#hmm i should come up with some clever tags for this blog

[daryascurse]

Chainsmoking His Love 7: The Seventh Conversation

Zeke Jaeger x Reader // follow #chainsmokingmmachi for updates // nsfw mdni

POV: second person, AFAB reader, feminine pronouns Chapter tags: discussion of sterility / sterιlization and birth control, overstιmulation, fingerιng, oraI, deepthroatιng Chapter length: 2.5k

“Oh,” you mumble. “Same. I’m not. I mean, I haven’t been sleeping around either.”'

Zeke doesn’t respond, and you stare at your fingers.

“All for me, then?” Zeke says after a moment. His hand reaches under the dip of the blankets, and when his fingertips brush against your leg he lets out a light breath through his nose. His fingers skate back and forth.

It would be a sweet caress, a sweet moment following those words had it all been coming from someone else. But his fingers walk, tip-toe across your skin to find the valley between your bent leg and curled torso. You shiver, wince, and slide your legs back down in surrender as Zeke touches your oversensitive skin.

He chuckles dryly, the scent of tobacco hot in your face, and turns to discard the rest of the cigarette in the ashtray without even bothering to stub it out. “Then why don’t you give me some more of what’s mine?”

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“Are you being careful?” Zeke asks, with an exhale of smoke.

You stir, knotted and naked in the sheets beside him in the aftermath. He’s sitting up. His elbow bends between tapping the ashtray on his windowsill and bringing the cigarette back to his mouth. The cut of his jaw casts shadows across his throat, down his chest, as the Sunday evening yawns on. You’re not sure how much time has passed since you’d finished, a strange limbo of time where your breath has grown even but body still sore. 

“I’m sure no one saw me come up here,” you say. “And you know I don’t gossip, ever.”

“I trust that,” Zeke says dryly. “No. I mean pregnancy. You’re not sterile by chance?”

The question unsettles you, and you turn your tongue around your mouth. Suppose it’s long past time for this kind of conversation , even as the tack of his seed still dries in spatters across your thighs. You’d been preparing to tell him that ever since the first time he shot inside you that the next morning you’d walked those same shaking legs to the pharmacy for a little white envelope, the contents of which you take nightly. But - something about the actual question, the weirdly cruel and cold words he chooses, the way he asks is what sits uneasy on the edge of your brain. 

“No,” you say, and haul yourself up on your elbows. Zeke turns his head away as he ashes the cigarette without a word. “But,” you add hastily. “I’m taking… I have a medication. I mean, you don’t need to worry about a baby.”

A picture almost forms hazily in your imagination, and you shoo it away irritably like the smoke he blows from his lips.

“Hmm,” Zeke says. “That’s good. Good to be safe. I should tell you you don’t need to waste that meager salary they give you here on it, though. I am.”

“Sterile?” you ask after a sharp pause.

“Sterilized .”

You echo the word without the emphasis he placed on the last syllable, and he just nods with a “mhmm.” 

“Surgically?” is the only thing you can think to add.

Zeke smiles toothily at that, closes his eyes for a moment. “Do you know of another way?” he asks.

It feels like he’s too close to laughter in his sardonic response, as if you stand on the outside of a joke that only he finds clever. You draw your knees to your chest and encircle them, limbs half in, half out of the sheets. The conversations have been like this since the day you'd confronted him about the interruptions in your routine, that he had told you about Porco - half-open, still doused in double meanings. “So you can sleep around without a care?”

“Well I think there are other things to care about besides procreation,” Zeke says, casting his eye down on you. You notice he deftly avoids giving a direct answer. “Though, it may interest you to know that part of my infamous condition includes the healing of any malady I may contract. I don’t think you’re blessed the same way.”

The word is poisonous. You flush.

“But regardless,” Zeke says. “I don’t.”

And now, these words are too casual for the weight they press on you.

“Oh,” you mumble. “Same. I’m not. I mean, I haven’t been sleeping around either.”

Zeke doesn’t respond, and you stare at your fingers. 

“All for me, then?” Zeke says after a moment. His hand reaches under the dip of the blankets, and when his fingertips brush against your leg he lets out a light breath through his nose. His fingers skate back and forth. 

It would be a sweet caress, a sweet moment following those words had it all been coming from someone else. But his fingers walk, tip-toe across your skin to find the valley between your bent leg and curled torso. You shiver, wince, and slide your legs back down in surrender as Zeke touches your oversensitive skin.

He chuckles dryly, the scent of tobacco hot in your face, and turns to discard the rest of the cigarette in the ashtray without even bothering to stub it out. “Then why don’t you give me some more of what’s mine?”

You moan feebly. Zeke turns to lean over you in the bed, gentle cracks of his wrist as he braces himself on his arm. His hands shift, the warm waft of tobacco still lingering on his skin like a toxious cologne as he rubs your sore folds open.

“I’m - ” you say, and your lip curls in an involuntary wince as he slides his finger down.

“Swollen,” he says.

You can feel the arousal begin to leak out at his touch, stained with the last drips of his cum as he toys with your cunt. Zeke’s hand slides between your legs, forcing space between your thighs. The sensations rush wet and hot.

“Zeke,” you say. “It’s -sore.”

The whining sound disgusts you, and he tilts an eyebrow down.

“Hmm?”

You shiver, wrenching your hips down into the bed. The trembling, twitching grinds were involuntary. Zeke’s gaze skates over your body, to where his hand splits you open by barely moving. 

“Too sore?”

You hesitate, and nod. Your chin jerks down. It feels embarrassing, shameful, but it’s just too much. 

Zeke pushes his fingertips into you, threatening to crush your cunt like folds of cellophane, and leans back. He reaches for the cigarette and tsks softly when he finds it almost completely burned. As he lights a new one, you close your eyes, open them, stare at the ceiling.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“Don’t be,” he says through gritted teeth holding the fresh cigarette tight. He strikes a match, waves it out, and tosses it absently to a corner of the room. The fresh sting of tobacco and nicotine burns your nostrils as he exhales. Zeke rocks back on his heels, the sheet twisted around his hips falling away. “Your mouth’s feeling fine, isn’t it?”

You nod wordlessly, and pull yourself up to your elbows. 

The twilight frames him beautifully, as you crawl to your hands and knees before Zeke kneeling on the bed. The golden man goes silver as the last of the sun bleeds away, the curls of chest hair gleaming iron. The warmest color remaining is the spark at the end of his cigarette  The mattress groans below your bodies, a familiar sigh and song. 

You look up, lowering yourself to your elbows, ass and trembling thighs high in the air. Zeke looks down at you past the sharp cut of his cheekbones, blonde hair turned ashy falling in front of his forehead and between his glasses and eyes. He keeps three fingers on the cigarette in his mouth, and takes another drag in. His other hand comes to your shoulder, fingers locked just into your back, the silhouette of his arm strong in the shadows. 

A shiver strikes down your body. You shift your weight to one elbow and reach forward, letting your body rock towards him with the motion. 

Zeke’s cock is ready, warm, hard, no longer glistening with your cum from earlier; but when you part your lips to take him in you can just barely taste that flavor that’s become familiar to you through his kisses. 

“Come on,” he whispers in that tone that’s become just as familiar.

You find your thighs clenching as your tongue roams down, as if something internal is driving you to taste all of him, to slick all of him immediately. 

He doesn’t come undone as easily, as quickly as you do. He looks an aching mess as strands of hair fall to his cheeks, the rise and fall of his chest so warm over your face comes faster, but his groans are controlled, his limbs patient even as yours flail and fingers twitch. Your hand chases your lips, catching drool on your chin, and running down his girth again to his balls, even as your knees tremble. 

Zeke shifts, leans with a twist of his taunt stomach muscles. The metallic tap of him ashing his cigarette reaches your ears as he turns back.

Your tongue goes to work, licking fat stripes down his shaft, coaxing your muscles to relax and mouth to drop open. He’s patient, rocking with you, as you set the rhythm. It takes a moment, but you let your throat relax to take all of Zeke’s cock, no need to go slow as you move your head and mouth.

He inhales sharply, giving you nothing more, and you find your pace growing sloppy, desperate to break his veneer. Your fingers reach, stroke, dancing with your tongue and drawing sigils of drool across his cock as your mouth pushes him in frantic jerks against your airway.

“Oh,” Zeke moans at last, and the sound is delicious. 

You suck on him with open mouth and loose jaw. The hand lingers, cups his balls, bringing him close to your mouth. You slide the hand up with your mouth, catching your saliva, keeping him warm and wet even when you jerk your head away for a breath. 

The air is thick with lingering nicotine. You cough.

Zeke pushes down on your head and groans your name. The heel of his palm almost knocks into your forehead and he barely grunts a followup sound that is by no means an apology. He rubs his hand over your head in a loose caress, cupping the back of your head. Even when you look up, throat raw and lips open gasping for air, he keeps his hand there, keeping you on a leash and keeping you close.

You whimper. “Ah,” you say deliriously, and pump your fist along the length of his cock. 

Zeke looks down, lifting the end of his cigarette to his lips and stroking his other hand along the back of your head. Your grip weakens, your knees threatening to lose balance.

“Keep going,” he rasps in command.

“Mmm.”

You can’t respond with your mouth so full again.

It’s like with the way he fills you, it leaves you empty and shaking the other way. You feel the ache of your skin, your cunt weeping and empty. A second pulse grows strong below your skin with each stroke of his fingertips at the back of your head. Each of his sounds, his moans, the flutter of his muscle around you, makes your sore cunt ache in desire and trepidation. 

He twists harder. The ashtray clatters, and both hands come to the back of your head as he leans in, crushing you closer and faster with strength as he begins to take over. 

You whimper, gag, the burning pressure of his cock choking the back of your throat pricking tears at the edge of your eyes as Zeke shifts the tempo, something harder, faster, more eager. He grunts between his teeth, half-whispering your name, half-muttering unintelligible curses. You respond only in stifled whines, your fingers desperately massaging the root of his cock, the balls, trying desperately to push him deeper in you. Your knees shift, ass swaying. Zeke lets go of your head with one hand and reaches back, chest against the top of your head, and smacks your ass.

Your yelp is muffled.

“That’s it,” Zeke groans animalistically. “Oh, good girl, that’s it. Take it, take it.”

You force your eyes up, jerking back a little, and Zeke lets you go, his fingertips trailing up your back, his other hand a soft cradle at the back of your neck. You keep your lips sucked hard around him, the tip sliding a hard, smooth sphere over your tongue. 

He’s beautiful in the moonlight, as beautiful as the first time you drank in every detail of his body. His mouth hangs slightly open, eyes closed, nostrils flared, glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose. You groan low in your throat, letting your lips breeze over his cock. Your neck aches, your eyes strain, but you don’t mind, just wanting to watch him as he comes.

Zeke gnashes his teeth together, moans your name, and thrusts into your mouth to give you all of him.

The bitter taste is nothing as you swallow it down, taking it all. He stutters, hands anchoring on your shoulders, and you gurgle in the back of your throat as he slowly softens on your tongue. The silence is cut by your colliding, heavy breaths, Zeke’s loud in the dark, yours strangled and gasping when he pulls out of your mouth. Your body collapses. He rises. The breaths slow out of sync.

“Earlier,” you say at last, clutching the sheets around your still-aching form and watching him stand naked before the open window. The curve of his muscles are highlighted in the moon, the shine of his glasses opaque half-circles cut from your view as he stares outside, hair rippling in the faint breeze. “Why did you ask me that?”

Zeke turns to you at that, yet another unlit cigarette between his lips as he drums his fingers across the windowsill in a blind hunt for the matchbook. “About children?” he asks, sounding faintly exhausted, faintly amused. 

You wipe your forehead, feeling a smooth sheen of sweat below your fingers and uncertain if it’s from your body or his. “No. Yes. It’s something we should have been clearer about from the start. But why did you ask about sterility specifically?”

This is a thought that’s hovered around your mind like the very moon in orbit above you, something nebulous like the yawning constellations. Something about tonight, the strange, twisted, half-conversations and temporal space of evening into darkness, pulls it from your mouth at last.

Zeke lights the cigarette, turns his head back to blow the first puff of smoke through the window, but his eyes remain cast to the side and locked on you. “No reason. I apologize if it, or infertility, is a sensitive subject.”

You frown, unsatisfied at the answer. 

“Any other woman,” Zeke adds before you can continue to press, “would have a bit of a different takeaway from earlier.”

“Are you sure?” you ask - you scoff .

“You’re certainly focusing on one part of that conversation.” Zeke turns his head away, inhales the cigarette, chews the smoke in a tense jaw before exhaling sharply through his nose. Silver-blue smoke bleeds into the night like a dragon. He’s incredibly unbothered by your tone. “And rather ignoring the other.”

“Which is?”

You don’t want to be misdirected, but the coy curve of Zeke’s lips are in sight, his profile a marble statue against the city framed beyond the window. “You’re not sleeping with anyone else. I’m not sleeping with anyone else. Some might say that was the most significant part of the discussion.”

He flicks the flaking ash into the tray. “But what that means … well, that’s up to you."

chapter 8

[muggle-writes]

Colors - chapter 1

(title subject to change when it’s not 11 pm on a work night)

Find it here on AO3

for @the-nintendo-nerd​ who won my minific giveaway, which turned… not so mini (almost 4000 words. Welp.)

probably won’t stay as a one-shot.

Soulmate AU: you can only see colors after the first time you’ve seen your soulmate, primarily Harry/Ginny with other canon ships implied… kind of

CW for brief memories of verbal homophobia

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

Harry was getting tired of wandering King’s Cross station alone, looking for a platform that couldn’t exist. He was just wondering if he should pull out his wand and tap on the barrier between platforms 9 and 10 when a new voice cut through the crowd, catching his attention.

“–Packed with muggles of course –”

Harry spun around, and caught sight of a small group of people, all clearly talking together. A plump woman had been the one talking, but there were four boys pushing trolleys with their own trunks, and a girl holding the woman’s hand. The tallest boy’s trunk had a cage with an owl on it – mottled and medium-bright, not the beautiful white that Hedwig was, but still definitely an owl.

While he was mentally categorizing the group, his vision swam and suddenly he was seeing differently. Harry blinked a few times, rubbed his eyes under his glasses, and the new sensation didn’t change. This must be color, Harry realized, which meant his soulmate was in the group. The Dursleys had denied the existence of soulmates as adamantly as they had denied the existence of magic, so perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised that the “elitist lie about ‘colors’ – is bright and dark not good enough for them, they have to make up imaginary sensations to boast about?” was true as well.

He was so disoriented by the sudden appearance of color that he almost forgot to follow them. Soulmate or no, he still needed to know how to get to platform 9¾ and they were likely to know since they were complaining about muggles.

Their hair was all the same color as each other and rather a different color than most people around him in the station. Fortunately, whatever the color was, it was particularly eye-catching so even when a rush of people cut him off from the strangers, he found them again quickly when the cross traffic passed.

Taking advantage of the lull, Harry swallowed his nerves and pushed his trolley up to the group, who was now gathered around one of the pillars denoting the border between platforms 9 and 10 and glancing periodically across at something. He wondered which of them might be his soulmate. A couple of girls in primary school had found each other as soulmates early on, and while the Dursleys had made a huge fuss about “homos pushing their ideas on children” and of course about soulmates and colors as a concept at all, the teacher had later that week compassionately reminded the children that soulmates were sacred bonds, and that they should be cherished regardless of gender or social expectations. Harry wasn’t sure he understood the appeal of soulmates or romance yet, but he was kind of hoping his soulmate would be one of the boys just to spite the Dursleys and their lies.

“Now, who remembers what platform we’re looking for?” the woman prompted.

“Nine and three-quarters,” the girl piped up. “Mum, can’t I go…”

“You’re not old enough, Ginny,” the woman interrupted. “Alright then Percy, you first.”

The boy with the owl nodded and stepped away from the group, marching toward… something. Harry tried to watch, but another rush of people and backpacks obscured his vision before Percy’s destination was obvious. By the time they cleared, Percy was nowhere to be seen.

After two more boys, seemingly twins, not just by appearance but also by how they’d teased their mother about mixing them up, had also vanished, Harry was still no closer to understanding how they were getting to the platform.

Harry stepped forward timidly to draw their attention. “Excuse me,” he asked softly

Ginny’s gasp interrupted Harry, who was about to repeat his interjection louder.

The woman glanced down at Ginny, who had hidden herself behind her mother’s legs, peering out occasionally at Harry and then ducking back again when he glanced her way. The woman then followed Ginny’s gaze to Harry. “Hello dear, can I help you?” the woman asked kindly.

“Er, yeah, I was wondering. Do you know how to get…” Harry trailed off, as something in a different bright color flashed in his peripheral vision – clearly he was still slightly distracted by the presence of color.

“Onto the platform?” the woman asked helpfully, before sending another concerned glance at her daughter. Harry nodded. “First time at Hogwarts, dear? It’s Ron’s first time too,” she said, indicating the remaining boy. Ron was gangly and had a smattering of freckles across his face, and offered Harry a friendly smile of his own. ”Well, it’s perfectly easy. You’ve just got to walk straight at that barrier ahead,” she indicated the next pillar up, the nearest in the direction that the older boys had disappeared. “You can close your eyes if it helps, and it’s best to do it at a bit of a run if you’re nervous. Why don’t you go next?”

Harry nodded, feeling too choked with nerves to answer aloud, and turned his own trolley toward the barrier. He took a deep breath and started walking directly at it. He found himself moving more and more briskly. When he was about four paces away from the barrier, he closed his eyes, bracing for the impact instinct said was inevitable, and kept moving. Six steps later, he cracked his eyes open and realized he was on a platform he hadn’t found by merely walking around, with no barrier to be seen. He opened his eyes fully and slowed to a stop. He glanced over his shoulder to see a brick wall behind him instead, the same texture and color as the pillar he had run towards. Another trolley burst through behind him, with Ron pushing it.

Harry grinned. Magic sure could do some amazing things. He turned to face the train again. Most of it was the same black he’d always seen, but there were glossy parts in another bright color that Harry couldn’t yet put a name to. Part of the Dursleys’ resistance to the idea of soulmates was by shredding the color-identification books he and Dudley had come home with their first year of public school. Harry hoped wizards had some equivalent that he could borrow from someone. Colors were so vibrant and interesting that he wanted to be able to identify them for himself.

The train’s whistle blew a warning, and Harry glanced up to see that the clock on the wall said it was only five minutes until eleven, so he needed to get onto the train. The twins from before helped Harry get his trunk on the train and into an empty compartment. When they spotted his scar, they tried to ask about it, but Harry only got as far as confirming that yes, he was Harry Potter, before their mother called them outside again.

As Harry was getting settled in his seat, he realized he hadn’t asked their names or if either of them could see color. Well, with bright hair like theirs, he was sure to find them again, and he would have more chances.

Asking about someone’s color status wasn’t exactly taboo, but it was deeply personal, so he hadn’t exactly been prepared to ask them in public on first meeting, especially since his soulmate wouldn’t be more than one person, and he wasn’t quite sure who it was out of the five kids he’d initially seen.

Out the open window, he heard Fred and George telling their family that they’d met him, interrupted briefly by their mother asking “Ginny, dear, what is the matter?” but getting no verbal reply, before she asked the twins how they knew it was him, and scolded them not to be overbearing.

The train whistled its one-minute warning, and the conversation outside faded as the boys hurried onto the train. Moments later, the compartment door slid open and Ron poked his head into Harry’s compartment. “Mind if I sit here? Everything else is full,” he explained, with a sheepish smile.

“Go ahead,” Harry agreed, with a nod and a small smile of his own, before he returned to staring out the window, watching the rush of colors in the witches and wizards’ outfits on the platform, and watching them all recede as the train started to move. He caught Ginny’s eyes briefly, as she chased the train and she looked away abruptly, cheeks flaming into brightness, before she stumbled and fell behind the train. That color was red, right? Or pink? He knew blushing was supposed to be one of those colors from stories his teachers had read to the class over the years. Because blood was red, right? Except when it was blue, that was a science fact. But he was sure blushing wasn’t blue. He really needed to get a color-identification book to study.

Fred and George stopped in just long enough to introduce themselves properly, and to point out Ron as their brother, before leaving again.

Ron, like the twins, was impressed to be meeting Harry Potter, and asked to see Harry’s scar, but eventually they settled down into normal, getting-to-know-you conversation. At least, Harry assumed it was normal. Dudley had been chasing off any of Harry’s potential friends for years, so he wasn’t exactly familiar with the process. After the cart came through, they shared snacks, and Harry gratefully let Ron explain all the unfamiliar candies and treats.

A few other people stopped in, looking for a toad. First was a boy named Neville, who owned the toad, and a few minutes later, a girl named Hermione, who claimed she’d already read several of the textbooks, and watched with interest, then disdain as Ron tried a rhyming spell Fred had given him, which apparently should have made his pet rat have chinchilla-soft fur instead of its normal shaggy coat. She loftily proclaimed that maybe he should try a good spell, or a simpler one, and demonstrated by genuinely fixing Harry’s taped-up glasses.

Ron scowled at the compartment door after she left for much longer than Harry thought was warranted, eventually complaining “she’s a bit bossy, don’t you think?”

Harry mentally compared Hermione to Aunt Petunia, whom he’d always thought of as bossy, and shrugged instead of answering. They really didn’t compare. Aunt Petunia was much more insufferable. Ron kept scowling at the door.

A while later, a vaguely familiar sneering face slid open the compartment door. “They’re saying Harry Potter’s in this compartment. It’s you, isn’t it?” he asked, looking directly at Harry. Harry took a moment longer than necessary before he realized that this was the same boy he’d met in Madam Malkin’s who had proclaimed Slytherin the best house, and Hufflepuff the worst. Seeing in color was a little weird, because he noticed the color of the boy’s pale hair before the angular shadow his nose cast on his cheek this time. Harry nodded warily, eyeing the large, hulking boys who had flanked the familiar one. The sneering boy introduced Crabbe and Goyle before introducing himself as Draco Malfoy.

Ron coughed, possibly hiding a laugh, and drew Malfoy’s attention. “Think my name’s funny do you? No need to ask yours. My father told me all Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford.” He turned back to Harry as Ron’s ears and face and neck lit up in the color that was probably red. Except if his hair was red, maybe his face wasn’t red. Hmm.

“You’ll quickly find that some wizarding families are better than others, Potter,” Malfoy continued. “You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.”

“I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks,” Harry answered coldly. Even though he’d only known Ron for a few hours, he could tell Ron was itching to say something scathing in response, and Harry was hoping whatever it was wouldn’t escalate the situation.

It did nearly end in a fight, but Ron’s pet rat scared Goyle off, and the visiting trio fled.

Hermione came in again as Malfoy and his cronies fled, scolded them for fighting, and reminded them to get changed into their robes.

When she had left again, Ron turned to Harry. “Do you think Malfoy can actually see color? Who would match with a prick like him?” he asked, baffled.

Harry snorted in agreement. “Beats me,” he responded. “Hey, this might be a weird question, but do wizards give all their kids a color-identification book like the muggles do?”

Ron gave Harry a considering look. “Not a book, really. It’s a lens that you can hold over something and it’ll tell you what color the thing is. Not much use before you’ve met your soulmate, but it’s interesting for sure.” He rummaged in his trunk and came up with his robes and something that seemed like a large magnifying glass with a brass handle, except the lens was flatter.

“Can I see that?” Harry asked, and Ron shrugged and handed it over. Harry looked around at the whole compartment, reading the words that appeared over each object. The upholstery on the seats was maroon. The pattern on the floor was green with yellow. His trunk was shades of brown. As expected, his robes were black. His socks and trainers were different shades of gray, though perhaps he should have expected that, as they didn’t look much different to him than they had when he’d put them on that morning. Scabbers was brown with gray patches and yellow eyes. Ron’s hair was orange. The grass outside was mostly identified as yellow even though Harry thought grass was supposed to be green. One of his textbooks had a cover that was the same bright color as he’d noticed on the train, which turned out to be red.

Harry handed the lens back, and quickly turned to the corner of the compartment to change into his own robes. When he turned around again, Ron was also peering around at everything through the lens.

“Sorry if this is too personal, but can you see colors?” Harry asked, not sure if he was hoping Ron was his soulmate or not.

Ron blinked at him, ears flushing again – and Harry was starting to understand why that color had the same name as the brighter “red” of his textbook cover – and then scowled. “Yeah,” Ron sighed, sounding irritated. “Someone I met on the train. You?”

Harry blinked at that incongruous response. Weren’t most people excited to meet their soulmates? And he and Ron had seen each other in the station, even though they’d first met on the train. Could they be soulmates? Why would Ron be disappointed about that? He almost forgot to answer, until Ron opened his mouth to say something else. “Erm. Yeah, I guess?” Harry answered. “But I’m not quite sure who it was.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it,” Ron said seriously. “I know everyone says soulmates are supposed to be your romantic life partner, but sometimes they’re just destined to be your best friend.” He said this with absolute certainty, but his ears kept getting redder and redder in a way that told Harry he ought not ask why Ron was so sure. “I mean, it’s probably scary to think you may never recognize them for who they are, but…

“I mean, it was you or one of your siblings,” Harry admitted impulsively, not quite sure if he was interrupting or if Ron had meant to trail off there. “I just kind of saw you all at once, and I’m not really sure who it was.”

“Hell, I wish you were my soulmate,” Ron grumbled. “You’d be better I think. Huh, who was there this morning?” he mused aloud. “Well, Percy met his match his first year. I don’t know if they’re dating yet, but Mum likes Penny okay. You’re probably lucky it’s not him, he’s rather stuck up. And Fred and George, er, both know theirs. And you’re not my soulmate unfortunately. So if it’s one of us it’s probably Ginny. My little sister. She’s alright, I guess, though she rarely shuts up about anything. She was weirdly quiet today, I suppose that was once we met you?”

Harry shrugged. “Dunno. We didn’t really interact.”

Ron chuckled. “Well, either we’ll make plans for you to meet everyone over Christmas, or you’ll meet her next year when she comes to Hogwarts. Then you can see for yourself what she’s like on a normal day,” he said as the train started to come to a halt.

Harry only hesitated a second, but then the brakes were screeching too loudly for him to reply. On the other hand, he wasn’t quite sure what he would have said. It was weird to think that someone he’d never met was his soulmate. Was she supposed to be special to him? He felt nothing yet: a slight optimism about the idea of having a soulmate and proving the Dursleys wrong, but nothing for or against Ginny Weasley. He wondered how he ought to feel about her.

Harry easily found Hagrid, who was shouting for the first years, and clambered with his fellows into the small boats that took them across the lake. When they got there, they found themselves waiting in a small chamber with large, double doors behind them, and a small but ornate door ahead. Indistinct chatter could be heard beyond that door.

Soon enough, a woman appeared, introducing herself as Professor McGonagall, and gave them instructions. She would call them, one at a time, through the door to be sorted into their houses. She would place the Sorting Hat upon their heads and it would tell them where to go. Remaining students would be able to hear the results well enough through the door, but they were not to come through any more than one-at-a-time. It wasn’t an unusual policy, but there was some unhappy muttering about not being able to see friends get sorted. Ron switched from fretting about the troll Fred had warned him about, to worrying what his parents would think if he wasn’t in Gryffindor. Harry didn’t respond. He had never known how not to disappoint his guardians, and he didn’t really have parents to disappoint.

Sure enough, they could hear the Sorting Hat’s song clearly in the entry chamber. Harry wondered what it looked like, and whether it was really a hat, or some other magical object that was just placed upon heads and called a hat. He waited, getting increasingly nervous, as more of his fellow first-years were called through the door and his own turn approached. He wondered if there was a house for students who just felt a bit queasy.

When “Granger, Hermione” was called through the door, Ron tangibly relaxed, though he scowled heavily when she got sorted into Gryffindor, his preferred house. Harry felt like he might be missing something. Hermione had been a little brusque, but not that bad, he thought. Maybe she just reminded Ron of someone worse? Like the way Crabbe and Goyle had both kind of reminded him of Dudley except they were lacking the cunning gleam that was usually in Dudley’s eyes. They were similar enough to him that he wanted to avoid them.

When Harry’s name was called, he grinned nervously at Ron’s whispered, “good luck!” and stepped through the door. He tried not to look at the crowd of students who had briefly stopped their chattering when his name was called, and were just starting to resume in whispers. “Is it really him?” “Harry Potter!” “The Boy Who Lived”. As soon as his eyes found Professor McGonagall again, he kept his gaze fixed on her as he walked up, taking careful strides so his knees didn’t wobble. It was indeed a hat in her hands, but it looked to be in awful shape – battered and torn worse than any of his hand-me-downs from Dudley.

Finally, he got to the stool she had set up, and sat himself carefully upon it, which granted him one brief glance ahead at the crowd before the Sorting Hat slipped down over his eyes and blocked them out again.

One argument with the Sorting Hat later, and Harry found himself a Gryffindor as well, though haunted by the Hat’s words that “you would be great in Slytherin.” He made his way carefully to the Gryffindor table, which was cheering loudly, and found a vacant seat by the older Weasley boys, who all welcomed him heartily.

By the time the evening was done, Harry had borrowed Ron’s Spectralens again and identified the house colors, visible in the banners above each house table, as red, green, yellow, and blue, each with a different pattern repeated in light and dark shades. Gryffindor was red with interlocking diamonds outlined in a paler shade. Slytherin was green triangles alternating in light and dark. Hufflepuff was bright yellow – not at all the same as the grass – with five-pointed stars outlined in a darker yellow that the Spectralens occasionally called gold. Ravenclaw was blue with interlocking circles outlined in a lighter shade, forming a pattern that seemed to shift in Harry’s peripheral vision. More importantly, over the course of the evening Dumbledore had made enough announcements, large and small, that there wasn’t too much attention on Harry anymore, and in addition Harry had met a ghost and a poltergeist and talking portraits on his way through the undeniably magical castle. He had friends and magic and colors. The Dursleys would hate every bit of that, and knowing that only made Harry love it more.

The next morning, while Harry was reading his letter from Hagrid, Ron was reading his own letter, which had been delivered by an ancient-looking brown tawny owl who nearly collapsed into Ron’s bacon after dropping the letter in his lap.

“Hagrid’s invited me over for tea,” Harry informed Ron, turning to deliver the news. “Would you like to come with me?”

“Yeah, sure,” Ron agreed. “I’ll come. Hey, Mum’s asking if you, the boy we helped to find Platform 9¾, really are Harry Potter. She wants to know because ‘it matters to Ginny’. How much you wanna bet they’ve figured it out too?” That you’re Ginny’s soulmate went unsaid. Ron and Harry were both hesitant to talk about it too publicly. Harry in case they’d guessed wrong, and Ron presumably because his sister was involved but Harry hadn’t had a chance to ask why.

Harry paused from scribbling a reply to Hagrid, and glanced sideways at Ron. “Huh. Probably. Think I should write her a letter?” He would do so if only so he didn’t have to filter his responses through Ron. Although Ron was great, Harry was still wary of talking about soulmates aloud, especially when too many people were around.

“Who? Mum or Ginny?” Ron asked curiously.

“Er, your mum I guess?” Harry decided. “I could say I’m not sure which of you I saw and even though you think it was Ginny, I didn’t want to get her hopes up if I was wrong? And then if I’m not wrong, maybe start writing Ginny and get to know her.”

Ron nodded. “Yeah, mum would probably like that.” He grinned, “And then I wouldn’t have to write letters on your behalf.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry teased, also grinning. “You’re trying to get out of extra work and we haven’t even gotten our schedules yet.” He re-read his note to Hagrid (I’d be happy to come, and I’m bringing my friend Ron ~ Harry) and sent Hedwig off again.

Ron snorted, but before he could reply, Professor McGonagall arrived to pass out their schedules and give the first years instructions on how to find their first class of the day. They got rather busy after that, with subjects that were entirely new to Harry and plenty of homework to go with it all, but nothing could quench the warm feeling growing in Harry’s chest that he was finally somewhere he belonged.

[gingersnaaps]

ctrl + shift + n

you should always remember to close your tabs - especially your tabs of tumblr smut, and especially around miya atsumu.

wc: 1.6k

tags/tw's(PLEASE READ): explicit n*fw, noncon, fingering, panty gag, finger sucking, condescension, super meta, fem!reader with internal genitals, college!au

a/n: i feel like this has been done before but i’ve had this concept on my mind for a while

i don’t want minors interacting with my content

Miya Atsumu. Star volleyball player at your college. Undeniably talented. Riddled with scholarship offers and professional opportunities. Infuriatingly attractive.

Also: a terrible group project member.

“Just lemme have a look,” he whines, grabbing at your laptop. “It’ll only take a few seconds. Promise.”

It’s a heroic task, ignoring him. It almost takes as much brainpower as doing his portion of the project for him.

Your eye begins to twitch as his perfectly-filed fingernails intrude at the edge of your screen, obscuring part of the slide you’d been working on. Technically, he should have been the one doing them, but as much of a genius as he may be at volleyball(this fact was grudgingly admitted after you’d watched him play once), he was utterly useless when it came to anatomy and physiology.

And you really, really, needed to end the semester without failing.

The cool metal of the laptop slips out of your grasp, and you roll your eyes so hard that you think they might get stuck in your head.

“Just wanted to see what you’d been workin’ on,” Atsumu says sheepishly. He’s sitting at the opposite end of your couch, legs kicked up and crossed on the coffee table, and the bright screen disappears from view as he begins clicking through the slideshow. “Not bad,” he muses. He presses a few more keys.

His face suddenly changes, a brow quirking as his eyes darken.

“What?” you snap. “Should’ve done it yourself earlier if there’s something you don’t like.”

He jumps slightly, startled by your harsh reaction. “No,” he says quickly. Too quickly. “It’s good. I like it.”

One more thing to note about Miya Atsumu, you thought to yourself: he was probably terrible at poker.

He returns the laptop to you, as promised, and hums idly as you resume working. The two of you sit in silence, but it’s not exactly comfortable - after the awkward exchange, there’s a layer of tension that hangs thick and heavy in the air. The air conditioning drones on in the background, like white noise meant to soothe, but it worms its way into your conscious mind and sits there, just noticeable enough to be irritating. Aside from that, it’s quiet enough to hear a pin drop.

Of course, he’s the one to break the silence.

“Didn’t know you were into that kinda’ stuff.”

You freeze.

“Didn’t think that a girl like you would ever be lookin’ at something so messed up.”

Panic clenches at your stomach, and you reply carefully, voice measured and cold. “What are you talking about?”

“Should really be more careful about which tabs you leave open,” he chuckles.

You scan the cluttered row of tabs at the top; there’s nothing missing. Your eyes dart around the screen frantically -

There’s an incognito window open along your taskbar.

“Rough sex, violent sex, rape? Jesus christ, sweetheart.”

You click nervously, and on the screen, clear as day, is the fic you’d been reading earlier that morning. It’s one of the blogs you frequent - normally one of your favorite places to scroll through after a nasty day - but right now, it seems almost sinister, black font on a white background staring back accusingly as your skin prickles under his gaze. You swallow; a heavy, sinking feeling squeezes at your chest, closes up your throat, makes you feel like you’re dry drowning.

He grabs the laptop back. He’s sitting a lot closer now.

“I mean, just look at this shit. You really want this, huh?”

“No, I- I don’t.” Your voice sounds foreign, far away - you feel like you’re underwater, and your denial sounds guilty even to your own ears.

His lips graze your ear, the warmth of his body spreading to yours as he slides an arm around waist.

“If you wanted to be raped, angel,” he whispers, a terrifying grin stretched wide across his face. “All you had to do was ask.”

He laughs at his clever little joke, and pulls you onto his lap.

You feel numb, paralyzed, unable to fight back or move at all as his hands glide along your inner thighs, kneading the soft, puffy, flesh, spreading them apart until you’re straddling his lap. He pulls your hair to one side and starts kissing along your jaw, rough and sloppy, sharp teeth nipping at the underside of your jaw as you shiver.

He punctuates his words with a harsh squeeze to your thigh, thumb brushing dangerously close to your cunt. “I bet you were getting off t’ this, weren’t you?” he hisses. “Bet you were just dripping down your thighs, squirmin’ around ‘n moaning, fantasizing about some scary man who just takes what he wants.”

The dull, pained, look in your eyes reads like defeat to him, sending a thrill of pleasure through his veins. He’s right, isn’t he? He’s fuckn’ spot on about your little habits, your little fantasies, and he’s gonna make sure that all your dreams come true.

“Let’s do this exactly how it’s written out, how’s that sound? Follow along with your cute story ‘nd everything,” he muses, scrolling down the page. “Starts out with her - you - getting fingerfucked.”

It’s as if those words break some sort of dam inside you, a flurry of tears and sobs heaving out of your chest as his fingers trail up to your clothed clit. You squirm back and forth in his lap, ass rutting against his hardening cock. “Don’t want it,” you whimper. “Don’t make me. Please.”

“Playin’ along, angel? That’s cute.”

He peels your skirt off of you, thumbs hooking around the waistband of your panties as he pulls them off and stuffs them in your mouth. You can taste yourself on the damp fabric that clings to the roof of your mouth, spit soaking through as your whines and protests become muffled.

Fingers spread your pussy apart, sliding and squelching embarrassingly in the slick, your skin cold and exposed in the open air. As he rests his thumb lightly on your clit, he quirks his lips at the way your heartbeat thrums in your cunt, your pussy twitching as you clench around nothing.

Best part is that you like this, that you're turned on by this, he thinks. The fat, silvery, tears streaming down your face mean absolutely nothing when you’re so obviously into it.

He thrusts a long, thick, finger in, all the way to the last knuckle, the calloused pad of his fingertip brushing up against your spongy walls as your pussy contracts and squeezes him tight. “So eager,” he coos. “It’s jus’ like you always imagined, huh?”

You sniffle as the outline of his cock presses into your ass, rutting his hips against you and moaning from the delicious friction of the fabric. There’s nowhere for you to go, one large hand squeezing your waist and holding you down, the other fucking you backwards into his broad chest.

He crooks his finger; you sob, body drawn taught with pleasure, and he pushes another inside as you spasm. He’s good with his hands, unfairly good, his thumb nudging against your sweet clit in circles as his fingers scissor your walls and stretch you out so good. It’s as if you’re his little puppet, jerking around whenever he drags his fingers roughly against your g-spot, crying out through your stuffed mouth as blunt teeth sink into your neck and his tongue runs along the ridge of your ear.

“You’re makin’ a mess, pretty girl,” he murmurs, watching in delight as you flush with shame. “Dripping into my palm and all down your thighs, just like the girl in the story.”

You turn your head, trying to look away, but he grabs at the hinge of your jaw and forces you to meet his gaze. It’s taunting, cruel - he looks so pleased with himself as he fingers you until your thighs start trembling, walls clenching erratically as pleasure builds and builds.

His grip on your face turns tight, pressing bruises into your skin as you cream and gush around his thick digits. The orgasm crashes down on you in waves of pleasure, his fingers fucking you through it with constant probing and circling and stimulation.

His nimble fingers pluck the panties from your mouth, soaked with drool, and tosses them aside onto the floor. “Open up,” he says, prying at your mouth.

Your jaw goes slack, falling open, too tired to put up a fight as he shoves his fingers in. You’re not sure there’s much of a point. You suck sloppily, tongue laving around his digits, cleaning your cum off of him as he shoves his hand in deeper, making you gag and retch, and he moans loudly at the sight. You look so perfect - his precious little angel choking on his fingers, eyes watering and body trembling as you do everything he makes you.

You’re shivering when he withdraws his fingers with a pop.

He helps you put your clothes back on, wet panties sliding across your skin and leaving trails of shining slick. It sticks and clings to your pussy, makes you feel all filthy and used, and bile rises in your throat. Goosebumps ripple down your thigh at the sensation of cool air.

Atsumu nuzzles at your neck, fingers patting at your spent pussy, his tenderness almost mocking, and clicks back to the slideshow you’d been working on.

“Let’s save the cock for after you get us the A, hmm?”

[dragon-kazansky]

A rose in shadows - Chapter one

HERE WE ARE~! This is the beginning of the movie, not much of you and Sherlock together for the first few chapters, but it’s all vital to the plot.

Chapter 1 - Back in business

Miss Irene Adler walks through a market, a package under her arm. She had just taken it from a man who's job was to give it to her. She passed a man selling newspapers featuring the bombing that took place in Strasbourg, believed to be done by anarchists. A little further along the road was a homeless man sleeping peacefully despite the chatter around him. She made her way down some steps to reach the lower part of the market. Everything seemed, but a rather loud whistle caught her attention. She turned around only to see no one. When she faced forward again a man had joined her at her side.

It was the homeless man she had passed. Only, she knew this man.

Sherlock Holmes.

"When did you start working for the postal service?" Sherlock asked, linking his arm with hers.

Irene noticed that Sherlock was now holding the package and under her arm was a loaf of bread. That was a very clever swap done by him.

"That was you back there." She sighed. "Shame your activities have landed you in the gutter."

"A curious parcel. Who's the intended recipient?" He asks her.

"Why don't we discuss that over dinner tonight?" She suggests.

"I'm free for lunch."

"Hmm. I'm not. How about the Savoy, 8 o'clock?" She smiles at him.

"Splendid."

"And will you be coming as yourself?"

"Most likely." Sherlock grabs Irene's arm and pulls her to the side, leaning in close to speak quietly into her ear. "Three men have been following you for the last half mile, their motives.... highly unsavoury."

Holding his hand, they hurry off down an alley way, only to be blocked off by another man.

Irene comes to a stop and turns to face Sherlock.

"Oh and by the way, they're not pursuing me, they're escorting me, and instead of three there seems to be, uh... four." She glances at the three that have now joined them in the alley and then at the one behind her. She takes her parcel back from Sherlock.

"Steady hands with that, Irene."

"Oh, I don't think it's my hands you have to worry about." She smiles at him. "Now, be careful with the face boys, we do have a dinner date tonight. Don't fill up on bread." She warns Sherlock, teasing him.

She leaves Sherlock alone with the men in the alley.

The lone man whistles a tune.

Sherlock continues it as he turns around to face the other three. The loaf of bread is removed from his arms, he removes his glasses, the moustache is removed from his face. All the while he whistles. His wig is taken off.

"I forgot the rest." He turns sharply, only to be halted by the lone man. Sherlock is pinned against the wall. "Oh, it's coming back now." He kicks the man and a fight breaks out.

One VS Four.

Sherlock does quite well, but he's soon pinned up against the wall again.

A couple of police men come around the corner and he is let go. He slides to the ground and takes on a meditating position. The men all hang about, trying to act like nothing was happening. The tall an tosses coins at Sherlock's feet. The act seems to pay off as the police leave the area. The man begins to whistle again.

Sherlock doesn't move. He has seen all he needs to see.

He knows how this will play out. Using his deductions to his advantage, he is able to block the attacks and get the upper hand.

It's over very quickly.

Sherlock unloads the gun and hands it back to the tall man who started this, but he walks away.

He can't help but wonder what you would have thought if you were with him. He didn't have long to think about you right now, unfortunately. He had to get to the auction house. That parcel would blow up the building if he didn't make it in time.

He makes it just in time. Able to stop the bomb from going off with a betting paddle.

"Who is this?" The elder gentleman asked, looking at Irene. It was he who had received the parcel.

"Hello darling." Sherlock gave Irene a kiss on the cheek.

The older man removed a part of the box in front of him and the gears inside began to come alive.

"Oh dear, I told you not to move it." Sherlock removed his top hat, which had most defiantly stolen. "It seems a secondary charge has been activated." He had stopped the first one, but now the situations seemed to only get worse. "Sweet thing, I might need your help." He stops Irene from getting up.

The auction continues, no one else aware of what was going on.

"One million pounds!" Sherlock shouts. The people gasp. "Oh, and by the way, fire!" The tapestry behind him had caught fire, his pipe having set it a light as he stood up.

He needed everyone to leave. Quickly.

"FIRE!"

Everyone rushed out.

"Leave my side and you'll be dead within the hour." Sherlock warned Irene.

"Then don't be late for dinner." She scolds him. "I expect my schedule to be quite tight because of these activities here."

"I've never been late in my life, only early."

"Fashionably."

Irene leans in to kiss him, but he moves out of the way, taking her hand which tried to take back to letter she had been holding before, but Sherlock had taken it from her. It gives her a warning look.

"I'll hold onto that We'll read it together."

"Fine. Dinner and a show." Irene leaves.

Sherlock takes the box from the older gentleman, and rushes to the front of the auction house.

"Stay, trust me, this is what I do for a living."

On display in the front was an old Egyptian coffin. Sherlock tossed the bomb into it and closed it. He pushed it into the safe on the side of the room.

"You should count yourself lucky. This faceless man with whom you find yourself in business with is no ordinary criminal. He's the Napoleon of crime. Fortunately, you now have me as an alley. I'm a consulting detective, of some repute. Perhaps you've heard of me. My name is Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock, being inside the safe, hadn't seen the man get up and leave.

As he turned around, the bomb went off, contained within the old artefact.

Sherlock left the auction house. Not entirely surprised to find himself completely alone after that. As he walked through the crowds, he passed one man in particular. He was looking at him. Sherlock turned back around and walked a few steps further, noticing a man leaning against the wall, looking rather pale. It was the man from the auction house. He ducked into the small crevice where he was and checked for a pulse. Nothing. In his leg was a small dart.

The man was dead.

The man on the street was gone now. Sherlock tucked the dart away and hurried on. He had a dinner date to keep to.

If only it was dinner with you. Now, that would be much more to his liking.

Only, things don't always go to plan. Sherlock heard laughter and turned around in his seat. He expected it to be Irene, but it was a lady a couple tables over. He looked at his pocket watch, which was resting on the table. She was late. This was unusual for Miss Adler.

Even still, Sherlock prepared to eat.

Tags:

@hufflepuff-pide-honey-badger @theatricalbride @phantomofhogwarts @awyr @fandombeehive @charmed-asylum @sigynbandraoi-blog @procrastinatingmurder @madshelily @photography-to-all @sitkafay @melancholicsthings

[mumblings-of-a-dreamer]

“How did you die?” - One Shot

Warnings: Death Mention, transphobia mention, implied divorce. Other things also implied, but they are left up to interpretation

A/N: I honestly have no idea where this came from or what it is. This scene came to me like a dream with no context, and possessed me until I wrote it down. Feel free to interpret it as you wish, and theorize as you please. 

Search Masterlist on my blog, it should be tagged for convenience.

Annabel pulled herself up to sit on one of the bar stools at the kitchen counter. It took a moment of struggle, as a seven year old was only so tall, but she managed. Once she was content leaning against the counter, swinging her legs and setting her cheek in her hand, the young child turned her focus on her uncle, who was busy cleaning up after dinner. Well, she knew he wasn’t really her uncle, but he was close enough to one, so that was what she called him. In a lot of ways, he was better than her “real” uncle, but she knew what Mama would say if she said that outloud.

The dishes clinked as the man turned off the water and began drying them off. Annabel eyed the thin white scars on his tan skin. Mama said they were signs of weakness, so he must have been very strong. Mama enjoyed speaking in riddles that made Annabel’s uncle smile and roll his eyes when he thought Mama wasn’t looking. Her uncle didn’t smile very often, so Annabel liked the riddles, even though they made her head hurt sometimes. Dad said the riddles were actually something called “lies” but Mama said “lies” were just riddles that Dad didn’t know how to solve. Dad didn’t live with them in the cabin anymore.

The man who was sort of her new uncle started humming as he worked. Annabel didn’t know what the song was, but something about it sounded old to her. Not bad old, like that boring music without lyrics that Dad listened to sometimes, but old like spooky and special. Her “real” uncle sang when he was excited and when he was stressed. Dad hated singing. But when Mama sang it meant Mama was relaxed, and that was the best time to ask questions. Her uncle was like Mama in a lot of ways. She wondered if her uncle would like questions. Annabel liked questions, and there was one she wanted most. 

“Hey, Uncle Virgil?” Annabel didn’t like names very much. But Mama taught her that names were power, and Annabel really wanted this question answered. And she would need all her power to get that answer. The man, Virgil, Superior Uncle, didn’t turn to look at her as he stretched up to put away some dishes in a cabinet.

“Hm?” Annabel wasn’t upset by the lack of words. Her uncle didn’t speak much unless asked, and she hadn’t asked her question yet.

“How did you die?” A bowl slipped from his hand, but he caught it again before it broke. Mama said Uncle was clumsy and never caught things when he knocked them over in his panic, so Annabel wasn’t worried. Her uncle turned to look at her. His eyes seemed more surprised than sad, which she saw as a good sign. People normally got sad when other people die, but sad Uncles didn’t answer questions. 

“Who says I’ve died?” Annabel pouted before she could stop herself. She used to like questions because they were always honest, then Mama taught her about riddle questions. Riddle questions weren’t answers. 

“My “Uncle” Roman said you were a corpse Mama dragged home from out of a graveyard. I thought he was telling a riddle, but you have a lot of scars, and he doesn’t tell riddles like Mama does.” She felt the need to put uncle in quote marks, so it matched how real he felt to her. He was Dad’s brother, and nothing about Dad felt real after he left. Her Uncle half smiled at the movement, and she was happy he agreed. 

“Well, I suppose that’s one way of putting it. I’m not surprised that’s how Roman put it, he seems the type.” The child frowned. She didn’t know her uncles had met.

“So, if you’re a corpse, how did you die?” Her uncle laughed in that quiet way that was unique to him. Dad didn’t like laughing, unless he was doing it to prove a point. It was never a fun point. Mama did something that her uncle called “cackling” which confused Annabel. “Cackling” sounded scary and wrong, which didn’t connect to the happy sound Mama made. Her “real” uncle’s laugh was bold and loud. 

“Hmm, let’s see. I suppose it started when I was forced to realize that humans are weirdly strict when it comes to genders.” Annabel blinked and sat up. She wasn’t expecting a story. Her uncle never seemed like the story type. He had changed a lot, in the time that had passed since he moved into the cabin with her and Mama. It was possible he actually liked telling stories. She hoped he liked stories.

“Genders? Like how Uncle Roman thought it was weird when he heard me call Mama by his title that first time?” Her uncle got a soft look in his eyes that she had not seen before. It was nice, and coupled with his smile. It looked a lot like Mama’s, but smaller. Then again, it was hard to find a smile as big as Mama’s.

“Yeah, humans normally associate “Mama” with she/her pronouns. Not all humans, of course. Some humans are good, and kind, and they live life how they are meant to.” She wasn’t sure what “associate” meant. Her formal vocabulary lessons stopped when Dad left, but she still had some dictionaries lying around. She’d figure it out later. 

“Did you know any good humans who were like you?” He laughed. She wasn’t sure why.

“No, there weren’t any humans like me back then. If there were any good ones, I didn’t meet them. At the time, I looked like someone with she/her pronouns. They didn’t like those people, for some reason. I don’t remember why. It’s possible that there wasn’t a reason at all. Anyway, they didn’t like that I was a “girl” and they liked it even less when I tried to tell them I was a man.” Her uncle’s voice was deep, and his shoulders were wide. She thought she knew what humans believed he/him people were supposed to look like. It was possible she had gotten them mixed up. Or maybe it was a riddle. She had assumed humans hated riddles, since Dad and his brother hated them. Maybe it was possible some humans told riddles.

“Did they kill you for it?” Her uncle’s smile changed. It looked like what her “real” uncle called Mama’s evil smirk. The smile Mama had when he was about to say something very clever that he was proud of. Or the smile that led to a very tricky riddle. Sometimes they were the same thing. 

“No, someone tried to hurt me and I killed them first. Then the humans killed me.” Annabel’s eyes went wide. Her uncle turned back to finish the dishes. She wasn’t sure if that was a riddle or not. She’d figure it out later.

If she ever decided she wanted to.

[pllandcompany]

Out Loud (Part Four)

Summary: Hospital!AU. Logan has everybody fooled...or so he thinks. (Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three)

Warnings: mentions/description of drug use and addiction, poor self-care habits, undereating, anxiety, some swearing, blood, discussion of medical procedures, mentions of past violence/gun violence

Pairings: QPP Moxiety, Romantic Logince

Tagged: @ziallwarrior  @thefallendog  @jakesmolbean @trueunreal  @a-ghosts @band-be-boss-blog  @thecatchat  @flyingfreeyt  @apologieslogan

Notes: So this is probably the second to last installment. I'm ready to stop torturing poor Logan, dear Lord, boy has it rough. Fair warning, this is a long one but important, i think at least. Previous parts are in the summary if you need a refresher. As always, heed the warnings and enjoy!

"You've hardly touched your meal, my love." Logan looked up from his plate to meet concerned eyes and a worried grimace gracing his partner's face. "I apologize, Roman," he replied softly, guilt beginning a light pounding in his chest.

Roman didn't look assuaged in the slightest. "Is it not to your liking, dearest? I can make something else for you." He took Logan's hand and began rubbing the inside of his palm. Logan closed his eyes briefly at the warm, calming touch. "It's not that, Roman, your cooking is wonderful as always. It simply appears that I do not have much of an appetite this evening, that's all."

Roman's frown grew deeper. "Are you feeling sick? You should go rest, I'll make you some soup and bring it to you-"

"That won't be necessary," Logan held up the hand that was previously in Roman's soft grip, feeling the cold settle into his skin again. "I think I am just a bit over-tired." He stood to take his plate into the kitchen, taking care of the leftovers before rinsing the dish.

"Where are you going?" Roman barely fought the urge to whine.

"To lay down," Logan said from the kitchen, voice slightly raised. He walked out of the kitchen past Roman who, without warning, gripped his wrist so tightly it stole his breath. Roman's entire being seemed to be trembling.

“Don’t,” Roman gasped, the word tight with suppressed tears. Logan stared in earnest confusion and fear for how quickly the neurosurgeon was unraveling in front of him. “Don’t what, Roman?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Don’t��disappear on me again. I just got you back. And I’m not even sure you’re all the way here. I need you. Please…don’t leave me.” The plea shook Logan to the core. Roman didn’t beg. He demanded, he decreed, he insisted, sure, but he never, ever begged for anything he wanted. Logan swallowed thickly, panic rising in his throat. He can’t sense that anything is wrong. I can’t let him see it. He lowered himself into Roman’s lap, straddling him and looping his arms around broad shoulders. He pulled them together for a passionate kiss, deep and slow, only pulling back when he felt the quivers of the younger man’s tears begin to slow. “I’m right here, Roman. I know I...went away for a while but I'm back now. You do not need to worry. I’m here.” Roman crashed their lips together a second time, the kiss more forceful and frantic. It left Logan’s head light and empty. He pulled away and rested his head on his lover’s chest, panting. Roman immediately began to fret again.

“Are you all right, mi amor? Was that too much for you? Oh, I really think you should eat something more, the amount you had wasn't nearly enough-”

Logan got up quickly, ignoring the way the room spun in front of him. “Shhh, calm, Roman, calm. You worry too much. I am adequate, I simply require some rest. Teaching Virgil is a taxing endeavor, you know how stubborn he is.” A light chuckle escaped Logan’s lips, drawing a small smirk from Roman. “There’s the smile I was looking for.” Logan leaned in for one last quick kiss, a sultry look spreading across his face. “Feel free to come join me when you’re ready. I could use some company.” He sauntered out of the room, holding himself together until the last possible second. Once he reached Roman’s bedroom, he slid down the back of the door and clutched his knees. The room rapidly became a carousel, whirling violently in his vision.

He needed more and he needed it now.

Logan crawled to his overnight bag and pulled out a medium sized manicure kit. He scrambled to his feet and into the lavish bathroom, quickly locking the door behind him. He opened the kit over the sink, careful not to spill anything onto the thick, red mat. Logan smirked to himself for being clever enough to hide his…materials in such an innocuous place, although the risk he was taking using in Roman's house was reckless enough to cancel that cleverness out completely. If he were to be caught...the consequences could be damning. At this moment though, Logan was desperate. He pushed the thoughts of being found out away from his brain as he loosened the (stolen) tourniquet and let the drug follow freely through this veins. He needed to relax. To forget. To erase the painful cacophony of loud chatter that was his mind. In a stroke of drug-induced brillance, Logan reached over to the bathtub and ran the hot water. Roman would think he was just taking a bath to relax and would patiently wait until he emerged from the bathroom, not even bothering to check on him.

Chalk another one up to him for cleverness.

He finally sunk to the floor and laid supine on the plush bathroom mat, the high crashing into him like the waves of a forbidden sea. Once the initial intensity ebbed away, he got up, ran his head under the faucet briefly and turned off the water. He quickly toweled his hair dry, packed up his manicure kit, and changed into his sleepwear, careful to pack the kit at the very bottom of his overnight bag. His limbs felt heavy as he slid into the queen-sized bed, sinking into the too-soft mattress and drifting into a sedated, dreamless sleep.

Moments later, Roman came upstairs and curled in next to his lover, not even noticing the small prick of blood that had dripped onto the red sheets from Logan's arm.

****

Virgil was, to say the very least, exhausted.

Not just tired. Deep down to the core of his bones exhausted. His hair hurt and his muscles felt like they were evaporating into the couch he laid on, groaning. Patton took pity on his tired comrade and walked over, going unnoticed by Virgil. He settled on the couch and lifted the trauma surgeon's feet to rest in his lap, earning a moan of protest that quickly turned to pleasure as the massage began.

"You are a godsend, Patton, I swear," Virgil mumbled, eyes lidded in relaxation. Patton blushed slightly from the praise. "Well, you just look so tired, I'll do anything to help. Logan's really running you ragged still, huh?"

"I'll say that. It's like residency all over again except this time I'm simultaneously running a department. You know, since...Dr. Copeland was..." Patton frowned, remembering the tragic passing of Virgil's supervisor on...that day. He shook his head of the unpleasant memory. "Well, how does that even work, Virge? You can't be in two places at once."

"Easy. Since Logan has me doing all of his surgeries, any traumas that come in that aren't cardiac get deferred to the fellow. And when I can supervise or need to adjust the schedule, I step in. If I'm free from Logan's service, then I go back to mine and take over surgeries."

Patton froze, horrified. "Virgil...that does not sound easy, that sounds awful! You're burning yourself out, how do you not see that?" Virgil spun his legs out of Patton's lap and sat up to face him, the foot rub having given him renewed energy. "I know it sounds crazy, Pat, but listen. The past few weeks have been...exhilarating. Learning new things, being in charge...look, I thought about what you said before. About a double speciality? I know I dismissed it at first but...I'm basically already running the trauma department now! If I keep this up and become a more well-rounded surgeon, maybe the Chief would take me seriously enough to promote me. I could be a permanent department head, not just a placeholder."

Patton took Virgil's hands into his own and squeezed. "Sweetheart. You are far more than just a placeholder. And you are valuable all on your own. You don't need extra specialties or a promotion to be taken seriously. Especially if getting there is going to take this much of a toll on you. I don't want to kill your dream if that's what you really want but only if you're happy and healthy doing it." Patton paused for a moment, recalling something Virgil said earlier. "Logan has you doing all of his procedures?"

"Well, yeah, but only the simple ones. Anything complicated gets deferred to his fellow."

Patton raised an eyebrow. That just didn't sound right. "So he's not operating at all?" Virgil blinked slowly as if he was just realizing the truth of Patton's words. "Yeah, I guess not...maybe he's just more focused on teaching for the moment? I mean, we're all still kind of easing our way back into normal life."

Patton clicked his tongue and folded his arms. "Except for you. You're leading two lives, doing the work of two surgeons."

Virgil shrank back. "Are you mad at me, Pat? I know I haven't been around as much but it's for a good reason." Patton sighed, taking his partner's hands a second time. "No, sweetheart, I'm not mad at you, I'm just worried about you...and Logan. It's weird that he's not operating at all."

"Is it weird that he isn't operating or is it weird that I am?" Virgil asked defensively, yanking back his hands. "You think I can't do this, right? Can't handle it, hmm?" Patton looked on shock. "No! Of course that's not what I'm saying!"

Virgil shook his head angrily, too keyed up to hear reason. "I don't get it. You were so damn excited when I first started this. You put the freakin' idea of department head in my brain and now that I actually want it, you think I can't do it! How about you make up your damn mind, huh?"

"Virgil Shea, I don't care how tired you are, I will not have you speak to me this way! You apologize this instant!" The trauma surgeon glared at Patton in stubbornness, recoiling when the older man returned the glare in spades. "You're right. I am tired. And jumping to conclusions. I'm sorry, I know you're just trying to be there for me."

Patton's expression softened considerably. "And I know you have trouble letting people do that sometimes. I'll forgive you...as long as you march yourself into that bedroom right now and sleep. You look dead on your feet...or butt since you're sitting." They both giggled as Virgil stretched, yawning and joints popping into place. He giggled a second time at Patton's disgusted frown at the noise. "Sorry, I know you hate that."

"It sounds like you're falling apart."

"It's because I am," Virgil said dryly, another yawn stealing his words. "Gonna go put myself back together with some sleep." He trudged away shuffling his feet before he paused and turned to face Patton again. "Thanks for always looking out for me, Pat."

Patton beamed. "Love you too, Virge." He watched Virgil's back fondly until he shuffled into the bedroom, leaving Patton alone with his thoughts. Thoughts that for once weren't bright and bubbly. Thoughts that he prayed weren't true but he felt almost certain they were. His smile dropped as his brain flashed the upsetting conclusion in neon lights.

It wasn't likely that he would end up being wrong but boy, would he give anything to not be right.

****

"You're doing very well, Dr. Davidson," Logan reassured, observing Virgil's work. "We should be done here soon." He glanced at the clock anxiously. "It is...taking a bit longer than expected but that is probably due to your lack of experience causing you to pause and take more of your time."

Virgil snorted. "Thanks for the constructive criticism, General. Heart-warming, truly." Virgil winced internally. "Oh God, no pun intended. Jeez, I've really gotta stop letting Patton rub off on me." Logan stole another look at the clock, obviously not absorbing anything that was just said. "You got somewhere to be, General? Is my slow pace holding you up?" Virgil chuckled behind his mask, hoping that Logan would catch the sarcasm. Instead, the older man flinched nervously and fixed the table with a wide-eyed stare. "No. I am fine. Pay attention." He spoke unusually firmly and Virgil would have responded with another sardonic retort...

If the patient's artery didn't blow right into his and Logan's face.

Oh my God, she's crashing, Virgil thought, panicked. Holy shit, okay Virge, what do you do, what do you do? "Dr. Taylor, a little help?" Virgil looked back to see a frozen Logan with his mouth gaping and fumbling to speak. "Logan! Focus! I need help, either step in or tell me what to do!" Logan couldn't hear him over the sound of firearms ringing in his ears. The blood that hit his face came from the body of David Bacall when police shot him in the head right in front of him and the gunshot looped over and over again, spraying him with more and more blood each time...

A steady beep of a regular heartbeat broke into Logan's senses. He blinked several times before registering Virgil's voice and the words that accompanied it.

"Never mind, Dr. Taylor, I secured the bleed. She's fine, I'm ready to close now." He sounded supremely irritated. Logan swallowed, still struggling to make his vocal cords work. "I see, Virgil. You did very well." Virgil barely fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Yeah, thanks for all of your help."

Once the surgery was over, Virgil snatched off his mask and confronted Logan while they were scrubbing out. "You wanna tell me what the hell that was in there? Was that some teachable moment or did you just not feel like doing your job today?"

Logan quickly turned to face the trauma surgeon, eyes flashing with anger. "Excuse me? It is my job to teach you."

"No, you made it your job to teach me. And now I wanna know why. Why have I been killing myself running two services while you just stand there and do nothing? Are you scared or what? What's the deal? I'm done covering for you, so spill."

"I don't have a deal, Dr. Davidson. I was trying to do you a favor and help you feel more confident in your abilities as a surgeon. I see now that my efforts are wholly unappreciated." Logan cut himself off to brace himself against the sink, panting slightly. "Perhaps it is best that this arrangement comes to an end."

Virgil frowned, ignoring Logan's dissolution of their practice. "Dude, are you okay? You're sweating. Oh God." Virgil lowered his voice. "Did you have an anxiety attack in there? Did I just ream you out for having PTSD? Oh God, Lo, okay. I won't say anything about this. Have you been seeing Nate? You know you need to talk to him if-"

"Virgil, stop! I am perfectly satisfactory. You have...have nothing to worry about." The room was spinning yet again. Logan prayed Virgil didn't notice.

"No...no you aren't, Lo. And I don't know what you're running from but you are running. And you need to face it before it catches up to you." Logan stared him down determinedly for what seemed like a full minute before he finally broke eye contact. Virgil remained calm and unmoved, eyes full of compassion and longing for his friend to tell him the truth. "Our work together is done," Logan said somberly. "You may go back to trauma." Virgil watched the cardiac surgeon exit briskly. He leaned against the sink himself, heart thudding in his chest as he tried to physically shake the intrusive thoughts from his head.

He knew exactly who he needed to see.

Virgil let himself into Patton's office and waited for him to respond to his page. Moments later the fetal surgeon came striding in, worry barely concealed by a tentative smile. "Hey, what's up? I got your page, are you all right?" Virgil stood and rapidly closed the door, almost slamming it. "You were right. Something is wrong with Logan. He froze in surgery today and when I confronted him about it, he practically fell apart right in front of me...he is definitely not okay. You were right, Pat."

Patton's smile slowly faded and he closed his eyes as if to block out the truth. "Is it-"

"Don't...say it. If you say it out loud, it makes it true and...I don't know if I'm ready to go there yet."

"Have you tried to talk to him?"

"You know I can't. I've accused him of this before, he'll use that against me and shut me out." Patton nodded. "I'll talk to him then."

"Are you sure, Pat? He might get..."

"I can handle it. Besides, he's not expecting me to talk to him. It might be an advantage. I'm okay, Virge, I got this." Patton nodded, a tentative smile crawling back onto his face.

"Okay, Pat. Let's avoid saying anything to Roman until we're sure. If we're right...this will crush him."

"I know, Virge. First priority is Logan."

"We have to fix this." Virgil sounded choked. Patton's eyes widened and he pulled the taller man into his chest, warming him with his embrace.

"We will try our best to, Virge. We will definitely try."

****

Logan was grateful that he had gotten quick at this. Patton had ended up at his door much sooner than he calculated after the bubbly doctor paged him asking for a visit. Normally, using at work was to be avoided at all costs but this time, it was justified if he was to bear the sunshiny disposition of Dr. Patton Parker today. After disposing of his materials in a hazmat bag, Logan leaned back in his desk chair, bracing himself for a loaded conversation. A soft knock at the door came moments later and in walked Patton, a dimmed smile dancing across his lips.

"Hiya, Logan."

"Dr. Parker. You appear to be...subdued."

"Me?" Patton pointed to himself. "No, of course not. I was just thinking."

Logan made a noise of mild disbelief. "I see. If you've come to defend Virgil, I'm sorry but I am no longer the right person to teach him-"

"Calm down, Logan. This isn't a confrontation. Just a...visit! But since we're on the topic, Virgil has truly had a wonderful time with you. He's learned so much and he has this new drive; it's honestly incredible to watch."

Logan shrugged. "I'm sure he won't be singing my praises after today. I'm assuming he told you and that's why you're here? To check on me?" Patton pursed his lips and tutted in mock annoyance. "Again, no. Can't I just want to visit a friend? Besides, we all have off days in the OR. It happens." A moment of silence went between the two before Patton continued. "You know, I was never cut out for cardiothoracics."

Logan's eyebrow raised. "I'm sorry? What do you mean?"

Patton smiled warmly as he spoke. "When I was in med school, I struggled to find my way...a lot. It felt like everyone else around me knew exactly what they wanted and I was the only loser wandering around a lab with no goals. It got me to a point where I didn't really...value my life, so to speak. Then I had my first OB rotation and got to assist with a live birth. That, for me...was like a light bulb turning on in my head. When I handed that baby over to the mother, I thought: 'This person could cure cancer or bring about world peace and I just helped bring them into the world safely.' And I just knew after that I had found my purpose. What better way to appreciate the value of my life than making sure another life gets off to a solid, healthy beginning? It couldn't have felt more right."

Logan nodded in a slow and slightly exaggerated expression, feeling the drug slow his movements and thinking. "That's...lovely, Patton but I'm not sure..."

"Just let me finish, Lo. My point is...I was too soft for cardio. And that's fine because I love what I do. Virgil isn't cut out for cardio either, by the way. He's good at it because he's brilliant but he belongs in trauma. He knows what it's like to start with nothing and come back stronger and he takes every patient that he saves coming through those ER doors on that journey expertly. He is a trauma surgeon. But you? You were built for cardio, wouldn't you agree?"

Logan looked down to fiddle with his tie. "Knew I wanted to be surgeon my whole life. Cardio came in college."

"Exactly. You cardio folks are so similar. You're driven and decisive, hyper-intelligent, disciplined, in love with the medicine, maybe a bit of a know it all at times and you know what you want and you go for it, 110 percent. But you know what else you are? Highly responsible. And of course you are, you have to be, you literally hold life in your hands. You sleep a perfect eight hours before surgery, you exercise, hydrate, nourish yourselves regularly and save lives all without missing a beat. That is you, Logan. Or was you."

Logan's head shot up at that. "Was?"

Patton fixed Logan with an intense look, one that had him squirming slightly. "Mmhmm. So I have to wonder: what would make someone suddenly fall out of love with their purpose? What would make a cardio surgeon not operate? What would make them come to work constantly exhausted, drawn out from skipping meals and lack of sleep? What would make them give up their discipline? Sounds pretty irresponsible, right? Except it doesn't. Because if a responsible, medicine-obsessed cardiothoracic surgeon was on drugs, he wouldn't dare touch a patient. But he wouldn't stray too far from the medicine either." Logan's eyes widened in shock. "You-you can't be suggesting-"

"You're high right now, aren't you?" Patton's tone was far from condemning, a sad sort of sympathy coloring his words. Logan was staring down at his desk, his entire body trembling as his carefully constructed wall came tumbling down. "What you're accusing me of is-"

"I'm not accusing you of anything, Logan. I'm not going to go running to the Chief, I'm not going to threaten you with rehab. I just want you to know that I know. And I'm here. I can help you, we all can help you."

"I am handling it myself. I can handle it."

"Logan Taylor, if you think I believe that for a second, you're deeper in denial than I thought. You can't handle this alone. And you shouldn't. At all. You need your people in your corner." Patton watched the other surgeon's head dip slightly, a fresh wave of tears spilling over his cheeks before he looked up again, chest heaving. "Please...don't tell Roman. I'm not...he can't...he can't know."

"You need to be the one to tell him, I agree but if this goes too far...I will do whatever it takes to save your life. Know that, Logan."

You shouldn't, Logan thought bitterly. "I am handling this, Patton."

The fetal surgeon sighed and nodded, accepting the small progress they made today. He stood to leave, conceding his final point to his colleague. "All right, Logan. I'm not gonna push you. Not today. Today you rest. Tomorrow, we start fresh, okay?" Logan nodded wordlessly, not even looking as Patton exited. He walked over to his window, drew the blinds, and collapsed on the couch, simultaneously feeling nothing and everything all at once. A chilling, insidious numbness froze him at the core and settled into his bones, locking him in place. He couldn't even bring himself to cry anymore; the numbness was far too overwhelming.

If the drugs were supposed to take away the pain, then why did he still hurt so much?

[endlesshero1122]

Friendly Fire (Hero Fanfic Chapter 6)

All rights belong to Pixelberry. I only own my MCs. Apologies for the long post (if someone could show me how to do the ‘Read More’ option, I’d appreciate it). Shrapnel’s name had been changed to Tombstone. Enjoy! 

I’d also like to give @ladyseaheart1668 a long overdue thank you for helping me with my story, especially with this chapter!

Another shoutout to @sceptilemasterr​ for helping me with the rewrite for this chapter, and the previous ones before!

@ladyseaheart1668 @endlessflame @toglidethroughlife @mariussage @countrymusicandncis-blog @kenjkats​ @sceptilemasterr​ (Let me know if you would like to be added or removed from the tag list) The Man on Fire glanced between the two superheroes cornering him from each side. To his left was Kameron, his face twisted with murderous intent; on the right, Talos, whose gleaming white eyes remained fixed on the fiery criminal.

His gaze settled on Talso, his brow creasing in confusion and mild annoyance. “So, wait… who the hell are you?”

“The name’s Talos, Man of Bronze,” the hero stated, his eyes narrowing at the criminal.

“Talos, huh? Did you come up with that all by yourself?” the Man on Fire scoffed.

"I... so what if I did?”

“Oh, nothing, it’s a great name. Really, I’m not just saying that.”

Talos scowled.

The Man on Fire smirked before turning to Kameron. “How about you, hero? Got some dumb made-up name, too?”

Kameron scowled at him. “Not at the moment.”

The man smirked. “Fair enough. Personally, I don’t see the point behind false identities.”

The flames faded away to reveal a familiar face.

“Call me Caleb.”

Recognition clicked in Kameron’s mind. “Wait… I saw you at the warehouse! You’re one of Tombstone’s lackeys!”

Caleb bristled at Kameron’s words. ���Like hell I am! I only worked for that asshole to save my skin!” Flames ignited his body once more. “But at least I got somethin’ of my own out of the deal…”

“The Prism Crystal. That’s how you got your powers, wasn’t it? You stole it from Tombstone!”

“Well done, Sherlock. Once I knew what it could do, I knew I needed to swipe it the first chance I got.”

A wicked grin twisted the man’s features as he turned to face Talos once again. “Now, tell me… what exactly is the melting point of bronze again?”

Talos bared his bronze teeth at the criminal and started towards him.

“I’d stay right where you are, Talos,” Caleb snarled. The taunting tone of his voice had vanished and was instead replaced by a more malicious edge. “Unless you want me to cremate your pretty little friend.”

His words stopped the Man of Bronze from advancing further while causing a knot to form in Kameron’s stomach.

Caleb fixed them both with a hard look as he glanced between the two. “I’ll make this simple: if either of you try anythin’ cute, she burns. Got it?”

Kameron felt his throat go dry. “N-no, please. Please don’t hurt her...”

“He won’t,” Talos snarled. He stared the Man on Fire down. “He’s bluffing.”

Caleb scowled at the Man of Bronze. Kameron barely saw his hand move before a flaming cord had wrapped itself around Alyssa’s neck. She gave a muffled whimper as the rope tightened around her throat, burning her skin.

“Does this look like a bluff?”

Talos and Kameron started forward, but froze when Caleb pilled Alyssa closer to him. “One more step, and she dies.”

Kameron wanted desperately to pull his sister away from the man threatening her, but he was sure Caleb would hurt her or worse if he even moved an inch closer. Talos clenched his jaw, seeming to share Kameron’s thoughts.

Caleb frown impatiently. “Tick-tock, heroes! I don’t have all day, and neither does she.”

Alyssa began to go limp, as if to prove his point. The flaming cord not only burned against her skin, but was starting to cut off her air supply.

The two heroes stepped back, holding their hands up.

“Alright, alright! Just stop, please…” Kameron begged.

Caleb smirk as the fiery rope disappeared. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”   

Talos glared murderously at the criminal while Alyssa sucked in as much air through her nose. “Alright, you made your point, hothead. Now let her go.”

Caleb’s smirked widened. “Mmm, about that...” Alyssa shuddered as the criminal pulled her closer to him. “I think I’ll keep her for a little longer.”

“You said you’d--”

“I said I’d burn her to a crisp if either of you tried something stupid. Besides, the little cutie and I have some unfinished business to-- OW!”

Alyssa growled at Caleb before sinking her teeth into his skin. 

“Jesus, were you raised by piranhas or something?!”

Talos took the opportunity to pull Alyssa away from Caleb as Kameron lunged at the criminal. The blonde slugged him in the jaw, sending him reeling back.

“Let’s get something straight, hothead,” Kameron snarled. “You threaten my si-- uh, friend, you deal with me!”

Caleb rubbed his jaw before assessing Kameron. “Alright, then.”

Kameron cried out as he was sent flying back by a sudden stream of flame.

“LET’S TURN UP THE HEAT!”

Alyssa watched in horror as Caleb ruthlessly unleashed a roiling blast of fire at her brother. Before Talos could stop her, she charged towards Caleb.

“No!”

Alyssa grabbed the criminal’s wrists and forced them down. The fire blazed harmlessly off the pavement.

“Clever girl…” Caleb sneered mockingly with false praise. “Too bad you didn’t think about this.”

He suddenly twisted out of her grasp and took a deep breath, then spewed a gout of flames right at her. Alyssa screamed as she was knocked back onto the asphalt.

Talos tackled Caleb from the side, his face twisted with rage. “Pick on someone your own size!”

“Like you?” Caleb growled before sending a blast of flame right into Talos’ face.

The hero staggered back, raising his forearm to block the flames. Alyssa took the opportunity to use her telekinesis to push Caleb. He stumbled slightly, but it was enough to break his concentration on Talos. The Man of Bronze sent the Man on Fire reeling back with a well-placed roundhouse kick, which was followed by an uppercut from Kameron. Caleb snarled at the trio of heroes as they surrounded him.

“You wanna dance?! Okay, let’s dance!” He clenched his fists and sent out an explosion of flame in all directions. The force knocked the heroes on their backs. Caleb crackled maniacally as they picked themselves off the ground. “C’mon, heroes! Give me a challenge!”

Talos started forward, but Kameron roughly shoved him aside.

“Stay out of this, Tin-man!”

Talos glowered at him. “You think you can take this guy? You’re out of your league, rookie!”

Kameron gave a bitter bark of laughter. “And what’s yours, shiny? Little league?”

Alyssa shot the two heroes a withering glare. Really?!

Kameron's fist shot out towards Caleb’s head… but instead collided with Talos’ as the metallic man lunged forward. The Man of Bronze snarled as he whipped around to glare at Kameron, leaning close enough to tower over the blonde.

“Watch it!”

“You’re the one who got in the way!”

“Are you two seriously fighting each other when there’s a pyrokinetic criminal right in front of us?!” Alyssa snapped at the heroes.

“He started it!” the two male heroes insisted.

As the fight raged on, it became difficult to tell if Kameron and Talos were putting more effort into fighting Caleb or fighting each other. This made it easier for the Man on Fire to dodge their attacks and keep them at bay with his pyrokinetic abilities. Alyssa wasn’t doing any better; while she had summoned a psionic shield to protect herself from the flames, she was always knocked off her feet either by Caleb’s attacks or by getting caught in the crossfire of Kameron’s and Talos’ physical arguments.

“Now this is just sad... you call yourselves heroes?!” Caleb laughed.

He conjured a writhing rope of pure flame and lashed out, swiping Kameron and Talos in one vicious swing. Alyssa tried to help the two heroes, but Caleb whipped the rope over his head and jerked it down towards her. The flaming cord wrapped around her forearm, nearly burning through her suit. He pulled her towards him with a sharp yank, causing her to stumble into his chest.

“Well, the workout was fun,” Caleb sneered down at her. “But I think it’s time you and I got back to our little— Wbhbhghghg!”

Caleb was caught by surprise as a powerful jet of water knocked him and Alyssa off their feet.

“What the fu—?!”

Kameron shoved Talos off of him so he could see what was going on. Two fire trucks, one on each side of the street, had their hoses trained on Caleb. About two dozen police cruisers had also arrived at the scene. Amongst the police were Officer Dawes and...

“You!”

Caleb lunged for Meiko Katsaros, but was quickly restrained by two officers. The DA didn’t even flinch as the young criminal stared her down with a murderous glare.

“Just wait ‘til I get my hands on you, you damn--”

“Shut it, punk!” Officer Dawes barked as she slapped a pair of handcuffs on Caleb’s wrists. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you...”

Kameron tuned out the rest of the conversation as he directed his attention to Alyssa. Much to his annoyance, Talos was already helping her up.

“You okay?”

Alyssa gave the Man of Bronze a small nod.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Talos gave a short sigh of relief, then eyed her with a stern gaze. “I thought I told you to find somewhere safe. Why didn’t you listen to me? This could’ve gone a lot worse!”

Alyssa bowed her head. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to—”

“Hey! You three!”

The three supers turned to see Officer Dawes and Meiko approaching them. Talos glanced at the DA nervously, then held out his hand to Officer Dawes.

“DA Katsaros, officer, thanks for the backup. The name’s—”

“We know who you are,” Officer Dawes snapped, cutting him off. “And you’re under arrest.”

Talos, Kameron, and Alyssa stared at the officer in bewilderment as she slapped a pair of cuffs over the metallic man’s wrist.

“Wait, what?”

“You and your friend in the black suit are being charged for battery, assault, trespassing, and that’s just off the top of my head,” Officer Dawes continued as she finished handcuffing Talos; Kameron was a bit surprised that he wasn’t resisting.

“But he didn’t do anything wrong!” Alyssa insisted. “Neither of them did! They were just—”

“Don’t start with me, missy!” Officer Dawes barked at her, causing the girl to flinch. “And don’t think I’m letting you off the hook. You’re in just as much trouble as these two!”

Alyssa stared at her with wide, frightened eyes, her mouth agape. Even with her mask on, Kameron could almost see the tears forming in the corners of her eyes. He knew Alyssa was always timid around authority figures, especially when she was afraid she had done something wrong. That, in Kameron’s opinion, was a fear that she shouldn’t have in the first place; she had never broken a rule in her life.

“W-what? But I…”

The officer started towards the girl, holding out a second pair of cuffs in an almost menacing manner, when Kameron blocked her path.

“You back the hell off,” he growled. Cop or not, no one threatened his little sister.

Officer Dawes staggered back slightly, then scowled at Kameron. “Stand aside, unless you want to add ‘interfering with arrest’ to your offenses.”

Kameron didn’t move. “Touch her, and you’ll regret it.”

Kameron didn’t move. “Touch her, and you’ll regret it.”

Before Officer Dawes could reply, a voice cried out in fear.

“Help! Somebody help me!”

Everyone glanced up to see a little girl calling out from a window of an apartment above the DMV. In the confusion of the fight with Caleb, no one had noticed just how quickly the fire had spread. Caleb’s eyes widened as he stared at the girl in horror.

The little girl coughed as smoke and flames billowed around her before calling out again. “Please, help me! Hurry!”

The window collapsed, sending up a spray of sparks as it was devoured by the fire. The girl screamed as she leaped back to avoid the sparks, disappearing from view.

“I want the fire crews up there now!” Meiko barked.

“There’s no way we’ll make it in time!” one of the firefighters called back to her.

A flash of red and blue shot up towards the window and disappeared inside the burning building. It was only then that Kameron realized his sister was no longer standing behind him.

“What the hell is she doing?!” Caleb shouted. His expression was a mix of terror and disbelief. “She’s gonna get herself killed!”

***

Alyssa coughed as the thick fumes of smoke filled her lungs, the heat of the flames causing beads of sweat to form on her brow. She fanned the smoke away as she scanned the room, trying to find the little girl.

“Hello? Where are you?”

A small voice came from under the bed in the corner of the room. “I’m over here!”

Alyssa moved towards the bed and knelt down to find the girl hiding under it. She gave the girl a kind smile, hoping to put her at ease.

“Hi.”

The girl recoiled away from her.

“It’s okay,” Alyssa assured her in a soothing voice. She lifted her fingers to her mask and deactivated it. “See? Not so scary, am I?”

The girl watched her cautiously, still afraid.

“My name’s Alyssa. What’s yours?”

“... Maggie.”

“Well, that’s a very pretty name.”

The girl, Maggie, smiled shyly. “Thank you…”

Both girls jumped as a beam fell close to them, Maggie crying out in fright.

“Okay, Maggie. I’m gonna get you out of here, but I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”

Maggie gave a frightened whimper, but nodded her head. Alyssa activated her mask and waited until Maggie had crawled out from under the bed before scooping the little girl into her arms. She carefully made her way down to the first floor, being careful to shield Maggie from the flames and dodge out of the way of falling debris. As she carefully weaved her way towards the exit, she could see Kameon being held back by Meiko. Officer Dawes also had her hands full; a hysterical young woman who looked slightly like Maggie was struggling against her.

“My baby’s in there! Please, I need to save my baby!”

“Mommy!”

The woman’s eyes filled with relief when she saw her daughter safely cradled in Alyssa’s arms.

“Maggie!”

Alyssa started towards the door, but was suddenly jerked back. She glanced behind her to see that her cape had snagged onto one of the fallen beams.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!”

Maggie screamed as more debris fell around them. Alyssa threw her arm over her head, summoning a shield. She knew it wouldn’t last forever; she needed to get Maggie out of the building now.

“Maggie, I need you to listen to me,” she told the little girl. “I’m gonna make you fly out the door, and your mom is going to catch you. Don’t be scared, and don’t look back. Just focus on your mom, okay?”

Maggie nodded.

Alyssa set her down and thrust her hand out, sending Maggie flying out the door and towards her mother’s outstretched arms. The moment Maggie passed through the door, the ceiling collapsed on top of Alyssa.

***

Kameron watched as the ceiling collapsed on top of sister.

“No, no, NO!”

Flames sprang up at the entrance, lashing out like whips, denying anyone safe passage into the building. Kameron tried to push past Meiko, but the DA held a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Let go of me! I have to save her!”

“You’ll never make it inside!” Meiko told him.

Kameron shouted in frustration. This couldn’t be happening, not again!

“Hey!”

Kameron blinked in surprise as Talos rushed past him. He charged into the flames, then disappeared from sight.

***

Alyssa groaned softly as her eyes fluttered open. She wanted to move, to stand and run out of the building, but doubted she’d have the strength to even without the debris pinning her down. Though she couldn’t see clearly, she could hear people screaming all around her. Where was she? What was going on…?

She suddenly remembered: the gala, the attack, the Prism Gate… Kameron! She looked around frantically for her brother, for Poppy, Dax, Grayson, Santiago, Marjorie… had they gotten out alright? Where they hurt? Where they even looking for her. A selfish part of her hoped so; she didn’t want to die… not this soon, and not like this. Her vision began to fade as more smoke filled her lungs and the pounding in her head drowned out the screams…

“Hang on, I’m coming!”

Her eyes opened again as a figure emerged through the flames… a man with gleaming bronze skin. He hurried to her side and knelt down.

“I’m gonna get you out of here, okay? Just hang in there!”

He stood and took hold of the debris, grunting and straining as he attempted to lift it off her. After he had moved the heavier debris off of her, he pulled her out from under the rest of the wreckage and scooped her up into his arms.

“Alright. Now let’s—”

“Wait!”

The Man of Bronze looked down at her quizzically as Alyssa scanned the room frantically. “What about my brother? My friends?”

“What? What do you—”

“They might still be in here!” Alyssa rambled, still looking around wildly. “They could be trapped, or looking for me, or… or…”

Alyssa swallowed hard as tears streamed down her face. She began to shake with quiet sobs. No. No, no, no, NO! They weren’t… they couldn’t be dead, could they…?

“... Alyssa, look at me.”

Alyssa slowly looked up at the man’s bronze face, meeting his soft, shining white eyes. Slowly, they faded into a familiar pair of gentle gray ones. Alyssa gaped in shock as a ripple of energy washed over the man, the bronze fading away to reveal…

“Kenji?!”

Alyssa scanned her surroundings, her mind suddenly clear. She wasn’t at the gala, she wasn’t even at Prescott Industries; she was inside a burning apartment... with Kenji. But then, that meant…

“You… You’re Talos?”

Kenji shrugged, smiling sheepishly.  “Uh... surprise?”

“I… but…” Alyssa shook her head. “That means… you saved me. I mean I knew that, but it was just—”

A loud creak came from above them as the last few beams holding what remained of the second floor gave out. The bronze rapidly coated Kenji’s skin as he raised an arm to shield Alyssa from the falling debris.

“I know we have a lot to talk about,” Kenji, or Talos — Alyssa didn’t know which to refer to him as at the moment — said. “But for right now, let’s just focus on getting out of here!”

He started towards the exit, but leaped back as tall pillars of fire lashed out at him.

“Oookay… maybe not that way.”

Talos looked around for a way out, his eyes falling on an open window on the second floor. He hurried up the stairs, the steps crumbling away as soon as he touched them. He glanced out the window, calculating the height they were currently at.

“Okay. Don’t freak out, but I’m gonna jump out the window.”

“What?!”

“It’s the only way!” Talos told her. “I can get us out of this, but you have to trust me!”

Alyssa hesitated, then gave him a small nod. “Okay… I trust you.”

He gave her a reassuring smile, then took a few steps back. “Good, now hold on tight!”

Alyssa buried her face into his chest, squeezing her eyes shut. She felt Talos pull her closer to him, then felt him take a running leap out the window. Talos let out a grunt as they hit the pavement, rolling a bit before coming to a stop. When she opened her eyes, she found herself laying on top of Talos, his arms still wrapped around her waist. She blushed while a bashful look fell over his face, and quickly pushed herself off of him.

“Sorry…”

“No problem…”

Talos pushed himself to his knees and offered her his hand. “Are you alright?”

Alyssa took his hand, giving him a soft smile as he pulled her to her feet along with him. “Yeah… thanks to you.”

The two smiled shyly at each other. A warm blush had appeared on Alyssa’s face while Kenji rubbed the back of his neck.

“Kenji…” Alyssa began. She paused, faltering slightly. “I mean, Talos… I-I mean… well, I—”

“WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?!”

Both of them jump as Officer Dawes stalked towards them, Kameron and the DA following closely behind her. The spell broke in that very moment as they bashfully looked away from each other and mumbled a string of apologies.

Alyssa gasped as Kameron pulled her into a bone crushing hug, almost literally; he seemed to have forgotten about his super strength at the moment.

“Oh, thank god you’re okay!”

Before Alyssa could reply, he pulled away from her and scowled.

“Don’t you ever do that again!”

Officer Dawes angrily wagged a finger at Talos.

“You do know that breaking out of police handcuffs falls under the definition of ‘resisting arrest’, don’t you?!”

Talos shrugged, giving the officer a lopsided smile. “Not my fault they’re so flimsy. Besides…” He winked at Alyssa. “What kind of hero would I be for not coming to the rescue of a beautiful damsel?”

Officer Dawes growled. “You people make me--!”

Before she could finish her threat, a swarm of reporters surrounded the three supers, shoving Officer Dawes and Meiko aside. Alyssa winced as the bright flashes of cameras snapping photos caused stars to dance across her vision while the loud clamoring of the reporters firing a thousand questions per second made her head spin. Luckily, their main focus seemed to be directed to Talos.

“Talos, Talos! How did you save that little girl?”

“Are you going after the Rock Guy now that you’ve brought the Man on Fire to justice?”

“Are you single?”

Kameron rolled his eyes as Talos flashed the reporters a dazzling smile. He should’ve known the press was nearby...

“Kameron! Are you and Alyssa okay?”

The young man jumped at the sound of Dax’s voice as his and Poppy’s faces popped up in the screens of his mask.

“Uh, yeah. We’re good. Where were you two?”

“Traffic,” Poppy told him in a flat tone. “So, what did we miss?”

Kameron shrugged. “Oh, you know: met the Man on Fire, Alyssa nearly got herself killed going into a burning building to rescue a little girl, the police are trying to arrest us, and now the press is here. Oh, and we met Talos.”

“Well, well. What do we have here?”

Kameron glanced over his shoulder to see the reporters were now swarming around Alyssa. She hugged herself nervously as they waved microphones in front of her face and snapped pictures of her while the cameraman turned the lens on her.

“It seems Northbridge’s favorite hero has a partner now!” one of the reporters gushed; Kameron immediately recognized her as Katherine. “And an attractive one at that...”

Alyssa's cheeks glowed with embarrassment as Katherine turned to Talos with a sly grin. “Tell us, Talos: is this lovely young woman just your sidekick… or does your partnership extend to other areas…?”

Kameron scowled at the question, noting the way Alyssa squirmed with discomfort at Katherine's obvious, and rather inappropriate, implication.

“No.”

The reporters turned to Kameron as he glowered at Talos. A few photographers snapped a picture, but risked no more as Kameron shot them an annoyed glare.

He turned back to Talos with a dark, thunderous snarl. “She’s my partner, not his.”

Katherine’s eyes shifted between Kameron and Talos in surprise before a huge grin broke across her face.

“Well, goodness! It seems that Talos has a rival as well! Question is, are they competing for the title of Northbridge’s favorite hero… or for the affections of this super beauty?”

Alyssa sputtered in surprise and disgust at Katherine’s statement.

“Welp, that’s just awkward…” Dax stated.

Alyssa watched Kameron as he turned to Katherine, hoping he would set her straight. Instead, much to her surprise, he gave her a smug smirk.

“No need for a contest; I’m claiming both.”

Alyssa groaned inwardly as Katherine’s grin grew wider. Oh, great…

“In that case, you better tell the people of Northbridge who their new hero is,” Katherine advised him.

Kameron flashed a seemingly charming smile at the camera, though Alyssa didn’t miss the subtle sneer. “Call me Poeas.”

Alyssa’s mouth fell open as Talos’ nostrils flared, both of them clearly catching on to Kameron’s reference.

“I’m confused…” Poppy stated, her brow pinched. “Was that some type of insult or something?”

“Trust me…” Dax groaned. “That was a very big insult towards Talos.”

Kameron sneered at the Man of Bronze, an aura of contempt radiating off him. “How’s the heel, Talos?”

Talos curled his lip, grinding out a reply through tightly clenched teeth. “Bite my shiny metal ass.”

Kameron shivered sarcastically. “Ooh!”

Talos’ shoulders took a predatory bow as he started towards Kameron, who cracked his neck in preparation for the fight about to take place. Before either of them could lay a finger on the other, Alyssa pushed herself between the two of them.

“Guys, don’t,” she pleaded.

Talos glanced down at her, closing his eyes as he inhaled deeply through his nose, then took a step back. Kameron huffed, then also backed off. Alyssa eyed them warily, then relaxed. She hoped this wasn’t going to become a regular occurrence; these two were supposed to be grown men, not little boys.

“Nicely handled,” Katherine commented as she turned her attention to Alyssa. “And what should we call you?”

Alyssa furrowed her brow in thought, closing her eyes as she tried to think of a name. A few images flashed in her mind: a woman’s smiling face, a beautiful purple flower, an amber idol… Her eyes opened slowly, her mouth opening to say a single word.

“Andromeda.”

Katherine beamed before turning directly to the camera. “Well, there you have it, folks! With Andromeda, Poeas, and Talos defending the streets of Northbridge, you can all sleep safe and—”

“Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear.”

The reporters scattered nervously as Meiko and Officer Dawes approached Katherine. The reporter shrunk as the DA stared her down with a cold gaze.

“The Northbridge Police Department will be the ones keeping criminals off the street.” She turned to Officer Dawes. “Clear this crime scene.”

“Gladly.”

As Officer Dawes and a few other offices escorted the reporters away from the scene, Meiko turned to the riot officers. “Take these four into custody. I want them behind bars as soon as--”

“Sorry, but I think you miscounted.”

Alyssa jumped slightly at the sound of Caleb’s voice. She had nearly forgotten the criminal was still there. Kameron pulled her close to him as Meiko turned to glare at Caleb.

“I don’t believe I did. These three vigilantes are going to be sharing a cell with you, young man.”

Caleb sneered at her. “Oh, I don’t think so...”

Before anyone could react, Caleb lashed out at one of the officers holding him. He knocked the officer out with a single punch before landing a roundhouse kick on the second officer.

“I told you to cuff him!” Meiko barked at Officer Dawes.

“I did!”

Caleb smirked and lazily held up the silver handcuffs, letting them dangle in front of the DA.

“I figured you’d want these back.”

Meiko scowled as he tossed the cuffs at her feet. “Somebody arrest this man!”

Caleb scowled as the riot officers advanced towards him. He glanced from the officers to Meiko, then turned to Alyssa.

“Looks like we’ll have to reschedule our date, cutie.”

Kameron scowled at the criminal as Talos pushed Alyssa behind him. Caleb chuckled at the action before blasting a flaming swath at the heroes’ and officers’ feet. They choked on the thick black smoke as their eyes stung with tears. When the smoke cleared, the Man on Fire was gone.

“Dammit, he got away!” one of the officers growled.

“Then forget him, get them!” Officer Dawes snapped as she pointed at the heroes.

“I really hate that Man on Fire guy, but I think he had the right idea!” Poppy advised the step-siblings.

“Seconded!” Dax agreed.

“Thirded!” Kameron replied as he shot up into the sky.

Alyssa turned to Talos and held out her hand. “I can get us out of this… but you have to trust me.”

He hesitated, then took her hand. “Okay… I trust you.”

Alyssa gave him a reassuring smile. “Good, now hold on tight!”

She shot up into the sky after her brother, pulling Talos with her. She couldn’t help but smile as the Man of Bronze whooped in excitement.

“This is amazing!” he shouted over the roaring wind. “This is the greatest thing I’ve ever— Look out!”

Alyssa shouted in surprise as she barreled straight into a small flock of crows. They squawked in fright as Alyssa and Talos attempted to shield themselves. Unfortunately, due to all the confusion, Alyssa lost her focus and began to plummet towards the ground.

“Oh, no! No, no, no, no!”

They both screamed as they fell through the air, then grunted as they landed roughly on the top of a nearby building. Alyssa groaned as she pushed herself to her knees, wincing as pain rippled through her body.

“You okay?” Talos asked her as he helped her up.

Alyssa gave him a half-hearted smile. “Considering I crashed into a flock of crows and fell a few feet from the air, I’d say so. How about you?”

Talos smirked and gestured to his body. “Eh, I can handle a lot worse. Besides, I’m pretty much invulnerable.”

“Care to test that theory?”

Talos smirk twisted into a bitter scowl as he and Alyssa turned to Kameron as the teenager sauntered over to the bronze hero.

“‘Cause that’s not the way I remember the myth ending…”

“Kameron, don’t…” Alyssa pleaded as she tried to stand between them.

Talos’ eyes widened. “Wait, Kameron?!”

Kameron ignored him as he gently pushed Alyssa out of the way.

“Stay out of this, Alyssa.”

“No! I’m not gonna let you act like a jerk!”

“Hey, this guy’s the one who’s acting like an ass!”

“Kenji was only trying to help! And this is the second time that he—”

Alyssa slapped a hand over her mouth, but the damage was already done. A thick, heavy silence fell over the three supers as Kameron eyes widened ever so slightly. He stared at Alyssa for the span of a few minutes, then slowly turned to Talos. His face seemed to display no emotion, but there was a hint of ice in his voice when he uttered four threatening words.

“I’m gonna kill you.”

Talos yelped and jumped back as Kameron lunged for him. Luckily for the Man of Bronze, Alyssa was able to hold her brother with her telekinetic abilities.

“Let me at him!” Kameron snarled as he thrashed wildly against his invisible bonds. He bared his teeth at Talos, a crazed look gleaming in his eye. “I’m gonna tear you apart one limb at a time, you son of a bitch!”

“Kameron, STOP!”

“It’s his fault his mom thinks we’re criminals!”

“No, it’s not!”

“All he had to do was tell his mom he’s a superhero, and she wouldn’t have even proposed her little anti-super campaign!”

“You’re such a hypocrite! We haven’t told our mom!”

“Our mom doesn’t have ever officer in Northbridge hunting us down!”  

“Hey, hey!” Talos shouted, catching the bickering stepsiblings’ attention. “Cease-fire!”

Kameron stopped thrashing, his breath thin and ragged. Talos eyed Kameron warily before spreading his hands out in a form of surrender.

“Look… this is exactly why Caleb kicked our asses; we were too busy fighting each other instead of the real enemy.”

Kameron glared at Talos. As much as he hated to admit it, he was right. But still…

“You could always just stay out of my way.”

Talos shot the teenage boy a withering gaze. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m gonna fight for my city. And if I that means I have to fight you, too, I will.”

Kameron chuckled darkly. “Oh, I’d love to see you try.”

Before a fight could ensue, Alyssa inserted herself between the two young men. 

“Are you two seriously gonna pick a fight with each other again after what just happened?” she snapped.

“Hey, wait a sec--”

“He’s the one who--”

Alyssa silenced them with a sharp look. “I don’t wanna hear it! If you two are gonna hate each other, suck it up and do it in silence! We should be working together.”

The two men began to protest, but Alyssa silenced them once again. 

“Like it or not, we need each other. I don’t care how strong you are or what your skin changes into, none of us are gonna last a second trying to face Tombstone or Caleb on our own.”

“Is that the Rock Guy?” Kenji asked.

Alyssa ignored him as she gazed at her brother imploringly.

“Kameron... you know that we have a better chance at protecting the city if we work together.”

Kameron huffed, then gave a stiff nod. “Fine,” he conceded. 

Kameron shot Talos a bitter look. “I want you to know I’m only doing this for her, not you.”

The Man of Bronze glared back at him. “Fine by me.”

The two continued to gaze intently at each other before Kameron turned away to address his sister.

“C’mon, Dax and Poppy will want us to brief them on Caleb.”

He lifted off into the sky once again, drifting towards the direction of their apartment.

Alyssa hesitated, then turned back to look at Talos. Their eyes met, a peaceful silence hanging in the space between them. The Man of Bronze gave her a soft smile as the bronze faded away. Alyssa returned the smile, then followed after her brother, leaving Kenji behind.

***

On the other side of town, Caleb sat at a table in a smoky dive. He had traded his leather jacket for a worn out, oversized hoodie, the hood pulled up over his head and falling just over his eyes. He finished the last of his shot of mezcal, setting the empty glass next to three other empty ones, and reached for his fourth shot. He slowly sipped the smoky flavored drink, his eyes pinned to the bar’s grainy TV screen as the news segment recapped the previous events of the night.

“Just earlier, the Man on Fire attacked the DMV and confronted Talos along with two new supers,” Katherine was saying. “The reasoning behind this criminal’s actions remain unclear—”

“‘Unclear?!’”

Caleb seethed as he shook his head in bewilderment. Were people really that blind? How could they not see the DMV was the bastion of the authoritarian system stifling this city?! And to call him the criminal! The way he saw it, he was doing the people of Northbridge a favor! Apparently, they hadn’t gotten the message…

“We now bring you live to the Northbridge Police Department, where District Attorney Katsaros has this to say in regard to the raising superpowered crime spree.”

Caleb gripped his glass tightly, his knuckles turning white, as the screen cut to a close-up shot of Meiko Katsaros. Her face was set in stone as her voice rang out sharp and clear.

“Rest assured that these superhumans will not menace this city any longer. The police force will fight to defend Northbridge and its people, and bring these criminals to justice. We will defend our city, and we will restore order. That’s a promise.”

Caleb scowled as Meiko was met with thunderous applause, throwing back the rest of his drink angrily. Of course they would place their trust in her. While Silas Prescott was the king of Northbridge, Meiko was the face of law and order. The city looked up to her, trusting her promises of order and protecting, leading them on like mindless sheep…

A slow smile spread across Caleb’s lips as an idea formed in his mind. The people might have not understood his reasoning for attacking the DMV… but if he were to cut the head off the snake, everyone would understand the message.

He rose from the table and staggered towards the door, throwing a glance over his shoulder.

“Time’s up, Katsaros,” he sneered as a ball of fire blazed in his palm. “Once I take you out, the rest of this city will BURN!”

He threw the ball of fire at the TV screen, setting it ablaze, before stepping out into the night. The wheels in his head began to turn as he planned his next steps. If he was gonna make a move against Meiko, he had to lay low. The thought didn’t please him in the slightest; he wanted the people to know who was rebelling against the corruption of the city. However, the fact remained that the police had been on his ass ever since he was thirteen. While years of experience had helped him slip through his fingers, he knew they would increase their efforts now that he was a threat to them. He couldn’t use just hole up in some cheap motel and hope for the best like he usually did, they’d find him sooner or later. Besides, he could only rent out a room for a couple of days at the most, especially since he was living off of loose change. He had to find somewhere both inexpensive and long-termed… though the two never really seemed to go hand in hand.

A flyer posted on a nearby lamppost caught his attention, the words standing out in the dark of the night:

Rochelle’s Haven: Warm Beds, Showers, Meals, and Welcomes to Those in Need

That would do.

[maidenoftheforestlight-blog]

"I do have some issues with how GRRM chose to frame Sansa in AGOT". Could you expand on that? What are those issues?

Well I’ve reblogged quite a few metas on this subject and written a bit about it myself and I’d love to link some of that here but… how to find that stuff on my blog without slogging through months of irrelevant posting? Hmm… I really  need to organise this blog better… 

Assuming I don’t manage to find the relevant posts (or at least some of them) then I’ll just say that my issues with Sansa in AGOT have to do with how GRRM (apparently) originally conceived of her character and how much of that actually remained in the final product; that is to say, she was originally intended to be a foil to Arya and the one Stark kid who caused problems in the happy family group dynamic. This was apparently because GRRM thought it wouldn’t be realistic for all the kids to get along perfectly and for there to be no internal strife in the Stark family at all… but isn’t it odd that out of all the kids he chose the two girls to set at odds with one another? And isn’t it doubly odd that of these two girls it is the more stereotypically feminine one who was initially created to be that little “problem” in the family dynamic? Robb and Jon could easily have been the warring siblings instead, no? Or maybe Sansa could have been a boy instead and Arya could’ve had a male foil to argue with… but instead…

Sansa, despite clearly becoming a well rounded character in her own right by the final draft of AGOT, still retains quite a bit of that original character sketch. She is written to be a foil to Arya and to cause complications for her family due to her relationship with Joffrey. While with close reading - keeping in mind the social mores of her society and the way she has been raised - Sansa’s actions and beliefs about her world are quite understandable, she is not generally written in such a way that suggests the author meant to endear her to the reader… Contrast to the way Arya is written (because Sansa is her foil and GRRM wants us to compare them in this book!); introduced as a plucky underdog who challenges the status quo. We are meant to immediately identify with, like and root for Arya, and we do. We are not meant to immediately identify with, like and root for Sansa. 

We are introduced to Arya first and Sansa makes Arya feel bad about herself by being good at everything and prettier and getting her in trouble and… you get the point. Even though 9 year old Arya has biases, and we as readers should understand that, the mere fact that our introduction to Sansa comes through her POV already gives the reader a bias against Sansa on Arya’s behalf because that’s all we know about her! There’s also the fact that the quickest way to get your readership to identify with and like a character within a historical setting is to give them the values and opinions of a more modern person… and we get quite a bit of that with Arya, what with her challenging of gender norms and disregard for class and rank. We don’t get that short cut with Sansa. 

 When we actually meet Sansa in her own POV she is once again acting in her role as the foil… it’s the incident at the Trident where Sansa fails to stand up to Joffrey for Arya and Mycah the butcher’s boy and then doesn’t tell the king what really happened and “gets Lady and Mycah killed”, to hear some fans tell it (never mind her reasonable reasons for being confused about what to do and refusing to speak). It’s not a glowing moment for her here and tbh… there really is only one real glowing moment for Sansa in AGOT (before Ned’s imprisonment/death that is); the moment where she feels empathy for Sandor Clegane, overcomes her fear, and offers him the comfort he needs. 

Other than this, her POV mostly focuses in on the trivialities of her interests and concerns, on how very little she actually understands the adult world around her, and we hardly see her interact with others in a positive way. Again… other than Sandor Clegane! She and Arya bicker, her relationship with Ned is somewhat strained since the Trident, and you get the vague impression that of his children, Sansa is probably the one he is the least accustomed to spending time with or talking to (we get no scene of parental bonding with Sansa, unlike Arya) and even Jeyne - Jeyne who is supposed to be Sansa’s best friend - we get no scenes of them having fun together, braiding each other’s hair, gossiping about cute boys, playing cyvasse… nada. Oh we get scenes of them talking, but it’s mostly in scenes which, again, are there to place Sansa in her role as the foil; demonstrating her naivety and ignorance of the dangers at court. The actual fun times they have together as friends, the actual comfort and happiness they give each other, well we’re told about this in a few stray lines here and there… we don’t actually ever “see” it! 

And that’s important! That’s the stuff that makes you like a character! But GRRM didn’t want to show us Sansa being fun and a caring friend in AGOT or even showing off any of the things she is reportedly so good at (she does actually show off some of these things; she shows she is naturally apt at diplomacy and has a good memory for important persons, houses and sigils and rank in this book… but this is all quite subtly introduced. Her cleverness is not meant to be something the reader immediately picks up on). He didn’t particularly want us to start sympathizing with her until near the end of the novel… and it shows. Sansa’s more positive character traits are de-emphasized by the author for most of AGOT and this, more than anything she actually does in this particular novel, is why so many fans come away seriously disliking her as a character(imho of course); many with the claim that she has no positive traits!

This ties into my larger issues with GRRM’s writing of women in general. He definitely treats his POV female characters like people who deserve to be just as well developed and complex as his male characters, and I appreciate that! However, he seems to have problems with depicting women’s relationships with other women. That is to say, if he can avoid female friendships, he does… at least in the early novels (things may be looking up based on more recent stuff). We get great male friendships, and male/female friendships, but when it came  to showing women who genuinely like each other interacting, GRRM just… didn’t go there at the beginning. Yeah, you’ve got Arya and Sansa not getting along, and Sansa and Jeyne’s friendship happening mostly offscreen but surely there must be more women who can be getting along… right? Well… no. 

Catelyn seems to have no female friends or companions at all, even from memory (which is ridiculous!) and her relationship with Lysa is extremely strained. Later she meets Brienne and while their relationship is a positive one for them both, it is more that of a Lady and her sworn shield than of friends. Cersei has no real friends at all, let alone female ones… she actually killed her childhood “bestfriend”. Margaery and the Tyrell cousins were not real friends to Sansa, Arya’s best friends and travelling companions are all male (albeit she does have a brief but very sweet interaction with Lady Smallwood) and Dany’s female companions are all servants to her. All in all, the situation with regards to sisterhood and female friendship in ASOIAF ain’t great. 

Topping this off, there’s also the fact that while GRRM’s understanding of what medieval noblewomen actually got up to in a day’s work is better than GOT’s, there are yet still some suggestions that feminine gendered activities are quite trivial and frivolous, and these suggestions are, again, most evident in Sansa and Arya’s AGOT chapters where they, again, serve to highlight Sansa as the silly, blinkered, girly-girl, to Arya’s rebellious, open-minded tom boy. 

To sum it up, it is of great significance that Arya, who we are meant to identify with and like, is a tom boy and Sansa, her foil, is extremely feminine. The negative aspects of Sansa’s personality, the ones being highlighted above her more positive qualities in AGOT, are therefore associated with that femininity because her negative traits are framed in contrast to Arya’s positive ones, and Arya’s interests and behaviour are more stereotypically masculine. I liked Sansa despite all of this because, paying attention while reading her chapters and fed up with trope of cool tomboys vs annoying girly girls, I was actually able to see the subtle allusions to there being more to Sansa than what the author was choosing to place on the surface. However, I understand how a reader who has no inclination to pay such close attention while reading her chapters could easily be put off from her character. GRRM did that on purpose… and I just don’t think it’s fair to the character who otherwise might have been given more of a chance by so many readers who, even now, still disregard her value to the story.

Edit: A few discussions on this topic that I managed to find by searching the shadowy corners of my blog (this should be easier… I need to use better tags…) that elaborate a bit more on this...

https://maidenoftheforestlight.tumblr.com/post/163170555339/some-people-argue-grrm-has-done-sansa-a-disservice#notes

https://maidenoftheforestlight.tumblr.com/post/155575049279/what-is-your-opinion-about-the-friendship-between

https://maidenoftheforestlight.tumblr.com/post/148912128094/as-much-as-i-agree-george-couldve-done-better

http://asoiafuniversity.tumblr.com/post/119478322575/on-george-martin-ladies-of-asoiaf-and

http://nobodysuspectsthebutterfly.tumblr.com/post/149368992133/why-do-you-think-that-asides-from-jeyne-poole

https://maidenoftheforestlight.tumblr.com/post/158118270004/do-you-think-sansa-bullied-jon-snow-some-of-my#notes

[midnightstarsky]

VS Cartel AU Chapter 2 Part 4

This is my cross-over fiction of vatanim sensin and the narcos history/tv show. This is the fourth part of chapter 2. I hope you guys enjoy this! The other parts of chapter 2 and all of chapter 1 are already posted, just check the vs cartel au tag on my blog.

Note: I don’t own any of the VS characters or narcos characters. These are characters based loosely on history so I any similarities are due to that.

All of these parts can be found under vs cartel au tag on my blog, where you can also find gifs and previews for the story and narcos show. And you can find a mash up trailer.

Hope you enjoy!

This one takes off where part 3 ends, where we get a glimpse of Yildiz in her natural environment, and meet the founding members of CevVas cartel; needless to say our trio of Hilal, Leon, and Ali Kemal are not thrilled to be rubbing elbows with them. 

content warning: This is a cartel fic, so there will be mentions of violence and drugs from this point on from the story. So canon typical violence for a show like narcos is to be expected.

                                             Chapter 2: Magical Realism

                                                           Part 4

Ali Kemal stood in awe as he took in his surroundings, of the golden walls and the massive chandeliers handing above them. Everywhere there were people dressed in the finest clothes money could buy, dripping with jewels. Scattered among these people were a few men and women dressed in dress military uniform, and he felt his eyes narrow. Here were the oligarchs bought off by his father, their loyalty to money more than their loyalty to their country. He tried not to let his disdain show.

              A silence hit the room as everyone turned towards someone making a grand entrance.

              Ali Kemal curiously followed their gaze and stopped.

              Yildiz strutted in, and everyone’s eyes seemed glued on her.

              Ali Kemal felt his jaw drop.

              Yildiz was dressed in a dark blue dress, a plunging velvet dress with a big slit flashing her long legs as she walked. She had her lovely black hair in waves swept to the side, and her lips were a bright red. Her dress was made even more dramatic by the tulle train and the embellishments on the shoulder and one side of her waist that spiked out, like thorns. She looked every inch the cartel princess, draped in luxury in an enticing, dangerous way.

Get to close and Yildiz might entrap you or kill you.

She was gorgeous, Ali Kemal admitted to himself as he averted his eyes, “Dammit.”

“Focus,” he breathed.

He grabbed a glass from a passing server and chugged it down.

Leon eyed him curiously, but Ali Kemal coughed, “Taking advantage of the great booze.”

“Right,” Leon remarked as he turned to his wife, “Hilal, loosen your grip. I’d like to have my right arm intact at the end of tonight.”

She relaxed her grip, “Sorry.”

“I know,” he said softly as he leaned his head near her.

Ali Kemal felt a twinge of envy, but quickly pushed it down as Yildiz came towards them.

“You made it!” a she said giddily.

Ali Kemal grunted in greeting as Leon politely smiled but Yildiz turned her attention to her sister.

“You look lovely, and what did I say? Everyone can’t keep their eyes off you!”

Or you, Ali Kemal thought as he tried not to admire her.

Leon scowled and Yildiz laughed, “Oh, don’t you worry, Leon. No one’s going to steal Hilal from you.”

Yildiz leaned in to Hilal to say slyly, “I never realized that Leon had such a jealous streak in him, I always thought you were the jealous one of the two.”

Hilal frowned slightly before cringing as Yildiz gave her a quick side hug.

I hate you, Hilal mouth to Leon.

Leon’s scowl disappeared as he gave her a pleading look, as if to say, It’s not my fault.

Ali Kemal watched this silent exchange finding it quite entertaining.

“Well, there’s someone you have to meet,” Yildiz said, “And here he comes.”

They heard footsteps from behind them as Yildiz added, “Chairman Vasili has been waiting quite a while for this.”

“I have indeed,” a voice from behind them.

Ali Kemal breathed in sharply, noting that Leon had tensed as well. Hilal glanced up at him in concern, bringing her other hand to run it up and down his arm to calm him.

“Boss,” Yildiz smiled that charming smile of hers that Ali Kemal was really finding annoying.

The man stepped in front of them to face them as he smiled at them.

“Boss, Ali Kemal, Leon, his wife and my sister, Hilal,” Yildiz said as she stepped beside Vasili.

Vasili was a handsome man, with his hair still jet black and twinkling blue eyes that seemed to hide the world’s secrets. He smiled an easy smile, and he had laugh and smile lines. This was a man who enjoyed life, but there was a cleverness there that belied the easy temperament he gave off.

He looked at his sons warmly, “My how you’ve grown, Dimitri, it seems just like yesterday you shoved the neighbor’s kid for stealing your baby brother favorite teddy.”

“It’s Ali Kemal now,” he corrected.

“Hmm,” his father managed before glancing proudly at his youngest, “My son, you’re grown into a handsome man, taller than your brother and I.”

Leon plastered a grin but said nothing.

Vasili didn’t seem to care, he took in his two sons for a moment as if to savor this moment. He sighed wistfully before his turning to Hilal. He looked her up and down and smiled as if he approved of the image before him, making Hilal press closer to Leon as Leon tried not to glare openly at the man.

“And you must be my beautiful daughter-in-law, Leon you’ve chosen well, son. Gorgeous, and if she’s half as clever as her father, a beauty with a brain,” he mused.

“She chose me really,” Leon offered he gripped Hilal’s hand tighter.

“Well, welcome to the family, my dear,” Vasili said as he grabbed her hand to bring it up to his lips, “Anything you two needs, anything at all, just name it. You are family, and I intend to take care of my family.”

Hilal slowly retracted her hand and managed a smile, “Thank you.”

Vasili smiled.

Yildiz raised her hand and called, “Daddy! She’s here!”

Cevdet came into view and Hilal gripped her husband like he was her lifeline and breathed heavily. After a moment, she stiffened and stepped away from her husband to take a step towards her father.  

Cevdet walked over and as his eyes fell on his younger daughter, he smiled softly. He approached her and placed his hands on either side of her face, “Hilal, my beautiful little bird.”

Hilal’s eyes were wide as he kissed her forehead. She grasped blindly for Leon’s hand and he stepped quietly forward and took it. He stroked her hand gently with his thumb as her breathing slowed.

Cevdet pulled back to smile at her, “I’m so glad you’re here, Hilal. Yildiz has told me so much about you, but nothing comes close to seeing your daughter in person.”               Hilal managed a nod, “It’s good to see you too, father.”

Leon winced and Ali Kemal could swear he heard a crack.

I’m sure Leon doesn’t need his shooting hand anyway, he mused.

Cevdet’s smile widened and his eyes shined.

He turned towards Leon, “And you must be her husband, Leon. Yildiz told us about the marriage.”

“Imagine our surprise and joy at hearing that we officially became family,” Vasili cut in.

Cevdet extended his hand towards Leon, “I’ve heard only good things from Yildiz, I’m very happy Hilal found her soulmate in her childhood friend.”

Hilal reluctantly released her husband’s hand so Leon could return the handshake.

“Thank you,” Leon said.

Vasili glanced at his watch, “I wish we could catch up more but business awaits, perhaps some time later we can talk. Miss Yildiz, do make sure they have an enjoyable time.”

“Of course,” she nodded respectfully.

Vasili left with one last smile as Cevdet followed him.

Yildiz spun around, “Well, why don’t I show you around and introduce you to some of our guests?”

She looked at Ali Kemal expectantly her arm extended as if expecting him to take it.

She looked at him with those beautiful green eyes and her pretty smile, and what harm would it do to just enjoy the night…

He stamped those thoughts away as he muttered, “I’ll stay here, not feeling up to walking around much. Not a people person.”               Yildiz’s eyes flashed angrily for a second, so quickly Ali Kemal thought for sure he had missed it.

She turned towards Hilal and Leon, but Hilal was quick to say, “I’m going to stick around here, make sure he doesn’t drink himself under the table.”

Ali Kemal sneered at his sister-in-law.

Her sister frowned but Hilal shoved Leon over, “I’m sure Leon would love to catch up on old times with you.”

Leon shot her a look before saying, “It has been a while since we’ve had time to talk, Yildiz.”

Yildiz brightened and looped her arm through Leon’s and dragged him away, Leon turned his face to mouth, Hilal, this is not fair!

But his wife had grabbed a glass from a waiter and mockingly raised it towards her husband, I love you, darling.

Leon’s eyes narrowed as he turned his head away.

“That will teach him to compliment me in this dress,” she said.

“You’re evil,” Ali Kemal noted as he tipped his glass towards her.

She smirked and clinked her glass with his.

              I love my wife, I really do. But I swear she made it her goal to torment me through our marriage.

Yildiz leaned in closer, “I’m really glad you came, Leon. We should really make up for lost time.”

Leon decided not to mention that she was the one who had run away from her family and her friends only to end up here living a life of luxury paid for by drug money.

Yildiz glanced around as they walked around the grand ballroom, strolling past the circle of dancing couples.

Yildiz nudged Leon suddenly with her shoulder, “That’s General Dimitriou, one of your father’s closest friends in the army. Beside him is police colonel Colonel Antonopoulos. He’s quite the charmer, and a wonderful dancer.”

General Dimitriou nodded in greeting as the younger man turned and smiled as Yildiz flashed him a flirty smile before she guided Leon away.

“And that’s the representative from Thessaloniki and his wife, a lovely pair,” Yildiz continued.

She tilted her head, “That’s the representative from Crete, and the woman beside him is the representative from Patra.”

Leon wondered if these powerful figures knew who their host really was, or did they know and just not care? They were briefed that Vasili had connections in the government and army, but he wondered how deep Vasili’s influence went.

Vasili’s influence, in fact, went very deep. It was a simple matter of offering a choice to people who could stand in his way, money or death. It was a simple but effective choice, one that allowed Vasili the influence and power needed to keep running his illegal business.  Politicians were paid or threatened to smooth over any concerns or questions about where Vasili’s money really came from. Army and police officers loyal to Vasili made it easy for Vasili to do whatever he wanted without worrying about any kind of interference impeding his drug trafficking. Very few people were honest enough to refuse his bribes, even fewer were brave enough to withstand his threats.

“Father had invited General Markoras, but he refused,” Yildiz said sourly, “Arrogant, odious man.”

Yildiz waved over at some well-dressed women before adding, “Of course, your father went out of his way to invite Colonel Mehmet tonight, but the colonel refused our invitation quite rudely. I’ve heard he’s terribly boring so perhaps it’s best he didn’t deign to show up. Married to his job they say.”

“Doesn’t sound like he would enjoy a party,” Leon mused, “Is he someone very important for Vasili to personally invite?”

Yildiz smiling knowingly, “He’s the police colonel responsible for the Thessaloniki province, your father wanted to work with him as part of his bettering the neighborhood initiative. Make the streets safer in Thessaloniki so that children don’t have to be afraid to go out, things like that.”

“Didn’t know father was so charitable,” Leon said as he tried not to sound mocking.

“Oh, yes, buying homes for the poor and funding for hospitals and sports programs,” Yildiz replied, “Your father runs quite the charity for his home city, it’s unfortunate that Colonel Mehmet thinks his work is too important to join us today, these parties are a key part of business not just pleasure.”

Leon wondered if the colonel just hated parties, or he was one of the few not on Vasili’s payroll. He mused on that thought for a moment before he caught sight of his wife and brother each grab another glass from a server.

He sighed.

“This was quite nice, Yildiz, but I really should stop Hilal from drinking herself into a stupor,” Leon smiled, “Hilal can’t handle her alcohol at all, she’d hate it if I didn’t stop her from embarrassing herself from having too much to drink.”

Yildiz looked over, “It looks like she’s already looking a bit tipsy, go on and rescue your wife. I have some people to talk to myself.”

She broke away from him and smiled before wandering off.

Leon made his way to his wife who was already grabbing another champagne flute. He picked up his steps and grabbed the flute before she could bring it to her lips.

“Hey!” she protested.

“You’ve had enough, dear,” Leon handed the glass to Ali Kemal as he grabbed Hilal’s arm to gently guided her away.

Ali Kemal waved them off and finished off Hilal’s drink in one chug.

Leon eyed him as he muttered, “We should really keep an eye on his alcohol intake.”

Hilal nodded before she noticed they were approaching the other dancers, “Where are you taking me?”

“Relax, I’m not kidnapping you,” Leon teased, “I just thought a dance would be nice.”               She narrowed her eyes and stopped, “I don’t want to dance.”

She turned to leave but he gently pulled her by the arm, “Come on, you’ll enjoy it. How often will we get the chance to dance?”

“Leon, my feet are killing me and I’m freezing in this dress,” she hissed, “I hate how exposed I feel.”

But her husband held her hand and gave her a pleading look, “Come on humor me.”

She stubbornly rooted herself where she stood, “No.”

He sighed and leaned down, “Please, loosen up tonight for me? Maybe you’ll enjoy it.”

Hilal eyed him as he pleaded once last time, “Just relax and have a bit of fun for a while.���

“You don’t seem to understand where we are,” she remarked her eyes flashing to his father in the distance, but her resolve seemed to be weakening.

He smiled at her, “Think of it as part of the job, people will wonder why we aren’t dancing.”

She rolled her eyes, “Leon, that is incredibly stupid, oof.”

She gasped as he pulled her close and placed his hand around her back and was spinning her around the room as she glared at him.

“Leon,” she warned.

He released her but only to spin her around and pull her back in, “You were saying?”

She looked at him, her eyes softening and he smiled inwardly.

She bit her lip before relaxing in his arms.

He took that as his cue to keep dancing. They swayed to the music, both in perfect harmony with each other. Leon would release her to spin her before gently pulling her back to him and guiding her around the dance floor. The second time he brought her back Hilal glanced down and tried to hide her smile. The third time she couldn’t help it, she smiled up at him as he grinned back.

“This isn’t that bad,” she managed.

“What was that?” he asked cheekily.

She gave him a challenging look, “Don’t push it.”

He chuckled and spun her one last time before the music stopped. He stood smiling down at her as he held her hand, and despite herself, she found herself smiling too.

“I love you,” he muttered.

Her gaze softened, “I love you too. Even when you force me into these evil heels.”

He brought her hand to his lips, “I’ll make sure those heels never see the light of day.”

Hilal gave him the brightest smile he had seen from her today.

[drferox]

20 questions with Dr Ferox #4

It’s that time of the week again where I try to shrink my inbox by answering 20 of your questions all in one go. This seems to be working well, and I must thank everyone who has endeavored to use the search function this week. I’ve tried to tag folks, but if you’ve sent in anonymous questions you’ll have to read through and look to see if you’ve been answered.

A lovely, understanding anonymous said: Have you ever had players in your DnD group not get along? Also, if you ever feel stressed out about the number of asks, don't feel like you have to immediately respond to us. It's a blog, we get it. Nobody is waiting on a time-sensitive diagnosis from a blog (or at least they fuckin shouldn't be), and we can wait. Prioritize yourself, we're a bunch of randos asking about dog food on the Internet.

Well, nobody should be waiting for a time sensitive diagnosis from any vet blog any more. I’d hoped I’d been clear enough by now why it’s not appropriate to ask specific veterinary advice from myself, or any other vetblrs on here.

But yes, I have had players in my D&D groups not get along, but I had enough players to keep them separate most of the time. Dungeons & Dragon is supposed to be fun, it’s a game, so it’s meant to be fun. Aside from other skills you learn playing roleplaying games, managing a group of people is definitely one you pick up. Humans are human, we don’t all get along all of the time.

@kabjl asked: Would it be theoretically possible to have a viable hybrid offspring of a house cat and a wild large cat like a lion or tiger?

Unlikely. House cats belong to the Felinae subfamily and lions and tigers belong to the Pantherinae subfamily. While Pantherinae species can hybridize (eg tiger and lion) and Felinae species can hybridize (eg domestic cat with anything), the offspring are usually infertile. I don’t think it’s possible for a Felinae X Pantherinae hybrid to be viable.

@a-floral-ghost asked: What's your favorite animal name you've come across? Mine is a cat named Chuck

Hmm, that’s a interesting question. There are no many pets and names to try to remember. I must profess a fondness for Pat the Cat.

@curiouspinecones said: What is the best and worst pet name you've come across? I work in a pathology lab within a vet practice and I quite like when patients have really human names (Dave the cat is always a good one). The worst has to a Labrador called "Daddy", that is totally not okay...

Again, an interesting question. There are lots of names that are unoriginal and boring, but it’s the straight up racist names that I don’t like.

Anonymous asked: Hi! I read somewhere on tumblr that because of the cat's particular tastebuds, they can't taste sweet things. If that's true, does that also mean they can't smell sweet things, since taste and smell go hand-in-hand? Question tax: Came for the dog breed facts, stayed for the vet stories and knowledge.

Well, none of us actually smell sweet. You can smell things you associate with sweet foods by learning, but you’re not smelling ‘sweet’ as such.

Another Anonymous said: Have you ever met a hamster? I know we're not allowed to have them in Australia, but I'm curious about whether you've been exposed to one during the process of learning vet medicine. I know I feel odd about never having seen a hamster in real life, since it's such a common pet elsewhere...

I’ve never seen a hamster in the flesh. They’re not legal in Australia, neither are gerbils of chinchillas. I have seen one on an animal handling video though.

@fox-noodle said: I forgot the question tax, my apologies! My rat Apollo is almost 2 1/2 and recently went to the vet for what I thought were tumours, but are actually testicles. They only started showing a few months ago, I've now separated him and he has two male buddies now. Is this common in rats? I've only ever heard of something similar (cryptochoridism) in dogs, could that be what he has? Question tax- came for the interesting euthanasia posts (its helped me a lot), stayed for the interesting vet stories

Can’t say I have. That’s a very long delay for that rat to develop testes, and I’d have to wonder if it’s intersex in some way.

Dogs with cryptochidism have testes, they just haven’t descended into the scrotum. They never descend into the scrotum, sometimes they’re stuck in the abdomen and sometimes they’re in the groin, so I don’t think it’s the same process at work. Sorry I can’t be more help.

@rebanndon said: I've read in an article or two, that for active dog breeds like border collies leaving them entire until 18 months of age is a way to reduce the risk of cruciate ligament tears because the bone is able to fill out? There's little/no proof behind the claim reproductive hormomes are linked to aiding ligament growth.  So, in your experience do you see more cruciate cases in active desexed dogs or active entire dogs? Or simply no link at all and desexing should just be done at 6 months regardless?

I’ve written a fairy in-depth article on age of desexing here.

There propably is a benefit in delaying desexing for larger breeds overall, but for most small breeds 6 months still seems about right.

Anonymous said: Isnt't it bad to declaw a cat? Since they are digitigrade doesn't removing the claws hurt their bone structure?

... Yes. That wasn’t up for debate. I’ve discussed this here.

Unobservant Anonymous said: Do you have any advice for a cat with a herniated spinal disk? QoL is still good, he's a happy boy who sometimes has trouble lifting up his back legs and needs stairs up couches and to litterbox. Eats, drinks, purrs and seeks attenion like a champ but sometimes when he grooms himself that it looks like he's got a pinched nerve and has discomfort / spasms reaching for his back feet. Vet has been seen, on cosequin every other dayvand daily gentle stretches. Anything else I can do?

Hey, so, from a legal and ethical perspective I can’t give you specific veterinary advice about a cat that is not one of my direct patients. It’s dangerous and unethical to do so. But go talk to your vet, Cosequin is a joint supplement, not pain relief, there are at least three different medications you could consider.

Anonymous said: Oh my god, you're allergic to bunnies? I want to be a vet too, and so am I XD glad to see I'm not the only one lmao

Yup, allergic to rabbits, rye grass, and dogs (sort of). And nuts, which makes the mixed boxes of chocolates gifted to the clinic very interesting.

Anonymous asked: Working as a veterinarian, do you ever get the urge to adopt the pets in the shelter?

Not from shelters, I just don’t go near them any more. Stray kittens in the vet clinic though are another matter...

Anonymous said: About the uncomfortable animals thing- I was referring to where you said primates are in the  uncanny valley

Lots of vets have certain animals, or breeds of animals, that they just don’t want to deal with. For me, primates make me uncomfortable. Not because they’re creepy, but because they’re clever and I can’t reliably know how clever they are, and whether what we’re doing with them is ethical.

I also don’t intend to go treat horses every again, and I know lots of vets that are averse to large animal practice or outright phobic of birds.

Yet Another Anonymous said: Hey! I'm wondering if you get much experience with our Aussie staghounds (enough to write a breed evaluation on them)? Or if not, maybe just a bit about the general hunting-type Australian dogs? (staghounds, bull arabs, and the many many similar mixes). Question tax: came because I'd always wanted to be a vet and I LOVE anatomy, stayed for the awesome info and even more wonderful stories.

I haven’t seen any staghounds down here, but I’m pretty South and suburban now, not really a much of a hunting culture around here. You can find the Bull arab post here, but are welcome to use the search function for any other breeds of interest.

@orgasmicplushtoy asked: Can you do a write up on small munsterlanders? If not that's okay.

I actually had to look up the three Munsterlander dogs I’ve seen, because I didn’t know ‘large’ and ‘small’ munsterlanders were totally different breeds.

Turns out all three I’ve seen are large ones, over 30kg each. Short version: They all got cancer.

Anonymous asked: Do you see any Greater Swiss Mountain Dogs at your practice? For some reason we see a lot at our clinic and though some of them are fine- they have earned the moniker "Sketchy Swiss." As in: I have to muzzle a 6 month old Swiss puppy because it barks, growls, and lunges at me while I try to TPR. Several of the ones we see have been diagnosed with Wobbler syndrome and various other orthopedic issues. Just curious if you've had similar experiences. Thanks- love your posts!

Sorry, no. They’re quite big and not popular here, I don’t think I’ve ever come across them. Large breeds in general are less common. 

Anonymous said: I don't suppose you've done any evaluations on working cocker spaniels/sprocker/Russian spaniels?

Nope, not yet. There’s 30 waiting in the queue for me to get to them. I have said before though that I’m not answering breed posts that asked for more than one breed in the same post. It just gets too long, confusing and messy if I do. Besides, it’s rather cheeky to ask for more than one in one question, isn’t it?

Another Anonymous said: If you enjoy a little wildlife voyeurism, there are about a half dozen bird cams linked on Cornell's "All About Birds" webpage, and the owls have owlets. There's not really a question here. You have a stressful job, and I thought you might enjoy wasting some time watching the bird feeder or trying to see the baby owls under mum's fluffy owl butt.

Thanks for the thought, I’m sure some followers will find it useful. Personally I try to relax without animal things. I find it helpful to seek out activities that engage different parts of my brain compared to what work does.

@slowdown-its-a-science said: Please give us lots of updates on Trash Bag

I’m sure I will.

@herebelife said: Ps did you read the article about the bilby triplets? Bilby triplets!

I hadn’t, but I have now and will share them with you.

[fffinnagain]

Another Meme Thing

@ancientreader tagged me yesterday, and since my latest stats post has drawn in a few more followers, it’s maybe time to share some dets.

Rules: Answer the questions, tag 20 people. Hmm, this has been going around a lot lately, so the tagging may be redundant and sparse.

Name: Finn, going by finnagain or fffinnagain on social media in fandom circles

Nicknames: Finn is it really. Someone once called me Finn-jamin, and that was fun.

Zodiac Sign: Taurus, and I resent the zodiac’s suggestion that I am plodding materialist.

Height: 163 cm. (5’4” for you non-metric heathens.)

Orientation: given my messy gender identity, pansexual/romantic is safest, although attraction to cis-men is at an all-time low these days.

Ethnicity: Canadian of Anglo-european descent. Bits of Scottish, Irish and a lot of English, but one has to go way back. It may be time to consider Canadian an ethnicity, with the maple syrup flowing through our blood, the calls of curling etched in our ears, and our bodies honed by years of long snowy winters.

My Favorite Disclaimer: Punctuality is a virtue of the bored. (Evelyn Waugh, the clever bastard.) Although I really should preface everything with: WARNING DYSLEXIC! BROKEN GRAMMAR AND CREATIVE SPELLINGS AHEAD.

Favorite Fruit: Pinapple, but apples with a low carbon footprint are a close second.

Favorite Season: Winter when I am living outside of Canada, and Fall when I am home.

Favorite Book Series: I’ve read the many series of Tortall novels by Tamora Pierce more times than I care to admit. (Yes, I know there are other books, but I’ll read them after ploughing through Alanna, The First Adventures one more time.)

Favorite Flower: Flower trees are lovely, except dogwoods, yuck. Lilacs are nice.

Book Recommendation: Murr. Besides the indulgence admitted above, and some fanfiction, I’ve been mostly ploughing through academic texts (good content, aweful writing) so nothing comes to mind.

Favorite Scent: Hot cumin seeds. At the moment.

Favorite Color: Dark blue, or blueish greenish. Maybe a little purple. Basically my hair colour.

Favorite Animal: I love @ancientreaders comment “it seems anthropocentric to pick a species.” There is a black cat I live with right now who is silly and clumsy and easily confused, so he gets first place.

Coffee, Tea, Hot Cocoa: They all have their advantages, depending on the circumstances. Coffee in the morning, Tea in the afternoon (unless I’m in campus, and then it’s a fortifying latte) and Hot Cocoa in the evening or to share with friends.

Average Sleep Hours: 6.5 hours is the median, but the standard deviation is large.

Favorite Fictional Characters: Sherlock Holmes is pretty well settled in that position, but I refuse to specify which iteration.

Number of Blankets I Sleep With: The temperature range in my apartment is so wide that the number changes throughout the night, with significant interferences from one or two cats.

Dream Trip: I need to see the tundra. It will probably look bleak and flat at first, but time spent up North will make me a better person.

Blog Created: 2013

Number of Followers: Oh dear, over 600 now. Good luck figuring out what that means.

This feels very rude, but I’m not going to hunt through people’s blogs to check who has answer what. Here are some tags of recently active folks I’d be curious to hear more about: @centrumlumina, @ellipsisaspired, @bandersnatchmycummerbund, @aeolian-harp, @cleverpudding, and @ericswifetara.

[dragon-kazansky]

A rose in London - Sherlock Holmes

Chapter 11 - Friendship

Bright and early the next morning you went straight round to Baker Street. You were feeling a whole lot better after the little chat you had with Sherlock in the carriage. Seeing Sherlock everyday was becoming your favourite thing very quickly. You were smiling when you reach the familiar black door with the lantern above it.

You knocked and Mrs. Hudson answered, smiling at you briefly as you came in.

"He's upstairs." She told you. You weren't sure who she was referring to, considering you were more known to be John's friend than Sherlock's, but you figured they would be up there. You headed up.

You heard several voices and movement as you got to the top of the staircase, seeing the door to John's office was open. Sherlock could be seen with his back to you. Two officers came out of the room once they were done with whatever it was they were here for, both nodding at you as they passed by, going downstairs.

You walked over to the door and gasped when you saw the body on the desk.

At the sound of your gasp Sherlock turned around and smiled warmly.

"Ah, good, you're here. Watson no longer owns this room, I can do whatever I want here now."

John was collecting his things, packing them away. You shared a look with him as you got closer to Sherlock.

"Lovely, and is the corpse a part of your new decor?" You asked, teasing him.

Sherlock glared at you playfully.

"Who is he?" John asked, taking some books down from a shelf.

"He's the man that tried to kill you." Sherlock stated. "I suppose his neck didn't survive the impact of the big man landing on him."

"You don't say." You muttered.

"Yes... Thanks for that by the way." John said softly. You could sense the slight tension in the air. They hadn't spoken since they were bailed out. It was nice to see them both talking.

"But there is some consolation for him to be of service to his fellow man." Sherlock lifted up the man's arm and picked up a small magnifying glass, examining it. "Elbow's stained in blood, but it's older than his own injuries." He looked at the body, then looked up at John who had turned around to listen, but when Watson saw him looking he turned back around quickly. Either he didn't want to get sucked back into the case, or he was pretending to still be mad at Sherlock.

Sherlock carried on to mutter things out loud, cutting some hair off the man and burning the clump over a small flame. You watched curiously.

"Hmm, yellow flame, green bursts. An industrial worker."

Next he tested the man's hands.

"Coal. The flag on his trousers should put him squarely in-"

"Nine Elms." John cut him off.

"Sorry, what?"

"The area you're looking for is Nine Elms." John clarified.

"Right. Do you remember where I put the Lord's register of member's interests?" Sherlock asked him.

"On the step ladder."

Sherlock slowly waltzed into the other room to fetch it. When he has turned his back, John picked up the magnifying glass and began to examine the body. You laughed as you watched him.

"Seriously?" You chuckled.

"What?"

"Nothing bad would come from you examining the body and Sherlock knowing. You could just task to help. What happened between you two anyway? What did he say?"

John glanced up at you.

"Quite a lot actually. I swear he isn't human." John muttered. "I have things to do."

"Shame. I think he misses you."

"He has you, which is something I want to ask about. Did you notice how happy was when you came in?" John looked at your curiously. "Seemed extremely pleased to see you."

"Shouldn't he be? He's probably just glad I came like I said I would." You shrugged.

"Or something else."

"Like what?" You eyed John curiously.

"I don't know. There are some things I don't think possible when it comes to him, but I'm willing to be proven wrong." John sighed. "I think it's a little more than fancying you, now."

"You think he has actual feelings for me?"

"It's my best guess." John didn't show any signs of joking. His words had your heart racing in your chest.

Yesterday you had called Sherlock your friend, to which he replied with the same about you. You were flattered in the beginning to think he fancied you somewhat, it's not like he isn't handsome and charming in his own little way, but going from what you knew, and what you had seen, you had placed that Irene Adler still held his heart.

He couldn't possibly look at you in that way.

"I think you're over analysing the situation."

Before any more could be said between the both of you, Sherlock returned. In his hand was a big book with names and places in it. Sherlock was listing off possible locations and interests. You didn't see him glancing your way for a moment before carrying on with his facade of being OK that John wasn't joining in.

"It's probably a factory by the river." John said, continuing to examine the body, now in front of Sherlock.

"What's that?" Sherlock asked, pretending he hadn't heard.

"Never mind." John put the magnifying glass down and turned away. "You don't know where my rugby ball went, do you?" He asked Sherlock.

"No. Not a clue." He turned back to the book. "Queen's hide slaughter house. Nine Elms. Factory by the river."

John smiled at him, silently telling him that would be the place to go.

Sherlock put the book down and grabbed his coat.

"Well done, Watson. That should lead us straight to Blackwood, dead or alive."

"Not us." You stood there awkwardly. John was still not getting himself involved. "You. And Y/N, if she still wants to. Not me." He turned away, almost sadly. Something told you he wanted to come, but he was fighting against the urge. He was looking out for himself and Mary now. Not himself and Sherlock.

"Yes. Just a figure of speech, old boy." Sherlock turned around, disappointed,  and left the room. "Come along, Y/N." He called from the hall.

You turned to John and gave him a small smile.

"I'll keep an eye on him."

"Good. Be careful."

You turned slowly and caught up with Sherlock, eager to get going. Sherlock opened the door for you and let it shut behind him. He looked at you with a small twinkle in his eye, but you couldn't decipher it.

"Hey."

"What?"

"I was promised a cup of tea." You smirked, chuckling softly.

"So you were. You'll have to hold me to that." He smiled. "Come along."

The pair of you hardly made it halfway down the street when a voice called. You both turned around and smiled, seeing John already ready to go as he came over.

"Change of mind?" You asked as he got closer.

"Hardly." He looked at Sherlock. "You clever fool."

You turned to Sherlock for answers. He looked at you with a smile. Now you understood that look in his eye.

"What did he do?"

"He left me a pistol, out in view where I would see it. He knew." John chuckled.

"Come along, Watson. We have a case to solve." Sherlock, happy he had his two favourite people beside him, hailed down a carriage and had you all head for the docks.

Tags:

@awyr @fandombeehive @charmed-asylum  @sigynbandraoi-blog  @procrastinatingmurder @madshelily @phantomofhogwarts @photography-to-all

[dragon-kazansky]

A rose in London - Sherlock Holmes

Chapter 4 - Irene Adler

John Watson had come by your place early the next day. He asked about what Sherlock talked you about the other day and when you mention tea, he thought it to be a good idea. He was somewhat glad that you and Sherlock wanted to get along, but he was still concerned about Holmes' behaviour, though you did state you would come to get used to it.

He had originally come around to talk about Mary. He hoped you could shed some light on the right kind of ring he should buy. He wanted it to be perfect, but the moment he arrived, he was far more curious about Sherlock and you.

"He invited you round for tea himself?"

"He did. I think you were perhaps right about him fancying me." You smiled softly. "I don't recall anyone ever fancying me before, then again I don't meet many people."

"Their loss, I suppose. Why don't you come by now then? Sherlock is at home and he still doesn't have case."

"That would be lovely. Did you come for a reason, or was it just to see me?" You smiled at him.

"That would be a reason, but yes. It can wait however."

"Yes, you have a reason, or yes, you came to see me?"

"Both."

You grabbed your coat and kept up conversation with Watson right until you arrived at Baker Street. John opened the door and let you in first. Before he could close it, however, a voice called out to hold it, so he did. You watched as the pretty lady in pink hurried past you, giving you a quick smile as you let he pass.

"Thank you, doctor." She left.

"Someone you know?" You asked.

"Yes." He glanced upstairs. "I wonder what she was doing here." He sounded as if he was talking more to himself than he was to you. He began to climb the stairs, removing his coat and hat.

Confused by his behaviour, you followed him.

"John?"

Sherlock came rushing down the stairs and hurried to the window, pushing it open.

"Holmes, what are you doing? Are you wearing a false-"

"False nose? No." He was out of breath. Sherlock looked at you smiled quickly, before both of them looked downstairs. You followed their gaze, becoming confused by the strange behaviour.

"Tell me that that wasn't-"

Sherlock grabbed John's coat and hurried out the window, jumping down. You stuck your head out to see what he was doing.

There was a loud crash as he jumped onto an unstable platform and fell through it. He called for John, but all Watson did was pull you back inside gently and close the window, continuing upstairs.

When you reached the apartment it was empty and messy.

"Who was that woman?"

"Irene Adler." John muttered, picking up an envelope.

"A friend of Sherlock's?"

"Something like that."

"I see." You spotted the picture frame on the table which was laying face down. You picked it up and looked at it. It was her. Sherlock had a photo of her in his apartment. Why did that bother you ever so slightly? "He must really like her."

John turned around and saw you holding it.

"She's no good for him."

You put the picture frame back, standing it up.

"I still think he fancies you."

"Doesn't matter." You sat down.

Seconds later, Sherlock came stumbling in. He spotted John first and then you. You had just taken off your coat and was draping around a chair. John saw down in the armchair and picked up the newspaper. Sherlock's gaze had settled on you, you smiled at him, hoping he would do something other than stare. The detective moved over to his small table and began to clean himself up. He did look an awful mess.

"Look at you, why is it the only woman you ever cared about a world class criminal?" John flicked through the newspaper.

His words struck a cord in you.

"Oh, is she your lover?" You asked, sounding as natural as you could.

After John suggested Sherlock might like you, you had hoped to get to know him better. Perhaps you would come to like what you discovered of him, but now it seems there was already a woman in his life. Now you felt like you were getting ahead of yourself.

Friends would suffice.

"Was." John spoke up. "She was the only adversary to ever outsmart him, twice. Made a proper idiot out of him." John was grinning.

You bit your lip, amused. She sounded entertaining, if anything. Then you remembered what John said about her being a criminal. Sherlock certainly seemed the type.

"Alright, you've had your fun." Sherlock finally spoke. He was looking at you from the corner of his eye.

"What's she after, anyway?" John asked.

"Time to press on."

"What could she possibly need?"

"Doesn't matter." He was starting to sound like you now.

You watched them bicker as Sherlock stood up and walked over to where you were sitting, pushing the photo frame of Irene face down once again. He sat across from you and kept his gaze on you as he told John it was no business of his. He brought up the fact they had done their last case together. Sherlock then reached for an envelope that was sitting open on the table. John had read it, apparently.

"Missing person." John described the man in the photo. "You're obviously no her type. She likes ginger dwarves." John grinned.You picked up the contents of the envelope and looked them over.

"So, she offered you a case?" You looked at the photo. "That's good isn't it?"

They both chose to ignore you as Sherlock picked up his violin and moved over to John. They continued to bicker like an old married couple. Sherlock felt the need to explain. He rambled on about what he was up to after he jumped through the window. It sounded rather far fetched, but at the same you weren't surprised. The effort he had gone to follow her undetected was rather amusing. He brought up the man in the carriage she was rising with.

"She's intimidated. She's scared of him."

"Yet, she works for him."

"Right."

"Well, it's nothing to do with me, but I advise you to leave the case alone." John said seriously.

You looked between them both and put the photo, which you had been holding up this entire time, down on the table.

"Well, I may not have a choice, hmm? After all, I may being the rent own my own soon. Thanks to you." He pointed his bow at John.

"Get that out of my face."

"It's not in your face, it's in my hand."

"Get what's in your hand out of my face."

They bickered some more. You chuckled softly, catching Sherlock's attention. He smiled at you and gave you a wink. The sound of someone coming upstairs shifted everyone's attention to the door.

"Mr. Holmes?"

"Clarky!"

"Sorry, Inspector Lestrade said you must come with me at once."

"What's he done now, lost his way to Scotland Yard?" Sherlock sounded bored. "Watson, grab a compass, he means us."

"No. You means you." John pointed out.

"It's Lord Blackwood, sir." Everyone looked up at the officer. "He, uh, well, it appears he's come back from the grave, sir."

You turned to look at the boys.

"That's not possible." You muttered.

"Most engaging." Sherlock sat up, leaned forwards and placed his hands together in thought.

"Very clever. I pronounced the man dead myself." John stated.

"What are the facts?" Sherlock asked.

"Grounds keeper claims he saw him walking through the graveyard just this morning, sir." Clark explained.

"I'll leave this in your capable hands." John gave Sherlock's knee a fond pat and stood up. "I have an appointment with Mary."

"It's not my reputation that's at stake here."

"Don't try that." John pointed at him, warning him.

"Have the newspapers caught wind of it yet?" Sherlock asked Clark.

"Well, that's what we're trying to avoid, sir."

"Certainly. What's the major concern?"

"Panic. Shear bloody panic, sir."

"Indeed." Sherlock was trying to work it all out in his head. You could see the cogs turning as you looked at him. You were curiously about this turn of events.

"You're not taking this seriously, are you Holmes?" John was astonished.

"Yes. As you should. It's a matter of professional integrity." Sherlock stood up from his seat. "No girl wants to marry a doctor who can't tell if a man's dead or not."

You smiled. Sherlock just wanted Watson by his side again. He didn't want the last case they did to be the final one together.

"Can I come?" You asked, smiling at the detective.

"Certainly." He smiled back at you, holding out his hand for you. Grabbing your coat, and he his, you took his hand and looked to John who sighed and grabbed his things. Time to investigate a ghost.

Sherlock helped you into the carriage and sat beside you. John sat opposite you both.

You hoped to learn plenty about the detective while on a case with him. You also wanted to see what John would be giving up. This was rather exciting.

Tags:

@awyr @fandombeehive @charmed-asylum  @sigynbandraoi-blog @procrastinatingmurder @madshelily @phantomofhogwarts