#i drew him crusty on purpose

[number-1-harumi-hater]

i wont lie i kinda like bringing my bullshit into new fandoms i join. sorry

[thelyingjoke]

what do you think kokichi's hair feels like...does he wash it

HEHEHHEHESBJ to be honest i could imagine him with either really soft hair perfect for ruffling or the most crusty hair imaginable. it feels like straw or as if it’s been chewed on. that’s how it stays in place all spiky like that even though he doesn’t even try to keep it like that and just plays with it. that’s why he’s kaito’s foil! 100 effort into hair vs 0 effort into hair

actually i drew something for this earlier! i can’t remember exactly what the second one means because i passed out like immediately after drawing it but i do believe it’s relevant to what i said above

kokichi not washing his hair is the funnier option i think. he has to be forced into it he is also allergic to combing his hair

oo! and something not mentioned in the question but kokichi hair-related: only the tips of his hair being dyed give me big vibes of him having fully dyed his hair once and most of it growing out so i like to imagine he decided to dye his hair the most bright obnoxious purple ever and has been banned from it since. he also gains a new hairstyle very often, not on purpose he just messes with it and it naturally shifts into a different place every few months. when this happens he likes to dress up and act like he’s an entire different person for a day

[lifeatthebottomofthesea]

I wonder if, when they weren't the main event, KO's turn was originally supposed to happen mid-PPV.

Don't get me wrong, they're clearly playing with different formats and viral/fan video nature of it is fun and different. Low-key my favorite thing was Trips' almost off-hand "Cody couldn't make it' at the presser.

But it's a BIG turn to happen off TV and the fan video thing feels like a solution more than original plan.

By the same token, I feel like he let Drew and Punk show up and steal the show on purpose. Because, other than placement, NOTHING about that match was anything less than it should've been.

If The Rock showed up last minute-ish when a certain evil crusty scumbag was running the company, that person would have happily thrown out an entire script an hour before the show to accommodate him. And that's probably to a point what Rocky used to (he did work for the crazy dude for years, to be fair).

Instead, Trips is like, we can do it, but I'm not giving up a single moment of story for it, and if it makes you look dumb, that's not on me. 🤷‍♀️

[alternansky]

a fun thought I had.... so with Fred Crumbs we know that deep frying for fashion purposes is definitely a thing in the Splatoon universe without any harm to the person getting fried (I thought this was the case for Crusty Sean too but upon looking it up on the wiki he literally just wears clothes that make him appear to be deep fried apparently)

and Splatoon 3 also has an Inkling hair style where the tentacles also got. fried? cooked? prepared? in some way

so I feel like it’s safe to assume that Inklings and Octolings could also be able to just.... deep fry their hair/tentacles and I can imagine this would result in a really fun texture

drew something small for demonstration purposes and this is kind of basic just to ge the idea across but I think there could be some fun ways to incorporate this into character designs, like combining it with some of the undercut hair styles, only fried tentacle tips etc. 

[robexp03]

“Dark Horse”

Chapter 6

Occupation.

Occupation. In which purpose is found.

It is not by coincidence that this night, observed in so many human cultures under so many different names from the ancient Druidic Samhain, to contemporary Dia de Los Muertos, from Lughnasadh (LOO-nah-sah) Sabbat, to your Halloween and All Saints Day, from unrecorded prehistory and the Night of Fear, to the distant futures and its welcoming celebration of Corrective Healing, that this night has come to be a source of unease and vague dread. I have been with you from your creation. I am a racial memory now, ingrained by the cyclical process of Rectification.  I am the reality upon which Legends are borne and assuaging rituals are founded.   I am the Night Mare.

I stood silently for a moment, trying to sense a Calling. It took some time, as I was out of practice, and then I felt the familiar pull deep in my torso. I swung my muzzle to and fro seeking the direction, and centering upon it, I was about to make the Journey, when a bell began to ring. I recognized the sound as my doorbell. Small voices tried to chorus, "Trick or Treat!", and my hooves thumped across the floor to the door. Tittering sounds of excitement came from the other side.  As I reached to open the door, I Shifted the local continuum 5 cycles lower, and used the added time to scan the tiny golden sparks of life shuffling their cold feet just beyond the barrier.  There were five children, four in Equilibrium, and so unneedful of my assistance.  The treat bowl was sitting by the door. I drew it towards my hand and then released the Shift as the door swung slowly open. 

Five faces stared up into mine, mouths agape. Four minds saw a man in a funny horse head mask. One mind saw something he did not understand, but which terrified him profoundly. As it took a deep breath to unleash a scream, I Shifted them 50 cycles lower and focused my senses on the one, a slight male child with limp blond hair, dressed in a black cape in imitation of one of his most deep-seated dreads; night flyers. His imbalance was yet too small to spawn a full Calling, but I would be inevitably visiting him soon.  I floated the bowl and reached out with both hands to place them on each side of his small head. My index talons throbbed in anticipation of a Rectification. Lowering my muzzle, I inhaled his essential scent through my lips, analyzing its components for the subtle signals. The boy's imbalance raised an urgent desire in my right hand, and with the slightest flexing of my fingertip, I effortlessly sank my index talon through his soft scalp, his slightly resisting skull, and into his unresisting brain.  With a very small but very satiating effort, I pumped my stored milk through my talon and deep into his cranium and withdrew, sealing the wound as I went. He would only bear a tiny scalp scratch with a customary mysterious loose crustiness beneath his hairline as indication of my gift.  I waited for a moment before Shifting upward again. The small boys face registered a transitory confusion, and when he looked upon me again, he saw the funny horse headed man with the large bowl of candy.  As always, the nature of my gift was catharsis. This gift was from my right hand, and so would be received in its own proper time. I had planted my seed, and I could sense that his Rectification would visit him in the form of a severely disturbing dream that would drain his Imbalance and ease his phobia permanently.  My milk was the catalyst of that solution, and I was satisfied with my gift.

The door closed between us, and I turned towards the Calling and let it pull me through the Journey.  Each time I Journey, a slave to the need of someone's Imbalance, I begin by lowering the local cycles by 90.  My appearance, which most find deeply disturbing for reasons that I now understand finally, can be of itself, a tool in Rectification.  This first Imbalance of the night was not a profound one, and indeed, the woman lying on the mat before me would require, as did the child before her, the attention of my right hand only; my deferred gifts.  Placing both sets of talons upon her head, I located the optimum site, and let her need draw my right third talon deep into her skull. I found that the site was more deeply centered than I first sensed, and it became necessary to press more acutely than I cared to. I knew she would have a severe headache on awakening.  As with most of my gifts, hers would eventually be a terrible, customized vision. It would be filled with the sound of screaming and the color yellow, where linear 2-dimensional lines of infinite length, each with the head of a wild ravenous animal, would relentlessly pursue her until she woke, dripping with perspiration, and vomited the contents of her last meal.  Her vision would be immediately forgotten in the spasms of her diaphragm,

but her Imbalance would be Rectified. 

It is not necessary to log the myriads of Journeys that took me that night. They ranged to every surface of the globe, and beneath its surface as well. There was one, however, that was notable for several unusual reasons.  The strongest Calling that night, and perhaps not coincidentally the last, brought me to the regally appointed resting place of a young man.  Unlike my other Callers, he was not sleeping when I arrived. In fact, he seemed to be expecting me, for he sat staring straight into my muzzle when I stepped through. He saw me immediately, and began to express his horror even before I cycled him downward 100.  I did not need to touch him to sense his Imbalance. He reeked with it.  Both my hands began to throb in anticipation, all six fingers twitching with the Call, but I knew instinctively that my talons were short the necessary quantities.  I replenished my index and middle talons, but there was not enough fluid left in my labial pouch to refresh my thirds. So as had happened only twice before that night, my labial pouch opened, sucked my penis deep inside, and massaged it to orgasm while I continued to observe him carefully. At 100 downcycle time becomes critical to not only Rectification, but also human survival. The liquid product of the glands that had at one time been my human testicles form the only component of my second, and is the basis for my third, fluids. My penis reappeared, still pulsing and glistening wetly, and while my labial pouch processed the extraction, I was surprised to hear Masters voice from behind my head. 

"Ah, my pet. We meet again this night sooner than expected," he commented softly. 

"Yes Master," I answered without losing my focus on the young man. "Master, this human.  I do not believe that I can Correct his Imbalance.  I feel already that his will be an immediate Rectification, requiring double first, second, and thirds, and will require the maximum implantation that I can administer.  And I still do not think it will be enough. I do not recall such a situation before."  I was curiously puzzled. This must surely be something very rare, if not impossible, owning to my design and purpose I concluded.

"You must do your best, my pet.  Yes, it is rare, but you have simply forgotten the past occurrences.  We both have been drawn here this night. You by need, myself by… probability.  My pet, this young man is deeply troubled, and I believe that a Revelation will be required of you."  My ears flicked in surprise.

"Revelation in synchro-cycle, in addition to double triples. Master?"  He nodded. There was a feeling of disquiet in my glands that caused my tail to switch about in response.

"Peace, my pet," Death whispered soothingly.  "If you cannot help him, then I can," he told me gently, laying his hand on my left shoulder.

I placed myself before the man, and gently taking his head in my taloned fingers, I bent low to his face and inhaled.  With an urgency that surprised me, all six talons burrowed themselves rapidly through his skull and into his brain making wet organic sounds from the speed of their insertion.  But they did not discharge.  Indeed, I had difficulty finding the correct locations, and realized that I would have to try again. I withdrew my talons and repositioned them more accurately and plunged them into his head again.  I made slight adjustments to their relative positions once inside, but to no avail, and I withdrew them again. "Master, it appears that you were correct in your assessment.  I need his Imbalance in an active state to administer a correction, " I admitted reluctantly.  Death made no reply, but removed his gentle hand from my shoulder and moved behind the man.  He nodded with slow deliberation, I Shifted upward to 100, and Revealed myself to the man. I watched the mans face as his eyes came alive, and slowly they shifted upward to look into my own.  I could also 'see' what he was seeing, with all of the tints and stains over which his mind washed his vision.

Staring down from a dark void, an immense enraged horse headed ogre with flashing satanic scarlet eyes and skin the color of midnight in the pits of death, held his head in a powerful and irresistible grip. Its foul steaming equine breath flowed down over his head, strangling his lungs with dread.  Its ears were flicking angrily to and fro, while an unfelt wind whipped its mane unmercifully in the frigid air.  His body, paralyzed with terror, felt the sharpness of its claws on his tender scalp. With a flash of electricity that jolted through his body, he felt the monster's razor-sharp talons slicing open his head and sinking beneath his skin, crunching their way through the rigidity of his skull, and embedding themselves agonizingly deep within his brain.  The beast's head lowered itself towards him, and it opened its mouth exposing its huge teeth in preparation for eating the flesh from his face, its huge and slimy tongue slobbering with hunger, its burning eyes pulsing with bloody light in time with the racing of his overtaxed heart, in anticipation of the gruesome feast.  The fiend inhaled, sucking the breath from his lungs, rendering hopeless any shrieks for help.  A fierce burning pain began to infuse his head. He dispassionately recognized the beginning of one of his debilitating migraines. The horror that had him in its relentless clutches smiled slightly, its face registering its demonic glee at his helplessness.  His boundless fear whirled away all self-control, and liquids and solids erupted from his body's orifices.  From somewhere deep within himself, the young man dredged enough energy to catch one breath, and screamed a single extended gasping cry of exhausted futile madness that emptied his lungs to the sobbing point before his tortured mind shut down his heart and his body began to expire. 

As the weight of his relaxing body became slowly transferred to my hands, Master stepped forward, and with grace and compassion, he severed the young man’s spirit from his cooling flesh with a single silky-smooth swing of his sickle.  The mans freed energy looked at both of us carefully then. With a cleared untainted vision, he nodded his head silently in thanks, and he passed through his silver door to continue his Journey.  I withdrew my aching and emptied talons, and the mans husk sank quietly to rest for the first time in many cycles.  

I sighed deeply, feeling the unfamiliar sharp bitterness of failure.

End of Part 2.

To be continued.

[ask-obt]

Lady Woo whose the favorite OBT design?

// the......... unseen milotic design LMAO

but that's mostly because I already love milotic!! it's my number one favorite pokemon, with cresselia following closely behind (whose design I also like, but don't wanna show until she appears in the comic. I think I posted it on twitter once, but good luck digging through that if you wanna find it)

out of characters who have actually shown up, my favorite is dielle! I struggled for a while finding a good look for her, before hitting (what I think is) gold. maybe I just like fluffy cats? hehe

I do also like rune and malachi's designs, but I actually can't take credit for them! you may remember a previous ask I mentioned I was playing design telephone with those two since they were my oldest characters- and trying to get out of my head to redesign them was a tough task. so, I enlisted the help of my partner Pika to help me redesign them!

She took Rune from this:

To this!

So you can thank her for Rune's cute pink heart motif, instead of looking like she rolled in dirt! She also gave her the trademark Vulpix curls back. I ended up slicking her hair back later because Rune has a lot of expressions with her eyebrows that got covered up by the hair, which made drawing her a pain.

And Malachi used to look less like a half-evolved Shinx and more like a very small Luxray:

Which Pika also fixed!

I love this rendition of him a lot more haha, he looks like such a lil nerd! He also got his tail back in this redesign, which I quite liked. It's hard to imagine both of them with their old designs now!

As far as designs go, I also like Requiem's! Their design actually has a little bit of a backstory, funny enough. See when I was a kid, my mom was friends with a face/body painter at the local art market, and I loved getting paintings of various things I liked. One such thing was [REDACTED], my absolute favorite pokemon for SOME REASON as a kid. I would bring a reference for her (in the form of one of those pokedex books found at book fairs) and I always loved her style and thought she was an amazing artist for being able to paint full characters in mere minutes. One day I forgot to bring a reference of [REDACTED] and she went by memory- it looked a bit bootleggy, but I was absolutely enamored with the design. So soon I started "forgetting" my reference... on purpose. I loved seeing how the design for [REDACTED] developed and became something new over time. I think she was always a bit embarrassed with the inaccuracies, but my favorite one was one that made [REDACTED] look like a completely different pokemon. Like some sort of big, flowy purple dragon kangaroo creature. I think I especially loved it because it looked like a combination of [REDACTED] and [REDACTED... 2!]. That was the last time she drew [REDACTED] for me, and she retired from face/body painting shortly after to pursue other artistic interests. A lot of Requiem's design is based off of what I remember from that painting! Though without kangaroo legs, haha. I'd love to share a picture of the painting, but I'm not sure if we ever took one. Maybe I'll bug my mom to see if we can find it.

I won't be sharing the artist's name here due to internet privacy reasons, but I do have some art she made for me once! I didn't have a bedroom for many years growing up, and my mom's solution to that was a (kinda crusty) camp trailer, which her friend painted the front of with a fun ocean view. This trailer has long since fallen into disrepair (it's almost completely rotted now), but the painting still remains.

and to give you an idea of how far flung her designs could be without reference, here's the seahorse toy I had that painting was based off of haha

anyway this huge ramble all to say... I love character designs, and varying from the norm!

[kuroosweakness]

Okok VIRTUAL HUGS! and late night thought dump again! -🐾

I should start writing notes on myself so I can remember stuff better

TMRW THERES ANOTHER JJK EPISODE!!

Why is it on every quiz I take, the main character likes me? Like I swear I’m perfect for itadori

BUT ALSO KUROO IL HIM SMMMM😍😍

Kuroo🥺 why do you not exist😔

Bruh how would his hair translate to the real world😳 it’s all fun and games till you see how bad his hair ACTUALLY is

Lmao it’s fine bc I still love him I guess🙄🙄

JKJK I DO I DO

I drew Kuroo and OH MY GOD I SUDDENLY NOW DESPISE HIS HAIR👺 but I also love it🥺🥺 like the first time I drew him😃 that was trash like wtf is that his hair- BUT THE SECOND TIME? I DID IT AND I WAS SO PROUD so I guess his hair isn’t that bad. Oh well, the more I draw him the easier it is I just don’t know where his hair falls from

Who should I draw next? Idk

I’m obsessed with jjk so for the first time I’m drawing everyone from jjk, I already drew Gojo, Megumi and Nobara

I wanna draw a Haikyuu character ^^ anyone who won’t give me a HARD TIME WITH THEIR STUPID HAIR👁👁 (yes I’m talking abt u Kuroo what u gonna do abt it?) ((*cries bc he’s fictional and isn’t here to fight me))

Tsukki’s hair is lowkey crusty like wtf is that😃

Tanaka is prob the easiest to draw since well, HE BALD😶

KUROO, STOP SLEEPING BETWEEN TWO PILLOWS IT IS NOT HELPING U

Ok but lowkey, (I’m kinda like a therapist but not but bc I act like one I dug so deep into this) I headcanon he sleeps between two pillows bc his parents used to fight all the time when he was younger and now he’s just so used to it I don’t think he can sleep if he stops🥺

I also think his a light sleeper when his ears aren’t covered LIKE THE TINIEST MOVEMENT COULD WAKE HIM UP😳😳 imagine getting out of the bed for a glass of water and he’s just asks you why you’re awake and you tell him your throat is dry so you want some water then he puts you back in bed and gets the glass for you🥺🥺 and the he gets back in bed and cuddles with you after you drink your water-

PLEASE I GOT INTO SO MUCH DETAIL🖐😭 I HOPE KUROO IS NOT A PHASE OMG BC I HAD PHASES BEFORE AND MOST LAST ONE YEAR

Nah I love him sm🥺 It’s prob not

Imma listen to yagami yato again for the 3rd time in a rOw

I SAW THIS ONE TIKTOK AND NO MY FEARS HAS COME TO LIFE LIKE SENPAPI GABE (idk if u know him he’s a popular anime tiktoker) TALKED ABT HOW TO GET GAME AND TALKED AB THE CHIBI CHAN THING I WAS TALKING ABT LAST TIME AAAAAAA-

hey hey! I honestly am getting rlly attached to you :) Ik I’m just a anon and I’m prob too shy to ever reveal myself (even though it’s probably the most obvious connection lmao) I enjoy sending you asks and seeing your reactions. >w<

writing notes on yourself is such a good idea! :)) except it might be bad for ur skin- u can carry around sticky notes! 

jjk 😳 i saw a tiktok that reminded me that sk8 the infinity is coming out in a few days and jfdksajlsdkjf ugh, time to fall back into the anime hole (i haven’t watched animes other than haikyuu in a while :’) 

i tried drawing kuroo’s hair and it looked like grass that haven’t been mowed in years. 

hair is too hard to draw smh :’

*imagines playfights with kuroo* *cries* 

i- RIGHT? tsukki’s hair looks kinda soft. tanaka, our king 

WDYM, KUROO’S SLEEPING HABIT IS CUTE 🥺(it’s not helping him but it’s helping his s/o because they’ll be able to lay on his back at any time and he won’t be able to do anything about it. UNLESS HE PURPOSELY ROLLS TURN AND CRUSHES HIS S/O- he would.) 

i- fjdkslakdjf your water scenario isn’t good for my heart. not me melting into a puddle of goo </3 i’m a light sleeper too- (see, this is another sign we’re compatible- >< ) 

i love ur details!! <3

omg i really don’t want him to be a phase. i’ve had phases too and they only last like a few weeks because i move on to other things like kdrama actors (*sighs in cha eunwoo*) and other anime characters- BUT THIS IS THE LONGEST I’VE EVER <33  i won’t be dating for the next couple of years because my mental health says no; gotta find ways to cope with loneliness :’) 

I’VE SEEN HIS TIKTOKS BEFORE- but it’s been a while so i’m sorry babes i don’t really know what ur talking about :’D 

i enjoy reading your asks 🥺come talk to me again soon! <3 

[sleepdepwritings]

Presented for archival purposes only, the first part of a story I wrote many years ago and will not be continuing no way it’s very bad.

A Save the Spiders Gig

by Cody L Ralston

Chapter 1

The vampires stormed the stage while we were in the middle of "Walking is Still Honest," which was not fucking cool.

First of all, it's my favorite song by my favorite band. You don't go with the stage name "Against Steve" unless you love Laura Jane Grace. Second, Ted steps back and lets me sing lead on that song, and I fucking shred at it. I shriek that motherfucker, alright?

And third, y'know. Vampires.

The gig was a bonfire/kegger/minor riot some local kids had arranged in the badlands outside of town. We were set up on a platform we'd jerry-rigged from some old wooden pallets and milk crates, wailing sloppily at two or three dozen drunken, pill-popping, weed-smoking punk kids and a handful of older crusties who thought we were "true punk" because we sucked. Everyone in that crowd was screaming, slamming, arguing, fighting, and a few on the outskirts of the firelight may have been screwing right there in the dust.

In all the chaos, it was easy to miss things that would otherwise have set off warning signals. Like flying bottles. Or jagged-toothed undead monsters leaping for my throat.

The first vampire, a young man with a mop of dark hair, came at me just as I made a flamboyant motion with my bass that ended with the body of the instrument coming up hard into his jaw. I choked on the line I'd been singing and made to apologize before I noticed that two other people had leaped onstage, and that all three of them were baring huge sharp teeth at me and my band. All three had dirty, claw-like nails to match, and their skin and eyes had a pale blue tinge that put me immediately in mind of dead things.

"Shit! Vampires! Shit!" I yelled, right into the microphone. The audience probably thought I'd gotten high and forgot the lyrics, but Kassie, Ted, and Dave dropped the song immediately and made to defend themselves.

"Steve! Catch!" Dave yelled, throwing one of his drumsticks toward me. I dived for it, but one of the vamps tackled me, cracking the pallets as our combined weights slammed down on them. I clawed and scrambled for the drumstick, but the vampire had me pinned by the legs and lunged for my neck at the same time.

There was a solid "THONK" and a whine of feedback. The vampire rolled off of me, hissing at Kassie, who had just clubbed him over the head with her guitar without bothering to unplug it from the amp. Holding it by the neck like a golf club, she hammered another blow into the vampire's temple while I got my feet under me and grabbed at the stick.

Wheeling around with the stick clutched in both hands, I brought all my weight down on the dazed vampire, driving the length of wood right into the center of his chest. The stick splintered and broke when it hit his sternum, but one splinter must have made it through the rotted bone to his heart. He shrieked with pain and rage, convulsing, tearing at the ground with his clawed hands and tossing his head back. I fell back,  Then, suddenly, his cries died off, his body went slack, and his flesh began to slough off, dissolving into a putrid, green-black goo that bubbled and stank.

Kassie reached out one heavily-tattooed hand to me and helped me up off my knees. I winced- her grip had driven some of the splinters deeper into my hand.

A few yards away, Ted was holding one of the other vampires off with a mic stand. He had butted the foot of the stand into the hollow of the bald, emaciated creature's throat, and was pushing with all his might to keep the frenzied thing at arm's length. The vampire howled and lunged, forcing him back.

"Guys, I need help!" Ted screamed, panic rising in his voice. "He's really dumb but he's really strong!"

I looked around for the nearest weapon and found nothing but the splinters of the pallet at my feet. Cursing through clenched teeth, I grabbed an arm-length piece of splintered board and lunged at the vampire's back, leading with the sharp(ish) tip.

Said tip sank several inches into the creature, right between his shoulderblades. Unfortunately, while the board stopped at several inches, I didn't. My momentum carried me forward into the now dying vampire, who in turn slammed forward into Ted. We all hit the ground with a muffled "Shit!"

For a terrfying instant the wailing, snapping, clawing thing was trapped between us. Then, finally, it stilled, melting into corpse-goo all over my fucking shirt. Ted's shirt too, I guess.

Breathing hard, we got up, shaking and covered in rotten sludge. Ted sputtered and wiped some of the stinking shit out of his beard. Kassie, ever appropriate, was pointing and giggling at us.

"You guys actually made vampire-slaying look pathetic!" She snorted. I glared and looked to the back of the stage.

"Where's Dave?!" I yelled. Our drummer and the third vampire had disappeared from sight, which was a hell of a trick considering dave is six foot two without his massive green warhawk.

"Oh, right here." Called a voice from my left. I whirled around to see Dave step into the firelight nearly twenty yards away from the rest of us. How the hell did he get over there so fast?

"One of the fuckers tried to run. Don't worry, I got him." Dave hopped up onto the stage, and I noticed he was gripping a ride cymbal in his left hand. He took his place behind his kit and replaced the cymbal. One edge was bent sharply and stained black. Dave looked to me, smiling beatifically.

"Shall we?" He asked casually.

I turned back to the partygoers spread out in front of us. All of them had stopped to stare at the fight. A few were gaping dully, some were murmuring questions to each other,and a few near the front looked like they were about to start screaming. For my part, I stared back at them, wide-eyed and soaked in what I was pretty sure was someone's liquified intestines.

Ted, natural showman, was the one who finally acted.

"Guess our friends jumped their cue a bit, huh?" He laughed into the nearest mic. "Hope you enjoyed out little skit there. He's some Misfits covers for you. ONETWOTHREEFOUR!"

***

We fumbled our way through "Astro Zombies" and "Last Carress," then ran for Ted's van, parked with the cluster of other vehicles beyond the fire. We huddled around the far side to discuss what had just happened.

"What the fuck Dave?!" I hissed. Dave drew back, looking indignant.

"What? What did I do? Some vampires just attacked us, why would you blame me?"

"What the FUCK, Dave?" Kassie and Ted spoke simultaneously.

"Dave" is not Dave's real name. We all took stage names when we formed our band, Save the Spiders. Theodore "Ted Kennedy" Paige is four lead singer, Kassandra "Kassie Kriminal" Jones our guitarist, Steven "Against Steve!" McCool (me, nice to meet you) our bassist, and Dave G. Abortion is our drummer.

I don't know Dave's real name. I don't know if he has a real name. What I do know about Dave is this- he is tall, tan, has dark eyes and typically Navajo features, and the night I met him I saw him transform into a ten-foot-tall insectoid monster and bite off a man's arm. The man survived. Don't worry though, because after a lot of explaining and screaming and vomiting, I helped Dave hunt him down and finish him off before he could eat a couple of toddlers.

Oh, and he's a decent drummer. Kind of a showboat though.

Since that night, we had all had further encounters with monsters and magic, and almost all had been attracted by Dave and his mysterious powers.

So we stood there, scowling, daring him to keep denying that this was somehow his stupid fault. Eventually, he sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Look, there are LOTS of vampires who don't like me. It'd be hard to narrow it down to one group and one reason."

"What, didn't you recognize any of them? You got real up close with the one guy." Kassie said. Dave shrugged.

"They were all fairly fresh. Probably servants to whoever had the real grudge. I expect there'll be more coming."

Ted groaned.

"Why are we always in the crossfire with you? Why can't they kill you in your sleep and leave us out of this?"

"Why, because you're my best friends and stalwart companions, and killing you would hurt me more than any wound, of course!" Dave grinned and tossed an arm around Ted's shoulders. Ted jerked away from him.

I shucked my ruined shirt and tossed it onto the rocky ground. I ran my hands through my shaggy blonde hair, trying to think up a plan of action.

"Okay, so. Dave, you need to ask around and figure out who's in town that might want you dead-"

"Long. List. Dude."

"What the fuck ever! Go through it! And we need to set up some kind of defense system at the house. I don't want to be eaten on a futon, I'll disappoint my parents." I glanced in the direction of the party, which had gotten back into swing. "And we can't take any gigs until we've got this sorted out. We don't want to get normals involved in this shit."

"Good thinking, by the way, Ted." Kassie interjected. "Passing the vamp attack off as part of the show. Think they bought it?"

"Yeah, yeah. Everyone there was off their skull on booze and speed. Half of them won't remember it happened at all, and I'm sure no one is going to leave here convinced they saw real vampires."

"I know I saw real vampires."

The voice came from behind us, between the cars. Everyone jumped and raised their hands in vague, ineffectual defensive motions.

A young man, probably around nineteen, stepped forward hesitantly. He was black, on the short side, with a swimmer's build and close-cropped hair. He wore a faded denim jacket, blue jeans, and a Ramones t-shirt, all rumpled and a bit ratty. His eyes were cast down shyly. While I should have been concentrating on what he was saying, I couldn't help thinking to myself that he also had a really cute face.

"Those were real vampires." He said, louder this time.

"Kid, you do NOT want to go around saying that." Kassie said, quirking a pierced eyebrow. "Normals will want to lock you up and vampires- if they existed, which they don't, nuh-uh, no way- would want to kill you. If they existed. Which-"

"I KNOW they exist." The kid looked up to meet our eyes, indignant now. "I know they exist because I've seen them before. They took some of my friends. I think they ATE them. And I came here tonight because someone told me you guys have handled creepy stuff like this before. I came here for your help." His eyes flicked down again, and his lower lip (his really quite full and soft-looking lower lip, I noted, like a fucking idiot) quivered. "They're after me, too. They know I know."

The band exchanged looks. If this guy had contact with the vampires, he probably knew who they were and maybe where they were holed up. And if they were after him, we had a duty as non-assholes to help him.

And, well... For all Ted's bitching, we all knew we were nursing a big stupid hero complex.

I held my hand out to him.

"My name is Steve McCool. And we're going to help you however we can, alright?"

He looked at me with relief in his shining eyes. He shook my hand, his own clammy and sweating.

"Thank you. Thank you so much. I'm Jamie, Jamie DeVries."

"Well Jamie, this is Kassie, Ted, and Dave. Hop in the van. We're going to pack up and then we can take you to our place and you can give us some details on these bastards." I turned to the others.

"Alright guys, let's haul ass and get back to the squat."

[alicepink-me]

The New Guardian

Story Summary: Marinette Dupain-Cheng is an adult in the real world, guarding the Miracle Box in Master Fu's place. She's in love with Chat Noir, but refuses to tell him her feelings. New holders appear to fight the duo and shake up their lives. Marinette makes a tough decision about her future as Ladybug.

Chapter 14: The Trial

Marinette was sat down in a chair at a small table. Two guards stood behind her. As her eyes scanned the room, Mantis surprisingly disconnected her chains and cuffs. The entire council sat at a higher crescent shaped table across from her, looking down on her. The room was a mock of an actual court room. Mantis rolled up the chains and hooked them back on his belt.

"Seems you trust me more in this room." Marinette said, showing her wrists.

"You're powerless, so what can you do in here? You can't run now." Mantis said, walking to his seat. "You probably noticed your weakened state in that room. As a defense mechanism, we decided to weaken you so that even if you somehow stole your miraculous back, you could not transform."

"You all might be overreacting just a little bit" Marinette said. "It's not like I have access to it."

Mantis dug in his pocket. "No, but we do." He pulled out the familiar black and red box.

Marinette sat straight. "And why are you telling me its location in your pocket? I could fight you for it right now. Why risk such power?"

"Would you be so stupid to challenge us?!" One of the woman shouted. "You're just as dumb as I thought."

"You can't defeat us, Marinette, so there's no use." Mantis said, sitting down as he shoved the box back in his pocket.

"Do I at least get an attorney for this whole trial?" Marinette asked, leaning back. Her thoughts were slowly aligning.

"Of course not, you don't deserve one!" The other woman objected.

"Now now, Rain, we don't have all day to bicker with her." One man said.

"I don't care, Amethyst." Master Rain huffed. "She's an entitled brat." Marinette rolled her eyes.

Mantis held the bridge of his nose. "Alright already! Saber, would you care to proceed?"

"Gladly." A man stood up with a piece of paper. He shot a snarky glance at Marinette before looking down. "Marinette Dupain-Cheng you are here today to stand trial in front of the grand council. You have been accused of a series of crimes, including, unfit possession of a miraculous, abuse of power on many accounts, and failure to cooperate with your superiors." Marinette's mouth fell open. "You may object or add to any of these accusations to better our discussion. We, the council, will decide on a punishment and future for your miraculous that we see fit."

"First order of business." Another man stood up, adjusting his glasses. "Marinette Dupain-Cheng is the most famous Ladybug miraculous holder, stationed in Paris, France, given her miraculous at the age of thirteen. Her guardian was Master Wang Fu, since passed, who studied at the temple until age fourteen. Fu fled to Paris where he later handed out miraculouses, starting with the Ladybug and Black Cat, to teenagers for them to fight a villainous threat to the city who possessed a miraculous himself."

"Is everything correct so far, Ms. Dupain-Cheng?" Saber asked.

"Yes." She agreed.

"As everyone knows, guardian training is not a simple class that you can pass at age fourteen, so Wang Fu had actually cheated the system." The man continued. "He failed a short test and caused the complete destruction of this temple as well as everything inside of it. Instead of fixing what he started, Fu ran away without completing his own training, taking an entire Miracle Box with him, and he left the downfall of our nature behind him. Two miraculous were lost that day, which were later used against Paris, France, resulting in the need for two heroes, including yourself, Marinette. You should have never received a miraculous in the first place. If it wasn't for your guardian's complete and utter incompetence, you would never have been in this situation."

"Do you agree, Ms. Dupain-Cheng?" Amethyst asked.

"Not really." Marinette shook her head.

"That doesn't surprise me." Master Rain snarled.

"What's the issue?" Sabor asked.

"Master Fu was told to leave the temple." Marinette said, Mantis holding his breath. "When the damage had spread too far from Master Fu's sentimonster, one of your own instructed him to take the box and run before he was crushed with everything else. Master Fu told me he never understood why he was the one to be freed, but he imagined that his Master had entrusted him to bring everyone back. Eventually Master, Chat Noir, and I did restore the temple and everything inside of it. We succeeded." Marinette leaned forward, glaring. "And as for my superhero status, I was amazing." The crusty, old women scoffed. "I was needed from the very beginning aside from the whole Hawkmoth and Mayura incident. You may have forgotten, but I didn't just protect Paris from those two. The Star Five, several bandits and burglars . . . everything. Master Fu even sent Chat Noir and I to Algeria then Egypt for a week to fight a trio of villains." Marinette squinted. "Are you taking notes? You really should be taking notes. This is important stuff that you need to remember, especially since I'm part of your students' curriculum now. You might as well teach them the truth."

"How dare you!" Rain shouted, standing and slamming her fists on the desk. "None of us would ever dare let an immature student achieve such power without proper training! How dare you make such accusations about our roles at our own academy! How dare you promote your missions to us!"

"Rain!" Amethyst stood, giving her a stern look. "We must remain calm."

There was a pause and a moment of silent rage between the two before they sat down. Saber took a deep breath. "Auror, continue."

The man flipped to his next page before reading on. "Alright, objective two. Unfit possession of a miraculous." He took a deep breath. "As mentioned before, Wang Fu had not received proper training himself, so his disciple wouldn't even come close to a real master. Marinette has insisted that his teaching was beneficial, but her points are controversial. Marinette has been at the academy for two weeks now and has shown significant improvement, but no matter her training, she will never reach the potential of every other holder or guardian."

"Marinette has received some training from Fu, even if it's incomplete, but are you sure she isn't able to catch up?" Saber asked. "A few of her trainers have sent positive feedback."

"But the point of this academy is to catch the children at a young age and before they ever form attachments to people or places." Master Digit spoke. "Marinette received unnecessary power at age thirteen whereas most students may receive one after graduation at eighteen and with over a decade of training. Besides her immaturity and lack of skill, Ms. Dupain-Cheng is quite popular in France, resulting in her several ties to important people, including celebrities like Jagged Stone and Gabriel Agreste. If she were to slip up once, that news would practically be broadcasted, risking all of us and exposing her own life to the world. Our sole purpose of raising them young about this is to prevent our students from creating relationships like those." He sighed. "So considering that, if Marinette keeps her miraculous, we are all in danger, not matter her experience or strength up to this point."

"I agree." Rain nodded.

"What if Marinette were to cut those ties?" Mantis asked, forcing the conversation on. "She could completely rehabilitate her life here. She has already moved here to train for at least a year without any communication with her past. With her well improvement and good behavior, Marinette has already taken steps to enhance her future. If we give her a chance, she might surprise us all."

"How could you say that?!"

"How dare you?!"

"She could do better!"

"Marinette is practically a child, so it's hard to tell."

"She won't ever be right for the job and you'll never convince me otherwise!"

They all stood, screaming at each other. Their arguing was comical.

Marinette looked confused, her squinted eyes moved between each of them. They were too hard to read as a whole. They weren't completely against her, mostly Mantis, but they were extremely fired up screaming about her. If she was lucky, they wouldn't agree on her punishment in the first place or maybe she can make a quick exit while they argue. Although, she'd need to make it past security. Hopefully it wouldn't take too long either way.

"Let's just skip to her punishment!" Marinette blinked and straightened as she heard that. The room fell silent. Rain spoke. "I think we have plenty of evidence to convict her."

"That seems fair." Amethyst agreed. "After all, we're only adding to the case against her by continuing."

Auror looked over his papers, adjusting his glasses. "That appears true. Several pieces of information are repetitive throughout her crimes. Marinette has committed several injustice acts, but they have also been done over again and again during her time as a holder. Adding on would just give more examples of her mistakes."

"I'm usually against rushing such decisions, but maybe it is time to decide on a punishment." Digit said.

"How can you possibly say that?!" Mantis questioned. "This trial is hardly finished. This isn't-"

Saber held up his hand, stopping him. "Obviously we must put forth the most thought in her punishment because it will affect the rest of her life, but what do you have in mind, Rain?"

. . .

Mint placed her hand on the stone wall, feeling the room on the other side. "Now Ginger." She spoke, concentrating harder.

Ginger extended her leg in front of her, drawing a line straight back. She drew another mark perpendicular to it before bursting into a pirouette. Her shoes began to glow as she stopped and drew a circle around the edge with one foot, staying centered and balanced. Ginger closed her eyes, grabbing Lavender and Mysteria's extended hands.

"Multiply and magnify." Ginger spoke, a copy of the floor's mark appearing on their hands. "We're linked. You can now use your power infinitely for the next ten minutes." She opened her eyes, turning to the others. "I'm sorry I could only increase two of your powers. I'm new at these spells." Ginger apologized.

"We all have our own limits." Mysteria said, putting her hand on Ginger's shoulder. "Some of us train to increase our uses of our miraculous before our transformations wear off and Lavender has only worked up to three, so your helped was needed and appreciated."

"You did alright." Mint said. "We should be fine as long as Lavender does his part."

"I just wish Magenta was here. It's just not the same to be fighting on a team without her." Ginger sighed.

Mint exhaled. "Well I wish Sage was here as well, Ginger, but they were both sent on separate missions when we got back. And this isn't exactly an approved mission on our part, but working with new teams is an important skill to have."

"I know." Ginger said.

. . .

The elders had been huddled together for the past fifteen minutes, leaving Marinette to sweat over their possible decision. She was going to run while their backs were turned, but she remembered the two guards that were standing behind her. An escape from this room was near impossible and she had no idea if the council had some hidden powers that they'd fire at her if they became suspicious.

"Alright." Auror turned around, adjusting his glasses before keeping his hands behind his back. "Ms. Dupain-Cheng, we have come to a decision." Mantis leaned his forehead against his hands. "From here on out you will never possess a miraculous and that includes that Ladybug one you specialize in. The Miracle Box will be returned to us and you will never see it again."

"What?!" Marinette yelled, standing. "You can't be serious!"

"Sit down, Ms. Dupain-Cheng." Saber ordered.

Marinette complied.

Auror continued. "After the miraculous are out of your life, you must completely seclude yourself from any memories of them. Your memory will be erased of course, but you must be relocate to a new country, possibly continent, as well."

"No! I am not doing that!" Marinette yelled, standing again. "My memories are mine and Paris is my home! I won't leave!"

Saber glared at her and before Marinette blinked, the two guards forced her back in her chair, keeping her locked in place for the moment.

"It is inevitable, Marinette." Auror said blankly. "You must forget anything and everything to do with miraculous or this temple. You will live a normal life in another country, to be determined later. Just think on the bright side. You can leave all magic behind you to have a husband and create a cute little family without the stress of our lives."

"No!" Marinette struggled against the guards. "No . . . "

"I'm not finished." Auror stated. "There are a few more-"

"Cataclysm!" Chat Noir shouted before destroying the back wall of the court room in front of Marinette.

Marinette saw two shadow figures through the dust and rubble. The council began to panic, but form fighting stances at the same time.

"Freeze!" Mint declared, a mist rapidly flowing into the room.

"Mint?" Marinette mumbled.

Marinette definitely couldn't see anything now that she was blinded and a few of her senses were dulled, but she didn't care. Chat Noir and Mint were here and probably others as well. Marinette covered her ears. If her hunch was right, Lavender could be here, or maybe another miraculous involving the sense of hearing. It'd be best of her to wait for Chat Noir to find her or to finish their plan.

"Sleep!" Lavender shouted.

Marinette didn't hear, but she felt several body sized thumps on the ground that made her jump. The mist whooshed back to Mint, disappearing. Marinette blinked her eyes, regaining her sight. The council was spread out around the room, passed out on the floor, along with the guards. Marinette looked up to see Chat Noir, Ginger, Lavender, and an unknown blue hero standing before her.

Marinette smiled. "You all came for me."

"Did you expect us not to?" Chat grinned, a feeling of relief in his heart.

"No, I trusted you." Marinette looked at each one, stopping at the blue hero. "Who are . . . "

"I'm Mysteria." The heroine smiled. She wore a royal blue, skater dress with a halter neck. She had black spandex leggings, blue ankle boots, and wore white gloves. Her hair was halo braided and she had a lacelike, royal blue mask. "But you know me better as April."

"April?" Marinette mumbled.

Chat Noir eyed the small, black and red, octagonal box on the floor. He walked over and picked it up, prying it open. Two spotted earrings laid inside. "Your miraculous." He said.

"Chat Noir!" Ginger yelled, dragging a body. "Give Marinette her miraculous so you guys can get out of here. This is all new to Lavender, so we don't know how long his power will last on them."

"Got it." Chat turned back to Marinette. "You okay?"

Marinette formed her hands, ready to catch. "Yeah, I'm fine." Chat Noir tossed the box to her and walked back to the others for their plan. Marinette opened it and beamed at the sight of her kwami flashing out. "Tikki . . . I missed you." Her eyes began to water as she put the earrings back on.

"I missed you too, Marinette, but I think we need to save the chit-chat for later." Tikki looked at the bodies lying on the floor.

"You're right." Marinette agreed. "Tikki Spots On!"

Chat Noir and Mint pulled the last remaining council members and security guards along the wall. A loud bang was heard, causing Chat Noir to stop and Mint run into his back.

"Must you stop in front of me like an idiot?" Mint snarled.

"Sorry." Chat anxiously rubbed the back of his neck. He turned to where the sound came from and saw Ladybug had jumped on top of her table. She was wiping away her tears. Something was off. "Ladybug?"

The other heroes stopped to look at her. Ladybug lifted her head, staring blankly at them. "What do you want, Chat Noir?" She asked bitterly.

Chat inhaled. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"Why do you care? It's not like we're aren't friends." Ladybug glared.

"Why is she acting like this?" Mysteria asked. "Wasn't she smiling like two seconds ago?"

"Obviously her boyfriend here did something wrong." Mint crossed her arms.

"But I-"

"He's not my boyfriend." Ladybug replied. "He's an enemy just like you three are." She launched her yo-yo, Chat Noir deflecting it off his baton. The heroes took a step back.

"Marinette . . . " Mysteria squinted her eyes, focusing.

"We aren't your enemy, Ladybug." Chat pleaded. "We're partners."

"I would never choose to side with a stray like you!" She yelled. "And I most certainly won't let you convince me otherwise!"

Mysteria held her breath. "She's . . . "

"I am not your teammates, but I will take your miraculous!" Ladybug pointed at them. "You all have committed acts against this temple and you will be punished!" She grinned. "Each of your miraculous will soon be mine." She laughed. Chat Noir looked horrified.

Mint felt the change in the room. She crouched and placed her hand on the floor. She felt Mysteria's heartbeat change. "You're focusing." Mint analyzed. "Do you see something?"

"Is she spelled?" Chat asked.

A flash of red flickered over Ladybug's eyes. Mysteria gasped. "I think her miraculous is."

"They did something to it?" Mint asked.

"The council can easily do a spell on a miraculous." Lavender spoke. "They know these powers inside out and know every secret we don't. I'm assuming they've thought ahead partially and spelled the Ladybug earrings incase Marinette were to retrieve them again. Even if they lost, her punishment would still be served."

"What punishment?" Chat asked, staring at Ladybug who kept nightmarish eye contact with a smile. She was really trying to haunt him.

"To destroy and forget us." Mysteria answered. "Marinette has been turned into a killing machine. She can achieve their dirty work for them in the case that they aren't present to do so."

"You all are adorable." Ladybug gushed. "I wish I had the power to minimize you and use you as my puppets or maybe place you in a snow globe, but . . . that's not as fun as killing you."

Chat saddened. "Ladybug . . . "

"Don't act like you know me, alley cat! I will kill you!" Ladybug leaped forward and kicked him in the stomach. She grabbed his face and held tight as she pulled him to eye level. Her smirk grew. "We won't ever be friends." She gritted her teeth. "I'm only a nightmare to you."

[hollowsentinel]

"Smile, boy. There is enough filth in this place without that dirty expression on your face."

The sweet voice of the goddess accompanying them drew Sartre's gaze away from the target of his ire. The clear image of the distant sailor skewered on the musket in his hands faded. In its place Valencia's schooled smile expanded through all of his senses. He pressed his eyes shut and exhaled, reining in his rising heart rate. She had to be doing it on purpose. She wasn't even his type.

"I am not going to smile while some crusty lick of sea foam goes on about his fantasies involving you," Sartre stated. He sighed and dragged his hand over his face. "And yes, I know that we can't do anything at this range, but I hate sitting on my hands and gagging on his breath."

Valencia's expression softened as others echoed Sartre's opinion. "I am glad we share the same opin-"

An arrow cut through the air. Valencia gaped at Rush, paused in her shooting stance as she watched her arrow fly across the length of sea between their ship and that of their enemy. She turned in time to notice that Rush had fired a shot earlier, now descending upon the ship in the distance. Both arrows were a waste, even for a hero like Rush, known to have penetrated that which was thought to be impenetrable. Even so, Sartre watched the arrow fly, tranfixed by its journey.

So tranfixed was he that he didn't even notice as he returned to his violent fantasy. So tranfixed was he that his thoughts faded and his heart began to beat to the rhythm of battle. So tranfixed was he that he believed the barrel-chested man was no more than a figment of his imagination.

The man's shriek could not be more real. He had parried Sartre's bayonet with his cutlass, but he still let out his shrill voice. "What the heck? You? Weren't you over there?" Rogan cried out, his eyes wide. "How did you get here? Wait." His eyes narrowed and he turned to look past Sartre. This was way too involved a fantasy. "Can you get Valencia here the same way?"

"Would you shut up about her and focus on the fact we have a boarder that came out of nowhere?" a shorter woman snapped as she drew out a pair of her own cutlasses. This was a really involved fantasy. Sartre wondered if his imagination was getting the better of him. "Well? Have anything to say for yourself, jack?"

Sartre blinked. She was looking right at him.

Rush's arrow flew over his shoulder.

Oh fuck.

He teleported to where Rush's arrow had flown just like his heart wanted to.

He teleported to where Rush's arrow had flown just like his head knew he needed Rao Vride to do.

Faintly, he heard Dune call him a cheater from the other ship, just like she had when he fought against her with Rao Vride.

"Well?"

"Fuck Bluebeard."

The woman snorted. "Hear hear."

[land-of-frogs-and-dragons]

This is the fic for the Reverse Hunk Bang at @hunkbigbang !!!

My artist is the very talented @artbymaryc and a link to their art is at the bottom of the post!!! @ze-zir was also a partner for the bang. I'm on mobile so I can't put this fic under a readmore, so I'll fix that once I'm on a computer.

Hunk padded through the hallway, bayard at the ready. He heard his blood pumping in his ears, unease slipping down his spine like water droplets sliding down a window pane during a storm.

He thought back, remembering the looks on the faces of the little ones, the children who were stolen from their home. He knew they were here somewhere, knew that it would be hard to find them, but he had hope that he’d find them before getting found.

Determination clear in his stance, he continued further into the belly of the base. Harsh metal swapped for rock, then back to metal. He descended into lower levels of the base, unease growing the further he went. Where were the guards? Where were the other Galra? Why did this feel so much like a horror movie waiting to happen?

The deeper he got, the more the soft purple lighting shifted, changing, becoming closer and closer to a harsh red. He knew that he was running out of time, but he kept his pace slow. He didn’t need to run into any Galra, and the faster he moved the more likely it was that he’d be seen and heard.

His skin crawled, unease shifting to fear, then to concern, then to anger, and back to unease. It was the lighting, he realized, that was so off-putting. It was close to a blood-red now, a color that was abnormal for any sort of normal lighting scheme. Except that the Jharrot were a species that lived underground. It was designed so that the Galra would be able to see and fight with ease, but the Jharrot would be at a disadvantage.

A soft noise pulled him from his thoughts, making him pause. It was coming from in front of him, but he didn’t know exactly where it came from; the Galra base was laid out like a maze. He waited, praying that the sound would happen again.

A soft whimper echoed through the hallways, a sound so quiet he’d have missed it if he’d been moving. It was definitely coming from in front of him, but off to the left. He made his way forward again, doing his best to remain quiet. He headed towards the sound, praying that the children were okay.

He made his way down a few more hallways, careful to listen for Galra footsteps ad for the noise he’d heard. Slowly, he made his way closer to what he hoped was the missing children.

He noticed the floor changing the further her went, splotches of what he hoped were dirt and scuff marks becoming more and more frequent. There was an odd scent in the air, the iron tang of what he pretended was rusty metal. The whimpering was louder and more frequent now; the sound tore his heart into two. He followed the noise, heart growing heavier the farther he went.

He passed a doorway and stopped. The whimpering seemed to be coming from inside the room, but he didn’t know for sure. He’d just have to look.

The door didn’t have a window, so he had no idea what he’d be walking into. But he needed to look, needed to find the children and bring them home. Hesitantly, he placed his palm on the door.

With a soft woosh, it opened.

He was greeted by the strong scent of sulfur, lights in the room dim. Horror filled his soul and his heart, tears filling and spilling from his eyes. His disgust at the sight so strong that he had to fight back the urge to vomit, to cry for his mother, to do anything except save the children.

Dull, crusty yellow coated the room, covered the floor and the walls and every flat surface. Knives of various sizes were scattered throughout the room, placed as if Easter eggs for the children on Earth. The opposite side of the room had chains hanging from the wall, placed as if designed for the Jharrot. Currently, there were none trapped there.

What horrified him the most, what shook him to his core and made him re-evaluate his stance on many issues, was the machine in the middle of the room.

It was the only object not splattered with Jharrot blood like it was paint. Instead, it was kept pristinely clean, its purpose clear from the knives and scalpels and needles and spatula-like objects attached to it. Its purpose was made clear from the dying Jharrot child currently attached to the machine, bleeding out as its innards were scooped out and stored within the machine for some sort of odd purpose. Its legs had been  removed entirely, pinned down solely by gravity and its forearms.

Now it made sense. It made sense why he’d thought of the Galra armor when he’d first seen this species. Why he’d instinctively never touched the fancy fish egg-like food that Allura had offered him. The Galra, they were harvesting the Jharrot. He wouldn’t be surprised if they’d been trying to breed them.

The Jharrot child whimpered softly, empty sockets where eyes should be pointing feebly towards the door. The machine whirred softly, even as the sickening squelches of its purpose filled the room. Absently, he noted that the insides of the Jharrot were littered with the fish-egg-like stuff.

“Shhh, little one. I’m here.” He murmured softly, closing the distance between himself and the machine. “I’m gonna get you our of there, okay?”

He got a whimper in response. A pained whine, one that expressed more raw emotion than could ever be properly expressed.

Later on, he’d remember that he’d been so scared for the child. That he’d been scared that the child would die unfreed, that he wouldn’t shut the machine off, that he’d get caught and made to watch more and more Jharrot die as a result of his faults. Now, though, there was only what needed to be done.

He studied the machine, gears turning as he figured out how to turn it off without harming the child. Shooting it would stop it, but the child would die…

That’s it.

He pried a panel off the side, exposing wiring. He eyed it, praying that what he was about to do would work. And began cutting the wires.

The machine slowed, then creaked to a halt. The cuffs released, impaling the child on the spatula; the only indication of the new and unfamiliar pain was a loud whimper.

“Shhh, I’ve got you. It’s okay now.” He murmured softly, kneeling as he set his bayard to the side to gently lift the child from the machine. He cradled what was left in his arms, ignoring the way the blood coated his arms, his legs, his everything. “I’m gonna get you home, I promise.”

He gently shifted how he held the child, a new sense of determination filling his bones and his soul. It was as if every fiber of his being, every atom and iota of what made him who he was, knew what had to be done.

He held the child one-handed, grabbing his bayard and shifting it to its usual form. He noticed that it modified itself for his situation, allowing him to hold and shoot it with one hand instead of two. Slowly, he rose to his feet, jaw set.

He moved to leave the room, but turned to face the horrendous machine before doing so.

“Little one, what is your name?” He asked softly, gently, so as not to startle the slowly dying child.

“It…” He was surprised that the child could still speak; it showed exactly how determined this little one was. “It’s Anter.”

He fired his bayard at the machine, setting it ablaze and destroying it for good. Anter twitched at the sound, but relaxed; they had guessed correctly at what the noise had been.

“I’m going to get you out of here safely, but you might hear some things you won’t like.” He spoke calmly, leaving his room and making is way to the exit. He pointedly ignored the way his boots squelched with Anter’s blood, the way it seeped into his armor and onto his skin and made everything small like sulfur.

The duo ran into Galra rather quickly. A soldier on patrol, blasted and killed before they could make a sound. Soldiers laughing and joking before looking at them in horror, killed before an alarm went off. Perhaps it was the blood, perhaps it was the determination of his features, perhaps it was Anter clinging to life the way the last leaves cling to the trees in winter, but the Galra always needed a moment to take in his appearance.

But he had to leave quickly if Anter was going to get to see their family again.

He carefully made his way to where he entered,  moving faster as Anter’s whimpers became softer and softer. He refused to accept an alternative, he was going to save at least one Jharrot. He would, even if it killed him.

He emerged from the hole he’d made in the Galra base, stepping foot from the eery quiet and into what could only be described as a war-torn hellscape.

The others had been busy in his absence. They had torn down the Galra defenses, fought off their enemies, and were in the middle of an aerial battle. But that didn’t matter to him; he had to get to the ship. To the healing pods. Anter whined, a sound so quiet he could have missed it, and his determination soared to new and previously undiscovered heights.

“Allura.” He spoke into the comms. Silence echoed his words; he hadn’t realized he’d been tuning out the teams chatter until it was gone. “Get the medbay ready. I don’t know if it can handle this.”

It was the Red Lion that spotted him first; Keith’s shocked sharp inhale spoke volumes for how horrifying he appeared.

Pidge followed next; he pretended not to hear her throwing up in her lion.

Shiro saw, but said nothing. He knew; the Black Lion wouldn’t get faster and more deadly for no reason.

It was Lance who broke the silence, sent the noises of the battle back into his head and became something he needed to register.

“Dude—what the hell happened to it?!?”

He didn’t answer.

The blue lion landed before him, scooping him and his charge into its maw before flying as quickly as possible to the Castle. Allura was ready when he arrived, sparing some of her magic to make them get to the medbay faster. A pod was ready for Anter, though he knew their survival was unlikely. Still, he had to try.

“Hunk,” Allura began, voice quivering with emotions unspoken. “I don’t normally say this, but… Kill them. Leave the leader for the rest of us.”

“Of course.” He knew that Allura knew that he would kill as many Galra as he could. That he’d scour the base for surviving Galra and kill them for even thinking to harvest another sentient species in this way. He knew that she knew that he’d be expressing kindness by killing the leader, and he’d run out of patience for it when he’d entered the room.

They would be successful. They had to be.

[mst3kproject]

106: The Crawling Hand

A movie in which a guy is brutally attacked while Surfin' Bird plays on the soundtrack.  We can all strike that off our list of Shit We Never Thought We'd See.

As the film opens, astronaut Mel Lockhart (no relation to Gilderoy, but perhaps an ancestor of Brant) hasn't quite made it back to Earth.  He gets blown up before he can complete the trip, but his severed arm somehow survives re-entry and washes up on a beach where it comes to the attention of a kid named Paul Lawrence.  The arm is carrying some kind of alien organism that infects anything it touches with the desire to kill, and soon Paul Isn't Paul Anymore as the space bugs take over his mind.  The arm, meanwhile, goes on a rather more limited rampage of its own, strangling Paul's landlady and knocking over her preserves.  Cops and scientists argue over who's in charge of the investigation, and horror and comedy argue over who's in charge of the script.

I had forgotten, but Allison Hayes is in this, too.  She plays Captain Lockhart’s girlfriend in a subplot that goes absolutely nowhere and she’s still more into it than she was in The Unearthly.  I’m gonna assume that her boyfriend blowing up in space was what caused the nervous breakdown that landed her at John Carradine’s little home hospital.  I told you guys the movies were coming together!

The bit about infectious alien bacteria in the summary isn't quite accurate.  The two scientists, Dr. Curan and Dr. Weitzberg (whose name the movie has to take the trouble to spell for us), spend significant time expositing poetically to us about what's been happening to living tissue sent into space.  Something about an Earth cell romancing a cosmic ray and giving birth to some vital force that evolves intelligence within minutes or hours, turning men into killers and rats into brooding supervillains.  I don't know why they went with this labored explanation when 'angry space germs' is literally three words. Generally in movie exposition less is more, unless the 'more' is somehow vitally important to the plot – which here, it is not.

The Crawling Hand is a dumb movie, and it's not my favourite film or my favourite episode, but I've kind of been looking forward to writing about it because this is my chance to share my theory about Hand Movies.  There are a surprising number of animate severed hands in movies.  Attack of the The Eye Creatures had one, for instance, as did The Evil Dead 2, and everybody remembers the Addams family's pet hand, Thing.  But hands also have movies of their own: in addition to The Crawling Hand there's The Beast with Five Fingers and The Hand, Severed Ties and that one short in Dr. Terror's House of Horrors.  What can we take from this, besides the fact that I watch way too many movies?  Well, I think that the Hand Movie is actually a sort of necessary partner of the Brain Movie.

We – or at least, those of us with an unhealthy love of awful old horror movies – have all seen a Brain Movie.  Stuff like The Brain from Planet Arous or Donovan's Brain, and several movies simply called The Brain.  Even things like It Conquered the World can be thought of as variations on the Brain Movie, because what the brain represents in movies like these is intellect unfettered by morality.  Either because they have no emotions or simply no interest in the lesser beings still trapped in the flesh, these brains apply their intelligence to doing things normal humans could but know that we shouldn't.

There's a problem with being a disembodied brain, though.  Humans are very proud of our brains, claiming they're the main thing that sets us apart from the rest of the animal kingdom etc etc etc, but our brains wouldn't do us much good if we didn't also have hands. The thing humans do, to a degree no other creature does, is build shit.  Our brains are vitally important in figuring out how to build shit, but it's our hands that do the actual work.  We talk about finding 'intelligent life' in space but intelligence alone is not what we're looking for – dolphins are smart, but an alien SETI program would never find them. That's why dolphins need that alliance with the electricians, so there'll be somebody to build their warships for them.  Our search for life in space is a search for fellow builders.

The lack of hands plagues the villains of brain movies.  Gor from The Brain from Planet Arous needs a body in order to take over the world, so the poor thing is forced to possess John Agar's. Donovan's Brain uses its telepathic link with Dr. Cory to carry on shady business dealings.  In It Conquered the World Beulah uses human slaves, either willing or unwilling, to do its bidding.  A brain without hands is mere purpose without action – which brings us to the Hand Movie.  If an isolated brain is purpose without action, then an isolated hand is action without purpose.

Sometimes evil hands in movies do have a purpose – The Beast with Five Fingers seems to be taking revenge on the people who wronged its owner in life, for instance, and Ash' possessed hand in The Evil Dead is being controlled by the movie's nameless evil force.  Even in these cases, however, the hand itself is just a tool.  It cannot be reasoned with, and killing it does not mean killing the controlling influence, which can find another tool and try again. The Crawling Hand isn't one of these, though.  It is in fact a particularly pure example of the Hand Movie, because the titular crawling hand is animated by the alien bacteria and there is no purpose to its actions at all.  It's not trying to rule the world, or to make money, or anything like that.  It just kills people because it can, and there's no way to stop it from doing so except to either lock it up or destroy it.

If Brain Movies are about intellect without emotion, it's also possible to read Hand Movies as emotion without intellect.  The emotion involved is usually anger, whether the vengeful rage of The Beast with Five Fingers or the undirected murderous instinct of The Crawling Hand.  Whether the dichotomy is thought/action or reason/emotion, Hand Movies represent the partner of the Brain Movie, and the end result is the same whether it's the hand or the brain that has been isolated.  Either is an incomplete, perverse entity that cannot contribute anything to the world.  True creativity, true invention, and true humanity can only come from brain and hands working harmoniously together in one being.

This line of thought, that wholeness is essential to human-ness, is probably why we get things like bad guys with partially or even mostly-robotic bodies, like Darth Vader or that guy in Lois and Clark who wanted to transplant his head onto Superman's body – which I would much rather watch than bullshit like Me Before You, in which a man who has lost the use of his limbs cannot be convinced that life is still worth living even with Emilia Clarke.  For the record, if I ever lose a major body part, I am definitely going the supervillain route. If I get to hang out with the cast of Game of Thrones while I do it, bonus!

But let's get back to The Crawling Hand.  The movie presents this unreasoning incompleteness as something infectious, that can spread to humans and deprive us of our intellects, leaving only the purposeless rage of the hand.  In the opening scene we briefly see the doomed astronaut begging for help.  He is well on his way to hand-zombie-hood, periodically breaking off his sentences to chant, “kill, kill!”, but when he describes his situation he refers specifically to his problem being in his hand. It started there, 'making him do things', before moving on to the rest of his body.  The fact that it started in his hand is in large part responsible for the mess he's now in, since with that appendage out of his control, he can't activate the spacecraft's self-destruct mechanism.

Maybe it's because of the alien influence that the hand survives to land on Earth and be picked up by Paul Lawrence (man there were a lot of Pauls on MST3K), who it infects in turn.  Under the influence of the angry space germs, Paul too becomes little more than what the hand is: an undirected, purposeless killing machine. In this form he attacks people he knows, but there's no hint that this is because Paul himself is in any way resentful of them.  The soda shop owner was a weirdo but Paul had no reason to want him dead, and Marta is explicitly somebody Paul loves.  Zombie-Paul attacks them not because he is letting out anything he has suppressed, but simply because they are available.  When he has a choice, he tries to make Marta leave his house, or decides to run away from home, in order to avoid harming her or anybody else.

Sadly, most of what's interesting about The Crawling Hand is the opportunity to examine the sub-genre it lies in and how it relates to other types of body-part movies.  The movie itself spends way too much of its time on Paul and the scientists, and not nearly enough on what drew the audience in to see it, which is the unavoidably humourous image of a disembodied hand strangling people. Instead the film-makers use Zombie-Paul as the main villain, probably because they knew damn well the hand thing would make people laugh rather than scream.  This was probably a mistake.  The surf movie soundtrack, the crusty soda shop owner, and the scientists' clumsy improvised investigation are all clearly meant to be funny, and the movie as a whole would probably have worked better as an explicit horror-comedy about a murderous hand than it does trying to divide itself into discreet 'horror' and 'comedy' sections.

And yes, you can expect to see both The Brain from Planet Arous and The Beast with Five Fingers in the Episodes that Never Were section.  I wouldn't miss them for the world!

[lolcat76]

Folie a Deux pt 9

Thanks to @okaynextcrisis for the prompt, @cassiopeiasara for the best writing advice ever, and @thisisamadhouse for the suggestion that they watch an old video. 

If you need a refresher on where we left off, it’s here. And my apologies, but the sneak peek is buried somewhere in the middle. I added to it on either side. Needed some more flavor :)

The door was ajar when Laura arrived at Bill’s apartment, Grace in tow. She figured that was as good an invitation to make themselves at home as any, so she let them in and settled Grace on the couch with her homework before following the scent of toasting bread and basil into the kitchen. Sure enough, Bill was standing in front of the stove with a spatula in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other.

“Grilled cheese and tomato soup? You spoil me,” she said with a smile.  

“Trying to,” he agreed. Bill handed her the spoon and asked her to taste the soup. She blew on it, then sucked it through her teeth. Not quite as good as her grandmother’s, but better by far than Campbell’s.

“Needs more salt.”

He waved at the spices lined up on his counter, and she eased around him to grab the salt and garlic powder for a little extra kick, trying hard to push back the memories of nights they’d fought over pasta or chicken, more pepper or salt, and whose turn it was to do the dishes.

His kitchen was small, but definitely bigger than the tiny excuse for a kitchen they’d shared in their studio apartment. She had room enough to step away from him as she stirred the pot, but she stayed close enough to lean her shoulder against his while she fiddled with the burner. Close enough that she could whisper that she liked her bread toasted, not burned, and feel his breath, warm against her ear, as he chuckled in response.

Close enough to know she was asking for trouble the longer she stood there. She dropped the spoon into the pot and took a few steps back, crossing her arms as she leaned against the counter. “I hope to God that’s not Kraft singles.”

“Muenster and cheddar. If you think I’d feed you Kraft singles, you don’t know me at all.”

She did know him. Not as well as she used to, but well enough, and that was the problem.

***

The easy peace in the kitchen was shattered the minute she and Bill brought plates, bowls and silverware to the living room. Grace was on the verge of a temper tantrum when Laura shoved a plate in front of her. Carbs and cheese? Her niece was horrified. Better she choke down gruel and weak broth than processed flour and saturated fats. “I’m not eating this,” Grace said, sounding every inch the petulant teenager. “Aunt Laura, you can’t want me to eat this. There are no vegetables!” Suddenly, Laura regretted demanding that Grace finish her biology homework before dinner.

“What do you call tomato soup?” Laura replied.

“Tomatoes are a fruit, not a vegetable. Everyone knows that.”

She opened her mouth to argue with her niece, but Bill cut her off.

“My house, my rules. You eat what’s in front of you, or you don’t get fed.”

Grace looked a little too pleased at the thought of skipping a meal for Laura’s taste.

“And if you don’t eat, you don’t dance.”

“That’s not fair!” Grace whined. “We’re not in the studio now.”

“Yeah, well, life isn’t fair. And when you’re in charge, you can figure out a way to fix that. Until then, you do what I say and you eat your damn sandwich.”

He’s changed. As Grace picked at her dinner, Laura studied her former partner. He’d always been loud and outspoken, but this new Bill - this Bill that was perfectly happy being in charge - he was a far cry from the egotistical partner she’d fought with all those years ago. She’d been forced into being in charge by circumstance and desperation, but Bill stepped into it without a second thought. Or without second guessing, she mused. She wheedled and begged and plotted to earn Grace’s cooperation - Bill demanded it without ceding an inch in return.

“If she’s not eating, I won’t either,” Grace muttered, bringing Laura’s attention back to her own plate.

“She eats. And she’s an adult, so she gets to make her own decisions.”

An adult. Ha. Still, she couldn’t argue with the fact that having Bill around, she’d started making a lot more decisions lately. Some good, some bad, but decisions nonetheless. All of which had led them to this moment in his apartment with a sullen teenager, a stubborn Bill, and a Laura with a full plate and a suddenly grumbling stomach. She picked up her sandwich and took a bite, pulling at melted strings of cheese and looping them over her finger before she sucked them into her mouth. Grilled muenster and cheddar, almost as good as the diner two blocks away from the Met where they’d celebrated the end of the run of every show. Grace could starve, but Laura had every intention of enjoying her sandwich.

They argued for a few minutes about clean-up, but Laura was firm. He cooked, she cleaned. Bill eventually backed down, mumbling that he wanted to show Grace something anyway. Truthfully, she could use a little bit of quiet with a mindless task - she was more than a little worried about Grace’s eating habits these days. She welcomed the few minutes it took to scrub off the charred remains of cheese and crusty soup - it gave her time to clear her head. Laura was always better when she had a task to focus on, and dishes were as good a task as any. By the time she had the dishwasher loaded to her satisfaction, the living room had gone quiet, the lights were out, and she could hear the angry strains of Prokofiev over the hum of the dishwasher.

Laura dried her hands on her jeans and threw the dish towel on the counter. Time to face the music, as it were. The lights were out, and Grace and Bill were sitting on opposite sides of his couch - one sullen teenager and one stubborn middle-aged man - both staring at the tv screen. She settled between the two of them, pulling Grace against her, and then turned her attention to what they were watching.

A much younger Laura Roslin flitted across the stage, ducking through set pieces as she searched for her Romeo. Laura drew in a sharp breath. God, was she ever that young?

Romeo stepped out of the shadows and extended his hand to his Juliet, and Laura couldn’t help but steal a glance at the man sitting next to her. Was he ever that young?

She wanted to stop the DVD, to stuff Grace’s books back into her bag and take them both home where it was safe and where she was nothing but a thirty-something yoga teacher. She wanted to escape, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the screen where Romeo was pleading silently for Juliet to love him. Juliet ran from him, then ran to him, innocence and passion and longing in a pas de deux that had been rehashed for decades before she and Bill had stepped into the roles. She’d seen the greats perform Romeo and Juliet, both onstage and on film, but she couldn’t deny that what she was watching made her long for the two of them to finally…finally…get it right and live happily ever after.

Juliet was her crowning glory at ABT, the role that had won her praise from critics and gotten her a promotion to principal dancer. At the time, she’d never thought much of the role, too busy critiquing every misstep in her performance to even think that maybe the critics had been right. Her Juliet was good. A slight stutter in a pas de couru was nothing compared to the raw emotion she saw on the stage, so she willed her mind to just shut up already and enjoyed watching the girl onscreen throw herself into her Romeo’s arms and kiss him as if her life depended on it.

I know the feeling, she admitted silently to her younger self.

***

“You were really good,” Grace said as they drove through the streets of Philadelphia.

“I hope so. They don’t usually promote you to principal dancer if you’re just ok.”

“No,” Grace insisted, “you were really good. Like, I remember seeing you in the Nutcracker and I’ve seen you dance around the house, but that…Aunt Laura, that was really good.”

The New York Times review was a lot more eloquent, but Laura would take that compliment any day. “Thanks, sweetie. But why on earth were you watching that?”

Grace wrinkled her nose. “Mr. Adama said that he wanted me to see what a real dancer looks like after she eats half a pizza.”

She wasn’t sure what to address first, the Mr. Adama or the pizza. Leave it to Bill to bend the facts to suit his purpose. “That’s what a real dancer looked like before she ate half a pizza. If I tried to do that variation after eating that much, I’d have made myself sick.” Mindful of Grace’s recent eating habits, she continued “But, every night after we wrapped, we’d all go out for a midnight meal. And when it was my turn to pick, I always chose pizza, and I always ordered my own and refused to share.”

“I bet Bill hated that,” Grace said, the hint of a sly smile in her voice.

Oh, so he was Bill again. “He did. But he didn’t touch my pizza because he valued his life, and because he knew I could only eat half, and he’d get the rest eventually.”

“Like your crusts.”

She grinned, picturing Bill in his kitchen, picking at the crusts he’d so carefully cut off their sandwiches long after they’d left his apartment. “Like my crusts.”

“It’s so romantic,” Grace sighed, and Laura couldn’t stop her eyebrow from shooting up as she cast a glance over to the passenger seat. “I mean Romeo and Juliet. True love. They’d rather die than be apart.”

Nothing romantic about a suicide pact, she remembered Bill saying all those years ago.

“Don’t get any ideas,” she said lightly. “True love doesn’t mean much if you’re too dead to enjoy it.”

Or too scared, she reminded herself. Grace didn’t answer, just continued looking out the car window at the safe, comfortable streets of their neighborhood. Not much risk of Mr. and Mrs. Reilly next door committing suicide to stay together. Far more likely that she’d hit him in the head with a rolling pin to get him to shut up about overwatering plants.

True love wasn’t about the grand gestures, she thought. it was about not killing the person you lived with, day in and day out, no matter how richly they deserved it. Or being grateful that they remembered that you didn’t like olives and cut the crusts off your sandwiches just to make you smile.

Grace was still such a baby, and maybe she needed to believe in the idea that true love, a terrible, destructive love that ended in death, was better than nothing. Having had eight years of nothing, Laura wasn’t in any hurry to destroy Grace’s dreams.

Given the choice, though, she’d take a man cooking her a crustless grilled cheese with muenster and cheddar and a cup of tomato soup over a teenager with a vial of poison anyday.

***

They slipped into something of a routine in the weeks leading up to Thanksgiving, and it happened so easily she didn’t even notice it until she realized that she’d been at his apartment for dinner twice that week and was making plans for him to join them the following night. Barring late rehearsals or Grace’s school schedule, they ate together almost every night. He came to her classes at least twice a week, and she called Billy to schedule him to teach the 10am class so that she could put on her pointe shoes and let Bill torture her in company class on Mondays and Fridays. (Tory’s good will toward Bill had burned off quickly, and she had informed Laura in no uncertain words that she was NOT there to pick up the slack so that Laura could playact at being a ballerina again.) (Tory was about two steps away from being booted out on her ass from the yoga studio; the only thing saving her job was that she was the only one who could manage to make the books balance at the end of the month.)

She was sitting on his kitchen counter, stunned into silence at the realization that she spent almost more time with Bill these days than she did with Grace. He kept talking as he loaded the dishwasher, not noticing the wide-eyed shock on her face as she realized that Bill was fast becoming a permanent fixture in her life. Again.  

“So, next week is Thanksgiving and we have a lighter load before we go into tech at the stage. I was going to head up to New York, but Carolanne is taking the boys to her parents’ house in Ohio. I was thinking maybe we’d take a drive, explore some of Pennsylvania or maybe go down to Baltimore for the day and see the aquarium.”

Her silence finally registered with him, and he slammed the door of the dishwasher before he turned the full weight of his blue eyes on her. “Unless you have better ideas. Or a better plan.”

“Like what, the zoo?”

He shrugged. “The zoo, eating leftovers in front of the TV, or a date.”

She snorted before she could help herself. “A date. That’s funny.”

Bill leveled her with a stare that told her in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t joking. “When was the last time you were on a date?”

“August of last year,” she replied without thinking. Better to not think at all about that night, and that man, and how eager she was to get away from him. “The guy who owns the building where I have my yoga studio asked me out a few times. I think Richard hoped that he could get me to agree to a lousy lease if he bought me dinner and paid me a few compliments.”

“Rookie mistake,” Bill said. He wrung out the sponge, trying to pretend that he was worried more about his cleaning supplies than he was about her answer.

“When was the last time you were on a date?” Laura asked, desperate to steer the conversation away from her love life. She didn’t want to know the answer, but she really didn’t want to keep talking about herself and her spectacular failures in the dating arena. He’d been married, even if it was to Carolanne, so he surely had a leg up on her in the romance department.

She hated to think about the legs he had on him the last eight years or so. He surely had enough recent experience to forget her legs wrapped around his waist. Her thighs twitched, muscle memory wanting to pull him close, but she wasn’t going down that path again. His muscles had memories too, and they sure as hell didn’t involve her, if his two sons were any indication.

“Depends on who you ask,” he answered, and it took her a second to remember just what she’d asked. Dating, right. She’d asked him about dating. He looked at her, again turning the full weight of his blue eyes on her. She was asking, and he was telling, and she was terrified of what he would say, because she knew without him saying a word that her legs and their kitchen played a large part in his answer.

He kept his distance, but a step to the left and he’d be settled against her, the way he used to be when they shared cooking duties. Bill kept eyeing the space she took up on his kitchen counter, and she had no doubt that to him, tonight was a date. She was wearing yoga pants and an old, beat up Eagles t-shirt, and he thought that they were on a date. One step, on hand on her thigh, and he’d move right past dating and into familiar, if ancient, territory.

Years ago, it had been threadbare tights and a beat-up sweater thrown on the kitchen floor, and the two of them gasping for breath after they’d stumbled to the hideous futon she’d hated from the first day she walked into his apartment.

At least she’d dressed up for Richard. She might be out of practice, but she knew that a date meant makeup and a dress and not hitching up yoga pants and arguing about crumbs on the counter at the end of the night.

“Good thing I’m not asking,” she muttered.

“Good thing. So, Baltimore? See some sharks, feed some fish? Or we could just stay here. Up to you.”

“Bill, what are we doing?” The words left her mouth before she could stop herself.

“Well, I’m loading the dishwasher. You’re overthinking things.” He flicked the knob on the dishwasher,and she flinched when the machine purred to life.

She furrowed her brow. Was she overthinking things, or not thinking enough? She was sitting on his kitchen counter, and for the life of her, she had no idea how she’d made the decision to come here tonight, or last night, or how she’d invited him to her house two nights before.

She liked to plan things. She liked to know the outcome before she set a course of action. She was careful, dammit, and here she was, alone in the kitchen with the most dangerous man she’d ever known while her niece read a chapter of biology in the next room.

“I don’t overthink things.” He didn’t dignify her retort with a reply, just a grunt as he dried his hands on the dishtowel “I don’t. I think about everything the exact right amount.”

“Ok, then,” he said. He slapped the towel down on the counter. “What are you thinking?”

“I think we should go on a date.”

What the hell? She was thinking about traffic to Baltimore and crowds at the Inner Harbor. She most definitely was not thinking about a date, so why the hell had she said it?

His eyebrows shot up. Clearly she wasn’t the only person in the kitchen surprised by what came out of her mouth. Whatever he was expecting her to say, he sure hadn’t expected that. Makes two of us, she mused.

“Okay…I’m not going to disagree, but where did that come from?”

Laura shrugged, helpless to take the words back and even more incapable of explaining herself.

“A date,” he repeated, more to himself than to her. “Well, we didn’t exactly date before, but,” he grinned at her, “I’m game if you are.”

Oh, God. She buried her face in her hands.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow at seven. Nobody cooks dinner, and no teenagers. We’ll see if this date thing is a good idea. Unless you overthink yourself out of it?”

There was a better than good chance that she’d do exactly that, but she couldn’t take it back now. He’d never forgive her if she backed out. She might not forgive herself either.

“But that still doesn’t answer my question. Do you want to go to Baltimore or not?”

“I want to go to Baltimore,” Grace yelled from the living room. Oh, God. She’d heard that? And everything else? Laura silently prayed for the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

Bill wrapped his hands around her wrists and tugged her arms away from his face. “Dinner tomorrow and Baltimore this weekend.”

“I hate you,” she whispered.

“Funny way of showing it, Roslin.” He pulled one of her hands to him and brushed a quick kiss to her knuckles. “Now, go home. I have a class to teach in the morning, and you have a date to overthink.”

They were halfway home before Grace said anything. For the first ten minutes, Laura tried to convince herself that Grace hadn’t been listening, but as soon as she opened her mouth, Laura knew she was completely screwed.

“Sooo…you have a date tomorrow.”

Laura pressed her lips together. “We are not going to discuss it.”

“You’re going on a date with my teacher, and you think we’re not going to discuss it?”

Laura took her eyes off the road long enough to raise her eyebrow at her niece. “We are not going to discuss it. Some things are none of your business.”

“Well, yeah, but if he’s a bad kisser and you don’t want to see him again, and he takes it out on me, don’t you think that’s my business?”

First of all, no she did not. Second, she remembered only too well that Bill Adama was a good kisser. Good at other things, as she recalled, before she pushed those thoughts out of her mind. Third, she was going to have to have a long talk with Grace about kissing and…those other things, and she didn’t think it was possible to miss another person as much as she missed her sister right now. “You don’t need to worry about that,” she muttered.

“Of course not, because you worry enough for both of us.”

What was this, Dump On Laura Day? Bill was rubbing off a little too much on her niece for Laura’s peace of mind. “I don’t worry. I merely consider.”

“Yeah,” Grace said, sarcasm heavy in her voice. “You’re considering how to get out of going out with him tomorrow.”

She eased her foot on the brake, coming to a smooth stop at the last stoplight before she turned onto their street. “What I am considering is throwing you out of this car right now and letting you walk home.”

It was an empty threat, of course, and one she’d repeated countless times over the eight years she’d been Grace’s guardian. Maybe a little more serious this time; a walk in the chilly November night might do wonders for reminding Grace just who paid the heat bills in their house, and it would give her at least a good ten minutes to freak out in peace without a teenage audience.

Grace flexed her feet against the dashboard. “These toes are too valuable for mere walking.” At her aunt’s sharp glare, she tucked her feet under her, shifting in the seat so that she could give Laura her full attention. “But seriously,” she asked. “A date?”

A date. She hummed in response. The last thing she wanted was to discuss her love life with her teenage niece, but she was reminded of late-night phone calls to Cheryl when she’d talked about just that, going on and on about how much of an asshole her partner was, and Cheryl crowing that she liked him, and was he cute, and how did he fill out his tights, and Laura was in her twenties again and blushing furiously by the time she pulled into the garage.

“Lights out in an hour,” she said, “and I know you’re not done with your homework, so scoot.”

Grace lifted her hand to her brow in a mock salute before she gathered her bag from the floorboard. “Yes, ma’am.” She was through the door and into the house before Laura bothered to unbuckle her seatbelt.

“Shit,” Laura whispered. She banged her head softly against the steering wheel. “Shit, shit, shit.”

[tvip11-fics]

.needles and human kisses

A/N: This is for @ladyaudentium who drew me a pic of happy dark gray with baby Jax! Sorry if this sucks, I originally was trying to write a drabble but then my brain decided to run with it lol. 

Dark Gray AU + A budding friendship between Sam and Val. Warnings: A little bit of language

Sam almost knocked, then hesitated, and then almost knocked again. She huffed. This shouldn’t be that hard.

Valerie now was way different from the Valerie she used to know, at least, that’s what she kept telling herself as she pulled into the driveway of Valerie’s beach house.

And speaking of beach houses, holy shit, Valerie’s was huge. With two stories and a crazy wrap around porch, the house contained three bathrooms, four bedrooms, a basement that Sam vaguely remembers being filled with liquor from her high school days, and a hot tub in the back that most of the football team lost their virginity in.

Sam sighed and the salty wind brushed past her and played with the end her lab coat. It’s not hard to knock. And Valerie called her, so that means she wanted her to come over. So why, why, why-?

Valerie swung open the door and sighed in relief. She pulled the scientist into a tight hug. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you.”

When Valerie let her go, Sam took a chance to look her up and down. Valerie was still curvy and pretty and rich to boot, but with her hair in a messy bun, no makeup on her face and her outfit being composed of an old Casper High t-shirt and shorts, she almost looked…middle class.

“I didn’t think you would come,” said Valerie as she brought Sam inside. “Just, y’know, after high school and not really being…nice to you or Fenton.”

Sam readjusted the bag on her shoulder. “Well, I’m not gonna deny someone who’s in need.” Sam looked around the living room for signs of the rare gecko that Valerie said she needed to be tested. “Where is it, by the way?”

Valerie made a face. “Okay, what if, hypothetically, the gecko was not a gecko?”

Sam frowned. “Don’t tell me you called me about a dog.” Tucker had done that to her more times than she could count.

Valerie let out a funny laugh. “Well, it’s not a dog either.”

“Then what is it?”

Valerie motioned for her to follow her and Sam complied. They went up the stairs and down the hall to the bathroom at the end. Valerie placed her hand on the knob. “Alright, don’t freak out,” she warned.

Valerie swung the door open. “Holy shit,” said Sam.

“I told you not to freak out!”

“Holy shit!”

In Valerie’s bathtub was a merman. And not some weirdo in a costume either, a real, live actual merman whose big ass tail hung over the rim of the tub, allowing water to drip all over the linoleum floor.

“Valerie,” he said, baritone voice going through one of Sam’s ears and out the other, “you should’ve told me were expecting guests. I would’ve put on a shirt.”

Sam gawked at him. “This has to be a dream.”

“Well, it isn’t,” said Valerie as she got down on her knees and reached behind the merman’s head to turn on the cold water. Part of his tail had grown crusty, and he was looking pale, or rather, as pale as one could with blue skin. Two clear indicators that he needed more water. “Sadly, this is one hundred percent real.”

The merman frowned, his fin beating defiantly against the tub. “Sadly? I’ll have you know that most people would be begging for something this awe-inspiring to happen to them.”

“Oh really?” Valerie stopped the water just as it reached the rim of the tub. “Well I bet sixty percent of those people would either eat you or dissect you for science in a heartbeat.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but closed it once he realized he was fighting a losing battle.

“What’s your name?” asked Sam as she gripped at the strap of her bag.

“Dan,” he said as he tilted his head slightly to avoid the water getting in his face.

“Dan,” she pondered on it for a moment. “Huh. Doesn’t sound very aquatic.”

The end of his tail flipped up in irritation. “What the hell were you expecting? Ariel?”

Sam blinked. “D-Did you show him The Little Mermaid? Of all things?”

“Hey, in my defense, he’s very annoying when he gets bored and my tablet is waterproof,” she said as she pulled back, her hand getting caught in Dan’s wet locks. They were slightly slimy, probably from the natural mucus that coated his body. It was one of the many, many, many gross things that she’d learned about his body over the past two weeks. “Also, he was very curious,” she said as she wiped her hand on her leg, not caring that it was going to be crusty later.

“And,” chimed in Dan, “I am very offended by what you idiot humans think of merpeople.”

“Well, today’s your lucky day,” said Valerie as she heaved herself up, “ ‘Cause Sam isn’t an idiot human, she’s a super awesome scientist who’s gonna help you with your tail.”

Sam gulped. “Uh, Valerie, I’ve never really worked with mermaids before.”

“Well, you were killer in Anatomy, so just combine a fish and a human and just roll with it,” said Valerie simply.

Sam frowned. “I don’t think that’s how that works.”

Dan huffed. “I don’t care what you have to do as long as you can get me out this damn tub.”

“He’s injured,” explained Valerie. As if that were his cue, Dan lifted up his tail to show off as much of his wound as he could without hurting himself. Sam was able to catch a glimpse of the chunk of missing tail, the white fat and pink muscle puffy and slightly red.  “I was hoping you could do something, like test his blood and make mermaid Neosporin or something?”

“Test my blood?” Dan flicked his fin. “That sounds like it involves something sharp.”

“It may or may not involve a needle.”

Each one of Dan’s iridescent scales shivered in a wave-like fashion before his fear finally traveled up his spine. He attempted to stuff himself into the bathtub, getting water all over the place in the process. “No. No, no, no-.”

Valerie groaned. “Good God, it’s not a fish hook!”

“If it pokes then it’s a fish hook to me!” he hissed.

Sam cast Valerie a look. “Is he afraid of needles?”

“Yes, even though he shouldn’t be because he has two rows of friggin’ razor sharp teeth!”

“My teeth and sharp objects are two different things!”

"Well, that's the only way I can get blood," explained Sam.

Dan crossed his arms and sunk into the bathtub, sloshing more water everywhere. At this rate, Valerie was going to be paying at least two grand a month on her water bill alone.

"Then I guess I'm never getting healed and I'll die in this stupid bathtub," he hissed.

Valerie sighed. "I'll hold your hand." Another thing Valerie discovered was that Dan was incredibly touchy. He liked to latch onto her, play with her hair, even hold her hand if she allowed it. When asked if all merpeople were like that, he simply dodged the question.

Dan's brows jumped. "I thought you said my hands were too cold."

"Your whole body is cold," she said, "but if holding your hand will get you through this thing then so be it."

Dan slipped his hand out of the water and latched onto Valerie's. She fought the urge to shiver and pull away. "Fine,” he said, “but I want a human kiss later.”

Sam looked at Valerie for an explanation of a “human kiss”, but all she got was a soft shake of the head. “Maybe, if you’re good,” she said.

Dan nodded and turned to Sam. “Stab me.”

Sam turned toward her bag and pulling out a vial and syringe. Valerie could feel Dan's grip tighten on her hand as he watched her clean the needle.

"Hey," said Valerie. "Look at me."

Dan turned to her, a bit of fear in his eye. It was weird, seeing him like this, almost childlike and pouty; so different from the haughty merman she had found stranded on the beach.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Sam was about to draw his blood. She needed to keep his attention. "Hey, wanna hear a human secret?"

The ends of his fin stood up in the air. "Secret?"

"Yeah. It's the reason we even formed a system of government and some say it will be our downfall and destroy all of mankind."

Dan rose a brow as Sam found his vein. "Really?" He leaned in slightly. "Tell me."

"Barbeque sauce."

Dan blinked. "What the fuck is barbe- Ow!" He cast Sam a dirty look as she took the blood.

"Sorry!" she said as she watched the vial fill up.

He turned back to Valerie, baring his teeth at her. "You did that on purpose."

"Yeah, it's called a distraction, sweetie."

Dan death gripped her hand until Sam was done. When she finally pulled out the needle and bandaged his arm, he let go, leaving Valerie's hand coated in slime. She wiped her hand on her pants.

"I think this should be enough," said Sam as she filled the vial and screwed it shut. She slipped it into her bag for safe keeping. "I'll call you if I find out anything."

"I'm going to walk her to the door," said Valerie. She glared at him like a mother reprimanding her children. "Do not try to leave this tub."

"Aye, aye, captain," he said, fingers messing with the bandage on his arm.

Valerie shut the door behind them and they went down the stairs together. "So, ‘human kiss’ ?”

Valerie groaned. “He thinks they’re special. Apparently, mermaids don’t kiss for romantic reasons, they kiss to bite each other’s tongues off.”

Sam’s nose scrunched up. “Gross.”

“He said it shows dominance.”

“Double gross.”

Valerie smiled. “I know right?”

Sam sighed wistfully as they reached the bottom step. This weird visit to Valerie’s wasn’t as bad as she thought it would be.  "I just- I can't believe you found a mermaid. Like an actual mermaid.” She scoffed. “My coworkers are gonna flip-."

Valerie covered Sam's mouth with her hand. "No. You are not allowed to tell anybody about this. Even Danny. Got it?"

Sam nodded and Valerie moved her hand away. "Well, I'm gonna have to tell them something when I test this blood at the lab tonight," explained Sam.

Valerie pushed back her hair, only for her curls to fall right back into her face. "Tell them it's a super rare fish or something. Just please don't tell them about Dan. He's caused me enough trouble."

Sam nodded as she reached the door. "Alright. And hey, for the record, you really should get Dan outta that tub. Him swimming around might actually help him heal up a bit."

"So you want me to lug his big ass down to my pool? What if my neighbors see?"

"That's why you do it at night." Sam reached for the handle of the front door. "And if it really is a hassle getting him out of the house, then I can help you if you really need me to."

Valerie gawked at her. "Really?"

"Yeah, I mean, it's not like we're in high school anymore," said Sam.

Valerie almost pondered on the thought, but a crash upstairs interrupted her thoughts. Sam snickered. “I guess he’s getting impatient for his ‘human kiss’.”

“That fishy fucker,” growled Valerie as she bounded up the stairs.

Sam giggled as she closed the door. This was definitely not a regular visit.

+Bonus!

She bounded up the stairs, praying to God that Dan hadn't broken the tub or worse.

When she opened the bathroom door, she found him in the bath, ripped shower curtain in hand and the metal bar on the ground. "I didn't try to leave."

Valerie placed her hands on her hips. "Then what happened?”

"My tail knocked into it," he explained. "I was being good."

Valerie sighed and bent down to pick up the bar. "Of course you were."

He beat his fin against the tub. "And since I was so good, I think I deserve my human kiss now," he said with a twinkle in his eye.

"Why do you have to call it a human kiss?" said Valerie. "Just call it a kiss."

"Because it's different from my kiss," he said.

Valerie adjusted the bar as she placed it back. "Uh..."

He beat his tail again. "Just one. Please?" he begged.

"Jeez, fine." She kneeled down beside the tub and braced her arm against the other side. "Just...don't do anything weird."

She leaned in close and Dan grabbed onto the back of her shirt, pulling her down toward him. He was eager; pressing his lips against hers as soon as he could reach them. His lips felt slick and cold, sending shivers down her spine. She could feel his tongue- maybe tongues? -against hers as she relaxed into the kiss.

He reached up, putting his hand in her hair like he saw humans do in the movies he'd watch on Valerie's tablet. He liked the way her mouth felt, warm and wet. A happy sound escaped him, and he wanted more.

Valerie pulled away, her lips wet with saliva. Dan hummed and beat his fin against the tub. "I like your mouth," he said, grinning. "Again?"

Valerie stood up, her face flushed. "Maybe later."

[celestial-leaves]

OSH#2: Food For Thought

The first time it happened, Lukas thought it to be a lucky fluke, some fool forgetting their lunch in the crook of a wall. He hadn’t wasted an opportunity and snatched it up before continuing his route, hurrying in the early morning mist. Common sense dictated that he tests the apple before putting it to any usage, but he needed to be out of the city to do that.

2 days later as he was rushing to exit the city before dawn, constrained to a rapid hobble as his leg had still not healed enough to jog, a second incident occurred. One of his friends appeared by his hip, chirping smugly, and within its grip was another apple, greenish in color. 

“Where’d you get that?” Lukas hissed, snatching up the apple to shove it in his pocket. Glancing around warily, he guided his friend into a side alley and turned to frown at it. Ully smirked up at him, looking ridiculously pleased, but still consented to give an answer in rapid chirps. Upon hearing that the apple had been in the same location as the previous one, Lukas felt suspicion bloom deep in his gut. Wordlessly he pulled it out to inspect it, but it looked like a perfectly regular apple just like the ones sold in the market, except it was cleaner.

“Right, thanks. I suppose,” Lukas mumbled, he dropped it back into his pocket and took off again. The little ones would be pleased with his haul today, regardless of where it had come from. Ully chirped smugly and faded from sight. Lukas continued his route, leaving behind the overbearing presence of the city walls for the coolness of the forest. under the eaves he allowed his shoulders to slump some and his gait to slow down, transferring his bag from under his jacket to the more comfortable shoulder carry. All around him the forest came alive, a mix match of sounds that to his ears sounded both harmonious and safe. None of the city dwellers dared to travel this deep into the woods, not even the hunters with their supposed ‘great skills.’ With the ease of experienced he slid down an embankment, balanced across a squirrel bridge and made his way up to the ruins of an old cabin.

From the distance, it looked like a house lost in timed overtaken by nature’s retributions, the roof once broad and steepled had become weighed down by years of vines and the demanding spread tree branches. It cascaded to the ground in the ideal staircase for intrepid rats, while blocking off any access to what used to be a front door, now a dark alcove. The lower floor walls, built out of stone as they had been, still stood proudly sheltering the inner rooms from the inclement weathers. However, the wood from the upper floor had long been repurposed into firewood and a small bookshelf. Lukas paused to checks the traps he’d set before leaving the previous night and finding them untouched, he made his way up the roof using the intertwined tree as a guide. Shortly before the apex there was a break in the shingles, large enough for a small person to slip through. Crouching on a tree branch, he pulled away the mat covering it and lowered himself down into the darkness. Resting his elbows on the rim, he hung until his feet connected with the ladder dug into the wall and he could steady himself enough to pull the mat shut above his head, removing the rising light. In near perfect darkness, Lukas finished the climb down, and padded along the hallway until he found the trapdoor leading into their shelter.

“Lu! You’re back!”

A delighted cry reached him when he stepped into the eating area, followed shortly by 40 pounds slamming into his his waist. “Oof,” Lukas grunted, and staggered back a few steps. “Good morning to you too, Mikal.”

“G’morning!” His youngest brother chirped, crusty faced, and beaming. “Did you bring back more apples?”

“Is that all I’m good for around here, bringing apples?” Lukas replied, he gripped Mikal’s shirt and dragged him higher sit on his hip. The boy responded by wrapping an arm around his neck and planting a sticky kiss on his cheek. Lukas fought back the urge to drop the brat.

“Yes.”

Lukas looked over, Gavri’el was seated on the counter, his nose in a book.

“Yes, what?”

“Your job is to bring us apples, pleb,” Gavri’el said, his tone just short of haughty.

“Is that so? Well if your royalness wants breakfast he can take Mikal to wash his face.”

Gavri’el looked up at that, dark eyes slightly wide, utmost horror for him. Lukas smirked at the sight and deposited the wiggling bundle currently chocking him in his brother’s lap, snatching his book back with his free hand. “Chop chop now, time’s awastin’.”

The 11-year-old sent him a look of pure betrayal but slid off the counter, and disappeared into the side room, dragging Mikal along. 2 brothers suitably dealt with Lukas made deposited his goods in the cold storage, and set about preparing their breakfast for the day. The coffee jar when shaken felt disturbingly empty, and when peered into it revealed less than a full mug’s worth of beans. Already dreading Gavri’el’ s reaction, and his own bleak evening plans, Lukas set about brewing a pot. He’d just set a simple spread of bread and fruit slices on the counter when Emil drifted in, rubbing an eye and yawning. Something deep inside of Lukas’ gut released at the sight, and he lifted an arm to pull his brother close. Emil nestled against him, still yawning, and mumbled a greeting. Lukas ruffled his fluffy hair in reply, and dropped a kiss on the furrowed brow. Emil squeaked adorably. Gavri’el returned shortly after, Mikal hanging upside down off his shoulders like an oversized cape, squealing happily.

The days went by in their usual monotony. While Lukas slept the daylight hours away, Gavri’el would roam the woods with Emil, checking their traps and hunting. In the afternoon, Lukas made it a point to sit the three down and go over their lessons, math for Gavri’el, reading and writing for the younger ones. Lukas himself, when he could focused on his spell work and the methods used to uncover ancient names. Almost daily now, there was some sort of fruit in the hollow behind the red stone. Just the previous morning it had been a slightly bruised pear, complete with four duck eggs. He’d yet to find a trace of his mysterious benefactor, but as of yet none of the items had revealed themselves to be cursed.

23 days into a well-established routine, Lukas reached behind the stone, patted around, and pulled it back to reveal nothing but some old crumbs. More than a little startled, he checked again but there was nothing to be found.

“You know, I’ve been wondering where my food keeps getting off to.”

Lukas jolted and spun about, lifting his hands protectively, one gripping the red stone. Across the alley from him, leaning casually against the wall stood a familiar looking boy. Unbidden the thoughts of a mocking voice, tight grip, and smelly trench coat drifted up from his subconscious. Lukas eyes narrowed at the reminded, and he felt a full out glower blossom when the stranger lifted a hand and cheerfully said, “yo lil’rat, how’s the leg?”

Without waiting for a reply, he stepped forwards, removing his other hand from his trench coat as he did. Lukas leapt sideways, calling the nearest element to his fingers, and feeling the dust and dirt coating the alley respond grudgingly. The other boy didn’t seem to notice, whistling cheerfully he placed wrapped bundle in the hollow and set two gleaming oranges next to it. “Hey, could I have the stone back? I don’t want anyone else finding these,” he said, accompanied with a quick flash of his teeth.

“What are you doing?” Lukas demanded, and lifted the stone warningly. He received a look of pure innocence from glimmering blue eyes, it might even have worked had Lukas not grown up with Mikal.

“Hmm? I could ask you the same thing,” was the reply spoken through what was definitely a smug smirk. “Running about as if rats didn’t have curfews, threatening the big bad guard only trying to do his job.”

“I’m not a ‘rat’,” Lukas snapped, “and you’re a fool if you think you can arrest me.” He stepped forwards yanking on the tenuous link he’d managed to establish with the earth, a few mots of dirt rose but that was all. The stranger regarded him, eyes appearing curious from under his mop of shaggy blond hair, a restrained smile playing on his lips. Recognizing a loosing battle, Luks cursed angrily and retrieved the food from the hollow before forcibly returning the stone to its place. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw the stranger beam, but the sudden winking out of the street lamps drew his attention and sent a bolt of alarm through his innards. Hastily Lukas shoved the bundle into his bag and hastened down the alley, a few beats passed and then the stranger was falling into place besides him.

Lukas snarled wordlessly at him, and broke out into a jog only to be yanked back like a puppy on a leash. A trench coat found itself dumped on his head.

“My bad, put that on, will you?” His companion said brightly, and when he hesitated added, “It’s not much but no one will arrest a kid in a military jacket. We’re owned after all.”

As irritating as it was, Lukas could not deny the truth in that statement, and shrugged his way into the coat before setting off again, aiming for purposeful instead of harried. The owner of said trench coat followed, pointing out the best stalls for snacks and fruit as they went until they had reached the shelter of the walls filled with their secrets and hideaways. Lukas clambered through one, but paused on the other side when he noticed that he was still being followed.

“Are all guards as slacking at their duties as you?” He asked, spinning back to face the irritant, still crouched in the tunnel.

“My coat?” Was the offered reply, complete with a held-out hand, and a smile. Lukas hesitated, unwilling to admit that he’d been hoping to keep the thing, if for no other reason than that Emil and Mikal could use more clothes. Unbidden his hands tightened, and he pulled it closer to himself. The stranger, his benefactor, he reminded himself blinked at him for a long moment than rubbed at his neck looking awkward. While he was clearly thinking it over, Lukas took a few careful steps backwards but found himself freezing when the gaze flashed back to him.

“Let’s make a deal, lil’rat,” he said, his face more serious an almost downward tilt to his lips.

“I’m not a rat,” Lukas hissed, though something that felt uncomfortably like a conscious reminded him that ‘normal children didn’t steal for a living.’

“You tell me your name, and I’ll let you keep my coat,” the city dweller continued as if Lukas had not spoken. “It gets rather cold in the forest doesn’t it?”

Finding himself faced with irrefutable logic once more and the chance to keep a warm if too large coat, Lukas barely hesitated before spitting out, “Lukas, that’s my name not lil’rat.”

The stranger laughed, too loudly and much too brightly, before straightening out of his crouch, and hopping to the ground. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance Lukas, I’m Den.”

“Like I care,” Lukas said as coldly as he could manage, spinning on his heels he strode swiftly for the woods, Den’s laughter drifting after him.

I

[janeykath318]

The Courtship Of Miss Kirk- END