#muck heap

[neilirving73]

Started The Day With A Nice Walk With Thunder Paw's

After a mad busy week it was nice to chill out this morning and take Thunder Paw’s out for a walk, Hope also got a clean bill of health from the vets, she met my colleagues at the garage and had a lot of fussing, we had a nice couple of hours at the stables after I spent some time in my workshop Please give a thumbs up (like) and subscribe to my YouTube channel

[cantsayidont]

October 1944. Born on Monday: The debut of one of the most fearsome of DC's Golden Age villains, the monstrous Solomon Grundy, in a story written by noted science fiction author Alfred Bester. Although he looked like Universal's Frankenstein Monster (then appearing with Dracula and the Wolf Man in a popular series of monster movies), Grundy was actually a kind of swamp monster, built around the skeleton of murdered miser Cyrus Gold. As Green Lantern explains:

Grundy's origin is very similar to that of the Hillman Comics muck-monster The Heap, who had first appeared in the Sky Wolf story in AIR FIGHTERS COMICS #3 (December 1942), although the Heap had originally been a WW1 German flying ace, Baron Emmelmann. (The Heap later inspired Swamp Thing and Man-Thing.) However, all of these characters ultimately had their roots in a Theodore Sturgeon short story called "It," first published in the pulp magazine UNKNOWN in 1940.

Because Solomon Grundy is immune to Alan's power ring (which didn't work on wood), Alan eventually deals with him by shoving the monster in front of an oncoming freight train. However, as any horror movie fan could tell you, it's not so easy to kill something that's dead to begin with. Grundy would return three more times in the Golden Age, next appearing in the Green Lantern story in COMIC CAVALCADE #13 (Winter 1945).

[salabarian]

Since when has any postmodern politician of a nationalist party ever had anything like ethics and morals or true knowledge about humanity?

🤔

[salabarian]

Incredible Tony Benn anti-war speech (1998)

[theodore-sallis]

“Man-Thing!” Fear (Vol. 1/1970), #10.

Writer: Gerry Conway; Artists: Howard Chaykin and Gray Morrow; Letterer: Artie Simek

[ddejavvu]

okay but season 1/2 spencer when you’re wearing a push-up bra and a tank top because it’s the only thing you had left in your go-bag and he’s just 🤯😳🫢 and the team is all like 🤨🤨. spencer is such a boob man and you can’t convince me otherwise

Emily whistles when you emerge from your shared bathroom, the sweltering heat of phoenix mucking up your skin with sticky sweat.

"That's quite an ensemble," She gives you a once-over, eyes tracking your tank top/push up combo, as well as the tiny shorts clinging to your thighs, "You trying to seduce a confession out of these suspects?"

"It wouldn't hurt," You laugh, "But no. I just packed this when I was low on clean laundry. I'll swap them out when we get back."

"Let's go, then." She offers her arm, and you hook yours through hers with a light chuckle, "Ready to go comb through those files?"

"No," You sigh, digging your room keys out of your pocket and locking your door behind you, "But I guess I'd rather read those than poke at a dead body for evidence, like Rossi and Reid."

"What about me?" A smooth voice comes from the door you're passing, and Dave steps out, adjusting his suit jacket on his shoulders.

"I said I'm glad I'm not on your team today, too much blood and guts for my taste."

He gives you an amused smile, something that you return until you hear a thud. You glance up and see Spencer rubbing his forehead, eyes wide despite the scowl on his face.

"Reid," Emily laughs, "Did you just run into the door?"

"No," He huffs, eyes glued to somewhere suspiciously below your chin, "I just- I wasn't looking where I was going, and-"

"I see," Dave chuckles, dragging the young doctor out of his room and shutting the door behind him, "Let's go, loverboy."

None of you care to ask about the nickname, and Reid's thankful for that. What he isn't thankful for is the sway of your ass as you walk in front of him, still arm-in-arm with Emily and scolding her for the way she'd kicked you off of the bed last night.

"I'm never rooming with her again," You spin to face the men behind you, jerking your thumb towards Emily, "I mean, there's only so many times a girl can hit the ground before she stays there!"

Apparently Spencer isn't immune to hitting the ground, either. His shoe catches on the metal track of the elevator doors and he stumbles, Rossi's hand on his shoulder not enough to stop him from toppling. He hits the ground with a thud, a heap of clumsiness and lanky limbs.

"Reid!" You cry, face tugged into a sympathetic frown, "Are you okay? Here," You bend down, offering him a hand, "Lemme help you up."

If he wasn't already on the ground he'd be falling again, the angle that you're leaning over at showcasing the curves of your chest and the fortunate boost that your bra had given you. He keeps his eyes frantically glued to your face, but his peripheral vision is enough so see both your cleavage, and his team members behind you, laughing their asses off.

"I'm okay! I'm okay," He stammers, rushing to stand. In doing so, you're not given enough time to back up before his head is shooting upwards, his legs propelling him straight into your chest.

He grunts as he tries catching you before you tip over, but ultimately it's Dave that braces a hand against your back so that you don't fall. You let out a hot-cheeked, adrenaline-filled burst of laughter, "I guess I'm not good with balance this early in the morning."

"And Reid's not good at focusing," Emily drawls, grabbing your hand to tug you to rest safely against the back of the elevator, "At least not on what he's supposed to be looking at."

[hollewdz]

Quinn and Jaz - Ch 1

word count: ~2.1k

_______________________

Quinn sometimes wondered if she was cursed. 

Not with a big, life-altering curse; she didn’t believe she was important enough for one of those. She wondered if someone, somewhere, decided she was worth fucking with, and decided, every day, to do little things to make her life just that much harder. Right now, she was wondering if this mystery-being decided to make her bus late. 

Pacing a circle into the snow at the bus stop, a flash of ice bit at Quinn’s heel. Looking down, she saw a pathetic old winter boot, ripped at the seam and gulping in muddy ice slush.

“Because the bus being late just wasn’t fun enough, huh?” she griped, trying and failing to shake the ice from her boot. She hated this. Hated these long, exhausting days of classes and overtime shifts, which would have been bearable, if the damn bus was even half as efficient as she was.

A long, forced sigh shot into the air in a dramatic cloud. Instead of standing around for 20 minutes in the cold for a slimy bus, she could walk for 15 minutes back to her apartment. It would suck, but at least she could choose the suckiness she had to deal with. Briskly trudging her way through the slush and muck on the cracked sidewalks home, chunky snowflakes began drifting through the air around her. Quinn wanted to cry, but refused to permit herself the catharsis. She’d been through so much worse; and heavy college textbooks, a long shift at Shelly’s, a late bus, a broken shoe and walking in the snow was nothing compared to that. 

This isn’t for forever, Quinn’s calming mantra surfaced in her mind. It’s not even for the next 20 minutes. Get home and you can take a steaming hot shower and have some soup.

Slowing to a stop at a crosswalk, Quinn nearly tripped on a wet heap of something piled right next to the crosswalk button. What the hell? After mashing the button a few times, she used her good boot to shove some of the snow away. A pile of soaking wet clothes, some sneakers and an expensive-looking bag stared back glumly at her.

Who would strip in this weather? Crouching down to balance sitting on her ankles, she unzipped the bag and rummaged through it. Tugging out a heavy metal clip wallet, tapped out the cards to see that this bag -and presumably outfit- belonged to…

“...Jasper Ross” she breathed absent-mindedly. Why does that sound familiar? Quinn was hardly a socialite, and she only knew the names of the people she had to deal with for projects and such. There was a sudden stirring from the pile of clothes. With a yelp reminiscent of a scared chihuahua, Quinn splashed clumsily from her half-perch-half-crouch into a slush of muddy ice. Oh God, a rat?? Not even caring that her backside was now soaking wet, Quinn tried and failed to push herself away from the nest of laundry, her old worn boots refusing to grip the ice. Then, she heard the most peculiar noise that gave her pause- an almost unhearable, muffled shout came from within the pile of clothes. “What the fuck?! Where am I?” 

Quinn’s eyes grew wide as she saw a… a… tiny guy.  There was a tiny guy, emerging from the pile in front of her. Frozen in place, Quinn couldn’t tear her eyes away, she needed to download every bit of information about this new phenomena in front of her. 

He looked proportionate, and fit. Even, golden-brown skin with a mop of dark brown hair. He seemed to be assessing his surroundings, hands exploring the fabric around him. He could have been muttering something, too, but Quinn wasn’t close enough to hear. Miniscule eyes finally swiveled towards Quinn, and for a moment Quinn thought he looked quite a lot like an action figure with how still he went. His face slowly traced from her boots to finally meet her bewildered gaze. 

A long silence yawned between the two- Quinn had no idea how to approach this situation. Usually she’d blame her awkward personality, but she figured most people would be struggling for words right about now. Thankfully, she didn’t need to worry about what to say.

 “Oh hell no,” the man said with an exasperated groan. He began to rub his eyes vigorously. Quinn blinked. “Excuse me?” “Hey, lady, um, I think my vision is fucked. You look absolutely massive,” the man stated plainly. He righted himself and offered another comment, “And not in, like, a fat way. It’s like, a sky-scraper, ‘massive’ way. You think you could call an ambulance for me? That bitch from last night probably drugged me.” She ignored anything that could have been implied. Quinn’s throat had gone dry from the cold, but she managed to force out a response.

“Your vision has nothing to do with it. You’re, like, a borrower, dude,” Quinn half laughed. She had no clue how to react to this. The laughter built into a chuckle, then a full-blown fit. “W-what the fuck!” She managed to say between laughs of disbelief. She slapped her gloved hands firmly clasped over her mouth, failing to quell her convulsive laughter. She felt a heat begin to rise in her face, and darted her eyes along the street, head on a swivel. Thank god there’s no people around. “Lady, you’re a total psycho,” the diminutive man offered, going back to scrubbing his eyes.

A lazy snowflake slowly drifted down and planted atop the man’s head. Quinn steadied her breathing, watching him reach up and break a bit of the snowflake off in a crystal shard and then melt in his doll-sized hand. 

“Hm.” He started shivering then, enough for Quinn to notice. In fact, her own jeans had been soaking in ice-water since she slipped, and it was becoming very clear she needed to take control of the situation before things got worse. 

Drawing in a deep breath and loosing a cloud of fog into the chilled air, Quinn composed herself as well as she could manage. Chill out, he’s just…some guy. A very, very small guy, but still, she thought. She closed her eyes and breathed, then looked back to the doll-sized man. “Are you Jasper Ross?” she asked, holding up his wallet and sliding out his ID for him to see.

“First of all, looking through other peoples’ things is pretty invasive- but yes, that’s me. Secondly,” he pointed at her, “no one calls me ‘Jasper’. Ew. It’s Jaz.” He ran his hands over the folded cloth in front of him to dry his hands, and started rubbing his arms sharply. “Seriously, it’s too fucking cold out.” 

Quinn started feeling a bit bad for Jasper- or, Jaz, despite him being all sorts of rude. He was the size of a hamster, of course the cold would be biting at him hard. “Do you have any place I could take you to-”

“No,” Jaz shot, slumping into a grumble. “No I don’t.”

“For real?” Quinn furrowed her brow. “I would offer to take you to, like, the police, but I don’t think you’d like it there, either.”

“So you’re abducting me?”

“I’ll take you to the police station if you want.”

Jaz thought for a moment. “Yeah, I’d rather not be a lab rat. Do you have a place?”

“Wuh- me?” Quinn sat back again, but this time in shock at how forward he was being. A gust of icy wind made her shudder, and the cold concrete was making her legs go numb. “I-I mean, I do have a place, but-”

“Perfect, take me there.”

“I’m not ready for, uh, company-”

“Lady, I’m about to freeze to death, that doesn’t matter.” 

Quinn pursed her lips, holding her breath. He does look like he’s in the early stages of popsicle… And, realistically, what’s the worst that can happen? Pinching the crease between her brows and sighing, she shifted and replaced the wallet in the bookbag. “Fine. Just let me plan out how to carry everything, alright?”

“Roger that, Goliath,” Jaz shot back, gathering fabric to cloak himself, making him look even smaller than before. “What is your name, anyway, lady?”

Quinn was unamused by Jaz’s nickname. “What a skill, you guessed it right on the very first try. People usually say I look more like a Gulliver, though.” She finished packing up Jaz’s bag and swung it over her vacant shoulder. How should I tackle the clothes?

“I think you look like a perfect Goliath. Same stature, and all,” Jaz quipped. 

“Quinn. Is my, uh, name,” she offered lamely, rolling her eyes. “So. I assume you’re naked. And you’re standing in the middle of the clothes. I dunno what to do, champ.”

“You can’t just grab everything all at once?” 

She gave a huff, “All of that shit is like 20 pounds, it’s soaked. Maybe I can shove it in your bag? I don’t want to ruin anything-”

“Just do that, then, I can get a new bag.” 

Quinn’s eyes went wide at how wasteful of a thought that was, even if he could have been joking. She was slightly angry on behalf of the bag. “Whatever, it’s your shit. You want to go in the bag too?”

“You literally just said it’s freezing and soaked.”

“Well then I guess you’re walking,” Quinn huffed, growing tired of his less-than-pleasant attitude.

“Can’t you just…” Jaz trailed off, eyeing her gloved hands. He lingered there, and… gulped? Quinn couldn’t really tell. “What if you let me have your glove?”

“You’re naked.” 

“And freezing.”

Quinn looked down at her left hand for a long, disgusted moment. The gloves were the only things she had that were actually high quality- a gift from her younger brother. Her eyes scrunched tight at the thought of them being treated the same way this guy treated his bag. She summoned her courage, “You have to be clean. If you get them dirty you own me new ones.”

“God, is that not obvious? Anyway hurry it up, this isn’t funny anymore. It’s getting actually painful to be this cold.”

Quinn was surprised by how quickly he offered to pay for the gloves, and would have been suspicious he was lying if not for how disinterested he seemed by it. She pushed a finger under the cuff of her left glove, got it halfway up her hand, then pinched and tugged the glove off from her middle finger. She quickly went to lay it down next to Jaz, but stuttered when she saw how her hands truly dwarfed him. 

Quinn had never felt big, compared to anything before. Even though she was taller than average, her nature was to minimize herself; withdraw until no one could tell she took up any space at all. So much of her life was dedicated to remaining unseen, that she might have convinced herself that she didn’t even exist. 

Maybe that was why she grew queasy at seeing the truly baffling difference in size between them, why she felt more than ever that she had to shrink smaller than this finger-sized man before her. She basically lost sight of him behind her hand, as if there wasn’t a tiny person in the heap of clothing at all. 

She ripped her hands back from the glove as if it had burned her, “Whatever, don’t worry about the glove. Just get in and yell when you’re good to go.” She slouched and waited for him to call out, shrugging his bag back to the ground and unzipping it. She heard a muffled Okay let’s get a move on, and she pinched the opening of the glove to hover it above the clothes, then used her free hand to quickly and clumsily shove the sopping outfit into his really nice bag. 

She was able to ignore that queasy feeling with Jaz out of sight, thankfully. She tried to be as careful as she could standing up, figuring the best way to keep her gloves clean was to give Jaz a steady ride so he wouldn’t blow chunks, and she slipped the glove gingerly into one of her winter coat’s inner pockets. Still, the thought of Jaz spilling his guts didn’t stop her from basically jogging home- the promise of soup had never been so desirable.

__________ Chapter 2

This drawing is from like, 2020 and is definitely more of a concept image than 100% accurate X] I'll have to redraw it! I've actually been sitting on this story for so long, and I've gone back and forth about whether or not I wanted to do a comic or not, I just decided "fuck it write the damn thing and go from there" so here we are! :3

[preciouslandmermaid]

of songbirds, swords, and spice

pairing: Opla!Zoro x Opla!Sanji x Fem! Reader (no use of Y/N or L/N)

tags: slow burn, friends-to-lovers, trauma, eventual smut, angst, humor, canon-typical violence, found family, polyamory, falling in love, POV multiple, reader-insert, action/adventure, past abuse, eventual romance, touch starved, PTSD, mentions of slavery/forced labor, battle couple, devil fruit user reader, hurt/comfort, mulit-chapter fic (other tags to be added)

🏴‍☠️ read on AO3 🏴‍☠️ Masterpost

summary: You've performed at Le Cupidon Doré, your "grandmother" Estella's business, for the past four years. Every full moon, you step onto stage and enchant the patrons and collect their hard earned berry. Tonight is no different. It isn't.

Until you realize another devil-fruit eater is in the crowd. Fate, as you've learned, has a bad habit of mucking things up just when you were starting to get comfortable.

You closed your eyes as Kinari brushed makeup across your face in delicate, teasing strokes that threatened to illicit an ill-timed sneeze. Backstage was a mess of feathers, and perfumes, and cluttered vanity tables, shining bulbs of light to illuminate every stroke, every line, every dust of color. The other performers moved like fish swimming through the iridescent streams of fabric. The chaotic, yet organized energy was familiar. Almost comforting. Everyone gets like this before a show, your lips twisted wryly, it’s as if we don’t do this night after night! There were a few amateurs backstage, but Estella wouldn’t let them perform because the full moon show was reserved for the best of the best.

“Still….” Kinari drawled the word out and her pink box-braids fell across her smiling face. “I think you’re brave.”

Brave. Right. You stopped using words like ‘bravery’ and ‘chivalry’ years ago. You and Estella’s long-running arrangement wasn’t brave, but it was clever and you’d rather be smart than brave. Madam Estella said brave people were fools half the time and the rest were martyrs. Instead of saying this to the young artist, you replied--

“You’re too kind, Kinari.” You reached for the earplugs on your vanity and pass them to her. “Don’t forget to wear these tonight.”

“I won’t,” she replied, sing-song and light. She selected two outfits from the rack and held them aloft for you.

“Whoo-hoo! Look at this place!” Luffy threw his arms into the air, “it’s got a buffet!”

There’s nothing Zoro could say to stop his captain from barreling toward the buffet and heaping food onto his plate. He glanced around the finely decorated establishment. Nightingale Island wasn’t much to look at, but the locals talked highly of ‘Le Cupidon Doré’. When Luffy heard ‘all you can eat’, well – there wasn’t much argument to be had about where the crew was going next since they were officially resupplied.

“Tacky,” Nami said, pointing her fork at the smiling cherubs decorating the pillars, “and probably not real gold.”

Zoro rested his elbow on the back of booth and ordered a drink. The booze was cheap here and that’s decent enough for him.

“It’s no Baratie, but it has its charms…” Sanji said.

His blue eyes scanned the guests and staff. The waiters and waitresses were dressed in gold and white and wore elaborate headpieces that ranged from spokes covering half their heads to intricate swooping designs that appeared like twisted halos. Their cheeks shone with glitter. They bobbed and weaved, a practiced ease and gracefulness to their movements that reminded Zoro of sword fighting.

The tables created a half-moon around the circular stage. But two rows of chairs clustered next to the stage were without tables and labeled ‘VIP’. They were completely packed and he doubted even Luffy could fit between the bodies.

“Your drink, sir.” The waiter dropped his head low and Zoro noticed something inside the waiter’s ear. Why are they wearing earplugs? He frowned, brought his glass to his lips, and abruptly stood.

Luffy dropped his stacked plate onto the table and its’ weight upset their drinks. “Where are you going?”

“Gotta check something.”

He circuited the dining room, dodging Usopp carrying his full-plate, and confirmed his suspicions. All the waiters are wearing earplugs. Weird. Why would a place that caters to nightly performances have staff wearing earplugs? The establishment wasn’t large so it’s easy to find their table again.

Luffy tore into a drumstick and looked up at Zoro. “Find anything cool?” He asked, chewing.

“Something’s weird,” he said, “all the waiters are wearing earplugs.”

Luffy shrugged, unconcerned. “Maybe this place gets really crazy!” His dark eyes brightened.

But Zoro wasn’t mollified by Luffy’s response. Their luck fluctuated from bad, to shitty, to worse with a few good days peppered in. They were on a winning streak with the grand line map in their possession and a functioning ship, but how long would that last?

“Maybe all the singers suck and we wasted berry by paying the door fee,” said Nami and Zoro tilted his chin in consideration.

“Aw, come on!” Usopp wiped grease from his mouth. “Look at this place. It’s packed. There’s no way the show is bad. It’ll be fun.”

The lights flashed, signaling the start of the show, and Zoro leaned into the cushions. He hoped Nami was right. He hoped this was a terrible show and that was why the waiters wore earplugs. Maybe he could rip pieces of the tablecloth and stuff his ears too.

An elderly woman rolled her wheelchair onto the stage.

“Tonight is the full moon,” she said, her voice as clear and bright as icicles, “and as our regulars know, we have a special performer on nights such as these.” The crowd muttered in agreement and clapped. Luffy joined them, hollering alongside the eager guests, although Zoro couldn’t understand why he bothered. This show wasn’t going to be anymore special because it was performed on the full moon.

Sanji sat up straighter. “Should we try to get closer? I’d hate to miss anything.”

“We’re not getting closer.” Zoro scowled.

He replied, “I wasn’t talking to you.” Sanji looked longingly at Nami. “Did you want to get closer?”

Nami gave him a thin smile. “I’m good.”

“Listen closely and open your hearts,” the elderly woman said, “and enjoy!”

Her wheelchair edged backward into the darkness and a shower of white petals fell onto the stage. A chrous of ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ rose above the din of clinking plates and silverware. A woman stepped onto the stage and Zoro refilled his sake. He didn’t get why this was such a big deal. It’s stupid, he thought, scowling, all this excitement for one woman? He glanced at the stage. The performer was wearing a long, flowing dark blue robe and skirt. The details on the flowing sleeves, robe, and skirt depicted a semi-translucent white stag alongside large pale lilies, petals, and clouds of mist.

“She’s beautiful,” Sanji mutters.

The sleeves billowed and moved like the rolling ocean waves as the performer gripped the microphone. Zoro looked away, uninterested.

You closed your eyes, preparing yourself, before the first lines of the song spilled like honey from your lips. No music accompanied your voice. There was no need for it. You opened your eyes to the dazed and captivated crowd. The VIP section was practically falling out of their seats and onto their knees before you.

You sang a beautiful and entrancing melody, a song of soft and gorgeous serenity. The lyrics weren’t as important as the rhythm and intention. A fast-paced, intense song often inspired anger or excitement. A slower, dreamier song like this one lulled the crowd into complicity and adoration. You spent nine years perfecting your craft and the last four running this business alongside Estella. You knew what worked and what didn’t.

“Sanji!” someone yelled from a table, “you’re gonna drool on my plate.”

Another devil-fruit eater. You squinted toward the table, though it was hard to see due to the spotlight blanketing everywhere, except for the VIP section, in shadow. For whatever reason your voice didn’t affect other devil-fruit eaters like yourself. Luckily, it didn’t matter for tonight. The boy in the straw hat was safe. Only the VIP section was targeted by Estella’s staff to have their pockets checked and liberate them of extra berry.

“Hey, wait a minute--” straw hat leapt to his feet. “What’re you guys doing?” The waiter holding a man’s wallet froze. Shit. He’s noticed. You stepped from the stage and your flowing robes dragged behind you like silk water. The spotlight followed you as you approached the dining table.

Your gaze slid over their astonished faces. A tangerine haired woman dropped her fork onto her plate. A well-dressed blonde man had one hand pressed to his chest – as if you struck him in the heart.

“Wow…” a lean man with a chestnut bandanna rested his chin in his hands. “You’re incredible.”

“Usopp?” Straw hat waved his hand in front of the man’s face. “Blink, Usopp! Blink!”

A moss-haired swordsman held the rim of his sake cup against his lips, but wasn’t drinking, like he’s frozen in time.

The front doors burst, “show’s over!” A pirate wearing an outfit of scarlet and dark crimson stood in the doorway with his pistols drawn. “The bloody bandits are here for their due.”

masterpost // > > next chapter

[daceydeath]

When you Fall and Hurt Yourself While Dancing - Maknae Line

Pairing: OT8 x reader Word Count: 2.3k Genre: Fluff, Angst Warnings: Swearing, Injury (obviously) Requested

a/n: This is part 2 of a request you can find the first part here

Han: You had been stuffing around in the studio for the past 45 minutes waiting for his members to arrive before you left Han to practice with them and go home to start cleaning up after spending the day together. Being that you were both bored and both feeling a little too over energetic what had been watching videos on your phone while he warmed up had turning to a full on episode of him chasing you around the dance studio.

"Baby let me catch you I just want to tickle you a little bit" he cackled as he reached out to grab you as he started to corner you again.

"No fucking way Ji" you squealed back dodging him successfully and making it to the other end of the room.

"But you're mine" he whined playfully "I want to tickle you and kiss you and squish you".

"Nooooooo" you shrieked again as he once again attempted to catch you only this time he did manage to grab the hoodie you were wearing, his hoodie, spinning you around and making you lose your balance. Trying to right yourself you stepped to your left immediately colliding with Han who knocked you to the ground and he continued at full speed. You screamed loudly as you hit the ground tears instantly running down your face as you looked at your ankle which did not look right.

"Baby?" Han questioned looking at you sitting in a heap in the middle of the floor.

"What's happened?" Minho yelled as he, Hyunjin and Seungmin flew through the door looking around wildly.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck" you were feeling dizzy and beginning to hyperventilate as you started to panic.

"We were mucking around she fell, or I knocked her, I dunno Hyung" Han cried as his eyes filled with tears as he crouched beside you.

"Shhh" Minho whispered to you as Hyunjin called Chan and Seungmin called for an ambulance "You will be just fine, just lay back for me, you can use my hoodie as a pillow while we wait" Minho was trying to sooth both of you into a vague sense of calm before either of you panicked yourself too much he also threw the hoodie Seungmin had been carrying over your foot to prevent you seeing it.

Chan and the others arrived quickly after Hyunjin called him and the others were told over the group chat that the schedule would be moved to later that night because you had been hurt. You continued to lay of the floor tears running from your eyes because of the pain and the fact that Han had started to get past his panic and was blaming himself for everything.

"I never should have been mucking around with you" He sniffed holding your hand tightly.

"It's not your fault Ji, we just collided" you sniffed looking at up him with watery eyes.

"I never should have asked you to come today, I know how clumsy you are and I know you get hurt all the time" he continued making you pout. By the time the ambulance arrived the other members were trying their best to keep you distracted not just from the pain but from your sulking boyfriend.

"Just hold still Miss I am going to have to have a look at your ankle, it might be better if you look away in case it makes you squeamish" the paramedic explained in as friendly a way as possible as he lifted the fabric hiding your ankle from the others.

"Is it really bad?" you whimpered sullenly.

"I'm pretty sure it's broken but we won't know until we get you some x-rays" the other one explained helping you onto the gurney as Han looked like he was going to pass out.

Felix: You had been stuffing around with Changbin learning the choreography to the new Nmixx release and although you were competent when it came to learning other groups dances for TikTok challenges you were in no way, shape or form an actual dancer which is why you always learnt them with Changbin. Unlike your adorable and sweet Felix who was absolutely a dancer who focused on precision, Changbin focused on fun as well and always made you laugh even when you obviously screwed up.

Being in Nmixx's studio was a little weird but the girls were super sweet when they had first run through it with you so you could practice before Changbin filmed with them later that afternoon. It had been going smoothly until you tripped over your own feet a rolled your ankle slightly wincing as you stood up to the soundtrack to Changbin's loud laughter.

"How are you so clumsy?" He continued laughing while you pouted and restated the track on his phone so you could try again.

"I can't help it you know" you glared at him through the mirrors as you took a quick sip of water and re joined him in to go over it again before you were going to film it for him this afternoon so that the others could continue their schedule uninterrupted. You went over it once flawlessly but the run through on the next chorus was anything but, stepping on your own half undone laces you sent yourself once again crashing to the floor. Changbin would have started laughing again if you didn't instantly cry out in pain your ankle already starting to swell as you tried to stand.

"Fuck, Felix is going to kill me" he sighed scooping you off the floor as your tears started falling "It's ok we will go back to our studio and get the staff to wrap and ice it".

"Why does it hurt so much?" you whimpered as he walked down the hall holding you close.

"I'm pretty sure its swollen, I'll call a doctor and make you an appointment if Felix doesn't kill me first" he shushed you reaching the door of the kids practice room. Opening the door you could hear music and loud laughing which stopped as soon as they realized that Changbin was carrying you.

"Baby, what happened?" Felix was beside you helping Changbin get you seated on the couch "Hyung you need to be careful with her".

"Lixie, I fell over my own feet it wasn't Changbin's fault although he did laugh at me" you sniffed a little not wanting to seem too upset about it.

"Yeah it's not my fault she tripped twice in one chorus" Changbin added jokingly trying to cheer you up.

"Still you're too precious to me to get hurt" Felix pouted making you smile at him as he leaned in to kiss your forehead. One of the staff had come in and put an ice pack on your ankle and was trying to get your shoe off as gently as possible.

"I'll take you to the doctor baby" he frowned looking at the bruise already forming under your skin "Then no dancing without supervision" he whispered to you making you want to roll your eyes if they hadn't been full of unshed tears.

Seungmin: You were both laughing like idiots and messing around when the inevitable competitiveness of the members came out.

"I bet you dinner that you can't do the chorus holding our maknae" Lee Know teased Chan making you giggle as Jeongin looked confused as to why he was getting dragged into the argument.

"You couldn't do it holding Hannie!" Chan laughed as he challenged him right back as the whole stupid bet continued until somehow everyone in the room had been roped in and you were looking increasingly confused as to why exactly you had to be the one in Seungmin's arms when you weren't even a member.

"Guys, you know this is stupid right?" you quipped as they discussed whether piggy backs would count and other stupid factors.

"They know bub but food is on the line now so it is on" Seungmin laughed making you realize that for him this was just about the teasing rights that would come later. Sighing you let him put you down now that it had been decided that Changbin, Chan, Lee Know and Seungmin were going to attempt the do the entire choreography with another member or, since Hyunjin wasn't there at that very second, you on their back.

"Ok so whoever drops their member or girlfriend" Lee Know gestured to you" first buys everyone dinner".

"So Chan then?" Changbin cackled as he lifted Felix easily.

"Don't even say it I am not trading you for Felix just because you think Chanbin hyung is less likely to drop you" Seungmin groaned before you could open your mouth so you just pouted instead making all of the boys laugh. Lee Know started the track and they all got into position with you clinging to Seungmin for dear life.

The first verse had barely finished when Lee Know started bumping Chan to throw him off, then bumping Changbin to get him to lose when Chan remained steadfast. It was hilarious watching them try to get through the song while continuing to throw Felix, Han and Jeongin around as they tried not to let go from laughing. So by the time it had gotten to the last chorus it was utter chaos with every opportunity to make one of the others stuff up the preference to actually following the choreography, Lee Know was again being a menace and trying his best to knock over Chan eventually tripping him and sending him stumbling into Seungmin and you and making the four of you crash to the floor in a pile of limbs and curses.

Lee Know's chorus of celebration with Changbin was short lived as each of the boys lifted themselves off the floor leaving you whimpering softly.

"Shit, bub?" Seungmin stopped his smiling instantly when he heard you crouching instantly back down beside you as the room fell into silence.

"I can't get up" you sniffed "my ankle isn't right".

"Here let me and hyung get you to the couch" he soothed trying to hold in the worry that you could see in his eyes. Chan stepped forward looking concerned the bet long forgotten now as he instructed you exactly how he and Seungmin were going to get you to the couch.

"I'm sorry" you apologized softly knowing that what had been them enjoying themselves was now them all looking guilty as Felix wrapped an icepack in a towel for you to put around your ankle and Chan strapped it in place so it would keep the swelling down.

"I think we are all going to have to buy you dinner now" Han joked trying to make you smile.

"Oh yeah that makes it all worth it, she can't walk but she gets eight free dinners" Seungmin snapped still looking at you and smoothing your hair back down.

Jeongin: Innie had been glued to you all morning so since it was your day off work you had been dragged to rehearsal so he could still be near you despite having to still stick to his schedule. Greeting the others you had sitting in the corner watching them and playing on your phone for an hour before they started to get organized to film half a dozen Tiktoks for their album promotions you laughed as you watched Felix practice a random one that he had been trying to convince the boys to do which you had filmed last week with Innie's help.

"My jagi filmed that last week she did so well" he started bragging pulling out his phone to show Felix.

"Woah you really did, do you want to help me teach the members?" Felix grinned impishly knowing that none of them were able to say no to you since they all saw you as a precious little sister.

"I'm not as good as you Felix, it's embarrassing" you flushed covering your face.

"Aww so cute" Changbin teased making you even more flustered.

"Please go over it with me and then the guys will see its not so stupid" Felix pouted and you nodded unable to resist his puppy eyes like every other person of the whole team. You stood beside Felix as Innie started the music loudly before Felix counted you in and you started to dance even though it took all of thirty seconds you couldn't help laugh as Innie acted like a personal cheer squad for you.

"See it's super easy and its fun so we are going to do it in pairs" Felix grinned as the other members begrudgingly agreed. After a few run throughs the professional dancers that they were had learnt it well enough to perform it and you watched as Felix and Hyunjin went first followed by Chan and Changbin.

It was only when Changbin thought it would be hilarious to dump a cup of water over Seungmin's head during his turn that things all went wrong. Seungmin had pared up with Han so when the water hit the floor so did Han who took out Seungmin and then pair of them slid straight into where you were standing to the right of the staff member filming them taking your legs out from under you and making you crash into the mirrors.

"Ow" you yelped loudly tangled up with the two boys as you whimpered every time one of them wriggled to get up.

"Jagiya" Jeongin shouted skidding across the floor to you and helping to slide you out from under them "Where are you hurt? How can I help? Why would you even do something so stupid that my jagi got hurt?".

"My ankle" you groaned as Jeongin moved to take your shoe off while his eyes went side.

"Hyung?" Jeongin squeaked as he saw your ankle starting to swell.

"Here, hold this to her ankle" Lee Know instructed calmly helping to lift your leg so he could prop it on one of their bags.

"I've called the physio to come down and check it then we can take her to the doctor if we need" Chan soothed ruffling Jeongin's hair.

"We're so sorry" Han pouted looking at you with sad eyes.

"Yeah we really really are" Changbin agreed looking guilty "I shouldn't have done that".

"It was an accident" you mumbled a small frown still gracing your face.

"Doesn't excuse that we hurt you" Lee Know sighed "but we will make sure you are alright".

a/n: Thank you for reading and I am sorry this took so long I hit and idea wall. All your reblogs, comments and likes are adored and I wish I could give you each a forehead kiss xx

Taglist (open): @christopher-bangnaldoskzz, @armystay89, @damnyouficc, @roamingpolar, @tara-skyhold, @bakedlilgoonie, @krishastumblernow, @mrsseals16, @fawnpeaks, @leeknowinggg, @uno7, @tanzen-ist-gold, @junebug032

[omegaremix]

Omega Radio for October 29, 2018; #179.

Misfits, The “Die, Die My Darling”

Danzig “Mother”

Bathory “Hades”

Celtic Frost “Nocturnal Fear”

Fall Of Because “Devestator”

Godflesh “Like Rats”

Pestilence “Out Of The Body”

Morbid Angel “Maze Of Torment (RMX)”

Entombed “Living Dead”

Ministry “Scarecrow”

Darkthrone “Unholy Black Metal”

Mayhem “Life Eternal”

Cannibal Corpse “Hammer Smashed Face”

Napalm Death “Armageddon x7″

Cryptopsy “Memories Of Blood”

Infernum “Weltmacht Oder Nidergang”

Akitsa “Riposte”

Pig Destroyer “Gravedancer”

Bone Awl “Gray Heaps That Never Rot”

Meshuggah “Bleed”

Liturgy “Renihilation”

Ash Pool “Cremation Is Irreversible”

Daeva “Pulsing Dark Reabsorption”

Panzer Squad ”Death Toll”, “Zombie Shot”

Thou “Supremacy”

Bauhaus “Bela Lugosi’s Dead”

Cramps, The “Goo Goo Muck”

Strawberry Switchblade “Since Yesterday”

Death In June “Little Black Angel”, “13 Years Of Carrion”

Throbbing Gristle “We Hate You Little Girls”, “Blood On The Floor” (live)

Caroline K “Chearth”

Boyd Rice “Lucifer, The Morning Star”

Bonus Halloween broadcast. Scathing sounds with bonus set of classics.

[vintagegeekculture]

Since you have a boundless knowlege of geek culture, what post-1927 works/characters do you think people would be the most surprised to learn ended up lapsing into the Public Domain in the US? And I don't mean just normies, I mean surprising to even the folks who already know about stuff like all those Golden Age superheroes who lapsed into the PD and stuff like Colonel Bleep and the Van Beuren cartoons!

One character in the public domain that's been overlooked is the Heap, who might be one of the most influential superhero characters of all time.

A German aviator who fell into a swamp, over time, the muck and vegetation of the swamp replaced his body, turning him into a tragic, mindless green Heap. One of the more bizarre and unique characters of the enormously inventive Golden Age, he started as a villain but, like Godzilla, eventually became a hero. As you might guess from the character description, he is the "common ancestor" of the Hulk, Swamp Thing, Solomon Grundy, and Man-Thing.

Another thing that would surprise people as being the public domain: "The Blue Lagoon." Based on a novel from 1908, it was a huge hit in 1908 for the same reason that the movie versions were hits, in that it was about the explicit discovery of sexuality. "Success has a thousand fathers and failure is an orphan," but it is a book with a strong case as an influence on Edgar Rice Burroughs's creation of Tarzan.

[tinydefector]

Laboratory logs 9

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: talks of hook ups, trauma,

Masterlist

Shockwave masterlist

Prev

Next

________________

When a ping comes through on Sunstreaker's Data pad it catches Traxies attention. "Who's that?" He asked. It makes Sunstreaker nearly curse, not wanting to have to explain his degenerate activities online about trying to figure out who's servos were wrapped seductively around the Ambassador in photos.

Sunstreaker vented sharply, as Traxies peered up with guileless curiosity. The last thing he wanted was to sully that gentle spark with the seamiest gutters of the infowebs.

"A-ah, it's nothing, just some glitched flyers sharing cheap smut on the network," he grunted, careful to angle the datapad away.

Traxies eyes Sunstreaker down. "Your in on the Forums about the human Ambassador aren't you" he asks, it makes Sunstreaker want to die a little on the inside.If Sunstreaker's circuits could short, he would have sparked stark raving mad right then.

He flailed aimlessly, grasping for any splinter of dignity. "I, err, that is - frag, how did you even know about that slagpit?!"

Traxies merely blinked, undaunted by Sunstreaker's inner turmoil. With an anguished groan, he covered his faceplate, vents heaving. "Frag it, don't look at me! I'm so slagged..."

Traxies give a slightly unamused look. "Sunny I'm not a sparkling, I have access to the holo as well, but mechs aren't exactly subtle about it in the bar. Last time I was there all I could hear was Brainstorm talking about how soft the Ambassador looks" he explains still waiting for Sunstreaker to fess up over his activities.

Sunstreaker wanted to melt into a puddle of muck and shame. Of course raucous scrapheaps like Brainstorm wouldn't know tact if it slapped him. And why wouldn't Traxies have access to holonet? He wasn't a sparkling.

"Frag, I'm sorry Trax. You don't need to see me wallowing in that muck. I just..."

"It's okay, Sunny. We all have urges. But i am still going to judge you because really, mute that slag?"

Sunstreaker's vents hitched.

"Let me see, don't know a heap of Mechs but might be able to help you figure out who's In the holos" Traxies says scooting closer, rather interested in trying to help if he could.

Sunstreaker gaped, nearly short-circuiting all over again. "I-I dunno, Trax..." He stalled, torn between mortification and pleading. With a resigned groan, Sunstreaker powered his pad back up, scrolling meticulously through his storied collection.

"Alright, but keep those optics shielded if anything's too risqué, ya hear?" He grumbled, as if Traxies hadn't witnessed worse horrors in pit fights.

Traxies rolls his optics before focusing on the image optics studying the servos. It takes him a few kliks and then he's trying desperately not to laugh, he knew those servos way too well from the Grey and white paint marks that stain the inside of the palm. “Holy Shit!” he wheezes.

Sunstreaker bristled as Traxies' profanities, optics darting between pads with dawning horror. "Well don't leave me hanging, you little fragger!" He sputtered, unable to keep anticipation from tinging his own fields. "Who in the rusting Pits is it??"

Traxies finally broke, chortling helplessly as coolant bubbled from his optics. "I-I'm sorry! But those marks- haha, they're unmistakable! You'd have to be glitched not to know-"

He gasped air through his vents, wiping his faceplate. "It's Ratchet!"

The name was a dagger straight through Sunstreaker's spark. Of all the mechs to find clutching to the Ambassador. His mouth worked soundlessly before a screech tore free. "That fragging hatchet?!"

"Well it's not really him, those are his old servos, the ones he replaced with Pharma's after the Delphi incident. So technically there's no mech there, but I know those servos too well, last I was told they were in the medbay unless some of the human crew have taken them." Traxies started going into detail over the servos, a slight tease in his voice.

Traxies chuckled, field pulsing teasing mirth. "You should see the look on your faceplate! Relax, Sunny, ambassador's having fun is all."

He huffed, struggling to regain some vestige of pride. "Ain't funny, you little scraplet. Do you have any idea how long I has been on the hunt to figure out who has been facing them?"

"Consider half the ship is probably on the same mech hunt as you right now doubt it. Think the only other mechs who'd know it's Ratchet's servos are Ratch himself, Drift and maybe First Aid " Traxies states. The means Sunstreaker knew more than the others.

He pulled the younger mech into a fond hug. "Thanks gremlin. Frag if I don't owe you one after this mess."

Traxies chuckled, curling close. “Yea, yea thank me another time, I don't wanna know the weird face ideas you have”

"What are you plotting Sunny?" He asked, shooting Sunstreaker a slight glance.

Sunstreaker attempted an innocent cant of his orbital ridges that fell pitifully flat against Traxies’ knowing field, he saw straight through him.

"Just thinking is all..." he rumbled, rubbing circles along Traxies' struts absently. "That flyer Luna seemed keen, and I know a night out would do you good to unwind."

Traxies tilted his head, uncertainty pulsing faint. "I don't know, Sunny..."

Sunstreaker gripped his servos reassuringly. "Let me handle the details. You just show up and give him a chance, yeah? Frag knows you could use a distraction." He nuzzled Traxies fondly. "Trust me. One date - if it's slag, you'll never hear me mention it again. Deal?"

"Why?, what do you get out of it?" Traxies asked while crossing his arms and staring Sunstreaker down. He slung an arm around Traxies, field pulsing fond mischief. "Alright, you caught me. Think of it as thanks for this." Optics gleamed, more cunning than innocence betrayed. "And maybe I got my own plans to chase down a certain fleshy. But I ain't about to drag you into my messes."

Traxies deserved escape from shadows that hung over him. Sunstreaker cradled his helm, meeting guileless blue with affection. "Humor me, yeah? Let me give you this much, at least."

Traxies grumbles lightly but eventually agrees. "Fine" he states before glaring again. "Don't you tell anyone I was the one who told you they are ratchets old servos tho!" The echo of laughter bounced from wall to wall as Sunstreaker threw his helm back in sheer delight.

"Primus below, can you imagine the look on Ratchet's face if he ever knew?!" He crowed, pulling Traxies into a playful noogie that earned sputtered protests.

It's a little while before Traxies eventually leaves Sunstreaker's room. He moves down the corridors quietly making his way towards the command deck in hopes of catching the Ambassador. Only for his optics to land on Megatron leaning against the wall outside of the office. "Oh, um.. hi?" His voice is rather quiet as he tries not to make too much contact with him. "Is.. is the ambassador in?" He asked softly.

Megatron loomed massive and silent, imposingly. Optics like molten metal flickered down to regard him. His field pulsed neutral, rather bored more than anything.

"The Ambassador is meeting with Starscream over our next trip back to Cybertron." He rumbled low, slow, filing each stuttered breath and flutter of plating. " I've not known you make social calls before." He cocked his helm.

Traxies sighs. "Just wanted to apologise to them for my fight over comm with Optimus, i'll come back when they are free" he explains quickly trying not to be around Megatron much without other mechs around. It's still hard for Traxies not to fear Megatron after all the years of fighting.

Megatron's engines rumbled deep in contemplation as something akin to pity stirred in his spark. His field pulsed gently as he knew, rumbling soft query. "Your sire yet fills your audials with tales of my 'evil', little spark? "

In a moment of either bravery or stupidity Traxies snaps back before he even has a chance to think. "He's not my Sire" his words come out more of a snarl than he would have liked it too. "I was around when you were on earth when you were hunting us, so forgive me if i don't enjoy being around you" he states sourly.

Megatron cocked a curious ridge, intrigued by this sudden flare of primal emotion through the placid field. clearly, tensions lay beneath this one, "what has Prime done to have his shadow looms large in your optics?"

In truth Traxies should have just walked off, ignored Megatron and made his way back to his room. But he wanted answers and Megatron would at least be honest about it. "Did you know Shockwave was my Sire?" It sounds rather accusatory coming from the smaller mech.

Metal screeched as Megatron reeled back, massive frame juddering with sheer force of words. At first he doesn't know if he should laugh or scoff. Shockwave - his most confidant advisor, the Decepticon cause's brilliant salvager of victory from ruin's brink secretly siring a sparkling?!. The blue speedster didn't look much like Shockwave but then again he didn't look much like Optimus either.

"Explain. Everything. Now."

That's how Traxies ended up sitting with Megatron explaining what Optimus had told him.

"So yea, Shockwave was my Sire and a human I accidentally put in the past before the fall of Cybertron was my carrier. Optimus told me the senate tortured him and turned him into what he is now" he sighs looking at the table still reeling over the situation himself.

It makes Megatron remember the photos of the senator with a fleshling and a little blue sparkling from on commlink. Putting the pieces together while Traxies continues to look at the table.

Megatron sat in stunned silence, So much lost that could never be reclaimed. So many lives shattered beyond all repair by madness and war unleashed without limit or care for collateral. It makes him realise the extent the war went.

His optics burned as he raised them to Traxies at last, this small speedster was nothing like the mech Megatron knew as his time as a war monger.

"Did you know him well as a Decepticon?, I only saw him a few glimpses while on earth while he served you. He scared me alot. Ratchet had to grab me when he focused on me once" Traxies curls in on himself more. Megatron pondered long moments, optic shutters flickering as memory files scrolled endless and vague. So much had changed since then. He didn't even know if Shockwave was still online.

"As a Decepticon, I knew him only as a brilliant, if chilling scientist." He rumbled at last. "Loyal to our movement, yet always...distant. Calculating. As if eons trapped within his own processors had leached all color from his spark."

Massive talons clenched and unclenched spasmodically. "I witnessed no gentleness in him. Only fixation on experiments that blended science with savagery."

His field pulsed faint disgust and darker, nameless grief. "That such a being could evolve from one who fought with spark and servo for the oppressed.."

Traxies deserved better lineage than madness and its remnants. How had Shockwave sired a bitlet this connected to emotions. But he remembers the Shockwave he knew wasn't the Shockwave that was before the Emputra and shadow play.

______________

Land on Cybertron had Tiny looking around in fascination. "I haven't seen this place in so long, it's changed a lot, feels almost sad being here" he says while standing beside Shockwave. The cliffside of Kaon wasn't home; he remembered the day he found Traxies. So much destruction had claimed the planet even if it was now being rebuilt. But what made him sader was the fact there was little to no flora anymore.

Shockwave observed Cybertron with a keen optic, the changes in the landscape and the scars of destruction that marred the once-glorious planet registering in his processor with a sense of detached analysis. The sight of Kaon's cliffside, a place that held memories both bitter and poignant, stirred a mix of emotions within the scientist as he surveyed the rebuilding efforts that were underway in the distance.

"Indeed, Cybertron has undergone significant transformation in the wake of the war and the rebuilding that followed," Shockwave remarked, his processor catalogued the changes.

"Our priority remains the same," Shockwave stated with a resolute tone, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "We must move soon, follow the leads i have found, and get in contact with some mechs who can help.” Shockwave can feel the sorrow of the area seeping into him, once this place was a place that filled Him with so much joy, now it felt like a husk, almost like he was.

"I don't know where to even start, nor where Orion would be after the war" Tiny state, the wind off the cliffs lift his cloak making it flutter in the wind as he continues to stare off into the distance.

"Optimus Prime, is currently residing in Iacon," Shockwave stated bluntly, as he provided the information to Tiny. "The aftermath of the war has seen Optimus Prime take up residence in Iacon, where he continues to play a significant role in the reconstruction efforts and the maintenance of peace on Cybertron," Shockwave continued, his gaze fixed on the horizon as he relayed the details to Tiny.

"We shall make our way to Iacon, where we may find further details that lead us to Traxies, and if we plan it right perhaps even to see the Prime himself" Shockwave declared. The mission to uncover what had happened to their sparkling and to bring closure to a chapter of their past and if Primus allowed for them to finally have their bitlet back.

"Why bring us to Kaon then, if Iacon is our goal?" Tiny asks, turning to face Shockwave.

"Kaon serves as a strategic diversion, a means to throw off any potential pursuers and ensure our movements remain undetected," Shockwave explained, his optic band narrowing slightly as he considered the tactical advantage of utilising the city's terrain for their purposes.

"By drawing attention to Kaon, we create a diversion that allows us to operate covertly and gather information without raising suspicion, it allows us access to the Grid runners, my calculations suggest they are 34% safe mode of Travel, less L be shot down flying into Iacon" Shockwave continued, his voice steady and composed.

"Always one step ahead aren't you?" It comes out as a tease. Shockwave's systems processed Tiny's teasing remark with a hint of amusement, his lovers playful tone eliciting a rare spark of lightheartedness in the scientist's otherwise analytical mind.

A faint flicker of warmth touched Shockwave's spark as he leaned down to scoop up Tiny, setting him on his shoulder with a gentle yet firm motion. The weight of Tiny on his shoulder felt oddly comforting, familiar.

"As the saying goes, 'knowledge is power'," Shockwave replied, his voice carrying a subtle undertone of amusement. The rhythm of their steps as they walked toward the ruins of Kaon.

"Well I guess let's get started in trying to find out kid" Tiny shoots back with the first proper smile. Shockwave's optic band brightened at the sight of Tiny's smile, a rare moment of genuine happiness that he wants so much to see more of with each smile it stirring a feeling of warmth and connection that had long been dormant within him.

"Indeed, let us begin our search," Shockwave replied, his voice tinged with a hint of satisfaction. "I have several contacts within the network of informants and operatives scattered across Cybertron," Shockwave began, listing off the names and affiliations of those who might possess valuable information regarding Traxies and Optimus Prime's whereabouts. "There is Soundwave, a master of surveillance and intelligence gathering, as well as Starscream, whose connections within the political landscape of Cybertron may prove useful in our search. If i can make contact with them"

"You're still in contact with Soundwave?" It's almost a surprise to him. He never got to meet Soundwave in person but Shockwave had talked very highly of him and his outlier abilities not to mention his skill with organising meetings within the senate mainly between Shockwave and Ratbat.

"Indeed, Soundwave has proven to be a valuable asset in operations, his abilities in communication and information retrieval unmatched by any other," Shockwave replied, his tone reverent as he spoke of the silent and efficient operative. The scientist's respect for Soundwave's talents ran deep.

"While our interactions have been primarily conducted through encrypted channels and discreet communications, Soundwave's tends to go silent rather often as to not be tracked down himself, we went our separate was after Megatron denounced the Decepticon cause" Shockwave continued, his voice carrying a note of admiration for the Decepticon operative's strategic acumen and unwavering loyalty.

“Who's Megatron?” Tiny asked as he leans against Shockwave's helm.

_________

"Tarn" Tesarus calls out while checking comms and radar. "We have a hit, Shockwave has been seen entering Cybertron's orbit over Kaon" Tesarus walks towards Tarn handing him a data pad with clear holos of Shockwave's alt mode flying through the sky.

His Optics scanning over the images with care. Shockwave, here on Cybertron once more... What could he possibly want after all this time? Tarn vents softly in thought. "Thank you for bringing this to me, Tesarus. Ready the others, we move out shortly." He pauses, looking back up at his large companion.

"It seems our dear scientist has some... explaining to do." With that, Tarn turns and heads for the flight deck, to prepare everything for another hunt. It wasnt often high profile mechs on the List came out of hiding. "What do you think he's doing?He hasn't been seen on Cybertron or anywhere since Megatron denounced the Decepticon cause "

Tarn pauses, considering Tesarus' question. Megatron and the events that followed his abandonment of the Decepticon cause were a sore point, one that still stirred buried anger in Tarn's core after all this time. "Who can say what machinations move within that calculating processor of his," Tarn replies carefully. "Shockwave always had his own agenda, even in the best of times. I doubt his return now bodes well..." He turns his masked faceplate back towards Tesarus. "When we find him, I intend to discover just what he's been plotting in exile all these vorns.” Tarn's optics glint darkly behind his mask. "Ready the ship. It is time we take in Shockwave."

Tesarus moves around before setting course for Cybertron. "Would you like to make an announcement?" He asks, optics flicking to Tarn. Tarn considers the question a moment. It had been some time since the Decepticons under his command had gathered as one. And with the return of the enigmatic Shockwave, surely they would all wish to be briefed. He nods to Tesarus. "Set a course, but slow our approach. I will gather the others in the briefing chamber."

‘just what have you been up to all this time?’ he thinks as he stalks off to begin preparations.

___________

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[agentsamwinchester]

At first I was writing a lyrical analysis to relate it to Sastiel, because I’m completely and utterly obsessed with the fact that the song “Vincent,” by Don McLean played in the show. And Cas was listening to it, but it just kind of turned into a long winded little blurb of words that slightly relate to the song, based on a few specific lyrics. And sprinkle in some handy dandy dirt facts!

“Now I understand, what you tried to say to me, and how you suffered for your sanity.”

Cas understands now, god, he understands so well. Taking on the burden of Sam’s memories, he understands how this man has lived, loved, breathed, and died for the greater good. A man so full of grief it would spill from his mouth in heaps of blood if given the chance. Searing hands against his flesh, pulling him apart, the devil, ravaging Sam from the inside out. Cas could feel it; all of it, how his own body, his soul, wasn’t his to own. He’s dirty, and Cas can taste it on his tongue, feel it buried under his flesh, the molecules of mire under his nails. Sam was the dirt underneath his shoe, though not meant unkindly. Soil is the foundation of everything as we know it, purifying the water, yielding the produce, capturing, storing Carbon.

Yet nobody hesitates to scrape off their boots against a grainy curb. Because in their eyes, it was simply insignificant. A habit, even, to clean their shoes of muck.

“This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you.”

Cas knows, he knows the beauty, the ache, the abomination that is Sam Winchester.

And he’s beautiful in the most grotesque, yet inherently abstract way. The dichotomy between the impurity in man, the beauty in a damaged soul. A soul full of mistakes, burdens so heavy not even the angel could lift them, a filthy soul coated in a thick layer of grief and self-loathing.

Yet there was his humanity, the goodness, the hope he held onto for the world. This never-ending faith that ‘things will get better,’ a credence not known to most humans. Now that?

That was Sam Winchester.

And he was beautiful.

[torchwood-99]

Sometimes I imagine Eowyn going a bit off the rails after the war.

From a young age she (and her brother) had a heap of responsibilities dumped on her shoulders, and while Eomer presumably had some camaraderie with his men at arms, and had simple things like drinking with them, playing dice, riding with them to take the edge off, he had riding and open fields, Eowyn's world was her sick uncle and a stalker and a cage.

As well as having so many horrors to endure, she had little opportunity for fun, for camaraderie, for mucking about. The only person she had that with was her brother, who was usually away, and riding into danger. And she had to live up to being a member of the House of Eorl, she had to be a stick for her uncle, she couldn't just mess around and be a kid or a young woman.

And when she meets Faramir she thinks he looks at her like a child and maybe that's because a part of her still feels like a child because she had to grow up way too quickly which means she didn't really grow up properly, she didn't develop at a steady rate, she was just a child who had to act like an adult, and even now she's an adult she still feels like she's faking it.

And then it's after the war and things are getting better, and the world is mending and she has proven herself a million times and she's out of the cage and she realises she can be happy and she is hopeful and there is stuff she wants to do and the world is actually a place full of possibilities, and she's got love now and she realises how loved she is which means she doesn't have to be so perfect and ladylike and dutiful.

And perhaps she just goes a bit far with it. She's no longer cold and reserved but instead she's pushing all sorts of boundaries and doing all the things she wanted to and were denied to her. Perhaps she's scared of the cage closing in again so she is doing literally everything now and rebelling in all the ways she didn't get to growing up, to the point she nearly burns herself out.

I just think Eowyn had been depressed and without hope for so long, that when she gets hope back, when she starts seeing a future she actually wants, when she sees happiness is a choice, it might almost be overwhelming, and she can't quite handle it, and it takes a while for things to level off.

[gribbo]

It's half-past ten, probably—no clocks in the inn, of course, and no light but the grim, guttering glimmer of the cleric's ward—and someone just outside Barcus Wroot's workshop is torturing a gittern. Again.

"Shoo," he says, cracking the door to glower out. "Just how you rabble expect me to work while you harp on is—ah." He blinks down at the heap of holey blankets hunched at his feet. "It's you."

The heap stirs. It's his minstrel bound for Moonrise, not one of the High Harper's noisemakers, who scowls up at him. "The mascot of your ill-fortune."

"Oh, enough." Barcus prods him gingerly with a foot. "Get up. You look like a pile of laundry."

There are, by Barcus's count, around threescore hopefuls stuffed in Last Light Inn—threescore and nine, now that his helpers have caught up. (He spots the druid and young what's-his-name, Wylbur Frontiers, speaking softly with the tieflings by the bar.) The floor is strewn with bedrolls and blanket-nests similar to the minstrel's own—and to Barcus's pallet beneath his makeshift worktable. The beds are for the wounded. Everyone else, from the children to the High Harper, finds a comfortable floorboard.

(As for meals—the less eaten of their dwindling stores, the better.)

The minstrel slouches inside, trailing blankets. Half his silly hair is shorn short, as if he'd hacked it off with his silly sword. Barcus shuts the door and stares at him. "Silk, what happened to you?"

"Shave and a haircut." The minstrel sprawls with a wince across Barcus's workbench, cradling his gittern like a child, and plucks two chilly notes: plink, plink, like icewater. "No questions, unless you want honest answers. I just sampled a vintage truth serum."

"Why the devil did you do that?"

Silk's brow creases. "The High Harper asked me to."

As if the answer is obvious, Barcus thinks. As if he'd have drunk poison at her behest. The look on the man's face—under blood and muck and gods-know-what—is queasily resolute.

And, Barcus notes with unease, he's sporting a new cloakpin: battered silver, wrought in the shape of a harp and crescent.

"Fiddlehead," he grumbles. He busies himself with trimming fuses, sweeping nails and iron scraps into neat piles; the quartermaster wants as many smokepowder bombs as he can make, as fast as he can make them. Around his neck, Wulbren's amulet hangs like a millstone. "When will it wear off?"

"By morning, I hope." Silk closes his eyes. "Or whatever marks morning in this miserable place. I'm to talk us into Moonrise, you see." He clears his throat with businesslike aplomb, as minstrels do. "Don't fancy blabbing all our plans to Ketheric Thorm."

That would put a wrench in things, Barcus thinks. The unease sharpens. He touches the hard, amulet-shaped lump in his shirt. "Get some sleep. You're no good to me and Wulbren shambling around like a"—he gestures to the other man, searching for an appropriate comparison, then waves a hand in defeat—"very tired troubadour."

This remark earns the grunt it deserves. Barcus forges on, as he does. "You and your friends, you do—you do still intend to save Wulbren, yes?"

Silk opens one eye. "Yes."

He says it in Gnim. It's so startling, so sweet, to hear their language in this place—like hearing a songbird in the Underdark—that Barcus doesn't bother him for five whole minutes.

But he wants, he admits to himself, one more honest answer. "Why?"

Silk gives him a sour look. He'd been mostly-asleep. "What?"

"Why"—he feels so small, asking, for all that he's the taller of the two—"why help me?"

"Well." A stern, embarrassed pause. "You asked me to."

Barcus blinks.

"Well," he says, and clears his throat, now: a small, flustered noise, like the squeak of a cog. "Well! That's—"

The amulet shifts under his shirt. He grasps for it instinctively, brushing past something else: his heart, under this hard, heavy thing. Ticking on. As it does.

He hasn't smiled much, of late. He doesn't smile now. But his mouth moves a bit, clockwise. "That's novel."

[calmlyerratic]

Encounters of the Future Sort

Chapter 3: The Calm Before the Storm

by @calmlyerratic

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Ch Summary: AU time travel. The Marauders run into Harry.

James' eyes began darting back and forth between Remus, Sirius, and Peter, his mouth slightly ajar.

"Prongs? You all right?" Sirius raised an eyebrow.

He felt Remus' gentle hand on his shoulder. "Er—Sirius, I don't think that's James…"

ch wc: 2.7k — rating: T — cw: none

Read Chapter 1 | full Summary & Chapter Index

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Remus' POV

Gryffindor Tower

with Sirius and Peter

April 1st, 1996

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"I think I have banana in my ear," Sirius complained, trying to dig it out with his finger. "A lot of help Prongs was, slippery git."

Sirius, Remus, and Peter had emerged from the battle against Peeves quite scathed, each supporting the stench of dung and the remains of rotted fruit on their clothing. And lodged in their extremities.

"Probably got caught up begging to sign another autograph," Peter huffed, putting a finger to his nose and blowing a chunk of rotted pear out one nostril.

Remus chuckled somewhat manically. "Good one, Wormtail."

The three boys had reached Gryffindor tower and the portrait of the fat lady gazed down upon them.

"Fortis leo," Sirius sighed, wiping his pulpy wand off on his robes. He ran a hand through his hair that usually fell around his face like elegant, dark curtains, but was currently coated in sticky, slimy muck. "Ucckk—I really need a shower."

"You aren't the first to try those words today," the fat lady replied stoically.

Remus groaned. "It isn't fortis leo? Bollocks, I missed last week's Prefect meeting—what is it then?"

The fat lady looked affronted. "You think I'm going to tell you?"

Remus tapped his shiny badge in obvious authority. "I'm a Prefect."

Although, it was his first year with the title and the ins and outs of it were quite grey. He really just wanted a nice hot bath and a nap.

"Are you?" she raised an eyebrow. "I was under the impression that Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger were the new Gryffindor House Prefects."

Sirius and Remus exchanged a glance.

"Weasley?" Remus racked his brain. "Like…Arthur Weasley?"

"Yes, I believe that is his father," the fat lady answered.

Sirius shook his head, amused. "Arthur Weasley left Hogwarts a few years ago, he can't have a son that's a fifth year. Are you feeling all right, sweet lady?"

When Sirius really wanted something, he put on his devilish charms. How someone could be so positively persuasive covered head to toe in dung and rotten fruit, Remus wasn't sure.

The fat lady analyzed them for a moment. "You know, you three look familiar…"

Sirius smiled a dashing smile. "Of course we do—we live beyond your great protection, fair lady."

Remus glanced sideways at him and ever so slightly cocked an eyebrow that said, you're laying it on a little thick.

However, the fat lady blushed, quite flattered, adjusted her pink silk dress and cleared her throat. "Hmm, yes…you do remind me of someone—"

Before she could finish her thought, the portrait hole creaked open and a group of Gryffindors spilled into the corridor.

"Merlin bless," Remus mumbled as the three boys clambered inside.

Peter scanned the cozy common room. "Hmm, no sign of Prongs…"

"Probably already showered and is off chatting up Evans…" Sirius grumbled, disappearing up the spiral stairs to the boys' dormitories.

Remus shrugged at Peter, really not prioritizing this at the moment, and followed Sirius upstairs.

"Whoa, since when have you been so keen on the Chudley Cannons, Wormy?" Sirius laughed, examining Peter's bedpost.

Remus was tired. And quite hungry. Flaming orange quidditch teams meant nothing to him—he was more of a reader. So, when he approached his bed and all of his current reading material wasn't where he left it on the bedside table, his gut wrenched.

"Where are my books?"

"What's that?" Sirius asked, removing his black wizard robes and leaving them in a dark heap on the floor.

"My books…they're not here."

"I dunno, Moony." Sirius shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe the elves have been in to tidy?"

"No," Remus shook his head. "They never move my books."

"I'm really more concerned about the taste of dung in my mouth," Sirius wrinkled his nose unpleasantly. "I heavily advise you not to kiss me right now."

"Duly noted," Remus rubbed the back of his neck.

"Hey, what the hell is this?" Sirius opened his bedside drawer where he kept his toothbrush and it overflowed with chocolate frog cards. "Are these yours, Wormtail?"

"No, I gave all mine to my cousin last year." Peter frowned.

Sirius held a card up and it shimmered in the light spilling in from the window. "Huh."

"Er…I don't remember hanging these." Peter gazed around at his vibrant bedpost flair.

"Moony," Sirius drew his handsome eyebrows together, "something isn't right…"

Remus was exhausted, covered in pulpy fruit, he had missed lunch, the full moon was three days away, and his books were missing. It was a recipe for disaster. Not to mention the lingering uneasiness from the exploding cauldron that morning…

"Moony?" Sirius pried softly, sensing the calm before the storm. "What do you reckon?"

Remus ran a finger up and down the long scar trailing across his nose. "I reckon I need a shower and a snack, before I can reckon."

"Okay, Moony." Sirius nodded calmly, (almost irritatingly so, in Remus' opinion)."You go ahead, Wormy and I will wait."

Remus opened the trunk at the foot of his bed, hoping to find a change of clothes, but quickly realized that it was not actually his trunk at all. He closed it again with a great *SNAP* that made Peter jump and resolved to scorgify his disgusting clothes clean.

However, there was a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach that even a hot shower couldn't wash away.

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Hermione

Hogwarts Corridors

with Ginny and James

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"Isn't she loveee-ly,"

Hermione glanced sideways at Harry, who was moving his head to an imaginary tune. A tune confusingly indicating his romantic interest towards Lily Evans, no less. She hadn't quite made sense of it all yet, but if it was dark magic it probably wasn't logical anyway. The key with dark magic was to catch it quickly, so the sooner they got to Madam Pomfrey, the better.

"Where is Evans again?" Harry asked, tousling his messy raven hair very uncharacteristically.

"Erm, s-she's in the hospital wing."

Hermione glanced nervously around. The last thing they needed today was to run into a member of the inquisitorial squad, or worse...

"Wait—the hospital wing?" Harry stopped short. "Is she all right?"

"She's fine," Ginny reassured, pulling him firmly along the corridor stairs. "I think she, er, needed a calming draught. Pre-exam stress, you know?

Harry nodded, knitting his brow. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense..."

Hermione had been wondering if it would happen—if Harry would give way under the enormous pressure he'd been under. So much had happened in the last few weeks, and she knew he felt responsible for a lot of it. The DA had been caught, Dumbledore had been sacked, and Umbridge was now Headmistress. Not to mention their rapidly approaching O.W.L's. This overwhelming sequence of events had Hermione just as on edge as everyone else, hanging on to a thread of what little peace of mind she had left.

"Isn't she woonderfuul—"

Hermione needed a calming draught too. Or a perhaps a large butterbeer.

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Remus

Boys Dormitories

with Sirius and Peter

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"Moony…you have to see this."

Remus emerged from the loo to Sirius and Peter sitting on what should be James' bed—but was discerningly not—hovering over a leather-bound picture album.

"Do I?" Remus muttered.

A blast of hot air shot out of his wand, which he pointed at his hair like a blow drier. He shuddered from the sudden warmth, feeling quite sleepy.

"Still grumpy, but at least you smell nice," Sirius winked.

"Pushing your luck, Padfoot."

"Look," Peter was wide-eyed. He held up the album and pointed to a photo. "It's us."

Remus crossed the dorm and narrowed his eyes. It was a photo of the four Marauders: they had their arms around each other's shoulders and were laughing.

But, there was something strange...they looked more mature. Sirius was taller than James, wherein now they were the same height. And was that—

"Lily?" Remus knit his brow. "Is she—"

"Snogging Prongs," Sirius shook his head solemnly. "Never thought I'd see the day. Wait 'til you see the one of their wedding…"

Peter flipped through the album. Sure enough, Sirius was right. James was wearing black dress robes and Lily was all in white.

Remus met Sirius' lovely silver eyes in accusation. "You aren't pulling my leg?"

Sirius shook his head sincerely.

"I wish I was. I think we may have unwittingly entered apocalyptic times, Moony." He got to his feet. "Don't spontaneously combust while I'm gone—if the sun goes black, take shelter!"

Remus ignored him as he disappeared into the loo. "Pete, where did you find this?"

"It was here," Peter pointed to James' bed. "Just laying here!"

Peter looked up and around the ceiling like it had fallen from the heavens.

"Do you…d'you think it's really us? It looks just like us."

"I dunno, Pete." Remus breathed out, massaging his eyes. He should be angry, but he was too tired. "Let me think for a moment…"

Remus laid down on his bed. Or was it even his bed? He didn't know anymore. The facts were outweighing the speculation at this point. He really had been looking forward to a quiet Saturday afternoon of reading—not cleaning up after another one of James and Sirius' barmy excursions.

That bloody cauldron…

"So, darling Moony," Sirius flopped onto the bed beside him, jolting him from a nap he must've slipped into. "I know you have some sort of, ah—reasonable revelation? Let's hear it."

Remus rolled onto his back and stared at the celling. He took a deep breath.

Factual, Remus, he told himself. Be factual. Maybe it's not as bad as it seems…

"Well, for one, that kid who called James 'Harry'." Remus held up a finger. "For another, I could have sworn I knew the password—I thought we used it just this morning after breakfast?"

"Yeah we did," Peter nodded anxiously, pulling at a loose thread on the sleeve of his robes.

"The fat lady didn't recognize us…" Remus continued, decidedly not vocalizing that she thought Arthur Weasley's son was the fifth year Prefect and she didn't seem to know who any of them were.

"And the weather also, not to mention I don't like the Cannons—and the photo album?"

"He's getting there, Wormy." Sirius was watching Remus like he was a tornado forming and there was a wind advisory.

Peter held up a photo of himself in a bowler hat with a feather sticking out of it. "I don't wear bloody bowler hats."

Yup, Remus breathed out. This was bad.

Peter looked back and forth between Sirius and Remus. "Is no one else concerned about this? This isn't even our dorm!"

"We're all very concerned, Wormtail." Sirius rolled his eyes, quite downplaying the whole situation in obvious guilt. He was a master blame shifter.

"I think…" Remus chewed on his lip. His stomach grumbled loudly. "I think I need food before I implode on myself like a dying star."

"As you know," Sirius smiled dashingly, like the wind of storm Moony had begun and he was encouraging them all to take shelter. "I'm quite versed in the language of the stars. I concur—to the kitchens! But first, Wormtail, you bloody reek."

Peter put a hand to his mousy hair, caked with rotten fruit pulp, and grimaced. "Right…"

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James

Hospital Wing

with Hermione and Ginny

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Hermione, Ginny, and James approached a large stone unicorn fountain that marked the entrance to the hospital wing.

"Wait here Har—I mean James," Ginny winked, red pony-tail blazing behind her as the two girls left him just inside the Infirmary entrance.

James was nervous. He hoped Lily was here because of exam nerves and not relating to the exploding cauldron from this morning...

"I trust there is a good reason for this intrusion?" he overheard Madam Pomfrey say. She was spooning some disgusting looking green liquid into a glass which she handed to her patient.

"Yes...er, well, it's Harry…" Hermione motioned over to James, who pretended to busy himself tying his shoe. "He's not, erm, feeling himself."

"That's no surprise, poor soul, having to deal with so much..." Madam Pomfrey sighed. "A calming draught should set him straight."

"Well, you see," Ginny began awkwardly. She glanced around and lowered her voice. "He, er, thinks he's his father..."

My father? James thought. What are they on about?

"Hey, I don't see Evans here," James called. This prank was getting a bit odd. "Tell her I'll catch up with her later, yeah? I still need to find Sirius, Remus, and Peter."

Madam Pomfrey clutched her heart. She bustled over, grabbed James's arm and led him to a vacant bed. "Sit, dear boy."

"Oh-okay?" James sat and Hermione and Ginny peered at him anxiously.

Madam Pomfrey waved her wand silently over his face and chest.

"What are you doing?" James knit his brow.

She finished her incantations and lit the tip of her wand, shining it into his eyes.

"Pupils are dilating..." she murmured. "Can you tell me your name?"

"Is this part of the prank too?" He asked Hermione and Ginny. "Persistent, I'll give you that. Bringing Madam Pomfrey in on it, really next level—"

"Answer the question please, dear." Madam Pomfrey prompted firmly.

"Yeah, okay." James shook his head, a bit annoyed at being cornered by the strict matron. "My name—it's James Potter."

Madam Pomfrey stifled a gasp but gathered herself quickly. "A-and what year is it?"

"It's April 1st, 1976."

"Harry..." Hermione sat at the foot of his bed with imploring eyes. "It's April 1st, 1996."

"Ohh, so not a parallel dimension? Time travel, is it?" James cocked an eyebrow, leaning backwards onto the bed and running a hand through his already tousled hair.

Madam Pomfrey clasped a hand over her mouth as she watched him, like he had suddenly gone spectral. She turned very seriously to Hermione and Ginny.

"There's no sign of injury or traces of dark magic," Madam Pomfrey assured, like James wasn't sitting right there. "There is some quantity of magical residue...but that's not an entirely uncommon substance, especially when emotions are high."

"Magical residue?" James puzzled. She must be referring to what Remus had sensed in the Room of Requirement. "I'm confused—"

Madam Pomfrey gently set her hand on his forearm.

"We know, dear. Let me fix you a calming draught and you'll feel right as rain." She squeezed his arm and disappeared into her office.

James waited until she was out of earshot, then turned to Hermione and Ginny.

"Look, I respect your dedication but this is kind of becoming a drag."

He jumped to his feet and waved a hand in farewell, with a disarming smile.

"Peeves is at large and I'm a deserter, so...nice to meet you both, I appreciate your time, and see you around!"

Hermione and Ginny stared blankly after him, mouths slightly agape, as he jogged through the large wooden infirmary doors and out of their sights.

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Sirius

Corridors

with Remus and Peter

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"D'you think Hermione'll let me copy off the essay Snape set us?"

"Probably not. Worth a go though…"

Remus, Sirius and Peter were in a dim corridor in the dungeons, just outside the kitchens, as they overheard these two unfamiliar voices.

"Hmm wonder who that is? I hardly ever see anyone down here," Sirius mused. Tickling the pear in the painting outside the kitchens was a bit of a coveted secret.

Two boys about the Marauder's age turned the corner. One had red hair and was quite tall and lanky; the other had spectacles and jet-black hair that stuck up in the back—

"Oi! Prongs!" Sirirus shouted.

The two new boys came to a sudden halt and laid very wide eyes upon the three Marauders. The red head, who had a mouthful of sweets, was gaping so widely that crumbs fell to the floor.

"Where the hell did you go off to, then?" Sirius rounded on James. "We had to fend Peeves off by ourselves! Luckily he found some first years to go after…"

James appeared frozen to the spot. He was looking at Sirius like he didn't believe he was real.

"Prongs?" Sirius took a step towards him.

The red haired boy had turned chalk-white. He took a step backwards as Sirius encroached, tugged at James' robes, and swallowed hard.

"Harry…have I gone mad or a-are y-you seeing this too—?"

James' eyes began darting back and forth between Remus, Sirius, and Peter, his mouth slightly ajar.

"Prongs? You all right?" Sirius raised an eyebrow.

He felt Remus' gentle hand on his shoulder. "Er—Sirius, I don't think that's James…"

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Read chapter 4 here.

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Notes: So sorry to leave you all here! Next chapter starts off quite a bit more seriously with an interesting point of view…then gets lighter with some more banter and shenanigans, don't worry :)

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