#i fear the tags have gone in an opposite direction as the original post but i dont feel like retyping this all into it's own post so...

[femmefitz]

When Fitz actually engages with her kids she's not a TERRIBLE parent. It's just that her biggest parenting flaw is neglect and she never ended up correcting that.

[lightanddarklove]

SU - Connie's character development

I've been noticing in the SU tags that people have been pointing out that Connie should have or must have had therapy or some sort of counseling prior to future, and I agree. I've heard that others think she got limited development on screen from the later half of SU and basically all of Future, a point that is fair post Jungle Moon, but to me, it would make sense for her not to lean on Steven as much as she does before Sworn to the Sword, as she slowly gains confidence from being Steven's friend.

I'm only focusing on a few specific episodes here in an attempt at brevity (it’s definitely longer than I wanted). At some point I may reblog and add more, but I'd like to get this out there before the one year anniversary of the SU: Future finale.

At the beginning of the series, she is fairly introverted, shy but inquisitive and sensible. She doesn't show any interest in the people of Beach City until Steven protects her from the falling rocks near the temple and inadvertently traps her with his bubble. She asks questions about the townies, and writes the text of what they need on the bubble when they try to get help from Onion. When Steven's rollercoaster plan goes awry to free them, and they are knocked into the water, she is clearly very anxious. Once the chasm opens up beneath the water and they are further trapped, we see her standing up for herself for the first time, something that continues to increase in frequency over the course of the series. Upon the defeat of the corrupted Orange Spodumene, she is amazed by Steven's quick thinking that saved them.

We see her again in Lion 2, when they have an adventure on Lion that precedes their intended movie outing. Upon arriving outside the theatre, after the harrowing experience with the Robot Shooty Thing in Rose's Armory, she is discouraged, leading to Steven's frustration with messing up their original plans. Connie counters with her feeling that Steven shouldn't be involved with her, as she feels her life less interesting than his, and that her enjoyment of Dogcopter is nothing compared to the magical destiny Steven is encountering. This lack of self-confidence comes back several times until late in the series. After Steven points out that he very much enjoys Dogcopter, the Robot Shooty Thing returns, causing the duo to fight it using the sword pulled from Lion's mane. Working together, they conquer their foe using Connie's tennis moves, cheering both of them up.

In an Indirect Kiss, she clearly shows concern for Steven's glum mood, but is willing to push him a little in order to get him to open up about what's bothering him. We also see what would have likely been a romantic moment if the healing spit from their shared drink hadn't caused a sudden headache from her prescription no longer matching what she needed. After Steven excitedly goes to tell the gems about his newly discovered ability, we see Connie form some resolve in popping out the lenses of her glasses at the close of the episode.

I spent some time analyzing Alone Together for both perspectives on Kevin for my SU: Future fic, The Best Mother and Doctor I can be, but the development of Steven and Connie builds from them discussing dancing and fusion on the beach. After Steven covering his eyes at first to help Connie get more confident, the pair get into a rhythm, and eventually running circles around each other. This causes Steven to trip and Connie to unintentionally dip him in keeping him from falling. Connie's blush shows she reads the situation as romantic, but Steven smiles, seeing nothing wrong with her holding him up. In a moment of connection, they both start giggling and Stevonnie is formed for the first time. A bond is forged, their mutual consent to continue being fused through most of the rest of the episode. Once they start dancing at the rave they realize the attention on them is making them very uncomfortable, causing panic and hallucinating. Once they break through the panic attack, they stand up to Kevin when he invades their space and refuse to let him dictate how they spend time together. As these earlier episodes progress, we see both of them learning to be more confident when by each other's side.

The Return does lead into Full Disclosure, from Steven leaving a message on her answering machine thinking it my be his last chance to say goodbye. After Steven separates from his Dad in The Return, he has no human contact until Connie's call cuts into the scene in the wreckage of Homeworld's ship in Jailbreak, asking if he's ok before leading into the celebration of the Gems at the beginning of Full Disclosure. Steven's a bit astonished on the face of everything that happened in the past evening, and when his dad's van pulls up, he promises to call her back and cuts the call short. Once he sees his Dad's reaction to his harrowing ordeal, he is further hesitant to answer Connie's calls, for fear of worrying her. After a brief talk with Ronaldo, advising him that his story is one he must bear alone for normal people can't understand the burden of truth. After mulling it over and feeling she is better off without him, he declines her call. After this, Connie continues to call, but she makes her way to Beach City and is soon at his doorstep, as he tries to explain to the gems that he wants to cut ties with the humans in his life, Connie included. Pearl buys him a bit of time as he sneaks past them, and Connie tells her she's very worried. Once Connie goes to leave, she spots him fleeing, and calls out to him multiple times, questioning why he won't face her. After Steven tries to break off their friendship via text, Connie calls him, confused. Once he replies seriously, she calls out him choosing to do this through the phone, and demands he "say it to [her] face," refusing to accept losing him as her only friend if he can't do that. This builds from Indirect Kiss, where she isn't willing to let him hide his feelings or what happened that made him feel badly. Once he leaps from behind the wreckage, we see his resolve to keep her away has broken, tears streaming down his face. After she shows concern for his visible injury, and he claims wanting to protect her, she shuts that down and asks for him to tell her everything. After he explains, she makes it clear that being a part of his life is important to him, and the episode ends with Greg driving them back to the Maheswaran home.

In Sworn to the Sword we see the culmination of her bravery and resolve to this point. After Steven and Connie try to enjoy their Jam Bud snack, they're accosted by a small flock of seagulls, and Connie fends them off with her violin bow. Upon seeing this, he volunteers Connie to apprentice sword fighting with Pearl, and although both of them are surprised by this proposal, he praises Connie, and she talks of how she wants to be there for him for the dangers the future to fight beside him. Swelling with pride, Pearl agrees, and their training begins. After showing them the Sky Arena, Pearls delves into the training and hardships of battle in her past. Pearl's tutoring Connie seems to focus on breaking down her independence, and Connie's prior confidence shifts to disregard her well-being, as Garnet said Pearl had done during the war. As Connie had issues with self-esteem prior, it isn't long before she's repeating mantras of "I don't matter," to Steven's horror. This training isn't taking place over a day or two, it seems over the course of at least several weeks. Once he's determined to keep her from risking herself without a thought, he interrupts a training exercise where Connie faces stealth striking Holo-Pearls through cloud cover. He dismisses the idea that she needs to face these threats alone, and asks to fight beside her instead, which they are able to work together seamlessly. Once Pearl catches wind of the pair in the arena, she scolds Steven, declaring Connie needs to face her alone and he shouldn't be there, knocking the weapons from the duo's hands. Steven refuses to accept that he shouldn't be a part of the fight, declaring again his will to fight with her, dismissing the thought that "[he's] too important." After Pearl snaps back with a shout calling Steven Rose, she stumbles over her words and attempts to dismiss the duo. They approach her and Steven admits the reason he felt the need to tell Pearl how he felt about the training was the "you're nothing talk," which worried him. Connie posits if Pearl felt that way because of Rose's actions, but Pearl laughs it off, telling her she felt the opposite. Once she declares that their bond will only make them stronger, if they train hard together, and comes up with a new regimen as the episode fades out.   After the training Connie has received for several months Connie is asked to take part in her first mission with Pearl and Steven, which the Maheswaran family allows on the condition they take lots of pictures. Pearl guides them to a snowy area in the Great North as they seek out a corrupted Gem together. Upon facing one down, another appears, then splitting off in two directions and Pearl thinks about turning back before the duo convince her they can handle it. She agrees if they call her once they've found the corruption, as she worries about them fighting it alone. Steven and Connie track it, taking  break to warm up in a hollow tree as snow continues to fall. Steven posits possibly healing it as there are humanoid tracks in the snow along with the corruption tracks, and thinking the Gem may not be too far gone to save. Once they track it further, it has appeared to corner itself against a rock wall. Pearl checks in with the pair via walkie-talkie, which draws the Gem's attention to them. Steven tries to talk to it, but it has no significant affect. It attacks, and once it pops the bubble around the duo, they are separated. It moves to strike Steven, but Connie tries to draw it's attention with snowballs. Once it bears down on her, she freezes up and says she "wasn't prepared for this." Upon hearing Pearl speak through the walkie-talkie, her resolve returns and se snatches it from beneath the Gem, calling her for help. Jasper crashes into the corrupted Gem, shocking Connie and Steven. He regroups with her, protecting them both with a bubble as Jasper pummels the corruption, and poofs it without much struggle.  Pearl appears to help as Jasper shows off the gems she has captured, and Pearl is shocked. Jasper disappears into the snow and Pearl is relieved that the kids are ok, saying she wouldn’t have had them on this mission if she knew Jasper would be here. Connie is disappointed, feeling that she failed because she didn’t strike when she had the opportunity to fight the corrupted Gem. Pearl assures her that she followed the instructions of calling once they encountered the Gem, as she was instructed. Connie seems relieved by Pearl’s praise in the end, as they consider Jasper’s appearance as the episode closes.

After Jasper is freed in Super Watermelon Island, she poses a significant threat to the Crystal Gems, and now that they’ve encountered her in the prior episode, Pearl and Garnet set off to track her down. Amethyst watches over Steven and Connie and tries to distract them around Beach City, to keep their minds off Jasper. As the duo is playing in the water with Amethyst overseeing them, Jasper looms out of the water with a corrupted gem. As Amethyst faces off against Jasper, Connie and Steven fuse, and Stevonnie fights the corrupted gem while riding Lion. Amethyst is quickly dispatched and the fusion faces off against Jasper, defeating the corruption and saving Amethyst. Jasper gets away, but Stevonnie revels in their victory, despite Amethyst’s discouraged demeanor. When Steven and Connie unfuse, they are cheerful and Connie seems to have a confidence boost, which shows her competence that holds up through most of the rest of the series.

In Mindful Education, we see one of the last distinct shake-ups to Connie’s character up until Doug Out, which mostly just forms a stronger bond with her Dad. Steven and Connie are fusion training with Pearl and Garnet, and during their battle with Holo-Pearls, a distracting memory shakes Stevonnie so much they unfuse. Steven goes to comfort her as she runs out of the Sky Arena, and convinces her to talk about it to try and help. Upon hearing that she feels badly for accidentally hurting someone at her school, Garnet approaches them, suggesting a training option that may be help. The pair of fusions meet on the beach and are guided through meditation on how to work through their feelings about Connie’s most recent hard memory. In it, we see Connie bump into a boy at school and react suddenly by flipping him over her shoulder from his arm as a defensive reaction. Mortified, she flees and the memory ends. With breathing exercises, she is able to let the memory go, and we cut to another day where they attempt to train again. Once again, memories distract Stevonnie, but this time the thoughts come from Steven’s perspective. They reminding him of recent his battles with Bismuth, Eyeball Ruby and Jasper, causing the fusion to be overcome with tears and backs up to the edge of the Sky Arena, falling without warning. After they tumble over the edge, they unfuse and Steven is still overcome with emotions. Connie reaches out to him and tries to assure him that despite how badly he’s feeling to have to tackle these memories, he can’t run from them for good unless he faces them. Eventually, as they fall, they fuse again, and the memories pass, helping calm them enough so they can slow their decent.

[willow-salix]

TAG MiniBang 2021

Because the combined bad influences of Flyboy and Sonata were at work here we also decided to bend the rules a little and post early...

I was privileged to work with one of my best friends on this project,  @misssquidtracy​ . We went a little rogue (seems to be a theme for us) and shared both parts of the challenge with both of us contributing to the art and the writing. Squiddy provided a beautifully done pallet knife piece as the background for my foreground art and we plotted the story together to ensure that it worked for both of us. We had been looking forward to sharing the writing but unfortunately, due to life constraints on her part she was only able to write a little of the fic but what she did add perfectly compliments the tone and style of my writing. 

Big thanks to @tagminibang ) @godsliltippy​ ) for organising this event.

So, here it is, our offering to the TAG Mini Bang. We hope you enjoy it. 

Ting ting ting

“Not again,” Virgil groaned, hauling himself up the stairs from the kitchen to the lounge. He regretted ever giving Gordon that bell, he really did. Yes his brother had gone through a tough time, yes he had scared the hell out of them when the Chaos Crew had left him at the bottom of the ocean in his mangled craft, yes they were incredibly grateful that he was alive and mostly whole, but if they had to hear that dinging one more time they might possibly murder him themselves. 

“Yes, Gordy, what do you need?” 

“I’m lonely, and I’m hungry, come and sit with me for a bit?”

“Sure-”

“But maybe make me a sandwich first?”

“A sandwich?” 

“Yeah, with extra cheese and a pickle on the side, not too large a pickle but not too small that it’s gone in one bite. I want to taste it, you know, but not be overwhelmed.”

“Sure-”

“And can you get me a drink too? One of my special milkyshakes, you know, with the ice cream and frozen banana in it?”

“Coming right up,” Virgil sighed, heading back down to the kitchen again.

“Gordon still demanding everything and anything?” Scott asked as he jogged in from the poolside. His T-shirt was sticking to his chest and his hair was damp with sweat but he still looked like he could do it all again. Not that they would have time, they were lucky if they got to do any planned exercise at all, usually they were forced to skip it and work out on the job when a call came in.

“Of course he is,” Virgil growled, slapping a slice of cheese on a piece of bread with far more force than necessary.

“What did the cheese do to you?”

“It’s guilty by association.”

“Ah,” Scott said, like that explained things perfectly. 

A few slices of chicken received the same treatment and Scott wondered if the meat had actually been dead when it arrived on the island or if Virgil had simply smacked it into submission so well that the chicken had flown clear into next week and arrived as sandwich filling.

“Can you fix his drink?” Virgil asked.

“Can’t gotta shower this off before Grandma accuses me of stinking up the place again.”

“Any excuse,” Virgil scowled. “It would only take you a second.”

“A second too long, bro, I’m escaping while I can and you’d be wise to do the same,” Scott said, heading for the stairs and freedom.

“How can I escape when Gordon needs help?”

“You’re forgetting one important thing,” Scott told him wisely. 

“I am? And that would be…”

“John’s home.”

Virgil snorted out a laugh. “He’s less likely to do it than you are.”

“No, you're misunderstanding me. If John’s home that means…” Scott let his sentence trail off into silence heavily filled with insinuation.

“Sel’s here,” Virgil finished triumphantly, catching on perfectly.

“Give that Tracy a prize,” Scott grinned, shooting triumphant finger guns his brother’s way as he headed up the stairs. 

And they said that John was the genius in the family, they hadn’t seen Scott at his most devious. Virgil wasted no time in yanking out his phone and texting the witch to come and take over.

“Here’s your sammich, Squidward,” Selene cooed, plonking the plate down on Gordon’s lap while smacking a kiss to his forehead. “Virgil started it but I finished it for you, Brains called him down to his lab with some kind of air filter emergency so I took over. I brought you some of those crisps you like from my private stash too.”

“The cheesy curl ones?” Gordon asked hopefully.

“Yep,” she grinned, waggling a family sized bag of Quavers in his general direction.

“Did you bring my drink?” Gordon asked around a mouthful of chickeny goodness. Say what you wanted about Virgil but he made a damn good sandwich, even if Gordon could taste that this was made with a little less love and a little more impatience than usual.

“No, sorry, did you want one? Virgil didn’t say that. I’ll go get you something, just wait right there.”

"Not like I can leave if the mood takes me," Gordon grumbled as he opened the chip bag. 

She was already gone, only to race back in a few moments later with a can of coke.

“What? What’s wrong, boo?” Selene asked when she saw the pouting look of disappointment on Gordon’s face.

“It was supposed to be one of my special milkyshakes,” he whined.

“Right, got it, my bad!”

She was gone again, taking off to the kitchen where, upon closer inspections, she did indeed find the beginnings of a milkshake. There were two scoops of ice cream already in the blender, melting in the warmth of the room. A half peeled banana sat abandoned on the counter next to a carton of milk. 

“Typical,” she groused as she set about breaking up the banana, pouring the milk and setting it to blend as she tidied the mess away. Once done she poured it into a tall glass, added a straw and a few slices of fresh banana to decorate the edges, just as he liked it, and delivered it to the waiting aquanaut.

“Great, thanks, Sel,” he grinned, handing her his now empty plate and swapping it for the glass. She put the plate on the coffee table and sat on the couch opposite him.

“Anything else I can do for you?”

 “Sit with me and keep me company?” he begged, looking so miserable and pathetic that she couldn’t say no.

“Of course I will.” 

Gordon swung his injured leg up and she moved to sit next to him on the couch, placing a cushion on her lap for him to rest his cast covered foot on.

Gordon settled down with a contented sigh, sucking happily on his straw, the milkshake level in the glass steadily dropping.

“I’m bored,” Gordon bitched five minutes later.

“That peace lasted a long time,” Selene laughed, putting her phone down on the side table to give him her full attention. “What can I do to help? Do you want to watch something or play a game?”

Gordon made a face. “You’re crap at games, Sel.”

One eyebrow rose in disbelief. “I wouldn’t exactly say crap…”

“You tried to play with Alan and died three times in two minutes, lost all your lives and were forced to float along behind him as a ghost for the rest of his turn.”

“Anything is crap when you say it like that,” Selene huffed. 

“Only when it’s true.”

“Tell me then, oh great games master, what do you want to do?”

“Nothing.”

“Then don’t moan you’re bored,” she pointed out.

“I mean there’s nothing to do. No one is around.”

Selene gestured to her chest. “Am I suddenly invisible?”

“No, of course not,” he scoffed. “That would be far too cool, why don’t you have witch powers like that?”

“Because I live in the real world, not a movie?”

“Lame,” he declared, dismissing it.

“Back to the original point that I am, in fact, right here. Therefore your comment that no one is around is redundant.”

“I meant no one I can do anything with.”

“Thin ice, bub, thin ice.”

“I meant like my brothers or someone. Alan is busy revising for his final exams, Virgil’s with Brains and I’ve no idea where Scott is but I think he’s avoiding me, which is just mean if you ask me. I’m a delight.”

“Yeah, you sure are,” she drawled, not sounding too convinced. “You’re also forgetting a brother.”

“Who?”

“John? You know, gorgeous ginger love of my life that’s chilling in his room right this minute? That brother?”

“John? No way.”

“What’s wrong with John?” she squawked indignantly. Her man was the most perfect of people, amazing and fabulous, just all round awesome. Although she might be a tad biased.

Gordon shrugged, scrunching his nose up in a ‘meh’ kinda way that said everything and nothing.

“No, come on, tell me what you meant,” she demanded.

“No offence, Sel, but John’s a bit…”

“A bit what?” she asked, her tone warning him that he was in very dangerous territory.

Gordon, with the grace of an elephant and confidence of a man that knew he was injured and therefore wouldn’t get slapped, plowed on.

“A bit boring.”

“Boring?!” she hollered, her voice travelling to the four corners of the island so effectively that Alan lifted his head, wondering if some distant God was echoing his thoughts as he slogged through his history homework.

“How very dare you!” Selene continued, working up a good glare that Gordon was completely immune to. He simply sipped the last of his milkshake, smacked his lips and raised an eyebrow, daring her to do something about it.

“He is not boring.”

“Matter of opinion,” Gordon shrugged, handing her the glass to put down on the table. 

“Right, that’s it, you can besmirch my fun factor but I will not allow you to do so to my man. That’s a step too far.” She gently, for which he was thankful, shoved his leg off her lap and dragged his hover chair over from its spot beside Virgil’s piano.

“Get the hell in, hoppy, we’re going for a ride.”

-x-

"You deal with him, he's driving me nuts and pissing me off at the same time."

"Me? I'm the very picture of perfection, I could never drive anyone nuts."

John declined to comment on that one for fear of never stopping, he had twenty-four years worth of stories after all. 

“The pissing you off is subjective too,” Gordon finished triumphantly. 

"He's your problem now," Selene announced, shoving Gordon's hover chair further into the room before making her escape, slamming the door shut behind her. 

John closed his eyes, praying for patience. His fiancée was well known for her legendary patience when it came to pampering and mothering his family whenever any of them were sick or injured. She'd spent almost every day with Gordon since his run in with the Chaos Crew and had done so with relentless cheer, for her to have given up now was not a good sign. 

"What did you do?" 

"Nothing!" Gordon protested hotly.

"Are you sure?" 

Gordon averted his gaze, suddenly taking great interest in a dust particle dancing across the shaft of sunlight filtering in through the window, "Yes, I'm sure. I wasn't doing anything. That was part of the problem."

"Ah," there it was. "Is there anything I can do to help?" 

"I'm so bored," Gordon wailed. "And your girlfriend is being mean to me."

"Fiancée," John corrected him, not looking up from his work. 

"It's not my fault I hate sitting around doing nothing all day. I’ve gone from a physically and mentally intensive, fifty plus hour a week job, to sitting on my ass from dawn until dusk. Can you blame a guy for getting twitchy?"

"Unfortunately, you don't have much of a choice at the moment," John reminded him, quite needlessly he thought. 

"Gee, thanks for the reminder," Gordon huffed, trying to cross his arms although the cast and sling he was sporting prevented it. That just seemed to annoy him even more. 

"I can't do anything right now! How do you do it?" 

"Do what?" John asked, squinting through his magnifier at the small window frame he was carving from a piece of polymer clay. 

"Just sit around all day."

John raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "I don't sit around all day."

"OK, float around then. It's not like you're actively running around like the rest of us are."

"I'll pretend I never heard you say that," John scowled, wishing Selene had dumped his brother into the sea instead of into his quiet, peaceful room. 

"You're sitting around right now," Gordon pointed out, gesturing to the desk John was  sitting at, which was currently doing double duty as a work table for his latest project. 

"One day you'll learn to appreciate the benefits of a quiet, occupied mind and a still body," John told him. 

Gordon sighed, propping his good elbow on the desktop, his chin resting in his upturned palm as he watched his brother fiddling with tiny things that seemed utterly useless to him. 

"What are you even doing?" 

"Working on a series of book nooks for Sel's side of the bookcase," John answered, sounding slightly distracted as he measured the finished window against its place in an intricately carved brick wall. 

"Why?" 

"Because she likes them."

"I mean why are you making it? Can't you just buy her one? It's not like you can't afford it."

"Where's the challenge in that? Besides, things are always more special when you make them yourself."

Gordon yawned and leant forward to rest his head on the tabletop. 

"Do you want to help?" John offered, although honestly Gordon's version of helping was always patchy at best. 

Gordon scooted closer to look over John's shoulder, eyes darting over the rectangular box that he was building the nook inside. About the size of two thick books sandwiched together, the nook already had a little cobbled street and two shop fronts in place. The tabletop was scattered with a selection of impossibly tiny screwdrivers, picks, scalpels and other instruments of possible torture that he couldn't hope to name. 

"Pass," he announced decisively, flicking the control of his hoverchair so he spun in a wide circle, pointing to the door. "I'm out."

"Peace at last," John sighed, flicking his magnifier back into place over his right eye as he set aside the window to be baked later and reached for a fresh blob of clay. 

-x-

"What ya dooooooing?" Gordon yodelled, slamming the bedroom door open so hard that it smacked into the wall and shook several picture frames. He scooted his way into the room without even waiting for an invite. 

"Gordon!" John huffed, clutching his heart where it was trying to leap out of his chest from the shock of his brother’s sudden, and very noisy, entrance. 

"Hi, I got bored, thought I'd drop in on my favourite big brother," Gordon grinned as he glided his hoverchair closer. 

"Are Scott and Virgil busy?" John asked, that would be the only reason Gordon would have promoted him to his favourite. 

"Yes," Gordon admitted, "but that's not the reason why I'm here."

John turned his head to shoot him a raised eyebrow of doom, clearly communicating without words that he didn't believe him in the slightest. 

"So, what are you doing?" 

"Working on this book nook," John replied patiently, holding up the small cauldron he was crafting. 

"The same one?" 

"Yes."

Gordon’s eyes nearly fell out of his head, "Still? It’s been four days!"

"Yes," John hissed out, starting to get frustrated by the constant questions. 

"Why?" 

"Because it takes a long time. If you're going to do a project you should do it right."

"At the speed you're going it's gonna take forever," Gordon snorted, casting an assessing eye over the work John had already done. 

"That doesn't matter," John assured him. "It's not really about the time it takes or the end result, it's about the process, the journey to get there."

"Sounds lame to me," Gordon yawned. 

"Obviously," John drawled, rolling his eyes. 

"What do you mean by that?" Gordon demanded to know, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. 

"Because it's you."

"Hey! Rude."

"Accurate," John said, placing the little cauldron down and selecting another piece of clay which he placed on a ceramic tile. 

"Why?"

"Because it requires a calm mind. It's good to slow down sometimes and just be still."

"Says the console jockey." 

Console Jockey? He did not just say that!

"So you don't think my job is stressful? Or as tiring and important as yours?" John snapped, wondering if it was bad form to smack your injured brother around the head with a partially constructed book nook. He glanced at the nook, he had put a lot of work into it… It would be a shame to waste it. That thought alone saved Gordon. 

“Well, yeah I get that it might be a bit stressful, but it’s not like you have to do much that puts you in danger, not like us,” Gordon continued, digging his hole even deeper, a hole that John was looking forward to shoving him into.

“We all have our specialities, you couldn’t do your job without me doing mine,” John retorted, trying very hard not to let Gordon’s comments get to him. Gordon would never understand what it was like for him to be stuck so far away from the action, away from his brothers when things were going wrong. 

Gordon, thankfully for him, had been unconscious from the moment he had activated his emergency code. He hadn’t heard the frantic calls going out over the comms as the family mobilized to help him.  He hadn’t heard the desperate scramble as Thunderbirds took off, racing to the scene. But John had heard it all. 

John had been the one to stay on the line with Gordon, talking to him the entire time, knowing that he probably wouldn’t hear it but feeling that he needed to say it all the same. He wanted to know that if his little brother regained consciousness for even a second he would hear a familiar voice, that he would know that they were coming, that they would rescue him. He would know that he wasn’t alone.

 He knew what it was like for people that were in danger, knew the comfort they got from someone talking to them, listening to their stories, being there for them verbally if not physically. John was often the one that spent the most amount of time with those they rescued, keeping their spirits up as much as possible until his brothers got there. 

His brothers were seen by their rescuees as the real heroes, the ones that leapt in and plucked them out of danger, but John was the one that got them that help, the one that made sure the rescue played out as best it could, liaising and coordinating until the job was done. But Virgil, Scott, Gordon and Alan were the ones that got the thanks , the ones that got the hugs after they dropped their charges off, not John. 

Not that he minded too much, he knew that his job was just as important as theirs, maybe even more so because, when someone put out that call for help, when they sent their desperate plea out into the world, they deserved to know that someone would always be listening out for it, that someone would hear and that help would come.

He knew all of this, and he knew that Gordon did too, it was just the frustration of inactivity that was making him say the things that he was. John just wished that that knowledge made it easier to listen to. 

“I might not be doing the physical rescuing,” John continued, feeling the need to push his point home. “But I work just as hard, when you’re home you’re off duty until a call comes in, you can relax, swim, watch movies and laze around until you’re needed. When I’m up there I’m on duty 24/7 and even when I do manage to catch some sleep it’s not deep or particularly restful. Any little noise, any call that triggers the system's keyword algorithm gets transferred automatically, I have to go from asleep to awake in seconds to take it.”

Gordon was quiet for once, watching him closely. John didn’t like it, it made him feel like an exhibit in a zoo. And here we have the little seen Tracy, see how he stays inside his hide and hardly ever ventures out… he knew how they saw him, why they likely thought he had the easy job. 

“These help, they give me something else to focus on. I need to keep my mind active and challenged while still trying to relax.” John paused, trying to think of a way to explain his thinking that Gordon might understand. 

“These are almost like a meditation,” he started. Gordon understood meditation and finding your zone. “Creating something out of almost nothing. It keeps my mind focused, helps with finger dexterity and hand eye coordination with the added bonus of it relaxing me. It’s good to slow down and take some time to do something creative, you should try it some time.” 

Gordon listened to his brother and he tried to take in all his words, he tried to understand the meaning behind them, he really did, but it just didn’t make any sense to him. He understood about wanting to be lazy, to sit around and do nothing sometimes. He loved to laze on the couch with his snackies and an Into the Unknown marathon playing out on the holoscreen, but that was watching something exciting, interesting, to him that was relaxing. This...whatever it was that John was actually doing, made no sense whatsoever to him. The idea of trying to relax by actually thinking...that was the most alien concept of all. 

Gordon knew, probably better than his family gave him credit for, what it was like to be mislabelled. Within every sibling pool, there were the mandatory roles: the serious one, the caring one, the smart one, the funny one, the calm one, the angry one, the one who sang in the shower, et cetera. He’d proudly embraced the role of ‘the funny one’, and had diligently flown the flag for the humour camp for as long as he could remember. If a brother came home from a rescue in a slump and needed a cheery pick-me-up, it was Gordon who stepped up to the task, irrespective of his own mood. His smile and laugh were infectious, and he had yet to encounter a frown he couldn’t (eventually) turn upside down.

But with every ‘role’ came misconceptions. Scott was serious, therefore people were quick to automatically assume that he was a killjoy.  Similarly, John’s intellect and preference for solitude often went hand in hand with him being branded antisocial, since there was apparently no possible way someone could enjoy their own company so much, yet still pursue and maintain meaningful relationships with actual people.

Gordon was no stranger to this treatment. He liked to laugh and be spontaneous, and consequently, was often regarded as the Tracy who didn’t take his work seriously, the Tracy who had the attention span of a gnat (albeit a very handsome one), and the Tracy who couldn’t be trusted with anything that required delicacy, be it physical or emotional. His affinity for making people laugh, though an exceptional quality, frequently acted as a double-edged sword. On the one hand, his relentless optimism made him the most effective of the bunch when it came to emergencies involving children and young adults. On the other hand, it sentenced him to a fate where the bad jokes he cracked would always be two steps ahead of the secret deep thinker that lay within.

“Let me see it again,” Gordon sighed, trying his best to be a supportive and understanding brother, since he did feel a little bad about the things he had just said. He hadn’t meant to say them, they had just come out. That was the trouble with being laid up from an injury, not only were you out of action but you were in pain, and pain made you grumpy and less likely to monitor the things that came out of your mouth the way you should.

He knew that John worked hard, hell he knew that what his brother had said was right, John was never truly off duty. They were all aware that he didn’t get enough sleep, enough down time, enough time to relax and just be. They knew that if John was on Five he would consider himself on duty, at work, and therefore he’d never allow himself to take time out. Things had changed since Selene had blundered her way into his life, now he spent a lot more time on the Island, which meant that he was finally taking some time out for himself. If one of the ways he chose to do that was by crafting ridiculously tiny things out of clay to stick in a hollowed out box that was his business. Gordon wasn’t there to judge, he was there to spend time with his brother.

John moved aside a little so Gordon could get a closer look, trying to resist the urge to smack his hand away every time Gordon reached for a tiny piece that had taken him hours to perfect. 

“These are really small,” Gordon mused, poking at a window that John had just finished painting, leaving behind a smudged fingerprint. “Woops, sorry, Bro.”

“Maybe you should try making something of your own,“ John suggested, carefully removing the window from his brother's possession and picking up a brush in order to attempt a fix.

Gordon nodded and John passed him a ceramic tile and a miniature rolling pin. 

“How about you try cutting me out a few shop sign bases?” John suggested.

“Do I get one of those scalpel things?” Gordon asked, a little too eagerly for John’s liking.

“Maybe we can work up to that,” John hedged, subtly moving the scalpel out of his brother’s reach and passing him a square cookie cutter. “Use this cutter for now.”

Gordon shrugged and spent a few minutes rolling and squishing the clay trying to get the thickness to the exact measurement that John insisted on. It wasn’t easy or fun.

“Nope!” Gordon announced, giving up and pushing the tile away. “It’s still boring. Pass.”

He swung his hoverchair around and headed in the direction of the door. “Later, Bro.”

“Oh...OK...later, I guess,” John stuttered, wondering just what he had done to deserve such a chaotic family as his.

“Oh, hey, boo, where are you go- WAHH!”

John’s head shot up as Selene’s yelp rang out from the hallway.

“Sorry!” 

“So you should be, you little shit,” she grumbled to his retreating back as she thumped into the room.

“What happened, love?”

“Let’s just say that if his chair had wheels I’d have lost a few toes,” she said, wincing in imagined pain. 

John scooted his desk chair back and patted his lap in offer, one that she happily accepted.

“So, why was Gordy doing his boy racer bit? What did you say to him?”

“Me? What makes you think I said anything to him?”

“Because I know you two?” 

“Fair,” he sighed, sliding his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. “I don’t know what to do to help him.”

Selene turned her head to look at him, not liking the helpless look on his face.

“Babe, you are helping him, you’re there to keep him company or talk to him if he needs it, that’s more important than anything. What happened to make you think that you weren’t helping?”

“He was asking me about these again,” John nodded towards his work area on the desktop. “But he didn’t seem to understand, that or he just didn’t want to.”

“He’s Gordon,” she sighed. “You know what he’s like, he’s full on, he’s in your face and he’s not at all subtle. Taking his time with things just doesn’t compute with him.”

“It would do him good though, if he doesn’t learn to embrace it he’ll be exactly the same as he was last time.”

“Was he really that bad?” she asked, concern lacing her voice. 

John nodded. “He doesn’t do inactivity well. When he had his hydrofoil accident his therapist talked him into signing up for a virtual college degree in Environmental Management of Rivers and Wetlands. It was supposed to take him at least a year as a part time course with ANU in Canberra, but he blew through it in the first semester and earned himself a distinction for his insights on the impact of Anthropogenic Noise on Wetland Habitats. His professor was so impressed he offered him a fully funded PhD, citing his time with WASP and the time he spent in the bathyscaphe as practical experience that would make up for his lack of degree. Obviously he turned it down, but he still likes to rub our faces in it now and then.”

“Wow,” Selene breathed. “Forget his professor being impressed, I’m impressed.”

“He has a phenomenal brain,” John said, a small but very proud smile on his face. “When he actually decides to use it to its full potential, that is. There is nothing he can't do when he chooses to focus on something, he’s all in. It really helped him to feel like he was gaining something and moving forward even though he was sitting still.”

Selene nodded, understanding completely. She knew that all of her boys were wicked smart, but Gordon always presented himself as the least academic. He was more of a doer, wanting to be out in the field, learning as he went, diving in head first to every situation. 

But as Selene and John both knew, appearances could be deceiving.

“If that’s what helped him last time, then we need to find a way to convince him to try something new,” Selene insisted. 

“I tried, he’s not interested.”

“That was with your things, babe. We need to find something that’s a little more him, and I think I know just the thing.”

-x-

“I have arrived!” Gordon yodelled, announcing his entrance in his own unique way. He slid his hover chair in through the open door like the boss that he was, bringing his shining presence in to brighten up his middle brother's obviously dull existence. “Didja miss me?”

“Like a hole in the head,” John grumbled, turning to look at the grinning face of his brother. His eyes immediately began to water as they were assaulted by the far too bright colours of the shirt Gordon was wearing, a tie dyed monstrosity that Selene had made for him for his birthday. 

“A little more gratitude, if you please," Gordon huffed. 

“Grandma finally released you?”

“Yep,” Gordon stretched out his injured leg and patted the air cast on his now slingless arm. “Got time off for good behaviour.”

“I find that hard to believe,” John teased, then nodded to Gordon’s arm. “How’s it feeling?”

“Not too bad, my grip still isn't great but Grandma promised me that once the bone has finished knitting I’ll just need to exercise it and build the muscle strength up, then it’ll be as good as new.”

“That’s great, it won't be long before you're able to go back out with Virgil and stop, how did Sel put it, 'haunting the house like the ghost of Christmas future'?"

"Can't come soon enough," Gordon sighed, butting his chair right up close to John's, knocking his arm in the process. "What you do- you're still doing that? Still? It's been a week!" 

"It's not like I get a huge amount of down time," John pointed out. "I'm only here now because Sel said she'd dump me if I didn't make an effort to come down earlier in the evenings so I could actually eat a meal with you all."

"You actually believed that threat?" Gordon laughed. 

"Of course not, she'd never dump me, but I thought I had better humour her and let her feel like she at least had a little sway," John shrugged, pushing aside the little piece of doorstep he had been painting. "Honestly, it's nice to come down for a meal and family time, I hadn't realised how much I'd missed it until it was happening again."

"I guess we all got a bit too caught up in International Rescue after we lost Dad," Gordon admitted. 

"Like we had nothing else in our lives," John nodded, completely understanding. 

"Yep."

Gordon fell silent and John let him, concentrating on mixing the perfect colour acrylic to add a few highlights to his stones. 

"Can I have a go at making something? I bet I could do it quicker than you," Gordon asked, reaching towards what Selene called the sharps tub. John smacked the lid down on it just in time. 

"Actually, we got you a present."

"You did?" Instantly distracted, Gordon sat up straighter, excited by the prospect of a gift. "What did you get me?" 

This," John answered, opening his desk drawer and extracting an interestingly shaped bottle, upright with a thicker, rounded bottom and a thinner neck, ending a cork stopper. 

"Wow, is that an original?" Gordon asked, taking the bottle carefully and turning it to  study it from all angles. He knew exactly what this shaped bottle was, there had been a collection of them in Commander Shore’s office that he would stare at every time he got called in for some reprimand or another.

"19th century," John nodded. "Sel found it in a little shop in Mayfair. They assured her it was a genuine, used on a ship, captain's decanter from around the time of the civil war. They hadn’t fully traced it when Sel bought it but they think it came from one of the ships that fought in one of the smaller skirmishes around 1861.”

“This is really cool, thanks,” Gordon smiled, still turning the bottle over and over.

“It’s to hold this,” John continued, drawing Gordon’s attention back to him.

Grinning, John delved back into his desk drawer and pulled out a rather faded and quite dusty box. He brushed the dirt off the top and slid it over to Gordon. 

"A ship?" Gordon frowned. 

"Yep, Selene and I thought that you needed a little project of your own, so she had the idea to get you a ship in a bottle. You don’t see them a lot these days, but apparently her Grandfather had a couple and they always fascinated her.”

“So you put the ship in the bottle?”

“Yep, instructions are inside, go nuts.”

“Pfft, instructions,” Gordon snorted. “No one needs instructions, they’re a waste of time.”

-x-

“Ouch,” John hissed, hopping in place on one foot as he bent down to pick up what looked to be a tiny piece of mast that had attacked the sole of his foot. “Gordon, why are there bits of ship all over my floor?”

“Because I dropped them,” Gordon replied, his voice muffled due to the tongue of concentration that was peeking out from between his teeth.

Huffing, John gathered all the pieces off the floor, both pieces of ship and bits that they had been cut out of, and deposited them on the desk next to Gordon.

“How’s it coming along?” John asked, settling in his own chair. He’d only been gone a day but Gordon had managed to take over the entire bedroom, spreading his belongings, bottles, snack wrappers, his phone and a discarded hoodie, all over the place, as well as half the contents of the vintage ship box.

“It’s ridiculous. I think it’s missing pieces or something, it’s broken.”

“Well it was an old kit, but we were assured that it was complete,” John frowned, sliding the tray over that Gordon was supposed to be storing all the pieces in. “Have you checked the contents list and matched each piece to make sure they’re all there?”

Gordon looked at him blankly, like he was talking a foreign language.

“Did you check that everything was there before you started?" John elaborated.

“Of course I did,” Gordon promised, crossing his fingers and hoping his brother didn’t see. 

“Against the list?” John clarified.

“I eyeballed it, OK?”

“Not good enough,” John insisted. “That’s not how you go about doing things like this, you can’t just slap them together and hope for the best.”

“Why not?” Gordon whined. It worked for him in almost everything else he did in life. 

“Because this happens," John gestured to the mess surrounding them.

“Fine, I’ll read the damn instructions.”

Leaving Gordon to it John slid his almost completed book nook over and picked up his paintbrush to start adding some finishing touches before he started on the wiring for the lights. He’d barely done more than five minutes when Gordon started huffing.

John waited a little longer, trying his hardest to ignore the ever increasing sounds of frustration and impatience from his brother. In the end he couldn't stand it a moment longer, he had to ask the most loaded question ever.

“What’s the problem?” John asked, pushing his own work aside.

“These instructions don’t make sense,” Gordon bitched, flapping the paper in John’s face. “Look at the little picture here, you have to stick this little pole into that hole in the deck but the deck doesn’t want to stay together and that piece there keeps sliding and the pictures make no sense.”

“That’s because you missed around eight steps in between,” John told him, praying for patience. 

“No I didn't, I followed the pictures exactly,” Gordon insisted. 

“The steps aren’t in the pictures,” John explained. “See right there?” he pointed to the words above the pictures. “The pictures are a diagram of each finished stage, not how to get there. They are for reference only, not instructions.”

“Urghhh, this is going to take forever,” Gordon pouted, crossing his arms. “What’s the point?”

“The point is that by the end of it you’ll have something unique that no one else does, something you can be proud of and know that you built with your own two hands.”

“I’m not sure it’s worth the effort,” Gordon muttered.

“It is,” John promised. “I’ll help. How about I read out the instructions and you follow along? We’ll get through it quicker that way.”

Gordon wasn’t convinced, but John looked so hopeful that he didn’t have the heart to refuse him, especially since he and Selene had gone to so much trouble to get the things for him in the first place. He might be a miserable little sod, but he wasn’t that ungrateful. He knew that they had gone out of their way to get something they thought he’d like, the least he could do was make the thing, even if he knew he wouldn’t enjoy it. Maybe John was right, working together they could get through it quicker, and that could only be a good thing.

“Alright,” Gordon agreed, “let’s give it a go.”

Slowly, methodically, John read out each piece that was needed and Gordon located them, storing them neatly in a wooden box that Selene provided when she popped in to bring them drinks an hour or so later. She stayed just long enough to steal a kiss from John and drop one on the top of Gordon’s head before she beat a hasty retreat, not wanting to get roped into helping. She wasn’t the best at following instructions and didn’t want to get grumped at.

By the time they had all the pieces checked and catalogued they had discovered there were indeed two pieces missing, but thankfully they were easy fixes, just a small , round piece of wood to represent a porthole, which they could easily make a replacement for and a piece of mast. One snipped toothpick later and that was sorted too.

John started with the first set of instructions, reading them out patiently as Gordon found and fitted them together. 

“So, how’s work been?” Gordon asked, like a chatty hairstylist, as he carefully dipped the end of a thin dowel into a small pot of wood glue. 

“Same as ever,” John deadpanned, “a bunch of idiots that got themselves into trouble and needed help, and only half of them related to us.”

Gordon sniggered, glancing at John, seeing the sly smile on his brother’s face. He’d forgotten just how amusing John could be when he delivered something sarcastically witty with such a serious tone. Gordon hadn’t realised how much he’d missed it, wondering just what his more serious brother would come out with next. John was always like that, he seemed so quiet and reserved but, when he was relaxed and in company he was comfortable with he’d take you by surprise by letting loose a zinger that you couldn’t help but laugh at.

“Let’s not talk about work,” Gordon suggested, “we haven’t hung out properly in ages, you’re either up in Five or there are other people around.”

“Is that your way of saying you’ve missed me?” John teased.

“Maybe,” Gordon allowed, “but if you ever tell anyone I said that I’ll deny it and tell Grandma you want her to make your birthday cake this year.”

John held his hands up in surrender, although he couldn’t hold in the laugh that bubbled up as he reached for the instructions again.

“OK, let’s get this done before we stop enjoying each other’s company.”

They worked slowly but steadily over the next few hours, putting together the structure for the first mast. Once it was done they called it quits and abandoned it for another day, the smell of something tasty coming from the kitchen proving to be too much to ignore.

-x-

 “Gordon, that’s my finger.”

“Oh, sorry, can you just like… I don’t know, yank it off?”

“If I wish to leave half my identifying fingerprints behind, yes.”

“Do you really need them?”

John didn’t dignify that with an answer, the look he threw at his brother communicated his thoughts perfectly. 

“OK, OK, I’ll get some dissolver from Virgil’s studio, wait right there,” Gordon instructed him, grabbing his crutches and hobbling his way out of the room. 

John sighed, keeping his hand perfectly still, the hull of the boat dangling from his fingertip. He was still there five minutes later when Gordon clumped his way back in, Selene hot on his heels. She had the glue dissolver under one arm, a large bag of chips under the other and a plate of sandwiches in each hand. 

She dumped the plates on the desk, then the chips, before turning to see the state her fiancé was in.

“Do I even want to know?” 

“Probably not,” Gordon winced, dropping down into his abandoned desk chair and reaching for a plate.

“Can you at least help me before you start stuffing your face?” John asked, waggling his hand, which made the boat sway violently from side to side.

“Can’t, eating,” Gordon mumbled around the massive mouthful he had just taken.

“What did I say?” she demanded to know. “No hurting the hands, you know how I feel about that.” 

John wiggled his fingers again, drawing her attention to his plight. He looked so pathetic with the half built little ship swinging from his hand that Selene took pity on him, intervening when he looked like he was about to grab the thing and yank it off himself, fingerprints be damned.

“Oh for the love of the Gods, let me do it!” Taking his hand she used a paintbrush to smear glue dissolver around the area of skin it was stuck to. She took her time, rewetting and using the brush bristles to push the dissolver under the boat, trying to  ease it free from his skin with minimal pulling.

“Thank you,” he sighed, sitting patiently while she worked. Thankfully it didn’t take her too long, although it took a lot of cursing under her breath and the odd ouch from him to get there. 

“One boat,” she announced, placing it triumphantly on the desk. 

“Fanks,” Gordon said, spraying chip crumbs as he did so.

“Welcome,” she said, brushing at her leg which had unfortunately been in splatter range. Still holding John’s hand she bestowed a kiss to each of his abused digits before releasing him. 

“Right, I’m out of here. Play nicely, you two, I don’t want to have to send Grandma in to babysit you both.”

“It won’t come to that,” John assured her, reaching for his own sandwich. “We’ve not got much left to do now. We just have to attach the rigging to the masts, check that they fold properly then insert th-”

“I’m out, I don’t need to hear anything about insertion, not after you just glued a boat to your hand,” Selene declared, her exit swift and to the point, the door shutting firmly behind her.

“She has a point,” Gordon admitted, swallowing his last bite. He pushed the chip bag in John’s direction, although there was barely more than a handful and a few crumbs left in it. 

“But we’ll never admit it to her face,” John insisted, steadily munching through the large sub she had brought for him. 

“Never,” Gordon agreed. 

-x- 

Gordon sighed dramatically as he crutched his way down the hall from his bedroom. John’s bedroom door was open but his brother wasn’t inside. The ship, now fully rigged, sat beside the bottle on the desk, just waiting to be placed inside once some sand had been poured in as a base. Gordon had chosen all different shades of blue to represent the sea and had even watched a few videos on how to do sand pouring art, something he’d never expected to find even remotely interesting, yet he couldn’t bring himself to go in and make a start on it.

John had barely been home the past week and when he had it had only been for food and enforced sleep. Even then he had been known to sneak out of bed the second Selene was asleep, being discovered on numerous occasions sitting at their father’s desk until the small hours working on this, that or the other. 

Emergencies, and therefore the need for their services, had seemed to increase three fold, something Selene was blaming on the moon phase and mercury going retrograde and, for want of a better explanation, they were all inclined to agree. There was no rhyme or reason for the surge in idiots that were calling in at all hours of the day and night with trucks caught under a too low bridge causing a pile up, hands stuck down toilets, drunks climbing to the top of electricity pylons and repair men getting trapped inside ATM machines they had been fixing.

His brothers had been on the go near constantly, whether it was from rescue call outs or working on their plan to find their father,  but none more so than John. While Selene had always been good at what she liked to call Tracy Wrangling, none more so that when she was dealing with a stressed out Scott, even she had admitted defeat and left them to their own devices. Self preservation was key after all. 

John had been dealing with not only rescue calls and Chaos Crew sightings, but signal tracking, GDF liaising and general hoop jumping, all of which had kept him far too busy.

It had been over a week since they had done anything to their project and Gordon was feeling the loss. Not so much of the project, although that really had helped with his frustrations at his lack of physical ability, not that he would ever admit that to John, but in spending time with his brother.

Much to his surprise he’d found that he was reluctant to work on it alone, it had become their thing to do together. It was a time where they would hang out, shoot the shit, reminisce about childhood memories, times that they had spent together talking about their hope for the future where they would find their father alive and bring him home.

Both of them knew that it wouldn’t be easy, that if they did manage to find him there would be no telling what physical or mental state he would be in. Gordon knew from experience just how tough physical injury, limitations, and recovery could be on the mind and the body,  especially in someone who had been as active and viril as Jeff Tracy. 

They all knew, although no one seemed to want to talk about it, that as hard as it was going to be to actually locate him and hopefully bring him home, that would only be the beginning of what could potentially be an incredibly long and difficult journey of rehabilitation and reintegration into the family and the world as a whole. 

John had been right, taking some time to be quiet, to slow down and think while keeping your mind and hands busy really was a productive way to spend your rest hours and, stupid as it sounded, Gordon didn’t really want that to end. 

He was only a week or two away from potential cast removal and a return to physical activities like his beloved swimming and strength training in their home gym and, while he couldn’t wait to get back to it, he knew he’d feel the loss of his enforced quiet time. 

He glanced again at the abandoned ship on the desk and turned away, clumping down the hall towards the stairs. So it would take them a little longer to get it finished, Gordon was fine with that because for once he wasn’t feeling the need to rush.

-x-

“Remember to pour it slowly,” Gordon instructed as he held the funnel in place, its long pipe reaching right down into the bottom of the jar. “Start with the darkest one, that’s going to be our base colour.”

“I’ve got it,” John assured him, selecting the tub of midnight blue sand and scooping some out into a smaller pot to make things easier. At Gordon’s nod he began to slowly and steadily pour the sand into the open neck of the funnel. As he watched Gordon expertly directed the tube, allowing the sand to pour out to pool in the bottom of the bottle.

At Gordon’s signal John stopped pouring and waited while Gordon carefully removed the tube and used a long metal skewer to poke and prod the sand into something that looked vaguely like waves.

“The next colour up,” Gordon requested and John did as he was asked. They repeated the process four more times with different shades of blue, John pouring in a little at a time, Gordon directing the tube to deposit  more in one place than others, mimicking the movement of sea waves as best they could. In between each layer Gordon used the skewer to poke and mix the colours here and there, blending the layers into a smoother transition.

“That’ll do,” Gordon said confidently, twisting the bottle so John could see the full effect. 

John had to admit that he had been pleasantly surprised when Gordon had announced that he had ordered some coloured sand and looked up how to do sand art on the internet. He hadn’t really known what to expect, although he would admit, if only to himself, that he had thought that Gordon would be a little heavy handed and impatient, but once again he had proved him wrong. He really had done his research and the result was a beautiful mix of colours that really did give a perfect impression of a gently moving sea.

“That’s looking great.”

“I know,” Gordon grinned, modest as always. “Where’s that resin gone?”

“Here,” John answered, pushing it across the desk towards his brother. “Make sure you read the instructions and measure the amounts accurately or it won’t set and you’ll ruin the sand and the bottle.”

“Yeah, yeah I got this,” Gordon assured him as he did indeed read the instructions through properly. Once he had familiarised himself with the ratio of resin to hardener, he measured carefully and poured them into a mixing jug. Once it was fully mixed he slowly, gently, poured the mixture a little at a time into the bottle on top of the sand. With each little pour he waited for the resin to trickle down between the grains, slowly adding to it until all the sand was covered. 

“And now we wait,” John said, carefully placing the bottle in the patch of bright sunlight coming in through the window. 

“Wanna watch a movie?” Gordon offered casually, not really expecting his brother to agree. John hardly ever watched anything with just him, they had vastly different tastes in movies and John usually made some polite excuse to escape.

“Sure, sounds good.”

“Really?” Gordon goggled, his eyes almost falling out of his head. “You don’t have anything more important to do?”

“More important than watching a movie with my little brother? I don’t think so,” John grinned, retrieving Gordon’s crutches from where they were leaning against his bookshelf and tossing them to him one by one. “Come on, last one to the lounge picks the movie.”

“Hey, no fair!” Gordon yelled, scrambling to his feet as he fumbled with his crutches. “You’ve got legs like a giraffe and neither of them are broken!”

“Sucks to be you,” John tossed over his shoulder as he took off down the hall to victory.

-x-

“Careful,” John warned.

“I am being careful,” Gordon snapped. “I got this.”

“Your hand’s shaking.”

“Thanks for that, Captain Obvious.” He steadied his, only slightly shaky, hand by propping his elbow on the desk for stability. “OK, let’s do this.”

They both held their breath as Gordon maneuvered the body of the boat through the opening in the bottle, making sure each sail stayed carefully folded down and the strings remained untangled before he fed it down the neck and into the bottle.

“Phase one, complete,” John intoned in such a serious voice that Gordon couldn’t help the laugh that he snorted out.

“Pass me those long nosed tweezers?” Gordon asked, holding out a hand.

John slapped the requested instrument into his brother's hand like a nurse in an operating theater, provoking another burst of laughter.

“Thanks.” 

“Welcome.”

Making sure the strings of the sails were still dangling outside of the bottle, Gordon carefully moved the body of the boat further down into the bottle with the metal skewer until the stern touched the top of the resin and sand layer. 

“Now the sails,” Gordon whispered, hardly daring to breathe as John moved in to help, taking over the holding of the strings while Gordon reached in with the tweezers.

Gently, working together, they started the delicate process of tugging gently on each string, unfolding the paper sails and locking them in place.

“String one.”

“Got it. Watch number four sail.”

“Yep, thanks...OK… can you just give string five a little pull? Perfect.”

“Sail three is flopping!”

“Gah, hang on, just got to tighten that...yep that’s got it.”

“Maybe if I gather…”

“Yep, that’s good, do that again.”

“This next bit is going to require a delicate touch, maybe I should-”

“Hey! I can be delicate!”

“It’s not coming up...back sail two is stuck, release it...careful!”

“There, saved it.”

John gently pulled the strings a little more and there it was, their ship, sails proudly upright and everything. He kept hold of the strings, while Gordon held on to the boat with the tweezers as they carefully lifted the bottle from its side to its proper upright position.

Using the skewer John maneuvered around Gordon’s hand and nudged the boat into a better position before he carefully released the strings. They both held their breath, hoping and praying that the sails wouldn't collapse the second the strings fell. 

The boat, with its sails, stayed strong.

“Yes!” Gordon cheered, holding up his free hand for a high five, grinning when his brother’s palm smacked against his own.

“Scalpel,” Gordon joked as John handed it to him so they could lop off a little of the trailing strings. Then, using the skewer, they arranged the strings around the edges of the boat. 

With the boat finally upright and in place, they added another layer of light blue coloured sand with a sprinkling of white to mimic the tips of the waves. They finished it off by pouring in a little more resin, both to set the sand and hold the boat in place, using the tweezers to make sure it was correctly positioned.

“Phew,” Gordon breathed, leaning back in his chair and stretching out his cast covered leg. “We did it. Go team.”

“We did,” John smiled. “And it looks damn good.”

“It really does,” Gordon agreed, shifting his head to look at the bottle from all angles. 

“Nothing left to do but let it dry and put the stopper in,” John said. “How do you feel now it’s done? Was it worth the time?”

“I still think we could have done it a lot faster if you’d just let me skip a few steps in the instructions and do it my way, but it wasn’t that bad,” Gordon admitted. “I’m oddly proud of it.”

“You should be, you did good,” John leant back in his chair, crossing his arms as he relaxed. “Are you going to stop teasing me about my book nooks now?”

“Pssh, no,” Gordon snorted. “Ships are cool, yours will always be boring.”

He didn’t see the bottle of water coming until it was too late.

-x-

Gordon walked straight to John’s room from the infirmary,  feeling oddly free without his crutches and casts. Six weeks was a long time, after all.

The bottle with its little ship sat exactly where they had left it in the center of John’s desk next to the abandoned book nook that was still not finished. It took him very little time to insert the cork stopper and pour a little of Selene’s spell bottle sealing wax around the top, a bright, cheery yellow wax that matched his beloved Thunderbird Four.

He smiled as he thought of his little craft, waiting down in her dock for him, ready to be taken out when the next call came in. It had been a long and frustrating time but finally, blessedly, that time was over.

He poked an experimental finger into the wax seal, checking that it had set properly. It had, and he couldn’t help feeling a little sad about it. It had been a project that at first he’d had very little interest in, but slowly it had turned into so much more. Not just something to wile away a few hours but a chance for him to reconnect with the brother he spent the least amount of time with. 

Years ago, back when he had been small, John had been his everything. When Alan had been too tiny to be of any use and Scott and Virgil had been too old to be bothered with him hanging around, it had been John that had been there for him. It was John that had patiently listened as he read aloud from his sealife books, who had watched movies with him, played with him, and spent the most amount of time with him. Back then, their three year age difference had seemed like so little but so much at the same time, an older brother that made him feel wanted and included when the other two saw him as an annoyance.

Gordon couldn’t quite put his finger on when things had changed, when they had slowly drifted apart. John had seemed to grow up so much faster than he had, Alan had welded himself to his side, looking up to Gordon as he had to John  and things had never been the same again. 

It had been too long since they had been able to just hang out, to laugh, to tease each other without things going too far and one of them getting annoyed. It had been nice and Gordon had realised that he didn’t want to go back to nothing but hollocalls to Five when an emergency came in or the odd family dinner and movie night where he had to share with the rest of the family. John was the only brother that Gordon didn’t spend one on one time with as standard and he realised that, no matter how much he might blame it on John being so far away, in reality it was as much his fault as John’s.

Gordon picked up the bottle, leaving a box in its place. The model kit of the Mercury Project space capsule and its launch pad had been hard to find even with his junker contacts. In fact, he had almost given up and  admitted defeat before he'd thought to look at the label on his ship box and sent the shop owner an email.

Smiling to himself, knowing that there was no way John would be able to resist that challenge, he took the finished bottle, with its little ship, to his room where it would take pride of place on his bookshelf, a constant reminder that even in the worst of times, positivity could still be found.

“Thanks, Bro.”

[phoenixtakaramono]

Does Bing gē Have Descendants in ‘The Untold Tale?’

This topic has come up a few times since The Untold Tale takes place in the PIDW universe (post-Bingge vs Bingmei extra), I figured I might as well compile and archive my official answer here for me to refer my AO3 readers to in the future for convenience’s sake. I hope everyone doesn’t mind. :) I’m always happy to answer questions!

TL;DR

Q: Will we see Bing gē having fathered children with his harem of 600 or so wives in TUT?

A: For TUT, the answer is a definite “no.” There were a lot of factors which’d contributed to my decision. I’ll try to explain my reasoning down below.

Context

In PIDW, it is canon that Luo Binghe has a bountiful number of descendants with his harem of 600-or-so wives. It is a detail that has been mentioned even in ch1 of SVSSS and in ep1 of the donghua.

(SVSSS Excerpt - ch1)

(SVSSS donghua - ep1)

I like to plan things ahead of time. So from very early on, I knew this would be something I would have to decide on whether or not to address when I’d finally decided to expand TUT from just a prologue into a full-blown story. And after contemplating it, I decided against adding children into the story. It is because 1) it would make the situation more complicated, and 2) it would take TUT in a different direction that wouldn’t be fun for me to write.

I’m a very decisive writer, meaning when I make my mind up about something, chances are I won’t change my mind. This is because I would have already planned it into my plot outline, which means changing a decision would require me to change other details in the other chapters I have planned for that story. (I’m typically not a spontaneous writer; I try not to write spontaneously because when you’re a writer who rotates through multiple WIPs with different characters across different genres or writing styles, you inevitably have writer’s block because you probably won’t remember all the ideas or the direction you had whenever you return back to a different WIP. To reduce this shortcoming, it helps me personally to have a plot outline. This way I can return to any WIP, read my notes and then transcribe them into legible paragraphs, find a way to transition between the story beats I have to hit for that chapter, and then eventually post the final draft to AO3 when I feel it’s ready.)

Having made a decision, I knew I had to set it up in TUT and give a “reasonable explanation in-story.” Hence, in ch2, we see:

(Excerpt I - ch2)

Basically the set-up is TUT takes place post-Bingge vs Bingmei, but between “the third or fourth book” of the hypothetical PIDW webnovel series aka before Airplane wrote the fanservicey chapters where the luckier of LBH’s wives give birth to children during the harem drama plots and the children are probably rarely, if ever, mentioned again in the story as a lot of stallion novels tend to do.

(Excerpt II - ch2)

(Excerpt III - ch2)

Contrarian Tendencies

You know the saying: Monkey see, monkey do? In my case, it’s monkey see, monkey do not do.

A little fun fact about me as a writer: if I have already seen a fanfic where someone has already written a concept or idea into their story, chances are I will just avoid it entirely in my own stories. I don’t know why this aversion exists, but I’m assuming it’s because of my counterculture hipster inclinations and an intrinsic fear of plagiarism which has been beaten into all of our skulls since adolescence. There’s nothing wrong with being inspired by other people’s works. Technically everything’s been done before in writing so, as a writer, a good rule of thumb is to always try to give it your own unique spin on things. So for me, my brain somehow interpreted this a step further. This is a reason why I try to avoid reading stories from whichever fandom my WIP is from during the writing process of updating a fic, because this is how I get influenced. Once I see an idea or interpretation from another fanfiction, it influences me to not want to write it into my own. This is a very strong unconscious impulse for me. I guess this is just the neurons in my brain’s thinking that this way, it won’t be something my readers will have read before and the story idea will come across as different or fresh, and mine. In a way this is also how I show respect for fanfiction writers in the same fandom—by being inspired to not be inspired, ha. I like to think every story in the world serves a niche audience, so seeing a diverse range of originality and interpretations in a fandom is a good thing. This is also how I feel when I am able to identify certain popular tropes or depictions or patterns in a fandom; 99% of the time, it makes me feel a compulsion to “go against the grain” or write the opposite. For example, you have no idea how long it took me to come around the idea of incorporating the fanon “A-Yuan” into TUT. However cute it is, the moment it dominated the fandom (well, “dominated” is an exaggeration; it’s more like I’ve seen enough, especially in the Original LBH/ SY | SQQ tag), my gut reaction was to nope out of using it. But after seeing a lot of comments in my inbox with readers affectionately calling SY “A-Yuan,” I’d contemplated it for a long time and it wasn’t until ch4 that I decisively decided that yes, I can have Bing gē calling SY “A-Yuan” in TUT—but it has to be at the right moment for maximum dramatic and emotional impact. (See this thread that started it all. And this is the small sneak peek I wrote where LBH will call SY that for the first time.) <- This is the rare 1% where I actually conformed to what’s popular.

In this case, when I finally decided to expand the prologue into a full-blown story, coincidentally I had just recently read a good Binggeyuan (Bingyuan) fanfic which featured a kidnapped Shen Yuan interacting with Bing gē’s harem and LBH’s children/descendants. I’d liked their portrayal and even thought the children were cute. <- However, with me having reading this, the problem came up: I felt the familiar stubbornness in me rearing its head. So knowing myself, if I had included children, it is very likely the direction that I would have gone down for TUT would have been the opposite. To further complicate matters, you have to keep in mind the kind of writer I am. I tend to like grounding stories with a semblance of realism, no matter if the genre is pseudohistorical fantasy, romance, sci-fi, etc. And this writer has seen and read quite a few harem and palace intrigue Chinese dramas/ premises.

For further context, in those types of “historical” C-dramas^, in that sort of environment which fosters scheming, competition, jealousy, etc, it is almost expected to see heirs aka children aka descendants harmed along with the women. Innocent parties are often victims in these sorts of cutthroat premises, to underscore the underlying message the show or novel wishes to present. (See Ruyi’s Royal Love in the Palace. See Yanxi Palace. See The Legend of Haolan. See Nirvana in Fire. See The Rebirth of the Malicious Empress of Military Lineage. Etc.) And me being me, this would be the direction I would take. Remember, while TUT is meant to emulate a legitimate danmei C-novel reading experience in a fantasy world, I do drop pseudohistorical and cultural Easter eggs into the story. So trust me when I say you would not like the direction TUT would have gone down in, had I made LBH have children with his harem. I mean, theoretically yes, we could’ve seen endearing children characters from me, but you would have also seen me addressing a lot of the baggage that comes with (see Comment III Excerpt down below).

The situation with dissolving Bing gē’s harem is already complicated enough. As his romance with Shen Yuan develops, I didn’t want to have an additional headache thinking about how to address the issue of LBH having children already. Divorces in a pseudohistorical context is already a heavy topic—even more so when it’s divorces with children in the mix. Naturally I will still have SY and LBH eventually discuss the matter of legitimate heirs since LBH will essentially become the Sacred Ruler of all Three Realms and it’s a traditional precedent for an emperor to bed his empress, noble consort, and imperial concubines until he has his heirs (plural, because the rate of mortality was high in ancient China). In TUT’s case, at that point in the story SY will remind LBH that he’s essentially an immortal sovereign so there isn’t any need for an heir unless he wishes to retire. Furthermore, he will inform LBH that he could set a new precedent since he’s already different from the other emperors from history (with him being of half-Heavenly Demon and half-human cultivator lineage); as long as LBH is fully aware of all perspectives of the situation, he doesn’t necessarily need to conform to all traditions if this is something he really feels strongly about. But this future conversation(s) is likely the extent of it.

But wait, you say, what about a certain someone who’s going to be transmigrated as an imperial crown prince? Isn’t he going to be in that sort of vicious upbringing? <- Yes. But that’s an entirely seperate matter. In a way, since I’ve decided Bing gē will not have had any children or descendants in TUT, with Airplane, this now presents an opportunity for me to show the consequences of being one of the many children of an emperor with a harem of women vying for one man’s attention—and the power struggle that’d ensue in this kind of environment. It’s an interesting What-If parallel, if you think about it.

AO3 Comments

Although these are just small excerpts from replies I’ve written before, it’s nice and orderly to just compile them here for everyone since these will be buried underneath all the comments as TUT updates:

(Comment I- ch3)

(Comment II- ch4)

(Comment III- ch4)

Because of seeing comments that have asked me for my thoughts on whether or not I will include LBH’s children, I’ve had so much fun seeing theories thrown around: from LBH’s blood parasites being able to control conception, to someone’s headcanon about LBH being a hybrid and all that entails scientifically (think: mules). I will say in TUT, it’s more the former since in PIDW he’s supposed to have descendants; we’re pretending Bing gē doesn’t have any yet (and now definitely won’t, especially after having heard SY’s “prophecy”) because he subconsciously does not want children due to certain fears, trauma, etc. And his Heavenly Demon’s “blood parasites” (blood manipulation) is a convenient story device to explain why no wife has gotten pregnant yet.

I hope this explanation makes sense! Mainly I just wanted to have this archived on tumblr so that I have this post to refer to moving forward.

On a side note: especially since ch4 had been posted, quite a few people have actually mentioned they’ve read my replies to other comments and/or I have seen different people having hopped onto other readers’ comment threads (for example, imagine my pleasant surprise when I saw a reader you lovely person, you helpfully jumping in to respond to another reader’s questions about TUT, and their answers were actually aligned with what I would’ve answered!), so it’s always such a thrill whenever I see this level of engagement happening. I can’t explain why, but seeing this happening is just so cute to me. It really makes this writer feel so warm and fuzzy inside!

[cooliogirl101]

Hello! TLM is my favourite Bleach fic of ALL TIME and I wanted to say thank you so much for writing it!!! I’ve obsessively gone through the TLM tags and AUs and I’m still impressed and amazed by how awesome (and terrifying) Sayuri is. I love your writing style and how you really flesh out all of your OCs :D anyway, after going through all the tags I realized I still don’t know how Sayuri and Tousen’s first meeting went and why it makes Sayuri so terrifying?? If you don’t plan to write it (1/2)

(2/2) Can you still tell us how it goes? Also, what was the original direction you planned to take TLM? It seems Sayuri goes along with Aizen’s plans but what end did you have in mind before you abandoned it, and how were you going to get there? No pressure to answer but it’d be awesome to know :) Again thank you for sharing your awesome writing!! I love all your AUs

~~

Thank you so much for sending me this message anon-- it really means a lot to me that even after all this time, people still remember and care about the characters I’ve created. 

To be honest, I didn’t have a firm direction in mind when I started writing TLM. I just saw all these stories with positive character development, where the person in question becomes a better person throughout the course of the story, and thought to myself, hmm, what if I wrote an SIOC story where the MC just...heads in the opposite direction. An SIOC that starts off, all things considered, as a reasonably kind, decent, empathetic person and evolves into someone who commits atrocities without blinking an eye, all in the name of love, loyalty, and keeping her little brother safe (that being said, I did imagine a few scenarios where Sayuri ends up on the side of the ‘good guys’-- see my black king au).

Regarding her obtaining Tousen’s loyalty...well the story there doesn’t start with Sayuri and Tousen, per se. It actually starts with Tousen’s unnamed friend (who I’m going to call Yui). 

Warnings: Psychological torture, suicide mention, manipulation

Yui, who saw Sayuri sitting by herself at lunch at the Academy (Sousuke was on a mission) and broke away from her group of friends just to keep her company. Yui, who loves drawing in a way Sayuri both misses and envies (for her, the act of drawing is forever tainted by the portraits of hundreds dead-- and no matter what people think of her, Sayuri has never delighted in death). Yui, who always keeps a bag of seeds on her to feed the crows that are a nuisance to everyone else. Yui, who seeks her out even after they both graduate and join different divisions. Yui, with her quiet kindness and soothing aura, like cool water on a feverish face. 

Yui, who spoke passionately about creating a better world, who believed so fiercely in the inherent goodness of people. Yui, who was murdered by the man she loved. 

Sayuri stares out the window, face as expressionless as always. Normally, the death of a high-ranking noble’s wife would have been news for weeks, if not months. The fact that Yui’s death has been hushed up, kept quiet to the point that only a select few outside the nobility even know about it, is as good as a confession. 

She glances down at her newest portrait, lips tightening for the briefest second. Then she leaves to find her brother. 

~~

Tousen Kaname learns of his only friend’s death nearly a month after it happens. He makes it as far as the gates to Central 46 (demanding answers, justice, revenge) before he finds himself wrestled to the ground, arms wrenched behind him to the point of dislocation, face shoved into the dirt. He can’t breathe, can’t smell anything except dirt and dust and his own blood, but he struggles anyway, screams his rage and grief into the air, cries murderer! for all to hear. 

“What are you doing? Stop,” a voice orders sharply, cold as frost. Kaname feels the guards around him freeze, even as the guard kneeling on his back shoves his face further into the dirt warningly.

“Aizen-sama,” one of the other guards says respectfully, almost reverently. “Don’t worry, we have the situation well under control. We were just about to escort the miscreant into a cell--”

“No need. I’ll take it from here,” the first voice says coolly. “Head back to your posts, you’re making a scene.” 

“Aizen-sama, please, there’s no need to trouble yourself--”

“I’ll decide for myself what troubles me, thank you,” she says shortly. The next thing Kaname knows, a gentle hand is helping him up and he lurches forward, clinging to it. 

“Please,” he says desperately. He doesn’t know who his savior is but judging by the respect-borderline-fear the guards had addressed her with, she had to be someone important. “Please, you have to-- my friend, she-- she’s dead, they killed her, and--please, you have to make them pay, you have to get justice for her, you hear me? She didn’t do anything, she was good and now she’s dead and-- and--”

“Calm down. Focus on me,” the voice-- Aizen-sama--orders, quiet but firm, as Kaname breaks off into a series of increasingly panicked breaths. He obeys, clinging to her voice and her hand like a lifeline, focusing on her aura-- like starlight, he can’t help but think. Cold and distant, but no less bright for it.

“Good,” Aizen-sama says quietly and Kaname feels his shoulders relax slightly. “Come with me. We’ll talk in private.”

It isn’t until Kaname finds himself sitting on an absurdly comfortable chair with a cup of tea in his hands, his wounds cleaned and bandaged, that his mysterious benefactor speaks up again.

“You’re Kaname, aren’t you?” She asks, causing him to stiffen. “Yui talked about you.” 

Kaname swallows, gripping his cup tightly. 

“You knew her?” He asks hoarsely. 

“I did,” she replies. Her tone is unchanged from before, still as emotionless as ever, and yet--

Yui had once told Kaname that he was the most perceptive person she knew. He reaches out with his own spiritual energy-- feels the tiniest ripple in a sea of composure that speaks of a grief that mirrors his own-- and he knows, without a doubt, that no matter how much she might pretend otherwise, Aizen-sama had cared for Yui. 

Which means that Kaname is no longer alone in his quest to find justice for his friend. He can’t deny the sheer, bone-crushing relief he feels at that. 

“Then please. Don’t let them get away with this,” he begs. “She deserved-- deserves better. She deserves justice.”

There’s a long pause. 

“A month,” Aizen-sama says finally. Kaname blinks.

“What?” He asks, confused.

“Give me a month,” she repeats. “Trust me, it won’t take longer than that.”

~~

This is what the rest of the world sees:

A week after his wife’s death, Fukushima Akito stops going to the social events and parties he’s known for. Those who are close to him say he hasn’t been sleeping well, that he’s lost his appetite, that he’s been drinking more.

“It’s understandable. His wife just passed,” people say. “He’s just grieving.”

Two weeks in, the heir to the Fukushima Clan starts talking to himself, shouting at things that aren’t there, crying for his deceased wife to leave him alone. He refuses to see anyone, even his closest friends. 

“He’ll come around. Give him time,” people say, a bit more worriedly this time. 

Behind closed doors, the servants whisper as well.

“Gone mad with guilt, I imagine,” one murmurs.

“Serves him right,” another says. “Lady Yui deserved better.”

Eighteen days after Fukushima Yui’s death, he starts complaining about bruises appearing on his skin that no one else can see. Twenty-one days after, Akito shatters a mirror with his bare hands, continuing to pummel the shards until his father and three cousins pull him away. Twenty-five days after, his screams wake the entire household-- his servants come running only to find him clawing at his neck.

“It-- it won’t come off,” he gasps. “The noose. It won’t come off!”

At twenty-nine days, he breaks down and begs for Yui’s forgiveness. 

Exactly thirty days after Lady Yui dies, his two best friends-- the heir of the Goto Clan and the heir of the Miyake Clan-- finally have enough and drag him out of the house.

“It’s not good for you, being cooped up in that house like that. No wonder you’ve been going crazy,” Miyake Kaede complains. 

“Look, we’re taking you out to have a good time and there’s nothing you can do to convince us otherwise,” Goto Dai adds.

And at first, it seems to work. Once he leaves his house, it’s like a weight has been lifted off Fukushima Akito’s shoulders-- he begins to relax, he laughs for the first time in weeks. Then at 4 p.m., he pulls out his zanpakuto and slaughters both of his closest friends without warning.

At 4:13 p.m., Fukushima Akito takes his own life.

(“That was unusually brutal of you,” Sousuke comments, looking down at the carnage from a nearby rooftop. Sayuri was many things-- ruthless, efficient, merciless-- but rarely cruel. 

“I suppose I was curious what it would take to destroy a person,” Sayuri says after a pause.

“And? Did you receive your answer?”

Sayuri hums.

“The thing is, Sousuke, if you want to hurt a man, you go after him. If you want to break him, you go after those he loves. But to shatter a man beyond repair...he has to tear down everything he loves himself,” she says slowly. “You saw Fukushima Akito’s face once he’d seen what he’d done, when the illusion fell away and he saw the bodies of his best friends in front of him-- there’s no coming back from that.”

“Did you predict that would happen? That he would end up killing himself?” Sousuke asks curiously.

“Does it matter?” Sayuri asks indifferently. “He was finished either way.”

Sousuke looks at her for a moment. There’s no joy on her face, no satisfaction or pride, simply the steadfast resoluteness of completing a job that wasn’t particularly enjoyable, but which had to be done.

“Sometimes,” he says slowly, “I think it was a good thing I ended up being the one with Kyouka Suigetsu as a zanpakuto, not you.”

He may have provided her the ability, but every single torment, every single nightmare Fukushima Akito suffered during the last month of his life? That had been all Sayuri. 

Sayuri smiles wryly.

“No, instead I ended up with Shiroi Seiun. Is that better or worse?” She asks.)

~~

One day later, Sayuri opens her front door to find Tousen Kaname standing outside her home. She’s mildly impressed, although not surprised, that he’s managed to track her down. 

“How did you do it? He demands in lieu of a greeting.

Sayuri pauses for a moment, then steps aside to let him in.

“I won’t insult you by pretending I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says. “Fukushima Akito is dead. Is that not what you wanted?”

Kaname swallows.

“You killed him,” he says, voice shaking. Sayuri doesn’t bother to deny it-- she may not have been the one to strike the final blow, but she walked Fukushima Akito to his grave. “I...I should report you.”

“Then do it,” she says calmly. “If you truly believe I did something wrong, turn me in. I certainly won’t stop you.”

Kaname hesitates, looking torn.

“You...you won’t?” He asks uncertainly.

Sayuri takes a step closer to him-- watches him stiffen, sees him fight with himself not to retreat-- and brings his hand up to her heart, where her spiritual energy pulses the brightest. 

“You’re a sensor, aren’t you?” She murmurs, leaning in so that her lips are by his ear. “You tell me. Am I lying to you right now?”

Kaname’s brow furrows as he focuses. Her spiritual energy is as calm as ever, no fluctuations or dips that might hint at a lie.

“Why?” He asks after a moment. “You say you won’t stop me if I choose to report you. Why?”

Sayuri studies him for a moment, the way he broadcasts his every emotion on his face for the world to see-- the naked vulnerability of someone who’d never learned to hide his expressions.

“Yui spoke of you, you know,” she says quietly. “The blind boy with the gentle heart, who shared her dream of creating a peaceful world. She trusted your judgement but more than that, she trusted that you would always do the right thing. I believed in Yui’s goodness and so I’ll believe in yours.” She lets his arm drop. “If you truly believe that what I did was wrong, that I shed unnecessary blood-- that what I did was unjust-- then by all means, turn me in to Central 46. Make me accept punishment. But if not...”

Kaname turns his head away.

“Was it really necessary to target his friends too?” He whispers.

Sayuri exhales.

“There were three main factors protecting Fukushima Akito. There was his own family, of course. However, although the Fukushima Clan is fairly powerful on its own, its true strength lies in its allies,” she states. “The Miyake Clan has two seats on Central 46. The Goto Clan has four. With those alliances in place, Fukushima Akito was untouchable. Now, however...” She tilts her head to the side. “By tomorrow, the entire Fukushima Clan will cease to exist. The Miyake and Goto Clans will make sure of that.”

She pauses.

“As for Miyake Kaede and Goto Dai...they chose to protect Fukushima Akito knowing full well what he was, what he’d done. They were not innocent.”

Kaname’s jaw clenches.

“Still, you...you could have gone through the courts, you could have--”

“And I would have gotten exactly as far as you did,” Sayuri interrupts sharply. “Spiritual power and political power are not the same, Kaname. I may have plenty of the former but in this world, the justice a person receives is decided by the latter. Yui died for no reason and the courts let her killer get away with it because his family was powerful, and he knew the right people. Me? I made sure those involved were punished for what they’d done,” she says, voice hardening. “For the crime of killing his wife, Fukushima Akito paid with his life. For the crime of betraying Fukushima Yui, a member of their family, the Fukushima Clan will be destroyed by their former allies. And for the crime of shielding a murderer, the Miyake and Goto Clans lost their heirs. Now tell me, is that not justice?”

Kaname swallows. He has no response to that. 

“One thing you’ll learn, Kaname, is that the system fails,” Sayuri says after a moment’s pause, the anger in her voice replaced by something softer, tired. A deep sadness that makes something in Kaname’s chest ache. “Things slip through the cracks and all too often, it’s the innocents, the Yui’s of this world that pay for it, while their abusers, aided by the courts, go free. And when that happens, you have a question to ask yourself-- whose side are you going to take?”

~~

“And you say I’m the manipulative one,” Sousuke’s voice comes from behind her, amused. “What do you call that then?”

“I didn’t lie to him,” Sayuri protests. 

“Never said you did.” He pauses. “That boy...he’s blind.”

“Yes, he is,” Sayuri agrees. “Observant of you to notice.”

Sousuke laughs quietly.

“Always thinking ahead, aren’t you?” He asks, a fond smile tugging at his lips. “You think he’s worth the effort?”

Sayuri pauses.

“I think he has potential. Might even become captain, someday,” she says. 

Sousuke’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Oh, really? Care to bet on it?” He asks slyly.

The corner of Sayuri’s mouth quirks up.

“Sure, I’ll take that bet.”

(Ironically, she caused herself to lose that bet.

“Oh sure, when Kaname achieves bankai but doesn’t want to be captain, everyone’s understanding about it. Me on the other hand, I’ve never released my bankai in my life, and yet when I ask to stay a lieutenant, I get Kyouraku shoving a captain’s haori in my direction and telling me to be at the captain’s meeting in 10 minutes. How is that fair?”

“No one believes that you haven’t attained bankai yet, Sayuri.”

“But it’s true.”

“It’s true that you’ve never released it, not that you haven’t attained it.”

“I would have thought you of all people would be on my side in this matter, Sousuke.”

“I prefer you as my equal, Sayuri, not my subordinate. I would have thought you, of all people, would know that by now.”)

[onceinabluehanguangjun]

just out of reach

Summary: for @mdzsnet​ Jin Zixuan birthday event, Jin Zixuan wakes up.

Pairings: Jin Ling & Jin Zixuan; Jin Ling & Wei Wuxian

Tags: post-canon, ambiguous resurrection

ao3

Jin Zixuan opened his eyes.

Gasping for breath, he tried to gather his surroundings. He’d been to many places in his lifetime and knew many landmarks, yet he saw nothing familiar. In fact, he was on a hill and all that was around him was tall grass. Nothing familiar, not really, but maybe it was northern Lanling from the color of the grass. Even he knew that was an improbable guess.

The last thing Jin Zixuan could remember was his wife cradling his head against her chest, fingers in his hair while he kept his breath in time with hers. He was meant to sleep after a long day of headaches and preparation. Wei Wuxian was meant to come to A-Ling’s one-month celebration in the morning and that would be the beginning of forcing his father into a corner: either step down easily or go down in a difficult way. He’d tried to talk him into changing and staying in power, but that wasn’t working and he wasn’t giving him an option.

And perhaps Jin Zixuan was dreaming because that would be the only logical cause for why he was here without his sword.

Jin Zixuan slowly pushed himself to his feet, feeling a bit dizzy and uneasy on his feet. He nearly rolled down the hill from the way he kept stumbling. Thankfully, he was spared that humility and he managed to find his footing by the time he got to the base of the hill.

The further he walked, the less he felt it was a dream. Which drew further questions. How did he get here? Was it the next morning from his last memory, or had he lost a bit of time? Had he gone on a night hunt that messed with his memory?

Time felt a bit wrong regardless of what was actually occurring and before he really understood it, he was walking into a city. The shops were distinctly different, but it was clearly the town outside Jinlintai by the look of the buildings that had been there long before he roamed these streets and would be there long after.

“Excuse me,” he said to one older shop owner that didn’t currently have a customer. When she got a good look at him, she paled as if she’d seen a ghost. “I’m a bit lost. Could you point me in the direction of Jinlintai?”

“Lost?” she whispered. He tried to muster a warm smile, though he was sure he failed. A-Li was much better at that. Besides, he had no idea what he looked like right now. Perhaps he looked a mess. “You… Are you…” The old woman looked around. “Jin gongzi?”

Jin Zixuan blinked and nodded slowly which resulted in her gripping her stall and looking faint. He had no idea how to handle this situation. Once before he would’ve just demanded an answer and went on his merry way. A-Li had taught him being nice usually worked much better.

And yet he still wasn’t understanding or getting anywhere.

“I-I can’t understand. Are you not resting?” she asked. Jin Zixuan’s eyebrows tugged together. He didn’t understand what the hell that even meant. Did he get hurt and forget about it? 

“Miss, I simply wish to know the direction of Jinlintai, I’m a bit turned around,” he tried again. She nodded with much more fervor than he expected from a woman her age.

“Yes, Jin-gongzi, yes. It is east, that way,” she said, pointing the opposite way of which he came. He knew once he got closer he would see his home. Hopefully, A-Li wasn’t too worried by his absence.

“Thank you,” he said, bowing politely. The woman bowed deeper.

“Always, Jin-gongzi. And I hope you rest well when you are able,” she said, still in her bow. Jin Zixuan nodded his thanks and turned on his heel, beginning to walk in the direction of home.

“What a strange old woman.”

As he made his way, Jin Zixuan held his head high and let people make a pathway for him, stealing stares. He was thankful that he didn’t even need his sword to have some sort of respect, but he’d be more thankful when he found out what happened to his sword. When he got home, he would have to ask if he’d gone on a night hunt and where it could possibly be.

The longer he walked, the more he tried to figure out what happened. Each idea didn’t make sense. He would’ve remembered going on a night hunt and, even if he didn’t because something had gone wrong, why would he be alone? His people wouldn’t leave him like that. And, if he’d disappeared, wouldn’t they be crawling the streets looking for him? None of it made sense. 

A disappointed part of him wondered if perhaps his father had a hand in this. Was that too cynical of him?

No. He didn’t think it was.

Jin Zixuan relaxed a bit as he began the path that led to the gates of Jinlintai. Again, the time didn’t make sense as it only seemed to be an incense stick worth of time when he knew very well that it would usually take at least a few of them. It didn’t matter. He was thankful to be home.

He used a simple spell that would typically allow him through the gates and wards without issue, but he found it didn’t work. He tried again and he was again repelled. Jin Zixuan’s eyebrows furrowed and he pushed once more. This time, he was let in.

Only, when he did, he was directly in front of a very young, very angry cultivator whose sword was pointed at him.

“Who are you and what do you think you are doing?” the cultivator asked. Jin Zixuan didn’t even bother to raise his hands in defense, eyeing the boy. He was in Jin robes, but Jin Zixuan didn’t recognize him.

“Do you not know who I am?” Jin Zixuan asked. It hadn’t meant to be so self-important, but he couldn’t help himself. This was his home, for gods’ sake.

The cultivator scoffed, “Do you not know who I am? State your name.”

“And you expect me to listen to you, little cultivator?”

“You will address me as Jin-zongzhu!” the child snapped. That shut him up for a moment and he eyed him. Jin-zongzhu?

“You’re in Jin robes,” the cultivator said, an angrier set to his brow with each passing second, “But I know each of my cultivators. Who are you? Whose clothing have you taken?”

“They’re mine,” Jin Zixuan scoffed, “And you are not Jin-zongzhu, you’re a child.”

The answer seemed to anger the boy more and he thrust his sword closer to Jin Zixuan. The motion drew his attention to it more and his eyes widened when he realized.

“Hey! That’s my sword!” Jin Zixuan called and‒okay, now he was definitely sounding childish.

“Shut up, no, it isn’t!” the boy, Jin-zongzhu, apparently, snapped, though his hand was starting to shake.

“Yes, it is!”

“This is my father’s sword, how dare you lay claim on it and on the Jin name,” he said, thrusting the sword forward even more to the point Jin Zixuan could feel Suihua prodding into his chest.

But it didn’t matter because his words stole every annoyed thought Jin Zixuan had.

“Your father’s sword?” he asked. The boy didn’t answer one way or another, his breathing heavy and he was angry. He almost looked like Jiang Wanyin.

Jin-zongzhu. Father’s sword. Jiang Wanyin.

Jin Zixuan felt like he was losing his mind.

“A-Ling?” he asked. Jin-zongzhu’s eyebrows raised in shock before they moved back to their angry spot.

“You are not qualified to call me such a thing,” he said, haughty and irritated. Jin Zixuan took a shaky breath which seemed to give Jin-zongzhu (A-Ling, gods, what the hell) confidence, thinking he’d instilled fear in him.

He wasn’t scared. Well, maybe he was, but definitely not of him.

“A-Ling,” Jin Zixuan said softly, “My name is Jin Zixuan. Suihua is my sword.”

A-Ling’s face wavered, but he tried to keep his composure. Jin Zixuan was proud of him in some way. Deeply confused on why his son didn’t recognize him, even further confused on why his son wasn’t an infant like he was last night, but proud nonetheless.

“Shut up.”

“Look,” Jin Zixuan said, holding his hand out and gently grabbing Suihua by the blade. The energy around it warmed to him and welcomed him as its original owner and it was very clear by the way A-Ling’s face dropped into sheer horror that he felt it as well.

A-Ling took steps back, pulling Suihua with him as his breathing got more and more erratic. Jin Zixuan wasn’t sure what to do. Where was A-Li?

“Da-jiu!” A-Ling called, his voice breaking as emotion built on his face more and more by the second, “Da-jiu!”

Ah, yes. Still very much a child.

“A-Ling?” a familiar voice said in response to his calls and a body dropped from seemingly thin air, though Jin Zixuan could’ve put together that he was on the roof. “What’s wrong?”

A-Ling pointed with Suihua again, never taking his eyes off Jin Zixuan even as tears pricked his eyes and he was shaking so badly he couldn’t hold the sword in a steady position. His Da-jiu stepped up, his hand grabbing A-Ling’s arm to hold it steady as he eyed Jin Zixuan.

“Who are you?” he asked. Although his face was entirely different than Jin Zixuan remembered, it wasn’t hard for him to put together that it was Wei Wuxian. Maybe the Burial Mounds changed his face. Maybe it was the years Jin Zixuan had apparently lost.

“He said‒” A-Ling said, tears spilling and voice weak. He turned his head to wipe his face, but he and Wei Wuxian kept Suihua pointed at him. Which was fine. This was totally fine. This wasn’t horrifying at all. “Da-jiu, he said‒”

“Go,” Wei Wuxian said to A-Ling, voice tense and immediately reminding Jin Zixuan of every scene he’d caused after the Sunshot Campaign, “I’ll handle it.”

“No!” A-Ling cried, “No, I’m not leaving!”

“Wei Wuxian,” Jin Zixuan said slowly. Wei Wuxian snapped his head in his direction, raising an eyebrow. Protective. That was good.

“Do we know each other?” he asked. Jin Zixuan let out a slow breath, feeling a bit lightheaded. He needed to sit down.

“Jin Zixuan,” he said, exhausted. Wei Wuxian’s face went admirably blank, hiding any reaction he had to that. “I seemed to have lost a few years.”

“Ah,” Wei Wuxian said, “I see. That is… something.”

A-Ling choked on a sob, head turned to the side. Wei Wuxian slowly lowered the sword and turned to him, patting him on the head as if that would help any. Truly, maybe Jin Zixuan would be able to help if he understood what was happening. Though, from the way A-Ling had backed away and called for Wei Wuxian, he assumed he wasn’t welcome near him at this moment.

“Go take a breath. Send a message to Jiang Cheng immediately, A-Ling. Tell him to be here as quickly as he can,” Wei Wuxian said. A-Ling sniffled and nodded, stealing another look at Jin Zixuan. “He isn’t going anywhere right now. At least, I don’t think. Go.”

Once A-Ling was out of sight, Wei Wuxian let his gaze harden. His eyes didn’t flash red, but they didn’t need to for Jin Zixuan to understand that they still could.

“I’m not sure what you are, but if you are some impersonator who thinks this is funny or a monster here to steal little zongzhu spirits or a trick of any kind, I will tear you to shreds. I will not hesitate and neither will Sandu Shengshou,” he said. Jin Zixuan didn’t have the energy to argue with him.

“I am just myself. Where is A-Li? How many years have I lost? Why is my son saying he is Jin-zongzhu when he is clearly still a child?” Jin Zixuan asked. Wei Wuxian stared at him for a long moment.

“You are just yourself?” Wei Wuxian asked. He nodded, rolling his eyes without even thinking about it. 

“Obviously.”

“Not obviously. What’s the last thing you remember?” Wei Wuxian asked.

Jin Zixuan huffed a breath because this wasn’t helpful or explanatory at all.

“The night before A-Ling’s one-month celebration,” he answered regardless. Wei Wuxian’s jaw set and he nodded slowly.

“Right. This isn’t a problem at all, not one bit,” he sighed, shaking his head. Before he could ask what the hell that meant, A-Ling stalked back to Wei Wuxian’s side. His tears had subsided and he was back to glaring at Jin Zixuan.

“What is it?” he asked Wei Wuxian.

“Well, kid, I think it might be real, but I’ll keep an eye on it,” he said. A-Ling swallowed hard, eyeing him.

The longer Jin Zixuan stared back, the worse he felt.

For most of his life, he hadn’t even wanted to be a father in fear he’d end up like his own. When he found out that he was going to be one, he vowed to be the best father he could be. And now his son was staring at him, not knowing who he is and scared, and all Jin Zixuan knew was that he had made some unforgivable mistake.

“A-Ling,” he said, taking a deep breath and trying to remember the way A-Li spoke whenever she was being sincere so he wouldn’t sound like he was being flippant, “I’m sorry. I’m not sure what happened or why I have been gone, but I’m sorry I left you.”

“Ah, well, no need for that considering it was much more my fault,” Wei Wuxian said, forcing a laugh. A-Ling took a step away from him at that.

“I’m asking Zheng Xia to make tea,” A-Ling said. Jin Zixuan stood up a bit straighter.

“Zheng Xia is still here? Ah, she’ll know it’s me. And, again, where is A-Li?” he said. A-Ling glared at him again before storming off. Gods, it was like he’d been raised by Jiang Cheng.

“Come along, Peacock, we’ve got a lot to catch you up on. Not that I really want to tell you anything until I find out where you came from, but we’ll let little A-Ling call the shots this evening,” Wei Wuxian said, but his hand raised and spun his dizi. And it was a threat.

Jin Zixuan sighed and followed.

A lot of things had apparently changed and he wasn’t sure he was eager to figure out how.

[shadoedseptmbr]

wip wednesday

Tagged by @theoriginalladya  I don’t know who’s writing just now, I’ve managed to get my brain fog to lift for half an hour and I’ve got a little to show for it.  Tag me if you’re playing!

This was originally a bit that was supposed to be a post Gellix piece and I may now work into the “how Shepard’s dealing with being a refurb” piece that i’m poking with that actually started out as smut.  So. Anyway.

o-o-o-o

There’s something different about the way she fights Cerberus.  Kaidan can’t recall if he saw it on Mars but here? There’s something...different.  And it hits him, as he yanks a handful of troopers out of their shuttle for her to pick off with cold precision.  

All the fights they’ve had together, but he’s never seen her fight an enemy she hates.  

She doesn’t jump from point to point like smoke and she doesn’t pick her high ground. She’s in front, she’s out of cover.  She is daring them to kill her and they are trying their damndest.  The Cerberus troops know who she is, they aren’t quite ignoring the rest of the squad but she’s their focus.  The prize.  The freakish distortion in their comm voices can’t quite hide their hate. 

Or is it fear? 

He slammed a crate between her and one of the centurions she was taunting, giving Garrus a moment to blow their shields before Vega took him out with a shotgun blast to the spine.  “Mind your cover, Commander.” 

She shot him a glance before she cloaked. “Acknowledged.”

A half second later, the engineer who’d just been setting up another turret was headless. Another five seconds and she was up on the maintenance bridge, stabbing one of the snipers they’d labeled as Nemeses through the heart with her omnitool blade. Dropping her  (it? ugh) off the structure into the midst of the troop who had just landed. Come and get me, written all over her pose.  Shepard was gone again before the burst of gunfire hit and he and Vega flanked them, unobserved, from the side. Above them, Garrus had picked off the last of the centurions.

Fighting with Shepard was always exhausting, she was always faster than she should have been.  Used to fighting alone and covering her own six, it had taken them a few skirmishes to work out a pattern where she could rely on his cover and he could read her movement, anticipating her rapid advances. By the time the Normandy went down, her squads were flawlessly in sync. 

They’ve felt that way since he came back.  Now, against Cerberus, the speed and daring shifted from inspiring to terrifying.    

They’re almost to the pad when the Atlas dropped, covering the horde of Cerberus troops who are swarming behind.   

Garrus and he surged the shielding with overloads while Vega launched grenades, Shepard picking off the troop behind, leaving a wall of casualties.  There were still more coming when the shielding collapsed and she whirled, bracing the Widow on her knee.  She’d shattered the cowling with one shot and the evac shuttle landed when he heard her grunt, hiss through her teeth and his indicators went nuts as the godawful sound of a turret gun impacting armor filled the air.  His overload crossed with Garrus’ again and Vega’s last grenade silenced the machine.  The engineer is sprawled behind it, she’d taken him...it out, too, just before she fell.

She was on her knees and pushing up, a gash across her helmet from an accelerated slug.

He and Taylor covered the doctor, who’d jumped from the shuttle faster than any of the soldiers could react, hauling Shepard back to the open door.  Garrus and Vega had hold of her shoulders and she swallowed a noise as they hoisted her up. Vega checked to make sure they'd got her before he lunged for the pilot’s seat to scram them out, pushing aside the scientist who had drawn the pilot straw.  

The impacts had shattered her pauldron and after he keyed in the release, Brynn pulled the remnants aside as Shepard shucked her helmet.

“It’s fine, Doctor.”  Aedan tried to yank back from her.  “Aren’t you a physicist, anyway?  I’m not that much of a robot.”

“Let her look, Shepard.” He and Taylor spoke at the same time and got the same scowl.

“Plate’s s’posed to crack.  Take the force. I’ll print up another back home.” 

“There’s no damage to the under armor,” Brynn affirmed what Kaidan’s readings were telling him.  “You might have significant bruising, though, Commander.”

“Not by the time we get back to the Normandy.”  Her tone had gone flat. Garrus hadn’t taken his eyes off of her since the shuttle door slammed behind them and even Taylor had picked up on her mood, his jaw clenching.   

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, now.” Cole patted her on the opposite shoulder and looked to Jacob with a relieved smile, missing Shepard’s scowl being directed at her.

Kaidan slid over on the bench and relaxed when he felt some of her weight shift for him to brace as she popped up her omni to check for EDI’s signal.  Whatever was going on wasn’t between them.  Garrus saw the subtle movement and dropped his observation to his rifle, checking it for damage.  

[devotedwaywardangel1]

Dust turns to Gold

Sam Wilson x Female Reader

Fandom: MCU (Marvel Cinematic Universe)

Word Count: 1489

Warnings: PTSD, Night Terrors

Tagged: @princessmisery666

A/N: Will post request rules later on

~~~~~

(Y/n), Bucky and Sam were in the dining room setting up take out boxes for everyone since Friday was family night. Bucky called everyone saying dinner is ready and everyone started to filter in. Scott, Peter, May, Wanda, even Pepper and Morgan came by to visit. Taking a seat between Sam and Peter, both of which started helping themselves to pizza. It had been a year since everyone returned from the snap and life was starting to get back to normal, only (Y/n), Cassie and Pepper weren’t dusted during the snap. If (Y/n) were honest with herself she started having nightmares since they all came back. Before (Y/n) could get lost inside of their own head Morgan started to ask questions. “(Y/n) how do your powers work?”

“Well I’m really fast and that means my brain works super fast so I can do things that would take ages for everyone else and finish it super fast.” (Y/n) smiles sweetly at her.

“Cool! How fast can you go?” Peter mumbled with food in his mouth.

They group heard a light whack that came from May hitting Peter on the back of the head for talking with his mouthful. Laughing (Y/n) answered “I don’t know exactly but I have broken the sound barrier before, the pirate king was not impressed.”

“So hypothetically, what would happen if you had six cans of redbull?” Harley asked across from you.

“I dunno but it sounds like a neat science experiment to me.”

Pepper gave her a look that said ‘don’t you dare’ and (Y/n) gulped and offered a look of innocence. Everyone laughed, but Sam’s laugh stood out to them. She loved that laugh, always had and always will. He nudged her shoulder and looked down at her, smiling and catching their gaze. (Y/n)’s cheeks flushed slightly and she looked away. Unbeknownst to (Y/n), Sam turned away nervously as well. Dinner carried on as usual until Morgan asked if we could watch a movie. Everyone agreed to let her pick the movie and she ended up choosing Big Hero 6. 

Once the adults cleared up the dining room they meet the others who were waiting on one of the sofas, Morgan being snuggled between Peter and Harley, Cassie waiting for Hope and Scott on one of the sofas, Pepper and May took an armchair for themselves, Bucky took a beanbag chair, leaving Sam and (Y/n) with the love seat. Sam swore that the others had planned this but complied nevertheless. Taking a seat next to them barely touching her arm she leaned into the touch, before the snap this was not the way she would behaved normally a well guarded person but the five years after the snap had left her touch-starved. It wasn’t exactly a secret that she more often than not sought out Sam for this. But this left her insecure, what if he didn’t want this kind of affection from her, so to go around this she subtly got Sam to initiate the contact so it would always be on his terms. So she tried not to lean into the touch but she did and almost pulled away until Sam moved his arm to wrap it around her pulling her into his side. She blushed lightly but smiled nonetheless. 

The film began playing Morgan shushing everyone so it was quiet and they lost Scott when Tadashi died… he was almost bawling Hope and Cassie hand tissues in hand. Then Wanda was gone during the “Tadashi is here” scene. But mostly the group were silent until the credits started to play and chatter among the group Hope and Scott saying their goodbyes as they had to take Cassie home to her mother. Pepper gathered a sleeping Morgan up in her arms, to go home say her quiet goodbyes. Harley grabs Peter’s hand guiding him to his room, May smiles at the two boys fondly. (Y/n) moved off Sam regretting it immediately as the loss of warmth and safety that came with being wrapped in his arms. Wanda, Bucky and May left to go to their rooms, leaving Sam and (Y/n) to clean up. Luckily it was a quiet movie night, no food fights and super speed naturally helps. So it was done in under a minute. “I love being fast.”

“It's handy and amusing.” Sam laughed lightly.

“No doubt but we should get a good night's sleep.” (y/n) yawned, sticking her tongue out slightly.

Sam smiled at her, he found the way she yawned adorable. It was one of many quirks he found cute like the way she tried to huff her hair away from her face or the way she scrunch up her nose when she was frustrated. Pushing all of that aside to answer her. “Yeah I’ll see you in the morning.”

They parted, going in opposite directions, shoulders sagged as their distance grew greater neither daring to look back. 

(Y/n) got into her room and sighed, rubbing her hand over her face. Looking around her room a picture caught her eye. It was of the original Avengers and Loki in cuffs, the first battle as a team. A nostalgic smile came across her lips as she changed into tartan pj’s slipping under the covers and slipping into sleep. 

She woke up in Wakanda, Thanos in front of her with the gauntlet with all six infinity stones, so without hesitation she sped forwards but he seemed to get further and further away from her but she kept running. Tears streamed down her face as Thanos just smiled and his fingers snapped, (Y/n) stopped dead in her tracks as people started to turn into dust. They were screaming for her help but she could not do anything. First to go was Wanda, she gasped for air as she disappeared. Second was Peter, he screamed her name in pain and brokenness. Next was Bucky, the look in his eyes was of pure betrayal (Y/n) promised Steve that she’ll watch out for him, she failed them in that moment. Finally she saw Sam rushing towards him catching him as he fell, laying him gently on the dry yellow grass. “Why weren’t you fast enough?”

“Sam… I…”

“You could have saved us, you could have…”

He disappeared into nothingness.

She woke up gasping and tear-stained, she got out of her bed and ran to check on everyone without even thinking about it, also checking on Morgan and Pepper in their cabin. Once she was sure everyone was alive and well, she made herself a coffee, decafe. Checking the time it was only half two in the morning, (Y/n) groaned, deciding to walk to Sam’s room to check on him again. But this time there was no rush so she walked over after finishing her coffee. 

Before she knew it she was standing in front of Sam’s bedroom door, contemplating knocking or something. The decision was already made for her as the door opened, revealing Sam looking tired. He looked startled mirroring (Y/n)’s expression, since she was frozen in place trembling slightly from being caught. Sam reached out to her, “(Y/n) are you okay?”

She looked down at her feet and whispered. “I had a nightmare and just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

Sam lifted her head up to look into her eyes, which were welling up with tears and a whimper escaped her lips. With that Sam pulled her into a bone-crushing hug and let her sob. Burying her head in the crook of his neck. They stayed like that for a few minutes until (Y/n) had calmed down. Taking her hand softly guiding her into his room and sitting her down on his bed, he went to grab tissues and turned the bedside lamp on. Offering her a tissue he asked, “would you like to talk about it?”

“It was the snap.” She shivered.

“Anything else?” 

“You died in my arms and said ‘you could have saved us’ then turned to dust.”

“I never blamed you or anyone for Thanos winning and we just weren’t strong enough.”

“I know but dreams like this had been going on for the last year or so.” (Y/n) sighed defeated.

“That explains a few things.” Sam pondered.

She tensed slightly. “Like what?”

“You’ve been wanting more physical affection and mostly from me.”

“It’s not just that.”

“I feel the same way.” 

(Y/n)’s head snapped up to look at Sam and he backtracked. “Shit was I reading into that wrong, I’m-”

She cut him off with a soft kiss, underlined with fear of rejection. Her heart soared when he kissed back, placing a hand on her cheek while placing her hand on the back of his neck. They broke apart smiling their hearts feeling as if they were twenty-four karat gold.

[magicmastered]

@darealbellabelleoftheball

About this post you tagged me in, which I’m screenshotting because Tumblr never lets me link posts:

(Should I have scribbled out the url? I don’t want anyone getting harassed because of me, regardless of whether I agree with them....)

Anyway, thanks for thinking of me.

I try not to reblog people’s original posts to start arguments with them, so I’ll respond here.

Reinvent Thor as being a more relatable and fun character

Relatable to who? At some point I might make a post asking people why they found Ragnarok Thor more or less relatable than pre-Ragnarok Thor. I’m curious as to what the response would be.

Personally I found Ragnarok Thor to be insincere, arrogant, and manipulative, though his “save Asgard” thing was obviously good. I agree with the goal, but his means...not so much.

ALSO. “Reinventing” a character is the exact opposite of what should be done at the end of a trilogy. At that point, you wrap up the plot threads and character arcs. You do NOT throw them all out and start with something that’s regressed even beyond where the character was at the beginning. It’s just not how trilogies work.

If you want to reinvent the character for LOLs, call it what it is—a parody. Parody is a perfectly legit genre. It just makes it clear that it’s not to be taken as part of the original canon.

With a far more extensive power set

Thor was already really powerful. Yeah, the Thor-nado is pretty cool, but he was doing fine without it...?

As well as making him the star of his own GD movie for once without worrying about some other character overshadowing him

You know how you make a character more interesting? It’s not by just flattening all the competition. It’s by giving them more internal conflict. That’s one of the reasons Loki’s so popular. He’d had internal conflict to deal with from the get-go.

They could’ve had Thor finally realize that Odin did screw up, and it wasn’t just a one-time thing, and he wasn’t actually a great parent (or person in general). Through that, he could realize that maybe the things Odin always told him were wrong. Maybe, for instance, Loki wasn’t 100% evil and Thor’s inferior. Maybe that Thor had himself made some mistakes at least as bad, and come to terms with that. He could’ve broken out of his toxic family dynamic.

That would’ve been a lot more compelling than erasing everything that made Thor, Thor.

And established that his arcs from the first two movies were realized on the level of him assuming control of his powers on Odin’s level—assuming ultimate worthiness

....

Why is aspiring to be like Odin in any way a good conclusion to Thor’s character arcs? And “worthiness” is entirely based on Odin’s professed values.

What would’ve been better is if Thor had finally broken free of Odin’s arbitrary worthiness paradigm. He’d been letting Odin define his worth for the previous movies. He realized that Odin was flawed for a bit in TDW but was back to submitting himself to Odin’s judgement at the end of the movie. It’s time for him to finish that journey. Yet in this movie it’s Odin (or rather Odin’s memory) that Thor turns to for strength.

And Thor honestly does not seem to change at all throughout the movie, character-wise. He starts off snarky and arrogant. He finishes snarky and arrogant with a throne and a missing eye (and no planet).

Introduce Valkyrie

Love the character, don’t love how they used her. Seriously, “and suddenly you’re overcome by the urge to do the right thing?” Five minutes after she did just that? Please.

Give Heimdall more than two minutes of screen time

Admittedly I like Heimdall better in this movie, so I’ll leave this alone.

Destroy Asgard

Why is this a good thing?

No, really, why is destroying Asgard better than, say, exploring its culture and history—and the people the movie repeatedly refers to—in a more nuanced light?

Reintroduce Hulk with the ability to speak and show emotion beyond smashing things

If I remember correctly, Hulk is a manifestation of Bruce’s anger and fear from his abusive childhood. (I don’t know if I’m phrasing this correctly at all. Someone who’s more into Bruce and Hulk could probably help. :/)

Ragnarok did not exactly explore that in any way.

And Hulk HAD emotions besides “smash”. Look at his reaction when Tony was falling out of the portal in Avengers. Hulk has real intelligence to him.

F colonialist lives!

This really isn’t my area of expertise at all...but I’m pretty sure the thing they were saying was bad was the imperialism, not colonialism. They’re not the same thing. And even that was confused by the whole venerating-Odin thing. I believe others have gone into this in more detail.

Korg is skinny!

I don’t even know what this is supposed to mean...?!

Contain good and funny jokes

This is entirely subjective. For instance, several people I know find butt jokes funny. I find them kind of immature and prefer dry humor. Neither of us is wrong in our preferences. It’s just not something you can argue.

Conversely, this movie also has Loki joke about his own suicide attempt. So.

Was directed by the MCU’s first director of color

I didn’t even know Waititi was a man of color when I first started disliking Ragnarok.

Controversial opinion here, but a movie that contradicts previous canon and has a plot as airtight as a colander is still a crappy franchise movie no matter who wrote it.

Fix Loki’s sad broody boy problem

Loki does not have a “sad broody boy” problem. He’s genuinely mentally ill, in no small part due to spending over a thousand years as the scapegoat in a narcissistic family. It’s also due to spending who-knows-how-long falling in space (see how that affected Tony) then another who-knows-how-long getting tortured by a purple space grape. That’s a lot more than going through an emo phase or something.

And this movie does not “fix” Loki’s mental illness. It waves it away like something that was never that bad to begin with, which is very much not the case.

It also erased Loki’s fierce intelligence from the previous movies, and his anger, and his strategy. It turned Loki from courageous to cowardly (except when the plot said so). It ignored Loki’s old reserve and trust issues.

Examples: You can’t tell me he couldn’t have thought up a better plan than “get help”. He could’ve disguised both him and Thor as more Sakaarian guards with his illusions. I just came up with that in five seconds. No way would that not occur to him at least as quickly.

Loki had the nerve to sass Laufey and the Other and Odin even when any one of them could’ve hurt him in previous movies. In Ragnarok he’s terrified of the Hulk to the point of trying to run.

In previous movies, Loki didn’t trust anyone enough to talk about any of the things that’d happened (aggravated since no one had even asked). In Ragnarok, as mentioned above, he joked about his own suicide—to a bunch of strangers.

Make fun of Thor: The Dark World

Again, why is this a good thing?

Ragnarok is one of the best Marvel movies for the “prisoners with jobs” joke alone

Subjective, again.

[sandalaris]

For the writer asks: 5, 10, 17, 22, 23, 30, 45, & 54!! :D

Finally getting around to answering these XD

5. Books or authors that influenced your style the most.

I read so much I feel like I can’t narrow it down. My favorite author is Ilona Andrews but they write almost exclusively in first person and have their fair share of action in their novels that I don’t think they’re that much of an influence on me. I’m trying to think of who I read that did the whole “people usually feel a mix of emotions over just one” thing that I know I’ve adopted, but I can’t think of who it is. (I can think of an author, who I do love the books of, who did the opposite and I found myself always confused about a character was supposed to be feeling/thinking and they probably influenced me to not do that, but I do like their books and that seems too much like I’m trying to be negative about them.)

10. Pick a writer to co-write a book with and tell us what you’d write about.

If I got to pick anyone, it’d be Marissa Meyer who wrote the Lunar Chronicles. It would be for one novel/novella, because I feel like the Lunar Chronicles has one more sort of side story in it and would want so badly for it to fit what the author has already written. If you haven’t read the series, it’s basically a retelling of various fairy tales just set in the future, like Cinderella has a metal prosthetic foot that keeps falling off and Rapunzel is a hacker living in a satellite orbiting earth. Everything is set up to perfectly fit a Beauty and the Beast side-story. Genetically altered super soldiers who are big and hairy and given animal aggression and had all their teeth surgically replaced with fangs for failing to pass a test as a child? Check! Now all we need is to write a story about the bookish daughter of a geneticist who gets blackmailed into staying with the “beast” and slowly learns that there’s a man inside of the monster and ends up figuring out how to reverse some of the alterations (because we already got the “I love him just as he is, fangs and all” thing from Scarlet and Wolf so we can have a little “curse breaking” this time around.) It can be set post-series, when some of the wolf-soldiers ran off and disappeared into various countries.

I once co-write a novel with my best friend about an evil warlock who fell in insta-love with a ditzy elf and spent the rest of the novel trying to avoid her so he could dodge his fate of retiring from villainy like his father and grandfather before him. He was determined to be the one villain in his family who actually went through with his evil master plan, dammit! It was a comedy, and kind of a spoof since we were at that age where romance novels were the thing to make fun of, but it still ended with him deciding he could do evil masterminding later and running off with the elf. What can I say, we were like twelve.

17. On average, how much writing do you get done in a day?

Eek, the problem with averages is that any sort of outlier knocks everything else off, and I have a lot of outliers, lol. I go through writing spurts, sitting down and all but knocking out an entire chapter/one-shot in one sitting followed by days where I won’t even open a word document. And then there’s sort of my inbetween times where I’m usually typing away on something, but it’s more editing than actual writing, so maybe 100 or so new words might get written, but what I’ve previously written looks better by the end, lol. This has been the norm especially lately with school and work taking up the majority of my time. And then it hits me and I just need to let the story flow out of me? Between 2k-5k a sit down session.

22. How many drafts do you need until you’re satisfied and a project is ultimately done for you?

I don’t really do true drafts. I write, I edit, I post, and then I suddenly see all my typos. On the rare occasion editing doesn’t fix the issue, I might cut the scene into chunks and sort of look for the line(s) that don’t fit and start branching off from there (like maybe someone’s acting out of character *glares at current chapter* and I just needed to look at it in smaller incriments to see where they started to veer off). Only once have I ever just completely reworked the extremely extremely rough draft I had written, but that was an original work I did for Nano and so was more concern with getting words on a page than editing as I go.

I suppose editing could count as a second draft, so two? Maybe three? What is considered One Editing? If I leave off and come back, is it an all new edit/draft, or am I picking up where I left off?

23. Single or multi POV, and why?

Nine times out of ten I seem to veer towards single, although I’ve had some fun with multiple POVs before.

Not really sure why. Maybe I just find it easier to burrow into one person’s headspace and go from there? I know there are times when I want to jump to another character for one specific scene, but I always feel like I’m already committed to telling things from the one character’s POV. Or maybe I just like the limited narrator thing.

30. Favorite line you’ve ever written.

Err.. I don’t know that I have one. How about a line I rather like? This is from a kind of Amaru/Brasa fic (kinda sorta. He’s got that whole mix of love and hate and resentment and worship thing going on, and she has her own twisted attachment to him) set in those six months between seasons. These lines are from a moment where Kate surfaces and Brasa fantasizes about taking out some of his resentment of Amaru on Kate. (He never actually physically harms her, Amaru would never allow someone to mark her vessel simply because its hers, but he likes to imagine.)

He thinks about wide green eyes looking up at him with fear, filling with tears as she whimpers out a “Please.” Imagines pressing a hand to her shoulder, pressing down down down until she’s kneeling before him, trembling as he cups her jaw, forcing her head back. He wants to press his thumb to the plump swell of her bottom lip, dig his nail in until the blood, her soul, comes to the surface. Filling the flesh with color until it spill across her chin in a vibrant slash.

and to give you an idea of how Kate is handling Brasa’s attempts to take his issues out on her...

He can see the muscle at the hinge of her jaw tighten, hear the harsh edge of every exhale, as she turns to look up at him mere inches away.  

“My name,” she clips, “is Kate.” She bites off the last, harsh sound, almost snapping her teeth at him.

45. Worst piece of feedback you’ve ever gotten.

I’m trying to think of actual feedback and not just like angry comments/reviews from people who didn’t like my fics (which tbh I haven’t gotten that much of because people aren’t generally that big of a dick to leave flames on fics these days.)

Someone tried to tell me that a character dropping the f-bomb was unnecessary and jarring and I should remove it from one of my fics. And hey, to each their own, but I personally felt it fit both the character (who cursed in canon) and the story and so kept it in. People certainly can write great literature without every putting down a single curse word, but there’s also great stories that wouldn’t be the same without a bit of foul language. What bugged me most about it was their insistence I should remove it.

Besides that the only other bad feedback I’ve gotten (besides obvious flames and people not liking the direction I’m going/have gone with a story), was someone who said that my clearly labeled unhealthy relationship fic was romanticizing abuse and they didn’t appreciate the one character manipulating the other character like that. They were actually fairly nice about it (if a bit of an anti about the whole thing), I just remember being a little bugged at the time because I had already tagged it as unhealthy/manipulative.

54. Any writing advice you want to share?

Don’t be afraid to experiment! And in that same vein, try out writing rules and discard them just as quickly if they aren’t for you, because there’s no set in stone way to doing things. Break all the rules if you want, the point is just to write. XD

Thanks!!

[missholson]

SHIP HISTORY MEME

Embrace your past and get to know your friends’ fandom origins!

Rules: Post gifs of your fandoms / ships starting with your most current hyperfixation and work backwards. (Bonus points if you share any stories about how or when you got into that ship! But not necessary!!) Then tag anyone whose fandom history you’d like to learn about!

Tagged by the sweet @unwillingadventurer​, thank you girls! <3

Hoffmann & Tennstedt (Das Boot) The baby face & the stone face. :) The biggest reason for this series is my sister, who tried to lure me into the fandom already last summer by showing the first episode. Sadly it was a far too distressing experience. The story is about a WW2 German warfare, so it isn’t very light entertainment for Saturday night. The show seemed like a worth watching production, though, but I doubted if I could ever watch it completely. After visiting Berlin now in February 2020 there was no hesitation anymore. The story focuses on the Nazi German submarine, U-612, and the occupied city of La Rochelle in France. However, not everything is as black and white as one might expect. One of the biggest messages of the show is that war is always brutal, no matter which side you fight. The innocent are always suffering. It also shows how the ideal thoughts of warfare crumble, if it comes at the cost of greed, deception, health or life. There is disagreement among the leaders on boat, too. The new commander, kaleun Klaus Hoffmann, is young and inexperienced but kind-hearted and wise. Next on the scale, IWO Karl Tennstedt, is an experienced sailor and an glory-seeking soldier, who envies Hoffamann's position. He regards Hoffmann as incompetent and a disgrace to Germany. So, there is plenty of tension between these two!

Louis & Philippe (Versailles) I started watching the show sometime in 2015, but found it quite distasteful. It was more brutal than expected, and I was overwhelmed by people's greed and dirty behavior, so I stopped watching after a few episodes. Every now and then I saw pics/gifs on Tumblr, especially of Monsieur and Chevalier, that I finally wanted to give another chance in January 2020.  This time the experience was the opposite, and I got a better grip on the story. I was surprised how little I liked the popular Monchevy pair and, instead, so much the quarreling brothers. I was very moved when they joked with each other and showed brotherly love. In the scenes of conflict, I missed their compassion. I haven't watched the rest of seasons 2-3 yet, so I don't know if they get better. I hope so because together they would be a powerful duo.

Matt & Cherry (Red River) I had recorded Red River (1948) on my set-top box, and the closing date was expiring in December 2018. It was Montgomery Clift’s breakthrough movie, so it was a must see. The movie was a refreshingly different western, where the hero is not a macho cowboy and John Wayne a bad guy for a change. But most of all, I was amazed how Cherry Valance's behavior towards Matt Garth was so heavily double entendre. At first they are presented as challengers and opponents of each other. Slowly Cherry starts to show admiration for Matt, and increasingly talks about his gun. In return, Matt needs Cherry's shooting skills to herd cattle. Eventually they become each other's trusted ones. I always find it fascinating, if tension begins to develop between the opposing characters. If the story has a couple that doesn't change, develope or lacks dynamics, it probably won't arouse interest.

Fritz & Dr. Frankenstein (Frankenstein) I had seen a Tumblr gif of Renfield crawling in Dracula (1931) in August 2018. It was Dwight Frye’s breakthrough role. The movie inspired me to watch other Universal monster movies, of which Frankenstein (1931) became my favorite. The work pair of the story, these two outcasts of society, melted my heart. For unexplained reason they have joined their forces and seem to be working well together. They have a mutual partnership, where they can act naturally without fear. Their work is unique, e.g. digging the graves or snatching hanged bodies, but they treat it like any other dayily job. Somehow, I like this way of approach. Actually I have written about Fritz already earlier, where I take a closer look at their relationship. The text can be read here.

Adrian & Antony (Sebastiane) Well, this couple is a specialty of its own. They are another ones found through Tumblr. I saw a picture of them in June 2018 which led me to watch the film. In terms of story or acting, it's not a very special movie but technically professional level. First of all, it was shot under the blazing Sicilian sun on 35 mm film. The light is a vital factor when using a film camera, so the pictures look very rich. The scenes, where these two are having fun together in slow motion, are breathtaking. I had never seen anything like it before and, in my opinion, stole all the attention of the story since they were just characters in supporting roles. It was like a gay paradise on earth.  Here I realize the importance in the way how the characters are presented. The technical presentation can play a surprisingly huge role when we try to read and understand the characters. It can influence us either to share their thoughts or to move even further away from them. Bonus points I give for Latin, which the entire cast is speaking in the film. I would also like to clarify that this is not a p**n movie or a family movie either. It’s a gay erotic story with some full frontal nudity.

Reinhold & Conrad I’m not sure if this is a ship or fandom, but I feel extreme warmth and joy for this pair (the Berlin trip may have something to do with this). They are also the only people from real life instead of characters. I’d like to share my story about them, unfortunately it's very long (I've never been a fluent writer) but explains my interest in more detail. I got to know Conrad Veidt already in high school at the turn of the millennium, the time before DVDs. Near the school there was a buy-sell-exchange movie shop, where my sister and I visited regularly. Somehow we ended up with the idea that we wanted to see The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920), so we went to the store again. There was no copy, as expected, but the seller said he would keep in mind if one came up. Months passed and after a long break we visited our regular place again. This time, the man had news for us: he had received a copy and kept it in safe for us. We couldn’t believe our eyes and ears. First of all, the kindness of the man made us speechless, and secondly, we never thought we would get our own copy of such popular rarity. At that time movies were not re-released as often as they are today. It was a VHS cassette, bw, not tinted like the original version, and its quality was far from the 4K richness and sharpness. My sister still has the tape and is one of the treasures she will never give away. For years the film was the only Conrad movie we saw, along with Casablanca - until the digital age and the social media arrived. Again I have to thank Tumblr, where I found the actor Anton Walbrook. One of his most famous films, Viktor und Viktoria (1933), is directed by Reinhold Schünzel, whom I knew from Conrad's film Different from the Others (1919). I began to study Reinhold's background more closely in December 2017, and it turned out that he is a forgotten multi-talent in the film industry: He was a versatile performer in comedies and dramas, a prolific director and an idea-rich screenwriter. He had an eye for creating stories that were told in the minds of people in addition to acting and lines. He questioned gender roles and built juicy plot twists around them. He loved theater and was a popular celebrity in 1920’s Germany. He was also a colleague and friend of Conrad. They began their film careers at the same time in Richard Oswald's films, shared the ups and downs, even their wardrobe, and reached fame. Eventually they both had to emigrate from the national socialist Germany, so their paths parted. The following reunions were always a joy, “like the meeting of comrades who fought in many wars together”. Reinhold was supposed to direct Conrad’s first film at MGM in Hollywood, but the plans were changed. They never got to work together since the German years, when Conrad died suddenly. “Part of my life is gone forever”, as Reinhold wrote in his tribute to Connie's death in 1943. He returned to Germany in the end of 1940s and died in Munich in 1954. This is why they are so precious to me and why I find it important to share the memory of these two lifelong friends. The picture is from Eerie Tales (1919), one of their earliest movies together with the director: Reinhold, Richard and Conrad. Reinhold’s full tribute can be read here.

I’m tagging: @wohlbruecks, @perfides-subjekt, @kennyboybarrett, @chapinfan69​, @electricnormanbates​, @ars-historia-est​, @suchamiracle-does-exist​ and anyone who likes to do it. Would you like to share your stories behind your otps? :)

[romansleftshoulderpad]

Barren: Chapter 12

Ships: QPR Remile, Pining Moralogince, Eventual LAMP

Words: 2,393

Warnings: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, food mentions, guns, death of unnamed characters, running from the law, blood, swearing, caps

Tags: Due to the length of the tallest from this chapter on I’ll be doing tags in a reblog of the original post!

Previous / Next

---

“We have the schedules downloaded,” Logan said, standing over Virgil’s bed.

“Holy fucking shit dude!” Virgil yelled, heart racing as he opened his eyes.

“Is something the matter, Virgil?”

“YES! Holy fuck!” Virgil sat up in bed, pushing his hair back with his fingers. “You can’t just wake people up like you’re going to steak their fucking souls, shitbag!”

“Ah,” Logan murmured, “my apologies.”

Virgil shook his head and sighed. “No, it’s... fine. Sorry for calling you a shitbag.”

Logan’s face softened and his eyebrows raised almost in mild shock. His shoulders dropped for a small moment and he bit his lip in concentration. In a swift second he had hardened back into his cold persona. He gestured to hanger and costume bag in his hand. “Remy adjusted my old uniform to fit your size,” he said.

“Is this the one you... got shot in?” Virgil asked, wincing slightly.

“No, of course not,” he lied. “Now get ready quickly. We leave at 8:30.”

“What time is it?” Virgil groaned.

“Roughly 5:15 in the morning.”

Virgil fell back into his pillows. “This bunker is a fucking nightmare!”

+

Patton ran his fingers through Roman’s hair as he watched the rise and fall of his chest. The previous night had been horrible. Roman had slammed the door behind him as he walked in and cried for nearly an hour, the second he was in Patton’s arms. Patton had always had some feelings for Logan and Roman, and he knew Roman had feelings for Logan as well; seeing them fight was devastating.

Roman started to wake up, leaning into Patton’s touch as he squeezed his eyes closed. “Good morning, my prince,” Patton whispered, pulling him closer. He felt almost guilty for holding so gently and close. Guilty for holding him like a husband. “It’s time to wake up, my brave knight.”

“Pattooooon,” Roman whined, rolling over so that their faces were inches apart. His face began to burn as he opened his eyes and placed his fingers gently on Patton’s chest. Just before he could feel his heartbeat, Patton moved his hand away, something unreadable in his eyes.

“Yes, angel?”

“Why do you do this?”

“Because if you’re too flustered to go back to sleep then you have no choice but to wake up,” Patton explained.

Roman’s face dropped slightly as he muttered a soft, “oh,” and pulled himself out of bed. “Your plan worked, you evil genius.”

“Come on,” Patton laughed. “Logan’s the genius here.” Roman froze for a moment and Patton instantly knew he made a mistake. “Roman, I’m sorry I-“

“Don’t take yourself down to that asshole’s level,” he said dryly.

“Roman,” Patton said authoritatively, “we both know how you feel about him. How we both feel about him.”

Roman clenched his fists as tears rolled from his eyes.

“You need to talk to him,” Patton continued. “Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow, but eventually. He cares about all of us; he cares about you, Roman. He just... doesn’t know how to show it.”

Roman thought back to the kiss. He wiped tears from his cheeks as he remembered seeing Logan flush with lips swollen from his own. “I will,” he whispered. “I’ll try.”

“Good,” Patton said, placing a hand on Roman’s shoulder. “I love you, Princey.”

Roman let out a shaky breath. “I love you too, puffball.”

+

The bunker was what Virgil considered to be the textbook definition of organized chaos. Remy and Roman had been rushing back and forth each holding three conversations at once and Virgil couldn’t keep up with a single one. At some point someone had handed him a cup of coffee; he didn’t see who. He was frozen in place, not sure of who or where he could exist near without getting run over.

“Ready for your first big day?” Emile asked, sliding a bagel sandwich across the kitchen counter to him. Virgil took the plate with an awkward smile and a sip of black coffee. “You’ll be fine,” he said, but it was clear from his tone that the therapist didn’t fully believe his own words. “Remy and Roman would never let anything bad happen to you.”

Virgil took a glance towards Roman. “And neither would Logan. I- I know he’s off the mission, but, I trust that he cares about us.” He smiled and felt something light and soft growing in his chest. “I trust that he’s looking out for us.”

“45 minutes to go time!” Remy yelled and he and Roman quickly got up and hurried in separate directions.

“You might want to get into uniform,” Emile winked.

Virgil hurriedly finished his sandwich and coffee and slid the dishes to Emile to put in the sink. “Thanks, Picani!” He ran off to the room and quickly stripped himself of his hoodie and jeans. He opened the bag and gently brushed his fingers over the light blue fabric of the shirt and the navy blue pants. He was almost ashamed to put them on.

The shirt fit snugly around his shoulders and hips. The pants were hemmed to his ankles and fit perfectly. He found a pair of polished black shoes sitting under his desk and slid them on. He looked in the mirror and for the first time in his life he felt- and looked- like a confident adult.

Roman’s eyes widened slightly when he passed by and it was clear that Logan was a little more than impressed. “Lookin’ sharp,” Remy teased with a finger gun and a wink.

“I’d say the same to you,” Virgil laughed. “Is that your good leather jacket?”

Remy presses a kiss to Emile’s cheek and smirked. “Yep! It’s my lucky one. I have a feeling today is going to be a good day.”

“We need all the good feelings we can get,” Roman said as he dangled his keys in the air. “Boys, let's rollout.”

+

Virgil had almost forgotten how strange the bunker’s garage was. They climbed into Roman’s Jeep with Remy sitting in the back and drove onto that same hydraulic lift that had lowered Virgil into his freedom, now it lifted him back to the world that wanted him dead. He thought back to Roman and Logan’s statement. He took a deep breath and tried to remind himself that Logan was his friend. Logan cared for him; he cared for all of them. He hoped Roman knew that too.

When they arrived at the facility Remy handed Virgil a black pen. “Pick a name, word, whatever,” he said. “No one will read it but without the ink, you’re screwed.” Virgil thought back to that first meeting with Logan, took a breath, and pressed the pen to his skin.

He followed Remy like a shadow when they entered. He kept his head down just enough to avoid eye contact but mirrored Remy’s posture- shoulders back, legs straight, chest out, and chin up. It was an almost painful position to hold.

They found them in a cell just a story below Virgil’s old one. His heart sank when he saw Elliot hovered in a corner and starving next to a tray of untouched slop. “Don’t stare,” Remy whispered. Virgil stepped towards the cell. “Kid!”

“I was like you once,” Virgil said and Elliot looked up at him in fear. “Would you like to be like me now?”

“You?” Elliot asked. “I’d never want to be like the scum who holds people against their will only to have them killed in some type of freak show.”

“Virge, stop,” Remy seethed.

“What are you-”

Remy grabbed Virgil’s arm and they continued marching through the halls. “Be patient, young padawan,” he whispered. “And keep your mouth shut. We need a few more rounds.”

“Why?” Virgil whispered, trying to keep his legs straight as he marched closely behind.

“Keep your mouth shut,” he repeated. “We need to survey the rest of the area before completing our mission. You know who’s listening or who’s about to walk in.”

Virgil nodded and continued to march; his thoughts kept drifting back to Logan. Logan’s cold and calculated stare as he ran equations and schedules through his head. Virgil shook back his thoughts. What was the opposite of Stockholm syndrome? Was there any real logic in falling in love with your rescuer? Sure it happened in fairytales and make-believe but this wasn’t a fairytale- this wasn’t even a Grimm’s version- it was so much worse.

No, he wasn’t in love with Logan. He couldn’t be. He and Logan were friends and besides that, Roman is in love with Logan. There was no situation where one of them wasn’t heartbroken, and Roman was heartbroken enough anyway.

A few hours passed and Virgil’s legs were beginning to cramp from all the marching and walking upstairs. “Okay,” Remy whispered. “It’s go time.”

They returned to Elliot’s cell and Virgil felt like he had gone back in time. Remy unlocked the cell door and pulled a makeshift tool out of his pocket. He used the tool to open up the bar windows and pulled a handgun out of his pocket. He steadied his gaze and aimed outside where a few guards had been patrolling the area.

He held his wrist up, letting his sleeve fall so that Elliot could read the ink. Barren. “My name is Virgil Bianchi and we’re here to help you.”

“Virgil,” Elliot murmured. “My- My friend Kai, we... why are you back here?”

He pulled the trigger and one of the guards laid dead on the grass.

“Remy,” Virgil gasped.

“A small price to pay for freedom,” he said. “Now let’s go.”

Virgil grabbed Elliot’s hand and they ran, following Remy down flights of stairs and long hallways. “They’re catching up!” Elliot yelled.

“Not if I can help it,” Remy said. He opened up a cell and ripped open a window. “Let’s go.”

“That’s a two-story jump,” Virgil said. “There’s no way we’re going to make it.”

“Scared of a few broken bones, Virgil?” Remy teased, working with something outside the window that neither Virgil nor Elliot could see.

“Yes!” Virgil shouted. “And reasonably so! I’m reasonably afraid of any of us getting hurt!”

Remy held a rope out towards Virgil. “None of us are going to get hurt,” he said, somewhat more seriously. “Not if I can do anything about it.”

He helped Virgil (and then Elliot) climb down the rope before sliding down himself. Virgil shook out his hands, muttering something about rope burn.

“INTRUDERS!” A guard yelled and the three of them bolted.

They ran and that feeling of his chest tightening up returned to Virgil once more. His throat burned and his back felt as stiff as stone. Guards chased after them loading their guns and beginning to fire. Remy quickly pulled out his phone and hit speed-dial. “Roman!” he yelled, panting for air. “We’ve only got a few seconds without you, buddy!”

“On it,” Roman said, turning the ignition in his jeep and backing out of the alley towards the building.

Virgil opened up the door to the backseat and hurriedly helped Elliot inside. In his moment of standing still, he found himself gasping for air and wheezing. For the first time in his life, he wanted to be in the bunker. If someone had told him that all those months ago, he would have thought that they were delusional.

Remy snapped around at a familiar noise. His eyes widened. “VIRGIL! LOOK OUT!” he yelled, diving in front of him. The two fell to the ground as the pain shot through Remy’s body. When Virgil sat up, he could see the blood staining the chest of his white tee shirt.

“Remy, you- you saved my life,” Virgil said, too shocked to even cry.

“You need to go,” Remy whispered, coughing up blood.

“Remy, I-”

“Go!” he repeated. “And tell Emile I- I love him.”

Remy laid back on the grass, closing his eyes but listening to everything around him. Virgil got in the car and as they drove off Remy opened his eyes just to watch his family head towards their freedom one last time.

They drove in silence for a few minutes, racing away from the guards. They all seemed to be crowding around Remy’s body. Virgil kept his gaze on his hands and away from the car mirrors. They slowed down once they reached a familiar path in the woods. Roman put a hand on Virgil’s thigh. “You did the right thing.”

“How? He saved my life and I... I just left him there.”

“You respected his wishes,” Roman said softly, rubbing his thumb against Virgil’s knee. The weight of his hand and the gentle motion was calming; he let out a slow exhale.

When they arrived back at the bunker there was hardly time for introductions. They found Patton and Logan sitting in the kitchen with Emile- and he was sobbing harder than Virgil had ever seen anyone cry before. “What’s going on?”

“It burns,” Emile said between sobs, gripping his wrist in his hand. “It burns so much.”

Virgil walked closer watching that black of Emile’s mark turn into brown. “It looks like my mother’s,” he whispered and the man in front of him stared up with wide eyes.

Logan stood up and locked eyes with Roman. They both glanced back towards the garage and then towards each other holding their breaths in a silent conversation. Logan started to run forward but without his cane he only fell into Roman’s arms, sobbing into his ear. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

“Remy was a brave man, he-”

“Not about Remy,” Logan said. “I mean- of course, it’s horrible, but- I meant about you.”

“What?” Roman asked, trying to stay still and emotionless. He couldn’t break again.

“I was so wrong with the way I handled things and-“ he took a deep breath- “One word from you will silence me on this subject forever. You were right to be angry I was, objectively, a major jackass. And I...” He steadied his breath, wiping away a few tears as he clutched Roman even tighter. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Roman said nothing but lowered his head against Logan’s and held him tightly. Just as Emile’s mark has faded, without Remy their lives were all about to change. They could only wonder if it would be for better or worse.

[simmonsofshield]

Reassignment

Part 1/1

Pairing: none Characters: Kate Beckett, Kevin Ryan, Javier Esposito, Jemma Simmons, Philip Coulson

Summary: Amidst clean up after the Battle of New York, things happen and Officer Y/N ends up in the quinjet’s medical bay.

Words: 1900+

A/N:  Unplanned, but I guess in honor of my url change, Jemma has a small feature in this fic! This was originally gonna be a copy-paste of one of my fics from wattpad, but then I wanted to make it more accurate to New York so 98% of this is new writing. So much for trying to cut corners. 🤷😂 Loose tie-ins of Agents of SHIELD and Castle. (Characters, not really the shows..) Canonically, Skye (Daisy) wouldn’t have her powers yet, but my story my rules lol. So she does. Three weeks late (I was suppose to post this on the 1st), but at least I got it done, right? This is for @fanfictionaries​‘s classic trope challenge. I chose police au. Takes place after Avengers.

Police codes key: 12-David-19 [Precinct # - city section - police car id] used 9th precinct as reference 10-50 Disorderly (group, person, noise) non-crime 10-10 Possible crime (many tags, the one i use is P, suspicious person/prowler)

“Here’s what’s going on today,” Captain Beckett begins, “it’s been almost six months since the Battle of New York. Midtown South is still asking for help with crowd control and patrol of the area, as most of their officers are helping with clean up. I told them the 12th Precinct is happy to help as long as it doesn’t interfere with our daily patrols. Today they’re only asking for two, so Ryan and Esposito, it’s on you today. Just make sure no weirdos or teens with sticky fingers try to get in the rubble.”

“Yes Captain.”

“L/N, my office, please.”

You look at her with surprise, then over to the boys. Ryan is the first to speak, rolling his eyes, “Of course. Little Y/N getting special treatment once again. I bet you’re getting put on a really cool case. You know, she’s basically training you to be a mini her.”

You roll your eyes back at him, “Sounds like you’re just jealous because I rose to this rank in half the time it took you.”

“Ooooo...” Esposito calls from his desk, “want some ice for that burn?”

“Shut up,” he mumbles as he slumps back in his chair.

You laugh as you walk to Beckett’s office, the door being closed behind you. You start to get worried when she starts shutting the blinds too. “Captain?”

She sets a file in front of you and begins explaining. “Though Kevin was joking, he wasn’t wrong. You have impressed me since you came here from the academy. You were the youngest to be promoted to detective, and your persistence hasn’t gone unnoticed. Which is why I think you’re perfect for this particular assignment.”

She nods to the file, and you pick it up, opening it. Your brows furrow at the first page and you look back up at her, “I don’t understand. Philip Coulson died on a helicarrier before the attack on New York even happened. Didn’t Loki kill him or whatever?”

“Originally, yes.”

“Originally?”

“Most if it is redacted and classified, but what was released - specifically for you in this file, turn the page - was that some experimental tech was used and more or less brought him back to life.”

You read exactly that as she says it, but you’re left with more questions than answers with every page turn. “What do you mean specifically for me? How many people know he’s alive?”

She blows out some air, sitting down at her desk to look you in the eye, “Only SHIELD level 7 and above. We are of only a few civilians that know. This cannot leave this room. The only others that know are ones that will be a part of this team that Agent Coulson is putting together alongside Agent Maria Hill and Director Fury.”

Again, more questions. “But...I’m a homicide detective...not SHIELD...” You pause for a moment as you try to form a question with all the information that is now in your mind, “Why me?” is what you come up with.

She shrugs, “That’s a question for Coulson or Hill. I can’t answer it. You’ll work today but after that you’ll be with SHIELD and Coulson,” she nods back to the file, “I suggest you finish reading through that tonight.” She stands up and walks toward the door.

“I’m sorry, Captain, one last question,” she lets go of the door handle and turns around, “what does all this mean for this job? Am I like fired or something?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” she says with a smile, “Agent Hill and I already discussed the technicalities, but basically what will be said is that you’re going undercover with SHIELD for a big operation and you’ll be gone for a few weeks. Which, really, isn’t that much of a lie.”

You nodded, somewhat understanding, “Yes, ma’am. See you in a few weeks, I guess.”

She also nods, smiling, “Likewise, detective.”

Nearing the end of your shift, you’re about to head back to the station when there’s an aggravated call on the scanner. “10-50. These crowds are getting out of hand. More officers needed in Midtown near Grand Central.”

You go back and forth in your head for a moment before deciding to respond, “Dispatch, add 12-David-19 to that 10-50 call. En route from East Village. ETA about 20 minutes.” You turn on your lights and try to get there as fast as you can.

Arriving on scene, you park about four blocks away, at Park and 38th, which is as close as you can get with all the rubble and destroyed buildings. This is the main drag of where most of the Avenger’s fight happened. It’s no surprise that half of New York is here to see the damage, even six months later.

Now on foot, you’re about halfway to Grand Central Station when you hear the breaking of glass and catch some suspicious activity out of the corner of your eye. You follow, talking into your radio, “This is 12-David-19. I’ve got a 10-10P. Kids breaking windows of businesses. It doesn’t look like they’ve stolen anything yet. I’m going to keep an eye on them. Requesting one or two officers for backup if anyone can leave Grand Central Station. 40th street, headed NorthEast.”

You casually follow at a distance until all of a sudden, “Whoa, dudes, check this out!” One of the kids picks up a weapon of some sort. Clearly not of this world and from the Battle, you’re 99% sure. He poses with it and one of his friends takes a picture of him with their phone. “I wonder what this button does.”

“Ahh!” Whatever came out of the weapon hits you directly in the shoulder and you fall to the ground. This is the first time the group of kids notice your presence. They fight for a moment, deciding whether to run or help. A groan from you cuts their argument short and most leave, while two stay.

By what you can tell with your blurry vision, they seem to be brothers. The one walking towards you is clearly friends with the ones that fled, while the other is younger. If you had to guess, you’d say early high school, 14-16, and 12ish for their ages.

You grab your radio and talk into it softly. Hopefully someone will be able to hear you. “Ambulance needed at location of 10-10. Officer down, shot with some sort of alien weapon.”

The older one kneels beside you and takes off his shirt, wrapping it around your wound, attempting to make a tourniquet. You let out a raspy laugh. It���s not quite right, but you appreciate the attempt. “You seem to know what you’re doing.”

You can see the fear still on his face but he smiles nonetheless, “I’ve seen a few medical shows. I think this is right.”

“Anything to slow the bleeding. You’re doing good. What’s your name?”

“Derek Saunders. Am I going to jail?”

“N-no, why would you think that?”

“My friend shot you. Aren’t I an accessory or whatever?”

You shake your head, “You watch cop shows too?” you joke.

“My dad’s a cop. He’s helping at Grand Central right now.”

You cough out another laugh. How convenient. You’re about to tell him to call his dad on your radio when you hear another blast. It feels like it happens in slow motion. You watch as the burst of energy goes up at an angle and hits the building next to where you’re laying. You hear the boy yell something in the opposite direction, you’re assuming at his brother, who most likely got curious and picked up the alien weapon. You see the huge pieces of building falling towards you and Derek.

You let out a scream, though you’re not sure how loud it is due to your blood loss and how tired you’re getting. You close your eyes, knowing the inevitable is going to happen, and just waiting for it. You feel the ground rumble and try to open your eyes to understand what's going on, but you can’t.

Your world goes black.

You wake up to the sound of steady beeping. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the brightness of the fluorescent lights, but once you do you begin to panic. You know this is medical equipment and you’re in a room of some sort, but you’re not sure, something doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t seem like a hospital room.

You hear the whooshing of an automatic door sliding open. “It’s okay, officer. No need to panic. You are in great hands.” A pleasant British voice says to you. It does put you at ease a little.

The brunette seems to be taking your vitals or something at the moment, writing on a clipboard. You clear your throat, “Uh..where am I?”

“Oh of course,” she smiles embarrassedly, “welcome to the Bus. We’re with SHIELD. You’re safe.” she reassures.

“The Bus?” you raise an eyebrow.

“Yes,” your eyes shoot to the new voice, “welcome aboard.”

“Agent Coulson.” You try to sit up, but the pain in your shoulder stops you. You wince and lay back down.

“I assumed our meeting would be under better circumstances, but this’ll have to do.” he says with a smile. “Thank you, Simmons.” he nods at the girl and she leaves.

“What happened?”

“We heard your call on 40th.”

“Were you tracking me?”

“No,” he scoffs, “just making sure you didn’t get hurt before we got to meet you. Kinda failed at that, huh?”

You can’t help but chuckle a little, “Okay, but how the heck did I....” you trailed off, trying to think of how to word your question.

“Not die?” he looks at you, finishing your sentence.

“Uh, yeah.”

“You have Skye to thank for that. To avoid a lengthy explanation, she has the ability to ‘quake’ things apart and stopped the piece of building from falling on you and the young man helping you.”

“What happened to Derek and his brother?”

“They’re safe. And the weapon has been confiscated, now SHIELD property.”

You nodded, content with his explanations. There’s a lull in the conversation and you take the time to actually take in your surroundings. The room you’re in is glass on three sides, the fourth being a wall of shelves for medical items. You look down at yourself, not in a gown like a hospital, but someone’s tank top and shorts. You’d have to ask about that later. You focus on your shoulder, eyes going wide. It still hurts, but looks completely healed. 

“Pretty cool, huh?” you look at Agent Coulson, who is smiling like a proud dad, “you’d lost a lot of blood by the time we found you. We immediately put you in the tissue regeneration pod and got it going on your shoulder. It looks healed, but you’ll have to stay in here for a couple more days and be monitored.”

“Tissue regeneration? How long was I out?”

“From when we found you to getting you to the pod, only a few minutes, but we had to anesthetize you so you wouldn’t wake up during the regeneration, so you've been out for about 16 hours.”

“Oh.” is all you’re able to say, still taking it in. Tissue regeneration. How are you supposed to comprehend that? “Thanks, I guess.”

He nods, “So are you ready to discuss your new position with SHIELD?”

Besides the man being in front of you, you had completely forgotten about your transition from NYPD detective to possibly SHIELD agent? The two of you certainly had a lot to talk about. “Yes, sir.”

[gothsic]

LITTLE CHARACTER THINGS

Just a fun little character game. Fill in the below categories with 3-5 things that your character can be identified by. Repost & tag away !

tagged by: @citialiin​ suplexes you into the sun bc i luv u tagging:   whomever wants to !!

EMOTIONS / FEELINGS:

001. DISGUST – Filth, filth, it’s all filth. Everyone is squirming underneath his boot heel, and they’re doing it with a smile. How awful. And yet, he can’t help but smile right back at them. So delighted that they understand their place. If only he could sleep, he might very well get some god-damned peace...

002. ISOLATION – Why is it that looking at the sea reminds him so much of the things that he’d lost? Maybe that’s why he spends so much time sitting out there in the sand, looking out at the ocean as it ebbs and flows, leaves behind the darkened, wet sand. Sometimes, he planted footprints there, and watched them vanish as the water took them away. And no, it wasn’t a comfort. It was, maybe, some sort of reminder to himself.

003. ENVY – WHY does it always have to be that way? Smiling faces admiring another’s work - someone younger than him... he wants it all. He’ll take it for himself if he has to. Why can it not be him at all hours of the day? Always worshipped, always admired. Look at his talent, bask in it... but why do they all head the opposite direction? Could it be that... he’s losing relevance? No, it couldn’t be. And yet, that pain in his stomach simply won’t go away...

004.YEARNING – He has always had a habit of grabbing at things he can’t have. If he can’t have it, he only wants it more. Once he has it, he holds onto it as if he had been utterly fulfilled every which way.

005. RAGE  – Always seeing red, always wanting nothing more than to tear at those that denied him a chance at success. Claws that have grown over the years, from frustrated, suppressed anger that originated from the time he was born, perhaps. Now, they slash at whatever they can find; not enough to kill, but enough to leave a scar. A wound. A reminder that he was there once.

GREETINGS:

001. A sarcastic remark, a seemingly chatty man. He seems to have opinions on everything, no matter what the subject. He seems remarkably interested in you, but only insofar as to how involved you are in the subject at hand.

002. He offers you a half-smile. A laid-back appearance. Extends his hand to meet yours to greet you. When you shake his hand, you make note of how strangely callous his hands are. How cold they are, made even colder by the metal rings on his fingers that brush uncomfortably against your skin.

003. He pokes fun at you, makes jokes. But they’re never meant to necessarily harm you. That would be rude, oh no. He can be a bit much, but he only means to make you laugh. But there’s still a strange distance to him. You can’t seem to penetrate him, necessarily - no matter how you may retort. But maybe, if you say something right on point at the right moment, he might just remember you.

004. After an exciting conversation, he asks for your number. Or your contact details. Anything to potentially arrange another meeting down the line. It’s a sign that you’ve attracted his attention in some way. Maybe he’ll contact you down the line.

005. Perhaps, after some time of meeting, if you’re lucky, he’ll show you his genuine smile rather than his half-smile. Right then, you realize that the man you met way back when may actually have more secrets than you could have ever comprehended - if his smile was fake, what else is fake?

COLOURS:

001. Pitch black, of course - the color of choice for the ex-goth.

002. Crimson red, the color of beating hearts and throbbing flesh.

003. Forest green, the color of D.’s forest before it began to rot as a consequence of his deteriorating psyche.

004. Murky blue, the color of the ocean at midnight as the moon is hidden in the Los Angeles smog. It seems endless the more he looks into it.

005. Earthy brown, the color of Annie’s sweater the night she vanished into the darkness forever.

SCENTS:

001. A consistent reek of cigarette smoke on his clothes, his breath, his every word.

002. A faint scent of hair gel and mousse - faintly applied, to keep his hair as voluminous as possible.

003. The equally as faint trace of after shave after he’s taken care of himself. Though there is a stronger smell of hair dye, as he obsessively covers every white hair that may emerge on his head.

004. The strong smell of permanent marker, inking pens, and lead from his furious sketching.

005. Then, there’s his own natural smell - cinnamon mixed with a musty pine; it’s a bit like the smell of a forest filled with pine trees after a heavy rain. Overwhelming, powerful, and stuffy.

CLOTHING:

001. Three skull rings on each hand, on your index, middle, and ring fingers. It’s perfect symmetry, and they shine against whatever light might hit it. But they are always so very cold to the touch.

002. Black, black, and more black - but the occasional muted green or brown enters the palette. Never any colors brighter than those, however - it would be far too much of an eyesore for someone like him.

003. Three gold and black earrings on the top of his ears. Again, symmetry is key. Keeping that image of control and collection is exactly what he wishes above all things; that alternative look.

004. Combat boots, black and laced up to the top. They’re impeccably buffed and shined, though the soles look a little worse for wear. It must be all the walking he does at night when sleep simply won’t come.

005. Baggy shirts and sweaters, occasionally dress shirts, that hide his figure. He’s disproportionate, far too thin; the longer the clothes, the better he can hide how odd and lanky he truly is from his point of view.

OBJECTS:

001. His drawing tablet, always sketching something idly while at home and daydreaming. There are hundreds of random sketches collected on the pages, though some consistencies are quite visible if one took a closer look. 

002. His collection of various statuettes and figurines. He has placed them in detolfs for everyone to see, fawn over, and be amazed by. If anyone so much as looks incorrectly at his more precious ones, he will have a close eye on them in fear that they will somehow break merely by being looked at.

003. Signed copy of one of the few produced vinyl records of Oingo Boingo’s Forbidden Zone hanging on his wall. It’s framed, and he’s very proud of it! Often shows it off, in fact. He’s a big fan of theirs.

004. A safety deposit box filled with his biggest secrets - specifically a thumb drive filled with Annie’s e-mails to him. He backed them up there so he can read them on occasion and not have people discover them on his actual computer - he’s quite the paranoid man.

005. Post-its on the walls of his workroom. There is literally no more space for plaster, only post-its of notes and ideas that he has while he conducts research for his next project.

VICES / BAD HABITS:

001. OBSESSIVENESS - Look at him, so utterly fixated on someone who will never love him back. But what he feels isn’t love, oh no. It’s rather a completely unhealthy adoration and veneration of someone he felt understood him. But it is arrogant, of course, to assume that you are so complex as to feel as if there are only a select few who understand you ( in his very unfortunate case ). He has gone to horrific lengths to keep tabs on Annie, and does so as covertly as possible. Nowadays, he uses his intelligence to fuel his obsessive tendencies.

002. LYING - Covers the truth up with layers and layers of sarcasm and lies so that he, or rather his true self, can never be discovered. The result is that he keeps people in a web of extremely elaborate deception, the likes of which they can never escape. But there are cracks in the facades occasionally, they just have to be found.

003. COVETING YOUTH - He is so obsessed with youth that he cannot handle anybody or anything maintaining the status that he had when he was their age (20s, in other words). He especially applies it to himself, though no amount of primping and covering up the blemishes on his face can ever erase the fact that he’s slowly growing crow’s feet around his eyes, made even worse by the bags under them - and my, they’re growing a fine mixture of blue and purple, like fresh bruises.

004. UNWARRANTED SELF IMPORTANCE - He is completely self centered, and thinks of the entire world on his own terms. This is how he’s been wired ever since he can remember, and he always puts himself and his survival first. He makes friends and connections based on this principle, and has a great amount of pride because of this. It is unfortunate, but it is one of his biggest flaws and ultimately what has led him down the slippery slope to irrelevance and isolation.

005. LACK OF EMPATHY - On top of being self involved, he struggles to feel for the plight of others. In fact, it can be said he struggles to feel much of anything, as he worries far more for his current predicament rather than for the difficulties of those in his life. He will only assist or even understand if he can relate in some way from personal experience, or if it benefits him and his career. There is very rarely an instance he will help someone or something because he feels it is the right thing to do.

BODY LANGUAGE:

001. The aforementioned half-smile - the Jonathan trademark, something he has rehearsed ever since his career started to take off. Perhaps even before then, while he was still in high school. It is boyish, youthful, playful - and it is always followed by a sarcastic or joking remark.

002. Hands in pockets - The sign of deceit, hiding something, keeping his distance from you. He is very secretive at all times, and often feels uncomfortable in social situations, and feel better as long as he has his hands in his pockets. That said...

003. Wild gesticulations - When passionately discussing something, he has a tendency to make hand movements of all kinds. Circling his hands, stretching his arms out, pointing, doing anything and everything to get his point across. He becomes expressive in a rather charismatic way. It’s truly odd, considering how often he keeps his hands in his pockets.

004. Hunched over - Slouching half the time, his true height is hidden by this decision to constantly look as if he’s three inches shorter than he is. Rather it is a symptom of his insecurity over his appearance ( he does think he’s weird looking to begin with ), or from a life of leaning over a desk, he certainly rarely stands up straight.

005. Leaning on his right foot versus the left - When standing, and talking to someone, he always puts all his weight on his right foot, and leans to that side. It’s his dominant side, and it gives him his lackadaisical appearance. This likely helps people approach him in many ways.

AESTHETICS:

001. BIOMECHANICS. - Feeling flesh on metal is one of the most skin-crawling sensations, but Jonathan is fascinated with it. He draws it, he lives and breathes it, one of his favorite films of all time is Tetsuo: The Iron Man. Not because he himself would want to put metal on his body, but the very idea is where he believes humanity is headed in the next decade or two. Biomechanics, while cold, is something that gives Jonathan some sense of comfort - that there is a way to marry technology and flesh. Maybe he, too, can be a biomechanical humanoid - so he fantasizes.

002. GOTH ( AS IT SHOULD BE ). - A goth since his teen years, Jonathan knows the fashion and subculture inside and out; or at least, he did once. Though an ex-goth from his early 30s, he still maintains some interest in the culture all the same. He may have stopped dying his hair and wearing “goth” accessories and clothes, but he enjoys the lifestyle and still generally keeps it close to his heart. Just don’t call him Goth Bomb.

003. BODY HORROR. - Flesh mutating and intermingling with itself, a David Cronenberg nightmare that he experienced firsthand in his own dreams. Eyes in places they shouldn’t be, hair where it should never grow... the list goes on and on. It, like biomechanics, sends chills running up and down his spine in a way that excites him. Perhaps he is like Tetsuo, a man who finds a grotesque fascination in manipulating the flesh with the unnatural. But in this case, it’s how naturally manipulation can occur without the introduction of foreign objects, to word it somewhat scientifically...

004. SCI-FI HORROR. - The darkness of space, it’s vastness. It’s quite horrifying, the more he thinks about it. But it’s exciting too. All the possibilities that lie in the stars, all the worlds he could visit as someone quite tired of Earth... but what horrors await behind each planet, each moon, even within each star? They would simply jump at the chance to devour an unimportant human whole, and Jonathan is unsure if he wants to take that chance. All the same, he dreams of that world, hoping that one day he may get to experience it - but, perhaps, from a distance. 

005. DEEP COLORS IN CINEMATOGRAPHY / CHIAROSCURO. - Intense lighting, mood lighting, anything that brings out the terror or intensity of a scene is something Jonathan imitates in his works. By deep colors, it is meant that he adores the use of intense reds, blues, and purples in cinema - these often pop up in his work as mood lighting for his set pieces. They signal to him a fantasy world that is not our own. Chiaroscuro simply refers to the film noir technique that he grew to adore from a young age. The harsh black against white, signalling mystery and evil lying behind every corner entranced that young and intelligent mind, sparked his terrified imagination to what monsters could hide in the faces of his favorite noir protagonists...

SONGS / PIECES:

001. montezuma ── fleet foxes 

002. little lennon ──   asian kung fu generation

003. sabertooth tiger   ──   cage the elephant

004. controller   ──   oingo boingo

005. dark entries  ── bauhaus

[jpat82]

Secret World

Chapter 3

Peter stood with his mouth wide open as Bucky swore under his breath, Sam let out a chuckle and clapped the other man on his shoulder. Bucky took a deep breath before standing straight back up, his eyes shooting daggers at the kid who slowly brought his hand over his mouth to cover the amused look that was slowly starting to form on his face.

"Looks like she got the drop on ya Buck." Sam stated in a amused tone, Bucky's eyes whipped over and he glared at his companion, his lip twitched with annoyance.

"Screw you, Bird Boy." Bucky grimaced with a roll of his eyes as he recomposed himself. "Any idea who she is?"

"No, she just seemed really confused." Peter replied as he looked Bucky up and down. "Did that really hurt?"

"Nah, it was quite enjoyable, or course it hurt, why would you even ask?" Bucky snapped, looking down the street that the mystery woman had went.

"Well, I mean, it's just you're, like, a super solider and everything, I just assumed.." Peter trailed off with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Super solider or not, a kick to the nuts is still a kick to the nuts and it does hurt." Bucky replied sharply, slowly he looked over to Sam who had a smirk on his face. "Kid, I think she'll be okay."

    "I have to agree to him, she seemed pretty capable of handling this old man." Sam stayed, slapping Bucky on the arm which earned him a scowl. "You better get going, otherwise you'll be late to school."

    "But, she." Peter started to say as he pointed toward the direction she had run off in.

"Pete, she'll be fine. We'll keep an eye out, if she turns up again we'll find her." Sam told him, point in the opposite direction. "School. Now.”

Peter rolled his eyes as he turned and started back down the way he had originally been going, his shoulders slumped. He couldn’t wait to graduate, that way he focus more of his time doing things to help people.

——-

I kept running, dodging around people, trying to get away. I didn't bother to look behind me, this was crazy, there was no way I was in the future by four years. The kid had to have been messing with me, after all finding a woman half dead in the middle of the street would of been an easy target.

Then you factor in Ice man and Warm man, which seemed to have come out of no where. They all knew each other, maybe some kind of street gang, blue eyes would certainly have been the muscle. The kid, maybe a runner? Maybe he was the one that kept his feelers out, would of made sense for him to call his bosses. Mocha man, definitely the smarter of the three, he was the brains.

Who knew if there was more, they could be on every street corner for all I knew. I slowed down, putting as many streets and turns between me and them as possible. I looked over my shoulder, to my surprise I didn't see anyone. Well, I saw lots of people but not them.

As I started to walk past one of the many street corner vendors I saw a newspaper paper stand and the headline on the New York Times cause me to pause. Post Snap, Five Years After Thanos. Post snap? Isn't that what the kid said? And what was Thanos?

"How much for the paper?" I questioned the older woman sitting behind the table.

"Two dollars." She replied, not bothering to look up, I pulled my wallet out of my back pocket and handed my debt card over. I opened the paper as I waited for her to swipe my card.

The year 2018 an alien being dusted half the population? Half of everything living gone within seconds, and then a couple months ago people who called themselves the Avengers..

"Miss, your card is declining, do you have another form of payment?" She asked, interrupting me. I looked up at her a blinked hard a couple of times, how? I literally just got paid yesterday.

"Uh.." I opened my wallet and just like any other day of my life it was void of any actual cash. "No, I'm sorry."

    She handed the card back to me as I started to walk away leaving the paper on the counter top. 2018 was last year, those events didn't happen, the date on the paper though said it was 2023. I don't understand, how could possibly be four years in the future and the events of last year change?

     I stopped at the street corner and looked around, my brain refusing to process the very real possibility that some how I was in alternate reality. An alternate world in which the world had been attacked by some alien creature, or creatures just as my vision had shown before I ran into the theater bathroom. How it happened, I have no idea, I didn't pay much attention to the possibility of timelines and realities that ran side by side. But the very little knowledge I did have would make more since that the years should run side by side.

     Unless somehow in this world if there was a me, which could be a possibility, somehow got swapped with the me from my world. Or, there was a secret black hole in the bathroom that I just happened to stumble upon. All I knew is none of this made any sense, it was time to do some research though. Time to make some sense of the events that were surrounding me.

———

     Peter watched the clock on the wall in his last period. He hadn't been able to get the woman's face out of his head, the look of shock and fear. Her genuine confusion about the snap, those who came back from the snap were always confused but she seemed more so then most.

    She had said Spiderling, Tony had called him that in his bed room when they first met, right before asking him to go Germany to help fight against Captain America and his team. Nobody knew that, and until she said it he had all forgotten about it as well. Maybe she knew Tony somehow, if she was snapped then she wouldn't know that Tony was....

    Peter wiped his cheek, looking down from the clock and took a deep breath. He needed to find her again, he knew that Sam and Bucky didn't seemed concerned by her but something in his gut told him there was something different about this woman.

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[aweirdkindofyellow]

Here I Am, There You Are Pt. 6

Jack Barakat x OC ‘Rachel has been best friends with Alex, Jack, Rian, and Zack since high school. What happens when one of them gets married?’

Part 6

Once nine o’clock came rolling around, I was leaving a taxi with a duffle bag hanging from my shoulder and my handbag awkwardly balancing on top of the duffle bag’s strap. Honestly, I felt like a teenager leaving my best friend’s house after a sleepover. Only, I was much older than a teenager, and I was coming back from work. Although, you could technically say that I was going to go to a sleepover.

Other than being late, work also left me in an inappropriate outfit for the situation. First of all, heels. Completely open heels. They were okay for sitting in meetings for an entire day, but not for what was to come. Along with those heels I was wearing some dark blue high waisted dress pants. The shirt wasn’t too bad, it was a white t-shirt, but I was also wearing a blazer that matched with the pants. It truly was the perfect outfit for work, which meant it was the worst outfit for a concert.

Music was already booming from inside the venue. The queue outside was already long gone, the only people still outside only being there to clean up the trash that people had left behind. I rolled my eyes, remembering the many times I would freak out on the guys when they left their trash outside when we were waiting to get into a concert back in high school. But, hey, what can you do. Nobody wants to lose their spot to go to the bin.

I went to the back entrance to find nothing but a closed door. Originally, there was going to be somebody waiting to greet me and take me inside, but once again I was way too late for that. Everybody was busy doing their jobs. I was going to have to call Jack so either he could let me in or he could find somebody else to let me in. But my phone was somewhere at the bottom of my bag, so it was a real struggle. Before I started swearing and getting too annoyed, I happened to notice somebody in the hallway inside through the small window at eye-height in the door.

I knocked on the window loudly and waved to get her attention. She looked up at me and I recognised her as the first supporting act’s lead singer. At first, she looked very confused, but I beckoned for her to come over, hoping I wasn’t coming over as too creepy. Luckily, she came over and opened the door, but she did the right thing not opening it too far and letting me in.

“Hi?” She said with much confusion.

“Hi,” I sighed in relief. “I’m sorry, I promise I’m not a crazy fan trying to get backstage. I’m Jack’s girlfriend.” She continued to stare at me, making me realise that ‘Jack’ could literally be anybody. I quickly clarified, “Jack Barakat.”

“Oh, umm…” She still seemed skeptical and glanced inside to see if there was anybody who could help her, but nobody was there.

“You have no reason to believe me,” I said to show I knew and understood her fear. “I’d call him, but I literally can’t find my phone right now. I could… umm… you could check his instagram? I’m on there.”

“Okay, yeah, I’ll check.” She pulled out her phone from her back pocket.

I apologised when she unlocked it and opened the app. She searched for Jack’s profile and tapped on it before scrolling through the images. We went past many images, making my case look very bad. I could tell she didn’t really believe me anymore, if she ever did. Even I would have doubted myself. But then she happened to scroll past a post Jack had put up on our anniversary, which was also Alex’s and Lisa’s anniversary. We were very unsure about posting anything on that day, not wanting to take away from their special day, but they said it didn’t matter.

“Hang on. There!” I exclaimed with a bit too much excitement, making her go back to the post.

“That’s you?” She still seemed unconvinced as she zoomed into the photo.

“Yeah,” I nodded, knowing it wasn’t an all too great photo since it was from quite a distance and my hair was a lot longer. “I should be tagged in it. If not, he’s got some explaining to do.”

But, when she tapped on the photo, my username popped up. She tapped on it and opened my profile. There, it looked a lot more like me. I also had a few more photos with Jack posted on mine than Jack had on his of me. The only reason I didn’t tell her to go to my profile first was because I could have easily taken them at some meet and greet or used some amazing photoshop skills, which both weren’t the case, but still.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” she apologised when she realised I was telling the truth and nothing but the truth, and let me in.

“No, it’s cool. Better safe than sorry. I could have been a fan with an elaborate plan,” I told her.

“Okay, well, I’ve got to go into the opposite direction, but All Time Low’s dressing room is just down the hall, to the right, and then three doors down. There’s also signs when you go to the right, so don’t worry too much about finding your way around.”

I thanked her and we parted ways. Although I could remember the directions she gave me, I followed the signs all the way to the dressing room. The boys were getting ready to play their shows. They all had their clothes on and were busy getting their in-ear monitors ready. It was only half an hour until they had to be on stage.

“Hey, it’s Rachel!” Alex was the first to notice me enter the doorway.

Jack immediately perked up and looked up over Zack’s shoulder, who he was helping with the in-ear monitors.

“Hey, guys, I’m so sorry I’m so awfully late,” I apologised despite the fact that I knew I hadn’t inconvenienced them and had kept Jack up to date through brief texts. “I’m just going to go change and let you guys finish what you’re doing.”

“Wait,” Jack stopped me, his hands still on the Zack’s jean’s waistband to attach the box. “Have you had dinner yet?”

Originally, Jack and I were going to go out for dinner together. He had made reservations and everything. It would have meant that we would have missed the first support act, but we would have been back way sooner than I came. However, that plan obviously fell through. Instead, he went and had that dinner with Rian because it would have been a waste of a reservation otherwise.

“No, I haven’t had time to even think about food today. But I have...” I shook my head and looked into my handbag. I had brought a lunch with me to work and was assuming that I had brought it with me. But I had left it in the fridge at work. “… a mini KitKat. I’ll be fine.”

After that, I slipped into the bathroom and stripped off the clothes I had been wearing for over twelve hours. Now was my time to put on a concert-ready outfit, or also known to me as some normal clothing. I pulled on my ripped blue jeans and a dark gray t-shirt before discarding my heels for some black vans. There was no real reason to dress up or think too much about it. Next, I brushed my hair, deciding it was too messy and putting it up in a ponytail, and then just took off all my makeup. My skin needed to breathe. I tried to be as quick as possible, knowing that it was only a matter of time until they had to move to the stage.

When I came back into the dressing room, the boys were done with helping each other. They were now playing some loud music through their large speakers. Alex was doing his silly dancing, Rian was sitting on one of the couches tapping along to the music, and Zack felt the need to do some pushups. And Jack? Well, Jack was stood at the microwave pulling out a styrofoam box.

He grabbed a fork from a container and made his way over to me, giving it all to me. “Here, eat this. I was keeping it for myself for later, but you need it more.”

I opened the take-away box and saw some delicious looking pasta from the restaurant we were supposed to go to. “Thank you.” I quickly pecked him on the lips before digging in.

“Ugh,” Alex groaned in disgust. I looked at him to see his scrunched up nose and dirty look was directed at me and Jack.

“What? Can’t deal with a little minor PDA?” I commented while still eating my pasta.

“No, I can deal with it, but you guys…” he visibly shivered on purpose and pulled the same face again. “I’m used to you acting all close, you even did that back in high school. But you guys kissing and knowing you guys– you guys– It’s like knowing my parents–” He added a faking gagging noise.

“Well, deal with it,” Jack retorted and wrapped and arm around my waist for emphasis. “She’s here for a week and I’m going to be making sweet sweet love to her.”

“Sweet sweet love,” I repeated in a singsong voice just to watch Alex squirm.

“You guys disgust me. Keep that out of my face,” Alex said sternly, but I could tell he was just joking. He liked me and Jack together, he had made that clear many times before.

I continued to stuff the pasta into my mouth to try and finish it on time. It wasn’t long until they were going to go side stage. I didn’t want to bring it with me, but I did want to finish it. Although I wasn’t hungry before, one bite rejigged my stomach and it started sending messages to my brain again to eat. Once I finished it, I put it to the side and remembered one last thing I wanted to wear to hide the mess that was my hair.

I pulled out a black baseball cap with a logo on the front of it and showed it to Jack. “You might not remember this, but I stole this from you.”

“Really?” He took it out of my hands and inspected it with a frown. I could see him trying to imagine the rack he had in his closet for all his caps to see where it could be missing from. “Are you sure?”

“Blink concert, summer 2005,” I stated, but he still didn’t seem to remember. “You dragged me out super early because you wanted to get good places and nobody else was able to go so early. We had to stand out in the sun for hours. I was dying and starting to get a sunburn, so you gave me your hat to help save my face. I never gave it back and wore it a lot during first year of college.”

“I remember now,” he grinned and put the hat on my head. “That was the day before I developed a humongous crush on you. My sister asked me about the concert and she planted these thoughts in my head that made me overthink everything.”

“No... really?” I tried thinking back to the weeks afterwards, but couldn’t recall ever thinking that Jack had feelings for me. Usually, I was very good at knowing when guys would crush on me in high school, but I only knew about the brief time Jack had a schoolboy crush on me for a week during freshman year.

“Yeah, but I knew you were crushing on Chris Feltner, and you guys dated for–”

“We dated until first year of college.” I nodded, realising I maybe had been too obsessed with my own feelings to realise how one of my best friend’s was feeling. “I know.”

“Well, suck it Feltner, guess who’s got the girl now!” Jack shouted in triumph before going in for a proper kiss.

I jumped when a flash went off and turned to see a girl with a camera standing in the doorway. She was smiling brightly and gushed, “that’s so cute.”

“You scared me,” I breathed out in shock and held a hand to my heart.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” she excused. “I should have asked to take your picture before.”

“Oh, no, it’s cool,” I quickly told her so she wouldn’t feel guilty. “I just didn’t see you there. No, you can take my picture if you like. I believe I actually have an old photo from 2005 of the two of us with me wearing this hat. It’s a nice comparison.”

“Rachel often makes me take pictures of her, you’re all good,” Jack added with a chuckle.

“Like you don’t make me take hundreds of different photos just for you to choose one to send to your mom,” I retorted.

“But I’m not embarrassed about it, I don’t give a shit.”

“I don’t give a shit either.” I winked.

–––––––––––––

Visiting Jack on tour wasn’t nearly as rowdy as most people would expect. They weren’t twenty-one-year-olds enjoying their rising fame by partying twenty-four-seven anymore. Yes, they still liked their fun and their drinks, but it wasn’t over excessive. I managed to avoid alcohol the entire time I was there. Well, except for one night. One dreadful night. Karaoke night.

You see, I didn’t sing. I would never do what Alex did and sing in front of large crowds. Quite simply, I didn’t want to do so and I wasn’t good enough to do it either. But I could hold a note. I was good enough to be one of the few people who didn’t suck at karaoke, but I could never be an actual singer. If I took some serious vocal coaching, I probably could have. But like I said before, I had no desire to do. I liked singing in the shower, that was it.

So, when the guys decided to go out to a karaoke bar, I was dragged into it. We had to be back by 4am to get on the bus and leave to the next venue, but that didn’t mean the guys didn’t want to go out. It was actually relatively late compared to other nights when we had to leave immediately after everything was packed up again.

At this karaoke bar, more than just a few drinks were poured. I managed to stay away from it at first. The first round bought by Alex was beer, which I got out of. My glass was replaced with a glass of coke. I also managed to miss out on the shots of tequila and a round of mixed drinks. While the boys were very understanding when sober (and when I say ‘understanding’, I mean they would eventually give in and let me have my way), they would be less so when the alcohol started flowing.

Jack had bought everybody a round a vodka shots. This time, however there was an extra glass and that glass came in my direction. I refused. I absolutely refused, but Jack just wiggled his eyebrows when took did his own. Even when they started chanting my name and got a few strangers to join in, I still stood my ground. But Jack wouldn’t give up. He was tempting me. At one point, I almost took it, but I stopped myself. It all went well until Jack picked up my shot and poured it into my glass of coke. He winked and convinced me that that one drink wouldn’t hurt over the rest of the night.

But he was wrong. Very wrong.

It must have been around 5am when things went downhill for me. At first, Jack had kept saying ‘I told you so’ when I got no headache and felt fine. But it was so different just an hour or so later. The bus was moving, shaking us lightly. I was pressed up against the wall in Jack’s bunk, Jack taking up most of the space beside me. My head was pounding when I woke up.

“Jack,” I groaned, trying to push him out of the way so I could get some more breathing space. It felt like I had a horse putting all it’s weight on my forehead. “Jack,” I repeated again when he didn’t budge.

“What,” he grumbled back and shifted like half an inch.

That’s when the pain got so bad that it started messing with my stomach. “I’m so nauseous.”

“You okay?” he asked, seemingly a bit more awake than before, but his voice still full of sleep.

Part of me wanted to cuddle up against him and bury my head into his neck to help with the pain, but another part of me wanted him to get as far away from me as possible. “This is your fault.”

“Do you want some painkillers?”

“No,” I told him despite the fact I actually most definitely wanted some, but something else was on my mind first. “I’m going to be sick.”

“Right now?” He was definitely awake now. This was a wakeup call. He started to shuffle out of the bunk.

“I can’t move.” I managed to breathe out while I was trying to keep everything down, clutching my head tightly. I really didn’t want to throw up all over Jack’s bunk. One, it was our sleeping place, and two it would be a bitch to clean up.

“Oh, shit,” he sighed and sat up, not leaving the bunk.

I wasn’t the only one who knew the severity of how bad this was. Last time this happened, I threw up all over Jack’s bedroom floor and passed out from my headache. He was afraid I was going to choke on my own vomit, but that didn’t even come close to happening. That time I had only had some wine with dinner.

“Umm, take this.” He pulled out a plastic bag he had in a small compartment at the end of his bunk. “Just in case.”

Just because I had that plastic bag, did not mean that I was immediately going to throw up. Jack ran his fingers through my hair, both to comfort me and to easily hold it back if needed. I concentrated on breathing so the worst wouldn’t happen. Honestly, I would do anything for it not to get to the point. It wasn’t that the alcohol made me throw up, it was my headache caused by the alcohol that made me nauseous.

“Maybe we should go to the back?” Jack suggested when he realised I was doing my best to stay composed. “You can look outside there, it might help.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to open my mouth to say anything. This time he did get out of his bunk, opening the curtain and revealing that all the lights were also off in the hallway. I was glad they were, I couldn’t imagine being able to stand light right at that moment. Jack waited for me to slowly crawl out. Just sitting up made my head spin.

“You go already, I’ll grab some water and painkillers.” He reached out to push the button to open the door to the back lounge and went in the opposite direction.

I somehow made it onto one of the couches while keeping my eyes nearly closed and holding tightly onto my head. The movement of sitting down nearly made me vomit, but I managed to stop it from happening. I sat with my legs up, looking out at the highway we were on. It was dark outside except for the occasional streetlight. The pain was so unbearable that tears involuntarily slipped out of my tear ducts.

“Here.” Jack handed me a water bottle and two pills before going back to his bunk and taking his pillow and duvet to the back lounge. He closed the door behind himself so we wouldn’t accidentally wake anybody up, which we surprisingly hadn’t done yet.

“Thanks,” I responded in a very shaky voice and downed some water to chase the painkillers.

Jack pushed another button that made the couch extend horizontally. He grabbed a throw blanket from a cupboard in the room and took it for himself while he gave me the bedding. “We’ll just sleep here tonight. I also brought some melatonin in case you aren’t able to sleep.”

I thanked him yet again and waited for him to lie down beside me. Once he got comfortable, one arm behind his head, I put my head on his chest and closed my eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he apologised, wrapping and arm around me and trailing his fingers over my side. “I promise to never put alcohol in your drink again. If anything, I’ll keep you away from it.”

“I love you,” I whispered and accepted his apology. I couldn’t hold a grudge against him.