#has managed to mouth off to at least six times to figures of authority despite being in desperate times

[thebirdandhersong]

I FORGOT TO ADD GEN

[helloalycia]

worth the wait [five] // daisy johnson

summary: the longer Daisy spends with you, the more you realise that maybe nine years isn't enough time to get over her.

warning/s: mentions of PTSD.

author's note: this is the final part, but it was a little long so i’ve put it into two posts. hopefully the daisy stans appreciated it 😊

part one | part two | part three | part four | part six | masterlist | wattpad

I woke with a start, immediately feeling my hair sticking to the nape of my neck and the need to shake off my duvet.

The fear of my nightmare still implanted in the pit of my stomach made me reach for my bedside lamp. I half expected someone to grab my hand in the dark, my imagination working overtime to scare the living hell out of me, but nothing happened except for the lamp turning on.

I sat up in bed and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm my racing heart. It was just a dream, nothing real. And I knew that, logically, since I was in my childhood bedroom instead of a dark torture chamber. Yet I couldn't stop crying and imagining the worst.

It was getting worse – the nightmares, the anxiety, the nausea. Ever since Daisy and my mum had told me to see a therapist, I knew it was getting worse, but I still hadn't done anything about it. Clearly, things had to change.

Barely thinking about, I found myself grabbing my phone and dialling Daisy's number. I hadn't spoken to her since she came over, and it was my fault things had been left on a bad note. That was only last week and I felt like an idiot as I heard the phone ringing.

"Hello?" her groggy voice came through, and I immediately felt bad.

I swallowed the lump in my throat as I tried to silence my heavy breathing. "Hey, Daisy. It's, er, it's Y/N. I'm sorry, I– I didn't mean to wake you. I–"

"Y/N?" she asked, voice laced with fatigue and confusion. "Are you okay? What is it? Where are you?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you," I said quickly, trying to maintain my shakiness. I brought my legs up to my chest and wrapped an arm around them tightly. "I'm at home. I just–" I flinched, closing my eyes. "I'm sorry, did I wake you? My parents gave me your number and I– I didn't know what else to do–"

"You don't need to apologise," she cut me off, wakening up a little by the sounds of it. "I'm glad you called. What's wrong?"

I smiled dryly, wiping away at my tears. "I, er, you were right about me. I should have–" I breathed out deeply. "I need to talk to someone about... yeah. But right now I... I can't go back to sleep."

"Do you want me to come over? I'm not far and–"

"No, no!" I said quickly, slightly embarrassed. "You don't need to– it's the middle of the night. I just– I don't know what I was expecting. I just didn't want to be alone and I didn't wanna wake my parents and worry them."

"Of course," she said reassuringly. "It's okay. I won't come, but I can stay on the phone with you if you'd like? We can talk. Or we can just stay silent. Anything you want."

I sniffled and put my head between my legs, feeling my shoulders relax a little. The last thing I wanted was to be a bother to her.

"Thanks," I muttered, and I wasn't even sure if she heard it. "I'm sorry for how I acted last week... with this."

"We don't need to talk about it," she said softly, her voice raspy as she'd just woken up. "I just want you to be okay."

I closed my eyes, breathing out quietly. I wasn't sure what to say, but the sound of her voice was instantly reassuring.

It was quiet between us, for at least another minute or so, and all I could hear was her breathing on the other side. As much as I appreciated the company, I knew it was unfair of me to keep her on the phone.

Swallowing hard, I said, "Daisy?"

"Yeah? Are you okay?"

I rubbed the bridge of my nose, knowing I wasn't. "I don't think–" I sighed awkwardly. "I won't be falling asleep any time soon and I– er, you should go. I don't want to keep you on here for no reason."

"It's not for no reason," she reassured. "I'll stay on until you fall asleep, Y/N. You'll get tired eventually."

"But if I don't–"

"I'll stay on."

I nodded, despite her being unable to see me. "Thank you..."

It went quiet again, and I felt my heart rate returning to its normal pace as I distracted myself with the sound of Daisy's breathing. It wasn't hard to tire myself to the sound, as I was already exhausted, just scared. But when I closed my eyes and let her breathing comfort me, it almost felt like she was right next to me, and my fear slowly faded away.

—

When I woke up the next morning, I was drooling on my phone screen as the sun streamed through my curtains. When I wiped my mouth, a yawn escaped my lips and I moved my phone from my pillow, confused to why it was there. But then I remembered the early hours of that morning and felt my face flush with embarrassment. I checked the screen, seeing the call wasn't still on, but there was a text from Daisy.

Daisy: hey, Y/N, I hope you feel better in the morning. I figured you wouldn't want to wake up to me on the phone, so I hung up. Please don't be angry, but I'm on my way over to see you. I just want to make sure you're okay.

That message was sent fifteen minutes ago, so I wouldn't put it past Daisy to already be outside. It was embarrassing, don't get me wrong, but I appreciated that she cared enough to check on me, even after I'd treated her disrespectfully.

I'd just managed to brush my teeth when Daisy arrived. My mum called me downstairs, claiming it was for me, and I tried not to fidget in my pyjamas as I descended the stairs and saw Daisy waiting by the front door. When she saw me, a relieved smile was on her lips.

"Hey," she began quietly, hesitant to say more in case I was mad.

I exhaled slowly, shoulders relaxing at the sight of her. She'd helped me more than she'd known, and with that thought in my mind, I moved forward and hugged her gratefully.

"Thank you," I whispered into her shoulder, closing my eyes as my arms laced around her neck.

She returned the hug and I sensed her surprise.

"Anytime, Y/N," she replied with a squeeze. "I just want you to be okay."

I nodded, lingering for a moment longer than I probably should have, before pulling away. She searched my eyes with a hint of concern and I subconsciously grabbed her hand and kept ahold of it.

"I'm gonna book an appointment with a therapist," I told her, the thought terrifying me in itself, but I knew it was the right thing to do. "And I wanted to ask if you... would you..." I swallowed hard, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. "Will you please come with me?"

"Of course I will," she promised, squeezing my hand and earning my attention. "I'll be with you whenever you want." She blinked, clearing her throat with realisation. "I mean, for the appointments, obviously."

Thankfully, her messy words brought a smile to my face and reassured me about the whole therapy thing.

"Thank you," I said, finding it cute how she was the one to avoid my eyes now. "Since you're here, you may as well stay for breakfast. If you're not busy, that is."

"Breakfast. Sure. I'd love to."

I didn't let go of her hand as I tugged her towards the kitchen to join me.

—

Having Daisy back in my life was probably the best thing to happen to me in a long time.

Not only had she literally saved my life as Quake, but she was also saving my life every day after. Whether it was accompanying me to my therapist appointments or hospital appointments, or hanging out with me way more than she needed to, she was more present in my life. I didn't ask her to – it only began when I'd asked her to come to my first therapist appointment – but she'd chosen to. And I didn't want to question it because I'd missed her more than I cared to admit.

My parents took her in as family like no time had passed and I was accepting her back into my life, too, but I didn't want to get too attached. She had a job to do at the end of the day, and knowing Daisy, she wouldn't stay for too long. I guess, in the back of my head, there was still that expectation of her picking up and leaving, just like she used to. Which was silly, since that was years ago, but still...

Despite her presence in my life again, we'd been avoiding talking about what we'd missed in each other's lives. The specifics anyway. I knew she joined S.H.I.E.L.D. and found her family, and she knew I became an investigative journalist and did many news packages on different topics, but I didn't know anything more and neither did she. I wasn't sure if it was on purpose or if we just avoided it without thinking, but I knew we had to face the music soon.

We were getting coffee after she picked me up from one of my therapy sessions when I brought it up.

"So, my therapist has been helping me with some stuff," I began, staring at my coffee as we walked back to my house. "Stuff outside of my PTSD, that is."

"Oh?" Daisy asked, and I could see her looking at me in the corner of my eyes. "Like what?" 

I took a sip of my coffee, trying not to feel embarrassed as I answered, "Well, we obviously talk about my life. And what happens in it. Who I'm with..."

"Yeah..." Daisy was grinning now.

I rolled my eyes, wishing my face wasn't as warm as it felt. "She noticed you've been dropping me off and picking me up and... you may have come up in conversation."

"Ah, so you talk about me," she said slowly, trying very hard not to laugh. "Did you tell her how amazing I am? Or how beautiful, charming and funny I am?"

I sighed, finally lifting my eyes to look at her. Brown eyes twinkled with amusement as she gave me her usual teasing smile, making me shove her in the shoulder gently. Laughter spilled from her lips and I hated the butterflies in my stomach at the sound.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she said, falling into step with me again. "You were saying. Go on."

Looking back ahead as we walked, I said, "Yes, well, we talked about you. And then she recommended that I try to catch up with you more. You know? Because we both talk so much about the good old days and even now, but not the in between. Not the parts that we weren't there for."

I looked back to Daisy when I finished, and she thankfully lost her amusement as she nodded in agreement. I half expected her to take the piss, but she was supportive as she glanced at me.

"I like the sound of that," she said, easing the nerves in my stomach. "So. What do you want to know?"

I cleared my throat, taking another sip of my drink and thinking of where to start. "Okay, erm... why don't we start with your S.H.I.E.L.D. friends? They're your family and I would love to get to know them better. What are they like?"

She nodded thoughtfully, sipping her coffee. "S.H.I.E.L.D., okay. Well, you met Jemma. She's basically my sister. Her and Fitz – I think I mentioned him before?" I nodded, recalling her throwing in the name in one of her stories. "They're together and they've been with me since I was recruited a few years ago. We've been through a lot together, but they've got my backs and I've got theirs."

I smiled at the carefree expression on her face. Just talking about them put her at ease and I felt a little better knowing that her time after high school wasn't completely terrible like I imagined.

"Then there's Coulson, of course," she continued, glancing at me every now and then to see if I was listening. "He's basically our dad. He's the reason I'm even with S.H.I.E.L.D. and he's always looking out for me, even when I'm doing stupid stuff."

"So, regularly then."

She nudged me in the arm at my comment, making me chuckle.

"He was how I learnt about my family," she explained. "There for me when I found them. When I got my powers. When I lost my family... he's been there through it all. I'd do anything for him."

I watched her carefully. "He sounds important to you."

Her lips curved into a small smile as brown eyes met mine. "He is."

She continued to tell me about the rest of her team and what everything was like at work, and the whole time she did, she was smiling.

"I'd love for you to meet them all," she finished, and I was surprised at the hint of nervousness in her voice. I didn't think she ever got nervous. "I mean, you've met Jemma, but the others– you should meet them, too. If you want to, that is."

"I'd like that," I said instantly, appreciating the way her eyes lit up and she tried very hard to hide her smile.

She cleared her throat, distracting from the pink spreading on her face, before asking, "So, you basically know about everything interesting that's happened to me these past nine or so years. What about you? Anything life-changing occur for you?" I opened my mouth to answer, and she added, "Apart from travelling around the world and being an investigative journalist?"

I feigned offence. "I hardly think that's fair. That's like me asking you not to talk about working for S.H.I.E.L.D. or being Quake."

Rolling her eyes playfully, she said, "Go on. Tell me something different."

I looked away from her in thought, thinking back to the past nine years. "I guess... oh, I know. I was almost married."

Her jaw dropped. "You were what?"

A laugh escaped my lips at her intrigued expression. She shook her head with disbelief.

"I have to know more," she insisted, before raising her brows. "You? Almost married?"

"It does sound strange," I agreed with amusement, before recalling the event. "It was about two years ago. I was with this guy who worked at the same paper I did. We'd been together for about a year and–"

"–and you realised he had a second family in the Bahamas?" she finished with a roguish grin.

"Very funny." I narrowed my eyes jokingly. "But no. I just realised I didn't love him. Well, I wasn't in love with him."

"Ouch."

"Ouch indeed." I paused, remembering the poor guy's face when I broke the news to him. "It was a month into the engagement when I told him the truth. He was very understanding, but–"

"–but you broke his poor little heart," she concluded, before wrapping an arm around my shoulder and tugging me closer. "Dear Y/N. The heartbreaker."

"Fuck off."

She laughed when she saw me attempting to fight a smile from my lips. Though eventually, one appeared anyway. Daisy always had the ability to bring out the best in me like that – I'd missed it.

"How about you anyway?" I asked, hoping for an opportunity to tease her in return. "Any boyfriends or girlfriends I should know about? Crazy exes, maybe?"

She snorted, swallowing her coffee before giving me a knowing look. "You're gonna need to brace yourself for this one. I doubt you'll believe me when it comes to this."

I rose an eyebrow with curiosity. "Damn, you've got me hooked, Johnson. Proceed."

And of course, that was the first and last time I heard about Agent Grant Ward. An interestingly dark tale of a dickhead of a man whose existence I was glad was no more.

"...so, do I win?" Daisy asked once she finished talking about him.

"Win what?"

She stared like it was obvious. "The best ex story, duh!"

"Wow." I snickered, shaking my head. "I guess you do."

Fist-pumping like an idiot, she said, "Knew it. Nothing ever beats homicidal psychopath almost-boyfriend."

"You need help."

"No, no I don't. I have you."

"Uh-huh."

"Love you, too." 

—

Three months passed since returning from Myanmar and I was finally in a place where I could return to work. Even though I'd been putting together my research and interviews into a coherent news story at home, I hadn't physically been back to the newsroom in about a year.

My therapist had been helping me to treat my PTSD, my physical therapy was helping me get back function in my shoulder and arm, and the injury itself was almost healed, though I still had to wear a cast. Everything was actually beginning to look up.

I'd even sent off the complete news series about what I'd discovered in Myanmar to my editor which got published just before I returned to work. So, of course, as soon as I got there, that was the first thing everybody congratulated me on.

"Views have been going through the roof," Taylor, my colleague and closest friend at work, said as soon as he spotted me walking to my desk. "Your story is all anybody has been talking about!"

"Good to see you, too," I joked, an attempt to disguise my embarrassment at all the attention. "It's only been a year since we last saw each other."

He gave me a grin. "You know I missed you, Y/L/N, get over here."

I rolled my eyes playfully but accepted his hug, being careful of my shoulder. He squeezed me gently before letting go and perching himself on the edge of my desk as I took a seat. It felt strange to be back, but a good strange.

"I still can't believe you're actually here in the flesh," he said after a moment, eyeing me suspiciously. "I've been so used to quick calls and texts where I try to convince you not to do stupid stuff."

Chuckling, I shot him an appreciative smile. "You know I'm grateful for that. Even if I didn't listen."

"You not listening helped you get the best story though," he countered. "I bet you didn't expect S.H.I.E.L.D. to make the bust in the end though."

I sighed, shaking my head. "Definitely not. But I owe them a lot. They saved my life."

His expression softened. "That's another thing... thanks for not dying on me."

"You're welcome," I returned, though appreciated what he meant. "Now. Catch me up on everything I missed. Gossip an' all."

That was enough for him to pull up a seat and remind me of everything I'd missed whilst being away. We'd spoke many times whilst I was gone, but nothing quite beat a good bitching session in person.

Eventually though, our editor ended up interrupting and asked to see me in her office. I wasn't worried in the slightest, but there was still that tiny part of me that imagined the worst.

"You can stop holding your breath, y'know," Karla told me when I stopped before her desk. She seemed amused as she added, "I wanted to congratulate you on the human trafficking story."

Relaxing my shoulders, I raised my brows. "Oh. I– thank you. I'm glad you liked it."

"You put a lot on the line to get the results you did, but it shows," she continued proudly. "You've made an excellent name for yourself and done your fellow journalists proud."

"I didn't do it for that," I said politely, "but thank you. I just wanted to help those people in Myanmar the best I could."

She smiled. "And you did."

"Well, S.H.I.E.L.D. did."

"But you shared the truth, didn't you?" she reminded me. "Don't belittle this achievement."

I didn't know what to say, so I stayed quiet and watched as she took a seat at her desk chair.

"I heard that it was Quake who saved you back there," she said curiously. "You know, we've never actually gotten an interview with her. Nobody has."

Oh, so that's what she actually wanted.

"I thought, well, since you know her, you could get us an exclusive?" she asked.

I chewed on my lip. "Erm..."

"You don't have to," she added, noticing my reluctance. "But it could be good for everyone. The city can get to know its hero, you can get a great interview under your belt. And our paper gets all the views. What d'you say?"

I was beginning to regret putting that one quote from Daisy in my article now... I should have known Karla would want more. That was the thing with editors – you give them one taste and they want to eat the whole thing.

"I'll ask," I decided, which she seemed to love. "No harm in asking, but I can't promise anything."

Karla leaned back in her seat, nodding. "Very true. Thank you for understanding. I'll let you settle back into work now. Remember to take it easy, yeah? Don't want to lose my best journalist from overworking herself."

I smiled awkwardly as she laughed, before nodding in response and leaving her office.

It wasn't that I didn't want to interview Daisy, but I didn't want to ruin what we had by asking for a favour. Everything between us was going well, even if it was probably temporary and she'd have to leave soon. I assumed that anyway. And on top of that, I was certain I was falling in love with her again, just like I had nine years ago.

Could you blame me? It was impossible to just remain friends with her when she went through all this extra effort to make sure I was okay. Her kind, considerate, supportive self was always on my mind whether I liked it or not. A girl could dream, right?

After my first day back, Daisy picked me up outside. She insisted when she rang me at lunchtime to make sure I was okay, wanting to know everything about how my first day went. I couldn't find it in myself to say no, so I eventually found her sat on a chair in the lobby when I came downstairs after work.

[theparanormalperiodical]

Top 10 Controversial Horror Films That Are Famous For All The Wrong Reasons *gags* *cries*

At the beating heart of horror is offence.

From that undeniable sense of something not being quite right, to the CGI-blood-spurtin’-adrenaline-fuelled scenes that leave us shaking in our boots, horror pivots on the knife edge of controversy.

It’s used to drive plots. It’s used to drive hype. And at the end of the month, it drives studio executives to the bank.

Horror films can be traumatic enough. But there are some films that bear the cross of controversy more than others. There are some films that have been branded as so damaging to their potential viewers that merely circulating copies of the film is illegal.

And yet their infamy has forged cult viewership. What was once shielded from us has now become ‘must see’.

Today we are going to be counting down horror’s most controversial films and what made them quite so topical.

*I’m going to star the ones that you can actually watch without getting traumatised. Some are controversial not because of their content but because some religious or political groups disagreed with them*

#10 - The Blair Witch Project (1999)*

Let’s ease in with a classic - a classic you can watch without sleeping with the light on.

In this found-footage flick we see a team of film students as they explore a local urban legend. But what they find leads them to unknown and ungodly territory.

The problem with this film is that it was marketed as a true story. No, not based on a true story, a true story. Yep, they claimed what we were seeing was real, found footage of some teens going mad as they forage deeper into mysterious woods.

IMBd went so far as to report that the actors were dead. Then, the movie studio super-charged their efforts to confirm to the public that not only was this film 100% real, the three main actors were still missing. The parents of the actors then started receiving sympathy cards.

There’s even a mocked up website that perpetuates these claims. 

#9 - Night Of The Living Dead (1968)*

Time for another not-too-disturbing film.

This is the original zombie apocalypse film saw a group of Americans attempt to survive an incoming attack of the undead while trapped in a rural farmhouse.

But the Motion Picture Association of America wasn’t too happy about it. The film rating system was yet to be in place, allowing children to also show up for an afternoon screening and be greeted by a 97 minute montage of extreme violence.

“The kids in the audience were stunned. There was almost complete silence. The movie had stopped being delightfully scary about halfway through, and had become unexpectedly terrifying. There was a little girl across the aisle from me, maybe nine years old, who was sitting very still in her seat and crying”

#8 - Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer (1986)

In this psychological film, we watch a random crime spree take place at the hands of a couple serial killers. Loosely based on real murderers Henry Lee Lucas and Ottis Toole, its controversial reputation was founded on the gore ‘n’ guts screened in the movie.

Whilst it didn’t receive much attention from the public, various classification boards across the world ensured new versions edited with certain scenes - often involving sexual assault and necrophilia - removed for viewers.

In 2003, the BBFC (the UK classification board) finally allowed the uncut version to be released and Australia followed suit in 2005.

#7 - I Spit On Your Grave (1978)

It’s the original rape-revenge flick. And it managed to piss everyone off.

Originally titled Day of the Woman, it tells the story of a fiction writer who exacts revenge on a group of four men who gang rape her.

Despite its pro-women claim-to-fame, the 30 minute rape scene begs to differ. Furious debate surrounds its feminist label as a film that forces the audience to endure rape from a female perspective and long-winded violence against men (something which is often reserved for women in horror). Regardless, the graphic violence earned it a steady ban in Ireland, Norway, Iceland, and West Germany.

#6 - Silent Night, Deadly Night (1984)*

You don’t get many controversial Christmas films. They typically stick to a cookie-cutter plot ‘n’ purpose every holiday season. But there are no strong women who need to rediscover the meaning of Christmas here.

Instead, we see a child traumatised by seeing his parents murdered on Christmas Eve go on a seasonal rampage as an adult.

A week after its release in the early 80s, it was pulled from theatres due to backlash. Marketing was focused on a Santa Claus killer with adverts often airing during family-friendly TV programmes and meant numerous children developed a phobia of Father Christmas. Large crowds protested cinemas with one notable protest involving angry families singing carols at the Interboro Quad Theater in The Bronx.

It was only in 2009 - 25 years after its original release - that a DVD of the film was first made available for purchase in the UK.

#5 - Psycho (1960)*

This legendary film follows the disappearance of a young woman after her encounter with a strange man called Norman Bates, one of horror’s most iconic figures. The controversy that would engulf this fim lay not in the violent attack on an innocent woman or even the disturbing content of the film.

Oh, no. It was because of what the leading lady was wearing.

In the opening scene of the film, we see Janet Leigh wearing nothing but a bra.

*gasp*

This racy attire was emblazoned across promotional material, meeting Hitchcock’s high standards of creating controversy around the movie. There was a no late admission policy for movie theaters, and the posters told viewers “Do not reveal the surprises!” to maintain a mysterious aura around the plot twist.

#4 - The Human Centipede (2009) (all of ‘em)

I’ve watched a lot of horror films, in case you couldn’t tell.

I’m used to watching a scary movie, shaking off the anxiety, and moving on with my life. But there are some that stayed with me. I only watched the trailer for the first movie, and it legitimately traumatised me. It gave me quite a severe, sudden bout of a depression for a solid month when I was 13.

Throughout horror’s goriest franchise, we see an evil doctor and amateur mad scientist attempt to sow several people together into a centipede-like chain from mouth to anus.

*retches*

At the heart of promoting the franchise was controversy. Tom Six, the director, forced a narrative that claimed from the first film that this was "100% medically accurate". He even alleged a Dutch doctor helped inspire the film, confirming that with an IV drip, this was entirely possible.

Although it didn’t receive furore that amounted to serious censorship or long-term banning, it was infamous for having its viewers vomiting in the cinema aisles.

The second film, however, was subject to much more severe controversy and could not legally be supplied in the UK until 2011 due to its heavy focus on sexual abuse, more graphic violence than the original film, and it’s pretty vile depiction of a murderer that was intellectually disabled.

Audiences were used to the graphic nature of the franchise by the third and final release. As the least-controversial and least-enjoyable film according to critics, it barely made a dent in the horror community.

Good riddance, I guess?

#3 - Faces Of Death (1978)

I’m not sure I’d recommend this one per se - but I will give it credit for being an interesting project.

This documentary-style film is a montage of footage of people dying in different ways. As a result of its very graphic and very real content, it was banned and censored in many countries. Only in 2003 was it released on DVD in the UK after a scene was cut featuring dogs fighting and a monkey being beaten to death.

Germany, Australia, and New Zealand followed suit, reversing their bans and releasing edited versions.

However, 7 years after its release, the media revamped its interest in the film after a maths teacher showed it to his class at a Californian high school. Two of his students claimed they were so traumatised they received a costly settlement to reimburse their emotional distress. Things took a darker turn a year later, when a 14 year old bludgeoned a classmate to death with a baseball bat; he claimed he wanted to see what it would be like to actually kill someone after watching Faces of Death.

#2 - Cannibal Holocaust (1980)

This Italian film’s title alone hints towards two frightening things: flesh-eating humans and genocide. In this found-footage movie we see an anthropologist lead a rescue team into the Amazon rainforest to find a group of filmmakers that went missing.

The rampant graphic content including sexual assault and animal cruelty showcased in the film (7 animals were killed during filming in some pretty horrific ways) led to it being banned in 50 countries.

Some also alleged that a handful of deaths seen in the film were real, as were the missing film crew. In fact, the actors portraying the documentarians signed contracts that stopped them appearing in motion pictures for an entire year to maintain the illusion of reality.

And only 10 days after its premiere, the director was charged with obscenity and the film confiscated. All copies were to be turned over to the authorities. There are currently a range of versions that have been edited to varying degrees and are allowed for circulation.

#1 - A Serbian Film (2010)

No.

Nope.

Don’t do it. Don’t watch this film.

A Serbian Film follows a retired porn star who agrees to feature in an “art film” for some cash. Little does he know this film will include rape, incest, pedophilia, necrophilia…

Just don’t watch it.

It is still banned in South Korea, New Zealand, Australia. It is supposedly a parody of politically correct films made in Serbia that are funded by foreign groups and allegedly speaks openly about post-war society and the struggle for survival.

*shakes head*

Off to have a 3 hour shower, brb.

If you, uhhh, liked this post please like and reblog.

And if you want to hear more about horror and the supernatural every week hit follow!

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

Crossword Clues & Coffee - Five Across

Summary: A chance encounter in Lebanon’s finest (read: only) diner leads Dean to find the one thing he never knew his life was missing.

Warnings: Tiny bit of language? Angst. LOTS of sass. Honestly, it’s a lot of fluff. No romance.

Author’s Note: Many thanks to @there-must-be-a-lock for always-masterful revision and editing advice, and to @thoughtslikeaminefield for encouragement and flails. I think we all need something a little more light-hearted these days, so here you go.

MAJOR NOTE: DO NOT QUIT IN THE MIDDLE. DO NOT KILL ME. READ TO THE END OF THE CHAPTER. You've trusted me this long, just read til the end of the chapter. One more chapter after this one.

Word Count: 1269

In Case You Missed It: CC&C: One Across | Two Down | Three Down | Three Across | Four Down

ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

Five Across

Winter brings chill winds and a rattling cough to Esther’s chest that has Dean this close to just picking her up, sticking her in Baby, and taking her to the doctor himself. She waves him off his “fussing,” swallows some pills, and puts her kettle on the stove for yet another cup of honeyed tea.

Dean gets it; she’s been along for a long time, and even before that she was the one who took care of everyone, not the other way around. Dean understands a little too well, actually.

That doesn’t mean he has to like it.

When Dean arrives at the diner the following Tuesday only to receive a message from one of the waitresses that Esther called and isn’t “feeling up to breakfast,” he turns on his heel without a word, stops for ten minutes at the grocery store, and is at Esther’s front door before Baby even has time to stop growling in the driveway.

He knocks once, for propriety’s sake (and only because Esther actually gives a damn about propriety in the first place), and then barges straight in, one arm cradling a small paper grocery sack as his eyes sweep the empty living room.

“Esther?” he calls. He drops the groceries on the table and heads in the direction of the coughing, his heart sinking lower with every little gasping breath he hears at the end of the coughs.

He finds Esther propped up in bed, not even dressed for the day despite it being an hour past their normal meeting time. She looks smaller than usual, the fluffy comforter pulled up around her shoulders as she holds a handkerchief to her mouth just before another round of coughs racks her frail form.

She doesn’t look surprised at Dean’s appearance, doesn’t even fuss at his unannounced arrival, and that honestly worries him as much as the coughing. He retrieves a glass from the kitchen, fills it with cool water, and holds his own steadying hand around Esther’s as she drinks slow sips.

He sets about making her honeyed tea and the oatmeal he purchased from the grocery store, adding some honey to the hot grain (sludge, he thinks with a bone-deep shudder). Then, sighing deeply, he adds a second bowl to the tray for himself.

She’ll be angry if he doesn’t eat, too.

She’s steadier after the hot meal, her coughs subsiding, and they manage a stilted conversation for a couple of minutes before Dean clears away their breakfast dishes and returns with the newspaper he brought.

Rather than handing it over, he pulls out his own pencil stub and starts reading the crossword clues aloud, waiting for input between coughing fits with an increasing tightness in his gut that he doesn’t quite hide behind the death grip on his pencil nor his deepening frown.

His teeth grind a little harder, and his gut twists a little tighter with every cough or rattle in her breath. She’s as stubborn as Sam on a quest to save the world, and Dean is irritated down to his soul. Every wheeze makes the fire burn a little hotter until he finally breaks, somewhere between Esther’s fourth coughing fit and the clue for twelve down (“Related to the lungs, 9 letters”).

“You won’t go to the doctor or the hospital, so does that mean you’re giving up? You done here?” He knows he’s being blunt, bordering on rude, but he’s past caring about manners.

“Because I’m not done with you. Not with coffee, not with dinners, not with… with fixing up your house. I still have… the flower beds to dig up, and you asked me to work on your porch, and… we haven’t even gone through a quarter of your recipe box. I’m not… I don’t accept it. You’re too damn stubborn to just quit.”

His torrent of words startles the truth out of Esther at last, and her eyes mist over a little. “Stanley died in a hospital. Doctors misdiagnosed him over and over, ignored some of his symptoms, just wouldn’t listen. Haven’t trusted them since. Figured if I can’t handle it myself, I can at least try to be comfortable at home.”

Dean mulls that over, his eyebrows drawn low, acid roiling in his gut. He probably looks angry, which is better than looking as scared as he feels. He’s got a feeling she sees right through the anger anyway.

“So you aren’t ready to die?”

She studies him for a long moment, taking in a slow, rattling breath but managing to forestall the next round of coughs with a sip of lukewarm tea.

“No, Dean, I’m not quite ready to go yet. Seems I’ve got a thing or two left worth sticking around for after all.”

Dean covers her hands with his once more, pressing his lips together to stop the tremor. He isn’t quite able to ignore how cool and fragile her fingers feel against his palm, how thin and papery her skin feels against his callouses. He holds her eyes with his own, his expression brooking no arguments.

“Good, I’m making a call to a friend. He’s not a doctor, but he’s going to help you.”

“You’re going to call a stranger over to-”

He cuts her off, his tone hardened steel to her iron.

“I’m calling a friend to help you. You said you’re not ready to give up. This is your option.”

Dean already has his phone, tapping in a quick text. His eyes flick to hers, not asking permission, but she nods anyway, and he hits send on his phone. There’s a whooshing noise, vaguely fluttering, from the hallway behind him, and Cas walks in, tie and trench coat in their usual disarray.

“What’s the emergency, Dean? Where’s Sam?”

“Heal her, Cas,” he says without preamble, his eyes locked on Esther’s. She raises her eyebrows, glances to Cas, but then looks back to Dean. He sees the questions rushing across her face, but for whatever reason, she chooses silent acceptance.

Her fingers tremble in his grip, but she redoubles her hold on him as Cas moves to her other side. The angel reaches out, places a chaste hand on her collarbone, and closes his eyes. The glow is brief and warm, and the rattle in Esther’s chest disappears.

Esther breathes deeply for a moment, her eyes wide with shock, and she looks from the angel to the hunter with her mouth agape. Her fingers grip Dean’s with more force than a moment ago, and relief floods through Dean so fast his head spins.

The tiny, elderly woman stammers for a moment, as off-kilter as Dean has ever seen her, before closing her mouth with a near-audible snap. She licks her lips, swallows, clears her throat, and then looks up at Cas.

“Go hang up your coat and put your shoes by the front door, young man. Straighten your tie, as well, and then go start the coffee. You’re skin and bones, too. Dean, I’m starving. No more oatmeal, we’re going to make a real breakfast. Now shoo, both of you. I have to get dressed.”

Esther swings her legs over the side of the bed, standing with a bit more alacrity than she’s used to, and she glances over at Dean, her eyes narrow.

“Hips not bothering you so much now, huh?”

“Dean Campbell, do not ask a woman about her hips; that is beyond indecent. Now get out of my bedroom, young man. Go be useful.”

Dean grins, shutting the door and heading down the hall to find Cas before the angel can destroy the coffee pot.

...

Next: Six Down

[bigskydreaming]

Have you seen Linkara's review of The Dark Knight Returns? He goes into why the view of Robin as a soldier, popularized but by no means invented by Miller, is so dangerous.

I have not, but I need to refresh my memory before I go check it out because I’ll either agree with it or be infuriated by it and I can’t remember which just at the moment but would like to before I restart that argument ten years later.

LOL, so like, I knew Linkara yeeears and years ago. We were both regular posters on Gail Simone’s messageboard on CBR like fifteen years ago, maybe longer. Pretty sure we even met in person a couple times at Gail’s annual SDCC breakfast meetups, but not sure. I do know for sure though that he and I were both involved in a three way argument about this very topic with another guy.....I just can not remember if he was the one who agreed with me or the one we were both fighting with about it, LOL. I THINK we were in agreement as while I wasn’t like.....as pro-DC as most YABSers were given that it was Gail’s board and I mostly hung out at the X-boards and just swung by YABS once a week or so BECAUSE I couldn’t stand all the ass-kissing that went on at that board so that DC writers and artists would hang out and post regularly, LOL, like I’m pretty sure I remember Link as being one of the less....vehement of the pro-DC camp.

(Tbh, one of the biggest ways in which I disagreed with Gail on stuff is I UNDERSTOOD her feeling a need to be civil with other DC pros even if she didn’t like them personally, I just....couldn’t manage the same and didn’t feel any desire to try. Like for example, not sure how many people know who Ethan van Sciver is, but he’s a long time high profile DC artist, best known for his GL stuff.....but he used to hang around YABS pretty regularly. EvS is ALSO a haaaaaardcore conservative, Trumpian, and all around terrible person. And he always was.

Like he’d play it civil back then but his opinions were downright hateful on a variety of topics, particularly towards marginalized groups, but he was good at picking just the right moments to half-assedly walk something back the second he took something ‘too far’ - so like, the end result was he said it and everyone saw and remembered, but before anyone could react he’d drop the mea culpa card and be like oh I’m sorry I know that was out of line, I was just caught up in the moment and it’s all good cuz this is all friendly debate anyway right? We’re just talking here.

And he’d pull this crap all the time but because he was a DC pro, people would let him get away with it and warn people off coming down on him so he didn’t feel unwelcome at the board. Now the painfully ironic twist here is that shockingly, totally unexpectedly.....fast forward to about five or six years ago where good old Ethan burns a shit ton of bridges and decides well why not make things a dumpster fire for everyone in my vicinity....and he became the driving force behind a bunch of alt right comic book fans starting their own weak ass version of Gamergate, only called Comicsgate. It never was nearly as....big...as Gamergate was, but it was still ugly. And the thing is, Ethan sicced his sycophants on other industry pros he’d worked with over the years but always disagreed with on politics.....like really let the ugly fly....and most of these pros included Gail as well as a bunch of the other DC professionals from back in the YABS days.

Because thing was....that was literally WHY he’d hung out at YABS so much back then, despite being so far in disagreement with most of the progressive leaning board. He was always just interested in stirring shit up, he never actually had the slightest interest in debate or seeing the other side of anything....he just knew how to play the right cards to get the right people to come to his defense and cool things off rather than run him off, in the name of keeping things civil and such...all so he could start it all up again a couple weeks later.

And this is literally why that kind of thing doesn’t work for me at all. Because he wasn’t really that subtle even then, most people knew all along exactly what he was doing, and letting him get away with shit that would have gotten anyone else banned purely because he was a industry pro just meant that his opportunities to subject anyone in his vicinity to just vile, hateful shit ended up more protected than all the marginalized posters on that board who didn’t come to it to see his shit but had to constantly listen to it anyway because people were more interested in making excuses for him than making it comfortable for everyone else.

And in the end, he ended up turning on the very people who’d protected him from everyone else ripping into his hateful viewpoints with the directness they merited. Which just. Sigh. To me just smacks of a whole lot of unnecessary years spent putting up with his barely veiled bullshit until he didn’t bother even veiling it anymore....even though the reality is NOBODY was ever buying into his veil of it in the first place and we all knew what was right behind it all along. Anyway. Not that it matters LOL, but good old Eth, was one of the primary reasons I decided not to go into comics when I had a couple of opportunities come up, as I decided to focus my efforts on Hollywood at the time instead. Lmao, I figured if I was going to have to keep my mouth shut about coworkers whose opinions I vehemently disagreed with in the name of professionalism, I might as well focus on the profession that would pay me more money to keep that to myself. Look, at least capitalism is useful when ADHD and trying to pretend to be decisive about life choices.)

Long ramble nobody asked for aside, like I said, I can’t remember Link’s take on this particular topic but it’s likely the one I agreed with for the most part. My own take has always been that Miller sucks and if he said it chances are I said he was wrong because he is about everything and my religion is people saying so and by people I mean me. My religion’s also big on self-actualization. Not sure what else, I did just make it up and I think I’ll probably just stop there so I don’t accidentally make it a cult.

But yeah. I mean, maybe it’ll surprise people given how critical I am of the abusive elements of canon, but I’ve never applied the child endangerment/child soldier argument to sidekicks. It’s obviously not that they don’t get hurt in these stories and even traumatized, it’s not that they’re NOT in danger as kids....it’s just why I put such an emphasis on it being their choice to fight crime and be heroes and NOT something that Bruce or any other mentor or parent pushed them into.

Because this is one of the reasons why death of the author more often than not just doesn’t work for me. Authorial intent matters. Readers are always free to interpret a text however they want, regardless of authorial intent....but IF a writer has a specific intent behind a narrative choice, chances are most interpretations that refuse to align themselves with that viewpoint aren’t really all that RELEVANT to the story the writer was trying to tell in the first place.

Don’t get me wrong. Those other interpretations can still exist. They’re allowed to exist. People can abide by them all they want. But if someone’s takeaway from a story is a deliberate choice to read it entirely different from the story the writer intended it to be.....like, their interpretation is all well and good, but it’s not actually at all a RELEVANT commentary on or review of the story the writer was actually writing. They’re not actually saying the writer did a poor job of telling the story or was wrong in how they did it....because they’re not actually talking about the story the writer was actually telling.

Thus their commentary on it exists. But it’s just not that relevant. Because nothing in it even CAN offer an opinion on how else the writer could or should have written that story....because the story they ARE talking about isn’t the story the writer was even interested in writing.

Now, there are some times when authorial intent DOESNT matter. And when criticism of it is entirely fair and earned even if it’s of something the writer didn’t consciously or deliberately write into their story at all. But these things are almost ALWAYS unconscious. Unlike what I was just talking about, where the writer was very consciously writing the story a certain way for a reason, and thus people who aren’t interested in reading the story the way it was written to be read just can’t offer up a commentary that says anything useful or meaningful about the story that was actually written...the flip side of this is when the writer puts things they don’t intend into the text, but still are very much there all the same.

And this sort of thing applies to things like micro aggressions or racism, homophobia, sexism....things where a writer didn’t sit down intending to be offensive or alienate their readers but still put in things that they don’t think to view as offensive due to their own privilege and lack of experience EXPERIENCING the microaggressions that marginalized readers might be all TOO familiar with and thus can’t avoid reading into a passage where the writer might not have INTENDED harm or offense, but delivered it all the same. Because they didn’t think to put it into their story, they weren’t TRYING to....but they didn’t think to avoid putting it in there either, even if it’s because they didn’t know to until it’s pointed out to them that it’s there.

And this also applies to when the writer puts into their story, via whatever viewpoint they’re writing from, things that herald from their own viewpoints, how they view the world, even in terms of unconscious biases or expectations....but things that readers can still interpret as something they vehemently disagree with, even if the narrative seems to condone it. Because a lot of these viewpoints are things where the way they’re written....even just not coming out as clearly not condoning or agreeing it can effectively be read as tacitly condoning it.

So to apply all this to the idea of child sidekicks and child soldiers:

They’re not one and the same, and thus treating them as one and the same or interchangeable is IMO an inherently flawed perspective that doesn’t ever have anything USEFUL or RELEVANT to the stories that most people are trying to tell with child heroes and sidekicks.

With the notable exceptions of Miller, Ennis and certain other writers who by their own admission usually aren’t even trying to write about superheroes but rather deconstructions of the genre as a whole.....the vast majority of comic book writers, even the ones I dislike LOL, aren’t writing about child soldiers when they write characters like the Robins. Because CONSCIOUSLY, with INTENT, they’re already trying to write something completely different:

Child heroes and sidekicks are almost universally written to be child (although to be really fair, for the most part they’re largely teen) empowerment allegories. They’re youth power fantasies.

They’re stories about kids, about teens, getting to be the ones to save the world. About kids who don’t need adults to save them because they save themselves or their friends. Kids saving other people, other kids, grown adults. Stories about child HEROES are written as metaphors of hope for the future and the promise of the younger generations, or power fantasies where kids who feel helpless and powerless in their own lives can read these stories and vicariously imagine through the characters the idea of one day having the power to save themselves or other people, what that would be like, what they’d do with that.

But here’s the important part, and why people interpreting these teen and kid heroes as child soldiers doesn’t really offer relevant commentary to stories that are written to be allegorical youth power fantasies, regardless of authorial intent or death of the author....

And that’s because the key ingredient here, the thing that’s not really up for debate or open to interpretation....is that these stories can ONLY ever be allegorical.

Because like I said before, child heroes and child soldiers are not the same thing. There simply IS NO REAL WORLD EQUIVALENT for child and teen heroes as comic books style them.

And that’s why the fact that with most every child hero in comics, no adult makes them be a hero. They choose that for themselves, it’s almost universally characterized as a self-determination or empowerment moment rather than one of coercion like Miller likes to characterize it. His choice to characterize Bruce essentially drafting Dick as Robin to fight alongside him does nothing to provide commentary on any other superhero story, no matter what he’s told himself or his fans, because his story is the only one where Robin was drafted!

You can’t condemn narrative choices that nobody but you has actually written and then act like you’re saying something about any narrative other than your own fsjsjfshfzgzfhgs.

And you also can’t claim that you’re just seeing in the text something that’s inherently there and the other writers didn’t just see to avoid like I was talking about being a valid critique....because what’s being commented on there isn’t anything that was written unknowingly. Other writers consciously wrote the same things as Miller in terms of a child engaged in all that violence....but they deliberately wrote those moments to be metaphors of a kid that gets to save themselves and other people and CHOSE that, which is inherently opposed to the interpretation of a kid who is ONLY in harm’s way because he was forcibly drafted by a more powerful figure or force who cares neither what he wants or if he gets hurt.

These two ideas are mutually exclusive. They can not coexist in the same narrative because a character can not be powerless and self-empowering about the exact same specific choice. And thus anything that’s said about one of these narratives is inherently unable to say anything that’s relevant about the other....because the other is not written by its writer TO BE the kind of narrative that particular commentary is dissecting. It’s not TRYING to be that narrative, so no review of it can possibly say how flawed it’s execution is of an idea it’s not actually trying to execute.

And the differences between child heroes and child soldiers are not just limited to choosing that or being drafted and these other differences are equally key.

The biggest being that child heroes can not be seen as ‘basically’ the same thing as child soldiers.....UNLESS you are also perceiving adult heroes as basically the same thing as adult soldiers. And not even law enforcement or police or temporarily deputized or whatever else you want to spin it as....SOLDIERS, specifically. You don’t get to bring up something as charged as child soldiers and then get vague with your terminology when the close scrutiny that brings to your analogy stops working in your favor.

If sidekicks are child soldiers then you must in conjunction view adult superheroes as soldiers. And not in the abstract one man war on crime way Miller likes to consider Batman in his attempted deconstruction of superheroes. ACTUAL soldiers. If there’s no room in your comparison for child heroes to differentiate from real world child soldiers, there’s no wiggle room for the adults either.

And again, except for Miller, Ennis and specific others who by their own admissions are not TRYING to view superheroes the same way most other comic writers are, but fail to see that genre conventions are largely interpretive and thus seeing room for different interpretations of superheroes isn’t actually a commentary on how other people see and write those same heroes....like except for these select few, most writers are not writing superhero soldiers unless they’re Captain America or Captain Atom. Yes I know there are other superhero soldiers but let me be pithy. Even those aren’t really the same as their real world equivalents.

See, real soldiers don’t make distinctions about whether or not they’re willing to use guns. Their personal views on killing are not prioritized over whether they’ve been told to use lethal force to accomplish their objective. They have a chain of command. No matter the rationalization, they pledge their loyalty to singular nations and the aims and objectives of those specific nations over the abstract of acting in defense of the whole world.

Now again, maybe that applies to Captain Atom, but for the most part can you say the majority of comic book writers are TRYING to write Superman, Batman, Green Arrow, Wonder Woman etc through that lens? No. So while Miller really thinks he said something when he wrote his Batman with guns, fighting in the Middle East, killing people left and right, none of that actually ‘showed’ people that at the end of the day, Batman is no conceptually different from a real world soldier like. No all he actually did was write his own take on Batman, and said look, he’s a gun toting murderous asshole, huzzah I have deconstructed the modern superhero!

Like. Shut up Miller. Honestly.

But seriously. Superheroes do not have a real world equivalent and neither do child heroes. Even when it comes to nonpowered ones like the Batfam, they’re still deliberately written in a larger than life, four color perspective that requires a suspension of disbelief at the front door. We ALL know and understand that they aren’t a blue print for how to go out and be a real world vigilante. Even real world vigilantes exist. But they don’t look anything like the Batfam and it’s disingenuous to pretend they do for the sake of teh discourse. Nobody honestly believes that there is even the OPTION of going out one day and deciding to become a comic book style vigilante like one of the Batfam. It’s why even they’re termed superheroes despite the lack of superpowers. On a CONCEPTUAL level it’s understood that the stories being told about them require an extrahuman medium. You can not simultaneously write characters according to a mythic scale but then attempt to interpret that very writing on a real world one. It doesn’t work.

Which brings me to my final piece of this pie. Or puzzle. Idk I’ve been doing this response for awhile I forget what this is.

And that is again, the difference between interpreting a story in a way the author probably didn’t intend and understanding when a story isn’t meant to be interpreted in the way you’re trying to.

And this difference is how I can understand and reconcile the idea that it’s not inherently abusive for Bruce to allow his kids to fight crime at all, even though that would inherently be child endangerment in the real world, but at the same time, I can view him as abusive in other ways that don’t make allowances for the differences between real life and comics.

Basically it boils down to: CAN this specific element of a story be duplicated in real life or mirror a real life action or idea? Is there a direct parallel to a real world equivalent at all?

I can view Bruce fighting crime or saving the world alongside a child Robin without viewing that as child endangerment or inherently abusive, even when Robin gets hurt in the process....because there is no real world equivalent to those parts of a story. NO ONE, child or adult, is going out there and doing those things Batman and Robin style. Even the people who dress up in their own real life vigilante personas basically just do niche neighborhood things like walk people home from the bar. And even people doing real life vigilantism in terms of taking out criminals, like, that’s usually more of a personal revenge thing and not one where they’re trying to attract attention via a costumed persona. When you think real world Batman and Robin, nothing comes to mind for a reason.

And thus this says nothing inherently abusive about their dynamic, even according to real life parallels of child endangerment, because it’s not a real scenario. And thus it’s not TRYING to say anything about real life. It’s innately allegorical. It’s power fantasy emphasis on the fantasy.

In contrast, when you have something like Bruce hitting one of his kids.....no matter who the characters are, that specific interaction and the dynamic it presents DOES have a real world equivalent. That’s just parent/child abuse. And thus even if the writer didn’t intend for it to be interpreted that way, it’s still a valid interpretation. If it looks like a parent hitting their child, you can call it a parent hitting a child.

Batman and Robin fighting killer mind controlled plants together? Can’t happen. I’m not going to call it child endangerment when it’s not a realistic scenario and not meant to be, and I’ve already been presented with a valid alternative interpretation of this being a child empowered to help save people alongside his superhero father. There’s no point in condemning a dynamic that CANT be translated to a non allegory in real life.

But Bruce hitting his son? A father no matter how good hearted normally, being affected by extreme stress or grief or something else that makes his behavior take a turn for the worse and reach a point where he physically lashes out even if he never would have in the past? Nothing remotely allegorical about that. That story has too many real world equivalents to dismiss as having nothing to say about abuse in real life. Even if the writer didn’t intend for this to read as abusive because they were thinking of how much worse Dick has been hurt fighting alongside Bruce and never held that against him even though technically it was Bruce letting him get hurt....doesn’t matter. That interpretation still requires viewing through a lens that can’t exist in reality. No kid can ever excuse a parent hitting them by thinking of how much worse they got hurt taking down their local mob together and if he didn’t blame his dad for that cuz he wanted to do it to help people then how can he blame his dad for hurting him in a moment of anger? Umm. Doesn’t track see? They’re not the same thing at all.

Or another one that really bugs....I’ve heard people defend shipping a Robin while underage with an adult by saying if they’re old enough to make the choice to risk their life and have that choice respected, they’re old enough to choose who they want to be with. Umm. No. That’s not just apples and oranges that’s genetically modified grapes and seventeenth century cannonballs.

That logic doesn’t apply because neither of those things is the underage character choosing ANYTHING. They’re fictional. Everything they choose is just what their writer wrote them choosing. But again, one of those choices is one that an underage reader CANT choose in real life and have respected by every adult in their life, and thus will never have a bearing on their life as anything BUT an allegory they have to interpret and translate into something actionable they can apply to their life and choices. The other choice is them being written as presented with an option that’s actually a textbook real life grooming technique and something abusers use to justify the relationship they’re trying to cultivate with a minor by saying aren’t you mature for your age, aren’t you old enough to know what you want or to do this or that in which case you should be old enough to make this choice?

See the difference? Putting on a cape and going out to fight robots? Not directly applicable. Saying yes to the grown man saying he wants to have sex with you and thinks you’re old enough given this other choice you’ve made that highlights your maturity? That’s a choice that can be presented both to a Robin or a real life minor, but a writer justifying that choice for that Robin by saying well he’s already previously made this other choice that has no real life equivalent.....that creates a pretty misleading interpretation to people reading that story and not stopping to think through the distinctions between what KINDS of choices the writer is presenting these characters with and then justifying via their narrative.

And while I haven’t watched the video you’re referencing, anon, I would definitely agree that this is an example of how viewing child heroes as child soldiers is....not great. Aside from being cynical, misusing the idea of death of the author and helping to validate Miller’s choices and thus ego which is NEVER a good look LOL....it also intentionally or not paves the way for putting fictional types and MEANS of harm on an even playing field with real life ones and acting like it’s all one and the same with no distinctions to be drawn. And this doesn’t actually offer anything substantive or constructive about holding characters accountable for reasonable expectations of harm, when the sources of harm have no reasonable equivalent and thus only exist in the medium of being a youth power fantasy in which the child involved is fictional and can’t truly be harmed, with the harm done the second the scene ends and where the character can be back in fighting form the very next scene. Thus the only lingering element there IS the power fantasy.

Nope, all it actually does is muddy the waters in the REVERSE, and make it so it’s actually easier to justify or rationalize types and means of harm that DO have a real world equivalent, but by pointing to examples from a fictional medium and emphasizing the fictional character’s lack of being harmed while de-emphasizing the fact that the writer has full control over depicting this in a solely positive light that doesn’t ALLOW the fictional character any angle from which to voice that this CAN result in harm when not written for fictional characters according to a writer’s specific intent.

And that’s that about that. My opinion: you have it.

[snow-leopard-777]

In The Darkest Hour

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was not, despite what most would claim, a normal girl, nor did she lead a normal life. Chloè had once claimed that the bakers' daughter held more secrets than Fort Knox, whatever that was. Though she wasn't entirely wrong. Marinette did hold many secrets. Family, friend, random stranger, it didn't matter who talked to her. Unless you were a member of the conversation, not a peep was to be heard about it from Marinette.

As much as it occasionally annoyed them to be unable to get gossip from the girl, the entire class greatly appreciated the girl's talent for secrets. When Chloè, Kim, Max, Alix, Nathaniel, and Juleka needed someone to talk to about being LGBT, Marinette was their only pick. The group quickly became close, Marinette asking their permission to tell the other LGBT classmates to talk to them about it. None of their other classmates could figure out why the group was so close, for which they were extremely greatful. 

Kitty Section was created under Marinette's careful selection, the girl gathering those that had shyly admitted to their preferred method of making music and introducing them, one on one, to Luka and Juleka for consideration of the band they wanted to create.

The one thing the entire class knew about the rest of their classmates was one thing that were in perfect agreement with: Marinette Dupain-Cheng was an odd individual, and no one wanted her to snap. Especially after the appearance of le Papillion. Many of her classmates worried about their secrets, as so very little was known about the girl. Though the class didn't realize it, the only students that did not fear Marinette's akumazation revealing their secrets were the LGBT kids, as Marinette had not only admitted to possibly being either ace or demi due to her lack of attraction to anyone, but they also knew she was keeping secrets before she knew how to talk.

As they gave the girl more and more secrets, she became more and more isolated. No one was willing to give up their confidant, but those that she didn't trust with a secret of her own began to avoid her unless they needed a conversation kept quiet. Marinette simply smiled a small non-committal smile every time they spoke to her while Madame Bustier nodded approvingly at the girl.

A delicate peace existed in the class. Marinette's friends were all extremely protective of her, especially after they learned just why the girl was so secretive. Everything came to a head when Alya suspected Marinette knew the identity of at least one of Paris's heroes after seeing Chat Noir enter a room at the end of his timer- and Marinette walk out seconds later.

In retrospect, Alya could have chosen a better place to confront Marinette than in the school classroom, interrupting Bustier's lesson so that the girl couldn't run away.

The bluenette, of course, denied knowing who Chat Noir was. Alya, however, refused to let up- her blog was at stake, after all.

"C'mon, Mari!" Alya whinned, ignoring the classroom's collective flinch. No one was allowed to call Marinette Mari, new girl or not. "Be a good friend! Do you know what you could do for my blog?"

Marinette glared at the girl. "It's always about what I can do for you, isn't it?"

"Marinette! That was too harsh," Caline scolded her student. "You're supposed to be the example, not the problem starter! She just wants a little help with her career!"

Marinette glared at the teacher. "I said that I don't know the identity of Chat Noir. She kept pushing, insistent that I did even though all she knows is that he entered a room shortly before I exited it. I remained in front of the door until Chat Noir let me know he was properly recharged and left. She wishes to know a secret he would die to protect despite his and his cousin's protests against her stalking them."

"That is highly uncalled for!" Caline scolded. "One should never be judged for curiosity."

"And one should never be judged for the keeping of ones secrets, so be they keeping their own or others'. She's lucky that they haven't filed restraining orders or complaints against her. She could easily be sued for invasion of privacy, charged with jail time for stalking, or have charges brought against her for posting un-consented photos, of minors no less, on a public forum without any kind of authorization- not to mention some of her theories could be considered slander and defamation of character." Marinette retorted, the majority of the class shocked by her sass. The quiet girl usually refused to speak when challenged about her secrets; she had never fought back before (Sabrina was surprised, but more because of Marinette's legal jargon. Perhaps she should attempt a friendship with the girl instead of fearing her closed-off mannerisms). Only a select few that remembered her as a child with no filter (Chloè, Kim, Alix, and Nino) or visibly held no regard to authority figures (Juleka) remembered the old Marinette. The Marinette from before her aunt and uncle's deaths. The Marinette that allowed people to call her Mari.

Irina Karasuma, neè Dupain-Jelevac, adoptive daughter of Gina, had disappeared off the face of the planet when Marinette was eight years old. Six months after her disappearance, the Russian woman was presumed dead- along with her husband. Karasuma Tadaomi was Marinette's favorite out of her adoptive relatives, and everyone knew it. He was the one that taught her how to fight, how to defend herself. He also taught her how to cuss someone out, in French or Japanese, and make them thank her for it. He was the one that taught her just how important secrets were from the moment she was born. Irina taught her, very reluctant, niece how to use her looks to her advantage, the art of flirting, and about seven different languages (plus how to flirt or cuss in many others). By the time her favorite family members vanished (not dead, never dead, they couldn't be dead), Marinette was able to speak nine different languages, not including her mother tongue, plus sing beautifully.

Two weeks after Bustier assigned her detention for standing up to Alya, Marinette found a strange box on her desk, a fox tail amulet and a strange little pocket fox contained inside.

🍯

Adrien Agreste hit record on his phone the second Alya interupted class. He didn't plan on being defended, had only hoped to get a good laugh to share with Felix, until Marinette spoke up. If he weren't so good at acting, Adrien wouldn't have been able to keep the tears from falling. He knew, without a doubt, that Marinette knew his identity- and Ladybug's as well. She hadn't quite managed to close her eyes in time when he detransformed in front of her. The girl had simply pulled out her lunchbox when Plagg mentioned Adrien forgetting his Camembert at home, offering the kwami her own.

"Let me know when your good to go." Was all the girl said before walking out of the room, the sound of fabric sliding against the door letting him know she was leaning against it. Several nerve-racking minutes passed before Adrien announced that he was transformed. He watched the door slightly shift forward as she got off it, though the door never opened. 

He had waited days for the girl to spill. Yes, he was well aware of her reputation. However, he was almost positive that his was too big of a secret to keep. After seventy-two hours of nothing happening, Adrien tracked down his cousin and visited Master Fu.

Master Fu had frowned at him. "We will watch her and see how the situation pans out. If she proves herself enough, I may give her a Miraculous of her own."

The next day, Adrien walked into the massage parlor with the recording of an absolutely unaware Marinette verbally attacking a classmate for trying to pressure her into spilling the secret.

The Guardian had watched the video contemplatively, analyzing the girl. "I think I know the perfect match." He finally said once the video was over. "But I am unsure… it has been several centuries since a true match for her surfaced."

Adrien left more confused than ever, though forgot about the strange encounter once his cousin saw the video. All of Adrien's being was suddenly focused on keeping Felix from taking legal action as Ladybug against the blogger.

🍯

Marinette stared at the small goddess. The fox stared back, then smirked.

"Most kits freak out when they see me." The fox commented.

Marinette smirked back, "I'm not most kits."

"Hmm. We'll see. My name's Trixx, I'm the Kwami of Illusion. My main power is Mirage, we'll be able to see if you can use any other power after we work together for a time. You have five minutes after using my power before you transform… until your an adult."

"Okay. Does this come with a catch? Do I have to fight akumas?"

Trixx grinned ferally. "Nope. All you have to do is not use my Miraculous for evil."

"Good. I think Kitsune would prefer to take out human criminals and night akuma over missing school."

Trixx nearly purred at her newest holder's words, eyes sparkling with pride, "That sounds perfect." It was brilliant for her kit, this one might even grow to be a full fox, to use a name of different origin to mislead people. Who would think a half-Chinese girl would use a Japanese name?

🍯

Marinette transformed with Trixx for the first time that night, fiddling with her weapon before ever leaving her room. She had a flute, the mouth piece pulling out to reveal a sharpened blade on the end, barbs set strategically down the blade so that it would catch without letting go. She slowly pulled the rest of it apart, each one leading to a blade of some sort. The middle had two blades, one on each end, while the others only had one- lengths varying. 

It didn't take more than a second to find the phone-like use, the girl calling Chat Noir to meet her at the Trodacero with Ladybug.

The two heroes beat her to the meeting spot, Huli Jinn joining them after learning how to move around as a Miraculous user. Her dark silver cloak settled around her, shifting and blending with the shadows.

Ladybug eyed her suspiciously. "Who are you and what do you want?" The blond demanded.

Kitsune smirked at him. "Call me Kitsune. I'm the holder of the Fox Miraculous. I thought it best to let you know I was active before you mistook me for an akuma." She lowered her hood and pushed the cloak back, revealing her appearance. Her dress was silver with blue ribbons and sleeves. The skirt had slits up both sides to prevent it impeding movement and the skirt and sleeves were removable- not that the boys knew that. A pair of loose silver pants and black combat boots hid under what most assumed to be a dress. Her Miraculous stayed tucked under her outfit, her mask matching her silver theme- excepting the orange curled fox tails on either side of her mask.

Chat visibly brightened. "So you're here to help us?"

"Not exactly. You two are heroes. You fight akuma no matter when or where they occur. I'm a vigilante- I'm focusing more on keeping the average Parisian safe. If an akuma occurs at night, I'll help you out. But you're on your own during the day. I have school, and I know you do too, but I'm already on thin ice with my teacher, and I have work I have to do. You guys can sleep at night while I keep an eye on things."

Felix eyed her. "Why is your name in Japanese?"

Marinette blinked at him. "My favorite uncle was Japanese. He taught me many things before he vanished a few years ago. I don't know if he's dead or not, I hope not, but I wish to honor his memory and all he taught me."

Chat grinned even brighter at her. "Are you a Honeypot?" He demanded. He only knew one of those, and if she was… "Master Fu said he might give you a Miraculous!"

The other two heroes eyed the cat. "How do you know who I am?" Marinette demanded.

Felix stared at the two. "You're the girl that knows who we are." He dumbly stated.

Marinette huffed. "Yes, I know who you are. Not that anyone would ever learn that for sure."

"What are you going to do about sleep?" Felix demanded. He refused to be the cause of another person being irresponsible about school. 

Kitsune waved her hand through the air. "I can exsist perfectly well by sleeping on the weekends and taking naps throughout the week. Foxes are at their peak at night anyways."

"Didn't you just say you're on thin ice with your teacher?" Ladybug demanded. Chat Noir simply looked highly concerned.

Marinette raised an eyebrow, though Adrien beat her to speaking. "Our teacher doesn't like her right now because she defended my hero persona against a classmate. Our teacher is all for Mar- sorry, Kitsune keeping secrets until those secrets could make someone else rise to the top. She got detention for protecting my identity and defending herself against the girl pestering her."

Felix narrowed his eyes. "So the teacher punishes victims for defending themselves against a bully harrassing them?"

"I wouldn't say that-"

"Yes." Kitsune interupted. "The teacher shows no care for the emotional state of a person being attacked, only for the well-being of the more agressive person. She has had several complaints filed against her, though no action has been taken. My allies and I are getting ready to go to the school board if nothing changes soon."

Felix nodded once in acknowledgement. "Good. I shall retire for the night, Chat, you should do the same. We miss enough sleep as it is." He turned around and muttered under his breath, knowing his cousin could hear him, "And you need to explain to me what a Honeypot is."

Marinette bit back her laugh, fully aware that Felix didn't know her Miraculous also came with heightened senses. "Goodnight, boys."

🍯

Adrien landed in Felix's bedroom, having laughed at the boy the entire way there. Their transformations fell even as Adrien teased his cousin. "Need me to explain what a Honeypot is? Didn't you say that I was the one who was sheltered? That I don't know anything if it's not in an anime?" Felix glared at his cousin. "Okay, fine! A Honeypot is someone who can lure their prey in by their looks and actions, and once they catch what their after, they can make their move. Marinette's aunt taught her how to be a Honeypot when she was little."

Felix eyed his cousin. "What anime did you learn it from?"

Adrien made several insulted noises before Plagg finally outed him.

🍯

Nearly a month later, Caline Bustier and Damoclès were told to pack their bags. The head of the school board called in a favor from an old friend in Japan. The principal had demanded to be allowed to bring one of his teachers with him. She quickly agreed. François-DuPont suffered a hit with the removal of the principal and a teacher for negligence. Hopefully their replacements would help nullify that hit. 

Asano Gakushuu laid his phone on his desk before buzzing for Nagisa. He started speaking before Nagisa could even properly shut the door. "I know you were planning on moving to Paris with Akabane when he got shipped off as an ambassador. I'm not going to try to change your mind." The again went unspoken. They both knew exactly who his best teacher was. 

Gakushuu was always surprised when Nagisa spoke to him- the boy had always been so silent. He hadn't learned until after they started working together exactly why Nagisa was the way he was. "Why did you call me?"

Gakushuu huffed. "Here's the deal. An old acquantence of mine called in a favor I owed her. She recently fired her principal and one of her teachers, and needs a suitable replacement for both. She asked me to take over, I agreed on the stipulation that I got to bring one of my teachers with me."

"Where at?"

"François-DuPont. It's a school in Paris. Instead of struggling to find a new teaching position in a country you are unfamiliar with, you can join me at this school. It's not far from the embassy, so you would still be able to meet Akabane for lunch or whatever."

Nagisa raised his eyebrow at his friend. "You do know that Karma prefers his first name for a reason. We're twenty-six, and have been friends since the end of cram school. Your rivalry should be dead by now." Gakushuu shrugged. Nagisa let out a heavy sigh. "What's my class like? How did the teacher I'm replacing run it?"

"I don't know how accurate my information is, all I have is what the superintendent knew. But the teacher and principal were terminated due to neglecting the students"

Nagisa facepalmed. "End Class bad? Paradise High bad? Or relatively alright?"

Gakushuu shrugged. "Possibly some combination of the first two. They did have one competent teacher for science and math. The terminated teacher was supposed to teach them almost everything else. We won't really know until we get there and assess the situation. They want us there ASAP."

"Of course. I'll tell Karma. Get me the school's address so that we can plan housing."

"I'll forward you all the information by the end of today. Use today to tell your students the news and pack. I'll begin the transfer paperwork. Do you have tickets to Paris already booked?"

Nagisa gave Gakushuu a bland look. "Karma and I leave for Paris this coming Monday. You need to focus more on your own paperwork, mine should be nearly completed."

Asano would never admit that he had been putting off Nagisa's paperwork for as long as possible in hopes that he would stay. Nope, not at all.

🍯

Marinette kept an eye on the new teacher as soon as he arrived. They had been stuck with different substitutes for nearly two weeks while waiting on him to arrive and all the paperwork to go through. The name Shiota Nagisa rung a distant bell in her mind, though she struggled a little with remembering where, exactly, she had heard his name.

"Greetings, everyone." His French was passable enough, though he had a noticable Japanese accent to Marinette's trained ear. "My name is Shiota Nagisa, though you can all call me by my given name. I hope we have a good year together." He offered them a small bow.

Marinette rose to her feet. "Greetings, Nagisa-sensei. I am Marinette Dupain-Cheng, class representative. Thank you for coming to teach us." She offered him a bow in return.

Nagisa gave her an approving grin even as Rose hesitantly spoke up. "Didn't he ask us to call him by his given name?"

Kim explained before Nagisa could. "His name's switched around, like mine! Last name is first and first name is last!" Kim boasted. "The new teach is like me!"

Nagisa hummed appreciatively. Le Chein Kim understood the basics, but not the proper terminology. "A little rough, but basically correct. Though I do not appreciate the interruptions. In Japan, a person's family name is given first and their given name second. It is considered rude to address someone by their given name or a nickname without permission. Dupain-Cheng-chan, please stay after school so that we can discuss the class."

"Yes, Sensei." Marinette acknowledged. 

"Now, in Japan, different honorifics are used to address someone. Here you use madame, mademoidemoiselle, and monsieur. It's a bit more complex in Japan. If you were to speak to an adult, you call them by their family name followed by -san. For example, a friend of mine also lives here. You would address him as Akabane-san. You would address females your age or younger by adding -chan to their surname, males with -kun. People in the grades above you would be addressed as -senpai, which can also be used for someone with more experience. A teacher, doctor, someone in a roll ment to educate someone is addressed as -sensei." Nagisa spent the first day explaining to them the cultural differences between Japan and France, flashing back to Bitch-sensei's less than conventional methods proving their usefulness. Several of his new students seemed to understand the different cultures very well while others seemed to let everything fly over their heads. 

The day finally ended, Nagisa ushering the students out so that he could finally learn just what he was dealing with. "Dupain-Cheng-chan, would you please explain to me how the class was run prior to my arrival? The principal and I were given minimal information about why we were being brought in."

Marinette slightly inclined her head. " Please, call me Marinette. My surname is a mouthful. Caline Bustier was our former teacher. She let bullies run rampant and punished the victims if they stood up for themselves. One of my classmates is obsessed with uncovering the identities of Paris's heroes. The teacher never warned her of all the legal action that could be taken against her for basically stalking underaged people. Césaire was convinced that I knew one of their identities and interupted the class to hound me about it. I denied any knowledge of who they were. She pressured me, insisting I knew and called me by a nickname I do not use. I told her off, the teacher scolded me and gave me detention.

"The former principal wasn't any better. He was easily controlled by people in a place of power, allowing bullies to rule the school even as he brushed an complaints about his teachers under the rug. I was chosen as class representative because my classmates trusted me to know better than anyone just what they wanted or needed without airing their secrets to the world. I am also one of the only students who was not afraid to tell Bustier and Damoclès that they were acting like imbeciles. My class is accustomed to not being able to rely on an adult in charge to handle a situation for them- especially if that situation is hostile. Now days they either handle it themselves or come to me."

Nagisa nodded. "If you wouldn't mind, I would like to began taking some of that responsibility off of you. It will take time for us to learn how to work together, but I assure you that I am not like Caline Bustier."

Marinette eyed the new teacher. "Anything my classmates tell me in confidence will stay with me. But I will attempt to speak with you about the class when needed."

Nagisa inclined his head. "That's fair. I would expect nothing less. What can you tell me about the class? I can't move at mach twenty, nor am I a verifiable genius, but I would like to be able to give all of my students what they need. I was under the impression that I am in charge of everything except mathematics and science?"

Marinette nodded. "Juleka, Mylène, and Nathaniel are all very reserved and shy. Juleka and Nathaniel prefer to hide in the background and let others shine. Mylène is okay as long as there's someone she's comfortable with nearby. Ivan is quiet and has a few anger issues, though he's pretty good at controlling himself as long as le Papillion is inactive. Kim has trouble focusing on class and retaining the information, he does better when he has something to do. I've been making him study with me, letting him practice sports, parkour, that sort of thing while I call out information and question him on the materials. He's not at the top of the class, but he is usually in the top ten. Alix can focus better than Kim, but also learns better when she has something to do. Césaire has a tendency to ignore the materials when the teacher is covering them in favor of working on her blog. She expects someone from the class to share their notes with her later on so she can pass. Sabrina takes care of helping Chloè study, since Chloè learns better with technical terms. Every now and then Sabrina calls me in for help for a particularly difficult subject because, where French sometimes fails, making Chloè learn the material in a different language works every time. Nino learns through music. Everyone else learns relatively well in the class and can mostly interact with new people. Adrien said his cousin's considering transferring in, he's asocial, not big on people, but smart."

"Thank you. I'll see what I can do about helping Le Chein-kun and Kubdel-chan have something interactive during class to help them. Do any of your classmates find music distracting?" Marinette shook her head. "Then I'll ask one of my former classmates for help with making a playlist to help Lahiffe-kun learn the material. What would you suggest to stop Césaire-chan from being on her blog during class?"

Marinette hummed contemplatively. "As long as she has an electronic, she's going to check it. Especially since she knows a few of our classmates will give her the notes."

Nagisa nodded. "I'll have her give me her phone before class. Would you do me a favor?"

Marinette eyed the teacher. "That depends on the favor, Sensei."

"It's nothing bad." Nagisa promised. "I'm just used to students being unwilling to help. I feel your classmates are more likely to listen to you right now than me. You have their trust, I do not. Would you be willing to ask them to stop giving Césaire-chan their notes? It would be different if she were missing class, but she's just not paying attention. She needs to learn that there isn't always going to be someone to cover for her."

Marinette blinked, surprised. "Of course, Sensei."

Nagisa considered the girl. "You have a Chinese and French heritage, yes?"

"I do."

"Where does the grasp on Japanese culture come from?" Nagisa questioned, deeply curious.

Marinette offered a small smile. "My family is very complex. My grandmother is the equivalent of an Italian gypsy and has a penchance for adopting people. My adopted aunt, Irina Dupain-Jelevac, married Karasuma Tadaomi. He taught me many things, including Japanese culture, before they went missing a few years ago."

Nagisa's mouth fell open. "You're related to Bitch-sensei? And Karasuma-sensei?"

Marinette snapped her fingers. "I knew your name sounded familiar! My aunt told me about her attempt at being a teacher and how much she struggled with it. She had a lot of pride in your class. Tadomi-oji-san did too, he was just better at hiding it."

Nagisa stared at the small girl. "They told you about us?"

Marinette shrugged. "A little, yeah. Is that all you needed, Sensei? I need to get to work."

"Y-yes, thank you. Have a nice evening, Marinette-chan."

"You too, Sensei." Marinette called as she walked out the door. She found something in her relaxing slightly with knowing that the new teacher was taught by her uncle. Though she did wonder how Adrien, and possibly Felix if he transfered in, would escape to fight daytime akumas.

🍯

Nagsia flopped on the couch once he got home, startling his husband. "Sup, Nagisa?" Karma asked. Nagisa smiled, even after over a decade his husband hadn't changed from the time they were at Kunikagawa. He even continued elongating his name.

"Guess who my class rep. is related to?"

Karma raised an eyebrow. "I literally have no idea."

"Karasuma-sensei and Bitch-sensei."

"What the fuck?" Karma lost all attempt at feignig disinterest, bolting straight up.

"She's French-Chinese, Italian grandmother. The grandmother adopted Bitch-sensei before she married Karasuma."

"How the hell did you figure all this out?"

"I had her stay after class to get a feel for the class. I was called in to replace a negligent teacher, so I wanted to know exactly what I was working with. After we were officially done, I asked her where she learned so much about Japanese culture, as she seemed to already know what I was teaching today. I was already thinking about Bitch-sensei and her teaching methods before she explained how she was adopted by Karasuma-sensei- as a niece. Apparently they talked about us."

"Holy fucking shit, talk about a full circle. How much does she know?"

"That's the problem, I have no idea. Nor do I know what they taught her." That was more worrying than how much she knew about their past.

🍯

Marinette texted Chloè as she walked. *Césaire's notes privileges have been revoked until further notice, excluding absences.*

*I was waiting on you to snap on her. 🙃*

*New teacher's rules for her. Former Class 3E- 🗡️*

*😮 …………… Trust?*

*With caution.* Marinette pocketed her phone as she walked in the bakery. She could give a good two hours in the bakery, design while cooking supper, and then take a quick nap before patrol.

[powerwordsleep]

Sasuke Retsuden (Unofficial English Translation)

I’ve decided to do my own take on translating Sasuke Retsuden. It’s a long novel and difficult, so this will be a slow work in progress. As such I will be posting chapter by chapter updates here until the whole novel is finished and I can compile it in one document. 

DISCLAIMER: This is not an official translation and was not made for profit or distribution. This translation was fan-made and done for purely enjoyment and translation practice purposes. I do not own the rights to NARUTO or any of the related materials. 

Authors: Kishimoto Masashi and Esaka Jun Binding: Takahashi Kenji (Tera Engine) Editing Cooperation: Soeda Yohei (Tsubame Productions) Publishing Office: Shueisha Co. 101-8050 Tokyo, Chiyoda, Hitotsubashi 2-5-10 Printing Office: Kyodo Printing Co. Ltd. ©2019 M. Kishimoto/J. Esaka

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST THIS ANYWHERE ELSE. THIS IS MY WORK, THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

Character Introduction

Uchiha Sasuke: The master of the kekkei-genkai, the Sharingan. Member of Team 7 and husband of Sakura. 

Uchiha Sakura: Master of medical ninjutsu. Member of Team 7 and wife of Sasuke. 

Zansur: Director of the Astronomy Research Institute. Has apparently accepted an important mission from the minister of the country Redaku. 

Menō: A giant lizard prison guard who monitors the Astronomy Research Institute.

Jiji: A prisoner who shares a room with Sasuke and is doing manual labor for the Astronomy Research Institute.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Prologue

He can’t sleep. The man pressed his thin body to the chilly sheets. Inside the room his breath is white, and no matter how much he wraps the comforter that doesn’t fully cover him around his body, the shaking and shivering of his chest can’t be stopped.

He’s sleeping in sweat and dirt stained thin bedding. Soon it will be a half-moon. Every time he sleeps the bruises all over his body increase, so he never can feel rested. If he could sleep a little in an area with no draft, it would be enough. 

With feelings of bitterness the man opened his heavy eyelids and strained his eyes, surveying the dark room. Six adults sleep huddled in a small corner of the six-mat tatami room. In this place it’s natural for a newcomer such as himself to be allotted the coldest part of the room, with no room for objections or arguments. He shifted on the hard floor and let out a pained moan. 

“Damn it. Why is this happening to me…” 

Before the half-moon, the man had been in a prison in the capital of Redaku. Even though there had been no freedom, minimum standards of living had been guaranteed, and it was safer and more comfortable than here. He had even thought about going back to commit another suitable crime when his sentence finished. However, one day it was suddenly decided that he was to be transferred. He was only told that he would be engaged in public works in the cold regions. Because it was physically demanding labor, only young and healthy prisoners would be allowed to do it. He was brought to an astronomy observation facility made of stone, built on the peak of a desolate mountain range. 

The Tartar Astronomy Research Institute. 

It is said to be a research institute with an ancient and honorable origin derived from Janmarū Tartar—an astronomist of folklore legend who lived at the same time as the Rokudō Sennin. But he didn’t care about that. The issue was that this place was below freezing even in early springtime. And no matter how he thought about it, with the provided food, clothes, room and having to dig up cold dirt from morning to night without rest, it was an environment where livestock were treated better. 

“Why… is this happening to me?” 

He clenched his trembling teeth and squeezed the edge of the futon. Day after day of work, the skin of his palm peeled off and his nails became soiled with dirt. 

His crime was robbery and murder. Three years ago, on a winter’s day he had been having trouble finding something to eat. He broke into a house that caught his eye and stole everything of value. He left the young husband, wife, and two children bound in ropes and ran. Two days passed without anyone noticing them and they all froze to death. Since that’s how the four of them were killed he doesn’t count it as murder. He had no intention to kill; it was an accident. Generally, when he had no food to eat he stole from other houses. Was that not a case of legitimate self-defense? 

Why did I have to encounter those eyes?

Frustration swam like water in his chest. He was at his limit. The man decided while staring at the grooves in the ceiling—when dawn breaks, he’ll break out of prison. 

*************

The prisoners’ lives are managed by the sound of a gong. 

When the muffled clang signaling waking time reverberates throughout, the prisoners rise from bed like zombies and begin their day. They are always on time, because if they oversleep the patrolling guards offer no mercy when they catch them and force them to eat their batons. He wiped away the sleep from his eyes, and exited the room while yawning and scratching his rash covered arms.

Meals are served twice a day. The menu consisted only of messily stir-fried vegetables and wheat, and pork that looked suspicious to eat. The man lined up in the queue stretching out of the cafeteria and took a deep breath to quell his tumultuous feelings. Contrary to the heaviness and drowsiness lingering on his body, his nerves were clear and excited. Even as a man who walks in steps on his foot and another behind him spits phlegm out close to his ear, he doesn’t care. 

Today he'll leave here. He’s going to break out of prison. 

After securing his breakfast, the man looked around the room full of prisoners. If he’s going to escape, there’s someone he wants to invite. The shabby room was only a cafeteria in name, with rattling tables and chairs made from cut logs lined up. The man with the eyes was sitting in his usual seat by the window. 

Inmate number 487. Sasuke.

What is rare is his appearance rather than his name. Pure black hair and eyes. His face is finely chiseled and thin. The beauty of his nose stands out nicely on his profile, his features lined up perfectly on his face. No matter the angle, he looks like a painting come to life. If you looked at him up close you’d start to question whether you’re even of the same species. 

The fact that while he was born with such an appearance he was silent, unfriendly, and always cold and blunt like a cat, attracted attention from his surroundings. Despite that, because he was so strong that no one could raise a hand against him, he was a nuisance. On the day Sasuke arrived, a group of longtime prisoners immediately went to mess with the curious newcomer, and in a second their joints were severed and they were groveling on the ground. Looking down on the men crying in pain, the warning that came from Sasuke’s mouth was simple. 

“Don’t get in my way.”

For most of the prisoners Sasuke was someone hard to get close to. It was the same for this man too, of course, but it was strange to think that when he escaped today he would be able to speak his mind like normal. 

The man seated himself in front of Sasuke and opened his mouth.

“U-um,” Although his voice had been strong and burning with a fighting spirit when he imagined this, in reality it came out trembling and weak as he spoke.

“U-uh, you’re also… a-a shinobi, yeah?”

Sasuke moved his gaze from outside the window to the man facing him. 

“What do you want?”

“I-I’m also a shinobi. I’m from the Land of Wind. I never graduated from the academy and was abandoned by my parents… and I eventually ended up in this country. I can still control my chakra. Watch!” 

Using chakra, he attached the tip of a chopstick to his finger and shook it around for him to see. When he looked determinedly back at Sasuke, he had already lost interest and his black eyes had returned to gazing out the window. 

He’s ignoring me?

Sticking out his tongue, the man glared at Sasuke. 

If he got imprisoned in such a backwater country then he’s probably not that great of a shinobi either.

Sasuke was staring intently out the window while using his chopsticks in beautiful form, dexterously eating bamboo shoots and strawberries that had been arranged together in triangles on a crushed iron plate. He was an unfriendly man, but unknowingly to him his behavior was revealing his growing kindness, little by little. Among the human trash that made up the prisoners, Sasuke was clearly different. 

He waited for Sasuke to finish his meal and then broached the subject. “W-will you join me?” He was nervous and stammered out his words. 

“What do you mean?”

“Escape. I-I’m going to run away from here. Y-you can also use chakra, right? Um, w-we can climb the wall and run away.” 

The Astronomy Research Institute was surrounded on all four sides by a wall made of stone about ten meters high. Looking at it from below it seemed tall, but with chakra it was climbable. 

“I’ve a-already had enough. Y-you have too, right?”

Sasuke stared at the man, expressionless. 

“What do you know about me?”

“I know that you are not a normal person, at least.” Finally, he was able to speak until the end without stuttering. 

How on earth a man like Sasuke ended up in a place like this he could not figure out. Still, he didn’t think he was satisfied with the dull day-to-day manual labor of this place. 

“Let’s run away together. After this everyone will be going to their morning work shift, yeah? We can use that as cover and cross over the wall.” 

“Forget it. Outside the wall it’s nothing but wasteland. The closest village is two days on foot from here. You’ll end up dying.”

“But you can gather tons of wild plants and nuts, which is way better than what we can eat here. Also, look, there’s this mist out today. Now is the only time we could sneak past Menō’s eyes—”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Sasuke said shortly and with a glance out the window, he gathered his empty plate and stood up. Prisoners who were standing around talking in the narrow passage panicked as they saw Sasuke approaching and rushed to the sides to give him room. 

“Don’t you want to get out of here?!” 

The man ran up and latched onto his arm, but Sasuke easily freed it from his grip.

“Sorry, but I came here because I wanted to.” 

“... What?” 

Here? He wanted to come here?

The man was left taken aback as Sasuke exited the cafeteria. He waited until he could no longer see Sasuke’s form and then kicked the leg of a table in anger. 

Idiot. Whatever. He can rot in this shithole place forever. I’m going to be free. 

The man gathered his plate full of a messy breakfast and stomped out into the hallway. He cast a backwards glance at the prisoners scattered about sitting and chatting, then continued on outside to look upon the wall on the prison grounds. There was still time before the morning shift started. The chances of patrols coming out here should be low. No one guards the fence. Unlike actual prisons, the patrols here basically only work security. They’re not concerned about people who can’t even climb a ten-meter wall. 

That’s too bad. I can climb it. 

The man placed his hand upon the smooth stone wall. Recalling the lessons from his past, he gathered chakra and concentrated it in his palm. There was a sensation of it sticking precisely to the stone surface. The man started crawling up the wall like a frog.

In the distance he could hear a commotion from the other prisoners. It had only been a few minutes since he started climbing. There should be few people outside at this time. The head guard and the other patrols should be having breakfast in the main building. 

It’s fine. You can do it. Climb up before you’re found. Menō will appear at some point. 

His body was lighter than he imagined. He’d already climbed about halfway but wasn’t tired. He could keep climbing for another hour. 

There was the sound of gravel and sand being stepped on. The man looked over his shoulder and met yellow eyes. A chill went down his spine.

He’d been found. It was Menō. 

This is bad, this is bad, this is bad—I have to escape quickly!

In his panic the man lost control of his chakra. The hand touching the wall slipped off and his body floated in midair. 

I’m falling, he thought. Then a burning pain erupted in his torso, his blood pressure dropping suddenly. As he lost consciousness, he met the unmistakable eyes of Menō, sinking his teeth deep into his chest.

[winterisakillerwrites]

Becoming - Part Three

Title: Becoming

One Shot: 3/6

Character: Tom Hiddleston

Genre: Realistic(?) fluff; Angst

Rating: T

Summary: Learning about his son was only just the start of the story. As Tom Hiddleston struggles to adapt to this sudden change in his life, he comes to learn that becoming a father might be the biggest role he’d ever taken on. *Sequel/Continuation of Lovers’ Eyes*

Authors Notes/Warnings: This story came about because I knew there was still so much about Tom and his son that I wanted to explore. I fully intended this to be a quick flash forward into their lives, a snapshot if you will….They had other ideas and so here we are. This is technically all one story but has been broken down into parts to make the reading easier.

Thanks so much first and foremost to @ciaodarknessmyheart who has dealt with me throwing all of these ideas at her and has helped shape them into something coherent and wonderful.

Thanks as well to @tinchentitri who also helped provide wonderful insight.

Hope you all enjoy!

Tag List: @tinchentitri @messy-insomniac-bookgirl @noplacelikehome77 @blacksuitofdoom @nonsensicalobsessions @theheartofpenelope @ms-cellanies @nuggsmum @inkededucatednnerdy @redfoxwritesstuff  @just-the-hiddles​ @wolfsmom1​ @theoneanna​ @hiddlescastle​ @sabine-leo​ @alexakeyloveloki​  @echantedbytwh @finchbaggins  @kenzieam @ciaodarknessmyheart

PREVIOUS

Wordlessly, Tom nodded as his heart pounded in his ears. He didn’t know if he wanted to scream at Keira or hug her for pushing the issue…Or at least for giving him a chance to say the words aloud. “I…I do know him, Jaime.” He swallowed thickly, the words sticking in his throat. “I’m…Jaime,” he cleared his throat and plastered on what he hoped was a warm smile, “I want to tell you a story, if that is alright.”

Jaime’s brow scrunched in thought, his eyes never leaving Tom’s face. “Okay.”

Keira stood quietly, grabbing their empty plates, placing them in the sink and  walking wordlessly from the room.

Tom took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. He rested his arms against the table and let the words tumble from him. “A long time ago, before you were born, your mummy was at school. She was studying very hard trying to learn everything she could. And one day she met this person who ended up being your daddy. They enjoyed talking and reading and just being together.” He didn’t try to fight the soft smile that spread across his face at the memories which flooded through him. Eliza sitting in the library, surrounded by books, a pen twisted in her dark hair. The way her eyes would light up when he entered a room. The way his heart seemed to race when she took his hand. The joy that bubbled inside of him when he said or did something that made Eliza smile. God, he missed her. “Your daddy loved to make your mummy laugh and did everything he could to do so. But he also enjoyed making other people smile and wanted to learn more about how to do that…So he went to another school and studied really hard.

Your mummy was there, by your daddy’s side helping him. When your daddy finished learning all he could at the special school, he decided to take all he learned and travel around to help people smile. Your mummy couldn’t travel with him all the time but they talked on the phone as much as they could. Your daddy loved your mummy very, very much but he loved making people smile too. And people liked your daddy making them smile so he had to go away for longer and longer. Your mummy…She knew your daddy loved making people smile and she knew that she couldn’t go with him…So your mummy told him it was okay, that he could go on an adventure and help make people laugh and smile and be happy. And he did. He missed your mummy and your mummy missed him. But she was happy because she had you to make her smile.”

Jaime looked at Tom, his brow wrinkled in thought. “Was my daddy happy, making people smile?”

Tom choked out a strangled sob and quickly stuffed in back down, not wanting to upset his son. The guilt Tom carried was his own and he refused to push it onto Jaime. “He…He was. But he missed your mummy. He missed her so much but he didn’t know how to tell her.” His eyes closed involuntarily as he fought against the tears burning in them. They startled open as he felt Jaime climbing into his lap. “Jaime what are you…?”

“You’re sad. You need a hug. Mummy always said hugs make everything better.” The bold, simple innocence of the statement struck Tom speechless. Wordlessly, he accepted the comfort offered by the child in his lap, ignoring the quiet voice in his head telling him that this was backwards. He was the one meant to be comforting Jaime. The one who fought the monsters, both real and imaginary, and made the world a safer, better place for the people he loved. Jaime was so much like Eliza in this moment and it tore his heart.

After several moments, when Tom had been able to clear his throat, he murmured into Jaime’s soft hair. “Your mummy is a very, very wise woman.” He wrapped his arms tightly around Jaime’s small form, holding the boy to him in a vain attempt to return some of the simple comfort offered.

“Mummy said daddy was good at hugs too.”

Tom fought to control his breathing. “Did she now?” Jaime nodded against his chest and Tom let himself given into the impulse to place a soft kiss to the top of his son’s head. It was such a simple thing, something he had done so many times with his nieces and nephews…but never with a child of his own. His pulse stuttered violently at the thought before quickly kicking into overtime. His child.

“Did the hug help?” Jaime asked, pulling his head back enough to look up at Tom. “Mummy said my hugs are like Daddy’s and they always help the sad go away.” 

“It did,” Tom managed to choke out, fighting to keep his voice light and even. “It helped so very much.” He swallowed before lifting the boy from his lap and setting him back onto his feet. “Why don’t we go see if your Nan needs any help with the dishes?” 

Jaime nodded and, taking Tom’s large hand into his own tiny one, led the way into the kitchen. They found Keira standing before the sink, sleeves rolled up and hands sunk into warm, soapy water. She smiled warmly at Jaime before shooting Tom a knowing (and questioning look). He gave her a subtle shake of the head. He’d had the perfect opening and hadn’t been able to say the words. Her eyes narrowed slightly but said nothing. 

“We were wondering if you’d like some help with the washing up.”

Her nod was all the encouragement needed. The three worked in tandem; Keira washing, Jaime drying, and Tom putting the dishes away. It was early yet when they’d finished and Jaime pulled Tom back into the living room to resume their Lego building. The room he’d tidied earlier that evening was once more thrown into chaos. Lego pieces were strewn across the wooden floor and soon several half-built buildings and a fairly decent robot surrounded the man and child.

Laughter filled the room as Tom intoned the commanding voice of the invading robot set to destroy the half built city. Jaime manning the city with several action figures from the box nearest the window fought valiantly and soon the evil invading robot was driven back, much to the joy of the scared city-folk.

Time seemed to fly and it came as quite the shock when Keira poked her head back into the room to pry Jaime off for his bath and bedtime routine. Jaime’s face fell the same way it had hours before when Keira had called him for tea but this time, despite Tom’s gentle coaxing the boy refused to budge. 

“No!” Jaime hollered, throwing the Lego in his hands across the room. Tears streamed down his reddened face as he continued to scream the word over and over.   

“James William,” Keira reprimanded, ignoring the tears and the screaming. 

Tom was taken aback. Jaime had been such a congenial child in the nearly six months that Tom had known him; stubborn yes but usually easy going. He had been agitated and upset the first time Tom had left, but considering how close it had been to the loss of his mother Tom had taken it as a reaction to that more than loss of his newest companion. Seeing Jaime’s tantrum now, over what seemed to be such a mundane thing, set off quiet alarm bells. 

He looked helplessly at Keira, wondering if his presence was helping or simply making the situation worse. He pushed himself to his feet, thinking maybe a tactical retreat would be the better part of valor in this moment. Clearly, he was less than useless in this scenario and he has no desire to give Keira reason to consider putting a stop to his visits.

It came as a shock then to feel Jaime’s arms wrapped tightly around his left shin. “No! Uncle Tom I don’t want you to go!”

Tom’s eyes darted between the boy clinging to his leg and the woman standing in the doorway, arms crossed in front of her chest. “Jaime, darling boy…” Jaime’s red-rimmed eyes stared pleadingly back at him and Tom felt his heart crack at the sight. God, Mum was right. You can’t resist those bloody eyes.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly before commending his soul to whatever deity happened to be listening. “Jaime lad. You need to get yourself into that tub. If you listen to your Nan, and she says it’s alright, I will stay and read you your bedtime story. Would that be alright?”

Jaime sniffled, his eyes shining with hope and delight. “You promise?”

He let his eyes dart to Keira who, while clearly not wholly happy with the idea knew a losing battle when she saw one, nodded. He mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ and turned his attention back to the boy clinging to him. “I promise.” Tom reached down and ran his hand through Jaime’s sandy hair. “Now get yourself up and cleaned young man.” 

While nightly routines were completed overhead, Tom found himself puttering around the ground floor of the house. He still wasn’t used to being in this house, regardless of the circumstance. He’d been there only a handful of times with Eliza, each of those times were not exactly uncomfortable but awkward nonetheless. He’d been there more so now because of their son, because this was Jaime’s home, but still it felt strange. He was an interloper here, encroaching on someone else’s territory. He didn’t belong…but Jaime did and for his son he would do whatever was necessary.

He smiled, looking at the traces Jaime had left all over the house. The toys that were scattered around the living room, the artwork stuck to the refrigerator door and the cork notice board in the kitchen, the small jumper and jacket on the hall tree by the front door. Small signs that Jaime was part of this household. Small things he only dared imagine could be part of his own home one day.

Tom let that thought carry him up the stairs after Jaime was clean, dressed, and ready for bed. He’d smiled softly at Keira as the little boy, his little boy, took him by the hand and pulled him into his untidy bedroom. Jaime ran towards the bookshelf, pulling out a tattered copy of illustrated Disney stories, much loved by the look of wear it bore. He handed it expectantly to Tom before scrambling into the bed and pulling his blue duvet up to his chin.

Smiling, Tom settled himself on the floor beside the bed and opened the book to the main story list. He wordlessly scanned over the titles until one jumped out at him and he flipped to its start. Tom’s heart felt full to bursting as he watched Jaime’s eyes widen as he told him the tale Mowgli, the boy raised in the jungle, complete with voices. He didn’t know how often Jaime had heard the story or if it were brand new (though he doubted it was), but it felt as if it were the first time and it meant the world to Tom to see it.

Halfway through, he noticed Jaime’s eyes growing heavy though the boy fought his exhaustion valiantly. Tom continued on, half his attention trained on his son as the boy slowly succumbed to sleep. When his eyes were closed and his breathing even, Tom shut the book quietly. He sat for several minutes simply watching Jaime sleep before pushing himself up to his feet and carrying the book back to the shelf. As he reached to flip off the room’s overhead light, he heard Jaime’s small voice. “Uncle Tom?”

He froze, slowly turning back around. “Yes, Jaime lad?” 

“I wish you were my daddy.”

Tom fought to hold back the choked gasp threatening to break from his chest. He could feel his heart stutter then crash to a halt as Jaime’s words slowly sank in. He couldn’t speak for several moments, his mouth hanging uselessly open until finally he could, though the words came out in barely a whisper. “I am,” he breathed. “I am your daddy.”

But Jaime’s soft snores were the only answer he received. Biting his lip, Tom blindly reached for the switch and shut off the overhead light. He pulled the door closed as softly as he could and bolted down the stairs and out of the door, ignoring Keira’s confused calls.

He was half way down the motorway and even closer to his home when the magnitude of just what happened hit him. He had told Jaime, said the words aloud to his son. Claimed him. And it was something he couldn’t take back…Didn’t want to take back, not ever. But had the boy heard him? Had he understood?

“Fuck,” Tom breathed, merging lanes and trying desperately to keep his focus on the road before him. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” A small part of him was desperate to turn the bloody car around and drive straight back the way he’d come but he more rational part of his brain (which he was surprised had such a tight grip on him given the circumstances) prevailed.

It was late when he pulled his car into the street leading to his home. He entered the gate code with numb fingers and drove through. He hadn’t left the front lights on, he hadn’t expected to be gone this late, but the lights from the street lamps bled through enough light to ease his passage up the walk and to his door. He only dropped his keys once before managing to get them in the lock and open the door.

Tom spent the next several hours pacing first his living room, then the hall, and finally his bedroom. He’d tried to sleep and may even have caught small snatches here and there, but his mind refused to stop whirling. By near six in the morning, Tom gave up the ghost. He padded quietly down the stairs and into kitchen which caught the pale, red-pink light of the rising sun. He paced anxiously as he waited for the coffee to brew and drank two steaming mugs before jogging back up the stairs once more.

He’d thrown himself in the shower, hoping to clear his mind. When he emerged fifteen minutes later, he was clean but still burdened. Dressing silently he was down the stairs once more, sliding his feet into his boots and grabbing his mobile, keys, and wallet from the hallway table and was out the door. Tom wasn’t consciously aware of his destination until he’d found himself in Keira’s driveway. He killed the engine and sat, staring through the windscreen at the door knowing this was probably not the way he should be doing things. But when had that ever stopped him before.

Taking a deep breath, he slid from the car and made his way slowly up the walk towards the door. He knocked twice, cursing when he caught sight of the watch on his wrist and at the early hour. Christ, he was determined to make this woman hate him, wasn’t he?

Small, heavy footfalls echoed from inside the house and moments later the door was pulled open revealing a wide-eyed pajama clad Jaime. “James William!” Keira’s voice boomed from further down the hall, “What have I told you about answering the door?” 

Jaime looked back, a sheepish grin on his face. Christ, Tom thought, is that how I look when I do that? It’s a wonder I made it to adulthood.

“But it’s my daddy!” 

Tom stared in wonder at the boy standing before him, flashes of joy and disbelief flooding over him.

NEXT

[littletayyswriting]

Title: Last Chance Surprise (1/3)

Author: LittleTayy

Rating: Teen

Characters: Addison Montgomery, Mark Sloan, Callie Torres, Derek Shepherd

Summary: The casual sex Mark and Addison had been engaging in before the no sex bet causes some unexpected results. Set during Season 3. AU. Canon Divergence. Maddison.

Read On: AO3 or ff.net

Last Chance Surprise

~in these uncertain times~

It's fourteen days into your no sex bet with Mark when you start to feel sick. You're nauseous and exhausted - you feel so drained you've almost fallen asleep at the nurses station multiple times over the last week. On call rooms have become your best friends as of late; and not for illicit purposes, though Mark wiggles his eyebrows playfully any time he sees you heading for one.

A whiff of Karev's cologne one morning has you turning green, hurtling for the nearest restroom, Callie following you in worriedly. "Addison...you okay?" Callie asks and you feel her pulling back your hair and you can't help but think she's a good friend.

Ten minutes later and you're washing your hands, gazing tiredly at your reflection in the mirror as Callie leans against the sinks. "Can't believe you still look good after throwing up like that," Callie teases, casting her gaze over you.

You can't help but chuckle, shaking your head. "At least I feel a little better now," you tell her when you catch her worried gaze, answering her before she can even ask.

An eyebrow raised. "Really? No more sick feeling? Cause I was gonna suggest you should go home or something…" Callie tells you and you sigh, turning to face her properly; hip resting against the counter.

"Honestly, I feel fine Callie. Still tired but it's just one of those weeks, I think," you tell her with a small smile and a shrug. "But hey, at least it's kept my mind off the no sex," you joke, throwing her a playful look.

However, the mention of the no sex bet, triggers something in your mind. You frown as you contemplate everything you've been feeling in the last few weeks and then you're counting back the days and you realise you're late. 22 days late, in fact and you gasp in alarm.

"Addie?"

It's then you remember that Callie is standing in front of you. You look up at her, eyes wide and mouth dropped open in shock.

"Callie, I think...I mean, I need you to take my blood. Right now," you insist, almost desperately.

You watch her brows furrow. "What? Addison...what's going on?" She asks and you grab her hand, dragging her towards the restroom door.

You take a moment, wondering whether to spill your suspicion to the ortho surgeon. But Callie has been a good friend to you so far and you feel like you can trust her. Hell, she already knew about the first baby and the abortion you had.

"I think I might be...pregnant," you whisper to her urgently, glad that the bathroom is empty. You'd be mortified if that little tidbit of gossip somehow made its way out. The nurses have no scruples when it comes to gossip.

"What?!" Callie exclaims, her eyes wide, her expression shocked but somehow delighted. "Sloan?" She questions after a moment, name drawled carefully.

Your face crumples, a pout on your lips as you nod. You glare as she whistles even though you can see she's just trying to lift your mood. "What are you going to do if you are?" She asks as you both make your way as discreetly but quickly as you can towards a deserted exam room.

"I don't know," you tell her, despite the fact you've been thinking about a baby a lot lately. One thing you know almost for certain though, is that you want the baby. If there is one; you won't be getting another abortion.

You step into an exam room, Callie following closely behind and you're glad to see how private it is. You're in a daze as Callie takes your blood and you're grateful when she keeps your name off of them. You're still sitting on the exam table when Callie gets back from dropping the blood test off, wringing your hands as you try to think of what you're going to do.

"You know, we could always just go up to Obs and commandeer an ultrasound machine," Callie jokes, arms crossed as she leans against the door.

You can't help but laugh at the idea, shaking your head. "I'm not sure that'd be a good look," you say, though the amusement is clear in your tone.

"You're the Head of Obstetrics!" She exclaims. "You should be able to commandeer anything you want up there," Callie tells you with a grin.

You laugh because she's right. But you'd rather not risk anyone finding out just yet. You're about to say as much when your pager goes off and you're suddenly reminded you're meant to be working; the both of you.

"I have to go deliver a baby," you say, pushing up off the exam table as Callie straightens up too. "Page me when you get the results back. Please?"

Callie nods and then you're both exiting the room and going your separate ways.

.

. It's close to 6pm when you trudge into the Attendings lounge, intending to grab your stuff quickly and get back to the Archfield. You pause for a moment as you pull out your handbag; if you're really pregnant you're going to have to find a house or an apartment. A hotel is no place to raise a baby.

Of course you try to shake the thought off, you don't even know if you're actually pregnant yet. But the more you thought about it as the day wore on, the more convinced you've become. All the signs are there and you rack your brain to try and figure out a conception date. It is, embarrassingly, harder than you thought it'd be to pinpoint - you and Mark had been sleeping together rather frequently before the sex bet.

By your current symptoms though, you'd estimate you're at least 5 weeks pregnant. And as you make your way out of the attendings lounge, you're glad to see Callie waiting for you; test results in hand. At least if you can see your hCG levels, you know you can figure out just how pregnant you actually are.

It doesn't even surprise you when Callie nods, handing the results over. She knows you well. You need to see them for yourself so you can finally realise your suspicions were right. "Thank you," you murmur to your brunette friend as she falls in step beside you.

"So?" She asks as your eyes take in the results and readings in front of you.

Your hCG levels are higher than you expected them to be and you realise you must be six weeks along. Almost seven weeks in fact.

With that information in hand, one night stands out in your mind. The night after the woman with the toxic blood incident. You remember how worried Mark had been about you and you remember how surprisingly intimate your evening with him had been. The fact you'd been deliciously sore for days after had annoyingly boosted Mark's ego to a ridiculous degree.

It seems fitting, you think, that that's the night he got you pregnant. Again.

Silently, you curse yourself for not using protection. But you had both wanted to feel each other - all of each other and it wasn't like it had never happened before. In fact, thinking back, you realise Mark is the only man you'd ever been so reckless with. Even with Derek you had been careful. Mark just always seems to make you lose all sense.

"Addison?" You hear Callie's voice and you pull your eyes away from the results. You'd completely forgotten she was even there for a moment.

"Sorry," you murmur, tucking the test results into your handbag as you gaze over at your friend. "I guess I'm just trying to process…" you tell her and frankly it's the truth.

Mark has managed to get you pregnant twice in a year. It's ridiculous really. Fourteen years with Derek and not even a scare; two hot albeit one misguided, nights with Mark and you're sufficiently knocked up. He's got to have some kind of super sperm.

You can't help but wonder how many potential illegitimate children Mark Sloan has running around out there. You can't believe you're going to add to the number. It's uncharitable to think, you know it is, Mark is your friend but you can't deny that there's a good chance Mark really does have a child out there he doesn't know about.

Which leads you to realise that you can't keep this child from Mark. From his point of view you've already taken one of his children from him; even if it'd been the right choice at the time. You sigh as you and Callie stop at your car, your mind focused on Mark and the embryo inside you. You need to tell him but you truly don't know how; especially with the current bet between you both.

"Yeah. It's probably a lot to take in. But...it's a good thing isn't it?" Callie asks.

The question freezes you. Is it a good thing? You're not quite sure yet. Your life is nowhere near what you'd thought it would be but you do want a child - even if you hadn't thought it'd happen quite like this. You're not terrified like you were last year and it's still not an ideal situation; but you think it will be a good thing.

"I think so. I suppose I just need to get used to the idea," you tell her with a smile and a slight chuckle. "I-Callie...please don't tell anyone, okay? Especially not George. I don't need the interns knowing because then it'll only be a matter of time before Grey tells Derek and I can't handle that right now. Plus, I need to tell Mark first…"

You let out a sigh of relief as Callie nods and you can see she gets it. "Of course! Addison, my lips are sealed," she assures you and you smile.

"Thank you Callie," you breathe with relief. You truly don't know how you'd get through your days without Callie, she's become one of your closest friends here in Seattle. One of your only friends really; you can't count Mark as a friend anymore, not when he makes you lose all sense and you're pregnant with his child.

"No problem. Go home, rest or whatever. I'll see you tomorrow," Callie tells you with a smile and makes her way towards her own car.

You watch as she leaves before getting into your car and heading for the Archfield. You've got a lot of thinking to do.

It had been over two weeks since you'd found out you were pregnant and Callie is still the only other person to know. You know you should tell Mark but you've still got the whole no sex bet going on; which you realise, is complicating things a bit. You'd told Mark that if he could go 60 days without sex, you'd give him a chance and though you'd never admit it, you want him to pass. Your own part in the no sex bet barely crosses your mind.

The problem is the fear you have at telling him about your pregnancy. He'd be wary but excited and you know that'd push him to take the sex bet even more seriously then he is already. You don't want him to want you just because of the pregnancy. You want to know he wants you for, well, you. It's ridiculous and Callie has told you as much but you can't help it - you've already been hurt too much in the past few years.

You're bringing a child into the world and if you and Mark are to have a relationship; you don't want it to be based purely on the child. You won't subject your child to the kind of upbringing you'd had with Bizzy and the Captain. And though you don't want to admit it, you know Mark would understand that - his own upbringing as empty as yours.

So no, you're not prepared to tell Mark about the baby. Not yet anyway. Callie thinks you're being dumb and you don't know how but she's managed to wrangle a promise out of you; whether Mark lasts the sixty days or not, you have to tell him. You were a little offended when she brought it up but you had to admit, at least to yourself that the younger woman knows you. Apparently well.

You've been feeling like shit for the last few weeks that you've almost forgotten your part in the bet. If Mark wasn't having sex, neither are you. Frankly, the way you've been hugging the toilet morning, noon and night, sex has been the last thing on your mind. You're sure that the surgical wing thinks you've got one persistent flu - you hope so anyway. Callie can only cover for you for so long.

Mark however, has gotten more persistent and considerate in the last week. He's stopped the dirty jokes and suggestions and instead been watching you with worry clear in his eyes. He's started bringing you tea in the mornings and chicken soup to your hotel room at night. If you didn't know better you'd think he knew you're pregnant. Because of course, if he knew that he'd have asked you - there's not a part of him that'd keep silent about that.

You're on your lunch break, a measly hospital salad in front of you because it's light enough not to set off your stomach, when Mark slides into the seat beside you. You're focused on the lettuce, trying to ignore the intense look Mark is giving you. From the corner of your eye you can see he is relaxed back in his seat, dark scrubs setting off his eyes and an amused smirk on his lips. It takes everything in you not to stare, his ego is already big enough.

"You still got that flu?" He drawls and the way he says it, you worry he knows the truth. But you shake it off - there's no way he could possibly know.

You simply roll your eyes in reply, finally lifting the lettuce to your lips. Your lack of a verbal answer doesn't seem to deter him, it never has in fact.

"Cause, I know I'm irresistible. But I didn't think you'd go and get yourself sick just to stop yourself from jumpin' me," he teases and you can't help but laugh at his words.

You realise too late that that was his intention all along. But despite your realisation, you can't help the warmth that spreads through you at the thought of him trying to cheer you up. It's sweet and it doesn't surprise you because Mark's always been that way with you. It's part of the reason your feelings grew from friendship to something a little more for him.

"Oh yes, I just want you that badly," you tease right back, actually enjoying the light banter.

You're both grinning at each other, Mark clearly ready to reply with some kind of innuendo when you realise you've been overheard. Derek is standing not far from you both and by the look on his face, you know he's heard your words. You freeze for a moment before realising that you no longer have to care what Derek thinks; though a part of you still does. You're going to have Mark's child, even if no one else knows that yet, so you figure there's no point worrying about what Derek thinks any longer. You two aren't married and he's been perfectly clear about how he feels for you now.

"Something we can help you with Dr. Shepard?" You ask, the petty part of you enjoying the strained look that flickers over Derek's face at your use of we. Mark, you can tell, is amused.

"I need Dr. Sloan for a consult," Derek replies tightly, gaze flicking between you and Mark before settling on the other man.

"Ah," Mark sighs as he pushes himself up from his seat. "Well, duty calls. I'll see you later Addie," Mark tells you, winking at you playfully.

You can't help but smile at the gesture. You wonder if it means he'll turn up at your door with dinner because despite your vomiting jaunts, you've enjoyed him bringing or sending you meals. Maybe you'll even let him convince you to eat together tonight.

Watching him leave with Derek you can't believe how easily he can turn your mood around. You're still worried over everything, of course. Whether to tell him now or after the bet is over is constantly weighing on your mind. It's not that you're planning to keep it from him forever but you just don't know when the right time is. Nausea swirls in your stomach and you give up on the lousy salad; you move to stand up, the nausea strong and feel a wave of dizziness wash over you.

Black spots dance before your eyes and as you move to pick up your tray, your body feels heavy. You take a few deep breaths before darkness crashes in on you.

.

.

Your eyelids feel heavy and you feel sick. It's not a good combination and you want to throw up but you want to at least wait until you can open your eyes. You groan, feeling downright icky and no it's not a medical diagnosis but it's the accurate way to describe how you feel.

Slowly, you open your eyes as you hear people talking around you. You grimace as the bright lights of a hospital room greet you and you wonder how you got from the courtyard to here. Miranda Bailey and two of her damn interns are there, so is Richard and to your surprise, so are Derek and Mark. All look worried but it's Mark you direct a soft smile towards.

"Welcome back sleeping beauty," Mark says, the first to speak and you can see Derek's eyes roll. Miranda and Richard don't look particularly impressed either.

"What happened?" You ask, choosing to ignore him for the moment, gaze flitting to Miranda's. This is clearly not a surgical case but she's checking you over anyway.

"You fainted Montgomery. In the courtyard," Miranda tells you and you can already feel the heat rushing to your cheeks. Fainting in public is bad enough, it's even worse in your book considering you're an Attending. You can only imagine what people are saying about it.

"Oh," is all you murmur, your embarrassment clear. "I'm feeling fine now though," you announce, pushing yourself up into a better position. "I can get back to work," you insist but already you know that won't work.

"Not going to happen Addison," and this time it's Richard answering. You turn your eyes to the man and though you see him as a sort of father figure, you know you won't be able to talk your way out of this. "You've been sick for over a week and now you've fainted. You need to lay there and rest. I have half a mind to send you home until you're not throwing up or passing out on us," Richard continues, arms crossed as he gazes at you worriedly.

You sigh, nodding in acceptance. You know there's no use in arguing with him. "Fine."

Two sets of eyebrows raise in surprise and you know it's because they've never heard you accept being sidelined so easily. You glance at Mark and Derek out of the corner of your eye and can't help the little grin on your lips as you realise how worried both look. It amuses you, if only because you know they are probably both confused by your behavior.

It's Miranda's voice now that cuts through your amusement. "Alright. She's awake now. I'm sure she's enjoying the gawking but let her rest. Don't you have patients to see?" Miranda says sharply, her shrewd gaze on Mark and Derek. Mark looks amused and Derek looks alarmed as they nod and head for the door.

"I'll spring ya outta here soon Red, don't worry," Mark throws over his shoulder as he exits and you can't help but giggle a little. A giggle that dies down at the knowing gaze of Miranda. She's ushered her interns out the door too and Richard's not far behind.

"Rest, Addison. I can't have one of my star surgeons ill," he tells you but you know he too is worried.

You expect Miranda to leave too but instead she shuts the door behind the Chief and turns to look at you. You try not to squirm under her scrutiny but you can't help it.

"You gonna tell me what's wrong Montgomery? Or should I wait for the blood results?" Miranda starts and you sigh a little. It's clear she knows something and you trust her, especially after she helped you with your poison oak situation.

"I'm pregnant," you say eventually, letting a hand stray low on your stomach and a small smile settle on your lips.

You watch Miranda and you're not surprised when she doesn't seem all that surprised. "Didn't think it was a three week flu you had," she scoffs, shaking her head a little. Her gaze settles back on you then and you're surprised by the spark of curiosity you can see in her eyes. "Do you know how far along you are?" She asks and you grin.

"Nine weeks and a day," you tell her softly. You're happy about this and you hope if you can convey that, Miranda will be happy for you too.

"Nine weeks… Do you...uh," and she stutters here, waving a hand around in front of her. It's clear to you what she's trying to ask and you feel your cheeks flush once again.

"It's Mark's," you tell her softly.

Miranda scoffs then, shaking her head. "Couldn't keep ya knees closed around him, hm?" She teases, harkening back to an early conversation you'd had with Miranda when Mark had first started working at Seattle Grace. That seemed so long ago in comparison.

"I told you I lose sense around him!" You spout, huffing a little though there's no weight to it. You can't convince yourself any longer that you're as opposed to Mark as you'd like people, him included, to believe.

Miranda simply gazes at you, lips pursed in the way she's wont to do. You simply look at each other for a moment before she shakes her head. And you know that will be the end of that conversation. You're grateful that Miranda is choosing not to question your decisions too much regarding Mark.

"You're probably dehydrated and got low blood sugar. I've seen the way you've been vomiting all week. You need to start eating better or more at least," Miranda advises though you both know you know all this already. In fact, you're usually the one giving this advice; it's odd to be on the other side receiving it. "I'm going to get you hooked up with an IV and get some more fluid in you. You've gotta do better Montgomery," Miranda admonishes and you can't help but grimace sheepishly.

"I know, I know," you murmur. "I've been trying but I can't keep anything down. What'd you do about morning sickness?" You ask her, slumping back a little in the hospital bed and hoping she'll have some good advice.

"My morning sickness wasn't too bad. But you can never go wrong with saltines and ginger ale," she tells you and you chuckle. It's the same thing you've said to your patients thousands of times.

"I'll try it," you say, giving her a smile. She seems to be done now and is heading for the door. "Oh, Miranda. Could you not mention...my situation to anyone? I haven't told Mark yet and I don't want him to hear it from anyone else," you call out to her softly.

You can see her considering you and your words before nodding. "Not a word from me. Don't worry. But tell him soon, I'm sure there's already bets going around about what's wrong with you," she informs you and you can't help but shake your head. Mostly because you know she's probably right.

.

.

One minute you were glaring at the nurse hooking up your IV and the next you're waking up to Mark Sloan lounging around in the seat next to your bed. You weren't officially admitted but you'd cleared your patients for the day considering Miranda and Richard didn't think you could even stand on your own. You hate being confined to a bed but you can't deny how well rested you feel now that you've woken up.

"Mark?" You call out to him as you watch him so focused on his phone. You have a sneaking suspicion he's got a game of Snake going on. You smirk as he startles, he'd clearly been engrossed.

"Red!" He grins at you, seeming happy to see you awake. His wide smile and caring eyes send warmth shooting through you. "You're awake. Was worried you were gonna sleep through the night and I was gonna have to sleep in this chair," he continues, complaining playfully as he sits up straight and stretches a little.

You shake your head. "You wouldn't have to stay with me," you tell him, stretching a little yourself.

Mark simply smiles and shakes his head. "I know that. But I want to Addie. I've been worried about you. You've been very sick lately…" he trails off then and you can see clearly just how worried he's actually been. It surprises you but you know it shouldn't. Mark cares about you, he always has.

You sigh, frowning a little as you realise you need to tell him. As touching as it is that he's so worried for you; you don't want him to worry anymore. Knowing Mark he's probably deduced your recent bout of illness to some kind of incurable cancer. You'd rather not have him thinking you're dying.

"I have been very sick lately," you agree with a nod, wrapping your hands around each other nervously. "But I'm not sick per se…" you continue, hesitating for a moment. Your eyes meet his and you can see the worry and confusion mix. "I'm pregnant Mark. Nine weeks."

You exhale. You've finally told him and the weight you've been carrying around has finally lifted. But the anxiety rears its head as you watch Mark, trying to figure out what he's thinking.

His eyes flit between your face and your stomach and you see he's processing. "Nine weeks," he murmurs, brows furrowing a little. "When you went in to put that girl with the toxic blood under again?"

"Yeah," you say with a nod, eyes still focused on the man. And you can see he's thinking about that intimate night you'd spent together. You'd both been exhausted the next day and the fact you couldn't walk properly the next day had made him unbearably smug.

"So it's...mine?" He asks almost cautiously and you can't really blame him. The last time you'd been pregnant with his child you'd terminated it after all.

"Yes," you reply firmly. You seek out his gaze and can see the unasked question in them. "I'm keeping the baby. I want this child Mark."

You hadn't expected the sigh of relief but you had expected the grin. "Really?"

"Really," you echo back to him and you've barely got the word out before his lips are on yours.

You grin into the kiss despite yourself, hands coming up to cup his cheeks as you kiss him back. It's a quick kiss though and he pulls back quickly, sitting on the edge of his seat. One of his hands has found yours and he's squeezing enthusiastically.

"We're going to have a baby Red. I want to be involved. Anything you need… I want to be a Dad, Addison. I know you think I'd be a terrible father but please, give me the chance to show you differently-"

"Mark," you interrupt because you can see where he's going with this. "I-I'm sorry for saying that. Our situation back then was very different to our situation now though. I want this baby to have both their parents but that being said...there's still a lot we need to figure out," you tell him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

He sighs but nods. "You're right, of course. But I just...I want you to know I'm in Addison. You know I love you and I want this to work out. I want to be a family with you."

You can't help but smile at his words. This was the kind of love you'd thought you wanted with Derek. You never expected this from Mark and somehow, that makes it feel better for you. Mark wants you, Mark's been choosing you for so long now and you think it's about time you let yourself choose him too.

"I know you do. I want that too Mark," you tell him softly, your smile wide as you gaze into each other's eyes.

"You do?" He questions and you can't fault him for asking, for making sure.

You nod, reaching out your hand to take one of his, entwining your hands together. "Yes. You're changing Mark and I suppose I haven't ever really given you enough credit for that. The Mark from New York wouldn't have agreed to a no sex bet…" you shrug then, lips pressing together as you try to think of what to say next. "We're going to have a child together. I have to see you for the man you are now. And that's...well, that's my issue. Not yours," you admit sheepishly.

Mark is simply watching you with a grin on his face. It's slightly unnerving. "Thank you," he murmurs after a moment and you don't even know what for. It must be clear on your face because he continues. "For giving me a chance. To be with you and to be in the baby's life. And just so you know...I think we should both stick to the bet. As much as I enjoy sex, especially with you Red, we need a foundation that isn't built on it. Especially with a baby coming," Mark tells you and you're surprised by the maturity and can't agree more with his assessment.

Thus begins the start of your dating life with Mark.

[katehuntington]

Title: Ride With Me (part one) Fandom: Supernatural AU Main characters series: Reader, Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer, Ellen Singer-Harvelle, Jo Singer (Harvelle), Benny Lafitte, Ash Miles, Garth Fitzgerald IV, Castiel Novek, and many more. Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader (eventually)  Word count: ±4350 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family.  Summary part one: Y/N arrives at the airport, but getting to her new internship is easier said than done, when no one shows to pick her up. Meanwhile, at the ranch, Dean learns that his uncle Bobby hired a new intern and assigned her to the head wrangler, and he’s not sure how he feels about that. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: ‘Along The Way’ - Sunday Kids (check out ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify!) Author’s note: Thank you @kittenofdoomage, @coffee-obsessed-writer and @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish for helping me take this story to a higher level. 

Ride With Me Masterlist

     “This is just great…”

     After a long, turbulent flight next to a rather large and sweaty nervous flyer - who had way too much garlic for lunch, by the way - Y/N thought she was done. But now that she’s waiting outside Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport with no one in sight to pick her up, it seems that the universe isn’t going to stop toying with her just yet.

     To top it off, the weather decided to throw a curveball as well. What happened to the lovely sun rays and dry heat from the brochure? Right now it’s so humid that the fabric of her clothing clings to her skin as if it’s trying to hold on for dear life, and to make matters worse, rain begins to fall from the clouded sky. Right; monsoon season. Oh, well. At least the entrance of the arrival hall offers the traveler some shelter.

     With a sigh she sits down on her oversized suitcase, scanning her surroundings for a driver. She should have picked up something to eat in the arrival hall; she could eat a horse, as a figure of speech that is. Obviously, Y/N would never eat a horse, since she loves them more than anything. They are the reason why she touched down in Phoenix in the first place.      From the age of four, she’s been riding the majestic animals. Being on the back of a horse is one of the first memories she can recall, now that she thinks of it. When she was a little girl and was asked what she wanted to be when she grew up, the answer was always the same: she wanted to be a professional rider with her own ranch. 

     That’s the dream. No, that’s the goal.

     Despite her unconditional love for these noble creatures and an overload of motivation to execute this plan, her parents encouraged their daughter to go to college. She even got her master's degree, but truth be told, all she ever wants to do is ride. So when she graduated a few weeks ago, Y/N thought that was exactly what she was going to do from that point on. Her father wasn’t impressed with her business plan, though, and decided that he was only going to lend her the money to start up her own company if she would complete half a year of ranch work. ‘No quitting, no complaints’, is what he said.

     Clearly, he’s underestimating her, because how hard could ranch life possibly be? Sure, in the past she spent most of her time riding and not so much mucking out stables. After all, employees at the boarding facility did that for the clients. But she had insight, management skills, and other great characteristics that will help run a business. What are six months of hard labor going to contribute, besides a good waistline?

     Although she believes her father’s plan is completely unnecessary, she is going with it. Those twenty-six weeks will pass by in the blink of an eye. It’s gonna be a walk in the park. Smooth sailing, right? Except for the fact that she’s already stranded, alone, and with no clue where to go. Hopefully, the rocky flight to the desert wasn’t an omen for what is yet to come. 

    After fifteen minutes of waiting, she takes out her phone again. For a second her thumb lingers on the speed dial that would put a call through to her father, but then she looks up the number of the ranch owner in her email and calls him instead. Running back to Mom and Dad is not going to deliver the message of an independent woman who is ready for the big world. Looks like she will have to dig herself out of this mess. Arizona might not have been her Dad’s best idea, but she’s here now. Pride forbids her to give him, or all the others who are skeptical, the satisfaction of being right. 

     “Bobby, are ya gonna pick up the damn phone or what?”

     Dean sets his bottle down on the bar next to the buzzing phone. He glances at the screen, unable to identify the number, and looks up again, searching the saloon for his uncle. At the long table in the center of the lounge, the man in his mid-sixties is enjoying a game of cards and a glass of whiskey, accompanied by a few members of the crew. Bobby hasn’t heard Dean, too busy laughing over the dirty joke Ash just told. Right when his nephew is about to call out his name again, the phone on the wooden counter stops ringing. Oh well, if it’s important they will call again, right?      Even though he feels drained from last days' events, he will not let anything take away this carefree feeling. Together with Jo, Benny and a couple of regular guests, they moved the young cattle from the summer pasture up in the Superstition Mountains back to the ranch. It took two days to locate the herd, but eventually, they found them at Weaver’s Needle.      After hours spent in the saddle and camping out for several nights, they all needed a shower, a good meal and a cold beer. Bringing the cattle in is one of the highlights of the season and worth a celebration. It didn't take long before wranglers, workers and tourists gathered in the saloon to celebrate. The place hasn’t been this crowded in years and smile appears on Dean’s face as he takes it all in. An upbeat country song - that he recognizes as ‘Along The Way’ by the Sunday Kids - fills the air together with growling laughter and cigarette smoke. Cheers rise when the beer bottles are heaved into the air, overruling the sound of billiard balls colliding on the pool table. 

     He lets a sigh slip from his lips when he glances aside at Ellen, who just brought back a full tray of empty glasses. As she sets the load down on the counter to give her arms a rest, his aunt smiles, witnessing Dean’s pleased expression.

     “Enjoying yourself, sweetheart?” she asks.      Dean nods, circling the bar to grab two new bottles of Corona from the cooler. “It’s a good night.”      Ellen grants her eyes another look at her saloon as she takes the beer that is handed over; she can only agree. “It sure is.”

     They toast to that and take a swig, but before Dean can swallow his drink, the phone on the counter starts ringing again. He guesses it apparently is important and calls out Bobby’s name, a little louder this time.

     “I’m in the middle of a poker game, son,” he replies, not looking up from his cards.      “Your phone’s been buzzing like crazy,” Dean notifies as he approaches the old man, noticing the pair of queens in his hand.      “Is it ringing, really? How come I can’t hear the damn thing?”      Ellen scoffs from behind the counter. “Maybe because you need to start using your God-forsaken hearing aids.”      “Woman, my ears work just fine,” he returns, continuing to mutter much softer to prevent his wife from hearing him. “I can hear you jappin’, can’t I?”

     Dean - who did pick up on his words - smirks in amusement and checks on his aunt if she really didn’t hear her husband, but when she looks from one to the other confused, he wisely keeps his mouth shut. Meanwhile, Bobby grumpily turns his cards upside down on the table surface and takes the phone. The ranch owner adjusts his worn baseball cap a little as he looks down at the screen, puzzled, obviously not sure how to work the piece of modern technology.      “How the hell do I pick up?” he wonders out loud.      “You swipe it, Dad.”

     Jo walks over, interrupting her game of pool momentarily, and leans over her father’s shoulder, still holding her cue stick. With a simple movement, she lets her finger slide across the touchscreen. Somewhat clumsily, Bobby presses the phone against his ear, letting out a hesitant ‘hello?’ as if he’s not completely sure if the little magic trick actually worked.

     “You really had to give him your old iPhone, huh?” Dean sniggers when Jo walks past him, back to the pool table to finish the game.      “Anything’s better than that old Nokia,” his cousin returns, throwing him a look as she whips her blonde hair over her shoulder. “That thing was prehistoric.”

   Dean grins at the remark and observes the game that is in motion on the green quarried slate. Jo is acing it, it’s her turn to shoot the eight-ball in already, while her opponent still has several balls on the play field. The petite blonde positions herself behind the black number eight, throwing a seducing glance at the slick-looking young man on the other side of the table. With a flirtatious sparkle in her eyes, she allows her low-cut tank top to show a little more cleavage as she bends over. It doesn’t go unnoticed with the men in her company, but unlike the guest that she’s reeling in, Dean has the urge to cover up his little cousin. It’s not just a game of pool that these youngsters are going to be playing tonight.

     “Sure you want to aim it like that?” Dean asks, amusedly waiting for her to pick up on the double meaning.      A deadly glare comes his way and his smirk reaches even wider. Not granting him another second of her time, Jo focuses on the final ball again and pockets it, winning the game. Victoriously, she holds up her hand in front of tonight’s loser, who reluctantly hands her a twenty-dollar bill. A chuckle escapes Dean’s throat and he takes another swig of the sparkling yellow brew called Corona. As he lowers the bottle, the cowboy’s attention shifts to his uncle, who is still on the phone.

     “- I’m very sorry, It’s been really hectic today with the cattle comin’ in and it slipped my mind completely.”      The apologetic tone in Bobby’s voice piques Dean’s interest. Jo joins him, leaning against the table while resting her elbows on the rails.      “Any idea what that’s about?” Dean wonders, but she shakes her head.      “- that’s no problem. I’ll send someone to pick you up right away.”

     After having made that promise, Bobby eyes his employees, then his wife and daughter, hoping that someone is sober enough to keep his obligation. It triggers Dean to check with his friend, Benny. The brawny wrangler answers the unspoken question by shaking his head, however; he’s not volunteering, and neither is Garth. The skinny stable boy now turns to Ash, catching the ranch hand peeking into Bobby’s cards while his boss is occupied, and he elbows him. Shrugging his shoulders the guy who is rocking a mullet lets out an innocent ‘what?’ under his breath. It’s obvious, though, that Ash is in no shape to drive, since he already drank half a crate of his favorite Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. It’s heading towards eleven PM and after an exhausting couple of days, no one is thrilled to drive out to Phoenix. Not to mention that the amount of liquor they’ve consumed might actually jeopardize getting the person Bobby is talking to from A to B.

     “Balls!” the boss curses after he hangs up.      “Forgot somethin’?” Ellen assumes from what she picked up, as she continues to polish a glass behind the bar.      “Yeah, that new intern from Maine,” he mutters as he gets up.      Ellen’s jaw drops, staring at her husband in shock. “You didn’t! That poor gal is at the airport right now?”      “Landed forty-five minutes ago,” Bobby admits, embarrassed.

     “Whoa, wait! New intern?” Dean’s eyes slide from Bobby to Ellen and back, unable to follow.      “Did I forget to mention that? She’ll be under your supervision,” Bobby breaks to him.      “What? I wasn’t even notified?!” he exclaims, his voice pitching a little higher than he anticipated.      “Oh, don’t be such a drama queen,” Jo scoffs, placing her hand on her hip as she looks at him sideways. “Like you would mind a chick working under you.”

     Stunned by her bold comment, Dean cocks his head back as he stares at her wide-eyed; she’s got some nerve! He is about to counter when Jo’s mother already intervenes.      “Joanna Beth!” she warns.      “Oh, come on. It’s the truth, ain’t it?” her daughter mumbles, stubborn as ever.      Ellen doesn’t answer. Instead, her attention shifts to the man who is moving towards the double doors. “And where do you think you’re going?”      Bobby turns around, a confused furrow on his forehead. “Well, to pick up the gal, of course,” he returns, stating the obvious.      “Like hell you are! You had three glasses of whiskey, Robert Singer. You ain’t getting behind the wheel and that’s that,” Ellen decides with her shoulders back, arms crossed and eyes stern.

     Annoyed, but smart enough not to fight the strong-minded woman he married thirty years ago, he addresses Dean with a hopeful look.      “Don’t look at me, this is my fourth beer,” he returns, holding his hand up innocently.      “Same here, boss,” Benny copies, his southern accent thick on his voice.

      “I’ll go.” Jo straightens her back and takes her cowboy hat from the corner of the pool table.      “You sure, honey?” her mother checks with her.      “I had one drink, Mom. You’re not gonna find a more sober person on the ranch at this hour,” she claims bored. “Keys?”      That last demand was meant for Dean.      “Keys to what?” he questions, furrowing his brow.      An eye roll, a sigh. Jo’s typical routine when she’s done with her cousin. “Your car, asshat.”      “What’s wrong with yours?”      “I have a flat. Now, are you gonna hand me the keys, or what?” she says smartly.

    Jo holds up her hand and with a reluctant grunt, Dean tosses the keys of his precious ‘67 Chevrolet El Camino pickup. Skillfully she catches it, beams at him in triumph, and makes her way to the double doors.      “If I find a scratch on her, I’ll make you regret it!” he shouts, loud enough for her to hear.      “I’d like to see you try!” she scoffs.

     A few moments later, the V8 big block under the hood of his beloved car starts up. Jo doesn’t even bother to warm up his baby before she races down the dirt road towards the big city down in the valley, skitting gravel from under the tires. Dean cringes when he hears her take off; someone’s gonna pay for that.

      He will deal with her when she gets back. Until that time Dean settles down at the long table, watching the poker game. Obviously, Ash folds the moment Bobby raises the stakes, leaving the ranch owner with fewer chips than he hoped to win.      “Can I talk to you for a second?” Dean requests before Garth starts dealing the cards.

     Bobby looks at his nephew from under his cap, observing him for a moment. He knows that kid. He spent a few years of his childhood on the ranch and the young man has been working here since the age of fourteen. The boy is like a son to him, so no wonder he can read Dean like a book. Something is bothering the wrangler, and so he gets off his chair and moves away from the crowded table. Shadowed by the cowboy, Bobby heads towards the corner of the bar, seeking a little privacy. They sit down on the bar stools, facing Ellen on the other side of the counter. Her husband doesn’t bother asking her to pour him a drink, because she is on it before he barely has the chance to settle in his seat.

     “Here you go, boys.” She puts down the filled whiskey tumblers on the varnished wood.      Dean thanks her and takes the glass in his hand, clanking it into Bobby’s, who mutters ‘cheers’ as he does so. After watching Ellen enter the kitchen, the older man shifts his gaze to the man accompanying him.      “What’s on your mind, son?” he asks.

     Dean adjusts himself a little, preparing for the upcoming conversation. He doesn’t like to question his uncle, who also happens to be his boss. This is the part where it gets tricky to keep work and family separated. He has to speak up, though, because lately, he has the oppressive feeling that Bobby might not trust him entirely when it regards the management of the ranch. Obviously, the owner calls the shots, but he used to involve Dean whenever decisions needed to be made. It’s bothering him and he needs to get it off his chest.      “Why didn’t you tell me you hired an intern?” he wonders.

     Bobby grunts softly, averting his eyes to his drink as he circles the tumbler  on its edge. He knew this talk was coming and instantly regrets keeping Dean in the dark about recent developments. His nephew is an exceptional horseman, loyal to his family, a trustworthy worker. A little relentless when it comes to risks and danger, and yes, an impulsive womanizer, but there’s one thing he isn’t and that’s stupid. He’s Bobby’s right hand for a reason, he should have known he would pick up on something.

     “Because I knew you wouldn’t approve,” he admits, taking a sip.      Dean scoffs at that. “If you knew I wouldn’t be okay with it, why did you hire her?”      “Because she’s free help, Dean.”      “Is she any good? Did you look into her?” His head wrangler eyes him, trying to make out how thorough he has been in his research.      It doesn’t take long before his uncle’s guilty expression gives it away.     “You didn’t even interview her, did ya? You just said ‘yes’? Look, I know things have been a little difficult since Gabriel left, but we’re managing fine now,” he assures him. “Educating a wannabe cowgirl is actually gonna cost me valuable time and there’s a lot of shit that needs sortin’. We have to bring in the two-year-old stallions, the calves need branding, the young stock has to be moved to the winter pastures--”      Bobby interrupts Dean’s ramble by holding up his hand to shush him, intervening the moment he has an opening. “You don’t have to worry about the young stock, I’m selling it.”      Stunned, Dean stares at him. And when was Bobby planning to tell him this?      “Why the hell would you do that?” he questions, unpleasantly surprised.        Before his boss can answer, Dean can make an estimated guess already. The concerned look in Bobby’s eyes when they meet his green ones confirms it; money is tight, very tight. The crisis has laid the ranch in a thick suffocating smog of debt and so far it doesn’t look like the air is going to clear anytime soon. Hay prices are sky high while their stock sells for half the price they used to go for. It has been hard to keep their heads above water, but so far they’ve been able to ride out the economic recession, so Dean thought. But now that Bobby’s telling him that the one-year-old cattle has to go, it dawns on him how serious the situation is. 

      His jaw clenches as he observes the ice in his glass for a moment, pondering in silence. And just like that, the careless happiness he was experiencing a moment ago, is gone.      “You wanna sell all of them? Or just the steers?” he checks.      “All of them,” Bobby sighs, downing his drink.       “How you wanna handle that next year? Buy in again? It’s gonna cost you a lot,” Dean responds, trying to think of another way.      “Right now, all we need to worry about is surviving this year, son.” Bobby pauses, now comes the bit that he wanted to avoid. Drastic measures are necessary for the survival of their home. Maybe the term ‘sacrifice’ is a better way to describe what he’s about to announce. “That’s why I need you to let one of the wranglers go.”      Shocked, Dean stares at the man in his company. Not looking him in the eye, Bobby forks his fingers together, resting his elbows on the counter.      “You want me to fire one of my men?” Dean recaps in disbelief. “No, let me correct that, you want me to fire one of my friends?”      “What you do with your colleagues in your spare time should not influence a layoff,” the ranch owner counters.      But his nephew disagrees strongly. “That’s bullshit and you know it. These guys are practically family, Bobby.”      “You think I don’t know that, boy? I ain’t happy about it either, damn it! You think I’m proud of having to send one of those guys home?”

     He nods at the workers, who are laughing loudly as Ash folds his tattooed arms around the mountain of chips that are stacked on the table, reeling in the win. Neither he, Benny, or Garth have a clue what is hanging over their heads, but it’s probably better that way. Only now does the head wrangler understand why Bobby didn’t tell him before. The poor man simply didn’t want to burden him.

     “I have to. For the future of this place, Dean. And I wish I didn’t have to ask you to do this, but you know your crew best. You know who’s most needed and who we can miss,” Bobby explains with empathy.      Dean wants to fight this, he wants to object and argue in every way possible. Who he can miss? He can’t miss any of his men. Shit, after they let Gabe go, they were barely able to round up the daily routine before dinner. But he knows how this works and he knows Bobby would do anything to make sure that the boys can keep their jobs. There is no right or wrong answer here, every option behind any door is a bad one. There’s nothing the boss can do about it and Dean understands that.      “I know. I’ll handle it. Just give me a couple of days and I’ll let you know,” he assures, patting his uncle on the shoulder.    Bobby nods, but is unable to break a smile. He’s carrying a heavy weight on his shoulders, go figure when you have to play God like that. It’s exactly the reason why Dean took on the task to fire one of the workers, hoping that it would relieve his surrogate father a bit.

     “I need another drink,” Bobby mutters, reaching for the Jack Daniels behind the counter.      Dean checks on his uncle from the corner of his eye, but then puts his glass down next to his. “You and me both. That intern better be good. Do you know anything about her?”      “I know she’s a reining rider, pretty damn talented too. Not much experience in ranch work, though,” the ranch owner tells him.       “Blonde? Brunette? Cute?” Dean smirks as he fishes for more information, but Bobby doesn’t reply with a straight answer.      “Oh, hell no. Not under my roof,” his father figure decides, having seen this play out numerous times already. “She’s staying for six months so tie a knot in it and keep it in your pants for once.”

     “If she sticks around that long.” The young man scoffs, triggering Bobby to glare at him. “What? We had plenty who went home crying within a week. This work ain’t for everyone.”      “I know you’re not happy with the situation, but do me a favor and just give her a chance, will ya?” Bobby pressures. “She seemed like a go-getter. She might surprise you.”      “Maybe. We’ll see,” Dean downs his glass and slides off his stool.

     Bobby watches his nephew walk away from him. It takes only a second before the charismatic cowboy put on his poker face, just in time, because Garth signals him to come over. So he does, but his next step shows a hint of hesitation. He turns on the heels of his boots, the thumb of his left hand casually hooked behind his belt buckle.      “What’s her name?” Dean asks, narrowing his eyes a little.      Bobby huffs and casts his gaze at him. “Her name is Y/N,” he states. “Y/N L/N.”

     Dean raises his brow, nodding satisfied. Y/N. Sounds good, has a nice ring to it. Curious he imagines what kind of person would fit a name like that and as a perky smile starts to form on his lips, he joins the guys.

     Bobby can spot the up-to-no-good sparkle in his nephew’s green eyes and he can’t help but smile into his refilled glass of Jack. He can point a parenting finger at Dean all he wants, but if this intern is his type, he’s going to charm her right into his bed like he has done with so many women already. Oh, well. We’ve all been young, he thinks to himself. Dean being a wrangler only stacks up the number of girls dwelling at the pretty boy’s feet and he never failed to take full advantage of that. Who can blame him, really? He hasn’t committed to anyone yet, why not make the best of it? It has cost the ranch owner some money, though, since a client or two never returned after getting their hearts broken. The boy better listen this time.

     For a moment he takes in what’s playing before his eyes. His wife having a good conversation with a group of guests, the crew gathered around the long table where Ash just revealed a full house, causing the men to go out of their minds. It’s a nice moment that will make a great memory. Bobby can only hope that those moments keep coming, because no matter how precious, no man can live on memories alone.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part two here

[blurry-fics]

Chapter Fifteen

Realize That It’s Gone | Series Masterlist

Warnings: The tiniest sprinkle of angst

Word Count: 2117

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy this chapter! :) (picture credit)

You watched the droplets of rain fall from the edge of the porch roof and onto the stones below. The patter of the rain was calming and, despite the summer storm that had rolled in, the air was warm. Marenna sat next to you, slowly sipping on a glass of iced tea. The ice clinked quietly against the edge of her glass.

“What’s on your mind, Y/N?”

You sighed and rested your chin in your hand. The two of you had initially decided to have a girls night since your parents were out of town and Carter was working late, but you had a gut feeling that you would inevitably end up talking to her about your situation with Josh and Tyler. Not that you minded, Marenna always had good advice when it came to these things.

“A lot of things. I never seem to catch a break.” You meant to laugh, but it came out more like a forceful exhale.

“Carter told me a little bit about what’s going on with Tyler.”

“What did he say?”

“Just that you’re conflicted. You like Josh but you don’t want to accidentally ruin things with Tyler, since you think there might still be something there.”

You nodded slowly. With everything that had happened in the last week, it seemed like a lifetime since you had last seen Carter.

“It’s only been more confusing since then.”

“Talk to me about it.”

“Well, I went on the date with Josh. It was nice, like, really nice. We laughed a lot and he seems like a really sweet guy and he made sure that my first date was really good, but…” You began to chew on your bottom lip. “I haven’t told this to anyone, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Tyler the entire time. I thought I was getting over him, Ren, I really did. But now? I have no idea what I’m doing.”

You brought your hands up over your eyes, trying to hide the tears that were beginning to form. Marenna saw right through this, of course, and gently wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to her. She lightly rubbed her thumb along your shoulder, comforting you.

“Hey, hey, Y/N, it’s ok. We’re going to figure this out.”

“This is so pathetic. I’m freaking out because too many guys are interested in me,” you sniffled, earning a laugh from both you and Marenna.

“To be fair, you’ve been put in a really tough situation. A new guy is clearly showing interest in you, but at the same time, the guy that you’ve been close to for years is sending you mixed messages. It’s ok to be confused and unsure about what to do.”

You leaned back slightly so there was more space between you and Marenna. A tear had slipped down your cheek, so you quickly wiped it away with the back of your hand.

“I thought it was going to be so simple. Tyler said he was ok with the date and I thought I was starting to get feelings for Josh, but then I was thinking about him the whole time and Tyler seemed uncomfortable with the date when I talked to him about it but he still won’t admit that he has feelings for me so maybe I’m just overthinking all our interactions and ruining this chance with Josh for nothing.”

“You know you can put all of this on hold, Y/N. Nobody is saying that you have to make a choice tonight, or tomorrow, or even next week. If those boys really care about you, they’ll understand you needing to take time to work this all out. And you know Carter and I are going to be here to help you, right?”

“I know,” you said, allowing yourself a small smile. “Man, I don’t know what I would do without you two.”

“You’re like my sister, Y/N. I’m always going to be here for you.”

Now your tears were falling for a completely different reason. You leaned forward and threw your arms around Marenna, holding on to her tightly. She lightly rubbed at your back, holding you just as tightly.

“Thank you, Ren. I’m so glad you’re in my life.”

Marenna held onto you until your breath was steady again and your tears had stopped falling. You still had a lot of unanswered questions, but now you at least felt like you knew how to handle it. Like Marenna said, you didn’t have to make a decision anytime soon.

The two of you sat quietly for awhile longer. Marenna sipped on her iced tea and you enjoyed the steady patter of rain on the roof. There was something about summer storms that always made you feel at peace.

“Hey, Ren?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you a serious question?”

“Sure.”

“When did you know Carter was the one?”

Marenna’s eyebrows furrowed for a moment. but they slowly relaxed as her mouth curled into a smile. “Ok, I think I know. There was this day, it must have been when I was a sophomore in college, that I had to bail on a date because I had this big test to study for and I wasn’t prepared as I thought I was. My plan was to stay in my room all night and go over the study guide, but Carter insisted that he come over and help me study. I tried to get him to stay home because I knew it would be boring, but he was determined to come over, so I eventually gave in. He brought me dinner and helped me study and calmed me down when I started to panic about the test. That was when I realized that he really cared about me and my success, even if it meant he had to give up on a fun date. Plus, he managed to make something as boring as studying into something fun we could do together, which meant a lot to me.”

“I like that answer,” you smiled.

“Sometimes I wonder what in the world was going through my head when I broke up with him. I almost lost the best thing that’s ever happened to me because of one stupid argument.” She shook her head a little. “And I lost six months with him because of it. Sorry, this is probably weird to hear because it’s your brother, but sometimes I just start thinking about what would have happened if I never called him that one day…”

Now it was your turn to reach out and place a hand on Marenna’s shoulder. “Everything worked out in the end, Ren. You and Carter are happy together and that’s all that matters.”

“You’re right. My mind is just playing out all the different possibilities right now.”

“It’s ok.” The rain had picked up a little; it was now drumming loudly against the roof. “Do you think you and Carter are going to get married?”

“We’ve talked about it,” she shrugged. “Neither of us are really in any kind of rush to get married. Our main focus right now is just trying to find an apartment together.”

You gasped, “You’re moving in with him?”

“Did he not tell you?”

“No!”

“What an idiot,” she laughed. “We’re going to see if we can find a place that’s a bit closer to school for me, but worst case scenario I’ll move into his apartment.”

“Ren! That’s awesome! Now I can visit both of you at the same time!”

“Don’t you basically do that already? I’m always with Carter.”

“Ok, yes,” you giggled. “But now it will be, like, official.”

“Official. Yeah.”

You leaned forward a little, sticking your hand out so that it was under the rain. Droplets of water immediately covered your skin.

“What are you doing?”

“Just feeling the rain,” you said, turning back to Marenna. “It feels like forever since the last rainstorm. I’ve missed it.”

Marenna moved forward a little bit and held her own hand out under the rain. Her mouth slowly curled up into a smile.

“That is nice.”

“Tyler used to do it when we were driving. I thought he was crazy for having his window down when it was raining, but I tried it one day and understood why he did it. Now we both have our windows open when it rains,” you smiled.

“Tyler means a lot to you, doesn’t he?”

You nodded slowly. “That’s why I’m so afraid of messing this all up.”

“I know I don’t know him as well as you, but there is something I’ve noticed. That boy has stuck with you through everything. Every argument. Every forced confession. Every period of time spent apart. And my guess is that he’ll stick with you through this, too, no matter what you end up choosing.”

“You’re right, which is why I think it’s so dumb that-”

You were interrupted by a loud crash inside the house. In a matter of seconds, you were on your feet and throwing open the sliding glass door to see what mess Georgie had managed to get himself into this time.

Sure enough, one of the stools had ended up on its side and Georgie was standing in the middle of the kitchen island. He turned to you as you stepped inside, watching your every move. It was a relief to see that the most damage he had caused was knocking over a chair. There were plenty of other possibilities for him to wreak havoc when he was left inside alone.

“Georgie,” you grumbled. “We push the stools in for a reason and you still manage to cause a problem! Who do you think you are?”

“What’s going on?” Marenna asked. She had followed you inside after watching you practically sprint across the porch.

“He just knocked a stool over, which really isn’t that big of a deal if you think about all the other problems he could have caused.”

“Do you want me to go put him in the laundry room?”

“Yes, please. At least until we decide to come inside and make dinner.”

Marenna carefully scooped Georgie off the counter and paraded him up the stairs while you finished picking up the chair and checking the floor for any scratches it may have left. As far as you could tell, there was no damage done.

“I filled up his food, so he should be pleased for awhile,” Marenna announced as she came back down the stairs.

“Thanks, Ren.”

“Of course. Did you want to go back outside?”

“Yeah.”

Marenna filled up another glass of iced tea before joining you on the edge of the porch again. From the sounds of it, she had added more ice to the glass, too.

“So, you were in the middle of saying something before Georgie decided to cause a ruckus.”

“Was I?”

“Yeah, something about thinking something is dumb?”

“Oh, right. I just think it’s dumb that there’s this whole debate in my head about what I’m supposed to choose when my heart has very clearly made its decision.”

“It’s a hard decision, isn’t it?”

“Only when I overthink it. I know what I want, I just need to trust myself.”

Marenna reached over and rested a hand on your back, “That’s good. Trusting yourself is good.”

“You’re the one that taught me to trust myself, remember?”

“I was?”

“Yes! Remember when we got our nails done and I couldn’t decide what color and you told me I had to trust myself to pick the right color? It was a smaller decision then, sure, but the lesson still stuck with me.”

“Wow,” Marenna smiled. “I guess I did.”

“You taught me a lot of things.”

“Don’t get all sentimental on me. Somebody had to teach you some solid life lessons and there was no way Carter was going to tell you anything good.”

You started laughing and it wasn’t long before Marenna was joining in too. Poking fun at Carter was something the two of you had been doing since she had first started dating him.

“Are you going to tell him what we talked about tonight?”

“Only the parts that you say are ok to share, although I know he’ll try to get it all out of me.”

You nodded, “He does that.”

There was a pause in your conversation before Marenna spoke.

“How are you feeling, Y/N?”

“Better. I really appreciate you talking to me about all this, it helps a lot.”

“Of course, I’m glad it helps. Do you have an idea about what you’re going to do now?”

You turned to Marenna and smiled. “I think it’s obvious, isn’t it?”

*     *     *     *     *

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[kingjesperfahey]

Title: The Zemeni-Shu Prank Olympics

Author: @kingjesperfahey

Rating: General Audiences

Fandom: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo

Pairing: Jesper Fahey & Kuwei Yul-Bo; Jesper Fahey/Kuwei Yul-Bo

Characters: Jesper Fahey; Kuwei Yul-Bo; Inej Ghafa; Kaz Brekker; Nina Zenik

Additional Tags: Canon Divergence; Comedy; Kuwei Centric; Just Guys Being Dudes

Word Count: 6.8k

Summary:

“You got me!” The bed springs squeak with the shift in weight as Jesper climbs back on. “You really got me!” He looks at Kuwei with a newfound light in his rich brown eyes. “I didn’t know you were into pranks - ok, Yul-Bo, you don’t even know what you just started.”

“Wait!” Kuwei says, trying to reign himself in. “I really didn’t do that on purpose! I just-”

“Uh huh. Just wait until the sun comes up, I’ve been holding these pranks back for years.” Jesper says, burrowing himself into the mattress.

As he turns off his lamp and settles into bed, Kuwei wonders just what exactly he got himself into.

Or, alternatively - Jesper and Kuwei have a prank war. Hilarity ensues.

Read Below:

-

The smell of jurda and summer rain mingles in the night air, warm and sweet. Kuwei sits next to the window, the summer breeze brushing against his warm skin. He furrows his brows and concentrates once more. From his hands a single flame appears, fluttering slightly with the breeze. Then, as he concentrates, he makes the flame grow and shift, until the flame extends into a vaguely log-like shape. Then, carefully, Kuwei takes a breath and smoothens the shape until it vaguely resembles-

“Careful not to burn the curtains.”

The flame goes out, and Kuwei jumps at the sound. When his eyes land on Inej casually perched on the windowsill, he takes a relieved breath. “Has anybody ever told you you’re really good at sneaking up on people?” he asks.

“Once or twice,” she says with a shrug. Her smile widens at the disbelieving look he throws her, and she nods towards his hands. “You’re getting better at that.”

Kuwei looks down. “Thanks,” he says. “Those tips from the zowa we met have really helped.” He looks back up at her. “Is it your turn to patrol?”

Inej nods, looking back out the window at the dark. Staring back at her is nothing but jurda crops and the twinkle of the nearest town some kilometers in the distance. “I just finished. It’s been silent the last couple of nights, but it doesn’t hurt to make sure.”

Kuwei hums understandingly. The past couple of nights they’ve decided to lay low in one of the various Van Eck properties. He knows that the show they put on at the auction was certainly convincing - for a terrifying moment, the charade had even managed to convince him. But still, while there’s still no cure for jurda parem, and while there’s still those who hunt grisha, and while Kaz Brekker still lives to get them all on the target list for the next big bad, and while there’s still a million other bad things that unforeseen forces choose to swing at them for their own entertainment - Kuwei knows that any kind of peace is temporary at best. And so he hums, and he prays that at least for one night the universe decides to give him a break.

“You sure that Wylan’s ok with us using one of his family’s properties?” Kuwei asks, leaning against the windowsill.

“Yeah,” Inej says. “He’s got too much work to do in Ketterdam, what with his mom and everything.”

Kuwei hums. “It’s good that he has some family left.”

Inej nods, a strange look in her eye that Kuwei just can’t place. He likes to think that he and Inej have gotten somewhat close over the past several weeks, both of them liking the comfort of shadows. But he knows there are some things that can’t be rushed, and finding out what haunts each other’s eyes is one of those things.

He clears his throat. “I can take the rest of your shift if you want.”

Inej shakes her head. “No it’s ok, Nina’s on it for the next couple hours. I was on my way back when I saw the light on,” she says.

Kuwei shrugs. “Yeah, I couldn’t sleep.”

Inej makes an amused face. “Huh, I wonder why.”

Kuwei follows her gaze towards the other end of the room. There, on the bed closest to the door lies a bundled up figure, swaddled in a thick blanket despite the summer heat. Peeking out from underneath the mass is a thin brown arm thrown against the mattress, and from the opening comes the loudest snore Kuwei has ever heard in his life. He had almost managed to drown out the sound when Inej arrived, but now that she drew attention back to it, he winces.

“I never would’ve thought that someone that skinny could make that kind of sound,” Kuwei mock whispers. Jesper’s snoring continues, just as loud as it had been last night, and the several nights prior.

“This is why he always got his own room over at the Crow Club,” Inej says, voice low. “Nobody could ever put up with more than a week.”

“I just might have to set up camp on the bathroom floor.”

Inej laughs, covering her mouth quickly so as not to wake Jesper.

“Don’t worry,” Kuwei says back in a normal tone of voice. “When he’s this loud he doesn’t get up for anything.”

As if on cue, Jesper lets out a snore loud enough to wake the dead.

“I’ll leave you to that,” Inej says, getting up from her perch.

“Wait,” Kuwei says, sitting up. “Before you go, I need your opinion on something.”

Inej folds back into her previous perch. The movement briefly reminds Kuwei of a dance troupe he’d seen on the streets of Nanjing. Her voice draws him away from the memory. “Sure, what?”

“Ok so I’ve been trying out something - watch.” Kuwei puts his hands in front of him and concentrates. A flame emerges, and then slowly he starts smoothing out the edges until it’s in the shape of a ball. Then slowly he expands his arms, stretching the flame bigger and into different shapes: a circle becomes an oval, then a diamond, then a hexagon, and then a six pointed star.

“That’s beautiful.”

Kuwei risks a glance. At the look on Inej’s face, his face can’t help but shift into a proud smile.  “I’m trying to make a more controlled flame,” he explains, shifting the flame into a pyramid. “That way I can be more precise and form a kind of shield or barrier without tiring myself out, or shoot a direct stream without risking that I might burn anything I don’t want to hit, or-”

POP!

Kuwei loses his concentration, the flame destabilizes and then vanishes in a plume of smoke and a loud explosion of pressurized air and gas.

“GUGH!” Jesper yelps from the other end of the room. Kuwei and Inej turn, and they watch as the mass of blankets shoots up in the air and disappears off the edge of the bed. “Kuwei - Kuwei get down!” Jesper yells, voice still groggy with the last remnants of sleep. “I’ve just been shot!”

Kuwei and Inej burst into laughter. Kuwei slaps a hand over his mouth in a late attempt to stifle the sound, his muffled giggles mingling with Inej’s in the warm summer air. Jesper pokes his rumpled head out from the other side of the bed, bleary eyes landing immediately on them. Inej snorts at the look he shoots them and falls into a fit of laughter.

“Kuwei,” Jesper says, realization quickly dawning on him.

“I’m sorry!” Kuwei gasps, trying to get a hold of himself. “I didn’t mean to wake you up I just-” he catches sight of Jesper’s hands and can’t help the laugh that punches it’s way out of his chest.

In Jesper’s hand is one of his favored pearl-handled revolvers, which he had grabbed on the way down and is now in the process of putting back on his nightstand. As he stands and unwraps himself from the mess of blankets he’d accumulated, Jesper’s face splits into a huge grin and he releases a full-bellied laugh at the situation.

“You-you flew up three feet in the air,” Inej splutters, leaning onto Kuwei’s shoulder for support.

Kuwei snorts, his whole body shaking uncontrollably now.

“You got me!” The bed springs squeak with the shift in weight as Jesper climbs back on. “You really got me!” He looks at Kuwei with a newfound light in his rich brown eyes. “I didn’t know you were into pranks - ok, Yul-Bo, you don’t even know what you just started.”

“Wait!” Kuwei says, trying to reign himself in. “I really didn’t do that on purpose! I just-”

“Uh huh,” Jesper says with a grin. “Just wait until the sun comes up, I’ve been holding these pranks back for years.”

Inej straightens and wipes a tear from her eye. “I’m going to tell everyone about the false alarm,” she tells Kuwei. “Goodnight!” she says to them both.

“Goodnight Inej!” Jesper says, burrowing himself into the mattress.

Kuwei waves, and as he turns off his lamp and settles into bed, he wonders just what exactly he got himself into.

-

Kuwei’s brows knit in concentration as he presses the end of the pencil against his bottom lip. After a moment, he presses the pencil back onto the surface of his sketchpad, darkening the edges of his sketch. Sweat beads at his brow beneath the heat and he swipes at it, taking another look at his source material: the interior garden of the Van Eck estate.

He leans back in his chair, taking a moment just to take in the view. The foliage of the garden has grown untamed ever since the crows had moved in, though if anyone were to ask Kuwei his opinion, he’d say that it looks better like this. Just a little bit wild. Natural. Unrestricted. Kuwei isn’t a big fan of manicured uniformity as a general rule. But then again, it’s not like he’s had much time to think about interior decoration what with - well, everything.

Kuwei draws himself out of his thoughts. He’ll have time to think about imaginary drapes and equally imaginary futures later.

With that in mind, Kuwei takes a breath and picks up his sketchpad again. Strange, he thinks as he looks at the page. I could’ve sworn I drew that branch already.

Nevertheless, he draws the branch back on, careful to outline the particular shape of the leaves.

Kuwei glances up again and studies them for a moment as he takes a sip of his water. When he turns back to the page, the same branch has disappeared again - or rather, shifted. The branch he had just drawn on the background was now in the foreground of the image. Kuwei frowns down at the paper. “Huh?” he mutters to himself. He sketches the branch again, this time pressing harder on his pencil.

Confusion and suspicion start to swirl in his brain.

When he glances back up, Kuwei keeps track of the page out of the corner of his eye. Just as he thought - Kuwei swirls his head back to the page, fast enough to see the graphite on the paper moving to form the words “JESPER FAHEY IS THE MOST HANDSOME GU”

“Jesper!” Kuwei turns around to survey the room.

Sure enough, Jesper turns the corner from the hall and steps into the room. He manages to keep a straight face for all of two seconds before he starts laughing.

Kuwei tries to keep the grin off his face but ultimately fails as well.

“Wow Kuwei, I wouldn’t say I’m the most handsome guy ever,” Jesper says, pressing a hand on his chest and striking a pose. “But I can’t blame a guy for recognizing beauty when he sees it.”

Kuwei snorts and throws a pencil at him.

Jesper easily steps out of the way and shoots him a shit-eating grin.

“If this is your form of payback for yesterday, I already told you that it wasn’t on purpose right?” Kuwei says, leaning back in his chair.

Jesper places both his hands on the back of a nearby chair and leans on it. “Right, because making gunshot sounds while your gorgeous roommate is sleeping is just what ex-convicts-turned-chemists do for fun, right?”

“Hmm I wouldn’t go as far as to say gorgeous-” Kuwei teases.

“Oh?” Jesper nods his head towards Kuwei’s lap. “But that’s not what your journal says.”

Kuwei looks back down and sees the words “JESPER FAHEY IS THE MOST HANDSOME AND GORGEOUS ROOMMATE IN THE WORLD” followed by a tall stick figure winking at him.

Kuwei throws his head back and laughs.

-

The next day, Kuwei manages to get up just a little earlier than Jesper, rubbing his eyes and yawning so hard his jaw hurts as he stumbles into their shared bathroom. Getting up before Jesper is a completely unplanned act, because Kuwei is a night owl and he refuses to be up before 10 if he can avoid it. Being Jesper’s roommate for the last couple of days has taught him that unfortunately Jesper’s one of those people who just naturally get up at godless hours of the morning even when he had only a handful of hours of sleep the night before. In fact -

The muffled sounds of Jesper’s movements confirms Kuwei’s earlier assessment. As Kuwei blinks away the last dredges of sleep, a thought slowly begins to take form in his head.

Kuwei stumbles out of the bathroom some minutes later, making a show of yawning to appear like he’s still half asleep. In reality, the nerves under his skin are humming with anticipation.

Jesper shuffles past him into the bathroom none the wiser, shutting the door with a decisive click.

Only two moments pass before Jesper comes out of the bathroom, a disgusted look on his face. “Why is the toilet seat so warm?” he demands.

That was exactly the reaction Kuwei was expecting. He chuckles and plops back down on his bed. “I dunno.”

Jesper’s face goes through the five stages of grief. “Did you just-” his voice breaks. “Just how long were you sitting on that toilet seat, Kuwei?”

“Who said I was sitting?” he snaps his fingers and makes a small flame appear at his fingertips. Kuwei grins. “I don’t just set stuff on fire, you know.”

The tension leaves Jesper’s shoulders in one fell swoop. He turns back towards the bathroom. “‘I already told you that it wasn’t on purpose, right?’” Jesper mocks in a high pitched voice.

“How long were you sitting on that toilet seat, Kuwei?” he mocks right back.

His only answer is the click of the bathroom door closing shut.

-

“Can someone pass the sugar?” Inej asks. Both Nina and Jesper reach for the bowl in the middle of the table, only to find that Kaz had already grabbed it and was pouring some into Inej’s tea cup.

Kuwei smiles to himself at the sight. The four of them are seated around the dining table in the center of the room, all in varying states of animation. Gathered now, as a group, they don’t look like a group of criminals on the run. As a group, they all almost look ordinary.

Nina spots him lingering by the kitchen doorway and waves him over. “Hey,” she says with a grin. “Look who finally showed up.”

“Sorry, got distracted,” Kuwei says mildly.

Kaz clears his throat. Just like that, he straightens, and it’s like that flash of humanity from earlier vanishes into thin air like it never existed.

Kuwei definitely doesn’t imagine the way Inej rolls her eyes two seconds after the sudden shift in Kaz’ demeanor.

“What’s the best way to approach a mark?” Kaz begins in dramatic fashion. Chair legs scrape quietly against the floor as Kuwei settles in.

“Put a-”

CRASH!

The chair crumbles beneath Kuwei’s weight, sending him crashing straight to the floor and landing hard on his behind. Jesper’s laugh tumbles right after him, though he tries valiantly to try and hide it behind a sip of water.

Nina shoots Jesper a bewildered look. “Jes.”

“He started it!”

Kuwei laughs, cutting off Nina’s response. He quickly stands back up, making a show of dusting off his clothes after the fall. He glances back down at the slabs of wood on the floor, some of the pieces which have scattered while others remained in a heap. “The screws?” Kuwei puzzles together, looking back at Jesper for confirmation.

Right on cue, Jesper smugly pulls out a handful of the chair’s iron screws from his pocket.

Kuwei nods to himself, and a newfound resolution settles into his stomach. If he wants a prank war, he’ll get a prank war.

From the other end of the table, Nina towards Inej for an explanation.

“Kuwei accidentally pranked Jesper, so now they’re pranking each other,” she surmises quickly.

“Was that what that bang was a couple nights ago?”

Inej grins at the memory. “Yep.”

Nina hums and looks back at the two bickering at the other end of the table. “I feel bad for Kuwei. You remember the last time he started a prank war with someone?”

Inej remembers the event clearly. The guy had admitted defeat after only two days. “I dunno,” she muses. “I love Jesper, but I think Kuwei’s gonna win this one.” She doesn’t need to look at Nina to picture the surprise on her face.

“You know something about what Kuwei’s got planned?”

“More like a feeling.”

“. . . Wanna put some money on it?” Kaz asks.

Both Inej and Nina turn to him, twin looks of bewilderment on their faces.

Back at the other end of the table, Kuwei nods at the former chair on the floor. “Do you know how to put this back together?”

Jesper peers over the table to look and grimaces.

“You took out the screws without remembering how to put it back together?” Kuwei confirms.

“In my defense, it was a split-second decision to take the screws out. My mind - it just amazes me sometimes.”

Kuwei scoffs. “Ok, I’ll look for another chair.”

“Here, let me make it up to you.” Jesper leans back in his chair and pats his lap exaggeratedly. “I insist.”

Kuwei decides to do just that. Shock colors Jesper’s features as Kuwei sits down on his lap, a smug grin on his face. “You insisted.”

Kaz clears his throat, drawing their attention back. “As I was saying-”

-

The Zemeni-Shu Prank Olympics officially begins.

-

Kuwei checks his watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. It’s already noon; they should’ve been back already. He sighs and sits back on his heels, tapping a restless tune with ink and oil stained fingers.

He’s spent most of the morning in his makeshift lab, pouring himself into both jurda stems and his next prank in equal measure. The jurda flowers outside the estate have proven infinitely useful in his attempts to find a cure, though until he gets his hands on a safe testing method there’s not much he can do now other than theorize. It was as he was theorizing that his next prank idea hit him - now he just wishes that Jesper would hurry up and come back from the nearby town.

Just as he straightens, Kuwei hears a voice again: Jesper’s. The tension that had curled in his gut looses. He gets into position behind the corner of the hallway, waiting as the voice is followed by footsteps, and then -

Kuwei shoots a small spark up at the ceiling. The hallway sprinklers spring into life, sending heavy rain down towards their heads. Kuwei turns the corner just in time to see Jesper squawk and try to dive for cover. He grins from ear to ear, careful not to get in the water’s spray. Stopping the hallway sprinkler’s alarm from setting off the rest of the sprinklers in the estate was a little easier than he had expected, which would’ve been a little concerning had it not been particularly useful.

It’s only a split second after he laughs that he realizes his error - Jesper was not alone.

Inej stands on the other end of the hallway, the top of her head and shoulders partially soaked.

Oh no.

“I’m sorry!” Kuwei says, stepping closer to the edge of the sprinkler’s range. “I thought he was alone!”

“It’s fine!” Inej replies. “I’m just gonna-” and with that, she leaves, not even a trail of water drops shadowing her.

Jesper throws his head back and laughs. “She’s gonna get you back for that later!”

Kuwei groans and makes a mental note to be more courteous to her in the next couple of days. He turns back to Jesper. “Having fun?”

“You know it’s actually quite refreshing.”

Kuwei looks closely. In just a matter of seconds, Jesper’s managed to look like he just emerged from beneath a pool of water. His clothes have completely soaked through, the cloth darkening with the water and plastering to his skin, with small rivers flowing from the top of his head all the way down his face and running down to the tips of his fingers to the floor.

“Uh huh,” Kuwei hums dubiously.

Making his point, Jesper opens his arms and starts twirling under the sprinklers. Kuwei laughs but doesn’t join him. As he turns to leave he says, “Oh by the way, Kaz said he needed to see you as soon as you got back. Based on that, I think you might be running late.”

Jesper swears behind him. The sound is followed by the schlup schlup schlup of Jesper’s shoes as he waddles towards Kaz’ room.

-

Kuwei awakens feeling warm. It’s the kind of warmth that follows a midday nap, with his limbs a little stiff from their awkward position and the afternoon sun dragging him back to wakefulness.

As Kuwei wakes, he takes a moment to collect himself, to assess the stiffness of his neck from being slumped over his work desk and the familiar feeling of a page being stuck to his face. He breathes in deep, and the familiar smells of ink and paper and sterilizing fluid fills his nostrils. For a moment, the smell reminds him of home. He takes a minute to revel in it, to pretend that he’s back home as a little kid and he just fell asleep in his dad’s study again while he did his homework. Slowly, with that memory in mind, he blinks awake.

And screams bloody murder.

Kuwei scrambles off the chair and into a standing position. His heart pounds in his chest and he pushes his arms forwards to get away from -

A very realistic-looking bronze bust of Jesper’s head.

Slow claps draw his attention away from the bust, and he doesn’t even have to look to imagine the look on Jesper’s face. Kuwei looks anyways, and he realizes with a dulled sense of satisfaction that his estimation was pretty spot-on: all the way down to the the wide grin and the particular way his eyes light up with mirth.

“So this is what you’re up to in this lab of yours,” Jesper says, gesturing at the head. He saunters into the room and sits down on the corner of Kuwei’s desk, just a handspan away from the bust. He grins at him. “Well I’ve got to say, you’ve got the likeness down pat.”

Kuwei rubs the last traces of sleep from his eyes. A paper falls away from where it had been stuck to his face, and he glances down to see if it had been something important - nope, just a sketch. “I dunno,” he says, glancing between the two in faux-seriousness. “I wasn’t able to recognize that as you without water dripping down the face.”

Jesper groans. “You ruined my favorite waistcoat.”

Kuwei’s jaw aches with the strength of his yawn, cutting his reply short. He steps around the stack of books he’d miraculously managed not to knock over and plops back down on his chair next to the bust. Now that he looks at it more closely, the bust’s detailing becomes even more prominent. The structure really does capture Jesper’s likeness, from the texture in the hair all the way to the particular curve in his mouth. How the hell did he make this that fast?

“I’ve been practicing.” Jesper replies proudly.

Oh. Well he certainly hadn’t meant to mutter that out loud. Oh well. Kuwei picks up the bust. It’s surprisingly light given the material. He clears his throat. “I’m Jesper, I wear lime green suits and snore like the dead,” he mocks.

“Give me that!” Jesper counters. He pulls the bust away and holds it between his hands for a moment, brows pinching in concentration. When he turns the bust back at Kuwei, he sees his own crafted face staring back at him. “I’m Kuwei, I stay inside a lab practicing science all day, and I think that ranch should go on pizza-”

“-Ranch does go on pizza.”

Jesper puts the bust on his lap. “No it doesn’t you heathen!”

Kuwei laughs and he taps at Jesper’s thigh. “Hey, can you do Kaz next?”

Jesper shoots him a manic smile. “Give me a minute.”

-

The next day, Kuwei walks into the interior garden to find Jesper already there, a book in his hand. He looks up as Kuwei enters. Their eyes meet, and the air seems to thicken with the tense silence that follows.

Slowly, Kuwei takes note of the room, scanning for anything out of place. Jesper’s proven himself to be creative, so he knows that the next attack could come from anywhere. They stand frozen like this for several moments, Jesper’s gaze tracking his movements.

The silence is broken when Jesper sits up, making Kuwei take in a sharp breath. His heart thunders in his chest and his powers hum beneath his skin, ready.

Jesper notes this and shoots him a pointed look, setting his book down. “I don’t have anything planned for right now. Temporary truce?”

Kuwei nods stiffly. “Truce.”

Instantly, Jesper’s shoulders relax, and he picks up his book again.

The coil in his stomach loosens. Kuwei steps further into the room and sits, taking a relieved breath. He clears his throat. “So, what’re you reading?” Kuwei asks, opening his notebook.

“Just some research,” Jesper says, his voice straining in it’s forced casualty.

He hums. “I’ve heard it’s good to talk to someone while you’re researching. You know, to get the ideas flowing.” he feels Jesper’s gaze rather than sees it. Kuwei turns his head to meet Jesper’s narrowed eyes and quirked mouth.

“Nice try,” Jesper says. “But my lips are sealed.”

“Your reputation is full of lies I see.” Kuwei says.

At this, Jesper raises a brow. “You’ve been looking into me?”

He shrugs. “I’m just good at paying attention.”

“What else does my reputation mention?” The book is set down on the table between them, forgotten for the second time. Jesper wiggles his brows. “My wit? My dashing looks?”

“Your humility.”

A full-belly laugh erupts from Jesper’s mouth, the sound loud and infectious.

This is nice, Kuwei thinks, looking at the other boy beside him. It’s nice, to forget for a little while. To exchange barbs with a friend - that’s what they are now, Kuwei realizes. Friends. It’s been a while since he’s felt that kind of feeling. At least in the last few years. He grabs onto that feeling with both hands, and decides to ride it out and see where it goes.

-

The soda slides refreshingly down Kuwei’s throat. The day has been particularly hot, and despite his best attempts he hasn’t really been able to fix the air cooling system ever since it broke in the middle of the night. He pours himself another glass, dropping some ice cubes in.

Jesper enters the kitchen then, making a beeline towards the fridge.

“Hey, do you want some?” Kuwei asks, gesturing towards the bottle of soda.

The look on Jesper’s face is like Kuwei had offered him the kiss of eternal life. He serves Jesper some in a separate glass, dropping some more ice cubes in and handing it over to him.

Jesper’s hand reaches over to grab it before he stills. Suspicion glosses over his face. “You drink it first.”

Kuwei’s brows shoot up. “Are you serious?”

“You could’ve put something in it.” Jesper says.

“Isn’t poison Nina’s thing?”

Jesper’s silence and nod at the cup is all the answer Kuwei needs.

Kuwei sighs and takes a pointed sip from the glass and swallows. “Mmm, tastes just like soda.” he offers the glass to Jesper again with an unamused look. “Trust it now?”

“Yes,” Jesper says with a satisfied smile. He takes the glass from Kuwei’s hand.

As the glass leaves his hand, Kuwei heats the tips of his fingertips to warm up the drink. Just as planned, the ice cubes melt less than a moment later, releasing the mint solution he’d frozen in the cubes. Jesper eyes widen into saucers and he realizes his mistake a moment too late when the first spurt of soda comes flying at his face.

Kuwei jumps out of the way as the soda sprays everywhere, bubbling much higher and faster than he’d anticipated.

He cackles at the look on Jesper’s face. But Jesper is a fast thinker, and before Kuwei can dodge out of the way Jesper’s pointing the bottle towards him, spraying his shirt and pants with the bubbly concoction.

“No!” Kuwei jumps away from the spray, running towards the entrance of the kitchen. Jesper chases after him, the glass discarded in exchange for the soda container Kuwei had left on the counter. Kuwei is breathless from laughter which is why he’s not even able to cry a warning when Nina turns the corner and Jesper accidentally swings soda into her face.

-

Nina stalks up to Inej in the library. She doesn’t even give Inej time to greet her before she says, “How long is this prank war gonna go on?”

Inej smiles as she spots the soda stains on Nina’s clothes. “They got you too huh?”

She nods and plops down dejectedly into the nearest chair. “I just can’t take it anymore, Inej!” Nina cries dramatically.

Inej takes a deep breath. “Yeah.” The knives in her hands twirl absentmindedly. “Yesterday I got hosed down with sprinklers.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep.”

Nina tries to keep a straight face, but fails. Her giggle is contagious, and soon Inej can’t help but laugh too. Nina coughs to try and gather herself together. “Ok but seriously, those two need to be stopped.”

“Absolutely not.”

Nina jumps at the sound of Kaz’ voice. “Just who is supposed to be the Wraith again?” she groans.

Kaz ignores her. “Money was placed on that bet. We can’t stop unless you want to give up your payment.”

Nina might not be Kerch by birth, but the suggestion that she just part with that kind of money is just as bad as if he had asked her to dive naked into the canal during the dead of winter. It just was not done. “Can’t you just make them stop?”

Kaz raps his cane twice. “There’s money to be made, Zenik.”

Inej raises a brow. Her saints have a way of warning her when things are going to happen, and if they’re right this time - which she has a feeling they are - then she’s sure that Kaz’ enthusiasm will end soon.

-

Kuwei groans as he leans against the sink, his back aching from washing for so long. Jesper stands beside him, practically lounging on the counter as he dries the dishes with a spare towel. The hot pink gloves had been something he’d fought for, and looking at him now, Kuwei begrudgingly admits that the color really does suit him like Jesper had said.

The kitchen is clean now after the whole soda debacle, even though the task had taken him and Jesper the better half of the afternoon. His whole body feels sore and sticky. Looking down at the soap bubbles, Kuwei fantasizes of how nice the shower is going to feel after the dishes are done.

“You know some people would call this karma,” Jesper says beside him, hand outstretched for the next dish to dry.

Kuwei groans. “In my defense, I didn’t know just how much the soda would bubble up.”

Jesper hums disbelievingly. “Right, because you’ve never done the soda geyser prank before.”

“I actually haven’t,” he admits.

He can almost hear the emotional journey occurring on Jesper’s face. Disbelief, followed by shock, followed by - “How could you never do the soda geyser prank before?”

Kuwei shrugs and scrubs faster. Self-consciousness threatens to creep in, but he decides to beat it down with a stick. “I didn’t really get the chance when I was little. Then my dad and I hit the road, and then, well-” he makes a vague gesture in the air. “The opportunity just didn’t come up until now.”

“So does that make me your first?” Jesper teases with a cheshire grin.

Kuwei flicks some soap bubbles at him. “Definitely not my best,” he says.

Jesper slaps a pink rubber glove over his chest. “You wound me.”

Kuwei laughs and looks back down at his hands. It wouldn’t be wise to look too closely at that grin, for a plethora of reasons he just doesn’t seem to remember now. Two moments pass before he feels Jesper step closer, the space between them reduced to less than a handspan. Kuwei ignores him, scrubbing dutifully at the plate in his hand. Heat spreads over his body at their proximity, though he keeps his face carefully composed.

In the next moment Jesper leans against the sink counter, his arm blocking Kuwei from looking at the dishes. He looks up to find Jesper looking at him with a smile that could light up the galaxy. “Don’t get all shy now,” Jesper teases. “You’re a lot more fun to be around when you’re actually talking.”

Kuwei snorts, though internally he is more than a little flattered. “Come on,” he says, shoving lightly at Jesper’s shoulder. “You can flirt later. I’m tired and really want to take a shower.” He reaches over to the water handle as a case in point.

Jesper side-steps away. “Whatever you say,” he says with a familiar twinkle in his eye.

The water turns on, and the fabrikated faucet splashes water directly at Kuwei’s face. He quickly moves to turn it off and tosses soap bubbles at where Jesper had just been.

Jesper tosses his gloves on the counter and saunters away. “You said you wanted a shower!”

-

The next day is spent in blissful ceasefire. There are no pranks, no jump scares, no interrupting him while he works in his lab or on his sketches. In fact, the only time Kuwei’s seen Jesper that day was in the library when Jesper asked him about the Shu dove-tree market. Botany and local economics are subjects that Kuwei really does enjoy, and the ability to talk about them with someone informed enough about the topic to have some meaningful insight is actually a really nice breath of fresh air. Later on, he and Inej talked on the rooftop and he got some work done on his inferni attempts. Overall, it was a pleasant day.

And Kuwei hated every moment of it.

The constant threat of a new prank looming behind every seemingly innocuous corner wore down on his nerves like a string coming undone. He’s been on guard the entire day, just waiting for the second shoe to drop only for the tension to keep building until he’s all but ready to snap. Peace is agony.

Though slowly, the anxiety manages to cool down just an hour before his usual bedtime.

Kuwei stumbles into his and Jesper’s shared bedroom. Jesper looks up and nods at him. “Hey,” he says, turning his nose back to his book. It’s the botany one Kuwei had been looking for earlier in his lab. He pays it no mind.

“Hey,” Kuwei answers after a moment too long. He makes a beeline towards the bathroom, too tired from being on edge all day to even properly worry any more. Kuwei is so tired that he’s already half-asleep by the time he exits the shower. Standing in front of the mirror, Kuwei absentmindedly pokes at the bags under his eyes and sticks his toothbrush into his mouth.

His mirror image twists his face in disgust and he spits out the toothbrush from his mouth. With his newfound alertness, Kuwei groans and looks at the offending toothpaste he’d used.

Kuwei storms out of the bathroom. “Jesper!”

To his benefit, Jesper makes a valiant attempt at appearing completely innocent. But one long look at Kuwei’s face sends him into a fit of laughter and he tosses the book aside.

“What even was that?”

“Mayonnaise,” Jesper chokes out mid-laugh.

Kuwei scrubs furiously at his tongue, which only serves to send Jesper even more into hysterics.

Neither of them even notice Kaz step into the room, toothbrush in hand. He takes one look at them before deciding to head directly into their bathroom. “I ran out, so,” he mutters as he grabs the toothpaste off he counter.

Kaz emerges from the bathroom with the toothbrush in his mouth and he just freezes.

Kuwei slaps a hand over his mouth. He and Jesper sit motionless as they see Kaz’ face shifts from entitlement, to confusion, to realization, to nausea, and then completely disappears as he runs back into the bathroom.

Kuwei and Jesper look at each other and then both of them howl with laughter.

-

The next morning, they are all gathered for an early-breakfast-slash-emergency-meeting in the dining room. Kuwei and Jesper didn’t even need to ask Inej what it was about when she told them to come, the memory of the night before was loud and clear.

They all sit in the dining room, Kuwei in the chair that he and Jesper had finally managed to figure out how to fix a couple of hours after the initial incident. He had been the first to arrive, quickly joined by Inej, Jesper, and then Nina. They all sit around the table, waiting for their esteemed leader, Kaz’, grand entrance.

Right on schedule, Kaz enters the dining room, the tap of his crow-headed cane announcing his arrival. He sits down at the head of the table, steeples his fingers together, and takes a breath. “The prank war will stop.”

From across the table, Inej and Nina glance at each other with an amused expression.

Kuwei leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “Ok but he started it!” he says. “And, in case you haven’t noticed-”

“-Oh, I’ve noticed.” Jesper says, meeting Kuwei’s gaze with a wink.

Kuwei rolls his eyes. “Laying it on a little thick, don’t you think?”

“I’m not the one that sat on my lap.”

“Ok but you offered.”

“And you both put mayonnaise in my toothpaste,” Kaz cuts in.

“You probably shouldn’t have been using somebody else’s toothpaste in the first place,” Inej mutters under her breath.

Kaz glares at her.

Kuwei and Nina cackle while Jesper shoots Inej finger guns in a show of support. Kaz shifts his attention back to them after a moment, and the nausea curving his mouth reminds Kuwei of the memory of the night before. The look of complete disgust on Kaz’ face as he ran into the bathroom is probably - no, definitely - the most human he’s ever seen their resident edge lord. And he can’t help the snort that escapes him then, though he tries to cover it up as a cough at the look that Kaz gives him.

“Ok, but the mayonnaise thing aside,” Nina says, extending her arms placatingly, “Inej got sprayed with water, I got soda in my hair, and there’s this weird smell coming from the garden-”

Jesper’s brows shoot up and he looks at Kuwei.

“That wasn’t me!” Kuwei sniffs indignantly.

Nina sighs. “Can we please just call a truce?”

Kuwei looks at Jesper to find the Zemeni boy already looking at him. He raises a single brow in question, to which Jesper shrugs and flashes a brilliant grin. “No winner?” Jesper offers.

Part of him wants to deny the offer, but Kuwei realizes that the reasonable thing to do would be to put a pause. He shoves the flammable pistol replica deeper into his pocket. “No winner,” he echoes.

Kaz releases a breath and taps his crow-headed cane. “Good.” With that, he stands and leaves in a swish of black cloth.

Kuwei remains seated in his chair, briefly wondering whether to expect an equally melodramatic entrance in a few minutes. “ . . . So is the meeting over?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Jesper says, bouncing up. “The dramatic exit is our cue to leave.”

Both Inej and Nina leave to their respective rooms, leaving Jesper and Kuwei to talk as they head to their respective points in the rest of the estate.

“Hold on, I forgot something in the room,” Kuwei says as they pass by the hall. He enters the room and completely freezes in his tracks.

His whole half of the room - his bed, his curtains, his nightstand, his lamp, his pillow, his books, his floor, his wall, his ceiling, even a discarded sock he’d accidentally left on the floor - all of it is completely wrapped in aluminum foil.

Kuwei whirls around. “I thought we had a truce, Jesper!”

“Ok but to be fair I did this before the truce happened so it doesn’t count!”

THE END.

[ezzydean]

“You’re getting crumbs all over my bed.” with author's preferred Haru ship :>

You’re getting HaruRei because I love these two and @cattatonically picked Rei for a random character.  (under a cut cause it is 1500 words)

“I’m beginning to worry that this pattern is becoming a habit,” Rei says, pushing up his glasses and rubbing his knuckle against his nose.  

It’s not like he doesn’t want Haru around.  He genuinely enjoys his former Senpai’s company despite the quiet that is often present between them.  It’s not an awkward quiet.  It’s rather pleasant actually.  The problem lies in the fact that the last seven times Haru has come over to his apartment he’s been at work and Haru has let himself in with the key Rei gave him for emergencies, but even then that’s not really the problem.  No the problem is that Haru has only come over after 1) a bad date or 2) breaking up with his current partner and his way of coping with that is, for some reason, curling up in Rei’s bed and eating whatever little bit of junk food Rei has stashed away in his cupboards.

Haru mumbles something.  Rei is pretty sure it’s literally just a noise not actual words because Haru doesn’t even wait for Rei’s response before burying his head further under Rei’s pillows.

He pulls off his work clothes and tosses them into the hamper before digging out a pair of track pants.

“You’re getting crumbs all over my bed,” he says to the lump of blankets on his bed.  He tugs his socks off and throws them in the hamper as well.  When there’s no response by the time he picks a shirt to wear he sighs.  “And the only snacks left in my cupboards were actually Nagisa’s.  So unless you brought your own this time you owe him a new package of whatever you just smushed into my bed sheets.”

He lets the words sink in as he leaves the bedroom and heads to the kitchen to see what leftovers he had in the fridge.  He thinks there might be some curry in there that’s still fairly fresh.  He really needs to clean out his fridge but the double shifts at work have been exhausting lately and, honestly?  His fridge and whatever sentient life might be trying to grow in the back of it are the least of his concerns.

He opens the fridge and stares into it for a moment.  “Wait am I on call this weekend,” he mutters as he grabs wha he thinks is the curry.  A delicate sniff informs him that no this is not the curry and whatever it is probably isn’t edible.  He puts the container back and grabs the one next to it.  That one, thankfully, is curry from two nights before and he digs into it immediately.

“You’re not on call this weekend and I cannot believe I am seeing you eating that with my own two eyes.”  Rei glances over at Haru in the doorway and shakes his head.

“You are standing in my kitchen, wearing my pajama top over a pair of your boxers and nothing else, with my flat sheet wrapped around you like a cape and what looks like the remains of Nagisa’s milk bread smeared on your cheek,” he says around bites of his curry.  “You’re in no position to judge me Haru-san.”

“Ugh drop the -san,” Haru grumbles.  “And I wouldn’t have to eat Nagisa’s snacks if you just had food here.”

“I’ve been working 55 hour weeks the last month.  I barely have time to sleep and do laundry lately.  If you want food so badly then bring your own.”

Haru huffs at him and shuffles out of the kitchen.  Rei finishes his curry and finds Haru crashed back on his bed.  He sets his glasses on his dresser and falls into the empty space next to Haru.

—

It’s been three and a half weeks since the last time Rei came home to Haru invading his apartment.  He’s expecting Haru there.  Nagisa sent him a text about Haru’s latest dating disaster and Rei is prepared to sleep in crumbs for a night before he manages to change out his sheets in the morning.  So to say that he’s surprised to see Haru sitting on his kitchen counter idly stirring a pot on the stove and munching on an apple is an understatement.

“Why aren’t you in my bed?”  It’s maybe not the most appropriate thing to say but he’s slept five hours in the last two days and his brain is already on weekend mode.  And he’s said far worse over the years he’s sure.

Haru’s cheeks flush a little, embarrassment Rei assumes, and he rolls his eyes.

“I’m just finishing some soup if you want some,” he mutters.  Then he takes a crunching bite of his apple and stares down into the pot.

“That would be nice.  Thank you.”

Rei changes out of his work clothes and falls asleep next to Haru on clean sheets.

—

“Hey Rei-chan?”

Rei rolls his head along the back of Nagisa’s couch so he can look at him.

“Yes?”

“Do you think Haru-chan realizes he can’t find a relationship because he wants to date you?”

Rei is too tired to do more than let out an ugly snort as he closes his eyes.  “No, Nagisa.  I don’t think he does,” he answers softly as he falls asleep.

—

“I don’t know how I feel about being in Rei’s apartment when no one is,” Momo says to himself.  “I mean I have keys and he told me to let myself in.  But still.”  He sets the bags of groceries and supplies on Rei’s counter.  He had a couple hours to kill before Rei got back and they started getting ready for the rest of their friends to come over later.

“Why are you talking to yourself?”

Momo yelps and spins around, nearly spilling the armload of drinks he had just grabbed to put in the fridge.

“What the hell,” he whines.  “Rei didn’t say anything about his boyfriend being here.”

Haru scoffs at him.  “I am not Rei’s boyfriend.”

“Except you kinda are.”  The drinks are in the fridge and he moves to unpack the back of snacks.

“I’m not.”

“Fine you wish you were.”

“I-”  Haru’s mouth hangs open for a moment before he snaps it shut.  “No.”

Momo puts the rest of the groceries away and leans against the counter.  Haru is standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest defensively, and glaring at Momo.  Oh.  Oh Haru hasn’t realized it yet.  Momo just figured that Haru and Rei were being quiet about their relationship.  But no.  Haru still hasn’t figured out that the reason that every date and relationship he’s had for the last ten months has failed is because he wants to be dating Rei.

Oh this was wonderful.

“Nanase,” Momo says as seriously as he can.  Haru tenses in the doorway and for a moment Momo is sure he’s going to run away.  But he just glares harder at Momo so he continues.  “You have basically been hardcore dating Rei for the last three months.  And the two or so months before you were practically courting him.  Another month and I’m pretty sure you might as well just cancel your lease at your own apartment when it comes up because this is clearly where you want to be.”

“I’m not-”

“Nagisa knows it.  I know it.  Hell I’m pretty sure my brother knows it.”

“Rei?” Haru asks cautiously.  Like Momo’s answer is going to make or break him.  Maybe he’s not as clueless as Momo thought.

“Oh Rei definitely knows it.  He’s known it for about six months.  He’s just waiting for you to realize what you want.”

Haru gives him one last glare and wanders back down the hallway.  Momo can’t wait to see what happens tonight.

—

“Are you eating a plate of mackerel in my bed Haru?”

“I’m eating mackerel and rice actually.  Would you like a bite?”

Rei sighs and drops onto the bed next to Haru.  They have a little bit of time before the others show up and Momo has taken over his bathroom so he doesn’t have anything else to do.

“Why not,” he says resignedly.  Haru feeds him a bite and he hums in thanks.  “Do I dare ask why you are eating rice and mackerel in my bed?  Don’t you usually just stick to crunchy snacks that leave crumbs all over when you’re heartbroken?”

“Oh.  I’m not heartbroken,” Haru replies.  “Actually I just found out apparently I’ve been in a relationship for almost six months and never realized it.”

Rei glances over, takes in Haru’s soft smile, and laughs.

“I was wondering when you’d realize.  I thought maybe I’d have to give in to Nagisa’s demands for an intervention.”

Haru’s cheeks flush and Rei can only watch, fascinated by the color.  “Well Momo kind of clued me in,” he admits.

Rei nudges Haru’s knee and nods to the plate.  Haru feeds him another bite and they settle against each other, content in each other’s silence.  And just like that everything is settled into place between them.  As easy as they have always been with each other.

[professortennant]

Sam/Jack Rec List, Pt. 1

This is mostly for me in case my bookmarks are lost but yeah! I’ve gone through like 90% of AO3, a good chunk of ff.net, and I just dived into LJ. But since I have 103 fics already bookmarked, I’m just gonna put this list up first and then add to it later. 

Plz read the tags of each fic to avoid stuff you don’t wanna read. If you read something and love it, GO TELL THE AUTHOR SO THEY WRITE MORE.

Absolute Fucking Favorites (aka I have read these more times than I feel comfortable admitting)

We Made It Series: A series of connected episode tags beginning with Forever in a Day. Sam shows up on Jack's doorstep with a six pack of beer, a bottle of cheap wine and a package of chicken breasts. Jack's confused. They cook dinner.

Taking Christmas Off: How Sam and Jack end up spending Christmas alone together every single year, accidentally at first, and then very much on purpose. A fluffy/shippy Christmas fic in eight parts, with spoilers through season 8.

The Dreams We Left Behind: The day Sam Carter marries Pete Shanahan is not the worst day of Jack’s life; he’s already lived that day. But that doesn't make it easy.

Like Kissing a Stranger: There is not one day he spends on this planet, or any other, that his mouth doesn't get him into trouble.(An episode tag for Point Of View.)

Retrospective: Sam doesn’t give it a name, this feeling. She doesn’t even think about it much, preferring to glimpse it obliquely from the corner of her eye. It’s a secret delight that she shares with no one, scarcely even herself.One story in eight parts charting Sam and Jack’s relationship from the start of S1 to the end of S8.

The Short Straw: She hadn't set out to cheat, certainly, but had thought that she'd at least be able to interpret her own work in a way that would lead to victory. (Tag for Shades of Grey)

Post-Eps/Episode Tags (except for Threads, which is its own category)

The Price of Edora: Sam suffers the consequences of pushing herself too hard in order to bring Jack back from Edora. 

For Just One Taste of This: After that, though, things got tricky and dangerous because they pushed a little more and went a little (a lot) further off that deep end, and soon it was the two of them alone in the empty barracks and this wasn’t wrong, was it, just sitting side by side in the darkness? (Post Divide and Conquer)

Let Your Demons Run: (here can't be that many eyes in the building that haven't noticed her. Post-ep for Entity.

Midnight at the Oasis: What if Abydos wasn't destroyed, and Jack and Sam really did go to Skaara's wedding? A short AU based on the wonderful (!) exchange among the three at the beginning of Full Circle.

Thyself, Unknown: And then they were strangers again and their world was brand new with signs of aging. Beneath the Surface 

Unlearn your Stars: Thera turned her eyes toward the ceiling, as if she could see through the miles of earth and snow to the sky beyond. Something about her seemed to yearn, and for reasons he could not fathom Jonah felt like Thera belonged there. Among the stars. (Beneath the Surface)

Transcendental: Alternate Sam and Jack who got stranded in the alternate timeline in Moebius. 

The Fundamental Theorem of Samantha Carter: Samantha Carter knew precisely what she wanted. And then she didn’t. S.8 Full Alert through Threads with references to Gemini.

The Rainy Season: Tag for The Light. Their arguing was beginning to grate on her nerves.

Icarus Ascending: What if Jack and Sam didn't keep it in the room after all? A/U tag to Divide and Conquer. 

The Space Between: There's a little space between them on the bed. Small enough to be close, but enough space to remind them where the line should be. (tag for Death Knell.)

Mimesis: Jack tries to help Carter deal with her time spent with Fifth and the Replicators.

A Rush of Blood to the Head: "You volunteering to come with me, Carter?" Sam and Jack deal (or don't) with the creation of mini!Jack.

The Breaking Point: Daniel’s ‘death’ in Meridian forces Sam Carter to reevaluate her life and what really matters to her.

Window on a Room: The first time around, Sam had found that face the Colonel was making to be endearing, in the increasingly problematic way she found pretty much everything he did to be endearing. The second time, she had found it alarming - not the Colonel specifically, of course, just the fact that she’d already experienced that exact moment not ten hours earlier. She went from being alarmed on the second loop to being frustrated, baffled and discouraged in subsequent loops as their attempts to stop the looping had all failed. And now that they had settled into this routine, with Sam and Teal’c, loop after loop, learning to translate the altar text themselves, well now she was just tired. Not even the Colonel’s problematically endearing face was helping.Another loop, she thought to herself. Here we go again.

black holes and revelations: It’s late and dark and as far as she’s concerned, the world has stopped for them (they’d done the Earth a few favors, it's time one was returned).

Lifelines: Everyone expects her to be so resilient--but beneath her calm exterior seethe emotions beyond her control and understanding. Months post "Beneath the Surface", Sam finally has to face it all, and find a way to accept the way things have to be.

Reflections on a Broken Surface: Episode tag to Beneath the Surface. How Sam and Jack became a couple in the ep. 

Tilting at Windmills: Jack's struggling to deal with the events of Euronda and Alar's people. Angry, depressed, and alone, he needs Sam's help to find his way home, literally, and figuratively.

untitled: Sam/Jack, word prompt- 'never' Episode tag to Death Knell

the art of reincarnation: Detoxing in a Goa’uld palace, Jack struggles with something he can't let go, and Sam struggles with everything.

Cracks in the Glass: Doctor Carter has stepped through the mirror-seeking refuge from her ravaged world. Her presence forces Sam and Jack to question their own decisions. Sam and Jack focused episode enhancement to "Point of View".

Before the Invitation: A chance meeting in the commissary leads to some unintended revelations. (Set just prior to 'Nemesis')

Threads

Full Disclosure: She looks at him with that complex expression that’s punctuated their relationship ever since Pete barged onto the scene. The one that looks like a question, or a plea – the one he’s never really understood and has never dared pursue.

Down to the Bone: She knows now, what’s essential.

Sooner: Some bonus scenes for "Threads," because a lot went on in and around that episode that we just didn't get to see.

an angel came down: The first Christmas after her father dies is rough. The second Christmas after her father dies is better.

Breathe In: It wasn’t an immediate thing, despite what people thought. They didn’t jump each other the second SG1 was on vacation, with her emotionally vulnerable after her father’s death and no longer engaged, or him now free of SG Command and DC-bound.

Sam or Jack are Tortured/Abused (but it ends happily)

Primary Emotion: After seventeen weeks of torture in a Goa'uld prison, Samantha Carter is rescued by SG-1. In the time that follows she must relearn how to relate to her team, reassess her relationships with both herself and others, and decide whether or not she'll continue to step through the Stargate. Luckily she's got the benefit of a good psychologist and the love of a great man.

Character: SG1 is kidnapped by an alien king who needs Sam to perpetuate his bloodline & will do anything to possess her. The team must find a way to escape before she pays the ultimate price for her defiance. 

Compos Mentis: After Colonel O'Neill is stranded on a seemingly friendly planet, it's up to his team to rescue him. Who they find, though, isn't the man they left behind.

Crawl from the Chasm: After Jack's experiences in Ba'al's Abyss, he struggles to find peace. Angsty Jack/Sam Ship.

After All: They’d been trapped for a month. He’d been tortured within an inch of her life. And then their roles had been reversed.

All We Need of Hell: Jack is captured and tortured and when he returns, he just doesn’t see the point in following the regs anymore--Sam is essential. And he convinces her to forget the regs, too. (Dark fic). (chap 2)

Aliens Made Them Do It

Auctions and Consequences: Slavery has been abolished for good reason, but apparently not everyone got the memo… landing Sam and Jack in hot water.

Auction and Reaction (sequel to the above): Jack manages to get himself captured and Sam is sent to negotiate for his freedom. Unfortunately, the matriarch in charge of the male slaves is unconvinced of her claim and threatens to keep Jack as her personal slave.

Relief: How they'd managed to gate to a planet right in the middle of their annual fertility festival was beyond him.

in doorways and dreams i run to you: They had stepped through the gate together. They were looking for something.Light.There had been a blinding light and then nothing. Nothing but the heat and the taste of his skin on her lips. And now he was on his knees and she wasn't stopping him from sliding a hand underneath her.

Beautiful Far Away: While on a routine exploratory mission, Colonel Jack O'Neill and Captain Samantha Carter get caught up in a children's game that turns out to be the beginning of Rorilian marriage rites. When seismic activity starts to rock the village, the local leaders demand the ritual be seen through to its natural conclusion to avoid further angering their gods. Sam's equipment suggests the tremors are caused by an unidentifiable metal, but her science seems to be a point of contention amongst the leaders. She's convinced she needs just a little more time to figure out what is happening on the planet. Unfortunately, that means she's jumping into a ritual marriage with her new commanding officer. What could possibly go wrong?

Xanadu: The team travels offworld to take care of some mining negotiations, only to meet with an unanticipated challenge on P3X-427.

5 Times Fic

Five Times Jack Sees Sam Out of Uniform

The Nature We Leave Behind Us: 5 Times Daniel (and Teal’c) find out or suspect about Sam and Jack

Five Times Jack Came Close to Breaking the Frat Regs with Sam

Desperation: 5 times Jack kisses Sam

Ambient: 3 morning-afters that they miss and 1 they don’t.

5 missing ship scenes from s9/s10

5 times jack asked sam out and 1 time he didn’t have to

Stranded/Retired/Moved Off-World

My Scars Healed (aka the Cottage AU): Abandoned off-world, living is about more than just survival.

In Media Res: When Sam and Jack are taken captive and put to work in a mining camp, that turns out to be the least of their troubles. Forced by circumstance to live in close proximity, their time as captives has consequences neither one foresees.

Compliance: The end comes fast. One moment it’s a normal day with paperwork and bad coffee and the next it’s a scramble for the event horizon as the Mountain comes down around them. The base empties out with surprising efficiency, and by the time Jack hangs up the red phone on the last conversation he’ll ever have with the President, only Carter and Daniel and a couple techs are still in the gate room, the last of the supplies being sent through to their fall back site.

I Love It When a Plan Comes Together: Dear Airline, I was marooned on an alien planet…

And then I dreamt of yes: The universe has really bad timing, but neither Sam or Jack is ready to give it the last word. 

The Final Straw: Sam's injured and trapped off-world. 

Twilight: General O'Neill gets ansty to do some Gate travel, but a natural phenomenon on another world causes problems and changes things

Bird Stealing Bread: Jack had actually imagined being stranded off-world quite a few times. But he really, really, really hadn't counted on being stranded off-world with Sam. And Pete.

Under the Sun: ABANDONED FIC BUT IT’S SO GOOD. When lightning strikes the DHD and strands Sam and Jack alone on a planet, they must rely on one another to get through until help can arrive. Soon, though, they discover they're not alone on the planet and things change. Suddenly they're thrust into local politics and Sam is drafted to help save the locals' lives. Perhaps, if they play their cards right, all of it can help them get home.

Total AU

String Theory: Dr. Samantha Carter joins the SGC and discovers a life she never expected.

Imprimatura: Even in a completely different reality, where a strictly enforced color-based caste system stands between them, some things remain the same.

How to Start a Fire: She denies it's physical attraction. He denies it's anything but. Sam/Jack. Changeling Universe.

Convergence Series: Jack O’Neill is a man waiting to die, and she’s the only one brave enough not to look away.

Right as rain: Jack never went on the Abydos mission. Charlie never died. But when Jack accidentally activates a device that Kawalsky brings by the Academy, he catches the interest of a certain Major Carter. Soon he finds himself in for one hell of a ride, and if aliens and space travel and weird DNA weren't crazy enough, he might actually be falling in love with a theoretical astrophysicist...

The Dating Game: Catherine Langford had been instrumental in getting AU Sam/Jack together in There But For The Grace of God

Defining Family: Set after "Ripple Effect". What happens to Janet and the rest of the alternate SG-1 team after the episode? How does it affect our reality?

Worlds Apart: An Ancient device sends Jack and Sam to a world where everything is just a little bit... wrong. Why? Can they cope with the differences? And, most importantly, can they find their way back?

I don’t know what to categorize these as but they’re amazing

Deep City Lights: He picks her up in a blue convertible. (Road trip fic where they say ‘fuck the regs’ and then remember the regs)

we build then we break (and build up again): Sam’s last mission on SG-1, and the life that follows.

the slow revelation of self: In the beginning there was sex. And it was good.

untitled: on a mission, sam and jack are painting their mark on a wall.

things not dreamed: Daniel doesn't understand their need to fly. 

Cultural Drift: Six days before the shit hit the fan and nothing was ever the same again, Daniel fell over a tablet on P3X-324. That was two years ago.

Concentric Unto Thee: Her attempts at normality have never worked before, and Jack won't stand for any attempts to apply the logic of command to their relationship.

the lesson: Jack and Sam haven’t wasted the three years they’ve been cut off from Earth…and though the price is high, they manage to teach that lesson to another couple who badly needed to learn it. 

Escape Pod: "I just need," shift, "to move," shift, "a little." (Accidental Stimulation fic) Tonight: It's been too many years of it, the death, the resurrection, the sheer and aching loneliness, the hurt that comes from walking away.

Rocket Fuel: Sam and Jack get together after Heroes but also AU + Christmas.

Home Economics:  He would never have imagined that the biggest problem Sam Carter would have with his house would be his toaster.

Atlantis/Continuum

Gravity Always Wins in the End: After Sam is held hostage, Jack takes an impromptu trip to Atlantis.

Backlit:  Carter turns 43 years old on day 6 of a 14-day run to P98-007 aboard the General Hammond. The only events that mark the occasion are the little note Daniel must have stuffed into her pack before she left, a cheerful "Happy Birthday, Ma'am" from her second over a morning cup of coffee, and a long stare at herself in the mirror after she washes her face before bed. It's not like she expected more.

Yesterday’s Life: She feels frayed and faded, like a scrap of fabric accidentally discarded and forced to weather the elements. S/J, spoilers for Stargate: Continuum.

Distance: Sam contemplates the difficulties of a long distance relationship with Jack on Valentine's Day...

Post-Series

Look Again Into Your Heart: It's not that cold, not by the standard of some of the places she's been in the last decade or so of her life, but then again, she's not used to braving the weather in heels and an evening dress.

Follow the Star of the North: When Jack talked about losing himself in Minnesota, Sam never really understood the appeal.

Radio Silence: “It’s Mitchell.”He grabbed the phone out of her hand, smiling at the horrified expression on her face when he flicked it open and held it to his ear.“This is General O’Neill. Is the world ending?”

Rainy Days: Sam and Jack spend a rainy day at the cabin

The Lies You Feed Yourself: They simply aren’t part of each other’s worlds anymore. They haven’t been for years. Jack and Sam three years after they leave the SGC.

Bygones: He's a man of few words. Sam, however, wants to hear a couple of specific ones - at least once. It takes another woman to help her understand just how her husband communicates. 

Twelve Years Two Weeks: She had finally 'switched off'. It had taken her a few days to rid herself of the itch that she was neglecting a to-do list the size of her arm.

DC Series: SG-1 is moving on, but Sam is standing still.

Interlude: Jack turns up unexpectedly, and he and Sam make an important decision.

fly me to the moon: Jack is baffled. What do you do for a woman's 40th birthday when she routinely explores alien planets, has blown up a sun, and raced in the Loop of Kon Garat? Give her the moon of course. 

Folding a Map: Distance makes Jack an unhappy camper.

Taur’i Whispers: "He likes her throaty laugh. He likes that her voice has dropped and softened in the years he's known her." - Sam/Jack, romance and a bit of angst and hurt/comfort

Blue Dark: The sun’s barely peeking above the horizon and already she’s up, perched on a stool at the breakfast bar in his kitchen, her index finger circling the rim of her coffee cup.“And we have to go to this?” she asks, taking a sip of the hot beverage.

Un-fish: “Caught any un-fish?” she asked softly.Their lives would never be normal because of little things like fish that were or were not there and sometimes he wondered who had done what exactly to his pond to drive the fish away. He knew better than to ask, unwilling to listen to her explain to him the various possibilities of… whatever.

Real Life: This was what she'd been waiting for, held out for all those years. Someone -- him -- to come home with every night, to sink into after saving the world or spending three days dug in on an alien planet with fifty-odd Jaffa between her team and the 'gate, someone who knew just how she liked to be touched... She rolled onto her back, offering sleepy kisses when his lips crossed hers, sighing when his wandering hands brushed across her belly... 

[secondgenerationnerd]

Times Change

Author’s note: I have a really bad week so I wrote this to get some cuteness/angst out. This is different than a similar fic I wrote called “New Beginnings” It’s set in the same universe as “People Can Change” and “Things Change.” Like! Review! Reblog

Irey wakes up in a room that she doesn’t recognize. She hears the familiar beep of a heart monitor. Her mother sleeps in a chair beside her bed. Irey moans as she attempts to move. Her head feels like its stuffed with cotton. Her muscles feel like lead. Her mother is awake in an instant.

         “M-mo-m…” Irey tries to speak. Her throat burns with effort.

         “Shhhh…It’s ok, I’m here, honey…” Linda soothes. “They just took a breathing tube out of your throat, baby… It might hurt to talk for a little while…”

         “Wha…What happened?” Irey fights tears at the pain.

         “What do you remember?”

         “Heretic…” Everything comes in flashes. A condemned building. Monsters from every which way. Explosions. Damian pulling her into a small room for a moment. A fast kiss. A desperate kiss. Running. Running. Running. Damian fighting heretic- “D-Dami…Where’s Dami…?”

         Linda gives her the look. The look that makes her stomach churn. The look that makes it hard to breathe. She knows what her mother is going to say,” Baby…Damian was killed.”

         “No…” The word is soft, but becomes louder as she starts to scream,” No! No! NO! DAMIAN! NO! NO! AHHHHH!”

         “IREY!” Linda holds her daughter tight,” Irey! I know! I know you’re hurting! I know! But you can’t thrash around!”

         Irey’s vision is blurred with fiery tears, unable to breathe. He can’t be gone! He can’t! They just moved into their first apartment together! They were talking about getting married! This isn’t real! All that seems to fall out of her mouth though is his name.

         “DAMIAN! DAMIAN! DAAAAAMIIIIII!” Irey fights her mother.

         Linda hasn’t been married to a hero for nothing as she holds tight to her daughter,” Irey! Please stop! Stop! IREY, YOU”RE PREGNANT, STOP!”

         Irey freezes. She looks at her mother,” Wh-What did you say?”

         “You’re pregnant. The doctor said maybe two months, but the baby’s presenting as 4.” Linda strokes her daughter’s hair,” You’ve been in a coma for a month…”

         Irey places a hand on her belly. She expects to feel the same soft muscles of her stomach. Instead…she feels a soft but defined curve. Linda watches as her daughter shuts down. Irey’s tender heart has never been able to handle horrible news. Linda has seen horrible things over the years, but this is the worst. Linda presses a kiss to her daughter’s head and holds her.

         “it’s ok… I’m here for you…. I’m right here, baby…”

         Baby…

         Baby…

         Her baby…

         Damian’s baby…

         Their baby…

……………………………………………………………………………………….

         Irey walks slowly through the Wayne Graveyard. It’s always been her least favorite part of the manor’s property. Each step threatens to be too much for her. But she continues… To the newest addition. Lily flowers rest in front of it, and the faint smell of sage. Her shaking fingers trace over his name.

Damian Wayne

Son, Brother, Friend, Hero, Father

         Irey traces the last word, the other hand resting on her belly. She’s only been awake a month, but the doctor says her baby- no, her daughter as the last ultrasound showed- is about six months developed, despite Irey only being three months pregnant. Irey was able to convince them to let her out for a day. She sits on the grass beside his tombstone.

         “H-Hi, Dami…” Irey starts,” I’m sorry I missed your funeral…I-I was in a coma…I wanted to…I would have come at least… I would have cried as hard as I did when I woke up…”

         Tears roll freely down her cheeks,” I didn’t know I was pregnant during that fight… I never would have gone…You never would have let me… Maybe if you hadn’t been distracted by me… We’d be sitting under our tree… talking about baby names… maybe planning our wedding for after she’s born…. You make a joke about having her dressed as a flower… you get to feel her kick…”

         Irey can’t speak for a few minutes. It hurts too much. She wraps her arms around her belly, keeping their daughter safe. When she can finally speak, she tries to stay strong, like she knows he would want,” I wish you could have met her… She’s a little thing right now, smaller than most babies…. But she’s healthy…. She’s strong…. Like you…. Like you would have taught her to be…”

         “I haven’t been able to go back to our apartment… I’ve been subletting it…” Irey knows she can’t stay much longer. It’s too much,” I’ll go back to it one day… for now…. I need to take care of our girl…”

         Irey manages to stand with some difficulty. She kisses her fingers before pressing them to the cold stone,” I love you… So much… Present tense…”

…………………………………………………………………………………

          Her daughter is born on the fourth of July. Irey requests to be alone in the hospital room. It’s a hard, long labor, but eventually, Irey gives birth to a beautiful little girl. They lay her baby on chest. Asha. That’s the name she chose for her daughter. Arabic for “Alive and well.” And her baby is just that. Alive. Healthy.

         No one visits the first day. Irey asked that too. What with the big family and so many friends, she just wanted a day to be with her daughter. Asha sleeps most of it, aside from the moments she cries for food. Irey nurses her happily. In the moments Asha sleeps, Irey takes her in.

         Asha’s skin is ruddy right now, but Irey can tell that she has Damian’s skin tone. A full head of pitch-black curls. Irey’s nose. Soft pink lips that move gently, like she’s already trying to speak. Irey only puts her in a diaper, letting her sleep on her mother’s bare chest. Irey still keeps a blanket over her. A very special one.

         Milagro had made it for her out of Damian’s old capes. The fabric still smells like him. Asha coos softly, happily. Irey hums to her. Forgetting all the pain that it took to get her here.

         The next few days are doctors and visitors. Jai comes as soon as he can, holding his niece so Irey can nap throughout the day. He chuckles when Asha spits up on him, joking that it must be the Damian in her that still hates him. Her parents are there in shifts, her mom in the morning and her dad at night. Most of Damian’s family doesn’t come, but she’s told they’re on a mission. Irey doesn’t care. Every night, she refuses to let the nurses take Asha to the nursery. She convinced something bad will happen to her baby.

         Irey doesn’t expect much as her parents drive her to the tower. She’ll be staying there while she figures things out. Asha sleeps in her car seat the whole way. Irey presses soft kisses to her little hands. Irey wants nothing more than to hold her. But she can’t. Not yet.

         “Here we go, Asha.” Irey carries her into the living room,” Dad? Why are the lights all off?”

         “Surprise!” The lights turn on to show a huge party. Irey gives a smile. Everyone from the justice league is there, many from the league are there, her family and friends. All as a belated baby shower. Irey sits on the couch, watching most of them. Asha is grumpy about the noise, making most of them laugh. Irey thinks it has to do with the Robin onesie she put Asha in. The baby is passed to many people, Diana proclaims that she will be a great warrior one day.

         “Irey, does she seem hungry to you?” Wally asks while he holds his granddaughter.

         “Yeah… she eats more often than most babies. I have a formula I’m supposed to feed her with my milk. There should be some in the fridge.” Jai brings his dad a bottle of the formula. Irey smiles at her daughter as she eats. Asha already has beautiful long lashes that flutter over her cheeks as she sucks on the bottle. Irey laughs as Mar’i, Lian, and Milagro pull her off the couch to dance. “Love You Like the Movies” comes on. Irey remembers dancing to it with Damian the night before they were discovered as a couple.

She closes her eyes and remembers that night as she dances with her friends. Dancing at that party, an undercover mission. Damian coming up behind her, holding her hips as they move side to side. The feeling of his breath on her neck, his nose trailing along her skin. Turning to face him, her chest against his. Both of his hands on her waist. The way he looked at her like she was everything he could ever want…

Irey’s eyes open when she realizes the room has gone dead silent. She looks at Milagro and Lian, as they’re in front of her. But they seem focused on what’s behind her. She turns and her breathing stops.

She knows those blue eyes. She knows that messy hair. She knows that stubborn stubble. She knows those lips, opened, wanting to speak, but not sure what to say. She knows the way he grips his wrist, scared to reach for her. She knows him.

She loves him.

She runs to him.

It doesn’t matter that there are at least a hundred people in the room. It doesn’t matter that she must jump over the couch. It doesn’t matter that his skin is cooler to the touch. All that matters is the way his hands bury themselves in her hair, hers gripping the back of his shirt. All that matters is the way his heart beats against her fingertips, the way his hot tears spill onto her skin. All that matters is his lips against hers when he finally pulls her into a kiss.  

She knows these lips.

Her Damian finally pulls back and softly goes,” I’m sorry I’m late.”

Irey gives a laugh broken by a sob,” Better late than never.”

“My Iris… My flower…” He wipes her tears away,” I will never leave you again. I swear it.”

“You don’t just have me to swear that too.” The whole room holds its breath as Irey goes to her father. She carefully picks up their baby and turns to him,” Damian…This is your daughter…Asha Nuri West-Wayne…”

The look on Damian’s face can only be described as shock. He slowly approaches Irey and Asha. Then does something no one in the room had ever seen him do. He falls to his knees in front of the loves of his life. He presses a soft kiss to his daughter’s soft curls,” Asha… I swear on my life…I will never leave again…never…I promise…”

……………………………………………………………………………………

         After that, the party is in full swing again. Irey smiles brighter than any of them have seen in months. Damian spins her around as they dance and kiss. He holds his daughter as often as he can, even dancing with her resting against his shoulder. No one in the room can deny the love they feel from the young couple.

         As the night wears on, none seem to notice the family fall asleep on the love seat. Irey presses her face into his neck, her legs thrown over his lap. Damian rests his head on hers, one arm wrapped around her shoulders protectively. The other holds their daughter to his chest. One of Irey’s hands rests on Asha’s little back.

         The baby sleeps peacefully. Protected by those heroes around her. And warmed by her parents’ love.

[chartreuseblood]

Return of the Archons

Spock had been tentatively gazing at Jim as they monitored readings on his console when the captain moved to answer a distress call that Spock could in no way hear. It was from the landing party of Mr. Sulu and Mr. O’Neil who were being threatened by ambling cloaked figures. Their fear was warranted and so was their desire for an emergency beam up. 

Kirk cued for Uhura to fill Spock in on the nature of the call in his place as he hurried down to the transporter room. Moments later, he was met with a strangely euphoric Sulu and no lieutenant at his side. There was babbled nonsense of not being of the body, some group titled the Archons, and a godly figured named Landru.

McCoy was just as understandably baffled at Sulu’s gibberish upon arriving after the transporter room commed him. He made no aim to say anything as he glanced over Sulu and looked to Jim. They mutually had one question on their minds:

What was this so-called paradise?

Before a larger landing party was cleared to beam down, the selected individuals had appropriate clothes replicated and began to slip them on shortly thereafter. Spock had a special exception to his, including a headscarf of sorts to disguise his ears. It was also mentioned it would better keep the planet’s sun out of his eyes, sparing him some glare to read hand signs.

He had been translated the current disposition and understood Jim’s agitation with the overall situation. In spite of this, Jim let a small smile slide as he fixed the scarf where Spock hadn’t quite pulled it forward enough and fixed the few bangs that were out of place. Satisfied, the pair took the lift to the transporter room to meet the rest of the party.

Once feet made contact with Beta III, most of the crew began to take in their surroundings, including Spock. Kirk made to reassure the ship that the materialization was successful before everyone inclined their sights to see a local pass them by. Spock looked to Jim at his side, fully grasping his attention before beginning his commentary: a “C” shape moved and placed as though it were a lid; a flat palm pushed out followed by curled fingers flaring out, then his right middle finger scraping off the back of his left hand outwardly. [Odd; His expression, empty]

Jim nodded, replying with putting a pinky near the side of his eye, shaking his hand down to end with his pinky and thumb out, and finger-spelt Sulu. [Like S-U-L-U]  They shared a quick gaze and Jim began to say something more about if the planet’s inhabitants were just the same, but cut himself off, putting his hands lightly together and shifting his right palm out jaggedly [Let’s go], verbalizing the command for his able-bodied fellows. He had instinctively wanted to grab for Spock’s hand as he always did but stopped himself, too concerned the planetary residents would have an issue with their outward PDA, even if it was explained as a literal helping hand.

The first interaction with a said resident was… awkward to say the least. Despite the size of the man’s mouth, Spock could not discern what was passing on his lips. Though, he did copy the palm to [human] heart gesture since Jim had returned it. Beyond that, he was lost and prayed Jim’s miracle talent with diplomacy would work. The only other thing that could be easily followed was the point to the clock tower.

He barely felt the vibrations from the bell chiming and next thing he knew, he was watching townspeople go into a sort of hysteria and manic episode. He naturally stepped closer to Jim, lacing their hands, as if he was hoping to convey a need for an explanation afterwards. Jim was just as taken back by the sudden outbreak. Their comforting hold broke as their landing party was swarmed with festival participants becoming handsy and otherwise. It was a full minute until Jim vocalized the need to get out of the street, grabbing Spock’s hand once again to drag him along as their group took off.

Spock was nearly clung to his arm after they sought shelter and were met by three older men. Once again, Jim’s diplomatic skills came to use as he politely spoke, explaining they were from the Valley for the festival. Spock’s small sense of possessiveness took a step back but lingered as Jim stepped to mention acquiring rooms. Soon, the group was moving up the stairs, Spock allowed to walk up behind Jim, hand grasped at his coattail to keep his balance and for reassurance. The room was adequate to fit all of the men and their host was awfully skittish, especially when Jim asked about Landru. He nearly ran out after remarking that the group was strange.

Jim watched the madness outside from one of the opened windows. He sighed before returning his attention to his men, creating a list in his head of missions for them to undertake. He designated McCoy to watch atmospheric readings and Lindstrom to see sociological happenings then beckoned Spock over. He took a moment to figure out how to sign that they would need to put their heads together and strategize a game plan by the following morning. Spock nodded once the message was put across and gave a look that Jim understood to mean ‘explain everything that has happened in the past hour.’

For a while throughout the night, the two shared a top bunk, gently watching each other’s eyes. Jim kissed Spock’s knuckles before finally climbing down, far too restless to stay up there any longer. Spock understood fully and watched him as he stood at the other set of bunks with a blanket around his shoulders. At a minute to 6 am, Jim gave up on waiting around, moving to watch the last few moments of the confusing displays in the street. They ceased immediately at the bell chimes and he shook his head in disbelief. As he stepped away, he began to gingerly wake his team, a gentle squeeze to Spock’s hand sufficing the intent to rally everyone together.

The sobs of a young woman could be heard as McCoy awakened and the troop made their way down the stairs. Bones took initiative to help her by carrying her off, Spock on his tail for aid. They brought her to what appeared to be a sitting room so Bones could administer the hypo and let her comfortably be lulled into unconsciousness. They stood aside as everyone swarmed it and Kirk showed his authority with challenging that they possibly were Archons. Spock only turned to notice the incoming lawgivers when everyone else’s gaze caught them. The old man Tamar was zapped before one of the cloaked figures rambled on about absorption being necessary and other cult-like recitations.

It seemed Jim was particularly stubborn and rebellious today. He was insistent on refusing to go anywhere and even Spock and his non-existent hearing could recognize it. He waited until the lawgivers turned to concur to step into Kirk’s vision, making fists with thumbs up, moving his right hand forward, followed by pointing out to Kirk’s person and tapping his temple twice with a cupped hand. [How you know?]

Kirk’s response was formed by two thumbs up coming into the same area then turning into palms going back out, these palms moved in a minor circle, and one finger up being twice pointed to [Everything here stimulus]. Spock nodded, regarding it as logical. The figures turned back and rephrased their commands, Jim continuing to be defiant. He unexpectedly took one of the staffs, handing it to Spock who was close behind him. He glanced it over before leaning it against his chest to “talk” to the captain. He wiggled his fingers a moment before making a fist for [Fascinating] and made a half of a circle with one hand, spinning a finger above it, for [Hollow]. It was easy to tell that the harsh exhale through Jim’s nose was quite heated, even if he did obediently lead his party out after Reger promised a safe space somewhere else. Spock sensed his irritation and only made a move to hold his coat tail, instead of his hand, which would have unintentionally been gripping furiously.

Everyone walked in a tight group, courteously greeting passing strangers. Kirk looked to Spock, running his index finger down an open palm then used that index finger to point at him and then to his temple [What you think?]. Spock could only manage to shake his head. Then a thumb out tapped near the corner of his mouth to the apple of his cheek, hands wide and turning as though to open a lid and twist the pieces away from each other; pinky and thumb out on each hand waving up and down twice, two fingers together going in a circle before landing on the back of his other hand. [Yesterday, chaos; today, normal.]

Then, one of the men from yesterday -- Bilar -- greeted them a good morning, which was returned. Lindstrom still had reservations and concerns for Reger’s daughter Tula but Reger only brushed it off. Soon, they paused their trek as residents stopped in their tracks, which Reger said was due to Landru summoning the body. Spock made sure he had Jim’s eye to jolt out two fingers twice, one hand by his forehead and the other in front of him, conveying [Telepathy]. The others of the street were being controlled to pick up miscellaneous objects scattered on the pavement where they were stood. Captain Kirk called for phasers on stun, pointing to the setting so Spock got the message quickly. Reger took them galloping around the corner only to start to be cornered. Nothing could warn the unwilling participants so most ended up stunned by a wide field. They were able to clear the nearest alleyway, discovering Lt. O’Neil for the first time in days, carrying him along despite the risks.

Reger’s new shelter was constructed of large blocks of stone, similar to limestone from Earth, and was tucked away behind a heavy, somehow movable stone door. Behind a wood bunk bed frame was one of the nestled nooks in the wall, from which Reger revealed a light panel draped with a cloth. Spock signed [Amazing] to no one in particular as Kirk questioned the age, to which he was answered with a speculation of possibly six-thousand years. Spock held his hands as square corners and raised them up before holding a hand still, pointing the other hand’s middle finger to the side of it [Advanced technology]. He was beginning to sign about inconsistency but Jim stopped him halfway through.

The security officers were sent to watch the door as Kirk strolled by McCoy, who was in the middle of fashioning a hypo. Spock was taking tricorder readings and Jim signed to ask what he was seeing. There was apparently strong energy readings in all directions and Bones mentioned on an almost off-comment that O’Neil was coming to. Reger was concerned by this as O’Neil had already been absorbed and would prove a problem when he came around. Spock saw the taut lines on his face expressing the worry but did not understand it so Kirk translated why there would be an issue and that Reger was among them and others resisting Landru. As he was behind Reger, Spock pointed to him to signify he was asking the following question to him specifically, which was how they were organized. Kirk was the middle ground, verbalizing it, and relaying the system of threes and who made it up.

McCoy was still doing his business with O’Neill, telling Jim that a decision needed to be made in regards to him. Due to Reger’s insistence, he ordered another hypo to keep O’Neill off his feet and led Reger to the nearby table for further questioning. Questions about the survival of the underground network, who the Archons actually were, and of if the Archons were of a starship. With the last one, he made a connection and looked to Spock, asking about the strength of the power readings. And, yes, they were enough to destroy a starship. More realizations flooded in and he hailed the Enterprise.

Scotty was at Uhura’s side when they picked up the signal and warned the captain that the ship was under attack by some sort of heat rays. The shields were up but were draining all of their power. Kirk asked about their orbit, which happened to be in descension. The connection broke after Jim told him to keep the shield up and attempt to maintain orbit. He defeatedly put it down, tinkering a bit, when Spock lightly grabbed for his wrist, hand immediately retreating when the focus was caught to full-handedly tap his shoulder twice [Captain…]. He showed Jim the new readings, signifying they were being probed in a particular direction. Reger wailed that it was Landru and together, Spock and Jim recognized the power could not be blocked.

Then, just then, an apparition began to appear, forming an older man with a poof of grey hair, dressed in a black tunic layered under a blue robe and gold-bronze shoulder wrap, image showing at almost half opacity. He introduced himself as Landru and Spock made to point out it was nothing more than a projection. Jim agreed but mentioned, to himself at least, there was no apparatus before slipping into his confrontational mode. Landru spoke of so-called ancient evils that had been expelled and positives that he seeked. It felt like it was merely a recording by the way he did not directly answer Kirk’s questions or statements. Unsurprisingly, it continued on, threatening absorption and its supposed outcomes.

Then, there was the piercing ringing that could not be ignored. The security officers were the first to start buckling and seemed the most affected, almost everyone else following shortly after. It took Spock the longest to be affected as he lacked the ability to hear the ringing at all, sparing him a few moments to look upwards. But, then he joined the rest as the pain was seeded into his head and flourished, eventually causing him to fall on his back onto the table.

Whatever had just happened to them was certainly no good.

Jim was the first to awaken. He and Spock had been placed on other side of one of the wall’s couplings, Lindstrom and Leslie in one of the others. He took notice that his phaser and communicator were now off his person. It was also obvious that their holding area was new, based on the position of the door. Unfortunately, he could not find a niche and there appeared to be no other exit.

Frustrated, he circled back around and gently woke Spock, who was startled awake, as normal. However, he still stirred and began to stand as Kirk woke the other officers. After processing the surroundings, he came to where Kirk had looped around and fingerspelled ‘McCoy’, inquiring on his whereabouts. Jim huffed and held his hand open for a second before pulling it more froward and closing its fingers; he then finger spelt O’Neil and brought his fists near his chest, ending up flattened and facing out, then waving a hand slightly, its pinky and thumb out. [Gone; O-N-E-I-L, guard, too]. He was met with flat palms circling for two revolutions that became a thumb up and index finger pointing out, other index touching the thumb then extended finger, ending as a hand closing briefly over a palm and moving as up to pick up then drop something [Here, then removed]. Jim mimicked the motion for [Here] but held an inquisitive face during it. Two fingers held out and raised up, followed by fists pushing out twice, then an open palm waving a circle over a closed fist [High-security area]. He then lazily put his hands at his hips momentarily to see if Jim still had his weapons, which was a no. Spock turned on his heel after Jim turned on his to see Lindstrom awake with a pounding headache.

He could only hypothesize they had been subjected to hypersonic waves, given off at a rate just under lethal. It would explain the head pain and sudden loss of consciousness. When Jim mentioned the lawgivers and not being able to adapt, Spock was quick to shut him down, bringing up that it could not be depended upon. Well, he sped the last bit out quickly as he was working towards feeling one of the archways and composing his thought on the comparison between the lawgivers’ reaction and a computer with insufficient data. They quietly conversed out of Lindstrom or Leslie’s eye about the probability of the law-keepers being human or computer, until the door began to shift.

From behind it came two lawgivers, one of their officers, and McCoy. However, Bones’s usual accent was even more enriched and felt as though he was coming straight out of Georgia just now. Even his southern manners returned. Though, he appeared spaced out as it were and almost perfectly a blank slate. Kirk couldn’t manage to break it and it appeared landru was packed too tightly around the peach he called a brain. Spock very minorly signed [Like S-U-L-U], as Jim had a day or two before, from directly behind Kirk. This revitalized Leonard was much too content with what happened to him and the kindness of Landru. Too peculiar and odd for comfort.

Jim gave out and more lawgivers were not far behind that motion. They asked for him personally, meeting a harsh ‘no’ for an answer, and retaliated with threatening death. Spock could read the tinge of worry sweeping over him and advise it best to actually go. Jim grumbled and gave in, saying to work on bringing back Bones. But, unexpectedly, he took one of Spock’s hands and squeezed it just before he left. Spock had to hold back on letting his cheeks flush; it had been a good day and a half since they allowed their little touches and grasps of comfort.

He had to bite back on a disgruntled noise when he went to ask McCoy what was too happen to Jim and he seemed to understand Universal Sign Language even less than usual. He shook his head when he had enough with trying it, however, he could not let himself be overwhelmed right now; Jim was going to need him to stay level-headed and stoic. He thought back to the touching of their skin minutes before and it had a calming effect. Something about it gave him illogical hope that Jim would be alright.

Jim was unhappy, to say the least, about be pinned to the wall, about to be sucked into whatever shithole every other person on this planet had been thrown to. And he certainly wasn’t happy at the sight of this yellow robed ditz who showed up to take his shift.

Outside, Spock had been feeling at McCoy’s face, attempting a meld to break the trance. There was a bit of a communication barrier but the others understood when he shook his head to signify nothing was working. Lindstrom was understandably infuriated with the situation as a whole but whatever remarks he was about to make absentmindedly, would not be helpful other than to indulge in his distress. They had both come to the archway nearest them when more lawgivers appeared. Spock was the most presently forward and had a staff pointed at him. That ordering giver was speaking, which he could not discern, but the pointing was self explanatory enough. He came without a fight, unlike his counterpart before him, and allowed himself to be led to a room with an interesting choice of patterning.

On the way in, he was met with a dazed Kirk, fresh off the mind control wall. The grin painted on his face was almost uncharacteristic and his greeting gesture too fluid to feel entirely genuine. There wasn’t even an effort to convert his kind offerings to USL, which was admittedly emotion-evoking. There was a miniature pool of dread  beginning in the bottom of his stomach as Kirk saw himself out.

Spock, again, made no threatening moves as he stepped the platform to lay flat against the wall. He let his hands down with ease yet he was still faced with two staffs in his face. He would have rolled his eyes if he were more than half human and sighed with relief as they left.

The man of the yellow robes was fidgeting with dials and sliders, Spock watching the lighting playing out above his head. Their gazes finally met and the man in robes began to introduce himself and explain the situation in USL, most likely having heard the need for it from Jim before him, had he truly not be brainwashed. There was the flicker of hope sparking again.

Marplon released him and Spock made sure to solidify that the captain had gone unharmed. It may have been an important detail elsewhere, but Spock was not particularly interested in that Marplon was the third of Reger’s triad, too invested in other such questions he had. Even if there wouldn’t have been anything said verbally, Marplon still feared Landru would be peering in if he answered the questions and thus, hurried the Vulcan along after returning the stolen phasers. It was quite difficult to ‘act as the captain had before him’ since he was not entirely sure of the common words thrown among Landru’s following, so he took up gentle nodding and placing a hand where his heart would have been if he were human.

He held it there the entire walk back, not entirely sure why. Upon his arrival, he noticed Jim was in the same crux and gave the Vulcan version of a ‘I know you’re faking’ stare until Jim gave up the act and signed, asking if he was alright, face trying not to contort with worry. McCoy was quick to stand and the common gesture hand was replaced. They spoke for a good minute, in raveled tongues Spock did not and would not understand, going along with the gesture part way through anyway. As Kirk turned him and Lindstrom away, he offered the closest thing to a disgusted look his heritage would allow.

With the semblance of privacy, Jim asked about the theory Spock mentioned he had been working on; the society lacked a soul and Landru was not a being in the sense that humans were inclined to believe. There was a ghost of two smiles when they realized their brains were working on the same wavelength, no matter if they were brushing fingers or not: Landru’s plug needed pulling.

Though on the same page, Spock still naturally had to remind him of their prime directive but Jim countered with mentioning this wasn’t a living and thriving culture the were talking about. Just as he finished that sentence, Marplon and Reger began to sweep through the one entrance. McCoy was quick to greet them, in a passive and peaceful manner. They replied graciously before stepping through to return confiscated communicators. Jim did not shy away from bringing up more information on Landru being needed and that Marplon himself had asked of their help, with it returning that they’d need his help as well. Spock’s tap to his shoulder was like a jolt, pointing out the now agitated McCoy.

One moment, he was shouting his head off with nonsensical verbals about the body and the next, he was attempting to choke Jim and called others to take action. Spock had to throw a man down, for gods’ sakes. Once Jim set Bones down, he motioned Spock to take the side opposite him on the archway’s backside to defend against coming lawgivers together. They brought them down swiftly and made haste to collect the robes, too fast to have Kirk make a sly comment on Spock’s used methodology.

Jim didn’t waste a second to ask where Landru was housed, Reger and Marplon suddenly turning inward with fear. However, he managed to get out of them that the Hall of Audiences, where he was held, was in the same building. He turned to Spock with half curled index fingers, pulling one hand through the air above the other, then hand spelt Enterprise [Call E-N-T-E-R-P-R-I-S-E]. He made one last displeased comment towards the cowering men before him just as Spock hailed the ship.

The attempt was successful but Scotty’s news was far from good. Six more hours until full decay. The heat beams were proving to be more of a challenge than first thought. Kirk was listening the entire time and got across his own message about standing by. His next order of business was putting a guard on Sulu, despite his seemingly calm and poised nature. He didn’t have the time to micromanage the ship since he was already fairly occupied down there.

Spock handed him a phaser and with that, he finally started getting answers out of their underground confidants. Landru had wrought actual peace and tranquility during a period of war, living on to see and hear everything. That was the most he got out of him voluntarily. He asked once more for the pair to take them to Landru, in which Reger submitted to hysteria and landed himself into getting nerve pinched to settle down.

Marplon alone brought Jim and Spock to the Hall of Audiences. He hesitantly opened the doors at Kirk’s request to let them stroll in. The brown robes were stripped before Jim took to his usual way of being loud and confrontational, Spock left to guess what he was spouting to withdraw Landru. A familiar apparition then formed and spoke of them as invaders and ‘an infection to the body’, requiring annihilation. Jim went to reason with it when Spock reminded him it was merely a projection. A light bulb struck and Kirk had them pull their phasers to blast through the wall separating the computers from the main room.

The computer apparatus was blocky and decorated with blinking lights, no doubt signalling it was functioning properly. They shared an understanding look and began to stride forward, Spock making a remark by barely lacing his fingers and shaking the connected hands [Machine]. Jim simply nodded and pointed his phaser, Spock following after, to simultaneously ‘pull the plug’. The computer -- Landru -- decided to be a cheeky little shit and neutralize their weapons, forcefully solidifying that it was Landru and everything that once made him up.

Annoying as it was, Jim used it as backfire. The feeding of contradictory data did its job by forcing the computer to slowly die for a moment. The part that mattered of its next statement was the good of the body. That’s what the most important thing to it was.

Boldy, Jim turned the statement to ask what the good actually was, waiting for the explanation to then pit it against the machine that it was the harmful being. The insufficient data method started by asking how individuals were done justice and dealt with. Spock then had a directed question on whether it was aiding or destroying which Jim translated for him. The answer of being out of program came seconds before lawgivers trotted in, seeking guidance. They were not threat as they had nothing to guide them, therefore leaving the interrogation to proceed.

Creativity was vital to the health of the body, but the lack thereof due to Landru withholding it was killing the body. Good had to be made and the prime directive was to cast out evil; in this case, the digital conscious of Landru happened to be the evil it was working to fight. Jim kept repeating the statement as sparks flew and smoke began to rise, signifying the computer destroying itself from the inside by way of processing this data. As it was near the end of its burnout, Jim began a triumphant smile, stepping into the area to inspect the outcome. He advised Marplon on discarding the tacky yellow robe and seeing to finding a new job just before hailing the Enterprise.

It was successful and the ship was now out of danger, Mr. Sulu back to his usual self and coming to take his seat at the helm once again. The glorious grin returned and he told Spock they should go check up on the others to ensure quality states of minds before beaming up. During this investigation, Lindstrom decided to stay behind with experts to rebuild the culture and discover its potential. Kirk accepted this and continued to eye the rest of the party.

Back aboard, he reclaimed his command chair as Spock turned to him, shakings his hands and ending in ‘OK’ signs [Marvelous]. Jim quirked an eyebrow to signal him to specify. Both thumbs and pinkies out, touching and turning at the thumbs, then a thumb up to tap his shoulder and land the side of the hand on his bicep [The engineering, the authority]. Jim’s response was pointed index fingers that briefly touching before going out, one of them then being used to draw an air loop, and a mimic of barely laced fingers, all together being [But only machine]. There had been no compassion, no heart, and no spirit. Spock agreed and expressed his preference for concrete and physical traits.

Jim wore a tender smile as he teased that Spock would make a splendid computer. Spock took it as a compliment, thanking him with the ghost of a smirk on his lips. He would have went for grasping Jim’s hand to give it a gentle squeeze hand it not hand to press the button to receive a comm line to his chair. It was Lindstrom checking in and putting his goodbyes in order before the ship entirely left orbit. He signed the minor report to Spock who could only raise his brows in amazement to the true human nature down there. He let out a half-sigh before remarking on the naturally human seek for the type of paradise that had been present on the planet. Jim could only call it lucky that they hadn’t succeeded in achieving it.

He held a tender look, Spock offering an agreeable one, and they met in the middle as far as reaching to intertwine their hands on the console.