#i love how you can look at two miis and do a kiss or kill with them LMAO

[kanasn0w]

depending on the ship, it could differentiate between "commonly rare pair" and "holy fuck how did you think of that i need whatever ur smoking /pos" and it makes me wanna hold a contest on who can get the rarest of ships /j

do you ever just stop to think about how technically any wii sports ship is a rarepair because there isnt really much canon interaction

that also makes me realize every mii is like a blank canvas we can put our headcanons

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 146

Whew, on a roll with queuing these up!  Kind of proud of myself.

Speaking of proud... So many familiar names in the notes this week!  Y’all are giving me a huge smile during a super busy week/month. Work has been bananas, weekends have been insane, and knowing that all of you are reading and enjoying the story gives me the encouragement I need to keep writing and to make the effort to keep the quality as consistent as possible.

All of you literally encourage me to take care of myself :)  Thank you so much. 

And, always, thank you to @baelpenrose, @charlylimph-blog, and @the-raven-fae, for everything you do, from beta-reading, to giving me stuff to read, to just keeping me reasonably sane. 

I huffed as I put down the box of blankets in our new quarters. With our expected drop from hyperspace getting closer, we had finally been assigned quarters closer to the Archives.  Xiomara and Tyche had both told me I was being ‘too nice’ by having Maverick put in the transfer request rather than doing it myself, but I still didn’t think it was fair to use my unwilling position on the Council as leverage to get bumped to the front of the line. After all, we had a few months to go, and with everything else going on, it wasn’t like I was in a hurry.

“Conor, be careful!” Maverick scolded as a box of dishes landed on the regrettably-smaller counter. “You’ll break them!”

“Mav, I love you to pieces,” Conor grunted and stretched his back. “But I want to point out again that we can just recycle broken ones and request new ones.” Completely contradictory to his own words, he wrapped the other man in a crushing hug and whispered something in his ear.

When Maverick gave him a skeptical look, Conor opened the box and pulled out a chipped plate. “The ones on the bottom are the ones with no chips, cracks, or stains. Promise.”

Hang on. “You let Conor pack the dishes, but you only let me pack the blankets?!”  I was honestly hurt.

Maverick kicked the floor gently, his way of showing embarrassment. “I was worried I would break them, and you know how attached I am to the chipped plates, and I knew he wouldn’t get rid of them….”

“Baby,” I whispered. “Babe. It’s okay. I like the chipped ones, too. I would never get rid of those…” I held out a hand to see if he was receptive to a hug. When he tugged my hand, I squished his waist the best I could.

“You’re so particular with the clothes, though…”

“Because I despise pills against my skin.” I shuddered at the thought. “They feel… dirty.”

I could feel him shudder in agreement. “They do, don’t they?”

Conor gave us both a squish and shook his head, chin rubbing against us both. “Just leave my shirts alone, yeah?”

Maverick’s agreement with my philosophy nearly vibrated my soul. He never notices when we replace the pit-stained ones, it’s all okay. We both casually replaced the never-ceasing rotation of Conor’s white shirts when they were dirty past the point of laundering, but made a point to leave the permanently grungy coveralls until they either gained enough sentience to run away or fell apart in despair.

“Your shirts and Brenda, promise,” I tried to swear as solemnly as possible. ‘Brenda’ was the tilandsia xerographica that he had gifted me that first Insert Winter Holiday. She was currently twelve inches, and was the third love of Conor’s life.

He nodded before releasing us. “Mav, the silverware is still by the door so you can make sure everything is in the right place. Sophia, I’ll put up the clothes if you’ll sort where you want the blankets.” Without another word, he palmed the thermostat control and adjusted it to the agreed-upon settings we had maintained for years in our shared quarters. “Head’s up, once I get the clothes sorted, I gotta go help Sam and Derek move.”

My neck cramped from the speed I whipped around to look at him. “Derek and Sam are moving?”

Maverick nodded, his chin against my scalp. “They mutually requested relocation to stay in similar proximity to our quarters… specifically to Mac.”

I rolled my eyes. “It is absolutely to be close to Mac. Not my blanket, not soup on tap, not Conor’s plants - “

“They’re your plants, love.”

“Tell the plants that,” I joked. “You keep them alive.”

He muttered something that sounded distinctly like ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’ as he gently set a box under Brenda’s stand and started unpacking spritz bottles, fertilizers, and the world’s tiniest pruning shears.

I can honestly say I did not laugh.  With the exception of the shears, all six spray bottles, the soaking tub, and the three different fertilizers had actually lived with me longer than he had. “The point is that I’m sure they aren’t just moving to be closer to Mac… he roams the entire Ark, so it’s a pretty lame excuse.”

Maverick and Conor both shrugged before the former spoke. “Sam likes how you cook his produce. And it’s a long walk from our previous quarters.”

“I am not going to apologize that his strawberries go better in ketchup, or that his tomatoes make amazing ice cream,” I waved off. “I know it’s a side effect of using the known composition of Von’s soil and light, but… the strawberries are orange. Like a bell pepper.”

“But the tomato soup from his tomatoes is amazing,” Conor granted. “None of us even like tomato soup.” I opened my mouth to argue, but he cut me off. “The one recipe you like, Sophie, proves my point, it’s not an argument. It’s the only recipe you don’t….” He gestured vaguely. “You know.”

“Zhuzh,” I provided. “I don’t zhuzh it.”

Somewhat out of nowhere, Maverick sat down in the new but familiar armchair and asked, “Is it expected to have a housewarming when you live in the same… building… ship… thingie… but moved quarters?”

“I - “ Gaping, I turned to them both. “I’m not sure. I mean… we celebrated when you two moved into my quarters, but that was more a… wedding-slash-engagement thing. Have we been invited to any for just moving?”

Conor shrugged. “All the moves were done in the first few years to settle down. Nothing like this.”

I tapped my chin before pulling up my datapad. “I’m seeing that a total of fifty people - fifty, really? - have been relocated, just to be closer to the Archives.” I took a couple of deep breaths. “I know it’s the furthest Protection Zone from the rest of the ship, but there are only fifteen people sheltering there, not counting Tyche and Alistair.”

Maverick gaped at me before waving both hands widely. “You moved, so a total of five people relocated down here, which we were just discussing, and you don’t understand how fifteen people turned into fifty?” He scowled. “Sophie, I know you can do math.”

I glared at him. “Given the nature of relationships on the Ark, I thought it would be higher, smartass.” I leaned over to kiss his chin. “But that also makes me think… block party? Take the pressure off of us?”

Conor looked thoughtfully at both of us. “I think we should put up curtains, or - you know, soft barriers, something visible but easy to navigate - for the apartments where folks can duck and cover from being wound up too much?”

He had a good point. “Just to be clear,” I ventured, “you just mean the apartments that people already know they can duck into?”

Conor’s enthusiastic nod dropped mine and Mav’s shoulders by a solid two inches. “Yeah, color code them or put proximity alerts on them, something. I don’t think anyone overstimmed wants to wander into a room full of strangers, right? Derek would know he can walk in here, straight to our bed, pile up under the blankets, and he’s fine, but… what if he walks into another person’s bedroom? Fuck all, I’ll kill someone.”

He had a point. I hated that he had a point, but he was right.

“We’re purple, right?”

Conor and Maverick collectively rolled their eyes hard enough to make my head cramp. “Duh,” was the only response Maverick gave, while Conor just shook his head.

It was only a week later that they had the door to our old quarters repainted and retextured,  and had the doors to our new quarters painted screaming purple with green and black stripes.  Just to be clear, apparently.

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[fanficshiddles]

His ray of sunshine, Chapter 9

Warning: Flashbacks/talk of: abuse/murder/attempted rape/homophobia.

Before Tom told Keira about his past, they both got up and dressed then went to the kitchen to have breakfast.

Once they finished eating and chatting about general things, Tom and Keira sat down on the sofa so he could tell her his story…

Nine-year-old Alpha Tom was crying and screaming at his father, pleading him not to do it.

One of his father’s Alpha friends grabbed him and pinned him down, squashing the side of his face to the floor and keeping him there. Tom had no option but to see the scene unfold on front of him.

‘You have disappointed me, son.’ His father said to Tom’s brother, Joseph.

Joseph, twenty-one, was gagged and had his hands restrained behind him. His nostrils were flaring while he tried to escape, to get free.

‘I will NOT stand for an Alpha loving another Alpha! It’s wrong! And you must pay the consequences for your disgusting actions!’ Their father shouted at Joseph, then went at him with a huge kitchen knife.

‘NOOOOOOOO!’ Tom screamed and struggled, but couldn’t get out from the other Alphas grasp.

He watched his brother bleed to death, by his father’s own hand.

Eventually, when Tom was finally able to get up, he ran to his brother and crouched over his body. Sobbing hysterically.

‘Enough, boy. Alphas don’t cry or show emotion.’ His father smacked him over the back of the head.

Tom glared up at his father. He vowed to himself at that very moment, that one day he would get vengeance upon his father. And that he would NEVER be like him. Ever.

Keira looked at Tom with her eyes wide when he told her about his brother, and his father catching him with another Alpha. Then that he killed the both of them.

She could see how obviously devastating it was. And it made sense as to why Tom was so protective over his pack, especially over Luke and Jeremy.

His eyes watered up while he spoke. Keira then crawled onto his lap and slid her arms around him, hugging him tightly. He hugged her back and buried his face into her hair, breathing her in. She was so calming, he hummed in relaxation.

She was, without knowing exactly, sending out calming pheromones. Like all omegas could. And it was really helping him. Then he continued.

‘Once the mess was cleaned up, my father then released my mother and Jessica from the cupboard under the stairs. He’d locked them in there out of the way, but wanted me to see in-case, I had any ideas, in his words.’

Keira then looked confused and leaned back slightly to look at him. ‘Jessica?’

‘Yes. She’s my sister. Well, not by blood. It’s kind of complicated and more her story to tell. But she is the daughter of my mother’s best friend. She unfortunately died, so my mother took Jessica under her wing when I was around seven and she was five. We grew close, and she is very much like a little sister to me. I love her dearly. My father never really was keen on her, because she wasn’t his own. But, unfortunately, he then used that to his advantage…’ Tom sighed and ran a hand down his face.

‘What do you mean?’ Keira asked, not entirely sure if she wanted to hear the rest of it, in a way.

‘My mother was in an accident, I was twenty at the time. The injuries mother got meant she couldn’t have anymore kids. Father was furious, because he wanted more. So he… he chucked mother out on the streets. Wouldn’t let me and Jessica go with her. He tried to get me and Jessica to mate with each other. But I just couldn’t do it. She’s like a sister to me. Even if not by blood. A few months later, I discovered that he… well, he had been trying to have it on with Jessica. I came home once to find him trying to claim her. She was screaming and pleading for help, but he was too strong. I’d been working out hard, ever since he killed Joseph. I managed to haul him off her, then I…’ Tom took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Thinking back to that awful day.

Tom felt sick to his stomach when he saw his father trying to rape Jessica on the sofa. He launched for his father and hauled him off her.

‘What the hell are you doing? You STUPID boy. GO TO YOUR ROOM!’ He roared at Tom.

‘NO! Leave Jessica alone!’ Tom snarled angrily.

Jessica was on the sofa, in shock and terrified. Her clothes were torn and she was frozen to the spot, shaking badly.

‘You will NOT tell me what to do. Now I won’t tell you again, go to your room!’ He went to turn to Jessica again, but Tom snapped.

‘I said. Get. Away. From. Her.’ Tom growled loudly.

His father smirked and turned back to him. ‘Oh yeah? And what are you doing to do about it? You are a pathetic excuse for an Alpha. Wouldn’t even fuck her yourself, even when she is in heat you’d rather lock yourself away in your room than give in to your primal urges!’

Tom snapped and he launched for his father. His father was startled by the sudden attack. They both scrapped in the living room, knocking ornaments over, the TV too. It was a big scuffle before Tom managed to punch his father right up the nose, making him bleed badly. Then he was able to get his arm around his neck and he pulled as hard as he could… choking him to death.

The adrenaline was running high in Tom. But he didn’t feel even a little remorse when his father’s body fell to the floor with a loud thud. He stepped over him and rushed to Jessica, who was still shaking and scared.

‘Tom!’ She cried.

‘It’s ok. You’re safe now. I promise, he can’t hurt you ever again.’ Tom took his omega sister into his arms and hugged her.

‘I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again. I promise.’

‘I killed my father.’ Tom said to Keira, taking a moment before looking into her eyes. To his surprise, but relief, he saw nothing but love and kindness in her eyes for him.

Keira put her hand on his cheek and he smiled, covering her hand with his own as he turned his face into her palm and kissed her.

‘I didn’t want to kill him. But I had to save her.’ He whispered. ‘I hope I haven’t scared you.’  

‘Not at all. You did the right thing. You did what any good, amazing Alpha would do.’ Keira said quietly, smiling softly at him.

‘Thank you, my little one.’ He pressed his forehead against hers and smiled.

‘I really have lived a quiet life compared to many, haven’t I?’ She asked, leaning back again.

Tom half smiled and nodded. ‘You have. But that’s not always a bad thing. I wouldn’t wish what Jessica and I have been through upon anyone, even my worst enemies.’

Keira tilted her head slightly while she looked at her Alpha. Tom’s heart melted at that innocent look.

‘You may seem rather intimidating… But you’re a big softy I think.’ She said shyly but with a big smile.

Tom chuckled and held the side of her neck. ‘Perhaps I am.’ He grinned.

Tom was relieved that Keira took the news about his past so well. It seemed to make them a bit closer already, as she didn’t seem quite as nervy after that.

He asked her to tell him more about herself, her life too. She said there wasn’t much to tell, she’d had a normal, quiet kind of life up until now. But Tom managed to pry some stories about her childhood out of her.

All good, mostly. Though she said that her father was barely around, and when he was at home she didn’t get to spend much time with him. So being around Alphas was rather new for her, and had been rather daunting at first.

‘Do you like video games?’ Tom asked, getting up and going to look in the cupboard underneath the TV.

‘I do!’ She nodded eagerly. Her eyes lit up when Tom took out the Nintendo Wii. ‘One of my friends has the Wii too, it was always so fun!’ She grinned.

‘I bet you can’t beat me at tennis. Though I may be a bit rusty, it’s been a while since I’ve played.’ He went to work setting it up, leaning behind the TV to plug it all in.

‘I’m ace at the boxing.’ Keira said when Tom joined her on the sofa again.

‘We shall see.’ Tom winked at her.

They had fun setting up a Mii for her. She got a fit of the giggles when she saw Tom’s running around the plaza.

Tom was right, she didn’t manage to beat him at the tennis games. But she did beat him at bowling and some of the boxing rounds, even when he was trying to cheat by distracting her a few times. Poking her in her side and nudging her with his hip.

Keira really enjoyed spending the day with Tom. She felt more and more relaxed with him as the day went on. And Tom noticed too, she was showing her true colours more. She was a bubbly, sweet, bright omega. And Tom was just falling for her more and more.

When Tom made dinner, she offered to help.

‘I’ve never actually cooked anything before.’ She said sheepishly. ‘My parents would never let me help in any way.’

‘Well, I can certainly teach you what I know.’ Tom smiled and cupped her cheek.

He showed her the best way to cut the vegetables and meat, but he was worried about her hurting herself since she’d never used such a sharp knife before. So he watched over her carefully until he was sure she got the hang of it.

By the end of the cooking lesson, they’d successfully made a stir fry.

‘And there you have just made your first meal, well done, little one.’ Tom grinned proudly as he dished it up.

‘I couldn’t have made it alone, though.’ She smiled up at him.

‘Not yet. A few more lessons and I’m sure you’ll soon be cooking up a storm.’ Tom winked at her then motioned her over to the table while he carried the two plates.

As they sat opposite one another at Tom’s small table, Keira realised that she really was home.

Tom was kind and considerate. She could see the stern side of him that the others mentioned, but she could tell he was really soft too. He had been nothing but lovely and warm towards her.

Yes, she definitely could get used to being his omega.

[lifeinahole27]

Fic Bits 2018: Part 3

SO. One happy morning, I went to post this from my drafts and my dumb fat finger hit “delete” instead of “queue” and then I got sucked into work forever and ever and ever and never got around to posting part 3 of these. Incredibly delayed but here are the ones that fit into canon or headcanon or canon-adjacent. 

Included in this pack: 

“Winter Bliss Firsts” - a little look at how Emma and Killian celebrate their first holiday season after the dust from the Black Fairy all settles. Fluff - G.

“In His Own Eyes” - I got a request for whump, which is not something I write. Ever. So this is a bit of reflection. Killian-centric, slight angst? - PG-13.

“A Definite Improvement” - Some Captain Cobra and the evolution of their relationship after life has settled down. Fluff - PG? Sure.

“Winter Bliss Firsts”

With the Black Fairy vanquished and their lives back on track, Emma and Killian soon find a rhythm as they settle into their new partnerships – both as husband and wife, and sheriff and deputy.

Emma’s favorite is when winter finally hits in full force, the Maine weather forecasts getting bleaker by the day, to most.

To Emma, it means that less people will be out trying to cause trouble in their magical little town, which means they aren’t really needed for patrol a majority of the time.

If the Bug won’t even move from the curb, then who else is going to really try to start something out there in the blizzard?

Day after day, they sink into their little haven; they light the fireplace and curl up on the couch, enjoying the peace and solitude when it’s just them, and welcoming Henry into their space when he’s not spending time with Regina.

The greatest thing about all of this is that they never had to figure out custody or a schedule – Henry just drifts between the households, spending time with his mothers and his step-father as if it was the most natural set-up of all.

They’re never grasping for their alone time, and they’re never feeling neglected at their happy Victorian household.

When it’s Christmas time, Emma makes Killian go out to find a live tree for the first time in his life. He and David end up with the job of cutting down and hauling the trees.  

Emma and Snow “help” from the sidelines. Henry documents everything with both camera and pen, adding the tale to their storybooks.

Despite the fact that he knows almost nothing of the holiday, Killian easily goes along with the decorating, the baking, the traditions.

He is especially fond of the small cluster of mistletoe she posts above the door, kissing her every chance they get.

Emma enjoys watching him acclimate even further into modern living, still fascinated by the glimpses of Enchanted Forest and pirate that she sees peek out at random times.

But as the winter goes, so does his confusion to a lot of pop culture references.

The Christmas tunes easily get hummed and sung when she’s least expecting him to join in.

But he still throws down doubloons at Granny’s as a form of payment.

(Actually, she’s pretty sure that’s strictly for the reaction he gets from Granny, but he never says one way or the other.)

What she does know is that no matter how cold it gets outside, she always has Killian by her side to keep her warm.

Every once in a while, Emma thinks of the way he told her there’d be no getting rid of him after their wedding day.

And really? She couldn’t be more thankful that he was telling the truth about that.

“In His Own Eyes”

Despite his nature of being a bit of a scoundrel, Captain Hook is getting tired of all the times he’s been tied or chained to items since meeting Emma Swan.

There’s the knife to his throat, shortly followed by being tied to a tree and offered as food to an ogre. It reminds him of being trapped against the mast of his ship when Rumplestiltskin took his hand and his love, and he doesn’t like it one single bit.

She chains him up at the giant’s lair, refusing to believe he could be helping her – to be fair, he’s been waffling at best on whose side he’s on – but still, the nerve.

Then there’s Cora trapping him against the wall of that cave, his own Hook pulling at the fabric on his chest. His insides heave at the thought of this woman, but if she’s his only way to skin a crocodile, then he has to stay on course.

The darkness of his heart and soul consumes him so often that he genuinely doesn’t care if it’s bodily harm or a verbal lashing from any of these supposed heroes. All he knows is that he will have his revenge, even if he has to get hit by a bloody motor vehicle directly after.

Which is a good thing, since that’s exactly what seems to have happened.

When Killian awakes in the hospital, it’s to a chain around his wrist – again – and Emma Swan telling him that his foe is still alive. With magic. And angry.

“If I were to pick dead guy of the year, I’d pick you.”

He supposes, of course, that it wouldn’t be all that terrible to finally be free of this world and to join up with his Milah in the great beyond.

A trip to New York City to kill the Crocodile, and another journey being tied up, followed by another failure.

Time, and time, and time again, he fails and fails and fails. If he could just get his damn revenge and be on with life, it wouldn’t be so bad.

But somewhere in there he begins to believe in living again.

It might have something to do with the unstoppable force that is Emma Swan and her band of happy heroes.

It could be that kiss in Neverland.

It could be that, for the first time since he was under his brother’s command, he wants to do the good thing – the right thing.

And then it all gets taken away from him again, thanks to Pan’s bloody curse, and he’s never going to see her again.

“There’s not a day that will go by that I won’t think of you,” he tells her, just before they depart.

“Good.”

He thought having Milah die in front of him was bad enough, but having his second chance at love ripped away – to know that he has to live his life without her while she lives her life without him – hurts as much as if he’d watched her die, too.

Regardless of what happened in their missing year, all Killian knows is that he did not expect his reunion with Emma to result in injury to his person.

But he supposes even that hurts less than finding out she’s found someone new.

He seems to be destined for heartache and heartbreak, no matter how he tries.

“A Definite Improvement”

There’s a large pit of disappointment in Killian’s stomach when he walks outside with the video game controller and finds that it was all a ruse.

He’s been struggling lately to connect with Henry, and figured it was about time they started bonding. Of course, it all goes much deeper than that.

It’s not until much later that it all gets a little easier with the lad – after the world has quieted down and they aren’t in constant fear for Emma’s life.

Operation Best Man was a success, and after everything that went awry has settled, the ease with which they find harmony is astonishing.

It’s a rainy day several months after he and Emma have been married that Henry comes into the living room and turns on his video game system, and Killian tilts his head a little.

“I did tell you I’d teach you,” Henry says, handing over one of the controllers.

Killian does his best not to look too excited. Emma is out of the house visiting her parents so this is something purely for the benefit of bonding, no secondary alternatives.

After a few attempts at one of the games, however, it’s obvious it’s not going to work.

Killian was correct all that time ago when he said that the games weren’t meant for people like him. He understands what to do, and the storyline, and how he’s supposed to play, but with one less hand, he just can’t push all the buttons he’s supposed to, even if he braces it on his leg and uses his thumb on one side and the rest of his fingers on the other. It’s just no use.

“Why don’t you keep playing, and I’ll just watch?”

The next day, the system disappears from the living room, and Killian looks at the vacant spot sadly, knowing that while he and Henry have plenty to bond over, this is something that just wasn’t meant to be.

Two weeks later, Henry comes barreling down the stairs, flying out the door and down the walkway to meet one of the delivery people. He has no idea how mail gets transferred into a town that isn’t on the map but he knows better than to question such things at this point.

When Henry comes back in, he immediately goes to the kitchen and to the drawer where they hide all their miscellaneous items. He can hear the box cutter being used, and the shuffling of something being removed from a box, but he focuses on the book he’s reading, thinking that Henry has just ordered an item for himself.

He’s not entirely wrong; Henry has purchased what he calls a Wii.

“I used all my allowance and got mom to advance me some for the next month so I could order this,” he explains as he plugs in various items and finds batteries and puts a strange bar beneath their television.

Killian can feel how hard his eyebrows are drawn down in confusion, but Henry looks so excited.

“I’ll explain as we go,” he says, holding out a strange item for Killian to take hold of. “You slide that loop around your wrist and hold the controller like this.”

Killian follows the instructions, waiting as Henry fiddles with something else.

“Okay, we’re gonna make your Mii.”

“My what now?”

“Just look at the screen and press the buttons I tell you to.”

“Henry, this small thing looks nothing like me.”

“It’s not supposed to be a ringer, Killian.”

“There’s no option for facial hair.”

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to live without the constant three day stubble.”

“Says the young man who has three day stubble at present and it’s just a clean face.”

“I can walk away, you know.”

“Fine, fine. Get on with it… Those aren’t my eyes.”

“No, but those are your eyebrows.”

Killian’s eyebrow jumps up at the comment.

“See! There it is!”

“Why do my eyes look like that now?”

“Those are what your eyes look like when you look at my mom.”

“I would bloody hope so, she’s my wife.”

“You just like saying that.”

“Damn right I do. What do I do with this mini-me?”

“It’s just a Mii. And we’re going to play games with him now.”

“We tried this, lad.”

“We tried old school. Now we’re going with motion technology. There’s another part we could use, but we’ll skip the games that use that so you don’t have to be left out.”

He almost cries.

That’s a lie; he does cry. But he wipes it away quickly as Henry is explaining how they’re going to play something called “tennis” and he is awful at it at first but soon he’s catching on.

“Wait wait, pause the game,” he tells Henry after no more than twenty minutes of game play.

He shuffles the strap off his wrist and sprints upstairs, flinging off vest and button-up shirt as he goes, finding one of the t-shirts he normally reserves for sleeping in during cold nights.

When Emma arrives home from work, he and Henry have both soaked through their shirts and have exhausted their games list.

“Should… should I even ask?”

Both of them shake their heads, too tired to even try speaking as they lie on the pieces of furniture closes to them.

She comes back after she sets down her keys and hangs up her jacket, handing them each a tall glass of water and grabbing one of the remotes off the coffee table.

“I’ll take on whoever recovers first. Loser makes dinner tonight,” she states matter-of-factly. Her shoes are off, she’s back in leggings and a t-shirt, and her hair is tied up. Killian idly wonders when she managed to change when he swears she was only home for seconds before she brought them water.

Then he looks across at Henry, and Henry looks back at him, and they’re both scrambling from their prone positions trying to grab for the remote because that’s a challenge they’re willing to take on.

(They both end up making dinner, because they both lose to Emma despite their very best efforts and hours of practice.)

(“Beginner’s luck,” Emma says, her smile saying otherwise as she sits on the counter and watches them work side-by-side.)

(Killian wouldn’t have it any other way.)

[king-b0mbastic]

Phantasm

A Christmas gift for my good friend Shay @snootyshay. Merry fucking Christmas.

~*~

Air is bristling with tension as man and machine stand behind their barricades. Markus is ill at ease, although his blank face cannot portray his worry. He’s trying to calm himself, going around planting the flags and such. “Markus! Markus come look!” His head snapping up, and he’s hurried to the edge of the protective circle. Well, fuck. It’s the human negotiator.

“Markus! I’ve come to talk to you Markus, ” Perkins drawls. His face is so fucking smug. Markus wants to punch it. “Come on, you have my word. They won’t try anything.”

“Don’t go, it’s a trap. They wanna get you out in the open.” North and Markus lock eyes, then turn back the human.

“I’m unarmed Markus, I just want to talk.” He continues and waits expectantly. The deviant leader weighs his options. One, the human could be offering a suitable compromise, and he could avoid bloodshed, or two, he would die. ...The other three could lead the revolution without him.

“I have to hear what he has to say.” North looks at him incredulously.

“What if they kill you?” Markus gazes back at Perkins, and the army behind him.

“...That is a chance I have to take.” There is no protest from the others, so he steps away, and leaves the protection of the barricades. Boots crunching down on the snow beneath him, RK200 comes to a apprehensive stop a good distance away from the FBI agent, and pauses.

“In a few minutes, the troops will be ordered to charged. None of you will survive. This,” He throws his arm around, “-will all be over. ...But you can avoid that Markus.”

“What do you mean?”

“Surrender.” Was he that stupid? The possible fate of his people was resting in the deviant leader’s hands, and he wanted him to just… give up? Perkins must have seen the skepticism in his expression, because he hurriedly continues, “Think about it Markus, you’re not coming out of this alive. Take this deal, however, and your life could be spared. Your people will be detained of course, but you will be allowed to live.”

“Are you asking me to betray my own people?” The scornful disbelief in his voice is highly apparent, but Perkins just shrugs nonchalantly. “What happened to the other androids protesting at the camps?”

“Unfortunately,” Markus doesn’t believe he felt that way, “—there were no journalists around to save them. You’re the only ones left.” Markus blinks, and a sliver of grief dances across his eyes, before it transforms into rage. Perkins, just like almost every other human, is responsible for the innocent lives that had been lost. RK200’s lips transforms into a snarl, he growled, “I would rather die than betray my own people.” Perkins shrugs again.

“Your choice, Markus.” Both turn sharply on their heels and walk back to their respective sides.

Markus hadn’t taken even ten steps when something embeds itself into the junction between his neck and and the base of his head. He’s on the ground in an instant. A thousand and three thoughts flitin his mind in panic all at once, like how he’s sorry that he had failed the revolution and he hopes against all odds that they would all get out safely, and how he’d never got to tell his friends how he really felt. Pandemonium roared around him, heavy footsteps crashing as hands grab at him desperately. As his consciousness sinks into oblivion, Markus’ last coherent thought is the hope that he’s going to be able to see Carl again.

~*~

Markus blinked blearily, his mind drifting back to reality. Obnoxious sunlight dared to filter through the blinds of the window, and he hissed, turning away. For some reason, his heart was beating wildly, as if it was afraid. Fatigued, the android cast his sleepy mind back to whatever he had been dreaming about. Perkins and his stupid face, a traitorous bargain, … the revolution! North, Simon and Josh! Spurred on by the horrifying prospect of his friends being in mortal danger, he leaped from the bed (why was he in a bed?) and caught sight of himself in the mirror. It wasn’t the fact that he was pajamas, or that he was in a bedroom for that matter, but the fact his eyes were back to their original green that caught his attention. Now cautious, Markus padded his way to the edge of the room and peeked around the door. The sight before him made his eyes widen.

North was seated in a couch with Josh, engaging the other in a very energetic discussion about teleportation, while Simon was operating the microwave, the sound of popping popcorn pitter-pattering in the microwave. Markus lingered in the corridor, dumbfounded. How were they still alive…? Simon noticed him, and shot him a gentle smile. “Hiya, sleepyhead.” Josh and North looked back at him and North smirked.

“The sleeping beauty arises, huh?” Markus made no response, but continued to stare at her in disbelief. No-one noticed, and Josh stood up to stand next to the TV.

“We were going to watch Wall-E, because… the reason is obvious.” In a daze, Markus nodded, and moved to sit in where Josh had once sat. Josh shot him a playful glare, shoving him lightly. Now with Simon joining them, the Jericrew were squished into a 3-person couch. No-one seemed to mind. The TV flickered on, and a small robot rumbled on scene, with wide binocular eyes. Eyes…

“Guys, why are my eyes back to green?”

North looked at him strangely. “Is that a trick question? Carl asked old Kamsko if he could produce another eye for you, ‘cause the blue one was starting to get faulty.” Carl? Carl was dead. Markus had watched him die… “Now pass the popcorn, I’m hungry.” Absentmindedly, he did so. Thinking back to the last thing he remembered, Markus tried again. “...What happened after I got shot?”

Without taking his eyes of the screen, Simon replied, “You fell, and the troops were about to advance, when the deviant hunter showed up with all the other androids that he had liberated from the warehouses, and the army was ordered to retreat. We went back to base, and repaired you. The next week, Perkins shows up with a peace treaty, saying that android rights were being taken into consideration due to the increasing amount of human protests. From there, we got basic personhood rights.”

“...How did we get into this apartment?”

Josh rolled his eyes. “Because, you idiot, you confessed your love to Simon, and asked him to partake in a threesome. And then-“

North interrupted him. “And then Josh got really sad and thought that he wasn’t good enough but he masked it as jealousy. Eventually you conceded and let him into the poly and he almost collapsed with relief.”

Josh was about to throw a pillow at his girlfriend, but Simon opened his mouth. “Now that we owned Josh’s gay ass, we moved out of Carl’s house and into this apartment. Josh claimed the bedroom closest to you, of course.” In response, Josh flopped into Simon’s lap with a pout that obviously held the wrath of a thousand suns, but that anger mysteriously vanished when Simon sighed and pressed a kiss against his forehead, causing Josh to giggle. It was almost as if the PJ500 had pretended to be upset to get attention, but Josh would never do anything that scandalous.

The movie rumbled on, and Markus began to doze. A single thought flashed across his mind before he fell fully asleep. How could they eat popcorn if they were androids?

~*~

The table is cold against his back. Why is he on a table? How can he tell he’s on a table? Markus can’t even see. But he can hear. He can hear worried voices murmuring around him. Two males, and a female. He tries to move his fingers, but all they do is twitch. The Jericrew notices him though, thankfully. “Markus?! Markus, can you hear us?” They say altogether. Markus wants to nod, to tell them that he’s safe. Not just that, he wants to hold them close and never let go. He wants them to know that he loves them.

“L...lo...love y...ou guys.” It’s heavily slurred, dripping with robotic static, but they hear him. A hand in his, then in his other. An arm is on his chest, protective.

“We love you too.” Hushed. In case humans might hear. In case they might hear it and ruin everything. Markus’ cheeks are wet, he’s crying. His back hurts, did they shoot him there too? Both hands are trying to comfort him, rubbing him their thumbs over his palms in soothing circles. “We love you so much.” North’s voices is half broken. North isn’t supposed to break. No-one's supposed to break. The humans keep breaking, breaking and breaking…

~*~

“Shhh...” A hand smoothed down his back, massaging it. Markus relaxed into it’s touch, leaning closer. He and the other person stay like that for awhile, until Markus’ breathing has calmed down. The android twists around on the bed, to better see the other. A blonde head and kind blue eyes gaze back at him. Simon opened his arms for a hug, and Markus fell into his embrace eagerly. The green-eyed one found that he very much liked hugs, with arms wrapped up around him and his face in someone else’s chest. Simon was warm. Safe. Wafe?

“Why were you crying, Markus?” There was no response, only the other body snuggling closer. Simon gave a sigh, and two green eyes peeked back at him, inquisitive. The PL600 patted the other on the head, and the two eyes slid shut again.

“Nightmare…” A sleepy voice mumbled. Simon gave a concerned hum, and hugged Markus closer.

“Wanna tell me what it was?” Markus shook his head, and snuggled closer. He diverted the attention to Simon.

“Why were you up?”  Simon blinked at the question, then looked to the side.

“Couldn’t sleep.” Markus wanted to press further, but the look in Simon’s eyes halted him in his tracks.

“Guess we both can’t sleep, huh?”

Simon hummed. “No-one can sleep when their bedroom is next to North’s bedroom and she snores like a bull.”

Markus snorted. “...So are we just gonna stay like this?”

“...Yeah.”

And so they did.

…

“Markus, please stop trying to deviate the miis and actually try to win.” Markus gave a whine, but didn’t stop nudging his motorbike to the very edge of the road. The mii looked down on him with soulless eyes, it’s cheering robotic and effortless, but oh so empty. It’s smile was carved into its face, and Markus could see Waluigi’s mustache quiver slightly with unease, as if it could sense the uncanny energy that the mii exuded. It gave Markus the heebie-jeebies.

A Yoshi whooshed past him, and by looking at Josh’s quadrant of the screen, he could see that the PJ500 was well on his way to first place. North, on the other hand, was well behind. Undeterred by the prospect of losing, she was giggling as the randomiser chose her powerup. “I got a blueshell!” She crowed, and Josh tensed beside her.

“North...no.”

“North yes!” She released the horrible creature and it sped past Waluigi, who was engrossed in a staring contest with a demon. It whizzed past a Luigi, who was being assisted by one of those turtle-cloud helper thingies. As it finally reached its target, the Yoshi looked back at the screen in dismay, pleading for its infinitesimal life. It was shown no mercy, as the screen turned a deathly blue and the poor beast was thrown to high heavens. As it spun out of control, the overlapping laughter of Bowser and his puppeteer echoed in its ears. Josh immediately whacked North with a pillow, who let out a pleased cackle.

“You always hit me!”

“Because you’re always first!”

“Well, you’re just jealous I got better at the game!” This made North’s face twist into a scowl. She got up.

“Alright, losers. Who’s up for some good old Just Dance?” The boys gave noncommittal grunts. Such enthusiasm. As North switched the CD, she placed a hand on her chest regally.

“As reigning Just Dance Queen, I offer a challenge to one of my peasants who is known as Josh.” Said peasant groaned into his hands, and his boyfriends nudged him teasingly. “I challenge him,” Her Majesty continued, “To a tournament of my craft.”

“...What’s in it for me, Your Majesty?” The pure defeat in this PJ500’s eyes suggested that this event had happened before, and had not ended well.

“An apology, for rightfully knocking you from first place.” Josh sighed, and stood to take his place next to his queen. The music started, and Simon nudged Markus, stage-whispering: “There’s some popcorn in the cupboard. Go get us some.”

“I heard that.” Ignoring him, Markus snickered and retrieved the popcorn, then the PL600 and RK200 watched the show. During one of the songs, the moves required the contesters to pull the legendary ‘Disco Finger’, and North got a bit too enthusiastic. She whacked Josh in the face with her arm, and he fell to the floor with a groan. The game abandoned, the poly rushed to aid their fourth member. He was fine, nothing wounded. Except his pride, of course. After being rewarded with a pouty glare, North raised her arms in glee and crowed. “Victory!” She shrieked.

“Hmph.” Her Majesty looked down at the unhappy android on the floor and sighed.

“Alright, c’mere, you grumpy baby.” She pulled Josh into her lap, who squeaked at her strength, and pressed a firm kiss to his mouth. He squeaked in suprise again, before returning it gratefully. Chuckling, the others moved forward to pepper kisses in any areas they could find. Today was now treat your favourite PJ500 day.

…

9:00pm. Josh lay slumped on his desk, his encyclopaedia askew beneath him and snoring softly. The door creaked slowly open, and strong arms tugged him gently towards his bed. Dazed, chocolate brown met chartreuse green, and Josh fell onto the mattress. “Markus…?” He mumbled, but was silenced by a soft peck to the lips. The taller immediately melted into the other’s embrace, allowing himself to be spooned. “Why…?”

“Just a precaution.” Josh would have been confused by those words, but the velvet mesh of sleep had already claimed him.

~*~

“We finally found the robofucker, boys. Have fun.” He’s being spat on. It’s wet against his cheek, but he can’t wipe it away. He’s shackled. Shackled and writhing. Writhing and powerless. Powerless and blind. A punch to the gut has him breathless. Then more and more hits are raining down on him. He wants to scream, but he won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing him cry.

“It’s not doing anything, boss.”

“Don’t worry, we can fix that.”

Chilled, he waits as the footsteps of many humans fades away. Scanning the area, he feels the simultaneous pulsing hearts of his kind around. It comforts him. He calls out to them, and the collective pulsing quickens with panic. A hundred voices echo in his head, trying to say so many things at once. He tries to answer them, but he can’t. There’s too many of them. Three important voices rise above all the others, and he’s instantly soothed by them. His lovers(?) will find him. Everything will be okay.

The humans are back. Something is plugged into his neck, and he squirms in anticipation. He screams, waves of pain overwhelm him, drown him. He’s thrashing, and shrieks are ripped from his chest. Mocking laughter echoes in his ears, and clapping ensues. Sadists. He’s begging them to stop, tears of agony are streaming down his face. Tears of mirth are running down their faces.

“So what are we going to going to the tincan after this?”

“Leave it the scrapyard, of course. What are you thinking?”

“I thought we could… decorate it, you know? It’s probably already called it’s friends, so why don’t we leave them a message?” One of them claps the other on the back.

“I love the way you think! I have the perfect knives.”

“Guys, I found a taser!” It’s too much for his systems, and he is released. Jericho was close, but salvation was closer.

~*~

“Markus… Markus. Markus! Markus, you’re squeezing me, that’s a bit too tight—MARKUS!” The RK200 jolted awake, and immediately untangled himself from the other. Josh was flustered, and was about to remark on the situation when he noticed the other was curled up and shaking. Cautiously, he placed a tentative hand on the other’s arm, but was immediately whacked in the stomach and knocked back. Markus was breathing hard, babbling under his breath for them (who?) to keep back, to stop hurting him. The other man kept his distance, watching him carefully.

“Markus…?” He tried. The android’s eyes snapped open, then focused on him. A beat, and then he’s upon him, holding him closer and crying.

“They’re going to find you, you have to get out of here!” Markus kept rambling and almost squeezed his boyfriend half to death. Josh didn’t complain this time, and returned the hug gently.

“Who’s going to find me?” It took the android some time to realise that his chains were gone, and his heaving breaths started to calm down. His grip didn’t lessen. They sat there, in silence. The skin of Josh’s hand retracted, and Markus grabbed it. Across the interface, the RK200 reveled in the rivers of comfort that flowed to him. When asked about what happened, Markus simply released the feelings he had had, and they were quenched immediately.

“No-one's going to hurt me…”

“I know, I just got scared…”

“Let’s just have a lazy day today, alright?”

“Mhm…” Markus snuggled deeper into Josh’s chest, and the door creaked open. North and Simon, without saying a word, crumpled onto them both, creating a cuddle pile with Markus at the bottom. A small vibration rumbled in Markus’ chest, something that sounded somewhat like a purr. It spread throughout all the deviants, until the room was filled with pleased thrumming. It was all fine and dandy, until crimson warning signs flashed in his vision, signalling shut down.

~*~

It is cold. It is dark. It is… the scrapyard. Every android’s nightmare, to be left alone, scarred and used. He’s already been left behind here, not again! He struggles, but all his connections are fried. Not again, not again, not again…! Voices. Not groaning and staticky cries, but voices! He cries out. Footsteps come closer…

“MARKUS! OH MY GOD, MARKUS WHAT HAVE THEY DONE TO YOU!” A high feminine voice, raw with emotion. It sounds horribly wrong, for someone who is usually as frosty as the North Pole…

Hands trace the marks on his face, the marks on his arms, the marks on his everywhere. The scars on his cheeks are two deep, intricate spirals, as if someone took a lot of time designing them. The others are messy, made in a frenzied excitement. Words appear to be carved into them. He doesn’t want to know what they say.

“Markus, we’re so sorry…” Warnings crowd his mind, and he shivers. Tears are rolling down his cheeks, he can’t tell if it’s his own. It is cold. It is dark. It is… oblivion.

[cherry-kirsch]

why’d you gotta be talkative?

banjou/misora/kazumi || 4357 words || sfw || pre-poly / confessions

Banjou isn’t in love with Misora and Kazumi is going to prove him wrong.

[ AO3 ]

Banjou isn’t Misora’s boyfriend.

That’s fine.

They aren’t dating per say, they just haven’t given a name to kiss and tell they have between them. Banjou doesn’t want to give a promise, a commitment, to something that may not last as long as his first commitment did, and Misora is fine with that (he thinks), she agrees with him even. But, when all is said and done, he still cares for Misora and there is a small part of him that is overly protective of her, a part that years to call her his.

Kazumi utterly adores Misora.

And that’s fine.

Misora’s very cute and utterly irresistible, if a little scary, and Kazumi isn’t even fazed by her scowl and glare, no matter if it’s directed at him or not. Kazumi brings Misora gifts – well, more ‘trinkets’ than gifts – whenever they come back from wherever they’ve visited that day, and Misora takes them because that’s the polite thing to do; and Banjou always has the urge to go out and buy her whatever she’s been hankering after that week, whether it be a giant sheep plush or that cute skirt and blouse combo they’ve both had their eyes on for her.

Whenever Kazumi does something for Misora, Banjou wants to do something bigger for her. Every part of his mind screams at him to top whatever Kazumi did with something bigger, something better, something with more care and thought, with more lo—

No, not love. He’s not in love with her.

Banjou likes her like a crush, no matter how juvenile and pathetic that sounds. What business does he have, as a man, going around and crushing on someone? No matter how cute and amazing that someone is. In fact, now that he thinks about it, he isn’t sure what word to define his and Misora’s relationship. ‘Like’ and ‘Crush’ are too childish; ‘Infatuation’ is too serious; ‘Love’ is too extreme.

No, he’s not in love with her. He’s enamored—lost in the dizzying, giddying feeling of being so at peace and relaxed with someone whilst also being drunk on everything about them. Yes, ‘enamored’ works perfectly.

He should thank Sento for giving him that word, and he would now, if it wasn’t for the fact that he was waving his hand in front of Banjou’s face again, a scowl turning the corners of his lips downwards as Banjou looks right past him, glaring at the back of Kazumi’s head.

“You need to stop staring.” Sento tells him when Banjou tears his eyes away from Kazumi and turns back to whatever Sento’s trying to show him with a scowl. “If you’re really so mad about him being smitten with Misora, ask her to be your girlfriend. I promise you; she’ll be overjoyed.” Sento assures him with a roll of his eyes before he sits back down and begins to fiddle with his newest invention.

Banjou folds his arms across his chest. “Don’t fix what’s not broken.” He says and Sento peers at him from the corners of his eyes.

He points his screwdriver at Banjou. “Doesn’t mean it can’t be improved.”

“Trust me; me and Misora dating wouldn’t improve anything.” Banjou says, crouching down to rest his chin on the table. “It would just open up to a conversation that neither of us want to have and we’ll probably have a terrible, horrible breakup, and we won’t be able to look at each other.”

Sento blinks at Banjou slowly. “Are you stupid?” He asks him and Banjou frowns, his eyebrows furrowing.

“I’m sorry?” Banjou asks. “What?”

Sento sighs and rolls his eyes again. Banjou wishes he’d stop doing that, because Sento does that far too often for his liking. “You should really stop doing that.” Banjou says to him, because he’s nothing if not without a filter. “Ever heard what old ladies used to say? ‘Keep doing that and one day your eyes will get stuck like that.’”

Sento places down his screwdriver and rubs his temples. “Oh, I wait eagerly for that day.” He says dryly. “Look, are you content playing this convoluted game of cat and mouse with Misora until you die?”

Banjou blinks owlishly at him. “Die?” He repeats. “That’s a bit dramatic.”

“Every day as a Kamen Rider is a safety hazard.” Sento reminds him and, really, Banjou can’t fault that. “If you’re unhappy with something, change it. Otherwise you’ll just be miserable, and I’m so tired of you moping and sulking whenever Kazumi goes anywhere towards Misora with the intention of being all gooey and sappy with her.”

“I’m not sulking.” Banjou says with a frown, ignoring the way Sento looks at him. “And I’m not unhappy., Kazumi doesn’t annoy me and I’m fine with Misora accepting his stupid gifts and with him fawning over her.”

Sento purses his lips into a straight line and looks, for a moment, like he is about to say something, before he just sighs and dismisses Banjou with a wave of his hands. “Alright,” he says shortly. “You’re fine. While you’re here, make yourself useful and hand me that soldering tool.”

Banjou hands Sento the soldering tool and turns back to look at Misora at the same time her eyes lock with his. She smiles at him and gives him a small wave, and he waves back, a grim curling his lips.

Yeah. He’s fine.

* * *

How Banjou ended up here, with Kazumi, he didn’t quite know. Just like he didn’t quite know how one moment Sento was beside them, talking their ears off about practicing and raising their Hazard Levels before he took off somewhere into the distance without another word. He wonders how a man so loud and talkative can be so silent and secretive.

For a guy and a Rider, Kazumi’s good, Banjou has no bad blood fighting with him. As a friend, on the other hand, Banjou is violently neutral. He’s getting closer to ‘good’ in his books though; he bought Banjou a soda. And that’s where they were now, sitting on a bench in the middle of a ravaged street, drinking soda in a decidedly neutral silence. After all, what were they supposed to talk about? Silence was safer.

“So,” Kazumi begins, and Banjou looks up to see him looking down at his can. “Mii-tan.” He says.

Banjou immediately tenses up. “Her name is Misora.” He murmurs into his can.

Kazumi nods and they lapse back into silence.

“So,” Kazumi says again and Banjou has to scowl to stop his eye from twitching. “Misora.”

Banjou slams his can down onto the free space of bench between his legs and looks to Kazumi with a glare. “What about her?” He asks harshly. “What’s this about, huh? What exactly are you trying to do?”

Kazumi laughs, fucking laughs, and places his can on the ground at his feet, turning to Banjou with his hands held up in surrender. “I’m not trying to do anything, Banjou.” He assures and there’s something strange in the way that Kazumi says his family name. Banjou eyes his more carefully and lifts the can slowly to his lips “I’m just trying to find some common ground with you; you and Misora are… well… together aren’t you?”

Banjou chokes on his soda and spits it out onto the floor. “We… we’re not—we’re not together!” Banjou splutters loudly and Kazumi watches him in amusement. “We’re not dating!”

“But you are…” Kazumi trails off, giving Banjou a meaningful look while Banjou just looks at him blankly. “Y’know…” He trails off again, raising his eyebrows purposefully, trying desperately to get Banjou to catch on. He doesn’t. Kazumi sighs in exasperation. “Christ, Banjou. You’re sleeping with her, I mean."

Banjou chokes on the air, glaring at Kazumi when he chuckles, before straightening up. “Well, yes…” He says, trailing off quietly before he scowls at Kazumi. “What does that have to do with you?”

Kazumi shrugs. “Nothing,” he says before he smiles at Banjou. “You two are a cute couple.”

“We’re not a couple.” Banjou says. “We’re not dating, we’re just…”

“Sleeping together.” Kazumi add and Banjou nods, falling silent. “That’s a little casual for you.”

Banjou’s eyebrow twitches, a scowl slowly making its way on to his face. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Banjou asks through grit teeth, his free hand clenching into a fist. He has to stop himself from bursting his can.

Kazumi glances at him as he leans back on the bench, his elbow rest on the backboard. “Well you don’t do anything casually, do you? You didn’t box casually, you don’t do the Rider thing casually—I mean, it’s your job now.” Kazumi shrugs and looks away off into the sky, kicking his feet out. “Maybe it makes sense. It means you’re dedicated.”

Banjou snorts. “Of course I’m dedicated.” He says as he clasps his can with both hands, his fingers tapping the sides. “I don’t half-ass anything, and I don’t fuck around.” He says pointedly and with a smirk, Kazumi just smiles at him.

“I’m dedicated as well,” Kazumi says casually as Banjou peers at him. “I’m dedicated to my friends, to Hokuto, to Japan…” He trails off to eye Banjou. “To Misora and Mii-tan. To you and Sento. I fight for the things I’m dedicated to, so keep that in mind.”

For a moment, they eye each other, neither one wanting to be the one to look away first, in deathly silence. Banjou glares and Kazumi just smirks at him.

“Do you like her or something?” Banjou asks dryly. “I know you’re obsessed with Mii-tan, but Misora is entirely different to Mii-tan.”

“Of course I like her,” Kazumi says easily. “She’s cute and she could probably kill me if she wanted. She can defend herself, and she’s nice to talk to.”

Banjou snorts and Kazumi eyes him. “Liking someone is a little childish at your age, isn’t it?” He asks before he turns to Kazumi with a fake curious expression. “How old are you now? Forty? You’re double her age.”

Kazumi’s smirk curls downwards into a scowl, his eyes narrowing at Banjou. “I’m twenty-nine.” He growls and Banjou raises an eyebrow, whistling lowly.

“Getting on in age, are you, old man?” Banjou asks and Kazumi’s furious expression deepens.

“I’m six years older than you,” Kazumi snaps. “I’m hardly an old man. What are you, five? It seems like you are, since you’re acting like a petulant child.”

Banjou gives him a sickly-sweet smile laced with anger. “Cry about it.”

Kazumi stares at him for a moment before his eyes widen and he leans back, settling into the bench as he laughs lowly. “If that’s how it is, then so be it.” He says and Banjou doesn’t even glance at him. “It’s not like you’re her boyfriend, since you’re just sleeping together. I don’t have to get your opinion on this matter, it’s hers that matters.”

“Are you really going to do this?” Banjou says, spitting the words at Kazumi like poison. “Are you really going to woo her just to piss me off?”

“Well, now that you said it, yes!” Kazumi says with a triumphant smile, patting Banjou twice on the shoulder before he stands. “You said it yourself; you’re just sleeping with each other. It’s not like you’re going out or anything.”

Banjou growls and leaps to his feet, getting as close to Kazumi as he can manage, a stormy look on his face. “Is this a fucking game to you?” He asks.

Kazumi winks at him. “Try not to cry too hard when you lose.” He says, patting Banjou’s arm before he walks around him and back to Nascita.

Banjou squeezes the can in his hand so tight it explodes.

* * *

Banjou and Kazumi’s feud continues silently and scathingly, and with jabs and misplaced hands that leave punches in uncomfortable places, and with Sento sighing and rolling his eyes every time they scold or argue with each other.

Sento’s opinion of the feud is that it’s stupid, and, on some subconscious level, Banjou thinks so too. He doesn’t know what Kazumi thinks, and, honestly, he doesn’t want to; he’d rather not know what’s going on in Kazumi’s mind, he’s sure he’d find out something that he wouldn’t want to know. But Banjou hates losing, and he’d rather lose to Gentoku or Stalk before he ever lost to Kazumi. The thought of him losing to Kazumi makes him angry, and not because he’d be losing to Misora – she’s her own person, she’s not a prize – but because Kazumi could hold that over him for as long as they’re stuck in each other’s presence. And he’d rather turn into a Smash than have to look at Kazumi’s smug face.

Banjou is broken from his line of thought to Misora poking him in the cheek, and he glances down at her.

She looks beautiful like this, he thinks. Her hair is slightly ruffled and she looks adorably sleepy and small in his shirt, and she’s pouting up at him while she pokes at his cheeks, rubbing the top of her head against his bare shoulder.

“Why are you scowling?” Misora asks before she pouts, and Banjou smiles at the sight. “It wasn’t bad, was it?”

Banjou chuckles at that and catches her hand in his own, lifting it gently to his lips so he could kiss her fingertips. “No,” he says softly. “It wasn’t bad. It was great as always.”

“Then why were you scowling?” Misora asks him.

Banjou cups her face in his hands and leans down to press a lingering kiss to the top of her head. “Don’t worry about it.” He tells her gently as he pushes stray strands of her hair back from her face. “It’s just stupid Rider stuff. Worrying about Sento.”

Misora snorts, leaning into Banjou’s touch. “When don’t you worry about him.” She says.

“Exactly.” Banjou replies. “It’s nothing.”

“I’m glad that it’s just that.” Misora says softly as she settles down to rest her head on Banjou’s chest. “I thought you were mad at Kazumin still.”

Banjou snorts as he begins to stroke Misora’s hair, allowing his finger to comb through it. “You call him Kazumin now? That sounds so stupid.”

Misora shrugs. “He told me to.” She says before she peers up at Banjou with a small, teasing smile. “Besides, it’s just as bad as Mii-tan, don’t you think?”

Banjou does, and shakes his head. “No.” He says. “You’re cuter. Yours doesn’t matter as much.” He tells her, moving his hands to squish her cheeks, chuckling when she pouts and smacks his hands away.

“Don’t be mean!” Misora scolds, furrowing her brows in an exaggerated grumpy look.

“Or what?” Banjou asks, grinning.

Misora sits up and crosses her arms across her chest and Banjou almost has a heart attack, wondering how one person could be so damned cute at every opportunity. He wants to take her frustration seriously, he really does, but she just looks too cute pouting at him like that in his shirt.

“Or…” Misora begins, trailing off to think before she grins at him. “Or I won’t give you any more kisses.”

Banjou gasps and lays a hand over his heart, leaning closer to clasp her hand in his. “What a cruel punishment!” He says dramatically, an exaggerated look of desperation on his face. “Please, sweetheart, darling, won’t you forgive me?”

Misora looks at him and flutters her eyelashes. “Oh, I don’t know.” She sighs dramatically.

“Love,” He says. “Please? Come on, Princess.”

The final nickname makes Misora melt and she grins widely before she throws her arms around Banjou’s neck and pulls herself onto his neck as he peppers her face in kisses. She giggles as he does so.

“I guess you’re forgiven.” She tells him as she presses a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle her laughter.

Banjou grins up at her. “I’ll never hurt you again, princess.”

They hear a loud sigh from the other side of the room and they look to see Sento standing up, a tired look on his face. He turns to them. “Please,” he says. “Just date already.” The words make Banjou roll his eyes and Misora go pink.

“Leave if it’s too much for you.” Banjou tells him with a smirk and Sento raises an eyebrow.

“I’m going to find Kazumi,” he says, his eyes darting between them. “Next time go have sex somewhere else.”

Banjou flips Sento the middle finger as he walks the spiral staircase and disappears into the ceiling. Misora giggles and collapses into bed, splaying herself out like a starfish and giggling further when Banjou tickles her to get her to move over. She moves and rests her head back on Banjou’s chest when he settles back down comfortably, making a small noise of sleepy protest when Banjou grabs up her phone.

He grins when he sees the lock screen. “Aw, ‘Sora, I didn’t know you liked my face that much.” He teases, flashing the selfie of him that Misora had set as her background.

“You have a stupid face.” She grumbles into him.

“A handsome stupid face.” Banjou corrects with a smile.

Misora makes a half-hearted noise of disgruntlement. “Whatever,” She says. “Just don’t mess with my Neko Atsume.”

Banjou smiles down at her and strokes her hair. “I won’t,” he assures her, though he knows she’s already falling asleep for both exhaustion and the soothing motions that Banjou’s using to pet her head. “You just sleep.”

Misora easily settles down beside him and is asleep in minutes, her body a warm weight against his, and he looks down at her fondly for a minute, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he smiles proudly, flicking through her Snapchat friends to answer messages. Most of them were just several online friends that liked the same things that Misora did and they often chatted back and forth, Banjou pointedly ignores the ones with English names and scrolls to the bottom of her friend’s list, his eyes narrowing as he spots the username—KazuminS.

Banjou was about to put her phone down entirely and go back to cuddling Misora, his thumb hovering over the on button, before he stops and allows a mischievous grin to stretch across his lips.  He double taps the name and the camera opens to the image of his chin. He pulls the phone back until the screen shows his shit-eating grin, and a sleeping Misora on his shirtless chest, and he taps the capture button on the screen with his thumb.

It takes him less than two seconds to type the caption before he sends it off and places Misora’s phone on the bedside table before he wraps his arms around her, buries his chin in her hair and closes his eyes.

* * *

Kazumi is eating M&M’s with Sento when his phone buzzes.

He shoves the M&M packet into Sento’s hands and digs into his pocket to retrieve his phone, a small smile crossing his lips when he sees a Snapchat notification from Misora. He unlocks his phone and taps to view the notification, tapping on Misora’s name when it pops up next to a red square.

Out of the things he expected to see when he clicked on her name, he did not expect to see Misora asleep on Banjou’s chest (was that his shirt that she was wearing?) while Banjou wore a fucking annoying grin. He blinks down at the image until it disappears, the caption etched into the back of his mind.

I’m winning, Kazumi. Can you say the same? ;)

* * *

“Are you two ever going to give it a bloody rest?” Sento asks in exasperation.

Banjou and Kazumi look up from their place in the middle of the basement, where Banjou has managed to wrangle Kazumi into a headlock. They exchange a look and then look back to Sento with a straight face. Sento takes one look between them, sighs and turns back to his workbench.

“This is important, Sento,” Kazumi says seriously and Sento sighs harder.

Banjou nods in agreement. “I’m not going to lose to an old man.”

“You two are behaving like children,” Sento scolds firmly. “You are wrestling in my basement and if you continue to do so, I’m going to kick you both out. So, Banjou, let go of Kazumi.” Reluctantly, Banjou releases Kazumi from his grip and Sento lets out a relieved breath. “Thank you.”

Banjou glares at Kazumi. “Old man.” He mouths.

Kazumi flips him off. “Dumbass.” He mouths back.

Sento points between them and they both freeze. “Can one of you get me the tiny wrench that only fits in the bolts with the hole in it?” He asks and Banjou sighs as he turns in the direction that Sento is pointing.

“What?” Banjou asks as he reaches the table.

“The thingy that secures the socket screw!” Sento calls back. “The hex-key or whatever!”

Kazumi blinks at him. “You mean an Allen wrench?” He asks.

Sento frowns at him as Banjou seizes up the Allen wrench and heads over to Sento. “Probably,” he says to Kazumi, only to grin up at Banjou when he hands him the wrench. “Exactly! Thank you, Banjou; you’re useful after all.”

Kazumi looks between Sento and the wrench. “And you’re meant to be a genius.” He hums thoughtfully.

“Physicist, Kazumi,” Sento corrects, jabbing the wrench in Kazumi’s direction. “Genius Physicist.”

Banjou winces, laying a hand over his heart. “Ouch, that hurt, Sento.”

“What am I?” Kazumi asks with a frown. “Chopped liver?”

Banjou glances at him. “Yes.” He says seriously and Kazumi scowls at him.

“Stop bickering.” Sento tells them before he turns around with a bored expression. “What are you even arguing over? Does it really matter?”

“Of course it matters,” Banjou says with a scowl, jabbing a finger in Kazumi’s direction. “He wants to be a fucking snake and woo Misora just to piss me off, and then rub it in my face if I lose.”

Kazumi just snorts. “You’re just sleeping together.” He says.

Banjou practically bristles at his words. “Not the fucking point!”

Sento looks between them, several emotions flashing across his face in half a second. “Then… what is the point?” He asks and both Banjou and Kazumi groan in frustration at him. Sento blinks a few times and holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry, am I missing something here?” He asks as he looks between them.

Kazumi lays his hand over his heart and looks dramatically off into the distance, Banjou groans and smacks his forehead while Sento stares at him. “You see, Sento!” Kazumi declares loudly as Banjou starts to mimicking him patronizingly. “My soul fire is burning passionately for Misora!”

Banjou rolls his eyes. “You keep saying that—What does that even fucking mean?!” He cries in frustration.

Kazumi gives Banjou a look that one would give to a small child who didn’t understand and pats his head. “Oh, Banjou,” He says with a wistful sigh. “It means that I’m love with Misora.”

“You can’t be in love with Misora because I’m in love with Misora!” Banjou yells, gesturing vigorously to himself, unable to stop the words before they fall from his lips.

The room lapses into uncomfortable silence and while Banjou looks like someone just died in front of him, Kazumi grins on brightly, seemingly pleased with Banjou’s revelation as Sento looks on, unamused.

“Banjou…” A familiar female voice comes and Banjou’s blood runs cold. “You love me?” Slowly, he turns to meet Misora’s surprised gaze and stays stock still as she approaches him slowly, taking his hands in her own. “Do you mean it?” She asks.

Banjou swallows hard, his heart thundering loudly in his chest. “Yes.” He says, and he’s more sure than he’s felt in a while. “I do mean it. I love you, Misora. So, do me a favor and become my girlfriend.”

Misora laughs at his bluntness but leans up to press her forehead against his. “It’s about time, you idiot.” She says with a small smile. “I’ve been in love with you for months. It took you long enough.”

Kazumi throws his hands into the air and looks up the ceiling. “Fucking finally!” He exclaims. Misora peers at him curiously while Banjou frowns. “It’s about fucking time!”

Sento looks between the four of them, thoroughly confused. “Can someone please explain what’s going on?”

“I’m sorry,” Banjou says, staring defiantly at Kazumi. “What the fuck?”

“The entire reason I’ve been pissing you off for the last two weeks is so that you’d confess to Misora.” Kazumi says with a roll of his eyes. “I figured getting you angry was the quickest way to get you to blurt it out to her, or in front of her. And, hey, it worked.”

Banjou blinks at him. “But I thought…” He begins, trailing off into silence as Kazumi laughs.

“I do like Misora,” Kazumi says with a grin. “But you were idiotic enough to believe that you’d stand a chance if I was trying to woo her. Either way, it worked, so now you two can get back to doing…” He looks between them. “Well, each other I guess.” Banjou splutters as Misora flushes red, giving Kazumi a half-hearted scowl as he smirks between them both and claps Banjou on the back.

“Hey,” Banjou says suddenly and Kazumi looks up at him. “Thanks.”

Kazumi smiles at him and pats his shoulder. “No problem.” He says. “And, for the record, I like you too Banjou."

Misora giggles into her hand as Banjou blinks blankly at him. “When was that ever on the table?” He asks breathlessly and Misora grins.

“It could be,” She says, and his eyes snap to hers as she smiles up at him. “What do you say? I don’t mind sharing if you don’t either.”

For a moment, the words swirl around his head, not registering until they click into place like the final piece of an intricate puzzle. Banjou’s eyes widen as he looks between Kazumi and Misora, a smile starting to curve his lips.

Oh.

Oh, he thinks. This may just be something very great.

[flameclaw22]

Book Review: The Crown’s Game

Spoilers ahead!

Rating: 1 star out of 5

I'd been contemplating reading Circle of Shadows, the newest Evelyn Skye novel, but I wanted to test the waters by reading another of her books first. I found The Crown's Game on sale in the NOOK store for $1.99, so I snapped it up. In a way, I'm glad I did, because reading The Crown's Game ultimately prevented me from wasting considerably more money on Circle of Shadows.

I could use the phrase “dumpster fire” to describe this book, but that's really not fitting: Dumpster fires at least entail vaguely interesting events. The Crown’s Game is easily one of the dullest books I’ve ever read - even duller than any novel in the Twilight series. It’s no compliment to say that Stephanie Meyer did a better job world-building. Evelyn Skye exerted such negligible effort on world-building that her tale barely squeaks into the historical fantasy genre, giving more of the feel of historical fanfiction with magic tossed in for shits and giggles. The magic originates from some spring or fountain or some bullshit that apparently pays attention to arbitrary geopolitical boundaries and nationality. And excluding faith healers and a couple of magical creatures, the latter of whom are only mentioned in passing, there are only four known characters in Russia with the magic, and two of them monopolize most of it. Since both competitors possess gargantuan supplies of the magic, the result is a pair of stupidly overly-powerful heroes.

Skye is just as bad at inventing plots as she is at world-building. Expect no real action or intrigue from Crown’s Game. The game itself is nothing more than an unstructured magical pissing contest, and Skye fails to leave enough to the imagination to keep readers hooked. There’s no nefarious plot running beneath the surface, there’s no tension or suspense; it’s just a fight for who gets to be the tsar’s chief suck-up and who gets to die, and the two competitors falling in love.

The characters are breathtakingly boring. If you played the Wii Fit obstacle course game, you probably remember what a pain in the ass it was to avoid those logs, lest your Mii be comically flattened. Clearly The Crown’s Game’s characters played this game and lost spectacularly, because damn, are they dimensionally challenged. Though it’s not Vika’s fault that Pasha worshipfully describes her in a manner that is utterly vomit-inducing, it is Vika’s fault for failing to demonstrate that she is anything more than an insipid, gorgeous magical girl anime reject. She has pretty red hair with a black streak in it and can generate an entire island with her mind. She misses her dad. She’s pretty. She’s powerful. Did I mention she’s pretty? The way Vika blathers on about how attractive Nikolai is implies that she’s never seen a boy before (even though that’s probably not true). Spare me the agony.

Scarcely surpassing the sentience of a doorknob, Nikolai might as well have been a giant Russian Ken doll. His thoughts mostly consist of dreamily imagining banging Vika, hawing over not wanting to kill her, and attempting to concoct a contest-winning plan. When a woman in a semi-zombified state shows up out of the blue - alleging to be his mother, no less - Nikolai is relatively unperturbed. His strongest reaction is his revulsion over how dreadful Aizhana smells. Come on. Even if you live in a world steeped in magic, if a shambling, malodorous corpse lady appears and claims to be your dead mommy, you should shit yourself, at least a little bit. If all you can do is complain about is the foul stench, you desperately need help. When he walks into the Enchanted Hollow, a goddam cave, his thought is, “So this is why it’s called the Enchanted Hollow.” You’re a little slow on the uptake, pal. Reading this particular line evokes thoughts of that iCarly scene where Kurt, the cute but dumb (fired) intern, rides the elevator and then breathes in awe, “This is an elevator.” And really, that captures Nikolai’s essence - the hot but moronic guy who should be fired before he ruins the world. I half-expected him to pop into a scene with a plastic bag of lemonade.

Pasha isn’t much better. Like Nikolai, he too obsesses over Vika to a degree that seriously annoyed me, as a reader stuck in his head. (What I can say is that Pasha, as nauseatingly pesky as his crush-related thoughts are, isn’t a complete creep. For instance, he refrains from kissing Vika while she is asleep because he does not want to disrespect/violate her.) Unlike Nikolai, however, he exhibits some intellectual curiosity and later undergoes a considerable personality change; unfortunately, this shift is such an about-face that its effect comes off less as character development and more as a rancorous temper tantrum.

There’s little to say for the remaining characters. Renata merely serves to upgrade the love triangle to a love web. Ludmila is Vika’s plump, middle-aged sidekick, who effectively fills the role of a lame-ass Molly Weasley: a source of tasty baked goodies and motherly love, minus the tough fierceness that makes Molly so endearing. Pasha’s sister, Yuliana, functions as the impetus behind the Crown’s Game, urging her father to commence the contest, but Tsar Alexander is such an unpleasant dickbag that no other scapegoat for starting the game is truly required, rendering Yuliana obsolete. At virtually every given opportunity, he goes out of his way to be rude, condescending, or snappish. During his spiel about the rules of the game, Vika interrupts him as respectfully as possible to inquire about why one Enchanter must die at the end of the game, and Alexander acts as if she’s expressed the desire to hit him in the testicles repeatedly with a large stick. He can’t even muster the patience or sympathy to answer a valid question posed by a competitor - a teenager, mind you - in a fatal contest to be the tsar’s magical toady. When Vika arrives at the ball in her fabulous dress, the tsar snidely remarks that she should “take care not to become too enamored of the tsarevich” because “it will require more than a showy gown to be worthy.” Damn it, dude, she just told you that she fashioned her clothes herself. Would it kill you to just toss out some platitude or another? Honestly, I pity Tsarina Elizabeth - she deserves so much better than Alexander. Sergei’s role is just being Vika’s mentor/father figure and an eventual sacrifice; Sergei’s bitchy sister, Galina, is a fucking psychopath who forces Nikolai to kill animals that she put in his bedroom and doesn’t miss a chance to remind him of his “low birth”. And if you’re holding out for a decent villain, don’t bother: Despite being one of the more interesting characters, Aizhana is just a vengeful zombie who boasts a typhus-riddled black tongue (I kid you not), long fingernails, and a festering grudge. That’s pretty much it.

And just what the fuck is this sentence structure?! The writing is clunky, awkward, and the cause of many an eye-roll. For example: “Nikolai shook his head at the beauty of Bolshebnoie Duplo.” This is an actual sentence in a published book not written for fourth-graders. This is an actual sentence in a published book that is presumably not written by a fourth-grader. I have read and enjoyed books with similar writing flaws, but the other elements of the book compensated for them. Obviously, nothing in The Crown's Game does.

This clumsy delivery pervades the romance of the book too. In yet another nightmare sentence, Pasha gushes about this gorgeous girl (Vika), whom he spotted from a distance the other day:

“She has red hair, like the most hypnotizing part of a flickering flame, and her voice is both melodic and unflinching.”

Ew, gross, no, stop. You’re embarrassing yourself, Pasha. You heard her speak but three sentences from a distance and now you can describe her voice like that? Not only does this further paint Vika as a Mary Sue, but it also just makes Pasha look like a pompous ass. This sort of florid diction is typically reserved for Lord Byron’s poetry. And then, when Pasha hops back on the boat back to St. Petersburg, Skye writes, “He murmured, ‘Vika,’ to himself, more than once.” Oh. My. God. By this point, I can safely say that Pasha acts like Ron Weasley under the influence of Romilda Vane’s love potion. J.K. Rowling at least had the courtesy to cure Ron of his sorry state by within the chapter; Skye’s characters, on the other hand, continue this behavior throughout Crown’s Game. I can’t pick on just Pasha, not when Vika serves up internal monologues like this one:

“It was as if the attempts to kill her faded into the background, and now she saw the truth at the core of it all: Nikolai’s magic was gorgeous and powerful and... and... Her lungs faltered. Even the mere memory of his magic was so strong. And touching Nikolai, even through her gloves and his sleeve, was like being pummeled by a stampede of wild horses. No, wild unicorns. Beautiful, wild unicorns.”

He’s the other enchanter, and she’s just now figured out that he’s powerful? Also, does she want to fuck him or his magic? If you think Nikolai contributes nothing to this travesty of romance, you’re quite wrong:

“He had thought, during the mazurka, that they’d had something. Their touch had both frenzied and frozen the ballroom. Their breathing had synchronized, heatedly.”

I could find more examples but I really don’t want to, since I prefer not vomiting.

Skye spends so much time on saccharine pseudo-poetry that she skimps on meaningful interactions between characters, particularly those involved in the two pairings we the readers are supposed to choose between. One carriage ride and a ballroom dance with Vika, whom he’s only known for a couple of weeks, and he thinks he’s so in love with her that when he discovers Nikolai's identity as the second enchanter and that Nikolai is "in love" with Vika too, he feels betrayed enough to pit the two of them - his best friend and the girl he supposedly loves - against each other in a battle to the death. Nikolai and Vika's encounters consist of either one attempting to murder the other, often with a crowd of bystanders within view, or gazing longingly into each other's eyes. Although Vika does have a sweet mother-daughter scene with Ludmila, and Sergei and Galina seem to reach some kind of reconciliation before the former dies, character-to-character interactions are generally superficial and unanimated.

In the end, whether you subject yourself to the agony of reading this book is up to you. Personally, I think it might be less time-consuming to purchase a bottle of high fructose corn syrup from the grocery store, go home, and drink the entire fucker in one sitting. You'd get the same bland, over-sweet experience from whichever one you choose. As for me, I won't be reading another book of Evelyn Skye's. I've had enough literary corn syrup to last me a lifetime.

You can also read this review on my website: <https://thebookishhawk.home.blog/2019/02/25/the-crowns-game-book-review/>.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 63

Happy Tuesday, and Happy November Everyone!

This week I hit 467 followers, so thank you to everyone who is following this story (except the porn bots, y’all can go porn yourselves).

A special shout out to everyone who interacts: sending me messages, commenting, reblogging, and liking the chapters as they post.  Every week, this story goes up at 2pm Eastern Time, and by 2:30pm I always have 15-20 notes.  You are the ones who keep me going when I start to struggle or get discouraged.

When Antoine eventually woke up and stood to stretch – I scowled at the freedom I was explicitly not given – Grey staggered over to the still-warm berth and collapsed into a heap of rambling nonsense.  Antoine eyebrows shot up in curiosity as he tried to pat his hair down, glancing at me and my sister for answers.

We both shrugged, with Tyche clarifying “We were talking about food, then Grey shot off after a comment about a cast iron stomach and hasn’t said a single logical thing since then.”

With a Gallic shrug, he replied “It is what it is. Why were you talking about metal stomachs?”

“Phaal curry from Soph’s kitchen, balut, and other weird foods my sister has tried.”

“Ah. That would do it.” He tossed his version of a cheeky grin at me before leaning toward my sister.

Before his face could get anywhere in her vicinity, she shoved him playfully. “You stink. Go take a shower.”  Without pressing the matter, he winked – actually winked – and sauntered toward the door, more relaxed than I had ever seen him.

All I could do was blink at the display. “Is he always like this when he wakes up?”

She nodded, unperturbed. “He doesn’t have his professional face on yet.”

Huh. “I had no idea.”

A sudden silence fell on the room, the lack of snoring indicating that the other two occupants of the room were awake. “This is not what I imagined a grown-up sleepover to turn out like,” Maverick groaned while scowling at the tube in his arm. “There was a lot less blood, for one thing.  And more pizza.  Definitely more pizza.”

I smiled fondly at him and glanced on his other side, where Conor was doing his best impression of a grizzly bear just woken involuntarily from hibernation: stretch, grunt, scratch beard, stomp, kiss Maverick, stomp, grunt, kiss me, stomp to find hot water.  It was a routine thing, and actually calming in the present circumstances.

Tyche, however, stared after him with an expression like a cat who just had water flicked in her face. “Wow. Grouchy much?”

“Not a morning person,” Maverick yawned.  It only then occurred to me that this was the first time either had seen the other’s partner/partners first thing in the morning.

“But the stomping? That’s unnecessary.”

“Tyche, he is over two-hundred pounds. He’s going to stomp by default when he isn’t being careful. Maverick stomps, too. That’s why he didn’t get up.”

“And the blood,” he pointed out, scowling down again.

“Okay, yeah, and the blood. Don’t feel bad, love. Me, too. Constantly….”  It was true, too.  Noah had given up on removing the equipment from my arms and just transfused me as needed.  Hence why I wasn’t allowed to get up and stretch.

I wasn’t even going to think about how they were keeping me from needing to use to bathroom.  It was apparently need to know, and I Did. Not. Need. To. Know. Thank. You.

Tyche, the only one who could get up and walk around at will, checked over the most recent scans. “Well, the good news is that it looks like you’ve stabilized, Soph. Maverick, you’ll be out of the danger zone for a bit after that round, and we can talk to Miys about taking the needles out. Conor and Antoine are going to need to be hooked up today, though.”

“What about you?”

“I’m still okay for the time being, if I’m reading this right.” She tipped her head up toward the ceiling, a habit that exactly none of us had ever gotten out of. “Miys, can you confirm the results I’m seeing, make sure I read them correctly?”

“You are correct, Tyche. And as I am sure Wisdom will ask the same question she has asked every Terran hour she has been conscious, Derek, Zach, and Sam are doing well, as are Charly, Coffey, Sebastian, and everyone else. Nixe has deteriorated no further.”

I sighed. It was the best I could have hoped for, realistically.

“What exactly happened to the mermaid?” Maverick asked.  He had been fascinated with her ever since I bet Alistair swimming lessons with her. “Why is she in worse shape than everyone else?”

Considering almost the whole ship was being transfused with whole blood as fast as Miys could produce it, it wasn’t a huge margin. “She actually isn’t in bad shape as a direct result of whatever ‘Else’ is doing to us. But it did make her weaker than usual, and she was in the middle of a diving session when her nanotech failed…”

When I suddenly paled and went silent, Maverick reached out with his good hand and shook me, but I blocked it out.  I felt like I had been struck by a bolt of lightning and set on fire at the same time.  Her nanotech tail failed.

”Cast-iron stomach and the tail failed,too.” I announced, whipping my head toward my sister.

She looked horrified. “Oh gods, now you’re barmy, too.”

Rolling my eyes, I grabbed her forearm. “No, Tyche. We said I have a ‘cast-iron’ stomach. That’s what set Grey off, not the illness. Whatever bacteria or virus or whatever is making us sick is taking up all the nutritive iron in our bodies, right?”  The door hissed as Antoine walked in, drying his hair, followed by Noah. “And they said nutritive iron does have actual elemental iron in the molecules, or whatever. And the tail failed, too. They weren’t talking out of their head – Grey meant Nixe’s nanotech tail!”

Antoine stopped dead in his tracks, towel forgotten. “Sophia, what are you talking about?”  I repeated everything I had just told Tyche and Maverick. “What else did Grey say before I woke up?”

“Something about segregating them for no reason, pyronasal RNA, evil instead of dexterous, bacteria is bacteria?”

“Pyranosyl,” he corrected absentminded, eyes focusing on something the rest of us couldn’t see. “Sinister instead of dexter, so our bodies would not see it as a pathogen. No immune response.”

Tyche threw her hands up in exasperation. “Great. Crazy is contagious. It’s killing us, of course it’s sinister.”

“Sinister instead of dexter,” I told her emphatically, nodding my head for emphasis.

Her eyes widened. “Left instead of right?”

“Oh! I know this one!” Maverick sat up, giddy despite the situation. “RNA is single-helix instead of double-helix like DNA, right?” Miys ‘nodded’ with one liw, so he continued. “I think he’s saying that DNA and RNA usually have a right-handed twist, but this stuff has RNA with a left-handed twist?” Another ‘nod’. He grinned with excitement before his face fell practically off his skull. “That’s why we’re malnourished instead of sick,” he whispered. “Our bodies aren’t even trying to fight it off, are they?”

Okay, fuck it. Despite Tyche’s attempts to stop me, I unhooked the transfusion equipment, dotting the floor with red as I made my way over to Maverick’s berth to hold him. “Are we going to die?” he asked in the smallest voice imaginable.

“Not if we can help it,” I promised. “We’re tough stuff, remember? The end of the world didn’t kill us. We’ll figure this out. Right?” I turned toward Antoine hopefully.

His eyes widened slightly, but he nodded. “I believe that Grey started to make a connection with something. You said they said we should not segregate the two, correct?” I nodded tentatively. “What are we thinking of as separate from this situation?”

“Nutritive iron and elemental iron?” I asked hopefully.

Tyche jumped out of her seat just as Conor entered.  He startled, sloshing coffee on his shirt and groaning. Ignoring him, she started snapping her fingers. “Else is absorbing all the iron from our bodies, so we sorta know what that part means. The elemental iron must mean the diving platforms.”

Crash! We all turned toward Conor, who stood gaping at us, coffee cup shattered at his feet. “That is what’s in our bodies?”

“Conor – “

“No, Sophie. You didn’t see what it did to those platforms. Four tons of metal, reduced to twisted and flaking wrecks.  We would be falling apart like lepers if that was in us.”

I felt Maverick shake his head just as I saw Antoine to the same thing. “There is not enough iron in a human body to cause that level of catastrophic failure – “

“Oh yeah? Tell that to the fucking mermaid on life support!”

In an instant, Tyche interposed herself between her partner and mine. One hand struck Conor’s chest flatly, the other pointing a finger like it was loaded. “She almost drowned. Yes, it was because she was weak and the iron in her tail caused it to fail and give her even more dead weight.  But if she had passed out on land, she would be fine.  Right now, your boyfriend is scared to death, your girlfriend – my sister – is bleeding everywhere trying to comfort him instead of taking care of herself, and Antoine is trying to figure this out even though he is not a doctor.  So, stop. Fucking. Yelling.”  With a huff, she shoved both hands through her hair.  “Everyone, calm down for five damn minutes.” With a glance at the ceiling, she pitched her voice slightly. “Miys, can you test everyone in this room for any bacteria matching those found in BioLab 2 recently?”

“Councilor Hodenson already requested this test run, to be given the results when they wake.”

“Give them to me now, please?” she asked tiredly, at the limits of her manners and pushing further.

“All scans requested show the bacteria to be present.”

Oh. Fuck.

But my sister was on a roll. “Okay, so we already knew we were all suffering from the same thing.  Good news? It’s not cancer, it’s not radiation sickness, or some other thing that will definitely kill us, right?”

“Cancer would not kill you,” Miys pointed out, falling on deaf ears.

“But this isn’t a Terran bacteria,” Conor ground out from where he was crouched on the floor picking up what was left of his coffee mug. “How are we supposed to get rid of it if we can’t even fight it off?”

A quiet, exhausted voice drifted from the collapsed heap of person in the farthest berth. “Maybe we can just ask nicely.”

For what felt like an eternity, all we could hear were the air scrubbers as we all gaped at the half-conscious Grey.

“You have to be kidding.” Heads snapped toward me, and only then did I realize I was the one who spoke. Swallowing nervously, I soldiered on. “You want us to cure a plague by asking nicely?”

A pale hand popped up from the berth, gesturing dismissively. I didn’t even know Grey knew that gesture. “You talk to it, it talks to you. So, talk. Ask. You people for a living. Go people.”

“When did they learn Reid-ish?” Conor whispered in horror.

Antoine, equally appalled, turned wide eyes toward his not-quite attacker. “I have no idea, mon ami. I have no idea.”

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[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 55

Happy Tuesday, everyone!

Things have been out of whack in the real world for a bit, so I know I’ve gotten behind on things like updating the Master List for this story, and especially behind on posting it to Wattpad.  My goal for this week is to have all that sorted out by Friday, so keep your eyes open.

Parts of this chapter were inspired by a conversation I had with @baelpenrose. It’s always surprising what things in my life inspire parts of this story, especially the people.

Content warning: Someone yelling and throwing things. It’s a temper tantrum, and no one gets hurt, but just in case, I wanted to give a head’s up.

”Damn it all to HELL!”

I stopped in the middle of what I was telling my sister as we both whipped our heads toward the shout, which was quickly followed by a crash. We glanced back at each other, her wide-eyed expression a mirror of what I imagined my own face looked like.

That shout came from my quarters, with a suspiciously heavy Irish accent.

We dashed to my door, stopping to peer around the corner as slowly as possible. I wasn’t sure about Tyche, but I had seen Conor angry before.  It was rare, and it took a lot, but when it happened, it happened in a big way.   This time, even I was surprised by the sheer magnitude; as we watched, he shouted and threw things, subconsciously careful to avoid hitting any terrariums or people.  Even so, Zach Khan was dodging to hide behind whatever piece of furniture he could impose between himself and my enraged partner.

Taking a deep breath, I stood tall and squared my shoulders, gently pushing down my sister’s arm when she tried to stop me from confronting Conor.  Firmly, I knocked on the threshold of the wide-open entrance before striding in with more confidence than I currently felt.  “You could at least close the door,” I suggested airily, trying to get his attention.

As I hoped, he whirled around to face me, disheveled hair falling in his face. “Sophie,” he started trying to explain. “You could have gotten hurt.”

“Hello to you, too, sweetie,” I smiled before stretching on my tiptoes as he automatically leaned down to let me kiss his cheek.  “I waited until you were on the other side of the room, facing away.  But that doesn’t explain why you’re currently scaring Zach and Tyche.”

All anger gone at this point, he stepped around me and toward my sister.  He crouched and softened his voice like he was coaxing a scared kitten, which I reminded myself firmly not to laugh at. “Oh gods, Tych, love, I’m so sorry.  I didn’t hit you with anything, did I?” He whirled to face me, all color drained from his face. “Please tell me I didn’t hit you with anything?” he begged, hitting his knees.

“Zach, you can come out now. It’s over,” I called softly to the sofa, before walking over, wrapping my arms around Conor, and assure him I was fine. Really, all he had done was make a mess. “Maybe take up boxing,” I suggested softly, brushing his hair back out of his face. “It’s a much healthier outlet for your frustration.”

Tyche came in the room, tentatively at first, then more confident when she saw Conor’s face buried in my stomach.  She started to pick up debris from the floor, but was interrupted. “Put it down, woman,” the muffled admonishment came from my abdomen. “I made the mess, my job to clean it up.  That’s the rule.”

She sputtered in exasperation. “Then what can I do!?  This place is a mess, and my anxiety says to clean or do something to fix it,” she scolded at my back.

“How about some coffee,” I suggested with a chuckle, patting Conor on the shoulder in indication that he should get started with cleanup.

Once everyone got settled – including Zach with a cocoa, seeing as he was practically vibrating with anxiety – and Conor went about restoring order to our living space and apologizing to the plants, I asked, “Are you going to blow up again if I ask what you were so angry about?”

Conor dropped his hands to his side and tilted his head back to face the ceiling. “No, I won’t. And it was Huynh.”

Tyche growled ferociously before elbowing me. Oh.

That was me growling, not her.

He continued blithely. “The diving platforms are showing signs of rust damage.” Frustration was showing in his tone, but not anger. So far, so good. “Since I was head of the project, he is coming down on me hard. Trying to say I cut corners, didn’t coat everything properly, used the wrong materials, basically just bollocked the whole thing.”

“But you were the one who ordered one of the platforms taken out entirely because it was too close to the line for spec…”

“Hey,” he pointed at me firmly. “That thing would have been clearly out of spec if the temperature varied more than about twenty degrees.”

“It’s climate controlled, and that’s my point. You literally went with ‘better safe than sorry’ the entire time, and he got mad at you for wasting materials to meet the guidelines.”

“That’s my point!” he cried in frustration, flinging his arms wide and falling to his back with a thud that made me wince. “And now, he’s reversed course and accusing me of shoddy workmanship. I can’t win!  Even though Mav signed off that everything was dead level, on the nose within tolerance.”

“Wait,” Zach interjected, wrinkling his nose. “Why would Maverick sign off on that? He’s a pilot. That doesn’t make sense.”

Tyche snickered. “He’s a pilot when we need a pilot. Which is nearly never, so he’s more like an insurance policy there – better to have and not need than need and not have.  No, he’s quality control for any equipment in the research labs.”

“That’s just… what? Not tracking.”  Poor Zach looked like he was getting a headache.  I dropped another marshmallow in his cocoa, and he looked like I had answered his prayers. Ah, yes. Marshmallow makes sense in this crazy world.

“He has an insane eye for detail and is a completely arse about precision,” Conor’s tone was so fond it barely escaped being considered cooing.  He shook his head and glowered at the boot wedged under a piece of furniture. “Huynh is calling that nepotism, by the way.”

“But he’s even worse here!” I cried.  Tyche nodded vigorously, having been subjected to a two-hour rant when she put away a fork the wrong way.  Not in the wrong drawer, the wrong direction.

Maverick was permanently in charge of setting the table for every meal.  It was the only way to avoid killing him outright.

“Okay…” Zach trailed off, pinching his nose and vigorously wiggling his mug to beg for more chocolate salvation. “But the platforms are still rusting?”

“All three,” Conor confirmed.  “They’ve warped badly enough that we had to declare them unsafe until we can figure out the issue.”

“Wait. They rusted that badly in four months?” Tyche looked so confused it made my face hurt in sympathy.  “How is that even possible? Even if you didn’t take any measures to prevent rust, it shouldn’t be that advanced.”

“Grey is trying to figure that out. It’s also why Mav is stuck at work and not here for dinner.”

As much as I wanted to laugh at the – very manly – pout I was witnessing, I was also frustrated by the interruption in our routine.  Shaking my head, I tried to steer the conversation away from our errant pilot. “Is there a possibility that one of the lab’s experiments could have caused the issues?”

Conor shook his head before surveying the area for any more storm damage. “If that was the case, it would be so corrosive everything in the habitat would have died, and all the swimmers would be burned.  We would have known almost instantly.” He raked a hand through his hair, turning to face us. “But if anyone can figure it out, it’s Grey.”

“What I don’t understand,” Tyche ventured, “is that the materials were fabricated here on the Ark, right?  The facilities are obviously more advanced than anything we could have managed before.” She waved her hand at the ceiling for emphasis. “So, how could there be any flaws in the materials themselves?”

“The program still has to be written,” Zach groaned as he leaned forward. “You’re right about the system being more advanced, but that also means it’s incredibly finicky and precise. One character out of place, and everything used could be worthless. And before you ask,” he held up both hands defensively, “I personally checked the programming against what it should have been, and there are exactly zero errors. It’s literally the cleanest bit of programming I’ve ever seen.”

Conor nodded, heading to the kitchen for his own coffee. “And before anyone asks, we’ve had the calculations checked over by six different people, plus our mate Noah.  Calculations are accurate, they were programmed in accurately, and Grey’s people have tested to make sure the output is accurate.  Mav has already measured the samples with everything he could get his hands on, and they all show the amount of precision you would expect from an advanced civilization.  No fault to be found in the materials, whatsoever, which is where I come in.”

“Ugh. Huynh needs someone to blame, and since the materials are as perfect as you could ever dream of, he’s putting the fault in the construction?” I may have had my moments of grudging respect, but I never quite managed to like the bastard. Here he was, proving me right.

“Which puts me on furlough until they figure out what the cause is, yeah.” He huffed explosively and flopped down into the seat my sister vacated for him. “At least I can still work in the hydroponics lab.”

“No offense to you, Zach, but have you considered having Derek cross check the program?”

“None taken, and yes,” he sighed. “But he’s been holed up in his quarters for two weeks now, won’t talk to anyone.  I sent him several requests, but never got a response.”

Alarmed, I started to say something, but Tyche cut me off. “I already checked with Noah, and Derek’s okay.  Not sleeping well, but otherwise his physical health is fine.”

I stood anyway, frowning. “That’s good to hear, and I know he goes through periods where he can’t be around people, but two weeks?  It’s not like him.”  Snatching up my purple fuzzy blanket, I headed to the door. “Mac in your quarters?”

“Yeah, but Soph – “

“Nope.  I’m taking him the blanket and the cat.  If he wants to talk, he’ll talk, but at least this way I can see him with my own eyes. I won’t be long, I promise.  Zach, feel free to stay for dinner.  We’re doing pizza tonight.”  With that, I took off, focused on my mission.

It only took me about fifteen minutes to collect my furry co-conspirator and make it to Derek’s quarters. “Hey,” I called softly, praying he still had the outer microphone on. “I heard you’ve been taking some alone time, so I thought I would bring you the blanket and your buddy.  No clue how you managed two weeks without him, but Mac misses you – “

The door slid open, revealing a piled of blankets with a surly, squinting face poking out. The door is keyed to let him in, Derek said impatiently before stepping aside to let me in.

As soon as the door closed behind me, the blanket monster stomped past and dropped on the bed.  I was relieved that nothing about the room immediately screamed for help.  Low lights, white noise in the background, and about as tidy as I could expect from a seventeen-year-old.  Two arms thrust themselves from the heap of fabric on the bed, hands grasping in a gesture that needed no working knowledge of sign language to understand.  Obediently, I handed over the soft purple offering in my hands.  Meanwhile, Mac dropped gracefully next to Derek with a demanding yowl.

“He likes to be invited,” I explained gently.  It was taking every ounce of willpower – and some I was pretty sure I didn’t possess – to keep myself from interrogating him on the length of his isolation.  Instead, I watched him rub my blanket against his face with one hand while the other tugged the large black cat onto his lap and started stroking it.  Despite token resistance, Mac quickly settled in for what was likely long-overdue and well-deserved attention.

I waited a few seconds, in case Derek wanted to talk, then cleared my throat. “Well… let me know if you need me to bring you anything else, okay?  And remember, cheese will make Mac sick, no matter how much he likes it.”  Quietly, I left with clenched teeth and eyes burning from tears I refused to shed.  I was trying to break my habit of smothering people, but it was hard.  Logically, I knew Derek could take care of himself – superficially, he had been doing fine.  But the fact that every blanket he seemed to own was layered over him, even just to answer the door?  He needed comfort, clearly.  Being incredibly touch-averse, I had to restrain my urge to hug him and let Mac and the blankets do the work.

Halfway back to my quarters, my databand chirped.  With a flick, I displayed the screen to see a message from him. “Not sleeping well. Nightmares.  They make me jumpy.  Mac will help.”

The corner of my mouth quirked up, despite my heart wanting to break. “He’s good for that,” I replied. “He eats nightmares, I think.”

“I’m not a child, I don’t need silly stories.”

I scoffed. “I know that. I’m being serious.  I never have nightmares when he’s around, and he always makes that face like he just ate when I wake up. Either he’s figured out how to work a console or he eats bad dreams.”

“I’ll lock down my console and let you know.”

With a deep breath, I told myself Derek would be okay and strolled back into my quarters.  Zach, Tyche, and Conor were in the kitchen, laughing and working on getting the pizza dough going.  It panged my heart not to see Maverick, but a part of me hoped that he would still manage to make it home in time to eat with us.

I’ll make an anchovy pizza, just in case, I told myself.

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