#costuming rentals gone wrong

[lacewise]

Coming back from Tumblr-break to tell everyone that the movie commissioned a silk handwoven robe à la française was “Dangerous Liaisons” (1988), naturally, and the movie that begged them to rent it and then shredded it was “Last of the Mohicans” (1992)

However, information about this incident has fallen off the internet—even though the damage is visible in the movie—you can see it

[noladyme]

La Cuervo - Chapter 20

She is used to the biker-life, having grown into a woman in the familiar embrace of SAMCRO. A bad decision and a gun-shot later, she gets whisked off to Santo Padre, and put under the protection of another club. What is supposed to be a short stint in the Mayan headquarters just north of the border to Mexico, turns into something more; when la quervo begins to develop feelings for el angel - and he seems to return them in kind...

TW: violence, blood, drug use, alcohol, smut, fluff, angst

In the spirit of "The Crown Princess of Charming", this is a story about O.C. Nina and Angel Reyes. It is obviously non-canon, as characters who have passed on, on Mayans M.C., are present in it, and others have been excluded completely. Nina is written as a cis-female, but I have tried to keep her race and looks as ambigous as possible. Should you find any of this story offensive, please let me know.

20.

The next morning, Nina was looking out the window, at a green truck that had just pulled up by the curb. “I think it’s him!”. “You’re really excited, huh, ma'…?”, Angel chuckled at her. Nina turned to look at him, and nodded enthusiastically. “Do you think he’d like some coffee? We should make him some coffee…”, she said. “Ooh! Maybe some cheese! Go to the store an get some. Hurry!”. Angel came up behind Nina, and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her away from the window. “He’s not royalty”, he said. “To me, he’s pretty fucking close right now!”, Nina retorted. “I can’t wait until every one of those little assholes are dead and gone!”. Angel laughingly pressed a kiss to her temple, and went to open up for the exterminator. Nina felt a sudden urge to straighten her hair, and brush invisible lint of her clothes, before he came through the door.

As Angel showed the exterminator around the house, Nina followed close behind; adding to the conversation whenever it made sense – and sometimes even when it didn’t. She realized she was beginning to go stir-crazy from only spending time at either the clubhouse or Angel’s house; and she hadn’t talked to a person that didn’t have anything to do with the Mayans in days. Before that, she’d been kept under strict surveillance by SAMCRO, who were worried she’d hurt herself; and even before that, it had been the first lockdown at the scrapyard.

Crouched on the kitchen floor, and looking under the sink, the exterminator looked up at them, and sighed. “Yup. Roaches”, he said. “Is this a rental or do you own the house?”. “I’m the owner”, Angel muttered. Nina realized she hadn’t known either until now. The thought of having a stable home for a potential future family made her heart skip a beat – in spite of the roaches. “Too bad… You could charge the owner otherwise”, the exterminator. “That reminds me of a joke! A man walks in to an insect shop, and asks for a box full of roaches. The man behind the counter asks the costumer what he needs it for. Well, I’m moving, and the owner of my apartment told me to leave the place as I’d found it!”. He laughed loudly at his own joke, and Nina bit her lip to keep from grinning; while Angel simply raised a brow. The exterminator looked at Nina. “You liked that, huh…? Listen to this one: My girlfriend stepped on a butterfly the other day, so I told her; No butter for a week! Then she saw a cockroach, and stomped on that as well. I told her; Nice try!”. He roared with laughter, and Nina snorted out a snigger.

Angel went to stand half way in front of Nina, and looked at the exterminator. “What’s this gonna cost me?”, he grunted. “No price on peace of mind, right?”, the exterminator said, before catching on to Angel’s glum expression. “250 $... If you take care of the clean-up yourself, I’ll cut it down to an even deuce”. Nina winced at the thought of having to clean up an unspecified amount of dead bugs, and Angel sighed. “Just take care of it”, he muttered. “Will do. But I’ll need you to clear out of here for the rest of the day. And open the windows when you get home”. Angel grunted in confirmation, and took Nina’s hand; pulling her with him. She hardly had a chance to grab her borrowed helmet, before he dragged her out of the front door.

Once out by the bike, Nina stopped dead in her tracks. The weather was beautiful, and perfect for a day at the park, or a ride anywhere other than what at the moment felt like the suffocating closedness of the clubhouse. She looked deep into Angel’s darker than usual eyes. “Take me out for breakfast…”, she said. “Querida, you know how it is. We shouldn’t even be out in the open like this", Angel said.

“But I’m going crazy!”, Nina pleaded. “I only ever see you, or the people in the clubhouse… I feel like I’m under house arrest, even though you keep telling me I did nothing wrong". Angel got on his bike, and shook his head. “We’ll go out when all this is over", he said. “And when is that? You haven’t found the snitch yet; and even if you do, it’s just a matter of time before Palo realizes I’m still alive". Nina realized her voice was turning whiny. “I wanna go somewhere… see other people…”. “Like last time?”, Angel snapped back, taking her by surprise. “When you fucking left me, with nothing but a bullshit excuse?”.

Nina felt like she’d been slapped in the face. “Angel… You think I want to leave?”. “You did once already”, Angel said. “And just now, you were flirting with the guy who came to nuke the cockroaches, that’s made you hate my house”. “I don’t hate your house…”, Nina said, and scowled at him. “And I wasn’tflirting!”. “We’re not doing this now. Get on", Angel grunted, and started the engine. “Angel…!”. “Get on the fucking bike, Nina!”. “No! Fuck you!”, Nina growled, and began walking down the sidewalk, in the direction she thought might lead to a bus-stop.

She was so angry, she hardly heard Angel drive after her; and only just noticed him, once he was coasting slowly next to her. “Are you gonna walk to the yard?”, he said. “No. I’m gonna take a bus”, she retorted. “With what money?”. Nina halted. “I’ll flirt with the driver. Apparently, I flirt with strangers!”, she hissed. “I’m sorry…?”, Angel said. “Is that a question?”. She looked at him with rageful eyes, and he stopped the bike; getting off to walk up to her. “You have girls all over you, all the time, and I never complain. I’m friendly with one person, and you flip out!”. “You laughed at his sex-joke!”, Angel exclaimed. “Creeper was making dirty jokes all night, last night. I laughed at them”, Nina sneered. “You didn’t even blink!”. “Creep is a brother”. “So, I’m allowed to talk to patches; but with everyone else, I’m supposed to pretend they don’t exist?”, Nina asked. “With the club, it’s different. I trust them not to…”.

Nina scoffed at him, and rolled her eyes; before continuing to stomp down the street. Angel ran up behind her, and grabbed her arm. “I’m sorry…”, he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have said that shit”. “You don’t trust me; that’s the problem”, Nina said. “Yes, I trust you. I’m just… I already lost you once. I can’t do that again”. Angel’s eyes were sincere, and Nina fought the urge to take him into her arms. She was still angry. “I wanna protect you… And maybe I’m trying to protect myself”. Nina sighed. “I’m not leaving you again… But I have to see more than the inside of your house and the scrapyard”. “I know”, Angel said, and cupped her face. “Just, please… Let’s finish this shit with Palo, and I’ll take you wherever you want, ok?”. Nina frowned at him for a moment longer. “Don’t accuse me of stuff like you did just now… That’s not ok”. “I won’t. I’m sorry”, Angel said. “Please get on the bike. We need to get you to the yard, where you’re…”. “Safe… yeah. Whatever”, Nina muttered; put on her helmet, and got on the bike, after Angel had saddled up.

They drove to the scrapyard in silence.

---

Once at the clubhouse, the tension between them had lifted slightly, but Nina was still feeling peeved at Angel. He managed to steal a short kiss from her; but frowned, when she didn’t reciprocate his hug with more than a pat on the back.

Coco and Gilly came over, with rushed expressions. “We got a load of meds for the doc, but border control is hovering around the flower shop”, Gilly said. “East tunnel?”, Angel said. “West”, Coco said. “It’s further, but safer”. Angel nodded, and gave Nina a final look, before going over to get on his bike with the others. Nina waved at them as they drove off. She felt bad about how she’d left it with Angel, but it was hard to just get over being reminded of what she’d done to him. Mostly, she was angry with herself. Maybe there had been a different way to deal with the situation with Danielle those weeks back; but at the time she hadn’t known how to.

Trying to take her mind of it – she couldn’t do anything about it at the moment, anyway – she went into the clubhouse to start work. EZ was waiting with coffee and burritos, and they spent a little while having breakfast; while Nina retold the exterminator’s bad jokes. “He was flirting with you!”, EZ said. “How did Angel take that? Is he still alive?”. “Angel?”. “No, the exterminator!”, EZ chuckled. “Yeah… Though, I have a feeling he’s gonna have to watch his back for a while”.

Bishop, Taza and Hank came out of templo, and the prospect got to his feet. “We’re meeting with El Padrino”, Bishop said. “Business”. “Where’s Huey, Louie and Dewey?”, Hank asked. “They got a hold of some meds for the doc down south”, EZ said. “They’re using the west tunnel”. Hank nodded in approval. “Riz and Creeper are rat-hunting”, Taza said. “With their dicks…”, Bishop grunted. The men all sniggered. “Do you need me with you?”, EZ asked. “No. Stay here and Nina-sit”, Bishop replied. Nina rolled her eyes. “Sorry, mija. You know how it is. Palo is supposed to come tomorrow, but we don’t know if he changes his mind, and shows up early”. “You have your gun?”, Hank asked. Nina pulled out the .38 from her waistband. “Always”, she said. “Good”, Bishop said. “Prospect, go take care of that load of iron with Chucky. Nina, call him if anything comes up”. Nina and EZ both nodded, and the Mayans left the clubhouse. EZ went to clear up the table, but Nina halted him with a hand on his shoulder. “Go… scrap, or whatever it is you do. I’ve got this”. EZ nodded with a smile, and left her to it.

After clearing off their dishes, Nina went behind the bar, and put her gun by the sink, to wash them. She took her time, turning on some music to relax her tense mood. She hated to think something might happen to Angel while he was away, after how she’d more or less shrugged off his affectionate gestures, before he left. A cheery song came on, and Nina let herself sway to the music. Maybe she’d get a chance to dance with Angel at the party the day after, in spite of the psychopath bikers coming to kill her. They’d be ok. They had to be.

After a while, she went to wipe down the tables around the clubhouse; having to work a little more forcefully on the table the poker-game had been held at the night before. Stains from liquor and stray cigarette ashes had dried in, and she broke a nail trying to get one of the stickier stains. She cursed bellow her breath, and put her finger in her mouth, to relieve the pain a bit.

The door to the clubhouse opened, and Camille came in. “Hey!”, Nina smiled. “What’s up?”. Camille looked around the room, as if searching; before walking behind the bar. “Where is everyone?”, she asked. “Bish’ and the other tops are at some meeting; and the rest are out on some job down south”, Nina shrugged, and turned around to continue wiping down the table. “What about EZ?”, Camille said. “He’s around the yard somewhere. Bishop has him working on something”. “So, no one’s around?”. Nina looked confusedly at Camille. She looked almost relieved that they were alone; when usually she’d be annoyed there was no Mayans around to adore. “Yeah, we’re alone”, she muttered. “But seeing as you’re here, maybe you could help me with the party prep”. Camille chewed her lip. “Actually, I was hoping we could talk”. “Sure”, Nina shrugged. She dried her hands, and went to sit at one of the clean tables. “What’s up?”

Camille sat down across the table from her, and blew out a deep breath. “I’ve been keeping a secret from the club”, she said. Nina felt a shudder go through her. The situation reminded her too much of her confrontation with Daniella. “What’s that?”, she said. Camille took a long moment to gather herself, before looking meaningfully at her. “Before I came here, I used to go with the Vatos”, she said. “Oh”, Nina croaked. “Yeah…”, Camille muttered. “I met Sala while on a trip to Tijuana; and he took me to one of their parties… I ended up sticking around for a while; you know how it is”. “I guess…”. Nina didn’t like where this was going. “At first it was fine. I’d hang around, and take care of them…”. Camille shot Nina a look; making it clear what taking care of meant. “They offered me a permanent place with them, if I helped them out with a problem… Apparently, they wanted to expand into the states, but there was another MC blocking their way… So, they sent me up here to get whatever info I could get out of the Mayans; and for a while, that’s what I did”.

Nina cleared her throat, and tried to look calm; failing miserably. “Why are you telling me this?”, she asked. “You should know, I don’t have very good experiences with snitches”. It was difficult to avoid having an edge to her voice. “Because… I like you”, Camille said. “And I want you to understand why I’m doing this”. She put her hand behind her back, and pulled out a .38; which Nina instantly recognized as her own. She cursed internally for letting the gun out of her sight. Her eyes widened, and she fought the urge to run for the door. She wouldn’t make it anyway. Camille let the hand holding the gun rest on the table; the barrel pointing towards Nina. “Camille… What is this?”.

“The night of the party, I went into the trailer with Creeper… I saw your inhaler, and I figured out who you were. Sala had told me to look out for someone like you”, Camille said. “I was going to tell him, but then Creeper started talking about taking me out to the ocean for a couple of days, and I didn’t want to miss the chance of becoming his; and being a part of the family here... The Mayans are so different than Vatos Malditos… It’s not just drugs, and guns and fighting. They’re like a club should be. They care about their own… VM never cared about me, not really”. There was true pain in Camille’s eyes. “So, I went to talk to Sala, and tell him I was done. I wanted to belong to the Mayans… He told me it was fine, and that he’d take me to get the last of my money… But in stead, they beat the shit out of me, and… The Vatos aren’t as nice to women as the Mayans are. They dropped me in that tunnel, for the club to find me; said that if the Mayans wanted me, they could have me…”. Nina could read on Camille’s face what had happened the night she was beat, and she felt bile rise in her throat. “Camille… I’m sorry that happened to you…”, she tried. “Don’t pity me”, Camille hissed, and clenched her hand around the handle of the gun. “After all that, after they beat and raped me to try to get me to talk, I was still loyal to the MC here! I didn’t say a word... You are the Mayans favorite pet, and I saved your ass; but I couldn’t even tell anyone about how faithful I’d been, because I’d still be punished for being a snitch.”.

Nina swallowed thickly. “But you did talk to them again… didn’t you…?”, she said quietly. Camille nodded. “People around here love you. Everyone lights up when you enter the room, and I want that as well... You left, and I thought that when you went away, I’d have a chance to take over your job; but Dani was here, and she was all over the gig… I didn’t stand a chance”. “So you told the Vatos she was me…”, Nina croaked. “I was there the night Angel made her tell him what she knew. But even after trying to blackmail him into giving her another chance, the club was going to let her stick around; I just knew it. So, when Angel calmed down, and went to take her home… I called Sala. I told them the woman they wanted was with him, and where they were headed”, Camille said. “They killed her… You killed her, Camille”. Nina felt her whole body shaking. “Yeah… With both you and her gone, maybe the Mayans would finally let me be a part of the family”, she said. “But you came back, and you make it so fuckingdifficult to live up to the standards you set”.

They sat for a long moment in silence. Nina was terrified to move even a muscle. “What are you going to do now?”, she asked, convinced she already knew the answer. Camille looked at her with sad eyes. “You weren’t supposed to come back”, she said. “I just want to be a part of something, but with you around, there’s no room for me”. “That’s not true… You belong here as much as I do”, Nina said. “Bullshit…! I tried everything; serving their favorite beers; laughing at their jokes; giving them a good time in bed… They still see me as a nobody. But you… you’re like this shining, perfect person to them; and I can’t live up to that… The only chance I stand of having a home here, is if you’re not around. I’m not enough as me; so, I’m going to become you”. Camille pulled the hammer of the gun, and took a deep breath. “I’m gonna tell them the Vatos came by, and took you out… I’ll take care of them while they heal. They’ll see me as the new Nina”. Camille raised the gun, and smiled sadly. “I’m sorry…”.

Nina felt pure adrenaline flow through her veins. She put her hands under the edge of the table, and flipped it over; making Camille fall backwards, and the bullet hit the ceiling. Running for the door, another shot was heard, and she felt a burning pain in her leg; and screamed out in agony. Crawling behind the bar for cover, she heard Camille scramble to chase after her. “Don’t make this so fucking difficult”, the red-head yelled. Nina got to her feet, and grabbed a stray bottle of scotch; throwing it at Camille. Camille ducked just in time for the bottle to narrowly miss her head; giving Nina time to jump at her, and grab her wrist, to force the gun to point away, before Camille could pull the trigger again. They wrestled for the gun for a few seconds, before falling to the floor; limbs tangled. Camille was growling in anger, and as Nina got on top of her, she grabbed her arm, and bit down on her skin; drawing blood. Nina cried out, and pulled back; making Camille able to get on top of her. Nina kept her hold on Camille’s wrist, trying to force her to drop the gun, but Camille was like a wild woman; not letting go of her weapon. Once again pointing the .38 at Nina; she was startled at the door to the clubhouse slamming open. Nina twisted her wrist, when Camille pulled the trigger again.

The next three seconds felt like years to Nina. Red mist clouded her vision, as Camille’s blood and brain matter rained down over her. Something heavy held her down, and she realized it was her assailant’s body, slumped on top of her. The weight was pulled off her, and someone yelled her name repeatedly. She didn’t reply. Even opening her mouth a little, she felt the metallic taste of blood in her mouth. She could hardly even breathe, though not for need of her inhaler. It just felt like there wasn’t any air to be had. Turning her head, she looked at Camille. It was that dark alley all over again. The bullet hole in Camille’s head, and her dead body on the floor; laying just as Gael had lain there.

A hand on her wounded leg made her jolt in pain, and she finally met EZ’s startled eyes. “Nina…! Are you ok?”, he said. Nina simply let out a short breath; unable to reply. When she didn’t answer, he pulled out his phone. “Angel! Get back to the clubhouse now. Camille is dead, and Nina’s been shot…”.

---

She sat on the floor, with her back against the bar. A paramedic was shining a flashlight into her eyes, and trying to get her to talk; but she had nothing to say. She’d not spoken a word to anyone, not even shed a tear.

EZ’s second phone call had been to Bishop; and he, Hank and Taza had arrived moments later. They all tried to get her to move away from Camille and the pool of blood she was sitting in, but she’d refused; recoiling from anyone trying to touch her. She’d sat there, looking at the dead woman on the floor, while Taza called 911.

The Mayans were pacing the floor, and giving statements to the cops; and all giving her worried looks. “Miss? Do you think you can tell me what happened here?”, a police officer asked. He crouched down in front of her, while the paramedic moved down to take a look at her leg. Her calf was soaring with pain, but Nina didn’t move a muscle. “Miss Teller?”, the officer tried again. “This is a serious situation. A woman is dead!”. “Back off her!”, Bishop growled. “You see the gun in the dead bitch’s hand. It’s clear what happened”. “You need to relax, sir”, the officer said warningly.

A roar of bikes was heard from outside, and Nina recognized the sound of one of the engines. It felt like there was finally a little bit of air to be had, and she took a gasping breath. “Where the fuck is she?”, Angel roared, before slamming the door open. He took one look at the scene, and ran over; dropping to his knees next to Nina. “Get off her!”, he growled at the police officer. “Watch it, son…”, the officer sneered. “She won’t move”, the paramedic muttered. “We need to get her to the hospital”. “Just let me talk to her”, Angel said. The officer got up, and backed away; keeping wary eyes on him and Coco and Gilly, who had come in after him. Both of them cursed bellow their breaths as they took in the scene.

Angel cupped Nina’s face, and looked at her with worried eyes. “Nina? Look at me, please…”. He stroked her temples with his thumbs, and Nina met his gaze. “Angel…”, she almost whispered. “I’m here, querida”, he said, trying for a soft smile. Nina slumped against him, and he gently wrapped his arms around her; letting her melt into him. “She… I can’t…”, she croaked. It was as if a dam inside her exploded, and tears came streaming out of her eyes. She sobbed violently, and clutched her hands around his arm. “I got you… I’m here”, Angel said, and pressed his lips to the top of her head. Everything surfaced in Nina’s head – overwhelming her with emotions. Her fight with Angel; how she’d not said goodbye properly; how she could have died without telling him again how much she loved him. She looked at the dead body on the floor. The coroner was crouched over it, taking pictures, and swabbing for gun residue on the hand. Camille’s eyes were still open, and it felt like she was staring straight in to Nina’s soul. Nina closed her eyes, turned away, and wailed against Angel’s chest; while he continuously stroked her hair, and tried to wipe away the unstoppable rivers of tears coming from her eyes.

“Sir, we have to move her… I can’t treat her here”, the paramedic said. Angel nodded, and slipped his arms under Nina’s body; lifting her up. He carried her out of the clubhouse, and over to the waiting ambulance, where they’d set up a gurney. Nina was shaking and crying as he set her down on it. “Let’s get you out of here”, the paramedic said. Nina shot Angel a panicked look. “Don’t let them take me away”, she cried. Angel looked at the paramedic. “I’m going with her”. “Only family can…”, the paramedic tried. “He is family", EZ said. He and Bishop had followed close behind Angel. “All of us are", the president grunted. Angel looked ready to kill anyone who tried to keep him from Nina’s side, and the paramedic sighed. “Alright. Let’s go", he said, and together, they pushed the gurney inside the ambulance. Angel jumped in to take the seat by Nina’s head, and took her hand.

The paramedic went to share a few words with the police officer, and left them alone in the ambulance “Angel…”, Nina whimpered. “Shh… you’re safe”, he whispered, and stroked her cheek. “It’s over”. “No…”, Nina whispered. “Camille was the snitch”. Angel’s eyes widened, and he stared at the body bag the coroner was rolling out of the clubhouse, before giving Bishop a hard look. “Rat…!”, he growled.

The last thing Nina saw before the paramedic closed the doors to the ambulance, was Bishop rushing back towards the clubhouse, his phone in hand.

---

[toki-macross]

Into the Deep end.

So, thinking about the past, and the last blog, so going to ramble about how I got into Scooby. I'll place it under the cut, so it doesn't take lots of scrolling to get past and read only if interested. I've always been a fan of Scooby Doo. But well, I didn't know how MUCH of a fan, till one fateful day...

Ok, So... I'm old enough to have worked at a Blockbuster when they still existed. XD I was working there close to Halloween when a mother and daughter came into the store. Now, I am a weird lady, and often us employees had specialties that you would talk to one of us, when you wanted to know more about certain movies. Me, I was the Action, Horror, and Kids section person. XD And one of the guys, was the Romcom man. But, I saw a very confused mom in the kids section and wandered over. Apparently, she wanted to make her daughter a Daphne Blake costume, and wanted to have a VHS... yes. That old. A VHS to watch and pause for helping for the costume. Because the internet also wasn't as prevalent and it was easier to get a VHS then it was to have a website to search from. Yes. Dreadfully barbaric. But in her hands, was totally the wrong movie to look at. Being I think Zombie island. Because I recall her being in a suit, and can't think if there really is any other main movie that would have been around in the early 2000's with her in a blazer. But yeah, not Classic Daphne look, like the lady wanted. I proceeded to go through the collection that was rental at the time, and gave them the one that had the most screen time for Daphne in the outfit and would provide the most angles to use for costuming. The mom thanked me, and said once they were done, she would come in to show it off. (They came to show off, and it did look totally amazing! I wish I had a picture.) But as she left, I was left with a decision. Obviously, I know more then I thought I did. Sure, I had watched any of the new movies, sometimes even in theaters. But I didn't realize how much my brain knew. And, I had to decide what I was going to do with this information. So, I could either ignore it, and go back to work. Or what I decided to do, is the only responsible thing. To dive head long and learn as much as I can get my grubby little hands on. I searched the web, and ended up joining a Velma appreciation yahoo group. Sadly now non-existant, gone the way of the angelfire shrines from back in the day. But since Velma was my favorite, and at the time one of the lesser loved of the gang. At least compared to Shaggy and Scooby, then Daphne. Velma and Fred were kinda on the bottom of the totem pole for most fans. It was nice to find a group, of admittedly older people to learn all that I could about Scooby. I actually befriended many of them, and hope that John Likeglass is doing well, who is the creator of the website www.velmadinkley.com (He also was a projectionist and was one of the people who fed the original series into the machine that let the masses see the show.) So, alot of adults were fans back from 1969 when it first came out. I was the baby of the group for a long time, at the age of 21-23ish. I think. No, 19-21 since I was out of my engineering college and before my special effect college. Since I started my first written fanfic at my second college and posted it jan 20ish 2005. So, I was in the group several years before I dipped my toes into the fandom for writing. At the time, a bunch of them were the forerunners of written Scooby fanfics on ffnet. Ignoring what might have been deleted in the purge, the oldest Scooby is somewhere in the 2001's range. My writing Hero's main story was from Aug 2002, with another of the ladies having their works in 2002. So, ffnet wise, these are early. My first story is like the 150th... actually like 140's range of all that exists in Scooby depending on the rating. Give or take. So, even me coming along in 2005, STILL was in the beginning of the almost 3k Scooby stories that exist on ffnet. So, a lot of these early people from the fandom, were the people who prodded me to get into writing. (My hero was actually known at the time for establishing Fanon for one of the guys name from the Live Action first movie, since he was listed in the credits as 'Velma's friend' Ouch! But she named him Ethan Dace. So, any Scooby fans that come across a story with that metalhead named Ethan, I know the lady who was

behind him.) Sadly, within the first few months of being on ffnet, there was what was called at the time, "The Great Flame War". Trolls who had nothing better to do but to cause trouble, came along and wrecked havoc. At least that is what I recall being told for the reason why there was a mass exodus of a bunch of the people who got me into this in the first place. And well, they were all adults. So, why be in a place where people are being nasty? So, they had better things to do, and got up and left. Leaving me with the torch. As I was baby, and no one messed with me at the time. So, I was spared. But, I had been 'raised' by such big writers of the fandom, that I felt it was my duty to hold this torch and provide good content for those who were looking for it. And now, I'm the old boulder on top of my mountain, looking over the expanse of my kingdom of content that I have put out in the span of 16 years, going to be 17 Jan 2022. 77 Scooby Stories on my main account, and almost 70k on my crossover story, with side stories as well. I don't regret it. I've had a blast and don't think I will stop any time soon writing unless my health takes it away from me. Though I do feel bad when I don't post things as often as I like. But I have been working on things, even though not everyone is finished and posted write away. To feel less down on myself as a writer, I have been tracking how much content I have been working on for the last two years. Last years ending numbers was 104k words. I'm already at 107k and I even lost 2k in a chapter I was dumb and saved over. Needing to re-write it again once I can get my brain around it. So, any of my fans out there. I'm putting out content. I just well... Might be side tracked with my self indulging romance that is totally kicking Reunions butt word count wise. But with almost 400-800 views a month, and like 100-300 users reading a month. I am wanting to get it right, and it has more weight to get done properly then my romance which I am making for me, and sharing in case anyone else appreciates it. So, less stress for that, and more happy involved. Not that I like my Main account less. But as I said above, I have a torch to hold. So, I put standards on myself to make sure that everything I put out holds to certain things, because I love my fans that much. And yeah, I still hold my crossover to a standard, to still be good content. I am baby again and letting myself stumble and learn all over again and make mistakes. So, I am harsher and harder on myself with my main account. But that is how I got dragged into the fandom of Scooby. And it's possible that I have been a visible influence with at least two separate occasions where my story came first, and there really isn't that many people writing in the style of Slice of Life (That isn't romance) out there. And those that are, most likely are influenced by me because I am the oldest writer in that genre that is still around, or at least one of the very small handful of oldies still kicking around. If you made it this far. Thank you very much for listening to me ramble. It's been a passion for a long time. And I love to write in this beloved fandom of mine. Main account: https://www.fanfiction.net/u/739744/Karianasan# Main account Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karianasahn/pseuds/Karianasahn (Though I have only 30ish stories posted, I need to work on transfering more over. Sorry) Scooby/Batman Crossover Romance: https://www.fanfiction.net/~fallingforthebat Ao3 For Falling: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiaryofaDinkley (This kept me sane in 2020, and I blame canon Scooby Doo Brave and the Bold movie for making me cave. So, it's all canon's fault XD Both accounts are up to date with each other.) In case anyone reading this is curious for the rabbit hole that I have been down and making content for, for 16 years. I would be honored if you might be interested in reading it. Thank you for listening, and have a lovely rest of your day!

[seasonsofeverlark]

Worth the Wait

Author: @ameliaodair​ 

Prompt: Modern AU: Peeta and Katniss were on vacation in Argentina. Their days are up now and they’re on their way back to the US, however, a tornado alert gets them stranded in Lima, Peru. It’s Halloween and they were supposed to go trick or treating with Finnick and Annie and now here they are. What they didn’t know, is that in Peru they celebrate something called Día de la Canción Criolla, and they get swept into the joyous atmosphere. Dressing up as the locals, Everlark celebrate Halloween in a different way. [submitted by @evestedic​]

Rating: T

Author’s Note: I tweaked the prompt a little, hope you still like it :)  This is my first time writing for one of these, so I hope I did it right, and I hope I did the prompt justice.  Enjoy :)

I always want to say thanks to my wonderful beta @eiramrelyat​.

____________

Part 1

Katniss tosses her suitcase into the trunk of her car, irritated that her flight was cancelled.  She promised her sister she would be home tomorrow, in time to see her niece and nephews’ costumes for their very first Halloween.  If there was one thing in this world that Katniss despised, it was disappointing her baby sister.

“A tornado?  Seriously, a freaking tornado in Peru!  Just wonderful!”  She mumbles to herself, securing her seatbelt in place.  Before leaving the parking lot she reaches for her phone, browsing for somewhere to stay for a night or two; at least until she can catch the next flight home.  “Great, no service.”  Could anything else go wrong today?  She thinks to herself, tossing her phone back into her purse.

After being stuck in traffic for nearly an hour, only going at a speed of ten miles per hour, she tries to summon the courage to call her sister.  Gripping her hands firmly around the wheel and tapping her fingers nervously, she finally speaks to the car’s navigation system. “Call Prim.” 

“Calling Prim” The car responds.  Prim answers on the second ring, the excitement laced in her voice.

“Oh my gosh Katniss, I am so excited for you to see the twins’ costumes!  Are you in the states yet?  What time is your flight?  Do you have an estimated arrival time?  I can come and get you, or…or—" 

Katniss cringes at her sister’s questions before deciding to interrupt her. “Prim, I um…there was a problem- no, there is a problem.”  Katniss looks out the window, noticing how crowded the streets are, and the people seem to be dressed rather…vivaciously.  ‘I wonder what that’s all about?’ She thinks to herself.

“What’s wrong, are you okay?”

“Yeah, of course, I’m fine.  It’s just that…my flight…well, it got cancelled.  I mean…not ‘cancelled,’ cancelled, but more like…delayed.  There’s like…a severe tornado warning or something and they’ve grounded all flights until further notice.”

‘Are they…dancing?’ Katniss thinks to herself, seeing a woman be twirled around in an immaculate dress, the dress fanning out to reveal the beautiful colors.

“Seriously?  Katniiisss….”  Prim whines like a toddler, elongating Katniss’s name.

“Give me a break, Prim, you’ll take a zillion pictures, we’ll facetime, and you can dress them up when I get home.  They’re babies, they won’t even know the difference.”

“But I will.” Katniss despises it when Prim does this.  Looking out the window again, Katniss sees a group of small kids dressed up in costumes.

‘How adorable.’  She thinks to herself, smiling.

“Come on Prim…This is totally out of my control.  You know I would be there if I could.  Plus, don’t you have a wonderful husband to keep you busy?”

“Yeah…I do—” Katniss can hear the smile in Prim’s voice and that always makes her happy.  Even after being together for five years, Prim and Rory are still so sickening in love with each other; it would make Katniss sick if she didn’t love her sister so much. “But he’s not you.  No one can replace you, big sister.”

“I know Prim—” Katniss cranes her neck out the open window to see what all the commotion is about.  “Prim, I need to go…there is something…I don’t know what it is, but I’ll call you later.  Take lots of pictures for me!”  She says just before ending the call, not giving Prim the opportunity to make her feel any worse.  As if that is even possible.

A month ago the company Katniss works for asked someone to take an impromptu trip to Argentina, just before the holiday’s no less. To have the opportunity arise to be the mediator in an attempt to merge their company with one of the hotshot rivalry companies nearby, Katniss was the first to volunteer. 

With no life other than her sister and her sister’s family, Katniss had no obligations which left her the perfect candidate to leave the country.  Everyone else had families they didn’t want to leave, not knowing how long it would take to do the negotiations, they did not want to risk being in another country for the holidays.

It had been almost ten years since she lost the love of her life and she had accepted the fact that you only get one of those per lifetime.  She was secretly hoping for better luck in her next one.  He was beautiful and he was perfect, and she thought their love transcended time and space.  So what if they were only teenagers, and so what if she had not seen him in almost ten years.  It did not seem to matter how many times she tried to find love, it just never felt right. 

At seventeen years old, she and her sister became orphans.  Social Services came to her house early one morning and loaded her and Prim into a car, refusing to allow them to say goodbye to anyone.

Katniss no longer cries from the anguish of losing him, but the agony from missing him is still as fresh as that first night.  When she turned eighteen, she could have gone back to Panem, but she was too scared.  What if she went back and he had moved on?  Found someone else to love, got married, and…no, not knowing was better.  Rejection would be worse.   

Katniss hoped this trip would give her some insight as to what she might do with the rest of her life.  She cannot continue to lean on Prim forever; she has her own family now.

Katniss finally makes out what the commotion is ahead of her and a smile forms on her lips when she catches sight of the herds of people dancing in the street, causing her to remember their dance competition.  With him.  “Dammit Katniss, stop it.  Why do you keep thinking about him today?”  She scolds herself before spotting a hotel across the street.  She pulls into a parking space, crossing her fingers they have a vacancy, but by the looks of the massive hoards of people crowding the streets, she is not very confident.

She reaches up to her neck where her collar bone dips in, and with her thumb and forefinger, she pinches the pearl that hangs from her necklace.  From him.  It is the necklace he gave her on her sixteenth birthday.  ‘As long as you wear this necklace, you will know how much I love you. Always.’ 

‘Always.’  It was their ‘thing.’  Some people made promises of forever, but not them.  No, they promised for always.  She remembers his exact words, and for some reason, he feels closer than ever.  Close enough to touch.  Something in the back of her mind says.

Shaking her head to rid her mind of the penetrating thoughts, Katniss decides to make her way into the hotel to see if there is a room available before unloading her suitcase.  She locks the rental car and pushes her way through the crowded streets and into the entrance of The Holiday Inn.

Upon entering the building, Katniss is greeted by a beautiful woman with perfectly golden hair and a smile bright enough to light up the entire building.  She says something in Spanish that Katniss cannot understand, confusion written all over her face.

“Crap, I left my translator in my car” Katniss mumbles under her breath after reaching over and checking her purse.

Realizing that Katniss does not understand her, the woman speaks again, this time in English, laced with a heavy accent.  “Welcome to The Holiday Inn, can I interest you in a room?”

“Oh, you speak English!” Katniss says, more excited than she should be.

“Effie does not allow any of her employees to man the front desk unless they are fluent in English.  We get a lot of tourists.”  Madge says, explaining to her.

“Effie?”  Katniss asks, finding the name strange.  Like she’s one to talk.

“Effie is the boss.  This is her hotel.  She’s more of a designer if you ask me, but she’s famous for dressing people up for the Dia de la Canción Criolla!  She will be knocking on your door within the next hour!”

“Dia day what?”  Katniss asks, not hearing what Madge said due to how fast the words seemed to escape her mouth.

“Dia De La Canción Criolla.  It is a celebration of Criolla music.  There will be dancing, lots of dancing!  And music, yes…beautiful music!  You should come, it’s so much fun!”  Madge tells her with stars in her eyes, as if she is remembering a heartfelt moment.

“Oh, well…I’ll think about it.”  Katniss says timidly, giving Madge a smile.

Katniss is thrilled the hotel has a vacancy and hands Madge her credit card to confirm her room for the night.  While she waits for the transaction to process, she and Madge make small talk.  Madge returns her credit card and ID along with the plastic key card with the numbers ‘12-13’ displayed on the front, as well as a brochure.

“If you take these elevators up to the twelfth floor and make a quick right, room thirteen will be on your left.  Here is a list of amenities as well as numbers if there is anything you need.  And Katniss?”

“Yes?”

“You should come out for the night.  You only live once.”

With a polite smile, Katniss nods her head, turning her back to Madge to retrieve her suitcase from her car.

Nearly half an hour later, she returns to the hotel with her suitcase in tow and steps onto the elevator.  Just as the doors begin to close, she spots a man running, trying to catch the elevator before the doors close.  Katniss presses the button to keep the elevator open, but she is just a moment too late.  With a mind of its own, the doors seal themselves shut, rising her up to the twelfth floor.

‘Why do I keep thinking about him today?  Why does he feel so close to me?  I’m in Peru for Heavensbee’s sake!’  Katniss says smiling to herself, reaching for the pearl again.  ‘Heavensbee’s sake’ was one of ‘their’ inside jokes.  “Perhaps this ‘Dia De La…whatchamacallit is just the thing I need to distract my mind from him.  And who knows what’ll happen.”  She mumbles to herself, entering her hotel room. 

When the door slams shut behind her, she hears the distinct ‘ding’ from the elevator.  ‘Whoever that man was must have made it up.’  She thinks to herself, recalling the flash of blonde hair, with those bouncing blonde waves, just like him.  ‘No, stop it.  He is not here Katniss.  It has been ten years.  Ten years.  You should be over him by now.  So, just…Get over it.’

But she’s not, and she can’t.

Freshly out of the shower, with one towel wrapped around her body and another one on the top of her head, she reaches for the phone and proceeds to call the number Madge had given her.  She needs to do something to distract her mind.  She is going to celebrate Dia De La Canción Criolla like a Peruvian.

“Give me a break Dad.  It’s Halloween, it’s not even really a holiday.  The bakery will survive if I’m gone for another few days.”

“I know kid, I know.  I’m sorry…I just…you know…I miss you.  You’ve been gone for like—”

“Two weeks.  I have been gone for two weeks.  And I will be home in a few more days.  Control over the weather is not a power I have homed in on as of yet.”  Peeta’s dad chuckles at his words but is still disappointed.  “Listen dad, as soon as they open the flights back up, the airline promised to call me, and I’ll be on the first flight back to the states.  Now look, I’ve gotta go, the streets here are insane and I need to find a place to crash for the night.  I’ll let you know when to pick me up.”

“Okay, son.  Oh, and Peet?”

“Yeah, dad?”

“Try to have some fun.”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll try.  I’ve gotta go, bye dad.”  Peeta ended the call before giving his father any more fuel to drag the call on longer.

Peeta woke up that morning with an uncanny feeling that something was wrong.  When he got to school that morning and she wasn’t there, that feeling in his stomach intensified.  They talked to each other every day before and after school.  She was his best friend, and he was hers.  They told each other everything, so when he still had not heard from her by dinner that night, he knew deep in his gut something was wrong.  Really wrong.

The next day, Magnolia, one of her sister’s friends, came to him asking if he had heard anything from either of the girls.  For two days now, both girls have been missing from school.  Magnolia did not know it, but she had just confirmed the gut-wrenching fear in the pit of his stomach. 

For days, Peeta hounded the adults to no avail, questioning anyone he could as to her whereabouts.  She would never just up and leave without telling him, at least not without saying goodbye.

After two weeks, Peeta’s father realized that Peeta needed answers, that he would not be able to rest until he knew what happened to her, so using his connections he was able to obtain some information.  Peeta cried in his father’s arms as he told him what happened.  Social services came that morning, came before the sun was even up, and basically kidnapped the girls.  Both of their parents died in a car accident and at sixteen and a half years old, she took over the role of mom and dad to her little sister.  Apparently, someone placed an anonymous call, claiming to be “worried,” about the girls, hence social service ripping them from their lives.

For years, Peeta tried to find her.  But when his father lost his job, they had to relocate to another state.  Peeta did not want to leave if by some chance she came back looking for him, but he was only a kid himself, so he didn’t have a choice. 

At one point, he hired a private investigator, but so far; nothing has come up.  All his friends and family keep insisting he “move on,”  But he just couldn’t, he can’t.  “You don’t just move on from your soulmate, from your one true love” he told them all.  There is no one else, only her.  If I am not with her, then I will just be alone.  One day, he will find her, he is certain of it. 

“I know I’m probably asking the impossible, but would you happen to have a room for one?”  Peeta asks once he reaches the desk, giving the beautiful girl his most charming smile.

“Oh, don’t let the streets fool you, sir.  It’s Día De La Canción Criolla, the Peruvian festival of Music.  And to answer your question, yes, in fact we do.”  The receptionist, Madge, proceeded to tell him with her heavy accent and dazzling smile, staring at the computer screen in front of her, typing away.

A few minutes later, Madge hands him his plastic key card to his room in the penthouse along with a brochure filled with amenities, phone numbers, and information about this “Dia De La Canción Criolla.”

“Since you are already here sir, you should come out tonight and check it out.  Have some fun.”  Have some fun, those were his father’s exact words.

But dancing…especially that kind of dancing brought him back to memories of her.  She was the captain of the dance club in high school and she convinced him to enter a couple’s dance competition with her.  Never able to tell her no, he agreed.  He was never as good as her, but where he lacked, she excelled.  It was like that with everything they did.  They picked up each other’s slack.  When one was weak, the other was strong.  Always.

As he is scribbling his signature on the consent form to bill him at checkout, for just a split microsecond he thinks he sees her.  Heading onto the elevator is a woman with the same shade of hair, in that same over the shoulder braid she would wear, and the same olive complexion.  It had been almost ten years since the last time he saw her face, ten years since the last time his lips touched hers, but he is certain that one-hundred years could go by…no, a thousand years could pass, and he would always know her. Always.

Once his ‘T’s’ are crossed, he politely excuses himself from the receptionist, and runs to the elevator.  He can’t make her face out as the doors slide shut, but he can tell she tried to hold the door for him, but it was too late.  The elevator has a mind of its own and she slipped through his fingers.

“It’s not her, it couldn’t possibly be.”  He tells himself, his head hanging down as he presses the button and waits for the elevator.  He rides up to the twelfth floor and as soon as the doors open, he hears a door slamming from around the corner.  He finds his room, walks into it, and plops down on the bed.

Lying back on the bed, something in Peeta’s pocket begins poking his thigh.  He reaches into his pocket and grips firmly onto the pocket watch that he always keeps with him.  From her.  

At fifteen years old, he began saving his earnings from working at the bakery for eight months in order to buy her that necklace.  When he first saw it hanging in the shop, he knew he just had to have it.  He knew it was made just for her. It had been sitting in his underwear drawer for almost two weeks before he gave it to her on her sixteenth birthday.  His gift brought tears to her eyes because of what it meant.

She wanted to give him something too, but he insisted that it doesn’t work that way.  You do not give a gift to someone because they gave you something.  That was the first time she said those three magical little words.  She told him, “I’m not giving this to you because you gave me this necklace, I’m giving this to you…I want you to have this because I love you.”  It was her father’s, a gift from her mother.  It meant the world to her, so he knew what she was saying before she even said the words.

“Dammit Peeta!  Get a grip.  It isn’t her, I’m in Peru for Heavensbee’s sake!  An entire country away!”  Peeta yells at himself, confused as to why she is on his mind so hard today.

Peeta jumps into the shower, having decided that maybe he will join the festivities, if for nothing else, then to distract his mind from her.  He picks up the brochure and places a call to one of the names Madge had recommended.  If he is going to a Peruvian festival…(or is it a party?), he is going to need something to wear.

 Part 2

“Hi Katniss, my name is Cinna and I’ll be your stylist.”  Katniss lets the man in that Effie had recommended helping her find something to wear for tonight.

“Come in, it’s nice to meet you Cinna, I’m Katniss.”  Katniss sticks her hand out to Cinna, but he ignores it and wraps his arms around her, pulling her into his embrace.  He then pulls back and circles around her, inspecting her from all angles.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”  Cinna asks after he finishes orbiting her once.

“What gave it away?  My accent? Or the constant look of confusion permanently embedded on my face?”  Cinna chuckles at her, deciding that he is going to like this girl.  She is something special.

“I’ve met everyone who comes through here, and I am certain I would remember a face as radiant as yours,”  Cinna says, noticing the rosy hue filling Katniss’s cheeks.  There is a knock on the door, startling Katniss.  Cinna reaches for the doorknob and opens the door, and three strange-looking people come bouncing in.  Their hair is quite flamboyant, they wear some rather vivid and strange colors, but they look at Cinna as if he were the sun.  But most importantly, they seem truly happy to be here, to help her.

“Katniss, these are my assistants, and they will be helping me in getting you ready for tonight.”

“Okay.  But, you do realize that I’m dressing up for this Dia de la Festival thing and not my wedding, right?”

“Dia de la Canción Criolla.”  Octavia, one of Cinna’s assistants says so fast, Katniss only heard gibberish.

“How do you guys say that so fast?”

‘I wonder if they do this often?’  Katniss thinks to herself when Flavius, another of Cinna’s assistants rolls in this cart filled with the most immaculate, dazzling dresses, shoes, and so many other accessories Katniss would never dream of wearing.

They get right down to business, no dilly-dallying.  Katniss tries on dress after dress for what felt like hours, only to have them settle on the first dress, much to Katniss’s irritation.  Each dress takes all four of them to help her into, which Katniss could not begin to fathom why it was so difficult. 

The dress they decide on is more beautiful than she is able to put into words.  The upper half clings to her form, accentuating each of her womanly curves.  It is a modest dress, for when she looks in the mirror, she feels beautiful, but not provocative.  It shows just enough cleavage, but not too much.  The skirt of the dress is loose and free-flowing, if anyone happens to twirl her around tonight, it will fan out in immaculate precession.

“Oh, Miss Katniss, just you wait till someone spins you around in this baby.”  Katniss looks startled as she scowls at Flavius.

“Wh-what’ll happen?”

“I can’t give away all the secrets, now can I?”  Flavius looks at her conspiratorially.

“Don’t worry Katniss, nothing bad will happen.”  Cinna places a hand on her shoulder reassuringly.  But it isn’t his touch that calms her, but the gentle tone of his voice.  She cannot help but notice that Cinna has this natural air about him, he makes her feel calm just by entering the room.

Once they finish adding the final touches to her dress, they chain her to a chair, (figuratively speaking) and get to work on her hair.

“So, is there a special someone we’re fixing you up for the night?”  Just as Cinna asks the question, Effie walks into the room.

“Oh, hello guys, don’t mind me.  I just wanted to observe the divine Cinna at work!”  Effie pulls up a chair, making sure she isn’t in the way, and watches as their experienced fingers intricately style Katniss’ hair.

Katniss is hypnotized as she watches four sets of hands intricately brush, comb, part, separate, and braid her hair.

Remembering Cinna’s question, Katniss blushes before saying, “Oh no.  There is no one, I just…I just…Well, since I’m already here, I figured I should get the full Peruvian experience.”

“Oh, you have a man back at home, do you?”  Octavia blurts out.

“No.  No, there isn’t anyone.  Well, once…No, never mind.”

“Awe, come on! Tell us!”  Flavius pleads with her.

“PLEEEEASE!!”  All three assistants beg at the same time in a sing-song voice.

Katniss hesitates for a moment, realizing there is no harm in confiding in these complete strangers, she starts.  “Well, there was this one guy, once.  When I was younger.”

“Ooooh, was he handsome?”

“What color were his eyes?”

They each spit out their own questions, curious to the man who once held her heart, forcing the image of his perfect face into the forefront of her mind.

“No, he was not handsome…. He was…he was beautiful.  He had the bluest eyes, bluer than the ocean and the sky mixed together.  And his hair…it was this sandy blonde, with just the right amount of waves, you know…not too curly but definitely not straight.  He was my best friend, my soul mate.  He was everything to me.”

“So, what happened?”  Flavius blurts out.

“You speak of him as if you’re still in love with him,”  Vennia says, giving Katniss a forlorn look.

“I got…I got ripped away from him.  And I haven’t been able to find him since.  But someone as amazing as him, surely he’s married with a few kids by now.”  Katniss omits how she is actually too chicken to even look for him as she hangs her head down, the pain of him with someone else cut like razors.

Effie’s eyes go wide as she recognizes this story, without excusing herself, she gets up and storms out of the room in a dash.

“What was that about?”  Katniss asks inquisitively.

Flavius does a motion with his hands and rolls his eyes.  “Who knows?  That woman is a bit cuckoo.”  However, Katniss notices the knowing look being shared between Cinna and his assistants.

“Perfecto!”  Vennia says once her hair is complete.

“Now, one last thing,”  Octavia says, reaching for the clasp around Katniss’ neck.

Katniss spins around to face Octavia, “Wh-What are you doing?”

“I have a better one for you to wear tonight.”

“No, the necklace does not come off.”  The firm tone in Katniss’s voice tells everyone not to argue.

And they don’t.

 Effie storms back into Peeta’s room- the busy body she is- and pulls up a chair next to Peeta as Portia and her team get him ready for the night.

“Peeta?  Will you tell me about your girl again?  The one from your childhood.”  Peeta raises an eyebrow, making sure to hold his head still as Portia does whatever she is doing to his hair.  He isn’t sure why it is taking so long, but he doesn’t question her.

Peeta’s eyes light up at the thought of his girl.  “Oh Effie, she was…she was perfect.  She was the sun and the moon and the stars, all in one.”  Effie notices the sparkle in Peeta’s eyes as he speaks of the girl.  “She was so beautiful, and her eyes…I’ve never seen the same shade on another human being’s face, silver as the moonlight, intense as the night sky.  Her hair, well back then it was long, nearly to the middle of her back.  But she always wore it in this braid over her shoulder—” Effie’s eyes go wide as she listens to Peeta, realizing he is describing the girl in the next room.

‘Could it be?’  Effie thinks to herself.  “Peeta, I think you should meet your neighbor.  Maybe you could share a dance with her…Spend a night on the town—”

Peeta chuckles before interrupting her.  “That’s okay Effie.  I’m going home as soon as the airlines call me anyway.  I just wanted to experience Dia De La Canción Criolla Peruvian style.”

Effie shrugs her shoulders, getting up to leave as an idea comes to mind.  If her plan is to succeed, she will need help.  “Okay, Peeta.  Your loss.”

Effie waits in her office until she sees Miss Everdeen exit the hotel.  Once she knows Cinna is free, she immediately goes to him and shares her suspicions.

“Cinna, we must, we absolutely must bring those two together!”

“Effie, what are the chances that the true love they lost and speak of just happens to be in the next room?  An entire country away?”  Cinna asks, exasperated by Effie’s infatuation with true love.

“Okay, so maybe I’m wrong…But what would it hurt?”  Cinna thinks about it for a moment, deciding no harm could come of it, he listens to Effie’s plan.

x – x – x

“Thank you for coming with me Portia, I felt a little strange coming out here by myself.”  Peeta gives Portia a smile as they leave the hotel and join the crowded streets.  There are people dancing everywhere, children carousing the streets alongside their parents dressed up in their costumes. 

“Would you like to dance Portia?” Portia scans the area, looking for any sign of Cinna, and then nods her head.  She will dance them closer to where Cinna is with his girl.

“Where did you learn to dance Peeta?  You’re quite good.”  Peeta blushes at Portia’s compliment.

“Katniss.”

“Katniss?  Was that her name?  Your sweetheart back home?”

Peeta nods, just as a handkerchief flies into his face.  He reaches for it, holding it in front of him with a confused look.  “What the—”

“It means there is a lovely lady who wishes to dance with you.”  Portia maneuvers Peeta’s body, turning him around and pushing him toward the woman standing next to Cinna.  The darkness of the night, in addition to the lack of streetlights, prevents Peeta from clearly seeing her face.  All he can make out is the silhouette of her face, yet the moment their fingers brush against each other, he instantly feels that familiarity…he feels at home.

But Peeta would know her anywhere; at least he thinks it is her.  No, no.  His mind is just playing tricks on him.  Either way, he extends his arm to her, and she accepts graciously just as The Marinera begins to play.

It is their dance.  Katniss and Peeta’s dance from high school.  Peeta circles her once, and then again.  She smiles at him flirtatiously, swinging her hips as she sways to the music.  They tease each other back and forth throughout the night.  It is as if they had spent their entire lives perfecting their moves, as if their bodies are meant to be as one.

The familiarity that overtakes them when Peeta places his hands on Katniss’ hips sends shock waves surging through their bodies.  ‘Why does this feel so familiar?  Why does this feel so right?’  Peeta thinks to himself after their second dance.

They dance the night away with each other, oblivious to the identity of their dance partner.  The chemistry surges through Peeta’s body, and he knows she feels it too.  There is something familiar about this woman, but Peeta cannot quite put his finger on it. It isn’t until the light of the moon casts its glow, causing the pendant on her necklace to shimmer in the moonlight, which is when Peeta freezes.

It can’t be, no, this girl just happens to have the same necklace.  But then he sees the tiny inscription of the word “Always” in elegant script at the base of the pearl.  That is when he knows.

It is her.

His Katniss.

  Part 3 

Turning away from the familiar stranger, Katniss hikes her dress up and runs back to the hotel. She rushes onto the elevator and presses the button for the twelfth story. When the doors open to her floor, she takes off in a sprint again, toward her room, then slams the door behind her once she’s inside.

“Get a grip, Katniss, wake up.  It’s not him. You are just dreaming!”  She yells at herself, lightly banging the back of her head against the door.  ‘How does he know my name?’  she asks herself.

Less than a minute later, there is a knock at the door.  “Katniss? Katniss, are you okay?  Please open the door. I know it’s you.  It’s me, Peeta.  I’m sorry if I scared you; it’s just…can you please open the door so that I can see your face?”

Can it be him?  Is it truly him?  So many times, Katniss thought she saw him, only to be disappointed when it turned out to be someone else.  Her heart cannot take another beating.

With her hand on the door handle, Katniss closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, preparing herself for the inevitable.  Slowly, she opens the door just a crack, peeking through the small space.

“Peeta?  Is it…is it really you?”  She asks, slowly nudging the door open.

They stand there with their eyes locked, staring at each other while time stands still.  A loose strand of hair blows in Katniss’s eyes, interrupting their trance.  It is enough to reel her back into the present, and Peeta extends his arm, stroking Katniss’s cheek.

“Katniss,”  Peeta says, staring longingly into her eyes.  He slowly lowers his hand, pinching the tiny pearl hanging from Katniss’s neck.  “You still…I can’t believe you still have it.”

Katniss glances at his left hand that grasps her pearl, and her heart speeds up at the absence of a ring.  Peeta reaches up and places his hands on either side of Katniss’s face, bringing his face closer to inspect that it is really her.

“I never…I never take it off,”  Katniss says, licking her lips.  “Do you want to…come in?”  Katniss asks him.  

Peeta gives her a nod and walks past her and into the room.  Katniss closes the door behind him, and when she turns around to face Peeta, he pulls her close, slamming his lips onto hers.

The kiss is deep, sensual, and passionate, everything they have craved over the years.  Peeta takes Katniss to the bed in the center of the room, removing his jacket and slinging it behind him.

Katniss allows Peeta to take control.  He lays her back against the sheets, then follows after her until he’s, hovering above her.  “My God, I have missed you.”  His voice reverberates between their connected lips.

There is no denying it. It is her.  The only thing that matters is Katniss.  His Katniss.  Right here, right now, she stands in front of him after all this time.  He cannot take it anymore and closes the short distance between them, slamming his lips against hers. Peeta plunges his tongue deep into her mouth, devouring her. Tasting her.  Reveling in her.

The moment their lips connect, they knew they had finally found each other.  And yes, it was definitely worth the wait.

  5 Years Later

“I can’t believe you are getting married in Peru on Halloween!”  Prim squeals, zipping the back of Katniss’ wedding gown up.

“It’s not Halloween in Peru, Prim. It’s Día de la Canción Criolla.  And it’s when Peeta and I found each other again.”

“I know, sissy. I still can’t believe you guys found each other in Peru of all places!  I mean, I don’t remember a whole lot from…from before, but I remember how happy you guys were when we were kids.  And then I remember how sad you were when we had to leave, and…and I’m just so glad you found him!”  Prim says, turning Katniss around and adding the finishing touches to her hair.

“I’m just glad that you, Rory, and the kids were able to come.  Have you seen Peeta?  Is he okay?”

“No, you are not seeing him until the wedding. No exceptions!”  Prim tells Katniss, pointing a sassy finger in her face.

When Peeta catches sight of Katniss walking down the aisle to marry him, in the captivating dress with pearl accents, his heart stops in his chest at how beautiful she is.  When he finally found her after so many years, he thought he had died and was living in his dreams.

He finally found her, and she was now his to love.  Always.

[ladyninjaa]

Blasty Boi and The Cat Brat (2)

Imagine: Ground Zero saving your ass from being mugged. 

Part One

In your spare time, you typically didn’t spend it with felines, surprisingly. Today, however, wasn’t those days as you decided to partake in a local shelter TNR’ing feral cats. Now, what was TNR? TNR stood for Trap, Neuter, Release. You set up traps to capture the felines who did not have clipped ears and once they were trapped, they were taken to a local vet for examinations fixed, chipped, and ear clipped and from there they were released back into their colony. 

You liked working alone; cats could sense you as a friend; someone that could be trusted and you’d typically explain to them what you wanted to do and that it would help them. Most felines went without a fight but there were stubborn cats that needed to be tricked and trapped. 

Now, why bother these felines with something that could be and probably was stressful? For their safety and to reduce the risk of breeding and overpopulating. A female cat can have their first litter at four months old! And it wasn’t exactly a safe life for those kits in the rougher areas of the city. 

You were just loading up some TNR cages with willing felines into a rented truck; these types of jobs required a vehicle for easy transport. A few of them were sleeping soundly and others were questioning their journey for the next few days; you calmly explaining what they should expect and you were too absorbed in answering their meowing questions that you didn’t hear running footsteps coming up behind you until the alpha male of the colony hissed loudly. 

When you turned around, there was a gun in your face. 

Your heart skipped a beat, your stomach dropped, and your body went cold. “Give me your wallet and the keys to that truck.” The man behind the gun gruffly told you; he wasn’t alone. There were two others with him and they looked dangerous, no, these weren’t your typical young thugs trying to act hard; these were violent street veterans. 

You swallowed thickly and nodded, “My wallet is in my purse in the front seat, the keys are in my left pocket,” The man peered at you and nodded his head to one of his companions, “At least let me take the cats out of the truck.” You hurriedly blurt out not wanting them to hurt the defenseless felines. 

“No,” The man instantly replied with suspicion in his voice, “Move away from the truck.” 

You did as told but pleaded again, “Please, they don’t deserve to be harmed.” 

“Got the wallet, boss!” One of them chirp. 

As you move away from the truck; your cats were making quite some noise. It seemed to irritate the man as the third companion reached into your left pocket to grab the keys, “And I have the keys.” 

“Get those cats out of the truck,” The gun-man muttered with annoyance, “I ain’t gonna deal with those noisy shits the whole ride.” 

“But...I’m allergic to cats, boss.” The second man muttered giving the cats a distasteful look. If you weren’t basically shitting yourself, you would have laughed. 

“Now.” The gunman ordered. 

The two men complied wordlessly and got to work with unloaded the felines that weren’t happy with what they were doing; these men were greeted with hissing and spitting. From the corner of your eye, you saw movement. Your eyes flicker to your right and saw a group of felines watching from afar; the colony who lived here in this park. 

They were watching knowingly and one of them meowed loudly. You almost flinched but the dangerous men hadn’t registered that this meow came from elsewhere. The cat was telling you that they were looking for help; though how long it would take for these felines to locate a hero and manage to get them here was unseen. 

By the time that happened, these men would be long gone. 

You shook your head slightly.

A bold black tom wandered up to the scene with a loud meow and rubbed against your legs asking if you were alright. “What the fuck,” You looked at the man wielding the gun and saw him glaring at the cat at your legs, “You got some kind of cat quirk, lady?” He demanded. 

Since you had been wearing a beanie today, they couldn’t see your cat ears. You nodded dumbly, “Yes.” 

Before this man could question you about your quirk any further, another meow was heard and a familiar ginger tabby was walking up to the crime scene. Grumpy! Your eyes got wide as saucers. 

Grumpy peered at you and meowed and suddenly you heard one-word echo through your mind. 

Duck!

A second later, there were the sounds of explosions and you instantly ducked while reaching for the black tom and Grumpy to tuck underneath you. What the fuck, what the fuck! Your mind screamed. Dirt and smoke clouded your sight but you could hear and feel movement around you. 

You heard grunting and you heard a shot go off. Your body jolted and prayed that no one got hit by that stray bullet. What were a few seconds felt like years as suddenly the air got still and the dust and smoke slowly started to disappear? You heard footsteps; heavy footsteps walking towards you and when you looked up...you were very surprised to see Ground Zero towering above you with a scowl. 

Grumpy wiggled in your grasp and padded over to his human; it was then that you noticed the harness and leash dragging behind Grumpy. Ground Zero wasn’t in his hero costume, he was wearing civilian clothing. 

“Are you hurt?” He asked offering you a hand. 

You take it and shake your head, “No, I’m fine,” You remember about your cats and immediately whirled around to find them relatively unharmed; a few cages were thrown over and on their sides but the cats seemed fine. 

You quickly begin to release them; they had been through enough tonight. You would come back next week to TNR them. Most of your felines crowded around you with concern but you reassured them that you were fine; you were acutely aware that Ground Zero was on the phone with the three men tied up and knocked out. 

“Police are on their way,” Ground Zero took a few steps towards you, “Are you sure you aren’t hurt?” He asked again. 

You nod as Grumpy came up to softly meow at you, “Thank you,” You thanked him with watery eyes. 

“Tch,” Ground Zero scoffed, “Your lucky I was walking Shang and all these cats were bolting from this area,” He said casting a quick glance at Grumpy, “They must’ve told him you were in danger. Next thing, I know Shang’s bolting through the bushes and into the park.” 

Ah, Shang was Grumpy’s new name! Shang meowed agreeing with what you were thinking. He was introducing himself as Shang. “Thank you too, Shang, my hero!” You cried bringing Shang into your arms and squishing him to your chest. Shang meowed in protest but began to purr a second later. 

You also noticed cats crowding around Ground Zero and brushing up against his legs; you smiled. A thought puzzled you...Shang, you had heard him, like, actually heard Shang form a word. Shang peered at you for a prolonged second almost as if the feline knew you were thinking about earlier. 

Shang looked at his human and meowed at you, cat friend. 

Your eyes widen and a gasp escaped your lips, “How this is possible?!” You muttered in shock. 

“What’s wrong, what did he say?” Ground Zero was kneeling beside you now with evident worry; his crimson eyes skim your dirtied form for any injuries.

“I…” You swallow thickly, “I heard him speak.” 

Ground Zero’s eyebrows furrowed, “Isn’t that your quirk?” He rolled his eyes. 

“No,” You mumbled a little taken back by these sudden turn of events, “I’ve always been able to communicate with felines better than most; they see me as one of their own and they can understand me very well...I can feel emotions extremely well; they feel gratitude and fear and love and all those complicated emotions but never until today have I heard a cat speak a direct word towards me.” You explained as calmly as you could. 

“And that happened just now with Shang?” Ground Zero asked.

You shook your head, “No, it was earlier when he ran up to me and he told me to duck but I thought I had heard it differently, I thought it was just an inner voice telling me to duck but right now, he looked at you and said cat friend.” 

“What the fuck does cat friend mean?” Ground Zero demanded hotly. 

“You saved us,” You explained softly, “They deemed you worthy to be deemed as a cat friend like I was when I first obtained my quirk,” You pet a few of the felines who were sitting beside you, “They are grateful and thankful for your actions to save us. Cats gossip fast so, don’t be surprised if you have cats near your place.” You chuckled softly. 

Ground Zero looked suddenly bashful, he glanced away from you and muttered something under his breath and it was then that you registered the distant sound of sirens probably heading this way. “Gimme your cellphone.” He suddenly demanded...was he blushing? No, it must’ve been your imagination. 

“My...my cellphone, what for?” You asked, surprised. 

“Just do it, woman.” Ground Zero muttered. 

You chuckle and got up to get your purse from the passenger side of the rental. You grabbed your phone, which was thrown haphazardly out of your purse and went back to Ground Zero. You offered your phone and he gently snatched it out of your hands.

You watched him as he sighed, “Why is your phone unlocked?” 

You gave a sheepish grin, “I don’t have anything to hide and if I lose it then I can probably get a better phone pretty easily.” You shrugged. 

“Put a lock on your phone, stupid,” Ground Zero said firmly as he began tapping away on your phone before you heard his phone go off. He fished his own phone out of his pants pocket and saved your number, “Next time you decide to do this, give me a call and I’ll come along.” Ground Zero asserted leaving no room for arguments.

You quirked an eyebrow at him, “I doubt this will happen again.”

“You damn right it won’t happen again,” Ground Zero snorted indifferently, “Because you’ll call me and I’ll tag along.” 

Shang meowed almost angrily, what about me, you idiot?! 

It was so sudden that you laughed loudly. 

You saw Ground Zero’s eye twitch, “What did that fucker say!?” 

You gasped for air and said through giggles, “He said what about him.”

Ground Zero pinned you with a scathing glare, “He said something else otherwise why would that be so funny?” The cops had arrived and you took the distraction happily. You certainly didn’t want to tell Ground Zero that his cat just called him an idiot. 

Hours later, you had been escorted home by a police cruiser at Ground Zero’s request; you answered questions made by the police and did a report as well and by then your body was exhausted. Ground Zero saw this and ordered a police officer to take you home. You stumbled into your apartment and the cute sound of feet pit-pattering on your wooden floors made you smile with a chuckle. 

Your cat, your actual cat, meowed at you with concern. No doubt, the incident had been spread among the felines and brought to your own cat’s attention. You gently cradled your cat in your arms and murmured gentle words of reassurance and it was then that your phone pinged signaling you had received a text message. 

You walked over to your couch and fished out your phone from your bag. You plopped down with your cat purring against your bosom contently. You turned on the screen and saw a text message from Katsuki Bakugo.

Momentarily, you were confused until you saw the text message. 

Did you make it home safely, cat brat?

You smiled softly, “Ground Zero.” You murmured his hero name gently. 

There will def be a part three :) Sorry for any errors!

Part Three   Part Four

[yume-x-hanabi]

Dumplings Over the Moon? Much Ado About Hot Springs

[Tales of Asteria 2020 moon-viewing event translation]

Anise: Waah! Hot springs! Wingul: You seem in high spirits, but do not forget that we are on an investigation mission here. Anise: I know, I know. Can I have a soak, though? You know, as a side benefit. Wingul: ...How carefree. I had no choice but to bring you, since Presa and the others are on a separate mission, but... Wingul: Perhaps I should have come alone. Anise: Don't say that. I'll do my work seriously. Wingul: Please do. Just in case, let us review the details of our mission... Wingul: We have come here to Windor to investigate this newly-built hot springs inn. Do you understand why? Anise: 'Cause the inn in Auj Oule gets super busy every year around moon-viewing, to the point they need the Chimeriad's help. Wingul: Indeed. Yet this year, our help is not needed, as they barely got any reservation. Wingul: I thought that was strange, and upon investigation I came to learn about the establishment of this inn, which is said to be a good spot for moon-viewing as well... Anise: That's competition! Wingul: Indeed. However, true competition would mean that customers would be split over our two inns. Wingul: Yet most customers have come here instead. There must be a reason. Anise: I see. So we've come here to find that out. Wingul: Yes. We might not have time to do that once the moon rises and the banquet starts, so we should split up now. Wingul: You should investigate about the costume rentals. I've heard that it's a service unique to this inn. Anise: Costume rentals, huh? OK, I'm on it! Wingul: Meanwhile, I shall interview the guests gathered in the banquet hall. Now, let us start.

Wingul: So this is the banquet hall. Judging from the number of table sets, they seem to be expecting a lot of customers. Wingul: Let's ask around. First...

Walto: ...Hm? Why I chose to come to this inn? Wingul: Yes. There are other hot spring inns, so why this one? Walto: That's true... The previous years, I used to go to the one in Auj Oule. Wingul: Why the change, then? Walto: It's not that deep. I was brought by the novelty of it. That's all. Walto: Auj Oule's inn has the appeal of a long-established business... I will probably go back next year. Wingul: I see... Novelty wears off, but an old house's appeal deepens with time. This might be something we can exploit. Walto: There are people who prefer new things, though. Wingul: You have given me things to think about. Thank you for your valuable opinion. Walto: You're welcome.

Wingul: If the customers are not as biased next time, there might be something we can do about it. Wingul: I should ask more people. Let's see...

Alisha: This inn's appeal...? That's a difficult question... Wingul: Can you tell me why you chose this inn, rather than the older one in Auj Oule? Alisha: Oh, that's easy. This one is closer to Sylvarant. Alisha: I have limited days off. I never went to Auj Oule, because it was too far, but this one is within range. Wingul: ...I see. So this means that there are not only customers who used to go to Auj Oule... Wingul: But also customers who would have never gone to Auj Oule anyway, due to the distance. Alisha: I think there is actually a lot of them. Many people in Sylvarant expressed joy at the news that this hot springs inn was opening. Wingul: In other words, they have influence on a market that was never in Auj Oule's range. Wingul: If I knew the scale, we could find a way to use that to our advantage and not only prevent decline, but increase profits... Alisha: I hope that helped. Wingul: I have another question. What would you say is this inn's unique charm? Alisha: Let's see... There are many charming things about it, but I'd say the rental costumes are pretty unique. Wingul: The rumored costumes. I was wondering, is that what you are wearing? Alisha: Yes. Isn't it beautiful? And look at this accessory. Alisha: They are lending us rabbit ears to fit with the moon-viewing theme. Isn't that clever? Wingul: That is original indeed. ...I see, so even if novelty wears off, this inn's originality will ensure it does not lose to old establishments. Alisha: That's all I can tell you. I hope that was enough. Wingul: More than enough. You have my thanks.

Wingul: I have gathered information. However, I lack the key to establish a concrete plan... ???: Excuse me. I'm holding plates, so could you move out of the way? Wingul: My apologies. Mh? You are... Flynn: You're... Auj Oule's...! Malik: What's wrong, Flynn? I'll set the table, so you can just bring the food there... Wingul: Another familiar face. If I am not mistaken, you are Flynn and Malik, knights from Windor. Malik: Auj Oule's Chimeriad... Your name's Wingul, right? What are you doing here? Wingul: There is no need to be surprised. I heard about this new inn, so I came here for moon-viewing. Wingul: Why are knights like you acting like waiters? Malik: Well, you know... It just happened. Flynn: We came to ensure security to this new tourist spot. Flynn: But there were more customers than expected, so we were asked to help prepare for the banquet. Wingul: That sounds familiar... Malik: So we're pretty busy. If you're looking for information, ask someone else. Wingul: You saw right through me. I see there is no fooling you. Wingul: ... Wingul: ...Wait. Are the two of you enough? I can help if you need. Malik: That would be great, but... I don't think you'll learn anything new by infiltrating the staff. Wingul: I don't need more information. I have experience with running a hot springs inn. I believe I can be of use. Flynn: Thanks for proposing, but that's not really up to us. Malik: But it's true that we could use the help. Let's talk to the proprietress. Wingul: Please.

Anise: I finished investigating about the rental costumes. I found this cute one! Anise: There are also plainer ones like normal yukata. It was pretty popular with everyone, no matter the demographics. Wingul: I see. Good job. From what you're wearing, I can see that they have a very original assortment. Anise: By the way, what are you up to? Is that a costume as well? Wingul: That's a manager's uniform. They accepted my help readily when I proposed. Anise: Ah, I bet you're only pretending to help while devising a strategy or something. Wingul: I am indeed strategizing, but the helping part is genuine. This will benefit both this inn and Auj Oule's. Anise: What do you mean? Wingul: There are more customers than expected tonight. As a result... Look at this ledger. Anise: It's full of numbers. Erm... Oh, does that mean they don't have enough moon-viewing dumplings? Wingul: Yes. It seems they were able to prepare enough other ingredients because they planned their menu according to the number of reservations... Wingul: But there was no planning for dumplings. So they are running out quickly. Wingul: Therefore, I have sent an order to bring dumplings from Auj Oule's inn at once. Anise: Will they come in time, though? Wingul: I got permission to use Tenos' flying ship. The delivery should arrive soon. Anise: Eeeeh?! Why are you doing all that for our rival? Wingul: It is not simple goodwill. Establishing Auj Oule's dumplings in this inn is the main objective. Anise: ...What do you mean? Wingul: From my investigation, I learned that customers that cannot travel to Auj Oule have come here. Anise: I heard that too. Especially people from Sylvarant... Wingul: So if we can sell Auj Oule's moon-viewing dumplings here... Anise: Oh! People who normally wouldn't get the chance to buy them would be able to! Wingul: Yes. Fortunately, Windor has a confectionery culture like Auj Oule's. For example, they sell Richard dumplings. Anise: Just like our Gaius dumplings. So our sweets have a chance to get popular. Wingul: From my calculations, our country might be able to make profits greater than last year if we secure this market. Wingul: This would enable the inn that makes those dumplings to survive. Anise: Wow, that's awesome! That solves our problem! Wingul: Not yet. It depends on whether the dumplings take off. This is where the battle starts. Anise: Ah, I see. How can we make sure it happens? Wingul: It’s simple. We need to have everyone, whether customer of staff, have a taste. Wingul: Then, if they want more, we will be able to make a deal with this inn. Anise: I see. So we just have to distribute dumplings. Wingul: That's it. And don't forget to advertise the fact they come from Auj Oule. ???: Here come the moon-viewing dumplings. Wingul: ...! That voice! Agria: Here. There's a mountain of them, so you can shove them all down people's throats. Wingul: Agria! What are you doing here? Jiao: I am here too. We heard you were busy, so we got on the flying ship. Presa: We were done with our other mission, so we thought we could help you and then relax in the hot springs. Wingul: I didn't ask you to... Ah, fine. The more the merrier. Wingul: We shall hand out dumplings to as many people as possible, and invade Windor's market. Jiao: Right. And then it's hot springs time. Anise: Count me in!♪ Wingul: Morale is high, I see. Now, there isn't much time left before the banquet. Let us begin.

[hermannsthumb]

Your writing is amazing!! I’ve been super homesick recently so if you’re still taking fall prompts would you consider doing one where after PR they get to go back to the northeast and Newt gets to have a proper fall for the first time in years. (Not a lot of hay rides and pumpkin patches in Hong Kong) THANK YOU!!!

Anonymous said: Hellomst :) Can I please request 28 and 29 (with possibly some 30 thrown in if you can manage it) for the Autumn Fic Meme you reblogged? (For Newmann ofc :) ) We don't get cold weather over here(currently it's 90 with 82% humidity....) so I gotta live that fall life vicariously

from autumn fic meme here: 28. flannel shirt + 29. hiking (and unofficially: bedsharing and huddling for warmth eyes emoji)

& of course @problemwithtrouble​!!! prefacing this by saying: @k-sci-janitor​ and i did a little collab fic with basically this plot back in march, newt and hermann taking a road trip around new england to look at the changing leaves, so if you want a LONG version of this idea feel free to check that out here

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

“Smell that,” Newt says. “Do you smell it?”

"Smell what?” Hermann says.

Newt puts his hands on his hips and takes a long whiff--of the fresh mountain air, of the dying leaves, of plain and simple dirt--and smiles. “Nature, dude. Fall. Fucking fantastic.”

Hermann, meanwhile, wrinkles his nose and takes special care to tuck it beneath his scarf, then takes special care to tuck that into the flannel he borrowed off Newt. He’s been whining about his allergies since they set out this morning and whining about being cold even longer. “Decay,” he says, voice muffled. “Mold. Death.”

“Pretty leaves,” Newt counters.

Hermann shuts up while Newt helps him over a particularly large root and around a felled tree, but the second Newt’s hand slips away from his arm and he’s left to fend for himself once more, it’s back to complaining. “When’s the trail meant to end, anyway?” he says, breath rising up in small white puffs. “I’m starved.”

“I told you to pack a lunch,” Newt says, because he did, about fifty times. (I’ve just eaten breakfast, Hermann said with a little sniff. I’ll be fine.) “I told you you’d get hungry.”

“I didn’t realize we’d be out all day!” Hermann snaps.

It’s only been an hour. They left for their hike at eleven sharp on the easiest trail possible (no incline, a nice, easy, flat loop around the park lake, beginning and ending right by their rented cabin), and they’re already halfway finished. They can’t have more than another hour ahead of them. Hermann’s managed much longer under much worse conditions willingly, and it’s not as if he didn’t have the choice to let Newt go alone. He’s the one that insisted on coming. Still--the more well-fed Hermann is, the less likely it is he’ll annoy the shit out of Newt for that hour and the hours following when they get home. (Newt can already picture Hermann hovering over his shoulder and making snide remarks while Newt tries to cook dinner.)

He fishes an apple from his backpack and tosses it over; Hermann catches it. “Here, just take mine. I made a sandwich too.” He waves his reusable sandwich box. “You want it?”

“What sort of sandwich?” Hermann says, narrowing his eyes.

“Fluff and Nutella,” Newt says.

Hermann makes a face. “The apple is satisfactory.”

“It must be hard to have no taste,” Newt says, and digs into the sandwich himself.

Hermann stops complaining after that, and Newt is left--in peace--to enjoy the scenery and the simple knowledge of it being autumn. He hasn’t had a proper autumn in years. Not since MIT. Maybe not even since before the kaiju. He still decorated the lab for Halloween every year and donned dumb costumes, of course, tracked down as much artificial pumpkin-flavored junk he could find, but it just wasn’t the same. No hay rides. No pumpkin patches. No changing leaves anywhere within decent distance. He explained as much to Hermann when he talked him into this little excursion in the first place: they deserve a good nostalgia-fueled autumn, and together, at that.

Last week, he took Hermann on a hay ride to a pumpkin patch, and they carved pumpkins for their tiny front stoop on the floor of their equally tiny kitchen. (Hermann claimed he’d never done it before, but his design kicked Newt’s design’s ass by about one thousand percent.) The week before that, he sat Hermann down for a good old-fashioned horror movie marathon and threw popcorn at him each time he tried to critique the logic or explain how the science really wasn’t all that accurate. This week, he’s tossed a disgusting amount of his PPDC savings at a log cabin rental in the middle of scenic, autumnal nowhere and only managed to talk Hermann into accompanying him under very select conditions: one, Newt would foot the entire bill, two, Hermann could have the big bed, and three, he’d swear to leave Hermann alone for at least an hour every day to read or knit or brood or whatever the fuck it is Hermann does in his kaiju-free time these days.

Newt agreed to the conditions. Mostly. Half an hour seems more than enough time for Hermann to chill alone, is all.

“Look,” he says. He stops and points through a break in the trees, where the mountainside is newly visible on the horizon: the treetops form a swaying, vibrant blanket of red-orange-yellow that seems to stretch on forever. It’s beautiful. Newt whips out his phone and snaps a quick photo of Hermann framed against it and privately considers having it framed.

"’S just a load of trees,” Hermann grumbles, but Newt catches the ghost of a smile on his face as he turns away.

Dinner is an uninteresting affair of canned clam chowder Newt heats up over the shitty electric stove with no small amount of difficulty. Only one burner is working, and it seems to have doubled in inefficiency since last night. “I’m starting to think we should’ve just gone into town for dinner,” he calls to Hermann from the kitchen; Hermann looks up from his crossword puzzle, eyes owlish behind his glasses, cheeks rosy from the fire he’s nestled himself in front of. He’s still in Newt’s flannel. “Gotten Chinese or something.” He pokes at a lump of clam with the end of a warped plastic stirring spoon. “Ugh.”

“It’s soup,” Hermann says. He bustles in to shove Newt aside and deal with it himself. “How hard can it possibly be?”

“Don’t push me--”

“I’m not pushing, you moron, I’m--”

“It’s the fucking stove,” Newt says. “It’s, like, eighty years old. It’s--”

“Then use a different burner--”

They get the chowder heated up eventually. Hermann takes more than his fair share of both it and the sleeve of saltines Newt cracks open, and when he’s finished, feigns sleep back by the fire so he doesn’t have to help Newt with the dishes. “You’re making breakfast tomorrow,” Newt says, kicking the foot of Hermann’s rocking chair.

Hermann doesn’t even crack an eye when he tries to trip Newt with the end of his cane. Jerk.

After he gets dinner cleaned up, Newt pulls a blanket over his lap and curls up comfortably in the second rocking chair at Hermann’s side. He’s contemplating getting up and finding his stash of s’more stuff for dinner round two (which would be a much more satisfying dinner) when Hermann startles him by patting his hand. “Thank you for cooking,” Hermann says, stiffly and awkwardly, while Newt blinks. “I...appreciate it.”

“Oh,” Newt says. Lately, Hermann’s been working on communicating his emotions better in methods that don’t involve just shouting at Newt. This is probably part of it. Yesterday, he clapped Newt’s shoulder just as stiffly in thanks for driving them here. “No problem.” Newt smiles.

“Or,” Hermann says. “Your attempts at making us dinner, I should say.”

“Ah,” Newt says. Yeah, that makes more sense.

“Seeing as I had to step in--”

“I get it,” Newt says. “Thanks, Hermann.”

He gets another rare Gottliebian smile, though this one seems slightly more amused than the last, and Hermann pats his hand again before pulling away. “What do you have in mind for tomorrow afternoon?” he says. He slips his glasses back on and resumes his puzzle. “The old quarry? A drive into town?”

Newt saw a signpost for the abandoned quarry when they were driving up to their cabin yesterday. It’s only a ten minute hike away. He doubts there’s anything substantial worth studying left in there, maybe some larger chunks of that dusty red rock he’s been finding around, but it could be fun to play geologist for a day nonetheless and show off in front of Hermann. On the other hand--there’s a harvest festival in the town tomorrow, which they also saw a sign for, and Newt’s never been one to pass up rides and junk food. He bets he could even coerce Hermann into getting on a ferris wheel with him. “Whatever you want,” Newt concedes.

Hermann nods. “We ought to wait and see what we’re in the mood for tomorrow.”

Newt watches him fill out another few clues, lulled into a strange relaxation by the crackling of the fire and the scratch of Hermann’s pencil. Hermann himself. Hermann is always unfairly cute when he’s lost in thought like this: he fiddles with his glasses, he frowns, he hms under his breath, he mutters things like no and maybe and it could be to himself. He used to do the same in the lab at his chalkboard. “Forty-two down is spelled wrong,” Newt says. (A strand of Hermann’s hair is sticking up funny. He wants to smooth it down.) “It should be an E, not an A like you have.”

“So it should be,” Hermann says. He fixes it. “I must’ve written it in a hurry. Thank you, Newton.”

“Mmhmm,” Newt says. 

It’s all very domestic. Newt thinks he’d like to get used to it.

Hermann takes the big bed again that night as per their agreement. It’s full-sized and lumpy, with a quilt that looks at least a hundred years old, and it sags so deeply in the center Newt is half-worried Hermann will sink down into it and never be seen again. Newt himself takes the small twin bed in the loft above. There’s no central heating, just the fireplace, and it’s a bit of a pain to hustle up and down the stairs to toss on more logs when the fire starts to die, but it sure as fuck beats shivering to death. Or being bitched at by Hermann to death. “They have luxury cabins,” Hermann says, cacaooned in a blanket and watching Newt stoke tonight’s fire, “with bathtubs with jets, and working stoves, and radiators, and yet you’ve condemned us to--”

“Stop whining,” Newt says. He hefts another log onto the fire and has to dodge the resulting spray of sparks. “It’s about the experience. Luxury cabins are for wusses.”

“Hmph,” Hermann declares.

Newt’s woken up three hours later by three things: the intense shivers that wrack his body, the realization that the fire’s gone out, and the heavy pounding of rain on the roof. On the leaky roof. A droplet of water hits Newt’s forehead. Newt curses, louder than he intends, and rolls out of bed to his socked feet. Another raindrop hits his shoulder.

“Newton?” Hermann hisses.

“Sorry,” Newt hisses back. “I didn’t mean to wake you up. Go back to bed.”

“You didn’t,” Hermann says. Normal volume. “I was already awake. It’s cold.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Newt sighs. He tugs a sweater on over his head--the only sweater he owns--and slips down the creaking staircase. “I’ll do up the fire again.”

Or he would’ve, anyway, if their stockpile of logs wasn’t totally used up. Hermann apparently stayed up longer than he did and had been steadily tending to the fire the whole time. A quick foray out to the woodpile confirms Newt’s suspicions: the protective roof didn’t manage to save the other logs from the wind-blown rain, and they’re all totally soaked. Completely unusable. “I should’ve just grabbed more after dinner,” Newt says, kicking off his muddy docs. He finds Hermann crouching at the hearth in front of the pitiful ashy embers with two of Newt’s flannels and the quilt from the bed pulled on. “We’re kinda screwed.”

Hermann mumbles out a stream of curses and something that sounds suspiciously like the luxury cabins would’ve had dry wood. Newt drops down next to him and also tucks himself beneath the quilt. “Do you want to borrow one of my blankets?” he says. “I have an extra up in the loft.”

“You’re getting me wet,” Hermann sniffs, but he shifts the blanket over to give Newt more of it. He’s shivering pretty badly. The guy needs some insulation, man.

“Okay,” Newt says, nursing another thought. “What if we double up?”

This makes Hermann freeze. “Double up?”

“You,” Newt says, “me, together, in your bed. It’ll be warmer.” He grins. “I’ve been told I’m a very good cuddler.” He snakes an arm around Hermann’s waist and squeezes it just to make his point. Hermann jumps.

“Ah,” he says. It could just be a trick of the low light (the single lamp they’ve turned on is resting on the bedside table across the room), but Newt could swear he’s blushing. “Well. That’d be--you don’t have to.”

“It’s no problem,” Newt says, and then lies, because he, on the other hand, can generally get by with his own natural insulation, probably even tonight if he tosses on an extra sweatshirt, “You’d be keeping me warm too. Symbiosis. It’s biology.”

“How scientific,” Hermann says.

“Also,” Newt says, “the roof’s kinda leaking above my bed.”

“Ah.”

Hermann surprises him by automatically adopting the position of little spoon when they slip under the covers. In Newt’s occasional fantasies of sharing a bed with Hermann--occasional, very occasional, he’ll admit to that--Hermann has always been the opposite. He’s got those gangly skinny limbs, you know, perfect to wrap around Newt like a bony octopus. It seems like a shame to waste them. Tonight is probably just a special case. “You’re like a bloody hot water bottle,” Hermann declares after ten minutes.

“Who the fuck still uses hot water bottles?” Newt says against his neck. “Are you some Victorian dandy?”

Hermann bristles. “They’re perfectly common.”

“They’re one step up from tossing a bunch of coals in a pan and calling it a day,” Newt says. “Just buy a space heater. They cost, like, twenty bucks.”

“Fire hazards,” Hermann says.

“You can have mine,” Newt says.

Hermann pinches his arm. “Shut up. I’m trying to sleep.”

“Dick,” Newt says.

He snuggles a little closer to Hermann anyway. Lack of fire and Hermann’s bony elbows aside--between their combined layers of blankets, the gentle rise and fall of Hermann’s chest against his arm, and the patter of rain on the roof, Newt’s feeling pretty damn cozy. Even Hermann’s stopped shivering. (Newt could definitely get used to this.)

Before he can help himself, he plants a small kiss to the borrowed plaid fabric at Hermann’s shoulder, then follows it up with a gentle nuzzle against his neck. “Mm. G’night, Hermann.”

“Goodnight,” Hermann says, oddly breathless. He curls his fingers through Newt’s.

[poorreputation]

That Being Said, So Get This

A Supernatural-Buzzfeed: Unsolved Crossover! All part of the @cocklesdestielfiction Cockles-Destiel Crazy Crossover Challenge! (and @verobatto-angelxhunter)

To read on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20960567

Wordcount: 6390

Ship: Destiel

Rating: Teen and up

Any kind of warnings: canon-typical violence. If you watch either show, you should be fine. Also, lots of in-jokes. Maybe too many in-jokes.

Also: contains SPN S14 Spoilers

Summary: 

What happens when Buzzfeed: Unsolved and Supernatural are set in the same universe! Ryan Bergara, the believer. Shane Madej, the skeptic. The Winchester Brothers- serial killers? And whatever happened to James Novak?

Story below the cut!

  Ryan Bergara waits for the sound engineer's cue, then begins reading aloud from his script, "In June of 2008, James 'Jimmy' Novak disappeared, leaving behind wife Amelia and daughter Claire. Just a few years later, in 2010, Amelia vanishes, as well. Jimmy is reported to have been spotted a handful of times since then, but what could have lead a loving father and husband to vanishing from the face of the earth? And what prompted his wife to join him?"

  A pause, a second reading of the same paragraph, and then Ryan continues, "The Novaks were known for their devout faith and regular church attendances. According to close friends and family, Jimmy became a zealot in the months leading up to his disappearance, saying that he'd gained the ability to 'talk to Angels'. It's said this put a great strain on his and Amelia's marriage. But, is this what caused him to leave? Did he even leave under his own will?"

  More details are fleshed out, more takes are made, until Ryan reaches his favorite part of every Unsolved episode, "That being said, let's get to the theories. Our first theory builds off of Jimmy's known fanaticism. That he had become convinced he could talk to, and become a vessel for, Angels, and so left his family to fulfill his mission to god. This, however, does not explain what happened to Amelia, or why she disappeared so long after her husband.

  "Our second theory is more far-fetched, and comes mostly from the internet rumor-mill. Over the years, there's been alleged sightings of Jimmy Novak, not only nationally, but internationally, as well. He's most controversially been claimed to have been spotted with infamous serial killers, Sam and Dean Winchester. Coupled with this is the idea that Jimmy and Dean are romantically connected, which people cite as to why Jimmy left his family in the first place, and that Amelia didn't disappear while looking for Jimmy, but was, in fact, killed by Dean. And, for the record, I think this is horseshit."

  Ryan looks up to see the sound engineer silently howling with laughter, which puts a dumb grin on his own face, "But wait, it gets worse!"

  Clearing his throat, and fighting to keep a straight face, Ryan continues, "Our third and final theory is that Jimmy and Amelia weren't running towards anything, but away from someone. That someone? Their 10 year old daughter Claire, who some, as in the internet, claim is a Demon-" Ryan breaks off his sentence, laughing so hard he gives himself the hiccups, "This is gonna be our worst episode, ever."

3 WEEKS LATER

  Ryan Bergara and Shane Madej step out of one of two rental vans, as the rest of the crew starts to unpack. Shane, the taller of the two hosts, stretches his arms, "God, it's good to get out."

Ryan doesn't respond, looking on at the location for that week's episode. His stomach aches just from the sight of it.

 "You all right there?" Shane asks, "Breakfast making a reappearance?"

 "Nah, just." Ryan shakes his head, "The cases with murder always get me. So fucking creepy."

 "Yup." Shane claps his shoulder, leading the way to the front door.

 The house is a single story home, very modern, less than ten years old. Only one family had lived in it, and now it's vacant. The lawn is trimmed, as it's the least the city can do, but the walls, windows and porch are filthy. Items deliberately thrown at the windows are dry and caked on, and Ryan can just picture kids in costumes throwing eggs at the house on Halloween, probably on a dare.

 Shane fishes out the keys from his pocket, waits for their cameraman to give them the thumbs-up, and unlocks the door. Motioning for Ryan to go first, Shane gives a cheeky bow.

 "Alright, whatever." Ryan mutters.

 Everyone filed in, lighting tested and cleared, Ryan begins. He walks into the living room, Shane just a pace behind, and soaks in the scene. The furniture is gone, a light fixture and a bookshelf are all that remain. trying to recall the grisly crime scene photos, Ryan waves hand where the couch should have been. "In August of 2011, Marianne Wyatt and her three boys sat in this area, as someone came up behind them, and shot them, one after the other. They'd been bound, unable to escape, and-" Ryan blinks, nausea overwhelming him, "And a few days later, the father, Marianne's husband, Phil, was found dead. His death ruled a suicide, no note was ever found. Police couldn't prove it, but the theory was that Phil killed his family, and then himself. No one knows why."

 "Neighbors on either side said they heard nothing?" Shane says, prompting Ryan out of his daze.

 "Heard no screams, no shots. Police couldn't even pinpoint the wife and kids' time of death." Ryan nods, "I think I need some water."

 The cameraman shoots some B-roll as Ryan sits, one of the producers handing him a water bottle. "thanks." Ryan nods, as he takes a swallow.

 There's rumbling outside, followed by one of the crew commenting, "whoa, look at that ride!"

 "Sweet car." the boom operator quips.

 Shane looks out the window, "Eh, too obnoxious for my tastes."

 "That's a '67 Chevy Impala." the first crew member replies, "You have no taste."

 Several people, including Shane, laugh at this, and leaves Ryan with an odd sense of deja-vu. Maybe if the room would stop spinning, he could figure out what it is.

 With Ryan looking so sick, the rest of the crew agree to break for the day. Shane drives Ryan to a gas station to get the sickly man some medicine and a Sprite to calm his stomach. Feeling much better, Ryan stays back for a bit to check out the souvenirs the store has to offer, "We could get a hat, or maybe something small like a shot glass."

 "Or, we can get gas station nachos!" Shane grins, his smile only getting broader as Ryan pales at the thought, "And here I thought you were a hardened pro, Ryan Bergara."

 "It might just be food poisoning." Ryan replies, thumbing through some key chains. A car pulls into the lot, loudly announcing its presence, and Ryan has to stop himself from rolling his eyes, "What's it with people around here and their shitty mufflers?"

 "Oh, that's not very fair." Shane replies, the sarcasm lightly sprinkling his words, "I mean- look! -it's the same car from earlier. You shouldn't make such generalizations."

 Ryan peers up as they start walking towards the cashier, as the black, classic car comes to a stop, the engine cutting off a second later. Ryan's eyes widen, as he remembers where he's seen this car before. He shakes his head, willing his heart to slow down. As Shane pays for their stuff, Ryan can't resist the urge to try and catch a glimpse of the car's owner. Just to reassure himself, nothing more. However, by the time Shane's ready to leave, the driver of the Impala has already gotten back in the car.

 The ride back to the hotel is quiet, save for the radio tuned into some local station. It's a sports station, and Ryan feels it's a nice gesture Shane put it on for him, but Ryan just can't concentrate. He can feel Shane glance his way every now and then, and as he pulls into the hotel parking lot, "Hey, if you're really feeling that bad, I'm sure we can find an Urgent Care, around here."

 Ryan shakes his head, "It's not that."

 "What's on your mind?"

 Ryan stares out the window as Shane parks the rental, "Reading up on all of these cases, it makes ya kinda paranoid after a while."

 Shane laughs, "You don't have to be so serious about it."

 "No, really. The car we saw earlier? It reminds me of the episode we filmed a few weeks back. The Novaks, remember?"

 "I don't recall the devout Christian couple driving a muscle car."

 "Right." Ryan nods, "I'm an idiot, I didn't include it in the script, but it's the car Dean Winchester's known to drive."

 "So? It's a 'classic car', I'm sure a ton of people drive it."

 "But it was in front of the Wyatt house, earlier."

 Shane gives a single shrug, "Maybe it's a fan. There was a data breach, last week. Someone could've leaked the location of this week's episode."

  Ryan has to admit to himself, Shane's reasoning does make him feel better, "You're probably right."

  Dean steers the Impala into the motel parking lot, as Sam sits next to him, reading from his phone, "Marianne Wyatt and her kids are buried together at Eternal Rest Cemetery. Phil, however, was cremated."

  "But, a man is reported to be seen in the house?" Dean asks.

  "That's right." Sam confirms.

  "Some personal items of Phil's still there?"

  Castiel speaks up from the backseat, "House was empty when we searched it earlier, save for some signs of 'squatters'." he answers, using air-quotes, "Have we considered the possibility of the spirit not being Phil Wyatt?"

  "No one else has lived in the house, let alone died here." Sam says.

  "What if Phil's suicide was staged?" Castiel poses, "The wife and children are killed, the husband's taken hostage for insurance. Something goes wrong, Phil is murdered, and it's staged as a suicide."

  "There wasn't any physical evidence tying Phil to the murders." Dean agrees, "Could've been a set-up. It'd also make sense why he'd be a vengeful spirit."

  "Again, we don't know it's Phil, or what's tying him, there." Sam sighs, "It feels like we're going in circles."

  "If not Phil Wyatt, then what? The killer?" Dean asks, "Unless the guy died in the house, why would he be stuck?"

  Castiel thinks, "Maybe the real killer has something from this crime. Kept it one his person, even in death."

  "So, the 'real' killer's stuck in someone else's house?" Dean shakes his head, "This shit's giving me a migraine, god."

  Entering the motel, Sam gets to work researching any possible leads on the Wyatt murders, as Dean hops in the shower, and Castiel is left standing in the middle of the room. After a minute of tense silence, Sam takes the bait, "What's wrong, Cas?"

  "The beds look disgusting." Castiel practically spits, not in harsh judgement, but genuine concern. Sam looks over at what he's talking about, and sees the usual grimy, cheap motel pillows and comforters. Both beds have old, faded stains, and minute tears. Sam figures Castiel being without powers makes him more sensitive to cleanliness, or lack thereof, more than as an Angel.

  "Don't know what you want me to do about it." Sam sighs, "I'm sure they're just old."

  "I think I want to sleep out in the Impala." Castiel mutters.

  Sam resists the urge to roll his eyes, "Ask Dean for the keys when he gets out, then."

  Castiel resorts to standing awkwardly in the corner, as Sam does his best to just research the Wyatt murders. By the time Dean returns to the main room, back in his old, sweaty clothes, making the shower seem entirely pointless, Sam stumbles upon some interesting information.

  "Hey. So, get this," Sam calls the other two men over, "There was this leak at the Buzzfeed headquarters, some of it revealing the Unsolved guys' sites for the new season."

  Castiel stares blankly at him. Dean sees this and goes, "It's a couple of assholes on the web who mess with ghosts and Demons. Sam, being the serial killer fanboy he is, is obsessed with their true crime series."

  "I'm not a fanboy."

  Dean mutters to Castiel, "Yes he is."

  "The reason I bring it up," Sam presses, "is because this week, they're covering the Wyatt murders."

  Dean pauses, "Wait, that camera crew we saw earlier-?"

  "Looks like it's Buzzfeed."

  Castiel leans over, peering at the computer screen, "The- the disappearance of the Novaks?"

  Sam and Dean turn, and confirm Castiel’s observation, "Oh, my God."

  "I mean," Dean starts, "There's more than one Novak out there, you know?"

  "From Pontiac, Illinois?" Sam asks.

  Dean frowns, "Well, I guess that means you can't meet your idols, Sammy."

  Sam scoffs at this, "They're probably gone by now, anyway. They never stay in a location for longer than a day."

  "Let's use caution when going back, regardless." Castiel says, turning to Dean, "May I stay in the Impala, tonight?"

  Dean, flustered and blushing, replies, "What's wrong with in here? Afraid to share the bed? I was gonna make Sam sleep on the floor, anyway."

  Sam feels a part of his soul wither away from the second-hand embarrassment.

  "This room is filthy, and I don't want to stay here." Castiel answers.

  "That's just character." Dean mumbles, taking out his keys, "Fine. Whatever."

  After Castiel shuts the front door, Sam braces himself for Dean's inevitable angsty tantrum, "He didn't have to be so rude. We stay in places like this all the time! Sure, none of these rooms come with a third bed, so maybe he was afraid to bunk with one of us, especially you." Dean points at Sam, "You kick in your sleep. In fact, I was just gonna make you sleep on the floor, with you being the youngest and everything."

  Sam wonders how close the nearest liquor store is.

  At midnight, Dean can't help himself but to check on Castiel. He needs a good excuse though, so he grabs the remainder of the six pack, all that Sam didn't drink, and heads out into the dimly lit parking lot.

  Dean can tell from some distance away that Cas is still awake. The Impala's interior is alight, and as Dean nears he can see Cas in the backseat holding up a book. Reaching the car, Dean knocks on the window, then lifts the cans of beer when Castiel glances up. Castiel moves to unlock the door, and without invitation Dean scoots in, ignoring how close-quarters the situation is, and offers Castiel a drink. Dean's so preoccupied with not brushing up against Castiel in any way, that he forgets to actually say anything.

  "Did you need something?" Castiel asks, opening the can with a pop.

  Dean, suffering from a brain-fart, "Just, uhm, checking in."

  The awkward silence is so palpable, Dean feels like he's about to choke, "So, this place can get pretty uncomfortable. Did you, er, want a pillow? Or something? Blanket?" he says, sweating profusely.

  Castiel points to the front seat, "I already have a pillow, thank you."

  Dean gives a high-pitched hum, and, with little to add, exits the car.

  Back in the motel, "I think Cas is upset." Dean says as he closes the door, "He doesn't want to be in the same room as m- us," he looks up at Sam, who's doing his best to ignore his older brother at the moment, "You think he's still mad about the whole 'you're dead to me' thing?"

  Sam rolls his eyes, "Gee, what could ever give you that impression."

  "I was just being angry!" Dean starts to pace, right as Sam's head starts to pound, "I yell at you sometimes, and you know I don't mean it!"

  "I've known you for 36 years, I think I've picked up on that." Sam deadpans, "Maybe, and here's a novel concept, you tell Cas that yourself?"

  "I don't know, I think you-"

  "No." Sam presses, "I'm not gonna be the messenger between you guys. You want to patch things up with Cas, do it yourself."

  In the morning, after a full night of not resolving their issues, Castiel returns to the motel from a coffee run. Wordlessly passing around three cups, the group huddles around Sam as he gets ready to show them his recent findings.

  Ryan and Shane return to the Wyatt house first thing in the morning, the crew waiting for them out front. Working off of nothing but coffee and toast, Ryan's ready for take two. They enter the house, set up their equipment just like the day before, and get situated.

  "There's one suspect, outside of Phil Wyatt himself, police posit committed these crimes" Ryan says, "And since the guy's dead, it'll remain as speculation."

  "Victor Myers was the personal assistant to a business mogul." Sam begins, "He traveled frequently, mainly within the United States. Occasionally, he would go into the next town over, pick a target, and kill them. The longer he did this, the bolder he got."

  Ryan says, "Victor started off killing one, then two people at a time. After a couple of years, he found his rhythm in killing families and making it look like a break-in." he looks around the vacant living room, a chill going down his spine.

  "He wrote about some of his kills," Sam continues, "but it's suspected he took many more lives, around 30, at least. He died of a stroke, four years ago. Police only knew of the murders after searching his home and DNA evidence. The deaths of the Wyatts are thought to be connected to Myers, judging by Victor's whereabouts at the time and the nature of the kills, but obviously the police can't pursue it."

  "So, we're dealing with the ghost of a serial killer?" Dean asks.

  "Serial killers are known to keep 'trophies' of their victims." Castiel adds, "It could be what's tying him to the house."

  Sam's eyes widen, as he lifts up the laptop for everyone else to see, "Maybe not."

  Castiel tilts his head to the side, "The events began before Victor's death?"

  "So," Dean asks, "Who's haunting?"

  "The thought of Victor Myers being behind these killings seems like a no-brainer," Ryan says, "but it doesn't have everyone convinced. Personally, I think the cops here know it's the truth, but don't want to go through the trouble of proving Myers did it."

  "Wouldn't be the first time." Shane nods in agreement, "Too much paperwork."

  After filming, the cast and crew pack their things, and get ready to leave the Wyatt house, and the small suburban town, for the last time. Ryan can't help but breathe a sigh of relief; the suffocating feelings he'd had the day before weren't as strong, now, but they were still incredibly unpleasant. At the threshold of the once occupied home, he turns back to the empty rooms that echoed their steps and voices, "If there's a Victor around here, you can kindly fuck off."

  Shane shrugs his bag higher up on his shoulder, "The camera's are off, buddy. No idea what you're trying to prove."

  "That there's a thick and toxic presence in the house?" Ryan asks, shutting the door behind him, "One that we'll never have to deal with again?"

  Shane groans, "It's True Crime season, Ryan. The one season where you and I are on the same page. And you have to make it about your spooky stories."

  "Most murders have some whisper of the supernatural to them." Ryan replies, "I just don't always bring it up. This time I did. So, there."

  Shane shakes his head, "What an active imagination you have."

  Dean methodically checks all of their weapons, handing each item one-by-one to Sam for packing. Their gear, stored in two duffels, is almost ready to go, Sam zipping up the first bag and readying the second. Castiel does a once-over of their motel room, as after they're done with the Wyatt house, they're heading straight out of town; all three men agreed, with the extra attention on them from those 'paranormal investigators' from Buzzfeed, it wouldn't be smart to linger.

  An hour later, Dean gathers everyone around, "We'll park the Impala a block from the house, walk the rest of the way. Someone spots the car, they won't automatically know where we are. Ready?" a nod from Sam and Castiel, "Right, let's go."

  Flight not until mid-morning, the crew decide to treat themselves to some drinks at the local bar. A couple of rounds in, Shane returns from the bathroom and says to the group, "Hey, guys, I forgot to leave the key at the house. Can one of y'all drop me off?"

  Ryan, who's only had one beer, raises his hand, "Got ya covered."

  A minute later, both men are back in the rental, driving down that familiar street. Ryan pulls up to the curb, front passenger's door lined up with the sidewalk leading to the house. Shane steps out, then looks back at Ryan, "Aren't you coming?"

  Ryan blinks, "Why would I?"

  "Make sure I get to the door safely. For goodness' sake, Ryan, if I can't drive myself, what makes you think I can walk straight."

  "Bullshit, you just want me to go near that house."

  Shane's face splits into a wide grin, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

  "Get it over with." Ryan says, climbing out of the car.

  With more than a little swagger to his step, Shane leads the way. Both men, however, stop in their tracks as a crashing sound is heard, coming from within the house.

  Ryan doesn't dare blink, "What-?"

  One of the lights turns on. Ryan recognizes it as being the bedroom window.

  "Well." Shane says, "Leave a door unlocked for a few hours, and this is what happens." Ryan doesn't miss the note of unease in the other man's voice. Unbelievably, Shane continues to walk towards the front door.

  "What are you doing?!" Ryan hisses.

  "Well, we should probably kick them out." Shane explains, as if it were obvious.

  "No, we call the cops."

  "You do that, then."

  Ryan pulls out his phone as Shane foolishly enters the house. Before Ryan can pull up the keypad, he hears Shane exclaim, "Holy shit!"

  Ryan can't help it, "What's wrong?" Not waiting for an answer, feet with a mind of their own, Ryan walks through the darkened doorway.

  More crashes are coming from one of the other rooms, people yelling, grunting, as Ryan turns on his phone's light. All along the walls of the living room are pentagrams, the smell of spray-paint permeating the air, making Ryan dizzy. He can feel his hands start to shake, and he thinks he's gonna puke.

  Shane turns to him, pale in the light, "We should leave."

  The bedroom door shakes, the voices on the other side increasing in volume until-

  -silence.

  Simultaneously, the front door slams shut as the one to the bedroom swings open, bouncing off the wall and sending small chunks of plaster flying. It takes a moment for Ryan's eyes and mind to come to the same conclusion, that within the room, standing around the body of a man, crumpled on the floor, are three men. It takes a second longer for Ryan to realize who these men are.

  The eyes of infamous killers Sam and Dean Winchester, and missing person James Novak, stare back at them.

  Shane runs to the front door, trying for the lock. The door wiggles and shakes against the frame, and Ryan can tell it's not budging. "Come on, COME ON!" Shane grunts.

  "That's not gonna work." Dean Winchester, the shorter of the brothers, says, "Bastard is keeping that, and all the other doors, shut. We're on lock-down."

  "How did you do that?" Ryan chokes out, impressed with himself that he can say anything at all.

  "Let us out." Shane rejoins Ryan, standing side-by-side.

  Dean grimly laughs, "Would if I could. Last thing I want is for a couple of vloggers getting in the way."

  "We were just returning a key." Ryan doesn't know what else to do, what to say.

  The tallest of the trio, Sam, comes walking towards Ryan and Shane, hands held out in submission, a container of table-salt in his right, "I'm not gonna hurt you, but we need to get you guys in a safe place."

  Shane isn't so convinced, "And what's 'safe', exactly?"

  "Within a ring of salt." Sam answers.

  "Oh, god." Shane groans, "Don't tell me- you're dealing with Demons?"

  Ryan turns to his friend, "Why would you suggest that? What is wrong with you?!"

  "Um, yeah." Sam grimaces, "I realize that's gonna be... a bit of a problem..."

  Ryan can already begin to feel his heart race, palms sweating and legs becoming like lead, "No, this can't be real."

  "We don't have time for this." James Novak says, and the sheer fact he's in the room, saying anything at all, brings Ryan that much closer to a panic attack. He doesn't even flinch when Novak uses a gun, Ryan has no clue what kind, to direct where he and Shane should go.

  At the appearance of the weapon, Shane's tune changes, "You know what? Fine. Demons are real, where do you want us to stand?"

  This snaps Ryan out of it, "Wait, so it takes spending five minutes with serial killers to convince you, but I can't?!"

  "They have guns, Ryan. They could sell me a piece of the moon and I'd write them a check."

  Ignoring the banter, Sam pours a circle of salt around the two men, "No matter what happens, stay in this circle."

  "Who are you people?" Ryan asks, feeling unusually brave.

  "Not what you think." Sam replies.

  "We're Hunters." Dean states, chin up in pride.

  "Hunters of what?" Shane asks.

  "Monsters, ghosts, Demons." James Novak replies.

  "And how'd you get involved?" Ryan asks Novak, "Where's your wife?"

  Novak tilts his head, "The Djinn Queen?"

  "They were doing a video on Jimmy, remember?" Dean says.

  Ryan pales, "You- you saw the leak?"

  "That you spoke of the Novaks, yes." not-Novak answers.

  Annoyed, Shane goes, "If you're not James Novak, who are you?"

  "Castiel. I'm- was, an Angel."

  "Was." Shane nods, "So, not anymore?"

  Castiel shakes his head.

  "Meaning," Shane continues, "There's no way to prove with, say, magic tricks, your claims?"

  "Stop needling the serial killers." Ryan hisses.

  "You mean monster hunters." Shane sarcastically corrects.

  "I'm sorry about my friend." Ryan announces, "He's kind of a dick."

  "You don't say." Dean deadpans.

  "Hey, is it true," Shane starts, "that you and Columbo over there are knockin' boots?"

  Castiel stares down at his shoes, while Dean goes red and Sam sucks in a breath, trying not to laugh.

  "You're insane." Ryan says to the air, unable to look at Shane.

  "Might as well find out." Shane shrugs.

  "Dean," says Castiel, "I apologize if, at any time during the evening, I've stepped on your toes."

  Dean looks to age five years in as many seconds, "No problem, Cas."

  "And that man, in there?" Shane asks, "He's just sleeping, right?"

  "He was dead before he hit the ground." Castiel responds, "We never know for sure, when there’s a Demon present."

  This information makes Shane falter, if only a little, "And why do only we need to be in the salt circle?"

  Dean and Sam pull down their shirt collars, revealing pentagrams tattooed in black ink, just above their hearts. Castiel lifts up the hem of his shirt, revealing several lines of text written in a foreign language. "We're good. And unless one of y'all's a tattoo artist… ?" Dean says.

  "No." Shane relents, "You still can't prove it, but whatever."

  "You are exhausting." Ryan says.

  "I'm thorough."

  "Shut up, Shane."

  "That's enough!" Dean barks, "We're dealing with a fucking Demon, now act like it." he glares at his two companions. As the trio resumes their work, Shane and Ryan are left in silence.

  "You gonna try your phone?" Shane mutters.

  "No, they've got guns." Ryan responds, "I think they can draw faster than I can dial."

  After a few minutes of tense silence, Shane pats Ryan's arm, getting his attention. Turning to him, Ryan mouths 'What?' while following Shane's gaze. Down the hall, leading all the way to the back of the house, is the only other door leading outside.

  It's open.

  Glancing at one another, the intent is understood; at least one of them can make it out. Knowing Shane's got the longer legs, Ryan figures he'll have a better chance, so he prods at Shane's back, encouraging him to make a break for it.

  Shane sprints for the door, and is at the other end of the hallway by the time the Winchesters or Castiel notice. Ryan doesn't see the trio's reactions, though, focusing on whether or not his friend escapes.

  Shane opens the door wider, gets one foot on the first concrete step-

  Cold air fills the room, enveloping every inch of Ryan's skin. The room grows darker, like someone's dimming down the lights. Every breath he inhales is freezing, and every exhale the same temperature. It's like Ryan's overcome with a sudden fever, left weak and in a cold sweat. Arms and legs locked in place, he can feel his heart slow...

  "RYAN!"

  Dean looks from one idiot to the other; the tall one that tried to leave the house, in what was obviously a trap set up by the Demon, and the second, shorter one that was in the broken salt circle, currently having a long stream of black smoke rush into his throat.

  The Demon's found a new body.

  "RYAN!" Shane shouts, and for all his smart-ass quips, the tall one wasn't that sharp. Perfect opportunity to get the fuck out and leave things to the pros, but he's gone and pissed that away. Dean feels his lip twitch into a smirk, realizing he'd do the same if it was his family. Hand closing around the Angel blade, his smile falters.

  Ryan collapses to the ground, still as stone. Sam intercepts Shane, who tries to rush to his friend's side. "What did you do?!" Shane yells.

  "Stay back!" Castiel shouts, charging forward with more salt. Dean's stomach jumps with worry at the sight of Castiel going in on his own. Old habits of being an Angel, thinking himself indestructible. Dean begins reciting the exorcism, his Latin clunky, as always. Smoke begins to spill from the corners of Ryan's mouth as Castiel approaches.

  A hand suddenly lashes out, striking Castiel with such ferocity it throws the man clean across the room. Dean continues the exorcism, mind on autopilot, as he looks to see if Castiel is still in the fight. The former Angel knocked out cold, Dean turns his head just in time to see Ryan's hand extend out towards him.

  "I'm tired of playing with you." the Demon smirks a toothy grim, causing Ryan's brown eyes to flash to black.

  Dean feels his feet lift from the floor, and in a blur of speed, his body be thrown up against the ceiling. Pinned here, and momentarily stunned, Dean tries in vain to continue the exorcism.

  "Shut up." the Demon hisses.

  Dean's voice dies away. He can only watch as Sam tries to take the Demon on.

  Angel blade in hand, Sam goes in, and Dean can tell Sam isn't looking for a kill shot. Swipes, stabs and arcs to distract, but none fatal. Maybe he's hoping for Castiel to wake, maybe he hopes the Demon can't concentrate on more than one Hunter at a time. It's not a bad strategy.

  One slice too close to Ryan's neck makes Shane rush forward, spin Sam around, and snatch the blade from Sam's stunned hand. "What are you doing-?"

  Both men are sent crashing to the floor, as the Demon steps out of the remains of the salt circle. Cracking knuckles and stretching arms, Ryan's lips curve into a smile, as Dean realizes what's coming next:

  Villain monologue.

  "Winchesters, your reputations proceed you." Ryan walks over to Castiel, who's starting to stir, "Here I am, with my humble, little set-up, and here you are, sticking your noses where they don't belong." He presses a boot against Castiel's neck, pinning him to the wall, "Don't you have bigger fish to fry? A God to fight?"

  Castiel gasps for breath, and Dean struggles to free his arms, legs, willing any muscle to move.

  "I'm a nobody." the Demon laughs, "I should be dead, right now. You all have lost your touch."

  Shane slowly starts to rise from the floor, trying not to get the Demon's attention.

  Ryan's head snaps in Shane's direction, "Shane! Buddy! How ya been?" with a hard kick to Castiel's head, Ryan begins to calmly walk over.

  Shane tries for the door, and it looks like Sam was right; it's unlocked, and the Demon can't focus on more than a few things at a time.

  With that, Dean frees his arm, can move his lips. He starts the exorcism from the top.

  "WHAT DID I SAY." the Demon bellows, waving his hand towards Dean, again. This time, Dean's throat closes up.

  Sam continues the exorcism from his place on the ground.

  Ryan waves his hand again, throwing Sam into the room with the man's corpse.

  Castiel, blood pouring out of his mouth, picks up the chant where Sam left off. The Demon is so distracted, Dean's able to get free. Bracing himself, Dean falls to the floor, and, after a few shaky seconds, joins Castiel.

  Teeth clenched, veins pulsing, Ryan yells, "ENOUGH!" sending both men staggering back, falling to the ground, and then pressed up against the wall.

  The front door bursts open. Dean cannot, for the life of him, believe that the tall idiot's back.

  "Hey! Dumbass!" Shane calls.

  The Demon turns to look at him.

  Dean, thinking he's seen it all, and can't be surprised anymore, tonight, feels his jaw drop.

  "Do you want to di-" Ryan starts, just before Shane douses him with a water gun.

  The screams coming from Ryan are simply inhuman. Smoke rises from his skin, as he covers his face. The air, already pungent with sulfur, becomes insufferable.

  Sam staggers from the back room, finishing the exorcism.

  A rush of smoke exits through Ryan's mouth, the pained scream still echoing off of the walls. And then-

  -silence.

  Shane considers the squirt gun in his hand, then looks back up at the trio of Hunters staring at him. "It's- it's filled with holy water." he gestures to an unconscious Ryan, "His idea."

  "So, you're really monster hunters?" Shane asks, wincing at the alcohol being applied to his scraped knees. They were the worst of the gashes on him, sustained when the Demon threw Sam on top of him.

  "Yes." Sam replies, taking a bandage from the Impala's first aid kit. Shane had gotten Ryan, who was still out, in the rental car, and parked that just behind the Chevy. Everyone is now taking a breather before parting ways.

  "So, not serial killers?"

  "No."

  Shane pauses, "Sorry, about taking your knife. I just didn't want you stabbing my friend."

  "You ended up saving all of us, so I think we're square." Sam looks over to the open trunk lid, behind which Dean and Castiel were securing the corpse the Demon had initially possessed.

  "Ryan's gonna be unbearable when he wakes, you know." Shane says, "'Ooh! Demons are real! We don't have it on camera, but it happened!'"

  "Will you keep doing the show?" Sam asks, trying not to sound too eager.

  "Probably. Ryan'll want to catch lightning in a bottle twice, but never do another Demon location, again."

  "You sound disappointed."

  Shane shrugs, "It's fun seeing him scared."

  Sam shakes his head.

  "So," Shane begins, "You watch the show."

  "... maybe."

  "How many of the places we visit are actually haunted?"

  Sam thinks, "Most were, but we, or other Hunters we know, cleared 'em."

  "Huh."

  After saying their goodbyes, and with the understanding that no one would believe Ryan and Shane if they tried to profit off of their Demon encounter, the two groups part ways. The Hunter trio climb back into the Impala, but not before Dean throws Sam the keys.

  "I'm spent." Dean explains, "You take over for a while." Dean also opens the back door for Castiel, but only when he thinks Sam isn't watching. Dean crawls in after him, and does everything he can to not meet Sam's eyes in the mirror.

  It's a half hour later, when on the highway, heading towards the Bunker, that Dean tries to make amends.

  "Cas-" Dean starts, voice just above a whisper.

  Castiel grabs his hand, both are dried and crusted with blood, "I'm sorry." he mouths, "For everything."

  "No." Dean fails to keep the break out of his voice, "I'm sorry. You're family, Cas. Nothing's gonna change that."

  Castiel looks away, and Dean knows from personal experience what he's trying to hide.

  "I miss Jack." Comes Castiel's broken sob.

  Dean squeezes his hand, "I know. I do, too. I should've done more."

  "We should have." Castiel corrects.

  They sit together in a bittersweet silence. The car interior is dark, the rumbling of the road beneath their feet thunderous, and Sam's eyes on the road. Dean and Castiel are in their own little world.

  "I love you." the words spill from Dean's mouth before he can stop them, and funny enough, he doesn't regret it, or treat it like a mistake. It's been years in the making, really. And when Castiel looks back at him, eyes wide with wonder, and more than a little red from fatigue, Dean just brings their joined hands up to his lips, and gives the back of Castiel's palm a gentle kiss. Castiel leans in, meeting Dean forehead-to-forehead, "I love you, too."

  Shane's pulling up to the hotel parking lot when Ryan finally wakes.

  "Ugh, god." Ryan rubs at his eyes, "What a fuckin' nightmare."

  Shane puts the car in park, turning off the engine, "What do ya mean, buddy?"

  Ryan looks over at Shane, then around the rest of the car, "Wait, didn't we go by the Wyatt house, and drop off some keys?"

  "Yep."

  "And I was driving."

  "Uh-huh."

  Ryan blinks, "Did I hit my head or something?"

  "No, we met up with serial killers Sam and Dean Winchester, along with missing person James Novak, and took on a Demon. You got possessed."

  Ryan's face screws up in disbelief, "Very funny, asshat."

  "No!" Shane insists, "It really happened."

  "Bullshit."

  "Then, what was your nightmare about?"

   "Getting chased by a rabid Paddington." Ryan replies, his eyes glazed over in a haunted stare.

   Shane throws his hands up, "Fine, we’ll go with that."

________________________________________________________________

  Thank you!! For reading!! ♥♥♥

[screechingtrashcalzonewombat]

"Apopalictic Astral Asending" Reavaluate disassociate my self worth...

The galaxies have birthed an uncontrollable being ....

I've feel as tho Ive seen myself split in two ..

Witch side do u wanna see if ur lucky I'll let you choose .

Cause in the end I loose..

One of hate one of love could both be from up above..

Or down below ...

I've began to show signs of delusions as half my mind goes an tells me it's only mild confusion. As my body fights my brain an heart to escape theys terrible illusions.

Yet the other half tries to start a fusion of body an mind an all the suddently my thoughts are no longer mine..

But a evil so Divine that its wound it's way threw time itself I've fealt the damage the energy dealt. I've yelped in anquish an pain been stuck for 7 long years in the rain with nothing to gain .. I can barely fathom to explain im not fully on earth I'm on another astral plane but i fear i flew out of my lane I've gone insane never wanted fame Ever fealt like bat man I mean oops Bruce Wayne. Nah fuck hes spoiled a wet rat infact I'm more like hulk duck when I'm near i wearly see I'm drowning inside my mind but no one can hear my dear I fear I've lost control again but cant compute I've been booted out of the system I've clawed hit an kicked to try to get to the top but i outta of known I've been ripped an thrown from my throne ive been shown what this beast can do but who woulda thought a demon bought my soul ..a jackal a goul.....you'll see me shift into numbness I suposse it was my own dumbness for being to open now cause of me my body an mind are broken an stole. as I weep an shutter an i try to speak but only stutter I found myself weak in defeat ....as ik this demon reaching its peak will plunder an pillage the town I've found I'm bound to this beast nowhere to run not north south or east I can run it will feast on my soul until the end of time ..

For diamonds cannot compare to the rarity of a soul nor a bowl of Ruby's an jems rolled in gold .....

A bold statement you say........

.. theres no ray of light here they stole it away buried it in your mind but how can u define being locked trapped in yourself ...

You've dealt your own fate ...

Wanting ansers u dint deserve ..

Did you like your just dessert's...no?

Dose it hurt ..... After you itll kill children's childhood freinds like bernie & eart ....whent bizzirk an bashed there brains makeing bloody rains

curking on everyone with cutlery forks an knifes* slice *cook big bird with chives after I've shanked him 900 times... 100 more woulda been devine serve him drink to dry alone cooked an ripped him to the bone but not quite alone u may not be home inside but u can still watch...I thought I taught u better than to close ur eyes dont beg or look surprised look away an I'll adopt another stray to do the same a slow sweet death cure's my hunger anyway

.the wines innocents blood bitter sweet to the taste of the tounge

no one thought it capable I seemed...looked ...so young..

They dint know it had just begun it wasn't me but the evil half committing crime with glee an fleeing repetavidly revealingly images to my mind of times & crimes so sickening I thought I'd die forever scetched seered into my mind .binded with no power as one towers over you using your power you cowar for how dose one define the disasbalment of there an every defined mind while ur inner demon dines on flesh making a mess of your vessel you cant even wrestle your way to the light to stay only break down in defeat that your so far away you've became an internal mess cant even stand on ur feet the beast has u chained in defeat u cry an apologize looking for answers as of how to stop.....an then...you hear a voice .." you outta stayed silent instead of talk back. U shouldn't of complained do u still think ur life used to be pain...... . Ur a sack of shit ur wit is less than that of an ant not to rant but I'm not done yet I have ur soul now I'm never letting go no no no I have plenty more so much to show many souls to reap an emotions to subdue after all u said yes.....

...did you forget ur the one who started this.

mess ......you dressed your mind with fantasy an fiction word to the wise never mess with other worldly friction an your itching for a way out but I doubt ull get there before the end of time .after all you had a devil an an angel on ur shoulder an you chose wrong this time. Only took 666 times but I'm patient an always waiting for 6 years hating an burning flesh waiting for a prayer a call after all Lucifer was once an angel an the most beautiful you just dint get to see from what angle he had beauty wrath an determination but u humans resulted in his isolation incarsorason. So now we will end up being humanity's enialation when were done there entire selves with evaporate for the demons have released self hate to pro create creatures in confidence we annihilate the fate of the human race at least the trace slight like us able to bust threw dementions so weve mentioned a start to find the inordinary soul an heart ......humanity was doomed from the start.. you stole our purpose our reason to be......humans sit in sin an glee.

Your humanitys Pride is overbearing never genuinely caring ..

Greed is sweeping the nation its reached ever state an it's got a hot heaping plate of corruption for mankind's consumption greed is grotesque in its steps of the darkest quest to corupt ur mind an want. .want..want until that's all you are is wanting more

Lusting over losely draped garments you've tarnished ur soul .

Envy of what you do not posses but for all you know that information an life would make you a mess but ud still test ur envious tendencies.....

Glutton glutton what have you gained it's not knowledge no for it's to plain rather glutton uve found a urge that wont go away....

Wrath an vengeance blood draw too no one stops till some dies him or you....

Sloth last but not least cant forget you cause uuuh wait what that fuck do u do....you sleep an sulk sit slither out of simple tasks an that's why ur not 1st no ur last like humanity just ask ....

So soon the day will draw near the the number 4 is what you should fear our dear old freinds were sending up for a visit so they can reddit ur fate for each a horse an a trait the first out the door with bow in hand riding a white horse with bow in hand

..

Conquest the start of the final test leading the restthere dark version of light on a white stallion he leads the way an soon will follow hades anyway.

War was next on a red steed he rode prepared to purge an quench new blood for the wars an battels would just begin brother against brother an close of kin witch to win?

Famine foe of all on a black horse with the courses hair so fair merely bone but dont let his appearance fool you hes for he is full devouring your greed taking away everything you want or need an now ur rationed to nearly starvation stretching farther than destination world wide sensation...

Pleage reaper of souls slowly apears steadly trotting riding a very sickly steed looking pale an almost gruesome green with sores an sickness best keep a distance. For he shall be the bringer of death an reap you all one by one to the four you shall fall...

Will you be spared are you true....

Are you happy with your life what did you do...?

Rapture no you still must die.....

Say good by to this earthy chapter theres so much more that manifest after.

But only your earthly husk must rust an fall your all energy of grate mass....

It's time to take the task of self evolvment an enjoy an enlightened installment

this world was just step wrench ur third eye wide open an accept the token of eternal life.

Grinded it to atoms a flash of dust all together ur a self fulfilling must memory pass u in a rush.....

. sudently ur bodysuit is gone ....

But it dint felt like it quite belonged.

You were 7 grams of light matter to be exact an sudently you've cracked the atmosphere ..steering energetic waves my metal psyche caves to the new information flying threw stars consolations.

Suddently speeding at the sound of light the stratosphere seems to disapear ..

My fear is gonewithout a trace an freedom transferred in its place

but am waved in infatuation to find out about out true destination...

Restoration of the soul the goal of a higher self being achieved as I crash into the sun 1500°

I feel a warmth like no other each being hues of light I might of missed earth if not I heard a voice but a mental push no need for speech just thinking it shall be done said by the the brightest in the sun.

Rejoice at last but ur journeys yet to pass ..

This is merely were you start ....

Our flames grew high with frantic waves not wanting to give up the new life we were just gave

Suddenly our flames grew dim as we felt a swirling deep from withn sudently the surface of the sun turned to tin an bent in a cracked an caved with itself our time an space sending us ascending in alignment the same assignment.

Because the sun has begun to change ina twisted way a black hole some could say.

As all of our astral beings were ripped an tore apart at the seams we all merged an formed one all knowing creative being an sudently everything I've know has little matter I'm past a point of human chatter i understand infinity the holy trinity I down in the milky way an experienced every life I've relived it twice I've spliced my genetics into over 2000 million beings I've seen good an bad in between experienced every tragedy to build my strength an studyd every thesis an theory thread an chain nearly drove my vessel insane even took knifes threw my veins in anger yet it failed I was just a trailer.ive seen love hate an anger

Comprehension compasing many others I have love an understanding past many beings there anger seems to brush by me cause I'm with 2000 souls an minds that have formed one to reach a state I can medidate in the milky way an force your negative away .

Our astral self has accumulated complete power an understanding by costuming to our full potential our old body's merely a rental.

Gentle at first then bursted into power showered in knowledge I know now much that I wondered before but now I want more an I've thought till I an 2000 shared beings head hurt cause my girth of knowledge will now never be enough it's tough cause now I must find .... how to ascend again but for now i must defend my vast mind defind crime ...?

Keeping 2000 vast voices locked away so I can focus an try to learn anyway leaning in to vast places is I the 1st 2nd or 3rd or other many plains I cant quiet place I'm traveling threw them all searching for everything I couldn't before .

This life isent like the countless other this life I like it has interesting teathers

I've surpass Angel's an there feathers an vison of a hawk.

I've surpass demonds and there demonic temping talk ..

I've walked on water as I was ripped apart an I felt my self rebuilt every cell of my being got hit with rods of power lightning not even myself can fight me god like abilities the universe as built in me theres ben a spiritual shift a tilt in me somthing generations of DNA sprawled out in a numerical display my old life experiences is the price I pay so that I can be god even if only for a day

I think I'll sit an think somewere in the outter spink of the universe I've cursed myself with knowledge an now I'm aware step into my astral space....

If you dare...

[dolamrotha]

In which Eomer plays hockey on a team with Boromir and Theodred (coached by Aragorn), Lothiriel is a figure skater, Faramir is Lothiriel’s trainer, and no one has any chill.

“Oh, c’mon, Eomer. It won’t kill you to have a little fun for once in your life.” Boromir’s grin is wide and his hand is heavy as it falls on Eomer’s shoulder, nearly knocking the heavy bag’s strap from its place. “Come have a drink with us.” 

The game had been brutal and brutally close, but the victory of their win was still coursing through his blood, so Eomer shook his head and adjusted the strap of his bag. 

“Fine,” he says. “One drink.” 

They all pile into Theodred’s giant truck: Boromir and Theodred in the front, Eomer in the back. But it isn’t a restaurant or a bar parking lot they pull into, it’s a smaller skating rink ten minutes from the arena. 

“What are we doing here?” Eomer asks, glancing up from his phone as they pull to a stop, mid-way through replying to Eowyn’s latest text. 

“Thought I’d bring my little brother and my cousin along,” Boromir says. “They deserve a night off, too.” 

Theodred parks and they pile out of the truck, heading into the building. The high school girl at the lobby’s skate-rental desk waves cheerily to Boromir, who waves right back. Moments later they push through a door and into a familiar chill. Long, sweeping lines intersect one another on the surface of the ice, their cause a pair of white skates on a slender young woman who spins in the very middle of the ice. As she spins, her back arcs backward, arms lifting toward the sky as one leg lifts backward. Each graceful spin barely seems to move her from one single spot on the ice, and Eomer - who has never considered figure skating as anything more than glittery costumes - finds himself transfixed. 

Boromir’s cousin, Lothiriel Prince, had come to several games. She always ran to greet Boromir afterward, laughing with her arms around his shoulders when he lifted her up and spun her around. She’d even joined them for other celebratory dinners following big wins. But it had been a long time since he’d seen her, and he’d never seen her like this.

Her heart is still pounding as she skates her way toward Faramir, knowing the routine had been as close to perfect as it could be. But before she can open her mouth to speak to him, someone shouts “FARAMIR!” across the ice. It’s Boromir’s voice, she’d recognize it anywhere, but Boromir isn’t the first person she sees when she turns around. Instead, she immediately locks eyes with Eomer, and (oh, Valar!) she can already feel herself blushing. Luckily, between physical exertion and cold, she has an excuse for rosy cheeks, and once she makes it off the ice, she’s lifted into the air, skates and all, by Boromir’s strong arms. 

“Olympic gold for sure, little swan,” he says, and she laughs as he sets her down again.

“Try not to jinx it,” she tells him, planting a kiss on his cheek before peering around his shoulder. “Hi, Theodred, Eomer.” 

Faramir passes her skate guards, and she sits down on the lowest bench of the bleachers to attach them. 

“What brings you here?” He asks, turning to look at Boromir, Theodred, and Eomer. Even as he speaks, uncaps a bottle of water and passes it to Lothiriel. Gratefully, she takes a large sip of it, studiously looking only at her cousins and failing at every test. She can’t seem to stop glancing at Eomer. She had been attracted to him from the very first time they met (how could she not be?), and had felt herself slipping slowly but inexorably into a crush from which she was sure she would never recover. 

To judge by the looks Faramir was occasionally throwing in her direction, it wasn’t her most well-hidden secret. 

“We won!” Boromir replies. “And the two of you have been here since the crack of dawn.” 

“We did take breaks, you know,” Lothiriel says from her bench, capping her half-empty water. “And I had a class at nine.” 

“Doesn’t let you get away with much, does she?” Theodred asks, nudging Boromir’s shoulder with his own. 

“I blame her brothers,” Boromir replies. 

Lothiriel catches Eomer’s eye over Boromir’s shoulder, and dips her head to hide her smile at the amused gleam in his eyes. 

“I don’t know, Boromir, we have to be here early tomorrow...” But Faramir makes the mistake of looking down into his cousin’s suddenly wide and pleading eyes. To make her point, she even adds a pout. 

Faramir lets out a long-suffering sigh, and soon enough they’re all piling into Theodred’s truck. Boromir and Theodred are in the front again, but this time there are three in the back: Eomer on one side, Faramir on the other, and Lothiriel - the smallest of them all - tucked between them. 

Tucked between them and breathless, because even the spacious back seat of Theodred’s car is a squeeze when your seat partners included Eomer and Faramir. It pressed her hip-to-knee-touching close to Eomer, and highly aware of it. 

He is too, it seems, though she doesn’t think it can be in a good way.  He’d shifted over when she’d first climbed in, and now he was sitting stiff as a board and turned to the window, his hand clenched on his knee. Her stomach seemed to sink, and she felt the need to blink back unbidden tears. All this time, she’d thought he at least liked her, even if he didn’t, well...like her. 

It was time to stop being silly, she told herself, and rested her head on Faramir’s shoulder until the car finally came to a stop. 

At least, she thought, the others would put it down to fatigue. 

Even through two layers of jeans - his and hears - he could feel the warmth of her leg where it pressed against his, and felt the desire to reach out and rest his hand on her knee so strongly that he had to curl his fingers into a fist. 

The more he thought about it the more he realized he’d been thinking about her as something other than Boromir’s little cousin for a very long time. 

All those times she’d gone to the game and something in him had driven him just a little bit harder than usual. The gratification of watching her cheer for them from the sidelines, even if he knew it was mostly for Boromir. The slow discovery of just how smart and determined and kind and just plain too-good-for-him she was. 

She smells like coconut and vanilla and something floral that he can’t name. He’s noticed it before, the few times they’d been close enough, but never so close for so long. Eventually, he turns his face to the window in the hope of distracting himself long enough to talk himself down from having any feelings at all for her. Long enough, he hopes, to convince himself that it’s only a physical reaction, something mental or instinctual, something he can ignore. 

It isn’t until Lothiriel leans away from him and tucks her head against Faramir’s shoulder as though to create some distance - any distance - that he realizes he’s not convincing himself of anything. 

Lothiriel recovers after her first gin and tonic, laughs happily at Boromir’s attempts to convince Faramir to drop some hint about the “mystery woman” he’s been seeing. Eomer, on the other hand, only seems to stare more and more deeply into his glass of beer. 

Lothiriel, as it turns out, isn’t the only one who notices. Theodred takes his next chance to sit down beside his cousin and sling an arm around his shoulders. 

“You could just, you know....ask her out.” 

Eomer splutters against a mouthful of beer that seems to have suddenly chosen the wrong way to go down. He gives it a moment when the others all turn to look at him, carefully avoiding Lothiriel’s grey eyes until they turn away again. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“I am talking,” Theodred says, with utmost patience, “About the fact that you’ve been brooding over Lothiriel all evening. And I’m willing to hazard a guess that you’ve been brooding over her for a long while and never realized it.” 

Eomer downed the last gulps of beer rather than answer. Theodred only grins, pats Eomer’s shoulder, and sits down next to Boromir. Whatever he whispers into Boromir’s ear causes the other man to look directly at Eomer....and grin. It was disconcerting, to say the least, but the most disconcerting part of all was Boromir leaving the table entirely. There’s a small band setting up across the bar, and Boromir approaches them to great excitement. They call out his name as he approaches, and Eomer sees Boromir ruffle the hair of the one who looks the youngest. 

As Boromir walks back to the table with a smug grin slowly spreading across his face, the little band picks up a brisk tune that makes Lothiriel’s eyes light up. When Boromir reaches the table again, he executes a solemn, formal bow in front of his cousin and holds out a hand. In moments, they’re whirling across the empty floor in front of the band, Lothiriel’s light feet following each of Boromir’s sure steps. It’s a fast song, all quick movements and complicated turns, but the two move through each step with fluid grace. 

Lothiriel’s eyes are brighter than ever when the song finishes, and she says something to Faramir, laughingly, but Eomer’s attention is caught by the fact that Boromir is steering them both toward him. 

“I asked Merry and Pippin to play a Rohirric song next, Eomer. My cousin loves to learn new dances, you should teach her the steps.” 

Lothiriel, for her part, looks stricken. But she offers him a shy sort of half-smile when their eyes meet. 

With everyone’s eyes turned toward him, Eomer can do nothing but nod. 

“I’m not sure I’ll make the best teacher,” he says, but stands anyway. Lothiriel’s smile softens, goes from half-sure to all-sure in moments. 

“I don’t mind.” 

Ignoring Boromir’s grin, Eomer holds out his hand. 

Her hand is so small in comparison to his, enfolded when his fingers close. They walk to the middle of the floor, joined by a small number of other dancers lured by the slower song. When they reach an empty span of floor, they merely pause for a moment: Lothiriel looking up at him, Eomer looking down at her. 

“How does it start?” Lothiriel asks, hopes her hand doesn’t start to tremble, 

“We, ah - “ Eomer clears his throat, takes an almost apologetic step closer. “Stand. Like this. It’s....close.” 

“I don’t mind,” Lothiriel says again, this time so softly that it’s almost a whisper. This time she’s sure she sees a warmth in his eyes breaking through the guarded gaze. He doesn’t say anything, only nods, but his arm wraps around her waist. 

“It’s not very fast,” he says, and she can’t have imagined the fact that his voice seems lower than usual, lower and softer. “It’ll be easy, compared to that last one.” 

Their eyes meet, and Lothiriel smiles. The only thing she says is “I trust you. Just lead me.” 

So he does. Somehow, he does. Even with the distraction of how warm and soft she is, how close they are, the awareness that her cousins and his are watching. The world just seems to shrink, narrows down to the girl in his arms and the music and the old, familiar steps. 

For once in his life, he feels the dance ends much too soon, and when Lothiriel doesn’t pull away and the music starts again, they just keep dancing. Soon enough, he dips his head to rest his cheek against her hair, breathing in the soft, sweet scent of her and marvels at the way her breath releases on a sigh, the fact that she somehow shifts still closer. 

“What changed?” She whispers, so low that he almost doesn’t catch it. His brow furrows, and he tries to turn his head to look down at her. 

“What do you mean?” 

“In the car,” she says, drawing away just slightly and looking up at him, biting her lower lip for just a moment. “It was like you didn’t want me near you.” 

His smile is slow and warm, and she can feel her heart flutter at it, knows she’s doomed now if she wasn’t already. 

“No,” he says, his voice a deep rumble that she can feel, close as they are. “It was because I did.” 

She thinks again of the press of their legs, the way his jaw had clenched, his hand in a fist on his knee, and the sudden clarity makes her smile shyly, sweetly. It makes her duck her head again, hiding her face against his chest even as the hand at his shoulder curls (for just one fleeting moment) into the fabric of his shirt. 

“So did I,” she says. And she can’t see the smile that those words call up, but the rest of their table can. 

"So much for avoiding distractions,” Faramir says, though there is no exasperation in his tone. “How did you know that would work?” 

Boromir shrugs, resting an arm on the back of Theodred’s chair. 

“They’ve been making calf eyes at each other since they met,” Boromir replies. “But the kids never thought the other one would possibly return the feelings, so they never did a thing about them. I thought it was better to push them straight into it than let them torture themselves. Twenty dollars says they’re inseparable by the end of the week.”

The other two are just too smart to take his bet.  

The music comes to an end, the girl on the ice stops her dazzling spin, and comes to a final stop with her arms uplifted. Lothiriel is dazzling beneath the lights, dressed all in blue and white. But it’s her smile, Eomer thinks, bursting with pride even before the scores are read, that’s the truly dazzling thing. The applause crescendos up around him, and he’s sure it’s the loudest applause he’s heard this whole time. 

Still, nothing rivals the intensity of his own applause as he watches the gold medal take its place around her neck, as her eyes glisten with tears and the country’s anthem soars around them. Nothing except the thunder of his heartbeat when he holds her in his arms afterward, her laughter in his ears, the weight of the little ring box in his pocket. 

[dazstormretro]

Secret of Mana - Feb 1994

With the exception of a couple of Blockbuster game rentals the first two months of 1994 were all about Street Fighter 2 Turbo which I had received for the Christmas just gone. Not having the money to purchase the game on its release back in the August of 93 I had to wait nearly four whole months to finally play the latest version on my Super Nintendo. It might have been a longtime coming but it was well worth it. Already a massive Street Fighter fan I couldn’t wait to get my teeth into this updated version with its new characters, special moves and gameplay mechanics.

By February I was still throwing Hadoken‘s and Sonic Boom’s on a daily basis but with my birthday just around the corner I had set my sights on a brand new game, that game was Secret of Mana. Since first seeing an early preview of this game I had been waiting with anticipation for its release. Even though my last JRPG experience had ended in tears (following that dreaded deleted save file fiasco) it hadn’t dampened my spirts and I was keen to jump back into another adventure created by Square. Secret of Mana promised this adventure complete with astonishing graphics, amazing music and even a three player simultaneous gaming experience.

After scoring 94% in issue 15 of Super Play I knew this was the game for me. With no UK release date scheduled I opted for the expensive US version. By combining most of my birthday money I preordered a copy of Secret of Mana and a Super Multitap from my local video games store. Released around this time the Super Multitap for the SNES added multiplayer support for up to five players and would come in very handy over the course of 1994.

During this period I remember working on my final Drama GCSE project, designing and making a costume for A Christmas Carol stage play. The deadline for the project was just after my 16th birthday so I managed to convince my parents to allow me skip school that day so I could finish the project but more importantly play Secret of Mana.

The morning of my birthday came and whilst all my mates were herded onto the cold school bus I was sat at home munching toast and reading the chunky instruction manual for my new game, this was going to be a great day.

Though my parents had kindly allowed me to skive school on that cold February morning they had set one golden rule -

“NO VIDEO GAMES UNTIL YOUR GCSE PROJECT IS COMPLETE”

Of course I obeyed this rule, well at least until my parents had left the house. The moment my mums car left the driveway I shot up to my bedroom faster than you could say Seiken Densetsu 2. Taking the game out of it’s box which was adorned with its now iconic artwork by Hiro Ison, I popped the cartridge into my Universal Adaptor and powered up the SNES.

After being greeted by the Squaresoft logo and what could only be described as a whale sound, the haunting yet beautiful opening theme music kicked in complete with flying flamingos and the enchanted forrest scene taken from the box art. Once I had named my character I was treated to the games opening sequence setting the scene and preparing me for my 50+ hour adventure. Turns out our hero (obviously named Daz) was banished from his village for accidentally unleashing tonnes of monsters into the world. So armed with a mystical weapon named the Mana Sword I set about my quest to track down the eight Mana seeds hidden within the world in order to restore the Mana Fortress.

The game was fantastic. Secret of Mana felt similar to A Link to the Past with its top-down perspective and real-time battles unlike Final Fantasy 2 and it’s turn-based style. Now you had power bars to control the strength of you attack’s and the innovative ring command system which would allow the quick change out of weapons and spells without pausing the game.

I must have put in a good few hours that morning, slowly levelling up my character and progressing the storyline. Around lunchtime I heard the distinctive noise of my mums car arriving back from the supermarket. I quickly turned off my tv and legged it back downstairs to where my school project was laid out on the living room floor. In a panic I hurriedly started to cut some of the white clothe which would become the costume of the character Jacob Marley as my mum opened the front door. Not paying attention and trying to look like I’d been hard at work all morning l accidentally managed to slice off the very tip of my finger with the giant scissors sending blood everywhere including all over my GCSE project. After a few tears I made a full recovery but I still to this day I have my Secret of Mana scar as a reminder.

That evening after the obligatory birthday tea Ben came over to my house to check out this awesome three player RPG. By this point the second character (simply named Sprite) had joined my party so after changing its name to Ben we continued our quest. At a later date my mate Phil would also join the campaign and take on the role of the female character who we aptly renamed Phyllis. To this day I still use these same names whenever I have the option to rename my in-game party members.

Over the coming weeks Ben and I would delve deeper into the Secret of Mana, unlocking new more powerful weapons, levelling up our spells and gaining access to Flammie the dragon which allowed faster map travel. Eventually to our utter delight we managed to complete the game.

Don’t get me wrong, Secret of Mana does have its flaws. The control system can be fiddly at times, its not as technically accomplished compared to some later SNES RPG’s and the story does become convoluted due to the English translation but Secret of Mana still holds a very special place in my heart.

I have so many wonderful memories playing this game as a teenager especially in multiplayer with friends, so much so that exactly twenty years later I would buy this game for a second time on the SNES for my 36th birthday as homage to those amazing memories. Since then I have also had a custom Super Nintendo console created celebrating Secret of Mana and back in 2018 I had to buy the new remastered version for the PS4 which included revamped visuals, music and voice acting though it doesn’t come close to replicating that original experience from back in the February of 94.

[seat-safety-switch]

If you had worked for the Chuck E. Cheese family entertainment division, as I have, you would understand that there are precautions that have to be taken when you wind one of the franchisees down.

Just like an embassy, the only safe way to shut it down is to destroy all potentially-proprietary information, and burn the flag. In our case, the flag was the head of the Chuck E. Cheese costume itself, and for about a decade, I was the guy who was sent in to destroy them. Each franchise was, along with other corporate-supplied effects, given a propane torch to be used only at the direction of upper management.

I was that upper management.

Most jobs were simple: I’d arrive at the airport, immediately rent the fastest thing they had on the lot, and then get as much “shareholder value” as possible out of the rental insurance on the way to the restaurant. I’d destroy the head (more on this later), shake the hands of the front-line soldiers, thank them for their service, late lunch at the airport Chili’s, wheels up and in full-Vicodin unconscious mode by 2100.

Things were simple. Maybe one or two Chucks would go under a year. Something went wrong deep in the guts of America, though, and we caught it on the chin. Soon, I was spending every single day on the road, each afternoon of my life capped by staring into the dead eyes of a mascot’s head before I put the torch to it. Sometimes, the franchise was so dead that they had no idea that it was over for them before I would pull into the lot, the muffler of my automatic V6 Mustang convertible blaring a trumpet of impending pink slips that the Angel Gabriel would have been proud of. If you had asked me, perhaps at one of those airport Chili’s, if it bothered me, I would have told you no. I was doing a job, and that job needed to be done.

One morning, in Tulsa, things went wrong. Now, little stuff happened all the time on the job. Maybe one of the high-school employees took an ear off the head for safe-keeping, a manager wanted to pose nude with it and borrowed it for the evening. I didn’t judge: I could just as easily burn the Avatar of Chuck to cinders in a suburban basement as I could the rear warehouse of a shopping mall. There was only one rule: The Children Must Never See. To break the illusion for them that Chuck E. Cheese was a real, benevolent entity, made of one solid piece like them, was to invite the threat of Forever Nightmares. We never really understood why such an obviously fake beast had such control over them - Takashi-san in Incident Control thought it might have something to do with an “inverse uncanny valley,” but he drank a lot at work and certainly wasn’t in the trenches of Middle America with me every single day - but certainly no child could see me burning the flesh off of Chuck E’s carbon-steel skull wire.

The first indication that something had gone wrong in Tulsa is that there were more heads than there should have been. Todd, the franchise manager, had only been there a few weeks, and told me that he didn’t understand why the warehouse was entirely stocked with dozens of Chuck heads, their dead googly-eyed faces all staring straight ahead. I should have been more wary than I was, but at that point I simply did not give a shit anymore. I rolled my sleeves up and had a very productive afternoon of burning mouse skulls.

Soon, I realized that I had been talking to myself. This hadn’t happened before, perhaps because my exposure to the heads had been so limited - one and done - no franchise could afford a lot of them. Now, I was beginning to realize why Omura down in Unrestricted Research had been sending the memos about the “psychic isolators.” I burned faster and faster, until at last I was at the final Chuck head of Tulsa #1137.

I’ll never know if it was the light, or the organic vapours from torching hundreds of mouse heads a year in an enclosed, unventilated space, but something horrible passed between us in that room. The mouth moved - the mouth is not to move, said the costume standards - and it started to speak to me, in my own voice.

The next thing I remember is waking up in the parking lot of Tulsa #1137, the building engulfed in a roaring flame before me. A pizza grease fire was nothing new to me, and in my denial, I forced myself to believe that’s what had happened - an inadvertent arson from a pimple-faced teenager who didn’t know how to work the oven and smoke pot at the same time. I turned to face my rescuer. Todd stared at the flames, saying nothing.

“We got it, right?” I asked Todd, who didn’t respond. Near-catatonic, he never took his eyes off the area of the building in which I had worked. As the firefighters arrived, Todd did a perfect heel-click 180, and walked away from the parking lot into the darkness of the Winter Solstice, never to be seen again.

There was something in his walk, though. Almost like he expected to have a tail and a really big head.

[losille2000]

The Swan, Chapter 1

TITLE: The Swan CHAPTER NUMBER: 1/? AUTHOR: Losille2000 WHICH Tom/CHARACTER: Actor!Tom GENRE: Romance/Drama FIC SUMMARY: Sequel to The Ugly Duckling. Astrid embarks on a two-week trip to London to serve as her sister’s maid of honor, hoping against all hope she might miraculously run into her Hawaiian mystery man. When her sister and soon-to-be brother-in-law drag her to a production of Hamlet to meet the groom’s best man, Astrid gets the shock of her life. The situation, though, is anything but perfect. RATING: M (sex, language) WARNINGS: Um, nothing yet. AUTHORS NOTES: There are some difficult issues in here, including themes about body image/self-esteem, mixed in with the family (both well-meaning and mean-spirited) dynamic that make life complicated. Tom is also considered more of a Dominant in this, as he was in TUG, so there will be a play on that. Not full-on BDSM by any stretch of the imagination, just the D/s dynamic. Like… it’s expensive gourmet French Vanilla ice cream, instead of plain generic brand vanilla. This is not a random choice—it is integral to the plot.

All additional warnings will be listed in each chapter, respectively. I encourage you to heed them if any of these subjects bothers you.

ALSO ON AO3!

Chapter 1 – Arrival

Astrid checked off another bullet point on her incredibly long To Do list with a heaving sigh. The list seemed to have taken on a life of its own, growing by the minute with something new to complete, and with too little time to finish everything. In three days, she and her soon-to-be brother-in-law’s best man were set to host a combined hen and stag house party at an idyllic English country estate. She still had three pages of confirmations to make and last-minute reservations to request, and she was already sitting in the hotel in London, days out from D-Day.

Initially, they’d meant it to be a small, nice weekend with old friends and family while getting to know the new. Then the party grew arms. And legs. And a brain of its own, turning into Frankenstein’s sentient monster—the monster of all house parties now slated for a full week with themed days and activities galore from dinners to horseback riding to a rousing game of charades. The charades, of course, was a nod to all the creative people who would be in attendance. They’d undoubtedly be fun to play with, but that, too, had gone from simple after-dinner game to full on production, with props and costumes… that she and the best man had to coordinate renting for the occasion.

Well, that she had to coordinate renting for the occasion, seeing as the best man was apparently a hot commodity in the world of drama and could not spare much time to the planning of this monstrosity. But it certainly didn’t stop him from making plenty of requests and creating more work for her. No problem there. Sure, Hamlet was an intense play to learn, but for goodness sakes, he would have been easier to communicate with if he’d just divulged his phone number earlier on in the process.

Or, you know, given Astrid his email address without her having to pledge her first-born child to him should she somehow become an idiot and let someone else have his private contact information. In fact, she wouldn’t have thought twice about keeping the information private, but after he made such a huge deal about it, well, she was liable to let something slip.

Just to teach him a lesson.

Astrid checked the time on her cell again, deciding she couldn’t make any more calls tonight. It was already six, and no one would be picking up their calls this late on a Saturday anyway. Besides, she had somewhere to be tonight—though she did not want to go. Her loathing of Shakespeare aside, the last thing she considered a fun use of her time was three or four hours in an auditorium watching the reason why she’d been left to do all this damn work on her own flounce around a stage.

She needed time to get ready, in case they ran into anyone important. Mostly, she worried her mother might worm her way into the show and look down her surgically altered nose if Astrid looked anything less than perfect. Even so, Astrid knew she’d never be “perfect” in her mother’s eyes, so long as she carried around a few extra curves. Never mind that Astrid had spent the better portion of the last year and a half at the gym improving her fitness, though not losing the weight her mother considered a family blight. She still hoped motherly acceptance would come eventually, if she tried just a little harder.

The other reason for her attention to detail, though, had nothing to do with that. Astrid applied the extra sassy crimson lipstick and spent more time than normal on her newly dark brunette-colored hair because she wanted to look good should she, by some crazy twist of fate, happen across the handsome Englishman she’d met eighteen months ago in Hawaii. They hadn’t exchanged information to keep in contact—they made sure to limit it to that one wonderfully hot, toe-curling night they spent in each other’s arms—but that didn’t mean she hadn’t thought about him.

A lot.

Okay, like, all the time.

Like while she taught her kindergartners their math lessons. During parent conferences. Making dinner. Cleaning her apartment. Even when, at the nursing home she volunteered at, she watched the cute elderly couple walk down the corridor together with their gnarled hands entwined.

She especially remembered him late at night, all alone in her bed when she touched herself. Or when other men touched her, or at least tried to touch her. None of them made her feel like him. None of them ever would.

In her heart of hearts, she’d known this would happen, even as they had fucked while watching each other in her rental condo’s bathroom mirror. Somehow, she knew he’d spoiled her for any other man, that he’d make it difficult to forget him. 

Unfortunately, she had not been wrong.

But what was the probability of running into one man out of about nine million? Not to mention the fact he might be gone, somewhere in some far-flung location, like Hawaii, doing God knew what. He could be fucking someone else right now, for all she knew, with the memory of her nothing more than a fond notch on his bedpost.

Worse, she could be nothing at all.

Astrid grumbled and shut her eyes for a brief moment, pushing away the negativity, giving herself a silent pep talk. She refused to think like that. Doing so would create a huge backward slide into the headspace she’d been in on that slippery Hawaiian cliff two Spring Breaks ago.

She gathered her purse and coat, wrapping the latter around her shoulders and buttoning the buttons. The chill in London had already shocked her this morning when she’d touched down in the foggy city; it was still sitting at the mid-to-high one hundreds back home, drenching everyone in sweat. While the weather was a nice respite, her body had yet to acclimate to the change.

Downstairs at the tiny boutique hotel that sat just across the street from the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art—her destination tonight, a pair of female guests stood together at the tiny reception desk, talking animatedly with the uniformed clerk behind the computer. Both women looked well dressed, as though they, too, were preparing for a night on the town, and both turned to glance in her direction as she entered. It was hard to sneak around with the creaky wooden stairs and high heels.

The clerk grinned from her spot and waved Astrid over to them. “Oh, there you are Miss Petersen! We were just having a chat about the show tonight. I was telling them I’ve been able to watch Hiddleston walk up and down the street thousands of times on his way to rehearsals and shows.”

Astrid smiled at them, though they might as well have been talking gibberish. Of course, it made sense he traveled the street into the main business entrance of the building situated on Gower Street, but she couldn’t really see the fuss about this Hiddleston character. From her short association with him, she found him to be quite impossible; demanding and fastidious. It certainly hadn’t made her want to waste more time looking him up for further information.

Even if she had ever wanted to, which she didn’t.

“Let me introduce you to Charlotte and Penny,” the clerk said, first waving a hand to the tall, thin blonde and then the short, curvy brunette. “They’ve come in from the states, too!”

“Nice to meet you.” Astrid smiled for them, somehow relaxed to have fellow countrywomen staying at the same hotel. She wouldn’t see them much beyond tonight, but there was an intrinsic camaraderie borne of patriotism that instantly cemented them as new friends.

Both women gave little giddy giggles and joined her. They were adorable and awkward and reminded her of herself; even though she didn’t understand the fervor about this guy, she knew they would at least get along. “I’m Astrid, by the way.”

“Oh, you have to come with us!” Penny said, linking her arm with Astrid’s. “We’re just headed out now. It’s nearly time! I can barely believe it!”

Penny’s excitement was palpable, but Charlotte seemed a might bit more even-keel, exchanging with Astrid an exasperated roll of her eyes as Penny pulled them both to the front door. Astrid laughed, but followed her new friends out the door and down the street.

“When did you get in?” Penny asked. “We’ve been here a few days already, taking in the sights, and we haven’t seen you at breakfast.”

Astrid smiled. “Just this morning. I’m actually in for my sister’s wedding.”

“Oh, how lovely!” Penny said. “Was it just luck that your entry was drawn so close to it?”

“My… entry?” Astrid asked, frowning at the women.

Charlotte took that moment to speak up, her voice surprisingly throaty for a wisp of a thing. “The lottery for tickets. They held one because it’s such a limited run in a tiny theater.”

“Oh, that entry,” Astrid said, making a mental note to complain to her sister about this. They were wasting a precious ticket on her when another more deserving—and interested—person could have used the seat. “Yes, just luck. The wedding isn’t for a few weeks, though, so I thought I’d make a long vacation out of it.”

It was sort of the truth, but she didn’t want to put Penny or Charlotte off by telling them the whole truth. Especially when they would easily see she wasn’t that excited about tonight.

“We’ve been waiting forever for an opportunity to see Tom live!” Penny said. “So we both put in for it, and lo and behold, Charlotte got an email that she’d been selected.”

Charlotte laughed. “You might have heard Penny’s squeal all the way from Hoboken.”

“Well, if she lives in Hoboken, then definitely,” Penny conceded.

“Las Vegas,” Astrid replied. “And that was you?”

Both women laughed good-naturedly at the joke. Penny stopped when they reached the theater’s business entrance and pulled out her cell phone. “Sorry, ladies, I have to take another picture on the actual day. For posterity.”

“The other side is prettier,” Charlotte reminded. “You know, where we actually have to go in.”

“I know, but I just can’t not take it. My husband is going to be so annoyed looking at all the photos with me.” Penny snapped about five photos as a black sedan pulled up and a suited chauffeur got out of the vehicle. “Oh my god, who is that?”

Charlotte edged closer, bumping into Penny. The street wasn’t a wide one; there really wasn’t a need to get any closer to the curb to get a better look. But they moved anyway, their excited energy palpable, yet they remained respectful to the passengers. Maybe they thought it would be Hiddleston or someone else in the production, but Astrid knew better. With forty-five minutes to show time, the actors were already ensconced in their dressing rooms and in the midst of their pre-show rituals.

A wistful sigh escaped Astrid’s lips at the thought of pre-show nerves and rituals, remembering how they used to make her feel both queasy but elated, back in the day. Back when she thought she’d be an actor. Back when she lived and breathed the stage. Back before those dreams were literally torn to shreds in her mother’s hands.

“We should keep—” Astrid stopped speaking when a blonde head popped out of the back seat, the woman’s arm waving frantically and beckoning Astrid across the street. “Oh! That’s my sister! Tilde! Over here!”

Penny and Charlotte exchanged disappointed frowns, but smiled anyway. She was sure Tilde had said to meet at the entrance to the theater on the next street over, not at this one. So why was she here?

Not that she had time to really think it through as all one hundred pounds of her sister practically jeté-d across the street and threw her arms around Astrid. For such a tiny thing, she had a lot of power behind her, and it took Astrid a step backward to fully steady herself.

“Oh my god, I’m so happy to see you!” Tilde squealed and stepped back, words quickly tumbling from her mouth. “You look absolutely amazing! What have you been doing? And your hair! I love the dark on you! It suits you… oh, hello, there. That was rude of me. I’m Astrid’s sister, who might you two be?”

Astrid introduced them as her new acquaintances who were also going to the play, Tilde each giving them a good handshake. However, Charlotte stared off into the distance, at the car. The other women turned to see what had enraptured her, finding James unfolding from the back seat with a cell phone pressed to his ear.

“T-that’s…” Charlotte said, waving a hand in his direction. “Do you know who that is?”

James absently combed the fingers of his left hand through his hair as he finished the call on his cell and slipped the device into his pocket. Though good-looking in that classically British way, he wasn’t a stereotypically beautiful man. However, the longer she looked at him and got to know him, she found him more and more attractive. What was more, she completely understood why Tilde had fallen in love with him. But he was just that, her soon-to-be brother-in-law. The brother she never wanted, but was stuck with anyway.  She adored him, of course, but didn’t get the celebrity hype both Charlotte and Penny had.

Maybe it would help if she actually watched television and saw a movie on occasion?

But then again, she had never understood all the hype and probably still wouldn’t should her viewing habits change. In fact, she made it her life’s mission to avoid anything relating to celebrities, having met too many underwhelming ones in her earlier years. It was, unfortunately, a side effect of her maternal grandfather’s production company, and her mother’s job within the company.

Tilde threw her arm around Astrid’s shoulders and whispered to her, “Security said they’re holding us in a green room until closer to the show, that’s why we came around from the other side. Ben and Sophie are coming tonight as well, so they thought it’d just be easier. And safer.”

Astrid recalled the names, having sent invitations and received acceptances from them for the house party. Clearly, they were also a big deal, if they deserved a holding pen away from the general hoi polloi.  She glanced at her companions and gave them a small smile. “I’m sorry you guys, I have to go with them. They have my ticket.”

“Of course!” Penny exclaimed. “We’ll see you inside, though, right?”

“Yes, drinks are on me afterward, okay?” Astrid said. “I’m sure we’ll have a lot to talk about.”

After readily accepting the invitation, both Penny and Charlotte set off down the street, turning back around only a few more times to look in their direction. She watched them go until Tilde cleared her throat to get her attention.

“Tom fangirls?” Tilde asked.

“I think so,” Astrid confirmed, but said no more.

Tilde laughed and shook her head, looping her arm with Astrid’s and looking at oncoming traffic before pulling her across the street. When they reached the opposite curb, James kissed Astrid’s cheeks and hugged her tightly.

“Welcome to jolly old England!”

Astrid laughed. “I know! Finally, right?”

“I knew we’d get you over here eventually,” he replied, motioning for them to precede him up the front steps of the building entrance. A woman dressed all in black and wearing a headset—presumably some stagehand—stood there with the door open for them.

Tilde nudged Astrid. “And it only took a marriage proposal to do it.”

“Well you know me, I thrive on the dramatic,” Astrid said. “I had to have a decent reason to brave the cold.”

“ ‘Cause coming to see your sister and furniece was never a good enough reason.” Tilde had said it as a joke, Astrid knew, but she couldn’t help hearing the edge of unhappiness in it. Truly, this was her first trip to England since Tilde had been over here; with Tilde’s visits home on her off-season months, and Astrid’s job sucking up the rest of the time from August to June, she’d never tried to make it work.

But that didn’t mean they didn’t maintain a close relationship via other sources.

She was here now, though, and more than a little excited about it. Giving her sister away to such a wonderful guy was not an event to be missed—nor to skimp on when it came to celebrating their love at a week-long house party. She planned to use all the time she could with her sister leading up to the wedding in a few weeks. Even if her suspiciously absent partner in crime hadn’t helped much in the planning.

The stagehand showed them indoors to a conference room with a long boardroom table and leather office chairs surrounding it. Water bottles and a basket of snacks were set up on a sideboard, but nothing else that would give away the space as a green room. Which meant this was probably hastily put together for the VIPs in attendance. It was strange to be one of them.

“You really do look lovely, Astrid,” Tilde said as they sat together and chatted. “You always do, but you’re like glowing now. I’ve never seen you like this.”

“Oh, that’s just my tan.” Astrid shrugged out of her coat and slipped it over the back of her chair. To emphasize her point about the tan, she stuck her arm out and placed it against Tilde’s. “See?”

Tilde rolled her eyes. “No, it’s not the tan. I noticed it a little when we came for our visit for Christmas last year, but now you seem… more…”

“I really hit the gym hard,” Astrid said. “Had to get ready to fit into all my dresses over the next few weeks.”

“You know you didn’t have to—”

Astrid sliced a hand through the air to stop Tilde. Her sister had never cared what she looked like, fat or thin or in between, not that Astrid would ever reach the point of thinness that someone would call her thin. But still. She knew she didn’t need to fret over her appearance for Tilde—Tilde would accept her anyway—but Astrid had made the decision a year and a half ago to be stronger, both physically and mentally. That resulted in gym trips and better eating. Not much lost, but things were definitely firmer.

And, if she really wanted to admit it, her eyes and smile seemed more vibrant when she glanced in the mirror. But that, Astrid often fantasized, wasn’t entirely due to the gym. It was due to the man who had literally rocked her world and hadn’t let her go. Too bad he didn’t know it and she couldn’t show him.

“I’m good,” Astrid said. “Just stronger. I figured I needed to make enough of an impression on James that he knew I could beat him up if he ever hurts you.”

James lifted his head from his phone again. “I’d like to see you try, pipsqueak.”

Tilde laughed. “He’s doughy and ticklish in the middle. Go for that.”

“I am not doughy!”

Tilde shook her head and mouthed to Astrid, “He is.”

“I’ve been stress eating, okay?” James interjected. “This whole thing—the house party, the wedding—has a higher production value than a lot of the films I’ve been in.”

Two months ago, Astrid had listened for over an hour as Tilde vented about all the headaches their mother, the de facto wedding planner, had caused them both, from spending money like it was going out of style to making the day a spectacle of Royal Wedding proportions. Money wasn’t an issue since their mother and father were both footing the bill, their mother had reminded Tilde. Astrid was never going to get married, anyway. Why not splurge? Never mind Tilde had suggested a simple ceremony and luncheon; she ended up conceding on everything just to shut Mom up.

Now, at the end of the wedding marathon, Tilde regretted it more every day. Astrid wondered how much longer it would take for her sister to hit the metaphorical wall—or if Tilde’s perseverance could outlast the wedding.

Fortunately, James’ parents were gracious enough to let the bride’s Momzilla have at it. He, however, must have not been so immune, likely from attempting to keep Tilde sane during the process. Like most grooms, James seemed the type to just want the day over—no matter how it turned out—so he could get on living the rest of his life with his beloved.

Before Astrid could reassure him that he shouldn’t worry, the same stagehand popped her head into the room. “We’re going to seat you in five.”

“Perfect!” James called.

“May I use the ladies beforehand?” Astrid asked. “If it’s too much of a trouble, I’ll wait till we get out front and find the public one.”

The stagehand shook her head and smiled. “Not at all, come with me. It’s just around the corner.”

Right around the corner turned out to be backstage, in the middle of all the hubbub of actors and technicians running around finishing their pre-curtain work. The call for positions was close and the creative energy was high and thick, almost making it difficult to move. She wondered if she could siphon a bit of it off for herself to later use when she needed the pick-me-up the most.

Damn, she really missed the stage.

The stagehand cleared her throat in agitation, and Astrid realized she’d stopped moving on their path. Her face warmed. “I’m so sorry. I just miss it, you know?”

“You’re an actor, too?” the hand asked politely though disinterestedly.

“A long time ago,” Astrid replied around the bitter taste surfacing on her tongue.

Thrust in the door of the ladies’ room, Astrid sighed to herself, trying to gather her emotions. It had been a long time since she’d given into the siren’s call of the stage; usually, she could go to performances with no trouble, but this glimpse of the backstage was too much. Just like watching television and movies were too much, always reminding her of something that could have been, but ultimately never achieved. All because she’d let one woman have too much power over her.

From somewhere else, a deep male voice hummed low and full, measuring up a scale and back down. Then he made a series of inconsequential sounds, lips smacking, tongue movements, warming up the mouth and voice.  It was a pleasant sound, but it too rattled her to the bones—and not only because it also brought her past back to her. There was something familiar about the voice, though she could not place it.

As she went about her business, she listened to him—in what must have been the men’s bathroom next door—respond to the feedback he received from the reverberations of his voice in the tiled room. He hid it well, but he sounded sick. At least, his throat seemed raw. He stopped once to sneeze and cough.

He sang a few bars of some song as she washed her hands. That definitely wasn’t the best sound, but it had a mournful quality, one so full of emotion that the crackling and breaking in his voice didn’t matter much. Honestly, she was a little impressed as she stepped out the door to the bathroom and looked around for her erstwhile stagehand.

Upon not finding her, Astrid turned on her heels to retrace her steps back to the makeshift green room, only to bang headfirst into an incredibly hard, masculine body. Strong hands encircled her arms to steady her, but pushed her back in haste.

“I’m so sorry!” she squeaked, lifting her eyes to the black-clothed chest in front of her—and up and up to a shaggy auburn beard. Further north her gaze traveled before it landed on a pair of sea-green eyes. Livid sea-green eyes. What was his problem, anyway? Other than being out of place in the artist’s domain, it was an honest mistake. She hadn’t intended to bang into him.

She pulled out of the man’s grasp, rubbing her arms where his hands had singed a print into her skin. Verifying she couldn’t see the outline of his hands, she then glanced back at him to apologize. If he were truly angry, he would have left her. Instead, he stayed. Maybe he wanted to give her the what for. She knew that because she could feel the radiance of his body heat even a few feet apart. He consumed the space between them with his sheer presence.

She opened her mouth to apologize again, her gaze focusing on the man—the whole man—but the words died on her tongue. Standing before her wasn’t just some random guy. This was the man who flipped her world upside down in Hawaii. 

This man was… an actor. It made sense, if she thought about it. But then her stomach plummeted all the way down to her feet.

Wait.

This man…

This man couldn’t be…

Oh, fuck!

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian fic - “Kurt on Ice” (Rated T)

While doing their homework at Sebastian's house, Kurt receives a mysterious package ... (1605 words)

A/N: I wrote this in honor of the fiftieth person who's asked me if my series was inspired by Yuri on Ice. Plus, I like these playful moments where the boys navigate their feelings together.

Part 26 of Outside Edge

Read on AO3.

“Sign here, Mr. Smythe … and initial here …”

“Gotcha.”

“And that’s it. Thank you very much. Did you need help bringing that inside?”

“Nope. I think I’ve got it. Thanks anyway.”

Kurt hears Sebastian politely dismiss the delivery man who interrupted their afternoon study session out of the blue – a major inconvenience since, this time, they actually were studying, both hitting the books to prepare for huge tests in math. That didn’t mean they didn’t sneak the occasional kiss between quadratic formulas but, for the most part, they were keeping things G for the sake of an A.

But a page of proofs were put on pause when the unexpected UPS truck pulled up out front of Sebastian’s house.

Kurt looks over his shoulder when he hears Sebastian grunt, attempting to tilt the tall, rectangular box and drag it into the living room.

“That’s a big box,” Kurt comments, too entertained by Sebastian’s struggling to get up and help.

“Yup. And it’s addressed to you.” Sebastian taps a finger on the address label, pointing out Kurt’s name.

“If it’s for me, why did it come here?”

“Because I’m your coach,” Sebastian says proudly, happy that someone outside of their inner circle is finally acknowledging his role in Kurt’s budding career. “And as such, potential sponsorships and endorsement deals go through me.”

Kurt smirks, not sure whether that’s completely true or not, but he doesn’t call Sebastian out on it. He’s way too adorable, acting all cocky over his job as Kurt’s coach. No need to land any blows to his ego.

“So” – Kurt stands from the sofa, leaving his calculus homework on the coffee table – “what’s in it?”

“Samples.” Sebastian props the box against the arm of the sofa, then tears into the packing tape, at least three obnoxious layers of it keeping the box closed.

“Of what? This box is way too big to be skates.” Kurt looks for the address label right as Sebastian rips it, destroying any clue to the sender of the package. “Oh, you don’t think it could be hockey sticks, do you?”

“Nah.” Sebastian chuckles at Kurt’s under-enthused tone. As much as Kurt enjoys practicing with the team and expanding his skating skills, Sebastian knows that Kurt isn’t as into hockey as he is. Even protected by over thirty pounds of goalie gear, he apparently has issues with pucks flying at his face. “It’s from a company called ‘Light in the Box’.” Sebastian chuckles again, like he knows something that Kurt doesn’t. It’s become a habit of Sebastian’s, from being more in the know in skating circles than Kurt, and Kurt doesn’t like it.

“I’ve never heard of them.”

“Well, they’ve heard of you. And from what I know of them, if I’m correct, they’ve zeroed in on your … particular style tastes.”

“And, pray tell, what’s that supposed to mean?”

Sebastian pulls the first of about eight costume bags from the box. He unzips the top and takes a peek before Kurt can sneak one. With a snort and a smile, he announces, “A-ha! I thought so! Take a look at this!”

Sebastian undoes the zipper the rest of the way to reveal a black, satiny jumpsuit, covered in an over-abundance of Swarovski crystals and pearls. Thin silver chains run down the sides, swaying as Sebastian turns the costume over. Whoever designed it pulled out all the stops when it came to accessorizing, as there doesn’t appear to be an undecorated inch of fabric left. But bedazzled to excess, that isn’t the most notable part of the outfit.

It’s the huge, V-shaped opening down the front, the gap at the neck running from nearly shoulder to shoulder, the point ending at the waist (Sebastian suspects below the belly button).

Kurt gasps.

Sebastian snorts. “Now, this is some Yuri on Ice shit right here.”

Kurt blinks at his boyfriend’s remark. He takes a moment to turn his scowl of disgust away from the tacky costume to his slightly tackier boyfriend. “I didn’t know you watched anime.”

“I don’t,” Sebastian says, not sounding the least bit guilty as he holds the outfit out in front of him, trying to picture what it would look like clinging to his boyfriend’s lithe and toned frame.

“Then how do you know about Yuri on Ice?”

“Everyone knows about Yuri on Ice. Duh.” Sebastian rolls his eyes. “It’s one of the reasons why we had so many teenage girls hacking up our ice in rental skates last summer. Everyone saw it and frickin’ thought they could skate. Thank God they’re all gone now.”

Kurt reaches out a curious hand to finger the fabric and investigate the seams, judge its overall quality. It seems sturdy, constructed well for a sample – all of the hems finished, as if the designer made it a point to get Kurt’s exact measurements instead of leaving them to be altered later on. The crystals on the cuffs appear affixed nice and tight. Overall, not too shabby.

But that doesn’t mean he’s wearing it.

“They do know I’m still a teenager, right? And that this might be considered a little obscene?”

“Pfft. This coming from a guy who wears his pants so tight, he doesn’t need to see a proctologist. A doctor can just diagnose you from the stands.”

“Ha-ha. At least my outfits cover everything,” Kurt snaps, his cheeks going hot. “Look! It doesn’t have a net panel or anything up front! I’d freeze in that thing!”

“It definitely would be chilly wearing this out on the ice. Probably uncomfortable, too. We’d need to glue it to your skin.”

“Exactly,” Kurt agrees, happy that his boyfriend – his coach – can see reason. But the way Sebastian focuses on the treacherous V-neck with long, slow sweeps of his eyes makes the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

“But …”

Kurt glares at Sebastian. What but? He can’t seriously be considering this!? Kurt doesn’t need endorsements that badly. “But …?”

“You’d still look pretty hot in it.”

Kurt’s eyes pop from Sebastian’s face to the costume he’s holding, and he snickers. He doesn’t know whether to feel flattered by that remark or filthy.

Is it wrong that he feels a teeny bit of both, he wonders?

And that he kind of likes it?

“Well, the world’s never going to see me in it, I’m afraid.”

“I’m not talking about the world, Hummel …” Sebastian peeks past the shoulder of the costume with shy yet mischievous eyes - the eyes of a boy who spent so much time pulling Kurt’s leg and making him miserable that navigating these intimate moments tends to intimidate him. “I’m talking about, you know, just me.”

Kurt goes from bulging eyes to mouth agape. “Uh … you want me to model it for you?”

“Among other things.”

“What other things?”

“You don’t like to make out in your other outfits …”

Kurt lifts an eyebrow, trying to determine from the expression on Sebastian’s face if he’s really thinking what Kurt thinks he’s thinking.

“You could be Yuri …”

Yup. He is.

“What?” Sebastian says, nervous over his boyfriend’s stunned silence.

“You want to roleplay an anime? You don’t think that’s a tad creepy?”

“It’s not like it’s Hello Kitty or Pokemon, alright?” Sebastian explains, his cheeks getting redder than Kurt’s did. “That show is chock full of pole dancing, and n-naked hot tubbing …”

“You do realize that that would make us figure skaters roleplaying as figure skaters?”

“It’ll be skate-ception.”

“You know, your pop culture references are frighteningly on point right now.”

“So … is th-that … a no?”

Kurt takes a step towards his boyfriend melting in embarrassment behind the barely three yards of fabric hanging from an almost bent hanger. And as amusing as his impending humiliation is, Kurt can’t leave him like this.

He can’t torment Sebastian when all he’s been doing, in a roundabout way, is calling Kurt sexy.

“Seeing as I make all my own costumes, it’s not like I’ll be heartbroken if anything happens to this one,” he says, putting his hands on Sebastian’s shoulders and kneading gently.

“True,” Sebastian says, smiling at Kurt, embolden by his touch to continue where he left off.

“Plus, they were kind enough to send it to me.” Kurt leans closer, mouth fitting against Sebastian’s in the space between their breaths. “I should see how it fits, how it wears, how it … holds up under stress …”

“It would be nice of you to review their product,” Sebastian agrees, following Kurt’s lips as they tease his own, “from one professional costume designer to another.”

Kurt inches even closer, sliding his body against his boyfriend’s, feeling how hard he’s become through his baggy jeans and the slip of a costume sandwiched between them.

“You know, we might not even need to put me in this clown suit to get things rolling. Hmm? All things considered …” He punctuates those words with an upward thrust into Sebastian’s crotch.

Sebastian looks deep into his boyfriend’s eyes, startlingly blue the more he gets turned on; plump lips parted, his breath hot against Sebastian’s mouth, so close, so tempting. Sebastian licks his lips, the tip of his tongue grazing Kurt’s chin, and nods. “Yes. Yes, we do.” He grabs Kurt’s hand and, costume draped over his arm, pulls Kurt towards the staircase that leads to the upper level of the house and his bedroom.

“Sebastian …”

“After all, we want to give them an honest review.”

“Sebastian …”

“You wouldn’t want to lie to your fans, would you?”

“Sebastian!”

“Do it for the fans, Kurt! The fans!”

[all-sortsa-stuff]

A new start, part 2

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Word Count: 2287

Warning: Language

Part 1

 After finishing in wardrobe and meeting your new costar, the day went downhill.  Your manager called to let you know you would have to make some kind of statement regarding the breakup.  Obviously, your publicist had put enough pressure on him to have him call. He whined for a few minutes before you were tired of listening and agreed just to get him off the phone. “Ugh I hate this so much!” Stomping around the living room of the rental house, you thought about what you wanted to say.

You wanted to be cruel and hurt David as much as he hurt you.  Make the whole world hate him and his new little toy.  However, you knew it would in the end hurt you as well.  You could not face that. So you called your publicist, who was more than ready to write some vicious statement about your parting.  As much as it killed you to do it, you took the high road, and had her release a statement that was vague and placed no blame.  You just wanted it to be over and to try to move on with your life.

That is what you were hoping at least.  Briefly reading the statement on one of the entertainment websites only managed to create a hole in your heart again.  Throwing your phone down on the couch you buried your face in one of the pillows and cried once more.  This time though, you promised yourself it would be the last time.  He did not deserve anymore of your tears or your heart.

  You woke some time later, unsure of the time only that it was still dark outside.  Stiffness and a headache from the long bout of crying and the awkward sleeping position, only made you hate whatever day it was.  You did not feel rested at all.  Pulling yourself up you found it was five thirty in the morning.  So, not much before you were to get up for work this morning, anyway.  It was going to be a long day.

Thankfully, after taking a long hot shower you made it to the set in plenty of time to be able to find your trailer and have a few minutes to sit in the quiet before the whole start of production.  Your mind was oblivious to what else was going on around you as you got out of your SUV. Had you been paying attention you would have noticed Chris parking a few spaces down from you.  He pulled out two large cups of coffee and called out to you as you walked towards the row of trailers.

“[Y/N]!  Wait up!  Damn you walk too fast.”  He laughed as you turned in surprise to see him behind you, trying to catch up.

“Oh sorry!  I was off in my own world.”  You gave him a half smile.  It was too early to be happy, at least today.  Chris smiled holding out one of the cups of coffee towards you.

“I got this for you. I figured it’s early and we are both awake and that requires coffee.  For me at least.”  You had forgotten about coffee this morning.  Your mind really had left you; you usually lived on coffee until you were awake. Taking the cup you held it in both hands enjoying the heat from the surface.

“Thank you.  I don’t know how I forgot to make a cup this morning. Actually I do it’s been a bad week. I’ve forgotten a lot of things.” You took a sip of the coffee bracing for something awful but found it to be perfect.  It was sweet and creamy just how you liked it.  “This is great thank you.  How did you know I liked it sweet?”  Chris shrugged as he took a sip of his.

“I took a guess.  If I was wrong I was going to give you this one.” He laughed quietly not wanting to tell you, he had looked up information on you the previous night.  He may have found an old article on you where you said you loved sweet coffee.  It was a hope that the coffee would help you to feel better.  He could tell from the previous day you were feeling down.and he wanted to change that.

“Well I appreciate it.” The two of you walked together towards the trailers, chatting about the movie and the filming.  Both Chris and you said your goodbyes for the moment as you found your trailer.  One of the set assistants was already there setting out the portion of the script you would be going over today in the cast introduction meeting.  You set your bag down on one of the chairs in front of the mirror and looked around.  The interior looked comfortable; it would do just fine for the next few months.

The meeting went well and quickly.  Many of the cast and crew had worked together on previous projects so it made for a pleasant morning. Filming was going to start that afternoon after lunch and the last minute details of costumes was ironed out.  Two separate sets were built for the project showing the earlier lives and later married life of the couple.  The first scene you were doing today had you looking like a teenager with a pretty ponytail and an early thirty’s dress.  You could not help it; you took a selfie and sent it to your mom. It was a cute look and you liked the fact it made you feel a little better about the day.  She liked the picture, sending back a string of emojis. The woman had just discovered the world of emojis on her phone and now was obsessed.  You were going to have to stage an intervention at this rate.

The scene would be the two of you fighting over something insignificant, but to teenagers would feel like the most important thing in the world.  You stood watching the crew set up a few minutes before Chris walked up beside you.  “Well well Miss Connie, don’t you look a sight.”  You grinned as he used your character’s name, seemed like he was wanted to slip into character already.  

“Oh it’s nothing, Tommy. You’ve seen this dress a hundred times.” You pulled one of the script’s lines out for added affect.  He beamed over at you holding out his arm for you to take.

“I think we should show this place who Tommy and Connie really are.”  Nodding you took his arm.  Together the two of you walked onto the set and did just that.  The chemistry the two of you had on screen was incredible. It felt natural and flowed easily. Just like the two of you had been doing it for years.  The director was ecstatic, commenting on how well it was going to portray to the audience.  A wrap was called for the day, so the crew could start the prep for the early morning shoot.  Chris walked with you as the two of you headed towards the trailers to change out of your costumes.  Both of you excited how the day had gone.  Chris looked up seeing a man next to your trailer door he stopped.  He knew who it was and was not happy.  “[Y/N]…”  Pointing towards the man caught your attention.  Your heart stopped then proceeded to drop solidly into your stomach. David.  The man had come all the way from L.A. and somehow got on set. You should have known, he would come and try to ruin the rest of your day.

“Fuck,” you whispered under your breath.  Chris looked over at you concerned.

“Want me to get rid of him? You don’t need that shit.” Looking over to him you gave a half smile, and then shook your head.  

“No, I will deal with it. I’m a big girl.”  He nodded walking towards the direction of his trailer though he gave David a death glare as he moved.  You walked towards David, trying to put on a face that showed the least amount of emotion as possible.  He looked like a kicked puppy standing there with his hands tucked into the pocket of his jeans.

“Before you start yelling or saying anything please.  Just hear me out.  If you want to scream at me after that I will gladly take it.”  Stopping a few feet away, you tried to maintain some distance. You did not want to be close to him for fear he would try to touch you.

“Fine, you have five minutes. Go inside, we aren’t doing this out here.  I have already been humiliated enough.” David flinched as though he had been slapped.  You told the set assistant that was waiting on you to go for the day.  You would be fine to change and remove all the makeup by yourself.  The woman looked more than happy to leave the tense atmosphere.  He sat on one of the small padded sofa chairs while you took the seat in front of the mirror.  Again several feet away. “Five minutes.”  He nodded looking down at the floor before looking back to you.

“Yeah five minutes. Okay.  Well first, I am going to say sorry.  Sorry for the whole mess, which is completely my fault.  I was weak and ruined the best thing going in my life.  I made the decision to cheat and hurt you.  It was a mistake that I am going have to live with and think about for the rest of my life.  [Y/N], you are the world to me.  It crushed me seeing you cry and walk out my door.  I was physically sick when I realized what I had done and the extent of the pain I caused you.  I am so sorry.  You did not deserve any of it.  You have been nothing but loving and supportive, even when I didn’t deserve it.  Then that statement you released… you could have crushed me.  As Lyla did when she told the world what we had done.  It ruined so many things.  My mother isn’t speaking to me right now.  But you did not condemn me.  You never could.  I know there isn’t a mean bone in your body because you are a good person.  Unlike me.  Please understand how sorry I am.  I am not asking for forgiveness, but I am asking for a second chance to prove that someday maybe I will be worthy of it.”  David had tears in his eyes as he spoke.  You know there was remorse in his words and it hurt your heart to see him like that.

“David…  I know you are sorry.  I know the person you are and I believe it.”  He looked hopeful as he sat up in the chair.  You put your hand up to stop him further.  “But I can’t do a second chance.  I will never be able to get the sight of her wearing only your shirt wrapped around you as if she was supposed to be there.  Or the sight of your kissing her neck like you did to mine. It makes me sick thinking about it actually.”  His head went down into his hands, blocking his face.  “We are done.  What we had is damaged beyond repair.  It is over and I need to move on with my life.  Figure out what that is without you in it.  Please do the same.”  You stood up moving to open the door, his sign that he needed to leave now.

David stood wiping his eyes. “I’m sorry, [Y/N].  Someday I am going to prove that we belong together. But I will do what you want for now. Good luck with the movie.”  He walked out and you shut the door.  Tears were threatening to fall, but after the previous night, you promised yourself you were done crying over that man.  You deserved a new start.

You cleaned yourself up, wiping away all the makeup and changed your clothes.  Making at least an attempt as looking like you.  Not the movie star you, but the you that appeared every morning in the mirror.  As you stepped out of the trailer, Chris walked up looking around.  “Is he gone?  I don’t want to interrupt anything.”

“No he’s gone.  He shouldn’t be back.  It’s over.”  Chris nodded unsure how to respond to it.  His hands in his pockets as he looked at the ground.

“Well I know it’s been a long day and you look exhausted but you also look like you could use a beer.” You raised a brow at him.  “No, no not like a ‘date’ kinda beer.  I mean like a ‘you’re stressed out because your ex-boyfriend is a douche and you need a pizza and a beer’ kinda night.”  The words just fell out of his mouth is a mess. Laughing you covered your mouth. He looked nervous but you liked the idea.

“That sounds good. “

“Great.  There is this place…” Shaking your head at him.

“No, not going out.  I have beer in the fridge at the house.  We can order pizza and drink there.  I can’t take a crowd or people looking at me tonight.” Chris nodded and looked around trying to play it cool.  

“Great, yeah if you want to do that. I’m good with it. I don’t want you to think I’m trying to hit on your or anything weird.  Just trying to be a friend. You look like you need one.”  You smiled squeezing his forearm in thanks.

“Yeah I think I do. Thank you.  Come on, I’m starving.”  He followed you to the car and the two of you headed off towards the beach house.  

Part 3

@bolontiku

[brokenmusicboxwolfe]

I saw:

 Star Wars- If you don’t know the story you won’t care. Why bother summerizing when you can rant!

Yep, I still call the first film “Star Wars” or “the original Star Wars”. Look, I’m old enough that as a little girl I saw it more than once in it’s original release back in 1977, and it was just called Star Wars then. It was called that for a long time. Wanna see how much history I had with Star Wars before the rebranding?

When I saw my first academy awards (or actually fell asleep a few minutes in...I was little!) hoping to see it win Best Picture. Halloween and me in a Princess Leia costume Mom made me and then R2D2 on my birthday cake. I saw The Empire Strikes Back and The Return of the Jedi at their releases, each at least twice. My family had the 8mm cut down film version, then I worked my ass off one summer to buy the films at rental price,  then eventually upgrading to a VHS widescreen set. I’d seen the movies 100 times each before the 20th anniversary, and I know because I counted! The Star Wars Holiday Special (yes, it’s original airing), the fun animated Droids and Ewoks, the so bad I never wanted to see them again Ewok tv movies, tons of making of specials and guest appearances of people from the films. The entire run of the original Marvel comics. I fell asleep to the  music on 8track every night and then during the day I’d play my drums and cymbals to the vinyl soundtrack. (My parents were very understanding! LOL) I’d also listen  to the “Story of Star Wars”record (flip as the tractor beam pulls them in), that Meco disco album, and upgraded  the soundtracks, first to tape and then CD...more than once. I had lightsaber battles so feirce with my brother we had to get new ones to replace the smashed up old ones. My room had several posters and I wore Star Wars tee shirts.  I collected tons of action figures, dolls, plushes, model ships, blasters and the like, right up until the figures went on clearance post Jedi (just found an old package yesterday between books). Too much merchandise to count. I wore my Han Solo vest every day one year in high school, purchased through the fan club I’d been a member of since it started. I read every single book or magazine to do with the movie or spun off it I could find. And through all of it back then Star Wars was still the default title of the first film....

So, as you can tell, I had a long history of just knowing it as Star Wars. Childhood. Teen. Young adult. While the “A New Hope” subtitle was added to the crawl in one of the rereleases, it was just Star Wars when anyone talked about it. I can’t remember now exactly when the rebranding got aggressive, with the anniversary in 1997 or the release of the prequels, but for at least 20 years I only ever heard anyone call it Star Wars.  

When Lucasfilms started to try to make “A New Hope” a thing I kind of rolled my eyes. No one was confused by the film series for Planet of the Apes, The Thin Man or The Pink Panther sharing a name with their first films, so why bother? Now, I can get that after the subtitle got added to the opening crawl that it would make sense technically to make the titling of the films uniform. But I also knew it didn’t matter. It isn’t like it was a person asking you to use another name. The only people that cared were the more obsessive fans that liked to be smug about knowing the “real” title and George BLOODY Lucas. I rolled my eyes and doubted people would rewrite their memories just to make them happy. 

I was wrong.

And so here we are at a time where people mock you if you call it “Star Wars” insteas of “A New Hope” So why do I still defiantly cling to the original title? Because it’s part of the mutilation and rewriting Lucas started doing. I’d been bothered reading interviews when I was a girl where he would contradict himself on the stories behind the stories, going so far as to claim things were “always” intended that reading early drafts showed no mention of. But ok, I knew creation is a process and some people want everyone to think it’s actually just a miraculous whoosh springing out fully formed. And despite the fact I knew full well that other people worked on the films, in the case of Empire and Jedi other directors and writers, I still shrugged it off and gave him the ultimate credit for everything. He was flawed and human, with an ego under that mild exterior, some of what he said was total BS and maybe my brother was right after watching an interview when he said the god of the Star Wars universe had no one anymore to question him...but still I trusted Lucas.

I was wrong.

 Never mind the mind blowingly huge problems with the prequels, my disilusioning started right here, with the Special Editions. Most of the changes were pointless but some actually seemed to damage the films. Take my top three grumbles:

1) Tatoonie should NOT be a rosy pink! Before it was bright clear sunlight, unrelenting hot, parching and desolate, unforgiving...now it’s all pretty, colorful and warm. It reduces the sunbaked heat, but more important the dry barren sense of a colorless place Luke would ache to leave.

2) Han’s conversation with Jabba should not be in this film. I know it was filmed originally and cut for technical reasons, I’ve had a bootleg of it since my first convention, but loosing it was a good thing. Jabba should remain a shadowy unseen threat, someone that wants Han’s hide enough it looms over our scoundrel until the third film. The reveal of Jabba gains power in Jedi because you don’t know the extent of his powers but he’s supposed to be scary and we see him up in a position or authority over the room. Here Jabba looses power by not only being on the same level as Han and seeming smaller, but for crying out loud there is the gag of Han stepping on his tail while seeming completely unconcerned! And speaking of people being reduced...Boba Fett is this mysterious bounty hunter not just some damn henchman to Jabba. What part of mysterious don’t they get!

3) Mos Eisley does not need to me so cluttered up with CGI characters! This is a middle of nowhere planet with a scattered population and a climate many people wouldn’t enjoy. Sure it’s a spaceport but with buildings, many of which are at least partly underground as relief from the environment. The streets actually gain a sense of unease by being underpopulated, giving a sense that people (of whatever sort) could be watching from doorways. Like you could be attacked and no one would notice. But nope, now it’s bustling, so full of effects life that they actually wreck the look of shots by having gratitous critters and droids moving to block us seeing our characters.

Yes, I didn’t mention the Greedo thing. It doesn’t bother me as much as the rest, but you all know that if Lucas HAD wanted to film it that way originally it would have been just as easy as what we got.

Still, I wouldn’t be bothered at all if this was just an alternate version. Blade Runner, E.T. and others have given you a choice of which version to watch in DVD sets. I was sure both versions would stay easily available.

I was wrong. 

Lucas decided that whatever version was his current take should be the only one out there. The DVDs with the original (close enough) cuts long ago went out of print (and in my case the DVDs failed!) so if you want to see Star Wars not going to look at all like my first 100 times seeing it. 

And that’s my problem. Rejiggered versions have become the only version. If out of preference, curiosity or nostalgia you want to see something from before the monkeying around you have to look to illegal means. As far as Lucas is concerned he would like everyone to pretend any prior versions existed. History is rewritten and we aren’t supposed to grumble. All hail the genius of Lucas or some rot and forget anything you saw on screen and anything he said before. And it bugs me because I resent being told to forget

 Retitling the movie, not subtitle but what we are supposed to call it, is just a tiny part of the emperor’s dictates. And my refusal to use that name is symbollic. In fact this insignificant gesture is a bit like something....Now what’s the word?

Ah yes.

Rebellion.

LOL 

But not to worry. My generation will die off eventually. Those that grew up without special editions, prequels, and so forth will die out. In 100 years everyone will call it “A New Hope” and will not even realize anything was ever changed. But for now some of us still remember another Star Wars.......

One last note: I think the double whammy of the SEs and the prequels did something I thought impossible....I fell out of love with Star Wars. I rarely watch it since I only have the SE and when I do I spend some of the time grumpy at alterations I don’t like  and all of it a bit empty. It’s the only time in my life that I’d ever stopped loving anyone or anything. For me usually live cools but the warmth remains to quickly rekindle. When the Force Awakens came out I felt my affection return a bit to the franchise for the first time this century and I thought my love could be reborn. But tonight, rewatching Star Wars, I realized something has been permanently lost. It no longer hurts to watch but the heart has gone out of it for me........