#redhead drop in anchors 1/2

[fixdex-fastening-technology]

redhead anchors for concrete

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[mionemymind]

Chapter 9: The Truth

Fake Memories

Series Summary: After Y/n is caught cheating on Wanda with Carol, Y/n would do just about anything to get Wanda back into her life. But was it even Y/n’s fault that she cheated? Or was it the new enemy set on revenge?

Chapter Summary: The after effects of the attack on New York have changed everything for the Avengers, Wanda, and Y/n. 

A/n: I have managed to write this all within one day. I’m sorry if there are any mistakes but please let me know your thoughts love :) (Not my GIF)

Warnings: Fighting, Hydra, Blood, Mentions of Death, Anxiety, Curse Words

Word Count: 4.9k

Masterlist

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 |

Covered in ash, dirt, and dried-up blood, Steve was a walking disaster as he paced through the hospital waiting room. Well, if you would call it a hospital that is. It’s been less than an hour since the Avengers have controlled the fires in New York but the troubling news of Y/n and Wanda brought them to a halt.

They quickly rushed to the “hospital”, which was just an empty leased building before being revamped into a hospital for this emergency. The walls were made up of light green curtains. You couldn’t even separate the blood-curling screams from down the hall to the one next to you.

“Stop pacing Rogers. You’re making my head hurt,” Tony said as he sat next to his suit. He had managed to borrow one of the hospital’s tablets to see if there were any updates that could remotely be done to the tower. So far, no luck had been made to reboot F.R.I.D.A.Y or power up the building in general. “Don’t tell me what to do,” he bit back.

Before Tony could say anything, Natasha lightly elbowed him in the stomach to keep him hushed. Now was not the time to start fighting especially at a time like this. “Are you any closer to powering up the tower?” She asked. If Natasha was nervous, she sure as hell didn’t show it. While the assassin did have a similar beat-up look like Steve, her composure was almost too relaxed. However, if Steve cared to notice, he could quickly see how big of a lie that was but his mind was only focused on the two youngest Avengers.

On the other side of the building lied Wanda and Y/n. The only thing separating those two was the thin green curtain and the team of tired nurses and doctors that surrounded them. And while the two have been closer before, this was the first time in a while that they both slept peacefully by each other. It didn’t matter the circumstances of how they slept, but rather what they dreamt...and it was of each other.

“What do you think we would have been like if we lived normal lives?” It was a late afternoon on a sunny day in spring. Wanda and Y/n laid down in the grass under a tree that shadowed them from the sun. Today was one of their off days and seeing as the weather was nice, the two felt like it was a perfect time to go to the park.

“Well, we would obviously attend school.” Wanda was lying down on her back with a dandelion in her hand as Y/n laid on her side, using her left hand to support her head. “I can honestly see you as being the popular person or maybe even the President of some type of political club.”

“What makes you say that?” The soft breeze that covered them came once again, which blew the pappis away. The small frown on Wanda’s faced made it hard for Y/n to focus but she still responded, “You just have this powerful aura to you, Wanda. When you talk, people listen. But what you do better is how easy it is for us to believe you. That’s something not a lot of leaders can do.”

“You make it sound like I’ll be the next President of the United States,” Wanda replied jokingly. “I wish.” Wanda pushed Y/n back slightly as she laughed but all Y/n did was smile at the action. “But what about me? What do you think I would be like?”

Putting her finger to her chin, Wanda thought for a moment before saying, “Honestly, without your powers, you are probably a film nerd at heart. Maybe just a nerd in general.”

“Hey! Now you’re just being mean.” Wanda rolled her eyes as she threw away the dandelion stem. She turned her head to face Y/n. There was this adoration in her eyes that quickly made Y/n blush. “Who cares. All I know is if anyone decides to mess with you, they’ll obviously have to go through me.”

“Oh, so you’re telling me the President of the political science club is going to come to my rescue?”

“Duh! I’ll probably yell at them or something. If not, I’m not afraid to get nasty.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“How’d you let them get away?” Fury said as he walked into the hospital that Y/n was at. The man was not in his finest hour. First, the mass destruction of New York city was blasting on the news. Reporters and anchors are not looking in favor for the heroes regardless of the actions they’ve taken to try and minimize the damage. Many were angry at the mere fact that this happened at all.

“Someone on their team had quickly teleported them to safety,” Carol stated. The girl has been feeling nothing but guilt for the past hour. Although she did save Wanda and Y/n, the state she had found them in only did worse for her thoughts. “Even if I did try to catch up to them, the lack of response from Wanda and Y/n meant something. I probably couldn’t have faced them alone if I tried.”

Before Fury could have walked any further into the building, Carol grabbed him by the arm, forcing him to look at her. “Her ears were bleeding Nick...I think they did something to her head again.”

Wanda woke up with a slight headache, the dream vaguely on her mind. As she started to grasp her surroundings, she only grew more confused. “Where am I?” She thought. The loud beeping beside her combined with screams and loud thoughts overwhelmed Wanda. Feeling the need to get out, she quickly started to remove the various wires on her as the recent events caught up to her. “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to lay back down,” the nurse asked kindly.

“Where’s Y/n?” Wanda almost lost her balance as she stepped off her bed. She used the nurse in front of her to regain her balance, before walking out of her “room”. “Ma’am, I’m not going to ask again, please lay back down or I will have to get security.”

The threat was the last thing on Wanda’s mind. All she could focus on was finding Y/n. Using her powers, she closed her eyes and tried to sense where Y/n was. Considering the girl was right beside her, it didn’t take long for Wanda to find out.

Quickly walking over to the side of her room, Wanda pushed the curtain to the side but the sight in front of her made everything stop. There was Y/n, battered and bruised. There was drywall dust on her face along with dried-up blood. “Y/n,” Wanda whispered in disbelief. Much to Wanda’s dismay, Y/n didn’t respond. She remained unresponsive on the bed.

Reaching out to try and hold her hand, Wanda was pulled back by the same nurse. “Ma’am, please let the doctors and nurses do their jobs while you go back to your bed.” Wanda shrugged off her hand, her eyes glowing red as she said, “Don’t.”

Wanting to be by Y/n’s side, Wanda tried to walk towards her again but Steve’s voice made her stop. “Wanda.” Turning back around, Wanda first noticed just how beat up Steve was. His helmet was off which made Steve oddly look like a raccoon. If times were different, maybe Wanda would have laughed. Instead, she stormed out of the room, feeling more overwhelmed.

“I’m sorry about her ma’am,” Steve said with a courteous nod.

Wanda sat on the ledge of the roof. The slight breeze of the night was coursing past her as she mindlessly fiddled with her fingers, a nervous habit she developed after her parents’ death. It was during a harsher breeze that Wanda touched her forehead where the slight open injury was at. She had left the floor just moments ago and somehow her feet led her here. Although she knew that she needed someone to look at the injuries she sustained, her mind was focused elsewhere. It was plagued with thoughts about the girl that was still entrapped in a room full of doctors that had no clue how to treat her. Wanda knew it was wrong of her to read their minds, but she hoped that at least one of them at least knew where to start. Panic and anxiety filled the redhead’s body the more she realized that no one knew how to help Y/n. Soon, the room felt as if it was enclosing on her. Before Steve realized she was about to break down, she left to sort out her thoughts and emotions.

Wanda had been so deep in thought that she hadn’t noticed Carol leaning against the entrance of the roof. The blonde was only a couple of feet away from Wanda wearing black sweatpants and a shirt. The girl was wrapping up a mission when she saw the text from Y/n. Carol didn’t know whether the drop in her heart was from the fake feelings Memory Man had created or whether she genuinely cared about the girl’s wellbeing. It didn’t matter though. What mattered was Y/n’s safety.

Carol leaned up against the ledge while surveying the view. They were a foot away from each other but it didn’t take a mind reader to know that both girls were thinking about Y/n. Ironically enough, they each had their separate thoughts about how they failed to protect Y/n. For Wanda, she felt as if she was the sole reason that Y/n got hurt. If she had only conquered her abilities more, Y/n wouldn’t have had to sacrifice herself again just to protect her. Not only that, but Wanda felt beyond frustrated with herself for being so frozen and paralyzed as the enemy hurt Y/n right in front of her eyes. There was nothing holding her back besides herself and that was something that will haunt her for a while. For Carol, she felt that if she were just a bit faster and maybe not a galaxy away, she would have reached them in time to help.

After a couple of minutes of silence, Wanda sidely glanced at Carol. The first thing she noticed was her attire. It didn’t take long for the dots to connect before she realized that it was Y/n’s clothes Carol was wearing. Wanda bit her tongue at the ounce of jealousy and resentment that decided to rise within her. This was no time to start arguments especially with the person that helped Y/n just in the nick of time. So Wanda had opted for a different but just as difficult route. “Thank you.”

Carol heard but decided to remain silent. Clearing her throat, Wanda continued, “I’m not sure what would have happened if you hadn’t found us.” Finally, the two made eye contact as Carol glanced at Wanda. “I’m only here for Y/n,” Carol deadpanned. Wanda choked at her words but still had a serious composure. They both looked back at the city but there was a more tense feeling in the air. Carol hadn’t cared if the words had hurt Wanda. What she cared for was Y/n. But the looming question in the back of her head was always if this was a genuine feeling or if it was forced. However, the way her heart overwhelmingly felt angered at the person beside her, she knew that at this time, the feeling was genuine.

Subconsciously, Wanda felt the emotions that leaked out of the blonde. She didn't need to go in her mind to realize that. It felt like Carol’s guard was down leading her aura to be seen. It had covered the area surrounding the two in such a suffocating manner that Wanda felt like she couldn’t breathe. The two most compelling emotions were the anger she held for her and the love she had for Y/n. As she cracked her knuckles, Carol muttered, “It is quite ridiculous the things Y/n continuously goes through for a team that can barely return the favor.”

“You don’t get to-”

“Now listen here. I don’t quite care much for your team. Frankly, y’all don’t deserve Y/n.” The two faced each other with such intensity that one wrong move could cause a fight with two of the galaxy’s most powerful superheroes. “But if I’m being honest, you don’t deserve Y/n.” Wanda’s fists clenched at Carol’s words. It took everything out of the redhead to not fling Carol out of New York, because how dare she accuse her of such atrocities.

“If I were you, I would stop where you’re at,” Wanda said threateningly. The spiral scarlet glow in her eyes only made Carol chuckle. “You know you’re not the only one with powers.” Carol’s fist glowed with the same intensity as Wanda’s eyes. But the threats were pointless as the two had stopped at the same time.

“You don’t see it but you should feel lucky Wanda.” Cocking her eyebrow, Wanda responded with, “And why is that?” The redhead remained in a defensive stance as she crossed her arms. Carol walked closer to her and placed her hand on Wanda’s shoulder. Wanda was still tense but it slightly faltered when she saw how serious Carol was. “There’s a girl out there that loves you even when her mind and heart tell her otherwise.” And with that, Carol left Wanda to herself.

The burning feeling in his legs shouldn’t have felt familiar but it did. It reminded him of the body that he held through New York’s streets. It reminded him of the blood all over his hands and clothes. It reminded him of that fateful night that he failed.

And as he stormed into the hospital with nobody in his hands, something in the way that the team looked made his blood drain. Before Bucky could ask about Y/n’s whereabouts, Beth had walked in. Seeing her familiar face caused Bucky to be slightly relaxed but still anxious about what she could possibly say.

“I have an update on Y/n’s health.” Carol had walked into the room and her attention immediately landed on Beth. “Tell us, Beth,” Fury said.

“As of right now, she will be fine. The doctors have her hooked up to a solution that is allowing her regeneration abilities to work. But-,” before Beth could finish her update, Tony had stood up and loudly commented, “- Great, now that we know Ms. Hydra is okay, can we get back to the real issue at hand?”

As Carol was about to advance to Tony, it was Beth’s words that made the room quiet. “Of course it would be the self-righteous billionaire that would talk shit.” Tony’s head snapped towards Beth. “Excuse me?!”

Beth glared back at Tony, not daring to back down. Her arms were crossed as she continued, “Don’t act like you can’t hear me, or is your ego too far high for you to actually listen?”

Walking towards Beth, Tony said, “Listen here you son of a-” Before Tony could get any closer to Beth, Bucky had used his arm to stop him. “I wouldn’t if I were you.” Tony forcefully removed Bucky’s hand from his chest. He stepped away from Beth, not wanting to deal with what he thinks of as just some pathetic nurse.

“You know what the real issue is Tony - actually - all of you. It’s the fact that you seriously think of Y/n to be this villain.” Beth had let out a dark chuckle at the irony of the situation. “Or have you forgotten the shit you’ve ALL done? Let’s name them, shall we?”

“Beth-” Beth glared at Bucky. She didn’t care if this wasn’t the time nor the place for this conversation, because God was she so tired of them. “Tony, remember all the weapons that you’ve created for mass destruction and have yet to actually own up to the consequences of them?”

“I would stop there if I were you before-”

“Before what?!” Beth said as she threw her hands up. “Before you sue me?! Before you attack me?! Oh - that’s it, isn’t it? What are you gonna do? Kill me? Like how you did with Y/n?!” The room grew more silent as everyone besides Bucky and Beth digested her words. “It’s honestly sad how a bunch of adults has managed to push a KID to take their life away. All for what?! Because you thought she cheated on Wanda! News fucking flash - she didn’t even fucking cheat.”

“What?” Steve said. The shock of Beth’s words was still affecting him. “It was Memory Man. He had put fake memories in Y/n’s and mine’s heads. That was the whole reason we kissed - wait - did you not know about this?” The team was frozen while Carol and Fury impatiently waited for answers.

Not caring to wait for their pathetic excuses, Beth said, “It’s not like it matters what they have to say. They don’t even care for Y/n but for those that actually do. Right now we have no clue what her mind is going to be like. Memory Man has already given her enough damages before and considering we don’t know the full extent of his powers, we can only wait till she wakes up to see if she will actually be okay. Now if you don’t mind, I have a patient to take care of.”

Before Beth could leave, Bucky grabbed onto her arm. He gave her a look but Beth wasn’t having any of it. Ripping her arm from his grip, she stated, “Don’t Bucky. You know how much your family has hurt her. So don’t just stand there and act like they’re saints especially since you know how much Y/n needed you.”

It’s been a couple of days since the attack in New York and Y/n has since woken up. She has barely spoken to Beth, Bucky, Carol, or Fury. Although Estell’s presence would have been welcomed, Beth has yet to tell the girl the news of Estell’s death. Unfortunately, during the attack, she was shot and killed on sight by Hydra. The only reason Beth knew was from the long list of deaths she read on TV.

“We need to transport Y/n to a different location,” Fury said in a small meeting that consisted of only Bucky and Carol. “I agree. Since Hydra has managed to infiltrate the tower once, who knows when they’ll do it again.”

“That’s why a different country will do her better than here.” Fury sighed at the decision that was laid upon them. New locations will always be hard to adjust to but that wasn’t all of it. “Wanda will remain as Y/n’s guard.”

Abruptly standing from her chair, the loud screeched filled the room. “Are you serious?!” Fury’s expression didn’t change as Carol only grew with rage. “She could hardly take care of herself during the attack. What makes you think she could possibly take care of Y/n?”

“The girl was simply outnumbered. We all were.” Moving to get the file that was beside him, he slid it on the table. Bucky grabbed it and had started to silently read it. “But I need the both of you on the front lines. After what Beth has said, I need you two to make sure that the team is actually doing their job. They were supposed to have found out about Hydra’s plans before the attack, now I’m starting to think they didn’t even try.”

Carol was still angry at Fury’s decision to which he sighed. “You will know of Y/n’s location at all times. I will let her have a remote that when activated should send you a signal. Since you’re back on Earth, you’ll get to her in seconds.” Carol sat back down in her seat. Although she was still mad at Fury’s decision, she felt better knowing that Y/n could signal her for help.

“Now, I need you to say your goodbyes for now. Y/n leaves in an hour.”

Wanda stood in the foyer of the hanger as various agents loaded up the quinjet with materials that she and Y/n would need for the time they were gone. She was informed of the last-minute decision just moments ago by Fury himself.

“Please take care of her.”

The words echoed in her head as it had been the only time she’s seen Fury actually care deeply for somebody else. Before she could ponder more about it, Beth had interrupted Wanda’s thoughts. “Wanda?”

Turning around to the source of the sound, Wanda stood in front of a young blonde woman with intense eyes. “I’m Beth,” she said as she held out her hand. Wanda reluctantly shook it, not quite sure as to who this lady actually was. “I’m Y/n’s friend.”

“Great, another pretty girl I have to worry about,” Wanda thought. “Well, I’m also her nurse but I think she would consider me her friend as well.” Wanda stood awkwardly not really knowing how to respond.

Using this opportunity, Beth handed Wanda a bag full of medicine and vitamins. “I know this will be a lot to ask of you but could you please take care of Y/n?” There was no doubt in Wanda’s mind that this girl in front of her meant well. The nurturing feeling in her aura surrounded Wanda.

“That girl has been through a lot and I would know.” Confused by the intensity of her words, Wanda couldn’t help but ask, “How do you know this?”

“I’ve been her nurse for a while now.” This news only confused Wanda even more. “Was she injured before the attack?”

“What is it with you guys and not knowing a single thing about Y/n?” Beth thought. She started to get irritated at the thought of another Avenger hurting Y/n. She could only hope Wanda was different from the rest. However, Wanda heard Beth’s thoughts and said, “What do you know that I don’t?”

Beth scoffed at the question and replied, “The truth.” The simplicity of her answer made Wanda internally roll her eyes. Whether she admitted it or not, she had started to feel territorial over the fact somebody else knew Y/n better than her.

“Wanda let’s go!” Fury yelled from afar. The two looked over and saw Y/n hug Carol, Fury, and Bucky goodbye. Oddly enough, she looked emotionless when she did it. “Just please don’t fuck up again.” Wanda didn’t answer respond back to Beth because if she did, something bitchy would have probably left her mouth. Instead, she walked over and into the quinjet. She buckled into the seat closest to Y/n but the girl didn’t give any attention to Wanda. She remained silent and focused on her hands for the whole ride while Wanda thought more and more about what Beth meant.

“Now that we’re all here let’s get started.” Fury turned on the projector and the first image the was on the screen was New York on fire during the attack. “So far, we’ve received word that there have been 125 casualties and approximately around 500 critical injuries suffered from the attack.” Click.

“However, we face a bigger number when it comes to those that are currently missing. Estimating from 600 - 1000 people are found to be missing. And since we have efficiently cleared the rumble from the damages, our sources have found out how they’ve gone missing.” Click.

Footage of the event was playing but in the location of the subways. One by one, explosions could be seen in various parts of different train passages. It didn’t take long for Hydra soldiers to infiltrate the train systems but all camera footage cut to black. “Hydra has effectively taken hostages of those that were on the train during that night. They have used bombs to blast any chance of us going after them in these tunnels.”

“Is there a way to locate the subways?” Steve asked. “Since New York hardly invests in their transportation department, they are unable to track any of their subways. More than likely, Hydra has already disposed of them in case they were to be tracked.” Click.

“What we need is to figure out where these people have gone. This many hostages taken is something we cannot allow. And considering we have hardly been able to figure out their plans before the attack, I can only assume the worse when it comes to this.” Fury turned the projector off and continued his speech.

“Bucky and Carol will be removed from their current missions to assist the team with this situation. There will be absolutely no complaints about this. Any signs of lack of cooperation, I will gladly remove you and ban you from missions indefinitely.” Fury looked around the team once more and felt disgusted at the people he has to work with. Giving them no time to reply, he left the room not being able to stand the sight of them anymore.

Since they were dismissed, part of the team left in a hurry until it was down to three people. Tony was about to leave when Steve said, “Are you going to apologize to Y/n?” The question was genuine and serious because ever since that night, Steve had been unable to sleep. All he wished he could do was apologize to Y/n but the girl refused to see him. Unfortunately, he understood why.

“Why should I? It doesn’t change anything.” Steve stood up and slammed the table with his hand. “We killed her Tony.” Tony walked in front of Steve. “I didn’t do anything,” he sneered.

“Steve. Tony. We need to calm down,” Natasha said as she watched the two go at it. “Don’t act so mighty Natasha. I heard you bullied the girl too.” This comment caused Natasha’s jaw to harden. “Aww, did I hit a nerve?” Tony childishly asked. “Oh fuck off Tony. There you go again bringing other people down when you can hardly accept what you’ve done. YOU took away Y/n’s funds. She couldn’t even afford anything.”

“But you watched me do it, Rogers. You could have done something too yet you let it happen. So don’t patronize me. Nothing of what she said changes anything.” Tony quickly left the room as he felt himself explode in anger. This didn’t even surprise Steve anymore. He was tired of keeping the family together when it was clear now that it was meant to be apart.

“Here we are,” Wanda said as she dropped her bags in the living room. Looking at her surroundings, the flat was a decent size. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen, living room, and accommodations on the floor below them.

“So what do you-,” Y/n hadn’t responded to Wanda’s question as she zoomed past her and walked into her room. Softly closing the door shut, Wanda sighed at her reaction. It wasn’t a surprise but Wanda still couldn’t help but feel hurt by it all. “I guess I should start unpacking.”

It’s been a couple of weeks since Y/n and Wanda started to live together in the flat located in the small town of Edinburgh. While Wanda mainly kept the place tidy, Y/n remained in her room all the time unless it was to use the bathroom or to eat. The only time she would even dare to be close to Wanda was during dinner. If it was breakfast or lunch, Y/n would take what Wanda cooked for the day into her room.

But Wanda was stubborn. She always left Y/n little notes of her whereabouts anytime she left for an errand but a small compliment would always be at the end of it. Sometimes she would knock on Y/n’s door and ask if she would want to watch a movie with her. Obviously, Y/n never answered but Wanda continued to ask. Other times, Wanda would think of Y/n’s favorite foods and would cook them for dinner that night. And while Y/n had never said it out loud, the empty plate she left in front of her always made Wanda swell with joy.

However, tonight was going to be different. Usually, the two would sit in silence as Wanda would have the tv playing in the background but Wanda needed to hear Y/n’s voice. Not only that, but she was hoping that the truth would come out as well.

Trying to figure out a way to break the silence, it was oddly Y/n that had done it first. “Why don’t you hate me?” At first, Wanda was shocked that Y/n had actually spoken, but the girl regain her composure and said, “Why would I hate you? You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Y/n was silent for a moment until she said, “But I killed your brother.”

Chapter 10

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[aelingalathyniusrailme]

If you find me on the edge, we’ll jump together.

Gwynriel Pirate au pt 6 

this chapters a little long and fluffy but I really like it and I finally gave it a name

Here are the other parts if you’re interested :) pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5

what had azriel’s life become? In the past 24 hours his ship became infested with dangerous females, he had given up his most prized possession, and he was on his way to find a being that still haunted his nightmares. 

Berdara was a fine persuader but money was even better. Too bad they seemed to come in tandem. The captain of the shadowsinger needed this hall and there was no way in hell he was loosing a dime to the cutthroat redhead he now lived with. 

He stole a glance toward her to find her staring intently at the map. Her mind, her calculating, cold, ruthless mind at work. Her eyes shot up to his and she gave him a smirk, flashing the whites of her teeth and winked. he knew others would see a friendly smile but all he saw were fangs

Infuriating as she might be, she had not said one word, in the past few hours about his meltdown or the other thing he had yet to let himself dwindle over. He was caught between appreciation and the feeling that he wasn’t worth a second thought to her. 

“so where will my crew and I be sleeping” her voice was light but there was a slight edge. 

“The room next to mine.” He grit his teeth in preparation for the comment that was sure to follow that statement. “now you’re going to say something crude” 

at the same time gwyneth said with a wink, “want to keep me close, captain? all you have to do is ask?”

The slight shock on her face elicited pure joy from azriel. While hidden, a practiced eye saw the way her mouth slightly parted and her eyes flare. It was his turn to smirk as he responded, “Your majesty is becoming quite predictable.”  

gwyn smiled her psychotic smile and stepped closer to him. too close. “wouldn’t want that,” she whispered into his hear as if she was telling him a secret. Her voice wrapped it’s claws around his throat and squeezed, pulling him to her. 

Azriel coughed “You’re all going to have to share a room.”

“it’s quite alright, my crew and I have shared beds before.” There was a suggestive glint in her eyes. and blood rushed to his face faster than this girl could threaten and flirt in the same breath. 

“I don’t believe I said anything about sharing beds.” 

“Oh I know, but sometimes, shadowsinger, we must learn the difference between necessity and pleasure.” Azriel’s pupils dilated and his skin felt tight and hot.

Gwyn leaned in once again and teased, whispering, “Predictability is worth seeing you blush like a school girl.” She threw her fiery hair over her shoulder and walked away leaving him gaping like an idiot. 

cassian and rhys walked out from his room and rhys said with a chuckle “she’s something alright.”

cassian looked at him with mock sincerity “promise me I’ll be the bridesmaid at your wedding”

“and will it be a double with you and that second of hers?”

He held his hands to his chest and tilted his head, “only in my dreams”

Rhys swung his arm around him laughing, “You’re pathetic.” 

————————————————————————

5 days passed and every one of them was torturous. His crew at their wits end with hers. Apparently the two blondes were causing quite a bit of trouble. It had seemed one had wiped the floor with his entire crew when it came to the cards while the other was a bit of a thief, a petty thief. 

His sharpshooter had made the mistake of whistling at Emerie, she tossed him into the ocean without so much as batting an eye. Thankfully they got him out in time and rest assured there were no more comments or touching. 

He hadn’t seen Berdara much as she had been holed up in her room barely leaving beyond the occasional meal. Though every time she did grace his presence, she was sure to leave him flustered beyond relief. What about this girl make him loose all of his composure, he wasn’t sure. But avoidance was a useful tool. 

Don’t think about it, don’t care azriel thought as he watched Cassian and Rhys spar on the deck of his ship. HIs two best fighters, facing off until suddenly rhys was knocked to the ground from behind. The culprit, the silver majesties second, Nesta. 

There was a determined look in her eyes, cold ambition. 

Cassian laughed, unfazed. 

“my turn.” her voice was one of mock innocence, venom drenched in sugar.

“don’t be so eager sweatheart.” 

“Eager to knock your arrogant ass down a few pegs” 

“Ooh she’s feisty.” And with that Nesta attacked. She wasn’t graceful but she fought as if her life depended on it, a sure sign that at one point or another it did. She swerved and jabbed with a desperate urgency, one you could only learn on the streets. Cassian dodged and deflected, though he was working much harder than usual. It seemed he also had something to prove. 

Azriel turned, knowing this fight would not be over any time soon, to find Berdara walking right towards him. “Nesta will not loose this fight.” 

“funny, neither will cassian.” 

Gwyneth gave him a serious look. “She does not loose, she never has and she never will.” 

“hmm. It’s never too late to try new things.” 

gwyn rolled her eyes before a glint appeared in them. “care for a rematch?” 

“fists or swords?” 

“Let’s spice it up, swords.”

“double or single?”

“A sword and a dagger.” 

“Surrender or mercy.” 

“Seeing you kneel to me will be sweet.” she paused. “Surrender.” 

“You’re on.”

“Pirates oath?”

“A gentleman always plays fair.” She unsheathed her sword and dagger holding one in each hand and smirked. “too bad I am no mere man.”  she lunged but azriel had been expecting that and side stepped pulling out his own sword and dagger. 

Where nesta had been brute force and aggression, Gwyneth was all grace and speed. She fought with the efficiency of someone who trained with the queens guard themselves. It was like fighting a tornado, she was fast like lightning and when she struck she struck hard. Every move was beautiful and deadly, just like her. 

————————————————————————

“We dock in 15 minutes.” Azriel called out to his crew. 

“What no, we need to keep going.” Gwyn replied.

“What we need is to restock supplies so we don’t starve to death before we’re richer than the queen herself.” 

she gave him a confused look, as if he was speaking a different language.

“We’ve been sailing non-stop for almost 2 weeks and we are out of supplies.”

gwyn mumbled something that sounded like “pathetic.” 

As soon as Azriel dropped the anchor his entire crew rushed off the shadowsinger, desperate to be away from the insane women. With of course the exception of Cassian for he was leaning against the rails of the ship bothering Nesta while she was pointedly ignoring him. 

“Hey, enough with the heart eyes we’ve got shit to do.” Azriel barked at Cassian who then frowned and sulked off the ship while nesta stared at him with her cold, blank expression. “You too sunshine. Let’s get moving.” 

“Order me to do something again and I will cut off your limbs one by one and feed you them for breakfast.” 

“I’m counting down the hours.” Azriel narrowly missed the dagger she threw at his head.

“Don’t call me sunshine.” and nesta walked off the ship, katanas at her hips glinting in the cold sun of the winter court. She looked right in her element. 

Before he called these women insane but that was far too gentle of a statement, the females that had found their way onto Berdara’s ship were absolutely, completely batshit crazy. 

Az was sure everyone was off his ship, everyone was accounted for and yet something was nagging at him. 

A flash of red caught his eye and he turned to see the captain of the silver majesty sitting on the railing, one misstep and she would fall. Though there was no doubt in his mind that she would survive the deadly drop. This women seem to defy all odds, why not death? Her smile was wild and just a little bit mad as the wind swept and curled through her hair pushing it back from her face. As if it wanted nothing more than to be flowing through her her fiery locks that mirrored her spirit. Gwyn closed her eyes, feeling the breeze, the sun lighting up the freckles that spread across her cheeks. She was

“Are you done gawking?” she said without even opening her eyes. 

horrible, she was absolutely unquestionably horrible. “If I may, what are you doing majesty?” 

She turned toward him, in the sun the blue of her iris’s had a twinge of green as if she was born for the sea. “I am simply reminding myself why I left.” Her eyes gazed hungrily over the vast sea as though she saw a challenge, one she had to conquer. “who could resist all this?”

It was unlike her to offer such a raw statement with no ulterior motive and while it was entirely possible she did have one, Azriel believed her. Azriel believed her because he shared the exact feeling. The longing for freedom, the found solstice in constant change and motion, and the occasional guilt for leaving that ultimately fades because it will never not be worth it. 

“I pity them.” 

“Fools.”

“Utterly.” She offered no more as she hopped down from the railing. 

They walked in comfortable silence as they both took in the beauty of the winter court. It was all ice and snow with a slight aura of loneliness. 

Together the two captains arrived at the inn. It was cozy and warm and was placed separately from the rest of the town. His eyes shifted and he saw what had to have been the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. It was a bar. Thank fucking goodness. Azriel knew without a doubt that they all desperately needed some liquor. 

In the bar he immediately found both their combined crew. A crowd of men and women had surrounded Rhys, hanging on every word he said while he soaked it up flirting to his hearts content. Azriel was going to have to give him a limit on the number of people he could fuck at once, this was getting ridiculous. Next he found Cassian, Tarquin and Viviane doing shots at the bar. But he noticed every time his glance shifted to a certain girl in the corner of the room. Nesta was in a booth with Emerie sipping whiskey, talking in low voices. Cressedia and Drakon were in a heated drinking game and-

Azriel knocked into a body he immediately recognized as Lucien and he held out his hand at once glaring. 

“Hey captain.” He said cheerfully. 

“empty now.”

The kid dumped a pile of jewels, wallets, and id’s in his hand. 

Azriel smirked approvingly “get me a ruby, an Id of a man who could pass for the high lord of the winter court, and 500 more dollars.” Lucien nodded greedily and ran along. It had been a game between the two of them for Azriel to give him outlandish challenges to sharpen his skill as a thief. 

But before Lucien could leave the bar every lamp extinguished and the bar turned quiet. 

Strangers gasped and knives were drawn. 

Moments later the lights reappeared and once his eyes readjusted he saw a women holding two daggers to the throats of Tarquin and Viviane. They struggled against her. But she just laughed and scolded. “No no no. shhhh” Before she looked up again. 

“We need to have a chat.” every word was clipped and short. “Put your weapons away and these two might get to live to see another day.” It was an order, and a threat. Azriel didn’t take kindly to threats. 

Gwyn looked to the 3 remaining who followed her and nodded at them to listen. He nodded to his own crew. 

Nesta sneered but dropped her katanas to the ground. She opened her mouth to speak but Rhys beat her to it, pushing away the women he was flirting with as he drawled to the women in front of them. 

“It’s been a long time Feyre, darling.”

tag list: @imsointobooks @meher-sumedha @himadrij @gwynrielsupremacy @ipsa-est-lux-plenae @flora-shadowshine @allthebooksunderthemoon @valkygwyn @bookish-isha @lattristantketchup

[capricornus-rex]

Someone Left to Save (2)

Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by Anon | Prompt in Chapter 1 link

Summary: The Mantis crew arrives to the capital of Ulfin, in the planet of Pevera, under siege. They meet the local rebel cell spearheaded by the former Republic admiral, Jax Beneb, who seeks to destroy the Empire’s occupation that was aggressively imposed upon while exploiting the planet of its natural resources. A plan is devised to destroy the Imperial’s main base of operations—as well as their influence—in the planet; however, it was a do-or-die mission that you and Cal had gotten yourselves caught in.

A/N: Sorry it took so long! I kinda enjoyed my weekend a bit too much that I must have overstayed by break 😅 it’s always a busy work week for me so I allowed myself to relax. I’ll try to pick up the pace from here on out though! ☺ And I can see this fic has gotten a few of y’all’s attention >;3

Tags: Force-Sensitive! Reader, Inquisitor! Reader, Jedi! Reader, Fake Death, Jedi turned Inquisitor, Seduction to the Dark Side, Turn to the Dark Side, The Dark Side of the Force, Aftermath of Torture, Torture, Psychological Torture, Redemption Arc! Reader, Possible Redemption, Premonitions

TW: Graphic depictions of violence, physical & psychological torture

Also in AO3

Previous: Part 1 | Next: Part 3 | Masterlist

2 of ?

THE DAY OF THE COUNTERATTACK

The operation proceeded as planned.

All of you have been preparing for this since the fall of dusk that night.

You had help in hitching a ride from the temple ruins in the jungle to Ulfin. Some rebels drove landspeeders, but only until you got to the city walls that shielded it from the wilderness. Cal caught you by the arm before you regrouped with the detonations team.

“Hey, see you later?”

You smirked, “Yeah, like always.”

Despite your recurring nightmares and anxiety, Cal aided in keeping those inhibitions at bay and encouraged you enough that everything will go as planned. It was worth pondering why his worries were transferred to you ever since you had those nightmares—but you swore to yourself that it wouldn’t happen, you will not allow it.

You and your group were equipped with live trackers—your signatures will appear as blips to the assault division’s, including Cal’s, radars. The redhead constantly stared at your signature marked with your name’s initial, it moved at a natural pace on the radar but something troubled him as they crept through the fortress like scrap rats.

“They’re close to the reactor chamber,” Cal reported to his team.

“Good, they should be going down there and sticking those claymores in a matter of minutes,”

“Come on, [Y/N]…” Cal mumbled through the grit of his teeth.

The destination was the base—the location of the main reactor chamber—and you were carrying your share of the explosives. The leader made it transparently clear of who goes where and which goes to whom. You had to navigate your way through a metal maze—and while doing so, you’re memorizing your path in which will also be your way out—until you found the enormous pillar brimming with electricity and energy.

Your eyes were filled with the light of the energy at the very base of the reactor. You could only imagine just how catastrophic the explosion will be and how far the blast radius can reach. You could’ve sworn you felt your heart drop to your stomach upon the sight of the reactor pillar.

“Don’t be intimidated, little spark! Once you paste those bad boys up, this reactor will pale in comparison to their punch!”

“It’s not that…” you mutter, supposedly to the boisterous female partisan, but you kept it to yourself as she would not comprehend what you’re sensing.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this…” You thought to yourself, and it’s got something to do with the plan.

The rest of the fighters approached their designated pillars, producing the explosives from their packs and then adhering them to the metal surface. Meanwhile, the adult rebel noticed you hesitating.

“Well, come on, kid, we don’t have all day!” the older lady coaxed.

Eventually, you took your own claymore and attached it on the pillar’s base. You set off the timer for 30 minutes, enough for everyone to get out of the chamber safely and regroup with the ones in the surface. In the middle of your configuration, the weird feeling you detected became stronger—only you had their senses spiked. Your abrupt turn caught the woman’s attention, she shot you a quizzical look, your eyes surveyed the entire reactor chamber… until you spotted a shadow perched on the beam above her head.

“Kid, are you okay?”

“LOOK OUT!!” you screeched but it was too late.

The shadow had made its presence known—the watcher descended from the high beam with ease and drove his crimson saber straight into your companion’s spine, killing her instantly.

“NO!!!”

All of your other companions were on high alert as soon as they heard your first cry. They set their blasters to kill, all barrels pointing at the enemy fully clad in jet black armor. Without a doubt, this was an Inquisitor—everything about him was a dead giveaway from the helmet down to the saber. You brandished your own while the rebels surrounded the Inquisitor, inept to comprehend the sheer power of one individual.

“Well, hello,” the Inquisitor cooed in a singsong manner, tilting his head as he spoke. It appeared that he had his eye on you, for you were the only one standing out amongst these rebels.

“You’ll pay for what you did!” you growled.

“Oh, this?” he nudged the body with his boot. “Sorry, but we all have our accidents once in a while, eh?”

You found his remark revolting. Not once, not even in a single inch, did you remove your eyes from him. From what you can tell, you sensed that he is elusive—he’s made a good example of that before he made your fellow rebel a landing cushion for himself and the other end of his lightsaber.

“You’re quite young for a Jedi, a youngling during the Purge no doubt,”

“What do you know about me?”

A throaty chuckle was your reply; he positioned himself in a stance, as well as his saber, in the offensive.

“Perhaps, you could show me,” invited the Inquisitor.

It was he who made the first move. He cut through the wind like a dart, swift and sure, until you broke his lunge with a block. You prepared yourself for impact, but you didn’t expect it to be this heavy! You’ve found yourself caught in a frenzied dance of blades, waving and swinging your saber at the Inquisitor who’s keenly refusing you a chance of a jab at all.

This new enemy in the lines, the shadowy Second Brother, was a blade in the dark.

You’ve got to hand it to him—he is very stealthy and acrobatic, he almost makes it impossible to catch up to him. Not even the sharpshooter of your team can land a mark, let alone graze his armor, as the Second Brother leaps from one parapet to a platform and so on.

Spinning in place as you followed his movements was an old tactic to tire you down, that much you’re certain, and he was impressed that you read through his plan. He didn’t linger from his high ground too long; for someone of a heavy stock, he appeared and moved as light as a feather while he’s perched on the safety banister of the platform. Holding out his dual-edged saber in one hand, he tucked his knees and sprang off from his perch, darting through the wind again towards you.

You prepared yourself again for another heavy landing. Little by little, you determine his attack pattern: he prefers confusing his enemies visually by leaping from one surface to another—like a Kowakian monkey-lizard—and when he’s in an optimum position, he’ll buckle for a heavy, dart-like attack as he bolts through the air, propelled by the take-off caused by the balls of his feet.

“You’re a smart one, aren’t you?” his voice rung muffled through his helmet as he strains his weight against yours, making you some sort of anchor.

Compared to him, you’re half his size and strength, but you didn’t let that intimidate you. You destroyed his stance by kicking him in the knee, straightening his leg from its tucked position, and follow it up with another foot to the stomach. The pain was tolerable, nonetheless, he wordlessly commended your courage and boldness.

“A thorny one, too!” he cackled.

You turned to the rebels.

This fight was obviously a trap for you and the rebels to lose time. Despite the compromise, you urged everyone that the plan must pull through.

“Switch on the timers now!” you ordered for everyone as you held fast against the Inquisitor.

As soon as you gave the order, one of the rebels sprinted towards his reactor, stretched out a hand as he ran so his fingers could at least touch the button…

Until the Inquisitor extended his arm, aimed at the scampering rebel, and essentially seized the man’s capability to move—leaving his fingertip just a mere inch away from the button to start the countdown.

“Ah-ah-ah!” the Inquisitor chirped in a mocking, singsong tune. “You wouldn’t wanna ruin the fun, now would you?”

Using the Force, you break off his connection with the man and drew his attention to you. Apparently so, ruining his own sick definition of fun is something one must not do—not even a Jedi.

You fixated your eyes on him, you watch him slowly crane his head from the rebel to you—obviously vexed by your interruption—and so he lowered his arm, subsequently releasing the rebel. His throaty growl prevailed the low-pitched machine hum of the reactors.

Bemused at you, he snarls, “Thorny one, indeed.”

“Careful not to prick yourself then!”

The Second Brother liked your snark. The two of you resumed the whirlwind of blades as the rebels took advantage of the preoccupied Inquisitor and made a run for the explosives already glued to the pillars.

“[Y/N], COME ON!” another rebel vigorously swung his arm in the air, repeating a beckoning gesture at you as he let the rest of the partisans scale the ladders and make their escape.

“JUST GO, I’LL FOLLOW!!” you cry while struggling in the block against the Second Brother.

“Are you sure about that!?” he shifts more of his weight against you, in an attempt to make you fumble and finally give him a window to attack.

The rebels make their way out of the reactor chamber with less than thirty minutes ticking behind them. Engaging the Second Brother has cost you ten minutes already. A shortcut was made, courtesy of the bombardment caused by the skirmish on the ground. They pass through the obliterated hallway with a hole in the wall, a few Stormtroopers’ bodies strewn across the floor, and a row of busted turrets.

Back on the ground, Cal is the singular crutch that gave the rebels the advantage they so desperately want and need. This is a large playing field, and so he had the equal amount of room to practice, experiment, enhance, or improve. Cal was confident as he deals more hits in the vanguard along with the rest of the rebels in the front; eventually, he had to fall back from the bulk of the action as he felt something wrong.

“Bee-boop?”

“I’m not hurt, BD… I sensed something… quite bad,” Cal panted, clutching his chest as he struggled to calm his breathing.

He shook it off and fished out his compact radar from his pocket. His eyes followed a cluster of red blips moving in the same direction—which is south in his perspective—though, he spotted your blip which remained in the reactor chamber. He stared at the red dot, your red dot, pondering why it has remained in the same location or only moving in what ought to be just paces in real life. He clenched his teeth hard enough for this molars to grind against each other. He puts away the radar and returns to battle.

Where are you, [Y/N]? What are you still doing there?! He thought to himself as he cuts down the trio of Stormtroopers aiming at him.

Meanwhile, you’re still busy with the Second Brother; there seems to be no end to his energy—still acrobatic and swift as the first time he made himself known. Another clash and long intertwine of your blades, he finally saw through you—in your eyes, lit by the contradicting colors of your weapons—and discovered the determination slowly transmogrifying into desperation.

“Ahh,” he purred, and then chuckled. “Now I see what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

“You know nothing, you treacherous oaf! Nor will you ever!”

“There it is!” he voluntarily withdrew from the clash of blades, evading your overhead strike, and gestures with his arms thrown open to the sides as if he had an epiphany.

He pointed the end of his saber to you.

“There’s that darkness, you’ve buried it so deep within you… but now it has emerged,” he tauned.

“Keep quiet!”

Out of frustration, you charged and lunged at him. A reckless move in the heat of the moment.

The Inquisitor had no problem whatsoever in deflecting you; he’s confident that he has attained the upper hand of this duel—now that he’s spotted a weakness in you that you’ve unintentionally let out.

This collision of blades was the most intense than the ones that came before it. You could almost see his sinister grin through the plate of his mask as your sabers—a dramatic contrast of color and of virtue—illuminate your faces.

“Let me…” he hissed and slowly brought his one hand from his hilt to your forehead. “Shine a light in that darkness.”

[mermaidswrite]

Title: General Beelzebub

Promp: Dirty Angel

Summary:

Beelzebub recommended mud run as a way of team building for the angels. The demons went to watch and basically adopted Aziraphale as their new agent in training.

----

Meeting with the opposition is always a dreadful task but they must always endure. Dagon has everything set up and cleared so it shouldn't have been a long meeting, however with how messy and disorganized Heaven is despite their advanced technologies, the meeting had extended to dinner time when they started at lunch.

"So what exactly is it you do with your resources?" Beelzebub asked after finishing off another round of cake while Uriel tries to find the matching table for cross data analysis. "Crowley gave us three computers ten years ago which he updates every six months and we are still keeping better files than you?" Then they take a slug of their martini.

"I meant all disrespect, that says a lot given that we print it on greasy papers." Dagon added.

"Would you fucking shut up!" Uriel snaps but an immediate regret appearing on her face.

"My Lord, this is a waste of time." Dagon turns to Beelzebub who just ordered their third glass of chocolate milkshake.

"Fine. All of you may go back down. Leave all the papers here." Beelzebub sighs. The angels look like they're spread all over the place, but with the failed apocalypse, hell is too, they just happen to be more efficient.

As soon as everyone is back to hell Beelzebub snaps the paperwork on her own office desk, including the heavenly ones. "Get up, we're going somewhere." They ordered the four bureaucrats who thankfully did without bitching out. "All of you are familiar with running, right?" They ask making a lollipop appear on their hands. The angels nodded, confusion now painted on their faces. "Good. Change into your running clothes then." The archangels did in a snap and their choice making Beelzebub snort. "Should've gone with darker ones."

As soon as everyone is on their sports clothing, Beelzebub snaps them to California where they had their recent team building. A rather successful one. "Listen up, pea brains!" The Lord of Hell begins and everyone automatically lined up in position. "The objective of the game is simple. There are five stations and each station you have to complete an obstacle. The first one to finish the race wins!"

"Question," Michael raised her hand which is met by an impatient look from Beelzebub.

"I didn't you could ask any question, but go ahead. Let's hear it." The Prince of Hell answers.

"Is there any track that is less muddy?"

"No. Anymore senseless questions?"

"What's the prize?" Gabriel asked, pouting like an overgrown child.

Beelzebub leaned dangerously close to him before pulling his torso down from the neck to have him face to face with them before whispering, "Well, Gabe. You just gotta win to find out, don't you?" To which the archangel dumbly nods.

"Well I hope the prize depends on the winner." Sandalphon whispers to the other two archangels.

Meanwhile in Hell…

“Crowley, what exactly are we doing here?” Aziraphale asks as he follows the redhead through one of the corridors of hell.

“Lord Beelzebub posted this,” Crowley hands his phone to the angel. “Apparently, your previous boss and the gang pissed them off, so they’re making the wank wings run in the mud.”

“Well that’s exciting.” Aziraphale says, trying to contain his glee but failing miserably. “We should have a betting pool.” The angel suggested.

Crowley hums in response and immediately asked the demons in the watching room who would like to participate. Everyone wanted to and Aziraphale is even surprised when he saw the other princes of hell and even Satan himself in the room. The high ranking demons regarded him with a mere nod save for Lord Asmodeus who actually sat on his lap, handing him a glass of wine.

Everyone is watching Beelzebub give them instructions on how to play the game when Hastur called out to Aziraphale from the other side of the room.

“Aziraphale! Can you give us more to work with here?” Hastur says pointing at the flashing number at one of the screens corresponding to an archangel.

“Well, that would jeopardize my bet, wouldn’t it?” Aziraphale answered which earned a rather amused laughed from Satan.

“Someone give that guy a promotion!” Satan gleefully pointed at Aziraphale.

“My Lord, he doesn’t even go here.” Leviathan answers.

“Then make him a member then.” Satan answers, still smiling amusedly.

“I didn’t know hell has a membership.” Aziraphale turned to Crowley, amused at the apparent displeasure of the other princes of hell. Save for Asmodeus who winked at him after Satan’s remark on his position.

Crowley chuckles and wraps his arm around Aziraphale while keeping a challenging eye on Asmodeus. Ever since the rise of selfie through Crowley’s doing─one of the things he actually did, Lord Asmodeus had been on him to the point of almost crying a war on Beelzebub which was hilarious and rather disturbing having received a commendation just because he pissed off another prince.

Mud Run Track, California…

“No miracles, no heavenly interventions. I want a human energy based race.” The Lord of Hell reminded, flashing the red of their eyes to get the message across, and suddenly they all know why they’re a well respected leader in Hell. “Angels on three!” Beelzebub yelled using the megaphone they acquired after the third senseless question, just to yell on the archangels’ faces.

“Three!” They miracle themselves to a viewing deck for one above the starting line.

“Two!” One of their thrones and a few screen showing the track appeared on the podium with them.

“One!” And the angels started to run.

Station 1: Footloose

The angels are facing the one thing that they can’t do even with miracles.

“Dance, angels, dance!” They heard Beelzebub and Gabriel took the first stem into the laid tire on the mud and immediately regretted as he started sinking. The archangel moved as fast as he can to get to the other side and he was immediately followed by Michael, then Uriel. Sandalphon refuses to go through the tires which Beelzebub did not tolerate and they made it known by starting a hellfire that proved to be a good motivation for the said archangel to go through the obstacle.

The next thing on the obstacle is the four horizontal beams which they assume they have to walk through. Fearing another motivation from Beelzebub, the four archangels started mounting the beam.

Michael is the first one to successfully mount but slipped on her third step making her land on the puddle of mud face first. Still, with the fear of the wrathful demon, she got up to try again.

The next to successfully mount is Uriel who learned that it is better to walk slow and steady rather than hurry. After all, they can’t miracle themselves clean if they get messy. Much like Michael now. Gabriel, unbelievable even to Beelzebub got through the beam without slipping.

Station 2: Swing, drop, and roll

“Oh come on!!” Gabriel grumbles upon seeing the course and faced Beelzebub with an are-you-kidding-me look.

“Swing archangel fucking Gabriel.” Beelzebub says with an amused tone through the megaphone, their viewing deck moved closer to the next obstacle.

Meanwhile in Hell…

On one of the TV screens a demon appeared looking like a sports anchor correspondent with Gabriel’s picture with his famous fake smile. “In the latest update, Archangel Gabriel currently on the lead, but maybe not soon with Archangel Uriel currently leading on the second obstacle.”

“Hey, Angel! Soneillon, nice to meet you” A demon flops himself down next to Aziraphale on the couch.

“Hello,” The only angel in hell greets. “Aziraphale, nice to meet you too.” Aziraphale offers his hand for a handshake but the demon took it and moved the hand to kiss the back of it.

“Who did you bet on?” Soneillon asked, handing Aziraphale a plate of good looking crepes. “I hope you’d like these, I had a legion buy these from Paris.”

“Fuck off, Soneillon.” Crowley warns, taking his sunglasses to look directly at the other demon.

“Possessive little shit.” Soneillon remarks with an amused smile, then leaves with Aziraphale still holding the plate of crepes.

As soon as the demon left, Aziraphale looked at Crowley, smiling softly as he always does when he knows that Crowley is going out of his way for him. “Thank you, my dear.” Aziraphale offers him one of the crepes which Crowley softly declines and just kisses the angel on his temple, eyeing any other demons around them.

Satan’s melodic laugh fills in the room as the camera pans out to Gabriel taking his shirt off entirely, obvious anger at Michael for throwing mud at him evident on his face.

“That is a lot of vain for an angel.” Mammon commented, probably smelling that off Gabriel from thousands of miles after they saw the archangel smirk when he saw the hunger on Beelzebub’s eyes upon seeing his naked, sweat and dirt covered torso.

“Well, Gabriel had always been proud of his corporation.” Aziraphale comments and grimace as Gabriel drops on the muddy and probably rocky ground to get under the bard wires to catch up with Michael. “He calls it a temple.”

“Well, no wonder Ba’al fancies him.” Satan comments which surprises the other demons arounds. “Don’t they, Crowley?”

“Listen, My King. No offense but I am more afraid of Lord Beelzebub, I’d rather not say anything,” Crowley looks at Satan smiling mischievously, “especially with a bastard of an archangel on their lap.”

“Fuck this, Sandalphon. I’m gonna lose my money!” Belphegor groaned when the camera showed the said archangel getting caught on a barbwire while the other three are now rolling down a wooden ramp to a puddle on Beelzebub’s command. “You stole it from the American government. Shut up!” Leviathan answered.

“Alright, pea brains! Ten minutes break then we continue.” Beelzebub announced through the megaphone. As soon as they’re gone and back in hell, all the archangels dropped dead on the wooden platform on the side of the track, still muddy and sweaty.

Beelzebub appeared by the snack table and a legion immediately started putting sweets on a plate for them. As soon as the plate is filled, the prince takes a sit on their throne just on Satan’s right side with the legion on his knees, holding the plate towards Beelzebub.

“Have you ordered my baby brother on his knees like that, Ba’al?” Satan leaned down near them as they are leaning back, small body on a big throne.

“I don’t have to order him,” The prince answers and they feel the other princes’ attention on them now. “He already knows his place when he’s with me.” Beelzebub smiles wickedly, flashing their teeth, fangs peeking out. Satan felt the satisfaction coursing through the prince upon seeing his reaction and he sat back on his own throne.

“Well, ten minutes is up.” Beelzebub announced and snap themselves back to the mud run track.

Mud Run Track, California…

Station 3: The Great Wall

“Alright, little birdies listen up!” And so the archangels lined up like soldiers again. “Uriel is on the lead, followed by Gabriel,” The prince eyed him. “Then Michael and lastly, Sandalphon.” Beelzebub looks at the last angel before saying, “Belphegor sends his regards.” Four words that made the angel swallow hard. “Three walls, climb using the stones on the first one then jump down, I’ll allow a quick miracle on that one. Just one. Next, the wall with the ropes, and lastly leap wall.”

With a blow of their whistle, Beelzebub watches the angels leap and drop with Gabriel on the lead and surprisingly, Sandalphon on his tail. Uriel slipped after jumping down from the first wall that got the other three angels laughing. Pissed off and irritated, Uriel threw a mud ball at Michael, Gabriel, and lastly Sandlphon.

“That was uncalled for!” Michael protested.

“Your face is uncalled for!” Uriel managed to answer as she dodged another hit from Sandalphon.

Meanwhile, Beelzebub is watching Gabriel sneakily continue on with the course, using his one miracle ticket to cloak his actions so the other three won’t notice him. This earned a rather amused and genuine joy from the prince of hell, righteous and holy messenger of God, Archangel fucking Gabriel being competitive enough to sneak around his buddies.

Meanwhile in Hell…

Aziraphale is watching the current situation with a satisfied smile as Gabriel currently takes the lead after having a boost from the situation at the third course. “Come on, Gabriel.” He whispers but it was loud enough for Crowley to hear it.

“So you bet on him.” The demon asked, genuinely surprise though he also did.

“Of course I did,” Aziraphale stated as a matter of factly. “Except for The Almighty, there are only three things Gabriel loves the most; fashion, himself, and Lord Beelzebub.” He says, taking a sip of the wine Satan had handed him, well had someone deliver it to him. “Two of the things on the list is there.” He continues after, pointing on the screen showing Gabriel’s victory.

All the demons watching groaned save for Satan himself who actually cheered along the lines of “YES! I TAUGHT THAT FUCKER WELL!”

Crowley groans himself after losing and looks at the smug face of Aziraphale. “Bastard.” He says with a soft smile on his face. “YOU AND ME, ANGEL!” Crowley hears Satan immediately pulls Aziraphale closer which made the devil chuckle and takes Aziraphale from Crowley to engage the angel in a carefree waltz which actually made Aziraphale laugh melodiously. “There you go, your grace.” Satan hands the angel's share and kisses the back of his hand with a bow before leaving the room.

“I would have thought he’d bet for Michael.” Crowley remarks and kisses Aziraphale square on the lips. “Let’s go home, angel.”

California…

“Well, well, well,” Beelzebub says, entering the shower cubicle with Gabriel currently lathered up. “Never would have thought you’d win.” The prince says running their hands on the angel’s torso.

“All for you, Ba’al.” Gabriel answers.

“You made Satan and the Principality Aziraphale very rich today.” Beelzebub says, still massaging him and chuckled after seeing a confused expression from the archangel. “Clean up well and I’ll give you your prize.” With that, the prince of hell left, going back to their fancy hotel to wait for the archangel.

[pinkandgreenarepurpleandyellow]

RetsuxDoyle? You did really good with Doysumi. But there's no RetsuxDoyle :/

(pre-fic note: I’m so sorry this took so long to write, i got this ask at 9 pm yesterday, wrote for an hour, and spent like 2 hours writing this before family dragged me to stuff, but it’s done now thank you again for asking!)

*cracks knuckles* A’ight, let’s get to it

Warnings for: gore mention, mentions of torture, mention of electrocution, violence mentions, swearing i think, mentions of alcohol and one mention of drugs

On with the show!

-----

The first time they see each other is not, as Retsu thinks, in the arena. The first time they met had actually been 10 years ago, an event that Retsu remembered as moronic, and what Doyle remembered as an amusing day in a crappy week.

-----

The second time is the arena, and both men are silently struck by the attractiveness of the other, with only one of them recognizing the other from their first meeting.

----

The third time they meet, it’s in the elevator of a shopping mall, as both walk home for the day. Retsu’s shocked by both the fact that he ran into the assassin, and that Doyle invited him for a drink. That entire night catalogs in Retsu’s head as insane, the Scot registering in his head as both a nuisance and a warrior with a secret heart of gold.

Doyle really doesn’t know when or how it started, but he slowly found himself more and more interested in Retsu. The man’s honor, his creative use of weapons, his voice and the way he acts both when angry and happy all jumped onto the feeling of attraction, amplifying it tenfold. (1)

Retsu, on the other hand, was significantly more shocked by his interest in the redhead, denying it for a good three months, even going back to Hong Kong for a week to try and clear his head.

(he’d die before admitting this to the other students of the temple, but they all figured it out.) (2)

-----

It’s while Doyle’s in Russia, sniping a corrupt politician and busting up a mafia or two, that he stops by for a drink with one of his closest friends, one of the only people who he really trusts.

“So, to recap; You broke out of prison, flew to Japan, found ‘Egg’, got the shit beaten out of you by him, guarded his unconscious body for the night, got a free stay in the Shinshinkai hospital, joined the ‘I blew up a Shinshinkai dojo’ club with me and Phillis, admitted defeat to the golden boy of Karate, and now you’re living with golden boy and trying to ask out Egg? Did I get all of that right?” Atchison’s voice is laced with both amusement and venom, the latter a result of the cyanide capsules she stored under tongue at all times.

He nods, and both of them down their shots before signaling the bartender for another six for each of them.

“Yeah. God, I needed a drink today.”

“That bad, huh?”

“You have no idea,” he leans forward, knocking back two of the shots before continuing. “I haven't slept in almost four days, i’ve been shot sixty times, stabbed twelve times, maced three times, and to top it all off, a merc actually tried to throw a beehive at me! Where did she even get a beehive?”

Atchison chuckles, and smoothly swipes a bottle of wine from the passing-by bartender. “First of all, here,” she hands him the bottle and Doyle downs half of it in one go, “and second of all, forget the beehive, did you ask Egg out yet?”

“Working on it. Little busy with the whole career and all.”

“What’s he look like now? It’s been ten years after all.”

“Well he has hair now. And his eyebrows are even weirder than before. He’s actually kinda hot now.”

“So what are you waiting for? Go get ‘im, tiger.” And they both finish off the last of the alcohol between them, and leave without paying. They always do this when they run into each other, get a drink, talk shit about life, compare notes on the unusual people they’ve run into, but this is the first time either one has seen him a second time.

-----

Kissing Doyle feels a little like a great sparring session; it tingles and Retsu feels the redhead smile a little into the kiss. When they break apart, it’s cause of the hoots and hollers coming from the other side of the window.

“Wanna go somewhere a little quieter?” Doyle asks him, still making that cute expression between a smile and a smirk, holding his hand and pulling him up that way. Retsu smiles wide and strides out, yanking Doyle behind him.

-----

It’s been almost nine months now, and Doyle can still fluster his boyfriend with nothing more than a throwaway comment about how hot he is. He loves it, he loves the way Retsu always looks thrown, even if only for a second. Grabbing Retsu’s hand in public also seems to do the trick. Doyle would be lying if he didn’t also add that seeing Retsu blush made his heart jump a little, even now.

-----

Retsu knows that Doyle used to be an assassin, but it isn’t until now that the consequences of this strike him. (3) He puts the pieces together about a year after they start dating, when he’s woken up by arguing voices at 2 a.m. and Doyle is nowhere to be found, even though they both had gone to bed at the same time this evening. So Retsu follows the voices, all the way up to the roof, but something stops him from going up, so he listens from the window Doyle always insists on keeping open.

“......trust.......die in the field soon........can’t keep him safe.....leave.” A stranger’s voice, too low to be a woman’s, and too speaking-English-with-that-accent to be Japanese.

“..............stay.......love him......perfect.” and there’s his boyfriend’s response, sounding as quiet and calm as ever, and Retsu can’t listen like this anymore, so he climbs out of the window instead, climbing out to cling onto the drainpipe and listen from there.

“Look, for the last time, you. can’t. stay. here. Doyle.” the stranger seems almost agitated now. “You know how the job is. You know quite how often it follows you home, what if it runs into your boyfriend first? I don’t know what the ever-loving hell you smoked to get a civilian significant other and bond with him, but you need to drop it before it gets you killed.”

“No,” comes the still calm reply, “I’m not leaving him. He’s not just a civilian, he’s an expert in Chinese Kenpo, so he can most definitely beat you, or anyone else who we know. You can do whatever you want to me, but try to hurt him and you’ll have a much bigger hell to pay.”

“So what, you really love him then?” The man sounds so disbelieving of this, and for the first time, Retsu is also worrying. Oh sure, he had considered the possibility of Doyle not loving him or rejecting him before, but now he was worried that Doyle would stop loving him, an entirely different thing to be concerned about.

“Yeah, I love him,” and this is the first time Doyle’s voice has had any emotion in it, “I love him more than anything. I’d die for him, I’d kill for him, I’d re-live everything we had ever gone through for him. Every single part of it, Lennox, and if you try to hurt him--”

He’s cut off by the stranger’s, “I’m not,” he pauses, “just last question, former friend to former friend. Is it nice, being, well being in love? Being free of...our lives?” And this 'Lennox’ is probably around Doyle’s age, but the way he asks makes him sound like a little kid, curious about a world he’s never seen.

Doyle huffs out a quiet half-laugh at this, “It’s amazing, man, you should try it sometime. Living freely feels like, well, freedom. It’s like “graduation night” was, only better, and everyday.” And at that someone jumps off the roof and Retsu sees a short shadow land on the roof across him before it jumps again. That must be Lennox.

Retsu climbs back in and lies down in bed, all while trying to process everything he just heard. Doyle loves him, turned his back on his career for him, was willing to fight a friend (and Retsu knows how rare friends are for assassins, as well as that the fight between two can be fatal for both parties). His processing is interrupted by the soft, almost inaudible steps of Doyle climbing in, walking over to where Retsu is trying to fake sleeping, and lying down next to him, and his hand is immediately grabbed by Doyle’s, as though his hand is an anchor in a storm. Doyle starts tapping on the floorboards quietly, as though he doesn’t want to wake Retsu up, but the taps tell another story, all in Morse code.

“Retsu, love, I know you aren't asleep right now...Or maybe you’re awake and just zoned out, but either way....I love you..I love you more than you can imagine, and I love that I can say it like this, cause last I checked, you don’t know Morse code...You’re amazing, darling, everything about you is perfect, and I- (Doyle’s fingers falter for half a moment before continuing) I’ll never leave you, not unless you want me to..I want you to be happy even more than I want you to be with me, you deserve that happiness, you deserve the world, my love...” and Retsu’s head is spinning, drowning out whatever else comes after because he’s still reeling from the fact that Doyle’s saying all of these things to him, because this is the first time either one has managed to say ‘I love you’ not ‘i love your hair/eyes/[habit]/[talent],’ just ‘i love you’. So Retsu acts on instinct uses his free hand to send his own message.

“I love you too Doyle, you are perfection, I love you, please stay, you’re a part of life I don’t want to lose, I love you, I love you, I lov-” Retsu’s cut off by the feeling of Doyle’s lips on his, and his hands roaming over Retsu’s arms, tapping out the same message over and over again, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, and why shouldn’t Retsu return the favor and tell him too? So when they stop kissing in favor of still having oxygen in their lungs, Retsu gently pins Doyle down, and says “I love you, Doyle, I love you-”

“Hector.”

“What?”

In the dark, Doyle’s eye seems to gleam.

“My first name’s Hector, Retsu. Just...just thought you should know.” Hector, huh? Not what he expected, but when had Doyle ever been what he’d expected. Retsu tries the name in his head, and yeah, it works.

“Wǒ ài nǐ” he says to the redhead, wondering if he will understand.

“Wǒ yě ài nǐ,” comes the quiet reply as Doyle-no no- Hector looks away, whether out of embarrassment or shyness, and Retsu feels a new surge of love for the man laying next to him.

Retsu feels the part of his body that Doyle’s lying on top of starting to go numb, so he gently nudges the assassin off of him, still not letting go of his hand. They fall asleep face-to-face, and sometime during the night they must have moved, or else Doyle wouldn't have been squished against Retsu’s chest.

---

It’s easier to say, after that. Neither is still good at saying ‘I love you’ in Japanese (4), so they work around.

“Te quiero” greets Retsu when he comes home to the smell of amazing food cooking.

“Je t’aime” and a bottle of Doyle’s favorite wine make his heart skip a beat on his birthday (5).

“Ana behibak!” reads the text that makes Retsu smile, and his students tease him for letting his boyfriend distract him one in a while, but he doesn't mind.

“Ya Tabe kahayu” is written at the end of the note Doyle reads as he finds out that Retsu had to go back to his temple again and will be gone for another three weeks.

“Ich liebe Dich?” Is all Doyle has to say when Retsu finds him in the jail cell of the temple after a student tells him they caught the intruder that had been hiding in their school for ten whole days. Retsu just laughs and goes to try and explain the situation to his master.

After a rough day in the field leaves him with half a dozen bullets in his everywhere, Doyle’s fairly sore, even after he pulls the bullets out, and Retsu picks up on this fairly quickly once he comes home. Retsu makes Doyle lie down and starts massaging his shoulders before moving to the neck and the back muscles. As the redhead slowly relaxes, he starts falling asleep. The last thing he hears before his eyes close fully is, “Ani ohev otcha.”

Retsu’s master dies in a typhoon, and Retsu flies to Hong Kong the moment he gets the news. As he gets ready to leave some offerings on the grave and say goodbye, he falls to his knees, feeling emptiness and overwhelming sorrow at the same time. A hand on his shoulder steadies him, pulls him up, and Retsu isn’t surprised that there’s Doyle, holding a small bouquet of flowers and a few incense sticks. They place the offerings by the stone, and Retsu takes another second to let his master’s soul go completely. As they walk, hand in hand, the whispered “Hum Tumhe Pyar Karte hae” doesn’t take away the hurt, but it makes him feel a little less alone and a little more alive.

Doyle’s in Indonesia when he gets hurt, and so he goes to one of the underground hospitals, staffed and visited by assassins, mercenaries, killers, and other scum of the world. While he’s there, another patient goes crazy and uses his taser on Doyle, nearly killing him. The part that makes this a bad situation is that Doyle hates electrocution with a passion, even before he was sentenced to the chair he had had enough experiences with it to scar him for good. When the two are found, the crazy man’s head is missing. And when Doyle comes home, it isn’t with a light heart or a happy head, it’s still trapped in the sensation of electricity racing up and down his spine. Retsu can sense the pain radiating from Doyle, the darkness around him almost personified, covering the younger man in a way it hadn’t even when they had met at the arena. Retsu doesn’t know what to do, and when Doyle just sits down, staring at the wall blankly, Retsu sits next to him, holding his hands, and staying there for almost another 36 hours until Doyle can finally talk, and hear, and think. The first thing he hears is, “Taim i’ ngra leat,” and Retsu doesn’t stop repeating it until Doyle’s ready to stand up, embrace him, and mutter back tiredly “Taim i’ ngra leat”.

Their third anniversary is the first one where both take an entire day off their jobs to spend the time with one another. A walk in the park, a wine sampling booth, a movie, and finally, just a nice simple dinner at home. They both say it at the same time. “Ti amo” and “Te amo” are almost identical, but different enough that they can both tell the other also said it, and both know the other person feels the same way about them.

-----

They cook dinner for one another, get one another gifts, play pranks, take walks, use their everyday lives to say ‘I love you’. They never lose track of how they say it either, writing down the words and phrases and their direct translations and countries of origin on the wall. (6)

-----

They’ve long lost track of how many times they’ve said ‘i love you’ to each other. They’ve been together for five years now, married less than a week ago, so they decide to visit every country whose language they used to say ‘i love you’. The journey takes almost a year, and leaves them both with many memories, most good and some odd. The oddest to both of them is when they run into Doyle’s oldest friend, Alisson Atchison.

“Hello, Doyle. Hello, Egg,” She greets them, hanging upside down from a lamp-post in Zambia, just a mile or so from the capital. Before Retsu can ask about the strange nickname, his husband speaks

“Atchison,” Doyle nods his head in recognition. “How have you been?”

“Good, and congrats on your marriage! The wedding was a blast, but i didn’t get a chance to give you a gift, so here ya go.”

A long, slender package and two small photographs are shoved in Retsu’s face, so he takes both, hands the package to Doyle, and looks at the photographs.

The first is six kids posing as a group. The redhead in the center looks an awful lot like a much younger version of his husband, and so he hands the photo to Doyle, who looks at it and practically tackles Atchison when he recognizes it.

“You found it!”

“Yep, found all the copies, all six of them. Two are ashes now, we’ve got two, and i gave both the lovebirds their photos back.”

“Did they also like that wedding gift?” Retsu interjects

“Uh-huh! Both just look at each other, compare one another to the photos and start bickering about which one is prettier. Both of them just keep saying ‘as your wife, I declare you prettier.’ ‘no you’re prettier, and as your wife, that’s my call!’ You know how those two are.”

Doyle and Atchison keep catching up, so Retsu looks at the second photograph. This one is a selfie, featuring two kid who he assumes are the teenage versions of the two assassins currently bickering about who owed who a shot from which country and why. But then he looks more closely at it, and notices that there’s a rope ladder the kids are holding onto, and the end of it is visibly off the ground. The background proves even more interesting when he sees a temple...........

looking suspiciously like the one he was studying at at the time........

with a bald, angry-looking man in the background.......

one that looks suspiciously like the younger version of him.......

and this looks an awful lot like a selfie taken by one of the other parties involved in the incident at the temple fifteen years ago............

And Retsu’s brain breaks entirely as he yells, “EXPLAIN THIS IMMEDIATELY!”

“Love, calm down, we’ll explain.”

“It all began fifteen years, with two assassins in training, a mission to a temple, a school in Scotland, and a dare............”

----

THE END!!!!

------

Notes:

(1) Assassins tended to be a tad insane like that, and four years of solitary followed by electrocution only added on the years and years of insanity-inducing torture. It wasn’t like being an assassin was a career he chose, really. It was more like that’s what he had been trained for since he was old enough to remember, and by the time he was old enough to have learned about right and wrong, it was a little late to consider himself on the right side. The fact that he had lived to be 25 while being active in the field was already somewhat of a shocker.

So Doyle’s attraction to Retsu, while somewhat surprising, was significantly not that big of a deal. He always did go for the odd ones; the sword-wielding glitter-covered vigilante he’d shared a kiss with on the roofs of Paris, the guy with a wicked smile and a wickeder way with knives in the Sahara Desert, the woman with needles woven into her braid and a career as a mercenary weren’t exactly conventional lovers or dates, so Retsu could have actually been considered fairly ordinary.

(2) (The fact that Doyle had sneaked into the temple by clinging onto the ceiling, held a 3-hour long conversation with the Great Kaioh on morality and values in combat, and then proceeded to argue with three of the students on whether or not murder was truly bad had somewhat helped their understanding of Retsu’s dilemma.)

(By the time Retsu’s finally come to terms with his feelings, everyone else already knows. Katsumi, Suedo, Katou, and even Doppo Orochi all ask him, with varying degrees of sensitivity, when he will finally ask out the assassin.)

(3)  He had noticed all of the things before, mind you, just didn’t realize how far down those went, putting them as minor habits. It was everything about Doyle, really, when he looked far enough. The sleeping and getting up at impossibly random times of the day, the forgetting to eat unless Retsu sat down with him and forced him to eat, the strange habit of almost never using the door to enter their apartment, the almost impeccable knowledge of languages he shouldn’t have been able to practice, not in his home country or in prison.

(4) The languages used are, as follows: Spanish, French, Arabic, Belarusian, German, Hebrew, Hindi, Irish, Italian, and Spanish again.

(5) Not that Doyle actually knew when that was, but he had managed to get a file or two from a hospital in Scotland, find out the rough week in October, and pick the day he thought was the most likely to be the day of his birth.

(6) The wall is added to for the rest of their lives. Both of them also keep their own notebooks with the same ‘‘i love you’’s written down, just in case.

[brazil-also-loves-rwby]

To move on 2 - RWBY FANFIC

Hello everyone. This is my fanfic Para Seguir Em Frente. I translated it because I received many visits from countries with English language. MY ENGLISH IS BAD AND YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED! Please comment. Originaly posted here https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13256016/1/To-move-on

The next day, it took a few hours of riding to get to the nearest train station. The trip on the semi-empty train until Mistral lasted another full day. May did not have much opportunity to look around the city, since they only had lunch in town before boarding an aircraft up to Vale. Only when the ship reached flight did she turn to Oscar to voice her thoughts.

- Oscar, it's been a long time since I visited the capital of the kingdom but... The city seem kinda...

- Empty? - May nodded and Oscar sighed, his shoulders falling as the world weighed on his back. - I did not overdo it when I said that thousands of people died an aunt. Everyone who could fight were summoned to fight grimms army and the cities were unprotected. Contrary to the common, the safest places during the battle were isolated villages, such as yours, where the news of the war did not arrive. There was no panic to attract the grimms. But the cities...

- All they despaired. - Aunt May completed and Oscar nodded. - I noticed that there were a large number of buildings under renovation...

- Yes. But with the fall of Salem and the return of the gods the number of grimms decreased dramatically. We had few reports of attacks, and all of them of weak grimms, in small groups. They will take time to grow in numbers again and this will give us time to strengthen ourselves again. - Oscar lowered his eyes and her aunt immediately put a hand in his shoulder in a gesture of comfort.

- You also lost friends, is not it? I'm sorry. - Oscar clenched his hands in fist on his knees, devastated.

- Yes many. - He answered quietly. - But the wounds will close eventually.

- Oscar ... - May put a hand to her nephew's face and gently made him look at her. The pain in his eyes was heart-breaking. - You're right dear, but it's okay to cry for them. Do not keep it in your chest Oscar.

Oscar opened his mouth to deny it but, he noticed suddenly, he had really been holding back for a long time. He cried with relief a few times, when Blake or Jaune escaped certain death, but soon everyone needed to be up and running again. Even now, with everything over, he had come so concerned to help Remnant rebuild from the ruins that remained that he had not even stopped to breathe. Just living the next day, the next battle, again and again.

- It's okay Oscar. - The hunter felt the arms of his aunt pull him for a comforting hug. He did not even realize he was shaking. - It's all right.

Oscar finally let the weight of years of fears, losses and battles drain out of him along with his tears. He just leaned his head against her aunt's shoulder and let the low sobs wash away the sadness inside him. May only supported him, stroking his back and whispering words of comfort. Neither of them knew how long they stayed like this, but when Oscar finally pulled away, he felt light as he had not for years.

The rest of the trip followed without further events. They arrived in Vale in the middle of the following day, after a little delay with some flying grimms. They descended the landing ramp, tired of hours of constant travel.

- Do you know any hotel for the night?

- In fact-

- LITTLE BOY OSCAR!

Oscar interrupted himself in the middle of the words and tried to turn back in time, but Nora was already on top of him, knocking him to the ground. Even though she was a woman now, her personality remained the same. Which meant that Oscar would be crushed in a bear hug each time they met after long periods of time without seeing each other.

- Nora ... I ... I can not ... breathe ... - Oscar muttered with little air he had left, making the redhead laugh and loose it. She jumped to her feet and held out her hand to help him do the same.

- We miss you SO MUCH! I thought the trip to Mistral was going to take forever! Oh! Are you the Oscar's aunt ?! You are equal! Nice to meet you! I'm Nora Valkarie, and that handsome man approaching us is my fiancé, Lee Ren! REN, HURRY UP!

May and Oscar did not have time to say anything while Nora fumbled around them, not pausing to breathe. Fortunately, Ren was quick to approach, taking his wife's hand. It seemed to anchor her on the floor, giving them a moment to introduce themselves.

- It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am... - Ren began, reaching out for May, who returned the gesture.

- May Pine. It's my pleasure. Oscar has told a lot about you all.

- He said?! Of course he said! We are all incredible! - Nora declared, puffing out her chest.

- Thanks again for coming to meet us Ren. It's been a long trip. - Oscar thanked him, also greeting the friend with a light hug. Ren put a hand on the younger man's shoulder as a gesture of comfort.

- You must be exhausted. Let's go, lunch should be almost ready.

- Where is the meeting place? - Oscar asked, picking up his suitcase in one hand and his aunt with the other. Nora replied.

- In the Arc's house! They have a huge family and with so many grown up childrens the house was empty! And they have bunk beds!

They laughed and talked on the way to the Arc's residence. As expected, the house was large and spacious, surrounded by a large green garden. The yellow-painted walls were warm and welcoming, giving the building a familiar air. And even before they crossed the entrance gate, Jaune was already opening the front door, smiling at them.

- By the gods! I thought you were tall Oscar! - May could not fail to comment when introduced to Jaune. The boy's hand covered hers and he stood long inches above her head. But the poor boy must have had a heart of gold, because he blushed slightly at the remark.

- I've heard that often... - Jaune smiled to mask his embarrassment. - Please, come in. Weiss and Blake are in the kitchen helping with lunch and Ruby just called me. She and Yang should be here soon.

They all entered the house, being guided into the kitchen by the delicious smell of lunch being prepared. There, a brunette faunus set the dishes on the table while a white-haired lady stirred the pots by the stove. Helping to cook, an older, blue-eyed blonde woman smiled at them. A new session of hugs and presentations followed. They were Blake Belladonna, Weiss Schenne, and Iris Arc, Jaune's mother.

- Please, make yourself at home. Lunch is ready. We're just waiting ... - The bell rang again just then. Mrs. Arc turned to Oscar, who was standing by the kitchen door. - You can answer that for me? Is kind of crowded here.

- Of course.

Oscar turned and went out to greet the newcomers, and after a moment's hesitation his aunt followed. 'It was better to say hello in the open hall than with everyone in the kitchen again,' she thought. She arrived in the room just in time to see Oscar opening the door for a very tall woman with fluttering blond hair. She smiled, carrying a suitcase on each shoulder as if they weighed nothing. May noticed that one of her arms was a mechanical prosthesis.

- Hey Oscar! Looking good! - She bent down to walk through the door with her suitcases and her gaze fell on May. - Hello, you must be Oscar's aunt!" My name is Yang!

Yang approached, dropping a suitcase on the floor to greet May with her mechanical hand. It was cool to the touch, but smooth.

- It's my pleasure. - May began to say, but was interrupted by a female voice outside.

- Yang! You took my ... OSCAR!

May jumped in surprise, as with the arrival of Nora, because her nephew was again attacked by surprise. A red ray struck him in the chest, exploding in rose petals all around him. They swayed in the air and fell slowly to the ground, revealing a young woman dressed in black and red. She hugged Oscar by the waist, being lower than him, and he returned the hug with a shy smile.

- It's good to see you again, too, Ruby. - She released him just enough to look at his face.

- But ..! But..! Yang told me you would not make it in time! - Ruby glared at the blonde.

- Oops. - That's all she said, shrugging her shoulders and heading for the kitchen. Ruby's glare then fell on May, widening in surprise. The older woman noticed that the leader of the team RWBY indeed have beautiful silver eyes, of which her nephew had spoken about a lot.

-And your aunt came too! - Ruby exclaimed. She looked at herself and Oscar, hugged, and jumped away, stuttering and blushing. - Well, I... I'm Ruby Rose. Nice to meet you.

- May Pine. Pleasure is mine, dear. - May smiled, stealing a quick glance at her nephew, who wisely looked away. Her maternal instincts whistled, but she hastened to make no assumptions. - Lets come in?

Everyone gathered and greeted each other with hugs and smiles and then sat down at the table. The lunch itself was delicious and the company, welcoming. May had spent many years alone, or just with Oscar as a company, and the move to a 10-person table was radical, but welcome. Everyone talked, laughed and shared stories and memories.

- And you all live here at Vale? - May asked at one point, sipping her juice. Weiss replied.

- No, and most of us have not yet taken up residence after the war. But we all came to the ceremony. - May blinked, confused.

- Ceremony? - Oscar agreed.

- Yes, but maybe I missed it, with all that I told you. - Blake continued the explanation, her voice calm.

- Since none of us ever officially graduated as hunters, the Vale Council decided to hold a ceremony to grant us our certificates. - Ruby sighed with those words, catching May's attention.

- And honor our deeds in the war! - Added Yang. This time Ruby groaned in disgust on the other side of the table.

- And they're having a great party! - Nora added equally lively. Ruby seemed to sink further into her chair.

- Yes, it will be a formal event, with all the pomp they can add. Of course the place will be full of photographers and journalists. By the Gods, Ruby! - Weiss explained, but she broke off irritably when Ruby banged her head on the table, looking defeated. - There is no use crying over it.

- But I do not want to go... - Ruby whined anyway.

- Ruby hates to be in the spotlight. - Oscar explained, watching May's lost gaze.

- Everyone's gonna be looking at us! And Weiss will force me to wear heels! - Ruby stood up, pointing dramatically at her teammate. Weiss just rolled her eyes and they all laughed.

- And when will this party be nephew?

- Tomorrow night. I thought we could spend the afternoon shopping. I do not have any formal clothes for the event. - Oscar pointed to the combat gear he wore. - Actually, I have nothing that does not fit in a suitcase.

- I know what you mean. - Ren said, and all the hunters at the table agreed. - We've spent so much time traveling that we do not need more than that for a long time.

- It was fun trying on my old clothes. I could not get into any of them. - Jaune commented and Yang laughed.

- It is true! You needed to have seen Ruby trying to get into her old clothes at home! - Yang laughed even more with Ruby trying to shut her up without success.

- But Ruby has not grown much these years. Maybe a few centimeters at most. - Oscar remarked, and Yang almost gasped with laughter. Even Weiss and Blake chuckled.

- No, no! I mean that the shirts did not go through her brea- Ruby finally attacked her sister, falling with her from the chair to the floor and covering her mouth with both hands. The desk burst out laughing.

No one but May noticed that Oscar took advantage of Ruby's indignation to disguise his reddish face. He obviously understood what Yang meant.

The rest of the day continued in a rush. All went shopping together and Ren and Nora joined Oscar and May to look at homes for sale in the city. Everyone went to bed exhausted, only to wake up with more confusion the next morning. Weiss and Nora managed to drag Ruby by force to a beauty salon, where all the women spent the afternoon prancing. Oscar took advantage of the free afternoon to advance a visit to some houses that caught the attention of his aunt, having in mind a list of details that she had passed to him.

- What did you think of this one Oscar? - Jaune asked, stretching his head out the second-story window. - Wow! We can see Beacon from here! I can see that they have made good progress in rebuilding the school.

- After the Wyvern was destroyed the military finally managed to clear the school of grimms. Now it's a matter of time before the school opens the doors again. - Ren said, scanning the cabinets. - The furniture here is very tasteful Oscar, totally different from the last house.

- Yes, that place looked like a dollhouse! And believe me, I'm an expert on them. - Jaune nodded.

- Actually, I really liked this house. - Oscar commented, sitting down in the large double bed by the wall. - There's everything my aunt wanted in a house, and it's also decorated to my liking. I would not mind spending a few years here...

- You said you'd stay in Vale for some time. It has to do with the history of you teaching magic, does not it? - Jaune asked, stepping out of the window to sit on the opposite side of Oscar in bed. Ren also approached, interested in the subject.

- Yes. As I said, I am the only person who actually possesses a technical knowledge of magic. The council of kingdoms has entered into an agreement for me to immediately train as many teachers as possible so that they can pass on knowledge to their realms. Apparently the case of teenagers blowing up things in fights is more and more common. No one knows how to deal with magic yet and it just comes up, loaded with strong emotions. - Jaune nodded.

- It is true. The girls taught us something, but nothing technical, just what they learned from Professor Ozpin.

- It's almost like a mixture of semblance and dust. We can manipulate nature and even the notion of time, but it consumes our aura. - Ren added.

- Weiss was very pleased, commenting that this could drastically reduce the use of dust on the market, depending on how the magic affects people's daily lives.

- She completely abandoned the Schenne company, did not she? - Oscar commented curiously. He thought he heard Weiss commenting on it the night before. - She will be one of my pupils in magic classes. She said she had been trying to use her glyphs, replacing dust with magic, and getting great results.

- It is true. I think she's the liveliest of all this magic story. - Jaune commented. - She been commenting how eager she is to learn more about it.

- You two came a long way since our first year at Beacon, have not you, Jaune? - Ren said, disconcerting the blonde.

- Well, yes...

- Jaune did not get along with Weiss at the academy? - Ren smiled at Oscar's innocent question, and Jaune blushed.

- Well I...

- Jaune was in love with Weiss at Beacon. This included serenades, catcalls and flowers. - Jaune moaned with embarrassment and buried his face in his hands.

- Thank you for the description in detail Ren. I think you've been spending too much time with Nora.

- Seriously? I thought you were in love with Py... - Oscar stopped. - I'm sorry.

- It's all right. Pyrrha left a hole on me that will never really disappear, but today I am able to think of her for everything she has done for me with affection, and not only for the pain that her lack does. - Ren agreed with a sad smile.

- We all miss her.

- And beyond that ... Looking back today, I realize how my attraction to Weiss was childish. - Jaune continued. - She was beautiful and haughty. I had a cd with her songs at the time and I was always struck by the emotion she carried in her voice, but personally she was distant and restrained. It was a challenge, you know? I wanted to be worthy to unearth a sincere smile from her.

- And it was not the same with Pyrrha? A challenge? - Oscar asked, engulfed in their brief moment of confidence. The memories he had of Pyrrha belonged all to Ozpin. A bright young woman, whose flame burned too fast, but lit the path for her friends to the end. Unfortunately, these memories always brought a bitter taste of guilt to his mouth.

- No, not at all. See, if Weiss was a princess, tall in a tower and out of reach, Pyrrha was ... - Jaune sighed. Oscar already knew the friend's romantic side, inclined to poetic metaphors. The last time Oscar pointed this out, the blonde had blushed, mumbling something about 'being the effect of living with seven sisters'. - Pyrrha was an unreachable goddess. I could idealize that one day I would be worthy of Weiss, but Pyrrha? I could not think of anyone alive on earth who could be worthy of her.

- Nora and I were something... Gradual. - Ren said, his voice low. - We lived together for so long that I never considered a world without her. Then in the middle of a battle it finally dawned on me that she was no longer a little girl, but a woman.

- And you took your time for it, did not you? - Jaune laughed, and Ren agreed, slightly embarrassed.

- Well, Nora pointed out a lot of pretty obvious signs that I've missed over the years.

- What about you, Oscar? Who was your teenage crush? - Jaune asked suddenly, making Oscar take a little jump in surprise. He swallowed hard.

- Well I...

- I thought that was obvious. - Ren commented with a small smile, making Jaune blink confused and Oscar flushing slightly.

- Obvious? What do you mean?

- Well, you just needed to look at him every time he looked at- Ren's phone rang at that moment and he excused himself to answer. Moments later he hung up and turned to his friends. - Nora said the girls will be ready soon. We should lock up here and get ready too.

- Sure, I'll send a message to the realtor and make an offer at the house on the way. - Oscar got up, along with the others, to leave.

- Hey! Oscar has not said anything yet! - Jaune complained, accompanying his friends to the exit. - That's an offense! We were talking from heart to heart here!

- Well, that gives us a good excuse to repeat the dose, does not it? - Ren suggested amiably. - And that gives you a chance to guess.

- If you tell me it was Mrs. Calavera, I will not find it funny! - Jaune answered and the three of them continued talking and laughing outside the house.

Oscar found himself thinking about the past on the way back to the Arc's house. How all of them have changed and how his feelings have matured over the years. Feelings that until today he could not define or name. Absently, he found himself wandering and thinking of her.

[satire-please]

Take a Sad Song and Make it Better - Part 6

Day 6 - Best Rescue = A dire moment where someone comes through.

What would Bruce do without his boys?

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

It’s a den of wolves, a collection of monsters of the vilest kind.

Hungry, persistent thugs with the shiniest of teeth.  

It’s not a fight Bruce can punch his way out of.

In fact, he’s not allowed to punch anyone. Not with the saccharine smile he has to, needs to keep on his face.

“Mr. Wayne, Mr. Wayne can we get a statement for the Gotham Gazette?”

“Mr. Wayne, is it true today marks the thirtieth anniversary of your parents’ death?”

“Mr. Wayne, Do you think the Wayne legacy is still going strong? Or is it decaying each year?”

“Mr. Wayne–”

“Mr. Wayne–”

They’re worse than vultures. At least birds of prey stop picking at the bones once there’s no meat. But reporters keep unburying his dead, to check for marrow, to check over and over how Bruce Wayne feels. They want the story. They want to hear the story. It doesn’t matter how many times they’ve had it, they want it again. Bruce would rather be strapped to a chair by Joker than stay here another minute.

“Mr. Wayne, how do you think the late Mrs. Wayne would feel about your perpetual state of bachelorhood?”

At least then he could growl at his tormentors.

This was supposed to be a simple charity event, yes at an orphanage, which may have been his mistake. Like blood in the water, once a hint of the date got out, once they connected the dots…

Instead of one or two journalists to report the event, there’s fifteen.

Bruce hates them.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” He cajoles with a laugh, “You already know all this. What’s the point of investigating this old playboy?  The event of the night is over there! After all isn’t that why we’re all here? To sponsor and support those poor children in need?”

They can smell the unease, they shift gears and attack.

“Does that mean you plan to adopt a new ward?”

“Do you have a preference, Mr. Wayne? All your kids are black-haired boys.”

“What about a girl, Mr. Wayne!”

He’s never going to introduce them to Cass. Never. Bruce looks around, but the gang armed with microphones and cameras has firmly cornered him. His back pressed to the wall, and the fist in his coat pocket tightens. He clings to Brucie’s persona like a well-worn suit of armor.

“Come on now, don’t you think four kids is enough? You sound like child-hungry grannies.” Brucie smirks at them.

“But one of them is dead!”

The smirk drops.

The cameras zoom in to catch the flash in his eyes. The mob presses closer. Gluttonous men and women in Sunday best lick their lips at the crack of unknown emotion. “Oh, what happened to the circus kid? Why don’t we see him much anymore?”

Bruce evades with the best of them, “Maybe he’s outgrown Gotham, ever think about that? After all, I didn’t stay in Gotham when I was his age. I wanted to see the world. Dickie’s just following in his old man’s steps.”

They aren’t going to beat him at this game.

“But what of your third ward? Timothy Drake is–”

“Timothy Drake Wayne,” Bruce emphasizes strongly.

“What would your father think? Wouldn’t he think he’s running Wayne Enterprises into the ground? Last week, stocks dropped three points–”

“Three points in sales after raising fifteen points just last month.” A well-dressed man worms himself between Bruce’s chest and the crowd, “Honestly Mr. Colblair, I don’t know what you want more from me. If we compare stock prices from thirty years ago to now, the overall value of the company has gone up forty percent.”

Tim. Bruce feels his muscles slack. CEO of Wayne Enterprises grins boyishly on crunches before them. His hair rakishly falls in front of his face and a bunch of cameras go off immediately.

“Mr. Drake!”

“Mr. Drake Wayne, please.” Tim wobbles slightly forward on the crutches, putting himself directly in the middle of the mass. Slowly breaking it up. Genius really. “Or Tiny Tim, don’t I play the part?”

There is a round of polite laughter. Tim nudges the side of Bruce’s shoe with his. A hidden signal of ‘follow me.’

“But really, if you want a real interview I have some wonderful kids for you to meet! Please, the more positive publicity these orphans get, the more likely they’ll find stable homes of their own.”

Some of the new anchors twitch uncomfortably. Tim balances on one arm brace, Bruce grabbing his shoulder to stead him, the act is fake but the look of gratitude on Tim’s face is real.

It’s a good photo opp. Wow, his former Robin is good.

“Ms. Carol, Journalist of a Taste of Home, correct?”

“Y-Yes, Mr. Drake Wayne?”

He points to a little girl at the refreshments table, “Darling Natasha over there, baked many of the sugary delights for tonight’s event! One of her recipes would give your readers all the puff and fluff they need.”

Shamefaced the woman leaves. That makes fourteen left.

“Dr. Raymond, I thought your focus was collecting tidbits for SciShow? I’d like you to meet Eric...” Tim rambles off and directs another journalist away.

Steadily, Tim carves a path through the crowd. Cheerfully chirping suggestions and sassy commentary with Bruce trailing behind him. He can’t get rid of all of them, but the two get to the edge of the horde unscathed.

Bruce is so grateful, he might give the cameras the hug they’re always dying to see.

Instead, another form taps his foot impatiently, “Father, I demand your presence immediately.”

Damian Wayne is dubbed Gotham’s Spoiled Little Prince for a reason. Arms crossed under his red bow tie, half their audience coos, and chuckles at his scowl. It’s Gotham, so there’s nothing the people like more than a character.

And Damian’s stuffed to the brim with it.

“Yes, Dami? How can I help you, my boy?” Bruce reluctantly lets Tim go, lets him readjust the crutches for an injury he doesn’t have. A redhead woman eagerly leans to take in the scene. It makes Bruce need to duck his head. Anything to hide his disdain. Brucie is a mask he developed over the years for survival, but the act Tim has to put on is all because of one Vicki Vale.

“You can help me by keeping your promises. You were supposed to start assisting me with my research project an hour ago.”

Tim covers his mouth as Bruce gives Damian a guilty frown, “Sorry sport, I didn’t mean to get tied down.”

“Apologies mean nothing.” The preteen sniffs haughtily. “Walk me down to the car now.”

“You better go,” Tim says demurely. He leans in with a mock whisper. “Before he gets fussy.”

Damian clicks his tongue in a show of displeasure. He plops his hands on his hips and the cameras go wild.

Bruce is this close to cracking.

Dick has always been a media darling, but Tim and Damian can run circles around this crowd all night.  

“Don’t worry, I handle things here,” Tim says with a wink. He turns and puts Bruce at his back, facing the army of sharks on his own. “Now what was I saying again, Ms. Vale?”

They leave the orphanage, leave Tim behind to dazzle and direct the event the way it should be. Bruce makes a note to send Alfred in an hour and a half, he noticed the dark circles under the makeup. Tim’s running on fumes again. He needs a sleep day.

Alfred’s the best one to convince him to take it.

Tim deserves it.

Especially after a rescue like that.

But for now Bruce, no the Bat focuses on his other savior, “So what’s this ‘research project’ you need me for?”

Damian’s teeth are shiny and sharp in the dark. He’s sure his son could tear out throats with them. When they get in the car and he just hands him the cowl.

“Oh just blood spatter analysis on 123rd street, I’ve been practicing my identification.”

“Just like I taught you?”

“Of course, Batman.”

“Good, Robin.”

Bruce takes off Brucie and puts on the Bat. He’s got the best toys and the best boys.

“Now let’s go.”

[jjaywmac]

Sound familiar. August 2016.  “Over the age of 60.  Underlying health condition (heart problems. Pneumonia in the lungs.  ICU.  Insulator. Unexpectedly.”  That is exactly what happened to Steve 4 years ago.  Was it a virus before its time?  I will never know.  The doctors cured the pneumonia.  He died of heart failure.  It was fast.  Like today.  That should want you to stay home!  And keep your loved ones at home!  It does me.  I remember only too well.

SO, how do I start with a clean slate of this?  By introducing you to some books I think you may enjoy reading during this down time.

  SO, I am spending today, a (férié) in France (the day after Easter is always celebrated as a holiday) by staying inside and writing a lot.  Sorry.  But, I cannot stop thinking about what happened to him as I read the news and all of the descriptions of what to expect.  Plus, in my head, I am processing a Lot of new ideas that have come to me over the weekend.  My “clean slate”/ “eternal NOW” frame of mind is running wild with new ideas of how to spend this unusual time in Paris.  I have ideas for new books that excite me.  I have projects that need to be completed.  I have courses I want to take, places I want to walk, pictures I want to take, sites I want to develop.  There is never a dull moment around here.  My mind keeps me busy.

I want to spend time with my “new present”.  So here is a fresh look at something that means a lot to me. What??  I have in my safe keeping, several books that I want to bring to your attention in this new day!!! OK.  So a tad of past. Don’t worry.  I will try to make it interesting and worth your time.

It all started on September 20, 2011. I was (for 20 years) an Entertainment Attorney (and an Employment Law Litigator) in Los Angeles, California USA. In early September 2011, I was invited by the Writers Guild of America (WGA) to be the legal representative by on a panel for the members – an E-publishing Panel. The Panel sought to empower writers to create new opportunities for work in film, television, new media, and transmedia. Since WGA did not cover book publication regardless of format, it was thought that e-publishing could be a stepping stone towards potential work on Guild-covered adaptations. So, on September 20, I joined other Panel members Lee Goldberg (The Glades), Derek Haas (Wanted), and Alexandra Sokoloff (author, Book of Shadows, and Mark Coker (Smashwords) on a panel.   Our task was to discuss the latest ebook/self and indie-publishing developments. WOW, what a lineup! I got very excited.  Needless to say, it was a power-packed evening with the Writer Members and members doing most of the talking.  The evening flew by with everyone sharing information, questions, and answers.

The next day I said to my husband Steve Orlandella, “You need to write a book”. He said, “What? A book?  I have nothing to say.”   I laughed.  Steve ALWAYS had something to say.  So did I. I needed to write a book.  And, we did.

Steve wrote eight books before he died in 2016.  I have written seven (7) and am still writing every day. But, this post is about Steve and his books.

He had specific things he liked – history, cheesecake, sex, trivia, condiments (of every kind), Castle (TV show), the Titanic, and baseball.  Not necessarily in that order.  So, he wrote about things he liked.  Now, to be honest, he was not a great American writer.  He just wrote about topics he enjoyed.  I was glad to see him happy.  He loved working.  Retirement was not his cup of tea.  And, he loved writing.  He created two characters he liked.  And, he would spend all day creating their “banter”.  I would often hear his chuckling to himself.  That would be when he would come up with something he thought was particularly clever.  He started out with a collection of his writings on Facebook.  All of that was new at that time, and his posts were funny and interesting.  When it was published, he was thrilled.  He would read it over and over.  Amazed and proud of himself for actually publishing a book!

Next, he tackled baseball.  He was an Emmy-winning Live Sports producer for Hockey and Baseball.  9 seasons for the Dodgers.  Personal friend of Vin Scully.  He KNEW his baseball.  Then, he wrote “his masterpiece”, a wonderful book about the Titanic.  He poured his soul into this book.  His love, his heart, his skill, his all.  He could not believe it when he held that book in his hands.  He read and reread and reread it.

It was then that he thought that he had no more to write.  I did not want to see him depressed because he was happy when he had a book in progress.  So, I suggested he create a detective and do mysteries – novels.  After thinking about it a LONNNNNGGGGGG time, he came up with an idea.  He really loved the television show “Castle”.  He loved their “banter”.  He would create a sexy couple – an ex-baseball player (a private investigator – Vic Landell) and hot babe attorney/news anchor (The Redhead).  They would solve crimes in Sarasota, Florida (his favorite location in the world).  That was how it started.  It evolved from there.

So, I am going to introduce you to his books.  I am not presenting them in the order they were written.  I am doing this my way.  Novels, first.  I am suggesting you try them. they are light reading and enjoyable.  And,  I think the reader can experience the fun Steve was having with the dialogue and spending time with his characters.  He loved Tina Louis and Dusty Springfield.  Plus, he had some favorite News Anchors.  So, bear with him as he enjoys his “babes” with their high heels.  Short skirts and all.  Red hair, long legs.  A fun guy.  We laughed a lot.  And, I  miss him.  This post is dedicated to Steve Orlandella.  This one’s for him.  Now, the books – during this pandemic!

The first Vic Landell mystery was BURDEN OF PROOF. 

1) BURDEN OF PROOF is set in and around Sarasota Florida.  It is dedicated my sister, Patricia Jewell Prince, “My Sister-in-Law Patricia, Lover of Mysteries.”

Steve begins each mystery: What’s in a Name?  “My father was born Vito Anthony Orlandella, and he didn’t much care for his name. “Vito” was all right, and in fact, he named his principal business The Vito Fruit Company – although throughout Boston he was often referred to as “Vic.” No real problem with the benign Anthony, it was the last name he saw as problematic. His one foray into show business as a record producer was done under the name “Tony Vito.” I’m not certain, but I believe he thought that Orlandella was too long and clumsy for a billboard. He had another name ready but never got the chance to use it. A clever anagram made by dropping the first two and the last letters of his name. Add to that, the remnants of his first name. Thus, was born “Vic Landell.” When it came time to name my pitcher-turned-detective, the choice was an easy one. Call it homage to my father.”

Next, CAPITOL MURDER.

2) CAPITOL MURDER is dedicated to “Her Royal Blondness [HRB], Long may she Reign”. It is set in and around Washington, D.C.

“What’s in a Name? The heroine of this series is Marcia Glenn. The name is borrowed from my first childhood crush – a sixth-grade, blonde goddess. For two years I pined for her from, to paraphrase Hammerstein, ‘across a crowded schoolroom.’ My passion held in check only by the fact that she didn’t know I was alive. Her sights were set on another classmate, a surfer boy wannabe with flaxen air. Sure, just plunge a knife in my heart. The irony of all this is rooted in the fact that he seemed to have absolutely no interest in her. Funny the things you remember. How this preteen vixen has now morphed into a six-foot, Titian-tressed femme fatale is a story for another time.”

3) MARATHON MURDERS.

MARATHON MURDERS is dedicated to “Dash, Winner & Still Champion”, and located in Boston.

“What’s in a Name?  He was born on a farm in Maryland.  He served his country in the First World War and became ill with the Spanish flu and later contracted Tuberculosis – spending most of his time in the Army as a patient in a Washington Hospital.  As a result of his illness he could not live full-time with his wife and two daughters and the marriage fell apart.  He was a firm believer in the notion that you write about what you know.  And since he was an alcoholic, his two most famous characters were as well.  He devoted much of the rest of his life to unpopular causes.  He wore his country’s uniform again in the Second World War.  His reward?  After the war he was investigated by Congress and testified before the House Un-American Activities Committee about his own life but refused to cooperate with the committee.  As a result – he was blacklisted. He was sixty-six when lung cancer took his life.  In his obituary, The New York Times said of him, ‘the dean of the hard-boiled school of detective fiction.’  For any fan of mysteries his name is said with a smile.  For someone like me, who would love to be just a poor copy of the original, it is said with reverence.”

4) DANCE WITH DEATH.  (Steve’s Favorite – he wanted me to read him passages from this one when he was in the hospital)

DANCE WITH DEATH is dedicated “To my Second Parents Rose & Gerry”.  It is set in Los Angeles, California.

“What’s in a Name?  She was born Marcia Colleen Glenn – her first name from the Latin, meaning ‘dedicated to Mars.’  Mars is the red planet – there is your first clue.  It also means proud or warlike – that’s your second clue.  Her middle name was chosen by her father to emphasize the family’s Gaelic heritage.  By the age of five, her sister Katelyn was calling her ‘The Marce.’  To this day, if she likes you, call her Marce.  If she doesn’t much care for you, it’s Marcia.  If she flat hates your guts – it’s Ms. Glenn.  Fair warning, if you call her Marsha, brother, you are just asking for trouble.  When she was seventeen and turned from an ugly duckling into a beautiful swan, the boys in her high school started referring to her as ‘the looker.’  The lawyers at the firm where she did her internship called her ‘the stunner.’  That’s also what the crew at WWSB calls her – along with ‘the goddess.’  To the boys in Idaho Falls, she was ‘the long drink of water.’  When she knocked out a would-be assailant with one right hand, the name ‘slugger’ entered the lexicon.  There are others, like ‘supermodel’ and ‘deadeye.’  But if you’ve killed someone, she’s the ‘red menace.’  And finally, to her smitten boyfriend, she is occasionally ‘Titian’ -the shade of her glorious red hair.  She will also answer to ‘Irish,’ and for him only, ‘Honey,’ along with his favorite, ‘Baby.’  But, first and foremost she is always and forever – ‘the redhead.'”

5) MIDTOWN MAYHEM, dedicated “For the amazing Kris Jones”, and set in NYC. (He did not know this would be his last one.)

“What’s in a Name?  It was my high-school baseball coach who first hung the nickname on me. Of the nine pitchers on his staff, eight were right-handed. When asked who the starting pitcher against Syracuse would be, he replied, “Let’s send out the lefty.” The name stuck throughout college, the minors, and my first six years in the majors. It became problematic for me when I was traded to Philadelphia – for you see, they already had a “Lefty.” He was born Steven Norman Carlton. He made his debut with the Cardinals in 1965. He was a tall, imposing man blessed with a hard fastball and nasty slider. He was soon known as an intimidating and dominating pitcher. Following a protracted salary dispute, St. Louis Cardinals owner Gussie Busch ordered Carlton traded. Eventually, he was dealt to the Philadelphia Phillies before the ‘72 season for a pitcher named Rick Wise. In time, it would be recognized as one of the most lopsided deals in baseball history. Carlton hit his stride with the Phillies. How good was he? In 1972, the down-trodden Phils won a total of 59 games – 27 of them by Carlton. That won him his first of four Cy Young Awards. He finished with 322 wins and was a consensus first ballot Hall of Famer. The day before a start, the scoreboard in Veterans Stadium would list tomorrow’s starting pitcher – Lefty. Need more? There’s a statue of him in front of Citizens Bank Park. How was I supposed to compete with all that? I could not. Since Carlton is six-foot four and your humble servant is a paltry six-foot one the players started to refer to me as Little Lefty. The day my career ended, I went back to being plain old Lefty.”

6) CASINO KILLER (Steve was writing this one when he died.)

Forty-six pages are in the can. It was to be dedicated to “John & Gloria Cataldo, Once and Forever”.  It was to be set in and around Nice, France.

“What’s in a Name?  It is the coastline of the Mediterranean Sea in the southeast corner of France, beneath of the base of the French Alps. There is no official boundary, but it is usually considered to extend from the Italian border in the east to Saint-Tropez, Hyères, Toulon, or Cassis in the west. The area is a Department of the French Government – Alpes-Maritimes. There is nothing quite like it anywhere else in the world. As the French might refer to it – beau ravage – beautiful shoreline.  It began as a winter health resort for the British upper class at the end of the 18th century. With the arrival of the railway in the mid-19th century, it became the playground and vacation spot of British, Russian, and other aristocrats, including Queen Victoria. It was the English who coined the phrase, the French Riviera.  After World War II, the south of France became a popular tourist destination and convention site. The area went off the charts in the 1950s when a beautiful girl from Philadelphia moved into the Royal palace of the one and only principality. Millionaires and celebrities built homes there and routinely spent their summers.  The region has one more name. In 1887, a French author named Stéphen Liégeard published a book about the coastline. So taken was he by the color of the Mediterranean, he used the words Azure Coast in the title – in French that translates as Côte d’Azur.”

Steves first book is delightful – STEVESPEAK – 3 YEARS ON FACEBOOK.

STEVESPEAK is one of my favorites for spending time with him and getting to know him better. Plus, it is dedicated to me: “To Janet, The wind beneath my wings, And the power behind my throne.”

In his Prologue, he writes: “I’m not sure how I got on Facebook.  Most likely it was word of mouth.  Like many of you I started small, but as my list of friends grew, so did my activity.  A funny thing happened along the way, I found my voice.  Along with connecting with friends, I had the chance to be critical, historical, passionate, and I hope, funny. This book traces almost 3 years on Facebook, and is designed to give my fellow “Facebookers,” An idea of what other people are saying. For what it’s worth, you will learn some things about me. My love for baseball, my interest in “The Titanic,” my passion for my hometown, Boston.

“Stevespeak” was coined by my wife, who insists I have my own language.  Well that’s probably not true, but there are some words that are uniquely mine. For instance, only in my world is there a planet “Smecktar.”  Those pimples on your shoulder blades are “bacne,” and “Xerocracy” is government by photocopy. If something is dead, it’s “kersfuncken.” “Inuendo” is Italian for colonoscopy.

That said, there are some things you need to know in order to navigate your way through this book.  There are many references to something called “HRB.”  “HRB” is “Her Royal Blondness.”  That would be my wife.  She is an attorney and is sometimes referred to as the “blonde barrister.” Her maiden name is Janet Jewell.  Christine became Kris and is my sister. “Tori” and “Icto” are other names for our friend Victoria Lucas.  Tori’s sister is Lil, and sometimes, Liz. The “Knife” is Joe Klinger. “Fabulous 52” was the old Saturday night movie series on CBS in Los Angeles. I stole it, (I mean, researched it) and it became the “Fabulous 42.” Most of the rest is self-explanatory.”

Steve’s Masterpiece – TITANIC.

TITANIC was his lifetime achievement, the one he held close to his heart.  He dedicated it to his mother.  He wrote, “To my Mother Therese, The Real Historian in The Family.”

“In the fall of 1960, I was a ten-year-old, growing up in Los Angeles’ San Fernando Valley.  Even then I was sarcastic, opinionated, and well on my way to becoming obnoxious.  The phrase most often used was, ‘A little too smart for his own good.’  Perhaps.  Duplicit in all this were my parents who spoiled me rotten.  One of my numerous privileges was permission to stay up late on Saturday night…very late.

Toward the end of the 1950s, television in Los Angeles was in a state of flux.  The Country’s number three [now number two] market had seven stations, a wealth of airtime, and a dearth of programming.  The three network affiliates and the four independents turned to motion pictures to fill the void so much so that one station, Channel 9, ran the same movie every night for a week.  Hey, I love Jimmy Cagney, but how many times can you watch ‘Yankee Doodle Dandy’?  The stations also had the nasty habit of cutting the films to pieces, the classic case being Channel 7, the ABC affiliate who filled their 3:30-5pm slots by slicing and dicing 2-hour movies down to 67 minutes. They came close to cutting Ingrid Bergman out of ‘Casablanca.’  Channel 2, the CBS Affiliate, had no such problem.  [They had ‘Lucy’; they had ‘Jackie Gleason’.]  ‘The Fabulous 52’ was reserved for Saturday night at 11:30pm, and, since the only things that followed the movie were the National Anthem and a test pattern, they ran uncut.  The station held the rights to a package of relatively recent films from 20th Century Fox.

One Saturday afternoon, my dad announced, ‘Titanic is on tonight.’  I had no idea who or what was ‘Titanic’, but we gathered in the family room at 11:30.  For the next two hours, I sat transfixed, mesmerized by what we were seeing.  If you are scoring at home, it was the 1953 version with Barbara Stanwyck, Clifton Webb and a young Robert Wagner.  They had me.

In 1964, I came across a copy of A Night to Remember, Walter Lord’s seminal work on the events of April 14-15, 1912, and the following year, I saw the movie made [in England, 1958] from Lord’s book.  It was a film made by people who wanted to get it right.  This film was the game changer.

The Fox movie opens with a page of text proclaiming that all the facts in the film were taken right from the United States Senate and British Board of Trade Inquiries.  Really?  Even then, Fox knew how to ‘play fast and loose with the truth.’  As good as their movie was – and it was good, it paled before the Brit’s film.  Fifteen hundred people did not all stand together, sing ‘Nearer My God To Thee’, and meekly sink into the North Atlantic.  They fought and struggled until their last breath, trying not to freeze or drown in the unforgiving sea.  Madeleine Astor wasn’t an elegant matron.  She was in fact a pregnant teenager.  That was it.  ‘Game On!’

I absorbed every book I could find, any TV program I could watch, and every newspaper on microfilm, along with help from the Titanic Historical Society.  Add that to my natural affinity for ships, and an ‘obsession’ was born.  For some, it’s The Civil War; for others, it’s the Kennedy Assassination; for me, it is The Royal Mail Steamship Titanic.

Part of the obsession stems from the fact that no event in history is so loaded with conjecture, myths, and downright lies, some of which are ‘beauties.’  One example:  A young David Sarnoff [co-founder of RCA] became famous telling the world how he was the first to pick-up the Titanic’s distress call in the station on the roof of Wanamaker’s Department Store and how he remained at the key all Sunday night and well into the next day.  Great story?  Absolutely.  Truthful story?  Absolutely not.  Wanamaker’s was closed on Sunday, and even when the store was open, Sarnoff was the office manager.  Three other employees of The Marconi Company stood the watch.

Fox reloaded and fired again in 1997.  This time, they tried it with a seemingly unlimited budget and an amateur historian calling the shots.  Movie making?  Unmatched.  Story telling?  Not so much.  History?  Nonexistent.  There is a word for what you wind up with when you invent the leading characters.  Fiction.  Now, nobody loves Kate Winslet ‘in flagrante delicto’ more than I do, but the truth is better.  Thus, ”Jack Dawson’ and ‘Rose DeWitt’ join ‘Julia Sturges’ and ‘Lady Marjory Bellamy’ as mythical creatures on a real ship.

And, since you’re making stuff up, how about a little character assassination?  The 1997 film depicted First Officer William Murdoch taking but ultimately rejecting a bribe from make-believe villain ‘Caledon Hockley.’  Murdoch was also shown shooting two passengers dead after he presumed, they intended to storm one of the remaining lifeboats.  He then saluted Chief Officer Henry Wilde and committed suicide with a revolver.  None of this ever happened.  After the picture’s director [name withheld] refused to take out the bogus scenes, studio executives flew to Murdoch’s hometown to issue his relatives an apology.  As for the movie, if you are looking for an accurate depiction of events – keep looking.  Put another way, there was a ship called Titanic, and it sank.  After that, you’re on your own.

The Civil War is far and away the all-time champion of most books. [One of Titanic’s passengers wrote ‘The Truth about Chickamauga.’]  Second?  The runner-up is World War II.  Third?  The correct guess is the Titanic.  So, what is my mission statement?  What else?  Write yet another book.  Tell her story, once again.  This time come armed with all I know and have learned in the wake of Doctor Robert Ballard’s stunning discovery of the wreck in 1985.  I will attempt to detail what is correct and dispel, whenever possible, what is not.

I spent my career working in television, the first seven years producing TV News.  What did I learn?  I learned skepticism tinged with a bit of cynicism, and it has served me well.  So, I will do your bidding.  On your behalf, I will be skeptical, factual, analytical, and when required, cynical.  There is one thing I cannot be, dispassionate.  I will stipulate to a love of all ships – but Her most of all.  By now, you may be asking yourself, ‘Why so many pictures?’  I confess that, too, is the TV producer in me.  You always try to put a face with a story.  Plus, there is always the possibility that you can’t recognize Turbinia.

If I am standing at all, it is on the shoulders of some truly great authors.  I have read, re-read, and re-re-read their work over the years and have researched – borrowed – from them all.  To the best of my ability, everything in this book is true.  I believe in the concept that, if the Lord wanted us to remain silent, he wouldn’t have given us [brackets].  So, on occasion, you’ll see a comment from yours truly.  [I’ll be that most irritating of shipmates – the loud, opinionated one.]

The longest section of the book concerns the area around the Boat Deck between midnight and 2:20am.  If it seems long [it’s real time] and overly detailed, I apologize, but to me, this is the heart of the narrative.  Hundreds of little dramas played out on a sloping deck in the middle of a freezing ocean.  Loved ones were torn apart, and families were destroyed.  And with it came the sub-plots.  Some got in lifeboats, and some did not.  Some were allowed in the boats, and some were not.  All of this begs the question, why?  Regardless, these are their stories, and on their behalf, I make no apologies.  I have tried to keep the technological parts under control and not drown my readers in facts and figures.  But the brains and skill that created the Olympic-class liners are very much a part of this story.

Allow me just a couple of more thoughts before we proceed.  There is one sentence that is common to virtually every book written about the RMS Titanic.  ‘It had been a mild winter in the Arctic.’  It had, indeed.  Ice that had been forming since well before the dawn of man was now at last free.  Unfettered, it could leave Greenland and move into the Labrador Current and begin its journey south toward the shipping lanes.  The ice was no different than previous years, only this year, there would be more than usual, much more.  There were small pieces of ice, what sailors called ‘growlers.’  There were large sections known as ‘sheet ice,’ and larger still, ‘pack ice.’  In between were hundreds of what every seaman feared most, what the Norsemen referred to as ‘mountains of ice.’  Icebergs.

If you’re familiar with the advertising business, you probably know about the concepts of ‘marketing research’ and ‘brand recognition.’  Countless studies have been commissioned to find out what people can identify and what they like.  The results are often quite surprising.  For example, inquiries have determined that far more people [around the world] can recognize the ‘Cavallino Rampante’ [in English, ‘The Prancing Horse’ aka the ‘Ferrari’ logo] than can recognize ‘Shell’ or ‘Coca-Cola.’  Then there is my favorite.  For decades, focus groups, when asked to identify the most famous ship in the world, gave the traditional answer, ‘Noah’s Ark’.  No more.  The runaway number one is now ‘Titanic’.  That’s ‘brand recognition.’

There is no way to tell the whole story in this little book, yet I will do my best.  Call me crazy [you wouldn’t be the first] and maybe a little arrogant [see previous], but I feel it’s my duty to help set the record straight for fifteen hundred souls who went to a cold, watery grave that night.  Time to depart.  ‘All ashore that’s goin’ ashore!'”

THE GAME 

THE GAME is dedicated, “To My Father, for that rainy day at Fenway and A thousand games of ‘catch’”.  Steve was passionate about baseball.  He knew baseball in-and-out.  He was the expert’s expert. He would say, “I know what I like.”  Well, I’m here to tell you that he “liked”, [see also, “was passionate about”] the Red Sox, Boston, the Patriots, the Celtics, Lotus cars, Ferraris, meatballs, pasta of any kind, pundits, condiments, the Titanic, HRB, his family, and Vin Scully – not necessarily in that order.

He writes in THE GAME Foreword: “The History books tell us that the first professional baseball game was held on May 4, 1869, as the Cincinnati Red Stockings ‘eked’ out a 45-9 win. No doubt, the first baseball story was told on May 5, 1969.  No sport – not basketball, not football, not hockey – has the oral tradition of the national pastime. And, like any good oral tradition, it has been passed from generation to generation.  Baseball stories in one form or another are as much a part of our game as the infield fly and the rosin bag.  In this book, they come in all sizes and shapes – short stories, essays, expressions, rules, jokes, and slang, to name just a few.

The first ‘Baseball Balladeer’ in my life was one Vincent Edward Scully, known to three generations of fans as ‘Vin.’ For baseball-ignorant Southern Californians, he was a Godsend. Far more than their voice, he was their teacher.  At that point, the game that had been thousands of miles away was as close as your transistor radio or the ‘am’ in your car. He gave Los Angeles the who, what, when, where, and most importantly, the why. He studied at the foot of the master Red Barber and is acknowledged as the best in the business.  I know this how? He was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame 43 years ago! For nine years, I was lucky enough to be his producer. I called him ‘The Doctor’ for his PhD in baseball. Try explaining the balk rule to the man who taught you half of what you know about the game.

When I began covering the Angels, I got to know Emil Joseph ‘Buzzie’ Bavasi.  If you looked up ‘character’ in the dictionary, it would say, ‘see Buzzie.’  In the ‘40s, he was Branch Rickey’s top lieutenant and had a hand in breaking Baseball’s color line as well as dealing with Vero Beach in the acquisition of Dodgertown.  He became General Manager and earned a reputation as a shrewd and tough negotiator. Buzzie loved to tell the story about contract haggling with a certain player [still alive, so no names]. He had a fake contract with a very low salary created for the team’s best player.  He left it on his desk and excused himself for a moment, convinced that the player would take a peak. Needless to say, that when he returned, the negotiations ended quickly and in Buzzie’s favor.  He had been schooled in [and ultimately taught] the Branch Rickey way of playing the game [stressing fundamentals, nurturing talent, and the importance of a strong farm system]. In the years we worked together, I never once overheard a conversation when he wasn’t at the beginning, in the middle, or at the end of a story or anecdote. He lived for baseball and lived to talk about it.

In 1985, I began working with Bob Starr. Bob, or as we called him, ‘Bobo’, was the broadcaster’s broadcaster. He could do play-by-play for anything – baseball, football, your kid’s hopscotch game, anything. Bobo was a graduate of the KMOX School of Broadcasting.  The famed St. Louis radio station produced Harry Caray, Jack and Joe Buck, Buddy Blattner, Joe Garagiola, and Bob Costas, among others. He had that smooth, Midwestern style, and on the air, you’d swear he was talking just to you.  I once shared a golf cart with him for a round – four hours well-spent looking for my ball [as usual] and listening.  He loved to tell stories, some on himself. While playing 18 holes on an off day, Bob had a heart attack.  Upon arrival at the hospital, the doctors asked if he were in pain. ‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘in my backside.’ Mystified, the doctors went over the test results. A physical examination revealed that the patient still had his pants on.  The source of the pain was two Titleists in his back pocket.  How we miss Bobo.

The average baseball fan may not recognize the name Jack Lang, but every player knew him and loved it when he called.  Jack was for twenty years the executive secretary of The Baseball Writers of America, and if he telephoned you, it meant that you just won the Cy Young Award, the Most Valuable Player Award, the Rookie-of-the-Year, or had hit the ‘Baseball Lottery,’ induction into the Hall of Fame.  His vocation was sportswriter [a New York beat writer], and for forty years, he was one of the best.  I met Jack in 1987.  We had been hired by Victor Temkin to do sports licensing for MCA/Universal. It was there I discovered his sense of humor, his humanity, and his encyclopedic knowledge of the game.  We would speak on the phone almost every day for an hour.  Five minutes would be devoted to business, the remaining fifty-five given over to ‘talkin’ baseball.’  I firmly believe that I could have put the phone on speaker, turned on a tape recorder, left the room, and returned thirty minutes later to find another chapter for this book.  In 1997, we took a production crew to his home for an interview. It was the 50th anniversary of Jackie Robinson’s entry into the major leagues, and who better to discuss it than the man who covered it.  Jack lived in the little village of Ft. Salonga on the North Coast of Long Island, [Vin used to refer to him as ‘the Squire of Ft. Salonga’] in a modest house with an office on the side. The office contained a desk, two chairs, and enough baseball memorabilia to open a museum. [The whole place could have been shipped, as is, to Cooperstown.]

Buzzie, Bobo, and the Squire are gone, and, believe me, this book would have been easier to write if they were still here. We still have Vinnie [long may he reign].  If there is such a thing as a sub-dedication, this is for them. They and countless others had a hand in writing this book.  I have tried to fashion a work with something for everyone, from the hard-core fan to the young people just learning about the game. In so doing, I’ve run the gamut all the way from baseball history to baseball jokes. I hope you enjoy it and hope it adds to your love for ‘the game’.”

On amazon.com and smashwords.

Best, Jay

      A CLEAN SLATE – BEGINNINGS AND ENDINGS Sound familiar. August 2016.  "Over the age of 60.  Underlying health condition (heart problems. Pneumonia in the lungs. 

[lonelypond]

Casual Lunacy, Chapter 13

Love Live, NicoMaki, 2.5K, 13/?

I’M NOT SURE WHAT THIS COULD MEAN

All passion, all pressure, no finesse...due to Nico’s vast experience with kissing...onstage, she’d felt all finesse, no passion, but this, Maki’s lips pushing into hers, this was dizzying, this lightness, this joy, was this what lifted the wings of butterflies as they dazzled, soaring into the ecstatic air? An amazing, giddy ride until Nico flinched when Maki’s fang bit into her lip. Maki pulled back with a worried whimper and Nico was quick to make eye contact, still holding Maki’s head. This was a familiar feel, Maki skittish, eyes wide, spooked, ready to run, would she go over the balcony if Nico kissed her on the nose? But instead, Nico smiled as Maki looked away, mumbling an apology.

“Look at me, pretty girl.” Nico whispered into Maki’s ear, her fingers stroking Maki’s hair, and the lavender eyes shyly met hers, “Nico is fine.” Nico laughed, “Nico is beyond fine.” Maki tilted her head, curious and Nico stepped closer, standing on her toes, gently pressing a kiss against Maki’s yielding lips, leaning in as the kiss got bolder, her hand moving to Maki’s waist, holding the redhead steady. Maki’s arms were wrapped around Nico’s torso, lifting her off the ground, which Nico barely noticed, as light headed and hearted as she felt at that moment.

The balcony door slid open, then closed. A pause, then it opened again and there was a cough. Nico recognized the cough and pulled Maki closer before she broke the kiss. The redhead seemed aware of nothing but Nico, her eyes eagerly searching Nico’s expression for some hint as to what happens next.

“Umi.” Nico watched her roommate in her peripheral vision. Umi was almost as jumpy as Maki, looking everywhere else.

Umi shook herself and stepped forward. “Kotori wants us to do the encore we rehearsed.”

“Nico is busy.” Nico informed her roommate, her free hand teasing the hair at the back of Maki’s neck so she could feel the redhead shiver.

Umi’s response was dry mischief, “Is the future star of stage and screen ill? Your audience awaits.”

Nico half turned her head with a growl, winking at Maki, who giggled, “You have two girlfriends of your own, Umi. Let Nico have a chance to get one.”

“Let me remind you that house rules apply even when I’m not at home, Nico. No sleepovers without advance notice.” Umi declared.

Nico really was feeling giddy so her response was meant to amuse Maki, “You didn’t mind last night.”

“I KNEW IT. She was on the couch.” Umi’s indignation triggered an unusually fierce accusation.

Maki must have changed in the middle of the night, Nico realized. Umi hadn’t had a dream. Nico fumbled for a response, not having meant to…”No, Umi, that’s not what I meant.” Nico could feel Maki trembling, Nico needed Umi to go back to the party. This really was confusing. “Nico was joking. I meant Princess. What, do you think Maki is a dog? Rude.”

Maki yelped, Nico closed her eyes, cursing in her head, but when she opened them, Umi looked more confused than angry.

“No.” Umi stated slowly, not sure what the mood was turning into.

Nico went on the attack, “Didn’t I find you last weekend on the couch, on the bottom of Kotori Honoka pile, with NO advance warning.” She let disappointment color her voice, “Nico’s heart skipped a few beats when she woke up to make breakfast. Such lacey und…”

Umi backpedaled, forgetting to slide open the door, pausing to say something, mouth gaping open,  and then just running back to the party. Nico fell back against the balcony with a chuckle, her hands dropping to her sides.

“That secret identity thing really does get complicated.” Nico frowned, glancing at the taller girl next to her. Maki nodded, eyes barely glancing away from Nico’s lips. “But Umi won’t be back to bother us, although she might send Honoka.”

Maki’s phone went off. She read the text and frowned.

“What is it, gorgeous and can’t take her eyes off Nico?” Nico wondered, smirking, dropping her head on Maki’s shoulder while Maki nearly dropped her phone.

“Mama reminding me to be home at 1.”

Nico grabbed Maki’s phone, typed quickly and hit send.

M: Hi. This is Nico, Maki told me and I still have some questions. I’ll make sure she gets home by 2.

Maki took her phone back, after her mom texted agreement. “Questions?”

“Well, if your mom asks, yes. But since you did...” Nico turned to face Maki, her fingers again running through the silky red strands, their tips exerting gentle pressure to bring Maki even closer as the green started to swirl through the lavender and a low growl built in the back of Maki’s throat. Maki’s face was close enough to Nico that she nudged Nico’s cheek with her nose, taking a breath and a moment to really be aware of Nico, magic and musk and peach and coffee and vanilla, brighter than the incandescent moon, shattering the pull of night and impulse, tearing through worn urges with fresh impulses Maki couldn’t yet name.

Lots of movement, Kotori thought as she remixed the punch bowl. Good sign, people were circulating through different groups, Honoka’s playlist was the perfect undercurrent and Nico wouldn’t be monopolizing the balcony much longer. Maybe Honoka could convince Maki to sing again. That had sent a thrill through the room, following up on the buzz from Nico and Umi’s duet.

Anju broke away from the clump of actors she was talking to and approached, her severe black pencil skirt and white frilly blouse a severe contrast to Kotori’s colorful splash.

“This is SO much fun.” She gushed, flipping a hand through her cinnamon hair. Kotori smiled. It was always interesting to see people outside of classes and work. Kotori had noticed Anju very methodically working the crowd, always keeping in sight of Kashima, usually standing in a pose that emphasized the side slit of her skirt. As if cued, Kashima now drifted their way.  

“Everyone seems happy.” Kotori poured ginger ale into what was a dark purple mix until it lightened enough.

Anju picked up a cup at the same time as Kotori and Kashima swept up, grabbing the ladle, “Allow me. Such lovely ladies should always have someone at their beck and call.”

Kotori giggled, but Anju raised an eyebrow, letting Kashima fill her cup, “Are you volunteering, Kashima?”

Kashima bowed, managing somehow to put the ladle back in the punchbowl and not sling liquid everywhere, “For someone as enchanting as you, I would go to the farthest corners of the world.”

Kotori briefly wondered if Kashima realized a globe wasn’t squared off anywhere. But Kashima in action was too entertaining to watch to quibble about facts and accuracy. It was all smooth and slick and charm and it worked so well. Anju had wrapped an arm around Kashima’s, letting the taller actress lead as they made their way to another group. Now, what was taking Umi so long?

“Umi hates me. Because I’m fun and she’s BORING.” Nozomi announced as she spun through the party, Eli at her side, nodding apologies to anyone Nozomi rammed her way through.

“Can we sit down, Nozomi? You fainted earlier. I’m worried.” Eli grabbed for Nozomi’s hand but found her target twirling away with a giggle. Eli was positive Nozomi didn’t have any more liquor stashed but this behavior was too much like what had happened at the sorority party for her to be completely convinced.

“Nozomi!” Kotori drifted up, a slight grimace on her face. Eli suspected she had heard Nozomi’s last comment.

“Kotori!” Nozomi bowed to the designer, “you have the most amazing taste. The decorations and music are so lively. How did you end up with U…”

Eli could see a crisis coming and stepped in, “Everyone seems to be having a good time. I’m trying to convince Nozomi to sing with me when you start up the karaoke again.”

“Umi’s gone to get Nico.” Kotori cheered at the thought of another flirty Umi performance. “What do you want to sing?”

“I’m not that familiar with popular music.” Eli draped an arm over Nozomi’s shoulders, hoping to exert a stabilizing influence.

“Don’t cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me?” Nozomi slurred. Kotori winced and Eli groaned.

“I’m sorry. I don’t think Nozomi’s feeling well. She had a…” Eli started to explain.

“Hush, Eli. Don’t give away my secrets. Or I won’t tell you anymore.” Nozomi threatened, while raising a flirty finger to her lips, and then latched onto to a random partygoer, leaving Kotori and Eli staring awkwardly after her.

“I should stay with her.” Eli was following Nozomi’s path, “Do you know where Nico is? She might be able to help?”

Kotori nodded, “I’ll tell her.”

“Thanks!”

Time had passed in a pleasantly buzzy blur and Nico’s fingers were tracing the muscles of Maki’s back as the kissing practicum continued, the younger girl still pulsing forward in a dangerously distracting way that made Nico just want to forget her current location, her plans for tomorrow and Maki’s curfew.

Maki’s senses were both out of control and deadened to anything but Nico. It was the strangest feeling. The slightest brush of Nico’s fingers or hair or Nico’s breath on her lips and skin would register seemingly infinite sensations.  Maki’s awareness became a tunnel vision of every sense but that as she closed her eyes, getting more and more wrapped up in a tangle of ruby, sable and thrill. She couldn’t control the whimpers rising in her throat or the growls when Nico paused and Maki felt herself surging forward to recapture Nico’s attention. So the voice of her host sounding to her left was a complete surprise and Maki yelped and would have gone over the side of the balcony if Nico hadn’t immediately wrapped both arms around the werewolf’s torso as an anchor.

Kotori didn’t apologize, ask questions or tease, although she did let her eyes linger over the sight of Nico with a very mussed and nervous Maki pressed tightly against her.

Kotori sighed, “Nozomi’s causing problems.”

“Figures,” Nico muttered, still focused on Maki, who was trying to calm herself by breathing deeply, bosom rising and falling. Which was certainly not encouraging Nico to let go. “What about Eli?”

“She asked if I knew where you were.”

Nico reluctantly let one hand drop from Maki’s waist and Maki relaxed. Nico smiled and stepped back. “You wait here and howl quietly or something. I’ll be right back.”

Maki nodded, Kotori watching curiously as the redhead stepped back from Nico and leaned gracefully against the balcony. Nico pressed a quick kiss to her cheek, “I won’t be long.” Nico shoved her hands into the pockets of Maki’s very warm jacket and followed Kotori into the party.

“NOZOMI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” The shout electrified the entire party. Nico and Kotori both took off for the upper loft where Umi’s voice was booming from. Honoka took a turn wide and nearly caused Kotori to fall when they met at the bottom of the stairs.  Nico sprinted, ignoring the tangle next to her. Honoka always ended up on her feet...eventually...and Kotori was used to her. What Nico was worried about was Umi killing Nozomi, although the charlatan probably deserved it. Nico tore through the curtain blocking the view of the bedroom area and Umi was supporting herself on a chair, Nozomi was on the king sized platform bed, straddling Eli, whose face couldn’t be seen because Nozomi was working her sweater over her head. Nico heard muffled pleas and felt slightly sorry for the blonde, but if she were planning to seriously date Nozomi, this was her fate.  Nozomi got the sweater off, ignoring Umi, and after she tossed it to the side, dove in for a kiss, her hand sliding under the cup of Eli’s blue sports bra. Eli whimpered and Umi paled. Nico decided the best thing to do was remove Nozomi from the blonde. And then the party. At some point, Maki had made her way through the crowd and was watching with wide eyes. Probably too educational, Nico thought as she grabbed Nozomi by the shoulder, “Yo, Grabby, get off the blonde.”

Nozomi managed to flip a confused Eli while frowning at Nico, “Geez, Nico-chi. Since you moved in with Umi, you’re no fun anymore.”

“This isn’t fun, Nozomi. This is crazy.”  Nico handed Eli her sweater and the blonde managed to sit up, flushed, not looking anyone in the eye. Honoka was supporting Umi while Kotori kept the rest of the party back from the loft. Tsubasa had managed to sneak through and was lurking in a corner, with her phone out. Maki was paying more attention to her than the mess with Nozomi, Nico realized and wondered why. But then Nozomi grabbed for her and Nico had to concentrate on breaking the hold before Nozomi did something even stupider than getting to second base in Umi’s bed.

Eli was more worried than angry, which surprised Nico. And there was no alcohol on Nozomi’s breath, also a surprise. “Did you lose a bet?” Nico asked Eli, confused.

“She’s been acting strange since she fainted at rehearsal.” Eli frowned, “I tried to get her to go to Student Health.”

“If you’re going to ignore me, I’m going to…” Nozomi rose off the bed, but Nico just grabbed her dress with one hand, yanked and let Nozomi fall back.

“No, you are not.”

Maki, meanwhile, was trying to figure out why sandalwood, copper, bergamot and too calm was the only person at the party not surprised and concerned by Nozomi’s actions. Maki sensed curiosity and...satisfaction? She would have to remember to tell Nico. And make sure sandalwood, copper, bergamot and too calm stayed away from Nico. Maki might have snarled in the shorter woman’s direction, but that just turned the green eyes to her with a piercing look Maki found disconcerting.

Eli and Nico had agreed that Eli would take Nozomi home and stay with her. Nozomi had not been allowed a vote, but after Honoka led Umi off somewhere, Nozomi had been less aggressive. Kotori’s mood had turned foul and Nico was probably going to have to fix that sometime soon, getting Nozomi to apologize, but for now, Nico just wanted to be alone with Maki again.

Eli and Nozomi grabbed their coats and Nico grabbed Maki.

“Let’s go.” Nico put on her parka over Maki’s jacket when the redhead refused to take it back. Maki had gone even quieter, her attention elsewhere. Nico would fix that, once they got to her car. There was still some time before she was supposed to drop Maki off at her home. And Nico intended to leave an impression. Maki could answer boring questions some other time. Nico’s lips were tingling for another slow dance up Maki’s neck, while the redhead said nothing intelligible. Because right now wasn’t about getting all the details. Right now was about making sure they both went home dreaming about what could happen next.

A/N: Howdy. I realized what writing a weekly serial is like -- one of those paper aka vintage roadmaps that open up and then can never quite get refolded properly. At least, that's my experience with them ; ) I hope you are enjoying the scenic route through the plot points I originally mapped out; I think we may be approaching the midpoint.

 I'm off to start the 2nd season/half of Little WItch Academia which seems to have appeared on Netflix. Take care.