#seen some people call it nonsensical so thought id make a little post cause why not

[thesauce8]

I don’t solely dislike Sasusaku because he tried to kill her, and if Sasusaku was a well written ship, I wouldn’t have any qualms about that attempt because it would’ve been properly addressed and executed. Unfortunately, they’re poorly written, so the fact he tried to kill her only brings it down more. That’s why him trying to kill Sakura hurts the ship, while him trying to kill Naruto has less of an effect.

[lifeinthegladhouse]

long personal post apologies to anyone on mobile, just...scroll on by...

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There’s so many things............I wanted to achieve in 2020, which is I’m sure what everyone has said. Somehow I still think 2017 was worse, but .... I don’t know. I was really alone then. I almost lost both my parents, this year I was safe with a better job, good partner, and only lost one (at least I got to see her once in a decade to say goodbye)....ultimately this brought me to heathenism in a weird and roundabout way. It’s hard to know she was really walking around with this poorly depicted Viking nonsense ‘false odin’ with cerberus (why?) going on, lord, she would’ve hated left heathens BUT ALSO wasn’t even a pagan to begin with (so she says, but being a pentecostal and having psychosis, while this does not a pagan make, made for a quite magickal and brutal experience). my mother was a trickster entity in living flesh. at first, i learned into having guides for the first time. i wondered if it was a coping mechanism, but i shrugged, because it was not my intention to see the numbers repeating, or the ‘loki’ every..single..day..for a week... in the weirdest fucking places... it was not my intention to lose my best friends in this city (which is not my final destination, ha) because they were too busy having poly drama, to, idk, support their friend, and then ghosted me, or came up with some weird passive aggressive bullshit. it totally dominated my 2020 - the pandemic, then mom dying, then the deities, then the loss. my card of the year was the hermit, i thought that was such a joke considering the pandemic. how could that then apply to me more personally? I haven’t had time or space mentally to recount the beautiful parts of the year because we’ve been stuck inside, inside during riots, inside during west coast smoke hell, inside where the spiders are. astoria was beautiful. it was god given. i knew what was real was real that day. it’s been seven months since mom passed, and i know her spirit has contacted me. it has brought me closer to my own spirituality which was accidentally rampant chaos magick that i was unaware of - introduced to me by ten years of tricksters who I never quite recognized. at the altar, id pull cards, i began to learn runes, and id ask, “were you always there? was that the presence that was always there?” I don’t know, much of the paranoid presence I felt my whole life ended when mom died. so much ended. i still want to write about it. again and again. because i forget that it happened, i compressed it so far back. everyone walked away and all that remained was my partner and the unseen. i would get straight answers on the altar, but never for that question. i never understood, and still hardly do, why loki came - was it to console me after the passing of my mother? somehow a veil had been lifted and my already wack ass intuition became 25% greater, somehow i felt seen and heard by others. at first, i was scared... i had always gravitated unknowingly towards tricksters and mercurial beings, loki came during the week of L*ghnasadh, after I’d been reading abt the ACTUAL “mercury”/hermes.... it was as if to be like, oh, you’re looking to NAME US FINALLY? THIS ENERGY, HERE _______. I was a little sheepish of Odin because of the association..... and I never quite got an answer. Sometimes still, I am struggling to understand this deity, however many a time loud and clear he and Loki have responded within the half-hour, be it some really weird ultra-specific shit to crop up, flickering shit, popping, knocking over. I turn to him frequently as, the more I read, the more I trust... this understanding of inarticulatable parts of myself - when I read about odr I was thinking of what this could mean for me, especially as a trans person, and it moved me. when I think about knowledge, and loss... when I think of the underdog vying that Odin (and of course Loki) represent, it is always with grace and honor that I am glad to be In It. I struggle tho, cos no matter how viscerally real my experiences have been, and no matter how little I would ever wish to disrespect them by denying faith, as a human who has run far from christianity and is skeptical of everything, every day, I’m like, ‘how much can I lean into this? is this ‘weird’ or delusional? am i acting like a child?” but, ..... I have learned from many smart and creative folks of the same ilk that we are not alone and the passage of time cannot destroy old gods so easily, and I am honored to be called to that. 2020.....that is.....to me, the year of death and rebirth. it was the only parting gift mom could give me. as she died, I told her I knew the lord had brought me there. I knew we had made it JUST in time, by many many strokes of good ‘luck’, to see her off. the last day we saw her was the last day she’d ever seen both her children together in her life. of course, she probably hardly recognized me. and she loved my brother more. had spent less time with him. oh lord, she did look at me with burning eyes of distrust and hatred, but that was not her fault. she was so ill. god she was so ill. dad joked, after she died, ‘maybe she’ll finally be in valhalla’, he didnt know what that meant. mom was a ‘devout’ christian woman of “god”. she was no pagan. she did not serve odin. but 2 months later when I discovered them, I heard his words ringing in my head, and I had to laugh. It’s been so hard...losing the queer comrades I had with me because of ? what ? exactly ? I still dn’t know, watching someone I spent 3 years being ‘close’ to basically patronize me that she always had reservations about us, never let me in, or get closer, like real friends, .... id cry and cry thinking, why, did i lose the one figure who brought me into this world, who i never had, for ten years, who abandoned me and hated every ounce of my being, and to confront this NOW in the middle of a pandemic, where i have zero way to the outside world to cope, and then to be left behind AGAIN by SO MANY PEOPLE, i felt Loki’s comforting presence. I’m trying to focus on the future again, that’s what 2021 is giving me. the “year” label, “when mom died” is over. even if that event forever changed my life far beyond that of a normal passing (?) I mean, it’s never normal when a mom dies, much less a woman like her, have mercy, it’s over. 2021 is the “year when we move to los angeles” its the “year when i start a REAL band again instead of be a side piece for a woman who cant get real with herself and her drum machine”, the “year when maybe ill take my adhd meds and hrt” we’re suspended in a stasis, there are big ups and downs. in two weeks i quit my med of 2 years, because it’s causing harm and i actually dont technically need to be on it anymore. im scared and excited. i need the change. i need the CHOICE. 

[setaripendragon]

Trapped in the Amber - 1x03

Book 1 :: 01 - 02 - 03 Not a lot to say about this one, except that, on watching this episode for the first time, I was severely disappointed that Sam and Dean went to all that trouble to make those Homeland Security badges, and didn’t even think to use them to, oh, I don’t know, stop a plane from taking off? (Also, ngl, so mad that the continuity didn’t remember that they’d had Dean dealing with poltergeists before when they got to the episode Home.) Also, Moonfiends are completely made up by me, based on this one little bit of folklore I found about young women who look at a blue moon getting pregnant from it and giving birth to monsters. SPN lore is surprisingly limited for a show with hundreds of episodes, so I’m going to be tossing in more of my own lore to fill in the gaps in this story. (This being mostly self-indulgent nonsense, there’s going to be a lot of lore, a lot of ethical debates, and at least some linguistics.) And this chapter is dedicated to everyone who’s liked the last two parts, I absolutely wouldn’t have had the courage to continue posting this without you. Especially @spideypoolalways, and @lyratalus​ and @millieccino for those lovely comments <3

Allentown, Pennsylvania – Saturday 3rd December 2005

Meira makes Dean tell her about the poltergeist on their way to Pennsylvania. It’s a good story, and it’s also a reminder that John Winchester is a real person, her grandfather by blood. She knew about him, of course, but he was long dead by the time she came into the world, and honestly, she’d never given him much thought. Now, she’s suddenly aware that if it was her in her dad’s place, she wouldn’t be half so composed.

They don’t even stop to find a motel before heading to the airport where Jerry works. He greets Dean with no small amount of relief, and then shakes hands all around. “And this must be Sam, right?” He asks when he gets to Sam.

���That’s right.” Sam confirms. “And this is Meira.”

“Pleasure.” Jerry says, sincere but perfunctory, before leading them inside. He reminisces a little on the way to his office, and Meira listens in fascination, but once they get there, it’s right down to business. “Okay, listen to this.” He says. “It sounded like it was up your alley. Normally I wouldn’t have access to this. It’s the cockpit voice recorder for United Britannia flight 2485. It was one of ours.”

At first, it’s just a crackly recording of a may day signal, and then it fuzzes out to be replaced by a sound that makes Meira reach for her blade on pure instinct. Pain lances through her, and she flinches hard.

“Hey, are you okay?” Jerry asks.

Meira nods. “Took me by surprise, is all.” She says dismissively.

“Alright, well, it took off from here.” Jerry explains. “Crashed about 200 miles south. Now, they’re saying mechanical failure. Cabin depressurised somehow, nobody knows why. Over a hundred people on board, only seven got out alive.”

“Seven people survived?” Meira echoes in surprise.

Jerry’s eyebrows furrow. “That surprises you?” He asks carefully.

Meira shrugs with a grimace. “That sounded demonic to me. Sometimes spirits can affect radios and such, but it’s usually just static, psychic residue. That was way too loud to be residue. And demons aren’t known for leaving survivors.” It isn’t like she can tell them that she understands Hellspeech well enough. It isn’t like human languages, which she’s always been able to understand, but Crowley was one of the few creatures in existence that hadn’t thought she was an abomination. Or, he had, it’s just he didn’t have a problem with abominations, so he’d taught her how to understand his, heh, ‘native’ language.

Yeah, she definitely isn’t telling these two hunters, who aren’t yet her dad and uncle, that the King of Hell, or King of the Crossroads as he is now, taught her how to understand demons. Or that this one is fucking gloating on the radio of a plane it had just caused to crash.

Jerry pales. Sam and Dean both turn to stare at her, eyebrows raised. “Demonic?” Jerry asks, quiet and strained.

“I can’t be sure.” Meira lies. “But that would be my guess, yeah.”

“Well,” Sam says slowly, “we’re going to need passenger manifests, a list of survivors, and-”

“And any way we could take a look at the wreckage?” Dean interjects.

Jerry takes a breath to marshal himself, and Meira is actually impressed by how well he  “The other stuff is no problem, but the wreckage?” He shakes his head grimly. “The NTSB has it locked down in an evidence warehouse. No way I’ve got that kind of clearance.”

Dean nods slowly, and then shakes his head in dismissal. “No problem.”

Meira has to bite back a grin, and once they’ve gotten the lists of passengers and survivors from Jerry and they’re leaving, she nudges Dean with her elbow and asks, “No problem, huh?” Dean just grins back, smug and cocky, and, oh, yeah, this is going to be good.

A short drive and an endless wait later, which Meira fills with reading a paperback she picked up from a bookshop across the street, and Sam passes with pacing and frustration until Meira gives in and starts reading aloud in an over-dramatic fashion, Dean returns with brand new fake IDs for all of them. Sam, of course, immediately remembers his impatience, and huffs, “You’ve been in there forever!”

“You can’t rush perfection.” Dean retorts, flipping one of the cards over to Meira, who catches it between the pages of her book, then retrieves it eagerly.

“Homeland security?” Sam asks incredulously.

Meira whoops. “Oh, man. Yes.”

“See?” Dean says to Sam. “She knows an awesome idea when she hears one.”

“The doors this baby is going to open.” Meira agrees in delight. “The prank opportunities will be endless and glorious.”

Sam rounds on her, while Dean bursts out laughing. “Pranks?”

Meira blinks at him in feigned wide-eyed innocence. “Don’t tell me you’ve never wanted to scare the shit out of someone by threatening them with charges of treason or something.” She points out. She wishes Pabbi were here, or Jace. They’ve always been better at coming up with the truly hilarious pranks. Sam just shakes his head and gets back in the car. Meira and Dean share a grin, and then follow to discuss the case and plan their next move.

Which turns out to be interrogating the passenger in the psychiatric hospital. Meira keeps quiet and lets Dean and Sam do most of the talking, wishing she could see the state of the man’s soul. She doesn’t really need to, to know he’s disturbed by what he saw, but it would be nice to know how disturbed. Whether he’d prefer the illusion of normality, or if doubting his own perception is doing more harm than good. In her own, limited, twenty-five years of experience with human souls, she’s never seen anything so damaging as doubting their own perception, but in some cases, she has to admit that the lie does seem to help people hold it together through otherwise traumatic incidents.

“It’s okay.” Sam says, as Meira considers everything she can read from Max Jaffrey’s body language and comes to a decision. She’s pretty sure Sam and Dean are going to hate it, but they can suck it up and deal. “Just tell us what you thought you saw. Please.” Sam entreats, and it works.

Max sighs, and starts, haltingly, to talk. “There was… this- man.” He begins, stops, licks his lips nervously. “And… uh, he had these… eyes.” He gestures vaguely towards his own face.

“Black eyes?” Meira asks.

Max’s head jerks up and he stares at her with wide eyes, while Sam and Dean both turn to stare at her. “Y-yeah. How did you…?”

Meira takes a step forward from where she was loitering, and claims the last open seat, opposite Max. “You weren’t seeing things.” She tells him simply.

“Meira.” Dean growls.

“Man deserves to know he’s not crazy.” Meira replies without looking away from Max, who’s shaking his head.

“That can’t have been real.” He protests. “I saw him-”

“Saw him what?” Sam prompts gently, although the look Meira sees him direct at her out of the corner of her eye is hard.

Max’s next breath shakes. “He- he opened the emergency exit. But that’s- that’s impossible. I mean, I looked it up, there’s something like two tonnes of pressure on that door.” He insists, looking between the three of them, pleading for an explanation, any explanation, that makes sense.

“Do you really believe you were seeing things?” Meira asks him.

He stares at her, then swallows hard. It’s several long, long minutes before he finally answers. “No.” He says, so quiet Meira almost can’t hear him. “Some-something made the plane crash, right? And if it wasn’t- wasn’t what I saw, then… what was it?”

Meira smiles at him, gentle but proud. “It was exactly what you saw.”

“But how?” Max demands.

“The black eyes are a fairly good indicator that the man you saw was possessed by a demon.” Meira informs him, and Max’s eyes widen in belated fear. “Demons do possess far greater strength than your average human, so one could absolutely open the emergency exit while the plane was still in the air.”

“Oh.” Max says thickly. “Demons actually exist.”

“I’m afraid so.” Meira agrees wryly. When it seems Max is too busy processing that to have any immediate questions, she nods. “Do you have your phone with you?” She asks. Max shakes his head wordlessly. “Do you know your number off by heart?” She asks, not hopeful.

But, it turns out, there are some benefits to being stuck in 2005. People aren’t quite so used to their phones doing their thinking for them, and some of them do, still, memorise their own phone numbers. Max rattles his off without a problem, and Meira whips her own phone out to save it. Then she sends him a text. “There. Now, when you get out of here, if you have any questions, you can call me.” She explains.

Max nods. Then he shakes his head. “You’re not Homeland Security, are you?” He asks.

Meira grins at him. “Special branch.” She tells him, then raps her knuckles on the table, and stands. “Don’t worry, Mr Jaffrey, we’ll get the thing that did this.” She assures him, and a little of the fear in him melts away as he nods.

It isn’t until they’re out of the hospital that Sam rounds on her. Meira honestly wasn’t expecting it. “What the hell was that?” He demands. Meira stares at him incredulously. “Why did you tell him that? You scared him half to death!”

“Um, no.” Meira snaps, indignant at this false accusation. “I didn’t. The demon did.”

“And he was perfectly fine thinking he’d imagined the whole thing, so why did you-?!”

“Checking yourself into a psychiatric hospital is the exact opposite of fine!”

“He would have gotten over it! And then he could go home and carry on his normal life, but instead, you had to go and drop demons on him!”

“You have no guarantee that he would have gotten over it!”

“You have no guarantee how well he’ll handle demons, but that didn’t stop you!”

“Oh, so we should have just joined in on gaslighting him, then?”

“Whoa! Okay, time out!” Dad barks, physically inserting himself between Meira and Rob- No, it’s Sam, Sam who is not yet her uncle and Rob hasn’t been born yet. Meira blinks rapidly as she backs up a step, and then another. She didn’t realise how in each other’s face they were getting until Dad intervened. Dean. Until Dean intervened. She closes her eyes for a moment, trying not to feel too much like her family’s been ripped away from her all over again. “Okay, let’s all just chill.” Dean instructs firmly. “What’s done is done, Sam.”

“It shouldn’t have been.” Sam insists through gritted teeth. “People shouldn’t have to deal with all this unless they don’t have any other choice.”

“Hey, man, I agree with you, but there’s no helping it now.” Dean repeats. Sam scowls.

“He already had to deal with it. It nearly killed him.” Meira points out. “I’m not going to go around shouting it from the rooftops, okay. Not least of all because people would think I’m nuts, but… Do you know how hard it is, to have the whole world telling you that you’re the problem? That there’s something wrong with you, not something wrong out there? No one deserves that!”

Sam sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose, and it’s a gesture that’s going to carry through the rest of his life, all the way until he’s in his sixties and a father and an uncle exasperated with his oh so headstrong niece. But instead of patiently and logically ripping all of Meira’s dreams of chaos and glory to shreds, he just shakes his head and heads for the Impala without another word. It leaves Meira feeling strangely like she’s the one who just lost that argument. Or maybe lost something more important by winning it.

“You know, Sam ran away.” Dean says suddenly.

Meira startles, and is half an instant away from saying something really stupid, like ‘yeah, I know, Dad, you’ve told me this story about a dozen times’, but manages to stop herself just in time. “Oh?” She asks instead, her voice wobbling slightly.

Dean glances at her and grimaces faintly in apology. “Yeah. He wanted to get away from hunting, from the supernatural, be normal or whatever.” He shrugs as if to say the notion baffles him. It baffles Meira, too, but then, she never has been and never will be ‘normal’, and she’s never really felt like her life was missing anything. “Then the thing that killed our mom killed his girlfriend.”

“Ouch. I’m sorry.” Meira says, trying desperately to remember that this is supposed to be news to her, not ancient family history.

“Yeah, well, it makes it pretty hard for him to argue that you should’ve let that guy live in ignorant bliss. He tried that, and it came back to bite him, it could come back to bite this guy, too. But I think he wishes the world worked that way. It ought to. People shouldn’t have to be afraid of the monsters in the dark.”

“People shouldn’t have to be afraid of robbers, either, but we still lock our doors at night.” Meira replies softly. “If people knew, if it was common knowledge what was out there, yeah, maybe they’d be afraid, but maybe they’d line their doors and windows in salt, and get anti-possession tattoos, and then go right on living their normal lives.”

Dean huffs a laugh. “Yeah, maybe.” He doesn’t sound like he believes it, though. Meira can’t exactly blame him. There’s a reason the supernatural has stayed more or less hidden for the last several hundred years, and it’s because most people don’t want to believe it’s true, so they refuse to see it. “Still think it was kind of shitty to just drop demons on him and then leave.”

Meira pulls a face, hunching down against a lecture she knows probably isn’t coming. “I gave him my number. And once we’re done with this, I’ll probably call him if he doesn’t call me and give him the full lecture on demons and theology as it applies to reality.” Somewhere Dean and Sam can’t hear her to question her in depth knowledge of the workings of Hell.

“You hunted demons before?” Dean asks in surprise, finally starting towards the Impala as well.

The answer is yes. On a normal day, demons wouldn’t really be difficult for her. She is anathema to them, after all. “No.” Meira lies.

“Then how do you know enough to give the full lecture?” Dean asks, giving her a look as he opens the driver’s door. Meira doesn’t answer until they’re both in the car with a sulking Sam, and once they’re in, Dean doesn’t give her the opportunity. “You said you don’t really hunt, but you’re a freaking encyclopedia. Moonfiends?” He prompts.

Meira sighs, and resigns herself to cobbling bits and pieces of the truth into a coherent whole, because infinite angelic memory isn’t something she’s going to bring up. “Okay, that one is because my best friend is a moonfiend, so I got a first person account.” She defends. “But my aunt and uncle keep- kept a supernatural library, and I read a lot as a kid.”

“Huh.” Dean muses as they pull out onto the road. “Okay, I’m just gonna ask. You best friend is a moonfiend?” He sounds incredulous.

Meira pulls a face at him through the rear view mirror. “Azura.” She confirms defiantly.

“What exactly is a moonfiend?” Sam asks, turning to look at her, putting aside his irritation in favour of academic curiosity. Meira beams fondly at him, because this is why Sam has always been her favourite uncle. “I know you said they’re kind of like mothmen, but mothmen are a really specific type of vengeful nature spirit.”

“Well, no, they’re more like furies. They’re not spirits, they’re corporeal, but they’re born from… desecrated ground. Furies are born from human sins against humans, mothmen are born from human sins against nature.” Meira explains, leaning forward as she gets into explaining. “A moonfiend is actually more like a werewolf in metaphysical characteristics, but like mothmen in physical characteristics.”

“So, they’re subject to the phases of the moon?” Sam checks.

Meira nods. “A moonfiend is born when a virgin, and that’s not just a sexual virgin, but a magical and metaphysical virgin, too, stares too long at an unfiltered blue moon.”

Dean actually takes a moment away from watching the road to turn and stare at her. Sam gapes for several minutes, until he finally manages to ask. “Blue moons happen every three years. Why aren’t they everywhere?”

“Well, half the time the pregnancy kills the mother before the baby is viable. Or the mother kills the baby after she’s given birth because, well, it’s pretty obviously not human. All that on top of just how hard it is to count as a metaphysical virgin these days.” Meira points out. “Or what counts as unfiltered. I mean, glasses, smog, clouds, astral disturbances.”

“Astral disturbances?” Sam questions.

“Okay!” Dean says loudly, interrupting Meira before she can even start to explain. “I’m glad you two have made up, you nerds, but can we figure out our next step here? I don’t know about you guys, but I’ve never hunted demon before.” Meira has to sit back and let the weirdness of that statement wash over her. This is her Dad’s first ever demon hunt. Weird. “Are we even sure it is a demon?” He asks, glancing back at Meira and sounding like he wishes he could hope, but he doesn’t. “I mean, this doesn’t exactly seem like demon MO… does it?”

Meira grimaces. “It’s not tempting mortals to sin, sure, but… they like to spread pain and suffering, death and destruction. It’s like a hobby.” She chirps, all dark humour.

“And this one’s hobby is plane crashes?” Dean demands incredulously. “That seems a little… I don’t know, modern.” He mutters, and Meira snickers. “Jesus. Okay. Evolving with the times or not, it’s still gotta be possessing someone right?” Meira nods when Dean’s eyes flicker to her in the mirror. “Great, so it could be anyone right now. How the hell are we gonna find this thing?” He asks, and Meira’s heart leaps into her throat. It’s stupid, she knows that Dean’s never done this before, but he’s her dad and he sounds overwhelmed and that scares her.

“Dean?” Sam asks, obviously picking up on the same thing. “What…?”

Dean sighs. “I don’t know, man, this is kind of out of our league, don’t you think? Demon’s aren’t like the rest of the shit we hunt. Even wendigos, they still- there’s still rhyme and reason to what they do, you know? Demons, man…” He pauses and sighs, hands going white-knuckled on the wheel. “This is… this is big, Sam. I wish Dad was here.”

“Yeah.” Sam agrees quietly, staring intently out of the wind-shield. “Me too.”

Meira swallows and doesn’t say ‘me three’, even though she really wants to. She wants all of her dads. She wants her grace free so that she’s not quite so helpless without them. “Hey.” She says, and ploughs on even though her voice shakes a little. “We can do this. Okay, it might be an entire order of magnitude bigger than a vengeful spirit, but it’s the same basics, right? So, how do we find our monster once we’ve figured out what it is?”

“We figure out what it wants.” Sam says practically. “Because that’s how we’ll know where it’s going to be.” Then he shakes his head. “But if all it wants is to cause plane crashes… I mean, do you have any idea how many flights take off from even just one state every day? There’s no way we could find it.”

That is a good point. Meira grimaces. She’s still trying to figure out how the hell they can do anything about this when Dean slams a flat palm against the wheel, making both her and Sam jump. “Son of a bitch.” He swears sharply, in a tone of revelation. “The survivors.”

Meira blinks. “Dean?” Sam asks, in equal bewilderment.

“The message, on the voice recorder. The demon, it said-”

“‘No survivors.’” Sam echoes. “But there were, there were seven.”

“Yeah, and if this were a vengeful spirit…” Dean trails off pointedly.

“It’d want to finish the job.” Sam realises, nodding along. Then he dives on the bag at his feet to pull out the list of passengers and survivors.

“It was gloating.” Meira interjects, a touch amused. “Prematurely. It’s gotta be so pissed it failed to kill everyone on that flight. I mean, talk about embarrassing.” Dean snorts. “So, now we know what it wants. Now we’ve just gotta figure out where it’s going to be.”

“Do you think…” Sam begins, tapping a finger rapidly on the side of the sheet with the survivors on it. “I mean, if it was a spirit, I’d say for sure, but… Do you think it’ll want to stick to killing them in plane crashes? Because that would be a way to narrow down who it’s going after next.” He points out.

“Sounds like a lead to me.” Dean agrees, and Sam immediately pulls out his phone and starts scanning over the list, before dialling a number.

“I mean, demons basically are vengeful spirits, just ramped up to a thousand on a scale of one to ten.” Meira muses to Dean while Sam hangs up and tries another. “So, yeah, some patterns of behaviour probably do carry over, at least a little.”

“That is so not comforting.” Dean mutters.

“Hey, Jerry, it’s Sam.” Sam greets. “I was just trying to get in touch with the pilot. You said he was a friend, so I thought you might-” He trails off, and then snaps “Dean.” so urgently that Dean automatically takes his eyes off the road to look over at him on high alert. “The pilot’s going up in less than an hour.”

“Shit.” Dean swears, and floors the gas.

“Look, Jerry,” Sam is saying into the phone, “is there any way you can get in touch with him, convince him not to go up?” A pause. “Please try. We’re on our way.” He hangs up, jaw tight. “How soon can we get to the airfield in Nazareth?”

“Forty-five minutes.” Dean announces, then somehow makes the Impala go even faster. “Forty minutes.”

“Okay, so we need to figure out how to get rid of a demon in forty minutes.” Sam states.

“Exorcisms?” Dean suggests.

“Do you know any by heart?” Sam retorts.

“I do.” Meira offers. It’s not exactly hard when one’s fluent in the language of angels and can invoke the name of god in it. Pretty much anything becomes an exorcism then. ‘Go away’ could count as an exorcism, as long as you followed up with ‘in the name of the lord’ or something similar.  “Do we have any holy water?” She asks, not daring to hope.

“Uh, no.” Dean replies.

Meira winces, and amends her request. “Do we have water and a rosary?”

“Rosary is in the boot.” Dean tells her, while Sam retrieves a bottle of water from his bag. After about five minutes of bickering, Meira convinces him to pull over so that she can hop out and grab the rosary. Dean’s peeling out of the layby before she’s even got the door closed again, and then she screws the top off the bottled water, dumps the rosary inside, and sets about blessing it. She really, really hopes this works, and isn’t contingent on her grace being able to affect the world beyond her skin. She’s never officially been ordained or anything, but active grace or not, she’s still a fucking archangel.

“That should be holy water now.” Meira says once she’s done, handing the water back to Sam.

“Should?” Dean barks.

“I’ve never done this before, okay?” Meira shoots back, unable to keep a hint of defensive panic from her tone. “I have the qualifications for it, but I never thought I needed to check that it would work!” Dean pulls a face, but lets it go. Meira swallows down her fear. “You should- you should check on the others while we have the time.” She says to Sam, and he nods. He spends the drive going through the list of survivors and pretending to be a United Britannia Airlines survey. While he’s doing that, Meira calls Max, which turns into an impromptu explanation of how to identify demons.

By the time Meira’s off the phone, Sam’s gone through the rest of the survivors. “I still can’t get in touch with the flight attendant.” Sam states, hanging up the phone again.

“Given her job, I’d say that’s a bad sign.” Dean says dryly.

Sam snorts. “Yeah, no kidding. I’m going to call Jerry, see if he can tell me when she’s working next.” He explains, and then does just that. After a brief introduction, he gives Jerry the woman’s name, “Amanda Walker,” and waits a couple of minutes while Jerry does the research he can’t while he’s stuck on the highway. “Oh?” Sam says, an edge to his voice Meira really doesn’t like. “This evening? Look, Jerry-” A long pause. “No, I understand. Okay. Yeah, we’re on our way. Bye.”

“She’s working tonight?” Dean asks in dismay.

“Yeah. Flight leaves at eight. And there’s no way Jerry can ground the flight.” Sam adds in dismay.

Dean takes a bracing breath. “We’re just going to have to stop this son of a bitch before he can get that far.” He announces, and Meira tries to bolster her own confidence with his.

Nazareth, Pennsylvania – Saturday 3rd December 2005

By the time they get to the airfield, there are already two men walking across the tarmac to a small plane. “Shit.” Dean swears, and they all fling themselves out of the car.

“Mr Lambert!” Sam calls as they jog over. Security inevitably tries to stop them, but Dean flashes a badge at them, almost too fast for them to see more than that it looks sort of official, but it is enough to get them past. “Mr Lambert!” Sam calls again, and one of the two men nudges the other, and he turns.

“Yeah?” The second man says, so he must be Jerry’s friend, the pilot.

Meira looks at the other one, who’s watching them with a sort of sceptical hostility. She holds her hand out to him. “Agent Meira Geyad.” She greets, watching him closely, but there’s no reaction except a raised eyebrow as he takes her hand. Oh, hell. She starts to turn, but then a fist meets her face with enough force to send her sprawling.

“Shit!” Dean swears.

“Chuck!” The other man shouts in horror. “Wha-” He’s cut off by an awful crunching noise that makes Meira’s stomach turn over in guilt. It’s followed by a splash, and the hissing of corruption being melted away by a holy blessing. Holy water worked then, thank God, Meira thinks dizzily, finally healing enough to look up.

The demon grabs for Sam, getting him by the throat, and Dean yells his name in desperation. Meira starts to spit out the simplest exorcism she knows, but before she can get more than three words in, the demon has dropped Sam and kicked her in the ribs hard enough to wind her. Hard enough to break ribs, actually, but those heal quickly like her fractured cheekbone did. It takes a little longer to catch her breath, and by then, the demon has abandoned its meatsuit, streaming out of Chuck Lambert’s mouth and leaving him to collapse to the ground.

“Jesus.” Dean breathes. “Sam?”

“Fine.” Sam rasps.

“Meira?” Dean checks, dropping to his knees beside her. “You alright?” Meira groans, and takes the hand he offers her, letting him haul her up into a sitting position. “I’m guessing that wasn’t how an exorcism is supposed to go.”

“No, it realised what I was trying to do and left before I could send it back to hell.” Meira huffs, rubbing at her side just to check that her ribs are back where they’re supposed to be.

“Why’d it flinch at your name?” Dean asks curiously.

“Ge-Iad is one of the names of God.” Meira explains.

“Never heard that one before.” Dean says, eyebrows rising. “I thought you used Christ to test for demons.”

“The more often the name is used without faith, the less power it holds over the demonic.” Meira replies. “You can amp it up by using a language like Latin, which is both dead and stuffed full of religious ritual by now, but, you have any idea how many people say ‘Jesus Christ’ as an invective, without a thought as to why they swear that way?”

“And Ge-Iad, that’s, what? Never used?” Dean asks.

“Never without the proper reverence.” Meira corrects, and then tips her head. “Until today.” She adds with a pointed look, which earns her the best devil-may-care grin in her dad’s arsenal.

“Guys.” Sam calls, solemn. “Chuck’s dead.”

“Oh, that petty son of a bitch.” Meira grouses, flopping back down onto the tarmac.

“Uh-uh. Come on, up.” Dean instructs, getting to his feet and holding out his hand again. “We’ve still gotta stop this son of a bitch before he brings another plane down.” Meira whines, but takes his hand and lets him pull her to her feet.

“And we’ve got company.” Sam adds, as the airfield security descend on them.

Sam and Dean both look like deer in the headlights of a semi, so Meira takes charge. She orders security to inform the police of the incident, flashes her fake ID about, and then leaves with Sam and Dean on ‘important business’ before the police actually arrive. “Back to Allentown?” Dean checks, and Sam nods, already on the phone.

“I still can’t get in touch with the flight attendant.” Sam tells them several minutes later.

“We can’t let her get on that plane.” Dean insists.

Meira thinks about the fake IDs they’ve been using and has a really, really bad idea. She’s pretty sure Pabbi would approve. “I have an idea?” She offers. Sam turns to look at her, and she grimaces as she holds up her fake ID. “But… we’re going to need to look the part.”

Sam blinks once, and then his eyes widen. “Oh, no.” He says quickly. “No, there’s no way we can pull that off!”

“Why not?” Meira challenges.

“What?” Dean asks, glancing in the rear view mirror. “What’s the plan?”

“What’s TSA going to do if Homeland Security shows up and tells them there’s a terrorist on that plane?” Meira asks rhetorically.

Dean stares out the windshield for a long moment. “Okay. Monkey suits it is.” He says in a tone of resignation.

“And then what?!” Sam demands, a little hysterically, in Meira’s opinion. “We ground the plane, that’s great, and then we’re in the middle of an airport, surrounded by TSA, and we’re going to have to produce a terrorist for them!”

Meira shrugs. “Not necessarily. We just say we got a tip, or a suspicion that there might be, and when there isn’t, well, can’t be too careful in the pursuit of terrorists, right?” She points out. “We won’t even be lying if we tell them we have a suspicion that someone on board is planning to sabotage the flight. It’s true.”

“And how are we going to do an exorcism in the middle of all of this?” Sam demands.

“I’m not sure.” Meira huffs. “If it was just a case of getting the exorcism out, that would be one thing, but we have to make sure the demon sticks around for me to use it. Easiest way would be a devil’s trap, but it’d probably be a bad idea to go around scrawling pagan voodoo on the walls in front of TSA, huh?” She muses.

Dean snorts. “Okay, here’s the plan.” He says briskly. “Once we’ve got the plane grounded and all the passengers and staff isolated for interviewing or whatever, we’re going to insist on talking to everyone separately, and then whatever room they offer us, you two are going to keep everyone busy while I put a devil’s trap… on the ceiling, probably. Somewhere that’s not glaringly obvious, anyway.” He pauses, glancing back to make sure both Sam and Meira are on board. Meira nods enthusiastically, and Sam sighs in surrender. “Okay, so, what’s a devil’s trap look like?”

“Pentacle.” Meira answers easily. “You can make them more complicated, if you need to hold a stronger demon or a specific demon or you need to limit specific things within it, but… basic devil’s trap is just a pentagram in a circle.”

“Right, easy enough.” Dean agrees.

They stop to get suits at the first place they see. Dean looks hilariously uncomfortable, and Meira really wishes there was something she could say to help, but given that it’s a feeling that persists all the way through his life, she figures there’s not much anyone could say to make him feel better. “Should’ve got one with a waistcoat.” She says instead.

“Why the hell would I want extra layers of this bullshit?” Dean demands.

“Waistcoats are sexy as hell.” Meira informs him, smoothing down the front of her own.

Dean pauses and looks back at the shop with pained consideration. “Nope, no time.” Sam informs him. Dean makes a face at him, but doesn’t protest.

Allentown, Pennsylvania – Saturday 3rd December 2005

The plan goes off without a hitch. Meira knows that the most important part of pulling a prank like this is confidence, so she turns hers up to the max, channelling her pabbi and every archangel instinct she has, and TSA goes along with it. In fact, Meira is honestly a little shocked by how quickly everyone responds, until she remembers that, of course, it’s been four, not forty, years since the whole 9/11 thing. The flight gets grounded, TSA agents scurry about searching people and, helpfully, dragging them to and from the room they let the three of them conduct ‘interviews’ from. Meira is honestly having a ridiculous amount of fun, playing the scary Homeland Security agent looking for terrorists.

“You’re having fun.” Sam accuses under his breath, once they’re done with the passengers and about to get started on the staff.

Meira flashes him a wild, reckless grin. “I told you the prank opportunities were going to be glorious.” She murmurs back. Sam gives her an incredulous look, but doesn’t say more because the door is opening. Meira gives it a minute before she turns around, because if this is their demon, she doesn’t want to spook him before he’s sitting right on top of Dean’s devil’s trap, which he drew in magic marker on the bottom of the chair.

“I don’t see why this is-” The co-pilot cuts himself off when Meira and Sam turn around, his eyes flashing black as the demon loses control of itself for a brief moment in its shock. Or rage. Either one. “You again.” It hisses.

“Us again.” Dean says leaning back against the door.

The demon tries to lunge upwards, but the chair, conveniently bolted to the floor, doesn’t move, and the demon can’t leave it. It looks down, then back up again in outrage. “Who are you?” It demands, looking directly at Meira.

She smiles. “Zirdo zizop ol Ge-Iad, od lis ip darb ziri.” She informs it, and watches it recoil in horror with no little satisfaction.

“That’s not Latin.” Sam comments, looking at her in surprise.

“Nope.” Meira agrees cheerfully enough.

“You, though, you I know.” The demon adds, looking at Sam. He and Dean both go very still, staring intently. “I know what happened to your girlfriend, and if you let her do this, you’ll never find out why.” It taunts, a nasty smirk curling the host’s lips.

Sam stiffens. “Wait.” He says, and the demon grins.

“Sam.” Dean warns.

“What do you know about Jessica?” Sam demands.

“Let me go and I’ll tell you everything.” The demon promises.

Sam splashes holy water in its face, and it recoils with a yell, steaming. “Tell me, or I’ll-”

“Or you’ll what?” The demon spits, mocking. “What do you think you can do to me that’s worse than that?” It jerks its chin at Meira, who arches one eyebrow. “Let me go, or no deal.”

“Sam, we’re not letting this thing go.” Dean states. “It’s probably lying anyway.”

Sam’s free hand clenches into a fist. After a minute in which he doesn’t move, Meira gently pushes past him to stand in front of the demon. “Bols ma a’aiom, pa’aox il adohi ol Onsamir.” She instructs, and the demon hisses and thrashes, actually cracking the floor where the chair is bolted to it. Meira reaches out and puts a hand on the demon’s shoulder. It stills, tensing, staring at her with wide black eyes. “Niizo i etharzi, ammal, od yinay ma doal.” She says gently. “Oyi gohe Zire.”

Holy light suffuses the vessel, and the essence of the demon pours out of his mouth in the form black smoke even as it’s forced from this plane of existence, vanishing in midair.

Sam turns away and punches the wall. Dean watches him carefully, but when Sam just stands there, breathing hard, he goes to check the slumped co-pilot’s pulse. “He’s alive.” He reports. “So, do we need to carry on this farce, or can we just…?” He jerks his thumb at the door.

Meira takes a moment to hate the demon, because Sam’s mood is going to suck all the fun out of this. “I think we should finish. Let’s not give them a reason to get suspicious straight away, yeah?” She prompts, and Dean reluctantly nods, then shakes the co-pilot awake. He comes awake with a jolt, and immediately panics at the memory of the demon. “Calm down, you’re fine now.” Meira assures him.

“And if you want to stay fine, you’re going to act normal and not talk about this, or the nice TSA agents are going to arrest you for being a terrorist.” Dean adds, which doesn’t exactly help the guy’s fear, but it does redirect it nicely.

It’s a little tedious, going through the same rote questions with the rest of the staff, but there’s few enough left that Meira doesn’t mind. It’s worth it for the opportunity to bitch, in a restrained and professional manner, to the TSA agents about wild goose chases and bad information, and how she’s going to complain to her superiors about their lax fact-checking. The agents are so busy reminding her that ‘better safe than sorry’ and that it’s important work that they don’t even stop to wonder about a whole plane being delayed for what turned out to be nothing. Then the three of them are back in the Impala and driving away clean.

“We should have questioned the demon properly.” Sam says abruptly.

“Dude, Sam, seriously. It probably didn’t know jack shit.” Dean insists. “These things like to play with your mind, you can’t let it.”

“And even if it did know something, torturing information out of demons is hard, Sam. Not to mention ethically dubious given that the host suffers everything you do to the demon, too.” Meira points out, and Sam flinches, but his hard glare doesn’t waver. “Do you really think you can torture someone worse than Hell can, Sam? Someone innocent, just to find out what the demon riding their soul knows?”

Sam whips around to glare at her. “Yes.” He bites out, and then looks away, nausea twisting his expression. “No.” He capitulates. “I don’t-”

“Look, Sam. We will find this thing, alright? We will. And we don’t need to drag innocent people into it to do it. We’re better than that. Better than them.” Dean insists.

Meira smiles, bracing her elbows on the back of the front seats and lacing her fingers together to rest her chin on. “Damn straight.”

Marion, Indiana – Sunday 25th December 2005

It’s stupid, but it never occurred to Meira that Sam and Dean might not do Christmas. When she’d asked, a few days ago, Dean had just shrugged and said sure, they could do a present exchange this year, like that was optional. It’s only just sunk in, lying in the dark in a lonely motel room, that there just isn’t going to be Christmas this year.

No tree, no lights, no elaborate Santa traps, no cake for not-bro Jesus so entirely stuffed with candles that you could kill a wendigo with it, no trip to Scandinavia to have snowball fights in ancient pine forests, no stories of hunting pagan gods through the festivities. She’s alone, bound beneath her skin, with no possible way of finding out who did this to her, never mind what they did, or how to get home. She could pray to Pabbi, but he couldn’t answer, not without revealing himself to the Host, and she won’t do that to him, won’t force him to make that choice.

Midnight comes and goes, and the only way Meira knows is because she’s watching the shitty digital clock on the bedside table. She can’t feel the turn of the earth through the cosmos, can’t feel the ripples of time as billions and billions of humans make choices and change things. All she has is what’s trapped under her skin, and it’s nothing. Nothing compared to what she used to have. A family, and an entire universe to share with them.

Unable to bear it any longer, she rolls out of bed, gets dressed, and heads out. Once there, she goes to the vending machine and buys one of everything that looks like it has a cavity-inducing sugar-content, and carries it all over to the Impala. Then she hops up onto the hood, lies back, and starts in on her stash while watching the stars. “Hey, Granddad.” She says, out loud while opening up a pack of skittles, because who gives a fuck. “Looks like you’re the only family I’ve got for Christmas this year. Well, you and not-bro. How’s the garden, Josh? Sorry about no cake this year. It’d feel like… cheating, somehow, if I tried to get Sam and Dean to do it with me. Like I’m stealing something from their future, you know? Even if I bet Dean would get a kick out of it.”

She takes a deep breath, suddenly finding it hard not to cry. “You know, I always got why you fucked off, Granddad. Why you won’t interfere. I don’t think anyone else in my family really does. Except maybe Jace. He might’ve figured it out, but I bet he’s still stuck on the free will thing. That you won’t interfere because we’ve gotta do it ourselves, we’ve gotta make choices, and we can’t do that if the Father of all Father’s is looming over our shoulder. And that’s part of it, yeah, but it’s more than that, too, isn’t it?”

She has to sit up, because otherwise she’s going to choke on her own tears. Skittles spill across the hood of the Impala, and she doesn’t give a shit. “You won’t interfere because you love us. All of us, even the worst of us.” She says to the sky. “Even the actual devil. Even pond scum and slime mould and every last demon. Even me, even though I’m a blasphemy, an abomination, the devil reborn.” She pauses to gasp a few wet breaths. “I always knew, you know? You weren’t there, because you’re everywhere. But I don’t- Sorry, Granddad, but I don’t feel very loved, right now. I know you don’t like to- to interfere, but… but I could really use a miracle right about now, and I don’t know who else to turn to.”

She waits, but of course nothing happens. The stars don’t move, the world doesn’t shift. There isn’t even a change in the wind. Meira smiles bitterly, blinking tears onto her cheeks, and pulls her knees up to wrap an arm around them and bury her face in them. She gasps for air and lets it out in silent screams, with nothing left to pray for. Somewhere in the motel, a door opens and footsteps crunch across gravel.

“Meira?”

Meira’s head jerks up. Dean is standing there, looking sleep-rumpled and a little bleary, squinting at her in concern. Then his gaze drops to the mess of sweets scattered around her, and he snorts. He shoves them more towards the middle of the hood so that he can hop up to sit beside her, and snags a pack of M&Ms out of the pile for himself. “Can’t sleep?” He asks, and there’s a veneer of carelessness to it, like it’s an idle question and he didn’t just find her bawling her eyes out in the middle of the night, but he’s asking, and he’s there.

Thanks, Granddad. Meira thinks, as she tips over sideways to drop her head onto her dad’s shoulder. “I miss them.” She says quietly. “Never done Christmas without them before. Didn’t realise… how hard it’d hit me ‘til I got here, and suddenly it’s like I’m the last person on earth, it’s so lonely.”

There’s a long silence, but Meira doesn’t mind. She just watches the stars, and retrieves a skittle, and then starts in on the haribo. After a while, Dean shifts, but only enough to get his arm free so that he can put it around her shoulders. Meira shudders with another sob, and is so desperately glad when he doesn’t take that as a sign that he shouldn’t have done it.

“I felt the same, after Sam went to Stanford. Me and Dad were hunting separate, and Sam was gone. I knew I could just drive to Palo Alto, and he’d be there, but… That felt further than the moon, when he’d chosen to be there, instead of here.”

Meira nods a little against his shoulder, to let him know she’s listening, and she understands. “Pabbi used to dress up as Santa.” She says, sniffling and trying to put a little cheer into her voice. Pabbi didn’t so much as dress up as Santa as conjure one out of the ether for them, actually, but close enough. “And he’d have this huge sack of presents, right? But he’d only leave one. The rest, he’d say, we had to get for ourselves.”

Dean bursts out laughing. “He made you steal from Santa?” He asks, delighted.

“No, he made us hunt Santa.” Meira corrects, laughing a little herself. “Traps and tricks. A present would magically fall out of the sack every time we scored a ‘killing blow’.” Dean gasps out a startled curse, laughing too hard for anything else.

Once he’s calmed down a bit, he wipes at his eyes, still chuckling, and steals a few of her haribo. “Man, we never did anything that fun.” Dean bemoans, but not too seriously. “Most of the time Dad wasn’t even there for Christmas, tell you the truth, since monsters don’t stop just ‘cause it’s Christmas. One year Sammy gave me this, though.” He adds, lifting a hand to snag the cord around his neck and lift an amulet out from under his t-shirt. “Best Christmas present ever. Though, if you tell him that, I’ll put itching powder in your underwear.”

Meira catches it in the palm of her hand to draw it closer. It’s dark, but as she peers at it, she recognises it, despite never having seen the actual thing before in her life. Recognises it from her dad’s and qaada’s stories, and from some deeper well of knowledge that’s from the part of her that should have been nothing more than the Angel of Thursday, the remix, and instead ended up a little bit archangel.

And maybe it’s just lingering body-heat, but it feels warm in Meira’s palm. She grins, and lets it fall. “It’s pretty awesome.” She agrees. “And my lips are sealed, I swear.”

Love you too, Granddad.

[amythingys]

You’ve Got to Be Kidding

Pairing: College!Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 3073

Warning: some bad words I think??? and hella cliches Summary: College is always better, always easier when surrounded by friends. And, when it came to Bucky Barnes there weren’t many that were better for the job. He was a magnificent and funny best friend (and so much more). Plus, he makes a killer breakfast - what more could you ask for?

A/N: Hey folks - this is a doozy. So this is a secret Santa (I know) for the amazing lovely, patient and understanding @trashybutnottootrashy who has been the absolute best when it comes to this. And, as well as a shameful secret Santa it is the first fic I am posting after my m a j o r slump and hopefully the first of many with a regular posting schedule where I will be catching up on the rest of my majorly overdue challenges. As always thank you to the beautiful people who put up with my nonsense and read the first thousands of drafts, @quantumarvel, @courtmr, @includeangieinthesequel - y’all are lifesavers. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy this piece and as always feedback is appreciated. Thank you for reading!

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“You have got to be kidding,” Bucky said, irritation evident in his words, But not at her. Most definitely more directed towards memories from his childhood. Days filled with screaming, not talking to each other for hours, maybe even days if it got bad enough. Money was used and wasted, often being burned or thrown in the others face. Property meant nothing, you too what you wanted no matter what the cost may be. And, of course, the cheating was unbearable with how often it occurred.

 So, “No.” he simply stated, staring his problem down as he set her coffee on the table. 

 “Come on, it won’t be that bad, I promise.”

 “It always ends in fighting, I’m not doing it.”

 “Oh, I think you’re being just a tad dramatic, Buck,” she murmured, mischief in her tone as she slowly pulled the box across the table towards her, lifting the lid and setting fee what seems to be the cause of all of his woes; Monopoly. A game that had been around for goodness knows how long, wrecking relationships ever since. Game night was his idea after all. So, she thought he was in no place to complain about her choice. And, of course, she told him that straight away.

 “You should have taken responsibility for the games then and let me get the coffees if it really bothers you that much…” She raised a brow, gave her sulky friend the look (you know that look) before taking a sip of the coffee he had placed before her. He gave a sigh, sat down opposite her and she knew then, 

 She’d won and the game hadn’t even started yet. 

  And she would only continue winning, move after move, property after property, the board was hers and she was loving every second of it. Bucky? Not as excited about it, funnily enough. But maybe, just maybe he thinks he can make it through as long as she keeps laughing in the way that causes her nose to scrunch up for just a second or the way she’d murmur ‘pay up’ every time (of many) that he landed on her property. It was infuriating, definitely, but these things softened the blow just a little bit. The tiniest bit. The blow was really softened when the luck began to turn his way. He didn’t know how she let this happen but what he did know is that about an hour into their game it was her who was dishing out the heavy rent prices for his two- three- four houses on the board and that number is only on the rise as the continued to play. 

 “No, no, no, no… no!” She cried, rising from her chair as she moved her piece along the board and clearly didn’t get the results she was hoping for. Bucky, now having the perfect evening simply laughed. But after a scolding from the campus librarian they promised to quieten down. 

 They definitely did not quieten down. Which greatly explains why they were now walking throughout the campus after the librarian had quite clearly had enough of the noise they emitted and continued to emit throughout their game. Whether it was his laughing or her screeching that did the trick they would never know, but it’s safe to assume that it was most likely all of the above and more. 

 “I can’t believe you got us kicked out,” She’d say. 

 “Can you really not believe it? Because you seem to be saying it a lot for somebody who can’t believe such a thing happened.” He spoke with amusement in his tone, because it was just fun, after all, eyebrows quirking along with the cadence of his voice as he jogged just ahead of her in order to turn around and steal a gaze. Not a gaze, more a glance, a glance with no meaning than utter amusement. Obviously. Bucky turns on his heels, walking backwards through the quad as the bickering carried on.

 Bucky continued, “Besides, I wouldn’t say it was completely my fault, you were just as bad - if not worse!” 

 “Nuh-uh!” She called back, face going red from her lack of a truly hard-hitting response. Something he loved, just by the way.

 He let out a barking laugh, nearly dropping her game from under his arm in the meantime. “That what you got?” His endless teasing was maybe too much for some but it would never fail to bring a smile to her face. “Nuh-uh..” He repeated, head falling forward, looking to the ground for only a moment before lifting his head with a grin. “Might have to use that some time. Yeah, I think, next time Sam gets on my ass about the mess of the dorm or something. I’ll claim ‘nuh-uh’ and blame it on Stevie.” 

 Okay, by then she was cackling, the whole scenario playing so clearly in her head that she couldn’t help herself. “Oh, I’m sure he’ll love that.” 

 “You know what-” As their walk continued and the air turned colder he opted to sling his arm over her shoulder, her responding with an arm around his waist. Purely for the warmth, of course. “-You know what I think? I think he would like it very much, actually. I mean, you know how Sam can’t resist a pretty face.” His tone was almost inquisitive at this point, seeing if she’ll bite for the bait he just threw out. And, bite she did. Not verbally but the look she gave him was harsh enough for him to wish he just kept it reeled in. 

 “Woah, what’s the harsh face for? You disagree or something?”

 She just laughed again, “I didn’t mean it like that!” And with a grumble and the dropping of his arm, she was quick to the rescue. “You know I think you’re very pretty, Buck, I just don’t know if you’re his type is all.” 

 “Oh?”

 “You seem surprised?” As they came to a stop at the front door of her building he began to search his pockets for his student ID, knowing she always forgot hers, meanwhile she stood, brows furrowed as she awaited his response. 

 “Oh no, it’s not that part I’m surprised about…” He produced the card as if it were a true ‘ah-ha!’ moment before running it over the sensor and pushing the door open for the both of them, allowing Y/N to go ahead of him. There was something unsettling her about the small smile that was threatening to break across his face… but he was holding back and she had not a single clue why. 

 “Well… do enlighten me.”

 “So I’m your type then?”

 “That is not what I said,”

 “What you implied though.” She could hear the grin that was on his lips as she walked ahead of him, she tried her hardest to ignore that and the blush that rose to her cheeks upon hearing it but when they arrived at her door she had to face her fears: Bucky Barnes. 

 “I didn’t imply anything, all I said is that you’re a good looking guy but you’re not Sam Wilson’s type. This doesn’t mean that you’re my type and with that…” She turned to her door, unlocking it and pushing it open, ready for a quick escape. To feign nonchalance she looked back to him giving a nod and mumbling a “...goodnight, Barnes.” But alas, just when it seemed like a place to freely freak was in her grasp, 

 “Just out of curiosity-” Here we go, “Am I your type?” 

 “Bucky-”

 “Just a ‘yes’ or ‘no’, promise that my feelings won’t be hurt.”

 “You could be.”

 “What?” He seemed surprised that she actually answered his question at all, let alone given that answer. “Sorry, was that a yes?”

 “Please don’t make me say it again.”

 “Okay, alright I won’t.” He chuckled at this, looking down to their feet for a moment. He looked up with a new task on his to-do list, “Follow up question if you don’t mind?”

 “Go for it. I mean how much more embarrassing can my night truly get?” 

 “Can I kiss you?” 

 “Can you what?”

 “Kiss you. May I?” He said, this time his grin becoming more boyish than she thinks she had ever seen it, a certain kind of light and excitement that shone through his features. She always knew it was there, but it wasn’t something he usually outwardly projected.  

 “Kiss me?”

 “Kinda stole my line there.” he quipped. The longer she took to answer, the smaller his smile became. It never left though, still pulled at the corner of his lips as he looked down at her. She would do what she knew was best whether that be agree with him or completely shoot him down. The choice was all hers as soon as he put himself out there, and he trusted her with all he had to make the one right for her. 

 She paused, a million and one thoughts running through her mind as they stood in the hallway. But, after only a second more of deliberation and another thousand thoughts she spoke up again, “You can have it back then.” Before he could even open his mouth to question it she went on, “The line, you can have it back if you want.” And with that he grins, head dipping with the intention of his lips meeting hers but before they could barely brush she had a finger pressed against his chin and mischief once again in her voice. “Go ahead, Barnes, say it.” 

  “Kiss me.” With two words it all changed. They were still them of course, jokes and taunts included but now maybe with the clarity of gazes that lingered just a little too long and arms slinked around the waist may have been a little more than simply ‘friendly’. 

  And boy, did she kiss him. 

  It was perhaps a little shy at first, what with the weight of years of friendship in the balance and the threat of being tainted with ‘y’know you could have at least used a lil’ lip balm jeez’ to hold them back. So, it was shy, and it was gentle. The odd apology mumbled as his nose bumped against hers but she’d simply giggle and shush him, calming them both significantly. And then? God, then they just sort of sunk into it. 

 After an initial feeling of this is new, it became his hands resting against her cheeks, one moving to hold the back of her head when Y/N tugged on his denim jacket, welcoming a new feeling of we should’ve been doing this the whole time. Lips moved, almost dancing against the other with the accompanying beat of the still active campus around them. But they couldn’t bring themselves to care at that particular moment. Until that moment was brought to a premature end. 

 Life continued on as normal despite them being tucked away in their own little pocket of time, and in life people need to get passed in the narrow corridors. The others tried their best, trying their best to edge past without being noticed at all. Though only a few were successful. 

  A quiet, “Excuse me,” pulled them apart, a shy freshman clutching to a folder for dear life as Bucky stepped out the way. He rested against the wall by her side. With flushed cheeks and chests heaving slightly as they each caught their breath, they simply stood for a second. Reeling from all that just happened, happiness radiated, laughter from mouths that tried hard to remain hushed until the Freshman was down the hall, fully embracing it as soon as they were. His head fell back against the wall, turning just slightly to catch her eye. 

 “You know I’ve got an early morning lecture tomorrow, and you’ve kept me out way past my bedtime. I hope you’re happy with yourself.”

 “Oh, very.” And with that, he knew he was done for, completely and utterly, not that he didn’t have some idea before. 

 “Well,” He started, pushing himself off the wall, looking each way down the hallway and proceeding with caution this time. “I suppose I must leave you for the night..” His hands scratched at the back of his neck as a boyish smirk once again appeared. His hand raised to the air and with a flourish, he gave a rather grand bow. “Goodnight, Madame.” And, then he moved to set about on his way back to his own building just a few blocks down the path, leaving her with nothing more than a smile and a quick wink before turning on his heels. As Sam always told him, Leave ‘em wanting just a little bit more.  

 “Unless you want to come in for a while?” Cool guy act already firmly dropped, he spun back around, already poised and ready with a million and one questions all compressed into a furrowed brow. But, the grin that Y/N wore gave him all the answers he could have possibly wanted and more. Just one smile and he folded. 

 He stepped forward, shaking his head slightly with a small smile growing, “God,” He whispered, leaving no time for her to properly respond before his mouth was on hers and she was reaching blindly for the door handle that pressed again her back. 

 You could say he was glad he never listened to Sam’s advice. 

 ‘A while’ lasted a little longer than they had originally planned. 

  The night went without a single hitch, smiles and kisses were exchanged between them so freely it made the need for sleep loathsome. They wanted the night to last until they were ready for the exchange to stop and for morning to come, alas, that is not how the universe planned for it to play out. So, the conversations ended and they slept, legs tangled and a hand in her hair - another thing that came to its conclusion far earlier than either of them would have liked; 8:25am.  And, with the mumblings of having a lecture at 9, Y/N managed to just barely coax Bucky from the bed. It was feat and a half she’d admit, but they each knew the real challenge would be getting him to part from her at the doorway. 

 “Bucky…” It was a quiet something. Not even she knew the full intention of letting his name fall so sweetly from lips that he continued to lazily brush against his own, their own little bubble once again appearing in the realm of her open doorway. Just-barely-there kisses continued to be exchanged, pausing every so often for conversation. 

 “Hmm?”

 “I really, really have to get ready.”

 “I know you do.” 

 “Which means-” His lips hushed her this time, pulling her deeper and closer to the conclusion that perhaps missing one class wouldn’t be the end of the world. A dangerous conclusion. So she gently pushed against his chest and the smile on his stupidly pretty face proved her previous hunch; he knew exactly what he was doing.  “-You’ve gotta go, Romeo.”

 “Romeo, huh? Oh, that’s real sweet of you to say.” Y/N was also quickly learning he was far too reluctant to leave her on that morning. But, who could blame him, certainly not she. 

 “Yeah well, I’m just nice like that I suppose.”

 “Rich of you to say after you kick me out before 9am-” He paused, eyes trailing from her face as he eventually caught sight of the orange cotton that sat cosy upon the skin of her neck. “-all the while standing looking like that in my hoodie no less.” This was the utmost disrespect in his book. 

 “You know I had it,” she fired back, cotton covered hands sinking into the pockets just below her hips, a satisfied smirk on her face as she met his gaze again.

 “Your point? Doesn’t mean you don’t look absolutely…” The way he spoke was too perfect, perhaps even slightly suspicious as he looked at her then. She caught it too, narrowing her eyes at him. And, then, quicker than a flash, far quicker than she could stop his fingers found the drawstrings of the hood pulled them tight.  “...Enchanting.”

 Obviously, she was thrilled by this, the “You’re a jerk,” she said would have made that infinitely clear had it not been muffled by the hood now covering her face.

 “Yeah, yeah, I know; I’m the worst.” He said, not an ounce of remorse or regret in his voice but a grin on his face, enough to cause a smile of her own as she struggled to free herself. 

 “But, despite me being the worst, you want to come over after your lecture? I’ll make you some breakfast and everything.” As Bucky spoke he, after watching her struggle a while, nudged her hands away before gently fixing the hoodie.

 “Ooh, breakfast? Tell me Buck, you make breakfast for all the girls?”

 “Only my favourites.”

 “Favourites? Plural?” 

 “Yeah, one and a half exactly.” His lips met her forehead then, a usual goodbye between them, though this time due to the recent… discoveries he lingered a moment. His arms wrapped around her shoulders as she did the same around his middle and they remained that way until she realised the error in what he just said and leaned back to look up at him, her brows knitting.

  “One and a half?” She was pretty hesitant to ask, knowing there was absolutely no way this was an innocent mistake. There was rarely an innocent mistake when it came to Bucky Barnes, and Y/N knew that.

 “Yeah, Steve is the one and then you're half because you’re so small.” See?

 “Weren’t you just going?” Her hands unwrapped from around his waist, pushing against his torso now as he laughed, muttering a thousand apologies she knew he didn’t mean a bit. He never meant them but in other cases where the roles reversed, neither did she. Eventually, he gave in and parted with her, backing off. Goodbyes continued as he went down the hall, smiles thrown over his shoulder and sarcasm flooding the corridor.

 “Mhmm, yeah I’m going. Have fun at your lecture.”

 “I’m sure I will.”

 “See you for breakfast.”

 “Maybe I don’t-”

 “Already told Sam, can’t break the poor guy's heart like that.” 

 A moment of silence passed and he was sure she had ducked back inside to get ready, but then: “I would never dream of it!”

[breathebangtan]

Credulous

Ch. 2: Comfort

Genere: FallenGuardianAngel!Jimin, Supernatural

Members: Jimin

Pairings: Jimin x y/n

Synopsis: love is an uncontrollable feeling, even for those who were meant to protect, and only protect. Nothing more and nothing less. Yet somehow, there was always outliers.

Warnings: A slight traumatic incident

Word count: 4.4k

A/N: don’t forget to like and reblog if you enjoy!

Ch.1 | Ch.3

~

“Tell me if it's too much, okay?” He says as he opens up the little square packet in between his fingers. I just nod slowly, trying to look away. The longer I was around him, the less overwhelmed I felt. It wasn't much, but it was something, and I'd take anything at this point. Fainting in front of a stranger just wasn't an option. My eyes squinted slightly once I realized he was about to start. “I'll be gentle.” He smiled, the warmest, most inviting smile I'd ever seen. The concern that laced his eyes was still very much there. I questioned why he was so concerned, I was a stranger to him. Was it normal for someone to be worried about a stranger the way he was about me?

My thoughts stopped as I felt the wet wipe touch my elbow. The sting of the alcohol caused me to involuntarily yelp, which got us a suspicious glare from the clerk. “I'm sorry. I'm not usually this whimsical, I'm just a little out of it.” He giggled lightly at my comment. I wanted to feel embarrassed but I was feeling too comfortable in his presence. You'd think I'd be filled with liquid courage right now, but I wasn't. The scrape on my elbow was burning and I wasn't able to control myself. I wasn't sure why I was so out of it. Maybe the fact that I was tipsy, a little post-panic still running inside me, and this overwhelming feeling, filling my senses. I guess my body just didn't know how to react? It was being extra sensitive.

My head wouldn't stop spinning with questions however. It was just so confusing why this feeling was suddenly so strong? I mean, I usually felt it when I was alone. Yes, when I had been in unpleasant situations, the feeling came back. But after the situation was over the feeling would fade away again. Ever since this blonde guy came around though, it was much more stronger and overwhelming, and it wasn't going away. Back there, when he had asked me to walk away, I felt it fade slightly, but the second he appeared again it all came crashing back.

It was worse than the first week, it was like someone let the chains loose and everything hit me full force. Making the first week seem like a walk in the park. Was I going crazy? Or was he causing this? I must be crazy, because how could he cause this?

My thoughts were pushed back once I felt him place a bandaid on the scrape. I breathed in relief. “One more to go.” He cheers slightly, opening another disinfectant wipe, to which my eyes open wide. “What? I thought we were done!” He can only chuckle at my exasperated reaction. “The first one is always the worst, trust me.” He reaches for my arm, getting ready, disinfectant wipe in the other hand. “How would you know? Are you an expert? You must be part of the nursing department, do we go to school together?” I ask him, causing him to have an amused look on his face. “All done.” My eyes go wide, once again.

“I didn't even feel that. How'd you?” I take a look at my arm. It's all patched up. “I told you.” He smiles as he throws the garbage away. My breath seems to stabilize, the panic I had felt subsides as well. “You really didn’t have to do all this, even back there. Thank you, for everything.” I grabbed my purse as I told him, getting myself ready to leave.

“It was nothing, really. I may have overheard what was going on. I needed to make sure you were fine.” He shrugs it off, whatever the reason may be, I was thankful things didn’t escalate any further because of him. “Well, either way I’m grateful… I guess I’ll get going now.” I wave goodbye at him. As soon as I step out of the shelter that the drug store provided, the cold nights breeze came crashing against my body. Causing chills all over, I could only rub my arms to try and keep warm.

“Here, take my sweater.” I turned around to see him taking it off, leaving him in a plain white tee. “Oh no, you’ve already done so much. I couldn’t.” I shook my hands, insisting that it wasn’t necessary, but he wouldn’t budge. “Please, I’ll be fine.” He stretches his arm to me, waiting for me to take it. I give in after a second. “You really didn’t have to, thank you.” I quickly pulled it over my head and poked my arms through, indulging in its warmth. The scent of warm vanilla mixed with roses and lavender filled my senses. “I can walk you home if you don’t mind, just to make sure you get home safe.” He asks, but the fact that he’s walking with me already clues me in. I just nod in response. Besides, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t still a bit worried that, that psycho from earlier would come back.

Just as we were closing up on my apartment complex, my phone rang. I really didn’t want to deal with anything now, everything that had happened had caused me a big enough headache, I didn’t need to add more. Didn’t even need to look at the caller id to know who it was. Contemplating whether I should answer it or not, my finger hovering over the answer button. “Maybe she’s worried about you.”

“Maybe, but knowing her, she probably just wants to know if I left the party with someone.” I rolled my eyes as I clicked the end button on Rae’s call, shoving my phone back in my purse. I’d call her, just not now. The rest of the short walk to my apartment was peaceful after that. There wasn’t any creeps lurking, no commotions of any sorts. Everything went smoothly, which put my wild thoughts to rest. The birds up in the trees chirping and the wind whistles helped a lot too, and as odd as I found it for a stranger to insist on making sure I was safe, I appreciated his concern. It's not like it wasn't nice for him to worry about me, or that a person shouldn't be concerned for another, for the simple fact that they're strangers. It was quite the opposite, I just never saw enough of that kindness. All the other times I got into altercations people just looked the other way, all I’m saying is I’m not use to such kindness. Maybe that’s why I found it so strange.

Finally, we made it to my apartment complex. I stopped in front of it to thank my rescuer one last time. “Well, this is me. I’m really thankful that you stepped in, I know you didn’t have to do all that. So, thank you, really.” I could only smile at him, as he shook his head at me. “Nonsense, I had to. What kind of person would I be if I just walked away.” He seemed like such a genuinely good guy, that, and the energy he radiated was so comforting. In contrast to that jerk from the party.

I was just about to turn around to leave when I remembered the sweater. I started to take it off but was stopped by him, “Keep it, it’ll keep you warm.” I wanted to protest that he’d need it more, he still had to walk home and I would be warm inside. However, he started to walk away from me and I figured it would be a waste of time. I just laughed it off, as I walked up to my apartment door. A few flights of stairs, and there I was, picking my lock. After a few tries it finally opened, letting me in to the warmth and familiarity of my apartment. “Oh, how I missed you!” I whispered to myself, in excitement as I locked my front door. As soon as I had I ran to my bedroom and jumped on my bed, indulging in its comfy embrace. It was good to be back.

The next morning started with the annoying vibration of my phone against my bed stand, causing me to shuffle around in my bed sheets. “Hello?” I answered it, voice semi groggy, causing me to clear my throat as I listened to the other end. “I know it’s your day off, but Sammy couldn’t make it to work. Is there anyway you can make it? I need you here at 8.” My boss’s voice came through too loud through the phone, causing a minor headache. Quickly, I checked the time on the screen, it was 7:20 now. I wished so desperately I could say no, but I needed this job. “I’ll be there soon.” I didn’t get a response from him, he’d hung up. A loud yell muffled by my pillow later and I was up.

I was supposed to have a stress free weekend, relax at home, eat yummy food. But no, instead I spent my Friday night getting forced into a party I didn’t want to be at, followed home by some creep. Thankfully rescued by the sweetest guy I’d ever come across, and now I’d have to work on my Saturday morning with half a hangover. Great.

Although, come to think of it, I never got that blonde guys name. Then again, he never asked for mine either. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to see him again. His kindness had gotten me, so caring towards me even though we'd just met.

Not too long later, I had finished getting ready for work. I got my things ready and walked out. “Let’s do this.” I cheered myself on as I walked down the stairs. The cafe shop was relatively close, which was one of the benefits when I first got the job. I was thankful now more than ever, because I needed to be there soon. As close as it was though, the walk was longer than I had anticipated. Honestly, could he be mad at me? He called me on such short notice. Literally forty minutes before I had to be there. I managed though, arriving with five minutes to spare. “Oh, you're here, thank god. Ask Lauren to give you the list of the current orders.” My boss was quick to rush me into the kitchen. Being a barista was fun, occasionally. Not on days like today though, it was devastatingly busy. Too many people to count on my own hands and feet, even if I included my coworkers as well. “How'd we get so popular? You'd think the Starbucks across the street would be stealing all the customers.” I commented at Lauren, who laughed as she showed me the orders that were in place.

I started to make the drinks alongside her. We tried our best to finish quickly and efficiently. Which must have worked, because our tip jars were starting to fill twice as fast. “We make a great team, don't we y/n?” Lauren asked, giving me a high five as she walked by me, starting up a new drink. She wasn't wrong, we were doing great. It didn't take long for us to get the shop to slow down. Everyone had been helped and served. All but one. A young man, wearing a black leather jacket, that matched the pitch black shade of his hair, which fell perfectly over his forehead. As a matter of fact, his whole outfit was black. His eyes quickly glanced over our menu before he stood In front of the counter.

“What can I get for you today?” I kindly asked, smile spread on my face. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't felt an odd aura around him. I couldn't explain it even if I wanted to, it was something I never felt before. It was like there was a slight emptiness inside me, but somehow I was okay with that sudden vacancy. Like it could become addictive. “An iced Americano.” His words brought me out, but pushed me right back in once I saw his eyes. Intriguing, yes, but not in a pleasant way like I would have liked

“Yes, of course. It'll be three fifty.” I choked out, my mouth was starting to dry out. Making it hard for my words to come out. He handed me over the money, and I quickly placed his order. I ran back to the kitchen to make his drink, Lauren laughing at me, for a reason I didn't know yet. “What? Did I do something?” I ask her, completely oblivious to what was going on. That only made it funnier for her, causing a confused smile to spread across my face. “Haven't you seen a cute guy before? He got you all choked up and everything!” She started to laugh loudly again. I gave her a playful push, as I reached for a lid. “That's not what happened.” I glared at her, shaking my index at her, signaling a no. I walked over to the counter, calling out the drink.

The young man walked up and grabbed it. “Have a nice d-“ I was cut off by him placing something into the pocket of my apron, leaving me confused. “I’ll see you around.” He smiles at me before leaving, I watch his body disappear before turning back. Lauren is already holding back her laughter. “Are you okay? Did he tip you?” I can only shrug, it must have been what he placed in there, no? What else could it be? “It has to be, I don’t know what else he could have placed in there. Did he not see the tip jar? He didn’t have to do that.” I shake my head, he invaded my personal space, he was a customer. That wasn’t okay, besides his aura had me feeling odd.

I shrugged it off and got back to work. I figured he just wanted to make sure I’d be the one to keep the tip. Was my service that great? All I did was serve him an iced americano. He was probably just a generous tipper. The rest of the morning was busy, but not as busy as it was early on in the morning. I couldn’t help but wonder if Sammy was okay, or if he just wasn’t feeling work today, deciding not to come in. Either way, I envied him. These were supposed to be my days off, but here I was instead, covering for him. Which wouldn’t have been so bad, if it wasn’t as busy, but it was.

My eyes kept going back to the clock on the wall, counting the literal seconds until my shift was over. I couldn’t wait to go home and just relax. Finally, i was two mocha lattes and one caramel macchiato away from leaving. Smile on my lips, as I prepared the drinks. I couldn’t help the happiness I felt, knowing I was so close to being back home, buried in blankets. I finished the drinks and called them out, waiting for the customers to pick them up. Once they had, I walked back to clock out. “Thank the heavens, I’m going home!” I whispered to myself.

It was currently 4pm. The sun was still high up in the sky, as I walked out the back door, heading home. People were bustling around, probably because most of them had just gotten out of work, or picking up their children from school. I popped in my earphones, playing some music while I walked home. The cool breeze was relaxing as I shut off my thoughts and enjoyed the walk home. The sky was a light orange tint where the sun was, with elaborate shaped clouds that looked so soft. The green trees were a beautiful contrast against the sky. Aside from the noise of the cars, the atmosphere was peaceful.

I was so drowned in the setting, that I hadn't even noticed the loud car horn. By the time I heard it, the car was inches away from me, my heart stopping. The car was rushing towards me, from the corner of my eye, I noticed another car had crashed into its rear. I bid my goodbyes to this world in those last seconds, that moved in slow motion for me. I was ready to let go, not because I wanted to but because I knew I had to. My eyes shut close, not being able to bear seeing the end of my life. Or so I thought that's what would happen, but I felt someone else's body slam against mine, pushing me out of the way. The hit broke me out of my paralyzed state. I felt myself choke out a breath, breathing erratically. What had just happened?

I allowed my eyes to slowly open. Scared to see what the scene looked like. “Are you okay?” A familiar voice said from beside me. Just like last night, the feelings of warmth and comfort came crashing back. I tried my best to ignore it as I took in the totaled car that crashed against the cement wall that was being trapped by the truck behind it, equally as trashed. The drivers seemed to be badly injured. Disregarding the familiar voice asking if I was fine, I ran to the other side of the cars. The driver of the truck seemed to be gaining consciousness, but the woman in the car wasn’t moving. I quickly opened the door, pushing her body back by her shoulders, I was being careful not knowing how badly she was injured. “Hey? Can you hear me?” I asked her as I looked at her body, her shins were both bleeding, as the car had caved in on itself. Her forehead was bleeding as well. “Are you okay?” I asked again, reaching over to unbuckle her seat belt. I wasn’t sure what to do in this situation, but leaving her in the car didn’t seem like a good idea.

I gathered up all the strength in my body to carry her out, but I didn’t have to carry her for long. The familiar face from Friday night took her from me, placing her safely against the wall. Was he the one who pushed me out the way? He looked back at me after he made sure she was ok. “You never answered me, are you okay?” He asked me once again, coming closer. Were these feelings really attached to him? It couldn’t be, I felt these when I was alone too. So why was it so overwhelmingly prominent when he was around me? I couldn’t think straight because of all the different emotions going around inside me. “We, uh, should help him out too.” I gestured to the man in the truck.

I helped him bring the guy out, as soon as we had I called 911. I explained everything that had happened to them, to which they had said they’d send out help and I hung up. We waited for them to arrive after that, but the adrenaline that was in my body started to leave, and I started to feel a bit shaken up. “Hey, it’ll be alright. Don’t worry.” The blonde next to me reassured. He rubbed my back, comfortingly, and just like before, his presence had calmed me down. The rest of the time waiting was spent with me staring off into nothing, with my mind at a blank. It wasn’t long before the cops and ambulance arrived to the scene.

One cop pulled the two of us aside, asking us questions about the situation. The blonde guy was talking to the cop first, but I was so out of it that I didn’t hear a thing they said until the cop snapped his fingers at me. “Miss, are you alright?” He asks me, slowly I nodded at him. “She’s been like this for awhile now, I think she’s a bit shaken up.” He pats my back slowly, it’s as if he knows that his presence alone calms me down. “Yeah, I wouldn’t blame her, it’s quite a traumatic experience.” The cop is sympathetic with my current state. “Miss, I need to ask you some questions about the accident. Do you think you can do that?” I nod once again at him. I clear my throat, trying to get words out. The cop takes the cue and beckons another. “Do me a favor and get her some water.” He nods at him and rushes off. I take a look at the blonde beside me, he reassuringly smiles at me.

The cop started his inquiry, and I tried my best to answer him as accurately as possible. Awhile later, and the sun was starting to set, my watery eyes being dried out by the cool breeze. After the cop was done asking me questions, I was taking to the ambulance to get patched up. Shortly after I was allowed to leave.

“Would you like me to walk you home?” He asks me, as I start walking away from everything to go home. “Honestly, I would really appreciate that.” I nod, a small smile on my lips. I was just happy I didn’t have to go home alone.

“Thank you for saving me earlier, I really owe you my life. You’ve saved me twice now.” I’m telling him this as calmly as I can, but truth be told, I was still trembling. “Remember what I said before? I had to step in.” His words were laced with so much concern, and I wasn’t sure how to feel about it. On one hand I really appreciated it. He was so kind, and maybe that’s why he cared so much. “You know, I never got your name.” I took a second to look at him, how his hair was pushed back by the breeze, the way his eyes scanned the area in front on him. “I’m Jimin, and you?” He looked over at me too, his beautiful eyes staring back at mine. He had a kind of beauty I had never seen before. One that seemed like it didn’t belong to this world.

“I’m Y/n. It’s nice to officially meet you.” I was afraid that I’d run out of things to talk about, because I knew if I did I’d tear up, and this time I would cry. As if he sensed it, he started to make small talk with me. “Did you call your friend back. Rae, was it?” I’m surprised he’d remembered her name. I knew he’d read her name on my screen, I just didn’t think he’d care to remember. “Actually, I have not. I was so busy with work and now this, that I just haven’t had time.” He nodded, taking in the information.

“Well, just don’t keep her in the dark too long. She might worry, no?” He suggested, and I was sure Rae would worry if I ghosted her for the rest of the weekend. It would be a good idea to make time to call her. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” A sigh escaped my mouth, I was starting to feel tired. Thankfully the rest of the walk was peaceful, with him keeping me busy with his questions. I don’t think I could ever express how thankful I was towards him.

Finally, we arrived in front of my apartment complex. Just like the prior night, I stood in front of it, turning to face him. “Thank you for walking me home, and for saving me back there. I can’t tell you enough how much I am. I’m seriously in debt to you.” He shakes his head, he takes a step closer to me. “You don’t owe me anything, the fact that you’re still alive is enough.” He brushes back a strand of my hair. “Now go inside.” He turns me around and gives me a slight push. I shake my head, but continue walking. Every time I thanked him he brushed it off like it wasn’t anything big, as if it was his job to keep me safe. The rational side of me wanted to question it, but I just couldn’t find a reason to do so. No one had cared for me that way aside from Rae. Of course, my patents as well, but I was enjoying being cared about too much to question his motives. Rae had just recently come into my life. It wasn’t a feeling I was all that use to, and it was nice.

I ran up the stairs to my door, wanting to be in the comfort of my home. Desperately putting my key in and unlocking the door. I breathed relieved. My body leaned against the door once I had locked it again. I sighed loudly as I take my shoes off. As soon as I was away from Jimin I had felt the warmth leave too, making me feel the traumatic emotions of earlier again. Not knowing how I’d respond to the sudden feelings beginning to bubble up, I walked to my living room. A couple steps in and I collapsed on myself. Frantically breathing as I cried. Eyes shut closed, shaking hand over my mouth. Suddenly I felt myself inside the most inviting embrace. “It’ll be alright, you’re going to be okay.” Jimin’s voice spoke out to me.

I threw myself against him, holding onto him too desperately. “I thought I’d die! My life flashed before me, and I let myself accept death. I was ready for it…” I cried against his shoulder as he rubbed my back, soothing my pain.

“I’m here, I won’t let you get hurt. Ever.”

[paladin-andric]

An Even Game

Hey, everyone! After finishing Blackheart I had a few ideas for some shorts, so I think I’ll be posting some! This one’s about a bunch of mercenaries taking some time off to play some rather elaborate games...

Sofia’s entrance into the company hall was far from silent, but with the boisterous shouts coming from the table, it might as well have been.

None of the group of five could hear her coming as they laughed and complained, the sound of rolling dice and shuffling paper being heard.

“It’s nonsense is what it is!”

“You’re just mad you’re losing!”

“Hey, I’m only losing ‘cause you stacked the game, you rat!”

The woman was a member of the Drakebloods, a mercenary company that had been successful enough to found their own hall. While small, as the company was, it was a pretty massive achievement for them.

It appeared several of the members were using their downtime to play games at the hall, all of them crowded around the round, wooden table and sat in cheap wooden chairs.

Sofia, a soldier within the company, chucked her things onto an empty table as she made her way to the end of game room. Ahead of her they sat, a massive map, a mess of cards and papers, and dice and miniature figurines taking up the entirety of the table.

“Hey boys,” she said casually, most of them turning to look at her.

“Oh, hey Sofia!” David answered, a notable chipperness in his voice.

David was one of three humans at the table, the others being Michael and Emanuel. The fourth member of the group was a koutu, one Sofia knew very well as Con. Though his true name was Conchobhar, enough of the company called him by the simpler nickname that he was now known by both.

The final man at the table was a saalik, one of the lizards from the desert kingdom across the seas. He was Bahim, one of the largest and most intimidating warriors in the whole company. His great size, plainly apparent strength, and frightening reptilian visage did little to show his true nature.

Emanuel smiled at her. “Hey, wanna join? We’re short a player!”

“Pona Federation’s still not taken,” Michael added, sounding a touch irritated.

“Uhh, actually I’d just like to watch, thanks,” Sofia answered, hands on her hips.

“Come on!” David said, trying to egg her on.

“We’d love if you joined us!” Conchobhar said cheerfully, clutching onto a slip of paper.

“Really, thanks but I don’t want to. I don’t even know what you’re playing.”

“We could teach you,” David said softly, a playful grin on his face.

“That’d take ages.” Michael’s voice was low and carried frustration in it. “This game’s already an hour in and we’ve barely done anything. Can we get a move on?”

“Hey...if she doesn’t want to play, we shouldn’t make her,” Bahim’s voice was quiet and meek, as it usually was. Quite a mismatch for the brutish-looking warrior.

“Tsk, whatever,” David said with a roll of his eyes, “If you say so…”

Sofia pulled a chair from another table and joined them, leaning over the massive map and piles of papers. “What in the world is this game, anyway? What needs THIS much work to play?”

“Deacan Kings!” Conchobhar said excitedly.

“Deacan Kings…?”

“You mean to tell me you’ve never played it?” Emmanuel asked, his tanned face staring at her in confusion.

She shook her head. “Never heard of it.”

“Wow…I thought everyone in the whole damn company played this at least once,” David mused.

“Not me. What IS it, anyway?”

“Deacan Kings is like playing history!” Conchobhar cried. “Err...well, like playing how history could have been, anyway. You pick a nation and try to manage your kingdom, and build up the administration, deal with court intrigue, and conduct politics with other plays, forge alliances, scheme, and try to conquer all of Deaco! It’s wonderful!”

Sofia crossed her arms and frowned. “Manage politics and administration? Sounds complicated.”

“Oh, it is!” Bahim said, a sort of shy happiness dancing on his face. “B-but it’s really fun! Once you learn everything, there’s just so much you can do! There’s so many different paths for you to take your nation! There’s dozens of laws you can change your stance on, and nation get their own bonuses, and your ruler gets personality traits that change things and limit what you can do, and how the game goes…” The large lizard stared off into the distance, lost in his joyful recollection of the rules like a child telling his parents about his favorite play.

“Hey, speaking of ruler traits…” David tapped the map. “Turn 20. Time for everyone to get one.”

The group all grabbed for a stack of notes in the corner, each taking one off the top one by one. As they looked at what trait their ruler now had, varying reactions came from all over the table.

“Oooh, I got workhorse!” Conchobhar said excitedly, “Yes!”

“Ah, whatever,” Michael said angrily, tossing his card to the table.

“What, what'd ya get?” David asked.

“Soft-hearted.”

“Hey, that’s not bad at all!” Conchobhar said, “That’s amazing for the endgame!”

“Yeah...for when you have a massive empire,” the irritated human said, “I’ve got two regions, man. TWO. All cause David’s mad that I’m better than him.”

“Aww, what are you talking about? I thought you were GOOD at this game!” David laughed mockingly.

“Literally no one plays the kobold tribes, you ass. They get annexed by turn three, tops.”

“Michael’s the best Deacan Kings player, basically ever,” Conchobhar explained to Sofia in a low whisper, “Whoops everyone here every time we play. David complained so now he’s handicapped.”

The woman nodded, now understanding why Michael seemed so annoyed. He was too good to play with, so they had given him a nation so outgunned it would be hopeless to win in most other players’ hands.

“Oh, and soft-hearted boosts happiness and lowers unrest in every region,” the birdman added, “Pretty amazing when you’ve got dozens of places to keep under control.”

The woman nodded, becoming more interested in the game. “I see…God, this is complicated. Interesting, though...”

“And yet here you are at turn 20. I don’t see what you’re complaining about…” David was grinning like mad.

“Cause you’re BAD,” Michael said, flashing a grin of his own, “Five thousand tribal warriors, and you just can’t stamp me out.”

“Tsk. You got lucky!”

“Nope. Learn about terrain and maybe your massive army could beat a couple of kobolds with sticks,” he shot back.

“I’m gonna kick your ass!” David shouted, “Just wait til ya-”

The man’s eyes went wide as he stared down at his card, his mouth freezing in place.

“Oooh, I think he got something good,” Emmanuel said, looking over at the other man.

“What? What did you get?” Conchobhar asked, trying to peek over his card.

“...GENIUS!” David announced triumphantly, “King Bohem is now a genius!”

“Horseshit,” Michael grumbled. The others all chattered in excitement as he tapped the table, deep in thought.

“That’s a good trait, I’m guessing.” Sofia said, the others turning to look at her.

“Are you kidding?! It’s the best trait in the whole game!” David answered, still ecstatic.

“It lowers civil unrest, boosts tax and trade revenue, increases your military command, gives a nationwide boost to prosperity, and makes you able to change laws three times as fast!” Conchobar explained giddily.

“I haven’t seen anyone get genius in a long time,” Emmanuel said quietly, “Speaking of which...I’ve got agriculturalist now.”

“Aww, come on!” Michael complained, “Did EVERYONE but me get a good trait?!”

“Soft-hearted’s a good trait, just-”

“Just not for the current situation, yeah yeah yeah,” the increasingly frustrated man cut Conchobhar off, “I know.”

“A true ruler serves the people,” the koutu said with a sly grin.

“Chieftain Stonebark giving his slaves hugs doesn’t really matter when they’re all about to die, does it?” Michael said with a roll of his eyes.

“...ah.” Bahim’s eyes rose from his card, a sullen expression on his muzzle. “Err...cheer up, Michael. Stonebark’s got it better than the Sultan.”

“Oh dear. Get one of the negative traits?” the man replied.

“Ahaha...you know how David got the best trait in the game?” the large lizard smiled sheepishly. “Err...Sultan Venhim is now...insane.”

There was a brief pause, the entire room bathed in oppressive silence for a moment...before everyone erupted into laughter.

Sofia watched them all lose it, confused by their reactions.

“O-oh, God!” David slapped his thigh. “Oh, WOW!”

“Rest in peace, Abinsil,” Emmanuel said, trying not to laugh.

“Oh dear...that just leaves the kobold tribes as allies to the Koutu Kingdom,” Conchobhar said with a notable amount of worry.

“Tsk...sounds like I might need to sail down there and take a few regions, Bahim,” Emmanuel said.

“W-what?! Aww, come on!”

“Hey, my back’s been against the wall this whole game! I’ve gotta do what I’ve gotta do,” the human answered back.

Michael’s anger seemed to have evaporated. “Huh. I guess things really could be worse…”

“Uhh...why are you all talking like he’s just out of the game?” Sofia asked, “Is it really that bad?”

“Yes, and he basically is,” Conchobhar answered.

“Insane makes you roll the dice at the start of every one of your turns,” Michael explained, “If you roll lower than 20, every one of your actions, changing laws, moving troops, diplomacy and troop movements...is decided randomly by rolling to see what happens.”

“Insane rulers basically flail about doing nothing until their entire nation is wiped out, since they can’t even move their troops to defend or attack anything,” Emmanuel added.

“That sounds...really, really dumb and unfair,” Sofia said, rubbing her chin.

“Yeah, but it makes civil unrest skyrocket too.” Conchobhar flashed a scrap of paper with lists of names and traits. “If they survive long enough there should be a civil war, and since the player usually can’t respond in any way they’re beaten and overthrown quickly...not that anyone should TRY to keep an insane king in power! Once they roll for their new monarch they can start playing again.”

“Ugh...PLEASE don’t invade me,” Bahim whined, “I don’t wanna get kicked out now!”

“I don’t know…” David gave the lizard a predatory grin. “You’ve been developing your regions SO well. They’re so rich…”

“Aww, come on! Don’t! Pleeeaaase?”

“Hmm...I’ll send you a marriage proposal!” Conchobhar announced, “Then we can form an alliance and I’ll take the heat off of you!”

“R-really?! Wow, thanks!”

“Don’t thank him yet, your loony king still has to roll to accept,” Michael noted.

“I’ll just keep trying til we succeed!” the koutu said happily, “Then I can deploy in your regions!”

“Hey, now everyone’s in a coalition against me!” David cried, “No fair!”

“Hey, you’re the one who picked the overpowered nation,” Michael said with a grin, “It’s only natural.”

“Bah! I’ll just deploy dragons against you all!”

“Once my capital gets to the next prosperity level I can summon dragons too,” Michael said, “You’d better watch out…”

“Argh! I won’t let you live that long! I’m attacking you!”

Michael shifted miniatures as David did the same, the two of them moving their “soldiers” into lines across their borders.

“Better hope that this doesn’t end up like the last assault…” the kobold player said with a grin.

“Whatever!” is all David, the Geralthin player managed in response, grabbing a sheet of paper. “Pah...forty to one, you see that?! You’re hopelessly outnumbered.”

“Than it’s an even game.”

Sofia leaned back as she watched them all go, everyone shouting encouragements and playful insults as the two players prepared for battle.

Perhaps I should learn how to play, too…

Tag list: @thereisnothingwrongwithbeingmad, @lady-redshield-writes, @paper-shield-and-wooden-sword, @sheralynnramsey, @tawnywrites, @writer-on-time, @oceanwriter, @zwergis-spilledink, @fluffpiggy, @elliewritesfantasy, @homesteadhorner,  @laurenwastestimewriting, @elaynab-writing, @the-ichor-of-ruination, @disheveledcorvid-deactivated201, @reya-writes, @bexminx

[psi-psina]

The Hounds of Baskerville read-through

Pt two, Dartmoor. [pt one]

(this post is a direct continuation of pt one)

Credits to Ariane DeVere once again for her transcripts.

They head to Dartmoor in silence, and begin by scouting out the area to get an idea of what they’re dealing with here. John points out Baskerville and Dewer’s Hollow, and Sherlock asks what the skull and crossbones are. A minefield? “Guess they’ve always been keen to keep people out.” …Clearly. 

Sherlock…I’m begging, why do you keep lining your hearts with explosives. 😩

They work at a distance from each other, Sherlock high above on the rocks, John alone on the ground. Playing on this thread in series 2 of a literal GULF separating the two of them, simultaneously calling back the mirror-case of The Hiker & The Driver, and foreshadowing Sherlock’s suicide off Bart’s.

Then they arrive at Cross Key’s Inn. On their way in they pass a small group of tourists gathered around young Fletcher as he goes about his business of selling them on the lurid idea of the Hound escaped from Baskerville. They share an awkward moment as Sherlock protectively adjusts his coat as they pass the group and John gives him the Eyes before looking away.

John and Sherlock enter the inn, and Fletcher dons the monster mask to excite the tourists as, elsewhere, Henry grimaces as he remembers during a session with Lousie. Another very thematic transition, as Fletcher’s lighthearted joke turns into Henry’s nightmare. Louise is positioned in this scene identically to John in 221B, in a mirror, dressed in matching colours:

Mirrors. :)

Henry (Sherlock) just says that that part of the memory doesn’t change. It’s always the same. But there’s something else now; two words. Liberty and In. Sherlock himself will complete this phrase for his mirror shortly: 

Liberty in death, the only true freedom.

Back at the inn now, finally some John action! John is taking care of practicalities and getting them a room at the bar as Sherlock loiters in the background eavesdropping. I love this scene sooooooo much.

Look at this:

…Cocks

sldkjfnas Look they are the ones who do this all the time I am just observing. Anyway, with all the nice background undertones about food and meat and.... . cocks creating a nice ambience (and the nice phallic beer taps?? lmao) as John get’s them a room,  it’s not hard to guess what...what might be on John’s mind at this prospect of sharing a room with Sherl. So of course, Gary warmly says he’s sorry they couldn’t do John and Sherlock a double room, and John starts to say (and perhaps remind himself) that things aren’t like that between them, but Gary just smiles knowingly and John gives it up and pays him. They mirror each other with their “Ta’s”, and while Gary’s back is turned John spots an invoice for the. . . . . . meat supplies.

The meat supplies for the gay owners of the vegetarian inn for feeding their (secret) ”hound” sdkjfnaksdf. John nicks the invoice for later.

Now, Billy and Gary are simple romantic mirrors for Sherlock and John, but MORE PERTINENTLY they are CLEARLY conduits for Messer's Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat, like...The curly Scottish bloke and his partner, the camp gay ginger! Not the culprits per se, just some blokes jumping on the opportunity to add some spice to their business! Playing on the local legend! Lovely amiable fellows who are nonetheless lying through their teeth about the ‘Hound’ right to the very end! The audacity! These shameless self-inserts! Also like, just more evidence that John is Steven’s self-insert and Sherlock is Mark’s asdkjf.

Anyway, John moves the subject to Baskerville (❤️) and the skull and crossbones out on the moor, hopefully asking Gary, “Pirates?”

MYCROFT: “My brother has the brain of a scientist or a philosopher and yet he elects to be a detective. What might we deduce about his heart?” JOHN: “I don’t know.” MYCROFT: “Neither do I. But initially, he wanted to be a pirate.”

It’s the skull and crossbones that baby Sherlock wears...when he plays pirates...

;___; JOHHHNNNNNNN. IT IS PIRATES!! He loves him!! He knows!! He just doesn’t know that he knows!! 😭 ALLOW HIMMMM!!!

But, nothing so sweet or soulful to be found at Baskerville. :( Right now, this shit IS a minefield. Gary says No no, it’s the Great Grimpen Minefield, home to the Baskerville (❤️) “testing site” that’s been going on so long unchecked that no one really knows what the hell’s in there anymore. :( Ugh, tell me about it. John takes this in and asks, a bit more warily, “Explosives?” And Gary warns him, oh no no, not just explosives, break into that heart and if you’re lucky, you just get blown up. In case you were planning a nice wee stroll. :(  And unfortunately, John is not one of the lucky ones. 

So…to start with this is literally ALL that is on John’s mind this entire season, he is completely obsessed and pining to DEATH because he is being tormented by some VERY strong misgivings and conflicted feelings about Sherlock which are sadly both sensible and very well founded:

SHERLOCK (rolling his eyes): Yes, if I wanted poetry, I’d read John’s emails to his girlfriends. Much funnier.

SHERLOCK: Yes, good. Skipping to the night that your dad was violently killed. Where did that happen?

SHERLOCK: ...and then there was the one with the spots; and then the one with the nose; and then ... who was after the boring teacher?

SHERLOCK: The shade of red echoes her lipstick – either an unconscious association or one that she’s deliberately trying to encourage. Either way, Miss Hooper has lurrrve on her mind. The fact that she’s serious about him is clear from the fact she’s giving him a gift at all. That would suggest long-term hopes, however forlorn...

And this is just a few examples from these two episodes, this isn’t even getting into the shit Sherlock does in series one that this is building off of, and this is also BEFORE Sherlock starts doing REALLY fucked up shit to him like attempting to drug him and gaslighting him in a lab experiment, or making John watch as he commits suicide off a building and allowing John to mourn for two whole years. Sherlock emotionally humiliates John, he humiliates other people in front of him, he manipulates him and is downright cruel to him at least once in basically every episode bar probably the first two, in which Sherlock more just takes him for granted and swings kinda relentlessly between pursuing and then rejecting him. John desperately wants Sherlock to be the the warm-hearted, caring, playful, funny (pirate ;_;) person he sometimes glimpses behind the facade, but he’s increasingly convinced he’s kidding himself, and just seeing what he wants to see because he’s besotted and lonely.

Anyway, Gary goes on to say that all that morbid Baskerville stuff buggers up tourism a bit, scares people off, so thank god for the demon Hound. God bless Henry and his hound from hell, made them a nice little industry off it. :) John then asks Gary if he’s ever seen the Hound and Gary says he hasn’t, but goes on to say that Fletcher has, motioning right at Sherlock, and by extension Fletcher who is standing just behind him in the entrance.

“He runs the walks, the monster walks.” “That’s handy. For trade.”

“Did wonders for Devon tourism.”

This gets Sherlock’s attention and he exits the inn to go after Fletcher. John is looking a bit distracted, eyes wandering around a bit as he gazes after Sherlock’s retreating figure with a rather amorous look…

God…But as Sherlock exits John’s line of vision a clear warning pops into focus:

Beware the Hound, John. Keep those wandering thoughts (and eyes) in check. Don’t want to get savaged. :(

Young Billy, the camp Sherlock mirror to John’s Gary, appears behind the bar and he and Gary start bantering their Hound (the cheek!!). John looks down and smiles to himself at their easy intimacy. Billy teases Gary about his snoring then asks John, “Is your’s a snorer?” And John immediately asks if they have any food. Crisps? Anything? It’s not like all the scenarios running through his head at the idea of sharing a room with his beau wasn’t bad enough, now he’s thinking about Sherlock softly snoring...in his arms…ugh that one made him hungry. He gets a drink to wash his chips down with (presuming he can get any...he never has much luck with food), since he’s halfway through a stout when he joins Sherlock outside. Needs a stiff drink after…all that.

Back with Sherlock, he takes a gamble on Fletcher being a gambler, he gets into ‘disguise’ and approaches Fletcher as a skeptical but intrigued tourist, attempting a blasé demeanour but just coming off as awkward as he tries to broach it, like he’s a bit scared Fletcher might actually have something. Fletcher gets very cagey and Sherlock asks if he has any proof which is enough to scare Fletcher off, until John appears and Sherlock turns it all into a game, which Fletcher can’t resist. He pulls out his phone and shows Sherlock a pic of an ordinary dog, which Sherlock sneers at, and taunts “Sorry John, I win.” Then Fletcher starts going on about the hollow, much like Henry was in 221B, but Sherlock still remains unconvinced. That is, until Fletcher tells them a Ghost Story, and pulls out a plaster cast of a large paw print. Sherlock is spooked now, and shies away from it a bit, eyeing it resentfully as he’s obliged to pay John. John takes another swig of beer as he eyes off Fletcher, and happily takes Sherlock’s money.

Approaching Baskerville, we are bombarded with signs signalling danger and secrecy, dogs roaming around, and men with guns. Baskerville has some strong parallels to Sherrinford, another top secret "facility” cum heart-dungeon that’s home to an escaped mayhem-causing monster that Sherlock has to confront. Sherrinford? Baskerville 2.0 tbh. Sherlock uses Mycroft’s ID to get them inside, which is absolute nonsense because Mycroft’s face is clearly on the ID lmao. Mycroft, of course, has full access to Baskerville (❤️) and “all areas” because he’s that aspect of Sherlock; The Clever One, the brain without a heart, the iceman persona, the detached puzzle solver, order, rationality, Mr. Caring-is-not-an-advantage etc. And this is the guy who’s In Charge. For fuck’s sake, Sherlock. Thank god he starts to reject alla that nonsense in The Sign of Three.

Anyway, John is anxious about all this, and quips

JOHN: Caught in five minutes. “Oh, hi, we just thought we’d come and have a wander round your top secret weapons base.” “Really? Great! Come in – kettle’s just boiled.” That’s if we don’t get shot.

John (rightly) does not anticipate any hospitality in Sherlock’s ‘ole heart, and is rather worried they might just get shot.

They drive on in and hop out of the car both seeming a bit trepidatious and are swiftly met by Corporal Lyons, who is a bit flustered by their presence and immediately asks if they’re “in trouble”. Because Baskerville (❤️) just doesn’t get inspected you see. It just isn’t done. John’s eyes wander over the attractive young Corporal and he swiftly pulls rank, getting them inside easily as a contrite Lyons scuttles to obey and give them the ~full tour~ and Sherlock is unable to completely hide his appreciation for his…Captain John Watson.

They go inside and Lyons takes them underground into the main lab. Sherlock asks Lyons about the animals they keep down here and gets all ominous about it as the ‘monsters’ inside Baskerville mill all around the lab. 

“Phone Lestrade! Tell him there’s an escaped rabbit!”

FLUFFY FRIENDS. I like the way they frame the monkey’s and rabbits to look monstrous, really adds to the utter absurdity of it all. As the boys look around, Frankland exits the gas chamber and approaches them, all smiles and affability, hidden in plain sight, just like Moriarty.

FRANKLAND: Ah, new faces, how nice. Careful you don’t get stuck here, though. I only came to fix a tap!

SHERLOCK: James Moriarty is for hire. PROSECUTING BARRISTER: A tradesman? SHERLOCK: Yes. PROSECUTING BARRISTER: But not the sort who’d fix your heating. SHERLOCK: No, the sort who’d plant a bomb or stage an assassination, but I’m sure he’d make a pretty decent job of your boiler.

Lol. Frankland (Moriarty) only came to Baskerville (❤️) to fix a ‘leak’ but then…he got stuck in there…and now he’s a full blown virus 😩 Frankland gets some ominous villain treatment as he retreats and John then asks Lyons what it is that they actually do in this place;

LYONS: I thought you’d know, sir, this being an inspection. JOHN: Well, I’m not an expert, am I?

Lyons dodges John’s questions by acting like he should already know all that, then answers as imprecisely as possible. They head further on into Baskerville, now entering a lab in which they meet one Doctor Stapleton, another John mirror and one of my favourite instances of John’s bisexual coding lol. She’s another Doctor, same physical type, fair-haired, wearing a button-down cardigan and has a young daughter.

Sherlock asks what her role at Baskerville is, to which she snorts in amusement and says she’s not free to say, to which Sherlock reacts rather strongly?

Like even John is bewildered. Why do you suggest she remains that way Sherlock, hmm? Hmm? I have no idea if this is just a coincidence, but the phrasing along with Sherlock’s response just stuck out to me, especially since these are both Mark’s episodes.

She then says

STAPLETON: I have a lot of fingers in a lot of pies. I like to mix things up – genes, mostly; now and again, actual fingers. SHERLOCK: Stapleton. Knew I knew your name. STAPLETON: Doubt it.

This quip about Stapleton’s (= John’s) name happens right after she ambiguously says she “likes to mix things up”. Genes mostly but also, actual fingers. Has a rather, wide field, you might say. And she’s (required to be) very secretive (private) about it. 

And then we get to the crux of the matter, Sherlock quips dramatically about coincidence then holds up his moleskin on which he’s written…Bluebell.

In the end, Sherlock breaks into Baskerville to find out why Bluebell had to die.

SHERLOCK: Why did Bluebell have to die, Doctor Stapleton? JOHN: The rabbit? SHERLOCK: Disappeared from inside a locked hutch, which was always suggestive. JOHN: The rabbit? SHERLOCK: Clearly an inside job. STAPLETON: Oh, you reckon. SHERLOCK: Why? Because it glowed in the dark?

“Why did I have to die, John?” CLEARLY AN INSIDE JOB. OH YOU RECKON. Sherlock’s halfway there, but we'll return to this later on, as this isn’t pertinent until John speaks to Stapleton after he’s drugged. This is just set-up for that. For now, Sherlock looks at his watch and hightails it outta there with a very indignant and confused John on his heels.

JOHN: Did we just break into a military base to investigate a rabbit?

Well…………….yeah. You did. :(

Elsewhere, the ‘security breach’ slowly makes it’s way to Mycroft who apparently receives word of this ~national security breach~ via text message and literally just rolls his eyes at his phone and sends Sherlock a text. Like, I’m laughing my ass off, did people really ever think this show was ‘realistic’. It’s NONSENSE. No one but Mycroft is involved or even notified because this is all a dumb heart-metaphor, which is also why the only action Mycroft takes is to send down Sherlock’s ‘handler’ to look after him lmao. The only thing they have ever cared about are their dumb metaphors (that I love! So much!). Sherlock just laughs at the text and says Mycroft’s getting sloppy (has he ever NOT been though…this is the question) as they rush toward the elevator, in which they conveniently bump into Frankland again. Back on ground level, they run into the stern and impressive Major Barrymore, who is quite outraged that Sherlock has staged an inspection.

BARRYMORE: The whole point of Baskerville (❤️) was to eliminate this kind of bureaucratic nonsense... SHERLOCK: I’m so sorry, Major. BARRYMORE: Inspections?! SHERLOCK: New policy. Can’t remain unmonitored forever. Goodness knows what you’d get up to.

“The whole point of Baskerville (❤️) was to eliminate this kind of bureaucratic nonsense...” Like...is this some meta-fictional yelling on Mark’s part about the heartrooms or what :/ And like, I get it, the heartrooms etc WERE no doubt intended to subvert the ‘bureaucratic nonsense’ that would inevitably swamp the first gay Holmes adaptation and allow them to tell the story they wanted to tell relatively undetected, but I’m with Sherlock on this one lmao. These fuckers have been running around unmonitored for TOO LONG and they can’t keep getting away with it! Enough is enough! Um, anyway, they’re interrupted as Lyons sets the heart-alarms off despite the intruders being like, right there with them, and just says ‘ID unauthorised’. Sherlock hands over Mycroft’s ID and just as Barrymore is about to skewer them, Frankland intervenes and is able to persuade Barrymore that Sherlock is in fact Mycroft Holmes (I guess. Since Mycroft is basically just The Brain anyway), and get them off the hook. This scene is a clusterfuck to me and one of the few where I can’t really tell if there’s anything going on because there’s no context and I can’t stand watching it because of the alarms. Like the scene with Jaqui, I feel like it’s mostly just setup for the second trip to Baskerville.

Frankland walks them out and seeks to ingratiate himself with them and insert himself into the investigation although Sherlock is clearly still on edge. He gushes about the hat, saying Sherlock’s almost unrecognisable without it (tell me about it) as Sherlock crankily says that stupid hat wasn’t his hat. (I take it anyone reading this is familiar with the meaning of the hat, but if you haven’t seen it the tjlce video explains it well). He then compliments John on his blog, “the pink thing” and “that one about The Aluminium Crutch”*[1] and with the mention of THAT debacle Sherlock abruptly changes the subject. Frankland says he knew Henry’s dad better than Henry himself and that he had all sorts of “mad theories” about Baskerville (❤️) but was nonetheless a good friend. He gives Sherlock his number, and says to give him a call if he can help with Henry.

Frankland throws some shade at Stapleton after they joke about killing Sherlock again and then they part ways. As soon as they’re alone, John immediately asks Sherlock what all that about the rabbit was, and Sherlock doesn’t answer. He smirks to himself knowingly, then flips his collar up and pulls his coat protectively around himself (in my opinion). His acts of defensiveness are so tiny, man, it breaks my heart. John, (pining to DEATH!) already wound up from being led down this rabbit hole blind, blurts out

JOHN: Oh, please, can we not do this, this time. SHERLOCK: Do what? JOHN: You, being all…mysterious with your, cheekbones, ’n turning your coat collar up so you look cool. SHERLOCK: I don’t do that! JOHN: Yeah you do.

John is simultaneously endeared and exasperated by this behaviour, but mostly he’s just dying of frustration with all his own pent up desires for his friend.

But Sherlock doesn’t really take well to stuff like this, because he think’s John’s straight. And he hates himself, so obviously he’s never gonna see affection in being teased like this (at least, certainly not the kind he wants) by a ‘mate’ with whom he’s secretly in love. I’m quite sure all he see’s here is the blokey prodding, y’know; posh boy public school with your cheekbones and high collar. A joke. A laugh. It grates at him. These micro-misunderstandings? Death.

The sexual tension continues as they sit in the car together, making awkward eye-contact and immediately looking away from each other before John brings up Bluebell again. Sherlock speculates that Jaqui made Bluebell glow with a fluorescent gene and concludes that as we know she performs “secret experiments” on bunnies, the question is now whether she’s been “working on something deadlier than a bluebell”. As we know, the answer to that question is…no. So John makes a joke.

“To be fair that is quite a wide field.”

John cracks a bi joke RIGHT THERE…AT Sherlock…he’s flirting at him again! Twice in less than five minutes! Sherlock is stumped and perhaps kinda suspicious of another joke at his expense and John just looks away and smirks to himself. I am sorry but I love this so much, John is just like, I’ve had enough of this mysterious asshole it’s MY turn to be a cryptic bitch for once! Aksjndf.

Likes to mix things up….has quite a wide field…dis bisexuelle coding, Mark! ❤️

They arrive at Henry’s house and there is a pertinent moment here that’s been deleted from the episode (perhaps because it’s too obvious), but the script snippet is included in The Sherlock Chronicles:

Sherlock asks John for his money back while they wait for Henry to answer the door, and John rebuffs him, claiming Sherlock owes him. >.< You can see Sherlock is kinda crabby when they cut to him as Henry opens the door:

Uh...tense. They head inside and John looks around, quite surprised, and asks Henry a bit tactlessly,

And this is Sherlock’s reaction:

Hooo boy. TENSE.

In the kitchen, Sherlock helps himself to Henry’s sugar as Henry tells them about the words he remembers, Liberty In, and Sherlock supplies the complete phrase. Henry asks “What now then?” and Sherlock supplies them with The Plan, as he tries to drink his sweetened coffee, which he’s having some trouble swallowing. :(

It’s not to his taste! He just doesn’t do coffee ok.

SHERLOCK: We take you back out onto the moor. See if anything attacks you.

John laughs and acts peeved about Sherlock’s recklessness and Sherlock snaps at him quietly. Got any better ideas? He concludes that if there is a monster out there, the only thing to do is find out where it lives. Time to face his fears at the scene of the crime.

*[1] - writemeastoryofsolitude’s meta “The Mystery of The Aluminium Crutch, or How Sherlock Holmes Fell in Love” has a lot of great insight’s about this particular blog post, I haven’t read it in years and from what I remember I certainly wouldn’t parse it like that myself, but it gives you a pretty good idea. :)

tagging any interested parties again :) @sarahthecoat @impossibleleaf @northstargrassmaiden @devoursjohnlock @gosherlocked @love-in-mind-palace @221bloodnun, @johnlockiseternal, @tjlcisthenewsexy etc

[bevioletskies]

20 questions [8/20]

characters: peter/gamora, guardians-centric

fandom: avengers academy/marvel cinematic universe

summary: wasp has a new competition in store for the students of avengers academy, and there’s money involved. so obviously, peter and gamora have to pretend to be a couple in order to win. wait, what?

chapter preview: peter and gamora argue and make up (aka the usual), gamora has a bit of an epiphany, and someone goes missing.

word count: 4804 | total word count: 118k

a/n: the ending of this one makes me happysad every time i read it over, tbh

ao3 | previously | next | masterpost

Janet van Dyne, as the hundreds of students, SHIELD agents, and faculty had learned (sometimes the hard way), was not a girl to be messed with. She wasn’t the strongest, the fastest, or the most skilled of students on campus, but God help you should you get in her way, or even worse, mess with any of her friends.

It had started off as a perfectly normal Sunday morning, of course. She woke up feeling peppy as always, and made her way into the dorm cafeteria/lounge, where Clint and Kate were hovering over the coffee machine, looking desperate, but otherwise dead to the world. She pulled out her green juice from the communal fridge, cracked open the lid with a satisfying pop, and then took a swig, right as she opened Twitter. She then promptly spat it out at the first trending topic she saw, nearly spraying Cosmo and Lucky in the process, who were just innocently sitting on the floor at the Hawkeyes’ feet.

“KAMALA!” she hollered, causing the Hawkeyes to jump. “WE HAVE A SOCIAL MEDIA EMERGENCY!”

Ms. Marvel came dashing in, sliding across the linoleum on her socks, precariously tipping over in the process and nearly braining herself on the doorframe. “What is it, Jan?”

“Why am I seeing this weird, tell-all Twitlonger from some SHIELD agent being DMed to me by hundreds of people?” She stuck her phone in Kamala’s face. “Who is this guy, and why is he saying mean things about Peter?”

“Let me see, girls,” Peggy Carter said, strolling briskly into the kitchen with the no-nonsense attitude that every girl in the Academy revered. She took the phone from Janet and scrolled through the article, frowning. “I can’t say he stands out to me, I wouldn’t remember his face even if I’d met him. He’s rather generically good-looking, wouldn’t you say?”

“He said something about Peter punching him in the face for looking at Gamora,” Janet said. “That doesn’t sound like something he’d do.”

“What’s this about Quill and Gamora?” Natasha sauntered over from the fruit salad station, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. After Peggy showed her the post, her mouth twisted unpleasantly, considering. She wouldn’t put it past Quill and the other Guardians to attempt a long-con to make money, even if it meant a little bad publicity to get into the news. She reasoned that Gamora was the one with a strong moral compass, someone who understood the need to save lives the most after taking so many, and she wouldn’t have taken Natasha’s money regardless. Still, it didn’t clear the suspicions she’d had from the beginning. Maybe this wasn’t the most important secret she had to sniff out on the entirety of the Academy campus (the timefog was definitely a more pressing matter), but it was something Natasha knew she had to look into further.

______

Waking up next to Gamora a second time was decidedly less pleasant than the first, as Peter had been unceremoniously kicked in the gut. With a rather comical shout, he went tumbling out the bed and landed elbow-first on the floor.

Her head popped up over the side of the bed a moment later. “You okay, Quill?” she said, concerned.

“Never better,” Peter groaned, stumbling to his feet. “What happened?”

Her eyes flickered away from him a moment, guilty. “Nightmare,” she murmured. “It won’t happen again.”

He decided not to push it - it was definitely not a topic to be discussed in their game or any context, really, unless she was ready - instead electing to mumble about needing to pee and walking to the bathroom to give her space. When he got back, she was already dressed, her hair braided, face composed once again. She was on her phone, presumably checking her messages and making sure the Guardians hadn’t killed anyone - or each other - in their absence.

“Mantis says there are lots of photos and videos of us online,” Gamora said, turning to face the wall as Peter began stripping down. “They’re referring to us as the ‘hottest new superhero couple’.”

“Alright, I like it,” Peter said as he buttoned up his shirt. “We could definitely be the most attractive superhero couple ever.”

“Always so modest,” she commented dryly, turning back around as he finished adjusting his belt buckle. As she moved to get up, her phone went off with a text notification. “Wait, Janet says there’s a weird Twitter post about us.”

He sat down to do up his shoelaces, distracted by the need to finish dressing. “Yeah, yeah, read it.”

“It says, ‘Star-Lord is a possessive psychopath. He and his girlfriend came to my workplace for some Guardians business, and when I checked them in, I apparently took too long looking over her ID and he lost it. He grabbed me, pulled me out from behind my desk, and punched me in the face repeatedly. It took two security guards to pull him off me, and he kept yelling at me about trying to steal his girlfriend.’” Gamora blinked. “What the hell,” she said flatly.

“It’s that damn Number Five,” Peter said, fists clenched. “My nickname for him,” he added at Gamora’s confused expression. “He’s probably mad he got called out for being a creep, even though I was super non-confrontational about it.”

“And now he’s making people think you’re an over-possessive, violent boyfriend, how is that okay?” she exclaimed. “An untrue slight against you, you’re just going to let that go?”

“If it becomes a problem, we’ll deal with it,” he shrugged, and there was that nonchalant quality of Peter’s that frustrated Gamora so often. It wasn’t just in situations like this, it was on missions, on jobs, where he told everyone he would “figure it out when we get there”, or “wait until we know more”.

“Your talent for improvisation will only take you so far,” she informed him, getting to her feet. “We might need to make a counter statement when we get back. I’ll text Pepper.”

“You do that,” Peter sighed, frustrated. This day was already starting out on a sour note compared to the near-perfect time they had yesterday. He hoped it could only go up from here.

______

Breakfast downstairs was an...interesting affair. The elderly couple from yesterday was there once again, having a petty argument about using the wrong kind of knife for jam, when they spotted Gamora and gestured for her and Peter to join them. They shared stories of their favourite dates and anniversaries, which made the two smile, until they asked how long Peter and Gamora had been together.

“We’ve known each other for a couple years, but we’ve only been dating about four months, almost five,” Peter said, glancing over at a slightly defensive-looking Gamora. The couple motioned for him to elaborate. “I don’t know if civilians heard about the fight us Guardians had back at that time, but my father turned out to be pretty evil and we had to take him out. It was in that moment that I realized I had a giant crush on Gamora, and I didn’t want to lose out on telling her before some other crazy bad guy took us down.”

It still made her uneasy to hear or tell this story, no matter how many times it was spoken aloud. A lie rooted a little too deeply into truth, and Gamora could almost forget that it didn’t actually happen.

After Peter continued to make up stories during the duration of breakfast, the pair headed out to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, a place that Mantis had listed and Pepper had recommended. “There’s lots of amazing stuff in there, but I think Gamora would especially love the Arms and Armor section,” she had said, handing them a stack of brochures.

The car ride was uneasy, to say the least. Gamora wasn’t sure why she was so annoyed this time, in all honesty. It wasn’t like this was the most stubborn either of them had been, nor the most dire issue they’d ever gotten into an argument over. And yet, it bothered her that Peter wasn’t planning on doing anything about this. For a guy who cares so much about being called Star-Lord, he doesn’t seem worried about being seen as a violent boyfriend, she thought, glancing over at him. He was humming mindlessly along with the radio, some pop song that played on rotation every two hours. She was uncertain about why he hadn’t switched to an oldies station, but the atmosphere felt too tense for her to ask.

The moment they got out of the car, it was like a switch had flipped. Peter took her hand and guided them to the museum entrance, where they were taken to the front of the queue and let in almost immediately the moment they showed their Academy passes. “Perks of being a hero,” Peter said to her in a sotto voice, slightly concerned that the civilians would overhear and complain. “Where should we start?”

Once they got going, it seemed as if things were back to normal. Gamora found that she was enjoying herself, not just in the Arms and Armor exhibit (though it was definitely her favourite), but in observing the art and furniture of the other exhibits that taught her a great deal of Terran history that she’d been unaware of until now. Peter also seemed to have relaxed a little bit, offering colourful commentary, joking around with her, his hand warm in hers. They seemed so used to it now that she felt as if they would continue to accidentally hold hands after the ruse was up. Or maybe it was just her, unused to the sort of intimacy Peter probably received in spades.

Brave individuals approached them and asked for a photo or for a moment to simply thank them, while the shyer members of the public stared at them from afar, attempting to be discreet in taking videos or photos, only to quickly turn away when eye contact was made. Even one woman blurted out that she thought they looked good together, before turning red in the face and dashing away, clutching at her companion and muttering about how embarrassing she was.

They took a break for lunch when both Peter and his stomach began to complain, tucking themselves away into the American Wing Café for a quick bite. “You alright?” Peter said cautiously, moments after they’d settled in.

“Are you asking after something specific?” Gamora said, tilting her head as she observed Peter practically inhaling his sandwich. “Because if you think I’m still irritated, you’d be correct.”

“I’m just surprised it bothers you so much,” Peter said, frowning. The effect was ruined by bits of lettuce falling out of his mouth. “I get you being worried about Thanos coming to kill me, like, me specifically, but this is just one post making up stories that barely anyone’s listening to. What’s the big deal?”

“You put stock into your reputation but this doesn’t worry you at all. Why?” she countered, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other. “I understand fighting for people to call you Star-Lord, since it holds both notoriety and sentiment, but what about fighting against being seen as a possessive, unreasonable lover?”

“The public have already gotten over it five minutes after it was posted, and I’m pretty sure any girls I’d be interested in from this point on would be smart enough to know it isn’t true,” Peter shrugged, licking his fingers. “Like, you know I’m not that guy. And hell, you were more physically threatening to him than me, we both know it, so who cares?”

Gamora exhaled slowly. “I guess it bothers me,” she admitted. “Not because you aren’t doing anything about it - I’ve come to expect little effort from you on things like this - but because...I don’t like the idea of people seeing you in a negative light.”

Peter smiled softly, reaching across the table to put his hand over hers. She saw a camera phone flash out of the corner of her eye, but instead of turning towards the culprit, her eyes fixated on Peter’s face instead, the signature warmth in his eyes a comforting sight. “That’s awesome of you - no, really - but that kind of stuff doesn’t really get to me. I care more about what you guys think of me than some random people from the public. And I know what kind of guy I am. So that’s all that matters.”

Smiling back, she felt the tension in her muscles dissipate. Contrary to popular belief, she did not enjoy fighting with Peter. “We should get going,” she said. “I want to look at the swords again.”

______

“I am Groot.”

“I know you’re bored, hold on a second - ”

“I AM GROOT!”

“Hey, now, don’t talk to me like that, watch your d’ast language, kid.” Rocket climbed out from underneath the table, where he had accidentally dropped his wrench. He was working on some weaponry that wasn’t all too critical, but since Peter and Gamora were taking their sweet time bringing supplies back in favour of a “romantic” weekend trip, he didn’t have what he needed to continue doing repairs on the Milano. It also meant he was looking after Groot even more than usual, as the other two would usually take him while Rocket was working. “Now, whaddaya want?”

“I am Groot.” His little wooden fingers pointed in the direction of the sleeping quarters.

“I don’t think she’s even on the ship, Groot. Haven’t seen her since dinner last night.” Rocket rummaged through the mess of wires he’d uncovered from one of the cooling units. It was a miracle the thing hadn’t blown to bits with the way they were tangled up.

“I am Groot.”

“Why would I be worried? Nebula’s probably just skulking in a corner somewhere and hissing at anyone who gets too close.”

“I am Groot!”

“What? How did you even get into my communicator, it’s password-protected.” Rocket leapt over to the coffee table, where his holo-tab was sitting, unlocked. He scrolled through his messages for a moment before looking back over at Groot. “Shit, you’re right. We gotta tell the others.”

“Wha’s going on, rat?” Yondu emerged from his room, looking around blearily. He got a suspiciously high amount of naps in for a guy who was supposedly failing a decent amount of his classes and needed to catch up. Then again, the naps were probably what kept him away from homework in the first place.

“Nebula’s somehow off-planet, she’s been spotted on some cluster near the Kyln,” Rocket said, shoving all of his work onto the floor in favour of his tablet, now projecting a map of Nebula’s rumoured location onto its surface. “We should tell Gamora, we aren’t equipped to handle this without her.”

“Shit,” Yondu yawned, scratching himself. “We really gonna interrupt her and Quill’s date night? They should be on their way to that light thing that bug-girl picked for ‘em.”

“There’s more pressing matters than Quill and Gamora getting all kissy-faced, alright? D’you have any idea how much trouble we’re gonna be in if Patch Man finds out we somehow lost Nebula? How did she even find a spaceship - Milano’s busted, quinjets ain’t built for space travel - ” Rocket started mumbling absent-mindedly to himself as his claws flew over the keyboard, attempting to plot a course for Nebula’s location.

Groot went running down the hall of the Milano, extending his arms to knock on Drax’s and Mantis’s doors. “I am Groot, I am Groot!”

Drax came out first, daggers in hand, ready for a fight. “What is it, small Groot?”

Mantis poked her head out from behind her door. She had earbuds in, listening to a playlist Peter had made for her, and spoke even louder than usual. “What has happened?!”

“We gotta cut in on Quill and Gamora’s love trip - Nebula’s missing,” Rocket called from the kitchen, where he was inexplicably rummaging for cutlery. “Can someone contact them already? Don’t have all day, it’s already getting dark out!”

“Rocket, while I understand the need to recover Nebula, what are we supposed to do about it? There are no functioning spaceships on this base,” Drax said patiently, lowering his daggers slowly in mild disappointment.

“We’ll figure it out,” Rocket snarled. “Now get to it!”

______

“Is it bad I kinda just want to spend the rest of the day in here?” Peter asked, flopping down on the bed. He rolled around to cocoon himself in the thick duvet. “I don’t know what it is, but I’ve been kinda tired this whole trip. Not in a bad way, just like a ‘I’m-letting-myself-get-tired’ kinda way.”

“We don’t get much rest at the Academy, so being off-campus probably helps your body relax,” Gamora suggested. “We don’t have to go, then. We can just...stay in. Order more pizza, watch the lights from here.”

“You secretly like pizza, don’t you,” he teased, turning over to look at her.

“Didn’t think it was much of a secret,” she replied, smiling as she set down her bag and her phone. “I adhere to a strict diet to maintain my physicality, but I enjoy indulging every once in awhile.”

“Pizza it is,” he cheered, reaching for his phone. To his surprise, less than a minute later, Gamora crawled in next to him, having apparently already changed into her pajamas in record time. She’d taken out her braids, leaving her hair slightly crinkled and messy, looking more unkempt than he’d ever seen her, but just as pretty as ever. It was good to see her so at ease.

“And maybe a movie?” she suggested, almost shyly.

He nodded more vigorously than he meant to. Gamora’s large chocolate brown eyes were kind of mesmerizing up close. “Yeah, yeah, of course.”

______

Despite still being grounded, the Milano had delved into chaos, what with Rocket leaping about as quickly as he could to gather parts, Mantis and Drax attempting to flesh out Rocket’s flight path plan, Groot bouncing up and down on the kitchen counter in anticipation, and...well, Yondu was sitting on the couch, observing.

He was in charge of contacting Peter, though he wasn’t sure if he wanted to do it just yet. Not because of him being away with Gamora, though that did play a minor role, but because...was it really so crucial to get Nebula back? She left for a reason, a reason that everyone suspected but couldn’t confirm - Thanos. Going after Nebula likely meant confronting Thanos, and Yondu wasn’t in the mood for dying, not today.

Watching the others scramble around like their feet were on fire, you could never tell that Nebula constantly antagonized all of them, only being marginally nice to Gamora when it suited her. Gamora had insisted her sister wasn’t a lost cause, not yet, but it was telling when Nebula bolted the moment Gamora was gone as well. And they weren’t saying it out loud, but the way they were eyeing him? Yondu could tell the others were surprised he was still here when Peter wasn’t, either.

“We really that scared of Fury findin’ out?” Yondu called, tucking the holo-tab away, as if he’d done what he’d been instructed to do. “Maybe he’ll like it better now that she’s gone.”

“It’s not just Fury I’m worried about, you idiot. You wanna face Gamora when she gets back and finds out we didn’t tell her that her sister somehow disappeared off-planet to fight their evil daddy?!” A clang. “Ow.”

“I am Groot?”

“Yeah, I’m okay, thanks. So are you helpin’ or are you hinderin’? ‘Cause if you’re not helping, we could use some extra space.” Rocket’s arms were folded, his chin tipped upwards. Yondu supposed it would be more intimidating if Rocket wasn’t a mere 3 feet tall.

“Pretty sure Quill put Drax in charge, not you,” Yondu drawled, moving closer to stare him down.

“It would be wise of you to assist us, Yondu, unless you would like to have your toes removed.” Drax’s voice, usually jovial at best and monotonous at worst, was dangerously low, his blue eyes like ice.

“Yessir,” Yondu said sarcastically, though he moved over to the table to help. He wasn’t that much of an idiot.

______

“Just once, I’d like to watch a movie with no singing or dancing in it whatsoever,” Gamora sighed as the movie ended, her head moving to rest next to Peter’s shoulder. “I think you’re skewing my perception of Terran culture.”

“Twist and Shout is so good,” Peter said enthusiastically, turning to look at her. They were nearly nose-to-nose (well, Peter’s-nose-to-Gamora’s-forehead. She was uncharacteristically slouched over, her entire upper body pressed up against his). “I could totally be Ferris Bueller, right?”

“As long as you’re not expecting me to be Sloane,” Gamora said, patting his leg.

“I think you’re more like Jeanie,” he countered, leaning closer. “Did you see the way she took out the principal?”

She laughed softly, her hand coming to a stop on his knee. “Alright then, that helped me think of my next question. The Guardians, we think of each other like family. We fight, we argue, but we do it for each other. Do you see Nebula and I as your sisters?”

“No offense to Nebula, but she’s not exactly on the ‘ride-or-die’ level for me yet,” Peter chuckled, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. They were nearly cuddling at this point, body heat radiating off both of them at every spot they were touching. It made him vaguely wonder if there had been something in the pizza that had made Gamora unusually pliant, but even stranger, it wasn’t as odd to him as he thought. She was so comfortable around him now that it made him secretly feel pleased. He couldn’t imagine Gamora being able to snuggle up to anyone since she was a young, innocent girl, and now her arm was slung across his lap like it was nothing, his breath rustling her hair.

“And me?” There was a half-smile on her face, almost flirtatious. It reminded him of when they had stopped over on Knowhere, where Rocket, Drax, and Groot had gotten drunk, and he and Gamora had a moment that he held on to with a surprising fierceness.

“I, uh...I don’t think, that, uh, I think of you as my sister. First of all, it would make this whole fake relationship situation really weird,” he elaborated at her slightly baffled expression. “And you have some...qualities, that I like in girls.” He cursed inwardly at himself the moment the words left his mouth. What was he, some inexperienced ten-year old trying to flirt with his schoolyard crush? This was Gamora, someone that he’d been opening up to in the past few weeks in ways he’d never anticipated.

Thankfully, she didn’t prod further. “But I don’t dance, or quote movies you like, or find you funny,” Gamora said, teasing.

“Oh, you definitely dance.” Peter got to his feet, weaving their fingers together and pulling her up as well. “I think you’ve danced with me enough times to establish that you’re totally a dancer.”

He moved to press play on his Walkman, smiling as the gentle sounds of a chorus and strings flooded the room. Despite having the latest technology available to him soon after they’d landed on Terra, Peter had asked for songs he had discovered later on and truly loved to be put on tape. He liked the idea of continuing his mother’s Awesome Mixes, as if it was his way of responding to hers.

They slowly moved around the room, Gamora sighing as she always did but following his lead. She was slightly on her toes, as her feet were bare, taking away the height advantage her thick-heeled combat boots usually afforded her. Her face was closer than it usually was, and despite the fact they’d kissed just yesterday (was it really yesterday? It felt like decades ago), there was an intimacy present that she was unused to, the feeling of Peter’s breath against her nose that wasn’t too unpleasant.

He then ducked his head slightly, his mouth now practically in her hair, nestled comfortably against her ear. “You give your hand to me, and then you say hello,” he sang, his voice so soft that she nearly missed it. As they turned slowly around the generously-sized living room, she could see the lights from the show flickering in and out of view, bathing them in a warm glow. “And I can hardly speak, my heart is beating so…”

Peter opted to hum for the next few lines, but Gamora felt her face begin to warm. Their perceptions of music were so different. Gamora enjoyed her punk-rock, with lyrics about fighting against the establishment and navigating the hardships of life and death, but there was something so endearing and innocent about Peter’s connection to older songs. He was a modern man in many ways - his somewhat arrogant personality in contrast to his gentle, all-loving nature - but his heart beat in time to older music and movies that celebrated love and life.

She dared herself to look up at him, and there was that softness that she liked so much, a stark contrast from the steely-eyed confrontation they had earlier today and many times before. Their eyes locked as Peter picked up again. “...and longs to kiss your lips, and longs to hold you tight...to you, I’m just a friend...that’s all I’ve ever been…” He broke off to chuckle. “It’s weird, ‘cause this song is pretty slow, but they dance so quickly in the movie. I always thought it was perfect for just kind of...two-stepping...like this.”

Gamora let out a soft breath, unsure of what to say. A breeze whistled by from the open balcony door, disturbing her hair, but all she could see was how it made one of Peter’s curls flop over his forehead. She reached up to push it out of the way. “Do you have a question for me?” She wasn’t sure why she was whispering, or why her thumb lingered on his cheek longer than she’d meant to.

“Sure,” Peter smiled. “You know what I look for in a significant other. What do you look for in a guy?”

“Physically fit,” she said immediately. That was an easy one, she needed someone to keep up with her in training, combat, and...other things. “Disciplined, intelligent, level-headed.”

He chuckled softly. “You describing a life partner or a business partner?” His large hand pressed slightly closer on the small of her back, though the pads of his fingers were still gentle. “Afraid and shy, I let my chance go by, a chance that you might love me too…”

“Then I guess you could say I look for a person who could be by my side in all aspects of my life,” Gamora countered, though her voice remained quiet and even. “Someone to be on equal footing with.”

“Like someone who leads a team with you?” Peter asked, and her eyes widened in realization. Maybe…

“Maybe, exactly, like that,” Gamora breathed, her chin tipping upwards.

It was an unconscious choice by them both, an instinct, really, as they moved together. Gamora’s hands were now cupped in Peter’s, held delicately between their chests. Their bare feet, taking tiny, careful steps, now coming to a stop. Peter’s nose met the side of hers first, and it was so slow compared to the rushed kiss of yesterday, like they had all the time in the world…

“GAMORA! Gamora, are you there?!”

She jumped backwards, nearly stumbling over her own feet. Peter watched her, astonished. He’d never seen Gamora trip before, not without some sort of catalyst. Without giving him a second glance, she turned and walked into the bedroom, snatching up her tablet. “I’m here, Rocket, what’s wrong?” she said, her voice hoarse.

“Yondu was s’pposed to contact Quill but he decided to be a big blue idiot and do nothin’ - your sister, she’s gone! Off-planet, gone to hang out near the Kyln!”

“What?” Peter exclaimed, hurrying over immediately to stand near Gamora. “How’d she get off Earth? Does SHIELD - or Stark - have some space travel technology we don’t know about?”

“Can’t be too naive, Quill, their secrets got secrets. You guys gotta get back here immediately, ‘cause Fury doesn’t know yet and this ain’t something I wanna tell him!”

“We’ll leave right now,” Gamora promised, her voice level, though her mind was racing. “Don’t do anything rash until we’re back.”

She disappeared into the bathroom to start packing and get changed into her combat gear, leaving Peter to stand there, dumbly staring after her, the spell broken.

Oh, you’ll never know the one who loved you so.

a/n: i know i know, i did the cliché thing, though this whole fic is an excuse for me to deconstruct tropes and clichés so shh

the song they’re slow-dancing to can be found here, in reference to this scene from groundhog day.

[yoursatanboyfriend]

The Ninth Paradigm

Title: The Ninth Paradigm (X) Rating: M Warnings: Heavy themes such as: Non-con/dub-con, PTSD, Manipulation, Child Abuse, Gang Violence, references to depression and self-harm. Summary: When Stanford Pines and Fiddleford McGucket reject an offer from a notorious crime lord, they separate. 3 months later, a private investigator named ‘Bill Cipher’ makes contact with Ford claiming to have been hired by his old assistant. It doesn’t take long for Ford to learn the truth and for Bill to enter his life and bed. But it does take long for him to learn ‘those to whom evil is done do evil in return’ is a specious statement under certain circumstances- specifically ones involving Bill Cipher.

He sits across from Bill, at the table densely engraved with every one of his failures. “Wanna hear a joke?” The demon laughs, tap tap tapping his bloodied-black fingers—Ford feels it inside his rib-cage. “Once upon a time, there was an old man who thought he could redefine the concept of Bill Cipher.”

                                   - Dinner with Bill Cipher, The End.

Stanford Pines was halfway through the sixtieth page of his book when a stranger, a young blonde impeccably dressed young man, seated himself across Ford with a loud “Hey, you’re not gonna eat that, right? Let me take it off your hands.”

In disbelief, Ford set his book down as he watched his scone travel from his plate into the young man’s mouth before he could even formulate an argument.

It was chewed carelessly, swallowed and spat back out in crumbs with a crude, “Thanks Ford.”

“How did you know—"

“I’m Bill. Bill Cipher and I know lots of things.” Bill, as the boy called himself, took a napkin and with meticulous precision, began to wipe his mouth. The slow movement brought Ford’s attention to his lips, and then to his face— a very attractive face. Tan skin with hazel, rather yellow eyes; they regarded Ford with curiosity and triumph, as if the attention was what Bill had sought all along.

Bill reached into his mustard trench coat, and produced a stack of post-card sized photos. He dropped them with a deliberate loud PLOP in front of Ford.

Photos. Of Ford. At work, in public places, in taxi cabs and various other public transport—in his house, in his home. Very intrusive photos; he could not spend even a fraction of a second looking at the ones taken of him coming out the shower. Somehow, he knew this was only a small portion of what the boy had taken, of what the boy had seen. He felt his cheeks burn up, his skin flushing with humiliation.

“What the hell is this?!” Ford fought to keep his voice low, lest he want to draw the attention of nosy bystanders. Disgust curled in his stomach and he suddenly felt nauseous. To be followed and observed like some kind of animal.

“Private investigator. Was hired to keep an eye on you.” Bill pointed two fingers at his eyes and then at Ford.

“This is an invasion of privacy! A breach of my privacy!”

“Nah.”

Shooting the messenger was not the correct choice—Ford knew this, but his anger wasn’t rational; anger itself was never truly rational and he had to remind himself of that. He was a private person by nature. Knowing someone had been watching him like this...had documented it…had documented it with the intention of showing it to another person…who would most likely show it to others. He couldn’t rule out that possibility.

“You okay there, kid? You shut down on me.” Bill interrupted.

“Kid? I’m old enough to be your-"

“I don’t care.” Bill was now drinking his coffee as though it were his own. “In case you’re thinking of legal ramifications…”

“I could sue you.”

“I’m a detective. I’m above the law- and consequences, mind you- but nice try.” Bill gestured Ford’s mug back with a nod, “Want some?”

Ford shook his head, teeth still gritted.

“Ah well, suit yourself. I was lying. About it being a nice try, it was actually awful but you know what? You can make it up to me by buying me lunch.”

“Are you insane?! Who hired you?”

“I don’t kiss and tell. Pass the ketchup there, would you Fordsy?” When Ford didn’t comply, Bill made a swift grab for it himself and began pouring ketchup onto Ford’s plate, spelling ‘F O R D’ out in the red.

“What’s wrong with you? Why are doing this? This—why are you here? Did you get what you wanted? Is that it? Your job’s done and you’ve decided to taunt me? Harass me?” Had the boy gotten the photo he needed? And now sought to mock Ford?

This was all too much. But they were in public, and Ford had to contain himself. The boy had chosen a wise time to approach Ford– it was a calculated, albeit basic, move.

Bill, seemingly unaffected by Ford’s outburst, took another sip of the bitter coffee. The lack of reaction brought a jolt of powerlessness through Ford, but he would not and could not show weakness. Blackmail was a potential outcome as well, he could not rule that out, and should he falter here, he could be looking at a lifetime of being leeched off.

Trust no one. Especially those who held any sort of power over you.

“You’re unbelievably boring, but you get this cute little scrunch-” before Ford could react, a hand was caressing the side of his nose. “Whenever you read something tantalizing, when you’re in the zone. The Ford zone, I like to call it.”

The hand left as quickly as it came, and Bill was now smiling peculiarly. Now that Ford thought about it, the boy had been smiling non-stop; the only changes were subtle contractions of his eyes.

“You seem confused by this. I guess you don’t get hit on very often huh?”

“What?” Hit on? What was this boy playing at?

“Like, romance, people tryna get into your pants.”

“You’ve got the wrong idea.”

“Shut up. You like men, and I’m as good-looking as they come.”

“What makes you assume that?” Ford had done nothing to give such an impression; he knew for a fact that his romantic life and interests were non-existent and he’d done nothing to hint at anything.

Bill did waves in the air with his hands. “I can sense it. I also noticed your pupils enlarge whenever you look at attractive males.”

“You couldn’t possibly have gotten a good look at my pupils from such a distance.” The science was correct but it was absurd that the boy had managed to capture the exact moment Ford’s pupils had enlarged, he couldn’t even recall seeing an attractive male recently—beyond the boy, he supposed.

“High definition camera, kid. When they said high definition, boy, did they mean it!”

Ford looked away, frowning with lips tightly pursed. Something didn’t add up…

“I was lying.”

Ford’s eyes returned to the boy.

“About the high definition camera nonsense. Figured I’d try and smoke you out, and hey, it worked. But you know, your pupils got pretty big when you were looking at me…”

“I’m old enough to be your—"

“Uncle. Uncle Ford. Is that your kink? Say no or I’m outta here, pal.”

The tension briefly forgotten, Ford broke out into a chuckle. “No, god no, I assure you. You seem young.”

“Actually a lot older than you’d think." Bill patted his cheek lightly. “Great genes. I thank my mom for that every day.”

“I want to see some ID. Your business card, too. Prove to me you’re an actual PI.” Ford said. He would easily go off on a mental tangent if he didn’t remind himself of current circumstances. It was not the time for laughter.

“Sure thing, Ford.” With a careless flick, a wallet was on the table. “Just go on through that.”

There was no reluctance from Bill when Ford took to inspecting the wallet and everything asked for was there. The wallet held quite a bit of money in it, alongside various cards, including business ones, and Bill’s identification card. Bill Cipher, 31(Ford didn’t expect that). The business card confirmed Bill’s earlier claims; he was a Private Investigator whose business location was situated about twenty minutes from here. Ford recognized the area, but he’d never personally gone that route.

“So, if you’re making contact with me, I assume you’ve given up on the job?” Ford said, as he handed the wallet back.

“Maybe. Maybe I want to get up close and personal. Maybe I want to get a very specific set of photos of you, Ford.”

The flirtatious remark was delivered in such a way that Ford would’ve mistook it for a threat if he’d not considered the nuances of aggression and seduction—especially in this day and age.

“Six fingers. I like that—that weird deformity you have there. Imagine! Six fingers.” Bill held his own darkly gloved hand up in front of him. He spread his fingers and contracted them to a steady rhythm. “If you were thinking whether I’m a toy guy or a finger guy, I bet you have your answer now, huh?”

Vulgar, Ford thought. Something was off; if this boy–no, man– had indeed been watching him for a long time, he would know, or at the very least have some idea, of what would and would not work when it came to interacting with Ford.

“Let’s go alone somewhere.” Bill suggested.

“I’d rather not.” This was suspicious. An attempt at leading Ford away from a public space caused alarm bells to go off in Ford’s mind.

“Are you scared?”

“…Terrified.” There was sarcasm in there, somewhere.

Ford pulled his book into his lap. “I’m sorry but this—I’m not that kind of man. "

“Okay then. So what you’re saying is, you wanna go for like, dinner and whatever and then we can—"

“No. Who do you work for, and are photos the only thing you were meant to take of me?"

“You think I’m an assassin huh? Sent to seduce you, lure you alone and then CLICK—" Bill made a noise with his tongue as he pantomimed having his throat cut with his hand.

“No. Mind my language if you please, but I think you’re full of shit.”

“I’d rather be full of something else.”

Ford had to know who was paying Bill. Fiddleford? They’d had a falling out, but why now, of all times, to have someone tail him? A chance to get the information from Bill was there, Ford only had to take it.

“Do you think your vulgarity is attractive?” Ford asked.

“So what you’re saying is…if I polish up my language a little bit—"

“No.” Ford straightened his posture and attempted to soften his features, hoping he gave the impression of having calmed down. “I’m saying I’d like to get to know you.”

“I hadn’t intended on that, Fordsy. Was kinda hoping for a once off, maybe twice of trice– if I’m lucky—thing. Hence you know, me coming on to you really strongly and just laying my cards out of the table.” Bill said.

“If that were true, Bill, you’re a rather lousy detective.” Ford pointed out. “You’d have known by now what type of man I am and that your methods would not work on me.”

Bill gave a half shrug with one shoulder. “I thought I was cute enough for you to drop those rules of yours.”

“Are you a pathological liar?”

“You’re a smart guy, Ford. I like that.”

“So it’s a yes?”

“You come around quickly huh? Thinking of ways you and I can blow that anger of yours off?” Bill’s eyes gestured to Ford’s clenched fist hidden beneath the table. Such an observant nature made Ford even more cautious.

“Do you really want to get to know me?” With palms flat on the table, Bill leaned in closer towards Ford, his upper body casting shadow across the table ominously. “Or do you mean you want to get to know who hired me by getting to know me?”

Ford swallowed the jump in his throat, but did not recoil.

“You want to use me to find out who hired me?”

“I—"

“I don’t mind. Use me as you see fit. If you play your cards right Fordsy, I might just end up telling you.”

Bill Cipher stood up and with two fingers, blew a kiss that segued into a casual salute.

“I’ll call you. Gotta say, you might just be my favourite Ford.” As Bill left, his back growing smaller and smaller in Ford’s vision, Ford realized Bill had given him the client’s name.

My favourite Ford.

Fiddleford.