#this is it !! this is the i nearly cut these sideburns off once .. .talk about a close shave

[dirt-str1der]

y5 kiryu literally looks so fucking miserable that he looks like hes getting bullied in this scene but no the guy is just arbitrarily laughing at whatever he looks at because hes very drunk

[krahka]

For Cooper: 7 and 8 for essentials, 9, 10 and 11 for life, 2 for party? 😁

This got a bit long, but anyway, it's time for this asshole and his incredible sideburns. The man who looked at Anders and thought "I could make him worse" and somehow managed to succeed.

How do they dress in their downtime, while fighting, in formal settings, etc.

Cooper takes a lot more care in his appearance than it seems. Spends a lot of time making sure he looks the exact right amount of tortured and disheveled, cutting out sleeves on his shirts, tossling his sideburns just right to be just the perfect amount of scraggly.

If anything, he gets worse in formal settings, because he needs to convey to everyone around just how angry he is to be here and just how much contempt he has for the whole affair. If he could show up to fancy parties for Kirkwall’s nobility buck naked and screaming, he would. He can’t do that without getting arrested for public indecency, so he’ll have to stick to sackcloth jorts and yelling to get himself off the invitation lists.

This doesn’t apply quite as much with what he wears when he’s anticipating a fight. Chain mail, leather. There’s a reason people don’t guess that he’s a mage, but do guess that he’s up to crime.

Do they have any notable scars, markings, tattoos, etc.?

Fewer scars than you’d expect, Anders loses his mind trying to heal him up after a long day of battle and blood magic, but he’s still got a few. He avoids the wrists because that can get out of hand very quickly and that’s where Templars look, so he’s got some scarring on his fingertips and his lips that Anders wasn’t able to catch or do anything about.

The markings on his face aren’t tattoos, they’re makeup and he has to reapply it every day.

I do think at one point Isabela talked him into getting a tattoo and that’s why he’s got a skull on his bicep. It means nothing except that skulls are badass.

What do they do with their free time? Do they have any vices?

Is there a Thedosian equivalent of mahjong? Because there’s definitely some kind of intensely competitive gambling game that he plays with a whole bunch of little old ladies who all love and adore him and talk a lot of shit about Gamlen, because he used to be part of the group, but he got kicked out after a messy breakup with one of the old ladies. This doesn’t stop them from adoring his nephew. Cooper’s so much nicer than his uncle! What a charming young man! He probably has invited Varric and/or Isabela to their games, but they were both way too thrown off by the fact that he’s got this whole other friend group of elderly women who love to gamble in addition to the friend group they’re in, who are all bisexual fugitives who are absurdly toxic to each other.

His vices are all the crimes he does, and while he does enjoy it, most of it is for survival and to get rich quick. Also being absurdly toxic to his fellow bisexuals. He is a Dragon Age 2 character, after all.

Have they ever been seriously injured? What was the outcome?

His approach to blood magic is incredibly risky, even by blood magic standards. The fact that he’s self-taught means that he’s not super efficient, and his general tendency to push himself too far can get really, really bad when that involves how much blood loss he’s willing to inflict on himself. Sometimes this goes too far.

The worst it’s ever been was during the duel with the Arishok. His play was to get hit a lot to draw an enormous amount of blood that he could then call on to rip the Arishok’s veins out and bleed him from the inside. It was a very, very risky move, he ended up losing fingers in the process and nearly an entire arm, and once he got enough to get the power he needed to cast one, huge spell, he passed out. People watching thought they both died, especially since they didn’t recognize it as blood magic, just an unusually gory knife fight.

Anders had to squirrel him away to treat him and hide him from the templars. Weeks later, Varric had to track them down to convince them that a: everyone thinks Hawke’s dead and b: everyone wishes he wasn’t because they think he’s a great hero. Cooper was appointed Champion of Kirkwall at his own funeral.

Do they prefer being stealthy or charging head-on?

There are two strong, but contradictory impulses within him: one to hide, keep quiet, keep out of danger, and one to explode the organs of anyone who could even potentially threaten him.

I’d describe him as skittish more than anything else. He’ll start with stealth, but the second he gets uncomfortable or impatient, he will attack. He is very afraid of getting caught, and whatever method he can take, he’ll go with.

Which companions (or advisors) are they closest friends with? Who do they respect?

He agrees with Anders completely on all the things that matter, and the things they argue over don’t change the fact that they share the same goals. He admires Anders’ idealism and wishes desperately that he could match it. He’d do anything to make sure he never loses it. Anything.

I’m going to say that he dates Merrill briefly in Act 1, but she ends up deciding that they’re better off as friends. Once he gets over the sting of rejection, he realizes she was right. “We both like blood magic” is a poor foundation for a romantic relationship but a great one for a platonic one. The two of them study together, exchange ideas and techniques, generally have a blast. He’s not overly interested in history or stories or religion or anything that can’t help him in the concrete right now (that’s part of why things didn’t work out between them) but hey, it’s nice that she’s got something that makes her happy. Even if they’re so, so boring.

He’s not super close with anyone else. Cooper is kind of a surly asshole who keeps most people at a distance. If you get too close to people, they can be used to hurt you. The only person Cooper is willing to let hurt him is himself.

[reinersbb]

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐓 [𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 / 𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐔] Chapter One- Pumpkin Spice

DISCLAIMER: I do not own AOT/SNK or the characters.

WARNING 18+: Heavy Sexual Themes/SMUT, Alcohol Consumption, Drug Usage, Profanity, Violence, and Some Uncomfortable Themes.

Click away now if you’re uncomfortable with anything listed above.

The fresh mid-October air plunged into your lungs after inhaling deeply through your nostrils as soon as you broke through the doors belonging to the lecture hall. Though the temperature outside was brisk, the sun was still shining above brightly. The white blotchy clouds were condensed together almost like puzzle pieces that were yet to fit together.

You were grateful for perfect weather on a day like this, and couldn't help but smile to yourself out of pure bliss. Because in all honesty, being stuck inside of lectures for the majority of the day wasn't ideal, but you sure were paying good money for it.

Pinching at the thin cotton material of your jacket, you pulled the fabric closer against your body when a gust of wind whipped past you. Maybe you should've thrown on a thicker jacket, but it's not like you took the initiative to check the weather for the day ahead when your attention was focused on making it out of your dorm room before being late for your eight am. Stopping at a large water fountain that was positioned perfectly center in the intersection of two walkways, you took a slight step with your left foot to turn and look around at all of the people floating about. Awkwardly searching for a particular face in the crowd as the sound of water gently overlapping played in your ears from the old fountain. Today, you had plans to hang out with your boyfriend, the plan was to meet up with him at this exact location. 'Maybe he's running late...' When another two minutes passed of you keeping an eye out for his familiar face, and there was still no sight of your boyfriend, you pulled out your phone to see if he'd sent you a text of his whereabouts or any piece of information. A clear notification screen surprised you, maybe even worried you just the slightest bit, but you shoved that hollow feeling down deep inside of you to tried to ignore it. 'Okay, maybe I should just text him.' Today 15:04 Where are you?✓ Your message had been sent, all you had to do now was play the very annoying waiting game. 'He wouldn't just ghost you for no reason without an explanation.' You tried reasoning with yourself. Your eyes tore away from your phone screen, deciding it was better to distract yourself with something instead of aimlessly waiting around for who knows how long. With only one glance around the perimeter, you elected that a nearby coffee cart parked further down away would be your means of distraction. What's a better distraction than caffeine? As you closed in on the dark oak wooden coffee cart, you couldn't help but notice a familiar face standing behind the cash register. The young man stood slumped over, a disengaged expression on his face, almost as if he were frowning. You lifted a brow quizically, taking the last few steps of your stride towards the cart. The man with blond hair and prominent sideburns perked up behind the register as you stood adjacent to him, "(L/N), is that you?" "Yeah, hey, Thomas! I didn't know you worked here. It's been a while since we've last spoke, how have you been?" You smiled, reminiscing in the few friendly memories you shared together. Thomas was in your German class at the beginning of the semester until you decided to drop the class and swap your minor out for French instead. There hasn't been much or any conversation between the two of you since then. "I just started two weeks ago, and about that..." the slight smile he'd managed to put on his face when you originally approached the cart faded away momentarily, "not so good actually," his cheeks flushed out of embarrassment and his smile kept wavering. "What happened? Are you okay?" You asked, genuinely concerned about your friends' feelings. "My girlfriend broke up with me yesterday," he admitted with a sigh. "Mina?" You asked and Thomas nodded, "that must suck, weren't you and her together for a while?" You could remember the few mentions of his ex-girlfriend in some of the conversations you had together before. "Since junior year of high school, she was my first girlfriend," his light brown eyes fell to the counter. "It was so... all of a sudden. She didn't even tell me why, but, in all honesty, I think it was for another guy," his fingertips tapped away at the counter anxiously. Hearing Thomas tell you about the recent breakup with his ex made your stomach twist and turn into knots for some unknown reason. There was suddenly a burning temptation to check your phone, but you refrained from doing so. "I'm sorry to hear that, and I wish there was something I could say to make you magically feel better," you shot him a sympathetic smile when he finally lifted his eyes to look up at you. "You know, I kind of feel a little bit better talking to you about it," Thomas admitted with a meek chuckle. "Anyways," he flicked the brim of his visor, "enough about me, is there anything I could get you?" He suggested to the menu of drinks. "Surprise me?" A small grin pulled at his lips, "on it." You couldn't help but notice how Thomas's emotions seemed to have pulled a full one-eighty compared to when you saw him standing idle behind the counter just a few minutes ago. "Here you go, one large pumpkin spice latte from our seasonal menu," Thomas reached over the counter, handing you a rather large paper cup, "careful, (L/N), it's hot." You accepted the latte with slight hesitation, "thanks, how much do I owe you?" You were struggling to reach your wallet inside of your purse when Thomas said, "don't worry about it, the drink is on me." "Are you sure? Because I can-" "Think of it as thanks for talking to me," Thomas showed a genuine smile while plucking a napkin from a dispenser to give to you, "just in case you need one of these." "Fine, but I'm paying for my next drink," you said, but still feeling reluctant to just walk away without paying for the drink. Quickly, you reached into your purse, feeling around for any loose money lying about. After a few seconds, you swiftly inserted a few crumpled bills and loose change into the nearly empty tip jar without even examining the tip amount. Thomas laughed after watching your efforts, "see you around, (L/N)." "Bye! Thanks again, Thomas," you sipped on your hot beverage as you steadily walked away from the coffee cart. When you passed by someone looking down at their phone, it reminded you to check yours to see if there was any response from your significant other. To no avail, there were no new messages on your lock screen, only a single notification that alerted you of a spam email message. You tabbed into your text messages once again because the curiosity gnawed away at your insides. Today 15:02 Where are you?✓✓ Immediately you felt your heart sink through your chest as you noticed that he'd definitely read your message. The same annoying worrisome thoughts intruded your mind once again, and this time it was difficult clearing them from your headspace. Today 15:09 Floch?✓ Unfortunately, the smile you had plastered on your face quickly faded away. You groaned under your breath, casually placing the hot beverage just at your lips, the scent of various warm spices tickled your nose as you precariously watched the chat bubbles appear then disappear, and reappear once again. The hot liquid almost scorched your mouth as you anxiously drew in a sip, and then another, all while waiting for his response. A sense of bile rose through your throat as the chat bubble disappeared and finally a response from Floch appeared. You read the message over and over again, trying to decipher if there was some hidden intent behind it. Floch❤️: I'm at your dorm building The page stilled for a moment when the second message of his came through. Floch ❤️: We need to talk 'We need to talk... that could only mean one thing.' In a complete utter panic, and with every intent on running to your dorm room, you forced your phone into the depths of your pocket. You carelessly cut a sharp right, the thoughts in your head running rampant as you headed for your dorm to see what it was exactly your boyfriend wanted to talk about. Your mistake was forgetting to double-check for any people around you before taking off into a sprint. Because now you came into contact with what felt like a slab of concrete in a head-on collision. Everything happened in the blink of an eye. The fresh latte flew from your grasp and tumbled onto the sidewalk, splashing you with its scorching hot liquid mid-process. Your purse fell from off of your arm as you landed flat on your back in front of everyone, and your victim had fallen to the ground with you- wait- on top of you? "I'm so fucking sorry," you hissed at the burning sensation from the drink, but also at the pain you felt from falling onto your back, the contents of your backpack digging into you. Hovering above you was a man dressed in a heather grey tracksuit. In one ear was an earbud, while the other earbud was detached and dangling in your face from the neck slit of his hoodie. A few pieces of his hair fell over his forehead and the sides of his face. You swore you could hear the faintest music pumping through his earbuds. You blinked a few times, unsure if you were seeing things clearly as he pushed himself off of you and held out a hand for you to take. Without another word, or any hesitation whatsoever, you placed your hand into his and he firmly clasped it, pulling you up onto the solid ground. The two of you bumped into each other but you promptly took a step back after you found your equilibrium. "I hope I didn't crush you, are you alright?" "Huh?" your eyelashes fluttered together rapidly, snapping yourself out of the weird trance you were in. The unnamed man chuckled dryly, "are you okay? That was quite a nasty fall. I hope I didn't break you or anything," he said with a hint of amusement in his voice, but overall it seemed that he was genuinely concerned about your well-being. "Oh, yeah, I'll be okay," you said, taking a look at your ruined jacket and shirt that was damp and beginning to grow cold from the latte, "shit." His intense light brown eyes stared down past your feet, examining the spoilt cup of coffee and the rest of the scene itself. "Here," he scooped up your purse from off of the ground for you. You awkwardly accepted your purse from the man and readjusted both straps of your backpack on your shoulders. As he stood in front of you, you couldn't help but stare at him, fully taking in his features. He was tall. Much taller than your boyfriend. His long jaw was sharp and perfectly lined with facial hair. His hair was long and a nice shade of light ash-brown and seemed to be shaved on the sides like an undercut. But, it was hard to tell since locks and strands of his hair were sporadic from the fall. Some pieces of his hair were stuck to his forehead from a thin layer of sweat. It was now that you realized how his chest was rising and falling rather rapidly with quick heavy breaths. It seemed that he'd been on a jog before you came crashing into him, at least it would explain the outfit. "Again, I'm sorry for running into you like a crazy person," you breathed out an anxious breath, "but I have to get going now, I have somewhere to be." You snatched the littered coffee cup from off of the ground and shoved it into the nearest wastebasket as you cleared the scene. You could've sworn that you heard the man calling out to you, but you refused to turn around, leaving him in the same exact spot of the incident. All you wanted to do was get to your dorm, talk to your boyfriend, and change clothes. **************** "Hey babe," you said uneasily as you saw Floch standing outside of your dorm. Floch had his back pressed against the door, his eyes glued to his phone, and his face was expressionless as the blue light fanned over his skin. When he heard your voice, he slowly tucked his phone away into his front pants pocket. Forwarding his attention to you, you opened your arms widely to greet him with a hug, but at the last second, you decided against it due to your damp top. "What the hell happened to you? You look like shit," he said with a slight chuckle as he examined your appearance. His words stung a great amount, causing you to bite at the inside of your lip, but you ignored him. "I fell on my way over here, my latte spilled on me in the process," you groaned, remembering the incident that happened not even ten minutes ago. "Do you want to come inside and talk while I change out of this mess?" You asked, heading for the door with your key. "No, I wanted to make this quick actually," he exhaled uneasily. "Okay," you wrapped your arms around your chest, holding onto yourself tightly. Your pulse quickened at the suspense, and the air around you could be cut with a knife while you waited for him to speak. It felt like an eternity had passed until those dreadful words left his lips. "There's no easy way for me to say this, so I'm just going to come right off the bat by saying that I think we should break up and see other people." Those dreadful words felt like the ripping of a bandaid, that or a complete slap to the face. The horrible predictions you tried to ignore happened to be true. Oh, how you wished you were wrong. You stared at him like a deer caught in headlights, trying to make sure that you heard him correctly. "Wha.. what?" you croaked, your mouth was dry. The silence was deafening, and the ringing sensation buzzed your ears. You watched as Floch's mouth moved, but no words could be heard over the persistent ringing in your ears. Floch gracelessly went for a hug, and even though you wanted to hug him- cling onto him and try to talk things out, he'd already let go of you. The bitter scent of citrus, the smell of him, plagued you and almost brought you to your knees with a wave of emotions following along with it. "I'm sorry," you were finally able to hear him once again. "Floch... can't we just step inside my room and talk things over?" You didn't want to sound like you were begging for him to stay, but you didn't just want to break up as if your relationship meant nothing either. "Are you sure about this?" You and Floch had been dating for not as long as Thomas and Mina were dating, but you two were going to be going on three months whenever the next month arrived. The two of you met on your first day at university, somehow he charmed you in a dorkish-way and the rest was history. And all this time you were thinking that you were in love with him. "(Y/N), it's been fun, but I think we'd just be better off going separate ways," Floch took two steps back as he stared at you, but your eyes weren't on him, but rather at his feet. "Again, I'm sorry for this." The sounds of footsteps grew distant until there was no more sound left, as your eyes stayed nailed to the spot where he once stood. He was gone. For good. You blinked an infrequent amount of times, only being pulled out of your hypnotic state when the sound of people walking down the hall caught your attention. As soon as you looked up to examine the hall, you made contact with some girl who was blatantly staring at you. Ignoring the unknown girl, you turned to your door and fumbled with the lock and key for more than a handful of tries. But eventually, you pushed through the oak door with a breeze you closed it behind you. As soon as you were alone in the dimly lit room is when a wave of emotions overcame you and the tears began rolling uncontrollably.

[bohemianrequiem]

The Tablet of Vesuvius Caper

Despite the holiday season being over, and the crowds of eager tourists that entailed having gone home, security was no less tight that night at the Piazza del Campidoglio. Especially at the Piazza’s flagship building, the Capitoline Museums.

“Which, despite it’s name-“Player’s voice remarked quietly into her ear. “-Is actually only a single museum containing multiple different groups of archeological finds, relics, and artwork. Pretty neat, huh?”

Carmen couldn’t help the smile that pulled at the corners of her lips as she swiftly crossed the distance between two adjacent buildings. Safely in the shadows, she replied, “Extremely.” Her voice silent on the warm wind that blew in from the Mediterranean. “But did you know that the Capitoline Museums are also widely regarded as being one of the first museums in the world after it was opened up to the public by the Pope in 1734?”

“Not bad, Carm. You’ve definitely done your research. Now it’s time to hope the research I did was all correct too. I’ve got the passcode generator fired up, so just get to the Museums’ emergency backdoor and I can make a key to get us in.”

Having gone over the layout of the Piazza and the various buildings that called it home again and again in preparation for this caper, Carmen knew that the door Player spoke of was just a short distance ahead of her. Although it was officially an emergency exit only to be used in case of a fire or similar disaster, it’s purpose tonight would be as their perfect entryway into the Museums unseen.

Or at least, it was meant to be. As Carmen approached the door, she noticed that the passcode protected lock already shone a bright green. Meaning someone had unlocked the door and intentionally left it so, most likely to help speed up their get away.

“Player, we’ve got trouble.” She swung the door open and stepped inside.

“You’re telling me. Cameras are already down, and I’m not the one who turned them off. You’ll be going in blind, Red.” His voice wavered as he spoke. His worry for Carmen’s well-being evident from his warning.

“I’ll manage. You just focus on getting those cameras back online.” As she moved through the Museums back hallway, Carmen wracked her brain for who might have been able to infiltrate the building before her.

El topo and Neal were both out: Topo would have just dug his way in, and Neal would have likely opted for using the ventilation system rather than the backdoor. What about Mime Bomb? Or maybe Tigress? They had both used Dr. Bellum’s technology to gain an edge against her in the past.

“Whoever hacked into the Museum’s security definitely knew their stuff. I can barely find any trace of their online infiltration.” Player remarked. Carmen listened intently for a moment before opening another door that led further into the interior. Now she was passing by walls of centuries old artwork, heading towards the section possessing what both her and VILE were after.

“Are you saying you won’t be able to reactivate it to give us an advantage?” She peered around a corner before proceeding to the archeological relic gallery.

“Never said that Red.” Player’s smirk was practically audible, as a few keystrokes later he snapped his fingers. “Bingo! I’ve reactivated the cameras in the wing you’re headed. And…. oh no.”

Carmen stiffened as she heard the crackle of professional issued radios reverberate off the walls around her. As stealthily as possible, she slipped open the door leading to the archeology wing and closed it shut behind her. “I could hear security in the artwork gallery. Who do you see? Tigress? Le Chevre? The Mime?”

“None of them. It’s somebody I’ve never seen before.” A few moments of silence. “He has it! Carmen, he has the Tablet of Vesuvius!” That’s all Carmen needed to hear. With a sudden burst of speed that threw all caution of being caught to the wind, she rushed into the main viewing room just in time to watch as a man in a bright blue coat gently tuck the treasured tablet away in a rough-spun drawstring bag.

Having heard the sudden commotion, the man looked over his shoulder and shot her a curious half-smile. “Oh, you’re new.” He had neat sideburns stretching down to his bottom jaw, an impeccable black button up, and a contrasting red tie. He wasn’t much taller than Carmen herself but carried about him an air of relaxed confidence. Like he’d done this same thing a hundred times.

“I could say the same for you. Aren’t you a little old to be a new graduate of VILE’s? Or are they having to start calling in the benchwarmers just to keep up with me?” She took a few strides forward, urging the man to keep talking and keep his mind off trying to find a way past her.

“Lady, I’ve honestly got no idea what you’re on about.” He tucked the tablet bag close to his chest, as if he were carrying a small child, and took a few steps backwards from the recently pilfered display case. “What I meant was that you must be a new friend of Pops’. It really warms my heart to see him playing so well with others. A fellow detective trying to track me down, am I right?”

Now it was Carmen’s turn to stare incredulously at the man across from her. “Pops? Who on Earth are you talking about?” He was well within range of her grappling gun. If she could just get a clear shot at the bag, then the tablet would be safely in her hands.

The stranger looked her up and down. “Y’know now that you mention it, you do have significantly better fashion sense than most detectives and private eyes I’ve encountered.” His grip on the sack tightened. “Which can only mean that you’re a rival thief here to steal the same treasure as me.”

Carmen smirked and shrugged her shoulders. “Guilty as charged. Now put the relic back where you got it from before I have to take it from you.”

The male thief quirked an eyebrow. “A thief who steals precious treasures just to return them. What a waste! I, on the other hand, have a much better idea of what to use the tablet for.” Carmen only had a moment’s time to react as he raised his hand in the air. Reflecting off the moonlight streaming in through the windows, her eyes caught a small spherical object between his fingers just as he slammed it down to the floor.

In an instant, the area where the thief had been was rapidly being enveloped by a layer of thick white smoke. “Player!” Carmen called into her earpiece, rushing into the smoke to find any trace of her quarry.

“I’ve got eyes on him. He went out a door at the back of the room leading off the main showroom.” Despite the heavy smoke hampering her vision, her expertly trained eyes cut through it and homed in on the door the thief had absconded through. Without a moment to lose, Carmen rushed towards the door and nearly stampeded over the man on the other side.

Before she could make any kind of comment about having caught up with him so easily, Carmen saw why the man had stopped in his tracks so early on in their chase. Standing halfway through the narrow hallway was a figure dressed up in lime green and black punk rock attire.

“Paperstar.”

“Carmen Sandiego.” Her piercing gaze shifted to the blue coated man beside her. “And associate. I’ll say this once. Hand over the relic and I’ll let you both leave this place. Try to run away and…” She produced a sheet of brightly colored construction paper from a holster on her thigh and deftly folded it into a dangerously accurate looking replica of a shuriken.

The male thief scoffed, pushing his way past Carmen and closer towards the VILE operative. “Or what? You’ll pelt us with your papier-mâché?”

Paperstar frowned. “I’ll do much more than that to you, monkey face.” She reared her hand back and threw the paper shuriken with all her weight behind it.

“Monkey face?! Why do people keep saying-“

“Move!” Carmen tackled him to the ground just as the folded weapon sliced through the space they had previously been occupying. It lodged itself deep into the mahogany door behind them, earning a nervous squeak from the blue sporting thief.

“Crap! Nice save, Red.” He wiggled his way out from underneath Carmen and reached deep within the folds of his blue jacket to produce a small pistol. Just barely had the sound of crinkling paper reached his ears did he notice that Paperstar had now resupplied herself with half a dozen paper shurikens.

“Stop it! Both of you!” While the male thief was still down on one knee, Carmen had already thrown herself back up onto her feet and was yelling in a hushed tone. “If you two go to shooting and throwing things at each other, the guards will be on us in seconds. Then nobody gets the tablet.”

The other two thieves seemed to consider this for a moment. “That tablet belongs to VILE, Carmen. Make this easy on yourself for once and have your henchman give it up.”

“Henchman? I’m nobody’s hired goon, little Miss ‘Papercut’.”

Before further aggravations and taunts could be hurled, Carmen spoke; “The tablet *belongs* in a museum. Not to you, not to VILE, and especially not to this guy.” She glowered down at the thief, eyes shifting to the tablet hidden away inside the drawstring bag in his other hand. “What does VILE even want with such a random piece of Roman history?”

Paperstar shifted uncomfortably on her feet. Perhaps unused to going so long without folding something with her idle hands. “Professor Gunnar simply tells me what to steal and where. I make a point of not asking too many questions, unlike a certain little Black Sheep.”

Now it was the blue coated thief’s turn to interject on Carmen’s behalf. “Maybe I could be of some help in shedding light as to why any of us are interested in this little beauty.” He stood up, pocketed his weapon, and dusted off his jacket’s shoulder pad.

“The Vesuvius Tablet, one of the most famous relics recovered from the site of the ancient Roman city of Pompeii. Famous, in fact, for the depiction of Mount Vesuvius on it’s front and the seemingly indecipherable text on the back. It’s neither Roman nor Greek, not even early Persian or Aramaic.”

“So, it’s in a language nobody’s ever discovered.” Carmen had read up on the history of the tablet. From it’s recovery in 1750, to it’s public release to the Capitoline Museums’ archeological gallery just last year. Despite those countless hours of research, she still couldn’t understand why VILE sought to pillage the item.

“I never said that, Ms. Sandiego.” He smirked, a knowing thing that did little to make her thing the tablet was any better off with the male thief than VILE. “According to some confidential reports from the first excavation team sent by the king of Naples, the Tablet of Vesuvius initially read something like a map. However, the further the tablet was taken away from it’s resting place in Pompeii, the more illegible the words on it became.”

Paperstar chimed in, a giggle playing on her lips. “You don’t seem to know when to shut your mouth, do you, old man? I can help with that.” She shifted a foot backwards, preparing herself for the coming encounter.

“So I’ve been told. I’ll try to keep this short and sweet then.” He lightly jabbed at Carmen with his elbow. “How about you go high and I go low, Red?” He whispered.

“What? But just a minute ago you were the one throwing smoke bombs and running away from me.”

“Yeah, well, seeing as you’re not the one trying to merc me at the moment, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to suggest a team-up. After all, I get the sense you and this girl really don’t care for each other.” The stranger did have a point. After all, the absolute worst Carmen would do is leave him tied up for the proper authorities to find. Paperstar on the other hand….

“You’ve got me there. Let’s move!” Shurikens as deadly as steel sliced through the air as the pair of thieves pressed an advance towards their neon green assailant. With a high jump, Carmen pushed herself off the side of the wall and aimed a kick towards Paperstar’s head.

She dodged but stayed distracted long enough for the blue coated thief to get in close and swipe her legs out from underneath her. “No!” The paper wielder fell flat on her back, with Carmen’s boot soon digging into her gut.

“Too slow, Papercut. Better luck next time?” She quipped. Before Paperstar could spit out the vitriol that was surely brewing between her lips, the communicator on her arm flashed bright green.

“Paperstar,” The voice of Professor Gunnar emanated from it. “Local authorities are en-route to the Museums. It appears a detachment of Interpol is already present on the grounds. This is an Alpha zero-one situation. Vacate the region and return to the isle immediately.”

“Interpol.” The male thief murmured. “Just what I needed.”

“Devineaux.”

“Zenigata.”

The two looked up at each other. “Wait, you have someone from Interpol chasing you?” Carmen probed.

“For the better part of my entire career, yeah. You?”

“Something like that. He’s more of a minor annoyance, but-“

Paperstar’s eye roll was nearly audible. “Wow, great, you two are such besties. Now let me up so I can-“

“Ah, ah, ah. What’s the magic word?” The thief dug into his pocket and retrieved a bundle of cylinders consisting of interlacing bamboo strips. He swiftly set out about attaching them to Paperstar’s fingers, much to her protest. “There, I’d like to see you try and fold paper with your fingers all stuck together.”

“What - CHINESE FINGER TRAPS?!” She raged, only succeeding in making them tighter the more she pulled. “LITERALLY WHY DO YOU HAVE THESE?”

“Oldest trick in the book, kid. Well, the book I just made up in my head, but you get the idea.” He pointed down the hallway. “There’s a stairwell that leads to the roof down this way, Red. Let’s motor and leave our little paper tiger for the cops.”

“Let’s.” Carmen agreed with a smile. They made their down the hallway just as Paperstar finally moved herself into a sitting position against the wall.

“I will find you, Black Sheep! VILE will find you! And when we do, there won’t be anything left for-“

“Jeez, maybe I should have brought one for her mouth too.” The thief opened the door. “Ladies first.”

“You think?” As she slipped by, Carmen carefully slipped the weighty bag from the blue thief’s hand. As he turned around to jeer one last time, he didn’t even seem to notice.

“Toodles, Papercut. See you around!” With the two of them safely within the stairwell, he slammed the door shut. Only then, when Carmen was halfway up the stairs, did he notice he was missing something. “Hey! No fair, I thought we had something going there for a minute!”

“Sorry, but I don’t exactly play well with other thieves.” With the door to the roof now in reach, she slowed and called back behind her. “Speaking of, they don’t usually go this long without at least telling me their name. What’s you?”

The blue jacket wearing thief appeared at the bottom of the stairs and looked up at her, something like anticipation gleaming in his eyes. “My name, Ms. Sandiego? My name is Lupin the Third, grandson of the original gentleman thief, Arsene Lupin. And when I set my eyes on a treasure, I never fail in stealing it.”

“Sorry to disappoint, Lupin, but I think you’ll just have to let this one go.” Carmen placed a hand on the doorknob.

“Real quick, Red. Why do you think these people, the ones you call VILE, are after that tablet? And what’s stopping them from stealing it again later after you’ve left?” He took a few steps up the stairs. “Like I said before, that tablet isn’t just a pretty picture of Mount Vesuvius, it’s intended use is as a map leading to something. Only way to ensure VILE won’t want to steal it again is to steal whatever it leads to, right?”

Carmen wavered. If the tablet really was a map and it lead to some kind of…treasure, then VILE would stop at nothing to get their claws on it. “Okay, Lupin. So what exactly are you suggesting I do with it?”

“Well, seeing as I’m the only one privy as to how the map needs to be decoded, I’d say you can hold onto it for me. Don’t think of it so much as stealing, more like borrowing.” He chuckled. “How about another team-up? You hold onto the tablet, I can show you how to decode the map, and we take whatever VILE would have any interest in stealing. Sound like a plan?”

Player’s voice buzzed in her ear. “Carmen, Interpol forces and local police are surrounding the Museums. Zack and Ivy have the car running, but it might not matter if you hang around too long. How do you wanna play this?”

She debated for only a moment. The man was letting her keep the tablet, so in any case she’d still be coming out on top. He may have been a thief, but he at least seemed earnest about wanting to work together to outset VILE from getting their hands on the relic.

“Okay, fine. My people will talk to your’s and we’ll get a meeting place set up. There, we can decode the map and find whatever it leads to.”

“Music to my ears, Red.” He joined her nearly at the door. “Now, how‘s about we make our escape?” Making sure that the tablet was secure in her hands, Carmen opened the door into the warm Mediterranean night.

Bright spotlights illuminated the entirety of the Museums’ rooftop. From squarely in the center, a man in a dull burgundy trench-coat faced the opening door.

“LUPIN!” He yelled. “I knew you’d be here. You’ve got a lot of nerve coming back to Italy after last year.”

“Pops! So good to see you again after my, shall we say, extended hiatus?”

Carmen quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Long story, I met Leonardo Da Vinci. I’ll tell you next time. You get out of here, I’ll keep the Old Man and Interpol busy.” He winked. “I’ll see when I see you.” And with that, Lupin strutted out to meet Inspector Zenigata as Carmen excused herself to the shadows.

True to his word, the Italian police force seemed much more preoccupied with keeping their sights on Lupin than Carmen herself and she was able to beat a hasty getaway to Zach and Ivy’s waiting vehicle.

“Carm,” Player started once they were safely on the road. “Do you really think that Lupin guy’s legit? How do know anything he’s saying about a treasure map on the Tablet of Vesuvius is true?”

“I’m not sure. He seems earnest enough, but…” Carmen stared at the ancient relic in her hands, turning it over. “Maybe he’s on to something. See if you can turn up anything about those excavation reports he mentioned, the ones from the 18th century.” She checked her watch. “In the morning. You’ve got school tomorrow, right? I can’t have my white hat getting detention any time soon.”

Player grumbled. “Pfft, hackers don’t have bedtimes. While I’m at it, I’ll see what I can find out about this Lupin III guy. He sure seemed to know his stuff.” He shifted on the other end of the call. “Goodnight, Carmen. You did good tonight.”

“You too, Player. Sleep well.” Carmen ended the communication and leaned forward between the two front seats. “Guys, take us back to the hotel. I think it’s time we all got some shut-eye.”

“You got it, Carm. Ivy, get my ‘Post-caper tunes to rock out to’ playlist started. I’m going to merge.”

~~~~

“So, Lupin, you really think she’s the real deal?” Jigen hung a hand outside of the Fiat 500’s passenger window, gently shaking off the ash from the still burning end. He returned it to his lips and took a long drag. “She better be, seeing as you gave up the relic just to earn her trust.”

Beside him, Lupin thoughtfully scrolled through a number of news articles on his cellphone. “‘La femme rouge’, the red woman. She breaks, she enters, and apparently, she steals before others can. She’s done some impressive work.” He laid down his phone, reaching into the backseat to procure a book recently pilfered from a private collection. “I believe this could be the start of a beautiful friendship, or at least a mutually beneficial one.”

“And how about Pops? Was he happy to see you again?”

“As a clam. I gave him the old runaround, then borrowed a uniform from an extremely unfortunate Interpol agent at the scene and slipped away. Poor soul, was not a good day to wear the underwear with the hearts on them.” The two shared a chuckle. Jigen snuffed out his flame, just in time to help Lupin light one of his own.

“Now, what’s this about a treasure you were telling Red all about? You know I’m always down to get our hands on something shiny, but I’d at least like to know what kind of scheme you're cookin' up” Jigen pulled his lighter away from Lupin’s cigarette, giving him a few moments to take a couple starting puffs.

“Old pal, have I got a story for you.” He propped the book up on the steering wheel and turned a number of pages in. “And this one’s called ‘The legend of the Tomb of Hercules.’”

[quillomens]

Fic: The Cottage, the Godson

Slightly bittersweet fluff from my sinfully fluffy Cottage series that gets scribbled in notebooks when I have four free minutes or in ten minute bursts between commission chapters.  Read it here on Ao3

Harriet Downing stood outside the tiny bookshop in Alfistron Village with an air of uncertainty. The windows were filled with books, mostly lovingly used paperbacks, and beautiful potted plants were arranged artfully outside the door.  The only thing that made it stand out among the shops of the picturesque square was the carefully handwritten sign in the window that read “Large Snake in Residence.” Which was…a bit ominous.

“You’re sure this is it?” she asked, turning to look fondly at her son.  Warlock had shot up recently, and he seemed to be made of an unnecessary number of elbows and knees, but the sight of him made her heart ache in a gentle echo of the first time she’d ever seen him, thirteen years and a few precious months before.  

Warlock looked up. “Yeah.  They said it’d be the one with the snake and the wings.”  He pointed up at the wooden sign.  The shop didn’t appear to have a name, just as it somehow hadn’t been listed on the village website.  He grinned, a flash of boyish joy that was far too rare these days. “This is the place!”   He rushed forward with unaccustomed enthusiasm and all but kicked open the door, calling out as he did the names of two people he loved as a bell jangled merrily over his head.

It hurt, though it shouldn’t.  More people to love Warlock was good, she was blessed their old gardener and nanny had kept in touch after their retirement.  But, oh, where were the rolling eyes and the hunched shoulders and suspicious looks he turned on her all day?

Harriet sighed and straightened up.  Warlock was a teenager going through a difficult time, and she was the primary caregiver (and therefore primary target) in his life.  He’d work through it!

She hoped.

She stepped into the little shop just in time to see Warlock throw his arms around the chest of a tall, thin redhead who could only be Nanny Ashtoreth – if Nanny had been more given to tailored slacks and expensive looking silk blouses rather than tailored suits.  And most unfamiliar – Harriet had often chattered with Ashtoreth, but she’d never seen the wide, bright, smile that lit up the sharp features, disarmingly charming. She looked so much more happy than the Ashtoreth Harriet knew.

But the sunglasses were there, and the red hair curled into the familiar 1940s design.  

“Much too tall,” she was saying to Warlock in her careful burr.  “You’ve nearly caught up to Francis.”

“Is he here?” Warlock asked eagerly.  “I knew you two had run away together  Nobody would listen!  Said Francis was out of your league!”

Harriet hid a laugh behind her hand.  She could still remember his serious face two years earlier, his claim that the homely gardener and the fierce nanny were “really in love no matter what Nanny says” and had run off to elope.  No one had taken him seriously until the letters started coming.  He didn’t share them with anyone, save the first few with Harriet so she wouldn’t worry (he could be a sweet boy), but it had been clear from the beginning that, though writing separately, each wrote so freely of the other that they must be close.

Ashtoreth looked almost – was that – shy?!  Harriet had never imagined such a thing!  She’d expected a sharp quip about just how far out of her league Francis was.  Instead she looked like, were she any other woman, she would have been blushing.  “He went to get some things for tea, my dear. He’ll be back in a moment.”  She lifted her head then and her smile turned polite instead of startling as she said, “Good afternoon, Ms. Dowling.  Did your trip go well?”

“Yes, no problems.” Harriet smiled back.  They’d gotten on well enough, during Ashtoreth’s years working for the Dowlings.  She came across as severe, but she had always been scrupulously fair (if rather odd) in her treatment of Warlock, and there had been a few times when Harriet had seen under the serious exterior to a sharp and witty sense of humor underneath.  “It’s…it’s terribly kind of you to invite us.”  

That was an understatement, all things considered.  They had agreed, at Warlock’s urging, to let him stay with them in their cottage near the ocean for a full week while Harriet dealt with paperwork and lawyers and her own aching heart.  

Ashtoreth looked a bit uncomfortable at that, and she opened and closed her mouth as if not knowing quite what to say, but the jingle of the bell saved her from answering.  A man with familiar white-blond hair came bustling through the door with a basket in his hands.  “Oh dear,” he said in an odd voice before it fell into the more familiar broad accent, “I did hope I’d beat you back.”

Harriet blinked. She rubbed an eye.  She looked again.  

“Brother Francis?” she asked, confused, even as Warlock said, “You weren’t kidding he looks different!” to Ashtoreth.  

Francis smiled at her beatifically.  Gone were the yellowed teeth and the fluffy sideburns and the strange smock.  Instead he wore a comfortable cabled jumper in pale blue and tailored trousers.  Only the scuffed shoes and mess of short curls were the same.  

“Of course, dear,” Ashtoreth said blithely.  “If we were to be seen in public together, there had to be certain improvements.”  

Francis shot her a mildly reproachful look but she just smiled that sharp smile at him as he set his basket on the table in the open room.  “Good afternoon, Ms. Dowling!  And our young lad!”

Warlock walked forward, hand out for a polite shake, only to squawk as the plump man pulled him into a hug that looked like a solid 15 on a 1-10 hug scale.  Harriet didn’t remember him being particularly physically affectionate.  “Aye, it’s good to see you, young Warlock!  You’ve been rememberin’ all I taught ya?”

“Most of it,” Warlock said, and Harriet didn’t miss the way he briefly went still, just as he did in her arms, before pulling away to maintain appearances.  “And Nanny too.”  

“Give me two shakes of a lamb’s tail to unpack,” Francis said cheerfully, “and we’ll have a lovely tea. Do you have any luggage?”

Warlock rebooted for a moment before squawking and rushing outside to get the bags he’d left on the cobblestones out front.  Francis chuckled and moved – somehow still bustling – through a door and into a small kitchenette.  The shop didn’t seem large enough for a kitchenette from the outside, but she was no architect.  

It felt so warm here.  So cozy.

Loved, she thought, and felt tears press at her eyes. She wanted a home that felt this way. She’d never had it.  And here Ashtoreth and Francis had managed it in their little bookshop.  Their home must be downright perfect.

She met Ashtoreth’s glasses and said, softly, “Thank you,” while Warlock couldn’t hear.  “It’s been so difficult-”

“Life often is,” Ashtoreth said sharply.  The door jangled but seemed to be stuck – Harriet could hear Warlock cursing on the other side.  “But you will work through it and rise above.”  She said the words as if they were fact, written somewhere in gold letters on marble. In that moment Harriet, who had been prey to tears and uncertainty for so long over her decision to break her son’s family in half, believed her.  She wiped a tear away with half a smile.  

Ashtoreth crossed to the door but paused with her hand on the shaking handle.  “You’re very brave,” she said, and something soft crossed her face. “It’s difficult to leave the past behind and start over.”  

She opened the door and let Warlock in, easily taking the smaller of his bags and explaining how they’d get it down the lane to their cottage.  Francis set the table with a beautiful antique china set and tea from a large, piping hot thermos.  There were cookies and little sandwiches and some cakes, all clearly bought nearby.  

Harriet sipped her tea and nibbled cucumber sandwiches as she watched her beautiful boy chattering and laughing with his nanny and gardener.  He talked about school and his friends and his games – the last of which Ashtoreth knew a surprising amount about.  He never once mentioned home, and neither did Harriet.  

It was Francis who kept Harriet neatly in the conversation, asking about her work and the trip over with her and Warlock.  Her son had even laughed when she told the story of the debacle at airport security, when she’d finally discovered she somehow had a dime in her bra. He’d acted horrified at the time, as if she’d meant to embarrass him on purpose, but now he laughed along with the others, dark eyes alight.

Oh, she’d missed this boy.  When had she seen him last?  It had to be months.  And it was all because of her, being selfish, wanting something better.  Maybe she should have waited until he was eighteen? Maintained his stability?  But what if Thad raised a hand to Warlock one day, as he had to her?  What if-

Soft fingers squeezed hers.  She startled and looked at Francis, who winked at her almost roguishly.  “I never know what she’s going on about with these games of hers,” he said, lifting his hand away.  “I know they like to get you to spend money on buying pretend money. She’s especially proud of that.”

“Proud?”

“Ah-oh, nothing, nothing.” He waved a hand.  Harriet was reminded of a number of odd non sequiturs she’d heard from him over the years.  “Does Warlock need watching on that count?”

“No, but only because we’ve cut off access,” Harriet admitted., but she hasted to add:  “He’s really a good boy, Brother Francis, it’s just been-it’s been hard for him.  He’s angry and scared.”  

Francis hummed quiet agreement.  “And you?” he asked kindly.  He’d always been so kind, almost unnaturally so, in the same way Ashtoreth was always almost comically severe.  

She opened her mouth to say she was fine, just fine, that’s what everyone wanted to hear when they asked how you were, after all.  Nobody wanted a woman to fall apart, to talk about her husband’s affairs or his absences or the time he nearly hit her because he was so tense about his job. No one wanted to see a woman cry while she admitted she’d failed as a wife and she was struggling as a mother and everything, everything felt too hard right now.  

But somehow, instead, she said, lower lip trembling, “Much the same.”

Francis nodded seriously. He glanced across the table at Ashtoreth who was, with unfamiliar animation, arguing the finer points of Minecraft fan-made content with Warlock, and his smile was so soft that it ached under Harriet’s ribs.  “We recently left behind everything,” he said quietly, voice pitched for her ears only. “Not just our jobs, though we knew Cr-Ashtoreth wouldn’t be needed much longer; you’d kept her on longer than we thought you would.  But our . . . families.  We had to, to move on.  To have this. Something better.”  He looked into Harriet’s eyes, and something unfamiliar warmed her from within.  “I won’t betray the confidences of Warlock’s letters, but he does understand why you’ve made this choice.  And though he can’t say it . . .” they both looked across at the boy, who glanced back at them questioningly, “he believes you and he will find a better life.  And so do I.”

The tears came. She tried to hide them, because this wasn’t the time or place, but they fell of their own accord, warm and wet down her cheeks.  She grabbed one of the soft napkins to hide behind, successfully stifling any sound. She had made the decision for both of them, because she loved Warlock and didn’t love Thaddeus.  She hadn’t, not for a very long time.  Maybe not since she found herself, all alone, in a hospital in Tadfield.  

“Mum?”   He sounded like a little boy.

Harriet rubbed hard at her face and lowered the napkin, wobbly smile in place.  “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to get upset.” She stood up.  “Thank you so much for the tea, but I must be going.  I’m sure it’s just lack of sleep.  I’ll be right as rain after a night in the hotel.”

Ashtoreth’s soft voice held something like a hiss, and Harriet barely heard it.  “Be honesssst.”

Warlock bit his lip, looked away, squirmed in his chair, and then jerked to his feet.  He shuffled three steps before crossing the last bit of distance at a run and wrapping his arms around his mother’s waist.

Harriet almost hesitated before wrapping her own arms around him and pressing her eyes against his soft hair.  “Warlock?” she asked shakily.

“It’s okay, Mom,” he said.  “I’ll be okay here.  You won’t have to worry about me.  And I’ll-” he stopped, cleared his throat.  “I’ll miss you.”

Harriet smiled and gave him a final squeeze as he pulled away.  “I’ll miss you too,” she said, and the tears were there but hidden away behind something that could be like peace.  She looked across at the two odd people who had agreed to help them when her own parents berated her for divorcing and wouldn’t take them in. They stood together, arms around each other’s waists, not-quite-watching and instead smiling at each other in a way that felt like a couple who had been married for sixty years and still found comfort in the other’s eyes.

She could have a chance at that.  She could start over, and try again, no matter what her parents had to say about it.  

 “Now be good,” she said, and Warlock sighed and rolled his eyes and acted terribly insulted, and Francis laughed and Ashtoreth led her out the door and made sure she had transportation to where she needed to be, and Warlock squeezed her hand one more time as she left with a tin of cookies and a book to read on the road and a sincere, “You should stay a couple of days as well, when you get back” that she was going to seriously consider.

There was laughter as the door closed behind her and she heard Warlock say, “So how far are you guys from the beach?”

Harriet stopped and took a deep breath.  

She could do this. She wasn’t alone.  

She smiled to herself.

God did sometimes send the unlikeliest of angels, when you needed them most.

[fanfic-she-wrote]

A Mermaid’s Heart (Captain Hook x Reader)

No smut, lots of fluff. This story was requested by an anon. Hope you like it! I really enjoyed writing this. Hook has been one of my favorite characters since I was little. :)

The night was unusually calm as the moon glistened over the waters of Mermaid Lagoon, where you sat relaxing on a rock happily enjoying the peace and quiet. There were no signs of Peter Pan or any of the lost boys around. They often visited you and your sisters, which they seemed to enjoy. You on the other hand did not. You were not overly fond of the boisterous Peter Pan, always bragging about his adventures around Neverland, especially about the day he cut off Captain Hook’s hand. That story was always popular. While your sisters feared the notorious Captain Hook, you were curious. The more Pan talked about him, the more curious you became.

You thought back to the first time you saw Hook a few days ago. Your curiosity had gotten the better of you, so you decided to venture over to Pegleg Point in the hopes of catching a glimpse of him…little did you know you’d get more than that.

You never saw him before and wanted to know what was so intimidating about him. As you swam closer, you saw his ship and were surprised at the enormity of it.

You settled on a nearby rock by the beach, carefully watching from a safe distance. You saw many crewmen on the deck, mostly just lounging around drinking and doing their best to stay occupied. You scanned up and down the ship for someone who resembled the descriptions you heard. Sometimes they varied depending who it was from. Pan’s chosen words were that he was old and ugly. Others said he was very scrawny and tall, like a skeleton.

You waited for what seemed like an eternity, and just as you were about to give up and go home, you saw him. A man with long black hair that went just below his shoulders, wearing a long red coat, and a sword hanging from his waist immerged from the cabins and onto the deck. What gave his identity away most of all was the hook he had for a hand. Quite the contrary, you thought he was actually quite handsome. Nothing at all like what the others described. You had expected someone way older, but this man was only 35 at the most. Pan clearly exaggerated, as he probably did with most of his stories. Hook had an air of sophistication about him that made him all the more intriguing. You watched him intently as he walked up to the helm and stood there proudly, looking out over the waters surrounding his ship.

You couldn’t take your eyes off him. You watched him for several more minutes, before deciding to head home not wanting your family to worry. You had wandered off many times before, but never to any place like Pegleg Point and you usually had a companion. This time you were all on your own and you enjoyed every second of it. You loved the feeling of independence.

Before you could make it very far however, you heard canon fire in the distance. You popped your head back up to the surface and saw smoke emanating from Hook’s ship. You looked closer and saw a green silhouette zooming in and out between the masts. You rolled your eyes. It was Pan. Who apparently decided today was a good day to pester poor Captain Hook. You could hear lots of shouting and swearing coming from the crew and even Hook himself, nearly drowning out Peter Pan’s mischievous laughter.

“Fire!” You heard the Captain shout and then another blast, but instead of hitting the boy, it hit one of the spars sending shards of wood flying in all directions. You watched in shock as it toppled over onto the deck. Pan acted like this was all some kind of game!

“Pan!” You hear Hook yell out. “I’ll get you if it’s the last thing I do!”

“You’ll never get me!” Peter teased, flying in circles around the Captain. Hook pulled out his sword and swung violently at him, but Pan was faster than him and darted out of the way, snatching Hook’s hat from off his head as he went, and placing it atop his own, mocking him. From the corner of your eye you saw something swim past you. It was large and green, and an odd ticking noise was emanating from it. Pan also seemed to notice it, promptly calling out, “Hey Hook! Your friend Mr. Crocodile is here to see you!” Hook stopped and looked behind him, his eyes widening in terror. “Oh no!” He shrieked, recoiling and dropping his sword.

“Aww, look! He missed you.” Pan taunted, pointing to the crocodile who was happily wagging its tail, giving it a dog like appearance. Hook backed away closing his eyes, and blocking his ears not wanting to hear the clock ticking. “Cap’n! Look out!” A man called out, but it was too late. Hook tripped over a barrel of gunpowder and fell backwards over the railing. You had to do something. You swam over there as fast as you could, trying to reach Hook before the croc did.

You could hear crewmen desperately shouting from above for their Captain. When you reached him, you found him slowly sinking to the bottom, unconscious. You scooped him up in your arms and quickly pulled him up to the surface being careful not to let go. “Cap’n!” A man gasped from the deck. You looked up and saw a man with white sideburns and a red hat. “Is he ok?!” He asked you. But you didn’t have time to answer, the crocodile was headed your way and it was licking its chomps. Holding the Captain close, you swam off towards the shore, hoping that you were faster than the beast that was chasing you.

You were so close now, you could feel the water getting shallower, but the croc was gaining on you. You could hear the ticking getting louder, and louder. You looked behind you just in time to see it open its jaws. You leapt out of the way, pulling Hook with you, just as its jaws shut with a deafening snap. With one last kick, you reached the shore, carefully placing Hook down on the soft, warm sand. But you still weren’t safe. Determined to ward off this creature, you turn around and face it glaring down into its yellow eyes. While you weren’t as powerful as your mother, you could still do some magic. You focused all your strength on the water around you and lifted your hand up directing the motion towards the crocodile. Suddenly, a huge wave swept over it sending it flying backwards away from you and Hook. You sighed in relief as you watched the crocodile swim away.

Behind you, you heard coughing. You turned around and saw Hook, sitting up coughing up some water. You stared at him, wondering whether you should see if he’s alright or if you should leave. Surely, someone was going to come and get him. “W-who are you?” He asked, before you could decide. You hadn’t planned on this. All you wanted was a look… “I’m Y/N.” You replied in a soft voice. He smiles.

“What a pretty name.” Hook says.

You blushed and looked away. “Thank you.”

“No, my dear, thank you.”

“For what?” You looked back over, curiously.

“Saving me.”

“Oh! Well, it was the right thing to do. I couldn’t just let that crocodile get you.” You saide, shocked. Wouldn’t anyone else have done that? Helping or saving someone just seemed natural to you. He shivered at the thought of the crocodile.

“I saw what you did. That was amazing!” He said, referring to the wave you made. To you that was nothing, especially compared to your mother. She would have obliterated that old croc.

“Thank you. Hopefully he won’t bother you for a while. Wish I could do something about Peter Pan.” You replied.

“Me too.”

“Why does he bother you like that?” You asked. He just shrugs and doesn’t say anything. For now, you supposed, that would remain a mystery. Perhaps, he didn’t trust you enough yet.

“Oh, forgive me. I forgot to introduce myself.” He says, getting up and brushing himself off as best he could. He didn’t really need to introduce himself, but you humored him anyway. Bowing down he said, “I’m Captain James Hook.”  

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Captain.” And indeed, it was a pleasure. You could only hope he felt the same.

“What brings a beautiful mermaid such as yourself, all the way over here? Mermaids don’t really visit this area.” Hook asked, curiously. He called you beautiful. You heart was beating so fast you thought it would beat out of your chest.

“Uh…I was just curious to see what was beyond Mermaid Lagoon.” You quickly lie. He raised his eyebrow, unsure whether he believed you or not.  Not sure what to say, you awkwardly looked over your shoulder just in time see a rowboat coming your way with a few pirates onboard. You had to get out of there and fast.

“I should go.” You said, diving into the water.

“Wait! When can I see you again?!” Hook called out, running after you.

“Soon, I promise!” And with that, you dove under the water and swam away. When you looked back at the beach once you swam far enough away, you saw Hook climb into the rowboat with the assistance of the man in the red hat you saw earlier. Once you were sure he was fine you went home. You only went back there once after that, but unfortunately Hook was nowhere to be seen. Disappointed, you hadn’t been back there since.

As you lay there staring up into the stars, deep in thought and close to sleep, you hear a voice call out to you in the night, making you jump.

“Hello, Y/N! What are you doing up at this hour?” You open your eyes and look up, and see Dione, your eldest sister swimming towards you.

“Just enjoying the peace and quiet.” You reply, settling back down.

“I see.” She says. “I thought maybe you went to Pegleg Point again?” Your eyes widened for a moment. How did she know?

“I haven’t been to Pegleg Point.” You calmly answer as best as you can.

“Don’t lie to me. I’ve been watching you.” Dione said, swimming over to you. “What I want to know is, why?” She asks. You say nothing and lie there in silence. “Has someone struck your fancy?” You blush and look away, so your sister doesn’t see. “Who is it?” She insists.

“Just because you’re the eldest doesn’t mean you have to know everything.” You snap.

“I’m just concerned. They’re pirates.” She says, a genuine hint of concern in her voice.

You sigh, giving in. “Yes...”

“Who?” She asks, curiously.

“Captain Hook.” You respond. She gasps, horrified. “You stay away from him!”

“Why?”

“Because he’s the most dangerous pirate of them all. You know that.”

“I don’t think he’s as bad as everyone says he is.” You argue.

“Y/N, please, stay away from him…If you don’t, I’ll tell mother.” Dione says, seriously.

“Do what you have to do, but I’m not going to live in fear like the rest of you.” You say.

She sighs. “I just care about you. You’re my sister.”

“I know. I understand. It’s late. Go to bed, Dione. I’ll be along in a few minutes. I just want to enjoy the night a little while longer.” You say, taking a deep breath. Dione hesitates for a moment before wishing you goodnight and disappearing below the lagoon.

You sigh and lay back down, feeling disheartened. Now you’d never get a chance to see Hook again. If only you could convince your sister that she was wrong about him.

Suddenly, you heard something move in the water behind you. You turn around but see nothing. “Probably just a fish…” You mumble, shrugging it off. Just as you were about to leave, and join your sister, someone called out your name. Realizing who the voice belonged to your heart skipped a beat. You turned back around and saw Hook in a rowboat coming towards you. You smile for a brief moment at the sight of him. You hadn’t expected to see him here and were afraid of what would happen if you were caught.

“What are you doing here?” You whisper as he pulls up next to you.

“I had to see you again. I knew this is where you’d be.” Hook answers.

“You shouldn’t be here!” You say in a hushed tone, looking around to make sure no one was watching.

“Why not?”

“If my sister or my mother saw you, we’d both be in trouble.”

“Why? Is it because I’m a pirate?” He asks you. You fall silent.

“I’m sorry...” You wanted to cry. You were from two different worlds. It wouldn’t have worked out anyway, you told yourself.

“Y/N?”

You looked up at him, into his deep blue eyes, and found yourself entranced in them. “I’m not afraid. We’ll find a way.” He assures you, his voice sounding very serious and sincere.  

“I wish it didn’t have to be like this. I’d rather be with you on your ship.” You confess.

You both fall silent for a moment, looking up into the stars, as they shined down on the two of you. “There’s a legend that the stars are the ancestors of the fairies.” You tell him.

“I didn’t know that.”

“Not many people do although I’m sure they all have their own legends about them.”

“What about your people?” Hook asks turning to you.

“We study them the same as humans. There is one legend of a man in Neverland who taught the merpeople of all his astronomical knowledge and fell in love with a mermaid.” You explain.

“What happened to him?” The pirate asks, eager to learn more.

“The mermaid he fell in love with was a powerful queen, her powers were far greater than mine. She turned him into a merman, and they married.” You finish.

“Interesting! Is that it?”

“There’s some other legends…but I don’t think I have time to tell you them all.” You say, looking around.

“Then perhaps tomorrow night? I’d like to hear more.” He asks. You bite you lip, unsure. After taking a minute to contemplate you happily agree. “But not here…and not at Pegleg Point.”

“What about Skull Rock?” He asks.

“That place is kind of spooky.” You say with a shiver.

“I’ve been there. It’s really not that bad. Also, we’ll be alone.” He points out, with a mischievous smile. No one would suspect anything if you went there. “Okay!”

“Excellent! I’ll see you there tomorrow night, same time.” He leans towards you and scoops up your hand, pressing his lips against it. You could have sworn your heart stopped.

“Till we meet again, Y/N.”

“I can’t wait.” You say, hoping you’re not blushing as much as you think you are. You watched him as he sails away disappearing into the distance.

When you arrive home, you go straight to your room and lie on your bed. As you lay there, your thoughts are filled with your time spent with Hook. You couldn’t stop thinking about how you felt when he kissed your hand. Nobody ever did that. You just couldn’t wait to see him again. You didn’t care whether anyone approved, nobody was going to stop you from seeing him. Slowly, you fell asleep thinking of the pirate that didn’t just steal treasure, but your heart as well.

[memory-bees]

Your Only Crime Is That You Got Caught

Chapter: I Warning: Cheating Pairing: Dar-Bit I suppose Authors Note: I'm gonna try and make this story a little longer.. Also the title is from The Mighty Fall by Fall Out Boy, and it might change later. Word Count: 1,674

——

Two-Bit groaned as he woke up. His head was pounding, and the room smelt like sweat. He felt the blankets shift next to him and he looked over. He was ready to see Darry next to him, but felt his heart stop when he saw a head full of long blonde hair instead of short brown hair.

He quickly sat up and checked under the covers, nothing happened. He was sure of it, he had just stumbled in here and passed out then the chick did the same, that's all. He swallowed when he realized he didn't have his pants on.

Fuck. Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

He stumbled out of bed and scrambled to grab his boxers. He had just finished pulling them on when the woman spoke.

"Leaving so soon?" She asked, her voice low and sultry.

Two-Bit swallowed and nodded, grabbing his jeans and nearly tripping while pulling them on. "Yes. This was a mistake, and I'm a fucking idiot," he muttered. He started to zip up his pants and button them up, he just wanted to get the hell out.

The woman laughed and said, "You weren't saying that last night."

Two-Bit felt his neck get hot as he started to get mad. He whipped around and snapped, "Look lady, I'm dating somebody. This. Was. A. Mistake." He glared at her before grabbing his shirt and pulling it on.

The blonde finally shut up and started looking for her own clothes. After a minute or so he pulled on his boots and grabbed his jacket, slipping it on before rushing out of the room.

His mind was going a million miles an hour, and all of his thousands of thoughts were about the man he had betrayed. He didn't deserve Two-Bit. He deserved someone who wouldn't get so drunk they forgot about him and slept with someone else. He deserved someone so much better than him. He deserved the world, and he had settled for a fucking cheat.

As he walked he found himself in front of the Curtis' household. Sunday, Darry'd be home, and judging on the sun in the sky, he'd be awake too. How was he going to face him? Should he even bring it up? It was an accident, why the hell should he bring it up?

He sighed and dragged himself up the stairs and to the front door. He stepped in, surprised to find no one in the living room. He swallowed his nerves and walked to Darry's room. When he reached the door his hand hesitated over the door handle before turning it and carefully pushing the door open.

He bit his lip when he saw him sleeping peacefully. The light flooding in from the hallway highlighted his face, making him look ethereal. Two-Bit hit his head against the wall, how could he have been so fucking stupid? Darry deserved more.

He studied the sleeping man for a minute before tip toeing his way into the room. He bit his lip and carefully sat on the bed. He winced when Darry woke up a bit. Two-Bit smiled at him as his eyes blinked open, revealing his pretty ice colored eyes. He was so perfect, he deserved someone much better than him.

After the brunet woke up a bit more he smiled back at Two-Bit. "Hey, love." He voice was rough and deep from sleep and it made Two-Bit melt.

Why did he have to be such an idiot? He sighed softly and ran a hand over the brunet's head. "Lazy day?" He asked, smiling at the content hum the other man let out.

Darry simply nodded and leaned into the touch. They both lapsed into a comfortable silence with Two-Bit playing with the older man's hair. He studied his face and wondered to himself what he had done to deserve him, especially when he was such a shitty boyfriend. The brunet was starting to doze off when he opened his eyes and smiled up at Two-Bit.

"You should lay down with me." He murmured before closing his eyes again.

The younger man hesitated for a second before scooting back on the bed, kicking off his boots and laying down behind Darry. He pulled him close to his chest, burying his face in his lover's shoulder. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he didn't have to tell Darry about his little affair. It was an accident, wasn't it? He felt bad about it too, why would he hurt Darry by telling him if he already regretted it?

He smiled to himself and kissed the man's back. He wouldn't say anything. It was a secret he'd take to his death. He sighed and closed his eyes, letting himself get lost in the warmth and the peacefulness of the room.

  Dally was pissed. He couldn't believe it. He had been sat in his room boiling in his rage since the night before. He hadn't slept either, which probably wasn't help him think about this rationally. He had snapped at everybody who tried to walk into his room, mostly drunken couples who sight made his blood run even hotter.

He was about to yell at the door again when it opened to reveal Buck. He bit his tongue when he saw the cowboy and slumped back into his pillow. Buck cocked an eyebrow and walked into the room, letting the door fall shut behind him.

He studied the kid for a second before walking over and sitting at the foot of the bed. They were both quiet and Buck could feel the anger Dallas was sitting in. The air was stiff enough to nearly choke him.

"So, what is it?" He asked. He leant his arms on his knees and looked up at Dally, watching him cross his arms.

The blond muttered something and slumped his shoulders, a good sign that he was about to blow up. Buck sighed and took off his hat, rubbing the rim between his thumb and pointer finger. He could never understand this kid, but he reckoned no one else really could either. He was a safe chock full of emotions and thoughts, and Dally refused to tell anybody the code to his lock. Buck didn't mind though, the kid had been through shit and he didn't want to talk about it. It was fine.

After a few more minutes of silence Buck was about ready to give up and walk back down to the bar when the kid spoke, his voice dripping with poison.

"Two-Bit cheated on Dar."

Those words made Buck pause. Two-Bit didn't seem the type. He always bragged about Darry, and he dragged him over to the bar to show him off a couple of times too. The thought of him cheating didn't seem right.

"Are ya sure? It could've been someone el-"

Dallas cut him off, finally blowing up. "No! It was Two-Bit fucking Mathews! Who else has those fucking stupid sideburns?!" He stood up and started pacing around the room, pushing over the chair he used for a nightstand, "He was sweet talkin' this blonde and they fucked, Buck! How do you do that?! Especially to Darry god damn Curtis?" He was pacing around the room, the rage that filled him pulsing out of him and filling the room. His yelling had attracted a crowd outside the door, faint whispers coming from it.

Buck glared at the crowd before asking, "Are you serious, Dal? Two-Bit just doesn't seem the type.."

Dallas paused and glared daggers at the man, his look mean enough to kill. "I know what I fucking saw, Buck." He hissed. His hands were fists by his side, and he looked about ready to punch another hole in the wall.

Buck sighed and spoke again, "Well, if you're so sure about it, what do you wanna do about it?" He asked, popping his old hat back onto his head.

Dally paused. The energy in the room became stagnant, thickening and changing into something other than rage. He was still mad, unbelievably so, but he also felt sympathetic for once in his God damn life. He knew what it was like to be cheated on, although he couldn't really blame Sylvia. She was a nice girl who just didn't want to wait around for a bum like him. And he also knew how much he hated how Sylvia always waited to tell him she had cheated on him again until the last minute.

He let out an irritated sigh and picked up the chair, he sat down on it and started bouncing his foot. He figured Two-Bit had been drunker than ever to be able to cheat on Darry, but he also knew you just didn't cheat on people. Even if you were drunk.

When he made up his mind he looked up to tell Buck, but paused when he saw the old cowboy had left the room. He shook his head and stood up, grabbing his leather jacket and shrugging it on. He made his way out of the room, ignoring the whispers and stared he got from the peanut gallery that had gathered outside his room.

He did look up though when he heard Buck laugh a bit behind the bar. He glanced over, expecting to find some chick sweet talking him. He glared a bit though when he saw Buck was smiling at him and shaking his head.

"What?" He snapped. His hands were shoved in his pockets and he started tapping his foot impatiently.

Buck shrugged and turned away from him. He started putting away clean glasses and Dally walked out of the room. As he walked towards the Curtis' household the rage he had felt earlier slowly started to seep back into his veins. Two-Bit Mathews was a fucking dumbass, and he was going to make sure Darry knew that.

He rolled his shoulders as he reached the front door to the house. He took a small breath and pushed open the front door.

——

Tag List

@ponyboyvhs @g-a-y-b-a-c-o-n @thequeendesi @golden-sun-rises @reddieformileven @cherryswitchblade @sizzlingponyalmond @liam-thewhore-senshi @lovingderika @daviddobriksleftnut @staygoldponebone @meggels921 @insanitycaver @theoutsidies @yadayadayadahuman

[calicosjinx]

Day 4: Secret Crush 😱

@kyluxromanceweek I did it again. I wrote something 😵

Day 4: Secret Crush

Theres always a mixture feelings and thoughts filling the room around Kylo Ren. Honestly at this point he was used to hearing it all. Things that ranged from disbelief and disgust that he was the new Supreme Leader, boredom, fear, worry, intrigue, and nowadays senses of hope. Hope that maybe. Just... MAYBE the First Order would finally crush the Resistance once and for all. The Supreme Leader and the General had been getting along better after all. Not great but well enough if all the private meetings Kylo had been calling between the two was anything to go on. Which it could be.

Kylo called them to spend more time with Hux and Hux seemed to enjoy actually talking and being around Kylo. Having his full attention and now not having to be worried about being thrown or hurt with the force by his hands. Kylo to this day still could not make up for that enough.

But suddenly a feeling hit Kylo Ren so hard he nearly fell out of his chair.

It began a little while after General Hux rose from his seat and walked around the table to front of the room. This made him the center of attention, a position Hux had seemed to love with a passion. He began going over a few outlines for an ideal strike and Kylo has been actually listening. But then someone else’s yearning and desire began radiating around him. It was just...oozing out in thick in waves and growing more intensely. The admiration and want was so strong that it left Kylo Ren feeling edgy and more explosive than entirely necessary.

This person. This...unworthy being wanted, of all the people they could’ve possibly chosen, General Hux.

Apparently this officer found Hux’s eyes to be captivating. Otherworldly as they’re flashing in the blue glow of the holo-images of blueprints Hux has provided for a new weapon. They think Hux’s hair more beautiful than a Tatooine’s sunset (as if they’ve ever really seen it). That his golden eyelashes are magnificent. His faint freckles. This person was even captivated by Hux’s damn sideburns (not that Kylo could blame them.) All this Kylo could tolerate.

What he canNOT tolerate are the images that come to the person’s mind when Hux lifts his hand to point out focal points in his blueprints. The moment this fucker sees Hux’s wrist and hears the way Hux’s voice begins to change with the excitement of his ingenious plan, their mind becomes a frenzy. A very x-rated frenzy.

By now Kylo’s jaw is to the right he can feel his teeth grinding and he’s so angry a few items behind him are beginning to vibrate. A glass cup scattered somewhere. How dare this person? How dare this mere officer. This useless, lowly mutt of a creature want General Hux?

Want his Hux?! Yes that is correct HIS Hux. Hux just... didn’t know that yet. No one knew that yet because Kylo hadn’t gotten around to actually telling Hux how he felt but that changes nothing. General Hux was HIS. No one, not even Snoke at the time, was allowed to have him. Mentally or otherwise.

With a growl, The Supreme Leader pushes out of his chair calling the attention of everyone in the room. Hux looks up with a quick sneer and nose twitch but when the Supreme Leader says nothing, he continues on. Now all personnel is torn between looking at the Supreme Leader who’s teeth are nearly bared and the General who is doing his best to continue his presentation like this is normal.

It only takes Kylo a second now to pinpoint the officer who is, or was, listing after Hux. It’s an older but smaller man with greying brunette hair, the strips of a captain’s rank on his sleeve, and is standing entirely too close to General Hux.

With a swoosh of his cape Kylo walks to where Hux is and asserts himself between the two. Immediately taking Hux’s freehand into his own and lacing their gloved fingers together. His eyes narrow briefly at the stunned captain (really everyone including Hux is stunned but that doesn’t matter). Hux arches a perfectly arched brow. His cheeks actually filling with a shade of pink. He is...nervous and delighted? Kylo can see quick thoughts and hear small snippets of Hux’s inner voice. He wanted this. To hold Kylo’s hand in front of the order as one. As more...but right now?!

“Supreme Leader...?” Hux whispers after his eyes flicker around the room.

Kylo smirks. “Gather a team to work on the weapon right a way. Dismissed.”

A choirs of yes Supreme Leaders echo in the room before everyone begins to flee. Hux’s hand tightens in Kylo’s. His face is a mixture of bewilderment and hope and his heart is pounding out of his chest. Hux parts his lips to speak but Kylo cuts him off. Sealing his lips over his not even waiting for the room to be completely empty. Call it immature. Call it foolish. Call it jealousy. Call it stressing dominance. Call it a love confession. Kylo Ren did not care as long as he was able to call Hux just HIS.

“The weapon and whatever you need. Whatever you want, is yours.”

At the same time he used the Force to speak loudly in the captain’s head causing the man to flinch in pain. “And the General is MINE.”

[thepineapplejuicer]

Title: Know It All Chapter 4 

Nightcrawler fanfic x OC

(I do not own the X-men or the photos/gifs). 

Violet Ashbourne is a gifted human hacker in possession of a radio, a secret device that gains her access to a large underground information network and electronics all over the world. Human and mutant coexistence has always been her goal, but will the betrayal of her mutant mother and father- once partners to her rise to power- distort her beliefs? Will the X-men be able to save her from her own pride and ambition? Or will she sacrifice everything, including the only boy she’s ever trusted, for vengeance?

The cushions squeak as I toss and turn on the medical bed. My clothes feel warm as I continuously straighten them out, my shaking foot wrinkling them after every time. 

“Rest your arms above your head, please,” Forge asks as he gently guides them, giving them a small squeeze once they are in place. “And try not to move.” He places a steady hand on my leg.

 I try to distract myself by glancing around the room, the blue-tile illudes into vibration as the machine rumbles, powering up. I look up as Forge walks to the thin, circular x-ray machine towering over me. I’ve always hated anything associated with hospice settings; makes me feel like someone knows something before I can.

 “I’m only going to move your wrists across, okay?” he reassures me. 

The bed jolts into a steady backward motion stopping just after my fingertips are completely passed the machine. “Make sure you don’t move.”

 The whirling noises of the mechanism fill the nearly empty, spotless room; only a simple desk and the x-ray machine offer me comfort to the unknowing results. Silence follows the rumbling of the machine as it shuts down and my body starts to ich, but I stay still. 

“Huh.” Forge mumbles. 

 “What is it? Can I move?” I ask leaning pointlessly towards him. 

“Not yet.” 

He says nothing more. 

The smell of my deodorant and the tingles in my armpits cause me to look back and forth from Forge to the x-ray machine. Forge rubs his chin and furrows his brows.

 “Are you going to tell me or what?” I ask loosening my muscles.

 “It’s not picking up anything.” 

“What do you mean?” 

I jump out of the medical bed and to the monitor with the captured pictures. Forge points at one of them, “See that? Those are your normal hand bones.” He trails passed the large gap, “and those are your normal arm bones.” He draws a circle in the middle with his fingers, “these empty gaps are your wrists.” 

“Clarify.”

 “Well, considering that this specific machine can scan through metals, stones, you name it, it means one of two things. One, your flesh isn’t completely attached to the bands, otherwise, it would show it inter-webbed into bones. Which is good and we just need to figure out a way to unclip them.” 

“And the other?” 

Forge lets out a sigh, “Or the bands are just not allowing the x-ray to show passed them. Meaning that- ” 

“That cutting my hands off isn’t completely off the table.” 

“Yeah. I might be able to tinker a bit with the x-ray, maybe get it to show us a little more. It’s pretty state of the art but I could hook up a calibrated-” 

“How long will it take?” 

“About a week or two.”

 “A week?!”

“…or two.” 

My jaw clenches involuntarily, “And that’s the best you can do?”

 “Well if I could use my powers- you know the ones you hate so much-I could be a lot quicker, Your Highness!” 

I flinch as he associates me with ‘hate’ and I quickly straighten my posture, “Get it done. I expect results by the end of the day.” 

He scoffs as I return to my station. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX “I hope Kurt’s okay.” I hear Kitty mutter. 

I enter the kitchen and see Kitty and Scott sharing a conversation.

 “Hey, Violet.” Scott greats.

 “Hey, is something wrong with Kurt?” I ask in a hardened voice, with more force than needed. 

“Tabetha and Kurt were messing around during rescue training on the cliff and Kurt ended up hitting his head and taking a dive,” Scott explains, “Logan jumped in after him and he was NOT happy.”

 Kitty chimes in, “Seriously, Tabetha needs to, like, chill.”

 “Yeah, but Kurt encouraged her. They could have gotten a lot more hurt, or worse.” Scott chokes.

 “Where is he now?” I ask sympathetically.

 “Storm took him to the infirmary, to do a checkup.” Kitty offers. 

I turn and stare at the doorway, unsure why I can’t quite move.

 “You can go see him, you know,” Kitty states with a sultry tone, “might make him feel better.” 

“I might do that.” 

As I leave the kitchen I start to feel a pinch in my stomach. I’ve been talking to the students a lot more over the past few days and it’s unsettling. However, I’ve managed to keep my distance from Logan since he hasn’t properly apologized for hurtling me at the rampaging Juggernaut during our last encounter. I keep reminding myself that I am only here temporarily; forming relationships, even enemies is a waste of time. I know all of this. I know what my goal is and what I must do to make Sanctuary grow and to face my father again. I need to stay focused. So why am I outside the Infirmary?

 I hear Kurt’s chirpy accent from beyond the door, “I’m fine, really!” 

 Storm’s voice responds, “Alright, but take these before bed to be sure.”

 I open the door slowly to avoid interrupting them, but the croaking of the door’s hinges bring their eyes on me like a spotlight. They both stare, wide-eyed and tightening their posture. Storm tries to smile at me so I try not to notice her taking several steps away. “Get well, Kurt,” she states and walks out, avoiding my gaze.

 “Hey, Violet.” Kurt finally says. I look his face over, warmed by the strands of blue fur and yellow eyes. I trail up and down his jawline and see the small bandage on his temple hiding a purple gash where he must have hit his head in the accident. “Are you alright?” I ask biting the inside of my cheek. “You heard?” he rubs the back of his neck, looking away from me, “I’m fine, it’s nice of you to worry.”

 “I wasn’t!” I choke out. Our eyes lock. “I mean, I know you were okay. You’re stronger than you look.” I finish. 

Kurt just blinks at me.

 “Is what I meant,” I say quieter. 

He smiles and gets up, grazing my hip with the back of his hand. I couldn’t tell if it was intentional or not before he starts to speak, “It does suck though, I got grounded so now I can’t go to the carnival that is in town.” 

“Carnival? Consider yourself lucky then, they are rigged and irrational for the use of entertainment.” I chuckle.

 “You… don’t like them?” he asks, his chest giving out.

 “Uh well, I never had the pleasure of going. Were you going to go with someone?”

 “I was going to ask someone on a date there.”

 “Oh.” I swallow hard, “I know Tabetha is pretty, Kurt, but maybe be careful of going out with a girl that calls herself 'Boom Boom’.” 

“Why would I think Tabetha is pretty?” “Look I’m not saying you shouldn’t like her, just take it from someone who knows everything about anyone and just be careful around her.”

 “I wasn’t going to ask Tabetha-” My phone chimes before I can register what he said. 

“Actually, I wanted to ask-” 

My phone screen taps into the entrance camera and shows a man I’ve never seen walking into the mansion. “I’ll be back…” I whisper and walk straight towards the main hall. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX I creep along the hall, hearing the conversation ahead, coming from the main stairway. “This is the last run we have to do, sweetheart.” A man coos.

 “That’s what you said last time!” Tabetha’s voice struggles. I hide behind the doorway, the light from the curtains hitting my shoulder as I lean over. A rugged man with greys peaking out of his sideburns and chin stubble is holding Tabetha by the wrist. 

The closer they got to each other the more I noticed how similar they were. “Meet me by the alleyway next to the building and be sure to bring what I told you and I promise we can go away together and be a family again.” The man bargains. 

Tabetha’s silence prompts me to come out and face them, “is something wrong here?” They both turn to me, Tabetha’s eyes lining with water.

 “No, nothing, I just came to check on my daughter.” The man smiles, “see you tonight.” With that he walks out of the mansion, leaving Tabetha shaken. “Going somewhere?” I ask. She tries to speed away, but I catch her by the arm.

 “What?!” she yells, yanking her arm out of my grasp. Some of her colorful hair clips hang by broken gold strands and smudged blue eyeshadow blend with the redness in the corners of her eyes.

 “I’ll make it quick,” I coldly state, “Don’t involve Kurt in any more of your recklessness.” She stomps away without another word. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Kurt’s POV 

The cold wind evens out the warmth from the orange-hued sunset, bouncing off the carnival lights that flicker on like parts of a caterpillar. The past week has been nothing but daydreams of Violet and I enjoying the 'rigged’ games and 'childish’ rides. To be honest, I think the fact that Violet dislikes things like carnivals makes her more attractive to me. Something about her maturity, but she always seems like she is too serious and needs to relax. If I wasn’t grounded, I’d drag her to that carnival and make sure she knew what it was like to let her hair down occasionally. 

Maybe I’d be the one to win a kiss in the end… Ah, snap out of it! There is no way she would want someone like me. I should be grateful she comes as close as she does. 

“Contemplating the laws of physics, blue?” a familiar voice comes from behind me. I turn, not altering my perched position on the balcony. 

“Tabetha? What are you doing here?”

 “I wanted to apologize for ruining your plans to ask Violet to the carnival.” I smile weakly, “Trust me, I wouldn’t have had the nerve to ask her.”

 “Why not?” She asks leaning on the stone balcony.

 “Because I’m like this and she’s beautiful, smart, independent.” 

“Cocky, rude, bossy.” Tabetha mimics. 

“I’d say she was confident and assertive. She’s… normal.” Tabetha scoffs, 

“Right! A girl who can hack into any camera and microphone to know all our dirty secrets is normal.” 

“You know what I mean.”

 “Is she normal, Kurt? Or do her bands just make YOU feel normal?” 

There is a long pause as I think about my answer, finally, I whisper, “She makes me feel normal. But she’ll never feel remotely attracted to me.”

 “What happened to 'chicks dig the fuzzy dude?” she jokes. 

I frown, “I’m not dumb. I know where my leagues are.” 

“Hmm. You know what will help?” she nods her head over to the horizon. I look over, trying to figure out what she meant. 

“What?” She nods again. I look in the same direction and only see the carnival. “Oh. OH!” I smile wide, but then remember, “If we get caught, we’ll be in even more trouble.”

 “That’s the fun part.” Tabetha smiles, grabbing my hand. Without reasoning with my better nature, I Bamf us away from my room. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Violet’s POV Tonight has me more restless than usual. Perhaps it is the thin air in the subbasement or the fact that ever since the x-ray this morning, my wrist has been uncontrollably itchy. Loud snoring comes from behind me. I turn and see Forge still passed out on his work table in the corner. Maybe it is the obnoxious snoring that started over an hour ago that’s been keeping me up.

 I tap along my keyboard, reading through the psychiatric tests on the volunteers in Sanctuary. Nisha has been more than capable of sending me all the information, including physical tests Bronco provides; they even state that they like being taught basic self-defense. Most of them passed our standards, no alcohol use, no drug use, no criminal history; decent people who’ve been dealt crappy cards. Most were homeless or lived in poverty from the amount of money the government robs from them. I’m eager to recruit mutants next. The idea of them coexisting sends me into relief. That was always the plan: give to the people, not rob them. I flip through old, depressing drivers license photos of the volunteers and compare them to the new Sanctuary I.D. taken upon acceptance. “They’re smiling.” I lean back enjoying the feeling of accomplishment before checking my emails. 

Empty. 

I’m not surprised since my father hacked most of my contacts and is pretending to be me as I speak. Luckily I am still able to sell and buy information I come across. I scan over the files on my desktop 'Avengers’, 'Shield’, 'Thrask’, 'Deadpool’, among dozens of others. Finally, I stare at the newly added file, 'Xmen’. I shut my monitors off and relax for a moment, letting my mind drift. Oddly enough, the first to come to mind is Kurt.

 I bite my lip as Tabetha’s involvement begins to worry me. My gut twists and I glance over to another monitor that I use to tap into phone calls, text messages, and emails. I sigh, “It’s none of my business. It’s none of my business.” I close my eyes and calm my breathing. “It’s none of my-” The image of her and Kurt… together shock my eyes open. The next thing I know I’m hacking into Tabetha’s phone records. “I’m such a horrible person,” I grumble and open her recent message from an unknown number. 

Unknown #: You going to bring our secret weapon? Tabetha: I don’t want to do this… 

Unknown #: It will be quick, they won’t even notice it’s gone until morning and by then we will be long gone.

Tabetha: and what about Kurt? 

Unknown #: Leave that to me.

 My eyes widen, “Kurt? What is she doing with Kurt?!” I yell as I flip through earlier footage of all the cameras in the mansion simultaneously. “That’s the fun part.” I stop at the end of the footage showing Tabetha and Kurt on his balcony disappear in a puff of smoke. “I knew it.” I grab my tablet and rush to find Xavier, hopefully, we aren’t too late. 

-Thank you for reading. feel free to post any comments :)

(chapter 5 will be posted on Friday, June 21, 2019)

[proheromidoriyashouto]

Quirkless Hero!Deku and Artist/Youtuber!Shouto AU expansion

Shouto was expelled from the Hero Course by Aizawa after the Sports Festival for his refusal to use all his might (neglecting half his quirk) when the chips are down. Shouto went to General Studies and after some serious introspection post-Hosu (he was dragged along by Ende*vore to do grunt work as punishment and happened to come across Tenya and an Idaten intern he didn't know facing off against Stain) began to find solace in art and writing classes and decided to take his life into his own hands.

Shouto started a gaming channel because Ochako- while introducing him to Super Smash Bros Ultimate- noted that he has a nice voice and he likes the story-telling capabilities of games, so why not? What does he have to lose? His striking appearance and slight fame will surely garner him a boost in viewership early on, and they do.

He initially has to run the channel from Tenya's home since Ende*vore would never allow it. He starts off playing multiplayer games because those are what his friends introduce him to so they can play together, but he inevitably shifts toward single-player games that devote quite a lot of time into compelling story campaigns and exploration. His first delves are into Horizon: Zero Dawn, God of War, the Fallout series, Portal 1 & 2, the Witcher series, and the Last of Us since these are the most prominent games at the time (remakes of games in 22XX tend to release in the same year and order the originals did to get the most playtime out of fans). He’s not good at it to start. He reads from a script and he’s stiff and uncomfortable in front of the camera. He thought he was desensitized to that given his time in the limelight thanks to his name but there’s something about talking to a small webcam that feels, well, silly, and... intense. Personal. It’s a serious detractor, and the comments he receives about it are almost enough to shut down the channel for good. His friends’ support gets him through though and he starts to develop a considerable following.

Before he realizes, he’s spending all his free time playing games with purpose, creating new videos on a nearly daily basis, brainstorming how to structure  theory and lore episodes, and worrying about how his uploads are perceived. He runs charity live streams, plays fan-picked hero games, scours every last hint of lore from side-quests, get those sweet sweet completionist Platinum trophies that only like 1% of players get for every game.

Ende*vore cuts him off from his money, and inheritance. Shouto tentatively starts support pages and is surprised by the number of people willing to shell out for him. He starts to really feel the burn-out as he struggles to create more video content for awards before Momo suggests making things. Real, physical things for awards that will give him a break for the grind, and that he can use to improve his art skills. He smacks himself when he realizes that he can also use art as a way of re-connecting with his mother.

Visits at the hospital become days spent drawing, painting, sculpting, and knitting. His mother shocks him in a display of lace-making and he feels a pang of grief when he learns that it was a tradition in her family that she hadn’t been able to pass down to him. She’d taught Fuyumi and Touya a bit but Ende*vore found out and put a stop to it, saying that his legacy was the only one they needed to concern themselves with. She was too afraid of the harm her husband would bring upon the children if she tried again with Natsuo and Shouto. After hearing that there’s nothing more Shouto wants to learn (lace-crafts are his awards for months, and then on occasion for years to come).

His channel, SpicyHeathenGaming, steadily grows over the years and once he graduates from U.A., he devotes himself entirely to running it. By the time he has the formal encounter with Deku, he has millions of subscribers and has become quite comfortable in the public persona he’d crafted (it’s easy to slip into given his natural penchant for straight-man-esque dry humor). He’s almost 25, successful in a precarious field, and... happy. Genuinely at peace. There are days when he misses the rush of a fight, the satisfaction of post-rescue, and on bad days, he thinks of all the people he never saved. He schedules an appointment with his therapist and moves on.

Deku is the one to note that the Day They Met wasn’t at the construction site as he thought, but during the battle of Stain vs Team Idaten Round 2 (and U.A. Students) as the media has labelled it. Shouto is shocked but not for long. The similarities to his then-Idaten costume are prevalent in Deku’s short white mask, midnight leg guards, and heavy black soles but the rest is substantially changed. He’s vaguely reminiscent of a teal/aqua All Might- especially with his cowl on- rather than the Ingenium line now.

He’d become infamous for becoming a hero “the old fashioned way“ through interning and shadowing directly with Pros for years, foregoing hero-high school altogether.

While none of the schools outright forbid quirkless students from applying, Deku had said in his debut press conference, despite passing Ketsubutsu, Shiketsu, and U.A.’s entrance exams, I was denied admittance. They all said something to the effect of ‘I had a “weak constitution”’, ‘my “supposed passion” had been deemed insufficient hot air,’ and ‘my “heroic spirit” wouldn’t be enough to match the rigor of a top-rated hero-course’s training.’ A good friend of mine, Tenya Iida, had been at the same U.A. entrance exam as myself and after learning about my struggles put in a word for me with his family. I didn’t ask for a handout, but when the legitimate options are not truly available to you, what choice even is there? I wasn’t going to turn down the one chance I had left. Team Idaten was good to me and I wouldn’t be the man I’ve become if not for them. In all honesty, Deku shrugged, an almost apologetic look on his face, almost. I was starting to fall into a pretty dark place. I might have become a villain.

Deku had faced ire from Pros, alumni and non-alumni from the schools alike for those remarks, and public opinion had been torn between disdain for slandering the institutions of hero education or support for him having become a hero despite all the odds against him- a true, old-school origin story. All Might had surprised many by showing Deku support, and many U.A.-borne Pros had followed in his example. Ketsubutsu and Shiketsu had not been nearly as kind, with few exceptions. Deku’s rivalries with Dynamic Blitz (one-sided feud in reality), Magnitude, Cloudburst, and Sideburn Tress were almost as well-known as All Might and Endeavor back when they were heroes.

Deku was a world-wide icon for the roughly 2 billion quirkless people in existence, only one of a hand-full of quirkless Pros throughout the world since the dawn of quirks, and the first ever in Japan’s history. He was leagues above Shouto. Shouldn’t have paid him any more mind than any other civilian he’d saved. If not for Shouto’s disastrous inability to handle situations like anything resembling a normal person. He’d seen a strong, handsome, trend-setting, status-quo defying, internationally known hero up close in person, who not only recognized him for his channel but his private art blog and shop, reaching toward his evidently panicking self and had activated his right side as though it was the neglected half, and frozen their hands together.

He’d made a fucking fool of himself... but still... wound up with a number in his pocket and a wink emoji. He never got such lascivious flirting sent his way. Curses, that wink emoji. Not with his scar and eye-straining coloration and lack of proper skin and hair care. No way. What if Deku winked at him in real life? In public? Scandalous. What was he going to do?

Fuyumi. Tenya, help me.

Um, sure?

With what?

...kill me.

-Shou-!

W-why would you-!!

Please, just, vaporize me right now, I’m staring at the moon just take me by surprise, I’m begging you. Actually call Aoyama I have money.

Little brother! What’s brought this on?

That’s not an explanation! If you need help-

I... I have a date.

(Shouto is verrrr out of practice with his powers and dating and is a complete disaster gay. Izuku’s kinda suave and you can thank Tensei’s Big Brother Influence for that. Izuku saved Eri and Kouta okay I promise I have an explanation. All Might was a dick and never found Izuku to apologize. Izuku’s kinda bitter about it but he’s living his best life so :///////. OFA? Never met her. Mirio would be OFA’s 9th in this AU after losing Permeation. Will expand into a proper fic and post to AO3 when its done- I already have too many AUs at once going on.

Population estimates put humans stabilizing at about 11 billion in the 2200s - BNHA was already in modern day when quirks came and its been 200 years since then as per canon- and 20% of the population is slightly more than 2 billion. 2 billion quirkless people.

Dynamic Blitz is that motherfucker. You know who Magnitude and Cloudburst are~. Three guess as to Sideburn Tress’ identity. He wasn’t outwardly hostile but something about him set off red-flags for me. Also strikes me as having a lot of school pride.)

[aspensgrove]

“I will kill you with a teacup”

Pairing: Doctor Strange x Reader

Timeline: During Doctor Strange (2016) at various points

Gender neutral reader!

Word count: 1340

Summary: You were a long time student at Kamar-Taj, best friends with one of the people who left with Kaecilius. How do you react to a new face, one who’s personality reminds you so much of the one who betrayed you all?

A/N: My first time writing Doctor Strange period, but I don’t think I did too bad. This is for @maggyme13  ‘s 500 followers celebration! I had Doctor Strange with the prompt “I’ll kill you with a teacup,” which I took the contraction out of for intensity (I hope that’s okay). Please leave some feedback on how I did!

You weren't really sure why the newcomer got under your skin so easily.

Sure, the betrayal of Kaecilius had hurt the entirety of Kamar Taj, but it wasn't as though you was particularly close to him. His follower, Lucian, you had been close to. It had stung when he left, but you also knew that it was better that he was gone than trying to persuade you to join him in his path.

Shortly after his betrayal was when Doctor Stephen Strange showed up, and it had rattled you. You weren't sure if you just hated his ego, his distaste for rules, or if you hated the way that he rattled off facts that had taken you years of practice like it was no big deal within a month of joining the sanctum. No matter what reason, you knew that you would rather not be in a space alone with him for a large amount of time.

Stephen, on the other hand, was totally enamored with you. You had the fiercest spirit of anyone he had met and, slowly, you were making him forget of his previous romance with Christine. You worked hard, so, so hard, to achieve the mastery of your art, and he was sure your shocking good looks weren't helping the fatal attraction he felt towards you.

Stephen, however, noticed your cold shoulder. You refused to train with him, or even stay in the library when he was there for extended periods. He tried asking Wong about it, but just received a look of pity.

Wong, on the other hand, knew more than either of the two were willing to admit. The closest thing to a best friend you had was gone, by his own choice to serve the darkness. You didn't even notice your demeanor changing to a more standoffish one, or how you were treating the new recruits. Strange had an ego larger than the entire sanctum, and Wong knew that it would only annoy you, as you never had a tolerance for it from Kaecilius when he was at Kamar-Taj. All of those things combined meant that Wong was the only one who realized the growing attraction between the two.

You were training a new recruit, not as fresh as Strange but most certainly not there long, when he walked out into the space to train with Mordo. He was carefully stretching out his arms and hands when the Ancient One walked over to him, an unhappy (y/n) in tow.

"Mister Strange, you will be training with (y/n) today."

"I've told you a million times-"

"If you correct the Ancient One, I will not hold back today," you said, giving your hair a shake and smirking at the look on Strange's face. The Ancient One was walking off with a slight smile, motioning for Mordo to help with the other students training.

Without wasting any time, you took a fighting stance, raising an eyebrow towards your attractive- no, wait, stop, he is not attractive.

Strange lifted his fists, as you begin to duel, him gaining the upper hand several times. You were holding your own, but you were beginning to wear out due to the sheer number of students you'd been helping during the day. Strange, on the other hand, had done nothing all day and was very confused when his seemingly tireless opponent began to slow down, her punches seemingly pulled.

"Okay, that's enough." you panted out, moving back towards the inside of the sanctum, leaving behind a very confused man with white sideburns.

***

Hoping to relax in the library, you walked in there, greeting Wong with a smile and tired eyes.

"Can you not sleep?"

"The devoted never sleep," you said, moving towards the worn Key of Solomon that you reread when you needed a break.

Wong shook his head, moving back behind his desk.

Once you arrived at your favorite spot, you turned immediately on your heel and went to leave. After the way you had embarrassed yourself today at the training, the last thing you needed was a cocky doctor on her ass.

"No, wait-" "I will kill you with a teacup."

"No, (y/n), please just listen to me," Strange said, standing up and grabbing one of your wrists. You looked at him, confused, until you saw the pleading in his eyes. You sized up your options, figuring the best one was to stay here.

"Why do you hate me so much?"

"Why do I what?"

Strange let go of your wrist, stepping back and looking at you quizzically, "You treat me like dirt on the bottom of your shoe, even more so than everyone else here. I think I deserve to know why."

You thought about it, biting your lip gently and you tried to piece together all of the reasons that were his fault and weren't. Guessing the truth was the best option, you hesitantly began an explanation.

"When you first came here, we had recently been betrayed by-"

"Kaecilius, yes, I heard. Was he a-"

You glared at him, "Would you let me finish?"

He began to speak again, but quickly nodded.

"Anyway, we had been betrayed by Kaecilius. With him went a large amount of his followers, including my closest friend, Lucian."

Strange looked at the ground, not really sure of what to do.

"Kaecilius had been similar to you in ways people are sure to have avoided saying. He was egotistical and brash, always asking questions, unwilling to wait for answers so instead seeking them out himself. He snuck himself into the library, learning secrets of the Ancient One that nearly no one beyond herself knows, and he thought that she was being unfair and turned on her. He was charismatic, and his followers went with him when he abandoned Kamar-Taj, Lucian was with him."

"I never like to make the same mistake twice, and I hate egotistical people in general. So when you came along…"

He nodded, seeming to mull the information over in his brain. "I'll leave you alone, then."

You sigh, thanking him, before going to sit at the table and read the beaten copy of the book you were holding.

***

They were coming.

Mordo and Strange were gone, the Ancient One as well, and everything felt off. People were dead. You and Wong were standing near the front of the sanctum, Wong talking to the remaining students. Your relic, a shielding amulet, buzzed with energy and anxiety. You wished you could comfort it. You couldn't even comfort yourself.

Wong led you out into the street, and you were still shaking.

You tried to fight it, you really did, but they were already on Wong before you could move to defend him. Your relic kept you safe, but it didn't even stop them from burying you in what used to be Hong Kong to the point that you couldn't get out. You could feel your amulet, forcing itself closer to your chest, trying to keep you as safe as possible, but it was getting tired. You were convinced the sanctum was down, but the next thing you knew, the rubble was flying up and rebuilding itself.

"(Y/n)!"

You shook yourself out of your rubble pile the rest of the way, thanking your amulet quietly, before looking over to see Strange wielding the eye of Agamotto, running directly at you. Kaecilius and his last supporters were somewhere in the distance, having been walled up or knocked unconscious during the time reversal.

"Stephen, you can't-"

"The only way for us to win is for me to do something stupid," he said, gently putting a palm on the side of your face. "What are you-"

You were cut off by his lips on yours, his hands shaking against your face as he tried to tell you everything he thought he might never get the chance to say.

"I hope I come out well enough to talk about that," he said before flying up into the dark cloud known as the Dark Dimension.

[always-the-little-spoon]

Sterek A-Z Challenge: one word prompts

Week 23: W - Worry

When Stiles came home from his afternoon developmental psychopathology class, Lydia Martin was sitting in his apartment rhythmically drumming her perfectly manicured nails against the armrest of his favourite armchair. Stiles sidled into the apartment and slide the loft door closed behind him. The lock clunked into place. Shrugging out of his purple hoodie, he dropped it and his Batman messenger bag beside the door.

“Hey, Lydia,” Stiles greeted cautiously and glanced around the apartment. His boyfriend’s sneakers and leather jacket were missing. “Where’s Derek?”

“Picking up dinner from the cute little bistro on the corner.” Lydia wrinkled her nose. “Your bottle of ketchup and a jar of pickles was... unacceptable.” She stopped drumming her fingers to inspect her nails. “He should be back any minute.”

“Right... but it's Tuesday,” Stiles said as he inched into the main living area and hovered awkwardly beside the couch, afraid to sit down.

Lydia raised an eyebrow. “So?”

Stiles gave a short painful laugh and rubbed the back of his head, which knocked askew the beanie he’d forgotten he’d been wearing. “It’s date night.”

“Date night,” Lydia repeated. Her eyebrow crept higher.

“Yeah, you know, dinner, movie, walk in the park, and all that jazz,” Stiles said. He scratched his cheek and shifted from one foot to the other, unable to meet Lydia’s judgy glare.

“On a Tuesday?” Lydia said.

Stiles chewed on his bottom lip. “Yes?”

“Oh, for the love of god, Stilinski. Sit down,” Lydia snapped and pointed at the couch.

Stiles leaped over the arm of the loveseat and face-planted on the cushions before he scrambled to sit rigidly on the edge of the seat, hands in his lap.

Lydia pursed her lips. “Much better.”

Stiles managed to sit quietly for all of three seconds before he slouched back into the couch with a giant sigh.

“Why are you here, Lyds?” Stiles asked. “I mean, not that I’m not happy to see you. It’s totally cool for you to drop in, unannounced, two days before midterms... Oh my god.” He flailed, smacking his nose with the back of his hand as he tried to sit up again. “Someone’s dying. Who’s dying? Are you dying? Am I dying?” Stiles paused, eyes wide as he leaned forward and went eerily still. He swallowed. “Is it Derek?” he whispered.

Stiles couldn’t breathe. Not again. He couldn’t watch Derek die again. Last time he’d had to leave. Derek made him leave. He couldn’t. Not again. Not again. Not again. His vision swam, and he groped for the arm of the couch to help him stand up, but he felt lightheaded and woozy. A small, but strong hand caught his wrist and dragged him back down onto the couch.

“Stiles, shut up and calm down!” Lydia said, and Stiles realized he’d been repeating the same two words over and over again. She held one of his hands tightly and forced him to look at her. Her palm was warm against his cheek. “I need you to breathe. Can you do that? Look at me. Stiles!”

“You’re terrible at this,” Stiles gasped as he struggled to focus the blurred vision of strawberry blonde in front of him. “Like really bad. How are you so bad at this.”

“Maybe because your werewolf boyfriend would rip my throat out if I kissed you again,” Lydia said.

Stiles swayed and closed his eyes, trying to focus on Lydia’s voice. “Wasn’t a good idea the first time.”

Metal screeched in protest as the loft door was nearly ripped off its tracks. It crashed open, and a furious roar echoed through the apartment. Before Stiles could react, a cool breeze ruffled his hair, and warmth surrounded him as an all too familiar scent tickled his senses.

“Der?” Stiles wheezed.

“I’m here, baby,” Derek murmured with a slight lisp, which made Stiles let out a  shaky laugh. “Breathe with me.”

Stiles didn’t need to look to know Derek was wolfed out, fangs, sideburns, no eyebrows, and all, but he let Derek guide him, repositioning his limp limbs like a ragdoll until Stiles’ head rested over Derek’s heart. The steady beat soothed him. The tips of Derek’s claws prickled Stiles’ skin through his hoodie where Derek’s hand was splayed over Stiles’ chest.

“I don’t want you to die,” Stiles whispered.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Derek promised, nose buried in Stiles’ hair. A total pro, he talked Stiles down as he had many times after vivid nightmares and flashbacks.

Stiles sank further into Derek’s protective embrace, comforted by the gentle rise and fall of Derek’s chest in time with his own breathing. A hand carded through his hair, claws tender and delicate against his skull, and brushed back his bangs.

Derek pressed a kiss to Stiles’ forehead. “Better?” he asked.

Most people would ask if Stiles was okay. Derek never did, and Stiles appreciated it because, after a panic attack, he was anything but okay, which Derek understood and related all too well.

Stiles had once woken up to shredded pillows, anguished howls, and a flurry of feathers. Derek had shifted in the middle of the night in some sort of unconscious attempt to protect himself from his nightmares. They stopped buying down pillows after that, and Stiles kept a grooming brush in the bedside drawer.

“Yeah. Thanks, big guy.” Stiles patted Derek on the arm and tilted his head back. Without the presence of Derek’s eyebrows, Stiles was having difficulty reading his boyfriend’s expression. He absentmindedly pet Derek’s sideburns until Derek’s beta shift melted away, and then cupped Derek’s cheek, rubbing his thumb against the day-old scruff he found super sexy.

“Was backflipping over the couch absolutely necessary?” Lydia interrupted.

Stiles jumped and twisted around to stare at Lydia perched primly on the edge of her seat, ankles crossed and tucked to the side. She flipped her slightly ruffled hair over her shoulder and sniffed as if insulted he’d forgotten that she was there. Everything was fine. Lydia just decided to pop in... from Massachusetts.

“Ha. Are you kidding? Derek is the king of unnecessary flips and random parkour,” he joked, but his voice trembled. A slight squeeze of arms around his middle said Derek hadn’t missed it.

Lydia hummed. “Where’s the food?” she asked and glanced around again, and wrinkled her nose in distaste at their interior decorating skills. They tended to go for function and comfort over, well, anything.

“What was that, big guy?” Stiles yawned when Derek mumbled something too low for Stiles’ human ears to pick up, and he was sitting on the werewolf’s lap. Warm and cozy in his boyfriend’s arms, his eyes were heavy with fatigue. It’d been awhile since he’d had a panic attack, and he’d blissfully forgotten how exhausting they were.

“I dropped it downstairs,” Derek said through gritted teeth. Lydia pursed her lips, and a low growl rumbled in Derek’s chest under Stiles’ ear.“Stiles is my priority, not your disdain for gas station snacks and fast food. You should have eaten on the road if you were so hungry.”

“Some of us don’t have the ability to recover from food poisoning while still chewing,” Lydia snapped.

Snickering, Stiles drifted off to the dulcet tones bickering with a smile on his face. “Missed you, Lyds,” he mumbled, and their snappish chatter faded away as he drifted off.

The apartment was dark when Stiles fought to resurface from the depths of unconsciousness. He felt floaty. His eyes were heavy and limbs loose. He was curled against a firm body - Derek’s, his sluggish mind supplied as if he’d be able to mistake the earthy musk of his boyfriend for anything else - and tucked under the fleece throw they kept over the back of the couch for when Stiles inevitably got cold.

Stiles tried to latch onto the soft murmur of conversation around him. The scent of Indian roused his senses. Derek must have called in an order. Stiles’ stomach growled, and he groaned, shoving his nose into the crook of Derek’s neck. The conversation stopped. Stiles forced himself to relax, feigning sleep.

“So you hopped in your car and drove four hours because you heard  whispers in your freezer?” Derek said barely above a whisper, and his hand resumed rubbing small soothing circles against Stiles’ back.

Cutlery clattered against a plate and Lydia huffed. “Forgive me for worrying about my best friend.”

“That’s not-” Derek cut himself off with a groan. “You’re sure it was him?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Lydia said indignantly. “Derek...” Her voice was soft, almost hesitant, with a hint of something Stiles had never heard from the great Lydia Martin before; sympathy. “He was dying.”

“No.” Derek’s sharpness left no room for argument. His arms tightened to almost painful proportions around Stiles’ torso, trapping Stiles in the blanket burrito Derek had wrapped him in.

“What do you mean, no?” Lydia said. “This is a fact. I may not understand my powers, but they are never wrong.”

Stiles bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. Too few people stood up to Derek. He was all eyebrows and scowls which looked intimidating, but no one ever realized he was just a giant ball of adorable fluffiness goodness on the inside. He also loved that Derek didn’t take shit from the most formidable women Stiles had ever had the pleasure of meeting.

“I’m still alive,” Derek said.

“You came back,” Lydia pointed out. “You evolved, Derek. Stiles... Stiles is going to die.”

Stiles abruptly sat up, eyes so impossibly wide it hurt. “I’m gonna what now?”

(tbc?)

[theartofwriting-imagines]

Mother Gothel - OUAT x reader

Words: 959 Characters: Emma Swan, Captain Hook, Snow White, Prince Charming, Henry, The Evil Queen, Y/N, Gothel, The Stabbington brothers Warnings: Speaking ill of their daughter, not many warnings, slight sadness/looking down at someone. Awful writing/Imagine A/n: Been a while hasn’t it? xd Awful month so haven’t written anything, this is literally the first thing I’ve written in a while. Hope you guys like it.

‘’Let the crown go, Gothel.’’

You shied away, watching from behind Regina and Emma as your ‘’mother’’ stood by the throne, said crown placed in her hands. You could hear silent murmurs from the audience and you nervously tugged at your (h/c) hair, a bad habit you had caught on to after a few years locked up in the tower.

‘’You must be ever so crazy if you think I will give it to you.’’ Your mother sneered. ‘’This crown is finally mine.’’

‘’It does not belong to you!’’ Henry exclaimed, clutching his storybook for dear life as he narrowed his eyes at the woman. ‘’ That crown belongs to (Y/N)!’’

Gothel mockingly gasped, placing a hand at her lips. ‘’ Oh! It is?!’’ She glanced towards her daughter. ‘’ Whyever haven’t you said anything?’’

You took a step back, not meeting her eyes as she began to cackle. You felt a gentle hand touching your shoulder and you slightly glanced to your left, meeting Snow White’s figure. Her eyes were trailed on your mother but the hand that squeezed your shoulder gave you a signal that you weren’t alone and that there were nothing you would have to be afraid of.

‘’That’s right.’’ Gothel snickered. ‘’ You can’t. You have always been and always will be a mother’s girl. Always wanting acceptance and looking for someone to lean on.’’

 ‘’ One more word and you are toast.’’ Regina snarled, a fireball appearing on her palm as Hook reached for his trusty sword that hung on his hip.

‘’News flash, Evil Queen.’’ Gothel said, narrowing her eyes in amusement. ‘’ You.don’t.scare.me.anymore.’’ She stated, her amusement deepening with each word.

‘’Maybe she don’t.’’ Emma replied. ‘’ But maybe this does.’’ She growled and threw out her hand, a shockwave of a bright light bursting out of her hand, sending Gothel tumbling backwards. ‘’ You are nothing without the magic flower.’’

Gothel growled and got up. ‘’Sideburns, Patchy, don’t just stand there! GET THEM!’’

The stabbington brothers that had been standing off to the side glanced at each other before yelling out battle cries, wielding their swords.

Hook drew his and, with the help from Charming, they began to take on the brothers. Snow pushed you to her, preventing you from coming to harm whilst Emma and Regina coaxed Henry back.

‘’ You really think ganging up on me is going to work?’’ Gothel barked, grinning madly. ‘’ Even if my daughter gets her crown, her loyalty still lies in her mother. She is too scared to disobey me. And even if she tries, I’ll break the crown before she gets it and everyone that is frozen in this kingdom will forever be cursed as rocks.’’

Regina glowered and Emma narrowed her eyes, feeling disgust crawl up her on how she spoke to the younger girl. Gothel were speaking as if (y/n) were her slave more than her daughter. Emma nearly puked in her mouth at that.

‘’ How dare you!’’ Snow exclaimed as Charming slammed the butt of his sword into Sideburns, rendering him unconscious. ‘’ This is a living person we are talking about! She is your daughter!’’

‘’She may be my daughter.’’ Gothel snarled. ‘’ But I hold no love to her.’’

Your eyes snapped up, your heart cracking as your eyes began to well up. You had always known she never loved you. I mean, how couldn’t you have? All the empty promises, all the times she forbid you from doing what you loved, all the times she left you alone for days locked up in a tower, never caring if you ate food, never caring if you slept. She just simply didn’t care.

Your eyes narrowed as the tears turned into anger. How dare she do this to you? How dare she treat you this way?

‘’You just made a giant mistake.’’ You growled, catching everyone’s attention as your mother frowned. ‘’ You made your daughter angry.

You grabbed onto your long hair and began to swing it like a lasso before throwing it towards your mother, a surprised gasp leaving her lips as she realized her mistake. She should have cut your hair. Gothel began to grab onto the crown, her goal being to break it, but before she got the chance, the end of your hair latched onto her arm, and pulled it back, your mother flying forward. She released the crown and in horror watched it slide towards Emma’s feet.

‘’No! No No!’’ Gothel exclaimed and began, in vain, to crawl towards the crown that Emma kneeled to pick up. ‘’ Stop! Please!’’

Emma handed the crown to you and you gently squeezed the grip you had on it, smiling softly. You looked up at Gothel that froze.

 ‘’This is payback, mother.’’

Hook and Charming were just about done tying the Stabbington brothers when you placed the crown on your head.

The crown began to shine as golden dust fell from it. The dust blended into your ragged dress and once your whole dress were covered with dust, it began glow. Spinning around in a circle, you grabbed onto the dress, picking it up a little as a it began to expand. Butterflies in different colours burst out from the glitter dust, flying around your form as your long hair began to glow and the heroes could do nothing but watch as your appeared in a thick braid. Colors burst and everyone shielded their eyes as the light got even brighter before it exploded, leaving you behind.

The ragged dress had turned pink, covered in blue glittered butterflies along the ends. Butterfly accessories were decorated in your braid and around your crown.

‘’Woah!’’ Henry gaped in awe. 

You looked up from the floor, meeting your mother’s eyes with a hard glare.

[scribefindegil]

Cycle Eight--Week 3

[Ao3]  [Week 1] [Week 2]

Day 15

Went into the forest again today. This time Barry and Nita both came with us, with Nita levitating over the mushrooms. Barry has been examining the forest from the village, but this is his first time out into it. It was good to have him there and to confirm my own suspicions: while many of these mushrooms superficially resemble flora from home, every biological and magical test he subjected them to confirmed that they were different from the native fungi of our own reality—and of this one.

Nita and Frelya merely shrugged when we asked them how the mushrooms had arrived on this world. It is past living memory, even for the longest-lived of the surviving races. There are only the vaguest legends. Some say it was a great spell gone wrong. Some say it was a comet of ill-omen that streaked across the sky and brought the first Keepers with it. Some say that the Keepers were already living in stone prisons deep below the Earth, and it was only a matter of time before they awoke.

"Doesn't matter," Frelya said, and grunted.

Nita shook her head and smiled at me. "Of course it does!"

She told us the names that the villagers use for the mushrooms. Most of them don't care much; all of the forest is deadly, so it doesn't matter if you call the blue parts and the red parts something different. But the herbalists care.

(The next several pages are filled with exactingly labelled pen-and-ink drawings with small color swatches next to them. Some of the drawings also have additional notes in a different, heavier hand.)

Dangerous as the forest is, the people of Fungston are forced to rely upon it for many things. Nita explained which mushrooms can be dried, cleaned of spores, and used as material for anything from the canes she uses to the walls of their houses. The universal veils can be washed and hardened and turned into the tough, thick fabric that the villagers wear. Certain species can be cut into thin strips and spun together to make a sturdy rope that is then cured on racks above the bonfires.

"You're extremely resourceful out here," Barry said admiringly.

Nita shrugged. "We do what we have to. If we weren't resourceful we'd all be dead."

It's true, although I don't think we're used to hearing it so bluntly.

Barry took samples from several of the mushrooms and was discouraged from taking them from others. There's one pale species that produces beads of ruby-red sap that burn like acid, which ate through his container almost before Nita could warn him away.

"Be careful of that one," she said, speaking to Barry but looking at me. "We call it Miser's Blood. It can burn through your mask before you realize anything's wrong."

Barry backed carefully away, apologized to the mushroom for disturbing it, blushed, and then tripped over his own feet. Fortunately he didn't land in anything dangerous, but we did take it as a sign that we had probably done enough exploring for the day.

Day 16

We have all been recruited into assisting with the movement of the bonfires. It is a gradual process: first the inner ring is put out and new fires are built around the outer periphery. The plan is to maintain those for a few days to ensure that the scorch teams can keep the forest back around a wider perimeter even without Lup's evocation magic assisting them.

It means that we have to burn some of Merle's green sward, which the villagers were upset by at first. But today Merle was up uncharacteristically early, sitting in the center of town. He said it was too early for singing, but he poured out two portions of his breakfast tea—one for himself and one on the ground for Pan.

Merle knows all the traditional services. I've seen him use them more than once, but more often when he talks to his god he goes off on rambles that sound more as if they were directed at a beloved but ornery relative.

"Now Pan, I know this is a tough situation, but can you help a brother out here? You saw how much these people loved those little plants you helped me grow, so I'm thinking maybe we can get you a congregation going here. What do you think? Got a problem being the god of a weird mushroom world? Yeah, I didn't think so."

As he talks, plants and flowers grow around his feet.

It's certainly not traditional, but I feel that the people of Fungston could do far worse when it comes to spiritual leaders.

The villagers began to emerge from their houses—some with curiosity, some with frightened squeaks. They're still (I say still and betray my own prejudices. There’s no way that a few days would make a difference after a lifetime) unused to wild plants that aren't somehow sinister, so when the shoots emerge through the ground their first instinct is to draw away. But soon they see that what Merle grows will not hurt them.

The entire circle between the first circle of bonfires is green.

It made it easier to move the first circle outward. We worked all day. Lup helped to rekindle the new bonfires, since she's agreed not to go out with the scorch teams for a few days so they can test their efficacy against these new borders. Magnus enjoyed excavating the new fire pits—it gave him an excuse to show off his strength, and of course the villagers were duly impressed. Taako decided to take advantage of the Starblaster's larder and surprised everyone after dinner with trays of tiny star-shaped cookies. There were enough that all the villagers could eat their fill. They're amazed at the concept of flour, which they’ve never seen before—who knows how long it's been since this world could grow wheat?

Day 17

We've begun to make plans for the expedition. Captain Davenport called a meeting, moderated by Merle, to discuss what we need to do to prepare. The biggest problem is how much world we have to explore. Lup and Barry have been trying to find ways to track the Light, but so far they have no definite answers. We know that if a civilization takes in the Light of Creation it tends to spur them to new heights of science and creativity, and sometimes we can use that knowledge to determine its location. But on this world, the chances of it landing somewhere where people can find it are slim. We'll be looking for a needle in a deadly, glowing haystack.

It could well take our entire time on this planet to locate the light, if we do so at all. Mico tells us that the forest outside the borders of the town is actually quite sparse compared to the deeper groves that lie to the South. The Starblaster will take us part of the way, but most of the journey will have to be done on foot.

We have left the final determination of who will be going on the mission for a later date. Magnus intends to lead it, and Davenport will go along and stay with the ship. I have volunteered to go as well. We won't be leaving for at least several more weeks. It's not long enough to gather all the stories I want to tell from this village--it never is--but I should be able to talk to more of the citizens. Those who were shy at first have begun warming up to us. Their eyes are brighter now, and I think they are smiling below their masks. Merle and Lup together have given them hope.

And this mission--it is a story, too. All stories deserve to be told but my first duty is always to the mission and the crew. I hope that, eventually, someone else will read what I have written and remember us. I hope that, eventually, this is a story of a mission that was completed. Of a world that was truly saved. But until then, all I can do is write.

Mico tells us that the "rainy season" is coming, and we would do well to delay our departure until afterwards. As it has been raining nearly non-stop since our arrival, I hesitate to think what sort of weather is approaching that would be so much worse. Mico shook their head when they spoke of it. It's a dangerous time, they said, the time of year when the village is most likely to lose people. Most likely to be lost itself.

"We won't let that happen," said Magnus, and the rest of us nodded.

Day 18

I spent today among the weavers, trying to get them to explain their processes or other stories of the town, but came away with very little. They're extremely polite and not what I would call tight-lipped, but they want to hear stories, not tell them. I suppose it's understandable; to them this way of life is everything they know, but our crew descended from the stars. They want to know about our home. It pains me to tell them. It's been seven years since we left. Seven years since we lost our home.

I don't have a journal about that world. Rather, I had many. The biographies I wrote or ghost-wrote. The piles of blue leather volumes I bound and filled with the stories of other people's lives. But those remained planetside. There was no reason to bring them--no reason to suspect that the seven of us would be the last survivors of our reality.

But I still have notes. Stories. Songs. When we have time, I still ask the others. Magnus is the most eager to talk. He's younger even than I am, and than I was. He should be twenty-eight years old by now, but every time we enter a new set of Planes he returns to the round, boyish face of a man barely out of adolescence. I wonder if the pride he takes in his sideburns is at least in part because they make him look older. It was important at the beginning because he really was so young, and it's important now because he isn't.

I brought a pile of my books out from the Starblaster. They are the right-handed copies, with writing that is slightly less smooth. The backups. If something happens to them, the first copies will still be safe on the ship. So I brought them out and read from them. Showed the villagers the sketches I'd done of our lilac sky with the two suns, of our trees and our clothes and our cities.

They muttered and nudged each other at the images of people going about their daily lives with no masks on, stared at the drawings of trees in disbelief.

"You just . . ." Jarrus asked. "You can just breathe?"

I nodded, and the look on her face broke my heart.

"Do you remember?" I asked. "Do any of you know stories about what it was like before the mushrooms came?"

They all shook their heads, and Riki, a halfling with pale eyes and a particularly long trunk-like mask, said, "I reckon there never was a before. They say there was, but some of 'em also say there'll be an after. And that's just mad. 'Slike you people coming in here, all mad with hope. It's not going to get better. Don't think it ever was."

"That's not true," Jarrus said. "My grandmother's mother was part of the first generation born in the village. And she told my grandmother, and she told me, that things used to be different. You used to be able to see the stars. You used to breathe free. But you know what? When they first came, the prophets said that the mushrooms and the Keepers would end the world, that it was the end of everything and no one would survive. But we did. We don't have much but we're still here, and I don't know about the rest of you but I'm going to hope that some day my daughter or her children or their children will be able to look back and say, 'We survived. We survived and we won and those damn Keepers still haven't beaten us.' Maybe they won't need these masks. Maybe they'll see the stars again."

Such speeches are uncharacteristic—for any of the villagers, but especially for the usually taciturn Jarrus. Riki refused to meet her eyes and went back to his weaving.

Soon afterwards, Vetch ran over to tell us it was time for dinner. Jarrus caught her up and pressed their foreheads together. It's a common greeting here among loved ones, perhaps an alternative to kissing since the lower halves of their faces are always covered by their masks.

The hymn to send off the scorch teams gets fuller every night. The entire village knows the song by heart and sings along. Tonight, Magnus and Barry attempted the baritone harmony. Their voices are enthusiastic if not always in tune, but I heard gasps from around me. Vetch watched the teams roll out from her favorite perch on Magnus’s shoulders, and when she ran back to her mother afterwards I saw that Jarrus was crying.

Day 19

(The first several pages of this entry consist of watercolor paintings of mushrooms. They are more brightly colored than the previous paintings. Notes to the side of the images read, ‘Pigment help from Barry and Lup. Red and yellow magically derived, others adapted from the distilled juice of the mushrooms’)

The new town border remains stable. The center of town remains green. To Captain Davenport’s chagrin, there are vines growing around the Starblaster, but none of them go near the engines so he can’t yet claim that they’re a safety hazard.

Spent another day in the forest with Frelya. My sketches are now nearly true to color, thanks to the scientific expertise of my crewmates.

As we were walking back, Frelya stopped shortly outside the first set of bonfires.

“I . . . haven’t asked for anything in exchange for taking you out here,” she said.

“I know,” I replied.

She turned and thrust an extra mask into my hands. One of the bulbous ones, made from the cured and waterproofed universal veils.

“Use your paints,” she said. “Make it . . . brighter.”

It make take more consultation before I can find a medium that will adhere to the mask’s material, but I know how I will be spending tomorrow.

Day 20

Have spent the day in painting and experimentation with Barry. The slick surface of the veil-cloth resists my standard preparations. If I knew less about the material I would be tempted to sand it to give quill and brush more tooth, but even though the process of curing it kills the spores I know better than to risk it.

It is refreshing to work on the ship and be able, at least for a while, to remove our own masks. It’s air-tight inside—as something designed to travel between realities should be—and we’ve established a system of knocks and small blockades to make sure no one opens the door to the outside when we aren’t expecting it.

It is strange how quickly we adapt. For our first few days in Fungston the constant presence of the mask was almost intolerable, but I find that I’ve become so used to it that going without makes me feel strange and vulnerable. Despite how little sunlight makes it through the clouds, Barry has a line running across the bridge of his nose with paler, sun-starved skin beneath it.

(The rest of the page is a careful experimental table of substrates and additives. Glued in next to it are narrow strips of thick, waxy cloth. All of them have been painted green. Most of the paint is chipped and flaking; some is translucent and uneven; some is discolored and has bit into the cloth. On the final strip, the paint is vibrant and flexes with the cloth when you move it. Around it are scribbled words in a circle: “Huzzah!” and its synonyms in Elvish, Dwarfish, and Draconic, as well as words in several other languages you don’t recognize but assume from context are further exclamations of excitement.)

Day 21

It took most of the day and most of the night before we found a medium that would work. Lup brought us coffee and laughed about how silly it is that humans need to sleep. It reminded me of our time back at the Institute. I still hope to find something readily available on this planet, but for now we rely on transmutation magic and egg-yolk tempera.

I suspect Lup of casting Sleep on the two of us shortly thereafter. She refuses to admit to it, but doesn’t deny it either. Bolstered by the excitement of our discovery, I had planned to stay awake through the remainder of the night and make some progress with the painting, but the next thing I knew Barry and I were both raising our heads from the table, having missed breakfast and made a spirited effort at missing lunch.

The twins were in the kitchen, and as soon as they saw us stirring they grinned and descended on us with two massive omelets, doubtless made from some of the unused experimental eggs.

I spent the rest of the day painting. I finished in time to meet Frelya as she returned from scorch team duty. She took the mask, now covered in images of delicate flowers and intertwining vines worked over a field of tiny truesilver stars, and turned it over and over in her hands. She was silent for a full minute.

“Thank you,” she said at last. “You’re . . . a real weirdo, but I don’t mind taking you to look at mushrooms.”

[freshginseng]

my one year anniversary was yesterday!! i'm here on Film if you want to hear me talk about transition stuff for kicks. as they say in professional sports, ahlley'yoop

i figured i’d take a minute to also write down miscellaneous other things that have changed in a year; while i know many who watch this video or read this are already aware of the changes that come from being on T for a year and such; but adding my voice and adding your voice to the community is a way of broadening all of our understandings of what it means to be trans and the journey therein

so let’s do a run through from head to toe of changes!

(nsfw info/pictures below the cut)

Mental changes (started in first 2 months)

when i say mental changes, i do not mean that my depression has been cured or that my personality has changed. what i do mean, however, is that the emotional instability i was experiencing as a result from dysphoria interacting with the depression has otherwise stabilized. i was very violent towards myself and others and extremely unpredictable as a result of the interaction of these two, and i feel much more... balanced. i still struggle with depression, but the dysphoria is more manageable, taking away how manic i would get during an episode of intense dysphoria on top of the depression.  the depression still comes in waves, and the dysphoria still pops up in little sprigs here and there.

Hair (started around month 5)

my hair hasn’t changed much, but i have had thinning at the temples, creating a more masculine hairline; this doesn’t bother me at all, because i didn’t like the very round hairline i previously had. so it’s just more square than it was! another note is that i do NOT have ANY male pattern baldness or thinning anywhere in the Ancestral Tree of either side of my family, so i am nearly 100% clear of that; this isn’t the case for a lot of people, and that’s ok!

Facial changes/complexion/facial hair

ok so i don’t know how to explain this one but here goes: my face hasn’t really lost any baby fat, but structurally, things simply look different. my jaw and cheekbones are much more noticeable. my complexion was very clear pre-T, and i’m having a lot of acne issues now; i also didn’t used to scar, but this acne is scarring pretty bad. the skin itself is less soft due to a combination of the scarring and the hair; my pores seem to be more noticeable when i put on foundation. as far as facial hair, that started coming in around month 6 in my sideburns and around my mouth. it has increased only a bit since then around the rest of my face.

Voice (started in month 1)

the voice was the first thing to start changing. i noticed it in my first month, and it’s been dropping ever since. other people, however, started noticing it around month 3.

Chest

so i have lost a lot of fat around my chest, meaning that it lays flatter now and looks more like pecs than anything. i was originally a little bigger than a B cup (or at least i was years ago because i’ve worn nothing but sports bras for 3 years, so i’m not sure if that fluctuated too much). i’ve made it a new year’s resolution to stop binding so often, because i really don’t need it; it’s beginning to make me more dysphoric to bind than it is to not bind

Arms (started in month 3)

okay so i’ve gotten really veiny through my forearms and hands; this picked up around month 3, and is much more noticeable the more routinely i work out. they are still definitely there if i’m off track though.

Fat redistribution (started around month 7-8)

so i’m going to beat this like a dead horse but i also wanted to include pictures of me in the spring of 2016 versus me in the fall of 2016:

so as you can see there has been a marked fluctuation of where fat has been lost, and where muscle has been built. again, this took much longer than i thought it was going to, depending on the amount of effort i was putting in at the gym and my diet.

Genital changes/libido (started in month 3)

alright so starting around month 3, growth started occurring, and it actually was very Uncomfortable when it did (it was very noticeable walking around and shit) but that waned after a few weeks. also, i learned how much it fucking hurts to have anything stuck under The Hood, so please learn to clean all of that really well with water if you’re also experiencing this or plan on transitioning; it scared me at first but then i realized what it was. so please plan on tidy hygiene. anyways, since month 3, i have grown around 3/4 of an inch in length. i have no idea about girth or anything. i am having zero issues with lubrication function; i was told to experience dryness but i’m actually experiencing an increase in lubrication since pre-T.  as far as libido, i have had a marked increase.

Other

on and off i will experience menstrual cramping, even when i have not had a period since March. i’ve kept my doc up to date on this and she said that it may have to do with how close i am to my dose, and my body compensating for that. it never lasts more than a day, but it does wake me up at night around once a month or every two months.

[newstfionline]

U.S. companies see opportunity in exodus from storm-ravaged Puerto Rico

By Chico Harlan, Washington Post, January 1, 2018

HURON, S.D.--The airport terminal doors slid open and out came 22 people from Puerto Rico, walking a few weeks ago into the whipping South Dakota wind, not quite ready for what was ahead. One person still wore shorts. Another zipped up a hoodie. The group climbed into three waiting vans.

“You guys good?” asked one of the drivers who would be taking them to their new home. “Does anybody speak English?”

“No,” one person said, and the driver let the van go silent before turning up some country music.

Through the windows, there were miles of emptiness, and Gretchen Velez, 21, looked at the others in the van and was quiet. She’d started the day on an island that was desperately short on electricity and clean water and jobs because of Hurricane Maria. Now, 10 hours later, she was in South Dakota--a place she knew almost nothing about, other than what a job recruiter had told her, that he had a position for her at a turkey processing plant in a rural town nearly 3,000 miles away.

Velez had never left Puerto Rico, but after years of economic crisis and then a natural disaster, almost everybody she knew was wondering whether they had any choice but to go. By some counts, nearly 2,000 Puerto Ricans were leaving every day, and in that exodus, some mainland U.S. companies were starting to see an opportunity of their own--a new answer in their ever-evolving struggle to find workers who would perform lower-rung American jobs. “Off to my new life,” Velez had told her mother that morning, but now she was wondering: What am I doing here? Is this the right thing?

Another way to ask it: How does someone arrive at such a place in the U.S. workforce? When Velez and the others arrived in Huron after a two-hour ride from the airport, it was after midnight, and on the horizon were the lights of a turkey plant called Dakota Provisions. The temperature had dipped into the 30s, and earlier in the day, fierce wind gusts had carried thousands of white turkey feathers from the plant, scattering them for several miles, onto farmland and road medians, and onto the grounds of a motel where the vans now pulled up. The Puerto Ricans unloaded their luggage, and a Spanish-speaking human-resources employee from the turkey plant passed out keys and showed them to their rooms.

The employee guided Velez and her brother Carlos, along with a friend who had also come, to a room on the second floor. They stepped inside and looked around. The lights worked. So did the TV. Warm water came out of the bathroom faucet.

“Everything okay?” the employee asked, and when Velez said “Yes,” he said, “Have a good night.”

Velez pushed her suitcases into the corner and then tried to make the room feel like home, walking over to the thermostat and turning the heat to high.

Ten weeks earlier, Velez had been a college student with a part-time job and no plans to leave Puerto Rico. But then the hurricane hit, bringing with it 30 inches of rain and 120 mph winds, and when it was over she had knee-high water in her house and no idea what to do. She had lost her job; the building where she’d worked was flooded. Her college classes were canceled. The train she used to commute wasn’t running. As the weeks passed, Velez saw only deeper evidence of a place falling apart: long lines for bottled water; empty grocery shelves; waits at Kmart where residents could charge electronics. To catch phone service, Velez walked toward a cell tower until she had enough of a connection to see the goodbye notes friends were posting on Facebook as they left the island. And then, one day, a different kind of message popped up, posted by her cousin, about an opportunity in South Dakota at a turkey plant where he worked. “Take advantage!” he wrote.

The turkey plant had opened 12 years earlier and since then had grown into one of the largest employers in South Dakota, with more than a thousand workers. It had also transformed the character of Huron: The starting-level jobs--breast-pullers, carcass-loaders, bird-hangers--rarely attracted anyone from the local workforce, so instead the plant filled with people from all over the world. Soon, a town that had been 97 percent white had four Asian grocery stores and a school district where half the students were learning English as a second language, and at the center of it was a plant in constant need of workers--people who would be ready every morning as trucks dropped off 19,000 live turkeys that would be killed, deboned, sectioned and sliced, and wrapped for restaurants and grocery stores.

For a year, the company had tried recruiting in Puerto Rico, where the economy over a decade had already contracted 10 percent. But then came the hurricane, and in the turkey plant’s HR office, one of the recruiting managers, Oscar Luque, saw news footage of what looked to him like a “Third World country.” He asked Puerto Ricans already at the plant to spread the word that he was coming. He flew to the island with 48 drug-test kits, somehow found a vacant hotel room in San Juan, and waited to see who would show up.

Over the next week, with workers from the Federal Emergency Management Agency still directing traffic, 80 people came from across the island to meet with him. Luque told them about the work--that it was repetitive, physical, “not always pretty.” He told them about the wages--$10.00 per hour, jumping soon after to $12 or $13. He said the company would fly them to South Dakota and slowly deduct the flight costs out of their paychecks. He described the jobs available.

“A good opportunity,” Luque called it, and he offered the job to welders and bartenders and security guards, and then to Velez, who said she would come, and then sold her iPod and a video game console to gather spending cash for the trip.

The morning after she arrived in South Dakota, she opened the motel room curtains and looked outside. Just beyond the parking lot was a baseball field, a restaurant called The Plains and a 28-foot-tall statue of a pheasant, the region’s favorite hunting target. She put on three layers, walked outside and video-chatted with her boyfriend back in Puerto Rico, holding up her phone to show him the view.

“Is that a duck?” he asked when Velez walked up to the bird.

“I don’t think so,” she said, and when they talked again the next day she told him that Huron was very cold and quiet, that it was flat, that it had nice houses and also a Salvation Army, where she’d picked up a red winter coat, one that she planned to wear during her shifts inside the plant.

As her first day of work approached, she had so many questions about how life inside the plant would feel. How would the turkeys look? Would she see blood? Could she handle the cold? During two days of orientation--mostly instructions on safety and health--she didn’t once see the work area. It was only on the eve of her first shift, while she was being fitted for rubber boots, that a veteran Puerto Rican employee walked out of the work area and into the break room. He was tall, with a neck tattoo and skinny sideburns, and quickly drew a crowd around him.

“First two weeks, you’ll hurt,” he said. “But you’re coming from Puerto Rico. Put your heart into it. This is your life.”

The next morning, there was a fresh layer of snow on the ground. At the plant, 19,900 turkeys arrived in trucks and 22 workers clocked in for the first time.

“I’m a little nervous,” her brother said.

“I’m okay,” Velez said.

She’d been assigned to the deboning room, one of about 185 workers standing shoulder to shoulder. She buttoned a white smock over her red jacket, pulled on her rubber boots and walked through two swinging doors, entering a narrow, frigid hallway that led to her work area. In the hallway, she stopped by a booth that provided her the rest of her equipment, and she pulled it on layer by layer--a vinyl apron, a hairnet, protection for her ears and eyes, a pair of cotton gloves, and over that a pair of rubber gloves, and on her right hand a mesh steel glove for protection against cuts.

“All right, let’s go,” a supervisor said, and he led her down the hallway and into a room with high ceilings, bright lights, silver metal surfaces and a temperature set at 36 to 38 degrees.

This was her first time inside the plant. Her eyes darted. To her right, she saw plucked and headless turkeys arriving into the room on a chute, where workers picked them up and hooked them by their feet to a conveyor belt. She saw the turkeys then move into deeper recesses of the room, where people with knives hacked and disassembled them, separating drumsticks and wings, scapulas and wishbones. Finally, plump pieces of breast meat arrived on conveyors at a table of 16 workers, who used knives and meat hooks to trim a piece every four or five seconds.

Everywhere she looked, she saw people from somewhere else. Only a handful seemed to be local. The people hanging the birds were from Burma. Some of the people trimming the breasts were from Puerto Rico. Deeper in the factory, cutting skin, removing organs, there were people from Cuba and Guatemala and Vietnam. More than a dozen were from Chuuk, an island chain in Micronesia.

A supervisor, from Haiti, led Velez to her station, on what was called the wing line. “Thank you!” Velez said, shouting to him over the noise, and then another worker, from Puerto Rico, pulled Velez aside and showed her the motion she would make hundreds of times for the rest of the day: picking up a turkey wing from a trough in front of her. Setting it on a white cutting surface. Using a knife, shaped like a small ice-cream scooper, to pull the wing meat away from the bone and then dropping it onto a conveyor belt.

“Try it,” the other worker said, and Velez settled in.

On her first attempt, she fumbled with the knife and missed half the meat. Her second attempt was better, and same with her third. But on her fourth, she dragged the knife into the bone and got stuck. Her fifth, she fought to yank away the skin. The wings were massive and slippery, she thought; she couldn’t figure out how best to hold them. She was a lefty, using a knife designed for righties.

She was on the line with five other workers, and no matter how fast they cut, they couldn’t keep up. Every few minutes, somebody came by with a shovel and dumped more wings into the trough. The trough was never empty, and there was no time to look elsewhere. Velez kept her head down, eyes on the knife and the cutting space and the wings, grabbing and cutting, grabbing and cutting. She handled a wing every 20 seconds, and then every 18. Flecks of turkey fat flew onto her apron and got matted into her steel glove.

Then, the cold set in. Somehow, she would later say, it seemed to build and build, sinking into her feet and hands, and impossible to shake away. The meat was cold. The knife was cold. Even the ground felt cold, and after hours of cutting, Velez walked gingerly into the break room. “It hurts a little,” she told a more experienced worker, who said, “Oh, yeah, it does.”

She returned to the line. The wings kept coming. She trimmed a wing in 25 seconds, then 22 seconds, then 29. The muscles in her hands kept tightening, and between cuts she bent back her fingers on the table. She adjusted her gloves. She sharpened her knife. She sharpened her knife again.

With 15 minutes to go, she found a last wind. She shook her hands and picked up the wings as quickly as she could--13 seconds, 15 seconds--until another worker looked at the clock and said the day was almost over. Velez cut the meat from one more wing and dropped it onto the belt.

Other workers guided her out of the deboning room, into a cleanup area where she washed bits of turkey flesh and skin from her boots, her rubber gloves, her apron. She said she was exhausted. She said the muscles in her lower legs hurt from standing. She said the muscles in her hand hurt from cutting. She tried to make a fist and couldn’t. “I’m just so tired,” she said.

She walked slowly toward the turkey plant’s exit and, while waiting for the other workers to filter out, sat in a chair and dropped her head on a table. Her first day as a worker in South Dakota was over. The next morning, her alarm would ring at 5 a.m.

“I need to get some sleep,” she said, but for now, all she wanted to do was get a ride back to the motel. She wanted to get back to Puerto Rico eventually, but here, for her, was opportunity--the chance to stand under a hot shower for as long as it took to take away the chill of the day.