs. It wasn’t a guarantee, but it was a possibility.

“The doctor said it might not work.” Charlie hunched their shoulders.

“But it’s a possibility,” Susie said, brushing some hair out of Charlie’s eyes and fixing their little flower barrette.

“But…I don’t want to be a burden,” Charlie mumbled.

“A burden? Why would we think of you as a burden?” Sammy asked.

“I dunno.” Charlie hunched their shoulders more. “My old family thought I was a burden…”

Susie’s expression darkened and literal steam began to come out of Sammy’s ears. Neither of them had asked about how Charlie had found themselves on the street. They’d known it likely wasn’t a particularly happy story.

“We will never think of you as a burden, darling.” Susie swept them up in her arms again. “You’re our family now and family means no one gets left behind.”

“We might get angry at you sometimes, but we’re not going to abandon you.” Sammy agreed, smiling gently.

“Promise?” Charlie looked up at them, their voice so small and unsure it made Sammy want to find the people who had abandoned them and give them a piece of his mind.

“Promise.” Sammy and Susie said together.

“Okay.” Charlie still looked a bit unsure but allowed Susie and Sammy to hug them again.

“I still think you look really cool, Dad,” they said after a bit.

“I think I look ridiculous,” Sammy grumbled, his gaze flicking down to his tail. “And this thing is more trouble than it’s worth.” Controlling four limbs was bad enough. He didn’t want to have to deal with another.

“I think the idea of you as a demon is rather…interesting.” Susie gave him a mischevious smile. Immediately, Sammy blushed and began to sputter. Charlie looked blankly between the two of them for a moment or two before recognition dawned on their face and their expression turned to one of horror.

“Ew! Gross!”

Susie just giggled.

[thebigreylotheory]

Belated TROS trailer reaction and thoughts

Painting.

Been doing lots of painting.  Rewatching TFA, TLJ, and Solo and painting.

Ok, wow, originally intended to have this up by May the 4th….but like I mentioned some posts ago, bantha poodoo happens. (Caps is the same :( )

It’s finally, finally time for my TROS trailer reaction, thoughts, and a few theories! (I don’t know about you, but I’m still not over how good it is. Say what you will, Star Wars has the best trailers.)

Breathing is very important to the sequel trilogy. (I would say that Rey that is totally going to be ahead of the game for Lamaze class if we get a sequel-sequel trilogy/book/comic baby some galaxy far far away day.)

I’ve wondered if the movie will take the time to explain how the Skywalker lightsaber has been repaired? My feeling is, sorta like ROTJ, it’ll just be there like Luke’s green lightsaber. So, you’ll either have to make up your own head canon OR we’ll eventually get books and comics for the time gap between TLJ and TROS that will explain exactly what Rey did. Since she’s a scavenger, and mechanically inclined around junk, my feeling right now is, it’s possible she might have gone on a journey for a new kyber crystal and she’s repurposed the hilt. Which I think could be symbolically interesting….almost saying she’s “her own person (crystal)” on the inside now, but externally carrying on the outward mantle of her teacher/master Luke.

Which leads me to: by now, you’ve probably heard the theory that the last name “Skywalker” might transform to a term for the henceforth new Jedi. Personally, I am a fan of this theory. I think it would be useful for keeping the Star Wars eras straight when referencing any potential future Star Wars films/books/comics. For example, instead of saying “post-Skywalker trilogies,” one could say this-or-that takes place during the Jedi era or the new Skywalker era, etc (as well as, hopefully, the Knights of the Old Republic era someday soon).

AND, if Rey dubs herself (and perhaps any future students she has) a Skywalker….then, well, oddly enough, it would fulfill the whole Rey is a Skywalker discussion in the most interesting way possible. (While also keeping the plot open for her to choose whomever *coughcough* Ben Solo *coughcough* she would like to romantically be with someday.) It could potentially mean anyone could be a Skywalker. I’m a Skywalker. You’re a Skywalker. We’re Skywalker. Sign me up.

Luke is everybody’s spiritual father. (And I guess Vader is everybody’s grandfather??)

And, on a kinda odd note, being a Caravan-of-Courage-baby and a long-time SW fan, thinking of the name Skywalker, does anyone else think it sounds like a talent? Or is my brain just connecting Moonwalking with Skywalking? I guess, technically, Rey isn’t Skywalking here, right? It’s more like Skyjumping? Skyflipping? Maybe she’s really a Skyflipper. Part dolphin.

But I slightly digress, back to the trailer.

When this scene hit, I initially thought, from a distance, the TIE was a TIE bomber. Haha, silly me. 

I have fond memories of the TIE bomber toys Revan/Devan had as a kid.

Yay, Lawrence of Arabia will be returning to theaters Sept. 1st and 4th, presented by TCM! I did a middle school history report over Lawrence. Mostly because I wanted to learn about desert warfare so I could write better Star Wars fan fiction. It’s all about Star Wars, people. It always has been.

Now, that’s what I call TIE racing!

Sweet butter tacos, by now I have paused these scenes over and over trying to decide if this is Kylo Ren and/or if the scenes match or they’ve been sliced much like the TLJ trailer. 

HAHA. You trailer editor people are so good. You did it just enough to make me crazy until December. THANKS.

But, I guess it’s safe to say, in this sequel trilogy, when the camera zooms to black gloves, it’s probably Kylo.

Gee, these two just can’t flirt normally. It’s like they thought, “Oh what can we do on our date that hasn’t been done before?” “Oh, I know, let’s play chicken with the TIE Fighter!”

No, in all seriousness, as it’s been said before many times now, this would be a really strange way to try to take Rey out…

Wouldn’t Kylo be a man and just face her? He hasn’t been afraid to face people before.

And, I don’t know…some people I know are hoping that they are working together somehow, which I hope they are, don’t get me wrong,…but at the moment, I just can’t think of why Rey would need to jump on a TIE Fighter/Kylo’s TIE. (Mind out of the gutter!) I mean, if they are working together, practicing even, for some Force trick/feat that needs doing to destroy or infiltrate something, it looks like she could have climbed on the TIE before it took off?

I mean the Interwebs might tell you that she needs to practice her jumping so she can have the high ground later, but I still don’t know.

It could be a dream/vision. Simple enough.

It could be that ForceTime is acting really weird?

Did we really understand or have all the rules of ForceTime in TLJ? Could it be if ForceTime connects and Rey and Kylo hold-on to another they can pull each other to a different location? So for instance, if Rey jumps on the TIE she could be transported to where Kylo is?

That would mean there was a reason Luke told them to stop. Did he know either Kylo would be pulled to Ahch-To in the flesh or Rey would end up at the First Order (before she totally left in the Falcon for the First Order)?

Dunno. That could be getting too “beam-me-up-Scotty” or too “magical” for SW. We’ll see. I’m open to most things so long as they’re done well.

Alternatively, because Caps and I have also been reading SW comics for a few years now, I think it’s also possible that Kylo could be possessed here. 

As in, someone:

Like monkey-hands here, or whomever monkey-hands works for (Palps, Hux, The Resistance, KOR), took Kylo’s helmet and added Sith-y stuff to it.

I want to lean towards the idea of an enemy/frenemy of Kylo’s changing his helmet. I thought it was a little unusual that Kylo would go back to wearing the helmet after smashing it. I mean, character-wise, I figured it would remind him of Snoke’s taunts. It seemed like a step backward. Like going back to a security blanket after you’ve gotten over needing it. Dunno, are they going to capture him and force him to wear it? Making him Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs to get him out of the way?

BUT, there again, I guess, I could stretch my imagination and believe that Kylo, might, might, go back to wearing his helmet on his own, if he thought there was some power or knowledge to be gained. And, either, earnestly, he did it to himself or it was a TRAP!

And possibly, in this scene, possessed Kylo is about to crash wherever Rey is, but she saves him by cutting open the hatch, etc? 

(She’s learned to lift rocks, but could she stop a TIE via the Force and climb in and save someone? Maybe, but it, arguably, wouldn’t look as cool or dramatic). And if that were the case, Kylo would be in some serious debt to Rey for saving his life. Girl already spared him once. Twice, if you count she didn’t run him through on Starkiller Base.

Anyways, back to reviewing the trailer chronologically.

Somehow this reminds me of the Lost City of Atlantis. Was there a city on Bespin below Cloud City? According to Wookiepedia Bespin is a cloudy place. Sooo, could be Lando’s entrance in the movie, possibly.

Did I read somewhere that Kylo is tackling a Knight of Ren here? (Double checked and yes.) That’s interesting. I could come up lots of out-of-the-hat-theories as to why. KOR turns against him. Kylo turns against KOR. KOR Civil War? KOR Battle Royale where the survivor of the Hunger Games gets to be Master?

But what’s really interesting, is the fact that Kylo doesn’t slice the guy in two pieces with the lightsaber.

And that, to me, also spawns some theories. Is the tackle just a cinematic scene to show Kylo’s strength? Maybe Disney doesn’t want to go “Darth Maul-ing” people in two pieces? Kylo, for some reason, isn’t killing people on this particular day or any more at all? Or Kylo’s in a super rush and is more focused on getting a certain location in a hurry and whatever, guy was in the way? It made me concerned, mmm, can’t Kylo use the Force in this scene? He isn’t Force Pushing or Freezing the guy?

This week on “This Old Helmet,” Norm and guys add detailing to a once dilapidated helmet. Yup, it was a real fixer-upper. If Mr. Monkey doesn’t work for some VIP, he’s a really strange janitor.

Ok, Finn and Poe are going to, canon, start a boy band in TROS, right? This is a scene from their KPOP-ish music video, right? “‘Cause I want it that way…” If they don’t dance, so help me Star Wars...I’ll make them in a fanvid.

To be honest, I’m not sure if I like D/O yet. The jury is still out for me. Mostly because I thought some of the other concept designs were much cuter. Although, I can’t wait to see the Droid Builders tackle this one. I’m still stuck on a mouse droid.

Aww, yeah, welcome back Lando! Mr. Smoothie! (I wish he’d been apart of TFA and TLJ, but better late than never.) I know, I know the ship should be Chewie’s now, but I secretly hope that Lando is able to donate money to restore the Falcon, like an old classic car. *coughcough* Reylo Wedding Gift *coughcough*

Hmm, moisture farm or temple? Guess we’ll see. I’m loving that the troops possibly have jetpacks and/or sand-speeders?

Dunno, after the whole Rambo C3P0 poster, I’m wondering if someone’s after C3P0 here? BB and R2 have had their “find-that-droid” day, maybe it’s C3P0’s turn?

Aww, the medal. Sweet medal. 

I can give you some out-of-the-hat ideas about this, too. Maybe this is Han’s. Maybe it’s in Leia’s collection of memories and she takes it out for nostalgia, to feel close to Han in spirit, or for the anniversary of his death. Maybe she’s decided to give it to someone else? Or, worst-case scenario, the Resistance needs gold and this is all they got left?

Or, this is Luke’s? And ditto on everything. Maybe Luke left it behind before he left for Ahch-To? Maybe he gave it back to Leia? Or maybe Leia and company find more of Luke’s belongings elsewhere? Maybe Luke was using it as a bookmark in one of the Jedi Texts?

Goodness. When the trailer hit Celebration, this scene filled my heart with the greatest bittersweet joy. 

I’m really glad that the extra/reworked footage of Carrie as Leia looks good. That it will uphold her legacy. It’s been on my mind ever since her passing.

In fact, I was so caught up in being happy that the footage looks great, at first, I didn’t stop to think why Leia and Rey are hugging?

And, at first, I was so vicariously being Rey while watching the trailer, hugging Leia with my own emotional fan tear, that I didn’t consider why is Rey crying?

Well, theory-wise it could be a number of things. Rey and Leia have really bonded, and maybe Rey’s about to go on a dangerous mission? Or the Resistance has had a major setback?

But, I think one of the biggest, most emotional, thing both Rey and Leia have in common is:

Yup. Benny Boy.

And, this thought/feeling opens up a whole new can.

Um, have they heard something about Kylo/Ben that’s upsetting? And, if so, would this scene take place early or late in the film? I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors that Kylo/Ben might not be making it out of this one entirely. Dunno, to me, it almost feels like Rey’s upset that she’s failed at something. I guess, especially, because it’s extra/reworked footage of the reaction to Han’s death.

Again, with the band! It’s like a 90s Alternation Rock cover!

My question is: What is in Rey’s hand? Is it a bag? What’s in the bag? Is she carrying the Jedi text or some other special item? Is it a device? What sort of device?

Have they all been camping? ‘Cause Finn and Poe have bags, too. Do they got thermal detonators in there?

I’m assuming, since they look more angry/focused than shocked, that their on some sort of mission to find this broken piece of Death Star II? That their purpose is to go inside? Or destroy the rest of it? Either way, if I learned anything from Wind Waker, it doesn’t look like a good day for sailing towards it.

Now, in the split second when Luke says “no one’s ever really gone” again…I wanted to believe we were going to get a Force Ghost reveal. Or that possibly, the-Force-killed-Luke was just social media red herring.

I never dreamed that laugh….

Chilled me to the bone.

The biggest “oh Sh*$” moment of my movie trailer watching life.

 Ooo the possibilities. More thoughts on Emperor Palps’ return later.

Until then my Reylos and Star Wars friends, May The Force Be With You!

[thegreen1969pontiac]

L’appel Du Vide Chapter 4- Midnight Coffee

                                          Eventual Dean x OC

Summary: When Hope’s sister is killed in a less than a normal house fire, and Sam, her sister’s boyfriend, disappears with his brother after her death they’re her number one suspects. When the cops declare the case cold she begins her hunt for the Winchester boys. She follows them in hope for some evidence pointing to the death of her sister, but will she find more than just the cause and the killer? Will she find out more than she wanted to?

Warning: creepy guy, very minor sexual themes, language, crappy writing

Word Count: 2434

I've got to admit, the Winchester boys seem to be the hardest to track men in the USA, well, besides my uncle. They seem like ghosts. Sam showed up to Stanford about four years ago, he came on an almost full-ride scholarship and no family to help him move in on moving day.  He was a smart guy, he was top of his class in almost all the schools he was forced to move around to. His dad, John, was a marine. They originated from Lawrence, Kansas, Dean was born January 24, 1979, which seemed to just rip me apart even more seeing as Jess was born the same day in 1984. But John Winchester seemed to disappear the date his wife, Mary died, November 2, 1983, just a year after my sister was born, and to the date the day she died.  Two November 2nd both involving the Winchester boys. What was this some family cult that killed the women of the family? What the hell? After asking the professors at the university, it seems that Sam was pretty normal. Quiet, courteous, polite and intelligent, but nothing out of the ordinary.

After all of this, there was only the date of the deaths that pointed to murder. I needed to find someone that my sister knew, someone who would know what kind of man Sam was. My sister mentioned this guy, he brought them together. This guy named Brady, Jess mentioned him once or twice he wasn't a close friend of hers just someone she met at a college party at one point. If you can imagine there was a shit ton of Brady's at Stanford University, after about 12 hours of driving Theo from frat house to apartment, it wasn't until maybe the 23rd Brady that I finally found the one that knew her. Brady was a successful kid it seemed that he had a job all lined up for him at Niveus Pharmaceuticals, a company that seemed to profit off the sickness of others. But I guess in his mind it would get the bills of Stanford University paid, he was a charismatic young man I could see why Jess let him set her up with Sam. He asked me to come in,

"Are you Brady? Did you know my sister Jessica Moore?" I ask already feeling tried from asking the same question over and over again.

"I'm Brady, yeah. I knew her, I heard what happened. Who are you?" He asked in almost an accusatory manner.

"I'm her sister, I go by Moore. May I sit?" I say already losing patience with the rich and snotty Stanford kid.

"Oh, yeah, yeah of course. Sorry for your loss."  He rushes out.

"I'd just like to ask some questions if you wouldn't mind, just for some closure." I come up with my excuse, it's not for closure though it is for knowledge.

"Yeah, yeah, what do you want to know?" He asks he gestures for me to sit down on the Italian leather coach that he probably paid way too much for.

"My sister, she had a boyfriend, What was his name again? Was it Smitty?" I ask playing stupid, I need to confirm his name, get some information on this sick son of a bitch.

"No, his name was Sam, Sam Winchester. I actually introduced the two." He smiled to himself almost proud that he introduced the two to each other.

"Yeah, good for you. Did you know Sam well? I didn't see him at the funeral, I just wanted to check up on him you know, help me understand how he is dealing with all of this," I stated, "I mean do you know where he is, I couldn't find a single record of where he could've gone after the fire." I smile, playing the victim wasn't ever my role.

"I don't know where he is now but I heard that he went on a road trip with his brother right before the house went down," He says, "I think I might someone who does though, her name is Becky Warren, she and her brother were friends with Sam when he was here. I really hope you find him though, but hey, I gotta get to lacrosse practice so..." He leads off, how did I know this douche would play lacrosse.

"No, I totally get it. Thank you for your time." I say and stand up, I walk out of the house and head to the address. I finally get to the house that is owned by the Warren family. There are only two cars parked in the driveway. I walk up the driveway and am at the door when the door swings open an I'm met with a frazzled looking girl.

"Are you Becky?" I ask blocking her exit from the house.

"Yeah, look, I have to get going I have class in like 10 minutes." She tries to move around me but I move in front of her again,

"Look, I need to know where Sam Winchester is and I was told you could help me if you could just give me a general idea I will be out of your hair," I say,

"I don't give out my friend's locations to strangers so why don't you piss off." She said and made a move to go around me but this time a grab her jacket and push her against the door frame.

"Yeah, well I don't usually arrange funerals for dead family members but it seems like we are all having a bad year," I growl at her,

"So I am going to ask you one more god damn time, you are going to tell me where my dead sister's boyfriend is or I swear to God I will make you and your brother's life the most miserable they can be, so you can know how I have felt every god damn day since I heard my baby sister was killed in that fire." I hiss out at her.

"I don't know okay, he only texts me so often." She whimpers, "The last I heard he was in Ohio." I smile and let her off the doorstep.

"See, that's all I needed we didn't need to get all nasty. Now lets hope we don't see each other again shall we?" Yeah, we can only hope, right? I turn on my heel and walk to Theo.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A suburban Ohio town has been dealing with the murder of one of their own Steven Shoemaker died in a strange way, the obituary said it was a stroke. But his eyes basically burst out of his skull. Death although seems to follow these boys so why not take a look. Toledo, Ohio was quite the apple pie life town, it was full of high school sweethearts and minivans, but under all of that sticky sweetness, I could tell that there were some underlying skeletons in the closet of the gingerbread house town. Driving there wasn't much of an issue after running on only alcohol and granola bars for about three weeks, it is nice to have a change to coffee and diner food. The food that was eaten along the way to Ohio made me feel like crap but the coffee was always warm and the diners mainly stayed open for 24 hours. That's where I am now, sitting at a 24-hour diner with checkered tiles and bright red seats. The coffee on the table no matter how much I want to say it was black and sound like the badass, it had two creamers and three sugars in it. I was researching the town on my lab top, when the sun peeks its way from behind the family houses I'm heading down to the coroners to get a closer look at the body of the victim. Its been around two days since I had a decent shower so I decided to pack up early and make myself not look like the sleep deprived, alcohol smelling, mess that I am.

The hotel life had been abandoned, motels were now my realm. I can't tell if it is because I don't trust myself to be in high places anymore or if I just don't believe in the normal life anymore and I'm punishing myself to shitty, never cleaned motels that look like they could also be pimping out prostitutes to each room. After the shower, I dress in some of my best clothes that I packed, a black pencil skirt and a white button up that I tucked into the skirt letting my collar bones show, I put my hair up in a professional up-do and grabbed the brown leather jacket that kept me warm in the cold weather. The only new things I needed were shoes and I ended up going to one of the many stores at Toledo's main street and just as the store was opening managed to grab a pair of classy black heels. The coroner's office would no doubt be open now and I just needed to complete the facade with a small pen and notebook. Instead of putting in my contacts this morning I left my glasses on, the blood shotness of my eyes were slightly hidden by the glass.

As I parked Theo in the parking lot of the office I see a black 67' impala sitting across the street. The license plates reading Kansas. I hold my breath, there is no possible way that I would find the boys in the first place I stopped. As I put on the heels from inside my car I saw two tall men walking out of the hospital, the stairs looked old and white, One of the men was no doubt, Sam Winchester, I quickly walked up to the boys ready to walk right up to the evil son of a bitch that murdered my sister and start beating the living hell out of the tall man. But the man next to the puppy dog man was intimidating, he was tall and wore a dark brown leather jacket over his blue flannel, he stared me down like a piece of meat and I knew that I could barely take down one of the two Winchester's and if this was Dean there would be no way in hell I would be able to take down either of them. As I walked closer to them and as they passed me I tried to identify every possible feature so I would be able to know who they were the next time I saw them. As I went up the stairs and they walked down I paid careful attention to which car they got into, and not at all to my surprise I see they get in the Impala with the Kansas license plates, I make careful note of those as well. KAZ-2Y5. God, that won't be hard to forget.

As I get inside the hospital building I walk quickly down to the coroner's office and although I hate wearing heels I like the way they make the clicking noise on the tile floor. The office does look like its open but I can't imagine that the sleazeball looking nurse that sits at the desk seemingly counting cash is the doctor I'm looking for. I tap on the door,

"I'm sorry are you Dr. Feiklowicz? I'm doing an article for the paper about death and I was wondering if I could get some details." I say smiling, I see him rush to put some bills in his pocket, I put it together in my mind and guess that it was the boys that gave the money to him. Why the hell would they pay to see their own murder victim, what kind of sickos are these freaks?

"I'm sorry, he won't be back for an hour, is there something I could help you with?" He says smirking. I can feel him looking me up and down and I can feel my inner head just retching at even the thought. "Oh, that's too bad, is there any way that I could see the body on my own maybe, I just am going to be taking notes." I hum out,

"I'm sorry I will have to ask for some identification before I can let you in, you said you were with the press?" I curse myself, I smile and nod,

"Of course, let me just get out my-- Oh, shoot I think I left my key card at the office, can I just give you my ID?" I ask falsely reaching for the key card that I did not own.

"Well-- I really do nee--" I smile and begin to take off my jacket leaving me in my skirt and blouse that although classy, seems to work on the idiot in front of me, I hold it in my hand arms crossed and stare innocently at him.

"Please, I really need to get some notes, I have to get these back before my boss gets back, he is so mean to me and I might lose my job," I say making myself tear up, I guess playing Ophelia in middle school paid off well.

"Well, I guess. Can I see your ID?" I hand it to him, he takes it and I see him try and make an effort to brush my hand with his own the action almost makes me sick to my stomach.

"Hope Moore, that's a real’ pretty name. A pretty name for a pretty girl," He says trying to woo me with his horrible pick up line.

"Actually I go by Moore." I let my sickly sweet facade drop that time letting him know that I do not want him to call me that again.

"Yeah, sure."

He leads me back into the room and he pulls the sheet off, after seeing my sister I don't think I will be so upset with dead bodies anymore. I ask him about the death and it's said that something bizarre happened that his eyes burst inside his skull, the creep nurse said that there has never been something like that to happen during a stoke. I thank him for his time and he seems to be wanting to ask me something but I rush out of the morgue and get back to finding the Winchester boys.

 I drive around town hoping to see the same black car and when I finally find it I notice that there are many other cars parked outside the house as well.

I grimace, funerals suck.

[douxreviews]

Quantum Leap - Season Three Review

"I always do the right thing, Al. And where does it get me?"

Season three is when the formula started to wear thin a bit... and I got a little tired of "Oh, boy," even though Scott Bakula valiantly did his level best to make it sound different every single time. Al hitting his hand link also got a little old. It was also pretty obvious by this point that God has a sick sense of humor. The way Sam is dumped into ridiculous and/or dangerous situations with no knowledge of what is going on is like an ongoing practical joke. Why would God leap Sam into a magic box being pierced by swords, or just in time to sprinkle talc on a naked guy's underwear?

What works

Just like season two, the best episodes of season three are the premiere and the finale. In fact, the premiere is considered to be the best episode of the series, because Sam finally got to leap home. Sort of.

3.1 "The Leap Home, Part 1 (November 25, 1969)": How many of us would give nearly everything for a chance to go back in time and fix what went wrong in our own lives? It's tragic that when Sam leaped into himself at sixteen, he longed to save everyone in his family, but had to face the fact that it was not what God sent him there to do.

In a way, "The Leap Home" paralleled "M.I.A.", where Al refused to believe Ziggy's projections because he wanted the leap to be about saving his marriage to Beth. Here, Sam also refused to believe what Al was telling him because he was certain he was there to save his brother from dying in Vietnam, his father from dying of lung cancer, and even that he could keep his little sister Katie from ruining her life by marrying an abusive man. It's so easy for the audience to put themselves in Sam's shoes. I confess that I've often fantasized about going back in time somehow so that I could find a way to save my sister's life.

But no, you really can't go home again. With the possible exception of Al dancing with Beth in "M.I.A.," "The Leap Home" gave us the strongest scene in the series as Sam told his little sister Katie the truth about time travel and the bad stuff that was coming, and tried to prove it by singing his favorite song that hadn't been written yet. (A beautiful vocal by Scott Bakula, and by the way, "Imagine" is, coincidentally, my favorite song of all time, too.) Katie's face as she slowly realized that she'd never heard the song before and that it meant their brother Tom would die was genuinely heartbreaking, and Sam was forced to say that he was making it all up. This scene was made even more poignant, if that's possible, by Al almost wordlessly telling Sam not to share with Katie what happened to John Lennon. Honestly, I'm dripping tears just writing about it.

In the scenes that followed, Sam for the first time expressed his anger at what God was forcing him to do, to save other people but not the people that Sam himself loved. Al, who had also lost his chance to fix his life with time travel, was the one to remind Sam that God also gave him an amazing gift: the chance to spend Thanksgiving with his family one more time.

Scott Bakula played both Sam and Sam's father. That was okay, but it felt too much like a gimmick. I wonder if maybe some of the scenes might have worked better if I hadn't been distracted by Bakula playing two roles?

That's a nitpick, though. This is an excellent, emotionally resonant episode.

3.2 "The Leap Home, Part 2 (April 7, 1970)": Part two was also terrific. It felt like God was rewarding Sam for his sacrifice in part one by allowing him to save Tom's life. Andrea Thompson (Babylon 5) gave a good performance as dynamic reporter Maggie Dawson, who died for her Pulitzer. It made me think about whether or not it would be worth dying to create something that would live forever.

But I was unhappy that the unsuccessful mission was all about rescuing Al from his POW prison back in 1970. It felt like the writers were rubbing in the fact that Sam and Al couldn't use time travel to change their own lives... except that Sam actually could, this time. Why was Sam rewarded but Al punished? (Maybe I'm taking this too personally.)

3.6 "Miss Deep South (June 7, 1958)": I dislike pretty much everything about beauty pageants, but couldn't help loving this episode. Maybe I really liked the feminist slant, that Sam had to perform well in the pageant so that the young woman he'd leaped into could become a doctor and save a whole lot of lives — or maybe it was that he was also there to save another young woman from making an epically bad choice in life, like his sister Katie.

Okay, okay, it was probably Scott Bakula singing "Great Balls of Fire" while dressed like Carmen Miranda.

3.12 "8 1/2 Months (November 15, 1955)": Another excellent episode where Scott Bakula played a woman, this time an unmarried, pregnant sixteen-year-old girl. I particularly liked the emphasis on how helpless an underage pregnant girl was and how few choices she had back in the fifties. I also want to mention again what a strong actor Scott Bakula is. He's a masculine-looking guy, but he can wear women's clothing, even flowery maternity clothes, and I'm still focused on his performance instead of what he's wearing.

3.13 "Future Boy (October 6, 1957)": Sam leaped in to help Moe, the star of a children's TV show about time travel. Moe constructed a faux time machine in his own basement, and his adult daughter Irene believed that Moe was losing his marbles and wanted to have him committed. Touchingly, Moe built the machine because what he wanted more than anything was to go back in time and be a better husband and father. I don't know whether or not it was intentional, but there was some ambiguity in this Moe situation, since it was pretty clear to me that Moe really had lost touch with reality and should have been hospitalized. But it was still touching that Sam was able to bring Moe and Irene back together as family.

3.22 "Shock Theater (October 3, 1954)": As I've mentioned before, many Quantum Leap episodes feel like homages to specific movies. Here, it was One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, as Sam was subjected to shock treatment against his will, which made him dissociate into various personalities. The best part was that all of those personalities were the real people that Sam leaped into, and that this time, Sam wasn't faking it -- he actually was his leapees: Tom Stratton, Jesse Tyler, Samantha Stormer, Jimmy, Kid Cody.

Nearly every episode of Quantum Leap puts Sam in some sort of danger, but we usually feel that he'll be okay in the end. In this one, it felt like things were spiraling out of control as Sam suffered abuse and was in genuine peril. In the end, Sam was forced to ask for the shock treatment that he dreaded, and he and Al somehow wound up leaping together, leaving us with a pretty serious and unusual cliffhanger.

Okay, there were a couple of problems with this one. Al rapping to teach Scott Lawrence's character to read made me uncomfortable. It was also hard not to wonder what happened to Sam's unfortunate leapee after the treatment, and how unfair that whole thing was to him.

Honorable mention

3.17 "Glitter Rock (April 12, 1974)": It's always fun when an episode features Scott Bakula singing, and for some reason, I absolutely loved the technicolor pseudo-Kiss makeup. But what the hell was Al wearing? A decorative stop sign? Wouldn't that be dangerous if he were walking down a road somewhere?

3.18 "A Hunting Will We Go (June 18, 1976)": It's hard to pull off this much slapstick in a single episode and do it well, but I thought they did: this episode was pretty darned funny. Good job by Scott Bakula as well as Jane Sibbett, who gave a vibrant performance; I always saw her as David Schwimmer's bland ex-wife on Friends, and didn't realize she was capable of stuff like this. I also appreciated the homage to the famous Clark Gable/Claudette Colbert hitchhiking scene from It Happened One Night.

What doesn't work

There are a few weak episodes, but this one's awfulness stood out from the crowd:

3.5 "The Boogieman (October 31, 1964)": This truly idiotic and poorly written episode is about a dream Sam had, while unconscious, of mysterious murders at a Halloween spook house. It included a replica of Al as the devil trying to stop Sam from fixing things while leaping — possibly Dean Stockwell's poorest performance of the series — and a teenage Stephen King with his dog Cujo.

Bits and pieces:

-- Famous people: Jack Kerouac, and as mentioned above, Stephen King.

-- Notable actors: C.C.H. Pounder, Kurt Fuller, and Peter Noone from Herman's Hermits. And Olivia Burnett, who did such a terrific job playing Sam's little sister Katie, also played another little girl named Susan in season two's "Another Mother."

-- Here's a question for those of you better at this online app stuff. Is Quantum Leap available for free at nbc.com (with commercials)? If it is, what did they do about the music replacement issue?

To conclude

I thought season three was good, but not quite as good as season two. And in fact, rewatching season three drove home for me that as a series, Quantum Leap was episodic, not serial. Honestly, I'd forgotten. But as my mother used to say, it is what it is.

On to season four.

Billie Doux loves good television and spends way too much time writing about it.

[violetosprey]

BTD2 My thoughts on Lawrence

I covered my thoughts long ago on all of the “Till Death Do Us Part” game characters, but I never really took the time to talk about my thoughts about the main series “Boyfriend to Death” characters.  I have actually talked about many of these characters through various different posts.  But otherwise, there haven’t been that many posts dedicated specifically to certain BTD characters.

These posts will mostly be about my own opinions and views (a rough analysis more than anything).  I may end up focusing on multiple aspects of the character, or just one particular one if I think it defines them best (we’ll see).  For those that have read some of my other posts, there likely WILL be some thoughts I’ve stated before that I’ll simply be re-iterating here.  But there may also be some new stuff in here if it happens to come to mind, or because I’ve simply not had the time before to go over such a topic.

It will take a while to get through all 8, so please have some patience and just check back later if it looks like I don’t have a post up yet for a character you’re really interested in.  I will also be talking through these under the assumption that you’ve played/read all the routes (so I might mention but not go into explicit detail on a scene).

*major spoilers below *

Fun Fact: When BTD2 was announced, the character who’s route that I was MOST interested in playing was Lawrence.  He was completely different from what I was expecting to see as a character from these games.  I’m not quite sure what it was about him.  Even with his physical appearance, I could state his traits out loud and it wouldn’t sound like he’d be the kind of guy I’d be into.  But it just seems to work here.  Also, I had this goal when I started the games that I was going to try REALLY hard to survive on my first attempt for at least 1 out of the 4 guys. Needless to say, I failed spectacularly on my first attempt.

I’ll be completely honest here.  I’ve wanted to write about Lawrence for a while now because he’s one of the characters I got REALLY into.  He’s the only one in the BTD series (excluding TDDUP) that I almost was able to get all the endings on my own.  I had two left before I broke down and looked up a guide.  If I had tried a little harder, I probably could have figured out how to get his best survival ending in the bathroom (I had the scenario set up for it), but I couldn’t have figured out the “name” thing on my own (which was the ending I was really looking for).  

The problem is I wasn’t quite sure HOW to talk about Lawrence.  I’ve said this before, but as opposed to BTD, BTD2 gave the characters a lot more depth this time around.  Among them, Lawrence is the hardest to figure out and comprehend. Hell, Gato’s even explained through asks from time to time about Lawrence’s history with finding the river after a drowning incident I believe, how leaving it (or was it constantly returning?) is slowly rotting him, and how he keeps wanting to go back.  We have been given information, but I often have a difficult time either remembering the details, or putting together the pieces. So other than acknowledging that Lawrence was born human but has become something supernatural overtime…not much more I can expand on here at the moment.

One thing the creator has said about Lawrence is that he’s “not good with people.”  I couldn’t agree more!  Lawrence has this conflicting nature where he simultaneously wants someone to bond with, but doesn’t know how.  At the very beginning of the game, he’s meeting up with Ren, whom he’d been chatting with online previously (presumably more than once).  When things get awkward and Ren leaves early, Lawrence becomes SO distraught that he puts the blame on the MC and attacks them.  Then later when the MC is held captive by Lawrence, he may start to like you but…well…remember the whole “spine” bit?  Yeah he’s probably not fully aware that some of the ways he interacts with others could be off-putting to say the least.  He’s also very apprehensive about what the MC says or does at times (ex. MC screaming or taking too long in the bathroom). When he feels he’s starting to lose control, he’s quick to restrict and gag the MC.  And if you push him to complete insanity, he reveals that under that nervous exterior he does indeed have a slight hint of sadism.

Right before I started this post though, I thought of something that I don’t think I’d taken the opportunity to do on my tumblr before:  Compare Strade and Lawrence.  I mean JUST the two together (not compared with all the other characters at once).  They’re both characters owned by Gato that operate in COMPLETELY different ways.  Strade was such a hit (possibly the most popular in the first game), that’s it’s almost like “How do you top that?” or “How do you avoid recycling older material that you know worked the first time?” Strade is just a pure sadistic monster with no supernatural qualities to him (with the exception of a fox boy in his house).  He has no real motivation for being evil other than he enjoys it.  Lawrence on the other hand, is a human whose mind has been gripped by supernatural events, causing him to become mentally unstable. He’s detached from reality and constantly on edge, but still has at least a small desire to connect with other people (that he’s often unable to).

I forget who the heck made the post, but someone made a comment about how after having to deal with Strade’s “unbroken stare” in BTD, it was quite a shift to face Lawrence who is often looking away from you.  This is both hilarious and true.  Strade carries himself with a lot more confidence in a jovial manner.  Lawrence, even when he has you tied up, is nervous and not sure how to deal with the situation at hand.  Strade knows he’s in charge while it feels like Lawrence has to remind himself that he’s in control of the situation.  For example, Lawrence says “he can do whatever he wants to you,” but if you start kicking up a fuss he’ll freak out.  He has the strength to keep you down, but he appears to lack…authority?  Really, the times he seems the most composed ironically are when he becomes COMPLETELY unstable and goes to cut you up.  That’s pretty terrifying.

Strade also loves to hear his victim’s screams, while Lawrence can gag you frequently in his route. Yes, you could say it’s because Strade has you locked up in his own house where people can’t hear you while Lawrence is in a shared apartment building (one time one of the tenants even hears the noise).  But I think even if Lawrence were alone, I feel like he just doesn’t like loud noises or resistance in general.  He’s implied to have gotten a little “dirty” with corpses after all…and a corpse won’t fight back or say a word.  I personally perceive Lawrence as something like a frightened dog.  The dog wants some attention and compassion, but if you’re not careful, you could corner and frighten him to the point where he bites you.

The weirdest thing I probably have to say is that…both Strade and Lawrence like people in different ways.  Strade I get this feeling that he genuinely enjoys conversation and interacting with others. That’s why he appears so friendly. But then he gets his kicks out of torturing people, so how much he can ACTUALLY care about another human being is debatable.  Lawrence (I’m running into speculation territory here) I don’t think necessarily hates or dislikes people, but they do make him nervous.  Still, he wants some kind of companionship (first with Ren, then with the MC if you get him to really like you).  In a strange way, Lawrence comes off as liking you more “genuinely” than Strade ever could.  I don’t really know how to explain it.  But the problem with Lawrence is that when he does decide he likes you and wants to keep you…he clearly doesn’t know how to have a proper relationship (*coughs* cuts your limbs off so you can’t get away *coughs*).

The best ending for Lawrence (as in HIS best ending at least- not talking favorite endings) is where you two connect when you mention the river.  It’s definitely a rather sweet ending.  I think what this may also imply, when comparing this ending to the one where he amputates you, is that Lawrence can never really have a “normal human relationship.”  His mind is has been warped too much by the river and he can never view or interact with the world in a normal manner again.  You have to be on the same level as Lawrence in order to truly bond with him. Kind of interesting.

So what did I think about Lawrence?  I loved him! Definitely don’t regret spending as much time (the most time even) on his character as I did.  Even if it meant just getting killed over and over…and over…and over again for several hours (let’s just say that maybe by the time I got to Ren’s route I wasn’t COMPLETELY upset that I had to kill the guy).  Regardless, Lawrence also gets the award from me for being the HARDEST character to figure out in the main BTD games.  This post was fun to write, but it was just challenging to try to come up with some solid viewpoints.

P.S.  In the event someone reading this is aware that my blog is half BTD/TDDUP and half yanderes goes “Are you seriously not going to talk ONCE about Lawrence as a yandere character?”  Well here’s a short answer for you:  I could see why someone might (and you are more than free to) label Lawrence as a yandere, but I personally do not.  The reason is…Lawrence is weird?  Sorry if that’s an unsatisfying answer, but if I really wanted to get into my reasons why here then this post would be way too long :P

[coffee-obsessed-writer]

The Pact - Part 7

Sam Winchester x Crowley’s Daughter!Reader

Gothic AU

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

A/N: This idea was a long time coming. My first true AU, so please be gentle. This will be a slow burn, multi-chapter fic. Incantation used in this chapter was taken from SuperWiki.

WC: 6.8K

Series Summary: Lord Samuel Winchester has lost the love of his life due to the actions of the Demon King, Crowley. As he plots secret revenge, his father, the King of Lawrence, decrees that Sam will wed Crowley’s daughter in order to unite the two families to protect the sacred ground the Winchester’s Kingdom is built upon.

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Crowley’s Daughter!Reader

Other Characters: John Winchester, Crowley, Rowena, Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer, Jessica Moore (deceased), Pamela Barnes

Series Warnings: 18+ only, mild language, violence, implied smut

“I think Dad and Crowley want to sacrifice your child to Eve.”

The bedroom chamber was so quiet, you could hear the distant sounds of children playing in the gardens rising up through the open window. Despite the gleeful sounds that played softly in the background, you felt as if the wind had been knocked free from your chest and felt your stomach drop. 

Looking between the Lords Winchester, you could see that Sam and Dean were also struggling with what had been revealed. You wanted to speak, had every intention to do so, but there was no air to propel any words forth.

“I--I don’t even know how to comprehend that, Dean. Why--What would make you think that our father could even entertain an idea like that?”

“Something I overheard… Look, Sammy, I don’t know what the Hell dad and Crowley are planning. I just know what I heard.”

“Which was?” Sam asked with exasperation.

“The only reason Crowley aided us with reinforcements, was because he’d made a deal.”

“Crowley, the King of Hell, make a deal? C’mon man, that’s just a Monday morning for him. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Because, part of this deal was Crowley promised Eve a new life. One created from the blood of her enemies.”

“Wh--Why? Why would she want that? She’s got all of Purgatory at her side. She has the ability to create whatever kind of life she wants!”

“Not a human life,” Dean shrugged in response. “But, I did over hear this from one of his demons, so take it with a grain of salt, wouldya?”

“Our father is a lot of things, but a monster that could sacrifice his own flesh and blood?”

“Sounds more like my father, than yours,” you replied softly. “Crowley would sacrifice anyone if it meant cementing his crown.”

“Even you?” Dean asked.

“Yes, even me.”

“Well, I guess I know who I’ll be nominating as father of the year,” Dean quipped and let his half smile fade as he made eye contact with Sam.

Sam pursed his lips tightly and sighed. “We need answers. Speculating what our father’s are up to won’t help anyone.”

“And how do you plan on getting that assurance, husband? Crowley won’t show here unless summoned. The King, if this is what is planned, won’t tell you. So, how--”

Sam grabbed your shoulder and gently turned you to face him. You did your best to stay stoic, but couldn’t help but so cracks beneath the surface. “I promise you, I will find out one way or the other. That’s the pact, right? We work together to uncover their plan--”

“Yeah, and don’t go making any babies until then,” Dean mumbled, and smiley shyly when you and Sam both looked at him with a quiet disdain. 

Yet, Dean’s words fell heavy on both you and Sam. Knowing how you had spent the night before, a quick glance between you two left a cold, numbing feeling in the pit of your stomach. Sam could almost read your mind, and gave your shoulder a loving squeeze. 

“We will get answers. But Dean’s right. Until we do, we will keep up appearances, but take no chances in creating a child.”

All you could do was nod slightly in response and present your husband with a demure smile. 

Dean cleared his throat to break up the moment. “I hate to pull your husband away, (Y/N) but I think he and I have some things to figure out before I have to leave for the Front again.”

“Wait,” Sam released you and quickly turned towards his brother. “What do you mean, go back? I thought you were home!”

“Just for a few days little brother. With Crowley’s reinforcements arriving, and the damage the rift storm caused, I can’t leave the Winchester Guard unprotected. Besides, we are actually making some headway having those black-eyed bitches with us. I hate to say it, but they are helping. I just don’t trust they won’t try and possess a few of our men if given the chance.”

Sam nodded in reluctant agreement. “I get it. It’s just, I could use you here.”

“I know, man. I do. But…”

“The greater good,” Sam replied with a half-defeated smile. “I guess we should go then, see what we can learn together while you’re here.”

“And don’t forget, plan a celebration…” Dean’s sarcasm wasn’t lost on you, but you were unsure of what he meant. 

“A celebration?”

“Yes, my father thinks we should have a large celebration, open the gates to the castle and allow the people of Lawrence to rejoice with us.”

“What’s the occasion?” you asked, not liking the sound of the King’s latest decree.

Sam signed and ran a hand through his long hair. “Our marriage and Dean’s return.”

“I see…” You hated the idea, but thought there was some way to use this to your collective advantage. “Well, one way or another we will make it work for us.”

Sam’s smile grew wide across his face, creating the cavernous dimples you had quickly come to love. “Yes, that’s exactly what we will do.”

Despite Dean’s presence, Sam pulled you into a loving embrace and held you tightly. Though your head was happily buried in Sam’s broad chest, you could feel Dean’s eyes watching you again. You understood his hesitancy in you, and your motives, but you wouldn’t let it ruin what you were building with your husband.

When you pulled back from the embrace, Sam turned back towards Dean and slapped his shoulder with one, large hand. “So, what do you say we go do a little digging.” 

Dean didn’t respond, but instead watched his little brother move towards the door to leave. He didn’t budge from his spot, or take his eyes off Sam. 

“Hey, you uh, you forgetting something?” Dean asked, arms crossed over his chest and watching Sam curiously.

Sam frowned in response and shook his head. “Don’t think so.”

“Well then you must be a witch yourself little brother. Because last I remember, you had yourself a shattered hip that barely let you learn to walk again. Now you’re basically sprinting out the door with no cane, no limp…”

Sam’s face fell instantly and lost color. then passed a nervous glance to you. Able to read his expression, you shrugged in return. ‘Should we tell him?’ ‘I guess… ‘

Sam sighed and snorted an anxious laugh. “Well, I’m not a witch but I am married to one. We got stuck in the rift storm, out in the Elven Woods. Found an old cottage and (Y/N) here worked her magic. Literally. I was able to walk with no pain, no limp… for days.”

“Days? That rift storm was weeks ago. You still look fine to me.”

“Last night, I applied a heavier dose of the ointment. Let it heat by the fire,” you paused and blushed at the memory of what happened after, “and this morning, he’s better than ever.”

“You let her work her hoodoo on you? Sammy, what were you thinking? She’s--”

“Listen here, Dean Winchester,” you interrupted, unable to hold your tongue any longer, “I understand your suspicions of me, I’ve lived with that stigma all my life just because of who my father is. But I grew up to have a mind of my own, and yes, I was taught witchcraft by the most powerful witch in all of Lawrence and beyond. Rowena MacLeod may have shown me the way of magic, but I learned a few things on my own, as well. Including love, compassion, and commitment to those in my favor. Your brother and I had a rocky start, yet we have come to a mutual understanding. If you can’t respect HIS choices in that, then I beg you to reconsider. Your brother is a wonderful man, and has been just as disrespected by his father, as I have been by mine. And if you truly believe, even for a moment, that I am capable of hurting him, well then, frankly, you’re a horses’ ass.”

Your impassioned speech fell heavy in the room for a few moments. From the corner of your eye, you could see Sam smirking. Dean’s expression, however, was more shocked than anything.

“Well alright then,” Dean finally said, “I suppose I could be wrong. Hell, hope I am.” 

You straightened your shoulders and stood as tall as you could. “You are wrong, Lord Winchester. Just you wait, you’ll see who’s side I’m on.”

Dean nodded and looked towards Sam. “Come on Sammy, let’s go see what Dad has really got cooking up with the King of Hell.”

Shortly after they left the room, you sat down on the plush bed and sank back into the pillows. A flurry of thoughts and concerns raced through your mind, but as you tucked your arm over your head, hand beneath the pillow, you felt something hard and cool to the touch. Sitting up, you removed the pillows to see the vial that had once been around your neck to be stuck between the large, carved wooden headboard and the down mattress of Sam’s bed. 

A sigh of relief released from your lips; it was so audible you were afraid someone heard you out in the corridor. You clutched the vial to your chest and began to laugh softly. Slipping the cord back around your neck, you let the small bottle fall to your chest, then tucked it beneath your dress. Feeling its weight against your skin gave you more than just relief, it gave you an idea. Unsure if the pieces would fit together, you knew you had to find out. The one person who could answer your questions, was the same woman who taught you how to concoct potions in the first place. 

Rowena.

By the time the sun had hit the midday sky, you were reaching the entrance to the Elven Woods, and clutched at the old leather satchel slung over one shoulder. It was the first time you had ventured back to them since Sam had brought you there the day after the ceremony. ‘The day he tried to kill me,’ you thought. Shaking off the feeling of Sam’s blade against you, you took the first step through the archway to the woods.

As you made your way down the bumpy terrain, you came out to the majestic oak that grew at the fork in the path. It was just as radiant as you had remembered. The sunlight streamed down through its twisted maze of leaves and branches. You could feel its energy calling to you as it did to many magical folk in Lawrence. Somehow the magic you infused into the cream was able to break through the castle’s powerful warding. But the ritual you wanted to perform now, needed this extra boost of power. 

Pressing your hand against the rough bark of the trunk, you closed your eyes and felt the power that lived within its core. Focusing your mind towards that force, you began to feel it seep into your veins. When you finally opened your eyes, you felt a surge of magic like you’d never experienced and watched as the glow around your hand began to fade. It left you even more convinced that you were doing the right thing. Stepping back from the tree, you bowed your head in thanks, and continued down the right path that would lead you to the small cottage you’d found refuge in before. 

It didn’t take long before you could see the familiar shape of the roof peeking out through the trees. You took a last glance up at the sky, unsure if another rift storm would be lurking. Blue skies still reigned above, and you walked the last hundred steps towards the old place. 

You pushed in the door, and was immediately hit by the smell of the dried herbs lining the walls. It was warm and welcoming, and you began to find a love for the vibration you felt standing within its structure. Carefully lifting off the satchel you carried on your shoulder, you laid it down on the long wooden table and unpacked its contents.

Other than the noise you made setting up an altar, there wasn’t a sound to be heard.  Summoning another witch wasn’t exactly difficult, though it did require a certain amount of concentration. Grateful for the quiet, you lit the candles and began to break up the herbs and bones as the Grimoire had instructed. Holding your hands over the cauldron, you sprinkled in the last ingredient, conjured Rowena’s face in your mind and repeated the incantation. 

Upon finishing, a burst of purple light and blue smoke erupted from the old ceramic bowl, engulfing you in its haze. Waving your hands to help it clear, you began to smile the moment you saw a hint of Rowena’s bright red hair emerging through a small clearing in the fog.

“This best be important, dear. I was right in the middle of convincing the Prince of Wales that I was his long lost sister. That man’s money could’ve set me up for life…”

“I’m sorry, grandm--Rowena… but it is important.”

“You know, dearie, there are messengers to deliver important news. Did your father not teach you anythin’?”

Her words conveyed annoyance, but her expression gave you pause to think that maybe she wasn’t as bothered as she wanted you to believe. Rowena’s half smile, pulled into true grin as she surveyed your altar in front of her.

“Impressive. Seems as though you had a good teacher,” she replied smugly, and slowly made her way round to the side you stood on. “So tell me, why did you need to call on grannie?”

“I heard some things. Some details of the pact my father made with the King.”

“Oh?” Rowena’s curiosity was transparent, and as much as you respected her, you knew deep down you couldn’t trust her. “Do tell.”

“I… can’t. I have no reassurance that it’s true, though I do plan on protecting myself if it turns out to be a fact. What I need from you, is to tell me more about this…” you paused and withdrew the vial from beneath your dress.

Rowena took a small step forward and examined the bottle. A devilish smile unfurled on her petite face as her eyes came up to meet yours.

“Well, now, what do we have here?” Her eyes lit up as her painted fingertips carefully toyed with the glass. 

“It’s a love potion. I made it before we came here, in case I needed to protect myself from Lord Winchester.”

“Smart girl, though, poison and hex bags work better in my experience,” she shrugged and let it fall gently back to your chest. “Are you and Samuel getting along? Has he tried to hurt you?”

“Yes. we are getting along now, but he did try to kill me.”

“Yet, here you stand,” her smile grew even wider, “Clever girl… did you have to use that on him?”

“No, and don’t think I will. But…” you trailed off and turned back towards the altar. Pressing your hands against the wood of the table for support, you leaned forward and found the courage to tell her what you wanted to do with it. 

“But…?”

“If what I learned is true, I may need to use it on the King.”

“The King? Oh, please tell me you don’t mean your father…”

“Rowena, please. Of course not. I mean King Winchester. I am afraid the only sure fired way I can divert is his plans--”

“Is to make him fall in love with you?”

You nodded softly, and released your grip on the table. “I don’t want to. The idea of it gives me a sick feeling. But, if it's my last option, then I will do what I must.”

“Fair enough, dear. But where do I fit into this grand scheme of yours?”

“I took the spell from one of your books. I need to know the effects, if there is a curse attached, if I can break it if needed. I only mean to distract the King, not to become his bride next.”

“I don’t know, the King is at least easy on the eyes…”

“Please, don’t even suggest it. I was completely against this whole arrangement, but I have found a kindred spirit in Samuel. I’m sure part of my father’s intention was to have me tortured by this marriage, but really, he only did me a favor.”

“Don’t say that too loudly, you know that son of mine is always lurking. Knowing he did you a service, he may just snatch it right back from you.”

“I know, and it's why I hope I can trust you with this.” You paused and took Rowena’s hand, hoping that you could appeal to the side of her that felt fondness for you, and hatred for her son. “He’s your son… my father. We should be rooting for him, but at what cost? Look at what he’s already taken from both of us. You’re at his beck and call, and he had me marry his enemies, knowing they wanted me to burn solely for having the same blood run through my veins.”

Rowena seemed to be studying you, but you ignored her scrutiny. She stood quiet, contemplating the circumstances, then finally nodded. “You’re not wrong, my dear. My son is, to say the least, a vengeful little man. He’ll take any chance he can to destroy your happiness.”

“I know, that’s why I need to be proactive. So can you… will you, keep this to yourself?”

“Can I keep your motivations quiet? Yes, of course. But I cannot and will not help you with whatever plan you are conjuring. At some point, you have to be your own witch, dear. Can’t rely on dear old Rowena for everything.”

You thought you heard her wrong, but when she took a step back and made a demur shrug with her expression, you knew you hadn’t.

“I’m your granddaughter, and you refuse to help me? We’re family!”

“Oh, sweet child, what does family really mean? Because we share blood? One thing I’ve learned in this big, rotten world is that it means absolutely nothin’. Family is what you make it. Our bloodlines are poisonous, why do you think I sold Fergus off as a child? He was a rotten little twat. I needed to escape, or be put to death.”

Shaking your head slowly in disbelief, you turned back towards the altar. You could feel anger begin to boil under the surface, and for the first time in your life, felt the same hatred towards Rowena that you carried for your father. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N. But, I have to look out for myself. Think maybe it’s best if I disappear for a while. Go explore the world a bit. I do wish you luck,” she paused and gave a little smirk when she looked over your altar again. “Seems as if you know what you’re doin’.”

Before you could respond, Rowena mumbled a few words, and was gone. All that she left behind was a swirling mist of violet smoke, and her words ringing in your ears. 

‘...what does family really mean? Because we share blood? One thing I’ve learned in this big, rotten world is that it means absolutely nothing. Family is what you make it.’

“That’s probably the best thing you’ve ever taught me, grandmother.”

You emerged from the Elven Woods just as the sun was reaching late afternoon. Despite its brilliance, you were left with a chill that ran through your bones. A feeling of certain dread that loomed on the horizon. Stepping across the threshold into the gardens, you took a moment to breathe, and lifted your face towards the warmth of the sun. Losing track of time, you weren’t sure how long you stood that way, just clearing your mind and letting its light wash over the darkness you felt in your gut. 

“Y/N? My Lady… are you alright?”

The older, gravely voice of the Winchester’s Maester brought you out of your unintended meditation. When you lowered your eyes, blinking away the bright spots behind them, you saw Bobby standing there, looking concerned and a bit puzzled. 

“Bobby… yes, I’m... “ you tried to say the word fine, but it wouldn’t seem to work. “...breathing.”

“Need a moment, did ya?” Bobby replied, slowly closing the distance left between you. “You look a bit pale, feeling alright?”

“Yes… well… no. But it’s not an ailment I’m afraid. No herbs or teas to fix this ache.”

“And what kinda ache is that, may I ask?” His tone had shifted from curious to suspicious.

You knew he was a trusted part of Samuel’s family; you had experienced that first hand when he allowed you use of his apothecary. But could you trust him with conspiring against his King in the manner of which you were considering?

“Revelation,” you said, and sighed softly. “Maester Singer… I know Samuel trusts you, so I am hoping I can as well.”

Bobby considered it for a moment, and nodded. “You can, long as you aren’t looking to hurt my boy.”

“Never. I have grown quite fond of Samuel, and hurting him is something I would never consider. Not anymore.”

“Glad to know we’re on the same page here. So, spill, what’s got you lookin’ like you just walked over your own grave?”

“Revelations… things I’ve heard. An unspeakable betrayal from those I thought were my family.”

“Well, considering who your dad is, can’t really say you should be surprised.”

“Not just him, Rowena, too. I asked her for help, and she threw me to the wolves.”

“Again--”

“Yes, I understand,” you interrupted and flashed him a look of annoyance.

“Alright, so if they can’t help ya, maybe I can. What is it exactly you need help with?”

“I need answers… I need to know if these things are true.”

“You can ask me. If I know, I’ll give ya an honest answer.”

Taking a moment to think before answering, you passed him a demur smile, and took a few steps around him, before turning back to face him. “I want too, Bobby. I do. But I fear asking puts you in a precarious position. I don’t want to do that to you. Samuel adores you, and frankly, I adore him. So, no, I cannot ask you.”

“Fair enough,” he replied, his brow furrowed in thought. “I may know someone who could help. A friend of mine is back in town. She’s been known to see what us mere mortals can’t.”

“Is she a Dreamwalker?” you asked, a burst of excitement creeping into your tone, despite your sense of being overwhelmed.

“No. But, she’s the best damned psychic I’ve ever known. People around here know her best as ‘The Oracle’. She travels ‘round helpin’ folks however she can. If you need answers, I am pretty sure she can get them for ya.”

“You would do that? For me?”

“You’re family, ain’t ya?”

For the first time in a while that day, you smiled a genuine smile. “Yes, I am. So, where do we find this friend of yours?”

The journey to find the Maester’s friend didn’t take nearly as long as you thought it would. You didn’t want to be gone too long, or Sam may question where you went. Telling him your plans without all the answers felt dangerous somehow, but taking too long to divulge your thoughts could be just as dangerous. Rowena wasn’t exactly trustworthy, and who knew what she was liable to do with what you’ve already told her. Her agreement to keep it to herself didn’t exactly instill a sense of confidence in you.

Bobby seemed to sense your urgency, and had the horse drawn cart rumbling down the old dirt lane. But once he hit an offbeat path, overgrown with wildflowers and ferns, he eased up on the reins. 

“Almost there, Y/N. When we get there, I’ll make the introductions, but then I’ll wait outside. Been thinkin’ on what you said before, about not wanting to put me in the middle, and I do appreciate that. I may not always agree with John, but I did pledge my loyalty to his family. Sam and Dean, they’re just as much my boys as they are John’s. Hell, sometimes I think even more.”

He paused, and gave a quick glance your way. When you didn’t respond, he looked back towards the path ahead. “I’d give my life to protect both those boys. That includes protection from John, not that it would come to that. I know he’s rough around the edges, but--”

“But, he’s their father. I understand that, Bobby. Trust me, the last thing I want to do is destroy Samuel’s father. Despite their troubles, I couldn’t do that to my husband.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I can see that you are on his side, Y/N. It's why I’m helpin’ ya. I know John’s up to something, and my place in his court puts me at odds with how to handle it. So, if you need some answers, the least I can do is help you get to them.”

As Bobby guided the carriage round a bend in the path, you felt a surge of energy before the small house even came into view. When you saw it, you knew that was where he was taking you. You were so transfixed on the house, you barely noticed Bobby slowing down and calling the horse to a halt. It wasn’t until he set the reins around the hook and climbed down, did you realize that you were completely stopped.

You carefully stepped down, and waited for Bobby to join you before taking the short walk to the old, wooden door. Enamored by the energy pulsating from the house, you were both excited and nervous to step inside. 

Looking to Bobby, and swallowing thickly, you raised your brows and sighed, “Here goes nothing.”

The door opened before Bobby could knock. A tall, dark haired woman, dressed in a simple black dress with a plunging neckline stood before you. Her eyes were clouded white, but her smile beamed from ear to ear. 

“Bobby, I always love when you drop by,” she greeted and reached out for the Maester’s hand to pull him into a hug. 

“Pamela, beautiful as always.” He hugged her briefly and stood to the side. “This is Lady Y/N. She’s--”

“The wife of Lord Samuel. Oh, I know who she is. C’mon Bobby, I may be blind, the whole psychic helps with that,” Pamela laughed, and patted his shoulder before turning to you. “Now, let me get a look at you.”

Pamela reached out for your hand, and when you gently placed yours in it, she guided you inside.

“Alright ladies, I’ll be out here guarding Old Gus if ya need me.”

“Not joining us today, Bobby?” Pamela asked, slightly disappointed. 

“Not today. Today, Y/N needs some answers and whatever revelations she receives, are for her ears only.”

“I see,” she said, and turned her attention back to you. “Well then, Lady Winchester, let’s see what the spirits have to tell you.”

Pamela closed the door slowly behind you as you stepped further into her home, you drew in a deep breath of mixed herbs, candles, and sage. It was comforting and yet rejuvenated your energy, just as the old Oak did in the Elven Woods. 

“Please, have a seat.” Pamela motioned towards an worn, but cozy looking wooden chair, lined with plush red velvet. As she took her place directly at the round table, you slipped into the chair directly across from her and placed your palms flat on the table. 

“The energy in this place is inexplicably strong,” you mused, taking in more of the room. Candles were lit all around, some on table tops, some sitting atop tall iron candle holders. Over the table hung an iron chandelier, with more candles lazily flickering in a light breeze; yet you noticed no open windows. In the center of the small, round table, stood an iridescent purple crystal set in a sterling silver bowl filled with water. Admiring your surroundings, you settled into your seat with a sense of peace.

Pamela reached her hands towards the middle, palm up. You placed yours in hers once again, and could immediately feel the vibrations coming through her. When you looked up at her, meeting her clouded white eyes, a slight smile appeared on her face. 

“You’re a very powerful witch,” she said, then wrapped her fingers a bit tighter. “Taught, yes, but also born with the gift of magic.”

“My grandmother, Rowena. She’s a well known witch also born with innate magic. I suppose it comes from her.”

“I know of Rowena MacLeod. She’s… something alright. But your magic comes from a white witch. Your mother I believe.” She grew quiet, tuning in on your frequency, then nodded in confirmation. “Yes, your mother was a white witch. She’s passed, yes?”

“Y-Yes… I never knew my mother,” you replied softly, a twisted feeling bubbling in your gut. 

“Okay, close your eyes, Y/N. Focus your mind’s eye towards the crystal in the middle of the table.”

You did as told and waited for Pamela to begin. You could hear her breathing begin to slow, and nearly feel the rush of air she exhaled through her nose. 

“Amate spiritus obscure, te quaerimus, te oramus, nobiscum colloquere, aput nos circita. Amate spiritus obscure, te quaerimus, te oramus, nobiscum colloquere, aput nos circita."

Pamela repeated the chant a few more times, her will stronger each time. After the final pass, you opened your eyes and felt a cool air blew through the room, flickering the candles and casting erratic shadows to dance on the walls. 

“I call upon you, spirit, show yourself. I call upon you, spirit, show yourself!”

From beyond Pamela’s shoulder, a pale blue mist began to swirl slowly, eventually taking the loose shape of a woman. It floated towards Pamela, and seemed to ensconce her with its light. 

“Yes, I can hear you,” Pamela replied to a silent question. “Your name… to whom am I speaking…” She paused, awaiting a response. It felt as if time stretched on, but only a mere few seconds truly had. “Emmeline, yes, I understand. I give you permission.”

Though she had no external sight, Pamela’s gaze met yours for a moment, before she closed them tightly. When they opened again, gone were the clouded white orbs, and replaced by bright hazel eyes. You gasped at the change, then stared into them as if you knew them somehow. 

“Y/N,” Pamela spoke, but it was no longer her raspy tone; this voice was soft and gentle., “My daughter… you’ve grown up so beautiful.”

The whole change that unfolded before you, left you breathless. You reacted without thinking and tried to pull your hands away, but the spirit inhabiting Pamela’s body wouldn’t let go.

“Y/N, please....” the voice pleaded, “stay.”

You allowed her to hold your hands, and tried to think of what to say. But for all your questions, not only about her, but about how to handle the King, went out the window. All your mind could decipher was that despite all your magical knowledge and understanding, you were sitting and communicating with the spirit of your deceased mother. 

“How,” you whispered, “how is this possible? How do I know…”

“My sweet girl, you were born during a Harvest Moon, and I loved you from the moment I saw your face. Despite how you came to be…”

Recoiling slightly, you slowly shook your head. “I--I… I don’t know what that means. I have so many questions…”

“I don’t have long. Breaking through the veil isn’t easy, so I will try to answer what I can for you, child.”

Suddenly, everything you had come there seeking in the first place went out the window. Your blank mind began to grasp at the information you needed, but all you could think was that you were sitting across from a woman you longed to know your whole life. 

“I don’t know where to begin. My father would never speak of you. Grandmother, either. They would ignore me, or change the subject. Why? Why wouldn’t they tell me about you?”

The spirit didn’t reply. Instead she let go of your hand and raised Pamela’s fingers to rest upon the center of your forehead. Instantly you were hit with a surge of energy that felt like lightning racing through your body. Gasping for air, your vision went dark, and a series of images played out in your mind’s eye. Fragments of your mother’s memories poured into your knowing as the pictures flashed before you. 

Seeing her in her natural state was breathtaking. Emmeline had been a uniquely beautiful woman; her hair the color of spun gold, deep dimples--much like Samuel’s--when she smiled. You could see some resemblances of yourself in her, and it helped to settle the feeling of uncertainty you had rising in your gut. Seeing your mother, in her own body, practicing witchcraft at her own altar… the room filling with black smoke and taking over her body… Crowley entering the chambers and having his goons smash her altar to bits. 

Another flash… Crowley and her mother, now possessed by one of his minions, in bed together laughing maniacally at the despicable things they did and were planning to do. Another… her mother’s body, very pregnant, still possessed, but now she could hear her mother’s consciousness screaming to be let free, for the demon to leave her and her child alone. 

The images were coming faster now - death and destruction following Crowley and Emmeline’s body while she was carrying you inside her. Emmeline’s body on a dungeon floor, her eyes completely black and laughing as she gave birth to you. Then finally, one last image… this one was slow and lingered behind your eyes, as you watched the black smoke clear Emmeline’s mouth. Her body crumpled to the floor, but she was still alive and breathing slowly as she looked up to see Crowley holding a tiny bundle in his arms. 

 “Well done,” Crowley cooed to the heap of a woman on the floor as he stared down as his newly born child. “I promise, your efforts will not go unrewarded.”

“You can’t...take.. her,” Emmeline managed to squeak out. She pulled herself up to her feet, wincing in great pain as she found her footing. “She’s MY DAUGHTER!”

“Sorry, love. She;s mine. But, I can promise you, I will make sure she’s put to good use,” Crowley looked at the baby in his arms and smiled wickedly. “Papa has big plans for you, doesn’t he?”

Emmeline watched in horror as he lifted one of his hands from cradling the baby. Crowley ticked his head to the side and snapped his fingers. Emmeline began to choke, as her mouth began to spill blood down her dirtied and bruised form. 

“Don’t…. Do…. this…..”

“Too late. It’s done.” He watched as Emmeline drowned in her own blood and frowned when she ceased making any noise. Her body fell back to the ground, her once beautiful, vibrant eyes now vacant and cold. “Well, that was anticlimactic, wasn’t, Y/N? That’s okay, daddy still picked a good witch to bring you into this world. Me and you, we are going to do great things together.”

As the vision faded and your eyes readjusted to the somber lighting of Pamela’s cottage, you could feel the sting of fresh tears soaking your flesh. Pamela’s body was sitting back fully in her chair, but you could still see Emmeline’s eyes looking back at you. 

“I’m sorry to have to have showed you that, but you needed to know. Your father is a monster. I tried so hard to break free from that demon’s control, but I was helpless.”

The candles began to flicker before you even felt the icy cold breeze blow through the room. Your breath became visible in the air, and it made Emmeline’s spirit panic. 

“No… I need more time!” she yelled, half in her own voice, and half in Pamela’s. Pamela’s body jerked forward, then back against the chair hard knocking the spirit free from her body. The same swirling blue mist filled the room, ricocheting from the ceiling to the floor, to the corners and back again while Pamela’s chin hung to her chest, her palms still laying flat on the table. 

As quickly as she appeared, Emmeline was gone, leaving you feeling a sense of emptiness and dread. To have come so close to your mother, only to have her taken away again added a vat of fuel to the fire that burned inside you. The fire you would use to burn your father, and his Kingdom, to the ground. 

The temperature began to rise and the candles finally steadied from the whirlwind that just blew around them. Pamela was starting to come to, slowly raising her head until her white eyes met yours. 

Still shaken from the entire experience, her blank stare was starting to unnerve you. “Pamela?”

“I’m okay,” she said softly, her signature rasp still enough for you to know it was really her and not spirit. “That was… intense.” She reached across for your hand again, and though you honored her request, part of you was afraid to touch her again. “Your mother, you spoke with her? She showed you what you came here for?”

“Yes, she showed me…”

Pamela squeezed your hand and closed her eyes. “But not everything--”

Before she could continue, she was interrupted by a knock at the door, and the old wooden beast being slowly pushed open, allowing the day’s fading light to fill the room.

“Hate to interrupt the girl talk,” Bobby spoke up cautiously as she stepped over the threshold, “but are you ladies almost done? Day’s wasting here, and if Y/N doesn’t get back to the castle grounds before dark, I’m going to have some explaining to do to the King himself.”

You nodded in solemn agreement. You had come here for answers, though the ones you received weren’t exactly what you had been seeking. Unsure of how to process what you had learned, you turned to Pamela and smiled wanly. 

“Thank you, Pamela,” you started, and felt the rest of the words catch in your throat. “I--” expelling a deep sigh, you rose from the table and tried again. “I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve given me.”

“But you didn’t get everything you came here for,” she replied, then stood up from her own chair. Pamela walked around the table with great ease for a blind woman, finding you immediately and putting both of her hands on your shoulders. 

Pamela pulled you into a warm embrace and gave you a caring squeeze. Before she completely let go, she allowed her lips to linger near your ear for a brief moment and whispered, “The baby you’re carrying is going to be blessed with great power. It will be up to you to keep him balanced and not let the scales tip in Crowley’s favor.”

Jerking away from her, your eyes snapped up to meet hers as a small smile unfurled on her lips. She gently laid one of her long fingers against her lips. “Shhhh… that baby needs to be your secret, or danger will find him long before he’ll need to pledge his allegiance.”

“Ladies? Everything okay?” Bobby asked from where he still stood in the doorway. 

“Everything’s fine Bobby,” Pamela replied, looking over your shoulder to flash Bobby her signature smile and wink. “She’ll be right along.” When her false eyes looked back on you again, her smile faded. “Keep him safe, and this child will one day sit on the King’s throne.”

“Y/N, I hate to bust this party up, but we really have to go.”

Still in a complete state of disbelief, you turned just enough to see the Maester impatiently waiting for you and nodded. “I’ll be right there.”

He threw up his arms and shrugged, before turning and heading back outside. 

“Y/N,” Pamela said, and turned your chin so you were again focused on her. “I know you have more questions, I know you were seeking truths about the potion, and a plan to use it. Whether you chose to follow through or not, it will not change the outcome of what’s meant to be.”

“And what is that? What IS meant to be?” you pleaded. “And how could I already be pregnant? Samuel and I, we just… it was one--”

“What is meant to be is already in motion. It was put that way the moment you and Samuel came together. Twin flames, though born of different fires, can still come together to create a force of nature.” She paused, and gently rested her hand on your belly. “And this boy, he will be a force of nature.”

Series Tags: @theplaid-wearingmoose / @zombiewerewolfqueen / @silkiechicken / @collette04 / @katiecurls75 / @death-unbecomes-you / @colie87 / @roxytheimmortal / @klanceiscannon14 / @voltage-my2dlove / @flamencodiva / @xhannahbananax03 / @babykalika2001 / @traceyaudette /  @winchester-wifey @pilaxia​ 

Sam Winchester: @buckyscrystalqueen​ / @unabashedsoul97​

SPN (all): @wings-of-a-raven / @negans-wife / @kazosa / @deans-baby-momma / @hobby27 / @breereadsthings / @maddiepants / @sorenmarie87 / @screechingartisancashbailiff / @winchesterxfamilybusiness​ / @unlikelygalaxyiver / @linki-locks11 / @stoneyggirl / @clarinette07 / @lefthologramdeer / @destielhoneybee / @faughnphotography / @katehuntington / @81mysteriouslyme / @mrswhozeewhatsis / @deathofmissjackson / @lauravic / @akshi8278 / @rebelminxy / @idreamofplaid / @fictionalabyss / @blackcherrywhiskey / @his-paradox / @closetspngirl / @sorenmarie87 

[matchasprouts]

Listen Closer - Chapter 18

[ finally updating <3 i've been hanging out with a friend all weekend so i haven't really had the chance to write! very excited to move on to the big game though. hopefully it'll all fit into one chapter without killing me dead since it'll be in Garrett's perspective, but we'll see how much i wanna write about it ]

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“He kissed you?” Lawrence asked over dinner that night, after Garrett finished telling him about his day. “Like… on the mouth?”

Garrett let out a sharp laugh that cautious way Lawrence said it, covering his mouth until he’d calmed down. “Yes, Lawrence, on the mouth. It was insane! I’ve never seen him lose his composure like that, I honestly thought we were about to fuck.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you did,” Lawrence replied, referencing Garrett’s propensity for taking just about any chance for public sex that he got.

“I wouldn’t either, but Perez walked in and he acted like she was gonna kill him for it,” Garrett said, rolling his eyes at the memory of the interruption. He would have had a lot of fun that day if it weren’t for her coming in. Though, giving Strahm a little taste of what he craved only for it to be taken suddenly was very satisfying as well.

When they were done, Lawrence helped Garrett clean up. Mark hadn’t come home yet, he had some work to catch up on and decided to stay late. He was probably also preparing for the big game that would be starting soon.

He still wasn’t home by the time the two of them laid down, and Garrett sent him a quick goodnight text before closing his eyes. He heard his phone ping with a response almost immediately, but the lack of sleep last month was still kicking his ass and he passed out before he could reply.

---

“Huh. That’s new,” Garrett commented as he looked down at the corpse in front of him, a man with his head sawn in two. The trap itself seemed to be just the circular saw covered in the blood of the dead man, the chains around his wrists attached to the wall with it.

“My best guess is that he was supposed to get out of the chains before they dragged him to the saw.” He didn’t actually know anything about this trap, as he hadn’t seen it be built or heard anything about it. It honestly looked like something John himself put together, but he knew that was unlikely, unless it had been built when John was in better condition.

He began to glance around the room, looking for a tape or keys. Generally, he wasn’t allowed to touch the tapes, since they were almost always in evidence by the time he was called in. He didn’t find a tape, but he found a key in a small hole in the floor, covered up with a piece of wood that was near indistinguible from the rest of the floor.

“Hey, where’s Strahm?” Garrett asked Perez when she handed him the evidence bag that he dropped the key into, so they could check if it would have actually worked.

Perez gave him one of those looks, making it clear that she knew exactly why he was asking. “In his office, I imagine. He came in but didn’t show up when I called him down to the scene. I can only guess why.”

See, this is why you should knock before coming into Garrett’s office.

“Hm. Good to know,” he replied, grinning at her before getting to work on his sketch. He loved knowing that she could see the tension between him and her partner, because it made it so much more fun.

He handed the sketch off to her when he was done, making a small note about how simple this trap was, and how he thought it was probably Kramer who designed it, making it easier to build since he couldn’t put it together.

He’d know if he was right or not when he asked later.

Soon enough, he was back in his office, humming a soft tune to himself as he worked.

The office was becoming something like a third home to him, seeing as he spent more time in it than his own apartment at this point. Sure he was glad to have a different job and coworkers than when he worked at the bookshop, but he spent a lot of time in here.

It didn’t help that the other parts of Jigsaw suddenly decided to pick up the pace and set an assload of traps, some of which Garrett didn’t even know about until they happened. He was inclined to think that he was the only one working on the big game now, but he knew better than that. After all, John had been very excited (or, as excited as that man could get) to show him the rack last time he was at the meat packing plant. Of course, he’d been ecstatic to see it, the rack was his favourite torture device, and he loved the new twist on it.

Damn. Not even he could escape his shitty puns.

Either way, Garrett got out of the precinct as fast as possible, not because he was tired of being in there, but because Mark had told them that if the both of them went back to the motel today, they could get the trap finished and be done with it, which would lessen the time in between setting it up and the game starting.

As excited Garrett was to see the game unfold, he was also eager for it to be done with. At this point, he was only really tuned in to seeing the rack in action, and seeing if Strahm lived or not.

Though, he’d also get to see just how good of an actor Mark was when he was pressured, and he was very excited for that.

“You ready?” he asked Mark once he had his bag slung over his shoulder, carrying the two final pieces of the machine itself, while Mark had all the extras- the tape, the pictures to be strung up, the pig mask that the player would be given, and the red light bulb they were going to switch out the normal one for. Atmosphere was important, after all.

“Let’s go,” Mark replied simply, apparently deciding that he was going to drive the shitty rental car that Garrett himself could barely fit in. That was going to be amusing, but he said nothing.

He let a snicker escape when Mark realized he was too big for the car, but he stood by his decision and made the very awkward drive to the motel, glaring at Garrett every time he laughed at the sight of him all crumpled up in the driver’s seat.

They took a longer route to the motel this time, just to be safe and ensure that they weren’t being followed. But it didn’t take too long for them to park in front of the gross only building.

Garrett pulled his mask and hood up, glancing at Mark and finding him with a confused expression. “I’m kind of easy to pick out in a crowd,” he pointed out, referencing his bright white hair and face scar. “You should probably cover up too, just to be safe.

Mark paused for a long moment, before sighing and pulling his own hood up. Then they got out of the front and grabbed the bags from the back, heading in as soon as Garrett found the room keys.

Ivan tried to talk to them again when they headed in, trying to get them to explain who they were, only to be shut down with a sharp glare from Mark. Garrett snickered quietly to himself at the look on that freak’s face, before quickly heading upstairs.

They set everything up before putting in the new light bulb, neither of them particularly eager to work in the red light. Mark set up the pictures, tape, and mask while Garrett finished putting together his most annoying, but likely most satisfying, trap.

Garrett was going to be the one watching every camera that they were connected to, acting as the watcher of the game. He originally thought about participating, but John shut that down quickly. There needed to be someone who could take down stragglers and put Strahm in his trap, and Lawrence wouldn’t be able to do that himself.

It was a little disappointing, but at least he’d get to see the Rack and his own trap in action.

They didn’t stay any longer than they had to, heading out as soon as they were done. Ivan didn’t try to talk to them again, but someone else tried to get their attention.

There had been a drug addict that was sitting beside the front door every time Garrett showed up, usually choosing to yell at him whenever he came in. He’d done the same thing today, but took it up a notch and grabbed Garrett.

He almost killed him on the spot, forcing him to freeze as his eyes widened even more than they usually were. The addict seemed to already regret his decision, probably because the lighting made Garrett’s very wide eyes look red, instead of his usual brown.

The jacket was released almost immediately, but that didn’t stop Garrett from cracking his fist down on the man’s jaw, ignoring his cry of pain or the fact that his knuckles now ached.

“Let’s go,” he growled to Mark, grabbing him by the arm and all but dragging him out of the building.

They didn’t talk about it on the ride back, or after it. In fact, they planned to never talk about it again. Luckily, they were distracted when Amanda wheeled John over, placing him right in front of them.

“Is your trap done, Garrett?” John asked him, pulling the oxygen mask down to hang around his neck. When Garrett nodded his confirmation, he continued. “Good. The game can proceed earlier than planned then. Is your final tape finished?” he asked Mark now.

Mark recorded the tapes for Rigg’s part of the game, the part that Mark himself would be participating in. Garrett had gotten to listen to them, and he had to admit that he’d gotten a lot better at the Jigsaw voice.

He nodded, confirming that they were done. “Then we gather the players soon- within a week, at the most. Take a break while you still can. Garrett, you will collect Mr. Denlon and his co-players. Amanda will retrieve Dr. Denlon and Detective Matthews. Mark, you have your files, try not to hurt them too much.”

It’s funny that he thought Mark was going to be the problem- though, to be fair, Mark didn’t exactly see players as people anymore. That’s why Garrett was gathering the players for John’s half of the game, because he didn’t trust Mark to not hurt them.

John waved his hand to dismiss them both, and they took the chance to head home to the apartment before it got too late, not particularly fond of the idea of sleeping in Garrett’s work room.

Besides, Lawrence was at home, and he never liked sleeping alone.

“So, do you think Strahm is going to follow Rigg’s trail like he’s supposed to?” Garrett asked as he drove them home, both of them far more comfortable in his own car, which was actually built for people their size.

“If he wants to find Jigsaw, he’ll have to,” Mark replied, finishing whatever text he was writing on his phone and sending it off. “With how much he thinks it’s me, he’ll think that he’s being led to exactly who he wants.”

“Which is why I’ll be knocking him out. I’m a different build, height, and strength level. The last thing he’ll probably realize before he passes out is that whoever I am, I’m definitely not you,” Garrett added. The plan was thought out to the smallest detail, and that was one of the most important parts. Strahm wouldn’t even have a trap at all if he’d just minded his own business.

Garrett would never admit it, but he definitely wished Strahm had stayed out of it. He wasn’t by any means a good man, or a good agent, but he wasn’t being trapped for rehabilitation; he was being trapped to die.

It made him feel uneasy. Sure, Garrett wasn’t a perfect model of John’s teachings, but he still believed that killing someone for the hell of it was fucked up. He didn’t like it, and he didn’t like that Strahm was given no way to escape.

So, he was going to give him one.

[kprciffdw]

Ratchet and Kim Possible Chronicles: The Solanian Revolution-Part 11

They soon found themselves inside what seemed to be the main base of the Tyhrranoids, which was a massive room. As they were setting foot into it, Ron began to feel scared for some reason. Ron: "Uh…guys? There…there's something here…"

At that time, a massive Tyhrranoid beast fell from the ceiling and growled at them. Ron: "AAAAHHHHH! MASSIVE TYHRRANOID MONSTER THING!"

Kim and Ratchet primed themselves to fight it. They fought it with everything they had while Ron ran around the entire room screaming. Kim and Ratchet were both annoyed, but sought the opportunity to use him as a decoy while they fought off the massive beast. It was a tough and extensively long battle, but they were able to bring it down. But before the group was able to do anything else, Qwark stepped in and then stepped on one of the creature's eyes. Kim: "Qwark!"

Darla Granch came running in, holding a microphone in front of him. Darla: "Captain Qwark. First, you made another miraculous comeback. Now you've defeated the Tyhrranoids in a spectacular battle on their own home planet. How do you explain your recent success?" Qwark: "Courage, compassion, dashing good looks…iron hard abs…"

The group was greatly irritated, even Darla was annoyed. Qwark: "But seriously, though, to be a true hero of heroes, you need more than loads of charisma and brilliant tactical mind…I couldn't have done it without…"

Ratchet and Kim waited in anticipation to hear Qwark mention their part in the fight. Qwark: "These massive guns!"

He kissed both of his biceps and grinned. Ratchet became even more annoyed. Kim: "Unbelievable! We did all the work and he just took the credit?" Ratchet: "The only good thing that I can say about this is at least I have you here to share the aggravation with me." Ron: "AAAAHHHHH! ANOTHER MASSIVE TYHRRANOID MONSTER!" Qwark: "AAAHHH! Every brave, dashing hero for themselves! I'm out of here!"

Qwark ran off screaming. Kim walked up to Darla as she held the microphone in front of her. Kim: "There you have it. Captain Qwark, the greatest hero in the galaxy, in a nutshell. But don't take my word for it. Look at how he ran away screaming after Ron believed he saw another one of these things after supposedly defeat this thing."

He then ran back over and stopped in front of everyone as he looked around. Qwark: "Hey, wait a minute. There is no other Tyhrranoid monster." Ron: "Eh, sorry, must have seen a shadow…or something." Darla: "Well, guess my work here is done. I'll just be taking my leave. Good luck to all of you; you're going to need it."

Darla walked out, she glanced at Qwark in an annoyed manner along the way. Qwark: "You…you did that to humiliate me, didn't you?" Kim: "Oh, don't be like that, Qwark; he was just showing everyone the real you." Ron: "Yeah, don't go hating on me if the people see you like that; it ain't my fault. Booyah!" Rufus: "Booyah!" Qwark: "That does it! Stompable, for that stunt, I'll have you and the rest demoted from cadets to…uh…whatever is…lower than cadets…maybe…toilet scrubbers?" Ratchet: "Well, that's a relief, for a minute, I thought you were going to give out a terrible punishment beyond unimaginable."

Kim laughed along with Ratchet as they both walked out together. Clank walked out with them. Ron stopped in front of Qwark and looked toward him. Ron: "Oh! And by the way, the name's Stoppable, Ron Stoppable! Remember it well."

He ran off after the others. Qwark looked over at him with a dumbfounded look then became tense. The group boarded a drop ship at the nearest exit. They were taken to where their ship landed, got back in and left the planet.

They arrived back at the Phoenix. As soon as they returned, they were greeted by a transmission from Sasha. Sasha: "Hey, guys. I'm glad to see all of you in one piece." Kim: "Hey, Sasha. It is such a relief to be back." Sasha: "You must have quite an interesting story to tell. Why don't you meet me back in your quarters and fill us in." Ratchet: "Oh, we'll be right over." Sasha: "See you soon. Oh and guys? I'm sorry that I didn't go with you to Tyhrranosis. Believe me, I would have loved to fight alongside all of you." Kim: "Don't worry about it, Sasha. I'm sure that you can't leave the Phoenix for whatever reason. I don't hold any resentment towards you at all." Sasha: "Kim…thank you."

They both smiled.

The group headed back to their quarters. There, Ratchet told the story of him and the group's fight against the Tyhrranoid beast. With the group were Sasha and Skidd listening to his story. Sasha giggled with joy during the story, Skidd was enthralled, Kim nodded several times with her arms folded and a serious look on her face.

Just then, the holographic images of Dr. Nefarious and another robot, his butler Lawrence, intervened. Ron: "Whoa!" Ratchet: "What the…?"

Kim stood up with a tense look on her face. Rufus: "Grrr! Nefarious!" Dr. Nefarious: "So, this is the mighty Q-Force that I've heard so much about. PATHETIC! I could obliterate the lot of you and they wouldn't even mention it in Super Villain Weekly!" Kim: "You must be Dr. Nefarious. I would say it was a pleasure to meet you, but then I would be lying." Dr. Nefarious: "Ah, you must be the famed Kim Possible, the girl who claims she can do anything, EXCEPT BE ANNIHILATED!!!!" Kim: "Uh, that's kind of the idea, genius." Dr. Nefarious: "Hmph! You're as smart-mouthed as they say. I'll deal with you and your goofy sidekicks later." Ratchet: "Hey! I'm no one's goofy sidekick, or…even A goofy sidekick, for that matter." Ron: "Me, neither." Dr. Nefarious: "And as for you, Agent Clank, I have far grander plans for you…just wait and see until then!"

There was a brief pause. Dr. Nefarious: "Alright, Lawrence. You can turn it off now." Lawrence: "Oh, what a treat."

The transmission was shut off. Kim pulled out the Kimmunicator. Kim: "Wade, we just received a transmission from Dr. Nefarious. Can you trace the signal back to its source?" Wade: "I'm on it!"

Wade went on his computer for a bit. Wade: "Got it! The signal seemed to have originated from a facility on Planet Daxx. Oh, and you're not going to believe what else I just found. Take a look."

They watched a small preview of a show called Super Villain Weekly involving the facility on Planet Daxx. The show also mentioned that Dr. Nefarious was working on some sort of mysterious super weapon within the facility. Kim: "Hm…do you know anything about this mysterious super weapon?" Wade: "What you've just heard is all that I know. I've asked Al to find out anything else about this. He's looking into it as we speak." Ratchet: "We'll need to go over there and find out for ourselves what this thing could be." Kim: "Agreed, let's go."

The group was about to make their way to their ship. Just as they were heading towards their ship, there were stopped by Helga. Helga: "And just where do you think you're going, kiddies?" Kim: "Uh…excuse me?" Ron: "Oh, no, not that…that…very large and frightening robot lady." Ratchet: "What do you want from us, Helga?" Helga: "If you think that you are heading out without going through my training course, than you are sorely mistaken. You delinquents get yourselves in there right this minute." Ron: "Do we have to?" Ratchet: "Look, we don't have time to play in your training course, Helga." Clank: "Quite right, we have a ship to catch." Helga: "Just hold on for a minute. I was given orders to lend these devices to you guys, but there is no way that I'll just hand them over to you so easily." Ron: "Why not?" Ratchet: "Can't we just grab them and split?" Helga: "Ha! You slackers are always looking for the easy way out, hm?" Kim: "Slackers?! We have been running around this entire galaxy trying to save all of you from some maniacal robot trying to dominate it, not to mention preventing him from harming innocent civilians and yet you would have the gall to call us slackers? You really are a piece of…" Helga: "You think you can talk down at me like that, you little brat? You've got a big mouth on you! Let's see if your actions speak louder than your words. Perhaps you would like to try out my training course. Hm?" Kim: "Oh, I can so take on your stupid training course. I can do anything!" Ratchet: "Yes she can!" Helga: "Well, if you think you are up for the challenge, then go right ahead, little girl." Kim: "Sure thing, you'll be eating your words after I'm finished." Ron: "Yeah! Go, KP!" Ratchet: "You can do it, Kim!"

She made her way into the training course. As soon as she entered, she got right into maneuvering through the entire course. Her extraordinary skills were more than capable of getting her through. Ratchet, Clank and Ron rooted for her throughout the entire course. Ron: "Go, KP!" Ratchet: "You can do it, Kim!" Clank: "Keep at it, Ms. Possible!"

Helga, on the other hand, expressed her unyielding disapproval towards Kim's performance many times.

Soon enough, she managed to finish the course and reunited with the guys. Ron: "Way to go, KP!" Clank: "Well done, Ms. Possible." Ratchet: "Great job! I knew you could do it!" Kim: "Heh, so not the drama." Clank: "I must say, that was impressive as always." Helga: "Hmph! I have to admit, you can do anything, including make a disgrace out of my training course!" Kim: "What!?" Helga: "Is that the best you can do? That was pathetic!" Ratchet: "What are you talking about? I thought she did great!" Helga: "Yeah, to a bunch of weaklings. Her flimsy and sluggish movements are amateurish at best!" Kim: "I did the best that I possibly could in that…You know what? Forget it! Nothing that we're capable of doing will ever please you! Trying to impress you even a little will never be anything more than a waste of our time! So, just hand us those gadgets and we'll be on our way. We've at least earned the right to take them." Helga: "Hmph!"

She tossed the 2 gadgets towards the group. Helga: "Bratty ne'er-do-wells!"

Ratchet caught both gadgets. Ratchet: "Come on, let's get out of here." Kim: "You don't need to tell me twice!"

They rushed back towards their ship, got in and left for Daxx.

[creativitytoexplore]

My Deal With The You Know Who by Lawrence Martin https://ift.tt/2OJnN6Y A successful author longs for some musical talent, and is prepared to sacrifice his very soul; by Lawrence Martin.

I entered Jake's Deli on Cleveland's west side and, as instructed, took a seat in one of the booths. The waitress came over and I told her I was waiting for someone, and we would order together. A minute later he walked in. From a distance, he seemed to be just another guy coming from the parking lot. Though we had never met, he seemed to recognize me right away. He walked straight to the booth, sat opposite me. "Hello," he said, in a deep baritone voice that sounded affected. I was still skeptical at that point. We shook hands. His hand felt cool, almost clammy, and his grip quite strong. "Hi," I said, rather meekly. "Why did you choose Jake's Deli for this meeting?" "They have great pastrami, of course. Good enough reason." I searched for some sign of his identity and think I found it in his face. The angles were sharper, more unnatural-looking, and his eyes were deeper into the sockets than normal, as if he was made up for some horror movie. He wore a felt hat and I am certain there were two protrusions, one on either side of his head, poking up the felt. This was no imposter, or if so, a very good one. Our waitress returned and didn't look twice at the new arrival. "What'll it be?" she asked, after depositing two waters. He ordered pastrami on rye. I ordered lox and a bagel. "Are you paying?" I asked, sort of joking. "Yes. You'll pay later." He was not joking. I cleared my throat. "So," he said, in a somewhat haughty manner, "what exactly do you want?" "To play the piano. Well." "You play now, but not well?" "Hardly. I am a beginner. An adult beginner. Still at level one. In fact, my current instruction book says it's written for seven- and eight-year olds." "Ummm," he said, suggesting some interest. "And how old are you?" "Just turned fifty-five." "And playing for how long?" "Lessons for a year. No prior musical experience." "But you're an accomplished writer," he said. "Thank you. How do you know that?" "Ah, Howard Greenleaf, New York Times best-selling author. Murder mysteries, private-detective thrillers, I believe the genre is. Yes, I read the papers. In fact I read everything that's printed anywhere, every day. I focus on the obituaries, I must admit." "Funny." "Death is not funny, my friend. That's my business." "I am aware," I said. "Just what level of piano playing do you wish to achieve?" "A higher level," I replied. "Much higher. To play classical. Beethoven, Rachmaninoff." "Impressive," he said. "Ludwig, I had nothing to do with, a true non-believer. But of Sergei I am familiar. Almost had him, but in the end he changed his mind. Brilliant composer, pianist. This will take some doing." "And to play like Barenboim." "Ah, a true prodigy. You ask a lot." "I wouldn't ask if you couldn't deliver. Just tell me the terms." "The usual. Your soul, plus." "Plus? Plus what?" "A time limit. I am patient but there are limits." "I won't accept an early death, before I can enjoy the fruits of my new talent. We must agree on that date, and you must honor it." "Of course. I honor all my promises. That's more than you can say for the other fellow." "I don't want you to pull a Robert Johnson on me." "Ah, poor man. He couldn't keep his hands off another's wife. Such talent. Only after he met me at the Crossroads, of course." Quicker than expected, the food arrived. It looked delicious, and I felt hungry. We both began eating. "Best pastrami in your town," he said. "So, how much time would I have to enjoy my new talent?" "This change will be a lot of work," he said. "First you must sustain some brain trauma, which I can arrange. Nothing serious, but it must be a medical event, or you will not be believed. There are many cases of sudden musical genius following head injury, so that will give you some cover. It also makes my job easier. Then, I think a decade would be fair." "Just ten years? I die at sixty-five?" "Mozart died at thirty-five, and I had nothing to do with that." "That was over two hundred years ago," I protest. "Just a minute ago, in my book." "Yes, but he had a head start. Even with his early death, a thirty-year career. How about fifteen years? I could live with that." What an ironic statement, I realized. After a brief pause while eating, he said, "I can do fifteen, with a caveat." "Which is?" "To the extent you are successful in your new career, you are unsuccessful in your current one." "You mean as a writer?" "As a writer." "Okay, I can handle that. Writing's a chore anyway. And my agent is a pain in the ass. The publisher's no bargain either. They want my books, which are all best sellers, and they only give me fifteen percent. I've even thought of self-publishing. Everyone wants to nickel and dime you. Hey, wait a minute? What will I do for income? My wife doesn't work." "People are always worried about the minor details," he said. "You'll still receive book royalties, at least for a while. At some point you may find your thrillers, shall we say, out of style. But you can make it with your music, that's how good you will become. Though I have a disclaimer, which I give to all talent seekers." "Talent seekers. You make it sound like a category." "It is. One of my largest. Second only to those seeking sudden wealth." "All right, I'm listening." "I will give you the talent. I will not control what you do with it. How you handle the notoriety, how it affects your personal life, will be up to you. Handle things poorly and you may come begging for less time than the allotted fifteen years. I've seen that happen before." "Fair enough. I understand. Say, what exactly does it mean to give up one's soul?" He looked hard at me, took one last bite of his pastrami and said, "Trade secret." Then he let out an eerie-sounding laugh that sent a chill down my spine. I looked around and no one seemed to notice. Perhaps only I heard it. "Do we have a deal?" he asked. I was desperate. Tired of playing Mary Had a Little Lamb, London Bridge and Alouette like a kid still wetting his pants. Tired of struggling through the F and G scales with both hands, while trying to memorize their numerous chords and inversions. At my rate of progress, I would be able to play Beethoven's Für Elise in another fifty years. "Yes!" "Then we shake hands," he said, "and there is no turning back." We shook hands. He took out a $50 bill from some pocket, placed it beside his empty dish and walked out of the deli.

"Call 911!" I heard someone yell, just outside Jake's Deli. "I think he's alive." Of course I was alive. A Toyota Prius had just come over the curb, aiming right at me. Were it not for the light post between us, I would not be what the bystander said. The car wrapped around the post, hit me broadside. I fell to the pavement and conked my head. I saw stars and darkness but could hear. Minutes later I lay in Memorial Hospital's Emergency Department. Then came the CT scan, the elevator ride to the neuro ICU, the endless stream of doctors, and explanations. "A severe concussion, small subdural hematoma, he'll recover. He's lucky. No loss of motor function." That's good, I thought. Wow! So quick. Didn't expect it. I began thinking of the keyboard. Do I know anything? The C-major scale, what is it? C-D-E-F-G-A-B-C. Good. I still know something. Probably no more than before. They released me from the hospital three days later. Cynthia, my wife, drove me home. Our one son had visited me in the hospital and, assured of my full recovery, was back in college, a thousand miles away. "Do you want to lie down?" she asked, as soon as we entered the house. "No, I want to play the piano." "Really? When is your next lesson?" "I have to call to reschedule." "Well, I hope you haven't forgot everything," she said. Cynthia went to the kitchen to prepare dinner. I sat at my Yamaha 650DX electronic keyboard and pressed the 'on' button. Played the C scale, then the F scale and G scales. Nothing different! No more fluidity than before. Same hesitancy. I wanted to cry. I opened up the piano book, Level 1, to London Bridge. Right hand treble clef, left hand base clef. I could read the simple notes, as before.

London Bridge is Falling Down

I began playing, and humming. 'London Bridge is falling down, falling down'. "Sounds good, honey," Cynthia called out from the kitchen. I decided to go faster. And faster. She came in to the living room. "When did you start playing so fast?" she said. "I don't think you missed a note." "Really? I don't know. Just tried it faster." Could it be? I went to another piano book, with more complicated songs. Must be careful, I thought. Didn't want to alarm her. I put on earphones, so only I could hear the notes, and opened to Scarborough Fair. Always had trouble with that one. I zipped through it effortlessly. Not possible! Can't be. I did it again. I ran to my computer, printed out Für Elise, Beethoven's simplest melody, a piece any conservatory student could do half-awake but was forever beyond my reach. So many sixteenth notes! Impossible.

Für Elise - Beethoven

Zip! No problem. Before the accident I could read and tap out the notes but never play them with any hint of musicality. Cynthia put a hand on my shoulder. "What are you doing with the earphones?" "I don't want to bother you," I replied and continued playing the tune. "You're not bothering me. I'm glad you can still play. Who knows what that injury could have done to you?"

With some trepidation I went for my next lesson, in the home of Mrs. Esther Marples. She is a nice middle-aged woman, always patient with my piano klutziness. I didn't know how she would adjust to what I could now do. Did she even teach at the higher levels? Most of her pupils were kids. "I heard about your accident," she said. "I'm happy you seem fully recovered. Have you had a chance to practice?" "Yes, and I've tried something a little harder." "Oh? Let me hear it." She expected to hear something from the Level 1 book, but instead I removed from my folder the Beethoven sheet music, and placed it on the piano. "Für Elise? Really? My, you are ambitious." I begin playing. Flawlessly. She let me finish, then said, "That was nice." "Thank you." Her smile then turned to a frown. "But that is not you. I've worked with you for some time, I know what you can and cannot do. Have you been hiding this from me?" "No, honestly, after the accident..." "Accidents don't make people better players," she said. "I don't understand. Why have you come here week after week, struggling with the notes, if you can really play like that? Here, play Alouette for me. That is so ingrained in my mind, I know how you handle it." I could not fake my old way. I played like a virtuoso. She closed the piano book and stood up. "Howard, I cannot instruct you. Something strange is going on, some type of change that is beyond me. I have no experience with pupils like you. I suggest, no really, I insist you find another instructor." We were cordial. I thanked her and insisted she take the check I had in my pocket. I did not ask for the name of another instructor. If I was to find another, I would prefer they not know each other.

I needed validation and did find an instructor in a distant suburb, a highly recommended professional pianist. I used an alias: Howard McGuffin. I felt thankful my fame as a writer was by name only, unlike, say, a movie star whose face anyone might recognize. I explained my playing history as starting in childhood, and that I worked as an accountant. Under this guise I progressed rapidly, and was playing Mozart and Beethoven sonatas in less than a year. My instructor said I should qualify for Juilliard except for my age, and asked if I'd ever performed in public. I said no, I didn't want to. He said I had to give a recital, and that until one performs in public, one never knows if they have the stuff to be a good pianist. He would program me into his next one, a semiannual event for his most advanced pupils. The recital - a local for-charity concert - took place in the community's high school. I was the oldest performer, but there were several young adults and the rest teenagers. All quite talented, I must say. The event sold out. I played a Mozart sonata: sixteenth and thirty-second notes! Here's a few of the opening measures.

Mozart: Sonata No 3

Someone recognized me, and afterwards a suburban newspaper reporter sought me out. I could not lie. Yes, I play under the name McGuffin. Yes, I wrote under Howard Greenleaf. Yes, that Howard Greenleaf. The next day, in the suburban newspaper, the headline read: Once-famous author debuts at recital under alias. Then the sub-headline: Developed sudden talent after hit by car. The "once-famous" hurt. I had done no writing since the accident, held no book signings and given no interviews. I was beneath the literary radar. Worse, my last manuscript, submitted just before the accident, had been rejected by the publisher because "it's too much a copycat to your previous book." The editor had suggested a rewrite, which of course I could not do: too busy practicing. Actually, that's only partly true. I did try to rewrite one chapter and but had no interest in finishing it. No, that's not true either. I didn't know how to do it. I had lost my writing skill and my desire. As predicted. It was now music or... senility. Book sales fell off and my income plummeted. Fortunately, the recital proved a success and I was approached to do piano gigs. The first and best offer came from an unexpected source: Majestic Cruise Lines. They were looking for a no-name but accomplished pianist to play in one of their ship's lounges, short classical pieces preferred. Their clientele were the ultra-rich and ultra-sophisticated. Free room and board for two weeks, for Cynthia and me, and a stipend of one grand to boot. I jumped at the chance. The route included several ports of Asia. The cruise was exhilarating. I only had to play two hours a day, so we were able to enjoy most of the sights and shipboard activities like everyone else. Mid-cruise, while alone on the deck looking out over the Pacific, I heard that same deep baritone voice from Jake's Deli. "Enjoying yourself?" I turned and faced him. "What the hell are you doing here?" "Ah, Howard, watch your language, please." "I have many more years to go." "Of course, of course. Just checking up. It's our first anniversary. Just making sure everything is working as promised. I have delivered, have I not?" "Yes, now let me be, please. I want to enjoy this trip." "As you wish," he said, and then disappeared. Not literally - he just walked through the revolving glass door leading to the starboard cabins. Strange, though, I never saw him on the ship again. As luck would have it, one of the ship's passengers was a professor from Oberlin Conservatory of Music, only forty-five miles from our home. This professor taught music theory and played piano himself, but did not perform professionally. He came up to me one evening, praised my playing and offered some unexpected insight. "You are very good," he said, "but if I had to guess, I would say you came to the piano late in life, probably in your twenties." "Oh? Why is that?" "I can tell. There is a difference between prodigies who start as kids, and those rare adults who learn to play well after full maturity. Tell me if I am wrong." I wanted to tell him 'age fifty-five', but knew he wouldn't believe me. "You are correct," I said. "Started in my late twenties." "Ah, so. Once you start late, it is very difficult to acquire the skills of someone who started at five or six or seven. I believe Barenboim was six. Mozart only four." I knew he spoke the truth. And despite my new-found ability, its limitations pained me. He must have seen the pain in my face. "I can help you," he offered. "I think you should come to Oberlin, let me work with you to see if there isn't some room for improvement. Just a suggestion, nothing guaranteed. If you commit, there will be no fee. You will be part of my research." I agreed instantly. Was it just a coincidence that this professor taught near the very city in which we lived? Later, in our cabin, Cynthia had some doubts. "Are you going to commute? It's over an hour from our home, more if there's a lot of traffic. And what about your gigs?" she asked, concerned about our plummeting income. "I can still do gigs but not as many. Maybe I can stay in Oberlin during part of the week, come home on weekends." We agreed I should give it a try. I stayed in Oberlin Monday through Thursday, and came home for long weekends. The professor secured a dorm room for me, as a hotel was too expensive. One night, alone in bed and lonely, I called home but Cynthia did not answer. I called her cell and got a voice message. Where could she be at 10pm on a Tuesday night? Obviously a concert or something, but I got worried. No, really, I got suspicious, so I drove home right then, arriving around 11:30. She was not home. She returned to the house at midnight and was shocked to find me waiting. At first, she feigned disbelief that I would question her, but then she cried. Yes, she was with another man, she admitted. "I'm lonely," she said. "It's got to either be me or the piano." Then I remembered the conversation in Jake's Deli. How you handle the notoriety, how it affects your personal life, will be up to you. I had no notoriety, but my personal life was suffering by devotion to the art. I did not want to risk losing Cynthia. That had not been part of the bargain and did not have to happen. And I had no intention of giving up the piano. I professed my love for her, vowed not to let her transgression interfere with our relationship (though I did think of killing the guy), and in the end convinced her we should sell the house and move to Oberlin. With the money from the sale we could easily live in an apartment, and she could enroll in college courses she'd always thought of taking, mainly art history. And so we sold the house and relocated. The professor turned out to be something of a taskmaster, determined to prove that late starters could learn to play as if they had begun in childhood. I was the oldest adult player in his research project. Somehow I managed to avoid discussing my "early years" of playing since, of course, they didn't exist. Later, he did hear that I became a pianist only after a car accident, at age fifty-five, but I don't think he ever believed it. In any case, it never became an issue. The important thing is that, under his tutelage I played better and better, until one day he asked me to perform with the Oberlin Symphony. The fiend had delivered on his promise. I knew the day of reckoning would come, and I'd have to deliver on mine, but tried not to think about it. Time passed and I became somewhat famous on the second-tier concert market. After Oberlin I played with the Toledo Symphony, then had gigs with orchestras in Columbus, Louisville, Indianapolis and Little Rock. I played mostly the easier piano concertos. Before my accident, these concertos would have been unthinkable. Now I must fast forward. Life was good until it wasn't. I was diagnosed with prostate cancer and underwent surgery that curtailed my performing career for several months. The doctors were optimistic but I was less so. How could I live fifteen years if my life was cut short by cancer? After all, we had a bargain. He showed up in the hospital the day after my operation. "Just want you to know, I had nothing to do with this," he said. "What?" I was incredulous he would make an appearance at this time and disclaim responsibility. "I get you at fifteen," he said. "Sooner if the other fellow chooses to interfere. So don't blame me." As if he had a conscience. "I don't blame you," I said. "Just make sure my talent isn't affected. It damn well better not be." He smiled and then, as he is wont to do, exited quickly, without another word. I did recover, and my talent wasn't affected. Still, I was living from day to day, always practicing but never making enough to get by comfortably. Meanwhile, I concentrated on Beethoven's Piano Concerto No. 5, the magnificent Emperor - my ultimate goal. Anyone who can play the Fifth has arrived. The years went by, and I won't bore you with the life of a second-tier concert pianist. But Cynthia stayed with me. And never once did I think of ending my bargain earlier than the allotted fifteen years. Nor did I ever wish for the old days of writing bestsellers. I let music be my passion. Then one day I was invited to play with the famed Cleveland Orchestra, in a children's concert at Severance Hall. Their pianist had taken ill, and I was the closest good one around. It also helped that I was available on short notice - one day. The program included brief selections from Mozart and Tchaikovsky. My playing must have impressed, because the conductor asked what I could play at full length with the orchestra. Without thinking, I said "Beethoven's Fifth." "Let's see," he said, and arranged a rehearsal. I passed, and he programmed the piece. But not in Cleveland. In Carnegie Hall, New York City. The Cleveland Orchestra performs there every two years or so, and they were delighted to feature Ohio's "newest musical prodigy," as one trade publication later put it. Cynthia and I traveled to New York two days before the concert. There would be only one rehearsal. I was so involved with preparation that only when we arrived in New York did I realize the concert night was the fifteenth anniversary of my handshake. So the big night came. I scanned the audience and didn't see him. You may not believe me, but I did not feel nervous. I played my heart out and the audience loved it. From the opening multi-octave notes Beethoven wrote in 1811, I was transfixed, transformed, in another world. It was as if I had transcended the stage, the hall, the city, and was no longer of mortal flesh but with Beethoven. Yes, with Beethoven. Forty-one minutes later we were done. A moment of silence, then the audience stood, clapped and cheered. They were, it seemed, rooting for me. Not just for my musical ability but for me. The performance over, the orchestra members began drifting away. Just then a tall man in tuxedo entered from the left wing. He stood out because he wore a bowler hat. Of course I knew it was him but, still elated by the performance, played dumb. "What do you want?" "It is time." "I suppose so," I said, ready to meet my fate. I just didn't think the end would arrive at the very pinnacle of my career, on the threshold of becoming, if not famous, at least financially secure. "However," he said, "I must admit, I was so impressed with your performance tonight, I am truly reluctant to call in the chit at this time." "What?" "If you continue to give performances like that, I am willing to extend the term, with no further conditions." What could I say? He was giving me more time. And no conditions! "I don't have to do anything else?" "It would be a pity to snuff out this talent, and where you would be going, sadly, there are no pianos. Continue to play well, my friend." And with that he left, as abruptly as he had appeared. I felt excited and elated. Now I could continue playing, what I loved and wanted most. By this time I was alone on the stage, with the vast auditorium nearly empty. I walked to the front of the stage, to take one last look at the vast space. Carnegie Hall! Magnificent. Suddenly, all the stage lights came on at once, blinding me. I lost my footing and fell forward, head first. On the way down I heard an eerie, high-pitched laugh - vindictive and horrifying in its meaning. His laugh. I started screaming. "No! No! No! No!" Then everything went blank. I woke up in the ambulance with a severe headache. Oh, not again, I thought. Yes again, only this time to New York's Central Park West Hospital. Same routine as fifteen years ago: exam in the Emergency Department, followed by head CT scan and hospital admission. "You've suffered a concussion, and because you blacked out we need to keep you overnight for observation," said the ED physician. When I reached my private hospital room, there were already messages from the Orchestra's conductor and concertmaster, wishing me well, and stating my performance had been great. The conductor said to call him when fully recovered. Very encouraging. Cynthia did not want to go back to the hotel alone but, being assured by the doctors that I would survive, left the hospital around one in the morning. She was told she could pick me up around noon. So I am now sitting in bed, updating this whole saga on my portable PC. For the record, I am a fast typist. Of course you want to know if I can still play the piano. You're perhaps thinking that with the new head banging I might have lost the ability. Well, I wonder also. I can envision the notes for Beethoven's Fifth in my head, but can I play it? I needed to find out, and just after Cynthia left went searching for a piano. All sizable hospitals offer music therapy and keep a keyboard that can be wheeled to patients' rooms. So I got out of bed and walked to the nurse's station, demanding access "to the hospital's keyboard." I might as well have demanded a double dip butter pecan ice cream cone. The night nurse told me, "It's the middle of the night. Everything is locked up. I'll leave a message for the day shift to see what we can do then. Now get back to bed." Okay, she did say "please". Rebuffed, I have just returned to my room. I want to sleep but can't, still excited by the night's events. What you are reading now I typed at two in the morning in bed, on my laptop computer. What's this? Someone has just wheeled in a portable keyboard! My request was honored. Wait. That someone is a tall male nurse. It's him! Dressed in nurse's garb. I must record everything, not get excited. Will type and save as long as possible. I am typing, he is speaking. He says I asked for the keyboard, here it is, he will be happy to listen. And he has my medicine, he says. "What if I can't play?" I remind him I've suffered a concussion. I want to ask if he pushed me off the stage, but sense the question would serve no purpose. Now I remember his words back at the Hall: If you continue to give performances like that, I am willing to extend the term. "We have a bargain," he says "How did you get in? You're not really a nurse, are you?" "We made a deal," is his reply. "Do you not want to play? Just a few opening measures of Beethoven. That will be fine. Then your medicine." I can say no. I want to say no. I want to go to sleep. But there is the keyboard. There is my salvation. Could the concussion take away fifteen years of musicality? I am curious. I am scared. I am getting out of bed. For the record he is dressed in a nurse's uniform and I see the Central Park West Hospital logo. So a male nurse from this hospital. He won't give his name. He just says to play. I am scared. But I want to see if I can still play. If you don't hear from me again, goodbye.

EXHIBIT 15 Above certified and submitted in toto and without alteration, Case #27633, New York City, NY January 8, 2--- Cynthia Greenleaf, Executrix of the Estate of Howard Greenleaf vs. Central Park West Hospital, in the wrongful death suit of Howard Greenleaf...

[nyrandrea]

Rest

Hello again! So I've decided to turn 'Friend' into a three part short story. The 2D Bendy AU belongs to @shinyzango so please check out her blog and wonderful artwork! 

Enjoy!

Peace and quiet was all he needed right now.

Five minutes to just block out everything, the stress, the strain this whole ordeal was putting him through and of course, the danger that lurked around every corner. He took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and let it out, although it would be short, he was going to enjoy it.

The older man looked down at the small piece of paper next to him, and the cartoon that resided in it. The little demon, Bendy, was also taking a moment to rest, laying down on the thin black line that Henry had quickly drawn out for him with his hands behind his head, one leg over the other and his eyes closed, he also seemed to be making a strange whistling sound.

Henry chuckled as he realised that the demon was actually snoring, he must have been fast asleep. The man was almost jealous, it had been a while since he had gotten any proper sleep.

Not wanting to wake Bendy up just yet, he simply leaned back and tried to put some of his thoughts together. Wincing slightly, he put a hand to the back of his head and felt a small bump, quickly retracting it back when he touched the tender wound.

What...what had happened again?

His thoughts were still pretty fuzzy, but he could barely put the pieces together. He and Bendy had a bit of a falling out (mostly due to himself by being a bit of an asshole), and then he was attacked, he fell to the ground and all he saw was black. He couldn't remember much after that but he knew that he wouldn't have stood a chance if Bendy hadn't stepped in and fended whatever had attacked them off.

'What the Hell is going on with this place anyway?' Henry thought as he glanced around the room. The wooden walls were rotting and had ink splattered all over them. The once vibrant and lively animation studio was now a Hellhole with monsters and who knows what else. In a way, it really saddened him, he loved working here. He was fond of the show, the characters, his fellow employees and his boss, Joey Drew.

Which made him wonder: Where was Joey? And for that matter, the rest of the staff?

He had bumped into Sammy Lawrence, who was the director of the Music Department once upon a time, and although his meeting with Sammy had turned pretty ugly, at least it answered his question if anybody else was still here besides Joey (if he even was still here, he really didn’t know at this point). But that was it. He had seen nobody else. 

Unless...those ink monsters were...?

He couldn't bear the thought of it...but Sammy was completely covered in ink, in fact, he even seemed to ooze it. It was hard to imagine how all this was even possible, but it all seemed to focus around one thing: that damned ink machine. 

Joey had mentioned something about the blueprints to him, back when he was still working in the studio thirty years ago, rambling on about how it would save the animation studio when it was starting to go under due to budget problems, but the mere idea of it sounded ridiculous and, quite frankly, impossible.

'Boy, was I wrong.’ He bitterly thought to himself.

Of course, he had the bright idea of coming back to the place after getting nothing but a vague letter and decided to switch the contraption on, instead of getting the Hell out of there. It was his fault that the other, more aggressive version of Bendy was out there, roaming the halls right now. But...

He glanced back down at Bendy, who was starting to stir.

“Hey bud...” Henry started. “How are you feeling?”

“I should be askin’ you that, you’re the one that took quite the beatin’ from those guys.” The cartoon said as he got up, stretched his arms and yawned, all without even opening his still grinning mouth. 

'I really should ask how he even manages to do that, one of these days...' The grizzled man jokingly thought.

“Getting there... I'll just take a few more minutes and then we'll be on the move again.” This earned a rather concerned look from Bendy.

“Ya sure, Henry? I could get out and carry ya, I mean, since your still recovering and all...”

Henry quickly shook his head. “No, you were out of the paper for too long, we still don't really know what your limit is.” Bendy scoffed at this.

“Hey! I'm...eh...” The demon paused for a moment. “...I’m limitless! I can handle it!” He boasted while putting his hands on his hips in a proud manner.

Henry smiled slightly. “As much as I appreciate the offer, Bendy. We just can't risk it. Besides, I still have my pride...”

The cartoon smirked back. “Well looks like we’re not so different then, huh?”

Henry raised an eyebrow at this, while Bendy shrugged.

“You may act all tough but even you've got yer..."

Henry narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you dare...”

Bendy's grin grew impossibly huge.

“...Limit”

“...”

Henry just gave the small demon an unamused look while he sniggered.

“Aw come on Henry! I still gotta make jokes, don't I? It was the way I was...created...heh...” His huge smile diminished quickly as he looked down. “Yeah... guess it wasn't that great, huh? Gotten kinda rusty over the years.”

The older man tried to recover Bendy's lighter mood. “No, no! It was clever, I really walked right into that one.” He said in a joking manner, chuckling slightly.

Bendy's grin picked up, but only slightly.

“But since we're on the subject...I have a few questions. If you don't mind.” Henry said tentatively.

He didn't want to make Bendy uncomfortable, but his need for answers was getting too much for him. He had to know what this was all about; the ink machine, where Joey was and how the Hell he even managed to make the cartoon characters into living, breathing...creatures? Could he even call them that? There was also the fact that he had seen two versions of Bendy, were there more?

As much as he liked the Bendy that was helping him, he couldn't deal with having more versions of that monster that was probably still after his ass.

Bendy nodded. “Shoot.”

“What...” Henry sighed, he didn't really know how to go about this in a sensitive way, he would just need to be blunt.

“What happened? To this place? To you? I mean...how are you...alive?”

Bendy blinked for a moment as he seemed to ponder the question.

“The Ink Machine happened. That's what brought me...er...us...to life.” 

“Us?” Henry questioned. Bendy shuffled slightly.

“Well, yeah. Me and the... other 'me', I guess. Not to mention those other guys we saw earlier.”

That's right, the ink monsters, whatever they were or...whoever.

“Do you know what they are? Are they...employees?”

Bendy scratched his head. “Now that I don't know. They just sorta popped up when the machine kicked in, kinda like that musician guy.”

“Alright...” He wasn't completely satisfied with the answers he was getting, but in a way he was sort of grateful that Bendy seemed to be nearly as confused as he was. But there was one thing the cartoon was bound to know.

“Joey did this, right? He built the machine and brought you to life?”

Bendy's expression grew dark.

“I don't wanna talk about him.” 

Henry grew slightly nervous, he wasn't used to seeing the usually cheerful demon so...serious, but he had to press on.

“Well, do you know where he is? If we can find him then maybe we can sort this whole mess out.” The man tried to coax him, but to no avail.

“I don't know where he is and I don't want to know.” Bendy gave him a sympathetic smile. “Look, I know your tryin' to help but we sure as heck don't need him, trust me.”

“Alright, fair enough.” Henry replied. He needed to drop it there, he knew his questions were starting to upset Bendy, his urge for answers would just need to wait. They needed to get going anyway.

“I think we've taken a big enough break, we should get moving.” He said as he picked up the piece of paper and slowly got up, his body ached in protest but he pushed past the pain, they couldn't afford to waste any more time.

Besides, he really needed to find that axe.

He couldn't remember where it had gotten to during the scuffle with the ink creatures, but he was completely defenceless without it and he couldn't keep relying on Bendy for help. It couldn't have gone far, right?

“Hey, you didn't happen to see where my axe went during that last fight, did you?” He asked, glancing down at the paper, Bendy shrugged his shoulders.

“Sorry Henry but I was pretty uh... preoccupied. But let's try...this way?” The little demon pointed over to a random hallway with flickering lights, sounding unsure.

Well, at least it was a start.

As they searched around, the pipes above them groaned slightly, as if something was wearing them down. This caught Henry's attention as he suddenly looked up.

“...Did you hear that?” 

Bendy tilted his head. “Hear what?” 

He squinted his eyes slightly, listening for any other sounds. “...Nothing. It's alright.” Maybe his army days were starting to catch up with him again...

They continued to search but nothing came up, Henry even resorted to getting on his hands and knees to feel around for it in the darker areas of the corridor, the dim lights were barely helping and he was starting to get nervous. That weapon was his only line of defence and without it, he wasn't going to last long.

“We’ve been searchin' for this thing for a while, Henry. There's probably more deeper in the workshop, we oughta get movin'.” Bendy urged. 

“But what if something decides to attack us again? I can't risk not being able to find another one, if there's any more at all for that matter.” He replied, still feeling around the wooden floor. It was weird that he even found an axe in the first place. That kind of weapon wasn't necessary for the studio...well, until now, of course. 

God, why did it have to be so damn dark?

“But stayin' here's only gonna put us in more danger. Besides, if worst comes to worst, I'll protect ya. I won't let those things get ya again.” Bendy said as he gave Henry a determined look. 

“But we already talked about this...y'know...the whole limit thing...”

He stopped as he felt something wet drip down his head and onto his face, reaching up to touch it, he suddenly got a chill down his spine as he looked at his fingertips, which were now smeared with black.

“Oh cripes...” 

He looked down at Bendy, who was now looking up at something with an extremely nervous expression on his face.

The groaning noise he had heard from the pipes before was now deafening.

Henry looked up to see the pipes above practically overflowing with ink now. Screws were popping loose as the black gloopy substance drooped, sprayed and fell onto the floor at an alarming speed. Henry quickly took a few steps back as the ink formed a large puddle.

'Shit...' Henry thought as he wiped off any excess ink that had managed to drip onto him, his eyes searched around frantically for anything that he could use as a weapon, there was a small table to the right of him, he doubted it would do much damage but Hell, at least it was something.

“Henry...look!” Bendy interrupted his thoughts he pointed up at the pipes, which had now stopped leaking.

“It's stopped...” The older man murmured as he looked up. Glancing back down to the puddle, he noticed that it wasn't moving. No monsters. Nothing. It just...laid there, seeping into the wood.

Henry sighed in relief. It must have just been a leak of some sort.

“Heh...guess we finally got a lucky break, huh?” He grinned slightly at the paper, but this soon turned into a confused look when he didn't get a response.

“Bendy?” 

The small demon was frowning down at the black puddle.

“...Bendy? You alright?” Henry waved his hand in front of the page, snapping the cartoon out of his trance, suddenly having a panicked look on his face.

“Henry, you gotta get movin'. It's him!” 

“Wait. Wha-?”

The puddle starting bubbling, startling them both. The ink was gaining height, and a pair of deformed, droopy horns took shape, as well as an enormously large grin.

Henry's eyes widened in fear. Not now...he couldn't deal with this now.

“Move it Henry! Run!” Bendy exclaimed as he waved his arms around frantically to get Henry's attention.

It worked, as the man shook his head and quickly turned to run down the dark hallway, an ear piercing screech sounding off not that far behind him.

He really did need to find that axe.

XXXX

So I know this chapter was a little slower than the last but you know what they say, "Calm before the storm". c: c: c: 

I'm so sorry in advance. xD

Prepare yourselves.