#he does odd jobs as cap to get money he has his own apartment there's family drama he fools some villains

[thecasscain]

reading the comics of a character after coming from fanon really does showcase how fandom so often does not use a character to its fullest potential, often defaulting to simpler, blander mischaracterisations/archetypes. more utilising the idea of a character concept than an actual character. not to be bitter, fanon can be a fun starting point to a character you don't know, but why not start to engage with the actual character after? it's so much fun?

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Blue Eyes Part 4

Summary: After the Garrison is shot up, the youngest Shelby daughter finds a new home in London. She strips herself of her last name and tries to live a peaceful life far away from her brothers’ chaos in Birmingham. But fate leads her right back into it after she runs into Alfie Solomons.

Part 4: Ella and Alfie go out for the first time. Tommy attempts to reconcile with his sister. 

          “What happened last week?

           Tommy was just a second into lighting a cigarette and raised an eyebrow. His aunt strode into his office without warning. “I got married, Pol, you were there.” He replied tongue in cheek.

           Polly glared at him. “You know that’s not what I’m talking about.” She snapped. “I’m talking about why your sister left without telling us.” As far as Polly was concerned, her nephew was lucky she’d given him a week to enjoy his wedded life. Now she was going to confront him about Ella.

           Tommy exhaled a breath of smoke and set his lighter down to the side. “She decided to leave. I don’t see what that has to do anything with me.”

           She narrowed her eyes. “She left after talking to you. Now she won’t speak to anyone, not even Ada. You need to tell me what you said to her.” She folded her arms over her chest and rooted herself in his office, a clear indication she wasn’t going to leave until he was honest.

           He already felt a headache coming on. “She was asking ‘bout things that weren’t any of her business.”

           “Like what?” Polly demanded. She didn’t care when he pinched the bridge of his nose with a look of displeasure at her persistence. “Like what?” She pressed.

           “Don’t know what to tell you. She’s the one who left for London. It’s not my job to keep tabs on her. She can’t get upset if things happen here and she’s not told.”

           Polly rolled her eyes. Sometimes getting the Shelby siblings to all get along was like pulling teeth. And it usually fell to her to keep the peace. “Life is short, you two need to make amends and stop with this fucking tantrum.”

           Tommy didn’t react. He had a feeling his aunt would step in and try to make them play nice. “She’s not the little girl we helped raise anymore. She's changed.” He replied and went back to his ledger.

           “What are you on about?” Polly asked with a frustrated sigh.

           “M’fraid she might be getting involved with a man.”

           “For Christ sake, she’s a grown woman. You three can’t lock her up in a tower to keep all the men away.” She retorted and turned on her heel to leave.

           “I think you’d lock her up in a tower if you knew it was Alfie Solomons,” Tommy spoke just loudly enough for his aunt to hear.

           She stopped dead in her tracks in the doorway. That was one name she didn’t want to hear associated with her niece’s. “You better not be playing with me.” She warned sternly and spun back around.

           He raised his eyebrows as if he were surprised that would rattle her. Of course, he was fairly good at pushing Polly’s buttons. “She asked John about him. I asked and she lied to me.”

           “How do you know she lied?” Polly reached over his desk to snatch up his case of cigarettes.

           Tommy helpfully held out his lighter for her as she sat. “Because our Ella doesn’t take part in gossip. If she heard his name in passing then she wouldn’t bring it up days later. The only reason she’s asking is she knows who he is and what he does. I would bet a lot of money that they’ve crossed paths.”

           Polly took in the information with a disappointed look. She assumed Ella would stay far away from men like Solomons. Wouldn’t she be able to tell the parallels between him and her brother? “So you got in a row about that.”

           “Partially.” He nodded and stubbed out his cigarette. He leaned back in his leather desk chair and tilted his head back. “I’ve already sent men out to keep tabs on her.”

           She gave him a look. “You really think that’s going to win her trust back? If she finds out, she’ll kick your teeth in.”

           “She can kick me teeth in when I know she’s not involved with that man.”

           Polly sighed and closed her eyes. “You know that the more you press, the further you’re pushing her away.” She warned thoughtfully. “She’s a young woman, she’s got your mother’s blood in her. She may dress a bit nicer now but she’s still a gypsy girl at heart.”

           “That’s what I’m fucking afraid of.”

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

           To say Ella was excited was an understatement. Wooing men had never been her strongest suit. As a young girl, she would much rather punch a boy in the face than hold his hand. Consequently, she left a lot of bad impressions on the boys who grew up around her. It didn’t help that her older brothers would threaten any guy who decided to invade her personal space. So the odds were stacked against her.

           But now, Alfie had taken an interest in her. Just thinking about him was thrilling. She didn’t know what had attracted him to her, perhaps she would find out in due time.

           The location of their meet up wasn’t too far so Ella was going to walk. She donned a scarlet red dress that the shop girl had convinced her to try. It turned out she was right as Ella did a few turns in the mirror, appreciating the beaded bodice and stylish fringe. She smiled and slipped on her heels, hat, and coat before stepping out.

           It didn’t take long before her excitement was doused with icy water. Standing on the block corner near her apartment were two men in familiar caps.

           Blinders.

           She knew they were, even if her brother thought he was being tricky. They were men who weren’t around when Ella lived in Birmingham, but she had spotted them at Tommy’s wedding. Despite how clever her brother was, sometimes he overlooked how observant she could be.

           “Tommy fucking Shelby.” She muttered under her breath and saw one of the men glance her way. The taller one, a lanky boy who looked like he had the devil in his eyes, attempted to look casual. But he stuck out like a sore thumb. The other looked like he was nothing but skin and bones in his hand-me-down coat.

           Ella held her head high and strode past the men. They weren’t very well trained because they followed her far too closely. She rolled her eyes at her brother’s incompetent men. If you wanted a job done correctly, you did it yourself, but Tommy rarely did his own stunts anymore.

           It wouldn’t take a lot to shake them off, especially in London’s evening crowd. She inserted herself into the thickest crowds, slipping through the thin cracks between groups of young men and women or families out on the town. When she figured they had lost her, she dipped into a back alley and took off her hat. Pausing for a second, she spotted the taller man walk by with a confused look on his freckled face.

           Ella smiled and returned to the street, continuing on.

~~~~~~~~~~

           Alfie did his best to look cool and collected. However, he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been on a date. Maybe when he was a teenager? A young man? Even then, it was very rare. Most fathers would shield their pure, Jewish daughters from the Solomons boy who liked trouble. During the war, he had his fill of the nurses and French whores. But they weren’t meaningful.

           When he returned, he had no time for women. For Ella Thorne, however, he would make time.

           Still, his stomach was in knots. Why in the world was a man like him afraid of a little dinner? He’d faced death hundreds of times before and didn’t bat an eye. The battlefield, both in France and in London, was his forte. He was a force to be reckoned with and he didn’t care how he came across as long as people respected or feared him. Yet, he didn’t want Ella to fear him. He wanted her to look at him the way she had before. Gently and with care.

           “Fuck, I’m sorry, I should’ve sent a car ‘round to pick you up.” Alfie realized his mistake when he saw Ella walking towards him.

           “That’s okay.” She smiled reassuringly. “It wasn’t a long walk, did I keep you waiting?”

           “’Course not.” He felt his chest tighten. Yet again, he forgot how blue her eyes were. It was as if God had taken his time with her, sitting her down and mixing all the blues he could until he found the right combination. Experimenting with the strongest pigments to see how stunning he could make the woman.

           “Thank you for taking me out tonight,” Ella said softly. “I really needed this.”

           Alfie held out an arm to escort her down the sidewalk. It was polite, something his mother would be proud of. “Yeah, s’been a while since I’ve taken some time for meself.” He agreed. “Always working.”

           Ella toed the line while still remembering Amelia’s warning. “You’ve got a very busy bakery then?” She kept her eyes to the sidewalk to make sure her heels didn’t catch in gaps of the cobblestones.

           “Very busy.” There was a hint of a smile behind his mustache. “And you, what do you do?” He was much more interested in talking about Ella than himself. He couldn’t divulge too much about himself until he knew she could be trusted. A set of blue eyes wouldn’t loosen his lips.

           “I’m a typist for a law firm.” She answered with a shrug. “Nothing too exciting.” She kept close to Alfie to avoid running into people passing on the sidewalk.

           Alfie caught a whiff of her perfume and felt his heart quicken. He was sure they were quite the sight, a sinful man next to such a warm, tender creature. “Sometimes exciting ain’t always a good thing.”

           Ella glanced up at him as if he’d read her mind. “You’ve no idea.”

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

           Alfie Solomons was a charming man. He’d been so brutal in the bar the night they’d met, but Ella realized that was all a front. A man who needed to establish himself as someone who would resort to violence if necessary. But sitting across from her, he was a smooth talker and a charismatic personality. He was warm but twisted his way around certain questions. It led Ella to believe he didn’t want to talk about his business.

           Still, they didn’t run out of things to talk about. He was much more than his business dealings. He was much more educated than Ella expected on face value. Education wasn’t as important in her family. You couldn’t learn the tools necessary to be a Shelby at school. The siblings were street smart and quick-witted.

           Alfie seemed to be similarly raised, yet he had taken time to become more learned on elite subjects. Perhaps it was to fit in better in London. It would be extremely helpful to speak the language of both street rats and aristocrats. Ella had a feeling her brother was trying to accomplish the same thing.

           “You’re a quiet little thing, ain’t ya?” Alfie asked about halfway through the dinner. “Not boring you to death, am I?”

           “No, no, of course not,” Ella said hurriedly. “I’m just not as…worldly as you.” She admitted shyly. “Never even been outside the country. I mean, you’ve been to France. I’ve always wanted to go there, I just don’t think I’d fit in very well.”

           Alfie simply shook his head. “Love, those Parisian women would kill to be as fucking gorgeous as you are.”

           Her face went bright pink and she ducked her head in embarrassment. “Oh, I dunno.”

           “Here’s the thing,” He reached over and tilted her chin up with the lightest of touches. “I wouldn’t lie ‘bout something like that, right?”

           Her eyes searched his face, lingering on the long scar across his jaw. “Would you lie about something else?” She asked quietly.

           “I don’t lie often, love. I wouldn’t lie to you, know that for certain.”

           She chewed on her lower lip and thought about all the things she was keeping from Alfie. Maybe he would lie to her, but she knew for a fact, that she was the first to lie.

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

           Despite the secret she was keeping, Ella was unable to stay away from Alfie. He was one of the most intriguing men she had ever met and that was saying something coming from a girl raised by Irish Travelers.

           Not only was he interesting but he also treated Ella like she was one of the world’s natural wonders. She had never gotten attention quite like the type Alfie gave her. He took every lull in the conversation to compliment her. No matter how many times he called her beautiful, it still made her flustered.

           It got to the point that Ella stopped thinking about their dates as an insult to her brother. In fact, she rarely thought about her family when she was with him. He had a way of capturing her full attention and making her forget about the world around them. She often forgot about his reputation as well. There would be some hints to it, several people dodging his path and giving Ella a side-eye when they saw her on his arm. It wasn’t much different to the way she was once treated in Birmingham. People would either greet her politely to stay in the Shelbys’ good graces or avoid her entirely. She could only imagine the things they whispered about her behind her back. Gypsy girl. Sister of demons. Hellion.

           Now, she’d created a new image for herself. One that was unique to London. And it was far from the woman she wanted to become in her new home. For a moment, she wanted a quiet life with no fuss or activity.

           But Shelbys were never satisfied with silence. Something deep in their blood craved the adrenaline. And men like Alfie Solomons were akin to a drug.

~~~~~~~~~~~

           “Lucky guess.” Alfie frowned. He squeezed her hand while they walked through Regent’s Park. Spring was in full bloom and the gangster was happy to spend the warm morning with Ella.

           “It was not a lucky guess. I had one-twelfth of a chance of guessing correctly.” She replied firmly. “And I knew you were born in November.”

           “You guessed that I was born in November.” He smiled and shook his head. “Anyone could guess that.”

           “Mhm, sure. It’s in me blood, I know when people were born.” She shrugged nonchalantly. “But you don’t have to believe me, not everyone does.”

           He chuckled. “I like you a lot, Thorne.” He murmured. Alfie did, he truly did. In fact, outside of family members, he wasn’t sure he’d ever cared so much about someone. Ella was the type of woman he didn’t think existed. A beautiful woman with a clever wit, sharp tongue, yet a softness that was underappreciated by others. Most would focus on her strong will rather than the gentleness in her eyes and touch.

           Ella smiled and glanced up at him. “I like you a lot too.” She replied with a blush spreading over her cheeks.

           Alfie found them a bench to sit so they could talk. “M’fucking glad I met you.” He said quietly, tilting his head down to converse privately with her.

           She took his hand in hers, the tips of her fingers grazing over his calloused palm. She smiled at the memory of one of the Lee girls insisting little Ella would be married before she was thirty just by reading the lines on her palm. Ella had merely laughed and proclaimed she was never getting married. Now, it appeared the Lee had really predicted something viable.

           “I feel the same way.” Her nails grazed across his wrist, over the veins, and to the bracelet he usually wore. “I always used to scoff at love.” She admitted. “I thought it was just blind foolishness.”

           Ella’s soft touch sent a shiver down Alfie’s spine. He felt undeserving of her affection but wasn’t going to deny it. “What do you think ‘bout it now?” He murmured.

           She smiled at him. “I still think it’s foolish. But I’d rather be foolish with you than miserable with anyone else.”

           He chuckled. “Cheeky girl.”

           She didn’t answer with words. Instead, she replied by touching his cheek and leaning in to kiss him.

           Alfie was unsure what he did to deserve such a gesture. Surely God wasn’t blessing him after all the atrocious sins he’d committed. But there was no way in hell she was some sort of punishment or demon in disguise. She was far too tender and her touch was sincere.

           Ella’s hand rested on his cheek, her thumb grazed against the scar cutting through his beard. The pads of her fingers tickled across the skin as if she were healing him, cleansing him of sin.

~~~~~~~~~~~

           “Thorne residence.” Ella got to the phone as she walked into her apartment.

           “Ella, it’s Lizzie.” Tommy’s secretary greeted on the other line.

           She furrowed her eyes in confusion. She hadn’t spoken to Lizzie in a few years. The woman had a complicated relationship with the Shelby family and Ella didn’t have too much of an issue with her. But, she couldn’t ignore the grief she had caused John. “Oh, hello.”

           “Tommy asked me to call you and see if you were available this weekend.” She explained.

           “Really?” Ella raised an eyebrow. Now Tommy was resorting to having his secretary call her? “Why?”

           “He invited you to come to Warwickshire and come hunting with him.”

           Tommy always had a reason for everything. He never just set up a casual gathering. Tommy Shelby didn’t waste time. Either he wanted something from her or wanted information from her.

           Fine. Two could play at that game. “Tell my brother that I would love to.” She replied. “Have him send a car for me Saturday morning.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

           It had been a while since Ella had gone hunting. For a while, they didn’t have the opportunity when they were in Birmingham. But she learned to shoot a gun when she was only eight-years-old. She’d trail along with her brothers through the forest, hunting rabbits and hedgehogs a short distance away from the vardos. Her aim was good, not as good as John’s, but she was shit at trying to sneak up on an animal. Tommy was always able to get the closest to the critters.

           When she arrived at Arrow House, she was a little annoyed. Not because of her brother’s behavior, but because she had been excited on the drive to Warwickshire. Hunting with just Tommy was always the best when they were younger. She still held out hope that things could go back to the way they once were. But her rational brain knew that was impossible. Not after all Tommy had done and not after she’d kissed Alfie Solomons.

           Mary, Tommy’s maid, directed her to the stables where he was waiting.

           Tommy was standing outside with his black gelding and the gray she’d been admiring at his wedding. “Thought you might want to try him out.” He said as if offering the horse as an olive branch. “He’s a smooth ride but stubborn.”

           “I put up with you and you’re stubborn,” Ella replied and took the reins from him.

           He tossed his cigarette to the side. “I’d like to apologize for the way I spoke to you.”

           His sister studied his face. He appeared genuine, but she was sure he still had ulterior motives for the day out. “Well, I’m sorry as well. I think we both said things we regretted.”

           “You’re a part of this family. But you have the right to live where you wish. I should’ve told you about Charlie and Grace.”

           “Mhm…” Ella was worried that he could sense the guilt radiating off her. Surely he knew she was hiding something from him.

           But he merely smiled. “Should we head out?” He asked. “Need a boost up?”

           She rolled her eyes. “’Course not, m’not little anymore.”

           “Right, of course.” He watched as his sister heaved herself up into the saddle from the ground. It looked difficult but she’d never ask for his help, not like she used to.

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

           They began down the trail, the two horses plodding along side by side. There was a chill in the air and fog hung low in the meadows they passed through. The remained in silence for a bit. Ella focused on getting used to the horse underneath her. As Tommy said, the gelding had a smooth gait but continued to try and bend to the left. He was strong, but she had fought with stronger horses before.

           “Do you miss riding?” Tommy asked. They could probably talk about their shared interests in horses without breaking out into an argument.

           “Yes.” She nodded without explaining it away or defending her actions.

           “Well, whenever you need fresh air, you can come out here.” He offered. “There’s a bay mare that loves to jump. There are a few stonewalls on a path that she could get over without breaking a sweat. Very fast too, but couldn’t get her to behave on the track.”

           Ella nodded. He must remember how she loved horses that could leap over fences and fallen logs with ease. She adored the feeling of being airborne even for just a few seconds. The thrill was unlike anything she would ever know. Although, the swooping feeling in her stomach could probably be compared to kissing Alfie. She smiled faintly.

           “So, how’s London?” Tommy asked.

           “Don’t you know?” She raised an eyebrow and glanced over at her brother.

           “I haven’t been in some time. Been in Birmingham or here.”

           “Well, I’m sure your men could tell you. They are shit at their jobs though.” She shrugged casually. “You should find someone better.”          

           Tommy let out a low chuckle. “Can’t get anything past you, can I, El?”

           “It’s patronizing, Thomas.” She replied sharply. “I don’t need your daft boys on me tail whenever I leave the fucking house.”

           “Can you blame me for being worried?” He kept a level head. The last thing he wanted was to break out into another fight with her. One more and she might move across the Pond to get away from him.

           “I’ve been on my own for four years. I think I can handle myself perfectly well. If you were really worried, you could’ve sacked up and come to me personally. Instead, you’re treating me like one of your enemies.”

           “No.”

           “Yes, Tommy. Do you have John or Arthur followed? What about Ada?” She pointed out. “No, just me because I’m not under your thumb."

           “You’re my baby sister.” He insisted. “If Finn was in London on his own, I’d do the same. You two are still young and don’t know just how dangerous the world can be.”

           Ella stopped the gelding in the middle of the path. “Tommy, I’m older than John was when he went to war.” She pointed out.

           Tommy paused, slowing his horse down as well. Was that true? He’d been twenty-five going on twenty-six when they left. John was five years younger. Ella was now twenty-three. He sighed. “Yes, I s’pose that’s true.”

           “I think I have a right to worry about you more than you have to worry about me.” She nudged the horse on when they came into another open field. “I’m going to let him stretch his legs.” Before her brother could get another word in, she clucked her tongue and prodded the gray into a canter.

           Tommy lengthened the reins, allowing his horse to extend his neck out. The gelding trotted a few steps through the long grass, tossing his head about every so often. He kept an eye on his sister, thinking about how little control he had over her. It terrified him and made him worry about the trouble she could get into. Trouble that he might not be able to get her out of until it was too late. Then he thought about the men who he’d tasked with watching her. They were definitely ready for a job evaluation when he returned to Birmingham.

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

           After bagging three hares, Tommy and Ella rode back to Arrow House. The sun was high in the sky and they were both generally in pleasant moods. The hunting trip had reminded them of how it used to be and how silly it was to keep arguing. It was a compromise of sorts. Tommy said he wouldn’t have her watched anymore and Ella said she would keep in better contact with the family. They could both be satisfied with the stipulations.

           Grace had arranged to have tea outside when they came back. She and Charlie were in the back lawns, the toddler sitting and pulling at the grass.

           “Successful hunt?” Grace asked with a smile when she saw them return.

           “No stags, although Tommy promised we’d find one.” Ella shot her brother a look.

           He chuckled and sat down next to his wife at the iron-wrought table. “If we’d found a stag, you would’ve made me carry it the whole way home.”

           Grace was happy to see they were in good spirits. She’d talked to Tommy before his sister had arrived. She reminded him that they were family and no matter how he felt about the wedding night, he needed to make amends as Polly had said. But she had her doubts. The woman knew how volatile Shelby siblings could get with each other when they had a reason to be.

           Still, it appeared that the morning out together had been a success. Ella hadn’t left and they weren’t at each other’s throats.

           Ella knelt down in front of Charlie. “I swear you’ve grown a meter since I saw you last!” She cooed and picked him up. The little boy laughed and grabbed at his aunt’s hair.

           “Careful, he’ll yank out a few pieces if you let him,” Tommy warned.

           “Well, he is a Shelby. Finn was a terror growing up. Took off running from us the moment he could stand on his own.”

           “We were all like that.” He nodded. “Luckily, he’s taken on Grace’s personality as well.” He took his wife’s hand and she smiled.

           “You’re a natural with him, Ella,” Grace said gently.

           “I’ve helped Ada with Karl after Freddie passed.” She explained and smiled fondly at her nephew.

           “Do you think you’ll have any of your own?” Her sister-in-law inquired.

           Ella laughed with a wince. She stood up with Charlie on her hip and sat at the table. “I’d have to be married first, wouldn’t I?”

           “Oh, I’m sure you’ve got plenty of London boys falling over themselves to win you.” Grace smiled and poured her a cup of tea. “You’ve got those Shelby blue eyes.”

           Tommy sighed and offered to take Charlie from his sister. “Ella used to spit at any boy who tried to kiss her. We had to make sure she wouldn’t bite them too.”

           Ella rolled her eyes and plopped two sugar cubes into her teacup. “Yes Tommy, I still spit at any man who would dare speak to me.” She said sarcastically.

           Her brother looked amused and let Charlie hold his pocket watch. “Forgive me if I can’t imagine you with a man.”

           “I do just fine, thank you for your concern.” She replied and thought about Alfie.

           “So we’ll get to meet him soon then, aye?” Tommy let Charlie down as the boy began to squirm and whine. The boy toddled off to pluck a few dandelions out of the ground and carry them around in his pudgy hand. Tommy pulled out a cigarette and offered the pack to Grace and his sister.

           “Don’t know what you’re on about.” Ella took a cigarette but Grace turned it down. “Meet who? There isn’t anyone to meet.”

           “Maybe you’ll just end up on your own in the countryside then?” Tommy chuckled. “Like you always wanted. Small cottage with stables full of horses.”

           Grace smiled. “Sounds like a lovely retirement plan to me.” She took the dandelions that Charlie offered her. “Thank you, love.” She kissed his forehead.

           “A couple of horses and a dog.” Ella shrugged. “Don’t need much else.”

           “Didn’t think you liked dogs.”

           She thought about Cyril who had grown attached to her. Alfie took him along whenever they took walks in the park. If they sat, the bullmastiff would rest his head on her lap. His sad eyes would close contently when she scratched his ears. His droopy cheeks would leave drool on her coat but she never minded.

           “You did like Jeta Lee’s, foxhound as a girl.” Her brother recalled the dog that would always hunt for a little snack from the Shelby children if they were in the Lee camp.

           “Yeah, or something bigger.” She shrugged casually and sipped her tea to hide her small smile.

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla​ @giftofdreams​

Tag list: @deaflikehawkeye​ @octaviareina​ @mylovelykelsifer​

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serendipity | namjoon

serendipity n. the phenomenon of finding valuable or agreeable things not sought for In which you are a university student working at a vintage/book store, and Kim Namjoon is a tad clumsy.

college/university!au

pairing: kim namjoon/reader (gender not specified in fic!) genre: fluff!!! just a wholesome read in general word count: 1.9k warnings: none, unless you need a warning for namjoon being the cutest clumsy dork note: Happy New Year!

Taking a 2021 leap of faith by posting my first fic ever, and it's for the ever lovable Kim Namjoon of BTS. This has been sitting in my WIPs for so long, but I'm glad I finally got the guts to just sit down and finish it. This fic is just a short happy little thing that I wanted to welcome the new year with, so I do hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

May this year be much, much better for you all. Thank you for clicking on this tiny thing, and enjoy!

[crossposted to AO3]

The day begins like usual.

You wake up at around seven in the morning. It takes a few groans and some burrowing under the covers before you reluctantly leave the comfort of your bed to get ready for another day of school. Today is Thursday, you note. Just one more day after this until the sweet, sweet embrace of the weekend.

On Thursdays, your classes begin at nine in the morning and end at three in the afternoon, after which you walk a few blocks down the street from your university to your part-time job at the little vintage shop right across the convenience store.

It’s owned by a pleasant, middle-aged lady with a love for collecting antiques, trinkets, books, and other unique finds she’s stumbled upon in her numerous travels around the globe. She often drops by the store when she isn’t away on another trip, waltzing in through the front door, clad in her signature ensemble of an expensive silk headscarf, a flowing floral dress, a pair of vintage designer boots, and a pretty little purse that magically fits everything and then some.

She’s like a real-life Mary Poppins—that is, if Mary Poppins had the aesthetic of a suspiciously rich 50-something lady whom you can usually find day drinking at some obscure Spanish restaurant. You don’t really know where she gets the money to own all that she does and travel five times each month (A small vintage shop at a university area surely wouldn’t make that much money, right?), but you don’t need to know. The elusiveness is part of her charm.

You met her one day as you were intently reviewing every single item on the shelf to score some hardbound anniversary edition copies of your favorite classics for cheap. She had noticed you frequenting her store, and finally offered you a part-time position due to your sincere—albeit novice—appreciation for quietly valuable things, and you said yes on the spot. It meant extra money and a 20% discount to your favorite shop, after all.

The walk to the store is short—a five-minute stroll along pretty rows of old brick apartments and quaint ice cream parlors and small restaurants with cuisine ranging from Japanese to Mediterranean. Your usual brisk walk becomes a leisurely pace today, thanks to the rare early dismissal from your Contemporary Asian Art elective, your last class of the day.

Breathing in the fresh afternoon air and looking up, you take time to admire how green the trees are at this time of the year. It’s calming to watch the leaves sway gently with the breeze, giving way for sparse rays of the sun to illuminate patches of the ground like tiny twinkling stars. Your eyes absentmindedly scan the sidewalk for the bits of sunlight that pass through.

The day feels brighter and kinder when you’re not hurrying, you think to yourself.

The mellow tingle of the chimes interrupts your reverie, announcing your arrival to the shop.

“Hey!” Taehyung, your co-worker, greets you with a smile as he packs away a small stack of readings and notes in his messenger bag. “Got a big exam today so I may have to go a little sooner, is that okay?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. Good luck on that test!” You smile back, taking a seat behind the counter as you review the day’s transactions so far. “Wow, that’s a good number of purchases today—and it’s only three p.m.”

Taehyung swings his bag over his shoulder and ruffles his already messy black hair. “Right? Oh! Remember that really handsome guy I told you about? Broad shoulders, cute smile, even cuter laugh? The one from my English class?”

You give him an enthusiastic “YES?” in acknowledgment. Taehyung has not shut up about him all semester, but it took just one chance encounter on campus with “really handsome guy” to prove to you that “really handsome” was a gross understatement, and that if you were in his position, you’d never keep your mouth shut either.

“He came by this morning. Must’ve left his magical touch on the store.” Taehyung pauses, wiggling his fingers around to illustrate his point.

Taehyung’s silly action makes you snicker, but the gravity of his statement hits you all of a sudden, causing you to widen your eyes in response. “Wait. You mean I missed him!?” You frown in disappointment, and Taehyung gives you a sympathetic nod. “Damn. Well, at least he bestowed enough magic to help you survive that huge exam.”

“Not just survive it; I’m gonna ace it.” Taehyung winks. “And hey, I’m certain Mr. Eye Candy’s left enough magic in the store for you, too, out of his kindness.”

“When you finally get the guts to ask the guy out, tell him thank you!” You laugh and give each other one last wave before he skips to the exit, almost bumping into a customer who has just entered the store. They bow to each other in apology.

“Good afternoon! How may I help you?” You stand up from where you’re seated to make yourself available to the tall boy in a black cap and blue shirt. Funny, you haven’t even seen his face yet, but you already think the denim is a good look on him. Not a lot of people don’t look like a joke in denim shirts, but even fewer people are blessed with the ability to look amazing in them. The first customer of your shift, whoever he is, is one of those people.

He takes clumsy steps through the entrance, retreating the arms that pushed the door open back into his pockets. The cap on his head, however, is doing nothing to help you get a better glimpse of the boy who has kind of piqued your interest.

Then he topples over a whole stack of books on display up by the front of the store. Now you’re really interested.

As he picks up a couple of books from the floor, the “SALE” sign beside also falls with a muted thud when it hits a hardbound copy of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. He looks up from where he’s knelt on the ground, searching for someone to whom he can address more of his profuse apologies before standing up in shame, waiting for the cute person behind the counter to approach and also maybe but hopefully not reprimand him for his stupidity.

“Oh, shit,” you hear him whisper in panic. “I am so sorry about that. I’ll fix it.”

He tries, at least.

His eyes meet yours as he straightens up, as if to admit defeat against the on-sale books still on the floor. You’re chuckling, walking towards him and effectively pretending you are not the least bit fazed by the stranger’s slightly obscured puppy eyes and mild panic and how he towers over you while being as threatening as a lost child.

“Need some help?” you chuckle again—out of nervousness more than anything, if you’re being honest—and he reciprocates shyly.

“Sorry about this.” He gives you a sheepish smile as he adjusts his cap and scratches the back of his head. It’s quick, but it’s more than enough to give you a perfect glimpse of his handsome face: timid eyes, full cheeks, and a guilty smile boasting of a dimple on each side.

You lag for a moment upon the unobstructed sight of him, but almost immediately catch yourself. A brief clearing of the throat and you begin picking up the books sprawled on the floor between the both of you. He quickly bends down to try and be of assistance, picking up a few and checking to make sure he made no damages to any of the copies before returning them to the display rack.

You both reach for the dog-eared paperback edition of Milan Kundera’s The Unbearable Lightness of Being at the same time, and you could’ve sworn a sudden spark jolts you the moment your hands meet.

He’s the first to look up. The boy in the cap waits to meet your gaze as you blink to yourself a few times before deciding to check on said boy in front of you. Now it’s your turn to say sorry, and you’re not really even sure why. Just felt like speaking would help make this less nerve-wracking for you and your now pounding chest.

And then he snorts. It’s not even supposed to be a pleasant sound, but it tickles your ears and heart in a way that requires all of your willpower to keep yourself from melting into a puddle right then and there. He picks up the book, stands up straight, and looks at you—still smiling, still so attractive it honestly hurts. The softest of giggles leaves his lips, and you really, truly, die a little.

“Sorry, um…” He scratches his head. Maybe a cute habit of his? He has no real followup to that apology, so he pretends he didn’t say it and just continues with the next thought in his head.

“I’ve been looking for this for so long.” He lifts the copy of the Kundera novel in his hand.

Ah, the book. You almost misunderstand.

“I’ve wanted to own this in this particular cover, but for some odd reason, it wasn’t in any bookstore I’ve visited before.”

“Oh, well then, I’m glad you found what you were looking for here.” You smile shyly.

“This and more, really,” he whispers to himself, and you don’t quite catch it.

“That copy’s actually also our last of that novel. If you had come by on any other day it might have been gone already,” you explain, mentally patting yourself in the back for finishing your sentence without stuttering.

You fidget with your fingers, praying for a reason to continue speaking with the beautiful stranger and the courage to maintain eye contact the way he’s effortlessly doing.

“I’m glad I dropped by today, then.” He stares at you for a moment, hoping you catch just what he really means before his eyes turn into crescent moons when he scrunches his nose to give you a playful grin.

It seems that your prayers work. Without missing a beat, you find uncharacteristic confidence from within your nervous bones to respond, “I’m glad you did, too.”

“Maybe I should drop by again tomorrow,” he says, your answer giving him a boost of confidence. “And the next day, too, maybe?”

“We restock books on Fridays and Saturdays. I’m off then, so my friend Jimin will be the one to assist you if ever.” You smile, teasing.

“Hmm, how about Sunday?”

“We’re closed on Sundays.”

He purses his lips as he holds back another fit of giggles, shaking his head lightly. He has been nothing but a dork and a dumbass this whole time, and yet, luckily, it seems like it’s working. So he pushes it.

“How about I make it simpler by just asking you out right now? Since it’s your day off, how does tomorrow sound?”

You laugh at this, before coyly looking at him to say, “What makes you so sure I’ll say yes?”

“Just trying my luck, really.” He laughs, too.

“Today must be your lucky day, stranger.”

“Kim Namjoon,” he responds, perfect smile still there on his face. “My name’s Namjoon.”

“Well then, Namjoon, today’s your lucky day.”

And mine, too, you think to yourself. You hope Taehyung doesn’t forget to extend your gratitude to Mr. Eye Candy.

a/n: Thank you for reading! Feel free to drop by my ask for comments, suggestions, or just to say hi!! Constructive criticism is welcome, but please be kind! I'm very new to this so I would greatly appreciate kind feedback.

[bodyswapmischief]

Thankful for my Brother

There the textwas sent. I thought to myself. Well there is nothing I could do know.

A hour passed, and I thought I was in the clear. Maybe my brother didn't care after all. But it was to good to be true. My phone started ringing.

"What the fuck, bro! You can't just text and say your not coming to Thanksgiving!" He yelled

"Well I thought it wouldn't be a big deal." I responded.

"Of course it's a big deal! Is something wrong? I could tell you've been pulling away lately." His voice changed from anger to concern.

"No, I'm good. It just now that I'm in New York and your all the way in California, it's hard keep in touch." My voice fails to hide my depression.

"Come on dude. That maybe part of it but, I know more is going on. I know when your lying. For christ sakes, I had to act like brother, mother and father to you. You know we can be honest with each other. We are all each other gots."

He was right about that. I was 12 when my parents died. And, he was 18. He was already to graduate high school and begin his college life. But that all stopped.

Being only children, my parents had no family left. So, everything they had was left to us. And, it was a pretty good amount of money. However since we were both under 20 most of the money would be locked under a trust fund. Then their was the case of my custody. I remember the exact phrasing, as the lawyer read the will.

"And, if we should die before Alex turns 18. We ask that our oldest son Jason becomes his legal guardian. But, it must be his choice to want to go through with this." My heart stopped. What was going to happen. But, before I could think about anything he started talking.

"Of course I'm going to keep my brother. He's not going anywhere." He stated strongly but with tears running down his face. He put is arms around me and pushed me close to him. "We are all we got, now."

I was happy. I was glad he liked me enough to keep him. After all the annoying things I did and the fights we had, he cared about me. But, at the same time I wanted to tell him no, don't do it. But, I couldn't. I didn't want to lose him. Maybe I was being selfish. But even at that young age, I knew how much he was giving up.

Instead of going to college he got a job. We, also, moved in to a small apartment after selling most of our parents things, because we could no longer afford living in our old house. Part of the will was he had to take financial responsibility class. So, that help.

And, he was able to help me. He helped me get through puberty, he taught me how to shave, he taught me how to talk to girls, he helped me with my homework, he made sure I always ate, and so many other things a brother, mom and dad would do.

By the time I was 18, I wanted to get a job to start helping my brother. But, he pushed me to go to college. He wanted my life to be all it could be. In a loving way, he wanted my life to make up for his. Luckily, we now had the money from the trust fund so, my college was paid for. I spent four years at a local university, majoring computer engineering.

My brother also got a break. At this point, most off his friends were finished with college. And, some of them were starting there own businesses. So, one of his good friends, offered him a better job. During this time he even met the love of his life. Over the course of a few years, they started having kids. And, I started feeling like a burden on their life. My brother's wife, came from a big family. And, they would always come around. They quickly accepted my brother, as their new son. And ,yes, they were kind to me. But, I felt like a third wheel. So, after college I knew I had to leave. It took a few years longer than I wanted, but I got a good job offer from a tech company in New York.

Being away from him, I realize why I left. I was jealous of the happiness my brother had. I wanted the love he had. I guess the death of my parents have affected me more than I thought. Unlike, my brother, I had relationships and commitment issues. Over my college life, I was becoming a bit of a play boy. And, it didn't help that I was Bi because it meant I had more options to mess around with. Now that I'm in New York with a good paying job, most of night end with going to clubs with my friends I've made, get drunk, and find a one night stand.

"Come on say something." My brother voice cut through my thoughts.

"Oh sorry ... it's just I don't want to be a burden. I don't want you tell feel like you need to have me there just because I'm your brother. I mean you got a new family now, you don't need me around anymore." I say.

"See, I new something was wrong. You sound depressed as fuck. Don’t do anything stupid. I’m going to take the next flight to go see you?”

“No, don’t. I’m not suicidal. Plus, your going miss thanksgiving with your family.”

“Fuck it, they’ll understand. I mean the holidays are a rough time for us. Especially since it’s around the time mom and dad died. And, this is the first time your all alone for it. It’s natural to be sad, heck I’m still sad, even though I got my wife and kids. Are you sure you don’t want me to fly over? I think it would help you feel better.”

“No, you don’t have to take care of me. I’‘m 26 for fuck sakes! I appreciate everything you had too sacrifice for me. and, I still love you. But, you don’t gotta fucking babysit me anymore. With this time apart, I just got  to find out some things for myself.” I said aggressively.

“Okay ... okay,  I understand ... I understand.” my brother says, trying to calm me down..

Tears in my eyes and I feel guilty. “Sorry ...sorry ...sorry. I don’t know where that came from. I didn’t mean to yell at you. Just recently I’ve been discovering how broken I am. I’ve actually started seeing a therapist gain. Turns out I have a lot of guilt from forcing you  to take care of me and ruining your life. And at the same time, I’m jealous of you, your life, and your ability to love.”

“Hey! You didn’t force me to do shit!. What kind of person would I have been if I sent you away. I did it cause I wanted too do it.” He responded with a stern loving tone. “And you didn’t ruin my life. I got a good job now. I got  a  wife. I got kids. I’m happy. You shouldn’t feel guilty about anything.” He said with amusement. “But, I’m not going to lie. I was jealous of you. I mean you got to live the life, I wanted. But, I understand ... there are just somethings you got to do, for yourself.” 

“Thanks for understanding. I’ll probably just hangout with some other friends, who won’t go back home for the holidays. But, I’ll definitely be there for Christmas. And, I’ll find a way to make it back up to you, for not coming to Thanksgiving.” I reply.

“Actually ... I was never going to use  it. But, after hearing how you feel, I think I know how you can make it up to  me.” He  says.

“How?” I asked.

“Let’s swap lives.” 

“What”

“Let’s  swap lives. I’ll be  in your body and you be in mine.”

“Yeah  ... I heard you the  first time ... are you okay?”

“oh ... yeah ... I know it sounds crazy but, my friends company has been working on a device to swap bodies. It’s in beta so ... so far the swap is permanent. And, we just said we always have been jealous of each other. So, now we can be each other”

“But, what about your life. I don’t know about your family dynamic. no, offense but I’m not sexually attractive to your wife. I wouldn’t make a good father. You don’t know anything about my job. If you could swap our bodies we would just mess up each other lives. And  wouldn’t you miss your wife and kids.”

“Yes I love them. But, if we swap none of that would matter. I could set it up so we have all the information we need to get through our new lives. My love for my wife and kids would  be transferred to you. All our skills will be swapped. So, you will be a good father and husband. It won’t be like I’m leaving them, because now I’m leaving them  in your hands.”

I was so confused. Did my brother snap. Is he crazy. But, experiencing my brothers happiness would be my dream come true. “Okay,  but how does it ...” And, Suddenly the phone  hanged up.  My vision became blurry. The world around me spun. And, then my vision went black.  I woke up filling heavy. I was no longer  om my couch. My suit was gone. Instead, I was in a truck. I was wearing a very dad type outfit, with a baseball cap on my head. A phone was in my hand so,  I unlocked it using my finger print. I turned on the camera. My brother’s breaded face was looking back at me. I could feel his bigger muscular body underneath the layer of  clothes he had  on.

I got a text from my phone. Thank you little bro ... or should I say big brow now lol. Hope you enjoy your new life. See you  at  Christmas. New memories flood my mind. Happy, sad, angry, scared memories . My body start seizing up. Finally, it stopped, In mere seconds, I experienced my brother’s entire life. But, I still knew I used to be my little brother. It’s an odd feeling.  But, I look at my front door. And  happiness fills my mind for the first time in a long time. I can’t wait to see my beautiful wife and kids.

A few day pass, and I hope my little  brother is enjoying his new  life. I’m sitting at the table enjoying all the food and my family. My kids are are being silly. My father-in-law is watching football. My wife’s sisters and brothers all around the table talking. my mother-in-law making sure people eat more. Being surrounded by all this love is all  I ever wanted.

Then, I get a  text. My brother sent me a picture. I see him on the far right. He actually looks happy.  his text reads, “Damn bro. It rules not being tied down. Last night, I had my first threesome with some girls. Now, I’m going have my first gay threesome, with these hot ass guys, tonight. Thanks for the swap and I hope you found everything you were looking for in your new life. I sure have. See you at Christmas, will catch up.” 

I’m glad he is happy. I’m just thankful we both are truly happy.

[dangerouscommiesubversive]

Gai/Naomi/Juggler, B

Skipping ahead in my prompts kind of a lot because I just finished Orb last night and I’m in the mood to write for it. Contains spoilers for the end of Orb. B is for basorexia, the overwhelming desire to kiss

The thing that actually surprises Naomi, when Juggler shows up at the SSP offices several weeks after the defeat of Magata no Orochi, is not that he’s alive at all but that he’s wearing a different suit. “Gray looks good on you,” she says, cutting him off before he can offer some quip about being hard to kill. “I mean, I know it’s not as dramatic as the black, but gray and red is a good combination.”

Apparently thrown for a loop by this calm non-greeting, he stares at her for a moment before saying, “I was hoping we might have coffee.”

“At dawn?”

“I have reason to believe that the sunrise tomorrow might be well worth seeing, and while my preferred coffee spot has closed, I’ve found another one that’s very nice.”

She nods, says, “That sounds lovely, I’d like that,” and then bursts into tears and has to push her chair back to keep from crying into her keyboard.

Juggler freezes like a rabbit staring down an oncoming car and then comes around her desk and rests an awkward hand on her shoulder. “I don’t, ah. I’m not sure what to do in this situation.”

Naomi sniffles. “You should hug me now, weirdo.”

He’s an awkward hugger. It’s cute. She cries on his silk waistcoat anyway and lets him pat her nervously on the back, because maybe he deserves to be a little uncomfortable.

Once she’s done, though, she says, “Do you have anywhere to stay around here? If we’re having coffee at dawn then we’ll need to be able to find each other then.”

“I don’t sleep,” he says, reflexively, and then, “also, no.”

“You don’t--maybe you’d have spent less time trying to be a bad guy if you got some sleep once in a while. We have a space here, as long as you don’t mind it being where Gai crashed when he was here.”

An odd look crosses Juggler’s face. “No...no, that’s fine, I don’t mind. Thank you.”

--

She plans on going to the office and waking him up for coffee, and sets her alarm for it, but then doesn’t have to, because he shows up at her apartment just as she’s stepping out the door to go get him. “Wow, you really don’t sleep.”

He shrugs. “Not much.” Then, with a courtly bow, he offers her his arm. “Shall we?”

The sunrise is beautiful. The coffee, while not as sublime as Black Star’s, is very good. And Juggler’s much better at kissing than he is at hugging, especially when the sky is red and pink and orange and the clouds are thin and lacy and his mouth tastes like excellent coffee. Naomi has to take a moment to catch her breath when he pulls back. “Nobody’s ever kissed me like that before.”

Juggler raises an eyebrow. “Not even Gai?”

“Gai hasn’t kissed me at all yet, the slacker.” She resists the urge to pout, and then the incipient pout turns into a smile as she realizes, “So there you go, you got to be the first one.”

He does, as expected, look tremendously pleased with himself, and then says, “You’ll have to remind him of his duties the next time you see him. And give him this, from me.”

This kiss is very different from the first one, long and lingering and not sweet so much as it is full of intent. She can’t talk at all for a few minutes after, too red-faced and abruptly shy to attempt it. It feels like she’s walked in on something private, never mind that she was invited, offered it directly even.

“You’ll remember, of course?”

She’ll never call Juggler on how uncertain he sounds, but she’ll always remember it. “I promise.”

--

Juggler is gone two days later, to...wherever it is that he disappears off to, and it’s back to business as usual. Or rather, business as much better than usual; the SSP website’s really taken off, and she and Shin and Jetta spend a lot of time running around interviewing people and filming strange phenomena and writing articles. They’re making enough money that Naomi’s actually been able to quit a couple of her part-time jobs, which is a relief.

Gai gets back to Japan a couple of weeks after Juggler leaves. He doesn’t announce himself, of course, he’s just at the offices when they get back from a trip to a haunted bathhouse, sitting at Shin’s desk, drinking Ramune. Shin and Jetta fall all over themselves in their excitement to greet him, and then see how Naomi’s looking at him and very quickly find that they have other things to take care of.

“You’re late,” she says, “you missed Juggler by two weeks.”

He actually jumps slightly. “Juggler was here?”

“He was.” She crosses her arms over her chest, enjoying the hunted look on his face. “You’ve got some catching up to do, buddy. Also, he gave me something for you.”

“He...gave you something for me.”

“Yes. I’ll give it to you later. Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”

He doesn’t kiss her in a rooftop cafe at sunrise. Not that it isn’t just as romantic sitting on the couch in her tiny apartment, but it’s a very different mood otherwise. He’s hesitant about it, too, not as cool or as obviously prepared as Juggler was, both of them bursting into nervous laughter after a couple of shy first pecks, but then he reaches for her again and it’s very nice.

After about ten minutes of increasingly confident kisses traded back and forth there’s a pause, as both of them clearly try to decide whether this is going to go any further tonight, and Naomi remembers. “Right, yeah, I should give you that thing.”

Gai nods, frowning. “The...the thing Juggler gave you for me?”

“Yes, that one.”

She does her best to kiss him the way that Juggler kissed her, and from the shocked look on his face afterward she’s at least partially successful. “He asked you to give me that.”

“He was very specific about it, yes.” A beat, and then, with more mischief, “He was very pleased to know that he’d gotten to kiss me first.”

Gai rolls his eyes. “Of course he was.”

They don’t go any further that night, and that’s fine, because Naomi finds after only the briefest consideration that she’s way too nervous about the prospect of asking Gai if he wants to stay the night. Eventually he does get up to go--only back to the SSP offices to sleep there, but that’s still going. But at the door he stops and says, “If Juggler doesn’t come around before I have to leave again, please give him this for me?”

Another shocking, private kiss, filled with yearning, dizzying in how lonely it makes Naomi realize Gai‘s been, his hand on the side of her face gentle in a way that’s entirely different from how he’s gentle with her. She nods, dazed. “Sure. I’ll keep it safe for him.”

--

Juggler does not, of course, come back for another three weeks, by which point Gai’s long gone. He receives his message from Gai with stunned pleasure, and gives her another one to send back.

He and Gai only miss each other by three days this time, but it’s still what happens. Naomi gives Gai the kiss she’s been saving for him, and he gives her another one for Juggler.

It takes three more repeats of this before she realizes that they’re avoiding each other.

--

It’s not like either one of them has a cell phone, is the really frustrating thing.

So she puts a note on the website, which has been doing very well. She knows they both check it, too, and that they’ll both notice the one-line addition to the right side of the main page, under the embedded Twitter feed, that just says, I miss you. - N.

Two days later, she and Jetta get back from an interview to find Juggler staring at Gai’s open bottle of Ramune like it’s personally attacking him.

Gai, for his part, is squinting at Juggler’s chest. “Did you get a new suit?”

“Oh, good.” Naomi hangs up her jacket. “Shin, when did they both get here?”

Shin is hiding behind his latest invention, which is fair, the atmosphere is pretty tense. “Gai’s been here for exactly two hours and seventeen minutes, Cap. J-juggler just got here ten minutes ago.”

“You planned this,” Juggler says accusingly.

“Obviously I planned it. You fell for it.”

“Can I take that note down now, Cap?” Jetta, bless him, is just acting like it’s a normal day, heading to the computer with camera in hand to move his footage over. Granted, both he and Shin were in on the plan, but he was the one who thought it was funny, so it makes sense that he’d be calm about things.

“Yes, please. I’m going to be out for the rest of the afternoon.”

Shin starts to protest, looks at the frozen expressions on Gai and Juggler’s faces, and shuts up.

--

They follow her back to her apartment in a deeply awkward silence, and then proceed to take up more space in her minuscule living room than she would have ever thought possible. She stares at them for several minutes, tapping her foot, and is about to start getting impatient when Gai, finally, says, “Was there. Ah. Something you wanted to talk to us both about?”

“Yes,” she says, with vehemence. “I am an independent woman and I would like my own kisses, please, if you two want to kiss each other then you ought to stop avoiding each other and do it yourselves instead of making me your go-between.” At Gai’s protesting noise, “Look, I don’t entirely mind, they’re extremely nice kisses! But you’re, what, a few hundred years old?”

Juggler coughs. “Thousand.”

“Ok! You’re a few thousand years old! And I know, I know you’ve spent a bunch of that time not talking about your problems, but I’m fairly sure you can behave like adults! You don’t need a, a kissing proxy!”

Neither one of them answer. Gai scratches the back of his head, and then actually shuffles his feet like a child who’s been scolded. Juggler is staring fixedly at her one little bookcase with its painstakingly curated collection of books about aliens and supernatural phenomena. She’d think he was mad, except that he’s blushing, which is very charming of him.

She gives them a moment to feel awkward in silence and then says, “Look, I’m going to, to go to the bathroom and then when I’m out we’ll order dinner from somewhere and you two have to talk to each other.”

She spends longer in the bathroom than she’d really like, because as she washes her hands she finds that she’s shaking. Obviously this whole thing makes her nervous, obviously it’s all strange and new, obviously her first serious relationship would be with two thousand-year-old aliens, and also she’s planning on finally asking if one or both of them wants to stay the night. It’s a lot! She’s taking a lot of steps, very quickly, and they’re going to get easier if Juggler and Gai will just talk like normal people instead of...thousand-year-old aliens with a longstanding feud. Which is what they actually are. And that’s, you know, hot, but maybe it’s also intimidating right now.

Also she can’t decide what to order for dinner.

Finally she stops staring at herself in the mirror and straining to understand the occasional murmurs she can hear through the door, takes a deep breath, and leaves the bathroom. “So I’m not sure what to get, would you two like--oh.” And then, “Well, finally.”

Because they aren’t answering her, they’re probably not thinking about what to order for dinner right now, Juggler’s got his back to the wall next to the bookcase and his hand in Gai’s hair and there’s a kiss happening that’s definitely a culmination of all these kisses they’ve been sending each other through her, or at the very least a continuation of them. Most people wouldn’t be able to see it, the hundreds of years of pent-up longing and regret and desire, but then most people aren’t her. Most people haven’t been couriering it back and forth for months now.

It’s almost heartbreaking to see.

It’s also quite possibly the hottest thing Naomi’s ever seen in her--admittedly, comparatively short--life. She’s not sure she can remember how to breathe.

When she does finally start breathing again, she says, “I think when you’re both done I’ll order us a pizza.”

[theyoutubedork]

I’m not a wizard: part 2

tag list: @strangemaximoff

A couple of months later, and you are completely able to walk again. You learned Eldritch Magic Manipulation, constantly channeling dimensional energy to let your body function normally. It took you a while to get the hang of constantly using it, but now you grown used to the inter-dimensional hum throughout your body. You can barely feel it anymore. At this point, you were ready for almost anything, with Dr. Strange teaching you as much as possible. He wanted you to be prepared for when the dangerous threat he was talking about arrives.

The best part though, was being able to enforce your quarter staff with magic. Similar to the staff of the tribunal, you could spilt the stick apart so you could use it as a flail. It’s use was no longer that of a cane.

One day, Dr. Strange was about to do a deli run. You were going to go with him, while Wong stayed behind since he had no American money.

“I wouldn’t say no to a tuna melt,”

Wong said. You let out a laugh, before something crashed behind you. You all ducked for cover. You all summoned your weapons as you closed in on the hole in the stairs. You summoned your staff into your hand, pointing it threateningly as you draw closer. You peer inside to see a green man grumbling, eventually losing his odd color as he shrinks. He looks up at the three of you.

“Thanos is coming. He’s coming,” he said, out of breath. You all exchanged confused glances.

“Who?” Asked Dr. Strange.

After incoherent ramblings on the destruction of the universe you went over to the man who introduced himself as Dr. Bruce Banner, or the hulk. You place a hand on your shoulder. He stops rambling.

“If this Thanos is as life-threatening as you describe, is there any one you know that could help us?” You ask. Bruce Banner nods.

“Tony Stark,” He says. You look to Dr. Strange,

“Iron man, wow, ok, let’s try that,” You say. Dr. Strange nods at you to come with him as Wong stays behind. Dr. Strange quickly opens a sling ring, showing Stark and his wife kissing each other. You wince as Strange interrupts them.

“Tony Stark,” He announces, walking through the portal with you behind him,

“I’m Dr. Stephen Strange. I need you to come with me.” The couple looks at us, confused out of their minds. You nudge Strange, urging him to elaborate.

“Oh, uh, congratulations on the wedding by the way,” he says. You try not to laugh. Tony squints his eyes.

“I’m sorry, you giving out tickets to something?”

“We need your help,” Strange explains. You nod.

“It’s not overselling it to say that the fate of the universe is at stake,”

“And who’s we?” Tony challenges.

You were about to introduce yourself when Banner walks through the portal.

“Hey Tony.”

“Bruce!”

“Pepper,” Bruce greets.

“Hi,” whispers pepper.

Bruce goes up to Tony and hugs him.

You all walk back into the sanctum, you directing Tony to a couch. Wong begins to explain everything to do with the infinity stones and their existence. Dr Strange lists them out, revealing the time Stone in the eye of Agamotto. You gasp.

“You didn’t tell me you had that wrapped around your neck this whole time!” You growl, swatting Strange’s arm. His cake pushes you away. You huff. Tony continues,

“Tell me his name again,”

“Thanos,” explains Bruce, “he’s a plague Tony. He invades planets. He takes what he wants. He wipes out half the population. He sent Loki. The Attack on New York, that’s him.”

“This is it,” says Tony, “What’s our timeline?”

“No telling, He has the Power and Space Stones. That already makes him the strongest creature in the universe. If he gets his hands on all six stones, Tony...”

“He could destroy life on a scale hitherto undreamt of.” Says strange. You see Tony lean on the cauldron of cosmos, stretching.

“Did you seriously say “hitherto undreamt of”?” He sneers.

“Are you seriously leaning on the Cauldron of Cosmos?” The cloak of levitation whacks Tony away from it. It lets out a big clang. You let out a chuckle.

“I’m going to allow that. If Thanos needs all six, why don’t we just stick this one down the garbage disposal?”

“No can do,”

“That’s a stupid idea,” you groan at the same time as the Doctor. Tony looks at you.

“Aren’t you a bit young to be here?” Tony says, finally looking at you.

“My name is Y/N L/N, thanks for asking!” you say, letting on a frown,

“Anyway continue” you lean your staff towards the group.

“We swore an oath to protect the time stone with our lives.”

“I swore off dairy, but then Ben and Jerry’s names a flavor after me, so...”

“Stark Raving Hazelnuts.”

“It’s not bad,”

“More like not good,” you laugh.

“A bit chalky.”

“A hunk of hulk of burning fudge is our favorite,” Wong says.

“I liked Captain Americone, but then they discontinued it since he was you know, a criminal now,” you add. Wong hums in agreement, with a solemn look on his face.

“Point is, things change.” Tony said.

“Our oath to protect the Time stone cannot change. And this stone may be the best chance against Thanos.”

“Yeah, So conversely it may also be his best chance against us.”

“Well if we don’t do our jobs.”

“What is your job exactly? Besides making balloon animals.”

“Protecting your reality,” Strange says and you instinctively join him in saying, “douchebag,” Strange smiles at you, and you give a toothy grin.

“Ok guys, could we table this discussion right now? The fact is we have this stone. We know where it is. Vision is out there somewhere with the Mind Stone and we have to find him now,”

“Who’s Vision?” You say.

Tony explains that “Vision” is offline.

“Who could find vision then?” Strange says.

“Shit. Probably Steve Rogers.”

“Oh great,” you all mumble.

“Maybe.”

Bruce asks why he can’t just call him, and Tony reveals to him that the avengers broke up.

“Broke up? Like a band? Like..like the Beatles?”

“Exactly like the Beatles,” You say, chuckling at his use of terminology.

“Cap and I fell out hard. We’re not on speaking terms.”

Bruce explains that Thanos is coming no matter what whoever you’re talking to or not.

“He’s right Tony,” you add. Tony sighs and walks away and pulls out his flip phone. Things start to rumble.

“Say doc you wouldn’t be happen to be moving your hair would ya?” Tony asks.

“Not at the moment no,”

The rumbling becomes louder as you see people running outside. You guys exit the sanctum, seeing people running for their lives. You quickly follow Dr. Strange and Tony, summoning your shields.

“You might want to put that stone in your pocket Doc,”

“Might wanna use it,” Doc answers, summoning his own rings. You turn a corner to see a ring ship hovering over the city.

“Friday, evac anyone south of 43rd street notify first responders”

Dr. Strange instructs you to clear the dust with him, and you both cast the Winds of Watoomb to clear the area. A beam from the ship makes two aliens figures land on the ground. You gulp, taking a deep breath.

“Hear me, and rejoice. You are about to die at the hands of the Children of Thanos. Be thankful that your meaningless lives are now contributing—“ the skinny one says before Tony interrupts him.

“I’m sorry, Earth is closed today.” He yells. You smile at his words,

“You better pack it up and get outta here.”

“Stonekeeper” the alien addresses Strange.

“Does this chattering animal speak for you?”

“Certainly not I speak for myself.” He defends, summoning his rings, “you’re trespassing in this city and on this planet.”

Both you and Wong summon your rings as well, and you feel magical energy course through you.

“He means get lost, Squidward.” Tony yells. You have to bite your tongue to keep yourself from laughing. He was totally right!

“He exhausts me. Bring me the stone,” Squidward says to his partner who chitters in an alien language.

Banner is unable to summon hulk, saying they had a thing, frustrating Tony.

“Dude you’re embarsssing me in front of the wizards.” Tony growls.

Tony orders wings to look after Bruce. You see Tony summon his iron man suit battling briefly before being shot up from the ground. Dr. Strange turns to Bruce as Wong summons a shield.

“Since the rest of your green friend won’t be joining us...” sending him through a sling ring.

You send a few projectiles at Squidward when Tony comes back.

“You need to get that stone out of here now!”

“It stays with me,”

“Exactly, bye,” He says, hurtling towards the beasts before being sent through a wall. Dr. Strange turns to you,

“Go help him,” he says, nodding his head towards Tony. You nod. You quickly summon ruby rings, jumping up towards a building, using your quarterstaff to pole vault you towards the park. You see Tony push Bruce out of the way as you will yourself to float down next to them. Your legs wobble slightly from your first time with actually floating, but you quickly recover. Tony begins to be beat up by the monster and before you throw a shield to protect him, something red and blue beats you too it.

“Hey man. What’s up Mr. Stark?” The young hero says. You recognize him as Spider-Man, since you’ve heard briefly of him.

“Kid, where’d you come from?” Tony asks.

“A field trip to MOMA!” He yells as he’s thrown to the side. You quickly throw some golden whips onto the beast, trying to restrain him as Tony blasts the alien.

“What’s this guy’s problem Mr. stark?” You hear the boy yell.

“Uh he’s from space. He came here to steal a necklace from a wizard.” He says. You sigh, slashing at the alien with your flail-staff.

“For the last time due we’re not wizards! We’re Masters of the Mystic Arts!” You yell back at Tony. The beast grabs Spider-Man throwing him. You summon a sling ring, sending him through as you drop him above you, as you manage to catch him. Your knees slightly buckle from the weight but you set him down on the grass. Spider-Man looks up at you.

“Thanks!” He yellsas you flail at the beast.

You throw more space shards at the alien. Spider-Man quickly grabs a car that’s thrown, throwing it at the alien. Suddenly you see Dr. strange whip by, the cape dragging him.

“Kid that’s the wizard. Get on it!” Tony says.

“On it!” Spider-Man says. You start running towards Strange, using your staff as a pole vault once more. You use more powers as you try to fly through the air, but you keep trailing across the ground every few feet or so. Spider-Man soars above you as you start to trail behind. You feel your legs screaming from the amount of energy you are using, yelling in pain. You look at Spider-Man swinging through the air and you start to do the same. You take golden whips and start swinging off of trees and streetlights, only having to float yourself a few times. The wizard sends billboards you way, and you quickly deflect it with a shield. Spider-Man gets hit, and you keep going, flying ahead of the wizard and grabbing Strange with your whip as he’s sent flying, you see a strand of webbing attach to him, and Spider-Man comes to your aid. Suddenly a beam from the ship starts pulling you up, but you refuse to let go. Spider-Man trails after you. And you hear his yell.

“Uh Mr. Stark, I’m being beamed up.”

The ship escalates super quickly and you look at Spider-Man.

“What do we do?” You say, unable to think of a spell to save you. Spider-Man quickly grabs you by the waist, swinging you both to a side of the ship. You cling onto the panels. You both start climbing. Spider-Man says suddenly,

“But you said to save the wizard! I can’t breathe!” He says as he takes off his mask. Your already gasping for air as you see an attractive young man emerge from the mask. He gasps for air. Tony seems to say something to him before he says,

“Yeah, that makes sense.” He breathes before he collapses. You scream, failing to catch him with your whip.

“Spider-Man!” You yell. Suddenly something flies onto him, emerging his in a new suit. He lands not so gracefully on the trip. gracefully on the ship. You see that before he’s sent off with a parachute, and you start to lose consciousness, you try to summon the winds into your lungs, but your arms give out. You start to feel yourself fall, but then you feel strong metal arms surround you.

“I got you kid,” you hear Tony say. You’re able to breathe in a few moments, and Tony sets you on your feet. You and him quickly go to a safe place, observing Dr. Strange from above. Tony nearly blasts the cloak of levitation.

“Wow, you’re a seriously loyal piece of outerwear aren’t you?”

He says. You nod at him.

“Yes, it’s his personal relic, it has a spiritual bond with him.

“Yeah uh speaking of loyalty.” Spider-Man flips down onto the floor.

“What the..”

“I know what you’re gonna say.”

“You should not be here”

“I was gonna go home”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“But it was such a long way down and I thought about you the way...”

“And now I gotta hear it.”

“Kinda stuck to the side of the ship and this suit is ridiculously intuitive by the way. So if anything it’s kinda you’re fault I’m here.” Peter rambles. You gasp at his words. Did he seriously just say that?

“What did you just say?”

“I- I take that back?” Peter stammers, “And now I’m here in space”

“Yeah right where I didn’t want you to be.” Tony says. He walks up to Peter in a hushed tone. You turn to the cloak, looking for any help. It just shrugs at you before wrapping you into a cloaky hug.

You hear hushed arguing before Tony walks back towards you.

“You’re not to supposed to be here either!” He says to you.

“Excuse me?” You retort.

“You’re too young just like him, I can tell you’re not ready for this!” He assumes. You cross your arms before sneering up at him.

“For your information, Strange told me to go SAVE you when you got hit in the face with a hammer,”

“I didn’t need to be saved!”

“Maybe not but obviously you are your little buddy here couldn’t hand it on your own, so now I’m here! I’m trying to save my fucking mentor so if you two could shut the fuck up, then maybe we can get out of here!” You say, blood boiling. You got so distracted that you stopped channeling your energy, and you nearly fall before Spider-Man catches you in your arms.

“What’s the matter?” Spider-Man says. You look up into his chocolate brown eyes before shoving him away, regaining the strength in your legs quickly. You feel the familiar hum in your bones.

“Nothing! I just got so angry I forgot to hold myself up,” you mumbled. The boy and Iron Man look at you quizzically. You sigh, leaning on your staff,

“I have to use dimensional energy constantly so I can walk,” You say. They still look at you oddly.

“I was paralyzed from the waist down a few years ago, that’s why I became what you call a “wizard”. Dr. Strange taught me how to walk again.” You explain, returning to your full height.

“You use magic to walk?” Iron Man says. You sigh, rubbing your temple.

“Basically, I’ll explain it later, right now we gotta save my boss.” You say. Iron man points to Strange, looking at Peter.

“See him down there? He’s in trouble. What’s your plan? Go.”

“Umm. Ok ok um have you seen this really old movie aliens?” Peter says, looking at the both of you. You raise your eyebrow in question.

Tony starts to face off against Squidward. He blasts a hole in the ship sending out the alien, and Spider-Man goes to grab him. He hangs on by metal tendrils. You hear him scream in triumph through an earpiece Tony gave you. You quickly wrap your whips around his torso, dragging him back up through the ship. Tony quickly seals the hole when they are launched back up. You drag Spider-Man back up, and discard your whip. He looks at you with his wide mechanical eyes. You smile before rushing over the Dr. Strange.

Tony And Stephen start arguing. You walk next to him as Tony yells at him.

“Who just saved your magical ass? Me!”

They continue arguing as you turn back around, conjuring a string of light between your hands, fiddling it in thought.

“Now we’re in a flying doughnut billions of miles from Earth with no back up.”

“I’m backup,” both you are Peter say, raising your arms. You both look at each other.

“No, you’re both stowaways! The adults are talking. ” Tony sneered.

You groan in protest.

“She’s not a stowaway, she’s with me. And,I’m sorry, I’m confused as to the relationship here. What is he your ward?”

“No, I’m Peter, by the way.”

“Dr. Strange.”

“Oh you’re using made up names, um, I’m Spider-Man then.” He says. You sigh and walk over to him while the “adults” started talking.

“That’s his actually name. He’s my mentor. I’m Y/N L/N.” You say, flipping your hair out of your face while sticking out your hand for him to shake. You see Peter get flustered he takes your hand warily.

“I’m Peter. Peter Parker.” He says. You smile.

“You said that already,” you laugh. His eyes widen.

“Oh,uh sorry.” He says. You shake you’re head.

“It’s fine, Peter,”

You both glance back at the two men, who are standing face to face. You both gulp in fear of what they’re talking about.

“All right Stark, we go to him,” Strange says, “But you have to understand, if it comes to saving you, or the kid, or the Time Stone, to let either of you die. I can’t because the universe depends on it.”

“What about your magical assistant then? You didn’t say you would let her die,” Tony asked with genuine interest. Your heart drops. Before Dr. Strange answered you stepped in.

“Like Wong said, we swear an oath to protect the Time Stone. I will lay down my life for it if I have to.” You say to Tony. You look to Stephen, who avoids your gaze. What would he have said?

“All right kid,” Tony says, laying his hands on both of Peter’s shoulders, “you’re an avenger now.” Peter smiles, adjusting his stance to look more heroic.

You smile, looking at his new self-assured state. He looked cute. Wait what?

[honeymoonjin]

enjoy your stay - chapter six

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven

A/N - Just for now, I’m trialing not putting in chapter links on this post to see if it helps more people see it since the tumblr search function cuts out posts with links. If there’s not a big difference, I’ll put them in later, but to see the first chapter if you’re a new reader, please click on my blog and check out my masterlist.

ENJOY YOUR STAY ↳Boss!Namjoon, Chef!Jin, Receptionist!Hoseok, Bellboy!Jimin, Bartender!Jungkook, Accountant!Yoongi, Photography student!Taehyung ↳Some inappropriate language and cursing. Later chapters have sexual content.

SUMMARY ↳Working the graveyard shift at a hotel isn’t the most exciting job in the world, but your coworkers are certainly happy to have you here.

CHAPTER SIX ↳It’s hard to navigate the line between professional and personal relationships, and you find yourself beginning to make deeper connections with some of the night shift workers.

The lobby’s carpet has just been properly cleaned, and the wet-dog smell still permeates the wide-open space. When you get there, the muscles in your arms creaking with the weight of the reams of paper you’re holding, you’re shocked to find Hoseok not at his desk.

Did he really need the paper that badly?

Instead, Jimin’s rocking back and forth on the roller chair, enjoying the opportunity to rest his feet for once.

His bellboy cap rests at a jaunty angle on his head and the top few buttons of his jacket are undone.

You call out to him as you approach, and he sits up with a grin. “Where’s Hobi?”

The grin falls. “Hello to you, too.”

You roll your eyes and dump the heavy load on the desk, rubbing your upper arms and wincing. “Hello, Jimin. Where’s Hobi?”

He huffs but doesn’t argue further, and his angelic smile returns. “Maybe if you showed up to work on time, you’d know.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “I don’t suppose a certain someone kept you up all night, huh?” He blinks. “All day, that is.”

You kick half-heartedly at his shins. “No, dipshit, the exact fucking opposite, actually.”

Within a second, his teasing drops. “You talked to Jin?”

You nod lamely. “Yeah,” you breathe, “we’re good.”

He’s not convinced. “But not good-good, otherwise you wouldn’t be so gloomy.”

You swallow hard but don’t respond. “Seriously, where’s Hoseok? I need to let him know I’ve got the paper he asked for, and you know that idiot probably doesn’t know how to load it in to the printer, so I need to tell him how to do that.”

Jimin resumes his lazy swaying back and forth, and shrugs. “He’s out getting the cake for Jeongguk.”

You narrow your eyes. “I’m getting the cake for Jeongguk. Hoseok doesn’t even know where the bakery is.”

Jimin huffs. “Okay, well, he isn’t doing that, then. I don’t know.” His tone is clipped, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him truly irritated. His eyes are lowered, and he won’t stop bouncing a knee, so clearly, he does know, but you decide not to press it.

“I guess I can show him next time I stop by,” you allow, noticing the flash of relief on the boy’s face. You lean your hip against the desk and stare down at him, smirking. “So, you’re on receptionist duty, huh? What if someone calls and needs your assistance in their hotel room? Will Mrs. Kang miss out on your delightful company tonight?”

He levels a look at you, but the corners of his mouth turn up. “Actually, Mrs. Kang already asked me up to her room while Hobi was still here, so hah!”

“That’s…not an achievement.”

Jimin fiddles with his cufflinks a little more before looking up at you. “There’s a dance competition in the next town over this weekend that I’ve been practicing for, I’m really excited. It’s got a cash prize, too.”

You smile at him. “Oh, good luck! I’m sure you’ll do amazing, I watched a bunch of your videos on YouTube and you’re really good!”

His cheeks pinken with the praise, but he still looks a little nervous. “Yeah,” he breaks off with a quiet laugh. “I was thinking, maybe you’d like to come with? Only if you want to, of course, no pressure,” he insists, then looks back down at his hands.

“Yeah, I’d love to, Jimin! I’m sure you’re even more talented in person.” You frown, eyes flickering around the reception desk. “Wait, I think Hobi is looking after his sister’s kids this weekend, he probably can’t make it.”

He hides a smirk. “What a shame.”

You push off from the desk and give his shoulder a squeeze. “Just text me the details and I’ll be there.”

He calls out your name before you get five feet away from the desk. “Or we could carpool? It’s like an hour’s drive each way, and there’s no point using up twice as much petrol.”

You agree breezily. “Why are you acting so weird? Don’t be nervous about the competition, you’ll kill it! Anyways, gotta go, but I’ll see you later.”

You’re too far away to make out the reply he mumbles.

The bar is your next stop of the night, and normally it consists of you popping your head inside, yelling out to Jeongguk to ask if he’s all good, then continuing on. Apart from the odd request for more bar snacks or napkins, nothing ever goes on there, not at this hour of the night, so you haven’t really had much to do with the youngest member of staff.

Tonight, however, is different. At this point, with so many strange things happening in the past twenty-four hours, it should really be no surprise that even this quick routine is disturbed.

Jeongguk doesn’t answer when you call his name, and for the first time since working here you see he’s wearing glasses. He’s glaring intensely down at something you can’t see behind the bench.

You make your way towards his side of the room, still trying to get his attention, but it’s not until you actually reach him and push at his shoulder lightly that he jumps in surprise and looks up at you. “Oh, it’s you. I don’t need anything, thank you.”

You get up on tiptoe as he goes back to what he was doing before, and you can see a mess of paper and pens on the other side. “What are you up to?”

He looks up again, impatiently, but then seems to realize what he’s doing. “Oh, shit, please don’t tell Namjoon I’m studying on the job! I promise if a customer comes along, I’ll-”

“Woah, woah,” you soothe, “it’s fine. I won’t say anything. What are you studying for?”

He nibbles on his lower lip. “Statistics. We have our final coming up and if I don’t get at least a B I’m going to fail the course and then I’ll be a whole year behind and my parents will hate me, and I just don’t have time for this, and I’m stressed and argh! It’s driving me insane.”

“Wait, are you going to uni every day then coming here and working all night? No wonder you’re stressed. Jeongguk, that’s crazy.”

He tucks his fingers underneath his wire-rimmed glasses and rubs at his tired eyes. “Nah, it’s an online degree, but it’s a lot of work and it takes me an hour and a half to get here by train from my parents house, so… Yeah, I’m a little stressed out.”

You narrow your eyes. “Why do you have a job 90 minutes away from your house?”

He slumps down, bending at the waist to rest his forearms on the bar. He tucks his chin into his hand and stares up at you with his wide eyes. “Hotel management degree. Since the course is online, we need to get real-life experience. Mom used to teach Namjoon when he was at university back home, so she asked him if I could get a place here.”

You poked at his arm gently. “So, you should be doing my job,” you tease.

He just nods miserably. “I started off helping Namjoon in his office, but it’s just so boring, and this was the only other opening.”

He seems to have given up on studying for now, standing up and absentmindedly shuffling the papers into a neat pile. You sit down on a bar stool. “Jeongguk,” you say softly, “why are you doing a hotel management degree if you don’t like doing hotel management?”

He shrugs. “Mom and dad want me to own a business like them. Hotel management has a high employment rate because people will always need hotels. And I live with them, so I can’t exactly say no.”

“Of course you can say no! It’s your life!”

He frowns even deeper and shakes his head. “I’m just going to graduate, work for a while to make it look like I tried, then do something I actually want to do. Then they can’t get mad.”

You process this for a few moments. “So, you’re doing something you hate, just because your parents want you to, and you feel like you have to because you’re living under their roof?”

“Yeah, you get it.” He shrugs again. “That’s just life.”

You shake your head slowly. “You’re too young to settle for something that makes you unhappy. If you moved out, maybe moved here, you wouldn’t have to feel like you owed them, and you wouldn’t have to deal with the transit time, and you could switch to a degree you actually enjoyed.”

A flick of hope gleams in his eyes before he schools his expression. “With what money? I can’t afford to move out.”

“I’m living in a two-bedroom apartment by myself. I was going to rent it out, but I didn’t want a stranger living in my house. If you were okay with it, I’d be happy for you to stay there.”

“I can’t afford it,” he insists, less emphatic than before.

“Consider it a birthday present. Look, I don’t need the extra money since I’ve been surviving just fine on my own for a couple years, and I want you to be happy.” You reach out and squeeze his hand as it occurs to you that this is the longest conversation you’ve had with the boy and you’re already offering him a place to stay. Damn you and your intense need to help everybody. “If you could choose any degree, what would you actually want to do?”

“Computer programming,” he answers without hesitation, “you learn to make your own video games by writing code. I’d love to be a game developer one day.”

“Then do some research on studying computer programming, and if you find something you like, my apartment has a free bed if you need it. And unlimited Wi-Fi. It is 2019, after all.”

He laughs, and you can’t help but feel warm inside when he finally cheers up. “Thanks, noona. I’ll think about it.” He starts putting his study materials back into his bag, but his eyes are distant. “You know what,” he starts, “I reckon my parents would actually be pretty proud if I moved out and took some responsibility. They always complain about me moping around the house all the time.” He smiles at you as you get off the stool and turn to leave. “I’ll think about it,” he repeats softly.

It’s amazing how a decent conversation and an act of kindness can improve even the worst day, but you have a spring in your step as you head towards the restaurant. Even an awkward encounter with a… oh, what would you call Jin? Even an awkward encounter with the man who lovingly rejected you couldn’t bring down your mood.

On your way, you bump into Hobi who’s heading the way you came. He’s pouting, but his eyes are narrowed in his classic expression of annoyance. “Where were you?”

He blinks at you. “What do you mean? Jimin told me you asked me to meet you in the storage closet. I’ve been there for the past forty fucking minutes!”

You shrug slightly in confusion. “I never said that. Jimin must’ve been messing around with you. Wait,” you question, “why would you think I would want to see you in the storage closet, anyway? It’s so musty in there, and there’s a daddy long legs on the ceiling.”

He sticks his lower lip out even more. “I mean, at first I had no idea. But I had plenty of time to think about it while standing in there in the dark, and I thought maybe you had some tea so hot that you couldn’t risk telling it in the lobby. So, I got curious and stuck around for as long as I could. Eventually I had to pee, though, and once I left, I felt stupid and decided to come find you myself.”

You can’t help the bewildered grin that stretches across your face. “If I poked a stick in your ear, do you think it’d just come out the other side?”

“Hey,” he whines.

“You should really use that skull as storage, it’s a shame to see it sit there all empty.”

“Hey!” He shoves your shoulder pettily. “If you had some hot details about the gloriously weird sex you probably had with Jin, then I wanted to know! It would’ve been worth the wait!”

And there goes the good mood. “Nothing’s happening with me and Jin anymore. At least not now. Sorry I don’t have better gossip for you, Hobi.”

He sighs and wraps an arm around you. “Don’t worry about it. I think the fumes from the disinfectant got me a little high, so it wasn’t a complete waste of time.” His voice is joking, but he squeezes you a little tighter. “I’m sure you’ll find someone, muppet. If Yoongi wasn’t so gay, I’d be happy to share.”

You bark out a laugh. “I think I’ll survive on my own, but thanks, Hobi.”

He squeezes your shoulder one last time and detaches himself, jogging back down the hallway, presumably to give Jimin a piece of his mind.

Normally, at this time of night, Jin is the only one still in the kitchen, mucking around with flavor combinations, writing out a grocery order for Namjoon, or heating up some leftover dinner special as a midnight snack.

Today is surprisingly no different, and he’s noisily slurping up some al dente pasta when you slip into the kitchen.

He looks up at you straight away and gives you a gentle smile. “Nice to see you. Truly.”

You nod. “You too, Jin.” The two of you fall into a lapse of silence which you break with a sigh. “Don’t you have some sort of joke for me. I don’t know, an obscure pun about salt, or something?”

He blinks at you and sets his chopsticks down quietly. “I’m a little tired,” he murmurs. “I’ll be sure to tell you next time I think of one.” His eyes are on you as you pick up the filled-out order form on the kitchen island he’s eating at.

You run your thumb lazily over his chicken-scratch handwriting, not meeting his eyes so that your courage didn’t falter. “You were right.”

“Right about what?”

You click your tongue in disappointment. Before the whole freezer fiasco, he would’ve made some joke about how he always is. “This isn’t fair. Refusing to give me a chance because I don’t know the real you, then never being yourself around me.” You shrug. “Just tell me you don’t like me, or you changed your mind. I don’t know, tell me you’ve suddenly realized after all these years that you’re gay. But don’t make me think there’s a chance when you clearly aren’t interested in giving it to me.”

Speech finished, you exhale noisily, wetting your dry lips and blinking into the glare of the fluorescent bulbs above his head.

He doesn’t answer for a few moments, and like usual, his silence is the most painful sound.

“There isn’t a chance.” His voice is blank when he finally speaks.

“I don’t believe you.”

“What the fuck do you want me to say?” You blink at his rough tone and jerk your head back down to make eye contact with him. His face is dead serious, and his eyes are heavy with emotion. “Do you want me to lie to you and tell you I’m some sensitive, romantic, old soul that wants to buy you flowers and never leave your side? Do you want to give me years of your life, only to realize that I’m never there? That I hang around the restaurant for hours after closing just because I can’t bear to go home and see the disappointment on your face that I forgot our anniversary yet again? Because that’s exactly what my ex went through, and before she left she made damn well sure I was aware of how much of a shitty boyfriend I was. I wasted her time, and I’m not going to waste yours.” He pushes the half-empty bowl away from him as if in disgust and leans back into his chair in defeat. “I can’t tell you I don’t want to be with you. I can’t tell you that wasn’t one of the best kisses of my life. But I can tell you, with perfect fucking honesty, that if you chose to be with me, you’d be signing up for nothing but let-downs and misery. And I’m not going to let you do that.”

All of a sudden, confronting him seems like the stupidest idea. You’ve ruined his day yet again with a pathetic display of desperation, and you feel stupid that one rejection wasn’t enough. You clear your throat. “Message received, Chef Kim. I won’t bother you again.”

Neither of you meet the other’s eyes.

He says nothing.

You nod once, then leave.

Namjoon isn’t in his office when you finish up your final rounds a little after 3, and you sit in morose silence for almost an hour before he returns, clearly in better spirits than you.

“Phew,” he breathes, collapsing into his chair, “mission accomplished. Younger brother no longer angry at me? Check.”

You muster up a smile. “If he does need a job, I wouldn’t mind him helping me out. I just don’t have that much to do.”

He waves you off. “It’s all good, he’s going to take inventory for all our stock, one department at a time. He should earn enough money to buy a camera and then some.”

You tilt your head. “But didn’t the day staff do that two weeks ago?”

“Tae doesn’t need to know that.”

Your smile turns genuine and you let out a soft laugh. “You’re a good brother.”

The compliment makes him a little shy, and he turns away from you to hide his blush, quickly changing the subject. “Listen, Jeongguk told me about the whole moving out thing.”

You can’t help but raise your eyebrows. “Geez. That was quick.”

He nods and scoffs a little. “He was just about bouncing off the walls when I dropped off the new shipment of scotch. He wanted to tell me about it to make sure there were no staff policies against it before he said yes. Sweet kid.” You agree with him. Namjoon turns back to you with a serious look in his eyes. “And very sweet of you, Miss Mother Theresa. You didn’t have to do that.”

You fiddle with your hands nervously. “He deserves it. And the room is just sitting there, so…”

He nods once. “Well, there’s nothing against it in either of your contracts, so go ahead. I’m really glad we have you on the team, Y/n,” he finishes with a softer voice.

You smile. “Me too.”

TAGLIST (message me or send an ask to be put on the taglist)

@fandomarchive00

[jadewing-realms]

home is an empty house

Fandom: My Hero Academia Words: 5254 Pairing: Kacchako [Read on AO3]

I wrote this back in, like... September. But as it is now the actual Christmas season, it seemed appropriate to upload it here. Have some fluffy Kacchako Christmas goodness!

[Sent; 7:32PM, Yesterday] katsuki♥ wish i could be there.

Clenching the phone tightly in her hands, Uraraka Ochako sighs onto the screen, fogging it.

So does she. In fact, she’s been wishing that ever since he told her last week that he wouldn’t be able to do any traveling over the holidays.

Yet here they are. Their first Christmas together, and he’s stuck halfway across the world, on a campus in New York. Figures.

Sometimes, she hates hero work. Sure, she’s decked out in her winter Hero uniform and dutifully patrolling the streets because crime apparently doesn’t take holidays (or, mostly dutifully; she just can’t help checking for new messages from him). But that doesn’t stop her from being the least bit bitter against her line of work. With its stupid schedule and stupid pressures and stupid ranking system… and its stupid sense of gratification and stupid fat paychecks.

It’s the industry’s fault he’s in New York. He wants to be the best there is. It’s also the industry’s fault she’s still here in Japan. She has a job now, as a sidekick, at a decent agency and people know her name.

So they keep their priorities in check and every evening, she returns home alone, to an empty apartment drowning in silence. And in the privacy of their message threads, they wish.

It’s almost childish, isn’t it?

Back when she was a kid, Ochako remembers sitting at her window every night, clasping her hands tightly under her chin, and sending up her day’s wishes to her favorite star in the sky. She never asked for much; her family had never been well-off, but she was content. She appreciated what she had. But to this day, there are a handful of things she recalls wishing for with stark clarity.

The earliest memory of her wishes that she has is one in which she asked the heavens for a bike. Big gifts were expensive gifts, and yet she had so desperately wanted to be able to ride around like she saw the older boys at school doing. She’d been enthralled by their speed, the wind throwing their caps and hoods off their heads and whipping their hair back. So she’d knelt at her window and prayed her request to the brightest star up there, because she’d read in a book somewhere that wishes upon stars might come true. Looking back, she’s not even sure how old she was then…

There was another time that she wished for a puppy, back before she understood just how much it costs to have a pet.

Pretty soon though, she started wishing for work for her parents. And now that she thinks about it, it was around the same time she started harboring the dream of making money as a Hero in order to support them. After that, trivial things like bikes and puppies faded into the wind and she hasn’t really thought of them since.

It’s odd, thinking of those wishes now…

She looks up. Her eyes meet crystal blue, not a single cloud spotting the December sky. The stars won’t be out for several hours yet. The forecast even made mention of snow tonight, so the chances she’ll get to test whether or not she can find her Star again are fairly low. Still. The stars are still out there, right?

She clutches her phone tightly in her hands, closes her eyes, and hopes they hear her.

I wish Katsuki was here.

“Ochako—is something wrong, ribbit?”

“Ah—no! Sorry! I’m coming!”

She puts her phone away in its holster on her belt and sprints to catch up to Tsuyu.

Do the stars remember all the wishes?

Is the night sky just like a giant invisible net that drags the cosmos like the cops drag a river when looking for a body?

Ochako pauses with her coffee cup halfway to her mouth, startled by the morbid nature of that thought. She pictures wishes gathering against the stars like a bunch of corpses and then scrunches her face, hurrying to shake the image away. That’s definitely not the direction she’d meant to take that train of thought…

Katsuki’s morbid sense of humor is rubbing off on her. The thought both pleases and disturbs her.

Just thinking his name has her reaching for her phone. He’s been so quiet the last few days… He said last week that he was planning on using the holiday break for cram work. And when he crams, he crams. He never has to, but he does. His scores could be flawless (as they usually are) but he’ll study like he’s about to fail. Not that he ever lets his classmates see that. Back in UA, heaven forbid anyone see him as anything other than perfectly confident in his skill. Time and experience has changed a lot of things, but that’s not one of them.

She smiles to herself as she pulls up the well-loved message thread. He’s always hated being vulnerable…

'...wish i could be there.' His last message reminds her that he’s capable. Capable of letting down the fortress from around his soul and laying it bare—for her and her alone to see. She’s developed a skill for cutting him to the quick anyway, so those walls are kind of pointless. Still. He lets her see what he’d call the weakest parts of him.

She calls them sweet, but he never believes her.

The last message displayed in the thread is her response from last night: three hearts, and the words ‘same here.’

Her thumb darts over the keys, and she takes another sip of coffee before she hits send.

[Sent; 12:14PM, Today] You The books arent eating you alive, i hope

She smiles to herself, wondering what he’ll shoot back and more importantly, how long it’ll take him to respond…

“I’m pretty sure you keep forgetting I’m here. Ribbit.”

Ochako snaps her head up, nearly jumping in her seat before her brain reminds her that she hasn’t been alone all day. Tsuyu, drinking her own cup of tea in the seat across from here, eyes her with a mostly blank face but thinly-veiled amusement in her eyes. Ochako’s mouth gapes in search of words, appropriate words, maybe words that could excuse how horribly she’s been zoning out today. But at last, she must concede that there really aren’t any. And instead, she just slumps against the table in defeat.

“Geez, I’m sorry,” she drawls with a healthy helping of self-depreciation. “I just… it’s Christmas Eve and there are so many other things I’d rather be doing tonight. And nothing’s even happened today! It’s so boring!”

For a moment, Tsuyu just smiles and sips her tea. Then, taking her time, she lowers the cup but keeps it firm between her mittens. “Have you heard from Bakugou today?”

Ochako blinks. A part of her is impressed. The other part just wants to sink into the floor. Is she really that obvious?

Then again, Asui Tsuyu is the sharpest person Ochako knows. So she probably would’ve noticed anyway.

“No, I just messaged him…” Ochako presses her cheek against the cold diner table. She glances at her phone screen—still no response. He hasn’t even seen the message yet. Then she notes they have 15 minutes of lunch break left. “He seems busy lately.”

“Anything interesting?” Tsu prompts.

Ochako shakes her head, wobbling the table. “Nah. Just… the same old stuff. He keeps staying up too late to study though.”

“He’s always been pretty determined in whatever he set his mind to. That includes this long-distance thing, Ochako. He’ll text when he can, I’m sure, ribbit.”

“Yeah…” She absorbs the words, letting them sooth her—that is until she stops and thinks about exactly what was said. Then she sits up and holds a hand out with a frantic wave. “OH, no, no, I’m not… It’s not that big a deal! I’m not thinking… I just miss him, is all…” She admits this with a hang of her head, huddling around her coffee cup like it can save her from sounding like some desperate, lonely girlfriend. “It just… seems really quiet without him around. Him and Deku! Both of them, things seemed… I dunno. Livelier, before they left.”

And Deku’s coming home for Christmas, from what she’s heard. So why can’t he…?

Tsu chortles. “We were in high school before they left, ribbit. That’s always crazy.”

“I guess…” Ochako giggles a little as well before the sound falls flat. She sinks into thought, thoughts she’s not sure she likes, and twiddles her fingers against her coffee.

Back in UA, she thought she knew what she wanted. Finally, after a childhood full of questions, she’d had an answer. A way forward. And then… everything happened. Meeting Deku. The League of Villains. Her fateful match with Katsuki at the sports festival… The one that had pushed her to grow stronger, more confident in herself and what she can do... kinda like him.

He was—is—so loud. Brash and without reservation, feral in a way that makes him seem powerful and dangerous. Uncontrollable. And yet… she’d noticed a vulnerability. A weakness that he had to be all too aware of, but after their match, she’d found she wasn’t afraid of him like the others anymore… To this day, she can’t begin to pin down why.

But she supposes now, looking back, that it was those moments of her reaching out, treating him like just another person because that’s what he was, that helped her see just how… amazing… he really is. Sure, he still has a foul mouth and a hair-trigger temper given the right context, but he’s grown and he’s allowed her to watch him grow, even if it is at a long distance. She’s been privileged…

She’s grown accustomed to his confident, demanding presence. Enough to miss it.

“I guess I’m still adjusting to the way things are now. It’s… the same, but also really different, you know?”

“Mm-hmm. I understand.”

Back then, Ochako never would’ve even dreamed she’d be in a long-distance relationship with Bakugou Katsuki. No way in heck. Back in those days, Deku had filled her life with sparkling admiration and dreams of maybe one day…

She shakes those thoughts away too. Now’s definitely not the time for that.

So instead, she perks up and stuffs her phone away in its holster, and shoots Tsu a beaming smile—hoping maybe she can diffuse the weird cloud that’s trying to settle over her like the storm front blowing in outside. “Hey! Do you have plans tonight? We could do something! Maybe we could rent a movie, make some snacks? That could be fun.”

Tsu’s smile falls a little and she tilts her head. “Oh, sorry. It’s Christmas Eve, remember? I’m gonna spend the evening with my family.”

Oh, right, duh! Stupid Ochako, you space-brain… She palms herself in the forehead. “Right! Man, I don’t know where my head is today; I’m sorry, Tsu…”

The other woman’s mouth tilts back up at the corners. “Across the Pacific, I think.”

A flush heats Ochako’s face, and suddenly, she feels the great need to get back to work. She hops out of her seat. “I’ll finish this swig and then we can get back on the road! Those criminals aren’t gonna stop themselves!”

A blanket of clouds makes the sunset run short and soon, it’s dark, and there are no stars. Ochako sighs again—for the umpteenth time in the past hour—but at least her shift is over and she can go home. Ryukyu practically forced everyone to leave early, despite lingering behind herself. It had all but ended in a war between ‘go home early, you’ve earned it’ and ‘no, we’re staying as long as you do’, until Ryukyu had to admit that her reasons for staying behind were holiday-related.

Ochako, along with everyone else, had relented after that. Ryukyu always left great little surprises for them to find later.

However, that now meant heading home. Alone. In the dark. To an empty apartment.

Ochako sighs again.

Her phone vibrates. She practically rips it out of its holster. She unlocks it and pulls up the message thread as fast as she ever has. Her heart skips when she realizes she’s missed three messages.

[Sent; 12:45PM, Today] katsuki♥ sorry. was out late. still alive.

[Sent; 12:46PM, Today] katsuki♥ the books’ll hafta try harder than that

[Sent; 12:50PM, Today] katsuki♥ Stop worrying about me

That must’ve been when she and Tsu found that lost kid right after lunch. A little boy had gotten separated from his mother in a little shopping district and they’d found him quite distraught. It hadn’t lasted long; they’d found his mother searching the shops for him just around the corner. But it would’ve been long enough to keep her from noticing her phone…

Now, those messages she missed are capped with one that’s much more recent.

[Sent; 9:02PM, Today] katsuki♥ you doing okay?

Despite herself, a smile creeps onto her face. She’s usually the one to keep a conversation going, so her silence must’ve been a little off-putting. She starts typing.

[Sent; 9:06PM, Today] You yes! sorry, gotta love phone tag, I’ve been patrolling with Tsu.

The ellipse appears almost immediately, and her heart leaps. He’s actually on his phone this time, right now! She holds the screen closer.

[Sent; 9:06PM, Today] katsuki♥ Isn’t it like. 9pm there?

She pauses to do a little mental math. Right, it’s eight in the morning on his end… Time is weird.

[Sent; 9:07PM, Today] You Yeah, it’s christmas eve, I know. No rest for the wicked I guess

[Sent; 9:07PM, Today] katsuki♥ wicked? you?

[Sent; 9:07PM, Today] You when I wanna be ;)

[Sent; 9:08PM, Today] katsuki♥ mrawr. down kitty

She giggles to herself, standing there on the street corner like a dork. She’s pretty sure she’s had the chance to go twice now, but she’s okay being a little preoccupied. Her empty apartment isn’t going anywhere. For now, she just wants to hold the phone close and soak as much of him through it as she can. Like maybe, if she does that and wishes hard enough to the stars hidden behind the clouds, those stars could defy the laws of reality and Katsuki could be here, talking to her face and not through a bunch of pixels on a screen.

[Sent; 9:10PM, Today] katsuki♥ thinking about something?

[Sent; 9:10PM, Today] You maybe. I just

She’s about to finish the thought in the next message when a ruckus raises down the block—someone shouting, and a jarring crash of something metal and glass. Her attention is snatched away from the phone, which goes back into its case, thought unfinished.

I miss you.

By the time she drags her feet up to her apartment door, it’s 10:30PM and she just wants to have some ramen and then go to bed. The audacity of some villains… Who tries to rob a toy store on Christmas Eve? Some moron calling himself Sim the serial thief, apparently.

And it’s not Katsuki rubbing off on her; ‘moron’ is an apt description of the guy, she thinks. After all, if you attempt to rob a string of stores in a busy district just to prove you can get away with it, assimilating the items into your body as you go? You’re pretty much a moron.

Though, he was a pain in the neck to catch, the stupid jerk…

What’s worse is that, once the villain was in police custody, Ochako remembered she needed to finish her message to Katsuki, only to find her phone crunched, and crunched good. She hasn’t panicked like that in a long while. Now that she’s had time to think about it, it must’ve happened when Sim chucked a full-size widescreen TV at her…

Now she has to worry about getting a new one. A phone, not a TV. She might have to dig into her travel savings… which she really doesn’t want to think about. It’s just depressing.

She fishes her key from under her mat and unlocks the door to her place, not looking forward to stepping inside any more than she was earlier. She almost feels bad. Back when she saved up enough to afford to start renting a decent place like this, she’d been over the moon. Poor apartment hasn’t done anything wrong, per se, it’s just… painfully empty. Hollowed out. Silent.

Heat pricks the back of her eyes, so she decides she better stop that train of thought before it wrecks. Switching her mind to other things, she thinks she really ought to take a shower, but the idea of doing anything other than Eat and Sleep just makes her grumble and shake her head. She’ll do it tomorrow. When she feels like it. It’s not like there’s anybody to impress tonight.

Once inside with the door closed, in the dark of her own space, she finally lets the tension drain from her shoulders. Without bothering with the lights just yet, she sags back against the door, taking a deep breath of the familiar scent of home.

Except… there’s something not familiar about it. A strange new smell that wasn’t there this morning… A nice smell. Actually, a strong smell. Cologne, and a hint of something chemical. She cracks her eyes open and takes a good look around her.

Her apartment’s nothing spectacular. Heck, who’s she kidding; it’s tiny and sparsely furnished. Just three rooms—a little hall to her right from which branches the small bedroom and bathroom, and then the main living space and kitchenette. Not much to warrant a break-in. Plus, the sliding door to the petite balcony is still closed and intact, and she’s on the third floor anyway. So then…

There’s a breath—an almost-moan, and the shuffle of fabric. Movement in the shadows by the sofa draws her eye, just before the lamp clicks on. It’s not a bright lamp, but the sudden light to her eyes, which had been adjusting to complete darkness, is enough to blind her just for a beat.

“You’re late,” he says.

For a split second, she convinces herself she’s hearing things. Projecting today’s mood on whoever this is that’s decided she’d be a good person to rob tonight. But in the same second, she’s looking at the sofa and thanks to the lamp, she can actually see who’s there and her throat’s suddenly constricting.

Bakugou Katsuki looks h***a fine in a maroon coat. And he’s wearing the charcoal-grey scarf and Ka-Boom earrings she got him last year. He’s looking at her with heavy-lidded eyes like he just woke up and rubbing his knuckles against one and g** he’s a sight for sore eyes. He rocks to his feet from where he’s sitting on the low-resting sofa and strides across the apartment like he owns it, until he’s standing right in front of her, close in the dim light. She can see dark shadows under his eyes, but the eyes themselves glint with something like snark.

“Welcome home,” he murmurs, blinking and glancing around absently, still looking very much like he just woke up. Had he been just… napping on the couch?

The text messages… had he been…?

She suddenly remembers to breathe. She gulps in air, yanks off her glove and swats him in the arm with it. The fact that he actually flinches, startled, is a testament to his jet lag. She does her best to glare up at him instead of launching into his arms like she wants to so badly.

“A**hole!!” she snaps, and points a rigid index finger between his eyes, which are a bit wider now. More awake. Good. “You lied to me!”

For a second, he just stares at her, meeting her eyes without even a smidgen of remorse. He blinks. Her nerve wavers. But she refuses to give first.

Then he smiles—not his toothy, arrogant smile that makes most people wanna punch him in the mouth, but an actual expression of fondness, familiar only to her and so warm it makes her heart melt and her knees weak. And d*** it if she doesn’t realize right then just how much she missed his stupid face.

“Surprise.” He lifts a hand to clasp it over hers, where it’s still hovering in the air between them, accusatory finger still extended. He tilts his head and makes a show of puckering his lips, pressing a comically chaste kiss to the pad on the tip of her outstretched finger. “Don’t cuss me out when I came all this way to spend Christmas with you, Pink Cheeks.”

Chaste or no, the kiss makes her shiver and she knows she’s close to losing and she hates that but also loves it because at this point, she’s just glad he’s here. With her, in her apartment. The apartment she had been so prepared to find empty.

Lip quivering a little, she allows her frustration to escape in one last defiant ‘hrrmmgh’ before she dives into his chest and secures her arms tightly around his sturdy middle. She soaks in his scent—a new cologne, and that underlying chemical hint of fireworks, smoky and mmm, has she missed that—and his warmth and the way that after a few seconds of hesitation, his arms come to rest tentatively around her shoulders, cocooning her.

“Hey,” he grumbles, sounding caught between perturbed and amused, “pull yourself together. I’m not f***ing dead.”

“Shut your stupid face,” she whines into his coat, holding him tighter. She can hear his heartbeat getting a little faster. “I just… I missed you, you stupid… stupid, stupid… jerk…”

“Don’t call me stupid, stupid! Give me a little credit. I wasn’t about to let my best girl spend Christmas alone.”

It’s enough. She breaks into a smile, her eyes stinging, and she rocks him back and forth, lost in utter ecstasy. It’s weird and childish and he hasn’t really had enough experience with her brand of physical affection yet to be used to it, but he has to adjust some time. Especially since as far as she’s concerned, he’s gonna be stuck with her for as long as she has any choice in the matter.

Her smile only widens when she feels him rest his cheek on top of her head.

Yes. This… this is what she wished for.

Then he sniffs and murmurs into her hair. “You stink. You need a shower.”

Any other day, that would’ve ruined the mood. But not today. She’s not about to let it. So she just keeps smiling and explains very briefly, still speaking into his coat collar. “Mmph, shh. Villain. Had to chase ‘im.”

Slowly, he begins attempting to disentangle her from him. “Well, go take a quick shower and I’ll reheat dinner.”

When he manages to put an arm’s length of distance between them again, holding her out with his hands on her shoulders, she’s staring up into his face with an expression of pure, astonished joy. She’s really not sure how to express how touched she is at this point, so she settles for exaggerating her lower lip and letting a tear escape, which honestly seems to unnerve him more than anything.

To his credit, he just cups her face with one hand and brushes the tear away, while she squeaks out a wobbly “You made dinner??”

Now he smirks, and this time it is the toothy, arrogant one. He’s lucky she can’t find it in her to feel like punching him right now. “F*** yeah, I made dinner. Went all out too, so you better clean up quick.”

She hooks her hands on his neck and brings him in for what’s supposed to be quick, undignified peck on his lips, but when all the tension leaves his body—tension she hadn’t even realized was there—in one big whoosh of breath across her mouth, she figures she might as well stay there a while. Everything else can wait. She’s going to enjoy this to its fullest, and the best way to do that is to take a note from her boyfriend’s book and do whatever the f*** she wants.

The kiss starts slow, which once she thinks about it isn’t so surprising given they’ve only actually kissed like three times, and two of them were quick goodbyes. Whoops. She feels the uncertainty in his lips, the hesitation in the way his hands can’t seem to find a place to rest along her back, and she thinks his clumsy affection is adorable.

She presses closer, as close as she can get, coiling one arm over his shoulder and the other combing her fingers into his coarse hair. He relaxes gradually, finding an easy resting place for his hands and an appropriate angle to tilt his head, giving a little to her experience and the way she guides each kiss from quaint to something a little bolder and infinitely more comfortable. Their lips catch and then part, tongues tripping over each other, and it’s certainly not the most graceful, Hollywood-worthy make-out in the world, but she doesn’t mind and she likes to think he doesn’t either, despite his pride. It’s all she can do to keep from exploding with pure, unadulterated happiness. She’s addicted to his taste.

The cloud of loneliness that’s been hounding her all day—no, all week—has all but retreated with its tail between its legs, dissipating in the face of his presence.

It’s there, while lip-locked with the boy—the man she thinks maybe she’s got a bug for, that her mind brings forth an intriguing revelation. An answer to a question she hasn’t even asked herself, the reason why these days she’s dreaded coming back to this empty apartment every night.

Bakugou Katsuki feels like home now. The spirit that once dwelled in these four walls must’ve taken up residence inside him while she wasn’t looking, so that now, when he leaves, he takes it with him.

And strangely enough, she can’t be sad about it.

When her back thumps against the front door and Katsuki releases a little growl that makes all of her hair stand on end, the little rational part of her brain deems this as Far Enough, and with great effort and a soft, breathless exhale, she pulls away. He hovers, like maybe his brain is taking a few extra seconds to process everything, the tip of his nose and his hot breath feathering across her cheek.

“D***…” is as intelligent a response as it seems he’s currently capable of. He huffs against her face—something like a stunned guffaw and a harried sigh rolled into one. “Just go take your f***ing shower.”

She giggles again, perhaps with a bit more mischief than she should have because his grip on her hips tightens a little. Moving her own hands over his, fingertips taking in tough, calloused skin while also taking care not to touch him with all five, she begins the arduous task of extracting him from her person.

“I will, soon as you let go,” she whispers in reply before, unable to resist, she presses one last light kiss on his nose.

Or at least, she’d intended it to be the last. He has his own ideas, chasing her mouth with his to get in a few more, which is oddly gratifying. The knowledge that she can make him as weak as he makes her… it’s almost empowering. That’s when she figures screw it, she might as well mess with him. Because as much as this subdued, half-asleep version of him does interesting things to the connection between her heart and her stomach, she can’t deny that she’d like to hear the sound of home just a little before he disappears off to wherever he’s staying.

Even if the neighbors will probably complain.

Lowering her last finger, she activates her quirk on him while he’s busy fitting his mouth against hers and, bracing her hands against his admittedly comfortable chest, gives him the lightest of pushes in the opposite direction.

Without mass, his body moves as easily as a helium balloon. The actual last kiss ends with rather rude abruptness that might’ve made Ochako feel a little bit of guilt, if not for the wonderfully familiar outburst that immediately follows.

“D***IT! ARE YOU F***IN' S***TING ME RIGHT NOW, OCHAKO, PUT ME DOWN! THAT WAS A CHEAP MOVE!”

She grins across and slightly up at him, where his momentum has him drifting slowly upward just shy of the small, round kitchen table. Sashaying with self-approval, she strides by just out of his reach, headed for the bathroom. “I’m gonna take my shower. I hope your cooking’s still good enough to blow me away even as leftovers. You know I have high standards for food.”

“LIKE H***, RAMEN BRAIN! YOUR STANDARDS ARE S***! Now let me down and I’ll do more than blow your f***ing mind!!”

It’s only after she locks herself in the bathroom that she releases her Quirk and giggles to herself at the ensuing rattle-and-thud that results from Katsuki’s however-clumsy landing. He lets fly another string of expletives that trail off at the end, like he’s finally reminded himself of the late hour, or perhaps the fact that there are total strangers just on the other side of the walls. She listens further, with her ear pressed against the bathroom door, until she hears the microwave start humming. Then and only then does she take a deep, staying breath, and release it in another sigh—this one heavy with contentment and not a trace of her previous angsting.

Yes. This was just what she needed. Somewhere out there, beyond a layer of clouds that's slowly sending down fluffs of snow, her Star had remembered her wish.

BONUS:

When the screeching guitar rifts of his ringtone jar him to awareness, the first thought to leap to Katsuki’s jet-lagged brain is ‘S*** I’ll wake Ochako up,’ and it’s enough to send him careening off his borrowed pillow. He twists over the sofa’s armrest, snatches his phone off the end table—which is actually a TV tray—and swipes to answer just to shut the thing up. Then he remembers last night, when she said she had to leave early for a morning shift at her agency and he’s welcome to treat the apartment like home in the meantime.

It’s only after this recollection that he recognizes Eijirou’s profile image on the screen and squints. He puts the phone to his ear.

“Mmmwhat’s the deal, Dumb Hair, it’s early.”

“Dude! You get in. last night. and you don’t even come say ‘hi’ to your bro? That’s harsh.”

“I was busy.”

“Busy? Busy how—Wait… where are you?”

“Ochako’s.” And the moment he says it, he spills a quick “f***” in follow-up because he really should’ve just told his best friend to mind his own d*** business.

A brief beat of silence passes before Eijirou friggin’ gasps like some school girl who just became privy to The Biggest Scandal Evar, and his voice comes over the line sounding far too pleased. “Ohhhhhh, I see, well, don’t let me cut in on anything, man.”

“GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF THE GUTTER, YOU CREEP!”

“Hey, what happens in your gutter stays in your gutter, bruh, we cool.”

“SHUT UP!”

[egoiistas]

may i feel, said he (12)

first | tag | ao3 | ffn

[co-written with @tsaritsa]

a/n yo guess what i gave up shopping and ana gave up sleeping for this chapter. the things we do for feels and angst. Also, we’ll be focusing on royaiweek so next chap prolly wont be til after then. <3  

Warnings: Mentions of abuse Words: ~5k || Rated: M - Royai 

CHAPTER TWELVE

there is a book living inside your chest / buddy wakefield, in landscape

The world works in peculiar, but repetitive ways, with mannerisms observable to those persistent enough to recognize it. Before, Riza would have herself believe she knew this, that there was a natural order to things to survive - to live. It had been etched into her skull following year after year of blood, sweat, and tears to maintain a semblance of independence. In order to eat, she would need money; in order to have money, she would need to work; in order to work, she would need to be the pillar of diligence and determination. Probably twice as much as her peers. Fitting, as they generally had the support of two parents - and she had none.

Pitying herself and hating the world was justifiable and well within her right, but it wouldn’t move her forward. It wouldn’t feed her, clothe her, sustain her. Personal attachments, like boyfriends, girlfriends, friends in general, a social life; they are expendable. She saw attachments as unnecessary distractions. Rebecca has remained with her only out of sheer tenacity, well aware of Riza’s priorities; Olivier came into the fold from their shared space. But the truth of the matter is that she’s softened since her steely vows to herself…

Because this time, she went back to him. And she’s realized that now, she was only surviving.

Riza stares into the bathroom mirror, beyond her reflection. He, the disruptor, casually lounges over the bedsheets, perusing his phone. Patient, cocky, ambiguous motherfucker. She doesn’t know what to make of him. Some of her knows there is genuine compassion there; part of her still feels Olivier’s sting at her naivete for believing that he could have feelings for her. It’s been years since the last time she’s been so caught up in her own emotions, it felt like a rogue wrench in her well-oiled machine. Her knuckles rest on the marble countertop; her shoulder and head slouches as she sighs to her reflection.

When she moves to the threshold, there is a pleasantly dull ache in her hips that reminds her of their activities on the couch and in the shower when they were supposed to be getting clean. Riza stands there in a sweatshirt of his and some underwear, gripping the door frame with tense fingers and biting her lower lip.

There’s just something about being on this precipice. It’s like she’s staring at uncharted territory from the top of a mountain, ready to dive, and she won’t know what’s beyond cover of cloud until she jumps. All of her instincts are frazzled as if they are out of signal or reach from her personal network.

If she wants to live, and not just survive, she’ll have to strap in and reconcile what she feels. This she knows.  

The smell of cigarettes still linger in the apartment. Keeping the window open does nothing but bring in the pollen and add a crisp texture to his sheets from the settling spring. He hates himself for worrying himself to that point, but it had been the rational choice to leave her alone after what transpired at her apartment.

He had been stupid. Eager. He had allowed himself to get comfortable enough with her to risk it all, but strangely he feels no remorse for that. He could swallow his pride enough to admit there’s more that he wants from this ...immoral thing between them.

He was remorseful for what he had done to her and what it could mean for her more than him. He could hear the yells when he opened his car door; he remembers hesitating, but eventually opted to avoid interfering. If this was the end of his career because he let someone catch them, then so be it. But she should be spared.

No calls or messages ever came. Not even from those of the distant past.

Against the headboard of the bed, Roy is quiet as he leans back and aimlessly flicks through the apps on his phone. It’s not out of boredom entirely...but he’s loathe to admit that there’s a part of him (a very small part of him, mind) that is nervous for what is coming next.

Strangely, he wants to know how she’s been, what she’s been up to. It’s an odd feeling having had her at his side almost constantly and then have her absent. He had struggled crystalize the concept that he actually missed her. And then, this afternoon, she was distant. Something was off. He got even more concerned. The amount of emotions spilled out of her in that brief argument where there was so much ire and hurt. Guilt had settled in unpleasantly when he realized he had flipped the switch so quickly.

Riza appears in the doorway leading to the ensuite, cheeks still suffused with pink. “For the way your hair always looks,” she says, sinking onto the bed next to him and pulling down the sleeves of another borrowed sweatshirt of his, “I didn’t think you even had a comb in the house.” She sits cross-legged, and begins to work her fingers through her hair, isolating the knots.

Roy snorts, setting his phone down on his side table. “This takes hours to perfect, thank you.”

She smiles, attacking one knot with a dogged determination. “I suppose, it’d be a long shot to ask you if you have a hairdryer?”

He shrugs. “You’re free to look but I wouldn’t count on it.”

“You don’t know if you own a hairdryer?”

“The folly of man.” She snorts at this. He watches her none-too subtly as she works through her hair, little droplets of water soaking into the sweatshirt, and It’s unlike him to act so brazenly, so spontaneously.

She’s his walking, living and breathing contradiction, and he can’t get enough of the paradox that she presents him with just by existing in the same space as he does. He can’t call himself a seasoned academic by any stretch of the imagination - he has colleagues who are probably three times his age - but the chemistry program at Eastern University is a popular for good reason, and so Roy has had the pleasure (and displeasure) of working with plenty of students over the span of his teaching career. She’s not the first student that has blatantly caught some shut-eye in his class, justifications aside. Those... incidents were getting to a certain point in his early morning class that he’d silently hope she’d fall asleep, just so he could make an example out of her. There was some perverse pleasure in startling the drowsy girl. He had known she’d appear at his office with the gall to ask for extra credit. Nobody has grabbed has grabbed his attention like she’s has managed - student, colleague, or anything else in the spectrum; especially when he wasn’t even looking.

But he doesn’t know whether that has had any bearing on that first meeting in the library or if it was his inability to sleep at night brought him there at that hour just to see her on pure happenstance. He prides himself on his ability to remember names and faces, but it could have been anybody else working that particular job, on that particular schedule just so she could fall asleep on his particular class.

Perhaps it didn’t matter how they arrived to where they were now, half-dressed and thoroughly fucked on his bed. Maybe this was always going to happen.

“You okay?” she asks, with a slight crease forming between her brows and pulling him from his woolgathering with a warm hand on his knee.

Roy catches her hand with his own, and pulls on it slightly. “The real question is if you’re okay?”

She looks away guiltily and tries to reassure with a disingenuine tug to the corner of her lip. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“As much as I enjoyed that little… show in the living room,” Roy trails off, knowing he’s verging on new territory while smoothing over the top of her hand with his thumb. In response, a pink prettily colors her cheeks once more. “I have a feeling there’s something more behind it.”

In silence, he waits a few moments before tucking some of her hair behind her ear, fingers tracing over the bone of her jaw to lift her head once more. “Riza?” he asks carefully, softly. He can feel his pulse beginning to thump unsteadily in his neck. He focuses on his breathing: slow, measured intakes that don’t bely the turmoil brewing inside.

She shifts again, but doesn’t pull her jaw away; her fingers grip his own tightly.

“Forgive me, but it’s not really something to concern yourself with.” she responds, somehow managing to make her voice sound so small damn near breaks his resolve. She swallows, and blinks furiously. Roy readies himself to protest but she proves herself to be one step ahead of him. “After Olivier interrupted us and you left, there was a moment of contention, and today has been the last straw after everything has been piling up.”

Worry forms a knot in his throat, guilt makes it heavy in his gut. “With Olivier?”

Riza shakes her head. “No, but I apologize that I took that out on you. I shouldn’t have - you deserve better than that. It was unfair of me.”

“Why don’t you tell me about today?” He doesn’t realize it’s more than just waking up on the wrong side of the bed. He asks because he’s promised to be better since he moved from Central.

“Why?”

“If you don’t want to tell me, there’s nothing I can do about that. But I think airing it out is a better alternative to bottling it in and letting your problems - our problems wreak havoc.”

With a touch of indignation, she argues, “I don’t see how wrongly taking it out on you makes it our problem, Roy.”

“The very fact that you did makes it our problem, Riza. Whatever it is, I’d like to help after the trouble I caused this week.”

She scoffs and anger begins to the earmark in places like her jaw and the tight ball of her free hand. “But it has nothing to do with you.”

Roy sighs again and moves to sit like she is with the cap of their knees inches apart. He clasps her hands with both sides now and lowers like he’s bowing to kiss the top of her hand rather than bringing it up to his face. When he comes back up, she’s staring at him strangely. “All I’m saying is you don’t have to make this burden yours alone.”

Riza exhales heavily, and from her shoulders to her posture, he sees her body sag from the breaking down of whatever weight she was carrying. Her mouth twitches like she’s choosing her words with heavy consideration. She breathes back in and her eyelashes flutter from the glassy surface her eyes have taken up. “For starters, let’s just put it out there that I didn’t have a normal childhood with a nice house and a picket fence.”

“Neither did I,” he responds, shrugging, with about as much emphasis as he’d use to talk about the morning weather report.

Like she’s embarrassed or something close to it, her hand nervously scratches her head and pushes another strand of damp hair behind her ear after it had come loose. She’s so hesitant he can feel the pull on his heartstrings just from the cracks that are beginning to surface.  The chew on her lip tells him there’s so much she’s holding in.

“When I was fifteen,” she starts out slowly and Roy feel himself tense to prepare what she’ll say. “I emancipated myself from my only living family member.”

The gears in his head stop. His eyes narrow, because he doesn’t know what it means. “Emancipated?”

The smile she gives him is grim and worn. “It’s a legal process to separate myself from my parent or guardian and be treated as an adult, to prevent myself from being put into a home.

“I never knew my mother; she died during childbirth so it left me with Father. He tried, some part of me wishes he had tried more, but children can’t choose their parents. He gave me a home, food, an education… I was more fortunate than most, I know. Some don’t even have a chance two out of those three.”

“When you were fifteen…” Roy sounds it out in his mouth as the gearworks finally begin its process again; quick to process her age, her only family member, why she would go through such drastic proceedings and it dawns on him swifter than he has a chance to limit his expression at the revelation.

“My back,” she vocalizes it for him. There’s no tremor in her voice, no indication of the months of rehabilitation and healing that would’ve happened. From the brief glimpses he’s seen, her scarring is older than his, paler, but he knows enough about burns to recognize third degree scarring when he sees it. Against her spinal cord too - he tries to push back the urge to see it in his mind’s eye. She moves her head up, blinking like she’s trying to keep her tears from overflowing down her cheeks and the muscles in his jaw flexes as her hand subconsciously twitches in his. “I remember having to show evidence for the court case by showing them the extent of injuries from the explosion. And then, photographic evidence wasn’t enough.”

Explosion? His curiosity careens in a way that he almost asks it, but Roy bites his tongue. “Have you seen him since?”

Riza nods again. “Today, in fact. By the time I got out of hospital, Father had been put into one and my case worker was already organising the papers needed for my emancipation. It kept me busy then.” Riza lowers her head and quickly swipes at her cheek with the hand he was holding. “I know this isn’t what you asked for.”

“I wasn’t expecting quite this much honesty,” Roy adds innocently enough, and he wasn’t.

She’s always managed to be a cornucopia of surprises for him, always made him second-guess the ground that they stand on. There is no tried and tested theory that aligns with her and her actions; instead, he feels as if he’s on the brink of a brand new discovery, and with every new part of her revealed to him, he becomes that much more secure in the knowledge that this is no ordinary set of circumstances.

He looks at her when he catches on to the her silence, and she’s horrified, absolutely mortified as if his truthful comment shattered her after pouring out her life’s story. He catches her arm as she’s about to move away from him and the bed and crumble this between them. “Listen, that’s not how I meant it.” She stares at him as if she’s not completely convinced. “This is privileged information, from you, and I didn’t expect you opening up like this to me. Not after you had been so closed before.”

Roy watches her relax again and move another hand across her cheek frustratingly. She says lowly, “I’m sorry… I don’t do this often.” There aren’t many twenty year-olds with this level of maturity; even less for the ones that do and swallow their pride to openly admit their mistakes. She’s done it from the first day he met her. Sadly, he now realizes it’s not borne from a position of instilled values. Mistakes are the harshest teacher, single-handedly tutoring Riza for a long time now whether the mistakes were hers or not.

“I know.” Wordlessly, he pushes himself to the back of the bed and he beckons her to join him. He holds her flush against his chest. She’s tense still, but he rubs her arms, then hugs her without suffocating her, until she’s ready to go on.

“I’m tired,” she says abruptly, resting her hand on his forearm just for the touch. “I’m really... fucking tired. Olivier’s dirty looks and pointed silence are more than I want to deal with. I can see why she’s angry and at the same time, I don’t. Father’s visits are just the same. Like I am just space that happens to occupied, no acknowledgement, too busy in his head trying to figure out where he fucked up so badly that he can’t even have staples-” She chokes on the end of the last word and burrows inside herself, bringing her knees back, but it’s his arms that catch her tears.

He pulls in the bundle of tense muscle even closer to him, relieved when she clutches to him tightly. Her sobbing is silent, he wouldn’t even know if not for her body tensing when she tried to silence them and the sniffling. She whispers I’m sorry again and he can’t possibly pull her closer.

It’s been a long time since he last found himself in this kind of position - though back then he was not only a lot younger, but far more rash and prone to reckless decisions. But unlike with his sisters, he cannot protect her in this moment from whatever bogeyman that haunts her, whether real or imagined. There are no injustices to be rectified, no men to go after with quick fists. Her story has already been told, neatly santised for those who go prodding, and now he’s witness to the messy truth that follows afterwards: you’re never free of the abuse, not even with bars or miles or even six feet of dirt to separate you.

He tries to keep his face impassive as she readjusts once she’s reigned in the sobs, sniffling and scrubbing at her eyes roughly with the sleeve of the borrowed sweater. At this rate he’ll need to send her back into the bathroom to clean her face: it’s become all puffy and blotchy, but the raw emotion allows him to appreciate the beauty that goes beyond her skin. He’s quick to run his thumbs over her cheekbones, wiping away the tears that still spill over, before drawing her close to him, their limbs tangling awkwardly as he rests his chin on top of her shoulder.

“I’m sorry.” he tells her softly, his thumbs rubbing reassuring circles on her skin. In this position, he can feel every shuddering inhalation she takes.

Riza snorts. “I don’t remember you being there when it happened.”

“It’s not an apology. It’s sympathy. No one should go through something like that.”

Passive and still, she says, “I appreciate it, but I’ve had enough something to last several lifetimes.”

“It’s not pity either. I can’t imagine it’s an easy story to relive,” he trails off, pressing a kiss onto the crown of her head.

“I suppose say the same about yours.”

He straightens and swivels to look at her. “Mine?”

Riza turns her head, smiling slightly despite her reddened eyes. “Your side. It’s hard to miss.”

Roy laughs, sliding his arms properly around her stomach. “Not quite. Even if I wanted to tell, I can’t. The non-disclosure stops me from saying basically anything.”

“You have a non-disclosure?” She turns her entire body now, crumpling the sheets beneath them to face Roy. “On that?”

“Pretty par for the course when working for the military,” he explains. “I can’t think of any colleagues who aren’t under at least one.”

Riza blinks and shakes her head slightly. “You used to be in the military?”

“I wasn’t always teaching chemistry, Riza. Even you have to admit, I’m a little younger than most to have a cushy position as a professor.” It’s the closest he could give as a hint without violating the clauses. He knows that she’s smart enough to ask the right questions to get the information she wants, if she’s paid attention in his class. She’s chewing her lip thoughtfully, and watching him with keen, bright eyes.

“Is that why you’re so fit?” she asks finally, a sly grin growing on her face. “It’s not a complaint but it never made sense contextually. You’re a professor, not an athlete.”

“That’s the question you ask? Not curious about how it happened, or what kind of cool battle I might’ve gotten it from?”

Shrugging, her grin only widens in response. “You just said you can’t say anything. I went for the next best thing.”

He can’t help his own grin, so he runs a hand through his face. “Old habits die hard, but I’m nowhere where I used to be.”

Her gaze falls back to his chest and he can see her mouth the words where I used to be - he’s not one for peacocking - well, not that much - it’s an appreciated ego boost nonetheless.

“But now I’m sure there’s so much I don’t know about you.”

The grin fades from his face. “What do you mean?”

Riza gestures to the walls. “There’s no pictures. Here or in your office. And just earlier you said, your childhood wasn’t like most. I’m curious now, what’s your story?”

Roy contemplates for a moment. Five years back, he would’ve done anything to avoid the subject. Now, he feels the need to equal the footing. “We’re similar in some ways,” he starts, cocking his head to the side. “My parents died when I was one, maybe two. A car crash, I’m told. I was bounced around the system for ten years, give or take, until my aunt found me. By that time I had several chips on my shoulder...I didn’t make it easy on her.”

At this point, Riza’s eyes are wide like saucers, her jaw is slack. “How many...?” The rest of her question is unspoken, but he knows what she’s hinting at.

“Just two. The first one was okay. The last one…” he swallows; it’s been a long time since the fires from that deep-rooted fear and contempt have had a chance to spark. He continues matter-of-factly, “They were not kind people.” He rolls his shoulders, feeling the familiar pop as his bones shift over one another. “But they were clever not to leave visible marks. My sisters were less lucky in that regard.”

“Sisters?”

Despite the grim nature of the conversation, he can’t help the smile that grows on his face at their mention. “Yes, fourteen.”

Her mouth drops properly. “Fourteen sisters?”

“You get more funding if you take on more kids, and my last foster home had a good efficient money laundering operation going on. It’s not a perfect system, but most of them got out. With only a few bruises.”

“That’s horrible.” Her hand falls back down to her lap from covering her mouth.

He meets her eyes, glassy with unshed tears. “You don’t have to cry for me. It’s been a long time since then. All I can do now is help those that are still in situations like that.”

“What do you do?”

“Charities, mostly. Making sure to donate to the ones that are honest about their endeavors.”

“No, I meant,” she hesitates again. “To cope, to go on. To deal with ...that.” Sighing, Riza looks at her fingers. “I kept people at arm’s length. It felt like they would just disappear eventually.”

Roy sits up slowly, mulling over his words with care. “It’s easy to fall into the trap that one day you’re going to forget it ever happened. That won’t happen. You’re going to remember. You’re going to be reminded at the worst of times. For me, I think it was surrounding myself with people who love me that helped the most.”

Riza exhales heavily with a bitter laugh tailing it. She twists her fingers in her palms. “You’ll have to help me find some who do.”

He stills, suddenly very aware of the feeling of constriction in his chest. “I’m sure your friends...” he tries.

“Olivier gave me a good chewing out after you left, remember? And Rebecca…” Her hand goes through her now frizzy hair. “She texted that we need to talk. We do. But I’m terrified to confront her about all this.”

“Then why would you risk your friends to come here?” The silence that follows is deafening and then, he realizes what kind of response he’s asked of her.

She visibly tenses from his words and looks at him with apprehension, trying to sounds the words. “I-I don’t know. It was instinct. It was…”

There’s an expectation hanging in the air between them that he doesn’t want to give description to. He feels like he’s fucked it up after so much that’s been discussed. Now, there’s a hand shrouding the space around his heart and squeezing at all the right moments. He waits on her response with bated breath.

She’s quiet for a few moments before she responds. “Probably the same reason you’d listen to a student’s problems who has nothing to do with your own.”

His heart twists uncomfortably at her cool tone. “Riza…” he runs a hand through his hair roughly. “We’re both beyond that point of relying on our positions to cover for us. You stopped being my student a long time ago. To be honest with you, the moment you pointed out in my office that I had made the exception for you, I knew I wasn’t going to be able to be objective with you.”

She opens her mouth to say something, but the words are robbed of her.

“I’m not even grading your essays anymore,” he confesses. “ Not since the library incident. I get a colleague to do moderation with me and I make sure to always put your assignments in with his pile. I will not have your reputation ruined because of me, but please be honest. Do you really still think of me as just your professor?”

He can see the cogs in her mind turning over and over, trying to formulate a response that deflects much more than it answers. “No,” she says eventually, sounding the words slowly as if savouring the weight they hold. “Not anymore.”

It is not the answer he expects to hear, and he thinks he must’ve heard her wrong. He had imagined this conversation a thousand times, imagined a thousand different responses that removed her as an active participant. He wouldn’t have stopped her. But instead, she’s presented him with the option he’d scarcely dared to believe: that maybe, it was entirely possible that he hadn’t imagined this all up in his head.

“I know now that opening up… is a trial for you. I don’t doubt that for a second. I know what I want from this and it’s completely different from when we first started this. But I’ll give you the option to decide.”

“And what would that be?”

“What I want?”

Riza nods hesitantly.

He takes her hand gingerly and he studies them for a moment, how well their fingers settle against each other. Her body betrays what her words hide - and it’s that sliver of hope that gives him the courage to continue. “It doesn’t make sense to me. It’s not by any means logical. There are a million and a half alarms going off in my head that this is ludicrous and detrimental for both of us. But the truth of it now, is that I’d like to be with you.

“And not because of the sex, or age difference, or whatever else that comes to mind once people realise the nature of how and where we met. But because you are different in how you think, I admire your stubbornness, your own will to survive on your own. I couldn’t imagine the loneliness. And I think you deserve to know someone does care about you.”

Her brows furrow. “Who?”

He shakes his head in bemusement, despite the nerves coursing through him. God, it’s like he’s a teenager all over again. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, Riza. I care about you. A lot.”

“You do?” She blinks slowly, a perplexed look settling on her face. “No, no, we weren’t meant to- you said-”

“I know what I said,” he says quickly, swallowing down the fear bubbling up his throat. “And if you want to stop it now because I crossed that line, I understand. I really do.”

Her expression falters. “I don’t-” she takes a deep breath “- I don’t want that,” she replies quietly, squeezing his fingers tightly. “But this is just - I liked it before, before-”

“Before other people found out?” Her shoulders sag and Riza nods.

“I just- I like this, I like us. But if everyone else is going to think I’m only sleeping with you for grades.”

“And I know you’re not, if your reaction to my joke was anything to go by.” He’s trying his hardest not to grin because nothing has been confirmed, not really. It doesn’t quell the giddy feeling growing in his stomach, however. “I wouldn’t ask anything of you, not at least until the trimester is over.”

Her lips twitch upwards. “So where does this leave us?”

His thumbs brush over her knuckles. “I’m not sure that’s the right question to ask. What I do know is that I like you, I like spending time with you, and I would like to keep doing that.”

The smile growing across Riza’s face is the kind he’d like to see several times whether she’s been crying or not, and it’s hard not to mirror her. “I think I’d like that too.”

next

[writingideasforus]

JRD

FACE CLAIM

First Name: Jordan

Middle Name: Robert 

Last Name: Davis

Nickname: Jay, Davis Gender: Male Age: (as of 2022) 20 Sexual Orientation: Straight Birthday: 8/25/2002 Life Story: Jordan is the middle child in his family. He’s always felt like the black sheep, the one his family doesn’t understand. He has an older sister and a younger brother. His parents definitely should’ve been divorced at least a decade ago but use the kids as an excuse. Jordan still lives at home, so does his older sister Hannah. He plans on getting an apartment soon, he’s putting back savings. Jordan is currently enrolled in school online pursuing a business degree, His family is located in Lisbon, Maine. His father owns a successful real estate business that Hannah is already employed at. Jordan is expected to follow suit. Jordan is a wildcard, likes to claim that he’s the disappointment child. He struggles with accepting his identity, usually copes with that by acting out. Appearance Eye Color(s): Blue Hair Color: Brunette Hair Style(s): keeps his hair on the longer side, wears a baseball cap on days where he has no energy to fuss with it Height: 6′4 About him/her Personality: He’s determined, but sometimes find his goals muddled by his parents desires. Good-hearted, sarcastic, outgoing Bad habit(s) Tends to go all in when he drinks. Doesn’t see the point in one beer when you can have 6 Like(s): The Red Sox, late night drives, going to concerts Dislike(s): His sister Hannah Hobbies: Skateboarding Allergies: adhesive and bandaids Fear(s):Turning out like his father Extra: Talents and Dreams Ambition/dream:  Wants to start a non-profit Occupation/Job: Works as a host in a fancy restaurant downtown. Picks up odd jobs when he can Family and Friends Parent(s): Tracy Davis (48) Helena Bonham Carter

Michael (MIke) Davis (52) Cilian Murphy

Sibling(s): Hannah Davis (22) Natalia Dyer

Caleb Davis (14) Finn Wolfhard  Pet(s): An orange cat named Dixie. She has turned up pregnant at least 4 times. He call her a whore endearingly Extra Makeup: sometimes lets you do his eyeliner, paints his nails if he’s bored Scars: has a scar on his forehead that he usually hides with his hair, he busted his head open coming down the stairs when he was 16 Tattoo(es): small smiley face on his finger, has a piece of a snake across his back. He keeps his tattooes mostly secret, his dad always complains that he’s not spending his money correctly. Jewelry: earring on he left ear. usually has a hand full of rings  Piercing(s): ears and formerly nose Favorites Favorite Song: Dazed and Confused -Led Zeppelin Favorite Food(s):cold cut sub with extra tomatoes from the deli down the street Favorite Drink(s): Sprite or a blueberry redbull Favorite Color(s): black/blue Favorite Animal(s): snakes  Favorite Number: 41 Favorite Season(s): autumn Favorite Holiday(s): halloween Favorite Time of Day: evening

Tiktoks:

[the-facelss-writer]

It’s Good to Be Queen

TRIGGER WARNING: Attempted suicide, drugs, overdose

READ WITH CAUTION!!! Reblog, don’t repost, thank you.

Characters: Porter Gage, Fallout OC (Emily)

Premise: Porter has been noticing the the Overboss (Emily) has been acting strangely. For once, he isn’t ready for what she had planned.

Porter Gage was never the emotional type. Even when he was betrayed as a younger man by what’s-his-face “Harvester,” whatever his bullshit name was, he just wiped the blood from his lip and carried on. However, one thing that put Gage on edge was a feeling - and intuition you could call it. A feeling that something was just… wrong. And what felt wrong lately was the Overboss.

Gage and Overboss Emily had grown pretty damn close in her time here in Nuka-World. He dared to say that he cared for her, not that he’d ever fuckin’ tell anyone that. That’s weak. Something someone could use against him. Of course, he kept her safe while traveling and would definitely save her if she got kidnapped, but that was all good business for everyone here at Nuka-World, especially after Emily had taken down The Disciples. Bunch of rats. But the point was, he had a pretty good idea of what she was thinking and feeling just by her body language and speech. And it was rough lately.

Out on explorative trips, the Lady Overboss was more reckless than usual, pushier, and left many useful things behind. She didn’t take radiation medication before she swam or ate, and she never stayed hydrated in the deserts. For fuck’s sake, last week she walked right up to a big mama Deathclaw without even drawing a weapon first. Gage admits, he might’ve cussed Emily out for that one, but she needed to be more careful.

Now, they hadn’t gone out into the wastes in about four days, which was… Well, it was odd, to say the least. Overboss Emily always liked to go out, even to at least look at how the parks were doing or to gather Feverfew and visit Evan on the edge of the mountain range to chat. Damn guy was always so happy. He didn’t know how he felt about them being all close. But that didn’t mean anything right now. Apart from not going out in the wastes in four day, she hadn’t even left the Grille in the last two days. THAT was even more odd. Even when she was feeling down, Emily liked to at least go and visit Mags for girl talk or go see Mason for some crude jokes instead of secluding herself.

Gage sighed and downed the rest of his beer as he sat in Cappy’s Cafe, setting the bottle down and tapping the bar softly with his fingernail. Alright. That’s enough sitting around like a fuckin bum. He’s got to ask around for some clues about what might be going on without asking the Overboss directly. He didn’t want to get them angry.

The yellow-clothed cyclops threw a couple caps on the bar for the beer and walked out. Who first? He guesses Mags Black is a good a place as any, plus it was just closer. He’d have to pay up to get her to talk though. Damn Operators and their greed. Gage walked out of the loud bar and stretched before heading across the street to The Parlor, opening the door without even waiting for the goon at the door to pat him down. By now he knew he’d lose a hand if he tried.

“Hello, Gage. What do you want now?” Mags muttered as the man walked in, filing her nails in bored fashion. “Hope you brought my some caps as a gift.”

“Get off your damn high horse, Mags. I just came to ask ya somethin’,” Gage replied irritably. Mags chuckled at his anger.

“Your know information isn’t cheap. Who’s it about this time?” She smirked. Gage’s face didn’t soften an ounce.

“The Overboss,” he said firmly, making everyone in The Parlor look over curiously. Mags furrowed a brow.

“Interesting. I have many questions, but my primary one is… Why the hell can’t you just ask her yourself?” She smirked at the sudden anger in Gage’s eyes.

“Just fuckin’ talk to me, Mags. In private.”

“Hey-” William began.

“No,” interrupted Mags. “We’ll talk. But I expect caps next time you come by.”

The two walked to a back room and Mags shooed out the few Operators out before closing the door and lighting a cigarette, the glow illuminating her expressionless face.

“Now what the hell is it?” she asked.

“I just…” Gage rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “I wanna know if you and the Overboss have been talkin’ about anythin’... worrisome lately is all.”

“What do you count as worrisome?”

“...I dunno. Sounds fuckin’ stupid, but… Wantin’ to die, I guess. Not carin’ about livin’. Anything like that.” Mags swayed a bit as she took a drag off of her cigarette as she thought to herself, most likely trying to figure out how to phrase it.

“Let’s just say that she’s feeling… Alone.”

“I came here for important information and all you can fuckin’ tell me is that she feels alone? You know how fuckin’ stupid that is?” Gage mumbled angrily. Mags raised an eyebrow and stubbed her cigarette out on the thick metal rigging of Gage’s armor.

“Listen, I told you what I’m comfortable with telling you about confidential information. And more than that, I told you without incentive of money. I don’t need you drawing conclusions where none exist. You’re very good at that,” she said coldly. Then, without another word, Mags left the room and went back to the main room. Gage came out soon after and left, yelling “Thanks for fuckin’ nothin’!” behind him as he left.

Alone. Well, that wasn’t fair. Gage was almost always with Emily. She shouldn’t feel alone. Even if he wasn’t enough, she had Mags and William and Lizzie and Mason. Mason. Just who he didn’t feel like seeing today. But what other choice did he have right now?

Porter Gage made his way towards the market, then crossed over to The Nest in the old amphitheater. He could smell the fuckin’ slobs without even walking inside. His nose hairs damn near curled at the rough smell of piss, sex, booze, and drugs, but he knows Emily was pretty close to Mason, too. Then again, the Overboss could remember everybody’s name while Porter often forgot his own. Nonetheless, she liked coming here to chat with the Alpha, so it’s the best lead he had.

Porter ignored the lady at the gate as she muttered something crass at him about coming into the Nest unannounced, but he really didn’t give a flying fuck right now. The gross smells were making his beer-buzzed brain hurt and he still had that bad feeling in the pit of his stomach about the whole situation. Gage mosied up to the throne, watching the dog fight in the arena as if he thought it interesting. He wanted to seem as calm as possible. He needed real information this time. Yes. Even if it was from the damn furry.

Gage approached the Pack Alpha quietly and stood before him, waiting for Mason to acknowledge him, admittedly a bit impatiently. His steel-toed boot tapped on the concrete steps as he waited, Mason soon looking up with a raised eyebrow.

“Can I help you?” Mason muttered sarcastically. He could tell the one-eyed Co-Boss was nervous. Or impatient. The tapping foot, the crossed arms… Hell, when he spoke, it was a million miles an hour.

“Listen, Mason, I need to ask ya about the Overboss, I’m wo-... I need to see if she’s bein’ weird or not.”

“I’m pretty sure you were gonna say you were worried there, Gage.”

“Shut the fuck and tell me what I need to know.”

“I can do one or the other, ya fuckin’ prick. Besides, I don’t even know what you want me to tell you,” Mason said, fingers playing at his moustache.

“Just… Tell me if she’s been acting weird,” Gage practically begged.

“Now, now, Gage, this is awfully unlike you. You-”

Gage had had enough, grabbing Mason by his Yao Guai finger necklace and bashing him across the face with his fist, smearing the leader’s face paint and causing some blood to dribble out from his mouth. But the Alpha just smirked as The Pack stared, some drawing their guns. Mason waved his hand to signal for everyone to go back to their business before grabbing Porter by the armor and pulling him in close, his eyes and tone menacing.

“You fuckin’ try that again, and I’ll feed your dick to the dogs,” he threatened quietly before letting go. He seemed back to his old, immature self after that. “Listen, cyclops, I didn’t notice too much out of the ordinary. We always make really shitty jokes about each other and ourselves. It keeps our egos in check. All I can say is that maybe she went a little heavy on the self-deprecation and a little light on the Pack deprecation. But who am I to complain?” Gage was quiet, pondering. “Listen, kid. I know ya worry about everything and nothing and sometimes even people who might mean something to you. But she ain’t been actin’ weird. Maybe the Boss just ain’t been seein’ eye to eye with you lately, ya know?”

“How do you figure that?” Gage asked, kind of only half in the conversation.

“Well, you’re always quick to judge her actions. Hatin’ it when she’s nice to nobodies, slippin’ extra caps to the traders, and havin’ a beer on the job. But look at you. You’ve done all the same things, thinkin’ nobody notices. No one mows ya down for it either. But you’ve always got somethin’ to say to her when she does it.”

“The fuck are you tryin’ to tell me, Mason?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing. I’m just sayin’ that maybe she needed a little space from her resident hypocrite. Take a break. Now if you go askin’ what I think you should do-”

“Which I’m not.”

“Yeah, but if you were, I’d tell you to go get some chems and chill the fuck out for a while. Alright?

“Eeyeah, whatever,” Gage muttered before turning heel and leaving the Nest, not even saying goodbye. He had too much on his mind.

Porter stopped and sat on a bench by the information terminals to think. Was he really that hypocritical? And what the hell was up with Emily being so damn gloomy to Mags and Mason? Why wasn’t she letting him, her main advisor, into her world? The man in yellow sighed and lifted his eye patch to rub both eyes as he thought to himself in the heat of the sun. Ugh. Maybe Mason was right. Maybe he just needed some chems to take the edge off. He put his eye patch on and walked into the market.

As he entered, there seemed to be a bit of a ruckus at Maddox’s stand, involving two Pack members. They were ranting and raving about something or other. He only caught bits as he approached. What he head mostly was bits of ‘What do you mean you’re out?!’ and ‘Do you know what happens when I don’t have my Psycho?!’ Gage paused as he connected the dots. Maddox, the chem dealer, who always had at least a fair amount of backstock, was completely out of Psycho, which has literally never happened before? Then, he got his explanation.

“Look, I’m sorry, I had a bunch this morning, but the Overboss came by and took everything I had! I can’t just make more appear out of thin air!” Maddox explained frantically.

Fast as lightning, Gage walked up and pushed both Pack members out of the way so he could speak with the trader.

“You said the Overboss bought all the Psycho? How much?”

“I… Why?” Maddox stammered.

“Answer the fucking question!”

“Uhh, s-something like 10 syringes, sir, why?”

Gage didn’t even reply. He ran out of the market, pushing people out the way, whether they were raiders, traders, or guests. He isn’t sure he had ever ran so fast in his goddamn life. And why? The dots connected. And he didn’t fucking like them one bit.

When Porter Gage finally got to the far end of the main park where Fizztop Grille resided, he let his facade of at least a small shred of calmness evaporate into pure terror. He frantically pushed on the elevator button, but nothing was happening. It was as if someone had cut the wire to the power. Muttering worriedly under his breath, Gage went through the doors instead and began climbing stairs. He fucking hated this. He fucking hated every single damn thing that was going on right now. The panic, the worry, the speculation, all of it. If he turned out being wrong, he swore he’d get so fucking drunk that he’d black out for the next goddamn week.

When Gage reached the top door that led to the Grille, he tried to open it, but it was stuck. No, that couldn’t be right, he just opened it this morning. Fuck. She locked it, didn’t she?

“Motherfucker… I ain’t got the hands for this shit…” the cyclops grumbled in frustration as he pulled out a screwdriver and bobby pin box. If Emily was okay, there would be a damn long talk about this shit.

He broke his first bobby pin just trying to get it in the lock and he swore gruffly. But, before he could try again, he forced himself to take a deep breath. ‘You may not have the hands for it,’ he told himself, ‘but you ain’t ever had someone worry you this much before. You can do it.’

Even with his, admittedly a bit embarrassing, peptalk, Gage still found the lock nearly unsurpassable. Three more bobby pins and still nothing even close to right.

“Alright, Gage,” he said aloud. “You’re gonna pick this lock or you’re gonna shoot your way in. You ain’t givin’ up on her.” His voice was insistent and persuasive, even to himself. His hands calmed and whether it was luck, some god, or something in the beer he had, he unlocked the door and ran inside.

His head whipped around like a dust storm as he looked for the Overboss. Where was she? Then Gage’s eyes locked onto a chair in the sun, a still and lifeless Overboss laying there, a sea of Psycho syringes at her feet.

“Boss…?” Gage said quietly as he approached. Nothing. “...Emily…?”

As the advisor drew nearer, he could see the effects of the Psycho. Though the Overboss was still and lifeless, Gage could see her heart pounding from the stimulant. She had veins popping out from their places and all of her muscles were tensed. What the fuck was he doing just standing there? Something. Something to calm the muscles down. Anything!

Unfortunately, Gage’s only inkling for trying was that he reckoned he couldn’t make it any worse at this point. He grabbed some Day Tripper and some Jet, forcing them into Emily’s system, praying to whatever the fuck was out there that it didn’t kill her. And if anything, Gage thought he would pass out from relief as he saw the Overboss’ heart and muscles calm. But this wasn’t his expertise anymore. He grabbed her and flung her over his shoulder, rushing back to the market, not giving one shit that she was heavy as hell.

Needless to say, everyone was a bit startled when Gage caved the door in with a single kick and ran over to Mackenzie Bridgeman’s stand with a near-dead-looking Overboss on his shoulder. He was sweaty, unkempt, and most of all, clearly worried. But right now, he didn’t give a damn about anything or anyone. Porter angrily brushed everything off the Doc’s table and laid Emily down.

“Ten Psycho, one Day Tripper, one Jet, now fucking FIX HER!” he commanded at the cowering woman. She looked hesitant, eyeing the other traders in the market, as if asking for their opinions.

“Sir, I-” she began.

“You say one damn thing not related to her and I’ll slit your fucking throat. I know you’re thinkin’ of stallin’ so she’ll die, but let’s get one thing straight. She dies, I’m gonna be the next Overboss. And let me tell you, if you think Colter was bad, I’d be ten times worse. Now. Do you want this death on your hands and have a fuckhole future, or would you rather just fuckin’  fix her and have a pretty damn alright life?” Gage didn’t even really understand the tyrade he went off of himself, but it sure as hell got Mackenzie moving into high gear. She found a few syringes she needed and quickly injected them.

“Th-There. I f-flushed her system and added a stabilizer. Sh-She might urinate because of the f-flush, but she’ll be okay. I promise!” Mackenzie stuttered and begged. She was surprised when Gage threw a bag at her… It was full of caps. More than what the procedure would have costed. But she wasn’t complaining.

Porter, on the other hand, said nothing. He picked Emily back up in his arms and carried her all the way back to the Grille as on-lookers gasped and whispered. His mind was on Mags and Mason. Sons of bitches. What had they not told him? Worse yet, how the fuck did they care so little as to not even suspect anything was wrong? He’d cut them both down some day. But for now, he had other business to attend to.

Back at the Grille, after Emily had had her “accident,” Gage changed her into some clean clothes in as gentlemanly a way as he could, then tucked her into bed. And then, he sat. He sat and waited. She had to wake up sometime. Mackenzie said she would. And if Mackenzie was lying, she wouldn’t see out the week. He made a promise on that.

Eventually though, minutes turned to hours and hours turned into a day and a half. A day and a half of sitting on his ass, waiting. Neither Mags and her crew nor Mason had even showed up to see about the mess of a show he had put on. It made Gage sick and angry. It was bullshit. Ugh. He had to get his mind off of this, even just a little. He knew Emily kept a book or two in her dresser in case she ever felt the need to read. Maybe that would help.

Gage stood from the bed and went to Emily’s dresser, digging around in the drawer neatly labeled “books”. At least her organization came with labels. But that’s when he found something… a bit off. A book bound in what seemed to be Gatorclaw skin. The cover said nothing, but a pencil marked a page. He opened it and saw it read a date. A diary? The Overboss had a fucking diary? Normally, he wouldn’t pry or poke around in this girly shit… but he needed to get to the bottom of this whole ordeal himself.

Gage took the diary and sat on the edge of the be there, consciously avoiding anything that wasn’t pertinent or that seemed a little too personal. But even with those stipulations, there was just so much… raw, rough material, many of the pages tear stained. When had she even written these? Gage could have sworn he always had an eye on the Overboss, but he guesses he was wrong.

Nearing the end of the written pages, the tear stains had disappeared. The writing was bland and calm. No explanation of feelings. Nothing except short passages of things like ‘I am a disgrace. I’m horrid. My family is dead. I should be dead. I hate myself and so does everyone else.’

Honestly, it scared Gage to death most when he came across a bi-columned list. One side was labeled “Live” and the other “Die”. The “Live” list was a fucking mess of scribbling out and circling and more crossing out. The “Die” list was pretty cut and dry. No real scribbling, except with spelling errors, which he would have found funny if it wasn’t in this context.

On the “Live” side, all that remained unscribbled were very silly things, like “Fancy Lad Snack Cakes”, “Dogs”, and “Haven’t killed 100 Gatorclaws yet”, as if it was even a possible goal, all the goods adding up to maybe 10. But on the “Die” side, it said things like “Family dead”, “Fat”, “Ugly”, “Worthless”, and other things like that. This side was ridiculously long.

One thing Gage noticed, though, was the smudge of new additions. The first five “Live” options had recently been crossed out with bold lines and the same writing was added to the bottom of the “Die” list, which when he read them, his blood turned cold.

It was them. Him, Mason, Mags, William, and Lizzie. The new additions. That made the “Die” list easily in the high 30’s. But Gage didn’t understand. Why were they on that side? He quickly flipped the page to look at the back side. For the first time in years, he felt a lump in his throat. ‘They’re raiders. They don’t give a fuck about me. I have reached the end of my usefulness to them. They don’t really like me at all.’

Porter closed the book slowly, his hands clammy and shaking lightly. The took a breath. Did Emily really think that? I mean, why else would she-

“Gage…?” A weak voice interrupted his thoughts. “Wh…at… are you doing… with my diary…?” Gage turned to see Emily’s eyes open weakly, the woman pale and looking hurt.

“O-Overboss… Are you okay?”

“I-” she stopped herself for a moment. “Uh… Yeah. Just went on a bit of a rush. That Psycho really knocks you out, huh?” Gage’s eyes went from worried to just plain angry.

“Goin’ on a rush doesn’t usually fuckin’ involve rushing ya to the doc for a flush and stabilizer,” he said, knuckles white from his grip on the book in his hands.

“I-I… I…” Emily couldn’t speak, and her stutters quickly digressed into shakey gasps and soon after, sobs.

Porter’s anger softened into pity and guilt as he watched her. The raider set down the diary on the edge of the bed and then moved to sit next to the woman. He was never good with emotions. At all. So he just lightly took her hand in his own and rubbed the back of it with his thumb.

All he could do was listen to Emily cry and ramble incoherently, trying to give his best encouragements, which sort of just amounted to ‘eeyeah’, ‘alright’, and ‘it’s okay’. He felt like a fucking idiot, not knowing what to say. But what he did gather from Emily’s ramblings was something along the lines of that she felt alone, unloved, lost, and hated herself. It was a lot more than that, but Gage honestly couldn’t keep track of it all, he was in such a daze yet. Soon though, he helped her sit up and he threw off his cage armor, hugging her just for a moment before softly taking her soft hands in his.

“Now, I know this ain’t gonna just solve all those problems, Boss, but I need ya to know that that ain’t the case. You ain’t ugly or worthless or useless. You’re beautiful as ya are, just like ya tell everybody else. And ya know what? The leaders and I? We ain’t even been happier than since you came around,” he explained, looking into her eyes… It felt like he was searching for something. Hope. A spark. Anything.

“B-Bu-But… All of you make fun of me and call me names and besides, I-I’m just some stupid pawn, right? I’m just some empty fucking figurehead,” she whimpered. Gage promptly shushed her and brought her head to lay on his chest.

“No, no no no, that ain’t true at all. I… I know Mason and Mags can be pretty cold, but they always mean well with you. Believe me, if they didn’t like you, they wouldn’t tease ya, they’d off ya. Trust me.”

“Well, maybe they should have-”

“Don’t you dare go sayin’ that. Ever. And right now I wanna apologize. I know I’ve been… critical of you. But it ain’t fair. You’ve been a great Boss, Emily, and I think I never realized how rough I was on ya,” Gage explained.

“I… Uh… I forgive you,” Emily said quietly, a soft blush creeping on her cheeks… He must have missed an important detail in the diary. “But… You know… I wasn’t so worried about you being hard on me… I… I, uh… Thought it was kind of cute…”

“Then why was I on that die list…?” he asked. He felt Emily’s face heat up on his chest.

“I was jealous… Of that girl you flirted with last week… I… like you a lot, Porter,” she mumbled quietly. “Fuck… Why did I say that…”

“Wait, hold on now, hold it… You wanted to die because I was too damn thick to see that you were fallin’ for me?” he said with squinted, confused eyes.

“I mean… One of a great many reasons. But yeah. I thought you would never want someone like me. So that’s why you were on the list.”

At that, Gage chuckled a bit sadly.

“Well… Overbo-... Emily… I like ya a lot, too. I just wish ya woulda said so sooner so we could have avoided this…” Just as he said this, there was a knock at the door, which was promptly busted in by the Pack Alpha, the three Operator leaders behind him.

“Alright, where the fuck is the Overboss? I just heard what happened and I had to kill someone for it and I’m fuckin’ done with this shit for today.” Mason looked over and saw Emily awake and walked over, pointing at her. “Alright. You listen here, missy. We’re all gonna have a fuckin’ talk.” Mags stepped up with William and Lizzie.

“Right here, right now,” the blonde leader added, lighting her cigarette. “You’ve put us through enough goddamn stress for one lifetime.” Mason butted in again like the Alpha he was.

“Next time ya start feelin’ like this, you’re gonna come right to me and we’re going to fuckin’  fix it!”

“HEY!” Gage yelled, still holding a scared and confused Overboss close. “All of you need to calm the fuck down, grab a chair, and start takin’ it like adults. We’re workin’ on this now, but we’re gonna act like adults. Right, Overboss?

Emily gulped softly. “Right.”

[kitkat1003]

Misfits always fit in here

Every child lost something and gained something else

@snarkyowl the backstory for the septiceye kids

Jackie dreams of being a superhero.

His  parents laugh every time he says it, the quiet, polite laughter one does when humoring children, but he knows he can do it, knows because of the odd strength he has when he least expects it, and by the moments he floats above the ground.  He doesn’t tell his parents of course; because comics tell him you shouldn’t, but when they buy him a red and blue superhero suit he loves them so much it might just kill him, and he wishes he could show them everything.

He spends his days trying to figure things out, how to summon the power rather than wait for it to show up, but he can’t seem to get the hang of it.  It’s annoying, but he’s a kid so it’s not as if he didn’t have time to figure it out later in life.  He has plenty of time to himself as well, because his Mom and Dad are always busy with work.  That’s not to say they don’t love him.  Every day they go out of their way to make sure they have time for dinner, and they don’t mind that he wears his superhero outfit everywhere, and they start call him Jackieboy Man when he asks.

They still tuck him in with the name Jackie, but he doesn’t mind that.

He doesn’t quite know if his parents share his ideals, not when their jobs are…scary.  They talk to mean men with guns, they have guards, they have tons of money that they hide in safes and they act as if there’s a bomb beneath their feet, one with a timer ticking down but there’s no timer anyone can see.  He doesn’t think his parents are bad, but this is starting to feel like his comics, where the hero’s parents are bad and the hero must be the one who is good.

Jackie dreams of being a superhero, but sometimes he just wants to be Jackie, because being a hero is scary and hard.

One night, his mom rushes into his room, waking him up only by grabbing him out of bed and carrying him somewhere.

“Mo-,”

“Hush, Jackie,” She shushes him, scurrying through the halls into a room he isn’t familiar with.  It’s a normal looking room, with a couch and fridge and necessities, and she sets him on the couch, hair unkempt and face a barely maintained calm.  “Just stay here sweetheart.  Don’t make noise, I’ll come and get you in a bit, okay?”  He nods blearily, rubbing his eyes to try and fight away sleep.

“L’ve you Mom,” he manages before she leaves, and she gives him the saddest smile he’s ever seen.

“Love you too, Jackie.”

He stays there for a long time, listening to nothing and clutching his mask to his chest.  He doesn’t feel like being a hero right now. He’s too scared and too weak and he has to listen his Mom.

Gunshots.

A few shouts.

Silence.

Jackie stays in the room for a long time.

He comes out after the silence becomes too scary, when he’s hungry and he doesn’t want the snacks because it’s a different type of hunger, one that gnaws at him because he wants to see his mother’s face and be held in his father’s arms.  Clutching his hero mask, he pushes open the door and steps quietly through the hallways, afraid of breaking the silence because the tension is too great.

The sight in the foyer is…

“Mom?”

There’s blood everywhere, still hands and glassy eyes and bodies, not people but bodies, and Jackie doesn’t get a reply.  He never will.

This is an origin story, he thinks.  No superhero has parents who live.  No superhero becomes one because they’re happy with life.  

He puts on his mask.

He grabs as much food as he can carry in his backpack before leaving, finding flowers and setting them around the bodies and closing the eyes like he’s seen in the movies and saying goodbye and crying a little bit because heroes can cry

He walks to town, ignoring cars and ignoring noise and ignoring the world because he needs to focus. He needs to focus on something other than his origin story right now.

Days pass, and he’s out of food, walking from place to place and thinking of stealing food but knowing that heroes don’t steal, villains do.  He finds waterfountains and he sucks it up and asks for money but no one cares enough.  No one ever cares about the little hero asking for money, even when his suit gets dirty and he becomes scarily thin.

No one cares, except for a man in a dark grey shirt, with black pants, green hair that Jackieboy likens to his own, and a snapback cap, also grey but with a magenta brim.

“What are you doing here all by yourself?” He asks, and Jackieboy shrugs, stomach growling in irritation because he hasn’t eaten in days and he won’t steal.

“I’m a hero.  I’m looking for crime to stop,” he lies shakily, and the man bends down to eyelevel.

“Well, and this may sound weird, would you like to come to my house and stay for the night?  So you can be rested and fed for tomorrow’s fights,” Jackieboy doesn’t know why he would say no, because he’s tired, and his clothes don’t help with the cold, but he still hesitates, because Mom told him not to talk to strangers.

Well, for that rule he’s already broken, so what’s one more?

“Okay,” he says, and the man walks him to his car.

“I’m Chase by the way,” The man-Chase says, and Jackieboy knows that this is the part where he says his own name in reply.

Jackie gets caught in his throat, because Mom and Dad called him that.  They were the only ones who knew his secret identity and now they’re gone so no one knows his name but him.

“Jackieboy,” he says, because Jackie is private, and Chase doesn’t seem fazed.

“Alright Jackieboy, let’s get you something to eat.”

He’s resting on the couch, belly full of hot soup and eyes drooping, comfortable for the first time in a while, when he hears an argument.

“C’mon Schneep, he’s got nowhere else to go,”

“Ve cannot just let a random kid off of zhe street stay in our house!”

“Why not?!”

“Because ve could get in trouble vith zhe law!  Vhat about his parents?”

“He was sitting out in an alley, Henrik!  Do you really think his parents are looking for him?”

A sigh, then footsteps his way.  A doctor looking guy comes into view.  He looks a lot like Chase, but he’s got glasses and a weird accent.

“Kid, vhere are your parents?” He asks, and Jackieboy sits up, staring at the floor.

“Superheroes don’t have parents.  It’s part of their origin story,” he says, and Schneep looks at him with soft understanding.  Chase walks over and stands behind Schneep, waiting.

“Fine, he can stay.”

“Yes!”

Jackieboy gets his own room, and stays.

Marvin gets magic the moment his Dad places the cat mask on his face.  Power fizzles out from his fingertips, and he turns the couch into thousands of jellybeans, a picture becomes a cat, and his Dad’s hair turns purple.

His Mom screams, but his Dad just laughs.

His parents argue a lot. Marvin tunes it out, trying to make things float with his wand, or planning out ways to make doves appear out of nowhere, or even just getting that one card trick right, but his house isn’t the nicest and the walls are thin, so he can’t help but hear the shouts.

“I thought you told me you could handle his magic!”

“I can!  I am!”

“Last week he turned my whisk into a fish!”

“Well, I can’t just make it go away, Mary!”

Marvin likes his magic. He likes the buzz of power under his skin, thrumming with excitement and energy, playing around and making the old ladies in their apartment giggle even when his tricks don’t work exactly right, but his Mom looks at hi weird.  Like he’s weird.

Like he’s scary.

Marvin doesn’t think he’s scary, and his Dad likes his magic too.  His Dad can do some tricks, but he’s said to Marvin time and time again that he doesn’t have many tricks up his sleeve.

“I don’t know where you get it from, kiddo.  Our family is full of mediocre wizards, but you’ve got magic to spare,” he ruffles Marvin’s hair, always careful of the mask, and Marvin giggles, pulling out a wrench from behind his Dad’s ear.

In the end, it isn’t even Marvin’s fault.  It’s an accident.  A fire, started on the lower levels of their apartment building that grows raucous and hot and it licks up the sides of Marvin’s room destroys their home and causes his eyes to water.  Marvin tries to make it stop, but his magic only makes the flames go higher, and his mother is screaming.

It’s his Dad who finds him, coughing on smoke but giving Marvin a brave smile.

“And…for my…final trick,” Marvin listens to his Dad speak, wincing at each cough that rattles his Dad’s lungs.  “I will make my son…disappear!”

Suddenly, Marvin’s vision is blocked by a black cape, the one he’s seen his Dad wear in pictures, and when he can see, he’s in an alley, far away from the apartment building.  He ties the cape around his neck and walks back, remembering the way faintly, but when he gets there the building is burned to the ground.

His parents don’t make it out, and Marvin is alone.

He gets by with magic tricks, performing on street corners for money.  People like him because he’s cute, and his tricks are wacky but funny, so he makes enough for a meal a day.  He’s lonely though, because he sleeps on street corners and benches, and it’s weird that people care enough to give but not enough to stay.

A man stops by when he’s performing a trick.

“Hey there little guy. Can you show me a trick?” Marvin bounces on his heels and nods with a grin, waving his wand to turn the man’s shirt into another color.

Instead, the shirt disappears completely.

“S-Sorry!” the last time a trick went wrong, he’d had to run because the man started yelling at him, but this man just laughs .

“That was amazing! Where’d you learn to do that?!” Marvin blinks in surprise at the happiness, but he grins.

“My Dad taught me!  He taught me everything I know!” he puffs out his chest proudly, showing off his cape.   The man’s laughter dies down, and he reaches out to ruffle Marvin’s hair, careful of the mask.  He still is somehow unfazed by his lack of a shirt.

“Cool!  Say, where is your Dad?” He asks, and Marvin freezes, looking down at the floor and shrugging his shoulders.

“There was a fire,” he mutters, and the man nods with sympathy, simply inclining his head as if to ask for another trick, to which Marvin eagerly obliges.

Eventually, Marvin learns that the man is named Chase, that he has a place where Marvin can stay, if he so chooses, and that he likes Marvin’s magic.

Marvin ends up in a room with someone named Jackieboy.

“Are your parents dead too?” The other kid asks, and Marvin nods.  Jackieboy walks over and gives him a hug.  “It’s your origin story,” He says, and somehow that makes Marvin feel better.

The child count in Chase’s house comes to two.

Robbie has known zombies since before he can remember.  He knows that they shuffle with pale, rotting skin, that they eat human flesh, and that they are anything but human.

His parents have taught him from a young age to shoot, to run, to hide, to steal, and to scavenge. He knows how to start fires with small sticks and he knows how to fire a pistol and blow off a zombie’s head.  He knows how dead people look and he knows how zombified people look.  His sister was shot because she was bitten.  He took the shot, and he can’t say he regrets it.

He does.

Being a child of an apocalypse is hard, because there’s no time for play.  Robbie is raised on blood and death and war and he doesn’t trust easy. He sticks to the people he knows, his parents, at the ripe age of seven being jaded and cold in ways that should be sad but are simply necessity in these times.

That doesn’t mean that he hates everyone, rather he keeps his heart locked away and his trust caged like a bird.  He wants to trust people, wants to make new friends, but he remembers the bullet lodged in his leg from when he met another camp of people and he knows how an apocalypse changes human decency.

His parents, at the very least, love him.  They’re a bit protective, especially since his sister died, but they also know he can hold his own to an extent.  That doesn’t stop them from babying him, but still.

Still, survival is survival, and there are moments where you have to choose things.

They’re zooming across the desert on a nearly broken motorbike, with hundreds of zombies on their tail, the horde a shuffling mass of groans and growls and open mouths, and while his Mom and Dad are actually sitting on the bike, Robbie is huddled in the basket on the back.  They’ve been slowing down, even with all the stuff they’ve been throwing out to get rid of excess weight.

“We’ve got to find something else to get rid off or we’re all dead!” He cries, watching the horde get closer and closer, and his Mom turns around, nodding her head.

“I love you sweetheart!” She shouts over the roar of the sputtering engine and the groans of the horde, and Robbie blinks in confusion.

“Love you too Mom, but what does that have to do wi-,”

His sentence is cut off when he’s pushed off of the bike.

Oh.

He doesn’t blame his parents, in the few moments he has to think before the horde catches him.  He doesn’t hate them, just accepts his fate with the knowledge that he would have doomed all of them should he have stayed.

Then, he hits the horde.

They don’t tear him apart like he expects, rather, they claw at his clothing and give him tiny bites, ones that don’t do anything.  There are, of course, the chunk taken from his ear and the large chomp on his shoulder, but after that they leave him to lay and turn on the ground.

It takes hours.  Hours laying on the ground, feeling his limbs grow heavy and his eyes glaze over and his skin goes pale and cold and his thoughts turn to mush and his heart stops beating but-

He doesn’t lose himself.

He doesn’t have time to, because when his head starts to melt into mindlessness he falls through the ground and hits a floor that isn’t ground, rather it’s soft like carpet. His eyes spot a portal above him, one that shows the harsh landscape of where he used to be before it closes, leaving a view of a ceiling.

“Marvin, what did you do?” He turns his head slowly, because rigor mortis, and sees two oddly dressed kids that look around his age.  The one who speaks is wearing red and is addressing the other who is wearing cat mask, a black cape, and is holding a black stick.

“I-I was trying to summon ice cream!” The kid-Marvin was it?-cries, confused but then excited, rushing over and leaning over Robbie’s face with wide eyes.  “Hello friend!  What’s your name?”

He manages to murmur “R’bbie,” before speech leaves him completely.

Finding out you’re in an alternate dimension where the zombie apocalypse has never occurred is odd, to say the least.  Robbie half expects this all to be a dream, where he’ll blink and find himself shambling towards someone, the pit of hunger in his stomach only satiated when he has their flesh in his mouth.

He ends up in the spare bedroom, and the bed is so soft, and he doesn’t have to get up early or sleep in shifts, and he can eat anything he wants.  It’s like a dream come true, almost.

Chase, the more Dad like person, seems to like him, but the Doctor, Schneep, seems worried, and that’s probably because Robbie salivates around people, and when he’s taken in a crowd he has to cross his arms to keep himself from reaching out and grabbing someone because he’s hungry.

The con of being an almost zombie, he supposes.

At one point, Schneep comes in with a plate of red meat, and the scent is intoxicating.  Robbie is drooling all over the table by the time the plate reaches him.

“Eat,” he says, and Robbie does, sloppy and messy and fast because it tastes like the most delicious thing ever.

Then he thinks about what it is, and he stops, feeling sick but at the same time feeling satisfied, and that’s the scary part.

“I did not kill anyone for zhe meat, if zhat is vhat you are worried about,” Schneep assures him, talking about organ donors and how it might not technically be legal but they’re already technically dead when he takes out the tissue, so no harm no foul.

Robbie appreciates the care more than he can say, but the quiet smile gets the point across.

He thinks he just might call this place home.

XXXX doesn’t know what to think of his parents, in all honesty.

He lives in a dingy apartment where the wallpaper is peeling off the walls, the carpet is frayed, they have a tv so old it’s in black and white, he listens to music through the radio, most of his dinners are take out or fast food, and the place smells like booze and failed dreams.

His parents argue constantly, but XXXX doesn’t listen to them, even when he hears the sound of skin hitting skin and pained cries from both parties.  He managed to snag a gameboy from a classmate-they got a DSi like two days later, so he doesn’t feel guilty-so he spends his days playing that and ignoring the world because it’s easier. That’s not to say he isn’t a kind person, no, he loves playing with the other kids and making friends, but sometimes he has to do some not so great things and deal with some not so great things.

He doesn’t think he’s a bad kid, not really.  Sure, he can be a bit cheeky in conversation, but he cleans his room best he can and is polite at dinner and does his work and tries to be nice and good, and he doesn’t flinch when beer bottles smash into walls around him.  His parents work hard, he knows, but money is tight because taking care of a kid is hard and expensive.  He realizes that his gameboy needs to be charged and that requires power and that costs money so he starts charging it during recess and lunch at school, sapping the power away because his parents pay for school and the school has plenty of money to spare.

He doesn’t notice the way his parents look at him when he isn’t paying attention, the deep seated hatred for a child they never wanted in the first place, he simply does his best to make them happy by cleaning up the broken glass and making them cards for every holiday and trying to love them because when they smile down on him it’s as if someone gave him the sun.

One weekend, they take him out in the car, and he’s so excited that he doesn’t even bring his gameboy; rather he watches the fields and towns fly past with wide, curious eyes because he’s never been in a car this long before, never been so far away from home, never seen his parents this happy because they keep smiling at each other and he just might explode from excitement.

They end up in front of some weird store.  It has pentagrams and other symbols in red in front of a black background, and all in all it’s pretty foreboding, but XXXX doesn’t even care, he wants to know what’s inside, what they’re here for, what’s happening, someone’s gotta tell him-

A man in a black cloak comes through the front door, looking down at him with scary eyes, and XXXX is hit by a wave of terror that he isn’t fond of, but his parents don’t seem fazed so he gives the man a kind smile and wave.

“He’s the virgin child?” The man asks his parents, and they both nod.

“Yeah, that’s XXXX, the…uhh…virgin child,” His father looks uncomfortable with the wording, at the very least, and XXXX tilts his head up and to the side in confusion, considering he doesn’t know what virgin means.

“Thirty thousand then?” His mother asks, rather demands actually, and the man pulls out three very large envelopes.

“Yes, ten thousand in each,” he hands her the money, and XXXX’s eyes go wide, because that’s an incredible amount of money!  He didn’t even think numbers could go that high! But then, why is his Mom getting so much money in the first place?

“Mom, what’s going on?” he asks politely, and his Mom kneels down to eye level, giving him a smile that feels stretched out.

“Honey, your Dad and I are going out for a while.  Listen to this nice man here, okay?  We’ll be back soon, I promise,” XXXX has never heard his Mom call him honey before in his life, has never heard her talk to him in such an affectionate way, but the words make his heart feel all funny and he really, really likes it, so he nods if only she’ll smile at him again.

She ruffles his hair, and his father waves him goodbye, before the two of them drive off in the direction of home.  XXXX is worried, but only slightly, because his Mom promised she’d be back, and Moms don’t lie, right?

The man ushers him inside, and the room is full of jars of weird stuff and crystals and books and more weird symbols.

“Come along, child,” The man pushes him past the first room and into the back, which is simply an empty room lit by candles with a pentagram in the middle, and XXXX thinks it’s all so cool.

Until it’s not, because he’s being shoved into the middle of said pentagram, and suddenly the man is holding a knife.

He screams, kicking and punching because the man is scary and he wants away he wants out, but a strong knee holds his chest to the ground and his arms and legs are weak, only seven years old and powerless against the cloaked man who only gives him a mad smile.

“Mom!  Mommy please help me come back please Mo-!” And his voice is cut in the most literal of senses when the blade of the knife drags across his throat, and hot blood crawls into his mouth as he goes limp on the floor, twitching as the room spins and blurs and all he can hear is the man saying some weird words before the world goes dark.

He opens his eyes in a black void, floating in dead space before a bright green human figure appears out of it nowhere.  They have long horns and sharp claws and teeth, with eyes as black as complete darkness, and their expression is one of sick joy before they see him.

“Fucking dammit, a kid?! The caster couldn’t have chosen literally any other example of a virgin?! Seriously?!”  Everything hurts, and XXXX doesn’t have time to dissect the weird person’s words as they groan. “I have one line people!  One line I don’t cross, and I am Anti-Kid Killing!” The green person sighs, floating over to XXXX with bored eyes.  “Look kid, I don’t like this anymore than you do. The guy who cast this spell needed a virgin sacrifice so he could become a demon or whatever, and one of us has to seal the deal.  I was around, so I showed up expecting some teenager or an adult who’s just not into sex, and I get you,” XXXX hacks up blood as a response, and the person rolls their eyes best they can considering they have no pupils for a point of reference.  

“Okay, so I got a deal for you.  I keep you alive, kill the caster and turn you into a demon of sorts, and occasionally I get your body to use.  Sound fair?” XXXX isn’t quite sure what’s going on but he wants the pain to stop, wants everything to go away and wants the taste of blood out of his mouth.

As if the weird person can read his mind, they give him an extra push.  “C’mon, it’s painless,” the words are said with a crooked smile.

XXXX takes their hand, and the void swallows him whole.

He wakes up with bloody hands holding a knife, and the man is lying dead in front of him.  His eyes are gone, laying beside him, and when Anti looks at his wrists he sees a pentagram on each one.

‘Just a little bit of binding symbol, don’t worry about it’ XXXX jumps after hearing the voice come from in his head, and he recognizes it as the guy from earlier.  ‘Don’t mind me, I’ll just be around.’

XXXX isn’t sure what to do, but his Mom said she’d be back for him, so he washes himself off and waits, hoping she won’t freak out over the fact that the whites of his eyes have gone black, his teeth have grown sharp, his ears are pointy, and he has a large scar on his neck.

It occurs to him, two days later, that she’s never coming back.

Bitterness tightens his mouth into a scowl when he leaves the building, bandages covering his wrists and the scar on his neck because he doesn’t want people to see, and his heart grows cold because it all clicks into place with painful clarity, the money and the lies and how happy his parents were when they drove to the place and XXXX wants to scream, fury making his vision blurry.

It’s not tears, he swears.

A few weeks pass where he ends up stealing food and water from stores, slipping in because he’s sly and no one notices him, but one day he hears the voice in his head say something like ‘Gotta take the wheel, take a break’ before the world turns black and he wakes up in front of someone else who no longer has eyes, hands bloody as he backs away and runs off into another alleyway.

He sits on the ground and draws with the blood on his hands because he has nothing else to do, but a man in a grey cap spots him.

“Hey kid, are you alri-oh,” And the man sees the knife, so XXXX is on the defensive, backing away with barred teeth and trembling hands.

“G͏o̴ ͟a͟w̷a-,”

“Did they deserve it?”

XXXX stops, tilting his head to the side at the question.

“W̕h̕a̕t?”

“Did the person you killed deserve it?” the man asks, and XXXX shrugs, because he honestly doesn’t know.  The man stares at him for a long time, and XXXX is just about to try and sneak away before the man holds out his hand.

“Need a place to stay?” And XXXX is floored by the question.

He nods.

Later that night he is asked for a name, and it is then that he realizes that he cannot recall his name. His memories are fuzzy, and whenever someone calls him by name in their voice is distorted so that it is indecipherable.  For a moment he’s worried he’ll have to explain that, but then-

I’m Anti-Kid Killing

He says Anti, and the man, Chase, just smiles.

Suspicious.

He ends up in a room with a guy named Robbie, a zombie it turns out, and Anti laughs because he’s a demon and aren’t they a pair, even with the vice in his chest causing caustic comments to spew from his mouth every other sentence.  Jackieboy and Marvin are both interesting and annoying, and Schneep wisely doesn’t trust him.

Chase is…weirdly kind, and Anti doesn’t trust them because people who you trust come back to bite you and adults always trick you can because he won’t let himself be fooled by anyone again.

But this is a house that he lives in now, and it’s, at the very least, not terrible

There are four new, strange children at their house, and the two adults aren’t quite sure what to make of the chaos, of the craziness.

Chase and Schneep work double-time, overtime and have sleepless nights sometimes because money is tight and it’s hard and it’s tiring but-

But the house is full now, at least.

The house is full.

[tevintermagisterium-blog]

✩ ❤️❤️❤️❤️ All of 'em? Or just pick whoever idfk

OH BOY THIS IS GONNA BE LONG!! :’D

Disagreements:

Who is more likely to raise their voice?: BothWho threatens to leave but never actually does?: AlnifenenWho actually keeps their word and leaves?: LithaldorenWho trashes the house?: AlnifenenDo either of them get physical?: Shoving and pinning to walls, grabbing bodies etcHow often do they argue/disagree?: at the start - every other day. As time goes on, rarely. When Alnifenen is about to leave for war: Every night. When he returns: Once in a blue moon.Who is the first to apologise?: Alnifenen.

Sex:

Who is on top?: HAH!! AlexanderWho is on the bottom?: Lithaldoren…Who has the strangest desires?:…… I don’t think we can judge eitherAny kinks?:…… … …… HAHAHAHAA-Who’s dominant in bed?: AlnifenenIs head ever in the equation?: more times than notIf so, who is better at performing it?: …. they’re legit both tied to being sex workers - so… I MEAN-Ever had sex in public?: … thats illegal. (yes.)Who moans the most?: LithaldorenWho leaves the most marks?: Thats the annual competitionWho screams the loudest?: LithaldorenWho is the more experienced of the two?: That depends on what you classify as experienceDo they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’?: Make love.Rough or soft?: … yes.How long do they usually last?: as long as they desire, but usually i’d cap at 3 hours.Is protection used?: I’d assume both get tested monthly/bimonthly. no.Does it ever get boring?: They have enough ways to spice things upWhere is the strangest place they’d have sex?:… a hated teaches desk

Family:

Do your muses plan on having children/or have children?: have/did planIf so, how many children do your muses want/have?: has one, wouldn’t mind anotherWho is the favorite parent?: Alnifenen, duhWho is the authoritative parent?: Alexander.. stillWho is more likely to allow the children to have a day off school?: ALEXANDERWho lets the children indulge in sweets and junk food when the other isn’t around?: Alnifenen you’re fuckin loosing right now sweetieWho turns up to extra curricular activities to support their children?: both.Who goes to parent teacher interviews?: LithaldorenWho changes the diapers?: Lithaldoren to his demiseWho gets up in the middle of the night to feed the baby?: Lithaldoren got used to it.Who spends the most time with the children?: Dependant on timezones.Who packs their lunch boxes?: Alexander, usuallyWho gives their children ‘the talk’?:…. SWEETIE SHE LIVES IN A HOUSE WITH TWO VERY SEXUALLY ACTIVE PARENTS SHE AIN’T NEEDIN THE TALK SHE CAN HEAR THE TALK EVERY OTHER SUNDAYWho cleans up after the kids?: bothWho worries the most?: …. both, though Lith will never admit itWho are the children more likely to learn their first swear word from?:…. yes.

Affection:

Who likes to cuddle?: Alexander, Lith won’t admit suchWho is the little spoon?: LithaldorenWho gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places?: AlexanderWho struggles to keep their hands to themself?: ALEXANDERRRHow long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable?: Pfft, dependant - if its in bed, can last all night, more warmth the better, if during TV - probably 2 hours?Who gives the most kisses?: Alexander… Lith just enjoys kissing backWhat is their favourite non-sexual activity?:…. cuddling, family days out, movie nights, video game adventures, sharing showers/baths… hair braiding.Where is their favourite place to cuddle?: ????anyplacetocuddleisthebestWho is more likely to playfully grope the other?: Alexander >_>How often do they get time to themselves?: oh so very little, hence the.. inappropriate shit and poor Aurora.. 

Sleeping:

Who snores?If both do, who snores the loudest?: Lith doesn’t snore, maybe mews rarely.Do they share a bed or sleep separately?: oh share a bed come on nowIf they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart?: Cozy up. If there was an argument Lithaldoren sleeps on the couchWho talks in their sleep?: both have PTSD - it’s likely either could.What do they wear to bed?: Alexander… I’d assume just underwear or nothing in the summer. Lith, boxers and oversized sweatshirts.Are either of your muses insomniacs?: Yes. I believe both of them are.Can sleeping pills be found by the bedside?: Lithaldoren is immune, Alexander has some just in case however.Do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side?:… fucking entangled. If not, Lith likes to bury his nose in the others chest/back. Who wakes up with bed hair?: Lithaldoren.Who wakes up first?: LithaldorenWho prepares breakfast in bed for the other?: Can depend on birthdays/events, but Lithaldoren oftenWhat is their favourite sleeping position?: Lith - Fetal positon - I’d like to imagine Alnifenen had more than once wrapped around that.Who hogs the sheets?: OH LITHALDORENDo they set an alarm each night?: Lith doesn’t, Alex mightCan a television be found in their bedroom?: yuppWho has nightmares?: both.Who has ridiculous dreams?: AlexanderWho sprawls out and takes up most of the bed?: AlexanderWho makes the bed?: bothWhat time is bed time?:…. it can vary.Any routines/rituals before bed?:… nothing but the usual teeth etc etc?Who’s the grumpiest when they wake up?: Lithaldoren.

Work:

Who is the busiest?: ??? Lith maybe?Who rakes in the highest income?: AlexanderAre any of your muses unemployed?: Lithaldoren, sort of.Who takes the most sick days?: PFFFT if either of them ain’t missing a head they’re at work/working.Who is more likely to turn up late to work?: AlexanderWho sucks up to their boss?:…. yes.What are their jobs?: Lithaldoren - studies at uni. Alexander - self-defense center for the youthWho stresses the most?: Lithaldoren.Do your muses enjoy or despise their careers/occupations?: Lithaldoren is dependant. Alexander, is fine.Are your muses financially stable?: Lithaldoren picks up odd bar jobs to assure they can afford life.

Home:

Who does the washing?: LithWho takes out the trash?: AlexWho does the ironing?: LithWho does the cooking?: LithWho is more likely to burn the house down just trying?: AlexanderWho is messier?:… AlexanderWho leaves the toilet roll empty?: Alexander (may be murdered)Who leaves their dirty clothes on the floor?: depends. are they drunk?Who forgets to flush the toilet?: AuroraWho is the prankster around the house?: Alexander + Aurora.Who loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere?: Lithaldoren doesn’t driveeeWho mows the lawn?: AlexanderWho answers the telephone?: AlexanderWho does the vacuuming?: LithaldorenWho does the groceries?: LithaldorenWho takes the longest to shower?: LithaldorenWho spends the most time in the bathroom?: Alexander

Miscellaneous:

Is money a problem?: nopeHow many cars do they own?: one/twoDo they own their home or do they rent?: OwnDo they live near the coast or deep in the countryside?:… city??Do they live in the city or in the country? : CityDo they enjoy their surroundings?: yeah?? but the countryside would be nicer for pieceWhat’s their song?: La vie en roseWhat do they do when they’re away from each other?: Lithaldoren whines a lot to himself and plays voice messages over and over; Alexander fills his phone with stupid selfies and videos of the kids doing everything that annoys himWhere did they first meet?: That oh so infamous tattoo parlourHow did they first meet?: Fuckin fate thats for sure; Alexander didn’t trust Aurelian Titus for good reasons when he came with Lith into said parlourWho spends the most money when out shopping?: AlexanderWho’s more likely to flash their assets?:…. Lithaldoren..Who finds it amusing when the other trips over?: LITH BY FAR NEVER LETS THE OTHER FORGET..Any mental issues?:……. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA OMFG HA…. Who’s terrified of bugs?:… Alexander. don’t lie to meWho kills the spiders around the house?: AlexanderTheir favourite place?: … solitudeWho pays the bills?: Lithaldoren sorts out taxesDo they have any fears for their future?:… Lithaldoren is petrified it could all just end.. because he doesn’t know love. he’s scared Alexander is going to leave him again.Who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner?: AlexanderWho uses up all of the hot water?: LithaldorenWho’s the tallest?: Alexander is marrying a midgetWho’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other?: AlexanderWho wanders around in their underwear?: AlexWho sings the loudest when singing along to the radio?:… Alex + AuroraWhat do they tease each other about?: Lithaldoren’s extremely hot temper and how easy the other two can annoy himWho is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times?: Lithaldoren when Alex tries on his clothesDo they have mutual friends?:….. no. ._.Who crushed first?: …… It’d like to assume Alexander since Lith despised himAny alcohol or substance related problems?:……… dude I can’t laugh at these againWho is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am?: both.. poor AuroraWho swears the most?: Lithaldoren

Disagreements:

Who is more likely to raise their voice?: CaeciliusWho threatens to leave but never actually does?: CaeciliusWho actually keeps their word and leaves?: GabrielWho trashes the house?: GabrielDo either of them get physical?: Pinnings and slamming doorsHow often do they argue/disagree?: Eh. Start - It’s all new fresh love. Just before Cae’s coming out - frequent. After, rarelyWho is the first to apologise?: Caecilius/ or that cheesy both at the same time

Sex:

Who is on top?: Caecilius Who is on the bottom?: GabrielWho has the strangest desires?:…. GabrielAny kinks?:…….. ._. CAE IS A MAN OF GOD-Who’s dominant in bed?: Caecilius… lmfaoIs head ever in the equation?: fucking sword swallowing is the easier answer to this.If so, who is better at performing it?: Oh Gabriel - though lets be real CAE GOT GOOD-Ever had sex in public?:…. define public-Who moans the most?: GabrielWho leaves the most marks?: Start of relationship - Gabriel, Later - CaeciliusWho screams the loudest?: GabrielWho is the more experienced of the two?: GabrielllDo they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’?: MAKE THE MOST PUREST OF ANGEL LOVE WTFRough or soft?:… we on about the progression cause like- both?How long do they usually last?: Depends, they in a rush??Is protection used?: Tested frequentlyDoes it ever get boring?: … MAN OF GOD- they have their waysWhere is the strangest place they’d have sex?:…. If they ain’t fucked in a church they’re doing Cae wrong.

Family:

Do your muses plan on having children/or have children?: Caecilius is eternally screaming wanting childrenIf so, how many children do your muses want/have?:… 2/3??Who is the favorite parent?: Oh GabrielWho is the authoritative parent?: CaeciliusWho is more likely to allow the children to have a day off school?: Cae is easily manipulated but GabeWho lets the children indulge in sweets and junk food when the other isn’t around?: GabeeeWho turns up to extra curricular activities to support their children?: BothWho goes to parent teacher interviews?: BothWho changes the diapers?: CaeWho gets up in the middle of the night to feed the baby?: GabeWho spends the most time with the children?: Cae (only because he’s a teacher)Who packs their lunch boxes?: Cae, again for the same reason ^^^Who gives their children ‘the talk’?:…. Gabe, Cae just fucks up and stuttersWho cleans up after the kids?: CaeWho worries the most?: GabeWho are the children more likely to learn their first swear word from?: GABRIEL

Affection:

Who likes to cuddle?:…. You can’t separate them.Who is the little spoon?: GabrielWho gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places?: GABRIEL. touching his dick during lessons GOD DAMN ITWho struggles to keep their hands to themself?: Yes.How long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable?: Maybe two hours maxWho gives the most kisses?: GabrielWhat is their favourite non-sexual activity?: Snuggles during moviesWhere is their favourite place to cuddle?:…. ??? SolitudeWho is more likely to playfully grope the other?: yes.How often do they get time to themselves?: Quite alot

Sleeping:

Who snores?: neitherIf both do, who snores the loudest?: yes.Do they share a bed or sleep separately?: shareeeddddIf they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart?: Cae likes to cozy upWho talks in their sleep?: CaeWhat do they wear to bed?: Cae - boxer briefs, Gabriel - EVERY SINGLE CUTE PIECE OF CLOTHING IN EXISTANCEAre either of your muses insomniacs?: CaeciliusCan sleeping pills be found by the bedside?: Caecilius uses them oftenDo they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side?: Caecilus likes to bearhug in his sleepWho wakes up with bed hair?: GabriellWho wakes up first?: CaeWho prepares breakfast in bed for the other?: GabeWhat is their favourite sleeping position?: Any which fit the dogs also on the bedWho hogs the sheets?: GabrielDo they set an alarm each night?: Only if Cae needs to get up for school trips etcCan a television be found in their bedroom?: YuppppWho has nightmares?: bothWho has ridiculous dreams?: CaeciliusWho sprawls out and takes up most of the bed?: The doggoWho makes the bed?: CaeWhat time is bed time?: For Gabe - late… 1am often. Cae - depends, is the chronic pain so bad?Any routines/rituals before bed?: Gabe: skin routine, teeth, ye. Cae: teeth, check his stubble is in check, the end.Who’s the grumpiest when they wake up?: Gabriel

Work:

Who is the busiest?: CaeciliusWho rakes in the highest income?: GabrielAre any of your muses unemployed?: nope1Who takes the most sick days?: GabrielWho is more likely to turn up late to work?: GabeWho sucks up to their boss?: CaeciliusWhat are their jobs?: tattoo artist and junior teacherWho stresses the most?: CaeciliusDo your muses enjoy or despise their careers/occupations?: Whilst Cae sometimes has crisis’ about it. They both enjoy their occupationsAre your muses financially stable?: More well off that poor.

Home:

Who does the washing?: CaeWho takes out the trash?: CaeWho does the ironing?: GabeWho does the cooking?: CaeWho is more likely to burn the house down just trying?: gabe.. sorry babeWho is messier?:…. yes.Who leaves the toilet roll empty?: CaeWho leaves their dirty clothes on the floor?: CaeWho forgets to flush the toilet?: Neither?? they weren’t raised in a barnWho is the prankster around the house?: GABRIEL. fucking placing his keys in the lower shelves so he has to bend all the way downWho loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere?: CaeciliusWho mows the lawn?: caeWho answers the telephone?: GabeWho does the vacuuming?: GabeWho does the groceries?: CaeWho takes the longest to shower?: GabeWho spends the most time in the bathroom?: Gabe

Miscellaneous:

Is money a problem?: nope!How many cars do they own?: twoDo they own their home or do they rent?: RentDo they live near the coast or deep in the countryside?: CoastDo they live in the city or in the country?: CityDo they enjoy their surroundings?: Cae misses the ocean at times, and home in general but it’s pleasantWhat’s their song?: Dream a little dream of meWhat do they do when they’re away from each other?: Cae sulks and just plods around the room sendy cheesy texts every other hour making sure the other is okay, Gabe, whines and sulks until they reuniteWhere did they first meet?: ParlourHow did they first meet?: Cae needed a sleeve.. badlyWho spends the most money when out shopping?: GabrielWho’s more likely to flash their assets?: GABRIELWho finds it amusing when the other trips over?: Gabe..Any mental issues?: Gabe - PTSD(???) Cae - I am not sure to what templars face is the same, but often just depressionWho’s terrified of bugs?: gabrielWho kills the spiders around the house?: Cae, but doesn’t kill. sets them freeTheir favourite place?: Cae - the beach. Gabe - the club???Who pays the bills?: CaeDo they have any fears for their future?: Cae; that his home country will… be the death of him. and that he can’t protect Gabriel. Or that… for sure.. he is never going to be good enough, and will be replaced.. instantly. (all frequent worries)Who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner?: CaeciliusWho uses up all of the hot water?: GabrielWho’s the tallest?:…. CAEWho’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other?: GabrielWho wanders around in their underwear?: gabrielWho sings the loudest when singing along to the radio?: Both sing togetherWhat do they tease each other about?: Cae: Gabe’s height. Gabe: Cae’s height (also i’d like to imagine his horrific english when he first moved over.)Who is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times?: GabrielDo they have mutual friends?:…. Literally Cae’s only friends are Gabriels, besides some students mothersWho crushed first?:… technically, Gabriel, just because Cae was horrifiedAny alcohol or substance related problems?:… no?Who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am?: gabrielWho swears the most?: gabriel

Disagreements:

Who is more likely to raise their voice?: RaphWho threatens to leave but never actually does?: NateWho actually keeps their word and leaves?:RaphWho trashes the house?: RaphhhhDo either of them get physical?: oh bOY RAPHAELHow often do they argue/disagree?: So god damn rarelyWho is the first to apologise?: Nate

Sex:

Who is on top?: RaphWho is on the bottom?: NateWho has the strangest desires?: Pure chantry boy and fiesty reaver. I’ll let you decideAny kinks?:…yes.Who’s dominant in bed?: RAPHAELIs head ever in the equation?:…. yes.If so, who is better at performing it?: RaphaelEver had sex in public?:… Listen okay I’d like to think Nate could have lost his virginity in the chantry.Who moans the most?: Nathaniel - muffled.Who leaves the most marks?: RaphaelWho screams the loudest?: NATHANIELWho is the more experienced of the two?: RaphaelDo they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’?:…. baby.Rough or soft?:… soft boy and rough warrior. it’s a mix and match.How long do they usually last?: It increased during the duration of their relationshipIs protection used?: SometimesDoes it ever get boring?: Oh noWhere is the strangest place they’d have sex?:…. like I said, behind a statue of the andraste herself

Family:

Do your muses plan on having children/or have children?: ……maybeIf so, how many children do your muses want/have?: Nate would like one or two, but it’s dependantWho is the favorite parent?: RaphWho is the authoritative parent?: RaphWho is more likely to allow the children to have a day off school?: Nate, but he’d homeschoolWho lets the children indulge in sweets and junk food when the other isn’t around?: RaphWho turns up to extra curricular activities to support their children?: NathanielWho goes to parent teacher interviews?: NateWho changes the diapers?: NateWho gets up in the middle of the night to feed the baby?: NATEWho spends the most time with the children?: RaphaelWho packs their lunch boxes?: NateWho gives their children ‘the talk’?: RaphWho cleans up after the kids?: NateWho worries the most?: Nate.. about both parent and childWho are the children more likely to learn their first swear word from?:…. IS THIS EVEN A QUESTION???

Affection:

Who likes to cuddle?:…. YesWho is the little spoon?: …. it’s odd to say RaphWho gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places?: RAPHWho struggles to keep their hands to themself?: RaphaelHow long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable?: … depends, are the chantry sisters around?Who gives the most kisses?: RaphaelWhat is their favourite non-sexual activity?: Holding hands :3Where is their favourite place to cuddle?: The chantry gardens at night/park at nightWho is more likely to playfully grope the other?: RaphaelHow often do they get time to themselves?: frequent!

Sleeping:

Who snores?: RaphIf both do, who snores the loudest?: Raph, but quietlyDo they share a bed or sleep separately?:… Depends?? Do they have the bed to do so? If not, they’d find a way to snuggle on one single bedIf they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart?: Cozy upWho talks in their sleep?: RaphaelWhat do they wear to bed?: Nate - full set of pj’s, Raph, i’d assume light clothingAre either of your muses insomniacs?: Raph, if eitherCan sleeping pills be found by the bedside?: Yeah, just in caseDo they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side?: Raph, wraps his arms around - Nate holds onto his armsWho wakes up with bed hair?: NateeeeWho wakes up first?: NathanielWho prepares breakfast in bed for the other?: NateWhat is their favourite sleeping position?: SpooningWho hogs the sheets?: RaphaelDo they set an alarm each night?: nopeCan a television be found in their bedroom?: No???Who has nightmares?: BothWho has ridiculous dreams?: RaphaelWho sprawls out and takes up most of the bed?: …Raphael, Nate is too used to sleeping in the tiniest of spacesWho makes the bed?: NateWhat time is bed time?: Nate, 10pm, Raph, 3amAny routines/rituals before bed?: Nate - to pray and teeth etc??Who’s the grumpiest when they wake up?: RAPH

Work:

Who is the busiest?: RaphaelWho rakes in the highest income?: RaphAre any of your muses unemployed?: NopeeeWho takes the most sick days?: RaphWho is more likely to turn up late to work?: RaphWho sucks up to their boss?: NeitherWhat are their jobs?: MMA - ReverendWho stresses the most?: Nate, ABOUT RAPH.Do your muses enjoy or despise their careers/occupations?: Nate adores his, I am sure Raph doesn’t despise itAre your muses financially stable?: They make do

Home:

Who does the washing?: NateWho takes out the trash?: NateWho does the ironing?: NateWho does the cooking?: bothWho is more likely to burn the house down just trying?: RaphWho is messier?: RaphWho leaves the toilet roll empty?: RaphWho leaves their dirty clothes on the floor?: YesWho forgets to flush the toilet?: AGAIN THEY WEREN’T BORN IN A BARNWho is the prankster around the house?: RAPHAELWho loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere?: RaphWho mows the lawn?: RaphWho answers the telephone?: RaphWho does the vacuuming?: NateWho does the groceries?: NateWho takes the longest to shower?: NateWho spends the most time in the bathroom?: Nate

Miscellaneous:

Is money a problem?: not entirely soHow many cars do they own?: OneDo they own their home or do they rent?: RentDo they live near the coast or deep in the countryside?: CountrysideDo they live in the city or in the country?: CityDo they enjoy their surroundings?: Nate finds it anxiety filled but likes it enoughWhat’s their song?: woodkid - I love youWhat do they do when they’re away from each other?: Nate prays and still isn’t used to the emptiness in his heart returning. Raph.. fights the days awayWhere did they first meet?: … Hospital, with Nate’s charity work.How did they first meet?: Nate was.. assuring everything was fine and well, helping the nurses.Who spends the most money when out shopping?: RaphaelWho’s more likely to flash their assets?: RaphaelWho finds it amusing when the other trips over?: RaphAny mental issues?: PTSD and family issuesWho’s terrified of bugs?: NeitherWho kills the spiders around the house?: NeitherTheir favourite place?: GardensWho pays the bills?: NateDo they have any fears for their future?: Where Raph’s job will end themWho’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner?: RaphaelWho uses up all of the hot water?: NateWho’s the tallest?: NateWho’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other?: RaphWho wanders around in their underwear?: RaphWho sings the loudest when singing along to the radio?: RaphaelWhat do they tease each other about?: Nate as his timidness, Raph and his height considering the oddsWho is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times?: NateDo they have mutual friends?: YuppWho crushed first?: ….. I don’t knowAny alcohol or substance related problems?: For raphWho is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am?: RAPHWho swears the most?: Raph

Disagreements:

Who is more likely to raise their voice? IzaakWho threatens to leave but never actually does? MariaWho actually keeps their word and leaves? IzaakWho trashes the house? BothDo either of them get physical? Yupp, slapping of arms, slamming of doorsHow often do they argue/disagree? decreases as times go onWho is the first to apologise? Izaak

Sex:

Who is on top?… Izaak (He isn’t afraid to be pegged though)Who is on the bottom? MariaWho has the strangest desires?… YesAny kinks?…. yesWho’s dominant in bed? IZAAK, wouldn’t mind Maria being thoughIs head ever in the equation?: always pleasantIf so, who is better at performing it?:…. Izaak is yet too prove himselfEver had sex in public?: NoWho moans the most?: MariaWho leaves the most marks? IzaakWho screams the loudest? MariaWho is the more experienced of the two?: IzaakDo they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’?:…. yesRough or soft?: … yes, Izaak is so scared to hurt her the first timeHow long do they usually last?: an hourIs protection used?: yup, until.. it isn’t.. AND BAM TWINS-Does it ever get boring? ….. *points to giant parents/qunari who ran fog warriors* I THINK THEY GOT ENOUGH CULTURE AND TRAINING FOR IT TO NO-Where is the strangest place they’d have sex?… I can’t think??

Family:

Do your muses plan on having children/or have children?: hell ye!If so, how many children do your muses want/have?: two/threeWho is the favorite parent?: IzaakWho is the authoritative parent?: MariaWho is more likely to allow the children to have a day off school?: IzaakWho lets the children indulge in sweets and junk food when the other isn’t around?: IzaakWho turns up to extra curricular activities to support their children?: MariaWho goes to parent teacher interviews?: IzaakWho changes the diapers?: BothWho gets up in the middle of the night to feed the baby?: IzaakWho spends the most time with the children?: MariaWho packs their lunch boxes?: MariaWho gives their children ‘the talk’?: IzaakWho cleans up after the kids?: MariaWho worries the most? MARIA - Izaak sorts out those worries.. physicallyWho are the children more likely to learn their first swear word from?: IZAAK

Affection:

Who likes to cuddle?: mariaWho is the little spoon? mariaWho gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places? IzaakWho struggles to keep their hands to themself?  IzaakHow long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable? an hourWho gives the most kisses? MariaWhat is their favourite non-sexual activity?family days out in the park/ childrens soccer/football matches/sports eventsWhere is their favourite place to cuddle? The sofaWho is more likely to playfully grope the other? MariaHow often do they get time to themselves? Not so often as they’d like

Sleeping:

Who snores?: IzaakIf both do, who snores the loudest? It ain’t loud but it’s thereDo they share a bed or sleep separately? sHARE (Izaak would unadmittedly be upset if they didn’t)If they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart? cozy up (to izaak’s false complains)Who talks in their sleep? IzaakWhat do they wear to bed? Izaak - nothing/boxers - Maria - AGAIN.. THE CUTEST SHIT YOU’VE EVER SEENAre either of your muses insomniacs?: Izaak isCan sleeping pills be found by the bedside?: so many empty boxs but they’re beginning to not workDo they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side? Izaak groans when he finds himself, bicep as her pillow, arm around her waistWho wakes up with bed hair?: MARIAWho wakes up first?: SwitchesWho prepares breakfast in bed for the other?: Izaak….. acts like it just magically appearedWhat is their favourite sleeping position?: Subtle spoonsWho hogs the sheets?: MariaDo they set an alarm each night?: Ye!Can a television be found in their bedroom?: oh yesWho has nightmares?: IzaakWho has ridiculous dreams? MariaWho sprawls out and takes up most of the bed?: mariaWho makes the bed? MariaWhat time is bed time? late nights/early morningsAny routines/rituals before bed? just, share a shower together and teethWho’s the grumpiest when they wake up? Izaak

Work:

Who is the busiest? MariaWho rakes in the highest income? MariaAre any of your muses unemployed? NeitherWho takes the most sick days? IzaakWho is more likely to turn up late to work? IzaakWho sucks up to their boss? NeitherWhat are their jobs? Maria - nurse Izaak - Mechanic, to police force, to future navy (also get instagram sponsers prove me wrong)Who stresses the most? MariaDo your muses enjoy or despise their careers/occupations? Izaak does, hence the many switchesAre your muses financially stable?: OH MORE THAN BLOODY HELL

Home:

Who does the washing?: MariaWho takes out the trash? IzaakWho does the ironing?: MariaWho does the cooking?: BothWho is more likely to burn the house down just trying?: Izaak, pyromanic ordeals with special dishesWho is messier?: IzaakWho leaves the toilet roll empty? IzaakWho leaves their dirty clothes on the floor? IzaakWho forgets to flush the toilet? The twinsWho is the prankster around the house? THE TWINSWho loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere? MariaWho mows the lawn? IzaakWho answers the telephone? Both?Who does the vacuuming? MariaWho does the groceries? MariaWho takes the longest to shower? MariaWho spends the most time in the bathroom? Maria

Miscellaneous:

Is money a problem? Oh lords noHow many cars do they own?: twoDo they own their home or do they rent?: ownDo they live near the coast or deep in the countryside?: City scape??Do they live in the city or in the country?: CityDo they enjoy their surroundings? it’s so pleasant considering their wealthWhat’s their song?: Kings Of Leon - Use SomebodyWhat do they do when they’re away from each other? Maria, whines and has hissy-fits. Izaak.. fights his days away in the gym ringWhere did they first meet?: Hospital, due to bar fights and serious external injuries.How did they first meet? She tended to him with harsh attitudes due to the cause of injuryWho spends the most money when out shopping? Both of them tbhWho’s more likely to flash their assets?… Both of them, lmaoWho finds it amusing when the other trips over? YesAny mental issues?: PTSD and family issues all aroundWho’s terrified of bugs? MariaWho kills the spiders around the house? Izaak releases them into the wildTheir favourite place? the city mallWho pays the bills? MariaDo they have any fears for their future? Izaak is afraid he is only going to do more harmWho’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner? IzaakWho uses up all of the hot water? IzaakWho’s the tallest?IZAAKKKKKWho’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other? IzaakWho wanders around in their underwear? BothWho sings the loudest when singing along to the radio? oH TOGETHER - But Izaak makes it a competitionWhat do they tease each other about? Maria - her small height, Izaak - His temperWho is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times?: Neither. fam they’re stunningDo they have mutual friends? oh hell yeahWho crushed first? MariaAny alcohol or substance related problems? Izaak DID. is fine nowWho is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am? IZAAK.Who swears the most? Izaak

Disagreements:

Who is more likely to raise their voice? JacobWho threatens to leave but never actually does? AmaliaWho actually keeps their word and leaves? IzzyWho trashes the house? IzzyDo either of them get physical? Jacob slams doors, Amalia slaps arms gently, Izzy shovesHow often do they argue/disagree? Very rarelyWho is the first to apologise? Amalia

Sex:

Who is on top?…. Jacob/IzzyWho is on the bottom? AmaliaWho has the strangest desires? AmaliaAny kinks?… yesWho’s dominant in bed? Izzy/JacobIs head ever in the equation? OH HELL YEAH.If so, who is better at performing it? IzzyEver had sex in public? NoWho moans the most? AmaliaWho leaves the most marks? AmaliaWho screams the loudest? AmaliaWho is the more experienced of the two(three)? Izzy/JacobDo they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’? yesRough or soft? yes.How long do they usually last? hoursIs protection used? yup!Does it ever get boring? nah!Where is the strangest place they’d have sex? probably an arcade?

Family:

Do your muses plan on having children/or have children? I mean.. maybe?If so, how many children do your muses want/have? one or twoWho is the favorite parent? AmaliaWho is the authoritative parent? JacobWho is more likely to allow the children to have a day off school? JacobWho lets the children indulge in sweets and junk food when the other isn’t around? AmaliaWho turns up to extra curricular activities to support their children? JacobWho goes to parent teacher interviews? IzzyWho changes the diapers? AmaliaWho gets up in the middle of the night to feed the baby? JacobWho spends the most time with the children? AmaliaWho packs their lunch boxes? AmaliaWho gives their children ‘the talk’? Izzy/JacobWho cleans up after the kids? JacobWho worries the most? AmaliaWho are the children more likely to learn their first swear word from? Izzy

Affection:

Who likes to cuddle? AMALIAAAWho is the little spoon? IzzyWho gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places? Izzy/AmaliaWho struggles to keep their hands to themself? IzzyHow long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable? not longWho gives the most kisses? AmaliaWhat is their favourite non-sexual activity? long walksWhere is their favourite place to cuddle? anywhere they can all fitWho is more likely to playfully grope the other?  IzzyHow often do they get time to themselves? not often enough

Sleeping:

Who snores? JacobIf both do, who snores the loudest? enough the other two shove him awakeDo they share a bed or sleep separately? share when they canIf they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart? Cozy up to eventually seperateWho talks in their sleep? AmaliaWhat do they wear to bed? Amalia - long shirt pj’s and girl shorts, Izzy, the most.. perfect lingerie you’ve ever seen.. Jacob, boxers/nothing.Are either of your muses insomniacs? Jacob/IzzyCan sleeping pills be found by the bedside? yes! Amalia keeps them suppliedDo they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side? Depends on the seasonsWho wakes up with bed hair? All of themWho wakes up first? JacobWho prepares breakfast in bed for the other? JacobWhat is their favourite sleeping position? just a line of hugs/all hug the middleWho hogs the sheets? AmaliaDo they set an alarm each night? Jacob doesCan a television be found in their bedroom? heck yes!Who has nightmares? IzzyWho has ridiculous dreams? JacobWho sprawls out and takes up most of the bed? AmaliaWho makes the bed? AmaliaWhat time is bed time? depends - Jacob, 11pm, Izzy and Amalia - 12pm- onwardsAny routines/rituals before bed? Just the usual hygiene?Who’s the grumpiest when they wake up? AMALIA.

Work:

Who is the busiest? JacobWho rakes in the highest income? Jacob/IzzyAre any of your muses unemployed? Nope!Who takes the most sick days? Neither, all born in constant work enviromentsWho is more likely to turn up late to work? AmaliaWho sucks up to their boss? JacobWhat are their jobs? Jacob + Izzy - Police precincts. Amalia - An Aids teacher.Who stresses the most? IzzyDo your muses enjoy or despise their careers/occupations? All are rather happy Are your muses financially stable?: yup!

Home:

Who does the washing?: JacobWho takes out the trash? JacobWho does the ironing? AmaliaWho does the cooking? AmaliaWho is more likely to burn the house down just trying? Jacob..Who is messier? AmaliaWho leaves the toilet roll empty? jacobWho leaves their dirty clothes on the floor? jacobWho forgets to flush the toilet?…. they’re adultsWho is the prankster around the house? AMALIA AND IZZYWho loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere? JacobWho mows the lawn? JacobWho answers the telephone? IzzyWho does the vacuuming? IzzyWho does the groceries? JacobWho takes the longest to shower? AmaliaWho spends the most time in the bathroom? Amalia 

Miscellaneous:

Is money a problem? No?How many cars do they own? 2Do they own their home or do they rent? OwnDo they live near the coast or deep in the countryside?… coast?Do they live in the city or in the country? CityDo they enjoy their surroundings? yes???What’s their song? im… generally not sure of one: PAT!D - Girls girls boys?What do they do when they’re away from each other? A: Whines and complains - J: works his heart out - I: keeps a constant update and calls frequentlyWhere did they first meet? When the police went to teach students about the lawHow did they first meet?.. same class ^^^Who spends the most money when out shopping? Amalia (makeup is expencive)Who’s more likely to flash their assets? IzzyWho finds it amusing when the other trips over? Jacob.Any mental issues? PTSD’s, family matters etc etcWho’s terrified of bugs? AmaliaWho kills the spiders around the house? IzzyTheir favourite place? ArcadeWho pays the bills? IzzyDo they have any fears for their future? A: What her country would have in store/family thoughts, J: If he can’t please/lets work get in the way too often, I: If she becomes just like her familyWho’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner? IzzyWho uses up all of the hot water? AmaliaWho’s the tallest? JacobWho’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other? Izzy - AmaliaWho wanders around in their underwear? Amalia/IzzyWho sings the loudest when singing along to the radio? AmaliaWhat do they tease each other about? Amalia - her ditsyness, Izzy - How she’s generally like a queen, Jacob - his work ethnicWho is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times?: amalia and IzzyDo they have mutual friends? yup!Who crushed first?  AMALIA. INSTANTLY.Any alcohol or substance related problems? … wine???Who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am? none/IzzyWho swears the most? Izzy?

Disagreements:

Who is more likely to raise their voice? AurelienWho threatens to leave but never actually does? DanielWho actually keeps their word and leaves? AurelienWho trashes the house? AurelienDo either of them get physical? Grabbing and blocking off entrancesHow often do they argue/disagree? rarelyWho is the first to apologise? Aurelien

Sex:

Who is on top? Daniel..??Who is on the bottom? Either??Who has the strangest desires? AurelienAny kinks? …….pleasetieupaurelienwithhisweirdOrlesianoriginWho’s dominant in bed? …. Either.. again??Is head ever in the equation? YES???If so, who is better at performing it? DanEver had sex in public? NopeWho moans the most? …. bothWho leaves the most marks? AurelienWho screams the loudest? … AurelienWho is the more experienced of the two? neither/DanDo they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’? Make LoveRough or soft? SoftHow long do they usually last? 45 minutes?Is protection used? Yup, dependant on timelinesDoes it ever get boring? no, it’s usually a great laughWhere is the strangest place they’d have sex?… tattoo parlour?

Family:

Do your muses plan on having children/or have children? … it scares him but yes, Aurelien would like kidsIf so, how many children do your muses want/have? oneWho is the favorite parent? AurelienWho is the authoritative parent? DanWho is more likely to allow the children to have a day off school? DanWho lets the children indulge in sweets and junk food when the other isn’t around? AurelienWho turns up to extra curricular activities to support their children? DanielWho goes to parent teacher interviews? AurelienWho changes the diapers? DanWho gets up in the middle of the night to feed the baby? AurelienWho spends the most time with the children? BothWho packs their lunch boxes? DanWho gives their children ‘the talk’? DANWho cleans up after the kids? AurelienWho worries the most? DANIELWho are the children more likely to learn their first swear word from? Aurelien???

Affection:

Who likes to cuddle? AURELIENNNNWho is the little spoon? yes..Who gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places? AurelienWho struggles to keep their hands to themself?  AURELIENHow long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable? 30 minutes until Aurelien has to moveWho gives the most kisses? AurelienWhat is their favourite non-sexual activity? Simple lies in the parkWhere is their favourite place to cuddle? Park blanket/beachWho is more likely to playfully grope the other? DanHow often do they get time to themselves? frequently

Sleeping:

Who snores? NeitherIf both do, who snores the loudest?…Do they share a bed or sleep separately? ShareIf they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart? Lay apartWho talks in their sleep? AurelienWhat do they wear to bed? Aurelien - jockstraps, Dan - Long shirts/boxersAre either of your muses insomniacs? both?? maybe??Can sleeping pills be found by the bedside? nahDo they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side? Forehead to foreheadWho wakes up with bed hair? AURELIENWho wakes up first? DanWho prepares breakfast in bed for the other? DanielWhat is their favourite sleeping position? arms around one anothers waistsWho hogs the sheets? AurelinDo they set an alarm each night? Daniel doesCan a television be found in their bedroom? They’d be dead without itWho has nightmares? AURELIEN…. Who has ridiculous dreams? BothWho sprawls out and takes up most of the bed? AurelienWho makes the bed? AurelienWhat time is bed time? 11pmAny routines/rituals before bed? None besides.. usualWho’s the grumpiest when they wake up? Neither

Work:

Who is the busiest? DanielWho rakes in the highest income? DanAre any of your muses unemployed? not technicallyWho takes the most sick days? Aurelien, awful immune systemWho is more likely to turn up late to work? AurelienWho sucks up to their boss?…… *eyebrow wiggles*What are their jobs? Parlour owner and parlour trainee/intern/ trainee politicianWho stresses the most? BothDo your muses enjoy or despise their careers/occupations? great happiness!Are your muses financially stable?…… *Aurelienstabalisestheentirefam*

Home:

Who does the washing? DanWho takes out the trash? DanWho does the ironing?AurelienWho does the cooking? DanWho is more likely to burn the house down just trying? AurelienWho is messier? DanWho leaves the toilet roll empty? Neither, pet peevesWho leaves their dirty clothes on the floor? DanWho forgets to flush the toilet?….. AGAIN.. NEITHER THIS IS WEIRDWho is the prankster around the house? AURELIEN.Who loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere? DanWho mows the lawn? DanielWho answers the telephone? AurelienWho does the vacuuming? AurelienWho does the groceries? AurelienWho takes the longest to shower?… Aurelien…Who spends the most time in the bathroom? Aurelien..

Miscellaneous:

Is money a problem? HAHA GOD NO-How many cars do they own? 2Do they own their home or do they rent? OWN.Do they live near the coast or deep in the countryside? CountrysideDo they live in the city or in the country? CityDo they enjoy their surroundings? it’s pleasant for the both of themWhat’s their song? The neighbourhood - sweaterweatherWhat do they do when they’re away from each other? Aurelien - gets.. angry.. insufferable.. slow. Daniel works.. day and night.. with little breaks.Where did they first meet? parlourHow did they first meet? Small lost french boy begging for a job.Who spends the most money when out shopping? Aurelien TRIES to encourage DanielWho’s more likely to flash their assets?… Aurelien..Who finds it amusing when the other trips over? DanielAny mental issues? Abandonment issues, PTSDWho’s terrified of bugs? AurelienWho kills the spiders around the house? DanielTheir favourite place? CinemaWho pays the bills? AurelienDo they have any fears for their future? that he’s too much, too childish. That.. he messes up.Who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner? DanielWho uses up all of the hot water? AurelienWho’s the tallest? DanielWho’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other? AurelienWho wanders around in their underwear? …. neither?? really?? oversides clothes and no pants but thats it??Who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio? AURELIEN.What do they tease each other about? Dan - Just how pretty he is - Aurelien - his ADHD episodes of not being able to sit stillWho is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times? AURELIENNNN.Do they have mutual friends? ONLYFRIENDSAURELIENHAS…Who crushed first? DanielAny alcohol or substance related problems? nope?Who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am? Both at the same timeWho swears the most? Daniel!!

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #121: Houses Divided Cannot Stand!

March, 1974

Hey, Vision. Word of advice. Don’t try to go through the glowy energy field when there’s a perfectly good floor to float through.

Also, ‘Cannot Stand‘ should be in italics but I guess I can’t italicize a title.

Anyway. Last time: the Avengers encountered a partially new group of Zodiac. They got their collective asses kicked in a single page and then turned around and kicked Zodiac’s collective asses a little while later. They thwarted a mad scheme to kill off every Gemini in Manhattan with a Jumbo Star-Blazer. But because Mantis is so emphatic, she got star-blazed unconscious and teetering on the edge of the roof. If the Avengers don’t let Zodiac go, they’ll star-blaze her again - to her death.

This time: Vision says ‘eh go ahead then.’ She’s not an Avenger, she’s merely a hanger-on. Her life isn’t worth letting Zodiac escape.

Taurus claims that she’s a lot more than Vision says but it was all a ruse.

On Vision’s part, I mean.

While he was distracting Zodiac by being callous, Scarlet Witch was moving out of Zodiac’s line of sight so she could prepare one of her hexes.

And she destroys the Star-Bl- *ahem* Star-Slayer, apparently, with a FOOM!

Without the Star-Blazer-Slayer nothing is holding the Avengers at bay and they leap forward to fisticuffs some more.

It isn’t really worth it to go into specifics. The Avengers are stronger individually than Zodiac, who have vague powers, but the handheld Star-Blazer is strong enough to give even Thor pause. Oh and Virgo sneaks up on Scarlet Witch and WAM!s her in the head with a piece of scrap.

I guess Zodiac had the Avengers at a disadvantage but then Cap shows up to CLANG! them with his shield. He’s pretty dependable in that way.

Even if Cap’s accused of crime, he’ll always show up at the nick of time.

Anyway, with Cap here, the odds are much better

But then Aries decides to take matters into his own hands. And by matters I mean Mantis and by own hands I mean he throws her off the roof.

Without hesitation, Vision jumps off the roof after her and manages to reach her only twenty floors above imminent splat. Since he can’t fly while carrying a full grown person (his flight is based on reducing his density to be lighter than air) and since catching her after landing would have destroyed her skeleton bones (she doesn’t have Hawkeye’s amazing skeleton after all), he has to get creative.

And very much collateral damagey.

He jams his hand into the side of the building and lets the drag from that slow their fall.

And they still hit hard.

But also, the damage threatens to have the whole building fall down. Which is slightly awkward when you remember its the World Trade Center.

There’s no choice but for the Avengers to abandon the battle and save the building. Zodiac, of course, takes the opportunity to skedaddle, although its clear there’s some discontent against Taurus for his plan failing.

So Thor holds up the building while Iron Man uses heat blasts to... weld? Can you weld concrete? Well anyway, he patches up the cracks.

Once again, the Avengers have saved New York from the damage that they inflicted to New York.

Scarlet Witch has been checking on Mantis. She seems okay, if shaken, but Mantis claims she has slight injuries to her internal organs from the shock of the landing but she will rest and recover.

And then she just puts herself in a healing trance. She may be a Jedi. Or perhaps a Kryptonian.

The Avengers decide to take her back to the mansion to have her examined. And Cap runs off to go clear his name. The Avengers can’t help him, not unless they want to end up sharing a cell with him so they haven’t seen him -wink-.

Back at the mansion, Swordsman is alarmed that Mantis has been hurt.

Iron Man tells him not to worry. Heck, Swordsman is in worse shape, with his infected wound. They even had the Avengers’ personal physician, Donald ‘Not Thor’ Blake check her and all she needs is rest.

But then Blake and Iron Man take a little walk and have a secret conversation. Because they are the two Avengers who know each others’ secret IDs, giving them a special, unique bond that lasts probably until Tony made a clone of Thor, which is a big friendship-ending no-no.

But basically, Donald Blake has never seen anything like Mantis. She’s already improved from how she was right after the battle. It’s like she’s curing herself.

Its a mystery. And they have some downtime so why not investigate a little? Iron Man asks Swordsman if there’s anything he can share about Mantis’ backstory.

But the simple truth is Swordsman knows little more than the Avengers. He met her when he was working in the South Vietnamese black market for a man called Monsieur Khruul.

As has been established, by this point, Swordsman had hit real rock bottom. This was sleazy work. And to cope, he had started drinking.

He met Mantis in a waterfront dive and she took an interest in him. Tried to talk him into rehabilitating himself. But Monsieur Khruul sent him on ‘one last job’ to raid a rival’s warehouses.

It didn’t go as planned.

Mantis found him hours later, lying smeared with mud and blood and lice. And hey he had managed to mine a tunnel through rock bottom to find a new bottom.

She took him to her apartment and nursed him back to health for days, even going without food so that he could eat.

And that whole time he was so wrapped up in his own wasted life that he never asked her about herself. Which, in hindsight, he regrets and wants to make it up to her. He wants to go after Zodiac with the rest of the Avengers.

But Black Panther pops in and tells Swordsman that he’s in no shape to travel.

Yup, he’s temporarily back from Wakanda. He was making a special set of wings for Falcon and decided to stop in. So he’ll be joining in on this mission.

Before they go, Vision has a weird conversation with Swordsman apparently fraught with sub-text.

Vision: This is quite a woman, Swordsman. Even in pain, her control of mind and body approach perfection.

Swordsman: Why... yes, Vision. I know.

Vision: I am aware that you do. Goodbye.

Swordsman: What -- did he mean by that? Could he -- No!

I don’t really get it.

Anyway, Zodiac! There’s some unrest in the house of Zodiacs. With Taurus’ plan a bust, Aries yells that he should lead Zodiac.

And then like goats, they decide to headbutt for dominance. These comics... Couldn’t make it up if I tried.

Aries comes off the worst and calls for a time-out but Taurus butts him again. And yells that the house of Taurus rules this Zodiac.

Aries seems to concede but thirty minutes later, he has gathered a bunch of the Zodiac to talk coup.

Gemini, Virgo, and Capricorn were not invited to the sedition. Gemini because he owes Taurus for busting him out of jail and Virgo and Capricorn are Earth signs like Taurus is so they’ll probably side with him.

BECAUSE.

Geez, Zodiac takes their theme so seriously, they even import in some cliques.

These guys are a bunch of crimelords that have formed one giant cartel that they patterned after Zodiac because they’ll rule humanity just like the stars do, or something. But then they got super into their roleplaying and formed cliques based on the signs. Not to mention, this is a team comprised of a bunch of top dogs. No wonder they never play well with each other.

Anyway, the water signs Pisces, Cancer, and Scorpio throw their lot in with Aries. As does Sagittarius, Leo, and Aquarius. But the air signs are divided right down the middle. Gemini will probably side with Taurus, Aquarius is siding with Aries, and Libra?

Libra represents balance so he’ll be sitting this one out. The other houses kind of expect this kind of neutrality from him by this point so they don’t even mind. But Cancer does warn him to maintain his neutrality and not swing his weight to Taurus’ side.

Now there’s just one more aspect to Aries’ revolution.

And a phone rings in the secret headquarters of...

Cornelius Van Lunt?? The asshole who bankrupted the Avengers to force them to act as his muscle and then was trying to force Red Wolf’s Cheyenne tribe off their land. And then he seemingly died when the dam he built ruptured.

But I guess he survived because here he is. But he’s been hiding out because the Avengers exposed his criminal activities.

Anyway, Aries wants to meet with him. Van Lunt arranges a meeting for the following dawn at one of his New Jersey warehouses.

Just before that dawn, Thor happens to spot the Zodiac Star-Craft on their way to that meeting while searching over Manhattan. After they land, Thor uses a signal device in his belt to contact the Avengers.

Dang. It looked like an Asgardian belt but the buckle flips open and there’s science inside. Guess it makes sense when Tony Stark is Best Mortal Friend Forever.

The Avengers arrive and just... peep in the window. Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, everyone.

Inside the revolting Zodiac try to rope Van Lunt in on their schemes. See, Van Lunt is apparently the financier of Zodiac so they need his money to obtain a deadlier arsenal to combat Taurus’ Star-Slay-Blazers.

But from their peeping spot, the Avengers see that Zodiac is completely preoccupied talking and instead of trying to gather information, the Avengers just OH YEAH! right through the window and start lariating people.

This is why the Avengers need Black Widow. She knows how to spell subtlety.

While the Avengers are punching Zodiacs in the face, Van Lunt sneaks out the back.

Nobody misses him. They’re too busy fighting.

Like Leo tries to wang Vision in the head with a wrench but it just breaks off his diamond hard cranium and makes him very unhappy.

But all of a sudden, steel plates slam shut over the windows and doors.

Iron Man demands to know what the deal is but Aries doesn’t know.

And he doesn’t. Because as Van Lunt broadcasts in on a screen to tell them - this trap was set up by him to deal with the rebelling houses of Zodiac. The fact that the Avengers got caught up in it was a nice bonus.

Aries wants to know what Taurus offered to make Van Lunt double-cross them but Aries just doesn’t get it. Zodiac thinks that Van Lunt is a backup player because he’s just a money man and doesn’t wear a costume.

WELL GUESS WHAT, SOMETIMES HE DOES.

And no, its probably not a sex thing. Because he pulls out Taurus’ mask from off-camera and puts it on. Revealing that Van Lunt has been Taurus all along.

He feels pretty okay with revealing that bombshell plot twist though. Because neither the renegade Zodiacs nor the Avengers will be able to profit from the revelation. Because he’s going to launch them into space.

See, the warehouse was secretly a rooooooocket shiiiiiiiiiiiip

and it blasts off with a BAROOM!

Van Lunt stole my idea for how to get rid of people! That jerk!

Hey, why not follow @essential-avengers? I’m cleaning up the old Essential Avengers posts, adding some more images, and reblogging them there.

[itsfinancethings]

On the cusp of Donald Trump’s Senate impeachment trial in January, Val Demings went to dinner at a Washington seafood joint, the Salt Line, with her colleague Hakeem Jeffries. The two Representatives had recently been chosen, with five other House Democrats, to present the case to remove the President from office–the first two Black presidential impeachment managers in American history. As they discussed the weight of the role, Jeffries, the chair of the House Democratic Caucus, made a prediction. “When this is all said and done,” he told Demings, “you’re going to be on the short list for Vice President.”

“Get out of here,” Demings said.

“I just have that feeling, Val,” Jeffries insisted. “The world is getting ready to see what we here in Congress already know about who you are.”

Jeffries was right. This summer, Demings, 63, has shot up the list of candidates to be Joe Biden’s running mate. Her rise began with the impeachment trial, where she turned complicated arguments about Trump’s conduct into straightforward language. It has accelerated in recent weeks amid the nationwide racial-justice protests following George Floyd’s death in Minneapolis. As Biden faces pressure to add a woman of color to the ticket, and to repel Trump’s claims that he’s soft on crime, Demings may be a match for the moment: a Black woman from the battleground of Florida who capped a 27-year career in law enforcement by becoming Orlando’s first woman police chief in 2007. In one USA Today/Suffolk poll conducted at the end of June, 72% of Democrats said it was important to them that Biden choose a woman of color.

Biden has confirmed that Demings is among nearly a dozen women on his list. But her candidacy faces challenges as well. Biden, 77, has said he’s looking for a running mate who is “ready to be President on Day One.” Demings is only in her second term representing Florida’s 10th District, a short political résumé for national office. And to some of the Black voters whom Biden is counting on in November, her career in law enforcement is not an asset. Demings was “a leader within an institution that is inherently violent, racist, patriarchal and protective of capitalism,” says Charlene Carruthers, an organizer in Illinois with the Movement for Black Lives. “It’s not simply enough to have someone who looks like me as the vice-presidential nominee. I’m interested in someone who shares my values and is aligned with our vision.”

Joe Burbank—Orlando SentinelDemings at the scene of a mass shooting in Orlando’s Gateway Center in 2009

Demings rejects the proposition that her record in law enforcement might be a liability in this political climate. “I have no regrets about the career paths that I’ve taken,” she says from her Washington apartment in a June 25 interview with TIME. But her chances to become Vice President rest in part on whether Demings–and Democrats–can reconcile her identity as a former cop with that of a Black woman in a country where Black people have the most to fear from police. Some on the left see her as a symptom of the problem, not a beacon of progress. This raises some hard questions for Americans. How much should we expect our politicians to account for injustices that are bigger than any one person? Is it fair to ask public servants how their own experiences with racism or sexism guide their approach to fighting such forces stacked against them? And are those who have found success within existing structures an extension of systemic failure or the ones best equipped to fix them?

When Valdez Venita Demings was tapped as Orlando’s police chief in 2007, the announcement reached officers in the department by pager. She was the first woman to hold the role, and kudos poured in–flowers, phone calls, emails. But it didn’t take long for Demings to notice something odd: Congratulations, well-wishers would say. You know that’s a big job.

It was. But no bigger than it had been under the seven male chiefs Demings served under before taking the position. None had been challenged on whether they could do it. The implicit sexism wasn’t a surprise: as she climbed the ladder in the department, she recalls being quizzed on policy by subordinates to see if she knew what she was doing. “When you are a woman and a Black woman,” Demings says, “when you walk into the room, unfortunately, men and women sometimes determine what they think you are capable of.”

Demings was born in Jacksonville, Fla., one of seven children crammed into a two-room house. By age 4, she’d been called racial slurs. Her mother was a maid; her father worked as a janitor, and mowed lawns and picked oranges on the side. Sometimes he had to ask his employers for advance pay to foot the bill for his children’s class trips. Demings took her first job as a dishwasher at 14, and later became the first in her family to graduate from college.

Her first career was as a social worker, working with foster children. In 1983, she left Jacksonville for Orlando, where she joined the police force as a way to save money for law school. But she stayed, drawn to a job where she believed she could help people who needed it. “Every job that she did, every position that she held, she did it with finesse, she did it completely,” says Renita Osselyn, a retired Orlando Police Department (OPD) school resource officer and close friend of Demings’. In 1984, when Demings was a first-year officer and he was a detective, she met her husband, Jerry Demings, who is now the mayor of Orange County, Florida, which contains Orlando.

When Demings became chief, Orlando’s crime rate was at an all-time high, the Great Recession was just around the corner, and the Black Lives Matter movement was still several years away. She set to applying her social-work background to her new role, creating a community initiative, Operation Positive Direction, that paired at-risk youth with mentors. The department also partnered with GED programs, sending officers to homes to check on those who had missed class. Demings says she imposed an early-warning system in 2008 that triggered reviews of officers who showed patterns like those of force, absence and citizen complaints. She says that she saw arrests as short-term solutions and preferred instead to address the root issues that cause “decay” in communities. She boasts of reducing the crime rate in Orlando 40% during her tenure.

At work, Demings was known as a good communicator. Terrell Fawbush, a retired officer, says that when two of Fawbush’s children and a niece died in a car accident in 1995, Demings, then a lieutenant, served as a department liaison to help her through the tragedy. Demings did everything from driving Fawbush to the funeral home to making sure her family had meals figured out. “She knew what was best for me to keep me going,” Fawbush says.

Asked if she regrets anything about her time in law enforcement, Demings says she wishes she could have done more. “Could I have saved one more life? Could I have saved one more officer’s career? Could I have protected someone in the community more? Of course, I would never say I was perfect.”

It’s a careful answer, similar to a job applicant saying their greatest weakness is trying too hard or caring too much. But it’s difficult to imagine she does not have specific regrets. Like the time she left her vehicle unlocked and had her department-issued firearm stolen. Or the 2010 incident in which an officer, Travis Lamont, broke the neck of an 84-year-old veteran, Daniel Daley, while performing a “dynamic takedown,” according to the Orlando Sentinel. At the time, Demings, who left her post as chief in 2011, found the technique to be “within department guidelines” but ordered a review of the policy. Daley was awarded $880,000 by a federal jury. Demings says that as a result of the ensuing policy review, the department modified its policies “to require the engagement of second officer to more effectively manage individuals during disturbance calls.”

The Daley incident was highlighted in a 2015 Sentinel investigation that found the OPD used force more than twice as often as other similar-size agencies. Most of the time period covered by the report was after Demings left the OPD. But critics say that as chief Demings failed to address the department’s cultural problems. “Val Demings is part of the establishment here in central Florida,” says Lawanna Gelzer, a community activist in Orlando. Asked whether the OPD has systematic failures when it comes to use of force, Demings demurs, saying that “every agency has a responsibility to always look within itself and try to improve.”

Shortly after retiring in 2011, Demings set her sights on politics. She ran for Congress in a Republican-leaning district in 2012, coming within 4 points of the GOP incumbent. In 2016, she ran again, in a redrawn district that favored Democrats, and won.

In January, Demings was the only nonlawyer among the team of impeachment managers. Trial days ran late, after which the managers received packets they needed to be ready to discuss by early morning. Demings was battling bronchitis. But she made a mark. At one meeting, recalls Ashley Etienne, an adviser to House Speaker Nancy Pelosi, several of the lawmakers were discussing the day’s material. Demings interrupted. “I just think it’s really simple,” she said. “It’s right vs. wrong. And what the President did is wrong.”

In early May, weeks after he’d committed to picking a woman for the role, Biden told a Florida television station that Demings was one of “close to a dozen really qualified and talented women who are on the list” of potential running mates. Perhaps the biggest question for Biden’s team is whether Demings’ record in law enforcement is a boon or a burden in this political environment. She has responded to the protests by saying that if she was still an officer, she would be out taking a knee with protesters, and wrote a Washington Post op-ed asking her “brothers and sisters in blue: What in the hell are you doing?” She has called for reviews of law-enforcement hiring policies and police training standards.

“If the argument is going to be she’s not Black, she’s blue, then God help us all,” says John Morgan, a Florida attorney, Democratic donor and longtime Demings backer. “I don’t know where it ends.” But progressives point to her 2018 support for the Protect and Serve Act, which makes it a federal crime to knowingly assault law-enforcement officers, as a troubling sign. She’s not the only Democrat who’s come under scrutiny for her record in law enforcement. Senator Amy Klobuchar, a former Minnesota prosecutor, dropped out of the vice-presidential running after Floyd’s death in response to criticism of her record. Progressives have challenged Senator Kamala Harris over her criminal-justice record.

Biden has cast himself as a transitional figure, someone grooming the next generation of Democratic leaders. Whomever he picks as a running mate could be a top contender for the Democratic presidential nomination as early as 2024. For Demings, that would be a meteoric rise. In our interview, I asked her whether she would be prepared to become President. “I’ve chosen tough jobs in my lifetime,” Demings says. “Regardless of where this path takes me, just as I’ve been ready before, I’m sure I’ll be ready again.”

–With reporting by MOLLY BALL and JULIA ZORTHIAN

[ciathyzareposts]

Camelot: Won! (with Summary and Rating)

There I am, third from the top, above even the creator himself.

            Camelot

United States Independently written and released on university PLATO system in 1982

Date Started: 20 April 2019

Date Ended: 5 January 2020

Total Hours: 69

Difficulty: Moderate-Hard (3.5/5)

Final Rating: (to come later)

Ranking at time of posting: (to come later)

Summary:

The last of the PLATO RPGs, Joshua Tabin’s Camelot united the two previous traditions present on the terminal-mainframe system. From the Dungeon/Game of Dungeons/Orthanc line, he took the single-player approach using a multi-classed character. From the Moria/Oubliette/Avatar line, he took first-person dungeon exploration (with a menu town on top) and a combat system where you fight “stacks” of multiple monsters. Players control individual characters but can message each other as they explore the same shared dungeon, which resets on the hour or whenever all the rooms of a level are cleared. The ultimate goal is to get strong enough to explore Level 10, get Excalibur from the Lady of the Lake, and use it to force Lucifer to cough up the Holy Grail. It takes a while to learn the game’s features, and it’s pretty hard even with its “relaxed permadeath” approach, but it has an addicting approach to leveling and inventory acquisition

*****

I’ve often wondered how I would have fared if I had been a student at one of the PLATO universities in the 1970s or early 1980s, and now I have my answer: my life would have been ruined. I would have skipped classes, missed deadlines, plagiarized papers–anything to spend more time on the computer. I know because that’s basically what I did this week. I procrastinated on an already-overdue report to win this 40-year-old game. The fact that money, and not just a grade, is riding on this report probably makes it worse.

Like all of the PLATO games, Camelot is about mechanics. It hardly has any story at all. Its allure comes from its constant sense of character development–the idea that the next level, the next epic item, the next 10,000 points (putting you one position higher on the leaderboard) are all just around the corner. This is the kind of game that transitions you from 1:00 AM to 4:00 AM before you’ve noticed what happened.

I don’t often schedule my games to offer compelling comparisons, but what an amazing lesson in contrast we have between Camelot and Challenge of the Five Realms, written 10 years apart for very different audiences. Challenge has all of the content of an excellent RPG–game world, NPCs, dialogue, and plot. Camelot has the mechanics of an excellent RPG–statistics, inventory, and combat tactics. I think it’s fair to say that I appreciate and enjoy Challenge‘s approach, but I am addicted to Camelot‘s.

Part of the fun of my experience came from author Josh Tabin’s occasional presence as I played. (He and his son stayed up with me until 1:00 AM the other night, cheering me on as I won.) I couldn’t experience the game the way it was with 20 players swarming the dungeon, but at least I got some of the experience. He helped me fight a few tough battles (the game divides the treasure among the number of people in the room, I discovered, even if you can’t see each other) and alerted me where he’d seen a particular foe or item. I want to say that he gave me a lot of hints, but perhaps a better way to say it is that he led me to a lot of hints. He avoided most outright spoilers and instead said things like “Hey, I saw a TARDIS in the shop–you should buy it and see what it does.”

Unfortunately, players can’t directly help each other by giving each other money or equipment. But they can alert each other to where they’ve seen, say, a group of lizard men with a particularly large chest, knowing that lizard men often drop magic boots. They can say stuff to each other like, “I just sold a Manual of Quickness to the store if anyone wants to buy it.” And of course they can help each other directly in combat.

I think it’s been a while since Tabin had anyone take such active interest in his game. He used the occasion to make some tweaks while my own experience was in progress. One was to add a “difficulty setting.” He said the programming was already in there, but he had never turned it on. Now any player can customize his own difficulty from “easy” to “nightmare.” Easier games make enemies less effective but also give you a lower score. “Nightmare” lets you build your character fast for some extra risk. He also added a few more trap types and introduced a system by which low-level enemies run away from high-level characters. I’d often wondered why some of my charmed companions would up and ditch me for no reason, and it turns out that they do it when you attack other enemies of the same type. In a recent update, he made that explicit by having the companion say “he was my BROTHER!” as he leaves your service.             

The author added a difficulty setting during the middle of my session.

            In my previous entries, I talked a lot about the game’s difficulty. It is perhaps most accurate to say that like a good roguelike (which Camelot does an excellent job anticipating), it is very difficult until you get a lot of experience and get a natural feel for what’s going on. I was well into my 40th hour before combat tactics really “clicked,” and I started to learn instinctively when to use spells, when to attack, and when to run. It took a while before I got to the point that I always had my hands on the right keys as I entered a room, allowing me to act before the enemy. I died a couple dozen times in the first 30 hours of the game and only half a dozen in the last 30.

Another important insight was learning how to strategically develop inventory. Each item has a label (the game calls it a “table”) from 1-12 associated with it, and these levels are highly calibrated with the monster levels. A mithril sword (Table 3) simply isn’t going to do much against a red dragon (Table 8) no matter how high your level or attributes. So instead of blundering all of the dungeon hoping to find anything, you prioritize trying to upgrade your lowest-level items. The average “table” of a looted piece of equipment is the same as the dungeon level on which you find it. So let’s say that most of your stuff is Table 7, but you’re still stuck with Table 4 armor (Frosty Plate Mail). Hopefully, you’ve noticed that dragons tend to drop armor, so you want to be on dungeon Level 7 looking for a Table 7 dragon (blue dragon) carrying Tale 7 Azure Plate Mail. If you’ve mapped carefully, you’ve noted that dragons tend to show up in rooms with scorch marks on the walls, and you thus head for that room on Level 7. No luck? Wait for the hour to roll around and the dungeon to reset, or reset it yourself with a TARDIS.            

Running into a high-level enemy with a high-level chest in a “stud room,” I use my Scroll of Identification to check the odds.

            I had originally thought that a lot of the dungeon room messages were just flavor text, but they actually alert you to the type of enemy you’re most likely to find there. Monsters of the “slime” table (green slimes, yellow molds, ochre jellies, black puddings) are usually found in rooms that say “the ground is very soft here.” If you want to avoid slimes, you avoid those rooms. If you’re trying to find enemies from the “bad cleric” list and the potions and scrolls that they often carry, you look for rooms described with “crosses and an altar.” Thieves are in rooms with “empty wallets” on the floor. The specific composition of the rooms resets on the hour, but the locations of the rooms of each description do not.

The dungeon levels are full of the types of navigational obstacles that you’ve experienced if you’ve played any first-person wireframe game. These include spinners, pit traps, one-way chutes, and teleporters. Some of these are necessary to navigate the dungeon, and you have to map carefully. For instance, you can take regular stairs all the way to Level 6, but to get to Level 7, you need to take a teleporter behind a hidden door on Level 3. Level 8 can only be reached via a teleporter from Level 5, which is in a section that can only be reached via a teleporter on Level 7. Despite the complexity, you learn the steps pretty fast, and I found I could make it from the town on Level 1 to Level 10 in about 3 minutes–faster, of course, if I had the rare Wand of Teleportation.

As you explore downward, it’s a good rule of thumb to make sure that either your weapon or your spell item is one or two levels higher than the current level you’re exploring. You can do this by repeatedly attacking each level’s “stud room”–cued with a note that the walls are covered in blood–which reliably offers monsters and items 1-2 levels higher than the level’s average. So if you defeat the stud room on Level 6, there’s a decent chance you’ll find a Table 8 item.

I was lucky to get a Ring of Wizardry (Table 9) at the stud room on Level 7, and it let me blast my way through the rest of Level 7 and Level 8. (Downside: every time you use a spell item, there’s a chance it will run out of charges, and re-charging it at the store is expensive.) Then, early in my Level 10 explorations, I ran into a “friendly” Asmodeus and bribed him $140,000 to drop his chest and leave the room. It had the Level 12 Ruby Staff of Asmodeus in it, which let me kill most things on the level.

Leveling is pretty constant during this process, but it caps at Level 60. I don’t like level caps, but in this case I think most players would be hard pressed to hit the level cap long before the end of the game.          

My map of Level 10. The numbers are all teleporters.

           Level 10 has the game’s final encounters with Lucifer and the Lady of the Lake. Lucifer has the Holy Grail but kills you instantly if you don’t have Excalibur. The Lady of the Lake, meanwhile, won’t give you Excalibur unless you’re fully outfitted with Table 12 gear. How do you get Table 12 items when there are only 10 dungeon levels? You can get extraordinarily luck, as I did with Asmodeus, or you can camp out at the Level 10 stud room, which will feature a new Table 12 enemy every hour on the hour. The Table 12 enemies are a rogue’s gallery of pop culture references: Asmodeus, Tiamat, Zeus, Poseidon, The Evil One, beholders, Thor, Jubilex, Lolth, Saruman, Sauron, the Master of Shadows, and–at the top of the “bad clerics” list–Jerry Falwell.            

Finding a Level 12 artifact.

          There’s no guarantee that these enemies will always drop Level 12 artifacts. And if they do, there’s no guarantee you won’t accidentally destroy them by fumbling the trap. So you have to churn through dozens of encounters to assemble your list. If you don’t want this to take dozens of hours, you have to load up on TARDISes (which reset the dungeon manually) and keep using them. This took me about 6 hours by itself and would have taken longer if Tabin hadn’t sold one of his character’s extra TARDISes to the store.

When you finally have a complete set of Level 12 gear, you go to a water room at the bottom of Level 10, and the Lady of the Lake hands over Excalibur.           

Yes, everybody knows it’s no basis for a system of government. Please let it go.

          From there, it’s just a few steps to the stairway to HELL, where you meet Lucifer. He cowers the moment he sees Excalibur, hands over the Holy Grail, and flees.         

Satan flees and hands over the Holy Grail.

           Once you have the Holy Grail, you need only return to the town, where the game gives you the option to retire permanently. If you want, you can keep playing and finding more treasure to increase your score, which affects your position on the leaderboard. I retired with a score of 673,809. That was enough to put me at the third spot on the board, behind two characters fielded by the mysterious “greg” or “gregl.” I could have beaten his high score, but it would have taken another 6 hours of gameplay, roughly.           

Am I ever.

            When you retire the character permanently, you get the following endgame text, suggesting a never-ending cycle of grail-finding. Then again, there has to be a rationale for more than one winner.           

           In a GIMLET, Camelot earns:

0 points for the game world. I thought about giving it 1, but I couldn’t even justify that. Despite its name and the presence of the Lady of the Lake (nonsensically on the bottom of a dungeon), the game doesn’t make any use of Arthurian themes, nor does it replace or supplement them with any story or sense of place. This was the norm with the PLATO series.

4 points for character creation and development. There are a few choices in character creation–particularly the race–which make a big difference during gameplay. I chose to take the elf, a weak character who has a low risk of dying of old age (he ended the game about 30 years younger than he started, thanks to Potions of Youth). During the game, leveling is continually rewarding even though it doesn’t give you any choices. The little sub-quests to kill specific monsters to reach some levels was a fun addition. 

             I just turned Level 60. I assess the level of my equipment as the game gives me my next mission.

              3 points for NPC interaction. Okay, there are no NPCs. But for past PLATO games, I gave a couple points here for the PC interaction that accompanies those titles, and I like how it works here. You don’t need other players to enjoy the game, but they can enhance your experience. I also gave a point here to the ability to charm monsters to joining your little “party.”

4 points for encounters and foes. The game’s long list of monsters may be derivative, but Tabin did an excellent job programming their various strengths and weaknesses. A player has to balance his desire for treasure with the knowledge that thieves can steal treasure and slimes can destroy it. A careful player has to note what enemies cause sleep, paralysis, petrification, and destruction. The best part is that all of these strengths and weaknesses are determinable with a Scroll of Identification.

4 points for magic and combat. The game has a nice set of options for dealing with creatures, including spells, physical assaults of different types (trading accuracy for power), popping in and out of rooms until you “surprise” the enemies, hitting and running, stealing their treasure out from under them, and bribing them to go away. Only the spell system is underdeveloped, with the character only having access to one “spell” (more of an inventory item) at a time.

6 points for equipment, one of the best parts of the game. The player has 15 equipment slots with 12 levels of items for each slot. Even better is the wide variety of equipment that works in the “Other” slot–scrolls, wands, potions, and the like. There are manuals that permanently improve attributes, cordials that temporarily improve them, scrolls and wands that make navigation easier, items that charm different types of enemies (figuring out what works on which type is a mini-game in itself). Particularly well done is the Scroll of Identification. You can use it at any time, including in-combat and when in the middle of pulling items from a chest. Use it on a monster, and it tells you his hit percentages, damages, and special abilities. Use it on an item, and it tells you what it is and whether it’s cursed. Use it on an unopened chest, and it tells you what trap you’re facing.

       The store always held a chaotic selection of items.

            6 points for the economy. For most of the game, you’re trying to make enough money just to level up, so deciding whether to sell a potentially useful item for some extra cash, or whether to splurge on that item in the store, or whether to bribe a particular enemy (who may have more gold than the bribe in his chest) presents a continual set of decisions. Even late in the game, when you have plenty (especially after you hit the level cap), finding money contributes to your score.

3 points for quests. There’s only one main quest with no decisions or role-playing options, but there are also sub-quests throughout to kill specific monsters.

3 points for graphics, sound, and interface. The graphics are what they are, although I think the monster portraits are well done. There’s no sound. The keyboard interface for me was easy to master (and the game usually shows you all available commands at the current moment), and I like how everything is always laid out on the main screen, even if it makes the exploration window a bit small.

3 points for gameplay. This is from a 2020 perspective, of course, where I could have fit three other games in the time it took me to win Camelot. There were a lot of moments of frustration, and the linear nature of the dungeon reduces replayability even as the character options (and ever-present leaderboard) increases it. What feels to me today too long, with too many moments of frustration, would have felt the opposite on a college campus in 1982, with plenty of friends around to compare experiences and jockey for high scores.

         The final score is 36, which crosses my “recommended” threshold, but not by so much that it would be absurd. It is notably the highest score I’ve given to a PLATO title.           What’s particularly amazing is that Josh Tabin wasn’t even a college student when he wrote Camelot–he was 12! As a member of the Explorer Scouts, he had access to a special program at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign (where PLATO was born) that taught middle- and high-school aged kids how to write code. Tabin explicitly joined the program because he wanted to play Oubliette (1978) and Avatar (1979) on the PLATO system. Somehow, he found time to complete Camelot in 18 months. Years later, he attended the university as a student and kept adding to the program.

It’s an extremely mature game, and the age of the programmer doesn’t come through at all except in a few bits of juvenile humor (in addition to “poison dart,” there is a type of trap that rhymes with it; one of the magic bags is called a “large hairy sack”) and the varied but predictable pop culture references. The game mixes the monster list from Dungeons and Dragons with the TARDIS from Doctor Who and the occasional quote from Blade Runner or monster or item from Lord of the Rings.

(Tabin waited a long time for this review. He first contacted me in 2013, and I assured him I’d play the game eventually. Somehow it disappeared from my master list, so he contacted me again in late 2017 to ask what had happened. I apologized and promised again that I’d get to it “soon.” In anticipation, he sent me a long, enormously valuable set of instructions. Then, it wasn’t until July 2018 that I took an initial look at the game and sent back some questions, then April of 2019 before I fully engaged it.)

I’m one of only four wins in 15 years (since the PLATO system was ported to Cyber1), but there were 43 winners between 1985 (when Tabin started keeping track) and 2003, including an early 2000s war between two users who went by the names “kappes m” and “pilcher,” each of them winning about a dozen times, trying to push each other off the leaderboard, and changing their character names to poke fun at each other. “kappes m” was responsible for a 20-hour speedrun in which he managed to get the Grail at character level 30 using a challenging pixie character, basically exploiting the pixie’s high dexterity to run dungeon levels that should have been out of his league and to steal high-level items from creatures that would normally have been able to stomp him.

But I’m the only one to have documented the ending, which is good enough for me. And with this, we have finally played the last of the PLATO games. I won’t be returning to the setting unless I go insane and decide to try to win Oubliette or Avatar or record some video of the games I’ve already won. It’s been a fun ride seeing the complexity that these amateur games achieved in the pre-commercial era, and Camelot was a fitting capstone to the series. But now I’ve got to stop procrastinating and work on that report.

source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/camelot-won-with-summary-and-rating/