#kinda hate the way i drew dude here :skull:

[g0ne-p0stal]

Some more poostall doodles cus i LOVE them.. they're so pretty MWAH MWAH

[astringofmadhousefloozies]

Horse Friends

Yuu runs into Epel and gets an offer worth taking. Contains coarse language, discussions of masculinity/femininity and a fierce case of foot-in-mouth disease. Check my Twisted Wonderland Fanfiction tag for more, let me know if you enjoyed it, and if you ever want to let me know what you liked? Please do.

~*~*~*~

You like most creatures. Anything that deserves a pet should get one if they want it. So, you'd thought to yourself, let's go pet something you don't get to see every day. That's how you found yourself kicking around the edge of the horse pasture, watching majestic beasts eat and fart and amiably ignore your existence.

"You like them?"

You turned, and saw Epel had come up beside you.

"They're pretty cool. Not something I'm around much."

He nodded. "Wanna see a really big one?"

~*~*~*~

Did the barn smell bad or just like a barn? You couldn't tell, you didn't get to spend time in them and had no frame of reference. Where did they put the waste? You were thinking of asking where they buried the dead ones so you could go hunting with a shovel later when Epel came through the door, with the most fuckoff huge animal you've ever seen in your life. It was so tall you wondered if you could stand under it; a soft dapple grey, with long feathered fetlocks and a mane that reached past it's knees. It had to duck to get through the doorway, and stood, blinking, when Epel stopped, nevermind that this thing could probably swallow him whole if it had half a mind to.

"Are you sure it's not a kelpie?"

He laughed. "Ain't drowned anyone! 's nothing but a big guy. He's friendly! He's the one we use to teach riding."

You tentatively walked over and offered a hand. You did like horses - you really did! But they were very big, this one especially, and were deeply antsy despite being able to trample things easily. The last think you wanted was it to smell your nervousness and freak out.

It simply bypassed your hand, and instead nosed at your face with it's snout.

"He likes you!"

"I like him too." You prrbted his nose while he sniffed at you. "He got a name?"

"Beans."

"No!"

"Yes! Really."

"I can't believe Vil would let that slide."

"Yeah well, Beans was here first." Epel looked back and forth between you. "You want to try riding him? He's very gentle."

"Not today. But I'll take you up on that."

~*~*~*~

"Pull back to stop!"

You pulled back on the reins, and Beans stopped, and then started to back up.

"Nope, too much!"

You eased your grip and he stopped, flicking his ear an an errant fly.

This was the third time Epel had you up on the horse, and the first time he actually let you have the reins instead of simply leading you around. You weren't in a state of panic whenever the beast under you did something unexpected (though you jumped every time he or another horse whinnied; the sound drilled through your ears into the back if your skull in the worst way). The whole thing was pretty fun! Even if your legs got sore from straddling something as big around as you were tall.

Epel moved easily around on his own horse, a delicate-looking white stallion with murder in his heart, clearly a perfect pair. In the little bit of hanging out you'd done, you'd learned a few things about him:

- He hated being called cute. He was, which made it worse, but being treated as something precious drove him nuts.

- He was, by natural inclination, a rough and tumble farm boy. You knew more about motorbi- no, magical wheels than you ever had in your life, and now knew some truly vile curses that sounded wonderful coming out of his mouth.

- He really liked hanging out with someone he didn't have to pretend elegance around; which you had a feeling was part of why he started giving you private lessons. You were many things, but paragon of grace and propriety you were not.

Remembering what he told you, you lightly flicked the reins, and Beans started forward at a sedate pace. 

"There you go!" Epel beamed at you, and you reflected your own smile back at him.

~*~*~*~

Today, he seemed sour, and you could not understand why, so instead of gong in to greet the horses, you stopped and asked what crawled up his ass and died.

"Nothin' you'd know 'bout."

"Try me."

He stood there glowering, until he finally said, "Am I girlier than you?"

You had to stop and really consider that. "Who started on that one?"

"Some asshole. They said you're manlier than I'll ever be."

You snorted. "That's like, a matter of opinion. I'm kinda butch, sure, but what it is is that femininity is... it requires effort." You moved your hands, in an effort to grasp the words. "It takes effort to put on makeup, or shave your legs. Stuff like that is required to be seen as feminine if you're a girl. Neither of which you do? You're not feminine, really. You're young and pretty. And pretty was never exclusive to girls."

This did not seem to help, so you continued digging. "And you're real pretty, Epel. Combine that with being real young, it makes you cute to others, but like... give it a few years. Yeah. You get a little older and lose the young babyface. You'll still be pretty, but you won't be read as cute, not the way everyone reads you now."

All of his sullen fury was now clearly at you.

"I'm sorry dude. I don't know how to use my words right. But I sure as hell ain't more of a dude than you. Because you actually are one."

He still stood there, and you thought of something to lighten the mood. "Did you kick his ass?"

He finally cracked a smile. "Thoroughly."

"Good. You want to do this today, or do you wanna just vent at me over people being assholes?"

He thought for a moment. "The second one, but don't say anything 'til I say so. You suck at making me feel better."

You nod and give an okay sign, which got a snicker out of him.

~*~*~*~

"And he says I shouldn't lift weights! 'oooh Epel, it'll ruin the lines', Vil can fuck right off and choke on mangey pig cock, he hasn't missed a day of lifting for eight years unless he was too sick to get out of bed." 

You nodded, petting Lucius. He'd seen the both of you out on the grass and wandered over to play with people who were friendly, but not desperate.

"He's all Pomefiore ideals this and that and AUUUGH. I wanna stick a fork up his ass and beat down the doors of Savannahclaw until they let me change dorms."

You raised a finger, and he nodded. "But they don't do dorm changes."

"They do not and I hate it so fucking much." He flopped onto the grass, and you offered a hand that he high-fived. "It sucks. They wouldn't even move me when I went to beat Vil's ass when I first got sorted."

"You what."

"I did! Only got a swing in before he beat me down, but I tried." 

"Please say there's a recording of this."

"He cursed every electronic in a hundred-foot radius just to make sure no one had footage."

"Boo."

He nodded. "That could have made all the money."

You nodded, until Lucius caught your eye and you swatted at Epel to get him to watch. Lucius, crawling through the grass, crept, sprung... and walked back over with a headless lizard, the missing piece long down his gullet.

"Finish it up, Lucius."

Lucius, his play done, walked away, leaving you both with the corpse.

"Gross. Should we bury it?"

"Maybe." The gears are turning, and you instead fetch back a grumbling Lucius. "Epel. What is this?"

He raised an eyebrow. "A fat old cat?"

You held up the irritated cat with a smile. "This is, pound for pound, the most efficient land predator on the planet. I know of cats that have single handedly eradicated entire species. Cats are eight pounds of asskicking. They will fu-OW" You dropped Lucius and checked the welling scratches on your arm. "Cats will fuck you up. But cats are also fluffy and cute and like to be cuddled. They're elegant and lovely, silly and playful. The murder and the cute is inherent to the cat."

He frowned. "Where are you going with this."

"I'm saying you're basically a cat."

He was silent for a beat. "Thanks, I hate it."

"How much?"

"Enh." He wiggled his hand. "I get what you're trying to say, at least. As long as you don't run around calling me that I’m good."

"A cat?"

"No, other C word."

Your brain drew the only conclusion you could think of. "A cunt?"

He let out the ugliest laugh you'd ever heard, and things were good.

[retro-rezz-the-est]

Holiday Spirit (Drew McIntyre/Reader smut)

Summary: Drew hates the holidays. Reader loves them. Reader plans to try and make him love them as much as she does, and maybe some feelings will be discovered along the way...

Word Count: 11,566 (jfc somebody help me this is my longest fic to date)

Warnings: filler, endless piles of mutual pining, oral (female receiving), fingering (female receiving), multiple orgasms, FLUFF, and did I mention that there’s a shit ton of filler in here already?

(A/N: my entry for Day 5 of @toxiicpop’s 25 Days of Chrismuts this year! Merry Christmas and happy holidays to everyone!)

(A/N #2: I may make a part 2 to this if people want to see that lol ^^;)

(Y/n): your name

“Hey, Drew, look! It’s finally snowing!”

Your smile grew with each passing second as the two of you drew closer to the PC that Saturday morning. The sight of snowflakes falling slowly and hitting the ground below always filled you with a sense of childish joy you only felt around this time of year and even though the sky was dull and grey, your eyes sparkled like diamonds.

You pressed your face against the chilly window, wiping away the fog from the glass with your gloves as Drew looks on from the driver’s seat and scoffs. Everything always looked so pure to you during the winter time: snow covering every inch of the earth, the swift brisk of the coming holiday season flowing through the air, sitting by a warm fire and watching the world go by at night with someone you love…

...this was what you loved the most, and it was only getting started from here.

He rolled his eyes at your enthusiasm, taking his eyes off of you as he pulled the rental into the PC’s parking lot. Right when he parked the car and unlocked the doors, you bounded outside like an eager puppy to greet the cold morning and squealed. With your eyes wide and full of excitement, you giggled as you saw the footprints your feet made in the snow.

Drew was sure that everyone inside could hear how happy you were at the season’s first snow, seeing as you were completely busy with making random snow angels in the parking lot while he exited the rental and moved to the trunk to get your gym bags. He shivered and wrapped his scarf around his neck, you still flat on your back on the ground looking completely blissed out

“Join me down here, Drew! It’s getting lonely here,” you said to him over the rush of the wind, him choosing to ignore you and shutting the trunk with a grunt.

“You’re gonna get hypothermia like that if ya don’t get inside, (Y/n). Ya know that.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but look around! Even the dullest of places look like a winter wonderland!”

You got up and looked for a fresh spot to mark with a snow angel, finding a large mound and jumping into it not far from the car. You stuck out your tongue to catch the falling snowflakes and you couldn’t seem to feel the chill of the outside through your leggings but he rolled his eyes again, turning away from you and starting to walk towards the PC’s doors.

“If ya wanna stay out here and freeze half to death, then fine. Don’t call me when you’re stuck at home with a hell of a fever.”

You sat up, shaking the snow and the frost out of your hat and hair. “Um, excuse me? As your best and only friend, you are obligated by law to stay by my side no matter...what?”

You looked around the near empty lot, the falling snow blurring the world around you just a bit. All you could see were you and the few cars that littered the space in front of the PC, but no Drew in sight. You eventually saw him at the building’s doors with both of your gym bags over his shoulders and pushing the door open for himself, turning to look at you before letting himself inside.

“Hey, wait up!” you yelled, fixing your hat and your gloves and standing to run after him, hearing him chuckle under his breath as you manage to catch the door before it closes on you. 

The audacity of this dude! you think, feeling a shiver run down your spine as you glare down the Scotsman and follow him inside to be greeted by walls lined with shiny paper stars, Christmas lights and garlands.

Various Superstars passed you by and wished you both happy holidays, and the look of distaste was clear on Drew’s face when you entered the gym itself and heard the music softly playing from the speakers above. You sighed when you reached the lockers and began to pull of your large jacket and your gloves.

“Don’t you just love this, Drew?”

“What’re ya talkin’ about, lass? The snow or in here?”

“All of it!,” you reply, taking your bag from his shoulder and tugging down your gym shirt. “Everyone and everything’s so filled with the holiday spirit and you can see it everywhere you go! Everything’s so festive and fun and…! I just love it!”

“Eh, not a fan of all this Christmas crap,” he told you as he hung up his jacket and turned to you. “I find it all kind of annoying, if I’m being honest.”

Wait, what?!

“Huh? How could you not like Christmas?! It’s literally the best holiday of the year!”

“Oh, come on,” he retorted, slinging his bag back over his shoulder and heading over to one of the empty training rings nearby. “Everythin’s so in your face and so flashy, and those annoying fuckin’ songs make me want to drive a nail through my damn skull.”

You continued to stare at him slack jawed as you followed him to the ring, climbing up the stairs and under the ring ropes. Is he for real?

“And besides, I have no one to even-”

“To what? No one to what, Drew?”

He stayed silent, choosing to cross his arms and eye you dangerously. “Nothing. I just don’t like it, okay? Just leave it at that an’ stop pressin’ me about it.”

“Hey, Drew, I was only asking as your friend. I’m not really that mad about it…”

“It’s alright, lass,” he said, sighing deeply and hopping up to roll underneath the ropes. “I jus’ don’t have any good memories that come with the winter season, is all.”

He got up and his chest pressed against yours, pushing you against the turnbuckle and bracing his arms on the ropes next to you. “Ya know you’re my friend, right, (Y/n)?”

“I-I know, Drew,” you told him as you felt a flush rise up your neck and hit your ears. “And as your best friend, I’m gonna make sure you have the best holiday season you’ve ever had.”

You pointed your finger at him, shoving it into his chest and pushing him back as you looked into his rolling eyes. “That’s my goal right now. And besides, with Christmas right around the corner, I can plan the perfect holiday journey for us to endure!”

Drew palmed his forehead and shook his head, smirking slightly when he saw how you lit up and how your mind started to immediately get to work on your elaborate plan.

It was almost kinda cute…

Dear God, what’d I get myself into?

“Now come on, you big lug,” you said, snapping him out of his slight daze. “I did promise you when you picked me up that I would kick your ass once we got here. But, I’m not gonna let me finally beating you distract me from my plan!”

His eyes darkened and he crouched in his corner, getting ready to spar. “We’ll see about that one, (Y/n).”

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

Your body still hurt from sparring with Drew the other day, and you kept groaning as you felt your back continuously creak and your joints pop from how hard he pushed you. You couldn’t help yourself, you were trying to focus on multiple things at once!

“Ha! Ya call that a pin, (Y/n)! I’ve seen jobbers do better than that!”

“Excuse me, sir,” you huffed, pushing yourself off of the ground after he shoved you off and into the ropes, “ but I had to deal with pinning your top heavy ass for a whole three seconds! Give me some credit here!”

He laughed at your complaint, rolling over and pushing himself up to help you out. “Ya have to learn how to pin opponents a hell of a lot bigger than you, lass. Not everyone ya face is gonna be a skinny twig like yourself.”

You gasped as you furrowed your brows and clenched your fists. “Skinny? Twig?! I’ll show you what this “twig” is made up of, Drew!” 

Reaching forward, you shoved him as hard as you could, only making him stumble back a few steps. He laughed again and puffed out his chest to make himself seem even larger. Bouncing back against the ropes, you launched yourself in his direction and ducked as he crouched and held his arms out to catch you.

Catch you with his strong arms…his thick, warm arms that you love wrapped around you to hold and comfort you whenever you’re sad…arms that shine under the stage lights whenever he’s out competing in the ring…

Your mind began to drift further and further until you were hoisted into the air by the Scotsman and slammed onto the mat back first, the shock running up your spine and shaking you to your core as his grip remained tight on your waist. You felt the air leaving your lungs at that moment, from how hard you hit the mat to how close Drew’s body was to yours.

“Are ya alright, lass? I didn’t mean t’ slam ya down that hard. Is your head okay?”

You opened your eyes and pressed a hand to your forehead, trying to calm the pounding from inside as you felt the heat of his palm rest against your neck. His chest was nearly touching your own, his body heat seeming to surround you like a calming aura.

You were barely registering his question, more confused about how you let yourself get distracted by him as he grabbed your other hand and pulled you up. “No, I-I’m fine, Drew. just lost my focus a bit.” Your face was probably beaming red as you spoke, but he paid no mind to it.

“Well, if you’re sure,” he says as he moves to the opposite side of the ring. You run a hand over your face and sigh, quickly darting your eyes away from his when he meets your gaze.

Don’t think about his arms, don’t think about him, just concentrate on pinning him, you repeated in your mind. The two of you began circling each other again, but the thought of him and his body being so close to yours kept slipping into your head…

“Hello, (Y/n)? We’re talking to you here!”

Your eyes snapped open and you jerked forward, bumping against your table and nearly spilling your coffee onto the floor. “Wha-? What happened?”

“Um, what happened is that you spaced out again!” Peyton yelled, crossing her arms and huffing. “For, like, the third time already!”

“Yeah, what gives, (Y/n)?” Billie added, crossing her arms as well.

The three of you sat in the arena’s backstage in catering awaiting your upcoming matches, chatting about the daily gossip and mentally preparing to go out into the Universe as was your ritual since you first arrived on Raw. The two Australian women stared daggers into your skin as you began sweating bullets in front of them.

“N-Nothing, guys. I’ve just been thinking about a small problem I’ve been having lately, that’s it,” you said as you readjusted yourself and moved to take a sip of your drink.

“Well, is that “small problem” a certain broad chested, intimidating, six-foot-five Scottish man we’ve been seeing you hanging out with for the past few months?”

Cup halfway to your mouth, you stared at the two women slack jawed and eyes wide. They had their elbows on the table with their hands folded underneath their chins, eagerly waiting for any gossip and juicy details about your relationship with the Scottish Psychopath.

“I’ve told you this many a time before, ladies, me and Drew are just friends. We’ve known each other for years now, and I’m basically like a little sister to him. Nothing more, nothing less. So don’t get your hopes up, you’re not getting any tea today.”

They both collectively pouted, Peyton reaching for her makeup bag to reapply her lipstick and Billie continuing to press you about the topic at hand.

“Excuse me? The two of you are not ‘just friends’! Have you seen the way he looks at you, (Y/n)?! That man’s more in love with you than anything!”

You had to admit, you did sort of feel something for the man when the two of you first met and became friends when you signed with WWE a few months back but if you told them, you’d never hear the end of it. Just thinking about how he treated you differently than the other talent and how he got on them for hazing you sped up your incoming friendship immensely. He was always so kind to you, so sweet, so protective…

Your mind started to wander again and you shook your head to clear your thoughts, rolling your eyes at the black haired Australian and setting down your coffee. “Whatever, Billie. I was just thinking about…the holiday party this weekend. You know, the one Steph’s hosting?”

The entire idea of the party was completely new to all of you, since Stephani and Hunter had only just come up with the concept about a week ago. They had rented out a space nearby to host it so you wouldn’t have to fly somewhere to go and every brand was invited to come, the entire purpose of it being to eliminate the final tensions still lingering from NXT’s victory at Survivor Series.

Everyone had been called to Vince’s office a few days prior, and he had everyone draw the name of someone on another brand from a large bowl. Once all the names had been picked, he announced that you had to purchase a gift for that person “in the spirit of the season,'' he had said in his haughty voice.

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that. Who’s name did ya pick, Billie?” Peyton asked, tossing her lipstick back in her bag and fixing her gaze on her tag team partner.

“I got Mia Yim’s name on my paper. Oh, maybe I’ll get her a new snapback!”

The blonde squealed, clutching her friend’s hands and smiling for her. “I’m so happy for you, love! Wish I could’ve gotten someone like that. I ended up getting…that Lars guy…”

You all collectively shuddered at the sound of his name, the three of you silently deciding to not voice your opinions about the man in public. She turned to you and let go og Billie, lamming her hands down on the table. “So, who did you get, (Y/n)?”

You could feel the intensity of their stares on you when they turned back to you and it scared you to bits. “Well, I originally had picked out Sasha’s name but with me only being here for a little while, I don’t really know her very well and I frankly don’t want to. She intimidates the living hell out of me.”

“So…?”

“So, I heard from someone that Bayley got the person that I wanted and I traded names with her so she’d get her friend, plain and simple. I know it went against the rules, but she didn’t seem to mind and I didn’t either. Although, she did throw me a dirty look when I approached her, but she does that to everyone now so I left it alone.”

The two women in front of you were visibly vibrating, their smiles growing wide with joy and their eyes widening. “She gave you Drew’s name, didn’t she?”

You could feel a slight blush creeping up the back of your neck but you willed it down as you nodded and they squealed once again.

“Oh my gosh, love, I knew it! That’s why you’ve been so distracted today. You’ve been wondering about what to get him!”

“I’ve already gotten him what I thought would be nice. I’m just thinking about whether he’ll like it or not.” Along with a few other things as well. “I’m trying to get him to like the holidays and Christmas for what they truly are: a time where you can celebrate the best of times with your loved ones and shower them in things that make you think of that person and…what? What are the two of you staring at?”

“We,” Billie whispered, blocking her mouth with the side of her hand, “are looking at that.”

You turned and followed their eyes to see Drew standing in the room’s doorway, dressed in all black with his body blocking the entrance as his eyes scanned for you. You could hear Billie and Peyton sigh dreamily, probably with their heads in their hands and hearts in their eyes as he waved you over, the shirt he was wearing riding up on him and exposing a line of skin.

The tips of your ears tinged red as you gathered your things and said goodbye to your two friends, slowly making your way over to McIntyre with a shy smile on your face.

“Hey, Drew. What’re you doing here? You don’t have a match tonight,” you asked, giving him a quick side hug before playfully shoving him aside to leave the room. He followed you with his hands in his pockets, eyes drifting down your neck and back before resting on your ass.

“I decided to come an’ check on you and how you were doin’, lass. Is your neck still hurtin’ ya? Anything creakin’ or whatever?”

A hand came up to run its rough palm over the heated skin of your neck while the other wrapped itself around your waist to feel your spine. He tilted your head to get a good look at you and your eyes lolled closed at the soothing warmth that they brought with them, relaxing in his grip before quickly escaping and preventing yourself from looking like a freshly picked tomato.

“I-I’m fine, Drew, you don’t need to baby me anymore. Me and Billie and Peyton were just talking about Steph’s party that she’s making all of us go to this weekend.”

His brows furrowed and he sighed, shaking his head. “When have I told ‘em… I told her to her damn face that I didn’t want t’ go to that stupid shit they planned and here she is forcin’ all of us ‘in the spirit of the season’”. Makes me sick.”

He looked down at you with a clear distaste in his eyes, making you feel small underneath them. “I s’pose you’re gonna ask me about who’s name I picked now, aren’t ya?”

“Not really, but since you brought it up…?”

The Scotsman groaned deeply, rolling his eyes and moving forwards. He eventually stopped with you pressed against a nearby wall and an arm resting above your head. “Since I’m not th’ biggest fan of this holiday crap, I didn’t even plan on goin’ to her shitty party. Was just plannin’ on staying home and gettin’ piss drunk with you for the weekend.”

He smiled when he said that, nudging you with his shoulder as you smiled and “awww-ed” out loud. “So when Steph forced me to head out to the name pickin’ whatever, I drew Strowman’s name. I was fine with it, at first, was gonna get him a new shirt an’ some clippers for that damn beard o’ his. But, Dunne had your name and didn’t know what to get you, (Y/n), so we traded.”

Oh god, don’t think about how close he is, you told yourself as he leaned down to whisper in your ear to not tell anyone his secret. One of his hands was still attached to your waist, occasionally massaging and squeezing the skin near your spine. Is he doing this on purpose?

You looked into his eyes and a small flash of green and red above you had caught your eye. “Uh, Drew? Has that always been there?”

“Has what always been…oh.”

The two of you looked up to see a small sprig of mistletoe hanging above you, the leaves shiny and fresh and smelling like Christmas. Although it may be small, the two of you knew what it meant. Neither of you wanted to make the first move, so you both just awkwardly stood there nearly chest to chest as a weight fell upon you.

“H-How did that g-get here, huh? Must be weird, right, Drew?” you asked, your palms beginning to sweat as he tore the plant down from its position on the wall and tossing it into his pocket.

“It is really fuckin’ weird, yeah. Listen, I know ya have a match later tonight so I’ll jus’ get out of your-”

He started to move away from you, to take his hands off of you, to remove himself from you and you just couldn’t have that’ you felt something rise in your mind that gave you a flash of both bravery and stupidity, and you can’t decide which one made you do what you just did.

Welp, it’s tradition, so why not give it a try?

Your hands swiftly rise to cup his jawline before he could get too far, running your thumbs over the hair that laid in his chin and bringing him back down to your height to plant a hard kiss smack dab on his lips. You had to inch up on your toes to reach him all the way and it was worth it to hear his muffled gasp as your lips claimed his in that hallway.

His eyes went wide with surprise as the second you kissed him, his brain ended up frying. What was he supposed to say when one of his only friends was kissing him: to lay off and leave him alone? He couldn’t bear to do that to you, to hurt your feelings like that.

So, he lowered his hands back down to your waist and kept you planted there, pulling you as close to him as you could get. Your lips were so soft on his, so perfectly shaped to fit him and any other needs you may sate in the future…

Wait, what?

Meanwhile on your end, you were physically shaking and you were pretty sure he could feel it too. You could feel him gripping your shirt and tugging you closer, tilting his head to claim more of your mouth for himself and surrounding you and your every orifice with him. The two of you parted after a while, Drew panting and your eyes glassy from how hard you shut them when you went in for the kiss.

A part of you hoped that even if he had a crappy Christmas that he would still count that moment - that kiss - as a good memory. You were friends - best friends - but you had to take your chance, you just had to…right?

“I...I…” You couldn’t even speak. You could still feel the warmth of his hands on your body, even after he yanked them away like your body was a hot stove. He managed to steal your breath away (literally) and had you stuttering and stumbling over your words like a damn schoolgirl.

“I, um...You know, it’s tradition! It’s in the spirit of the season, like one of those things you do during these times that you don’t like because you don’t like Christmas and literally anything that has to do with it so why did I actually kiss you? I’m n-not really sure about that but I know I must be talking off your ear right now s-so I’m just gonna head back to the women’s locker room and prep for my match tonight, okay? Okay, good.”

Your mouth would not stop moving for the life of you as your face grew dark with embarrassment. You even slapped a hand over your mouth (god damn it, it even smells like his aftershave) to stop yourself from talking. Sidestepping him, you said - albeit muffled - goodbye to him and tried to cover your face with your free hand as you quickly walked away from the situation you made, leaving behind a stunned Drew and a whole lot of unanswered questions.

He stood there for a while, leaning up against the wall and watching you go while thumbing the mistletoe in his pocket and touching his lips with his free hand. The plant felt weird in his pocket but all he could think about was you and how determined you seemed.

Was this a part of your plan, the one you mentioned back at the PC? The one about how you’d make him love the holiday season?

Well, if that’s how you’re gonna do it then by all means, go ahead, (Y/n). I certainly wouldn’t mind...

His head snapped up immediately. Why the hell…? Why did that just pop into his head? Fucking hell, you’re his best friend! Granted, you’re his only friend, but still! He shouldn’t be thinking about his friend like that! He shouldn’t be thinking about his friend’s perfect mouth and how well it fit with him, about how desperate and headstrong you were when you went in for the kiss, about how warm and soft your body was when he held you close in his hands…

…damn it.

Damn everything and everyone in this fucking building, he thought, kicking himself off the wall and walking in the direction opposite of you. He could see Owens out of the corner of his eye, smirking like the cat who just got the cream as he clearly watched the entirety of that incident play out.

Shooting him a glare and sneering, Drew could hear the other man laugh out loud as he started walking to who-knows-where in the arena, wanting to clear his head of all these thoughts he’s been repressing for months and months now.

Fucking hell, he’s got it bad for you now.

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

The week passed by all too quickly for either of your likings, days that felt like hours seeming to fly through the wind as the kiss replayed in your minds over and over again. Even after you managed to persuade Drew to get out of his lace and come to Steph’s holiday party with you, you still felt a flush rise all through your body.

He showed up at your door that Saturday afternoon and waited in the rental, looking to the side and seeing you come out with two different colored paper bags in hand. You set them in the trunk before sliding in next to him on the passenger side, refusing to meet his eyes at any cost.

“What’re in the bags, (Y/n)? Looks like you’re preparin’ for holiday war back there.”

“Oh, shut up,” you chided, smiling as you fastened your seatbelt and he pulled out onto the road. “They’re for tonight, you big lug. And even if I was, you still wouldn’t be impressed since you hate everything the world hates that’s festive-themed.”

He laughed, holding his gut with one hand and filling the space of the car with warmth. “Aye, you’re right about that one, lass.”

“Where’s your gift, though? I hope you’re not planning on giving me nothing for the party.”

“Well, you’ll see…”

The two of you were trying to remain comfortable around each other as you drove to the party and parked the car, but there were still many underlying feelings lingering beneath the surface. You both had refused to acknowledge the kiss in the hallway, choosing to act as if it had never happened rather than face your feelings head-on like grown adults.

It started to snow halfway through your drive so the ground had already gotten a soft, white layer of the stuff when Drew helped you out of the rental and went for your bags. You felt snowflakes brush against your skin and fall into your hair, watching as the sun began to dip below the horizon.

You heard him rustle through one of your bags behind you, and you swiftly moved to take both away from him. “Not today, you nosy bastard! You have to be patient and wait like a good little boy.”

The look he gave you was dark and menacing, and he ripped off his hat and shoved it into his jacket pocket. “But, what if I don’t want to be good? What if I want to be bad this year? What’ll ya do then, (Y/n)?”

He backed you up and had you pressed against the side of the car, the puffs of air from your heavy breathing clouding around your face and fading to nothing. You still had your bags in your hands, and you were so very close to dropping them to the ground right then and there.

But, he let up after a few seconds, laughing and teasing you about how damn easy it was to rile you up nowadays. You started grumbling this time, saying how you’d get him back for that soon. The two of you walked to the door and handed in your invites, you being allowed to head inside after taking off your jacket and leaving it in the coat check but Drew not being able to.

“Did I forget to tell you that you had to wear at least one thing holiday themed in order to enter? My bad, it just happens that-”

“-that I can get th’ fuck out of here and go back to sleep.”

“-that my mom finished making you a Christmas sweater a few weeks ago and gave it to me when I went back home. And she made it especially for you, Drew!”

Fuckin’ hell, Drew thought drearily as you pulled out the red monstrosity. You were right when you said it was made for him, but that didn’t mean that it was made for him. The knit pullover sweater was covered in small white pom-poms and knitted snowflakes, small flecks of glitter dotting the hem as “Have A Happy Claymore Christmas!” was spelt out across the chest.

Needless to say, he hated it. He absolutely hated it.

But, he saw your face and how bright your eyes became when you pulled it out of the first bag. It would break your heart if he said no, and he would never hurt your feelings like that…

“...Fine, I’ll wear the damn thing,” he mumbled, rolling his eyes lightly when you squealed and jumped up and down, hugging him and telling him to take off his jacket so he could put it on.

Somehow, without knowing his exact measurements at all, your mother managed to make the thing fit his thick bodied frame perfectly. He looked so grumpy in it, frowning and furrowing his brows when you cooed about how cute he looked.

“Can we just get this over with already?”

“Absolutely the hell not. We have got to show this to everyone else back there before we do so. Come on!”

You start pulling on his arm with your free hand and you mostly just drag him down the hallway to where you could hear music playing. His feet were planted firmly into the ground like that of a child, but he secretly loved how enthusiastic and happy you were to parade him around.

You wore a cheesy holiday sweater of your own, this one green with fake holiday lights circling the entire thing and small bells scattered along the front. There was a reindeer resting on a hill of glittery snow on the front, and he couldn’t help but notice how cute you looked in it.

It would look even cuter on our floor, wouldn’t it?

He growled at his sudden thought, pushing it away just as easily as you pushed open the door to a wide array of wrestlers cheering upon your arrival. There were several groups from different brands mingling and talking and seemingly having a good time. You could see the Street Profits manning the bar for the night and Kofi on food duty, cheering on Big E as he and Otis went head-to-head in a Christmas cookie eating competition.

There were a few couples that you could spot dotting the walls near the tree, taking cute pictures next to it and loving their lovers in holiday gear. Your heart ached when you saw that. You needed someone to do that with. You needed someone, but not now. Now was the time for Christmas holiday fun and enjoying the presence of your friends and your work family.

You spotted Billie and Peyton chatting it up with Kevin in a corner and you waved to them, separating from Drew and rushing over to them to give your girls hugs. They each had on matching reindeer antler headbands, with Kevin just wrapping a simple striped scarf around his neck.

“Before you speak, Kevin told us everything and no, he hasn’t told anyone else yet and he only told us because he knows that we know you sorta well and he just had to get it off his chest or else-”

“Or else what, Peyton? What are you guys talking about?”

Billie cleared her throat and her eyes zipped behind you. You already knew who she was eyeing because when you left to go meet them, he’d turned on his heel and made his way to the bar, picking at the cotton puffs on his sweater.

You snapped your head towards Owens, who was casually sipping his drink as he leaned against the wall. “You guys are talking about me and Drew, aren’t you? But nothing’s happened to us this…week…”

Did he somehow know about the…?

“How in the hell did you find out?! There was no one except us in that damn hallway, you creep!”

He started chuckling, downing his drink and setting the empty glass on a nearby table. “I was waiting for someone nearby and I just happened to watch you kiss the hell out of that Scottish bastard you call a friend.”

“But, why would you tell them? Why would they want to know?”

“Because I-”

“We, Kev,” Billie interrupted.

“Fine. We are tired of seeing you two flit around the inevitable. Everyone here can see it, Billie and Peyton can definitely see it. Hell, even I can, and I wasn’t even invested in this little love saga of yours until a few days ago.”

“Look, (Y/n),” Peyton said slowly after a few seconds of awkward silence, “I know you don’t want our help, but come on! The two of you are clearly in love with each other!”

You didn’t want to act on your feelings yet; you didn’t want to ruin what you already had with McIntyre because of your dumb feelings for him. You just had to push them down and pray that they would diminish...eventually.

“I, um…I’m gonna go, okay? Promise I’ll meet you guys back here in a bit,” you told them, shooting daggers at Kevin before heading to the bar and sitting down on the stool next to Drew’s. He leaned back against the table and casually watched as the party went on. Turning his head, he met your gaze and gave you a smile, a stark difference to how hard he was glaring at everyone else.

“So, what brings ya over to my little corner of solitude, (Y/n)?”

“Nothing much,” you answered. “Just figured that you seemed lonely all by yourself over here. Hope I wasn’t interrupting anything.”

“You didn’t. I was just thinking about...things.”

Yeah, things that I’d love to do to you.

He cleared his throat and turned to down his shot, coming back around to see your body turned to him with your elbows resting on your knees. “What kind of things, Drew?”

“Things for me to know and for you to not,” he stated.

You pouted at him, and you were almost certain that you could see a shiver roll down his spine. “Fine, you meanie. But I’ll get something out of you!”

The two of you shared a laugh and you swiveled around in your seat to order yourself a rum and coke. Making conversation with anyone who happened to pass by was what your night mostly consisted of, along with you leaving the bar from time to time to dance with Peyton and Billie and decorating holiday cookies for you to absolutely consume later.

All the while, Drew watched you. He watched you interact with everyone with a skill and ease he had yet to master. He saw how carefree and in love you were with everything, asking him to get up from the bar for once and enjoy this with you. He could see it in your eyes, and he could see how all the horribly cheesy decorations and stars and the red/green confetti littering the ground brought a light to your eyes and a smile to your face.

The night was slowly beginning to wind down and you sat back with him, nursing your second drink and resting your head on his shoulder. This is nice, you thought, looking up at Drew’s side profile. It would be nice to have this every day…

“Hey, lass?”

“Yeah?” you asked, snapping out of your daze. “What is it?”

He paused and began to rub his palms together. “I just…I just wanted to talk to you about-”

“Hey, look! It’s Vince! I guess it’s time, then.”

The man in question wore a deep grey suit to match his greying hair and had his two children and Hunter beside him, all looking smug as they stared out at everyone.

“Are you all having fun tonight?” Vince asked, taking a mic from Steph as the room applauded him. His laugh was dry as he continued.

"As it is the season of giving and family, all of us up here wanted to make sure that you all down there could enjoy this time of year with your WWE family. And as you should know, you all had chosen the name of someone who you were required to purchase a gift for to show that there was no more bad blood lingering in the cracks anymore."

"Well, my friends," Shane continued, smiling, "the time is right and the time is now. Go forth and find your assigned person and bless them with an offering of companionship between brands."

There was a loud rustling that erupted throughout the room, with people reaching for their wrapped boxes and decorated bags and moving around to find their gift receivee. You turned back to Drew and held onto his hand, smiling widely as your hands began to shake.

"Okay, so do you really want to know what's in the bag?"

"Since you seemed so protective over it earlier, yeah," he responded as he rested his elbows on the bar.

"Well, I was so defensive and "protective" over it because…because it was for you."

Huh?

"I may have traded names with a certain Smackdown Women's Champion to get yours and I know it's kind of unethical and went against the rules a bit since I got something for someone on the same brand as me, but you're my friend and I think you're going to like what I got you."

"Besides, this is only a piece of my "Make Drew Love Christmas" plan, you know," you added, laughing when Drew tilted his head back and groaned. Reaching next to you, you plucked the shiny red and white striped bag off the floor gently and held your arm out to him, the limb shaking from anticipation.

He took it from you and stood, resting it on his stool as you watched impatiently with your hands folded in your lap. Moving the annoying tissue paper out of the way, he recognized two small things at the bottom of the bag and a larger item resting on the side of the bag. The first thing he pulled out was a small black box and inside laid a sleek black and silver watch. He took it out and turned it around, seeing his initials engraved on the back of it and smiling.

"You said that you needed a new watch after Seth crushed it under his foot after that one segment where he attacked you backstage, so I pulled a few strings a few months ago to called up an old friend and asked him for a favor."

His brows raised and he smiled again. God damn, that smile is gonna end up killing me someday, you thought as you watched him try it on. He told you that he loved it, and you were grateful that at least one of the gifts you got had fit his standards.

He moved onto the next one, setting the now empty box back inside the bag and pulling out a cream colored mug with a picture of the two of you on it. He had taken you out to an amusement park or your birthday, and you've never felt more like a child. You two are snacks until you were fit to burst and went on nearly every ride, saving the large rollercoaster for last. The cameras on the ride had snapped pictures of you guys and out of all of them, you decided to choose the silliest fucking one to make into a mug.

The one you picked had Drew's hair flying into his face as you went over the first drop. You were screaming with joy and him out of sheer terror as you had your arms raised and your eyes closed. His eyes were as big as saucers as he clung to the guard that covered his chest for dear life, silently praying that this would be over soon.

“I remember that day, lass. I almost threw up all of my lunch after we got off that monstrosity, and you kept laughing at me even though you felt the exact same way.”

“That’s why I chose this pic to put on it,” you explained, a rush of heat flooding your cheeks as he looked back down at you. “That day was really special for me, and I wanted to commemorate the best part of that day for you. Plus, I know you like drinking coffee so it’s perfect for that as well!”

He chuckled, rumbling his chest as he set the mug back down in the bag gently and moved to pick up the framed item lingering at the side of the bag. This was the one you were the most worried about. You didn’t know how he would react to it, if he would like it or absolutely despise it, and it was eating you up inside.

He picked it up and was immediately confused by what it was. The dark wooden frame was smooth, only about a foot wide and inside of it, a wrestling ticket back from 2011. It was bent and crumpled at the ends but remained intact when he saw the writing on it, his eyes went wide.

“(Y/n)? Is this…?”

“Yeah,” you answered. “That’s the ticket I bought for my first ever WWE show way back when. It was the first time I saw you perform live and in-person, and watching you in that ring that night was what made me want to pursue a wrestling career and work here in the first place.”

Despite the noise of people talking and wrapping being torn around him, he couldn’t hear any of it besides you. He remembered seeing you that night, wearing a Stone Cold tee and cheering him on energetically from the front row. You were so enthusiastic that night, and he remembered winking at you and how hard you screamed when he did that.

That night was the first time he ever saw you and your bright smile that would be forever ingrained in his head.

It was the first time he had fallen in love at first sight…

Meanwhile, you stood and stretched your legs, waiting for some kind of response from him. He just stood there in silence, holding the frame in both hands and pondering about who-the-hell-knows. Every passing second made your heart grow heavy and a feeling of dread washed over you.

“So...do you like them? I wanted to get you things that symbolized us and out friendship and how the holidays are more than material possessions, and how they’re about spending time with the people you love and…”

“...and you’re not even listening to me,” you murmur, peeling your eyes away from his face and dropping them to the floor. He was still shocked about how much thought and effort you put into these, for him of all people. But when he looked back at you, he could sense sadness wafting off of you in droves.

“Lass? Are ya okay? Is there something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong, Drew,” you replied. You began picking at the fluff of your sweater, avoiding his gaze as more and more dread covered you like a thick blanket. “I think I’m gonna just step outside for a little bit, okay? I need to clear my head…”

You stepped around him and faintly smiled, and you could hear the thud of his footsteps as he followed you outside with the bag dangling from the crook of his arm. Moving quicker, you tried to evade him as you made it through the twin doors and attempted to close them on him, but he shoved his foot in between them and pried it open.

You tugged down the sleeves of your sweater and sniffed, feeling tears form in your eyes. You pressed yourself against the wall closest to the doors and turned away when he called your name.

“Look, I know my gifts are bad, I get it! You don’t have to come out here and rib me about it just because you didn’t get me anythin-”

You rubbed your eyes with the palms of your hands and stopped when you heard his footsteps in front of you. When you looked up, there stood Drew in all his glory, glowering down at you with his steely eyes. His stare was menacing enough, and you’ve never felt as small as you did then as he placed your gift bag next to you. He was gentle with you, taking your hands away from your face with one hand and resting the other at the base of your neck.

“Stop talkin’, will ya?” he asked as he looked at you - really looked at you then - and pulled you in for a harsh yet tender kiss, a small muffled sound of surprise coming from your lips.

He pulled you in close, just like he did in the hallway that past Monday, and tilted your head back to get better access to your mouth. You had to rise up on your toes in order to meet him halfway, but it was more than fucking worth it. The fact that he had rendered you speechless with a simple kiss just proved your doubts wrong, and that there was something more going on between the two of you…

His hand curled around your neck and you sighed, feeling his hand leave your wrists and move to your waist. This was…nice, the feeling of his lips on yours. That kiss in the hallway was good, but this? This was a level of passion you have yet to see come from him.

Huh, maybe Billie and Peyton were right, you thought as the two of you parted, you panting with your lips parted.

“I didn’t have anyone to spend times like these with.”

“What?” you asked, still dazed from him kissing you.

“Back at the PC, I was gonna say that I really have anyone to even spend Christmas with. My family wasn’t all for the holidays and I guess some o’ that kinda rubbed off on me too.”

“But now I have someone new to spend the wintertime with, lass,” he continued, stroking your cheek with his thumb and smiling. “It’s you, (Y/n). Always has been.”

“Wha...huh? Drew, what are you saying?”

“‘M saying that…that I’m in love with ya, lass. That’s what my gift to you was for this damn party. I was gonna tell ya how I felt and ask if you felt the same but-”

You grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him deeply, him groaning as he wrapped both arms around your waist. He walked forward and pressed your body farther into the wall as you moaned into his mouth and grasped at his hair. His grip on your hips grew tight when he pushed a leg in between yours and and held you there. You resisted the urge to grind down on his thigh right then and there, but he could sense your urgency as you slipped your tongue into his mouth.

You didn’t want to move at all. You wanted to save and preserve this moment for as long as you could before the world came crashing in. You tilted your head to the side and whimpered when he pulled away from you to catch his breath.

“Fuck, you're so damn cute How long have you known, (Y/n)?”

Your hands drifted from his jaw and down to his neck, looking up at him with cloudy eyes. “F-For a while n-now. It first started when you were fighting for the King of the Ring crown, but I’ve just been putting it off because…I didn’t want what we have - well, had - as friends to end.”

He could see the sadness grow in your eyes, and he was quick to wipe your judgements away. “Nothing could ever make me stop lovin’ you, no matter how that may be. All I ask is if you’d want to try whatever this is an’ take it wherever you want to go.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and jumped in his hold, nodding and pressing you face into the warm skin and sighing. Chuckling, he held onto you tightly and leaned in close to your ear.

“Because now that I have you, lass,” he whispered sultry and slipped a hand into your back pocket, “I’m not gonna let you go for a second.”

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

The drive back to your place was filled with a flurry of kisses in and outside of the car, with the two of you getting your jackets and him leaning you back against the rental to claim your lips as his own once more to Drew taking your hand in his and kissing the top of it as he drove down the snow-covered road. You kept looking back at him with the lights from the passing cars glittering in your pupils.

You still couldn't believe that this was happening, him and you becoming one as you approached a new chapter in your life. Your friendship had been diminished but in its place, there was a blossoming love ready to bloom.

Everything after that was a blur, from him parking the car and leaving the gift bag in the backseat to him carrying you out bridal-style and you yelling at him to put you down, leading to him saying that he has to “prevent his new woman from slipping on the ice below” to him letting you down so you can unlock your door and step inside.

You shoved off your jacket and moved to push his aside, feeling how hard he was under his jeans as he pinned you to the door. His lips were immediately on yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth as his hands gripping your hips and hoisting you up so you could wrap your legs around his thick waist. Your boots slid off your feet and landed on the ground with a thud, but you didn’t care. All that mattered was feeling him against your body, and you wanted more.

He seemingly sensed your urgency and chuckled deeply, the noise rumbling his chest and making you shiver. “Oh, you devil woman, what’ve ya done to me?”

“I could ask you the same damn thing,” you panted, squealing and wrapping your arms around him when he toed off his shoes and started walking down the hallway to your room. Every now and then, he would stop and hold you against a wall to make out with you, pressing the outline of his cock onto your slit through your jeans.

“We’re literally right here, Drew,” you said breathlessly after he had kissed you for the fifth time. “You can’t just wait a few seconds?”

“No can do, lass. Ya drive me wild, and I jus’ can’t seem to get enough of you.”

He nudged open the door to your room and kicked it shut, running his lips up and down the exposed skin of your neck as he laid you down gently on the bed. You had some fairy lights strung along the walls of the small room, giving it a soft glow as you leaned up on your elbows.

Drew tore off the sweater he was wearing and tossed it on a chair in the corner of your room, and you forgot how good the navy blue tee hugged his frame. He was immediately on you again, slipping a hand into your hair as he laid on your chest.

“Your lips are so soft, so sweet, so mine,” he murmured against your mouth, tangling his tongue with yours as the hand in your hair tilted your head back. You let out a small cry and shut your eyes when his mouth descended down your jaw and down the column of your neck so he could lave away at the skin.

Your hand drifted into his hair and tugged on the strands when you felt the sting of his teeth sinking in, moaning when he began sucking a dark mark into the flesh. Your other hand reached down to squeeze the bulge in his pants, and you smirked as the Scotsman groaned into your neck.

“So you wanna play it like that, huh, lass? Well, let’s play, then.”

The rough pads of his fingers stroked along your scalp and moved farther down, down the back of your neck as he continued to mark it up with various hickies and bites, and down the length of your spine over your sweater. You could feel the weight of his palm through your clothes and it sent shivers through your body.

Tilting his head up with your hand, you looked into his stormy grey eyes and sighed. He had his trademark smirk plastered on his face and combined with the swirls of lust that clouded his vision, he looked like a mighty fine Scottish meal and you were only getting a small taste of it.

The palms of his hands ran down over the front of your sweater and slid underneath the hem, finally grazing bare skin. The contact made you shudder again and he watched you intensely, eyes locked onto yours as he didn’t hit any cloth underneath the fluffy green mess.

“Oh, so you went without a shirt, (Y/n)? Naughty girl, you wanted this tonight,” Drew purred, smiling enough to show teeth when his hands met the soft lace of your bra. His brogue was starting to deepen as quickly as your flush did, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could take this.

His fingers deftly dipped below the cups and his palms swallowed your breasts whole, making you moan softly as he kissed you again. You could feel the tips of his fingers circling your nipples and as they peaked up, he pinched at them and pulled them as far as he could. The twinge of pain that came with that pleasure sent sparks down to your folds, and you just wrapped your arms around him to get as much of it as you could.

He started grinding his bulge into your covered clit, making your eyes go wide and making you throw your head back. Based on what you’ve felt so far, that man was packing some serious punch down there and you could not wait to feel that inside you.

The two of you went on like this for what seemed like hours, slowly bumping and grinding against each other with his hands playing with your breasts and your hands messing with his hair. You could feel your climax rise in your abdomen and you clenched around nothing as you rubbed against the outline of his cock harder and faster than before. You started whimpering in his ear and you would’ve came in your jeans if not for the Scotsman unlocking your legs from his waist and setting you back down on the bed.

Your breath was spotty at best and you were clinging onto your sweater for dear life. This man nearly made you cum from playing with your breasts and pressing himself against you, so you knew you wouldn’t be able to survive the real thing. He rose for a second, grabbing the bottom of his shirt and rolling it off his body in one fell swoop.

You were almost certain that your ovaries had fallen out at that moment.

He was showing off for you and he knew that you knew, flexing his muscles slightly to get your attention. “Like what ya see, lass? Because it’s all for you.”

“Mhm,” you mumbled, too busy eyeing all the lines and scars and veins of his chest, and how the hair that lay on his pecs looked soft enough to touch and nap on. He chuckled at how astounded you were and grabbed your ankles, pulling your body close so they hung off the bed.

Oh god, was he…?

Your breath hitched when you say him unsnap your jeans and zip them down with his teeth as his gaze locked on yours the entire time. He hooked his fingers into the belt loops and pulled down, you scrambling to lift your hips before he asked you to.

Not that you would mind in the first place.

Drew finally rolled the last of them and dropped them next to the bed, your breathing beginning to speed up when he spread your legs and moved his head closer to where he wanted to be.

“Aww, these are some cute panties, lass. Did you wear them just for me?” he asked, trailing his hands up your legs and holding the underside of your thighs.

“Maybe I d-did, maybe I didn’t. You’ll never know.”

“So you’re bein’ a right tease now, aren’t ya? You might wanna stop that before I end up punishin’ ya, and I don’t think you want to see that side of me now, do you?”

He spoke a lot deeper for the final part than he had previously, and that plus the overhearing broadness that was him between your trembling legs was enough for you to shake your head “no”.

“That’s my good girl,” he praised, fueling the fire that laid in your soul. “Now, I know you’ve been waiting for this for a while, so let’s just see…oh, lass…”

You turned your head away and used a hand to bury it in your pillows as he saw the wet spot you had made in your panties and tool a hand from your leg to rub at your slit through them. The moan you let out vibrated the pillow you had covering your face and he was just ecstatic in the inside.

Good, he thought. He wanted to hear you. He wanted the whole fucking world to know what he was doing to you.

Circling your clit through your panties, Drew smiled at how much you were quivering for him. So eager and ready for him when you reached down and put your hands in his hair again, he pulled them to the side and groaned at how wet you were for him.

“Oh, (Y/n), you’re absolutely dripping for me. Look at the mess you’ve made of these panties o’ yours. Guess I’ll just have to clean it up myself…”

You had to smush your face into your pillow and moan when he hooked them around his hand and rested his free hand on your stomach, his thumb brushing and rubbing light circles around your bare clit as he leaned in and kissed your folds. His tongue slipped out of his mouth and ran through them, gathering a bit of your wetness on the appendage and licking straight up to your clit to take the place of his thumb.

This went on for a few minutes, him leisurely tasting you and occasionally parting your folds to circle you entrance and you trying so hard not pull on his hair as hard as you could and reign him into the apex of your thighs.

This went on until he had finally decided to put you out of your misery and give you something. He rested your legs over his shoulders, telling you to cross your ankles behind his neck.

“I want ya to smother me, lass. Fix those legs around my neck and fuckin’ wring me. I want t’ dive into this sweet cunt of yours and absolutely drown in it.” And with that, he spread your folds with his fingers and drove his tongue into you, making your scream into your pillow.

Yes, yes, yes! you chanted mentally as he used his other hand to hold your hips down. He lapped at the wetness that lingered on your inner thighs and around your lips before plunging his tongue back in. The hand in his hair began tugging and tugging, silently demanding more and more of what this was. His nose brushed up against your clit and you keened, feeling and hearing him lick up everything you were giving him.

“You’re so fuckin’ sweet, lass,” he panted when he came up to breathe. “I can’t… I can’t seem to get enough of ya…”

He mouthed along your mound and rolled your bud around on his tongue, just loving how squirmy you were due to his actions. It filled him with a sense of pride that he was doing this to you, not some random man who would never show you what true pleasure is.

He saw you remove your head from your pillow prison and he could hear your small cries for more, of “please, Drew, I’m gonna cum if you keep this up.”

“Isn’t that the point, lass? For you to give into the urges and feelings I’m giving ya?”

His tongue dove into you again and made you moan aloud, and you swore you saw the ceiling shake from how loud it was. You could feel the intensity running through your veins, it was lingering beneath the surface and you knew you were going to cum soon but it was too soon. You wanted to experience more of this, more of this sweet feeling he was bestowing upon you.

“You’re holdin’ back on me, (Y/n). I can feel it,” he said, rising from between your legs and leaving you empty. “I can feel your walls clenching down hard on my tongue. Stop denyin’ yourself the pleasure you crave, or else I’m gonna take it for you.”

Now, that got your ass in gear, hearing him speak to you like that with his mouth and his beard glistening with your juices like fresh morning dew. You whimpered, closing your legs back around his head when he moved back down and nearly jolting off of the bed when his tongue returned to your clit.

He went faster this time, moving in tighter circles and lapping at your folds much quicker than before. He pistoned his tongue into you over and over again, keeping eye contact with you as you whiled and struggled in his grip.

“Drew, I’m gonna….I’m gonna….o-oh fuck!”

“That’s it, my sweet lass. Give me everything you have, and I’ll catch you when you fall.”

You could feel your release rising like the tide and just like it, you felt it tumble over you and send you over the edge, making you arch your hips into his mouth as your juices leaked from you. He moaned, running his hands soothingly up and down your thighs as you shook like a leaf when you returned from your high.

His eyes were still as dark as stormclouds and even though he loved you, he still wasn;t finished with your wet cunt. Not by a long shot.

Drew took a finger and slowly ran it over the seam of your folds, feeling the wetness that stained and dotted the skin. You shivered at the contact as you tried to regulate your breathing. Everything was going all well and good until he started talking again.

“Fuckin’ hell, (Y/n). You came so much, and you’re so wet. I wonder if I just…”

And right as he trained off, he slipped two think fingers past your lips and into you, making you keen as your mind short-circuited. Your vision grew cloudy as his fingers slid deeper and deeper into your wet hole, feeling every bump and part of his fingers rub up against your walls.

“Drew…! T’s too much for me-!” you slurred, your voice spiking when he curled his fingers and brushed them against your g-spot. You reached a hand under your sweater and under your bra cup to pluck at your nipples, them being nice and hard after the euphoric rush he had just given you moments ago.

He chuckled darkly and watched the sweater roll up on your stomach, and he leaned over your mound to kiss and bite at the skin. “I know you can take a few more from me, lass. You’re strong enough to become a wrestler, so you’re strong enough to dish out one more orgasm for me.”

Your skin was flushed dark and you began to feel sweat forming at your brow. He’s really testing me tonight, isn’t he? you thought, squeezing your breast as tightly as you squeezed around his fingers. You could feel the familiar wave of pleasure wash over you, but this time it was different.

This time, it felt more like lightning crackling through your veins and making your entire body feel numb as you continued to take what Drew gave you. He rose from his knees and managed to unzip and slip off his jeans with one hand, leaving himself bare except for the dark grey boxers he wore that seamlessly matched the color of his eyes at that moment.

“Ya see this, lass? Ya see what y’ do to me?” he growled, his chest puffing up as he leaned over you once more. “This is all you, with this sinful fuckin’ body and that devilishly sweet cunt of yours. All o’ that’s bound to get you on my naughty list, (Y/n).”

You whimpered, seeing your fairy lights reflect off of the light sheen of sweat his chest was sporting. The sparks were traveling faster now, moving from your head to your toes and back again in record time and you could feel the pressure building up inside you. The man above you smiled as you shut your eyes and bucked your hips into his hand when he added another finger and brought his thumb around to rub furiously at your clit.

“Don’t you dare hold out on me again, lass. I want you t’ soak my fingers and these pretty little panties of yours even farther. I want you to cum for me.”

He was right in your ear again, straining to fill your cunt with his fingers as his free hand came around you your neck and held it. Looking up at him with parted lips, he swooped down to kiss you just as you crashed. No words came out of your mouth, not a sound, nothing. Just you arching your hips into his hand as his fingers tapped away at your g-spot endlessly and your juices flowed out into his palm.

He kept you grounded throughout, crawling next to you and slowly pulling his fingers out of you after a few moments. You whined at the feeling of emptiness and at how suggestively he licked the fingers he just slid out of you

“Shhh, I’m here, I’m here. You’ll be alright,” he murmured in your ear, curling his chest against your back and cuddling you. You ground your ass against the very prominent bulge he was still sporting through his boxers and he groaned, stilling your hips with a tight squeeze of his hand.

“Not now, (Y/n). You can get a piece of that later. You’re already clockin’ out and you need to rest. We’ll work on your stamina another time.”

You grumbled, “You can’t decide when and how I want to be fucked, sir. That’s my job.”

He laughed, feeling you cuddle more into him as he wrapped his arms around you. “You’re so lucky I love that fiery spunk o’ yours, y’know?”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, Drew.”

After a brief silence, you finally raised the question you’ve had since the party to him. “So, Drew… ya like the holidays now?”

“Not exactly. But with you, lass, I definitely enjoy it more than I ever did before.”

“Alright, then. Now, go t’ sleep, ya big lug. ‘M goin’ to bed an’ I wanna wake you up tomorrow morning…”

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[keichanz]

so, @artistefish​. 

remember your mummy au? well...i really hope you don’t mind, but i kinda sorta randomly got obsessed with it and i mean literally i was just sitting at my desk at work one day when out of fucking nowhere my brain was like “hey remember artiste’s mummy au, let’s get obsessed with that and make drabbles” and then this happened ;alkdsjflk;ahdf

don’t worry, i don’t plan on doing the entire movie; i know you said you wanted to write it as one of your future projects, and i don’t want to steal your thunder, so to speak. ^^; i plan on just writing some of my favorite scenes with my own flare, and most likely the ones you’ve sketched with links to them provided, and they won’t be long. drabble/ficlet length, with perhaps one or two longer oneshots since we all know i can’t control myself lol. 

all of this is totally inspired by you, and i give you full credit of course! :) and i really don’t wanna step on your toes, so if you ‘d rather i not, please let me know! i will completely understand. ^_^

so anyway, moving on. you can thank @dangerouspompadour​ for this one because she guessed where my one liner was from lol.

i’ve rambled long enough; here’s the first one. inspired by the first two pictures of this post by the amazing artiste! :D the “you got promoted” bit was my own personal addition because i laughed way harder than i should have at that part lmao

[ i ] [ ii ]

Hamunaptra, 1923

The sun was hot, burning bright over the ancient Egyptian city where only the oldest of blood and strongest of will dared tread upon its olden sands. The sturdy stone structures, high and imposing, rose above the chaos of man disrupting the hidden city with their weapons and battle cries, the smell of gunfire and blood prominent amidst the odor of sweat and leather.

From behind a short stone wall, a line of soldiers garbed in white readied their firearms as they knelt upon the hot ground, sighting down the barrel toward the enemy. Astride dozens of valiant steeds, their opponent charged forth with weapons wielded before them, shouting the battle cry of their heritage, a wave of lethal force, determined to eradicate and slaughter.

Sitting atop his own mount, the general commanding the soldiers waiting for his instructing watched the seemingly endless wave of their enemy, the fear in his eyes and face unmistakable. His horse shifted uneasily beneath him, sensing his rider’s mounting distress, and without a second thought to the men risking their lives before him, the general swung his horse around and galloped away, fleeing from battle.

A little ways down the line two men watched their commanding officer gallop away with matching looks of something akin to exasperated disbelief.

“You just got promoted,” the smaller of the two men said, dressed similar to the other combatants waiting for their orders.

Garbed in the brown leather and tough-hide boots that signified his status as second in command, the other figure gave an inward snort of disgust and once more set his sights on the approaching army on horseback, sighting down his own firearm. Short, sweat-dampened sterling hair fell into twin pools of heated amber that burner brighter than the hot sun above them and he flicked them away with a careless toss of his head.

“Prenez vos positions!” he bellowed in the land’s native tongue and the men under his command tensed, anxiously waiting for the order to fire.

Beside him, his companion fidgeted and nervously licked his lips, his hands visibly shaking as he lifted his rifle.

“Steady!” Inuyasha Taisho roared above the din of thundering hoof beats and the increasingly louder screams of war. Hard amber eyes were unwavering as he glared at the approaching army, clawed hands tensing on his gun and finger hovering over the trigger.

“You’re with me on this one, right?” he rumbled loud enough for his companion to hear, his right hand man, his friend til the end.

“O-oh,” Byakuya returned through a tight throat, a noticeable strain to his voice, “you’re strength gives me strength.”

The look Inuyasha slanted him was dubious at best, but he didn’t have time to respond; the enemy was fast approaching and he shifted his attention to them again, jaw clenched, weapon poised, hands stable.

“Steady!” he shouted again, the thunder of dozens of hoof beats pounding against the ground reverberating in his skull and the twin furry ears atop his head flattened in an attempt to muffle the deafening sound.

Without warning, Byakuya froze, gave a curt shake of his head, then abruptly turned around and gave their general a run for his money with how fast he got the hell out of there, running away from the people wanting to shoot him dead.

“Wait! Wait for meee!” he shouted as he frantically ran after his escaping general, flailing his arms, desperate to save himself.

Inuyasha watched him go, somehow not at all surprised, and with a slight scowl on his face he looked forward once more and braced himself. Almost…almost…

“Steady!”

Restless shifting, heavy breathing, hearts pounding erratically like the savage drums of war.

“Fire!”

The simultaneous blast of gunfire was deafening, but the only thing Inuyasha could hear was his own blood pounding in his ears as he released shot after shot, his aim steady, true, and deadly.

note: artiste made a post asking what character would best portray Beni and it was decided that the weird demon ink guy, the one that drew monsters with ink imbued with the power of a shard, would be a good fit and at first i was going to use him. but then i started thinking and changed my mind because i sorta wanted someone that was more recognizable/familiar, and also Byakuya is basically Naraku’s servant/right hand man yes? and that’s what Beni becomes. he also works out because i don’t think that ink guy had a name (does he?? eeh too lazy to look up), and with Byak, it sounds a lot smoother and it flows well when Inuyasha goes “Well if it isn’t my little buddy Byakuya!” also Byak is one of my fave evil dudes and Beni is just that one guy you love to hate lmao he’s hilarious and i love his interactions with Rick ;sifjslafhl;

of course that’s just my personal interpretation; i don’t expect you use him too if you write this, artiste! ^_^

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Dead of Night|| Morgan & Matty

There it was: a whole, oof, a whole fuckin’ human leg, oozing, sluggishly, where he slapped it down on what was left of its owner’s chest. “Drumstick, order up. Your server’s been Matty.” With that, he ducked down, trying not to be too eager about cupping a filthy hand to the ruin of this poor bastard’s femoral artery. That was a good one, after all. “You wanna stick with Hungry Girl, or… ?”

Morgan seldom left the house with a clear destination in mind, but often she found herself wading through the overgrown grass and mossy angels of the town cemeteries. She liked Eluria best of all, tracing the footpath she’d walked with Deirdre and weaving around the ghosts that ambled through the shadows. They did not speak to her, nor she to them. Morgan imagined they remembered her visit mere weeks ago and understood there was nothing to say. She walked past all the places they had wandered together, off the gravel path, where the weeds were less tended and the stillness was marked with tiny sounds of life crawling on. Sometimes Morgan would continue walking, tireless, but other times she would release her hold on her balance and let the ground catch her as she collapsed. She was getting better at falling just so that the moment of impact burst through the haze around her and made her want to gasp, to breathe. As she hit the ground, Morgan stared up at the sightless stone eyes around her. She lost herself staring into the granite, picking out the quartz from the feldspar from the micah in its makeup, searching for a place inside her for this knowledge to still belong to. Maybe her own decay, maybe her own stillness. She stayed there as the light started to fade and time slipped away from her mind, slurped up in the quiet of death. Even when a strange new sound rippled through the cemetery, Morgan lay in place, dead eyes open. 

It had been a long fuckin’ week. A long, hungry week. One of many. And they only ever ended in the same place, these days: some creepy, crawly cemetery, ideally the sort where the bodies didn’t always get, you know, a proper burial. Places people were put to disappear. White Crest had, frankly, more than its likely share of that sort of shit, thankfully. Cold at the edges, sallow with aching, awful thirst, Matty had drifted through the graveyard for a while, like another bit of old newspaper caught in the breeze. He could smell it. Somewhere. Fresh, too. Maybe even still warm. His stomach snarled at the thought. 

Or, had snarled. Time got slippery, when he was this starved, when he was feeding, when he was full of blood. Rocking back on his heels, Matty licked his lips, slow, woozy, fingers curling back from the throat he’d chewed open, hidden away in one of the older, lonelier corners of Eluria. They were almost warm. Dead an hour, maybe. His lucky day. Plenty of dinner left in this poor bastard. With a push forward, Matty’s knees hit the dirt, and his hands worked into the gaping hole he’d made. The collarbone snapped forward, horribly - and he had to stop, the sound too damn much to handle. God, he hated this part. In general. All of it. Had to get into the chest, though… with a hard swallow, he kept going, that awful strength rolling back, now that he’d had something to eat. The thinking, too. That came back. Clarity.

Enough to realize that he wasn’t alone. Two ribs in, Matty caught something besides blood on the air. Finally. His head snapped up, and there - there she was. Lady with grass-stained, goosebump-less legs, standing there, staring down into the shallow, abandoned grave he’d found. At the mess he’d made. “Uh -” his throat bobbed, working hard through the aging blood he’d been lapping out. Uh, what? He blinked, squinted. Quiet. Real quiet. Too quiet. No - no heartbeat. Dead lady. He skittered backward, eyes wide. “All yours, man,” Matty cringed, not about to fight another vampire over shit. Not on your unlife, fuck. 

It was the sound of flesh tearing that had drawn Morgan up to her feet. She lingered, wondering if she should run back home and hide, but the sound was--what was it? The novelty of being able to identify the sound from her own death, from her first feeding. Maybe it reminded her of how the meat had fit inside her like nothing else. Maybe she just felt better next to death. So Morgan walked, following the sound and stopped, curious, when she saw where it was coming from. “Uh…hi.” The flesh was new and red and dripping. Morgan’s mouth watered to see the gash where the clavicles had been burst free, the skin dangling down the wound. “Nnnhhh…” She groaned for it. And the vampire--Morgan had only seen Miriam and spawn before, but there was no denying the size of his teeth, stained and peeking over the end of his lips. He skittered back at the sight of her. Morgan tensed her muscles. “You don’t have to,” she stammered, uncertain of the protocol. Was there some species turf war over bodies? She shuffled forwards, unable to look away from the glimpses of muscle, from the thin, tender flesh that went up the skull. Morgan descended on the body and tore a fresh piece away, groaning with relief. It coated her, comforted her in her cotton haze and wet her throat as good as water used to. She drew her head up enough to search for the vampire again. “Hey, you um...you didn’t kill this guy, did you?”

Oh. Oh. Not a vampire. Nope. Going for the meat. Zombie. Matty turned aside, quick, wiping at his blood-slimy cheeks - doing his best not to watch, or listen too closely. Not that she was any worse than he was. Nothing personal. Just - he’d never been great with all the gore of this. This undead shit. That moan, though. Fuck, he knew that. The feeling. Being so starved you didn’t know anything else. He swallowed, forcefully, as the zombie looked his way. Bloody-mouthed, a bit of raw, human meat in her hands. “Hi,” Matty echoed, with a weak, sharp smile. Loosening. Just a bit. More for show than out of anything like real relief. If he didn’t have to fuck off, well. Okay. Okay. Wasn’t a vampire. That - that did help. But zombies would, obviously, totally chow down on anything with flesh attached. So. He kept his distance, not wanting to get between the lady and her meal. Shaking his head, bloody hands up, not looking especially innocent. Even if he sounded it, earnestly so. “Fuck, no. No. Promise. I - I’m just out here trying to, you know, avoid that kinda thing.” Cautious - and still hungry - he came a bit closer, boots sinking in the damp earth. “You too, huh? That’s cool. We’re cool. I, ah… don’t mind sharing, or anything, if you don’t…” 

Morgan felt like she’d been thrown into someone else’s party without knowing the rules. They were both blood splattered and awkward. Did creatures like them share bodies often? Was this a common courtesy thing?  She took another bite, tearing the wound open wider to get a better bite, and gave the vampire another look. “Were, um...were you done or--?” No. She knew that expression. He was afraid of her. She wiped her mouth on her arm to think of something to say. ‘I don’t bite’ was too awful to be funny, not with raw muscle stuck to the corner of her lip. “I’m full, I just...it’s like when there’s three slices of cake on the table. You just gotta…” She shrugged, frowning. Have one. Despite the imagery, she had the ghost feeling of a skin crawl over it. This thing would have made her sick before. This was something to look away from. “I can try to break off a limb if it makes you feel safer. Um...sharing. Or you can break off a drumstick for me. Best part of a chicken, right?” Her hands rummaged in the body as she talked, wrestling more meat away and bringing it up to her mouth. She scooted away, to give the vampire some encouragement but there was only so far her body felt like being away from it. “So...you got a name, or am I gonna keep calling you Hungry Guy in my head?”

Was he finished? “I mean, there’s… dude’s still got some blood in him, right…” Matty winced, hovering nervously. Cake. Sure. Like cake. He sorta laughed, picturing that. “Yeah, yeah. Totally.” Safer. Why did that feel so - weird? Uncomfortable, in a way that wriggled and nibbled. A zombie, asking a vampire what to do so he felt safer. When she looked… well, not scared, no. Not exactly what he was used to, though, when it came to zombies. He’d met a few. Super strong, super badass, generally. (Usually dickheads about it, too.) Or, you know. Super gnarly, super rotten. This woman, she seemed - kinda out of it, just. Dealing. Not enjoying things. 

Relatable. 

He shrugged, and perched a little closer. Pushed that smile a bit closer to something real. “Honestly - who the fuck’s ever safe, around here? This town, man...” Like it was no big deal, like… like he hadn’t meant it. The fear, that is. He got ahold of one of those legs, then, and - guts flopping, in a truly nasty way - snapped, twisted, tugged. Took some work. And a flinch, as the bone cracked. But there it was: a whole, oof, a whole fuckin’ human leg, oozing, sluggishly, where he slapped it down on what was left of its owner’s chest. “Drumstick, order up. Your server’s been Matty.” With that, he ducked down, trying not to be too eager about cupping a filthy hand to the ruin of this poor bastard’s femoral artery. That was a good one, after all. “You wanna stick with Hungry Girl, or… ? Totally confidential, and shit. Cross my heart.” Matty brought his palmful of blood up, and gulped it down. “What happens in the graveyard stays in the graveyard, you know?” 

So his name was matty Matty. Matty was joking with her like they were sharing a pizza or extra rice from a big takeout order in some kind of communal break room. Teasing. Commiserating. Just strangers being friendly. Morgan took the leg and scooted further away, picking back the skin and fat clumsily and gnawing off the muscle tissue. If she kept her eyes up at the stars and less on the mess of flesh before her, she could imagine a giant turkey leg that would’ve made eyes melt at the Ren Faire. But the revulsion was dull and bitter, a feeling over not being able to get anything out of actual takeout. She should feel worse than this, she thought. It was a human body, that thing that supernaturals were measured in proximity to. It’s fine, they don’t eat humans. But there wasn’t any psychosis hiding around the fibula. No sense of humor. No disappointment. He had been a person before, this graveyard guy she was sharing with Marty. But people did things, felt things, wanted things. Death took the person out of you. Morgan understood that too well. “I’m Morgan,” she said. “Is that a real thing? What happens in the graveyard stays in the graveyard? Or are you just like—” ‘Nice vampire’ suddenly seemed offensive, a betrayal, however easy it might be. “A nice kinda guy?” She smirked and gestured at him to get a glob of blood that had fallen into his hair.

The grass around them rustled. Morgan flinched and turned. No one coming, but there was movement. She looked over at Matty, the question penned large over her open face. Did you hear something? Tentatively she went back to the leg, peeling off more skin like a sticky wrapper. She was up to her nose in it when two tiny critter hands leapt out from the shadow and tried to pull it out of her grasp. 

Alright, offering accepted. No fingers lost in the process, so. This could be going worse. Much worse. Morgan. Now everybody had a name, and dinner, and… a mess, between them. Matty winced, catching what she was pointing at. Clot, in his curls. Gnarly. Fussing that out, he flicked it into the dirt with a grimace and tossed his hair, huffing at a few stray ones that tumbled back, wildly, into his face. “Try to be?” Nice. Yeah, he tried. “I don’t know. Seems like a good rule? Do unto others, right? With, uh, some exceptions, obviously, when it comes to...” he waved, vaguely, sheepishly, at the corpse between them. Enough said. Some exceptions when it came to staying fed. With a sniff, and a scrub at his bloody chin, Matty went back to poking around in that ragged thigh. Couldn’t waste a drop, after all. Not that there was much to be had, now that this poor motherfucker had been lying out a while.

Long enough to draw the rest of the scavengers. Rats? They’d twitched together, the zombie and the vampire. Matty’s eyes tracked through the gloom, squinting between the gravestones around them. Hard to smell anything much, besides dinner, and turned earth, and death. There was a breeze, rolling through the morning glory and dandelions; probably nothing. Probably. But he kept watching the dark, lapping a last bit of thick, settled blood from his palm. 

Not nothing. The claws lashed out of the weeds, out of the dark, into the meat Morgan was working on. “Shit -” Matty yelped, mostly, before a couple sharp-boned somethings crashed and tore across his shoulders, pouncing him into the clay and the corpse. 

Morgan had never seen anything like these critters. Their eyes were glazed like misty marbles and their too-wide mouths, large enough to stretch over half their face were stuffed with too many sharp, serrated teeth. Morgan let go of the leg with a scream and scrambled back. “What the hell, what the hell…” She cried. The critter swiped at her leg drawing a deep gash with claws that did not belong on anything so small and strange. “Matty!” She looked to the vampire for help but it was no good. Two had found their way on him, ready to dig in. Morgan reached for one and pulled-- right. No monster strength after feeding. Morgan staggered up and yanked again with both hands. She could feel another one on her leg gnawing (probably more like tearing) at her ankle, but she couldn’t leave Matty in a lurch like this. Not without trying first. The critter came up with a piercing shriek. Morgan dropped it onto the body and tugged on Matty’s shirtsleeve. “Any idea what these things are?” She tried to shake the one off her ankle but beared down harder and to her bewilderment, it was almost hurting. “We should run, right? Running good?”

Sliding in a fuckin’ nasty combination of John Doe’s busted open chest and the blood-soaked earth, Matty tumbled and rolled. About all he could do, with two of those - two alghoul, talons digging, twisting, in the worn-jean of his jacket, and through. Flailing up, he managed, barely, to hold the one off from snatching at his eyes. (One of their favorite fuckin’ snacks, he’d noticed. After way too many run-ins.) The other - was gone, real suddenly. 

Morgan. To the goddamn rescue. 

A wild thrash, vampire-loaded, and that alghoul went from snarling in his face to howling through the air. Matty came up gasping, just in time to jerk away from another wicked-sharp swing. And a few bottle-glass blue, mindlessly hungry stares. And those fangs, Jesus. “Fuck, yeah, yeah - run!” With a frantic kick, Matty punted the little shit who’d got ahold of Morgan’s leg. It ripped loose, warbling awfully. Taking some skin. Tasting bile, and resting blood, he pushed Morgan ahead, out of the half-assed grave they’d been crouching in. “Fuckin’ alghouls, man! Just want the leftovers. Go!”

Morgan didn’t wait for her skin to grow back to start running. She began to sprint, legs wobbling under her lopsided weight as she went. “What-ghouls? What does that even mean?” She turned over her shoulder to see if he was still behind her. The alghouls had descended on the body completely, tearing and spitting with a hunger that made her nauseous with familiarity. She had been like that on the first night, when she barely had enough consciousness to rub together to make a thought, when her hunger wasn’t just in the pit of her dead stomach but in her head, in her muscles. It was the core of her, and the sound, what little of it she could stand to remember, was a lot like that. She kept running until they cleared the cemetery and called over her shoulder again, slowing to a jog. “You run into those things a lot? The--all-ghouls? Are you okay?”

Eluria wasn’t one of Matty’s regular haunts, so to speak. But when it came to terrain to scramble over, a cemetery was a cemetery. Around gravestones and across the paths, they booked it hard, as the undead crow flew. Morgan was shouting; had questions. “Alghouls!” Matty hollered back, skidding down a wet-grassed rise. “I dunno, they just - they eat dead shit, they’re fuckin’ gnarly, that’s it!” Like the both of them, sort of. Finally, the dark iron of the fence loomed ahead. Matty was up and over the spikes like a coked-out squirrel. Brushing at the crusted blood and mud on his hands, his arms, he circled around, pacing. Shook up like a can of soda. And - bleeding. Slowly, darkly, from where those claws had punched through the denim, under his collarbone, and down his ribs, and… his back, somewhere. “Ah, fuck…” At least they’d missed that still-healing mark left by the asanbosam; didn’t feel deep, either. Still hurt. “Yeah, yeah.” Matty tossed his head, getting all that hair out of his face. “They’re like… rats. Big, shitty rats. All over the place, in town. They, uh, they aren’t big on lights, but, you start… flashing shit around, after hours, in a graveyard… chances are, you’re gonna get trouble.” The kind with stakes. And machetes. “Best thing to do’s just fuckin’ haul. You fight them, they’ll all jump in. Then you’re fucked.” He poked at one of the holes in his jacket, huffing at the damage done. Too bad. Glancing at - and away from - that torn up leg, Matty gave Morgan a nod. “How’s the ankle? You heal up pretty good, right?” Most zombies seemed to. And she’d just ate, so. Should be fine, yeah? They should both be fine.  

Morgan didn’t leap so much as topple and fall, rolling in a mess of limbs, over the fence. She hit the ground with a thumb she only half felt. Gnarly. Dead shit. Like them. Well that was a real boost to the self-image. How many degrees of separation were there between her and those things exactly? Did she even want to know? Morgan got to her feet and dusted herself off. “Yeah that light thing sounds like a great way to get hunters up your ass. Ugh, stars, hunters are a real thing now, and not just the odd bitchy one,” she groaned. She checked her ankle. Good as new. “Y-yeah, I’m...I’m fine,” Morgan said. She didn’t feel all that fine, but there was no harm done and she could still make it back home in time. “Are you? Do vampires, like, regrow things too? Or is that just a brain gang thing?” She shifted uncomfortably, looking over her shoulder just in case more were coming. 

Stars? A little, like, outdated, maybe. But, so was he. Matty sighed, with plenty of agreement and a decent amount of aching, really starting to feel those gouges now that things weren’t all helter-skelter. “Yeah, load of fuckin’ psychos. And they’re everywhere, man. You been to the Night Market? They keep eyes on that. Watch out.” Fuck, zombies really did clean up quick. Been a while since he saw that, up close. Kinda grody. Then again, there he was, trying to rub a dead man’s blood off his cheeks. So. “Cool, cool…” Shit, he had to start keeping, like, a bag, or something. A scavenging safety kit. Was too hungry to plan much, when he’d left. His circling swayed, as Morgan got into… that kinda shit. Their kinda shit. 

“Uh - sort of?” Matty pulled a sickly sorta face, at the thought. And another one, as his fangs crunched away. “It’s… messier, more involved, like… real surgery, just. Less blood. Then, a lot of blood. To, you know. Make the magic happen.” Magic, sure. That was a word for it. With a couple jaw-cracks, one, two, Matty shrugged off towards the ragged, distant, dim-lit edges of the Bend. “We should probably fuck off. Not because of them.” He cleared up, catching that glance Morgan threw back the way they’d come. “They’ll stay put, where the food is. But, uh. Never know who else might show up...” Really, he’d only seen the overseer once. An experience Matty would rather never, ever repeat. Dude was terrifying.  

“Oh, yikes. That sounds...not great,” Morgan said apologetically. And neither did Matty’s implication that the hypothetical hunters they had to be careful of might get a lot more literal if they stayed near the graveyard. She nodded and started off in the direction of home. She stopped her slow walk and turned towards Matty again. “Are you gonna be okay?” She asked. “You’ve got like...a home, right? And people?”

“Mm. Mhm. It’s not.” Not great at all. But. She better get used to it, if she was sticking around town. Matty took another wipe at his face, hoping it was more or less unobjectionable. So far as bloodstains went. As for anything else, well. Wasn’t much he’d ever been able to do about that. He’d come to a stop, putting some pressure on the worst of the claw-stabs, when Morgan spoke up through the thickness of another misty after-midnight. A home. People. Right. Even zombies had that, huh? “Totally. Yeah.” Matty threw her a smile, or most of one, anyway. With a sharp, quick clearing of his too-tight throat, he tossed a wave in, too. For good measure. “You, uh. You take care, Morgan. See you around.” 

Morgan stayed to watch him, half swaying on her dead feet in the night air. That didn’t sound very convincing and she had—maybe not a whole feeling but a thought for Matty: the deserved better; that being this way was almost another curse in itself; that they needed more than this to make anything come out fair for them. Then again, maybe they weren’t allowed to have ‘fair’ anymore, maybe the universe was done with all of them, the whole undead mess of them. But what else was there to do? How else were they supposed to cope? Morgan looked at him sorrowfully as he left and worked her way back homeward. She didn’t know what to put in that hole where her balance had been, and she felt all the worse knowing that others like her had felt that ache for longer, but she didn’t know what to do about it. Only that there had to be something.

[thrushpot]

william-hargroves here! 5 facts or headcannons for punch-drunk love 🥰

a/n: masterlist is in my bio if anyone wants to know what this comes from. I don’t even know how to do tiny headcanons I’m way too extra for them but I freaking LOVE you dude!!!!!! still working on the sequel for this too. anyone can send me a fic of mine they’d like more scenes from in my ask !

5 extra scenes to punch-drunk love:

1.) When The Breakfast Club first came out his senior year, Billy got dragged to the theatre by his little sister to go see it. The little redhead was beaming with excitement over her crush on Andrew Clark and the fact that it was a John Hughes masterpiece.

Her brother, however, complained the entire drive AND trailers about how pointless and typical teen movies are. They’re far from his preference. If there wasn’t a sex scene with a hot girl or gore and violence then he just wasn’t interested, plain and simple.

But as the movie progressed, the characters started to get to know eachother in their little circle, smoking pot and bonding over how much they hate themselves and their lives; he couldn’t deny he was thinking of all the good times you two shared in detention or Saturday school too. He totally pictured you being the Molly Ringwald to his Bender. Kissing and adoring you before graduating when the days spent in solitary were over. Maybe you’d even give him one of your shiny dainty earrings just like Molly did. Then afterwards he’d dramatically throw his fist in the air in triumph like Bender.

He keeps the tears that welled up away from Max so she couldn’t see by the end credits. He didn’t ever admit it but he went to see Breakfast Club at least another four times by himself.

2.) It was kinda but kinda not a secret that you were a sly troublemaker. Billy asked the day he got to talking with you why you were even in here, weirdly a lot like how inmates in prison talk about their sentences. You’d been coy when he asked, but he knew you were guilty at least of drawing dicks on the desks and sticking a thumbtack upside down on Kaminsky’s swivel chair before he sat down. He ended up taking a week off to heal his ass that had been stabbed. Billy totally gave you a high five after that one.

3.) Sometimes Kaminsky would take naps while “watching” over you both, and it was his fault for being foolish enough to make himself so vulnerable in front of two delinquents that loved creating chaos just for the sake of chaos. Billy would share contests with you on who got to fuck with him the most before he wakes up. You’d always win that trophy of course. You even got away with plugging his nose while he snored with his head back and feet propped up to the cluttered desk. Mastered the art of batting your eyes and looking all innocently pretty, getting away with much more than Billy ever could.

4.) Billy would blow spitballs at you with a laugh while you’d flip him off and try dodging his attacks. Sometimes you two would also take turns drawing each other pictures to waste time. He drew you his best Picasso-esque illustration of boobs and skulls. You’d giggle at the dirty joke before it was your turn. Playing hangman or patty cake in sheer boredom too. One time he even let you paint his nails black. Billy couldn’t lie and say it didn’t look badass, and he got better at it the more you taught him how to stay in the lines of his fingernails. He asked for your pink colored polish one time and didn’t give a fuck about any of the weird side-eyed looks he got from his dad or superficial friends. Because you said so yourself that it was hot if a guy was in touch with his feminine side and the courage it took to break the norms of being masculine, he didn’t stop.

5.) Billy always gets fucked up and does shit he regrets at every get together with Tommy’s place being their playground. Deliriously partying on a usual Friday and fiercely losing track of how many he’d had that night, he saw you sipping punch in the corner hiding from the rest of the crowd.

Billy approached you with what he thought to be smooth, irresistible seduction, which, to be frank without any drunk goggles on... was a sloppy slurring mess. His opening line was even “what’s a girl like you doin’ in a place like this” before hiccuping. You’d been stunned by him even noticing you outside of detention, raising a brow while taking small careful sips from the red solo cup.

He spouted more nonsense about you, the pranks you always pulled, and Molly Ringwald. Confused yet still entertained, you noticed his eyes at one point resting a second too long to be considered a blink and his speech slowing down even more. So you took him to the couch and tucked him in with a mountain of blankets smothering every inch of him. The drunk disaster that was hardly making sense anymore had whined when you wouldn’t cuddle with him. He just pouted to himself before snatching a nearby pillow and drooling on it in a drunken sleep. You didn’t know you’d ever hear him say the things he said while that fucked in the head with booze, but you were wrong when the phone rang one particular night a few months later.

—

super carried away and lost in this, but SEND MORE OF MY FICS YOU WANT EXTRA SCENES OF ! I WEIRDLY LOVED DOING THIS

[bcbdrums]

Forfeit

AU fanfic, post-Graduation Kim Possible.  Inspired wholely by this stunning artwork: https://gothicthundra.tumblr.com/post/188037118744/color-prompt-set-b-13-drakken-pyrrhic

I apologize in advance... Oh, um...let's call this a high teen rating for violence and death? Sorry again... 

---------

"For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul?" Matthew 16:26a ESV

  Drakken's heart pounded in his chest as he ran, following almost absentmindedly after the flowing and tattered graduation gown that Kim Possible wore as his eyes darted back and forth across the corridor. On one side were windows to outer space, revealing its velvet blackness with the tiniest of lights peeking through that he knew were stars, only he couldn't recognize their positions. The other side of the corridor was an indestructible alloy, except by the aliens' own technology he had witnessed months prior.

He was trapped. And he was terrified.

The sound of depressurization and rockets grabbed his attention and he peered past Kim to where two figures were racing toward them on jet-packs.

"KP!" a familiar voice cried.

"Ron!" Kim answered. Drakken's thoughts continued to the logical but impossible conclusion as he looked beyond the blond-haired boy to the other figure racing toward them.

His chest felt aflame and a broad grin broke through his terror as he knew it was her. And when she saw him her typical mean, focused look was replaced by a smile that mirrored his own. Tears filled his eyes as he reached for her.

"Shego!" he cried in joy as she landed gracefully in front of him. Scarcely a moment later he embraced her around the shoulders while her arms wrapped around his middle and gripped him tightly. Relief and peace coursed through him as he pulled her smaller form snugly into his. "You came! I thought I was going to die up here!"

She didn't respond. Confused, Drakken opened his eyes which he hadn't realized were closed.

He gasped and staggered back. His arms were empty, and his only company in the alien corridor were the stars.

"Shego!?" he cried, turning around in a hurry. But all traces of her—and Kim and Ron—were gone.

A great dizziness swept him and he turned in horror as the walls began closing in around him. His vine—which he had forgotten about—slithered out from his collar and began weaving latticed barriers against the impending doom, but they were no match for the strength of the alien technology.

"No! No! Someone help meeeeee! Shegoooooo!"

---------

There was a strange electricity and pressure in the air as Drakken sped the hovercraft back to Middleton. 'Now I know how Santa Claus feels…' he thought as he wiped the sweat from the back of his neck. Thankfully the invasion hadn’t been quite as worldwide as originally feared, mostly only major cities having been targeted.

His plants were spreading and taking out the alien robots, and with that end accomplished he hurried back to the root of his operations. Suddenly a familiar voice shrieking in terror drew his gaze skyward. He saw a blazing trail like that of a meteorite ascending seconds before it impacted the Lorwardian spacecraft, destroying it in a massive explosion. He stared wide-eyed as the flaming wreckage rained down and he halted his vehicle for a moment as he wondered how on earth the destruction could have been accomplished. It certainly hadn’t been his plants.

Suddenly the air pressure around him normalized and his ears popped with the unexpected change. His skin tingled as the electricity begin to dissipate, and a tension he hadn’t known he was carrying left with the sensation and brought a heavy return to reality. He pushed forward on the accelerator of the hovercraft and headed back toward where he’d left the heart of the action.

When he arrived he found that the webs of his plants remained, flowers of pink, green, and blue giving a false sense of security and masking their savagery. In the center of the rubble below his eyes locked on the black-clad Kim Possible, her mussed hair blowing in the wind as she embraced her dorky space-suit clad boyfriend. Shego was nowhere to be seen, he realized, as he brought the craft down slowly.

“What happened?" he asked as he leapt down and cautiously lingered several yards from the teens, “What’d I miss?"

The two put a foot of space between them, but Kim’s arms remained around her boyfriend’s neck as he shyly brushed back his sweat-dampened hair.

“You kinda had to be here," Stoppable said, the pair of them grinning broadly.

“Where’s Shego?” Drakken asked, looking around the rubble. The last thing he wanted to think about was another Kim Possible victory. She’d have been nothing without his plants this time, surely.

Kim suddenly gasped and began running and leaping through the rubble. Drakken blinked and after a moment made to follow, hurrying to match pace with an equally confused Stoppable. No way would he be left out this time.

He lifted his eyes as he heard Kim skid to a stop and his heart leapt into his throat at what he saw: Shego, still wearing her space suit, lay face down and un-moving in the dirt, limbs splayed and hair wild around her.

“Shego!” he cried desperately as he dropped to his knees at her side. He reached to turn her over but Kim’s open palm in front of his face halted him.

“Wait,” she said, as her other hand felt his sidekick’s neck for a pulse.

A growl rumbled in his chest as he defiantly—but tenderly—pulled Shego to him and laid her head atop his folded knees.

“She’s my sidekick, I think I know what’s best.”

“Dude, even I know you don’t move a person when you don’t know what their injuries are.”

"Her heart's stopped," Kim's blunt interruption brought Drakken's focus back down. Kim was leaning over Shego's face now and had a hand pressed to her chest. "And she's not breathing."

Drakken was sure his own heart stopped for a moment as he stared down at his sidekick's closed eyes and still form. She was a dead weight—he cursed his brain for choosing that word—on his lap, her arms and legs limp and askew where he had dragged her. A paralyzing fear suddenly gripped his being and he found himself unable to speak.

"You're still CPR certified, right KP? I mean, all the babysitting..." Stoppable was saying. Drakken heard him as if from a distance, his blood thumping in his ears as he stared at Shego's face. It was the most serene he had ever seen her.

"There's probably still time," Kim answered, pushing up the sleeves of her graduation robe. "She'll have to be flat on the ground, Drakken. Drakken? Let go!"

Drakken blinked back to awareness and realized he was holding tight to one of Shego's shoulders and his other hand was fastened around her wrist. He knew Kim was right of course, and forced himself to release his protective hold and let the teen gently begin moving his sidekick down.

"Whoa man, are you hurt?" Stoppable asked. Drakken blinked at the sudden appearance of thick smears of blood on his thighs. His eyes widened again, and he went through the mental analysis so fast he didn't even need to give presence to any of the thoughts. His hand was already moving cautiously beneath Shego's head, where Kim's had moved too.

He bit the inside of his cheeks as his stomach churned at the feeling beneath his fingers. Through the thick hair where he should have felt hard bone, he felt the unnatural give of the skull as he pressed it notably against soft tissue.

Kim gasped as they both drew their hands back in time. He looked first at his own black glove, covered in the slick substance and then at Kim's hand, streaked red to her wrist. He followed her arm to her heaving chest and up to her terrified eyes. And again he found himself paralyzed, but with something deeper than fear that he couldn't put a name to. He made one feeble attempt at speech, but his closed throat prevented it.

"Wade," Kim said, talking into the device on her wrist. "I hate to ask you to do this, but I need a scan of Shego's skull and brain for injuries. I'm...afraid it's not going to be good."

"On it, Kim," the boy said as a beam came out of the wrist-device and passed over Shego's head.

Drakken saw Stoppable begin anxiously biting the nails of both hands—well, space gloves—as he stared at the bloody hand that Kim still had raised in the air.

"How is it?" Kim asked. "And...her heart's stopped and she's not breathing. Probably more than five minutes now," she finished dejectedly.

Drakken peered at the small screen on Kim's wristwatch as the boy's eyes grew wide and he pushed his chair back from his desk.

"Oh, man."

---------

Drakken fidgeted with the edges of his gloves as he sat tensely in the back of the recording studio, waiting.

"You should have changed," his mother whispered for the seventh time. He sighed.

"This is how I'm most comfortable, Mother," he repeated what he had told her after the fourth time. He glanced down at his blue coat draped over his knees. If he looked hard, he could still see the blood stains.

"They want to interview a hero, not a...mad scientist."

Drakken felt his mother's eyes on him, but kept his gaze forward on the green screen. Facing his mother with the truth of his occupation had been painful, and she clearly wasn't going to let it go any time soon.

"Oh, my poor Drewbie..."

Drakken clenched his teeth.

"So many months in jail... And what for? What did any of it get you?"

He understood her anger. He had lied for over twenty years, after all. But he didn't need her judgment. Not now.

Thankfully, he was spared another verbal lashing by the approach of one of the news team holding a shiny, gold medal with the emblem of the United Nations attached to a red, white, and blue ribbon.

"Dr. Drakken?" the man said. "They want you to wear this for the interview. It's going to air during prime time after the UN broadcast. You'll have to give it back so they can present it to you officially at the UN."

The medal was held out and Drakken hesitated for a moment before reaching out and taking it. The gold was heavy in his hand, the etching on its face intricate.

"Sound man wants to mic you. Over here," the man gestured, and Drakken rose to follow absently, still staring at the medal. He had already been pardoned in exchange for the formula to his plant mutagen. And now he was going to be celebrated.

He set the medal around his neck and was surprised to feel...joy. The sensation was unexpected, after all the turmoil of the past several days. The imprisonment, days filled with endless questioning and bargaining, sleepless nights, facing his mother, the confrontation with Team Go...

And of course, Shego.

He blinked away the vision of green and lifted the medal instead to examine it again. It seemed to be real gold. He was...the hero of the world. And it wasn't to him now, but to others to make sure the public knew just who had prevented their destruction. And they were glad to do it! He would finally—

His thoughts were broken as a man slipped a small wire down his collar, right next to his flower-vine-thing and attached a small microphone to his lapel.

"We're going to...skip makeup, all right Sir?"

'He called me 'sir'...'

"Sir? If you'll sit over here?"

"Yes, of course," Drakken said, moving to the plush chair in front of the green screen that would face the interviewer—a man he recognized from one of the evening reporting programs—and settling back comfortably. The man escorting him had him shift several times until the angle was just so for each camera, and then he disappeared as the reporter took the chair across from him.

"It's nice to meet you Dr. Drakken," the man said, fairly staring at him.

Drakken winced slightly under the scrutiny. "Eh...your...name escapes me."

"Brian Barrett," the man said, planting his feet on the ground.

"Okay, we're rolling," a voice caught Drakken's attention and he turned to see a large camera lens pointed directly at him. He glanced around the area past the green screen and saw no less than six cameras, capturing all different angles. He self-consciously felt behind his neck for the flower...vine...whatever, and was relieved to find it tucked beneath his collar.

"A pleasure to meet you Dr. Drakken!" Barrett said, and Drakken turned back to see the man extending a hand and flashing a perfectly white smile. All traces of inappropriate staring were gone, replaced with cheer and interest.

So that's how it was. Well, game on.

Drakken shook the offered hand and returned the smile. "The pleasure is mine...Mr. Barrett," he said, remembering the name at the last moment.

"I speak for everyone here at WNEW when I say, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. Your sentient vines are nothing short of genius."

Drakken sat up a little taller with pride, despite himself. "Well..."

"And on a personal note, my sister and her kids were in Madison Square Gardens when the aliens attacked. If not for your intervention, I could have lost them."

Drakken deflated just as quickly as he'd puffed up, and he forced the grin to stay on his face. "Well..." he repeated more weakly, "it was...what had to be done."

Barrett sat back in his chair and lifting a notepad, gestured toward the main camera with it. "We've been asking viewers to call in for the past week with their questions for you, and we've made a list of all the most-asked. So..." he turned to address the camera, "now begins the dialogue between the world, and Dr. Drakken."

Drakken bit the inside of his cheek as tension began to seep into his body.

"And the most asked question," Barrett said, turning back with a smile, "which I'm sure is no surprise... Why are you blue?"

Drakken laughed. Too loudly, he realized, and forced himself to sit back and try to relax. Everything would be fine. "Funny story, actually. You see it was a Tuesday..."

As Drakken recounted the story, he felt more and more at ease. The reporter was genuinely listening and not interrupting. In his peripheral vision he could see his mother standing next to the main camera, watching. And though he knew she was still angry, he could tell she was smiling.

Hero-life would take getting used to, but it would be worth it.

"Fascinating," Barrett said, when Drakken finally finished. "And the second most-asked question from our viewers... Why did you become a villain?"

The brief peace Drakken had felt evaporated like a puff of smoke and he felt a weight begin a slow descent from his chest to his stomach.

"Ah...well, that's a...different story..." He swallowed nervously and bit his cheek harder to keep from frowning.

"The public wants to know who their hero is," Barrett encouraged with his perfect grin.

The cheer was no longer convincing, but Drakken felt trapped. "Well, it...started in college when my friends started making fun of me. Of course, I had been made fun of for most of my life..."

He relayed the tale in full, the journalist again letting him speak uninterrupted. When he recounted the weeks of bullying he faced after the original Bebes he felt anger beginning to take hold of him. He paused to take a deep breath and dug his fingers into the armrests of the chair. When he continued he spoke more slowly and clinically, forcing himself to remain detached. It certainly wouldn't do for the world to see their hero showing symptoms of villainy.

"I couldn't attend my classes anymore. I was a laughing-stock. Even the professors thought so. Somehow I decided the best way to prove myself and get revenge would be...through illicit means. And over time it went past revenge until...I decided to take over the world." He bit down hard on the desire to go on about his genius. A familiar voice was in his head telling him to keep it short and make sure to use real words.

He stared hard at Barrett to shut out the voice.

"I'm sure everyone out there can relate in some way," the journalist said. Drakken gripped the armrests harder. 'No,' he wanted to say, 'no you don't know what that kind of betrayal is like.' But instead he sat back and smiled. "Now the third most-asked question from our viewers gets a bit deeper into your villainy. How did you feel about killing people?"

Drakken was caught off-guard. The smiling facade fell instantly as he pulled back in surprise. "Wh-what...? No no, you're...mistaken. I didn't kill people," he said, waving his hands defensively. "I didn't kill anyone," he repeated, looking over to his mother. Her face was the strangest mix of anger and despair he had ever seen.

The journalist turned the page of his notebook and pulled out a stack of papers. "Your police record shows several charges for felony murder. People suffocating in...cheese? Several Florida residents dying from complications after being under the influence of your mind-control; multiple earthquake-related deaths when you tried to merge the continents... I could go on?"

Drakken was sweating now and kept glancing between Barrett, his mother, and the emergency exit sign in his peripheral vision.

"Of course, the one that the whole world is familiar with is when you engineered Bueno Nacho kids' meal toys to be killer robots. So many innocent people, dead for absolutely nothing," the journalist continued. "Simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Memories of all the schemes Barrett had mentioned were flashing through his head, but they were all suddenly replaced by a new image. One of blood-drenched black hair draped across his lap.

"So, Dr. Drakken?"

Drakken blinked away the image and stared at Barrett's face. "I'm sorry... Can you repeat the question?"

"How do you feel about the people you've killed?"

Drakken's heart pounded as more and more images that had been the source of his inability to sleep kept flashing before his eyes. He swallowed slowly, his throat dry as he looked through the mirage and at Barrett's face beyond. Ultimately, her death was his fault. He couldn't deny the reality he had created.

"I feel...pain," he said quietly.

Barrett looked at him calmly, studiously, straight into his eyes. The journalist finally sighed softly and his brows furrowed as he shook his head in an expression of...sympathy?

The contrast brought Drakken back to the present, and he leaned back heavily in the chair and carefully measured his breaths.

"Do you still have a desire to do evil things, and to harm people? That's the next question from our viewers."

Drakken glanced around, remembering where he was. He couldn't stop himself from fidgeting with his gloves as he responded, though.

"I never...really wanted to hurt people. I wanted..." He closed his eyes and brought his mind back to college again. "I wanted them to stop. Laughing. And to recognize the great genius that I am. Everywhere I went, people knew me for my failure. I just wanted the world to know me for my greatness."

He felt sick to his stomach now, recalling all of the more unpleasant aspects of doing evil that he simply turned a blind eye to. One couldn't be a villain without hurting others in some way. Unless you were legitimate like Jack Hench. But Drakken didn't have the time to build a legitimate empire.

"So you don't want to do evil anymore?"

Drakken shook his head. "No." But even as he said it, he felt the selfish desire wind its tendrils around his heart. He thought he meant it...did he not?

"And the last most-asked question from our viewers... Why did you decide to save the world?"

At that, Drakken returned to himself in an instant, straightening up in the chair and adopting the fake-nice look he had started the interview with. The truth was simply that he hadn't. He just needed to stop Warmonga from taking over the world, because...it was his world! Not some idiotic alien traveler's. He wasn't saving anyone, just his own interests. It was entirely selfish.

"Because..." he said with a pleasant smile, "the world is worth fighting for."

---------

He didn't have to act too surprised when they placed the medal on him officially; the cheers of the crowd were enough to make him giddy, and he smiled out at all of them with what he hoped looked like humility. Truthfully he was nervous that they would ask more difficult questions, but they didn't. All were forward-looking and hopeful.

Between interviews his mother had scolded his unpreparedness for the first one and gave him tips on how to reply to questions in later ones. Never one to scoff at his mother's advice, he used her words and answered things broadly and ambiguously.

What would he do now? Find a way to unite all of humanity under one common goal. How would he do it? By finding ways to stop planet-threatening problems. What was it like being a hero? He didn't consider himself a hero—he simply did what had to be done. Any of them would have done the same if they had his genius, right?

After the ceremony and lots of photos and a fancy dinner with the presidents of nine countries, he lay on the bed of his hotel suite grinning up at the ceiling. There were definite perks to being a 'hero' that he hadn't considered at first. Maybe he would milk this situation for awhile before going back to world-domination. In fact, it would probably work to his advantage.

"Drew," his mother said, half-knocking as she passed through his open door. "Have you thought any more about—?"

"I already told you Mother..." he sighed, "I'm not moving back home."

"But sweetie, you're going to need my help to get everything back to normal."

Drakken sat up in one swift move, a chaotic mix of emotions coursing through him.

Normal? Normal!? He didn't even know what normal was anymore. If the normal she meant was a lifetime of being teased despite all his best efforts to be 'normal,' then he didn't want it. If she meant moving on from villainy, he didn't know for sure that he wanted that—after all, what would 'moving on' mean? It had been a week and there had been no job offers. But there had been two days in prison which he only bribed himself out of by surrendering his mutagen. Not mention that he was now some sort of weird plant-human hybrid and had no idea how or if that could even be remedied. For all he knew, it would kill him in a matter of days.

No, whatever she thought was 'normal' certainly wasn't going to happen.

But neither was what he had considered normal for the past several years. As a 'hero' he certainly couldn't disappear into a secret lair and plot world domination again. He couldn't hide...anywhere. And what was the point of world domination when in fact, the world did seem to recognize his genius now? They would definitely hate him more if he conquered it after saving them all.

"No, Mother," he shook his head and fell back down on the bed. He grabbed the TV remote and pushed the power button, hoping for something to drown her out as well as his thoughts. "I'm...I'm grateful, but I need to handle things myself."

He had no idea what to do with his life now. The medal was still around his neck, the gold a weight on his chest as it rose and fell with breaths that were too quick. In an instant, a flash of yellow in his peripheral vision signaled the arrival of the petals that often framed his face now. He sighed and let them be. Mad scientist, decorated hero, and laughing-stock. That's what he was.

"Look Drewbie, you're on TV again."

He turned his head to see the small, hotel TV screen. His interest was piqued by the stern face of Brian Barrett, while his own picture was in the corner in double—one, a shot from the UN ceremony, and another an old mugshot.

He sat up and turned up the TV volume.

"Is he hero or villain? Your questions and the world's answered now, in this one-hour expose on Dr. Drakken."

"One hour...? That interview wasn't even thirty minutes..."

"It begins in a small town in New Jersey, at the childhood home of Drew Theodore P. Lipsky," Barrett continued in voice-over as a picture of his mother's house appeared on the screen.

"Hey!" he cried, lurching forward. None of the interviews he had had talked about his childhood in any way. He looked over at his mother, who looked equally perplexed.

She sat beside him on the bed and they watched and listened as an accurate but thinly detailed biography was painted of the blue man, all clearly leading up toward his turn to evil. There were quotes from old teachers and classmates, one from his first boss in high school, and then his college professors and former friends. None were kind.

"Drew was most certainly a genius," an old professor said, the program past its half-way point now. "He finished every assignment ahead of everyone else and seemed to understand all the material before I even finished teaching it. But he was strange and secretive... He would work on private projects in the university laboratories, stealing materials, and then deny it. And he was careful about it too, so we couldn't prove it. With some of the experiments we knew he was conducting, we're not sure where he safely hid the materials."

Drakken thought about his early weapon designs and the great lengths he had gone to to hide them. It had been no easy feat, either! He wished Barrett had asked him questions about his inventions. Those would have been fun to answer.

"The only things we found were after he dropped out of school. He left so quickly that he forgot a few things. There were these blueprints for a new type of engine that revolutionized fuel consumption..."

Drakken remembered suddenly the gift for his cousin Eddie that he had never finished and forgotten about, in his haste to leave MIST. Perhaps now it was finished he should—

"Hey! They stole my designs!"

He rose from the bed, fists balled in anger as he stared at the scans of blueprint after blueprint of technologies he had dreamed up in every field, for which he had failed to file patents. His chest heaved in anger as he listened to how his inventions were being used to better the world and he was receiving none of the credit for it.

"And we couldn't give any of the designs back since he disappeared. And after he turned up blue on our security cameras when he robbed the university a year later, we figured...might as well patent them ourselves," the professor finished.

"And so Drew Lipsky faded into infamy and Dr. Drakken, mad scientist was born. And now with an exclusive interview filmed after the ceremony at the UN, here is Brian Barrett with Dr. Drakken."

"But it was filmed hours before the ceremony..." Drakken protested, sitting back on the bed next to his mother. He watched as the camera swept over the false background of a UN office that had replaced the green screen.

"How do you feel about the people you've killed?"

"I didn't kill anyone." The camera angle switched off of Barrett's open, emotional face to the anxious one of Drakken.

"They did that thing where they show it out of order," his mother gasped in astonishment. "They're trying to make my heroic baby look bad! Well, they're going to hear from me!"

Drakken barely looked up as his mother stomped out of the room, presumably to the telephone. He watched slack-jawed as the interview continued to paint him as nothing short of psychotic, the camera zooming in on his twitching fingers gripping the chair each time a difficult question was asked, the clips having been edited to suit the intent of the expose.

"Could the mad scientist's statement be genuine, or is there another meaning behind it, leading us to believe that he may resume his world-dominating evil schemes? We go to the public now, for their comments."

The screen changed to daytime outside the UN and played a montage of brief comments from various citizens. He noticed a large majority holding protest signs against him. Why hadn't he been told there were protestors?

"Should Dr. Drakken be forgiven for his former crimes?"

"Absolutely not. My nephew was killed when those Diablo robots attacked. One good deed doesn't abolish a lifetime of sin."

"Heck, I'll forgive him. Who knows what those aliens would have done to us? At least with Dr. Drakken we just know we're getting a second-rate villain."

"Well, maybe a reduced sentence? I mean, I believe in justice. But he did save us from invading aliens. It's a tough one, morally."

Drakken sank down listening to the honest words of the people. He picked up his medal in his hand and stared at it. The people didn't love him after all. Did his victory mean anything?

"We have received authoritative word that Dr. Drakken has been pardoned of all his past crimes, in thanks for his world-saving heroics earlier this week. But will he now follow the path of the hero, or will he remain a villain?"

The scene changed back to Barrett's final interview question from that day, and Drakken started when the camera panned down and zoomed in on the faint bloodstains on his lab coat.

"The world is worth fighting for," he answered and the camera panned back up to his oddly blank face. Ominous music finished out the program as the credits rolled, showing a montage of destruction that his years of capers had caused.

Drakken was fuming. They had lied to him. All of them! They wanted nothing more than a good story to boost their ratings! They were all evil and self-serving!

...Exactly like him.

The realization hit him like a slap in the face, and clutching the medal around his neck he strode out of the room.

"...and I'll have you know, if you don't put out an immediate retraction then my son is going to sue you and your—Drew? Where are you going?"

He passed his mother on the phone without a word and left the hotel room, yanking the yellow petals from around his neck as he went. Minutes later he found himself in his hover car, lifting off and flying up as high as it would take him, far away from reality.

---------

A great dizziness swept him and he turned in horror as the walls began closing in around him. His vine—which he had forgotten about—slithered out from his collar and began weaving latticed barriers against the impending doom, but they were no match for the strength of the alien technology.

"No! No! Someone help meeeeee! Shegoooooo!"

The vines were ineffective. He turned wildly, looking for any chance of escape as the scrape of metal and the approaching tangle of his vines heralded his certain death.

"Help! Someone help!" he cried as the vines began pressing against him. He held out his arms and pressed with all his might against the metal through the vines, but still the walls kept coming.

"Noooooooo! Please, someone help me!"

Suddenly a heat and a flash of green fire surrounded him, scorching away all of his vines but leaving him untouched. He saw clearly now the gray walls that would kill him and an inhuman wail came out of his throat as they began touching him on all sides.

'I'm going to die. I'm dying,' he thought as the pressure built and began forcing his bones to move into unnatural positions. 'How did this happen?'

The just as suddenly as the threat had come, it vanished. He blinked and turned around in shock, finding himself on a high platform—or stone?—rising out of dark clouds. The only sight in every direction were the stars and he gasped in wonder. What had happened?

"Sorry, Dr. D."

He whirled around. "Shego!?" She stood about twenty feet from him, hands uncharacteristically folded in front of her and a small, but peaceful smirk on her face. So Shego had saved him after all...

"You were there! And then you weren't!" he cried, rushing toward her as he had moments before on the ship.

"Didn't mean to leave. Wasn't exactly my choice."

Drakken slowed his run as he realized he wasn't getting any closer to her, even though clouds were passing on his left and right.

"Shego?"

The dark clouds began moving around her, swirling upward like one of the atmospheric science experiments he had performed in college. Her smile faded as she lifted one hand in a motionless wave moments before the clouds enveloped her entirely.

"Shego!" he cried, reaching desperately toward her, finally making some ground. But when his hand touched the mist it evaporated and she was gone.

"Come back! Shegooooooo!"

Drakken jerked awake from the nightmare in shock, looking around him in panic. His heart rate began to slow when he realized he was on a familiar cliff, laying in a familiar field of flowers.

The nightmare wouldn't leave him alone. He'd been having it since the first night after the invasion, and every night since. It always happened exactly the same way. He had long given up trying to understand it, and now only wished it would go away so he could get some sleep. But just as when he had been hatching evil plots, sleep eluded him now in his new life as a hero.

For 'hero' the public had decided he was. Days after the news expose and his disappearance—rather, hopscotching from lair to lair trying to decide what to do—new protests had begun and a huge public campaign to wipe his record clean had gone forward. By the end of the second week after the invasion, the overwhelming opinion was that Dr. Drakken was the world's hero, and that any past sin could be forgiven.

He had gone back during the third week to try out this new life, and during the fourth week found himself firmly established at one of Japan's most up-and-coming robotics research facilities. He was now designing technologies to help combat any future alien invasions and anything else that might threaten the Earth, which was now working towards a united global government.

He received constant praise from peers and now attended interviews in which he heard nothing but thanks and even apologies from past nemeses. Even MIST apologized for stealing his inventions.

Drakken had everything. Well, almost everything.

Conspicuously absent in every interview and news article was any mention of a certain former hero-turned-villain, in favor of the new villain-turned-hero. Until the day he went back to Middleton to receive an honorary doctorate at MIST. Of course, the local news wanted an interview about the hero they considered 'one of their own' due to his association with a certain red-haired teenager. But the doctorate was the last thing on his mind when he left Middleton that day.

"Now Dr. Drakken," Tricia Lebowski said, holding the microphone beneath her chin as they stood outside the big sign in front of MIST, "she's been hardly mentioned by any of the networks, but Middleton will never forget your sidekick, Shego. We haven't been able to find any details, but we understand she was killed in the Lorwardian attack?"

Drakken suddenly found his throat dry as a microphone was shoved under his nose. "I...I, ah...would rather not talk about Shego, actually."

A weight suddenly fell into the pit of his stomach. It was the first time he had said her name since...

"I do apologize for your loss. The public wants to know, how instrumental was the former Team Go hero to your success as a villain?"

Drakken swallowed painfully as sweat began breaking out on his forehead. "She was everything, I... I said I don't want to talk about her," he squeaked out.

"I do apologize," Lebowski repeated. "The public also wants to know...was she more than a sidekick to you?"

Heart-racing, Drakken turned on his heel and ran to the hovercraft, his medal bouncing painfully against his chest. He was sure the news cameras were following his cowardly retreat, but... He couldn't talk about her. He just couldn't.

Hours later found him collapsed on a flower-covered hillside asleep in a puddle of his own tears. And now the sun was setting as he woke from the nightmare that seemed would plague him forever.

He sat up and stared past the edge of the cliff at the blinding reflection of the sun glistening on the sea. It was an appropriate spot, he had decided, much to her brothers' dissatisfaction. But as the world's hero he had some sway in the matter.

He crossed his legs and brought his eyes down to the headstone. All that was inscribed on it was her name, date of birth, and date of death.

He stared down at the carved name even as more of his flowers curled around the stone. He wondered what she would say about his life now.

He had a great job...that he performed during the day, and then went home to an empty penthouse apartment every night. He was lauded worldwide...but no one ever wanted more conversation out of him than TV and magazine interviews.

He had two Nobel Prizes for things he had invented back at MIST that were now recognized as his. HOURS Magazine called him the 'greatest genius of modern history.' And his world-saving medal from the UN hung around his neck daily to remind him that he finally had everything he had ever wanted.

A hand reached up to grip the medal as he thought about the sleepless nights at his penthouse. His only companion in that place were his nightmares.

It had taken only a week for him to realize he was lonely. So after awhile he'd bucked up the courage to invite one of his colleagues in Japan if he wanted to get drinks after work one night. The other scientist had made a polite apology and excuse, but it was clear to Drakken from the look in the man's eyes that there would be absolutely no socializing outside work with the blue freak.

He gripped his medal more tightly. 'I have everything...' He'd been telling himself that on repeat for more days than he could count now. But time was doing absolutely nothing to make him believe it.

It had been six weeks since...well, since the invasion. That's what everyone else called it. In his mind, he didn't identify the event that way.

He gently set his other hand on the gravestone and ran his gloved fingers over the carved name.

"Are you happy...wherever you are?" he whispered. "Are you...are you anywhere?"

The sea before him still shimmered with the light of the setting sun, but above him dark clouds were gathered. A soft roll of thunder was his only warning before the warm rain began to fall. It wasn't long before his tears joined the raindrops running down his face.

"I miss you," he choked out between sobs. When had he started sobbing?

He stood from his crouch in front of the grave and stepped to the edge of the cliff, looking down as the raindrops dampened the beach below.

It was time to stop lying to himself. The world...hadn't been worth fighting for after all.

He took out his state-of-the-art Blackberry and sent a short email, and then set the device back in his coat pocket. Then he took a small vial out of the same pocket and tucked it into his pants pocket, patting it gently. Next he took off his blue lab coat—something he had refused to part with—folded it, and lay it at the foot of her grave. He let his eyes linger for a moment on where the bloodstains were still visible if he looked closely enough. He never did have it properly cleaned.

Last, he took off the medal and set it atop the grave.

When he turned he glanced at the hovercraft for a moment before turning to take the narrow pathway down the cliff side. It was precarious, and he nearly lost his balance a few times, especially after the rain and wind picked up. But finally he made it down to the beach and purposefully approached the waters.

He shielded his eyes against the sun as he stared out on the sea. It had darkened where the storm clouds hung over it now, but beyond it still glistened in the light of the setting sun. Light was hope, and promise. But when the sun finished its descent the light would vanish, giving victory to the clouds. Light was just a facade, anyway.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward into the surf. The waters were surprisingly cold, for the Caribbean. He grit his teeth and forced himself to ignore it as he stepped further and further out into the sea. The rain had plastered his hair to his face and he swept it out of his eyes to stare at the roll of the waves as he went deeper and deeper.

When he was nearly up to his neck and the saltwater began splashing into his mouth, his vines made their appearance. In a display more magnificent than anything they had done yet, they weaved a lattice raft and lifted him up out of the waters, forcing him to float on the rocky seas.

He had expected this.

He took the small vial out of his pants pocket and uncorked it. He carefully poured the thick, glowing green liquid out onto the vines. Instantly they burst into a green flame resistant to the waters and the lattice began burning away beneath him. He grit his teeth when the fire traveled up against his neck and seconds later he let out a scream. The pain caused him to see white, such to the point that he didn't notice when the vines had finally burned away and he fell back into the waters again.

The shock caused him to take a large gulp of sea water into his lungs and he began desperately flailing and gasping for air, acting on instinct rather than intent. But as his situation set in he forced himself to stop his vain paddling even as he continued to choke. His head broke the surface of the waters and he gasped for air and blinked vainly into the rain and slaps of salt water against his face.

He caught a glimpse of green fire burning the remnants of his vines and felt a final swell of satisfaction. He knew concentrating Shego's power would be good for something someday.

It seemed she had saved him one last time.

His lungs, full of water were failing to draw in any oxygen. His vision went black as he gasped for air again, flailing against his will as he sank beneath the surface into the depths. Heat, pain, and pressure came against him on all sides, like the walls of the Lorwardian spaceship in his nightmares.

'I'm going to die. I'm dying,' he thought, just like in his nightmare.

'Are you happy? Are you anywhere?' he called out with the last thread of hope in his heart.

The void he had willingly entered only expanded and became silent. There were no stars this time as the walls finally closed in. He seemed to have forgotten how to move his arms to try to get out. Did he have arms anymore? He couldn't feel them. He couldn't even feel the green fire at his neck anymore as he sank deeper...and deeper...and deeper...

'I miss you so much...'

Deeper...into the dark...

'Shego...'

 ------ fin.

[stabbingandorbeingstabbed]

i have been tagged by @adz (hey kit!! :-)) and now i will respond to

twenty-one questions

nickname: kady, Evil Kady, Queen Bitch, queen of hell, *muttered* fucking vampire

zodiac: leo sun sagittarius moon aries rising

height: 5′6″

amount of sleep: im usually on massive amounts of vyvanse and that can. keep me awake like indefinitely??? but im also depressed so i like to sleep for days as well?? idk bro its always changing anywhere between 2 hours and 16 hours lmao

last movie i saw: i think the last Movie i watched was suspiria (1977)

last thing i googled: "legend of the crystal skull walkthrough” i found a way to play old nancy drew pc games on my mac and i got stuck lmao

favorite musician: like if i have to pick a singular musician probably sufjan stevens that funky dude does it all :-) but like if bands are allowed obviously mcr 4 ever

song stuck in my head: age of adz by sufjan stevens bc i typed out “adz” earlier lmao

other blogs: i dont rly have other blogs just a bunch of hoarded urls lmao

do i get asks: WAY more than i used to before my blog took a hard left into early aughts emo lmao it still shocks me whenever i get one tho like im nut Used to it and im always like “fuck whatd i do”

blogs following: wait does this mean how many followers do i have or how many blogs am i following?? i'm following 163 and have 1111 followers but i've also had my blog since 2012 and probably hundreds of those are inactive lmao

lucky numbers: 7 

what i’m wearing: ive been home for hours but ive still got my big stompy boots on with tights and this b&w striped t-shirt dress i forgot i had bc its way too short to wear in public but has that ever stopped me?? nope

dream trip: well right now my dream trip would be to tag along with manda @anothersuperstition to meet frank in april but like in general i think i just wanna visit nyc as many times as i can bc it feels more like Home than indiana ever has lmao

dream job: i really was made to be in a shitty rock band i s2g like i have no relevant talents other than singing and loving attention but like. i wanna do That lmao

favorite food: im a real slut for non-tomato-based pasta dishes like if its got noodles and some kinda creamy cheesy garlicy sauce and maybe some seafood or chickens in there *italian finger kiss thing* MUAH

languages: english and maybe 2 phrases in french one of which i learned from lady marmalade

play any instruments: i was a child prodigy at the violin but i hated it so now i have a guitar and can play exactly one (1) song (malibu by hole) but i can still sing damn it!!!!!

favorite songs: like of all time?? honestly like since i was abt 12 ive loved the stretch from the jetset life is gonna kill you to the end of the album more than i love most of my extended family

random fact: during my fraught teen years i probably stole like tens of thousands of dollars worth of little things from here and there so now as an adult that still looks like a delinquent im so paranoid i LOOK like im trying to steal stuff that i like. wear both straps of my backpack and never put my hands in my pockets even tho i havent stolen anything in like Years and the mere idea of doing that now like. makes my stomach upset lmao

describe yourself as an aesthetic thing: okay so u know that scene at the end of american beauty where that weirdo is rambling and filming that plastic bag blowing in the wind?? so imagine you spray painted that bag black and when it dried it wasnt as aerodynamic so now when the wind blows its just kinda this. black plastic bag that kinda just limply scoots across the pavement

im gonna tag @anothersuperstition @corpsechic @spooo0n @deadfreddiethealien @a-swamp-creature and @leatherskinsuit but feel free to like ignore this or kill me also if u see this and wanna do it just lie and say i tagged u ok?? cool ok love yoU!!!!!

[gruntadminloch-moved]

I read an article the other day about how bad human trafficking is in Hawaii.  So I found myself inspired to write a Team Skull drabble?  Kinda?  I wrote a thing.  You can read it if you wanna.  There was no planning or drafting anything regarding this, so.  Be warned I guess.

Obvious warnings for human trafficking, child prostitution, kidnapping, references to abuse, threats towards family, references to sexual abuse. . .y’know, the kind of things that would come from sex trafficking.

Also warning for really bad mixing pidgin with usual slang.  And I’m not very good at writing either, so mixing them together just makes a mess.

“She seems pretty upset about this.”  The smaller of a pair of grunts said of their captive with clear concern in his voice.  The larger of the two, carrying the essentially kidnapped girl over his shoulder, glanced at her as she screamed and sobbed in distress, although they were too far off of Route 10 for anyone to come investigate too much.  “She wasn’t nearly as upset a few streets back, y’know. . .?”

“Barely even noticed.” His companion grunted sarcastically as the walls of Po Town came more into view through the trees. The girl was saying something, begging to be released, probably, but he continued to be indifferent and not acknowledge her fussing.  The grunt joining him stayed looking worried at her, but they both continued to make their way home.  It was just business.

The screaming turned to a frightened quiet as they passed through the gate and were finally in Po Town proper.  Team Skull territory no one ever came out of alive, unless they were members of Team Skull themselves.  Her crying continued, but she was exhausted--and by now out of hope, coughing and sniffling and keeping her gaze down despite passing many other Skull Grunts.  Even the female grunts probably wouldn’t help her, and she could feel their pitying gazes--as well as some of delight.  How many people were in this town?  And how many of them were going to use her?

“‘ey, J!”  One of the grunts called as they ducked into a building a ways up the main street, nudging the door shut behind with a booted foot.  “We got anotha’ one!”

Another one?  She didn’t know the extent of what Team Skull did--just that they were the biggest and worst gang on the islands, and what they did was often downplayed to keep citizens too scared.  On the surface they may have just been seen as pests and troublemakers and petty criminals, but they practically ruled the underground in this region.  Did they take others, too?  Were they just going to repurpose her, take her from the work she was forced to do and force her into more?

She whimpered--her current pimp already treated her poorly--but at least he let her go home at the end of the day, even if she kept where she was and what she was doing a secret from her family.  They just knew she brought some money home, and there was nothing wrong with a girl her age helping the family.  But the boss of Team Skull was not known for his kindness, under or above ground.

And with her missing, he would surely punish her family--her mother, her father, her grandmother and little brother. . .would they all be forced into this hell? Would they be killed?  And she would never see them again, either--once one went into Team Skull’s territory, one didn’t leave, and if they were prostituting taken girls like her, they surely wouldn’t be as considerate about it.

She continued to sob, more vocally again this time.  Face stinging and burning red, breath barely caught at all, eyes red and full of tears she was surprised she still had any of, and her face a sticky mess from he mucus flowing down her face, she shut her eyes anxiously as she was plonked unceremoniously into a chair in the musty-smelling little building.

“Fuckin’ Tapu, Cage!”  A new grunt’s voice snapped, followed by footsteps approaching her.  “What’d I tell you about treatin’ people like this, man!?  We seriously gotta talk to someone about getting you back on your damn meds, you can’t keep going out on jobs like this with zero empathy, my dude!”

The grunt called Cage simply scoffed.  “I’m just doing my job. She’s here, isn’t she? She’ll shape up eventually.  I don’t see why it’s a problem.”

“I’d’ve told him not to carry her or something," the other grunt accompanying Cage began, scuffing his sneaker against the carpet, “but I figured she’d run off without listening to a word we said or something.  My fault, J.”

“Nah.  Ain’t your fault he got taken off his shit.”  ‘J’ sighed, his voice drawing nearer to the girl--vertically, now, as he knelt in front of her.

“We’re done already.”  Cage dropped stoically, turning to exit.  “We gotta do our task report and let the boss know we back.  C’mon, Jij’.”

‘Jij’’ sighed another apology and left some kind of well wished towards J--and her, as well?  It didn’t sound mocking, but he’d sounded rather down the whole trip.  Maybe he was reluctant, as opposed to his partner.  Nonetheless, Jij’ and Cage left the building, presumably leaving her alone with J, who grumbled something she couldn’t quite make out.

“Sorry ‘bout him, girlie.”  He said after gathering himself.  “He been off his stuff like two weeks.  In a couple days, meds or not, he’ll probably be scramblin’ to apologize to you.  Just kinda how his brain works when he ain’t got somethin to stabilize it.  He shouldn’t’a treated you like that--you deserve better, y’know?

“I’mma touch ya face real quick--just’a clean you up.”  A package of some sort sounded like it was being waved.  “If ya don’t trust me, I got what I’m using all wrapped up still, so you can see it’s fresh out the bag if you wanna look.  ‘Understand if you don’t, though.”

Why not.  She might as well know the faces of her captors--her vision was blurry nonetheless as she opened her eyes, reaching a rain-dampened hand up to rub at them.  When it was a bit more clear, a tanned boy with braided white hair became more visible knelt in front of her, and then gave her a smile.  “Yo.  Name’s Jace!  You can just call me J, though--everyone does.  You got a name I could call you?”

He held up the still closed package of what appeared to be some baby wipes in his gloved hands.  “Like I said, gonna clean ya face up a bit--you can do i yourself if you wanna.”

She shook her head.  Best to be as cooperative as possible, right?  If it was covered in chloroform or something, it’d knock her out and maybe she’d be able to stay unconscious while she suffered. “Aight.  Try stay still, yeah?”

He pulled the little travel-sized package open and pulled out a wipe, resting the holder on his knees, then began to wipe at her eyes carefully, clearing her cheeks of burning tear trails and cooling her down a little bit, if only physically.  Her nose came next, and she felt a positive memory at the sensation and the smell, which made her hiccup.  Her stress kept her from smiling as he pinched her nose in the cleaning process, reminding her of runny noses when she was just a little kid, although being cleaned up did feel better.  “There.  A little better.”

She began to say thank you, but only managed to whimper more, tensing up and closing in on herself.

Jace laughed nervously, tossing aside the wipe he’d used, and offering the package to her, which she took hesitantly and rest on her lap.  “You want I should give you some time to calm down?  You want some water?”  He scooted over to get a bottle from the fridge, a fully closed and unopened one, which she took and opened, sipping from as best as she could through her shaking.  “I should prolly tell you what’s going on--I bet Cage and Jij’ didn’t tell ya anything. . . .”

She figured she already knew, but what was she supposed to do?  Tell him not to talk?  Her silence didn’t seem to bother him so far, so she simply tried to keep her mouth busy with drinking--and hopefully he wouldn’t try and ‘busy’ it with anything else.

"So, Cage and Jij’, they picked you up to take you away and all, but we’re not here to hurt you or nothin’!  They--they prolly gave you money and, uh, that’s yours to keep.  We’re not gonna, y’know, try and bang you or anything--not unless you’re into that or whatever.”

She yelped and Jace jumped when the door was knocked on and then opened, a darker skinned individual with wavy, dark green hair down to their shoulders entering with a dark-eyed gaze falling on the pair.  But his expression was soft and warm--welcoming, almost, and his voice was also clear and comfortable.  “Master Guzma’s arrived to speak with you."

If the abnormal title wasn’t apparent enough, the name drop made it clear to her, and she began to lock up and hyperventilate.  Guzma.  That was the boss of this whole gang.  Feared and hated and proudly proclaimed it wherever he went, she’d never seen what he looked like, only heard terrifying things.  Only been told to avoid Skull Grunts by everyone from parents to teachers to neighbors all the way down to her pimp.  And if she was supposed to stay away from the grunts. . . .

No matter what Jace had said, she had no reason not to believe Guzma was bad--let alone that he was prone to violence, given the scars and cuts across his fists.  Just as Guzma supposedly was known for declaring himself, the man was big--at least six foot six, and that was with terrible posture, and his frame was sufficiently large to match.  As he stepped in, she was sure the ground shook.  The look on his face and in his eyes was. . .mean.  Frightening.

When his gaze fell on her as he stepped in and the one who’d proceeded him slid the door shut, successfully sealing her to her fate,

She began to panic.  The tears came back in full force and her breathing came in shallow bursts.  And that her immediate alarm didn’t seem to draw any sympathy from him, just drew a ‘tch!’ out of him, only affirmed in her mind that he was here to show her just what Jace meant by that they wouldn’t hurt her.  Her eyes closed shut tightly and she began to cry aloud again, her voice drawn out by her rearisen fears.

“She been like that since she got here?”  Guzma asked, voice gruff and deep.  She missed his vague gesturing towards her, which prompted his accompaniment to approach, pulling out a Pokéball and releasing a Lucario adorned with a Team Skull Grunt’s bandana around its neck.

“Uuuh, kinda, Boss.”  Jace said, reaching over to wipe her face again.  “She calmed down a bit, but she hasn’t said much.”

The most she’d said since she’d arrived from the gates was now, where she was begging, pleading messily, in fact.  The Lucario prodded at her mind and she was surprised to find that her fear had lowered her walls significantly--she screamed some in confusion at the intrusion to her psyche, but simply returned to crying, finding that she wasn’t in any pain.

‘Miss?’  The Lucario projected to her telepathically.  She began sending her waves of aura--calming ones, to gradually relax her.  ‘I understand you’re afraid, Miss.  But as Jace said, we aren’t here to hurt you.’

She grabbed onto her head, though she didn’t know how to push her out--and with the calming aura moving through her, she found that she didn’t want to as much.  She opened her blurry eyes to look at the Lucario, still shaking.  But the Pokémon was reassuring for her.  She didn’t seem harmed in any way despite her surroundings and the people she lived with, and as Jace wiped her eyes again, she became more visible.  The Lucario was smiling softly.  ‘My name is Kikite.  This is my trainer--Loch.’

She gestured gently back to the rather androgynous green-haired man behind her, who gave her a soft nod, but didn’t speak.  Guzma talked to Jace in the meantime, but Kikite kept the girl’s mental focus on them and the sound of the rain outside.

‘You’re safe here. We’re here to help you.  I promise.’  Perhaps it was more aura waves forcing her mind to change, but. . .she believed the Lucario.  She gently ducked her head and pressed her wet nose to the girl’s hand, making her gasp from the sensation, then gently begin to pet her fur to soothe herself.  ‘Mister Guzma has a few questions for you.  But he is not here to hurt you.  You have no reason to trust us, I know, but. . .if you want to leave, we’ll allow you to.  But we’ve brought you here for your wellbeing.  Please hear him out.’

She nodded finally, mimicking Kikite’s soft, even breathing.  She stayed shaking, the fear and anxiety was still in her deeply, but it was easier to stay calm with the Aura Pokémon’s help.

“She good now, Loch?”

Kikite sent a wave of affirmation to Loch, who nodded, bowing deeply towards the Skull Boss.  “Yes, Master Guzma. Her mind may still be in a delicate place, so I advise that Master Guzma, perhaps, speaks to her somewhat carefully, if possible.”

The girl tensed up again as Guzma approached, popping into a squat, balanced on his toes as always.  His expression remained rather grim and frightful, but Kikite’s soft paw rest against her arm reassuringly.  He seemed angry. .. but not at her.

“Hey, shawty.”  He began, tone a little dialed down.

“Ah. . . .”  She swallowed hard, looking back to Jace for reassurance as well, and keeping her gaze on the most familiar of the group present thus far.  “Alo. . .la. . . .”

“Oh, thank Koko, she can talk.”  Jace said with legitimate relief and an attempt at humor.  She didn’t seem to find it as amusing, though Guzma let out an amused little huff and Loch’s smile took on an amused quirk as well.

“You got a name we can call ya?  Jace said y’didn’t give ‘im one.”

“K--K--K--Kala.”

“Nice’a meet’cha, Kala.”  He gave her a smirk, somehow friendly.  Loch, Kikite, and Jace also expressed their greetings, Loch adding ‘welcome to Po Town.’

Was she really trapped here. . .?

“The guy who keepin’ ya.  He threatenin’ ya fam, yeah?”  Kala nodded stiffly.  “You wanna tell me where they at?”

Her anxiety spiked again and she struggled to reply.  “Uh, she--I don’t think she really knows what’s goin’ on, Boss.”

“Why didn’t you numbskulls tell ‘er, then!?”  He snapped, prompting Kala to grip Kikite’s fur at his volume and the clenching of his fist, arm muscles flexing. He was gonna hit him.  He was gonna hit her, he--  “Shit.  A’ight.  Listen up, kid.

“The shit you goin’ through?  It ain’t right.  Team Skull ain’t about that shit.  Ain’t nobody deserve they body bein’ used against they will or no shit, not like that.”  He was clearly trying not to snarl, to snap.  “You scared to tell us who was shippin’ you ‘round that way? Fine.  All good.  If can, can, if no can, no can, yeah?”

She nodded at the little pidgin expression. It was strangely soothing to hear the local tongue, rather than the rough Unovan standard structure a lot of the Grunts seemed to use.

“You brought here so you ain’t gotta do that shit anymore.  Not if you don’t wanna.  You do, we got’chu.  But we ain’t about that shit if you ain’t about it.  And we ain’t about some scummy motherfucker threatenin’ ya fam and shit to keep you makin’ ‘em money. So we gonna take care them, too.  You just gotta tell me where they stay at and Team Skull look after ‘em.  You can stay here, lay low ‘til we get his head, or we can send you home with some grunts lookin’ after you, keep you from gettin’ snatched again.”

She swallowed and nodded, parting her lips to speak, then closing her mouth nervously.  This repeated several times, before finally squeaking out, “and I. . .I won’t have to work anymore. . .?”

“Nah.  If you no stay innit, ya don’t.”

“Really. . .?”

Guzma grinned--it was still a rather nerve-wracking expression, but he seemed. . .sincere still.  What reason would a man with Guzma’s power have to lie?  “Errybody stay misrepresent Team Skull, but we don’t hate Alola, not all’a us.  Nah, Alola’s home--that’s why we want it should change, get better.  Stay same for our people.  And when we ain’t get help, we gotta fight back--but when others no get help, we stay fight for ‘em.  We here for protec’ the ones Alola no protect.  We got’chu.”

Of course, Kala had heard that Team Skull was composed heavily of trial failures and societal failures as a whole, people the islands practically rejected.  They were outcasts, and that was considered bad, but. . .was it really that bad to support each other? Wasn’t that the true Alola spirit?

Were Team Skull the good guys all along, in some capacity. . .?

“We. . .we live in KoniKoni City.”  She wanted her family to be safe.  They were in trouble either way, if Guzma was lying.  She’d be away from her pimp, who would seek out her family to hurt them--but if Team Skull went to see them, if they weren’t truly going to protect them, it’d be just as bad.  But the chance that they could be safe. . . .  “Ha-Hale Ipukukui Apartments, a block away from the lighthouse.  Eighth floor, apartment 804 where we stay.  I. . .I know it’s far--”

“Team Skull all over, Keiki.”  Guzma groaned, rising to his full height and putting his hands in his pockets.  One hand came back out, his phone held in it.  “Won’t be no trouble.  You feel like tellin’ me where ya guy is, or we gonna have to wait for him send his flunkies round your place first?”

Kala again opened her mouth like she wanted to speak, but flinched, recoiled, and returned to petting Kikite, who stroked her arm in return.  “Yeah.  Thought so.  You ain’t the first here--I know for say so is scary, but you ain’t in no trouble while you here. You ever get comfortable enough for say so, lemme know."

He rose his phone to his head after prodding at it some.  “Jace, if you could get her settled in, I’d ‘ppreciate that--yo.”

“You got it, Boss.”  Guzma gave a nod in acknowledgement, seeming to be busy with the phone call now.

“You stay on Akala with them?”  A pause.  “Yeah, we good.  Some’a your patrol say they bringing a girl home, yeah?  Her fam’s in KoniKoni, at Hale Ipukukui Apartment--804.  Can you send a squad out there to keep an eye on ‘em, ‘case her guy comes lookin’?  Couple grunts live that place, maybe them.”

This was really happening.  Her family would be safe.  She might even be safe.  Although a concern nagged at her.  “Thanks, P.  See you when you get home.”

He hung up and turned his back, fisting his hands but trying not to crush his phone--good thing they made these things pretty durable.  “Loch.”

“Yes, Master.”

“We stay go.  Jace got this.”

“Yes, Master.”

“W-wait--please--"

Kikite looked up at her, intent on staying by her side, having had requested such of Loch in her usual telepathic way, as not to interrupt their boss.  Loch and Guzma paused on their exit, Guzma looking over his shoulder, and Loch only stopping when he reached the door in order to open it for Guzma.

“I. . .th-the money I got--from working--some of it. . .I could keep it--a-and it helped my family out, bu-ut if I can’t work--”

“If you’d like, there are businesses under Team Skull’s control throughout the islands.”  Loch chimed in, that same smile on his face.  It met his eyes more than it did before, perhaps a sign of approval.  “Assuming, of course, you’d rather not participate in criminal affairs, it can be arranged that you work a civilian job during your stay in Po Town.  If you would like your pay directed towards your family, that can also be arranged.”

“Yeah, Loch’s got’cha.”  Guzma gave a nod.  “But you get settled in here first.  Ya look like you’d pass out if we weren’t talkin’ to ya.”

“Po Town’s pretty big.”  Jace said as Guzma and Loch finally took their leave.  “It used to be some resort town or somethin’--the kinda place you’d find haoles up the ass.  The boss went all hostile takeover on it years ago, and now it’s ours.  It’s kinda run-down, but.  Havin’ a place for ourselves is good, and we try and keep it livable.”

Jace allowed her to hang out in the building for the time being, allowing her to rest on a worn and comfy couch in the room.  He said that this was the first place they took her because he usually got ex-abductees settled in--Kala could see why, since he was fairly relaxed and disarming, even a little nervous.  But she was welcome to choose a room anywhere in the big mansion up the street, or even stay in one of the other buildings or houses in town, whether with other grunts or not--oftentimes, the people they pulled from trafficking preferred to stick together.  Safety in numbers was something Team Skull understood very well, and when she’d caught up on rest she could even meet other members of the gang living about the town.

Much like Guzma said, the second she’d collapsed on the couch, she was out like a light, Kikite draping a blanket over her and settling in next to the couch to keep her company.

She had slept the past couple of months with anxiety and fear in her heart.  What was doing the same thing in another place?  She was relieved to find that her mind was still calmed by the Lucario, even allowing her to stand in the face of her nightmares and fight back.  In her sleep, she lost, but it was still a turn around.

When she’d wake to her mother’s frantic calling on her phone, relief washed over her as she anxiously confirmed that Team Skull was in their apartment, and she confirmed that she was in Po Town--and what the Team Skull Admin, Plumeria, the woman Guzma must have been speaking to over the phone, revealed to them about what she’d been hiding in her daily life.  Her mother would accept no apologies--it wasn’t her fault.  More than anything, she was happy she was safe.

The call had to be cut short at the guarding grunts’ instructions--that Kala hadn’t returned to him that evening must have tipped her pimp off to an issue.  He’d probably sent some people to her home to look for her, and she hoped to the Tapu that Team Skull would truly keep her family safe after the call ended.

Months passed.  And she became quite comfortable living among Team Skull.  Their name had been so stressed as something awful that she had barely considered that the members may have simply been. . .people.  People who wanted to live and survive and be happy, just like her and her family and anybody else.

In those months she made friends.  She worked and she went home now and then to see her family.  Eventually they moved elsewhere in KoniKoni, somewhere Team Skull could keep them a bit safer, and her brother even reached the age where he could go on the island challenge, setting out with Team Skull protecting him secretly, despite their distaste for the tradition.

In those months, she finally pulled Plumeria aside and, after struggling, she simply said,

“Scorp.”

She didn’t need to hear anything more, nodded, thanked her, and went off to talk to Guzma.

It was a week or so later before the results of her reveal had any visibility.  It hadn’t been the first time this had happened, but a grunt whistled loudly to get her attention, calling out “catch!” before throwing something towards her.  She caught it clumsily--a wallet, full of cash and cards--

And she dropped it when her eyes fell over the ID of the man who was once her pimp.

She pulled herself together after a brief panic, taking several minutes to breathe calmly.  The grunt hadn’t meant anything by doing so.  It was just a careless mistake.  And it was just a picture.  It wasn’t him.  He couldn’t get her here.

When she picked it up again, she stared, uncertain what to do with it, before “Yo, we back!” rang out through the mansion, Guzma’s voice drawing everyone’s attention to the foyer, leading several, Kala included, to make their way over.

She believed the gift from the grunt earlier had simply been a. . .well-timed pickpocketing of some sort.

But when she peeked into the fouyer, she gasped at the group entering. She’d never get used to the sight of blood, she was certain, and Guzma would never not be terrifyingly intimidating, least of all when covered in a spray of the stuff, a similarly bloodied metal bat leant over his shoulder and a grin on his face.

But the biggest surprise was the. . .nine, Kala counted, nine other girls, some young, too young, that were accompanying the returning members of Team Skull, some shaken up, a couple staying strong and tense and alert, and some seeming barely there at all, not even jarred by Guzma’s cries.

All of them girls that Kala knew.

All of them girls who had been prostituted at Scorp’s instruction.

She stumbled out towards them as Guzma boasted about the mission they went on, drawing cheers and whoops from the grunts even as Guzma carelessly whipped his bat around in a display of how he used it, fortunately not nailing anybody in the process.  Kala could vaguely hear him saying something about making a kill real personal, using his fists rather than the weapon he was now leaning against, the Team cheering that that was just the kind of thing Guzma would have done.

“Kala?”  She started shaking, a soft voice she’d come to know so well and not heard in so long pushing her beyond her limit of hidden emotions.  One of the girls pushed through any grunts between them, limping over, then running despite how much it hurt.  “Kala!  Oh, thank Arceus--Kala, you’re okay!!!”

Her mind was together enough to return the tight embrace, her eyes welling up with tears.  The others also joined them, chettering excitedly and blurring together noisily.

Team Skull had saved her friends.

“Nohea. . . .”  She croaked through her tears, the dyed-blue holding her out at arms length, looking her over.

“Baby, you’re--Arceus, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without bruises before!”  Nohea snapped her back into a hug, rubbing their cheeks together.  “Not--not without makeup--you’re okay--you’re so okay, oh my god. . . .”

“Is this where you’ve been. . .?”  Another, one of the younger ones, a girl who;d been kidnapped all the way from Sinnoh asked, looking up at her with wide brown eyes.  “We were so scared--Scorp was--he was so angry and--”

“Don’t even say his name anymore.”  An older one chided, biting her thumb.

“He’s--he’s--”

“I mean. . . .”  Nohea glanced back to Guzma, where he’d paused his raving to look over to them, instictively snapping her head back towards Kala.

“He’s good.  Mister Guzma is--he’s been keeping me safe--all of them have--a-and my family, and he--”

“Team Skull was taking care of you?  And you’re okay!?”

“I mean, they kind of saved us, y’know?  We kinda owe ‘em, good or bad.”  Nohea grit her teeth, relaxing as she looked Kala over again, sighing.  “He. . .he killed Scorp, I think.  I mean, he sounded dead as hell.”

“I’d show you his head, but leavin’ evidence ain’t good for nobody.”  Guzma added.  “But he’s real dead.  Ain’t gotta worry about him or any his dudes no more.”

“. . .Thank you.”  The older woman said.

“Thank you, Guzma. . .!  I--I”

“I told you I’d get ‘im, didn’t I?  Like I said, ain’t no one deserve that kinda treatment.  Ain’t gonna happen on my islands if I got any say.  You good?”

Kala was stuck between staying where she was with Nohea and running at Guzma to hug him in thanks.  She decided on gripping Nohea tighter instead, nodding.

“Gucci.”  Guzma nodded, stretching, cracking his back and heading for the stairs.

“No, we are not good!”  Nohea snapped, holding Kala closer to her.  “I mean, were--we’re awesome, but--!  What’re we supposed to do now!?  Some of us--we don’t all got places to go back too--”

“You can stick around, then, if you wanna.”  Guzma said dismissively.  He tossed a grin over his shoulder.  “We wen take care Kala, yeah?  We take care you, if you wanna stay.  Ain’t gotta, but it’s an option.”

Kala nodded, already acclimated to life here, but the others weren’t so certain.  “It’s--Po Town--Team Skull--they’re all nothing like I thought--well, not nothing, y-you did see them kill some people, but. . . .”

“Give it some thought.  Jace, help ‘em get they shit together.”  Guzma said, heading up the stairs.  “Loch! I want cocoa!!”

“Right away, Master Guzma!”

Kala held Nohea closer and looked over her friends, some of the grunts following Guzma upstairs, wanting the rest of the story, some off to make mission reports or clean up, heal their Pokémon, the group dispersing for the most part(and Loch briefly heading towards the kitchen with a wave to make the Skull Boss Tapu Cocoa.) Nohea and some of the others watched them as well, expressions mixed. Among the remaining were some previous trafficking victims who had simply joined the gang, as well as Jace, all of whom Kala introduced.

“You can trust them.”  She promised.  “Team Skull can get rough and. . .terrifying, sometimes.  But. . .I was thinking of maybe sticking around.  I-I understand if you don’t want to, too!  But. . .they’ve taken good care of me so far.”

Nohea looked around among the group that had been Scorp’s prostitutes.  They were all tired.  The reality of the situation was crashing onto them.  Freedom, anxiety, trauma at what they’d seen and heard piling onto the traumas they already had from the trafficking, terror. . .Kala couldn’t parse together all the emotions there.

“You can sleep on it.”  Jace added, hands up as if showing he was harmless.  “You’ll have time to decide what to do.  Nobody’s forcing your hand, y’know?  Give it some thought.”

“You could come see my house!”  Kala cheered.  “Oh, but there’s not enough places for everyone to sleep in there--there are rooms in here that’re just for sleeping in!  And--and the beds aren’t bad, and the grunts are all usually pretty nice--and then you can stay for lunch, too!  It’s way easier to think on a full stomach--”

“Okay, okay!”  Nohea laughed--she laughed, she herself couldn’t remember the last time she had.  “If I trust anybody here, it’s gonna be you.  So. . .if you say it’s all okay, we can at least rest up for a while. . .I don’t exactly have anywhere else to go. . . .”

“A shower sounds lovely, if we may. . .?”

“Oh, of course!  And we can get you some clean clothes, too.”  Jace confirmed with a nod.

“You look like you could be my size, so you can borrow some of mine!”

“Personally, I’m starved.”

“I could take you to the kitchen!  No need to wait for lunch to eat!”

“I dunno if I’ll. . .be able to sleep in here.”

“You could at least lie down. . . .”

“We’re watching Finding Nemo!”  Some grunts called over from a collection of couches by a TV.  “You could join us!”

Kala beamed--they were already beginning to separate and make friends, staying in groups mostly to look after each other. . .they’d love it here, she was so certain.  Chirping ‘come on,’ she pulled Nohea with her somewhere they could take a long rest--and maybe figure out what to do with the money Team Skull had stolen for her.

Plumeria smiled and shrugged from the top of the stairs.

Team Skull took all kinds.

And no matter what choice they made, they’d at least find themselves as new allies to the gang--and the more the merrier, truthfully.  It only took one voice to change a group of them--and one life at a time, they’d fix Alola and make their own family.

[344x-azucar]

Do you ever posted your opinions on the Wasted Land comic?? Did you liked it?? Do you have any theories?? Did you like the way Roadhog was portrayed?? I wanna hear your thoughts!

HMMMM. I did talk about it over a few asks. I remember this one where i had some crazy theory about the queen’s disdain for Mako.

I REALLY LIKED IT. This has pretty much been the first time we’ve ever really gotten to see things from Roadhog’s point of view. Usually he’s over shadowed by Junkrat and his big mouth. What I liked the most is that his comic was serious. That’s pretty much what drew me to Junkrat and Roadhog in the first place is I saw a huge potential for these characters to not only be comedic, but pretty damn tragic as well. There’s potential for a lot of depth with these two and I’m glad they explored that with this comic. ANYWAY

NGL, this comic is pretty much exactly as I imagined Roadhog to be. Quite thoughtful, nearly silent, but whose words, spoken or otherwise, hit you like the old hook combo. Whose actions may seem cruel and erratic, but are a reflection of hidden depth that very few will ever understand. There’s a lot of hurt and bitterness, too. In this comic it really shows. Dude’s pretty nihilistic at this point. 

It was nice to see him interact with someone other than Junkrat and in a non-violent/threatening manner. As well as to have Roadhog be like, Bruce didn’t deserve all this shit and then taking to heart what Bruce had to say. 

Though I’ve had a few thoughts about what Bruce meant by “blokes like us”, did he mean people like him who are willing to do favors for friends? That kinda fits considering the society Junkertown is. I don’t know if I would consider Roadhog too good of a guy, but maybe Mako was. Roadhog himself kinda mentions in the end that he is of the same tier as Junkrat and the thieves around.

OH AND REMEMBER WHAT I SAID EARLIER. About Roadhog’s violent streak being a lot more complex? That scene in the bar? A GOOD EXAMPLE. It to me was MANY factors boiled into one STRIKING MOMENT. ONE: skull man was obviously threatening him. Two: skull man works for the queen (ew). Three: pig puns. AND MOST IMPORTANTLY FOUR: he wanted Roadhog to stay quiet. Right after the little one on one with Bruce about that very thing. Mix that with Junkrat’s skewed plea of friendship and it kind of comes full circle. Kind of? Maybe? TBH I made myself sad thinking about Roadhog and all of his (potential) complexities and his past. 

IDK Stick up for your friends. Don’t let the world keep you down. Down with the Queen (and authority in general).

I guess my only real qualms with it were it felt a bit short and it proved it disproved a headcanon of mine that Junkrat made Roadhog’s gun (which I had a comic idea for). Ultimately, minor things really. I still find it a bit weird that Roadhog would jump into a deal like that without too much of a second thought, which goes back to my qualm about it being too short.

I really hope they give Roadhog more dialogue in the future. He’s changed a lot since he joined Junkrat and I’d like to see how it has effected him first hand. Like, maybe have Roadhog POV of something not so serious and give Junkrat some more serious issues to tackle (though Going Legit did a pretty good job with that).

uuhhhhh, I’ve scrolled so far down I can’t reach the original question. What was it again? Did I answer it? It’s been about 20 years since i saw it last.

EDIT: I FORGOT I liked how it proved that Roadhog doesn’t hate Junkrat and wasn’t tricked or forced into it. He was just here’s my rates, lets do this shit.

[the-voice-of-hell]

The Septagram

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***

Iphigenia took the flashlight out and ambled downhill over the chunks of rocks, earth, plants.  Some parts were fairly dry, but others were drenched or held deep puddles.  The aftermath of hoisting a city park with a reservoir and water tower two thousand feet in the air, then knocking it down.  The wet parts sparkled in the weak electric light and were easily avoided.

Up ahead, she saw a pink light.  A flame licking out of a crack in the ruins.  It cast its faint light up on the unevenly collapsed slabs that constituted the roof of this passage.  She didn’t think much of it until she got closer.  There were six eyes floating in it, circling each other.

“What are you?,” she asked.

“The question,” the fire responded in a woman’s voice, “Is where am I?”

Ippy crumpled her face in anger, then figured it out.  “You’re in my mind.  There aren’t no six eyes floating in a pink fire in front of me.”

“That’s right.  You’re coming to see me, Iphigenia, with violence in your heart.  When we meet, it could be over very quickly.  But before we meet, we can take a little time.  Get to know each other.”

“Eeyeah, I don’t think so.”  She started walking again - toward the weak flame, but intent on stepping right past it.

“Please, my sister.  If you don’t tarry with me, then you will see him, and be overwhelmed with hatred.”

She shook her head.  “What does it matter?”

“It matters to me,” said the woman.

Iphigenia was given a moment of pause.  It reminded her of talking to the cop, Park.  She knew better than to trust a cop, but he seemed quite genuine.  Still, a six-eyed fire had to be less trustworthy than a pig.

Ippy reached a dark filthy pool, and there would be no way past it but wading.  Orange fires sprang up at the corners of the pool, drizzling black smoke into the wreckage above.  She had plenty of room to wade between the little hazards, and did so.

But they began to rotate.  Slow at first but then becoming a spinning wheel of fire around her.  There were eyes in this fire - more than in the last, red like rubies - and a man’s voice.  Abalaam.

“Iphigenia.  I understand you’re coming to kill me.  I told you that you would have your vengeance.  And now it lies ahead of you, simple and pure.”

“So why you holdin’ me up?”  She wagged her hammer at the fire.

“Far be it from me to stand in the way of fate.  But I want you to consider what you’ll find when you come to me.  I am with Queen Bymaan - the architect of all this ruin, of this Hell on Earth.  Between the two of us, how can you stand?”

“You both gonna try to kill me?  Or fuck me?  Because it kinda sounds like you both wanna fuck me.  I’m not really into that, dude.”

“Hahaha, you are magnificent.  But that’s not what I’m after.  I want your fire, hot enough to burn us both to ash.  I don’t mind dying.  It’s been long thousands of years.  But I don’t want to leave the Earth in that bitch’s hands.  Kill us both, Iphigenia!”

“This is some bullshit reverse psychology, because you know I hate you enough I ain’t gonna do what you want.  So I’m just gonna kill you and let her live.  That’s obvious.  But why would you want that?”

“Are you that simple?  You’d let your world burn under the reign of Lucifer’s bitch, just to spite me?”

“You know how hard it is up here?  Most Americans don’t give a fuck about the world.  It’s like, I got mine, fuck you.  Seriously, what did you hope to achieve by this?  Get me riled, hope it’ll put me off my game?”

“You don’t even expect to live through the fight, do you?”

“You’re a fucking genius.”

“Fine.  But don’t listen to her.  She’ll have you in her thrall, believe me.”

“FUCK YOU!  If I get this thing through your skull, I’ll kill myself with a smile.  I’m fuckin’ DONE!”

“Such a waste.”  The fires dissipated.

***

Park walked toward the pink light, wondered what he’d even do when he got there.  He wasn’t a nephilim like Infante or Iphigenia.  He didn’t even have a pointed stick at the moment.  The pink light ahead was so faint, but he was sure it was his goal - his destiny.  He wasn’t going to die before the scene in the throne room after all.

The oracles song was starting to pick up in his head again.  He knew if he resisted it, he’d get a headache, but he figured out how to let it slide by him.  A strange feeling.  He let the sound be, but unfocused his mind, letting him see past it.  Only one thing he needed - that pink fire.

An orange light emerged from the pink, and slipped toward him across the stone, in a serpentine motion.  As it drew closer he could see it was an actual serpent, made of gold.

It was on him before he could think, sliding in circles around his body until it was on his hands like cat’s cradle.  It was thin as a whip, with ruby-red eyes on its face and down its back.

“Detective Park!”  It was Abalaam’s voice.  Or Abraham’s, perhaps.  Less depth.

“Gah!  This is grody, even for you.”

“You don’t like snakes?”  It disappeared in a burst of golden light, and SAC Abraham stood before him, translucent like those ghosts in Star Wars - but with a golden tinge to the light.  “We can do it like this.  It’s all in your head.”

“Yeah, that’s better.  If we hafta do this, we can do it like this.”

“You’re a human being.  Hardly a trace of angelic contamination in your noble blood - the favored race of God in Heaven.”

“What does that matter to you?  Jealous?”

“Yes, in fact.  But the important thing is that you’re so much more sensible than these nephilim.”

“Why do you need sensibility?”

“Iphigenia is still coming, specifically to kill me.”

“That’s fine by me.”

“Fine, but consider this.  Bymaan is far more powerful than I am.  I can even the odds with a little help from some nephilim, but if one stands with her against me, the fight is not so sure.”

“Again..?”

“If I lose and Bymaan wins, you will never be able to defeat her.  If I win, you may yet have a chance to defeat me.  The lesser evil should prevail, if humanity is to prevail in the long run.”

“So I’m supposed to use my sense to convince Iphigenia not to kill you, until the Queen is dead?”

“You’ve got it.”

“Not really convinced, Abe.”

“She isn’t even going to come to you.”

“What does that mean?”  Park resumed walking, and the phantom remained in front of him receding at the same pace he advanced.

“She is in Iphigenia’s mind, and another nephilim as well.  She doesn’t believe you matter - that humanity can make a difference.  I’m coming to you because I believe there is a reason God favors you.  Show your worth, Ji-hyung.”

“Christ, you demons are creepy.”

“You don’t have much longer to decide.  The time is nearly upon you.”

“I know.”

The phantom disintegrated, replaced with a more solid form.  It was a lurching human form that crashed into him, and they fell apart in a tangle of limbs, gasps, and panic.

***

“Jennifer.  You’re awfully happy, considering the current state of your lover.”

Jen shook her head.

“Hey, that’s ticklin’ my nose, kid.”  Jason rode behind her on the unicorn.

“Sorry, the evil Queen is trying to mind control me right now.  Toots, I’ve got things to do.  Gimme a break!”  She kicked the unicorn’s sides gently and it ran at the wall, up to the corner, then sprang away.

Jason hung on for dear life.  There wasn’t a good reason for him to be on the beast’s back yet.  Jen hadn’t found a way out, but was so confident it would happen quickly that she’d convinced him to mount up.  They’d been running up walls and kicking at cracks, by the light of the monster’s horn.

Bymaan was a pink haze in the corners of Jen’s vision.  “I’m not trying to control you.  You saw what happened.  My treacherous servant Abalaam snatched up your Sergio to empower himself.  You’ll see when you get to us.”

“That’s right.  You came to Seattle and thought you could take over, subject us to your laws.  But we’re free!  Anarchy now, baby!”

Jason quibbled, only hearing half the conversation.  “Maybe I should get off this ride, kiddo.  I’m no rabble-rouser.  I just wanna find my girl and get outta the pokey.”

“HYAH!”  Jen rode the unicorn up another wall and bashed through the roof in a shower of small rocks.  Tangled buddy roots roughly brushed over their flesh as they clambered through to the next good stopping place.

The pink haze fell away, but now an orange light crowded the corners of her sight.  They were in a much taller pocket of ruin now, the lambent unicorn’s radiance barely reaching the top crevice where the slabs had crushed together.  The beast tapped its hooves impatiently, feeling out the new environment.

Abalaam’s voice came to Jen.  “You’re coming to find us, to set your man free.”

“Sergio’s his own man, demon voice.”

Jason said, “That’s it, I’m getting down.  Thanks for the ride, unicorn.”

He awkwardly dismounted and staggered to the side.  The unicorn whuffed at him, and went back to its work.

“Jennifer, I will gladly free Sergio, and this other one beside him.  But I need all the power I can muster to throw down the despot that oppresses us both.  Queen Bymaan has taken over your precious city.  I don’t care about The Septagram.  A demon lord reigning in open sight is a target.  Help me defeat her, and I will release these men, then release Seattle itself.”

“Golly, pal.  That sure sounds reasonable.”  She rolled her eyes.

“The only reason I needed Sergio was to defeat my Queen.  If she is gone, I have no need for him.  You’ll see, whether you help me or not.”

“So why tell me about it?”

“Because it will be easier if you join me.  Maybe you’ll see sense when you get here.  She’s too powerful, and has to be stopped.”

“You’re the one that brought the building down.  Who’s too powerful?”

“And after her tower fell, she isn’t dead yet.  What does that tell you?”

“Get out of my head, guy.  I’m gonna do whatever I want.”

“We both know that.  It’s why we’re making our cases.”

“Uh-huh.  Are you done yet?”

The fiery glow dissipated like someone blew out a candle.  She turned the unicorn in place with gentle pushes at his shoulders, pleased how smart he was about following her instruction, and surveyed the chamber.  There was Jason, hands in his pockets, wondering what would come next, but not wanting to get back on the creature.  He flashed a polite smile at her, but looked away, making it clear he was looking for his own way out now.

She rode the unicorn around the uneven mounds of ruin, looking for weak corners or halls that hadn’t been ruined - any kind of way out.  Then again, if the demon bosses had reached her with their minds, they were probably trapped as well.  Should she be trying to escape, or trying to find them?

Jen grew impatient and picked up speed, driving the unicorn around and around the chamber, up and down walls.  I’m the greatest hipster that ever lived.  Nothing can stop me.

***

Maddy figured out she wasn’t being attacked and embraced the strange man.  He was a tall handsome sort, but mostly it was a relief to be around any humans that had lived through that mess.  “Oh, mister!  You’re alive!”

“Uh, yeah, sorry.”  Park pushed her gently out to arm’s length.  “I’m glad to see somebody else alive in here, too.  But I need to find somebody in particular.  Have you seen a big red demon with a wheel on his back?”

She shook her head.  “Yes, but why?  Why go there?”

“My man is his prisoner.”  A moment of reflexive internalized homophobia pushed this out his mouth, “We’re cops.”  That’s right.  He’s your man because he’s under your command.

“There’s no way your man is alive.  That monster...”  She shook her head.  “We need to get out of here!  The demons will kill each other and bring the place down on our heads!  I know it!”  She covered her face with her hands.  “We need to get out of The Septagram.  Out of Seattle.”

“Ma’am, look.  I don’t know if there’s a way out of here until some kind of rescue digs us out.  If you can find some water, do it.  At least there’s a lot of trapped air and not many people sharing it.”

“You’re going to leave me?”  She was miserable again.

“I need to find my man.”

“Fine, I’ll take you there.  You damned macho bastard.”  Her words faded into grunting silence.  She gestured back the way she came - toward the faint pink light.  Park helped support her so she could stop hopping everywhere.  They went to see the Queen.

Park and Maddy came out behind the camel and carefully maneuvered around it.  Maddy clung to Park all the way up until they were standing right beside the great demons, forming a triangle.  She gestured at the weird scene.  “Queen Bymaan.  Your wheel, your man.  Are you satisfied?”

Park’s gaze was transfixed.  “Infante!  Are you..?”

The broken remains of Abalaam’s wheel provided the stationary track for a wheel of fiery energy, with men for spokes.  They spun endlessly - too fast to see their faces clearly through the flames.  They didn’t speak, but the eyeballs on the wheel track flashed, and focused on Park.

The big demon spoke.  “She doesn’t care about you, Ji-hyung.  Madison.  You’re merely humans.”

Park grunted.  “Like the men in your wheel.  Let them go!”

“These aren’t humans like you, like Madison.  These are nephilim, and my only advantage over the Queen - the only thing keeping her bound to the circle.”

Maddy cried quietly into Park’s shoulder while he spoke with the thing.

“And we’re supposed to believe you’ll let them go when you take her down?”

Abalaam’s voice seemed to come from nowhere, his expression still as he faced off with the Queen.  “It won’t be up to you to decide.  Unless you can influence the will of the other nephilim who are coming to the battle - Jennifer and Iphigenia.”

“Two.  One for each of you.”

“And I have two in my corner already.”

Park thought her heard the woman say “Daddy” and became too distracted to retort.

***

Iphigenia came to a long even slab leading down into darkness.  There was a lot more soil and stone in the mix here - and among it, headstones and coffins.  This must have slid down from the graveyard.  She felt a little bad for the dead, but kept on.

Then orange willowisps trickled out of the rocks and came to rest on two particular coffins.  Skeletons bashed their way out.

“Skeletons, oh no.”  She wasn’t impressed, holding a very useful tool for crushing bone.  She tucked the flashlight into her shirt pocket again and readied the weapon.

The skeletons looked confused for a moment, like they were trying to recover their minds, their identities.  But then an orange light flashed in their eye sockets, and they fell in line.  They leapt to the ground and ran toward her.

She was ready for the attack, but then they broke to the sides, started weaving and dipping like boxers.  She tried to get out from in between them, but they were too deft.

“Fighters, huh?”  She tried a little feint toward one, then came at the other with the hammer.  It rolled out of the way and bashed her in the hip with a crescent kick.  She grunted and didn’t have time to react before the other came at her with a familiar looking step side kick.  She was tossed hard to the rocks.  The other leapt in with a stomp to her gut.

Reflexively she lashed out with the hammer in a great sweeping arc.  They both jumped back in unison, went to the boxing stance.  She groaned and stood, keeping her back to the rocks.  “Alright.  What is this?  Orange light, must be Abalaam.  Didn’t know you had kung fu.”

The skeletons came back at her.  She dove between them and caught more brutal kicks, rolling across the rocks.  When she managed to face them again, she was rewarded with a kick to the face.  It hurt like hell, but a kick from the other one to the side of her head was less bad.

They kept doing all these fancy little moves, spinning and weaving and snapping.  But she realized they had very little strength - no muscle moving these bones, and the magic working in place of that was weaker.  It was only direct hits with the right force behind that did proper damage.

She dropped the hammer and grabbed the leg of the tall one as it kicked at her, rushing forward until she slammed its body into a big rock.  Her body was the weapon, and she crushed the fragile bones.  She’d been cut up in the process, but it was worth it to have one less nuisance.  Then she rolled to the side, to face the shorter one.

Ippy had turned just in time to see it had made itself a lot more dangerous, whacking at her with her own hammer.  She barely dodged, got out of the way, and came up to face the Harryhausen creation.

It held the hammer across its hands, displaying it as if on offer.  Letting her get the advantage back?  A sense of honor?  No, it was just being fancy before launching into a kata where it whirled the hammer all about like nunchaku.

“Damn, Boney Maloney.  You come straight out of a kung fu movie.”  She found herself unconsciously bobbing and weaving like they had done before, hoping to be ready for the attack when it came.

One quick hammer lash.  She flinched out of the way and it was only a glancing blow.  The skeleton seamlessly went back into the kata, the weapon twirling all about, daring her to try a move.

She stepped to the side, paced down to flatter rocks, and back a step.  She had both fists up, one leg forward and one back, but tried to keep her stance as loose as possible.  She needed to be ready for anything.

The skeleton seemed to prefer defensive moves - intercepting attacks and such.  It also stepped back a pace, caught the twirling hammer under its right arm, and gestured to her with the other hand.  Beckoning.

She shook her head.  “Do I look stupid?”

It caught her in the middle of the last syllable, lashing out in the space between her breaths, when she’d be slowest to react.  The hammer came so fast, crashing brutally into her arms where she blocked it, then snapped back to twirl in for another hit.

Ippy took advantage of the wind up and sprang forward with a short leaping kick to the chest.  The skeleton blasted to pieces and her hammer clattered to the ground beside her.

The skeletons had done a number on her.  She was scratched and scraped in so many ways, all of her clothes bloody, save where being pre-soaked with water made it harder for the claret to seep in.  The worst were bone bruises on her arms, ribs, and jaw - and that her jaw was jammed up.  She couldn’t open her mouth far without making the pain worse - and it was already quite bad, radiating from her throat up to her temple on that side.

She slumped to the grass, loosely drawing the hammer toward her lap.

More skeletons and a few withered corpses besides.  No kung fu stances on the rest of them, at least.  She rubbed sweat out of her eyes and tensed her grip on the hammer.

The assault began, orange light in their eyes.  Abalaam knew she was coming for him, first and foremost.  Could she really do this?  Kill a powerful demon, like Infante had?

It was easy to feel powerful bashing apart these less impressive foes, but the demon had admitted the only reason they could be killed was due to Jelly Sue’s influence.  As easy as it had been for him to destroy her, that vampiric power somehow had some power over him.  Once she was out of the picture, Infante’s bullets did nothing.

Even with several corpses attacking her at once now, the fight was much easier.  So much so that her mind was able to drift.  There was an image there in pink light - a piece of paper floating down from above.  More bullshit from the Queen.  While part of Iphigenia’s mind battled the creatures around her, part of it read the page.

“The seventh spirit in order is Bymaan, a great Monarch, and very obedient to Lucifer.  Bymaan is constrained by divine virtue to stand before the conjurer, where they putteth on the likeness of man or woman: they sitteth on a dromedary which is a swift runner, and weareth a glorious crown.  There goeth before them an Host of spirits with trumpets and well sounding cymbals, and all musical instruments.

At first they appeareth with a great cry and roaring, that the conjurer will understand them not.  But when the conjurer hath delivered them the first obligation to observe their desire, they must answer him distinctly and plainly to all questions asked - of all philosophy, wisdom, and science, and of all other secret things.  And if he willeth to know the disposition of the world, and what the Earth is, or what holdeth it up in the water, or any other thing, or what is the Abyss, or where the wind is, or from whence it cometh, they will teach him abundantly.

Consecrations as well as sacrifices may be reckoned.  Bymaan giveth dignities and confirmations - they bindeth them that resist him in chains and subjecteth them to the conjurer.  They prepareth good familiars, can raiseth the dead for a time of seven years, and hath the understanding of all arts.  Note that at the calling up of them, the conjurer must look towards the northwest, because there is their house…”

***

Maddy and Park were knocked to the floor with the force of a shockwave.  A unicorn smashed through the wall and tried to drive its horn into Abalaam’s wheel, but was held at bay by the magic circle below him.  The protective energies clashed with the unicorn’s powers, and threw it back.  It hit the ground and bounced like a heavy sausage.

There was that young white lady from before, no doubt here to rescue Sergio, now fallen from the unicorn and utterly dazed.  A man came up from the tunnel behind her, and beheld the scene in wonderment.

“Daddy?”

Jason cast about in the darkness, the only light sources the aurae of rituals and magical beasts.  Then he saw Maddy, sprawled on the floor, reaching toward him with one hand.  “Maddy!”

Park was very glad to not be ‘Daddy’, but he was occupied trying to understand the new situation - and still had an instinct to try to keep people safe as possible.  He put himself between the lady and the magical fireworks - still sparking around Abalaam.

Abalaam’s voice rumbled, again disembodied.  “Amduscias!  Stay out of this!  It is a family affair.  No concern of yours.”

The unicorn took note of his commands, and got to its feet.  Jen’s glasses were finally wrecked and she took in the scene impressionistically.  “Amduscias?  Is that your name, boy?”

He nodded to her, then turned his attention to the circle, stamping a hoof.  He must not have the power to penetrate the magic circle, Jen reasoned.

She walked along the periphery on the far side from Maddy and Park, while Jason hustled the other direction, rushing to embrace his daughter.  Jen looked at the spinning men hopelessly.  They were a blur in a ring of fire.  “Sergio!”

He couldn’t respond.

Abalaam spoke again.  “You’ve arrived Jennifer.  I did not expect you to bring help.  Strange we can be nearly omniscient and still get broadsided by circumstance.  Have you met my friend Ji-hyung Park?  He’s a detective from Tacoma.”

“That’s great.”

“Not his friend!”  Park was yelling from the other side of the wheel.

“I guessed.”

“Jennifer.  You still have time to decide.  Unlike your new friend, you can pass the circle - try to lay hands upon me in violence.  You won’t be able to harm me yet - perhaps when the second nephilim arrives.  In the meantime, consider my words.”

“Man, why should I believe you?  Maybe I can kill you right now, and you’re just biding time!”

“Hahaha… You’re welcome to try.  Just keep in mind the fair lady in front of me is made of softer stuff - and it would be a far better use of your energies to take her down.”

She regarded the Queen.  What a strange figure she cut, like a statue of the Virgin Mary, crying.  Just to look at her, it was hard to hate her.  But she had to remember the cruelty of the invading army, making Rosemarie get that crappy tattoo, killing those guys.  The cruelty with which they’d jailed her and Sergio in that little cage.  And why was Amduscias trapped with Jason at the bottom of the pit?  Who could do that to a unicorn?

Amduscias spoke, “You’re thinking about it.  Good.”

She shook off the haze.  “Like fuck I am.”  She pointed angrily at Abalaam, who still was not looking at her, except with the eyes of his wheel.  “Let’s do this thing!”

Park felt useless.  He was holding his arms at his sides, as if he’d have to use them somehow to protect Maddy and her Daddy.  Surely neither of them was stupid enough to get into the fight.  And what was the goddamned unicorn going to do?  It was pacing near Abalaam’s back - a lot smaller than the camel in the Queen’s corner, but armed.

Jen charged at the Queen, ran up her fleshy body, did an extremely powerful backflip off her forehead, coming at Abalaam with pointy boot heels to the eyes.  She bounced away and her fall was broken by a big white lap.  It jiggled with her impact.

She felt the Queen’s soothing presence in her mind, like big white hands helping her back to her feet, though the actual hands remained still at her sides.  She looked up at Abalaam, still sitting impassive.  No.  He was smiling now, the prick!

“I’ve had about enough of you,” she said.

“You can feel how soft she is.  Strike her down, and Sergio will be freed.  Officer Infante as well…  Strange, how much love is in this fallen temple tonight.  But can the lovers bring themselves to do what is best for them?”

Jason got Park’s attention with an arm on the shoulder.  Park jumped.  “Sorry, officer, I just… do you know if there’s a way outta here for the civilians?”

“I’m sorry.  I really wish I did.”

“Thank you.”  He stepped back to Maddy and slouched down at the wall beside her.  “Hey Princess, how are you holdin’ up?”

“It’s a miracle!  You’re alive.”

“You and me both, Baby.”

“No, I mean it!  I tried really hard, I prayed so many times.  And you came riding in on a - a unicorn!  It’s Jesus!”

“I think its name is Amduscias, Honey.”

She punched his arm.  “You know what I mean!”

“Uh, yeah, I guess I do.  Well, I wasn’t praying when Jen and Amduscias busted me outta the pit, but you were.  Maybe if we’re both praying now, it’ll help out a lot?”

“I love you, Daddy.”

He held her close and kissed her temple, then quietly said anything holy he could remember.  “Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name...”

Jen clambered out of the Queen’s lap and stood between the monsters.  Fallen angels.  Demons.  She could feel the energy between them as they struggled for dominance, and something else too - more subtle.  She felt it in her pelvis and thought of Sergio.  His energy was caught up in this mix too.  She got mad and started stomping and kicking at Abalaam’s annoyingly bulletproof legs.

***

The demons atop the mess had developed a good strategy for finding the Queen.  Shiny Dan - a Satanist with a drafting degree - worked with the tiniest demons they could find and a lot of wire to start mapping the wreckage.  Cariamon - the main demon on the scene - kept the less ruly types out of the way while he processed the intelligence.

The building had been made of a very particular kind of black stone, which was fairly resilient to the kind of damage being done.  While the whole structure had fallen to pieces, large slabs of it had not - some hundreds of feet long.  They were stacked irregularly, like a pile of driftwood that hadn’t been cemented fully by tides yet, leaving pockets of air - caverns, mostly sealed off from each other, but some more connected than others.  The little demons squeezed in the less accessible cracks and crevices to help map out the interior.

Cariamon shoved a monkey-like demon aside with his copper-plated rod of authority, then pointed it at the six inch demon giving his report.  “Be specific.  Was it more of an acute angle, or obtuse?”

Its fish face was panicked.  “What does that mean, boss?”

Shiny Dan said, “Was it steep?  Did you have a hard time standing on it, where it sloped down?”

“Yeah!  Yeah, real steep.”

“Thank you.”  He adjusted the angle of a chunk of polygons in his 3D program.  “Master Cariamon, with a few more hours of this, I really believe we can pinpoint where the temple ended up.”

“Mm, it may have to do, but I wonder if we can hasten the discovery.  She doesn’t need to breathe, but if she’s … in a bad state, Lucifer will be most vexed.”

Shiny Dan pushed his ponytail back from his shoulder again, and looked at the fallen angel with sensitive eyes.  “I will do whatever it takes for my Infernal Lord!”  He contemplated the screen again.  “We can really rule out all of these areas.  These slabs suggest that interior vertical stayed intact after these floors collapsed, which would force it to stay on this side of the wall.  See?”

“I do see.  This technology is remarkable.”

“Vinimus, Terigius, and that one that looked like… a mushroom with a human foot?”

“Grotus.”

“Those guys did some serious rappelling here.  Said it was a fifty foot drop, which for them is mountain climbing.”

“Why do you mention this?”

“The horizontals - the floors and ceilings - crumbled much more thoroughly than the verticals.  If it’s weak enough and you ran some guys down that shaft, they might be able to find the temple.  Unless it ended up in this spot, or this one.  Or if it was smashed completely.”

“You have served Hell well, Shiny Dan.  Keep up this work.  I’m going to get that endeavor underway.”  He turned to another legionnaire.  “Ardigon, keep this lot in line while I’m gone.”

“Aye, Master Centurion.”

Cariamon ascended the ridge grabbing the attention of his subordinates with waves of the scepter, pulling them into his orbit.  At the top he pointed to a small hole in the rubble, only a foot and a half across.  “We need this hole wide enough to send down legionnaires, explore anything you can get past with picks.  The bricks of the pavilion had a wavy cut.  Keep your eyes out for those in particular.”

An elderly man crested the opposite ridge and looked down at them with a hand on his hip.  “Heya.  Heard the Queen ended up inside this mess.”

Cariamon cocked an eyebrow at him.  “Another fake legionnaire?”

“I never fake it.  Anyway, I’d love to meet the lady in charge.  Is this way down a hot ticket?”

“Could be.  Grab a pick, old fellow.”

“Mmm, too slow.”  He slid down the slab he was on, did a little hop, and crashed through the hole - widening it on the way down.  He was out of sight.

Cariamon jabbed a goat boy in the arm with his rod.  “Don’t let that man find her first.  Get in the hole.  All of you!”

***

NEXT

-

[alittleoptimistic]

Renaissance of the Mind: Chapter 5

Chapter 1  Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 6

Summary: Senator Thomas Jackson has spent the better part of his career swaying the public opinion to the belief that old souls are villainous. Everyone knows only people who screwed up royally in their previous life come back for another chance. They are criminals and should be imprisoned the moment they are discovered. But after a chance meeting with a strangely familiar young man, Thomas’s worst fears are animated. A lifetime of his own forgotten memories in his unwieldy hands, Thomas is faced with a decision

Thomas ate quickly (he was absolutely starving) and sat back. “Alright. I’m not going to dance around, sir. I need to know what is your stance on the anti-reincarnate initiative being lead by my people.”

Barron clasped his hands loosely on the table. The Chinese restaurant was not quite upper scale, and it was empty enough that they could talk freely. Mariah had her notebook out, ready to write down anything that may need to be written, and she was just as intent as Jackson. For a long time, Barron considered Thomas’s words. He licked his lips thoughtfully. “I… believe that it would be… unwise to divulge my opinion given the political landscape at the moment.”

Thomas crossed his arms. “Uh, what?”

“I am going to keep my options open on that issue.”

Thomas frowned. Right. Okay, so he was one of those sorts. “Basically, you don’t trust me.”

Barron shook his head. “It’s not like that at all. I do not wish to be locked into a plan of action until I am certain which side is going to win.”

What? What kind of politician didn’t have opinions? Wasn’t that the whole point? To push your own opinion? “But, you do have a stance on this?”

Shrugging, Barron took a sip of his soup. “You will find, sir, there is more going on in the world than your blood feud with the old souls. I have other issues I am taking a stance on.”

“Like what?”

Barron sighed and dropped his spoon into the bowl. It clinked. “It does not matter. The only thing that is important is that I believe the political scene is going to have some washing around before it settles on what to do with old souls and I would rather avoid that mess.”

Thomas cocked his head. “How could you know that?”

Wiping his mouth with a napkin, Barron sat back and shrugged again. “Well, given the state of your eyes, for one.”

Okay, this guy was crazy. “My eyes? What does that have to do anything?”

Barron cleared his throat and stood halfway. “If there is nothing else you wished to speak to me about, I am afraid I promised my students I would return within the hour.”

Thomas stared at him. His manners caught up suddenly, and he stood as well. Barron stuck out his hand. “I hope you do not take this the wrong way. I look forward to our partnership.”

“Our… partnership.”

Barron chuckled. “Yes.”

Something clicked in the back of Thomas’s mind, and the headache still behind his eyes, increased suddenly. He squinted at Barron. “Have we… have we met before?”

Barron shook his head, not a little bit of pity in his eyes. “I don’t think so.”

And with that, he dropped Jackson’s hand and exited the room.

They stared after him.

“What the heck was that about?”

Thomas shook his head. “Weirdo.”

“Thomas!”

“Well, he is! What kinda guy just waits to see who wins? A weird one.” Thomas crossed his arms again. “That was a complete waste of time.”

Mariah sighed and stood up, packing away her notebook and paying the bill with his card. “Not entirely. At least we know who we can’t count on.”

Thomas grunted. His headache pulsed, and he pinched between his eyes as they walked out. They opened the door into the bright street, and Thomas winced. “I need an aspirin.”

Mariah glanced at him, taking the car keys out of her purse. “You still sick?”

Thomas shrugged. “I dunno. Just recovering, I guess. I’ve felt like crap ever since that the speech.”

Mariah hummed, remotely unlocked and started the car, and handed him the keys. “You driving or me?”

He considered and shrugged. “I’ll drive.” She crossed to the passenger side and Thomas slid into the leather driver seat of his (flipping expensive) car. As soon as she was inside, he eased into the traffic.

His brain pulsed painfully, and he forced himself to not react. “Yo, are there any of those aspirins in the middle console left?”

“Uh, lemme look.” Mariah popped it open, flipping her hair over her shoulder. She rummaged inside and meanwhile, Thomas chewed his lip. “You sure you’re okay to drive?”

A series of very fast images flashed behind his eyes and Thomas froze, his foot automatically slammed on the brake. It was very hot in the car all at once, and he couldn’t breathe. He screwed his hands tighter on the wheel.

“Thomas!”

Thomas blinked. Held out a hand. “Aspirin. Now.” What was going on? He had no idea what he’d just seen, but they’d been distracting enough that for a moment he couldn’t see the road.

Mariah was staring at him with wide eyes. The aspirins dropped into his palm and he swallowed them dry in one go. “Thomas, I really think you should see a doctor.”

Thomas grunted and squinted at the dirt road as a carriage passed in front of them and- wait, no. No, the street was asphalt and that was a bus, not a carriage. It was a good thing traffic was so congested.

“I’m fine,” he muttered.

He blinked a few times, but the tattered wooden buildings alongside the roads wouldn’t go away. A horse was picketed in front of a saloon, and a cowboy-looking dude smoked a pipe and suddenly Thomas’s stomach heaved.

“Okay, get out. I’m driving.” Mariah’s voice left no room for argument. They undid their seatbelts, exited, and Thomas used the side of the car/carriage/horse/something to steady himself as they switched seats. He sank into the wooden/leather/cloth seat and pressed the base of his palms against his eyes. Mariah began to drive, and he hissed, curling forward with his hands still covering his eyes. “I’m fine,” he snapped before she could speak. “Just- I dunno, drive me to the office.”

She laughed sharply. “Yeah, I think not. There is no way you’re working like this.”

“Mariah!”

“You need a doctor, Thomas! You’re sick!”

He waved. “No, don’t.” He didn’t want to go to the hospital. That would mean media attention, and he didn’t want that. Too much fuss. “Take me to Monticello. I’ll go tomorrow if I’m not any better, okay?”

Mariah raised an eyebrow. “Monti-what?”

“Home,” he muttered. He could hardly think around the pain pulsing through his entire skull. The itch beneath his collarbone had started again as well. “Gotta go home…”

He had no idea how long they were driving. It felt like forever. All the while his brain boiled and he tried to hold onto his thoughts for more than a moment. It occurred to him that he was hallucinating and that was a bad thing and he should tell someone, but that thought drifted away just like everything, and he has left the sound of a violin and a harpsichord echoing in his ears.

“I’m fine,” he tried to say again. He had no idea if he actually spoke because suddenly he wasn’t in the car anymore.

“Oh! Master Jefferson! I beg your pardon, sir! I-I did not realize you were still in here!”

Thomas turned, wiping his face, to the younger, dark-skinned woman at silhouetted at the door. There was a pain so intense in his chest he glanced down to make sure he wasn’t injured.

He wasn’t.

His hands dropped to his sides and ran a hand over the polished wood of the harpsichord next to him. The great windows cast little light at this hour.

“I should have learned to play it with more expertise,” he croaked.

The woman hesitated in the doorway into the sitting room.

No one was supposed to come in here but her and Thomas. Not since it had happened. Outside, rain fell and the night roared. It was fitting for his mood.

“I should have learned.”

Carefully, the woman came closer. “Sir, she wouldn’t blame you. Missus loved playing with you. You were always the-uh-the violin anyhow.”

Thomas barely managed a smile. He bent his head and interlocked his fingers behind his neck. He shouldn’t be talking to a servant. It wasn’t appropriate. Then again, she wasn’t just any slave, was she? She hadn’t been for a while now. “Do you miss her?”

The woman hesitated. She bunched her skirts in her hands nervously. “Yessir.” His gaze jumped up to her, surprised by the pain in her voice. “Very much, sir.”

He cocked his head, suddenly seeing her differently. “Come closer, Sally. I can hardly see you in the dark.”

She complied. Slowly, she knelt at his feet. He slowly reached forward and straightened her head covering.

His hand slid from the covering down to cup her cheek. She stared at him with wide, doe-like eyes. Willing.

But he hesitated. Drew back.

“Martha-”

“Martha wouldn’t want you to be alone, sir,” Sally whispered. “If-if you don’t mind my frankness. You’ve been in here for days. You don’t eat. Your letters are a pile at the door. She’d hate to see you like this. We all are worried sick for you.”

A soft smile curled Thomas’s lips. He brushed a smudge of oil off of Sally’s chin with his thumb, and she came closer, laying her head gently on his knees. Thomas laughed brokenly. “Heavens, Sally. I don’t know what to...”

“I’ll go if you want me too.” She looked up at him.

Thomas hesitated.

He shook his head. “If-if you like, you can stay. I’d like you to. To stay here tonight.”

Sally smiled and came up close to him. Her eyes were wet. Just as his were. She stared into his eyes for a long moment before she carefully pressed her lips to his forehead.

He took her chin and kissed her mouth. She returned the kiss warmly. The pain in his chest eased.

Just one more night.

No one would ever know.

The room melted like a chalk painting in the rain, and suddenly he was somewhere else.

“Honestly, Thomas, what on earth was that?” They were outside a large white building behind a stage. A massive crowd rumbled on the other side. His short friend straightened his wig and pointed at him accusingly. “I could hardly understand you and I was standing three feet away!”

Thomas’s stomach was a tight coil. He glared right back at the tiny man. “I am a writer, Madison, not a public speaker and I never have been!”

“Well, perhaps you should have thought about that before you decided to run for President, Jefferson!”

Thomas waved him away irritably, inwardly unable to think about anything but how grateful he was that that speech was over with, and he did not have to worry about it any longer.

The scene faded again, this time replaced by a heat so intense, he gasped.

The congress room needed more windows and some method of riding the place of flies. Thomas slumped in his chair and wiped his sweating forehead with a rag. Next, to him, that same short man, Madison, scratched under his wig.

Thomas was intensely irritated at the young upstart who currently had the floor. His hair was probably auburn beneath the powder (he didn’t seem like the sort for actual wigs) and either way, his Scottish ancestry was shining clear as he defended his exceedingly erroneous position. Thomas hated every inch of him.

“They say he’s Washington’s illegitimate son,” Madison whispered to him.

Jefferson grunted in amusement. “That is utter hogwash.”

“It would explain the president’s preference toward him, however.”

The room spun away.

Jefferson watched a hundred or so slaves reaping his harvest, hands clasped behind his back. “Why is it taking so long?” he grunted at the man beside him.

“Well, sir, a bunch of us caught the fever and-”

Thomas rolled his eyes and waved him to silence. “I need able workers. Get them out there. Now.”

“S-sir.”

“Do you like having food to eat every day, John?”

The slave nodded rapidly, eyes on the floor. “Yessir.”

“If you wish that to continue, I advise you finish the harvest before winter or we all starve.” His tone was firm like a whip, and the young man flinched.

“Yessir,” he whispered.

“As an extra incentive,” Thomas stepped closer to him. “Unless this is finished by next week, tell everyone they will all be taking turns.” He nodded toward a post nearby. A pair of shackles were already attached to it, ready to be used at his convenience.

John sputtered a semblance of an apology and a promise and Thomas waved him away with disgust.

After that, the scenes came faster. They piled over each so quickly he was left with nothing but impressions.

Sitting by the fire, dancing, speaking rapid-fire French, Martha smiling at him from beneath the sheets, warmth of a good meal, cold of an impossibly snowy winter, “how do you spell that word?” straining to move his bed before calling a servant “I want it in the hallway, close to my study,” The feel of a whip under his hands, then placed in another’s, “I have better things to do. You take care of his ungrateful arse.”

Trees and a picnic and apples and the rustling papers he brought along. “You said you would leave work behind Thomas,”

“I have an idea, Mrs. Jefferson. I couldn’t just abandon it.”

French delicacies that made him want to puke. Women with wigs twice as tall as they were. Kissing a delicate hand. “A pleasure to meet you, sir. My name is Angelica Schuyler. May I have a word?”

Tiny graves side by side buried deep in the forest where no one would see. He’d buried the miniature coffins himself. He tucked Sally to his side and kissed her forehead firmly as she sobbed. “I can’t, sir. I can’t ever do it again, sir.”

“I know, darling.”

A smiling, smug man. “Since you are to be my vice president, I suppose we ought to try to get along now, eh?”

A little boy slamming into his legs, giggling. He laughed and lifted him into the sky. “What did I tell you about coming into the study, Eston?”

“That I’m not to.”

Nights and days and evenings with lemonade and ink-stained hands. Inventions, drawings, violin. Struggling to find a decent fiddle. Trips across the country. Standing on the front door of the White House. A hand on a Bible, “I do solemnly swear…” There was too much. All of it spilling across his synapses all at once. He thought if he could speak, he’d be screaming.

Suddenly it was over, and in the year of our lord, two thousand and seventeen, Thomas Jefferson opened his eyes.

Thomas scrambled to his feet blindly, thrashing the air. He was suffocating. His lungs had been punctured. His ribs were broken. Something was wrong.

He fumbled to the window and threw it open, and slowly, logic slipped into his brain. He gulped in the night air, gripping the window sill and cursing under his breath.

What the heck was going on? Where was he? Why was he here?

He forced a breath in. And out. In again.

Okay, he could breathe. He wasn’t dying.

He was… he was in his house. At home.

Drunkenly, he stumbled to the lightswitch and turned it on. For a moment he stared at the bulb in awe before shaking himself out of it. It was a light bulb. He knew about lightbulbs. Or he had at some point.

This wasn’t Monticello. This was… Washington. D.C. Where he lived. Where he was a senator and had been for years now.

Right.

Wait, what?

Thomas sat down heavily in his desk chair.

It swiveled.

And suddenly that was completely hilarious.

“I invented this chair,” he shouted at his empty bedroom. “I made it up from my head cause I kept getting cricks in my neck trying to turn around at my desk in Monticello.”

He cackled and dropped his head into his hands.

Thomas was a logical person. He was a numbers and facts person.

He needed facts.

A face suddenly floated behind his eyelids. He shot up as if he’d been shocked.

This, all of this, started right after talking to the short dirtbag in a cheap suit. I remember you. he’d said. Yes.

This was his fault! With a rush of fury, Thomas grabbed a pair of jeans and a jacket to put over his t-shirt and snatched up the black rectangular piece of metal of metal sitting on the table beside his ruffled bed.

He stared at it.

He knew instinctively that there was something he could do with the black thing to find the man that had done this to him, but for the life of him, Thomas had no idea how.

Thomas flipped the rectangle over and back again. He shook it.

“I’m going insane,” he muttered. His fingers finally found the round indentation on the bottom, and the glass suddenly flooded with light. He dropped it in shock and quickly grabbed it again as a rush of recognition came to him.

He unlocked it quickly and opened the search engine. The man’s name was crystal clear. Alexander Miranda, he typed.

He had access to records within a few minutes. There were perks to working for the government. Apparently, Mr. Miranda lived in Queens, New York and ran an antique record shop. His address was displayed neatly. That was less than four hours from here.

Fine.

Still dizzy and vaguely nauseous, Thomas forced his shoes onto his feet and then spent the next five minutes trying to remember where he usually put his keys. For his carriage. No, car. His car.

The cold box in the kitchen didn’t have them, but it was a nice light since he couldn’t find any candles and he didn’t know where his light switches were at the moment. He kept up a constant stream of cursing as he stumbled around the house. Some part of him thought that he was being rash and was clearly not thinking straight and he should probably just sit down for a minute or something, but he couldn’t bear the thought of being still for a single instant lest he remembers something else.

Thomas Jackson. His name was Thomas Jackson and he was a senator who lived in Washington D.C. Thomas Peter Jackson. He’d grown up in Southern California an hour away from LA with his little brother Lewis. His mom was a waitress who raised them both alone and she’d done a better job than he ever would have been able to. He’d been one of the debate kids in high school, and a pain in the butt as a lawyer in LA.

That was all. Obviously.

Thomas dropped into the car and wondered suddenly where Mariah had gotten to. She must have gotten him in bed and then left to take care of his business.

Martha was always good at taking care of the details he forgot. No, not Martha.

Thomas searched for the… the… thing to put the keys in. It would make the car move forward.

After thirty seconds of fruitless searching, he stilled and took a deep breath.

He wasn’t going to get anywhere if he couldn’t remember how to drive his freaking car.

Apparently, that was all it took.

He plugged the keys into the ignition and turned on the engine. Flipped on the headlights and pressed the gas.

Three and a half hours. He just had to last three and a half hours. Then, he’d get ahold of the creep and get Mr. Miranda to explain himself.

It was a perfect plan.

Probably.

AN: ayo, btw, I don’t know historically how consenting Sally (who was like 14 when that whole thing started) was to Thomas’s advances, but either way I'd just like to make it clear that I do not condone what he did, dead wife or not. Anyway, that’s all :)

[drewxmay]

Contestshipping Review - Part Eight - A Cacturne for the Worst

Previous

Next

Index

-The Title-

A normal Pokemon pun, most of the episode titles in English are Pokemon puns, like the next review is "Who What When Where Wynuat". I can't get too mad at them becuase they are so common but it kinda gets annoying.

-Episode Link-

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4KAnFNiQm84

-BTW-

This episode doesn't have Drew in it, but I am including it in the reviews. Why? Becuase this is the debuet episode for Harley, which I think is an am important enough character to review.

-The Review-

0:00

The episode starts out with the narrator explaining that May is going to her next contest. May is training with Bulbasour, and it's actually pretty cute.

0:38

Most of it is cut off but it's still super nostalgic!!!

skip to 1:07 if you don't want to hear it.

1:20

What the fuck even are those?

Like some form of Pokemon Berry but what?

James: No offense Jessie but it'll take us years to eat our way through these berries.

Jessie: If you'd keep your stomach quiet then you'd remember we're selling them at the contest after we turn them to Pokeblock.

Well it doesn't seem like you're stealing them becuase you're in a forest, and selling them isn't a bad thing to do if those berries are somewhat valuable so I'm giving team rocket a pass on this for not being an evil thing.

James: I'm surprised you're thinking more about the business then the contest.

Jessie: If we can sell these then not only will we be able to live on an island we'll buy the island.

Well I want to know what type of berries those are so that I can confirm how much money that many would be worth.

Meowth: You can't make Pokeblock with these berries.

Well then... guys they aren't worth anyways. All of their non-evil plans never work apparently.

Jessie: What are you saying???

Meowth: I'm saying you were tricked by the berries salesman.

Maybe it's the same guy who sold James the Magicarp.

And now Jessie's running off to go kill the salesman.

Great.

2:03

Back to the gang!

Harley: Excuse me.

Harley: That final move you did with your Bulbasour was very impressive. Is it safe to assume you're entering the contest?

I have an embarrassing secret.

For the first two years i watched Harley in the show I thought he was a girl.

Two.

Years.

May: Well... I am planning to enter.

Harley: Then I guess that makes me pretty smart. Me too.

May: Well thanks, I'm May!

Harley: And I'm Harley, and this is my partner Cacturn.

May: A Cacturn? :pulls out Pokedex:

Harley (In his head): What? She doesn't know about Cacturn?

2:43

May: So a dark type huh? Even it just standing their it's kinda scary!

Harley (in his mind again): Scary!?

Harley: Ya I guess... By the way would you care for a cookie May? I just made them myself today.

May: Awww I'd love one! Thanks! :eats: Hey, you know what these cookies aren't half bad!

Harley (In his mind): Not half bad???

Let me explain something about Harley: First impressions are everything. See, he saw May practicing with Bulbasour and thought she was pretty skilled, and so he went over to talk to her. They had a pretty friendly interaction, but becuase of the few things that Harley could've taken as "rude" he became upset with her. He is sensitive to things that would be taken as rude, like "not half bad". Sometimes I wonder about other things that could've happened if May has said slightly different things, like she would still have to look up what a Cacturn was but she could've tried giving Harley's Cacturn a different compliment, and could've complimented his cookies differently as well.

3:20

So Harley went into a different room.

Harley: What's with that girl anyways??? The nerve of her, what an attitude. First she knows nothing about Cacturn, then she calls Cacturn scary! And finally, my cookies "Aren't have bad"! There isn't I solitary thing I don't know how to bake that isn't the single most delicious thing you've even eaten in your whole life!

Again, he is a really sensitive dude who holds grudges. I mean I'm sure that in "May We Harley Drew'd Ya!" He isn't mad at her about the cookies he just hates her becuase he has to hold a grudge.

3:50

So Team Rocket is trying to make Pokeblock.

James: I still have no idea why we're going through with this.

James: Oh good we have enough to feed a baby Weedle.

Meowth: I told you the only thing you can make with these berries is a mess.

James: Great. We work into the late hours and this is the end result!

James: Team Rocket, DIET POKEBLOCK!!!

When you are small you never notice how sarcastic James is all of the time. One of my favorite quotes from Team Rocket is James being sarcastic:

Jessie: This wouldn't have worked better if we'd planned it!

James: If we'd planned it it wouldn't have worked at all.

4:07

Jessie: Zip it! We spend ever last penny we had on these berries and we're making Pokeblock!!!

Daaaamn Jessie is getting upset. Why can't you just try to find a way to get your money back? Wait... nvm you already tried that.

4:27

CONTEST WOOOOO

Now I get to summarize :D

So Lillian is starting the contest, talking about the judges and all that.

4:40

Ash: May you should probably go.

May: I still can't believe Max isn't here... Hopefully he isn't get lost.

4:53

Max: :running down the hallway next to Harley: May!!!

Harley: I hope we're not late!

May: Hi Harley!

Harley: I just about broke my neck running here!

How does running effect your neck?

How does this make any sort of sense?

May: Max where have you been???

Harley: Oh you shouldn't get mad at him becuase this was all my fault!

May: Huh?

Harley: It's like this. Before contests I get a little nervous so I sat down to get a cup of tea before I bump into your little Maximus.

IS MAX'S FULL NAME MAXIMUS.

Harley: When I learned that he was your brother I insisted that he come along with me!

Max: and that he bought me this huge Ice-Cream-Sunday with sprinkles and everything!!!

I wonder if Harley still would've done that if he and May got along at the beginning.

5:30

Contest!!!

May releases Bulbasour and tells him to use razor leaf and then vine whip, like at the beginning of the episode. The leaves spin in the air and then Bulbasour hits them with vine whip to make them stop spinning. I thought it was very pretty. We don't see what score they gave May but I'm assuming with was pretty high.

6:42

And now for Harley's preference.

Harley releases Cacturn and he (the Cacturn is a boy) poses. The audience all are scared, and May makes a comment about how the Cacturn is really making the most out of it's dark type. Then, Harley makes Cacturn use Bullet Seed on the Ground. After a while of doing this, Cacturn uses Bullet seed on the ground again, but this time it is glowing yellow and Cacturn makes a Skull and Crossed Bones on the ground.

8:33

Four people make it to the next round, but the only important part is that Harley and May made it.

8:53

Now Harley is having the First battle. We can't tell the person who he is battling becuase we have no idea who he is, but here the the battle:

The boy sends out an Azuril, and Harley sends out his Cacturn. The Azuril uses Bubble, and then Slam makes them able to jump on the bubbles. Cacturn then uses poison sting to pop all of the bubbles, including the one Azuril is on. Azuril falls to the ground and Cacturn uses Bullet Seed, it hits and Azuril is knocked out. Harley wins at 9:53.

10:45

May is fighting a boy with a Sirskit, and right before this Harley told May that Sirskit was really slow.

Battle goes accordingly:

Sirskit is using Double team, and then it used Quick-Attack. May didn't make Bulbasoar move, and so then Bulbasour got hit. Then, Sirskit uses water-pules and then quick attack. Bulbasour gets hit again, and May looses more points. May finally realizes that what Harley said was a lie and then uses Razor leaf. Sirskit uses Double team to try to make it so that Bulbasour can't hit them. May misses and Then uses Vine-whip, but that misses too. Sirskit uses Water-Pulse and Quick attack again, then Bulbasour uses vine-whip on Sirskit's feet. The Sirskit flies off the ground, and the boy looses points. Then, Bulbasour uses Petal Dance and it hits. The timer runs out, and May has more points.

13:50

And now for the battle with Harley and May!

May sends out Bulbasour and Harley sends out Cacturn.

Cacturn uses poison sting and Bulbasour uses Vine-whip to defend the attack, a little like how Bulbasour stopped the  leaves from spinning. Then, Bulbasour used Razor leaf and Harley deflected it with bullet seed. Both May and Harley are loosing points at about the same rate.

Bulbasour uses Wine whip and Tackle. Remember a few reviews ago when May tried that and it was amazingly stupid. Bulbasour tripped over the vine whip and all that.

This time, Bulbasour uses vine whip to hit Cacturn and then uses the vines to pull Bulbasour forward fast to hit the Cacturn.

14:46

Harley gets upset at this and out out a tape recorder. It is a tape of Max telling Harley about how May used to be afraid of Pokemon, and once while she was swimming she was surrounded by a bunch of Tenicool. May was wearing a blue swimsuit and a blue swim-cap and so the Tenticool thought that May was one of them, and swam next to her. Smol May thought they were people.

You know what young May is extremely cute. What is she like five in this?

By the time she realized they were Pokemon she was surrounded by 23 of them (I counted)

Baby May cried and so then her mom came over and tried to catch one of them in order to make them go away, but it turns out that she threw a Pokeball at May instead of one of the Tenticool.

That story is actually so cute I need to draw young May.

16:00

So Max explains why he told the story and May figured out that Harley is just being a deceitful jerk. This gets May even more determined to win.

Then Harley makes a pun that is actually kinda funny.

Harley: Aww sorry May! Or should I just call you Tenicool? Maybe I'll just call you ten for short.

pfft.

So then Cacturn kicks Bulbasour, and May's Bulbasour uses razor leaf. Then, Cacturn dodges and uses bullet seed, which does hit and May looses more points. May uses Vine whip and then petal dance. None of the attacks work and May is running low on points. Cacturn tries kicking Bulbasour again but then Bulbasour wraps vine-whip around his leg and threw him up into the air. Then Bulbasour used razor leaf and petal dance.

Death by petals AND leaves it is.

Cacturn faints and May wins the battle at 18:26.

The episode ends with May getting her final ribbon and the gang all deciding where to go.

-Conclusion-

I really like Harley as a character, and I liked reviewing this episode! It just makes me wonder how much different the series would be if May and Harley has gotten off to a good start, I think it's pretty interesting.