#there are many sloppy areas but I refuse to work on this a minute longer

[sboochi]

Sometimes I forget that the reason I got into RotG, then RotBTD, then animated movies etc etc was just a McDonald's commercial. Like fr 13 yo me got an instant crush and things escalated quickly

[helpistolethesecharacters]

Hey. Can I request bucky barnes x male reader where the reader gets injured on a mission and bucky freaks out about it with the “Oh shit, is it that bad? Am I gonna die?” prompt. And can they already be in a relationship. Thank you

This was a good request, thanks.

That said, why is it harder to write something if there is more information???

This one didn't give me an immediate idea to follow through on, but I think it turned out alright.

Let me know if this wasn't quite what you wanted and I will be happy to have another go.

Stealth Mission

Bucky Barnes x Male Reader

Word Count: 1611

-----------------

The mission was supposed to be a stealth one. It was meant to be simple, sneak in, steal some information, sneak back out with no-one any the wiser for it.

Funny how the universe likes to laugh at people who make plans.

You roll your eyes at your thoughts as you gather your breath, and your courage. You were pinned behind a series of crates in what was clearly some sort of storage area. The bullets stop flying in your direction for a second. It sounds like the Hydra guys were reloading.

You leap out and unleash a hail of bullets at the men standing by the door. To your unending relief there are only two, both of whom were reloading. Thank God for sloppy trade craft. It takes a depressingly little amount of time to down them after that.

'Two down, one whole compound to go,' you think sarcastically to yourself.

"Hey, anyone out there still?" You put a shaking hand up to your earpiece. You had never been so thankful to hear Steve's voice before.

You tapped your comm to activate it.

"Yeah, I'm in some sort of storage area inside. No idea how many are left outside. Things aren't looking great from here."

You hear Steve sigh into his own comm.

"Y/N, Thank God. Buck would'a killed me if you'd gone down out here."

"Come on Steve, you know that's between me and Barnes."

You smirk to yourself and picture Steve's face at your comment. You don't normally tease the conservative man but it helped to steady your nerves the moment.

"Alright, I'm gonna head out of here, see if I can still salvage this mission. Let me know if anyone else responds."

Caps affirmative is ringing in your ears as you pull yourself back together. You still had a job to do here, there wasn't anything else for it.

You crept closer to the only exit in the room. Your heart was pounding too loud in your ears. This was annoying but adrenaline was running high after you were surprised earlier.

Luckily the hall was empty. It seemed that the other Hydra agents were a bit preoccupied somewhere else.

'Hopefully that means that someone else is still kicking. My bet's on Nat.'

It doesn't take long to find the right room this time. You internally promise yourself to pay more attention to blueprints next time, as you make your way into the room and over to one of the computers.

You were grateful once again that you had started out your illustrious career as a hacker. A few not so minor indiscretions had landed you in some pretty hot water before you hacked into the wrong server and caught shield's attention. Several years and some serious spy training later, here you were.

Your comm crackled as you tapped away at the keys of the computer. You put your hand back up to your comm and listened as Steve relayed that everyone else had checked back in with him.

You breathed a sigh of relief. Everyone was still alright.

"Roger that, I'm almost done here, I'll meet back out front--"

You cut off with a gasped cry of pain. You hadn't noticed the person slip in through the broken window while listening to Steve talk. You had completely missed them as they moved over on silent feet. In fact, you only noticed them as they slipped a dagger in between two of your ribs.

Distantly you could hear Steve calling out to you through your comm, but you were just a little distracted by the searing pain in your side.

You could tell immediately that whoever this person was, they didn't want to kill you outright. With how silent they were coming in and how preoccupied you had been, they had had the opportunity to slit your throat. They hadn't, which was pretty telling.

If you didn't get out of here soon you would either end up as a hostage to make the others give themselves up, or you would be tortured for information.

Not great odds then.

Using the opposite side's arm you managed to elbow them in the face. Their nose made the most satisfying crunch as it broke.

You spun and took advantage of their surprise to kick them back toward the broken window. Seeing the best chance at getting out of this situation alive, you didn't hesitate to give them a second harder kick to the chest. They went out flailing for anything to hold onto.

There was a yell and a loud thud as they hit the ground some several floors below.

You held your breath as you limped your way over there. You had to be sure that they weren't still a danger.

Yep, there they were, laid out on the ground, limbs at awkward angles that would be bad if it weren't for the large puddle of blood forming under them.

You let out your breath in a rush.

There was a ringing in your ears that was not great, and the world seemed to be spinning. You stumbled back over to the desk and the computer.

You grabbed the piece of tech that you had been loading the information onto and made your way heavily out of the room.

Something made you look up. You were glad that you did, Steve was coming toward you but there was something wrong with him. He was opening and closing his mouth like he was trying to talk, but nothing was coming out.

You squint at him in confusion, but you didn't have to worry about it for long. The darkness descends just as he reaches you and you know nothing more.

----------------

Bucky Barnes was not someone who was known for showing a lot of emotions. Not anymore anyway. He was slowly getting better, but it was just too easy to stay emotionally frozen.

He had been that way for literally years, and it had taken meeting one of the agents at shield to really start to shake him out of it. The Y/H/C haired man had quickly wormed his way into Bucky's frozen heart and refused to leave.

Naturally, having grown up in the 1920's and 30's, Bucky had known he shouldn't want this man the way he did. However, he had lived in Brooklyn, arguably the Gay Capital of the World at the time.

The only way he wouldn't have had at least one experience back then was if he was as oblivious as Steve had been.

In any case it hadn't taken him long to know that he had to ask you out. Getting up the courage had been the difficult thing. You had surprised him by showing up earlier the same day with a box and asked to talk to him alone.

You had put the box on his bed and said that you had wanted to ask him out for a while now, and only just gotten up the courage. The box was a gift which was his whether he wanted to go out with you or not.

Bucky had known that that was the best chance he would ever have, but was curious. He had opened the box to find a big fluffy sweater and fluffy reading socks. He had melted. You were literally the best person in the world - sorry Steve.

Bucky was decidedly not emotionless now however.

You had been brought in from your latest mission unconscious, and had to be rushed to the medical wing Tony kept in his huge tower.

(A/N Yes, we are pretending that they are all friends)

Objectively Bucky was sure that you would be fine, but he couldn't help but worry. You had never looked so small, lying there with soot from who knew what on your face and blood covering a large portion of your shield issued clothing.

Bucky was doing his best not to annoy the medical staff while he waited for you to wake up, but it hadn't worked at all. He had been banished from the area until you were awake to deal with him.

So now he was annoying everyone else.

"Shit Steve, is he going to be okay? Is he going to die? Oh God, what if he dies?"

Poor Bucky was in tears and pacing up and down the communal living space as he waited for news.

Even Sam had the good sense not to provoke Bucky right now.

Apparently Natasha didn't get the memo though.

"Barnes. He's a trained agent. This is a part of the job. Grow a pair and wait for news before writing him off entirely. Besides, Y/N's a fighter, he won't give up like this. He knows you're waiting for him. He won't let you down."

Bucky stared at her, shocked. Nat was notoriously few of words. That was practically a monologue from her.

"Good," she nodded, satisfied that she had gotten through to him. "If you can't calm down and wait for news like a normal person, why don't you go find Clint and stuff him into a vent to find out what's going on in real time."

With that Natasha floated over to the couch and flipped the TV onto her latest binge show.

Steve watched as Bucky stood in shock for a minute longer, before bolting out of the room, most likely in search of their team archer.

"That was mean. He's not even going to be able to explain what he wants properly with how out of it he is right now."

Nat looked over her shoulder at Steve with a smirk.

"Just a little revenge that I owed Clint."

[hikarus-shida]

MJF: "Take It" 18+

MJF x fem! reader

genre: smut/nsfw 18+, kinda fluff at end (meh)

warning: smut, 18+, angry sex, some edging and oral (male oral), foul language - also not proofread

summary: mjf is very angry after being humiliated by chris jericho. instead finding chris and beating him, he decides to take his anger out on his s/o sexually.

requested by: anonymous (I hope you enjoy!)

Masterlist

This is an 18+ imagine. If you're not 18+, please read at your discretion if you don’t intend on leaving this post. You’ve been warned. :)

Tag List: @cutierocker202

I think I got too carried away with this, oh well! I hope you all enjoy. I still have so many more smut requests to do - really got my work cut out for me lol!

You watched on the monitor as Chris and your boyfriend, Maxwell, spoke in the ring. They were going over Maxwell’s stipulations and what he wanted if he was going to face Chris. Everything was going well until Chris had gotten a cheap shot in on Maxwell. You gasped as Maxwell fell backwards, the smirk on Jericho making you fume up.

You knew Maxwell was going to be pissed and humiliated the moment he came backstage, so you made sure you were nearby to help him calm down. When Maxwell came backstage, he was red in the face and spewing profanities at everyone around him. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy how angry he was and how much it turned you on, but you couldn’t think about him sexually right now, not when he was about to kill someone.

“Max, baby, you need to breathe. Jericho is an old piece of shit that’s nearing his death bed. You’ll have your chance to get back at him soon.” You tried your best to relax him with your words, but he wasn’t having it. Maxwell rolled his eyes at what you said, shaking his head as he laughed.

“My god Y/N, you’d be a terrible therapist. Don’t ever think of changing professions, you’re good at and good for nothing else. You know what you’re good for? Good for bending over, so don’t think you can tell me how to feel about what just happened to me. In fact,” Maxwell stopped speaking as he grabbed your arm and dragged you to The Pinnacle locker room, not caring who saw him. “How about you make me feel better the only way you know how that you won’t fuck up?”

This was a new side of Maxwell you were seeing. Sure, you two have had makeup sex, rough sex, slow love-making sex, but sex with an angry Max? You had a feeling that this would still hurt you in the morning.

Maxwell shut the door and locked it behind the two of you, walking over the couch and sitting down. His legs spread open as he looked over at you with intent, eyes full of fire. “Well, whore? Do you really want to keep me, of all people, waiting?”

You scrambled over to where he sat, getting on your knees in the open space between his legs. Unbuckling his belt, you inched up and tried your best to not eagerly pull down his pants. You licked your lips as his member sprang up, almost as if it was happy to see you. Maxwell grabbed his cock with his right hand, jerking it slightly before smacking each side of your cheeks with it.

“Suck me off.” He commanded, laying back onto the couch with one arm on the arm rest and the other laying on the top side of the couch. You took just the tip into your mouth at first, Maxwell was big and he took pride in his length. He knew that you wouldn’t be able to put all of him in your mouth, but if you didn’t try he wasn’t going to let you hear the end of it.

Your tongue swirled over his tip as your head bobbed down to the middle of his shaft. You continued your head bobbing motions, your lips wrapping tightly around his length. Your mouth began to make suction noises and as the amount of spit on his member grew, you grabbed the remaining left that couldn’t fit in your mouth and began to jerk it as you gave him head.

Maxwell smacked your hand away though and gripped your hair, making you pull forward and take more of him in you, “Don’t think for a second that you’re gonna get away with not putting me in your mouth entirely. Be a good whore and take it, take it all.”

You had to prepare yourself mentally before doing so, but Maxwell didn’t give you any time. He was running out of patience and decided to take matters into his own hands, grabbing the sides of your head with both hands and pushing it down. Your gag reflex had activated as his cock was practically down your throat at this point. Maxwell groaned profanities and buckled his hips as he thrusted into your mouth, a smirk that refused to leave on his lips.

Maxwell removed his length from your mouth, not before tapping it on your tongue. The trail of spit from your mouth all the way to the end of his shaft was a sight to see, one of the best, and it only made him harder. Maxwell grabbed your chin, taking it in between his thumb and index finger as he looked into your eyes. “Take those fucking pants off. I wanna fuck you all night until I’m no longer angry.”

You got up immediately and obeyed, your underwear was soaked and you couldn’t wait for Maxwell to touch you where you desperately needed it. He pulled you on top of him and a moaning gasp came out of you as your folds came in contact with his tip. Maxwell slid his tip through your folds over and over again, looking at you as he teased you.

He slid into your pussy, being courteous enough to give you time to adjust but not for long as he wrapped both arms around your lower back and pulled you towards him as he began to drill you from below. His thrusts were fast and hard, calculated almost, as your skin clapped together. You whined and moaned, your clit being stimulated from rubbing against his pubic area.

Maxwell kept his momentum, your juices flowing all over his shaft and down to his balls. He grunted and groaned, taking your hair into his hands in a tight grip. He pulled you in for a kiss and god, was it a nasty one. Your lips connecting together, so wet and sloppy, your tongue flicking against each other as he nibbled on it before pulling away. The hand that held your hair released it’s grip, moving down to your ass and releasing hard strikes that were sure to leave a mark on it. “Look at you whore, losing your mind over this cock, wetting this nice leather couch like the dirty girl you are.”

You nodded in response, your lips parting as more moans continued to escape. You were close to your breaking point, but Maxwell had other plans. He hoisted you off of him and stood up, pushing you into the couch, positioning you into doggy. Maxwell slammed into you, making you yell out in bliss, before pulling out. He would thrust into you with power then pull out, doing this a few times before slamming into you again and gripping your hips tightly.

“You’re so tight, so wet. It’s a shame that no one else will ever get to experience you like I do. And it’s too fucking bad that they don’t know you like to be humiliated, just like how I was out there.” He spat out, his grunts getting significantly louder and it was clear that Maxwell didn’t give a shit who heard you two. His hands moved down to your ass, gripping it and slapping it. Maxwell slapped it over and over again, each slap more powerful and harder than the last. “Oh Y/N, if only you could see how red you are. I bet you’d enjoy it like the whore you are. Wouldn’t you?”

“Yes Maxwell, I would,” You cried out, the stinging sensation only pulling you closer to the edge. You were going to cum soon and you knew it, that feeling in the pit of your stomach. “Oh Max baby, I’m gonna cum. Will you let me cum?”

Maxwell cackled almost maniacally, “Now why the hell would I let you cum right now? You don’t deserve to cum just yet.” His length slid in and out of you harder as he got more deeper, the wetness making sloshing sounds that filled the both of your ears.

Maxwell was on his way to releasing and he didn’t stop his powerful thrusts yet. He hunched over you as he continued to thrust, his member now hitting you deeper and deeper. He could feel his cock swelling with each thrust and grunted, the sweat beading at his forehead beginning to trickle down. You on the other hand were a mess; you wanted to cum so bad and were so close to disobeying Maxwell, just to feel that sweet release.

Maxwell was thinking of you though and reached his right hand over you, his fingers rubbing your clit and pinching your bud. His fingers played with your clit sloppily as you gripped onto the couch and laid your head on it, biting your lip. “Cum for me, whore.” He uttered, his fingers not leaving your bud.

You cried out as you came on his member, his thrust not faulting as he continued to slam into you deeply and harder. Maxwell lived for breaking you down, so his fingers still kept on rubbing your clit as he kept on thrusting. His hips crashing into your ass harder each other, you were sure the both of you were going to be so sore the next day.

Maxwell’s hands transitioned onto your shoulders as he pounded you for the last few times, his sweet seed ready to fill you any minute now. “Y/N, I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna fill that pretty pussy up with my cum.” He groaned, his cock twitching as he began to cum and ooze into you.

The grip on your shoulders tightened as Maxwell released his load into you, he even moaned at the sensitive sensation it left him as he was still inside of you. He pulled out and laid beside you, not bothering to clean up yet. Like clockwork, the softy side of Maxwell came out and he pulled you close to him, kissing you on the forehead.

“Was I too rough on you?” He asked, heavily breathing. You shook your head, in fact you actually enjoyed this version of Maxwell and wanted to see more of him in bed, but it was nice to see the sweetheart in him again.

“No, I’m okay. You’re not mad anymore and I’m a happy girl that just got the shit fucked out of me. So, we’re even.” You shrugged, laying your head onto his chest as you two shared a laugh.

“Let’s go freshen up, okay? I’m gonna take care of you now.”

[mortemersgf]

serendipity pt.2

hot couture: hazel nguyen x f!mc (arden moore)

summary: hazel makes it up to arden for not flying her out to majorca.

click here for part 1

warning: nsfw content. minors, do not interact. by viewing this work, you consent you’re 18+

word count: 2.1k

@choicesficwriterscreations

a/n: my first smut!! pls be nice lmk what u guys think <3

Red wine.

Arden tastes red wine faintly on Hazel’s tongue as she presses her to the wall beside the door. It was almost beyond the bounds of possibility to keep her hands to herself as they were chauffeured to the hotel, so she wasted no time locking the door and drawing Hazel into a heated kiss. She steadies herself with a palm to the wall, her other hand cupping Hazel’s cheek. A quiet moan falls from Arden’s lips as she feels Hazel’s hands wander from her waist to over the curve of her ass, squeezing gently.

Hazel arches her back, pressing her body flush against Arden’s, as she wraps her arms around her hips. She lets out a breathy laugh while Arden’s lips trail to the soft skin of her neck, peppering the area with soft kisses.

“What?” Arden murmurs.

“You’ve been wanting this for so long, haven’t you?” Hazel questions. She cups Arden’s face so their eyes meet. Arden is still entrancing with her lipstick slightly smudged, hair mussed, Hazel realizes. She would’ve deemed the look sloppy had it been anyone else, but Arden pulls it off, and she does it well.

Arden smiles wolfishly, capturing Hazel’s lips in another kiss before answering, “Haven't you? From what I can remember, you seemed to have enjoyed yourself the last time we did something like this.”

“It was a shame I didn’t get to have my way with you.”

Arden holds back a moan and responds by drawing Hazel into another kiss. Their mouths move in sync against each other’s as Arden snakes her arms around Hazel’s body to find the zipper to her gown. She can’t wait a moment longer only imagining how Hazel looks underneath the dress.

Hazel helps with the effort and eases herself out of the garment without much difficulty. The dress is surely costly having been worn by her, but it’s long forgotten as it pools by their entangled legs. Arden marvels at the woman before her, cheeks warming. Aphrodite herself carved Hazel Nguyen, there’s no doubt about it.

“Getting a good look?” Hazel asks, unclasping her bra in one fluid motion. The lace bra drops to the carpeted floor with a light thud.

Arden could melt. She could evaporate into a puddle right now and be content having seen Hazel this way, but she doesn’t, choosing to take her hand instead. She brings Hazel to the drawer, positioning her against the edge.

“You’re overdressed,” Hazel notes.

Arden lets out a small laugh, shrugging out of her blazer and unbuttoning the top two buttons of her dress shirt. “Better?”

“Not really.” Hazel traces a finger down the center of Arden’s chest, stopping her movement to feel the material of the shirt. “Take this off.”

Arden’s heart thrums with desire, but she refuses to relent. She wants to tease Hazel, so she simply sinks to the floor and instructs, “Maybe later. Grab on tight.”

Hazel is more than pleased seeing Arden on her knees with eager eyes and parted lips. She obliges happily, curling her fingers around the wooden edges of the dresser and jutting her hips.

Arden’s face is about level with Hazel’s sex. She places one hand on her thigh, stroking the soft skin with her thumb. She presses gentle kisses to either thighs and with her other hand, she runs her index finger along Hazel’s clothed folds, delighted to find her lace panties dampened with arousal.

“All this for me?” Arden asks, glancing up at Hazel.

Hazel offers Arden a sultry smile in return. “Don’t act so surprised.”

Keeping eye contact, Arden licks at her heat, just to tease her, to gauge her reaction. Hazel’s head tilts upward, and she releases a soft sigh, threading her slender fingers into Arden’s hair.

“Don’t tease,” she murmurs.

And Arden obeys, pulling aside her panties and licking her from slit to clit. She repeats the motion for a couple of more times before swirling her tongue around Hazel’s clit, pulling moans after moans out of her. Arden relishes the sinful sounds tumbling out of mouth and uses it as encouragement to wind her up even higher. Hazel sounds beautiful. She’s unraveling right before Arden, and Arden adores it.

She sinks one finger into Hazel, adding another when Hazel breathes, “More.”

Arden curls the digits diligently as her tongue rejoins the effort. The sensation of Arden’s fingers pumping inside her sends Hazel into euphoric bliss. She tightens her grip on Arden’s hair as she hits a particularly sensitive spot, making Hazel’s breath hitch.

I should be the one bringing her to the brink, again and again, Hazel thinks. And silently, to herself, she promises to do so.

Hazel rolls her hips, feeling the coil in her stomach tighten with every lap of Arden’s tongue against her. It’s not long until she’s crying out Arden’s name and quivering against her face. The waves of pleasure coursing through her body renders her speechless for a moment, and she can only stroke Arden’s hair, her cheek, as she rides out the rest of her high.

Content, Hazel brings Arden up to her feet and cradles her close, tasting herself on Arden’s tongue, while her fingers work deftly at her dress shirt.

Arden lets out a soft moan at her slightly rough handling, mumbling, “Hazel, be careful… This is a Frances Bacque exclusive.”

“I’ll replace it,” Hazel asserts.

And Arden’s stomach churns with need. She whimpers as Hazel runs a hand over her breast and reaches to unclasp her bra for easier access. A teasing smile rests on Hazel’s lips as she leans in for a gentle kiss. “Such a good girl.”

Lips still entangled, they stumble to the bed until Arden plops down on the mattress. She barely has time to kick off her heels and shimmy out of her pants before Hazel is hovering over her.

As Hazel’s lips nip at the column of Arden’s throat, her hand roams greedily over her chest. She toys with the pebbled peaks of Arden’s breasts, pinching and flicking. Arden gasps and arches into Hazel, head dizzy with pleasure as Hazel begins to kiss down her body. The sensation sends goosebumps across Arden’s limbs, and for a moment, she wants to giggle.

Regardless of how many times Hazel seals her lips to Arden, how many times her hands squeeze and trace every curve on Arden’s body, she’s in disbelief all the same. This is real, Arden reminds herself. Hazel feels the same way I do. Bliss blooms in her chest every time.

Hazel presses kisses to Arden’s collarbone, the valley of her breasts, and her stomach until she’s positioned where Arden needs her most. Hazel pushes apart Arden’s thighs gently, relishing how she glistens, how wet she is, as she kisses her soft skin.

“Please…” Arden says, voice strained.

Hazel spends little time teasing her. She gets to the point, licking long stripes up her folds. Arden’s back arches instinctively and she lets out a strangled squeal at the sudden sensation. She feels woozy, stomach fluttering and cheeks flushed. Her hands crush the smooth silk sheets beside her head as Hazel repeats the action.

“Oh god, please don’t stop,” Arden breathes.

Hazel doesn’t plan on it. She adds onto Arden’s pleasure by thumbing her clit, and hums at the pretty sounds tumbling out of her mouth. Arden bucks her hips against Hazel’s face in the gentlest way, gasping quietly. Taking note of her impatience, Hazel responds by pushing two fingers into her.

She keeps pace for a few minutes, slowing her movements when Arden begins reaching blindly for her. Their hands find each other, and with a soft squeeze, Arden falls apart with a cry. She’s breathless as she comes undone, sweat beading at her hairline.

As Hazel strokes the top of Arden’s thighs, helping her come down from her high, she asks, “Will you be good and give me one more?”

Yes, yes, yes. I’ll give you a thousand more if you wanted. Sentences are much too difficult for Arden to string together in this moment, so she nods insistently as she rides out the rest of her climax, chest heaving and eyes fluttering closed.

Arden feels the bed shift as Hazel moves away from the mattress, padding to her luggage sitting in the corner of the spacious room. She returns with a vibrator in hand and slides the already buzzing toy between Arden’s legs, capturing the moan that spills out of her mouth with a kiss.

Hazel transfers her attention to either of Arden’s breasts, nipping and sucking with such expertise, Arden is sure there will be bruises the next day. Her stomach swirls with want at the thought of it.

Hazy from pleasure, Arden cups either side of Hazel’s face and mumbles in a heady whisper, “Kiss me.”

Hazel complies wordlessly. She’s looming over Arden again, but she takes a moment to appreciate the woman under her. She’d promised to bring Arden to the brink again and again, and so far, she’s keeping her word. Even with her cheeks flushed and eyes distant, Arden is a sight to behold. Hazel cups the side of her face, and she dips in for a soft kiss.

Already sensitive from her previous climax and winded up from the feeling Hazel’s lips against hers, Arden comes again within moments. She writhes underneath Hazel, panting and huffing out a breathy laugh.

Hazel extracts the vibrator, and keeping eye contact, she wraps her lips around the toy, tasting Arden. Despite her current state, Arden feels arousal pooling in her stomach once more. She catches her lower lip between her teeth, watching Hazel intently.

“Haven’t had enough yet?” Hazel questions.

“Not even close,” Arden says.

“Then let me take care of you.”

And she does. Again and again.

The first thing Arden notices when she rouses from sleep is the enticing smell of coffee. She inhales deeply and snuggles into the silk sheets, basking in the solace of the quiet morning. A stream of sunlight blinds her as she shifts around on the mattress and she groans, shielding her eyes with a hand. All is swell until she hears the sound of a toaster.

Her half lidded eyes widen in sudden realization. She shoots up into a sitting position, discovering that she is alone in bed.

“Oh my god,” Arden mumbles hoarsely, tracing her eyes over the vast room. Last night. It wasn’t a dream, was it? It really happened? She receives her answer as she glances down at her bare chest. It’s littered with purple marks, evidence that Hazel had her way with her.

Arden smiles to herself in spite of the soreness that’s spread throughout her body. She runs a hand through her tousled hair and slips out of bed, shuffling over to the pile of clothings Hazel had settled atop a cushy chair. Shrugging on the dress shirt she wore last night to clothe herself somewhat, she plods into the next room and finds Hazel.

Her back is turned to Arden. She wears a dark pantsuit, her brunette hair cascading down her shoulders in gentle waves.

Arden slouches against the doorframe and watches as Hazel spreads peach jam onto a slice of toasted bread. Hazel turns, pausing when she notices Arden smiling.

“You’re up,” she says, “How did you sleep?”

“Mm… good…”

Hazel nods. “I have a meeting in half an hour, so I’ll be leaving soon. Call me after you get off work.”

Arden grins. “I will.”

There’s a hint of a smile resting on Hazel’s lips seeing her beam like that. “Go shower. I laid out clothes and toiletries for you already.”

A surge of delight rushes through Arden. She murmurs a quick thanks to Hazel and finds her way into the bathroom, blushing when she takes in her disheveled appearance. After casting her dress shirt aside, she showers quickly, running the soaped loofah over her aching body. Fifteen minutes later, she pops out of the bathroom whilst drying her hair.

Hazel had left. The kitchen is empty, and the hotel room feels much bigger without her presence.

Arden shuffles to the island where a plateful of toast and strawberries await. A steaming mug of coffe sits beside the dish. Her surprise melts into elation, and she smiles. Arden is only slightly disappointed she isn’t able to share breakfast with Hazel, but she’s learned to take what she can get. After all, she is about to eat toast that Hazel toasted herself.

As Arden nibbles on her breakfast, her phone lights up with a new notification. It’s a text from Luz. She types out a quick reply just before biting into a strawberry.

Luz: How’s Milan?

Arden: Better than I could’ve ever imagined :)

[voidstilesplease]

in another life

part two

Stiles assures Theo answers for all of their questions -god knows they have so many- tomorrow. Theo's reluctant at first, doesn't intend to let go of Stiles's words hanging in between them: "You think she's alive?" Eventually, Theo nods, finding something in Stiles's eyes and placing his trust in him. An odd feeling of protectiveness settles in Stiles's stomach at the vulnerability that Theo freely displays - in the past, he used to act guarded like everyone was out to get him. Granted, Theo had conned most of them before with charm and fake tears, and it's not above him to try it again if Theo could gain something worthy from it. But Stiles doesn't feel the usual tingle in his bones when he meets some shady criminal mastermind. His instincts have gotten him this far, so he gives it credit.

Stiles sighs. Innocent until proven guilty. He hopes Deaton has answers that expose the truth.

In the meantime, they have saddled him with more responsibility: bringing Theo home with him. Theo refuses to be stuck with either Liam or Mason any longer, it is unwise to put Theo alone with Melissa, and stupid to leave him unattended. So Stiles is the only viable choice. Plus, Theo thinks they're together. It only makes sense. Maybe.

It probably won't to his dad initially, but hey, after a while of normalcy, even he will acknowledge the need for something to go down - even dressed as Theo Raeken.

•••

They're in Stiles's Jeep, driving home to the Stilinski's, and it is a little disconcerting how Theo seems to be accustomed to his car. Theo had seen and been in the Jeep before, but this is different. He's too comfortable in the cramped space, even knows how to operate Stiles's defective radio. And the way he leans against the seat on the passenger's side and knows where to keep the screwdriver Stiles uses to manipulate the ignition is boggling his head worse than the snow outside.

Stiles draws in a breath, glancing sideways to his quiet company. "So, um, Deaton," he says, "we're going to Dr. Deaton tomorrow."

Theo turns to him, frowning. "What kind of doctor? Are you taking me to a shrink? Babe, I'm not crazy. What happened is freaky, but you have to believe me."

Okay, the babe thing, they're going to have to iron that wrinkle as soon as possible. Not even Lydia called him babe when they dated, and certainly not Malia. It's a cosmic joke that the once bane of his existence gets to call him that first. "No, he's not a shrink," Stiles promises him. "He's a veterinarian. But he knows about these things."

Theo arches a brow, "He knows about teleportation?"

"Telepor-" Stiles creases his forehead, jerking his head to Theo. The latter is expectant when he looks back. Stiles blinks, disbelieving and a little horrified. There's also a small bubble of hysteria beginning to form in his stomach. Somehow, this takes the cake in the weirdness of the situation. Because, of course, Theo also doesn't remember he's a chimera, does he? Blowing a heavy breath, he turns back to the road. He rubs the side of his temple, where it's starting to hurt, and purses his lips. "Yeah, sure. Teleportation."

Silence hangs in between them for a moment, Stiles sighing when he takes the last turn to his street. He can feel the burn of Theo's stare at the side of his face.

"You really don't remember we're together?" Theo sounds genuinely small when he speaks. "Then why are you here, if not to take me home? The two -Liam and Mason- are accusing me of having amnesia. But it's you who can't remember."

Stiles opens his mouth, but he doesn't know what to say. He knows that if he tells Theo that he remembers an illusory life, it's only going to invite more questions Stiles has no answers yet. In honesty, he's still reeling until now, and he's too tired to consider diving into research mode immediately, much less form a cohesive plan other than to bring Theo to Deaton first. And the best thing for them both to do before then is rest. They can't do that if Stiles stays up all night convincing Theo that they're not even friends, that he was a lying, conniving chimera asshole that tried to break his pack once, before turning a new leaf and helping them, and then disappearing on them like a bubble one day. Oh, and yeah, that it's so twisted for him to think his sister was alive when he had allowed her to die when he was nine.

No. Rest, Deaton, and then fuck up some shit - Stiles is doing this in that order.

"Hm," is what he ends up saying. Stiles pulls in the driveway, noting the blue truck already parked there. He's relieved to find a change of topic. He clears his throat, pointing at the vehicle. "That's your truck. Corey, Mason's boyfriend, drove it here."

Theo doesn't look away from him for the entire minute it takes Stiles to turn the engine off and gather his belongings. When he looks at Theo, that's only when the other man lowers his head and breathes. Theo nods and gets out of the car, moving towards the truck. Stiles silently prays for more strength if this is how awkward it is going to be for the whole evening until the morning.

Theo is studying his blue truck, eyeing it with trepidation. Stiles slings his messenger bag and stands beside him. Theo turns to him, shaking his head. "This isn't my car."

Stiles moves to the bed of Theo's pickup. "It is," he tells Theo. 

Stiles is, unfortunately, familiar enough with this car, and not with pleasant memories. Stiles lifts the haphazardly strewn cloth covering most of the space of the truck bed and makes a noise of disgust with what he finds underneath. It was definitely tidier before.

Theo also peeks under the cloth and pulls his face in a similar reaction. An alarming amount of empty plastic noodle cups and take-out boxes litter the covered area. "It can't be mine because I'm not crazy for instant ramen."

Stiles drops the cloth and walks to the driver's seat. He cups his hands on either side of his eyes and looks inside through the window. He finds a folded blanket at the backseat and a pink sweater on top of the pile of clothes. The chimera wore the hell out of those, Stiles remembers grudgingly. Transferring his scrutiny on the passenger side, he sees empty water bottles and coke cans, and old receipts. What the hell has Theo been up to that he can't even throw his trash out or attempt to be less sloppy?

One thing is sure, though. The car is where Theo lives; the pizza in the backseat looks stale but not molded. He faces Theo and gives him a grim nod, "Let's discuss the condition of your car and your unhealthy lifestyle tomorrow, yeah?"

Theo huffs, wanting to protest and eyeing his car in disgust, but shrugs in agreement.

•••

His father is working the night shift, so explaining Theo is a problem for future Stiles, which makes him sag in relief under the hot spray of his shower. When he's finished, he changes into clean sweatpants and an old Christmas ugly sweater and goes back to his room.

Theo is already sitting on his temporary bed on the floor. Stiles refuses to make him sleep on the couch where the kitchen and knives are near. At least, inside his room, he can fight him should Theo attempt anything at all. Stiles has gotten better at hand-to-hand combat since the FBI, and also a very light sleeper and sometimes prone to insomnia, especially on stressful occasions like this. Any minor shuffling from Theo will alert him. Not that he thinks Theo will do anything. His impulses tell him that Theo's memory dilemma is not made-up, and he's truthful this time, but it's always better to be safe than sorry.

Theo looks up when he enters, offering a small smile. Stiles's eyes catch sight of the outline of a necklace hidden underneath the collar of Theo's borrowed shirt. Stiles's clothes look a bit tight on him but otherwise, more comfortable than the dirty jeans he was wearing earlier. 

"It's so weird to see your old bed," Theo says, looking at the said bed. "Noah brought you a bigger one so that we can share when we visit. I wonder what happened to it?"

Stiles drops onto his bed with a small bounce. He didn't expect that. "Oh, um,"

Theo meets his eyes, "And Roscoe," a shadow crosses his face. "You took down all of the polaroid pictures we put of us. You even replaced the screwdriver that I gave you with an old one."

He sounds so betrayed that Stiles is stunned by what he's hearing. What startles him most, though, is: "You know my Jeep's name?"

At this question, Theo looks downright affronted. But Stiles has every reason to be surprised. His mom, his dad, and Scott are the only people apart from him who knows his Jeep's name -not another soul. Not even Lydia.

"Of course, I know your Jeep's name," Theo responds with a deepening scowl. "We've been together for four years, Stiles."

Stiles raises a hand to halt Theo as his cogs turn in his head. A swell of panic takes root in him. This memory thing is more serious than he initially thought. Theo's not only hallucinating a different life but he also somehow knows things he shouldn't. The screwdriver compartment, his broken radio, his Jeep's name -what else does he know that he isn't supposed to?

"Okay," Stiles finally says, lowering his hand and barrier from Theo, who's still glowering. It seems he has lost his patience with Stiles, as well. If this continues, Stiles might snap, too. So he says as appeasing as he could. "Let's say that whatever happened to you affected our memories of each other. But we'll go to Dr. Deaton for answers tomorrow, and then we can go back to our normal lives. Yes? Do you trust me?"

As soon as he says it, Stiles wants to take it back. It seems like a strange concept to ask Theo, of all people, to trust Stiles after everything. As crazy as Stiles actually trusting Theo. But here they are.

Theo doesn't reply for a long time, but he looks pensive and considering as he glares. In the end, he huffs in surrender, shoulders drooping in defeat. For the first time, the bags under his eyes become more prominent in his features. He looks so weary, hurt, and confused. Stiles is well acquainted with that look. It's the look of someone who hasn't been sleeping well. With the state of Theo's truck, Stiles has no problem picturing the man twist-and-turning to find a good position and not finding any.

Theo dips his head, replying with a rough voice, "Yeah. I trust you."

Before Stiles can say any more, Theo gives him his back and reclines on his mattress. He pulls the covers on himself, like a shield, and mumbles good night to Stiles.

Sighing, Stiles turns the desk lamp off and lays on his bed, staring at the ceiling for who knows how long. After a while, he exhales and rubs the bridge of his nose. His body is exhausted, and so is his mind, but they're not shutting off like they're supposed to. He almost wishes he is back in his dorm room in Virginia, staying up to piece the puzzles of a case. He has dealt with mundane human crises for so long that coaxing the supernatural mojo back appears to be an impossibly draining affair.

When he glances back at Theo on the floor, he pauses as he notices it. There's a blank inked mark on Theo's nape: a tattoo that Stiles knows for sure he didn't have the last time they saw each other. He turns to his side to look closely at it.

The tattoo is of a circle interlaced with three interconnected ovals. It reminds him closely of Derek's triskelion tattoo. But unlike Derek's, Theo's mark gives him an ominous feeling.

Because Stiles is sure, it isn't an optical illusion when it glowed in the darkness of his room for a second.

~•~

[margoshansons]

Desperate Measures: 16/?

MASTERLIST

Summary: Things between Finn and Y/N get tense as they search for their friends and come across an unwanted visitor.

Warnings: canon-typical violence, guns, swearing

Notes: based on 2x03 “Reapercussions”

***

“Your dad isn’t very happy with me.” Bellamy spoke beside her, his gaze trained on the forest in front of them. Y/N scoffed, “Yeah, well Marcus isn’t happy with me either.” She shoved the growing unease back down into her stomach, weighing her body down as she struggled forward, her leg giving her more trouble than she expected.

“Add that to the short list of things we have in common” Bellamy smiled, jostling her shoulder playfully. She threw a tight lipped tug back at him, unsure how to interpret the sentence he had just uttered.

Did he really think they had that little in common? After the battle with the grounders she thought they had come to an understanding, at least. Maybe she was wrong.

Maybe they were just friends.

Nothing more.

Maybe he had been lying when Murphy had hung him.

“Alright Murphy” Bellamy shuffled to a stop in the middle of a grove of trees, “where to next?”

Murphy bit the inside his cheek before offering up his hands, “I say we lose these first, alright?”

“No” Bellamy and Y/N uttered at the same time, the latter rolling her eyes at Murphy’s snickering expression.

“So, finishing each other’s thoughts now are we?” Murphy shot at the pair, the two leaders sharing an annoyed gaze as he continued, “Look, if we get caught out here, I have nothing to defend myself with.”

Y/N grumbled to herself, sighing as she snapped back, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Murphy moved to place his bound hands on her arm, throwing them up at the sight of Bellamy pointing his pistol at the prisoner, “Hey relax, just wanted to remind sparky of our precious time in the dropship,”

“Every time I walk you remind me of our special time in the ship” Y/N spoke, sarcasm dripping off her tongue as she gestured to her leg, the bound wound still throbbing in pain. Before Murphy could respond, Finn moved forward, using a knife to cut the bonds.

“What the hell?” Bellamy asked, speaking the exact thoughts that were running through her head.

Finn’s cold eyes locked with Bellamy’s blazing ones, the two men experiencing similar emotions on the opposite side of the scale. “It was your idea to bring him, and we have to keep moving.” His voice had lowered, gruff and commanding as he took the lead, leaving the rest of the group staring after him.

Y/N creased her eyebrows. Finn wasn’t like this. He never had been. So what changed him? She turned toward Bellamy for answers only to see him shove Murphy in the back, sending him tumbling forward as they continued the search for their friends.

Every step she took felt like it was agony, the painkillers Abby had given her were close to wearing off, and she hadn’t brought that many in her jacket pockets. She leaned her weight against a tree, pulling out the pills she had packed in the small pockets of the blue jacket, devastated to find that the bottle was empty.

Y/N closed her eyes, hanging in her head as she bit her lip to ward off the pain. It had reached her hip now, spreading through the right side of her body.

“Here” A familiar voice reached her ears and she lifted her gaze to the clear bottle of pills being rattled at her. Bellamy’s eyes smiled softly, almost pleading with her to take them. She didn’t need to be told twice. She downed the painkillers along with the cool water collected in her canteen, ignoring the worried gaze from Bellamy.

“Stop that” She threw out, capping her canteen as she hooked it onto her pack once again. Bellamy shifted his gaze, throwing an innocent expression on his face, “Stop what?”

She lifted an eyebrow, a skeptical gaze meeting his playful one, “Stop looking at me like I’m going to break.”

“Just let me look at your leg,” Bellamy sighed, ignoring her previous statement, “Please?” Knowing he would never give up, she made a point to sigh as loud as possible before sliding down the tree, extending her leg out for Bellamy to look at as he called after the group.

“Five minute break!” he announced, leaning down to untie the wound, revealing the hole still torn in her pants. A gasp of pain left Y/N’s lips as the wind gently flew past her now open wound, the crescent shaped hole reddening from the inflamation.

The blood had dried around her thigh, but the stitching was threatening to break apart if she moved any further. Y/N resisted the urge to roll her eyes at Abby’s sloppy job, knowing that she probably did it minutes before she had woken up.

“Before you say anything,” Y/N told Bellamy through gritted teeth, “I know how bad it looks.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Bellamy smirked, grabbing new bandages from the pack Abby had lent them. “If I was, perhaps I’d point out that Abby gave us both a salve and extra bandages, but I’m not so…” A chcukled almost forced itself out of her mouth, his dumb sarcasm allowing an escape from real life for a while.

“Why are we stopping?” Finn asked, anger streaming out of his mouth as he glared at the medical session happening before him.

Bellamy stared up at Finn, a stoic expression crossing his face. “Y/N needed to change her bandages, besides, we could all use a break.” He threw a nod at Monroe and Sterling, whose sweat gleamed as the sunlight shone on it, their breaths heavy and shallow, nodding to agree with Bellamy.

Finn’s glare shifted from Bellamy to the injured girl on the forest floor, the inflamed wound moving up and down as she breathed. “If it was so bad, she should’ve stayed home.”

She creased her eyebrows incredulously, what the fuck kind of response was that? “You asked me to come Finn!” She brought up, reminding him of how they got out in the first place, “You were the one who wanted my help breaking them out!”

“And now you’re slowing us down!” He yelled, towering over her as anger blazed through his frame, breathing deeply. “You’re becoming a liability Y/N.” He announced, his fiery demeanor evaporating until he stood there arms crossed, coldly staring at the girl on the ground.

“That’s enough.” Bellamy growled, standing up to meet the Spacewalker’s eyes, “You need to get a hold of yourself,” he whispered urgently, grasping Finn’s shoulder, “I cannot be out here with two loose cannons.”

Finn sniffed in a gesture too reminiscent of Murphy before ripping his shoulder out of Bellamy’s grasp, “I’m going to scout the area, we wrap her wound and then we go, no more stops.”

The other leader nodded, leaning back down as Finn stalked off, leaving a trail of heat as he left. A sigh of frustration left Bellamy and Y/N’s mouths as he reached for the salve, eyes darkening when he focused on her wound again.

“It’s not your fault,” She reassured him, the cool of the salve sending a wave of relief through her body. “You can’t predict what people are going to do”

Bellamy refused to meet her eyes, focusing on rewrapping the wound, Finn’s warning ringing in his ears. “I used to.” His gaze shifted toward Murphy as he said that, recalling the events regarding Charlotte.

Y/N shrugged, placing a hand on his arm, “We’re out of our element here.” She told him, a small smile cracking on her face, “War changes people Bell,” His eyes snapped up to meet hers at the sound of his nickname falling from her mouth, sliding his arm out of her grasp until his hand intertwined with hers, squeezing it for comfort as he tied off the new bandage.

***

Under any other circumstance, a candlelit bunker with Bellamy would be a dream come true (not that she would admit it), but instead they stood in a semi-circle, interrogating the one-eyed grounder who had stolen Clarke’s watch.

The same watch that Y/N now held.

The last reminder of one of her closest friends.

She palmed the relic, not wanting to let go of it as Bellamy and Finn moved closer to continue the interrogation.

“We’re gonna do this again, and this time you’re going to stop screwing with us!” Bellamy threw a punch at the grounder, unable to contain the worried rage he felt, “Where did you find that watch?”

The one-eyed man steeled his gaze, “I told you,” He spat, “I found it outside your camp.”

“He’s lying,” Finn snarled, “She would never take it off voluntarily.”

The longer haired kid grasped a fistful of hair and pulled the grounder’s head back to meet his own gaze. “I’m going to ask again.” Finn’s voice was calculated, “Where is the girl who was wearing that watch?”

The grounder spat in his face before answering the question, “There was no girl.”

Murphy scoffed, “You know maybe you should stop asking him nicely,”

Y/N whirled in rage at what he was suggesting. “We’re not torturing him,” She announced, meeting Bellamy’s gaze, “We already know that doesn’t work.”

He nodded, creasing his eyebrows in thought, “Y/N’s right,”He supported, moving closer to her, “Lincoln proved that torture does nothing.”

At the sound of her name, the grounder perked up, tilting his head at the girl. “Y/N of Skaikru.” He whispered, a sense of reverence crossing his tongue. “The natblida.” He spat, finally getting her and Bellamy’s attention.

“What the hell did you say?” Bellamy asked, Y/N shaking her head as she approached him.

“How do you know my name?” She grit her teeth, ruthlessness returning as she stared at the beaten up grounder.

His chuckle sent chills spiraling down her spine, a smirk crossing his face, “Everyone knows your name. The commander made sure of it.”

She swallowed, holding her head up high as a tense pause lingered between the two, until Finn stole the watch from Y/N’s palm, holding it up the grounder in one last attempt to get answers.

“Tell me where Clarke is” He warned, the safety of the gun clicking off as he pointed the pistol directly in between his eyes, “Or I put one in your head.”

“Finn what are you doing?” Bellamy shouted, eyes widening as the delinquent turned around, the gun now facing Bellamy’s chest.

Y/N stepped forward, “Finn, this isn’t who we are!” She screamed at him, heart racing at the thought of losing Bellamy for good this time. She placed her body in front of the pistol, ready to get shot again if it meant saving him. Her eyes pleaded, catching the crazy look in Finn’s bright eyes.

“It is now.” He announced, echoing the same words Bellamy had before they tortured Lincoln. Y/N shook her head fruitlessly until the grounder stepped in.

‘Wait!” The one eyed man called, “I- I know where your friends are. A village, east of here, where we take our prisoners of war.”

Finn returned to point the gun at the grounder once more, before instructing him to draw a map, a sigh of relief exiting Y/N’s mouth.

The group waited in a tense silence as the only sound in the bunker seemed to be the sound of crayon on paper, drawing the path to their friends.

Drawing the path to Clarke.

He ended his drawing with a flourish before handing it off to Y/N, who stared at the path, disbelief coursing through her. They were so close. They were almost reunited with Clarke, with Miller.

They would be home soon.

“What do we do with him?” Murphy asked, nobody else wanting to field the question. “If he escapes, he knows exactly where we’re going.” Y/N spun on him again, “We’re not killing him.” She spoke vehemently, refusing to execute him after he helped them.

“I don’t really see another option,” He continued to argue, “If he gets out he’ll tell his people exactly where we’re going.”

Bellamy stepped forward, “Y/N’s right, we can’t kill him.”

Murphy scoffed, “What a surprise, the king agrees with his queen.” he brought his hand up to his nose again, “You know this is going to blow back on us right?”

“He’s unarmed,” Bellamy justified, “We’ll lock the bunker, that way he can’t follow.”

“You really think that’s going to be enough?” Murphy continued to press, irritation rising in Y/N’s stomach at the argument, “What’s up with you? You’re acting like you haven’t killed a grounder.”

Bellamy was almost nose to nose with Murphy as he moved closer, “That was in battle, this would be an execut--”

The two men were cut off by a gunshot, and Y/N turned just in time to see the body of the grounder thud against the floor, Finn standing above him.

He tucked the pistol into his waistband, his eyes emotionless.

“Let’s get moving.”

***

A/N: uh ohhhhhh. also, what’s up with the grounders knowing Y/N’s name? interesting....

DM Taglist (closed): @chloe-skywalker​ @im-a-writer-right​ @clarkewithameme​ @shatteredlovesick​ @your-typical-giggle​ @rhyxn​ @amongthewildthingss​ @furiouspockettoad​ @niammain​ @cxddlyash​ @lena-davina @kaylinfayezink​ @gingerxarmy​ @super-marvel-dale​ @travelnottogoanywherebuttogo​ @nerdbookish​ @valeskasecco @strangerliaa​ @simsvetements​ @molethemollie​ @thebookisbtr​ @im-a-stranger-thing​ @jordangdelacruz​ @oopsiedoopsie23​ @multifandombookstore​ @okj232 @asian-male-enthusiast​ @minigranger​ @jooheonbee​ @libraryoffandomsuniverse​ @pancakefancake​ @weird-pale-blonde-person​

[vkapple]

Pandaria is famous for the beauty of its places. Clear fields, high waterfalls, perfect buildings, good alcohol. Indeed, the festivals in the Pandaren Empire are luxurious and mesmerizing. Bright fanfare, loud music — good atmosphere in which you can relax.

Masks were the highlight that evening. Whether they are made of paper, fabric or bamboo. Someone did not regret the wooden saucer, cutting out two holes for the eyes. She received her mask as a token of gratitude. A little work and perseverance. She helped the farmer, protected the merchant, brought medicine to the villager. A child came up to her. With a big smile and wide eyes, she held out a bamboo mask. A little sloppy, but made with great diligence and soul. The little pandaren asked to dress her for the festival. And the woman could not help but refuse. She now stands in this mask, wearing a simple green dress. Far from everyone. After tasting alcohol and dancing she wanted to get some fresh air. Take a break.

Behind her back is the joy of the inhabitants, beautiful music, bright atmosphere.

— Fascinating, isn't it? — A quiet voice sounded.

She looked around and saw blonde hair and a neat wood mask painted in various colors.

— Your voice is familiar to me — She smiled and nodded — How can I help?

— It looks like you liked this festival — He came closer and stood beside

— There are many festivals and celebrations in Stormwind, but this is the place where I am amazed at the beauty and simplicity of the pandaren cultures.

— Magic, isn't it? I am glad that I am here in peacetime and can contemplate their life.

— I thought the King should always be in the castle and only watch his people from afar.

— Sometimes even the Kings need rest. Even if he's on the excuse of "learning about pandaren traditions" — He chuckled and rubbed his neck.

— I'm glad you can take a minute and relax.

They stood in silence for a while. He reached for his mask and ran his hand over it.

— I thought I looked simple enough on my way here. Calling me a lad and offering a drink. What gave me away?

— You’re bad at acting — she shrugged her shoulders — But I did recognize you not for this reason. Did you know that golden hair is very rare?

— Some people have this hair color, so I doubt your words.

— They are just light, but yours give off in gold, is it all about blood?

— S-should I take this a-as a compliment?"

— As you wish — she smiled.

While still touching the mask, he doubted at first, but eventually took it off.

— It's nice to relax for a while.

— Will they not look for you?

— Hopefully my disappearance isn’t noticed so quickly.

They stood side by side, elbows barely touching. Her mask only half covered her face. She was still smiling.

— What makes you happy?

— Nothing.

— Are you sure? You are smiling.

— I know

— Am I funny in your eyes?

— What made you think so? The King of Stormwind quietly went on foot alone into the depths of the city during the festival, where creatures of different races and opinions are located. I’m just smiling.

— Didn't you say earlier that the king spends too much time away from his people? I thought it was a good decision to be closer.

— I do not judge you. Looks like alcohol has clouded my mind and it played a trick on me. I just wanted to have a little fun for myself. Sorry.

— I-I think I should do this more often, worse and worse I distinguish sarcasm.

He waited for her to say something else, but she only let out a small laugh. He felt like a small child. He furrowed his brows.

— What? You are too serious. A little pampering won't hurt.

He wanted to say something else. Something serious that could dispel this situation. He just took a deep breath and relaxed. Wanted to watch. Stay close.

— If you wait a bit, then there will be fireworks. I'm sure it will be exciting.

— I saw them up close when I was a child. I still remember that moment — his hair, tied in a ponytail, flew in the wind

— I never liked fireworks. Noisy, not letting you sleep, too bright.

— But you are waiting for them.

— I just hope they will be different here.

The mask was still in his hand. He decided to examine it in detail.

— Apart from the fact that we are in an open area without an orchestra playing nearby, it looks more like a masquerade ball.

— And there are also beautiful luxurious dresses, many aristocrats and dances.

— Only small conditions and necessity.

— I am an ordinary person, I do not understand this — she shrugged her shoulders and turned to him — It suits you more.

— I received invitations as a teenager, but my dad believed that teaching the future king was a priority.— He put his mask on a small table nearby.

— You are the only heir. I guess that was the reason.

He looked at her.

Her mop of brown hair is braided into a tall, irregular bun. A bright, red, slightly rough mask covering half of her face makes her stand out despite her plain green dress. The smile faded from her face, she turned her gaze to the nature ahead of her. She looks so fragile from the outside. But she can be very emotional, brave. When the sword is in her hand, she waves it left and right to protect her life. Hands are always covered with calluses. Her look is always serious, sometimes frightened. But when there is no sword, she looks calm, happy, peaceful. Sometimes it seems to him that the war does not suit her. He wished she could leave the sword and never take it again. Bruises, cuts, bandages on her body. War does not give a choice and he understands this very well. Who knows what might happen to her. People return from the war either crippled or do not return at all.

— Would you like to go?

— What?

It must sound strange. She is a soldier and serves him body and soul. She saved his life. — Go to the ball?

— Yes.

He wanted her to be able to live a peaceful life at least most of the time. Maybe she must appear more often at festivals, drank in taverns, found friends. She is always sincere when she is not at a war.

— Isn't that for aristocrats? — She grimaced — Well, for politics, intrigue and stuff.

— You helped the Alliance enough to gain status. It would be nice for you to come there once.

He saw her dancing in Elwynn Forest to the song of the minstrel. This wasn’t a waltz, but it was the voice of her body, soul. Sincerely and freely. She may not be blue-blooded, but ...

— You would be beautiful there — escaped from him

The heart made a circle. He said it too unexpectedly. She turned sharply. He is sure that under the mask, there is pure amazement and shock in her eyes.

An image flashed in his head: She slowly descends the stairs. Her long hair ran down her back. Her neck and ears would have jewelry made of topaz to accentuate her eye color. A long coral dress that would have bared her shoulders. Her hands in short gloves were holding the railing. Her gaze would be calm, maybe even she was smiling. He would have held out his hand to accompany her beside her.

Or maybe he will dance with her.

But he guessed in reality she could hide in the shadows part of the time, dressed in a modest but pretty dress. Without stones and ornaments on it. She does not know etiquette, morality, rules.

And she knew it too.

— Anduin — she whispered softly

The girl looked into his eyes. Despite the unexpected announcement, he did not look away. His hand touched her fingers.

— I would like to see you there — he said it as warmly as possible.

She turned her body towards him, not brushing his hand away. She looked a little embarrassed.

— You know how to surprise — she tried to laugh, she tried to translate everything into a joke, but her head is spinning — I ... I don't know what to say. She lowered her gaze, her tight smile, her lips trembling, her breathing ragged. She's not scared.

— Looks like you should spend less time alone. I can still surprise you. He was also on the nerves, but his body did not tremble. He shifted hand from her fingers to her palm, and the other hand went up to touch her face, but stopped in mid—air.

— Do you propose your candidacy? Her hand turned to interlace her fingers with him. The other gingerly took the hand that had been left in the air halfway. — But I don't know etiquette

— I know — He whispered

— I can accidentally be rude — she thought a little

— I know — He smiled

The man touched her face, ran his hand over her cheek and moved her to the mask. The girl did not flinch. Her mask was fragile and the fastening of the mask snapped. The mask no longer held onto her face. He slowly took her off and saw her face. She did not look away and looked at him, completely trusting. He slowly approached her. The mask in his hands slipped off and quietly fell beside him. Her free hand touched his shoulder, ran up to his neck, and lifted up to his low tail, which is secured with a white silk ribbon. They unlocked their hands and the second reached out to the same place.

— Did you know that loose hair suits you?

She reached out and pull the ribbon. Now both of her hands were on his shoulders. He felt that the hair was scratching his nose, maybe tickling his neck. Both of his hands touched her face and dropped to her forearms.

He reached for her. She closed her eyes.

The noise disappeared, as if tens and hundreds of people were silent. A whistle hummed over them. Fireworks flashed in different colors. The bright light blazed, then faded. It didn't look like normal explosions. As if fireworks created forms, constellations, shimmering in different shades. They didn't see it. The kiss was sweet, she smelled of alcohol, although she drank it long ago and managed to sober up. He seemed to be drunk, although he did not drink alcohol for the whole evening and did not taste even a drop. They've lost track of time. They heard the rhythm of each other's heart.

They parted, breathing deeply and slowly. They were silent. He rested his head on her shoulder, inhaling her scent.

He closed his eyes and thought.

"Now my heart is yours"

She didn't move, but she fiddled with the ribbon with her fingertips. Her gaze ran around.

— The mask that you broke was made by a child. It's a pity — She tried to joke and break the silence.

— We missed the fireworks — He raised his head, peering into the sky, parrying — The mask is beautiful

— Was. Maybe there will still be fireworks — She was still looking down

They laughed together. We looked into each other's eyes.

— You like it?

— Wh-what? — He got nervous again and swallowed saliva.

— Hair. They are ruffled. It seems to me that they are beautiful.

— Yes, e-exactly — he started awkwardly — They are long, so I prefer making the tail.

— You’re losing a lot of opportunities

— You have long hair too, but you have it gathered.

— I can dissolve it — she reached for the bun and grabbed the hairpin. He chuckled earnestly. Her hair fell over her shoulders. The hairpin she was holding in her hand she put in the front pocket of his shirt.

— I should go back — He kissed her forehead

— I understand, but for some reason it seems to me that today everything will be good — she put her hand on his chest — But if you insist, can we walk a little? I can smell the food from here. I am paying tonight.

— That would be great. My health is your responsibility.

They took up their masks. He carefully put his back on. She did assess the damage to her mask.

— I think it can be repaired, not scary — She smiled

— Glad to hear that

They nodded to each other. She took his hand and led him towards the crowd.

They spent this evening and night together and became one.

But in the morning she did not see him.

[itsallabigmess]

Overnight

The amazing @ahgase55g7 requested number 158 “This is awkward.” with Jinyoung (GOT7) from the drabble game.

A/N: I was going to post it as an answer for your ask but it got a bit longer than I expected so I’m posting like one of my normal scenarios. I hope you like it, Amanda :) And thank you for requesting.

Hope you enjoy this silly thing I wrote.

Kisses,

A.

It was hell. Working with Jinyoung was absolute hell. Not because he was difficult to deal with. No, it was the exact contrary. He was kind and incredibly attentive, always willing to help you with whatever you asked him. And he always forgot to hide his dorky side when there was only the two of you. Especially when you had to work overnight.

And charming. Jinyoung was incredibly charming. And it was getting harder and harder to contain your crush on him.

All your colleagues knew, apparently, teasing you at any opportunity they could get. Even in front of Jinyoung. Which was worse because you were certain he noticed, the girls not knowing how to be subtle at all. And since he always dismissed it, you were sure he only saw you as a friend from the office.

“I think it’s gonna be just you and me again tonight,” he said, stopping by your desk.

“What a surprise,” you let you a heavy sigh, not only because it was Friday, and you were desperate for your bed, exhausted from an intense week of meetings and paperwork. But because he looked exceptionally charming that day, with his new haircut and sleeves folded in a way you had the greatest sight of his veiny forearm.

Hell. You were in hell.

“Had plans for tonight, Y/N?” Jinyoung asked, half sitting on your table.

“Not really, but I also didn’t want to spend the night here. What about you?”

“I was going to meet some friends for a beer later.”

“Oh,” you finally turned your chair around to look at him. “You can go, you know. I’m sure I can handle everything by myself.”

Jinyoung crossed his arms over his chest. “And miss the opportunity to spent hours doing the paperwork our boss was supposed to do by himself? Besides, we can finish faster together.”

You replied with a shy smile, turning your body to the bright screen in front of you again, hoping Jinyoung could not notice how flushed your face become once you noticed how restrained the muscles of his arms seemed under his shirt. It was embarrassing, really, how much you were lusting for Jinyoung. But you couldn’t help yourself.

“I was thinking we could sneak in some pizza, and maybe a drink or two,” he leaned a bit closer, keeping his voice down so only you could hear it. “It’s gonna be just the two of us and the cleaning lady, and I’m sure she won’t rat on us.”

“Unless we make a mess,” you looked up at him, trying to ignore the scent of his lotion. “But I’m in.”

“Great. See you later, then, Y/N.”

Jinyoung left but not before winking at you, leaving you to bury your face in your own hands, trying to contain a grunt.

After everyone left you and Jinyoung moved to your boss’ office, his larger table making it better for you two to deal with the number of files you had to go through.

You were glad that all the work was enough to distract from the fact he was there with you, but more importantly, Jinyoung was incredibly fast and you knew you two wouldn’t be spending that much time in a place you already spent way too many hours.

Jinyoung offered to go out for a bit, buy some beer for you two to drink. The pizza arrived just a few minutes after he left, and your phone started to buzz no longer after, a friend you usually meet on the weekends inviting you to some night dancing, sounding incredibly disappointed when you refused.

“You really need to find a better job,” she said.

“It pays well. But Jinyoung is here, maybe we won’t take that long to finish, and I can still meet you.”

“Jinyoung?” you could hear the smirk on her tone. “Is he still as charming as I remember?”

You looked up, to make sure Jinyoung was nowhere to be seen, walking to the door and half closing it, sure you could hear once he was back. “It’s worse! He looks hotter every time I look at him.”

“You need to tell him how you feel!”

“Why? So I can be rejected? No, thank you.”

“You don’t know that! And never will unless you talk to him.”

“He would have talked to me if he felt something,” you pondered “We work together for quite some time now and I’m sure he heard the girls taunting me about him more than once.”

“You told me he is more on the introvert side. Maybe he’s just waiting for you to take the first step,” your friend pointed out, and you made a mental note to hug her after, for she always tried to be the positive voice on your skeptic view of life.

“Jinyoung doesn’t like me,” you reaffirmed, stubborn to the core, letting out another heavy sigh, something you unconsciously did every time your mind was taken by thoughts of him. “Besides, I’m sure Jinyoung must have this super-hot, model type girlfriend whom he is already planning to marry and have kids and live happily ever after. Just as I’m sure he only sees me as his friend. Worse, he only sees me as his coworker so, I have to be content with the idea of becoming an old maid with thousands of cats.”

“Aren’t you allergic to cats?”

You could feel your heart clench and entire body start to burn once you heard his voice, Jinyoung looking at you from the door.

“Oh my god, is that him?” you heard your friend squeal on the other side of the line, your eyes fixed at the face Jinyoung was making at you. “This is absolutely brilliant!”

“I’ll call you later,” you said, turning off the call almost in slow motion, wishing your legs could hear the voice on your head telling you to run away. “Jinyoung I…”

“They didn’t have any beer,” he said, calmly walking towards you, “so I just bought some soda.”

Jinyoung placed the cans over the table, at the same spot where the box of pizza rested still sealed. You two stayed there, silent for a few seconds, your eyes unable to meet his.

“Y/N…”

“I’m gonna grab some napkins!” your voice sounded a bit too loud as you almost jumped up from the chair, your phone dancing on your sweaty hands before you were finally able to rest it over the table.

“Are you okay?” Jinyoung asked, containing a laugh.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Superfine,” you gave him a sloppy smile, looking at him for just a breath second, enough to make you blush all over again.

“You are wrong, you know,” Jinyoung said, making you stop by the door frame. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

You stared at him until the corners of his lips twitched up, and you could not handle your embarrassment anymore. “This is awkward,” you mumbled to yourself, making your way as fast as you could to the coffee break area.

The space was only illuminated by the vending machine, and you really didn’t care if the lights stayed off. Not only your hands but you could feel your entire body trembling. Trembling and sweating. How were you supposed to work the rest of the night with him, look at him, as if nothing had happened?

You walked from side to side, considering if you just should leave. Your purse was still on your desk so you wouldn’t need to talk with Jinyoung again. Even if it made you a jerk, just leaving him there with no explanation. You were already feeling mortified anyway. You cursed however when you realized you left your phone over the table. Now you could not even ask for a cab. Of even your friend, to ask her for some help. Even though you knew she would tell you to go back and just talk to him. You weren’t even sure you could put words together in a way they would make any sense.

“Y/N?”

You heard Jinyoung almost whisper as his image appeared between the shadows. Stopping where the entrance met the corridor, his large figure would be something hard to avoid if you tried to leave to just leave.

“Jinyoung, I…”

You opened your mouth, gathering all the courage you could find in yourself to start apologizing when his mouth collapsed against yours, your body involuntarily moving backward until your body met the wall. He tasted you hungrily, tongue licking your lower lip until you opened his mouth to him, body responding to his touch as if it always belonged to him.

“I don’t see you just as my colleague,” he breathed, holding your face gently, a contrast of how his lips were moving just a second before. “And I don’t want to be just your friend. Not anymore,” he kissed you again, slowly this time, savoring the softness of your lips. “I like you, Y/N. I thought you already knew that.”

“You never told me,” you said, voice trembling. “How could I know?”

“You never suspected there were reasons why I was always making excuses to stop at your desk? Or always asked to work with you?”

You giggled, even if you could still hear your heart thumping. “How could I know those things?!”

“Okay, maybe I’m not so slick as I thought I was. But I did ask you to go out with me a few times.”

“Jinyoung, you asked me for happy hour. That’s not exactly asking on a date.”

“I would have asked you on a date if you had gone to the happy hour!” he panted, stopping your laugh with another quick kiss. “Let’s just stick with the knowledge that we are both idiots.”

“I can’t refute that.”

Jinyoung dropped his face on your neck, leaving some butterfly kisses there. “But I hope things are clear now,” he said before his plump lips found its way to your mouth again, Jinyoung using his hands to make any space between your bodies inexistent.

“Jinyoung, we’re at work,” you moaned, logic being louder than the desire for him to never stop.

“It’s dark, and there’s only us here” he teased, nipping at your lower lip playfully.

“But we have work to do!”

“Fine,” he grunted, giving a step back, grabbing both sides of your face with his hands. “Just one more,” he gave you a long, tender kiss, before grabbing your wrist and bringing it up, kissing your palm before elancing your fingers. “I’m kissing you first thing tomorrow, though.”

“That’s just a couple of hours from now,” you stated, a grim that could not be shaken off from your lips.

“And I’m counting the seconds,” Jinyoung smiled back at you, dropping a kiss on the top of your head as you walked back to the obligations that now didn’t seem so unpleasant.

[buzzdixonwriter]

Cowboys And Cavemen

This one’s gonna meander, but it’s about cavemen and cowboys and dinosaurs, so some of you may wanna stick around…

. . .

Recently watched the colorized version of One Million B.C. with Victor mature, Carole Landis, and Lon Chaney Jr.

I remember frequently watching the original black & white version of this as a kid; it popped up on local Early Shows a lot primarily because it could be chopped down to fit an hour’s running time without losing too much of the story (Early Shows were afternoon movies with a local host that typically ran only 90 minutes from 4:30-6pm; with commercials and host segments there wasn’t much room for uncut films and as a result they featured a lot of B-movies with 65 minute running times, or else cut out sequences from longer films not germane to the plot).

The colorized version surprised me in a couple of ways.  

First, I’d forgotten just how well done One Million B.C. is in basic film making terms:  Once past the opening scene, in which an archeologist explains some cave drawings to a group of mountaineers who then imagine themselves in prehistoric times, there’s no recognizable dialog; the film is told in purely visual terms.

Second, the colorization was incredibly sloppy:  There’s a lot of weird blue artifacting going on that lays a strange mist-like quality over several scenes, and in several places the colorists inexplicably either colored the actors’ bare legs blue or else overlooked the mistake in the final color correction.

Third, the sloppy colorization doesn’t matter:  If anything, it adds to the weird dream-like quality of the film.  As an attempt to realistically recreate the prehistoric past, it’s gawdawful; taken as the imaginings of an average contemporary 1940s person with no real knowledge of prehistoric times (viz the prolog), and it’s pretty entertaining.

Technically the movie is a mixed bag.  The special effects are pretty seamless (yeah, you can tell when something is a rear screen shot, but then again rear screen shots in every film of that era were obvious)).  A travelling matte shot of a hapless cavewoman buried under a flood of lava is particularly well done and as amazing today as it was then (though the colorists dropped the ball and didn’t tint it a vivid red or orange in the colorized version).

There’s a lot of monsters, but they range from well done to just plaine…well…

The best are a woolly mammoth (i.e., an elephant in shaggy fur costume) and a baby triceratops (a large pig in costume) that really seem to capture the essence pf those creatures.

The worst is a guy in an allosaurus suit who kinda just shuffles along like a grandparent going to the bathroom, and in the middle are various lizards dressed up with fins and horns.

The lizards bother me more and more over the years.  At first it was because they were disappointing -- they don’t look like dinosaurs, dammit, but like lizards with fins and horns glued on -- but now it’s because I realize they were goaded by their handlers into fights and reactions shots.

That’s plain ol’ animal cruelty, even if they are reptiles and not mammals.

There’s an armadillo and a koala-like animal that appear thousands of times their normal size.  The koala-like critter (sorry, but I don’t know what it actually is) is passable as a giant cave bear or sloth, but the armadillo is just an armadillo (there was something about armadillos that 1930s audience found creepy; they’re waddling all over the Count’s hiding place in the original Dracula).

One Million B.C. was produced by Hal Roach and Hal Roach Jr.  The senior Roach goes all the way back to the silent era, so this was not a huge stretch for him.  

Originally D.W. Griffith was to direct the film, but while he did a lot of pre-production work including screen and wardrobe tests, he either dropped out or was replaced on the eve of production.  (Reportedly he wanted the cave tribes to speak recognizable English and left when Roach refused.)

The special effects wound up in a ton of movies and TV shows over the ensuing decades; modern audiences are more familiar with the film through 1950s sci-fi than its original version.

All else aside, the picture is carried by stars Victor Mature and Carole Landis.  Ms Landis in particular is a spunky, charming cave gal with a blonde-fro and while Mature would never be an Oscar contender, he at least has the physicality and screen presence to get his character across.

The scene where he thinks Landis has died in a volcanic eruption may be corny, but you can feel his character’s grief.

. . .

A quarter of a century later it was remade as One Million Years B.C. with John Richardson in the Victor mature role and Raquel Welch in the Landis role.  

No disrespect to Welch, who by all accounts is a nice person, but she never showed one iota the acting chops of Carole Landis.  Welch is beautiful, and as a generic pin-up model cast as a film’s “sexy lamp” (look it up), she presented appealing eye-candy.  She appeared in one good sci-fi film (Fantastic Voyage), one campy monster movie (i.e., One Million Years B.C.), two incredibly campy WTF-were-they-thinking movies (The Magic Christian and Myra Breckenridge), and a host of instantly forgettable spy films and Westerns.  The best movies she appeared in were Fuzz, based on the 87th Precinct novels by Ed McBain (a.k.a. Evan Hunter nee Salvatore Lombino), where she did an acceptable supporting turn as a police detective, and Kansas City Bomber, a roller derby movie that many consider her best role.

Landis never enjoyed the same level of fame (or notoriety, depending on your POV) that Welch did, but holy cow, could the gal act.  It’s a pity Hollywood is crowded with talented, beautiful people because she certainly deserved a bigger career capstone than One Million B.C..

Welch’s personal life certainly proved less traumatic than Landis’, however.  When actor Rex Harrison broken off his affair with her rather than divorce his wife, Landis committed suicide.

The scandal exiled Harrison temporarily back to England.  A few years later One Million B.C. and Landis’ other films started playing on television.

Who knows what opportunities may have opened for her in that medium?

. . .

The original One Million B.C.  is vastly superior in all areas but one (well, two -- mustn’t leave out the catfight between Welch and Martine Beswick):  Ray Harryhausen’s stop motion dinosaurs

Mind you, most of the dino scenes in One Million Years B.C. are underwhelming.  To stretch the budget the producers used close ups of spiders and an iguana to simulate giant monsters, a brontosaurus does a walk through in one scene and never appears again, and the first big dino moment has cave gals poking sharp sticks at a big sea turtle.

On the other hand, the remaining trio of dino scenes are the aces and vastly superior to their corresponding scenes in One Million B.C..  The latter film’s allosaur attack is one of the best dino scenes ever animated, and the ceratosaurus vs triceratops battle followed by the pteranodon grabbing Welch are almost as good.

Both versions of the film had an interesting influence on films that followed.  One Million Years B.C. was followed by a host of prehistoric films, most of which existed only to cast voluptuous actresses in fur bikinis although When Dinosaurs Ruled The Earth, a direct follow-up, offered more monsters and a better story.

While One Million B.C. wasn’t the first film to sub real life lizards for dinos, it certainly told budget conscious producers that such substitutions were okay.

The 1959 version of Journey To The Center Of The Earth cast iguanas with glued on fins as dimetrodons, and for once the impersonation proved successful as the two species do bear certain similarities.

Producer Irwin Allen (he of Lost In Space and Towering Inferno fame) hired Willis O;Brien (the animator behind the original King Kong) and his then assistant Ray Harryhausen to do accurate-for-the-era stop motion dinosaurs for The Animal World documentary but apparently frustrated by the time it took to get results opted for lizards in his version of The Lost World (which, ironically, O’Brien worked on in a non-animation capacity despite having done the original silent version of the film with stop motion dinosaurs).

I saw Allen’s Lost World as a little boy and felt grossly disappointed by the obvious lizards, especially since the script identified them as belong to specific dinosaur species when they quite clearly didn’t (had the script said they evolved from such creatures, the way the most recent version of King Kong did, it would have been less egregious).

Allen’s lizards popped up in several TV shows he did, most notably the TV version of Voyage To The Bottom Of The Sea.  That show’s co-star David Hedison played a supporting role in The Lost World so once a season they found some excuse to get him out of his Navy uniform and into a safari jacket in order to match footage with stock shots from the movie.

The Animal World wasn’t the first time O’Brien and Harryhausen worked together, and Harryhausen followed up One Million Years B.C. with The Valley Of Gwangi, an O’Brien project that the older effects artist never got off the ground.

. . .

Let’s back up a bit to discuss “O’Bie” (as his fans refer to him).

O’Brien was a former cowboy-turned-cartoonist around the early 20th century who became interested in animation.

Movies were in their infancy then, and O’Bie shot a short test reel of two clay boxers duking it out.

This got him financing to do a series of short films ala The Flintstones with titles like Rural Delivery, One Million B.C. (the titles were often longer than the films).

These shorts featured cartoony puppets, no actual actors.  O’Bie followed it up with The Ghost Of Slumber Mountain which was the first time dinosaurs were animated in an attempt to make them look real, and that was followed by The Lost World in which O’Bie combined live action with special effects, climaxing the film with a brontosaurus running amok in London.

O’Bie wanted to follow it up with a film called Creation but that got deep sixed.  However, producer Merian C. Cooper saw O’Bie’s test footage for Creation and hired him to do the effects for the legendary King Kong.

While O’Bie followed that success with the quickie Son Of Kong he never got to work on a dinosaur film of such scope again.

War Eagles (a lost-civilization-with-dinos story) was supposed to have been a big follow up epic, but the Depression and the growing threat of WWII caused it to be cancelled in pre-production.

During the 1940s O’Bie pitched a number of stories to studios involving dinosaurs or other monsters encountering cowboys, one of which was Gwangi (he also pitched King Kong vs Frankenstein which eventually got made as King Kong vs Godzilla using two guys in rubber suits, not his beloved stop motion effects).

Gwangi had cowboys discovering a lost canyon inhabited by dinosaurs, chief of which being Gwangi, an allosaurus.  O’Bie never got Gwangi off the ground but decades later Harryhausen did with Valley Of Gwangi.

. . .

I never cared for Valley Of Gwangi and much preferred One Million Years B.C. over it (and, no, not because of Ms Welch).

Growing up in the 1950s and early 1960s, I enjoyed cowboys as much as dinosaurs.

I’ve posted elsewhere how my interest in dinosaurs led me to dinosaur movies which led to monster movies which led to science fiction movies which led to literary science fiction which led to science fiction fandom which led to my writing career, but my genre of choice before age 10 was Westerns.

As others point out, most Westerns are actually crime stories, what with bandits robbing stagecoaches and banks, rustlers making off with cattle, etc.  The climax usually involves a lawman (or a vigilante who carries the weight of the law) confronting the evil doers and bringing them to justice.

Sometimes these vigilantes wore masks (Zorro and the Lone Ranger).  Sometimes those they pursued wore masks, and sometimes those masked villains pretended to be ghosts or phantoms.

They weren’t, and were invariably exposed as frauds.

Westerns based themselves in a rational world.

Other times a criminal in a Western would be after some invention that could bring either a great boon (say an energy source) or great harm (a death ray) to the world, and wanted it for their own selfish ends.

The story would invariably use the invention as a mcguffin device, maybe letting it figure into the villain’s eventual comeuppance, but never really influencing the outcome of the plot.

Westerns and fantasy genres (including science fiction) don’t mix well, The Wild Wild West not withstanding (and The Wild Wild West was not a Western per se but rather what we would now call a steampunk commentary on James Bond filtered through the lens of traditional American Westerns).

(And don’t bring up Gene Autry And The Phantom Empire, just…don’t…)

Dinosaurs and cowboys don’t really go together.

That didn’t stop O’Bie from trying.

In addition to Gwangi, O’Bie had two other projects that he did get off the ground:  The Brave One and The Beast From Hollow Mountain.

The Beast From Hollow Mountain is a standard Western about mysterious cattle disappearances and quarrels over who might be responsible, only to discover in the end it’s really -- surprise!  surprise! -- a solitary tyrannosaurus that somehow survived since prehistoric times.

The movie is constructed in such a way that had the dinosaur element not panned out, they could have removed it and substituted a more conventional ending.

While O’Bie didn’t work directly on the film after he sold the story, it did feature a variant of stop motion animation known as replacement animation.  Instead of building a realistic looking puppet with rubber skin and posable limbs, the dino in Beast was more solid and featured interchangeable limbs that could stretch and squash in a more realistic manner (rather, the movement looked more realistic, the dino sculpture no so much…).

The Brave One started life as a story about a young Mexican boy who raises a prize bull for the ring, only to have the bull face an allosaurus in the ring instead of a matador.

The producers who bought that idea hired blacklisted screenwriter Dalton Trumbo to turn it into something filmable, and Trumbo sensibly jettisoned the dino to focus the story on the boy and his bull, much to the film’s advantage (it won an Oscar for best story when released, but Trumbo’s heirs had to wait decades before the award could be recognized as due their father).

The Valley Of Gwangi was yet another variant on the same basic idea, more expansive than the other two in terms of dinosaurs, and with at least a nod in the direction of trying to explain them (a “lost canyon” giving them shelter instead of a mountain plateau or remote island).

It never connected with me, despite having more extensive dino sequences than One Million Years B.C..

O’Bie animated stop motion cowboys fighting a giant ape in the original version of Mighty Joe Young but the context proved different.  The cowboys’ presence in Africa is acknowledge in the film itself as a publicity gimmick, and therefore not a true blend of the American West with a fantastic element.

Mr. Joseph Young of Africa himself, a 12-foot tall gorilla, was also presented as an exceptionally large but otherwise natural gorilla, not a throwback to a prehistoric era.

. . .

Before there were action figures, but long after there were tin soldiers, we had plastic play sets.

They came in all eras and varieties, but among the most popular were Wild West sets, Civil War, World War Two, and dinosaurs.

My father took a business trip to Chicago when I was four, and when he came back I remember eagerly crowding around the suitcase with my mother, grandmother, and aunt as he opened it and brought out souvenirs for us.

I forget what they got, but I remember feeling disappointed and forgotten since their stuff was on top.

But, underneath everything else, sat a large cardboard box, and in that box was a Marx Prehistoric Times playset.

It’s hard to adequately describe the joy that filled my heart when I opened it; it was one of the best presents I’ve ever received.

And while I later acquired a Civil War set and a World War Two set and a bag of what we then called cowboy and Indian figures, the dinosaurs remained my most favorite.

I bring this up because I think the Marx playsets explain the origins of two comics books, Turok, Son Of Stone (an on-again / off-again series from 1954 to 1982 from Dell / Gold Key) and The War That Time Forgot (1960-68 from DC).

In both cases, I’m sure somebody from each company saw some kid combing their Wild West or their World War Two playsets with their dinos and realized there was story gold to be found there.

The War That Time Forgot felt much more my speed, a lost island inhabited by dinosaurs and visited by American and Japanese forces during World War Two.

World War Two effectively ended any hope of their being a lost island with prehistoric monsters; pretty much the entire planet was scouted either on foot or by air.

Turok, Son Of Stone didn’t connect with me.  For one thing, it was too much like a Western in concept; for another, Turok and his brother Andar, being pre-Columbian Native Americans, were already from a neolithic culture, and the various cavemen and Neanderthals they encountered in their lost valley seemed more drab and colorless than their tribal background.

The dinosaurs they encountered always came across as large, dangerous, but wholly natural animals, different only from bears and wolves and bison by size and appearance.

Despite my indifference to Turok, I can absolutely understand why others love it and disdain The War That Time Forgot.

Different strokes for different folks.

. . .

We can’t close this without taking a look at The Flintstones, and we can’t consider The Flintstones without first examining Tex Avery’s The First Bad Man in order to bring this post full circle.

There’s a long history (har!) of contemporary satire using a prehistoric lens.  The Flintstones started life as a knockoff of Jackie Gleason’s The Honeymooners told in a prehistoric setting; the series made no attempt to present itself as realistic in any shape, fashion, or form.

Among the many cartoons and short subjects that preceded it (including Chuck Jones’ Daffy Duck And The Dinosaur) is The First Bad Man by Tex Avery, an MGM theatrical cartoon.

Tex told the story of Dinosaur Dan, the world’s first outlaw, using Western tropes told through a prehistoric lens.

It works, because it’s a parody of the Western form, not a sincere effort to blend it with the caveman genre.  It works because it’s a jarring clash of genres, not despite it.

The caveman genre itself has fallen on fallow times.  Despite films like The Quest For Fire and Clan Of The Cave Bear attempting to do realistic takes on the topic, most people seem to prefer more fanciful approaches, best exemplified by the movie Caveman which sent up the entire genre while not skimping on the stop motion dinos.

With sword & sorcery / Tolkienesque fantasies finally acceptable to mass audiences and thus providing a venue for humans to directly fight giant monsters, there doesn’t seem to be a huge demand for a return to the glories of One Million B.C.

  © Buzz Dixon

[jugpea]

big fists, bigger heart

↪ jughead jones x sweet pea summary: sweet pea’s always hated how much trouble jughead gets himself into and hates how much he gives a fuck about it. a/n: this was mostly done at 1 am, as per usual, so it’s unedited and sloppy and messy. @evolretla had sent in some inspo for something and I kinda just went with some of that, so I hope you find some satisfaction in this piece. If ya’ll have any other requests, please send them here!

Sweet Pea hated Riverdale High. If not for their prejudice, then for the fact he was sitting in the student lounge, and was the only one stuck wearing a turtleneck. He hated it’s high ceilings and large classrooms. He hated how soft and comfortable everyone and everything looked. He hated how the bathroom stalls had doors - well, no. He actually didn’t totally hate that.

But he definitely hated the fact he was reduced to nothing more than a gang member, and because of this, he now owned a rather sizable collection of turtlenecks and scarves.

He hated those, too.

Goddamn his pride and that neck tattoo.

He sat on a seat next to Fangs, greeting him with a gruff “Hey” before pulling the apple from his brown bag. He bit into the sweetness of its core, watching his friends fingers work the deck of cards absently. They spent most of their lunches like this. Eating whatever they had, if they had anything, and passing the time with unenthusiastic conversation.

Normally, at Southside, he would have been at a table full of Serpents, laughing about stupid things. Careless things. His conversation wasn’t monitored, no one ever thought to snake on a snake. Southside might have been a whole in the ground, but at least it had been one he was comfortable with.

But today he was wearing a turtleneck under his jean vest and band tee, getting the rest of his high school diploma at Riverdale High instead. Something that definitely looked better on a college application than a high school on the side of town that’s crumbling in poverty and gang violence, but still not something Sweet Pea was sure was an upgrade.

So when Jughead Jones strolled straight into the lounge ten minutes later, change in hand, causally giving them a “Oh hey, guys,” Sweet Pea wondered if Jones had a death wish. His Serpent leather clung to his frame, plaid shirt wrapped loosely around his hips - hips that Sweet Pea had already paid too much attention too over the last few weeks. He returns his eyes to the foyer, his stomach twisting nervously as Bulldogs stand from their seats.

Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god.

Instantaneously, like magnets, Fangs and Sweet Pea stood on their feet; Jughead was refusing, again, and Reginald Mantle was not having his shit today. Come to think of it, Reggie hadn’t wanted any of their shit from the moment they walked in the front doors, and was doing a damn good job of making sure the experience was less than pleasant. He felt his nails dig deeply into the flesh of his palms, fists forming at just even the mere thought of Reggie pulling this shi-

Red. That’s all he can see, that’s all he can feel. Immense heat rising to the surface of his skin as he rushed forward, hands gripping tightly onto the shoulders of a blue and yellow jacket, pulling as roughly as he could to drag them away from Jughead.

Get them away from Jughead.

Get to Jughead.

Get Jughead.

Jughead was holding his own very well, which wasn’t much of a surprise to Sweet Pea. He handled the gauntlet well. He bounced back and recovered quickly. He was somewhat of a miracle mystery to Sweets. The teen reminded him of a walking, talking version of the quote “I can do this all day”. With that thought in mind, the Serpent reared his arm back and launched it forward into the closest Bulldog, just in time for Weatherbee’s arrival.

He endured forty-five minutes of grueling lecture and reminders of what expectations this ‘educational establishment’ had of its student body. How they were not exemplary, by any means, and were giving him second thoughts on taking them into the school at all.

The door slammed behind them, leaving the group to disassemble once they had each finished receiving their individual punishments, leaving the Serpent alone with Jughead. “Was that necessary? Are you happy?” Sweet Pea fired, pointing to the door of the office they had just come out of. “Suspension, Jones? The hell, man?”

“Do you even get it?” Jughead shot back vehemently, bracing his hands on his hips. “And you wanna know something? I don’t need you to always come saving my ass, I’m perfectly capable of doing that on my own, thanks.”

Jeesh. “Yeah, Jones. I get it.”

“Why aren’t you more pissed, huh?” Sweet Pea blinked at the anger that’s hidden in the intricate hues of Jughead’s eyes. The green overpowered the blue, something that Sweet Pea noticed only ever happened when the teen’s emotions were on surface level. Much like himself, it appeared Jug had issues with his temper, too.

“I am pissed,” Sweet Pea assured him, but the boy merely folded his arms and lifted his brows in disbelief. “What do you want from me?”

“Something.” Jughead was frustrated, clutching the beanie on his head, sinking to the floor in front of a row of lockers. “Anything. Protest Weatherbee’s rules — the ones that only apply to the southsiders that transferred in.”

“He threatened suspension, now we’re suspended.” Sweet Pea shook his head, a sudden exhaustion falling over his shoulders. “Next time, it’s expulsion. Is that what you want? There won’t be rules to follow if we don’t go here anymore.”

The teen didn’t appear to be listening. Instead, he was staring angrily at the tiles on the floor. Sweet Pea sighed, head falling back as a wave of frustration rolled down his spine. Then, he joined Jughead on the ground and pulled his knees to his chest.

“Look, I hate this as much as you do. But this was expected — honestly, it could have been a lot worse.” Odd that it should be Sweet Pea trying to knock some sense into him — but also, perhaps, very fitting given that out of everyone, he might have felt the most out of place.

The raven haired teen looked up at his towering figure, eyes careful and cautious as he nodded. “Fine. I’ll back off.” Sweet Pea had his doubts in Jughead’s words, but he reached forward and squeezed the boys hand in reassurance.

“No you won’t. But I’ll keep you in check.”

“The fuck you will.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Sweet Pea lifted the backpack up over his shoulder, grunting under the heavy weight of it all. Inside the bag, twenty pounds of chains and several large tools that were to be used as weapons in the upcoming fight. The one where he would fight to protect his home, the one where he would fight to avenge his best friend.

The one that was dead.

He was trying as hard to keep his composure together. Jughead had gone missing shortly after the news had been broken to them, which bothered the Serpent more than he wanted it to. They were at an idea about the entire situation, but that didn’t stop his heart from wrenching worriedly when he realized the Price was missing.

The reality of what had just happened was finally sinking in - the riot outside was more proof of the hatred that fuelled this town. They were all dead men. It wasn’t just about Fangs anymore, it was about all of them.

Not knowing where Jughead could possibly be was not helping Sweet Pea’s anxiety.

And later, when FP received a call, and they were grouped together outside of their old stomping ground by the docks, Sweet Pea watched as their King emerged from the bushes, son in arms, covered in his own blood. Another strike of fear pulsed through his heart, lungs deflating at the sight. The emotion overcame him so quickly, he didn’t have enough time to registered what had even happened.

Tears brimmed his eyes, a sob bubbling in his chest; he rushed over to where his bike was parked next to Toni’s unable to stand with the others, unable to hold his composure any longer. “Fuck,” he cried, hands braced on the seat of his Harley. “Fuck!” This time it comes out in an angry scream, energy pulsing forward to push the bike across the dirt path.

His fingers then go into his hair, tugging harshly at the roots as he falls to his knees. So many things he should have said, so many things he wanted to do - and two of the only people he had ever felt any sort of any emotion for had just been ripped from him, all in the same night.

The crushing sensation came down on his chest, like bricks stacking and building. His heart clenched tightly, breathing staggered and uneven. He recognized this feeling. He knew what came next, he knew how to stop it but no matter what thoughts he forced into his head, all he circled back to was the image of his hands covered in his best friends blood.

And then, he would think about Jughead.

And it would start all over again.

He rocked back and forth on his knees for what felt like hours. The cold had numbed him, jeans soaked from the mud in which he had fallen into. Sweet Pea hardly registered Toni or her words as she dropped down on her knees next to him, hands soothing his matted hair, running them over his arms to try to pull him up from the ground.

Key word was try.

“What are we gonna do?” He mumbled, eyes bleary and unfocused as Cheryl dropped down onto the other side. There was an exchange of looks, knowing glances between lovers that understood exactly what this feeling was.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

There wasn’t much to the scene that unfolded. It featured a raven haired stud perched on a stool at the bar, drink in his hand, hair falling forward into his eyes. He looked sexy, really. He wore his leather over a plain black tee that was stretched over the expansion of his chest, and his long legs were covered in an equally dark denim. A blue plaid shirt had been tied neatly around his waist, threaded through his belt loops to ensure it didn’t fall.

His eyes were scouting the other heads around the area. He was observing their behaviours, having not had enough interaction in this setting to know what to do without the company of his date. When a couple approaches him, it’s easy to see how quickly he’s overcome with nervousness. Like a deer in headlights - or, perhaps doe was a more fitting description.

The girl places her hand against his thigh, red nails dragging along the material, auburn locks framing her face. Her partner stands behind her, eyes equally hungry as they drink in the glory of the Southside King. From where Sweet Pea was standing, the man was trying very hard to convince Jughead to head out with them.

It was only when he noticed Jughead’s polite refusal, and the less polite reaction from the pursuing male that he decided to step in.

He made his arrival known, boots heavy on the ground as he came up behind the couple. “Beat it, asshat,” he growled, shoulders squared and head high, “He’s just not that into you.”

“Oh, I see what’s going on here,” the man laughed, arm wrapping around the shoulders of his partner. His eyes now surveyed Sweet Pea, from his boots up to the curls in his hair. Something of approval lit fire in his eyes.

Gross.

“You’ll see absolutely fuckin’ nothing if you and your broad don’t motor. Right the fuck now.” Please, oh please give me a reason to beat your face into the bar.

From the corner of his eye, however, he can see a clear look of disapproval. Blue hues squinted into slots, comfortably waiting for the confrontation to end so they could resume the rest of their evening, but knew that if Sweet Pea didn’t cool it, their evening would come to a regrettable end.

“Not worth it.” Jughead mouth, a shake in his head.

The girl slipped something into the front pocket of Jughead’s jacket, tapping the material twice. “In case you change your mind.” She sounded hopeful, swinging her eyes over to Sweet Pea’s enormous frame. “Maybe you can change his, instead.”

“I said leave, moron.” The Serpent pushed past the couple to take his place on the stool next to Jughead; he tended to his drink, painfully aware of the couple retreating behind them. He could hear their mutters, but they only moved further into the bar to claim a table in the corner.

Beer wasn’t as cold as it was before he left for the bathroom, but he swung it back in a few quick swallows. He started thinking about the napkin tucked into Jug’s jacket, then twisted in his seat to take hold of the edge.

Justin and Dominique.

Their numbers were scribbled at the bottom, along with a suggestive comment. One he didn’t give Jughead the opportunity to read; he crumpled it in his palm and sunk it into the water in a nearby glass.

There was a sharp slap on his shoulder, followed by a harsh, “What the fuck, Pea?”

Sweet Pea took a calming breath, pulling the air deep into his lungs, trying to steady the pulse that was racing. His entire body felt alive with fire, burning hot in his veins, lava pooling in his stomach. He turned back to Jughead, definitively locking his gaze, “We’re not looking to add to what we have.”

A spur of curiosity crossed the teens face, eyes searching Sweet Pea’s features as he replied, “And what exactly do we have?”

Gripping a fistful of the front of Jug’s shirt, he pulled him in until their lips met. Something that was meant to be short and fleeting was quickly overcome with a greater emotion. At the first taste of the boys tongue, Sweet Pea let out a deep moan of approval, reluctantly pulling away to give the teen an answer, before he no longer had the courage to say it.

“I’m yours. And you’re mine.” He stated, fingers stroking the hair away from Jughead’s face. “And that’s all there really is to it.”

[lune-de-mielle]

Red - An Akatsuki no Yona FanFiction

Hi guys, this is my first time writing a Fanfic for AnY, so I hope you like it! I wanted to do something different from the norm, and this is what I came up with. I will post to FF tomorrow (: 

The sun had begun to set. The sky ever so slightly taking in splashes of orange, yellow, pink, and red. The color red was prominent that day. There was red in the field, originating from bodies of allies and enemies. Soldiers lay covered in thick, red blood all around, motionless and unbothered by what was happening. Yona’s red hair shone brightly in the sunlight that was gradually disappearing, but that was not the only red on her. Hak’s blood stained her clothes and covered her hands. She was on the grassy field,  holding him close to her, making sure his warmth would not leave. Her right hand supported the back of his neck, while the other was placed on his abdomen, holding together the bandage she hastily put on him to stop his bleeding. Red had invaded his person as well, his blue cloak, sash, and clothes were covered in blood, from his own and from those he cut down. Hak hadn’t opened his eyes in a while, but every so often a small breath came out from his mouth, and his eyes would move ever so little, which slightly calmed Yona.

Kye-Sook and his mercenaries loomed over the couple on their horses, spears and swords aimed at them. Yona thought it unnecessary, what could they do in their weakened state? If they had found themselves in this situation thirty minutes ago, their predicament might have been different, but everything happened so fast.

Yona and Hak had found themselves separated from the Dragons and Yoon. They were part of a different fighting squad, meant to protect the villagers from the oncoming attack from the Kai Empire, while Yona, Hak, and a few Fire Tribe soldiers were meant to provide backup for the Sky Tribe. Something went wrong in the process. The Sky Tribe never showed, only Kye-Sook and a group of roughly fifty mercenaries. Yona and Hak wondered if Soo-Won had only decided to send a few of his soldiers, as it was rumored that the Kai Empire attack was done by a small band of 100 men. Everything appeared normal for a little while, until Hak questioned why Kye-Sook was sent to lead the charge rather than the Sky Tribe General, Joo-Doh. Silence fell in the group as more and more mercenaries began to appear. The small group of Fire Tribe soldiers made no sudden movements, understanding the situation they were in. Hak put his arm in front of Yona in a protective manner, as they all prepared to fight. The mercenaries on horseback made the first attack on the Fire Tribe soldiers, taking out a few men in one hit with their long spears. Blood came flying out of their wounds, covering their allies and the ground in the thick red liquid. Those not hit by the initial blow began fighting back. Hak, fearing the worst could happen, told Yona to run away, but immediately she refused. Taking out her bow, Yona began firing shots at the mercenaries, while Hak stayed in front of her, slashing those who got too close to them. When an opening for them to run appeared, Hak took Yona by the hand and headed towards an area with scattered trees. It was a last ditch effort to get Yona to safety. He was unsure whether this would change their fate, but he had to try, for her. Tears started to run down Yona’s cheeks, turning her face into a soft red. Hak’s wounds began to get to him, a large gash on his abdomen bled profusely, draining his energy. They had to stop running. Hak had to crouch, holding his wound, and he urged Yona to continue without him, yet again she refused. She ripped part of her skirt to wrap around Hak’s wounded body, a soft smile appeared on her face as small tears fell from her eyes when wrapping the bandage. While it wasn’t much, she was helping Hak, the person whom she loved dearly. Hak’s eyes grew smaller with fatigue, he wiped the tears off of her cheeks before drifting away. A part of him hoped that this wasn’t the end, he wouldn’t let himself think otherwise. Yona held him close to her body, listening for signs of life.

The battle went on behind them, with the mercenaries wiping out all of the Fire Tribe soldiers. The soldiers and Hak managed to take out half of the mercenaries, but they were outnumbered. This was the only outcome. Kye-Sook looked for the couple, once seeing them, he pointed his group over to where they were, surrounding the two.

“Why are you doing this? Is this Soo-Won’s doing?” Yona questioned with rage, yet her voice trembled anyways. Kye-Sook looked down on the girl and the person she was holding, and spoke in his monotone manner.

“You are a dangerous person, Princess Yona. Many people would follow you after all the aid you and your group have provided. I cannot allow you to continue and ruin the work that the King and I have done for this country... But no. This is not his Majesty’s idea. Purely mine.”

Fear and dread filled her mind. Yona could only wonder if the Kai Empire was even attacking, and if it was all made up by Kye-Sook. Are Jae-Ha, Zeno, Shin-ha, Kija, and Yoon alive? Did they know what happened here? Yona decided not to bring them up, in case this was the only group of mercenaries sent to attack. Tears filled her eyes once again, but rage was the primary emotion that she felt at this very moment. She felt rage that she couldn’t do anything to save the Fire Tribe soldiers. Rage that Kye-Sook pulled an attack. Rage that she couldn’t help Hak in his time of need.

“So then, how does this end? What do you want from me?” Yona asked angered, wiping the tears from her eyes. The previously dried blood was now smeared across her cheeks.

“Your demise.” Kye-Sook replied without missing a beat. Yona’s eyes widened, letting out a small gasp in the process. Instinctively she held Hak closer to her, fearing that they wanted to end his life as well. Hak remained in his unconscious state. A part of the red headed girl wished that he would conveniently open his eyes at the mention of her death, and that the two would fight together once again to escape and see their friends.. It was all just a fantasy. Even if Hak did open his eyes, in his weakened state he wouldn’t be able to fight against the remaining mercenaries. Nor could she provide much help.

“If you come with us without a fight,” Kye-Sook started, “Then we will spare the Thunder Beast..” The King’s advisor knew that this was the easiest way to get the Princess without more of a struggle. Kye-Sook also knew that without first aid the Thunder Beast was just as good as dead. Killing two birds with one stone, the situation couldn’t have gone better for him. Yona didn’t speak for a while. She was processing what the King’s advisor had just told her. Her life for Hak’s. She knew that Hak wouldn’t last much longer without proper care to his wounds. She knew that was what Kye-Sook knew as well. Touching his wound, Yona felt more tears fall from her eyes, and onto his bandage.

“If I give myself to you... You will spare Hak’s life. Correct?”

“Yes.” Kye-Sook sighed. This was taking longer than he expected.

“I’ll agree on one condition,” Yona looked dead into Kye-Sook’s eyes, a fire burning within her own, “Allow me to apply first aid to Hak’s wounds.” She gave the King’s Advisor a look that told him she knew what he was thinking. The makeshift bandage that Yona had placed earlier was now soaked in red.

“Very well. I will allow you ten minutes to do what you need on the Thunder Beast.” Kye-Sook sighed once again. He wanted the least amount of struggle possible at this point. He wondered what kind of aid the red haired Princess could even provide for someone this injured.

The mercenaries no longer pointed their weapons toward Hak and Yona, but surrounded them nonetheless. Yona sighed a shaky breath. This was it. The ten minutes she was granted to help Hak’s wounds. With all her might she wished that the Dragons would appear out of nowhere to save the two. But once again, it was just a fantasy that would never happen. Yona ripped a larger part of her skirt, and took off the first layer of her top. Carefully removing the previous bandage she fastened it onto Hak’s wounds, she began talking to the unconscious Thunder Beast, “Hey Hak...” Yona said in a quiet voice, “I’m not sure if you can hear me, but you’re going to be okay. I’m making sure of it.” She then put pressure on the wound with her top, and wrapped it securely and tightly with her ripped skirt. She did it just as Yoon would. This bandage was more secure than the other one, but she made it look sloppy to prevent Kye-Sook and his mercenaries from finishing off Hak after. After tying a knot on the bandage, Yona brushed the hair out of Hak’s face, memorising every detail on him. He was still breathing, it was soft, but it was something. Holding the back of his neck again, she slowly ran a finger along his jaw. No tears fell from her eyes this time. While time was fleeting, she enjoyed looking at his features and touching him. She wouldn’t allow herself to think about how this was the last time, giving into those thoughts would make things even worse than they already were. “Hak,” Yona said again, “I hope you can hear me.” She leaned in close to his face, “I love you.” Yona whispered so only the two could hear her speak. The red haired Princess kissed him, her shaking mouth moved onto his. While he remained still, Yona felt a small twitch come from his bottom lip. Deep down she wished he wouldn’t wake up. Wake up and see her being escorted away only to be killed moments later. This was the only wish of hers that was granted.

Yona placed Hak’s head gently on the grass, and then she stood up. Her hair shone exceptionally red at this very moment. Reflecting the sun, reflecting the sky that was now a deep red, and reflecting the rage that she had for Kye-Sook. She stepped away from the person she loved dearly, looking back only once at his resting body. His arms were laid sloppily across his chest, and his head facing away from her. Yona made herself think about how calm he looked, about how he was just sleeping. He was going to be alright. She made sure of it.

Two mercenaries took hold of the red haired Princess, holding her arms tightly behind her back. While she made no sound, her face showed signs of pain and discomfort. They moved the Princess back to where the original battle was held, where the bodies of the Fire Tribe soldiers lay. Kye-Sook descended from his horse, his curved sword in his right hand. Disregarding her pain, Yona looked upon the man with burning hatred. With his left hand, Kye-Sook took hold of Yona’s face, aligning their eyes. His cold black eyes met hers, showing neither delight or sorrow for what he was doing. “Think of this as a way to help the Kingdom, Princess Yona.” Kye-Sook spoke in a normal manner. How could he be so calm at a time like this? Doing a thing like this? This made Yona’s heart sink deep into her chest, it began to beat as fast and as hard as it ever could. Her body shook in fear, yet the red haired Princess kept a collected face. Right as the King’s advisor let go of his grip on her, Yona wished for Jae-ha to come in from above and save her. She wished for Kija to swipe the mercenaries away, for Shin-Ha, Zeno, Yoon, Hak, anyone to come to her rescue.

Those thoughts left her mind immediately as Kye-Sooks curved sword came slashing down onto Yona’s body. Her clothes ripped, to reveal a gash that lead from her breastbone down to her stomach. The pain was unbearable. The feeling of her skin being torn open felt like fire going up and down her body. All she could do was to let out a staggered scream that took her breath away, easing the pain only for a brief second. Yona’s natural reaction was to try and put pressure on her wound, but with both her arms held behind her and she could do was struggle. She felt her blood leave her body, and fall on the grass, turning it dark red. Her warmth was leaving her, which eased her pain a little. Yona had no more energy left. She slumped her body, her head hung, where she looked her wound. The red substance was oozing out of her at an alarming rate. Yona’s breathing began to be painful, resulting in her taking slow shallow breaths. She tasted blood in her mouth, and after doing so she saw it drip out onto the ground. This was the end.

“Finish her.” The King’s advisor demanded to the mercenaries holding her. Pulling out a sword, the mercenary to Yona’s right took a fistful of red hair and pulled her head back. The cold metal on her neck shocked Yona. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, well knowing what would happen next. The motion of the mercenary’s sword was deep and fast, tearing open the Princess’ throat like it was nothing. More pain was added to Yona’s suffering. More burning, more blood, more certainty of death. This time she was unable to let out a scream, as she choked on her own blood. The mercenaries let go of her, where her body fell heavily onto the blood soaked ground. Able to move in her last few moments of life, Yona shakily reached out in the direction Hak’s body lay. As she felt her blood engulf her, she felt its warmth, and suddenly the pain was beginning to go away. Yona’s dawn was over, her sun was now setting on her life. Her last few thoughts were of Hak, and her friends. She never thought about how devastated they were going to be. In her last moment Yona felt tired, so she closed her eyes and thought about the Happy Hungry Bunch together and happy again.

Yona’s body was on its front, in a pool of blood. The path of tears was visible on her face from where it wiped blood from her cheeks. Her eyes were slightly open, and a hand was extended toward the west.

Kye-Sook and his remaining mercenaries left to return to the castle, keeping their word about leaving the injured Thunder Beast alone.

Hak awoke in a cold sweat with a searing pain on his torso. Propping himself on one elbow, he saw a wound on his abdomen, that was hastily wrapped. Looking around his surroundings, Hak was able to remember the battle from a few hours ago. Panic set in as he recalled that the Princess was with him before, and now was nowhere to be found. Hak looked back down at his bandage, recognizing the fabric used to stop his bleeding, was Yona’s top and part of her skirt. Hak tried his best to quickly stand up, wincing in pain several times while doing so. He leaned on his glaive for support. His legs were shaky, but he began to look around for Yona. Doing so was incredibly hard. The moon was currently in its stage where it shone no light down upon the Earth, and to make things worse a light mist covered the area. Heading in the direction of the battle, the bodies of the Fire Tribe soldiers began to appear. Hak worried that one of these bodies might be that of his Princess. Fear and anxiety filled his mind, forming a pit in his stomach that made his body even harder to move. As he saw more and more bodies of those who were there to help him and Yona, his breathing became unsteady and his heart beat nearly through his chest. There was no way that Yona would be among these bodies, after all, she had healed his wounds...

Off in the distance was a smaller body than those of the Fire Tribe soldiers, a body that seemed to match that of Yona’s. Upon looking at the small body Hak’s heart stopped while he fell to his knees. Dropping his glaive, Hak ran towards the body, ignoring all the pain he felt before and ignoring his wound reopening. Fresh blood began to appear through his bandage once again. No.. No.. Please don’t let it be her.. Hak’s mind went wild, fearing and somewhat denying what was reality. Tears streamed down his face, drying before they could reach the ground.

Upon reaching the small body, Hak’s worst fears came to life. He saw Yona’s motionless body, same as all of the other Fire Tribe soldiers he saw previously. Her body lay in a pool of her drying blood, so much that Hak knew what it meant and started to cry even harder. He crouched down in front of her body, turning her over in the small chance that she could be alive somehow. When she was turned over he saw that his wish of the red haired girl being alive vanished. Holding her body Hak could feel how cold she was. Her head was slumped away from him, revealing the large cut on her throat. The gash on her torso wasn’t easy to miss either, and was still wet to the touch. Hak made this mistake by touching her stomach, and removing his hand immediately upon feeling her wound. Hak let out a blood wrenching scream into the night, as more and more tears fell down his cheeks, which now reached his and Yona’s bodies. The scream echoed for a few seconds before the air was filled with the sounds of sobbing. He held her body close to his, not realizing that his blood was getting everywhere. Seeing that her eyes were still open, Hak placed a shaky hand onto them and closed them gently. Sobbing more and more Hak could only wonder how something so horrible could have happened. Remembering the bandage on him was made from Yona’s clothing, he came to the conclusion that she has protected him. This thought only made him sob more, and wish that he could have protected her in return. Now she was gone, and he could only feel that he had failed his Princess.

The mist surrounded Hak. His skin began to turn pale, and now unable to cry, his body trembled and ached. Currently he thought about the Dragons and Yoon, and how utterly devastated they were going to be, just as he is. In his mind he heard their cries of anguish, their loud sobs and their anger towards the man who did this. He also worried for their safety, having the same thought as Yona, that the Kai Empire attack was faked. He had to go check on them... But he couldn’t leave Yona. Leaving his glaive behind, Hak took Yona’s body in his arms, carrying her as gently as if she were still alive. Every step he took hurt, only now realizing that his wound had reopened. Nonetheless the Thunder Beast continued forward.

Hak had made it quite far before his legs gave out. He sat down, still holding Yona’s body close to his. He had hoped that he got far enough to where Yoon and the Dragons were that they would eventually find him. Feeling the life slipping out of him, Hak released a shaky sigh. If he could, he was certain that he would still be crying, yet his body could produce no more tears, only pain. He leaned against a tree, and watched the night sky turn into pale pastels of what it once was due the sun rising. The dawn was here again, but he could barely keep himself from closing his eyes. Exhaustion and fatigue swept over his body faster than he had imagined. Looking down at the Princess still in his arms, he decided to write the name “Kye-Sook” in the dirt next to them. Even a small task such as that drained him. Upon completion he let his body go limp. Feeling one last tear roll down his cheek, Hak fell into an endless slumber, the same which his Princess did so many hours ago.

EPILOGUE

Yona sat in a field of white flowers. She held onto her knees, watching the flowers move with the wind underneath the sunrise. The sky was a light blue with pastel pinks and yellow coloring the horizon. The sun begin to appear, when she heard movement in the field coming from behind her. Turning around slowly, she saw Hak standing above her, with a small smile and tears in his eyes. Yona stood up and gasped, tears beginning to well in her lilac eyes.

“Hi.” The red haired girl said.

“Hey.” Hak replied in a joyous voice.

The two stood looking at each other, delighted to see one another again, but still distraught at the circumstances that brought the two together once again.

[hellsbells91]

Avengers: Endgame, a day later

What an absolute ride. My brain hurts though. It’s a lot to unpack and this post/review/scrutinisation turned into a bit of a mini-essay.

Spoilers are all below the cut and they are detailed spoilers for the whole film, just to warn everyone:

An emotional rollercoaster that despite us knowing that time travel would be involved still had its moments that kept me guessing as to what could happen, or how it could happen. I still felt the joy and intrigue during the ‘time-heist’ and a moment of piercing dread when Thanos picked up the fully-loaded infinity gauntlet for the second time. 

I also loved how Endgame took the time to be immensely fun. Of course it had bleak moments, depressing moments, angry moments, but damn did it make me laugh. Korg, Frigga, OG Hulk, Loki... their presence, however short-lived or ultimately unfulfilling, was like a soothing balm for the soul and reminded us why we fell in love with these guys the first time around. How much charisma and charm can Tom Hiddleston fit into about a minute of screen time of Loki, also without speaking for most of it? A lot. He is on form as always and I’m glad for it.

Infinity War was of a much darker tone, I feel, and I very much enjoy the parts of Endgame that made me feel like we were in the original Avengers again (I mean aside from the actual time travel portions), recapturing some of that joy and excitement and most importantly hope that was a constant comforting presence in the first title.

The emotional beats with Clint and his family, Scott and Cassie and Tony and Morgan (and Howard) also in particular gave the film much needed time to breathe after Infinity War’s ‘GO GO GO crank everything to 11!’ pace, and were for me at least among the most heartfelt moments. 

I actually don’t have too much to say about Thor and Bruce, honestly. They were entertaining, I liked them, it was a bit of a shame we didn’t get more of Hulk and that Thor was made to be the butt of a joke for most of the film, but they both got pretty satisfying conclusions at least. I hope Thor shaves and gets a haircut though, I’m not digging the Volstagg look on him.

One sticking point for me was that Thor doesn’t even say Loki’s name once, not even to joke about him in the past or even glance at him in his cell on Asgard and this did slightly annoy me throughout the film, but I’m not overly torn up about it. Maybe they didn’t want to overdo the fact that in most of his films, Thor is grieving for Loki one way or another - we get it, he misses his brother. In the overall very long list of ways in which Loki’s character has gotten shafted in the MCU, this is one of the lesser things. 

At least Thor got to say goodbye to Frigga this time, and I couldn’t help but also be lifted (just as Thor was) by her words, As I mentioned before, this was one of those times during the film that I got to be filled with hope.

The supporting cast were also great, and I’m kinda happy that they didn’t give Captain Marvel a bigger role, along with a decent excuse for her not being there most of the time. I was worried that being a new character with an upcoming franchise, she would be made to outshine the others in Endgame and they didn’t do that. Keeping most of the focus on the original six made Endgame more of a satisfying conclusion to their stories, with just hints of what will happen now for everyone else. Point to Marvel. 

Onto fatalities:

So let’s start with the big one, Tony Stark. Iron Man was the first MCU film I watched and he’s been my favourite character (aside Loki) throughout the series. The world is a slightly duller place without him, but whilst it was undeniably upsetting and many tears were shed in the cinema and now while I’m writing this, it didn’t have the sour taste that Loki’s demise left me with. 

Because if you’re going to have to go, you might as well save the entire universe in the process.

As we passed over all the characters standing at Tony’s funeral, I was sad, but not enraged. I was struck with this sense of ‘none of them would be here without Tony’ and it left me feeling just bittersweet about the whole thing. And after a few minutes when Happy asks Morgan if she’s okay and she says she is, I know that the characters, and myself, and everyone else will be too. 

Of course we will be.��

What a wonderful, hopeful ending.

I was pretty satisfied with Natasha’s end also, to be honest. I didn’t always love her presence in past films, but I can appreciate that her story in the MCU has been all about trying to do what she thinks is right, even if it sometimes means going against allies. Her sacrifice is an act of love, and hope. It’s not done out of guilt, she’s not trying to make up for past mistakes, it’s not framed as punishment - she’s just doing what she can to ensure that everyone else, especially Clint, has the chance to carry on - just like Tony does. So, like Tony, I’m more bittersweet about it than angry. 

Loki on the other hand died brutally and needlessly - that whole opening scene in Infinity War caused so much controversy on how odd, cryptic, out of character and poorly edited it was that a lot of people straight up assumed that there just had to be more going on, there’s no way such accomplished filmmakers could be so sloppy! But like the other inconsistencies in Infinity War, Endgame offers no answers other than yep, the filmmakers really are that sloppy. 

So with the major deaths out of the way, onto some bad stuff. This film is excellent to watch don’t get me wrong, just don’t start thinking about the time travel implications for more than 5 minutes. Because whilst the film takes the time to establish its own (confusing) set of rules for time travel, it then proceeds to play pretty fast and loose with those same rules. 

Yes I’m going to complain about the timey-wimey stuff. 

It’s a shame that the film that takes such care in adding in so many references to the past films, would take such liberties in other areas. I joked with my friend that i’d need a diagram to work it out so that it makes sense, and that has not changed so if anyone here can explain it, please let me know because I’m not a scientist, time travel or sci-fi expert and I can’t wrap my head around it.

By the logic that Gamora is alive in the 2023 present and her death has been effectively erased, so must Loki’s, Heimdal’s and the other Asgardians’ deaths be erased. Gamora cannot simultaneously be sacrificed for the soul stone but not exist in the timeline that led her there. Despite the film telling us the past can’t be changed, it seems that past versions of characters can change their own future, but then also have that alternate future have no bearing on the original timeline.

Using that logic Natasha and Tony could simply be brought in from an earlier time. No one ever need die again because they can just be brought forward from the past without consequence to the current timeline. Maybe this will come up in the future again, maybe we’ll learn that taking people out of their timelines has severe personal consequences as they start to remember multiple lives and states of being, a bit like Nebula, which would then give a solid enough reason as to why people shouldn’t just be brought back and could inform the plot of Gamora’s new existence in GOTG3, along with Loki’s TV series next year. 

It still wouldn’t explain how Steve manages to pull this off without any consequences to himself and the fact that he lives in parallel to another Steve Rogers, but it would be something I guess? Even so, by going back to what appears to be the 40s/50s and staying there, Steve has also changed Peggy’s timeline (that’s one of those rules broken), and it would be a bit too dark for Marvel to link up Peggy’s eventual alzheimer’s with the fact that she has effectively led two separate lives, one with Steve and one with her husband and children - unless they’re gonna tell us that Peggy left her husband to be with Steve?? And are you telling me that Steve would sit back and not tell Peggy about HYDRA? Or help to free Bucky sooner? 

Also Steve must have re-infected Jane with the Aether. Nice one Steve. And this putting the stones back where they came from would have also meant having to avoid the time-heist troupe, lest they see Steve again and figure out they must have won.

Idk I’m thinking about this too much.

The Thanos who is killed at the end of Endgame (... ha) is the Thanos from 2014. He leaves his original timeline and doesn’t return (unlike the Infinity stones) so how is any of what he did between 2014 and 2018 possible? Is the film trying to tell me that Thanos can jump from 2014 to 2023 and be killed but somehow also exist up until he is killed by Thor one month after the snap in 2018?

The film tells us the past can’t be changed when clearly it can. Or is it that the past can be changed but it won’t affect the present? 

BUT HOW? 

Have multiple timelines been created or not? It’s suggested that by returning the stones, the new timeline that was created by removing them in the first place would no longer exist, reverting everything back to how it was. In Loki’s case, as much as it pains me to say it, as soon as Tony and Steve go back to 1970 for the Tesseract, the alternate timeline Loki made by taking it in 2012 would be essentially overwritten, reverting everything back to how it was before.

There’s a whole lot of maybe’s and what if’s circling around and I hate padding this post with ‘lol idk what’s going on’ but I went into Endgame expecting some answers but ended up just getting more questions.

Apparently the upcoming TV shows have close ties to Endgame, and how cool would it be to see a Loki series in which his 2012 tesseract-wielding-self grapples with knowledge of his own future and plans accordingly until he catches up to the present day?? Watching as this powerful agent of chaos takes a steaming dump on time itself by refusing to stay dead or be erased from existence. 

Something tells me though *cough*Marvel’s track record with Loki*cough* that this route will not be taken. 

GOTG3 will at least, hopefully, help towards sorting out this time travel mess.

So, ultimately, is Avengers: Endgame a satisfying conclusion to the series? Kinda. Just don’t try to sort out the timelines. There’s more to come yet for a good while, and maybe (there’s that maybe again) we’ll still get the answers we seek.

....

Bonus: I’m reaching higher than the moon here but until told otherwise, the ‘clink clink’ noise at the end is totally Loki getting his handcuffs removed.

[ghostbustermelanieking]

half-light chapter 7

one /// two /// three /// four /// five  /// six

seven.

1995

Living together is different, somehow, than it was before. They still argue over household chores and don’t cook a lot because neither of them has much of a talent for it (there is a lot of takeout and frozen commodities and salads and ice cream at Scully’s insistence) and obsessively rearrange things because they can’t agree on what looks best where (the fish are moved so much that a molly starts to look a little woozy). But it is also entirely different, mostly because he isn’t holed up in his study while she goes to work every day (she’d stayed home with him for almost a year before declaring herself as too cramped, too closed off in their little house [which had hardly seemed fair, since he didn’t have an option] and he’d been hurt that she’d wanted to go to work without him, after all these years). They both go to work every day, together and absurdly nervous that Mulder’s neighbors will call Skinner and ask him how in the world two FBI agents could be living together. They fall asleep on the couch from a bad habit of staying up too late working (or Scully falls asleep first, manila folders pressing creases into her cheeks and pen smears on her fingers, and Mulder just curls himself around her [he’s tried to carry her to bed before, and she’d woken up and protested vehemently]). Eventually, Scully insists that they either learn how to stay up later or try not to work so much. So instead, they fall asleep half the time with papers and folders spread over the bed and the floor. There is less space for one of them to fade into, less space to get lost in drafty, creaky hallways and empty words. It is not unlike he’d imagined their future being in 2000, when the future had been a long and possible thing, stretching out ahead, bleak but no bleaker than what was standard with them. He’d kind of pictured them moving in together someday, maybe leaving the FBI and settling down now that he knew what happened to his sister, maybe staying and exploring the world’s dark corners together. It hadn’t mattered as long as they were together, at least in his mind.

(He’d never told Scully about this, his fantasies of them and a happy fucking life. He wishes he had, even if none of it was real. Maybe he wouldn’t have jetted off to Oregon and left her alone and pregnant. Maybe they’d have been happy then; maybe this wouldn’t be their supposed happy ending.)

The flashbacks do not stop. They continue in a stacked way, like babies’ blocks: a muddled child’s version of the alphabet. A is before B, and B is before C, and Duane Barry is before volcanic viruses is before hallucinogens is before Aubrey, Missouri and razors and copper stains. 1995 was a bad year for them, living in the shadow of Scully’s abduction, first few months bleeding through with BJ Morrow’s blade and Pfaster and Milford’s demonic sacrifices and the false Samantha and the cannibals in Dudley and his father’s death and Melissa’s death. The end of the year had seemed like a relief. He’d almost called Scully at midnight to celebrate; he’d almost called just to make sure she was okay.

Worry over Scully seems inevitable at this point. So much had happened to her in a small time stretch. There are almost infinite times that Scully was in danger, and only a few of them are really remembered, really left severe scars, but Mulder remembers them all. He buys calendars that he fills with sloppy cursive of each case and their impact upon them, and hides them where he knows Scully won’t find them because the last thing she needs is a reminder, honestly. The smear of black ink across the glossy white squares looks like a scar in and of itself. The letters dry blotchy, an ugly reminder that he refuses to look at for longer than needed.

The time of the Pfaster case comes quicker than they expect. He doesn’t take any cases and they both take time off. Scully naps restlessly on the couch (their couch, it’s theirs now) with her head on his thigh, and Mulder flips through files while she sleeps with the TV on mute in the background. He hates this, hates the sudden burst of images dancing behind his eyelids: Scully’s car in a ditch, Scully bruised and bound and teary on the floor of Pfaster’s house, Scully sleeping just as restlessly in his hotel room bed with the painfully familiar bruised wrists and ankles and mouth, and his shirt bunched around her waist from the tossing and turning, Scully walking away from him at the DC airport (I'm fine, Mulder, thank you for everything, see you Monday) and some strange, painful twist in his stomach of don't go. A string of flashbacks, vivid; he can practically feel the dampness of her tears against his shoulder, can feel the fear curling in his chest and squeezing like a vise.

He’s startled out of his reverie at the sound of Scully making a soft sound of protest. “No,” she mutters, still asleep, hands thrown up over her face as if protecting herself. “Nonononono, get away…”

“Scully,” he whispers. “Scully, it’s me, it's okay. You’re safe, it’s just a dream. You’re home. You’re okay.”

She wakes with a start, swallows back a sob and pushes her face into his stomach. “Was so vivid,” she says groggily into his t-shirt. “It wasn’t real?”

“It wasn’t real,” he promises, stroking her hair, just a little. “It wasn’t real.”

A headline pops up on the news about a death fetishest arrested in Minneapolis. He shudders, turns it off before they can see the name.

***

She is scared out of her wits when she hears his shout from the bathroom, nearly breaks down the door in her attempts to get to him. The shower is running and he is curled in a corner of it, hands up and covering his face. “Mulder?” she asks softly.

His eyes go wide at her voice, and he tugs her down beside him under the hard, hot spray, wrapping himself around her. She remembers in a cold surge: the slick tile underneath them, Mulder’s face pressed into the side of her neck as he blocked her from the muzzle’s trajectory, the sound of a gunshot. “Mulder,” she gasps to reassure them both, digging her fingernails into his arm to snap him out of it. “We’re not in Milford. You’re having a flashback. It’s okay.” Their mantra, now, with these fucking vivid nightmares.

He looks up at her in knee-jerk surprise, realization, water running down his face like bizarre tears. “Scully,” he says. Not a question. He closes his eyes against the weight of it, runs his fingers over her wrists like there should be rope burns there. This - the flashbacks, the nightmares, their reactions - is getting worse. It scares them both.

***

When they are approaching the time that the alien bounty hunter took her, the time that the Samantha clone made her first appearance, Mulder decides to go visit his mother. He rationalizes it as a safety precaution. Just in case. But he can’t let himself answer the questions that are poking in the back of his mind. What would you do if Samantha did show up? Would you believe her or not? How would you find out the truth, if she is real?

He takes Scully with him, for the sake of both of their sanity. It's a longer drive than they're used to, since they normally fly distances this long.

“We need a code word,” he says when they switch driving shifts at a rest area in Pennsylvania. “Just in case we aren’t… sure. Sometime.”

She gnaws on a thumbnail like she’s considering it; nods, finally, and looks like she is remembering all of the times that it wasn’t them. “Okay,” she says. “To say in situations when we’re separated and coming back together?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Or if there's any good reason to be suspicious.”

She scrunches up her nose in thought, taps her thumb against her lower lip once. “Do you have anything in mind?”

Thinking back to their customary phone greeting before the days of Caller ID, he offers, “Well, maybe we could just… say that it’s us.”

Scully snorts. “Isn’t a little on the nose?”

“It’s less obviously a code then, like, some random word. I mean, what if the word came up in everyday conversation? What if the not-us had a reason to use that word? All I’m saying is that it’s logical to outright say it.” He’s quiet for a minute, and then adds, “If They’re listening in on us, we probably have worse things to worry about than Them knowing our code.”

She nods like it makes sense, smiles smally. “So, we just say ‘it’s me’?”

“Exactly.” He’d like to say he’d know if it wasn’t her, but he hasn’t before, has seen her dead and as a bloodthirsty ghost and as an OSS agent in 1939 and as a million hallucinations. And he couldn’t even tell when it really was her, not for weeks. He knows her well after so many years, but the mind is a tricky thing.

She nods, smiles smally. “Mulder it's me,” she says. “Just so you know.”

He smiles back, removes one hand from the wheel to take hers.

***

Unfortunately, Teena Mulder doesn’t seem very interested in her son’s partner.

(“Mom, this is Dana Scully,” he tries, and his mother shakes her hand politely and offers her something to drink. The three of them have an awkward cup of coffee in the kitchen where Teena asks some obligatory questions about work among other things. It is, all together, like his usual encounters with his mother, except for Scully staring at the table uncomfortably and rarely being acknowledged.)

Mulder wonders what she would say if she knew how much Scully means to him. If he outlined it out, tried to explain their relationship to each other, that Scully is different from anyone else he’d ever had a relationship with. If he even admitted that their relationship was more than a partnership.

But he doesn’t bother, and his mother leaves them alone in the house while she meets a friend for dinner (I'm so sorry, Fox, but these plans have been in place for months, and I just can't abandon a friend like this, and…)

Scully suggests they search it for some evidence of that night. He wants to snap something about how his mother has probably cleaned house in the time since then, but he doesn’t bother. They search the rooms from inch to inch, and end in the living room. Mulder stands in the shadow left by his sister and recaps the night to Scully in a low voice. It is strange to be back here, the memories from this room hovering in the back of his mind and threatening to spill loose. His sister screaming. She was only eight years old. He bites his lip hard enough to taste blood in an attempt to keep from sliding into another flashback.

They both had secrets; Scully hadn’t told him about the night her father died, and Mulder hadn’t told her about the night Samantha was taken. Now, it all spills over in the dark, because it’s easier than admitting things in the light.

They get a hotel in town, so Mulder doesn’t have to bother with explaining to his mother why he is sharing a bed with his partner. (“It's okay, Mom, really, we'll be heading out in the morning anyway…”) He holds onto Scully in the middle of the night, and wonders what it was like to be taken by someone who looked like him. It probably ranked right up there with the Modell and Van Blundht incidents.

He stops in to see his father, just in case Samantha would go there. Nothing there. Bill Mulder doesn't seem any happier to see him than his mother was, just as detached as always. Mulder sets his jaw and shuffles out of the hpuse after twenty minutes.

***

They get a new case: a young boy who disappeared from the park where he was playing with his siblings. An hour later, he showed up back in the park, limply flopped across the bottom of the slide with a slight protrusion on the back of his neck. The Baltimore police had referred his mother to the X-Files.

“The circumstances are very similar to when Samantha was taken,” Mulder tells Scully on the drive down. “Younger brother came to tell Jimmy that it was time to go, and found himself - according to his statement - on the ground unable to move, bright lights and Jimmy floating in the air. The only difference between the two cases is that Samantha wasn't returned after an hour.” He stops, the melancholy look on his face speaking volumes.

“And the chips are similar to our experience,” Scully says slowly. “Whatever our experience was.”

“So the question remains… what's the difference here? Why do we have no memories of being abducted? And why wasn't Samantha returned years ago?”

“Maybe abduction cases are different based on the case,” Scully says. “Like in the other place.” She doesn't want to bring up their abductions. “If the abductions are… brief, that could explain how we were abducted.”

Mulder sighs. “None of this makes sense, Scully. The pieces don't fit. How we were taken the first time… why Duane Barry came for us… why Samantha’s case is the outlier here…”

“Maybe it has something to do with your father,” she says. “He could still be involved in this here. Maybe that's why you haven't seen Samantha in twenty-two years. All of the other abduction cases in the X-Files don't span that amount of time, do they?”

He shakes his head slowly. Contemplatively. This is a sensitive subject for both of them, after everything; she'd almost said no to the case for that very reason.

She touches his forearm comfortingly. “I think that all we can do right now is see what answers this case can bring us,” she says. “Maybe it's the key. Maybe this is how we find your sister. Or answers about our chips.”

“Could be,” he says shortly. Tensely - head ducked down, eyes focused firmly on the road. They pull up in front of the house, stopping the conversation in its tracks.

The mother, Vera Worth, looks relieved to see them. “We spoke on the phone, Agent Mulder,” she says. “You think you can find out who did this to Jimmy?”

“I hope so, Ms. Worth.” Mulder shakes her hand, introducing her to Scully. “I think it'd be best to start by just talking to the boys, see what they remember.”

She leads them through the cramped hallways of the small house. “Do you really think it was aliens?”

“It's a… possibility, based on our previous work,” Scully says.

“A likely one,” Mulder adds.

“And what about the, the… thing in his neck? Is that how they find him?” The woman is on the verge of tears, smoothing her tangled ponytail frantically.

Scully feels the weight of her own chip, almost like a burning sensation. “We aren't sure,” she says.

Vera blinks heavily at them, eyes gravitating to the door of the living room where her sons are. “So, what does that…”

“Ms. Worth, I promise you that we will do everything we can to help your son,” Mulder says in that soft, soothing way he has. (It's one of the first things she remembers loving about him, his gentleness.)

Vera bites her lip, nods. “Okay,” she says. “Okay, I'll, um, introduce you to the boys, then.” She swallows and adds a quick, “Thank you” before heading into the room. They follow, awkward FBI-shadows in their black suits.

Jimmy is curled in the corner of the couch with a knit blanket wrapped around his shoulders. The younger brother is on the floor in front of the couch, cheek pressed to the side of the sofa. The TV casts colorful cartoon-based lights across their small faces. Vera kneels between them. “Jimmy, Miles…” she says, smoothing their hair. “Agent Mulder and Agent Scully are gonna ask you guys some questions, okay?”

Miles stares at them in little-kid awe, eyes stealing to Mulder's holster. Jimmy stares at the TV blankly.

“He hasn't been sleeping well,” Vera says by way of explanation for his listlessness, sitting beside him and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Nightmares.”

They exchange a look. “Nightmares?” Scully repeats.

“Really, really bad,” Jimmy says hoarsely. “It hurt.” He leans into his mother’s side.

“He woke me up with his screaming,” Miles adds, eyes still on the holster.

Vera rubs her hands up and down Jimmy’s bare arm. “He had a dream about the time he broke his arm, and swore he felt pain when he woke up.”

Their eyes meet again; Mulder nods to confirm that he has the same suspicions: that Jimmy’s nightmares seem to align somewhat with theirs.

They ask Jimmy and Miles a few more customary questions for an alien abduction case, and their answers are generic. Miles describes the light, his brother floating through the air, and his eyes widen in panic and he scoots over to hug his brother’s leg. Jimmy doesn’t remember anything. He emphasizes the nightmares, over and over again. “They’re so real,” he says. “Like it’s really happening.”

***

They go to the park, the site of the abduction

“I think the nightmares are the key here, Scully,” Mulder says. “It’s the biggest similarity that we have between our case and another.”

“I’m not arguing that,” she says, kneeling next to the jungle gym to get a better view. “What I’m saying is that there’s inconsistencies. Between our case and your sister’s case and those kids in Oregon and Jimmy Worth. I’m saying that the facts don’t make sense. The pieces don't fit together.”

“Not necessarily. Those kids that were abducted in Oregon could've had chips and nightmares as well. They ended up in the woods, but we never found out why. And if you consider the factor that it was at night and they were all in their pajamas…”

Scully looks up at him from her spot on the ground. “You think the nightmares are what made them go into those woods?”

“They led them to the site of their abduction so they could be taken again. It makes sense, Scully. The chips are supposed to control the abductee. What better way than to distract them from the abduction?”

“But Theresa Nemmens never described any sensation like that,” she says. “And Billy Miles…”

“Scully, that wasn’t real,” he reminds her gently.

She stares up at him in astonishment. “What?”

“The car crashed, remember? The second half of that case… that was all in the other world. All we know is that those four kids were dead, and Peggy O’Dell and Billy Miles were in a car accident. We never talked to Theresa Nemmens… we don't even know that her name is Theresa Nemmens.”

She grimaces as he helps her to her feet. “God, Mulder… it’s so hard to differentiate the facts in this universe from the other place.”

“I know,” he says. “It’s okay. I get confused all the time too.”

Scully nods. “So… do you think those kids had chips as well?”

“It’s possible. They didn’t appear on the autopsy report, but that easily could’ve been doctored from the public record, just like cause of death being exposure. And then there’s the thing we found in the corpse in Ray Soames’s coffin.”

“The implant,” she gasps. “Shit, they must’ve taken it from me at the hospital. Or I lost it in the crash. I kept it with me, I remember that. I didn't even think about it, it's been so long.”

“It was in a different place, but it could be similar to what we have, and what Jimmy has,” Mulder says. “Their abductions… they were brief. Like ours, like Jimmy’s. We can only assume that they were abducted again…”

“And they were killed,” Scully finishes in a hushed tone.

They exchange a quiet look. “What if that’s Jimmy Worth’s fate?” she adds, not daring to add what they’re both thinking: what if it’s ours?

“Not all of those kids were dead, though,” Mulder says. “Billy Miles and Peggy O’Dell were alive.”

“They were immobile, and their brains were mush. It seems dangerous, Mulder, keeping the chip in.”

“But so does taking it out. What if we tell Vera Worth to take her son’s chip out, and she calls us again in a few months, hysterical because her son’s been diagnosed with terminal cancer? Or worse?”

“We can’t just tell her nothing,” Scully says. “That’s not fair. We’d want to know if it was Will… if we were in her position.” She turns red at her slip-up, head bent towards the ground.

Mulder sighs, tries not to linger on his nonexistent son that it is still too hard to forget. “I know. And I don’t want to tell her nothing. But I…”

“Mulder, look,” Scully interrupts, kneeling beside him. She scoops up a handful of something from the ground, and extends it towards him as she gets to her feet. It’s the same substance she found on the floor of the Oregon woods, right before they lost nine minutes and twenty-three years.

***

In the end, there is nothing to find at the park. In the end, they go back to the hotel to compile their evidence. The hotel is nearly empty, aside from one wild-eyed woman who nearly knocks Mulder down in the race to her car. “Sorry,” she mutters, dark hair flying out behind her as she twists away.

“You okay?” he calls out to her, but she doesn’t answer, slamming her car door behind her.

“She probably heard about the abductions,” Scully offers as the wheels screech against the pavement behind them. “Rumors like that tend to spook people. Remember the cockroach case in Miller's Grove?”

“Don't get started on that one again; I don't need another series of I-told-you-sos followed by two dozen Bambi jokes.” She smirks at him as he unlocks his hotel room and he smiles back.

They spread out all the information they have with them on one of the beds. Mulder had brought several files on abductions, including his sister’s and the sparse file from Oregon. “I wish I’d written more down,” he remarks. “I was so focused on… everything, afterwards, that I dismissed the case entirely and wrote up our experience instead.”

“I still have my report on my computer since it never caught on fire,” Scully says. “I never submitted it to Blevins. It won’t be much help, though, it’s all… skepticism.”

“I would think you’d regard that as useful, Agent Scully,” he teases.

“On most cases? Maybe. On this one? I can’t ignore the facts like I did last time.”

“You didn't ignore the facts,” Mulder says, chucking her playfully under the chin. She swats at him. “You just approached them from a different direction, and we met in the middle.”

“You're being awfully nice about my skepticism,” she says.

“You make me a whole person, remember? I have to be nice about it.”

They compare details from abduction cases for nearly an hour. Most of the unfamiliar abduction cases don't mention chips, but most of them were before Mulder's time on the X-Files, or had a missing body. (“I need you for your autopsies, Scully, you're the only thing keeping evidence from tampering by the government,” he says, quite serious, and she jabs him in the ribs.) In the end, the biggest anomaly is the Samantha case. It still makes absolutely no sense.

Eventually, Mulder dozes off across the foot of the bed. He wakes up when the other side rises with the absence of Scully's weight. “Where ya going,” he mutters lazily.

“To the second room the Bureau is paying for,” she says very matter-of-factly.

He raises his head to stare at her. “You're bluffing,” he says confidently. “Have you forgotten we live together, oh Nontraditional-Significant-Other?”

Scully has a terrible poker face. “Bureau policy prohibits…”

“Now you're worried about that?” He tugs her to him and kisses her.

“Okay, fine,” she says. “I was just making sure you were awake.”

“I'm awake,” he says into her mouth.

***

They meet with Vera and her two sons at a diner the next morning. Miles is tearing his way happily through a stack of sticky pancakes. Jimmy eats a biscuit quietly, sketching pictures on his napkin with a pen. Mulder cranes his neck to see; little alien heads, fangs bared menacingly.

“Sorry, I couldn't find a babysitter, Vera says, getting them another table and taking a seat across from them so she can watch her kids. “There was another nightmare last night,” she adds. “About when their dad left. Jimmy woke up convinced that he could stop him from going. I found him outside, the door slamming woke me up.”

Scully bites her lip. She hates this part, the giving of bad news, as much as he does.

“Evidence points to your son's abductors being of an extraterrestrial origin,” Mulder begins. It is almost too hot in the diner; he wants to loosen his tie and shed his jacket. He wants to give this worn-out woman some good news.

Vera fidgets, rolling and unrolling her sticky paper napkin ring. “Okay. And what about the chip?”

“We have reason to believe that removal of the chip would endanger your son worse,” Scully says solemnly. “That the results would be fatal.”

Vera’s lip trembles a little, eyes darting away from them and towards her sons. “So… what, either my son gets abducted again or dies because I save him from being taken again?”

“We don't necessarily know that he'll be taken again,” Mulder says. “There have been cases where abductions have been singular.” Their confusing mess of an abduction, for one.

Vera looks back at them, her expression furious. “So I just do nothing?”

Mulder shakes his head. “You still have my contact information, right?” She nods. “You call if anything goes wrong,” he says. “If Jimmy is taken again, or if there's any related activity. We'll come.” Next to him, Scully nods her consent.

Vera looks between them, nods as she rips the napkin holder into four even pieces. “It's not much,” she says quietly, “but it's something. Thank you, Agent Mulder, Agent Scully.”

They all three stand and shake hands. Vera goes back to the table to pay the bill, Miles hanging over her and whining about ice cream. Jimmy turns to look at Mulder and Scully warily. “Hi, Mrs. FBI Agent,” he says to Scully.

She kneels beside him, and Mulder is inevitably reminded of their son. “Hi, Jimmy,” she says. “What’re you drawing?”

Jimmy presses the tip of the pen into the napkin to create an ink spot. “These are the things that took me away,” he says. The napkin rips under the pressure.

Mulder feels a tap on his arm, and he turns to face Vera. “The nightmares,” she whispers. “Are they a result of his abduction?”

Scully is still talking to Jimmy, their heads bent together over the napkin. “We think so,” he says.

***

Vera Worth doesn't call in the following months, which gives Mulder some small degree of hope for that family. They take a few other cases, but none related to alien abduction.

The flashbacks continue, stack messily on top of each other like the world's worst game of Jenga. As April fades into May, Mulder gets paranoid, refuses to drink from the sink. Scully has the Gunmen do a test on the water. No signs of the drugs from the other place, but when Mulder comes home with a jug of water from the store, she doesn’t complain.

That night, she wakes from nightmares that taste like angry words and gunpowder to find the other side of the bed empty. Mulder’s in the kitchen, hunched foggily over a cup of coffee. “These flashbacks are turning you into an insomniac,” he says when he sees her, turning back to the coffeemaker to pour her a cup.

“And you into worse of one,” she replies, leaning into the tile. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He offers a grimace-smile as he passes her a mug. “You didn’t shoot me this time.”

“Thank goodness for small favors.”

“What about you, you okay?”

She nods. “Just… worried about Melissa.”

He nods back like he understands - and he does, really. “Maybe we should go visit them for a little while,” he offers. “Make sure they’re okay. For our own sanity.”

It’s a perfect idea, on her end - Missy’s been suggesting that they should get together sometime soon - but possibly not the best on his. “Would that… work for you?”

Mulder shrugs. “It’s not… completely out of the ordinary. It’ll take me a while to drive up there; I can just stop in for a little while to make sure he’s alright, say I have a question.”

“What kind of question?”

“The usual family pain. About Samantha.”

***

Mulder drops her off at home. They both have things to mourn, are headed off into the corner to lick their wounds privately. The dread builds in the pit of her stomach as the elevator ascends to her apartment; she does not want to go inside.

The crime scene tape is gone, by now, but the dark stain at her threshold is still there. She has to pass over it to get into her home, her safe haven. She physically backs away, back hitting the wall with a thunk. Yourfaultyourfaultyourfault, she thinks. She doesn't realize she is crying until she feels the wetness on her cheeks.

“Dana?” Missy waves a hand in front of her face, eyes somewhere between amused and concerned. “Are you okay? You kind of zoned out for a minute.”

“I'm fine,” Scully says thickly, drinking her sister in. She's not dead, she reminds herself. It's just a goddamn flashback. “I was just thinking.”

Melissa smirks. “What about?”

She makes a face, reverting back to childhood habits. “None of your business.”

Melissa sticks out her tongue, just as childishly, and grabs the remote. “You want to watch something?” she asks, switching on the TV. “Friends is on tonight.” She turns to face Scully.

The mahogany lid of the coffee is thrown back, exposing the deceased to the world. Scully hates funerals, has hated them since she was a little girl.

Her mother is crying behind her hand and her brother cinches his arm around her frail, shaking shoulders, and both of them stand apart from Dana, which she probably deserves. To carry this weight on her own. They haven't come right out and said that it is her fault, but they must feel the inky blackness she feels towards herself. The guilt layered on top of the mourning.

Her sister's face is expressionless, a crystal choker and her cross that matches Dana’s sharing the space around her neck. The wound in her forehead is almost well covered.

Scully lurches from the couch, knees hitting the tile of Melissa's bathroom hard as she vomits into the toilet.

“Dana?” Missy is panicked, kneeling beside her. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she says through her roughened throat, trying to smile. She takes the Kleenex Melissa offers to wipe her mouth. “Must've been something I ate.”

“You looked at me like I was a ghost,” Missy says, feeling her forehead. “You're freezing, Dana.”

“Food poisoning,” Scully insists. “Mulder drags me to the dingiest diners.”

Melissa shakes her head like she doesn't believe her, helping her up from the floor. “You know I'm hopeless with medical stuff, Day, what's the procedure here?”

“Just something to settle my stomach,” she says. “I'm fine, really.” She squeezes her sister's palm in relief before heading back into the living room. She'll be fine, really, she just has to keep reminding herself that none of this is real.

“I like your boyfriend,” Melissa says when she comes back to the couch, handing her a glass of ginger ale. “Dingy food poisoning diners or no.” Mulder and Melissa had met for the second-first time when he'd dropped her off on his way to his father’s, and they'd gotten into a ten minute conversation about auras.

Scully laughs at the generic term. It sounds strange in reference to them. “I’m not sure that’s a fitting term for Mulder, Missy.”

Melissa shrugs. “I like him. But I don’t understand why you guys call each other by your last names.”

Scully rolls her eyes. “We’re partners. At the FBI. And I have mentioned his first name, haven't I?”

Melissa asks some teasing questions about plans for the future, and Scully reverts to her childhood self again, retaliating with a plethora of adolescent antics she still remembers. They stay up late talking, like they used to when they were kids, and Scully keeps one hand on the inside of her jacket, where her gun is, but nobody comes all night.

***

His father looks surprised when he answers the door; he’s rarely visited since he left for Oxford, and when he had, he’d been more inclined to visit his mother. “Fox,” he says. “It’s… good to see you. Come in.”

Mulder enters awkwardly, feeling sixteen and annoyed to be spending a weekend with his father all over again. “Dad, I need to ask you about Samantha,” he says.

His father groans. “Must we drag this out over and over again, Fox? Why can’t you accept that she isn’t coming back?”

He holds back a grimace, more angry words. “I need to know about any involvement you might’ve had with the people who took her,” he says in a clipped tone. His father’s face turns bright red, a muscle memory of the rage he’d experienced in his childhood, so he plunges on. “I think that these same people have been targeting me and my partner. That they took us at one point before.”

Bill Mulder’s face morphs from an expression of rage to one of panic. “You were abducted?”

“We think we were… we found a chip…” Mulder raises a hand to the back of his neck.

“You can’t be here. You have to leave.” His father moves towards the door, forcing Mulder with him by trajectory alone.

He stumbles in an attempt to not move. “What… Dad…?”

“You need to go, Fox.” His father pushes him out the door.

Mulder grabs the door before he can close it. “No, not until you tell me what’s going on,” he snaps. There are too many things thrown into the balance to not get answers if his father knows what is happening. Samantha’s life, Scully’s life, their future…

“Trust no one, Fox,” Bill Mulder says in an eerie echo of Deep Throat. And then he slams and locks the door.

[childrenofhypnos]

Chapter 10: Totally Obeying Orders

Emery and Wes hustled across campus in their pajamas, quick-stepping over the chilly sidewalks and brittle grass, ignoring small groups of dreamhunters and the early-rising students from the day division.

The food court had just opened for breakfast when they arrived. The kitchen workers crashed pans and plates together in the back rooms behind the food lines. The fountain bubbled to life. Wes and Emery split apart for food and gravitated together to a table in the center of the atrium, near the fountain.

“You know Joel Cullweather?” Emery asked between bites of waffle.

Wes, hunched over his food, glanced up at her. “I know of your boyfriend, Joel Cullweather, yes. I don’t know him.”

“Joel’s great,” Emery said. “He wants to mount an ice sculpture at the top of the fountain. The sculpture’s of Fabian Fenhallow and a—”

“Em!” Joel, Kris, Lewis, and Jacqueline all burst through the atrium doors, as if they’d been summoned. Lewis and Jacqueline looked put together for the day; Joel and Kris looked like they’d been plucked straight from their beds.

“I didn’t know any of you woke up this early,” she said when they dragged more chairs up to the table.

“I do,” Lewis grumbled.

“We heard the sand wore off.” Joel settled next to Emery, sliding an arm around her and pulling her close to kiss her temple while he stole a piece of watermelon off her plate. “Everyone thinks you had a run-in with some huge nightmare that spits sleeping sand.”

“The Howards think you’re full of it,” Jacqueline rested her chin on her palm, “and you just knocked yourself out chasing what you thought was a huge nightmare.”

“Isaiah Howard wouldn’t know a nightmare if it knocked his shield out of his hand and stabbed him with his own sword,” Emery said. Jacqueline snorted.

“So what actually happened?” Kris asked.

“We’re fine, it was—”

“We’re not supposed to talk about it,” Wes said. He stared Emery down across the table.

Again, he was right, they weren’t. And it was an unspoken rule between the members of the day division and night division that if a dreamhunter student refused to speak about a mission, no further questions would be asked. Plenty of secrets made their way around Fenhallow; if one didn’t, it was serious enough not to risk getting in trouble for leaking it.

“Everyone,” Emery said coolly, “have you met Wesley? Wes doesn’t have many friends, so he’s not too skilled at introducing himself.”

A vein stood out in Wes’s temple. Emery wondered if she could make that aneurysm a reality before the end of the month.

The other members of the student council introduced themselves in turns. Kris got Wes to smile by mentioning that she had a few classes with Ridley (“Honestly, everyone always talks about how she’s the nicest person on campus, but they never talk about how smart she is”); Joel had played soccer with Wes a few times (“Being a dreamhunter should be automatic cheating—you’re all faster”); Lewis, an assistant to their dream theory professor, had consistently docked Wes points on his essay grammar (“It’s nothing personal, I swear. I just can’t in good conscience allow you to keep using ‘your’ when you should use ‘you’re’”); and though Jacqueline and Wes didn’t have anything in common, Jacqueline managed to make him blush deep red just by making direct eye contact for longer than ten seconds while he explained to her that yes, he was interested in girls, and no, he did not currently have a girlfriend.

“I can fix that for you,” Jacqueline said. “Just let me know.”

Wes turned a mottled shade of purple.

Emery knew he didn’t have many friends. People didn’t avoid Wes they way they avoided her, but she never saw him hanging out with anyone. He didn’t talk to anyone before or after class. If she saw him in the Kirkland lobby, he was by himself in a corner. Before, she’d thought it was because he was as unpopular as she was, just in a different way—people didn’t like her for being the best, and they ignored him for being the worst—but now it seemed self-imposed. Like the way he hid his dreamforming skills.

He was hiding behind mediocrity, at least in some areas. He looked at her across the table, and there was no surface to those black eyes, just two deep and bottomless pits.

Then he looked away as Jacqueline started listing off all the single girls at Fenhallow.

~

Two days under sleeping sand didn’t excuse them from Marcia’s morning workout. They went through the whole thing with Marcia glaring daggers at them, and after shower time, Emery waited her prerequisite five extra minutes before leaving the locker room, and ran straight into Marcia in the empty hallway outside.

“What did he look like?” Marcia snapped.

“Who?”

“Emery, I swear—”

Emery sighed and pretended to be burdened. “I don’t know. Tall, sharp fingers, goggles. He really needed a haircut.”

“What did he say?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Because it does.”

“I’ll tell you what he said if you tell me why you care.”

Marcia flexed her crossed arms. Emery wondered if she’d had her arms crossed for so long they’d fused together that way.

“We were in the same class,” Marcia said.

“Uh-huh. I’m sure that’s the whole story.”

Marcia shifted, and the lights overhead caught her hair and made her look like her head had gone up in flames. The blooming anger on her face didn’t help.

“I mean like, did you go out with him, or was it more of a onesie-twosie thing…?”

Marcia turned livid.

The fit of rage was, as Emery predicted, bad enough to turn Marcia away and send her stomping down the hall. Probably to a place where she could destroy something. The rage didn’t answer as many questions as Emery had hoped, though. Marcia was a perfectly capable dreamhunter and seemed to have familiarity with the Sandman. If she hadn’t been sent after the Sandman, there must have been some other conflict of interest. Grandpa Al was keeping her off the case for a reason.

Marcia’s incursion made Emery three minutes late for dream theory. Professor Lenton docked her half her participation points for the day—not a harsh blow, as Emery’s extra credit work had already earned her over one hundred percent in the class—and made her stand by her desk and give a summary of the reading they were supposed to finish the night before. Which, of course, Emery didn’t know, because she had been asleep at the time. The rest of her participation points went down the drain.

“The reading, Miss Ashworth, was over proper procedure to open a gateway into the Dream. Most of you won’t learn how to do this until next year, when your skills are more developed and you are better prepared to handle whatever may try to come out of your gateway—or what may find you once you go inside. Sit down, Miss Ashworth.”

Emery sat, ignoring the snickers that cropped up around the room. Professor Lenton launched into an explanation of Dream gateways with a diagram on the whiteboard wall taller than himself. The diagram itself was little more than a set of circles layered over each other, each layer pried apart and labeled. On the board beside the diagram, Lenton had written in big, sloppy handwriting, APPEARANCE UNIQUE TO HUNTER.

The diagram had been on the board for almost a week. Lenton had promised weeks ago to bring in one of the full-time dreamhunters to actually demonstrate opening a gateway into the Dream, but had yet to deliver. Apart from Marcia and Lana, most of the Fenhallow teachers were non-dreamhunters, a fact that didn’t matter much when they were discussing theory or instructing the lower division students, but really seemed pointless when it came to experience in the field. She’d heard Lenton say over and over again that Dream gateways were unique in appearance to the dreamhunter who opened them, but how? As doors? As tears in the world? Half the time Emery wasn’t sure Lenton himself had ever seen a gateway opened. He’d just read about it in textbooks and been asked to regurgitate.

She took dutiful notes anyway, and when Lenton started repeating himself halfway through class, she began to wonder what her gateway might look like. Maybe the door to Grandpa Al’s office. Maybe something cold and wintry, with snow. Maybe nothing—maybe it would just shimmer and disappear.

Grandpa Al’s gateway was the literal gateway of a tall, wrought-iron fence. Emery only knew because her father had told her. Once Edgar was old enough, his might be the entrance to a saloon, or a dusty desert road. Marcia’s would be…the gym? Some kind of coliseum? Emery tapped her pencil lead on the desk. She didn’t even know what Marcia’s dreamform weapon was.

When class was over, Emery caught Wes outside the room and pulled him to a corner of the hallway.

“We can’t go through the front tonight. I can guarantee Grandpa Al told Alice not to let us off campus. We’ll have to sneak over the north fence.”

“Great,” Wes said. “Sneaking over fences.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure? It’ll be fun. Defying authority, sneaking out, and pursuing a dangerous criminal who can definitely kill us is fun.”

“We won’t find him,” Wes said, frowning. “And after this, I won’t sneak out again.”

He left.

Wes’s gateway was probably a plain boring door.

~

“They stole our idea.”

Emery and Wes perched on the roof of an office building on the edge of the warehouses to watch the skyline. The dark forms of the full-time dreamhunting pairs crossed above the warehouses. Emery had only seen four individuals so far; either they only had two pairs searching for the Sandman, or these were the only two still hanging around the warehouses after two days.

As they watched, a black SUV coasted down the street and past the entrance to the warehouses. Beneath the streetlights, the words VAN DER GELT SECURITY flashed in gold block lettering against the SUV’s side. According to Stainer, the VDG private police force had tripled the security around the warehouses since Wes and Emery’s disturbance there.

“He’s not here,” Wes said. “If he was, they’d have found him.”

“Not necessarily.”

“We found him right away. You think full-time dreamhunters wouldn’t?”

“He found us. He was following me.”

Wes went momentarily quiet. “You think—are you—”

“What?”

“Are you saying you’re using yourself as bait?”

“I wasn’t before, but that might actually work to draw him out.”

“This is stupid. You can’t use yourself as bait. We don’t know why he’s following you, or what he wants.”

Emery climbed to the edge of the roof and lowered herself down the pipe that ran along the edge of the building. Wes followed. When they reached the ground, Emery started walking. The streets on the north side were quiet at this time of night except for the occasional truck on a midnight delivery—or, now, the many VDG security SUVs moving around the warehouses. In the distance, cars rushed through intersections, and the lights of the Sleeping City beckoned.

Emery sensed better when she was moving. She felt the dreamhunters behind her, light little pulses of them looking through the warehouses, growing faint now. She felt Wes right beside her, but he didn’t give off the kind of power the Sandman had. She was sure she would know that power if she felt it again.

“Do you…do you think he’s following us right now?” Wes asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t feel anything, but he’s a good hider.”

Wes passed a hand over his eyes, groaning. “Okay. We want to draw him out, right? He told you not to go looking for him. We can assume if we make it known that we ignored him and are still searching, he’ll enforce the threat.”

Emery’s stomach went watery the way it always did when she thought about doing something stupid.

“Idea time, then,” she said. “Fastest way to tell him we’re still looking for him?”

Wes lowered his voice. “Do you think he’s keeping tabs on us now?”

“Maybe.”

“So he’s close by.”

“Sure.”

“There are dreamhunters spread throughout the city right now. We send up a warning flare and they all come running.”

“Trap him from all sides.” Emery unholstered one of her Peacemakers and held it out. The bullets fired bright purple; they’d stand out against the night sky, and there’d be no mistaking them. “They’ll focus all their senses toward this point…if he’s around here, he won’t be able to slip past them.”

Wes’s eyes shone in the light of the nearby streetlamp. “They’ll know it was us. And we’ll have disrupted all the teams out tonight.”

“If this guy is such a bother to the Hypnos State, I’m sure they won’t mind a bit of disruption.” She shook with excitement. Grandpa Al was going to be so damn proud of her he’d spill his tea. She raised the gun to the sky.

She couldn’t pull the trigger.

Not for lack of trying; she looked up and found gray-purple stone wrapped around her hand and the gun.

“I told you not to look for me.”

Emery and Wes spun around. Behind them stood the Sandman, as if he’d been there the whole time. His oily black armor absorbed the light and the shape of his body; his hair fell over his goggles and he raised a clawed hand to brush it away. He stepped toward them.

They stepped back. Excitement turned to fear so quickly Emery choked on it. Her other hand went to her second revolver, still snug in its holster, not encased in stone. Wes had his hammer out, but he was choking, too.

Time stood still as the Sandman looked them over.

“I could make you forget about this, but I don’t want to dose you again,” the Sandman said, “so let’s come to another arrangement. You ‘forget’ you were here, and that you saw me, and I won’t put all of Fenhallow to sleep for a week. Agreed?”

Emery knew it was a demand, not a request.

Still, she managed to work through the knot in her throat to say, “That’s no good for me.”

She drew her other Peacemaker, thanking Hypnos for all the times Edgar had made her practice the quick draw.

The dreamform bullet arced into the night in a brilliant beam of purple. The Sandman hissed something unintelligible, then spun around and raked his claws through the air.

The gateway tore open, a pulsing black portal that crept into the waking world like ink spilling in water. It grew taller and wider than the Sandman himself, and from the darkness came the soft rustling of wind in the trees, a trickle of water, the hum of insects. The darkness stopped, and on either side of it appeared two massive old oaks, framing the portal, growing atop the asphalt of the street.

The Sandman disappeared between the trees. The stone around Emery’s hand vanished. Then the trees began to disappear, too.

Without thinking, Emery holstered her gun, grabbed Wes’s wrist, and leaped into the darkness.

(Next time on The Children of Hypnos --> They Should Have Given Up.) 

[torentialtribute]

Chelsea 2-0 Manchester City: Kante and Luiz bring Pep Guardiola’s unbeaten run crashing down

Until their arrival at Stamford Bridge, Manchester City was only 12 minutes behind in the Premier League games this season.

They had not lost in the league since April 7 when they fell home for Manchester United with the title anything but won.

City may have played it, but it did not seem unreasonable to expect them to go through the entire domestic season unbeaten. Another edition of The Invincibles.

There did not even seem to be much danger when this match was played out. City dominated the first half. They played with Chelsea. Only the sloppy finish remained the side of Maurizio Sarri save. Chelsea, who had lost two of their last three games, still seemed struggling to get the best out of Jorginho and N & # 39; Golo Kante in the midfield. The city was sailing, serene and beautiful.

And then it was suddenly over. And then suddenly the aura of invincibility that they had built so meticulously had disappeared. Chelsea won at the end of the first half and played with fierce determination until the final whistle signaled their 2-0 victory and a change in our perception of how the rest of this season might turn out.

when Michael Oliver blew fulltime, City had not only experienced a defeat for the first time in the 16 league games they played this season, but they were no longer the best in the list.

] 7 7 7 7 7 (Barkley 65 6 Gescored: Kante 45, David Luiz 78

Booked: [1945 6 ] 6 ] 6 6 [Bernardo Silva] 5 Fernandinho [] [] []

<! –

Premier League

Premier League

Championship

League One

League Two

Scottish premiere

Scottish Div 1

Scottish Div 2

Scottish Div 3

League 1

Series A

La Liga

Bundesliga

N & # 39; Golo Kante was in the perfect position to lead Chelsea ahead. CLICK HERE to see more of Sportsmail & # 39; s MATCH ZONE.

Many thought that Liverpool would fade in light of the pace set by City, but that is not the case. The team of Jurgen Klopp looks down on the rest.

One defeat does not bring everything down to City, of course, but it will at least be the others. It proves that even this smooth, slippery, slender side that Pep Guardiola built in Manchester is also vulnerable. They missed the smooth finish of Aguero to begin with, and this proves that they can be defeated. And, yes, the reality is that it leaves Liverpool with the advantage.

If this was a bad night for City, it was a good night for the rest of the competition. It has breathed more excitement into the title race at a time when many feared the city is about to pull away.

Liverpool starts to find their groove. Roberto Firmino, their main offensive player, finds his form. Naby Keita and Fabinho beat their pass.

And now there is also Chelsea. Because after this second half the city was overwhelmed, the teams of Sarri, who suddenly appeared full of self-hiss and seemed to have had an identity crisis during last week's defeat against Wolves, are again contenders.

This victory was justification for Sarri's system and its principles. It offers reassurance. Kante was beautiful against City. Eden Hazard was always a threat. The defense of Chelsea was at its best again.

Guardiola, as he often is in moments like this, went out of his way to praise the prowess of his players' performances and said that the defeat was irrelevant. & # 39; It was a pleasure to see how my players showed such an incredible personality to play in this way, "he said afterwards.

& # 39; We are not here to be invincible. We are here to be the champions. We are here to win another point than our opponents. There is no sport in the world where one team or one player always wins. That's part of the process. It is not about the fact that we have lost. What is important is how we are lost. "

Both teams started without a conventional center forward, Aguero was still injured and Guardiola chose to start with Sterling in the middle instead of remembering Jesus.

Chelsea had to In the opening hours, they were forced to stay at City for 20 minutes. "They worked and they chased and refused to let their concentration slacken." On the sidelines, Sarri jumped up and down, chewing on a cigarette, urging Eden Hazard to lurch harder. of the press, Hazard looked at him and looked bewildered.

And when Chelsea did the ball back, they could not keep it long full. The city pressed them ruthlessly and dominated the property. They have developed this great habit of controlling the ball so completely that it defeats even the most hostile atmospheres.

While half wore, City began to threaten more and more. Ten minutes before the break, Sterling produced the best moment of the match to that moment with the sweetest corners away from Alonso on the line and then crossed over to the post.

A minute for half a day, City paid their inability to turn their dominance and their beautiful football into goals. Chelsea, who had not been able to make progress until now, was suddenly freed by a majestic crossfield pass from Luiz to Pedro, who combined it with an overwhelming ball that Willian sprinted to space on the left Chelsea

Although the influence of Kante was limited until then, the strike must have tasted a piece of justification for Sarri, who was criticized for continuing the Frenchman to Jorginho at the foot of the midfield. Jorginho had also been largely anonymous, but Sarri is determined to continue to believe with him.

& # 39; Kante is a great player;

[bewerken] & # 39; The talent of Jorginho has increased with practice. He is a normal player or maybe even less than normal for a team based on individuality, physical strength or technical skills, but he is exceptional for a team with an idea of ​​the game. & # 39;

Chelsea also brightened the second half, and almost increased their lead. Fernandinho chopped Willian down as he shot across the face of the area, and when the Brazilian wrenched his free-kick across the wall, Ederson could only raise him high in the air. Pedro tried to go straight, but he flew with a shot over the bar.

If City had been the dominant team in the first half, Chelsea more than matched that dominance in the second and put the game 12 minutes after the end out of reach. Luiz rose above Fernandinho and Stones on a corner and looked over the ball over Ederson. It kissed the bottom of the crossbar on the way in and City's unbeaten run was over.

Many thought that Liverpool would fade in the light of the pace set by City, but that is not the case.

One defeat does not bring everything down to City, of course, but it will at least encourage the others. It proves that even this smooth, slippery, slender side that Pep Guardiola built in Manchester is also vulnerable.

They missed the smooth finish of Aguero to begin with, and this proves that they can be defeated. And, yes, the reality is that it leaves Liverpool with the advantage.

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