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humanpurposes · 1 year

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Sweet Dream

The Sandman AU

Her father means to summon and capture Death, but ends up with the wrong sibling. She becomes fascinated with their prisoner // Main Masterlist

Dream!Aemond x unnamed female character

Warnings: 18+, spells n shit, mild gore, death, lowkey Lima syndrome, smut

Words: 8000

A/n: For my fellow Morpheus and Aemond lovers. Also available to read on AO3.

Roderick Burgess had always been a terrifying man. In grief he has only become more irritable and less predictable.

The telegram came in the early days of July. She delivered the news to Roderick herself, while he was in his study. Her father did not like to be disturbed and he might have beaten her to remind her of the fact, until those fateful words slipped from her mouth. “Randall’s dead.” Shot down by a German machine gun at the Somme. In the end he had been one of thousands, his body buried in a neat line of tombstones somewhere in France, his name engraved on a plaque in the church at Wych Cross, ultimately unremarkable and indistinguishable from the other men and boys who had lost their lives.

But it was not so for Roderick. He let out a sudden groan and clutched his chest as though his pain was tangible and terrible. He shed no tears– of course he didn’t, but he gritted his teeth, crying out in fury as he dashed his hands over his desk, sending papers, books, fountain pens and empty whisky glasses tumbling to the floor.

She stood frozen, waiting for his hand to descend on her for being the one to tell him, but it didn’t.

When they held a memorial service for him, Roderick handed her a piece of paper, to read before the crowd of faces she didn’t recognise.

“Randall was our family’s happiness. He was the bravest, the wisest, and kindest older brother I could possibly dream of having.” Her hands and voice trembled as she read because she knew it was all a lie. In truth, Randall was like their father. They had the same short temper, the same stubbornness and the same cruelty.

But Randall being dead meant she could reinvent him.

Lately, she dreams of happier memories and looks back on them fondly, knowing they can never be contradicted or disproved.

While her father has dreamt of Death ever since.

It’s a brisk afternoon in October when a man in a suit, bow tie and bowler hat arrives at Fawny Rig. He clutches a leather briefcase in front of him and introduces himself as Dr John Hathaway, a curator from the Royal Museum, travelled all the way from London to this quiet corner of East Sussex. She leads him through the panelled halls of the manor, to her father’s study.

Roderick barges in behind them, in a shirt and waistcoat, already smelling faintly of whisky and waving his cane in her general direction. “Tea for our guest,” he orders.

She has the pot ready and strains the dark, reddish liquid into two delicate china cups while her father and Dr Hathaway settle on opposing leather sofas in the centre of the room.

“I take it you have reconsidered?” Roderick says.

“After our meeting at the museum… I know what I said, but–” Dr Hathaway takes an unsure breath. “I received a telegram this morning. My son, Edmund, his destroyer was sunk last week off Jutland.”

It’s a loss Roderick can share, even if he doesn’t really understand how other than a few quick words of condolence. “I lost my son, Randall last year. He was my greatest joy.”

She pauses as she reaches for the sugar bowl. She has never been under the illusion that her own existence has given her father any joy, but then what sort of person would she have to be to earn his respect? She places the sugar on a tray, along with the small jug of milk and the cups, and brings them to the small table between the sofas. The pair don’t spare her a word of thanks or even a brief glance.

Dr Hathaway’s hand lingers on the clasp of his case. “If I give you this, could you truly do it? Could you really–”

“Capture the angel of Death?” Roderick says. “I believe I could.”

She shudders unexpectedly. The old groundskeeper used to say a sudden chill meant someone was walking over your grave.

Dr Hathaway clicks open the clasp and takes out an aged, leather bound book. It has no title on the cover, just gold markings in square, geometric patterns.

“The Magdalene Grimoire,” her father mutters, his eyes wide in an ominous sort of wonder. “With the spells recorded in the book, we will see our sons returned to us.”

The next night is a full moon. She stands by the door with Sykes, welcoming men and women dressed in midnight blue robes to the manor and directing them towards the door that leads to the cellar. They’re all part of Roderick’s ‘Order of Ancient Mysteries’ which as far as she can tell is a cult of fanatics who still believe in witchcraft. They come to Fawny Rig once a month, to listen to her father read from so-called ‘spell books’ as though he is a preacher.

The fanatics pull hoods over their heads and descend the narrow stone steps into the cellar with lit candles grasped in their hands. Roderick leads the way, the book Dr Hathaway gave him tucked under his arm.

She shoots Sykes a concerned frown but he just shrugs. He’s paid to organise the household and guard Burgess’ collection of relics, not to ask questions. Questions are a dangerous game with Roderick.

She trails after them and shuts the iron lock on the door behind her.

The cellar is more like a crypt, an expansive room sprawling under the house, held up by pillars and arches. In the low candlelight she makes out a set of markings on the floor in the heart of the room and this is where the Order of Ancient Mysteries gathers.

The shapes and symbols are unfamiliar to her, painted onto the flagstones, twisting and curling over each other to form a circle. Roderick stands at the very edge of it by a brass lectern.

She watches, half hidden behind a pillar as they stand around the circle and Roderick opens the book, his desired page already marked and studied in the hours since it has been in his possession.

“Tonight,” her father says to his congregation, “we will achieve what no one before us has attempted. We will summon and imprison Death.”

His eyes meet hers through the shadowy space, heavy and sunken with age, grief and months worth of sleepless nights. They glisten slightly too.

He holds his hands out and looks down at the markings on the floor. “Here, in the darkness.”

The others echo his words, softly and melodically at first. Here in the darkness. Here in the darkness.

And so the ritual begins.

“I give you a coin made from a stone,” Roderick says, presenting the object to the ceiling as though the eyes of God are looking down from the heavens, through the house and the earth, and drops it to the floor, inside the circle of markings.

“I give you a knife from under the hills.” He holds up a thin blade and lifts his other arm so the sleeve of his robe drops to his elbow. “I give you the blood from out of my vein.”

She winces but does not look away as he draws the knife along the skin of his forearm, until dark droplets begin to fall and stain the markings.

“I give you a song I stole from the dirt and I give you a feather,” he says, raising a white feather that almost seems to glow through the gloom, “pulled from an angel’s wing.”

And all the while the voices persist. Here in the darkness. Here in the darkness.

He drops the feather and it drifts gently down, landing in the very heart of the circle.

The room is still and she holds her breath.

The feather starts to move. It twists in a circle and floats up, lurching and turning as though it’s being blown about by a breeze she cannot feel or hear.

The voices raise to an urgent chant. Here in the darkness. Here in the darkness.

She clenches her fingertips against the stone of the pillar. She tries to meet her father’s eye again but he is fixated on the feather flying above their heads.

He calls over the chanting, “I summon you with poison,” and the moment he does the feather flickers like the striking of a match. “I summon you with pain! I open the way! I open the gates! I summon you in the name of the old Lords, we summon you together! Come!”

A noise, like a cracking whip splits her ears. The feather bursts into white and golden flames like the flash of a camera. The heat of it rushes over her face and burns her eyes.

And from the flames a body falls to the floor.

It thuds as it hits the ground, silencing the voices save for a few gasps and murmurs. She feels the flagstones rumble under her feet, sees the edges of a black cloak spilling across the floor and a head of long silver hair trailing from its head.

This isn’t an illusion. Roderick Burgess has brought forth a tangible entity, plucked from God-knows-where, lying motionless on the floor. For a moment she wonders if he is dead, until she sees a slight movement in his chest, but even then she fears she could be imagining it.

She takes a few unsure steps to where Roderick stands and the man– he is a man as far as she can tell– is further revealed to her. She can see his face now, his pale skin, the angles of his jaw and cheeks, the curve of his lips, but beyond that she finds herself unable to look away from the jewel that sits where his left eye should be. It is a bright, deep shade of blue and dotted with silver specs, like the vast expanse of twilight when the stars are out but the sky is not quite black. The eye is framed by twisted, red flesh and a scar, slicing from his brow to his cheek. It takes her a moment to realise his other eye, closer to the ground, is closed.

The only other parts of him she can see are the tips of his fingers, clasped around a small pouch.

“Is this… Death?” she utters.

“That remains to be seen,” Roderick says. He points to the pouch. “Get that for me.”

She stares back at her father. How he can speak so flippantly when a man has been conjured, seemingly from thin air, is beyond her. But he glares back, his dark expression only more formidable with his aged frown.

So she steps forward and begins to lower herself beside the man.

“Careful, girl!” Roderick barks, “don’t break the binding circle.”

She stops and looks down, where her skirt is inches from brushing over the markings on the floor. She shuffles back and, with trembling fingers, reaches for the pouch. It’s not hard to take, the man hardly resists, twitching his fingers to keep it in his grasp. It feels wrong, stealing from someone too weak to hold onto what is his.

She looks into the jewel-like eye. Can he see through it? Perhaps it has something to do with the scar? Did he place it there himself, or was he simply made this way?

Someone snatches the pouch from her. She looks up at her father as he undoes the strings and peers inside. “Sand,” he mutters, and stows it away inside his robes.

“And the jewel,” he says to her.

She means to protest, but finds she cannot.

She avoids the markings as she leans forwards. She presses her fingertips beside the man’s eye. His skin is cold and firm.

She swallows her guilt and the nauseous feeling in her throat, nudging her fingertips into the socket. It takes her a few attempts, but she pries the jewel free, wincing when she feels it come loose. If he feels any pain he hardly shows it. His brow furrows but his other eye remains closed, and he makes no sound.

She stands and offers the jewel to her father.

Roderick holds it to the light of one of the candles, giving a curious hum before he pockets that too.

“Move,” he mutters to her, pushing her out of his way as he stands over the man. He tugs on the black cloak and it falls into fragments that fade away, like dust on a breeze. The man’s body is bare, pale skin running over details of muscle and bone. He shivers and twitches like he has a fever, but still he does not speak, or even let out a breath.

“We’ll let our guest recover,” Roderick says, “and then we shall make our demands.

They leave him there for days. He does not move, or ask for food or water.

She doesn’t dream in the nights since they captured their ‘guest’. In fact she hardly sleeps at all. Each morning she wakes, already exhausted, having felt like she’s only closed her eyes for a few brief moments.

Then come the stories in the newspapers. They call it ‘the sleeping sickness’. People all over the country, and in fact the world, have been plagued, either to not sleep at all or never wake up.

On a cold, drizzly morning, a stranger appears at the door to the manor.

She listens and watches from the top of the stairs, crouching by the bannister to stay out of sight as a man with choppy silver hair and pale skin strides into the entrance hall, with Roderick following closely behind.

“Do I know you?” her father asks, furiously.

“No.” The stranger’s voice is low and almost seductive. “But I know all about you, Roderick Burgess, and the being trapped in your basement.”

“You mean to intimidate me?”

She sees a flash of a grin and a pair of pale purple eyes through the wooden balusters.

“I am here to help you,” the stranger says. “There are benefits to keeping one of the Targaryens in your confinement.”

“Targaryens?” her father echoes.

“Did you think Death was the only one of her kind? Death has family. Destiny, Despair, Desire…”

“And who have I got?”

“Dream,” the stranger says with a smile that bares his teeth.

A shiver runs over her shoulders. She keeps her jaw tight to stop herself from reacting to it.

Roderick scoffs. “What good is a God who governs dreams?”

The stranger's voice darkens. “There was a saying in the ancient times of humanity, that said the Targaryens are closer to Gods than men. But they are not Gods. They are more than Gods. They are Endless.”

He tells Roderick of Dream’s vestments, the pouch of sand and his sapphire, both of which he says Roderick may manipulate for his own influences. He says the binding circle will not be enough to contain their prisoner, that they must construct a sphere of glass within the circle.

Most crucially of all, he says no one must be allowed to fall asleep in Dream’s presence.

“Why are you helping me?” Roderick finally asks.

The stranger runs his tongue over his teeth and smiles to himself. “Little family dispute, I shan’t bore you with the details. But for your sake, and for mine, he must not escape.”

He offers his hand to Roderick, who returns the gesture after a moment of hesitation.

Before he heads for the door, the stranger’s eyes trail up to where she hides. Her heart leaps with a sense of dread, like she’s seen something she wasn’t meant to.

She doesn’t trust him, not by the look or sound of him, but her father does. He follows the stranger’s instructions, ordering the construction of the glass sphere, to be welded around their prisoner as it is made. Finally, he arranges a rota of guards to keep watch over him, under strict orders to never fall asleep, lest their prisoner escape into their dreams.

The details of his face are etched into her memory, even after months, the angle of his jaw, the curve of his upper lip, the silver falling over his shoulders. If she could dream, she is sure she would dream of him. Instead she holds onto the flashes of images that appear before her waking eyes, the pale skin of his bare body against the floor, the stars in his sapphire eye, now kept locked away in her father’s study.

She knows Roderick has tried to bargain with him, and each time he returns from the cellar more furious than when he entered it. “He will not speak a word!” his voice bellows through the quiet halls of the manor. “He will not even look at me!”

When she dares to ask questions, Roderick glares at her and tightens the grip on his cane.

The stranger with silver hair was right about something, wealth and admiration have come to Roderick Burgess in droves since he acquired the Lord of Dreams. It’s something about the sapphire, or the sand, something she doesn’t understand, but their family comes across good fortunes, which is almost entirely spent on lavish parties to entertain Roderick’s ever expanding crowd of admirers.

She wakes with the sunrise, from a void and dreamless sleep. The manor is littered with empty bottles, full ashtrays, plates of half-eaten food, odd shoes and playing cards. Her father must still be asleep, which is odd. He is usually an early riser, even after a night of drinking.

A rumbling in her stomach has her heading through the entrance hall towards the kitchen, but she stops when she sees two men waiting by the door to the cellar– two of the guards her father has hired to watch the prisoner, dressed in smart suits with service revolvers just poking out of their jackets. They look restless, peering their heads round corners, shifting their weight on their legs, not wanting to step too far from the door.

“We can’t just leave,” one mutters to the other.

“I’m not staying down there with that… thing one second longer than I have to–”

“Good morning,” she calls.

They look at her in unison, and frown.

“Have you seen Noel and Mauirce?” one of the men asks. “They’re nearly half an hour late.”

The rotation of the guards. They take eight hour shifts in pairs.

Her eyes glance to the cellar door, opened only a fraction. “I could watch him until they get here,” she says, “if you want to leave.”

It doesn’t take them long to agree.

They leave through the front door. When she hears it shut, she finally lets herself reach for the handle to the cellar door. The handle is cold, untouched for hours at a time, and a little stiff. She pushes on it slowly, carefully, making as little noise as possible.

With the cellar door closed, she shuts out the light and warmth of the morning. A silent, icy draft drifts through the narrow stairway. She follows it down, all the way to the dull, eerie light of the main chamber.

The sight takes her breath away, the glass sphere, suspended above the ground, still within the circle of markings that keep his power contained.

He sits in the centre, still bare, his knees tucked into his chest and his hair falling around his face like a veil.

As far she knows, no food or water ever passes the threshold to the cellar, and the cage is never opened. How does he breathe? How does he eat? How does he not wither away? He just sits there, stoic, his face frozen in time like a statue, like the image of a god cut from marble, to be preserved and admired.

A man like that cannot be real, and yet there he is.

“Hello,” she says.

He does not react to her voice or the sound of her footsteps as she walks further into the chamber.

If he can even hear her. She wonders how thick the glass is, if sound can permeate it, or does he just hear the sound of his own breath echoed back to him, endlessly.

She comes to lean against one of the pillars, tracing her fingertips down the cold, rough surface of the stone.

“Are you really the Lord of dreams?” she says.

His gaze lifts and turns to her, just enough that she can see his chin, his nose, and a single violet eye. It is not like the stranger’s, it is far more vibrate, burning with with a silent fury that makes her heart flutter and her skin feel tight.

“I have not dreamt since that night.”

She knows it isn’t just her. It’s the sleeping sickness, the war, the cloud of darkness looming over the rest of the world.

“The groundskeeper has a son, he’s only ten years old. He’s been asleep for months now. He can’t even eat. If he doesn’t wake up, he’ll die.”

He does not react, but his eye follows her as she takes a single step away from the pillar, towards the sphere.

“This is my father’s– our doing, yes?”

Her eyes dip to his chest, to the movement of his lungs underneath skin and muscle, a steady rise and fall with a deep, patient breath.

“My father is a reasonable man, if you could give him something, anything, I am sure he would let you out.”

He tilts his head, until she can just see the point of his scar on his cheek and the edge of his empty eye socket.

He is simultaneously the most terrifying and most beautiful thing she has ever laid eyes upon. The low light only accentuates the harsh angles in his face, the ridges and lines in the muscles and tendons of his neck, torso, arms and legs.

She takes another step closer. “I would let you out, if I could,” she says quietly, like a secret.

He blinks softly, and when her eyes flicker to his lips she sees them curled into something almost like a smile, but not quite.

“Oh you would, would you?”

Her blood runs cold at the sound of her father’s voice. She whips her head around just in time to see Roderick marching towards her with his hand reaching out. His fist grips at her hair, and when she yelps in pain he hisses at her to be quiet. He drags her back up the steps, away from the cold cellar, to the warmth and the light, to the world without dreams.

She bathes before dinner, wincing as she runs her hands over the fresh bruises that mark her skin. Most of them are red, others are set deep and already turning a greyish purple.

Her father’s fury still rings in her ears. “Stupid girl! If he escapes he will slaughter us all!”

Leaning on her back is especially painful, it’s where her body took the brunt of his cane. She brings her knees into her chest, hunching over herself.

She hasn’t cried over her father’s cruelty in years, not since she was a small child. He’d always call her weak for it. Randall never cried when he was disciplined, because he knew, deep down, it was good for him. Perhaps she is simply not as strong as Randall was.

Her tears are hot and stinging in her eyes. She blinks and lets them fall onto her knees, to become the dew that lingers on her skin.

“Do you want to die, girl? Because it can be easily remedied!”

She doesn’t wear anything special, a white satin dress, with long, billowy sleeves, and applies some rouge to her cheeks, to make her seem more awake, more alive.

She reaches the bottom of the staircase as the clock in the entrance hall starts to chime. Five times. Marking the start of another shift rotation.

Two men appear from the hall that leads from the cellar, vaguely nodding as they pass her.

She can see into the dining room from the stairs, an enormous table set with silver cutlery and china plates, for just two of them.

The door to her father’s study is closed, obstructing the voices within. He’s arguing with someone.

Before she can stop herself, she’s walking towards the cellar. She tries the handle to find it unlocked. With one final look to the door to the study, she descends back into the darkness.

Two guards sit on wooden chairs by the entrance from the stairway, and immediately stand to attention as she walks into the chamber.

“Miss,” one of them calls, “you cannot be here.”

And she seems to have caught his attention too. He looks up from where he sits in the sphere, his forearm resting on his knee. His hair is pushed from his face, and his violet eye is wide, curious.

“This is my father’s house, I will go where I please,” she says, shakily, continuing until she comes face to face with the glass.

He stares at her, somewhat furious, but in a way she knows it is not meant for her.

The men behind her are muttering to each other, she doesn’t hear their words, but she hears their panic.

“It isn’t right for him to keep you here,” she says. “It isn’t right for him to think he can play with mortality. And I am as bad as he is for letting this happen.”

The tendons of his hand flex as he clenches his fist, his fingers restless as he stares at her, intently.

“If I let you out,” she whispers, “would you harm me?”

His face softens as his eye moves over her face.

He’s studying her, she realises. She imagines him noting the curves of her cheeks and chin, the shape of her mouth, perhaps the faint teartracks and the dark circles under her eyes.

What does he make of her, the daughter of his captor, the one who pried the sapphire from his eye? Roderick could be right, he might slaughter her the moment he is free from his cage.

“I would like to believe that you wouldn’t,” she says.

His expression gives nothing away.

Suddenly he shifts. His muscles tense as he comes to his feet and uncurls his spine to stand before her. Something about his movements are distinctly inhuman.

The guards behind her are shouting now, telling her to step away, calling for Mr Burgess. Their voices are inconsequential to her, muffled as though spoken behind a closed door. Her heart pounds in her ears. All she sees is him, the intense gaze of his eye, a wide palm reaching out and pressing against the glass.

She reaches up slowly, his eye growing wider with every inch she comes closer to touching the glass that separates them, but not quite meeting it.

His brow furrows as if to question her. Why are you hesitating? What are you afraid of?

She won’t be dragged upstairs again. She won’t be thrown to the floor with nowhere else to go. She will not suffer at the hands of Roderick Burgess any longer.

So she presses her hand to the glass.

Her skin is feverishly cold, her arms weightless. She can almost feel the shape of his palm through the glass, but not quite, like she is reaching for something she will never touch, clawing to the memory of a dream.

She can feel herself slipping into numbness, her eyes and her limbs becoming heavy. She presses her fingernails against the glass, silently pleading though she doesn’t know what for. An escape? An end? Anything.

His face is strangely gentle as he pouts his lips, hushing her, lulling her panic. She can feel her breathing and her heartbeat slowing, but it does not frighten her.

The glass shatters, her knees give way. She is awake enough to know she is falling, but too far gone to stop herself.

But she does not need to.

The world around her is silent– no, a gentle breeze drifts over her skin and whispers in her ear. Sunlight beams onto one side of her face and the other rests against bare skin. She feels a weight around her waist, something propping her body upright.

She tries to steady herself but the ground shifts beneath her. The arms around her only tighten their grip when she stumbles.

Finally she lets her eyes flutter open. They are in a desert, a vast expanse of dry sand, reaching as far as the eye can see.

Her head is moving with his breath, against his chest.

She tilts her gaze up, close enough that her lips barely brush over the base of his throat.

His eye is already fixed on her, holding her firmly in his arms, pulling her into him.

Wordlessly, he releases one arm from her waist, and reaches down, keeping his eye on her face. When he brings himself back up, she looks at his closed fist, where sand slips from between his fingers.

Her confusion must be visible on her face because he smiles softly at her, letting out a low “hmm” as he does.

She means to blink, but when she opens her eyes the world has changed again.

She lies face down against the ground of the cellar, dust and dirt pressing into her cheek, broken glass littering the floor around her.

She blinks again through the haze of sleep still clouding her vision. She makes out a figure in a long black coat with silver hair falling down his back. He stands over two bodies, lying lifeless on the ground, and stalks towards another.

Roderick is at the base of the stairs. He raises his cane and cries out as the prisoner reaches into his coat.

Her father’s voice fades into a spluttering, retching sound. Then he is silent. His body slumps to the floor with a gut-wrenching thud. When the stranger walks away, she sees her father sprawled out on the floor, blood spurting from his throat, seeping into his shirt, pooling on the floor around him.

She pushes herself up, leaning on her hands as her vision is blocked once again by a black coat. He stands over her, blood dripping from a knife he holds in his hand, his eye a brighter shade of violet than it was before.

He kneels beside her, taking her chin in his fingertips.

“Are you hurt?” he says. His voice is a hypnotic blend of soft and harsh, low and light, chilling in a way that sends a wave of warmth through her stomach.

She looks past his shoulder, where Roderick’s skin is turning from white to grey. “What did you do to my father?” she utters.

He jerks her head back to him. His expression is dark, lips upturned into a sneer.

Does he expect her to be grateful?

“My tools,” he says.

“You’re… what?”

“My tools. The sapphire and the pouch.”

The items that were stolen from him, that her father has now paid for with blood.

“Are you going to kill me too?” she says, digging her fingertips into the stone and the shards of glass beneath her.

He tilts his head and his lips twitch in a flicker of movement. His voice is barely above a whisper. “Tell me where they are. I will not harm you.”

Three men lay dead mere feet from them, and yet she finds herself wanting to trust him.

He offers her his arm as she stands, gripping at the thick, leather sleeve. Her palms are covered in small cuts from the glass, droplets of bright red blood pearling at the edges. He takes her wrists in his hands to have a look and tuts to himself.

“Quickly,” he says, moving towards the steps, leading her along with him, past the bodies of the guards, and the body of her father.

She brings him to the study, her hands shaking, bloody and outstretched before her. The door is wide open, a stack of papers thrown carelessly to the floor.

Roderick’s safe sits in a black cabinet in the corner of the room. She uses her fingertips to open it, wincing at the pieces of glass still stuck in her skin, but she swallows down the pain.

She guesses the combination on the first try. 1895– Randall’s birth year.

There, in the centre shelf, above the Grimoire, below a stack of banknotes, is the pouch of sand and the sapphire.

He reaches for the gem first. She turns away as he fixes it back into his socket, remembering the weight of it in her palm when she took it from him. She sees him reach forward again, but not for the pouch. He takes a hold of her wrists.

With no magic words or spells, he waves a hand over her palms. For a moment she sees a glow in his sapphire eye. The pain vanishes, so does the blood, the glass and the dirt.

She blinks a few effortless tears from her eyes. Tears for her father, tears of relief, she cannot place a cause.

Cold fingertips meet her skin once more, as the Lord of Dreams wipes her tears away, bringing her gaze to meet his.

He leans in closer, until his forehead meets hers. “Sleep,” he whispers.

She falls into him, to find herself wide awake, clinging onto him as she had done in the desert.

But they are somewhere else entirely. The sky above them is a pale yellow, like daybreak, painted with swirling grey clouds. The land here is… dead. Dead trees, barren mountains and hills, and in the distance, beyond a dried lake, is a castle of red brick, decrepit, falling into ruin.

“You see the damage that has been done to my realm?” he says. With her ear pressed against his chest, his voice is cavernous and she feels everything, the way his words drag through his throat. She feels his pain at being confined, the loss of his home and his creations.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“I do not forgive easily, that is why Roderick Burgess had to die. But you…” he pulls away from her so he might look at her properly, cupping the sides of her face and swiping his thumbs over her cheeks. “I do not need an apology from you. We are free of him now.”

“Is that what you think I wanted?”

He hums with tight lips. “I have seen your dreams, as I see the dreams of every mortal. I see them as clearly as you perceive the waking world. It just so happened that our dreams coincided.”

She had never dreamt of her father’s death and she had certainly never imagined that she might have played a part in it. But she cannot deny the weight now lifted from her shoulders. She will never have to earn his approval, she will never have to endure him again. She is free of him.

“Go now,” he says, “I am sure you have your own business to resolve.”

He releases his hold of her and brings his hands behind his back. As he walks towards the castle the world around her starts to fade. She can smell the musk of the manor, the lingering smoke of her father’s cigars, the distinct scent of a winter evening.

“Wait!” she calls.

The ends of his coat swish around his legs as he turns back to face her. “Yes?” he says, the corners of his mouth curling up into a small smile.

“I want to know your name.”

“I have had many names,” he says.

“And how would you have me know you?”

“Aemond,” he says.

She echoes his name, letting her mouth linger on the final syllable. “Will I see you again?”

He draws the tip of his tongue between his lips. “Perhaps,” he says.

When she wakes she is laid out on one of the leather sofas of her father’s study. She looks down at her hands, traces her fingertips down her face, now free of the dirt and dust.

She wonders if she might have dreamt all of it, the beautiful man in the sphere, the glass breaking, her father’s blood on the floor…

Her life is never the same after that. With her father dead, his estate passes to her. For the first time, her life is hers to do with as she pleases.

And yet she feels an absence, a hollow longing in her chest.

Her dreams come back to her since she set him free, and each night she dreams of him.

He only appears in brief moments, like lighting, bright and brilliant, but gone in a heartbeat, before she can truly see him. She sees the movement of a leather coat, flashes of silver, violet and sapphire blue. Sometimes she is met with darkness as a pair of lips ghosts over her neck with a contented sigh and a warm breath.

She cannot bear it.

As she lies in the empty manor house, she traces her fingers over her body, her lips, down her neck and her chest, underneath her cotton nightgown, to her navel and the pool of wanting wetness between her legs, trying to imagine they are his.

She pictures the way his hair fell around his face, the coldness of his skin, the curve of his lips. She imagines them parting in a small sigh, the sound of his breath, the way his chest hummed as she circles over her bundle of nerves. Pleasure sparks at first but it keeps slipping from her grasp.

She circles faster, harder, searching for a spot that will finally give her the release she craves.

She feels heat and a sheen of sweat settling on the surface of her skin, her breathing hitches, her hips twitch under her touches. The pleasure heightens, then fades.

With her eyes tightly shut, she spurs herself on with thoughts of him, breathlessly chanting his name into the empty space and cold air of her bedroom.

“Aemond… Aemond…”

Something changes.

The mattress shifts beneath her and a weight presses against her body, her legs, her stomach, her chest.

A hand clasps around hers, ceasing her movements, and bringing it to rest by her side.

She laments the loss of the friction against her bud, her pleasure pulled away from her, but in its place anticipation blooms within her.

When she opens her eyes he is above her, against her, hovering his face over hers so that all she sees are his eyes, one violet, one sapphire.

“You have my attention,” he says in a soft but unsettling voice.

A thrill ripples through her body.

She whispers his name on an exhale of breath, running her fingertips over his arms, tense and toned as his props himself over her.

But she is somewhat dazed, her senses numbed by fatigue and the echo of the pleasure she had been chasing.

“Is this real?” she utters.

Aemond leans further into her. She feels a weight between her hips and an unmistakable hardness prodding at her centre as he brings his lips to her neck, pressing a slow, teasing kiss against a sensitive spot of skin that has her body tensing and her fingers digging into his shoulders.

“Does if feel real?” he whispers against her skin.

How much has he truly seen of her dreams, her desires, she wonders? Perhaps she should feel some kind of shame, but she cannot, not when she is on the precipice of something bright, beautiful and damning. She can hardly stand being on the edge of it, having him so close but not close enough.

She wraps her arms around his neck as he teases her with his lips, crosses her legs around his hips, meeting his movements as he torturously grinds his hardening cock against her cunt, dripping with arousal, twitching and clenching around nothing at the anticipation.

“Needy little thing,” he mutters, dragging his nose along her neck as he comes to kiss the hollow of her throat.

His voice sends a shockwave through her body. Her hips buck against his, determined for relief as her fingers thread through the soft strands of his hair, and tug.

He lets out a quiet growl against her skin. A hand rests upon her thigh and trails up, bunching the hem of her nightgown to her waist and adjusting the other side.

He sits back, watching her with the same darkness and intensity as when he was trapped inside the cage, intrigued at the least, fascinated if she is presumptive.

The irony of being laid half bare before him and at his mercy does not escape her.

“I’ve heard you crying out for me, little mortal,” he says.

“You said you can see my dreams,” she says, “how?”

“Your dreams exist in my realm,” he says, “in The Dreaming. I see your dreams as I see the dreams of every other being. I feel them, as clearly as you perceive the waking world. But you…” he muses, settling his hands on either side of her waist. “You are incessant.”

She shivers and writhes under his touch, a pulsing heat settling within her.

She traces her hands over his, where they grip at her waist, along his smooth skin, the tendons and veins. His fingers are long and lithe. She knows they would feel so perfect, wrapped around her throat, stroking over her skin, pushing inside of her wet heat to coax her pleasure.

Aemond smiles to himself as though he can hear her thoughts.

He grips harder into her flesh and pulls his hips back, only to let his cock slide over her slick folds with teasingly gentle thrusts.

Every stroke pushes her closer and closer to the edge, but not enough to find release. She feels the frustrating want pulsing through her body, the coil getting tighter and tighter, her cunt clenching over nothing.

“Aemond…” she says with a breathless mewl, “please…”

“You really want it, don’t you?” Aemond growls, resting his forehead against hers. “Just feel how wet that empty little cunt is for me.”

Her eyes trail along the angles of his face, the line of his scar, the night sky in his eyes as he stares down at her, the gentle curve of his lips and how they settle into a soft expression.

Her gaze slips further down, over his throat, his collar, his pale, bare chest, the ridges of the muscles on his abdomen, the slight dip in his waist, the trail of silver hair to his cock, long, hard and flushed with need, transfixed by the way it moves against her.

She holds her breath each time he withdraws, stifling her whines into his mouth when he only keeps teasing her.

“I want it,” she groans, “I want you. I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you.”

He lets out a contented hum as he leans down to kiss her. The movements of his mouth are slow and consuming, claiming her with lips, tongue and teeth, wetness and warmth.

She holds him close by the sides of his face. In his violet eye she sees his hunger, his rage, his lust. In his sapphire, she sees oblivion.

And finally, he eases himself into her.

He fucks her delicately, dragging his cock through her gently, slowly, deeply. His lips ghost over her skin, her temple, her cheek, back to her mouth with light kisses and strained but soft breaths.

With a few deft circles over her bud she feels herself come undone around him. Her climax burns through her and she holds him closer for purchase, digging her fingertips into his skin as her resolve melts and her legs tremble around his hips.

Aemond doesn’t stop. He holds her against the mattress with a determined grip, fucking her through her peak until her pleasure settles and simmers once more.

Being kissed by him, held by him, fucked by him feels light a dream, that weightless, numb feeling of being between consciousness and sleep coursing through her limbs. It feels good, it feels deep, it feels perfect.

She cannot be sure how many climaxes he draws from her, she just feels him, his heat, his hands and his skin as he repositions her legs, guides her onto her front, brings her up to her knees, pushes her back down again, until she is a blissful, mindless mess.

He meets his own end when he has her face down on the bed, her face turned to the side against the pillow, his mouth on the underside of her jaw as he pounds into her.

“You’re doing so well,” she hears him rasp, “you’ve been so good to me… fuck, I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”

Her mind is beyond words and coherent thoughts. She utters the only thing she feels, the only thing she can think of, “Aemond… Aemond… Aemond…”

He stills his hips against her rear with a guttural moan, pressing his face against hers, squeezing her waist under his hands. He allows himself a few more shallow thrusts until he is spent. She feels his cock pulse within her, a warmth pooling, his spend dripping from her cunt once he has pulled away.

The weight dissipates from her back and for a moment she lies there, basking in the afterglow, feeling her chest rise and fall against the bed, the softness of her sheets under her fingertips.

She wakes to a gentle breeze running over her skin and slipping down her spine.

She allows her eyes to flutter open and recoils at the pale sunlight beaming through the spaces in the curtains.

She holds her breath.

She hears no sound or sign of life other than her own pulse.

She twists herself to sit up, noting that her bedsheets are neat and the hem of her nightgown is where it should be.

Is it possible that she dreamed it? She remembers it so vividly, but the mind has a way of playing tricks. Perhaps it was only a dream.

“Your dreams exist in my realm,” he had said. “I feel them, as clearly as you perceive the waking world.”

How do we determine what is real? she wonders as she pulls on a robe and goes to open the curtains. The morning floods her bedroom. It brings no warmth, but it brings light and life back into the room.

To dream is to live beyond ourselves, why should that be any less true than the world around me?

She seats herself before her vanity, reaching for the drawer for her hairbrush.

But something catches her eye, a glint of colour against mahogany wood, a small gem catching the sunlight.

She takes it between her thumb and index finger and brings it before her eyes; a sapphire, the size of a pearl, a deep and vibrant blue. Its edges are uneven and dull, uncut, as though plucked straight from the earth.

She turns it about between her fingers. It could be a trick of the light, but there is depth to it, a vastness within. The sapphire seems to capture the night sky, dotted with glimmering stars.

His was the same.

As the dazed state of sleep wears off, she feels the satisfied ache between her legs, the spots on her skin marked by him. She smiles to herself and holds the gem in her palm, this precious gift, this reminder, this promise from the Lord of Dreams.

Tags (comment to be added)

Sweet Dream taglist: @solisarium @sirenangelroyal @sabrinasstar @shygardengalaxy @aemondsfavouritebastard @wintrr13 @thedamewithabook @lexwolfhale @rainyforest777

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria

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nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos · 11 months

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So i was jus yk thinking and i jus thought what if we had red hair like shanks.. like not related at all it could be dyed or natural don't matter, but how would he react to seeing someone he doesnt know with the same hair color as him?

(Idk i feel like he would a lil happy n shi🤭)

Shanks headcanons?!?!

SHANKS HEADCANONS ✨️weeeeeee✨️

Also Shanks was at least like eighty percent of the reason that thirteen year old me dyed my hair red for the first time and it remains my prefered hair color to this day.

Silly and fluffy and SFW

Shanks (OPLA or anime) X Reader

Ugh his smile fucking kills me 🥹🫠❤️💀

Shanks grabbing Benn Beckmann's shoulder and pointing excitedly at you in a tavern in some port town or other, "Beck—look, look—"

*not even batting an eye* *just rubbing his temples and gritting his teeth* *tone of voice as if speaking to a small child* "Yes, Captain, other people have red hair."

*big stupid grin* "I know, isn’t it beautiful?"

*exhausted sigh* *literally so tired someone give this man a vacation*

Literally so happy, he revels in the little things and lives in the moment.

Let's face it, his whole shtick is hair color, it's in his nickname, it's in the name of his crew, he one hundred percent believes in redhead supremacy.

Basically turns into a giddy teenager about fellow redheads. Same-hat vibes, or that spiderman meme.

Any shade of red, from orange-ginger to deep red to burgundy, it's all just beautiful, and he will go out of his way to either befriend or flirt with any redhead within shouting distance.

Honestly does not care if it's dyed or not, actually kind of an honor if it is dyed because it means you're a redhead by your own free will and he just thinks that's so neat.

But if he's drunk enough that his brain-to-mouth filter is gone, then he's definitely going to ask you if the carpet matches the drapes. He fully expects to get punched for it (whether by you or Beck is as yet unknown), but he can't help it, he's just curious.

If you respond to his flirting in kind, he's going to want to keep you. Not kidnap you or anything obviously, but he's very persuasive and there's a fair chance it's going to work and you're going to be the newest redhead among the Red Hair Pirates.

Your new nickname is Little Red, this is non-negotiable.

He will constantly be playing with your hair, running his fingers through it, cuddling up to you and just burying his face in it, reveling in how bright and fiery it looks when the sunlight catches it.

If you do dye your hair, then Shanks is going to offer to help; but he has no idea what he's doing, it's going to be a huge mess, hair dye literally everywhere, and there's a good chance it's ultimately partly (mostly) an excuse to end up in the shower with you.

#one piece #opla #one piece shanks #red haired shanks #shanks opla #shanks headcanons #opla headcanon #one piece headcanon #fluff #shanks #shanks x reader

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onepiece-polls · 1 year

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One Piece Shipping War - Round 4 Quarter Finals

Propaganda under the cut.

Propaganda for Shanks x Buggy:

What if we were childhood friends who gave up our drama for each other then never saw each other again for years

What can I say, I'm a fellow shuggy truther too 🤝

Shanks obviously adores Buggy, and Buggy is so tsundure~! Mr 'I hate Shanks'-but-will-take-every-opportunity-to-talk-about-him-and-be-with-him.

Oden says in his journal that he can't tell if they're friends of enemies, and I just love that. Plus when you add in the revelation about Shanks and Buggy in the recent chapters.

They're childhood friends. They're exes. They've been married for 20 years. They're opposites. They're the same. They're silly goofy guys who make me want to cry my heart out. Red/Blue is always meant to be.

Buggy """""HATES""""" Shanks. This hate is so strong that he WILL yell at this red-haired bastard despite the fact that he is a coward, who is terrified of all the Emperors. Everyone thinks this is strange. However, when you grow up with said Emperor on the same boat, watching him stumble over his feet as he's trying to learn to use a sword, stuck scrubbing the whole deck because he was stupid enough to prank "Dark King" Rayleigh, and make that same stupid pouty face every time his Conqueror's Haki doesn't do anything because he is an itty bitty child, most of that fear gets pretty quelled. Also, that same fucker lost an arm because he's a DUMBASS and he deserves to be made fun of for it (not because Buggy is worried and missed him not at all no no Shanks is just DUMB and needs to be TOLD he is dumb more. But just by Buggy. Because Buggy has known his idiocy forever. He has earned the right to yell at this stupid, stupid Emperor for being a self-sacrificing fool and for giving away that stupid hat and... Wait, hang on, when did this bastard get hot!? WHAT THE FUC-) And Shanks just keeps smiling at Buggy and his antics because he has 100% been in love with him since they were children (his actions while they were on the Roger pirates are the DEFINITION of pigtail-pulling as flirting) and he is just happy to see that he's safe while being exactly the same larger-than-life clown he always knew. He would gladly give up his life of sluttery (that I am convinced this man has. Just look at how he exists) if Buggy would just agree to join his crew, but will not push him if he doesn't want to. He just loves his pretty clown from a distance and waits. TLDR: Buggy is mad that he's in love with Shanks and Shanks just likes existing with and/or annoying Buggy (they come as a pair). GOD I just love childhood friends to lovers bro. Just let the cabin boys kiss.

[Spoiler Warning] Red and Blue gays! Emperor husbands! Childhood friends to enemies to lovers!

Propaganda for Nami x Vivi:

Yes, Nami has a new girlfriend on every island, but her heart belongs to Vivi. Vivi in turn refuses to marry, because her heart belongs with a pirate ❤

THEY’RE LESBIANS! IN LOVE! another point: my friends who are watching OP for the first time came to me and asked “so Nami and Vivi… they’re gay right?” So it’s pretty apparent to even newcomers

I just think they’re neat! And in love. Nami gave up money for Vivi that’s True Love

Anyone who saw them can just tell they’re gay. Like Nami gave up money for her

They're one of the rare lesbian ships in op, they care for each other so much !!

Lesbians

They were so gay that Luffy offered to share food to cheer Nami up when they were separated.

i dare you to read Baroque Works through Alabasta without shipping them. the way Vivi and Nami are so affectionate with each other, and Vivi putting saving her nation on hold to get Nami healthy again ???

Lesbians

Let’s go lesbians!!!!! Ok but actually, I think Nami saw a lot of herself in Vivi (ha) especially when Igaram “died” and then throughout their journey together Nami really encouraged her to open up to the crew. Nami showed Vivi it was ok to ask for help just like Luffy showed her.

Vivi was Nami's gay awakening and you cant change my mind. Nami was in love with Vivi and Vivi def had some kind of feeling for Nami. They were so close and they were more then just 'gal pals'

Lesbian Pirate Supremacy! they clearly care a lot about each other and considering when nami meets vivi she is probably one of the first close female friends she gets to have.

#one piece #shuggy #shaggy #namivivi #navi #op shipping war #round 4 #quarter finals #side D #this is the hardest choice of my life #why did I do this to myself?#I could have postponed this at least one more round #they are both so canon to me

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bunnydolllies016 · 8 months

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Lab of the Damned

Chapter 1: Welcome Mc, to A.M.L!

(This is the first chapter of the main story of the Obey Me! Dark lab au! Be warned that future installments will include more gore and violence. The mc/reader is GN, so it'll be Obey me x Gn! reader. TW: Blood, dark themes mentioned, describes some violence.) Chp. 1 (you are here), Chp. 2(Coming soon)

"Greetings Mc!

We are sending you this letter regarding your application to work at Angel's Medicine Laboratory. We are so happy to welcome you to the A.M.L family! Please come into our main building as soon as possible through the hours of 8 A.M to 10 P.M for a tour and to sign your work contract. We'll provide you with your own living space as well so please bring your dear belongings.

We here at A.M.L. can't wait to meet you in person! We hope you'll love becoming part of our family.

Hope to see you soon,

Simeon Angel."

You couldn't believe it, even as you continued to hold the letter in your hands you couldn't believe it was real. You squealed happily and hugged the letter close to your chest, you can finally help make the world a better place! All the struggle throughout high school and a four-year college would finally be worth it. Also, you won't have to live with your parents anymore! You waste no time texting your parents the news, receiving congrats and support in a matter of minutes as you begin to pack up your more important items. Different outfits, some family photos, and anything else you held dear and wanted to keep with you. In the end, you had a backpack and gym bag full of stuff as you began to head out. By now your parents had rushed home to see you off and say their goodbyes. You got in your car and were off, it took you thirty minutes to finally reach the main building and it was around 1 P.M now. You sped-walked into the main building with your bags in hand, stopping to face the lady at the reception desk who seemed to be drawing something out, looked like some elaborate trap. You coughed to get their attention. The woman faced you, their pink rooted hair bounced a bit, and the blue in it looked like a good contrast to the pink. Their green eyes stared at you as they began to speak.

"Good Evening, Welcome to A.M.L., who are you and what do you need?" Their tone sounded slightly annoyed. 'Rude much?' you had thought to yourself.

"Hello, My name is Mc. I'm here for my tour and to sign my contract. Do I sign it here or?...." You say as you wait for their response. Instead, their neon green eyes look you up and down before they pick up their phone and dial a number. You hear them mumble your name over it before the person on the other line hangs up first.

"He'll be down here to get you and greet you shortly, please stay still and wait." They say before going back to drawing whatever they had been before you interrupted them. You decide to look at their name tag, 'Thirteen', what a weird name. Before you know it you see him, your eyes lighting up with recognition. Simeon Angel himself has come to greet you!

"Ah! You must be Mc!" He had begun to speak before a small bark sounded from his bag. You looked down at it just to be greeted by a light blonde chihuahua in a white hat. 'cute..' you thought to yourself. Simeon coughed before he chuckled. "Don't mind Luke, let's go to my office so we can get your papers signed," he says before motioning you to follow him into a nearby elevator. "Just leave your bags here, they'll be taken to your new living quarters by some fellow employees," Simeon states as he steps into the open elevator.

"Of course sir!" You say and do as told, dropping your bags in a nearby chair, and watching as they're taken by two mysterious people before you follow the slim male into the elevator. Eventually, you find yourself sitting at a desk, Simeon Angel behind the desk and in front of you.

"Well Mc, I'm happy to congratulate you in person! I have your contract right here, please do sign it." The man says with a smile as he hands you a clipboard, your contract on it. You briefly read it, not really paying attention to the details, he definitely wouldn't be hiding anything dark in this contract, right? You sign the contract and hand it back to Simeon, who smiles at you and stamps it, confirming you signed it. Simeon speaks up as he takes Luke out of his bag to roam his office, "Thank you! You're the most perfect person for this role! Here take this." The male before you hands you a watch, it looks... weird, you put it on anyway, and once on your wrist, it locked around it. "Don't worry about that! It's just waterproof." Simeon says, his smile still kind and bright as he stands up and motions you to follow. He leads you out of his office, leaving Luke in it as he takes you to go get your uniform and badge. You take the bag containing your clothes and ID, smiling at Simeon before you speak up,

"Thank you, sir!" You begin with a soft smile, "Which part of the lab will I be working?" You miss it but a dark look crosses Simeon's face as he softly smirks.

"I'll take you down there now!" Simeon responds as he motions you to follow again. As you walk with him, you notice he's taking you to a darker part of the building, it somewhat looks hardly used. He stops you at an elevator and digs out a badge, using it to call the elevator. "Your department is top secret, as stated in your contract you can not talk about this work with anyone at all, we'll know if you do." He says, his voice having a somewhat dark undertone despite the soft smile on his face. "Now come along, the tour begins now!" Simeon states as the elevator door opens and he steps inside, you waste no time in following him.

You feel nervous the lower the elevator goes and decide to speak up, "So, why is the department I'm in on such a low floor?" You ask nervously with a small smile, trying to think of what kind of work you could be doing down here. You jump as the elevator stops with a thunk, not expecting the elevator to sound like, especially when the rest of the building is so modern and well-built.

"Well Mc, you will be a caretaker of sorts for our... subjects... I know it won't be too much for you to handle! They're sure to love you..." Simeon says as the dark look on his face is still present, but he still is smiling. You raise a brow, didn't A.M.L claim to not use animals as product and medicine testers? "This is the entrance hall, where you'll use your watch against that machine to clock in." He speaks softly as he points to a machine in front of the both of you. He walks forward and expects you to follow of course. Your eyes widened as you entered the next area; It was a long hallway of some sort, different testing chambers on either side. As you walk beside Simeon you aren't listening as he speaks about each room. Your heart is full of fear and dread as you see what, no, who they are testing on. In the testing room, before you stands a man with white hair in a lab coat, a sinister and sadistic look on his face as he uses a cattle prod to poke and taze a much taller man with black hair, his red eyes showing displeasure and disgust for the man prodding at him, he doesn't even flinch as he is tazed, no spasming or reaction at all came from him, his clothes were disheveled from the prodding though. That wasn't the weirdest part of the man, no it was the very pointy ears, the black horns coming from his head and the four wings coming from his back, all pitch black and some feathers clearly missing, whether it be from this kind of abuse or stress you can't tell.

"W-what the fuck?" You stuttered out as you stepped away from the glass on the testing chamber, not seeing the amused expression Simeon flashed your way.

"That is one of the nine subjects you will be looking after! His name is Lucifer, he is one of the best "demons" we have!" Simeon states as if he is just talking about the weather and not a fully grown man he's having his employees test on.

You stare at the dark-skinned male before you, a look of shock and fear across your face as you speak up in a confused but fearful voice, "Nine? Demons? Huh?" Just as you were about to continue before loud crashing, low growls, and yelling interrupted you; they came from down the hallway. Looking over revealed more "demons", specifically two certain ones fighting. One was a dark-tanned male, with slightly pointed ears, a full head of white hair, and blue eyes that had a golden-yellow gradient. He has horns that look somewhat like spirals atop his head, large bat-like wings come from his back and they flap violently. He's on top of the other male, throwing punches as different scientists try to pry him off the man below him. The male below him has pale skin, and what seems to be scales on it in certain places, he, like the two before him, has pointed ears, but his seemed to have two different pointed ends, somewhat like fish fins. His hair is a blueish-purple color and his eyes are a glowing orange with a purple gradient, the whites of his eyes seem to be a slight grey color. His horns look like coral and are a black color but have a hint of blue to them, he also seems to have a long lizard-like tail.

"Ah, Mammon and Leviathan are at it again. We'll have to punish them...again..." Simeon says, his tone showing distaste but amusement at the chaos around him as he ignores your comment. A door behind you opens and you turn to check it out, you are horrified at the man who stood behind you. He had to be about 7'5 in height alone, he was so muscular and well-built, with a muzzle around his mouth and his hands cuffed in front of him as he looked down at you with interest; he was sniffing you through the muzzle. His hair is a bright orange, his ears pointed but droopy, and he has purple eyes that seem to fade into magenta and then red, one of the whites of his eyes isn't white, but rather an inky black color. Scars litter across his body, along with weird black markings, he has black horns that curve and almost crown his head, fly-like wings coming from his back buzz softly as he continues to stare down at you. "Beelzebub! Now, Now, stop drooling into your muzzle at your new caretaker's scent! Mc this is Beelzebub, Beelzebub this is Mc, your new caretaker!" Simeon says to the towering male standing before them, who looks at Simeon with a somewhat blank expression, you can see some fear and pain in his purple eyes as he stares at Simeon.

"Wait a damn minute please!" You cry out to Simeon, finally catching his attention, and now Beelzebub, who watches you closely but with clear hesitance. "I can't possibly work here after seeing all of this! This is s-so.. so.. fucked up!" You said as you took several steps away from Simeon.

Simeon stopped smiling, his expression dark and serious as he spoke, "You don't have a choice, you signed a two-year contract with us. You're stuck here...unless you'd rather face certain consequences for trying to go against your contract." As he spoke the watch around your wrist tightened and its screen flashed red. By the look on Simeon's face, you knew the consequence of going against him would either be death or the same fate as the subjects you'll be in charge of.

"B-but- I-" You tried to protest but Simeon put a finger to your lips to hush you, a sinister smile on his own lips.

"Shhh, Mc. You already signed away your life to me." Simeon began to speak softly, but his eyes showed sadistic amusement at your internal conflict about all of this. "If this really had bothered you..." Simeon begins again, Beelzebub looks at you sadly and with pity as a guard begins to walk him back to his containment chamber, he can tell you're a good person who just got caught up in a bad situation, he can only hope you stay a good person in here. "Then you should have read the fine print." Simeon finished speaking with a cold smile as he looked down at you. Dread filled you completely, these two years weren't going to end well.

"Welcome to A.M.L, Mc. I can't wait to see all the good work you'll do."

(Well I'm not sure when I'll be able to work on chapter 2, I just started my psychology class, so I'll try my best to work on it when I can. Hope you enjoyed it! This is also posted on my AO3 account and shouldn't be anywhere else but here and there.)

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weirdmarioenemies · 1 year

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Name: Scaredy-Shroom

Debut: Plants vs. Zombies

Here is Scaredy-Shroom! A very humble fellow, who I love very much. Scaredy-Shroom is scared, as you likely know. He is frightened, uncomfortable in the given situation. And as someone easily scared, I can relate to this! Especially when I was younger and even more easily scared! When I first heard about Plants vs. Zombies, I thought "Zombies? I don't want to see that!" and assumed it had to be a Scary Game. And now kids are growing up as Scary Freddy The Scare Bear fans. I would not have done well as an iPad Kid. BUT ANYWAY!

Scaredy-Shroom may be scared. But he is courageous! Arguably. I don't think he would be fighting zombies if he was not planted by the player. But he's here, and he does a good job, even if he is scared! I am proud of him. He has a low sun cost, respectable damage, and infinite range! He DOES cower under his cap if zombies are too close, but it is a small setback, and you owe it to him to keep him feeling safe, after all he's done for you!

While he does a good job at night, there is really no point to using Scaredy-Shroom during the day. He'll be asleep, so you'll need to use Coffee Bean to wake him up, and at that point you've spent as much as you would have on a Peashooter! And Peashooter does not cower and stop shooting at any point! I think this is okay, though. Scaredy-Schroom doesn't need to be a miracle worker. He is very stressed and needs his sleep. Look, his cap is even shaped like a pointed sleeping cap, a little! He is so cute.

Have you heard the news? It's part of why I'm making this post! Scaredy-Shroom was NOT in PvZ2 for a very long time, but just recently, after about 10 years, was added back! At first, I was hesitant about the slight redesign, specifically the cap. This is no longer a pointed hat, but instead has a jagged, seemingly broken bottom! I really do wonder if this was intentional, or a misinterpretation of the original design. Oh well! I have decided I like it, and looking kind of disheveled fits his character! He doesn't have arms to do it with, but it makes me think of him rubbing or picking at his cap when nervous, like I fiddle with my hair. He's just like me!

So? Was Scaredy-Shroom's big return worth the wait?

No, it was not! Scaredy-Shroom is, simply, just Not That Good. In the first game's night levels, he is good! He has his use and the game is built around that! But in 2, an unbalanced game with even more difficult zombies, as well as a steady stream of new and extremely powerful plants being added, he just does not have what it takes. They DID give him extra defense when hiding, but it's really not nearly enough. Indeed, Scaredy-Shroom in PvZ2 is not very good.

And I wouldn't have it any other way!

Like I've been saying, Scaredy-Shroom is, in the first game, useful in some levels, and nearly useless in others. He isn't SUPPOSED to be overpowered, or even strong! If he was, that wouldn't be Scaredy-Shroom! I can understand people being disappointed with his weakness in 2, but as someone who no longer plays it, I'm just happy to see him finally in a game again, and with a neat new design. Ideally, he would have been in the base game with campaign levels designed for his strengths, but it is too late for that.

In a way, it's good that he probably won't get used much. It gives him time to relax. I'll just let Scaredy-Shroom speak for himself here:

"How did I get talked into this? I wish I was at home."

#scaredy-shroom #scaredy shroom #not mario #funky friday #plants vs zombies #plants vs zombies 2 #mod chikako

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fruitviking · 1 month

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Fic ending tag game

Rules: post the last sentence/s from your 10 most recently posted fics (less if you don't have 10 is also fine)!

1. Nothing Without My Boswell

He closed the door behind us, and there was peace.

2. The Hound of Baskerville

Either way, you’ll hear from me again in the next few days.

John.

3. Sherlock Holmes and the Musgrave Crown

In that perfectly ordinary, ordinarily perfect moment, far from magical crowns or secret riddles or anything else, I was content.

4. Up In Our Bedroom After The War

“I did.” The song pauses while Holmes shifts beneath him. “I felt it was all I could offer.”

“You didn’t have to offer anything.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” says Holmes, holding him tighter.

5. The Case of the Feline Incursion

Holmes looked up. “What is it?”

“Nothing, my dear fellow. I was only thinking that we may no longer be able to accurately call ourselves bachelors.”

6. Watson is a Time Lord

I spent the day out and about on various errands, knowing Holmes required seclusion and solitude in his hours of intense mental concentration, and returned that evening to a sitting room immersed in a thick miasma of tobacco smoke.

Thankfully, not being human, I can avoid having to breathe when absolutely necessary.

7. In Another Life

“I would hardly call this imprisonment!” I am laughing now, too. “But if that is so, how long is my sentence? How many years do I have left?”

Holmes leans down to murmur in my ear. “How many would you like, dear fellow?”

I turn my head so I can look him in the eye. “As many as we have, I think.”

8. Scenes from a Sussex Garden

Reverently, Watson folded back the veil of the beekeeping hat and leaned in for a soft kiss. Somewhere overhead a blackbird trilled. He clasped both Holmes’s hands in his, their fingers intertwined, their new wedding bands clinking together gently.

They were made of gold, but there were sparks.

9. Another Day

If all Holmes wants to do is sit quietly and listen to the bees at the windows and the cows in the distant fields, well. Watson is only too happy to oblige him.

It certainly beats running for their lives. This is a beautiful place to be.

10. Across the Watsonverse

“Right you are.” Watson nodded, all business once again, and began to follow me out of the tent. On the way we met with the extremely confused man who ran the shooting gallery game, but neither of us hung about very long to answer his questions. I expect he thought the machinery had exploded; it certainly appeared that way.

- - -

Tagging @blistering-typhoons, @amypihcs, @rudbeckiasunflower, @jeremys-come-to-bed-eyes, @teaspoonnebula, and whoever else wants to take part!

#tag games #fic writing #sherlock holmes fic #because all of these are holmes related. all of them. even the ones with aliens.

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dean-you-assbutt-cas-loves-you · 1 year

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best friends to lovers destiel au fic recs list for @thetiredstuff :D

A Tale of Two Tropes by Amelia_Clark (E, 7k)

“Am I going to regret this?” Cas asked from the passenger seat.

They’d just pulled up outside Dean’s grandmother’s house, a tidy Craftsman bungalow painted a cheerful yellow. It didn’t look threatening; there was a porch swing with crocheted cushions and a cement statue of a goose on the porch. The goose was wearing a rain slicker and hat the same color as the house.

In this fic: fake dating, bed-sharing, the doting grandmother Dean Winchester never had, a cement goose with a wardrobe, a contemptuous cat, and a lot of sexual tension that's unresolved until it isn't.

As You Walk On By by MercyBraavos (E, 23k)

Dean and Castiel grew up together. Fell in love together. Lost their virginity together. Made plans for the future, their future, together. There’s only one problem:

Castiel doesn’t remember any of it.

Are We Any Different? by LeviathanBlue, SerpentCountess (T, 41k)

Cas adopts (steals) a cow. Dean helps.

“Cas… There’s a… There’s a cow. In my room.” “Yes, Dean.” “Why?” “Because.” "Right."

More Than Kisses by FriendofCarlotta (E, 29k)

1996: Dean joins his high school’s pen pal program as a last-ditch effort to keep from repeating the eleventh grade. But soon, the letters he trades with Castiel, a fellow high schooler from Chicago, become the most important constant of his life.

2005: Castiel has been in love with his pen pal Dean for years now. But he’s reluctant to upset the balance of their relationship, so when a new work opportunity takes him to Dean’s city, he keeps it a secret. Will these two ever find their way to each other?

things i knew when i was young by stormwarnings (T, 16k)

Ok, so Castiel's in love with his best friend.

Which is what puts them here, in Dean’s car, eight hours into a nine and a half hour drive up north to bury Castiel’s mother on the grounds that he grew up on. Because it’s been eight years since Castiel cut ties with his family and left, supposedly for college, and there hasn’t been a word of communication since. Because Dean is, at his core, a good person and a better friend, and when he heard that Castiel’s mother had died and that he would need to return to his childhood home over Thanksgiving break, he knew enough to say he’d go with him.

This is, for sure, not helping Castiel get over his inappropriately persistent feelings.

(more under the cut)

Alright by turningthepages (T, 46k)

Dean is a good kid living in a good town surrounded by good friends and good family. Castiel is the new kid in town and has never truly had a friend before.

Dean comes along and starts to change things for him.

To Build a Home by intothesilentland (M, 383k)

Twenty-three years of head-over-heels, devastating devotion and love, love, love for the man with bright eyes and dark hair. Fourteen years of friends, best friends, of always together. One moment of rejection.

Nine years of apart. Nine years of heartbreak, nine years of continents away, of not speaking, of no acknowledgement, no interaction, no closure, no peace. No happiness. Nine years of Dean’s life entering motions, going through them, constant, cold and mechanic, like clockwork. Nine years of alone.

God. Nine years. A lot has changed. And yet Dean still loves Cas just the same. Even if his heart hurts all kinds of different.

On the day of Jimmy Novak's funeral, Dean sees Cas for the first time in nine years. He adored Castiel the moment he met him, at only four years old. But after fourteen years of friendship destroyed by one moment of heartbreak, and after nine years of silence, Dean is convinced Cas will want nothing to do with him. And it's killing him.

When In Vegas by Dmsilvis, TobytheWise (E, 16k)

Dean has figured out the most perfect prank. The prank to top every other prank. Ever. Getting his best friend drunk and then convincing him they’d gotten married in their drunken stupor was easy. Dealing with Castiel telling him he’s been in love with Dean for years? Well, that’s a different thing entirely.

Castiel wakes up married to the love of his life who he’s been secretly pining over for years. Now he just has to convince Dean that he’ll be the best husband ever, making sure Dean will never regret the decision he made that night.

Things take a terrible turn when Castiel finds out everything was a lie in the name of a prank just as Dean realizes how much he truly loves Castiel back. Will they be able to overcome this misunderstanding or was their relationship doomed before it even started?

The Ocean Between Us by noxsoulmate (E, 27k)

Living a hermit life, Dean Winchester didn’t need much. The only things important to him were his position in the business that was once owned by his family, his boat, and his friendship with Castiel, Charlie, and Gabriel. If only there wasn’t a whole ocean between them, then maybe he could even give his feelings for Castiel a chance …

Room for Two (The Mattress AU) by almaasi (E, 14k)

✔ College roommates ✔ Buying a mattress together ✔ Faking a relationship to get a discount ✔ Sharing a bed ✔ Roleplaying as a couple to "test the bed" ✔ Fake kissing becomes real kissing ✔ Fake sex is Way Too Real ✔ Cuddling ✔ Wet dreams ✔ "Oh no I thought I was dreaming but it was real life" ✔ Matchmakers Sam & Charlie ✔ Cas seems kinda clueless but actually understands everything ✔ Mutual respect, support, and understanding ✔ Friends to lovers ✔ Mutual pining ✔ Go౦ԁ sHit

Honey-Baked by mishaminion69, sydkn3e (E, 89k)

There's no ifs, ands, or buts about it...Cas is a weird, tactless, ornery guy. His idea of a job is selling weed out of their shared cabin, his idea of fun is occasional orgies, and he has more creepy dolls and crystals than anyone of their age ever should.

But he's also Dean's childhood best friend, and now he's the star of all Dean's wildest fantasies.

Then there's the whole "being in love with him" thing.

The Ones We Choose by lightmyway (E, 82k)

After telling his family he’s gay, Castiel winds up homeless. With the help of his best friend, Cas finds himself a home and a new family. He also finds himself in love with his best friend. A love that endures no matter the circumstances of their lives, even in the wake of Dean’s rejection.

Despite knowing how Cas feels, Dean clings to his best friend through the years. In high school and college. As roommates. Through Cas becoming a firefighter and his own journey to become a business owner. With shared time and space, Dean begins to see Cas in a new light. His attraction grows, along with his feelings.

Letting those feelings spill out one night, Dean changes the trajectory of their lives. As their relationship grows, they are confronted by Cas’s past and must relive a painful and damaging event in Dean’s life. But it is the life-changing fire, which is their greatest challenge, making them face their deepest fears and test the strength of their love.

#spn #spn fanfic #destiel

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4rainynite · 5 months

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EAH Dorm Rooms Headcanons pt 22

Teachers Addition

It wouldn't be high school without the teachers and to teach the students passed down legacies.

A good majority of the adults went to Ever After High School and some even became teachers to teach the future generation.

At the end of the day teachers need a place to sleep and we get to see who roomed with who during their high school years.

The teachers' living quarters are between the boys and girls dorm and is smaller than the students' dormitory.

Like the students each room is design to fit the persons personality.

Headmasters Milton and Giles Grimm

Brothers Milton and Giles created Ever After High to teach the future fairy tales their storybook legacies. Overtime Giles notice how some destinies weren't equal even if some were happy ever afters. Giles purposed a way to make everyone happy, but Milton didn't agree. Still traumatized of almost losing Giles when they were children made him deadset on following the pre-determined fates and because he fears he'll lose power. There was a huge fight and Milton cursed his brother to speak Riddlish and banish him to the Vault of Lost Tales.

Being co-headmasters and founders of Ever After High School, Milton and Giles have the biggest rooms in the living quarters.

Milton's room is similar to his office: full of portraits of himself, full of awards, clean, expensive furniture, posh, with a canopy bed, and blue.

Giles's room is similar to the Vault of Lost Tales: messy, papers everywhere, books piled high, mix-matched furniture, and red.

When Milton cursed Giles the police investigated and closed his room up. Milton avoided the room at all crime to not feel guilt for what he had done to his brother.

When, Giles is free from his curse (he didn't get cured in Thronecoming) and Milton is arrested for his crimes, everyone predicts that Giles will throw away Milton's things. But, he doesn't. Giles lets it be, even after his brother's betrayel he refuses to touch the room.

Baba Yaga

Baba Yaga teaches home-evilnomics and facility advisor and though she sides with Headmaster Grimm with destiny she's less strict and willing to show sympathy for those who want change.

Baba Yaga doesn't need a room due to her living in her cottage/office with chicken legs so it changes locations and we've seen it plenty of times in the show.

Her cottage has Slavic designs, candles, spell books, potions, and she has a steering wheel to control the hut.

I believe Baba Yaga's cottage/office is like the shotgun houses from my home state Louisiana. For those who don't know what a shotgun house is it's a narrow house (front to back) and each room is divided for better examples: 1 2 3. The first section is her office, second potion making section, third kitchen, fourth bathroom, and last bedroom.

Mr. Breaker Badwolf

Breaker Badwolf was a student at Ever After High School where he studied (met the love of his life Ruby Hood and had a daughter) and now teaches General Villainy.

Breaker's room resembles a wolf's cave like his niece Ramona's room with rock formations, dim lighting, and leather furniture.

He seems like a hunter to me, so he has a collection of traps and snares in his room.

He keeps a two-way-book to speak with his with, photos of Ruby & Cerise, and letters from her hidden away in his room.

The White Queen

After, evacuating Wonderland due to the Evil Queen's curse, she and her fellow Wonderlanders escaped to Ever After. She got a job at Ever After High School as the new Princessology teacher.

Like all the Wonderlanders her room is messy, but in a organized chaos sort of way.

Her room is styled like a chessboard with Wonderland decor.

Maid Martha Marion

Maid Marion is the teacher of damsel-in-distress class and mother of Sparrow Hood.

Her cartoon and book appearance are drastically different in the show she looks like the perfect damsel while in the book she was described as:

Madam Maid Marian set a black bag under the desk, then removed her cone hat. Her hair was chestnut and cut in a short bob. She was fresh-faced, with no makeup. A few freckles dotted her wide nose and high cheekbones. She wore the colors of the forest, with a moss-green tunic and brown leggings. A pair of green feather earrings completed the woodsy look. Her suede boots looked super comfortable.

Appearances aside Unlike other damsels-In-distress she teaches her students to save themselves.

Her room is a hodgepodge of luxurious queen/ forest decor.

She definitely has exercise equipment and hunting gear like bows and arrows in her room.

Coach Gingerbreadman

Coachh Gingerbreadman is the gym teacher who encourages his students to run faster to avoid crazed bakers.

His room is more of a gym than a bedroom with a treadmill, weights, a rowing machine, and etc.

His room is mostly candy & gingerbread decor with trophies decorating the walls.

Evil Step-Librarians

Evil Step-Librarians (Stephanie and Sissy) are the librarians of the school, one is the mother of Prudence and Charlotte, and Cinderella's stepsisters.

While other staff members have their own room, they share one while at Ever After High School.

Their room has a gaudy luxury feel to it. Like everything cost of money but it looks cheaply made and tacky. And everything is bejeweled.

Since they're librarians the room has multiply bookcases with trashy romance novels.

Prof. Jack B. Nimble

Prof. Jack B. Nimble is the of tall tales and seems to be a popular teacher among the students.

Prof. Jack has a huge candle collection ranging from size, colors, and scents. He has the cleanest smelling room in the teachers' sleeping area.

As you can see by his desk most of the furniture in his room is candle themed.

Because of this the sprinkler system goes off in his room a lot (similar to Faybelle).

He also has a huge bookcase where he keeps a collection tale tales and poems.

Prof. Pied Piper

Prof. Alto Pied Piper is the music teacher and the father of Melody Piper.

His room is similar to the music classroom with many instruments and music books.

He keeps his Imperial Gold Turntables in his room when not using them in his class.

He has a mini fridge stocked with snacks for his pet rats.

He owns a huge collection of flutes and vinyl discs.

Rumpelstiltskin

Rumpelstiltskin teaches chemistry and is one of the least popular teachers in the school due making students spin straw to gold for extra credit.

His room is probably one of the messiest rooms in the teachers' living quarters and screams goblin core.

He has a spinning wheel that he uses to spin his own gold.

Momma and Papa Bear

Ursula and Bernard are a married couple so obviously they share a room together.

Their room is cottage core with bear cave elements.

Like their story sleep in separate beds since Poppa likes his mattress firm and Momma likes her mattress soft.

Ursula teaches cooking class so she has a ton of cookbooks and Bernard teaches beast training and keeps many cages and pet supplies in their room.

Their son, Teddy, sometimes visits them when not in class.

Author's note: We were robbed that they never appeared in the show!

Hagatha

Hagatha is the school's lunch lady who is infamous for her porridge which she adds artificial lumps to.

Can't really say too much about her so maybe insects motifs on her dress she has food and bug decor in her room.

Mrs. Trollsworth

Mrs. Trollsworth is the secretery and Headmaster Grimm's assistant in his schemes.

Being a troll, her room is messy with a mix of grandma parlor room decor.

Mr. Green Thumb - Is the groundkeeper/gardener, due to his small size he most likely has the smallest room in the teachers' living quarters. It most likely full of gardening equipment and indoor plants.

Prof. Card - Prof. Card with the other Wonderlanders evacuated after the Evil Queen's curse, he is the current art teacher at Ever After High School. His room is full of art supplies and has a few weapons since he was a guard.

Prof. Knight - Prof. Knight teaches Hero Training and is one of the oldest teachers in the school who still remembers the art of knighthood. His room is decorated with suits of armor, swords, and horse decor.

Well, that's all the staff at Ever After High School!

#my art #ever after high #milton grimm #giles grimm #baba yaga #dorm room #dorms #The White Queen #Mr. Green Thumb #Mrs. Trollsworth #Hagatha #Rumpelstiltskin #Prof. Pied Piper #jack b nimble #eah

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pinkarsonist0 · 8 months

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I'm watching the Craig of The Creek movie rn, and oh my God, MY SCOUT BABIES IT'S THEM.

Spoilers for Craig Before The Creek below:

WHOSE THAT GURL WITH THEM IS SHE LIKE LIKE AN OLDER SISTER/MENTOR TO THEM. OKAY, SO SHE'S CLEARLY A FELLOW SCOUT AND WOULD BE LIKE A MENTOR TOWARDS THEM.

Based on how Boris held her hand and the way Jason smiled at her comment towards getting the friend group name correct, that could be to imply they were rather close to her. Especially Boris. I doubt they're related by blood or law. However, I do think they had a big sister bond with her when they became scouts. According to Google, you can be a scout as young as kindergarten to 5th grade, and the oldest you can be a scout is 18.

My headcanon is that she is the reason why the scouts started going to the creek, and she would show them around it and guide them, I get a very strong older sister vibe from her. Much like Mari from Omori, let's hope she didn't play the piano...

I don't know how many years the movie takes place before the movie (at least not yet). However, I stirred up some guesses. Jason seems to be 10-11 in the show like Craig, so based on how young the scouts look, my guess will have to be that they are 6-7 years old (possibly 8 years old for Boris). So, 3-4 years before the show.

Imo, Jason seems to be happier in that scene, and in my opinion, Jason in the show isn't a very happy child if we exclude certain scenes. So, assuming the theory that Jason's mother is dead is true, we can assume the movie takes place before the tragedy.

In conclusion, this is what I stirred up for Jason (after the movie and before the show): I still have my headcanon that Jason's mother cheated on Jason's father, rooting their divorce. Jason's clearly upset by this as he begins seeing his mother a less, and his father is growing distant. However, he still had the girl we see in the movie for guidance and comfort. I do think that Jason was still pretty lonely in his childhood, so when his parents weren't around, he had her to act as an older sister for him.

But then, tragedy strikes, and Jason's mother is dead. Life begins to suck more for Jason, he now lives with just his dad and now he's straight up ignoring him and only remembers he exists in order to brag about Jason's achievements as a Forest Scout and to top it off he drags in Jason's step mother. And she clearly doesn't like him as much.

But at least he still has-

Oh, she's leaving too.

Jason's sister figure ages out of being a scout and leaves, leaving him to handle his new home situation.

I still think that Boris and the girl were the closest to each other and meant the most to each other. I think she loved them like little brothers and she loved showing around the new Forest Scouts and showing them the ropes. But Jason, Boris, and Tony stuck out to her THE MOST. She acted as an older sister to the younger scouts and maybe even stood up for them when the fellow older scouts were teasing them. She loved the scouts like little brothers, but time caught up with her, and she could no longer be a scout.

I love overanalyzing so much, you have no idea. I missed my scouts so much but now that they're back I can do SO MUCH WITH THEM NOW AHH

Also, do not think I didn't see the girl and (present) Tony having similar hats. Imma just go crazy with that and make the headcanon that she gave Tony that hat when she left. (I know her hat is a little different, but let me have fun).

And another thing, maybe she's the camp counselor we see in Camper On The Run. They have a lot of physical similarities, I need to see the episode again after watching the movie.

Edit:Just got done watching the movie, and the credits confirm that girl is the woman we see looking for Roxy in Camper On The Run and that she was indeed a fellow scout. Shannon is credited as Shannon the Scout rather than just Shannon. So, this could be a lead for my theory/headcanon being true. Someone on the COTC subreddit said that in the movie, Kelsey says she is in the second grade, and she is 9 in the show, so that would mean that the movie takes place 2 years before the show.

Now, let's get back to Shannon with this new information. The youngest to become a camp counselor is 16 and when I googled the age you can no longer be a scout I got multiple answers, but the most common one is 18. So we are safe to assume that Shannon left at 17-18 aka the estimate for when a Junior Forest Scout can no longer be a scout. I assume Shannon is 15-16 at the time of the movie and left at 17-18. So we can assume Shannon is probably 18-20 at the time of Camper On The Run.

Since she went to the creek, I wonder if she got to see Boris, Tony, and Jason again briefly. I NEED SOMEONE TO WRITE A FIC WITH ALL THEM PLEASE.

#craig of the creek #character analysis #jason cotc #cotc #cotc tony #boris cotc #cotc boris #tony cotc #craig before the creek #theories #headcanons #overanalyzing #overanalysis #overthinking #long post #cotc shannon #cotc spoilers

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maarriiii · 2 years

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Simp (Part 2) | Wilbur Soot

A/N: Oh wow, thank you so much for all the love for the first chapter!!! It means a lot. Also, i have another fic called Happy (Sad) New Year if you’re interested in seeing. And another thing is that I might update this series weekly.

Summary: You might have a crush on Tommy’s cute tall friend with the glasses.

Pairing(s): CC!Wilbur Soot x gender neutral!reader, CC!Wilbur Soot x actor!reader.

Warning(s): None.

italics: streams

my masterlist :))

After your Twitter interaction with TommyInnit, The same thing happened again, funnily enough, was with a friend of Tommy’s and fellow streamer. You recognized him from the first vlog you’ve watched of Tommy’s, the cute tall one with the glasses. Wilbur Soot was his name or at least that was what people called him. Again, your fans tagged you in various posts, moments caught from his stream. In one of those clips, he jokingly banged his fist on his desk.

“That was suppose to be me, chat! I like them first! It’s not fair. Tommy keeps rubbing it on my face.”

There was another one where he talked about when he first liked you.

“I found this soundtrack, right, chat. And it was from this movie. I searched it up, watched it and just immediately it became one of my favourite films. They played one of the characters in it and I found out they wrote a song from the soundtrack that coincidentally is my favourite.”

The thing that got you though was when he complimented your singing and writing in the song that you wrote. You remembered being scared shitless for that particular role for two reasons. One, you never sang in front of that many people before and it made you nervous. Two, although you loved writing songs—you have a journal filled with unfinished songs—you didn’t think you had the ability to write one that was vital to your character’s arc.

“They have a very good voice in my opinion, no, a great voice actually. And that specific song was quite relatable for me—I’m pouring my heart out here, chat, and here you are calling me a simp. Fine, go ahead, call me a simp. I don’t care. Maybe I am a simp. What about it, chat?”

You thought it was really sweet how he thinks of you and you couldn’t help the slight fluttering in your heart and the butterflies in your stomach when his fans tell him that he has a crush. Also his cute smile didn’t help at all with the sensation growing inside you. Honestly, you could just watch a video of him smiling over and over again.

For days, you keep thinking about him which was frustrating and exciting in some way. You felt like a teenager again, crushing on a boy that smiled at you in passing. You haven’t told anyone about it, knowing that everyone was going to tease you if they knew and would try to convince you to reach out to him. You wanted to, badly even, but life in the spotlight has its ups and downs. You don’t want the paparazzi to be crowding and violating this man’s private life just for the sole reason of trying to find out who you might be dating next.

You were scrolling down YouTube again, filling the time as you sat down in the hair and makeup trailer, when you came across a band. From experience, artists you found on YouTube most of the time was your cup of tea so you clicked on the video titled ‘Taunt’ by Lovejoy. The already enjoyable song got more enjoyable when you saw the familiar face that had been invading your mind. You eyes grew wide, your head no longer bopping, and finally that feeling in your heart returned.

“Don’t smile too much. I’m doing your powder.” One of the makeup artist spoke, moving a brush across your cheeks.

“Oh shit, sorry Sloane.” Yet, you smiled again as the video plays out.

Sloane smirked, looking at your phone screen. “Know one of ‘em? Is that why you’re smiling all of the sudden?”

“I know that tone.” You glared at the older woman beside you. “And yes, I do know one of them if you must know.”

“Which one?”

“The one with the glasses and the hat. The tall one.”

Sloane leaned closer. “He’s cute.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, I can see why you’re into him.”

“I did not say that I like him.”

“You didn’t have to.” Sloane pointed the brush she was holding at your face. “Your smile already did.”

When you realized Wilbur Soot have a band, the obvious choice was to go on a rabbit hole of listening to their entire discography. It took a few listens but their songs grew on you and eventually made their way into your various playlists—some grew annoyed listening to you repeating their songs. Now that you found a perfect opportunity to try and talk to Wilbur, the only thing that’s left was the execution. You didn’t want to make it too obvious that you’re trying to reach this guy. You could only imagine the article they would write about and you didn’t need to be ask about “a mystery guy” when doing press junkets later on.

“What are you scared of? You’re just posting about this band that you like. You’ve done it a million times.” You said, trying to calm yourself.

With one last inhale and exhale, you began typing. Your heart beating vigorously with each letter that you pressed. It was incredibly ridiculous how nervous you were. You kind of wished someone was there to give you some emotional support but alas you were alone in your trailer.

“Okay, that’s good enough, I think. Not too long, not too short. All that’s left to do is post it.”

Your thumb hovered over the button, still contemplating whether or not this was the right choice. Maybe you should’ve chosen the lowkey route. Just slide into his DM’s like many of your friends did. What if he doesn’t see it? What if he doesn’t interact with it the way his friend Tommy did? What if he turns out to be an absolute dick? The possibilities were endless.

When the waiting and the doing absolutely nothing began eating you out, you decided it’s now or never.

“Fuck it.” You closed your eyes, pressed the button and the deed was done.

#simp #wilbur soot #wilbur x reader #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x you #wilbur x you #wilbur mcyt #mcyt x reader #cc!wilbur

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tiannasfanfic · 2 years

Text

The Night Before Christmas

Eddie Munson x Reader (Fluff)

| Eddie & Steddie Masterlist | AO3 Link |

Summary: After your final shift of the season at Starcourt Mall's Christmas Village, you prepare for your annual holiday celebration of one by stopping at Family Video for a few movies. You only came in for your annual favorites, but end up leaving with something very unexpected.

Rating: General Audiences

Author Note: Gender neutral reader, they/them pronouns. Super fluffy, inspired by the meet-cute from one of my favorite Christmas movies.

CW: Cranky Santa's; mentions of marijuana use; accidental injuries (clunked on the forehead by a door); generic description of unisex elf outfit.

Word Count: 3,132

Eddie Munson Taglist: @eddie-swhore

If there was one place you could say for certain that you hated, it was the mall.

Though, there was one place you could easily say you hated worse than the mall, and that was mall at Christmas time.

And yet, here you were, on Christmas Eve, not only at the mall, but working as Santa’s right-hand elf.

Despite the fact you didn’t care for the holiday season as a whole, you really looked forward to this gig every December.

The first year you played an elf at the Christmas Village in Starcourt Mall, you were saving for your own place and had picked it up as a second job. However, you ended up finding the work way more enjoyable than most other jobs you’d had. It was the perfect fit for you. You loved performing and entertaining people, especially kids. And what better way to entertain kids than by fully falling into the role of Santa’s merry little elf, fresh off the plane from the North Pole? People always mistook you for a theater kid since you had a flair for the dramatic and were always flamboyant. As it turns out, that’s exactly the right attitude you needed in order to successfully play a Christmas elf.

After you were out of your parents’ house, you enjoyed it enough that you keep coming back every year to don the ill-fitting elf outfit.

Really, that was the only downside. The elf costume was the same for all of Santa’s elves regardless of gender; a green sweater, red knee length puffy pants, gold and white striped leggings, green elf shoes and a green elf hat. The whole thing was bespoken with bells, tinsel, shiny things, and anything else you would expect to see adorning an elf’s clothing.

And it was one size fits all, which meant it fit absolutely no one that wore it.

Ah well. Pros and cons. At least it was warm.

Even though the line shut down precisely at 4pm as it always did on Christmas Eve, it was closer to 5 by the time you got through everyone already standing in it. It had been a super busy day with everyone that waited until the last minute to get their Santa photos done.

Really though, it had been a super busy week in general ever since word got out around town that the Good Santa was back at Starcourt Mall. The parents of Hawkins didn’t know why, but three years ago, after using the same guy in the role for a long time, the mall decided to hire someone else to play Santa. And this made exactly no one happy, neither parent nor elf.

Even in the Santa suit, jolly was not in this man’s vocabulary. In fact, you were pretty sure if anything jolly came within five feet of him, it would immediately wither and die. He was cranky and mean to everyone, customers and fellow employees alike. At least half of the children who saw Santa during those years left crying, and so did most of the elves every night when they went home.

But, this year, the old Santa Claus was back in town.

Now this was a man who truly embodied the role, waving and smiling at people while waiting between visits with the kids, calling out “Merry Christmas“ to them in a boisterous, jolly voice. He looked very much like Santa; his suit like nothing anyone in that small town had ever seen, blending old traditions and new together in a suit that could have been custom made for the man himself.

But, most importantly, everyone loved him. There was rarely a screaming baby photo with this Santa around, he just had a natural, soothing presence for even the most fearful child. You were pretty sure nothing could get within five feet of that man and not leave in a fantastic mood. Even looking at him made a person smile.

While you were also happy to have the old Santa back, it always made you giggle every time you heard someone talking about how amazing he was over every other Santa in Hawkins.

It made you giggle because the Santa everyone loved so much was none other than your uncle, Reefer Rick.

Like you, Uncle Rick had been working the Christmas gig for a long time now, even helping you get hired your first year there, and he thoroughly enjoyed it. The only time he ended up missing out on it was for the three years that he was in jail.

Unlike you though, every December he was genuinely filled with holiday cheer, not just faking it like you were.

No one would have guessed it by looking at the man under normal circumstances since he looked like someone who started his grumpy old man stage early, but Rick was quite possibly one of the nicest men in town. But, considering the population never bothered to get to know the man that half of them bought their drugs from, few people actually knew that.

The truly funny part of it was, Uncle Rick didn’t really try to hide the fact he was Santa. He didn’t disguise his voice, drove the same car, everything. But if anyone ever figured it out, they chose to ignore it. Between the padding he wore under the Santa costume that made him look moderately plump, a beard properly applied to his skin with spirit gum, a dash of makeup, and a cheerful demeanor that would rival the real Santa himself, it was easy for people to pretend they didn’t see what they didn’t want to see.

At the end of the day, so long as everyone was happy, and Uncle Rick was, then you guessed that was all that mattered.

You never bothered to change before leaving the mall since it always gave kids a giggle to see an elf walking around town. Neither did Rick for the same reasons. However, you did change into your normal shoes and put on your jacket before heading out the employee entrance to leave.

As you both walked across the parking lot together, Uncle Rick invited you to a Christmas party he was throwing that evening. Since neither of you spoke much to the rest of the family, your parents included, Rick had invited his chosen family and a few clients that had become close, genuine friends to spend the holiday eve with. But the weeks of holiday customer service work had finally taken their toll on you though, and you were mentally worn out. Uncle Rick more than understood, embraced you in a bear hug, then gave you an early Christmas present; One ounce of Lilac Diesel, your favorite strain.

That would pair very well with the evening of movie rentals and Chinese takeout you had planned.

Traffic was pretty heavy thanks to last minute shoppers, but you managed to reach the video store well before closing.

“Welcome to Family Vid- hey, Y/N!”

Since you preferred to spend most of your evenings at home, you tended to stop by the video store multiple times a week. This had led to a friendship with the evening clerks, Robin and Steve. You knew them fairly well by this point, and you stopped at the counter to talk with them for a while before you went wandering the aisles. It didn’t take you long to pick out what you wanted, choosing the same movies you watched every year around Christmas.

After Robin rang you out, you continued talking to them as you walked back to the door, pausing at the door to finish your conversation, your free hand resting on the handle.

Since you were looking over at your two friends rather than outside, you didn’t see a van pulling into the parking lot, nor did you see the curly haired man in a leather jacket hop out of it. He didn’t see you either as he walked up to the video store, busy double checking to make sure that he’d remembered to rewind the tapes before bringing them back

Right as the man was reaching for the door handle, you pushed the door open to leave.

BAM

Your head whirled around to the door at the sudden impact, eyes widening as you finally saw the man. He staggered backwards a step, a large red welt in the middle of his forehead from the collision with the door. His deep brown eyes crossed as he teetered sideways, then they rolled back into his head, and he hit the ground just a second later.

“Oh my god!” you exclaimed in alarm, quickly rushing outside.

Behind you, an alarmed Steve started to head around the counter to go help but was stopped when Robin grabbed his arm.

“Hang back a minute,” Robin told him when he looked at her quizzically. “I have a feeling about this one.”

Outside, you rushed over to the groaning figure sprawled out on the ground, who was now rubbing his forehead with one ring bespoke hand.

“I am so, so sorry!” you said, dropping your movies to the sidewalk next to the man as you bent down over him. “I didn’t see you there!”

Grabbing the man’s arm, you helped him sit up, then got around behind him so you could wrap your arms around his chest to pull him to his feet.

“You probably - owwww,” the man said, wincing as he straightened into a standing position, both of you sliding some on the slushy sidewalk. “You probably shouldn’t move someone that just had a bad blow to the head.”

Once he was steady, you let him go, then began dusting off the back of his denim vest and the sleeves of his jacket.

“Probably not,” you said, fluffing his hair to free any snow it picked up from the sidewalk. “But then you would’ve just gotten wet and cold.”

“That’s actually a-“ he started to say, his words suddenly cutting off as you stepped around him and he saw you for the first time. “…good point.”

As your gaze met his, you found your eyes widening as a tingle spread across the back of your neck and then quickly shot down the length of your spine.

ZING

At various points throughout your life, you had beard about the zing. Usually, it was from people who were often severely unreliable about such matters. Your mother told you all about it when you were little, but your parents did not have a relationship that any sane person would desire. Your friends all told you about it in high school, but the zings they felt never seemed to last.

From your understanding, the zing is what was supposed to happen when you met your true love, or your soul mate, depending on which wording you wanted to use. The whole concept just sounded highly suspect to you.

Until now.

Neither of you spoke as you stood there staring into each other’s eyes. You hadn’t noticed it, but your jaw had gone slack in a mirror image of his.

Inside the video store, both Steve and Robin had come over to the door and were watching you two through the glass.

The man was the first to snap out of whatever trance the two of you found yourselves in, and his mouth snapped shut.

“Uh,” he finally said, as he started rubbing the back of his head. “I must have a concussion. Now I’m seeing elves.”

A sudden fit of giggles escaped from your lips before you could clamp your mouth shut. You could feel your cheeks warming and hoped the man would assume it was from the chilly December air.

“Yes, but not a real one,” you said, smiling. “I work down at the mall in their Christmas Village.”

The look of confusion on the man’s face was replaced by one of understanding and he laughed.

“Now that makes way more sense,” he said, then returned your smile.

The tingling sensation ran down your spine from the back of your neck, the blush on your cheeks inexplicably coming back.

You both cleared your throats and quickly looked away from each other at the exact same moment, dropping your gaze down to the sidewalk. That was when you noticed three video tapes you didn’t recognize scattered among your own dropped selections. You bent down, picking up those up from the sidewalk.

When you stood upright, you met his wide-eyed gaze again as you offered him the tapes.

“I think these are yours,” you said, smiling at him.

“Uh, thanks,” he said, blinking a few times in surprise, then smiled. “You know, I think you had a few yourself, too.”

“Yeah, I-“ you started to say as you bent down to pick up your movies.

However, the man started to bend over at the same time you did, which resulted in the two of you clunking your foreheads together.

“Ow,” you both said in unison.

You started giggling again, not even bothering to stop yourself this time as you rubbed your forehead. The man blinked a few times and shook his head as if to clear it, then grinned sheepishly.

“Alright, you wait here, I’ll go down, okay?” he said.

“Okay,” you said through a new fit of giggles.

He winked at you, then bent over to gather up your movies. You watched him with a smile on your face and a warmth in your heart. There was definitely something charming about this guy.

Once he had your movies in hand, he stood upright to hand them to you. Now that you had yourself more under control, you met his gaze easily.

“Thank you,” you said, smiling at him warmly.

“No problem,” he said, returning your smile.

A few more seconds passed in silence as the two of you stared at each other again.

What on earth was happening right now?

“Well, um,” you said, suddenly having trouble speaking as you felt your heart beating in your throat. “I-I’m glad you’re okay. I’ll get out of your hair now. You have a Merry Christmas!”

“Hmm?” the man said, then blinked. “Oh! Yeah! You have a Merry Christmas too!”

You smiled at him one last time and then, despite a sudden pang you felt in your chest, turned away to head for your car.

Behind you, Eddie watched you walk away for a moment before looking down at the movies in his hand. He sighed softly and shoot his head before turning to finally go into Family Video.

However, right as he laid his hand on the handle to pull the door open, he heard the distinctive sound of the lock twisting into place.

He looked up with a confused expression, meeting the stares of Steve and Robin, both of whom had matching expressions of abject horror on their faces.

“Go after them, ya dingus!” Robin shouted.

“Don’t let them get away!” Steve shouted.

Eddie wheeled around and quickly looked for you.

Luckily, you hadn’t gotten very far. You were barely halfway to the only other vehicle in the parking lot aside from Steve’s and his.

A grin lit up Eddie’s face and he opened his mouth, preparing to call out to you, then he suddenly panicked when he realized he didn’t know your name.

“Hey, you!” he hollered instead, then grimaced at how that sounded.

You weren’t bothered by it though, just surprised. Turning back to him with curiosity, your heart began hammering in your chest as your eyes landed on him.

The man stared at you for a moment before speaking.

“Do you like Christmas parties?” he asked, then, unbeknownst to you, pointed off in the direction of Reefer Rick’s house. “If so, I know of one that’s going on right now, if you wanted to go.”

A warm feeling stirred in your chest at his words. But as, tempting as it was, you just didn’t have the spoons for a party.

“Not really,” you said with a soft smile, hoping he wouldn’t be too disappointed.

Instead of disappointed though, the man seemed relieved.

“Me neither,” he said, laughing softly. “I can’t say I’m really into the Christmas spirit this year.”

Now it was your turn to laugh.

“Yeah, me neither,” you said, smiling.

Then the two of you gazed quietly at each other again, as if neither of you wanted to look away. That same tingling from earlier crept across your neck again. Now you had a little voice in the back of your head screaming at you to talk to him.

“Do you know of Canton’s?” you asked, deciding not to doubt your gut.

“The Chinese place over off MacArthur?” he asked, and you nodded in confirmation. “Hell yeah! They have the best egg rolls in Hawkins!”

“They really do,” you agreed, then smiled. “I was going to get some takeout then go home, but I wouldn’t mind sitting down for a while if I had some company. If you’re not doing anything, would you like to join me?”

The man’s face lit up as bright as the giant Christmas tree downtown.

“I’d love to!” he exclaimed, a huge smile on his face.

Now your whole body was tingling, his words lighting you up from the inside out with excitement.

“Great!” you said, a big grin on your own face. “Want to meet me there when you’re done? I can head on over and get us a table.”

“Yeah, yeah!” the man said, nodding rapidly, which made his hair fly around his head. “That sounds good!”

“Great!” you said again, your smile even bigger now.

“Great!” the man repeated, grinning.

You turned back towards the parking lot, a bounce in your step as you made your way over and got in.

Behind you, the door of Family Video flew open, and Eddie was rushed by both Steve and Robin. Robin snatched the movies out of his hands and took them inside to check them in, while Steve began fixing Eddie’s hair and clothes, as if trying to make him more presentable.

When he was done, Steve took a step back and gave his friend a quick once over.

“Eh, good enough,” he said with a shrug.

Before Eddie could protest, Steve grabbed him by the arms and spun him around before giving him a sound shove towards the parking lot.

After you were buckled in and got your car started, you looked out your window just in time to see the man jogging back over to his van. You couldn’t help but giggle as you wondered what had come over you. This was definitely a new feeling, though one you weren’t complaining about.

It wasn’t until you were already halfway to the restaurant when you were hit with a realization.

You had no idea what his name was.

#eddie munson #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson x reader fluff

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spaceshipsoutthepool · 9 months

Text

Sulk in the Sun🍹

Ao3 link

While it’s quite out of character to do so; Penny loses her cool and storms off. Although it isn’t ladylike to admit that. Brains comes to join her by the pool. And of all people, is the one to try and talk her out of potential leaving International Rescue.

Boom! last fic of the year bay-beeee. Happy 2024

Story under the cut for those who prefer to read here

Lady Penelope was never a sun chaser. Or comfortable in great heat. Much as she was trying to relax. Forcing herself to relax might be the more operative term.

"Oh, I'd much rather be wrapped up in layers. With a walk on the heath any day.” she thought moodily, looking out over the ocean again. rather than facing the sunlight like the fellow tourists topping up their tans. “Bring on winter. It's probably a lovely chilly autumn day back home!”

Around the pool (but not actually in it), holiday makers and expats alike were turning over and over for an even bronze. Penelope privately thought most were cooking themselves to walnuts; all oiled brown and wrinkly. She decided she probably looked silly; sat in the near shade wearing a cover wrap and a large sun hat. And then decided she didn't care. Not particularly. Just like she didn’t care for this resort. And she didn’t care about International Rescue. No, not at all.

Penelope again tried to put ‘the day job’ from her mind. And tried to focus on just the sea breeze coming over the cliff side. The blue ocean. and blue almost cloudless sky stretching on for ever and ever. And somewhere out there, just beyond the horizon and further hidden by several clever mirage devices, hidden in plain sight was Tracy Island…

Drat.

"Your drink, M’Lady?"

Penelope did not jump. She refused to. Parker was now hovering at her side again, ever the faithful English butler. Even in his holiday cream chinos.

"Parker. You're on holiday too.” she scolded. “Do desist bullying the resort staff out of their jobs!"

"Begging your pardon milady. But they can't make a mixer or -pardon me language- a blooming cup of tea right.” He explained. “Not to your particular way of liking, at any rate."

Penelope sighed. He had a point.

"I do appreciate it, Parker. But you are fussing.”

“Sorry, milady.”

“Really. The world won't end just because of a little spilt milk or life providing lemons for the lemonade..." she said, taking the drink from the tray. then added with a rather viscous look back out to sea. "Despite what our American friends think."

"Quite? Erm...” Parker hesitated. It seemed he was not, for all their year's together, sure how to address a Ladyship whose pride had been wounded. Discussing Common enemies or wrong uns sure. Not catty remarks about ol’ pals and friendships possibly soured.

“Well… I’ll be off then? if you say so milady?"

"I do. Please Parker, go off and enjoy yourself?" She said, then added, “Preferably without a casino in sight?”

Parker sighed.

“No more gambling wot I ain’t got m’lady. You have my word on that. But.” Again, Parker hesitated. Then cleared his throat.

"If I might be so bold as to say so, milady-?"

"No. You may not." Penelope snubbed. And stubbornly turned back to the picture esc view.

“…Very good, m’lady.” Parker snubbed right back. Penelope sat tense, purposely ignoring him as he departed. then cursed her bad temper as even Parker left her too sit and stew.

Villains and hazards she could handle with ease. Emotions, or more unpleasant feelings, she’d always rather hated facing. Creighton-Wards don’t do very good at that. Especially without something constructive or some engagement to throw herself into.

“I wasn’t made for relaxing on sunbeds.” She thought. “That clearly skipped a generation.”

She did persevere, however, between sipping the fruity drink and reading the awful bad romance thriller book she’d brought with her.

(she’d initially brought the new hit bestseller to hide the history journal she had actually been reading. It wouldn’t do for the British tabloid press to think she wasn’t such a blonde. But then Diane had said the Book was so awful, it was actually good. So, Penelope had tried to read it for real. Then decided while she could trust Diane one many things, life and death things even; book recommendations was not one of them.)

The book, however bad, wasn't exciting enough to take her mind off things. Not properly. But She absolutely was not going to lose her temper, again or spend the whole holiday shut up in her room. Nor was she going to cry or shed one single tear over Jeff bloody Tracy. Or Scott for that matter. She hadn’t so far and was not about to start. Certainly not in public, thank you very much.

Lady Penelope was just debating if she should give it up? And see what the on-site gym had to offer, hoping to physically run away from her troubles. But when she went to sit up her ribs to remind her why she was on a ‘relaxing holiday’ in the first place. Trying not to wince was extra hard when she heard Parker’s heavy footsteps. (The ex-cat burglar was deliberately making himself heard and not sneak up on her again.) Instead, Penelope repressed a groan. not even forty minutes had gone past since she’d asked to be left in peace!

"Begging your pardon again ma'am. but there’s a gentleman wishing to speak to you?"

"If it’s anyone with the surname Tracy on the telephone I do not wish to speak to them." She snapped, not looking up from the book.

"Good thing it ain’t on the phone, then." Parker cut back, rather brutishly. then asked, "What can I get you to drink, young sir?"

"J-Just a c- cold soft drink please, Parker."

"Brains?!"

"H-hi Lady Penelope.”

Penelope bolted up (ouch) and lifted her sunglasses. Sure enough, there was International Rescues resident genius. He gave a little wave, as Parker gave a little nod and left. "My dear boy, how splendid to see you! What on earth are you doing here?"

“I’m dropping in on you, a-apparently. If that’s okay?" Brains smiled, sitting on the sun lounger next to hers. The young man stuck out like a sore thumb in his vest, shirt and tie. But despite the heat and the awkward way he held himself, (as if the lounger would bite him if he were to put his feet up,) Brains didn't seem to mind. Mind, Penelope supposed he was used to the heat of the southern hemisphere.

“I-I hope, I'm not interrupting anything?”

“Only my own ruminating. How did you know where I was?" She asked, astonished, putting down the rubbish paperback. Then narrowed her eyes at him. "And why are you here, even? Did someone put you up to this?"

Brains’ hands went up sharpish in surrender, like she’d levelled a pistol at him.

"N-no. no one! I came of my own accord.” He said. Then amended, putting his arms down. “Well a-actually, no. That's not true. I was coming here. Solo. then l-lost my nerve? and Tin-tin bullied me into actually going through with this. And then flew me here!"

Penelope whipped around. (Her ribs didn’t like that.) Tin-tin sat at the outdoor bar, looking resplendent in tangerine. with a drink to match. seeing she’d been spotted, Miss Kyrano saluted her.

"Tin-Tin said if you like, she's up for a trip out into town. but she’s also said to tell you she’s not coming over until she knows you definitely won’t judo throw her over the cliff. or be cross with her for bringing me over.” Brains explained.

“I would never-!” Penelope said aghast. Then remembered the rather vicious exchanging of words that had led to her checking into the resort rather than staying on Tracy Island. “…Not the first option at least.”

“T-that’s fair. And as for the how, John tracked the heli-jet to the mainland, and locating your communications was very simple. That and this is one of the nearest luxury adults only resorts to the airport. Tracy Industries has a gold card- “

"Oh of course he does." Penelope scoffed. And then felt a teensy bit bad for throwing Brains off his track.

Brains nervously cleared his throat. and continued. "Yes. to a suite? We stay here if the weather is too bad to get back across from supplies runs with the jet or the Ladybird. so, we simply walked onto site, dropped off our bags; Tin-tin got changed and then we came looking for you."

“Right. Well Brains, you’ve found me. Congratulations…”

Brains shifted nervously as she scrutinised him. Then turned away, pulling back down her sunglasses.

"A-a Penny for them, Lady Penelope?" Brains tried when the silence stretched a little too long.

"Right now, my thoughts do not make for good company." Penelope said coolly, not accolading the pun on her name, intentional or not.

Then sighed, rubbing her temple.

"My apologies. You are a pip for coming out to see me. I shouldn't take it out on you. Or dear old Parker, either for that matter."

"Less of the old." She thought she heard. Penelope glanced back to the bar where her butler was taking an awfully long time to fetch Brains his pop.

Penelope took off her sunglasses, folding them neatly back into their case.

"But Brains? Dear if you've come to apologise on their behalf or ask me to come back to the island, don’t bother. and I’m not apologising either, so don’t waste your time asking me too!" She said, feeling rather childish. Then added. “Even if it is bad form."

"No, I didn’t. And-and I'm not going to do that. I-I c c ccc.”

Brains paused and took a breath before continuing.

“I came on my behalf. Admittedly with a push. No one bar John was informed where we were heading. Just off base. And as for saying sorry-?”

“What about it?”

“Well, I think you’re both in the wrong? if it matters, Lady Penelope.” He said sincerely.

Penelope shot him a look that sent ‘stronger men’ running normally. This time Brains wasn’t affected.

“However, you came to Tracy Island for r-rest and recovery. And I’m sorry you fell out with Scott and Mr Tracy. That I will a-a-pp-p. That I am sorry for.” He continued. “I wanted to make sure you're okay. Really?"

"That, that is very sweet of you. I'm …fine, thank you." She said. Then teased just a little. "How many times do I have to say you’re free to call me Penny. or at least Penelope?"

"I don't think I could manage ‘Penny’." Brains shook his head. "It doesn't sound right from me."

“Alright.” She said, “But I mean it. And it is sweet, but I hate to think I’ve put you out. you could have just called?"

"W-would you have answered? "

"From you, yes.” Penelope said truthfully. “But then again I guess there's no way of screening calls outside of the home video phone and FAB One.”

"No. That is something I’ve been looking into? Assimilating a ringtone, different coloured lights for items. Or a caller id like on telly phones. It’s been simple enough to roll out on the vehicles so far. But on the watches and-!”

Brains stopped. “… Lady Penelope, you're letting me t-talk e-electronics again."

"You call it techno babble; I find it interesting." She shrugged. It might have sounded like false flattery to or from someone else, but she did genuinely enjoy listening to Brains. Even the bits that went over her head.

"Yes, but y-you're avoiding an awkward conversation." Brains frowned. "Where was I?"

"Television phone lines?" Penelope tried. Brains frown grew a little exasperated. "Oh, it was worth a shot. I said I would have answered. if it was you."

"Right. Well as I said I wanted to make sure you were okay. I was worried about you. So, were Tin-tin a-and the fellas? And we’re all missing you and had been looking forward to you visiting. Really. I hope I’m not wrong when I say I see you as a very good ‘pal’, Lady Penelope? even outside of work.”

Brains was not a great fan of spontaneous physical affection. or else Penelope might have reached over and squeezed his hand. She herself wasn’t one for mushy sentiments without substance.

“You aren’t wrong. Although I'm not using the term ‘pal’ , thank you. but You’re a dear friend of mine too Brains. One Whom I’m lucky to have I might add.”

“The gadgetry upgrades are an a-added bonus.”

He said it in his normal tone but punctuated it with a very over top wink. Ah a joke.

Parker did not bring Brains his cola. But allowed the automatic waiter to bring it to him instead. It was a shiny chirping dustbin looking thing with a flat tray head, running on wheels and a track. Nothing as sophisticated as Braman. Although someone had gone to great trouble to put a smiley face on its front using its order lights as eyes. Penelope glared at it all the same for intruding.

Brains took the drink, thanked the robot; And continued.

“And it was somewhat selfish of me too. Coming to see you I mean. I wanted to get off the island for a little while. or at least away from the house.”

“Oh? Brains, is something wrong?” Penelope wasn’t going to admit she was worried no. not at all.

Alright, perhaps a smidgen.

“hm. it isn't a nice atmosphere.” Brains said, plucking out the umbrella from the drink and rolling it in his fingers. “And the others are trying to hide in my lab which is-?”

The near splutter of giggle from her startled them both.

“Terribly sorry, Brains.” Penelope apologised. “I wasn’t laughing at you. I just got the ridiculous image of one or more of the boys physically hiding under your work bench like a game of sardines!”

“Ah. no. That would be funny! And that has happened before! Not with the work bench but the storage cupboard. I do have to remind them sometimes it is a working lab and workshop." Brains said with a chuckle. Then more seriously, "If they were working on their own projects, I wouldn’t mind. It would be simply a case of just being there at the same time? but it was more they all keep coming in rather than face one another. if that makes sense? to see how whatever it is I’m working on is going and small talk."

“Ah. No, I quite agree that it is quite bothersome when people do that. One moment.”

Penelope reached into her bag. And pulled out an anti-listening device, ironically disguised as a compartment pocket disc and radio player. While the one in her compact and Brain’s watch were probably more than adequate for any electronic bugs; this one packed a little more juice that’d allow them a little more privacy. Beaming white noise up out of its antennae, the gadget then echoed surrounding noise back outward, creating a barrier around in up to a five-metre radius. Both eves’ droppers and recording devices alike wouldn’t hear them now. Even Parker and Tin-tin’s own IR devices would struggle against it. Parker wouldn’t even hear what she was saying even if he hid in a nearby decorative pot plant.

“There. Then we speak a little more freely about your lab and the Tracy’s.” Penelope smiled, setting it on the table between their sun loungers. “You can never guarantee secrecy in these places. As you’ve proven!”

Only Brains was more focused on the not-a-radio. “Is the new synth mechanism working well for output you need it too outside of the testing conditions? I wasn’t certain it could generate the continuous voltage without compensating the battery life.”

“Now who’s talking shop to avoid discussions?” Penelope pointed out. Brains sighed and swirled the cola as if it might help.

"It isn’t a nice atmosphere.” He said eventually. “In any of the villas. But other than seeing you’re okay? I'm staying out of the actual argument please. So are Tin-Tin, Gordon and John. "

“That’s only two out of five brothers." Penelope said quietly.

“Alan is heading to Thunderbird Five two days earlier than he was meant to. John changed his mind and was going to let Alan owe him another week seeing as you weren’t there anymore? but I think Alan’s trying to escape too. " Brains said. “And his, Alan’s I mean. His stance is ‘I told you so’. but I'm not sure which side of the argument. Although John asked you to call him, and you can tell him your side of the story.”

“Our own little ‘bitch sesh’.” Penelope said, sipping her drink to avoid pursing her lips. “And Virgil's?"

Penelope wished she hadn’t asked. Brains’ face fell.

“Virgil isn't speaking to anyone." He said sadly. "Last time I saw him he was holed up in Thunderbird Two making adjustments to the starboard’s main averting b-six aid access. And he had been for nearly ninety minutes!"

"Which bit is that? That he’s repairing."

"Oh. On the hatch in the cockpit, for storage." Brains corrected. "It keeps sticking."

“What a nuisance that must be." Penelope frowned. “Especially as Two’s pilot.”

“Quite. But. It shouldn’t take all that long to fix. And… I’m not sure I should say this?”

“And?” Penelope prompted anyway.

“And Virgil is not even acting as Scott’s confidant." Brains said.

“Oh…goodness, that is troubling."

“Hmm. Yeah.”

The pair sat in silence for a moment or few.

There was a splash, which served as a fitting distraction as any.

Tin-tin had at some point put on her cap and stripped down to her swimsuit. making use of the pool she’d hopped in for a dip and started doing steady lengths. Parker was looking h’after her stuff. He sat watching the sunbathers like a guard dog, daring any dirty old men to ogle or approach the young lady. It was quite sweet how protective he was of Tin-tin. Parker had acted much the same in Paradise Peaks, despite them being on assignment.

Deciding they’d be alright, Penelope sighed again and turned back to Brains.

"It wasn't in my itinerary, you know? To upset Virgil. I didn’t set out to do so on purpose.”

“I know.”

“Or Jeff actually. Certainly not to anger him. or Scott. or any of you for that matter-."

“don't.” Brains frowned interrupting. “I know that. With what was said, I believe it was needed, giving the operation. but the way it was put, it wasn't right.”

“That's rather the crux of the matter. rather than quite what was said itself.” Penelope admitted. Brains nodded, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Does he often do that with the rest of you?”

“No, not a lot. Although sometimes Mr Tracy says things in that tone without meaning too. But He does it to even Kranyo? I don’t like it when he does that.”

“I doubt Kryano does either. Well, thank you for your honesty… I knew I was in for a lecture. Or possibly at worst a telling off. I just hadn’t expected it levelled at me quite so bluntly or on a personal level.” Penelope complained. “Oh dear. But you are right. And I shouldn’t have shot back either. At Jeff. I'm afraid my own father was a ‘give them as good as back, son’ sort of approach too.”

“Mine tried.” Brains agreed. “So did the professor.”

“Oh?”

Brains very very rarely ever talked about his family life before the Tracy’s. Adopted or otherwise. But he was slightly more casual here, just for a brief moment.

“It didn’t take. Sending me to boxing classes to t-toughen me up just gave the school bully an easier target. Especially if I couldn’t see them in the ring without my glasses.” He said. And waved off any sympathy.

“H-how did your parents find it?” Brains asked and at her questioning look clarified, “Not following the life they’d planned for you? If that’s not too personal?”

“From you, no, not at all. Hmm. I think switching from scouts to the guides helped? But it was being made head girl and going to finishing school that finally won mater over.” Penelope shrugged. Something her old tutor would have struck her with a ruler for, speaking of. “As for my father? In his own words better a strong daughter then another waste of an heir like his brother was. Yours?”

“The professor didn’t really mind what I wore or what I changed, so long as I didn’t miss any classes.”

Brains didn’t elaborate any further. Penelope picked up the thread of conversation before the silence became awkward.

“I'm afraid I’ve made papa sound a brute. He wasn’t. He was a good man in most respects. although I don’t think he and Jeff would have gotten on at all.” She said. But the augment was still playing on her mind. and the subject circled back and reared its ugly head. “But speaking of Jeff and fathers. This isn’t a case of simply being grounded or getting into trouble with a local constable, is it?”

Brains shook his head, and Penelope continued. “And yet Jeff spoke to me like a child.”

“But what you did was incredibly risky? He’s right to think that.” Brains replied.

“I don’t need to hear any more of his Opinions.” Penelope said curtly. “…or his mothers.”

"If it helps Mrs Tracy called him and Scott foolish. For speaking to you like that. Individually. and idiots collectively " Brains put in.

"It does actually." Penelope said, a little cattily. "Given Grandmama Tracy cannot stand me, she must really be quite galled to be on my side."

“y-yeah. Well partly on your side.”

"Was she very rude about me?" Penelope grinned. Brains thought for a moment reanalysing.

“Urm…you do know Mrs Tracy says your name odd. Like it’s an insult?” He said warily.

“Oh, she always does that. That's why I call her Grandmama.”

“Oh. But Mrs Tracy hates that?”

“I know. She pretends to flirt with Parker, and she knows we all hate that.”

“I'm not certain it is pretend. Wait, is that why she called you a snob?”

“Is that all? Well, I am. That’s not terribly rude. if it’s true.” Penelope smiled sweetly. “She also thinks I'm a bad influence on you Tin-tin and the boys. And Jeff to boot.”

“Really? I don’t believe it.”

“She told me that herself. And you’ve my word it’s the truth.”

"I don’t understand why you find that funny?” Brains said, “Oh well. Other than that Mrs Tracy wasn't so rude as to call you anything but ‘her majesty!’ behind your back… But that was before the fight."

“It was hardly a fight! Nothing was broken or hit." Penelope disagreed.

"Well, what would yo-you call it then?"

Penelope thought. "A mild skirmish.” She said, “Or perhaps the start of a rift."

"I- I’m not going to call it that first one. But Mrs Tracy is being very vocal about everything being ’bang out of order’. And that she ‘raised you boys better’.” Brains said, with air quotations. “And she keeps dishing out chores. The villa is spotless. And Mrs Tracy is hand washing the dishes despite having the dishwasher. She only does that when she’s cross.”

Brains then smiled and lowered his voice unnecessarily, "Can you keep a secret, Lady Penelope?"

"Always dear.” Penelope whispered back, conspiring for juicy gossip. “Go on?"

"Mr Tracy even got middle named!" Brains chuckled. "He was complaining about Virgil’s hiding. And Mrs Tracy told him to pull his own socks up. Metaphorically. B-but he doesn’t know Gordon and I heard him."

"Oh my!” Penelope tittered. “Although if Gordon heard? then it will go around the island like wildfire."

“T-true True.” Brains smiled.

But then that smile slipped somewhat.

"I-I'm afraid there’s no way to avoid Scott’s fussing or temper by the way. He gets very worried about any of us getting hurt. You and me? We might not be one of his brothers but Scott? He's always trying to look out for everyone."

"I know." Penelope conceded. "I know. But the hypocrisy? He cannot throw himself into ridiculous scrapes himself then join in with berating me like a child!"

"I know.” Brains echoed. “He does it a lot. Even worse since that accident with the ‘dish Monte Bianco? the others call him smother hen.”

Virgil had called it that and some several more rather expletive things, she knew.

“Gordon says it’s a compliment?” Brains continued. “Too you I mean. That Scott cares for you. As one of the team”

“It didn’t feel like a compliment.” Penelope pouted. Not that she’d admit that. “He didn't have to jump in and agree with Jeff quite so eagerly either. And the dressing down from Mr Jeff Tracy? I maintain; it really felt like I was being spoken to like a child!”

“Hmm.”

Brains paused tapping his shoe nervously.

"I I do respect Mr Tracy, a great deal. But sometimes..."

Brains took a deep breath.

“Sometimes Jeff can be a little frustrating to deal with.” Penelope suggested. “And it feels like he doesn’t take one seriously.”

“You hit the pr-pro p. you’ve hit the nail on the head there as it were, Lady Penelope.” Brains paused again. “I wish sometimes…”

Penelope gave him a moment. But Brains changed tack.

"You were worried about him. Last April? so you insisted Mr Tracy took a holiday, correct?" he said, placing the cola on the table next to hers and the fake radio.

"I did.” She said, curious to see where he was going with this. “After a very insistent message from a little thunderbird-ie prompted it. But they were right."

"Oh. I didn't know that bit… but You still had Mr Tracy’s best interests at heart, right?"

" I hoped so."

Jeff had been very against it…

"But then Scott burnt out trying to be in charge?" Brains said. "Even before the seascape called in. And Mr Tracy came back only to the island."

"I remember." Penelope said. This time it was her turn to pause before speaking. “I felt like I was being blamed without him saying so.”

"Hmm. he doesn’t like it. not being in charge?” Brains said. Penelope agreed. “But at the same time, he’s never given Scott any training or expertise into stepping up. He just expects Scott to ‘know’ what to do. Same with Tracy industries. And it isn’t just Scott. It’s all five of them. I know they had a say in the matter of making the operations. But not so much in how it’s run sometimes. Or how it’ll run in the future.”

“Hmm.” Penelope smiled and put her shades back on. “And that makes it all alright, doesn’t it?”

“Lady Penelope?”

“Yes?”

"Your jaw is doing that thing it does on missions where you’re really angry but pretending to be helpless."

“Good grief Brains! Remind me never to play poker with you.”

“You can count cards!” Brains shot back. "I prefer chess anyway. Scott was right in the lounge though, w-with what he said.”

“Scott was rude.”

“But correct. You don’t have to prove that you’re indestructible. We know you aren’t, even if you act like it!”

Penelope did not hide her scowl this time. “I can manage, you know? I'm aware this latest ‘favour’ I’ve done for Jeff is more of a blot on my record than a gold star. But I’ve been living this lifestyle for longer than they have.”

“I k-know that! We all do. We were all worried!” Brains said and put his head in his hands. He didn’t look up when spoke.

“He was right. So was Mr Tracy. but the way it was put wasn't. He does it to his brothers all the time! even when they’re out on a rescue. And sometimes Mr Tracy? He speaks to them as their dad when they’re running through protocols. or as a commander when they need their father?”

"That's the trouble with a family business I suppose." Penelope sighed. She drew out a cigarette case and her holder. At exactly the right moment Parker just happened to be walking past to light it for her with just a flip of his zippo. Barely breaking his stride. Remarkable talent of that man.

"I get I am essentially an employee in a family run enterprise. Albeit a rather extravagant one. As well as a friend of said family." Penelope continued, exhaling smoke out. "But to get a dressing down so publicly? With the lot of you in earshot, and Scott as his second jumping in and backing him up? Call me spoiled but I'm not used to it. I wouldn't do that to anyone who works in my home or working under me invited to the house. it's unseemly!"

That last bit came out a little loud and had it not been for the anti-eavesdropping device then heads may have turned.

Brains stifled a cough through his nose. And Penelope made sure to blow smoke the other way.

"What about your err... previous employment?" he asked, waving smoke away from his face. “Did You never get in this sort of trouble with them?”

“Oh goodness all the time. Not so much in journalism, but I’ve had some HORRID directors and horrible bosses. Far worse than Jeff. Especially within the fashion industry. thank goodness for houses like François Lemaire!” Penelope sighed again. "But I can get away with kicking up a fuss right back if needs be behind the catwalk and cameras if something is wrong. especially on behalf of the newer or younger models. Brands don't want the press of being outed as underpaying or cutting corners... That wasn't what you meant, was it dear?”

Brains shook his head. “Not really. But was there much difference? With modelling, interviews and being an agent.”

“The extortionate pay and more weapons pointed at my head.” Penelope quipped. Then really thought about it. “And bizarrely less sexism interestingly enough? Things were said to my face more, granted, but I could actively use that to an advantage.”

“Gee. T-that’s socially fascinating to observe. But I would not like to step into either of those worlds. With the exception of consulting and inventions.” Brains said. Then laughed. “Wait? You know those tacky souvenirs that say things like ‘you don’t have to be mad to work here-?

“But it helps.” Penelope said. “Yes, I know the ones you mean.”

“Well, I think we don’t have to be mad where we work?”

Penelope chuckled right back. “But it helps. True, very true.”

“I b-believe I might know what I'm contributing to the Secret Santa.” Brains said, making a note in his pocketbook. “”

“That’s very apt. regardless of whose name you pull out.” Penelope agreed. “What’s the limit this year by the way?”

The worst-best present was a Tracy Tradition. Had been since the boys had been pocket money age. save buying four presents each. And Grandma receiving five of the same mug or tea towel. The categories had become more wilder but if anything, the price limit had come down, to maintain the challenge.

“Gordon says up it to twenty dollars. but Alan wants to be extra hard and say ten.”

“I could be a bounder and include the postage then.” Penelope said, not meaning it really. “You get that slogan. I’ll contribute something with Alice in Wonderland. We're all mad here!”

“I'm sensing a theme.” Brains stammered.

“Let’s see if they notice. Mind I suppose Tracy Island is a wonderland somewhat.” Penelope smiled. “All your brilliant ideas? the bravery, the secrets.”

Brains however wasn’t laughing.

“Will you stay? In the organisation.” He said, suddenly serious and switching topics. It threw her, just a little.

“Why should I?!” Penelope retorted. She hadn’t thought of quitting. Not really. But she could!

“I can give you a list of reasons if that wasn’t rhetorical.” Brains replied.

“I don’t need a list.” She frowned. Penelope went to take another drag of her cigarette only to find it had burnt up.

“Can I ask why you don’t just fly back to England then?” Brains asked as she stubbed it out in the ashtray.

“No.”

The voice didn’t normally allow for any argument to bode. But Penelope wasn’t having much luck in being intimidating. Must be something with the factor seventy sunscreen.

“I m-maybe wrong but I think you were hoping someone would come. Here, from the island. To find you.” Brains challenged. “I like to think you’re giving them a chance to get their act t-together.

“Think what you like!” Penelope said. And in Trying to Give him the brush off, she snatched up her book again. She even started reading it again to ignore him. Unfortunately, she had it Upside down. And didn’t realise for a beat too long she was so annoyed. Still Penelope Powered through it. even tuning the pages. Brains in turn turned in his seat. and looked out over the same spot as she’d spent most of the day doing. He sipped his cola, politely ignoring her ignoring him.

“G-good book?” he asked eventually.

“Awful.” Penelope said, calmer. Brains was annoyingly very good at being a good influence. “And not in a way so bad it’s entertaining.”

“Ah. S-shame. Not even if it’s read the wrong way r-round upside down and back to front?”

“Not even then, darling.” She said, putting it back down. And steeled her courage to the sticking place. “And… going back to your question. admittedly I couldn’t face the flight. Home. Or Back to the island.”

Brains frowned. “Do you mean physically or psychologically?”

“Both-.”

“Lady Penelope-!” Brains interrupted.

“well-!” she interrupted right back. Goodness, this felt horribly vulnerable! “I just wasn’t in the mood for another argument. And a long-haul flight, even in a Fireflash, sounded extremely inadvisable at this point.”

“Are you in pain?” Brains asked. Then eyed her glass suspiciously. “Should you be drinking that on medication?”

“Now you sound like a Tracy. It’s a mocktail. I’m not so foolish to get white girl brit-abroad wasted, thank you! Not with bruises.” Penelope said, stirring it for emphasis. And gave a little scowl. “It's mostly fruity and syrup. Parker was right, this isn’t even close to a cocktail.”

“So, if you aren’t drinking a-alcohol, does that mean you are taking pain relief?”

“Yes, Brains I am.”

“The full prescribed dosage?”

Penelope didn’t dignify that with a straight answer. Brains pushed his glasses back up his nose and continued to stare incredulously at her till Penelope explained.

“I didn’t want to take them. They’re so strong. They make me woozy, and I cannot stand how at odds with my own limbs they make me feel.” She grumbled. “I came here to relax, not to be comatose.”

“You came to the island to relax. You went to recover enough to get out of any questions from the press.” Brains corrected. And sighed,

“Mr Tracy’s really gotten to you, hasn’t he?”

“I meant it when I said think what you like.” Lady Penelope said coolly. “I'm here and he’s there. And he’ll still be behind his desk when I get home.”

“Is that your solution for dealing with uncomfortable situations?” Brains accused. “j-just run away and hide.”

“Better to hide in plain sight then get caught." Penelope sniffed.

“That's not denying running away.” Brains retorted.

“It was hardly a run. Given how long it took to repack my bags.” Penelope said, Losing her temper with another old friend. It wasn’t a burning fiery thing this time; this burnt like ice. “And don’t act as if he has never upset you either? Or that you’ve never buried yourself in work to avoid Jeff. Scott told me about the smashed models.”

That last bit she added Rather unfairly. Beastly even. Penelope regretted it the instant she said it. Brains regarded her for a moment, and she thought he might get up and leave that time. She wouldn’t blame him.

Instead, he grumbled, "You’re all very alike y-you know? In that you're all sorry about how you spoke to each other but too stubborn to a-actually apologise. Plus, you’re British and not going to admit he upset you. Really upset you."

"For someone who just said he'd rather watch from the side-lines, you know a lot about how people tick Brains.”

“For someone who’s so cool under pressure she frustrates the Hood? you can be one heck of a hot head sometimes, Lady Penelope!”

Penelope considered he had a point. But didn’t verbally say so.

“What was in your cola to make you so direct today?” she said instead.

“Why didn’t you ask for help?” he replied instead.

“Because I do not always need to be rescued.” Penelope stated. “I’m not a damsel in some story. For every concern Parker or I have called the boys in, there must be a dozen or so missions I handle. sometimes without most of you even being aware of until afterwards.”

“I know.” Brains said quietly. “But you did need rescuing in that situation. Or should have been? And you didn’t ask for help.”

“I am aware, Brains. Hindsight is a marvellous thing.” She snipped. “Unfortunately, I was too late in my decision making.”

“P-Penelope? You were hurt.”

Maybe it was the fact he’d dropped the title? Or it was the unsaid parallels to another tragedy. but Penelope didn’t interrupt.

“In an avalanche of all things. And at one point even missing? And knocked unconscious. Enough to scare us all.” Brains said. “That might be the reason Mr Tracy was, either consciously or not, hard on you. But… It is frustrating that we’re an organisation that helps people; but we’re bad at looking out for each other. Especially to how everyone is feeling, e-emotionally.”

“…Brains, I shouldn’t have snapped at you. Or brought up the Thunderbird Six planning.” She said in a hush. “I'm sorry.”

“Thanks.” Brains nodded. Then added, “A -also how much did he tell you? About the model I broke?”

Penelope was Not glad to change the subject as such. But certainly, latching on to it.

“So, it was on purpose then?” Penelope asked.

“no.” Brains defected. “Frustration? yeah…Failure isn’t an option. Even just demonstrations and trials.”

“He said it was more than one.”

Brains looked up at that, worried.

“S-Scott knew about the other models?”

“No. You just told me.” Penelope pointed out. Brains’ mouth opened and closed twice before just settling on silently frowning. “Scott said they’d been other pitches…and then even after repurposing Alan’s biplane, you seemed to lose confidence in yourself for a little while. That was clear even to Parker and myself.”

“wouldn’t you? nothing was good enough.” Brains frowned. “Nothing I made was what Mr Tracy had in mind.”

This time Lady Penelope did reach across the gap to squeeze his arm. It was more on his sleeve if anything. She didn’t wish to overwhelm the poor fellow.

“There’s no shame in wanting to work to a specification.” She tried.

“Or wanting to stick to the mission.” Brains countered in agreement. “Just please have ah- an extra b- backup plan next time, Lady Penelope? And be more careful around missions with snow.”

Lady Penelope promised she would.

“Annoyingly, I'm normally rather good at them. And please don’t be cross about the models? Scott didn’t tell me a lot. Virgil and John filled me in a little more. It wasn’t gossip, they were worried for you, dear boy.” She continued. “But they told me enough to make me wish you’d gotten to be on board your airship’s maiden voyage. Even if it did get sabotaged and end up a rather dangerous affair.”

“Me too. I’d have liked to see the Sky Ship launch at least. Even if it had just been from inside a Thunderbird.” Brains said, a little wistfully. “Maybe if they ever build a second one? Ah-although I doubt it after the cost of the damage I caused-”

“You get that idea out of your head this instant!” Penelope scolded. Brains looked up at her, shocked. Whether it was her Tone of voice, or he hadn’t meant to say that bit aloud, she didn’t care.

“You didn’t cause Skyship’s nosedive into a controversial missile base.” She reminded him. “Those villains who killed the crew and then one another did. You saved us. The shoot-out caused the crash. None of the blame rests on your shoulders.”

“I know but it was my design-?” he tried.

“Absolutely none of the events are your fault and the blame does not rest on your shoulders. If anyone has said otherwise, then they are exceptionally stupid.” Penelope challenged. “And if you argue that it is your fault even out of misplaced guilt or the like, I will personally throw you in that pool, in what you are wearing right now!”

“You y-you’re not meant to lift anything heavy or do anything strenuous for at least two weeks?!”

“Then I will get Parkers and Tin-tin’s assistance. Don’t think I won’t!”

Brains gulped.

“…I-I don’t think I’ve ever known you so cross.”

“Likewise!”

“First at Mr Tracy, then me.”

“Jeff was being, pardon my language, an arse. you dear are listening to your insecurities. No one gets to make you feel small, Brains. not even your own thoughts.” Penelope said stubbornly.

Brains nodded slowly. And sighed, “I know the actions of others weren’t my fault. And no one said t-they were. The opposite in fact. But like you said earlier? About being blamed. It wasn’t in my control what happened. But I still feel bad?”

“And that was only after it crashed. I felt bad about being laughed at and I think that reflected in everything else I worked on for a while. And how I was with the Tracy’s.” Brains admitted. “I can design incredible machines. I know that. but having no brief made it e-extra challenging when its s-shouldn’t have been. And then the answer had been under our noses the entire time.”

“isn’t it just like that sometimes?”

“Hmm…also I’ve never heard you swear before? That’s t-twice in an hour now.”

“I blame the heat. It’s clearly getting to me.”

“If Mr Tracy apologises, Will you forgive him? and stay?”

Penny withdrew her hand.

“And if he doesn’t?” she suggested.

No one had called her. No one had stopped her leaving Tracy Island in the first place.

“Well, then my analyzation of the situation would be wrong. But I very much doubt Tin-tin and the Tracy brothers would let you leave without a fight. especially if you called Virgil. Middle brother and chief peacekeeper.”

“Why should I be the one to extend the olive branch?”

“Would I be here if you h-had? Because they're trying to give you space and also they are g-genuinely terrified of upsetting you further.” Brains said. “Scott will say he’s sorry the moment you get him on a private call. He’s admitted aloud he messed up.”

“If he messed up, then so did I. Disastrously so.” Penelope admitted. “With such an abysmal rookie mistake too. I'm surprised I wasn’t let go of on the spot.”

Brains had unfortunately taken a swig of his drink and nearly choked on it.

“Let Go!? You a-are our top agent!”

“That, I doubt.” Penelope said. “I failed a mission, old boy. Regardless of the weather and the results. The only reason that microfilm was recovered was sheer dumb luck. I didn’t even complete the task, Parker did it for me. All for what? a twisted ankle, bruised ribs and the whole island laughing at or scolding me!”

“We weren’t laughing!”

“It certainly felt like it.”

“w-what did you just tell me about not listening to your own thoughts?” he tried. “I c-could throw you in the pool!”

“Could you? Try it. Dear.” Penelope challenged, with an eyebrow.

Brains slowly backed down. Not without a complaint.

“Why is throwing people and t-things in the pool the biggest threat in my life recently?”

“You are a gentleman.”

“I mean it though. You’re both our friend and the best agent.” Brains insisted. “You go across the world for us, not just London. You’re the only agent he trusts to have a direct link too. And your portrait hangs on the wall. The only one of our networks. Alongside his own sons.”

“…And what if I’m sick of hiding in plain sight?”

It was very quietly asked. She wasn’t sure Brains had heard it. Penelope was about to pretend she hadn’t said it at all and carry on when he spoke again.

“Can you go without? The trills and the subterfuge.” Brains asked. “Sometimes I'm sick of being an inventor. But if I didn’t create? I’d die!”

“Spoke like a true artist…No. I doubt I could retire even if I needed to. And it has been the only enterprise I’ve been in in my life with some moral backbone.” Penelope admitted. “But I know one thing.”

“What’s t-that?”

“I definitely wasn’t made for relaxing when forced too.”

“M-most definitely a Tracy trait.”

“Tosh. I told you, I'm a bad influence on them, remember? But truly, shall we get out of here?” Penelope suggested. “I believe you said our favourite technician mentioned a trip out?”

“I b-believe I did. That's a good idea.” Brains grinned. “So long as this m-means you’re not cross with me for coming out here.”

“No. I'm rather glad you did.” Penelope smiled. “Give me time to change and arrange the car with Parker.”

“I’ll go let Tin-tin know.” Brains agreed getting up. “When will you be back?”

“Will you be coming with us?” Penelope asked with a frown.

“Hmm, no. not s-shopping at least. But I might come for the drive.” He said, “There's also p-plenty of galleries and museums in the town. and a rather fun shooting range just outside of it. Most of us prefer it to the island one even.”

“Oh darling, you love dressing room montage, and you know it.” Penelope teased. “Here. A toast?”

Brains was bemused. But raised his glass anyway. “T-to what?”

“To the whims of Jeff Tracy.” Lady Penelope joked, “And what we put up with sometimes for international rescue.”

“I’ll drink to that.” He beamed. And clinked his glass to hers.

“Oh, and Brains?” She asked. The scientist turned back.

“Y-yes, Penelope?”

“Thank you. For this.” she said sincerely. “I think a ‘little chat’ was long overdue. And far more needed than a holiday.”

#thunderfam #thunderbirds #thunderbirds 1965 #lady penelope #brains #my fanfiction

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