#now the story of a mash unit who had nothing and the one man who had no choice but to keep them all together

[moderndayamymarch]

it’s the walk

[viking-raider]

Seals of the Lost - Prelude

Summary: An Order of Riders in the East and West, united in keeping the World harmonious, is fractured by greed and corruption. The survivors go into hiding to protect the world from the evil that wants to destroy it and rule all. But, nothing remains lost.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader

Word Count: 7,648

Rating: PG - Language, Violence and Death, World-Building, Mythology, Lore, Magic, Historical and Modern Fiction

Inspiration: A mash-up of several movies and books I've seen and read.

Author's Note: Thanks to @wondersofdreaming for her support and encouragement and @firefly-graphics for the divider.

Tag List Blog: @viking-raider-taglist

Once, in bygone millennia, two groups and majestic creatures lived in true harmony with one another, and did for many centuries.

They had always been harmonious, the East and the West, even separated by the vast ocean between them, like they were. Both cultures took great pride in caring for the majestic creatures that inhabited the world with them. Even though in the beginning, when the creatures first appeared, it was not that way.

At first, the sightings were brushed off as nothing more than crack stories of drunks and attention seekers. But, more and more of them came in, then the first attacks started happening. Whole villages burned to the ground, all across the East and West, no side was shown special exception or spared; countless people displaced and killed.

Before, one man, Edward Williams, the East's best tracker, managed to follow one of the creatures back to its lair. But, when Edward sneaked inside, he found an entire world inside the earth, filled with every type, size and shape of the creatures, more than any of his people, East or West, could ever have imagined.

The creatures easily outnumbered all of the humans outside of their world-like cave, and it scared the life out of Edward.

What he hadn't expected was one of the creatures appearing behind him as he spied them, from what he had believed to be a hidden vantage point. Edward was sure his life was forfeit as it stood over him, caging him in with it mountainous body, thick and frothy drool dripping from its snarling, scaly lips and dagger-sharp row of teeth, puffing foul and hot breath from its nostrils into his face, like the great heat of a blacksmith's forge or a venting volcano. Edward trembled, squeezing his eyes shut and mumbling a prayer to himself, giving himself his own last rites, and lifting hand to his face to cross himself, when he felt a very gentle touch against the side of his palm, and dared to crack open one of his eyes.

“Well.” He dared to croak out, his throat dry, as the creature eased back from him. “That was an interesting turn of events.” He mumbled, blinking at the creature, thunderstruck by the fact the creature didn't either eat him or roast him, like something on a spit over a fire.

He flexed his fingers and slowly reached out and and touched two fingers to the creature's face, felt what he could only describe as a purr and relaxed, throwing out all the knowledge and preconceived notions he had about them.

Yes, they had attacked, blackened villages and killed, but he felt there had to be a reason for why this was, and endeavored in finding out why. So, Edward Williams vanished inside the creature's underworld, protected by his new friend and in the years that followed he became one with the creatures that lived and thrived inside of it, until he emerged and returned to the world of his own kind, with his friend, who he had named, Mavy.

Then, with time and many trials, the people of the East and West became harmonious with the creatures, protecting and caring for them, each group, each culture having their own way of doing so. They revered them and the creatures returned that sentiment in the same gratitude and measure. Many of the humans bonded to the creatures, becoming linked together, like one mind inside two very different bodies, even allowing the humans to have gifts, becoming what was known as Riders.

But, like all things, especially things of good and harmony, it did not last.

“The bond between us and them is a bond that should not be corrupted!”

“Aye!

“Who do you think you are!? This is not what we stand for, Christos!”

“This isn't what you stand for!” Christos roared back, slamming his fist on the stone table before him. “And I am sick of your do-gooier ways. The rulers gain riches from Riders protecting their borders, lands and people, and from what?” He hissed, looking around the table. “There hasn't been a war, a skirmish, not even a riot, in nearly four hundred years!”

“That's because of us, Christos!” One of the others at the table with him sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, exhausted and exasperated with Christsos's pettiness. “We don't do it for the money or the glory. But the greater good and prosperity of the world around us.”

“Both worlds.” Another agreed, nodding his head. “For humans and them.”

“Not any longer.” Christos growled under his breath, glowering at the table. “I'm sick of it. I demand a Rider's right, so I can get what's right; payment for protecting these greedy men's lands.”

The men around the table looked at each other, surprised at his demand to have the right to their lifestyle, their occupation and what had been passed down to them through birth and proof of passage. The leader of the group, who had remained silent during the arguments, stood from his chair, letting out a heavy sigh and shook his head at Christos as he leaned his hands against the table.

“No, Christos.” He told him, plainly. “You have no birth right to be a Rider, and you have not proven yourself worthy to become one either. Your greed and anger is plain to see, and even if it was not now, I fear it would be not too far in the future, corrupting your bond as a Rider, and as the head of this Order, I can not allow that.” He spoke honestly, meeting Christos's furious brown eyes.

Christos jerked out a stiff finger, pointing to the head leader. “You will regret this, all of you will regret this, from this moment to the very ends of time and your bloodlines!” He threatened, spitting on the table, before spinning on his heels and storming out of the hall, with a determination that would fuel the flames and tides of the war that would fracture and splinter the East and West into the world as people know it, in current times.

The Order didn't take Christos's word as a threat, in the beginning that is.

He vanished off the map, not a whisper on the winds or from the other Order Houses about his movements throughout the world. The leaders and rulers believed he had let out his hot air and ran off to pout and lick his wounded ego over his rejection. That was until people started disappearing all across the lands, of all statures and social standings, even the family members of the Riders, but that wasn't the worst of it, the evidence left behind the disappearances was damning, and damning for the Order and Riders.

“Sir, they're gathering outside!”

“Yes, Marcus, I can hear them.” The Order leader sighed, pacing the room, hearing the echo of the jeering voices in the stone room around him, causing the situation to weigh even more heavily on him.

“How could they think that we and our creatures are behind these disappearances?” Marcus asked, looking to his leader for comfort. “We've spent centuries in harmony, protecting them, keeping the peace and prosperity. We find what causes people to go missing, not cause them!” He roared, his temper overcoming him, and the room around him shaking.

“Calm yourself, Marcus, getting angry will solve none of this.” His leader sighed, resting his hands on his shoulders.

“But, it isn't fair, Alaric.” Marcus hissed, still angry.

“We will right this, Marcus.” Alaric assured him with a pat on the shoulder.

The doors to the Order house flew open and one of the other Riders came rushing in, out of breath and his clothing torn, from his struggle through the mob crowded outside, and skid to a halt before Marcus and Alaric, taking a moment to catch his breath again.

“What is it, Asher?” Alaric asked, with wide eyed concern.

“Whitewich has been attacked.” He wheezed, stumbling over to the table in the middle of the room to grab a tankard sitting on it and gulp down the remaining liquid inside, quenching his dry tongue.

“By one of our own.”

“What!” Alaric roared, flabbergasted at the news.

“Ronan, from one of the West Order houses, flew into Whitewich on his creature and attacked the village, torching the whole place. Nearly killing all the inhabitants within its walls, before denouncing the Order and the Riders, then flew off again.” Asher told Alaric, leaning against the table and mopping the sweat from his brow with his sleeve.

“What does Bowen say of this?” Alaric asked, lifting his brow at Asher. “He's the Western Leader for our Order there.”

“He and his Riders are trying to track Ronan down, to bring him to justice.” Asher replied, sighing heavily.

A door to the south of them swung open, admitting a bent back, severely bow-legged, elderly man, with long, thinning white hair, twisted into two braids, each resting on either shoulder. Alaric turned towards the old man and lifted a brow at him, giving him a patient moment to collect his energy and find the words in his senile mind, before letting out soft, but good-natured, sigh.

“What is it, Gilbert?” He asked in a gentle tone.

“Mess..enger—birds,..your..grace.” Gilbert replied in a shaky voice. “Many..of..them.”

Alaric pinched the bridge of his nose, not at all having a good feeling about the messenger birds appearing in their coop. “All right.” He groaned, and followed Gilbert very slowly out of the Order's central room and into the open air of a courtyard, where the angry voices of the crowd was even louder, and to a tall circular tower, dominated by the fluttering and flapping of bird's wings and their calls. Pushing open the heavy wooden door, Alaric, Gilbert, Asher and Marcus entered the tower, where a group of four men were gently holding ravens and pigeons, removing teeny scrolls from leather tubes tied to one of their feet, before letting them go, to fly up into one of the empty cubby holes to rest from their long flights.

“What are the messages?” Alaric asked the workers.

“Mostly the same, sir.” One of the men answered, carefully unrolling the message he removed from the raven balanced on his forearm. “Several Riders across multiple Houses, in the West mostly, but three here in the East have joined them, have turned their backs on the Order, attacking villages, towns and cities all across the world.” He read from the scroll, also reciting several of the others he and others had read before Alaric arrived.

“They're flying under the banner of a Serpent and uttering the same one name.” He said, looking up at Alaric. “Christos Forebine.”

“So,” Alaric sighed, dropping into a nearby chair. “He's kept his promise.” He whispered, dropping his face into his hands.

“Alaric, we must do something!” Marcus barked at him, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him violently. “You are the Leader of our Order, you can't not admit defeat and let this monster take over! Christos will not stop until he has destroyed us all and taken every last one of our creatures, then has taken control of the world!”

“He's right.” Asher agreed with Marcus, nodding his head. “Christos could corrupt more of them and the Riders to tip the world's balance into his favor, making himself supreme ruler of us all!”

“We need to stop him, before this gets fully out of our control, Alaric.” Marcus said softly, frowning down at his long time Leader and friend.

“You're right, we need to gather our Riders and get things in the sky and ground under our control again.” Alaric nodded, biting his lip. “Gilbert, Tomas.” He looked to the workers for the messenger birds. “I want you to send out birds to as many Riders as possible, the ones here in the East and any remaining from the West. I want them here as quickly as they can get here.”

Tomas nodded and got quickly to work, while Gilbert stood in place for a moment, before shuffling away somewhere.

“Asher and Marcus, come with me.”

The resistance of Riders gathered in the East Order House, only one of the Order Houses from the West was left not corrupted from Christos and by the time all of the messenger birds were sent out to the Houses, two of the Eastern Order Houses fell under him.

Alaric knew Christos would never again sit down and talk with the remaining Order Houses about peace and coming to an agreement to stop the conflict and unrest he was creating between the East and West. There was only one thing Christos knew, especially now that he had a league of experienced and seasoned Riders on his side, and becoming a Rider-in-training himself, and that was war and skirmishes. The two groups that had once rallied together, now fought on that same land wrecking havoc and leaving behind bloodshed and death, fighting family and friends, leaders and teachers to maintain a way of life or to create a new one where they could be the new masters.

“Asher is dead, as is his creature.” Marcus informed Alaric, wiping blood from the corner of his brow. “Two of Christos's Rider's dragged them out of the sky.” He frowned, the sight of Asher's death still fresh in his mind.

“Neither stood a chance at survival.”

Alaric, leaning against a table as he surveyed a map of the current battlefield, bowed his head, devastated by the news of Asher's death, his worn and cut up face pinched with deep emotion. “It's a heavy blow.” He mumbled, not lifting his heavy head.

“Alaric Saintwatcher.” A voice called across the makeshift war room.

Alaric looked up and saw Darius Simperwill approach him, limping rather badly, a bloody rag bound tightly around his thigh, with several of the other Riders, in no better shape than he was behind him.

“What is it, Darius?” He asked, rubbing his face and standing, groaning at the stiffness in his back and limbs.

“We can no longer sustain the fight against Christos and his followers.” Darius said, stopping at the table. “More of our Riders either join his forces or die. We need a better plan.”

“And you have one?” Alaric replied, lifting an exhausted brow at him.

“There has to be somewhere we can take our creatures and people, where Christos and his filthy traitors can't get their hands on them.” One of the Riders with Darius grumbled behind him.

“Don't you think, if there was such a place, genius, we would have gone there already?” Marcus retorted, scowling at him.

“It might not exist now, genius.” He belittled Marcus back, huffing at him.

“Speak plainly!” Alaric roared, tired of the nitpicking and petty squabbles of late.

“We all know that our bonds with our creatures can give us power, aye?” Darius said, looking around the room.

“Aye.” Alaric sighed, nodding his head and dropping into his chair.

“Well, Edward Williams believed that Riders and their creatures could combine their powers together and open a door, creating a completely different world, only they could open and close.”

Marcus's head reared back, his laughter filling the room with a thunderous boom. “Open a door to create a totally different world, where we can all have a merry little jaunt into, while Christos stays here, in this world, and rules?” He continued to laugh, shaking his head and held his stomach.

“That's a marvelous idea, Darius.”

“Marcus, hush!” Alaric snapped and rolled his eyes at him, then looked to Darius. “How do you expect me to take those I now have under my care into this world we could possibly create for safety and leave those Christos has under his corruption here?”

“They are already lost!” Darius hissed at him, slapping his hands on the table.

“And the innocent people that wouldn't be able to cross this door with us?” Alaric demanded, angrily. “I've read of this theory in the old texts before, only a Rider and the creatures can cross the doorway. Regular humans would be trapped on this side of it.” He said, jabbing his finger into the table top.

“Leaving them to Christos's fury, when we vanish into it. I won't do that. I won't leave them to that fate, it's against everything we stand for.”

Darius huffed and pushed away from the table, frustrated and at his wit's end.

“What about an ambush?” Marcus asked, biting his lip.

“What kind of ambush?” Alaric asked, lifting a brow at him.

“Set Christos and his traitors up in an ambush of some type that allows us to kill them and their creatures. Then, once they are gone, we can open the door and take the remaining Riders and creatures through, protecting them, so no others are able to do such a thing like what he has again.”

Darius turned back towards Alaric, holding his gaze for a long moment, before they nodded at each other.

“Gather all those we have left.” Alaric said, his eyes never leaving Darius.

Within the hour, the remaining twelve were gathered in the war room and were told the plan on how they intended to put an end to the war.

“How do we open this door?”

“It takes five of us to create and open the door to the world we make for ourselves, but three of the five, must stay behind.” Alaric explained to the group.

“Why?”

“Three Seals will be forged within the door, when it is created. To lock the door behind us, the three Seals must be removed from the door.” Darius picked up explaining. “We can't allow just anyone to watch over the Seals once the doors are closed. It has to be three people out of this trusted group, or all will be for not.”

“I'll be one of the three.” Marcus spoke up, standing up from his seat. “It would be my honor to guard the door that gives my people safety.”

“As will I.” Another Rider vowed, standing with Marcus.

A soft murmur went through the room.

“Aye, I'll be your third.” said a man in the back, raising his hand above his head.

“Then, those two, Marcus, Alaric and I will open the door.” Darius said, nodding his head as the plan came together. “Now,-”

“I won't be going.” Alaric interrupted him.

“What?” Marcus and Darius snapped in unison.

“We need someone to set the ambush.”

“Absolutely not!” Marcus hissed, stomping over to Alaric's side. “You can't! Take my place, protect the Seal. I'll set up the ambush with Christos, it was my idea after all.”

“No, Marcus.” Alaric shook his head, sighing softly at him. “Christos won't go anywhere without just cause. He's always been suspicious and paranoid, so for him to be led into a place for any reason, has to be for a good reason.”

“Am I not a good enough reason?”

Alaric smirked at Marcus and lifted an amused brow, his face getting the point across that he certainly was not good enough to lure Christos anywhere, making Marcus's shoulders slump.

“You couldn't lure him out of the loo.” Darius teased him.

“Oh, shut it.” Marcus hissed at him, angrily. “I can't let you do this.”

“Marcus, I am the Leader of the Order, it is my job to protect it and all those inside of it.” He told him, sincerely. “I am also the only one Christos will deem valuable enough to meet.”

“He's right.” Darius agreed, sadly nodding his head. “What do you have in mind, Alaric?” He asked, lifting a brow at him.

“Just leave that to me.” Alaric replied, his mind already working on it.

“All right, then we need one other for the door.” Darius sighed, looking around the room.

“I'll help.” A soft voice in the back answered.

Heads turned and looked at the timid face of Tomas.

“I know the history behind it.” Tomas said, gulping and looking around the room.

“Thank you, Tomas.” Alaric said, smiling at him.

Tomas smiled shyly at him, nodding his head and shuffling his feet.

“There has to be someone else.” Marcus whispered into Alaric's ear.

“I chose Tomas, he'll do well.” Alaric replied, dismissing Marcus's notion.

“Where do we make this door?”

“We need a safe place. We'll scour for it, while preparations are made for the refugees to go through the door, once it is opened. Make sure to gather as many supplies as possible, for all those that cross the threshold. There's no telling what will be found there, once on the other side.” Alaric said, meeting the eyes of everyone in the room.

“I might have a place, as well.” Tomas spoke up, lifting a pointer finger.

“Where?” Darius demanded, narrowing his eyes at the younger man.

“The original world cave is nearby.” Tomas started to explain to them, moving over to the table, where several maps were laid out. “Here, this was the original world cave, where Edward Williams discovered our creatures.”

“It's unmarked and very few actually know where it is.”

“How do you know where it is?” Marcus asked, looking at the map where Tomas's finger was tapping.

“I've spent my life studying the ancient texts.” Tomas answered, looking up at him. “He described the specific world cave countless times, and I've explored several of them myself, and this is the one that fits the description of it.”

“You're sure?” Alaric asked, leaning forward to look at the map.

“On my creature.” Tomas nodded, sure of himself.

“Then, what?” Marcus asked, lifting a brow at Tomas.

“We go to the world cave, open the door and those going can enter through the doorway. Once that is done, the Seal Keepers remove the Seals and the door will lock behind them.” Tomas explained to the room. “I do propose, once the door is closed and the Seals removed, that the three of us Keepers collapse the entrance of the cave, preventing anyone from finding it again. So, anyone that would wish to take Christos's cause up after his demise can not find it and do so.”

“That is a solid idea, Tomas.” Alaric replied, stroking his chin and nodding his head. “I want the five of you to go there and start the preparations to open the door, the rest of you will start gathering supplies to go through it.” He said, standing up.

“And you, Alaric?” Darius asked, standing up with him.

“As I said, leave that to me.” Alaric replied, before leaving the room.

The five who agreed to open the door arrived at the world cave discovered by Edward Williams all those centuries ago, finding a small path that laid to a shelf and a reasonably flat enough rock face.

“This'll do.” Tomas said, pressing his hand against it. “It's perfect for what we need.” He nodded, then turned to the others. “Do you all know the words?” He asked them, hopefully.

“I know them.” Darius spoke up.

“Darius told me about them after the meeting.” Marcus added.

The two others just glanced at each other and back at Tomas.

“Right, so.” Tomas sighed, pressing his fingers into his eyes and paced the narrow shelf. “The words go like this; 'Through our shared bond, with we and them. We call upon it, in this time of need, to open this door, so that we may soar into a new world and be free, once more'.” He recited the words.

“Understood?”

“Aye.” the four other men nodded their heads.

“Place a hand on the stone.” Tomas motioned for them too.

The four approached the wall, reaching out a hand to touch the cool wall alongside Tomas.

“Now, tap into your bond with your creature.” He instructed them. “Let the bond flow wide open and free, like the flowing of a river.”

They all took a deep breath, opening themselves and feeling the tingle and hum of their bonds strengthen to their fullest potential, making the air around them shimmer with it.

“All together now, say the words.” Tomas said. “And push it into the rock.”

“Through our shared bond, with we and them. We call upon it, in this time of need, to open this door, so that we may soar into a new world and be free, once more.” They all said in unison, squeezing their eyes shut.

They repeated the incantation over and over, the words slowly getting muddled as they did, but their meaning and purpose was not lost with them. With each completed pass of the incantation, thin glowing blue lines cracked through the face of the wall, tracing and weaving the outline of a mighty door, making the cavern around them rumble and quake, then slowly scrape open.

“It actually worked.” One of the men huffed, stepping away from the door, mouth hanging open.

“What did you actually expect, you daft monkey?” Marcus snapped at him.

“Calm down, Marcus.” Darius sighed. “Ian doesn't mean anything by it.”

“Yeah, I don't.” Ian replied, making a smug face at Marcus.

“Ian, come with me, we'll go and tell Alaric that the door is ready. The rest of you stay here and make sure no one comes that shouldn't, and set up the explosives for us to close the cave entrance, when the time comes.” Darius said, motioning for Ian for him to follow, making for the mouth of the cave and returning to the sanctuary, where the remaining Riders were holed up.

“Alaric, we're ready.” Darius said, entering the Leader's private chamber.

“Good, excellent.” Alaric nodded, standing near the fireplace in his chamber. “I'm leaving soon, Darius.” He said, staring into the flames. “But, before I go, I have one more thing I need to do. To ensure.”

“All right.” Darius nodded, frowning at Alaric's back.

“Will you help me with it?” Alaric asked, turning towards him.

“Aye, tell me what I can do?”

Alaric touched a pendant hanging around his neck, then took it off. “Come here.” He said, motioning Darius closer to him.

Darius regarded him for a moment, before approaching him, and Alaric held the pendent out to him, both of them holding it together.

“I, Alaric Saintwatcher, give you, Darius Simperwill, the pendent of the Order of the East-” Alaric began.

“Alaric, wait.” Darius began to protest. “You can't do this.”

“I can and I will, Darius.” Alaric growled back. “Those remaining will need a Leader.”

“Marcus is the second in command.”

“He's one of the three Seal Keepers, he can't be the Leader of those who go through the door.” Alaric barked at him, agitated that Darius was causing them precious time with foolish protests. “You are the only one it can be. You're the only one I trust enough, with enough experience and respect for those going.” He argued.

“Now, shut up and let me finish.” He huffed, squeezing their hands around the pendent. “I, Alaric Saintwatcher, give you, Darius Simperwill, the pendent of the Order of the East to take responsibility for all those that the Order encompasses, for their safety and well-being.” He recited the oath from heart, remembering from when he had taken it, all those decades before.

“Do you take this oath, Darius Simperwill?” He asked, meeting his eye.

Darius stared at him for a long moment, conflicted about taking the oath, of taking his place, knowing Marcus would lose his mind when he found out. But, it was what Alaric wanted. “Aye, I'll take the oath, Alaric Saintwatcher.”

“Then, I pass this on to you.” Alaric said, letting the pendant go. “Wear it with pride.”

Darius stared at it for a moment, rubbing his thumb over the raised symbol on the pendant, before hanging it around his neck by the worn and frayed leather cord. “I'll do you proud, Alaric.” He said, a lump in his throat.

Alaric clasped him on the shoulder. “I have no doubt otherwise.” He smiled. “One last drink?” He asked, grabbing an emerald green bottle off a nearby table and held it up.

“Aye, one more drink.” Darius nodded, tears burning in his eyes.

“To the Order, to the Riders, to our Creatures and to our ways of life!” Alaric declared, holding up his glass in salute.

Darius nodded, holding up his glass. “To true friends.” He added, holding Alaric's eye with a soft smile.

“To true friends.” Alaric agreed, quietly choked up, before both of them swallowed their drinks in one mouthful.

Alaric watched as the Order's refugees silently funnel out of the sanctuary, carefully vanishing into the dark hills that surrounded it, making their way towards the mouth of the world cave that secreted the door to their refuge, led by Darius, their new Order Leader.

Sighing, he turned to his creature and mounted, flying off to do his last bidding. He took a deep breath of the cool night air streaming past his head, his eyes falling shut and letting the free and weightless feeling take over him, an ocean of inky purple clouds and sparkling stars and constellations all around him.

“Our last ride, Tila.” He murmured, resting forward and wrapping his arms around his creature's thick, scaly neck.

His mind flitted back to the message he had sent to Christos in his own battlement, giving him a place to meet, under the false pretense of peace between both sides. He arranged for them to meet inside a world cave, claiming it was Edward's world cave, what perfect place to set him up in, making him think it was the cave that started it all, the cave that would give him all the power he wanted.

The mouth of the cave came into view and Alaric could see a few of Christos's Riders standing outside, waiting for him to arrive and join them inside. Letting out a heavy breath, he and his creature landed, ignoring those already on the ground and entered the world cave, those outside following him inside, closing in around him and Tila.

“Where are the rest of your brats?” Christos's voice echoed over to Alaric.

“Back at our sanctuary.” Alaric replied, slipping off of Tila.

“Doing things on your own, as always, Alaric.” Christos mocked him. “Keeping your pups cowering behind your walls.”

“Do you want to talk or throw insults, Christos?” Alaric sighed, rolling his eyes, feeling antsy.

“Peace!” Christos screamed, throwing his arms out wide, and turning in a circle, making every one of his followers laugh. “The great Order Leader, Alaric Saintwatcher wants peace, in exchange for what, exactly?”

“You stopping this crusade, this needless bloodshed of our kind.”

“Ha!” Christos hissed back. “Now, I'm one of your kind.”

Alaric sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose, knowing there was no real way to get through to Christos Forebine, unless it was on his own terms.

“How about I take my Riders and torch your precious sanctuary and Riders?” Christos suggested, pandering to his riled up followers. “Then, there will be true peace!”

“With you as the ruler of us all?” Alaric replied, lifting a brow at him.

“Exactly.” Christos grinned at him, impishly. “But, that starts with getting rid of you.” He growled, narrowing his eyes at Alaric. “Kill him!” He screamed at the top of his lungs.

Alaric's heart started to pound against his ribs, he rested his hand on Tila's neck as Christos's followers started closing in on him. He waited, calmly, before it was almost too late for him to make his move.

“Now, Tila!” He shouted, patting her on the neck.

Stretching her long neck and letting out an ear splitting shriek, Tila opened her mouth and shot a blueish-purple flaming orb into the dome of the world cave, causing the entire cave to quake, huge pieces of the ceiling came crashing down and hitting Riders and Creatures alike, startling them. As they started to recover again, Tila let out another blast to a separate part of the world cave's ceiling, causing

even more of the ceiling to collapse on top of them.

“Alaric, what are you doing!?” Christos shouted over the noise of crashing rock and panicked voices.

“What I must!” Alaric roared back at him.

With one alarming rumble and strong tremor, the rest of the world cave's ceiling gave way, crumbling away on top of them. Many of Christos's followers attempted to escape, to get to some kind of safety before it was too late, but it was too late, the mouth of the cave fell in on itself, closing them in, with no other way out, leaving them to their deaths.

Meanwhile, Alaric's remaining Riders and creatures, now under the watchful leadership of Darius, felt the ground shake as they ascended deep into Edward's real world cave towards the Seal Door. Darius and Marcus glanced at each other as they stood beside each other at the door, knowing what was causing the shake.

“Well, I'll assume Alaric was successful.” Darius sighed, watching the last few remaining Riders funnel in.

“We'll soon find out.” Marcus replied, biting his lip and felt a sharp heaviness in his chest. “Still can't believe he made you the new Leader of the Order.” He huffed, folding his arms over his chest, dejectedly.

Darius sighed again, rubbing his fingertips into his tired eyes. “I told him, it should have been you who took his place. But, he said, since you were chosen to be a Seal Keeper, it had to be me.” He said, dropping his hands to his sides and looking over at his long time friend.

“I know.” Marcus answered, lightly jabbing his shoulder into Darius's and gave him a teasing smile. “Still can't believe it.” He chuckled.

“Do me one solid favor, though?”

“Anything, Marcus?” Darius nodded, his brow pinching with sincerity.

“Will you take care of Icarus for me?” He asked, looking at his creature, with a loving, but sad, smile. “She's a good ol' girl, spits ice farther than any I've ever met.” He reminisced, petting her incandescent blue wing.

“You have my promise.” Darius swore, resting his hand on Darius's back. “I'll take care of her, like I care for Elio.”

“I appreciate it, Darius.” Marcus sighed, clasping him on the arm. “I really do.”

“Everyone's here and ready.” Tomas said, approaching Darius and Marcus.

“Ian and Coda, are you ready?” Marcus asked, looking at his fellow Seal Keepers.

“We are.” Ian nodded and glanced at Coda.

“All right, that just leaves the rest up to you, Darius.” Marcus said, respectfully bowing to him.

“Oh, don't go giving me any of that bullshit, Marcus Cuillen.” Darius huffed at him, grabbing him roughly by the shoulders and pulled him into a bear hug. “I'll miss you.”

“Don't go soft now.” Marcus roared, squeezing him back, before they broke apart, and he stepped away from Marcus to stand beside Coda and Ian.

“Riders!” Darius called out, his voice reverberating off the stone walls.

“We are all that is left. We and our creatures, who we are tasked with protecting, but we are also tasked with protecting the way of our life, of our Order.” He shouted, meeting the eye of as many Riders he could. “For that reason, we will enter this door, into a new world, where it is safe for us and them. I do not know, if ever, we will return to this world, or what we will find, when we do.”

“But, for now, this is what we must do, and as your new Leader, I will step through first, to show to you, it is safe!”

Taking a deep breath, Darius turned towards the open stone door. He couldn't see what was on the other side of it, because of a shimmering, dark purple membrane stretched across the opening stood between the Order and their new world. So, squaring his shoulders and fortified by what he was doing was for the greater good of his people and the world at large, Darius strode forward with his head held high and confident. He reached his hand out, touching the membrane with his fingertips and found it to be cool, as the rock face itself, before pushing his hand through it, making it ripple, like water.

Darius looked over his shoulder and smiled at the group behind him, then stepped through, vanishing on the other side. A gasp rippling through the group left behind. A moment later, Darius's creature, Elio, stirred its scales and approached the door, slipping through it without a thought or hesitation.

“It must be safe.” Ian spoke up, after a minute of nothing. “Or he wouldn't have summoned his creature to follow after him.” He pointed out.

“True.” Marcus nodded his head. “Okay, everyone!” He shouted, getting the group's attention as they all stared at the doorway, wide eyed and astonished. “Single file, start going through. No pushing or shoving! Nice and easy, that's it.” He nodded his head, as the group started to trail in, somewhat hesitatingly at first, through the door with what belongings and supplies they could carry, as well as with their creature.

Once all of the Order was inside, the three Seal Keepers said their last good-byes to their own creatures, knowing for their safety, they had to also go through the doorway, and sent them on their way; Ian tearing up a little bit as his creature's tail disappeared through the membrane last.

“Now what, Marcus?” Ian asked, looking at him, as a lonely feeling starting to spread inside of his chest.

“We close the door.” Marcus replied, having a similar feeling. “Help me push it.” He said, moving around and planting his hands on the door.

Nodding their heads, Coda and Ian joined him, then with grunts and groans, they pushed the door closed, slotting it back into the rock face seamlessly, except for the eerie blue glow it still had to it.

“Right.” Marcus sighed, dusting his hands on the thighs of his pants. “I'll take the top Seal.” He said, reaching up for the object slotted into the front of the door, and after a moment of figuring it out, gave it a half turn to the left and popped it out, feeling the hefty weight of it in his single palm.

“I'll take the right one.” Ian replied, grabbing it and with a quarter turn to the right, had it out in his hand as well.

Nodding his head, Coda removed the left Seal with a full turn. The three of them stood together for a long while, staring down at their Seals, each with a different symbol on it. They could feel a faint hum of power slowly fading out of them, as the magic that opened the door vanished into the thin air around them, causing the glow of the now closed and locked doorway to dull and darken, leaving a pale outline of where they had once been, the only evidence of their existence, other than the Seals.

“How about a pint?” Ian suddenly suggested, looking up from his Seal.

Marcus heaved a sigh. “I could use a drink.”

“What about you, Coda?” Ian asked, lifting a brow at him.

Coda stared at his Seal a moment longer, then looked up at the other two men, shook his head and started making his way back out of the world cave. Marcus and Ian shrugged their shoulders at each other, but followed him out of the cave as well. They stopped outside of the cave, tucking the Seals away on their person for safety, before lighting the fuses to the explosives they had laid, then put several yards between them and the cave as the muffled explosions went off and the earth around it folded in on itself. With a respectful bow, Coda took his leave of Marcus and Ian, going off into the night, on his own.

“I think it's best we also part ways, as well.” Marcus said, setting down his pint, as he and Ian sat in an ale house in the nearest town. “We're no longer Riders.” He sighed, staring into the foam of his drink. “Even if we still had our creatures, we couldn't do anything with them, it would be too dangerous.”

“I believe you're right.” Ian burped, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “We would be daft to be in the same town, let alone the same city with our Seals, should anyone come looking for them.”

“No one should even be alive, other than the three of us and those that crossed the door, that know about the Seals either way.” Marcus commented, flicking his hand to motion to the full room of patrons. “If Alaric's plan went off like it should have, all of Christos's followers should be dead.”

“You know, there has to be some low life, wanna-be, Rider that followed that madman out there.” Ian huffed, lifting a brow at Marcus. “You would be an idiot not to be slightly paranoid about it.”

“I am.” Marcus barked, lifting his tankard back to his mouth and took a deep drink. “That's why I suggested we separate too. Just like Coda did.”

Ian bit his lip and pushed his jaw forward, nodding. “All right.” He huffed, rubbing at his face and feeling the weight of his Seal in his pocket. “I've always loved it across the sea, the land is nice.” He mumbled. “I'm sure Coda is going back to his corner in the far East.”

“Why don't you stick around here, we'll all three cover those bases.” He suggested, lifting a brow.

Marcus cleared his throat and thought it over. He wasn't opposed to staying in the part of the world they were in, but he still wanted a change in scenery, just like Ian and Coda did. “I might wander up North a bit. I'm sick of this area, nothing but heartache and bad omens.”

“That's up to you.” Ian replied, shrugging his big shoulders.

“I doubt the three of us will ever see each other again.”

“Good.” Ian chuckled, hoarsely. “I'm sick of your face and have been for years.” He said, cracking a smile.

“The feeling's mutual.” Marcus grinned, lifting his cup and knocked it against Ian's, when he lifted his. “To the Order and, hopefully, a better world.” He toasted, before they both gulped down the rest of their ales, shook hands and took leave of each other, their Seals safe with them as they went.

“Yes, Mum. I just got the box delivered ten minutes ago.” Henry replied, pressing his phone to his ear with his shoulder and pulled a steak knife out of the drawer, to cut the packaging tape off the box his mother had shipped to him from Jersey.

“How are you liking the new place, love?” Marianne asked her son.

“I really like it.” He answered, pulling open the cardboard flaps of the box. “It's quiet out here and there's a ton of yard for Kal to go wild in.” He grinned, twisting his upper body to look out the kitchen window in time to see a Kal sized blur bolt across the backyard and into the side yard. “He's already dug five holes.” He chuckled, turning back towards the box.

“Anyway, what's in this thing, mum?” He asked, peeking inside.

“Just some stuff from your room and things I didn't know what else to do with.” She answered him.

“Ah, I see, it's my turn to house some of the family nick-nacks.” Henry laughed, pulling out a few things that had been in his childhood bedroom, smiling fondly at them.

“Oh, I have another call, Henry. I'm glad you love the new house! I'll call you later”

“Thanks, mum!” He replied and hung up with her, then put his full attention on the things in the box. “What's this?” Henry frowned, pulling out an old, round disc that had a bit of weight to it and a worn marking on one side. “Weird.” He mumbled, turning it over and looking for any marks that could tell him what it was, the nerd in him interested and drawn to it.

“I wonder if there's a place I could get you checked out at.” He said, biting his lip and set it down on the kitchen counter, but he wasn't even sure where he would start to look. “I'll have to do some research later on tonight.” He decided, then finished unpacking the box and putting the things inside of it away in various places around his new house in the English countryside.

[junicai]

Relationship with WAYV

➣ KUN ☾ karia

if it wasn’t for dotae potentially coming to kill him, he would steal aria into wayv

he’s the cool dad? 

they can’t spend a lot of time together because none of their schedules match up, but aria takes every third or so weekend out to come have dinner in the wayv dorms

she’s surprisingly close to the china line, and its a combination of ten dragging her to his dorm for an entire month and them just kinda adopting her when they realized she was a foreigner as well 

yuta can fight them, she’s one of them now

he doesn’t like to baby her a lot, and she really appreciates the break from being the “maknae” so to speak 

however does that stop him from giving her the forehead kithes? no

aria sad? forehead kith

aria mad? forehead kith

aria smad? forehead kith + kuddles (kun cuddles)

he has sent her a passive agressive text when he found out that she wasn’t eating enough again and had almost passed out

but he finished it with a heart so its ok

if she isn’t smiling at all times, someone will die

aria feels like she can trust him with a lot; that no matter what she tells him, he’ll never out her or make fun of her

kun actually took a two-week online course to learn how to make traditional japanese dishes when aria mentioned missing her parents

he originally was going to learn how to make irish dishes, but he changed his mind after seeing what they were

“im not giving my kids boiled cabbage and mashed potatoes what kind of post world war-”

wants to give her a chinese name but hasn’t yet because he hasn’t found the one that fits her right and he wants it to be perfect 

aria teaches him japanese phrases in exchange for him teaching her a little bit of mandarin

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT.

aria saw kun’s back as she entered the practice room, the man standing with three other members in the centre of the floor before the choreographer came in to start their practice. coming up behind him, she wrapped her arms around his waist, peeking her head around from where she was. “hi!” she smiled brightly.

“hi,” ten chuckled, showing her the camera that had just filmed all of that. 

➣ TEN ☾ tenaria

Whipped(TM)

so so gone for her its upsetting actually

yangyang and aria share the position of his baby 

except aria willingly accepts the title while yangyang would rather fling himself from a rooftop

ten’s instagram is half his cats, half miyazu aria

he posts her dancing practice on his story a lot, with a variety of captions ranging from “thats my baby  ♡( ◡‿◡ )” to “yah that’s not right...(눈_눈)”

such an enabler for her bad ideas 

aria wants to go shopping at 4am? ten agrees, now they’re sitting by han river eating ice cream

pls he’s gonna get her in so much trouble one day

when they walk together, ten likes to take her hand and put it in his pocket 

its under the pretense of not wanting her to get lost 

he just wants to hold her hand

yes he has lost her in a shopping mall, and NO it wasn’t his fault

ten always complains that they never have schedules together and he misses his baby 

“we have superm-” “I NEVER SEE YOUUUU (ﾉಥ益ಥ)ﾉ”

if they’re in the same room ten is either watching her out of the corner of his eye, or is actually wrapped around her like a boa constrictor 

hugs n kithes all around

only he is allowed make fun of her mistakes in dancing 

anyone else gets deaded. he will fight for her honor how dare you insult his baby 

sm give these ttwo a dancing duo video pls 

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT. 

the first and only time aria and ten had a duet was during their last concert on superm’s first world tour. during the second half of ten’s solo performance, aria emerged from the left side of the stage, coming to join him in the centre stage. no one had ever seen aria as serious as she was then, both herself and ten becoming completely different people in the moment. midway through, aria spun with her back to ten and leaped backwards into the air - eyes closed - completely trusting ten to be where she needed him to be to catch her. 

➣ WINWIN ☾ winria

a love hate relationship at its finest

they don’t actually hate each other it’s just really funny to pretend that they do (especially because yuta complains that 2 of his favourite people aren’t getting along)

winwin is so savage towards aria but it’s ok she claps back twice as hard

at first, before czennies had seen enough of their dynamic they thought that they actually did hate each other

but that’s not true they just don’t know how to express, affection, without brutally insulting the other with a loving tone

they are, surprisingly, the most stable pairing in 127 - they have a dynamic and rarely stray from that, which is a good comfort for the fans

despite what they might say to each other, they don’t mean any of it - and winwin has been seen several times raising his eyebrows with a questioning look at aria to make sure she wasn’t taking any of his playful jabs to heart

oh god the flexibility

the entirety of nct is terrified of them

the day sm gives them a circus act is the day that kun and taeyong have a heart attack

quietly supportive of each other - catch aria “playing” with a water bottle and not getting up to get it when it conveniently rolls across the floor and into winwin’s leg

he makes sure to save some new chinese sweets whenever the wayv members get packages from their familes, and sneak it into aria’s room before the managers can catch her breaking her diet

not really physically affectionate with each other, which played into czennies idea that they didn’t like each other but aria cleared it up in a vlive

“winwinnie and I, well. we don’t hug a lot because i know he doesn’t like it as much as i might, so i try to show him i care with other things :)”

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT.

winwin and aria going in to each other on knowing brothers, to the point where the mc’s had their eyes popping out of their head and waved about to stop the segment before aria could start attacking winwin’s cooking methods-

nothing is off limits when it comes to them

➣ LUCAS ☾ arihei

besties 

please they’re so cute together - tol child next to tini child she barely comes up to his chest :(

bear hugs

he just swamps her in his arms, and when he doesn’t feel like being bent over he picks her up 

complains that she’s too heavy but then immediately after will throw her around like a softball 

someone tell this man to be careful with her she’s not a barbie doll 

singular braincell energy

don’t get it wrong, they’re both super smart 

so it’s just - being smort together, but then nearly dying because neither of them remembered that you couldn’t eat raw cookie dough when there are eggs in it

she adores how he’s so confident in the things that he does - like convincing the entire nct fandom that he was fluent in english? king behaviour

so aria looks up to him (literally) but also because she wants to have that confidence some day 

lucas says they’re not close and then aria pouts and he takes it all back

nczennies made a 14 minute compilation titled “lucas melting like a popsicle in australia for aria” 

and literally what the title tells you, this man goes :(( when he sees her 

lucas was actually the person to convince her to go ahead with the [redacted] proposal - and reminded her that it was too good an opportunity to pass up just because she felt like she was outgrowing the boys

he’s so proud of her

and she’s so proud of him 

they’re so proud of each other and it makes nczennies want to cry because they never are seen together 

sm stop separating the platonic soulmates first markhyuck and now arihei smh

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT.

during a photoshoot, aria was standing off to the side of the boys, dressed in white suit to contrast the boys’ black ones. the photographer was calling out to her to get her to move closer, but she couldn’t hear him from so far away, and so lucas (who was on the end) just walked over to her, gripped her by the biceps and lifted her vertically and to the left a little bit. 

“luc-LUCAS?”

“you had to move :)”

➣ XIAOJUN ☾ arijun

honestly these two aren’t super close, just because their schedules never matched up until the NCT 2020 promotions

even when aria was dragged to the wayv dorms, xiaojun kept his distance from her because he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable 

even so, when they were filming Make A Wish together, they seemed comfortable enough around each other

there was a mutual agreement to not try fill the silence with awkward small talk, so they sat in silence when left alone together

they’re both shy :( someone needs to get them to talk to each other :(

even so, aria was all supportive smiles and thumbs-up when she saw him getting nervous before their first public stage as the unit 

he was a little intimidated of her at first, but also really curious about how she was holding her own against the other members

not only physically, but her vibes are tiny let the man be concerned ok

his first impression of aria was just: small quiet? she was sitting apart from the other boys in the practice room, and he almost wanted to go over and ask her if she was ok; before she was approached by donghyuck and her face broke into a bright smile 

aria’s first impression of xiaojun was: eyebrows he was really handsome? at first, she thought he was in the wrong room, seeing as the SM modeling auditions were happening in the next room down

any arijun shippers are starved of content im so sorry guys 

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT. 

currently still up for debate between the fandom :(

➣ HENDERY ☾ aridery

ah these two 

you might as well sign a waiver if you decide to do anything with them, because they can and will get you killed 

kun can testify

ten’s the enabler but hendery is the do-er

super giggly around each other, for no reason at all

hendery could pick up and throw a basketball and suddenly aria’s on the floor in literal stitches 

have a secret code 

no seriously

they don’t text in words, they just send various reaction memes and a colourful variety of emojis to convey emotions and scenarios 

it’s become quite a beautiful language actually 

got some nice proverbs in there

they’re like, cousins but the ones you only see at family reunions but get so hype to see them

that energy 

asides from the chaotic, murderous vibes they possess as a duo

hendery knows what it’s like to miss home, to miss your parents, etc etc

and so he tries to make aria feel as home as possible - especially with wayv, because they’re all foreigners who know how she feels 

whenever he gets packages from his parents who have sent things over, he always makes sure to keep some of the small treats/sweets back for aria

1. because he knows she’ll appreciate the thought and she gives good hugs

2. because he knows she’s on a diet constantly and never allowed eat these things when she’s in the dorms with managers around 

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT. 

filming the Resonance “Wish” event, aria was put in a skimpy minimalistic mock-suit to differentiate from the others’ clothes. unfortunately, that left aria with a little too much shoulder and chest on display than she would like, and she was noticeably uncomfortable with her clothes, constantly pulling it up and even going so far as to just hold it with her hands. 

hendery saw this, and knew he was finished filming his segment for the time being, so he pulled off his own jacket and tossed it over to aria, who caught it with a grateful smile. “thank you,” she mouthed to him, tugging the dark blue material over her shoulders.

➣ YANGYANG ☾ ariyang

aria. has 9 days of age on this boy and will never let him forget it

“respect your elders you brat” “9. DAYS.”

european pals 

they feel so cultured when they get asked about europe, and then are kindly reminded by hendery that A. Germany started 2 world wars, and B. Ireland was just a British colony until 100 years ago. 

they both hit him for that

aria teaching him curse words in irish and yangyang teaching her curse words in german? more likely than you’d think 

they met before yangyang’s debut was announced, in a practice room that had let them accidentally overlap their practice times 

instead of working it out between them, they actually just started to alternate their songs - and the other gave them some good, constructive criticism 

most of the time

when they found out they were going to be in 90s Love together, they were so happy 

it was going to be their first official schedule together

all the behind-the-scenes videos are just aria and yangyang being children and then ten coming over and cooing at them 

they love ten, but they will trash talk the man behind his back 

yangyang confessed to her that he sometimes feels nervous when speaking korean, like he’s going to make a big mistake

so she tries her best to teach and correct him where she can, and make him as comfortable as possible 

if you look at any of the 90s Love promotions - aria is always beside yangyang

he bit her ear once

she doesn’t know why and he won’t tell her

but now when she makes fun of him, he threatens to do it again 

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT. 

aria skating onto the rink during filming, and yangyang following her because she promised to teach him how to skate backwards.

“ok just, think like you’re leading with your heels. press your knees in, and push outwards, with you-no no that’s forwards. go backwards yangyang.”

“no no no thats a WALL YANGYANG STOP-” 

[let-me-luve-you]

Long Distant Streams

Christian Pulisic x Reader

Summary: Christian is in a Fortnite tournament and you enjoy his company over FaceTime

A/N: I don’t know why but when I was writing this, I would write Christian’s name and I kept thinking this just doesn’t look right, so if I ever misspelled it in the story, I’m sorry and just know I don’t know where my brain was. Enjoy!

MASTERLIST

Christian being in England and you being in the United States really put your relationship to the test. You were attending University of North Carolina and only had a year left until you would decide if you were going to move over to England to live with Christian.

Being in a long distance relationship meant lots of texts, phone calls, and FaceTime calls. Thankfully it was only a 5 hour difference between the two of you. When you finished class on a Wednesday afternoon, you were walking to your car when you saw that Christian was FaceTiming you.

“Hey babe!” You smiled into the camera when you saw his smiling face pop up. “I thought you had your Fortnite stream today?”

“I do. It starts here in a bout 30 minutes. I just wanted to see you before I started.” Christian said.

“That’s sweet of you. I’m going home now to pull up your stream so I can watch while I do my homework.” You said as you put your backpack into your backseat and moved to the driver seat.

“You don’t have to watch. Focus on your studies.” He said.

“You know I like watching you play video games. What I’m doing today is nothing different then what we do when you come here in the off season.” You laughed.

“True but I just don’t want the stream to distract you.”

“Trust me it won’t.” You smiled as you put your phone down to drive home. “I know today was your first full hard training since the injury so how was training? How’s the leg feel?”

“It was good. My hamstring feels fine. I think I’m good to go for the season.” Christian smiled at you.

“Yay! That’s good. I can’t wait to see you play again.” You beamed at him. “The jerseys you sent just got here this morning so I can’t wait to wear them!”

“Can’t wait to see you in them.” He smirked.

You pulled up to your house continuing you talk with Christian as you walked to your room. You threw your back pack on the bed and got your books and laptop out. You grabbed your iPad off the charger so you could pull Christian’s stream up. You sat down at your desk as Christian started to talk about the game.

“Sorry Chris, what was that?” You said as you turned to your phone propped up against your open laptop. You saw Christian wearing his head set and his gaming glasses. You always loved this look on him.

“Not you baby.” Christian smiled at you. “Sorry I’m on with the boys already.”

“Oh are you online yet? Let me pull up Twitch.” You said grabbing your iPad and going to Christian’s live.

“Christian! Who are you talking to man? Who’s the woman?” You heard when you opened Christian’s stream.

“It’s my girl. She always watches my streams. I have her on FaceTime.” He explained to one of his teammates.

“Is she not with you in England?” You heard another voice.

“No. She’s in the US at college. Trying to talk her into moving in with me when she finishes though.” Christian laughed knowing you had already told him you would move over there with him when you graduated.

Christian would barely talk to you throughout the stream, which didn’t bother you one bit. You were busy doing homework anyway. It was just nice to have his company. You heard him answering fan questions when they lost again.

“Babe.” You interrupted him. “I’m going to need you guys to start winning already.” You said with a laugh. Christian gave you a look while stretching before turning back to his stream and answering more questions.

“What does your girlfriend think of you playing video games and ignoring her?” Christian read out loud. “Hmm. My girl actually enjoys watching me play. She is usually sitting next to me doing homework or reading. But she watches and knows what’s going on. She’s actually doing homework right now while watching. We don’t get to see each other often due to distance so we use this as a way to hang out. And it’s nice to feel so comfortable with someone that you can sit in silence and there be no awkwardness. My girl is my number 1 fan in everything I do.”

You smiled at him and gave him the ‘I love you’ hand sign. He smiled and did it back before grabbing his iPad to do whatever. You heard a ping a second later from you laptop and saw Christian looking at you with a small smile.

I love you. Thank you for supporting me. Thank you for being here and being my favorite person in the world and the best company =)

You smiled at your phone and then turned back to type a message back.

Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else or do this with anyone else.

You wouldn’t want to be here with me?

Well obviously meant I want to be with you, but until we can be together, sitting here on stream and FaceTime with you

Christian smiled as he started talking to his teammates when a new game started. After a couple of hours. You were finished with your homework and Christian had finished his games and ended his stream. It was now 10 pm for him.

“What are you cooking?” Christian asked as he grabbed himself some food.

“I’m just warming up some left overs.” He cocked his head as to question what the type of food was. “Chicken, broccoli, and mashed potatoes.” You added. “Did you make that?” He asked.

“Two days ago.”

“Ah I miss your cooking!” He pouted.

“I’ll come visit soon so I can see you play and can cook for you. I miss you.” You said as you teared up. The realization of missing him hitting a little harder tonight for some reason.

“I miss you too baby. Don’t cry. Let’s plan a trip for you. I’ll pay for your flights.” He said and you went to protest. “No don’t even try to fight me on it. I’m doing it. Find a time you can bring your work with you and you can stay for a week. I want you with me. I need you in my arms. It’s been too long. I love you.”

“I love you too.” You smiled at him. “Okay let’s plan a week I can watch you play soccer and Fortnite.” You smirked as he scoffed and laughed.

[nordens-lejon]

Pervitin and Skis

Sufin oneshot I wrote last night.

During WW2, Timo finds himself in the hospital after an accident. Berwald comes to visit him. Based on a true story.

7 April 1944

Timo had never imagined he’d be grateful to find himself in a hospital. But then again, he’d never expected to find himself spending a week in a snow-filled ditch with one calf reduced to mincemeat. A lumpy hospital bed felt like heaven compared to that. The bed was warm and clean, and he could sleep as much as he wanted. The nurses fed him spoonfuls of broth and mashed potatoes. Small portions, so as not to upset his stomach after two weeks without proper food.

The hospital had given Timo a private room, which had annoyed him at first. He’d been fighting with the other soldiers, so sure it was only fair that he got the same treatment as the humans in the military ward. The doctors said it was an attempt to keep the gossip down, and on some level, Timo understood that. The personification of Finland injured and hospitalized? Oh, the Soviets would have a propaganda field day with that.

Someone knocked. That was odd -- the doctors and nurses were coming in whether he liked it or not. Timo thought it might be the timid new orderly, but it was a tall, thin man in an ill-fitting gray suit, messenger bag at his side. A sickly-looking mustache perched on his upper lip.

“Sve!” Timo tried to sit up, but he got nowhere and it only made his stitches hurt. Sure, Berwald was dressed like he’d lost all vestige of fashion sense, but it was him nonetheless. “Oh, I must look horrid, but I never thought…”

“Shhhhh.” It came out as a sharp hiss, but Berwald quietly crossed the room and pulled a chair to the bedside.

“How did you get in?” Timo whispered. He held out a hand, and Berwald immediately took it. “They don’t want anyone to know I’m here. And aren’t you still technically neutral in the war? What if the Soviets find out that you visited? It’ll look like you’re taking sides.”

“The Soviets won’t find out.” Berwald ran his thumb over the back of Timo’s hand. “I set a trail. They think I’m in Malmo. As for the Finns,” he pulled out a badge and a bundle of documents, “I got papers. They think your boss sent me.” The print of the badge was just big enough for Timo to catch the words Director of Cadaver Gynecology.

“So that’s why you grew this.” Timo wiggled his hand free and reached for the mustache.

“Yeah.” Berwald gently pushed Timo back against the pillows with one big hand.

“It’s hideous. I hate it.”

“Sorry.”

“You needed a disguise, I get that, but holy Martin Luther, please shave that thing as soon as you can and never grow it out again. Maybe you should get a wig next time, because with that thing on your face, I can almost imagine myself turning down a kiss. Almost. Just maybe.”

Berwald’s eye sparkled and he pressed a kiss to Timo’s knuckles.

“Oh, you sap. You’re hopeless.” Timo chuckled in spite of himself.

“I am.”

“Of course you are. So you found out I’m here. Something must’ve leaked. What did you hear? They told me they don’t want the story to blow up. There’s the Soviets, and besides, it could hurt national morale.”

Berwald blinked. “They didn’t tell you? It’s been in the papers.”

“The papers?” Timo felt his stomach drop, and he slumped a little. Oh, if this hurt the Finnish war effort, he’d never live it down. “Perkele. What did they say?”

“That you were with your combat unit in Saami territory. On skis. And you took thirty doses of Pervitin.”

“It was an accident!” The words came out louder than anticipated. Berwald would believe him, of course, but he still felt some urge to defend his honor to the universe. “I’d never even taken Pervitin before!” He’d always been wary of those German-made pep pills. Chemists said they contained methamphetamine. “I only took it because I was so tired I was on the verge of passing out. There were Soviets on our tail! And I meant to take one, not thirty. I’d like to see you-- or anyone -- get one pill out of those tiny little tubes while wearing mittens. So I tried to, y’know, just pour one into my mouth.”

“Shhh, it’s okay.” Berwald reached forward and began stroking Timo’s hair.

“And I just, before I knew it, I’d downed the whole tube.” Timo swallowed and took a minute to take a deep breath and enjoy Berwald’s touch. It reminded him of easier, happier times. “Sorry. But please, don’t stop.”

“Mmm. I won’t. But go on.”

“Go on?”

“What happened next?”

“Oh.” Timo paused. “Well, I… I don’t remember much of it. It felt amazing, at first. Ecstatic. Like I’d been born a new man, with more energy than I’d ever had in my life. And then, it got to be too much, I started shaking. I thought I’d blacked out, but it turned out that I’d just kept skiing. I, I think I crashed through a Soviet camp, and they shot at me, but the doctors didn’t find any bullet wounds. Maybe I hallucinated it. But then, I came to my senses, or really, I came down enough to realize that I’d completely lost my unit, and I was all alone in the snowy forest. But there was so much energy in me that I felt compelled to keep going. To find someone. Anyone.”

Berwald’s brow furrowed. “How long had it been at that point?”

Timo shrugged. “I don’t know. A few days.”

“Did you stop to eat or sleep?”

“Sleep. I doubt it. Eat, no. I lost my supply pack.”

“No wonder you’re so thin.” Berwald ran a thumb along Timo’s cheekbones, which had never been visible before. “I don’t like it.”

“Not planning on staying this way, don’t you worry.” Timo managed a smile. He didn’t want to add that his once-portly body weighed only forty-one kilograms upon admission to hospital. That number would only make Berwald worry -- he was too fond of seeing Timo pampered and plump. “Anyway, not too long after that, I stepped on a landmine.”

“A landmine?”

“Yeah.” Timo gestured to his elevated right leg. The cast covered a mess of stitches and surgical pins. “The blast threw me right off my feet, blew out one of my eardrums, and my legs was, well, I remember this awful mess of blood and bone.”

“Christ almighty.”

“Yeah...I guess. I was still so high that I didn’t feel any pain, at least not at first. But I remember lying there in a ditch with my ears ringing. And I thought that this must be the end of my journey. Some hours passed, and nothing happened. So I figured I might live long enough for someone to find me, so I crawled to this sort of, well, dugout, and waited some more. And nobody came. Eventually, the Pervitin wore off enough that I could feel hunger. I could drag myself to a pine tree and I ate some pine buds. A jay landed on my hand, so I ate that too. I ate snow. Sorry,” he added, seeing the horrified look on Berwald’s face.

“Don’t be sorry. I want to know.” There was a pause “And I want to take you home right now and take care of you forever,” Berwald was flushing, as if he’d already said more than he’d intended, “but that, that’s beside the point.”

That was more than enough to warm Timo’s heart. “Maybe you can, if your disguise holds. I don’t think they’re going to let me back to the front.” Inherently, he was ashamed of that. Going back before the end of the war felt like quitting on his people. “There’s talk about sending me to Helsinki. I’m going to need crutches for a while. And physical therapy. But if you can keep up as Director of Cadaver Gynecology, maybe you can stay with me. At least for a little while.”

“Yes, maybe.” Berwald swallowed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The prospect of Berwald in Helsinki might not take away the shame, Timo realized, but it did make the thought of a long convalescence a lot more bearable. “Thanks, big guy.” Almost suddenly, a wave of exhaustion swept over him. This talking was the most exertion he’d done since he’d been admitted.

“It’s nothing,” Berwald said. Another small pause. “You didn’t finish.”

“Finish what?”

“The story. You stopped with eating snow in a ditch.”

“Oh, right.” Timo fought back a yawn. “I walked.”

“You what?”

“Walked. One night, I could see light through the trees, and I don’t know, I guess I was desperate enough that I got up and dragged myself over to them.”

“With your leg like…” Berwald pointed.

“Well, of course. But I made it to their camp, and I was so beat up, that I think I scared them, the poor humans. They called for an ambulance, and they brought me here.” And that,” this time, Timo couldn’t hold back the yawn, “is how I got myself into this whole embarrassing mess.”

“Embarrassing? Never mind, I should let you sleep.”

“Wait, don’t go!” Timo took Berwald’s wrist. “Not just yet. A few more minutes. And yes, of course it’s embarrassing. All this trouble because I couldn’t pick up a pill.”

Berwald set his jaw and kept silent for a moment. “I can’t say how you should feel, but the story’s earned your people’s admiration”

“Wait, what?” This was so surprising, Timo almost forgot how sick and tired he was. “What do you mean, admiration?”

“You’re still here, aren’t you? Yes, you made a mistake, but you’re still here. Thirty doses of Pervitin and two weeks in the woods would’ve killed lesser men. Men who aren’t as tough as Finns. I mean,” Berwald reached down for his messenger bag. “Plenty of your people have sent you cards and letters. Wishing you well, I’m guessing. Haven’t opened any.”

“Those are letters? What? Where did you get those?” Timo watched as Berwald opened the bag, revealing a heap of envelopes.

“Your public PO box. In Helsinki.”

“Right, forgot I gave you a spare key.” The envelopes were mostly white, with occasional blue and pink mixed in. And there were so many of them. Maybe some of them were admonishing him for his stupidity and carelessness, but if even a few were wishing him an easy recovery, well, it was a small consolation, but he felt better. “Do you think you can open one? Read one to me? Do you remember your Finnish?”

“Of course I remember Finnish.” Berwald cupped Timo’s cheek, then picked an envelope from the top of the pile and tore it open. Inside was a generic get-well card with a picture of teddy bear, but somehow, the mass-produced kitsch made it charming. “How ‘bout you get some rest? I’ll read while you settle down to sleep.”

Oh, wasn’t that right in the money. Timo sank back against the pillows and closed heavy eyelids. Lumpy hospital bed heaven was even better with Berwald by his side.

“Dear Mr. Finland,” Berwald began, “I was shocked to hear news of your accident, but I must say that I have never heard a more remarkable story of survival. That’s truly the Finnish spirit, isn’t it? Carrying on and making do in spite of the odds. You’ve reminded me of...”

Berwald’s voice was lovely and soothing, but that was all he heard before sleep claimed him, heavy, comfortable, and reassuring.

Closing notes: For anyone who’s unfamiliar, Pervitin was an methamphetamine-based performance-enhancing drug that was developed by the Germans, who proceeded to give it out to their troops like it was candy. Timo’s story here is based on that of Aimo Koivunen, a Finnish soldier who accidentally took 30 doses of Pervitin, spent two weeks in the woods, stepped on a landmine and lived to tell the tale. He made a full recovery and lived to the age of 72. You can read Koivunen’s story in his own words here.

[has-gilgamesh-doneanythingwrong]

Gilgamesh's Bizarre McDonalds Adventure

A short story about Gilgamesh's first experience at McDonalds. A great adventure ensues!!!

It was a blistering hot day within the city; golden rays of sunlight beaming overhead. As Gilgamesh made his way through the bustling masses of humans surrounding his resplendent visage, he caught sight of a rather mundane building, with sparkling golden arches attached to it. Although its architecture was bland- if not entirely disappointing for the king-he appreciated their logo.

"Hoh, what an amusing use of gold that is!" Perching his Gucci brand sunglasses on the bridge of his perfectly-shaped nose, curiosity danced a merry jig within his heart. He would check out this location, poste-haste!

Seas of passers-by split in two, as they gazed in awe at the fashionable king of heroes, mouths agape with wonder. As Gilgamesh soaked within the ecstasy of receiving such arduous attention, he trooped inside of the local McDonalds. He was a man on a mission. As he gazed upon the glowing boards, and begrudgingly joined the queue; he formulated an order within his mind.

'Although one such as I should have no need to wait, I shall exercise patience for now.' Gilgamesh was much more patient than some would perceive him to be. Although he possessed disdain for the laws of the mongrels, he would sometimes abide to them.

Finally. The queue had ever-so-rightfully dispersed, finally giving him the chance to make an order! As Gilgamesh glided towards the counter, his gleaming red orbs widened with horror. Bright orange hair, golden eyes, and a worn-out expression...

Standing right before him was none other than his master, Gudako.

"Hello, how may I collect your order- HOLY SHIT!" Ruby red eyes gazed into amber ones; confusion etched upon both of their faces. "G-GILGAMESH?! WHY ARE YOU AT MCDONALDS?!"

"Heh, you've asked a good question, mongrel," Plonking his arm upon Gudako's worktop, he leans forward; eyes gleaming. "It was nothing but a mere coincidence! Places as inferior as these don't usually garner my attention, but..."

"...You liked the golden arches of the logo, didn't you?" Gudako couldn't help but crack a grin at that.

"You know your king well." It took all of Gudako's strength to stop herself from bursting out into laughter from that.

Lowering her cap so that Gilgamesh couldn't catch her befuddled expression, she sighs. "But to think we'd meet when I'm on shift! That's a funny coincidence."

"If only I had known sooner. I would've taken great pleasure in extorting my connection with you to obtain an endless supply of nuggets!" Realization dawned upon Gilgamesh, as he snapped his fingers. "On that note. I shan't dally any further. Bring me two units of 20-piece chicken nuggets, Gudako!"

"Understood." It took Gudako a monumental amount of effort to stop herself from laughing at the sheer absurdity of this situation. On average, she found him to be utterly frightening; but during times such as these, he was quite fun to be around.

"That'll be USD $10-" A massive golden bar smashed against the counter, as the surrounding customers' eyes popped out of their sockets. "...I only asked for $10..." No matter how many times Gudako tried to pass the gold bar back, Gilgamesh vehemently refused. "B-but, Gilgamesh...W-we can't melt gold at McDonalds, you know..."

"And why should I care? This gold bar is for nobody but you. Take that as payment for providing me with such ample entertainment." Gilgamesh deviously winked as he left the counter, leaving an array of gobsmacked staff and customers behind. "Despite being in such a drab location; today's customer service was well beyond my expectations!!" As he went to collect his order- as fellow staff yelled and cheered as they crowded around the gold- Gudako desperately desired to be swallowed up by the ground.

'W-what the hell...' Gilgamesh really did march to the beat of his own drum sometimes...

|o|

Confidentially cradling two boxes of nuggets within his arms, Gilgamesh was about to make his way towards his seat; until a small figure bashed against his leg.

'Of all the godforsaken things to happen-' Gilgamesh was fully prepared to eviscerate the being who would dare to collide with his leg. However, he rescinded once he caught sight of what it was.

"M-my chicken nuggets...." It was none other than a small child, their nuggets splayed across the floor. "My poor nuggets..." As the child began to burst into tears, Gilgamesh crouched besides them.

"Mongrel." Gilgamesh commanded their attention instantly, as they spun to face him. "You should employ the utmost of caution when traipsing around places such as these." Feeling ashamed, the kid was about to burst into tears again, until Gilgamesh softly placed a hand on their shoulders; his expression warm. "Shh, there's no need to cry."

"B-but sire, my nuggets...They're the highlight of my day..."

"Hoh, is that so?" As the kid nodded their head, the king cackled with laughter. "You possess rather fine tastebuds, young one. Well then, shall I pay you with some nuggets in reparation?" The kid's eyes leapt with joy, as Gilgamesh passed him an entire box of nuggets. "Now, be off."

The kid happily yelled 'thank you!' as they waved and ran back to their table. Although Gilgamesh was a little pained to be passing with his nuggets, he didn't mind lending the child a hand.

However, he wouldn't have to mourn his nuggets for long! Not too soon after, another staff member passed him a new 20 pack of nuggets. "Here you go. The boy's parent wanted to give you a peace offering or something-" Before the staff could finish speaking, Gilgamesh randomly thrust a $10 dollar bill into their hand. "W-whoa, what's this?"

"Your tip. Take it."

It looked like he'd still get to eat 40 nuggets, after all.

|o|

As he finally located an empty table situated by the window, a set of very familiar figures assaulted his vision. A bespectacled purple-haired girl, a man decked in a cursed Hawaiian T-shirt, another character with spiky white hair; and a radiant, red-haired woman were all seated together, sharing a vast array of fast food.

"Oho, look who the cat decided to drag in here today!" Gilgamesh all but exclaimed, as he smirked at the unlucky bundle of servants.

"...I could say the exact same thing." Archer sighed, as he shifted as far away from Gilgamesh as possible, as Mash dropped her fries into her milkshake in shock- Boudicca almost choking on her burger.

"G-geh, Gilgamesh? What the hell are you doing here?!" Lancer Cu's face contorted with displeasure. "Of all the fucking people to appear..."

"And why should I satisfy you with an answer, mongrel?" Gilgamesh's response elicited nothing but sighs. "Let me hazard a guess- that faker over there is the reason why you're all gathered here today."

"That's just like you, to ask us for an answer; without providing one of your own. How classy of you." Archer was practically radiating with sarcasm. Before the two of them could start an argument, Mash cut in.

"Yes, we decided to give Gudako a surprise visit today!" Mash all but beamed. "I'm glad to see senpai working so hard at her job." As her and Boudica openly explained their motives to the king, Archer sighed.

At this rate, he'd never be rid of Gilgamesh.

TO BE CONTINUED....(lmao its only a parody fic)

[naitiaclo960writings]

Day 8 - Heartless

(Warnings: Past major character’s death and quick mention of disease / grief. It’s an happy ending tho)

September

When Castiel fell asleep in the operating room on the morning of September 14, he was prepared to never wake up again. He had never been a religiously committed man unlike his parents, and yet he knew that he had prayed before closing his eyes.

It has been more than 3 months since he entered the list of organ recipients to replace his heart tired by illness. Unfortunately, he had inherited a heart malformation from birth and had survived to the age of 28 without being too disabled, but the congenital heart disease had caught up with him midyear. After a whole series of tests and a permanent hospitalization, the doctors had been very clear: either he had a heart transplant or he had only a few months left to live.

The hardest part was seeing his friends and family coming to see him every day with a darker face as nothing moved on the side of the organ center. Castiel was aware that he was not a priority among the thousands of people in need of a heart in the United States, but he tried to remain optimistic for the people he loved. His fight was rewarded a few days ago when he was told he had found a match donor.

For medical reasons, Castiel and his family weren’t allowed to know who the donor was. It was obviously not the priority in the eyes of all, but Castiel had insisted on knowing more and he had simply been informed that a heart had become available following a fatal road accident in the nearby city. There was something macabre about celebrating someone’s death, but that person had been generous enough to help other souls struggling to live and he could only salute that gesture.

"Take a deep breath." The nurse intimated, securing a mask on his face.

Thus the day of the fateful operation had arrived and Castiel was terrified. There were so many things to consider, so many factors that could tip the scales one way or the other. After one last thought to his family and, surprisingly, to his donor’s family, Castiel did as he was asked.

* * *

October

The operation was a success. He opened his eyes after said surgery. There was nothing more to say except that Castiel was grateful every day for the new beating heart in his chest. It was with this heart that he could now embrace his loved ones, laugh with his friends and discover a world he thought destined to disappear beyond the doors of this hospital.

Castiel was still in hospital and in the recovery phase, but he was doing well and could be out very soon according to his doctors. He had seen the scar on his chest last week and he couldn’t help but cherish it. This mark was the sign that he had survived. The sign that he had the right to live longer and to continue to build his life away from the health problems that had accompanied him all his life.

He was currently distracted by the television channels in his room — the afternoon programs were truly deplorable — when the nurse came in to serve him his meal.

"Hi Clarence. How’s my hottest patient today?" She exclaimed.

Castiel turned his head towards her with a small awkward smile as usual. He stood up gently in bed. 

"Hello Meg." He said politely. "I’m fine, my scar doesn’t even itch anymore."

Meg was definitely his favorite nurse and it seemed to be mutual. She had told him one day that she always arranged to be assigned to his room, for she liked their conversations, and Castiel could only agree with her. Despite her bad girl tease, Meg was now a good friend, always listening and present to support him in addition to being a good caregiver. Her honesty had helped Castiel to carry on in his fight against the disease and during his remission. They sometimes spent long minutes discussing their respective lives before Meg’s pager rang and she was called away. In addition, she sometimes smuggled him chocolate bars to make up for the hospital food and Castiel calling it "a survival aid".

"I hope so!" Meg said, setting up his lunch tray with a small smile." But at least it has the merit of giving you a little adventurous side. Did I ever tell you I have a thing for guys with chest scars?"

Castiel laughed softly, playing the game they both took pleasure in maintaining. Despite everything, it didn’t go any further than that: a game to brighten their days. Both knew how to settle for their already atypical friendship.

"At least twice a day." Castiel joked while leaning in his pillows. "Did anyone leave a message for me today?"

Meg could not help sighing and Castiel pinched his lips with sympathy.

They both knew what that meant. Castiel had insisted on registering on a site that put organ donor families and recipients in contact. However, the process was complex and if the family of his donor did not post any message on this site, then Castiel would have no chance to get in touch with them. Yet he was almost obsessed with this situation. He had this need, no, this irrepressible urge to thank the family of the one who had saved his life. It was something so important and, although he respected the choice of some to remain anonymous, he felt that he would not be able to leave this all behind until he had put a definitive end to this chapter of his life.

"No, Clarence, squat" Meg shook her head. "And even if they did, you know very well that you will not be able to contact them. The site does not allow any personal information or too intimate exchanges between families."

"I know." Castiel replied, abashed while planting his fork in the mashed peas. "But perhaps they will make an exception? I just want to know them and thank them for the gesture of their loved one".

Meg clicked her tongue while pushing the wagon towards the door.

"I know you want to do the right thing, you’re a damn angel with a halo over your head." She gave him a small grin of disgust that made Castiel smile. "But what if they didn’t want to meet you? They are probably—"

"Living a difficult situation and I would only remind them of their loss, yes, I know." Castiel mumbled without being able to help it. "But… Maybe that they also would like to know that the death of their loved one helped other people cope. It’s possible Meg. And maybe they just don’t know how to contact me or-"

Meg shook her head again with a little compassionate pout.

"Even if they knew, handsome, they couldn’t. It’s against the law. Medical confidentiality and all that crap." She sighed before she came to sit on the chair beside him and put her feet on his bed.

Castiel let out a groan of frustration.

"Yes… But there are necessarily registers somewhere, a way to find a contact." Suddenly, something seemed to light up in his eyes and he turned his hopeful face towards Meg.

"Oh no, don’t give me that look." She groaned, knowing that it was not good news.

Castiel ignored her.

"Could you have access to organ donor records? You told me the heart came from the next town."

"And just by doing that, I’ve already told you too much." Meg said, raising an insolent eyebrow.

"You must be able to find an address, right? There must be even a name or maybe a phone number. I mean, if it’s a medical secret then the information has to be somewhere. If I could just put my finger on a semblance of something, it would be…" He moistened his lips, thinking. " It would be incredible."

Meg grumbled again, throwing her head back with exaggeration.

"Let’s say I have access to this information, and I mean maybe. Just giving it to you could cost me my job, Clarence. Why is it so important for you to find the name of a dead guy?" She snapped.

At these words Castiel’s face slumped slightly. He remained silent for a moment, seeking the right answer to this question. Meanwhile, he felt his heart squeeze in his chest and the blood it sent to his brain was enough to formulate his next words.

"Because it is unfair that I survived among so many others." He said." My donor had relatives, maybe siblings, a dog, friends and all lost something too valuable to be replaced in this car accident. Yet that’s how organ donation works. Someone dies and allows others to live. But I know that, if I had died on that operating table, my parents would have liked to know through whom I would have continued to live. I feel responsible Meg."

Castiel took a shaky breath before gently biting his lip while his friend welcomed his words with contemplative silence. Television continued to gossip in the background, but Castiel no longer heard it, lost in his thoughts.

"And yet, you are not." Meg said gently, leaving aside her usual sarcasm this time.

Castiel nodded slowly.

"I know." He sighed again before returning to his plate. "I’m sorry, you’re right. I can’t ask you anything like that anyway, it was selfish of me."

Following this, only the noise of the cutlery against the ceramics as well as the television journalist was heard in the hospital room. Meg didn’t move, didn’t open her mouth either, while each of them thought about their commitments in this story.

Finally, after several minutes of silence, the nurse sighed dramatically.

"What the hell wouldn’t I do for those beautiful blue eyes." She said under her breath. "Okay, I’ll see what I can do about the address." She says while rolling her eyes before standing up.

Castiel turned his head so quickly towards her that he was afraid to break his neck.

"What?" He asked, stunned.

"But I can’t guarantee you anything, Clarence." Meg told him while sighing. "You don’t access their organ donor files like that, but… I may have a couple of people I could contact. But it’s just between us."

She glared at him, and Castiel nodded, mouth open.

"I... of course."

Meg swore softly.

"One more thing." She said." I’ll try everything, but if I don’t find anything, you have to promise me you won’t try to get a name anymore. Do we have a deal?"

Castiel closed his mouth in a discreet snap before taking his friend’s last words into consideration. Finally, he nodded again.

"I promise you." He said seriously.

"Good." Meg sighed. "You’ll owe me one, angel."

A smile appeared again on Castiel’s face, more tender this time, his heart still playing up its own behind the scar of his chest.

"Thank you, Meg." He whispered.

"Shuddup." She grumbled with a wink before her pager rang in the room.

In no time, she waved at him and disappeared in the corridor, taking the empty wagon with her. Castiel went back to his bed with a light smile on his face. Yes, Meg was a good friend.

* * *

November

Meg’s research had still not yielded anything even a month after Castiel left the hospital. Although he was now alone again in his large apartment, there was something exhilarating about being able to live normally as if he had not nearly died a few months ago. Finding a job at the florist in his town had been the first step in his new life as he slowly resumed a normal social life with his friends and family.

His own search had also given nothing and the inbox of the website that could put him in contact with his donor’s family remained hopelessly empty. Nevertheless, Castiel did not get the idea out of his head. He often dreamed of meeting these strangers, of the words he would say to them if they had the chance to do so.

It was during a cold November evening, while he was bundled up in a plaid on his couch in front of a TV show, that Castiel’s cellphone rang. It was not something particularly unusual, but the late hour of the evening immediately gave this call something special. When he reached out to his phone, he could see Meg’s name on the screen.

"Hello?" He said, picking up, his heartbeat accelerating.

"Hi Clarence." Meg, a net of excitement in the voice, hastily replied. "Tell me you’re sitting, handsome, I’d hate to hear you fall on your ass because of what I’m about to tell you."

At this, Castiel straightened up in the sofa, his heart going up his throat.

"I’m sitting." He simply said, his fingers tightening around his phone.

"Okay, because I have something for you!" Meg hummed. "The info cost me at least three boxes of chocolate and the promise of a date to the shady guy in the operating room. You know, the one who keeps wearing Britney Spears t-shirts under his blouses? He’d be doing karaoke parties with the girl from the fourth floor that I wouldn’t even be surprised at-

"Meg." Castiel impatiently cut her off.

"Yes, yes. All this to say that he knows who approved your transplant application. So…" She said with pride, leaving a second of silence to settle her effect. I know where your little heart comes from and how to reach out to the family!"

At once, Castiel felt the air blocked in his throat. These words, he had waited for them for months while everything gradually turned into a crazy and inaccessible hope. Suddenly, through a simple phone call, Meg had just remade his world.

"Are you certain?" He finally asked, with a short breath.

"Oh, Clarence, please! Don’t you trust your favorite nurse anymore?" Meg laughed immediately.

Castiel shook his head, a bit stunned. Meg resumed.

"I sent you everything by e-mail, you must have received it." She said with malice. "But remember: keep it under your hat pretty boy. You don’t know me."

"Yes, I... of course." Castiel stuttered, rising to rush towards his computer.

"Hey." Meg called him through the phone, her voice softer. "I know it’s important to you, but… take the time to assimilate the information, okay? You don’t have to contact them tonight."

Castiel knew she was right, but the excitement was in his chest. However, he took the time to thank Meg warmly and invite her to dinner next week before hanging up. A few minutes later he had his eyes fixed on a brand new e-mail in his inbox. Castiel took a great inspiration. He had waited so long for this moment that, now that he was faced with a fait accompli, he was almost afraid to go for it.

Finally, he found the courage to click on the screen. His eyes quickly passed over her friend’s introductory text before fixating on a name written in bold as well as a lot of personal information listed just below. Reading these few lines, Castiel felt his heart racing again.

Samuel William Winchester

Born: March 2, 1983, in Lawrence, Kansas

Died: September 13, 2006, in Des Moines, Iowa

Cause: Head injury, road accident

Blood type: O negative

Applicant for organ donation: Yes

Organ removed: Heart

The data sheet thus continued in a professional coldness that affected Castiel slightly as he felt his throat tightening. His donor was only 23 when he died. He read every piece of information carefully before he got to the part he was most interested in.

Contact person in case of problem: Dean Winchester

Donor affiliation: older brother

Castiel felt his hands become sweaty as his gaze slid over the address and telephone number of Dean Winchester. A heavy silence filled his apartment, Castiel still unable to detach his gaze from this decisive email.

That’s it. The family of his donor was only a phone call away and he could finally thank the entourage of his savior. However, with this crucial information came a bitter feeling that Castiel had not apprehended. He remained all night pacing in his living room, his eyes regularly returning to the phone number taunting him from the screen of his computer.

* * *

December

Three months. Three long months since his little brother had disappeared in a car accident, leaving him and their parents in the grip of nameless sadness. He could barely breathe most of the time thinking of that youthful face he would never see again.

Dean passed a tired hand over his face as he walked past the windows of an umpteenth shop decorated with trees and garlands. Celebrating Christmas seemed absurd, totally meaningless in such a context. What’s the point if he can’t see Sammy’s jaded face in front of his usual porn magazine that he buys especially for him every year, for the joke? His world has been tasteless for far too long now.

Mary managed to keep her head above water half the time, calling him every day to hear from him, to which Dean responded with as many reassuring words as he could. Everyone knew that most of them sounded empty, but they could only pretend to be okay these past few months. Dean was wondering if the pain would eventually go away. He was told yes. He doubted that. John, on the other hand, drank a little more every day and Dean felt guilty about leaving his mother with him all day, regardless of Mary’s reassuring words.

The ground seemed to collapse under his feet as Dean looked for a way out. The truth is, he didn’t know how to do it without breaking everything around him. His days passed one after the other in a sickly similarity: work, eat, reassure, start again. He no longer had his stupid little brother to listen to his stories, no one to share his Friday night evenings with and who would be there to support him in any situation. He had his friends left, but, honestly, no one could understand him like Sam did for 23 years.

An umpteenth sigh passed through the barrier of his lips when a rock-like music rose out of his pocket. Already worried that it was still his mother, Dean took out his cell phone. Unknown number. He raised an eyebrow and picked up.

"Hello?" He said in a hoarse voice.

The line remained silent and Dean frowned. He could hear a breath at the other end of the line, so he tried again.

"Hello?"

"Oh, uh, yes! Hello, sir, uh, Dean?" An uncertain voice immediately answered with a short breath and tangled words.

Dean raised an eyebrow. Had he given his phone number to anyone recently? Not to his knowledge in any case, he very rarely went outside the garage in which he worked. Curious, Dean turned into a quiet street to concentrate on his interlocutor.

"Who am I speaking with?" He asked with a hint of sarcasm.

The man on the other side of the phone seemed to take a breath before resuming in an equally nervous tone.

"I’m sorry, we don’t really know each other. I am aware that my call may be unwelcome, in fact I hesitated for a long time before contacting you." The man stuttered.

Dean sighed.

"Well, listen, if it’s to sell me something then I’m not interested, thank you."

"No!" The man quickly added. "No, I don’t want to sell you anything. I…" Another inspiration."My name is Castiel Novak. I live in Waterloo. I know this is going to sound weird, but… I received your brother Samuel’s heart."

Dean remained silent for a long time, trying to assimilate each of the words he had just heard. At the sound of Sam’s name, he thought he was dying a bit more. A kind of thud rose in his ears, so that he thought he had fallen into a pool while he was not paying attention to his steps. Besides, Dean wasn’t even sure where he was, now standing still in the middle of the street. Only a deep and sizzling voice gradually emerged from his torpor.

"I am sorry." Castiel went on after a long silence. "I’ve taken the liberty of contacting you, but I can assure you that I don’t want to cause you any more trouble than that." He seemed to be searching for his words for a moment." I know I could never thank Samuel for his gesture, but... your brother saved my life. I just wanted to let you know how grateful I was, even though I couldn’t replace what you lost. If there’s anything I can do to help, it would be my pleasure. However, I also understand that you would never want to hear from me again... But I can assure you that I will take care of his heart. Samuel really did a lot of good in my life and with my loved ones." 

Castiel started to mutter, as if he was suddenly deeply embarrassed by this phone call. Dean was convinced that he had to send back the image of a man ravaged by grief right now, his arms swaying and his gaze lost.

"Sam." He finally replied in a trembling voice. Dean took the time to clear his throat before continuing. "He preferred to be called Sam."

"Okay." Castiel said after another moment of hesitation. "Well… Sam really is a hero to me, Dean, I wanted you to know that."

Dean nodded stupidly, no matter how Castiel couldn’t see him. He felt that the sky had just fallen on his head, he felt completely disoriented. Of course Sammy was a hero, the rest of humanity didn’t even know how lucky they were to be around him. Dean knew that Sam had donated his organs, he had even given everything he could, because he was like that. But knowing that the heart was beating in someone else’s body, giving them a chance to continue to live and breathe… It was something he hadn’t really thought about until then.

"I’m going to leave you, I’m sorry I interfered in your life like this." Castiel apologized again. "I will not call this number again, I promise. I hope everything will be all right for your family, sincerely."

Dean’s heart skipped a beat and his muscles began to move, pushing him to almost scream on the phone.

"No, wait!" Realizing that Castiel had still not hung up, Dean quieted down, a shiver in his voice. "I don’t even know how you found this number, but… Well, it doesn’t matter. You’re from Waterloo? Iowa?

"Yes." Castiel said. "I’m about a two-hour drive from Des Moines. I don’t know if you live nearby, but-

"Des Moines, yeah." Dean replied, stunned. How did this guy know so much about Sam, he thought that the organ donation was anonymous? "Would you be available to meet in the week?"

An umpteenth silence answered his question and, frankly, Dean himself did not know why he had asked it. Maybe he was holding on to a ghost, a hopeless, senseless hope of finding something that once belonged to Sam. But what else did he have to lose now?

"… Are you going to punch me in the face if I say yes?" Castiel asked with distrust.

Surprisingly, it snatched a small laugh from Dean who barely recognized the sound of his voice. He hadn’t laughed that easily in weeks now.

"No." He answered. "I just want to talk, if that’s okay?"

He didn’t know what to think of this situation, it was too surreal. Was he angry with this man? No, not really. Sad? Maybe, but nothing new. Curious? Certainly. There were so many questions that now turned in his mind, almost stunning him. Never before had he heard a similar story and, yes, he was driven to the unknown by the despair of that mourn which he had never ended. But to hell with it, he needed to feel Sam’s heart beating against his hand again.

"Okay, I’d love to, then. What’s your schedule?"

Dean felt a piece of his soul warming up.

* * *

January

Their first encounter had definitely been strange and completely atypical. They had arranged to meet in a café halfway between their two cities, and despite a tense start, Dean and Castiel had talking much of the afternoon. Dean had been biting his tongue all along so he wouldn’t ask the fateful question of "excuse me, can we stop talking so I can put my hand against your heart?". But Castiel had finally come to the point by asking him if he could tell him about Sam and things had been done naturally. It was as if someone had opened the floodgates and quickly, Dean was unable to stop the incessant flow of words about his little brother. He told him the most important thing, from his childhood memories to that weird tic that Sam had every time he was upset.

Castiel had then smiled softly at each of his anecdotes and, when Dean had finally been allowed to feel this pulsating heart against his hand, Castiel had not moved. Dean was almost certain that he had let slip a strangled exclamation, but Castiel had just contented himself with that sweet and understanding look. At the end of their appointment, they had agreed to meet again. They both needed it.

The month of February began on another encounter at the park this time, at Des Moines. The winter was still rough and persistent this year, so they had decided to go and enjoy a hot chocolate near the pond. Dean hadn’t told his parents about it, not yet, but this meeting with Castiel did him as much good as the first. When he returned home, he found himself feeling much lighter than before.

They did not wait until the following month to meet again, and their third meeting took place in Waterloo this time. Castiel had invited him to dinner at a restaurant he called "the best in town" and Dean could not possibly say no to the prospect of a good meal.

March hosted their first meeting in a private place. Dean had taken care to clean up the mess from top to bottom before Castiel rang his doorbell and, seeing the huge bouquet of flowers that his friend had brought him, an easy smile spread over his face. Easy. It was the right word to define Castiel. Everything was easy with him, obvious and sweet. He never judged him, no matter what topic of conversation he decided to share with him. Castiel listened and supported and Dean had not felt so free and understood since at least 6 months now. One evening, he even wildly wondered if Sam’s heart had not completely taken possession of Castiel to make him this radiant and exceptional person. Until then, Dean had never known anyone but his brother who could read him like an open book.

In April and several appointments later, however, Dean understood that it was not really a fraternal connection he shared with Castiel. He learned to dwell more on the looks and gestures exchanged. Everything was crazy, insane, but once again, everything had always been crazy between them, and this from the first day.

May marked the beginning of a mental breakdown for Dean. He was definitely falling in love with his now best friend and that terrified him. What if he was wrong? What if the fear of losing sight of the only thing that still connected him to his deceased brother led him to feel faked feelings for Castiel? He had no right to be wrong here, he could not make his friend suffer, for he was too stubborn and miserable to properly analyze his own feelings. His cowardice pushed him away from Castiel — "to avoid making him suffer," he said — and the deep despair that this created in each of them was almost as hard as a second mourning. Almost.

Despite his best efforts not to hurt his best friend, June began with a considerable argument. Castiel felt rightfully unfairly rejected, and Dean could not bring himself to pronounce the words that burned his throat. However, neither of them expressed themselves more when Castiel, after a final overwhelming exclamation, brutally kissed Dean’s lips. The latter greeted him with a sob before deepening their kiss. No, Dean did not only love that beating heart in his chest… He had fallen in love with so much more.

July and August passed at an alarming speed as each of the two men discovered another facet of the other. Castiel had met Dean’s parents and Dean had not seen his mother so happy for a long time now. However, the one-year date of Sam’s accident was fast approaching and Dean could not ignore the weight it added to his shoulders. Little by little, Sam’s heart had become Castiel’s one in his eyes and his boyfriend was gradually filling the void that he felt deep inside him, but this dammed month of September was now taunting him every day on the calendar.

"Would you like to put your head against my chest?" Castiel once proposed as they both prepare to go to bed.

Dean froze, air jammed in his lungs.

"What?" He asked, stunned. He wasn’t sure if he heard correctly.

Castiel smiled softly, as always, before taking his hand in his.

"Just tonight." He replied, as if that explains everything.

And without really understanding how, Dean nodded and lay down with Castiel. Docilely, he had let his companion draw him to himself until his ear rested against the scar of his chest. Some breathing later, Dean was able to discern the beats under the mutilated skin and the world stopped spinning. He remained there for hours, his eyes open but lost in nostalgia and stifling emotion. He was alive and well, determined not to disappear. Not this time. When Dean began to cry silently, Castiel simply hugged him harder to comfort him, without a word. This was so precious to him. It quickly became their favorite position, Dean kissing the scar whenever he could.

September passed by in a bitter sweet atmosphere that neither Dean nor Castiel regretted sharing together. One evening in October, bundled up under the duvet to fight off a new winter, Dean could not take his eyes off the blue gaze smiling back. He thought of what his last months had been, what he had lost, but also what he had found. In front of him, Castiel squeezed the hand on his chest while breathing the same warm air as his partner. Their heart rate was calm and painless.

"I love you." Dean huffed at the bend of another tender smile.

At his words, Dean felt Castiel’s heart miss a beat under his palm and maybe, just maybe, was this the way his brother told him how happy he was for him.

* * * @winchester-reload

I hope you enjoyed it! I would really like to develop other moments like their first meeting or the evolution of their friendship until they become a couple. However, I had only one day to write and I had to make choices :). I am proud of this work but also rather doubtful of the final result so, if you liked it, please take the time to leave me a quick review in the comments. It would mean a lot to me. Thanks again for reading to the end, see you tomorrow!

You can find the whole series on Ao3

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[oh-boy-me]

:0 could I have a beel,asmo,belphie,lucifer,mammon, satan (not including levi) and diavolo playing videogames? I thought it would be kinda funny since they're all really old- except for levi of course haha

Ohhh this should be fun!

Decided to do individual HCs for this one instead of a group thing so they wouldn’t be limited to multiplayer games.

Most of them, save for a certain prince, have been exposed to games a fair amount by proximity to Levi.

---

Lucifer:

Lucifer has a Mononoke Land account so that he’ll get the email notifications for events and can therefore keep track of Levi’s whereabouts.  He’s never played the game, though, nor downloaded the app, and he has no intention of doing so.

In general, he’s not much of a gamer.  The most gaming he gets done is minesweeper on Windows XP.  He doesn’t have the time, and it was never something he could get into.

That isn’t to say that he owns zero games, though.  His favorite genre is turn-based strategy, because he can afford to look away from them, and they make him think and plan.

He doesn’t like the hyper-realistic ones, though.  Things like Civilization and Here Be Dragons are up his alley, Hearts of Iron not so much.

He doesn’t care too much about the story, but a good soundtrack is mandatory.

Also he’s an old man so the controls also have to be intuitive or he just won’t be able to play.  Why is he jumping when he presses A he thought that was the attack button.

The type of player who needs to get every achievement.  A completionist.

When the group gets together for the rare multiplayer night, he has no idea what he’s doing and yet still manages to do well.  It’s kind of infuriating.

He won’t make alliances with anyone, no, it’s every man for himself.  He also actively targets Mammon no matter what game they’re playing.

The fact that he doesn’t really get it protects his pride when Levi inevitably wipes the floor with him.

Mammon:

Mammon actually does game a little bit in his spare time, mostly with Levi.  He’s got a couple consoles and is more open to different genres than Lucifer is.

He thrives in any game where the main goal is to rack up as many points or as much profit as possible.  He’s undefeated in tycoons and pinball.  (Tetris is an exception; he’s terrible at Tetris.  Stupid spacial recognition.)

The RNG elements boil down to his insane luck, but he’s actually very smart when it comes to investments and stuff, so it’s not like he’s only using his luck to get by.

If the games have multiplayer, even better!  Nothing like kicking Levi, MC and Belphie’s asses in a game of Fortune Street!

He also tends to like the action-focused games that Levi plays.  Not so much into turn-based RPGs, but he enjoys stuff where the enemies spawn, like in Zelda or Rune Factory.  And he’s great at button mashing in fighting games, although Levi, who actually knows how to play them, always beats him.

Mammon uses items as soon as he gets them, and is too busy rushing a boss to care about learning its patterns and strategizing.

Skips cutscenes even on his first run.  Levi and Satan hate him for it.

Like mentioned before, he gets an unfair disadvantage in game nights because everyone targets him.  Especially in those games with RNG, because otherwise he WILL win.

He’s banned from PTW games because he will indeed PTW.

Satan:

Satan is another one who doesn’t play too many games, and that might be for the best because he’s a nightmare to play with.

The sorest loser, and a pretty nasty winner too.  He insists on the hardest difficulty and then rage quits at the slightest inconvenience.

He will play when prompted, though; he’s not above hanging out with his brothers.  His favorite sorts of games are ones with a good story and/or good puzzles.  His planning is more on the tactics side, as opposed to Lucifer’s strategy, so he would love Fire Emblem.

He WILL drop a game if the story isn’t holding his attention, and he’s done so in the past.

Overly cautious and hoards resources.  He takes the safe route every time.

Also another completionist.

Beel would often ask Satan to help him find out which art pieces were originals and safe to buy in Animal Crossing, and Satan got a little bit interested and ended up making a resident on Beel’s cartridge so the donations could be in his name.  He went on a mini-campaign to drive out the residents he didn’t like, but one of them turned out to be Beel's favorite and he felt terrible about it for weeks.

During family game nights, everyone is always torn between appeasing Satan and telling him to deal with it when he loses.

He also gets angry if he catches on to the fact that they’re letting him win, though.

Probably a genwunner.

Asmodeus:

Asmo enjoys video games.  They don’t fit into his aesthetic so he’s never really tried to understand them, but he doesn’t dislike them by any means.

Gaming is becoming more mainstream though, right?  That’s a whole new audience that could appreciate him.  Maybe, just maybe, he can let himself be a bit of a geek.

Unsurprisingly, he’s got a penchant for games with customization options.  Surprisingly, he also really enjoys FPS games.  If he and Levi ever played at the same time, it would be chaos in the House of Lamentation.

As opposed to his in-your-face attitude, he likes to play sniper units.

He said he wants to tap into the gaming community, but he’s not very good at most of the games he plays so he’s too embarrassed to actually do so.  He does, however, play the Sims on livestream.  He does his best to make the steamiest and most dramatic scenarios happen, and he’ll hold strawpolls to let his viewers make some choices.

Asmo also plays Animal Crossing like a few other brothers, but his island is so well groomed and with just the right residents, it feels like you’re touring an uncanny dystopia and Asmo is the dictator.

When the group gets together, he usually ends up doing the worst.  He’s more interested in executing perfect combos than actually dealing damage, so he’s not aggressive enough to get anything done against players like Levi and Satan.

He’s also not very good at teamwork; he starts yelling at his partner very quickly.

Beelzebub:

Beel doesn’t have a lot of “gamer” in him, but some of his brothers seem to like it so he decided to give it a go.  Turns out his hands are too big, but he makes do.  Kind of.

You’d expect a sports game to be the best for him, since he’s so athletic.  However, it’s BECAUSE he’s so athletic that this sort of game isn’t in his library.  He gets too antsy and bored tapping buttons instead of actually playing the sport.

Beel’s also not an aggressive player in any sense of the word.  He feels guilty even hurting the most basic of slimes.

No, no games are better for Beel than the stress-free, casual life simulators.  Animal Crossing is no surprise his favorite one right now.  Satan handles the museum for him while Beel gets to do whatever he feels like in a world where the biggest threat is a wasp.

He’ll also play other low stakes games where living your life is the main goal, like Harvest Moon and Stardew Valley.  His big heart can never choose who to marry in those games.

Horror is also ok for him, because while aggression is hard for him, self-defense is not.

He got the Cooking Mama app on his D.D.D. and bit the device in half, so he’s not allowed to touch that franchise anymore.

When the gang meets up, his non-aggressive side sticks around.  In fighting games, he’s more likely to dodge and steer clear of the others, and in other versus games he’s so open to compromise you’d think you were on the same team.

Satan did get him his favorite resident back.

Belphegor:

Belphie probably games the second most after Levi; it’s something that keeps him entertained but doesn’t require him to move very much at all.

I actually have no idea how to describe his preferred genres, but League of Legends and Dark Souls is basically all you need to know.

League lets him socialize a bit, and it’s the game that he and Levi play together most often.  As for Dark Souls, he loves the sort of game where learning your opponent’s every move and outsmarting/outmaneuvering them is the only path to victory.

I guess that would be described as “really hard action-adventure” games?  He’d also like Sekiro.

He also has his own copy of Animal Crossing to visit and play with Beel, but his island is so underdeveloped you’d think he started that same week.

Belphie is the true wild card of family game nights; sometimes he sleeps through the whole thing, while other times he can take down even Levi.

He has everyone’s habits down to a T--Mammon charges in, Asmo does too much setup, Levi’s overconfident--and he knows how to counter each and every one of them.

For someone who’s so much of a cunning player, though, he also misclicks a lot.

He’s the most likely out of his brothers to make alliances.  He’s also the most likely to break alliances.

If he doesn’t think he can win, he’ll choose a player and start sabotaging the game in their favor.

Diavolo:

Lord Diavolo had read about like, Mario?  The little blue hedgehog guy?  But he’d never owned a gaming console before.  He probably thought Neopets was peak gaming.

Levi swore to fix this grievous error, and this was also a mistake, because now Diavolo keeps trying to get Lucifer to play all these hack and slash games with him.

He has legitimately told Lucifer that “if you don’t play Devil May Cry with me THIS devil may cry!”

The games need to always have something happening in them or he’ll get bored, kind of like Satan’s need for a good story, except with action.

It’s also worth mentioning that “play a game with Diavolo” actually means “sit in the same room as Diavolo while he plays.”

And oh boy… is he terrible at these games.

He just button mashes until either he dies or all the enemies die.

Never uses any of the items he gets because he’s sure he’ll need them more later on.  When, Diavolo?  During the staff roll?

Will bomb a door before trying the knob.

Since he’s usually only around Lucifer, who doesn’t want to get sucked into this, and Barbatos, who honestly couldn’t care less about this, he’s been left alone and free to develop these terrible gaming habits.

It’s rare that he comes to family gaming night.  Legend has it that Lucifer’s piercing glare is somehow connected to the fact that his brothers always let Diavolo win.

Masterlist

[ibelieveinharrystyles]

Chapter Ten: We’ll Be A Fine Line

Here it is the final part of Ashley and Harry’s Story! Enjoy!!!

Christmas was a big thing for both the Hanson and Twist families, ever since that fateful day when a new tradition of joint Christmasses was coined, the two families had been intertwined. Not just by their mutual appreciation for the Gavin and Stacey Christmas special, but the adoration between two members of their families, a bond that thanks to the trials and tribulations of life was stronger than it had ever been. At last there was no hostility, no aggression, just love.

Out of the kindness of his heart, Louis had offered to drive Ashley and both the little ones up to Holmes Chapel, normally Harry would, but having just come back from filming in America, his flight had taken him straight into Manchester three days prior, rather than Heathrow. Louis and Eleanor were travelling up to Doncaster anyway, so as far as he was concerned, a little detour wouldn’t be a problem. Christmas Eve was always the best bit, Daisy was finally old enough to appreciate the traditions that Ashley once loved as a child, thankfully the traffic wasn’t too bad after all. “How are those two getting on the back?” Louis asked Ashley from the driver’s seat.

“Daisy’s watching yet another episode of Care Bears on the iPad and Robbie’s spark out, I swear all he does is sleep.” Ashley sighed, admiring her two children who were sitting either side of her in the back of Louis’ car.

“Mummy, when can we get doggies like Brucie and Cliff?” Daisy asked, looking up at from her iPad, as the two dogs sat behind them in the back of the car.

“I think we’ll have to wait and see Dais.” Ashley replied, sharing a knowing look with Eleanor, as she had asked her a few weeks beforehand for recommendations on dog breeders. 

“We’re here!” Daisy clapped in excitement as Louis pulled up on Linda’s driveway.

“Thank you so much for driving us up you two, I owe you big time.” Ashley smiled.

“It’s not a problem darling, Harry wouldn’t have wanted you getting the train, especially with the two littlens.” Louis replied.

“I’m sure my mum will be more than happy for you both to stay for tea.” Ashley offered, unbuckling Robin and putting him in his pram, before helping Daisy out of the car.

“Thanks a lot love, but we should probably get back on the road before the traffic hits, have a lovely Christmas though.” Louis smiled.

“You too, thanks again.” Ashley pushed the pram up the driveway, Linda answering the door almost immediately.

“Hello my lovelies! Merry Christmas!” Linda smiled, greeting them all with warm hugs. “Let me grab your bags for you, Anne and Harry are in the kitchen eating mince pies, Gem and Michael are still on their way.” 

“Harry!” Daisy ran off into the kitchen to find him as Ashley took Robin, who had just stirred from a nap out of his pram.

She made her way into the kitchen, Anne had already met Robin, but this would be the first time Harry saw him, Harry looked up at Ashley from where Daisy was showing him her new dress, “Hello stranger.” Ashley smiled, holding Robin in her arms, “Do you want to meet your little boy?” Harry nodded, standing up to greet him, Ashley passed him over, allowing Harry to hold him close to his chest.

“Hello little man, how’s it going?” Harry asked, rocking him softly as Robin gazed up into his eyes, “You did it Ash, he’s so perfect.”

“No Harry, we did it.”

The smell of Linda’s wonderful homemade Christmas Eve pie and mash spread throughout the house. Michael and Gemma had arrived after a nightmare journey and everyone was finally sitting around the table ready to tuck into a delicious meal. “I just wanted to make a quick toast,” Linda announced, “the past few years have been interesting and difficult for us all, but we made it through the other side. Although we’ve lost people along the way, we’ve gained two new little sweethearts, our little princess daisy, and her beautiful brother, darling Robin, I’m so thankful to you for welcoming me and Ash as part of your family. While we’ve always felt so welcomed and loved in all the years of our friendship, the arrival of little Robbie has finally completed us all as one unit. So let’s raise a glass to chosen family.” Everyone clinked their glasses before proceeding to tuck into their dinner. 

“Thank you for having us Linda, this is beautiful as always.” Anne smiled.

“It’s delicious Linda.” Harry smiled.

After falling asleep in her old bedroom, Ash stirred from her nap to hear nothing but silence from the rest of the house, the nap was well deserved after the lengthy drive up from London. She made her way downstairs to see Harry sat on the sofa, Robin lying peacefully on his chest as he hummed along to the faint sound of Christmas music coming from the speaker on the mantelpiece. “Glad to see you two are getting to know each other, how has he been?” Ashley smiled.

“An absolute angel.” Harry replied as Ashley sat beside him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Where’s the others?” She whispered.

“They took Dais to see the Christmas lights in the village, the little man was getting grizzly so I thought he’d be better off staying here.” Harry explained.

“You’re an incredible dad,” Ashley smiled.

“Ash, I’ve literally known him for less than a day.” Harry chuckled.

“Yeah I know, but I’ve seen you with Daisy and I’ve seen you with our little Robin, and you’re incredible with them both.”

“Mummy it’s Christmas!” Daisy ran into Ashley’s bedroom, jumping up and down on her bed excitedly. Ashley wiped the sleep from her eyes, looking up to see Daisy, and Harry stood by the door holding Robin. “Harry came over to bring us a special Christmas breakfast!” Daisy exclaimed. 

“Merry Christmas,” Harry smiled, sitting on the bed beside Ashley, Robin dressed in a little baby grow covered in Christmas robins.

“Merry Christmas to you too.” Ashley replied, “Come here little man.” Ashley smiled, taking Robin from Harry. 

“Have you told Daisy yet?” Harry asked.

“Told me what?” Daisy interrupted, still jumping up and down on the bed.

“Well if you get dressed we’re going to take you to Nanny Anne’s house to get your first big present.” Ashley told her.

“Okay!” Daisy cried, jumping off the bed and scrambling to find her red dress and white tights. 

They eventually made it to Anne’s house, Daisy was beyond excited, Linda had Robin in her arms to allow Ashley and Harry to focus on Daisy and her present. They led her through the kitchen, both holding a hand each, “Now Daisy, you’ve got to be really quiet when we go into the conservatory,” Harry told her, he opened the door slowly and let Daisy in. “Merry Christmas Daisy.” He led her to the basket in the centre of the room, inside was a fluffy little caramel colour labradoodle puppy. 

“Is it mine?” Daisy asked.

“Yep, she’s your little puppy.” Ashley told her, picking the puppy up and holding her so Daisy could stroke her. “What do you want to call her Dais?” 

“She looks like honey, let’s call her Honey.” Daisy replied, transfixed on her new best friend.

“That’s beautiful Daisy, she’s going to love you.” Harry told her as he crouched beside her, wrapping her in a big hug.

“This is the best Christmas ever.” Daisy smiled.

Everyone else had arrived at Anne’s and they were finally all sitting around the table, tucking into their turkey. “I just wanted to say something,” Ashley said, “I know I’ve been a bit all over the place this year, I messed some of you around, some more than others. But having you all here means a lot to me, I’m so incredibly grateful that my children have such a loving family. I wanted to give you one of your presents early Harry, before we do the rest later, I know we’re not together, but if anything ever happened to me, I’d want to know my children were in safe hands, I’d want to know they had a loving home with a loving father. Which is why I got you this.” 

She handed him a white envelope, he opened it, pulling out several pieces of paper, he scanned over it, before seeing the words ‘adoption proceedings’, “Is this what I think it is?” Harry asked.

“Yeah, Matt hasn’t been an active part of Daisy’s life since her birth, and I spoke to your solicitor and he said it’s completely viable for you to be Daisy’s adoptive father.” Ashley explained.

“This is the best Christmas present you could’ve got me Ash, thank you so much.” He wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tightly.

“I know it’s an unorthodox situation because we’re not together but it feels right.” Ashley told everyone.

“I think it’s a beautiful idea,” Anne smiled, “I know Linda will agree, we’re so proud of you both and we’re so grateful for you giving us two wonderful grandchildren.”

“That made his year Ash,” Gemma whispered to Ashley as they stood at the sink in Anne’s kitchen washing up the last of the dinner plates.

“I’m glad he was happy, it just felt right, even though we aren’t in a relationship he’s been the best father figure Daisy has ever had. When I think about the time I spent with Will, he didn’t love Daisy, he wanted me, Daisy was just an extra. But when it comes to Harry, he accepts that Daisy is part of the package, and he’s happy that she is.” Ashley replied, gazing through to the living room where Daisy and Harry were playing with Honey.

“You’re good for him Ash. You, Daisy and baby Robin keep his world spinning, I know you’ve been through a lot but it’s always going to be you. Regardless of who he’s with he’ll always pick you and the kids, because although he’s probably scared to admit it, he really does adore you.” Gemma told her.

“Mummy! It’s snowing!” Daisy ran into the kitchen screaming hysterically, Harry and Honey trailing behind her. 

Harry chased after her, managing to scoop her up in his arms, “Before we see the snow Dais, do you want to open some more presents?” Harry asked.

“Yes!” Daisy clapped excitedly as Harry bounced her up and down on his hip.

The two families lay flat out on the sofas in Anne’s living room, Daisy was curled up beside Anne, playing with Honey, and baby Robin was fast asleep on Harry’s chest. Ashley stood outside in the cold, flakes of snow dancing through the lengths of her hair. She stared up at the blanket of stars, one thing she loved about Holmes Chapel was how clear the sky was, unlike London, was how clear the sky remained each night. “I wondered where you got to,” She turned to see Harry joining her as they both leant against the fence of Anne garden terrace. 

“It’s a madhouse in there, I’m surprised Daisy still has so much energy.” Ashley remarked.

“Well at least she’ll sleep like an angel tonight.” Harry chuckled.

“Fingers crossed,” Ashley smiled, “I’ve had the loveliest day today, I’m really glad you’re home.”

“I am too, it was great working on another film, but nothing beats being here with you and the little ones.” Harry replied.

“Harry when we started this year together, I told you I wanted to take things one step at a time, because I was scared, I was scared of what would happen if I opened my heart again, I was scared of getting hurt, and I was scared of Daisy getting caught up in everything.” Ashley told him, “When really I was incomplete without you.” 

“Ash what are you trying to say?” Harry asked.

“I want us to try again, as a couple,” Ashley explained, “I know that this might be a bit sudden, but seeing your bond with Robin, and seeing the way you are with Daisy. It doesn’t end there either, you’ve done so much for me, you’ve been more of a rock for me than anyone ever has, I was just so naive I didn’t realise that even when you were half way across the world you were still right there by my side.” 

“Ash,” Harry whispered, taking hold of her hands, “I want nothing more than to be with you.” 

“It’s funny, isn’t it?” Ashley kept her eyes on Harry’s, tracing delicate patterns across the skin of his knuckles as a smile beamed across her face. “That we always knew, but were too scared to say anything.” 

“I never felt the need to say it.” Harry’s gaze was intent, as a tentative grin appeared on his face. “But I love you.”

“Forever?” Ashley whispered.

“Always, my golden girl.”

[busterkeatonfanfic]

Chapter 22

As Nelly washed her face and braided her hair that night, she could scarcely believe that the weekend was almost over. It had been a happy blur of fishing, bridge lessons, walks in the woods, songs under the stars, and tonight a campfire and a ukulele concert after a dinner of wheat cakes and maple syrup. And of course, not a trivial amount of that time had been passed in bed with Buster. As she’d spent those blissful hours with him, time zipped by without her noticing. 

Buster was humming to himself from the other room and Nelly wondered if the weekend had gone the way he’d expected. She wondered, not the first time, what had he expected. From the way he was behaving, he seemed cheerful and serene, but she wasn’t sure. Men were mysterious. Tomorrow he would go back to his wife and she would return to being a cog in the United Artists machine.

Before leaving the washroom, she brushed her teeth. She was half-tempted to shed her chemise and knickers ahead of bed; they always ended up torn off in the middle of the night anyway.

In the other room, Buster was sitting up in bed with the blankets pulled over his lap and her little red book in his hands, paging through Mistress Nell Gwyn. She felt a flush of embarrassment and regretted not bringing a more serious book along.

“Are you reading it ‘cause the main girl’s called Nelly?” he said, looking up at her.

Her face warmed as she checked the lock to the front door and turned off the floor lamp near the kitchen. “No, I like Marjorie Bowen and I hadn’t read this one yet. The name’s just a coincidence.” And it was, truly. “What do you read?” she said to switch the subject. They’d gotten around to discussing their favorite music (they both liked Bix Beiderbecke, Louis Armstrong and his Hot Five, and Paul Whiteman), but not their favorite books. 

Buster looked slightly abashed as she switched off the table lamp by the sofa. “Does Popular Mechanics count?”

“Well, not as far as novels go,” she said, crossing the room and lifting the corner of the sheets on her side of the bed to slide in next to Buster. 

“I read a dime novel once and awhile. Mostly don’t have the time,” said Buster. “But your book—she’s sweet on old King Charlie?”

Nelly took the book from him, amused. “King Charles II,” she corrected. 

“Why d’ya like it?” said Buster. He burrowed deeper into the covers and snuggled against her shoulder like a boy wanting a bedtime story. 

“I like novels based on real things. I get a history lesson and the people from back then feel more real.”

“Did you see my picture The General?” asked Buster.

“Of course,” said Nelly. Her memory of the film wasn’t very strong, but she knew that she had enjoyed it quite a lot and remembered gasping with the rest of the audience at his daring stunts on the train. She seemed to recall that she found him good-looking with his long hair and sober looks, but apparently not so good-looking that she’d felt compelled to write him a mash note or glue his picture into her scrapbook like she had with John Barrymore.

“Now that picture, you see, was based on real facts. And the train was really called the General!” Buster launched into the story of the Great Locomotive Chase of 1862, and Nelly listened with contentment to his animated retelling. He talked all about the production of the picture, having to find narrow-gauge railroad tracks, learning how to operate a steam engine, hiring the National Guard to play soldiers, and playing baseball near the Willamette Valley. “I thought it was my finest picture but the critics all blasted it. Said it was a flop. I haven’t been able to make sense of it. Guess they thought I should leave the serious acting to types like your fellow, John Barrymore.”

“He’s not my fellow, Buster,” Nelly chided. She ran her fingers idly through his dark hair.

“What happened to being his leading lady?” he said, kissing her bare upper arm.  

“Oh, don’t tease me for being romantic when I didn’t know him. I didn’t know what he was really like. Didn’t I tell you? When I was in Tempest, he came right into the ladies room and pissed in the sink right in front of me. And if that wasn’t enough, he picked his nose right in front of me too! He was so drunk he couldn’t tell left from right. I had to help him back to Mr. Taylor.”

Buster laughed. “You’re kidding.”

“Gosh, I wish I was. He kept us there all night he was so drunk. They had to build a sort of carousel for Camilla Horn and him to finish their ballroom dance.” Thinking of Tempest, Nelly was reminded of something that had been on her mind since her hours with Buster had begun to draw to a close. “I want to say something serious to you now though.”

Buster, to his credit, didn’t try to make a joke. “What’s that?”

“In the book”—for a second, Nelly lifted the red volume that lay between them—“Nell Gwyn is just an orange seller at the playhouse. One night, King Charles invites her to a tavern with his friends Rochester and Buckingham. He remembers seeing her before and likes her. While they’re eating and drinking, he asks what she means to do with her life and she says that she wants to be an actress. Then she dances for him and he leaves her a pair of silver shoes as a gift because she pays for his food and drink. You think that he’s going to see to it that she becomes an actress, but he doesn’t. He has his own matters to worry about and goes on with his life, but she becomes a successful actress on her own—I’m only halfway through of course—and anyhow that’s how he notices her again. He goes to a play and she’s starring.”

“Oh yeah?” said Buster, obviously not understanding. 

“Well, what I’m saying is I appreciate you putting in a word for me with Mr. Taylor, but if you want to continue seeing me …”

Here she paused. It was a brave thing to say aloud because she didn’t know, not for certain, if Buster did want to see her after he dropped her back off at her apartment tomorrow. It wasn’t just false modesty. For all she knew, he had getaways with girls all the time, a new one for every weekend. His waywardness with women had, after all, been one of the first things she’d heard about him back in River Junction: all a girl had to do to seduce him was walk into his dressing room. 

“I don’t want any more favors and I won’t ask for any. I don’t want to play angles anymore. In fact, I prefer to try it on my own in the future, getting parts that is, just to see if I can, if I’m good enough to make it without help. Like Nell Gwyn was.” She let out a deep breath, afraid of his reaction.

“I think that’s fine,” he said, putting a hand on her jaw and turning her head to his so he could kiss her lips. His expression registered no displeasure. “Only I never talked to Sam Taylor. You did that one on your own. Honest.”

Nelly could hardly believe it.“Really?” she said, scanning his eyes to see if he was being truthful. 

“ ‘Course not. Had nothing to do with me,” he said.

“Oh. Well…” said Nelly, feeling silly.

“I’ll make a note. No angles, no favors. I’ll let you go it alone like your Nell Gwyn.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “Tell me what happens next in your book, though.”

Feeling that a weight had been lifted, Nelly went on. “Well, the King sees Nell at a play and as soon as he notices her silver shoes, he remembers who she is.”

“Then what?” said Buster, caressing her hand. 

“I don’t know. Then she becomes his mistress,” Nelly said. She felt embarrassed to admit that she read such books.

“Did he have a queen?”

“Oh yes, Queen Catherine, the one who got the British to start drinking tea, but she doesn’t get much mention in the book. Mrs. Bowen’s more concerned with his mistresses. He had about a dozen. There’s the Countess of Castlemaine and Moll Davis, who’s another actress. Nelly was just one, but she was the most loyal.” She looked down to where Buster was holding her hand in his and rubbing it with a thumb, and wondered what he was thinking about her foolish taste in novels. 

“Will you be my mistress?”

Nelly turned her face to him, stunned. For a moment, she thought it was just one of his many jokes. One look at the beseeching expression on his face told her it wasn’t. Such waves of happiness and consternation struck her then that it was several seconds before she could answer. “Yes,” she said. There could hardly be another answer. And yet even as she consented, she thought of the Countess of Castlemaine, Moll Davis, and the Duchess of Portsmouth.  

“You got this look on your face,” said Buster.

“Do I?” she said, feeling flustered. 

“Yeah. A look that’s telling me you got something on your mind you ain’t telling me.”

Now that they were being so honest, she couldn’t deny him the real answer, even though it was preposterous to ask for faithfulness from a man who was already someone else’s husband.

“Well, are there others?” she said, searching his eyes. 

“Other what?” said Buster, cocking his head a little. “Mistresses? No.” He squeezed her hand. “Now I ain’t going to lie, I’ve had steadies before, not what you’d call mistresses exactly, but cross my heart I haven’t been with a girl in months. Are you asking if I’ll be true to you?”

Nelly looked away. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said, but reminded herself she was trying to be honest. “I suppose I am and it’s the silliest thing to ask. I know you’re married. I’m not asking you to… Well, I guess I don’t know what I’m asking. Maybe I’m a little jealous, not about your wife, but about other girls because I—I like you already.” She looked back at him, fearing his reaction, but he was only regarding her in the same interested way he had when she’d relayed the plot of her book. “Please don’t take what I’m saying the wrong way, I know it seems like I’m looking a gift horse in the mouth,” she said hurriedly. “And I don’t expect you to keep me either like King Charles keeps Nelly, with satin and pearls and houses. Oh, I’m sorry for making this such a muddle. All I should have said was yes. I just want to be pals like we’ve been this weekend. I know it’s not right to ask.”

“ ‘Course we’ll stay pals,” said Buster. “And I promise no satin and pearls. I can still buy you dinner, can’t I?” 

Nelly laughed, her spirits feeling lighter. “Of course you can. I just don’t want to be a kept woman, okay? You can still do all the normal stuff a fellow would.”

Buster’s hand found its way down the front of her chemise and she pulled in a sharp breath as he rolled his finger lightly around the perimeter of her nipple. “Like this?”

She nodded, her eyes closing as his thumb joined the finger and pinched with gentle pressure. Her mind went back to the sight of him between her legs in the forest, his dark messy hair that he’d stopped slicking down with Brilliantine during the course of the weekend, and she groaned at the memory. She rolled onto her side, Buster’s hand still busy at her breast, and slid her hand beneath the brim of his pajama trousers.

“You’re not wearing any underwear,” she said, grasping the warm, silky length of him. 

Buster shifted onto his side. “Yeah, you’ve been teaching me something about efficiency.” He gave a wince of pleasure as she began to move her hand up and down. He withdrew his hand from her chemise and put it in her knickers, and she felt as warm as she had in the sun on Saturday as his fingers began their clever work.

They exchanged pleasures like that for a couple minutes before Buster began tugging her chemise over her head. She unbuttoned his pajama shirt as he played with her breasts. It would be a terribly long time before she was ever bored by the way he tensed his stomach when she touched him, making all the muscles stand out like they were sculpted in marble. She pressed her breasts against her chest as she pulled his pajama shirt the rest of the way off of him, and Buster began wrestling her knickers down. When they were all the way undressed, both still lying on their sides, Nelly put her leg over him.

“Let’s try it without,” she whispered, as Buster kissed her neck and ear. It was a crazy thing to ask, but she was beyond thinking straight. 

“What, without a thin?” he said with surprise. 

“I think it’d be okay. If you pull out before--” She blushed. “I want to see how it feels without it.”

Buster kissed her forehead once, twice, three times in obvious gratitude. “Alright.” 

Nelly shifted herself lower and guided him into her with a hand. For a few moments, Buster was perfectly still. Nelly breathed deeply, feeling him without a barrier for the first time and jubilant with the sensation, as well as the weight of his proposal. A mistress. 

He made love to her more slowly than he had on previous occasions, pausing for long stretches to kiss her, then grasping her backside to push himself deeper. Eventually, the slow pace sent her into such a frenzy that she took control of the rhythm. He caught on and went faster. When every muscle on him stood out again as if sculpted, she knew he was close. 

“Don’t forget to pull out,” she said, seeking his eyes. 

“I won’t,” he said breathlessly. He gave such a fierce, pleasurable thrust that she keened, and that caused him to withdraw suddenly and rock himself against her stomach until he came with a shuddering groan. 

She stroked his cheekbone when he was finished. His eyes had closed and his breathing was deep and satisfied. Buster Keaton’s mistress. She was so filled with the thought that she felt barely any guilt when she thought of his wife. It was, after all, easy to justify. He was not intimate with her; she had realized that when he mentioned that he slept alone. She had never forgotten his statement the night of his party either, that the marriage was headed for divorce. But there she cut off her thoughts. She was getting far too ahead of herself. It was enough that they had gotten on like a house on fire and that Buster was holding her in his arms now, smelling like sweat and cigarettes and himself. 

“Buster,” she said. She could tell he was starting to fall asleep.

“Mmmph,” said Buster. 

“We should set an alarm for tomorrow. My tram leaves at 6:45 and I’ve got to be at work around 7:30. We should get up at four so we have time to pack and so I can get ready.”

Buster rolled onto his back and cupped the crown of his head in his hands. “Don’t worry about the tram, I’ll drop you off.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. I don’t want to get you into any trouble. If anyone sees us, they’ll talk,” she said. 

Buster opened one eye and lifted his eyebrow. “Let ‘em talk,” he said.

“Okay,” said Nelly, not quite knowing what to make of this attitude. 

Nell Gwyn had been no secret to King Charles II’s subjects, but somehow Nelly thought that Buster Keaton’s public would be less tolerant if he got into the habit of parading around a mistress. Nonetheless, she didn’t argue with him. As she cleaned his seed off of her in the washroom, she didn’t have a thought except for how happy she was when she was around him.

Note: Just a PSA that this is fiction and not an endorsement of the pull-out method (although Planned Parenthood notes that it is 96% effective if used correctly 100% of the time). Obviously it doesn't prevent STDs. You should always use protection with a new partner. ;)

[magic-and-moonlit-wings]

Chapter 53: Identity

Becoming The Mask

Barbara was at work when her phone buzzed. She didn't have time to check it – she was busy with a toddler who had swallowed a paperclip.

If it had gone into the kid's stomach, things might have been okay. There was some risk of the sharp point doing damage, or the wire catching and tangling in the intestines, but the rounded ends of the paperclip meant there was also a chance it would simply be passed through.

Unfortunately, instead of ingesting the paperclip, the child had aspirated it, so it needed to be removed from her right lung.

Immediately after Barbara got out of surgery, she had to work up the x-rays of a teenager who'd crashed his Vespa into a tree. Nothing was obviously broken and he didn't have a concussion, but there was a risk of hairline fractures.

And then, (because why not,) there were three successive cases of people who had stuck odd things up their butts and gotten those things stuck.

By the time she was able to sit down for two minutes and gulp some coffee, she had forgotten about her buzzing phone.

She didn't even look at her phone until she was leaving for the night. Barbara got it out to turn the ringer off, since she wasn't supposed to be on call that night, which never stopped anyone when they were short-staffed, which was often, and she was tired enough it would probably be dangerous for her to be treating patients again until she'd had some sleep.

(Also, she was probably tired enough that she shouldn't be driving, but Barbara never let herself think about that.)

After finding out she'd missed something as big as her kid sneaking around to fight a secret magical war, Barbara was trying to reassert some boundaries between her time at work and the rest of her life.

Her phone announced that she'd missed a notification.

It was just an exclamation point. What had that been supposed to mean?

Barbara turned her phone off and drove home.

"I'm back, kiddo!"

"We're in the kitchen!"

'We' meant Jim and Toby. Jim was pulling a shepherd's pie out of the oven. Toby and Barbara both inhaled appreciatively.

"You said it's lean ground beef, right?" asked Toby. Jim smiled and rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Tobes. You know if you cut all the fat out of your diet you'd get protein poisoning, right? Mom, back me up."

Barbara took a moment to remember this. She wasn't a nutritionist – she'd encountered this concept in a novel a few years ago and looked it up to see if it was true.

"He's right," she said. "It's the rarest kind of food poisoning. Not much risk of it happening here and now." Not in a city in the United States, haven of processed and instant foods.

Jim portioned out the steaming vegetables and meat and mashed potatoes. Barbara added some sour cream to hers.

"Is Nana out tonight?" she asked Toby.

"Yeah, she and some of her chess buddies are doing a tournament. Informal, I think, but maybe a prize? Like, a gift certificate or something."

"We should see if we can get her and Mr Strickler to play a match sometime," said Jim. "I think I heard once that he's a grandmaster, but I don't know how often he plays anymore."

That combination, Nancy and Walt, made Barbara's brain click and remember the significance of that exclamation point she'd sent herself.

"So … it's been a month. Have you made any progress on telling your friends' families about trolls?"

Both boys froze.

"We gave Vendel a bunch of family stories," said Toby. "Once he's done reading it, we'll find out if we have permission or we're going behind everybody's backs."

"Guess I should warn him the clock's ticking again," said Jim.

"We could maybe tell people now and say we're LARPing, and tell the whole truth later?" Toby suggested. "That's what my therapist thinks is going on."

"You told your therapist?" asked Barbara and Jim together, in very different tones.

Jim's eyes were huge. He had a white-knuckled grip on his silverware. "Tell me you didn't use the word 'Trollhunter' in front of her."

"… No?" said Toby in confusion. "I just said your character was a magic knight on a quest to fight an evil troll."

Jim sighed. "Okay, that's generic enough it's probably safe. Don't use any specific names or terms, though."

"Dude, you seriously think someone is spying on a random high schooler's therapy appointments?"

"Someone is spying on a random high school's entire history class," Jim pointed out.

The rest of the meal was tense. After they were done eating and cleaning up, Toby went back home, and Jim went upstairs to do homework.

Jim's yearbook from the previous year was on one of the shelves in the living room. Barbara brought it over to the couch.

She could use this to get an idea of who Jim and Toby's classmates were, at least.

Jim didn't have many signatures in the book. There was Toby's, of course. The rest all had generic messages – "Have a great summer" from Eli Pepperjack, "Have fun this summer!" from Shannon Longhannon, "See you in September" and a doodled smiley face from Claire Nuñez, and "Enjoy summer break" from Seamus Johnson.

People Jim knew? Or random classmates he approached so he wouldn't look 'weird' for not caring about yearbook autographs?

Barbara made note of all the names. She felt like Jim had let slip that the other children who knew about trolls were girls, early on, but she couldn't quite remember for sure and didn't want to rule anyone out. She flipped to the class photos to match names to faces, so she could keep watch for the signatories hanging around her house or across the street.

+=+

Enrique carefully printed the English alphabet. It hadn't been that hard to mimic from a reference image, but this was his first time writing it independently. He haltingly hummed the song to keep track of his place.

"Pretty good," said Claire, reading over his shoulder. He fought the urge to turn and strike. He was (supposed to be) safe. Claire wasn't purposefully lurking in his blind spot to attack him. "Definitely way better than my first scribbles. I guess next you should learn to write your name."

On another piece of paper, she printed it for him to copy.

The first letter was N. Sensible enough. Except wasn't that one pronounced 'nuh' instead of 'en' when it was in a word and not the alphabet? He shrugged. Claire knew this writing system better than he did – if she said Enrique started with N, he'd go with it until he had some evidence otherwise.

The second letter was O. He frowned. That … didn't feel right. Shouldn't it be an R?

The third letter was T. He stopped.

"Read it," he said to Claire, trying not to growl.

"Not Enrique," she said, without shame. "You only copied the 'Not' part so far."

Angrily, Enrique scribbled out the letters he'd written so far and the bit he'd copied from. In fast, shaky letters he copied out the rest of it and underlined it.

"No," said Claire, getting angry in turn, "you don't get to use that name. That's my brother's name, not yours."

"The kid can share. It's mine now."

"Oh, come on," Claire scoffed. "You're, like, hundreds of years old. I get that Jim's used to being called 'Jim' after sixteen years in deep cover or whatever, but you can't possibly have gotten that attached to 'Enrique' in just a few months."

… Did she really not know?

"It's the only name I've got."

"Bullshit. Other trolls had to call you something when you were in the Darklands."

Now he growled for real. "That wasn't a name."

"What, some kind of codename system? Then I'd think you'd welcome the chance to start using your real name again."

"I don't know what it used to be!" he snapped. "No one exactly kept track of who they were grabbing. And if we lived, it was 'Changeling' this and 'Impure' that if it wasn't just 'hey you'! Enrique's the first name I can remember having and you don't get to take it away from me!"

He stood there breathing hard for maybe a full minute. He'd cracked the pen. There was gloppy ink on his clenched fist. He licked it off before ink could drip on the floor, and popped the plastic into his mouth.

Claire's voice, when she spoke again, was a lot softer.

"How did anyone tell the Changelings apart, if … if you didn't have names?"

Enrique snorted. "You think they bothered? One Changeling's as good or as bad as any other. S'probably part of why Jim and the big Boss Man were so quick to change sides when they had the chance."

"Even the other Changelings?"

"The rule about not getting attached starts early."

Claire looked like she was about to cry. That … that wasn't fair, she didn't get to make him feel bad for her when they were in the middle of a fight …

"We give each other nicknames, sometimes," he admitted. Imp had been a popular one, if nothing else about a Changeling stood out. "Us or the goblins. But then when we get up top, it's like a rite of passage, you know? We get a name then. Using the old nickname's … like an insult. Saying you weren't worth making a surface agent."

Claire blinked rapidly a few times, then hugged him. He almost clawed her before realizing it wasn't an attack.

"Oi, easy!"

"You can't have my brother's name," she said stubbornly. "But we'll figure something else out."

"Not exactly your call to make," Enrique retorted.

"Don't ruin the moment."

"What moment–?!"

+=+

Previous Chapter (Troll Dads become official!)

Table of Contents

Next Chapter (Angor Rot’s debut!)

Not featured in the above chapter: Jim's internal panic, as he frantically tries to figure out how much Toby has already told Dr Archenn and how to warn Toby off telling her anything else, without exposing yet another Changeling's identity to humans.

Featured in the above chapter: my headcanon that Otto addressing Not Enrique as 'Imp' in early Season 2 was a deliberate insult. I've actually got a different nickname in mind for Not Enrique, it just didn't feel natural to bring it up in this scene. Imp, short for Impure, is basically a 'starter nickname' that all Changelings have in the Darklands, until and unless something about them stands out enough that the other Changelings start calling them something else.

[piratewithvigor]

Out Of Sight, Out Of Our Minds: Chapter 1

Summary: After a freak accident lighting a stove, Hawkeye suffered severe flash burns that have left him blinded. Most people recover within a week or so, but as the days drag on, BJ becomes more convinced that Hawkeye isn’t most people.

Word Count: 2050

A/N: This is a birthday present for the wonderful @the--blackdahlia​ who inspired me to get back into a writing groove after months of inactivity. It’s a retelling of the season 5 episode “Out Of Sight, Out Of Mind”, so there will definitely be spoilers ahead.

BJ had never liked baseball all that much. He was a little too scrawny as a kid to play with the others and listening to games on the radio bored him senseless. That never stopped Peg from dragging him to Seals Stadium on the weekends he couldn’t come up with any work-related excuse. She’d been a fan ever since the AAGPBL had established a team in her hometown of Kenosha and though her loyalties changed upon her move to San Francisco with BJ, her craze for the game had never wavered. BJ never exactly wanted to spend his afternoons in a ballpark that was too hot and sunny, watching a game that always felt just a little too long, but watching Peg get so thrilled was worth the three dollars he spent on the tickets. 

Of course, it wasn’t late in the afternoon, nor was it warm, and he wasn’t seated in the plastic chairs of the ball park. It was nearly three in the morning, with a chill breezing through his tent in Korea and Peg wasn’t there making the sounds of baseball bearable. He’d heard Hawkeye mumble at Frank to turn off the radio at least a dozen times and no matter how firmly he pressed his thin pillow against his ears, information about the bout between the Dodgers and the Giants kept leaking in. It didn’t even seem like Frank actually cared who won. Just what the score was. He never cheered, not even the little hissed ‘yes’ when either team scored like Peg did. It sounded more like he was just listening to know. Especially when BJ heard the tell-tale scratch of a pencil against paper. Probably some kind of slimy scheme to get ahead in life, as Frank was known to do. But this late at night, BJ couldn’t bring himself to care. The only thing he heard that made him smile was the announcement of the 4-3 concluding score and the promise of a rebroadcast at noon. 

“Shut it off, Frank,” Hawkeye mumbled, pulling his thin blankets further over himself. “It’s 4-3 in the morning.”

“Stop dreaming and go back to sleep,” Frank shot back, switching off the little radio as he moved around in bed, assumedly trying to find a position on the cot that would retain body heat, but also fit between the limits.

“That makes good nonsense.”

BJ loved Hawkeye, really, he did, but the man had a serious problem with always needing the last word. 

Now that the static-filled broadcast had been shut off, the tent seemed almost quiet. Korea was never dead silent, BJ had learned, but he took what he could where he could get it. As long as they weren’t being actively fired upon and there were no choppers going overhead, it was quiet in his books. He was finally starting to doze off when the door to the Swamp opened and at least two pairs of feet scuttled in. BJ hoped to God they were just very large rats. Rats didn’t make much noise besides the occasional squeak of fright. 

“Hawkeye?”

Rats didn’t ask for doctors by name.

Rats.

“Wake up, Hawkeye, the stove in our tent went out.”

“Again?”

This wasn’t the first time the nurses had had issues with their stove this winter. It only happened once or twice when it first started getting cold, but when the winds got more violent, the stove seemed to be going out once a night. If BJ didn’t know any better, he’d think the nurses were just scheming to get Hawkeye alone in a room full of nurses and not have his wits about him. 

“It’s freezing in there.”

“It’s warm in here.”

“There are four of us.”

BJ nearly chuckled at the resignation in Hawkeye’s voice as he pulled off his blanket to stand. 

“I knew I should have gotten a bigger bed.”

“Could you people hold it down?” Frank piped up, his voice grating at BJ’s nerves. “I mean, show some consideration.”

“I don’t remember leaving a wake-up scream,” BJ grumbled. Consideration, his ass.

“Thanks, Hawkeye, you’re the only one who can fix it.” BJ was pretty sure that wasn’t true and given Hawkeye’s tired mutters of disdain, he felt safe in assuming the feeling was mutual.

“BJ?”

“Hmm?”

“If I’m not back in five minutes, don’t come get me.” If he wasn’t so tired, BJ might have chuckled. 

Out of the corner of his partially-opened eye, he watched the light above Hawkeye’s cot shut off and his roommate shuffle out of the tent behind two nurses who were bundled up as tightly as they could be to avoid what had to be a bitter chill outside. 

BJ stretched out a little as he turned onto his back to stare at the ceiling. Sleep was evading him all-too-rudely and likely would continue to until Hawkeye was back and snoring quietly. Ever since Peg and he had started sharing a bed all those years ago, BJ had begun to find it impossible to sleep without someone nearby. Frank was all the way across the tent and there was a stove between them; impossible to hear. He’d been worried coming over- there had been plenty of stories of what MASH units were like back home, but no details of the sleeping arrangements. He’d breathed an enormous sigh of relief when Hawkeye told him they’d be bunking together and an even larger one that evening when he realised his bunkmate snored loudly enough to drown out the distant sounds of gunfire. If he ever needed it, he just pretended the lanky man ten feet away was his beautiful wife, ten inches away. And if the homesickness was especially bad, he pretended Frank’s little fidgets during the night were Erin rustling in her crib. Sometimes it worked well enough to soothe him back to sleep. Other times, it left him in worse shape than he’d began. Korea had proven itself time and time again to be a lonely place, but knowing that he had people around him made it somewhat more bearable. 

Between the stove warming the air around his feet and the thoughts of his family swirling around his head, the sleep that had been struggling to overtake him was finally succeeding in pulling BJ’s eyes closed. Until an explosion close enough to shake him out of any sleep he could have gotten rang through the camp. That would have been plenty to set him upright and his heart racing, but it was the collective screaming that got BJ out of bed (thank God he’d had the sense to wear shoes to bed). He paused in his scrambling just long enough to throw on his bathrobe before bolting to the nurse’s quarters. Hawkeye was stumbling out of the tent as he arrived, palms pressed to his eyes and screaming, all the while surrounded by nurses who were screaming just as shrilly. As worrisome as it was, at least Hawkeye was still able to walk. Plenty of soldiers had come through their OR who never learned of such luxury. 

BJ reached him the same moment Colonel Potter did, but Potter, ever the leader, backed away from the forming posse to organise them. Flash burns were serious business and it was necessary to get Hawkeye to the OR as quickly as possible. BJ knew he heard Potter say something about an ophthalmologist, but it was hard to hear over Hawkeye’s screams of pain, the nurses’ screams of panic and the sound of his own heart pumping in his ears. 

The next few hours were a blur to say the least. The sleep deprivation was already messing with his head, but hearing Hawkeye in so much pain was what was really knocking BJ out of his rhythm. He’d never seen anyone in that much pain without there being a substantial amount of blood involved. As much as he hated it, BJ had grown comfortable with blood. It was easy to fix: if it was where it wasn’t supposed to be, he had to stop it from getting there. Sometimes that involved stitching, or removing parts that were too broken to be fixed, or just removing things that weren’t supposed to be there, but there was almost always blood. In this case, there was absolutely none. The closest thing to red was Hawkeye’s bathrobe and the toasted skin around his eyes. The worst part about the whole situation was that there was nothing he could do to help. He was no ophthalmologist- didn’t know anything about the inner workings of the eyes beyond what he learned in first year biology. 

BJ wasn’t sure how Radar accomplished it, but the ophthalmologist in question, Major Overman, arrived long before the sun was up and true to the reputation BJ had gathered of him, was swift in his examination and bandaging. It was awful, but the truth of the matter was that it was all there was to be done. Padding the eyes and wrapping a long length of bandage around the patient’s head so the padding wouldn’t move. It would let the eyes rest and after a week or so, if vision came back, everything would be okay. If not…

“How’s that feel?”

“Blind.”

BJ would have probably chuckled if the situation was different. The mood of the room seemed to express the same feelings. The Major didn’t even crack a smile.

“Okay, Hawkeye, you take it easy for a couple of days. I’ll be back Friday.” 

Nearly a week away. As nervous as he was, BJ could only imagine the terror Hawkeye was feeling. But he never showed it. Never showed it unless you knew him, that is. He always told jokes to keep the atmosphere lighter, but he laughed at them. There was no laughter here. Not even a smile. 

“Listen, one important question. Will I get to keep my nickname?”

“Let’s hope so.” The Major spoke for everyone there. They called him ‘Pierce’ often enough, That was different. Too impersonal. His name, but never his name.

“Just wondering if I should rent a seeing-eye dog or buy one.” The joking was getting weaker. Hawkeye was slowly accepting what had happened and it looked like everyone who had gathered around his cot could feel it too. 

“See you Friday.”

Major Overman packed his gear and was escorted out of the post-op by Potter, asking something about a General O'Reilly. If BJ hadn’t been so on-edge, he would have maybe even laughed at the idea of Radar being a General, let alone a General who was so mad that he scared a clerk into a rushed shipment of an ophthalmologist. But instead, he was leaning on the end posts of Hawkeye’s cot, watching a nurse yell her sympathies at him. There was something about the injured and sick that made people forget what their actual ailments were and caused them to be treated as invalids. Based on Hawkeye’s wince, it was clear his partner-in-crime was already feeling the sting of the different treatment. 

“You don’t have to shout, the sides still work.”

“We’re sorry,” she corrected herself, lowering her voice to a library-esque whisper.

“That’s alright. Next time, get a union man.”

“Hawk, if there’s anything you need…” It was generally said as a passing sympathy that didn’t really mean anything, but BJ wasn’t sure what else to say. He was a caretaker deep down and lord knew Hawkeye was going to need some help during the next few days.

“Well, if you’re going by the PX, you could get me a colouring book and some crayons.” Hawkeye’s head was angled towards him, but he wasn’t facing him by a long shot. Whether because it didn’t matter or because he didn’t care, BJ wasn’t sure. Nor was he sure he wanted to know the answer.

“I think you’re sick enough to qualify for the big box. I gotta go.” He was smiling, but BJ was sure Hawkeye could hear the worry in his voice. He tried to keep calm and carry on, no matter what the war threw, but this wasn’t something he could just walk away from. He wanted to be there.

“BJ?”

“Yeah?”

“Visit me a couple hundred times, will ya?” The request was small and quiet, almost desperate. 

“At least.”

[betterdaysareatoenailaway]

Random Review #3: Sleepwalkers (1992) and “Sleep Walk” (1959)

I. Sleepwalkers (1992) I couldn’t sleep last night so I started watching a trashy B-movie penned by Stephen King specifically for the screen called Sleepwalkers (1992). Simply put, the film is an unmitigated disaster. A piece of shit. But it didn’t need to be. That’s what’s so annoying about it. By 1992 King was a grizzled veteran of the silver screen, with more adaptations under his belt than any other author of his cohort. Puzo had the Godfather films (1972 and 1974, respectively), sure, but nothing else. Leonard Gardner had Fat City (1972), a movie I love, but Gardner got sucked into the Hollywood scene of cocaine and hot tub parties and never published another novel, focusing instead on screenplays for shitty TV shows like NYPD Blue. After Demon Seed (1977), a movie I have seen and disliked, nobody would touch Dean Koontz’s stuff with a ten foot pole, which is too bad because The Voice of the Night, a 1980 novel about two young pals, one of whom is a psychopath trying to convince the other to help him commit murder, would make a terrific movie. But Koontz’s adaptations have been uniformly awful. The made-for-TV film starring John C McGinley, 1997′s Intensity, is especially bad. There are exceptions, but Stephen King has been lucky enough to avoid the fate of his peers. Big name directors have tackled his work, from Stanley Kubrick to Brian De Palma. King even does a decent job of acting in Pet Semetary (1989), in his own Maximum Overdrive (1986) and in George Romero’s Creepshow (1982), where he plays a yokel named Jordy Verril who gets infected by a meteorite that causes green weeds to grow all over his body. Many have criticized King’s over-the-top performance in that flick, but for me King perfectly nails the campy and comical tone that Romero was going for. The dissolves in Creepshow literally come right off the pages of comics, so people expecting a subtle Ordinary People-style turn from King had clearly walked into the wrong theatre. Undoubtedly Creepshow succeeds at what it set out to do. I’m not sure Sleepwalkers succeeds though, unless the film’s goal was to get me to like cats even more than I already do. But I already love cats a great deal. Here’s my cat Cookie watching me edit this very blog post. 

And here’s one of my other cats, Church, named after the cat that reanimates and creeps out Louis and Ellie in Pet Sematary. Photo by @ScareAlex.

SPOILER ALERT: Do not keep reading if you plan on watching Sleepwalkers and want to find out for yourself what happens.

Stephen King saw many of his novels get adapted in the late 1970s and 80s: Carrie, The Shining, Firestarter, Christine, Cujo, and the movie that spawned the 1950s nostalgia industrial complex, Stand By Me, but Sleepwalkers was the first time he wrote a script specifically for the screen rather than adapting a novel that already existed. Maybe that’s why it’s so fucking bad. Stephen King is a novelist, gifted with a novelist’s rich imagination. He’s prone to giving backstories to even the most peripheral characters - think of Joe Chamber’s alcoholic neighbour Gary Pervier in the novel Cujo, who King follows for an unbelievable number of pages as the man stumbles drunkenly around his house spouting his catch phrase “I don’t give a shit,” drills a hole through his phone book so he can hang it from a string beside his phone, complains about his hemorrhoids getting “as big as golfballs” (I’m not joking), and just generally acts like an asshole until a rabid Cujo bounds over, rips his throat out, and he bleeds to death. In the novel Pervier’s death takes more than a few pages, but it makes for fun reading. You hate the man so fucking much that watching him die feels oddly satisfying. In the movie, though, his death occurs pretty quickly, and in a darkened hallway, so it’s hard to see what’s going on aside from Gary’s foot trembling. And Pervier’s “I don’t give a shit” makes sense when he’s drilling a hole in the phone book, not when he’s about to be savagely attacked by a rabid St Bernard. There’s just less room for back story in movies. In a medium that demands pruning and chiseling and the “less is more” dictum, King’s writing takes a marked turn for the worse. King is a prose maximalist, who freely admits to “writing to outrageous lengths” in his novels, listing It, The Stand, and The Tommyknockers as particularly egregious examples of literary logorrhea. He is not especially equipped to write concisely. This weakness is most apparent in Sleepwalkers’ dialogue, which sounds like it was supposed to be snappy and smart, like something Aaron Sorkin would write, but instead comes off like an even worse Tango & Cash, all bad jokes and shitty puns. More on those bad jokes later. First, the plot.

Sleepwalkers is about a boy named Charles and his mother Mary who travel around the United States killing and feeding off the lifeforce of various unfortunate people (if this sounds a little like The True Knot in Doctor Sleep, you’re not wrong. But self-plagiarism is not a crime). Charles and Mary are shapeshifting werewolf-type creatures called werecats, a species with its very own Wikipedia page. Wikipedia confers legitimacy dont’cha know, so lets assume werecats are real beings. According to said page, a werecat, “also written in a hyphenated form as were-cat) is an analogy to ‘werewolf’ for a feline therianthropic creature.” I’m gonna spell it with the hyphen from now on because “werecats” just looks like a typo. Okay? Okay.

Oddly enough, the were-cats in Sleepwalkers are terrified of cats. Actual cats. For the were-cats, cute kittens = kryptonite. When they see a cat or cats plural, this happens to them:

^ That is literally a scene from the movie. Charles is speeding when a cop pulls alongside him and bellows at him to pull over. Ever the rebel, Charles flips the cop the finger. But the cop has a cat named Clovis in his car, and when the cat pops up to have a look at the kid (see below), Charles shapeshifts first into a younger boy, then into whatever the fuck that is in the above screenshot.

Now, the were-cats aversion to normal cats is confusing because one would assume a were-cat to be a more evolved (or perhaps devolved?) version of the typical house kitty. The fact that these were-cats are bipedal alone suggests an advantage over our furry four-legged friends, no? Kinda like if humans were afraid of fucking gorillas. Wait...we are scared of gorillas. And chimpanzees. And all apes really. Okay, maybe the conceit of the film isn’t so silly after all. The film itself, however, is about as silly as a bad horror movie can get. When the policeman gets back to precinct and describes the incident above (”his face turned into a blur”) he is roundly ridiculed because in movies involving the supernatural nobody believes in the supernatural until it confronts them. It’s the law, sorry. Things don’t end well for the cop. Or for the guy who gets murdered when the mom stabs him with...an ear of corn. Yes, an ear of corn. Somehow, the mother is able to jam corn on the cob through a man’s body, without crushing the vegetable or turning it into yellow mash. It’s pretty amazing. Here is a sample of dialog from that scene: Cop About To Die On The Phone to Precinct: There’s blood everywhere! *STAB* Murderous Mother: No vegetables, no dessert. That is actually a line in the movie. “No vegetables, no dessert.” It’s no “let off some steam, Bennett” but it’s close. Told ya I’d get back to the bad jokes. See, Mary and Charles are new in town and therefore seeking to ingratiate themselves by killing everyone who suspects them of being weird, all while avoiding cats as best they can. At one point Charles yanks a man’s hand off and tells him to "keep [his] hands to [him]self," giving the man back his severed bloody hand. Later on Charles starts dating a girl who will gradually - and I do mean gradually - come to realize her boyfriend is not a real person but in fact a were-cat. Eventually our spunky young protagonist - Madchen Amick, who fans of Twin Peaks will recognize as Shelly - and a team of cats led by the adorable Clovis- kill the were-cat shapeshifting things and the sleepy small town (which is named Travis for some reason) goes back to normal, albeit with a slightly diminished population. For those keeping score, that’s Human/Cat Alliance 1, Shapeshifting Were-cats 0. It is clear triumph for the felis catus/people team! Unless we’re going by kill count, in which case it is closer to Human/Cat Alliance 2, Were-cats 26. I arrived at this figure through my own notes but also through a helpful video that takes a comprehensive and complete “carnage count” of all kills in Sleepwalkers: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vmt-DroK6uA

II. Santo & Johnny “Sleep Walk” (1959) Because Sleepwalkers is decidedly not known for its good acting or its well-written screenplay, it is perhaps best known for its liberal and sometimes contrapuntal use of Santo & Johnny’s classic steel guitar song “Sleep Walk,” possibly the most famous (and therefore best) instrumental of the 20th century. Some might say “Sleep Walk” is tied for the #1 spot with “Green Onions” by Booker T & the M.G.’s and/or “Wipe Out” by The Surfaris, but I disagree. The Santo & Johnny song is #1 because of its incalculable influence on all subsequent popular music. 

I’m not saying “Wipe Out” didn't inspire a million imitators, both contemporaneously and even decades later…for example here’s a surf rock instrumental from 1999 called “Giant Cow" by a Toronto band called The Urban Surf Kings. The video was one of the first to be animated using Flash (and it shows):

So there are no shortage of surf rock bands, even now, decades after its emergence from the shores of California to the jukeboxes of Middle America. My old band Sleep for the Nightlife used to regularly play Rancho Relaxo with a surf rock band called the Dildonics, who I liked a great deal. There's even a Danish surf rock band called Baby Woodrose, whose debut album is a favourite of mine. They apparently compete for the title of Denmark’s biggest surf pop band with a group called The Setting Son. When a country that has no surfing culture and no beaches has multiple surf rock bands, it is safe to say the genre has attained international reach. As far as I can tell, there aren’t many bands out there playing Booker T & the M.G.’s inspired instrumental rock. Link Wray’s “Rumble” was released four years before “Green Onions.” But the influence of Santo and Johnny’s “Sleep Walk” is so ubiquitous as to be almost immeasurable. The reason for this is the sheer popularity of the song’s chord progression. If Santo and Johnny hadn’t written it first, somebody else would have, simply because the progression is so beautiful and easy on the ears and resolvable in a satisfying way. Have a listen to “Sleep Walk” first and then let’s check out some songs it directly inspired. 

The chords are C, A minor, F and G. Minor variations sometimes reverse the last two chords, but if it begins with C to A minor, you can bet it’s following the “Sleep Walk” formula, almost as if musicians influenced by the song are in the titular trance. When it comes to playing guitar, Tom Waits once said “your hands are like dogs, going to the same places they’ve been. You have to be careful when playing is no longer in the mind but in the fingers, going to happy places. You have to break them of their habits or you don’t explore; you only play what is confident and pleasing.” Not only is it comforting to play and/or hear what we already know, studies have shown that our brains actively resist new music, because it takes work to understand the new information and assimilate it into a pattern we are cogent of. It isn’t until the brain recognizes the pattern that it gives us a dopamine rush. I’m not much for Pitchfork anymore, but a recent article they posted does a fine job of discussing this phenomenon in greater detail.

Led Zeppelin’s “D’Yer Maker” uses the “Sleep Walk” riff prominently, anchored by John Bonham and John Paul Jones’ white-boy reggae beat: 

Here it is again with Del Shannon’s classic “Little Town Flirt.” I love Shannon’s falsetto at the end when he goes “you better run and hide now bo-o-oy.”

The Beatles “Happiness is a Warm Gun” uses the Sleep Walk progression, though not for the whole song. It goes into the progression at the bridge at 1:34: 

Tumblr won’t let me embed any more videos, so you’ll to travel to another tab to hear these songs, but Neil Young gets in on the act with his overlooked classic “Winterlong:” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RV6r66n3TFI On their 1996 EP Interstate 8 Modest Mouse pay direct homage by singing over their own rendition of the original Santo & Johnny version, right down to the weeping steel guitar part: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VT_PwXjCqqs The vocals are typical wispy whispered indie rock vocals, but I think they work, particularly the two different voices. They titled their version “Sleepwalking (Couples Only Dance Prom Night).”

Dwight Yoakam’s “Thousand Miles From Nowhere” makes cinematic use of it. This song plays over the credits of one of my all-time favourite movies, 1993′s Red Rock West feat. Nicolas Cage, Lara Flynn Boyle, Dennis Hopper, and J.T. Walsh https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tu3ypuKq8WE

“39″ is my favourite Queen song. I guess now I know why. It uses my fav chord progression: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kE8kGMfXaFU 

Blink 182 scored their first hit “Dammit” with a minor variation on the Sleep Walk chord progression: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sT0g16_LQaQ

Midwest beer drinkin bar rockers Connections scored a shoulda-been-a-hit with the fist-pumping “Beat the Sky:” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YSNRq0n_WYA You’d be hard pressed to find a weaker lead singer than this guy (save for me, natch), but they make it work. This one’s an anthem.

Spoon, who have made a career out of deconstructing rock n’ roll, so that their songs sometimes sound needlessly sparse (especially “The Ghost of You Lingers,” which takes minimalism to its most extreme...just a piano being bashed on staccato-style for four minutes), so it should surprise nobody that they re-arrange the Sleep Walk chords on their classic from Gimme Fiction, “I Summon You:” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=teXA8N3aF9M I love that opening line: remember the weight of the world was a sound that we used to buy? I think songwriter Britt Daniel is talking about buying albums from the likes of Pearl Jam or Smashing Pumpkins, any of those grunge bands with pessimistic worldviews. There are a million more examples. I remember seeing some YouTube video where a trio of gross douchebros keep playing the same progression while singing a bunch of hits over it. I don’t like the smarmy way they do it, making it seem like artists are lazy and deliberately stealing. I don’t think it’s plagiarism to use this progression. And furthermore, tempo and production make all the difference. Take “This Magic Moment” for example. There's a version by Jay & the Americans and one by Ben E King & the Drifters. I’ve never been a fan of those shrieking violins or fiddles that open the latter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bacBKKgc4Uo The Jay & the Americans version puts the guitar riff way in the forefront, which I like a lot more. The guitar plays the entire progression once before the singing starts and the band joins in: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pKfASw6qoag

Each version has its own distinctive feel. They are pretty much two different songs. Perhaps the most famous use of the Sleep Walk progression is “Unchained Melody” by the Righteous Brothers, which is one of my favourite songs ever. The guy who chose to let Bobby Hatfield sing this one by himself must have kicked himself afterwards when it became a hit, much bigger than "You've Lost That Lovin' Feeling."https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qiiyq2xrSI0

What can you say about “Unchained Melody” that hasn’t already been said? God, that miraculously strong vocal, the way the strings (and later on, brass horns) are panned way over to the furthest reaches the left speaker while the drums and guitar are way over in the right, with the singing smack dab in the middle creates a kind of distance and sharp clarity that has never been reproduced in popular music, like seeing the skyscrapers of some distant city after an endless stretch of highway. After listening to “Unchained Melody,” one has to wonder: can that progression ever be improved upon? Can any artist write something more haunting, more beautiful, more uplifting than that? The “need your love” crescendo hits so fucking hard, as both the emotional and the sonic climax of the song, which of course is no accident...the strings descending and crashing like a waterfall of sound, it gets me every fucking time. Legend has it that King George II was so moved by the “Hallelujah” section of Handel’s “Messiah” that he stood up, he couldn't help himself, couldn't believe what he was hearing. I get that feeling with all my favourite songs. "1979." "Unchained Melody." "In The Still of the Night." "Digital Bath." "Why Does My Heart Feel So Bad?" "Interstate." "Liar's Tale." “Gimme Shelter.” The list goes on and on. Music is supposed to move us.

King George II stood because he was moved to do so. Music may be our creation, but it isn't our subordinate. All those sci-fi stories warning about technology growing beyond our control aren’t that far-fetched. Music is our creation but its power lies beyond our control. We are subordinate to music, helpless against its power and might, its urgency and vitality and beauty. There have been many times in my life when I have been so obsessed with a particular song that I pretty much want to live inside of it forever. A house of sound. I remember detoxing from heroin and listening to Grimes “Realiti” on repeat for twelve hours. Detoxing from OxyContin and listening to The Beach Boys “Dont Worry Baby” over and over. Or just being young and listening to “Tonight Tonight” over and over and over, tears streaming from my eyes in that way you cry when you’re a kid because you just feel so much and you don’t know what to do with the intensity of those feelings. It is precisely because we are so moved by music that we keep creating it. And in the act of that creation we are free. There are no limits to that freedom, which is why bands time and time again return to the well-worn Sleep Walk chord progression and try to make something new from it. Back in 2006, soon after buying what was then the new Yeah Yeah Yeahs album, I found myself playing the album’s closing track over and over. I loved the chorus and I loved the way it collapses into a lo-fi demo at the very end, stripping away the studio sheen and...not to be too punny, showing its bones (the album title is Show Your Bones). Later on I would realize that the song, called “Turn Into,” uses the Sleep Walk chord progression. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=exqCFoPiwpk

It’s just like, what Waits said, our hands goes to where we are familiar. And so do our ears, which is why jazz often sounds so unpleasant to us upon first listen. Or Captain Beefheart. But it’s worth the effort to discover new stuff, just as it’s worth the effort to try and write it. I recently lamented on this blog that music to me now is more about remembrance than discovery, but I’m still only 35 years old. I’m middle-aged right now (I don’t expect to live past 70, not with the lifestyle I’ve been living). There’s still a whole other half life to find new music and love and leave it for still newer stuff. It’s worth the challenge, that moment of inner resistance we feel when confronted with something new and challenging and strange sounding. The austere demands of adult life, rent and routine, take so much of our time. I still make time for creative pursuits, but I don’t really have much time for discovery, for seeking out new music. But I’ve resolved to start making more time. A few years ago I tried to listen to and like Trout Mask Replica but I couldn’t. I just didn’t get what was going on. It sounded like a bunch of mistakes piled on top of each other. But then a few days ago I was writing while listening to music, as I always do, and YouTube somehow landed on Lick My Decals Off, Baby. I didn’t love what I was hearing but I was intrigued enough to keep going. And now I really like this song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EMnd9dvb3sA&pbjreload=101 Another example I’ll give is the rare Robert Pollard gem “Prom Is Coming.” The first time I heard this song, it sounded like someone who can’t play guitar messing around, but the more I heard it the more I realized there’s a song there. It’s weird and strange, but it’s there. The lyrics are classic Pollard: Disregard injury and race madly out of the universe by sundown. Pollard obviously has a special place in his heart for this track. He named one of his many record labels Prom Is Coming Records and he titled the Boston Spaceships best-of collection Out of the Universe By Sundown. I don’t know if I’ll ever become a Captain Beefheart megafan but I can hear that the man was doing something very strange and, at times, beautiful. And anyway, why should everything be easy? Aren’t some challenges worth meeting for the experience waiting on the other side of comprehension or acceptance? I try to remember this now whenever I’m first confronted with new music, instead of vetoing it right away. Most of my favourite bands I was initially resistant to when I first heard them. Queens of the Stone Age, Kyuss, Guided by Voices, Spoon, Heavy Times. All bands I didn’t like at first.  I don’t wanna sleepwalk through life, surrounding myself only with things I have already experienced. I need to stay awake. Because soon enough I’ll be asleep forever. We need to try everything we can before the Big Sleep comes to take us back to the great blankness, the terrible question mark that bookends our lives.

[nrsranger]

1.7

Ord Mantell

Ord Utellian (pop 10,003)

The Mantellian Sepritist

1904 hrs

The Mantellian Sepritist was a large bar on the outskirts of the City of Ord Utellian, which served as the host city for the New Republic Fleet, it was a three walled establishment with a low brick fence extending out, then comprised the fourth wall leaving 12 meter by 12 meter section in the open air. The walls of the bar were decorated with art and artficats from the days of the Old Republic, Old Mantellian battle helmets, the most prized artifact was an Old Republic Trooper SpecForce armor from the famed Spec Ops Unit known as Havoc Squad. Several dozen tables sprinkled the large floor space. Currently all the tables and the bar space were filled out with uniformed officers from the New Republic Navy. The noise was kept to a modest level with occasional outbursts of laughter, that's what Dorman thought when he, Yarn and L.T Commander Maldoza walked in. The three of them crossed the room and found a table with five people gatherd around it. The Light Blue uniform identifyed them as pilots in the Star Fighter Corps. Glancing at the rank insignia on the shoulder and chest they were identified as three Squad leaders, a Flight L.T and the highest ranking officer, a Flight Captian. The moment Dorman saw the Squad leader insgnia he instantly snapped a salute, Yarn was a bit slower as he went to attention. Then men seated at the table turned toward the out of place display of promt millitary protocol.

“Who’s on watch at this table?” L.t Commander Maldoza demanded crisply

“I am” Flight Captian Alek Mauz said getting up and facing the two men and the Bothan as if they were in a standoff. “At ease Ensigns”

“Do I even need to ask?” Maldoza said all formalily and hostility dropping.

“I don’t know why you still do?” Alek said then added as they shook hands in a way only old friends can shake hands “These are my two new pilots?”

“Yes, they are, enjoy them!” L.T Commander Maldoza said “I have to go immedatly” he added

“Your not going to stay, Ralrost?” Alek siad

“I wish I could but things are in motion things that require my attention” Ralrost said “or is that to vuage” throwing a glace toward Dorman and Yarn

“Anything I should know about?” Alek said

“Not yet, but make sure none of your pilots are” Ralrost stammed a bit as if trying to remeber a coiloqual saying “K.O, we might have work tommorrow”

Alek starred into his friends face susspisouly, “yeah, sure thing” he said hessitently, but then continuing he said “Joker, get the L.T Commander somthing for the road!”

As Joker stood up and hopped over the bar “Does he want some Bothan concocktion or a cup of Jawa juice?”

“Careful! I’m the guy who can get you a date with every Todarian drag queen from here to Naboo” Ralrost said drawing “oooooOOOO’s” from the whole crowd

Tinged with a bit of embarssement but with a playful smile “It was one time! Howd you know about that?,” Joker said

“What can I say, I’m Bothan…..and the fact that you talk when your K.O’ed drunk” Ralrost said smiling ear to ear

“Well you just earned yourself a Bothan Protein Martini” Joker said as he assembled the drink.

Ralrost then felt a buzzing in his pocket and grabbed out his commlink, listened for a bit shut it down and looked up just as Joker was finishing with the drink and was looking for a to go container he found a hydro-cylinder took off the cap took a wif then made a face as he poured it out into the sink, he then refiled the container with Ralrost’s Bothan Protein Martini, he then put the cap back on. The bartender starred not caring, so long as he got paid he then shrugged his shoulders and went about his business.

“Alright Commander here you go” Joker said as he tossed it to Ralrost,

L.T Commander Maldoza caught it, thanked Joker and exited the bar in a rush.

“What was that all about?” Yarn said

“Ralrost Maldoza so so high in the Bothan interllignce network even I don’t know how much he is informed about, if he is worried, somthing is big is happening” the Flight L.T said

“Trippers right, Everyone lets go light on the drinks!” Alek said

The bar erupted in low grummbles put deep down they all knew that Maldoza information has saved their lives more time than they could count, and thats all the ones they knew off. Alek Mauz then turned his attention to the two new Ensigns that are now under his command

“So what are your names Ensigns?” Alek Mauz said

“Ensgin Yarn Belmic! Sir!”

“Ensign Dorman Tarn!,Sir!”

“Congratulations, Belmic your Firebird 11 your temparory Call Sign is 11, Tarn your Firebird 12 your temparory Call Sign is 12, now 11, 12 take a seat and lets make some introductions” Alek Mauz stood up and said “Fire Birds introduce your selfs to your new squad mates”

From behind them came “I’m Derci Alpine but you will refere to me as Joker, Squad leader, or the King of Naboo”

“Names Taus Maic I’m your new Flight L.T Callsigns Tripper” said one of the men sitting at the same table as them

“Call Sign Squid” Said a Quarren sitting at a circular table with three other pilots playing a friendly game of Sabbac with table snacks making up most of the winnings “but my name is Talllos Quarn”

The person the human to his right said in a deep voice “Mac Ran callsign Brawl”

The Sabbac dealer was a Rodian who said “Ives Derven, Sabbac”

The final person at the table was a human who said “Sir, Magnolian Vardeenios 5th lord to the thrown of Varlelos call sign Drip”

The next voice sat a table with three Rodians belonging to a Weequay “Call sign is Mob, thats all you need to know right now”

“Mash Ric Callsign Root” said a human sitting at the bar alone “thats Utapa Tarples grandson of the Great General Tarples from the Clone Wars, his Callsign is Gungan he dose not like to talk infront of most people” Mash said indicating a Gungan sitting on a chair leaning aginst the wall with his uniform cover covering his face appering to be taking a nap.

“This is Squad Leader of the Night Owls Natalia Gee callsign Vine” Alek said indicating the Theelin Female “This is the A-Wing Squad Leader Otis Tik or Noodles” indicting the two squad leaders sitting at their table “and last but not least my name is Flight Captian Alek Mauz, Callsign Firebird and I am your CAG” said the ageing man that gave them their call signs ”You probaly have alot of questions, and so long it does not interfere with the enjoyableness of the evening, you may ask”

“Umm ok,my first question is, what kinda Jedi esc stunt did you pull to get a whole X-Wing squadron named after you?” Yarn Belmic said

“Oh ho ho ho! Now thats a story!” Tripper exclaimed leaning in revealing how much he enjoyed telling this story “You don't know that your sitting in the mists of a galaxy wide celebrity, Alek Mauz is credited with the last confirmed kill of the Galactic Civil War”

“And the Call Sign Firebird?” Yarn said

“If you stick around for a while you might learn why” Alek said with a hint of reluctance.

“I have a question” Dorman said talking twoard Tripper “what did Commander Maldoza mean by asking whos on watch?”

“Now, that is a practice that dates back to the founding of the Rebellion, whenever the Rebels needed to blow off steam and went into a cantina or bar they would always pick out someone to be on watch incase Imperials came in or if any of his comrades wanted to pick a fight there would always be a sober man to break up the fight or to get his men out of there, when Captian Namin who was in the Rebelion from the early days was put in command of the Ranger he instituted this practice” Alek said

“And why are you always on watch?” Dorman asked

“Amoung my people, our gods have promised us in what we call the Palaidin Promise, that who ever swears off Alcohol, additicve substance, sexual relations, and who lives their life as moral as they can, they will be blessed by the Gods that we will be faster, stronger and better than our enemies.” Alek said slowly and cautioly as if this was something very important to him and he did not want anyone to misunderstand.

“This is all fascinating but Captain can we return to the topic at hand? I need to prepare my squad for the next threat” Noodles, the A-Wing Squad leader butted in impatiently.

“Yes, Yes as I explained before, both the First Order and the Resistnace pose threats to the New Republic, and we need to be prepared to deal with both of them” Alek said

“I don’t buy that Captain, the Resistance was formed as a result of the First Order making several threatening moves” said Vine The Y-Wing Squad leader

“Senator Organa only formed the Resistance as a result of a psychological need to fight someone somewhere and when she runs out of enemies who will she fight. I am just saying, look at our training exercise today, we went up against three light cruisers, one grand cruiser and several dozen fighter craft. The carrier jumped out when we destroyed most of the fighters who had 4 cruisers and fighter crafts?” Noodles said

“I met the Senator! she is not a person who is addicted to violence!” Vine exclaimed

“No, she does not seem like a violent person but look when the Empire fell she stayed in the fight to the very end until all the Remnants no matter how small were ratted out and crushed them. She has been fighting her whole life then when Alderan...um, blew up something snapped and she has been a loose cannon, fighting anyone who raised a blaster in her general direction.” Noodles said getting more heated as he’s speech went on

“Your beginning to sound like an Imperial, because Senator Organa has done nothing but sacrifice anything and everything to keep our galaxy safe and all your doing is complaining” Vine said getting just as heated

“No, no you miss understand me, Natalia. I am very grateful for what all she has done she sacrificed everything for the benefit of the Rebellion so that today I don't have to live in a tyrannical empire, but when there is finally peace, what would warriors do, they find another war to fight and when there are none, they start one” Noodles escalating his voice

“I don’t know but the First Order is clearly the bigger threat, and the Resistance is ill maned and ill equipped to take on the First Order or anyone for that matter” Vine said

“You won’t hear an argument from me on that one” Noodles said “But that won't stop them growing”

Yarn was following the conversation very closely but his concentration was interrupted as Joker walked back from the bar, grabbed a seat flipped it backwards and sat down resting his hands on the head rest and looked at Tripper, and Alek who at this point have stayed out of the conversation letting the The squad leaders duke it out verbally. At this point in the argument it turned to how the Resistance is “only made up of Old War Heros like Acbar and Organa, people with nowhere left to go and academy washouts”

This is where Yarn jumped in “I had a classmate in the Academy who got his first posting as an X-Wing pilot before deserting to the resistance” That was like throwing Coaxium off a clift as the argument turned into a three way argument with Noodles saying how the Resistance is a dangerous enemy causing desertion to fill their ranks with Military personal, Vine defended the Resistance recruitment practices by justifying how most of the Navy would leave to fight the real enemy and Yarn was somewhere in the middle.

“Oh Shut up and kiss already!!” Joker said over the clamor drawing the attention of a few other pilots. Noodles and Vine looked at Joker with a stare that could kill, then looked at eachother as they begian to laugh as they stood up faced eachother then boom! They were kissing, and kissing, and kissing either passionatly or viloently, drawing laugh cheers and whoops from the other pilots this went on for few minutes.

Trapper looked accross the table at Yarns face contorted in shock

“Oh, no we broke the new guy” Joker said

“Eleven?, Eleven? You there, Ord Mantel to Eleven come in Eleven” Tripper said waving his hand toward Yarn.

“Huh!!, WHAT THE CRIFT JUST HAPPEND” Yarn said in shock

Chuckling Joker said “Oh that? They have been together for the last few weeks, they argue like this just to throw us off their scent, but IT DIDN'T WORK” he directed the last portion toward the kissing couple.

“Hey, Hey it's Elvens first day here, let's not scare him too bad, ok?” Tripper said nugging Joker.

Throughout this whole ordeal Dorman sat back minding his own business and read the one book he always carried with him in his right thigh’s pants pocket

Alek noticed what Dorman was reading and with a roll of his eyes he realized just how much work his old Bothan friend cut out for him.

“What your reading there, Twelve?” Alek asked

“Just refreshing myself on whatThe New Republic StarFighter Regulation Manual says about improvisational combat plans” Dorman said

“Let me set a few things straight” Alek said then asked “let me see your book”

“Sure, “ Dorman said as he handed it to his Captian

“Look you see this book? Who wrote it?” Alek said displaying the front of the manuel

“Senator Trayis Malcor of Russan?” Dorman said puzzled

“Exactly, this book is useless! It is a military manuel written by a politician, a politician who does not even have a lick of military service” Alek said demeaningly

“Well, sir, uhhh” Dorman stammed

“Look Bookworm there is only one book that matters here in the field” Alek said slamming the manuel down reaching in and holding up a little black book that contained the names of people who should be notified in the event of his death or capture, it also contained personal notes and the last will and testament of Alek “Firebird” Mauz, every pilot filled out two, one he or she carried and one left in their lockers. “The only thing that matters” Alek continued is returning to the people who are in this book and making sure they never hear what I wrote inside it, the manuel only hinders that goal” Alek said with the most stearn voice anyone ever heard him use

A few seconds passed then “Joker?” Tripper said, shouting over low tumult of the crowd trying to lighten the increasingly darking mood “Did you hear that?”

“Yeaah, it sounds like a Callsign” Joker said, jumping on top of the table drawing all the pilot's attention.

“As your Squad leader” Joker said “and Flight L.T” Tripper joined, “we now crisan you Ensing-” they said together “what’s your name” Joker ask “Droman Tarn” Tarn filled in,

“We now Crisan you Ensign Dorman Bookworm Tarn!” they said together

“That's too on the nose Joker!” Root said “Get more creative!”

“Ok! Just Dorman Worm Tarn”

“But that’s my call sign!” Waldmir Vardom a Rodian A-Wing pilot said

“You're not making it easy, Worm!” Joker then said “Ok, ok fine If nobody else has any other exueses you are now Ensign Dorman Book Tarn!!!!”

No body interupted

“Alrighty” Tripper shouted “Let's give Book a Ranger Carrier Air Group Welcome!!!”

“WELCOME TO THE RANGER, BOOK” the whole bar erupted, even Noodles and Vine stopped kissing for a moment to join in the shout.

[thanksjro]

More Than Meets the Eye #6- Rung Has a Friggin’ Day

It’s time for therapy.

Finally.

It turns out that Ratchet didn’t forget about Fortress Maximus’ acts of extreme violence in all the chaos that was last issue, and requested that Fort Max get set up with some mandatory counseling. Of course, because it’s been about a week in Fort Max-time since Garrus 9 went down, he’s not exactly thrilled to talk about what happened. And who can blame him? Garrus 9 sucked big time for everyone involved, even Overlord.

Fort Max claims to not remember what happened- he’s lying, and we’re treated to a flashback that sort of justifies his fib- and Rung suggests they get Chromedome involved, which seems perhaps a bit unethical? To just rip traumatic memories that may or may not be repressed out of a guy’s head? Like, I’m not super well-versed in psychiatry, but that seems a little off.

Rung, in an attempt to make Fort Max feel a little safer, tells him that Overlord- though he doesn’t say his name, because triggering Fort Max could literally get people killed- was neutralized about as efficiently as possible for their species.

I can’t believe Cybertron has a better veteran healthcare system than the United States.

Enough of Fortress Maximus’ impending implosion, it’s time for bar shenanigans!

Over at Swerve’s, Trailbreaker is proving to be completely incapable of keeping his drink in his glass, as Chromedome participates in a game where he has to guess who’s transforming into their alt-mode, based purely on the sound. He gets it in one, and everyone loses their shit. Chromedome, never one to hype himself, takes the opportunity to instead build Rewind up, because he just loves him that much.

Fortress Maximus gets brought up, and while Trailbreaker thinks the guy’s a little overrated, the others have heard about what happened on Delphi, and proceed to learn the wrong lesson from the whole thing. Tailgate enters the scene, after a rousing study session with everyone’s favorite giant neurotic.

Tailgate, you fool! It’ll be another 41 issues before Cyclonus is ready to even acknowledge his feelings!

It’s good to know that Tailgate doesn’t hold any grudges over the info dump Rewind gave him the other day. Also, that table looks like a nightmare to clean.

Ultra Magnus walks in, looking about as cheery as he possibly can considering who he is, promptly arrests Swerve for running the bar without taking bureaucracy into account, and whisks the little jabber jaw away in handcuffs, practically carrying him off by the scruff like a kitten.

Fort Max enters the room, having decided to grab a drink after the ordeal that is mandatory therapy.

Of course, it wouldn’t be a day on the Lost Light without something going just a little screwy.

This is a typical Wednesday for Pipes.

Fort Max proceeds to wreck several robots, seemingly at random, though he somehow manages to not actually kill any of them. Intentional or not? We still have several pages of this issue to get through, hold your horses! All will be revealed in time.

Which brings us to now. Fort Max has locked himself in Rung’s office, alongside Rung and the poor sap who was unlucky enough to have had an appointment when the big guy showed up. Rodimus and Drift are trying to figure out just what the hell to do with this current situation. Magnus enters, having just set Swerve up with his punishment, and berates Rodimus for letting Fort Max run around with a gun, as if 90% of the crew doesn’t also have massive weapons literally built into their bodies.

Blaster gets a video feed from one of the surveillance cameras going, and we get a good look at just how fucked this whole thing has become, because as it turns out, Rung’s appointment for this time slot was none other than Whirl, instigator extraordinaire, and being stabbed by some ship piping has done absolutely nothing to slow his suicidal roll.

That gun is positively ridiculous. Where were you even KEEPING that thing, Max?

It only takes a couple of face-mashings with the barrel of the BFG to get Whirl to back off, accomplishing what Rung simply cannot, because Whirl doesn’t play by the rules of anyone who values their life in any capacity. You’d think it’d take more than that to shut him up, but Whirl’s head is made of plot, so it’s a bit delicate.

Rung spots the camera, and decides to make himself useful by providing audio to this whole debacle, by way of his microphone thumb.

Now, a hostage situation just isn’t complete without some sort of demand in exchange for the safety of said hostages, and Fort Max has quite the doozy for Rodimus: he wants to go back to Cybertron, so he can confront Prowl on the slow response to the hell that was Garrus 9. Max was trapped there for over three years before the Wreckers came along, and it’s still pretty fresh for him because of the coma letting him skip a lot of time he could have spent healing.

Pro-tip: when handling a hostage situation, don’t get into a screaming match with the dude who’s about to shoot the only mental health specialist your race has ever managed to produce. Blaster gets it.

Rung is many things, but is no actor, as is made apparent by him holding his microphone thumb-bound hand in the most fucking conspicuous way possible. Fort Max notices- because how could he not?- and relieves Rung of this terrible burden.

Rung is really regretting not minoring in theatre right about now.

Hours later in the medibay, First Aid is proving to have gone mad with power, as he maintains some dangerously high snark levels while keeping the victims of Fort Max’s spree stable. Ratchet, whose hands are still Pharma-blue, is starting to piece together the reasoning behind who got shot.

That’s right, Fort Max was embarrassed that he showed up with the same color paint as all these guys, and tried to kill them to keep his fashion faux pas to a minimum.

Back in Rung’s office, Whirl’s dropped all pretense due to sheer boredom, and straight-up asks Fort Max to just get it over with and shoot them both. Having his thumb ripped off has made Rung a bit snippy, and he snaps at Whirl for the quip, before Max decides that he’s actually rather interested in just what Whirl’s appointment was going to cover. Rung tries to stymie this line of questioning, but he really ought to know not to get in the way of the plot progression at this point.

Whirl does decide to spill his beans, if only after Rung gets the obscenely large barrel of Max’s obscenely large gun pressed to one whole side of his face.

It turns out Whirl has depths to him, or at least he did, once upon a time. Before he got booted out of the Wreckers, before he was even in the Wreckers, he created as opposed to destroyed. More specifically, he was a watchmaker, good enough to find an audience in the time of Functionist Cybertron. Now, because he’s a helicopter, the guys up top weren’t too jazzed about Whirl not doing what he’d “been born to do,” on top of not giving them any of his sweet watch money, and decided to start fucking up his life to get him back in line. They started with tearing his shop to the ground.

But we’ll get to what the hell empurata is in a few issues.

Also, while Whirl’s been sharing his backstory, Rung managed to grab his model ship from off the floor.

I’m not sure how he managed to get ahold of his model without making a giant clumsy scene either, considering that’s his thumbless hand.

Rung, because he’s a clever man, is staring super hard at the camera and making kind of a weird face as he taps on the little windows of his model ship, signaling to Rodimus and crew to see what they can do with the windows outside of his office. He’s got three real big ones that let you see out- or in- the whole room. Rodimus makes a call, and we get a proper understanding of what Chromedome meant when he said Rewind was outside.

No kidding.

Rewind and Swerve are on rivet replacement duty, using rivet guns nearly as big as they are. Swerve’s passing the time idly chatting, because that’s his whole deal.

Knowing Swerve, that’s probably a joke, but given what we learn a few issues after this, on how exactly Cybertron handles those who don’t fall in line, I can’t help but wonder…

Okay, we know why Swerve’s out here, but what’s Rewind’s deal?

You remember those data discs Red Alert mentioned last issue, the ones Rewind was begging Chromedome to help him find? The ones he got from Swindle at the start of the series? Yeah, turns out those were chock-full of video footage of people dying.

Rodimus didn’t like the fact that Rewind had brought snuff films onto the Lost Light, and now here he is. We don’t get an explanation as to why he wanted the films in the first place, though he does integrate that it isn’t a pleasurable thing to watch. Rodimus calls, interrupting the conversation, and asks Rewind to take a walk.

Returning to the office, we find that Whirl’s really pouring it out now, giving us his whole life story.

Rung’s reaction here is equal parts sweet and sad. It’s like he’s never had a fucking friend in his entire life. Rung seems terribly lonely.

We also get the answer as to what exactly Whirl did to get kicked out of the Wreckers- he tried to mercy-kill Springer. After the events of Last Stand, Fort Max wasn’t the only one in a coma, and Whirl saw the writing on the wall in terms of Springer’s chances of recovery. He tried to put the guy out of his misery, but was caught and kicked to the curb before that could happen.

And that’s about where he stops. You know, if it weren’t for the whole “being held at gunpoint” thing, this would have been an amazing therapy session! Whirl really opened himself up today, I’m proud of him.

Fort Max realizes that the ship hasn’t turned around to head back to Cybertron, and that’s about the point where he decides it’s time to make good on his threat. Whirl volunteers as tribute, as Swerve and Rewind peek through the window, ready to enact the next phase of Rodimus’ plan.

Rung tries to deescalate, with Whirl reescalating in equal measures, because he is actively and violently suicidal at this point, bringing us to a standstill in negotiations as Ratchet finally gets ahold of Rodimus to tell him something very important.

Ratchet’s sussed out the central pin in this pegboard of PTSD, and it’s Overlord. Every guy Fort Max put in the ICU looked at least somewhat like that lippy bastard. Rung comes to a similar conclusion on his end, claiming that Fort Max is acting out because he went through hell at Overlord’s hand, and wants payback.

Outside the office, Rewind is lining up to shoot Fort Max with his rivet gun, though he has his reservations.

It’s a special kind of love that makes you want your husband to support you through sniping a guy five times bigger than you.

Rewind’s lining up the shot, when Fort Max moves behind a pillar. Time for Plan B.

Rodimus, you can’t just SAY that to him, he’s a married man.

Whirl’s egging Fort Max on, his eye flaring out in a way that one might consider to be crying, though if you asked him he’d absolutely deny it. Then Garrus 9 pays everyone a little visit, by way of Rewind’s camera projecting on the wall. This freezes Fort Max in his tracks, because of course it would. That shit’s terrifying. He breaks down, falling to the floor in a heap.

I suppose this is one way to handle a hostage situation. Rodimus, not wanting to take any chances, orders Swerve to take the shot anyway.

Safe to say, Swerve wasn’t top of his class at the military academy.

As Fort Max mourns the loss of Rung, Whirl yanks that pipe that’s been stabbed into his belly for the last several hours out, and returns the favor, getting Max right in the chest.

Shit.

All those fucking therapy appointments are going to have to be rescheduled. There are over 200 robots on this ship.

I sure hope Rung had a secretary to handle all that.

Later on, after the messy stuff’s been dealt with, Rodimus and Drift have a chat about Red Alert, and how he’s developing a potential to be a liability. As they talk, Red Alert is shown to be ripping the drill arm off that guy who got eaten by the quantum engine and using it to dig into the floor where he heard that super-slow voice. What does he find? I hope it’s treasure!

...That’s not treasure.

Hey, Rung?

Rung?

Buddy, I think someone might’ve been fibbing when they said that.

Nobody tell Fort Max about this.

[lezliefaithwade]

The Power of Poetry

When I was growing up, my father would often refer to my mother’s side of the family as though he were speaking in parenthesis. “Your mother’s sister…” or “Your mother’s aunt…” and to be fair, my mother did the same with my dad. Even as a child, the differences between their two worlds were shocking. My mother, nicknamed “Showboat” by my fraternal Grandmother, was both a breath of fresh air and shocking to the strong British stock my father heralded from. There was nothing capricious about the Wadley’s. My grandfather was a train engineer. My grandmother raised five boys during the Depression. They attended Anglican church regularly, played bridge, and ate their meals every night together around the dining room table.   My mother’s family was another story. My paternal grandmother, after having already been widowed twice, lived in “sin” with an Italian cook who worked for my great-grandmother in her restaurant. She had flaming red hair, wore tight dresses, and loved a good time. I can’t ever remember a year my Nana wasn’t on a diet. I never saw her read a book, or cook a single meal – ever. I think she lived for trips to Florida where she and my grandfather would spend days at the pool and nights at the bar.

My parents were a kind of Romeo and Juliet, defying their parent’s wishes for the sake of love. One glance at their wedding pictures tells the whole story. A happy bride and groom stand with their arms entwined while decidedly unhappy in-laws, barely cracking a smile, are photographed outside of the church.

By the time my brother and I were born, we had become the branch on both sides of the family tree that didn’t really belong to either. We were the odd ones out. My mother’s family couldn’t figure out how Anglican children had penetrated their ranks, and my father’s family were apoplectic when they discovered that my brother and I had been enrolled in Catholic school. At Christmas as we opened our gifts inside the home my father grew up in, my grandmother could be heard to comment on the amount, the cost and the suitability of every item. By dinner time, my mother was counting the minutes until we would leave.

The disparity between the two families was never more evident than when my parents would ship us off to a relative when they were going through a particularly difficult rough patch. Most often a relative I didn’t know. Usually a childless female or lonely widow who at a party said in passing something like, “Lezlie is so precocious. I’d love to know what goes on in her mind.”

“Really?” my mother would ask and the next thing I knew I was at my cousin Cheryl’s or my Aunt Gwen’s.  

Cheryl was an attractive woman with wispy blond hair and fine features. A staunch Catholic, she insisted I put a doily on my head then dragged me off to church where I became nauseous from heat and incense. Like many such relatives, Cheryl saw the weekend with me as an opportunity for indoctrination and spent hours reading bible stories about Jonah in the whale and Noah’s ark. Somewhere she missed the memo that I was already reading A Wrinkle in Time and had moved beyond the old Testament to Madeleine L’Engle. I came home insisting my parents never subject me to her good intentions again. Cheryl, now having proven my father’s point about how crazy my mother’s relatives were, would cause him to simply smile and say, “See, that’s what I’m talking about.”

Aunt Gwen was another story altogether. Universally considered “weird” by all my relatives, Gwen lived in a rather nice apartment in the Beaches. She wasn’t religious at all, but an alcoholic who kept her apartment dark and sombre. She’d serve me processes food, that I didn’t like, and once, when I was three, she took me to a funeral parlour. About a month later as my parents were driving past the establishment I blurted out, “I saw a man sleeping in there.” My mother just looked at my father and rolled her eyes. Over time they started keeping score against each other and the points were racking up.

By the time I was in Grade 5 my parent’s marriage was, not surprisingly, on rocky ground. It was probably even before that, but it was Grade 5 when I noticed it for the first time. Both sides of the family were poised for what seemed an inevitable split as I began a new school and a new classroom with my first male teacher, Mr. Koerner. Mr. Koerner didn’t like me. Or maybe to put it more accurately, he preferred the other girls in my class and most notably my best friend, Trinka. Trinka was beautiful, and poised and loved to colour code her notebooks. She cared about her clothes and her nails and had perfect posture. When she started a Greek Mythology card catalogue, she shot up in Mr. Koerner’s estimation as practically perfect. In terms of rank, there was Trinka, Anila, Diane, and then me. I was (before the term had even been coined) the “Duff”.  I wore glasses, spilled food on my clothes, and was a decidedly bad influence on my best friend.  When Trinka and I wrote a radio play about a murderer who chopped up his victims and flushed them down the toilet only to back up the entire city’s sewer system, it was my parents, not Trinka’s who got the call about how disturbing it was. My mother and father knew full well that I was influenced by Creepy Magazine (a series of comic books I loved reading) and thought nothing more of it.

Mr. Koerner did not like my mother, most notably because of two incidents that went all the way to the Superintendent of the school board. The first one occurred one morning when I mentioned in class that she had allowed me to watch the movie “Gypsy.” Never overly concerned with our ability to process movies, my parents frequently watched sophisticated films with my brother and me. They were always available for questions if there was something we didn’t understand and they never subjected us to anything we didn’t want to watch. So, when I happily explained the plot to my classroom one Monday morning during current events, Mr. Koerner was aghast. In front of my class-mates he publicly castigated my parents and humiliated me for what he deemed to be an inappropriate movie for a child of my age to watch (He clearly took issue with strippers). The second incident and probably much worse was the way he insinuated himself into my life when I got my first pair of contact lenses. I’d been wearing glasses since I was two, and by the time I got into grade 5 wearing contact lenses became a viable option…one recommended by my optometrist. Mr. Koerner was shocked the first day I arrived without my spectacles. He told me I was vain and blamed my mother for a decision he thought was not in my best interest. At this point my father got involved. He stormed down to the school and, as I understand it, scared the bejeezus out of Mr. Koerner. For the first time in a long while, my parents were getting along. At night I’d hear them as they shared their common dislike for the man my mother referred to as, “Larry”. I suddenly felt like I was in a version of Disney’s The Parent Trap. What began as me dreading school, turned into me hoping “Larry” would put his foot in his mouth yet again so my parents would come together as a team.

Mr. Koerner had, among his many idiosyncrasies, a penchant for keeping scrapbooks. They weren’t for public consumption, but rather books compiled of our work for his personal pleasure. One day for an assignment, I turned in the following poem:

They’ve all left now

Gone their separate ways

This house once filled with laughter

Must now face empty days

A cold breeze taps my shoulder

And I blink and turn around

I only hope I’ll have such love

For the new home that I’ve found.

Mr. Koerner gave me 90% for the poem with instructions to have it signed by a parent and then returned.

“Returned.” my mother said, “What for?”

“His scrapbook.” I replied between mouthfuls of mashed potatoes.

“What scrapbook?” my father asked.

“The one he keeps our stuff in.” I nonchalantly replied.

“For what purpose?” my father queried.

I shrugged my shoulders. “Beats me. He’s got tons of Trinka’s stuff in there is all I know.”

“Well,” said my mother, “He’s not getting this back.”

I choked. “What do you mean? Everyone has to return their work once it’s been signed.”

“Not this time.” My father chimed in. And that was that.

I loved that my parents were taking a stand as a united front. I did not like being the messenger.

The next day I turned up for school without the poem, hoping Mr. Koerner wouldn’t notice. At the end of the day he stopped me before I could sneak out.

“Lezlie, do you have your poem signed by your parents?”

“Oh, gee, I forgot it. I’ll bring it tomorrow,” I said and left for home.

The next day it was the same. And the day after that. By the end of the week Mr. Koerner was getting wise that something was up.

“Lezlie,” he asked, “What’s going on with the poem? I gave it to you to have signed and then returned. If you don’t bring it back, I’ll have to dock you your mark.”

When I told my parents that I was perilously close to losing my grade if they didn’t return the poem, they were furious.

“He knows what the mark is,” my mother exclaimed.

“Surely he’s recorded your grade already,” my father stated. “What the heck’s up?

In the meantime, my mother had copied the poem and sent it to every member of both her side and my father’s side of the family, selecting to tell them that I had written it and that my teacher was threatening to dock me my mark if I didn’t return it to him. Could they believe the injustice of it all?

For the first time that I can ever remember, there was a universal uproar from both sides.  Even my cousin Cheryl and my Aunt Gwen called to tell my mother how unfair it all was. And the following week, when he threatened once more to dock me my grade, both my mother and my father went to the school to visit him. It was one of those pivotal moments when you know that things will either be better or worse for you, but will definitely not remain as they have been. An hour later when they returned, my father simply said, “Well, that’s that.” Apparently, my dad told Mr. Koerner that if he ever threatened me again about anything, he’d make it his mission in life to have him transferred.  After that, my teacher pretty much ignored me and never asked for a single item of mine for his “scrapbook” ever again.

That year my parents seemed to be closer than ever and the day I found out I had Mr. Koerner for grade 6, I was secretly thrilled.

When my parent’s marriage did, in fact, dissolve a few years later, there was no villain left to unite them.  Lines were drawn in the sand and sides were picked.  Our weird family of four that had never really belonged to either side of the family, were now a family of three and even more conspicuously out of step.

Still, for two brief years I enjoyed the unification of my parents as they fought to protect me against a terrible teacher. And somehow throughout it all, I learned about the incredible power of the written word along with a new found love of poetry.