#like i could see eleven and twelve in him which makes sense since they were moffat’s era

[ohsohoney]

When it comes to love you're just as blinded.

Part Seven

Eminem x Musician

Summary: It starts with a drunk embarrassing video, it spirals into something a whole lot more.

Note: Seven!! Sorry it's taken a while, I've been busy with life and went away with some friends, but it's finally here! It's a long one too, so hoping it makes up for the wait. Also, I write music but fuckkk is it hard trying to actually rap, so this is just a forewarning to everyone seeing as there's a scene in this part that involves exactly that! Hope you enjoy it anyway:) Thank you for all the love on this series!

| Set in 2014, just after the release of LP 2

taglist: @thelastemzy

Masterlist

“What’s your favourite chocolate?” I wondered around the Twizzler I’d gone ahead and stolen from the bag he’d gotten at the 7-Eleven. We’d been driving for a little while now, just under a half hour if I had to guess, and between us we had already succumbed to three short-lived encounters with brain freeze, all down to the Slurpee we continued to keep sharing. 

“Like brand?” Marshall questioned me, face wrinkling in confusion as he made another left hand turn, fingers loosening around the steering wheel when it righted itself.

“No,” I shook my head in answer, chewing on the red stick before I held out its end to Em when he tipped his chin in an asking gesture, “I don't know. Like, type?”

He had to think about it for a second, jaw working against the chewy sweet whilst his eyes continued to trail the length of road ahead. “Fuck, I don’ know. Like a Hershey’s maybe?”

I pulled a face at the reply, “Boring. Figured you might say M&M’s or something. Bring a little irony to the table, you know?”

Marshall’s head tilted sideways to level me with a snide look before he stole the next Twizzler right from out of my hand, “Hilarious.” He deadpanned as he took a big bite, “Come on then, Judge Judy. Tell me yours.”

Even whilst wrinkling my nose at his reference to the Tv Judge, I was quick with my retort, “Easy. Can’t go wrong with a Flake or a KitKat.”

“Heard of that first one.” Marshall mentioned, face dropping its previous snark as he pondered on my answer, “Ain’t ever tried it though.”

My eyes widened as I simultaneously turned to face him, ignoring the way my knee knocked against the centre console in my haste. “Oh, you’ve got to! It’s honest to God like Heaven melting in your mouth.”

With an unconvinced brow, Marshall just blew out a breath and shook his head at me. “But a KitKat?” He added after a second passed, “I don’t know. I mean, a chunky I could prolly get behind.”

My upper lip curled, “A chunky, really? What are you, twelve?”

Marshall returned the quip with a stupid look and then stole the rest of the Twizzler pack as a form of retaliation.

I rolled my eyes and it wasn’t long before he waved the topic away, claiming it was stupid anyway because Oreos were supposedly where it was at. An opinion which was strong enough steered us onto a whole new debate: biscuits vs cookies. 

I was still fighting for my life by the time Em eventually pulled the car off to the side, rolling up onto a curb outside a strip of buildings that appeared to get a whole lot of use. “All I’m saying is that a cookie is a kind of biscuit, right? So what the fuck sense does it make to claim that they’re all cookies?”

We’d since come to a slow stop, so confused I pivoted in my seat to look around us with a slight frown, catching sight of a bar on the very corner, a stretch of offices sat on the opposing side, and a huge block building that had long been dubbed ‘Saint Andrew’s’.

“This some sort of convent?” I wondered out loud whilst Marshall simply switched off the engine and unbuckled his seatbelt. When I glanced over at him again I found him already wearing an amused smirk, one which seemed to brighten at my words, though he just shook his head at my question. It was then that he chose to jump out. “Marsh?”

I was left with the low sound of his chuckle just as the door clicked shut behind him, leaving me in sudden silence whilst I watched the man round the front of the car. Blinking, I could only move to follow him, undoing my belt and finishing the last of the Slurpee before my door was opening all on its own. I raised a brow at Em’s gentlemanly act when I climbed out to join him on the pavement, but kept quiet about it as he shut the door behind me and locked up.

“Thanks.” I breathed out before peering around us once more, taking in the noisy street and the rowdy crowd that was gathered inside the bar a couple car lengths away. “Will you tell me where we are now though?”

“And spoil all the fun?” Marshall smirked, eyes glistening now as he backed away from the curb to start up the set of stairs leading into the big block building that had caught my eye a minute earlier. 

My face flattened, “You’re the only one having fun here.”

The grin he flashed me was cheeky and only lasted that of a split second before he was gesturing me to follow him up, tucking his hands away in his pockets when we finally reached the top step and came to a stop in front of a pair of heavy wooden doors that gave off such a retro feel. 

Staying quiet, Marshall was quick to push through them, as though he’d done it a thousand times before, slipping inside and holding the bottom plank open with just a foot so that I could join him. I wrapped my arms around myself slightly as the door stilted shut behind us, the sound echoing out. 

As I walked a little further inside, my gaze caught on the building’s lofty interior, a total contrast from both its outer disguise and what I’d first expected. It was a large lobby of sorts; four long tables were stationed in the very centre, a short stretch away from a snazzy looking bar detailed with ebony wood and warm lighting in the back, and adjacent to a set of stairs which led upwards.

I glanced back over at Em, who appeared to be watching me rather than taking in the room. I felt myself flush lightly under his gaze but quick to cover it up as I took another glance around, noting a different set of double doors sat on the other side of the room and a couple of sofas dotted around by the surrounding walls. I swallowed lightly before turning back to him, “Bit early to be drinking, no?”

It was a joke, a silly one seeing as he’d been sober for years, but one which seemed to loosen the atmosphere around us further as his mouth quirked upwards slightly and he moved to walk once more, nodding his head at me to follow. 

Follow I did, eyes catching on all sorts of details the building had to offer as he led me across the room and through the mentioned pair of doors, turning away from what appeared to be the ‘main event’ (a rather large hall decked out with a stage and a plethora of seating rows) so that he could instead jog down a hall full of metal stairs. 

The heavy door at the very bottom opened with a long squeak and although there had been people dotting the building here and there as we’d walked through, I took quick note of the small group which resided down here. There were only about six of them, from what I could first tell, the majority messing about with wires and other equipment by a platform stage whilst another two stood behind what looked to be a bar. 

My attention was ultimately caught though by the two men bickering back and forth by the side of the stage, just in front of a DJ booth.

“Fuck you, man. I’ma do what I like!” The first one spat, nose wrinkled as he swiped a microphone right from out of the other man’s hand. He was a few inches shorter than the latter but didn’t seem to mind, nor care, about that fact as he practically tiptoed to better get in the guy’s face. 

“Awh Jesus man, Soup! Why you always clownin’ around?” The second blew out, tossing the rest of the mic’s lead his way as he swatted at the air, “I mean, come on. You always tryna switch shit up when shit don’ need to be switched up!”

Soup? If that really was his name, didn’t seem to much care about his mate’s lack of excitement for whatever plans he had brewing as he fumbled with the jack lead and jumped back at him to defend himself. “I ain’t clownin’, dawg! Just trust me here on this one, this is gone bring a whole load’a new people in, D! I just know they gone be linin’ up out the door to get their hands on this stuff.”

“We ain’t sellin’ fuckin’ club merch, Soup. How many times I gotta say it?” ‘D’ retorted and shook his head as he turned his back on the other man to grab the rest of the equipment they’d obviously been unboxing.

“Yo, when have I ever been wrong ‘bout shit like this?” Soup followed up, unrelenting as he dragged the mic along with him, creating enough of a trip hazard that I worried when a young guy in a yellow cap swerved on past him. But it appeared that everyone here was far too used to the duo’s antics because the man in the cap skipped over the lead with an ease that looked utterly effortless, making it to the bar in one piece whilst the other two continued on none the wiser.

“How ‘bout every damn time?” D huffed with a look thrown over his shoulder, before he then sighed, “We stick to what we know, man. Stop houndin’ me with all this other crap.”

It was just as Soup opened his mouth to argue his case yet again that Marshall laughed from beside me, making me jump ever so as the noise rang out across the room. Heads spun in our direction then, most eyes widening at the sight of the infamous newcomer but mine were caught on the matching set of grins that Em was immediately met with when kicked off the wall he’d been leaning against, content with having watched the argument play out.

“Mickey, my man!” D hollered, dropping what he held back into the box to meet Marshall halfway. 

“Thought I told you to stop callin’ me that.” But even with the snippy retort, Em was smiling as the two of them clapped hands, sharing a short embrace before Soup wormed his way between them. 

D shook his head as he took a large step back, although the man was still grinning, eyes captured on the two friends, “Shit, man. It’s good to see you.”

Marshall just smiled before he turned to the shorter man and clapped him on the back, “How you doin’, Soup?” He let his hood fall back as he stood before the small group around us, seeming to become more alive in their presence, “Still mouthin’ off, I see.”

My own lips quirked up at that, watching the three of them from the sidelines. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that they had history, all of them sharing an easy comradery that I hadn’t much seen yet with Em since I’d first arrived, and already I was hooked on watching it all play out.

“I ain’t mouthin’ off, man. This idea’s the real deal!” Soup countered and he was smiling so wide that I could see the silver tooth that was embedded where his front left should have been over from where I stood. “Genius even! Could see it settin’ us up ‘til The Jam finally passes.”

I had no idea what the fuck ‘The Jam’ was but I had a calculating thought as to what the underground level of Saint Andrew’s supposedly was now. It was a little surreal once I’d latched onto the idea, in truth, never having figured I’d be standing in The Shelter of all places. The building was notorious on its own, having hosted a plethora of artists up in the main hall, people like Nirvana, R.E.M., The Beastie Boys, Iggy Pop, Blur, and Bob Dylan. And so I kicked myself for not having realised it sooner, the venue truly was one of the best in the city! Then again, I’d only ever really heard it iconically dubbed as The Shelter.

Marshall appeared to look back over at me then as he shook his head at Soup’s justification, grin softening ever so. I smiled back at him, gaze flickering over the expanse of his face, taking in what I could.

“Yo, come on over.” He said, voice travelling over to me without him even having to yell. The two men seemed to recognise my presence then as they turned to get a good glance at just who Em seemed to be speaking to. So, accompanied by only a little trepidation, I walked over to meet them, D eyes calculating whilst Soup’s lips pursed in an act of surprise, his eyes raking over me.

“Woo, Slim. And they claim you gotta type!” Soup all but whistled at my approach, earning a raised brow from me and a hearty backhand from his promoter friend. 

Marshall just rolled his eyes, seemingly used to it, arm stretching out to welcome me into the odd triangle they’d created, an action I allowed even as his hand came to rest on the small of my back. “Ignore Soup, he ain’t never been near a lady.” 

Blowing out an unexpected chuckle, I pressed my lips together before they eventually settled into akin to a smirk, eyes flitting over the two men. “Most would beg to differ with those pretty eyes.” I quipped, ignoring the man’s previous remark but filing it away for later.

Soup blinked at the obvious complement, seemingly dazed for a split second before he bounced back with a kilowatt grin. He looked between Marshall and D smugly, batting his eyelashes. “Y’all see?” He said, before he turned to me, “I been tellin’ ‘em, baby. But do they listen? No.”

D rolled his eyes at his friend’s antics, apparently done with him as he shoved Soup hard enough for the man to stumble slightly to the side, ignoring the scowl he got in turn whilst Marshall just snorted, the hand on my back unmoving. “You really gone dropped yourself in it now.” D chuckled to him, peering over at me with a sweet smile that warmed his face whilst Soup tried to right himself, “What, Mickey didn’t warn you?”

“Mickey?” I wondered, eyes flitting between the two. I grinned when Em groaned lowly, tossing his head back a tad.

D laughed at my ask, the sound bright in the shrouded shadows of which lower levels of the building offered, “As a kid he had these giant fuckin’ ears, his momma called him it the first time she picked him up from school and well, it sorta stuck.”

“Actually?” I looked back over at Marshall with an almost adoring face, peering past the brim of his cap to get a better look at his ears, “Oh my god, I can actually see it now!”

I joined D in his snickering after, muffling my amusement slightly when Em’s eyes narrowed a tad in a playful way, his hand dropping from my lower back to pinch my furthest hip. I raised my own in a silent surrender, but his settled there. 

“Yeah, yeah. Eat it up.” The man scoffed whilst he shook his head at us, pointing an accusing finger over at D, who’d since settled a hand on his stomach to keep from bowling over, “You know I’ma have to get you back for that one.”

D merely waved the warning away, just as Soup slid on over to pipe up once more, “Ayo, you gone introduce us to yo girl then, Slim, or you just waitin’ on me to work my magic?” He asked around a smug smile, shucking the collar of his heavy jacket before he flashed me a flirty look, “Homegirl’s got a real pretty voice, too. Where you from, baby?”

Never had I ever had someone be so blatant, I was honestly unsure if he was just messing around in hopes to annoy Em or if he was actually trying his luck with me. A little wide eyed, I looked back at Marshall stumped. The man’s face had flattened a tad at Soup’s remarks but his smirk was still ever present.

“Lay off it, man.” D sighed before Marshall could say anything at all, cheek dimpling as he shook his head once more at the shorter man. 

“I’m just sayin’!” Soup proclaimed before he spun back around to face Em, “A girl that fine is gone get snatched up real quick, man.”

“Keep talkin’ and you might not keep your tongue.” Marshall responded calmly enough, though it shocked me enough to have me keeping quiet as the man stared back at Soup unblinkingly, lifting an eyebrow at him whilst his hand continued to reside at my hip.

“Oo and the claws have come out!” D cut in with a whoop, obviously humoured by it all, but his response was enough to have Marshall rolling his eyes and for another small smirk to toy at the corner of his lips.

Soup grinned as well, hands held up in a placating gesture, “You know I mean no harm, Slim.”

“Yeah, you ain’t never mean it.” Marshall shot back around a low chuckle, clucking his tongue when Soup immediately tried to argue his case, rapidly mentioning a house fire, some sort of robbery that had gone wrong and then an accidental shooting far too quickly for me to really ask anymore about it, because Em chose then to speak over him, ultimately cutting him off. “You done?”

With a huff, Soup let up. “I was just sayin’.”

D snorted, “When the hell are you not just sayin’, my man."

Marshall shook his head at the duo and wet his lower lip before he finally moved to introduce us, although it was also in that moment that his hand finally slipped away. The lack of it had me blinking. 

“Boys, this is Elia. El, this here is Soup and Drew.” Drew shot me a smile alongside a slight tilt of his chin, whilst Soup just wiggled his brow. Marshall continued on with a swift jab to the latter’s abdomen, ignoring the slight squark given, “Known these guys since middle school.”

I tried to add up the age in my head, forever baffled by the difference in education here to that back home. Em must have realised it too, because his next smile was wry and knowing.

“‘Bout ten, if I had to guess.” He mentioned just to settle the matter for me, before he looked back at D and Soup to explain, “Girl’s from London, they do shit different over there.”

I rolled my eyes, though my smile gave away to the fact that he’d amused me with his explanation. Drew nodded in understanding whilst Soup– well, he was Soup, “Oh shit! I thought all them talked real classy.”

My brow rose all on its own, “This your way of saying I’m not classy?”

His eyes grew huge as he realised his mistake, stuttering to correct himself and stumbling ever so to be sure of it, “Nah, no! What? I jus’– I meant it like–” He spluttered before he finally landed on, “I said you had a real pretty voice!”

Snorting, I let myself smile which appeared to ease the man’s evident worry over having offended me and had the remaining two snickering between themselves. He shot the pair of them a scathing look and elbowed Drew, who in return just laughed that little bit harder.

“Shut it.”

I almost felt bad. Peering back over at Soup, I eventually spoke, “You’re all good. I was just teasing.”

“Teasin’.” Soup seemed to linger on the word, twirling it over his tongue and around his mouth as he muttered the word over again, lower lip turning itself out in thought. “Dope.”

Marshall shook his head with a huff before his eyes eventually landed on me once more, I widened my own in jest, but the wordless moment was cut short by D. “Aye, you ain’t the same Elia that sung Sinnerman are you?”

My head jolted back ever so slightly in surprise. Sinnerman had been an early days cover, one from when I’d been busking in pubs way back when and of the few that had been filmed on a shaky camcorder and uploaded to the internet by some random patron. I hadn’t thought of the video in well over a decade, but remembered it had managed to gather a large enough viewing at some point that it had dragged more people into the pub to see me.

Fishmouthing slightly, I nodded just the once. “Yeah. God, yeah. Wow, you saw that?”

Marshall’s brow had since furrowed, watching the conversation play out between us just as Drew’s face brightened considerably. “Hell yeah I saw that! That shit was cold, girl. Remembered hearin’ your voice and thinkin’ 'she’s gone make it someday.” He told me, making me flush a tad at the praise, “‘n I was right.” He continued on, nudging his chin over in my direction with a thoughtful smile, “Knew I recognised you from somewhere. Saw one of your shows when I was last in LA, couple years back now though.”

I actually giggled at that, fingers jumping up to cover my mouth whilst I shook my head slightly, “That’s insane.”

“Hold up,” Soup interrupted, a bemused look marring his face, “So you famous too? You ‘member how I just said you was fine, yeah?”

“Soup, man.” Marshall warned around a put upon sigh.

“I’m jus–”

“Just sayin’. Yeah, we know.” Drew finished for him, smirking as he rolled his brown eyes.

Chuckling, I went a little easy on the former, “I’ll make sure to remember.”

Soup perked up at that, tossing the other two a prideful look, whilst Em’s gaze turned Heavenwards. 

It was then that Drew turned to pick up the equipment he’d since dropped, the three of us following him as he spoke, “So what you doin’ down in these parts anyway? Figured you’d be workin’ or some shit ‘cause last we saw you was way back in December.” He threw a couple of cables Soup’s way, huffing out a soft chuckle when the man fumbled to catch them, earning himself a glare he didn’t respond to. “Made a fuckton of sales then though. Got me thinkin’ maybe you should show your face ‘round here more often. We all know those magazines don’t want it no more.”

Marshall flipped him off but came to a stand beside him, reaching inside the box to help out. “Still as unfunny as ever, D.” He replied, handing me a couple of packs to hold onto whilst he grabbed a few more, “Was showin’ Ms. London over there the neighbourhood, so I thought I’d stop in to see how you two knuckleheads were doin’ without me.”

“Hey we survived this long!” Soup exclaimed to him around a laugh, struggling with a mic stand he’d since dragged up onto the stage.

“Don’t I know it.” Drew murmured in a funny sort of self-suffering way that made me grin, “You take her to Cow’s head?”

The question had Marshall rolling his eyes as the man sorted through the packs he’d gathered, me aiding with the process whilst I listened. “Shithole’s gone be there longer than I ever will be, figured I’d have time.”

D blew out a chuckle, “Ain’t that the truth.”

“Red.” I mentioned, handing back the pack Marshall had attempted to give me, fingers brushing over the back of his as he dipped his chin in a show of acknowledgement. “What’s the Cow’s head anyway?”

“Old ice-cream stand on Mack. Used to use it during drivebys or to just deal. You remember Jimmy? He still works that corner.” Drew explained, aiming that last bit over at Em, which ended up making the man chuckle around a small tutting sound. D continued on though, for my supposed benefit, “But mostly it was just a place people got caught hookin’ up behind.”

Feeling bold, I was quick to quip, “And I paint you as that type of girl, do I, D?”

Widening my stare up at the man when his head darted backwards with a shuttered expression, Marshall could only snicker beside me. “Awh, come on, be nice.” He said, though his smile was jeering, “I tell you, Drew’s a real feminist.”

Sharing a smile with him, I was quick to look back at the man in question, who in turn merely tossed another pack at Em, who narrowly avoided it hitting him upside the head. “Asshole.” Drew sniped, “A guy dates one vegan chick and a brother never lets him live it down.”

“It weren’t ‘cause she didn’t like meat, man!” Soup added his two cents in, smile smug as he propped himself up on the mic stand, “It was ‘cause she didn’t - like - meat!”

Marshall’s loud laugh had me looking up, instantly invested in watching the way his eyes closed with the action and how his cheeks then appled. He caught me watching him when he lowered his head and rolled his eyes fondly at his friend, figuring I’d only been staring because I hadn’t caught onto Soup’s joke, “Next person she dated was this vampy chick who worked at Chilly's.”

My mouth formed into an ‘o’ shape before I was tittering away too, much to Drew’s obvious displeasure, the man waved the three of us away with a lazy hand before he carried on hooking up a couple mics.

It continued on that way for a short while, me listening to the trios odd stories and funny tales from their youth whilst Drew and Soup grew comfortable enough to ask me a little more about myself. Though both of them were wholly invested in the story of how Marshall and I met, Soup latching onto it before I could think about where the explanation might lead.

“Come on then, woman.” The man was quick to start, jerking his head at me in a sudden rush of enthusiasm as he jumped past the DJ booth, “Let’s see what you’re made of.”

My forehead pinched in confusion as I pushed myself up from where I’d been crouching down by an amp. It was an older model and the fuse at the back really needed to be resoldered, but it would work for a while longer. I looked over at the man and his newfound excitement, brows furrowing further, “What?”

Soup just waved me over though to where he was now centred midstage. “You heard me, get yo ass up here!”

I could only look to Em then and when he didn’t offer me anything other than an amused shrug, cheek twitching, I turned to Drew.

The tall man simply raised his hands before he shrugged too, smiling ever so sweetly. “Need to mic check anyway,” He mentioned, jutting his chin over to where Soup continued to stand, “I propose a battle.”

“Hell yeah, man!” Soup hollered loudly, already moving to grab a set of mics from the front panel, sending an audible squeak through the room that had most of its occupants wincing. 

“Not happening.” I quickly shot down, shaking my head as I moved away from the amp– and therefore the stage. 

“Why, you scared?” Soup prodded mockingly, earning a low ‘ooh’ from both Marshall and Drew. 

“Terrified.” Came my deadened retort, before I chewed at the inside of my cheek, gaze flitting back and forth between Soup and the duo perched by the side of the deck. “There’s no way I’m doing it.” I added, furthering my previous answer.

“Don’t have to be long. A minute max.” Drew assured me, already moving to work the amp that the mics were connected to. My eyes widened at the move, flicking back to Em in one final plea.

“Don’t look at me.” The older man laughed, his blue eyes shining. “I already done did my time here.”

Way to rub it in, I thought to myself before looking towards the stage with a pinched expression. 

One final glance between the three men and I knew I couldn’t say no, not without a fight at the very least, so I let go of the heavy breath I was holding and took a big step up onto the stage’s panelling, holding out a hand to Soup for the remaining microphone. “Don’t say I never did nothing.” I heard myself say, earning a round of chuckles just as D finished setting up and Soup started to stretch theatrically. “I hate you all.”

“El-i-a.” Marshall started up and immediately my head snapped over to find him stood by the front of the stage, hands circling his mouth. “El-i-a!” He chanted again right as a steady beat came through the overhead speakers. I felt my stomach flip and was quick to shoot the man a scathing glare, not that Em minded it, continuing to grin up at me. Smug as could be.

It was that, I supposed, which had me forcing back the bile that was now building, enough to try and shake the nerves away too. I could do it, I breathed in deeply, it was just a little fun. Nothing unlike what Danny and I used to do as kids, making breakfast whilst mum was dead asleep in the next room or off getting high someplace else.

“You ready, Limey?” Soup snarked, but it only proved to further stoke that fire that had started. 

“You first.” 

Soup dipped his head before he started bouncing it to the rhythm, torso soon following it. I tensed as I waited for his first line, sole focus on the man stood across from me and wondering how the fuck people did this in front of such a huge crowd. All I could do was pray that I didn’t embarrass myself too much.

“See, this here is a little white girl, 

Who’s momma told her she could have the whole wide-world,

But just ‘cause she got Slim wrapped ‘round her fin-ger,

Don’t mean that my boy’s ever gonna ring her,

He’s a wraith, yeah, which means he never ling-ers,

Have her sleepin’ in his bed ‘fore he finds another singer.

And that’s not on me clownin’ girl, I’ve seen it,

He’ll wrap and tap, and then he’ll jus’ go ‘n leave it,

You cute and all but you ain’t nothin’ spec-ial,

We all know white girls ain’t on a brother’s lev-el,

So while you thinkin’ you out here makin’ it big,

Jus’ remember who’s runnin’ this motherfuckin’ gig.”

Pursing my lips to keep from grinning too broadly– an act to keep up the facade that this was a very real battle and that his words had actually stung me– I then booed the performance whilst the rest of the room applauded, a few laughs and cheers echoing out around us. “Alright, I see. That’s how it’s gonna be.”

Soup shrugged cooly, though his smile was wide and teasing. “I went easy on you, girl.”

I hummed disbelievingly, then looked over my shoulder at Drew, who nodded in understanding, moving to continue the beat. I sucked in a small breath and attempted to feel the rhythm, the way it pulsed beneath my feet and how it seemed to jump between my ribs. 

It was a split second decision I made to glance over at Marshall in the next moment which came and although he stood surly, arms crossed over his chest whilst he waited for me to start, his eyes were watching, anticipating. Between us we’d yet to work on any real music and so I figured this could be my shot to show him what I was really made of.

I inhaled.

“Man, you know for a rapper I think you’re missing one restriction,

The same type they tell kids is in the terms ‘n conditions, 

When they try and ride the big boy rides at the theme park, 

Only to find out that they went and fucking missed the mark.

I mean, I guess you’re kinda cute for a– short guy,

But kings are made, baby, so I won’t spin you a lie,

‘Bout how it’s okay to only miss a couple inches,

‘Cause it's one thing height wise, but your dick looks like the Grinches.

And I know I should probably stop before I hurt your ego,

But with a name like Soup that ships since sailed, amigo,

Like I can’t help but wonder who’d your mother hate more?

You, or that motherfucking grocery store.”

A loud chorus of applause went up as soon as the beat dropped, leaving me looking back at Soup’s slack jaw in the stooped light. It was only when Drew whooped right by my ear that I realised he’d jumped past the booth to drag both Soup and I into his hold, shaking our shoulders hard enough to rattle the pair of us. 

I let the mic slip slightly in my hold, arm dropping to my side as I casted a slow glance out at the audience, finding that a few more people had slipped into the room since we’d started the stupid battle. My chest tightened a little at the realisation but it was easy to let go of the anxiety when Drew was all but bouncing beside me.

“Damn, girl! That was cold, honestly thought Soup would have you there.” D grinned, looking down at me whilst Soup managed to release himself from the taller man’s hold. “You did anything like this before?” He asked and I had to shake my head.

“Hang on. You just butchered and served me up on a plate, ‘n now you gone deny not ever battlin’ before?” Soup spluttered, eyes wide as dinner plates, enough though to match his growing grin, “Woman, you don’t expect me to really believe you.”

Laughing, I tried to rally, but it was then that another body joined the masses, sliding in beside me. It was their appearance that had Drew’s arm loosening its hold on me. 

“She ain’t lyin’. I’ve heard her spit a little before, I won’t deny it, but that was some next level shit.” Marshall commented, absorbing all of my attention. “You went in hard.” He laughed incredulously, eyes roaming over me as though he was taking me in again in a whole other way. I felt my cheeks heat but couldn't decide whether or not it was down to the sudden attention we’d garnered or just him. 

“Hard?” Drew cut in, “Girl killed him!”

Soup shoved him as payback but it wasn’t enough to really trip the man. “I said I went easy!”

D hummed sarcastically, dragging it out long enough to earn himself another hearty shove before he then chuckled, “Face it, Soup. You got yo short ass handed to you.”

“Sorry, man.” Marshall stepped in before it could escalate and it was then he draped his arm over my shoulders, drawing me in enough to have me leaning against his side. “D ain’t wrong. Best hope no one breathes a word, otherwise you gone be fighting for your life in the next battle.”

I rolled my eyes at the sudden dramatics, and again when Soup’s expression troubled slightly, I shook my head. “I’m gonna say it again, I hate all of you.”

The words earned me a few laughs and the feel of Em’s chin coming to rest atop my head.

–

The drive back was made up of a dull buzzing tension, most of which emanated from me, seeing as I was still riding out the waves of anxiety I’d experienced throughout the battle and then after. I’d gotten a few nods of approval once I’d stepped off the stage under Em’s arm, Soup still echoing his previous sentiment of having gone easy on the new girl, and then a couple people's praises when Marshall had finally decided to head on out, claiming that we had places to be. 

So he’d said his goodbyes to his longtime friends, with both Soup and Drew managing to worm their way into my followers list on Twitter and having put their numbers in my phone. They’d claimed it was so I always knew that I had a place to come visit if I ever found myself back in Detroit and so I echoed the notion, saying that they could have tickets to any show they liked and a tour of London if they ever made the trip. Something which had seemed to please Marshall, seeing as his smile stuck all the way back up to the car. 

“I still can’t believe I did that.” I breathed once we were a little way away, The Shelter less than a dot behind us in the rearview mirror. 

Marshall blew out a small chuckle, “Why not?”

Shrugging, I found that I didn’t really have an obvious answer to his question. “I don’t know, just not my thing, you know? Like I never pictured myself doing anything like that.”

He made a short hum in retort, “I get that. Still, it was a sight to see.” He snickered after, mouth lifting into what I’d label a sarky smile, “Doubt Soup will live it down for a while.”

I winced before eventually laughing too, thinking back on the entire experience. “They’re good guys, real nice. It’s been a while since I really had fun like that.”

Marshall’s head turned to look over at me, eyes lingering on mine. “Me too.”

The smile that took over my face truly was unavoidable and so I looked towards the passenger window in hopes to shield him from it. “You do that often then?” I asked once a half a dozen shop fronts had passed us by, “Drag people down there in hopes they’ll destroy what’s left of Soup’s reputation.” I added teasingly when all he’d done was gift me a look of vague confusion. 

The skin between his brows slackened in understanding before he then shook his head, “Nah, reckon you’re the first.”

I blinked slowly at that revelation. “But you said–”

Marshall glanced over at me but was quick to hone his focus back on the road. “Know what I said. Also mentioned that it never worked out, remember?”

I did, remember that is. And immediately thought back to the earlier conversation we’d shared on the car ride over to his old home and how the people he’d let in never seemed to get why all this mattered so much. “Was that what Soup was on about then? When he claimed people thought you had a type.”

Em had to think back on that one and was quiet for a second or two before he worked his jaw. I wondered if he was reminded of the fact that once again he’d failed to mention that I wasn't in fact his girl. I didn’t ask about it.

“Nah, I guess that’s down to them havin’ met a couple of the women I’ve dated.” Marshall evaded slightly, confusing me enough to prod.

“What do you mean?”

He was silent for a long moment, but I allowed him it, figuring that whether he answered or not would be down to him. I wasn’t the type to force shit out of a person. 

“After Kim,” He started slowly, already assuming that I knew most of it, which wasn’t incorrect, if you listened to the guy’s music then you probably knew more than needed. “Lot of the girls I was seeing were fling type shit. Superficial, you know? A couple models, other famous people wantin’ to hop on the wagon. Tried to date a few women who weren’t immersed in that lifestyle after rehab and my divorce, but it didn’t work out the way I’d hoped.”

I chewed on my inner cheek, pondering over the string of women who had been welcomed into Marshall’s life. Still stuck on the thought that Soup reckoned I was different to them just from looking at me. ‘Cause see, I knew I was probably overthinking this but I wasn’t horrible looking, had to be at least a little attractive to sell albums with my face on, but I was far from being that of a model. That much I knew. In truth, I didn’t even know why I was so hung up on the thought, me and Em were just friends, that was all.

“Still, I figured that maybe Kim just fucked all that up for me. Hard to trust, to let people in. ‘Sposed it was easier just havin’ people leave before they could fuck me up any further.” Marshall explained, none the wiser to my thoughts as he drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel, “Drew and Soup, they’ve been ‘round for a long while, before Dre, ‘fore I ever even thought too hard about rappin’. They saw me through it all. I guess when you came over they kind of figured that shit had to be different, I ain’t never brought no one ‘round here to them, let alone a girl they’d never met.”

I ran my tongue over my lower lip as I listened, it wasn’t a complete answer to my question— why Soup had figured Marshall had a type and me being far from it— but it was him opening up and I wasn’t about to spit in his face and get all prickly over it.

“Should I feel a sense of privilege then?” I found myself poking fun at him instead, an effort to get away from the handful of ideas that had started to plague my mind. “‘Cause I feel like I should.”

Em laughed, the gesture light, easy. It felt like the visit to Saint Andrew’s had done us both some good. “Fuckin’ right. Shelter alone is somethin’ I don’t visit all that often. D and Soup are just an added nuisance, I guess.”

“Shut up.” I chuckled in return, shaking my head at his words, knowing just how much bullshit they held after having witnessed the relationship the three of them shared. “You love ‘em.”

With a grunt, Marshall then shrugged around a quiet smirk. “Come on, today’s been all about me, I’m sick of it. Don’t tell me you ain’t got no mad stories about a couple crappy exes.”

It was an invite as well as a dip into a pool of unasked questions, a topic where Em didn’t seem too keen on overstepping. But he was right, he’d given me a lot today and that meant something.

“I don’t know what to say really.” I answered him with a subtle shrug, “Never really had an ex.”

Marshall almost came to a full stop with the way his foot stuttered over the brake. The action would have earned us a lot of loud beeps, maybe even a small collision if we hadn’t been the only ones driving down this particular side road.

“Shit, Marshall! What the fuck?” I exclaimed in one fluid breath, releasing my hold on the car door I’d gone and grabbed onto in my haste to stop my body from propelling forward into the dash. I fixed him with a wide eyed stare, “Why the hell would you do that?”

“Why’d I do that? Why’d you say that?” He countered, as if he was making any sense at all. 

“Say what!” I asked him, voice shrill and still a decibel too high after the sudden scare, but Marshall appeared mostly unphased by it, having started driving again despite everything. 

He scoffed, “That someone as pretty as you don’t have no exes.” 

I paused, noting that the way my heart stuttered was very similar to the way the car had, suddenly and then all at once. But although I was surprised by the compliment, I forced myself to relax a tad, ignoring how my pulse jumped rapidly in my throat– down to the scare or his words I wouldn’t ever know. 

“I don’t.” I told him point blank, hoping that the heat I felt in my face was just that and not me blushing. “I mean, I've had little flings and the odd date, but nothing like— I don’t know, nothing too real or long lasting.” Describing that fact was more than a little embarrassing, I wouldn’t lie, it always made me feel less than in a strange way. 

“There ain’t no way.” Marshall continued on, unknowingly driving that particular wedge in further I supposed. “There’s gotta be somebody.”

I sighed. “No. But if you want a story, the last person I was seeing was this singer, we worked together on my last album, flirted, fucked and then went on a couple dates. He stayed with me in London for a while but ended up sleeping with one of my close friends on my sofa, so, you know.”

I let go of the rest of breath I’d been holding onto then, shoulders slumping a little with it, before I suddenly remembered the next part to that particular tale. 

“Oh! And he also decided to dedicate the whole B side of his next album to it. Can you believe that? The B side, Marshall. I mean fair enough, write about an experience and what fucking not, but the B side? That’s just kicking a person whilst they’re already down, no?” I added, shaking my head in hopes to get rid of the memory, but no such luck. “He was the one who did that film too, um— I can’t for the life of me remember the name of it, but when they won that Academy award last year he mentioned me as the ‘one who got away’ and then thanked me for being the reason he was able to channel so much of his ability into the character.”

I actually had to laugh at the reminder, having been utterly fuming when the whole thing had gone down. But I guessed that enough time had passed since then that I only questioned the very decision I’d made to have let that arsehole and his tiny dick anywhere near me whenever his name was mentioned. 

“Shit’s messed up.” Em blew out, eyes alert and flitting back and forth between me and the road.

Snorting in reply to that, I couldn’t help but shoot him a wry grin. “No shit. But yeah, I don’t know. I’ve never really let anyone get too close, I ‘spose. Just easier to keep people at arm's length than give them the chance to hurt me.”

“Damn,” Marshall said, “talk about daddy issues.”

Surprised by his words, a laugh bubbled up out of me, “Like you’re one to talk.”

Em’s lips pursed in an attempt to dim his amusement to that, turning the wheel with a single motion and letting it drag back over his palm when we turned onto the next street. “Still. It’s hard to believe.”

I gave a soft chuckle in reply, letting my head loll against the headrest so that I could bat my lashes in his direction, “Why, ‘cause I’m so pretty?” I teased him, recalling his earlier statement.

Marshall’s head shake was slight but visible, as was the tiny curve his mouth made.

I reached out to poke his shoulder, smirking now. “Come on, say it again.”

He swatted my hand away before I could continue on with my fun, “Anyone ever tell you you’re also annoyin’ as fuck?”

“Yes.” I replied easily enough, “No one’s ever called me pretty though.”

“Liar.”

I laughed, the bright sound filling up the car. “Yeah, but at least I’m pretty too.” He went to open his mouth after I said that but I beat him to the jump, “Can’t take it back now you’ve already said it!”

Tutting, Marshall had to shake his head again, eyes flitting over to my wide smile, trailing the length of it. “Such a shithead.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“What are you, two?”

“Maybe.” I shot back, pointing over at him. “What’s that make you then, if I’m two and you think I’m pretty?”

Marshall caught my finger with his free hand in retaliation and clung to it as he resettled his arm back in his lap, “Fuckin’ weirdo.”

“Least I’m not a creep.”

“Asshole.” 

“Dickhead.”

“Bitch.” He quipped, eyes gleaming as they darted over to meet mine.

I shook my head in hopes to hide my growing grin, but it was then that I instantly perked up, gaze catching on the large allotment sat up ahead. “Oh, let’s go there!”

“What, to Trader Joe's?” Marshall voiced his confusion at the sudden switch in topic, though his expression was much softer than I had expected in the face of my excitement when I peered back around to look over at him.

“Yeah, can we?” I pushed, an idea now blossoming. “I wanna get some ingredients, bake something nice before Rosie gets home.”

Lifting a single brow, Marshall’s eyes flickered rapidly between my own for a split second. He was quiet before he eventually flipped his indicator to switch lanes, “You gone bake me a cake just ‘cause I called you pretty?”

A full blown grin broke out on my face at that and it was too hard to hide this one from Marshall, seeing as I’d been looking right at him. “No, ‘cause you’re gonna help me.”

[famousinfamous]

wait I’m so confused how old are the keeper crew? Like in the first book Sophie says she’s twelve and she’s in level two at foxfire and know she’s in level four which should mean it’s been two years and she’s fourteen know but I see people saying she’s 15? Also I see people saying Fitz is 17 but he’s only like a year older than sophie(since we learn in book four everyone is about nine months younger than we thought they were) so if Sophie is 15 than wouldn’t that make him 16? Like I know elves count age differently but even if adding on the extra nine months made sense shouldn’t we still refer to them as the age they are in human years? Since a 17 year old elf(in elven years) is still the same age as a 16 year old human(in human years) and it’s hard to just change the ideals and expectations we have for each age soooo…

anyway I think that this year of school at foxfire got extended or smth so maybe that counteracts the minus nine months and sophie is 15? But Fitz is still 16 and Keefe is still 15(I’ve seen some people saying he’s 16 he’s not he and Sophie are the same age) and you cannot change my mind. Anyways wouldn’t that mean that in the first book Dex and biana are both eleven? Huh. Anyways feel free to correct me I’m honestly so confused right now so it would be helpful if some could either confirm this or tell me why I’m wrong. But currently this is what I think everyone’s ages are

Fitz-16 turned this year

Keefe, Sophie, Tam, Lihn-15 turned this year

Biana, Dex, Marella, Jensi, Maruca, Stina-14 turned this year

Wylie-21 turned this year

[multific]

Small Steps

Vinent de Gramont x Reader

Warnings: Talks about blood and mention of smut at the end

Summary: You and your husband have a conversation about your future.

"I want five." you nearly choked on your food as he said that.

"F-five?!"

"Exactly. Or more." the way he said it with such confidence, made you a little nervous.

"More?! What am I a machine?!" you now regretted bringing up the topic.

"Is five children a lot?" he finally looked up at you, finding your eyes as he looked confused.

"Yes! When you are the one who has to carry them and give birth! Yes, five is a lot."

"I never thought it would be, well, since you brought it up, how many would you want?"

"Two? Maybe three?" you were now nervous to answer him. Sure, you have known him for a long time, married him almost four years ago and you were rather surprised that the topic of children was never truly brought up until today.

"Okay, we could agree on three." he said turning back to his food.

"Okay."

"When?"

"Sorry?"

"When can we start trying? Do you feel ready to be a mom?"

"Oh, I think I am ready. I mean we have been together for almost seven years now, married for four and I didn't even know you wanted children." you looked at him then took a sip from your wine for courage.

"I do want children. I just never wanted to bring up the topic because I didn't want to make you feel like you have to do it for me. With my line of work, you must understand it is difficult but I'm in a much higher position now. I am at a point where I feel like we are ready and no one would hurt you or them. But if you don't feel ready, I understand."

"I will talk with my doctor, stop taking pills and we can go from there. I feel ready to have a baby." you nodded, happy that you two came to a conclusion.

"Small steps, I like that. I will go with you to the doctor."

"I mean I know he reports you every time I'm there, so you would know everything either way." you smiled and he smirked.

"Clever girl."

"I'm also pretty sure the cashier at the convenience store is one of your men."

"Paid him so he would only sell the best stuff for you."

"That explains why he wouldn't sell those bananas for me. He spent five minutes at the back looking for strawberries instead and he made sure they are ripe. It was suspicious."

"You know I just want the best for you."

"I do. And I love you for it." you returned to your pasta as he looked at you still.

"Are we really going to have a baby?" he asked, you sensed in his voice something that he never showed to others, anxiety.

"Yes. We will start trying and see when... it takes." you cringed at your own words but he found it rather amusing, judging by the smile on his face.

"I'll do some research."

"Research?"

"Of course. I never go into something without a plan."

"You don't have to plan for this." you said but you already knew he probably had ten plans ready in his head. Much like when you were engaged. He let you believe that you were the one planning things but he was behind it all from the start.

"But I do, we might need a bigger house and we have to set up their room."

"I'm not even pregnant yet. And I'm on birth control at the moment still! Also bigger house?! We live in a mansion, Vincent. What could be bigger than that?"

"A palace? A castle?" you looked at him, unamused but you could tell he was joking.

"We have twelve bedrooms."

"Then we can have eleven children." he smirked and you wanted to groan but you also found it amusing.

You hoped he was joking, the fire in his eyes did make you take a step back.

"Not my point."

"I was thinking a house which is safer. Not like our current one isn't."

"We have eight houses."

"How many rooms are there? We could fill all with a child."

"Vincent." you giggled but you did mean it as a warning.

"Okay, okay, I was thinking a slightly smaller house. So the baby can be...closer to us."

"Oh, that's sweet. We will look something up, I'm sure we can find a nice safe home."

"How about Versailles?" he suddenly looked at you, pleased with his idea.

"Y-You are NOT buying the Palace of Versailles! Also, it would be so obvious! Everyone knows where it is."

"That's the beauty in it! It's so obvious that it isn't."

"Vincent, please can we just focus on the doctor and my pills first?"

"Small steps." he nodded and soon you were having dessert.

You looked at him as he was eating his cake, he looked so calm and so incredibly handsome.

His eyes caught yours as he noticed you staring. He had a questioning look.

"Maybe... maybe five isn't that many after all. If they all look like you."

"I had the exact same thought. I was watching you at our wedding, dancing with your friends, you looked so stunning. That's when I decided that I would want as many children with you as you would like. Even if you didn't want children, I would have been okay with that." you smiled at his sweet words as his hand reached out and you gave him yours immediately.

"You sound like a love-sick teenager."

"More like a poet, you are my muse."

"Your art is death, Vincent."

"Indeed. And you would look stunning covered in blood." you smirked as you watched his eyes change. His gaze became more predatory, it excited you.

"I think we should go home." he nodded.

Maybe you were supposed to take things slow. Maybe you were supposed to take it step by step.

But as his gaze turned darker by the second all you could think about was him filling you up and whispering the dirtiest things into your ear.

Small steps can wait.

More Vincent

Taglist: @fleursirvart​ @greenarrowhead​ @thisismysecrethappyplace​ @sincerelyfan​ @theoneanna​ @aestheticsandmarvel​ @rororo06 @castellandiangelo​ @destynelseclipsa​ @spilledinkindumpster​ @capsiclesdoll​ @puknow​ @alwayshave-faith​ @alex12948​ @lxdyred​  @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl​ @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek​ @praline357​ @trshngyn​ @avengers-r-us​ @violet-19999​ @top1bbgloak​   @manduse​   @jacalineiscomingforyou​  

Vincent Taglist: @l4venderia​

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, PLAGIARISE, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS  

[blackoutdays13]

A life stopping crossover (cue the disco lights)

I am going to assign the Hargreeves sibling to the hunger games district I think they might be in. “Why” you might ask. I don’t know, I just had the idea pop in my head on a ride home.

Diego - District two masonry This one is quite obvious. Diego’s power is manipulating the trajectory of flying objects if something like that. So it would be no shock to have him working with the knives. Since knives are his trademark weapon. So I put number two in district two.

Alison - District one luxury I’m sure we all remember in season one how our first introduction to Alison was really when she was in a red carpet. And throughout the season she seemed to carry on that rich and powerful theme. She was a rich and famous actress and own could assume she has a rich taste. So my first thought was district one for her.

Five - District three technology. District three is smart as hell. Using logic and tragedy to win their games. How Beetee won his games is the main reason I thought to put Five in this district. I know one might think “no he would be in six because of his power” but considering what we know of district six it doesn’t really make much sense to have him there.

Ben - District four fishing. I swear this isn’t just cause of the tentacles… Maybe. I feel as though district four probably has quite a few deaths in its district. With them having to deal with the ocean. Which is scary and uncontrollable. I can see poor little Ben just being another poor worker who dies in a terrible accident. Since from what we know of his death it was unable to be saved. And I won’t forget about Sparrow Ben. He is a prideful little guy and could possibly like Finnick Odair (they are in no ways similar but you get what I trying to say). A guy who gloats about his skill and gains attention to district due to that. So Ben was easy to put in four. Mainly because of my beliefs on the districts death rate.

Klaus - District six transportation We all remember how district six is known for their drug use and how the victors were high on morphling and were called the “morphlings”. Klaus is well known for his non sober lifestyle and his unhealthy habits, so he would fit right in with the crowd.

Viktor - District eleven NEGLECTED DISTRICT. Viktor was neglected as he grew up. Learning not to expect any care. I know one might think to put him in twelve, but after season two (his farm era) I felt more compelled by district eleven. It’s also a district that receives plenty of abuse. I felt like Viktor would be in eleven.

Luther - District seven. I am going to be honest and say I didn't know what to choose for Luther. So I ended up with district seven because I believe it’s the district that requires the most physical strength. Again I didn’t know with him. Cause I know some might choose the Capitol of district one for him, but those just don’t sit right with me. He evolved as character too much for those. So ima just end it with district seven so my brain doesn’t explode.

Bonus 2

Lila - District thirteen Due to the way she was raised Lila was fairly isolated to what reality is. Since the handler lied to her and manipulated her. And I think that is fairly similar to district thirteens residents and how Coin is a lying bitch. Also the shock of thirteen still being up and running reminds me of the shock of Lila having powers. So thirteen felt perfect for her.

Reggie - Capitol This bitch ass doesn’t give two shits about any of his children. Sparrow or Umbrella. Much like how the Capitol doesn’t care about its districts. The people who supply them. Like how the Hargreeve children supply him with fame and do his biddings. Reginald is a very powerful man, much like the citizens of the Capitol. He and Snow would be great friends. So it’s no shock that I believe he would be in the Capitol.

Remember these are my opinions, and I made this post for fun. So feel free to disagree, but stay respectful. Also please do give your opinions on what district you think Luther would be in (just not Capitol of district one). I’m still debating on district ten for him.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

The Ladies Whistledown - chapter thirteen

Pairing: Eloise x Penelope Rating: T Word Count: 2702

read on tumblr: one | two | three | four | five | six seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven | twelve

It was one of the pleasantest winters Eloise could remember since her father died. With Daphne, Simon, Augie, and the baby (an addition so new it made Kate seem as though she had been theirs forever) coming to stay, even the large Aubrey Hall felt full to bursting, and yet Eloise did not mind it. It was cheering to have everyone together, never mind if that made it difficult to find a quiet place to read, and their elbows all bumped at supper.

Only Francesca appeared to grown genuinely weary of them all, but that was mostly because of their noise; they were Bridgertons, and could not help it. Eloise would stifle her snort at finding her sister reading in the nursery while Daphne's children napped. Fran also bravely took to the outdoors, and Eloise joined her there. They tramped through snow that sparkled like the diamond their mother had already (tactlessly, if you asked Eloise) expressed hopes of Francesca being named next season. The air was lovely and brisk, and the snow that pillowed in the branches of their estate's now-bare woods reminded Eloise of ladies' skirts. It was a different world, through Francesca's eyes—pleasant, for a time. Before the pure silence her sister preferred could bore Eloise, the rest of their siblings would burst from the Hall to fling snow at one another, and Fran would retreat to help Daphne mind her bundled babies.

Kate and Anthony stayed on awhile after Christmas. Anthony called it being "stuck with" them, claiming there were many places he and his wife would rather have been, only the snow had altered their plans. This was a complaint absolutely no one believed—not least of which because Kate herself denied it. Eloise and Benedict took to teasing Anthony about his choice of words whenever possible. When Gregory did a recitation in Latin and Anthony looked so proud he might cry; when their cook prepared a show-stopping roast pheasant that Eloise's brothers themselves had brought down, placing it before Anthony at the table so he could carve into its glistening, golden skin; when Anthony held Daphne's baby and glanced over its head to make soft eye contact with his wife; Benedict and Eloise would cut into all these moments, remarking on what a shame it was that Anthony was stuck here, and what a dreadful time he appeared to be having.

Secretly, Eloise was delighted that marriage thus far appeared to be improving her eldest brother. She had rather feared that he would not be the same after, and that, in a way, they might lose him as they had once lost their father. What a relief that only positive changes had manifested. Naturally, she gave all the credit for this to Kate. Kate was a joy. She played games with relish, she was interested in whatever Eloise was reading, and she clapped loudly in the evenings when Daphne and Francesca performed duets at the pianoforte. Kate was more spontaneous than Francesca, less fussy than Daphne, and more thoughtful than Hyacinth. Perhaps the novelty of her newness helped, but Eloise immediately found her a most excellent sister, different from the others, but with quirks that were a perfect complement to their own. What drew Eloise's admiration most of all was Kate's vibrant personhood—in the sense that marriage had not transformed her into some shadowy extension of her husband. She was quite individual and independent. It made Eloise extraordinarily curious.

"I do not think your brother would recognize me any other way," Kate said with a laugh when Eloise (as always, clumsily) confessed her observations.

"Yes, but, you see, that is also all your success," Eloise insisted. "Anthony has altered his conceptions of marriage because of you. I do not think he could imagine a wife like you until he met you, and then there was you first, and the concept of a wife second."

"I defer to you, Eloise," Kate replied amiably, "who knew your brother before I could make such a study of him."

"You know what a prat he was, at least."

They shared a smile.

"Trust me, that is not all gone, or else how would I recognize him?" Kate joked.

Eloise made a sound of baffled wonderment and leaned back in her chair.

"Even your faults are hardly faults in one another's eyes."

"When you marry, you marry a whole person," Kate said sagely. "Or, at least, you hope to. Anthony and I have always been our complete selves with one another—for the worse at first, but very quickly for the better. A true partner cannot be merely someone's best parts. Not one person you ever truly love will be faultless, nor should you seem faultless to them."

Eloise reflected on this for several minutes while Kate sipped her tea. She was perfectly correct, of course, and her wisdom aligned well with what Eloise's mother had always attempted to impart about marriage and partnership. Coming from Kate, however, the information was easier to credit; where Eloise's memories of her mother and father were all blurred into romantic idyll by time and overwhelming love, Eloise was able to witness Kate and Anthony's courtship and marriage in the present. She knew what a short-tempered, short-sighted turnip her brother could be. If Kate could put up with that—and not only put up with it, but accept and, indeed, cherish it as part of Anthony's larger complexity—her advice was surely worth its weight in gold.

Unbidden, she thought of Penelope. Kate had said her words applied to anyone a person might love, so Eloise knew that must include dear friends. It was entirely usual for Pen to come to her mind. Did not Kate's explanation describe them well? Had not they lately learned so much more of each other, more significant revelations than either might have thought possible after so long a friendship? And they loved one another still, proving Kate's point. Were one of them a man, it struck Eloise all of a sudden, they would really be quite well suited. As far as she could tell, there was not so terribly much (marriage aside) that separated her closeness with Pen from Kate's closeness with Anthony. The main thing was that Eloise was not as free to express her affection for Penelope.

It had never precisely occurred to her that she might want to express her affection in a way she hadn't before, such as by taking walks and trading books and penning editions of Whistledown. But there was the feeling Eloise had had when they had danced together at Lady Danbury's midwinter ball, holding each other by the waist, not just the hands. And there had been that same feeling when they had shared a cigarette in Eloise's bedchamber. What would Kate and Anthony have done in such moments, she wondered now? Their affection was so physical—a hand on a shoulder, a kiss in the garden—and carried off with such ease. What would it have been like, Eloise pondered with a racing heart, if instead of only thinking how her cigarette had looked between Pen's lips, she had plucked it out and put her own lips in its place?

She released a shuddering breath that flung her from her thoughts. Turning the sound into a cough, Eloise grabbed for her teacup and blamed a dry throat. This sere, wintery countryside, did not Kate know? It made one awfully thirsty.

The tea wetted her tongue, but was too hot to cool her thoughts. Eloise tried to tell herself that, for once, she needed to behave properly, to only make appropriate inquiries. Her foot bounced against the floor. Her mother would say she must not ask, she knew that for certain—but then, if her mother had ever provided her with the information she sought, Eloise would not need to ask.

It was the old curiosity, this area of ignorance which so many aspects of her life and work seemed destined to point back to. How had Marina come to be with child? What had to happen for Queen Charlotte to get her precious heir? What on earth was it about her brother that had assisted Kate in overcoming her initial repugnance for him? The thing between kissing and babies, the thing Pen and El’s constructed Lady W knew (according to Benedict) which they did not! Eloise took a quick breath to prepare to ask.

“Marital relations help, I suppose,” she blurted, leaning towards Kate and smiling grimly through her discomfort. “I mean, I don’t really know. My mother forbids the topic outright, and my brothers only make jokes they know I do not understand. Horrid creatures.”

During her babbling, Kate’s face had taken on an expression of surprise. Gradually, amusement was mixed in, to Eloise’s disappointment. She had not expected Kate to join her brothers in laughing at her.

“If your mother has forbidden the topic, then I should not speak of it,” Kate began.

Eloise sank back in her seat with a weary sigh.

“Of course,” Kate hedged with a sly look in her eye, “I have not always obeyed my own mother’s edicts. A young woman must be proper, yes, but in my opinion she must also be informed.”

This was stated with so much assurance that Eloise brightened instantly, rejoicing anew in Anthony’s choice of wife. Eloise’s hands balled into triumphant fists and she scrunched up her mouth to restrain the sort of victorious whoop which was only appropriate during a family-only croquet match. What a Kate! What a sister!

After a quick glance towards the doorway (thankfully empty), Kate asked, “From where are we starting? Tell me anything you know already.”

Eloise did. Kate listened attentively while Eloise shared the almost-nothing she knew and what felt like the very-little she had gleaned and guessed from activities such as reading and overhearing. Not once did Kate’s interested eyes narrow in judgement; there would have been a time when she had known as little as Eloise. Still, Eloise was glad to find her disclosure was met with understanding, not pity.

Eloise did not name a source for all of her guesswork. The truth was that some came from her own experience, and she could never divulge that. She could only say, I believe the kind of attraction that leads to marital relations is meant to feel something like… Or, If one were to spend much of one’s time with someone they cared for, there might be a deepening of existing feelings into feelings which were more…

She could not and did not say, I know the difference between friendship and attraction—though she did. After her revelation about the manner in which her and Penelope’s closeness might develop, Eloise had performed a swift consideration of whether this were how she would feel about any friendship. Perhaps it was all on her side, not about the other person at all. Maybe she was just… wretchedly unmarried. Maybe having a husband would erase this yearning for Penelope and she would no longer feel— No. Entirely ridiculous. Eloise would never believe a husband was the solution to anything. And a husband was definitely not a replacement for a Penelope.

If she had been correct the first time, that she was just feeling her friendships too intensely and confusing that natural affection for the greater intimacy which supposedly existed between husband and wife, well, that did not quite explain everything either. The friendship was far more recent, but she did not feel for Cressida what she felt for Penelope. Although she had been surprised by Cressida, was unexpectedly fond of Cressida, enjoyed enlivening conversation with Cressida, Eloise had never wanted to kiss Cressida. And she did want to kiss Penelope. She wanted to kiss Penelope more and more, the more she thought about it. So, really, she had to not think about it. At least while she spoke to Kate. It was imperative that Eloise devote her full attention to the conversation at hand. This might be her only opportunity to learn.

It proved to be fairly astonishing, the information Kate had to impart. Some of it seemed hardly credible—what went where?—except that Kate imparted each piece of knowledge with hushed urgency. She seemed quite determined to disclose as much as possible, lest they be interrupted. Eloise, in turn, did her best to absorb it all, though she did wish for paper and ink. Although, how mortifying if she were to include any of it in a letter to Penelope and that letter should fall into the wrong hands! Lady Featherington would undoubtedly march straight to Eloise’s mother, feeling rather superior over the Bridgerton girls being ever so improper compared to her own daughters. Even interception by Mrs. Varley would mean Eloise would never again be able to meet the eye of the Featherington housekeeper. The shame would be too great.

But why should she be ashamed!

As Kate spoke, describing bodily functions in blunt detail so there was no chance of Eloise being confused, Eloise wrestled with the competing impulses of shame and inquisitiveness. To be informed, she had always found, was to be powerful. And so, surely, making Eloise feel ashamed to know these things was another way in which her male-run society kept power out of her hands. They made her believe seeking knowledge was wicked, and was not that just the very oldest story in the book! Which book? The Bible, in fact!

Now, Eloise did not intend to rebel against god, but she did feel truly conflicted. Generally, knowledge had not made her feel discomfited in the past. The opposite. It must be that she simply required time to turn over this new information in her mind, to refigure some other assumptions and expectations around it. Kate did not seem ashamed. She was married, obviously, but Eloise thought that condition would not necessarily make it easy to accept that a man would be allowed to put that part of himself inside a woman’s body. Despite Kate’s matter-of-factness, Eloise shuddered with revulsion. This certainly did not seem like the logical endpoint to what she had felt for Penelope—first, because Eloise had never spent time in a man’s company and felt anything remotely like a desire for him to do that, and second, because Penelope could not do that to her. Nor could she do that to Penelope.

Eloise sagged down in her seat. Was that it then? Was there to be no grand act available to them? Were they unfortunates after all, doomed to an average happiness of lifelong friendship and companionship, promenades in the park and flutes of champagne? It did not sound so awful. Still, Eloise was disappointed. It felt a cruel waste that she—for all her aversion to marriage—might have a heart which quickened with desire when she could not act on it.

Tentatively, Eloise asked Kate, “But what if… what if there were not… a husband?”

Kate smiled knowingly. Eloise did not know what Kate knew, but tried to look as if she did. She made the face she did when attending lectures she only partially understood.

“If a woman is overcome by the feelings typically leading to or awakened during marital relations,” Kate said, “but she finds herself alone…”

Kate described what a woman alone might do, how she might relieve the urgency of the physical sensations which possessed her. Eloise had not meant to imply a partnerless scenario, but what Kate had assumed was simpler, she had to admit. Naturally, Kate, who loved and felt these sensations for her husband (internally, Eloise strove like never in her life to separate all of this from Anthony), would not think of two women. No one would. No one did. It was not how their society, nor any other Eloise knew of, worked. Nevertheless, Kate had taught her something of feminine pleasure. Eloise guessed that anything that might be done with oneself might be accomplished just as easily with another woman.

Contemplating this, Eloise sipped distractedly at her tea, until eventually, she raised it to her lips and realized she was attempting to drink from an empty cup.

[garndiddlious]

made a big compilation of Evil Morty and Morty Prime SORTA being friends (along with foreshadowed friendship). im not too keen on how tumblr works so i have no idea if any of this is gonna make sense, but just bare with me. also, for the sake of not typing the same names a billion times, EM = evil morty and MP = morty prime.

first off, just to start, this is a little frame that always stuck with me. EM is the first morty MP has actually met, so of course he’s curious about another version of himself.

and next is the BIGGG video. im not going to force you to watch it, so ill state my thoughts on it first and you can watch if you want to analyze more.

PART ONE aka when EM lead MP to the morty room

- to start, MP is obviously trying to make conversation

- EM is keeping that together cold, calm character probably to both not be forced to elaborate and to control evil rick

- MP states his ideas of rick, showing rebellion unlike other mortys. EM obviously took this to heart, even if he didn’t let MP leave.

- that strange stare EM gives MP

PART TWO aka when EM talks about “sellout mortys” (didn’t add the whole montage)

- EM refers to MP as a “sellout” morty, which is obviously an insult

- however he states he can’t hate him for it due to most mortys being “bred for it”

- gives MP the chance to see his issues with rick more clearly

PART THREE aka when both call rick a liar

- not much to say, just that they’re both in agreement and they jinxed eachother which is like totally a friend thing (im coping)

PART FOUR aka when EM states how MP probably relates to him

- it’s true, MP has been “evil” countless times

- EM puts enough ideas in his head where MP’s relationship with rick truly starts to get more shakey

PART FIVE aka when EM offers MP to come with

- do i even need to explain? he offers to MP that he’ll let him come, completely unmalicious

- even though EM says that second seat was a toilet, he still offered to let him come nonetheless

- MP literally calls EM cool

PART SIX aka when MP “tees up” EM

- once again not much to say, other than EM making snide remarks to rick and MP being curious as always

PART SEVEN aka MP and EM going into the same “fighting room”

- i know it’s realistically what would happen since the two mortys count as one rick in the machine, however they were still paired up so

PART EIGHT aka when EM kills nice rick

- EM could’ve literally killed MP so easily but he didnt

- kills nice rick once he admits he was just going to use the two, once again not a lot to say but EM protecting MP and himself in a way

PART NINE aka “the worst turd is a pizza”

- MP as always attempting to engage in casual conversation with EM

PART TEN aka when MP steps into EM’s portal

- there’s not a whole lot in the beginning, just EM explaining to MP stuff

- EM saying how he “doesn’t care” if MP comes or not

- the portal closing on MP, causing EM to immediately open the portal back up to once again offer to let him join

- morty explaining his dork ass reason, EM letting him come with

- although there’s probably a reason, EM acting like he doesn’t gaf and then opening up the portal 5 seconds later just to let morty enter. istg.

PART ELEVEN aka EM and MP regrouping with rick

- once again EM acting like he doesn’t really care, definitely not letting rick know he gave MP a second chance to come with

PART TWELVE aka “rick’s cheering section”

- EM stating “WE brought ourselves”

- really giving MP those free will points, defending both him and MP

PART THIRTEEN aka MP using a rick prime bot to save evil morty

- i don’t think i need to elaborate much, MP literally saves EM

- does the two fingers salute to EM, probably saying “you can trust me”

PART FOURTEEN aka EM doing a body swap thing

- we really don’t know enough about what EM actually did to figure this out

- it could be that they completely bodyswapped and EM was just in MP’s body now, but then he wouldn’t have his wires

- either way, they swapped shirts, see that in whatever way you want, friendship love, sibling love, bromantic, romantic, whatever way you view their relationship

- EM thanks MP, it’s hard to tell if it’s sarcastic or not because EM is always flat toned

PART FIFTEEN aka EM blows up the omega device

- MP, as usual, trying to engage in casual conversation

- lets EM know about the pretty visual, really trying to connect with him

- EM states “THIS didn’t make us friends”, maybe implying something like “THAT could make us friends” in a future season?

CONCLUSION

im full of cope, im practically losing it, but im so certain they’re trying to handle EM’s and MP’s relationship in a way where they aren’t purely acquaintances. and although MP makes him attempts at friendship more obvious, and EM refuses to act like they’re friends, he has almost as many “friendship” like moments on his own. i really hope we don’t have to wait for another season to pass for EM to appear again, he’s become alot more vital, especially since the main threat that we know of (prime rick) has been eliminated. i know the writers are probably gonna be kinda silly and just make EM the main villain, however these last few episodes have been purely to develop the characters rather than the plot, and EM’s and MP’s relationship has so much potential for something fun. i don’t think something like the freaky mortys theory will happen, however there is a lot of room to wiggle around in and develop their relationship, because it will ultimately develop both MP and EM which is definitely what the writers are wanting to do. anyways feel free to use this video, feel free to reblog with your own thoughts and ideas, these are just mine!!

[esta-elavaris]

Part Fourteen [2,710 words] ~ James Norrington/OC

An AU of my completed, 400k+ word fanfic Catch the Wind [AO3], in which Elizabeth, not James, is the one to discover Theodora Byrne after she crash-lands into the world of Pirates of the Caribbean.

Page breaks by cafekitsune.

Also now on AO3 and FF.net.

Masterpost - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine - Part Ten - Part Eleven - Part Twelve - Part Thirteen - *Part Fourteen* [you're here!]

Tag list [let me know if you want to be added!]: @teawithshakespeare @missfronkensteen @dancerinthestorm

A/N: What's a cheeky early update between friends? Not gonna make a habit of it - but as long as I keep to my 'one update a week' thing, I don't see the point in this gathering dust in my documents ✨

While the menfolk were gone, Theo and Elizabeth kept much to their usual routine, although it was filled with less of the usual mirth than it had once been. If she was being honest, Theo had barely noticed that, her mind elsewhere, but after almost two full weeks of it, Elizabeth appeared to decide that it had gone on quite long enough.

Never one to let things lie if she was discontent with them, she strode into Theo’s bedroom one night in her nightgown, plopped herself down beside her on the bed, and addressed her without preamble.

“I understand you’re upset. You’ve every right to be. But I must point out that I am not among those who deserve to be punished for what happened that night.”

Theo blinked her surprise, watching Elizabeth with muted curiosity. That was the key word, she supposed. Muted.

“I’m not punishing you for anything,” she said quietly.

“You are not yourself,” Elizabeth replied archly. “You haven’t been yourself ever since…since all of that. And as I said, I understand that, but I do not deserve to be on the receiving end of it.”

“You don’t,” she replied readily. “And I’m not. Punishing you, I mean. I’m not doing that.”

Even the senior of the Swanns – Elizabeth’s father – had offered her a brief, awkward, but sincere apology for what had gone on that night. Either Elizabeth had pointed out to him that not all gathered had shared his spirit of everything being in good fun, or he’d realised it himself after sobering up, and after hearing the whispers about town. The Governor didn’t have to do that, she hadn’t blamed him for it either because he hadn’t meant harm, her ire was saved primarily for Amelia and Norrington, but she still appreciated the gesture all the same. They were good people, the Swanns.

“Then what are you doing?” Elizabeth entreated.

Her legs folded beneath her, she leaned forward and rested a hand on her arm. Theo, haltingly, placed her own hand over it.

Theo paused, debating on her answer. The thoughts that had been steadily circling her mind, on and on, ever since that disastrous dinner party, weren’t something she’d planned on sharing with any here. Not just because Elizabeth was the only person she really could share them with at all, but because she knew Elizabeth herself would not receive them well.

But maybe it was better than her thinking that she’d spontaneously decided to hate her.

“I got too comfortable. That night was a reminder not to do that. I can’t pretend it was a welcome reminder, but…it was a necessary one.”

She felt most like herself like this – if she ignored the excess of frills and lace and white linen that she sported from the collarbones down, anyway. Her hair unbound, rather than forced into a ridiculous updo, no corset, no seventy skirts, no bows, no satin slippers, and no jewellery other than that which she brought with her. Sure, she didn’t hate the adornments – sometimes they were even fun – but they weren’t her. She’d been reminded of that now, and she wasn’t in a rush to forget it.

“Too comfortable? What? Here?” Elizabeth’s hand slipped away, but she didn’t shift back.

“Not…not here as in here, with you, in your home. But in the general, wider sense of the word, yeah. I got too comfortable?”

“I don’t understand!”

“I don’t belong here, Elizabeth. It’s not my world. I’m- I’m three centuries out of time. I have no business swanning about, developing crushes-”

“Crushes?” Elizabeth’s dark eyes regarded her with concern. “Is…is that an ailment? Is it serious?”

“No, it just means to…to take a liking to someone.”

The concern changed to hurt, and she had to rush to clarify.

“In a way that means more than friendship. I wasn’t talking about you.”

Although if she had to keep clarifying that particular part of what was about to be a very impassioned speech, she’d find herself once again fleeing up the stairs in a fit of mortification. The sorrow that softened Elizabeth’s face then didn’t help matters. Her cheeks began to burn.

“Oh, Theo,” she sighed.

“It’s not like you didn’t know.”

“Yes, but you never admitted it.”

“I didn’t fully realise it until that night – when it was…” stamped all over and promptly set on fire, “��shown to be the idiocy that it was.”

“He looked positively wretched after the fact, you know.”

“Good.”

In order to settle for that one-worded response, she had to push down quite a few arguments – all of which she had no energy for. The primary one being that he probably only looked so wretched because he knew his little display would earn him Elizabeth’s scorn. But maybe that was the reason behind his actions. Not only to show Theo herself exactly where she sat in his estimations, but to show Elizabeth, too. If not the whole of Port Royal.

But mostly just Elizabeth. She’d certainly teased Theo enough about whatever spark she was so sure she’d seen, it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that she’d made similar comments to Norrington, and he’d seen fit to act accordingly. Especially after his ruse and been rumbled, and he had no reason to keep…to keep pretending that he…

She reined her emotions in before the lump in her throat could grow into something more embarrassing like, god forbid, tears. Instead, she turned her mind to practical matters. Like leaving. Because she’d spoken honestly to Elizabeth – it had been a sorely needed reminder, and she’d begun to piece together the beginnings of a plan.

That would’ve been part of why others were seeing a change in her. Not only because she no longer had the heart to put on a cheery face and make an effort with the people who had tittered and delighted in that display, but because she really was distracted. So she fell back to the sidelines – in spirit, when she couldn’t do so physically, kept her mouth shut, and retreated inward.

There were only two people she could think of from this story who might harbour knowledge of other worlds. The first was Davy Jones. His job, even if he ignored it, was distinctly supernatural in nature, and unlike Barbossa it wasn’t just a curse that had been unwittingly rained down upon him. It was possible that career instilled him with some knowledge beyond mortal means. However, she highly doubted he’d be inclined to help.

The other, far more obvious, choice was…well. His ex-girlfriend. And, being a goddess, she packed a hell of a lot more of a punch. The odds of Calypso being able to help her were greater, and – if she was doing her best to be optimistic – her inclination to help her might also be weighted in Theo’s benefit. But therein lay the problem. Because to get to her, she’d have to go through Captain Jack Sparrow, and she was barely more confident that he’d want to help her than she was that Jones ever would.

“I don’t know what his motives were – I can hardly pretend otherwise, because I cannot fathom what he was thinking – but he is not a bad man, Theo. There would have been a reason. However much it backfired.”

“You see a very different side to him than I do,” she replied. “He’s in love with you. It only makes sense that he makes sure you only see the highlight reel.”

The phrasing was odd, but Elizabeth seemed to get the spirit of what she was saying.

“I’ve known him for years. Years. Only the most artful social climber could pull off such a façade, and he has little taste for that mode of being. If he despised you, he would simply avoid you. He’s been doing the very opposite of that.”

“To pry information from me. To make sure that you are safe.”

“He’s not in love with me.”

Theo could only laugh at that. It didn’t go appreciated.

“He’s not!” Elizabeth said firmly, thinly controlled ire burning in her eyes. “Perhaps once he was. Perhaps now he thinks he still is, Theo, but he’s not. I just wish he would realise that.”

What could she say in response to that? Elizabeth had the trump card in this discussion each and every time – how long she’d known him. There was little Theo could say that the other woman wouldn’t confidently beat back with that fact, over and over again, even if Theo herself thought that it made precious little difference.

The only thing she could possibly use in favour of her argument was the movies, but Elizabeth knew nothing of them – nor Theo’s knowledge of them. If she unveiled that now, she’d show herself up as a liar to the only real friend and ally she had here, and she couldn’t face that. Even if it was selfish of her.

But the silence was taken as a sign of weakness, and Elizabeth seized on it to further her point. Her hand reached out again, taking her hand and using it to lever herself forward until she sat shoulder-to-shoulder with her on the bed, speaking softly.

“Captain Norrington is a man who prides himself in his plans. He sets goals, he meets them, he deviates from them only when necessary – and is only flexible with them when the heat of battle calls for it. Maybe he did fall for me, I do not live in his mind so I cannot say-”

“He did.”

“If you’re so certain, I’ll believe you. But you must believe me when I say I am certain of this – he has changed, since he got to know you. But he’s…he’s so committed to his original plan, and the way he thinks things should be, that he won’t let himself see it. That is the impediment. His inflexibility. Not his feelings. And if I’m as right as I’m sure I am, he’ll be going through a rotten time now because of it.”

Another ‘good’ was on the tip of her tongue in response to that last bit, but she didn’t have the heart to say it.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” she said instead.

Although she took the bite from her words by leaning against Elizabeth, and squeezing her hand.

She squeezed back. “It does. You just share a common trait. You’re both too stubborn to see what’s directly in front of you.”

James Norrington had been in a foul mood ever since setting sail. Or, to be more accurate, since the night before setting sail.  

Having plans backfire was part and parcel of a naval career – or, indeed, sailing at all. But none had ever backfired quite so marvellously as his had that night, and…and her face haunted him. Haunted was an extreme word, melodramatic even, and he was not given to melodrama, but it was the only one that truly fit the bill. And many men might class themselves as lucky, to have the face of a fair woman so stuck within their minds during, if not their every waking moment, then certainly a great deal of them, but it was the expression on her face that he could not rid himself of.

The same expression, levelled at him three times throughout the night. Firstly, during that moment in the gardens. Then, when he supported Miss Simmonds’ ploy. Then, the final time, during that terrible encounter at the foot of the stairs. Each time, it increased in severity, and each time it struck him with the same force as a physical blow might – not least because how she usually allowed others to see little other than mirth.

If she showed her hurt, it was because it was so great that she could no longer bring herself to conceal it. And he was the one who’d caused it.

It mattered little that he had not meant to. No, indeed, it did not matter at all.

Those looks, even from the first, had his heart sinking further than he thought her capable of instilling in him – than he thought any capable of instilling in him. And while James was not prone to flights of fancy, he was sure in those moments, while they were being levelled his way, that he’d promise her all he owned if it would only take that expression off of her face.

And no higher power had opted to be merciful on him that night – not that he deserved it – for it hadn’t ended there. Her parting words, though they had not impacted him quite as much in the moment, had grown to gnaw on him endlessly, more and more with each day that went by.

You'll be rid of me soon enough.

It had the sound of a vow to it. An oath. To the extent where he expected – where he feared – that he would return to Port Royal, only to find she’d departed for Ireland in his absence. Or the Americas, perhaps. It didn’t matter, for either way he would find her gone, and though the prospect of her absence alone troubled him greatly, two other things bothered him when it came to that particular notion. The first, that he couldn’t quite pinpoint when the moment came that he began to view such an outcome not as a goal, nor a boon, but something to dread.

The second plagued him more. For the realisation that Miss Swann would scorn him for such an outcome was a delayed one – and, further still, even after he realised it, it was not his primary concern. And he could hardly pinpoint when that had changed, either.

Undoubtedly, the men had noticed his foul mood, along with how it only worsened with each day. It wasn’t as though he did much to hide it, regardless of the fact that those who had not witnessed the debacle firsthand would have heard the whispers of it since, and all would therefore know exactly why he was so displeased.

Perhaps they’d think his worries were based where they should have been. That he feared returning to find his standing with Miss Swann drastically lowered. If they suspected otherwise, they kept their whispers out of his earshot – even Groves, who had so openly voiced his bemusement at his actions made no further mention of it.

He had not explained his reasoning to the Lieutenant when he’d asked, but he suspected the question had been somewhat rhetorical in nature.

Explaining it would not justify it, in any case. It had been a gamble – but like all gambles, he only saw just how preposterous it was when it well and truly went up in smoke.

Timing was at the crux of it. That was his only excuse as to why he’d acted as he had without thinking it through properly. For Theod- Miss Byrne had been angry, and she’d been…well, while not drunk, certainly under the sway of the strong wine that the Governor liked to offer his guests. If she was ever going to allow a crack to form in her façade, it would have been then. If she was of higher birth than he’d suspected (and that fact was looking doubtful now), she would have played well out of spite, in that state.

What would have followed was a foolish daydream. He’d corner her and, seeing that the game was over, she’d confess everything in a flurry of tears, finally entrusting him with her true origins, and endeavouring to secure his help – which he would offer unconditionally.

Only it didn’t happen like that, did it? No, instead he’d embarrassed her twice in a row, and then finished things off by – for all he knew – driving her from Port Royal entirely. And even if she was there when he returned, she’d likely never speak to him again. And that, he feared, would be even worse than her absence.

And, though he’d so often wondered at just how little he could work out about Theodora Byrne, he knew one thing. Regaining a place in her good graces would be all but impossible. Not after a minor slight, perhaps, but after humiliation heaped on humiliation? Few could forgive that. Few should forgive that.

God, but he was a fool.

[paulrobinsonshotel]

OK so I was watching "The Day of the Doctor" (you know an actual anniversary special that's worthy of the name) yesterday, and there was a bit of dialogue that fascinated me.

GENERAL: The Omega Arsenal, where all the forbidden weapons are locked away. ANDROGAR: They're not forbidden any more. We've used them all against the Daleks.

GENERAL: No. No we haven't.

(Later)

GENERAL: The Moment is gone.

So by the end of the Time War, the Time Lords had used up all of their most dangerous weapons, with the exception of the most dangerous weapon of all ("The Galaxy Eater").

And what state was Gallifrey in after being saved by the Doctor(s) at the end of the War?

GENERAL: Gallifrey is currently positioned at the extreme end of the time continuum, for its own protection. 

I think that's enough to infer that the Time Lords never built any particularly powerful weapons, since they were in no position to defend themselves and had to hide out in the far future.

Which begs the question: What happened to the Moment?

It's not possible from a story perspective that War or Ten took it, and while it's theoretically plausible that Eleven took the Moment with him after the events of DOTD, I feel like the Doctor possessing the most dangerous weapon in the universe would've been a plot point at some point during the more introspective/morally questioning stories of Twelve or Thirteen's tenures.

However, the Moment isn't in the Doctor's childhood barn by the time Twelve shows up there in Hell Bent, so we know it's gone somewhere.

The next time we see Gallifrey in Spyfall, it's been "destroyed", in the sense that it's been reduced to ruins but is still physically standing. And when you look at the Master's dialogue:

MASTER: I took a trip home, to Gallifrey, hiding in its little bubble universe. Not sure how to describe what I found. Pulverised? Burned? Nuked? All of the above. Someone destroyed it. Our home, razed to the ground. Everyone killed. Everything burned.

Obviously, it later transpires that the Master himself was responsible for all this. It's not confirmed how much time passed between Hell Bent and Spyfall, but since Ascension of the Cybermen is set in "the very far future", it implies Gallifrey was still in a weak enough state that it needed to hide there.

Now, while it's plausible that the Master went and got weapons from elsewhere to destroy Gallifrey, I think there's a more interesting proposal:

He used the Moment.

Gallifrey being wrecked but still physically intact seems a bit underpowered for what the show has implied the Moment to be capable of. But it's possible that the weapon has weaker settings. But it's the only weapon that's (presumably) on Gallifrey which has the potential to inflict that level of destruction on a whole planet.

I think there's some huge story potential there. The Master, utterly wrecked by the Timeless Child revelation, his most fundamental belief that the he and the Doctor were equals (and that being the entire reason he sought to rebuild their friendship as Missy) being completely shattered, and wanting nothing more than to make the Time Lords pay, both for what they did to the Doctor and for lying to him that he could be her equal. Considering that in later stories, the Master wants nothing more than for it to end, I wonder if the Master set off the Moment, intending to die with Gallifrey, one last twisted tribute to his friendship with the Doctor. Especially when you consider what the Moment said to the War Doctor:

MOMENT: Then that's your punishment. If you do this, if you kill them all, then that's the consequence. You live.

I think that adds so much to Dhawan!Master's characterisation. Attempting to rebuild his friendship with the Doctor as Missy, being killed by her past self, regenerating (or coming back some other way), discovering that their friendship was built on both of them being lied to and that the Doctor is more important than he'll ever be, and finally, attempting to die avenging the Doctor only to be forced to stay alive by the Moment.

I wonder which form the Moment would take for him? I think it's fair to say that the Master's previous "friends" like Lucy Saxon, Dr Chang and Seb were nowhere near important enough to him to be a conscience for him. But it couldn't have been any of the Doctor's incarnations. That would just make him angrier.

This might just be my favourite headcanon ever.

[courtney-deserved-better]

my fair lady: part thirteen - a gwourtney choose your own adventure!

(part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven | part twelve) (read on ao3)

i'm pretty sure that this is going to be the second to last chapter of my fair lady, which means it's the last chapter you can vote on! so go check it out!

Heather.

Courtney has to vote for Heather. It’s what she and Gwen originally agreed upon, and she can’t let Gwen down. They can always eliminate Alejandro next, with Noah’s help, and as for the information Alejandro holds over Courtney… well, if push comes to shove, Courtney can deny that she has feelings for Gwen.

She totally does, though.

Resolutely, Courtney stamps Heather’s passport.

«──────────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ────────────»

Having been the first one to vote—for Heather, of course—Gwen makes her way to the elimination room on her own.

Which leads to her bumping into Duncan.

“Oh, hey,” Gwen says, suddenly aware of how very empty the hallway is. “I’d say glad to have you back, but…”

“…neither of us want to be here?”

“You got that right.”

Duncan sighs. “Yeah, Chris says I have to keep playing the game, that it’s in the contract or something. He could be lying outta his ass, but honestly, I don’t have energy or the knowledge to look through that whole thing and see for myself if that’s true.”

“You could always ask Courtney for help.”

“Yeah, right, like she’d do that for me. Pretty sure we’re over.”

“She said as much to me,” Gwen replies. “Actually, speaking of that…”

“No.”

“Huh?”

“No, I don’t have a thing for you despite everyone else thinking differently, so don’t ask if we can start dating now.”

“What?”

“Is that… not what you were going to ask?”

Gwen leans over and flicks his ear. “No! Egotistical much?”

“Nah, I just figured that since the world seems to think we like each other…” Duncan shrugs. “Sorry. Should’ve known you’d be cooler than that.”

“Damn right.”

“So what were you actually gonna ask me?”

“Uh, right… it’s kind of like… a bro code question?”

“Interesting.”

“So like, if someone wanted to date Courtney now that you two are broken up for good, would you immediately hate them?”

“Nah, I’d wish ‘em good luck and remind ‘em to wear a cup.”

“I’m serious, Duncan.”

“So am I!”

“Wait, really?”

“Yes. I’m over Courtney, she can date whoever she wants. I really don’t care.”

“Huh. Okay.”

“But who’s even interested?” Duncan asks. “Owen’s scared of her, Cody’s always had a thing for you, Noah’s… you know, and—Alejandro? Wait, Alejandro wants to date Courtney?”

“Um—”

“I don’t know the guy super well, but honestly, that would make sense. They’re both high achievers and stuff. I bet her parents would love him.”

“Actually—”

“Yeah I could really see them together—”

“Alejandro doesn’t want to date Courtney, I do!” Gwen blurts out.

She immediately claps her hands over her mouth.

Duncan raises his eyebrow. “Well I can’t say I was expecting that.”

“…Surprise?”

“You’re being serious.”

“I’m being serious.”

“Huh.” Duncan rubs the back of his neck. “Wow. Okay. I—honestly I can’t see that working out, like, at all, but you’d still be my friend if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Thanks, I think,” Gwen says, cheeks still flaming red. “And, I dunno. We’ve been getting along really well recently. I think we might have a chance.”

“If you think so, then go for it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, don’t get me wrong, things were shitty for most of the time I dated her, but Courtney and I had some awesome moments too. If you wanna give it a shot…”

“Duncan?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

Duncan grins and punches her arm lightly. “Hey, I’d like to think I’m a better friend than boyfriend.”

“You are,” Gwen says. “And now that you’re back, we should totally prank Chris and Chef.”

“Oh, I’m gonna make them regret letting me back on this show.”

“That’s the spirit!”

Eventually, Noah comes trudging down the hallway, and Gwen and Duncan part ways with a silent nod. Soon, all of the new Team Amazon is sitting on the benches in the elimination room.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you ladies in this room,” Chris says, nodding to Gwen, Courtney, and Heather. “Boys… wait, has Team Victory been the only team to have an elimination that didn’t require a military airlift?”

“Yeah,” everyone choruses.

“Damn, that’s… poor team balancing on my part.”

Alejandro shrugs. “You have no complaints from me.”

“Or me,” Heather says, a wicked gleam in her eye. “Let’s get on with this.”

Chris claps his hands together. “Alright! Let’s see… for never being captured and probably being the most useful teammates this entire challenge, Courtney and Gwen are safe!”

The girls grin at one another as they catch the peanut bags.

“As for you three… Noah, you slowed your team down. Heather, you refused to strip the guards. Alejandro, you were a wimp about fighting an actual serial killer. Also, you all got captured… but Noah, you’re safe.”

As Noah barely manages to catch his peanuts—sports really aren’t his forte, Gwen thinks—Heather and Alejandro smirk at one another. Gwen hides her smile in her own bag of peanuts. It’s laughable how they both think the other one is guaranteed to go home.

“And the first member of Team Amazon to be eliminated is…”

Courtney shifts nervously.

“…Heather.”

“What?” Heather and Noah chorus.

Alejandro’s smirk widens. “Adios, Heather. You were a worthy competitor… while it lasted.”

“How is that possible?” Noah mutters, eyes darting around the room.

Heather jumps to her feet. “It’s not. It’s not! Recount the votes, Chris! There were supposed to be four votes against Alejandro! Me, Noah, Courtney, and…”

“Yeah, actually,” Gwen says, “Courtney and I decided we’d rather have a gentleman on our team than you.”

“But he’s evil!”

Courtney shakes her head, fighting to keep a smile off her face. “Heather, we don’t know what you’ve been talking about this whole time. Alejandro, evil? He’s the nicest guy here!”

“But you—but—augh!” Heather huffs. “Fine, I’ll leave! But I’ve got some truth bombs for all of you. Starting with a certain weird goth girl.”

Gwen’s stomach lurches.

Uh oh. She’s going to tell Courtney how I feel about her!

[erikiara80]

So, who do you think is the ''20'' exactly? I mean, I asked this question to other blogs but I am yet to find a real answer, lol.

As we all know, S4 foreshadowed El losing in a D&D game. When Dustin rolls an 11, it is a miss so they lose, which is basically a foreshadowing of El (11) losing. But then Erica rolls '20' and they win. So who is 20, exactly?

I also searched for STReddit to see answers or theories regarding this, some of them said that 20 is basically 11+9. So, Eleven plus someone else (who is associated with the number 9) would be able to defeat Vecna (and overall would make the characters win as well). But I personally do not think any character is associated with the number 9? Some people said that '9' just could mean 11 (El) and other 9 people in addition. But that seems... kinda unlikely? There are also the theories that Kali might come back and she's '8' and she will play a role in that, but I personally think she will not come back, so I do not exactly consider those theories to have a possibility.

So, my question is, who is 20 exactly? if 11 is associated with a person, which is basically El, that means that 20 has to be associated with a person too. Do you think it is just one person or is it a combination of a group of people or something?

Ciao, anon! Since you asked other blogs and also searched for STReddit to find an answer, I’ll tell you everything I found about it. This is gonna be a long answer. So, of course the real strenght of these characters is their friendship and only united they can win. 

That being said. To answer your question. I think Kali will come back, yes. But imo, 20 is Will. In the sense that he is the key to defeat Henry. They hint at it in many ways. This is the most obvious.

Mike’s skates have two tens too by the way (El has two sixes), so they will be a team for sure, but they specifically focused on Will, here. And there’s more. In S2, Owens tells Joyce that viruses (the Mind Flayer) can be cured

Then in S4 he tells El he thinks SHE is the cure. But we know she lost.

But then, in Will’s room there’s the poster of The Cure. So he is the cure.

Why? One, because of his connection with Henry/MF. He’s the only one who can sense what Henry is feeling, and I’m sure he will try to spy on him and find information about his past, his plan and his weaknesses. 

Two. Because I think all his parallels with Henry and El mean that he has powers too. Not like El’s and not exactly like Henry’s. He’s like Bastian of Neverending Story. As an artist, like Henry, who shaped the Mind Flayer, I think Will can shape things with his imagination. But probably only in the Upside Down. And it’s with that ability, imo, that the Upside Down was shaped on Nov 6th. And the reason it never changed is that that’s the only time Will was there. It was probably Henry who used Will’s ability. He kinda used both the kids that night, imo. He used the psychic connection Will made with the Demogorgon and the UD when the monster got him. Just like El’s psychic contact with the Demogorgon opened the gate (as Dustin and Lucas say in S4). But even if his abduction was just a coincidence and Will shaped the UD accidentally, it would work.

I think Will’s powers were activated in the UD and are deeply connected to it, so maybe they only work there, and that’s why he hasn’t used them so far. Or they’ve been blocked by Henry with the Soteria. Or by the trauma of being intubated at the library, so he doesn’t even remember what happened there. I don’t know. But I think Will having power is THE plot twist that will change the way we see the whole story. 

And imo the clues that he has a power Henry needs is the red building in the poster and another red building we see more than once in El’s flashbacks. In fact, Will is also associated with another number. Twelve. Twelve is a lab kid (it’s not Will) we first see with two crayon boxes = connection with Will. Then we always see him building a red tower.

So, the power to build (a new world). Exactly what Henry wants but can’t do because I think he can only shape the Mind Flayer and create illusions. He needed El to open the gate, and he needs Will to build his new world. Will and El are the Wonder Twins of Stranger Things. Oh, and there are twins in the flashbacks. To suggest that in this story there are two kids who are connected, have powers and have been paralleled from S1? Yes, I think so.

One could say that that’s about El and Henry. 11+1=12 But Will is the one associated with the number twelve. Especially since he was born on March 22 1971, exactly 12 years after the night Brenner took Henry to the lab (the date is on the article on the massacre)

A 70 again

And a 50 on the car.

They also show Seven and Five, the lab kids, dead. There are twelves on the cubes (dice?) in the rainbow room. It's like they wanted us to know that the real twelve of the story was there with them. The three people with powers. The three people connected to the Upside Down. If you think about it: 1+11+12=24. 24. The hours on a clock. It makes sense that there are One, Eleven and “Twelve”.

There are also other clues on Will’s powers, but this is already so long, lol. Sorry!

This is one of my favorite lines that imo Is foreshadowing of Will and El saving the world together in S5

[emilou-keen-gear]

Case Closed AU

I've been reading a lot of Case Closed manga, and I had this fun idea of the same scenario happening to Darkwing Duck. I've been having fun with some ideas, and I just want to play around with the characters and see how things happen with this idea.

Drake Mallard, age 22, is a hot, new-comer actor that is making waves in St. Canard. Although it isn't exactly Hollywood, St. Canard is still a bustling city for actors, artists, singers and other talents. Drake started young but it wasn't until he hit seventeen that he started getting noticed, and now his name is on the minds of the elite in St. Canard. But that's not his only influence on the metropolis.

When he's not rubbing elbows with the rich and famous, he takes on the disguise of Darkwing Duck, the vigilante that scours the streets of St. Canard for criminals. Drake Mallard never had thought about how crime and how bad things were for some people in St. Canard until his mentor and agent, Jim Starling, was gunned down during a turf war between gangs when he was eighteen. After that, he was determined to make a different.

However, while Darkwing Duck was investigating Steelbeak, an enforcer for the FOWL mob family, he ran into a lot of trouble and was captured by the rooster. Instead of killing Darkwing Duck in his usual manner (Steelbeak liked guns), he decided to try out an experimental poison that was said to be untraceable. However, Darkwing Duck did not die but instead was transformed into an eleven-year-old version of himself.

Launchpad Mcquack, age 22, always wanted to be a hero. He was determined to join St. Canard's finest and eventually become a detective on the force. But he failed the police exams several times before perserverence finally paid off. Although he was never the sharpest tool in the shed and that sometimes gets him in trouble, he has found that his instincts are geared toward locating those who are in need and has an uncommonly sharp sense of justice.

Launchpad and Drake had been friends for over a decade and he is the only one who knows the true secret of Darkwing Duck. So when Drake found himself shrunk down to a smaller size, there was only one person he could trust to help him when in dire straights.

After coming up with the backstory that Drake belonged to one of Launchpad's old girlfriends (there have been so many, nobody questioned this), that the police officer has found himself the sole guardian of a child who has the mind of one of St. Canard's greatest detectives.

Charity Loveatte, age 21, is a long-time childhood friend of Launchpad, although she moved away from St. Canard to Duckburg when she was only twelve (she has never met Drake Mallard before the current events). But since Launchpad and Charity's family have ties, they have spent every summer together on Launchpad's grandparent's farm throughout their childhood.

When she was about fifteen, she pursued her dream to be a singer. Due to her father being the head of the Lovebird Corporation, she had contacts that helped her go far. But she did not like using her father or his money in that way due to the controlling nature her father had over her and her mother. She had a plan to cut all ties with her father, which included moving to St. Canard and changing her name to her mother's maiden name, Loveatte.

And even though she enjoyed some level of fame in her past, her father has made it clear that he will no longer help her, and thus she was cast down to a lower level. But she didn't mind.

Now in St. Canard, she has signed up with a small talent agent and sings anywhere she can. To save on money, she shares an apartment with Launchpad, who, unfortunately, had "lost" his previous roomate, Drake Mallard. Even more befuddling but bemusing, she also finds their apartment shared by an eleven-year-old child by the name of Drake who bears a stunning resemblance to the missing actor, Drake Mallard. Because Launchpad works odd hours at the police force, she often takes the young Drake to work with her.

***

It's still a plot in progress. I'm wanting to just share a few scenes and drawing from it. I don't have any plans on writing a whole story. I have enough on my plate for now.

[wreywrites]

Tiger Shark

Part 2: The Sea

Chapter 10

A wet nose nudges me awake. I open my eyes to the enormous face and horrible breath of a buffalo. I jump, bumping into something solid at my back.

The buffalo, as scared as I am, skitters a few steps away and watches me closely. The solid thing against my back is Mako. “What happened?” His voice is tight.

“Buffalo woke me up and scared me half to death.” I roll onto my back, stretching my cramped muscles. I must have slept all night in the fetal position.

“Well I’m glad they were here. I guess I fell asleep. Feels like I slept for quite a while too.” He rubs his eyes. “Sorry I didn’t…”

“It’s fine,” I say. “I couldn’t stay awake either. I guess we owe our lumbering friends for keeping us safe.”

“How about we agree not to kill any more of them. I’m already tired of buffalo meat.”

I nod.

We lay on our backs in the grass for a while, stretching and enjoying the sun on our faces and the relative safety the herd provides.

“We should go back to the cave,” Mako says. “I don’t know about you, but I haven’t had water since yesterday morning.”

I hadn’t realized how thirsty I was until he said that. I nod, and we make our slow way back to the river.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

After I update the scratches on the cave wall keeping track of who is dead, we spend the day fishing. Horrifyingly, it seems the fish have a taste for buffalo jerky, which is enough knowledge to keep me from swimming. Who knows what the Gamemakers have cooked up instead of normal trout.

Mako thinks it is funny that I willingly swim with sharks but I won’t brave this little river.

“All right, if you’re so brave, you go for a swim.”

He does not.

I start cleaning the latest catch. “I wonder what they’re doing at home.”

“Probably watching us. We’re mandatory viewing, remember?”

“Oh yeah.” Somehow it doesn’t feel like the Hunger Games. Being in the arena has removed all sense of what is actually happening. It feels like we’ve simply taken a trip away from the coast and when we are ready to go home, we will get on a train somewhere and travel home and everything will be how it was before.

The next day progresses just as calmly. Sometime during the afternoon, I see a thin trail of smoke rising from the trees on the far side of the cornucopia, but it is extinguished after a while and no cannon sounds. Once again, we have all retreated our separate ways and apparently have no intentions of hunting each other down. It makes sense though, the Career pack now has only two Careers left, plus the girl from Seven. They’re probably trying to regroup, get food, come up with a plan. They won’t attack us, as weak as they are. In a few days, probably, but not today. Then there is the boy from Three, who I haven’t seen scale or tail of since the bloodbath. I’m sure he is plotting some very intelligent way of killing us all at once. Mako and I are still alive. The girl from Six is somewhere out there, as are Stitch and Zalea. I wonder if they stuck together after the stampede or split up. The boy from Eleven is still alive as well—maybe Zalea found him. Though if he wasn’t in on Merritt’s plan, I doubt he and Zalea are working together in the arena. Maybe they decided to split from the very beginning to ensure neither of them would have to kill the other. And there is the boy from Twelve too. That makes eleven of us, and the seventh day of the Hunger Games is almost over.

Mako voices my concern. “It’s going so slow. How long before they start a fire or let some horrible mutts loose or something?”

I shrug, then laugh, remembering Claudius Templesmith and Caesar Flickerman on the night of the reaping, theorizing about how a field of mostly older tributes will change the Games. “Well Claudius,” I say in my best Caesar Flickerman, “I guess we know what happens when most of the tributes are older. None of them want to mess with each other. So far it looks like they’re just on vacation. A vacation that could be cut short by a sudden and horrible death at any time, but vacation nonetheless. I mean, look at them Claudius! These two are having a fishing contest!”

Mako laughs. “They’re gonna send something horrible after us for that.” But he is still chuckling. And half an hour later, when we decide to quit fishing for the day and compare usable fillet sizes, he announces loudly, “For those of you keeping score at home, I caught the biggest fish today.”

I imagine the laughter of the audience at the interviews, how they would eat this up—how they are eating this up, because all those people who laughed and cheered at the interviews are citizens of the Capitol. The Games have no great effect on them, they are just another program to watch.

Finnick sends us a pot with a lid that night as the anthem plays. There were no cannons today, so we largely ignore the spectacle, opting instead to try to reason out what we are supposed to do with a pot.

“Maybe he just wants us to make soup?” Mako says.

“And eat it with our fingers? And we don’t have bowls. Or anything other than jerky and blackberries.”

“You’re the one who spent so much time at the edible plant station.”

“Yes, and when I find one, I’ll let you know.”

From wherever the mentors watch the Games, I am sure Finnick is swearing and calling us every name in the book.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

I have been on watch for three hours when it hits me. “Coals!” It comes out much louder than is wise, but I am already on my feet and halfway to where we buried our fire.

I scrape the dirt away with the toe of my boot, and sure enough, there are the coals. They are no longer glowing or hot, but they will still be valuable for building a new fire. Carefully, I scoop them into the pot until it is full, then put the lid on and carry it back to the cave.

Tomorrow we can bring a pot full of coals in when we go to bed. It might keep our toes a little warmer.

Mako is awake. “You can’t shout like that, I thought we were being attacked.”

“Sorry,” I say, breathless, “I was just excited that I realized what we can use the pot for.” I open the lid. “See, coals! And if we scoop them up before they cool off, they’ll keep warm and it should, in theory, be easier to rebuild the fire in the morning. Plus we’ll have something warm for our toes while we’re on watch.”

He nods, wearing a bemused smile. “Actually not a bad idea.” Then he stretches and says, “Since I’m up anyway, I can take the watch.”

“If you want. I’m pretty awake, but I could go cut some more firewood. It kind of feels like it could rain tomorrow, you know?”

“Yeah,” Mako says. “Better to be prepared even if it doesn’t.”

So I take the knife and head into the trees, collecting what broken branches I find, then cutting down others until I have an armful of firewood. When I return to the cave, Mako is holding the carving rock. I prop the sticks against the wall well back from the entrance so any rain doesn’t blow in on them, then go back to Mako.

He hands me the rock. “I think we need to keep track of days, otherwise we’re gonna lose all sense of time. Honestly I’m already kind of struggling to remember how long we’ve been in here.”

“Alright,” I say, “Then let’s figure out how long it’s been and I’ll mark it.”

We work our way through time in the arena. Day one is easy. Day two we found the tree patch and the dam. The morning of day three we found the cave, which means it was very early on the fourth morning that we saw Merritt and Elsie kill the buffalo and later that day that we met Stitch and Zalea. Day five was the stampede and day six we returned to the cave. “So yesterday was day seven, making today day eight.” I start carving tallies in the wall below what Mako has started calling the Dead Chart. “Do you want me to make the marks at the beginning of the day or the end?”

“End. That way we know how many days we’ve survived.”

Makes sense. I stop at seven tallies. I will mark today’s tonight.

The next three days pass slowly and uneventfully. On day nine, the cannon booms late in the afternoon. It is the tiny boy from Eleven. The fact that he was the only death makes me almost certain that he and Zalea weren’t working together. That is also the day that Finnick sends us a pair of binoculars instead of our normal roll rotation.

On day twelve I am woken by shouting. I creep to the cave entrance where Mako, covered in his poncho, is blending into the shadows quite nicely. I kneel behind him and pull my own hood over my face, then tap his shoulder.

“River,” he whispers. “All the way down where it runs into the trees.” He passes me the binoculars and I peer through them.

There are three tributes at the edge of the trees. From the flash of blades, they seem to be fairly evenly matched, and locked in a three-way battle to the death. I expected a two-on-one fight, but no, they are all fighting each other.

“Not to critique their strategy,” I say, “but wouldn’t you…?”

“Focus on one and hope the other person took the hint? Yes,” Mako says. “But if you did that, you run the risk of the person you aren’t attacking taking you out. I guess there’s no good way to do it.”

“Don’t suppose you saw how it started?” One of them is struck, but quickly regains their feet and the fight continues.

“Nope. They worked their way out of the trees. If I had to guess though, two of them happened across each other and the third was probably hunting for someone to kill and found both of them.”

The shouts echo over the river all the way back to us. “The racket they’re making, the whole arena can hear them,” I say.

Mako nods. “Yeah, but are we going to go get involved? No. And I’d say everyone else is thinking the same thing.”

One of the tributes lands a solid blow. Their victim drops to the ground and the remaining two begin a vicious duel. After several seconds, the cannon sounds. Whoever is on the ground is dead. I hand the binoculars back to Mako. After what seems like an impossibly long time, one of them falls. The other staggers toward the river.

“What’re they doing?” I hiss at Mako.

“Getting a drink, looks like,” he says. Then, “Oh. Oh that’s-”

Whatever it is, I don’t find out, because the cannon booms once and then immediately again. I can no longer see the third tribute.

“What happened?”

Mako strains through the binoculars as a fourth tribute walks out from the trees and begins looting the bodies. “Tychus was in the trees watching. Sniped the girl from Seven when she was getting a drink. Either they already broke the alliance or he decided now was as good a time as any to just get rid of her. And the other two were… maybe the girl from Six? Was she blonde?”

“I think so.”

“Ok, the girl from Six then, and… oh.”

“What?”

Silence.

“Mako, who is it?”

“Stitch.”

****

****

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[monaisme]

Sicktember: Day 20

#20- Medication Bribery

Stephen tried to be inconspicuous while he flexed his fingers as he walked down the hallway of the still bustling medical facility. At least it was easier to do now that the chaos of the last twelve hours had started to settle. The Wakandans had been an absolute gift and had managed to take care of the majority of those wounded at the compound/battlefield with an efficiency Stephen only dreamed of for the hospitals back home, but there were still things to do, and so everyone was on the move.

The exhaustion made his managing the pain all the more difficult, and for a brief moment, he considered popping back to the Sanctum and taking his pain meds, but no. There was too much still to do. He needed to stay sharp and focussed. He just wished—

 “Doctor Strange, could I bother you a moment?” The doctor asked.

Startled by the unexpected call, he hoped his wince of pain came across as more of a surprised jolt. He schooled his grimace into a professional smile. “Of course, what can I do for you?”

She was quick to explain, “I’ve just gotten word of a concern and am hoping that you have enough familiarity with the individual in question that you can be of help to us.”

Stephen’s brow furrowed in immediate concern, his pain forgotten. “I’ll do whatever I can, but Tony’s barely out of surgery? How can he be causing problems already?”

She shook her head, “I’m speaking of someone else, Doctor. The young son of Mr. Stark; he is refusing to leave the man, and while he holds himself cautiously, we have been unable to determine if he requires treatment or not.”

He had to concentrate for a moment to place who she was talking about, and then it clicked. “Are we talking about Peter Parker?” Stephen asked but didn’t correct the relationship. He hadn’t thought of him since he’s caught a glimpse of Hawkeye placing a field dressing on him while the worst of the wounded were being transported to their current location via portals.

“Yes, we had originally hoped he’d allow one of our staff to treat him during Mr. Stark’s surgery, but instead he has sat vigil outside of the medical suite. Even now, he continues to do so, which is noble but I grow worried that we will run into complications if he is left to himself much longer.”

Stephen sighed, “That boy followed Tony into space five years ago. This doesn’t surprise me at all. Now,” he stepped back and nodded his agreement, “If you’ll show me where our young spider is, I’ll see what I can do.”

/-/-/

Even in Wakanda, the risk of exposure to anything of a radioactive nature warranted concern, and as such, the long trek to an older, unused section of the facility made absolute sense in order to treat Tony’s injuries. Stephen’s feet, however, disagreed, not that he’d complain.

“How did the kid even get down here?” Stephen had to ask as they passed a desk that looked very much like a security check point.

“The rest of the Avengers were immediately brought to a separate wing of the facility for treatment and to debrief with King T’Challa. As far as we can gather, he was simply left behind and then somehow managed to track Mr. Stark down here.”

“And your security just allowed him to pass?”

The doctor only shrugged. “The child was recognized as one of your warriors, and we assumed one of the other Avengers would come to check on Mr. Stark and collect him before too long—Not one has come for him or Mr. Stark.” She looked sad as she added, “He’s been in the hallway for approximately eleven hours. We did bring him some clothing, and a recliner to rest in after he initially refused to leave, and there is a treatment cart prepared nearby in the event that we need to intervene... we can see that he is obviously trying to hide his discomfort.”

“And you’ve just left him in the hallway?” Stephen was trying to make sense of it.

“We had no choice. Mr. Starks’s initials scans showed remarkable levels of radioactivity all through his body. Having him come in would have required sanitizing protocols and personal protective equipment simply to get him into the room and we didn’t have the time or luxury. Levels are finally falling to safer levels now that the main...” she paused, then, “issue has been dealt with, but we still have to worry about sterile fields and infection risks. With him continuing to refuse any treatment, the boy is simply stuck.”

Stephen had known from the onset that Tony would have a long road to recovery ahead of him, and had heard whisperings about the amputation.

Stephen started cataloguing a list of physiotherapists to recommend and then stopped himself.

Tony was currently safe and tended to, but for Peter, it had been eleven hours.  “And no one else has been to see Mr. Stark or check on his status, at least?”

She only shook her head, ‘no.’

“What about Pepper Stark?”

“Our last update indicated that she was needed to coordinate several aspects of the clean up effort at your compound in New York. She was here only long enough to give us permission to treat her husband before a man, Thaddeus Ross, I believe, came through and pulled her away.” She shook her head in distaste. “We have been in communication with her, and once the situation has been appropriately delegated, she and her daughter will make their way back to Wakanda. In fact, one of your sorcerers has made himself available for when she and her family are available to travel... a Mr. Wong, I believe?”

“Hm.” Stephen was appreciative of Wong’s consideration for the Starks. Yeah, he and Tony definitely had their differences, but no one deserved to be dragged from a loved one’s bedside at a time like this. As for the other Avengers, well, he had some thoughts. Regardless, “And I’m personally only hearing about this now because?”

“I am aware that you’ve been as busy as the rest of us for these many hours, Doctor Strange.” She replied sternly. “Now that the worst of our cases have been dealt with, I had assumed you’d be anxious to step away for some much needed sleep. We, well, I had hoped you could take charge of our young friend and convince him to allow for an examination and treatment.”

Stephen wasn’t sure sleep would be in his future, not with his nerve pain flaring so badly, but he knew he could at least accept temporary custody of Peter while they all figured out their new futures. He owed the kid that much, and so he replied, “Of course, Doctor. I’ll do my best to help,” as they turned into another corridor.

“I have seen your work today. I know you will.” She stopped and gestured toward the lone form situated about halfway down the hallway. “With that, I will leave you to your young charge, Doctor Strange. If we do not cross paths again before you leave Wakanda, it was an honour to work with you.” The doctor crossed her arms across her chest and bowed slightly.

Stephen recognized it and reciprocated. “Thank you,” he replied simply. “The honour is mine.”  

With that said, his doctor-guide nodded, turned, and disappeared back toward the main building— leaving Stephen Strange to make his way down the hall to one Peter Benjamin Parker.

He could do this.

Besides, they’d developed something of a rapport, he thought to himself, especially after Ebony Maw and their time on the Q-Ship. And he’d only gotten the sense that Peter was a good kid. Honestly, he had to be good to do the things that he did day in and day out. Granted, it was five years later, and they had been trapped inside of an infinity stone for that long, but still. Trauma was supposed to bring people together, right? Stephen knew he’d read a journal article about that at some point.

He probably should have paid closer attention to percentages.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Peter spoke quietly as his new temporary guardian approached.

Well then, “I haven’t said anything yet. What makes you think I’m going to ask you to leave?”

“Super-hearing.

 Stephen ran through what he’d said on his way to the kid, relieved that his fatigue had softened his sometimes too sharp tongue at least, and nodded. “That’s good to know.”

“And I’m fine, so you don’t need to worry about me anyways. I understood about the whole sterile field thing and infection risk so I’m not fighting you—or anyone on that, I just—”

Stephen waited patiently for him to finish his thought.

“I, uh—” Peter couldn’t seem to finish his thought. He closed his eyes and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

Stephen stepped closer, “Peter?” Everyone, including the kid, looked like hot, exhausted garbage, but something was wrong.

Peter drew in what was obviously intended to be a deep breath, but it cut short with a gasp then a cough, then he doubled over as he clutched at the side Stephen had seen Hawkeye taking care of. “Ngh.”

With Peter’s eyes now closed to the pain, Stephen didn’t waste energy masking his own as he crouched in front of him, assessing. “Peter? Can you tell me what’s wrong.”

Peter didn’t answer.

Without asking permission, Stephen grasped Peter’s wrist, only to find a racing pulse... and heat. “Shit.” With his other hand, he pressed the back of his hand to Peter’s forehead. The boy was on fire.

Knowing he was busted, Peter glared at the man in front of him. “I’m fine.” He yanked his hand away, flinching at the movement. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Stephen clenched his jaw to keep himself from snapping at him for his stupidity. Instead, he looked up and down the hallway, hoping that someone... anyone would magically appear who could give him a hand in treating him.

“I don’t think many people come down here, Dr. Strange.” Peter said simply. “Sorry.”

Stephen exhaled hard, “If you were sorry, you’d let me treat you.”

“I said I’m—”

“Yes, yes, you’re fine. I know, sitting here in an apparently technology free hallway with no way to get help...” he caught sight of the treatment cart a few meters away. “Hang on.”

He grunted as he did it, but Stephen pushed himself up using the arms of Peter’s recliner and rushed over to the cart, dragging it back quickly. “I’m assuming that you’ve developed an infection from whatever wound it was that Hawkeye took care of back at the compound, am I correct?”

Peter’s pale cheeks flushed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you don’t. Now,” he fumbled through the one of the drawers, familiar enough with item placement after all the stitching he’d done today, “There you are,” he snatched something triumphantly and then commanded, “Stay still.” He placed a thermometer strip on Peter’s forehead and then lifted up the side of Peter’s sweatshirt to reveal a battle worn Spider-man uniform. “Okay, Peter, how do we get the spidersuit off of you so I can get at your wound?”

Peter stayed silent.

“Alright,” Maybe his regular temperament had only been hiding? “Decision made.” Stephen snapped on a pair of sterile gloves before painfully grasping the pair of trauma shears sitting atop the cart and snipping them in the air for effect. “Cutting it all off it is.”

Peter paled more, if that was even possible. “Please don’t?” He tugged at the hem of his top. “I’ll get it off then, just let me—”

It was Stephen’s turn to gasp as his fingers punished him for tormenting the boy. In a flash, the shears clattered to the floor and Stephen had fisted his trembling hands against the pain.

“Doctor Strange!?” Peter had shifted forward on his seat, trying to figure out how to help. “What’s going on?”

Ever the professional, Stephen’s mask was on again in moments. “It’s nothing. I apologize for that. It’s been a long day for all of us.” He shook his hands out and tried to switch the focus back to Peter and the thermometer strip that was now very much indicating a significant fever. “Now, tell me again how well you’re feeling?”

Now, Stephen should have known better than to jinx himself with all of his big talk about Peter being a good kid, as Peter’s mood flipped scowled and, looking Dr. Strange dead in the eye, replied back. “I don’t know, Doctor Strange? How are you feeling?”

How much time had Tony spent with this kid?

Not that he was at all worried about it. Stephen had spent a lifetime around difficult people.

“That’s not relevant at this particular moment,” he answered back calmly. “I think the greater concern is your fever of,” Stephen cast a glance at Peter’s forehead, “39.2°C, and what I’m guess at this point is also the start of septicemia? Unless there’s something else you’d like to tell me?” His brow furrowed in concern. “Can you at least tell me what your pain level is at?”

Peter shook his head in refusal. “I’m not leaving.”

Stephen was growing a little frustrated. “I’m not asking you to leave. I’m asking about your pain.”

Peter said nothing.

The mantle of Doctor Strange, neurosurgeon at Metro-General Hospital was settling around his shoulders for the umpteenth time that day. “Peter. I’m not comfortable with you sitting here getting sicker and sicker when you are literally surrounded by everything we need to correct this.” He glanced at Peter’s forehead again. 39.3°C.

Shit.

“Peter, please?” Even this sick and injured, there was no way Stephen could restrain the superhero vigilante and force him to be treated.

But Peter was teetering on the edge of giving in as he pleaded with Stephen. He could see it.

“I can’t leave him alone, Doctor Strange. Don’t you understand? I need to protect him...”

Wait. What?

“Tony? Who do you need to protect him from?”

Peter eyes filled with tears as he whispered, “From them.”

In a heartbeat, Stephen had placed his sling ring on his damaged fingers and steadied himself for a fight. He’d seen Peter’s spidey-sense on the ship, understood that there was some sort of innate precognition—except, as he looked both up and down the hallway, that there was no one there. He looked back at Peter, confused. “I don’t understand?”

The tears finally fell, “I have to protect Mr. Stark from the others! Gah!” Peter looked like he was ready to explode. “FRIDAY showed me Siberia right before our MOMA field trip and I saw how bad they hurt him, Doctor Strange! They just left him to die, and now they’re right here, in this building!  And they could show up anytime they want! And now Captain America has a hammer AND a shield, so that’s, like double weapons for him and I can’t—” He caught a quick breath, “They don’t even care about him, and Ms. Potts is Mrs. Stark now so I’d trust her, but she’s not even here. And then I can’t even put his suit on him to keep him safe ‘cuz I don’t have tools to fix it! And I don’t recognize what Mark his suit even is! And I broke my suit and—It’s been five years and there’s no one else here who can do what I can, Doctor Strange. I have to keep Mr. Stark safe!” At the end of his word jumble, Peter exhaled slowly and then promptly burst into sobs, still stuttering out with each breath, “I have to—I have to—”

Stephen struggled to keep up with what Peter had been trying to say, but got the gist of it, not that it was the priority as he pocketed his ring once more and pressed a firm hand to Peter’s shoulder. “You’re okay, Peter,” he promised. “I understand now.”

And that was exactly what Peter needed to hear as he threw his arms around Stephen’s waist—or tried. A cry of pain escaped and Peter’s facade was crumbling—fast.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Stephen placed his other hand on Peter’s back and with a gently nudge, helped him to lie back in the recliner that he’d expertly set back. “Can I take a look at this now, Peter? I promise I can keep watch for you while I do.”

“But you’re hurt, too!” Peter gasped. “I can’t—”

“It’s fine. Okay? I’m used to it.”

Peter shook his head ‘no.’ “But—”

“But nothing, Spider-Man!” Stephen needed to snap him out of his spiral. “I need you to hear me, okay?”

It worked, and Peter nodded.

“You’ve seen what I can do, right? Remember on Titan? I’ve never relied on the physical, Peter. You know that a little pain in my hands isn’t going to stop me if a threat shows up!”

Peter thought about it, then nodded again.

“Now, trust me, Peter. Please?”

Peter’s eyes closed and finally replied, “Okay.”

“Good boy,” Stephen crooned as he stepped away to collect the trauma shears still lying on the floor. “We’re going to do some cutting, but I promise you, I’ll keep it to a minimum if I can, and then you and Tony can fix this together, okay? It’ll be fine.” Stephen closed his eyes and prayed silently that he wasn’t a liar.

Peter nodded again as Stephen came back, a little less desperately. “Okay.”

Stephen smiled down at him as he made quick work of the sweatshirt and then spidersuit. “There we go,” he murmured as he cast a quick glance at the thermometer strip again. The fever was high and holding steady. “Now let’s get this bandaging moved out of the way and see what kind of a hack job Hawkeye did?” Stephen pulled back the bulky pad and gulped, then looked up and glanced about again, hoping for someone to miraculously appear to help them. There was no one.

Stephen took a deep breath and then released it slow.

“Well then,” It was time to have a conversation. “We have a bit of a situation here.” 

Peter was confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that this infection is pretty serious.” Stephen couldn’t keep his eyes off of the twenty centimetre gash that ran up Peter’s side, literally busting with infection at the seams of the rudimentary stitches Hawkeye had done and framed a hot, angry red with even redder dots speckling about it. “I can’t even imagine what sort of crap was on whatever weapon did this,” Stephen waved a hand over the wound. “I’m going to have to reopen this and clean it out, and it’s going to hurt—a lot. We’re definitely going to have to put you out for this.”

Peter’s eyes widened as he tried to sit up, “But you said you—!”

Stephen stopped his movement. “I know what I said, and I meant it. I’ll keep watch, but I’m going to need someone to help if I’m going to help you.”

“No!” Peter’s eyes widened. “You can’t ask—!”

“Peter.”Stephen cut him off before he could get worked up more, “I will definitely not ask any of the Avengers, but I do have my friend, Wong. I don’t think you’ve met him officially, but he’s the one that will be getting Mrs. Stark, remember? You heard about him earlier? When I was with the other doctor?”

He looked hesitant. “Uh huh?”

“If you give me a second, I can have him here so I can do what I need to do while he keeps guard. And, if you’re really concerned, I’ll have you know that he’s the one who trained me and I’m a total badass.”

Peter huffed a quiet laugh. “It doesn’t even matter. Regular drugs don’t work on me ‘cuz of the mutation—it’ll have to keep till we can get back to the...” He’d been about the say the compound, but then remembered. “Um, it’ll take forever to find something that would work.” He tried to hide his hopelessness, “I’ll be—”

Stephen was done. “39.4°C, Peter. That is what you’re temperature is sitting at. It is too high and rising. I’m pretty certain you’re some kid genius like your boss, and I’d be most grateful if I could not be known as the guy that let you boil your brain.”

“But I’m not lying about the drugs, though!” Peter was getting defensive. “Ask—” Peter stopped short of finishing his sentence.

Stephen let the slip go unacknowledged. He was too busy trying to come up with a solution—and then he remembered his earlier conversation. “Wait a minute. Steve Rogers was treated today and he’s a super soldier, right? And I’d wager a guess that the Wakandans had to synthesize something that would work for him. If we could track some of that surplus down—get Wong to bring it— would it work for you? Do you know?” Not that Stephen loved counting on a complex medical history provided by a sixteen year old, but it was all they could do.

“I’m pretty sure it would?” He didn’t sound sure. “I know that Mr. Stark used it as a jumping point, but...”

“But nothing!  We’ll jump, too.” Stephen ran a hand through Peter’s hair for comfort. “Stark wouldn’t have risked your safety, and I’d rather get this done sooner rather than later.”

Peter was hesitant.

“Look, let’s make a deal. If you let me do this, I’ll get Stark to buy you a car, sound good? He seems like that kind of a guy to me—tell me that I’m wrong?”

Peter remembered the first... and second time Tony had offered him exactly that. “Nope. Can’t.”

“Great,” the sling ring came out yet again, “Now, you’re going to recognize the portal—but I’m not going anywhere. I promised, right? You simply get to see the convenience of how sorcerers live with not having cell phones.”

/-/-/

Tony opened his eyes again and looked over to the bed on the right of his as best he could.

As frustrating as it was that they hadn’t managed to be awake at the same time yet, there was still a comfort in seeing his Peter, calm, resting, and alive.

And it took away some of the sting of what he knew was missing under the mass of bandages at his shoulder.

A throat cleared, drawing Tony’s attention to the door of their room.

“I know this is probably a bad time to mention this, but you owe the kid a car.” Stephen Strange announced as he took a few tentative steps inside. “I’ll keep reminding you, though.”

“Anything,” Tony rasped.

Stephen winced in sympathy and came to Tony’s bedside. “Here,” he grabbed Tony’s water glass from the side table and held the straw steady as he sipped his fill.

“Thanks,” Tony mustered and then tried to glance around the room. “Pepper?”

Stephen smiled as he simply replied, “She’s sitting out in the hallway for a bit.” He took in the numbers flashing on the monitors around Tony’s head. “I’m glad to see that you’re doing so well. Peter’s excited to get back into the lab with you.”

Tony blinked slow, the damned exhaustion taking over faster than he’d have hoped. “Good—love ‘im,” he grunted.

“I can understand why,” Stephen agreed, then patted Tony’s good hand. “But you rest now, okay? We three are keeping watch over the both of you, okay?”

He’d have nodded if the burns to the side of his neck weren’t feeling so fresh, Stephen suspected, but Tony seemed content enough to slip off into sleep and that was good enough for him.

He remembered exactly how exhausting healing could be.

Stephen stepped around Tony’s bed to Peter’s, taking the time to check Peter’s vitals as well. It had been a close thing, in the end, and Stephen would be forever grateful to Wong for pandering to the whim of an emotionally overwrought superhero that carried too much weight on such slim shoulders—even though the little shit had tattled on him about his own pain once Wong rushed through that first portal with Pepper Stark to see what was wrong.

“Doctor Strange?” Pepper called from the doorway. “Wong would like to know if you’d like him to prepare something for you to eat for when you get back to take your medication.”

Stephen just chuckled. “Did he open up another portal from the Sanctum to ask you to do that?”

Pepper blinked innocently at the man. “I can neither confirm nor deny that, but Morgan cannot wait for Peter to meet your cloak friend.”

[marvelslegacies]

Noah | Tryst | Past Paragraph

None in the house stirred save for the one remaining staff member, a single volunteer who strode the hall and peeked her head inside each bedroom, methodically. “Check,” was her whisper, followed by a click, an old-school counter rolled to a new number higher than the last it displayed.

Eleven to twelve and then another click, twelve to thirteen. She peered into the last bedroom at the end of the hall, she could see in the darkened bedroom, a mass of a person under the covers on one bed, and a larger mass of a person under the covers on the next bed. All present and accounted for. Safe and sound and sleeping.

The volunteer smiled silently, pleased with herself and satisfied with her job for the remainder of the hour during which she would sit quietly and read. Exactly ten steps back to her seat in the living room, Noah counted quietly the echoes of each footstep as they drifted further and further down the hall. A silent stillness took hold of the house, as Noah and Andrew pushed back the covers from over their heads.

They had begun using this trick regularly just three months after Andrew arrived. Noah, having been one of the longest standing residents of the home, was instructed to serve as a guide and guardian for Andrew as a newcomer. The pair had grown incredibly close in their short time together, perhaps too close… Were it to come to the attention of the staff and owner of the home what the boys were up to in the dead of night, the consequences could be severe.

So they played distant roles by day and acted normal, though their friendship was apparent, and at night they would rendezvous in Noah’s bed, hidden under their blanket, and hold each other like they imagined lovers would.

In hushed tones, they conversed throughout their nights, getting little sleep. Noah’s breathing raised goosebumps on the back of Andrew’s neck every night without fail. And Noah’s arm draped heavily over Andrew’s torso made Andrew feel protected, safe from the dark secrets he held in the dark.

Noah was a ward of the state all his life, Andrew had grown up in a family home and led an ordinary life until he began to show signs of puberty. His father had performed unspeakable acts on Andrew’s body during that year of uncomfortable, uncontrollable change. Andrew seethed with rage just under the surface but had never actually confessed to what was done to him. Not to someone who loved him, anyway.

With Noah, after sharing many moonlit nights, sniggering and shifting in his embrace, Andrew found the courage to say what he needed to say to this boy who meant everything to him. 

“Noah,” he whispered, almost inaudible.

“Yes?” Noah pushed a soft kiss against the back of his neck.

“I have to tell you… what happened to me…”

Noah was silent and still relaxed.

“The reason I’m here… I had parents… My dad, he…” Noah pressed his forehead to Andrew’s head, sensing the discomfort arising in this boy he liked so much, wanted so badly.

“You don’t have to.” Noah whispered to him.

“Let me.” Andrew insisted and was sshh’d by Noah as an indication to speak quieter, not to stop speaking.

Andrew took the subtle hint and continued on, “One day, I finally told on him. He said he’d kill my dog if I ever told. But I did it anyways.” Andrew turned suddenly, facing Noah in the darkness, his eyes having long-since adjusted, he could make out Noah’s pained expression… and the faintest hint of blue gleaming in the star light from their window. “And then these… people showed up at my house… and now I’m here.” Andrew looked away from Noah’s face, feeling a deeply sewn shame within him. “Now I wonder… what happened to my dog?”

Noah sucked in a tempered breath. He snaked his arms back around Andrew and held him firmly. His hand palming the back of Andrew’s head he pressed their foreheads together, both their eyes remained closed as if looking at each other in this moment might be sinful. As if one terrible event might blemish the beauty of the other.

Noah peeled his eyes open and caught the gleam of a tear on Andrew’s cheek. With a gentle thumb, he wiped away the honest tear, then kissed the very spot on his cheek where that tear used to be. “Andrew,” he whispered, and this time it was Andrew who shushed the other.

The door squeaked politely as it swung ajar just a few inches. Noah and Andrew froze in the dark, huddled together as one entity.

“Check,” whispered a sweet, soft voice. Two quiet clicks. Exactly ten steps sounded gently down the hallway.

“We should sleep.” Andrew said, adjusting quietly so he could rest in Noah’s arms more comfortably.

“Andrew, I want to be with you.” Noah whispered bluntly, unable to hide his excitement.

“You are with me.” Andrew whispered back, his tears abating.

“No. More..” Noah pined quietly. “More than this.”

If Noah had the emotional prowess then, he might have said, “I want to be with you in such a beautiful way that it washes away all your suffering and replaces the darkness of the past with hope and joy. And, most importantly, love.” but Noah lacked the emotional prowess.

Andrew shushed Noah one last time, then added, “We should sleep.”

“Yeah, good night.” Noah hugged Andrew tight, and Andrew felt safe and honored.On a night soon after this, Noah and Andrew would attempt to be together for the first time, forcing the crack in their delicate relationship to splinter, and soon, their tiny cup of love shattered.

[riiseandfall]

“ alex , you caused quite a stir when you won your games eleven years ago and you have been quite the controversial victor ever since . do you think your reputation will help or hinder your chances for sponsorship ? ”

“ you were caught locking lips with apollo redfield recently , causing quite a few hearts to break around the capitol . care to share ? is there love in the air ? ”

“ i’m sure aster has nothing to fear with such a ferocious big brother in the arena with her . however , when it comes down to it , are you willing to sacrifice yourself to see your sister return home ? ”

— feel free to include more questions & answers , caesar usually has around 5 minutes with each tribute

they hate interviews. hours spent making him look perfect just so he can go on stage and say the some old bullshit. the poor stylists of district twelve really should get more praise for managing to get him into their chair tonight. he certainly did not make it easy on them.

but here he was, under those blinding lights and across from that equally blinding smile - as fake as anything else in the capitol. at least when it was directed at alex.

“ alex , you caused quite a stir when you won your games eleven years ago and you have been quite the controversial victor ever since . do you think your reputation will help or hinder your chances for sponsorship ? ”

it gets a quiet laugh from alex, brows raising as he is already moving to fidget with the ends of his jacket sleeves. he can practically hear effie in his ear lecturing him about fidgeting too. so his hands still. "controversial? why, caesar, i don't know what you mean." effie is definitely smacking you later. "i've always strived to be nothing but delightful at all times."

there are scattered laughs and alex leans forward in his seat as he moves on, "i don't think my reputation is going to have much of an effect on it. at the end of the day, the hunger games are a show, right? and i think my score has shown that i'm still someone to keep an eye on in the arena." a pause. "and also sponsor, if the lovely people of the capitol feel so inclined."

there are more laughs now and even caesar seems to have relaxed slightly, "so...you're not at all worried about sponsor support?"

alex hums a bit, head tilting as he thinks. "i mean...i wasn't exactly swimming in sponsors my first games, now was i?" he chuckles, "you know how it is, i'm from twelve. we have a tendency to be overlooked. but that's alright, we've shown a couple of times that we can take care of ourselves in that arena, right? saying i'm not worried about sponsor support isn't exactly true but...i have faith in my own skills in that arena. i'll be fine one way or the other."

“ you were caught locking lips with apollo redfield recently , causing quite a few hearts to break around the capitol . care to share ? is there love in the air ? ”

and those fingers are right back to fidgeting, and it surprises alex how much they wish they were wrapped around his. "uh..." he chuckles a bit, feeling the way his cheeks grow warm under those stage lights, and it isn't a show. "...sorry for any broken hearts?" he admits with a quiet laugh and a shrug. apollo would be better at this...

"apollo is, um..." he's lost the plot, scrambling to try to say anything--

"so lovestruck that you're at a loss for words? we understand...we've all seen apollo." caesar's comment is...lighthearted in a way alex isn't expecting, it gets a wave of laughter out of the crowd and even alex manages a laugh at it, "but you two seem so close lately, is there more going on there?"

alex takes a deep breath and looks back up at caesar, shoulders rising and falling in a shrug. "i...don't know. i would like there to be." the audience aww's. "it's just that unfortunate sense of timing, you know? it's hard to want more and to be more with someone when that arena is right there...if things were different, maybe we could be more but...i don't want to see him hurt..." it was all true, which is why those few in the crowd dabbing at their eyes was probably all the more annoying to alex. it was true but it was still just a show to all of them. "it feels like we just got together and now i'm being taken away again...i just wish we had more time..."

it surprises alex that there are some angry voices in the crowd, not directed at him for once. but airing their disapproval that alex had to go back. he bites down on the inside of his cheek to keep from openly grinning as caesar is quick to move on, regain control.

“ i’m sure aster has nothing to fear with such a ferocious big brother in the arena with her . however , when it comes down to it , are you willing to sacrifice yourself to see your sister return home ? ”

alex blinks, draws in on himself a bit, gaze dropping at the thought of aster in that arena. it was like trying to put together two pieces of a completely different puzzle. it didn't make sense. "i...knew what volunteering meant. it isn't the first time you all have seen me do it, c'mon now..." his laugh feels wooden now, eyes still directed at the floor. "i've practically raised aster. since she was three and our mom died. you've all seen her. she's kind and brilliant and funny and...she doesn't deserve this. she deserves so much more than going into that arena and it isn't fair. but maybe the games have never been fair." dial it back. it was that quiet voice in his head that so often went ignored. and it was being ignored again. he swallows hard and looks back up, "they certainly aren't fair this year, now are they? i mean, the reaping is pure chance, and for every single tribute to be chosen to be related to a past victor? well, fate hardly saw fit to make this year fair, now did she? certainly seems like fate really had it out for us victors-i guess she didn't get the memo that winning meant we got to be left alone." and there was the controversy that caesar was so quick to point out, but alex is simply smiling, appearing as outwardly pleasant as possible as caesar starts to say something, to move along - but alex raises a hand, "you're absolutely right, i got off topic. yes, if it came down to it, i would. because aster shouldn't even be here. she's only here because fate decided to have a vindictive streak. like i said before, i wish i had more time." he shrugs, moves to stand, "but i think we are out of interview time, yes? exit is over here?" he doesn't even give caesar the chance to respond before walking off.

[moveslikejaggeria]

tumblr deleted the end of my post and i have Know idea what my mad ramblings were but i lied when i said that was just the first half. that was the majority because we only have four episodes left and three of them are the finale. i will recover my rant about martha in a second.

episode ten: i have ranted and raved about the daleks but my least favorite reoccurring doctor who antagonist by a long shot is those bloody weeping angels. why? because “don’t blink” is such stupid advice. here is my advice alright: wink. always keep one eye open but close the other so it doesnt dry out and get irritated. because eventually you are gonna fuck up and blink. its inevitable. im so smart

otherwise this is a really cool episode. what a panic attack i would have if i would keep getting visited by people in my life but they’ve suddenly aged fifty to a hundred years. bizarre. and Whoo, that lady who got stuck in 1920 sure made the best of it, but world war ii is coming, flu outbreak, the great depression, not to mention the lack of modern medicine and Birth control. could she vote? jeez

another problem i have is like. the doctor sacrifices all these people to save himself. you see, timelines or whatever, he could’ve gone back and saved them at some point. sure, he can’t go back to the exact timepoint, but goodheroesdeservekidneys is right: why can’t he go back a year after that? ignoring time laws (which the doctor points out and the does the exact same), he needs them there to pass on notes and stuff to rescue himself and martha. and if he went back and saved them, there would be no notes to pass on and thus we are stuck in an endless loop. does This make any sense?

episode eleven: im separating this one out because it’s part of the finale and not; it sets up the finale beautiful. also this episode is good while the finale is shite. you see the Eh season had no choice but to go out with a whimper rather than a bang; that’s impossible.

captain jack harkness is back!! that’s right: he’s a man who can’t die. and the doctor is mean to him because that’s “”weird”” or whatever. when rose was holding the time vortex or heart of the tardis or whatever, she brought him back to life but brought him back to life forever, or something. it’s interesting. but there’s an emotional moment between jack and the doctor where he asks jack if jack wants to die, and jack doesn’t know. but seeing humanity at the end of the world inspires him.

oh yes!! we are at the end of the universe!! everything collapses in and such. humans are here though, which is inspiring and sad. here, there’s a professor and his assistant trying to help the humans reach “Utopia” and so naturally the doctor steps in to help. and remember how that two part was plot important?? well this professor guy has got a pocket watch that looks exactly like the doctor’s from back then, and he’s also acting weird since the doctor showed up. and the tardis

turns out the professor is the master!! he opens the watch, regains his timelord consciousness, and goes on a killing spree. the doctor and gang race back to stop him—the doctor realizing who the professor truly is—but it’s too late! the master has stolen the tardis. the assistant, who the master shot, shoots him back and the master regenerates. the doctor gets in just in time to witness the regeneration but can’t do much else. the master starts to rush off, but the doctor locks the tardis so that she can only visit where it is right now (the year fifty billion) and the last place it was (2007, give or take). he runs off regardless, leaving the doctor and gang stranded. alas

episode twelve and thirteen: ooo unlucky number. that is because—as i stated before—this finale sucks balls. not even balls. it sucks the fingers of a man who just scratched his sweaty, hairy balls (sorry). of course doctor and gang escape using jack’s time vortex manipulator. they get back to london, 21st century, and realize the master has become the prime minister (dun dun duhhhhhhh)

jack has been working for torchwood (queue spinoff music or whatever. i have not seen torchwood, but should i?? im not a big spinoff person) but magically they have all disappeared. the actor who plays regenerated master is So good. in a creepy way, but a creepy good way. yada yada yada, martha’s family gets kidnapped and the doctor and gang manage to get on the spaceship the master is one. you see he is welcoming peaceful aliens to earth but the american president is like “nuh uh uh, i get to do that” but then the spheres (the claimed aliens, but they’re not actually aliens) assassinate him on tv and the master reveals his plan.

when the doctor and gang are on the ship, they find the tardis, but it has been turned into a paradox machine. IMPORTANTLY, the doctor can’t do anything about it until he knows what it’s meant to do because otherwise he could explode the galaxy or whatever. store this information in your brain. the gang gets caught, the master rapidly ages the doctor 100 years and so david tennant is old now. the master is like “the girl and the freak. but who is who” about martha and jack and i laughed bc Homophobia (i mean, poor jack. he’s from the future where people don’t really care anymore [except for cat people i suppose] and he has to put up with this?) but in what way is martha a freak?? bc she’s black? a female doctor? what. weird. the master constantly kills jack so he comes back to life and they do this over and over again, but martha escapes.

let’s see. it’s a year later martha is pretending to assemble this gun and she meets this cool old lady and they kill and dissect a sphere together. it turns out that the spheres are made from those humans from the end of the universe. there was no utopia and so they got turned into spheres ig. the paradox machine is there and essential because if the human race goes back and time to kill itself, then who goes on billions of years later to become the sphere who do the killing?? does any of this make sense, because i promise it does. the cool old lady reports martha to the master to get her son back and so the master takes her back to the ship.

in this time, the master stopped regeneration or whatever so that the doctor actually looks his age of 900 and God Damn are the effects god awful. there’s a little dwarf gnome davis tennant and it’s Terrible. the doctor seems to have something he wants to tell the master, but the master won’t have it. martha’s here now and here comes the good part—the heartwarming part—where i went “really?? this is what they went with?” (the beautiful thing about writing, and the Lovely thing about writing science fiction or fantasy, is that you get to really do whatever you want. Within Reason)

the master destroys the gun and martha is like “really?? you think this gun really exists “ and the doctor is like “like i would ask her to kill” bc he’s a pacifist and all and then martha’s like “dont you wanna know what i spent a year doing?” and get ready folks. she went around telling stories of the doctor so that they would all think about him at this exact time at this exact date, and they do it (like they have much better to do during the apocalypse) and then the doctor starts Floating. with a Force Field around him. and he reverts back to Normal David Tennant and that thing he wanted to say? he tells the master that he forgives him. whatever

jack escapes and remember that thing i told you to remember? yeah? he goes guns blazing into the tardis and just shoots the paradox machine. and then time goes backwards exactly one year and a day. so why didn’t they do that before?? they didn’t know they could just shoot it? and then the doctor is ready to take the master prisoner when the master’s wife shoots him and he refuses to regenerate (which is something a time lord can do i gues???) and he dies in the doctors arms. and the doctor Burns his body. but don’t worry, the master comes back later, not regenerated. so…how this happened i dont know.

the wise is made out to be completely and utterly loyal to the master so this seems really random, but upon second watch, perhaps she was just afraid the whole time?? maybe she was just compliant out of fear? but then why did she marry him?? ig it depends on when the master revealed his true self to her. weird

everything is back to normal and i cant remember if jack comes back. maybe in the next season finale??? its revealed that jack is/will become the face of boe which is so stupid because the face of boe was pregnant!!! multiple times!! so unless jack has a uterus or acquires one. and then they reference Boe Kind, which implies that there are other boes, like a species. his children perhaps?? so stupid. seems like such a bandaid explanation on an absolute gaping and squirting gash. whatever

martha refuses to continue traveling with the doctor partially to help her family recover (no one else remembers the Year That Didn’t Happen or whatever, but doctor and gang and martha’s family do because they were “in the eye of the storm”. whatever) but also because she is tired of having a crush on the doctor (its also revealed that jack has a crush on the doctor??? maybe i should watch torthwood…) and wants to move on. good on martha

you see the reason why i didn’t like martha’s character the first time round is because she is so weakened by her crush on the doctor. the doctor is recovering from rose, the fact that he’s never gonna see her again, and he’s bot looking for a rebound. but martha seems to be head over heels for the doctor but also simultaneously a smart, clever, badass medical professional. it sort of undermines everything. and the whole time i was screaming “YOU DESERVE BETTER!!! LET HIM GO” and she finally does. and the doctor doesnt even seem to care other than the loss of companionship. because even when martha Demands respect or friendship from the doctor, all she gets is pity emotion. she gets the bare minimum friendship from him. always compared to rose and never able to live up to her. although to be fair, how do you live up to billie piper and rose tyler?? (donna noble, that’s how!! but we gotta wait one more christmas special. hehehehehe)

it’s a shortened analysis of martha’s character but it’ll have to do. she’ll be back anyway for next season finale (as will mickey, rose, and jack?? possibly). in fact, she starts dating mickey i believe. weird. i’m glad they didn’t get rid of her entirely and she finally stood up for herself and did what’s best. she really really deserved a better season and better character writing

i have been inspired by @becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys to rewatch Doctor Who because I find their chronological journey endlessly intriguing and endearing and has reminded me of my favorite episodes

going into it i have to say that my favorite doctors probably go 10-9-12-11 (even though im aware they’ve messed a bit with the numerics?? i mean tennant-eccleston-capaldi-smith) and my favorite companion by far is donna. her relationship and banter with the doctor is So perfect (esp post rose). rose is always great and she is an excellent foil to both 9 and 10. martha wouldve been so good!! if not for her crush on the doctor!! ruins her character and im so glad she eventually moves on and fulfills her badass-ery (although im not pleased it was the military -_-). amy was…i think a wet sock is truly a great description and rory is…worse. i think they did clara just as dirty as martha and i remember disliking her, but i dont remember much or why so maybe its just bc she was so poorly utilized. and bill. bill my beloved. she, too, deserved so much better.

anyway i watched episode one and. eccleston’s doctor is meaner than i remember. i think he needs more time to warm up to rose. and the reason i didnt like mickey is bc. he is useless and also treats rose poorly (which i think he improves as the series continues but, he is Awful in this episode). there are so many episodes i vaguely remember and get so excited to watch again!!