#you cannot put it back in the box and pretend it's not there and Matt's crafted no way to permanently seal it

[danwhobrowses]

Goodness this is like the third episode in a row begetting discourse among the cr fandom. For me this discourse has two perspectives where the division depends on whose perspective you're looking at;

For the armies it was 'We've been sent by the gods and are here to help you stop Predathos as we pla-wait, you're a vessel of Predathos? Isn't that just like Ludinus planned??' which yeah is valid from their perspective

For the Hells it was 'We just came out of 4 back-to-back battles with Ludinus and Predathos itself, we have a solution to save the gods but change the dynamic but we want to discuss it privately with the gods first and now you're trying to kill us!?' which is also valid

What puts me more on BH's side is that we have the context; BH are allowed to be terse when people try to kill them and fail, least of all allies who don't ask for an explanation before asking their god to come down and smite them. They're not villains because they snarked at the person who attempted to sic their god on them, and it's not as if Imogen sic'd Predathos on them in retaliation. Once again they are met with the thankless job and burden that they neither wanted or asked for, but was thrust upon them anyway. With all the times Bells Hells have been criticized for being aimless and indecisive it seems a little strange to criticize them now for being focused and decisive.

Could they have explained from the start? Maybe. Would it have caused a different reaction the moment they said Predathos is in Imogen? Probably not. I can't tell you why they didn't come out of the Cage and immediately explain because I'm not the players; perhaps they wanted to avoid the hysteria and conflict, perhaps they were drained from the fight and wanted to wrap up the episode, or perhaps it was just down to Bell's Hells, as with all CR campaign parties, being infamously bad at communicating, I don't know.

But it's times like these where it's worth reminding that this is a DnD show, nerdy-ass voice actors having fun, it can't always be clean and clear-cut storytelling every second. And sometimes as a fandom we need to take a step back so we don't get ourselves stuck, because we're probably making it deeper than it is and getting annoyed at each other over our interpretation of two groups from the same side getting annoyed at each other. Just, take a breath.

[averagejoesolomon]

Here you go! Have another chapter! Can you spot all the things these boys don't say to one another, because boy howdy, there are a lot of them. Cannot wait for these events to unfold. If you're new here, you can read Full Circle from the beginning on Ao3.

Chapter Seven

“Boston’ll lead the season, but the Yanks are gonna take the series.”

The opposite end of the line is filled with clutter, dead air looping through the tinny background noise of a television on full blast. There’s talking, and laughter, and finally Joe’s crackling voice to cut through it all. “Put it on the record that this is our best phrase yet,” he says. “Seriously. Music to my ears.”

Matt rolls his eyes, leaning tight against the wall. He counts on his body to hide the bulk of this conversation, and hopes his shadow can hide the rest. “Yeah, that reminds me,” he says. “You owe me a rematch. I’m still not convinced that last move was legal.”

“It is in Virginia,” Joe confirms. “And in all but six other states.”

“I meant, like, legal as it applies to the rules of darts,” Matt clarifies, “but it’s nice to know where our barroom shenanigans stand in the eyes of the commonwealth.”

“Anyone ever told you that you’re a sore loser?”  

“Just my mama,” Matt answers. “And Danny Fisher, once, after he cheated his way through a potato sack race at the county fair.”

“Glad you’re not holding a grudge.”

“He didn’t go around the barrel, Joe.”

“Uh-huh.” It’s the same tone Joe always uses anytime Hay Springs gets mentioned, translated through thousands of miles of long distance calling. Rather than sit through another story from the Sheridan County Harvest Festival, Joe leads Matt toward more serious matters. Always so serious. “Is there a reason you called me? Or did you just need to get the Danny Fisher thing off your chest?”

With the promise of real and honest spycraft hanging over the line, Matt risks a subtle glance at one of the skillets hanging from the ceiling, checking his surroundings in the reflection. The Baxters are sealed inside their soundproof room, which Matt reckons is probably a blessing for everyone around. Rachel is locked in the cabin’s lone bathroom, with the shower to drown out anything he has to say.  In the adjoining living room, Townsend reads an old paper and pretends not to eavesdrop. That’s fine. Matt has something the kid wants and, for now, he’s probably too curious to sell out any details he might overhear.

It ain’t the most secure Matt’s ever been, but it’ll do. “I need some domestic backup,” he admits, catching on the conspiratorial sound of his own voice. He hasn’t noticed it until now, and it makes him feel like a rotten sneak. No wonder everyone thinks he’s trading secrets. “How’s your foot?”

Matt can practically hear the wind from Joe waving him off. “Forget about my foot.” Joe’s end of the line takes up a new rustling as Matt gets passed from one hand, to the other, then tucked into Joe’s shoulder. Matt’s listened to enough wiretapped feeds in his career to pick up on the faint ping of a pen pulled from its mug. The rip of an old message pad torn anew. Joe at the ready, for whatever Matt throws his way. “What do you need?”

Matt warns, “I’ve got something of a laundry list.”

And Joe insists, “I’ve got nothing but time on my hands.”

“S’not your hands I’m worried about.”

“Forget about my foot, already.”

That’s not likely, but Matt’s no fool. This is one of those moments Joe always tries to warn him about—a time when Matt needs to prioritize being a good spy over being a good friend. Fact is, he’s in a bind, and Joe is the only person he trusts to help him untangle these particular knots. “I need you to check my deposit box.”

Joe’s neat, military writing scratches through the line. “Which one?”

Another glance toward Townsend. Matt chooses his words carefully, passing along a puzzle only Joe can piece together. “The one with my passport in it.”

Back when Matt still made his living from listening to the Army’s persons of interest list, this was the sort of exchange that made the days run long. He’d spend hours trying to crack the unspoken, unofficial coded messages between rebel leaders and trusted advisors, agents and longtime informants, dealers and buyers with such clean operations that they could understand unknown depths of information after sharing just a few words. It never worked out in his favor, always ending in a plea to send an agent into the field for more insight. Codes like these exist outside of the vast mathematical reliability of ciphers and encryptions, and instead require minuscule context of a person’s day-to-day life. Codes like these don’t make any sense, unless a fella already knows that Matt banks at Washington National, and that he stowed away his honest passport three years ago at Joe’s recommendation, listing the account under Luke Andrews, with Zeke Rozelle as an authorized visitor.

 For Joe, it’ll be a ten minute walk to the train station, then a stroll downtown. For anyone else listening in, it would take weeks to comb through this kind of friendly shorthand, and even that wouldn’t do much. It’s surreal to stand on the other side of his old frustrations now, knowing that he and Joe could probably bring entire governments to a standstill without ever using a full sentence. Matt doesn’t have an Uncle Ben, but the words come to him anyway—with great power…

Joe doesn’t miss a beat. “You’ve got company?”

“Here?” Matt replies. “Always.”

“Friend or foe?”

“Can’t tell yet.”

Joe’s not a fan of this answer, but to be fair, Joe probably wouldn’t have liked any answer except doesn’t matter, already shook him. “Do you need me on a plane?”

“I need you,” Matt insists, “to check my box.”

“Fine,” he says, but there’s a double meaning to it. A not-so-subtle subtext that promises Joe will be on the next flight out if he senses even the slightest reason for it. “I’ll check the box. What am I looking for?”

“Just need you to verify the contents,” Matt tells him. “I’m hearing some chatter and I’m trying to figure out how much truth there is to it.”

This instruction is cryptic enough to keep Townsend’s prying ears out of the core of the conversation, but it does leave Joe in something of a guessing game. Fortunately, Joe’s always been pretty good at guessing, at least when it comes to Matt. “Chatter about your passport?” he says, first try. “What about it?”

Over Matt’s shoulder, Townsend’s newspaper crackles. He’s good. He’s got the timing down just right. Really looks like he’s reading. Matt still doesn’t buy it, and drops his voice even lower. “Rachel’s under the impression that the Soviets are buying identities,” he says. “She thinks mine is among them, but we haven’t been able to prove it yet.”

It’s not a question, when Joe says, “You think someone broke into your box. Stole your passport.”

“Maybe,” says Matt. “Or maybe they took the other one.”

Two passports, each bearing the name Matthew Morgan. One in his deposit box. One on file at Langley. Joe knows the details just as well as Matt does, so they’re just one more conversational shortcut away from the complete realization. “And if Rachel’s right—”

“—and Rachel’s always right—”

“—and if we find a passport in your box…”

Matt nods, even if Joe can’t see him. “Could be a lead.”

The pair of them have been chasing the Circle of Cavan long enough to see its leads come and go, but this one feels different. More direct. For years, Joe was the Circle’s most active agent inside the CIA, and every shred of evidence would lead back to him. An op he ran. A transcript he sold. A legend that never quite made it on the books. But Joe was never working alone, even if he rarely knew who he was working with. It takes more than one man to bring down an organization like the CIA, even if that man is Joe Solomon.

If the right passport has fallen into the wrong hands, this is a chance to put a face to his mysterious partners. To name them, find them, stop them. Static fills the line as Joe considers the news. More TV laughter rolls through the background, eerie and broken. “You told me this mission was Rachel,” he says, in the tone of a man who never would have let Matt go alone, had he known the stakes.

“It is Rachel,” Matt assures him, in the tone of a man who has it all handled, honest. “But it could also be”—he stumbles over eager words, stopping himself before he can say too much in front of present company—“bigger than Rachel.”

“Hold on.” Maybe because he doesn’t believe his ears, Joe temporarily forgoes their underhanded back-and-forth to ask outright, “You think Rachel Cameron is chasing the Circle of Cavan?”

This, admittedly, doesn’t seem quite right, with the way Joe lays it all out. Matt considers this, then finally lands on, “Unknowingly, maybe.”

Joe scoffs. It muffles up the line. “That woman has never done anything unknowingly.”

Matt bites back a smile, small but mighty. “Suppose you’re right about that.”

“Get her out of there, Matt. I’m serious.”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“A lady like Rachel has no business with the Circle.”

“She’s not exactly the kinda person you can just give orders to.”

“She’s going to get herself killed. The only thing more dangerous than going after the Circle on purpose is going after the Circle on accident.”

“What am I supposed to do? Drag her kicking and screaming onto the first plane out of Russia?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

“Doesn’t seem very covert.”

“Look.” It’s one of those weighty, serious looks that Joe only pulls out when he really wants to get his point across. “Covert is the least of your concerns. She’s in this because of you, so you need to be the one to pull her out. She’s looking straight down the barrel and doesn’t even know it. It’s not right.”

Something interrupts the seamlessness of their conversation—a little blip of unrecognizable code that makes the whole thing hard to follow. Matt takes his best shot at cracking this new character in their shared alphabet. “What do you mean, she’s in this because of me?”

Whatever disconnect Matt’s feeling, Joe doesn’t seem to share it. “What do you mean, what do I mean?”

“This is her op,” Matt reminds him. “I didn’t pull her into this. She called me, remember?”

A pause. “Are you pulling my leg?”

“Not a chance,” Matt says. “I pull your leg, and your foot might fall right off.”

“Would you just—my foot is not that bad, okay?”

“What do you mean,” he tries again, “she’s in this because of me?”

There’s no small amount of deliberation on one other end of the line. Joe could fill oceans with all the things he never says, and he’s giving the Atlantic a damn good effort now. “Matt,” he says with a relenting sigh. “Now isn’t a good time to pretend there’s nothing going on between you two.”

Beers at a Williamsburg bar. A bruised jaw in Baltimore. A backless dress at the Bolshoi. Matt’s getting his wires crossed, and now a Joe conversation somehow triggers all of his Rachel shorthand. The years flash through his chest and send a twinge of that pesky and persistent want through every last nerve. “Going on?” he sputters, trying to reel his thoughts back to here and now. “Going on how—going on where? What do you mean, going on?”

“You know.” Joe’s voice gets all caught up in Matt’s flustered beat, and now they’re both off their usual rhythm. “C’mon, don’t—you know. I’m talking about that, I dunno, Sam and Diane thing you’ve got going with her.”

Matt officially doesn't recognize the shape of this conversation. Talking to Joe is always supposed to look and feel the same way, but this is something new. Matt’s not sure he cares for it. “Sam and Diane?” His nose twists up. “Who are you and what have you done with Joe?”

“Oh, lay off,” Joe drones. “NBC stuck a Cheers marathon at the end of the Orioles game, and the remote is on the other side of the room.”

What? “Since when do you watch the Orioles?”

“Since I broke my foot jumping onto a moving train and my buddy left me alone to go chase the Circle, apparently,” he says. “What are you, the TV police?”

“So you admit your foot is broken.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“No, wait, I’m sorry.” He thrashes around for a way to save the conversation, but he feels like a batter who’s just been told to run the bases backward. The best he can do is land back where Joe started and try to hit what’s getting pitched to him. “Sam and Diane. I’m supposed to be Sam?”

“You’re not Diane, are you?”

“Sam Malone is a pitcher.”

“That’s your problem with Sam Malone?” says Joe. “Not that he’s a drunk, and a fool, and a womanizer?”

“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.”

“Okay.” Joe accepts a small defeat in this tangential argument to take another shot at the one he actually cares about. “Well, I can’t tell you how you feel about Rachel—not least because I don’t know how you stand in the same room as that woman without wanting to punch your own lights out. She’s abrasive, and prideful, and she starts fights like she’s got stock in them.”

“Right,” says Matt, because this part of the conversation is straight over home plate. Joe doesn’t like Rachel. Sure. It’s so familiar, Matt could hit it straight out of the park.

“But,” Joe continues, and it’s got all the signs of a curve ball. “I can tell you that there’s no such thing as coincidences, especially not when it comes to Rachel. If she’s wrapped up in Circle dealings, it’s not because she’s going after them. It’s because she’s trying to cover you.”

Swing, and a miss.

It’s the same thing Grace had said, not even a full day earlier. She’s saving your ass, darling. From Grace, it had come at him from the outside, striking the surface of his awareness as something to take note of at some future date. When Joe says it, the sentiment starts at his center and climbs his guts like a cliff side. It’s urgent and suspended, old Circle calluses now shredded with fresh fears.

Of course Rachel is covering him. That’s what Rachel does. She covers Abby. She covers her father. And now she’s covering him, even if she has to do it blindly.

Don’t you care about me?

Of course I do.

Of course you do.

“Dammit,” Matt spits, low and resigned. It’s all Joe needs from him, but he throws in a bonus, “Goddammit,” for good measure. “She’s smarter than this.”

“Or just smart enough,” Joe amends. “For years, she’s been chipping away at you, trying to figure out what we’re up to. Maybe she decided she was better off coming at it from a different angle. It’s kind of impressive.”

“Yeah, well.” There’s a pulse in Matt’s jaw, right where his teeth grind together. “She’s an impressive kinda lady.”

“Get her out of there.”

“I know.”

“Whatever it takes.”

“I know.”

Moscow has never felt so massive. Hours away from any border and even further from a friendly one, the vastness of the USSR stretches out in every direction. It’s one thing to risk his own hide with Circle business in the East. It’s another thing entirely to risk Rachel’s. The danger of it settles like a Russian winter down his spine, and all of a sudden he’s got an urge like he’s never had before, to run, run, run, with her hand clasped in his.

For the very first time, Matt has a top-down view of the complete playing field, while Rachel’s stuck strategizing from the bullpen. She’s too close to it. Too far in. The next call has to be his, and it has to be right. “Listen,” he says to Joe, and now he’s serious too. “Tonight. We were working the op and I saw a friend of yours.”

Matt’s got Townsend at his back. Passports in the bedroom. A redheaded agent who would do anything to get her package back. A plan begins to form in the back of his mind, rough around the edges but strong at its core. He’s got all the leverage he needs to help Joe. To call the Circle off Rachel’s scent. To put the focus back where it should be—on him. Only him. He started this fight, and he won’t have anyone else stepping in to take his punches. 

Joe takes a beat. There’s not a single sound on his end of the line. “I don’t have friends,” he says. “I’ve just got you.”

“The redhead,” Matt goes on. “From Wrigley.”

Now it’s Joe’s turn to let out a soft, “Dammit.”

“Do you have any idea what she’s doing—?”

“No.” He’s just short of a snarl. “This is the opposite of laying low.”

“You told her to lay low?”

“For a little while,” Joe confirms. “She got herself into some hot water a few months back, and she’s had to take some sketchy jobs to get out of it.”

“Yeah, I think I just walked into the middle of one.”

“She’s in Moscow?”

“Joe,” Matt says. “She’s delivering the damn passports.”

In the silence that follows, Matt finds space to wonder about an old question he’s never quite gotten an answer to. He’s always known about this girl—that she’s out there, that she’s working both sides, that she’s one of the few people Joe knows from his days with the Circle. But every time Matt brings her up, even as a possible Circle lead, Joe shuts him down. Waves him off. She’s not a threat, he’d say, and then move on. Matt doesn’t know how much they still work together. Doesn’t even know her name.

“She recognized me,” Matt continues. “Said we were on the same side—”

“You are not on the same side as her.”

“Someone ought to tell her that.”

“Fine.”

If Joe thinks this is the end of this conversation, he’s sorely mistaken. “Joe,” he says, as gently as he can muster. “Have you ever considered that maybe she’s—?”

“She’s not the leak.”

“How do you—?”

“Because I’m the one that leaks everything to her.”

This is the closest thing to background Matt’s ever gotten on the girl, so he keys in and listens up while Joe’s still in a talking mood. “She’s a go-between,” Joe admits. “An agent on the front lines. She’s got two jobs—deliver whatever information I’ve stolen, and don’t get caught. And they don’t tell her a damn thing, just in case she fails that second one.” Matt waits for more to come. After an uncomfortable moment, it does. “The Circle paired us together five years ago. But when I... when we—I started to slow down, and she had to find other work.”

Something clicks in Matt’s mind. “Which could explain why she’s in Moscow.”

“Whatever work she’s doing over there, I don’t know who’s giving it to her.”

“How about we find out?” Matt tries. “Can you get a message to her?”

“You’ve got bigger problems, cowboy.”

“I think I can hit two birds with one stone, on this one.”

If a fella spends enough time listening to phone lines, sooner or later he picks up the ability to hear beyond the background noise, and straight into the core of the call. That’s how Matt hears the hitched apprehension in Joe’s breath, the debate in the static, and the always subtle truth about Joe Solomon—that he wants out of the Circle more than he wants anything else. More than he wants Matt to come home safe. More than he wants Rachel out of Moscow. More than he wants his redheaded partner to lay low.

It’s begrudging, but Joe finally says, “What’s the message?”

Matt passes along a time and a place. In the reflection, Townsend’s eyes flash over the top of his paper, then quickly return to the act of performative reading. That’s fine. Matt’s not stupid enough to meet this girl without backup—the kid’s coming with him.

“And Matt?” Joe says. “Just… take it easy on her. She’s really not a threat.”

As someone who still has a thin, silver scar on his shoulder from where her bullet grazed him, Matt’s inclined to disagree. But he trusts Joe, and Joe trusts her, so maybe that’s enough for now. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, okay.”

“And think about what I said,” he goes on. “About Rachel.”

“Right.” That’s enough of that. “Maybe I’ll call Henry, too. See if he knows anything.”

“About Rachel?”

“About where your friend is finding this extra work.”

“That makes more sense,” says Joe. “Don’t ask Henry about the Rachel thing.”

“Really don’t plan on it,” Matt insists. “Let me know about the deposit box.”

“Already on my way.”

Matt can think of at least a dozen more requests—record the Royals game, pick up some milk, go to a doctor, check on his parents just in case. But the shower isn’t running anymore, Townsend’s reached the end of his pages, and this call was never truly covert to begin with. 

Still, Matt has one more question that he just can’t seem to shake. “Joe?” he says. “What’s her name?”

It takes Joe long enough to answer that Matt wonders if Joe’s already hung up, and he’s talking into dead air. “Her name is Catherine,” he finally says. “Catherine Goode.”

[hikarikaishi-blog]

Why Caleb did what he did in ep127 – my theory.

This is my theory it can be super wrong, maybe I am right at some points, I just want to put it out there, maybe some of  you will like it. Here we go:

Caleb is my fav character the whole campaign so far and what he did in that episode shocked me, it was so not like him. We did see him when cornered he would go rampage but was he cornered here? So I was shocked.

I was shocked he didnt discuss the problem that might come from this with the M9, they didnt talk about it might be a trap they just went for it. They didnt think twice and that was alarming for me and the second they interacted with the guards it all went south and Caleb ignored Astrids tip of being stealthy to avoid Trent. And in the end he did appear and I was like „that is what you get when you just go full rage and dont think a second about it and Caleb you were the thinker in this campaign why did you do all of that?! Next episode I want an explanation for this or I am out!“

Caleb knew what he was doing all the time, he knew if he would do all of this Trent would show up.

There is no way he did forget that because Astrid told him super clear that Trent isnt there so they should be STEALTHY.  But he didnt. He ignored the warnings and put Astrid in danger with that as well, a soon as Trent sees the maps he knows who helped and Astrid will be punished. He said he cares for her and puts her in this danger! It was all a lie? Astrid deserves so much better than this! Boo Caleb for treating a girl that was obviusly in pain so she cried because of you like that! I was at least a bit happy that Matt clearly said Trent did appear because of the rucus, not because of Astrid. She didnt sent Trent. She didnt do it.

Caleb ignoring Astrid and her advice and destroying the bit of Trust that was building up between them – shatterd. „Caleb thats so stupid why are you that stupid.“

I was all that. I was so disappointed.

I woke up next morning and was still disappointed and a bit angry that Caleb went this route with all the murder. He knew Trent will maybe show up and catch them while stealing his stuff and he did it anyway. It was like Caleb wanted Trent to show up. To show him how much he hates him and to show him what he is capable off. Because Trent knows that now because he sees the display of raw power he might want to get Caleb back under his thumb and make him work for him again. There is no way out of this situation for them, than to bargain with Trent and he imo will let them got when they will do him a favor later. Caleb must have known that and still did this.

He is just playing into Trents hand where everyone wanted him to escape from. Because Trent is so bad.

And I was: Wait a minute.

Let that sink in for a secong.

He is playing …

playing Trents game. Do you get where I am going with this?

What if all of this, the killing and blood everywhere, is an act made up by Caleb? What if he is playing Trents mind game back at him?

He is giving Trent a view on him like Trents want to think of Caleb: Powerful, full of hate against the Volstruker and Trents experiments, full on revenge and wants to kill him, Trent, but also is no match for him with getting so easily caught in the middle of his home. He has power but he isnt clever enough. What if Caleb wanted to get caught by Trent? Pretend he is not clever so Trent thinks he isnt clever and can be a puppet for him again?

While  pretendign being a puppet again, Caleb can get closer to him/the Assembly to learn more about him and his connections in the Assembly. To learn how to root out all the corruption in the assembly wich is his main goal this whole campaign! He wanted to learn about all that from Ves, we know that, but that didnt work out so he has to do it another way and now he doing it on his own.

He knows, he can not fight the Assembly heads up. He knows he has to get inside first and root out evil from within. He has to earn some trust to get the info he wants to have. He cannot trust anyone so he goes on his own and wants to plays Trents game and maybe be better this time and beat Trent. What better way to beat someone than in his own game right?

And do you remember who talked about beating someone at their own game? Do you? It was Astrid during the dance scene. She said „...either we walk into their trap or beat them in their own game.“

In that scene i thougt she was talking about the TT because she touched his spots with the red eyes a second before and it bothered me that she said „we“. Was she planning on going with them to Eiselcross? That wont happen anyway (she would need trents permission/it would be to obvious and Trent would not let them go so they can come up with a plan to kill him) this is stupid. So now I get she was talking about „we either beat Trent and whomever we are fighting here or we walk into their trap.“

So what I proclaim is: Astrid and Caleb in general know they are dancing the „can-i-trust-you-tango“ but they know they have one common enemy: Trent.

So they were discussing during the dance without saying it, if they want to work together in bringing him down. Caleb wasnt sure if he wants/can work on the „Trent-problem“. He has more importand stuff to do right now and he doesnt want to face all that stuff from the past that will come up during this working against Trent.

He cares for Astrid as he said. He isnt against helping her but maybe not right now.

What made him change his mind was Astrid crying in a spot where nobody would have seen her crying all on her own. He knows her, he know how much is to interpret in her crying. I think she is rarely crying. She has doen the same training as Caleb did, she is used to be cruel and to murder and be a bad human. But she wont cry because of that. She said so herself in their first meeting. Her crying is super special and Caleb gets that. And because he cares so much for her, maybe you can relate when you know a person you care for is crying in the mud. You want to help so they dont cry anymore. That is why he decides he wants to help her,/wants to start working on the problem now and not later. He knows she is using him, but he is using her as well. He doesnt care. He wants to help, to help her, help his country. He made this decision over night and Astrid gave him the time to think about it, but she needed a signal from Caleb. Ans anwer to her question if he wants to do this now or not. She said „I will see what I can do for you“ aka says „i want to work on this now, how about you?“

He sent a red firey bloody signal back. A signal as bright as the fire Warning beacons of Gondor

in „The return of the kings“ when Gondor sent signal to Rohan asking for help. The fun part is nobody gets it beside Matt and that is exactly the kidn of pranks the people on the table like to play. Remember Sam/Scanlan? I do. it was stuff he planned for weeks and nobody was expecting it and it was a big suprise for everyone.)

He could have been stealthy and just get the stuff he wanted during the heist. It would have send the signal to Astrid „thanks for the help, I cant work on this now. Maybe later. See you“.

But Caleb did not do that. He send a signal like: „I am full in, I want to play this game, starting it right now and either we win this game or loose and run into his trap. Lets do it.“

Its amazing how they comunicate without saying a single word about it.

The three different papers you ask? For me its the answer to his „for the love that we three shared I need to ask a favor“. She answeres with the box „Here is what i can do for you and yeah we three are in this together“ the paper are symbols for the three of them. The three people from Blumenthal. Its brialliant.

Why she is thankful in the message: Because he comes back and contacts her. He is her only hope.

Why she is sorry the day after: Because she thinks she is guilty to drag him into this. She knows this will be hard for him and will cause a lot of pain. That is why she says she is sorry.

(Is she for real? We dont know. They are still dancing the „can-i-trust-you-tango“)

They are playing Trents game of saying the truth and show whats obvious. Matt and Liam are playing this game so good they fool the other players and me and other fans. Its brilliant.

To let everyone think its a Trap set up by Astrid? - Its fine because people will focus on her (and its legit because she is shady and in this game as well) while Caleb is the one whom they should be worried about.

Let everyone think he does all the stuff he did here because of the Drama, Trauma and the pain etc – Yes it is exactly that to a percentage and that is the truth he is showing here, but underneath that is the other truth that he just wants to get closer to Trent. Caleb knows how he has to behave to get what he wants. He does it all the time because he learnid it from Trent! (remember the scene he wanted to work Essek as he needed him to work in that moment on the ship, because Caleb wanted the peace talk to happen? Because Caleb didnt want Essek to run away but to stay and get done what he Caleb wants?) He does not like those methods but he has to use them to get what he wants.

This is a brilliant plan from Caleb and Astrid and you know, they worked together before. They know each other so well when it comes to work (and probably more). They were a team for a long time and its like: watching a movie where old action heroes that worked together for a time suddenly have to work again. They just work together like they always did. Its like one comes visit the other one after 10 years of both of them living their lives, and they just look at each other and the person stands up goes to a shelf, gets his old gun out that was hidden there all the time and only asks: how is the weather? And the other says „its clear blue sky“ and they dotn talk anymore and just to their thing like in old times and know exactly what to do. Caleb and Astrid are Assassins in this but you know the dynamic is there.

Another way to put it:

With the dinner invitation trent put up a chess board. And invited Caleb to play. Caleb doesnt answer. Astrid asks him at the door in private: „you said you want to play this game last time you visited me. Do you still want to play? „He says „yes“ and she answers „race you to the top“ wich was clever. It seemed like she wanted to play the game herself, and that is again one half of the  truth here: she wants to play this game, but not on her own because she knows she cannot win this alone. She needs help and playful/tricky invites Caleb to play this together against Trent. Like she would say: „I want to play the game and I would want to know who is more clever/better here, you or me“. This is the dynamic I think they had as teens: always challenge each other who is more clever and gets the solution to a riddle first etc. but always playful never hating and i think that is how they connected in the beginning and fell in love at some point. We will see that maybe in the comic in summer.

During the dance she said: „You have to decide soon if you want to play this chessgame because Trent is a bit distracted anyway right now. Also time is of the essence. You have eyes on your back?“ this mental chessgame wont be a game that will finish soon, or in 2-5 episodes. It might go on for half a year because its a chess game where you have to think a lot and think a lot up in front. With the „i will help you with the necklaces“ she holds out the first pawn to Caleb, and with his rampage he takes it and sets it on the board and the game is on.

And its all covered up in half truth and some scheming but never blunt lies because that would be to easy to find out and could be the end of the game.

So Astrid and Caleb are workign together against Trent while behaving like nothing happend. She does her stuff, he does his.

They will meet sometimes because they both have the working connetction to Trent and who knows how this will end? Trent I think is aware that the game is on and I think he will play (move his figures in the next episode. With the maybe task they have to do for him so he lets them go.)

He set the board on the table in the first place.

Tldr:

Caleb wanted to face Trent. He was aware of what he did, he knew their actions did lead to Trent appearing. He wanted to seem to be the scholar that breaks into his old teachers house to get stuff so he can get closer to Trent again, to gather information from inside the assembly so he can take the system down from inside. Astrid might have gibt him the idea, and maybe there is some planing going on between Astrid and Caleb that we can’t see.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans Are Space Orcs “Preparations.”

I’m getting ready for an interesting new arc, I think, so we shall see. I never know what my brain is going  to want to write. 

“Lieutenant, command is yours. Keep the ship operational till I get back. I want low orbit just in case we have to bail out quickly.”

“Yes sir.”

Boots clattered on metal as Commander Vir clattered down the stairs and moved quickly down the hallway. A small entourage of figures walked at his back, “I’m not sure I like this commander.” One of them was saying, “It could more than easily be a trap.”

He sighed, “I know, but the GA wants it done.”

“I would much rather do reconnaissance for a while-”

“And so would I, but the chairwoman made it very clear that we needed to speak with them as soon as possible. I’ve already tried establishing radio contact, and nothing. The only way to go now is the old fashioned way.”

They took a sharp corner, “Tell the council to meet me down in the docking bay.”

“Yes sir,” They scampered off leaving another subordinate to fill their place.

Most of the council was already there when he reached the docking bay. Dr, Krill, Sunny, Dr. Adric, Ramirez Narobi etc. etc.” He paused before them, hands clasped behind his back.

“You shouldn’t go alone.” Came the first announcement.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, which means I want at least six marines, and a group from the diplomacy team. I know I’ve been taking lessons, but I don’t trust myself nearly as much as I trust them.”

“Are we sure it needs to be you at all?” Krill pointed out getting to the heart of the issue on first try, as was usual for him.

Commander Vir turned to look at the little doctor on the spot, “The Kree have demanded a high ranking representative.”

“Then lie to them, send down someone not important and pretend,” Krill said 

He crossed his arms, “We aren’t going to lie. Starting out diplomatic relations with a lie would destabilize the entire foundation of what we are trying to build, no we need proper protection is all.” He turned to look at the others, “Any objections? If so raise your concerns now?’”

Sunny raised a hand, “You're Not going unless you bring proper weapons, otherwise, I say we shouldn't meet them.”

“I agree….. And I have an idea.” The group looked nervously around at each other, “No, you are very much not going to like it, and you will probably argue with me.” He turned to Dr. Adric, and motioned hi to follow, “Ramirez get your marines and-”

“Already done commander.”

“Nice and fast of you.” He turned to look at Ramirez one last time placing a hand on his shoulder, “Are these the marines that have…. Uh…. trained with the new equipment?”

Ramirez  nodded enthusiastically, “Yes sir.”

“Good.” “New equipment?” Krill wondered rather suspiciously.

“Yep you're going to hate that too.” Commander Vir announced knowing that he was going to argue and knowing that people would assume his decision was poor. But he had talked it over -- seriously -- with Ramirez, and they had both agreed it was too good a strategic advantage not to. Ramirez had then talked with the requisitions officer and so on and so forth until the package had been loaded onto the ship not a few days before, but that he thought he might be able to get away with, it was this next thing, they were going to hate.

Floating at the back of the group Conn knew what he was thinking, “They’re going to lock you up.”

“Are you exaggerating, or is that seriously what they are going to do?”

The starborn kept silent  leaving hi on edge as he moved forward and into the equipment room. He knew where it was, they had hardly hidden it as well as they thought they had, and he could tell by the nervous movement of the rest of the crew that they knew too.

Ight as well not keep them waiting.

He walked over to one side of the room, pushed a rack of guns out of the way, reached down and dragged the large silver box onto the open floor.

Immediate uproar.

“No!”

“Not on your life!: “What are you thinking!”

Commander Vir crossed his arms, planting himself before the box with feet spread wide. He let them continue to rant, sunny even tried to pull hi away, but he ducked past both of her arms and stepped back, so he was now standing on the box.

“QUIET ALL OF YOU!”

That made them shut up, at least for the moment.

“Commander, we won’t let you.”

“I know.” 

“Than why even bother bringing it up.” Sunny demanded 

Even Ramirez was looking a little put off..

He turned to look at Dr. Adric, “That is why he is here. I know for a fact that I can do it, and not cause harm to myself. I’m healthy enough mentally to manage, but if the good doctor decides that I am wrong, than I will put it down and stp arguing.”

Below him, the Iron eye logo glinted in the yellowed overhead lights.

Dr. Adric looked on in concern, “What is this about?”

Krill and a few of the others turned to protest, but commander Vir stopped them with a raised hand turning to look at the doctor, “You are aware of my time in operation steel eye?”

He nodded.

“And were you aware that I put the armor back on for the burg war not some months ago?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know about the project.”

He laced his hands together before him, “I published a paper on it. I know that it was a volatile experimental pice of technology that the government attached  directly into the spinal columns and muscles of the forty surviving soldiers. Each machine was powered by the steel eye prosthetic which contained the suit’s power source. I know that they used drugs to stop the excruciating pain, and that they added amphetamines to cause aggression and allow the soldiers to stay up longer…. And I know that more than three fourths of those soldiers are dead now and only have of that fourth is….. Operating functionally as people.”

Commander Vir smiled, “Yes, than you do know. IT took me years to recover from the suit, than I went and put it on again, and that caused a relapse in y mental health to a degree that I almost got myself grounded and , likely, discharged. However, during that time I also spoke to a group of people who were working on a similar project, operation Iron eye.” There was a nervous shifting around the room, “ITs the same thing as stell eye, though it requires no drugs, and no pain. The Trade off is, I had to go in for surgery because the attachments are permanent.” 

He turned around and pulled down the collar of his shirt so Dr. Adric could see the first port just below the base of his skull, “I had these done at a time where I honestly shouldn't have, but I thought this was my only option.” He turned back around, “I am well aware that is not true, but what’s done is done. I have the implants, they cannot be removed, and I have the suit. I might as well use it to protect myself. That is the point? To protect myself and the rest of the crew?”

There was silence for a moment.

“We can’t let you do this.” Dr Katie was saying.

Narobi was shaking her head emphatically .

He turned to look at Dr. Adric, “I leave this decision up to you doc. If I’m not mentally healthy enough to handle it, than I will stop, but you are the expert here and the most unbiased among us.” Dr Adric shifted on the spot nervously. He could see where this was a problem. The unhealthy associations that soldiers were bound to make after an experience like that was…. Horrible to imagine, but the Commander seemed calm, so he supposed there was no issue with trying.

He was a bit nervous about all the eyes that his decision caused. Sunny looked like she was about to beat him to death with her spear, and Dr. Krill seemed intent on poisoning his drink the next time he had the chance.

They took the Iron eye box back to the medical bay, and The three doctors observed the process.

Commander Vir was feeling pretty good as he slid back into the box listening to the connections click into place. Were there some bad memories? Yeah, sure, but he could handle those well enough.

Dr Adric kept a close eye on him as he stood the whirring of hydraulics accompanying his movement. He flexed his fist inside the iron eye suit and turned to look at the others.

Krill was frowning. Sunny was glowering , Dr. Katie wouldn't even look at him. Ramirez looked very, very nervous.

Dr. Adric walked over and checked his pulse, asked a few questions, but finally decided there was no reason to tell him no. 

That pissed off almost everyone else in the room, but commander Vir pulled on the specially made iron eye gear, “You wanted me safe, and this is as safe as I can think of being, and I trust Dr. Adric’s judgement.” With each footstep, metal clattered against metal, and the soft hiss of the hydraulics accompanied him up the hall.

THe others followed in concern and anger.

The crew turned to look their eyes wide looking nervous.

They expected him to do something stupid.

What they didn’t know is that he actually had a practicing mental health professional on his side now, and truth be told, he didn’t feel anything really. Yes he could just as easily compare the experience to the steel-eye suit, but without the pain, the experiences were too different.

Reaching the docking bay for the second time. The marines were already waiting as were the diplomacy team.

Dr Krill cursed, “You arent serious.”

“Krill, I appreciate your opinion as a doctor, but in areas of equipping marines, I trust Ramirez more.”

The line of marines saluted as he drew nearer, their bodies covered by their combat ACUs, and each one wearing a matte black painted jetpack.

He turned, just in time for Ramirez to step forward with another, mounting it to the back plate on the Iron- eye suit, where it clicked satisfyingly into place.

Krill and Sunny both looked as if they were about  to have a conniption. 

He withdrew something from his pocket, “Don’t worry, I did my homework, and read the manual. I don’t plan on even using it if this all goes well.” he looked at the group of them seriously, “This isn’t for fun, everyone, this is for the safety and protection of myself and others. I have a panic button ready in case anything goes wrong, and I will have two more teams of marines on standby in low orbit in case something decides to happen. I have the diplomacy team to speak when I don’t know what to do, and I have the marines for a firefight if it comes to that. THe first sign of trouble and we fly out if we have to.”

He stepped forward a bit, looking around at the concerned and angry faces, “I understand you all are worried, but I have thought this through. I have taken your suggestions, and I am doing everything I can to stay safe.” He looked up at Sunny, “I will be equipped in the way that you suggested.” he turned to Krill and Katie, “We have the medical supplies that you ordered in the bags that were placed in the ready room.”

He turned to Narobi, “You sent in one of your best people to service all of the equipment days ago. I, and these men are as safe as we can be.” 

Maybe one day he wouldn't have to explain his actions to these people, but he understood that, in the past he had made a bunch of poor decisions. This time would not be that time. He had thought of everything, and he had talked to everyone else to consider things he hadn’t thought of. He was listening to his crew, and differing to the knowledge of experts. He didn’t pick the team, he didn’t pick the equipment, and he was going to allow the knowledge of others to carry through this time.

Yes, one day he would be able to make a decision without explaining everything, but today was not that day.

He looked around, “Are there any objections?” He held up a hand to cut Krill off, “On the basis of logic and not being angry at me?”

Krill shut his mouth.

One of the floor technicians jogged up, “The shuttle is ready commander.”

He nodded and turned to the marines, “Load up!” He then turned and ordered a second pilot onto the ship so as not to leave it unmanned when they were gone.

In the confusion, he turned to head towards the ship, but something caught his hand.

He turned and looked up to find Sunny’s golden eyes staring down at him. He could tell she was mad, displeased, and even a little hurt, though she didn’t say any of that.

The one day he thought he had made no mistakes…. And he had.

He looked around quickly, and seeing no one paying attention, he took one of her other hands.

The Iron eye armor impeded a good connection but it would have to do, “I’ll talk to you when I get back.”

SHe remained quiet.

“I know…. I should have told you, and you can kick my ass later, ok?”

His smile fell from his face as she continued to glower.

He squeezed her hands, “Back before you can say Adam is a dipshit.” He squeezed one more time and let go turning towards the shuttle and flexing his shoulders with a hydraulic hiss , the iron eye clattering hungrily with every movement

[tickletastic]

Milkshakes From Hell Challenge

Fandom: Smosh

Ship: N/A

Summary: Shayne is sick and tired of Damien always beating everyone when they play video games, so he spontaneously decides to implement a handicap to help everyone else out.

Notes: I accidentally made this kinda long? My bad bros

“Hello gamers and gentlebugs! Today we are going to be playing a personal favourite of mine, Super Smash Bros!” Damien was loud as he introduced the video, everyone around him cheering in response. “We are going to be playing four versus four, and every time someone loses they will have to drink a mystery milkshake from one of the glasses in front of us!”

Shayne had started to absentmindedly flick the shell of Damien’s ear, and was caught off-guard when Damien turned around to face him. “First up will be me, Shayne, Lasercorn, and Courtney! The first one out will be replaced by Ian or Sarah in the next round.”

The four of them equipped themselves with remotes, going through the motions to choose their characters.

Shayne looked directly into the camera to his left, putting his hand in front of his mouth as if to whisper, “Damien once told me that nobody good ever plays as Kirby, so I think I might just prove him wrong.”

Damien laughed in response, shaking his head back and forth. “No way Shayne. Don’t worry though, maybe Matt’ll bring you a tissue box so you can wipe up your loser tears.”

The comment brought about laughter from the rest of the cast, and from behind the camera Matt Raub could be heard disagreeing with Damien’s statement.

They quickly finished up with choosing their characters, Lasercorn as Bowser, Courtney as Jigglypuff, Damien as Pit, and Shayne as Kirby. They randomized the stage and ended up in Luigi’s Mansion.

As soon as the round started, Damien was at Shayne, repeatedly killing him every time he respawned, leaving no room or time for Shayne to move from the platform and try to run or fight back. Shayne started yelling at Damien, the two of them bickering back and forth about Damien’s strategy. 

“Like an old married couple,” Lasercorn mouthed to the camera. 

“Oh no! Trouble in paradise for Shaymien!” Courtney yelled in a high-pitched voice, shaking her head about so her hair tousled a little.

Shayne’s yelling got louder and louder over time as he realized that nobody else playing had been killed as many times as he had, thanks to Damien. When Damien realized the same, he backed off and started to go hard on Lasercorn. Of course, it was too late, and the round ended with Shayne as the loser, all thanks to Damien. 

“This is your fault, asshole,” Shayne grumbled while placing his controller down, looking towards the glasses on the table. He ended up picking a green milkshake, picking it up and sniffing it before moving it away from his face in disgust. “I think I already know what this is, and I don’t like it.”

“Just frickin’ drink it bro,” Damien responded in a dramatic valley girl accent.

Shayne glared at Damien, sticking up his middle-finger in the direction of his best friend. “Fuck you Dami, you’re the sole reason for my suffering. You should be drinking this shit.”

Damien laughed, and Sarah extended her hand, placing it on Shayne’s shoulder. “C’mon, just drink it you big baby.” 

Shayne skipped the straw all together, placing his lips on the rim of the milkshake glass, effectively getting whipped cream all over his face. When he had finished, he ate the cherry on top as he felt his face heat up. 

“Wait, Shayne, what is it?” Sarah inquired, making note of how red his face was going. 

Shayne started to cough, doubling over and spitting into a bucket that had been provided to him. It was exactly what he had suspected, and he attempted to explain through his coughing, “It’s wasabi.”

“Totally gross dude, that would definitely not bring any boys to your yard,” Damien laughed, once again speaking in a silly voice. The only response he received was yet another rude gesture made with Shayne’s hand.

Shayne got a glass of milk, and went back to sit on the couch, sitting behind where Damien was sitting on the other couch. Ian quickly took Shayne’s previous seat, switching the character to Charizard. 

The round quickly started up, and it had been a pretty even fight between Ian, Courtney, and Lasercorn. Damien was trying to go easy, but he still had yet to die. Right before the end of the round, Damien blasted Courtney out of the map, and she ended up losing. 

“You suck, Damien!” Courtney shouted, pretending to throw a fit in response to her loss. She picked up a glass that was reddish-pink in colour, “I really hope this is cherry.”

She gagged a little when she drank it, immediately stopping once she had the taste in her mouth. 

“The whole thing, Court! You gotta drink the whole thing. If I had to suffer through it, so do you,” Shayne yelled when she attempted to place the glass down.

“Bro, I’ll actually puke. This tastes like straight-up shit. I actually cannot drink the rest of this.” Courtney put the glass down, spitting into the bucket. 

“You gotta drink it, Courtney,” Matt said from beyond the camera. 

Courtney let out a whining sound before bringing the straw back to her mouth. She plugged her nose and finished it, immediately grabbing the bucket and spitting into it. “That was disgusting.”

“What’d you drink, Miss Courtney?” Damien asked.

“Actual shit would be my best guess.”

“Wrong! It was dog food.” Matt was laughing as he watched Courtney gag into the bucket again. 

“Gross.”

Courtney sat to Shayne’s right on the couch in the back as Sarah took her seat. Sarah chose Rosalina and Luma, even though Lasercorn advised her against it, and they started the round. Shayne felt that Damien was doing a little too well, as he had been the whole time, but he didn’t act on it. 

Lasercorn ended up losing, drinking a milkshake that ended up being surprisingly good, cereal and milk. 

“I think Damien has had way too much practice in this game, I think it would be fair if we gave him a handicap, don’t you guys agree?” Shayne asked everyone else, all of which seemed to agree.

“Sounds perfectly fair to me,” Sarah laughed, ruffling Damien’s hair.

“Nothing will deter me, I will always come out on top!” Damien announced, punching his fists into the air. 

“We’ll see about that.”

Shayne waited until the game had started, scooting forwards so he was sitting on the edge of the couch. He rested his wrists on the back of the couch above Damien’s head, knowing that Damien would be able to feel the groove in the couch, trying to add suspense. 

Damien decided that this round he would go after Ian, knocking Ian out multiple times like how he had done to Shayne.

“Damien, chill! C’mon Shayne, if you want to take Damien out then I think the time is now,” Ian begged, taking his eyes off of the screen for a second to look Shayne in his eyes.

Shayne laughed in response before he started to poke Damien, lightly at first, in his upper ribs. Without being behind Damien, you wouldn’t be able to see Shayne’s wiggling fingers, but Damien had started to squirm comedically in his seat. 

“Shanye don’t do that,” Damien teased, purposely mispronouncing his best friend’s name. 

“Uh, I’m just trying to make it fair for everyone else that’s playing. I’m doing the Lord’s work,” Shayne teased back. 

Shayne slipped his fingers under Damien’s arms, and Damien’s own mouth betrayed him. He started to giggle, trying to squirm away from his fingers while still paying attention to the game. He was still beating up Ian pretty bad in-game, but his attacks were getting weaker and weaker as time went on. At this point, everyone else had noticed Damien’s little predicament, and Sarah could feel his wiggling as she sat next to him on the couch. 

“What’s wrong Damien, a little ants in your pants?” Sarah teased him, taking advantage of Damien’s weakened state in order to help Ian beat him up. 

Courtney scooted closer to Shayne and reached out her own fingers, laughing when Damien tried to curl up on himself, bringing his knees onto the couch. 

“I alwahahays come out on top,” Damien exclaimed, trying to get back into his previous groove despite the fingers that were tickling him. Courtney wiggled the fingers of one of her hands on Damien’s neck, watching as he brought his shoulder up to meet his ear. 

The game came to an end, and Sarah ended up losing the round. Shayne started to wiggle his fingers faster over Damien’s ribs during the break in playing, and Damien was quick to curl in on himself into the couch when Sarah got up, giggling into his hands as he tried to use his elbows to block the attacking fingers.

“St-stahahap it! Dohohon’t do that, we’re nohohot even plahahaying!” Damien squealed when one of Shayne’s hands slipped under his arm again. 

Shayne stopped for a moment, Courtney following suit, “let’s save it for the next round.”

They watched as Sarah chose a purple milkshake, jumping straight in and chugging the entire thing. When she finished, there was a wide smile across her face. “It’s blueberry! This is amazing!”

Courtney started clapping, inviting Sarah to sit next to her as Shayne got up to sit on the front couch next to Damien. 

“I can go easy on you, but I’ll still win,” Damien told Ian, looking over at him. “This round, I will play as Wii Fit Trainer.”

Ian stuck out his hand to shake, “may the best gamer win.”

Shayne was immediate with Damien’s handicap when the round started, wiggling his fingers fast and rough over Damien’s tummy. Damien’s laughter was loud and bubbly as he tried to dodge Shayne’s fingers. He once again felt Courtney’s fingers join the mix, spidering up and down his ribs from behind. 

“Why are you laughing Day? Huh? What’s so funny, buddy?” Shayne teased.

Damien snorted softly, shaking his head rapidly. “Thihihis isn’t fair!”

Lasercorn laughed, looking at Damien, “you think this isn’t fair? What’s not fair was expecting us to win Smash Bros against you, someone who definitely has at least 200 hours of gameplay, without any handicap.”

“Honestly!” Courtney agreed, digging her fingers in harder. 

Damien cried out, trying to prevent his body from betraying him and forcing his head back. 

“How am I still losing?” Ian questioned angrily, simply trying to dodge Damien’s attacks instead of initiating his own at that point. 

“Maybe I can help with that,” Sarah responded giddily.

Damien started begging for Sarah not to, but he knew he was doomed when he felt her fingers under his arms, where Shayne’s had been only a round earlier. 

Damien yelled out and dropped his remote to the ground, covering his face with his hands. Even though he wasn’t even playing, Ian was still pretty behind from before, so Sarah, Shayne, and Courtney continued their torture to make sure that Damien couldn’t reach for his remote. Damien’s laughter was bubbly and high-pitched, soft snorts and hiccups laced in between. Damien couldn’t help but beg for them to stop, twitching erratically as the fingers continued to prod him. 

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Ian exclaimed, tossing his remote onto his chair as he got up and cheered. 

Sarah removed her fingers, and Courtney did the same, ruffling Damien’s hair. Shayne kept up his fingers, knowing his best friend well enough to know what tickles would drive him crazy. 

“Shayne, buddy, I think you might kill Damien,” Courtney reasoned, putting her hand on Shayne’s shoulder. Damien’s face had become pretty red, and his laughter was becoming more hiccups than giggles. 

When Shayne stopped, Damien instantly curled into a ball, bringing his knees up onto the couch, his face still hidden behind his hands. 

“How adorable,” Sarah cooed, looking down at Damien on the couch. 

Damien’s giggling went on for a few minutes, his body shaking with every giggle, and when he finally calmed down he was holding his ribs. He sat back up on the couch, panting softly while he reached for the final milkshake. 

The milkshake was dark brown, with small specks of red in it. He definitely wasn’t excited to drink it. He looked at Ian, playfully glaring, “this drink would have been yours if everyone weren’t plotting against me.”

Damien skipped the straw, much like Shayne had, and chugged it in a few seconds. His face, which had began to lose its redness since he had calmed, started to turn red again. 

“What is it?” Ian asked excitedly. 

“Chocolate and hell,” Damien started to cough violently, searching for a drink. 

“Matt?” Sarah asked, looking over at him. 

“It is leftover ghost pepper chocolate from our Mario Party video!”

Damien rapidly consumed the milk that was brought to him, trying to fan the heat from his tongue as Ian did the video’s outro. 

“I hate you guys,” Were the final words that Damien muttered before running out into the kitchen to get more milk, and they were the final words that made it into the video.

[my-one-true-l]

the wammy boys(besides beyond) turning evil for tragic reasons? I'd love you to try writing microfics of this! ^^

Hello Dear Anon! I am so sorry these took so long! I Hope you enjoy! 🖤

CW: guns, drugs, violence, murder, betrayal…it’s all in there.

L

L looked out the window at the snowflakes drifting heavily to the ground, coating everything in white.  He kept the lights off to assure no glare would interrupt the only calm he was able to find.

The manilla envelope lay on the desk, mocking him with its contents sprawled across the cold, hard surface.

The words “Insufficient evidence” and “unreliable witnesses” stared up at him, as well as “suspects released” and “no arrests made”. But there were two words, ten simple letters that taunted him the most. “Case closed”.

The photos of the crime scene were like a dream he couldn’t quite remember, familiar yet distorted. They brought him right back to the day he convinced himself never happened, that it was nothing more than a memory of a child’s overactive imagination.

The once comforting click of dress shoes alerted him to Watari’s presence.

“L, why are you sitting in the dark?”  Watari’s smile faded as his eyes landed on the envelope. “Where did that come from?”

“It doesn’t matter how I obtained it.” His voice, angry and hollow. “This entire time you knew who they were and you kept it from me.” His tones, biting and accusatorial towards the man he had grown to love like a father.

“You were just so young and when you were old enough…I didn’t want you to ever have to think about it again.” The older man stumbled over the words as they left his mouth.

L scowled at him. “It was all a lie. I trusted you. I trusted you and you betrayed me.”

“I didn’t betray you, my boy. I couldn’t tell you.”

“No, Watari. You chose not to tell me.” Turning his back to his once trusted guardian, L headed towards the door.

“Where are you going? L, please. I will tell you anything you want to know. Just stop. Please.”

L slowly turned to face him.“So now you decide I deserve the truth? This wasn’t a traditional lie adults tell children to manipulate their actions, Watari. You knew who killed my parents. You knew and didn’t tell me. All this time…I could have found a way…”

“You can find a way to catch them now. I will help you. Every resource I have will be at your disposal.” Watari pleaded.

“My resources are already at my disposal. I’ve already located them and rectified the situation. They will never see the sun rise again.” The shadows under his eyes became a physical manifestation for the darkness that had attached itself to him.

“L, just promise me you will come back once you’ve made peace with this.”

“Heh, You will never see me again, Watari. I’ve already erased myself from the system. Attach yourself to one of my ‘successors’. I can’t trust my identity to you anymore. L is dead, as is Coil and Deneuve.”

“But you are L.”

“No, I am Justice.”

 Near

“Nathan River released from prison on a technicality.”  

Near raises the remote and aims it at the screen. With a simple push of a button, he eliminates the image. He doesn’t need to rewind it. He doesn’t need to ever see it again. Every bit of it was burned into his mind.

The coverage was all over the news, although all he needed was a tip from Gevanni that it had happened.

Near, a living apparition in grey and white tones, was now painted in black.

“Rester?” Near summoned his handler.  “Initiate the procedures I had you put into place in the event this day ever came.” His words, calm and focused as always, were now laden with a cold-bloodedness that neither man had ever witnessed before.

“Near…are you sure?” Gevanni cautiously questioned him.

“Yes.”

Rester left and returned momentarily with a small treasure chest. It looked like nothing more than a child’s toy, a prop used when playing pirate.

But it was much more than that.

Rester hands it to Near.

“The key please.” Without looking up from the locked box, Near holds up a hand and waits expectantly for his request to be fulfilled.

It was Gevanni’s turn to leave and return with the required object, dropping it into the young man’s hand.

Without hesitation, he unlocks the chest and removes a small piece of paper and a pen. It all looked so harmless unless you knew what it was.

“Near, are you absolutely certain? You cannot undo it once you write his name.”

“Yes, I’m certain.” Near scratches his father’s name onto the small and unassuming piece of paper.  “Just like he couldn’t undo killing my mother.”

 Mello

“How did you get in here?” Roger Ruvie demanded into the atmosphere of his office.

Mello turned in Roger’s desk chair to face the old man. In his hand he gripped a file marked “Mihael Keehl”, a name that felt like it belonged to someone else, someone that never existed.

“You bastard!” Mello exploded at him as he slammed the file down on Roger’s desk.

“Mello, the records at Wammy’s House are not for-“

“I don’t give a shit who or what they’re for. Did you do it just to keep me here? For me to be competition for Near?”

“What are you going on about?”

“My parents are alive, you fuck. Alive.” Mello pounded both fists angrily on top of his file. “And it says here that they wanted me back, but you wouldn’t release me to them.”

“Mello, you have to understand, when a child is surrendered to Wammy’s, they are legally our responsibility until they’re 18.”

“Don’t give me this shit. You let me leave at 14! Why? Why didn’t you let me go back home?”

“Because they were unfit. Always in trouble. The entire reason you ended up here was because they were put in jail. You were rebellious enough without their influence. I thought I was protecting you.”

“Were you also protecting me from the money that you were getting from the “pretend” cases you had me and Near working on?”

“That money is used for the orphanage.”He was quick with his explanations and it was push Mello to his limits.

“Well, Roger, while you were busy running an orphanage and concerning yourself with my well-being, I could have been with my family instead of ending up like this.” Mello dragged a leather-gloved hand down his scar. “and now to make up for it, you’re going to tell me where they are.”

“I can’t do that. You willingly left Wammy’s. We are under no obligation to disclose anything to you.”

“Ok, have it your way.”

Mello got up and headed towards the door, but to Roger’s surprise, he shut and locked the them inside the room. Mello slowly stalked towards him.

“What are you doing?” Roger backed away from Mello until he was against the office wall.

Mello reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his 9mm and wrapped a finger around the trigger. “The information.”

“It-it’s over in th-that cabinet,” Roger stammered, suddenly terrified of the young man as he should have been all along.

Mello shot the lock off the cabinet causing Roger to flinch at the clang of metal on metal. Within minutes, he had the file he need.

“Thank you Roger, now let me repay your kindness.”

With an unwavering conviction, Mello aimed at Roger and pulled the trigger.

 Matt

“Stupid fuck.” It was an understatement of gigantic proportions, but Matt had no other words for him. He crushed the cigarette butt into the dashboard as he stared out the window at the rundown apartment building. It looked like where he imagined he would have grown up if he had not ended up at Wammy’s.

He had been staking the place out for hours now, but never getting a glimpse of his target. Matt knew he wasn’t giving him a second thought, just like he didn’t when he was small. After all, he wasn’t Matt’s father. Why would he have ever given a shit about what would have happened to him? He was just an annoyance to be ignored.

Matt understood this. He could even forgive this to some extent. He learned a long time ago nothing was owed to anyone and there was no such thing as a guarantee.

But what he couldn’t forgive is that this bastard watched as his mother overdosed, too concerned with himself to get the help she needed. He wasn’t just high. He supplied her with all the heroine she could ever want as long as she let him hide his product in her crappy little apartment and lie for him if the cops ever came around.

None of it mattered. When they found her, needle still hanging from the flesh just below the bend of her arm, they searched from top to bottom and found everything he was hiding there, the only thing in that apartment he ever cared about. He was charged with possession of a narcotic with intent to distribute and involuntary manslaughter.

He had let her die for nothing. The value the jury put on her life? A mere 14 years without parole.

Now Matt was less than 50 yards from him.

He didn’t care that he served his time. He didn’t care that he had paid for her death. There was no price that was high enough.

Except for one.

Matt reached into the glove box and pulled out the Glock 19 he had hidden there. He checked the clip one last time before stepping into the streets. With a determination never before known to him, he approached the apartment. Wrapping his knuckles hard against the door, he raised the gun to chest level as he heard the doorknob turn…

[fallingin-like]

november 22

fox sleep by @annawrites [requested by @allforthebee]

see which other fics i’m reviewing this month! / my review request post!

this is an amazing fic that features shapeshifter!neil who arrives at the foxhole coven in the form of a fox. it is such a sweet, playful, and comforting fic with a wonderful tinge of magic, i cannot recommend this fic enough. 

shapeshifter fics are always among my favourite, so i cannot explain exactly how excited i was when i first saw this posted. this was 10k words of softness, but at the same time it felt entertaining and i didn’t want it to end. i love the world that you created, it feels like it really does exist.

some of the parts i especially enjoyed:

”it’s like a gong being struck inside andrew’s head, and it hurts right down to his fingertips” there is something so andrew about having the wards tied to to himself in a way that it physically pains him when they’re breached. that he allows himself to endure this pain to protect the ones he cares about. i wonder, is this how all wards are? or just how andrew’s are

”trust-such a foolish, fickle thing; and yet.” ooh i love this sentence. andrew is so reluctant to let people in, it’s so wonderful to see that andrew has allowed himself to trust some of the foxes and it really shows the bond that has formed between him and the other foxes

”the morning is sharp and cold, a blade buried under snow” oh, what beautiful imagery

”nothing should have been able to break through so easily” this makes me so excited! i love powerful characters, although i know that this means that andrew will immediately be that much more wary and suspicious of neil

”andrew grinds his teeth. he must have done it a lot in his sleep last night because pain shoots through his jaw at the renewed pressure” lol this is really relatable

if there’s anything i love more than shapeshifter fics, it’s shapeshifter fics where the shapeshifter is injured… sounds mean but i just love angst!!

”his energy is a carefully rationed good; he’s stopped wasting it on arguing with a stubborn bunch of bleeding hearts who don’t listen to him anyway.” although i know that andrew is, for the most part, fond of the foxes, there’s something so heartbreaking about this. i don’t know exactly what andrew’s backstory is in this au, but i assume it’s similar to in the books, where andrew learns at a young age to not speak his opinion because it doesn’t change things

”sunlight warms his back through the window as he pokes the wards in his mind one by one, plucking at them like strings and listening to their familiar hum” ahh magic is so so cool, i’m always super interested in how it works. do you think that renee experiences her wards in a similar way? i always find myself leaning towards the idea that andrew experiences the world, and as a part of that, magic, in a way that so unique to only himself and that’s why he has so much control over his emotions, actions, and powers

”he doesn’t miss his jacket until he’s back outside and the biting wind sticks its icy fingers under his shirt.” ugh i am such a big fan of your descriptions

”the lapping stops. the fox’s head swivels over and his eyes unerringly find andrew’s across the room” woah i got shivers reading this!!

”the fox hastily retreats into his blanket nest-andrew can see his jacket poking out of the mess and tamps down a brief flash of irritation” i love nesting!! i wonder what neil was thinking when he added it to his pile, was he drawn to the scent of andrew?

”andrew remembers the burned patch on his face, now hidden under healing salve, and puts the lighter away. for now” !!! this is good

”then he reaches out to tap the box twice for yes, somehow succeeding in making the movement look sarcastic” neil josten i love you

”he looks a little bit chastened, but andrew catches him scratching at a scab again the minute abby’s back is turned” this is a great example of how flawlessly you are able to show neil’s personality even though he’s a fox. this reminds me of when wymack was like ‘make sure you have your phone with you and on all the time’ and neil was like ‘okay coach’ and immediately turned it off (was that canon? i think it was but not sure when it happened)

”everyone turns to the fox, who is busy sneaking persimmon slices from renee’s bowl while renee graciously pretends not to notice. his face immediately morphs into a picture of innocence, which matt takes as agreement” this is adorable! neil is so sneaky, but in a cute way. reminds me of a kid version of himself, although he definitely acts this way in the series as well, taking advantage of how fond the foxes are of him (and because of that, how blind they are to how dark and capable he actually is). when neil’s a fox version of himself, is his mind the same as when he’s a human? or is he more… fox-like?

the chickens!!!hen solo? amelia egghart? genius

SCRABBLE THIS IS THE BEST IDEA IN THE WORLD

neil is really showing off his personality here, with the ‘ouch’ and ‘nunya’ (that one made me laugh)

”the words sublimate in front of his mouth, from sound straight to steam. andrew can almost see the scrabble grid in the air” woah, what an amazing couple of sentences

hmm “how long he’s been in his fox form” and “the risks of staying in any one form for too long” hints at the idea that shapeshifters can shift into multiple animal forms? is there a limit? is it based on skill? how many animals can neil shift into?

”it is less them settling into a routine than the routine settling over them, like snow piling up overnight. one morning, andrew wakes up and finds himself neck-deep in it” what in the world, this is so so good

”andrew can’t tell if neil and jean are friends or enemies or a bit of both, but they squabble over everything-the best napping spot in the common room, the juiciest bites at dinner, the shiniest cat toys, the plumpest berries” i love this little insight on what things are like. we don’t see a lot of interaction between neil and jean in the series

andrew carrying around fruit for neil is super cute!

oo i like how you handle neil’s response to not shifting. “neil huffs and pushes a few letter tiles around aimlessly” and “he yawns demonstratively and curls up in his nest” yeah that’s neil

andrew in an ugly sweater knitted by bee that is super warm is the most adorable thing ever

THE BOOZY HOT CHOCOLATE SCENE IS ONE OF MY FAVOURITES. IT FEELS SOFT AND KIND OF BLURRY ALONG THE EDGES. ANDREW TRUSTS NEIL ENOUGH TO BE DRUNK AROUND HIM AND I LOVE THAT. thank you for listening to my psa.

wait okay so the edges of the newspaper start to smoke, what is the extent of andrew’s powers?

ohymgoodness i didn’t know there was something that could be as cute as andrew giving neil a bath!!

the scene with andrew showing neil the newspaper is so good. how you describe neil breaks my heart, and i love the mention of andrew feeling neil’s scars

”he seems asleep every time andrew checks on him, but somehow he still follows the progress of the lights across the room, ending up squashed in a corner with the last ruddy-golden wisp of it before it disappears altogether” this is a wonderful detail and i love that you included it

NEIL SHIFTING BACK INTO HUMAN FORM AND ANDREW FREAKING OUT AND THEN NEIL GOING BACK TO A FOX oh. it’s good. again and again. i love the way that you treat it.

i bet the thing that neil missed the most about not being in human form was being able to talk. he probably only survived as a fox because then he couldn’t insult people

”and neil promptly conks out mid-sentence on the couch with his feet in andrew’s lap” ahh this is so cute

”was anyone going to tell me that he’s this handsome or was i just supposed to find that out myself” OH MY GOODNESS YOU REALLY DID THAT

ANDREW AS A FURRY UHHHH

the porcupines!!

okay so dan has a dog, renee has an owl (love that idea, so serene, all-knowing, but ready to strike and attack at a moment’s notice), seth has a rottweiler, aaron has a ferret (that is hilarious to me, HAH), bee has a cat. are there any others that i missed/weren’t mentioned? how did you come up with these matches and do you have backstories behind how they came together?

this fic was so so wonderful to read. as a really conflict-averse person, i loved the sense of comfort i had while i read this, i knew that they were all safe and protected and i felt so warm and cozy. i loved your characterization and the way that you were able to show neil’s personality so well in his fox form. this fic was fluffy, funny, and contained such beautiful descriptions and sentences. i know that when i read a fic that’s written from you, it will be good, and this one was no different. it was so easy to read and i loved witnessing the bond form between andrew and neil. i enjoyed this so so much. thank you for writing it!!

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Taking Time Part 1

Master List | Part 2

Request:

Could you do a Thor request where the reader is Tony’s sister and Thor and her always had feelings for each other but timing was never right and right after Infinity Wars, everyone goes to regroup and rest, she and Thor find comfort in each other since she doesn’t know where Tony is and he’s lost everyone he love (but her)?

Pairing: Thor X Reader (Though it’s kind of a lot of Tony X Sibling Reader in this half.)

Summary: For years you and Thor have had a tumultuous relationship, to say the least. After the snap, you meet up with what’s left of The Avengers at the compound to not only figure out where the hell your brother, Tony, is but also to lick your wounds. Thor is among them and the two of you finally take the time for one another because if you’ve learned nothing from this nightmare it’s that tomorrow isn’t guaranteed. 

Warnings: Nothing in this half.

A/N: So, HUGE thanks to this Anon for the above request. I didn’t expect to be so inspired but I’m off to the damn races already as you can see. This will be a two or three parter I think. But, it’s me. I like to write. Who the fuck knows. Also, mainly because the request kind of demands it and not because I don’t like Jane Foster, this is written assuming that Thor and Jane weren’t ever a couple. 

Tags are open! 

@disagreetoagree @unalive-mee

Slowly everyone started to scream. The sound rose, at first harmonizing before falling into a cacophony. Your own scream was right there, lodged in the back of your throat, refusing to come out and join the chorus. One by one your staff turned to ash around you. Panic.

Outside the windows, Los Angeles was falling apart. The street was blocked with cars and bodies, smoke already rising from the wrecks. People ran en masse out of the office buildings, filling the sidewalks with seas of crazed citizens. Chaos.

“Stop!” you bellow to the ten people running for the doors as you activate the panic switch in your Stark smartwatch. “If you go out there you’ll be caught in that madness, it’s not safe.” The mechanical sounds of doors being sealed echo. Another touch overrides the standard emergency alert message and you address the building.

“Attention this is Y/N Stark: The Stark Foundation Tower is on full lockdown. We have not received word as to what is happening. Please, remain calm and care for the people around you as best you can. If anyone is in need of medical attention send them to the top floor and I will see to them. We will share information as soon as it becomes available. Thank you.”

Your eyes fall to your assistant’s desk, ashes dust the region from where she fell. Without another word, you slam the door of your office and activate the privacy filter on the windows.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., what in the actual fuck is going on?!”

“I don’t know, Ma’am,” the AI’s lilting Irish voice responds. “It seems to be a global event.”

“Christ,” you swallow the scream again. “Get, Tony.”

“I can’t.”

“Excuse me?”

“Mr. Stark cannot be reached, Ma’am.”

“Override whatever bullshit reason he has for not being reached and get my brother on the line F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

“Ma’am, Mr. Stark is not currently on Earth. I am unable to reach him.”

For a second your vision blurs, “Repeat that F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

“Mr. Stark is not currently on the planet Earth. I am unsure of his whereabouts.”

“Is he-“ bile rises. He can’t be.

“No, Ma’am,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. responds, “Not to my knowledge. He was pursuing an alien assailant a day ago, prior to this event, and left the atmosphere.”

“Christ, Tony.” You collapse into your chair. “Where’s Pepper?”

“I have lost all signs of Ms. Potts.”

Now you can’t help it, you lunge for the trash can beside your desk and vomit, “Ha… Happy…”

“I have lost all signs of Mr. Hogan.”

You sit on the floor, lean against your desk, draw your knees up, resting your forehead on them. Suddenly you’re 10 again except even Tony is… “F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

“Yes, Ma’am?”

“Please tell me Rhodey is ok.”

“Sargent Rhodes is showing strong vital signs.”

“Thank fuck. Can you reach him?”

“I will try Ma’am. He is currently in the nation of Wakanda.” What the hell was Rhodey doing in Africa?

“Y/N!” Rhodey’s familiar voice bellows over the comm and you flick his image before you, “Are you ok?!”

“Relatively speaking,” the building has gone eerily quiet. “Where the fuck is my brother Rhodes?!” Rhodey’s face tells you all you need to know. “Fuck,” your head falls back and hits the desk with a thud.

“Where are you?” Rhodey’s tone is full of concern.

“The Foundation offices in L.A.” You look back to his image, “What’s happening?”

“It’s too much to explain. Pepper?” You can only shake your head, “Christ.”

“Why are you in Africa?”

“Again, long story.”

Then you see him behind Rhodey. His hair is short and he looks haggard but you’d recognize him in any condition, Thor.

“Y/N,” his voice is small. “You’re…”

“Alive,” you finish. It’s about all that matters at this moment you imagine.

He nods, “We shall come for you, immediately.”

“Hold up,” the image shifts as Rhodey’s hands rise in protest. “We don’t know what we are going to do just-“

“You can do as you wish but I’m going to go get her now!” This bellows.

Rhodey’s tone is calm, “Now is not the tim-“

“Not the time!?” You swear you hear thunder crack in the background.

“Can you two shut the fuck up!” You yell into the comm. They do and suddenly they’re both back in focus. “Thank you.” Massaging the bridge of your nose you continue. “I am not some damsel for you to come rescue, Thor, I know your intentions are good but Rhodey’s right now isn’t the time. I need to make sure what’s left of my staff is ok and try to get them back with their families…” If they had any left, “Contact me as soon as you know the plan, Rhodey.”

“Will do, kid,” Rhodey says with a stern nod.

“Thor… I’m glad your here,” he doesn’t respond, just skulks off. You’re about to end the transmission when Rhodey pipes up.

“And, Y/N,” his tone is somber, “use the suit.”

[Six months before the snap.]

Tony’s image pops up over your desk without warning, startling you. He's lounging back in an office chair eating an apple. “How’d you like your birthday present?”

You roll your eyes, “The Porsche is lovely Tony, but kind of unnecessary. Now if you don’t mind,” you raise your hand to end his intrusive call.

“Porsche? Oh, Pepper must have done that. How coudl she think I’d forget my favorite sister’s birthday.” Your annoyance is peaking. You were 37, not 17 (one of the many birthdays he did, in fact, forget if your memory serves, and it unfailingly does), and you had work to do.

“Tony, unlike you I like to do productive things with my time, wha-“

“I’m productive,” he sits up in his chair.

“You’re retired, what? At least twice over and you tinker on overpriced hobbies.”

“That cuts deep, sis.”

“I’m sure.” Suddenly your door flings open and one of Tony’s drones is hovering in your office.

Jade, your assistant, is behind it staring in horror, “I’m so sorry Ms. Stark! I did-“

“It’s fine, Jade, not your fault. And, please, call me Y/N.”

“Yes. Ok, sorry Ms… I mean, Y/N,” with that she closes the door and the drone gently places what looks like a watch box on your desk.

“She’s new.”

“She’s young and you’re engaged are you not?”

“I only said she was new,” Tony retorts.

“Mhm,” you roll your eyes and pick up the box. “This is a little elaborate for a watch, Ton.” Though the biometric scanner on top tells you this is something else.

“Just open it, Y/N.”

You do. Inside are a Stark smartwatch and a matching bangle. Both appear to be rose gold, a trend you’re begrudgingly loving, and you have to admit they are rather gorgeous. “Oh,” you lift the watch, “My current one is working perfectly, Tony.” You still slip off the old one and attach the new one to your wrist.

“Put the bracelet on your right.” Tony is staring intently and you’re sure he’s up to something.

You do, “Ok…” you’re nervous.

“Show her F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

There’s a zinging and suddenly tiny rose gold and matte grey scales are sliding up your arms. In seconds you’re engulfed in armor, the helmet snapping over your head before you can protest.

“Voila!” Tony exclaims, his smug tone ringing inside your helmet. The screen clears and you can see his image, still hovering over your desk.

“Really, Tony?” You don’t even attempt to hide how annoyed you are. “We talked about this.”

“No, you, talked, Y/N. I simply pretended to listen.”

You sigh, “I don’t need this.” The helmet retracts, seemingly reading your thoughts.

“Neat huh?” Your brother looks like a proud child and not a man pushing 50.

“Yeah, sure, it’s neat.” The suit continues to retract. “But again-“

“Just wear the fucking set, please,” a shadow flits across his eyes.

Your eyes narrow, “Tony…”

“I… I just like the thought that you’re protected. You didn’t like any of the other styles so I’ve been working on this nanotech so you can have something… unobtrusive.” He shoots from his chair and paces. You know better than to interrupt and cross your arms waiting for him to find his way to the real point.

Finally, he makes his way back to his seat and slumps into it. “Ever since Pep and I got engaged I’ve been thinking about family… Actually since…” You knew where he was going. Since the situation with The Accords, since you two had it out over his stance on The Winter Soldier, since you told him he was wrong. You two had hardly spoken.  

Your eyes meet through the camera. He looks like that lost 21 year old suddenly. The one who not only lost his parents but had to become one in the course of a night. “I know I haven’t always done right by you, Y/N. I know I was never… what you needed me to be-“

“Tony-“

“Let me talk,” he holds up a hand. “And after the last few years, all this chaos… I just I know what’s important and I need to protect it.”

“I appreciate that,” and you do but… “How, exactly, does this help?” You hold up your wrists. Your brother, though you loved him, had a tendency of throwing money at his problems rather than actually dealing with them. Once again, this felt like that.

He smiles a bit, “Now we can meet up whenever we want, screw waiting on planes!” Your eyes roll and your head falls into your hands and you groan. “I’ll sleep better at night knowing you can protect yourself against almost anything.” You look up at your brother. “Hopefully, you never have to use it… but please… for me…”

“Fine,” you sigh. “At least you got the color right.”

“Actually that was me,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. chimes in.

You both laugh. “Plus I can’t let you watch my future spawn if you don’t have your own suit. Ok, love ya sis byeeee!” And with that, he rings off.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. is Pepper pregnant?!”

“No, Ma’am.”

You shake your head, your brother was ridiculous.

[Present day.]

Your finger runs along the band of the watch. “F.R.I.D.A.Y. how many Stark Foundation employees are left in the building?”

“Fourteen, Ma’am.”

“Are they all on this floor?”

“Yes.”

“Is there any news on what’s happened?”

“No Ma’am.”

“Ok,” you sigh and pick yourself off the floor. There was no sense in sitting here. People needed help. Your people needed help. The rest you’d sort later.

The next three days speed by in a blur. Every single one of your remaining employees had lost someone dear to them, it was terrible but you’d managed to get them to their homes safe and ensured them they would continue to be provided for indefinitely.

The bottom floors of the tower you owned in downtown L.A. were being used as temporary housing. People were flooding into the metro areas as some towns had lost half or more of their population and couldn’t function. Five of your employees had offered to run the shelter. You’d only used the suit once, even then it was just to clear some of the immobilized cars from the roads so service vehicles could pass.  

Finally, the call from Rhodey came, “How’re you holding up kid?”

This endearment used to rankle but now that 40 was fast approaching you kind of liked it, “Ok. Have you heard from him?” You hate how your voice rose, hate how desperate it sounds.

“No, Y/N… I’m sorry…” you both stay silent for a minute, knowing that this may mean you never will. “We’re heading to the compound. Can you meet us there?”

Clearing your throat, “Yeah.”

“See ya soon, kid.”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. think you can help me get this thing to the compound?” You’d flown short distances in some of Tony’s other suits but never this one and never so far.

“Of course, Ma’am.” The suit wound its way across your body, “Whenever you’re ready.”

There wasn’t any point in packing. You had clothes at the compound and you could get whatever you needed later. Strolling out to your penthouse balcony you take a breath, “Let’s go.” With that, your helmet covers your face and you’re off.

It only takes you about three hours to get to the compound. This included a stop atop the Rocky mountains just because you could. The sun is just beginning to set as your feet touch the ground.

“No one is here yet, Ma’am, and the rest of the staff was sent away per protocol” F.R.I.D.A.Y. informs you thought you already assumed as much, “All is secure.”

“Thanks, F.R.I.D.A.Y.” The suit slides back into its housing, “Can you have all the schematics for the nanotech up in Tony’s lab? I want to look at it later.”

“Of course, Ma’am.” Everyone knew Tony as the tech genius and you were the philanthropist but you’d also gone to M.I.T. and knew your way around advanced technology like any self respecting member of the Stark family.

“Oh, and F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Since we’re going to be chatting more can you please call me, Y/N?”

“You got it, Y/N.”

“Thanks.”

The silence in the well lit common space is oppressive. You run your hand along the back of the couch and your mind wanders back to the last time you were here. After your brother had returned home from his fight with Steve.

Tony had been adamant that he was in the right.

[Flashback: Just after Tony returns from Russia.]

“He. Fucking. Killed. Them. Y/N!” He’d screamed in your face.

“From what I’ve heard he wasn’t given a choice, Tony! You can’t kill someone over-“

“I didn’t!”

“No, you said you wanted to. And like a petulant child you just couldn’t reel in your fucking emotions and look at the situation with a level head!” He’d been silent for a few minutes.

“Fuck it. Here,” with a flick of his hand, the TV lit up with a grainy video feed.

A car, a crash. Every part of you wanted to look away knowing somehow what this was.

Your mother’s voice crying out, “Howard!”

“Fuck you, Tony.”

“Still think he deserved mercy?”

“Fuck. You. Tony,” you turn to leave and he grabs your arm.

A gunshot echoes, “Still think I’m a petulant child?!”

You rip your arm from him and growl, “Yes.”

“Wow,” he released you. “I mean really… just wow.” He points to the screen, “Our fucking parents, and you think the man who killed them is just some innocent lamb. I thought you’d-”

You pick up the vase next to you and hurl it at the TV before the video loops, the screen splinters. He stares at you, unfazed. “If you say ‘be happy’ I swear to fuck I will never speak to you again.” You’re shaking, “Killing him wouldn’t have brought them back. It wouldn’t have made anything better. But maybe if you had taken a few seconds to think about someone else’s emotional well being you could have saved your friendship, saved your team!”

You take a few steps away trying to calm down and failing. “But no!” You’re screaming at this point, “You can never look past your own fucking pain can you?!”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”

Tears prick the back of your eyes, “I was TEN, Tony! That night you just so lovingly showed me? Ten fucking years old. You had 21 years with them, a whole childhood! I had ten fucking years. Then all I was left with was you and Jarvis, he was gone two years later and what do you do?! You send me off to boarding school because I was in the way of your good fucking time!”

Your whole body is shaking, “I can count on both hands the number of times we’ve talked about them in 25 years, Tony. Because you couldn’t dare to feel some pain on my account because I can’t remember them like you can.” The tears finally spill over, silent and almost as hot at your rage, “I can hardly remember what her voice sounds like most days so thanks so fucking much for making me hear that you selfish piece of shit.” You wipe your tears. “Fucking rot alone with your fancy suits for all I care. I’m out.”

[Present Day]

The memory makes you shake. It took almost a year for Tony to speak to you. He had never fully conceded that you were right, that if he had thought things through maybe that terrible situation could have ended better. He had, however, admitted he regretted the way he handled things with you, how you’d grown up. He had been trying to make more of an effort. He had apologized for showing you the video.

Now… if he was gone. The thought takes the wind from you and you collapse into one of the armchairs. If he was gone, you had spent the last two years in flux because neither of you could keep your emotions in check.

Money, you thought, can buy happiness but it sure as shit can’t buy emotional stability.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

“Yes, Y/N?”

“Can you tell me how far out they are?”

“Two hours.” Perfect. Enough time for a shower.

You’re wrapping your long brown hair in a towel when F.R.I.D.A.Y. pops up, “The Quinjet is 10 minutes from landing.”

Not caring you toss your hair into a messy bun, slip into one of your brother's tees and a pair of skinny jeans. The watch and bracelet hadn’t left your wrists.

You hadn’t thought to ask Rhodey who all was coming, who had made it… You guessed you’d find out soon enough as you make your way to the landing pad.

The jet settles and the bay door opens. Rhodey rushes out and crushes you in a hug. You don’t fight him. James Rhodes had been like family for most of your life. And as it stood he was the only family you had left. Tears pricked at the back of your eyes but you refused to let them fall.

He holds you at arm’s length, his own eyes glassy, “I’m so glad you’re ok, kid.”

You rub his graying hair, “I’m glad you’re ok too old man.” He chuckles and you look past him fully expecting to see Thor. Instead, “Banner?!”

“Hey, yeah,” Bruce waves awkwardly.

Nat smiles at you, “Thor isn’t here.”

“I’m happy to see you too ya know,” and the two of you embrace.

“He said he was taking the long way, whatever the hell that means.” You look around for the source of the unfamiliar voice. Someone clears their throat and you look down.

For a second you just stare. “… is the emotional trauma and decades of substance abuse finally catching up with me…”

“Not yet,” Rhodey answers.

“But if you’ve got any additional substances to abuse laying around I could use some,” the fucking talking raccoon says.

“His name is, Rocket,” Steve says stepping down.

“Good to meet you,” you nod, suddenly not worried about the fact that everyone is acting like this is a totally normal thing. “Steve,” you smile, genuinely happy to see your friend.

“Y/N,” he draws you into a hug. The look you both exchange says you know that a long conversation will happen later.

There’s a crack of thunder. A flash. And with all the subtlety of a crashing freight train, Thor lands just outside the concrete pad. For a moment you’re genuinely annoyed at both his overdramatic choice of entry and your heart for rising into your throat at seeing him.

His eyes meet yours. They're so sad, and tired, his shoulders slump. Suddenly you know something is terribly wrong. All social niceties are thrown to the wind, you rush him. He meets you half way and lifts you into his arms burying his face in your neck.

He trembles against you and you realize he’s softly crying, “Thor?”

He looks at you, eyes blue pools, “I thought I’d lost everything. But here you are.”

[pratktcven]

i've been thinking about kuron/matt a lot recently and,,,

after kuron is revealed and he redeems himself by going directly against his commands/programming, the paladins accept him into the fold (with varying degrees of unease). matt is one of the least accepting. not because matt doesn't believe in redemption, but because he's been in space long enough—fought in this war long enough—to understand duplicity and how far someone is willing to go to do something they believe in.

it also is matt's luck that he and kuron have adjacent quarters

kuron comes and goes as he pleases. most of the time he's in his room or on the training deck. he eats his meals with the others, but he's very quiet and removed. overtures of friendship from the paladins come in shades. hunk is the first to warm up to him, offering kuron some cupcakes he made; then lance, who recently discovered an altean racquetball equivalent and needs a partner; then shiro, pidge, keith, coran and allura. matt is the only one who finds himself distanced from kuron

then, on a mission, kuron and matt find themselves removed from the paladins. they're waiting quietly at a rendezvous point when kuron sighs gently and says, "i know you don't trust me, but for the sake of this mission, and for the sake of what we're trying to accomplish, i need you to pretend."

so matt pretends. 

he also feels guilty. it is his main motivator to be nicer, to try.

he starts saying hello and goodbye. he allows small quips, and teases, and jokes. he pauses before he sits down at the table, slipping into the chair beside kuron rather than the one out of arm's reach. he puts boxes of mismatched machinery parts into kuron's hands and has him carry the heavy stuff to the room he, pidge, and hunk have taken over. he pairs with kuron on team game nights, forces kuron to watch his favorite space soap opera, and doesn't think when shoves kuron to the side and takes a plasma blast meant for the other man.

let it be known that plasma blasts sting.

after a brief stint in a healing pod—and a hug-punch combo from pidge—kuron quietly follows matt back to his quarters. when they reach the door, matt turns to kuron to say good night. instead, kuron grabs his bicep, almost too hard, and chokes,

“please never do that again.”

matt wants to be mad. he feels a shade of anger well in his chest, but it is instantly displaced by the wild, lost look in kuron’s eyes. he is filled with surprise—realization—tenderness. he reaches up and curls a hand around kuron’s sharp jaw. he cannot promise kuron that he won’t do it again, so he whispers instead, “i love you.”

this, at least, is not a lie.

[classywastelandbread-blog]

Serious Noodles vs (Christmas) Decorations

Not as amusing (to me at least) as the one about the jokes. 

Inspired by work. Someone from another department came into ours today and randomly started putting up Christmas decorations, including a miniature tree with a tree skirt. 

It had been Tracer that had brought out the dusty boxes of decorations sometime in mid-November.

McCree and (surprisingly) Soldier 76 had been the ones to protest the hanging of tinsel and red and gold and green decorations until after Thanksgiving. They then realized that the team hadn’t really been planning on celebrating the American holiday and had intended to treat it as any other day; having brought it up and made a big deal of it, they had in turn volunteered themselves to host it.

But the story of the new Overwatch’s attempt at celebrating Thanksgiving was a story for another time.

By then McCree had developed an almost sixth-sense for Hanzo and looked up in time to see the pained expression that crossed the archer’s face as he stepped into the common room. McCree covertly glanced down at his arm and breathed a quiet sigh of relief: the tattoo was matte grey and faded, a sign that the spirits were elsewhere. The room was a mess of glass and plastic ornaments and tinsel and though the brothers often reiterated that the dragon spirits were in fact not cats, McCree didn’t want to face the possibility of a six-foot lizard-creature charging the table while they were still unpacking things.

(If the spirits attacked the decorations afterward, well...that wouldn’t be his problem.)

“Howdy,” he said quietly when he noticed that the archer hadn’t moved.

“Hn,” Hanzo replied, the pained look on his face still rather present.

In his distraction, some of the tinsel that McCree was untangling had gotten caught in one of his metal joints. Very carefully putting down what was in his other hand, he began tugging the caught strands. He was surprised when Hanzo very hesitantly stepped in to help, just as careful as McCree to not break any of the thin plastic streamers into the joints.

“Maybe putting me on tinsel duty wasn’t the best idea,” McCree said cheerfully as the last strand was tugged free.

Hanzo was looking away when he agreed with a distracted “hn.”

“Ah,” McCree said awkwardly as they coiled the tinsel into neat piles. “Where’s your noodles?”

“Meditating with Zenyatta,” Hanzo said after a distracted pause. His eyes were darting around the common room and McCree had the discomforting thought that perhaps the dragons weren’t who he should be concerned about. “Please excuse me,” the archer said quickly.

As McCree watched, Hanzo found a cloth grocery bag in the communal kitchen and began filling it: five shiny ornaments, a segment of tinsel, and one of the dusty stockings peeking out from the corner of the box. When Hanzo caught McCree looking, he looked away. “Um…I need to introduce it to them…slowly.”

I’d pay to see that, McCree thought but didn’t say, instead rolling the words in his mouth like he would one of his cigarillos. “No worries,” he said instead. “Lots more boxes where this came from I’m sure. Do what you need to do.”

Hanzo’s smile was equal parts relieved and warm. He mockingly put his fingers to his forehead like he was tipping the brim of a hat and McCree pretended to swoon. (If only Hanzo knew it was real.)

I do not understand, Udon complained.

Soba, whose hand-like paw was wrapped around one of the ornaments, glanced at its sibling. I like it, it said and patted gently at the bauble.

“Like a cat,” Genji muttered to Hanzo who knew better than to visibly or audibly agree where the spirits could hear or see.

Ramen squinted at its host. We are not cats, it informed them loftily.

“Your behaviors are similar,” Genji argued, looking at Hanzo for support. The elder knew better than to say anything and instead reached for another ornament which he placed in front of Udon in hopes of distracting it from whatever insult it may have taken from being compared to a cat. “We used to curl up in front of the fireplace and cuddle and take naps.”

The fireplace was warm, Soba pointed out. And you would not take a nap otherwise.

Udon huffed. Naps are good, it agreed. Peering at the ornament in front of it, Udon shifted its weight to reach out and touch it with a claw.

“It’s made of plastic,” Hanzo explained before it could ask. “But some of the nicer ones are made of glass and are more fragile.” Reaching into the bag of stolen decorations, Hanzo’s questing fingers found one such ornament and brought it out to show the cluster of three dragons.

Ramen bobbed its head though its eyes were more on the short strands of tinsel. And what is this?

“It’s called tinsel,” Genji explained as Ramen very carefully picked it up in a hand-like paw. “People hang it up as decoration.”

All three spirits’ heads popped up when they heard a knock on the door. Seeing McCree in the doorway, they bobbed their heads excitedly. Soba leaned against the man’s thigh and made an attempt to smile.

HELLO MCCREE! It boomed excitedly. Hanzo winced and rubbed his temples.

“Chatty today?” McCree asked sympathetically, reaching down to rub his knuckles along Soba’s snout the way it seemed to like. It bobbed its head and Ramen scrambled over to be pet as well. “Here,” McCree said, handing the bag in his free hand to Hanzo and obliging Ramen’s silent request. “We found a few more decorations and thought you’d like to…um…slowly introduce them.”

Udon snorted. It’s not like we’re going to panic at the sight of decorations, it muttered, flipping the tip of its tail in dissatisfaction.

It’s a culture shock, Genji told Ramen without saying it out loud; Ramen in turn spread the message to Udon, Soba, and Hanzo. Christmas is not celebrated everywhere around the globe.

Soba twisted its head to Hanzo. INVITE HIM INSIDE! It told him.

“Come in,” Hanzo told McCree obediently. “They would like you to join us.”

A spot was cleared and McCree folded himself into a sitting position. After a few more scratches, Ramen and Soba wandered back to the ornaments on the ground. Udon finally succeeded in picking up the ornament in front of it, gripping it gently between its talons; after a moment it slipped and fell to the ground.

Fortunately it was only a plastic one so it bounced and rolled away, but Genji, Hanzo, and McCree had all sucked in nervous breaths regardless.

I like the tinsel, Ramen declared.

“Ramen likes the tinsel,” Hanzo translated for McCree.

“I noticed she likes shiny things,” McCree said agreeably. “Makes sense I guess, since her host’s a walking tin can.” Genji lifted a middle finger and McCree blew him a kiss.

Udon bobbed its head, dewlap extended. How is it hung for decoration? It asked, peering at the tinsel as Genji twined the piece around Ramen’s neck. Without a face that could easily move to make expressions, it was difficult to tell what it was thinking. Like that?

“It can be wrapped around a tree or around railings,” Genji told the dragons. “Sometimes people use tape or fastenings to hang it on walls.”

Always grumpy, Udon bobbed its head but said nothing. It batted, almost cat-like, at the ornament in front of it; the tip of its tail flicked.

Why do you hang it on a tree? Soba asked.

“Ah!” McCree said when Hanzo translated the dragon’s query in a half-hearted hope that the American would know the answer. He gestured for the bag he handed Hanzo and dug around for a bit. When his hand emerged, it held a fake miniature tree which he placed in front of the dragons.

Ramen tossed its head and Soba darted over excitedly, bobbing its head as it inspected the fake tree. What is this? Soba demanded. It’s so tiny!

“It’s a plastic tree,” McCree said before Hanzo or Genji could translate. “That is, it’s a little tree made of plastic. People decorate pine trees with ornaments and lights and tinsel.” To demonstrate, he (carefully) took the ornament from in front of Udon and finding a small piece of wire, attached it to one of the little branches. The tree looked ridiculous, the ornament being a quarter of its size, and it immediately began to list to the side until Soba tried to catch it and only succeeded in catching the ornament in its jaws.

Hanzo sighed, unsurprised when the ornament shattered into shards of bright red. OH NO! Soba wailed though there was no outward expression of its distress except for the flare of its whiskers.

“It’s okay,” Genji said in a strangled voice, cupping his hands beneath its jaws. “Spit out the pieces, here.”

DID I RUIN IT? Soba asked as it obeyed.

McCree gestured to it and once its mouth was clear of plastic shards, Soba darted over to him for reassuring scritches. “You okay there, darlin’?”

I am not a “darlin’”, Soba protested halfheartedly, already leaning into the knuckles McCree were rubbing against its jaw and cheeks. It bobbed its head smugly at Udon and Ramen.

Disgraceful, Udon muttered back, extending its dewlap and bobbing its head back at Soba.

“They cannot be hurt by little bits of plastic,” Genji told McCree cheerfully as Hanzo picked up the remaining fragments from the floor of his room. “It just startled Soba.”

Did it taste good? Ramen wanted to know.

We do not eat so I cannot taste, Soba pointed out.

I just wanted to say that. Ramen bobbed its head smugly.

Udon snorted. Why do you decorate tiny trees with big ornaments? It wanted to know. Why do you decorate pine trees?

“You don’t use big ornaments on tiny trees,” McCree explained when Hanzo finished translating the query. “That was just a demonstration that went a little wrong. Um…” he scratched the back of his neck with his free hand. “I don’t know why people decorate trees but usually it’s a big pine tree. They’ll keep it in their house for a month and decorate it with lights and tinsel and those there ornaments – the one I put on the tree – are usually used for trees that big.”

So you kill a tree, Udon said disapprovingly.

(To be fair, Udon was disapproving – or at least appeared to be – of most things. Hanzo made a mental note to mention later to McCree, who looked crestfallen when Genji translated this for him.)

McCree scratched the back of his head again. “Well, I guess so,” he admitted. “Most people get fake trees now so they don’t have to keep buying new ones. The fake trees can be saved and sometimes they can be put into storage without taking the decorations off.”

Lazy, Udon grumbled chidingly, bobbing its head. Neither Genji nor Hanzo translated that.

So are you decorating a dying tree? Ramen asked. Can we help? It glanced at Udon and then looked back at McCree. Can I help? Udon-who-is-not-a-noodle will be boring.

As usual, Soba quipped. I want to help too! Can I be wrapped in tinsel?

“They want to help decorate a tree if you have one,” Hanzo told McCree. The spirits all bobbed their heads, dewlaps extended. To McCree it looked like they were nodding in agreement but the brothers knew that it was really disapproval for only translating part of their message.

“’Course,” McCree said warmly. “As if I’d say no to you.”

Udon narrowed its eyes at McCree. It would be wise if you didn’t. Hanzo didn’t translate that; Genji clearly considered it but in the end decided against it.

“We’re probably going to finish decorating the room first,” McCree continued, oblivious. “Then later we’ll go and look for a tree.”

Why are you decorating? Soba asked.

“Kurisumasu,” Genji explained. “Christmas.”

Udon and Soba’s heads swiveled toward Genji. Oh. Is that the holiday where you’re supposed to kiss under a plant? Udon asked.

And Hanzo was so nervous that he puked all over Uchida Akira? Soba added.

Genji choked. “What?”

“What?” McCree asked, glancing between the brothers. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Hanzo hissed, face flaring bright red. “Don’t worry about it.” McCree looked honestly concerned, glancing at the wheezing Genji but wisely dropped it. Mercifully, the spirits did as well…to an extent.

McCree distracted the spirits further by pulling more things from the bag he brought with him. There was another dusty stocking, a small wreath, and a round figure of a man dressed in red. The spirits approached, bobbing their heads curiously as they looked over the offerings.

More dead plants, Udon said disgustedly, nudging the wreath with a talon.

Soba bobbed its head. It’s fake again! It pointed out and smacked the wreath so that it rattled and gave away its unnatural nature.

Looking at the figure, Ramen bobbed its head. What is this? Is this a god? An idol? It looks like the some of the figures from the temple.

“Santa Claus,” McCree explained. “Um…he’s…well, he’s a story you tell kids. Children.”

Ramen’s ears flipped forward. I LIKE STORIES, it roared.

STORYTIME? Soba roared back. Both of them bobbed their heads, baring their teeth in what they probably thought were excited grins.

As Hanzo translated for McCree, Genji solemnly got up and fetched the first of many bottles of sake.

[lastchancevillagegreen]

(Not) in Today’s Post: Friday 31 July 2020:

Hate For Sale Pretenders (BMG)

With funky distribution these days a person should buy an album they’ve sought where ever it can be found.  So, when I finally located this album at Barnes & Noble, I bought it.  I have everything Pretenders on CD so I wanted to stay true to that format and I knew the record store I would be going to later wouldn’t have the CD of this album. 

It wasn’t too long ago that I was ignoring this band, content to feast my ears on the first three albums, playing them over and over.  It wasn’t until I heard a couple of tracks from Chrissie Hynde’s first solo album Stockholm courtesy of my brother that I realized maybe my dislike for this band was ill placed.  As in most things involving me and music, I had a boxed set of Pretenders eight albums, all with bonus discs that was sitting on my shelf.  Why did I buy a box of eight Pretenders albums when I didn’t like the band?  Well, once upon a time I owned their first six albums.  The last three of those six albums seemed, at the time, less than sterling.  But I know that in the ‘90s I gave a lot of albums short shrift, claiming they were unlistenable after only two or three spins. 

Today I contend you cannot truly make such decisions on so few plays.  Today I’ll play an album at least ten times before such an announcement of contempt.  Back in the day when I played the Pretenders 1986 album Packed I loathed the album and claimed Ms Hynde was washed up, etc, etc.  I was an intolerable miserablist.  But when I revisited Packed in approximately three years ago I thought it might just be one of my favorite Pretenders albums.  That revelation lead me to play the next Pretenders album and so on down the line until I owned their entire discography.  I now claim Ms Hynde as a fantastic songwriter and a great singer and the Pretenders are easily one of my favorite bands.  Life is funny that way.  I’ve learned: always be a little more tolerable and never be so quick to scream out an exacting criticism because you can always revisit something and come to a different conclusion. 

The scans I’ve provided are the album cover, the left side of the gatefold digipak, the CD (the inlay tray is all black underneath) and the back of the digipak.  Then you have the cover of the booklet and the middle of the booklet where a band photo appears.  (Obviously they want us to know this is a band, this isn’t just a Chrissie Hynde solo album produced by that Black Keys dude, this is a real Pretenders album.  Martin Chambers is in the photos (the white haired guy, he’s been in the band for close to forever, off and on) which tells us, ‘see, we are a band!’  On the back cover every time I look at that photo and see the first man to Chrissie Hynde’s right I think it is Matt Johnson from The The and I wonder why on earth did Chrissie put him in the band?

[sugarblood7]

Chapter One: VampFed is Cancelled

Sugar Pine 7 Vampire AU

Author: @oncemorewithvodka

Editor: @sugarpinecrews

            “Hey everybody raise your hand if you still have a job!” Mike asked the room. No one raised their hands. Not even the ghosts who haunt the halls and would still be here after we left.

           VampFed is Cancelled. There are four nights left.

           All the sets were being dismantled. All the stuff we used to relate to the humans in boxes. Even though VampFed was ending it was nice to know everything was staying the same. Even our human prisoner James was thinking of staying behind.

           “Steven, I’ve been trapped here all weekend. Please help me get down,” James let me know as he worked on taking down our lights. I closed the door and let him get back to work as he begged for me save him. But that’s what he gets for being a gross human who can’t fly. For some of our untalented employees, it was interesting to see what they had planned for the future. I did end up asking James what his plans were to which he responded, “I dunno what I’m going to do now.” Yikes. Kind of a bummer for that guy! Probably staying with the ghost unless he can learn how to deal with heights.

           One of our studio techs, Zach Taylor on the other hand, was taking initiative.

           “Uh. My name is Zack Taylor. I am for hire. This is my resume. Um it looks good.” Actually, it was just okay. It failed to include exactly how much blood he drinks in a single day which is good for any company to be aware of, especially if you’re company that hires vampires.

           I decided to go around the office testing everyone’s ability to find a new job. The test involved employees stating three things they’re good at in a matter of twenty seconds.

           “You have fifteen seconds to say three things you’re good at, otherwise you’re fired,” I told fellow vampire host Candace who responded with just staring into the distance. Though, Sam Bashor was able to answer with talking, swimming and running. Pretty good dude. That was good.

           I asked some of the others who were around their three things

“Design, editing, typography!” Hired!

           “Drawing, illustration, graphic design.”

           With Chris’s consistently snarky attitude, I was really hoping he wasn’t going to be able to answer in time.

           “Camera work, lighting, audio.” Fine.

           Making my way around the office I was given more answers.

           “Uh, not having a job, getting fired, and uh being a new unemployed wereboy” Fired.

           I even asked James who had somehow either gotten help from a witch or overcame his fear of heights.

           “Everything, nothing, and most things,” Fired.

           “I don’t know” Candace finally answered.

           I went to ask Zack who responded he same answer as Chris’s. When I told him he couldn’t double dip he explained he was like Chris but an inch taller. This was the wrong answer because Zack is a vampire and Chris is an elemental. Unbelievably James came in to the save the day.

           “Licking, he’s good at licking” Zack agreed with this. Hired! It’s important for a vampire to lick their victim though it worries me that James knows the difference between a vampire’s bad licking and good licking.

           “Cooking, eating, sleeping. Goodbye” were Matt Lieberman’s answers. Fired on the grounds that vampires don’t need to know how to cook. But he heard my response which put me in danger.

           “You take my firing back, Steven Suptic. You’re just a chicken vamp with a camera. I’m a vamp with a practice sword!” My unlife was at risk as the sword was made from wood.

           “You’re dangerous, you’re hired, you’re hired!” I yelled as he backed me into a supply closet.

           “Cool, thanks. What’s my salary?”

           “Fourt,” I responded and then chased him away. He was a little boy and I chased him. I was once again, safe.  

           You know, one question that I think really deserves an answer and I don’t think anybody knows, is how did this office keep spreading diseases so easily? Maybe it comes from the licking that is important in any vampire or werewolf society. For those of you who think vampires cannot get sick let me tell you we have our own illnesses and we can spread to them to other beings including humans. How do you think the common cold happened?

           I know what you’re thinking. Are people really okay with you filming them during such an emotionally draining process?

           “Okay, I get that you’re trying to document what’s happening here for personal gain. But…I want some too.” You could have put it up on your own vlog channel Liberman.

           “I hope you make a good bit of money off of filming all these people who just lost their jobs. I hope you make a nice bit so you can pay off the government for your fuckup,” Zack told me.

           Clearly, some people were very jealous of my enormous wealth. While others took things more seriously. Rickey Mizuno for example pretended to shoot himself with a gun, which we all know doesn’t kill vampires but then he farted thinking it would be funny. Unfortunately, that was a lot more dangerous of fart than he thought it was gonna be. Vampire farts are the worst.

           “And that was the last we saw of Rickey Mizuno” Zack mentioned.  

           Joel Rubin, one of the oldest vampires of all time came into the room. He may be old and powerful but very much a drifter as he goes from one supernatural brainwashing company to the next.

           “Guys, we need to have our Oddity meeting for the next three months of Oddity,” Joel told the room.

           “And that was the last we saw of Joel,” Zack told me, but I highly doubt it.

           I went over to Audrey, who stayed covered in her hoodie as to not expose us to the danger of her unknown power. I wanted to check in on how she was dealing with the end of VampFed but she did not look up from her editing.

           “And that was the last we saw of Audrey,” Zack was setting a theme was these announcements. Maybe it was from his extra power to see the future.

           I went to go check on Sofia, a very dangerous witch when Zack assured me:

           “We would, however, see Sofia again,” and knowing that I left the room to go bother one of the werewolves Eric.

           “Are you working on VampFed stuff?” I asked him.

           “No, no. I’m uh messaging everyone I know asking for a job.”

           Eric’s comment about reaching out to friends made me realize, I have a lot of connections in the YouTube industry. I decided to reach out to a pervious VampFed employee for help, Ian Dokie, Ruler of the channel Zombi Noggin.

           “Hey Steven.”

           “Hey Ian.”

           “What’s up?”

           “You hear the news?” I asked kind of nervously but I heard him take a deep breath.

           “That VampFed’s cancelled?” I wondered if he knew why I was calling already.

           “Yeah. So I just figured I’d just call you and see how, um, Zommbi Noggin’s doing.

           “Good. It’s doing good,” he sounded skeptical. He knew why I was calling.

           “Yeah, I’m not really the kind of guy to beg on my feet, but um, do you have, do you have a- Please give me a job,” I blurted out

           “Uh huh?”

           “I’ll get back- You’ll get back- I’ll get it. Alright I got the job, thank you, thank you,” I was in, I wouldn’t be stuck roaming the streets.

           “Someone will reach out-” I hung up when I saw Joel, and worked up the courage to confront him.

           “You got me fired, you son of bitch,” I told him.

           “Well, maybe you should have done a better…work.” Hmm! Maybe I should have done better work!

           That’s when I found a telephoto lens lying around and after all these months I was finally able to spy on Luis. He was an editor but I knew he was secretly a vampire hunter. I was able to get footage of Sofia destroying her paper trail. Zack was right, we did see her again. Though I didn’t feel like I was done talking to Joel about exactly why VampFed was being shut down.

            “I mean, it does suck, because we were doing really well. I mean, we had the most brainwashing, like the most sustained, over five months of brainwashing for the first time since 2013 on the channel? I’m looking at the human subscriber analytics right now and we haven’t had this good of subscriber numbers,” he turned the screen so I could see a guinea pig eating carrots, the code for brainwashed humans, “in I don’t even remember how long. I mean at least since, maybe July?” That was hard to hear.

            What else was hard was seeing everyone else working knowing it would coming to end soon. Filip wrote a 17-page script that I’m sure everybody was very excited to film during their last week. I suddenly then got a vision of what Matt was up to, he was writing a letter.

            “Dear guinea pigs, I’m Matt Lieberman,” he was writing. What business he had with the brainwashed humans?

            That’s when I saw the unthinkable. Look at this little punk-ass werewolf wearing the same shirt as me, making my day fuckin’ worse. I figured I would get my mind off it by playing Star a song.

            “Alright, so are there any requests? Any song in particular?” I asked sitting ready at my keyboard.

            “Shooting stars.”

            “Shooting stars, who’s that by?” Of course I knew.

            “I don’t know,” Star failed my test but I’m a gentleman.

            “Ah, I know that one! Here we go!” I began to play the song thought the keyboard did it in the voice of a banshee. I jammed more out as the keyboard contained drum beats and horrifying animal noises that I think added to the song.

            So right here. This is about the point I stopped having fun for the day, and started recognizing that everything was going to end.

            I went with my camera to one of the last meals we would all have together before the company ends. We even let James have a regular human beer instead of being the meal like he normally is. That obviously seems very abrasive. Filming people while they’re eating- it was, but everybody was a good sport about it and after this week I dunno when I’ll be able to see these guys again.

            I’m sure most of us are going our separate ways. But at the end of the day, you can’t count on a company, or another monster. You just have yourself. But when you’re feeling lonely out there, and you miss your old co-worker Steve it’ll be easy to look back on these videos and remember working for a channel called VampFed. And maybe a couple years later, you’ll shoot me a text, and we’ll get a human to feed on, and talk about the old times. Or maybe our chapter’s done. Whatever the case, it was a pleasure working with all of you. When I was alive I was an only child, and I don’t know if this is what having brothers and sisters is like, but it’ll do.

            Together everyone watched the video where we told the humans and other beings who watched the channels that VampFed, VampFed Nerd, and Vampires Be Like were canceled. We filmed our last VampFed podcast where we talked about the good memories and many nights we had spent together like a family. Because that’s what VampFed had become, a family.

[elevenhoursinfront-blog]

12th September 2017

0530 alarm. Here we go again. Week 5, let's go. I didn't sleep well and I woke up around 0100 to go to the bathroom. I stupidly ended up going on my phone texting my mum which was a mistake. I know never to pick my phone up if I want to go back to sleep. Moron. 

We woke up and I seriously couldn't be bothered. It was the first day of the full days and everyone is in a miserable mood. Everyone except Jack who's last day it is today. He must be buzzing. Steve keeps saying he cannot wait for the day that we go in and we don't have to go back. Roll on 14th November!

We got into the van and had to wait for Lucy as per normal. You have to be in the van by 0640 and if you're not, we're meant to leave. No exceptions. Luckily, we're easy going people and we have to wait until 0645 every single morning for her which really winds me up. It's not difficult, it's just five minutes. If it's that much of a struggle, put the alarm on just 5 minutes before.

We got to work and had to start straight away. I stood at my spot and Tristan came over and asked whether I could go at the back until Steph came in at 0800. Fine, but I hate the back and I will be moving. I had to be at the back with Sharon, the ozzy lady. She hadn't been at the back before and she was not happy about it either.

We started working and we could no longer do large boxes – only extra large. The large is 14kg and extra large is 16kg. When you've made a large box, you have to put a single banana on the top so that Cait knows which lid to place on top. It's great being able to do both, it's much easier. If your box doesn't make the 16kg then you can shove it as a large.

I picked up a banana and there was a massive spider on it. I screamed and jumped off my step. Sharon said “oh, I saw that one. Nasty”. I was quite annoyed that she had seen the spider, kept quiet and waited for me to pick it up. I know that she has a fear of spiders so whenever I see one, I tell her. You generally just mention to anyone if there's some sort of wildlife there just out of kindness. Obviously not this time though... One of the Philippino girls had to get the spider for me, brave thing. Rather her than me!

I carried on packing when a massive grasshopper jumped out at me. Another heart attack, another scream. How embarrassing. Grasshoppers are absolutely massive here and they look like they'd be able to rob you of your home. I was saved, once again. My mood was getting worse by the minute.

I ran out of paper and went to fill up when a frog jumped out at me! SERIOUSLY?! Why is this happening to me? All within the same session. My heart won't take much more of this wildlife. The bell went finally and I couldn't wait to get away from my spot.

I explained my rubbish day so far to Steve and he just said “That's Tuesday's for you”. Which is true to be fair. Who can go back to work on the first day and not have anything go wrong? It's definitely not what I wanted to hear though. I wanted sympathy and attention.

The day continued to get worse and worse. The bananas coming down were rubbish. They were far too small and I was struggling to get the weight of 16kg. Steph came into work but didn't ask for her spot, she just jumped into mine. That put my mood down. I had my stuff laid out there, even my water and she put it on the floor. Why, why, why?

Steph ended up leaving early, after second break for some strange reason. She was crying and holding her tummy. I reckon she's pregnant. We'll see though. I also reckon Maggie is pregnant too, she's had a far few sicknesses in the past few days.

The end of the day didn't come quick enough but the moment that bell went, we were all out of the shed faster than you can say freedom. We had to wait for Lucy, of course. Like we always do...

A new girl called Stephi started today. She's not new to us at the Kookaburra as she's been there working elsewhere for a while. She asked Leonie for Vicki's number to get onto the waiting list. Vicki replied saying “Hi, yes you can start work on Monday as we have a position available, but you must bring me chocolate cake!!”. Stephi did just that and took her a cake. Only, Leonie gave Stephi the wrong number and someone pretended to be Vicki. Vicki was shocked and couldn't believe the situation but said to Stephi to stay for now as a replacement. Vicki is too soft, if that were Jenny, Jenny would've laughed and sent her home then and there.

Jen, the girl I usually talk too at work from Wigan has broken her ankle. She broke it that day I was meant to be going out with them to the waterfalls. I'm lucky I didn't go because that would've 100% been me. Poor girl. She didn't go to the hospital until 2 weeks later to see whether the massive swollen purple-ness would go down... I told her to go straight away but she didn't listen. Now she can't work for 6 weeks. She can barely move.

We got back to the hostel and I thought to go and check the post. I had 2 parcels waiting for me! How exciting! I rushed back to my room to open them. They were from my Dad and Ange, EEEEEK!

I opened them after spending the rest of my year away trying to get through the duct tape... Thanks guys. I had loads of birthday cards waiting which Steve took as I'm not allowed yet. Chocolate bars, tea, coffee, sweetener, Snack A Jacks, Iced Gems, hot chocolate, and loads more! We're in heaven. I love care packages from home. It's been a while since we last got one which was from Steve's Mum and Nan.

We had a little pick at some of the things which was great but we had to eat dinner first otherwise we would've eaten everything that was sent. Steve was having the left over chilli and I had tuna with lettuce. We sat outside chatting away to Hugo and Matt for ages. I was desperate for an early night so around 1900, I told Steve I was going inside. He came in with me. 

We got into bed and put a film on. I wanted to watch Moana for ages and we have a fair bit of data left so we treated ourselves as it finally came out on Netflix. I was so excited. 

The film finished around 2030 and my mum text to see whether I was around. I FaceTimed her for a bit but by 2110, I needed to go to sleep. I said my goodbyes and went to sleep.

So much for an early night.

[missabigailwyatt]

‘Sweeng’ of Cesaro

Since the Hardys have returned to the WWE, it’s only natural I wrote a little fanfic for them. But this one also involves Cesaro and a certain new General Manager. Oh, and I have written them as their Broken forms as I live in hope that they will win that lawsuit. Oh, and Jeff/Nero uses the f word about five times here, just warning you. Tagging time: @allgirlswrestlingclub @helluvawriter @laochbaineann @moxtiel @gelinas22 @heyitstatianita @hardcorewwetrash

Despite their show not starting for a good few hours, Cesaro was already backstage in the locker room and getting acclimatised to the venue. He'd claimed a locker for which to store his stuff and now he was sat down, wondering if he had been the first to arrive.

"I hope Sheamus doesn't take too long to get here," he muttered to himself, stretching his legs out. "I need to talk strategy regarding this match with them."

He began to hear a pair of voices from down the corridor at that moment; one of the accents sounding foreign, it was soon clear that neither voice was Sheamus'. The voices grew louder as they got closer, especially as the voices' owners made their way into the locker room.

"Mister Cesaro!"

He looked up, coming face to face with two familiar figures in the form of the Hardys. Matt seemed to have a slightly crazy yet affectionate smile on his face and Jeff seemed rather irritated by his brother's optimism.

"Salut," Cesaro began, smiling at them. "I mean, hi. You are the fabled Hardys me and Sheamus are facing tonight, yes?"

"Fabled," Matt retorted, seeming a little embarrassed as a grin formed on his face. "You needn't go to that much. We are just brokenly brilliant."

"Ok then," he said, giving a nod. "Did you need me for anything?"

"As a matter of fact, there is," he began. "Brother Nero here has asked me to ask you if you will do to him the 'Sweeng' of Cesaro."

"He wants me to Cesaro Swing him?" The other male questioned in response, quickly glancing around the locker room. "There isn't a lot of room. I might end up banging his head on something."

"Not in here," Jeff said, shaking his head. "In the ring. More room in there." And it seemed that Cesaro agreed: ten minutes later, the trio were inside the ring. Cesaro and Matt were simply standing around as Jeff was squatted on top of one of the turnbuckles. “See,” he said, grinning. “Plenty more space.” “Brother Nero, get down from there,” Matt said, his annoyance tinged with concern. “I cannot delete the other tag teams on my own if you hurt yourself.” Sighing, Jeff jumped down from the turnbuckle, landing just infront of his brother.

"Please do not let this 'sweenging' turn into an adeection," Matt then said, sighing. "The jumping off the ladders is bad enough."

"I just want to try it," Jeff retorted, staring at him. "Plus Cesaro seems cool. Seems trustworthy."

"I'm gonna need you to lie down on the floor," Cesaro began to explain, gesturing to the canvas mat.

"Ok then," Jeff replied, doing as he was told. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, only to be gently poked in the side by the Swiss Superman's foot.

"I thought you wanted the Cesaro Swing, not a nap," he retorted, though he had a grin on his face at the same time. "I'll only start when you're ready."

"Do it," the Hardy immediately responded, not skipping a beat.

He gently grabbed Jeff's legs and began to slowly spin on the spot, causing him to rise inch by inch from the ground. As Cesaro then began to properly get into the rhythm of his move, the spinning got faster and faster.

"Woohooooo!" Jeff yelled, seeming to enjoy it.

At that moment however, Cesaro's knee appeared to give away; shunting forwards to regain his balance, the Swiss male involuntarily lowered the Hardy to the group with a thud, causing him to heavily bash his head against the canvas mat flooring of the ring.

Cesaro said nothing but he didn't seem to be in a lot of pain; unlike Jeff, who seemed to be breathing heavily through pained, gritted teeth.

"FUCK!!" He exclaimed, only to be immediately chided by his brother.

"Brother Nero! We do not do the using of the F word! Especially not here in the WWE!"

"But it fucking hurts!!" Jeff then exclaimed, still seeming pained as he found it too difficult to sit up, much to Cesaro's concern.

"Oh mon dieu, I'm so sorry," he gabbled, bending down to his level. "My knee, I think she suddenly went for a moment."

"I know this was not on purpose," Matt said, gently patting him on the shoulder as he bent down to his brother's level. "You have nothing to apologise for."

"Is he ok though?" Cesaro asked, sounding concerned. "That sounded like it hurt, he could be really--"

He was suddenly interrupted by Matt gently placing a finger on the Swiss male's lips and shushing him.

"Brother Nero is the toughest entity I know. He shall be fine after some green beans."

"If you give me a single green bean, I will fucking cut you."

"Brother Nero! What did I say about the using of the F word! Do you need to be put in your box of the timing-out?"

"Fuck the box of the timing-out! I need a drink."

"Sheamus might have some," Cesaro hastily interrupted, having not wanted the argument to escalate any further. "Not sure you should be drinking before the show though."

At that moment the trio could hear footsteps approaching the ring; said footsteps belonging to the new General Manager Kurt Angle, who seemed to be a little confused and concerned about their presence.

"What are you guys doing in here? We need to prepare this ring for tonight's show."

"Just practising," Cesaro calmly responded, gesturing to the now sat-up Jeff. "I thought that maybe I could surprise the crowd by performing the Cesaro Swing on Jeff."

"Brother Nero!"

"...I mean Brother Nero," the Swiss male then said, as a nervous chuckle escaped him.

"That actually sounds like a good idea," Kurt replied, giving a content nod. "Just promise me you'll behave, Je-- Ahem. Brother Nero.

"Don't tell me what to do," Jeff retorted, then gently flopping back onto the canvas mat for a lie down.

"I'm the General Manager," Kurt then said, raising an eyebrow but he still had a smile on his face. "It's kinda my job. And I'm afraid you can't rest there. Like I said, we need to get this place ready for the show tonight."

"Brother Nero, you should probably listen to the Manager Man with the medal," Matt said, staring at him. "Or they will send us to Smackdown where the Bray of Wyatt lurks."

"Don't give a fuck. Sleeping," Jeff retorted, a small yawn escaping him as he then pretended to go to sleep.

"You're not in the Attitude Era now," Kurt warned him, sounding serious. "Watch the language. Now I want you guys gone within the next five minutes.” Deciding that doing what he said would be best, the trio began to make their way out of the ring. However, Kurt couldn't help but notice the slight, pained limp that Cesaro seemed to have. “Cesaro,” the General Manager said, still sounding serious. “I want you to go see the medical team. Now.” “It's noth--” the Swiss male could be heard to say, but he was soon interrupted by Matt who had put a gentle arm around him. “Don't worry, Manager Kurt of Angle, I will make sure Mister Cesaro gets checked up. Myself and Brother Nero are the only broken ones here after all...”

[luminoustico]

What was your vampire diaries otp?

*16-year-old me comes bursting into the clearing*

HOLD UP DUDES, BUCKLE UP BECAUSE I NEED TO INTRODUCE YOU TO THE OTP THAT STILL HOLDS A PORTION OF MY HEART, SIX YEARS ON FROM ME THROWING MY HANDS INTO THE AIR AND SAYING ‘FUCK THIS SHIT I AM O-U-T’.

Iiiiiiiit’s…

These fuckers!

Oh, I was happy and dandy, completely fine watching The Vampire Diaries as a sort of guilty pleasure. It wasn’t the best show around, I didn’t really follow the storylines, found Stefan a bit boring, Elena dull, Damon your average ‘vampire bad boy’, but I really stayed watching it for the minor characters, like Bonnie, Jeremy, Matt, Tyler and Caroline because I felt like they were really kind of the flesh of the show. Their dynamics were the meat of it, and that’s what kept me tuning in.

Then Caroline Forbes got turned into a vampire. This bright, peppy character suddenly had a power she never expected to have. A strength I never expected the stereotypical cheerleader in this sort of show to have. It changed everything.

The Vampire Diaries basically became the Caroline Forbes Show, for me. I wanted more of this sunshine with this unlimited life and power.

And then Klaus Mikaelson rolled up. Your standard vampire villain, with a tragic backstory of shitty dad being shitty, and a bloodthirsty need to take over the world via the conversion of numerous mortals into vampire/werewolf hybrids.

So, those are the two pieces on the chessboard. The white queen, Caroline Forbes, socialite vampire grappling with the organisation of prom and her own immortality. The black king, Klaus Mikaelson, British-accented vampire villain with a penchant for witty one-liners and slowly making his way up the list of favourite characters. Destined, pretty much, never to meet until the end of the game.

Then the show kicked things up a notch, some hybrid stuff happened in badly lit scenes, and Caroline ended up, on her birthday, slowly dying in her bed from a bite given to her by her boyfriend. Klaus shows up. Laying out the red carpet of faux concern: “oh my gosh Caroline got bit by Tyler, a hybrid??? Sired to me??? What an amazing coincidence!!! Now invite me in, there’s a good girl, toodle pip”. Obviously part of some bigger plan that’ll come into play. Sherriff lets him in.

So here’s the black king standing in the doorway of the white queen’s bedroom. There lies the white queen pale and sickly, dying, with ironic 'Happy Birthday!’ cards arranged artfully on a bedside table. The king is in a position of power; this is acknowledged as soon as he walks in the door, as it always tends to be when Klaus Mikaelson walks into a room but hey, let’s focus here. 

Some standard 'you’re the Big Bad, I’m the friend of the Holy Good why the fuck are you here’ dialogue is exchanged. Klaus Mikaelson, the sage old king, mentions that he likes birthdays; that Caroline, the newly appointed queen, as a vampire, is duty-bound to celebrate the now non-existent commitment she has to human conventions.

“You’re free,” the old king breathes.

“No…” replies the new queen. She flicks her eyes up and meets the old king with a stare as deep as his. “I’m dying.”

A-ha! The playing field is equal. The moves have shrunk. They shrink further still as the king admits he still holds the ace – her life. He could indeed, let her die. At this moment, I expected some corny claptrap about how her death wouldn’t affect the grand scheme of things, how she was never to be a part of his plan—

“I thought about it myself.” Hello? What’s going on here? “Once or twice.”

The old king leans closer to the new queen, young and green in her reign, and tells her that there is a whole world out there, and suddenly, immortality pales in comparison to the promises of music, and art, “genuine beauty”. Immortality ain’t beautiful. The world is.

She can have it all, “a thousand more birthdays”. If the new queen just asks. She can reign everywhere, anywhere she wishes for as long as she wants. Human conventions be damned.

Textually, it’s obviously a power play. Klaus is gaining an alliance from Sherriff Forbes, and a debt from Caroline Forbes, which he will no doubt call on. Caroline surrenders, admits that she doesn’t want to die after all.

But what’s she saying yes to? She’s saying yes to all those birthdays, the art, the music, the promise of genuine beauty.

So drink up, whispers the king. The queen drinks, she sleeps, and she wakes to find a bracelet of astonishing, genuine, beauty contained in a black velvet box with a neat white bow and a scrawled note. “From Klaus”.

Then, nine episodes later, at a 1920s themed dance, the old king makes his intentions very clear to the new queen. It’s clear she knows the debt that hangs over her head, the connection that haunts Tyler, so she acquiesces to his request for one dance. “I don’t bite,” he says silkily. There’s the old 'Big Bad/loyal to Holy Good friend’ dialogue exchange, as before. Then, a reiteration of his promise of the whole world, worded differently, but still there. The old king speaks of waiting for 100 years for her to accept his offer, his promises, as if to do so is easier than breathing. Oh, the new queen side-eyes him, but the pieces shift, the game changes and she’s looking at him in a whole new way. He looks at her with a depth not found in the eyes of a small town boy. She breaks it with a scoff, and there’s your standard 'Big Bad is pissed off’ dialogue from Klaus before he storms off. And, quite crucially, she looks back.

Anyone who has watched any period drama ever knows the importance of looking back.

And just one single episode later, Caroline Forbes is running down a corridor, your standard horror film shot. She is alone, scared, frightened. She is caught by Klaus Mikaelson, her saviour not ten episodes ago, who has twice offered her the world and all its beauty. Not its glories, not its triumphs. Its beauty. 

He promises to save her friend and brushes his fingers over her hair as if it’s already second nature to him to treat her this kindly, this intimately. (Do not get me started on how he cradles her when she drinks his blood, do not.) He tells her, fiercely, to get home and stay safe.

“Do you understand me?” barks he.

“Thank you,” she says. She looks at him like she still cannot work him out, and is afraid because of it. But the thanks is as easy as breathing.

For reasons that are known as ‘I cannot put up with this shit writing for a moment longer’, I give up on the show come season 3 finale. I watch clips of their scenes on YouTube, scrabble for any desperate hope that the potential I saw and shipped and loved is still there. It falls down, down the drain and I personally like to pretend anything past season 3 doesn’t exist.

So now, here I am. 22 years old with 16 years old me screeching the dying screech of a frustrated fangirl whenever she sees a gifset of Klaus Mikaelson and Caroline Forbes together on her Tumblr dashboard because you had a queen with power yet to be unlocked and a king willing to give her that power in exchange for being allowed to worship her as he always wanted to, and because of some shit to do with hybrids, it all went tits up.

But those fuckers called Klaus Mikaelson and Caroline Forbes? They have a portion of my heart (the right ventricle, to be specific) that continues to beat for the queen and king that almost ruled together. #foreverbitter

[sl-walker]

21, 25, 40.

 21. least favorite character to write

Depends on the fandom.  With due South, I can’t say I have a least favorite?  Because I legit love all of them for some reason or another.  Some are harder; I struggle with Kowalski’s voice.  I’m not as good at Bob or Frannie, I can’t write Dewey.  But it’s not a favorite thing, just an Erin-is-their-voice thing. XD

25. favorite line you’ve ever written

Pfft.  Wow, no, it’s impossible to narrow it down to one.  But I do have ones I love, so have some of those.  And they’re really more passages than lines.  And this is not a comprehensive list.

Turnbull stepped closer, shoving down the sick anxiety in his gut. He could summon no satisfaction at Hawthorne taking a small step back. But he dropped his voice to just one note above a whisper, locking gazes with the man: "If you put your hands on him again, I will break every bone in them."

It wasn't an empty threat. He meant every word. - Betrayal, Arch to the Sky

"--here. Since you lost yours saving the Grey."After a moment of staring at it, Scotty carefully took the new penlight. He had reached for his old one countless times since he lost it, and missed it quite a bit when he was trying to work on something in cramped or low-lit places. It had really never left his possession from when it was given to him, to when it slipped from his fingers under the Lady Grey, and despite not really saying anything about it, he had quietly mourned the loss.It was both surprising and not surprising at all that Corry had noticed anyway.He looked it over, not holding onto it too hard for the sake of not marring the new matte black surface with the grease from his hands. Then held it out of his own shadow to read the little letters, etched silver, around the light-end of it."Wolf," he said, and wanted to make a joke about it being puppy, cub or mutt, but he couldn't quite make himself speak much more past the constricted feeling in his chest."In case you find yourself in the dark." Corry managed to keep a fairly steady note. "At least you won't be there alone."  - On the Nature of Wind, Arc of the Wolf

"Abigail Hanson," Corry replied, not looking away from her."Really?" Scotty had to look again. He remembered Corry had once pointed her out as one of Rachel's friends, years ago now, but it had been at a distance. Though, he remembered her looking a lot more fragile then than she looked now. "Followed her father?""Kinda. He was a marine, she's shore patrol. Her Dad still lives here, but...""But ye haven't gotten the nerve up to ask her out?"Corry managed to tear his attention away from Abigail long enough to give his best friend an irritated look. "I'm working on it, I'm working on it!""Right." Scotty got to his feet, and was thoroughly amused at the horrified look Cor gave him. He didn't even make it two steps, though, before Corry had gotten up and dragged him back. "What? I was just gonna ask if she wanted some coffee," he said, innocently, though he didn't put up a fight. That might end with him in a headlock."I'll ask her out, I swear. But gimme a little time, okay?"There was enough sincerity in the exasperated plea. After a few seconds of pretending to think about it, Scotty let Corry off the hook and sat back down. But he still found it kind of funny that Corry watched her all the way until she was out the door again. There was something about the whole thing that felt like hope.And for a moment, he was aware of the before, and the now, and in a way that was almost wonderful, something down the road that was only an impression. But a good one.Maybe even a great one.It didn't last long, but it lasted long enough. - Bookends, Arc of the Wolf

--okay, pretty much the entire story Thunder from the Arc of the Wolf.

Honestly, I could probably quote something from every single story in that because it’s about the closest thing I’ve ever have to a magnum opus.  I’ll be telling it the rest of my life, I think.

"No domestics tonight," Corporal Chase said, leaning against the counter.

Turnbull held his tea close to his chest; the steam curling up off of it felt good on his face, even as it threatened to make his eyes sting again. "That's... good, sir."

Chase nodded, then fell silent for long seconds, looking over the otherwise empty detachment building under the harsh fluorescent lights. Then he looked over, eyebrows up. "Good tea?"

"Yes, sir." Turnbull barely thought to taste it, but it wasn't off-putting. Severn had, indeed, saved him quite a bit of it as well. He was not so sure what to make of that kindness right now. "Thank you for bringing it back."

He could feel that scrutiny when it landed on him again; for the first time in a very long time, he felt like flinching under it. He knew that Chase would not ask. Still, he sometimes wondered -- worried -- just how much the Corporal knew and could see.

He buried himself in a sip of the tea, and prayed that he was not so transparent that the battering he felt was visible. For all of the literal bruises he had worn in his life, none were more humiliating than the invisible ones he was wearing now.

"I'll pick up another box next time I'm down there," Chase finally said, as though he had come to a decision, and then stood up straight, heading for the door. "Stay safe out there tonight, Turnbull." - River, Arch to the Sky

"No, sir. You see, they will repaint my cruiser in that ridiculous rainbow scheme they came up with only after they forcibly, bodily remove me from her frame."

Mike Chase snorted a sip of coffee up his nose, then turned away and almost choked to death on it, and even then he couldn't quit laughing.

Turnbull shot him a startled look, Russ rolled his eyes in long-suffering frustration, and Mike held his free hand up, waving 'no, keep going, this is comedy gold!' - Caprice, Arch to the Sky

Ray was a hustler. He could hide the lump in his throat, hide the ache in his chest, convince people that he was someone that he wasn't.

"I'll miss you," she said to him, the last night he was in Chicago, the last night he was allowed to be home, when it finally became clear that none of them could talk him out of it.

"Here," Ray said, giving her the box. "Don't open it 'til I'm gone, though, okay?"

In the sunlight coming through the windows of the plane the next day, Ray wrapped the memory of his little three-year-old sister holding a marble around a million others, in some place where not even a hustler like him could reach. Somewhere it would be safe. - Hustler, Arch to the Sky

"I am in love with you."

Turnbull said it quite clearly, reaching up to adjust the rearview mirror so that he could see Ray's expression. He didn't even bother to be sly about it. No more of this. This was ridiculous; one way or another, he was risking heartbreak. He might as well risk it with his chin up and his boots on, metaphorically speaking.

Ray's perfect composure didn't crack, so much as bleed a little. A faint hitch in his breath. He steadfastly didn't look up meet that gaze in the mirror. There was something besides blankness in eyes reflecting pale green and gold sunlight, though Turnbull could not quite read what. Perhaps fear. Which spoke for both of them, but damned if he would quit now.

"I cannot give you any precise time when I realized this. I suppose that, in a sense, it crept up on me. I can tell you for certain that it was only a few days ago that I had finally managed to make myself speak the words aloud, though I venture I have felt something for you for longer than I have been willing to admit, even to myself." Turnbull kept his eyes on that mirror. He felt wired to move right now, and it wasn't to run away.

Ray finally spoke, in a rush, "I didn't mean--"

"I realize that." Rarely did Turnbull interrupt someone without remorse. "I realize that you would reiterate what you had said last night: That you expected nothing, nor wanted anything of me. I realize you had not anticipated this. However, I will not allow you to continue blaming yourself for it, as though you had somehow seduced me into falling in love with you."

He definitely had Ray's attention now; those eyes finally caught his in the mirror, and that expression was more definably fear now. It ached, fiercely, right in his chest. Then Ray shook his head, a manic little motion, and looked away. "Ren..."

"No, Ray. Look at me." The words were firm, and Ray did look back up, even though he quite clearly had to fight himself to do it. "I am here because I chose to be. I would be a liar if I said that I didn't struggle against the notion for quite some time, but that wasn't because you were somehow unworthy of that loyalty or love."

Turnbull could see the protest start up, and shook his head to cut it off. He didn't think for a moment that Ray would believe those words, but they needed to be said, and he was determined to finish. "That was my own fear, on any number of levels. You are correct; that is, I don't see you as a time-bomb, someone to pity or someone to watch fall apart at the seams. I see you as someone who hurts, who I love, and to paraphrase what you said to me: I'm not going anywhere." - Any Way Up, Arch to the Sky

Legitimately the entire story Half a Teal Deer in Midnight Blue.  It’s Mike at his comedic, deadpan best.

Catherine Marie Johannsen, Constable in the RCMP, was a proud feminist.She approved of her former FTO's pick in fiancees; Cindy Mason was a tiny thing, but she had a quick grin and sharp eyes. She wasn't the least bit demure. She was established in a career, and Mike was absolutely smitten with her. Cath had gotten an earful of chatter when Mike called her to invite her to his wedding; he couldn't stop talking about her.Naturally, Cath was quick to agree to attend the wedding, but what she was going to wear was a little more difficult.After the introductions were past, after the greeting and the hugging and the restaurant wrangling, they ended up all going to dinner together and that was when Cathy successfully managed to get Mike to snort water up his nose and spend three or four minutes coughing, waving his hands in the air like a teenage cheerleader slap fight with only one participant.How she did it was surprisingly simple: "Hey, did you ever tell Cindy about that time I got into your pants?" - Cherry Red, Midnight Blue

Turnbull looked up at him, wide-eyed. Desperation. Destruction. It was, by far, the most emotionally raw expression Mike had ever seen on Turnbull's face, and it clawed through his own chest.

"I'm sorry," Turnbull said, plaintive and pleading, begging for something only he could ever know through chattering teeth. "I'm sorry."

When Russ showed up, God only knew how long later, Turnbull had sobbed himself half-senseless into Mike's shoulder, and Mike was still holding onto him, shushing and patting on his back and trying desperately to figure out how to pick up the pieces to put them back together, and cutting himself on every one. - Snow, Midnight Blue

He had always threatened, jokingly, that they would get his cruiser when they pried her from his cold, dead fingers. Over his dead body. Them and what army. Because he had gotten 414 new, and with her came one of the warmest, happiest times of his life. He fell in love with Cindy. He fell in love with Nipawin. He built friendships. He hunted and fished and curled and played hockey sometimes, and he planned cookouts and he restored a house. He got his ninth rook. He patrolled afternoons and sometimes days and sometimes midnights; he responded to hundreds and hundreds of calls, rescued people, arrested people, lived eight hours or more a day sitting in this seat, drove thousands upon thousands of kilometers, maintaining the right, for years.

He knew, of course, that it wasn't permanent. But he thought he'd maybe arrange to buy this cruiser when time ran out. Fanciful, idealistic thoughts; he could keep 414 forever. Maybe sans police equipment, but still. He'd thought that before everything happened; could picture Russ goodnaturedly rolling his eyes, and Cindy smiling her knowing, head-shaking smile, and Turnbull would definitely understand. Mitch and Sandy would never stop teasing him about keeping his mistress and his wife on the same property. And he would keep his old cruiser; the Mountie with his favorite steed, even if he had to put her out to pasture.

In the end, he didn't. Didn't have the money, didn't have the strength. It was another goodbye, in a long string of goodbyes, and Mike felt each and every one, with every heartbeat.

When he came into work tomorrow, she would be gone.

No one would ever call for him with bravo four-fourteen again.

Mike put his hands on the bottom of the steering wheel, and the bridge of his nose to the top. There weren't enough tears for the losses; not in him, not even in the rain.

But he gave what he had, anyway. - B414, Midnight Blue

40. which one of your stories would you most like to see as a movie/series

Toss up between Midnight Blue and Arc of the Wolf, both of which would make amazing animated series.  But I totally get to handle the voice casting. XD