#like it was supposed to be about protecting minors but instead everyone just piled on her 😭

[ujuro]

I think kpop fans owe classy riwon an apology for piling on her for looking ten at age fifteen because the girls now almost 18 and she does not look any older 😭

[ohheyitsokay]

pobrecito

Pairing: Javier Peña x reader

Wordcount: 2k

Warnings: none, pining, yearning, enough fluff to fill a couch cushion

Summary: you hide that you know Spanish long enough to accidentally sort of hear Javi fall in love with you

>>

At first you had thought it was a joke.

You were working in the Columbian office, of course you knew Spanish, but it was fun when people assumed you didn’t. Or really, you had to laugh because in truth, it was annoying and stupid and waste of your time.

More often than not, you stopped correcting them, stopped trying to explain your qualifications, stopped trying to earn the respect, and instead just shut your mouth and did you job. They always said – the more you try to prove yourself, the more your desperation just disproves your point, and it was true. Either the person would pay enough attention that they’d realize their mistake and feel foolish, or they weren't important enough to be relevant to your life.

Occasionally, there were exceptions, and while it was ridiculous to have things explained to you, but it was it was a fun insight to people. Do they paraphrase when they translate? Native, fluent, or faking it, hoping you wouldn’t notice? You had a little gringometer in your head that helped you laugh, at least. Most importantly, what information do they omit, when they figured no one could catch them?

Everyone caught on, eventually, faces burning red, eyes wide and sputtering, and that part was certainly fun.

Well, everyone in your department. Higher level agents rarely noticed, which was surprising because while you weren't one of them, you worked with them quite often.

You were even friends with them, checking in on each other during late nights and knowing the way they took their coffee, and vice versa. When you started to go out with Steve and Connie and Javier, and the others, you assumed they must’ve picked up and not made a fuss about it, which was more than alright with you. They were some of the smartest people you’d ever met, sharp eyes and minds and tongues, surely they’d notice. After all, they noticed your humor, thought process, and persona enough to invite you into their little circle.

Of course you were wrong.

It was a hot, loud, wonderfully chaotic night and you were all riding high on a minor break through. Enough to put the work down, to trade flickering office lights and coffee for the glare of bar neon’s and cool drinks. Your arm was tucked into Connie’s as she leaned on you, laughing as she told you stories from a brighter, happier, more wholesome world.

Javier was behind you, making your neck prickle like it wasn’t smoldering hot, his gaze sweeping over the crowds, piercing you when it touched your skin. You were acutely aware of him, you always were, since the moment you saw him stalking through the halls, filled with purpose. The twitch in his jaw, the narrowing of his eyes, the way his hands changed their grip constantly, as if they were trying to keep up with his racing mind.

It made you ache, how much you noticed him, and how little he noticed you.

Like a dog looking for crumbs from the table, you held onto moments, grasping at them in childish, lovesick desperation. Logically, it wasn’t much – when he handed the papers, joking about how you got confused when he tossed them onto your piles, when his foot yanked your chair out for you when you were tired – but you still cherished it all.

Even though the noise you could hear his voice, low and sarcastic, with just a touch of gravel, and it made you want unhealthy things. If you let yourself focus on it too much, it would probably consume you, filling you ears and mind and soul with thoughts of him.

So you tried not to, tried to listen to Connie, but you couldn’t help yourself from losing focus when you heard a man nearby talk about you.

The man was handsome, taller than most, warm skin and playful eyes, and he was asking a server if they knew you, if you were single. And you flushed, turning away before you heard him add to his friend, in deep, hungry Spanish, that you were gorgeous.

The others with you heard it too, of course they did, and Connie was grinning at you, wiggling her eyebrows too focused on forcefully whispering to hear what you heard.

Javier, his voice just as playful, his Spanish just as sharp, was telling the man that you were gorgeous, but you were not available.

Oh and you could’ve died right then and there, the shock burning through your insides more than the alcohol ever could. Then, because life is stupid and unfair, your mind snapped back into gear before your heart did and the logic was out of pure self preservation. Javier Peña was just protecting you, it was a courtesy, of course it was, because if he had wanted you to hear, he would’ve said it outright.

He didn’t even know you spoke Spanish.

You sipped your drink and for a moment you closed your eyes and forced yourself to turn that thought into something you could live with, something you could use.

He didn’t even know you spoke Spanish.

And then it became a game.

Surviving the weeks and months of sharing the same space what felt like 20 hours of the day was only bearable, only possible, if you stopped focusing on your aching heart and made yourself laugh.

More than ever, your use of Spanish became absolutely controlled. During long quiet moments of digging and slow processing information, you went out of your way not to speak a single word. You endured the dull, tedious over explanations, with the knowledge that you had a little secret. When the conversations were fast and people were spitting words onto the table you’d slide in quick, almost imperceptible words and phrases, the spanglish so organic you had to stop yourself from grinning. Internally preening every time, you ate up the moments you snuck it by him, by everyone, actually enjoying the anonymity that came with chaos and intensity and desperation.

More than that, you enjoyed listening.

Javi was speaking in Spanish more and more around you, so quiet and casual and thoughtful, it was impossible that he was tricking you. You wouldn’t put it past him, to tease you behind the language barrier, but it wasn’t that, not even close.

Because unbeknownst to you, he was harboring his own secret, nursing his own little crush you. You were gorgeous, but more than that, you were soft and smart and sharp all at once and he was addicted to it. He’d met his fair share of women, and basically all of then were pretty, but you made him feel hot and cold at the same time. Made him wish he had an actual home to take you back to, made him think about stupid cliché date nights, and… and you made him want to be the best version of himself. With you by his side he felt like he was able to float, saved from drowning in the corruption and the paperwork and the politics.

Javier felt like he was going crazy, half talking to himself, half to his friends when he began muttering about … well, you. It started when he heard other people talking, just defending you when you couldn’t (or wouldn’t, anyway) whispering that you’d proved time and time again that you were capable. And then it became something new altogether, as speaking about you while you we’re close became intoxicating. At first he watched put of the corner of him eye for you stiffen or to squint with focus, translating, but when you didn’t react, but now it was commonplace. A little escape where he didn’t feel quite as embarrassed to admit how much you occupied his mind.

Now you were stuck at an impasse.

It was flattering, exhilarating, even, to hear his defend you, praise you when he thought you werent listening. You heard his teasing, too, and how he thought out loud when he was annoying, and it felt almost dirty to eavesdrop on a man who was so rarely vulnerable.

The tension was pulling tighter and tighter between you, taught enough to snap with the slightest pressure, and yet the two of you were grinding your heels in. The others in the office had picked up on it, the way he was always adoring you in Spanish, and eager and attentive you were to his every move -how could they not be? So they began to push and pull at you gently, stretching you like taffy, seeing who would give in first. Surely if they provoked Javier enough, you would be able to hear the affection in his voice, see his gaze lingering on you as much as yours did on him?

Not that any office scheme ever goes as planned.

Javier was muttering about how you shouldn’t have to finish something for someone who was to lazy, and you, tired and off your game, didn’t realize that was a language you weren't supposed to respond to.

“Desafortunadamente,” you murmured before freezing.

There was shock and panic in Javi's eyes, but instead of enjoying it, for some reason it ground into you skin like a burr, annoying you.

“Oh, c’mon,” you said, fully turning to look at him, arms crossing. “¡Mi abuela corre más rápido! It really took you this long?”

Instead of triumph, hurt was coursing through your veins, it wasn’t fun that he hadn’t noticed, it was just a testament to how truly separate you were.

To his credit, Javier was putting the pieces together remarkably fast, all the moments he’d basically professed his love for you hitting him like bullets. Did you hear the time he’d cursed when you walked in on a weekend, comfy and cozy and so domestic he wanted to kidnap you? What about the time he’d told off the new guy from flirting with you, had straight up told him that you belonged to someone else without a second thought, and only a sharp pain in his heart?

You watched his face, the annoyance seeping out of you to make way for guilt as you remembered he had bared little parts of his heart more than once and your admission also meant that you were ignoring those, had ignored them for weeks.

Before either of you could apologize, explain, make any type of excuse, though, Javier was palming the back of your head, yanking you close and slotting his mouth against yours.

Kissing him brought the sudden awareness holding back from each other for the past weeks, past months was as ridiculous as long hours spent without food. Now that you had each other, the first few moments were so overwhelmingly needed that your brain could barely process it. At some point your arms must have uncrossed because they were wrapped around his middle, fisting the back of his shirt like you never wanted to let go. 

It was hungry, desperate, almost longing as all the words that could have - should have - been said were shoved to a place of non relevance as you sunk into each other.

Javier pulled back, unwilling to let you go or stop fully, he peppered smaller kisses on your lips as he spoke teasing words.

“We could’ve had this so much sooner.”

A grin stopped your kisses along his jaw, as you found your voice just as teasing, “Pobrecito,” you murmured.

A huff pushed into the air between you, and you felt his quiet laughter. And his forehead pressed against yours, surprisingly tender for such a heated moment.

“I don’t think so,” he kissed you again, suddenly slow, blissfully happy, “not anymore.”

<<

translations: 

desafortunadamente - unfortunately

mi abuela corre más rápido - my grandmother runs faster

pobrecito - poor baby

>>

Taglist: @fangirl-316 @scribbledghost

[beeroses]

Keyed Up

@lilacyennefer​

@write-it-motherfuckers​

^ Thanks to these two blogs for the prompt. It got the writing motor going! And kudos on the gif to the owner, it is not mine! Nor are Tig and the Sons, which I voluntarily relinquish to Kurt Sutter and his brilliant, twisted mind!

Warnings: Language and a lot of not-so-subtle Tig 

Story based on this prompt below : 

Living in Charming wasn’t Plan A. By God, it wasn’t even plan H. Yet, that’s where Y/N’s been living for the last year and a half and it has been most probably the best year ever. Between working 2 jobs and handling, well, let’s be fair, an entire kindergarten of adult bikers, life’s been busy but quite bright and fulfilling. Handing up hanging around the Sons has been a series of happy coincidences that went from meeting them at the diner you worked at to helping bartending on busy weekends at the Clubhouse to them bluntly asking that you helped with bookkeeping. Starting first with the garage, you became quite aware of what was going on around the lot but got no details. But when you started doing the books from the club, they couldn’t hide you their activities anymore. Instead of fleeing, like they thought you would, you actually found a way to possibly care about them anymore. Instead of the whole thing scaring you, it actually got you very protective of them and more scared of them getting hurt than you getting mixed in the very bloody scene they played on. 

One Son brought a side of you that you didn’t know existed, before meeting him : something along the lines of a momma bear with her cub or a giant mountain gorilla with his offspring. The question remained though as to which came first? Did you start worrying about Tig more because of much he knew just how to put himself in the worst possible scenarios? Or did you over exaggerate the actual amount of danger surrounding the man? One way or another, although you always made sure everyone was alright, you paid extra attention for any kind of scratches or heavy bleeding on Tig. 

- We’re off on a run for a couple of days, Sweetheart, will you be able to come keep an eye on the garage, Jax asked you. 

- Of course, have some books to finish up anyways and it’s gonna be so damn peaceful without all of you around to bother me! 

- You do know you’re faking bothered and you’re not even good at it, right ? Tig asked you, smirking while making you blush slightly. 

- It’s not because Y/N answers your every needs and calls that you’re not a bother, Jax replied, rolling his eyes at the obvious manoeuvre Tig was trying to pull. 

- No, it’s because I’m Y/N’s favorite, he answered back, putting a very confident arm comfortably around your shoulders, pulling you to him, while your face felt so hot, an egg could’ve fried. 

You quickly got up, mumbling something to do on the something about something that you promised to something and disappeared in the other room. The boys were left chuckling about it and Tig was left wth a tingling all along his arm, where he held you. 

When the boys left, you finally showed yourself again to say goodbye and tell them that everything was under control. 

The hours and days ticked by painfully slowly while the Sons were off doing God knows what with God knows who. You managed to close a lot of books that were piling up but deeply missed the ruckus that the boys brought around the clubhouse : it made it alive. 

You did have many very decent qualities to you, but being the kind of person that always had a phone around in case of emergencies wasn’t one of them. Which meant, it often stayed on your bedside table or on the kitchen counter for the entire day, because ou forgot it there that morning. You always said it made you mysterious but for most, it just made you impossible to reach. Calendars have always been a big mess as well. Never fully knowing which day it is, you still always found yourself at the right place where you’re supposed to be. 

Leading to that evening. It was engraved in your memory that the boys were coming tomorrow therefore, obviously, they couldn’t be coming tonight, right? 

You went out with friends for an old-fashioned diner-movies-gossiping, which basically always ended in : When are you and Tig finally get together? And you desperately changing the subject, blushing and babbling about him being just a good friend, nothing more, just like the others. our friends laughing that you could actually believe yourself. 

The thing is, tomorrow would not be the day the boys arrived home because tonight was. And your cellphone may have been beeping and lightening up and ringing, the fact it was tuckered under a pillow on your couch made it absolutely impossible for you to notice it. 

You came home fairly late that evening, fiddling with your keys when you heard loud noises coming from the inside of your house. Panicked, you took  a flower pot from your porch and slowly unlock the door and opened it. Peeking inside, you waited for indications as to where the sound was coming from. You heard nothing for a while and decided to go in slowly to try and found out what was going on. And then, coming out of your bedroom door with a baseball bat in his hands stood… Tig. Fucking. Trager. You put the flower pot down and opened the lights to see him bleeding from his arm and with a scratch on his head. 

- WHAT THE HELL TIGGY?? 

- WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN, WE’VE BEEN TRYING TO CALL YOU FOR 2 HOURS STRAIGHT, I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD. WHAT DID WE SAY ABOUT YOUR CELLPHONE??

You blushed slightly, realizing your phone was left at home and the boys were actually worried about you. You took it from under the pillow and threw a shy smile at Tig. 

- Oops… Hey! Wait a minute. How did you actually get in?

You pushed pass him, ignoring the bleeding he had on his arm for another minute while you went to look at your bedroom window. You turned back at him and sighed, rolling your eyes in *faked* annoyance 

- You have got to stop breaking into my house.

He smiled coyly at you. 

- I wouldn’t have to if you’d just give me the keys, while throwing you a flirty wink. 

You grabbed his unhurt arm and dragged him to your bathroom where you could deal with his injuries. You forced him to take a seat and took upon yourself to find something to treat him. While you looked for alcohol swabs, he took his sweet time detailing your face, your eyes and your body in the nice clothes you decided to wear to go out. When you turned around, you saw his eyes glued to you and couldn’t help your blushing. You dealt with his minor injury quickly and threw all the stuff you used away. While your back was slightly turned to him, he grabbed your waist and pulled you on his lap. Feeling his breath on your neck and on the soft skin right behind your ear made you both giddy and very nervous. 

- I’m not kidding, if you’d just give me that key of yours… he murmured, lips close to your ear

- Tiggy, you just threw yourself through my bedroom window, I don’t think giving you the key would be safe, you mocked, trying to keep some kind of composure. 

- What if instead of crashing through your window, I wanted to come crash here, sometimes, he insisted teasingly, while you felt his nose in the crook of your neck and his hand on your thigh, making you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

- Tig… you breathed out.

Hearing his name being said so close to a moan made him turn your head towards him and pull you into a steamy kiss. After a while (could’ve been a minute, could’ve been three hours, you really did suck with time), the two of you pulled away to try and catch a breath. You stood up, turned around and left the bathroom. Tig, left alone with wide eyes, started freaking out, thinking he went too far, too fast, again. But this time, he bit his tongue for pushing away someone he truly cares about. Panicked and wild-eyed, he gets up and starts following you to explain but bumps into you when he gets out of the bathroom. 

Standing there, with a crooked smile on your face, you grabbed his hand to pull him into another kiss while discreetly slipping your key in the hand you were holding. You felt him smile against your lips while he grabbed you to pull you even closer to him. 

Nothing needed to be said. He had your key and you had no certainty that he wouldn’t still break into your house just because. But you sure wouldn’t have it any other way, because he may had your key now, but you had him and it’s all that mattered. 

[yoitscro]

HOMESTUCK RAMBLE

The most troubling thing about the Sarah Z situation is that everything felt like damage control, tactical intimidation, and knee-jerked censorship. Right off the cuff of Hussie’s patreon message*.

(*Does anyone ever notice how Hussie only talks to the fandom when some kind of trouble eventually boils over, usually pointing a finger in one direction, versus addressing things earlier or addressing things period? Such as him having the power to speak against the actual anti queer jargon toward his employees prior to them leaving when things got worse? Or him mentioning the concerns of HS2 that people only found out through word of mouth and were reasonably upset about, such as them getting rid of the content warnings, or the fact that Hiveswap Act 2 was released without credits?

Would certainly make me less irritated if I didn’t know that that message is probably going to be one of his only few that he chooses to write and not mention other things, such as the returned antagonism toward fans. 

But this is also the same guy who continues to write passive aggressive messages in his comic and game scripts that calls everyone else a loser for still being mad about the racism and ableism. (Seriously, Psycholonials is just a vague post in game form and it’s chaotic as fuck to do things like using riots (racially prominent a year ago) in the toned environment of 2020 as goofy plot points. I thought we were suppose to do BETTER after Skaia Net.)

Idc if he’s not apart of WP anymore. Even then, he certainly left a lot of baggage for other people to handle. It’s incredibly irresponsible.

Anyways.)

Those journals have existed forever. Whether right or wrong, they have. They’ve gone unaddressed despite being known for existing. A big name youtuber giving an auditory version that doesn’t take up all the video probably shouldn’t have been the reason that fans finally got some kind of answer, and it’s blatantly transparent that it was to protect the IP from having it’s name tarnished. As if Homestuck doesn’t already have issues that it refuses to acknowledge after a decade that everyone else has talked about.

I can imagine that some kind of NDA was keeping them from talking about Hiveswap to their kickstarter backers, but the convenience of that expiring once Sarah said something gives me an inkling that the people who’ve actually stuck around to support Homestuck could’ve heard sooner. Not to mention that before this big blowout, people just wanted to know that the game was being worked on period. There was actually no NDA preventing that communication.

People wonder why there’s such a rift between WP and the homestuck community, and it’s stuff like that. The fact that Hussie only comes down to address damage when it piles up to a breaking point, rather than earlier. The fact that if you have one criticism, friends or associates of the people who write their favorite characters will maul you in the name of whatever marginalized group they happen isolate you from.

And at the end of it all, it’s almost like some big, surface level moral, because no one cared 3 days after Sarah’s video. Everyone treated it like usual youtube commentary essays about troubling developments and moved on.

Instead, now, still, everyone cares about the fact that an opinion video about Homestuck was getting legal threats during 4/13. After years of a troubled relationship with it’s fandom, this was the last thing they needed to do. I’m trying to wrap my head around what the favorable outcome was here; to look GOOD?

I can’t even imagine what this stunt looks like to other studios and IP groups. I wonder if Homestuck is secretly blacklisted at this point because so much bad behavior has been normalized instead of having a healthy blend between criticism and sympathy.

BC again, a transphobic bigot sending death threats bc homestuck “isn’t what it use to be”, and responding to that rightfully, isn’t the same as someone thinking that more jarring post-canon content and execution of things like toblerone wishes suck some, and figureheads deciding to insult minors, stir character drama, and call other bulk criticisms from the queer community homophobic or transphobic. That in fact loses support, money, and causes infighting, actually.

I’ve never seen a fandom decline in stable activity as hard as 2019-2020 Homestuck.

This is the part where I say that my caliginous crush from wanting to see this IP improve itself flares up from time to time, but is starting to die down knowing that, unless there’s a massive overhaul on how things are run, things aren’t changing...seriously. There are things HS can do even without Viz Media’s overbearing presence, but it doesn’t want to. Starting a feud on your holiday wasn’t one of those things to do, maybe, actually.

I think it’s telling that it’s actually bad enough that I usually refrain from talking as much as I am now, because some part of me knows that some ex WP member, or a friend of one, is reading this and potentially sharing it in whatever snotty chat to once more emphasize how evil of a person I am for saying what everyone else is thinking, lmao.

I think that if anyone wants to pride themselves in not being “terminally online” and in fandom, they should refrain from putting their hands on a story that’s literally embedded and literally about it’s fandom. Go join a private discord instead, or try a different franchise. Maybe have some self awareness. Just a thought.

Anyways, the trust is tainted. The fallout has been followed by quiet, and the current members are reshaping the ground of this community before the weeds eventually rear their heads again.

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 13: Logince

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 13: Everyone is born with a super power, but when soulmates are together their powers are nullified by each other. (AKA the hero/villain AU I’m probably going to have to write a sequel for)

Content warnings: battle wounds (minor blood), physical combat, general destruction, fear of death/intention to kill (no one dies), passing out.

Comments: I’m definitely more of a dialogue heavy writer, so writing so much action was new to me. Life hack: watch fight scenes online to get a better visual when writing combat.

Word count: 1.8k

This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. 

That’s all Roman could think as he weakly pushed himself onto his elbows, lifting his battered forehead from the ground, an action that required far more effort than it should have. Never before in his life had he been reduced to this, a limp pile of bruises and ice burns and bloodied cuts surrounded by the wreckage of a once unscathed street. The smell of smoke was thick in the air and heavy in his lungs, rising from the rubble of collapsed buildings and choking him both physically and metaphorically, as a reminder of how much he’d failed. 

This guy, whoever he was, was a new villain. As far as Roman knew, at least. He’d never laid eyes on the man before today, and hated how instantly attracted he was to the maskless villain. Of course, the lack of mask also indicated that he didn’t intend on staying around long enough to be recognized in public… or leaving any survivors that would be able to pick him out of a line up. So even though Roman immediately felt bad as soon as the first well aimed hit of his flaming sword’s hilt knocked into the man’s jaw and sent him tumbling, it was quickly overruled by his ingrained instinct to protect. The goal was to take him down alive, relatively unhurt, and have him placed in the same secure facility all of Roman’s defeated foes were sent to, but if he had to be killed for the greater good, that was just a sacrifice he would have to make. Guilt could come later, when everyone was safe. 

But his one hit was all he got in before the man completely unleashed everything he had. He had unclipped a small tube from his waist and popped it open to full size; a compact staff that was at least double the length of Roman’s sword. The distance he’d stumbled from the first hit was just enough, an action that Roman only now realized had been completely intentional on the other’s part, and he swung with accuracy that put the hero’s to shame. It hit him in the side and sent him sprawling, landing on his hands and using the momentum to roll, jumping back to his feet and setting his sword aflame once more. He couldn’t let his concentration falter like that again. Forget those perfect blue eyes, Roman. He’s trying to kill you. 

He’d kept his distance after that, an artful duck and weave between buildings, avoiding spears of ice that seemed to grow from the ground itself and praying one of his blindly shot gusts of flame had landed a hit. Of course, of freaking course, the one villain that stood a chance against him combat-wise had an opposing power. His sword was starting to dwindle and his arms were sore from deflecting and breaking through the walls of ice his opponent continued to raise with no hesitation, and the heat in his hands was starting to fade. He was tired. That just made this harder, and the fun factor was starting to wear off. He had to end this. 

That was the wrong mindset to go in with, because then he was desperate. Desperation led to destruction, and he regretted his sudden carelessness the moment a clumsy spur-of-the-moment shot missed his nemesis by a mile and tore through the entryway of a jewellery store instead. Luckily the street had been cleared the moment the fight began, so no one was injured, but that building going up in flame was only the beginning of the chaos. Because even though it wasn’t his fault after that, things just got so much worse. 

The street itself began to crumble to pieces, concrete breaking apart where thick tendrils of ice ripped its way through in all directions, spreading like tree roots, the ‘trunk’ itself being the new villain. He was standing in the middle of the street, watching Roman with an unreadable expression, as the carnage only increased. It was as if he saw his accidental blunder and decided he wanted to break buildings now, too. All Roman can think about is the Titanic, a mighty vessel taken down by a single piece of ice, as the roots shredded through the foundations of the downtown street. Metal and wood creaking fills the air, the sound of the ice growing and spreading, and it takes the hero far too long of just staring in terror to remember that he needs to try and stop that. 

He was strong, not smart. 

He ripped his sword out of the display window it had been flung through after an especially bad ice shot to the hand and sprinted forward, weapon ablaze with his newfound dedication. The unsteady ground rose to trip him, every muscle burned, blood dripped into his eye, but he pushed on, vaulting over a flipped car and coming face to face with his opponent. Again, he was slightly taken aback by the sheer confidence in his eyes, the man not at all flinching as Roman brought down the sword towards his head, blocking the strike with the edge of his staff. The destruction of the street came to a standstill as he turned all his concentration to the immediate fight, blocking Roman’s next two hits. The hero let the impact push his momentum downwards, swinging his weapon through the empty space where the man’s feet had been seconds ago. A creak to his left stole Roman’s attention for barely a split second, a mistake he realized the second he glanced away, and the other man went onto the offensive, thrusting the end of his staff into Roman’s side. He let out a soft grunt and threw up his sword, blocking the overhead strike inches from his head but not acting before he was kicked in the stomach, the force throwing him back. His sword clattered from his grip, the flames flickering out of existence and blending in with the rubble. And oh, how tables can turn. 

He rolled out of the way as the staff was jabbed into the ground, feeling the cold metal barely brush his neck. As he leapt to his feet, retreating several steps, his eyes kept shifting between the villain and the ground, searching desperately for his sword. It was a waste of time; his opponent was sizing him up again, almost like he was calculating weak spots in his head. He lunged forward, bringing the staff down towards Roman’s neck. Roman blocked with his forearm instinctively, immediately hissing in pain as a jolt shot up to his shoulder, and took another step back. This isn’t good. This isn’t good. He picked up the first weapon-like object he could reach, the bent pole of what was probably a street sign, and swung it at the other’s head with little to no aim, stumbling with the momentum. The villain ducked underneath it with no hesitation, stepping forward under the pole and landing a solid hit into Roman’s spine. Another kick in the same place sent him headfirst into the rubble, smacking his forehead against a piece of metal and feeling the skin split on contact. 

This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. 

That’s all Roman could think as he weakly pushed himself onto his elbows, lifting his battered forehead from the ground, an action that required far more effort than it should have. Never before in his life had he been reduced to this, a limp pile of bruises and ice burns and bloodied cuts surrounded by the wreckage of a once unscathed street. The smell of smoke was thick in the air and heavy in his lungs, rising from the rubble of collapsed buildings and choking him both physically and metaphorically, as a reminder of how much he’d failed. 

He rolled onto his back, wincing as shards of metal and glass pierced his skin, only able to watch as the villain strolled towards him, twirling his staff smugly. Every muscle and bone screamed as he pushed himself onto his feet, stumbling weakly. Weak sparks shooting between his fingers was the best he could summon in this state, his hands numb from overexertion and skin dry and cracking from the constant flame. 

“And to think, I actually expected a challenge. They made you out to be so much more than this.”

The first words he’d heard the man say, slipping from his lips like honey, a near growl. He continued to advance, taking a step for every one of Roman’s pained backpedals, until his broken and bleeding skin bumped into the remains of a wall, pushing the debris in just that much further. Just as Roman glanced down to his feet, looking for anything weapon-like, he flicked his wrist in the hero’s direction and four shards of ice broke apart from the main roots around him, shooting through the air in a blur, and pinning Roman to the wall. Still the villain approached him until they were almost touching, Roman’s pain-hunched form causing the man to nearly tower over him, a smirk slowly spreading across his face. He raised a crooked finger under Roman’s chin, tsking under his breath.

“I thought you were their hero.”

And just like that, with no further monologuing, he shoved his hand into Roman’s chest, the cold limb burning Roman’s skin in seconds. He let out a weak sound, somewhere between a yelp and a groan, too dizzy with pain to even care about dignity anymore, waiting for the final blow. 

Just get it over with, he thought pathetically. But the hand didn’t get colder, or shoot a spike into his heart, or however this villain had planned to kill him. They just stood there, still, until Roman built up the courage to crack his eyes open, not knowing what to expect.

Whatever he had imagined, it wasn’t this. The man was squinting in concentration at his hand on Roman’s chest, the fingers spasming slightly as nothing happened. Whether it was sudden exhaustion or improper training, Roman didn’t care, because a surge of energy filled him and he focused it on his hands. Granted, they were pinned to a wall, but if he could just get the angle right-

Nope. Not a spark, not a flicker across his palm. They heated up, they burned, and he knew they should have at least glowed slightly to indicate the power flowing through them. The villain seemed to notice the way his fingers formed a fist, curling and uncurling to try and get them to do something, and a look of pure horror crossed his unmasked face. It took Roman much too long to realize as well. 

Neither of their powers were working.      

“No,” They both spoke simultaneously, jerking up to meet each other’s eyes. 

The villain dropped his hands to his sides, taking a couple steps back, the shock clear on his face. Another choked, “No,” escaped his lips before he turned and ran, the ice around Roman’s arms melting into thin air as soon as he was far enough away. The hero watched the man- his soulmate?!- sprint into the smoke, off to whatever base he was from, before crumbling weakly to the ground. Exhaustion overtook him, the memory of those startling blue eyes his final thought before the world dissolved into black.

[ororowrites]

Two Thousand Twelve (Yahya x Black OC)

 Sweet Thang Series  - Chapter One

Warnings: Language, sexual situations, substance use 

Word Count: 2,409

Los Angeles - 2012

Forty-five, forty six, forty seven, forty eight, forty nine, fifty! Candace finished up her last set of sit-ups, dusted off her leggings and grabbed her belongings. The gym served as her stress reliever, especially when her boyfriend was the cause of the stress. When she felt like she had worked up enough of a sweat, Candace returned to the off campus apartment she shared with her twin sister, Trinity. 

They were both in their Senior year at USC, far away from their home in Chicago, Illinois. Candace was majoring in Dramatic Arts while her twin sister was studying History and Education. They were both the apple of their parents’ eyes but Candace was the child who went above and beyond to make them proud. Her sister Trinity was more of a free spirit and though she had many academic successes, she did not care what their parents thought or about their constant pressure. Trinity and Candace had two older sisters, Freida and Talia and a younger brother, Anthony who was about to start his freshman year of college. The twins were in their last semester of college and while they looked forward to graduating, they did not look forward to splitting up for graduate school. Candace had dreams of attending Yale’s Drama School and her twin wanted to move back home for her next educational ventures. 

“I need to figure out what I’m going to do. At this rate, I can’t keep up with my tuition payments,” Candace complained, checking her bank statements. “Most of my money is going towards the car and insurance and I can’t get rid of that.

“Did you talk to someone in the financial aid office? They stay having attitudes in there but maybe they can help. I would say I’d help you....I’m broke as shit, though.” Trinity twirled her Ramen noodles around her fork and stuffed it in her mouth. “I’m surviving on Ramen noodles and faith.” 

“I wasn’t expecting your help, Trin.” Options began to pile up in Candace’s head and only one of them appeared to be the best choice. Maybe not the best choice to many but her pride kept her from asking her parents for more help. Anthony Jr. was a talented athlete and with them putting him through school, she didn’t want to bug them. Plus, she wanted the best for her brother. He deserved the world for all the hard work he put into his craft and turning his life around after a rough patch.

“Getting another job is probably your best bet,” Trinity suggested, shrugging her shoulders. 

--------

“Let me eat you out,” Maxwell whispered in Candace’s ear. 

If she rolled her eyes any harder, they’d fall out of her head. Why did she even agree to come out with him when his sheer presence irked her soul? Maxwell was Candace’s on and off again boyfriend and right now they were in an off phase. As usual, Candace ended up making herself available so Maxwell could apologize. 

“Why can’t you just watch the movie,” Candace ignored the twitch between her legs and kept her eyes on the movie screen. Agreeing to come to the drive-in was a poor decision. Everyone always ended up fucking at the drive-in. 

“Come on, baby. I’m trying to apologize.”

“There’s a such thing as saying ‘I’m sorry’.” Maxwell’s verbal advances turned into physical ones as he pressed his lips to her neck. 

“For a man that claims he knows me sure doesn’t get a clue.”

Even though she was slightly turned on and would do anything to take her mind off her latest concern, Candace was distracted. 

“Aight then. What’s up? What’s on that pretty mind of yours,” Maxwell questioned, his golds glistening as he smiled. 

Candace pulled at the drawstrings on her sweatshirt, “I don’t think I’ll be finishing school this semester.” 

One thing Maxwell didn’t have to worry about was money when it came to school. He was a future NFL prospect and had a full-ride scholarship. “Damn, baby. Can’t you call your parents for help?”

“Ant is graduating this year. They’ve supported us all this time and I’ve been doing good paying my tuition this year. As soon as my hours got cut at work, shit started getting out of hand,” Candace sighed, running her hands down her face. 

“Why didn’t I know this was going on?” 

Taking a deep breath, Candace thought about how many ways could say, Because you only think about yourself. “You’ve been too busy worrying about other things. I told you they were going to cut my hours.” 

“My bad. You know I stay busy with ball. I don’t remember you telling me that,” Maxwell replied, letting his hand rest on her thigh. “I would help you out if I could.” 

No you wouldn’t, Candace thought. But, she stayed silent to protect her peace. 

Maxwell’s hand crept across her lap and between her legs. She hated that she couldn’t control her sexual urge when it came to this man. The empty promises she made herself time and time again were getting ridiculous. Candace flinched when Maxwell’s cold fingers pushed her thin, cotton shorts to the side. Once again she was failing herself. Candace reached for the lighter and left over blunt that Maxwell had in the cup holder. 

“Relax,” Maxwell hummed, waiting until he felt Candace’s muscles relax before pushing a finger past her folds. He watched Candace close her eyes, letting the smoke pass through her lips. Hitched breaths filled the car, even with the loud action scene coming through the speakers. Letting herself go, she began to roll her hips into his hand.

As usual, he had her where he wanted her. Right in the palm of his hand. 

--------

San Francisco - 2012 

Yahya returned from his lunch break early, excited about new ideas he wanted to write down before they left him. His mind never stopped going and it often kept him up at night. Since graduating from Berkeley, he worked for the Mayor’s office as an Urban Planner. His passion for building up the urban core piqued his interest in architecture and his minor in social justice. When he landed the job with the Mayor’s office, he jumped into projects feet first. He had been a part of two major projects and was currently working on another one. 

“Mr. Abdul-Mateen,” the secretary said as Yahya walked through the glass doors and towards his office. “Mr. Reid would like to see you in his office.” 

Stefanie’s statement did not worry him. Her eyes always held a certain sadness, so Yahya didn’t see that sadness as a threat. Yahya walked down the long hall to Mr. Reid’s suite. The normally rambunctious man was sitting at his desk but facing the the window overlooking the city skyline. 

“Remember your first project, Yahya,” he asked, sensing a presence in his office. 

“Yeah, that proposal for the new school. That one public official was a pain in our ass but the proposal finally went through at the last minute,” Yahya recalled, smiling at the memory of his first success on the job. 

“Yeah, Mr. Ryan is a total hard ass for no reason. But you should be proud.” 

Sensing a shift in the conversation, Yahya cut right to the chase. “Mr. Reid, what’s this about?”

“Um....why don’t you come take a seat,” the director motioned to the chair in front of his desk. With the way he was looking, this could not be good news. 

Yahya had been let go. Even after all his hard work and fresh ideas, the city needed to make budget cuts and his job was one of the first on the list. Their reasoning? They had too many Urban Planners and could only afford to pay two of them and those two just so happened to be recent graduates that would get lower pay. His world felt like it had fallen apart in the ten minutes he spent in Mr. Reid’s office. What was he supposed to do now? There was no plan B when he was very calculated about his life decisions since childhood. Yahya knew what he wanted to do, which school he wanted to attend and which career path he would take to get to his ultimate goal of having his own architecture firm. This put a dent in his plans, leaving him feeling helpless. 

When Yahya got home, he didn’t even think about calling his mother and father about the bad news. He wasn’t ready to accept the news himself, so he’d wait a couple of days. Instead, he called up his boys in Los Angeles and told them he was heading down for the weekend. 

Kevin and Damon were brothers and Yahya’s best friends since grade school in Louisiana. When Yahya and his family moved to Oakland in his 6th grade year, they all remained close. Summers were spent in Louisiana and Yahya was grateful his friends were at least in the same state now. Kevin was a celebrity trainer and Damon was currently in law school. They had both moved to Los Angeles shortly after high school. 

“What’s up, dude,” Kevin exclaimed, clasping Yahya’s hand and roughly patting him on the back. “Long time, no see. You ain’t been down here in a minute.” 

“Shit, been busy, bro. Wassup Damon,” Yahya greeted the other brother and stepped inside their apartment. “Damn, the place is nice. Glad to see ya’ll asses finally got a couch and tv stand.” 

“Shut the hell up. Always talkin’ shit,” Damon groaned. “Want anything to drink? Water, soda...or a drank drank?” 

“You got anything dark? I’ll take some of that.” 

“Long day, man? You look like you been through it,” Kevin added, joining Yahya in the living room. He flipped the television to Sports Center.

“Long day? How about a long week. They worked my ass. I may put in for some vacation time here soon. I need a break,” Yahya lied. He would keep this layoff a secret until he had a plan on where he wanted to go next. 

“I hear you,” Kevin agreed. 

The crew watched sports highlights and reminisced on their childhood for a couple of hours. It was late but the night was still young for them and they didn’t want to be stuck inside on a Friday night in Los Angeles. They hit the town, settling on a strip club downtown. 

“Glad I got paid today because I’m about to go crazy up in this bitch. I heard this place has the best looking strippers and I’m tryna make someone’s daughter rich tonight,” Damon yelled over the music. Beautiful women seemed to be everywhere they turned. The strippers, the bartenders and a few women there for bachelorette parties or just there out of curiosity. 

“Just as long as you have enough left for your half of the rent, nigga. I’m not covering your half again this month,” Kevin eyed a dancer on the stage twirling down the pole with her legs in a split. “Damn.”

Yahya was distracted. Even with all the good distractions in front of him, he couldn’t stop thinking about losing his job. The entire six hour drive to Los Angeles, he tried to think of a plan B or if he needed to move and try to get an urban planning position in a different city. 

“Whoa, shit! Sorry,” a woman groaned, grabbing onto Yahya’s shoulder trying to catch her footing. “These niggas don’t know how to say excuse me around here. Sorry I ran into you.” 

“Oh, you’re good. You okay,” Yahya caught the brown beauty before she could hit the floor. 

“Yeah, first night back at this place. Gotta get used to the rude ass men in here. Thanks for catching me. Enjoy the rest of your night,” she quickly pushed through the crowd and disappeared. 

Yahya turned back to his boys to find them shaking their heads. “What?” 

“You just gone let shawty walk away like that? Did you see how that ass was sittin’? How those titties were sittin’? Honey was bad as fuck and you let her walk away,” Kevin sucked his teeth. 

“Unlike you, I’m a gentleman. Plus, she was in a rush. She’s working.” 

“Man, whatever, lets go find somewhere to sit and order some liquid courage. I’m trying to get fucked up tonight.” 

The trio settled on a table in the middle of the club after ordering their first round of drinks. They spent a little more money than they wanted but Yahya finally loosened up and started to have a good time. The next morning, he’d probably regret all the alcohol he was consuming to numb his pain. Too much liquor meant making silly decisions; like paying for a private dance in the famous Dream room. 

Yahya took a seat on the leather sofa and waited on a dancer. He had opted for the Friday night surprise, instead of asking one of the dancers on the floor for private time. The door opened and the woman who had run into him earlier that night closed the door behind her. 

“Oh, you again,” she said with a grin. 

“You act like that’s a problem,” Yahya laughed, licking his lips. His eyes were low from all the alcohol he had consumed that night. “Maybe this time I can catch your name, sweetheart.”

“A dancer never tells anyone her real name. I go by Cakes.” She stood in front of Yahya’s long legs, placing her hands on his knees. Anywhere by 112 started playing over the speakers. “This is one of my favorites.” 

“Mine too.” 

Candace tried to shake whatever connection she was having with this random man at the club. It was her first night back in two years and the first rule of Dynasty was to not fall for these randoms in the the club. They didn’t see you as anything else but a hoe in the strip club. Besides, things were on the upside with Maxwell.. at least for the time being. The only reason she had come back to Dynasty was to get enough money to pay up her tuition and put funds into her savings account for her moves after graduation. That was it. Candace had no room to be greedy because this was one secret she did not want getting back to her parents. 

Rolling her body, Candace kept her eyes on the customer, dragging her hips to the seductive beat.  

Maybe the long drive down to LA would be worth it. 

Tags: @just-peachee​ @blackburnbook​ @emjayewrites​ @chaneajoyyy​ @kumkaniudaku​

Want a tag? Please let me know and I’ll add you to my taglist for this series.

[minmotl]

Chapter 53: Sui Zhou Saves A Kidnapped Tang Fan; Tang Fan Drools on Sui Zhou’s Back

Context: Wang Zhi enlists Ah Dong to help him out on the missing children’s case, but gets kidnapped. Tang Fan is kidnapped too when he goes to find Ah Dong, and while he is being held captive, the two leaders of the Nan Cheng Bang (Southern City Gang) who kidnapped him are fighting over whether to leave him to be used or just kill him. In the ensuing power struggle between these two leaders, Tang Fan tries to escape with nothing but the skin on his back and rescue the missing children as well. 

Just as he’s about to be caught and killed, the cavalry finally arrives.

Introduction Post | Masterpost

—

Highlights under the cut

Tang Fan has been doing his best to waste time, but Sui Zhou and the rest of them fail to show themselves time after time, so even if he has a hundred tricks under his sleeves, they are futile against someone with real skills.

Feeling entirely helpless, Tang Fan knows that he cannot outrun his opponent. Resigning himself to his fatal fate, he ends up closing his eyes and waits for death without struggle.

After a few breaths however, when the steel sword that is supposed to deliver the final blow to his head fails to land and the expected pain does not come, in its place the sound of weapons clashing echo in his ears. He cannot help but open his eyes again, only to find that the situation before him has already changed completely!

The two buff men who were about to slash him to death collapse; one of them has a xiu chun blade stuck in his back, while the other one has an arrow embedded into his head. Other arrows fly towards the horses and land on other bodies. The herd of horses, frightened and hurt, throw their riders onto the ground.

Deng Xiu Cai is both furious and stunned, immediately shouting to his men, “Hurry and run!”

However, it’s obvious that he is already half a step too late, and from the forests in front of them, four figures descend and rush towards Deng Xiu Cai and his men. A closer look shows that it is indeed Sui Zhou and the others!

Sui Zhou’s hands are empty, and it is not difficult to see that it was he who threw out his xiu chun blade, ending the life of one of the men who was about to kill him.

Tang Fan hollers, “Your blade is here!”

He pulls the xiu chun blade out from the dead man’s back and uncaring of the  blood splattering on his body, he flings the blade towards Sui Zhou. Sui Zhou leaps up beautifully and catches the blade in mid-air steadily, and with a backhand, he injures another bandit.

Deng Xiu Cai’s henchmen are not weak either, and especially that handful of his most trusted men, their skills are spoken for. Even at their best, with only Sui Zhou and his men’s return, they manage to get rid of several of Deng Xiu Cai’s men, but this is not enough to send them into panic.

The real factor that has turned the situation around is the cavalry that Wang Zhi has brought with him!

The arrows from before were all shot from the hands of Western Depot’s men.

As Wang Zhi approached from the distance with his army of men earlier, he first shot a first wave of arrows to assert his dominance in the fight, and then entering the battle after, this made it seem as if Sui Zhou had divine support. And it is this that has put pressure on Deng Xiu Cai and the rest.

Both sides fall into battle and it is only a matter of time before the winner and loser emerge.

However, Tang Fan is filled with trepidation - taking advantage of Deng Xiu Cai’s inattention, he runs towards the horse carriage that is filled with the children, because if he’s one step late, these children may be used by the panicking Nan Cheng Bang members as hostages.

The partition to the carriage is lifted at a corner and he sees that Ah Dong, who was supposed to be restrained and tied up, is crouched there looking outside. She is also hiding a few heads behind her as the children clutch at the corners of her clothes tightly, their expressions filled with fear. The only reason why they can move freely now is precisely because the broken ceramic piece that Tang Fan left Ah Dong has been useful. Ah Dong freed herself in the chaos, and then helped her little companions to get loose too.

This has definitely saved him some time and Tang Fan, delighted, runs over to the side of the carriage, taking Ah Dong and the other children one by one and putting them down on the ground. Then, he gets Ah Dong to bring the children to the huge rock on the side and hide behind, telling them that unless all the evil men are dead, they should not come out.

It is as he’s sombrely relaying his instructions when Sui Zhou yells, “Run Qing, move aside!”

Tang Fan’s head snaps around hard, and that is when he sees Deng Xiu Cai rushing towards him with a steel blade dripping in blood in hand. His face is twisted from insanity, his murderous intent plain to see. He is obviously reluctant to just give up despite the battle’s sudden turn of events which have led to his defeat, and intends to grab some of these children as hostages.

Although it was only but a slight moment when things changed, Deng Xiu Cai’s mind is extremely lucid, even though he looks as if he’s descended into insanity. He knows that catching Tang Fan as a hostage is useless as the man is only a minor official, and thus his efforts would be futile. Since Tang Fan is useless and can be given up on at any time, if Deng Xiu Cai is to find a hostage, his best bet would be to grab the two children of those two major officials. The two children are the real targets and the reason why the courts have chased the gang relentlessly. Deng Xiu Cai will truly be safe only if he catches both of them.

How would Tang Fan not know what he is thinking - Once Zhu Yong’s daughter lands into Deng Xiu Cai’s hands, no one will be able to stop him then, so without thinking about it, he does not hide to the side, but instead rushes at Deng Xiu Cai!

This action may seem foolish to bystanders who are not involved in the matter, because Tang Fan himself does not know the slightest bit of martial arts and is a normal person from head to toe. Moreover, he neither has any weapons in hand nor the ability to confront Deng Xiu Cai. This move of his is futile.

And yet, Tang Fan rushed at Deng Xiu Cai anyway. In that fraction of a moment, he does not move without reason, nor does he pretend - all he does is act out of unconscious instinct. In Tang Fan’s eyes, he does not think that he is of higher rank than the children just because he is an official, but it is precisely because he is an official, that all the more he should step up and protect the common people.

Fool!

Big fool!

A huge, huge fool!

Wang Zhi naturally sees this moment. He is a distance away and so is entirely unable to stop Deng Xiu Cai’s knife from approaching Tang Fan, and so he can only watch, while scolding Tang Fan loudly.

Sui Zhou is closer and originally, he would not have been able to make it, but he still intends to try with all his might, so he does not start yelling like Wang-gonggong and instead quickens his pace. Swift as lightning, as if he was just a black shadow, Sui Zhou lunges towards Deng Xiu Cai with his xiu chun blade in hand.

Unexpectedly, however, just as Deng Xiu Cai is about to strike at Tang Fan, Tang Fan suddenly grabs at something in his hold, and aggressively attacks Deng Xiu Cai with it. The object is black and there seems to be a few pieces of it. It resembles a concealed weapon, is very sharp and there seems to be some substance coated over it.

… could it be a concealed poisonous weapon?

Deng Xiu Cai’s face loses all its colour and the blade in his hands dances as he moves to protect his own body fully, only to hear the crisp sounds of that object being struck away, part of it shattering into pieces and dropping onto the ground. Deng Xiu Cai takes a look, and that anger he feels then!

What concealed weapon, it is clearly just a few broken pieces of a porcelain bowl! And the areas that looked like they were covered in poison, are simply the bowl’s blue patterns on its exterior! 

At that moment, Deng Xiu Cai wants to cut Tang Fan up into pieces. However, a moment can change everything on the battlefield, and the few short seconds that Tang Fan earned with throwing out the bowl pieces is sufficient for Sui Zhou to arrive!

With immeasurable force, the xiu chun blade is driven towards Deng Xiu Cai with killing intent. The man has no choice but to turn away and deal with Sui Zhou with gritted teeth. His opportunity has vanished in a flash - with Tang Fan’s interference, Deng Xiu Cai has lost the best chance he had to take the children as hostage.

Shortly after, the Embroidered Uniform Guards follow, and so do the men from the Western Depot. Everyone knows that Deng Xiu Cai is the mastermind behind today’s events, so if they catch him, it would be a huge accomplishment.

The other culprits are caught and restrained one after the other, and this frees up some of the guards and Western Depot’s men who were dealing with them. They rush like a swarm of bees and have Deng Xiu Cai surrounded. Deng Xiu Cai’s defeat is set in stone - it is only a matter of time.

Tang Fan, who has managed to escape from the threat of a blade and survived, finally heaves a sigh of relief. After the fear of that moment, his body goes soft entirely and he simply sits on the ground.

“Da-ge, are you okay?” Ah Dong runs over to help him up.

“I’m fine,” he says wearily.

“Da-ge, you’re bleeding!” Ah Dong points at his neck.

Tang Fan touches at his neck and indeed there is a fine, thin trail of blood. He was probably in the line of fire when Deng Xiu Cai parried against the flying porcelain pieces and sent them flying again.

Ah Dong retrieves a handkerchief and gives it to him. This is the prize that Tang Fan won earlier at a game of riddles from the mid-autumn festival celebrations. At that time, Ah Dong had a pile of items in hand and just handkerchiefs alone she had three pieces. When would she use them, if not now?

Tang Fan casually presses the handkerchief over his neck, and caressing at her head, he says, “Go take care of those little brothers and sisters, don’t let them run around.”

Ah Dong agrees, and turns around to leave.

Then, from behind Tang Fan, a snort is heard, “How pathetic!”

He doesn’t even have to turn around to know who it is.

“Why did Wang-gonggong not head over to help, and is relaxing here instead?”

Wang Zhi replies, “The result of this battle has been set. As long as the case is solved, the credit comes to me, so why should I personally involve myself?”

Tang Fan says, “Didn’t you go in the direction of that state route, how did you get here so quickly?”

“That time, after you went into the small roads, I turned back to the official’s post and found some horses, then sent out two batches of men and got them to go around both state routes to give chase, and then came over here to find you. The journey in between, going and returning, and then having to find horses, this wasted quite a bit of time, otherwise I wouldn’t have only turned up now. Those Embroidered Uniform Guards are truly useless. If it was the Western Depot going this route, we would have defeated this bunch of clowns much earlier, not to mention preventing you from landing in the hands of these bandits!”

Tang Fan sighs, but it looks as if a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, “Who is to blame? I told you earlier that we should take this route, but you refused to believe me and wasted so much time! We already caught a Nan Cheng Bang member earlier, but who knew he still had a knife on him and severed two fingers, then deceived us. Sui Zhou and the rest, there were only four of them, and fearing that they would not have enough men, all they could do was focus on chasing their way up the mountains. Your arrival was timely and these bandits are on the brink of death, otherwise I figure I would have to die here as well!”

He continues, “The reason why Deng Xiu Cai and the rest of them came out of the cellar in the ground is because Nan Cheng Bang has a stockaded village up ahead on the mountains and they can head towards there to temporarily wait for danger to pass. When you take them back later, remember to ask for the exact location. It will be best to eliminate the village entirely as well. Also, Deng Xiu Cai’s small number of men does not fully make up Nan Cheng Bang’s full extent of power. There must be some other connections in various points of the city. I would like to request that Wang-gonggong roots our all sources of evil and eliminate their operations entirely.”

Wang Zhi’s brows furrow and it is obvious that he is unwilling to go the extra mile, because in his eyes, his mission is complete now that they have successfully found the children.

Tang Fan happens to turn his head at the same time and seeing Wang Zhi’s expression, he too knows what the man is thinking of, and says, “Nan Cheng Bang has connections to the White Lotus Sect.”

Wang Zhi freezes, “Is that for real?”

Tang Fan nods, “That’s what I heard for myself in the basement. The Nan Cheng Bang is only a faction under the White Lotus Sect, and is also one of the sect’s sources of funds, but because Deng Xiu Cai was reluctant to take orders from others, there was an internal disagreement between him and the sect’s head ambassador and this led to her death. After you catch Deng Xiu Cai, you can try searching him, there should be a White Lotus Sect token on him.”

Li Zilong’s demonic ways once made members of the palace fearful, and after investigations proved that he is connected to the White Lotus Sect, whenever these three words are officially placed in front of others, people have no choice but to take it seriously.

It is a pity that in these two years, even with the Embroidered Uniform Guards, Eastern and Western Depots investigating secretly, not much progress has been had. This organization is hidden too deep, so much so that even Wang Zhi and his men are unable to see anything amiss and can only catch some small fry to deal with this.

Now that the link between the Nan Cheng Bang and the White Lotus Sect has surfaced, Tang Fan does not need to say more; even the Jing city’s underworld leaders such as Boss Lai and Six Fingers Li, Wang Zhi and his men will naturally investigate them as well.

In the span of their conversation, despite Deng Xiu Cai’s extraordinary martial arts skills, he is still unable to overcome his opponent’s advantage in numbers, and is finally caught.

Not counting those who were shot dead from indiscriminately flying arrows and those who were killed in the battle, there are seven people alive, including Nan Cheng Bang’s second and third in-charge. More importantly, Zhu Yong’s young daughter, Official Geng’s grandson and the other children are unhurt, only shocked.

After powering through the night, even though their meritorious contribution lies before their eyes, no one has the energy to celebrate with everyone’s deep exhaustion showing on their faces. If this is the case for those who are trained in martial arts, then for a normal person like Tang Fan, his various experiences of near-death is truly way above his pay grade.

The horse carriage that Deng Xiu Cai and his men prepared to transport the children with is still being used for the same purpose, the only difference being the destination and direction.

Tang-daren, immensely exhausted and sporting injuries from head to toe, also cannot be bothered to ride on a horse alone. Afraid of dozing off halfway and falling off, Tang Fan shares a ride with Sui Zhou directly.

Everyone is tired and the horses’ pace is not quick either, and coupled with the uneven roads, Tang Fan who is sitting behind Sui Zhou, dozes off under this rhythm and his drool even drenches Sui Zhou’s back.

Sui-qianhu looks towards the sky, speechless.

===

Notes:

*绣春刀 xiu chun dao

A special blade that only Embroidered Uniform Guards are given.

*风紧扯呼 feng jin chi hu

This is described as 黑话 (hei hua), and literally translated means black/dark words. These are code words frequently used between thieves and bandits, and means to hurry and run/escape.

*南城帮 nan cheng bang

Literally translated it means Southern City Gang, but I left it as Nan Cheng Bang because it sounds better XD Although ‘bang’… I’m not sure if that sounds better.

*以卵击石 yi luan ji shi

Metaphoric idiom, literally meaning to strike at a rock with eggs. This is used to describe taking on an opponent or challenge with useless weapons/attacks.

*官道 guan dao

I don’t have a much better translation for this except for state roads, or literally translated, this would mean a channel (route) used by officials. A search translated this as ‘state highway’, but I left it as state route instead.

*拿着卖白菜的钱，干着卖小命的活 na zhe mai bai cai de qian, gan zhe mai xiao ming the huo

Literally means to be paid very little (the amount you would pay to buy some cabbage) to do work that will lead to your death. In Tang Fan’s case, it means that he’s being paid peanuts (if at all) to put his life on the line for the case.

*千户 qian hu

There are four ranks within the Embroidered Uniform Guards - 千户 (qian hu)、百户 (bai hu)、总旗 (zong qi)、小旗 (xiao qi) arranged highest to smallest rank, aside from the Commander 统领官 (zong ling guan).

[headfulloffantasies]

Nesting

The Mandalorian- 2146 words

Read it on Ao3

Something was stalking Skywalker’s Jedi Academy. Din saw its lanky shape from the sky as he brought his ship to land beside the garden patch. It lumbered away, a huge shadow vanishing beyond the tomato plants into the trees.

Din inquired about it immediately to Skywalker.

Skywalker sighed. He held Kat, his newest recruit, on his lap. She played with the edges of his cape. “Yes, I’ve seen the creature for the last few weeks. It killed some of our animals.”

“What have you done about it?” Din demanded. It looked like a massive mountain lion. If the creature was bold enough to attack penned animals next to a settlement, it wouldn’t hesitate to kill a child.

“It knows me,” Skywalker answered. “It runs when I get close.”

Well, it didn’t know Din. “I’ll handle it,” he promised.

The creature proved wily. It moved silently on padded feet over the dry leaves between the trees. It hid in the treetops when Din finally got a bead on its footprints. Din came to the end of its trail and pulled up short. He could see the Jedi school through the gaps in the foliage. The kids were playing a game in the grass. If the creature had gotten this close in broad daylight then Din needed to eliminate it fast.

A huge weight dropped onto Din’s back. He slammed into the ground. His teeth clacked together. Claws screeched over his beskar backplate, shredding his cloak. The creature growled, frustrated at the shell its prey had encased itself in. The stench of its foul breath penetrated Din’s helmet.

Din couldn’t roll over with the creature’s paws pinning him to the ground. He activated his flamethrower. The creature leaped away from the fire Din threw over his shoulder. Din pulled himself to his knees. He reached for his holster. A massive paw swiped at his chest. Din tumbled backwards, crashing out of the trees into the blinding sunlight. For a second he lay still on his back while his lungs remembered how to inhale.

A shrill scream sent Din into overdrive. He stumbled to his feet. He stood between the creature and the children. He would not let the monster get past him. Din freed his blaster. The creature prowled the edge of the trees. Its poisonous yellow eyes narrowed at Din. Its haunches bunched, prepared to pounce.

Din set his feet. The monster leaped. Din shot. One two three. The blaster bolts caught the creature in its soft underbelly. It smashed into the ground; all the power leeched from its muscles. Din advanced warily. It looked dead; its fur singed where Din had shot it. He put another blaster bolt through its head just to make sure.

“Woah.”

The voice startled Din. He hadn’t heard the huddle of kids approach. They clung to each other and stared at the creature’s body. The smallest one turned her wide eyes on Din. Fear filled her tiny face.

Din held his breath. He’d never used his weapons in front of the children before. He’d never hurt anything in front of them. Were they afraid he’d hurt them next?

“That was so cool!” Holden, the oldest child pumped his fist. “You were like blam, blam!” Holden mimed shooting a gun and making blaster noises. “And the thing was like- ugh.” He flopped on the ground with his tongue hanging out. The other kids giggled.

Din watched this dramatic re-enactment in bewilderment. They weren’t scared. The kids crowded closer. Din had to stop them from poking the dead monster.

“It might have parasites,” he explained lamely.

“Can I try your blaster?” Holden asked.

Din’s mind went blank. How young was too young for a blaster? His own education held no answers. He’d been years behind his fellow clanmates as a child. His earliest memories of the covert blurred with indistinct impressions of struggling to learn Mando’a and spending most of his training with children younger than himself. His buir hadn’t meant to isolate him from his peers, but Din couldn’t be expected to hold his own against kids he couldn’t speak to and who’d known how to kill a man by age six. Instead, Din’s buir had spent long hours training Din himself to make up the lost time. Din shot his first blaster at age nine, but he knew his peers of the same age could sharpshoot at fifty paces.

Din looked Holden up and down. He was one of the older Jedi trainees. Twelve? Ten? Old enough, Din decided.

Tatiana piped up. “I want to learn too.”

Absolutely not. Thank the stars for sending this child to remind him what a horrible idea a kid with a blaster was. Tatiana could not be counted to carry a tray of food across the room without spilling it. She could not handle a weapon. And if she couldn’t, then it wasn’t fair to let any other kids try.

So how to appease a gaggle of children? Din lied through his teeth.

“I promised Grogu I’d teach him before anyone else.”

Everyone collectively groaned. The blaster weighed more than Grogu did. They all knew it would probably be another fifty years before the youngling could even hold the weapon without toppling over.

“Why don’t you ask Master Skywalker to teach you his lightsword?” Din suggested. That would keep the kids off his back for a while.

Din shooed the kids back to their classes and spent the afternoon dragging the corpse into the forest to bury it.

He came back at sunset, sweaty, exhausted, and hungry. Skywalker intercepted him at the ramp of his ship.

“Thank you for handling the beast,” Luke said. “The kids are all buzzing about it.”

Din shrugged. He’d only protected his son. It was nothing to get excited about.

“The kids keep asking for you,” Luke continued. “Will you join us for dinner?”

Din had planned on showering and having his own meal before fetching Grogu for a quiet night. But he supposed he owed the kids for scaring them in the first place.

“Alright,” Din nodded.

“I have to warn you,” Skywalker said. “Ivy has started asking Why.”

“Why what?”

Skywalker sighed. “Why everything.”

Din did not know which slimy child was named Ivy. If he had, he might have avoided the headache.

“Why do you have armour at dinner?” The little one with curly hair sitting beside Grogu asked.

Din startled a little bit. The kids normally didn’t bother him during their evening meal. They ate quickly so they could go out and play before bedtime. The rows of tables for the communal meal were loud, but mostly focused on scarfing down the rice and vegetables.

This child held her spoon clutched in her fist and smeared sauce all over her face. She stared up at Din, waiting for his answer.

“I always wear my armour,” Din explained.

She nodded and went back to moving her rice into piles on her plate.

Grogu babbled and held out a piece of vegetable for Din. He took it politely and waited until Grogu wasn’t looking to sneak it back onto his plate.

“Why do you have buttons on your clothes?” The girl asked.

Din looked down at his vambraces. “They’re controls.”

“Why?”

Something clicked. “Are you Ivy?”

She nodded.

Din sighed in the privacy of his helmet. “The buttons control lots of things. Weapons, my ship, Grogu’s basinet.”

Grogu cooed at his name.

“Why?”

“I don’t understand,” Din admitted. “What are you asking?”

“Why are the buttons on your arms?” Ivy demanded.

“That’s where it goes.” Din answered.

“Why?”

“Why what? You can see this is where it is. There is no why.”

She cocked her head. Got you there, kiddo.

“Why not?”

Dank ferrick.

Luke swooped to the rescue. “Ivy, you haven’t finished eating. Save your questions for after dinner, okay?”

“Okay.” Ivy scooped up some rice and spilled half of it in her lap on the way to her mouth.

Din retired to his ship after the meal. Grogu went straight into his hammock above Din’s berth. The kid snuggled into his blanket and fell fast asleep. Din spent some time going over a few minor repairs. Din finally gave in to the call of his bunk.

Din removed his cloak first. He hung it on the hook on the wall. He wiggled his hands out his gloves. He unstrapped his vambraces and the pauldrons followed quickly. Din kicked off his boots. He reached to free his blaster holster from his belt. He checked over the weapon and laid it on top of the growing pile of beskar. Din reached for the Darksaber dangling from the other side of his belt.

It wasn’t there.

Din froze. The clip where the Darksaber usually hung was empty. No ancient Jedi sword presented itself. Din turned a confused circle, searching to see if he’d dropped it. Nothing.

Ice ran down Din’s spine. He checked under the bunk, and on all the shelves. No Darksaber. He opened the berth door and checked where he’d been working.

Din tore the ship apart. He stood in the middle of the carnage with his hands on his hips.

Dank ferrick. Din had to admit the Darksaber was not aboard his ship. He sighed to the heavens.

Din grumbled as he tugged his half-removed armour back on. He stomped out of the ship and headed back to the Jedi Academy.

Din moved silently through the slumbering school. He knocked softly on a door at the end of the hall.

The door slid back. A disheveled Luke Skywalker blinked up at Din.

“What’s wrong?” The Jedi asked.

“I lost the Darksaber,” Din confessed.

“Congratulations,” Luke yawned.

“No, I lost it. I can’t find it,” Din explained.

“Oh kriff.” Luke shook himself awake. “Where?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, let’s start looking.” Luke grabbed a cape to cover his soft sleeping robes. “Kriff only knows what will happen if one of the kids finds it.”

They searched all night. Luke used his magic powers to listen for its frequency or whatever the kriff Jedi did. To no avail. Din retraced his steps all the way to the dead beast’s final resting place. He drew the line at digging the creature up.

The sun pinked the horizon by the time Din stumbled back to the school. The kids would wake for their morning meditation soon. Din needed to head back to his ship and fetch Grogu.

Din lifted his head. He startled. Grogu moved across the school yard in the pale light. He dragged a screwdriver along the ground behind him. It was such a bizarre sight that Din didn’t immediately call out to his son. Grogu moved intently to the side of the building. He stopped and peeked his fuzzy head around the corner. Satisfied, Grogu shuffled out of sight. The screwdriver left a furrow in the dirt behind him.

Din followed Grogu at a distance. The kid waddled out back to the vegetable patch. He passed into the squash plants and vanished.

Din experienced a mini heart attack, thinking Grogu had fallen in a hole. He hurried forward. Din pulled back one of the massive green leaves. Din let out a surprised laugh.

“Luke,” Din shouted. “I found it.”

“What in the stars is a lightsaber doing in the pumpkins?” Luke came trundling up beside him. He peered over Din’s shoulder.

Grogu squeaked at being discovered. He sat on a pile of pilfered items half covered in dirt. The hilt of the Darksaber poked out of the ground. A single boot Din assumed belonged to Luke flopped on top of an empty box of crackers. Other bits and bobs stacked on top of each other in some kid of nest Grogu had assembled. Grogu gripped the screwdriver like a weapon. His wrinkled face scowled at his father and teacher.

Din and Luke laughed.

“Come here, womp rat,” Din lifted Grogu. He squealed, wriggling to free himself and get back to his treasure trove.

“Is that my boot?” Luke poked at the collection. Grogu whined.

Din held his son at eye level. “This is stealing. We don’t steal.” He faced Luke. “I’m sorry. He knows better.”

Luke tugged the Darksaber out of the mess. “Well, I suppose there’s no harm done. So long as it doesn’t happen again.” The Jedi held eye contact with Grogu. The child huffed a grumble.

“Hey,” Din admonished.

Grogu pinned his ears back, but he relented and gave Luke a nod.

Luke beamed. “Good. All better.”

Luke extended the Darksaber to Din. “I believe this belongs to you.”

“Nope.” Din backed away. “I lost it. It’s yours now.”

Luke squawked. “That’s not how it works. Take it.”

“No, thank you.” Din spun on his heel and walked away.  He heard Luke chasing. Din broke into a run.

“Hey!” Luke shouted. “Get back here!”

[braveskyered]

Dames Special - Winter Holidays 2

It is highly recommended that you read Knights before reading this, otherwise you may miss some context.

SPOILER WARNING!

This reveals heavy spoilers for Knights, if you have not read Knights up to Part 14 and onward, please turn away now. Otherwise, read at your own risk.

SPOILER WARNING!

-

Lance misses his nephew.

He remembered the day he took Arthur in with open arms, taking the time to help him through his trauma of being thrown away from the failures that called themselves his parents. To help distract Arthur, Lance had started showing him the trade of repairing cars and his general work at his repair shop. He couldn’t help but smile slightly at the warm memory of Arthur happily working alongside him once he started to become more confident.

He took a drink.

“Still no luck in finding him?”

The sound of the mug slamming down on the table is his answer.

“…I’ll get you some water, sir.”

Lance is thankful that the bartender knew how to read the mood.

He should’ve known what was happening. That Arthur was unhappy, that he was suffering, that he was being abused and blamed for something that wasn’t even his fault. That boy had a rough life. From the unhappy childhood, his parents going through that awful divorce, to living with his uncle, and now…

Lance knew for a fact that he had failed Arthur as his uncle.

Eight months ago, Arthur, his nephew, his boy, had disappeared from Tempo. Lance was the last person to see him.

“Lance, please,” Arthur had set Galahad’s cage aide on a nearby table and looked at him in the eye, “I need this. I just, I just want to be able to think about things without anyone saying anything. I just need some time away from here. I just…” His breath hitched, “I need a break, Lance. Please. I’ll even call you once I reach my destination.”

Lance never did get that phone call.

He looked up at the TV hanging from the corner of the bar that was channeled to the local news station. Things that happen in Tempo are usually pretty uneventful, but now, as of late…

Two More Bodies in Serial Suicides – Reported to Have Similar Nightmares

It has disturbed Lance to think that Arthur could be among the dead, but from what the police had told him, his nephew has not been identified among the victims. He turned away from the TV and took another sip of the beer he had been drinking. Hopefully that bartender will be back with the water soon.

I’ll be home for Christmas… You can plan on me…

The sound of Christmas music started playing once the news ran its piece, which caused Lance to actually notice the décor around the bar itself. Honestly, it didn’t improve his mood one bit. If anything, Lance would rather have a Christmas like the one he had last year compared to this.

While last year’s Christmas wasn’t the best, it still had Arthur in it, even though it was mainly him going through treatments and physical therapy after the loss of his arm.

“Your water, sir.”

The bartender finally came back with the water, which Lance welcomed.

Please have snow and mistletoe, and presents by the tree…

Lance didn’t recall hearing this version before. Slow lyrics, gentles tunes without a beat, was it supposed to sound this sad? Well, if one were to consider the origins of the song, I’ll Be Home for Christmas…

Christmas Eve will find me, where love light gleams… I’ll be home for Christmas…

“If only in my dreams.”

Lance didn’t sing along to it, but the words did resonate with him. Tomorrow, this would be the first Christmas without his nephew ever since he took the boy in. A part of him held on to the vain hope that Arthur would come home, but with him being missing for eight months now, the chances of him being found are almost second to none according to what the police had told him.

He paid his tab and started to walk his way home.

When he returned to Kingsmen Mechanics, Lance looked over the parking lot, expecting to see his nephew waiting for him at the entrance, holding a gift or even just waiving to him.

But Arthur is nowhere to be seen.

He clenched his fists and furrowed his brow. Ever since Arthur left, things in Tempo have gone straight to hell in more ways than one. The demon that ruined Arthur and the fragile bonds the boy had, that made everyone except Lance and probably Vivi turn against him, that caused the series of events that made everything from bad to worse… and most, if not everyone in Tempo, know what happened.

Lance shoved the imagery of what happened to the Peppers out of his mind. Although they’ve lived to tell the tale, Joe and Lokia Pepper obviously didn’t deserve what happened to them, but a part of Lance felt that it was well deserved, as sickening as the thought is. The Yukino family didn’t suffer as much, but their reputations did take a nosedive of sorts. Not even the cranky old lady that managed to seal Lewis in his home on the outskirts were exempt.

The townspeople are suffering from awful nightmares. Nightmares of such painful degree that some of the more desperate would rather end their own lives instead of trying to seek out help, or maybe to escape from it. Those that keep going are disgusted with what the Yukino and Pepper families have done, which involved kickstarting the series of events that made their lives so hellish

Oddly, Lance himself never had the nightmares. Instead it’s just the sad dreams of seeing his nephew crying. Sometimes Arthur would be a little boy crying over a scraped knee or something minor, a young teenager upset about being abandoned by his parents, a young adult trying to keep it together while enduring so much undeserved punishment, or just Arthur in general wanting to end it all.

Throughout all these dreams, Lance is unable do anything to comfort him. He couldn’t protect Arthur, let alone hold him or even just say that everything will be okay.

And it’s not.

In contrast, business at Kingsmen Mechanics had been somewhat booming ever since Arthur left, but Lance would give up his shop in a heartbeat if it meant getting his nephew back. But until then, he will keep the place going. Other than making the bed, cleaning the dust off of Galahad’s long empty cage, and cleaning up some stray parts from the desk and placing them in boxes to keep them from getting lost, Lance kept his nephew’s room exactly how he left it.

Should Arthur ever be found, he will have a place to return to. However, if by some chance Arthur is found in peace elsewhere, Lance will most likely just pack his bags and join him just so he can be there for his nephew.

Eventually, Lance reached the front door of his shop that doubled as his home. Reaching for the key in his pocket, his eyes trailed over to the mailbox. He didn’t remember the last time he checked the mail earlier this week, so after unlocking the door, he looked through his mailbox and found a few envelopes. The first one that appeared in his sight happened to be a utility bill much to Lance’s annoyance.

Shivering, Lance entered the shop and locked the door behind him and checked to see if the closed sign is on. Nodding to himself, he moved further inside to reach the kitchen. A mug of hot cocoa will probably do him some good to warm up.

After Lance set the kettle of water on the stove to get it to boil, he looked through the thick stack of mail that had accumulated on the kitchen table, not counting the few he had collected just earlier. One of his employees had the grace to sort through the mail for him. A pile for bills, a separate one for solicitations, and anything that didn’t fit either were in its own category.

Sorting through the mail, Lance carefully looked through the bills and saw that all the medical bills for Arthur had been paid off somehow. He didn’t know why, but he figured that Arthur had something to do with it when he saw a patent on one design of the prosthetic arm he made in another envelope. The bills that are linked to the utilities of both his home and Kingsmen Mechanics show that the automatic payments are still going on, so Lance kept them for record’s sake after writing the dates on the envelopes themselves.

The solicitations were just basic things. Roof repair, gardening (why that’s there when his property is almost nothing but sand and cacti is beyond him), suggestions for hospice care even though he’s nowhere near ready to kick the bucket, and then one about some local election for some event he didn’t care about.

The final pile only had three envelopes. Two of them were Christmas cards from some friends of his out of state, while the last one is… odd. He flipped the envelope back and forth. It has the shop’s name and address written by hand, but no return address to be seen. He looked back at the address, and upon looking at it more carefully, he saw that the “i” in the “Kingsmen” had been dotted with a tiny star.

He immediately ripped open the envelope and started to read with shaky hands.

-

Hey, Lance,

I hope you’re doing okay.

I’m sorry for leaving, but I didn’t have much of a choice. Even though I’m sure you want to, but please don’t look for me.

It took a lot of self-convincing for me to do this, but I want to let you know that I’m all right. I have my own place to live and I even found a job to keep the roof over my head, so you don’t need to worry about me. I’m safe at where I am. I’m okay. Galahad is fine, too.

I won’t be able to get a reply from you, but I hope that this will be enough to put you at ease at the very least.

Merry Christmas, Uncle Lance.

- Arthur Kingsmen

- - - - - - -

“…Ah! There we go.”

She smiled in satisfaction once she saw the concoction before her reach the desired consistency. Dipping the ladle into the pot, she scooped out the liquid and poured it into a small group of mugs before adding the whip cream and marshmallows.

“They’re ready, Dad!”

“Wonderful,” her father, Tom, stepped into view and placed all of the mugs on a tray, “You always make the best hot chocolate, Elaine.”

“You’re the one who taught me how to make it,” Elaine laughed before realizing, “Oh, leave two of them behind.”

“True, but you have that kind of touch that I don’t. And sure,” Tom chuckled, did as Elaine asked and started to walk away, “You mother said the turkey should be ready in the next ten minutes.”

“Okay, thanks.”

After making sure the stove is off, Elaine took the two mugs and walked into the living room.

Elaine is currently in Mama Vivienne’s home celebrating Christmas with her family. Even though the Knights family never considered themselves religious, they still celebrated the occasion as a time of togetherness and maybe exchanging a gift or two. Although not everyone came, her parents, aunt and uncle, and her cousin with her own little family, were enough in her opinion. Less drama that way, she thinks.

It’s a shame Nana Niniane couldn’t stay for very long, but she had her reasons, Elaine figures.

She wondered if Eleanor should’ve have stayed home, since her cousin is currently pregnant with her second child. At least Eleanor has her husband with her should anything happen.

Instead of approaching any of her family members, Elaine instead walked over to where her boyfriend is. She saw him sitting on one of the old sofas, looking out the window behind him that showed the world outside with a lost expression.

The two of them have been dating for about three or four months now. Then again, calling it dating would be a bit of a stretch. It’s more of Elaine gradually asking Arthur to join her in little activities and making him feel included as per Mama Vivienne’s suggestions. That boy needs to get out of his apartment every once in a while, to get some sunshine, she once said.

“Hey, Arthur,” Elaine gently announced herself to catch his attention, feeling a little bad at having startled him, “I made you some hot chocolate.”

Arthur looked at her before directing his gaze at the mug held out to him. He just stared with a blank look before finally blinking in realization.

“Thank you,” he said as he accepted the mug from her, “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to,” Elaine said as she sat down next to him, “It’s snowing pretty hard out, isn’t it?”

“It’s definitely something I’m not quite used to seeing yet,” Arthur shivered as he rubbed at his left shoulder with his free hand, “Or feeling, I should say.”

Elaine hummed in acknowledgement as she sipped at her hot cocoa. She knew that Arthur used to live in Texas, which isn’t exactly known to have heavy snow, let alone snow in general. She felt a pang of pity when she realized that Arthur is bundled up a bit more warmly that she is. A turtleneck sweater and a somewhat thicker vest just to stay warm.

“Are the phantom pains bothering you?”

“Not really, the medication your grandmother helped me get is doing wonders. It’s just so cold.”

“Well, that hot chocolate ought to warm you right up,” Elaine smirked with amusement, “Drink it before it gets cold.”

Seeing Arthur grin is such a treasure in Elaine’s opinion. She wished she had a camera with her to capture the moment.

“It’s good,” Arthur said softly as he looked into the mug, “I think this is the best I’ve ever had. I just wish my uncle could have this with us.”

Elaine was about to straighten herself with pride before noticing the melancholy in Arthur’s voice and hearing the mention of his family.

“It’s funny,” he looked out the window again, “This would be my first Christmas without him. I guess I now understand why I’ll Be Home for Christmas is so sad.”

“We could call him,” Elaine gently suggested, “Wish him a Merry Christmas. Or a Happy Holidays.”

“I would, but I can’t,” Arthur smiled sadly and shivered, “If I did, they’ll find me. I don’t want to get dragged back there. Not even my uncle could stop them.”

…

Just how horrible was the person that did such emotional damage to this kind man? So much that he couldn’t allow himself to even get into contact with his family?

“I hope my letter got to him.”

Elaine chose to remain quiet.

I hope so, too.

- - - - - - -

P. S. – If all goes well, I might be able to write to you more often. Don’t tell anyone about these letters, okay?

-

Lance reread the words again. And again.

This is definitely Arthur’s handwriting. The little details that Arthur left on both the envelope and the letter itself proved it. To think that his nephew remembered the little code that Lance had taught him. Dotting the occasional “I” with a small star, the curve of the T’s and the K’s…

The note is genuine in what it’s saying.

In a sense, a part of Arthur did come home for Christmas.

But for Arthur himself to be here…

“If only in my dreams…”

Lance could only shed tears as he gingerly picked up the letter like it was Arthur himself.

[ukdamo]

World War II, 'Target Berlin'

Edward Field - USAAF 8th Air Force, b.1924.

It was over Target Berlin the flak shot up our plane

just as we were dumping bombs on the already

smoking city

on signal from the lead bomber in the squadron.

The plane jumped again and again as the shells burst

under us

sending jagged pieces of steel rattling through our

fuselage.

It was pure chance

that none of us got ripped by those fragments.

Then, being hit, we had to drop out of formation

right away

losing speed and altitude,

and when I figured out our course with trembling hands

on the instruments

(I was navigator)

we set out on the long trip home to England

alone, with two of our four engines gone

and gas streaming out of holes in the wing tanks.

That morning at briefing

we had been warned not to go to nearby Poland

partly liberated then by the Russians,

although later we learned that another crew in trouble

had landed there anyway,

and patching up their plane somehow,

returned gradually to England

roundabout by way of Turkey and North Africa.

But we chose England, and luckily

the Germans had no fighters to send up after us then

for this was just before they developed their jet.

To lighten our load we threw out

guns and ammunition, my navigation books, all the junk

and, in a long descent, made it over Holland

with a few goodbye fireworks from the shore guns.

Over the North Sea the third engine gave out

and we dropped low over the water.

The gas gauge read empty but by keeping the nose

down

a little gas at the bottom of the tank sloshed forward

and kept our single engine going.

High overhead, the squadrons were flying home in

formation

—the raids had gone on for hours after us.

Did they see us down there skimming the waves?

We radioed our final position for help to come

but had no idea if anyone

happened to be tuned in and heard us,

and we crouched together on the floor

knees drawn up and head down

in regulation position for ditching;

listened as the engine stopped, a terrible silence,

and we went down into the sea with a crash,

just like hitting a brick wall,

jarring bones, teeth, eyeballs panicky.

Who would ever think water could be so hard?

You black out, and then come to

with water rushing in like a sinking-ship movie.

All ten of us started getting out of there fast:

there was a convenient door in the roof to climb out by,

one at a time. We stood in line,

water up to our thighs and rising.

The plane was supposed to float for twenty seconds

but with all those flak holes

who could say how long it really would?

The two life rafts popped out of the sides into the water

but one of them only half-inflated

and the other couldn’t hold everyone

although they all piled into it, except the pilot,

who got into the limp raft that just floated.

The radio operator and I, out last,

(did that mean we were least aggressive, least likely

to survive?)

we stood on the wing watching the two rafts

being swept off by waves in different directions.

We had to swim for it.

Later they said the cords holding rafts to plane

broke by themselves, but I wouldn’t have blamed them

for cutting them loose, for fear

that by waiting for us the plane would go down

and drag them with it.

I headed for the overcrowded good raft

and after a clumsy swim in soaked heavy flying clothes

got there and hung onto the side.

The radio operator went for the half-inflated raft

where the pilot lay with water sloshing over him,

but he couldn’t swim, even with his life vest on,

being from the Great Plains—

his strong farmer’s body didn’t know

how to wallow through the water properly

and a wild current seemed to sweep him farther off.

One minute we saw him on top of a swell

and perhaps we glanced away for a minute

but when we looked again he was gone—

just as the plane went down sometime around then

when nobody was looking.

It was midwinter and the waves were mountains

and the water ice water.

You could live in it twenty-five minutes

the Ditching Survival Manual said.

Since most of the crew were squeezed on my raft

I had to stay in the water hanging on.

My raft? It was their raft, they got there first so they

would live.

Twenty-five minutes I had.

Live, live, I said to myself.

You’ve got to live.

There looked like plenty of room on the raft

from where I was and I said so

but they said no.

When I figured the twenty-five minutes were about up

and I was getting numb,

I said I couldn’t hold on anymore,

and a little rat-faced boy from Alabama, one of the

gunners,

got into the icy water in my place,

and I got on the raft in his.

He insisted on taking off his flying clothes

which was probably his downfall because even wet

clothes are protection,

and then worked hard, kicking with his legs, and we all

paddled,

to get to the other raft

and tie them together.

The gunner got in the raft with the pilot

and lay in the wet.

Shortly after, the pilot started gurgling green foam from

his mouth—

maybe he was injured in the crash against the

instruments—

and by the time we were rescued,

he and the little gunner were both dead.

That boy who took my place in the water

who died instead of me

I don’t remember his name even.

It was like those who survived the death camps

by letting others go into the ovens in their place.

It was him or me, and I made up my mind to live.

I’m a good swimmer,

but I didn’t swim off in that scary sea

looking for the radio operator when he was

washed away.

I suppose, then, once and for all,

I chose to live rather than be a hero, as I still do today,

although at that time I believed in being heroic, in

saving the world,

even if, when opportunity knocked,

I instinctively chose survival.

As evening fell the waves calmed down

and we spotted a boat, not far off, and signalled with a

flare gun,

hoping it was English not German.

The only two who cried on being found

were me and a boy from Boston, a gunner.

The rest of the crew kept straight faces.

It was a British air-sea rescue boat:

they hoisted us up on deck,

dried off the living and gave us whisky and put us

to bed,

and rolled the dead up in blankets,

and delivered us all to a hospital on shore

for treatment or disposal.

None of us even caught cold, only the dead.

This was a minor accident of war:

two weeks in a rest camp at Southport on the Irish Sea

and we were back at Grafton-Underwood, our base,

ready for combat again,

the dead crewmen replaced by living ones,

and went on hauling bombs over the continent of

Europe,

destroying the Germans and their cities.

Picture shows the B-17 Flying Fortresses of this bomber group on a bombing run.

[tsarisfanfiction]

Grounded pt1

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Family Characters: Scott, Virgil, Gordon, John

Re-watched Buried Treasure and Venom and this little muse dug its claws in - Scott took a bit of a beating in the former, and then doesn’t pilot TB1 or even the pod even though speed is of the essence in the latter.  This isn’t finished - don’t know if the eventual thing will be a oneshot or multichap on AO3/FFN - or even proof read because it’s midnight and I’ll get yelled at if I don’t go to bed now, but muse wouldn’t shut up, so here’s 4k words of whatever this is gonna end up being.  Title is also still a wip.

It was an exhausted Scott Tracy that dragged himself into his shower at the end of what had been a day he honestly wished had never happened.  A trip into a trash mine had never been on his bucket list – and even if he’d known about the things before today, it still wouldn’t have featured on his bucket list – and after the chaos that had ensued, he would be delighted if he never had to enter one again.  Somewhere in the big brother part of his mind labelled Gordon was a mental note to make sure his second youngest brother never went in one again, either. While Scott was all for his brothers making friends, he had concerns about his budding acquaintance with the woman known only as Scraps.

He wasn’t entirely sure Gordon had told the truth when he said he’d never gone scavenging himself, and he certainly wasn’t sure Gordon wouldn’t if the opportunity presented itself. After the hydrofoil, the blond had gained a ‘if today was my last day’ attitude and refused to let new experiences pass him by; it was understandable, but more than a little stressful for Scott at times.

The mission had been a success, but it hadn’t felt like it when both his accompanying brothers were stewing in angry silence over the comms on the way back, Scraps (encouraged by Gordon) had insisted he fork out the quite frankly ludicrous price of the stretchy toy, and the owners of the site were breathing down his neck about destruction of their property.  Apparently they didn’t care that it was Scraps who had damaged their WRM when IR had wrecked their park and were well known to be the Tracy family – that is, known to be filthy rich.  It had been a very expensive day for both him personally and the family at large, and just to compound it all he’d come home to the news that while the Mechanic was now willingly working on the engine, the price of that had been the Hood finding out about their plans.

Brains’ furious lecture about the mole pod had just been the icing on the cake.  Scott had tried to save it and nearly got himself munched by the mechanical monster in the process, but apparently trying wasn’t good enough.  He understood – he did.  Every time Brains had to build them a new pod so they could keep functioning at full capacity was another delay on the T-Drive engine.  It was just one more thing he didn’t need in a day where the only highlight was the fact that at least their rescue hadn’t failed where it counted – Scraps was alive, and being treated for shock and a fractured rib at her local hospital.

Speaking of ribs…

Four long, gruelling hours after the rescue finished, Scott finally had the chance to peel his dirty, mud-splattered uniform away from his aching body and assess the physical damage he’d sustained.  His suit was reinforced and designed to protect him, but it had its limits, and Scraps’ shrill scream to stop forcing Gordon to make an emergency stop – just for the sake of a damned toy – had slammed his torso into the rigid exoskeleton of the dragonfly pod.

Just because their pods couldn’t stand up to a WRM didn’t mean they weren’t solidly built.  Very solidly built.  Scott had felt a sadly all-too familiar sensation of at least one rib breaking at the contact, but with their lives still decidedly in peril hadn’t had the chance to do anything about it.  Their frantic flight for the surface, where he had nothing but his uniform and what shelter he could glean from the front of the pod to protect him from their forceful resurfacing, hadn’t done him any favours either.

It spoke volumes that both his brothers were so annoyed with him – one of them for reasons outside of his control, which was very unlike Virgil – that neither of them had noticed how stiffly he’d been standing.  They hadn’t even glanced at him twice despite knowing that he’d been on the outside of a pod travelling at high speeds through a tunnel, and while there was always a part of Scott who hated to worry his brothers and hid injuries he found himself wrong-footed at the fact he’d got away with it.

The painkillers he’d popped the moment he was back in One, out of sight, had done their job to get him home, but after four hours they were wearing off, pain stabbing its way through his chest.  He should go to the infirmary, get a scan to see how bad it was and maybe even reluctantly tell someone, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that.  Virgil might be in a bad mood with him, but he’d instantly feel guilty for not noticing, and Grandma would not go easy on her favourite grandson for neglecting something as basic as a health check after a dangerous manoeuvre, no matter how annoyed he’d been with the person in question.

He had a stock of painkillers in his ensuite, like they all did, for minor things like bumps and bruises. They weren’t supposed to be used in relation to any unreported injuries, but Scott had already decided he couldn’t report it, and besides, he was the commander.  He could bend a few rules – it wasn’t his first rodeo with broken ribs, anyway.  He knew how to treat them.  Painkillers, ice if he could get some without causing suspicion, and rest when he could snatch it.

This was a case of snatching some rest – it was dinner soon, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d skipped Grandma’s cooking and it wouldn’t be the last.  It wouldn’t raise any eyebrows if he wasn’t there; he doubted his brothers would be if they could escape.

Looking in the bathroom mirror, it was clear straight away that he’d taken quite a hit.  Mottled bruising decorated his torso and shoulders – the first from the collision with the pod, the second from breaking through the surface.  Tentative probing with his fingers told him what he already knew as his chest flinched away from the touch with a spike of pain.  At least one broken rib.

He’d sneak some ice from the freezer once everyone else was in bed, but for the time being he had a long overdue date with his shower and popped a fresh dose of painkillers before easing himself under the water.  Ideally, Scott wanted a hot one, but the broken rib meant he kept it cool in an attempt to soothe the swelling.  Brown water swirled around his feet, finally washing away the dirt he’d acquired in the trash mine, and he let himself relax as the painkillers kicked in.

The mission finally felt like it was over.  He couldn’t say the day was over, because he still had the never-ending pile of reports for both the GDF and Tracy Industries to write up and there was never any telling when the next emergency call would come in, but no more trash mine, no more furious gardeners or landowners.

Just Scott and-

“Scott, sorry to interrupt your shower but there’s another situation.”  John appeared suddenly and Scott jumped, muffling a curse as his ribs informed him that painkillers or not, that was not appreciated.  He sighed instead.

“F.A.B.”  He rubbed his face tiredly, beyond glad their bathroom cameras didn’t transmit anything below the neck so his decorative torso was hidden from his ever-attentive brother… who had apparently also missed that he’d been slammed hard into the pod.  “I’ll be in the lounge in two.”  He wanted to say five, but it normally only took two minutes and longer would make John suspicious.

“See you there.”  John vanished and he let out another breath, turning off the water.  Strictly speaking, he shouldn’t fly with a broken rib, or go on a rescue at all, but as long as he took it easy it would be fine.

Two minutes later found him in the lounge, apparently the last one there.  Virgil and Gordon didn’t acknowledge his arrival and he tried not to let it sting.  They’d work with him on the rescue – it wasn’t the first time they’d gone on a rescue mid-row, and no doubt wouldn’t be the last.  The perils of living and working full time with siblings.  Alan, at least, gave him a big grin and he returned it as best he could before turning to John, who was hovering impatiently in the middle of the room.  He was always impatient when they weren’t all immediately available; Scott didn’t take it personally.

“Good, you’re here,” John acknowledged.  “We’ve got a collapsed mineshaft with a worker trapped inside in Cornwall, England.  His colleagues all got out okay but they don’t have the gear to get him out without risking a bigger collapse.”

“F.A.B., John,” Scott replied.  “I’ll go on ahead in Thunderbird One.  Virgil, Gordon, follow me in Thunderbird Two.”  Another underground rescue, and another mole pod needed.  Typical.  Still, if it was really only simple, he wouldn’t be needed for more than co-ordination. He could handle that.  “Virgil, have you had the chance to replace the lost gear from the trash mine?”

“All replaced,” Virgil confirmed, heading for his launch chute.  “We’re out of spares now, though, so we’d better not lose this one.”  Scott winced – that wasn’t good.

“I’ll bear that in mind,” he said, reaching up towards his lamps and pulling them down towards his chest as always, glad that the painkillers had more or less kicked in so the movement didn’t make his ribs flare up in pain.  The last thing he saw before being whisked around into his chute was Alan, looking somewhat dejected at being left behind, again.

They’d barely needed Gordon for the mission – if Scott was at full health he would have entertained leaving him behind – so there was no reason to bring Alan.  Still, there was a scolding voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like Grandma telling him he should have let Alan take Thunderbird One and take a rest himself.

If Thunderbird Three was needed while they were gone, Alan would be fit to pilot, he argued back.  Thunderbird One would be tough, but he conceded that there was no way he could launch into space with at least one broken rib.  The voice quietened but he knew it wasn’t pacified.

The painkillers diluted but didn’t entirely quash the pain of suiting up, but with no-one around to see he could gasp without fear of being caught, and soon he was scrambling into his pilot seat – still muddy; cleaning his ‘bird had been next on the priority list after the shower, because apparently his brothers had decided not to help him out on that front.

If suiting up was bad, launching was worse.  He’d anticipated that, throwing his comms onto mute – John knew better than to interrupt during the launch sequence unless it was truly urgent so there shouldn’t be anyone to see him – as he gasped for breath against the stinging of his chest. Full speed was out of the question, but as it was a rescue they already knew what they’d need, he didn’t have to get there much before Thunderbird Two, so he settled for an almost bearable Mach 10 and flicked his comms back on, hoping John wouldn’t ask questions.

Presumably John had reached the same conclusion as him, as his decision of half max speed wasn’t commented on when his brother made contact a few minutes later to continue the debrief with additional information coming in from the danger zone.

It was a textbook rescue, a fact Scott was incredibly glad for as he let Virgil take the mole pod down, followed by Gordon with stabilising foam to stop the mine collapsing any further.  In and out, no complications, no injuries.  The trapped worker emerged from the pod shaken but otherwise fine and Scott watched Virgil check him over thoroughly to be safe as he and Gordon secured both intact pods back inside the module, where they belonged.

“I’ll see you back at base,” he told his brothers as he headed back to his ‘bird.  Gordon gave him a crisp nod while Virgil gave no indication that he’d heard – as he was still checking the rescuee over, Scott hadn’t expected one. Gordon’s reaction told him everything he needed to know – the attitude was still professional-only.  He wasn’t yet forgiven for whatever transgression it was Gordon was mad at him about.  It was nearing midnight at home, though; they were all tired and Scott fully expected it to all blow over by morning, once they’d had some sleep.

The site supervisor was waiting for him as he approached.

“Just wanted to say thank you again,” the woman said, sticking out her hand.  He took it and hid a wince at her particularly vigorous shake.  It was too soon for more painkillers, but this particular dose was wearing off already; the flight home was not going to be fun.

“Just doing our job,” he returned, polite smile on his face, and carefully retracted his hand.  She let him.

“Your job’s an impressive one,” she winked at him, before her gaze wandered slightly.  Scott wanted to groan – he knew that look, and normally he’d play along, maybe even see if he could score if he was feeling particularly lucky, but he was physically tired, emotionally drained, and in pain. No flirting for him today.

He just nodded at her, smile slightly more genuine because regardless of the situation it always gave him a bit of a boost when he got attention of that sort – not that he’d dare admit that to his brothers, or they’d never let him forget it – and she laughed.

“I’d say another time, but I’d hope we don’t need your assistance again,” she grinned, and before Scott realised it was coming, there was a playful elbow in his ribs.  Nothing hard, not even something he’d normally react to, but his ribs screamed and he gasped, instinctively doubling over before forcing himself straight again.

He fervently hoped his brothers hadn’t noticed, but didn’t dare glance around to check.

“Oh, I’m so-”

“You’re right, hopefully you won’t need us again.”  He overrode her apology, sent her another small grin, and got himself back inside the safety of his ‘bird as quickly as he could without seeming like he was running away. His ribs burned and he eyed the first aid cabinet, sorely tempted, but squashed the impulse.  Piloting in pain wasn’t advisable, but piloting overdosed on medication was potentially fatal.  Taking a moment to settle, he opened up a link to Thunderbird Five.

“I’m returning to base now,” he informed his brother.  “Rescue complete; Virgil and Gordon are finishing up with the worker, but they’ve got it all in hand and I’ve got a shower to finish.”

“F.A.B.,” John acknowledged, a small grin on his face at Scott’s mention of a shower.  “I’ll see if I can get the world to wait on getting itself into any more trouble until you’re done, big brother.”

“That would be nice,” Scott grinned, settling back in his chair more comfortably and ignoring his ribs. They both knew John couldn’t control that, especially not with the Hood and his Chaos Crew running around, but sometimes it was nice to pretend.  “Thunderbird One out.”

He muted his comms again – against protocol, but he doubted Virgil or Gordon would be calling him up for a chat given the way they were cold-shouldering him and he’d already addressed John – before taking off.  VTOL launches were far gentler with the G-forces, but unlike earlier, he wasn’t riding high on the full effect of the painkillers, so it hurt worse as he accelerated.

Mach 8 would be plenty to get him home, he decided, unwilling to risk anything faster than necessary, and once he was cruising he unmuted his comms, confident he wouldn’t have missed anything.

“-ott.  Scott.  Thunderbird One are you listening to me?”

Virgil sounded furious. That didn’t bode well.

“Reading you loud and clear, Thunderbird Two,” he replied.  “What’s happened?”  He reached out in preparation of turning his ‘bird’s nose back the way he’d come.

“What’s happened, he asks,” Virgil steamed, hologram materialising.  He was standing firmly upright, arms crossed and one hand tapping on his arm.  “The site supervisor wanted to know why you’re working with a rib injury.”

Dammit.

“Virgil-” he started, not quite sure how he was going to deflect the accusation.  His brother didn’t give him a chance.

“Don’t Virgil me,” he snapped.  “Get back here so I can see why she thinks you’re injured.”

“It’s fine,” Scott lied. “Nothing serious.  I’ll see you back at base.”  He cut the call, which in immediate hindsight was stupid decision, but to his surprise, Virgil didn’t immediately call back.  Still, he switched his comms back to mute and eyed his speed.  If he wanted to get back before Thunderbird Two, Mach 8 would be enough, but if Virgil pushed his ‘bird, it wouldn’t leave him with much time to grab a shower and smuggle some ice.  Gritting his teeth, he pushed her up to Mach 10, swallowing the grunt of pain from the additional pressure.

Almost immediately, Thunderbird One started to slow.

“Hey!” he yelped.  The absolute last thing he needed was his ‘bird crashing.  It might give him enough injuries to hide the fact his ribs were already broken, but wrecking his ‘bird was not worth avoiding a lecture.  He tried to correct it, but her controls jammed under his hands. “Oh you’re kidding me,” he groaned, preparing himself to stand up and get to the reset.  What had even happened?  She hadn’t been damaged since the Icarus, and Brains and Virgil had both sworn through and through that she was fully functional again.  There was no reason for-

His holographic display lit up with the icon for Thunderbird Five.

Ah.  Dammit.  Virgil had got John on his case.

Reluctantly, he unmuted his comm and immediately got blasted with three brothers all yelling at him. The temptation was there to simply mute them again, but instead he sighed and leaned back in his chair, waiting for them to stop.

“-t mute your comms ever-”

“-swer us you-”

“-re you an idiot-”

They didn’t, but their voices were getting more and more frantic, and he realised they were starting to panic at his lack of a response.  He groaned.

“You don’t need to shout, I can hear you just fine,” he told them.  “John, what are you doing with Thunderbird One?”

“Landing,” his brother said abruptly.  “You’re just coming up over the Sahara so I’m putting you down there.  Thunderbird Two is en route.”

“This really isn’t necessary,” Scott complained. “Can’t we deal with this at home?”

“You mean in another two hours, providing we don’t get another callout or distraction so you can slip away again?” Virgil asked dryly.  “No, we’re doing this now, and if I find anything worse than a minor bruise you’re finishing the trip home in Thunderbird Two’s medbay.”

Scott groaned, having absolutely no desire to be subjected to that.  “Seriously, guys, I’m fine.”  Thunderbird One’s VTOLs fired as her speed dropped, and he felt her land.  Looking out of the viewing window, he saw sand and more sand.  The Sahara, as John had promised.

“We’ll be the judge of that,” Gordon scowled.

“Thunderbird Two is five minutes out from your location,” Virgil informed him coolly.  “Stay where you are.”

Thunderbird Five’s insignia was still firmly ensconced in the holographic display, informing him that John had not retracted his override.  As much as he wanted to, there was no way he was going anywhere until his brothers had satisfied themselves.  He groaned again and eyed the medical cabinet once more.  It was still too soon to take another dose, but he knew there was no way any of them would be letting him pilot the rest of the way home anyway.

The relief from pain would not be worth the lecture from Virgil and then Grandma.  Reluctantly he turned away from it and closed his eyes, listening out for the engines of Thunderbird Two.  His brothers kept the channel open, talking to each other and occasionally shooting a question his way – presumably to make sure he hadn’t passed out on them – which he answered reluctantly.

True to Virgil’s words, five minutes after John had landed his ‘bird there came the sound of Thunderbird Two’s VTOL overhead, and he jabbed at his seat controls to leave his ‘bird, seeing no point in sitting and waiting for them to descend on him when he’d be dragged into Thunderbird Two anyway.  Some battles weren’t worth fighting.

“Scott!”  Virgil strode across the short distance between the two ‘birds, grabbing his arm as soon as he was in reach as though he thought he’d flee if given the chance.  With John still controlling his ‘bird, Scott thought the gesture unnecessary.  “You absolute idiot.  Thunderbird Two, now.”  The hand gripping his bicep didn’t give him much of a choice, forcibly guiding him towards the lowered hatch.

Gordon was waiting in the cockpit, arms crossed and eyes like fire.  Beside him, the cockpit’s stretcher had been lowered.

“Sit,” Virgil snapped, dragging him over to it.  Scott obeyed reluctantly, and scowled at the medical scanner immediately deployed.  It didn’t take long to flag up amber along his various bruises, and red at his ribs.  He didn’t hear what Virgil ground out under his breath, but he was fairly certain it wasn’t language he’d use in front of their grandmother.  “John, take One home.  Scott’s piloting nowhere.”

“F.A.B.”  Scott knew his brother well enough to hear the anger in those three letters.  His ‘bird’s VTOL roared to life and he watched her take to the sky through the cockpit windows.

“When did this happen, Scott?” Virgil demanded, setting the scanner to one side and tugging at his zip. Scott batted his hand away, taking over. He still had enough pride to not be undressed by his brother.  Two sets of brown eyes narrowed dangerously as the bruising became visible.

Caught, there was nothing to be gained by lying.  “Last mission, when the pod stopped suddenly.”  A flash of guilt swept across Gordon’s face.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” the aquanaut demanded.  He shrugged, then winced when his body reminded him that the painkillers were all but worn off.

“Didn’t exactly get the chance,” he said.  “Couldn’t do anything about it at the time because we were trying not to become WRM food, then there was the thing with the Mechanic and the Hood, and the landowner wanted compensation for the damaged WRM and park, and-”

“And most of that could have waited for you to get checked over,” Virgil interrupted, a gentle hand lightly touching his bruised torso.  Scott’s body flinched away from the contact unbidden.  “Why the hell did you come out to Cornwall?  Gordon and I could have handled it by ourselves.”

“It was a rescue,” Scott protested.

“Which you’re now grounded from for six weeks, minimum,” Virgil growled.  “Lie down.  What have you taken for the pain?”

He didn’t get a chance to protest before both brothers were carefully but firmly pushing him down onto the stretcher.

“Two Tylenol when I left the trash mine seven hours ago,” he admitted.  “Two more just before this mission, three hours ago.”  Virgil frowned.

“You’ll have to bear with it until we get home,” he said.  “Once the Tylenol’s out of your system, I’ll give you something stronger.”  Scott scowled.  “Gordon, get some ice on his ribs.  Scott, stay still.”  Virgil had the gall to strap him down, avoiding putting pressure on his ribs.  “We’ll be talking about this when we get home.”

It was a promise, but just before he turned away to head to his seat, Scott saw the one thing he’d hoped he’d be able to avoid: guilt.  Virgil was well aware he’d missed the signs because of his flare-up about the topiary, and wouldn’t be forgiving himself for it any time soon.

“Virg-” he started, only to interrupt himself with a hiss as a cool sensation spread across his chest. He closed his eyes briefly, before opening them to find Gordon stood next to him, ice pack in hand.

“Not right now, bro,” the blond said quietly, and the same guilty pain was in his eyes.  “Give him time.”

“Gord-”

“And me,” Gordon interrupted him.  “Just… not yet, okay?  Wait ‘til we’re home and you’re all smothered better in the infirmary.”

Scott didn’t like it, but he understood it – they’d find it easier to deal with once they knew he really was okay.  Broken ribs sucked, but in the grand scheme of injuries, they were relatively minor.  The real fear his brothers carried was what if it had been worse – a punctured lung, for example.

In answer, he pulled a face, showing exactly what he thought of being ‘smothered better’ as Thunderbird Two roared to life beneath him.  A small grin tugged at the corner of Gordon’s mouth and he considered that progress, settling back comfortably as his brother’s ‘bird carried him home.

next...

[starrybethany]

Matthew Tkachuk . 1 . Outrunning Karma

Word count: 3K

Song: Outrunning Karma by Alec Benjamin

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e4vD2S5vQMM

Today marks one month since I began working at this school. One month of teaching at a public school for the first time- one month of dealing with some of the best and worst kids I have ever met or taught.

“... but let me tell you guys, no matter what your previous English teachers might have told you, colors don’t always have to have symbolism. It could just be the author wanting you to visualize the object or situation more,” I explain, leaning back on my desk.

Despite this being a required sophomore English class, all of the kids look engaged and interested in the material. I’m not one to brag, but some of my previous students have told me that I’m the best teacher they’ve ever had because I talk and create activities that peak the students interest so that they want to learn the lesson.

I never tell them it’s because I spend hours scrolling through Pinterest, considering if each student would like each activity.

The bell rings signaling the end of the day and I glance over at the clock in surprise. Sometimes I get so wrapped up in whatever I’m teaching I don’t even notice the time passing me by. “Okay, well have a good night, everyone! There’s no homework tonight.”

I watch them leave the classroom, getting up to sit behind my desk and grade some homework and exercises I made the students do. I’m reading one of the essays about the book they read over the summer when the sound of heels clicking on the floor make me look up.

Anna Turner and I met in college. We had the same major, secondary education, but different minors because she teaches math and I teach English. When she found out that I was quitting my job at the all-girls Catholic school I used to teach at- for reasons I’d rather forget about- she begged me to apply at the public high school that she teaches at. As you can see, I got the job and decided to take it.

“How’s it going?” She asks, leaning over my desk.

“Good. I don’t have any students that have a grade lower than a C.” I do a fist pump in the air and she laughs at my antics.

“That’s good. So, Mr. Wright wants you in his office right now,” she tells me.

My eyes widen in surprise. At my last school, whenever you got called to the office you knew something bad was going to happen. I was only there once and for the reason that I was called in there for, I quit.

“Did I do something wrong?” I question.

“No, no you didn’t,” she reassures me. “Just go.”

So I follow her orders, making my way through the hallways with “hellos” to my students on my way to the small office at the back of the school. I knock on the door before opening it, immediately thrown off by the dim lighting in the usually well-lit office.

I’m startled by the sight of someone who is not Principal Wright behind his desk. Instead, it’s an attractive man who appears to be my age or maybe even younger. It’s obvious that his borderline-blonde-borderline-brown hair is naturally curly but he has it cut into a way that he can control it.

His eyes are a gentle mix of blue and green- it’s hard to tell what it actually is. His mouth parts, revealing a gap in between his top two front teeth which makes me swoon at the boyish vibe that he gives off.

When a smirk covers his face I snap out of my daydream about our seven kids, realizing that I’m probably drooling all over the floor at how hot this guy is.

“Oh, sorry, um, I’m supposed to be meeting with Principal Wright,” I stutter through, cursing myself for the lack of confidence.

“No, you’re not.”

My eyebrows furrow in confusion and nervousness rushes through me, both because of the confusion this situation is bringing and the fact that such a good-looking guy is staring at me right now. “I’m sorry?”

“Come sit down, Y/N.”

I’m immediately thrown off by the fact that this guy knows my name. How does he know me yet I don’t know him?

“Um, I’d rather not,” I deny as politely as I can, taking a step back. My back touches something and I freeze, my blood running cold. I turn around slowly to find a tall, looming man behind me. He smiles at me but it’s obvious by the gesture that I need to do whatever this stranger is telling me.

So I turn around, ignoring the fact that the smirk on this stranger’s face has grown, and reluctantly sit in one of the arm chairs in front of Mr. Wright’s desk. Or this guy’s desk, who knows anymore?

“How was class today?” He inquires.

I give him an odd expression, unsure of his intentions. I don’t know him and the fact that I’m pressured to talk to him in such a weird setting makes me unsettled. It’s also weird that he would pressure me into talking to him just to ask me about the students. That can’t be the only thing that he wants to know from this conversation, but I don’t know what else he wants to know.

“Good,” I answer simply, not positive of what to say or how much to give away.

“So, let me introduce myself. My name is Matthew, this school and I have a deal and since you’re going to stick around for a while, it’s time to inform you of, uh, what’s going on,” he begins. I grow more and more anxious with every word. “We provide protection to this school, since you know it’s not in the safest area of the city, and in return the school allows us to use the facilities and resources for our, um, how do I say this, activities.”

I raise my eyebrows in question to the ‘activities’ part but quickly shove them back down. By the way that he phrases it, the situation isn’t anything good, none the less legal, so it’s best to know as little as possible.

But really, the school allows this to occur on campus? With kids around? What if the kids see someone getting murdered or using cocaine, will the school pay for their therapy bills or can it afford court bills if they get taken to court?

“Now that you’re a part of the crew-”But I’m not-”You might have to do some things in order to keep your protection.”

From the way he says it, I know it’s not just protection from muggers or rapists on the outside. Now, it includes him and whatever gang or mafia or mob he’s a part of.

“Like what?” I find myself asking.

He grins at me, showing me that gap again. This time, it doesn’t make me swoon. Instead it makes my heart beat ten times faster. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, sweetheart.”

He stares at me and I stare back at him. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what he wants me to say. I’m afraid to say anything in fear of saying the wrong thing- one wrong thing and I could get my head blown off. And I know if I open my mouth I just might start crying.

“Any questions?”

I shake my head silently.

“Okay. We’ll call you when you’re needed then. Or maybe stop by your apartment, depending on the time,” he responds, playing with one of Principal Wright’s pens. “Milan, show her out.”

The big man from earlier guides me back into the hallway all the while I can feel Matthew’s eyes on me. I take deep breaths to steady my breathing and it’s like I’m just going through the motions, packing up my stuff and driving back to my apartment.

My apartment. They know where I live. And I bet if I packed up and moved, they would figure out my address then, too. The mafia never lets you go once it gets its hold on you.

Troy: FaceTime?

I’ve never rejected a FaceTime call from my boyfriend. These days, those calls are too far and few between and I miss him more than I can put into words. It’s only been a year since he was transferred to Toronto but comparing that one year that he’s been away to the two and a half years that he’s been by my side, I can easily pick which one I prefer more.

Y/N: Not feeling well tonight, sorry.

I make my dinner, ignoring my phone vibrating beside me with an incoming text. I check it as I begin to eat.

Troy: What’s wrong?

I don’t respond to his text. It’s not like I can tell him the truth, that the mafia owns my work and threatened me. He would tell me to go to the police but it’s not that easy, Matthew probably has tons of people in his pocket, including the ones whose job it is to enforce the law.

I clean up my dinner, sitting down at the kitchen counter to grade an exercise I made the students write about an interesting thing they found out about their home city of Calgary.

The city of Calgary is run by a mafia called the ‘Calgary Flames.’ They’ve been around since 1972 and have had several leaders over the years, previously Mark Giordano and currently Matthew Tkachuk. You can recognize a mafia member by a tattoo all of the members have to get, which is a C with flames shooting out from it on the inside of their left ankle. They are famous for crimes like drug trafficking, money laundering, corruption of public officials, murder, and kidnapping just to name a few.

It feels like all of the air has been sucked out of me. This can’t be about the same person I met earlier, right? Sure, they share the same name and that Matthew does seem to be a part of something sketchy, but that’s just a coincidence. The Matthew that I’ve met and that I’ll have to be interacting with for who knows how long can’t be a part of something so- so vile.

I can’t imagine anyone doing any of those things listed. Those are all horrendous crimes and to do those around kids would make those people awful human beings. Well, there’s only one way I can tell if this is the same Matthew or not.

I need to see his ankle.

~

It’s a while before I see him again. The next time I see him I’m scanning through the pile of copies in my hands, frustrated by the fact that the copy machine didn’t staple the papers automatically once again.

“Hey Ms. Y/LN, was there any homework for the weekend?” The familiar voice of one of my students asks.

I lift my head to make eye contact, my blood running cold and I freeze in my place as my eyes meet Matthew’s. He’s standing next to Tanner, a student in my eighth hour, who asked the question, and it’s clear that he interrupted a conversation he was having with the older man to ask the question.

I know Matthew does business here but I didn’t expect him to actually communicate with the students. That seems like a boundary that he would know better than to cross, but I guess if he’s in the mafia he doesn’t know any boundaries.

“Um, I just wanted you guys to read chapters eight and nine of your novels for Monday,” I answer, crossing my arms protectively over my chest.

I watch the blonde’s eyes flicker down to watch the movement.

“Okay. See you Monday.” The sophomore shuts the locker, giving a lazy wave to the mafia leader before heading down the hall.

It’s like I’m stuck in place. I know I should move, I know I should avoid as much contact with Matthew as possible, but for some reason my feet won’t listen to my brain’s screaming.

He nods at me in greeting. “How are you doing today, Y/N?”

“Good,” I shift on my feet. I know I have to confirm whether he’s actually a mafia leader or not. If he’s not, he’s just some shady guy doing shady business at my place of work. If he is- well, I don’t even want to think about that.

The plan formulates in my head and I go to move forward, purposefully tripping over my feet and landing on the floor with a ‘thud’, all of the papers in my arms scattering throughout the hallway.

Just as I expected, as any person with an inch of compassion in their heart would do, he bends down on the ground to help me pick up the papers. I watch carefully as I pick up the sheets, eyes connected to his left ankle.

And there it is.

The student described it well in the writing, but it’s much more intricate and detailed up close. It’s a nice design, I’ll give him that, but knowing the terrifying meaning behind the symbol sends shivers up my spine.

All of my fears and worries are confirmed. The city’s mafia leader is standing in front of me, reaching out and expecting me to take his hand so he can lift me off of the ground. He wants me to touch his hands- hands he’s probably used to kill people with before.

He’s talking to me but it feels like I’m underwater. I can’t hear what he’s saying, all I can listen to is the thud of my heart and the static that my brain is creating with trying to think of a logical thought or reaction to this situation.

“Y/N?”

My body turns on it’s fight-or-flight instinct, and as I usually do, I decide to listen to the flight part. I take the papers out of his hand, being careful to not touch him, and mumble a, “Gotta go.”

I take off down the hall before he can react, reaching my classroom and practically slamming the door shut behind me.

Breathe, think.

“What happened to you?” Someone inquires.

My eyes snap up from the tile floor to see Anna sitting at a student desk. I know it’s not fair, but I can’t help but blame her. She’s probably known about the mafia’s involvement here all along and yet, she told me to get a job here. And she’s the one who sent me down to the office to meet Matthew.

I’ve been avoiding her for the past week, always making sure that I’m talking to a student or too busy to chat with her whenever I see her. I feel disrespected and hurt that she would put me in a situation like this.

I thought we were better friends than that.

I narrow my eyes at her, knowing that if I say anything it won’t be that nice.

She sighs. It takes everything in me to not sock her in the mouth because of that sigh.

“Listen, Y/N, I know you’ve met Matt now and-””How could you ever do this to me?” I snap, interrupting her.

“It’s deeper than you think-””Of course it is, he’s in the fucking mafia, Anna!” I can’t help but yell. “I want you out. I want you out of my classroom and out of my life.”

I can see the hurt burn in her eyes at my words but I no longer care. If she doesn’t care about me enough that she’s willing to risk my safety and well-being, I don’t want to continue a relationship with her.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” I yank the door open for effect. “Get out. Now.”

She drags her feet as she leaves, like she thinks that I’ll end up changing my mind and suddenly decide that what she did was okay. I won’t.

~

“Hey,” Troy greets me as I answer his FaceTime call.

“Hi. I miss you,” I grin sadly, wanting nothing more than to be in my loving boyfriend’s arms right now. Having a long distance relationship is one of the hardest things that I’ve ever done.

“I miss you too. I wish we could’ve FaceTimed the other day,” he states, bringing up the fact that I left him on read when all he wanted to do was talk to me.

I sigh. “I wasn’t in the mood, Troy. And I’m not in the mood to talk about it today, either.”

He nods. “I can respect that. So… day…?”

My eyebrows furrow in confusion. Even though we are separated by three thousand miles and are in two completely different provinces, our calls usually have great connection with problems only if it’s raining outside. And judging from the clear skies in both of our backgrounds, that’s not a problem.

“What? Sorry the connection cut out,” I respond, deciding that it must be the wifi or something.

“I said… your…”

“Ask it again,” I request.

“How… today?”

I bite my lip out of frustration. After the rough day that I’ve had today and the unknown that’s coming tomorrow, poor connection when I’m just trying to rant and catch up with my boyfriend is the last thing that I want.

“The connection is just not working, Troy, I can’t hear you,” I admit.

“... not… fault!” His voice raises and the screen freezes, one frame replacing the other every couple of seconds.

“I don’t know why you’re yelling now.”

“Because…” The sound completely cuts out. Exhaustion hits me, from finding out that Matthew is in the mafia, to yelling at Anna, to getting into this argument with Troy. All I want to do is sleep and become refreshed for tomorrow.

“Troy, I’m getting tired, I’m going to head off to bed. Hopefully this connection will be better tomorrow.” I hang up the phone before he can say anything, knowing that I won’t be able to hear it anyways.

I know one thing. And that’s that I’m not ready for what’s coming tomorrow.

[kpopisthereasonihavenolife]

[TEASER]

kim seokjin/reader 

genre: mermaid/pirate au, pirate seokjin, mermaid y/n, romance, angst, pinning 

warning(s): crimes obvs., violence, minor character deaths, kidnapping, illegal hunting of mermaids, cursing, pirate banter 

w.count: 1.2k [teaser] 

Series | One-shot | Two-shot | Drabble [Rated: T] 

summary: A band of pirates raising a mermaid is just a tall-tale; except for one pirate crew who takes the situation literally.  After adopting a baby of the sea, they raise it as one of their own. The problem? Mermaids are only part of a wide branch of mythical creatures that are captured and sold. This crew has to keep her identity a secret and years later when she finds herself on the threshold of discovery, she’s scared to look to her crew- her family- for rescue.  Not wanting to bring them down with her, she attempts to handle the situation on her own. However, her current captain and childhood friend won’t let her go in alone.

[Pro-tip: Seokjin + Y/n are both kids in this teaser lol]

He didn’t know if you even knew, but there was a reason he always asks you to keep your hair long as well.  His father, the captain, had told him once that the scales on the back of your neck were the one thing a mermaid cannot conceal.  That's why they always have long hair or hide it with scarves or high shirts on land.  Those iridescent scales of yours were the one thing to give you away and instead of telling you to keep your hair long for safety, he had told you that he preferred it longer.  

It wasn't a lie, per se.  He did prefer your hair long, it was shiny and pretty like seashells.  But he couldn’t just say that. Oh, no no no. Boys don’t compliment girls like that.  Too embarrassing- he was a future captain! He had to be manly! 

“I think dad said we’re docking in Neave tomorrow evening for shipment details and restock on items. We can sneak off the ship when everyone’s asleep and go swimming!” He whispered with the thrill of sneaking away from his parents- as he’s not supposed to- and going with you to swim and jeopardize your identity no less.  

“You’re crazy,” you told him with a huffy eye roll. “Let’s do it,” you said, agreeing nonetheless with a smile.

You and Seokjin snuck around the ship like ants the following morning, scrambling to get chores and duties finished so you both could clear up the evening for your silent plan of some late night swimming practice. Your father Calvin, and Seokjin’s father, Captain Hillian watched with suspecting eyes as you both gathered at the quarterdeck of the ship with excited steps and hushed giggles as the port of Neave approached closer with each wave. 

The moment the ship eased into port and the gangway was pushed from deck to port, you and Seokjin dashed off, sprinting down the spine red wooden board and jumping onto the deck.  Seokjin wobbling as he took a few test steps, not used to the ground beneath his feet not swaying on the ocean waves. The crew laughed at the two of you as you pushed Seokjin around, watching him lose his balance before attempting to chase you- a poor attempt at the very least.  A patch of seaweed looked more appealing than his poor excuse for a walk cycle on land. 

“Seokjin, Y/n!” You both paused your childish antics when you heard Captain Hillian’s low toned voice call behind the both of you.  You both slowly turned as you saw he'd him lounging over the ships railing.  “Don’t you both go causing trouble or else I’m going to be forced to have you both stay on board.” You winced as you remembered the last time you got forced to stay on board at port. You couldn’t even sneak off, the crew members watched you both like hawks. 

“Yes, sir!” Seokjin shouted back before he slightly elbowed you- grinning to make sure you were still aware of the idea of swimming later.  A sign of ‘no take backs’ he locked you in. He grabbed your elbow before he bolted into town.  You both had been here a few times before, so that helped navigate down the dusty roads. 

He finally stopped zipping around and let go of your arm he had nearly yanked off of your shoulder.  He turned to you, looking behind you and around to make sure no pirates followed.  He got closer to you in excitement, you could see stars in his eyes. 

“I took some coins from my dad's dresser top,” he started as he showed the small leather bound pouch on his belt. “We can get some pears or something to eat! I hear they imported some from overseas in the west and they’re way better than apples!” 

“Seokjin! You took coins from the captain?! If he finds out, he’s gonna tie you to the mast and tell by the way you scream when a violent wave is coming!” You hushly scolded as he just waved it off.  

“It was just a few, it’s not like he’ll go bankrupt or something because he left money laying around. He had it coming! Besides,” he sprung up a finger in his case, “he’s more likely to dangle me from the crows nest.” He stated as he started sauntering off. 

“That’s not any better!” You chased him with a stupid grin on your face- the idea of him hanging from above as he kicked and panicked a bit too amusing. Following his jokester back into the market, he finally grabbed your hand, a wave of anxiousness flooding him when he finally remembered that you were a mermaid in disguise.  He just smiled, making you promise not to run off and keep a hold of his hand.  

Just as he said, he walked to a fresh fruit stand and felt around for a perfect, soft pear of the lightest shade of green he could find.  Tossing a few coins to the seller, he took a bite, shocked at how sweet and soft it tasted.  When he held it out for you, you took a bite of the opposite side of the fruit, just as astonished.  

You both boasted about how you needed to convince the crew to stock up on a few of them, maybe serve them with the fish you ate constantly.  Of course, you’d have to do so without spilling the beans about taking the Captain’s money. You both were sat on a pile of abandoned crates for longer than you both realized until a crew member came and found you both by chance.  The sun was starting to dip and he advised you to head back to the ship before the Captain or Calvin throws a fit. 

For a pirate and adoptive father figure, Calvin was fairly protective over you and your well being. He didn’t really seem to care that you were a mermaid and the Captain had told you time and time again that he treated you like you were his own flesh and blood. You and Seokjin began to climb up the steep gangway of the ship as crew mates passed you by.  

Calvin stopped you before you re-boarded the ship.  Clapping your shoulder and rocking you back and forth with a strong, firm grip of a father.  

“Now, you behave and stay on board while we’re out,” he told you with a small smile.  He hated to admit it to your small, childish face, but you knew that ‘out’ meant he and the rest of the men were going to visit a pub and get what action they could for a night and a pretty penny.  You nodded at him. “Don’t let Seokjin drag you around either. Do you understand, Sweet Pea?”

“Yes, I do,” you curled your teeth in as you wet your lips trying not to smile.  Smiling while looking at your father is a dead giveaway that you’re lying.  A skill he’s teaching you, but can see right through.  As a pirate and member of this crew, you were being taught all the skills as Seokjin and the other men. 

Lying, theft- of large and petty crimes- combat, negotiation, even navigation.  Of course, you had no interest in navigation until Seokjin called a strike and refused to learn it unless you learned it with him.  However, once you began and started charting stars and learning about the seas and maps, you were so glad his pettiness made you start.  You enjoyed it.

-x-x-x-

[multisugars]

𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 — my whole world

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬// 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝, 𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞

decided to step out of my comfort zone and write something a little darker...hope y’all like it!! :)

even the most fragile people succumb to the greatest tragedies. as you anxiously strolled through the empty halls of the hospital your mind couldn’t stop thinking about how much pain and suffering the kindest people experience in their lives. especially when they don’t do anything to deserve it. you thought about how much johnny has been put through specifically. abuse. hatred. abandonment by the only two people in this world that should be the ones wanting to protect him from harm and offer him unconditional love. your heart shattered when you realized that the only true family he’s ever known is the gang....and you. tears welled in your eyes as you stepped into the hospital room. it had been hours since you’ve last seen him. the nurses wouldn’t allow you back because you weren’t considered biological family. but right now you’re all he has. at least, until the rest of the boys show up.

so much had happened in the last few hours and you just wanted to see johnny. a part of you always felt empty without him.

he smiles at you when you finally lock eyes. like he does. even when something is wrong. you’re always telling him how much his smile makes the world more beautiful. the nurses are just finishing up the rest of his stitches. his facial expressions changing every now and then depending on the nurses actions. you reach over and place your hand on his shoulder, not wanting to touch his busted up hand in case it’s still sore. just as he’s about to say something you hear a knock on the door behind you.

as you turn your head it’s no surprise who you see first. dally. of course he’d be the one to show up first. you were always thanking dally for caring so much about johnny, it gave you comfort knowing that the one and only dallas winston had his back, along with everyone else. behind him stood the rest of the gang. two-bits shirt is still covered in blood. your blood.

it all happened so fast. one second you were going to meet johnny at his house and the next you were caught in the middle of a fight between johnny and his parents. your mind went blank, you lost time after you saw his dad violently throwing him to the ground, kicking him as his mom stood watching. you were so furious all you wanted to do was protect him. the next thing you remember is laying on the ground barely able to move, you could faintly make out a few figures running towards you and johnny.

two-bit crouched down beside you, lifting the bottom half of his shirt to your bleeding mouth. you were confused at first because you couldn’t feel any pain. but then you looked down and saw how much you were actually bleeding. but from what? that, you couldn’t remember. sodapop and darry picked johnny up from the ground and carried him over to the car. dally helped two-bit with you, lightly grabbing onto your arm to help you to your feet.

“damn kid you took a hell of a punch,” dal said reaching his hand up to turn your face so he could see the full extent of your injury. “it’s bad but nothing you’ll loose teeth over.”

“she’s bleeding pretty bad though,” two-bit says. “probably from her lip?”

dal nods and you make your way to the car. they put you in the back with johnny and the rest hop into a different vehicle. once you started to come to you were more worried about johnny who had barely even said two words since they moved him.

“his daddy was beating him pretty good, i tried to stop him but i think he hit me before i could even do anything,” you told.

“yeah he knocked ya out cold,” two-bit adds. “we was pulling up right as he went for ya.”

“i just hope he’s okay,” your hand brushes gently against johnny’s bruised cheek.

the car halted in front of the er entrance. you got out so they boys could pull out johnny easily without hurting him even more. the rest of the boys rushed over to you, concern washing over their faces as you turned to them. your injuries weren’t bad. only one hard punch to the face, but it was definitely enough to leave a mark. you could feel your lip was swelled and your blood was beginning to dry around your mouth, leaving a metallic like taste behind whenever you talked. you haven’t seen yourself yet but from the looks you’re getting it can’t be pretty.

the next time you saw johnny was at this moment. he looked so much better. there wasn’t any more blood covering his face and his cheek is all stitched up, it’s looks painful but you’re glad he’s here getting the help he needs. you know if he wouldn’t have been knocked out he would not have agreed to come here.

he didn’t seem upset though, more hurt than anything. sadly this wasn’t the first time he’d been brought here because of his parents. but you were certain it was going to be the last. the rest of the guys approach you and johnny, darry hands you a cute teddy bear that he picked up at the gift shop. two-bit and pony must have stopped by your house as they hand you a clean pair of clothes.

“thanks guys,” you say as softly as you can so your lip doesn’t start to ache.

you head to the bathroom that’s in the back of room. locking the door behind you, quickly changing. it wasn’t something you would picked out for yourself but you knew they were trying and you appreciated the effort. you pulled your hair up in a messy bun, cleaned the blood off your mouth and chin, and put some ointment on your lip before returning back to the boys. johnny seemed to be in better spirits.

“hey y/n..i’m really sorry,” he said as he looked down the floor. “you weren’t suppose to get hurt.”

“johnny...” you sat beside him. “it was my choice okay, i thought i could somehow help the situation but i guess i made it worse,” you shake your head.

“hey now y/n,” darry steps forward. “what you did was brave. there aren’t a lot of people in this world who would jump in the face of danger for a friend,” he pauses. “good on ya kid.”

you smile for the first time that day. dal walks up beside you and gives you a comforting pat on your back before doing the same to johnny. he wasn’t much for hugs or attention in general, but this small gesture spoke volumes.

“okay so i know johnny isn’t about to go back to that hell house tonight, right?” steve adds. “i mean look at the kid.”

“no he’s staying with us,” ponyboy chimes in. “forever if he wants to.”

johnny’s face lights up, his eyes are glassy, almost like he’s holding back tears.

“really darry, ya don’t mind?”

“nah you’re pretty much at our place more the yours anyway and i’d feel a whole lot better knowing that you’re safe.”

johnny gets up from the bed and gives darry the most heartwarming hug you’ve ever seen.

“it’s not like my parents would notice anyway,” he joked.

after you all get your stuff you pack up and get ready to leave. darry somehow convinced the hospital not to contact the police. you were confused as to why at first, but then dally explained if his folks went to jail then there would be no one to look after him, and with him being a minor and all he’d most likely just be sent to a boys home. so the plan was for johnny to stay at the curtis house as much as possible. you offered to go over to johnny’s house tomorrow to pick up any clothes or anything else he needed, but the boys said they’d take care of it.

everyone went their separate ways outside, dal went to bucks, two-bit went home and steve followed. the rest you piled into the car so darry could drive you home. you weren’t looking forward to explaining the fat lip and bruise to your parents but if you told them what happened you knew they’d have some compassion. the drive was about 15 minutes from the hospital to your house. it was silent for the most part. you think to yourself how they must be handling the situation that unfortunately consumed your day. you wish you could start over, but only in a dream is that possible.

darry pulls up into your driveway, you could see your parents light still on. you say your goodbyes one last time before exiting the car. darry waits for you to get to the front door but before you can open it you hear footsteps from behind you. you turn quickly and see johnny. he has his hands stuffed down in his pockets, you could see his breath float into the air from how cold it was outside.

“johnny? something wrong?” you ask concerned.

“no nothing,” he smiles shyly.” i just wanted to to talk to ya.”

he takes a couple deep breathes before stepping a little closer to you. your heart rate beating inside your chest at what feels like mile of minute. he looks up at you his brown eyes glistening from the moonlight.

“i just wanted to say how much i really appreciate you tryin’ to help me today, i know it couldn’t have been easy but you did it.”

“it’s no problem johnny.” you reach over interlocking your fingers with his. “and i’d do it again.”

he looks up at you, clearly in shock that someone would be willing to put themselves in danger for him. his eyes keep going back and fourth from your lips back to your eyes. he wants to kiss you but with your busted lip he decides not too. instead he leans forward kissing your cheek in the most precious way you could ever imagine.

with one last glance between you two he makes his way back towards the car, where you could see the curtis brothers with the biggest smiles of their faces.

before johnny gets back into the car he can’t help but whisper something quietly to himself...

“she changes my whole world...”

[thehermitsforest]

The Hermits Forest

Prologue

When he was a child Simon had wanted to be a tailor, he wanted to make the rich wear what he thought was cool instead of their silly frilly capes, and he wanted to start a movement, a movement so strong that pale skins would stop painting themselves purple, back then the slave trade wasn’t even a blip on his radar. To begin a fashion career he needed to be fashionable, that was Simon’s first hurdle, he couldn’t wear purple paint on his skin, not from pride or injustice, but because he was allergic. He swiftly accepted defeat. Creating a device that would let him and other people allergic to paint appear purple, was not a thought that crossed his mind, the only thought that crossed his mind was, what job pays the most, and ideally will let me retire soonest so that I may sit in my wealth and die with no greater purpose? The Spirits Slave trade was one such position, however Simon did not think he was an evil man, nor corrupt or immoral, so he trained himself to steer a horse. He was only a delivery driver. 

After all had he not helped to push the spirit into the cage, or saddled up the horses he was sure someone else would, although this thought made sense in Simons head it would seldom hold up in court, after all it does not matter if you know your neighbour Beatrice plans to murder her husband Arnold, if Simon killed Arnold first, then his death would still solely be Simons fault. The spirit trade was a dying trade, not through lack of trying,  or customers and money, but lack of spirits. Spirits seldom survived months when captured and could take centuries to rebirth, if ever did.

Simon gripped the horses reins tight. When the horse began to tire Simon would take his whip, and encourage him forth. The horse didn’t like his new job, not only was he carrying Simon, but a fat man called ‘boss’, three spirit hunters, a heavy cart cage made from Airitlium the only the material that could hold spirits, and as if to add insult to injury, inside that cage was Carry. Ancient spirit of the wild horses. Not all wild horses just a small herd to the east that were said to be millennia old and devour humans, although even to the horse’s perception they did not resemble horses anymore, unless perhaps the only knowledge you had of horses was through word of mouth.

            “Simon.” Carry the spirit whispered rolling over to the cage edge. 

His skin was dark, and he had small black quarter moons spotted across his body, where old horse hide clothing did not cover his skin. 

           “Yeah?” Simon asked glancing back, eyebrows half raised as though he was dazed. 

Carry sat on his knees so that he could be face height with Simon, and he tried for a second to wag his white horse like tail out of view, when that failed he quickly scrambled after it with his hands and hid it behind himself.

           “Where are we going friend?”

Simon gave a dramatic roll with his eyes and head, he had only worked for 6 months but whenever there was a spirit in the cage, to the exact letter, this was how conversations began, and they always began with him.

           “We’re going to find another spirit or more if the opportunity arrives.”

           “Who?”

           “According to the kings bounty, there is an evil spirit residing in ‘The Hermit’s Forest’ who does away with anyone travelling through, most spirits that attack humans are normally animal in nature, so I suspect we will pick up a spirit going by the usually imaginative name of Animal.” 

           “A spirit that has the name of Animal must be mighty strong, do you really think you can capture such a being?” Carry asked with an unfaltering gaze.

           “We know other forests had small territorial animal spirits, and we also know that we can catch them, because they are not the spirits, of the animals, that sit at the top of the food chain,” Simon said with an unbearably smug grin “because that would be humans.”

           “I w’d’ve thought they were strong.” Carry said.

           “Perhaps if they attacked us one on one they would overpower us, or if we had no weapons, but they like to fight, and they like to walk into traps, their greatest weakness is their stupidity, it is almost like they forgot to form a brain.”

           “I can’t wait for you to die. I know the animal spirit of ‘The Hermit’s Forest’, she walks though my land at winter.”

           “Oh you’ve seen her have you, let me guess, you think because she’s stronger than you, a singular herd of horses, that she’s going to be stronger than humans, but you’re wrong, and I don’t suppose for one moment she’ll have any luck out smarting us.”

           “The spirit you seek is Forest.”

Simon rolled his eyes and a gentle smile sat upon his face “you trying to tell me the trees are evil?”

           “I do not suppose for one moment Forest is any more evil than any other Forest spirit, from what I understand neither takes too kindly to disrespectful humans, but I do hear Forest looks a bit peculiar and humans have a nasty habit of associating physical form with personality.”

           “I don’t believe you. Why would a forest that began as a few trees in the back of a hermits garden be peculiar? He’s new for a forest, and planted by a human, so they should look like any other forest, plain, simple, with no strong thoughts one way or the other except perhaps a minor instinct to protect himself.”

           “Suit yourself.” Carry said stopping the conversation and she sat back down in a position that was a little more comfortable.

           “Fucks sake” Simon said as he pulled on the reins of the horse who came to a thankful stop, at his action, but his boss looked down with fury in his eyes ready to be unleashed.

           “Why have we stopped!”

           “They’ve changed gender” Simon said tiredly and gestured to Carry.

           “Shit.” The boss said, and Carry looked to Simon surprised at the information.

           “I can quite assure you gentlemen that I have not come to any new shocking revelations about my own gender in the past - nigh at least seventy thousand years, and as such declaring I have changed my gender is ludicrous, besides if I wanted to change the physical gender I generate I could not do it for these chains are tighter than a stallions arse.”

           “Come on lads!” The boss shouted piling up several more heavy rusting chains into his arms.

           “Your form has changed slightly, and you voice is different, slightly higher I think” Simon said to the spirit who seemed generally bewildered.

           “That’s it?”

           “Simon you idiot, you are not supposed to tell the spirits how to mimic us better” his boss growled red in the face as he revealed his black rotting teeth.

           “We don’t change shape” Simon shrugged “if a spirit could work that out I’m sure they would’ve already.”

           “He’s got a point boss.” The spirit hunter with a spear laughed, just as he began to hear the sound of a man screaming, and quickly getting closer. The boss frowned and turned towards the empty marsh, in the direction in which the sound was coming from, just in time to see a man several meters away fall from the sky and hit the marshes swampy water making it splash into the air, his screams stopping immediately.

           “That’s odd” he said.

           “Must’ve been one of the folks from up top” the sword holding hunter said “though I’ve never seen anyone fighting up there.”

           “He probably just tripped” the spear holding hunter said “those stupid rich people would prefer their stupid city looks all magical rather than putting up some damn fencing, tripped over a dog a few months ago when I was up there, almost died, fucking rich people.”

           “I see. As long as they do not land on us I don’t care” the boss said, and he looked up just in time to get a glimpse of the falling elephant that crushed him, and everyone else within the elephants reach.

End Of Prologue

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[occasionaltouhou]

Here's a rare-pair for you then. Akyuu and Ellen, Destiny. You've probably seen some plot about an immortal chasing down and seducing their lover's reincarnations (or is that just my weird books?), but what if you have that… but in reverse. Gotta give PC-98 some love.

i have not been able to stop thinking about this prompt since i got it. i wish my brain was half as huge as yours

this doesn’t quite fit the prompt but i hope you like it anyway

Her name was Ellen right now. It had been other things in the past, and it would be other things in future, but right now it was Ellen.

She had an unusual problem – she had lived so long that she had started to forget things, but not in any order; instead, the things she did remember seemed to be completely arbitrary. She remembered minor moments from many years ago with perfect clarity when she tried to recall them, but struggled to remember things from even the day before.

Also, she was immortal. She couldn’t remember why that was, either. Maybe she was a youkai? She didn’t know. Right now, she was living in a human village, and she looked human, so it’s possible that she was human, but she didn’t think that humans could live forever.

Well, none of that was important! If it was important, she’d remember it, probably.

Today she was buying food. She’d written down what the food she needed was, and made sure to pin it to her door to make sure she’d see it. The problem was, she couldn’t remember what she needed all the ingredients for. She should have remembered to write that down!

She laughed to herself, and grabbed the basket she kept next to the door. Her pet cat leapt up as she opened the door and landed gracefully on her shoulder, before relaxing and flopping over it. She laughed again.

The people at the little shop near her house (she’d left herself directions on her grocery list) were talking about something. A book? A story?

It turned out to be a book. Apparently there was a new mystery novel going around, and from what Ellen heard of it, it seemed to be really interesting. And there was something about it that seemed… familiar. So she got directions – wrote them down – and wandered off to Suzunaan, her groceries, naturally, completely forgotten.

—

“I heard you have a book!”

Kosuzu had had a lot of strange things said to her in her time – she’d once been threatened by a tengu into selling her newspapers, after all – but this probably beat all of them.

“I–” she started, and then reconsidered. “Were you after any book in particular…?”

“The one everyone’s talking about!”

Kosuzu grinned. “Oh, the new volume of ‘Was It All A Youkai’s Doing’?” She gestured to a small pile on her desk. “I’ve got a whole bunch here! Did you want to rent it, or…?”

The girl considered for a moment, and then dug into one of her pockets and dumped a small pile of loose change on Kosuzu’s desk, then took the topmost book, sat down nearby, and began reading rapidly.

Kosuzu stared for a moment, and then began counting out the change, still keeping an eye on her. Just as she was no stranger to unusual comments, she was no stranger to unusual guests, even one as strange as this. The stranger continued to read, and then suddenly frowned at something. Her brow furrowed as she thought. Then she began skipping pages.

“Ah, you’re not really meant to read ahead–” started Kosuzu, but was interrupted.

“I’m in this!” said Ellen, surprised. Somehow, the brief conversation from earlier had agitated one of her seemingly long-lost memories. “I remember this happening!”

“E-eh?!”

—

Kosuzu had almost immediately closed the shop and gone to see Hieda no Akyuu. Upon having the situation explained to her, Akyuu had been momentarily surprised, but quickly relaxed. It was clear that Kosuzu’s visitor was a youkai, and likely not a particularly harmful one. Suzunaan had reached that unusual position where it was under the protection of enough powerful youkai that a lesser one would not dare to cause too much trouble for the humans running it.

After that, it was only a matter of considering who it could be. Of course, some of Akyuu’s stories were based on events that had really happened – when she felt there was an event suitable for writing about, or (in at least one case) when she’d been stumped on a mystery and felt like writing about something similar to work out a fitting solution. But there’d been enough people – humans and youkai – involved in this one that it was difficult to narrow it down.

So she’d had to come along herself, walking behind the hurrying Kosuzu and trying to hide her building anticipation. It was rare for her to be visited by someone who remembered one of her past reincarnations, as most of them were youkai that never entered the Village; the idea that there was someone else who remembered the things she did was rather exciting.

She walked into Suzunaan and stopped dead so suddenly that Kosuzu stopped and stared at her in surprise.

Kosuzu’s unusual visitor looked at her with a curious expression. “Are you the author?”

“I– I am Hieda no Akyuu. I am the author, yes.”

“That’s not the name on the cover, though!” She paused for a moment. “But you got my name wrong, too, so that’s okay! I guess you’re just not good with names!”

Akyuu made an odd choking sound. “I– Agatha Chris-Q is my pen-name. A pseudonym. The–”

Kosuzu was watching her friend, concerned. Something about this visitor seemed to be upsetting her; she’d never seen her lose control like this.

“Might I ask–” started Akyuu, and then hesitated, and then continued, “Your name–”

“I’m Ellen! Nice to meet you, Akyuu!”

“We’ve met. We met as Hieda no Ayo, and as Hieda no Amu, and as Hiedo no Anana.”

“Have we…?” replied Ellen, confused. “But you’re Akyuu…?”

Akyuu made that same unpleasant sound. “I– I am the Child of Miare– you have to remember this–”

“Ah…” Ellen looked unhappy for the first time. “My memory’s been really bad for a while… I can barely remember what I had for breakfast. Or if I had any.”

“That’s– unfortunate. But you could remember what happened in the book–”

“Only a little bit,” confessed Ellen. “I was just surprised! It’s not often you get to be in a book!”

“–I suppose not. I– I hope you’re not unhappy with your depiction?”

“I loved it, thank you!” Ellen, placing the book in her basket, stood up, and walked over to Akyuu. “I’m sorry I can’t remember you though. Were we friends?”

“–As Ayo we were acquaintances. As Amu we were friends. As Anana–”

She hesitated. The girl already looked so forlorn, and she could hardly bear it.

“–As Anana, we were merely acquaintances again. It was good to see you, A– Ellen.”

“It’s nice to meet you too!” said Ellen. “I hope I can see you when I get the next volume, but I’ve got to go get groceries now! I forgot!”

She ran out of the store and was gone like a summer storm. Akyuu stared blankly into space for a while, then glanced at Kosuzu with a despondent expression.

“I once wondered,” she said quietly, “if I should form friendships with youkai rather than humans. If it was better to form bonds with immortals rather than those I would never see again.”

“Akyuu,” started Kosuzu quietly, “who–”

“But perhaps, if I only formed relationships with humans,” continued Akyuu, voice hoarse, “if I made sure that I would never see the people from each of my lives again… I wonder if that would be better than– than–”

She slumped to the floor, and began to cry.