#white is so busted but what for anyhow?

[wolfgang1097]

Errr, what's up folks? How was your Christmas?

Anyway, this is a little something I decided to share out of sheer boredom as we are a few days closer to New Year's eve, I guess. Yes, today was just another do-nothing day, unsurprisingly.

Check it out:

Oooooohh! White, you are so busted, and what for anyway? Black, what are you about to ingest, here? Just look at whatever the hell Black is about to ingest. Is he predating the notorious Tide pod fad? (Yes, I personally think the Tide pod fad was stupid and, more importantly, very dangerous). I swear, this is one of the most questionable pieces of Spy vs. Spy artwork from Bob Clarke's era I have ever seen. This could be taken out of context very easily.

Keep in mind, whatever the hell is taken out of context, I do not condone in anything inappropriate nor disturbing regarding the subject matter involved. Anyhow, I hope y'all liked this image. Peace.

I do not claim ownership of any content. This piece of artwork was illustrated by the late Bob Clarke. Spy vs. Spy as a whole belongs to the defunct MAD magazine and the late great Antonio Prohias.

[sysig]

Maybe something with Mousey being jealous of Hunter and Smoker for one reason or another? hehe

Day 7 - There might be a reason for that

Bonus:

[wrrrenff]

Breaking The Ice - Chapter 1

Attack on Titan / Shingeki No Kyojin Levi Ackerman x F! reader Synopsis: You go out with you friends to the ice skating rink. You're not really interested in ice skating but you are interested in the man sat next to you. Warning: Sexual content, P in V sex, Degradation, Spanking, Choking, 18+

Gif credits to the creator!

Skating was never really your thing. You had tried roller skating a few times and could never quite get the hang of it. Your balance has always been terrible anyhow. So when your friends asked if you wanted to come ice skating with them you were tempted to turn it down immediately. Ultimately you did end up accepting the invite since it's been a while since you've seen them and wanted to catch up. You figured you could hang out with them before and after they skate then just sit in the bleachers watching them skate and enjoy the cold air.

The day comes and you dressed really cute. What, just because you're not participating doesn't mean you can't dress up. You wore a short sleeve Peter Pan collared shirt with a black ribbon bow, a black skirt, a black and white checkered cardigan and your green lace up shoes. You thought about dressing warmer but you've always enjoyed the cold so you figured you'd be fine.

About an hour after you finish getting ready, you arrive at the skating rink. Everybody pays the admission fee then you wave to your friends as you head for the bleachers. Not many people are here today. You picked one of the many available seats and watched as your friends took to the ice. Taking out your phone, you focused on getting as many fun action shots and videos as you could. You were too distracted to realize that an older man had taken the seat right next to you.

“Which one is yours?” You jump a little before looking over at the man. He seemed to be in his late 30s, jet black hair, piercing gray eyes, and a very stoic expression. He chuckled. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I figured if I don’t skate with my kids I should at least be social. Mine are those two by the wall. The taller one is Eren and the short one is Armin.” You look to where he’s pointing. You’re pretty shocked by how old his kids are.  “You look pretty young to have two teens” He smirks. “I get that a lot. My late husband and I adopted them from a pretty rough situation a while back. We both thought we would never have kids but those two busted their way into our lives.” This man had an expression of nostalgia mixed with sorrow. Before the mood could plummet too much you point to your friends. “Those three spinning around each other are mine.” You would’ve thought this man was about to have a heart attack with how shocked he looked. “You said I looked too young to have teens? You look barely twenty and you ha-” 

You burst out laughing. You couldn’t help it. He really thought you gave birth to three twenty-somethings? He crossed his arms and got defensive. “What’s so funny?” You wipe away a tear from your eye and calm down enough to speak. “I’m here with my friends, not my kids.” This poor man was trying very hard to hide his embarrassment. If you weren’t in the actual conversation with him right now you’d say he was pretty convincing. All he could muster was a quiet Oh before I put my hand on his leg to reassure him that it was fine. “I’m flattered you think I look so young!” The embarrassment started to wash away as he became more comfortable with you. “So how come you're up here talking with me instead of skating with your friends?” he questioned. “Skating has never really been my thing. Besides, why skate when all of the handsome men are off the rink.” At that, the man looked at you with a fierce gaze and licked his lips. 

“I’m Levi.” He stuck his hand out at you. You put your hand in his and shook it. “Nice to meet you. I’m y/n.” You lock eyes with him for a moment before really checking him out. He’s not very tall but he seems to be built. He looked very rugged. It was really doing something to you. When you met his eyes again you realized he was checking you out as well. It sent shivers down your spine. “Listen, I’m gonna be honest here. I’m attracted to you and I can tell you’re attracted to me. We’ve got nothing but time right now. Why don’t we sneak away for a bit?” The implication of what he wanted wasn’t lost on you. Without hesitation you nodded your head. Levi took your hand and led you outside to the parking lot. You wondered which car was his. You weren’t expecting his car to be a soccer mom van. You started snickering, covering your mouth with your hand to muffle the sound. Levi just looked at you annoyed. “It’s convenient okay.” You calmed down and he helped you into the back seat. 

Normally you’re very good about stranger danger and would never get into the van of someone you met five minutes ago. But right now you really couldn’t care less. You were gonna get dicked down or die trying. As soon as the door closed you were on him, kissing each other with a fiery passion. You both fell onto the seat, you landed on his lap basically straddling him. He grabbed you waist to stabilize you while your hands found purchase in his hair. Sloppy, impatient kisses and roaming hands made you feel like you were soaring. Levi’s hands wandered down to your ass and squeezed. You gasped, allowing his tongue to enter your mouth. His exploring tongue has you moaning. You wanted more. Experimentally, you ground your hips down on him causing a filthy moan from the man under you.  You pulled away from him and locked eyes. “Need you. Now.” Levi chuckled. “So impatient, aren’t we?” You didn’t answer. Instead you bucked your hips against him again. His eyes were dilated, eyelids drooping. “On your hands and knees.”

Without a second of hesitation, you did as he commanded. Before you were fully in place, Levi lifted your skirt and pulled down your underwear. “Already so wet.” You couldn’t handle how badly you wanted him. You reached behind you to grab at his bulge but his strong hand stopped you. “So fucking needy. It’s pathetic.” He pins your arms behind your back and undoes his pants with his other hand. Without warning he slams his cock into you, pushing as deep in as possible. You both moaned at the feeling. He felt big, girthy. You only just started but you wanted release and you wanted it quick. You started bouncing on his dick before he pulled you up so that your back was against his chest and you couldn’t move against him as easily. “Such a brat. I’m the one in charge here. You’re just my hole” He smacked your ass before clamming into you with a relentless force. This angle was making it so easy for him to hit you in just the right spot. You were spitting obscenities, overwhelmed by how good he was making you feel. He was whispering words of encouragement in your ear that were stirring your core and bringing you that much closer. “You're taking me so well. Such a good slut for me.” He sped up his thrusts and brought that hand that wasn’t detaining you to choke you. Not enough to hurt but just enough to make your head spin. The pleasure was getting you much. You were getting close and Levi could tell by how tight you were getting. He let go of your arms and reached a had down in front of you and started rubbing circles on your clit. That was all you needed for the coil to snap and you came, gasping for air and spasming. Levi didn’t let up, chasing his own release and sending you into overstimulation. A moment later he was grunting in your ear, hand tightening on your throat as you felt heat filling you up. 

You both collapse onto the seat and just take a minute to collect yourself before you speak. “Fuck, I needed that.” Levi let out a breathless laugh before patting your ass gently and reaching for the paper towels sitting on his center console. Wordlessly he started cleaning you before cleaning himself and discarding the paper towels and pulling your underwear back up. As he puts his pants back on he looks at you with a calm expression. “That was great but we should head back before anyone looks for us.” He stuck out his hand to help you up and out of the van. As much as you didn’t want to go back you conceded. You both walked back to the rink in a comfortable silence. Upon entering you both looked for the people you’d originally arrived here with to find they were all still on the ice. “Here, come with me.” Before you could even realize what was happening, Levi was pulling you towards the cafe and buying you a bottle of water. You were about to protest and suggest that you pay but he spoke first. “Please, after what I just did with you, it’s the least I could do.” You swooned and took a swig from the bottle. As you both walked back to your place in the bleachers you were thinking about you didn’t want this day to end. You looked at Levi who was already staring at you. Your face darkened a bit and you quickly looked away. He smirked and brought your face back to his. “What, I can fuck your brains out and but it’s eye contact that gets you all shy?”  You chuckled nervously. “I was just thinking, I had fun. I’m pretty sure you had fun. What If we did this again.” He scoffed but there was a playful tone to it. “You really are a needy brat, huh? Here.” He hands you his phone that hand a new contact page up and ready. And just the thought of more Levi already had you daydreaming for next time.

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Next Chapter

[theentropiceye]

Act 1 - 2

The Trio and the Sclera

As the day gives way to the afternoon, Gwen finds herself crouching low, behind a jagged cluster of cobblestone and without her horse. Her breath is faltering, but silenced by the endless cycles of waves, and her eyes are narrowed as she eavesdrops on the three figures that jumped into the water hours ago, standing near her current hideout. 

One of them stands out - notoriously taller than the rest, with broad shoulders and jagged, withered teeth. His pale, black-speckled skin contrasts with the blacker pirate-like jacket lined with golden details. A massive diamond broadsword rests at his side. 

The second figure, slimmer and restless, paces nearby. His head, bizarrely hammer-shaped, gives him wide, alert vision. A red coat with gold trim hangs loosely over a light shirt and beige trousers. A diamond rapier sways at his hip, secured in a golden scabbard. 

The third, striped with tiger-like markings, radiates ferocity. Saber fangs protrude from his mouth, and his sharp green eyes burn with intensity. Fins along his head and back add to his wild demeanor. He wears dark blue pants lined with gold, leaving his chest bare. Golden bracelets glint on his wrists, accentuating the diamond claws he flexes idly. 

They seem to be discussing about something. 

TALLER INDIVIDUAL (Grumbling.): "How the fuck long are we going to wait here? I didn't crawl out of the sea and beat the shit out of two golems just to sit around." 

HAMMERHEAD INDIVIDUAL: "Oh, shut up, will you? (He raises one arm, clenching his fist) The less attention we draw, the better." 

TALLER INDIVIDUAL: "I couldn't give a fuck about the attention. For all I care, we could've just stormed into the walls and finished the job, but you just went on this 'incognito' bullshit because you're fucking coward!" 

FERAL INDIVIDUAL: "Grrrrr…." 

HAMMERHEAD INDIVIDUAL (Turns to him): "You too, shut up! You can't even speak!" 

FERAL INDIVIDUAL (Low growl.): "Rrrgh…" 

HAMMERHEAD INDIVIDUAL (Sighs and turns to the white shark): "And it'’s called strategy. You should try it sometime." 

TALLER INDIVIDUAL: "Strategy doesn't give any fucking results. You saw how fast I busted those losers! We could’ve torn apart this shithole by now!" 

HAMMERHEAD INDIVIDUAL (Sarcastically.): "Oh, yes please! I'm sure the entire Order would thank you if we had them stabbing us in our sleep. I prefer gold over knives in my back, but hey! Maybe that's just me!" 

The Taller Individual steps closer to him, looming as he bares his jagged teeth. 

TALLER INDIVIDUAL: "You think you're funny, you little shit?!" 

HAMMERHEAD INDIVIDUAL (Chuckling.): "I know I am." 

Gwen, hidden behind the cobblestone, remains still as them, carefully noting each exchange. Her attention is mostly drawn to the Hammerhead Individual, as he has full panoramic vision, which translates to more chances of being detected. 

TALLER INDIVIDUAL (Growling.): "If we're wasting time, tell me what we're actually here for. Like… what the fuck do you have in mind!?" 

HAMMERHEAD INDIVIDUAL: "These losers have a Sclera on one of their temples. The Captain says that we 'negotiate' with them, but I say we loot them!" 

TALLER INDIVIDUAL (Annoyed.): "I know that part already, dickhead! Don't fucking repeat yourself like broken disc!" 

HAMMERHEAD INDIVIDUAL (Annoyed, too.): "Well, yeah! But I was thinking about evasive maneuvers! I had a gut feeling that this place would be guarded! Heck, we could've just left the golems alone, but noooooo! You just had to slaughter everyone!" 

TALLER INDIVIDUAL: "And we're way better off for that, you know. No witnesses and all." 

HAMMERHEAD INDIVIDUAL (Sigh.): "…for now. Anyhow, remember the recipe. Once we have everything, we're untouchable. We'll have a ton of money and power…" 

The Taller and Feral Individuals' eyes narrow. 

FERAL INDIVIDUAL (Low growl.): "Rrawrrgh…" 

TALLER INDIVIDUAL: "Assuming the Captain's not making it up." 

HAMMERHEAD INDIVIDUAL (Softly.): "Oh, I believe it. And so does Guzmán here! (turns at the Feral Individual) And once we get our hands on it, we'll be kings of the sea! No, we'll be the kings of the world!" 

Gwen listens to the trio intensely, laying bare before her their intentions. From what she knows, they are looking for something they call a 'Sclera'. Other than that, she has learned the name of the Feral Individual - Guzmán. 

TALLER INDIVIDUAL: "Alright, this is your idea, and you better not fucking mess up! Now let's get going before someone snoops on us!" 

And after those words, the trio depart, walking further away from Gwen and her hideout, with her heart racing as she takes into account the Taller Individual's last words. Much to her fortune - and the trio's chagrin, they have been exposed. 

She doesn’t linger. The moment the trio disappears beyond the shore, she slips out from her hiding spot, stepping lightly over the cobblestone and gravel. 

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Within minutes, the outer walls come into view, torches flickering faintly against the coming dusk. 

The travelers, who at the time are with Arthur once again, stand near the village gate, watching over the distant shore as if expecting trouble. Gwen approaches them, and her presence draws their immediate attention. 

SANDIE (Grinning.): "Gwen, hello! Back already? Don't tell me they were pushovers." 

GWEN: "We have a problem." 

Arthur steps closer, crossing his arms, his expression hardening. 

ARTHUR: "What did you see?" 

GWEN: "I could only listen to them. The ones who attacked us earlier. I even caught the name of one of them: Guzmán." 

Sam doesn't seem to react at the mention of that name, while Sandie leans in, curious. 

SANDIE: "Ooooh… How did they look li-- oh, right, you couldn't see them." 

GWEN: "I did caught a glimpse of them. Just a little one. They look like the one at the helm of the ship, but… weirdly different. One of them had their eyes, like, so separated from the other, almost like his head was like a flat hammer, and possibly the brains of the group. Another one is… borderline feral, and the last one was possibly the worst. He was swearing all the time and he seemed like a sociopath. In fact… he's the one who killed the golems." 

SANDIE: "O-oh… that sounds really scary." 

SAM: "Wait a second. 'Flat hammer head'?" 

GWEN: "Yeah, he had a gray skin. And for that matter, the other ones had… orange and dark skin. They all had fins, gills and their mouths had white undertones. 

SAM: "And… Arthur said that they almost looked like dolphins?" 

ARTHUR: "Correct." 

Sam remains silent for a moment, with the group staring at him expectantly. 

GWEN: "Well?" 

SAM: "They are sharks." 

The word lingers in the air. Arthur’s brow knits in thought, while Gwen narrows her eyes. and Sandie raises an eyebrow. 

SANDIE: "Sharks? What is that?" 

SAM: "It's… something I thought didn’t exist around here. They're pretty much like Arthur said - they look like dolphins, but… a lot more aggressive." 

Sam continues to explain himself as the group remain utterly silent and lock their eyes on him. 

SAM: "And there's a lot of species of them. There's the hammerhead shark, tiger… shark, great white shark, and so on. (Turns at Gwen). Maybe that's why she said they looked 'weirdly different'". 

ARTHUR (Frowning slightly): "Oh, my. I know you are a traveler and have seen a lot, but I never expected you to be so… knowledgable." 

SAM: "Benefits of being one." 

SANDIE: "Well, yeah! But I wasn't expecting you to know about it either! Heck, I've traveled around so many places and I've never heard of a 'shark' before!" 

SAM: "Maybe… you never had the chance to know about them, until now." 

Gwen shifts her weight, shaking her head. 

GWEN: "Right… Anyhow, I'm sure it's interesting and all, but there's something else, too. They mentioned that their 'Captain' wanted them to 'negotiate' with us, but the… uh… hammerhead guy said that they were going to loot us. More specificly, the temple. They said that we had something called… ‘Sclera’? I don't know what it is, but whatever it means, they believe it'll make them untouchable.” 

Arthur stiffens. 

ARTHUR: “'Sclera'?… (His voice trails off, then sharpens.) Wait… don't tell me they're after… that thing these villagers have always been keeping here for who knows how long.” 

SAM: “What thing?” 

ARTHUR: "It's… something the locals know more about than I do, which is… not much, really. It's not exactly my area of expertise either, and Gwen doesn't care much for old stories... either.” 

Gwen shrugs lightly, offering no argument. 

ARTHUR: "Not that I blame her. No one can tell for sure what exactly is the Sclera, but it seems that these… uh… 'sharks' do." 

SANDIE (Lightly, though her expression darkens.): Well, guess we'll have to crash their little treasure hunt! 

GWEN: “They're moving now, you know? They're going to try and get in.” 

Arthur curses under his breath, turning towards the villagers stationed along the inner walls. 

ARTHUR: Sound the bell. I want every able-bodied fighter on watch. 

One of the armed villagers nods, dashing towards the bell tower at the village center. The sharp toll echoes through the square as golems shift in the distance, creaking to life. 

ARTHUR (Glancing at Sam and Sandie.): You two, follow Gwen. We need eyes along the coast. I'll stay with the villagers. If they come through the main gate, I want to be ready. 

SAM: “Okay.” 

SANDIE (Playfully saluting.): “Aye-aye, Commander.” 

After these words, they move quickly on foot, exiting the walls and then making their way to the outside of the island, through the main tunnel that connects the village to the shore. 

[incorrect-web-novels]

It's making me slightly insane how some ppl are seemingly trying to "correct" the idea that Mianmian was discriminated against for being a woman when she questioned the prevailing narrative that Wei Wuxian was killing indiscriminately.

Suddenly, someone sneered, "You can stop arguing. We don't want to hear the comments of someone who has other motives."

The woman's face flushed. She raised her voice, "Explain things. What do you mean I have other motives?"

The person replied, "There's no need for me to say anything. You know, deep down, and we know too. You fell for him back in the cave of the Xuanwu just because he flirted with you? You're still arguing for him, calling white black no matter how irrational it is. Ha, women will always be women."

- Exiled Rebels, Recklessness (2)

"Who does she think she is... leaving as she pleases? Who cares? What's she doing this to prove?"

Soon, some began to agree, "Women will always be women. They quit just after you say a few harsh words. She'll definitely come back on her own, a couple of days later."

"There's no doubt. After all, she finally managed to turn from the daughter of a servant to a disciple, haha..."

- Exiled Rebels, Recklessness (2)

This is right after Lan Wangji directly contradicts Jin Guangshan's version of Wei Wuxian's confrontation at the banquet in search of Wen Ning & is awkwardly brushed off:

Suddenly, an indifferent voice spoke up, "No."

Jin GuangShan was in the middle of his fabrication. Hearing this, he paused in surprise, turning along with the crowd to see who it was.

Lan WangJi sat with his back straight, speaking in a tone of absolute tranquility, "I did not hear Wei Ying say this. I did not hear him express the slightest disrespect towards Sect Leader Jiang either."

Lan WangJi rarely spoke when he was outside. Even when they debated cultivation techniques during Discussion Conferences, he only answered when others questioned or challenged him. With utmost concision, he overcame, without fault, the lengthy arguments of others. Apart from this, he almost never spoke up. And thus, when Jin GuangShan was interrupted by him, he experienced a far greater shock than annoyance. But after all, his fabrication was exposed right in front of so many. He felt a bit awkward.

The good thing was that, not long after he felt awkward, Jin GuangYao came to save the day, exclaiming, "Really? That day, Young Master Wei busted into Koi Tower with such force. He said too many things, one more shocking than the next. Perhaps he said a few things that were along those lines. I can't remember them either."

His memory could only be equal to Lan WangJi's, if not better. As soon as he heard it, Nie MingJue knew that he was fibbing on purpose, frowning slightly

Jin GuangShan followed the transition, "That's right. Anyhow, his attitude has always been arrogant."

- Exiled Rebels, Recklessness (2)

The focus of this scene is the double standards between a male heir to a prominent sect and a female disciple born from a servant - gender and social class. It is more than clear that Wei Wuxian and Mianmian are being looked down upon for "stepping out of line" due to their lineage (as well as Mianmian for her gender).

Like, there are other factors at play in this scene, and I'm a big fan of alternative interpretations, but it's not wrong to say Mianmian is being a fucking badass in this scene by questioning and rebuking bigots, even if there's no real "reckoning" or retribution for said bigots. It was one of - if not the - most memorable scenes for me, and it’s driving me a little nuts seeing ppl trying to "Um, Actually" it

[sevensdeadly-if]

yeah i get you being upset about rachel Z playing snow white!! idk what up with her now man. she was in the reboot of west side story and i lover her in it and she has an amazing voice honestly!! but i don’t really understand why she’s shitting on snow white when she’s LOTERALLY playing her! i have no doubt that her singing will be amazing in the movie but i feel like she’s kind of tainted the film now cuz now we’re all under the impression that she doesn’t even like snow white :(

the thing i liked with the other actresses who played the other princess was that they showed genuine interest in the character (halle bailey, lily james, elle fanning etc…). While even tho some of there characters are there characters “don’t care about anything but love” they showed that their princess had more to them than just love. i like how while they were falling in love they were sweet and kind and strong!! they played their princess amazingly!! and honestly i feel like rachel z might too!! im just scared about how i might perceive her in the movie cuz i don’t wanna associate her with someone who hates love and only wants a strong female character who only wants to fend for themselves of some shit, cuz not all girls want that!

i def do not hate rachel z i NEVER did! in fact i actually love her!! i think she just def fucked herself over with how she described snow white and how she went about some interviews!! anyhow sorry for the long rant haha🥲 i needed to vent about this cuz i feel like while everyone on the internet hates rachel z (not saying you do ofc❤️❤️❤️) i still love her cuz ik she can do right by snow white!!

I definitely don’t hate her. Honestly until this whole debacle I never really had much of an opinion on her. Really for me it’s just disappointment in how she is handling things. Making it seem like it’s not feminist to simply want true love 😕 like as a die hard disney fan it does hurt as dumb as it sounds. Like Snow White was a defining moment for women and movies in general at the time of its release. So just insulting it that way is frustrating. But I definitely don’t hate her. And I doubt my opinion will really have much effect. But unfortunately I do think she has kind of busted the chances the movie may have had 🫠

[joz-yyh]

Rust - Ch. 6 (Preview)

SUMMARY: A “how they got together” and “where they are now” fic in which I detail how Damian and Tardif meet and consequently fall in love. No beta. Read at your own risk.

RATING: T (for preview only)

PAIRING: Bounty Hunter x Flagellant

WORD COUNT: 1,369

A/N: Very important note, but this chapter is another FLASHBACK. Audrey tries to dig up dirt on Tardif and Damian’s relationship by inviting the flagellant out to the cove for some one-on-one girl talk.

▪️ You can also check out all my BHxF art → Here

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Knee-high boots step stealthily around the abbey, pilfering hands guiding the cunning grave robber along as she skirts the concrete at her back, eyes peering around the corner of the penance hall.

Strangely the flagellant is outside his pieous chamber, kneeled down next to a series of graves bearing the names of clergymen, tending to the onset of spring weeds.

Nothing beautiful lasts in Hamlet. The colorful blossoms of flowers are a luxury rarely seen and aside from the few modest patches of turf marked by trimmed hedges and somber statues of saints passed, the Abbey doesn't have much of a garden.

The silent sleuth stands to her full height, this scene calling for a more personable approach.

"Hey, Damian," Audrey calls, gentle and grounded, waving at him sweetly as she steps through the teasings of grass.

The holy man jolts at her presence, a decade of people watching telling her that his mind is miles away, deep in thought.

"Audrey, good to see you," Damian replies, twisting around to meet her casual demeanor. He discards the overgrowth of roots in his hand, brushing the soil from his robe as he rises to his feet.

Her sharp eyes notice the vibrant yellow of plucked dandelions and the delicate white of queen anne’s lace placed upon the crowns of these simple headstones and she feels a distant pang of sympathy.

"What brings you here? Have you come seeking the path of Light," he says, smiling.

Audrey shoots him a saucy grin in return.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but that's not why I am here. You get points for persistence, though,” she giggles softly, the sound warming her throat.

The holy man deflates when he hears this, his altruism giving her too much credit if he truly believed she would ever devote herself to a lifestyle of prayer and prudence.

"Then, how is it that I can help you,” he asks, his countenance suffering, looking more ragged at the disappointing news.

Damian really shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up, but there’s something else eating at him, Audrey can tell by the grimace hiding just below the surface, the slack of his seemingly gracious front.

"Would you be so kind as to accompany me out to the cove? That is, if you're not too busy," she asks, her upturned fingers pointing at what remains of his apparent yard work.

“As humbled as I am to hear your request, wouldn't it be wiser to have a group of us go," the priest suggests, leaning further towards suspicion.

So, the flagellant is not as dim-witted as she heard, but then again, the shrewd thief didn’t make it very hard for him to figure out her motivations were far from noble.

"This isn't exactly an official mission," the lady explains, "You know all those slimy fishmen we made into sashimi last week? I got it on good authority that the tide is about to wash up a hoard of treasure from their vault."

Having no interest in wealth and riches, Damian doesn't look any more convinced by her proposal.

This called for a change of strategy.

Her direct approach might have been a bust, but maybe some open-ended honesty blended with a bit of flattery could steer the conversation in her favor.

"OK, you got me,” she says, holding her hands up in arrest, “I know you'd just use your share for charity anyhow, but if it's just split between the two of us, we won't have to divvy up the profits let's say … any more than 60/40."

Damian sighs in disappointment. This request of hers reeked of greed and selfish intentions at best.

"C'mon pleeeease," she begs, the brim of her hat casting a shadow over her sniveling face, "There's no one else to ask and you're so good at making all the bad guys bleed."

The flagellant had allowed the ex-matriarch to plead her case and while he disagrees with her ideology, he doesn't want the woman traversing the arduous dens of merfolk alone. Should anything untoward happen to her, whether it was in the name of profit or not, he would feel wholly responsible.

"Very well," he sighs, acquiescing, already regretting his decision, though he knew this burden was one he had to shoulder til the end.

"Excellent," She cheers, clasping her hands in delight, crocodile tears suddenly extinguished in light of her success, "Shall we be off, then?"

"I will meet you at the crossroads," Damian says, his gaze now turned towards the church, pensive as the sun shines its beacon over the campanile, "I must let the abbot know of my absence."

—--

Reposed against the sturdy trunk of a tree, Audrey waits in the dark stretch of woods just off the beaten path, safely hidden from view.

Though the streets had been reasonably quiet (as it normally was after a gentle tide), she wasn't about to stand out in the open with a target on her back, trail bereft of carriages and foot traffic be damned.

The grave robber kills time by giving herself a manicure, weedling the sharp edge of her dagger under her fingernails, somehow never getting them completely free of sediment, the black rings of soil forever embedded into her skin. 

With a flicker of movement from up the way, the hood of Damian's holy saunter comes into view. His approach is not the most soft-footed, nor is the rattle of his flail, but Audrey's keen ears picked it up all the same.

She pockets the knife, glad that this boorish interlude was over, striding up the hillbank to meet him.

The flagellant stops, the cloak of illusion fading before his eyes, the rogue's impressive skills of subterfuge making her appear out of nowhere, the environment bending to her candlestein whims.

"About time you showed up, holy man," Audrey jeers, prickly, "Don't you know it's bad manners to keep a lady waiting?"

"Apologies," the flagellant huffs, not willing to dive deeper into the matter.

She clicks her tongue at his reluctance, scoffing at his frowning face.

"One of these days, I am going to get you to lighten up around me," the grave robber asserts, arms crossed in a sassy, cockeyed pose.

He gives her an injured look in return, unable to commit to such a possibility in the foreseeable future.

"OK, let's just put a pin in it for now," she resigns, bleakly tagging it on a metaphysical bulletin board.

"Anyways, you ready to go,” the woman asks, dropping a hand onto her hip, the other raised to usher in their departure.

The flagellant solemnly nods his accord and Audrey grins, leading the way.

The grave robber lets the silence hang between them for a few more paces, her lure not working as perfectly as predicted, but Damian was here, an unwitting informant, and that's all she really needed.

The holy man is not quite walking evenly beside her, but trails slightly behind and it's probably a smart move on his part, though pure vigilance wouldn't stop her from springing a trap if she truly desired, indeed one was already set.

According to her sources, the gruesome newbie never shuts up, an endless stream of religious chatter and unwelcome blessings, but so far the flagellant was not at all the intrusive nuisance she'd been led to believe.

Could it be subjective? Or perhaps this was a phase, an after effect of whatever has been weighing on his mind. Audrey must debunk such discrepancies, her investigation far from over.

The grave robber clears her throat, parsing the air for a segway of idle chit-chat.

“Given that we have a bit of a walk ahead of us, mind if I ask you something," she broaches, an impish smirk playing out on her ruby red lips.

“If you must,” he replies with a wince, playing along, but bracing himself for the worst of what she could ask him.

Best to cut right to the chase then.

"So … you and the bounty hunter, huh," she ventures, casually dropping the sensitive topic as easily as striking a fuse.

Dread builds like lard in his stomach, the holy man's cadence becoming jittery, head downcast as he processes her incriminating words.

{End Preview}

[a-crow-ready-for-a-murder]

Screw it, chapter 7

Hey all, sorry for the late update, my home got flooded because of a busted pipe and I ended up forgetting. Anyhow here's the next chapter and maybe I'll post another one today too. Hope you enjoy!

Ruggie was brought out of his reverie when a familiar voice caught his attention. Looking around his gaze fell on Kalim who was asking one of his dormmates something. Even though he could hear Kalim loud and clear, he couldn’t process what he was saying because he was too focused on what the red eyed young man was holding. Cradled gently in both of his hands was a tattered but still recognisable mix of red and white flora wrapped in a crumpled white bouquet plastic.

Ruggie felt a cold rock sink into his stomach, so cold it made his sweat come out chilled. It must have also taken all the moisture from his mouth because he felt parched as if he’d just toured the desert for days on end. Watching Kalim talk to his dormmate he could only think of one name as the source of his new problem. Jaylin. That nosey little bird had gotten far too involved this time. He’d asked her to leave it and now Kalim was in Savannaclaw with the bouquet she’d insisted on taking with her. Ruggies hands trembled, his dry mouth was now overwhelmed by a sour taste as he clenched his teeth. He would have to send her a text later, one final text before never talking to her again. He turned away from the scene that he didn’t realize had come to an end to go to his room when he was stopped in his tracks. “Ruggie!” called Kalim. Ruggie took several deep breaths just so he could fake a smile long enough to turn Kalim away but when he faced him all his fortitude vanished in the face of that way too happy smile. “I’ve been looking for you” Said Kalim, closing the distance between them so they were only 2 feet away from each other. “You have?” Ruggie asked absentmindedly

“Yeah, all morning.”

“Huh, why’s that?” Perhaps if he played dumb he could make this discussion go by faster.

“Someone left this bouquet in front of Scarabia, it’s signed by the letter R and I wanted to ask if it was you.”

Would he be lying if he said it wasn’t? Sure it was his bouquet but he wasn’t the one who’d left it. Looking at Kalim’s face he felt panic rising in his chest, gestures like this had ended friendships before, was he really willing to risk that for the one in a billion chance that Kalim felt the same?

“Nah, that wasn’t me, I’m not into mushy gestures” he said breezily

Right before his eyes, almost in slow motion, he saw Kalims face fall, had he been wrong?

“Oh.” Said Kalim “then….uh…”

Kalim was sad? Was he hoping that it was Ruggie? His mouth moved before his thoughts could settle

“Were you hoping it was?”

“Honestly….yeah.”

Ruggie was taken aback, he knew Kalim was honest but he wasn’t expecting such a direct answer. “Wait…what? You were?”

“Well yeah, I mean I’d wanted to ask you but I didn’t know if you’d felt the same so I was just hoping…”

Ruggies brain scrambled, he didn’t know what to say, or what to do. Kalim liked him, really liked him. All this time spent worrying and he actually had feelings for him. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I guess I’ll see you-”

“Wait!”

The window to tell him the truth was closing, if he didn’t ask now, there was no chance this moment would come again. Kalim looked at Ruggie curiously as he tried to gather even a few of his thoughts. “I…well…” he sighed “It is my bouquet, one I was gonna give you but I…something came up and…I guess JJ must have brought them.”

Kalims eyes began to light up “Really?”

“Y-yeah, it’s corny, I know but I thought that’s…y’know what you do when you want to ask someone out.”

The way his heart pounded, Ruggie worried he might have a heart attack before hearing Kalims answer

“You…you want to ask me out!?”

“Uhm…yeah?”

Kalim had a huge smile on his face as he threw his arms around Ruggie “Ohmygosh! Yes! I would love to go out with you!!”

The cold panic that had been plaguing Ruggie’s chest melted away, this was happening, it was really happening. Slowly as if he were trying to preserve a bubble Ruggie hugged Kalim as a smile crept up his face and tears began to form in the corner of his eyes

[pepperf]

Ah, full article:

AN Abergavenny man who went on an illegal wild boar hunt with pals in the Forest of Dean, claims that there is a ‘necromancer’ living in the woods.

Semi-professional long-distance runner Johnny Turnip explained, “We stumbled across the necromancer’s lair after a white deer caused Big Tony to crash his Bedford Rascal.

“The ugly albino creature just appeared out of nowhere and stood in the middle of the road staring at us like we were the ones naked and running through the woods without any purpose.

“Now while Big Tony has got the blood of a lot of furry things on his hands and has no aversion to killing innocent animals, he’s very particular when it comes to his vehicle. The last thing he wanted was Bambi’s brains all over his windscreen and so he swerved to avoid the dumb animal.”

Turnip explained that they missed the deer but left the road and clipped a tree stump which caused the van to crash.

“It was a bit A-Team!” Recalled Turnip. “The band went flying about 20 feet in the air and flipped a full 360. Luckily it landed on its wheels, in a sort of clearing. However, whether in panic or instinct, Big Tony pressed down on the accelerator and we we went flying along this forest trail for about 30 feet before I heard him scream, ‘Gertcha! Brakes knackered! Jump boys, jump!’ We opened the doors and bailed just before the Bedford Rascal smacked headfirst into one of the biggest oak trees I’ve ever seen.

“Fair play the way we jumped from the van and rolled effortlessly on the ground must have looked pretty spectacular. It’s not something any of us have had to do since our early twenties but we’ve still got the old magic. Any bystanders would have probably thought we were the S.A.S on manoeuvres rather than just former car thieves.”

Turnip added, “Me and Puerto Rico Paul were a bit dazed from the ordeal at first and just laid on our backs looking at the darkening sky as if to say, ‘What next you bastard?’ However, we’re not millennials and don’t do self-pity. We were soon pulling one another to their feet and wondering if Big Tony had packed plenty of beer when we heard the wailing.”

Turnip recalled, “It still gives me goosebumps to think about it even now. It was a primal cry of absolute grief that could turn a man’s bowels to water. Worse! It was coming from Big Tony. He was on his knees next to his van with his head in his hands. He just looked at us with tears in his days and said, “She’s gone boys. It’s the end of the road for Saucy Lil.

“Now while it was news to us that Big Tony had given his van a name and a female one at that, we both knew the affection he had for his motor. It was slightly perverted to my mind but Tone’s always been a bit on the spectrum when it comes to his relationship with anything with wheels. He was the same with his first BMX. Anyhow, we may have made fun of his weird obsessions, but we respected Tone’s grief, and when Puerto Rico Paul whispered in my ear, ‘Perhaps we should do the right thing and cremate the old bitch?’ I ignored his dark sarcasm. It didn’t come from a good place and right now Tone needed time to mourn his loss.”

Turnip explained that after a few hours of being left alone with Saucy Lil, Big Tony rejoined his friends who were using the last of the power on their phones to play Wordle. He simply announced, “Long may she ride! Let’s unload the old bird one last time and butcher us some boar!”

Turnip said, “They were his last words on his lost love and we didn’t pry. It was sad for us all to see the old van bust up and mangled, but the Forest of Dean was as good a place as any for a vehicle to rust in eternity. Hopefully, it would one day become home to a family of ferrets.”

=Turnip told the Chronicle that after unloading the two crates of lager, four bottles of whiskey, six pouches of tobacco, and ten cans of beans from the van. He was a bit concerned about how they would survive a few nights in the forest.

“I said to Tone, ‘Is this going to be enough?’ He just looked at me funny and said, ‘How much do you plan on drinking JT?’ ’No!’ I said. ‘I’m thinking more of what we’re going to eat?’ ‘We’re going to chow down on some hog, boss,’ he said in a weird American accent. To which I replied, ‘And how the hell are we going to hunt it?’ Paul tapped me on the shoulder and as I turned he pointed a shotgun at me and smiled like a child on Christmas morning. The game was on and the whiskey was in the jar!”

Turnip added, “We had the booze, the smokes, and the gun needed for a successful pig hunt! Admittedly, we didn’t have any water, but there was bound to be a stream nearby. The lack of a tent, sleeping bags, and complete ignorance of exactly where we were could present a few problems further down the line but we were masters of our destiny, born to woman but belonging to the wilderness. We were like a pack of coyotes and no tame dogs were stealing our bone. We decided to set up camp for the night and get drunk. Killing pigs could wait until dawn!

“Big Tony siphoned some petrol from the van and we made a fire. It nearly got out of hand but after a few whiskies, we were joking about accidentally burning the entire forest down. We carried on drinking to the early hours and arguing about who would win in a fight between a crocodile and a bear when the old man of the woods turned up and warned us all about the necromancer.”

To be continued…..

[It's from here, The Abergavenny Chronicle, and seems to be a regular bit.]

big things happening in england

[amora-com]

Secret Admirer - Eddie Munson

♪  Eddie Munson x Reader!Henderson

♪  this is a rlly long oneshot, so enjoy!

♪  give credits to @amora-com​ if reblogging!

Nothings been weird, everything normal. But except for the fact that you’ve been getting flowers and love letters for someone anonymous.

Dear Y/N

I know this seems stupid to you and you dislike sappy stuff but still—I just want you to know that you mean the world to me and I don’t know what I would do without you… You complete me you know? You’re someone i can see actually having a future with.

From ; secret admirer.

I blushed at the beautiful written words. ‘God this person’s good.” I placed the letter inside my bedside drawer, where I’ve been hiding the pile.

“Y/N! COME OUT FOR DINNER!” Dustin shouts.

I forcefully close my drawer; practically throwing it in, due to my shock of Dustin’s random voice.”

--

“Good morning sweets.” Mom smiles.

“Morning momma.” 

“Dustin’s already went to school, don’t you have that championship thing?”

“I don’t exactly need to be there.” I shrug.

She poured me a bowl of cereal. i started munching on it once i saw the time.

“I’ll go get ready, be right back!”

“Okay hon, go go, you’ll be late.”

“Oh! one last thing sweets, I need you to pick up Dustin later.”

“Okie-dokie mom.”

--

I went to school wearing a black skirt paired with a white top. I threw on a sage green jacket and zipped it up. i put on my very worn out converses and said “hm.. this will do.”

I rode my skateboard since the buses dropped by just an hour a while ago. 

I flicked my skateboard up, grabbing the other end. 

“Y/N, PLEASE HELP US.” Dustin runs up to me, desperate.

“With...?” I shake my head cluelessly.

“Help us find someone to sub for Lucas later.”

“And how will i do that?”

“Uh.. i don’t know just come with us.” Mike retorts. Not a few seconds after, the two boys had started dragging me to their mission; finding a sub.

--

“TELL ME THINGS!” Mike shouts.

I had no energy to run after them, i’ve been walking for so long. I went to go back inside, until i bumped into a blackish-blue leather jacket with a vest on.

“Oh shit.”

I fell to the ground, my stuff all over the floor, as i was rummaging through my stuff to get.. i don’t even remember anymore.

“Oh uh.. didn’t mean, sorry.”

I look up to see dazzling brown eyes looking at me. His hair was all messed up, but it suited him. He helped me gather my stuff.

“Y/N Henderson?” He asks.

“Uh.. yea, why?”

“So your Henderson’s sister.”

“You know him?”

“Uh yea, i just sent him out to go look for a sub for Hellfire tonight.” I chuckle, remembering all the things i’ve asked Dustin to do for me.

“Ah Hellfire, I’m picking him up later actually.”

“You can sit in if you’d want, just watch, If you know, you don’t mind.” He smiles nervously.

“I’d love that.”

“I’d be delighted.” He replies.

--

I got there earlier than Dustin actually. Me and Eddie have just been chatting over the past few minutes, the other members doing their own things. I was sitting at the armrest of his chair.

The three busted open the door, revealing middle school Erica.

“Absolutely not.”

“You asked for a sub. We delivered.”

“This is Hellfire Club. Not Babysitting Club.”

“I'm 11, you long-haired freak.” She always goes for the hair, i thought. Remembering the time where she called Murray a “Bald Bastard.”

“My, my, the child speaks.” Some of us start to chuckle.

“So, what's your name, child?”

“Erica Sinclair.” Even more laughing filled the room.

“So this is Sinclair's infamous sister.”

“He's sharp.” Erica snaps back at him.

“Also, Hey Y/N It’s been a while huh.” She looks back at me, smiling.

Eddie turns to look at me and i shrug at him.

“What is Y/N doing here?” Dustin asks.

“She’s my plus-one.” Eddie grins.

“Anyhow, What's your class and level? Level one dwarf?”

“My name is Lady Applejack.”

“And I'm a chaotic good half-elf rogue, level 14. I will sneak behind any monster you throw my way and stab them in the back with my poison-soaked kukri.”

“And I'll smile as I watch them die a slow, agonizing death.”

“So, we gonna do this, or we gonna keep chitchatting like this is your mommy's book club?”

I smiled proudly at Erica, letting out a small giggle. 

“Welcome to Hellfire.” He smiles before shaking her hand.

“The hooded cultists chant, "Hail Lord Vecna." 

"Hail Lord Vecna." 

“They turn to you, remove their hoods.”

“You recognize most of them from Makbar.”

“But there is one you do not recognize, his skin shriveled, desiccated. And something else.” ‘I could melt at the sound of his voice’ i thought. I looked at him and smiled.

“He is not only missing his left arm, but his left eye!” 

“No! No! Vecna's dead. He was killed by Kas.”

“So it was thought, my friends. So it was thought. But Vecna lives.”

--

A few minutes passed by of them playing, and me watching their actions, i think i also picked up some of the rules.

though i found it cute that Eddie kept explaining the rules to me from time to time.

“Crit hit!” Erica cheered.

“Yeah!”

“What? What?” He got up and was freaking out.

“That's why we play.” He reached out both of his arms, dismissing everyone.

--

I was walking out of the door, until i hear someone calling my name out behind me.

“Y/N, Y/N!” I look behind me and see the Munson boy.

“Hey Eds.” I smile.

“One question, Are you doing anything tonight?”

“Well, Dustin’s already gone home, so nope.”

“Alright, um do you maybe wanna see a movie?”

“Wow Eds, you asking me on a date?”

He smiled at me, with those brown eyes. God, this brown eyes, i could drown in them.

“Sure, come on.” I put my arms around his shoulder, causing him to slouch. I started ruffling his hair as we walked farther away from Hawkins High.

His sweet-sounding laugh filled my ears. 

--

A few weeks had gotten by, me and Eddie kept growing closer and closer. 

“Hey.. Uh, Can i tell you something?” Eddie asks me.

Which did leave me worried. What was he gonna tell me.

“Uh.. yeah sure, where?”

“Skull rock. After lunch maybe?” 

“Alright.. See you then.” I couldn’t focus in my classes at all, thinking of everything that Eddie might say.

--

I walked through the woods and made my way to Skull rock.

“Took you long enough sweetheart.” Eddie laughs.

Earning a smile from me, i sat beside him and looked at my feet.

“So um.. What did you wanna tell me?”

“Ah.. yes right.” He sounded nervous.

“Do you remember those letters you got just a while back?”

“What.. Letters?” I was afraid if he’d found out about the letters from my secret admirer the last time he came over.

“From your secret admirer.” He faced me and looked at me with a serious face.

“How do you know about that?” I asked him dumbfounded.

“Because i wrote them Y/N, okay i’ve liked you since I saw you walking with Dustin, I never had the guts to tell you, but I never realized i would come this far, you know, i’m actually talking to you and holding your hands right now.” He ranted.

I couldn’t help but smile as my heart was fluttering. My face turned red and i interrupted him by cupping his face.

“And i don’t even know how to-”

“Mhm, continue.”

“.. to tell you. Look i’ll get to the point. Will you be my girlfriend..?”

“I’d love to.” i said, getting flashbacks from the first time we interacted.

“I’d be delighted.”

[quirkless-accident]

Oh, you havent heard?

Jazz-centric fanfic, pre-adoption. Moving in with a hero (stranger)

Jazz was smart. At least, she liked to think she was. Her grades certainly reflected that, anyhow.

So why did it take her so long to notice her brother was different?

At first she had brushed it off as normal, teenage weirdness. But he was physically colder. More closed off. He was keeping more and more secrets. That was normal for him to do to their parents, but to her? He had always been an open book with her. It hurt, to say the least.

She was always there to pick up the pieces. He was quirkless. Being bullied came with the territory. She had been the one to sit him down on the edge of the tub and patch him up with worried nagging, only to receive an eye roll in return.

Jazz had an empathy quirk. If she touched somebody, she could tell exactly what they were feeling, but she could decide when she wanted to use it. She learned at a young age that it was a huge breach of privacy to do that to people without their permission. So she never activated her quirk on Danny. Not intentionally anyway.

Not until the argument.

Mom and Dad were out of the house. Their precious portal hadn't worked. Danny was beat to hell, and Jazz was furious at the people who did it to him, and worried. Danny brushed her off for the millionth time, and she was stressed out because of that and school, and-

She had just wanted to help.

She had used her power when she had been patching him up, and the buildup of emotions had made her slip. The pain, the loneliness, the sheer worthlessness her brother felt...It was staggering. She had pulled back like he hurt her, an apology forming on her lips. her brother was smart, too, though. He knew what she had done in an instant.

They screamed at each other. Jazz apologized, but Danny was an emotional, abused twelve year old. It was only natural that her apology fell on deaf, angry ears.

He had stormed off. She hadn't followed. A door was slammed. That was normal, he was twelve. She thought it might have been the front door. Maybe he was just going on a walk to cool off.

But then the lights flickered. And there was a gut-wrenching wail coming from the basement.

Jazz was never one to run down the stairs, but if she could have she would have leapt all the way down.

What she found would haunt her for the rest of her life.

The portal was alive with power, casting the lab in an eerie, unearthly green glow. And then there was a body, sprawled out on the floor just outside of the portal. There was a faint trace of smoke lifting from the body. The smell of burnt flesh assaulted her nostrils.

He turned the body over onto his back, and couldn't help the cry of surprise, and the powerful tears that wracked her body almost immediately. Because even if his clothes were different and his hair was white, she'd be able to recognize her baby brother anywhere.

She knew him by the small scar on his lip from when he busted it by running into a tree on his bike. And by the one in his eyebrow from when he had jumped from a chair and busted his face against the edge of the counter. Of the pinched expression he was making, even in his unconscious state. He always had that expression when he came home from school.

She pressed her ear to his chest.

There was no heartbeat.

In the distance she could hear a pounding. Bang bang BANG on the door, but she couldn't bring herself to get up. Her little brother was gone. He was dead and he wouldn't even have come down here if it weren't for her. If she hadn't used her quirk on him he would still be-He would still be-

"What's going on down here?"

Jazz startled badly, head whipping over to the unfamiliar man. Her heart was beating against her ribcage, as if it had a personal mission to break every single rib.

"I-I don't know!" She cried. The tears were coming in full force now. Her body was shaking as she turned back to Danny. Even in death he couldn't be at peace. "We got into an argument and he came down here and-and-" She took in a shuddering breath. "The portal wasn't supposed to be working," she said in a moment of clarity.

The man, with long black hair and a black jumpsuit, looked between them and the portal. He came over and knelt beside her, handing him a card. A hero license. Eraserhead, it read. A pro hero.

He must have heard Danny's scream.

He looked Danny over, checking for a pulse. Even though he had just died, he was oddly cold. Usually bodies were warmer after they just died. Especially if they had been fried to death.

"What is this?" Eraserhead asked her. She glanced over to what he was talking about. He had Danny's left arm in his hands. But it didn't look like his arm. It had bright green electric-like patterns crisscrossing up his limb. It was bright and angry and raised.

"I-I don't know," she said. Eraserhead put a comforting hand on her shoulder. She couldn't stop herself from crying even harder.

Her parent's invention had killed her only brother.

But he was quirkless. Would they even care? They never seemed to care about anything else going on in his life. Would they even notice his absence?

Before she could jump further down that rabbit hole, she was being pulled behind Eraserhead. He was still on the floor with her, but his eyes were wide and focused on the body in front of them.

But the body was looking around wildly, his eyes full of fear.

Danny was alive.

He was alive.

Sheer relief washed over her like a wave crashing against the shore, and she lunged forward, scooping her brother up in her arms and holding him tightly.

"Wha-Jazz? Jazz, what happened?" He sounded worried, panicked. She only squeezed him tighter.

"What do you remember?" Eraserhead asked. Danny narrowed his eyes and shifted so Jazz was more behind him.

"Who are you?" He asked. His jaw was clenched and his grip on his sister tightened.

"He's a hero, Danny," Jazz said, pulling back. "He came when he heard you scream."

Eraserhead could tell he was not one to be lightly fooled, so he pulled out his license again and showed the boy. He looked between the card and him for a few moments before finally nodding.

"What do you remember?" Shouta asked again, looking over at the portal. Danny followed his gaze with a frown.

"Jazz and I got into an argument. I came down here to cool off. Mom and dad said the portal didn't work, and I...I was curious. So I walked inside. But I tripped..."

"And then?" Eraserhead asked. Danny just shrugged.

"I woke up on the floor with a homeless man standing over me."

Eraserhead huffed. he could feel a headache already forming.

"How do you feel, Danny?" Jazz was asking, looking over him in an oddly maternal manner. Danny shrugged and pulled at his shirt.

"I feel fine. A little cold, I guess, but otherwise I'm good. Why?"

Jazz bit her lip, and turned away. She seemed to be fighting herself, but Danny was patient when it came to his sister. He would give her the time to muster up her courage.

Eventually she did. She pulled out a little pocket mirror she used to adjust her makeup, and handed it to Danny. He popped it open and gasped.

"What...What am I?" He asked. He was starring at his reflection like he didn't recognize the person looking back at him. He pulled his white hair in front of his face and frowned. "What the fuck happened to me?"

Before any of them could start, however, the front door opened and the sound of their parents echoed throughout the house.

-------

The trial for custody had been quick and painless, mostly due to the fact that Eraserhead-Shouta, was a pro hero. The fact that his parents had been working on technically illegal person projects without proper lab safety also helped, but it wasn't enough to get them thrown in jail. Not even their cries about their son being possessed did anything.

The transition for Jazz was easy enough. She didn't have a lot of things she wanted to take with her, anyway. All a permanent reminder that she had come from a place like the Fenton household. She didn't like her parents, no matter how much they adored her. She didn't want to keep anything they gave her.

Danny, on the other hand, had quite a lot of stuff he wanted to take. Shouta and Hizashi, Shouta's husband, were helping him pack. Their parents had never gotten him a single gift. They bought some of his clothes and put food in front of him, but even that was being generous.

But that didn't mean Danny didn't have a lot. In fact, he had more than Jazz. Because as soon as Jazz was able to, she got a job to start saving up. She had gotten him a small army of model rockets and space posters for his birthday, and Christmas. Or if she just felt like it, because her brother was good and deserved it.

But she could tell the transition was still hard for him. It would be a new school, new friends. He had new powers, too, and could barely control them. Just an hour ago he got stuck halfway through the floor and Hizashi had to calm him down enough to get him to unstick himself. But in the couple of weeks he's had his powers, he's made a lot of progress. Baby steps, Jazz reminded him often.

The process for control was slow, but getting Danny to come out of his shell was even slower. Outside of training, or hanging out with Jazz, he didn't really talk a lot. Jazz had been careful not to activate her quirk again, but it was frustrating to watch him shut everybody out. Even her, to some extent. Anytime she showed any sign of worry he would clam up and tell her he was tired.

Jazz had expressed her frustration once to Shouta when they had gone grocery shopping. He just hummed with understanding while trying to decide between what breadcrumbs they would get.

"Well, it's only natural," Shouta had said. "Some people shut everybody out after a traumatic event. And up until recently, you're the only person he was able to rely on. It only makes sense he doesn't want you to worry about him or how his death affected him."

Right. His death. Because that's what he was, wasn't it? Sure, not all the way, but her brother had died. Had died because her parents were careless. Had died because Jazz didn't know how to keep her nose out of his business.

There was a quick, sharp pressure suddenly on her forehead. She looked up at Shouta, who was poking her. He gave her a tired smile.

"He needs time, Jazz," he said. "You're already doing everything you can by being there for him. So don't blame yourself, okay?"

"Yeah," she said. "Okay."

----

It had been three years since then. Jazz had moved out, but she still came over every weekend for family dinner, and took Danny out once a week for ice cream.

Being able to see her brother so carefree and light made her indescribably happy. She had never thought she'd ever be able to see him like this.

So yeah. His death had been a tragedy. But it made his life much more vibrant.

[theartistknownaslymond]

Whumptober 2022 day 3

Hair's breadth from death: Gun to Temple | "Say goodbye" | Impaled

Today I extend my apologies to Will Scott.

Warnings: sectarian slurs, gang scuffles, stabbing. Badly written Scots.

Context: in the AU the Scotts are fans of Glasgow Rangers and the Kerrs are fans of Celtic. The two football teams have a rivalry and are known as the Old Firm. The support for the teams is rooted in sectarian divisions - Rangers supporters being traditionally Protestant, unionist, while Celtic (pronounced 'sell-tick') supporters are traditionally Catholic, supporters of Irish Nationalism (if you're wondering how this fits with Wat Scott's hatred of the English let me tell you there's a whole spectrum of hypocritical views on both sides and Wat is quite capable of thinking of Scotland as the ruler, what with their king having taken the English throne).

Also Bonkers was a real nightclub in Glasgow. Apparently when it closed down in the early 2000s, crime in the area decreased by 30%.

---

"Where the fuck is he?" Fergie Hoddim leaned on the deck and glared out at the punters below them. Her skinny arms glistened with sweat beneath the sickly fluorescent lights.

Alec Guthrie shook his head and lifted a set of headphones to his ear, keeping his attention fixed pointedly on the turntables he was operating, though he, too, swept a nervous eye over the crowds.

Bonkers Show Bar was a dangerous place at the best of times, an early-opening watering hole that drew in all species of gang-banger, roaster and madman from across the city. Drinkers were accustomed to music that got them attuned to their amphetamine-fuelled heartbeats: hardcore noise to choreograph their fights to, to absorb and swell the screamed insults and muffle anything that wasn't abuse just well enough that it could he misconstrued as such anyhow. As a rule, the maniacs on the dancefloor at Bonkers didn't give a shit who was operating the decks, so long as the beat never dropped and the bar never ran dry.

Nevertheless, an appearance by the St Mary's collective raised expectations. The neds didn't care about much, but they knew their local heroes and they knew Lymond was famous as fuck even outside Scotland - they knew he was the real deal, and any other line-up sent from St Mary's was just scraps. For them, it was Lymond or bust - anything else was nothing but an insult, and you didn't show that kind of contempt for the crowd at Bonkers without it turning riotous.

Happy hour had ended and the punters had begun to realise that Lymond wasn't lurking round the bar anywhere. No one had even announced his immanent arrival - though the band members DJing had, indeed, been counting on him turning up before the watershed.

Only Will Scott remained calm in the face of a sea of boiling, furious Scotsmen. He handed a couple of seven inches to Randy Bell and gestured for him to pass them to Alec.

Randy didn't look reassured. He shook his head and yelled in Will's ear: "There's only so much damage control a house remix of I Don't Like Mondays can do!"

Will rolled his eyes. "Trust Alec - he'll make magic frae it, just you see..." He folded his arms and surveyed the battlefield. He wondered what was holding Francis up, sure he did, though he remained confident of his own ability to keep the crowd entertained in the meantime.

He'd conceded to the dress code that the place insisted on enforcing and was growing warm in his long-sleeved white shirt and tartan trousers, but the outfit made him feel in control and professional. Lymond expected professional behaviour in his absence, particularly when others were representing him and his enterprise, and Will was determined he wouldn't let his old friend down. After the hell of the slave contracts he'd been on, Francis deserved his own label to have as much success as possible, and Will was going to help him achieve that.

He picked up the mic as Alec and Fergie blended the next record in and scanned the upturned, rapturous, restless faces before him. "Aye, Hope Street, how is it?" he bellowed.

The crowd rumbled like an earthquake.

"Oh aye? D'ye even ken what day it is, any of ye?"

The heckles were beautiful. Will laughed at every word he caught:

"The day after the day after I was born!"

"The last day of yer career!"

"Piss off and get the man on!"

"Yer ma's birthday!"

"Pay day ye wee ginger cunt!"

He nodded at their answers. "Aye? Then ye havna had enough o' the good stuff if ye still ken so much, eh?" The beat throbbed in time with Will's excited pulse and his smile spread, crafty, over his face. "What're ye wasting breath hollerin' for? Away an' get wrecked, boys!"

As the punters grizzled and howled back at Will's provocation, Fergie faded another track in, and Bob Geldof's nasally voice drowned them out:

And he can see no reasons

'Cause there are no reasons

What reason do you need to be shown?

Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh...

Tell me why!

I don't like Mondays...

Will grinned at Randy, who didn't look at all reassured. "I was gonna go tae the bar fer us and now ye've got them all riled!" he whined.

"Och, c'mon ye fearty," Will slapped his shoulder. "I'll protect ye. It's no worse than derby day at Ibrox."

He shoved Randy ahead of him, gestured at Fergie and Alec to confirm they were ok to hold the fort and that they wanted drinks too, and waded into the crowd.

Will towered above the melee of bodies and grinned at the un-lip-readable things that were spat at him. A hand on each of Randy's shoulders, Will guided them to the bar and leaned, gangly, over the shorter man to yell his order across to the server.

Randy looked squirrelishly about him in a way that made Will cuff him with a gentle paw to the ear. "Chill out, man. Ye'll only attract trouble if ye go about expecting it."

"Will, wait, isn't that -?" Randy's shoulders tensed under Will's easy touch. "What the fuck are they doing here?"

Will turned to see where Randy was staring and let out a sigh.

By the entrance to the club, a group of lads in black jackets were scuffling and shoving one another. A disproportionate number of them shared the same thick aubern crew-cut and cold brown eyes - a family trait as recognisable as the Celtic bands Will was sure were tattooed on skin hidden beneath their clothes, as recognisable as the songs they sang on the terraces and the sectarian insults they hollared in the streets. Will immediately regretted having invoked derby day.

The gang of Kerrs had identified a pair of enemies on their territory - maybe the bald man and his scar-faced friend had English accents, maybe they'd said something unwise about the Fenians, maybe they'd simply expressed a dislike of the colour green and a preference for blue. In any case, the Kerrs were intent on meting out some kind of lesson to them, no matter the imbalance of numbers at play.

The club security wished to make it clear that the lesson could be taught outside rather than in such close proximity to the bar and the dance floor, and as Will watched, the vortex of furious men began to move towards the doorway, their ringleader dragged by his jacket between the beefy grip of two burly doormen.

"Oh, that's gonna turn nasty..." Randy muttered.

"It already is," Will replied. He didn't feel the same stirring of hatred he knew his father felt when he saw a member of the Kerr family, but by god he came close to it when he saw a whole bunch of them whaling on only a pair of men.

"Och, Will, no..." Randy said weakly as Will's hands left his shoulders and he began to move towards the disturbance.

"Stay back, Rando," Will didn't turn, but gestured behind him even as Randy struggled to keep pace with him through the crowds.

By the time they got to the door, the Kerrs and their prey had been successfully moved out onto the street. Will stalked past the security guys, who now stood in front of the building with arms crossed, letting whatever unfolded outside their establishment unfold.

"Oi! Enough o'that, lads!" Will yelled with the supreme confidence only someone well over six foot and reconciled to his height could muster. He strode straight for the tangle of men blocking the gutter of the main road and waved cheerily as a taxi honked in objection to the obstacle.

"Och look, the huns've brought reinforcements," one of the Kerrs sneered, turning away from the sport of tenderising their targets with jostling and abuse.

A couple of his cousins, or siblings, looked up and spat over their shoulders.

"Tis the Orange bastard himself!"

"Wheer's yer daddy wee hunny bunny? Are ye finally fit tae take o'er the business, aye?"

"Whisht and shut yer trap, Tommy," Will stood over them, his arms relaxed by his sides, his nose far beyond the reach of their solid foreheads. "What's the fuss here, eh? Don't like the tunes me and my pals've been spinning?"

"Could do with better material, aye. Ye gonna play Fields of Athenry if we ask nicely?" Tommy Kerr's lip curled.

"Wheer's yer man Lymond, eh?" another Kerr demanded as the group's attention gradually turned its focus onto Will. "He'd play what we want tae hear - he's a friend of the Irishman, eh?"

There was a moment of leering and jeering and elbowing one another as the name Oonagh O'Dwyer was bandied about.

Will smirked at them. "He's on his way, lads, but the main act always comes on late, surely ye ken that?"

There was a chorus of sneering chuckles as they closed in about him, but Will remained calm. He'd been sparring with the Kerrs since the first Old Firm game his da had taken him to as a too-tall four year old, and he didn't fear their words or their posturing - not in the middle of the main street, not this early in the night, not when he was there as a musician and a colleague of Lymond's instead of a Rangers fan.

Randy wasn't so calm. Will felt the other man's fist close on the fabric of his shirt as Randy shuffled near for protection, or maybe to cover Will's back. "Will, I think we should go back in. Lymond might be here by now, and he'll no be happy if we're scrappin' out here and no DJing...Remember what he said about sticking to the plan?"

Will pretended to ignore him, but he was quite happy to make peace anyway, whatever plan Randy imagined Lymond had. "Whadya say, Tommy? I'll even buy you and the boys a round of Jamesons - if they sell that shite here..."

The Kerrs chuckled again with menace, enjoying the taunt and the opportunity for fresh offense. Nevertheless, the offer of drink wasn't one to be dismissed out of hand, and they appeared to be considering it - at least up until their original victims, Baldy and Scar-face, decided they'd been unfairly neglected since Will showed up.

"I wasna done, ye Fenian coward!" screamed Baldy, grabbing one of the Kerrs by his jacket, hauling him round and striking a blow to his face.

"Here, Tim, ye want some?" Scar-face launched his head at another of the Kerrs' noses and there was a wet popping sound as cartilage and bone crumpled.

Will was at the centre of it all as things kicked off and he grabbed for whoever he could get a hold of, trying to push Baldy back with one big freckled hand planted on his forehead and simultaneously scruffing a Kerr by the shirt collar with the other. Bodies surrounded him, shoving and struggling, elbows and fists and feet lashing out in search of the right landing. Will felt the squeeze of the tumult around his torso, nothing compared to the crowds shoving in the pit when they played on stage, but increasing in determination as the Kerrs and their antagonists exchanged ever rowdier insults.

"Hoi, hoi, cut it out ye walloppin' donkeys!" Will slapped at Baldy's pate and elbowed a Kerr in the jaw. He wriggled and jostled among them, trying to drive himself between the sides, to force them apart however he could. Sure, his toes got trod on, his shins got kicked and his ribs got pummelled, but it was nothing he couldn't handle - or dole out just the same, when the fighting was really happening around him, not to him.

But then he noticed the cold, a damp sensation spreading unexpected against his skin in among the warm knot of bodies. It was like a drink had been spilled down the left side of him, a whole bleeding pint of something flat and sticky - it made his shirt cling with the texture of day-old Buckfast. He tried to turn to see if someone else had joined the affray fresh from the bar, and as he twisted he felt it: a direct line of agony impaling him just below the ribs.

Pain lanced through him, blasting past shock, bypassing every other function, every other reflex. Will let out a cry, his legs buckled, and the group around him recognised the timbre of complaint caused by a serious injury - they stepped back, like petals peeling away from a bud, and with none of them nearby to catch his weight or break his fall, Will dropped to the tarmac, too helpless to soften his own landing.

His knees took the brunt of it and his jaw hit next, so he lay face-down, stunned by the excruciating claws of pain that reached up and around his body, spreading from his abdomen to his shoulder. He could see the smart shoes of the clubbers retreat as he blinked back nausea, gasping like a stranded fish. The others were leaving: one step, two, a nervous shuffle.

"What did ye do?!"

"Me? It wasna me!"

"How many times do I hafta tell ye tae leave the blade on a dance night?"

"I didna, it wasna mine!"

"Jesus, ye think it was the huns?"

"The huns are carrying now?"

"Aw, fuck..."

"Wheer'd they go?"

"Ah, shite..."

"We gotta git, boys, Ahm no takin' the rap fer a deid rock star..."

"He's no rock star, he's just another Prod..."

"Orange bastard..."

"Pity about that drink he offered - I could aye do with that..."

Will listened to them scatter into the night and managed to exhale a winded-sounding moan, or something like a bleat. He might as well have been pinned to the street for all he could do - he knew his life was leaking out, leaving him empty and light, so if he got up he'd just blow away into an alley like a greasy old crisp packet. His fingers flexed on the road surface and he wondered where the taxis were - he needed to get out of the way before they ran him over...

He whimpered again and felt agony in his shoulder. He screwed his eyes shut and felt tears leak out - god, what was he crying for? Francis, who he'd let down? Grizel, who'd be mad at him if he got back late?

The voice he heard as he felt himself sinking into himself was neither Francis' nor Grizel's however, but it spoke in deep, sorrowful tone: "I'm glad you called me, Randy, but I fear we may be too late. It could be time to say goodbye..."

"Don't say that, Swami, not before Francis gets here..."

No, Will tried to repeat, his lips moving though no sound emerged. Not before Francis gets here.

[ransomedrogue]

Tales of Woe - Scenes from S1 

kiss time! yesssss. well, except everything goes downhill from there

anyhow, this week’s scenes - aftermath of an eventful evening...

1.10 

Weller ushered his nephew up to his apartment, his physical body now inside the building but his mind still stuck out on the stoop. Images and emotions swirled together, with most of his consciousness locked on the memory of kissing Jane, while the rest of his brain did its best to fend off Sawyer's seemingly endless questions about what he'd seen.

"Why were you kissing her?"

"Isn't kissing kind of gross?"

"Was that your friend from when you and mom were kids?"

"Is she your girlfriend?"

Shit. He had to get that under control before they got back to the apartment and Sawyer outed him to Sarah.

But it was nearly impossible to get his thoughts in any sort of order at the moment, and Weller didn't want to outright lie to his nephew. Yet he also didn't want to face Sarah's scrutiny when he hadn't even had time to process what had just happened.

"Um, yeah, that was uh… Taylor. But she's not my girlfriend. So that was kind of a surprise," Weller finally replied, doing his best to focus his attention on the present.

"Oh. So she wants to be your girlfriend," Sawyer concluded.

His nephew was only nine but he'd pretty much nailed the question in the centre of Kurt's mind.

"Er. I don't know. We're going to have to talk about that," he said.

"You think we could not tell your mom about this until I figure that out?"

Sawyer gave him a blank look and for a moment Weller thought he was going to have to bribe the kid to keep him quiet. But then his nephew nodded sagely, and made a confession of his own.

"A girl in my class kissed me last year. I didn't tell mom either."

"She would have made a big deal about it."

Kurt grinned and ruffled Sawyer's hair. He figured that was a fairly normal thing for a boy that age to keep secret from his mom. And it certainly helped him out in the whole scheme of things.

"Yeah. That's kind of what I was thinking," Weller replied, with a breath of relief.

They entered the apartment and, true to his word, Sawyer ran off back to his favourite game without any mention of what he'd seen. Sarah was in the kitchen prepping things for dinner and barely looked up when they came in so Kurt started putting groceries away, hoping to hide the fact that he was in complete turmoil.

Weller was halfway through unloading the bag when he jolted, realizing suddenly that he'd just let Jane go off without her detail after giving her shit for sneaking out. For a full minute he stood there staring at a can of beans, stuck between running after her futilely and calling her right then, even though she most likely hadn't brought her phone on her illicit mission.

"Kurt?"

Shit. Busted.

He had no idea what Sarah had just asked him so Weller looked up blankly, trying to push the sudden panic out of his throat. His instinct was to sprint out the door and drive all her possible routes home but he had enough sense to resist immediately giving into his anxious impulses. Though mostly because he'd have to explain his behaviour to his sister, which could then easily lead to Sawyer spilling his secret.

"I asked if you wanted white rice or brown rice?"

"Oh. Brown please."

Weller finally put the can of beans down and tried to shake himself out of the moment. He forced back his emotions by repeatedly telling himself that Jane could take care of herself. Anyone that tried to attack her would regret their decision immediately. Also, he was already too late to catch up with her, so it would likely be a wild Jane chase that would require ditching dinner and lying about everything.

It took a lot of effort to turn his attention to cooking, but with Sarah insisting on helping him, Weller did his best to not let his mind drift. Yet still he constantly found himself lost in the memory of Jane's mouth coming up to meet his; how it felt, finally kissing her after desiring it for so long.

A huge part of him wanted to drive over to her safe house after dinner and experience that feeling again. Despite where that was likely to lead, including all the complications it would create. It had felt so right with Jane, more so than it ever had with anyone else. Which really wasn't surprising considering the way they'd fit together perfectly, right from the start.

Dinner was a complete blur but thankfully Sarah was questioning Sawyer about a school presentation due the next day so Kurt got away with fixating on what had happened and what he should do next. Jane had said she'd see him tomorrow and that was definitely the wisest course of action. Yet he absolutely could not stop thinking about her and waiting until the next day to see her again seemed torturous.

"Kurt?"

Dammit. Caught again.

He looked up blankly at Sarah, who was giving him a suspicious look. Sawyer, on the other hand, was grinning at him slyly.

"Sorry, I've been thinking about a case," he said, figuring it wasn't entirely a lie.

His sister was still eyeing him strangely but in the end she just shook her head at his inattention.

"Must be some case," she commented.

He couldn't quite tell if she suspected what was going on in his head but forced himself to swallow his instant defensiveness. He didn't need to give Sarah any more indication of where his mind had been during the meal.

"Yeah, sorry," Kurt repeated. "My head's not here right now. Why don't you guys go work on that project and I'll clean up dinner."

Again, Sarah flashed him a funny look but was, thankfully, more concerned about helping Sawyer practice his presentation than quizzing Kurt on his odd behaviour. He breathed a sigh of relief when they headed off and left him to deal with the dishes.

As soon as he was alone, Weller pulled out his phone and stared at it for a moment. He knew he should call first, before making any rash moves. Yet he didn't feel ready to address what had happened between them. Telling her the truth about his feelings seemed risky to the extreme. Even though she'd been the one on his doorstep initiating the kiss, it still didn't seem prudent to tell her that she had completely blown his mind.

He finally dialled her number, his heart pounding in his ears. And when the call went through to her voicemail, Weller felt more deflated than he should have been.

He'd really wanted to talk to her – partly to make sure she'd gotten home okay but mostly just to hear her voice. It was hard not to think that she was avoiding his call and didn't want to talk to him. Which was stupidly crushing despite everything that had happened between them that night.

Weller hung up after leaving a message and stared blankly out the window. Resisting the urge to dial again, he put the phone down and clenched his hands into fists. Going over to her safe house now would certainly get her detail gossiping about his late night visit.

Forcing back both his worry and his desire, Kurt decided the best course of action was to pour himself a drink. Sitting down at the couch, he sipped at his whiskey and tried to drown out all of his impulses.

He shouldn't drive over there, no matter how much he wanted to see her. So Weller forced himself to stay planted on his sofa, trying not to stare at his phone. Instead, he slugged back the rest of his shot and let his mind drift back to where it had been all night. At the memory of Jane's body, tight against his, and the taste of her mouth on his lips.

###

Jane crawled in the window of the safe house and immediately collapsed to the ground, shaking.

It was as if all the physical and mental shock hit her at once, as soon as she made it back inside. Her lungs still burned with the pain of aspirated water and she was unnaturally cold even though she'd run most of the way back and was finally almost dry.

Shivering on the floor, Jane curled up into herself like she had the first night of her new existence. It seemed absurd that she now wanted to return to that state of innocence, without a single memory or revelation about her past. After all that time and so much effort, it had turned out to be better not knowing anything at all.

Who the hell had she been? 

What kind of person would voluntarily choose to do this to herself?

While it was still possible that her former self had been forced to make that video and that none of it was true, Jane had an ominous sense that it was. Oscar's tattoo had gone a long way in making her believe his story and the video he'd shown her. They'd been engaged, presumably in love. She remembered feeling regretful when returning the ring, knowing that he would be upset with her decision.

Jane groaned, desperately wanting to believe that it was all a ruse. She'd already had so many doubts about her past, even before that night's mindblowing revelation. Now she hated the mere thought of who she had been. Especially as all the implications kept flooding through her.

She had done this, planned this all. Purposely involved Kurt in it for some reason, probably a nefarious one. Oscar had been short on details, yet had implied that her team was involved in something illegal. But the idea that Weller was anything but an honest FBI agent seemed completely insane.

God. Had it really only been hours since she'd kissed him?

It felt like a lifetime had passed, especially the time spent being waterboarded by Tom Carter. Jane shuddered again just at the memory of it; the terror of being unable to breathe, feeling like she was drowning. She noted again that she felt frozen despite finally being dry. Knowing that she needed to get warm, Jane tried to push her way off the floor. But it was as if all the trauma of being physically tortured then emotionally devastated had finally caught up to her and she was stuck in her position.

Images of the night kept flashing through her mind, like a frantic slideshow whirling out of control. Sitting on his doorstep, nervous but determined. Walking away from his place, lost in the memory of her lips against his. Being grabbed and thrown in a van before she even had a chance to react. Then the bag and the water and the drill. The gunshots. Oscar and the video.

Jane felt herself starting to hyperventilate as the cycle of images wouldn't stop; always culminating with that picture of herself, telling her that this was all her idea. Even the thought of betraying her team and being a mole was devastating. She owed them so much and trusted them completely. Especially Weller.

Weller.

A part of her still wanted to see him, even though the idea of telling him what had happened was unthinkable. Because, more than anything, Jane needed comfort at that moment and he was her only source for it. The thought of his warmth wrapped around her shaking body was almost inviting enough to push away the horror of the other thought, the one that had been plaguing her ever since she'd seen that video.

What if Weller found out that she was a terrible person, who'd plotted her way into his life? He would obviously despise her, even if she really was Taylor.

Jane moaned again, desperately wishing that it had all been a dream. There had certainly been an unreal quality to her night, yet her misery and self-hatred were entirely too real.

She was about to spin back into the same cycle of remorse and despair when a familiar noise finally broke through her consciousness. It was her cell phone, which she'd left at the safe house so her movements wouldn't be traceable.

A part of her registered that it was the middle of the night by now, so any call would likely be important. Yet still it seemed impossible to get up and answer the phone.

Eventually Jane waited long enough and the ringing stopped, but now that question was occupying a piece of her mind as well. Who was calling her so late? A part of her worried that it was Oscar, or someone else involved in the conspiracy she was tied to.

Trying to get her limbs back under control, Jane growled at her own weakness. The events of the evening had finally caught up to her, especially the stress her body had been put under. But she didn't have time to cry about it, or tremor alone on the floor. Especially if her phone was ringing at that hour.

As if in a trance, Jane found herself pushing herself onto her elbows first then onto her knees. After that, she somehow managed to get to her feet and stumbled towards the phone, feeling as if she wasn't inhabiting her own body. Everything seemed so unreal still; her entire world had collapsed to reveal something she'd never expected.

Jane finally got to her cell and saw that she had missed a number of calls from Weller. Just seeing his name on the screen made her heart clench with dismay. She couldn't talk to him; he would immediately know that something was wrong.

As she listened to her voicemails, Jane's roiling mind went into overdrive, trying to come up with a solution. If she didn't answer at all Weller was liable to show up at her door, despite the time - he certainly sounded concerned enough. Which would then lead to all sorts of complications she couldn't face at the moment.

It seemed to take forever before the obvious answer finally made its way through her anxiety. She could send him a text to let him know she was safe and put off talking to him until she'd had more time to recover.

Somehow Jane forced her fingers to operate the phone and managed to cobble together an excuse for not answering for so long. Even though she was still shaking, unable to get warm despite being dry and safe.

Sorry, out thinking, no phone. Home now. Talk to you tomorrow.

Goodnight. See you in the morning, Weller replied immediately.

Jane pictured him at home, up late worrying about her. The image, along with the text would normally have made her feel warm, though a little guilty too. Now, she could only think what he would say if he knew who she really was.

He'd hate me, she thought once more. 

As much as I hate myself.

Goodnight, Jane texted back, even though it was clear she wasn't going to be doing any sleeping. She could only hope that Weller would be able to get some rest, after keeping him up so late. As for herself, she had hours left to spend ruminating on what had happened and what she was going to do.

The images still wouldn't stop pouring through her mind, forcing her to relive her terror at being repeatedly drowned, then threatened with a drill, then shown that video. And yet there was that other memory too, that brought on a different sort of panic. Reaching up towards Kurt; seeking comfort in the warm sensation of his lips on her mouth, the feeling of his body right up against hers.

She wanted that, wanted him. But not if it was part of a plot. And definitely not if he was going to get hurt.

Jane realized that tears had started to slip down her cheeks and she didn't have the energy to push them back. Soon they were pouring out and and she didn't bother to try controlling them or even wiping them away. Curling up on the couch, Jane just kept sobbing until her lungs ached and daylight was peering through the blinds.

Opening her eyes and groaning at the light, Jane peeled herself off the sofa and stood in a burning hot shower, trying to wash the dirty feeling from her skin. Yet she didn't feel any more cleansed when she emerged from the water, nor had it lifted any of the heaviness in her soul.

Whatever had happened to her, it was obviously all her own fault. Now all she could do was protect everyone from the fallout of what she'd done. No matter what it took, she wasn't going to let any of them get hurt.

Whoever she'd been before the memory wipe, that wasn't who she was anymore. And this version of her wasn't going to let anyone hurt the people that she loved. Not even herself.

[solastia]

Love And Lies | 3

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x F!Reader

Summary: You are a simple maid. When your lady and dearest friend need help escaping an arranged marriage with King Seokjin so they might be together, you do the only thing you can - take her place. 

You followed behind the man who introduced himself as Chancellor Namjoon Kim, listening to him halfheartedly as he explained that while that was his official title, he was more of a Jack-of-all-trades and preferred calling himself the King's right-hand man.

You smooth your hands down your gown, hoping it was grand enough to disguise the commoner wearing it. You’d changed for supper, something that Eleanor had told you was common for people at court. According to her, depending on the person they might even change outfits as many as three or four times a day! The nobility were a ridiculous bunch, you sniffed derisively to yourself. You couldn’t help but feel sorry for the maids that had to care for all that clothing and the laundresses that cleaned them. Two times a day - not counting your sleeping gown - was extravagant enough for the likes of you.

The ensemble that you had now made you feel like a fairy princess of legend. You were a shimmering cloud of pink and white as you glided along the stone floors. The dress was pink velvet lined with white silk, along with white ermine fur on the edges of the sleeves and bottom of the gown. The bust was embroidered with silver thread and decorated with glistening pearls. You were also very happy to note that the top was much more modest this time around, though not by much. Eleanor had let you pick the jewelry yourself, so you’d settled on a simple strand of pearls around your neck and tiny pearl earbobs. Your hair was left loose and free of any painful and tedious styling with the hot iron.

Truthfully, you rather liked this dress. The fabric was soft to the touch and very comfortable. You even liked the little slippers that matched. When you asked Eleanor why she was letting you wear something like this, she had told you that your previous ensemble had been to impress the King, and this one was to appeal to the man. It was an odd statement considering that your goal was to not appeal to him, and she’d seem rather conflicted saying such a thing. You wished you’d had the time to question her further, but the Chancellor had shown up before you could.

In the end, it wouldn’t matter if you looked rather pretty in your outfit because you knew that eventually, he’d move on to the other women. You had literally nothing of interest about you to keep royalty interested. After all, what could you speak to him about beyond stain removal techniques and how to haggle for the best prices at the market?

Chancellor Namjoon opens a door and ushers you inside, seeming to not notice or mind that you hadn’t even been listening to him talk this entire time.

“His Majesty will be with you in a moment.”

He nods and leaves briskly, closing the door behind him. You take the chance to look around, your mouth falling in awe as you take in the rows and rows of scrolls. So this was a library! You had heard of such things but had simply chalked it up to the fancies of nobles, but this was truly amazing. Beyond the scrolls, there were even parchment tied together filled with writing and little sketches. A few were even covered in decorated leather, something that boggled your mind. Books! You had never thought to see one in your life.

You adored the family you worked for, of course, but not a single one of them had any use for reading and writing. Eleanor could write a little, mostly her name and a list of things she needed that looked like badly designed inkblots. Jungkook was a little better but mostly relied on drawing things out. You remembered the departed Duchess had a slanting script that was like beautiful art to your young eyes. She’d taught you how to read and write before she’d passed, but you rarely got a chance to use that knowledge. You never had anyone to write to and the Duke saw no use for books.

Your hand trailed reverently across the hard leather of one of the bound pages, wishing you had the freedom to peer inside.

“Do you like to read?”

The voice startled you, and you gasped and turned with your hand on your chest.

“Goodness. I’m...sorry, Your Majesty.”

His smile was kind, but his eyes looked like he was laughing at you. “It’s quite alright. So, do you?”

“Hmm?” You hummed softly, distracted by the way his now silver tunic made him glow like an otherworldly being. “Oh, read?” You smile sheepishly, forcing yourself to focus on the conversation and not on his lips. “I don’t get to very often, but I like stories.”

He seemed pleased with your answer, gesturing towards the book. “We got this one from a visiting Monarch years ago. Livres des merveilles du monde. It’s about a merchant named Marco Polo who was an adventurer for a while and traveled through the Orient. I was certain I was going to grow up and conquer the world someday when I first read this.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Ah, the bane of my existence. Responsibilities,” he says dramatically, obviously trying to make you smile. “You may borrow it if you like. I’m not certain if it will be riveting enough for you, but you’re welcome to it. Or anything else here, during your stay.”

He picked up the book and handed it to you, his grin growing as he watched you cup it in your hands and stare at it in awe. A whole book!

You smile up at him genuinely for the first time, your smile wide and beaming with joy. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I’m not certain I’ll have time to finish it since I read so very slowly, but I thank you for the chance.”

He nods, his cheeks pinkened slightly. He gestures with a hand towards a table in the corner.

“I have some warm wine and honey pastries if you’d like to join me. I thought we might have a chance to get to know each other a little more before we have the pressure of an entire room watching our every move.”

“Oh...yes, that will be...tense” you gulp and sit as gracefully as you can in the highbacked wooden chair.

His smile is soft and kind as he pours you a drink. “I suppose despite your status you’re not quite used to court life. Your father mentioned you preferred staying home.”

“Yes,” you stuttered nervously. “I found I was more comfortable tutoring at home rather than being fostered out. I’m afraid the one time I tried, I found the group of ladies rather spiteful and begged Papa to come home after only three months.”

Which was a true story. Eleanor had been sent to the Duchesse Aline Villeneuve - the King’s very own aunt - to learn how to run a keep and other “women’s arts” not long after her mother had passed away from a sudden illness. According to Eleanor, she had been horribly bullied by the other ladies in the Duchesse’s care and she “hadn’t cared to make friends with such vain and heartless wenches, anyhow.”

Personally, you had rather fond memories of that summer, as with Eleanor away you’d had the freedom to do as you pleased and you’d even made a new friend for a few months - a village boy with the most annoying laugh you’d ever heard but had been sweet and fun. The two of you had been inseparable for the entire summer until one day he didn’t show up to the stream you often met at. You still thought of that boy from time to time and hoped he was doing well. You never did learn where he disappeared to.

King Seokjin nods in understanding. “Unfortunately, it’s not going to be much better here. Gossip is practically a form of currency, and whether it’s true or not doesn’t matter,” he rolls his eyes and sits back in his chair, bringing up a mug of steaming spiced wine to his lips. He gulps and sighs, setting the cup back on the table.

“And in your case, it will be twice as bad as you are...well…” he coughs lightly, his cheeks blushing once more. “A high contender to be Queen?”

You sputter on the drink of wine you’d just taken, trying to hastily wipe any spilled droplets before he sees them.

“Yes...err, I am...that.”

“So,” he says loudly, slapping his hands onto his thighs. “I mostly wanted to set aside some time right now so you can tell me things you like to do. I’m afraid I have to live my entire life by a set schedule, so if I had some ideas for my courting days with you that would help greatly.” “Oh,” you smile mischievously, “Yes, I imagine it must be difficult trying to balance so many suitors. Romantic sailing on Monday, serenading on Tuesday, kissing in a dark alcove on Wednesday...”

“You have no idea, “ he groans, only to still and gape at you in astonishment. “You’re making fun of me!”

“I would never, Your Majesty,” you drop your eyes to your lap, still smiling despite the way you were internally smacking yourself. This wasn’t home, you had to curb your tongue.

He squints at you suspiciously. “I have a feeling you would and will. You have some spirit hiding under that demure stance, don’t you Lady Eleanor?” He cocks his head and looks at you with an expression of pleased wonder.

“Perhaps, Your Majesty.”

“I think,” he begins softly, his tone making you lift your eyes to meet his. “In private settings like this, you may use my first name.”

Your eyes widen incredulously. “Oh, I couldn’t!”

“I can order you to if I must,” his smile is playful, even while his eyes are staring at you intensely.

“I...alright. Thank you...Seokjin,” you respond quietly and no doubt with crimson cheeks.

“There. That wasn’t so hard. And...I liked hearing it.”

He stands up and offers you his hand. “It’s time to head to supper. I can escort you as far as to the hall, but I have to go to the high table without anyone seeing you with me. Don’t want them to see you entering the dining hall on the King’s arm; that would make you a target for the harpies,” he winks, linking your arm in his. “You can send a list of activities we can do together later.”

The walk down the hall is too short, but you’d enjoyed the feeling of his strong arm encasing yours and the occasional sneaky peeks of his beautiful side profile. He releases you as soon as the noisy dining hall is close enough to hear.

“I must leave you here, but I look forward to speaking with you on the morrow. I’ll have someone bring the book to your room tonight.”

“Thank you, Your M…” you begin, only for him to raise an eyebrow at you daringly. You glance around you for eavesdropping servants and sigh. “Thank you, Seokjin.”

His beaming smile is worth your embarrassment. “Well done, lambkin. Be sure to try the custard tarts, they are the best!”

He waves and strides off, leaving you to find the waiting Jungkook and be escorted to your seat. Something pricked at the back of your mind, however. Lambkin? Why did that seem so familiar? Perhaps you were just overwhelmed. You shake your head and focus on the elegant supper in front of you as you find Jungkook waiting just inside the door, and he gestures for you to walk ahead of him. You can tell from the way his jaw is clenched he’s dying to ask you about the meeting, but there is no way to subtly speak to him at the moment.

The dining hall was brimming with people and you praised Eleanor for being the sort of noble who kept to herself, since the chances of anyone knowing her here were incredibly low. Your seat is incredibly close to the high table - in fact, it was directly above you. A few more steps to your right and His Majesty would be getting crumbs and wine on your head.

You’re not brave enough to look at him yet, though, and decide to look around for your “competition.”

Your table seems to be where they are all located, judging by the way most of the women gathered around you meet your curious gaze with measuring looks of their own. Most of them turn away after a few seconds, obviously dismissing you as not a threat.

One girl that looks similar to Eleanor all the way down to her bouncing curls grins at you playfully and waves at you with the chicken leg in her hand. You nod in answer, adding a slight smile as you decided she seemed nice enough.

A regal brunette meets your eyes with a quirk of her eyebrow, blatantly looking you up and down. Her lips thin and she pointedly turns away with a sneer, clutching her silverware almost threateningly. Alright, she will not be someone you want to know.

Directly across from you is a redhead and you snort, coming to the realization that His Majesty literally has every color of the rainbow to pick from for his bride. Variety is the spice of life, you suppose. This woman seems very disinterested in everything around her, however, focusing on her meal and only interacting with servants to refill her goblet.

At the head of the table and directly at your elbow is the one that you can only assume is the Princess. She is incredibly pretty, you have to admit. Her dark black hair is mostly loose and cascading about her in waves. The sides have been pulled back and secured with a large golden hairpin the size of a dagger with little jeweled flowers adorning it. Her dress is strange yet beautiful. Silk or satin, if you had to guess. The top was lavender and embroidered with flowers and some sort of serpent that vaguely looked like a dragon. The bottom was nearly peach-colored and consisted of the same decorations. Her features were sharp and sculpted, with high cheekbones and a thin nose. She looked exotic and lovely, but it wasn’t until her smile blinded you that you realized she was beautiful. She met your eyes with a twinkle in hers, reaching her delicate hand up to point at herself.

“I am Hosook. You?”

“I am Lady Eleanor Rose D’Aily, Your Highness,” you answer slowly, assuming that the way she was squinting while you spoke was her concentrating on your words. Perhaps she was learning the language still.

“You for him too?” she asked with a wave behind her at the high table.

“Yes, I was brought here for the King. I’m sure you’re a much better choice.”

The Princess smiles her understanding and waves away your compliment. “Too...ugg,” she grunts, obviously failing to find the word she wanted. She chose instead to flap in the general direction of King Seokjin like she was shooing away a fly.

“You...aren’t attracted to His Majesty?” you ask in a hushed voice. How could anyone not find him the most beautiful being to ever walk this earth?

She sticks out her tongue, “Reminds me of Haraboji...uh...Grandfather?”

You sputter a laugh which you know is too loud, but you can’t help yourself as Princess Hosook giggles with you. You feel yourself being watched and glance up to lock eyes with the very man in question. The King looks down at you curiously, his lips tilted in an amused smile as you can’t stop your giggles. Suddenly, he winks at you and you look away quickly as your laughter dies down into a shy smile.

“Oh,” Princess Hosook says slyly, clucking and patting your hand with a grin. “I see now. You nice, make pretty Queen.”

“Goodness, it’s not like that at all. We just met,” you rush to explain, your excuses being waved away yet again.

“I like…” she waves between the King and you. “Nice together. Uh...need more words,” she grumbles quietly, biting her lip.

“I could help, if you like? I helped my Lad...err...my Ladies Maid learn how to read and write.”

Her smile was beaming as she nodded her head in agreement. “Yes. Need be better to deal with them,” she nods her head towards the gaggle of noblewomen surrounding them.

“I understand. I have to wait to hear which days I need to spend with the King, and then we’ll set aside some time for us!” You smile kindly at the Princess, who grins back and attends her meal with much more gusto now that she had something to look forward to. You sigh and quietly thank the powers that be for making some sort of friend to get you through this, and one that you were able to fall back into your natural state of submission with. It would be easier to explain any lapses in your behavior if you were just a mere Duke’s daughter shadowing a Princess, rather than being with the other women who were basically your equals and expected you to be just as much of a spoiled prat as they were.

The meal comes to a close (and you were amazed that you only caught yourself staring at His Majesty less than five times), and Jungkook is back at your elbow to escort you to your rooms. As you accept his helping hand, you feel someone tap on your shoulder. Princess Hosook flicks her eyes up and down Jungkook with an exaggerated waggled of her eyebrows. Her hand goes to her chest and she mouths something that you assume is complimentary. Jungkook’s eyes are huge as he tries to follow what’s happening.

You giggle and slap his arm. “She thinks you’re handsome.”

“TAKEN…” he squeaks, “I’m taken. Sorry..uh...lady...majesty…”

“Always pretty ones,” Princess Hosook sighs and waves goodbye with fluttering fingers, disappearing with her own small army of attendants.

You continue to laugh quietly as Jungkook begs you to stop. You pause just before leaving the hall and catch the King’s eye right before he leaves for his own apartments. He smiles and shallowly bows, and you watch him until his broad shoulders disappear from sight.

“Sis,” Jungkook mutters quietly as he herds you back to your hallway. “You can’t…” he sighs. “I’m sure you think he’s handsome and he seems to be nice to you, but you can’t be with him. You remember that, right? You’re not who he thinks you are and he’d find that out if you were to marry him. I am literally stealing a potential bride from him, and the moment he finds out, he can kill us all.”

“I know, Jungkook. I’m not an imbecile.”

“I know that, but you’ve never been courted before. I forgot about that and now I’m worried that you’re over your head.”

You sigh and loop your arm in his as you walk. “I suppose I forgot that he’d be trying to win me over as much as the rest, at least at first. I might have let the sweet words and smiles affect me, but I promise Jungkook, I’ll remember. Besides, I saw the other potential brides. I am no match for them. The novelty of someone new will fade in a few days, and I pray that we have the deed to the keep no later than a month. Then, I will tell him that I don’t think I’m a good match for the Kingdom and we can be on our merry way.”

He sighs wearily and tugs you close for a quick hug. “I know, I trust you and your judgment, I just got worried. If he does anything that makes you uncomfortable or makes you feel compromised, let me know. I don’t care if he’s the king, I’ll throw down my glove.”

“You’ll not duel the King, Jungkook. Go seek your bed, brother dear,” you say with a tiny smile, pushing him away from you once you reach your room. “Tell Eleanor when she comes back from the kitchens she can go straight to her room. I won’t bother her tonight because I’m so exhausted from all this excitement I’m going to fall asleep the moment my head hits the mattress.”

Jungkook grins, a look you really don’t want to identity lighting his eyes. “Will do. Sweet dreams, sis.” He stomps off and leaves you to close the door to your opulent apartments.

You yawn and observe the room as you undress, leaving the layers of clothing across a chair to be taken care of the next day. The room was spacious and absolutely gorgeous, decorated in lovely shades of robin’s egg blue, white, and gold. There was an entire room just for clothing, one for washing, and yet another whole room for your ladies maid - something that Eleanor had seemed suspiciously excited about. You worried that she was going to try yet again to seduce her love now that she had a new sort of freedom without her father about.

You crawl onto the giant golden bed and arrange the blankets over you as you fight off another yawn. A full belly and an overwhelming day full of excitement seemed to be all your poor body could handle. Another yawn and you drift off to sleep, visions of warm brown eyes and smiling lips filling your dreams.

A/N: 

1. Yes, that is Hoseok. He’s a pretty princess today. 

2. I don’t really like using the term “exotic” but since this is a historical and being done from the viewpoint of a person in the middle ages, it seemed fitting. 

3. Oh, look at that totally huge and obvious hint to the past. Hmmm....

[dreaming-of-assclass]

AssClass Christmas Fics: Part 2

Group 2 + Snowball Fight ☃️

This is so long overdue... *sobs*

So my original plan was to do all 5 fics during Christmas...and that failed lmao. This will be the last one since I had already started it and might as well post. It’s way too late to finish three other Christmas fics now haha. Don’t worry, the other groups will get time to shine in other fics I’m already planning UwU

_____

“Avengers, assemble!” Okajima shouted, before getting pelted in the mouth by a flimsy snowball. “Ow!”

“I already said, three times, that’s not our team name!” Nakamura yelled back, adjusting the baby blue beanie that sat atop her head. 

“Then what do you propose instead?” He challenged, wiping off the remaining bits of ice off his face. 

“I wanted to be the Heathers,” she replied coolly.

Okajima groaned. “No! That sounds lame!” 

“And you’re such a fake theater kid already,” Chiba chimed in with a snicker, easily dodging the snowball she tossed in his direction.

“Oh shut up, punk.” Nakamura stuck her tongue out at him, but her lips were curved up into an amused smirk.

“Can we just start already?” Sugaya sighed, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets. “My joints are starting to freeze, being out here.”

“Here” was referring to the empty park field that was a block away from Fuwa’s house. Of course, given that it was late December, the field was a wasteland of pure white. Snow rested heavily on the ground, reaching past their ankles as they tried to move around. The forest of barren trees that surrounded them carried the same pearly frost on their branches. 

The snow seemed to sparkle, just simply laying over the ground, or over the bare branches. A sheet of ice fully covered the pond that was across the long white field, closer to the playground. And the sky above them was an eerie yet dazzling shade of blue-ish gray.

Part of Sugaya wanted to grab his sketchbook and paints, and create a portrait of the natural beauty around him, ingrain it in both his mind and across his papers. But a larger part of him was freezing and tired and frankly not in the mood for a snowball fight at 8am. Why did he agree to this again? Whose idea even was this?!

“Aww, Sugaya is cold,” Nakamura mocked playfully. He fought against the urge to roll his eyes.

“Maybe you should’ve worn something other than just that thin jacket,” Hayami pointed out, rubbing her mitten-clad hands together. “No wonder you keep complaining like a little kid.”

“It’s for the aesthetic,” Sugaya mumbled, patting down the front of his jacket defensively. “Why is everyone attacking me?”

“Because you’re immature and unprepared?” Mimura offered with a smile, showing he wasn’t being serious. He laughed at the tired expression Sugaya offered. “Relax, we can get hot chocolate after this at my house.”

The artist relaxed a bit at that. “Sounds great,” he smiled. “Which of us geniuses came up with this, anyhow-?”

“Get into your teams now!” A loud voice entered the fray, and Sugaya glanced up only to smack himself in the forehead. Of course, it would be none other than Fuwa to instigate a war of some kind between her friends. A snow war, sure, but a war nonetheless. 

The violet-haired manga fanatic stood mighty, one foot propped up on a frost-covered large rock by the edge of the field. Her beloved sword was nowhere in sight, but no one would be surprised if she’d just hidden it for the time being.

The teams, chosen by Fuwa herself, were:

1. Nakamura, Okajima, and Fuwa

2. Chiba and Sugaya

3. Mimura and Hayami

She likely intended for there to be a balance, so a team could have one person with awful aim paired up with a Sniper. Or to have the team of 3, where they all had about average throwing skills. 

And then the snowball war was set to begin.

“This is gonna end badly,” Sugaya mumbled to himself five minutes later, as he crouched behind a makeshift snow fort that Chiba easily assembled.

“This is gonna be amazing,” Nakamura whispered in glee as she hid by a tree, a snowball already formed in her hands. 

And then it descended into chaos.

Snowballs flew across the park as the assassins-in-training attacked one another, dashing across the field with howls of laughter. 

Already eight minutes in, they were all covered with broken pieces of snow that had collided with their jackets. 

“Surrender now!” Fuwa shouted, a grin on her face as she raised her snowball threateningly in the air. 

“Never!” Mimura screamed from his position on the freezing ground, completely at her mercy. “I am the Fae Lord! I will go down in honor!” 

“I gave you a warning, and you refused it. Tsk tsk.” Fuwa shook her head in mock disappointment, ready to pelt him with the snowball. All of a sudden, a flurry of snow collapsed against the side of her coat. 

“Huh?! Who hit me?!” She demanded, dropping her icy weapon in surprise. 

A head peeked out from behind the snow fort. “Mimura!” Hayami called, already gathering another lethal snowball. “Run!”

He obeyed and made a run for it, nearly slipping on the snowy ground, all while dodging a flurry of snow aimed at him. Wow, must be from our training, he thought with a smile.

“Aw shit!” Mimura glanced up at the sound of Okajima’s voice and nearly fell over at the sight of the pervert completely covered in a giant pile of snow, that fell from the tree above him. 

Okajima had an expression of resignation while his partner, Nakamura, looked like she was busting a lung from her laughter. 

“Don’t just laugh! Help me!” Okajima pleaded.

Nakamura wiped a tear from her eye, her body still shaking with laughter. “Sorry kid, but I have to go win this thing.” She straightened up and flashed him a wink. “I’ll win for you though!”

“Nakamura, wait-!” But she’d already dashed away, back into the field, cackling maniacally in anticipation of attacking her friends.

Another half hour of fighting and fun passed by. There wasn’t a clear winner in the end, and it ended in a tie between Fuwa and Nakamura. But needless to say, all of the enjoyed themselves immensely.

“Ah, that was so much fun,” Nakamura sighed, gazing up at the wintery blue sky. 

All seven of them were laying on the snow-covered field besides each other, catching their breath and waiting for the adrenaline rush to wear off. 

“I’m glad we did this,” Hayami agreed quietly, smiling at her.

“See? I told you guys it’d be awesome,” Fuwa sighed, making a snow angel as she waved her arms and legs against the snow.

“Yeah, you were right.” Mimura laughed, copying her movements.

“Well, my ass is still freezing,” Sugaya chimed in, earning laughter from all of them. “But I will admit, I had fun.” He smiled.

Chiba smirked. “Oh, I especially enjoyed getting a free excuse to beat Okajima.”

“Oh, seconded.”

“Definitely.”

“It goes without saying.”

“WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS TREATMENT?” Okajima sobbed.

“We’re just kidding, you oaf,” Nakamura snickered, punching him lightly in the shoulder. “We actually kinda love you.”

“I mean, seeing that tree dump all of the snow onto you was the highlight of my year, but yeah,” Mimura added.

“You guys are the worst,” Okajima groaned. “I almost died!”

“You loveeeee us~!” They all teased him.

“Sure.” He rolled his eyes fondly. “But speaking of die, I think I will if we stay out here any longer. It’s so damn cold!” He shivered.

“Alright.” Mimura stood and stretched his arms out. “Time to get to my house for some hot chocolate and a Christmas movie. Which move do you guys want?”

“Home Alone!” Nakamura shouted.

“No, we’ve already watched that,” Chiba complained.

“Then...Home Alone 2!”

“No!” He yelled.

Fuwa chimed in. “I want to watch The Polar Express!”

“That one is boring.” Sugaya scrunched his nose. “How about Gremlins instead?”

“If I wanted to watch something about Gremlins, I’d just look at Kimura’s behavior for a whole day,” Hayami snarked.

Mimura chuckled and waved his arms. “Ok ok, guys calm down! These are all great suggestions, but let’s decide on one.”

“How?” Okajima questioned.

“Another snowball fight?” Fuwa suggested, a glint to her eyes as she grinned.

“FUWA NO-”

[realm-sweet-realm]

Angel of the Ink Machine, chapter 2: Compromise

The premise of this AU is simple: Sammy leaves the studio instead of Henry, and as a result, Joey needs a new partner in crime. He finds one in Allison. Power struggles, sacrifices, passion, ecstasy and tragedy ensues.

---

Allison’s first few weeks at Joey Drew Studios had been interesting, to say the least. Joey had introduced her to the music room on her first day, and all had seemed to go well. The next day, however, just as she was setting things up in her recording booth, a small, blonde woman who hadn’t been around the day before had come in to interrupt her. Apparently, the last voice actress for the part of Alice Angel- Susie Campbell- had been away the previous day and hadn’t been told that she’d been replaced. The poor woman was heartbroken, and Allison had felt bad for taking a role that was essentially meaningless to her from someone who clearly cared much more about it.

That pity only lasted until Allison realized that half of the music department had taken a disliking to her, seemingly overnight. It was hard to tell how much of that was their loyalty to Susie and how much of that was just their regular standoffish-ness. Either way, Allison didn’t much care for the whole high school-level cattiness of it. Any friends she’d make in this studio would be outside the music department.

Voice acting was fine. Dating Joey was wonderful. She hadn’t gotten to play with the ink machine yet, but they’d done other magic together. She didn’t care for his secretiveness about his plans for the machine worked, though, and after a while she decided to seek out answers on her own.

Her first thought was to ask the man who was building the machine, Thomas Connor. He said that he didn’t know how this thing was supposed to work and didn’t want to, and sure as hell wouldn’t tell some random music department kid if he did. She asked his assistant, Wally Franks, who told her a round-a-bout tale about how he’d drawn up the first blueprint. This was not information Allison could use.

There was one other person she could ask, but it was a long shot. Despite her best efforts, Allison hadn’t fully avoided the high school nonsense of the music room, and she knew the reputation that their projectionist, Norman Polk had as a keeper of unknowable secrets. Allison thought that they were being ridiculous, but it was worth a shot, and he was open enough about meeting with her over lunch one day.

“So, you’re working with Joey Drew on the magical stuff,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“Uh, yes. Does everyone know?”

Norman laughed a little. “Most people here don’t even know that magic is real. Anyhow, I assume that you came to me because you’re interested in knowing some kind of secret?” If he was annoyed about the new girl knowing his reputation, he didn’t show it. If anything, he seemed amused.

“Yes. Honestly, I just want to know as much about Joey as I can. Especially anything that has to do with magic, and the ink machine.”

“Well, I guess telling you can’t be any more dangerous than him keeping it from you. Follow me.”

“You want to know a secret about Joey?” Norman asked as they walked, “he hires people he thinks are vulnerable and down on their luck. So Joey Drew Studios has some teenagers working here, some people with disabilities from the war, and a lot more non-whites and queer people than you’d expect. Not a secret, just a pattern I’ve noticed. But I know that what you want is real secrets.”

Norman took her to a room labelled, “The Archives.” Within it was hundreds of audio logs in locked glass containers. “Joey audio-records us,” Norman explained. “I don’t know his purposes for it, but he clearly does it a whole lot. The glass bins are locked, obviously, but I stole one off his desk a couple days ago. Wanna hear it?” The man’s face had gone from proud and amused to dead-serious.

“Sure...”

Norman pressed the button, and the audio log played. It was Joey Drew speaking to Thomas Connor. They were talking about how to change Bendy from a soulless abomination into a lovable cartoon, and it ended with Joey promising that if these things are soulless, he would get them a soul. After all, I own thousands of them.

“You wanna know what I think? I think that Joey is great at preying upon the desperate. And quite recently, he made a person desperate to be a cartoon character again. So, Allison. I don’t know what your role in this magical business is, but if you can help it, don’t let Joey hurt Susie Campbell- she’s my fiancé. I’ve already told her to be careful around Mr. Joey Drew, but...”

Allison was struggling to take this in. Joey wanted to kill people for this project? That was insane! And yet, some of those pentagrams in the basement had looked awfully large. “I’m sure he doesn’t mean that he wants to murder people. But I’ll talk to him, Norman. I promise. And I do have power over him, so you can count on me!”

---

Allison kept her promise, and brought it up the next time she was at Joey’s house.

“Joey. I need you to tell me right now if this ink machine project involves killing people.”

Joey immediately tensed. He’d been thinking for weeks of a way to break that to Allison that wouldn’t make her run for the hills. “Not... killing. I mean, they’ll still be alive. It’s more like putting them in another body. Yes, the process does involve causing their old body to bleed out, but their consciousness will still be there- probably.”

“Probably?” her face was remarkably calm, given the circumstances.

“I’ve tested the machine on rodents. None of them came out physically resembling a cartoon- only your potion lets me do that. But some of them came out acting like rodents, some of them came out acting like cartoon characters, and some of them went berserk. I’m trying to figure out how to make more of them come out as either rodents or cartoons. If the person retains their personality, they could basically be actors. And if they come out with the cartoon personality, well...”

The more Joey spoke, the more withering Allison’s glare became. “Okay. None of that. I’m not going to destroy people for this. Going forwards, only retaining the consciousness is considered a good outcome. Capisce?”

“Okay,” Joey said, starting to regret letting Allison into the project.

“And I assume that you were going to tell the sacrifices exactly what’s going to happen to them beforehand?”

“Well... Allison, how many people do you think would do this if we were to tell them everything? I was going to tell them that they’d go to sleep and then wake up as the cartoon character they want to be.”

Allison shook her head and appeared to think things over a moment. “You know what, Joey? I’ll do this. But we can’t do it without my potion, so we’re going to do it on my terms. You understand? So, here are my terms: one, we test that machine. We test it on rodents until we have at least 70% of them coming out acting like rodents. Alright? Two, don’t sacrifice anyone without my permission. Ever. And three: I want to be the one who talks people into becoming sacrifices. I have a silver tongue, too, and I don’t trust you to be honest with people. Those are the terms. Take them or leave them.”

“I’ll... I’ll take them. But Allison, if you’re going to have this much power over the project, I need you to show that you’re loyal to it.”

Allison smiled. “Of course. I’m sure that we could work something out!”

---

“What do you think- can you break the lock, Wally? I can’t believe I locked myself out like this.”

“Hmm... Well, Shawn has been tryin' to teach me how to pick a lock. I could try.” Wally got to work on the door and had busted it open within two minutes.

“Alright! Thanks, Wally.” Joey handed Wally the 20$ he’d promised him. They parted ways, and then Joey got to work scouring Allison’s house for that potion recipe.

It was nine weeks and four days after Joey had agreed to Allison’s terms. Six weeks, and only now were they making their first human sacrifice. Worse, they’d wasted hundreds of dollars worth of pet store rodents and a few dozen hours spent altering their ritual. They’d gotten those rodents to turn into toons- mostly perfect toons- that acted like animals at a high enough rate to satisfy Allison, and now Allison was headed to Susie’s apartment to talk her into becoming their sacrifice. Joey wished he could be there, making sure that Allison was doing it right and not scaring Susie away from the idea in the name of honesty. But the one benefit to this situation was knowing that Allison wouldn’t be here, and that after this she would be headed straight to the studio- he wasn’t leaving this place without that potion recipe, and thus full power over the project.

Joey checked all the obvious places like cupboards and drawers, paged through binders full of recipes for various potions and food items, and then checked the obvious “hiding place” places, such as under her bed, under rugs, and so on. It didn’t help that Allison’s house was rather cluttered. For all Joey knew, he could have missed the recipe while sorting through the various papers on the kitchen table. He checked his watch and learned that he’d spent too long here and had supposed to be at the studio an hour ago. Well, he had to give up and leave sometime. Before he left though, he went back to one of Allison’s recipe binders, where Joey had bookmarked a page labelled, “Memory spell? Failed.” He tore out the page. Allison clearly wasn’t the best at creating spells, but seeing it had given Joey an idea of something he could add to the ink machine rituals. It would take at best a few weeks to perfect, but what if he could control what the sacrifices remembered and forgot? There were so many potential uses...

---

Norman had been right about Susie being desperate to be Alice again. Susie had been furious when Allison had showed up at her apartment, but once Allison had said the words, “Joey and I want to make you Alice again. We agreed that you’re the best person for the job,” she’d broken down in tears.

“D-do you mean that?”

“Of course I do! It was the plan from the very beginning. Susie, no one is as well-suited to being Alice Angel than you are. Now, I’ll still be her voice actress, but you’re going to make history- trust me, people will remember you as Alice for decades after this. Joey found an improvised means to bring you closer to Alice than any actress ever has been to a character. The process will seem scary, but Joey will help you, I’ll be there every step of the way. I’m pretty excited myself, honestly! No one’s ever done this before. So, are you with us?”

“Well, that sounds... too good to be true. I mean, even just getting my role back would be nice wonderful, but here you are promising me fame and all of that... But you’re being awfully vague about it. What exactly do you have planned?”

“Come with me to the studio. It has to be seen to be believed.”