#oh now i notice its similar to gale name

[ratguy-nico]

Looook at my babieeeeeeees -im siginng- they are not longer blorbos just rough scketches -not siging-

I post this, one... cause i want to, two cause I forget to mention I need a big round of aplause for @sailoreuterpe who came up with the frincking best ship name of all for my babies

I love how this woman tag damn I wish i could tag like this

I love Galex for them, we finally have a name I LOVE THIS

and with Courtney is even more perfect

I will always envy creative people cause I can't come up with this kind of thing even to save my life :D

[lionydoorin]

for your consideration: tara, who has almost certainly never interacted with a pet before, and nina, the cat who loves traumatized people

tara, who's never had a pet, both because of her fragile health and her mother's overall hatred for them.

who had never pet chad and mindy's childhood dog, because she was so scared of it they had to keep him outside the room whenever tara visited them. who only heard stories about amber's old cat, who passed away when her ex best friend was six.

who's startled when kirby first releases nina in the apartment, watching, with amazed eyes, as the small, black cat passes by them and runs into the agent's new bedroom.

she thought it was cute. but from a safe distance.

it was certainly calmer than when she had to worry about the meeks-martin's dog, though, because whenever they went to kirby's place, nina was nowhere to be found. tara would always wonder where she went; sometimes, she'd find her hiding in the closet, or taking a nap under the table.

one time, she went into the kitchen to grab a cup of water and found nina lying on the counter, tail gently wagging, and watched as the cat's head peeked up with the new presence.

tara ran out of the room right after.

it was always like this, though – she'd keep her distance, just like the kitten, watching as she existed in their presence. sometimes, when they arrived, the agent would call out her name and nina would respond with the smallest squeak. sam would pass by her and give her a gentle pat in the head, and tara would watch as the cat closed its eyes and purred contently. she'd see her rubbing up against kirby's leg when it was time for dinner and it would make her smile.

once, tara and kirby were on the couch while sam, mindy and chad went out to grab their pizza (safety in numbers, or something), and tara flinched slightly as she noticed nina jumping on the center table.

"you're not really a cat person, are you?" kirby chuckled, chugging a bit of her beer.

"i'm not the biggest fan of pets," tara said, fascinated eyes watching as the cat licked her paw and rubbed it on her face repeatedly. "i had never seen a cat up close before i met nina, actually."

"oh?"

tara nodded, pursing her lips in a tight smile as she looked up to the woman beside her. "never had animals. my mom wasn't a big fan of them, and she thought if we had one it could trigger my asthma. she didn't wanna waste her money on any more hospital bills. i seem to be doing just fine with your cat around, though. and nina seems pretty calm."

"she likes you." kirby's words made tara tilt her head slightly in confusion, looking back at the cat, that was now licking her own stomach. the woman shrugged. "she was a dumpster cat before i found her. probably got abandoned, and then she had her kittens pretty early on, and, well, nina's not really fond of people. not besides me, since, well, i'm her caretaker and stuff. but you see how she acts around gale. i guess since you never insisted, she liked that. i'm not saying you should run up to her, carry her around and become best friends with my cat. but i'm just saying that there's nothing to be afraid of, as well."

tara still watched. questioned, as she absorbed kirby's words, if this meant she could give it a try.

wondered if she would like to try.

——

sometimes, when kirby and mindy talked about movies, it reminded tara of her old best friend.

mindy and amber had lots of similar discussions before. the meeks twin would start an argument about the latest horror film she'd watched, specially when amber expressed a different opinion than hers — teasing her, daring her to prove them wrong. and amber would respond with such enthusiasm they'd get lost inside their own horror-centric universe.

whenever their group had a movie night and they settled for horror, the controller always fell on their hands. either kirby or mindy would give them insight into different options, so they could vote on the one that would be chosen.

before they pressed play, one of them would comment on something of the movie they were excited to watch — or rewatch — and it sparked a discussion that lasted for at least an hour, when someone finally managed to steal the remote from their hands and start the dvd.

this first hour always made tara kind of black out; she'd pull her knees close to her chest, staring at the distance as she blocked out all of the noise. her mind would wander elsewhere, away from movie dates she's once had, from get-togethers with her high school group where they laughed and acted like real teenagers. she'd avoid thinking of everything she once had and longing for those that she lost.

it always left her with a sort of melancholy, one that carried throughout at least half of the movie. but it was always best to not think at all than to face the things she felt constantly.

she was so lost in herself she didn't notice a presence settling beside her. nina walked in small steps, passing by kirby in front of the dvd player, jumping on the center table and stopping in front of where tara was positioned on the ground. then, she moved again, slowly pushing herself towards the girl, before she decided to sit right by her side, watching the group interact.

tara got back to her senses as a tail brushed her side, blinking rapidly and shaking her head as she adjusted her hazy vision. then, she notices it. nina, sitting there, tail gently wagging and eyes focused on the group interaction.

first, tara felt the initial panic; the thought of losing her breath, of having to claw at her throat and take her medicine as soon as possible. her hands searched for her inhaler, right then, finding it securely stored on her pocket. she didn't feel any chest pain, nor shortness of breath. everything was fine. she was fine.

(but i'm just saying that there's nothing to be afraid of, as well.)

she reached out hesitantly, watching as nina side-eyed her movement. seeing the cat didn't shift or run away from the idea of being touched, tara brushed her fingers through the fur in curiosity, choosing to pet her just like sam did the other day.

nina closed her eyes, lying down, seeming content with the gentle head massage she was receiving.

she retreated her hand, watching as nina leaned to rub her head against her leg, before she returned to the same spot by her side. she lied down again, both her front and back paws hidden by her tiny body.

"you're a good kitty, nina." she whispered. mirroring each other, tara and nina looked ahead, observing the rest of the group interacting, mindy leaning her body back with the remote raised above her head as chad impatiently pushed her, fighting for it.

tara felt happy, simply existing in the presence of this new but somehow familiar presence, and nina apparently felt the same way, quietly purring beside her.

[warriorlid14]

So Gale and Delly. I had honestly never considered them at first, thinking they were far too different. Buuuuuuut.... I think it works? And is actually super cute when you think about for a second?

So here’s my take on how it would happen. It was supposed to be a series of short bullet points, but instead, you get a disorganized mini-fic. I’ll edit it later into an actual fic format, but for now, here ya go:

Delly goes to District 2. Gale is surprised to see her in one of their rebel/reconstruction/rebuilding/whatever their name was meetings two weeks after he had officially moved to D2. She had greeted him warmly and he supposed he had looked confused, because she suddenly had a sad smile and said, “There’s too many memories back in Twelve.” He didn’t have a response for that. He had too many ghosts back in Twelve, too.

He had never given Delly a second thought. She wasn’t in his grade level and he vaguely recognized her when he’d first seen her in D13. He supposed she was nice enough, what with the whole helping Peeta come back from... well, helping Peeta come back. But they didn’t interact, they didn’t cross paths, and he’d never had a reason to form much of an opinion of her.

But then after two days of her quietly listening in to the meetings, after Pike proposed simply demolishing the buildings near the square and rebuilding from scratch, Delly broke her silence and softly said, “Well, what do the citizens from District 2 want?”

There was silence, and then Pike said, “This will be the easier than attempting to repair every single building to its original standard.” And  Delly said “But this is their home,” her voice going up a decibal. After some debate within the team, Pike had told her that if she wanted to speak to all 60k (now 50k) residents of D2, to be his guest. 

Five days later, Delly showed up with 700 written testimonies with  requests to not tear down the buildings as well as grievances the team hadn’t even considered. Everybody was fed and had some sort of shelter- even if it was mostly camps. That had been the team’s main focus. But people wanted shoes, and shower facilities, and actual funerals for the dead.

They decided not to tear down the buildings. And Gale decided that he had underestimated Delly Cartwright.

Two weeks later Gale decided he detested Delly Cartwright. Okay, so detested was a strong word, but she absolutely aggravated him. How, just how, could a person be so cheery? At seven in the morning? It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to waking up at the crack of dawn, but that was to go to the forest. Their work place was a dimly lit, dampy building. Which also happened to house half of them, including the two of them. And if she chirpily asked him how his previous day was one more time on the elevator while he was busy trying to wake up, he would snap.

But she was from D12. The only other person from Twelve. And she meant nothing to him before, and in a way, still didn’t. It wasn’t like they were friends. But she was from home. And that counted for something. 

One day, a woman asked Delly if there was any way to retrieve her dead husband’s wedding band from the moratorium. Which led to dozens of similar requests. So Gale and Delly and five volunteers found themselves trying to ID bodies and gather belongings. The rebels had started doing this at first, but the bodies had piled up, and there were simply too many of them to continue.

For the first time, Gale saw Delly lose her smile and cheery demeanor. He told her she didn’t have to go in. He’d seen enough corpses. Some of them by his hand. A few more wouldn't make a difference. But Delly shook her head and headed to the first corpse. Gale decided that she was growing on him.

That night, Gale wondered if the corpses littered across D12 still had wedding bands on.

The first time Gale saw Delly angry was two months in when she demanded that workers from The Nut be given food and shelter instead of being left to fend for themselves. Pike yelled at her and called her naive, stepping closer towards her and Gale instinctively stepped in closer as well, protectively.

Delly’s face was flushed and she had tears in her eyes- she wasn’t one for confrontations- but she looked at Pike in the eyes and didn’t step back.

It was funny, really, how not so long ago, he would have agreed with Pike. Not so long ago, he would have looked at the workers from the Nut, Capitol supporters, and said “No. You don’t get to work for the enemy for years, you don’t get to kill for the enemy, and then demand the same rights as those who fought for freedom. That’s not fair.” Not so long ago, he had stood by that mountain and felt the ghost of the fire licking at his feet, burning his side, seen the fire flash in his mind and burn down his home, his neighbors, children, felt the fire wrap around his chest, his heart, his soul, and said, “Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. You killed my district. Now you deserve to die.” But now the fire he remembered the most was the one that had taken a blond-haired, blue-eyed, little girl that he loved like a sister. And for what? What had he fought for? Freedom. Protection. Justice. Revenge? But the war was over. And what had he fought for? All that loss could not have been in vain.

So he stepped behind Delly and loudly agreed with her. And when she smiled at him, it was almost contagious.

Delly left their department not long after they started looking for shelter for the workers at The Nut. She was now working on forming some sort of social program. Trying to build a community. Scrounging for resources outside of immediate survival. She was only two doors down from him, but Gale was surprised to find that he actually missed her constant humming in the office.

He supposed that this was why he accepted the invitation to attend the community dinner she organized a couple of weeks later. He kept his head down the entire time, focused on his meal. He had never been particularly quiet or reserved. He hadn’t been particularly outgoing, either, but he had never been shy. Now, though, he looked at his plate and didn’t offer any input to the conversation, weary of accusatory looks and swearing that he could hear people thinking murderer. 

So he was quiet, until Delly loudly announced “I’m sure Mr. Hawthorne would love to play with you,” and he looked up to see a group of five boys aged eight to twelve holding a ball and looking at him hopefully. He gave Delly a half-glare and was about to say that Mr. Hawthorne would most certainly not love to play, but she smiled brightly at him, ignoring him. And so he found himself being dragged off to a game that included kicking a ball into a makeshift net.

When he sat back down half an hour later, hair mussed and actually smiling, Pike said, “I didn’t know you were any good with kids, Hawthorne.” Delly piped up, “Oh, Gale’s great with kids. He has three younger siblings, and he was always making them laugh back in District 13.” Gale was surprised that she knew this, that she’d noticed. He gave her a questioning look, but she just smiled in return.

He kept stealing glances at her throughout the night, mostly quizzically. Maybe it was that he hadn’t been looking closely at her, but he noticed that she had gained some of her old weight back, cheeks fuller. Hair shinier. He didn’t know her before, but he did know what had happened to her parents, and knew what grief did to a person. But she looked healthier now. Good. She deserved good things in her life.

The next time they saw each other was two days later when Gale was cursing at his unit’s jammed door that was refusing to open. He was so desperate for some sleep, having just pulled a fourteen hour shift, that he was considering just ramming it down when Delly walked by, saw his predicament, and offered to let him sleep on her couch. He was so tired, he agreed without much hesitation.

The next day he woke up to the sound of loud singing, a little off-key, and mentally groaned, shifting on the couch to try to find a comfortable position again. But Delly took this as a sign that he had woken up and brightly said, "Good morning, Gale! I hope you had a great night's sleep! Was the couch comfortable?" Gale mentally cursed, but responded and got up. He found himself sitting down across from Delly and eating some toast she had made, while Delly happily chirped on about how it was going to rain that day and how she loved the smell of freshly-water grass. Gale couldn't stop himself from asking "How are you so happy all the time?" She looked surprised, and said, "I'm not happy all the time." He must have given her an incredulous look, because she shrugged and said, "I just like to focus on the small things. On the brighter things." She paused, then said softly, "It makes it easier, on the bad days, to pick myself up again."

Gale dismissed this at first, thinking that it was just a Delly thing. But then one day he woke up with the image of burning blond hair and pained blue eyes and clipped mockingjay wings. And his heart hurt so much that it was hard to breathe, that he was sure someone had reached into his chest and started to squeeze. But that day, when he visited one of the camps with his team he caught sight of two children laughing, kicking around a ball. Saw their parents smiling, with a genuineness and lightheartedness that was hard to find before the war. He held that image in his head the entire day, focused hard on it. It had been for something. The pain, the destruction, the deaths. Selling his soul to the fight. It had been for something. And the pain in his heart didn't disappear. But he did felt the pressure lessen, just a bit.

It started with an invite to dinner at her unit. And then he reciprocated because it was the polite thing to do. And then they were at each other's places once, twice, three times a week after work. And suddenly he found that he was friends with Delly Cartwright. It had been a while since he'd had a friend. He had plenty back in 12, and there was Katniss of course, and a few in 13. But now half of them were dead or hated him or were back in a district he couldn't force himself to visit. He hadn't realized how much he missed easy companionship, how much he needed actual human contact, until he found himself smiling at Delly's animated retelling of a family her team had reunified the day prior. She was a breath of fresh air in a place that was still wounded, that was still bleeding.(But somehow, it was still healing)

Delly tried to pick up new habits and hobbies often. She told him about how she failed at baking, and was decent at gardening, but could never keep track of which plants needed more or less water. A week after they had started actually hanging out, she had taken up knitting and had dragged Gale along to practice with her. To his surprise, he found that he was actually good at it. It made sense, though, considering his ability with snares. Delly smiled encouragingly at him, but still seemed a little annoyed that he had picked up her new hobby much quicker than she had. Gale grinned at this, glad to see that Delly wasn't actually superhuman and also had normal, petty, human emotions. When she held up her poor attempt at a glove that inexplicably seemed to have a thumb in the middle of the hand, he but burst out laughing. He stopped when he saw her giving him a strange look, and asked "What?" She shrugged, and said, "I don't think I've heard you laugh since we were at District 13." But then she smiled and said, "It's a nice laugh, though. It suits you. I wished you would do it more often." And to his horror, he felt himself actually blush. It wasn't like he wasn't used to compliments. Oh, he heard "gorgeous" and "hot" and the occasional "sexy" and felt eyes looking him up and down, sometimes enough to make him uncomfortable, especially when the person was significantly older. But he didn't think he'd ever heard someone compliment his laugh. It was... nice, actually. He muttered a quick "thanks" and went back to his attempt at making a hat. There was an awkward silence for a bit, but half an hour later, he was lightly teasing Delly on her skills.

It turned out that laughing was easier when Delly was around. Maybe it was having a friend once more. Maybe it was just Delly, her lightness contagious.

Delly was ranting about Pike. Except that, because she was Delly, she wasn't actually insulting him. And kept saying phrases like "while I understand where he's coming from" and "he's a good man, really, but". So Gale said, "You can call him a dick, you know. We all do it." Delly hesitated and said, "But he isn't. Not really. He just doesn't understand that we also need funding for community building and healing." Gale shook his head, amused. "Call him a dick, Delly. You know you want to." Delly sighed, and said, "I think you want me to. Would it make you feel better, to hear me call him that?" Gale grinned. "Yes, it would. I need to know that you can physically curse." Delly rolled her eyes and said, "Fine." Then softly, hesitant, she said, "he's a dick." Gale burst out laughing and Delly rolled her eyes once more, but she was laughing too. "This isn't about my ability to curse, you know. I was talking about funding for mental health professionals. The community needs it." Gale, still laughing, said, "Delly Cartwright, defender of human rights." Delly shook her head exasperatedly, but then said, "that term applies to you too, you know." That stopped his laughter. He thought about a time, not long ago, when he'd stood by a mountain full of weapons and suggested destroying them along with everyone inside. Thought about the weapons that had ended the war- and taken dozens of innocent children with them. Gale swallowed. "I wouldn't say that." Delly smiled softly at him. "You risked your life everyday fighting for freedom. Don't underestimate yourself, Gale."

Spending so much time with Delly made him become more attuned with her emotions. Which was why a couple of months later, he began to notice the strain in her smile, the way it didn't quite reach her eyes. So he took her out to the woods one weekend in an attempt to cheer her up. He didn't hunt, though. He didn't think she'd appreciate the sight of dead squirrels. But she did appreciate the freedom of the woods and the wind in her hair and the sound of the river cutting through a valley. She had sat down next to it, picking out flowers along the edge of the river and talking about how maybe he could teach her how to swim. When she looked up at him, a warm smile on her face, her blue eyes brighter in the sunlight and blond hair glowing almost gold, his answer caught in his throat. For a second, he couldn't think about anything else but how pretty she looked, but quickly buried the thought down at her expectant eyes. He told her that it was getting too cold to go swimming, now almost November. But he could teach her once it was warmer.

They stayed there for a few more hours, and she slowly became more quiet. Finally, she admitted that it was her parent's birthday that week- their birthdays fell three days apart. She said that they usually celebrated with pastries and board games then became silent once more, wistfully looking out to the horizon, eyes tearing up pulling knees to her chest. He awkwardly placed an arm around her in an attempt at comfort, but she seemed to think it was enough, burying her head in his shoulder.

Sometimes, when he felt unbearably homesick he spent hours out in the woods. They weren't the same as his woods, but they were close enough. And if he closed his eyes, he could pretend he was home. Delly didn't have something like the woods to comfort her, though. The only real connection she had to D12 in D2 was himself, and it wasn't like they knew each other before the war. He had an idea then, of someone who did know her before, someone who could help. And he hated that he suddenly felt afraid.

He and Peeta Mellark had never been friends. Not exactly. He had tried hating him once, long ago, but had quickly given up. He was too nice, too kind, too caring and never treated Gale with anything less than respect. Which led to Gale grudgingly respecting him on a bad day and actually liking the guy on a good day. In another world, maybe they could have been good friends. But in this world, he was the person closest to Katniss, at least according to Greasy Sae who he talked to once a month, and that thought filled him with dread. That Peeta could mention him to Katniss. That Peeta would know whether Katniss hated him outright or not. That he could ask Peeta to talk to Katniss on his behalf. That he could call Peeta and accidentally get Katniss on the line. And though sometimes he longed to at least hear her voice, to confirm that she was okay, he had left for a reason. And as much as he wanted to hear from her, he knew she didn't want to hear from him. But this wasn't for himself. This was for Delly. And Peeta was the one person who might be able to help. So a week later, he sucked up his fears and picked up the phone.

As soon as Peeta's voice came from the other line, Gale's mind went blank and all he could come up with as a greeting was "Um, hi." There was a pause, and then "Gale?" He swallowed. "Yeah, yeah it's me." There was another pause where Gale tried to sort through his thoughts, but before he could bring up Delly's name, Peeta awkwardly and reluctantly asked, "Do you want me to put Katniss on the line?" which caused Gale to practically shout "No!" into the receiver. "No," he said again, not shouting this time. "It's you I wanted to talk to, actually." Gale quickly explained his plan, and after a few seconds of silence, Peeta said, "That's a good idea. That's really kind of you, Gale." Gale said, "Well, she's my friend," almost defensively. "No, I know. I'm glad she's got you looking out for her," Peeta said. "Right." There was a silence, and Gale thought that maybe now would be the right time to hang up, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. "I really miss her," Peeta said finally. "She misses you, too," Gale said. Which was true, but he usually wouldn't be saying that. There was another silence, but Gale still didn't hang up. "Maybe I should go up there to visit her," Peeta said. Gale noticed how he said I instead of we. No Katniss then. Which Gale didn't know whether to be relieved it or not. Still, he said, "I'm sure she'd like that." Still, he didn't hang up. But he couldn't bring himself to ask either. And Peeta, ever perceptive, caught on to the reason for his hesitation and finally said, "Katniss is doing better, Gale."

Relief. That was the immediate feeling that overwhelmed him, followed closely by longing. There was once a time when he and Katniss lived in each other's pocket. When they depended on each other for survival, for their sanity. And no matter what had happened between them, romantic or not, Katniss was his best friend. He missed her. He missed her so much it physically hurt some days. And for a second he wanted nothing more than to hop on the next train to D12 to see his friend. But friends didn't kill each other's siblings. So he said, "Thanks, um, take care," and hung up. He desperately hoped Peeta hadn’t heard the lump that had formed in his throat.

His order arrived a few days later in some sort of container to preserve the baked books. Gale looked inside the box to find the invoice he had requested, but of course Peeta didn’t include it. He rolled his eyes and made a mental note to ask Greasy Sae how much she thought the food was worth. What he did find was a piece of paper with a phone number. Which wasn’t needed, really, because he had memorized that number months and months ago and every week got closer to dialing it. He knew he wouldn’t though. Peeta may have been closer to Katniss now, but that didn’t mean that Gale didn’t know her, too. And his presence would hurt her too much at the moment. But the fact that Peeta had given him her number meant that she probably didn’t despise the ground he walked on, then. And that was something.

When Delly opened the box to reveal an assortment of muffins, cupcakes, and cookies, all distinctly District Twelve, her eyes widened and she practically jumped at him, wrapping him up in a tight hug. He pulled her closer towards him, inhaling the scent of cinnamon that was always present in her unit and lingered on her at all times. He felt a sense of loss when she let go and was tempted to pull her back into his arms when she looked up at him with tear-filled eyes and said, “Thank you.” She stood on her tiptoes and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. The feel of her lips on his cheek lingered for the rest of the evening.

Gale lay awake that night in his bed, heart pounding hard in his chest. He wasn’t dense. He knew what his recent thoughts about  his cheerful, peppy friend meant. And the only coherent thought he could come up with about his predicament was Oh no.

It was his own little secret he carried around for months. He tried not to stare at her too hard  and tried to avoid thinking about her lips or about how her smile seemed to light up the entire world in the darkest of times. His world, at least. Sometimes it felt like the war, the bombs, had extinguished all the fire and passion inside of him. That the fire that had one day burned so strongly had died, taking with it his friend and his sister and his soul. Sometimes it felt like he was running on autopilot, doing what was expected of him, trying his best to amend his mistakes but feeling... not much, really. Empty But one look at Delly who shone so bright and he felt the warmth back in his chest. He wouldn’t tell her, of course. He couldn’t risk losing their friendship, going back to being bitter and miserable and oh so lonely all the time.

He really needed to stop falling in love with his friends.

On the anniversary of the end of the war, the anniversary of Prim’s death, Gale didn’t leave his unit. He had every intention to, even got dressed and brushed his teeth, he had a job to do after all. But then he heard the sound of some kids laughing outside his window and he fell back down on his couch. He didn’t get back up.

The pain was sudden and intense, suffocating him, and for a second he thought he was back in D12, choking under the fumes and screaming as his shirt caught on fire. He wondered if that was what Prim had felt, what all those kids had felt, those last few seconds, and he laid down and curled into himself. But he knew that no matter how horrible he felt, somewhere hundreds of miles away, Katniss was feeling worse. He had never wished for anything more than to be able to switch places with Prim at that moment. Little Prim who wanted to be a doctor. Little Prim who risked her life to save her cat. Little Prim who wanted nothing more than to heal others. Prim. Dead. At his hand.

He didn’t know how long he laid there, but eventually the door to his unit opened. Delly. He had given her a key for emergencies ages ago. And suddenly Delly was sitting on the couch and his head was in her lap and she was running her fingers through his hair and whispering something he couldn’t decipher. So he closed his eyes and tried to let her voice and smell and the feel of her fingers on his scalp ground him.

He wasn’t sure what Delly saw in him, why she stuck around. But Delly was good and kind saw the best in everyone. And had decided he was worth her friendship. And maybe if sweet and kind Delly saw something good in him, that meant there was something in him that was salvageable.

District 2 didn’t abide to the laws of science and weather because there was a huge snowstorm in the middle of March. Delly’s team and his team worked diligently for days to get the last 500 people or so moved out of camps and into the newly rebuilt compounds. Hours before the three-day storm was to hit, they were finally released and sent home. He and Delly had decided that they would weather out the storm at her place and spent the first night huddled in front of the fire, retelling old stories and playing board games and laughing into the night.

The next morning Gale woke up to the sound of Delly bustling in the kitchen, singing loudly and a little off-key. He smiled to himself, and thought that he really wouldn’t mind waking up to her voice more often.

He wasn’t sure how it happened. If he had leaned in first, if she had. But on that third night of the storm, one minute snuggling and laughing under the blanket and the next wrapped in each other’s arms, they broke apart, grinning at each other and lips tingling.

Gale decided in that moment, that he had never felt more at peace.

[bailey-reaper]

The Lord of the Manor (4)

Summary: Barok refuses to let anything get in his way this time: today he will go to visit his brother and pay his respects...

Content Warnings: suicide references (specifically suicidal thoughts), angst + me taking artistic liberties re: the van Zieks family

Other parts:  (1)  |  (2)  |  (3)  |

At some point he'd fallen asleep in Klint's room, though he couldn't remember the precise moment. He was propped up against the footboard with his legs tucked up close to his stomach. The first thing he noticed when he moved was a stiffness in his shoulders and neck. Hardly the most sensible way of sleeping...

Suddenly a loud rumble of thunder echoed overhead, causing the windows of the ancestral home to rattle. Clearly a storm had rolled in overnight.

After stretching until his bones cracked pleasingly, Barok drew back the curtains that covered the large bow windows of the master bedroom and looked out at the landscape. Rain pelted the earth in torrential sheets and lightning lanced across the sky as if momentarily tearing it. This was a most severe storm.

If he were the superstitious or god-fearing sort, then he might have considered that some form of divine force was trying to keep him away from his brother’s grave. Thankfully he was not so limited in his thoughts. Instead, Barok was incredibly stubborn and he had resolved to visit Klint’s grave that day – so that was what he would do.

Of course, taking Black Gale out in such hideous conditions was out of the question. He’d have to go for a ride on a more pleasant summer’s day, perhaps to the orchard or along the coast...

For now, he went to his room to dress in simple clothes and sturdy knee-high leather boots. The path to Klint’s grave would be muddy, so practical footwear was essential. He knew full well his clothes would become drenched quickly, so he donned a shirt and jacket of reasonable hardy material and breeches of similar quality. Once he was dressed, he made his way downstairs to the Grand Vestibule.

“M-My lord!” Harvey hurried over looking deeply concerned, “Surely you do not intend to go out in middle of this storm?”

“I’m going to visit Klint,” Barok replied as he took his cloak from the row of hangers by the door.

“Begging your pardon, my lord, but, surely it could wait until tomorrow? I’ve heard tell that this storm is merely passing on its way to Spain...”

“I appreciate your concern, Harvey, but you need not worry about me. I have to do this... I postponed my visit yesterday on account of factors outside of my control, I’ll be damned if I do that a second time...” an odious noble was one thing, a torrential storm was another. He had no qualms about leaving himself at the mercy of the elements.

“... If you’re sure, my lord...” the old butler had handled enough van Zieks’ lords during his tenure as a servant of the house to know that they were all of a similar stubbornness and driven by their sense of principles. If the young Lord had decided he must visit Klint’s grave then that is what he would do by hell or high water, “... Just do be careful out there and take shelter if the storm worsens....”

“Yes, I will promise you that much,” Barok said as he donned his cloak and opened the door. A sharp gust of wind violently tousled his hair as it howled through the air like a frenzied ghost. He lowered his head and stepped out into the squall, pulling the door shut despite the insistent push of the wind against him. Rain pelted down, taking but a few moments to soak his hair until it was clinging to his face. He ignored the hostile elements and pressed on in the direction of Klint’s grave.

By horse the journey was some 10 minutes away, on foot it was closer to 20 and his progress was slowed by the wind in his face and the unsteady earth beneath his feet. Despite that, he was able to navigate the familiar banks and pathways of the forest that had been a favoured haunt of his since he was a boy. Even with the gloom of the storm clouds over head, he knew the way like the back of his hand.

“Blast! Of all the times for a storm to hit!” he could hear Klint’s voice as his mind reflected on a time they’d been hunting and a similarly fierce squall had rolled in, “Come little wolf, we’ll need to find shelter!”

He nodded and followed behind as Klint led the way to a large bank that over hung like a roof, they crouched down and looked out from their semi-sheltered vantage point at the chaos, “It doesn’t look as though it’ll pass any time soon,” Barok observed.

“Mmmm, I think you’re right, so we might as well amuse ourselves in the meantime.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Well, I heard that someone came home late last night in quite an intoxicated state,” Klint was grinning impishly, “Care to tell me about your debauched night of revelry?”

“. . . .” Barok coughed, “I discovered that I’m not much for mixing drinks...”

“Ah... and what did my little brother mix?”

“.... Well, I might have tried to see what all the fuss with beer is about, before switching back to wine,” Barok massaged his temples as he recalled just how rotten he’d felt first thing that morning, “...I’m firmly of the view that beers, ales and stouts are not for me.”

“That was a fatal error of judgement on your part, have you never heard ‘grape or grain, but never the twain‘?”

“Apparently I missed that particular sermon on the subject of drinking...” Barok replied dryly, which only seemed to amuse Klint further as he laughed harder, “I doubt I’ll forget it in a hurry, however...”

“Sometimes the best lessons are the practical ones, Barok.”

“... Yes, perhaps they are...”

A bright flash of lightning and sharp crack of thunder roused him from his daydreams and reminded him that his focus ought to be on the journey ahead rather than a trip down memory lane. It wasn’t far to the family burial grounds; a small mercy at least. He covered the rest of the distance briskly, passing through the cast iron gates and along the path of cobblestones and dirt to the mausoleum where his brother slept. He opened the door and stepped inside, dripping water all over the stone floor as he went; his first act was to light the candles that were dotted around the room, which he did by taking the box of matches that were stored in an alcove by the door and striking one.

Soft candlelight twinkled around him, casting shadows across the walls that danced and swayed deliriously; their movements slowed once he closed the door to the tomb over enough to block out the wind.

Finally he was here, with Klint once more.

“... I’m sorry for my tardiness brother,” he said softly as he knelt down before the stone where his brother’s name was engraved, “... I found myself in the talons of Lady Darlington yesterday, and you nowhere in sight to distract her...” he snorted to himself at the thought, “I dare say you’d have found my performance quite amusing.”

His gaze lifted to the ceiling of the crypt, “... No doubt you’d scold me for coming here in such a bedraggled state, well, not so much that as willingly walking out into a storm. You’ll have to forgive me for that...”

For a while, he knelt in silence; his voice stilled in his throat as he wondered what had compelled him to come out in such hostile conditions. Eventually he found his voice, “I... no doubt I sound quite mad to you, but, I wonder if you’re still here with me... You know, there are rumours abound in the Capital that your ghost follows me wherever I go and exacts revenge upon those who escape my prosecuting them through some dint in the law.“

“It’s nonsense, isn’t it?” he looked down at the gravestone once more, as if holding out for some sort of sign, “... It has to be, surely, because I’d like to think if you truly were still here then you might show me by some means other than violence... And yet, I’m desperate enough that I’ll take it. I just can’t bear the thought that you’re gone.”

Klint had always been a symbol of what was right and just in his mind, so it did not sit well with him to picture his brother as a vengeful apparition whose sole purpose was to dispatch of the criminals who managed to worm their way out of the noose. Yet, when he first heard those wild tales whispered on the lips of the common folk and the nobility alike, how he wanted to believe it. No matter how much it cut against the grain of what his brother had embodied for him; it was better than accepting that he was dead.

Anything was better than that, surely.

“... Of course, the world goes on and the sun and the moon wheel through the sky as they always have, and those who once held you in such high regard slowly begin to forget you... but for me it’s as if time stopped five years ago. I... still cannot come to terms with the thought that you’re no longer here. So, if you are the Reaper, I hope you will stay by my side until my time comes...”

He’d contemplated joining his brother. Sometimes it felt like the only logical thing to do. The world seemed so cold and devoid of vibrancy without Klint in it. Like someone had stolen the sun. Of course, he couldn’t go through with it – at first he had to bring his brother’s killer to justice, it had consumed his every waking moment. He’d read the case file until he could recite it with his eyes closed; until he dreamt of the autopsy report.

Then, once he’d gotten some semblance of justice for Klint, his thoughts had started to wander to the notion that his purpose was now fulfilled and there was nothing left to keep him here; but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It wasn’t what Klint would have wanted. If there were an afterlife, what kind of expression would his older brother wear when he arrived there prematurely? He could practically hear the disappointed words whenever he thought about it.

“Oh little wolf.... how could you?”

And it was that which stayed his hand.

Instead, he’d thrown himself into being a prosecutor; to following in Klint’s footsteps and maintaining his legacy. His brother had believed so deeply in justice and integrity, and he would honour that memory by doing his damnedest to hold the corrupt and evil to account for their crimes. It was all he could do.

And yet, he’d even failed at that. He ran away from the Old Bailey, too overwhelmed by the Reaper mythos and the gravity it put upon his shoulders...

“I hope you will forgive me, brother,” Barok murmured, voice strained as he tried to swallow back the desperate sadness in his core, “I’ve been a poor substitute for you... I was unable to save you from the Professor... and now I’m not even capable of continuing your legacy as a Prosecutor... Truth be told, I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m at such a loss.”

“I’m so tired, Klint...”

[rokutouxei]

you are still the sun that shines for me

part 8 of atelier heart

ikemen vampire: temptation in the dark theo van gogh/mc | G | 2800 | [ao3 in bio]

Life couldn’t get any better. You enjoy what you do here, spending your life without regrets with the person you love the most. That is, until you meet her. The woman who still loves Theo.

CHAPTER 3

Neither of you talk about it.

Not the week after, not two weeks. Not an entire month after.

Time passes by, unaffected.

-

Vincent keeps his promise and does not say a word of your conversation with him to Theo; every single detail he’d unraveled for you seared under your eyelids but also blown away in the wind at that cliff overlooking the streets of Paris. Sebastian doesn’t ask questions about your recent interest in the van Gogh history books. And even if you and Theo spend the same amount of time one another, no one makes a mention of the noticeable tension between the both of you.

Not even Theo.

Of course, work does not stop even if one is facing an emotional crisis. Or maybe it’s because one is facing an emotional crisis that work does not stop. After the exhibit, there is the process of selling the paintings that patrons were interested in. Then, there was, of course, inevitably, the dreaming, the preparation of yet another exhibit in the future. There were days of figuring out what strategies to apply to avoid the Academie; days of watching over the artists; days of talking with other dealers; days of going to patrons.

Aside from the silence, most of everything was the same.

That was the hardest part.

-

There is one street in the entirety of Paris that Theo does not have the heart to walk down.

Because he knows that if he does, his traitorous mind will remind him what it was like, living in that apartment on 8 Cité Pigalle. The walls filled with Vincent’s paintings. The view from the window, the one he’d sat across from and sketched and painted and studied. The dreams of an exhibit before it was shot to the ground.

To no one in particular, but also to her in particular, Theo asks: why hadn’t you left? Why are you still here? Doesn’t the sight of these streets bring you back to that time, doesn’t it hurt? Why have you come to haunt me like an old ghost, wandering the hallways?

What do you get from still living where the memory of us still lingers?

What do you want out of me?

Arthur usually jokes that rage is the emotion that best suits Theo’s countenance, the wrinkled forehead, the snarl. And maybe it is. But Theo does not have the strength to let it show now, even when it is all that his heart throws at him—an insatiable, irrational fury. It’s a fire that burns so strongly, so quickly, consuming him.

Burning him out.

Quickly running out of fuel, disappearing into nothingness, replaced by a heavy exhaustion.

Theo feels the weight of two lives heavy on his shoulders.

-

You feel like you’re holding a knife to your heart, but you know that in the end, you will be better off having done this to yourself than letting the confusion, the ignorance, leave you festering on the inside. So on days where you have little to do, where Theo goes alone to work, you sneak into Sebastian’s little secret library to read.

At first you convince yourself that you are only doing this solely for the knowledge of it, but deep inside you know what you are doing—a bookmark to the index item of her name, jumping only to pages that are relevant to her. And at first, you wanted to know what what she was like so you could make yourself similar to her, copy what he’d liked, what he’d loved, so that you’ll be someone a little better for him. And at first, you scanned the pages with your eyes prickly with tears only out of spite, reading every bit of their story filled with hurt and the want to outshine it.

But before you can even notice, it becomes different.

You learn about their letters. You don’t have a copy of them—and somehow you are thankful for that—but you know about them, and you can surmise what they have, knowing Theo now. You learn about moving to Paris, uprooting herself to keep her husband’s feet on the ground of his dreams. You learn of a domestic life, of making someone into something new, something better. You learn of promises and candlelit scribblings of adoration.  

You think of dreams.

Dreams so different, and yet so familiar.

About a little home, overlooking a beautiful city, a babe in warm arms.

Slowly, with each passing day, every week spent hiding away from the rest of the mansion, dipped in a history that does not belong you... it shifts; the anger sizzles into relief; the jealousy turns into joy. Instead, there is only awe, there is only respect—the realization that there is no need to compete with someone who is not fighting a battle with you. It is not up to her, after all: it is up to Theo. In between these pages you get to know of a woman who shared her whole heart with him, carried his dream up in her arms.

Like you are trying to do.

You are afraid, sure, of course, but—

You have faith in Theo.

You have faith in what Theo has left with Jo.

Recognizing what love looks like is a balm on the still-tender burns of your heart.

-

In the following weeks, Theo throws himself into work with a fervor you had never seen from him before.

Just a month after the initial exhibit had closed, he is already closing in on another venue, this time to feature Vincent’s works in its very center. You ask when he started preparing this, and he says in his spare time, which he already does not have much of—you feel a little slighted that he’d left you out of the build-up for the work, but you’re already carrying enough weight in your chest, so you decide to let it go.

Until it becomes undeniable that there is too much work being done in too little time. Like Theo was purposefully avoiding something, someone—you, maybe, you think, in a moment of weakness. At your most vulnerable when you ask him what’s wrong, he only answers, “This is the only reason I turned. There’s nothing wrong,” and you feel small.

But the truth is, a swirling storm of what-ifs hangs over Theo’s suddenly too-cold room in the mansion. He tries not to spend as little time as possible inside it. His heart shakes, a small twig so near breaking as the gale whips around in between the spaces where the touch of your skin doesn’t meet his, across the bed that seems like miles too wide. You’d asked one of the many questions that were inevitably going to come, and he’d thrown out barbs at you. He could reach with his pinky to touch the curve of your elbow, but…

He doesn’t.

Theo wonders how many of the things he’s decided to do had inevitably turned out to be bad decisions. Letting his brother meet Gauguin. Chasing after the murderer. Getting killed in the process, blinded by his own rage.

Leaving her behind.

What if he’d stayed?

What would he have not lost in the process? What new things would he have gained?

Would these have been able to fill the void left behind by his brother’s untimely death, the one he tried to overcome with seething bloodlust?

Would the tender blue eyes of the little boy who looked like a perfect match of him and his beloved have made staying… a little more worth it?

Theo doesn’t sleep.

A lesser vampire body is an extraordinarily sturdy thing, but it still needs its sleep. That first night after the exhibit’s opening runs into a week of Theo depriving his body of rest; he’s poring through paperwork, answering correspondences, whatever he can do to fill the spaces of time he would have once loved to spend next to you, warm in bed.

Floating in a pool of exhaustion, Theo’s mind begins to float. It is this exact state that allows him to stop thinking of the worst of things. To stop remembering that he is, in fact, the worst of all things.

So he doesn’t notice a lot of things.

Theo drives himself to exhaustion so he doesn’t hear his heart clamoring please go away, when you tell him good morning, tell him have a good day, tell him I love you.

He forces his mind to stay quiet.

-

The both of you had split up today for work, and while Theo is negotiating with another dealer, you sit across Monsieur Cedric in his lavish home, having brought over another one of his requested paintings. You’re chatting over tea and cake, talking about the latest news about the Academie.

“Monsieur Theodore is becoming a known name around these parts. It’ll be sooner rather than later that the Academie will try to get their hands on him. And you too, mademoiselle.”

More like now rather than later, but you decide to spare Cedric the gory details. “We will be very careful. Thank you for your concern.”

“Your will to endorse these artists and also assist Theodore is so charming, mademoiselle. I wish the both of you the very best.”

You chuckle, saying “It’s something he deserves, doesn’t he?” before putting your teacup to your lips, smiling softly against the rim, thinking of another woman who is also fighting a battle, perhaps harder and longer than yours, for Theo.

It still stings, but you feel no need to hold it against him anymore.

You don’t want to push him, to hurry him, not when you know that the process is long, and agonizing. The most you can do is stand by him, have faith, and make him feel that—

That it’s okay.

You miss him already. You hope he feels better soon.

Oh, the things one does when loving a man like that.

-

Whatever had changed between the two of you since the exhibit does not feel as heavy as it did two months ago. You’ve gone back to sleeping in his room, soothing him when he wakes up shaking, from nightmares, or simply when he cannot fall asleep. You still feel that wall, something impenetrable that’s preventing you from getting through to Theo entirely, but it does not feel as opaque or as solid as it did back then. At the very least, you can now hold him in your arms without feeling the nagging sensation that it was wrong.

Theo, oppositely, feels very heavy, cold. Like it was the middle of winter, in a snowstorm, and all he has is a thin coat. Stormclouds hang over the abandoned town of his heart, where not even a single candle lights up the curtain of the night.

Here, Theo thinks. Theo thinks too much, really. Lets himself get consumed by the unending cycles of what if and if only I and I should have. He walks the deserted alleyways filled with memories of a life he doesn’t own anymore—a life he no longer deserves. Maybe a life he never deserved in the first place. In real life he doesn’t have the courage to return to it, but in bed, unable to sleep, he comes back to that Paris apartment he rented with the woman he loved. Touches the floors, the walls, with his hands. Wishes he knew what they would have meant to him, back then.

One day, in-between appointments with patrons, the two of you head out to your favorite café to have some lunch. The waitress already knows the both of you, and as you throw a smile, she winks, already knowing what to bring you. But while you’re animated and excited for your usual meal, you find Theo staring off into space, out into the distance, like he’s chasing after the shadow of someone he thought he knew.

(The Theo from the old life.)

You reach out across the table, gently placing your hand over his. The warmth of your touch brings him back to the present, his usually-sharp eyes taking time to adjust from their glazed state. He looks at you like something in him hurts. You squeeze his hand so gently that he has to squeeze yours back for yours to tighten.

“I’m here,” you say, even though you don’t know if it’s the right thing to say. Nothing has felt the right thing to say, but you feel like something will break if you don’t speak to him. “I’m here for you, if you have something you want to talk about. I told you we’d carry things together, right?”

Theo feels the flicker of fear die out. The clouds in his mind part to give way to sunlight.

And his mind is still ringing, still saying, how much did you lose then? How much did you take for granted? How much did you throw away? But his heart, his heart is banging at his chest and saying: but what are you risking losing now? What are you unconsciously letting go, by going back?

Theo knows what to listen to.

Maybe, he thinks, maybe, taking your hand in his, pressing a kiss to your knuckles silently, he should contact Monsieur Desrosiers one more time.

-

Johanna van Gogh-Bonger keeps a diary.

Well, she had kept one, before her marriage with Theo, but then in the whirlwind of it, had left it unwritten, sitting on a shelf in their house in Paris. When she’d moved back to the Netherlands together with the little baby that was not quite a baby yet when Theo had gone away, she resumed writing in her diary.

Theo had a way with his words, one that Jo could not compete with, but he had taught her their importance, even if a lot of times he spent a little too much time figuring out what to say, instead of actually saying them. Jo treasured every single word he had granted her, keeping all his letters.

Two months ago, she had returned to Paris to visit a dear friend, when she had heard about the exhibit being held by—coincidentally—a man named Theodore van Gogh. Her heart thumped in her chest so loudly when she’d heard the name, even if she knew that it could not have been her Theo. No, her Theo was under the ground, next to his brother in Auvers-sur-Oise, where they dream of rye fields. Still, his name alone left her longing, and she could not resist the opportunity to visit, bringing with her their little Vincent.

She’d been working not only for herself and her little Vincent, but also for Theo, the past few years—keeping Vincent’s paintings, their letters, trying to continue what he had done even if she did not know entirely what she was doing. Grasping for straws, trying to walk down a path she knew she should reach the end of. And yes, the streets of Paris still speak to her, still make her shiver because they seem so empty, not without him, but when she went to that exhibit, she saw the paintings and—remembered Theo.

Felt like he was still around, watching her.

And oh, Theo, he had taught her to see, taught her to live—taught her much about life, so much so that she felt like she had, for most of her life, gone through life with her eyes half-closed. She wonders if he knows, how much he had given her, had left her; how much she ought to thank him for, how grateful she is. He had taught her the greatest bliss but also the greatest pain, the hollowness of having lived past what one knows is the best part of their lives—but he hadn’t left her, not entirely: he had left her Little Vincent, her treasure, her joy, with Theo’s blue eyes, his kindness, his sharp mind.

Time washes away the heartache of having been torn open, and instead, leaves in its wake the cool of growth, the same way a toppled plant still reaches up to the light. And sitting in that exhibit, in a gallery of paintings that were so similar to that which Theo felt so important to let grow, that he found so much potential in, Jo felt the where the wounds of her heartache had already healed.

She is okay now, and she still carries Theo with her everywhere.

And oh, she wants to send a part of his heart back there.

Johanna van Gogh-Bonger picks up the folded piece of paper with contact details she’d found from someone else, and, taking up parchment, follows Theo’s lead, holding his words to her heart, and begins to write under the morning light.

---

bongerdiaries [.] org was a wonderful resource for jo’s diaries that i pretty... much had to copy paste from just because of her wonderful voice in writing that i wanted to keep intact. please go give it a read if it so interests you!

[papermoonloveslucy]

THE WILLS

March 19, 1950

“The Wills” (aka “The Coopers Make Their Wills”) is episode #80 of the radio series MY FAVORITE HUSBAND broadcast on March 19, 1950.

Synopsis ~  After Liz and George make out their wills, Liz is convinced that George intends to do away with her. Liz is startled to find a receipt for some arsenic and rope in his pocket, but is shocked when George suggests a trip to the country - with a one-way ticket for Liz!

Starting with this episode, “My Favorite Husband” moved from Thursday nights, to Sunday nights. 

Note: This program was used as a basis for a scene in “I Love Lucy” episode “Lucy Thinks Ricky Is Trying to Murder Her” (ILL S1;E4) filmed on September 8, 1951 and first aired November 5, 1951. For various reasons, it was the first episode of the series filmed, but the fourth aired. 

“My Favorite Husband” was based on the novels Mr. and Mrs. Cugat, the Record of a Happy Marriage (1940) and Outside Eden (1945) by Isabel Scott Rorick, which had previously been adapted into the film Are Husbands Necessary? (1942). “My Favorite Husband” was first broadcast as a one-time special on July 5, 1948. Lucille Ball and Lee Bowman played the characters of Liz and George Cugat, and a positive response to this broadcast convinced CBS to launch “My Favorite Husband” as a series. Bowman was not available Richard Denning was cast as George. On January 7, 1949, confusion with bandleader Xavier Cugat prompted a name change to Cooper. On this same episode Jell-O became its sponsor. A total of 124 episodes of the program aired from July 23, 1948 through March 31, 1951. After about ten episodes had been written, writers Fox and Davenport departed and three new writers took over – Bob Carroll, Jr., Madelyn Pugh, and head writer/producer Jess Oppenheimer. In March 1949 Gale Gordon took over the existing role of George’s boss, Rudolph Atterbury, and Bea Benadaret was added as his wife, Iris. CBS brought “My Favorite Husband” to television in 1953, starring Joan Caulfield and Barry Nelson as Liz and George Cooper. The television version ran two-and-a-half seasons, from September 1953 through December 1955, running concurrently with “I Love Lucy.” It was produced live at CBS Television City for most of its run, until switching to film for a truncated third season filmed (ironically) at Desilu and recasting Liz Cooper with Vanessa Brown.

MAIN CAST

Lucille Ball (Liz Cooper) was born on August 6, 1911 in Jamestown, New York. She began her screen career in 1933 and was known in Hollywood as ‘Queen of the B’s’ due to her many appearances in ‘B’ movies. With Richard Denning, she starred in a radio program titled “My Favorite Husband” which eventually led to the creation of “I Love Lucy,” a television situation comedy in which she co-starred with her real-life husband, Latin bandleader Desi Arnaz. The program was phenomenally successful, allowing the couple to purchase what was once RKO Studios, re-naming it Desilu. When the show ended in 1960 (in an hour-long format known as “The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour”) so did Lucy and Desi’s marriage. In 1962, hoping to keep Desilu financially solvent, Lucy returned to the sitcom format with “The Lucy Show,” which lasted six seasons. She followed that with a similar sitcom “Here’s Lucy” co-starring with her real-life children, Lucie and Desi Jr., as well as Gale Gordon, who had joined the cast of “The Lucy Show” during season two. Before her death in 1989, Lucy made one more attempt at a sitcom with “Life With Lucy,” also with Gordon.

Richard Denning (George Cooper) was born Louis Albert Heindrich Denninger Jr., in Poughkeepsie, New York. When he was 18 months old, his family moved to Los Angeles. Plans called for him to take over his father’s garment manufacturing business, but he developed an interest in acting. Denning enlisted in the US Navy during World War II. He is best known for his  roles in various science fiction and horror films of the 1950s. Although he teamed with Lucille Ball on radio in “My Favorite Husband,” the two never acted together on screen. While “I Love Lucy” was on the air, he was seen on another CBS TV series, “Mr. & Mrs. North.” From 1968 to 1980 he played the Governor on “Hawaii 5-0″, his final role. He died in 1998 at age 84.

Gale Gordon (Rudolph Atterbury) had worked with Lucille Ball on “The Wonder Show” on radio in 1938. One of the front-runners to play Fred Mertz on “I Love Lucy,” he eventually played Alvin Littlefield, owner of the Tropicana, during two episodes in 1952. After playing a Judge in an episode of “The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour” in 1958, he would re-team with Lucy for all of her subsequent series’: as Theodore J. Mooney in ”The Lucy Show”; as Harrison Otis Carter in “Here’s Lucy”; and as Curtis McGibbon on “Life with Lucy.” Gordon died in 1995 at the age of 89.

Bea Benadaret (Iris Atterbury) does not appear in this episode. 

Ruth Perrott (Katie, the Maid) was also later seen on “I Love Lucy.” She first played Mrs. Pomerantz (above right), a member of the surprise investigating committee for the Society Matrons League in “Pioneer Women” (ILL S1;E25), as one of the member of the Wednesday Afternoon Fine Arts League in “Lucy and Ethel Buy the Same Dress” (ILL S3;E3), and also played a nurse when “Lucy Goes to the Hospital” (ILL S2;E16). She died in 1996 at the age of 96.

Bob LeMond (Announcer) also served as the announcer for the pilot episode of “I Love Lucy”. When the long-lost pilot was finally discovered in 1990, a few moments of the opening narration were damaged and lost, so LeMond – fifty years later – recreated the narration for the CBS special and subsequent DVD release.

GUEST CAST

Herb Vigran (Doctor Stephens) made several appearances on “My Favorite Husband.” He would later play Jule, Ricky’s music union agent on two episodes of “I Love Lucy”. He would go on to play Joe (and Mrs. Trumbull’s nephew), the washing machine repairman in “Never Do Business With Friends” (S2;E31) and Al Sparks, the publicity man who hires Lucy and Ethel to play Martians on top of the Empire State Building in “Lucy is Envious” (S3;E23). Of his 350 screen roles, he also made six appearances on “The Lucy Show.”

EPISODE

ANNOUNCER: “As we look in on the Coopers tonight, it's just after dinner, and we find Liz and George settling down to a normal evening's conversation.”  

George has something he needs to talk to Liz about. Liz immediately thinks it is something to do with her household budget, but George wants to talk about their wills. The subject immediately upsets Liz. The idea of living without George sends Liz into gales of tears. George wants her to read it, and threatens to leave everything to his mother if she doesn’t. Liz snatches the will from him. George then tells her that he has had her will drawn up as well. 

LIZ: “What for? You're the one who's going! What are you trying to do, push me ahead of you in line?”

George reminds her of the three acres of Florida beachfront property that her father left her, which she calls ‘Sunken Acres.’  George always assumed it was oil land. 

LIZ: “If there's any oil down there, it's still in a whale. Oh! I see it all now, George! You want me to sign a will leaving everything to you, and then you'll bump me off! You want to get your dirty fishhooks on my oil holdings!

Liz agrees to read and sign the will as the scene fades out.  At the bank the next day, Mr. Atterbury notices that George seems tired. George admits he was up late talking to Liz about their wills. Mr. Atterbury proposes that the Coopers join him and Iris at their mountain lodge for the weekend, flying up, and then leaving the girls there for the week while they fly back for work. The following weekend they will drive up to get them in Mr. Atterbury’s new car. 

Mr. Atterbury has already bought the airline tickets and asks George to go to the hardware store for a few items. 

MR. ATTERBERRY: “I need poison for those horrible little gophers up there. And some rope for a clothesline, and a couple of sacks of cement. Iris wants a patio so she can sunbathe. Come to think of it, that ought to keep the gophers away.” GEORGE:  “Let me make a list on the back of this envelope. Now, poison, ropes, cement...” MR. ATTERBERRY: “Oh, and I need an axe, too.”

Mr. Atterbury tells George that they should tell their wives that they are just going for a weekend, so that they don’t rush out to buy a week’s worth of new clothes.

At the Cooper home, Katie the Maid is preparing dinner. George comes home and tells Liz the good news that they’ll be going to the Atterbury’s lodge this weekend, and he’s got the airline tickets in his pocket. As George goes upstairs to prepare for dinner, Katie reminds Liz that she has a beauty shop appointment on Saturday. Liz wonders what time the plane leaves, and fishes in George’s jacket pocket to check the tickets. She notices that one tickets is round trip, and the other is one way!   Liz immediately assumes one of them isn’t coming back, and reminds Katie that George asked her to sign her will!  She notices some writing on the envelope that looks like a shopping list.

LIZ: “Poison! He's going to take me out in the woods and poison me! Look, at the next item - rope. If the poison doesn't work, he's gonna hang me! Cement. If I live through the poison and the rope, he's gonna put my feet in cement and dump me in the lake! Look what's next - axe! If I able to hold my breath, he's gonna swim in the water and chop me to pieces!” KATIE: “Oh, how can Mr. Cooper do such a thing?” LIZ: “With that list of weapons, how can he miss?“

Liz realizes why George might want to do away with her - they’ve finally struck oil on Sunken Acres!

End of Part One

Announcer Bob LeMond reads a live Jell-O commercial. 

ANNOUNCCER: “As we return to the Coopers, we find Liz in a state of nervous apprehension. After years of having George under her thumb, she's suddenly discovered that he's bout to put the finger on her. Or at least she thinks he is. But right now it's after dinner, and Liz, the intended victim, is in the living room, reading. While George, the killer, is slowly stalking up behind her.”

George kisses Liz on the back of the neck. She screams!  Liz nervously says that she’d rather not go to the Atterbury’s lodge this weekend. 

GEORGE: “What? Why, Liz, you love the lodge. You always say that's your idea of living.”  LIZ: “Well, I want to keep it that way.”

George says that he has a big surprise for her up there. Liz suggests he take his mother and give HER the big surprise!

GEORGE: “Now, don't be silly! You just wait: When you wake up Monday morning, you'll be very pleasantly surprised.”  LIZ: “If I wake up Monday morning, I'll be surprised.”

Liz wonders if George is having money problems. She asks him why he made her sign her will last night. George says that if it bothers her so much, he’ll tear it up - as soon as they get back from the lodge. 

Liz runs to her bedroom and locks the door! George telephones Dr. Stephens (Herb Vigran) to report that Liz is acting peculiar. 

DOCTOR: “Peculiar for Liz, or peculiar for normal people?”

RICKY RICARDO: “Lucy is acting crazy!” FRED MERTZ: “Crazy for Lucy or crazy for ordinary people?”

This joke was adapted for Lucy Ricardo in “Lucy Thinks Ricky Is Trying To Do Murder Her” with Fred Mertz taking the Doctor’s line. 

Doctor Stephens cannot make a house call because he’s got an appointment with his psychoanalyst, but he tells George to give Liz a sedative until he can get there. 

Liz comes in for a glass of water. George tells her that he’s had Katie prepare them some hot milk. In the kitchen, Katie tells Liz that she saw Mr. Cooper pour a powder into one of the glasses. Liz says she’ll just switch the glasses so that George drinks the one with the powder in it. 

In the living room she distracts George just long enough to switch the glasses. But when George lifts his glass to drink, Liz dashes it from his hand. She says she couldn’t do it to him, even if he could do it to her. 

LIZ: “You put something in my glass, didn't you, George? Well, I fooled you! I switched glasses!”  GEORGE: “I had a hunch that's why Katie called you, so I switched them again while you were out of the room.”

Liz starts to gag as if she’s been poisoned! Liz falls to the floor, convinced she is going to die, trying to make peace with George in her final moments.

LIZ: “If I had my life to live over again, I want you to know I'd do better. I could stay within the budget, if I tried. (coughs) And I'd never buy clothes I need. (coughs) I'd throw away my charge-a-plate.”

The doorbell rings. It is Mr. Atterbury, come to make the ‘final arrangements.’  Liz tells George that she saw the one way ticket, and the shopping list for poison and the axe.  The men dissolve in laughter.  Mr. Atterbury explains that those were supplies for the lodge.  Liz is angry that she’s been tricked, and refuses to keep the promises she made in her ‘final moments’.

LIZ: "I didn't know what I was saying! I was under the influence of warm milk!”

End of Episode

In the live Jell-O commercial, Lucille Ball plays a Mexican spy, and Bob LeMond is interviewing her for a job. 

In the bedtime tag, it is five in the morning and George is reading a suspenseful magazine story. Liz begs him to turn out the light, but then can’t sleep until he knows the outcome of the story. Liz grabs the magazine and reads the last lines.

LIZ: “The huge, shapeless thing crept slowly up behind Mildred, and before she could scream it slipped its bony hands around her - Oh, no!!!” GEORGE: “What does it say, Liz? Around her what?” LIZ: “Around her continued next week! Good night!”

ANNOUNCER: “You have been listening to ‘My Favorite Husband’ starring Lucille Ball, with Richard Denning, and based on characters created by Isobel Scott Rorick. Tonight's transcribed program was produced and directed by Jess Oppenheimer, who wrote the script with Madelyn Pugh and Bob Carroll, Jr. Be sure to get the April Issue of ‘Radio Mirror Magazine’ with the big picture of Lucille Ball on the cover. That's the April issue of ‘Radio Mirror Magazine.’ Original music was composed by Marlin Skyles and conducted by Wilbur Hatch. Bob LeMond speaking.”

[courage-a-word-of-justice]

HGPC 17 - 21 | Koi to Producer 2 - 6 | Appare 5 - 8 | Fugou Keiji 4 - 6

...only just realised I was missing some tags. They should be there now or soon.

HGPC 17

Why do I get the feeling the Sawaizumi family will be held hostage one day…? (Maybe I’m just being negative?)

The episode title mentions Chiyu by name, so I wonder why the translation didn’t…

Customer service! You can’t get away from it, even in COVID times…! (Impressive!)

Hmm…you can actually read part of the booking for the Smiths in the book if you know the kanji.

I thought the Smiths would speak in English, but they actually speak in fluent Japanese if the word “susume” was any indication.

Ah, Sukoyaka sweet buns! (from the other episode about the festival)

HGPC 18

Don’t burn down your house with scented candles, kids!

Also remember to use your knees when lifting heavy boxes! (<- says a charity store volunteer, who does this stuff on the regular)

These days the mascots usually have a human form. I wonder if this is implying that particular direction…? (I woke up today and was craving a certain oneshot I’d read during my scanlation days…if it is, it would fill that niche nicely.)

I wonder if the kids will recognise this Ashita no Joe parody…?

HGPC 19

“…since you were young?”

Oh! Element of Wind again!

Koi to Producer 2

This almost feels like Victor is assigning a school project to Protag-chan…it’s a bit sad, really.

It’s nice they let Protag-chan have a personality.

It’s fine if you can’t read the katakana, but Gavin’s name is Haku in Japanese, so it throws out the immersion somewhat…also, I know I shouldn’t be complaining – I’m the target audience here – but do these guys look kinda similar or what…? (partially kidding)

High school sweethearts, huh? “Childhood friends” is my favourite angle of a romantic relationship, but it gets so overused by harems it comes around to being boring…!

I-Is this Stand My Heroes…?! (LOL…?)

Can we not with 1st person cam…?

As cute and dorky as this stuff gets…how does Gavin never get found?! Does nobody ever look up in this city?!? (I thought Evolvers were meant to be a secret…?)

GPS tracker? That’s no better than large corporations using your location data…Isn’t that creepy…?

Hold on, when did she get his phone number? You would assume it was before this entire chase after the boy happened, but still…?

LOL, the English on the board.

This anime is gonna cause me some frustration, but it gives the good stuff in roughly equal measure. It seems to omit the fact you interact via phone with your bois for intimacy (in the game).

Koi to Producer 3

LOL, that’s so clearly Gavin…

By googling, you find out Uptown and Queens are in New York.

Ohmygosh! Did the creators know I love the trope where only people with superpowers can move in certain circumstances?!

Uh…his name is Kira in Japanese? Did someone read the katakana wrong?

Pictured: Depressed bishonen eating bad pudding. (…That joke sounds better in my head. I forgot what meme I was meant to be parodying there, but I had a meme in mind.)

Lemme guess…this man (I dunno if it’s one of the previous bishies with an identical face or a new one) is looking for MC-chan. *sigh* Update: Yep, just Victor again. To be honest, I don’t like anyone who calls harsh words ��their sign of love” – love should be honest and upfront. That’s how it becomes heartmelting.

Koi to Producer 4

Okay, in order, it seems to be hexadecimals, Javascript (you can tell from the “const”), some kind of profiles which are apparently for human lab rats (which seem to have some kind of nonsense filler text), a DNA model and DNA bases (ACGT).

The text on the screen says something along the lines of this being an official broadcast of this man’s arrest and this man was a genetic researcher. Obviously, if I wanted to put more attention into what it meant, I would, but I won’t sweat the details this time (because it doesn’t seem to impact the plot).

The guy’s name is Minor because minor key (geddit?)…that’s my guess.

I started playing the game due to this anime, if you didn’t know, and I unlocked an expert in ch. 2. I thought he was Minor, but turns out his name is Spine (an older man).

The diary, true to form, contains details about either one case or several cases, two involving children. The bottom of the 1st page says “if it’s fake, I’ll laugh”.

Hey, I once told Crunchyroll I wanted an anime about hacking (so is this a dream come true? I reveal all in the next sentence!). Hackers don’t congregate like this…they’d be too conspicuous, even with the secret hideout!

The code in the top left appears to be…C? I think? (Note they declare “unsigned int”.)

Kiro sometimes reminds me of Masayoshi (SamFlam)…it puts a derpy smile on my face.

*blah blah blah I’m Key* - Wuh…? F*** you, Kiro!!! (There is such a thing as piling too much cool stuff on to a character, y’know – I’m guilty of it in my own writing.)

3684 isn’t a very safe password (says someone who once aspired to be in cybersecurity).

What bugs me is that Simon is a perfectly fine name…it’s just a bit boring. Kiro/Kira I get (a bit), but Lucien/Simon…? *shrugs*

Ohh! Based MAPPA! Thank you for making this adaption look great!

Koi to Producer 5

Oh, I got an SR in the game recently and it has a line like, “Only a fool stays up all night to do others’ work. Victor talks like that a lot…

The sign so obviously says “Renka”, meaning “love flower”. “Loveland” really is a step down from that…

Where’s Gavin’s guest badge…?

“Happiness Noodle Store”…?

“…the end of our first year…”

If this weren’t a Chinese work by origin (or Japanese work by translation), I’m sure Protag-chan would have gone after Gavin, despite being told the contrary.

Kanya = Minor. I’ll take a note of that.

One of the books behind Minor says “Gale Start”…hmm…

That GPS tracker is still unintentionally creepy, IMHO.

Koi to Producer 6

…oh. (dejected) Probably a beach episode or something.

What the actual heck was going on with Lucien…? It’s like he was having a tiny stroke there…

Lucien’s power is listed as “???” in the game. I thought he was an aura-reader when he said “show me your colour”, but that shield thing he did means he might just have various psychic powers…? *shrugs* We’ll find out eventually.

Running in heels is hard…

LOL, that’s so clearly recreating a CG from one of the cards.

This is the 2nd time this has gone pseudo-isekai. As much as I like to joke about it…I fully expect someone to be sent to another world at this point.

I couldn’t possibly see Victor on any kind of game show, come to think of it.

Appare 5

This guy’s middle name is “Rich”! That’s silly!

A boombox from the 19th century…makes sense, somehow.

I only just (?) realised Al has a tiny tie on his usual outfit.

Back to the beginning already…just start!

Appare 6

…I just realised Appare mouths “I got it!” in the OP.

Al Lion (sic…?)

Isn’t Sofia in that train…? Update: She might have been, she might not. Hard to tell when they don’t confirm.

This series seriously could’ve done with a dub…Even with weird hokey Hetalia accents, it would be good stuff.

These bunches of people at designated points…reminds me of the book I was reading while in Japan. The Long Walk by Stephen King (part of a compilation). It still gives me shivers down my spine when I remember it.

This “leave in the middle of the night” thing reminds me of the Amazing Race.

“Valley of Despair” is made-up, but Death Valley exists. It’s one of the hottest places on earth, hence the name.

LOL, Kosame scores himself one (1) prarie dog and two (2) Hototos.

I thought Appare was being inconsiderate at first…but he’s being considerate, in his own way.

Oh! I didn’t realise, but Saito Soma is Al.

Appare 7

“It’s not one plus one, but one times one!” – LOL.

Hybrid engine? In the 1900s? Hmm…

LOL, I think Al just did a hadouken.

This stuff’s like an animated Galaxy Brain meme! It’s amazing!

I managed to successfully predict – without watching ahead – Appare would catch himself with his traps.

Kosame with his hair down…is rare. Not exactly attractive because we have to care about the racers rather than lust after them (and the artstyle actually prevents me from doing so, because it’s deliberately quite cartoony), but it’s rare.

Appare is surprisingly childish…that’s what makes him more than a Sheldon Cooper, I think.

The spelling of the place is actually “Ely”, if Google-sensei is any indication. C’mon, subbers! You’re American (most likely)! Can’t you put in the legwork (or the Google-fu) to discover what place in Nevada this is?!

Subbers make characters say “shit” a lot in this show, hmm? (contemplative)

Now this evil guy here *points to screen*…that’s hair I like.

Appare 8

I just love this OP…don’t you?

I like how the steam/gas boat/car has Chinese numerals on its dial.

Kosame means “small rain”, so “heavy rain” is obviously to contrast that.

The Hototo joke never gets old.

I thought I just saw someone leave the saloon…

Nice hair + terrible face = bad equation.

I can almost imagine the wee-oo-wee-oo-ooooooo…wah-wah-wahhh…(You know the one sound snippet, right? The one theme from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly - or whatever movie it is – that maybe involves a tumbleweed rolling across the screen, and then a huge shootout? If you don’t know it, play a sample on this Wikipedia page!) playing in the background.

It’s convenient the prarie dog didn’t appear when Hototo (old) had his revenge spree.

I noticed there’s a bit of a mark under Kosame’s left eye…it suggests that he’s been crying (or maybe it shows tiredness from the race…?), but it’s not that noticeable.

So that’s the real Gil…and tose were his henchmen that threatened to hang everyone bar Kosame. Got it.

(notes to self) So, for charting a course with Appare Ranman!, it’s Los Angeles -> Death Valley -> Ely -> Denver -> ??? -> New York. Got it.

Fugou Keiji 4

“Daisuke-sama” isn’t “Lord Daisuke”, it would be “Sir Daisuke”, I think…but “lord” has a proper translation in Japanese.

The truck has a Shinagawa licence plate. Anime really does like Shinagawa, huh? (Based on ID: INVADED and this.)

I think it’ll be interesting to see Kambe handle this without HEUSC.

The board for Sanchome (which is equivalent to a suburb…or a county, I guess?) has posters saying stuff like “take your dog poop home” and “let’s protect the environment!” (technically, it says “let’s protect the region/area!”, but that doesn’t translate right. There’s even a flea market. Still, those posters don’t have any big hints…not that I know of so far.

I kind of forgot that dude was the gardener for Kambe’s house…er, mansion.

I noticed a poster in the kouban says haru (spring) on it. That’s probably the same one that Haru’s name is signified by, assuming that’s not in combo with another character or few.

Oh great…the sister is an overbearing one.

Ahh…he doesn’t like natto. So that’s the problem. Daisuke is childish (like Appare)…Note I don’t like natto either, but I wouldn’t run away from home (or similar) because I was fed natto.

I noticed Kambe uses shinseki (which doesn’t refer to close family). “Relative” is a correct translation of that word, I just wanted to check that word was the right one for the context.

There’s a green tea bottle by the sink…I don’t think I’d mistake that shade of green for anything else.

LOL, I didn’t think we’d actually get to see Kambe with his hair “down”, so to speak. It’s…an interesting look, for sure.

Oh my gosh! It cost him (Haru) $15!!! (LOL, cheapskate…says the cheapskate…*suddenly droops and stops laughing*) Update: Sorry about the sudden downer there. I was having what the kids these days call a “woke moment”…at least, I think that’s how they use that term.

…I’d watch that crime drama. It’s funny.

Just realised Kato has an older model of phone than Kambe does.

This episode was kinda like a Tokyo Sonata kind of thing, huh? The sensational in the middle of the not-so-sensational…”sensational” for this show, anyway.

Those kids look like the ones from Erased.

*lightbulb goes off in brain* What if the dog went to Kambe’s…?

Can Suzue actually hear HEUSC while Kambe is using it…? $2.46 though…that is cheap, in comparison to the ham.

This was the cheapest episode so far (about $550)…probably because it was an insight into Kato’s life, more than Kambe’s.

Fugou Keiji 5

The flag seems to be based on Cameroon’s (which is in Africa, not America) and the “Arita Kinen” seems to refer to Arima Kinen, meaning this episode is set around Christmas-ish. Credit goes to Kambe Zaibatsu on this show.

I-It’s a Humvee!

Polyadoll (sic)…?

The Poliador guy speaks perfect Japanese…(?)

The star! It’s a key thingy!

I thought Kamei was the 1st Division dude with the reddish hair. Turns out it was the blonde…? Update: Redhead is Hoshino.

Ummmmmm…he was reading porn…? Uhhhhhhhhhhhhh…okayyyyyyyyyyyyy…

…oh, the costs for Kambe’s tuxedo are on there. So’s the cost for repairing the bike Suzue rode.

Fugou Keiji 6

I never knew there were so many money proverbs to be used as episode titles…

What is Kambe doing with his hands…? He’s not even using the computer.

Imura seems to use a Windows 10 with Cortana on the taskbar.

HGPC 20

What’s with all the Naruto running this episode…?

HGPC 21

(no notes, sorry!)

[frozenprocedural]

TDOE, Day 10

Here it is! This one got longer than I expected, but I enjoyed writing it!

Alarik and Neta belong to @patricia-von-arundel.

Rating: T (some gore)

Earth Giants. 

Gale was the first to alert Elsa of the man’s presence in the forest. She twirled through Nøkk’s legs- much to their annoyance- as Elsa rode out to patrol the Eastern border, whistling until Elsa asked Nøkk to stop. 

Images flooded Elsa’s mind- a lean, gangly man with auburn hair walking into the camp, speaking to Honeymaren, Ráfi and Ryder. She guessed him to be Alarik, a scholar of magic whom Anna had written to Elsa about- he’d expressed an interest in visiting the forest for his studies. Alarik was left alone for a while, and something appeared to catch his attention. He started off into the woods, and the vision jumped, showing him with his eyes and mouth wide open as he looked around, walking along the edge of a familiar river lined with cliffs.

Not cliffs- Earth Giants. Sleeping Earth Giants.

Elsa sucked in a breath, turning Nøkk and spurring them into a gallop towards the river. Idiot, idiot man! What was he thinking? He had spoken to the Northuldra- Gale had shown her that- and they would have warned him about the dangers of entering the forest without a guide. Why had he gone out on his own? The Earth Giants had become far less temperamental ever since Elsa’s ascension to the Fifth Spirit, but they were still dangerous, particularly if woken during their daily naps.

“He’s going to get himself killed.” Elsa growled. She only hoped that she could get there in time.

……..

Alarik struggled to comprehend the scene around him. He’d certainly known that a place named the “Enchanted Forest” would be awe-inspiring, but seeing the forest in person put even his wildest imaginings to shame. His travels had taken him to countless forests, all with their own appreciable beauty, but none came even close to the one he stood in now. If it wasn’t such a ridiculous notion, he would even admit he could feel the magic thrumming through the very land itself.

As he made his way along the cliffs looming over the river below, Alarik couldn’t suppress the niggling worry that urged him to turn back to the Northuldra encampment and wait for a guide. The Northuldra leaders, while welcoming, had urged him to remain in the camp until someone could be found. 

“The spirits can be unpredictable at the best of times,” the leader called Honeymaren explained. “Best to wait until someone can accompany you.” To his credit, he had tried waiting, but a burst of dancing flame had captured his attention. He wouldn’t go too far, and besides, he’d done his share of trekking through woods in his travels. He would be fine. Alarik didn’t realize how far he’d walked- shortly after leaving the camp boundaries, the flame had disappeared, but by then he was completely enraptured in the scenery surrounding him that he kept going, right up to the river where he now walked. As he peered at the rugged cliffs surrounding the rushing water, Alarik thought he could make out- was that a face?

“Fascinating,” he whispered, pulling out his journal and pencil. He’d heard of the Earth Giants before, but to see them was something else entirely. He found a nearby boulder and sat down, opening the journal to a blank page and beginning to sketch and diagram the phenomenon in front of him. While he was trying to get a detail of the Giant’s face, Alarik slid off the bolder, intending to get a closer look. His foot caught in a fissure he’d not noticed, and he pitched forward with a howl as a bolt of agony shot through his ankle. 

Below him, the ground began to convulse, and Alarik immediately forgot about his ankle as the two dark craters snapped open and glared in his direction.

“Oh… oh no.” Alarik scrambled to his feet, his eyes wide. He stood, intending to run, only to have his ankle collapse beneath him. The giant worked its way to its feet with a tremendous roar, grabbing a boulder the size of a house. It brought its hand back, and all Alarik could do was watch as the stone came hurtling in his direction. 

He did not expect for a gust of ice and snow to lift him from the ground and send him hurtling through the air, the boulder slamming to the spot he’d been lying on seconds later. The gust deposited him on the back of what he assumed was a horse- though it looked like no horse Alarik had ever seen. The creature was not one of hide and hair, but rather what looked, and felt, to be ice. He had little time to marvel, however, as a voice to his right called out, “Enough!”

Everything fell quiet, even the breeze. A figure stepped forward, and Alarik could not believe his eyes. A woman, dressed in clothing similar to the Northuldra’s, but nearly white in coloration, stepped forward, her pale hair flowing like a waterfall down her back. She strode forward with a straight back and regal posture, lifting a hand. The giant’s features softened, and it set down a second boulder before settling back into a reclining posture. Within seconds, the giant was asleep. The woman relaxed momentarily, then turned to pierce him with an icy glare, advancing with a straight back. Alarik swallowed. The woman in front of him could only be Elsa, the Fifth Spirit, and he had just put himself squarely on her bad side.

“What… were… you… thinking!?” Alarik couldn’t help but to shrink back at Elsa’s rage as she continued her advance. “No one should ever, ever go into these woods without a guide from Northuldra! Weren’t you told that!?”

“Yes, but-” 

“No. No excuses. You were incredibly fortunate that I found you when I did, or that would have been your final resting place. The Giant thought you were an intruder! Now, I’m going to take you back to the camp, and you are going to stay at the camp unless one of us is with you, or I will send you back to Leisalla myself. Am. I. Clear!?”

Alarik could only nod. With a graceful movement, Elsa swung up behind him.

“Take us back, Nøkk.”

………

From the next several days, Alarik remained in the camp unless he was accompanied by a Northuldra villager. He stayed clear of Elsa during those days, as her contempt for him remained quite clear. He tried, multiple times to apologize, but each time he was met with a glare and a curt nod before Elsa left on her own. 

A week after his misadventure, Honeymaren and her wife Ráfi were able to convince Elsa to accompany them and Alarik to the Earth Giant’s resting place to meet the Giant that had nearly killed him. Alarik, of course, had been extremely nervous to meet the spirit, but with Elsa translating- he learned that she was able to communicate with all the spirits through a series of images and feelings- the Giant eventually accepted Alarik, at least enough to tolerate his presence and understand that he was not there to harm anyone or anything within the forest. 

After the meeting, and once the other spirits had a chance to meet Alarik, he was allowed to make short excursions in the forest by himself.

It was on one such foray on a particularly hot, humid day when Alarik heard a strange bawling noise. He followed the sound- more out of curiosity than anything else- to a steep, craggy hill. At first, he didn’t see anything, until a movement near the top of the hill drew his attention. It was Elsa, climbing with easy, nimble movements. Alarik followed the direction of her climb and was just able to make out the form of a reindeer calf stuck between two large stones- the source of the noise. Within seconds, Elsa was at the calf’s side, and with a few deft movements, she had pulled the calf loose. Alarik watched as Elsa slung the calf over her shoulders and began her descent. Just as he was about to leave, not wanting to face Elsa’s ire- even if she had seemed a bit less cold towards him- he heard the sound of rock falling free. He turned just in time to watch, helplessly, as Elsa slid and rolled down the hill, somehow maintaining her grip on the calf. As she fell, Alarik saw her leg catch on a thick branch. Her cry echoed throughout the forest, and when she finally rolled to a stop, she remained still, the calf on her shoulders bawling frantically. 

“Elsa!” Alarik rushed forward even as he wondered what exactly he’d be able to do. As soon as he arrived by Elsa’s side, Alarik was relieved to see her chest rising and falling, and after a moment, her eyes fluttered open. His relief was short-lived when he saw Elsa’s left leg. A massive gash ran from her knee halfway down to her calf, and within the mass of blood and lacerated flesh, Alarik could see the white glint of bone. He swallowed back the gorge rising in his throat, struggling to keep his composure as he looked around, trying to come up with a plan. Elsa groaned, and stuck out her hand, a swirl of ice encompassing the wound. 

“Wonderful,” Elsa grunted, examining the wound with a critical eye. The bleeding had stopped with the application of her ice, but Alarik could tell that the wound needed further attention.

“Can you walk?” Alarik asked, trying to mentally gauge the distance between their current position and the camp. They were maybe two kilometers out, from what he remembered, but could Elsa’s leg hold out until then? He noticed then that Elsa was not looking at the wound any more, but up at the sky. Alarik followed her gaze, and his heart dropped when he saw the dark thunderheads drawing near. Flashes of light illuminated the clouds’ underbellies, and Alarik knew that the storm would hit them before they could make it to the safety of the camp. 

Elsa groaned once more, and formed two crutches of ice. Shaking, she worked herself to her feet, jerking her head in the direction of the reindeer calf. “I can’t carry her and walk at the same time. Just put her on your shoulders like I did- she’s used to it.” Alarik didn’t dare contest her order, but as he swung the calf over his shoulder- wincing when a hoof clipped his ear- he still saw no solution to their current predicament.

“I don’t think we’re going to make it to the camp in time.” Alarik spoke cautiously, not wanting to push his luck.

“We’re not.” Elsa’s voice was taut with pain. “There’s… a cave… not far… from here. We can make it… if we… move fast enough.” 

“Are you going to be able to make it?”

“Going to have to.” Elsa limped forward, and Alarik had no choice but to follow.

……….

They arrived at the cave seconds before the storm broke, a tempest of rain and thunder that turned the world outside the cave entrance night-black. As they entered, Elsa explained that the cave was part of a system the Northuldra used for anyone, like them, who were too far from camp and needed temporary shelter. The cave was well-stocked with basic necessities- firewood, flint and steel, food, medical supplies, a few tools and even a small enclosure where Alarik placed the calf.The walk, while not far, had clearly pushed Elsa to her limits, and Alarik was grateful that his travels had taught him basic outdoorsmanship, particularly in starting a fire. By the time he had a good blaze going- placing a kettle of water over the flames- Elsa’s skin had taken on a sickly pallor, and a sheen of sweat covered her face. He approached her slowly, praying that he would be able to help.

“Elsa, may I please look at your leg? I was trained in field dressing during a stint in Scotland, and I have had to care for my own-”

“Fine.” The word came out as a hiss through gritted teeth, and Alarik couldn’t help but to pull back. However, Elsa stretched the leg in his direction, and said nothing as he drew closer.

“Can you remove the ice, please?” A wave of her hand, and the ice dissipated. Almost immediately, blood began to seep up in the wound, and Alarik reached for a wad of bandages, doing his best to staunch the flow. Even if Elsa iced the wound again, it would only serve as a temporary reprieve. Alarik could think of only one option. 

“Elsa, I’m afraid your wound needs to be…” His throat tightened, and Alarik had to struggle to get the next word out. “…cauterized.”

Elsa’s head fell back as she groaned. “I was afraid of that. Alright, there should be a knife somewhere in the supplies. Go ahead and start heating that. Do you know what dried goldenseal looks like? Good, grab a handful and put it in the kettle. I’ll need to wash my hands before I do this.”

Alarik jerked his head around, unable to keep his mouth from falling open. “You can’t possibly be serious! Elsa, there’s no way you can do that on your own! I’ll take-”

“No.” Despite her evident exhaustion, Elsa’s refusal held an authoritative tone that made Alarik hesitate. “You’ll end up getting hurt- my powers are extremely difficult to control when I’m in pain. No, set everything up for me, and then get as far away as possible.” Her tone made it clear that she expected no arguments, but Alarik wouldn’t do so. Not this time.

“Elsa, please, hear me out.” He had to be careful- even in the short time he’d been staying in the forest, he had learned that if there was anything Elsa feared above all, it was losing control of her powers, even around him. “I know why you don’t want me near you if there’s a risk of you losing control, but you and I both know that this isn’t going to work as well, if at all if you attempt this on your own. Please, allow me to help you. We can figure out how to keep things safe for the both of us.” He fell silent for a moment, looking about the cave walls as he desperately sought inspiration for a solution. Wait… the walls. 

“Elsa, the walls- can you direct your powers into them? If you can send them into the walls, it could be enough for me to finish the procedure without being harmed.” When he noticed her hesitation, Alarik reached forward before realizing what he was doing and pulled his hand back. “Can you try that?”

Elsa remained silent for so long that Alarik wondered if she had fallen unconscious, until she spoke.

“I will try. But I need you to promise me that if I tell you to go, you will go.“ 

Alarik nodded as he checked the knife blade- it was glowing red. "I promise.”

“No. Look at me. Promise it.” Elsa’s voice held a tense note, and when Alarik met her eyes, he thought he saw tears forming. 

“I. Promise.”

Elsa gave a curt nod, dragging her sleeve across her eyes. Alarik turned away, giving her privacy, and pulled the steaming kettle of goldenseal off the fire, sitting back to let it cool enough to wash his hands. To his surprise, a layer of frost grew on the outside of the metal, and he caught Elsa’s half-smile.

“Sometimes it helps to have ice powers.” Alarik chuckled as he lowered his hands into the mixture, scrubbing thoroughly. When he had finished, he gave one last look at Elsa, whose smile had vanished. 

“Are you ready?”

“No, but let’s get this over with.” Elsa braced her hands on the stone, fingers splayed, eyes screwed shut. As Alarik pulled the knife from the fire, she spoke again, her voice soft. 

“Would you… would you talk to me?" 

Alarik froze, unsure of what she wanted. "Talk to you?”

“Tell me about your travels, or what you’ve learned. Just… please give me something to focus on, other than… other than the pain.”

“Of course." 

And so he talked. He started at the very beginning, his first visit to Oslo, as he pressed the blade to her flesh, fighting to keep his voice level as she threw back her head with a howl, ice spiking away from her hands. He spoke of his mishaps and friends as he guided the knife over the wound, recoiling at the awful smell, trying to move as quickly and thoroughly as possible. He spoke of his journeys to other countries as he packed and bandaged the wound. By the time he was finished, the ice had spread to the ceiling, dagger-like icicles hanging menacingly above them. Elsa’s eyes were glazed with pain, and her hands dropped from the walls as if they were weighed down with stones. Alarik kept an eye on her as he cleaned everything to the best of his ability. Finally, there was nothing else to be done, and he fell silent, letting the sounds of the storm fill the air between them. 

Eventually, Elsa shifted to a more upright position. “Thank you.” Her voice was hoarse from screaming, and when Alarik looked at her, her eyes were shut tight, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “I… owe you.”

Alarik flushed. “You would have done the same.” He busied himself by pulling out his journal and pencil, finding a new page. He set the pencil to the page, but nothing came to mind. 

Elsa remained quiet for several minutes, and Alarik wondered if she had fallen asleep. An idea came to him, and Alarik started sketching an outline. 

“I suppose I would have.” Alarik looked up to see that Elsa’s eyes had opened again, but rather than looking at him, she was eyeing the ice dripping from the ceiling. He was relieved to see that her breathing had evened out, even more so when she was able to dissipate everything.

“Even if I’m an idiot who nearly gets himself crushed by an Earth Giant’s boulder?” The joke was a risk, and for a moment, Alarik feared he’d gone too far. He relaxed when Elsa’s lips lifted in a crooked smile. 

“I suppose you ended up growing on me.”

Alarik stopped his sketching as something warm and pleasant bloomed in his chest. “Really!?”

“Yes. Like a fungus.” 

Alarik threw back his head and laughed, and Elsa even managed a quick chuckle. They fell into silence for a while more.

“Alarik?”

“Hmmm?”

“I know the tent you’re sharing with Ryder is a little on the smaller side, and I’m sure space is tight with your supplies.” 

Alarik lifted a shoulder. “It’s perfectly fine, really. I’m used to travelling light, and I’ve been in much smaller places. And Ryder is a nice man.”

Elsa wasn’t looking at him any longer, and he noticed a tinge of red was creeping up her neck. “I’m… I’m glad. But… if you’re interested, I do have plenty of room in my tent. The Northuldra really did make it much too large- I don’t use all the space, and I did bring some desks from Arendelle which you are welcome to use.”

Now it was Alarik’s turn to blush. “That is a very kind offer, Elsa, but I’m quite fine where I am. I don’t want to impose on you.” 

“You wouldn’t be, I promise.” Elsa had turned away from him, and what Alarik could see on her face was unreadable. He wasn’t entirely sure about his own feelings on the matter- his thoughts were a confusing jumble.

“Will you… let me think on it?”

“Of course.”

Alarik returned to his sketching, and Elsa’s eyelids drooped, until he could hear her breathing grow deep and even. It took him a moment to realize that he could hear her breathing clearly because the storm outside had finally tapered off- they could return to the camp, and get Elsa further medical attention. 

If she could make it. 

“Elsa?” She sniffed and murmured as she woke, and Alarik was struck by just how sweet she looked. He quickly pushed the intrusive thought aside and indicated the calming weather outside the cave’s entrance. “The storm is letting up. We should probably get you back to the camp so that the healer can look at you. Can you walk, or do you want me to bring someone here?”

Elsa’s eyes closed once more, but it looked more that she was concentrating rather than falling asleep. After a moment, she looked at Alarik with a smile. “No need. We have help coming. Go ahead and douse the fire.” 

Before Alarik could ask what Elsa meant, a low rumble filled the air and the cave began to shake. Seconds later, a massive face lowered itself to the cave’s entrance- an Earth Giant, and one Alarik thought he recognized.

“Is that…”

“The one who almost crushed you? Yes. Don’t worry, he’s alright with you.”

Alarik grunted, dousing the fire and making sure the ashes were sufficiently scattered. He went to pick up the reindeer calf, but noticed that Elsa was having difficulty standing. Alarik quickly removed his shirt and fashioned it into a sling, placing the calf within. He then offered his arm, and after a moment, Elsa grasped it and pulled herself up, leaning heavily on Alarik. Together, they made their way out of the cave and into the Giant’s waiting palm. As they settled in, Elsa leaned against him, and was soon asleep. Alarik moved the calf out of the way and pulled at his journal, opening it to his newest entry. His finished sketch showed Elsa, sleeping much as she was then, and the image brought a smile to his face. 

………

Several days later, a stir rose through the camp as a royal wagon rolled up to the camp carrying Anna, Kristoff and baby Neta. Elsa, still limping slightly, rushed out to meet her family, and endured Anna’s chastising. Anna’s attention was quickly diverted when Alarik stepped out of Elsa’s tent as well- a grin working its way across her face. 

“New tent-mate, Elsa?” Elsa stiffened and began a flustered series of excuses, until Anna eventually bumped Elsa’s shoulder and leaned over to meet the reindeer calf who ended up with the two of them. 

“And what’s your name, little one?” Anna asked, scratching the calf under the chin.

“Beowulf,” Alarik said, rubbing the calf’s ears.

“That’s a female calf.” Kristoff pointed out, bouncing Neta in his arms. 

“So?” Elsa and Alarik answered at the same time, and Anna’s grin grew. 

“Look at you two, just like proud parents!” At that, both Alarik and Elsa flushed and stammered until Anna was doubled over with laughter. She yelped when Elsa sent a flurry of snow down her collar. Rolling her eyes, Elsa went over to retrieve Neta from Kristoff. She bounced the baby in her arms, chuckling when Neta reached out to tug on a strand of her hair. 

As Alarik watched, he blinked in confusion. For a moment, he could have sworn that he had seen Elsa holding, not baby Neta, but a different baby with red hair- the same shade of his own. 

[angelofthequeers]

Little Devil part 2

Disclaimer: I don’t own ML.

I had way too much fun designing Chloé’s outfit. She’s such a diva, she practically begged for me to do so because no way was she going to have a similar outfit to Marinette’s. I love Marinette baby but her outfit is so boring :(

The fic idea came from @gale-of-the-nomads and Little Devil from @zoe-oneesama (in case you want a picture reference). Little Devil’s speech about why she’s doing this is from zoe-oneesama’s post right here. It was so brilliant that I had to incorporate it, so full credit to them.

Part 3 coming tomorrow, once I stop screaming and start rewriting because my laptop battery fell out and I lost the ENTIRE 3K DOCUMENT.

Part 1 | Part 3 | AO3 link

“Marinette, don’t you dare go all akuma on me!” Chloé snaps. She’s keenly aware that sassing the villain probably isn’t a good idea, but she’s probably going to be attacked anyway so she may as well get some jabs in first. Then she can at least claim that she tried. “I stood up to everyone for you and this is how you repay me?”

Little Devil looks down at Chloé, black lips curved in a wicked little smile that distorts the black hearts dotting her cheeks. “Chloé Bourgeois,” the akuma says in her deep, smooth voice. “The one person I never thought I would spare.”

“What?” Chloé splutters. Spare her? Is Little Devil high? Does Hawkmoth need Chloé for something?

“You stood up for me,” Little Devil says. “You and Adrien came for me when nobody else did. So, the two of you will be spared. Everybody else?” Her eyes gleam wickedly. “Everyone has a little devil on their shoulder. I just need to make them listen.”

Chloé scrambles away from Little Devil as the akuma floats past, no doubt off to search for victims. And if Chloé’s right, those victims will probably be their classmates.

“Best thing I can do is hide!” Chloé decides, ducking into the bathroom. “After all, Ladybug needs to be able to find me, and she can’t do that if I get myself hit.”

Okay, so she’s being a coward. But she’s totally right as well. Come on.

In the bathroom, her eyes land on the earrings that Marinette had flung away, and her curiosity is unavoidably piqued. Why had Marinette been so desperate to keep them from Hawkmoth? What, are they some family heirloom or something that she didn’t want akumatised? Pfft, how utterly ridiculous. Everyone knows that whatever gets broken during an akuma attack gets fixed by Miraculous Ladybug. Speaking of which, Ladybug had better get her butt there pronto so that Chloé can help.

She shuffles over to swipe the earrings to pocket for Marinette. No, she totally doesn’t care about Marinette at all. But after the day that girl has had, she doesn’t need something else to upset her, like broken earrings. Heaven forbid she get akumatised again.

The moment Chloé makes contact with the earrings, they emit a bright red light that forces Chloé to squeeze her eyes shut, while her stomach sinks because damn it all, she knows this light. She’s seen it with –

“Chloé?” the small red thing hovering in mid-air squeaks. “What are you –” It zips over to the door and gasps. “Oh no!”

“I – you – kwami!” Chloé splutters. No. Way. There’s no way this can be happening. There’s no way that Marinette Dupain-Cheng can be Ladybug. But it makes sense. The constant absences that conveniently align with akumas, the similar hair and eyes that Chloé had dismissed in a way she couldn’t now –

She’s been sucking up to Marinette this whole time. Why? Why is life so unfair? But it explains why Marinette had thrown the earrings away. Hawkmoth had proven just how dangerous an akumatised Miraculous holder could be, and she was Ladybug. At least now…

At least now there’s still a chance.

“This is awful!” the kwami cries. “Poor Marinette! I tried so hard to calm her down!”

“Oh, relax,” Chloé says, already fitting the earrings into her earlobes as a daring plan starts to form. Queen Bee won’t be appearing in this battle, that much is certain, but that doesn’t mean Ladybug has to sit this one out. “What do you say to transform?”

“You can’t do this!” the kwami says. “This isn’t right –”

“Listen, kwami whose name I don’t know,” Chloé snaps. “It’s either I be Ladybug for this battle or you don’t get your precious Marinette back. I’ve been akumatised three times and rescued way more. I was Antibug. I know better than anyone else how this works. Other than Chat Noir, of course. And if Marinette remembers that she threw her earrings in here, she’ll be back for them when Hawkmoth gets naggy.”

The kwami stares at Chloé for a few moments, tiny face twisted as though stuck in an internal battle. “Tikki,” the kwami finally says. “My name is Tikki.” She floats up in front of Chloé’s face, studying her intently. “Are you sure you can be trusted with this, Chloé? This isn’t a game!”

“Was it a game when I was Queen Bee?” Chloé crosses her arms. “I know lives are at stake. Even more if I’m Ladybug.”

“Why would you want to do this if you don’t like Marinette?”

“Because if Marinette goes around zapping people then Lila wins. And not even Marinette deserves the simply awful day she’s had.”

Tikki beams at Chloé. “I knew you could be a good person if you put your mind to it!” she says. “I’m so glad that you’re starting to care about other people!”

“I don’t care about Marinette!” Chloé argues a little too quickly. “I’m doing this because I can’t stand Lila. Look, just tell me what to say so I can get out there and kick akuma butt.”

“Spots on to transform,” Tikki rattles off. “Spots off to turn back. Remember, you only have five minutes after you use your Lucky Charm –”

“Before I transform back, yes, yes, I know. And I need to capture the akuma in the yo-yo and then use Miraculous Ladybug. Tikki, spots on!”

It’s nice to know that she’s just as big a diva transforming into Ladybug as she is when turning into Queen Bee, as her transformation sequence is damn awesome and involves a lot of dramatic posing and hand-on-hip, pretty much like Queen Bee. The magic washing over her feels…different to when Pollen had turned her into Queen Bee. Cool, fresh, like being outside on a nice spring day and basking in the sunlight and the joy of living things around you. When the magic fades away, Chloé immediately heads for the mirror so that she can look over her outfit.

It’s very different to the real Ladybug’s outfit. Marinette’s suit is just red with black dots all over – and really, if Marinette’s trying to be a fashion designer then her outfit should be a little more interesting. But Chloé’s consists of a black-spotted red corset-style leotard over black garter leggings and a sheer, long-sleeved black undershirt, both underneath knee-length boots and elbow-length gloves that match her leotard. Two strips of ladybug-patterned cloth over her shoulders and back complete the outfit, almost like little ladybug wings even though Ladybug can’t fly. Her hair is still in its signature ponytail but tied with a red ribbon and streaked with red, with little antennae sticking out of her hair like Chat’s ears. Her mask and the yo-yo around her waist are the only things identical to Marinette’s Ladybug.

“I look awesome,” Chloé preens, turning this way and that to admire herself. Honestly, if she never had to give the Miraculous back then she’d be doing everyone a favour. Paris deserves a much more stylish Ladybug to save the day. She pauses and grimaces. Okay, so this is only temporary. But maybe she can give the real Ladybug some fashion tips when she totally saves everyone. Which means actually going out there. And fighting.

“Lila is so paying for my next nail appointment,” Chloé grumbles as she sprints out of the bathroom. Come to think of it, she should just charge every villain she has to fight as Queen Bee. Maybe even send the bill to Hawkmoth. No, he should use that money to get himself a new outfit, because his current one is utterly ridiculous.

Lost in her thoughts, Chloé doesn’t notice that she’s on a collision course with someone until she slams into a figure clad in black and they go tumbling down the hallway, groaning and cursing.

“Watch where you’re going!” Chloé snaps, untangling herself from the other person so she can stand up and dust off her outfit. She’s so committing this suit to memory and having it commissioned so she can remember the day she was Ladybug, even if she has to keep it to herself. Truth be told, though, she kind of misses being Queen Bee. As Ladybug, it just feels like she’s playing pretend as someone else.

“Sorry, m’lady!” the other person says as he deftly jumps to his feet. Oh, great. It’s that mangy Chat Noir. But at least Chloé now has backup and she knows that Chat Noir hasn’t been affected by the akuma. The thought of a solo fight is daunting as all hell.

“Oh, good, you’re here,” Chloé says. “Come on, Marinette got akumatised, so we need to –”

“You’re not Ladybug.” Chat Noir backs away, holding his baton in front of him like he’s warding off evil. “Where’s the real Ladybug?”

“I’m the temporary Ladybug,” Chloé says. “It’s me, Chloé.”

“You expect me to believe that Ladybug would just give you her earrings?”

“She didn’t give them. Duh. But she can’t really use them now, can she?”

The moment that Chat Noir puts two and two together and realises the implication of what Chloé’s telling him is painted blindingly across his annoyingly cute face. With a sigh, Chloé grabs his arm and drags him into the nearest empty classroom, locking the door behind them.

“Marinette – Ladybug?” Chat Noir babbles, grabbing at his messy blond hair.

“Hey! Snap out of it!” Chloé gently slaps him across the face. “Have your mental breakdown later, okay? Look, do I need to detransform so you can talk to Tikki?”

“I – yes?” Chat Noir says. “No offence, Chloé, but I need to –”

“Yes, yes, I get it. Spots off.” She can’t even find it in herself to feel hurt as the magic washes off her and consumes her outfit. Honestly, she would’ve been more worried if Chat Noir had just straight-up accepted her explanation.

“Tikki?” Chat Noir takes a step towards the little kwami, eyes fixed on her.

“Chat Noir!” Tikki says. “I wish I could say it’s nice to meet you but…” She droops. “Not like this. Marinette’s going to be so upset that she was revealed like this and that she was akumatised. Everyone thought she would be the one person who would never give in and she really took that on her shoulders.”

“So…you’re telling the truth?” Chat Noir says to Chloé.

“Of course.” Chloé rolls her eyes. “Marinette pulled out her earrings so Hawkmoth couldn’t akumatise them. And really, if I hadn’t picked them up then not only would you have no Ladybug, but Marinette would’ve gone straight back for them if she remembered them. Do you really want to take that risk?”

Chat Noir still doesn’t look like he fully trusts Chloé, but there’s new respect in his eyes. Chloé wonders if she knows his civilian identity. Hmm. If any of the boys start treating her differently, like they respect her now, then she’ll have her answer. It pays to have people think that you’re a dumb blonde sometimes.

“Look, is this really the time to sit here and have a little party?” Chloé says. “Tikki, spots on!”

Once she’s transformed again, she unlocks the door and she and Chat take off running down the hallway to her classroom, which is where Little Devil would be if anywhere.

“We need a cover story that doesn’t out Marinette,” Chat Noir says as they skid around a corner. “Everyone’s going to notice that you’re not Ladybug and that Marinette’s akumatised!”

“Good point,” Chloé says, her mind racing. “How about…Ladybug got caught in civilian form by whatever this akuma does. And since I’m Queen Bee, she knew she could trust me, of course.”

“Little less vanity, but sure,” Chat Noir says. “That’s purrfect.”

Chloé groans loudly. “I’m not Ladybug, so don’t think I won’t kick you for those ridiculous –”

A scream cuts her off before she can finish her threat. With a long-suffering sigh, Chloé changes direction with Chat Noir, and they turn down another hallway and find a familiar brunette girl curled in a ball, sobbing and pulling her hair.

“Alya?” Chloé nudges the crying girl with her foot. Not very heroic, sure, but she never claimed to be a good little hero in the first place. “Alright, what did she do to you?”

“You can’t hear them?” Alya looks up, her red-rimmed eyes similar to how Marinette’s had looked after emerging from her bathroom stall. “The voices! They won’t stop!”

“What voices?” Chat Noir looks around, perplexed. “I don’t hear any voices.”

“No! I’m sorry!” Alya shakes her head wildly. “I’m not selfish! I didn’t mean to dump Marinette – I’m sorry – I’m the worst friend –”

Chloé and Chat Noir back away when Alya’s shoulders slump and her cries trail off. Blood red splotches start to appear on her skin, the same colour as Little Devil’s skin, and they rapidly spread like an ugly rash until every inch of skin is that colour. Her orange-brown hair turns pitch black and two red horns push themselves out, while her clothes turn black as though someone spilled ink over every thread.

“Alya?” Chat Noir carefully approaches her, while every spidey sense that Chloé has blares at once.

“Chat Noir!” She grabs his arm and pulls him back, and just in time; Alya lets out an inhuman shriek and launches herself at Chat Noir, fingers grasping for his throat. Her eyes are now fully yellow behind her glasses, just like Little Devil’s sclerae, and her face twitches and distorts every few seconds like she’s possessed.

“It never ends!” Alya shouts, her voice warped with an otherworldly influence like Little Devil’s had been. She pauses, head tilted like she’s listening to a voice they can’t hear, and then she bellows and advances on Chloé and Chat Noir. “Give me your Miraculouses! Little Devil says that’s the only way I can make the pain stop! That I can make it all right again!”

“So, she forces you to hear your darkest thoughts?” Chat Noir says as they prepare to take down Alya.

“Looks like it,” Chloé says. “And if you give in, you turn into…” She gestures at Alya. “That. Really, for an aspiring fashion designer, Marinette has a lot of work to do.”

“I don’t think that’s Marinette’s fashion sense,” Chat Noir says.

“Ugh. Right. Hawkmoth and his ridiculous outfits.”

Although they don’t have the same almost-telepathic connection that Ladybug and Chat Noir have, they do have enough of an acquaintance by now that they’re not totally useless as a team. Although Chat Noir accidentally smacks Chloé in the head with his baton and Chloé’s yo-yo ensnares his foot while she’s tying up Alya, they manage to work together well enough that it’s not that difficult to leave Alya out for the count, snarling and crying.

“We need a way to keep her here,” Chat Noir says. “We can’t keep her tied up in your yo-yo.”

Chloé’s ponytail whips around as she scours the classroom for something she can use to keep Alya subdued. A lightbulb goes off in her brain, and it only takes a few moments for her to rip one of the curtains off the window and tie Alya to a desk, manoeuvring carefully so she can undo her yo-yo as she goes.

“Nice thinking,” Chat Noir says. “But you’ll never be able to replace my lady.”

“I don’t plan on it,” Chloé says. “I’m fine without the villains targeting me.”

“That’s…oddly mature of you,” Chat Noir says as they dash out of the classroom.

“I caused so many akumas that after Mlle Bustier was akumatised…it kind of sank in,” Chloé says. “And then…I got my daddy akumatised. I realised that I was causing half the problems that Ladybug had to fix. And now that I’m being Ladybug and I have to do what she does, it’s a kick up the butt.”

“You didn’t cause those akumas,” Chat Noir says. “Everyone feels upset from time to time. It’s Hawkmoth who makes it unsafe to feel those emotions and uses those people so he can make his selfish wish.”

“I still had a part to play,” Chloé says. “You can’t honestly look at me and tell me that I didn’t make it easier for him.”

Ugh. Is she really having this conversation? Thankfully, she’s saved from having to deal with Chat Noir trying to be all nice and ‘not your fault’ and stuff when they emerge onto the walkway above the courtyard and freeze.

“Oh,” Chloé says faintly. There are little devils everywhere, either already transformed and attacking each other with shrill shrieks or curled up and trying to fend off the dark thoughts before inevitably succumbing. On the opposite side to them is Little Devil, perched daintily on the railing as she surveys the chaos with a wicked little smile.

“Well, at least you can say that you got an interesting first akuma,” Chat Noir says with the best fake grin that Chloé’s ever seen. And considering who she is, she’s the queen of fake smiles. “Rena Rouge got a bunch of cloning monsters. And Carapace just had a spider to deal with.”

“My first akuma was Malediktator,” Chloé says. 

“Oh, right. Queen Bee and all. My meowstake.”

Chloé shoots him a poisonous look. “And I’d prefer the spider, to be honest.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Only because you were stuck in her web for the whole battle.”

“Thanks for that.” His smile this time is more blatantly fake, like he’s not even trying to pretend anymore. “I seem to get stuck a lot. And now I couldn’t even help my lady because I left her –” He breaks off, like finishing his sentence will give himself away. Chloé just squints at him. There’s only one person who had tried to help Marinette but had been forced to leave.

“If you’re who I think you are,” she says, “then both Marinette and I told you to leave even though you didn’t want to. And Little Devil told me that she’s sparing the both of us because we were the only ones who went after her.”

Chat Noir’s so stiff that one tap could probably shatter him like glass. Chloé wants to do a victory dance at knowing both secret identities, but such an undignified action would be beneath her.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” she says airily.

“How’d you figure it out? Ladybug doesn’t even know who I am!”

“Marinette? Think you’re Chat Noir?” Chloé scoffs. “Please. That girl’s crushing on you so hard that it’s a miracle she hasn’t melted yet when you smile at her.”

Okay, so it’s kinda counterproductive to her own goals of securing Adrien for herself. But honestly, learning that Adrien is Chat Noir kind of turns her off because she simply can’t be seen with anyone who makes puns that annoying and awful. And on a more serious note, knowing that he’s Chat Noir comes with the realisation that there’s no chance he’ll ever be into her when he’s pining after Ladybug, whose identity he now knows. The stunned look on his face just confirms that. And Chloé Bourgeois doesn’t do second place.

She also just wants her friend to be happy, not that she’d ever say that out loud. She doesn’t need people thinking she’s soft or something.

“If you think you’re useless, you’ve got another thing coming,” is what she finally says when Chat Noir says nothing.

“Ladybug can get the job done just as well with Rena Rouge or Carapace or Queen Bee,” he argues. “You literally saw me under Malediktator’s control when you were Queen Bee.”

“And then we all got akumatised and you didn’t,” Chloé says. “And all the times you’ve been put down is because you were protecting Ladybug so she could get the akuma. Which isn’t healthy behaviour, but whatever. Look, she needs you just as much as you need her. I see how she talks about you in interviews. I see how well you two work together in battles. There can’t ever be another Chat Noir, just like I can’t be another Ladybug. Even if another person was better with Chat Noir’s powers, she wouldn’t want another Chat Noir.”

Chat Noir – Adrien – stares at her in a new light. Then he beams and pulls Chloé into a quick hug.

“I knew you had a heart in there,” he says.

“Ugh, stop it, you’re going to wrinkle my outfit!” Chloé says. Even though she now knows this is Adrien, there’s just something about Chat Noir that makes it easy for her to not think of him as Adrien. Which is probably how Marinette never clued in as to who her partner is. “I didn’t do it so we could be all sunshine and rainbows. I did it because if Little Devil hits you, I don’t need to be dealing with devil dead weight. You better fight that off or you’ll hear about it.”

But Chat Noir’s annoying smirk lets her know that he doesn’t buy that excuse one bit. Huffing, Chloé flips her hair and turns away.

“The akuma’s in her cravat,” she says. “It was the handkerchief she was using to make a mess of her face.”

“Well, we can’t stand around all day,” Chat Noir says. “Let’s get down there and have a devil of a time.”

“Chat, I swear!” Chloé huffs, following him as he runs around the walkway to Little Devil. Looks like stealth is out of the question. Then again, with so many little devils, it would probably be impossible to sneak around without at least one of them noticing and alerting Little Devil.

“Marinette!” Chat Noir skids to a halt in front of Little Devil, who looks around with a lazy smile. Chloé wants to slap him. He’s totally forgotten that he’s Chat Noir, not Adrien, and Little Devil only promised to spare Adrien. But she can’t exactly yell that at him now, can she? Ugh, she so shouldn’t have let on that Marinette was Ladybug. Both of them are very much aware of how knowing identities messes things up.

“Hello, Chat Noir,” Little Devil greets. “I’d ask if you’re here to give me your Miraculous, but we both know the answer to that.” Her gaze slides over Chloé and she frowns. “Who are you?”

“I’m being Ladybug, since the real Ladybug can’t really make it,” Chloé sniffs, hands on her hips. Little Devil’s face contorts but not maliciously; more like she’s working out who this Ladybug could be.

“That won’t make a difference, Chloé,” she says. Wow, maybe Chloé needs to give Marinette more credit. “You just saved me a lot of trouble by bringing the Miraculous to me.”

Chloé’s slightly worried that Hawkmoth will figure things out through his mental connection to his akuma. Then again, Hawkmoth’s kind of proved himself to be an idiot when it comes to making akumas who do more than just yell for the Miraculouses and cause a bit of trouble, so she’s not too worried. Heroes’ Day was an exception but whatever. He totally had help there.

“Marinette, why are you doing this?” Chat Noir says almost pleadingly. Chloé shoots him a warning look out of the corner of her eye because this is not how he’s going to reveal himself if she can help it.

“I made them who they are,” Little Devil shrugs, turning back to survey her domain. “Demons who’ll go for the throat as soon as you show weakness. I gave them everything, but as soon as I needed their support, they turned their backs on me. This is what it means to be their friend. They’ll take and take but when it’s time to give? Poof, they’re gone.”

“Everyone messes up,” Chloé says, staying well away from the reflex of shouting that it’s not true because invalidating an akuma’s feelings is a sure-fire way to annoy them. “I know that better than anyone else. But you gave me a second chance when I didn’t deserve it.”

“You don’t hide behind broken promises and poisonous lies, Chloé Bourgeois,” Little Devil hisses. Her narrowed eyes bore into Chloé’s, as though she can read Chloé’s soul from just a glance. “You never pretended to be my friend. You never turned an entire class against me because of compulsive lies. I can trust you to be nasty. I can’t trust the others to be nice. Except for Adrien.”

Chat Noir’s face twitches. Thankfully, Little Devil doesn’t seem to notice.

“I gave you a chance, Chloé,” the akuma says. “But clearly you’re against me if you’re wearing those earrings.”

Maybe if Chloé had more experience than a few rounds as Queen Bee and if Chat Noir wasn’t distracted by knowing that this was his lady, they wouldn’t have been so thoroughly taken by surprise. Before either of them can react, Little Devil brandishes her pitchfork and tiny devils, who look eerily like corrupted versions of Tikki with horns, come flying out from behind Little Devil and latch on to Chloé and Chat Noir.

Immediately, the whispers start.

[wordswithateez]

yeehaw!ateez - Chapter 1

OMG ITS FINALLY STARTING YEAHHHHHHH

i hope yall enjoy this as much as i do! thank you for all of your nice comments!!! :D let’s get this show on the road!!!

CHAPTER ONE - The Arrival

You’d been waiting forever.

As the stablehand personally assigned to the legendary equestrian team ATEEZ, you were expected to be punctual and efficient, which meant being the first person they see when arriving at your father’s stable complex.

Any minute now, you thought, for the ninth time.

Where you stood, you could see sunlight cast rays down over the rafters of the stable, turning dust particles to glitter. The nickering of awakening horses filled the stable’s ambiance, and a hen clucked idly out in the yard. It was peaceful, and the morning sun on your cheeks was making you regret leaving your bed.

Thankfully, the crackling of gravel under tires shook you from your morning daze. Two large trucks, both hauling impressive steel trailers, came toiling up the stable’s driveway.

Finally, ATEEZ was here.

You waved to signal the drivers where to park, walking over as the engines rumbled to a stop. There was a faint sound of hooves on metal, and a stray whinny or two pierced the air. It must have been a long ride for them. You wanted to see them, but there were more pressing matters. The first driver was already climbing out of his pickup, and you raised your hand to shake his.

“Hello, I’m y/n l/n. I’ll be your main stablehand during your stay here at Royals’ Elite Equestrian Center,” you introduced yourself with a smile. Admittedly, you’d spent more than a couple minutes rehearsing that line.

The man who’d driven smiled back at you, his eyes crinkling under his coffee-brown fringe. You tried not to mentally question the mullet.

“Oh, thank you,” he replied. “My name is Kim Hongjoong, but you can call me Hongjoong. We’re ready to unload if you are.” He gestured to the heavy steel trailers.

Kim Hongjoong? THE Kim Hongjoong? You felt a little bit of your soul leave your body.

“Of course. Nice to meet you, Hongjoong.” You smiled, pointing back at the barn. “The stalls are ready as well. Eight horses, right?”

“Yep,” he affirmed.

“And a box stall for the Clydesdale?”

“Yep. You guys really followed all of our requests, huh?”

“Of course!” you said, a little too enthusiastically. “Royals’ Elite prides itself on its hospitality.”

“We’re glad to be working with you,” Hongjoong said genuinely. He tapped on the window of the pickup, signaling that the rest of the riders could exit. Soon, the trucks were empty of passengers. The trailers’ steel doors were lowered, and the unloading process began.

“Seonghwa, take Dauntless first,” you heard Hongjoong say.

Park Seonghwa, triple gold dressage champion, the fangirl inside you sang. You tried to hide your starstruck-ness as a taller man with styled blond hair entered the first trailer. You heard the shuffling of footsteps and the click of a lead getting clipped to a halter. Not moments later, a large black stallion came stepping into the sunlight, head raised high. His coat shone like jet, and you couldn’t help but let a small ‘wow’ leave your mouth.

“Pretty, isn’t he?” a new voice piped up right next to you. You bit back a cry of surprise and turned to look at the speaker. “Hwanggeum’s prettier, in my opinion.”

If you hadn’t recognized his face by now, you definitely recognized the name of Jung Wooyoung’s prized Lusitano. He smiled brightly at you. “I’m Jung Wooyoung. You’re y/n?”

“That’s me,” you replied quickly, after getting over your inherent shock.

“Nice to meet you,” he said with a grin, before entering the trailer. Moments later, out stepped Hwanggeum, led by Wooyoung. The stallion’s name was no mistake–the buckskin really did gleam like gold, and from the high-stepping strides, he knew how stunning he was. Wooyoung gave you one last smile before walking after Dauntless and Seonghwa into the stable.

Next, a tall boy with black hair went inside, and you heard heavy hoofsteps echo from inside. From the sound, you knew this had to be Jeong Yunho’s retired Clydesdale. She was the largest by far, you noticed, when she walked down the trailer’s ramp at Yunho’s side. Yunho gave you a friendly greeting, but didn’t say much more than a ‘hello.’

“The box stall is at the end of the barn,” you offered helpfully as they passed. He waved at you, grateful.

“Thank you!”

Only after they had passed, did you notice that Yunho wasn’t carrying any sort of lead.

The last horse to exit the first trailer was unmistakable: Song Mingi’s Knabstrupper showjumper, Domino. Domino’s spotted coat only accentuated his strong legs and neck, which was arched in a stretch as he followed Mingi. You watched in awe as Domino kicked up his heels as he felt the gravel under his hooves, to which Mingi chuckled and walked Domino in a few small circles before entering the barn.

It was now time to unload the second trailer. The final four horses remained, and were getting impatient.

“We’d better go get them,” Hongjoong said at your side. “They won’t wait for long. I need to speak to the stable manager, would you please bring Gale to the stable for me?”

“Absolutely,” you said, completely calmly, definitely not losing your mind on the inside.

“He’s the last one,” Hongjoong said. “Thank you!” With that, he turned and walked towards the community building.

Steeling your nerves, you followed the four other ATEEZ riders around to the back of the second trailer. One of them, with red and brown hair–Choi San, your annoying fangirl mind chanted–reached up and lowered the ramp, going inside. San’s beautiful Haflinger gelding stepped out moments later, letting out a joyful whinny at seeing the sunlight. You tried and failed to hide your smile, which San returned with a sweet grin of his own.

“You like her?” he asked, to which you dumbfoundedly replied,

“Uh, yes!”

He laughed. “Me too!”

Suddenly, the shrill nicker of an Arabian rang out through the air as a shorter brown-haired rider walked in, a staple trait of Kang Yeosang’s award-winning mare. Sunny herself came trotting out of the trailer, leading Yeosang more than he was leading her. You laughed a little to yourself as he trotted her in a quick circle, similar to what Mingi had to do. She didn’t calm much, and you barely had time to tell Yeosang where to go by the time Sunny trotted into the stable, tail raised high.

Now it’s just you and Jongho left.

“Watch out,” he said to you as he walked inside the trailer. “Fuego doesn’t travel well.”

You nodded, worried about what the iconic brindle mustang might do.

“Ah, damn it!”

Not seconds later, Jongho’s voice griped from the trailer, before Fuego suddenly came galloping out, a lead rope dangling freely from her halter. She let out a bellowing neigh as she went cantering into the front yards, her head held high and ears pinned back. “Quick! Catch her before she makes even more of a mess!” he demanded, hurriedly jumping out of the trailer’s side door.

Your foggy, starstruck mind cleared instantly at his words, jumping into the situation at hand.

“Okay!”

The disgruntled mare was making a beeline for the road from whence they came, prompting you into a full sprint to catch up. She wasn’t travelling all that quickly, but she definitely wasn’t paying attention to where she was going, and would wind up in the main road within minutes.

“Fuego!” you shouted, an attempt at catching the mare’s attention. Her ear flicked back, indicating that she had heard you, but veered to the left, away from you. At least she’s not headed for the road anymore, you thought. You ran to the front gates and quickly shut them as Fuego left you in the dust, hopefully keeping her inside the compound.

Jongho, who was adjacent to Fuego, raised his fingers to his mouth and blew a sharp, high-pitched whistle. Fuego stopped in her tracks, skidding through the dirt like she’d learned to do in the arena. Her head swiveled to stare Jongho in the eyes, who was jogging in her direction.

He was barely a few meters away before she suddenly whirled on her heels and took off back the way she came, letting out a shrill whinny.

“Great, now she thinks this is a game!” Jongho groaned, breaking back into a sprint.

You laughed, although quickly shut up when you noticed Fuego barreling in your direction.

Suddenly, you had an idea.

“Fuego! Here, girl!”

You reached into your vest pocket and pulled out an apple you had saved to eat as a snack, waving the fruit through the air like a flag. It shone like a ruby in the morning light, and as if on cue, Fuego immediately became nothing more than a young thief eyeing jewelry on the street. Her big, brown eyes locked on target, and she slowed to a brisk trot, her hooves sending up clouds of dust. Moments later, you were face-to-face with Fuego herself.

She pressed her nose into your chest as you hid the apple behind your back, momentarily distracting her as you took a fierce hold on the mare’s (now dusty) lead rope.

“Good girl,” you soothed, letting her have the treat as soon as you got a grip. She munched happily, as if she’d been rewarded.

“Ugh, she’s going to think running away will get her treats now,” Jongho complained as he jogged over, slowing down to take Fuego’s lead from you. You were surprised to see that he wasn’t out of breath at all, and there was no malice in his voice. He gave you a grateful smile. “Thanks anyway. You’re, uh, y/n, right?”

“That’s me,” you said. “You’re Choi Jongho?”

“Sure am. Gale’s still in the trailer, by the way. I’ll take Fuego to her stall for you,” he said with a smile, giving the mare a pat or two. She snorted softly, closely watching your exchange with Jongho.

“Oh, okay,” you said. “I’ll get Gale.”

“Cool.” His grin was friendly, knowing. “You’ll like him.”

You laughed, unsure of what else to say. He smiled once more and turned to lead Fuego back to the stable, who clearly still had a little energy left. You let out a big sigh, relieved, and walked to retrieve Hongjoong’s horse from the trailer.

heyyyy here’s the first chapter. it seems a little boring now that i read it but i’m not changing that now lol. lemme know what yall think in the comments 💓💖💞💝💞

[filmfanatic82]

AO3 Link (HERE)

Chapter 11: If I could do it all again…

“Trini!” Max's panic-stricken voice echoes throughout the sea of dense yellow fog, jolting Trini into consciousness. Her eyes dart wildly around looking for something -- anything -- remotely familiar. But there's nothing.

Nothing but yellow.

“Max?” Trini calls back. She spins around once… Twice… Three times. But still nothing. Not even a hint of a shadow.

How did she get here?

And where the hell is here, to begin with?

Trini fights against the ever-growing wave of anxiety ready to crash down upon her. She takes a deep, sobering breath and runs her hands over her ponytail.

Think, Gomez. Think…

“Trini? Where are you? I can't see you?”

“I’m here. Just stay put, kiddo. I’ll find you.”

“Trini?”

Max’s voice lingers. It teases Trini, egging her anxiety on. She feels her heart rate speed up as her heart pounds against her ribcage like an out of control jackhammer.

“MAX!” Trini screams into the yellow abyss.

But…

Only the deafening roar of silence calls back.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

“Trini…” a strange voice answers causing a defined set of chills to run down the length of Trini’s spine. Unlike Max’s, this voice is nothing but menacing in nature. As if belonging to someone-- or something-- that has one intention in mind. “Are you ready to play?”

Run.

She needs to freakin’ run. And now.

But there’s nowhere to go…

“Show yourself!” Trini replies with all the confidence she can muster.

“And reveal who I am? Where’s the fun in that?”

“I’m not looking to play games. Tell me who you are or-“

“Or what?” The voice cuts her off, calling out Trini’s bluff. “Such fire to that voice. You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?”

“You have no fuckin’ idea,” Trini growls. Her hands naturally ball themselves into fists as she mentally prepares herself to battle.

“There’s no need for the anger, Trini.”

“How’d you know my name?” Trini questions as her eyes once again scan the all-encompassing yellow fog, desperate to pinpoint the source of the voice. But still nothing.

“Oh, that’s not all I know.”

“Like what?”

“All in due time, Yellow. All in due time.”

A sickening laugh erupts from the depths of the fog, causing Trini’s skin to crawl. A familiar sense of terror blossoms within the depths of her stomach. She dryly swallows and tries not to let her mind head down the rabbit hole of horrifying possibilities.

They aren’t prepared for what’s to come…

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“Trini… Trini, please… C’mon you need to wake up!”

Another voice infiltrates Trini’s consciousness, warmer in tone but laced with a similar frantic quality that immediately causes her heart rate to pike. She gives a hard blink as her world comes into soft focus. Multicolor blobs flicker in front of Trini, angry with rapid movement. She can’t make heads or tails of anything. Everything is just too fuzzy.

“Trini!” The voice yells out this time punctuated with a harsh jerk of Trini’s shoulders, igniting her nerves like the fourth of the July.

Pain.

Sweet Jesus.

Everything freakin’ hurts.

Trini slowly licks her lips and is instantly greeted by the familiar metallic taste of blood. She blinks again. The blobs morph into more identifiable shapes. Still fuzzy around the edges, but clear in appearance nonetheless. A sea of rain, smoke, and broken glass surrounds Trini on all sides, making it virtually impossible to determine up from down.

Trini blinks for a third time, bringing even further clarity to the last few fuzzy objects, including the frightened, ravened hair girl hovering in front of her. She instantly takes note of the peppering of gashes and cuts along the length of Kim’s body.

They’re bad but from what she can tell not life-threatening…  

At least there’s that.

“Kim?” Trini croaks, voice hoarse from the thick layer of smoke residing within her lungs.

Kim lets out a choked sob of relief and runs her hands through her messy, rain-soaked hair. “Thank god.”

“What happened?”

“Not sure. I think something smashes through the windshield and then--”

“Then I lost control,” Trini finishes Kim’s sentence as a tidal wave of memories come crashing down upon her. She attempts to straighten herself up, but can’t seem to move an inch. The mangled remains of the steering wheel, along with the seat belt, have managed to wrap themselves around Trini’s body like a starving boa constrictor, tightening its grasp with each and every breath she takes.

“Don’t move.” Kim contorts her body around the jungle of tangled metal and broken glass, positioning herself so that she’s all but straddling Trini.

“Kim…” Trini licks her lips again, getting a deeper taste of blood as she does.

She’s injured.

Again…

Cause that seems to be her ever fuckin’ curse.

Ever since…

“I said stop moving.”

“I’m not.”

“God, I forgot…” Kim says as she works to loosen the mangled pieces of seat belt from around Trini’s body.

“What?”

“Just how stubborn you can be,” Kim responds without missing a beat. Her hands gently ghost over Trini’s skin, taking the utmost care not to further aggravate her ever presence injuries. “Try moving your arm now.”

Trini carefully attempts to wiggle her left arm as Kim pulls against a stray piece of the steering wheel that’s pinning it against the center console, but it’s no use. Even with her heightened strength and flexibility, she's stuck. “Nope.”

“Okay.” Kim pauses for a moment, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear and lets out a frustrated huff of air. She scans the cab of the truck, as the wheels in her head turn. “What if we--”

WHOOSH.

The distinct sound of flames igniting cut through the air, followed by the all too familiar warmth of a nearby fire.

“Shit,” Kim says as she whips her head around, looking for the source of the flames. There’s a sudden expression of fear that sweeps across her face instantly causing Trini’s stomach to flip flop with a familiar sense of anxiety.

“Kim…”

“Shit… Shit… Shit…” Kim utters under her breath. She turns her attention back towards Trini and frantically starts tugging at the seat belt.

“Kim, you should--”

“Don’t.”

“What?”

Kim lets out a guttural scream of raw energy as she pulls the mangled seat belt with every ounce of strength she can muster. There’s a small but noticeable pop, and suddenly the seat belt gives away. “Tell me to save myself.”

“You should.”

“Shut up.” Kim works quickly, clearing the stray pieces of metal and glass debris from around Trini as a vibrant orange hue continues to seep into their surroundings.

“Kim. Seriously. Get yourself outta here.”

“No,” Kim says through gritted teeth. Beads of sweat roll down from her temples as the temperature rapidly rises, growing more and more uncomfortable by the second. Trini frantically twists and turns her body, ignoring the lashes of pain that accompany each move she makes. The orange hue transforms into fiery red embers, screaming a final warning of what’s to come.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

There’s no time.

Kimberly needs to get her ass out of there. Before…

In a sudden burst of fear-driven desperation, Trini plants her hands on Kim’s shoulders and gives a hard shove, sending the taller girl stumbling back onto the front dashboard.  “Go! You’ve got Max… And Richard… I’ve got no--”

“No!” Kim screams back, eyes brimming with tears. “I’m not losing you. Not again.”

Without another moment’s hesitation, Kim lunges forward, grabs hold of the front of Trini’s shirt, and kicks clear the remains of the broken windshield. She yanks Trini out of the driver’s seat with all of her might and then shoves them through the opening.

“FUCK!” Trini screams as every inch of her feels as if it's been doused in gasoline and lit on fire. Tears uncontrollably stream down her face as she tries to hold onto consciousness for dear life.

It’s too much.

All of it.

Just too much.

“Almost there… Just stay with me, T… I’ve got you… It’s gonna be--”

BAM!

And then the sudden and abrupt comfort of blackness. It wraps itself around Trini, like a warm quilt. Offering temporary relief from the crippling pain. Deep down she knows that she needs to fight against it. That it’s serenity is just a poor illusion, masking the truth of what its presence really means.

“Mi vida…”

A faint and slightly raspy voice calls out, barely audible over the steady orchestra of gale force winds and pounds rain.

Did Kimberly just say mi vida?

To her?

Fuck.

Of all the things that Kimberly could’ve said to Trini, she had to pick that. The singular term of endearment that she had taught Kimberly all those years ago.

The name that Kimberly reserve for those moments… tender moments that Trini would tuck away in the recess of her memory for when she needed to be reminded that someone did indeed love her.

Trini pushes herself out of the comforts of blackness and straight back into the harsh light of day. She takes a long gasp of air as waves of pain once again roll back over her body. This time, though, it’s accompanied by a new sensation. Raw and angry. Radiating down from the base of her neck and wrapping around towards Trini collar bone.

Trini rolls over onto her back with a hiss of pain and lets out a thick, smoke ladened cough. “Kim?”

A sudden and distinct sensation of undiluted fear shoots through Trini’s very being, like a strangely familiar bolt of lighting.

She has a hunch who that fear belongs to…

No. Scratch that. She knows exactly who it is.

Trini has felt that fear countless times before. It always seemed to blindside her during the heat of a battle. Like a subconscious beacon for help that only she was meant to hear.

It’s Kimberly.

Trini pushes herself up into a sitting position, momentarily ignoring the stinging pelts of rain slashing against her skin, and scans her surroundings. There, only a mere few feet away from the flaming wreckage that once was Jason’s beloved truck, lies Kim. Still and almost lifeless in appearance.

And suddenly…

Trini can’t seem to catch her breath. Her eyes fixate on the image of Kim as her subconscious starts to rattle off an incoherent emotion driven prayer to whatever God happens to be listening.

No…

No…

No…

“Kim!” Trini scrambles across the debris-littered asphalt toward Kim, willing her limbs to move despite the wave after wave of mind-numbing pain crashing down upon her. She quickly closes the space between them, reaching the raven-haired girl in record time and instantly goes into crisis autopilot mode.

Pulse?

Check.

Breathing?

Faint but steady.

Broken bones?

Nothing that’s visible.

“Princess…” Trini lets out a shaky breath of air and then gently pulls Kim’s body up into her lap. She ever so carefully traces her fingertips along the edge of Kim’s cheek along an invisible path that she's known by heart as she holds onto the fact that Kim’s alive. Then, using her free hand, Trini digs into her back pocket and pulls out her power coin. It’s a long shot, but desperate times call for desperate measures. She places her coin down on Kim’s chest, and instantly the yellow gem comes to life. It shimmers against the dull grays of the storm like a beacon, radiating a powerful aura as it does.

Trini simply watches it for a moment or two, rising and falling with each breath that Kim takes, then--

“You called me princess?” Kim’s eyes flutter open as a small smile crawls across her lips.

Trini lets out a harsh laugh of surprise. “It slipped.”

“Old habits--”

“Die hard,” Trini finishes Kim’s sentence with a matching smile. “I'm not the only one. You called me mi vida.”

“Touche.”

“Does anything hurt?” Trini carefully helps Kim sit up, removing her power coin in the process and shoving it back into her jeans.

“Yeah. No. I’m fine. Just your run-of-the-mill cuts and bruises.”

“You sure?” Trini can't hide her skepticism as her eyes hone in on the array of angry charred gashes that adorn Kim's body like battle scars.

“100% sure.”

“But--”

“Are you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah.” Kim motions towards the raw patch of flesh on the side of Trini’s neck, causing Trini to instinctively reach up and touch it. But before Trini’s fingers can make contact with the skin, a hand darts out, stopping her. “Don’t.”

“What?”

“You’re kidding me, right? T, you’ve got like at least a second-degree burn, if not worse.”

“How’d you know? You a doctor or something?”

“No. I dropped that a long time ago. Just didn’t fit me, ya know? Actually, I’m a barber now,” Kim responds. She straightens up even further and wipes the rain away from her face. “Own my own shop and everything.”

“Wait. You own a barbershop?”

“Yeah.” Kim continues to check over her cuts as Trini stares at her in slight disbelief. “Don’t act all shocked. It makes sense if you think about it.”

“No. I just…” Trini trails off not sure exactly how to finish her thought. Instead, she lets the sounds of the storm dancing around them filling the silence.

Kimberly Ann Hart.

Truck drivin’... Portland livin’... Barbershop ownin’... Kimberly.

Her Kimberly.

But she isn’t. Not really. Not anymore.

She’s someone else.

Someone new.

Someone with a whole new life.

What else doesn’t she know about her?

What else--

“Hey,” Kim says, snapping Trini out of her rapid-fire thoughts. She reaches over and gently places her hand on Trini’s forearm, giving it the lightest of squeezes as she does. It’s an old trick. One that Trini all but forgot about. Buried away in the depth of her mental storage where all things Kimberly Hart tend to reside. It’s Kim’s subtle way of pulling Trini out of the rabbit hole of her own thoughts. “Ask me something.”

“Huh?”

“Go on. Ask me something.”

“Are you crazy? Kim, look around. We just barely survived crashing and almost being blown to bits. And we’re in the middle of a freakin’ hurricane level storm.” Trini moves her arms around, punctuating her point. “This isn’t the best of times to talk.”

“It’s a perfect time.”

“Alocada,” Trini mutters under her breath with a firm shake of her head.

“Don’t think I don’t know what that means.” Kim reaches into her jeans pocket, pulls out her power coin, and hands it to Trini. “Here… Give me yours back.”

Trini studies the coin for a moment or two, watching the flecks of pink dance beneath the surface, just itching to come life once again, then pulls out her own coin and hands it over to Kim.

“Thanks,” Kim says taking the yellow coin into her own hand. “Zordon said we needed to strengthen the Ranger bond, so that’s what we’re gonna do. Besides, we’ve always healed faster with each other’s coins, remember?”

“Yeah,” Trini quietly responds, flipping the smooth pink coin over and over again in her hands. “I do.”

“So… Ask me something. Anything.”

“Okay.” Trini licks her lips and exhales a breath of air she didn’t realize she’s been holding onto. “How’d you wind up owning your own barbershop?”

“Starting with the easy ones, huh?” Kim replies with a hint of a playful smirk.

“No, I--”

“Hey. I’m just kidding with you.” Kim gives Trini a slight nudge with her shoulders causing a small but noticeable smile to slide across Trini’s face as well. “It’s a good question.”

Kim pauses for a second, running her hands through her now soaked hair, tucking it behind her ears as she does and matches Trini with a long exhale. “Well, I guess it all started when I got to Portland. I was somewhat desperate for work and happened to stumble across this barbershop with a help wanted sign in the window. Pete’s. I took a chance and went in. It wasn’t like it was my first choice or anything. But, at the time, I was almost six months pregnant and needed the cash. I think the owner Pete took pity on me or something and offered me the job right there on the spot… It wasn’t much at first. Just some odd jobs around the shop. But then one day, after I’d been working there for a month or two, this girl walked in. Kaylee. She couldn’t have been more than 16 at most. And I swear to god, she was like your clone. Right down to the braids and beanie. You know, those ones you used to wear in the side your hair when we first met.”

Trini’s hand subconsciously reaches up and traces the side of her head as the memory washes over her. “Yeah.”

“Anyway. Kaylee looked scared shitless just to even be in the shop. In fact, she almost up bolted when Pete asked her what she was doing there. But then somehow she worked up the courage to ask for a haircut and of course, Pete, being super old school refused. He loved using the excuse ‘I don’t know how to cut women's hair’ any chance he could get. Don’t get me wrong. He was a good guy and all. Just one of those types… I dunno what made me do what I did next, but the look on her face… It just… Like I couldn’t bear to let her down. So, I asked Pete if it would be okay if I cut her hair instead. And, to my surprise, he agreed.”

“What happened after that?”

Kim gives a shrug of her shoulders. “One thing led to another, and before I knew it, I was doing it full-time… Pete passed away two years ago and left me the shop. Never in a million years did I think I’d be a barber for a living, but honestly, I kinda love it. There’s just something really rewarding about it. Like I can help give people the extra confidence boost to be who they really want to be, ya know?”

“Make sense,” Trini responds. “You were always good at that.”

“I was?”

“Yeah.”

A comfortable silence falls between the two of them, as Trini can’t help but sneak a glance at the raven-haired girl sitting next to her.

So many questions.

God, where the hell is she supposed to start?

She wants to know it all.

No. Scratch that. She NEEDS to.

But--

“Ask me another,” Kim says, once again interrupting Trini’s stream of consciousness.

“Another? Shouldn’t you be asking me one?”

“I will… I figure, though, I owe you a few ones first.”

“Kim, I already told you. You don’t owe me--”

“Anything,” Kim replies with a hint of underlying sarcasm to her voice. “Nice try, T. But you and I both know that’s not the truth. So you can drop the act.”

“It’s not an--”

But before Trini can utter another word, Kim clamps her hand over Trini’s mouth. “Shhhh.”

Trini shoots Kim a look of confusion, but Kim’s too distracted to offer up any explanations. She removes her hand from Trini’s mouth and slowly rises to her feet, never once taking her eyes off of something in the distance.

“Kim?” Trini whispers, scrambling to her feet as well. Fear and anxiety start to gnaw again in the pit of her stomach. Something isn’t right.

They stand there side by side for a moment or two as the storm continues to rage around them, absolutely still, then--

“Someone’s watching us,” Kim quietly says.

“You sure?”

“100%.” Kim raises her eyebrows with the tiniest hint of a nod, motioning towards the spot she’s been fixated on for the last few seconds. “Over there. On the rooftop of that building… There’s someone there.”

Trini’s eyes scan the horizon, concentrating her full attention on the spot that Kim flagged. “I don’t--”

A hulking shadowy outline of someone-- or something-- suddenly pops into view. It’s only visible for a mere second, before disappearing back into the vast stormy nothingness, but nonetheless, it’s long enough. Kim’s right. There’s something there.

“You saw it?”

Trini nods with a harsh swallow. “Yeah. I did.”

“Looks like we’re gonna have to raincheck catching up after all.” Kim lets out a long sigh. She flips Trini her yellow power coin. “You good to go?”

Trini pockets her coin and then follows suit, tossing Kim back her own. “Always, Princess.”

[mrkamabo--co]

An Eventful Stop

rating: pg warnings: illness, nightmares words: 2797 notes: a progression sequence for the surface event!

this is a continuation of the event, since the asks weren’t exactly cutting it, due to off topic stuff.

if you want to understand what’s going on! please read this!

special thanks to @telephobos for betaing!

After some time had passed, Tarri began to grow tired of the constant coughing from the inkling behind him. Once the bus had made its first stop, he got up, with a  slightly vexed look on his face, and briefcase swinging to his side. He didn’t exactly care if this was what he wanted his destination to be or not. Though, little did he know, the inkling got up as well, following behind him. As he passed down the aisle, he did see the other ink based creatures, but not their eyes fixated on the inkling behind him. They saw that the inkling was holding back a cough, but weren’t concerned in the slightest.

He didn’t notice their vision until he made it almost to the exit.. When he felt a cold substance hit the back of his tentacles along with a hacking noise. He froze up, pupils shrinking in fear, knowing that the inkling had just coughed on him. It was a good few moments until he began to walk in a stiff motion, out the door.

“S… Sorry.” A young, feminine voice rose from behind him, it was the inkling,“I..” The inkling’s voice was filled with guilt and no hint of malice whatsoever. Tarri looked behind him to see the inkling at the top of the steps. He touched the back of his head, substance sticking to his hand. He looked at it before looking back at her, as he wiped as much of the substance he could onto his trench coat.

“Its.. Fine.” Tarri turned his head forward once more, before walking much further ahead. He had saw a sign he could hardly read, but ended up translating it to “Arowana Mall”. This was where he wanted to be, well, type of place he wanted to be rather. He began to walk inwards before running into a shopping outlet. He looks around before spotting something that he would assume a clothing shop would look like.

He was about to enter the store until he was stopped by a shout in the distance,“S-STOP!!” The voice sounded like it belonged to the inkling from a few minutes ago,“I DON’T W-WANT TO GO THERE!” He looked behind him and he saw in the distance an outline of two people in strange outfits restraining the inkling.

He began to walk in that direction hesitantly, before rethinking the decision and heading into the store regardless. It wasn’t his situation to get involved in and he wasn’t a hero in the slightest. Once he was inside, he was greeted with a sight of racks, piles, and mounds of clothing. Tarri looked to the single, lone mantis shrimp at the counter, who was just scrolling through their phone. They eyed Tarri before looking to their phone again,“(Must be the clerk…)”

Tarri began to walk through the store, eyeing mostly the dark clothing. He picked up a jacket and read the tag to himself,“(Takoroka.. Nylon vintage.. Hm…)” He looked to the clerk and walked to the counter,“How much does this cost..?” The mantis shrimp looked up, before grabbing the jacket with one of their arms and price checking it.

“Nine thousand five hundred cash. No tax.” They had a bored tone in their voice, unamused and unphased by this. They must’ve been through this hundreds of times.

“Cash..?” Tarri paused for a moment, blinking in confusion… What was ‘cash’? He did know that was a generic word for money, but.. That wasn’t the currency he had. He then responded, bewildered,“Do you.. Accept C.Q. Points?”

“No.” They responded immediately,“No clue on what those are either, buddy. Not even sure the ATMs here convert those into cash.” Tarri eyed them as they shrugged,“If you’re low on cash. Try a few turf wars. I’ll keep this here for you.”

“Turf.. Wars…” Tarri began to remember the phrase a select few used a while back, but snapped out of it immediately.

“Yeah. Turf wars.” The clerk paused,“You must be new around here right?” Tarri nodded hesitantly, but as soon as he did, they spoke up. “Had that feeling. Not everyone comes in a get up and a suitcase like that everyday. … I’ll put these on your tab, since I doubt clothing like that has any patches sewn in. You just gotta pay me back. Eventually.” The clerk brought out an Annaki face mask and a pair of suede marine lace-ups,“I would assume these would fit you. But, your tab totals up to… Fourteen thousand and three hundred cash.”

Tarri took this all in before nodding his head in silence. Once the mantis shrimp slid the gear across, he grabbed it, and looked around. He spoke up,“Are.. Are there any changing rooms?”

One of their appendages pointed to the back of the store, having three curtained slots in the wall,“Yeah, just back there. Uh. What’s your name? I kinda need it for the tab.”

“Thanks.. Oh! Uh, Tarta—“ Tarri paused before shaking his head, correcting himself,“Tarri Kamabo.” The clerk nodded typing into the cash register.

“Exotic name you have there. Never met a Kamabo before, mostly Humboldts, Colossals, Short-fins, Dumbos, etc etc.” The clerk commented as Tarri began to walk to the back,“By the way you can call me Gale.”

Tarri looked over and nodded once more, simple smile on his face. He felt like he was trusted, for once, learning someone’s name, let alone a complete stranger’s, made him feel.. Good. Once he made it to the back, he quickly got inside and swiftly changed, coming out with this trench coat and boots in arm, suitcase in the other hand.

Gale looked at Tarri’s clothing pile, looking at him in the eye before speaking their mind,“So. No shirt?” That would be correct, Tarri never owned a shirt to his name and he thought that was normal. He nodded and the response was instant,“Alright. Not going to judge if you like to flow free like that.”

Tarri was about to pass the counter before Gale had placed a claw on his shoulder,“Ay. Buh-bup— You’re not leaving without your copy of the tab and a bag for your stuff.” Gale pulled a rather large plastic bag from under the counter and handed it to Tarri once they placed the tab inside. “Alright. You’re good to go. Don’t get too hooked to the Splattershot Jr.; there’s lots of better weapons out there. Tear ‘em up Tar.” They patted him on the back once he placed his clothing and suitcase in the bag.

He began to walk out of the store, mind focusing on that phrase, and how it made him slightly uncomfortable. Most of which, due to his past, but he quickly moved on. He spotted an electronics store, but realized he couldn’t pay for anything so he moved on. Rather quickly at that, after making eye contact with an electric eel in a uniform.

He then waltzed back over to the bus stop, waiting for a bus, any bus. He couldn’t exactly read the bus schedule since it was in a different language than what he was used to, despite the other surface dwellers speaking in the same language. Well, that was what he assumed.

He did run into a few inklings back in the past and they did sound extremely similar to the ones of now. He labeled their language Inkling, for octoling’s, it was Octoling, and for the depths, it was Metrian with different dialects. He wasn’t exactly the most creative, but it worked when he needed to look up audio references in order to communicate with an applicant.

Tarri began to think about this for a second, looking to the ground, seeing some black, glossy droplets. He assumed it was from the inkling girl from before and his neutral expression turned into one of slight sorrow. He began to ponder the ways he could’ve helped the inkling, but… It’s not like it mattered now, she was gone. He couldn’t hold himself to that now and he wasn’t going to let it eat at him for the rest of the trip.

After a few moments, he began to take in his surroundings.. Before his mind began to trail off,‘You can speak Inkling.. Yet you can’t read it.’ ‘You could’ve helped her.. Yet you walked away.’ ‘She was probably sick.. You probably have what she has.’ ‘Useless. Broken. Machine’

“Sir? Sir… Sir! The bus to the square is going to leave, soon.. If you need to go to Mako Mart the bus stop is two blocks down and one to the left!” A whale shark spoke up, seeing Tarri staring at the ground, eye mask trailing down his face like tears, but not falling. “Sir! This is your last chance!”

Tarri snapped out of it and wiped his face off with his free hand and flicking his hand so the mask leakage could be sent flying to the ground. “Sorry..! I was just thinking for a few moments.”

“Yeah.. Alright. I have tissues if you want?” Tarri shook his head to decline the offer, heading to the back of the bus. He sat down, putting the bag in his lap, scooting next to the window. The intercom in the bus popped before a fruity voice emitted from it,“This is bus number 18 from Inkopolis Lines! We’re heading to the square, pull the emergency string right above the window if your stop is near!”

Tarri sighed upon hearing this as chatter began to assume after another pop occurred from the intercom. He then leaned back and yawned at the slightest, before murmuring to himself,“(I could.. Drink that energy drink right now but..)” It took a few moments, until he decided upon not doing so, as the bus began to move.

He looked outside the window, but the scenery was moving a bit to fast so he faced coward with a sigh. Moments passed until his eyes began to drift shut, leading him off to rest.

———

You run. You keep running, but the path ahead of you shrinks. You look behind you, but you can’t see a thing, it’s all dark, pitch black. As you move it continues to follow you.

Though, what is it?

You know. You’ve always known and that’s what scares you. You know this isn’t imagination getting at you, it is guilt and it is real.

You feel as if you’re bearing the weight of the world on your shoulders, yet, it is only you. You’re holding yourself back. You can’t let it go. You know this and you don’t know how you can’t. It is a part of you, you know what you’ve did, but you can’t accept it.

It’s horrible.

You make it to the tip of the path, teetering on the edge, before turning around until it hits you at full force, sending you into the abyss.

You hear its screams echoing around you. It cries for help. It begs for you to stop. It wants you to give up.

It’s your past.

———

“Sir..?” A gentle voice became audible as Tarri began to stir, with a few taps on his shoulder. “Are you alright..? You’ve been in here.. Since the bus stopped a couple hours ago. The line for 18 stopped for today...” They sighed,“(I’m talking to a wall here..)”

“(Nngh…)” Tarri opened his eyes, being met with the whale shark from before. He jumped slightly, waking up fully from the shock,“O-Oh..!—” He quickly got up and began to rush down the aisle, accidentally pushing the whale shark out of the way.

“Sir..!” Tarri quickly made it to the door and outside to the square, seeing the plentiful of inklings and octolings conversing. He looked to the center and quickly rushed there before the same voice from before appeared,“Sir! Your bag!” He stopped in his tracks as the whale shark caught up to him, huffing and puffing. “Cod.. You’re quite fast… You could’ve lost your belongings forever y’know.. Be more careful!”

“... Thank you.” Tarri grabbed the bag from the whale shark, nodding, and walking away, leaving the bus driver in the dust. However, despite being confused, they ended up walking back to the bus, deciding not to pursue the strange octoling.

Once Tarri had made it to the lobby entrance, he jumped at the door opening before taking a step inside, seeing other ink beings inside, chirping about. He made it to the back of the lobby, where the weapons were and looked around.. Until he found a pile of the same weapon gathering dust, in a bin labelled “Splattershot Jr. Donation Pile”, which he could barely make out. He picked up one of the weapons and examined it, intrigued on how it could possibly look.

He then looked around, before heading to a line where inklings and octolings were lined up, waiting for something. He assumed it was something he needed.. Maybe it was an ink tank? He waited in line, until it got more than halfway through, there was a tap on his shoulder, along with a young, masculine voice that got his attention,“Hi! Uh.. Are yous going into turf wars for first time?”

Tarri blinked before turning his head with a nod, to see a significantly shorter octoling boy, looking up at him,“Yes.. Why would that matter?”

“You can’t brings.. Bags into turfs..” The octoling boy then pointed to the bag in Tarri’s left hand. Tarri blinked before nodding,“Yous need a locker!! It’ll be coral!” The boy smiled brightly, beak visible as the line moved forward,“Don’t worries, you’ll meat the ink checkers! You get ink tank and then lockers!”

“Ink.. Checkers?” Tarri sounded confused as the line moved forward once more, having three others ahead of him as of now. He was intrigued by this label or type of creature there was up on the surface.

“Yeahs! They are is.. Checking for illnessies!” The boy’s smile shrunk a bit,“A inkling hads somethangs and was ranning from the hospitally.” His smile then degraded into a frown,“Its scaring we.. That’s why they neededs to check the ink now for stuffs..”

Tarri froze up, before trying to take a step out of line, until a gravelly voice cut him off,“Ay buddy. You’re up next. Let’s make it quick, there’s a big line behind ya’.” Tarri shook his head no in a swift manner, looking at the ink checker, who was a dark tan goby. “What are ya’? Afraid? You just need to spit into a cup n’ we check it.”

Tarri shook his head once more,“No thanks— I’m not doing a turf war today—” The goby grabbed his arm, sliding him over as he tensed up quite a bit. Sudden contact wasn’t his favourite thing in the world, whatsoever.

“If you make it up front, its code we have to check your ink or we risk gettin’ fired. C’mon.” Tarri paused, until he sighed when he was given a paper cup. He proceeded to spit into it and the goby took it before cracking open a powder, pouring it into the cup, and stirring the ink with a stick. It took a moment before the goby had immediately pulled out a quarantine and health hazard bag. He dropped the cup and stick into the bag before putting it in another,“What’s your name?”

Tarri hesitantly responded brittle tone in his voice,“T.. Tarri Kamabo—”

“You have a bacteria in your system. You’re not allowed to participate in any ink based practices until you get that checked out and are in the clear.” The goby snapped and the wrasse standing at the side of the table grabbed the bag and put it in a small red box with a lid, after writing Tarri’s name on the bag.

“How.. How do you know?” Tarri paused, remembering he had to pay off the tab soon and in someway. He was worried at this

“Ya’ ink turned into a gooey mess, to simply put it. Bacteria usually cause that.” The goby shrugged, before nudging Tarri out of line,“Next!” Tarri looked to the octoling boy as he got his test done with quickly and was given an ink tank.

The octoling boy began to walk away before waving to Tarri. “Bay-bay Misters Kamabo!” Tarri waved back before heading to the pile of Splattershot Jr.s from before and tossing his in there, before exiting the lobby with a sigh.

He began to look around for a place to stay now, wandering outside of the square, clutching his bag closely. It was already the late evening and he was in a predicament.

Maybe Inkopolis was less promising than he thought.

[imjustthemechanic]

Our Own Demons

Part 1/? - A Bolt from the Blue Part 2/? - A Different World Part 3/? - Stark At Home Part 4/? - Pot Roast Night Part 5/? - Space-Pie Continuum Part 6/? - Energy Signature

What if Tony Stark really were the villain of the Marvel universe?  How would that work?  Tony himself is about to find out, as he battles his inner demons (and some outer ones, too) across a multiverse of infinite possibilities.

Beth looked from one of them to the other as if wondering if maybe she was the one going crazy, then took a deep breath.  “Well,” she said.  “I guess I owe you an apology, Mister…” she gave Tony a watery smile.

“Stark,” said Tony.  “I’m also Mr. Stark.”

Beth cocked her head.  “I thought you were Italian on your mother’s side,” she said to the other.

“I am,” Tony’s counterpart told her.  “He just lives there.”

“Very pretty country,” said Tony.  “Lots of art.  And…” he tried to remember what he’d seen the last time he’d been to Italy.  That had been mere months ago, but he remembered very little besides skinny-dipping in the warm Adriatic with Pepper.  Though… they had visited Pompeii.  “Volcanoes. You know, volcanic soil is very fertile. Very good for grapes.”

“I, uh… right,” said Beth.  “Well, it was nice meeting you, um…”

“Arno,” the other blurted out.  “This is cousin Arno.”  He slapped Tony on the back, and then tried to get the conversation back where Tony had been taking it.  “Look, can we come in?  JANIS has some kind of error and I need to reset my key card.”

Beth had been on the verge of softening.  Now she stiffened right back up.  “By an ‘error’, you mean it’s not letting you into a place you want to go,” she observed.  She wasn’t angry anymore – instead, this was a retread of familiar territory.  Tony got the idea that she’d helped his double get into several places the man wasn’t supposed to be, and that every time it happened she’d sworn that would be the last.  Sure enough: “I told you I couldn’t do that again.  It’s not worth my job, Tony.”

“I’ll take the blame for it, I promise,” the other said.

“Tony!”

“Hey.”  Tony himself butted in.  “You know what?  All he needs from you is plausible deniability, right?”  He looked at his double for confirmation.  “So you come over here and talk to me, and then later you can say that you had your eye on a guy who looked like Tony Stark the whole time, and you have no idea what happened.”  He gave her his most charming smile.

Beth sighed, but gave in.  She stepped aside so Tony’s double could enter the office, and stood with her back to the door.

“So,” she said.  “You… grow grapes?  On a volcano in Italy?”

“No, no,” Tony said.  “I just like wine.  I’m… I’m an art dealer.  Modern art.”

“That must be interesting.”

“It has its moments of high drama,” Tony agreed. “Yesterday was definitely not the first time somebody hit me when I told them who I was.”

Tony was halfway through a completely made-up story about his revenge on a man who’d sold him a fake Degas when his counterpart returned with the card key in hand.  “I’ve got it,” he announced.  “Let’s go.”

“Has he told you this story, Tony?” asked Beth.  “The one about the horse and the guy with the fake mustache?”

“Fifty times,” the other replied, without missing a beat.  “By the way… we’re gonna be playing a practical joke on Miss Potts later, so maybe don’t tell anybody you saw us, okay?”

Beth gave him a cynical look.  “Right,” she said.  “I can’t wait to hear about it.”

As they tramped down the concrete stairwell back to the basement, the other observed, “that actually didn’t go too badly.”

“Oh, didn’t it?” asked Tony.  “You’re not the one who’s supposed to answer to Arno.  Why Arno?”

“Like the river,” said the other with a shrug. “It’s the first Italian name I thought of.”

“We told her I wasn’t Italian,” Tony reminded him. “If I’m your cousin on Dad’s side I’m probably from Vienna.”

“There’s German guys named Arno.  It’s European,” the other said.  “And I doubt you’ll ever see her again, so why does it matter?”

“You’ll see her again,” Tony said.  “What’ll she think when you can’t keep your story straight?”

“She’ll think I’m a jerk and a liar.  She already thinks that.”  He sighed.  “That was three strikes anyway.  I’m out.”

“Maybe,” said Tony, who did wonder what strikes one and two had been, but decided not to ask.  The answer would probably make him wish he hadn’t, anyway.  “But we just gave you an out for it.  You’re only at two and a half, so you might be able to salvage it if you’re smooth enough.”

The other looked at him suspiciously.  “Firs the thing about Miss Potts, and now this. Why are you so interested in my love life?”

“I’ve got a vested interest in Tony Stark getting laid.”

“It’s creepy,” said the other.  “Cut it out.”

When they entered the workshop, they found it in exactly the same condition as Tony remembered from yesterday: suit parts strewn on the floor, and even the pipe wrench in the same places as Tony had made the other put it down.  That meant nobody else had been in here, which was good.  The junk robot Tony had noticed yesterday was still there – it raised its claw with a happy-sounding whirring noise, and Tony’s double gave it a pat on the chassis.

Tony himself bent down to pick up the faceplate, and realized it was actually broken.  The suit had been physically torn apart as the space inside it had suddenly become bigger than its surface area could hold. Tony could build a lot of things, but a TARDIS wasn’t one of them.  He was careful not to touch the torn edges.  If their theory were correct, that was where the tesseract trace would be.

“Sorry about that,” he said, turning the faceplate over to look at the inside.  It was a pretty piece of kit, he thought.  His own suits were all about appearance as much as anything else, but they were designed mainly to look solid, immovable objects capable of unstoppable force.  This one had more of an elegance to it, so that the power it was capable of would come almost as a surprise.  Perfect for Pepper, he thought.

The other propped open a laptop.  “Okay,” he said.  “Let’s see what we’ve got here.”

Tony set the faceplate down on a workbench and came to look over his double’s shoulder.  “SHIELD let me look at some of their equipment after the battle,” he said.  “It still had the trace in it, so I should recognize the signature.”  He shivered, trying to push away the still-troubling memory of falling and falling with the blackness closing in… no. No time to think about that.

“Really?  Lucky,” said the other.  “I’d’ve given my right arm to see some of that.  I wonder what they did with it after.”

“No idea,” Tony said.  Agents had snatched all the stuff back again a few days later for ‘storage’ leaving Tony with only the barest beginnings of the data he’d hoped to have – data that could have helped make sure something like the Chi’Tauri invasion would never happen again.  If he ever got a second chance, he wasn’t going to sleep for as long as he had the thing.  “They had machines that could siphon out the energy and store it.  If we want to make this work without a tesseract of our own, we’re gonna need something similar.”

He remembered what the apparatus looked like, at least.  Tony reached for the nearest table, automatically trying to create a hologram… but nothing happened.

“Hey, what have you got for diagramming stuff?” he asked.

“Whiteboard.”  The other jabbed a thumb at the far wall.  There was a wheeled board there, covered with circuit diagrams and equations. IN the lower right corner was scrawled orange juice, printer cartridge, bagels, dish soap (IMPORTANT), and there were two shirts draped over the top of it, as if they’d been washed and hung there to dry.

“I have so much to teach you,” Tony remarked.  He left the grocery list as he wiped the rest away, and tossed the shirts onto a chair so he could begin to draw what he remembered of the energy storage equipment.

“Here’s something,” the other said.  “It says here that the energy reacts violently with living tissue.”

Tony did recall reading something about that, and at the time he’d wondered what sort of experiments they’d done to learn it. There hadn’t really been anybody he could ask.  “Tissue? Like what, organs?”

“It says that an agent cut himself on something and there was a ‘violent reaction’ to the blood.”

Tony shivered.  “You want to talk about creepy?  That’s good old-fashioned nightmare fuel,” he said.  He heard a clinking sound, and turned around to find his double rooting through a mini-fridge next to the sagging old sofa.  “Really?  You read that and you immediately decide to have a snack?  What are you hungry for?  Black pudding?”

“No.  Ah, this’ll do.”  The other stood up, holding a rather unfortunate-looking bottle of caramel frappuccino.  There was no cap on it – he sniffed it gingerly and made a face.  “Yeah, there’s living tissue in there,” he said, and before Tony could stop him, he’d tossed a broken suit finger onto the table and poured a drop onto the exposed circuitry.

The phrase ‘poured a drop’ was not quite accurate – the remains of the frappuccino were very organic indeed, and it would have been more accurate to say he ‘let a blob ooze’ onto the shard of armor.  The words ‘violent reaction’, however, worked very well indeed.  A crackle of blue energy flared up, incinerating the liquid and scorching the table.  Tony froze as the image of that horrible hole in the sky flashed before his eyes again, and his double staggered backwards, spilling the rest of the expired drink down the front of himself.

The only individual who reacted usefully was the robot.  It grabbed the fire extinguisher off the wall and rolled over to douse the workbench.  This ended whatever reaction was going on in the remains of the suit, and sent a shock wave across the room.  Papers and empty coffee cups scattered as if in a gale.  Tony was tossed back against the whiteboard, which bounced off the wall and fell down on top of him.  His double got a much softer landing on the couch, and the robot tipped over and lay on its side, spinning its wheels helplessly.

After a moment of ringing silence, Tony wiggled out from under the whiteboard and pushed it back upright again.

“Violent reaction,” he said.  “Yeah, okay.”  Good thing he’d avoided the edges of the faceplate.

His counterpart crawled off the couch and got the robot back on its wheels, inspecting it for damage.  “Good boy,” he murmured to it, stroking the parts as if it were an animal.  “I’m not mad, that wasn’t your fault… you were a good boy…”  Once satisfied that the machine was still whole, he straightened up and looked at what Tony had been drawing.  It was now slightly smeared where Tony’s body had collided with the board.

“So, there’s a way to collect and store that instead of… um… dispersing it?” he said hopefully.

“Yeah,” Tony agreed.  Clearly transporting somebody between universes required a lot more out of the tesseract than opening a wormhole did.  He looked at his half-finished sketch, and picked up the marker to start filling in the bits he’s accidentally erased.  “I’ll draw, you build.”  The other would have a much better idea what materials were available than Tony did.  He would just have to make sure his notes included what properties the parts ought to have.  “By the way. Just a question, does your robot have a name?”

“Not really,” the other said, gathering up the stuff that had been blown off the workbench.  “Not an official one.  I call him Smartypants.”

“That figures,” Tony said.  “Causes a lot of destruction, does he?”

The other glared at him.  “He does his best,” he said defensively.

The phone on the desk rang.

Tony and his double looked at each other.  What had just happened had probably been felt throughout the building, and even if nobody else had come to the right conclusion about the cause, Miss Potts certainly would have.  Neither of them moved to answer it.

The phone rang again, and again, and again, and finally the machine picked it up.

You’ve reached the Special Projects workshop at Potts Technologies, said JANIS’ voice. The SP Manager is not available at the moment but if you leave a message…

Tony breathed out.  “We don’t have much time before she comes down here, do we?”

“No,” said the other.  “Let’s get to work.”

[elleberquist6]

Play Upon Me Like This Piano - chapter one

Summary: In many ways, Phil's life is perfect: he loves his life in London, he has a wonderful brother and parents, and he has a great job as a radio DJ for BBC Radio One. There's only one thing missing in his life... A rumor reaches an executive at the BBC about a talented local piano player named Daniel. The executive decides that Daniel would be the perfect guest on Phil's radio show, so she send Phil to speak with the evasive and mysterious piano player.

When they finally meet, Phil starts to think that he has found the person who will make his life complete. Unfortunately, Dan has a secret that will make getting close to him difficult.

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 3777

Warnings: Smut

—

Excerpt from “The Soul Cages” By T. Crofton Croker:

The Merrow, of if you write it in the Irish, Moruadh or Murúghach, from muir, sea, and oigh, a maid, is not uncommon, they say, on the wilder coasts. The fishermen do not like to see them, for it always means coming gales.

Jack Dogherty lived on the coast of the county Clare. Jack was a fisherman, as his father and grandfather before him had been. Like them, too, he lived all alone… Many a strange sight, it may well be supposed, did Jack see, and many a strange sound did he hear, but nothing daunted him. So far was he from being afraid of Merrows, or such beings, that the very first wish of his heart was to fairly meet with one.

Accordingly, one day when he had strolled a little farther than usual along the coast to the northward, just as he turned a point, he saw something perched upon a rock at a little distance out to sea. It looked green in the body, as well as he could discern at that distance. Jack stood for a good half-hour straining his eyes, and all the time the thing did not stir hand or foot. At last Jack’s patience was quite worn out, and he gave a loud whistle and a hail, when the Merrow (for such it was) started up, put the cocked hat on its head, and dived down, head foremost, from the rock.

Jack’s curiosity was now excited, and he constantly directed his steps towards the point; still he could never get a glimpse of the sea-gentleman with the cocked hat. One very rough day, however, when the sea was running mountains high, Jack Dogherty determined to give a look at the Merrow’s rock, and then he saw the strange thing cutting capers upon the top of the rock, and then diving down, and then coming up, and then diving down again. Jack he wished now to get acquainted with the Merrow, and even in this he succeeded.

One tremendous blustering day, before he got to the point whence he had a view of the Merrow’s rock, and there, to his astonishment, he saw sitting before him. It had a fish’s tail, legs with scales on them, and short arms like fins. It wore no clothes, but had the cocked hat under its arm, and seemed engaged thinking very seriously about something.

Jack, with all his courage, was a little daunted; but now or never, thought he. So up he went boldly to the cogitating fishman, took off his hat, and made his best bow. “Your servant, sir,” said Jack.

[http://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/yeats/fip/fip21.htm]

CHAPTER ONE

It would have been any hole-in-the-wall bar, except there was something special about this place. That special thing was what had Phil Lester walking through the doors tonight, sent on an errand by his boss.

At first glance, the bar was much like any other small establishment of its sort in London. Even the fact that it was in a historic area was nothing to boast about – there were hundreds of bars in London that could brag that they had been sliding beers across their counters for hundreds of years. While the atmosphere of an old place could be charming at first glance, all polished wood and quirky decor, after lingering for a moment it quickly became apparent that the yellowed wallpaper had been discolored by the cigarette smoke of patrons from long before the laws had changed, and the smell wouldn’t quite fade, no matter how often it was scrubbed. And there was nothing charming about that.

Phil had arrived a bit earlier than he had intended, so he took a seat at the bar, which was mostly empty. He wasn’t much for going to places like this, but he was more accustomed to stereotypical pubs with a cluster of men shouting at a rugby game on a tv near the bar. However, this bar was different – it was classier. There were tables where couples could enjoy a meal, though only a few people were there at this early hour. Soft jazz music was playing from speakers mounted near the ceiling.

Phil smiled. This place might be a hole in the wall, but it was nice. He usually avoided bars because they were loud and packed with rowdy people, but this place was more his style. As the bartender arrived to serve him, Phil gave him a broad smile.

The bartender said, “Hi there, I’m Johnathan. What can I get you?”

“A cocktail. Um…” Phil looked around for a menu but didn’t see one nearby. “Something sweet.”

“I make a mean Hurricane.”

“I’ll take it,” Phil said with a grin. “Thanks, Johnathan.”

“I’ll pay for it,” said a man who slid into the barstool beside him.

Phil’s eyebrows rose, since he hadn’t been expecting that, and it took him a few seconds to recover from the shock. He was single, so there was no harm in accepting the drink and talking to this guy for a moment, so he composed his face and turned to the bold stranger with a smile.

The first thing that Phil noticed was that the stranger’s hair was styled in a similar way to his own. Well, it would have been similar, but Phil had recently started combing his black fringe back from his face in a quiff. The stranger had his brown fringe combed across his forehead, and Phil liked it, thinking that they might have a common emo past. Maybe they liked the same kind of music.

“Thanks for the drink,” Phil said.

“You’re welcome,” the brown-haired stranger said. He bit his lip, hesitating before saying, “I don’t want this to be weird, so I’ll just come out and say this: I know who you are.”

Phil stiffened. “Oh? Who am I?”

“You’re Phil Lester. You host a show for BBC Radio 1. I know you probably get people coming up to you all the time, but I hope the fact that I’m upfront about why I’m talking to you has earned me some points. Please? I’ll go away if I’m annoying you.”

Phil’s Hurricane arrived at this time, and the stranger stopped talking while the bartender was nearby, wiping a spot on the countertop. Phil took the opportunity to enjoy a sip of the cocktail, savoring the sweetness of the grenadine with the smooth rum. He turned back to the stranger with the smile. “You’re not annoying me. It’s okay. And I appreciate that you’re being honest – I thought you came over to flirt at first.”

The stranger’s cheeks flushed. “Sorry, I like women. You’re cute though. I’d be into you if I liked men.”

Things were a bit awkward now and Phil regretted mentioning it. So, he decided to change the subject, as he asked, “What did you want to talk about?”

“Okay, about that…” The brown-haired man took a deep breath as he tried to relax. Once he’d steadied himself, he said, “I just wanted to talk to you about my music.”

Phil kept his face carefully composed. This wasn’t the first time a hopeful musician had randomly approached him, and it wouldn’t be the last. Some people in his position would be annoyed and snap that they had no control over what was played on the radio, but Phil had resolved to be polite, listen, and then direct the man to where he could submit his music. So, he said, “What kind of instrument do you play?”

“Acoustic guitar. And I sing!” The man answered excitedly. “I do a lot of covers of songs, but original work as well. Actually, I recorded a single. I have it on a CD in my car. If you wait here, I can go get it and—”

This was where Phil drew the line, so he held up his hands, hoping that he wasn’t crushing this guy’s dreams. He hated disappointing people, but there was nothing he could do. “Um, actually… I’m sorry, but I don’t accept submissions. I’m sure your music is great, but I don’t have control over what is played on the radio. The BBC has a PO Box where they accept CDs. They also accept things online in MP3 format if you send in a form. I can give you the form, but there’s nothing else I can do.”

“Oh,” the man said as he sagged in his seat. “Yeah, that makes sense. I get that your job isn’t to find new talent.”

Phil bit his lip, since that wasn’t exactly true. His boss had heard about a piano player who regularly worked as an entertainer at this bar, and she had sent Phil here to listen. If the guy was as good as the rumors said, Phil was supposed to approach him to offer an appearance on his radio show. It was unlike anything he had ever done for the BBC before, and his boss wouldn’t be pleased if he brought her a CD from a stranger he met at a bar, so there was nothing he could do for this guitar player.

Phil rolled the cocktail between his palms. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help. I feel guilty drinking this now.”

“Oh, don’t be. Enjoy it. Accept it as payment for putting up with my annoying presence,” the man said with an awkward smile.

“You’re not annoying.”

“Seriously?” The man snorted. “Have you heard my voice?”

Phil laughed before enjoying another sip of the cocktail. “I like your accent. Are you Canadian?”

“Yup. Oh! I haven’t told you my name, have I?” He extended a hand to Phil. “I’m Robert. Thanks for being so nice.”

Phil shook his hand, feeling fingers calloused by the musician’s trade. “Nice to meet you, Robert.”

After he let go of Phil’s hand, Robert gestured to a stage across the room, near the tables and chairs that were slowly filling as the night crowd entered the bar. “Phil, I know you’re not here for the music, but I hope you’ll stick around. Just for the entertainment value of the evening. I’m planning to put on a good show tonight.”

Once more, this stranger had surprised him. Phil asked, “Oh, are you performing?”

“Yeah, I work here regularly as an entertainer. I’m opening tonight, so you wouldn’t have to stick around for long to hear me.”

“I’m going to stick around,” Phil reassured him with a smile. He was supposed to stay here to listen to the piano player anyway, so he might as well make this stranger happy at the same time. Robert was the kind of guy who he could see himself being friends with anyway – if this whole encounter hadn’t been so awkward. But maybe they could get past that.

“Great! I look forward to seeing you in the crowd.” Robert slid off the stool and then walked away, leaving Phil to enjoy the last of the Hurricane.

Until the live music started, Phil passed the time by sitting at the bar, playing Animal Crossing on his phone. It wasn’t long before he heard a microphone screech as it was turned on. Phil shifted on the barstool so that he could see the stage.

Robert was sitting on a wooden stool with a guitar resting on his knees. He was messing with the microphone to adjust its height, which made it screech again. He leaned in to say, “Sorry about that. Um, hi there. I’m Robert. I’m going to sing a cover for you tonight. This is an awesome song that I used to perform live a lot at my school. It’s a classic, really. This song was pretty much the song that would get the most audience interaction, so… yeah, I always enjoy that.”

After clearing his throat, Robert began strumming his guitar in the familiar rhythm and tune of I Would Walk 500 Miles, and Phil settled against the bar as he enjoyed Robert’s rendition of it. Robert did a good job of filling the room with energy, and soon the people watching were clapping to the beat of the music. As the crowd got into it, Robert relaxed and his awkwardness faded. Phil was enjoying it, so he applauded enthusiastically after the song.

Robert’s set continued for a few more covers, but then his time on the stage came to a close. He leaned into the microphone. “I want to thank you all. You’ve been a lovely audience and I’ve had a lot of fun tonight. I’m going to turn the stage over to my colleague, Daniel Howell. Be sure to give him a warm welcome.”

Recognizing the name of the piano player who his boss had sent him here to see, Phil sat up straighter in his seat as he focused on the stage. Robert stepped down from the stage and exited through a staff doorway to the left with his guitar. A moment later, another man stepped through the door.

Most of the people in the room like Phil were expectantly tracking the piano player’s entrance, but he didn’t look up as he walked up the steps. This was in stark contrast to Robert, who had entered with a nervous smile and an eager wave to the audience at the tables. The piano player just acted oblivious to it all. Without even glancing at the people in the room, he glided towards a piano near the back of the stage. The piano was angled so that he faced the audience when he sat on the stool behind it, and there was a microphone mounted on top of it.

Without a word, he started playing a tune that Phil didn’t recognize. The notes drifted softly through the room, just as noninvasive and unimposing as the man who had drifted into the room to play them. The music wove around the room until it transformed the atmosphere, softening it, and Phil found himself letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding.

Phil looked around the room, seeing other people relax. Unlike the guitar player who had perched on the edge of the stage, demanding the audience’s attention, this performer allowed his audience to listen passively as they returned to whispered dinner conversation. This made Phil frown as he focused on the piano player – Daniel Howell was talented, sure, but so far he hadn’t done anything extraordinary. Nothing that would stir a rumor prompting an executive at the BBC to send Phil here to investigate. It made him curious, so he looked closer for something he might have missed.

The man was dressed in black from head to toe, like he wanted to blend in with the shadows in the room, but that wasn’t likely to happen. His face was stunning, which Phil could note even at the considerable distance from the bar to the stage. He had dark eyes with long lashes that splayed across his cheeks as he looked down to focus on the keys which he worked with his elegant fingers. Daniel’s hair was lovely, too. It was a mass of tousled brown curls that was swept to the side across his forehead.

When Daniel looked up suddenly and his eyes scanned the crowd, Phil’s heart skipped a beat when the piano player’s eyes passed over his face. Maybe there was something to the rumors about this man? Phil had expected Daniel’s attention to return to the keys after a moment, but he continued playing without looking down. Instead, he leaned towards the microphone mounted on top of the piano. He started to sing.

For many hours after this moment, Phil would try to recall what Daniel had sung. He would never be able to remember a single word of it. If Daniel’s piano playing had drifted softly through the room, then the notes of his song sparked along the synapses of Phil’s brain. The music invaded his mind. His head felt funny, almost like he was drunk with the music.

Everything in the room was fuzzy – everything but the lovely man who was singing as he sat behind the piano. All Phil could see was Daniel’s beautiful face, glowing in the soft yellow lighting that was strung from the ceiling above the stage. His dark eyes were sparkling. The slight tan of his skin was radiant.

And his voice… Phil still couldn’t say what the words of the song were, but he found that his heart had started beating in time with the rhythm of the music. It felt like Daniel was holding his life in his hands – Daniel was his master, and Phil’s heart was only allowed to beat at a certain pace decided by the singer. And Phil couldn’t have been happier about that fact.

Time had ceased to have meaning, so it felt like both an instant and also a lifetime had passed when Daniel stopped singing and took his hands away from the keys. Phil’s heart stuttered in his chest before resuming its normal rhythm, and he blinked a few times before shaking his head to clear it. When he reopened his eyes, he saw several other people in the room trying to shake off the spell that Daniel had cast over them. Gradually, the normal noises of the bar resumed, which seemed obscene in comparison to the beautiful music that had filled the space a moment before.

As Phil shook his head once more and rubbed his eyes clarity finally arrived, and he remembered that he came here to talk to the piano player. When he looked up, he saw that the stage was now empty and Daniel had left the room. Phil rose from the bar stool and walked towards the staff door, thinking that since Robert had walked through it after his performance, perhaps Daniel went that way, too. As he approached the door, the bartender from earlier pushed through the door carrying a towel, and he blinked in surprise to see Phil standing outside.

“Um, hi again, Johnathan. Is Daniel Howell back there? Could I speak to him?”

The bartender shook his head. “Sorry, man. He left right after he got off the stage. Maybe you could catch him tomorrow? He’s performing again.”

“Thanks,” Phil said with a sigh. Then he headed for the door and started walking home.

When Phil turned on his laptop later that night, there was an email from his boss asking him if he went to see Mr. Howell’s performance tonight. Phil bit his lip as he contemplated emailing back now. While he had hoped to accomplish more before reporting back to his boss, the whole thing had been phrased as more of a friendly request than a job. Also, he had made some progress, so he had something to report. Phil typed:

Hi, Gina.

I saw the piano player, and he was everything you’d been hoping for. He’d be great to have on the show. I wanted to invite him on as soon as I heard him, but he left right after. Apparently he’s performing tomorrow, so I’m going to go back to try again. I’ll let you know how that goes.

-Phil

After a quick trip to the kitchen to microwave some popcorn for a late-night snack, Phil settled before the tv. He left it on a cooking show while he enjoyed his popcorn. His laptop was still open on the coffee table, and it pinged with a notification to let him know that he had a new email. He saw that his boss had responded to his email, and he pulled his laptop closer to read it:

Phil,

Thanks for doing this. I know that none of this is a part of your usual job duties, so I want you to know that I appreciate the fact that you’re going above and beyond. I hadn’t explained earlier why I sent you down there, when this isn’t our usual process. I’d like to explain now.

Daniel Howell has been very evasive. We have tried contacting him by phone, email, even snail mail, but no response. I’m hoping that Mr. Howell has a different reaction when the offer comes from the mouth of an actual radio show host.

So, he really was as good as I’d been told? What did he perform? Thanks again!

-Gina

Well, there was no avoiding that question, and putting off answering wouldn’t help. Phil’s face was flushed as he typed and sent his reply:

My memory is a bit hazy at the moment, but yes he was very good. Sorry I can’t give you any specifics.

-Phil

Gina’s response came in only a couple minutes later, but it took Phil a few more moments to find the courage to see what his boss said. Finally, he read:

You were a bit sloshed? :D I’m not going to judge you for having a drink – you were off the clock. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. Good night. Don’t forget to drink some water.

-Gina

Phil exhaled in relief. Not that he had expected Gina to be upset with him. He tried to keep things professional with her, but Gina was a friendly boss who had always tested that barrier and assured Phil that he could be casual around her. In moments like this where he felt he hadn’t done his best at work – though her comment about being off the clock had been true – he appreciated that she was understanding. She was so understanding that she often pointed out to him that he was a workaholic.

Sighing, Phil closed his laptop and settled onto his sofa, intending to go to bed once he finished his popcorn. He was off work tomorrow and he had the whole day to himself until he had to go back to the bar tomorrow night. He’d sit on the sofa, try to relax on the internet, and not think about things that he could do to prepare for his radio show. He needed to remember how to have fun. Tonight had really shown him that.

Phil had forgotten how to do normal things like go to a bar, have a drink with a guy who might become a friend, and admire a beautiful face across a room. It had been a long time. And it had also been a long time since he looked forward to the plans he had tomorrow night; he could almost forget that it was sort of for work. All he could think about was the fact that he was going to finally talk to the captivating singer who he couldn’t get off his mind.

____

A/N:

Special thanks are especially in order, since this is the first time I've worked with betas. Thank you so much to:

- to @msdorebom​ for beta reading the first couple chapters, I was honored to be her first time beta-ing :)

- to @hydrangea-fireheart​ on tumblr for also reading the first couple chapters, and for having the discussion with me that led to chapter 3

- and to AmazingDandroid on AO3 for beta reading those chapters and the rest, and for being especially helpful with the stuff about music and listening to me whine about things like wanting to change the title for 2 weeks

Also to:

- to PastelSkysz on AO3 for having the discussion with me about mythology that led to me have this idea!

[razieltwelve]

Clash of the Titans (Final Nexus)

Pilot Diana glanced into the monitor displaying the auxiliary life support unit. “Are you guys all buckled in? Because if you’re not, you’ve got about ten seconds before this ride gets really bumpy.”

Marshal Lightning nodded as she pulled a communications console/monitor over to her harness. “Can you pass on some information about your weapons systems? I’d like to help.”

On the other side of the chamber, Killer Lightning smiled. “I would also like to -”

“No.” Final Averia’s eyes narrowed. “Do not give her anything.”

Killer Lightning sighed melodramatically. “Such little trust. I understand that in another universe, you would be my daughter.”

“And I understand that in your universe, you are a criminal.” Final Averia glared. “Don’t think I missed the marks on your wrists. You’ve spent a lot of time in handcuffs or other restraints.”

The killer smiled. “Oh, I like you. Not many people notice things like that.”

“Anyway,” Pilot Diana said. “Brace yourselves. We’re about to go into battle.”

X     X     X

Guardian Alpha was the greatest Eidolon ever built. It feature far more powerful and more advanced weapons that any other Eidolon, and it had the highest power:weight ration in history. It weighed two and a half thousand tonnes, but that extra weight wasn’t just there for show. It could tear a Category VII fal’Cie apart with its bare hands, and its weapons array was enough to engage multiple Category VII’s and win before they could even close in for melee combat.

It was, without a doubt, the pinnacle of its world’s engineering, the world’s instrument of vengeance against the monsters that had plagued them for so long.

But today, it was up against something far larger than itself.

“Diana,” Pilot Averia said. “Can we get any scans on that thing?”

“Give me a second…” Diana’s eyes widened. “Estimated weight is one hundred thousand tonnes. There’s no way it’s actually using its wings to fly. I’m picking up a host of energy anomalies and massive gravitational distortions to boot.”

Claire smirked. “Light it up?”

Averia nodded. “Diana… light it up.”

Guardian Alpha’s shoulder plates unfolded to release its two gigantic shoulder-mounted plasma cannons. Each of them had output that dwarfed the plasma cannons once wielded by the Mark IIIs of the original Odin’s generation more than a hundred fold. At the same time, Guardian Alpha’s fists transformed, revealing an additional pair of electromagnetic discharge cannons - essentially, lightning guns.

“Fire when ready,” Averia said.

“Commencing fire!” Diana cried. “Let’s see how it likes this.”

What followed was an ear splitting roar as both lightning cannons fired, the thunder created so loud that the sheer force of it actually shoved the massive Eidolon back half a step. On its shoulders, its plasma cannons unleashed bolts of brilliant plasma, each strong enough to completely immolate the chest cavity of a Category VII fal’Cie.

The attacks struck the monstrous shape in the sky with terrible force. The clouds tore, and the sky was suddenly too bright to look at. Yet when the light faded, the creature was barely damaged at all. The wounds it had suffered already beginning to heal as its twisted, amorphous shape began to extrude tentacles, claws, and teeth.

“Well, damn.” Diana’s eyes narrowed. “That thing sure can take a beating and it looks like it’s -”

Her words were cut off as Claire and Averia moved together, hurling the Eidolon out of the path of a dozen tentacles that lanced out of the creature’s body and dug deep into the desert sand. The tentacles lashed out to the side, barbs, blades, and other additions forming as the creature turned dozens of eyes toward them.

“Keep firing!” Claire shouted. “Aim for the eyes!”

“I know!” Diana shouted back. “I know!”

Averia split her attention between the tentacles and the rest of the creature’s body. It was why she had the time to yell a warning. “Watch out! Incoming!”

The creature suddenly fired a volley of shadowy spores. The Eidolon tumbled out of the way. The spores struck the desert and immediately began to eat away at the sand, dissolving it into pure nothingness.

“Okay… we can’t get hit by those,” Diana said. She was firing as quickly as the Eidolon’s position would allow, but none of their shots seemed to be doing sufficient damage. “How about we try cutting those off?”

“Right.” Averia clenched her fist. “Engage Dragon Claws.” The machine’s right fist transformed back into its fist form, and a long blade extended from its wrist. As the next tentacle rushed toward them, they pivoted away from it and swung their right arm out. The tentacle came lose, black blood spewing everywhere, and they turned to fire another bolt of lightning at the closest eye.

“I think it felt that,” Claire said as the creature hissed and wailed. “Keep cutting those off!”

X     X     X

Divine Diana and Gary watched the battle with a growing sense of admiration.

“That giant automaton isn’t half bad,” Diana said. “But we can’t let them have all the fun.” She raised her sword. “Aim for the tentacles, Gary. I’ll aim for the main body.”

The raccoon rushed through the air, his trumpet playing a wild, discordant rhythm of cutting winds and tearing gales. Diana, meanwhile, gathered her divine energy. She’d seen firsthand that the attacks of the machine, while powerful, weren’t enough to truly injure the beast. It simply regenerated too fast. What she needed was something big… so big it couldn’t just shrug off the blow.

As the winds around her sword intensified, she crafted the image of her attack in her mind. She imagined a hurricane condensed into a single blade as thin as a hair and sharper than anything in Creation. This thing might be regenerating, but how would it handle being cut in half.

With a grunt of exertion, Diana swung her sword. The Sword of Cutting Winds didn’t have as grandiose a name as some of the other weapons she could summon, but it was very, very good at what it did. And what it did was cut things. Combined with the way she’d shaped her divine power, well, she couldn’t let those mortals outdo her, now could she?

“Take this!” she shouted. “You might be tough, but I could cut the moon in half with this attack!”

X     X     X

“Massive energy spike!” Pilot Diana shouted.

“What?” Averia cried. “Where?”

“It’s… oh crap! Move!”

Averia looked up. Whatever the ‘goddess’ version of Diana had done, it had cut the creature in half. Unbelievable. That thing weighed a hundred thousand tonnes, and she’d just cut it in half. It was already trying to heal, but it didn’t look like it could fly and put itself back together at the same time.

“Go!” Marshal Lightning’s voice came over the speaker. “Run due west now! That’s the quickest way out from under it. Move!”

That was all the incentive they needed. The massive Eidolon broke into a sprint, and the trio pushed themselves to the limit as the titanic creature thundered into the ground, an earthquake shaking the whole area as it landed. They just barely managed to get clear, throwing themselves into a dive at the last moment.

“There’s a spot on its back,” Marshal Lightning continued. “Can you see it? I saw it through one of the rear-facing cameras when you dove. There appears to be a distortion there.”

“That’s its centre,” Divine Diana shouted, her voice somehow audible through the communication system. “I’ve seen something similar in the enemies the gods in my world fight. It’s like… think of it as a pocket dimension. Most of its mass is hidden there, which is why it can heal so easily. If we rupture that, it will die… and probably explode.”

“Well, damn,” Pilot Diana said. “Let’s get to work.”

The Eidolon leapt onto the creature’s back, hacking and firing with mad abandon as it tried to reach the creature’s core. At the same time Divine Diana and Gary swooped through the air in a bid to strike at the creature’s core with the same attacks they’d used so effectively before. However, the creature was not about to make it easy. Thousands of tentacles ripped out of its back. They lashed out in a frenzy, knocking the Eidolon back and forcing Divine Diana and Gary to retreat.

“This is stupid.” Final Averia spoke over the communication system. “Can you open the emergency door? I’m going out there to help.”

“What are you going to do?” Pilot Averia shot back. “Transform into a god or something? This isn’t a battle a normal person can fight.”

Final Averia smirked. It was Fang’s smirk. “Or something. Just open the door.”

X     X     X

Final Averia waited until she’d climbed onto the exterior of the giant robot before she activated her Semblance. She skipped straight to the second level of Saviour. Anything less wouldn’t cut. Immediately, information flooded into her mind. Even at this level a version of flight was available, but there was a faster way to reach her target.

[Calculating optimal path… tentacle motion accounted for… optimal path projection…]

Averia leapt, crossing more than a hundred yards in a heartbeat. In a single fluid motion, she summoned a crystal blade, sliced a tentacle in half and then rode the motion it made in its agony to throw herself further forward.

“Damn…” Pilot Diana muttered. “Apparently, you’re a magical girl in another dimension, sis.”

“What?” Pilot Averia squawked. “She is obviously not a magical girl. Magical girls don’t wear armour and swing swords around.”

“She’s totally a magical girl,” Pilot Claire agreed. “But look at her go.”

Slicing through tentacle after tentacle and using their flailing to catapult herself forward, Final Averia was advancing toward the core at incredible speed. Seeing her on the move, both Divine Diana and Gary swooped in to help clear a path.

[Accounting for allies…] Saviour had already begun to develop detailed analyses of the others. [Projected path now 25% shorter]

Final Averia leapt one last time. The core was there ahead of her, a large sphere of distorted flesh that was roughly fifty yards in diameter. Saviour’s senses were screaming at her to be careful.

[Massive dimensional anomaly detected]

[Apparent size and mass inaccurate]

[True mass estimated at ten million tonnes]

[True size estimated as sphere with radius one hundred kilometres]

Averia frowned. Was cutting it even possible. 

[Current power insufficient to breach outer shell.]

[Physical force unlikely to breach outer shell]

[Weapon capable of moderate reality manipulation required]

[Recommend escalating to third level]

Averia grimaced. The third level? She could use it, but she couldn’t afford to rely on it too heavily, not when she didn’t know how many more of these things she would have to face. 

Her crystal and metal armour darkened and then shattered to reveal the ominous red and black tones of the third level of Saviour. Power flooded through her veins, and her perception of the world sharpened even further. With her heightened perception, she could now detect the smallest of flaws along the top of the core.

She gestured, and she soared upward, a series of gravity manipulations pushing and pulling her along until she was over the flaw.

“Cover me!” she shouted.

“Got it!” Divine Diana shouted back as she and Gary flanked Final Averia. Tentacles closed in from all sides, but the pair fought with iron determination to hold them back. As for the Eidolon, the gigantic robot had caught on to what was happening, and the trio piloting were doing their best to keep as many tentacles occupied as possible. 

Final Averia twisted in midair and then dove. Her blade clattered into the edge of the sphere, and she gave a cry of disbelief as the structure actually held for an instant. Unbelievable. This blade could cut through any normal material substance with ease. Even spatial and temporal distortions would be badly damaged by it. Finally, the surface of the core began to crack.

“Need a bit more…” Final Averia’s jaw clenched as she called on more of Saviour’s power. The crack widened, and she was suddenly tumbling backward, hurled away by an outpouring of energy. “The core is breached!” she yelled. “You need to tear it all the way open.”

“Understood!” Pilot Averia barked back. “Move!”

The Eidolon thundered forward, its massive bulk stomping over the creature’s body as it drove its hands into the crack in the core. Countless servos and gears creaked as the titanic machine strained itself to the limits of its ability. Slowly, bit by bit, the crack began to widen as they tore the core open.

“Gary!” Divine Diana shouted. “Come on, let’s help!”

The two added their attacks to the mix, hacking and slashing at the edges of the rip to widen it until, at last, with a sickening squelch, the Eidolon managed to force its arms as far apart as it could. Energy poured out of the gaping hole along with a vile, black deluge.

“Get clear!” Pilot Diana shouted. “I’m getting elevated energy readings! It’s going to explode!”

Divine Diana grabbed Gary and then dove to grab Final Averia. “I’ll get us out of here. Hold on!” She leapt flew onto the Eidolon’s shoulder and called on her power again. “All those times I practices transporting Bahamut are going to come in handy now. He’s even bigger than you guys!”

“Just get us out of here!” Marshal Lightning ordered.

X     X     X

“Well, isn’t that a pretty picture?” Killer Lightning drawled as she watched the massive column of inky darkness roar up toward the sky. The goddess had brought them more than two hundred miles in the blink of an eye, and the explosion still dominated the horizon. She walked over to Final Averia. “And that was a most admirable performance. Your power is… fascinating. Mind explaining it?”

Final Averia forced herself to straighten despite the tiredness she felt. “Not a chance.”

“Oh, how touchy.” Killer Lightning smiled sunnily. “Well, we’re all alive and our enemy is dead, but we still don’t know where we are. Anybody have any ideas?”

Divine Diana pointed. “We head that way. I think I can feel my mother’s power coming from that direction.”

Killer Lightning raised one eyebrow. “How strong is your mother?”

“Hmmm…” Divine Diana rubbed her chin. “Have you ever seen a piñata fight a dragon?”

They all stared at her. They’d seen what she could do.

“I’m the piñata. My mother is the dragon.”

“Well…” Killer Lightning said. “The more the merrier. I don’t plan on dying, so… let’s go meet your mother… who is, I suppose, another version of me.”

“Pretty much.” Divine Diana shrugged. “I could take us there, but that might not be a good idea.”

“What’s going on?” Marshal Lightning asked.

“I don’t know if you guys can sense it, but that thing was drawn to us by the power I was using. Based on how fast that machine of yours can walk, we should reach my mother in a couple of hours. It might be safer to just do that.”

“Right.” Pilot Averia nodded. “Hop aboard then. You should conserve your strength for battle. We can give all of you a lift.”

X     X     X

Final Averia = Final Rose Averia

Pilot Averia, Diana, and Claire = Eidolon Pilot Averia, Diana, and Claire

Marshal Lightning = The Vestige Lightning

Killer Lightning = Sound of Thudner (serial killer) Lightning

Divine Diana = Divine!AU Diana

Gary =  Divine Diana’s Herald (and favourite raccoon since she is, amongst other things, the goddess of raccoons)

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

What the Heart Wants

Based on a nonny-prompt:  “Super Sappy Lines”: “I’ve wanted this for so long.” and/or “I thought you didn’t want me.” Hardy x Miller. Smutty or clean?! You choose.  Well, I chose... both.  Sort of.  Post-coital conversation.  From this prompt list - still (always) open!

Not explicit, but still mature themes.  HardyxMiller.

@timepetalscollective for Hardy adoption drive and probably other items.

AO3

Hardy fell onto his back panting hard, one hand settling on his chest over his heart.

Beside him Miller was still gasping for breath, and they lay quietly as their heartbeats calmed.

“Well, that was something,” she finally commented, and he snorted a laugh.

“Not sure how that happened, honestly,” he admitted, hand inching across the bed to stop just short of her own.

“Does it matter?”  Ellie shrugged, turning her head to face him.  “We’re both adults; s’not like it’s cheating or anything.  Don’t lots of partners end up in bed together?”  She remembered Tess and Dave too late; his grimace at the reminder punctured the afterglow, and her brain began to calculate the previous twenty minutes.  “Sorry.”

“Eh, ancient history,” he dismissed.

“Right,” she agreed awkwardly, and they simply lay there staring at his ceiling, wondering at the future.

“Was this a mistake?”  Hardy eventually blurted, closing his eyes.

“Do you think it was?” she shot back, and he groaned quietly.

“Do you?”

“Hardy!”

“No, I don’t.  Or at least I didn’t,” he muttered under his breath.  “Your turn.”

She went quiet for several long moments.  “No.”

He nodded at the ceiling, before almost jumping in surprise as her hand met his between them.  Lacing their fingers together he squeezed her palm, not bothering to hide the smile creeping across his face.

They lay together holding hands, until he felt the bed begin to shake slightly.

“Is that a mobile?”  Hardy asked innocently, looking over at her for the first time to see her shaking with silent laughter.  She waved her other hand at him before covering her mouth, letting the giggles explode out.  “What is it?”

Ellie rolled onto her side, gasping for breathing as she howled with laughter.

“Miller?”

His confusion just made her laugh harder, and the sight, confusing as it was, sent a burst of warmth through him that had nothing to do with lust. It had been a long time since anyone had been so free in front of him.

He liked it.

“Some- something my sister said once,” she managed to wheeze out, one hand still holding his while the other clutched at her stomach.

Hardy just stared at her, waiting patiently for her to explain.

Finally calming slightly she looked up at him, only to burst into fresh gales of laughter when their eyes met.  Rolling forward, she buried her head against his chest as she sobbed from giddiness, and he resigned himself to wrapping his arm around her and riding it out.

It took another ten minutes, but eventually she was calm enough to tilt her head up, resting her chin on his pec.

“All right there?”  Hardy raised an eyebrow, unable to not smile back at the wide beam she gave him.

“Do you remember when they accused us of an affair during the trial?”

His expression dropped, but he nodded slowly.  “Hard to forget.”

“Lucy asked me if it was true.”

“She did?”  He didn’t think anything about that woman could surprise him anymore, but apparently not.

“Yeah.  She said – God I can’t believe I’m saying this to your face – she made the obvious joke.”

“What, that I’d likely have keeled over?”

Ellie snorted.  “No, wanker. About your name.”  She raised her eyebrows, but he only stared blankly back.

“What about it?”

“Harder, Hardy,” she managed to say with a straight face, though she lost it when his eyes widened and his jaw dropped.

“What?!”  He huffed, face twisting into a scowl.  “Honestly Miller, I know she’s your sister but that- that woman…”

“Really?”

“What?”

“Still Miller?” she asked with a scoff.  “I’m naked in your bed in the middle of the afternoon, in the middle of a shift, and you’re still calling me Miller?”

“Ellie?” he tried, before making a face.  “Ugh.  And Hardy’s still just fine – so long as you don’t make that joke ever again.”

“Oh, just for that I’m making it every time,” she threatened, not understanding why he immediately stilled beneath her.  “What?”

“Every time?”  His voice was carefully neutral, and she easily recognized it from the interrogation room.

“Maybe not every time,” she reconsidered, tilting her head in thought.  “But definitely every so often.”

His face didn’t change, and her brow furrowed.  “Hardy, what?”

“You make it sound like we’ll be doing this again,” he said slowly, and it was her turn to pause.

“God, was it really that awful for you?”

“Wha- of course not.”  He looked at her like she was an idiot.  “I just thought-”

“Thought what?”

He seemed to weigh his words carefully for a long minute.  “I thought you didn’t want me.”

At that Ellie scrambled up onto her knees, staring at him in disbelief. “What on Earth would make you think that?” she demanded.

He sat up as well, and she noticed that he was able to keep his eyes firmly on her face.

“You never said anything,” he protested weakly, and she laughed in disbelief.

“You mean like, I dunno, inviting you to the pub?”

It had been six months since that invite, but they had never discussed it again.

“What?  But- that wasn’t-” he spluttered a protest.

“What?”

“I didn’t think it was like that,” Hardy admitted honestly with a vague hand wave.  “I thought…”

“Yes?”

“I’m no good at this, Miller,” he told her quietly. “Relationships, romance- I’m bloody useless.”

“Not entirely useless,” she joked, wriggling her eyebrows.  He ignored her.

“I didn’t know you wanted this.  I thought- well, I thought it was just me.”

“How long?” she asked quietly.

Hardy shrugged.  “Years.”

Ellie nodded, staring into the distance.  “It’s not just you,” she told him quietly, as if their unexpected nooner hadn’t made that abundantly clear.

“What about you?” he challenged, gaze steady on her now that he’d laid down all his cards.

“Years, I suppose,” she said thoughtfully.  “I’m trying to remember – maybe during the trial?  I was so torn up then, though… I was hoping, when you moved back, but you never- well, doesn’t matter now.”

“So, to recap,” he said slowly, and her lips twitched as he defaulted back to detective mode, “I’m interested, and you’re interested…”

“Sounds about right,” she agreed seriously.

“So what now?”

“Now?” Ellie repeated.  “Now, you show me what you’re capable of.”

She grinned, then, a happy smile that stretched to her eyes.

“Is that a challenge?”  Hardy came up on his knees, forcing her to look up at him.

“I believe it is,” she said coyly, and in a quick movement he had tackled her, knocking her onto her back as she shrieked.

He began to kiss a slow trail down her body, giving each breast its due before moving on.  By the time he’d reached the juncture of her thighs, her breathing was hitching regularly and he could smell her arousal.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he groaned, finally moving in for the kill; it was a long time before she could muster a reply.

“Me too,” she panted, pushing him onto his back and following a similar trail.  “So, so, so long.”

Hardy just laughed, and she’d never heard a sweeter sound in her life.

Until, of course, he started cursing and moaning her name.