#with actual bullets and not fingernails or weird balls

[l4verq]

remnants (1)

ransom drysdale x reader

in which you have to protect ransom drysdale because he has the same face as steve rogers, your ex who’s gone back to peggy

warnings : fights, guns, hostage situation, tiny bit of violence

if you want to be added to the taglist, lmk in the comments💗

ʀᴇᴍɴᴀɴᴛꜱ

*not my gif*

-

ransom’s seen pretty much everything.

travelled around the world, eaten the finest delicacies, snapped away for five years into non-existence all because of a purple, ball-sack face alien.

or so he thought.

because sitting here cuffed to a chair infront of you barely conscious, he begs to differ.

how did the night get so fucked so fast?

“hey.” he extends his leg, trying to nudge yours desperately.

you were a sight to behold with your hair undone, dark locks tousled around your delicate neck.

but ransom can’t afford to marvel at you, in fact the first thing he needs to do is get the fuck away from you.

because the way you’d jammed that glass cup up that bartender’s throat without a second thought, you were no ordinary woman.

“psst, hey.” He tries again, eyes skimming over the room.

they probably were holding them both for ransom.

hell would freeze over before he gave any of his money to those fuckers who chained him up like a dog.

you stir around slightly as you slowly open your heavy eyes. a groan slips out when you try to adjust yourself, only tightening the hold on your hands.

“good, you’re up.”

you lift your head to see a bloodied ransom across you.

slumping back into your seat, your body cries out in pain at the slightest movements.

as soon as you’d tasted the martini, you knew it was an ambush, thankfully spitting most of it out.

but it was too late, the drug almost instantaneously taking action, making you groggy.

the last thing you vaguely remember is dragging ransom out only to be whacked out cold, seeing stars.

“what’s going on? hey, are you going back to sleep?”he asks, straining his leg out to nudge yours again.

“you just don’t shut up, do you?” you croak out, barely above a whisper.

“i’m being held hostage in this room,” his nose scrunches up, “so, I’m sorry if I’m just a little curious as to what the fuck is going on.”

he looks almost pitiful, dried blood on his forehead and desperation in his eyes.

reminds you of steve after missions when he would limp around, all bruised up.

your eyes flicker over to the one camera pointed right at you, but the way it was angled you knew your hands weren’t in view.

“do you know about the avengers?” you work on dislocating your wrist to free your hands chained behind you.

not exactly your favourite thing but it worked everytime.

he rolls his eyes and quirks an eyebrow.

“you think I don’t know the avengers? the whole ‘saviours of the world but we choose to remain anonymous’ crap?”

“well, you’re looking at one right now.” you give an umamused smile, slightly flinching at the wrench that causes a tear in your ligaments.

he probably wouldn’t have believed you if he hadn’t witness you take down six people with such ease just a few hours? ago.

“anyways long story short, you look just like captain america and for some reason hydra just can’t seem to get over that face of yours.”

he lets out a genuine laugh which only seems to intensify the throbbing pain in his head.

you were a whole other kind of crazy.

“steve rogers? no one’s even seen his face under that dumb cowl of his.” he snorts, noticing the slight shift in your face at the mention of steve.

“andy barber. jake jensen. colin shea. ever heard of them?”

another tear.

he shakes his head, his irritation only growing by the very second.

“a few months ago, each one of them started disappearing one after the other. the only thing they had in common was their faces. they looked exactly like you, like him.”

you clench your jaw as you position your wrist for the final twist.

the last one always hurt like a bitch.

“you’re crazy.” he huffs, in disbelief.

he knew he shouldn’t have gone to that stupid event, not let his mother get in his head like always.

he could be at home right now, in his lavish three bedroom villa overlooking the sylvan surroundings.

but here he was, tied up in a filthy room with an avenger.

you might have to agree with him on the crazy part because you’re regretting the whole dislocating thing when the last twist pulls through, pain nearly blinding you.

he can only watch in horror as he realises what you’re doing.

“no, like you’re actually insane.” he breathes out in disbelief as your hands slip out of the chain.

the door swings open, guns pointed right at you.

a particular face in the middle catches your eye as you recognise him.

“you know you’re not getting out of here that easy, right?” zemo chuckles, “broke those pretty bones for nothing.”

“you get blipped for five years and this is the first thing you do? somebody needs to get a life.” you slowly get up, hands raised (you think?)

you couldn’t really feel them anymore.

“sit back down.” he orders, gun pointed right at your head.

he yells at you to sit down again but the gun’s pointed at ransom now.

“holy fuck, dude, don’t point that shit at me. this is how 99% of the people in movies die.” ransom pleads, his eyes closed.

“he’s not steve, you know that. so, why are you doing this? I mean I know why I’m doing this.” you hesitantly sit back down, your ears pleased for once to hear the familiar whirring.

just a few more seconds. that’s all you needed.

he cocks his head, “doing what?”

“buying time.”

ransom’s seen enough action movies to know the probability of him accidentally being shot by any of the rain of bullets whizzing past you two right now is high.

too high for his liking.

he thinks he saw a red flying thing knock out zemo? before you pushed him down so hard the chair broke.

“jesus christ, are you trying to kill me?” He yells, his back throbbing in pain.

and all of a sudden, it’s quiet,a persistent ringing taking over his ears.

he opens his eyes to see you hovering over his face.

it’s weird, your lips seem to be moving but he can’t hear you.

and it’s all black.

“i just want you to know that what you did back there, that was stupid.” sam glares at you, in the rearview mirror.

“and dumb.” bucky chimes in.

you roll your eyes.

it was going to be a long ride to the safehouse.

the car bumps and ransom bounces around, his head hitting the top.

“jesus, hold him or something.” bucky turns around, looking at ransom’s unconscious body sprawled on the seat.

you scoot over closer to ransom, your hand guiding his head to your lap.

bucky turns back around, a grin creeping up to his face which you just want to punch off.

you look down at the bloody mess on Ransom’s forehead, fingers slightly grazing over it.

it was done with a blunt object, most likely the back of a gun.

you can’t stop staring at his face, the same lump forming in your throat again.

so you force yourself to look away, focus on the trees zooming past until sam stops the car infront of a small house, “we’re here.”

bucky hands you a bag of essentials, waving at you to go in, “we got him.”

the house is actually better than most safe houses you’re used to.

it has electricity and hot water and that’s already made it a top contender.

you head straight for the shower, stripping down to nothing while turning on the water.

you hiss in pain at the contact of water on your aching skin.

the water’s scorching hot but it’s the only way you feel clean.

you scrub off the grime and dirt like always, desperately washing away the dried blood under your fingernails.

a trail of reddish brown water as you wash your hair, nails scratching every surface of your scalp.

quickly changing into a set of clean clothes, you pull out a box of needles.

you’re sloppy with your stitches, maybe cause you’d gotten used to him doing it for you.

throwing your wet hair into a towel, you debate whether to clean his wound up or not.

but your hand is already reaching for the bag of first aid sprawled all over the sink.

“it’s just a nice thing to do.” you mumble, making your way to the living room.

sam’s passed out on the couch adjacent to ransom and you’re pretty sure bucky went out to get some food.

they’ve changed his clothes for him but the ugly bruise on his forehead only seems to be swelling up.

you sit down on the floor, rummaging through the box, pulling out cotton and antiseptic.

“am I dead?” he croaks out, slightly shifting.

you chuckle, looking back at him.

a few dabs of the brown liquid on the cotton.

“this is gonna sting.” You warn him before gently wiping the angry bruise.

he flinches, groaning in pain.

“where am I?”

“safe.”

“yea, that’s really comforting.” he looks up at you in annoyance.

you exchange to a new waft of cotton, still cleaning up the dried up blood.

it’s strange, how weird yet nice your gentle touches feel.

the way your lips slightly part and eyebrows knit together as you concentrate.

ransom never really had someone take care of him like this.

“wher’s Steve?” he asks the lingering question on his mind.

there’d been many conspiracy theories online, each one crazier than the other.

he again notices the slight clench of the jaw, the shift in your position at the mention of his name.

“gone.” you reply stoically, placing the gauze over the swelling wound.

a shit reply but he can’t bring himself to pry further.

you look down at his face, the familiarity of this catching you offguard.

after every mission, he’d force you to sit down and tend to your every wound, every scratch.

can’t have my girl walking around, all bruised up like that.

and you’d force him to sit down and do the same.

it was always so personal, standing between his legs, his hands around your waist while yours worked around.

“hey, you okay?” ransom lifts his head, regretting it instantly as pain shoots up his entire body.

you blink away the tears threatening to spill any second.

“yeah, I’m good. Get some rest.”

you fumble around, hurriedly picking up the first aid kit, your shaky hands doing little to help you.

you were clearly distraught and ransom had a sneaking suspicion why.

-

a/n : i dont even know if u can physically dislocate your wrist yourself lol, im just making shit up as i go lmao

[foodcourtdetective]

thinking too hard

summary: barry berkman has been trying to forget about his soulmate for both of their sakes, but Y/N is making it very hard and using their soulmate connection to draw all over him.

tags: angsty, soulmate au, love at first sight, very brief Barry x Sally, definitely a happy ending!

A/N: I’m just really into soulmate!au’s and Barry Berkman okay?!?! (and // means time passes)

word count 2.4k

AO3 x

He hated Los Angeles. Barry’s long sleeve shirt stuck to him in the desert heat, sweat pooling in his armpits and on his back. NoHank asked him about his outfit choice, offering him a short-sleeved shirt or a tank top.

“You want to take one of their shirts? They won’t mind, they’re confident in their bodies!” NoHank said, gesturing over to the Chechen recruits. Barry shook his head, clearing his throat in discomfort. After a moment, NoHank made a movement to push up Barry’s sleeves for him, but Barry was too quick and grabbed NoHank’s pinky, bending it all the way back.

“Shit shit, okay okay! Someone has body issues! We will talk about accepting your body some other time then.” Barry ignored him, staring coldly ahead as the young Chechen recruit finally hit a beer can with his bullet.

//

When he finally got back to his apartment, Barry made a beeline for the bathroom, nodding briefly at Jermaine and Nick on his way. After peeling off his shirt and grabbing the sink, Barry took a look at his body or rather what was on it. Today, his soulmate had kept it simple: a heart on his wrist, a note to pick up two lattes at 9, and a flower chain that started at his trigger finger and trailed all the way up his forearm. He sighed, holding back a soft smile as her traced up the stem of flowers with his other pointer fingers. As he ended the journey at his inner forearm, Barry stopped to see a less traditional note: written on his upper chest right over his heart, in simple cursive, it read please talk to me, Barry. A deep sigh filled the tiny bathroom and he gently caressed their handwriting.  The familiar movement triggered a whirl of memories.

Writing excitedly on his leg the moment he turned sixteen to introduce himself to his soulmate only to get no response. Giving up on love and joining the Marines shortly after. Noticing the shy hello scribbled on his hand seven years later when he was already too far gone. Writing to them any chance he got once he find out the silence was because they had not been old enough yet. Learning her name was Y/N and that she lived in California. Having to break off communication once Fuches put him to work. The sharp lines she had drawn as she had asked if he could feel the sharp indent of her pen, told him that ignoring them for their own good was ridiculous. The obscene images Y/N had drawn all over him the first couple of years, trying to get an angry message from him, any message.

His heart sank, but Barry knew as much as it hurt both of them, it was better for them to move on, to pretend to not have a soulmate. God knows Barry would rather hide her away, hide his shot at happiness, than have her be tortured or worse by any of his enemies or allies. He groaned, his knuckles turning whiter than the sink.

//

His acting class didn’t know what to make of him at first; his long, dark clothing sharply contrasted their tight shorts and tank tops, skin flaunting their connections. But despite himself, Barry grew close to Sally, a girl who had never seen any marks on her body. After hearing that Barry also had a blank canvas, she pounced on him with a marker she had seemingly pulled out of nowhere, drawing a star on his knuckles. However, despite her persistence, no matching star appeared on her own. Sally declared them star-crossed soulmates and asked him on a date.

After a late night of drinks, Barry found himself making out with Sally on her couch. She went to pull off his shirt and for the first time in his life, he mindlessly complied, distracted by the intimacy. Sally suddenly shot up from the couch, crying out as she pointed to the drawings adorning his chest. Y/N had seen the star Sally had drawn and, hopeful that it was a message to her, drew out an intricate night sky. Hidden among the stars, scrawled out in cursive, she wrote I’m here when you’re ready, Barry. -Y/N.

“How dare you! You lied just to get into my pants?!” Sally tripped over herself to pick up his discarded shirt, balling it up to chuck at him. Barry pulled it on, dazed all the way home until he saw the message glint in the mirror as he was getting undressed. Barry slammed his fist into the wall, shouting out in frustration. Ass his phone rang, the caller ID revealing it was Fuches, Barry scrambled to put his shirt back on, scribbling a message to Y/N on the fleshy part of his bicep. I’m a hitman. Don’t message me unless you want to die.

//

After the assignment, Barry found himself staring at his chest and reading her pleas to talk further. That’s not funny. Barry. Barry! Oh my god, you’re serious. That explains a few things. You gotta talk to me, your soulmate? I need to know why. Barry sighed, wandering over to his bedroom to get a pen from his desk. He sat on the bed, anxiously fiddling with the pen in between his fingers before writing on his trigger finger: you still want to talk to me? He waits, watching the loopy letters sweep down his arm like a signature under the floral art she continued to draw every day.

Yes, I have a death wish. He laughed at the absurdity of their conversation before responding.

Why are all artists suicidal?

See, I’d rather have this with you than live without it. Her words made him freeze in his tracks, his fingers gently stroking over the confession as they faded away, scrubbed off by the writer. She filled the now empty space with a series of numbers; Barry furrowed his brow, trying to decode the secret message. After a moment Y/N wrote again underneath them.

Running out of space! Text me! He hesitated, his heart in his throat as he debated if the convenience was worth sacrificing her safety. Finally, with shaking hands, he dialed the number and hit call. A soft hello followed the ringing, the voice so angelic that he knew he would do whatever she asked him to do.

“I said text, not call! You do know how to read, right?”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s nice to hear your voice!”

“What? No, I mean I’m sorry for…” Barry trailed off, his mind swarmed by memories of pushing her away and feeling her anguish through the pointy pen tip.

“You wanted to protect me. I get it. Now we’re even from when I couldn’t write to you.”

“That wasn’t intentional.”

“It would have been! I was a pretty rebellious eleven year old.” He laughed, the silence after he finishes awkward until he breaks it.

“I’m in LA.”

“For work?”

“Yes.”

“I see.”

Barry doodles a flower on his thumb. It’s not as pretty as any of hers, but she draws a faint heart around it. He brushes the heart, his own beating so loudly it was in his ears.

“I’m scared.”

“Me too.”

“Because of who I am? What I do?” His throat was thick from holding back the dam of emotion, but his voice managed to crack in desperation.

“I’m scared you’re going to leave me again.” Barry paused at that, his own heart breaking a little at the thought of all of the pain he must have caused Y/N by abandoning her. He’s now drawing a bouquet on his forearm, a sloppier version of her own.

“You don’t have to be afraid of that. Once I see you for the first time, I’m probably never going to leave you alone ever again… Not in a creepy way…”

“I would love that.”

“I’m giving you an out right now. You can hang up, stay in the safety of your life as a… what do you do again?”

“Graphic design!”

“I knew you were an artist!”

“And I knew you were a comedian!”

“Weird way of pronouncing what I actually do…” She giggled at that, falling quiet after a hearty laugh.

“Look at your leg. I’ll see you there at 9. Don’t be late!” As she hung up, Barry pressed his phone to his lips in shock. Remembering her words, he pulled his pants down to read the directions she had jotted onto his thigh, the dots in the I’s drawn as hearts instead of dots; he almost died of pure joy right then and there.

//

In hindsight, it was good that Y/N had suggested a coffee shop to meet because Barry had not gotten a wink of sleep the entire night. He had stared at the ceiling, flat on his back and still fondly stroking her writing on his leg. As his pointer finger traced the hearts, he felt his own thud loudly in his chest. It was easier to protect her when she was just lines on his person, just another part of him that he hated, another vulnerability. But hearing Y/N’s voice, imagining what she might look like, had ignited a wanting within him, a need to be with her, his other half. She was no longer just a part of him; she was a separate entity that he wanted to get to know and love.

He had gotten to the shop as soon as it opened at 4, wanting to figure out where the best table inside would be and staking it out for them. The barista had made him order a drink at 5:30; panicked and feeling about a thousand years old, Barry ordered “something to bring me back to life.” At 6 he was shuttering, borderline convulsing from the quad espresso that he consumed quickly. His anxiety was through the room, but all he could do was dig his fingernails into his palm which was resting on his jeans over her handwriting. What if she wasn’t as okay with the age difference as she thought she was? What if it hits her that her soulmate is a hitman? What if the drawings stop appearing. What if—

Barry jolted awake in his seat, now realizing that he had crashed from the overdose of caffeine. The barista (Stacie, he later learned) made a joke about having to restart his heart. He checked his phone: 8:30am. Suddenly, a thought dawned on him and he ordered another drink. By the time Stacie brought it over and started walking back to the counter, the bell above the door tingled. Barry immediately stood up like Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice, turning to look at the customer. She sensed his stare immediately, turning to look him over as a dreamy blush painted her cheeks.

“Barry?” She whispered, his name less of a question and more of a disbelief. He swallowed, his throat dry as he looked over Y/N, his soulmate. She was absolutely picturesque, an almost pure aura of light around her as the door slowly shut behind her. As she drew near, Barry was almost too aware of how he towered over, a menacing presence.

“I gotcha a latt-“ Barry didn’t even get to finish his stuttering as Y/N grabbed his collar and pulled him down into a kiss. His mouth was already half open and he stumbled forward from the force of her tug. It wasn’t the most coordinated kiss in the world, her mouth mostly on his bottom lip and her teeth lightly bumped his by accident; but it was theirs. Barry felt his body fill with a warmth, like his whole being was sighing with relief at being united with his soulmate as he kissed her back. He had thought that the doodles and the sound of her voice would do him in, but this… this would knock his entire life’s path off track. After a moment, Barry gently placed his hands on her cheeks and pulled away, just looking down at her in awe.

“How did you know my coffee order?” Y/N asked, her grin stretched out wider than Barry previously thought possible. He babbled for a few seconds, removing his hands to gesticulate as he just expressed a bunch of word fillers before finally managing to get something out.

“Y-you, you wrote it on your hand as a-a part of your to-to-to do list,” he explained, trying to stick his erratic hands in his pockets but Y/N swung her hand forward to snatch his hand. She squealed, making a joke about how sweaty his hand was and Barry thought he would die of a heart attack right then and there. She pulled him down again, this time so they could sit at the table together and she could take a sip of her latte. Barry simply stared at her, his brain slightly short circuiting with delight. Eventually, rational thought caught up with him and Barry tried to remove his hand from hers, but she had a firm grip and a look in her eye that told him she already knew what he was going to say.

“You’re not worried about…”

“I thought we already went over this, Barry. I’m in! I’m all in,” she declared sweetly, leaning over to capture his lips once again. He was consumed by it, by her, his head swirling with a dizziness of emotion and his lungs burning with a heartache of regrets. They could have had this so much sooner, if he had left the army, if he hadn’t made that deal with Fuches, if he hadn’t been an idiot about wanting to protect her. The deep and mind numbing kiss ended as Y/N broke it to breathe heavy. Barry looked at her through lidded eyes, revering her with every fiber of his being.

“You are good at that! It’s a good thing too because it looks like I’m gonna have to kiss you every five minutes to get you out of that type of thinking,” she giggled, moving to lean back in her chair but Barry slung an arm around her waist, pulling her back into him with a soft smile.

“Better make it every two minutes because I’m thinking again,” he joked, his heart glowing as the love of his life obliged his request and kissed him senseless.

[cartooncreaturelover]

“Journal Entries”

The creature’s name is The Beast! (The Beast is female, by the way! Lots of people who I’ve shown this piece to *IRL* call her a boy when she’s not!)

*The thing on her forehead is like an Anglerfish’s lure crossed with a leopard slug. So it can extend & squish up like a slug. It cannot be harmed with salt, by the way. I’m clarifying this because several people In Real Life who have seen this piece have asked about it.*

I made this for school & used the same India Inks that I’ve been using to color it! It took a while to both draw & color even though there isn’t much going on in the picture. Part of it was probably because I was working on it for about an hour & twenty minutes everyday instead of about three hours everyday.

Each of the stuffed animals actually represent each of the human protagonists from the novel I’ve been working on in Creative Writing! There is a reason why each one is the animal & colors that they are. There is also a reason why the pink teddy bear is ripped apart, but I don’t want to spoil that!

I really like the picture fame, even though its SUPER small! I think it’s just a little bit longer than my fingernails. (I have naturally long finger nails, by the way.) If you can’t tell, the pictures themselves are from a photo booth of some sort, probably one from a mall or something. As you can see, The Beast had never been in a photo booth before so her pictures... aren’t the best. She still kept them though because she thought photo booths were really cool. 

The Beast is actually in the middle of writing on her journal. You can’t see the pencil because her paw-hands are really big. She also holds pencils like toddlers do, but her handwriting is still pretty good, although a little sloppy. The journal entry she’s currently making is “a list of human foods,” which are actually the exact words that are being covered up by her massive hands. The other page has bullet points on it listing the human foods of “cheese balls & popcorn.” She also uses lots of (0w0)’s, (UwU)’s, & emoticons of that type while she’s writing. She’s seen humans (specifically furries) use them & she likes how they “help with communication” & that they resemble her!

She’s a pretty weird character, trying to understand human things & usually takes things literally. She’s basically a giant dog with supernatural abilities, a human’s intelligence, a dog’s logic, & opposable thumbs. Truly, a horrifying combination.

[sorayahigashikata]

Chapter 46

[princesweetpea]

I Found | Sweet Pea x Aurora Jones (oc)

All Chapters Here

Chapter: Eleven

Warnings: Language, mentions of blood, SMUT

READ IT ON AO3

A/N: Start listening to the song "Get You The Moon" by Kina at the bolded * to get the full effect.

            Rory hadn’t left the house in days. Hell, she hadn’t left her room in days. Mambo would come in to bring her meals, and he’d sit with her to watch television for a few hours every now and then. The other hours she’d spent painting or drawing, and practicing cello. FP would come down to check on her every day before and after work, and Jughead would come down just so they could sit in each other’s company while he typed on his computer.

            “I betrayed you.” Rory bawled into her cousin’s chest. Jughead’s arms tightened around her, shushing her as he rubbed her back.

            “If you hadn’t done what you did, and you got hurt… or worse… I would have never forgiven myself,” he sighed. “Please don’t keep beating yourself up. I’m fine. Nothing happened to me, Rory.”

            “How long are you going to stay hidden in here?” Jughead asked sympathetically, closing his laptop and shifting his attention to her. Rory broke her trance, simply shrugging at him in return. The doorbell sounded, causing Jughead to break his gaze. He pulled his switchblade out of his pocket, as he was now permanently on edge from the tumultuous events that he and his friends had been through lately. “Stay here.”

            And with that, he was up the stairs and at the front door. Rory dug her fingernails into her palms as she listened closely for any type of commotion, reaching for the switchblade Jughead had given her a couple of weeks prior. A few moments of silence passed before an apprehensive “all clear” was heard from her cousin.

            “Hey, I’m going to head to Pop’s… Stay here, please. I’ll call one of the Serpents over here to keep watch or something, okay? Just please don’t go anywhere.” Jughead stressed from up the stairs after a few more moments of silence. She heard the front door slam not long after. That was… weirder than normal.

                     ___________________________________________

            Sweet Pea knocked at the front door hesitantly. He was frustrated that Jughead had him come here, out of all the Serpents, especially after the other morning and how he left things with Rory. He knew he was being unfair; he knew he was all over the place, he just didn’t care. Yes, you do. He winced at his subconscious.

            The door opened slightly, revealing Mambo Hale’s shorter, tense frame. Mambo looked him up and down carefully, blade in hand, before briefly shutting the door to undo the deadbolt to let him inside. He didn’t say a word to him as he entered, moving to sit back in the dining room chair that he had pulled up in front of the door.

            “Hey, dude,” Sweet Pea cleared his throat awkwardly. Mambo nodded at him in acknowledgment, his face stone cold. Did she tell him about the other morning? “You good?”

            “Watching,” He replied, spinning his open knife between his fingers. The sight gave Sweet Pea anxiety, even though that was something he did all the time. He didn’t know Mambo’s skill level with a blade. Sweet Pea hummed in response and shifted his weight to his other leg. “Rory’s downstairs in her room. You know the way, I’m sure.” Mambo smirked, leaning back in his chair and redirecting his attention to the front door.

            “I’m not here for Rory,” Sweet Pea huffed. “Jughead sent me to keep watch.” Mambo scoffed at this sentiment.

            “I can handle this, believe me. She might need someone to talk to, though. Especially after the other day.”

            “What do you mean “the other day?’” He paled. She told him.

            “We had a little… incident at the camper with the Black Hood.” Mambo shifted uncomfortably. Oh. What?

            “What? When?” He rushed out, beginning to pace.

            “After you left that morning,” Mambo cocked an eyebrow. Sweet Pea froze and turned to face him. He was clearly enjoying watching Sweet Pea squirm. “I saw you leave. I was half asleep, but I saw you.” He motioned to his air mattress behind the couch. Sweet Pea nodded slowly.

            “I –”

            “Rory’s in her room in the basement.” Mambo reiterated, turning his back to the older boy as he zeroed in on the door once more. Sweet Pea inhaled slowly, spinning to start toward the stairs. He knocked on the wooden door, but there was no answer. He could hear music softly playing behind the door before he opened it, letting himself in. Her dark eyes fixated on him after a moment; she was clearly in deep thought, as her eyes were glazed over. He leaned awkwardly against the doorframe. *

            “He had to send you.” Rory sighed, frowning. He shoved his hands into his pockets with annoyance on his features. “What, did he hire you as my private security detail without telling me?” He ignored her. His eyes fell on the bled-through bandages on her neck, and he was suddenly filled with panic.

            “Your neck.” His voiced cracked, betraying him. She raised a hand to the spot, wincing as she barely touched it.

            “I guess it needs to be changed. Could you go get Mambo? He’s really good with injuries.” Rory mumbled.

            “So am I. I’ll do it,” Sweet Pea dictated, walking across the room and into the bathroom to retrieve supplies from the medicine cabinet. She simply sighed, seeming far too exhausted to protest. She hadn’t slept in days. Once he found gauze, antibiotic ointment, cotton balls, and hydrogen peroxide, he exited the bathroom and sat next to her on the bed. She avoided eye contact. “What happened?” He was honestly afraid to take the soiled bandage off – afraid of what he might see.

            “He…” She trailed off. “I don’t want to talk about that. I can’t. Please.” He nodded at her plea, gingerly removing the red-stained gauze, revealing a two-inch gash at the side of her throat. It was still bleeding, even though it had been a few days. The amount of blood from that particular sized wound troubled him.

            “It doesn’t seem to need stitches,” he noted, pouring some of the hydrogen peroxide onto a cotton ball before pressing it to the wound. She hissed, jumping slightly at the stinging and burning sensation. “Sorry. Just a few more seconds.” He held the cotton to her neck. He removed the bloodied material, and she gasped at the sight of it.

            “It’s been days, how is it still bleeding that much?”

            “I’m not sure,” Sweet Pea sighed, doing his best to hide the concern in his voice. “You should probably see a doctor.”

            “No,” Rory rapidly shook her head. “I’m not going anywhere. You can’t make me go anywhere.” She was desperately pleading with him. This was the first time she actually looked into his eyes that night.

            “Okay,” he caved, his eyes swept the room and landed on a small bottle of super glue. “I have an idea, but you might not like it,” He reached for the bottle. “It’s safe, but not ideal. It will seal the gash.” She hesitated but ended up agreeing to the method. He went to work, applying the antibiotic after pulling the skin together to seal it. He dabbed the excess blood away before taping a fresh set of gauze over it.

            “Thanks…” She cleared her throat. They avoided eye contact and sat in silence for a few minutes. “How do you know so much about this?” She finally broke the silence.

            “I had to learn. You can’t exactly go to the hospital all the time when you’re a gang member. They ask too many questions.” He shrugged.

            “I’m surprised you’ve had to… I mean, you know how to handle yourself in a fight.” She insisted.

            “Fists and knives can only get you so far when you’re up against bullets.”

            “You’ve been shot?” Rory gasped. Sweet Pea lifted up his shirt slightly, revealing a round, raised scar near his hipbone. “I didn’t even notice when…” Her cheeks reddened. Flashes of their first bout of intimacy burned through their minds. Sweet Pea shrugged with a smirk. “But you know how to fight.” She pressed.

            “Yes, I do.” He confirmed, furrowing his eyebrows at her. She’s acting weird… weirder.

            “I…” She cleared her throat, tears stinging at her eyes. “I want you to show me.”

            “Show you?” He raised a brow. He wasn’t sure what she was getting at.

            “I want you to show me… how to fight.” He scoffed at her request, thinking she was joking. Her face was serious, a tear rolling down her cheek. “I want you to show me how to end it, if necessary.”

            “You want me to teach you how to kill someone?” He barked, suddenly on his feet. “What the fuck, Rory?”

            “I don’t want to kill someone, you ass!” She hissed back. “I just want to be able to take care of myself! To not always hope for Jughead or Mambo to come and rescue me! Do you know how helpless I felt? How scared I was with a gun pressed against my forehead and a hook in my throat, knowing that I couldn’t do a damn thing about it? I was a sitting duck, Sweet Pea! If Mambo hadn’t come in, I would be dead!” Sweet Pea’s stomach churned at the thought. “It’s not easy for me to come to you for help. It’s not easy to be so fucking vulnerable in front of someone I despise. You have no idea what this is like.” She whimpered. I think I have a small idea.

            “I don’t want to teach you that,” He frowned at her as she curled up, knees against her chest. His weakness pulled at his heartstrings, making him sit back down on the bed next to her. No matter what his brain was telling him to do – to get out of there, to run as far from her as he could – he pulled her into his lap and just held her, and she let him. “Why do you keep putting me in this position?” He groaned, his head against her shoulder. She pushed away from him, laying down to face the wall away from him. Sudden anger rose in his chest. Did his feelings not matter? “I’m serious. You drag me into shit and just expect me to be putty in your hand the minute the waterworks come out!”

            “I do not!” She hissed, sitting straight up to face him.

            “You do, though, don’t you?” He challenged. “Do you not see the pattern here?”

            “Maybe you need to face the fact that you’re not as heartless as you pretend to be.”

            “Oh, but I am. I’m not pretending. The only reason I’m here is because Jughead told me to be. I’m supposed to be keeping watch. You’re manipulative, and I let empathy get in the way of my mission.” He scoffed. Get your head on straight, dude.

            “Empathy, right.” Rory laughed bitterly. “God, I should have had Reggie bring me home on prom night.”

            “Really? It didn’t seem that you thought that way when you invited me into your bed.” He spat. She stared at him blankly.

            “You’re such a bastard.”

            “Coming from you?” Oh, you definitely should not have said that.

            “Get out.” She said softly, tears forming in her eyes. Here we go again.

            “No.” He softened slightly. God damn it.

            “Sweet Pea, I mean it. Leave.” Do what she says.

            “Even if I wanted to, I can’t.” Abort. Abort.

            The tension was rapidly growing between the pair. He honestly couldn’t help himself. Even when she looked exhausted and was yelling at him, the shorts she was wearing and how smooth her legs looked and her big brown eyes were driving him insane. She blinked at him, taking her plump bottom lip between her teeth. They were too attracted to each other to stay away, and it was obvious, no matter how desperately they wished that they could.

            She leaned into him first, for once, and he readily accepted her lips on his. He ran his tongue along her bottom lip, a silent plea for entrance, and she obliged. He sighed into the kiss as he tasted her tongue – it was sweet, like cherries, and he wasn’t sure if it was from her lip balm or just natural sweetness. She peeled her shorts down her legs and climbed onto his lap to straddle him. He kissed down her neck, carefully ghosting over the gauze before attaching his lips to her collarbone, sucking harshly at the skin, which elicited a sweet moan from Rory.

            “You sound so pretty when you moan for me, princess.” He smirked against her skin. Her hands desperately pulled at the hem of his shirt, and he quickly yanked it over his head as he pulled greedily at her own, and she accommodated him. She ground her hips down onto his hardening length, causing him to screw his eyes shut. He needed her now.

            He unbuttoned his jeans and yanked them down his legs along with his boxers, just enough to let his cock spring free and slap up against his abdomen. Rory grinned down at him, running her cotton-clad heat up and down along his length. He furrowed his brow, pulling his lips between his teeth to avoid making much noise from the friction.

            “Condom?” She exhaled heavily, her movements building her own pleasure immensely. If she didn’t stop, she’d come undone right on top of him. Surely enough, he pulled a packet from his wallet that was in the back pocket of his jeans. He tore the foil open with his teeth, but before he could put it on himself, she took the latex from his hands. He cocked an eyebrow, watching her carefully. She maintained eye contact as she rolled the tight rubber down his stiff length, and that alone almost made him bust right then. She’s so… Pulling her panties to the side, she lifted her hips to line up with his throbbing head. She ran her slick folds over his tip a few times, prompting a guttural groan from the back of Sweet Pea’s throat. He attempted to buck his hips into her, but she raised her hips more so that she was out of range.

            “Teach me.”

            “I don’t think you need much teaching.” He groaned softly with utter ecstasy as she slowly pumped his shaft.

            “No, teach me how to fight.” He froze, and she mimicked his movements, doing the same.

            “Are you weaponizing sex against me?” He raised his eyebrows at her. She tentatively started to move her hand on his cock again. His breath staggered.

            “Maybe.” She smirked before slowing to a stop again. He jerked his hips, making her remove her hand completely to break any kind of contact with him. He took her wrist and positioned her hand around him again.

            “Clever girl. Fine, just… don’t stop…” He sighed, letting his head fall back against the headboard. She grinned at her victory before sliding herself down onto him unexpectedly.

            “Fuck’s sake,” Sweet Pea groaned loudly, screwing his eyes shut. The position was new for them; he was usually on top the two times they’d done this before. This was actually new to him entirely. Sure, girls had tried to start out that way, but he would always immediately flip them over so he was in control. This way, he was literally balls-deep inside of her, and he wasn’t sure how she was taking it so well. His eyes fluttered open. Rory’s own eyes were screwed shut, her mouth forming a near perfect ‘O.’ “Does it hurt?”

            “No,” she lied. She had never been stretched out this much before. He gently rocked his hips upward into her, calling her bluff. Her nails dug into his shoulders and she hissed.

            “Do you want to stop?” He asked awkwardly. He’d never been this way with anyone; so… caring. I don’t care. I’m just trying to get off. Consensually, as always.

            “No.” She rushed out definitively, her eyes now open and boring into his. He blinked a few times, but nodded, thrusting his hips up into her again at a steadier pace. The new sensation was mind-blowing. He still had control, but the new angle took his breath away, quite literally. His hips sped up once he felt her body relax, slamming harder into her.

            “Oh my god, babe,” She cried out. His brow raised at the pet name, and a weird feeling rose in his chest, but he pushed it out of his mind as he gripped her hips tightly. “Wait, stop.” He immediately halted his movements, searching her face for any sort of pain. She simply smirked at him, pushing his chest backward so he was laid down onto the mattress. She steadied herself on his shoulders as she raised her hips up until just the tip was inside of her, then slammed her hips back down. He exhaled with such a relief that he’d never felt before. He was always in control. This was a completely new feeling for him.

            “Holy…” He stammered, completely overwhelmed with pleasure as she picked up speed, riding him at a steady pace. He gripped her hips and guided her up and down on his cock.

            “Does that feel good, daddy?” Rory’s words flew out of her mouth before she even knew what she was saying. Her cheeks immediately reddened as his eyes snapped open to meet hers. “I… I mean…” A switch flipped inside of him, and an animalistic growl escaped Sweet Pea’s throat as he hurriedly flipped them over.

            “I’m not going to go easy on you, now. Do you think you can handle it?” He asked breathily, lips grazing her neck. She hummed in response, desperately trying to push her hips upward into his. He reached back to hike her leg on his hip with his other hand tightly gripping the headboard and began to relentlessly pound into her. She cried out in pleasure, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist. “You like how daddy makes you feel, don’t you, princess?” He growled into her ear between shaky breaths. Rory whimpered in response. “Answer me.”

            “Yes, daddy.” She cried out. This behavior was new to her, and it felt a little weird, but so right.

            “Don’t ever hold sex over my head again, do you understand me?” He growled, moving his hips faster as he snaked a hand between their bodies, rubbing her clit in small circles. He was getting close, and he needed her to finish first.

            “Okay, okay!” She was writhing underneath him. “Sweet Pea, I’m going to come.”

            “Come for me.” He hissed in her ear. She cried out in ecstasy, her legs shaking and body stiffening. The beautiful sight of her triggered his own release. He groaned, spilling into the condom, chest heaving as a string of profanities left his lips.

            “I guess I found your kink.” Rory joked, catching her breath as he rolled off of her.

            “One of them,” He smirked. “Hey, I hate to burst your euphoric bubble, but our paper is due in two days.”

[sp4c3-0ddity]

for the trope mashup: 9 or 12 + 66 for Plance, please? ;) btw, what other ships do you like writing for? I'd love to send prompts for other characters too, but I'd hate to ask for a ship you dislike. thanks! :D

oh hi i like...several other ships. i like writing kallura too, and maybe wouldn’t mind trying my hand at kidge or heith, but my muse is so stubborn it tends to scream PLANCE at me all hours of the day ;_;

but now for something a little spoopy...except this is more angsty than scary or creepy. no, if you want “creepy” wait till you get a load of post-apocalyptic android Pidge AU

~5200 words, urban fantasy AU. enjoy!!

(12) Roommate AU

(66) It’s Not You It’s My Enemies

The envelope sits heavily in Pidge’s hand, and trying to starethrough the paper to see its contents isn’t working. She’s not Superman.

(Unless she is and the paper’s lined with lead?)

A divining charm wieldednothing, so she knows it’s not enchanted. But she can’tnot besuspicious of an envelope that someone dropped through a greenhouse windowright in her office, her alias - Pidge Gunderson - printed on it in purple ink.

Keith hopping onto hercluttered desk jerks her from her thoughts. She offers the envelope to him, andwhen he sniffs it he says, It’s clean. No magic at all…

“Not even a werewolf?” she half-teases, quirking an eyebrow.

He bares his white fangs indispleasure, indicating he doesn’t appreciate her joke, butPidge laughs as she slices the envelope open with a knife.

Her mirth fades when a smallmetallic cylinder falls out and rolls across her desk. With the air trapped inher lungs, Pidge picks it up with a pair of forceps and raises it to her eye.

A bullet.

A silver bullet.

She drops it into an emptyglass with a clatter and, with her heart beating an uneven rhythm against herribs, pulls a note from the envelope.

You have until the end of themonth.

-S.

A scowl twists her lips, furygripping her as she crumples the note in her fist and throws it against theopposite wall with a wordless yell. She glares at where it lands in one of hermany pots of soil before anger dissipates and something like gut-wrenching fear replaces it instead.

Pidge buries her face in herhands. “W-what am I going to do?”

Keith, bristling and startledwith his ears folding back, prompts, Pidge?

“I-I screwed up,” she confesses in a low voice, pressing herfingers into her eyes, “again.

“What now? Every time I think I’m close to bringing them down,they—” Her chest tightens, but her rage is quickly returning, her fingernailsdigging into her palms.

The silver bullet sitting inits glass catches her eye, mocking her, but before she can grab that and chuck it across the room, apatterned knock sounds from the door.

“Are you okay, Pidge? I heard you yell, and I can smell your f—”

She sucks in a breath, herheart racing while her gaze roves around the room, searching for an excuse. “I-It’s nothing, Lance,” she replies as levelly as she can. “Keithjust…started digging in one of my planters and I thought he might’ve gotten tothe roots.”

Keith hisses at her, ignoringher apologetic shrug, his bushy black tail swishing behind him as he hops offher desk and darts behind her bed.

To her relief, Lance seems tobuy her excuse. “Are you sure Keith is your familiar and notjust a cat you brought to torment me?”

Another hiss from behind herbed, and Lance grumbles, “Fine, fine, you understandevery word I’m saying…”

A reluctant smile pushes at herlips, and she props her elbow on her desk. “Yes, he is myactual familiar, Lance.”

“Just making sure since if the landlord finds out—”

“What is this, your fiftieth time asking?” Pidge wonders, raisingan eyebrow at the door. “And you don’t care about the landlord finding out; youjust don’t like cats!”

“Pidge, I’m a werewolf!” Lance retorts, and she can imagine himrolling his eyes. “It would be weird if I did like cats, so you’re lucky I like you enough to let him stay!”

Pidge’s pathetic heart skips a beat, but she manages to respond alittle breathlessly, “I-I’m flattered.”

“A-anyway,” Lance continues, his voice cracking, “since I’m hereyou want to…do something tonight? I’m leaving in the morning since tomorrownight’s the full moon so…”

In her mind’s eye he smiles sheepishly, hopefully, and rubs the back of hisneck while shifting from foot to foot. Nervous tics…but why is he nervous?

The note echoes through herhead, the silver bullet a subtle but obvious threat that fills her withforeboding. She’s running out of time…

But there’s no reason she can’t enjoy what she has left with Lance.

“All right,” she says, smiling. “What did you have in mind?”

“I’m moving out,” Pidge announces while they’re watching a movie.

Lance isn’t sure what it’s about, or even what the title is. Pidge chose it- it looks like some kind of thriller, with a plot more complicated than theaction movies he prefers - and he shrugged when she connected her laptop,entertained enough by the occasional explosions and how soft her hair feelsbetween his fingers when he teases out the tangles.

But his hand freezes as heprocesses her words, his heart plummeting. “O-oh? You...found a betterplace?”

And what’s wrong with their apartment? Sure, thekitchen is tiny and some mysterious substance stains the sofa cushions andthere are tiles missing in the bathroom and the power outages are just alittle too frequent and thesmoke alarms are overly sensitive and at least three streetlights needreplacing at any given time and water drips in through the windows whenever itrains, but it’s still home.

“Yeah, I-I found a new job.” Pidge sits up, her body drifting awayfrom Lance as she avoids his eyes.

“I didn’t even know you were looking for a new job,” he says,unable to keep the hurt from his voice.

“I didn’t want to tell you until I knew it would work out,” shesays with an apologetic smile. She rests her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.If it’s any consolation, I’m not leaving till the end of the month.”

“Time enough to find a new roommate, huh?” Lance raises aneyebrow, trying not to show how much that thought hurt. “What’s wrong with your job here, Pidge?”

“Nothing,” she admits, shrugging. “I just felt a little...stagnant.I needed a change, somewhere I could grow, and some place closer to my family.I miss them.”

A sigh escapes him, and hemusters a smile for her when she looks up at him. “I can understand that,” he says. “I guess I’ll have to missyou now.”

Pidge half-jumps into his lapwhen she throws her arms around his neck. “I’ll miss you too,” shemurmurs, her warm breath brushing his ear, her sweet, earthy scent filling hisnostrils, “you goofball.”

Lying to Lance leaves a bittertaste in her mouth, and the guilt weighing down her heart only grows heavierthe longer he’s away.

By now she’s accustomed to him spending a day or two out of every month in arented warehouse on the waterfront - despite her brewing a potion to mitigatethe worst of his transformation, he errs on the side of caution and spends thefull moon away from her - but this time the apartment’s emptiness and quietstabs something through her chest and twists.

A big part of her wants toutilize the time she doesn’t have her job at thegreenhouses to distract her hunting down the one who sent her that note, butshe doesn’t have anything personal - the bullet is completely clean offingerprints and oils and the note wasn’t written by hand - with which to casta tracking spell.

Besides, whoever it is surelyhas powerful friends…friends that can still make her life or the livesof her loved ones miserable or worse.

If Pidge can’t take the Galra down from the top in one fell swoop, picking themoff one by one won’t help if they can so easily pinpoint the one person shecares for in the whole damn city.

You can always tell him, Keith suggests, interruptingher moping by prodding her hand with his head.

“What good will that do?” she asks. She rests her hand on his backwhen he curls into a ball beside her, careful not to pet him lest he decide he’drather bite her. A heavy sigh escapes her, and she burrows deeper into ablanket that smells like Lance’s natural musk. “He’ll just try to convince me tostay anyway, and I’m worried it’ll work.”

God, but she wants to stay with him. She enjoys thestability in the routine they established in the year she’s lived here, enjoys his company and their banter, enjoys playingvideo games on the nights he has off from work and convincing him to sample thepotions she sells via Internet order and hearing that curious, low growl fromthe back of his throat when they’re out and an inebriated man so much as leersin her direction…

But she needs to keep him safe, even at the expense of her happiness.

What can the Galra really do? Keith scoffs. The second they make a move—

Pidge smacks her hands to herface and hisses, “I don’t have the proof I need yet! I can exposethem to mortal police, but what damage will that do?” She bolts to her feet, displacing Keith as she stalks into thekitchen and fills a kettle while her heart pounds a frantic tempo. “As long asI’m digging - as long as they’re intact - then they’ll keep threatening m-mymother and”—she flicks the stove on under the kettle—”now Lance too.”

How stupid was she to thinkthat simply moving would put them off? Feigning an identity and living under anassumed name only shifted their focus from her mother to…her roommate.

The same roommate she fell inlove with.

She opens and slams shutcupboards searching for her tea, and when she finds them in the back of adrawer, the mix she wants isn’t there.

“For the love of the—”

Something tugging on her pantleg attracts her attention, and she peers down to see Keith with a plastic bagin his mouth.

“Thanks,” she says with a sheepish smile, holding her hand out toaccept the bag of dried flowers when Keith jumps onto the counter. She raisesan eyebrow at him after dumping the tea into the boiling kettle, watching himnibbling the pads on his paw. “You know Lance doesn’t like it when—”

I won’t tell him if you don’t, Keith tells her.

The knife in Pidge’s chest twists, and she bites her lip and says, “It’s far fromthe worst I’m keeping from him.”

After calling his mother likehe does the morning after any full moon, Lance stands outside his apartmentdoorway. The ache of a transformation behind him still fills his muscles, andhe wants nothing more than to crawl under his bedsheets and sleep the day awayuntil his night shift.

But he can’t enter yet, not when Pidge might already be at work and he mightwalk into an empty apartment just like he will every morning after she leaves.

While he deliberates with dreadtying his stomach into knots, the door swings open.

Pidge pulls up short, her eyeswidening behind her glasses as they focus on his face. “Lance,” she breathes. “Y-you’re back early.”

“I am?” He frowns, something about her demeanor making the hairson the back of his neck stand on end, and…oh, yes, that’s the bitter scent offear wafting off her. “Pidge, are you—”

“Running late for work?” she interrupts with a too-broad smile. “Yes,yes I am.” She hefts her bag higher onto her shoulder and adds, “I’ll bestaying late to make up for it too. Don’t expect me to be back before youleave. Bye, Lance!”

Pidge pushes past him withoutwaiting for him to say anything, but as she speeds down the hall and disappearsinto the stairwell, he raises a hand and waves.

It’s much the same for the next week, with him only seeing Pidge ashe returns home from work and she leaves for hers with nothing more than a curtgoodbye. Not so much as a hug exchanged or a stray touch or a kind word.

He sits alone in theirapartment on the same couch they’ve fallen asleep on togethercountless times, enveloped by the unique sweet scent of her brand of magic anddeclining his friends’ invitations to go out on his night off - the first nighthe has a prayer of his time home overlapping with Pidge’s.

Lance’s chest tightens, and he can’t help wondering if he’s lost Pidgebefore she’s even left him.

Pidge’s first thought when she steps through the doorway is that sheshould’ve bought more food from the Thai takeout place on the next block.

Her second thought is why is Lance home?

He’s slumped on the couch, a furrow in his brow and the tip of histongue sticking out of his mouth while he clutches a Gameflux controller, stillwearing his pajamas with a massive cowlick at the back of his head like he justrolled out of bed.

Which, considering hisschedule, he probably did just rollout of bed.

But the sight of him sittingthere makes her breath catch. For the last week she’s timed it perfectly so that she comes home after he leaves forwork, so seeing him there is…unnerving.

“What’re you still doing here?” she blurts once she finds hertongue.

Lance sags as his character onscreen dies, the music descending a scale, and looks over the back of the couchtowards her. “I…have tonight off from work?”

Pidge’s jaw flaps uselessly. She sets her dinner on the kitchen counterwhile she recovers before finally saying, “I forgot.”

“Oh, so if you knew I didn’t have work tonight, you would’ve…what?”Lance shoots to his feet and wanders around the sofa into the kitchen, hiseyebrow raised and arms crossed. “Spent the night at the greenhouses to avoidme?”

His accusation squeezes herheart, and she can’t bring herself to meet his eyes. She busies herhands with pulling takeout boxes from the paper bag and says, “I just��have alot of packing to do before I move, and with you distracting me—”

“Avoiding me before you leave isn’t going to make it any easier onme…or on either of us,” Lance points out in a low but cutting voice. “A fewweeks aren’t enough time to find a new roommate, for one; do you know how hardit was to find someone after Hunk moved out?”

Pidge bites her lip, fingerstightening around the box of chicken satay while an unreasonable spike ofirritation hits her. “I guess I’m just convenient because I didn’t mindthe whole werewolf thing, huh?”

Lance’s eyes widen, his jaw dropping. “Wait, what—”

She glares at her food andbites out, “I’m used to your mannerisms - like your hypersensitive nose andears and your meaty diet and your overprotectiveness while we’re out - so youjust don’t want the inconvenience of finding someone else like me to split rentwith.”

Pidge swallows around a stupid,sudden lump in her throat at the thought that Lance would one day replace her, even as just a roommate, even if it’s better for him.

“That’s not at all what I meant, Pidge!” he retorts, flailing his arms. “I mean, sure, having to find anew roommate is inconvenient, but maybe I justdon’t want you to leave?”

She finally forces her eyes upto his, taking in his deep frown and just…how unhappy he looks.

She can wash that all away,take his hands - how tactile Lance iscan be a blessing as much as a curse - and reassure him she won’t be going anywhere. But instead she grits out, “That’s not up toyou.”

“I know it’s not,” Lance says, “but why avoid me?”

She pinches her eyes shut,pretends she can’t hear the hurt in his voice or feel the dread weighing her down.

He has a point, Keith offers from his perch onthe back of the sofa. Why not just spendwhat time you have left with him?

“Won’t you get jealous?” she mumbles, low enough that he’ll hearher but Lance won’t.

“Get jealous of who?” Lance says, quirking an eyebrow inconfusion.

Ah, right…werewolf ears.

“Nothing, I just…” Pidge sags, the tension bleeding out of her.She sets her food down and flexes her stiff fingers, staring at them as sheadmits more easily than she should, “Y-you’re right. Avoiding you isn’t goingto make me miss you any less when I leave.”

“So…?”

An unwitting grin pushes up herlips, stunned that only a single syllable can hold so much hope. She pulls achair away from the kitchen table and says, “I know you prefer meat, but…whatabout with peanut butter?”

Half-empty boxes sit in pilesall over the apartment’s interior, papers and books and binders and theleaves of potted plants poking out of them. Lance should be accustomed to themby now, should know to expect something sitting at the corner betweenhis bedroom and the bathroom, but his toe always collides with a box heavy withold electronics and an encyclopedia on green magic.

The pain shooting through hisfoot almost distracts him from the pang in his chest when he lays eyes on a boxthat’s fuller every time he looks at it, but he’s no closer tofiguring out some way to convince Pidge to stay.

It had been a mistake to whineabout the difficulty he’ll have finding a newroommate, and reminding her that he relies on her to brew the potion that easeshis monthly transformation is even more self-serving - and he can always askAllura to connect him with someone else.

But Lance can’t picture himself living in an apartment devoid of Pidge’s pottedherbs and bubbling cauldron and green magic “experiments”; he even can’timagine scenting the air without catching a whiff of cat. Theimage refuses to materialize, and he realizes with a startling clarity and withwarmth spreading through his chest that he loves her.

Lance groans and drapes himselfin the doorway to her bedroom. In a week all her belongings will be gone, fromKeith’s cat tree in the corner to the grimoire of spells lying open onthe vanity, nothing but her scent lingering behind…and even that will fadewithin a month.

A low, feline growl disruptshis bleak thoughts. When Lance zeroes in on the source, Keith meets his gazefrom his hiding spot behind Pidge’s bed, his yellow eyes gleamingin the shadow.

“I guess you’re looking forward to being gone, huh?” Lance says,crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes. “Bet you won’t miss me, and I won’tmiss you either!”

Pidge’s familiar doesn’t react beyond an agitated flick of his tail, whichLance can’t interpret. Reading feline body language isn’t exactly his strongsuit.

The lack of response rankleshis nerves. He sits heavily on the edge of Pidge’s bed and buries his face inhis hands.

“Maybe I should tell her,” he mumbles. “Maybe if she knows I loveher, she’ll change her mind…”

But what would be the point? Ifhe tells her and she stays, won’t she regret not taking thatnew, better job to be closer to her family? Eventually she’ll just resent him…

“And if she feels the same, would she even want to leave?”

A clink of metal against glassmakes him jump, and he spins around to see Keith vaulting from the desk ontothe bed. He crosses to Lance on silent paws, something in his teeth glittering.

“What’s that in your mouth?” he wonders, raising an eyebrow. WhenKeith bows his head, Lance’s eyes widen in alarm, and he taps his chin. “Wait,no, don’t eat that! If you die on my watch, Pidge will—”

Keith spits his “meal” into his open palm.

It burns his skin on contact,shooting hot pain up his arm. A yelp escapes him as he bolts to his feet, andhe turns his hand, dropping something small and metallic onto thestar-patterned comforter.

Lance rubs his hand, wincing atthe lingering heat, more focused and intense than a sunburn. A red rectangularmark is burned into his palm.

He reaches a hand towards thetiny metal cylinder lying on the bed before thinking better of it.

He grabs the bath towel drapedover the edge of Pidge’s desk chair and picks up the object with it,raising it to eye level. “What the cheese? Is this a bullet?”

Lance glances at Keith seatedon the bed, observes the thrashing of his tail and the black fur bristlingalong his spine.

And he may not know cats, buthe does know Keith.

Just like he knows that asilver bullet can kill a werewolf dead if it so much as penetrates his skin.

Pidge hasn’t delayed coming home since she reached a truce with Lance, whichis why finding him dressed in his security guard uniform and waiting to greether before he leaves isn’t shocking.

But the way he looks at herwhen she passes through the door - like he’s never seen herbefore - makes her heart skip a beat in alarm.

Lance holds out his hand, andPidge shakily wonders, “W-why are you wearing glovesin…”

The silver bullet glints almostprettily in his hand.

She sucks in a breath andraises her eyes to his, her whole body flushing with the wrong emotion - with anger. “What the hell were you doingin my room?” she demands.

Lance’s fist closes on the bullet as he retorts, “Why do you have a silver bullet in there?”

“I have a—it’s not mine!”

“Then why do you have something that can literally kill me?” He drops the bullet on the coffee table, ignoringit when it rolls off and disappears under the couch, and peels off his glove.He waves his hand in Pidge’s face and exclaims, “Look at this!”

Her breath catches in herthroat at the sight of the livid red mark on his skin, proof that just thetouch of silver can hurt him. “I…you weren’t meant to find that,”she mutters lamely, her anger fading.

“Clearly Keith never got the message!” Lance gestures around the room, and it’s only then that Pidgerecognizes her familiar is nowhere in sight. “And this is nasty enough it mightscar!”

She pinches her eyes shut andsays, “I-I’m sorry.”

“What’s it for anyway?” He crosses his arms, not quite loomingover her but getting close. “You keep this in case I stick around for the fullmoon?”

“Of course not!” Pidge fires back, her fists clenching at hersides. “And even if you did, I know you’re not any danger to me!”

“Is it for someone else then?” Lance wonders. His demeanor shifts,tension filling his limbs and a scowl twisting his lips. “D-do you know manyother werewolves that are threatening you and you needto defend yourself against?”

Pidge’s jaws flap uselessly, startled by his line of questioning, buther shame writhes in her stomach, at how close yet how far heis from the mark. “I…don’t know any other werewolves here, no…”

“Then why do you have it? I’ve never even seen you carry a weapon…orare you hiding a gun under your pillow too?”

“I carry mace,” she grumbles, but a sigh bursts from her and shemutters, “Someone sent it to me.”

Lance’s eyes widen. “Who? Did you tell—”

“Of course not!” Pidge retorts, glaring at him. “My mother’s awitch too, and I haven’t even told her that I live with a werewolf.W-why would I deliberately endanger you like that?”

“I don’t—wait, deliberately?”

Her chest tightens, a grimacecrossing her face. Of course hepicked out the one word she shouldn’t have let slip. “Lance, Ishould—”

Come clean? Keith suggests from wherever he’s hiding. I agree.

“Shut up,” she mutters under her breath, although she suspects he’ssomewhere he can’t hear her. She turns to Lance, who stares at her, his blueeyes no longer as accusatory but something in them still making the knife inher gut twist. “Keith gave you that, didn’t he?”

He nods. “I didn’t think a witch’s familiar could snitch on them.”

Pidge rolls her eyes. “When Keith and I renew our contract, I’ll have something to addto it, apparently…but he’s right. I should tell you.”

“Tell me what?” Lance asks warily.

“Something…important. Wait here.” She retreats to her bedroom -barely sparing a glance for Keith curled up on her pillow - and grabs thewrinkled note off her desk. When she returns to the living room, Lance sitsslumped against the couch’s arm, and Pidge perches beside him.

She passes him the note.

“You want me to read during my time off the clock?” he grumbles,but his gaze already scans the words, eyes widening.

He waves it, glowering. “Who sent this to you?”

“A warlock named Sendak,” Pidge explains, a shiver of feartraveling up her spine at the image of his darkly enchanted smoky eye fixed onthe camera - on her - every time she watched thechilling recording. “He’s a high-ranking member of the so-called GalraEmpire.”

Lance’s eyes bug out. “Pidge, why are you—”

“My real name is Katie,” she confesses, wringing the hem of hersweater. “Pidge is a dumb childhood nickname my brother gave me.”

“Katie…” Lance breathes, almost like he’s tasting it, and Pidgehas to bite her lip to keep from smiling at the sound of her real name fallingfrom his tongue.

“Why are you—”

“My dad was - is - a witch too. His and mybrother’s specialty is magical devices and technology powered with magic.They”—she inhales shakily, her heart squeezing—”were on the brink of inventinga sort of…magical battery with unlimited capacity that anyone, not just thecreator, could add to or draw from.” She pulls her feet onto the couch andwraps her arms around her legs, swallowing. “Th-that’s when they, theprototype, and all the designs disappeared.”

Lance wraps an arm around hershoulders. She leans into him, closing her eyes and shuddering as his warmthenvelopes her.

“And you think the Galra took them?”

“I know they did,” Pidge hisses, glaring through her eyelashes at the floor. “Icombed the security footage from my dad’s lab more times than I can count untilI found him. Andwhen I started to dig into them”—her fingernails dug intopalms—”and I knew I had to disappear too.”

He prods her arm and presses, “But why is a warlock threatening you? What did you—”

Her throat itches as she blinkstears from her eyes. “I-it’s not me he’s threatening, Lance.”

“W-what?”

She pulls away from him,raising her gaze to his. “Th-the first time theythreatened my mother,” she says carefully, “I didn’t believe them.” Her stomachroils with shame all over again, but she pushes it away. “Sh-she’s lucky allshe lost is her voice.”

“O-oh.” Lance takes her hands, his surprisingly soft fingerswrapping around hers, and offers her a tremulous smile. “So they’re threateningher again?”

If not for him holding herhands, she would’ve smacked her forehead out of mounting frustration. “Lance,” shegrits out, “Sendak sent me a silver bullet.”

Guilt bites her whenrealization hits him, when his eyes shoot open and his fingers tighten aroundhers. “W-what?”

“You still want me to stay here?” Pidge asks, her brow furrowing. “Giveme one good reason, Lance.”

His jaw sets, and he blurts, “Me!”

Lance refuses to second guess.

He kisses her, cupping her facebetween his hands and tilting her head back. Her scent - so much like theflowers blooming on the fire escape, so much like the pure magic that risesfrom the earth in the country - fills his nose. Her fingers curl around hiswrists, her mouth a soft pressure against his.

A shiver runs up his spine athow effortlessly she takes over his senses.

A sigh escapes Pidge, warmagainst his lips, when he pulls back. Her eyes, slightly glazed and stillglistening with tears and crossing to keep his in view, flicker open. “Lance,” she murmurs, her thumb skirting over the soft skin on hiswrist and shooting heat up his arm.

Lance feels the dampness on hercheeks under his palms - against the burn - and wipes a tear that trails fromthe corner of her eye. “Pidge—”

She leans up and captures hislips again.

Pidge flings her arms aroundhis neck, pulling him against her. He wraps his around her back, wanting todraw closer, to feel the heat of her body flush against his.

Always wanting her there, regardlessof the threat. He can forgive her for keeping secrets if only she stays.

Her fingers run through hishair, tugging him a little closer. His nose bumps hers, and they break apart,breathless.

“I-I love you, Pidge,” he murmurs into her lips, his eyesflickering open to meet hers, warm and brown. “Or…Katie.” He smiles, reachingup to brush her hair away from her flushed cheek. “I-is that a good enoughreason?”

Lance reads the conflict in herface, his chest tightening when she pulls back with her eyes pinched shut.

“Th-that’s why I have to leave,” she tells him, even as her hand cups his jaw, her fingers softand warm against his skin. “I love you too, so I don’t want to be the reasonyou get hurt.”

“You won’t be,” he insists with growing desperation. “I-I can takecare of myself. And I even tolerate Keith!”

Pidge rests her foreheadagainst his collar bone, a shudder rippling through her and the scent of herfloral shampoo tickling his nose. “Lance,” she whispers, “you’rea security guard at a jewelry store.”

“So what?”

“So a supposed burglar can shoot you and make it look like an accident,”she suggests. “Someone can spike your food or drink with silver dust—”

“Then I’ll only eat or drink stuff that someone I trust prepares,”Lance counters. But a new idea takes root, and he licks his lips, his heartskipping a beat at what he’s about to suggest.

“Or—”

“Pidge,” he cuts her off, taking her chin and tilting her headback until their eyes meet, “how about I make the Galra my enemy too?”

She gasps, her eyes widening. “How is that a solution?” she demands. “Do you know howdangerous they are? And you’re not even a witch!”

Lance raises an eyebrow. “Yes, I do know something about howdangerous they are, and I know people who know even better.” He can’t help glowering at her, still a little put out she kepther dilemma from him for a whole year. “And I can introduce you to them.”

“But—”

She falls silent again when hepresses his lips to her wrinkled brow. “And you never know, Pidge,” hesays, shrugging, “you might meet someone who wants to bring them down as muchas you do.”

[kaleid369]

Coffee and Hot Chocolate

The first thing Kaito notices when he opens the front door is the blast of cold air that hits him in the face and sends a shiver down his spine. Ever since the last week of November began, the weather had been getting colder and colder. Kaito doesn't have anything against winter, but would it kill it to tone it down a few notches? Spending ten minutes outside makes his hands stiff and freezing, and he's a magician. His hands are important.

(And he really wants to continue his weekly performances at the park; he wouldn't want to disappoint.)

He burrows further into his jacket, blowing out a puff of air and watching it. He tightens his scarf, stuffs his hands into his pockets, and then continues down the street.

It's about eight at night, but he doesn't want to be at home. It's too quiet there; there isn't any background noise and it bothers Kaito.

(It's lonely by himself in his huge, empty house.)

The magician turns a corner, and multicolored lights fill his vision.

It's only November 29, yet decorations are up everywhere. Christmas lights, small snowmen, candy canes, and snowflakes are hanging in front of and inside stores, restaurants, and other small businesses. Christmas trees are set up within them, too, and the stores already have every Christmas-themed product in stock.

The route Kaito’s on is especially blinding, since it's a busy road with cars honking and headlights shining.

Kaito walks into a café, the little bell ringing and signaling a customer's arrival. The door shuts behind him and the noise outside dulls and fades. He's met with warmth and quiet classical music. There are quiet voices and papers crinkling and glass mugs and plates clinking.

Kaito loves this café.

The female behind the counter looks up, smiling when she sees him and he smiles back.

He's frequented this place so many times that the workers have his name and order memorized. Because of this, everyone just waves him off and lets him take a seat while he waits for his name to be called. He takes a seat in the back where it's dark and he has a view of everything and everyone.

There aren't many people here. There's an old woman staring out the window with a mug held in both hands; a teenage girl—maybe a freshman?—reading a novel and taking occasional sips from her drink; a group of college students chatting (Probably a reunion, Kaito thinks when another one walks in and approaches the table, only to be engulfed in hugs and laughter); a businessman with a cup of coffee in front of him, typing away on his laptop, the click-clacking of keys making Kaito smile.

“Kuroba Kaito-san,” a worker calls his name and he stands up, making his way to the counter.

He places the correct amount of yen down and takes the large mug, giving her his thanks and turns to walk back to where he was sitting.

Except, it seems he's missed someone because, when he turns, he sees Edogawa Conan at a booth with a mug to his lips and eyes closed peacefully. The booth had blocked his view of the small not-child earlier when Kaito had been observing the other customers.

The thief pauses half-step, staring at the booth for a short moment before walking in its direction.

Conan doesn't notice him at first, too focused on the warmth of his drink, so Kaito just watches him.

The not-child is small for his (not real) age. He is pale and there are bags under his eyes, as if he hasn't gotten sleep for several days. He has small hands and neatly clipped fingernails, and then Kaito looks at his face again.

Conan doesn't have his glasses on; they're sitting on the table. His eyelashes are long and his cheeks are pinkish.

And then he's suddenly met with azure eyes.

“Nii-san, why are you sitting here?” Conan asks, a sharp gaze aimed at Kaito, and Kaito knows that Conan is trying to decide whether or not he's a threat.

“Well,” Kaito says quietly, “you seemed lonely. Children shouldn't look so tired or old.” He flashes the detective a grin. “We're too young for that, wouldn't you agree?”

This only makes the shrunken teen narrow his eyes.

The magician sighs internally before pulling a white rose out of nowhere and holds it up to Conan.

“My name is Kuroba Kaito, magician extraordinaire,” he introduces himself, and hides a wince behind his poker face because what did he just do?

It seems to do the trick, though, because Conan’s gaze softens and he takes the flower. “Nice to meet you. I'm Edogawa Conan.”

“I know!” Kaito chirps cheerfully.

This time, the little detective raises an eyebrow. Then he says loudly, “Nii-san, you're weird.”

And, for some reason, Kaito suddenly feels like laughing until his face hurts. 

The next time Kaito sees Conan, is when he's at a heist as KID.

“Tantei-kun, let's not get hasty here,” KID says nervously, waving his hands in front of him.

“Kaitou KID-san,” Conan calls, voice dangerously sweet, “give me back my glasses.”

“And why do you think I took them?”

Conan just crouches and touches the side of his shoe, and Kaito knows what's coming.

“Wait, wait, waaaait, please don't!”

The detective pauses expectantly, and Kaito steps towards him cautiously, silently praying that he doesn't get a soccer ball to the gut. He takes out the glasses as Conan looks up at the sound of footsteps, and slowly places them on the detective’s face.

He smiles slightly. “Here,” he says softy.

The not-child opens his mouth to say something—

“Kaitou KID!” Nakamori Ginzou yells at the top of his lungs, and KID immediately steps back from the boy.

“Bye bye, Tantei-kun~!” he chirps and somersaults off the roof, and Conan seems to remember that they're in the middle of a heist because he suddenly stands up and presses a hand to his belt.

Seconds later, a soccer ball shoots past KID’s head, scaring him to death.

It really makes Kaito wonder why he likes teasing the little detective so much. 

It seems like Conan is always meeting Kaito, or Kaito is always meeting Conan at the café because Kaito’s seen Conan three times in the time span of five days (and, every time, Kaito sits with him).

He doesn't know if he should be worried or delighted.

“Conan-kun, it's late. Why are you always here?” It's the first time Kaito’s thought to ask.

(And you live in Beika, not Ekoda, Kaito thinks.)

Conan only shrugs. “I like this café.” He takes a sip from his mug. Again, his glasses are off and on the table.

Kaito snorts. “You could always go earlier in the day,” he points out.

The detective sets his drink down this time. “It doesn't...feel the same,” he replies slowly, eyebrows furrowed and head tilted.

“Hm, alright.” 

It's an eventful two weeks, full of coffee shop meetings with a detective and heist planning and Christmas plans. Kaito thinks this is the best Christmastime he's had in awhile.

He's learned a lot of things during this time.

Like how Conan hates how the steam from his drink always fogs up his glasses, or how he has a habit of putting a hand over his mouth when he's thinking hard, or how his favorite color is blue, or how he loves ciphers—

Kaito has learned a lot, and everything he's learned is about his favorite detective.

I wonder what Conan thinks of me? he muses, the thought of I probably shouldn't be thinking about him during a heist floating around in the back of his mind.

“Seems you were too slow, Keibu~!” KID says, a wide smirk on his face as he holds the jewel above his head. He frowns when he realizes the moon is behind the clouds.

I'll just have to check it later, KID hums, tucking the jewel into his shirt.

“Kaitou KID!”

The thief has to hold back his snickers, suspecting that the inspector has fallen into one of his traps.

“When's Tantei-kun going to get here?” Kaito sighs. “He's usually here by now.”

He spends some time humming, maybe a few minutes, before the door slams open.

Kaito immediately turns, flashing a smirk at the little detective. “What took you so long, Tantei-kun? Don't tell me you're losing your—”

He hears a whistling sound, but it's too late. There's a burst of pain in the right part of his abdomen and he gasps loudly, immediately crouching and wrapping a hand around the wound to put some pressure on it. He grabs onto the ledge of the roof with a grunt and tries to breathe.

(Breathe, breathe, you need to breathe.)

Kaito is vaguely aware of Conan running towards him with wide eyes full of panic, can vaguely feel Conan’s body shaking when he grabs hold of Kaito.

“No, no, no,” he hears Conan mutter with a shaky voice. “No one is supposed to get hurt.” It takes Kaito a minute to process that Conan is scared.

Kaito is reaching for his phone, and he's handing it to Conan, and telling him to call Jii.

And then it is dark. 

He feels hands pushing on his stomach. Why…?

There's someone shouting, voice panicked and scared. Is he trembling…?

“Hurry!” 

“He's fine, Kudou-kun,” a voice says. Female? “The bullet went straight through and didn't hit anything vital. He needs rest and, when he wakes up, food and water.” Footsteps. “He might want to take it easy, though. Honestly, Kudou-kun, what do you get yourself into?”

Silence. 

“Wake up already, damn thief…” 

Tired.

That's the first thing Kaito feels, and then he's aching. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

“Bocchama, you're awake!”

“Jii-chan …?” Kaito croaks, wincing at the sound of his voice and the feel of talking.

Jii helps him sit up before bringing a glass to his lips. Kaito sips, the water relieving him and he sighs.

Jii pours more water into the glass and repeats the process, and Kaito is suddenly aware of the pain in his side.

“How...did I get here?”

“Edogawa Conan called me. You couldn't go to a hospital so he told me to take you to a friend of his. While you were sleeping, I took you back.” Jii pauses, glancing at the magician. “Edogawa-kun was worried. He visited earlier, actually, while you were sleeping. And Aoko-kun has been wondering about your whereabouts.”

“I see… Thanks, Jii,” Kaito mumbles, and he's lying down again, slipping into sleep.

(He dreams of terrified eyes behind shining glasses and shaking hands and a deep red.) 

Kaito is jittery all throughout school, dodging Aoko’s questions about where he's been with vague answers, too caught up in thoughts to attack classmates with pranks (he can feel Hakuba’s gaze on him, both worried and suspicious), and making excuses as to why he can't hang out with Aoko—and he hopes Conan is at the café.

He leaves his house at seven and walks slowly, careful not to agitate his bullet wound. He watches lights blur in and out as he focuses on one thing and another.

He gets to the café at about 7:35 and takes a seat at the booth he usually takes with Conan. Six minutes later, a mug of hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows is placed in front of him.

“Kuroba-san, you haven't been here for the past few days; we were all worried!” the barista tells him and studies his face. “You seem pale. Were you sick?”

Kaito smiles uncertainly. “Something like that.”

She doesn't seem to notice because she continues, “Edogawa-kun was here everyday you were out, though, and he worried a lot. He kept glancing at the door whenever someone came in and frowned when it wasn't you.”

“Oh, really?” Interesting. “Thank you.”

“You better apologize to him!” she chides before leaving him to himself.

Kaito checks the time. 7:53. He takes a sip of his hot chocolate, sighing contently when the warmth travels to his body. He closes his eyes and leans back in his seat. He focuses on the soft music that floats through the café, humming to it quietly.

It's a few minutes later when he feels his seat shift and his eyes snap open. He turns to see Conan sitting beside him, staring right back. They both open their mouths to speak.

“I've always known you were KID,” Conan murmurs at a volume for only Kaito to hear.

Kaito freezes, closes his mouth, and then grins crookedly. “I'd be worried if you hadn't. Since when, though?”

“I suspected it when you first spoke to me,” Conan explains, voice quiet, “but it was confirmed when you gave me the rose.”

“Why were you here by yourself in Ekoda, then?” Kaito asks. “You live in Beika.”

“I needed to be by myself. You don't get a lot of alone time when you're a kid.”

“And? Why did you keep coming back so often?” he presses on.

The little detective runs a hand through his hair, rubbing his eyes as the barista comes back with a mug and places it in front of Conan. He gives his thanks and takes a sip, sighing and taking off his glasses.

“I was curious,” Conan admits. “Why would Kaitou KID be at a café in the evening by himself? Why would he approach me, a detective?” he says in a low voice. “... And what kind of person is the Kaitou KID behind the mask?”

“Hm? Were you disappointed?”

Conan looks at him with a strange expression that Kaito can't figure out before smirking a little. “I can't say that I was.”

“Well, Tantei-kun, what are you going to do now that you know KID’s civilian identity?” the thief questions.

“Well…” The not-child turns to him fully with a small smile. “Nice to meet you. My name is Kudou Shinichi.”

Kaito grins widely. “Nice to meet you, Shinichi. Call me Kaito.” He ruffles Conan’s hair for a second, somewhat surprised at how soft it is, and leaves his hand resting on his head.

Conan just leans into him and mumbles, “You scared me.”

Kaito chuckles. “Gomen, gomen.”

“You better not do it again.”

“I'll try my best, Meitantei.” 

There are many more days spent together, the two with their usual drinks and talk about anything.

There's a small lapse in their conversation, so Kaito watches blurred lights through the window.

Kaito doesn't remember why he approached Edogawa Conan in the first place but, as he sips his hot chocolate and stares at Conan's reflection in the window of the coffee shop, he finds that he doesn't regret it.

“What's with that creepy smile?”

There are snowflakes falling to Earth slowly, Kaito sees just barely, and he simply replies, “It's snowing.”

(Kaito doesn't want Conan to know he was thinking about him. After all, how weird would that be?) 

On Christmas Eve, Kaito and Shinichi are both busy. Kaito celebrates with Aoko and Nakamori, and facetimes his mother to wish her a Merry Christmas. Shinichi is busy with Ran and Mouri, as well as Ran’s plans to get Mouri and Eri back together.

They do spend Christmas Day together at the café.

“Merry Christmas, Meitantei, ” Kaito greets Shinichi cheerfully.

“Merry Christmas, stupid thief.”

“Aw, couldn't you be nicer to me?”

Shinichi snorts. “Not possible.”

“So mean!”

“Hn.”

Kaito sticks his tongue out at the detective. “And to think you were my favorite detective.”

“I am your favorite detective,” Shinichi replies. “You've stated it on multiple occasions.”

“Details, details…”

Their drinks are placed on the table and they take sips, sighing at the same time. Except, Kaito watches Shinichi as he drinks from his mug.

It only now occurs to him that he doesn't know what the detective’s favorite drink is, and that��

Kaito should know what makes Conan look so content, what makes Shinichi smile like that.

“You're staring again,” Shinichi points out for the second time, an eyebrow raised.

Kaito just brings his mug to his lips, focusing only on the hot liquid. Heart pounding, a blush crawling up his neck—

Well, fuck, Kaito thinks, dazed. I like him.

Should he be concerned with how okay he is with this? 

The next day, Shinichi doesn't show up at the café.

Kaito feels out of place. Funny, how he used to sit at this café alone, only to now feel strange without someone with him.

Shinichi’s absence bothers him more than it should, but Kaito’s already here so he drinks his mug of hot chocolate slowly, hoping Shinichi walks in and apologizes for being late.

Shinichi doesn't walk in, and Shinichi doesn't apologize for his lateness, and Kaito is alone.

When Shinichi doesn't show up again, Kaito begins to worry.

What if something happened? Should I look for him? Where is he?

Shinichi doesn't walk into the café, and Kaito gets home at eleven o’clock that night. 

Kaito walks into the café at eight o’clock, the small bell chiming to signal his arrival. It has become a muscle memory, to turn and walk to the booth where he and Conan always sit.

Except—

Kaito pauses mid-step, eyes widening a fraction before he continues walking, only faster this time. He stops in front of the table.

“Merry Christmas,” the very familiar looking person in front of him greets, trying for a smile.

“You...how...is this why you've been gone?!” Kaito asks, voice loud.

The male in front of him raises an eyebrow. “Quiet down.”

“Answer the question—”

“My name is Kudou Shinichi,” he interrupts, “and it's nice to officially meet you.”

Kaito’s mouth hangs open for a second before he's able to speak. “Well, Meitantei,” Kaito drawls out with a smirk, “you're two days late.”

Shinichi rolls his eyes. “Just sit down, Kaito.”

“You jerk,” the thief grumbles, taking a seat beside the detective.

“Hey, I got my body back,” Shinichi says in a whisper, “and it took me two days to recover from the sudden and painful growth spurt, so shut up.”

Kaito opens his mouth to retort but their drinks arrive and he turns to the barista to thank her instead. When she leaves, he takes a sip of his hot chocolate. He stares at Shinichi, suddenly very glad he took the two days to recover from the regrowth.

Shinichi is about Kaito’s height, and they have the same body build except Shinichi is a bit more muscular—probably from all those years of soccer. His fingernails are neatly clipped, but Kaito can see a small scar on his finger (a cut, maybe?).

Shinichi’s face is similar to Kaito’s except for a few small differences you'd have to observe closely to notice. His hair is significantly neater and a little darker than Kaito’s, and the cowlick is still there. His eyelashes are long and his eyes—

Kaito is almost certain that they are azure, and he thinks it's the best shade of blue he's ever seen.

“You're staring again,” Shinichi tells him.

“Hey, Shinichi, have you been ordering the same drink?” Kaito asks, curious.

“Yeah, why?”

“Can I have a taste?”

The detective raises an eyebrow at him. “Sure…?”

Kaito stares at Shinichi for a moment, making a split-second decision. Before either of them realize it, Kaito has his lips pressed against Shinichi’s.

He's warm, Kaito thinks distantly, and he tastes like coffee.

Kaito forgets that they both need to breathe and, when he remembers, he pulls away slowly. He stills a few inches away from Shinichi’s face, whose cheeks have gone a light pink.

“Merry Christmas,” Kaito says, a smile making its way to his face.

Shinichi snorts. “You're late, damn thief.”

“Sorry, sorry, I'll make it up to you~!” the magician laughs.

Kaito doesn't miss the ridiculous smile on Shinichi’s face.

(But, then again, Kaito probably looks the same.)

[pogueman]

VICTOR sums up the trends that dominated CES 2018

For normal people, the end of the year is a time for celebration, vacation, and family.

For people in the tech industry, though, it’s a time of frantic preparation for the biggest trade show in the Western Hemisphere: CES.

The Consumer Electronics Show takes place in Las Vegas every January, perfectly timed to drain the joy out of the holidays for 170,000 people. It’s not open to the public — only to members of the industry and the media that covers it.

The Consumer Electronics Show comes once a year, whether we like it or not.

The purpose of the show is for nearly 4,000 companies to show off what they’re working on. When will these products reach stores shelves? Some of it soon, some of it next year, and lots of it, never.

Every year, everyone wants to know: What was new at CES? The world is hungry for an exciting answer, like, “Oh, there’s this thing called an iPad!” or “They showed this car called a Tesla!”

But every year, there are fewer new breakout inventions; at CES 2018 last week, I’d say there were zero. (In fact, the most talked-about display at CES last week was when the power went out for two hours. At an electronics show. #irony.)

Instead, CES these days is more about the same buzzword, technologies seep into existing products from across the industry, cross fertilizing. This year, six of these seeping technologies were on display — which, for your convenience, I’ve boiled down to a handy acronym: VICTOR.

It stands for voice, Internet of Things, cars, TVs, oddballs, and robots.

Voice

At this point, you probably know that the Amazon Echo is that cylinder that sits in your house and responds to voice commands, kind of like Siri for the home. Google has its own copycat version, called Google Home. These things are incredibly popular — already, they’re in 16% of American homes.

Both Amazon and Google have been aggressively encouraging other companies to build their voice technologies into their own appliances: refrigerators, light switches, lamps, speakers, robo-vacuums, TVs, headphones, security cameras, door locks, washers, dryers, cars, and so on. “Works with Amazon Alexa!” and “Works with OK Google!” signs were everywhere at CES last week.

You couldn’t swing a cat without hitting an Alexa-enabled product.

What’s great is that this isn’t an either/or thing. It’s not another Betamax/VHS war, or a Blu-ray/HD-DVD war. Since Alexa and “OK Google” are just software, there’s nothing to stop them from coexisting in the same product. The Sonos One speaker, Vivitar smart speaker, and new TiVo models, for example, can all understand commands barked in either command language.

Internet of Things

The Internet of Things, of course, is the nonsensical name for home devices that are networkable, so that we can control them by pulling out our phones and opening an app. For something that’s supposed to make our lives simpler and easier, that’s too much hassle. Consumers have been staying away in droves.

What may save the “I” in VICTOR is the “V” in VICTOR — voice control. “Alexa, is the dryer done yet?” “Hey Google, make it two degrees warmer in here.” “Alexa, lock the doors.” “OK Google, I want to watch ‘Rambo.’”

That arrangement actually works — and was everywhere at CES 2018. Samsung and LG, among others, demonstrated entire model living rooms and kitchens filled with appliances waiting for your verbal command.

An LG employee shows how its new fridge has six cameras inside that let you see its contents.

Cars

The self-driving car courses at CES were a third bigger than last year. Every car company you’ve ever heard of, and a few you haven’t, were demonstrating their self-driving prototypes. Lyft was even giving a few lucky showgoers rides around town in self-driving cars.

Sleek-looking concept cars filled the CES exhibit halls.

For 10 years, people have been saying that these cars would hit the roads in 2020 — and guess what? Unlike most heavily hyped new technologies, this horizon isn’t receding. People are still saying 2020. That means it’s probably real.

Lots of people were also talking about Toyota’s e-Palette, a prototype self-driving store.

Toyota envisions its E-Palette as a self-driving store, delivery van, or even hotel room.

TVs

CES show floors have always been dominated by massive walls of brilliant TV screens, and this year was no exception. The industry is still hard at work pushing us to buy 4K TV screens, which have four times the number of pixels as hi-def screens. Only one problem: You can’t see the difference from a normal seating distance.

As it does every year, LG created a dazzling wall of TV screens—this time, in an undulating canyon.

Even if you could see it, there’s very little to watch. Not a single TV network or cable channel broadcasts in 4K. If you own a 4K television, and you want to watch 4K shows and movies, you have two choices: Buy a 4K Blu-ray player and buy new movies on disc — or stream your shows online, from services like Netflix, Amazon, Hulu, iTunes, Google Play, Vudu, and YouTube.

In short, 4K is kind of a hoax.

(What you can see — what is worth upgrading to — is a much less catchy format. It’s called HDR, for high dynamic range. Much brighter brights, much darker darks; more detail in those bright and dark places; and more shades in between. More shades of color, too. Really fantastic.)

So the forehead-slapping breakthrough of CES 2018 was — get this — 8K screens. That’s right: four times as many pixels as 4K. If 4K was a stupid hoax, then 8K is four times as stupid. Really? They think we’re going to re-buy all our movies on disc again, to play on another new special disc player?

Samsung displayed a new display technology called MicroLED, which it claims to be as great-looking as OLED but at a lower price and less chance of burn-in. Cooler yet, the company proposes selling these TVs as one-foot, borderless tiles, which you can assemble to make as big a TV as you like. The one on the show floor, at 146 inches diagonal, dubbed “The Wall,” was a huge hit with showgoers.

LG also displayed (in an off-floor, invitation-only hotel area) a huge flat screen TV that rolls up. It’s built like an upside-down window shade; when you need the screen to get smaller, it wraps up around a roller at the bottom, hidden inside a wooden box.

LG’s prototype TV rolls upward or downward into the box below, to fit the video material.

Why? Because, the company says, you may want to watch different movies or shows that have different screen proportions. The real reason, of course, is, “Because we could.”

Oddball things

The “O” in VICTOR is the catch-all for all kinds of other crazy stuff on display. Walk the 50 football fields’ worth of exhibit space, and you’d find:

Two laundry-folding machines. One, the Foldimate, will cost $980 but will require you to attach each piece of clothing to clips; the other, the Laundroid, will go for $16,000 but does everything for you.

A full-body suit for playing virtual-reality games, so that bullets can “hit” you anywhere, or you can walk into a hot or cold virtual place, and you’ll feel it.

An electronic breast pump that you wear secretly inside your bra as you go about your day.

A tiny, battery-free sensor that you wear on your fingernail to detect excessive exposure to UV light.

Another stab at the Google Glass concept. This time, the virtual screen is superimposed on your field of view by a full pair of sunglasses.

Not one, not two, but three self-driving suitcases that follow you through the airport.

The Puppy 1 self-driving suitcase balances on two wheels, using technology adapted from Segway.

Remember my exhaustive (and exhausting) report about the struggles of the through-the-air charging industry? The products that can charge your gadgets at a distance? Well, the FCC just approved some of these products, including the Energous three-foot charging system. The very first product to include it is called the Myant Skiin, a line of clothing that tracks your vital statistics as you wear it.

Robots

No surprise here: Robotics and automation were the stars of the show. Heck, they’re the stars of every show right about now. Everywhere you looked, there were shiny white plastic robo-things with big eyes and smiley mouths to look less threatening. Most of them seemed to be “because we could” designs, rather than “you need one of these.”

Here and there, though, you could spot far more purpose-built robots:

Honda displayed a series of robots designed for specific tasks: an all-terrain model for outdoor work; a self-balancing wheelchair; and a weird, globule-shaped, huggable “empathy robot” with facial expressions projected onto its face from within.

LG offered three new robots for commercial use: one for restaurants, to deliver food or drinks; one for hotels, to carry luggage up to your room; and one for grocery stores, which guides you to the food shelf you’re looking for, and scans the package as you drop it into its hopper.

LG’s new service robots are designed for restaurants, hotels, and grocery stores.

Sony is re-introducing its Aibo robotic dog, this time in a more advanced, more puppy-like incarnation (probably $1,700 when it hits the U.S.). Sensors make the dog respond appropriately when you pet it or swat it; it learns your voice over time and seeks you out; and, like the original Aibo, it plays fetch with a pink ball.

Omron built a ping-pong-playing robot — not ever intended to be for sale, but to show off its robot-making skills.

Just to make sure all of Vegas’s bases were covered, the Sapphire Gentlemen’s Club featured two pole-dancing stripper robots as a CES gimmick.

Hail to the VICTORs

So, you get it: Same as last year, just more of it.

If all of that seems like a lot to read, well hey — here’s a rhyme to make it go down easier:

V is for the voice control in every gadget here — “Alexa, do my bidding!”… “OK Google, bring my beer!” In TVs, cars, and speakers, it’s a miracle of choice. The world’s at your command — at least if you don’t lose your voice!

I is for the second realm, called Internet of Things, It’s networked household stuff, complete with all the fun that it brings It’s thermostats, refrigerators, all your kitchen gear… So far, nobody’s buying it — but hey, perhaps next year.

C is for self-driving cars! So many at this show! We’re told they’re really coming soon — about two years to go. T is for the TV screens on all the expo floors. They look amazing when they’re here — but less so once they’re yours. 

O is for the oddball stuff! The offbeat and bizarre: This laundry-folding robot, or this crazy concept car. R is for the robots — Sony’s puppy stole my show. This grocery bot asks what you want, then shows you where to go.

So there’s your whole mnemonic — VICTOR! Hope you liked the show And don’t forget the greatest part — you didn’t have to go!

David Pogue, tech columnist for Yahoo Finance, welcomes non-toxic comments in the Comments below. On the Web, he’s davidpogue.com. On Twitter, he’s @pogue. On email, he’s poguester@yahoo.com. You can sign up to get his stuff by email, here.  

Read more:

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Study finds you tend to break your old iPhone when a new one comes out

Rejoice: Sonos Speakers are finally voice-controllable

Follow Yahoo Finance on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and LinkedIn

[autumnhobbit]

Story Starters Meme

I got tagged by @tantalum-cobalt, so it’s time to dust off the lines you’ve already seen bc I haven’t written in forever. 

Rules: List the first lines of your last 15 stories. See if there are any patterns. Then tag 10 of your favourite authors!

So here goes. And yes, these are the actual Google Docs names of my fic drafts.

de-ageing bc audrey gets what she wants fic:

“Alfred,” Bruce says, and Alfred can hear the odd sort of deadpan panic that only Master Bruce is capable of conveying. “Help.”

How exactly it came to pass that he said these words while standing in front of Alfred in the Cave, having just stepped out of the Batmobile veritably dripping in children---precisely six of them, as a matter of fact, with all of them going in various directions---was beyond Alfred’s mental capacity or willingness at this point.

So when Bruce opens his mouth and begins to say something---whether it be a scientific or practical explanation of how he came to be in this situation, Alfred simply raises a finger. “Don’t.” He says simply.

Bruce closes his mouth with a snap.

vaguely catholic jason death angst:

When he wakes up in his coffin, Jason isn't sure what to make of it.

Of course, at first there's very little thinking, and very much screaming and crying and clawing and thrashing and begging and pleading. He hasn't really prayed in years, drifted away from it when Bruce took him in and away from the cramped, trash-filled apartment he'd spent his childhood in. But that doesn't stop him from reciting every prayer he knows, slurring the words together in mindless terror as he digs.

looooong scarletdevil nonsense:

Saturday evenings were fast becoming Matt's favorite day of the week. Well, maybe not favorite--more like least miserable. The only day he avoided going out at night was Sunday, which, as Foggy had said during a particularly bad argument, was pretty dumb. "Sorry I beat up a bunch of criminals and/or cops today, Lord, but at least I'm breaking for the sabbath!"

another “jason meets damian” thing:

Damian ducks beneath a stroke his mother swings towards his neck, parries two more thrusts in rapid succession, and with a flick of his wrist sends her weapon skittering to the tile. The tip of his own blade rests at her throat.

Her grey eyes meet his, and he feels proud at the impression he can see dancing in her orbs. "I concede," Mother says, and he pulls the blade away from her, allowing it to tip towards the floor. His mother stands gracefully. "You are making good progress, Damian. I am very pleased with how well you've done with your new swordmaster."

"Tt. It is nothing, Mother," he says proudly. It seems like forever since she has personally sparred with him like this, and he revels in the opportunity to please her. "He says I am the best he's ever trained."

sucky draft of yj installment:

"Damian. Wake up."

Damian had learned very early in his life that if anything disturbed his slumber in the League of Assassins fortress, he should be ready to stab upwards without a moment's hesitation. But he recognizes his mother's voice, so he doesn't raise the wickedly sharp blade his fingers are curling around beneath his pillow.

jason outlaws feels + domestic unrest:

The Outlaws contact them at a quarter till midnight. Bruce takes the communication when it comes in at the Batcave--he's there to re-equip and head back out, and hears the alert from the locker room. "Batman, here. What's the situation?" He tries to squelch the instinctive fear that rears its ugly head--he doesn't know where Jason is, what he's doing, if he's safe, and the Outlaws would not contact him unless it were something important.

tbh i have no idea where i was going with this but gen timdami feels sooooo:

Tim was honestly just doing his best not to freak the hell out. It was hard--very hard. He and Damian had never gotten on like he'd hoped they would, back when he'd first found out that Bruce had a son. Time had made their hatred cool off a bit. They hadn't been brothers, or even friends. Tim had hated him, suspected the worst of him at all times, and he had no compulsions to deny that fact.

Until he'd been perfectly conscious less than fifty feet from Damian when the little brat's Mother had him skewered through the torso by his own clone. Less than fifty feet away and half-heartedly struggling while Damian choked on his own blood. Less than fifty feet away while he bled out all over the street in front of Wayne Enterprises. Less than fifty feet away when he stopped breathing and died, all alone. By the time he'd gotten free and rounded the obstacles between them, Damian was a tiny corpse in Bruce's arms, Dick was in shock.

And Tim? Well, as far as he was concerned, Tim was a monster.

very old cold fluff/angst/hurt/comfort thingy ft. the robins:

See, the thing is, the suits are pretty friggin badass. They're made to withstand heat, bullets, knives, fingernails, teeth, and basically whatever Gotham's underbelly has to throw at them. (They're even pretty spiffy, too.)

One thing they're not made to withstand, however, is cold. Which is fine, until Gotham hits a cold snap of 7 below zero. Which was also fine, to start out with, because even criminals usually had some semblance of a brain, and avoided going outside when the snot froze in your nose (ha, that rhymed), after two seconds. The downside was that Freeze seized the opportunity to break out of Arkham and roam the streets without his suit. And he'd apparently gotten a slew of henchmen, off of villain craigslist or whatever the hell the criminals in Gotham used to find help. Hence, Jason was wandering through the city at some ridiculous hour, shooting henchmen while everyone else huddled inside their nice, warm houses.

Well, almost everyone.

MORE attempt at plot/hurt!Jason and Bruce:

Bruce hit the water hard and plunged beneath the surface rapidly. He stifled a yelp of pain when he hit the bottom only milliseconds after submerging, his legs folding up to take the impact and something in his hip pinching suddenly and sharply. He forced himself to maneuver his feet beneath him and push against the bottom towards the surface. He broke the water with a gasp, shaking his head vigorously to try and dislodge some of the water filling the cowl. His hip was throbbing and he was panting, but he whipped his head from side to side, anyway, searching the tank frantically. All he could see was lapping green through his night-vision lenses. "Hood," he gasped out, his voice clogged with water and fear.

No response. The water continued to ripple against the walls. Bruce kicked his legs, ignoring the screaming pain that radiated up his spine as he did so. "Hood?" He grunted again, his voice lowered to some extent for fear of being overheard by their captors. But panic was quickly overriding that concern. "Jay?!" He called again, raising his voice just a bit, becoming taut with frustration and fear. "Jason, if you can hear me, answer." Still nothing. Bruce gulped. "Jay, please."

Silence except for the lapping, dripping water. Bruce's heart was hammering against his ribs, and he was having a hard time catching his breath. He glanced around again.

attempt at plot + hurt!Jason and Bruce bc what else:

Jason woke to his head pounding and intense, burning pain in his abdomen. He felt hot and dizzy and sick. He couldn't stifle a groan as he shifted.

"Hood?" A familiar growl--close and tense but surprisingly gentle--said, and Jason tensed. He had no idea where he was, but that voice...he knew it far too well. He tried to open his eyes, and after a few moments he managed to blink them open to slits. Sure enough, he could dimly see Bruce looming over him, his jaw tense with worry beneath the cowl.

"What?" Jason croaked, starting at how hoarse he sounded, how hard it felt to draw breath.

"Lie still," Bruce ordered, and Jason froze. It still ticked him off when Bruce ordered him around as if he were still Robin, but the concealed fear in Bruce's voice combined with the pain--and having no memory of how he wound up here--made him listen. His gaze flitted from Bruce to the metal surrounding them, enclosing them from all sides. His pulse sped up without his consent.

Unnamed Jason&Bruce angst:

"You know," Jason croaks hoarsely, his throat tight with pain and his chest burning from the effort of speaking, "in our line of work, no one expects to live forever." He pauses to gulp for air that burns as it goes down, and he clenches his eyes shut at the pain the effort causes him--and at how his headache is being exacerbated by Bruce banging against the bars of the cage they're locked in, roaring threats at their captors. He doesn't seem to be hearing anything Jason's saying--he just keeps slamming his hands against the metal frame surrounding them. Jason's not even sure if he's speaking English. His posture is wound tight, and anyone even half-sane who saw him this way would turn and run the other direction as quickly as possible. Jason's never been sane, though.

“Untitled” sequel:

The rest of the League thought of him as some superhuman, repressed ball of efficiency and brutality. He never failed, never wavered, never doubted or deviated from his mission. Bruce knew that was what they saw. He'd gotten used to it.

But every once in a while, he remembered just how much of a lie that was.

the "Jay is protective of the other Robins even when he acts like he's not" fic:

Tim wasn't entirely sure what day it was, anymore. It seemed like it had been forever since he'd seen the sun--or anything, for that matter--but the brain had a funny way of dealing with stressful situations, one of them being the general weird-ness of the sensation of time passing. He offhandedly wondered if it was morning as he worked at the bonds around his wrists for the thousandth time. Still no give. At first, his wrists had stung awfully, and later they became unbearably itchy, no doubt from dried blood. Now, his wrists were numb and his hands felt large and awkward. He supposed that tended to happen when they'd been supporting all his weight for several hours at least.

the JayKara thing:

"Sooooo."

Tim was preoccupied with peering over the edge of the rooftop, using his binoculars to scan the deal going on below. He'd been working for weeks to trace the shipment of drugs to these two gangs, and find enough evidence to lock them up, but tonight his work was finally going to pay off. It didn't bother him too much that Jason was rambling behind him; he did that a lot, and Tim had gotten good at tuning most of it out. He adjusted his binoculars again and focused on one of the head mercs, who was deep in heated conversation with another head. Aaaaaany minute now...

"--you and Spoiler are...like....a thing. Occasionally. I guess."

Tim slowly turned his head. "Hmmm?" He said, a bit dumbly.

The "hurt!Jason vs. the GCPD which was supposed to be funny and sad but just wound up mostly sad" fic:

By the time Commissioner Gordon arrives on the scene, it's swarming with the fifth precinct, EMTs, news cameras, and onlookers who are barely held back by the thin, yellow crime scene tape. He hops out of the car, barely sparing the thought to lock it behind him and hope that whatever poor kid was driving has the keys. He immediately spots Bullock standing in a knot of people, only about twenty feet from the door, which is currently leaking smoke and flames and sparks out into the air with continuous gusts. There's some sort of commotion going on inside---he can faintly hear gunshots and shouts even from this distance. He draws his pistol from its holster, just in case, and jogs over to join them. There's a definite yell as he reaches them, and another gunshot. No one seems to be dodging or taking cover. He has no idea what the hell's going on. 

As usual I tag anyone who feels like it or any authors who haven’t been tagged yet who’d like to share some of their first lines. 

[theabominableblogger]

Rewatching “Batman” (1989)

Decided to rewatch this classic before I watch the new Justice League movie that’s out this week

I, for one, am so glad Danny Elfman brought the Batman theme back into “Justice League”

*jams out to the Batman theme*

JACK NICHOLSON

Billy Dee Williams!  And he’s only in it for like 5 minutes

Jack Palance! 

Oh my gosh, I forgot Prince did music for this movie

Aaaand it’s the Batman symbol!

Matte painting!  Matte paintings everywhere!

Why do they always portray Gotham as freaking packed?  I know it’s supposed to be a bustling metropolis but this is too much.

Why yes, random family, let’s take a shortcut through a shady ass alleyway.

What the...

Batman, brought to you by American Express

*Batman floats down behind the robbers*  Eeeyyyy!!

*Batman gets shot*  Welp, he’s dead.  End of movie.  Cue end credits music.

Gotta take your sweet ass time revealing your cape...

He raises his arms so high in the air in order to do it.

“I want you to tell all your friends about me.”  “What are you?!?!?”  I’M BATMAN! DAAAA NA NA NAAAA NAAAAA

Lando?!?

Mayor Borg?!?!?

“People of Gotham City, I [Harvey Dent] am a man of few words.”  Nah, he’s a double-crossing, no-good swindler.

All righty, unpopular opinion time:  I don’t like Jack Nicholson as the Joker.  I just don’t.  He’s just... Jack Nicholson in clown paint.  Plus they establish him as a character before he becomes the Joker.

Oh, and of course, they name the Jack Nicholson character “Jack”

So who’s the Lieutenant character again?

Heelllooo shady lookin’- oh it’s Jack Nicholson.

Bob the Goon!

Matte painting!

This movie should be subtitled “Matte Paintings:  The Movie”

Oh my God, Lando, what did they do to your hair?

Eeeeyyy!!  Bob Kane!

“Vale, will you marry me [Knox]?”  “Nope?”  “Wanna buy me lunch?”  “Maybe.”  “I eat light!”  Pffftt....

Story time:  the Quidditch coach/captain of the team here at college (who is notorious for being a flirt) asked me to buy him supper one time before practice.  I knew it was a joke but I told him “Nah, you gotta earn it” and I was applauded by the team

Obligatory purple Joker suit!

Obligatory Joker card!

Why is it such a big deal that Jack Nicholson is involved with that one particular moll?

You gotta hammer it in that Jack Nicholson’s gonna become the Joker

Why is there a casino set up in Wayne Manor?

Michael Gough!

Why is Vicki Vale dressed like she’s getting ready to be married?

I like that we don’t actually meet Bruce until like 20 minutes into the movie.  Plus they establish him as a mystery character- technically the main characters at the beginning of the movie is Knox and Vicki and then it shifts to Batman.  And then again, we don’t get a lot of background on either Batman or Bruce.

I never really had time to appreciate how great Michael Keaton is as Bruce Wayne but dang he’s good.  And I love the reasoning behind this casting:  there’s no way he could be seen as Batman and when we do find out, it’s a big shock.

Holy crap, how many cameras are set up around the manor?

Oh my gosh, Bruce has reading glasses!

Sound stage!

FreEEEZZZEE!!!

AN:  I’m only 25 minutes into this movie.  We gots a bit to go because I’m such a motormouth

Boom goes the dynamite!

Yes, let’s have a police shootout in a chemical factory!  Great plan, guys!

Man, Gary Oldman’s Commissioner Gordon would be on the ball when it came to this situation.  Pat Hingle’s Commissioner Gordon just stands around and gives orders

Um, officers, you’re walking into a puddle of toxic chemicals...

In all seriousness though, I want Jack Nicholson’s hat

Never have I seen a smirkier Batman than Michael Keaton’s Batman

Well there’s also Kevin Conroy’s Batman

*Jack Nicholson falls into the chemical vat*  Welp, he’s dead.  End of movie.  Cue end credits music.

AXIS

Why were Jack Nicholson’s fingernails dyed green from the chemicals?  I know it’s comic book logic but still...

This scene in the dining hall is my dad’s favorite scene in the movie.

That is an impossibly long dining table.

Aaww, they’re having dinner with Alfred in the butlers’ quarters!

“Alfred’s great.  I [Bruce] couldn’t find my socks without him.”  Cue in Batman:  The Animated Series, Joker literally cannot find his socks because Harley’s not there.

That is no way to take bandages off properly, Jack...

Mirror... MIRROR!!

“You see what I have to work with here.”  Yeah, those are some shitty surgical tools there, buddy.

Oh, throw that shoe, Bruce

“Who the hell are you?”  “It’s me [the Joker].”  *sings* IT’S MEEEEEE

“Jack?  Jack is dead, my friend.  You can call me.. Joker!  And as you can see, I’m a lot happier!”

This freaking circus music though

*Bruce and Vicki cuddle while sleeping*  Cue Bruce going “Aw man, I can’t enjoy spending time with this awesome lady because I gotta brood, man.”

WHY IS HE UPSIDE DOWN?!?!?

WAIT ‘TIL THEY GET A LOAD OF ME!

Why the hell is Jack Nicholson dressed like that?

What kind of hand buzzer is that?!?

HAVEN’T YOU HEARD THE HEALING POWER OF LAUGHTER?  NOW GET OUTTA HERE!

YOUUU... ARE MY NUMBER ONEEEE... GUUUYYYYYY!!

How does Bruce Wayne AKA Batman not notice Vicki trailing him from his house to Crime Alley?

Random mime... more random mimes...

Why is Bruce just standing there?  Ooohhhh... wait a minute.. there’s this whole schindig about him recognizing Jack later in the movie

There is literally no reason why Jack Nicholson becomes the Joker since he’s already been established as Jack Napier before the whole ACE Chemicals thing. 

THIS TOWN NEEDS AN ENEMA!

Alfred just wants some grandkids, gosh dang it

How the hell did you get those pics, Vicki?

Oh my God, I hate that this Joker has this weird crush on Vicki.  I hate it so much.

“I’m in a mind to make some mooky.” Ugghh...

Oh my gosh, the Smylex commercial

Oh my gosh, the newspeople aren’t wearing any care products... pfftt...

What kind of cake foundation does Joker have?  That’s like the stuff we had to wear in high school

That waiter just addressed Vicki as “sir”

Did Joker write that message in crayon?

That elderly couple is dead after falling off the balcony like that

LET’S BROADEN OUR MINDS!

*jams the crap out to “Party Man” by Prince*

*One goon paints over a bust*  Hey look, it’s the Jared Leto Joker

What the crap is this music that plays?  It plays during one of the trailers for “The Shape of Water”

Oh wait, it’s the theme from something called “A Summer Place”

I quote the “one dollar bill” quote all the freaking time at my house.

The prosthetic work on Alicia looks pretty sweet, I gotta say

Oh, a little song.. a little dance... Batman’s head on a lance...

Oh my gosh, I forgot how much Kim Basinger screamed in this movie

They even color coded the cars for Joker’s goons

*The police get involved in an accident involving a farmer’s market truck*  NO, NOT THE CABBAGES!

There is no way in hell that Vicki only weighs like 108

Remember when the Batsuit was made out of rubber, you guys?

*Crazy, sword-wielding guy goes after Batman*  Seriously?  Did you not see “Raiders of the Lost Ark?”

For the Batmobile, it looks like they made the toy first before constructing it for the movie

Gotta love that Danny Elfman score...

*Vicki tries to see under Batman’s cowl*  Yo, Vicki, don’t distract Batman while he’s driving

The Batcave!

Why is there just this one random bat hanging out in a bird cage?

Forgot that Michael Keaton literally could not turn his head in the Batsuit

Oh my gosh, how short is Michael Keaton here?

Oooohhh nice transition!

How the hell did Vicki end up back there?

Gotta admit, that’s a nice apartment

“You see, my life is really...”  Batsy!

JUST TELL HER YOU’RE [Vicki] BATMAN!

I like how Bruce walks right by the fire poker in order to get a freaking tray to hit Joker with

YOU WANNA GET NUTS?!?  C’MON, LET’S GET NUTS!

EVER DANCE WITH THE DEVIL IN THE PALE MOONLIGHT?

“Never rub another man’s rhubarb.”  What?

There is no way in hell that Bruce deflected that bullet with the tray

Matte painting!

“Can you hear me?  Just the two of us.”  *sings “Just the Two of Us” by Will Smith*

Gotta admit, Michael Keaton’s Batman has an awesome thinking/pensive face.  It’s probably the eyebrows that help

What is it with families being targeted by random gun-wielding criminals in abandoned alleyways?

There’s no way that that’s Jack Nicholson playing young Jack Napier

Nevermind, it’s some dude named Hugo Blick

*scats the Batman theme obnoxiously out of tune*

Batman’s belt just slipped.  Never gonna un-see that

Why is it that every time this Batman is in the Batsuit and glaring at somebody, he looks like he’s really constipated?

Seriously, is there not a bathroom in the Batcave?

Is this another Prince song?

So where exactly did Joker find the time to find all of this stuff and prepare for an impromptu 200th anniversary parade?

The Batplane!

Matte painting!

“Me?  I’m giving away free money!”  And it looks faaaaakkkeee...

Something is up with that clown balloon’s nose... just saying...

Yeah, lets go after the Joker’s goons with a baseball bat, Knox.  That’ll go well.

I love the sounds all the buttons make on the Batplane dashboard

“My balloons.  Those are my balloons!  He stole my balloons!”  Iconic.

Hahaha he [Joker] used Bob the Goon as a step stool off the parade float!

*The Batplane pauses in front of the moon*  Eeeeyyy!!

*Joker pulls out the gun with the really long muzzle out of the front of his pants*  No comment

Again, why is Vicki Vale dressed like she’s either getting ready to get married or go to a wedding?

“Better make it ten [minutes].”  What makes this awesome is that ten minutes actually goes by both in-universe time and movie run time.  My dad actually timed it the first time I watched this with him.

Mad respect to Tim Burton for the aesthetic in this movie, I gotta say

The eyebrows on Batman’s cowl strangely match Michael Keaton’s.  Was this intentional?

*Joker “dances” with Vicki* Now see the last time I recall Joker dancing with somebody was the 5 second long Alex Ross scene with Harley Quinn in “Suicide Squad”

Unpopular opinion time:  I like Jared Leto’s Joker better than Jack Nicholson’s Joker  *gets bombarded with hate mail and darts*

Eugghhhh Vicki’s pulling a freaking Jasmine from “Aladdin”

“You wouldn’t hit a guy with glasses now, would ya?”  Cue Wreck-It-Ralph

How the hell did Joker pull Batman and Vicki off the roof like that?

Oh my gosh that 80s falling effect

Yeah no, from that drop, the Joker’s body would be a freaking mess

“The reign of crime [in Gotham City] is over.”  BWAHAHAHAHAHA

Oh hi Billy Dee Williams!

You know what would be awesome:  if Kim Basinger had a cameo somewhere in the Batman solo movie directed by Ben Affleck.  Just saying

Yoooo....

[newlaptopreviews]

VICTOR sums up the trends that dominated CES 2018

For normal people, the end of the year is a time for celebration, vacation, and family.

For people in the tech industry, though, it’s a time of frantic preparation for the biggest trade show in the Western Hemisphere: CES.

The Consumer Electronics Show takes place in Las Vegas every January, perfectly timed to drain the joy out of the holidays for 170,000 people. It’s not open to the public — only to members of the industry and the media that covers it.

The Consumer Electronics Show comes once a year, whether we like it or not.

The purpose of the show is for nearly 4,000 companies to show off what they’re working on. When will these products reach stores shelves? Some of it soon, some of it next year, and lots of it, never.

Every year, everyone wants to know: What was new at CES? The world is hungry for an exciting answer, like, “Oh, there’s this thing called an iPad!” or “They showed this car called a Tesla!”

But every year, there are fewer new breakout inventions; at CES 2018 last week, I’d say there were zero. (In fact, the most talked-about display at CES last week was when the power went out for two hours. At an electronics show. #irony.)

Instead, CES these days is more about the same buzzword, technologies seep into existing products from across the industry, cross fertilizing. This year, six of these seeping technologies were on display — which, for your convenience, I’ve boiled down to a handy acronym: VICTOR.

It stands for voice, Internet of Things, cars, TVs, oddballs, and robots.

Voice

At this point, you probably know that the Amazon Echo is that cylinder that sits in your house and responds to voice commands, kind of like Siri for the home. Google has its own copycat version, called Google Home. These things are incredibly popular — already, they’re in 16% of American homes.

Both Amazon and Google have been aggressively encouraging other companies to build their voice technologies into their own appliances: refrigerators, light switches, lamps, speakers, robo-vacuums, TVs, headphones, security cameras, door locks, washers, dryers, cars, and so on. “Works with Amazon Alexa!” and “Works with OK Google!” signs were everywhere at CES last week.

You couldn’t swing a cat without hitting an Alexa-enabled product.

What’s great is that this isn’t an either/or thing. It’s not another Betamax/VHS war, or a Blu-ray/HD-DVD war. Since Alexa and “OK Google” are just software, there’s nothing to stop them from coexisting in the same product. The Sonos One speaker, Vivitar smart speaker, and new TiVo models, for example, can all understand commands barked in either command language.

Internet of Things

The Internet of Things, of course, is the nonsensical name for home devices that are networkable, so that we can control them by pulling out our phones and opening an app. For something that’s supposed to make our lives simpler and easier, that’s too much hassle. Consumers have been staying away in droves.

What may save the “I” in VICTOR is the “V” in VICTOR — voice control. “Alexa, is the dryer done yet?” “Hey Google, make it two degrees warmer in here.” “Alexa, lock the doors.” “OK Google, I want to watch ‘Rambo.’”

That arrangement actually works — and was everywhere at CES 2018. Samsung and LG, among others, demonstrated entire model living rooms and kitchens filled with appliances waiting for your verbal command.

An LG employee shows how its new fridge has six cameras inside that let you see its contents.

Cars

The self-driving car courses at CES were a third bigger than last year. Every car company you’ve ever heard of, and a few you haven’t, were demonstrating their self-driving prototypes. Lyft was even giving a few lucky showgoers rides around town in self-driving cars.

Sleek-looking concept cars filled the CES exhibit halls.

For 10 years, people have been saying that these cars would hit the roads in 2020 — and guess what? Unlike most heavily hyped new technologies, this horizon isn’t receding. People are still saying 2020. That means it’s probably real.

Lots of people were also talking about Toyota’s e-Palette, a prototype self-driving store.

Toyota envisions its E-Palette as a self-driving store, delivery van, or even hotel room.

TVs

CES show floors have always been dominated by massive walls of brilliant TV screens, and this year was no exception. The industry is still hard at work pushing us to buy 4K TV screens, which have four times the number of pixels as hi-def screens. Only one problem: You can’t see the difference from a normal seating distance.

As it does every year, LG created a dazzling wall of TV screens—this time, in an undulating canyon.

Even if you could see it, there’s very little to watch. Not a single TV network or cable channel broadcasts in 4K. If you own a 4K television, and you want to watch 4K shows and movies, you have two choices: Buy a 4K Blu-ray player and buy new movies on disc — or stream your shows online, from services like Netflix, Amazon, Hulu, iTunes, Google Play, Vudu, and YouTube.

In short, 4K is kind of a hoax.

(What you can see — what is worth upgrading to — is a much less catchy format. It’s called HDR, for high dynamic range. Much brighter brights, much darker darks; more detail in those bright and dark places; and more shades in between. More shades of color, too. Really fantastic.)

So the forehead-slapping breakthrough of CES 2018 was — get this — 8K screens. That’s right: four times as many pixels as 4K. If 4K was a stupid hoax, then 8K is four times as stupid. Really? They think we’re going to re-buy all our movies on disc again, to play on another new special disc player?

Samsung displayed a new display technology called MicroLED, which it claims to be as great-looking as OLED but at a lower price and less chance of burn-in. Cooler yet, the company proposes selling these TVs as one-foot, borderless tiles, which you can assemble to make as big a TV as you like. The one on the show floor, at 146 inches diagonal, dubbed “The Wall,” was a huge hit with showgoers.

LG also displayed (in an off-floor, invitation-only hotel area) a huge flat screen TV that rolls up. It’s built like an upside-down window shade; when you need the screen to get smaller, it wraps up around a roller at the bottom, hidden inside a wooden box.

LG’s prototype TV rolls upward or downward into the box below, to fit the video material.

Why? Because, the company says, you may want to watch different movies or shows that have different screen proportions. The real reason, of course, is, “Because we could.”

Oddball things

The “O” in VICTOR is the catch-all for all kinds of other crazy stuff on display. Walk the 50 football fields’ worth of exhibit space, and you’d find:

Two laundry-folding machines. One, the Foldimate, will cost $980 but will require you to attach each piece of clothing to clips; the other, the Laundroid, will go for $16,000 but does everything for you.

A full-body suit for playing virtual-reality games, so that bullets can “hit” you anywhere, or you can walk into a hot or cold virtual place, and you’ll feel it.

An electronic breast pump that you wear secretly inside your bra as you go about your day.

A tiny, battery-free sensor that you wear on your fingernail to detect excessive exposure to UV light.

Another stab at the Google Glass concept. This time, the virtual screen is superimposed on your field of view by a full pair of sunglasses.

Not one, not two, but three self-driving suitcases that follow you through the airport.

The Puppy 1 self-driving suitcase balances on two wheels, using technology adapted from Segway.

Remember my exhaustive (and exhausting) report about the struggles of the through-the-air charging industry? The products that can charge your gadgets at a distance? Well, the FCC just approved some of these products, including the Energous three-foot charging system. The very first product to include it is called the Myant Skiin, a line of clothing that tracks your vital statistics as you wear it.

Robots

No surprise here: Robotics and automation were the stars of the show. Heck, they’re the stars of every show right about now. Everywhere you looked, there were shiny white plastic robo-things with big eyes and smiley mouths to look less threatening. Most of them seemed to be “because we could” designs, rather than “you need one of these.”

Here and there, though, you could spot far more purpose-built robots:

Honda displayed a series of robots designed for specific tasks: an all-terrain model for outdoor work; a self-balancing wheelchair; and a weird, globule-shaped, huggable “empathy robot” with facial expressions projected onto its face from within.

LG offered three new robots for commercial use: one for restaurants, to deliver food or drinks; one for hotels, to carry luggage up to your room; and one for grocery stores, which guides you to the food shelf you’re looking for, and scans the package as you drop it into its hopper.

LG’s new service robots are designed for restaurants, hotels, and grocery stores.

Sony is re-introducing its Aibo robotic dog, this time in a more advanced, more puppy-like incarnation (probably $1,700 when it hits the U.S.). Sensors make the dog respond appropriately when you pet it or swat it; it learns your voice over time and seeks you out; and, like the original Aibo, it plays fetch with a pink ball.

Omron built a ping-pong-playing robot — not ever intended to be for sale, but to show off its robot-making skills.

Just to make sure all of Vegas’s bases were covered, the Sapphire Gentlemen’s Club featured two pole-dancing stripper robots as a CES gimmick.

Hail to the VICTORs

So, you get it: Same as last year, just more of it.

If all of that seems like a lot to read, well hey — here’s a rhyme to make it go down easier:

V is for the voice control in every gadget here — “Alexa, do my bidding!”… “OK Google, bring my beer!” In TVs, cars, and speakers, it’s a miracle of choice. The world’s at your command — at least if you don’t lose your voice!

I is for the second realm, called Internet of Things, It’s networked household stuff, complete with all the fun that it brings It’s thermostats, refrigerators, all your kitchen gear… So far, nobody’s buying it — but hey, perhaps next year.

C is for self-driving cars! So many at this show! We’re told they’re really coming soon — about two years to go. T is for the TV screens on all the expo floors. They look amazing when they’re here — but less so once they’re yours. 

O is for the oddball stuff! The offbeat and bizarre: This laundry-folding robot, or this crazy concept car. R is for the robots — Sony’s puppy stole my show. This grocery bot asks what you want, then shows you where to go.

So there’s your whole mnemonic — VICTOR! Hope you liked the show And don’t forget the greatest part — you didn’t have to go!

David Pogue, tech columnist for Yahoo Finance, welcomes non-toxic comments in the Comments below. On the Web, he’s davidpogue.com. On Twitter, he’s @pogue. On email, he’s poguester@yahoo.com. You can sign up to get his stuff by email, here.  

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[sorayahigashikata]

Chapter 94: "Dio was here! Johnny is a loser!"

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Chapter 53: "Check yourself before..."

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Chapter 38: "JESUS H. TAPDANCING CHRIST!"

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Chapter 25: "Let's give the boy a hand."