#sweet spot between old construction and new construction problems

[coldgoldlazarus]

Metroid Prime 4 Wishlist: Remastered

I decided to look back at this old list again, and while I more-or-less stand by what I said at the time, I still wanted to get a bit more in-depth with some of it, as well as discuss new thoughts I hadn't had at the time. So in the spirit of Prime's recentish remaster and Echoes' hopefully upcoming rerelease, here's a new and improved wishlist of things I would like to see in Prime 4. I'm certainly not expecting all of this, and I won't even be too disappointed if most of it doesn't come true. But still, here's what I'm personally hoping for, at least.

World Design & Exploration

1. One Interconnected World: While I respect Corruption's efforts to broaden the scope with multiple planets, and it did fit that particular story well, I still would rather sticking with one planet and getting to know it more intimately, like in Prime and Echoes. A possible compromise of approaches could be to have a main planet with multiple regions and then some orbiting moons with their own isolated biomes that wouldn't fit with the rest, but either way I want a smaller scope and a bigger, more complex map.

2. Naturalistic Layout, Smooth Progression: Prime's world layout was interesting and unpredictable, but the pacing and smoothness of progression was marred by Magmoor and the frequent ping-ponging through it. Meanwhile, Echoes had a generally much more consistent progression, but achieved through a very straightforward and artificial world layout. I feel like a nice sweet spot between would be ideal, capitalizing on the advantages of both approaches while mitigating the downsides.

3. Splitting/Parallel Progression Paths: One of the things Hollow Knight did very well was in balancing the metroidvania upgrade loop against the freedom to explore. (To a certain extent Super Metroid had this as well, but not to the same degree.) Meanwhile the first three Prime games, much as I love them, suffer in replayability due to having a very defined and fairly railroaded progression path obscured by the backtracking.

I would like Prime 4 to try loosening that path and allow for upgrades to be obtained and bosses to be fought in different orders, (at the very minimum, intentionally allowed sequence breaking like in Super and Dread, without relying on stuff like the Scandash glitch) while maintaining enough structure for the progression to follow the intended story. Again, Hollow Knight is a strong example to look to.

4: Gunship As Fast-Travel: While I again favor a single-planet approach to exploration, I still think Corruption's heavier use of the gunship should be carried forward, and one of the ways that could happen would also address the problems in backtracking that Prime had. Having the ability to discover and clear access to other landing pads on-foot that the gunship could then be called to and travel between would be immensely useful. It could make late-game cleanup easier, reduce padding, and keep the ship relevant, rather than gathering dust in the far corner.

Ideally these pads would still be fairly spaced out, I think one per major region would fit the bill, but it would still be a nice way of reducing frustration in the lategame without completely trivializing exploration beforehand. (Just don't play the arrival fanfare Every Single Time she steps out of it, please)

5: Diverse Area/Room Layouts: One of Echoes' strengths, I feel, is in how the individual regions were constructed to each have their own distinct feeling. Prime's areas were either fairly gridlike (Ruins, Phendrana) with some occasional unconventional parts, or long hallways; (Magmoor, Mines) (yes the mines were a hallway it was just curled up) while Corruption's were all mostly just hallways, aside from the Pirate Homeworld; but with Echoes every region had their own style.

The Temple grounds were a big ring, with some branches and the Federation tunnels off to the side and the temple in the center, while Sanctuary Fortress was a pair of T-intersection halls stacked atop each other. Agon Wastes was a huge spread-out grid of big arenas connected by narrow corridors, while Torvus Bog was a tight, heavily interconnected web that had you going in dizzying spirals until more shortcuts were unlocked. Every one stood out not just in aesthetic, but in how it felt to actually traverse them, and I hope Prime 4 maintains that sort of variety.

6. More Verticality: While elevators afford some semblance of topography, and Prime's Phazon Mines and Echoes' Sanctuary Fortress in particular had some of this proper going on, I would love to see Retro take full advantage of the third dimension. From individual rooms, to broad areas, to the world as a whole, I want to see something more layered and topographically interesting, adding literally a new dimension to exploring throughout.

7. Mazelike Complexity, Grounded By Strong Landmarks: One of the things Samus Returns and Dread did that admittedly many don't like, but that I kinda do, is taking advantage of newer hardware to create a bigger, more complex map overall than prior 2D games, making for a more dense and mazey feeling. I personally would like to see Prime 4 do something similar, making each area bigger and with more rooms each, for a more complex layout on the whole with more to explore and discover.

However, where I do agree that this approach somewhat hampered SR and Dread was the aesthetic being overly-consistent (particularly in EMMI zones) and aside from a few specific rooms, not much in the way of memorable landmarks to use in navigation. While it had a more detailed map (and more railroading by blocking off prior areas) to lean on to mitigate this, it still makes navigation confusing rather than fun.

I feel like Prime 4 has an opportunity to rectify that with both more distinct individual rooms, and use of big landmarks (or even parts of other visitable areas) visible from multiple different rooms, (such as the shielded seed on Bryyo in Corruption) to keep navigation intuitive despite the greater complexity of the layout.

Upgrades & Features

1. Extremely Customizable Map Screen: Dread was a step in the right direction with the ability to place personal markers wherever, (which I definitely want to see here too,) but some have also said the level of detail in it can either be too easy or too overwhelming. I would like the ability to control the level of detail of what the map shows, whether it's Dread's positive deluge of information, the Prime trilogy's more straightforward marking of door types and simplified room layouts, Super's simple boxes, or even no map at all like in the original Metroid. Similarly, a feature like Corruption's Skytown Observatory, to mark uncollected upgrades in the map once you've progressed to a certain point in the game, but also still very optional.

Similarly, I would want map stations to be clearly delineated, (as I once attempted a playthrough of Prime with only the map showing places I had already been, only to mistake a map room for a missile refill and ruin it for myself,) and for the hint system to be able to be turned off like in Prime and Echoes, rather than mandatory like in Fusion, Zero Mission, and Corruption. In general, let people decide how much assistance they do or don't want in their exploration.

2. Retain Beam Swapping: While I know many people will likely disagree with me on this one, I personally favor the Prime/Echoes approach of swapping between distinct beams, rather than the flat stacking of effects like in Corruption and the 2D games.

While combat is honestly a secondary concern to me, I still feel like needing to change back and forth based on different enemies and contexts gave it a more engaging feeling compared to simply growing more straightforwardly powerful in Corruption. (Ironic given that one was the most combat-oriented of the three.) I will agree that the color-coding in parts of Prime wasn't the most exciting way of doing it, but Echoes' light/dark system was implemented better/more subtly, and I trust Prime 4 could similarly keep it fresh and interesting.

Alternatively, a good compromise between the two could be done like I said in another post a while back; having both specific beam types (IE wave, ice, plasma, dark & light) that need to be swapped between, and other stacking upgrades (such as the long beam, spazer, diffusion, etc) that impact how it fires. This could be a good way to have our cake and eat it, having that feeling of growth and evolution while maintaining the slightly deeper context switching system as well.

2.5. No Beam Ammo: While I do honestly like that as a feature in Echoes and felt it fit well there and added to the experience, I also feel like it is probably best kept there for now, unless Prime 4 somehow winds up involving the Luminoth again.

3. Keep Scanning Big, Freshen Up Other Visors: This is a more straightforward one. Again, I love the Scan Visor and I hope it remains a central feature of the game.

However, I'll also agree with those who have said that the trilogy thus far has kinda struggled with what to do with later visor upgrades. Prime's Thermal visor, while functional enough, still has few fans, and Echoes' Dark visor is a more limited and extremely contextual version of the X-Ray.

The Echo visor, meanwhile, I feel was an absolute win in terms of concept, but hamstrung by also being very limited in its actual utility. I realize there was only so much that could be done with it given an already-ambitious game running on the Gamecube's limited hardware, but given how pervasive sound actually is, I wish it had been given its full dues. Similarly, I think Corruption's Command visor was an interesting and smart addition, but also felt somewhat limited in the same way the Gunship as a whole was.

If either of those two make a comeback I hope they do more with them. If they introduce new visors, I hope those can also be unique and interesting additions; and given enough varied use-cases to be utilized throughout the game, rather than simply a handful of extremely specific moments.

4: More Original Upgrades And Suits: On that note, I hope Prime 4 maintains the trilogy's trend of adding new upgrades and even new upgrade branches (such as the visors and gunship), rather than simply falling back on the tried-and-true collection from Super. Especially nice in Echoes and Corruption were the new suits, and I particularly hope for Prime 4 to add some new interesting designs, off of the beaten Power/Varia/Gravity progression path.

5. Bring Back The Speed Booster: As hypocritical as this may be coming off of the last point, I hope to see an implementation of the speed booster and shinespark in 3D. Other M of all games managed to pull this off well, and I see no reason why Prime 4 couldn't do the same. Shinespark puzzles may have to be simpler than in the 2D games, admittedly, but I feel like it could still be utilized well enough to be worth that.

Furthermore, while some people insist this could only work in a third-person perspective, I personally disagree, and hope Retro will be daring enough to let the speed be felt from inside the helmet. (Though bear in mind my bias as a weirdo, who likes to play racing games from an inside-vehicle PoV when able.) Dread's Fast EMMI cutscene was a good tease of what this could be like.

6. Run Button & Parkour: Speed Booster or not, I feel like another way to alleviate the pacing complaints with the prior Prime games would just be allowing Samus to move a bit faster and be more agile, to make traversal and backtracking less of a slog, and bring it a bit more in-line with the 2D games. (Different planet gravities could be an easy way to justify the discrepancy.)

Similarly, this could take at least some cues from Mirror's Edge for how to make the first-person platforming a bit less clunky and more interesting. On the whole, I would want the generally more relaxed pacing of the Prime series to remain the primary vibe, but the option to move faster and take shortcuts when wanted would be nice to have.

7. Toggleable Upgrades: This is a minor one and probably what I'm least married to overall, but in the spirit of options, it would be fun to bring back the ability to toggle upgrades on and off like in Super and AM2R. They could even make use of it with certain rooms to traverse, or puzzles that require or at least are easier to do with certain ones being temporarily turned off.

Gameplay & Mechanics

1. Control Customization & Quality Of Life: This is a pretty broad and loaded topic to try to cover under a single point, but looking back on the prior trilogy and all of their respective strengths and flaws, it still felt like it warranted mention.

For the controls, Prime Remastered feels like a pretty strong indicator of what to expect, and I do like the ability to choose between the new control scheme and the Gamecube and Wii versions. (And hopefully they'll retain lock-on as a feature even with the gamecube limitations that necessitated it in the rearview, it's just a nice thing to have.) I also feel like they could be taken further, though, with button mapping, and (if possible, I know this is more of a hardware issue with the Switch) stronger and more consistent Gyro controls; given I played the trilogy on the Wii, that is most likely how I will be playing 4 as well, if all goes well.

As far as general quality of life features go, that's a bit harder to discuss in brevity and without foreknowledge of what issues might crop up in Prime 4, so this is mainly based off the precedent of the trilogy. I appreciate some decisions Corruption made in this area, (like the divots in spots where morph ball bomb-jumping will be required, something the Spider Guardian in Echoes could have benefitted from) while feeling others came off as too hand-holdy, so a tactful employment of that sort of thing could be very nice, while something more haphazard could really harm the game.

1.5: Avert Past Mistakes: In a similar fashion, there were certain recurring trends in the first couple that I feel Prime 4 would do well to learn from and avoid repeating. The Chozo Ghosts and Pirate Commandos as frustrating mini-boss-level enemies that reappear in certain rooms and lock you in with them were a consistent irritating time-waster that eventually frayed even my patience. The Cloaked Drone in the Phazon Mines being unscannable was irritating, and in general certain logbook scans and enemies only being obtainable within certain sections of the games were a consistent thorn in my side given my completionism. (And would be especially important to avoid if this winds up being as loose in sequencing as I would hope for.) This one is again more of a world layout issue already covered, but hopefully this can avoid the Magmoor problem. There are other examples escaping me right now, but hopefully this gets the point across.

2. Restrained Keyhunt (If Used): On that note, while I don't mind the endgame keyunts of the trilogy as much as some do, I still agree that they could be A Bit Much. (Particularly in Echoes.) It's possible that Prime 4 could simply choose not to do this at all, given the amount of criticism leveled at the concept, but I feel like it is a fun way to encourage cleanup and isn't inherently terrible. If they do decide to do this, I would hope it takes the best from the Prime and Corruption approaches.

With Prime, they were all out of the way and not mandatory to acquire until the end, but if you were keeping an eye out or knew where to look, the vast majority could be obtainable ahead of time, and there was a consistent spread of what upgrades would be needed for each, allowing one to basically drip-feed them pretty consistently across a playthrough. With Corruption, both the mere fact of only needing two-thirds of the total amount to progress to the finale, and the implementation of a dedicated penultimate area in which they could be used to unlock additional rooms and upgade-expansions, was a nice way of mitigating frustration while rewarding completionism. I feel like a combination of these two features would be a great way to redeem the concept.

3. Introduce New Unique Mechanics, Tactfully: Another thing I like about the latter two games is the way they branched out mechanically from Prime, even outside of the Upgrades. Even if I feel that was handled much better in Echoes with the Dark World, than in Corruption with Hypermode, I respect both attempts. I hope Prime 4 will have a similar unique, defining "Gimmick" to set it apart, but I also would want Retro to implement it with care and restraint, so it doesn't wind up throwing the whole experience off in a "damned if you do damned if you don't" way like with Hypermode. Similarly, more blatant gimmicks like all the motion-control busywork should be avoided.

4. Do More With The Gunship: I've already touched on this a couple times, but one of the mechanics from Corruption I hope sticks around is the Command Visor and making use of the gunship. I appreciate that they held back with it there so as to not be too obnoxious, but I also feel like with that proof-of-concept under their belt, there's room to expand on the whole idea and integrate it more, beyond its use in travel and infrequent bombing runs. Exactly what form that may take I'm not sure, but I am very certain that there is something.

Also, bringing back the dashboard trophies/decorations couldn't hurt! Add more customization than that, even?

5. Bounty Hunting Sidequests: I don't remember where I heard/saw this, but I remember learning that Corruption was planned to have the optional mechanic of a bounty board, where Samus could track down and capture specific targets and so actually fullfill on the whole Bounty Hunter title. It wound up having to be cut early on, and I think narratively it was a good call to leave out, given the urgency of the Phazon Crisis.

But now, assuming Prime 4 is more dialed-back again, (and takes place somewhere more populated, given the Sylux-vs-Federation stuff that's likely to feature) I feel like this would be an opportune time to try that again. (Plus mechanically, it could feed into the gunship customization idea on the last bullet point.)

While the general Metroidvania format of course does limit it slightly, I feel like a good way to handle it would be having bounties show up once you've got the right upgrade to access whatever area a target would be making base in. In the spirit of sidequests it would be purely optional and the targets would only show up in those rooms/handful of rooms if you've signed up for their bounty on the board, but it could be a good way to add some variety to the experience, flesh out Samus's more mundane missions, and even tell some interesting self-contained stories and do some worldbuilding.

6. In-Depth Multi-Room Puzzles: While we're on this track of Corruption-related bullet points, one really interesting thing it did was that bridge puzzle on Bryyo. Using the gunship's grapple beam to reassemble a Mogenar and move a power generator between a few different rooms, to access and bring together two halves of a bridge, and so create a shortcut between two previously-disconnected areas.

While the whole thing took place lategame enough that you didn't really get anything out of it other than another power core key to the GFS Valhalla, on its own it was still a really neat concept. Again, I would like to see Prime 4 try more of that sort of thing again, but able to be done earlier so it feels more useful.

7. Grandiose, Challenging Bosses: IE the Echoes approach. This one is pretty self-explanatory; while none of the trilogy have exactly struggled with giving their bosses epic scale, Prime's suffered from being too bullet-spongey and drawn-out, while many of Corruption's irritatingly forced you to use Hypermode to get anywhere. Echoes' bosses simply worked, being mechanically involved and requiring you to use the full arsenal of upgrades obtained to that point, while the built-in time-limit of the Dark World prevented them from being able to be as much of a slog as the ones in Prime. Even the Spider Guardian, while flawed and frustrating in execution, was a great concept. Prime 4 would definitely do well to take this approach.

Vibes

1. Compromise Of Aesthetic Consistency & Variety: Another case of wanting a mix of prior games' conflicting approaches, I like both Prime's vibrancy and variety, and Echoes' bleak consistency. While I do feel Echoes still managed to give the light world versions of each area enough distinctiveness to work more than people give it credit for, they all still shared a certain drabness, (while the Dark World aesthetic definitely overrode their counterparts) while Prime instead suffered from frequent whiplash transitioning between areas.

So a nice midpoint between the two, along with an injection of Corruption's sheer grandiose scale, I feel would serve Prime 4 well. Give it an overarching aesthetic and avoid Prime's level of whiplash, (except when done intentionally, so it hits all the harder when it comes) but let each region be distinct and memorable regardless.

2. New, Fresh Types Of Biomes: This is more in like, comparison to prior games than within itself.

The usual formula of enviroments has worked so far:

Caves: Crateria, Brinstar, Temple Grounds, all of SR-388, SRX, NOC, Artaria

Jungle: Brinstar again, Tallon Overworld, Torvus, Bryyo, TRO, Ghavoran

Desert/Ruins: Chozodia, Chozo Ruins, Temple Grounds again, Agon, PYR, kinda-sorta Ferenia

Lava: Norfair, Magmoor, Bryyo again, PYR again, Cataris

Glacier: Phendrana, Bryyo yet again, ARC, Artaria again

Underwater: Phendrana again, Sunken Frigate Orpheon, Torvus again, kinda-sorta Phaaze, Maridia, AQA, Burenia

Industrial: Tourian, Derelict Frigate Orpheon, Phendrana yet again, Phazon Mines, Temple Grounds yet again, Sanctuary Fortress, Norion, Pirate Homeworld, Wrecked Ship, Main Deck, Dairon, Hanubia

(Though in fairness a few stand out from the usual vibes to some degree or another; Impact Crater, Sanctuary Fortress, Norion, Pirate Homeworld, Phaaze, and Ferenia in particular, though it's worth noting that half of them instead have Phazon in common)

I feel like we could benefit from branching out a bit from that? If not whole new types of biomes entirely, then at least fresh variations on stuff. Beach episode when?

3. Populated Places & Federation Location: While this kinda goes up against the whole isolation vibes Metroid typically has, (though IMO Samus could and would still feel alone in a crowd) I think it would be interesting to actually get a look at what the Federation is like outside of the military stuff, (and again, this would enable the bounty hunting sidequest mechanic I mentioned,) and hopefully get to see more friendly races instead of just all humans like in Corruption.

So yeah, even if probably not a full-on city planet like Daiban in the ZM manga, it would be cool if Prime 4 took place on a colony planet with a Federation city that would comprise at least one or two of the areas, while the rest is still wild. Plus, if Sylux is involved, it would just make sense to face off against them someplace where the Federation is a relevant factor.

4. Darker Tone & Atmosphere: While this may conflict somewhat with the above wish, I'm kinda hoping for this to lean more on the eerie and horror-influenced end of the series' tonal spectrum; perhaps not as dark and intense as Echoes, but still more in that neighborhood than the bombast and action focus of stuff like Zero Mission and the first half of Corruption.

5. Utilize Hostile Gameplay Design For Tension: Kinda similar to the above, one thing I really like about Metroid II, Echoes, and Dread is how they use stuff like the gameboy's monochrome and small screen, the idea of the Dark Aether atmosphere dealing constant damage, and the EMMI and their zones. (And by contrast, Phaaze was a little bit disappointing on this front.) The aesthetic aspects of the environment are intensified by gameplay or design elements that work against you, making for a more tense and challenging experience. Again, I would like to see Prime 4 do something like this as well, hopefully something new but achieving the same effect, in the areas where Retro really wants to stress us out.

6. Speed Up The Pace, Still Smell The Flowers: As I already said with the run button suggestion, I personally really like Prime's relaxed pace, but I also know many do not, and even I have had times where I've wished for things to hurry up a bit more. In the same vein as Samus's movement, I would want this to apply to the pacing overall; letting me still take my time, but allowing those who want to move a bit quicker on the whole do so.

7. Strong Soundtrack!!!: I originally got into this series purely because of the Metroid Prime soundtrack, so my bias is clear, but I hope they really aim for that kind of strength in the music again. I would want new tracks rather than recycling old themes, of course, but the same blend of melodic strength and dense atmosphere.

Dread's OST isn't bad, and I've come around on a lot of it, but I feel like it definitely suffers from favoring unsteadiness in the notes and consistency in the progression too much, fading into the background a lot of the time, while the boss themes largely blur together in being loud and chaotic and not much else. Burenia does stand out for being a lot more melodic in comparison to the rest, and a few of the other tracks have grown on me anyway, but on the whole, I hope they stray away from that sort of style.

Some of Samus Returns' remixes of the original Metroid II soundtrack work magic in making memorable and atmospheric tracks of the assorted ambient bleep bloops, and I really like the sound design there in general, so if we're sticking with something more modern, that could be the way to go. But of course, ideally, I would hope for this to take after Prime and Echoes (but especially Prime) in creating memorable, gorgeous themes to accompany the game's environments, and strong powerful boss music that won't leave my head for weeks if not months afterward.

Narrative, Worldbuilding, & Characters

1. Direct But Restrained Conveyance: Once again using prior games as a point of comparison, while I think Fusion and Corruption's directness fit well for the stories they told, I think something more restrained like Echoes and Dread would be ideal; a few key scenes of dialogue, and then a lot more conveyed indirectly through subtext, body language, and of course the scan visor. Of course, it does ultimately depend on what sort of story will be told, and if Sylux and the Federation are indeed a big factor, it could make more sense to take Fusion's approach; if that's the case I probably won't be too disappointed. Besides, thanks to Other M, they already know what not to do.

2. Scanning & Same Depth Of Worldbuilding: As I already said, I want the scan visor to remain a big deal, and for there to be a lot of it. They could maybe put a twist on it, do a thing like Arknights's operator files or Nier Automata's weapon stories with the Main logbook entries. The way I'm picturing it, you could scan an entry early on, only to find parts of it still blocked out; then after certain thresholds in the story progression have been reached, (or simply something like gaining higher security clearance levels like in Fusion,) the classified sections become readable, adding new information to what was there before, or completely recontextualizing it.

But honestly, even if they just stuck with the same format as the first three games, that would be plenty fine by me, so long as they don't skimp out on the scans. In general, I think the biggest strength of the Prime series is the way it has expanded the universe and worldbuilding in comparison to the 2D games' much tighter focus, (which to be clear isn't a knock against those, just different but equally valid approaches) and I want them to keep that energy going here as well.

3. Proactive Samus With Agency, Sylux Given Nuance: Samus's side of this is pretty straightforward, but still felt like it was worth mentioning. In Corruption, Super, Fusion, and Dread she's put more in reactive scenarios, which IMO works well there, but I would like to see her acting more proactively again to some degree, like the setups for Zero Mission, Prime, Echoes, and Return Of Samus. The second part is more important to me either way, but I'm not too concerned about something like Other M happening again. And of course, remember body language is key; while I hope she gets at least a few lines like in Dread, I also think she's generally best served when speaking through her actions.

If Sylux is indeed the main antagonist here, I hope they're not painted as just a one-dimensional bad guy with no valid points about the Federation. While I love the more utopian vibe it was described with back in the Metroid NES manual, and would like to see at least some elements of that original vision brought back; as of Fusion and to a lesser extent Corruption, they're clearly not the flawless paragon faction they once were treated as, and it would just be weird to try to ignore that now. Don't get me wrong, I love all the truly evil villains of this series too, but at least based on how they were set up in Hunters, I feel like a more complicated portrayal would just make more sense where Sylux is concerned.

I'm also interested in how the Federation Force end scene with the stolen Metroid egg could factor into things, and that could be a good avenue to indirectly tell us some things about Sylux's character, and even draw parallels (or contrasts) with Samus.

4. Other New Characters, Given Time In Moderation: Similar to what I said about worldbuilding, I feel like another thing the prior Prime games have done fairly well with, is in introducing new characters to populate the universe, without (for the most part) intruding on the loneliness that's a big part of the series' identity.

I've seen some people hoping for Prime 4 to make a hard pivot away from Corruption's direction with the other hunters and leave Samus completely on her own again, but personally I wouldn't mind more friendly/neutral characters like them, U-Mos, and Admiral Dane. Again, it would be ideal if this is employed with restraint, and ultimately comes down to what would best fit the story and setting they wind up giving us.

By the same token, if they do go this route, I would hope the characters would still be given just enough room to breathe without becoming intrusive. The hunters in Corruption were pretty well-handled despite being painted in broad strokes, leaving us wanting a bit more, but the hunters in Hunters were ironically not so well-served by their game, intriguing hooks to bigger stories (literally in Sylux's case) but not really given too much beyond the bare minimum there. Again, so long as they can hit that "just enough" sweet spot between "not enough" and "too much", I look forward to meeting some new faces 4 could bring to the table.

5. Other Friendly (And An Unfriendly) Species: This one is pretty straightforward. Going back to what I said about the NES Manual (and ZM manga) depiction of the Federation as a multi-species conglomerate, compared to the all-human presentation of Corruption and Other M, I would hope to see more friendly alien races. Even if this winds up departing from my idea of a colony city in favor of a more remote world, something like the Luminoth would be welcome.

The other part of this is, (especially if we're already bringing Sylux out of Obscure Spinoff hell,) I want to see something of the Kriken, big or small. Even if they wind up not making a direct appearance, then at least further mention of them would be appreciated. Maybe clarification of their place in things, while we're at it, given how Hunters implied them to be a pretty big deal, but their presence is otherwise completely absent from the series.

Also, while I'm generally not fond of nostalgia for its own sake, Kihunters could be cool to finally see more of.

6. Feel Unique And Well-Defined: While I'm always in favor of a balance between building on (or twisting around) existing ideas and introducing new ones, I also hope that with its story and overall presentation, Prime 4 has a distinct identity within the series.

Prime had its beauty and the tale of a dying planet, Echoes had its oppressive darkness and the losing struggle against the Ing, and Corruption had its grandeur and climactic feeling amidst the urgency of the Phazon Crisis. The 2D games also largely do this; (IMO Super is a debatable case, revisiting and reusing Zebes but adding plenty of new stuff) while the much longer gaps between releases are an influencing factor, even without that they all still have their own distinct vibes and developments. (Hell, Other M even has a distinct identity, even if for all the wrong reasons.)

So in that vein, whatever Prime 4 does, I hope it does something that I can point to and say "This is the [Fill in the blank] one."

7. Surprise Me: Above all, I just want to be surprised. While there are a few specific things I'd like to see, yes, (I have this whole wishlist of them after all,) in general I've still been talking in pretty broad terms. That's because I want to go into this and get something new out of the experience; something that still fits with the rest, but that I could never have thought to predict on my own.

Final Wishes:

1. Emphasis On Exploration: Much as I love Dread, the way it blocks off prior areas to push you along in particular, is (for me) a big blemish on an otherwise excellent game. Similarly, Corruption and Fusion, for all their other narrative strength and ambition, are also more focused on combat, and give frequent, non-optional directions on where to go. And in fairness that approach works for what they're doing! But I hope Prime 4 won't follow in that route.

I hope for it to return to the Super/Prime/Echoes approach of just dropping you in the world and letting you figure stuff out yourself, with minimal handholding if any, (again, hint system optional, please!) and very little if any backtrack prevention, either. I just want to wander and become acquainted with this world on my own terms like I did with the first two Primes.

2. Maintain FPS View & Immersion Focus: This seems maybe a little redundant, but I'm putting it down anyway just to be safe. Some people have expressed wanting a third-person perspective, and even setting aside my personal hangups against that format, I just don't understand the appeal of making such a shift. The trilogy as a whole (and Prime in particular) hangs its hat on literally putting you in Samus's shoes in every way that matters, and I want Prime 4 to do the same. I don't seriously expect Retro to try changing it up like this, but I also hope they won't anyway, just in case.

3. Wait To Release: I hope it comes soon, yes, but not before the end of the year at least, lol. Partially because I have no money right now, and I want to be able to play it on release day! And partially because I would want Retro to be able to really take their time and polish it up into something beautiful.

#not a reblog #metroid #metroid prime #metroid prime 4 #wishlist #samus aran #sylux #long post #maybe I should have broken this up into different posts tbh #it will be interesting to look back on this once Prime 4 does come out

[nebulablakemurphy]

Miss American Pie

Chapter Two: The Perfect Partner Project

Warning!: This series features a romantic Yelena Belova x Fem!Reader pairing. Please keep scrolling if that’s not for you. 💜

Summary: After you’re freed from Dreykov’s control you team up with Yelena and Natasha to take down the red room.

Chapter One : Chemical Subjugation

“I thought you had a jet?” Yelena cocks her head to the side, as you approach the decrepit helicopter.

“I asked for one.” Natasha mutters, under her breath.

“This isn’t a jet.” You add, the closer you get, the worse it becomes.

“I realize that!” The man who’d been standing with his back to you whips around to defend himself. This must be Natasha’s friend. “But you know what you didn’t give me? Time. Or money. I’m not made of jets.”

“Aww, he’s sensitive.” Yelena coos, “I see why you keep him around.”

“I’m not sensitive.” He protests.

“Of course not,” you smirk.

“Listen you-“ he breaks off. “Who are you again?”

“Y/N Y/L/N,” Yelena introduces you, climbing aboard. “She’s my partner….” She shrugs, “you name it really.”

“Partner works.” You chuckle, joining her in the cockpit.

“If you say so,” Yelena waves a dismissive hand. Getting a feel for the controls.

“Wonderful,” the man acknowledges your title.

“Thanks for the ride, Dick.” You salute him through the front window.

“It’s Rick,” he calls back.

“I know.” You give him a thumbs up. Waiting until he turns back to his conversation with Natasha. Taking the opportunity to lean down, kissing the top of Yelena’s head.

She cranes her head back to see you.

You nuzzle your nose against hers, until an exaggeration throat clearing tears you apart.

“We don’t have time for this.” Natasha, of course.

Yelena scowls at her, “yeah, yeah.”

Breaking Alexei out of a maximum security prison using only an earpiece, stowed inside of an action figure is a terrible plan. Nearly as bad as using him for information on how to locate a facility that’s impossible to find, run by a man who’s too slippery to kill.

That doesn’t stop you though. Generally speaking it’s going well. Until one of Yelena’s shots triggers an avalanche.

“Woah.” She marvels at the scene before you, her masterpiece. “Now this would be a cool way to die.”

“Yeah,” you holler back, sarcastically, over the chaos.

“You were getting no where with your tiny guns.” Yelena points out.

“Slow and steady wins the race,” you remind her.

“Fast is better. Solves problems.”

“And clearly creates new ones.” You jerk your chin toward the mountain.

“Get us out of here!” Natasha’s voice blares through the headset.

“I’m on it.” Yelena assures her. Moving into a better position for extraction. “Watch the side window.”

At her request you shuffle to the main ship. The prison guards are still putting up a fight. Inmates running in every direction.

“Alright, Natasha’s with us.” You confirm, once she’s secured her place on the black hanging rope. “Circle between the walls on your left to grab Alexei.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Yelena snarks, steering the plane away from another explosion.

“You’re doing a great job.”

“Don’t lie to me!”

“Fine,” you huff. “The spot is tight and the angle is bad. I don’t know how you’re gonna pull this off.”

Yelena is silent, processing the information. “Lie to me a little.” She amends.

“You got this.” The blinding wall of white threatens to swallow Alexei whole. You’re holding your breath too as the rope moves past the metal bridge he’s standing on.

“Well?” She yelps, impatiently.

“I don’t know. I can’t see.” Once the snow and ice clears, you spot two figures carefully scaling the rope. “Yelena?”

“Hmm.” She hums, expecting the worst.

“I knew you had it.”

“Yes,” Yelena sighs, before falling into easy laughter. More invested in this than she will ever admit.

————————————————————-

Unfortunately, entertaining as Alexei may be, he has next to no information about Dreykov.

Instead he drawls on and on about how the man wronged him. Stuck him on that “boring mission” in Ohio. Then tossed him in jail and threw away the key because of…hair? A party?

You weren’t entirely sure. You excuse yourself to the vacant seat beside Yelena. Giving her thigh a reassuring squeeze.

Full lips twitch up into a grin.

“Tell us where the red room is.” Natasha grumbles.

“I have no idea!” He shouts, and then in Russian. “Why don’t you ask Melina?”

“Mom Melina?” Yelena whips her head around.

“We thought she was dead.”

“You cannot kill a fox that swift,” Alexei sucks in a breath.

You choke on your own saliva.

“Ew.” Natasha winces.

“What?” The man shrugs. “She was the master mind. His architect.”

“Are you telling me that Melina works for the red room present day?” Natasha leans closer.

“Yes,” he nods. “Remotely, outside Saint Petersburg.”

“I don’t think we have enough fuel for Saint Petersburg.” Yelena decides, after checking the needle on the gauge.

“We’ll make it.” Alexei waves away her concern.

“Ok,” Yelena mutters.

You look over at her.

“We’re not going to make it.” She mouths, with a shake of her head.

You smirk, closing your eyes and relaxing into the seat. It’ll be nice while it lasts.

Before long you’re falling into a controlled crash, at the Saint Petersburg city limit.

“So,” Yelena jumps out onto the dirt. “Are we there yet?”

“No, you will know when we are there.” Alexei begins snorting like a pig.

——————————————————————-

You take a seat in the chair opposite Yelena inside Melina’s humble abode. Her pigs can be heard carrying on out in the yard and Alexei’s early snorting makes perfect sense now.

Your eyes dart around the three women at the table uncomfortably as noises continue erupting from the bathroom. “Everything alright in there?” You bellow, loud enough for your voice to carry down the hallway.

Another groan is the only response.

“Let’s drink,” Melina’s voice breaks the tension. She fills each of your shot glasses in turn.

“Thanks,” you raise the clear liquid and toss it back. Feeling it burn it’s way down your throat before going back for another.

After a moment a clunking from the doorway calls your attention.

“It still fits.” Alexei announces, having stuffed himself into his old costume.

Melina whistles, with a slow clasp as he approaches the seat at the head of the table. “I never washed it once. Come eat.”

He hums a tune under his breath, reliving days gone by. “Look at us, family back together again.” If you didn’t know better you’d think it was sweet, he seems…happy.

“Well,” Melina swallows, dishing mashed potatoes onto his plate. “Seeing as our family construct was just a calculated ruse that only lasted three years, I’m not sure we can use this term anymore.”

“Agreed,” Natasha perks up. “So here’s what’s going to happen-“

“Reunion then.” Alexei offers instead. “I want to say something right off the bat.” He says to the woman who’d once been his wife. “You haven’t aged a day. Just as beautiful and supple as the day they staged our marriage.”

Melina moves closer, “you got fat, but still good.”

“I just got out of prison,” he confesses, “I have a lot of energy.”

“Ooohooo.” The older woman exhales.

You can’t help the bubble of laughter that forces its way from your chest. Covering your mouth with your hand as Yelena takes another shot.

“Please don’t do that.” Beside you Natasha looks physically ill as she protests. Swallowing down her disgust she begins again. “So listen. Here’s what’s going to happen.”

“Natasha don’t slouch. You’re going to get a back hunch.” Melina flicks her fork in Natasha’s direction.

“What? I’m not slouching? I don’t slouch.”

“Eh, listen to your mother. Up! Up!” Alexei joins in.

“I told you, I don’t want any food.” Yelena pushes her plate away.

“Eat a little something Yelena, for God’s sake.” Melina says, piling food onto her plate.

Yelena groans.

“Are you kidding me? Stop it all of you. This is ridiculous.” Natasha bites out.

“Me? I didn’t do anything. That’s not fair!” Yelena argues.

“It’s true, she’s just sitting there.” You shrug.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Natasha roars, effectively silencing the room. “You’re going to give us the location of the red room.”

Melina purses her lips, avoiding the topic. “It’s like when you told them they could stay up to catch Santa Claus.”

“That was fun!” Alexei recalls. “Look out girls, he comes down the chimney. And when the cookies are gone you know he is there.”

Melina clicks her tongue.

“What? I want them to follow their dreams, shoot for the stars girls.”

“No good.” Melina disagreed.

“Killing Dreykov isn’t a fantasy. It’s unfinished business.” Natasha looks between the two of them.

“You cannot defeat someone who commands the very will of others.” Melina says, softly. “You never got to see the culmination of what we started in America. After the perfect partner project was rejected, we took a different route.”

“The perfect partner project?” You repeat, racking your brain. You’ve heard that somewhere before.

“Why’d Dreykov scrap the project?” Natasha’s voice cracks like a whip.

“I don’t know.” Melina’s eyes dart down to her plate.

You can see that she’s lying.

“That’s when we turned our focus to chemical subjugation.” Melina continues, “the control is so profound that when the subject is instructed to stop breathing. They have no choice but to obey.”

Yelena shakes her head. Perfect lips turned into a frown. Hazel eyes glistening with tears as they meet your own.

“That’s enough.” You warn the older woman, seeing the expression. The last thing you want to do is cause her anymore pain.

“No.” The blonde insists. “Tell me more about the partner project.”

“Yelena, we don’t have to do this.” You shake your head.

“Yes, we do.” Yelena slams her fist against the table in frustration.

“The extraction was messy to start. A high profile missing children’s case in North America. But the bond was very strong. Enhanced through targeted conditioning and subliminal messages. Until something happened that Dreykov did not anticipate.”

“What happened?” Natasha wonders.

“The girls became…attached.” Melina’s mouth twitches, “so they were separated.”

“Do you know who they tested on?”

Melina’s guilty eyes land on you. “I am sorry.”

“No,” you suspected, maybe. Somewhere in the back of your mind. You spent the first six months in the red room under solitary confinement. Rapidly and rigorously conditioned in a matter of weeks instead of years. Preparing you…for her. The teenager girl you couldn’t stand, the woman you eventually came to love.

“You,” Yelena laughs, although it’s not particularly funny. “Us.”

“Yelena-“ you reach for her hand across the table.

“Don’t,” she snaps. “Don’t tell me that it will be ok. They stole your life because of me. I never asked them to do that. I never asked for you!”

“I know.” You assure her. None of this was ever her fault.

“That’s right, because you know everything. Don’t you, Y/N?” Yelena scoffs, her hands balling into fists on either side of her dinner plate. “You know what I think. You know what I feel. Look at you. Ready to come out of your own skin because I am unhappy. Prepared to move mountains, prepared to start wars.”

“Like you’re any better.” You challenge, she knows you like the back of her hand.

“That is my point!”

“I’m sorry that this happened.” Alexei interrupts. Surely gearing up for a ‘father of the year’ speech. “But we are here now. All together! Wasn’t that worth a few years of-“

“Shut up!” Natasha growls at him. “You are an idiot.”

No response.

She moves her attention to Melina, “and you’re a coward. You’re a coward. And our family was never real. So there’s nothing to hold on to. We’re moving on.”

“Never family, huh?” Alexei throws up his hands. “In my heart I am simple man. For a couple deep undercover Russian agents I think we did pretty great as parents.”

“Yes,” Melina nods her agreement. “We had our orders and we played our roles to perfection.”

“Who cares? That wasn’t real.”

“What?” Yelena’s voice breaks.

“That wasn’t real.” Natasha repeats for emphasis. “Who cares?”

“Don’t say that. Please don’t say that. It was real. It was real to me. You are my mother!” Yelena all but sobs. “You are my real mother, the closest thing I ever had to one. The best parts of my life were fake.” She pauses, drawing in a steadying breath. “And none of you told me.”

You swipe at the tear that escapes your eye. Traitorously running it’s way down your cheek. It was never fake. Perhaps arranged, but never fake. The way you want to wrap her up in your arms, protect her from her own sadness. The way your heart breaks in time with hers. That is real. It has to be.

She turns back to the woman who she considered a mother. “Those agents that you chemically subjugated around the globe…that was me too.”

Finally she addresses Natasha, “and you. You got out. It is impossible to escape. Are you going to say anything?” A pause. “No.”

She pushes her chair from the table, taking the bottle with her as she stands. Turning her back in the four of you.

“Yelena.” Natasha calls after her. Guilt eating away from the inside out.

“No.” Yelena dismisses her a second time. Moving into the next room and closing the glass doors behind her.

You look down at the plate of food in front of you, now lacking any appeal.

“I had no idea.” Melina whispers, wringing her hands.

“I’ll go to talk to her.” Alexei offers, rising to his feet.

“About what?” You hum, “how you handed her over to a life of pain and suffering at the age of six? How you experimented on her? How you didn’t come back for her? Yeah. I’m sure that’s just what she needs right now.”

With that you excuse yourself, back out to the front yard. Slowly circling the perimeter of Melina’s cottage. Not looking for anything in particular. Just killing time until someone produces information about how to get to Dreykov.

The blinding light that appears moments later catches you off guard. A team of men exit one of the three circling planes. Since you couldn’t find the red room, this is the next best thing.

—————————————————————

Waking up is disorienting, coming to from a tranquilizer always is. It’s bright, almost blindingly so. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust. You attempt to use your hands to cover them, only you can’t move your hands.

Leaning up as much as your restraints will allow you discover that you’re strapped to an operating table. And you’re not alone.

“Yelena?”

“Miss American Pie,” she drawls from a similar position. Neither of which gives you much chance to escape whatever fate awaits.

“You’re not allowed to die mad at me,” you grumble.

“I’m not mad at you.” She blinks slowly, as the surgeon marks a clean line at the perimeter of her hairline. “I’m just mad.”

“Yeah,” you let out a laugh, turning back to the light above the gurney. “Me too.”

“You are my perfect partner.” She murmurs, while gloved hands busy themselves with preparations. “I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.”

There’s a beat of silence between you. Acceptance…peace. “I love you, you know.”

At this Yelena smiles. A genuine, happy, smile. “I know.”

Something to remember her by.

The syringe at your neck releases a sedative into your blood and you fall asleep. One last time.

—————————————————————

Dying is peaceful, gently rocking in the ocean. Then swaying more violently, giving you the urge to be seasick. Your body should move with the force of it. But something holds you steady, something warm.

“Yelena?” You croak.

“Not quite, but there is resemblance, huh?” A different voice greets you.

“Alexei?” You realize, pushing yourself into a sitting position.

“That’s a girl, up you go.” He says, clapping a hand against your back.

“What happened?” You ask, “where’s Yelena?”

“Still inside,” Melina confirms. “Brought you here so you’d be safe.”

“Natasha?”

“They’re coming.”

You sigh, ready to jump out the open door of the hovering chopper.

“What are you doing?” Alexei demands.

“Going to find them.”

“Wait! Y/N, wait.” He pleads. “There’s something I must tell you. I tried to tell Yelena but I don’t have earpiece.”

“What?” Your brows furrow.

“Never mind that.” He shakes his head. “The point, is you were right. What you said about Yelena. We complete our mission, we move on. But losing her, losing my girls is my biggest regret.”

“I’ll tell her, don’t worry.” You give his shoulder a squeeze.

“Please let me finish.” He stops you again. “She carried your unconscious body through burning building, through explosions. This is not easy, you are very heavy.”

“Oh, Alexei!” Melina scolds him.

“Not that.” He amends, “you know what I mean. It is dead weight.”

You nod, “sure.”

“I look at you together and I see true love and I am happy. You are family now, and this time…we are going to stay together. We’re not leaving without you.” The older man says, helping you onto the metal grate of the falling red room.

Not a second later an explosion rings through your ears, sending Melina, Alexei and your get away vehicle spiraling to the ground.

“It’s the thought that counts,” you’ll make a new plan.

You run toward the flames and gunfire. “Yelena!” You call out, searching the surrounding area.

“Y/N,” Natasha finds you. “What are you doing?”

“I can’t find Yelena.”

“I thought she was with you.” The woman frowns.

“Well she wasn’t!” You bite out, fear and frustration getting the best of you.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find her. You go-“ the red head pauses. Her eyes focused on something behind your head.

You turn to follow Natasha’s gaze. Finding her. Yelena. The wild, unpredictable, firecracker of a woman. On the wing of the jet with Dreykov inside.

“Yelena! Stop!” You rush over, realizing what she’s about to do. Her staff poised at the propeller.

She pauses at the sound of your voice.

“He’s not worth it.” No one is worth it. Not when she is the cost.

Yelena smiles, eyes alight with mischief, “I love you, you know.”

“I know.”

Natasha tries to reason with her. “Don’t do it!”

“This was fun.” Yelena tells her sister, jamming the propeller and effectively destroying Dreykov’s jet. The force of the explosions sends her backwards, hurtling towards the ground with the remaining pieces of the red room.

“Put your pack on and jump.” Natasha tells you. Rushing for the nearest parachute. “I’m going to save my sister.” She dives head first over the edge, without putting on her harness.

“Not if I get there first,” you challenge. This would be a cool way to die.

Chapter Three: Bye Bye

#marvel fanfiction #yelena belova #black widow fanfiction #black widow #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova x female reader #yelena belova fanfiction #natasha romanoff #yelena belova imagine #yelena belova x you #yelena belova x y/n

[manonblaqkbeak]

Among the Stacks

Back for Day 4-Librarians/Libraries, which I was super thrilled to see on the list, since I’m a certified library assistant and librarian technician and a big advocate for libraries in general and how important they are to society for a number of reasons!!!

This is just some wholesome fluff, most of these fics are (bc thats all i write lol) but i am preparing for a lil angst on the 10th ;)

Hope you all enjoy! :)

cw: none

1.5k words

There were many reasons why Aelin loved being a librarian technician and working at Orynth Public Library (of course there were reasons she very much disliked it, but the positives outweighed the negatives). The ever present scent of books was one, and the fact that she saved a ridiculous amount of money from borrowing books instead of buying them, as purchasing them became close to an addiction. The regular patrons that visited. Helping people with creating resumes and look for jobs because they couldn't afford laptops or computers at home, and looking for jobs on phones was annoying.

The overflowing suggestion box filled with ideas for books and ways to make the library more homely. Her comfortable office chair and her favourite cafe owned by a high school friend right around the corner, and the fact that Nesryn gave her discounts because she had set her up with her now-fiance Sartaq.

The laughter of babies and young children when it was story-time and the drawings that they created. The people that came to the library just to be somewhere else without feeling the pressure of having to spend money. The people that came sorely for the free WiFi and power-boards to charge their phones.

Working with her childhood friend and pseudo-sister Elide. And one very handsome and kind construction worker, Rowan Whitethorn.

Elide said that Aelin was in love with Rowan, with how she gushed over how pretty and intelligent he was, but Aelin denied that. It would be absurd to be in love with him. She just really liked him.

The only problem was she hadn't had the chance to ask him out on a date. She only saw him when he came in the library, and it was inappropriate to ask someone out while at work. There was also the fact that while he came here weekly, she wasn't sure if he was single, because surely someone that handsome had to be with someone.

But he hadn't mentioned any partners and Aelin didn't spot a ring, either on his finger or on a chain around his neck, but it still made Aelin hesitate.

Elide had told Aelin many times that when Rowan was here, he made 'heart eyes' when Aelin's back was turned. Aelin scoffed at the notion, but her heart flipped at that—Elide was freakishly observant and knew how to read people to a minuscule level.

Aelin was in the middle of covering the latest hardbacks, her mind completely focused on the task, when Elide said, typing away, “It's eleven A.M.”

Aelin looked at the large clock behind her and nodded. “That it is.”

A small smile was on Elide's lips, her dark eyes bright. “Just thought I'd let you know. Since a certain someone usually comes in around eleven-fifteen on Saturdays if he hasn't been here during the week.”

Elide could sometimes be as subtle as a brick to the head. Aelin finished the last book and cleaned her hands off with the hand sanitiser. She could feel her friends dark stare at the back of her head.

“I'm aware, thank you,” was all Aelin said.

If Aelin didn't ask Rowan out soon, Elide was going to do it for her—no matter how often Aelin repeated about the inappropriate aspect of it all.

Elide thought that was bullshit.

Telling her friend that she was going to put these books on the 'New Releases' shelf, Aelin once again focused on her task, straightening up other books as she went.

She had just finished up when a deep voice said behind her, “Good morning, Aelin.”

Smiling, she turned. “Good morning, Rowan.” She spotted his current read in his large hands. “How's the book going?”

He returned her smile. “Great. I was wondering if you had the sequel?”

“We should do, just follow me.” They had their usual conversations about their week, with Rowan telling her how a fellow worker had injured himself and how it had turned the whole production upside down. Apparently, his site manager was sweating buckets the entire time, fretting about paperwork more than anything else.

Aelin didn't envy his work at all. While there were chances for Aelin or others to hurt themselves in the library, the worst that had happened to Aelin in all her years here was a bruised foot after dropping a dictionary and the rare scolding she had received from her boss, Glennis, for not wearing the proper footwear. Her bruised foot was nothing compared to the torture of having to watch an hour long video about work health and safety the following morning.

As Aelin found the sequel, they stayed hidden among the stacks, talking about everything and nothing, with Aelin temporarily forgetting that she was at work and had other duties to attend to.

Because it was hard to remember what those duties were when she got lost in his dark green eyes. Especially when they trailed down the tattoo that started at his temple and down his neck, to his fingertips.

Aelin had never really been a fan about facial tattoos, but she really liked his. It suited him.

However, she was abruptly reminded of her job when she heard a young voice call out her name. It was one of her regular patrons, Evangeline, who was always here after school and on Saturdays tackling her homework and assignments. Her foster parents were negligent and didn't think that she needed a laptop to do her school work, since they didn't back in the “old days”, completely unaware that it was the digital age and laptops and computers were vital to get the work done.

Aelin excused herself, finding Evangeline flustered at her favourite spot, the desktop frozen and unaware of what to do. It was hard not to crush the girl into a hug when Aelin saw tears in her eyes, scared that she was going to get into trouble.

“Don't worry,” Aelin told the girl kindly, “it'll be okay. Sometimes computers get grumpy and have temper tantrums but I just know the right way to fix it.”

Unaware that Rowan left the stacks, she missed his soft smile as he watched her work her magic, instructing Evangeline step by step what to do if it happened again.

He made his way to the front desk, where Elide was still furiously typing away, muttering underneath her breath about cataloging.

Deciding that it would best to leave her to it and use the self-serve machine, Elide cleared her throat, catching his attention, and said, “Aelin's single.”

Elide was sick of watching them dance around each other. She understood Aelin's hesitancy, she did, but if she had to watch them flutter their eyes at each other one more time, she was going to lose it.

And Elide was aware that Rowan was aware of why Aelin hadn't asked him out, and that he didn't want to appear inappropriate and ask Aelin out while she was at work. Elide respected for it, truthfully.

So Elide had decided to do it herself, inappropriateness be damned.

Rowan blinked, and blinked again, clearly unsure what to say or do. He came back over to her desk, tattooed hand striking against the plain book cover.

But he recollected himself, and asked, “Does she suffer from hay-fever?”

“No. And once she's done helping Evangeline over there, she'll be going to her favourite cafe for her late morning caffeine fix.”

Rowan nodded, his mind already on what flowers he would buy for her. She had a small Kingsflame tattoo on her wrist and told him it was her favourite flower when he asked her about it weeks ago. “Thank you, Elide.”

Elide simply smiled and reached for his book as Aelin came around, talking to the both of them, when Rowan asked if they knew of any good cafes.

It was good that he was finally taking that step, but Elide had to stop herself from laughing at how completely unsubtle the question was. Elide was already prepared for when Aelin would ask her later what happened between them.

But Aelin smiled and told him of her favourite place and they left together.

X X X X X X

Aelin ordered her usual, a caramel macchiato with two shots, and Rowan ordered a flat white with soy milk (he suffered from lactose intolerance, which Aelin would hate if that was her, because she had once tried lactose free chocolate and it was dreadful).

Rowan pulled out her chair when they sat out front, taking a seat across from her. Her heart flipped at the sweet gesture.

“I was wondering,” he started off with, his eyes staring unflinchingly into hers, “if you'd like to go out on a date sometime?”

Aelin didn't even think twice before accepting and they planned it out right there, exchanging numbers at the end of it. He walked her back to the library, a small smile on both their lips.

From the smile that Elide gave her when she returned, Aelin knew she was involved—and not at all surprised—and at that moment, Aelin was very happy to have a friend like Elide.

And for her date that very night with Rowan.

#rowaelin #rowaelinmonth #my work

[hyungieyoongi]

Spotlight: “Run Away to You” Part 3

You knew it was just a matter of time before someone figured it out.

Your carefully constructed reality was about to shatter.

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Former Actress!Reader

Word Count: 2.0K

Genre: Angst + Fluff (there’s a hug and everything there is fluff on the horizon!!)

Series Masterlist: Run Away to You

Premise: You ran away from your acting career one year ago, disappearing from the spotlight without a trace. No one from your past life knew where to find you. On the anniversary of your disappearance, your carefully constructed reality is shattered.

Part 2 // Part 4

---

You blinked your eyes a few times to adjust to the brightness of the morning as the sunlight streamed into your room through the crack in your curtains. Your eyelids felt heavy with exhaustion. Glancing at the clock on your nightstand, you let out an audible groan at the time. It was 9:30 a.m., meaning you had slept for four short hours, your brain and restless thoughts refusing to let you sleep until the early hours of the morning.  

After you were finally able to stop the onslaught of tears last night, you sat with Marianne on your carpet and told her everything that happened: colliding with Yoongi at the corner store, the fight in your apartment, and how he comforted you during your panic attack. When she asked about the phone call from your old number, you simply played her the last voicemail Yoongi left you, letting his words sink in on their own.

“Shit,” Marianne breathed out.

“Tell me about it,” you agreed.

Your head was pounding, making you feel like you were suffering a hangover this morning from the lack of sleep combined with the many tears you cried. You went into the bathroom and turned on the shower, hoping the scalding hot water would burn away the memories of everything that had transpired.

You decided to avoid looking at either one of your phones, old or new, when you got out and dressed. Instead, you decided to try and convince your neighbor to let you take her dog on a walk. You desperately needed some company and fresh air to clear your head.

Donning the black hat on the hook by the door this time, you locked the door behind you. At the end of the hallway, you spotted your neighbor holding her little black pug in her arms, peering slightly over the railing at the end that looked out onto the sidewalk and street below.

“Hi there, good morning! What’s going on?” you asked, hoping your attempt at cheerfulness was convincing.

“You have to see this. There are cameras all over the place! The landlord had to come to shoo them from the stairwell and elevator this morning. Apparently, someone famous was sighted here yesterday, and now they’re looking for someone they say lives here? It’s quite the scene down there,” Susan let her pug down as she told you the news. He came bounding over to you, expecting to be showered with cuddles and kisses. Instead, you stood frozen in place, taking in everything Susan had just said.

“Cameras? There are cameras down there? In front of the building?” you asked.

“Yes, dear, isn’t that strange? I wonder if we have a celebrity in our midst!”

You let out a cough, giving Susan a fake excuse that you forgot a jacket so you could leave, ignoring her pug yapping at you for attention.

You were back in your apartment before Susan could question your odd behavior, grabbing your phone that you blatantly ignored when you woke up this morning.

You opened Twitter, going straight to the trending page.

The picture at the top of the list was blurry, but you could clearly make out two figures. It was a picture of you and Yoongi, walking to your apartment from the store. It looked like it had been taken on a phone camera, probably from the park across the street. Someone had to have recognized Yoongi, and now, there were cameras outside your apartment complex.

The picture causing a frenzy didn’t show your face, your hair covering your profile. You scrolled rapidly through some of the comments, people speculating about who the “mystery girl” was that Yoongi was with yesterday.

You knew it was just a matter of time before someone figured it out.

Your carefully constructed reality was about to shatter.

---

Yoongi’s phone was vibrating nonstop on the bed next to him. He tried to ignore it, shoving his face further under the thick comforter, hoping whoever was trying to reach him would just give up eventually.

When it started to vibrate incessantly once again, he finally glanced at the screen, fully prepared to yell at whoever woke him up.

An old picture of you filled his screen, one that Yoongi took when you first started seeing each other. You had fallen asleep on his shoulder after a long day of filming. You looked so at peace, one of his sweaters that you stole from his closet wrapped around your frame. He had snapped a photo, setting it as your contact photo, smiling at it every time you called.

He had never changed it.

Yoongi immediately sat up when he realized you were calling. He assumed he would never hear from you again, that the chapter between you two was officially closed. This time for good.

He answered on the third ring, but didn’t say anything, waiting to see if the call was an accident.

“…Yoongi?” his heart lurched at the sound of his name.

“Yes?” he asked tentatively, his voice rough with sleep.

“I need help. There’s a picture…of us. Together. I tried to call Marianne, but she didn’t answer. Yoongi, I…I don’t know what to do. I need help,” Yoongi waited, holding his breath, “I need you.”

He threw the covers off himself, already heading toward the door of his bedroom. You sounded so scared.

“I’ll come get you. Tell me where you are.”

---

Yoongi had given you careful instructions over the phone, his voice calm and calculated. You were supposed to wait in your apartment until exactly 10:30 a.m. and head down the back staircase to the alley behind your building. A car would be waiting for you there.

He told you to wear a mask and act casual, like you were just getting into a rideshare car. Be invisible and inconspicuous.

A black SUV was idling in your alleyway. You opened the backseat door on the driver’s side, shutting it quickly behind you.

“Miss Y/L/N?” the driver asked, turning around to face you. He had a kind smile, eyes slightly crinkling in the corners from his upturned lips. You nodded once.

“Good morning, I’ll be driving you to Mr. Min’s location. He requested that we send this particular vehicle because the windows are tinted for maximum security. Please make yourself comfortable.”

“Thank you,” you said, relieved.

Despite the driver’s assurance, you turned your head away from the window as the car passed the hoard of photographers outside of your building. They seemed to be getting restless with the lack of people coming in and out of your complex. You were grateful to be heading as far away from there as possible.

The car eventually reached a gate, the security guard waving the car forward once it checked the license plates. You pulled into an underground garage. You weren’t familiar with the building; you figured that Yoongi and the boys had moved within the last year as their label continued to grow.

The driver cleared his throat to get your attention.

“Mr. Min would like you to take the elevator, the one just there, ma’am,” he said pointing to the nearest set of silver doors, “to floor 16. He will meet you there.”

“Thank you, you honestly saved me today,” you told him with a grateful smile. He gave you another crinkle-eyed grin.

“It’s nothing, really. Give my regards to Mr. Min.”

“I will.”

The elevator lurched upward toward floor 16, and you realized you had no idea what to say to Yoongi. The doors opened, and you were startled when the man in question was pacing in front of the elevator doors, looking frazzled as he evidently waited for your arrival.

His head snapped toward the open doors when he heard the “bing” of the elevator.

“You made it,” he said simply when you walked toward him.

“Thanks to you,” you replied. “Yoongi, I can’t thank you enough. I know this is the last thing you probably expected today, but I appreciate it more than I can tell you.”

If you weren’t mistaken, there was a pink tinge on his cheeks at your words.

“We have a strategy meeting to get to. The label has some, uh, concerns about the photo.”

Your heart sank at his words, but you realized it was time to stop letting your emotions about the situation run the show. You were potentially going to be forced back into the spotlight you had tried so hard to stay away from. It was time to be professional about this.

“Right. Of course, lead the way,” your tone had become formal, sickly sweet and stiff. It felt unbelievably awkward after spilling your heart out to him yesterday. But you knew your place–you were just part of his label’s damage control problems for the day.

He turned on his heel, leading you down the long hallway, shoes clicking against the tile floor. You followed a foot behind him, wanting to give him, and you, space.

In the meeting, you gritted your teeth, your hands balled into fists underneath the table as you listened to a group of label management and the public relations team discuss what messaging, if any, to put out. Would it be better to let it die down on its own? Release a statement saying Yoongi was visiting an “acquaintance”? There were dozens of options they went through. Yoongi’s eyes kept straying to look at you, but your eyes stayed on the clock above the PR analyst’s head across from you.

When they started discussing whether to release your identity, however, you decided enough was enough. You stood, Yoongi watching your every move.

“Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, but I would feel more comfortable if my publicist was contacted before any decisions are made regarding the release of my private information,” you had worked in this industry, too, and hell, you weren’t going to let these people dictate your life. “As you can imagine, this has the potential to have far-reaching consequences on my own livelihood. It would be best to take no further action until she is in this room with you. Otherwise, I will be forced to contact my attorney.”

The room was silent.  

“Until then, I’ll take my leave. Thank you,” you left with a flourish, the adrenaline leaving you as soon as you made it into the hallway. You didn’t know where you were going, you just couldn’t stay still, your feet carrying you away from the room and the murmurs going on inside of it.

“Y/N, wait,” Yoongi called after you. You sped up, hoping there was a bathroom or something nearby that you could go hide in until Marianne showed up. “Stop walking,” Yoongi’s voice was stern.

You paused mid-step, turning to face him with a blank expression.

“Yes, was there an update from your strategy meeting since I left?” Yoongi rolled his eyes at your comment.

“Y/N, stop, I know what you’re doing. You’re shutting yourself off. I don’t blame you for standing up for yourself back there. But please don’t act like I wanted any part of that meeting,” Yoongi said, defending himself. Your confidence deflated slightly.

“Fine,” you flinched at how harsh you sounded. “I’m sorry. God, all I’ve said to you in the past 24 hours is ‘I’m sorry.’ And I am. I just…this is all…it’s a lot. I didn’t expect to see you again so soon, let alone under these circumstances.”

“My studio is a few floors below us. Come on, let’s get out of here while they figure it out,” Yoongi instructed. He walked past you, but you reached out, hand encircling his wrist to stop him. Your skin burned where it touched his.

“I wasn’t ready for any of this again. It’s all too much, too soon. If people find out who I am, my whole life will change, Yoongi. I-I don’t know if I can handle that.” Yoongi didn’t say anything, so you pulled your fingers away from his arm, expecting him to continue on his way to his studio.

Instead, he wrapped you tightly in his arms, pulling you close against him. He smelled like mint and coffee, and you closed your eyes at the familiarity of it, warmth blooming in your chest.

“It’ll be okay,” Yoongi mumbled, cheek pressed against the top of your head.

Enclosed in the comfort of his embrace, you decided to believe him.

Part 2 // Part 4

---

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[anika-ann]

A Cup of Truth (S.R)

Type: One-shot, a bit of coffee shop AU

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!reader    Word Count: 3000

Summary: Your favourite pretty blond comes in every day to get a cup of good ol’ joe. You flirt on occasion; mostly you, because your suit of armour – which people boringly call an apron – and his smiles give you confidence.

When the band of dumb goons picks your damn workplace to attack, your confidence flies out of the window. Well. Good thing that the resident Avenger heroes save the day including the one in his all-American star-spangled glory.

Prompt: “You can’t mask that ass. I’d know it anywhere.” (Bold in the text)

Warnings: hostage situation, violence, non-consensual drug use/injected, hospitals, slightly crack-ish humour (?) and some fluff

A/N: For marvelcapsicle’s challenge. Thank you for letting me participate, darling, may you gain more and more sweet followers in the future ♥

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Here’s a thing: Steve Rogers had a lot of fight in him. Before or after injected with the serum, no matter his shirt size, no matter if he could swing his fists effectively or not, he would punch bullies in their face.

When it came to people close to his heart, that rule amplified tenfold. No one touched the people he cared for. And while he would not necessarily call all of them friends, he would go rabid should any harm come their way.

To be fair, the list of ‘his people’ who were still alive wasn’t long; he could almost count them on the fingers of one hand. Tony. Natasha. Clint. Thor. Bruce. Probably Fury. Really, his circle was a bit monotonous, people who could protect themselves just fine at most times, but simultaneously with high-risk job of being the first defence line for the world’s greatest threats.

And then there was you.

You, with your inviting smile whenever he appeared at your counter at the café he had discovered during his endless walks.

You, handing him a drink different to his usual ‘boring’ cup of joe once a week, because that was the deal you had offered and Steve, caught in his curiosity about today’s world and your adorable challenging expression, agreed.

You, with your pretty eyes, irises twinkling at his attempts at flirting, no matter how awkward and out-of-time they sounded, graciously returning the favour… if he was reading the situation right.

You, always grinning wide when discovering a doodle he had left on his napkin, taking it with you back to the counter.

You, blissfully unaware of his double life, genuine in your demeanour, dealing with plain old Steve Rogers, and perfectly safe; at least as safe as one could be on Manhattan.

You in a headlock, as five rogue SHIELD agents decided to crash into the café you worked at of all the damn places, choosing it with deadly precision and nearly driving the poor Captain America into a cardiac arrest.

Not that you had any idea your life mattered to the proclaimed Star-Spangled Man more than anyone else’s. You were the exception to the rule; you were the precious outsider Steve caught feelings for, the one that was not supposed to learn about his other persona for at least a while longer and sure as hell was not supposed to get herself in a mess like this one.

Steve stood frozen as Natasha had two men at gunpoint, Clint fighting another, the last one having been already knocked down by Steve himself. The only injured people were the few customers, scarce at the hour, and the employees; some bruises and insignificant bleeding wounds between all of them.

The worst problem still remained; Perez had his arm around your neck, visibly squeezing your windpipe at least partly if the colour of your face – one stained in tears and Steve could kill at the moment, kill with no remorse – was anything to go by.

He gripped his shield tighter, staring the man down with his jaw clenched and his heart beating its way out of his chest, the syringe at your carotid scaring him more than the reduced airflow to your lungs.

“It’s over, Perez! Let her- let the woman go,” Steve howled, knees slightly bend in posture allowing him to spring forward at any second, to throw his weapon, to punch the living daylight of the bastard that not only betrayed SHIELD, but put his hands on you.

Big, big mistake. He really shouldn’t have done that.

“I like her exactly where she is, Cap,” Perez snarled, a wicked smile on his bloody lips, only his eyes giving away a fraction of his fear. “Move and she gets a ticket straight to hell.”

Perez was outnumbered and he knew it; even if he managed to escape, they would find him easily with Tony Stark’s system of surveillance. Yet, he tightened his grip and with you involuntarily acting like a human shield for him, he started backing away, gaze flickering between the three present Avengers.

Natasha’s right arm twitched as if she wanted to shoot him on spot – but she didn’t want to risk leaving the other two without the threat of immediate death for even a second.

And then several things happened at once; Clint knocked his opponent down with the construction of his bow; Perez who saw it lost his nerve and swiftly slammed the needle into your neck, piercing your skin easily, as easily as Steve’s panicked shout ripped from his throat.

The next second, an arrow was sticking from Perez’ shoulder as he jerked back with a cry of pain and Clint put another arrow through his hand, adding one to his thigh for a good measure. Two gunshots sounded in the background, Natasha’s aim as unmistakable as ever.

Perez fell to the ground with a scream, not even reaching for the gun in his holster before Steve was there to knock him out with a brutal hit straight to his face with his vibranium shield. The crack sounding at the impact was like music to Steve’s ears, the blood spurting from Perez’ nose a pleasant visual.

Yet, it didn’t feel half as satisfactory as Steve hoped as you had stumbled and toppled over your own feet. He barely managed to slow down your fall, gloved palm shooting up under the spot between your shoulder blades, his other hand holding your shoulder. He supported your enfeebled weight as you practically lied over the unconscious man.

Steve didn’t bother paying attention to his surroundings, knowing that the noise around him was Romanoff and Barton apprehending the remaining thugs. Instead, his gaze scanned you head to toe, focusing on your face and neck when he couldn’t find any other injury.

You were pale, eyes misted, unfocused, skin worryingly cold to his touch.

“Hey-- hey! Can you hear me?” Steve demanded urgently, lightly patting your cheek.

At that, your pupils zeroed on him, wide with disbelief, and to his immense shock, a lazy smile spread on your lips.

“Steve?” you breathed out his name and blood crystalized in his veins, his heart, already panicking, speeding up. How did you know his name? Perhaps the drug, the whatever liquid in the syringe was taking effect and you were turning delirious? Shit, they needed a doctor-- “You’re the pretty blond. Steve. My flirty Steve… my hero. Everyone’s hero.”

Steve’s horror escalated with each word. Good news: you were still breathing and apparently quite lucid, even if your speech was more of a mumble. Bad news: his secret identity just blew up.

Luckily, he considered the good news much more important; and lucid he would like to keep you, so he shot Natasha and Clint a meaningful glare, wordlessly asking them to call help. He wasn’t sure whether it registered because both of the spies were staring at him wide-eyed as the woman in his arms just outed him like the café’s regular… one that flirted with her, no less.

Steve cleared his throat, focusing on his mission – to keep you talking. There was no much point in denying it, was it?

“Eh... yeah, it’s me. How-how did you know? I wear a mask-“

“Muscly… real muscly… and that ass,” you muttered and Steve nearly choked on his spit, certain that he just turned red all over, including the area you pointed out.

Wait, did that mean that you had been checking him out?

So not important right now.

“Oh, uhm- how are you feeling? We have to-“

“You can’t mask that ass. I’d know it anywhere,” you continued babbling as if you hadn’t heard him and Steve gulped, feeling his teammates, who still hadn’t called a doctor, what the actual hell- watching you with interest. ”…could bounce a penny off it… no, that ain’t right, a quarter off of it, that’s it… Dream of it sometimes… biting-“

Clint coughed loudly to cover his laughter, finally springing into action after that uncomfortable remark that gave Steve quite a visual he wasn’t sure how he felt about just yet.

“Alright, as amusing as this is, we should get her some medical attention…”

Steve only took his eyes off of you for a moment, shooting Barton a look that screamed ‘You think?!’

“I want to touch it… please lemme touch it—just once,” you pleaded quietly, swaying even in your practically horizontal position, straining your neck to catch a glimpse of the object of your interest. “The best I’ve even seen-“

“I think it’s ethanol she got injected with…” Natasha announced, sniffing the syringe with disgust in her voice. “High concentration.”

And Steve felt like he just got hit by Thor’s hammer… in his head. Seriously?

“…alcohol?” he asked, dumbstruck and utterly relieved, the heavy weight in his stomach lifting a bit. “You think she’s merely… drunk?”

“Well, alcohol straight to the bloodstream is seriously nasty on its own, S-“

“Alcohol nasty, yesss. And this really hurts,” your voice interrupted Natasha and Steve’s heart clenched uncomfortably when the surprised grimace appeared on your face, your eyes indeed clouding in pain, looking up at him, doe-eyed, so vulnerable and trusting.

“Hey, no sad Steeb! Your eyes pretty too. Little pictures you draw… so suuuper cute. I like your hair. You came in the day, wind blew, so messy-- like bed hair, wanna try top that-- I betcha I can do better-“

“Sounds drunk enough to you?” Natasha hummed casually and Steve didn’t even have to look at her to know she was smirking, while he was both fretting over your state and blushing to the roots of his hair because of your blunt compliments and unfiltered fantasies.

You turned your head slowly to Nat as she spoke, a crooked grin curling up your lips. “Hey, you’re pretty too-“

Much to Steve’s annoyance, the Russian spy had the audacity to chuckle and wink at you.

“Why thank you-“

“But prefer blonds,” you babbled again, lowering your voice conspiratorially. “He’s real nice. His biceps are like… huge. Bigger than my head-- ow, my head… spi-spinning- I think-? Whoa— oh… “

Steve called out your name in panic as you went limp in his arms, your body pliant, folding like a house of cards.

“I like her,” Clint noted as he jogged to Steve’s side, kneeling to take your pulse on the unharmed carotid with a furrow to his brows. “The medics are on their way, she’ll hold on until then.”

Steve sighed in relief when Clint nodded in affirmation again, feeling your heart still beating.

Steve’s grip on your tightened, hand sliding behind your head to cradle it gently rather than letting it dangle in such unnatural angle. He manoeuvred it so your cheek rested against his chest, his newly free hand sneaking under your knees so he could lift you with ease as he stood up.

“Nice, Rogers. Keep going like this, squads with weights, and you’ll keep that exceptional ass of yours in shape,” Natasha teased him, but when he turned to glare at her, she gave him a soft smile and beckoned towards your nearly motionless body. “She’ll be okay. Let’s go get her some help.”

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Your head was pounding. The right side of your neck was itchy as hell and felt extremely stiff. The beeping sounding in your ears was a thing from nightmares, echoing in your aching skull.

You felt like shit and honestly, you could cry when you tried to open your eyes and the sharp light hit them, making you swiftly close them again.

A realization slowly crept at you that there was a presence of an intrusive smell too, making you want to puke— or was that just the brutal hangover? Because you felt unbelievably hungover on top of everything. The world seemed to be spinning even behind your closed eyelids and you couldn’t but groan, deciding to only curse the universe mentally since your throat resembled a Sahara Desert.

“Oh, hey gorgeous,” a female voice greeted you from your left and you snapped your eyes open with a startle, staring with shock at the beautiful redhead sitting by your bedside.

For few long seconds, you wondered if you died and went to heaven, because there was a non-descript angelic-like creature watching over you.  You quickly brushed that thought aside, because there was no way Heaven looked like a hospital room and provided you with such shitty sensations attacking your poor body.

So you asked the only logical question, ignoring the dryness of your mouth which soon cause you to cough.

“…who are you?”

A plastic cup with a heavenly cold liquid landed in front of you, the straw sticking from it directed to your lips as the stunning woman frowned discontentedly.

“Oh, you don’t remember?” she asked, seemingly hurt. “My heart is breaking! You told me I was pretty.”

You blinked slowly, finally adjusting to the light, finally able to talk without pain (that much pain, that was) and your head started pounding some more, embarrassment filling every fibre of your being.

What the- oh god, you had really got drunk, hadn’t you, and now you had a total blackout on what you had been up to in your questionable state.

“Eeeer… I did? I mean, you are… but-“

“But you prefer blonds, yeah, I know,” the mysterious woman finished your sentence to her liking and your eyes went wide. How did she- and who was she again, sitting in your hospital room like that? Had you really got so smashed that you didn’t remember her when you should have? When had you met? Shit, your mind was so foggy… “And you think Steve’s a bit prettier. And his ass is the best you’ve ever seen, so I get it…”

“The hell?!” you squealed in utter horror, sitting up straight as the words registered, a flash of blue, red and white flickering in the back of your mind, followed by a sharp stung in your temples. A nauseatingly strong pain resembling an intense cramp – only like ten times worse – shot up your neck as you moved so quickly, ripping a startled yelp from your throat.

A hazy image of the café you worked at blended into a picture Steve’s beautiful eyes – did this woman know your regular, your handsome flirty blond regular? –, sensation of gentle hands cradling your jaw, a sting in your neck—

“You need to be careful with how much you move. Your neck took quite a hit, they had to perform a surgery on you, you got a transfusion. They worried about your brain too. They’ve been monitoring you for four days now and this is the first time you’re awake,” your stranger explained patiently, voice full of compassion.

Your hand involuntarily rose to massage the incriminated place, still unsure of what the woman was talking about, the images in your brain confusing the hell out of you. You still had no idea who she was, but her face was starting to feel a bit familiar – you assumed that whatever had happened, she had been there too, possibly helping you.

And there was something in her green eyes, cautious yet somewhat calming, making it easy to trust her for some inexplicable reason.

“Steve’s gonna be pissed at me for missing it,” she added and grinned. “I made him leave to take care of himself before he could actually start taking roots in here. He’s been worried too. A lot.”

The amount of question marks in your head just doubled, but at the same time, your heart fluttered. Steve had visited you? Often, apparently? That was really, really sweet of him. The thought of him guarding you – and didn’t he have a physique of a bodyguard, once mentioning he was in private security when asked –, brought a dreamy smile to your face.

Perhaps it wasn’t only about flirting for him either…?

“Keep looking so lovestruck and I might forgive him that he hasn’t mention you before. Though I guess I can’t blame him, wanting to keep— anyway. I’m Natasha. Nice to meet you,” she extended her hand towards you at last and you automatically accepted it, telling her your name in return.

Even though that was probably beside the point seeing as she had been found at your bedside in a hospital.

“Hi, Natasha. Nice to meet you too… I think.”

The redhead burst out into a quiet laughter at your hesitance. “Fair enough. After Steve comes back and explains what exactly happened – because it’s not quite my place to tell you –, call me back for the good details. It’s fun to make him blush.”

Despite just only having met this woman, you decided that you kinda liked her and nodded in acceptance of her offer. Steve might be sweet – perhaps even sweet on you it seemed – but some harmless teasing could never hurt. Not when it apparently had something to do with his glorious ass.

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Here’s a thing: Steve Rogers had a lot of fight in him. Before injected with the serum or after, no matter his shirt size, no matter if he could swing his fists effectively or not, he would fight for what mattered.

His teammates and friends certainly fell into the category. The somewhat relationship he had been trying to build with you was right there with them, definitely worth fighting for.

So, after revealing his identity – an action which become inevitable at that point, really – he had a delicate confession to make and a bold question to ask in an almost shy voice. He still asked it, because he would be damned if he gave up on you.

You said yes, your confession about certain harboured feelings matching his.

You said yes, you would like to go out with him very much, because you liked him too.

And no, it wasn’t just because he owned the best backside you had ever seen. Steve Rogers was, according to you, quite memorable and worth fighting for in general too.

(Steve, over time, might have developed a bit of a love-hate relationship with the fact you were getting along with Natasha so well. It was good news and bad news at the same time, seeing as it often resulted in the two of you teaming up against him. Once again, the good news won him over… because he simply loved how easily you fit into his world and how surprisingly well he fit into yours.)

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S.R. masterlist

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Thank you for reading :-*

It’s once a again a bit different from my usual writing; it’s short (like wtf me? short?) and it’s with a quote that is hard to do justice to... so I hope you liked it at leats a bit. Feedback always appreciated :-*

#marvel #fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #captain america x you #captain america imagine #captain america #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america fanfic #captain america fanfiction #writing challenge #mcu #avengers #avengers fanfiction #steve rogers one-shot #natasha romanoff #clint barton #reader insert #a cup of truth #anika ann

[inkandpen22]

Not Playing Nice

Request: a transman!reader x protective!Spike after the reader gets insulted or invalidated

Pairing: Spike x transman!reader

Warnings: swearing, fighting, mentions of violence, bullying 

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: Y/N is a member of the Scoobie gang and attends UC Sunnydale with them. When Spike walks Y/N home after a group meeting, he notices some marks on his skin and gets concerned. 

A/N: Thank you so much for the request! This is my first time writing a story with this POV and it was such a fun new experience! I hope I did the story justice and I hope you enjoy it! X 

Masterlist

Curled up in the armchair, I struggle to not doze off. Buffy and the others discuss the latest Big-Bad that’s been ravaging Sunnydale. When Xander called this meeting at his and Anya’s apartment after he spotted the demon earlier at the construction site, I almost lied and said I was busy in the library. Usually, I’m of greater help than this, but classes have me drained and last night was a long night. The idea of having to walk back past the frat houses on the way to the dorm keeps popping into my head every time I close my eyes, so at least I have that to keep me alert. 

I feel a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Hey Y/N?” 

I hum, too tired to open my eyes. Spike is squatting in front of my chair, studying my face. 

“You seem tired. How about you head on home?” He suggests. 

I shake my head, sitting up to prove I’m awake. “Nah, I’ll stay until everyone calls it a night.” A yawn escapes me accidentally. 

“If you’re worried about walking back with Mr. Munchie-Man out and about, I could join you,” he offers, referring to the toothy demon we’ve been hunting. 

“It’s not that, thanks though,” I offer the blonde vampire a weak smile. 

“Yeah, Y/N, you should get some rest,” Willow agrees. “I know you’ve had a lot of projects this week. We’ll bring you up to date tomorrow!” She offers enthusiastically. 

I yawn again, “alright, maybe you’re right.” 

I shift in my seat to stand and Spike’s hand remains on my arm kindly. 

“Come on, Mate,” he mumbles, guiding me to the door. “I’ll walk you home just in case.” 

I roll my eyes, “I’m human, not a defenseless puppy.” 

“Doesn’t mean the Hungry-Hungry-Hippo won’t make you into a chew toy,” he insists. 

Spike is always so uncharacteristically protective of me. He’s not that way with Xander. I suspect it’s because Buffy and the others treat me the same. I’m the ‘empathetic one’ of the group. 

Everyone says their goodbyes and repeat for us to stay safe. Buffy adds a request, for me to call when I get back to my dorm room okay. I promise her to do so. 

As Spike and I arrive at my dorm room, I go to unlock the door. Considering how late it is everyone on my floor is asleep and the only lighting in the hall is the emergency lights. 

“Well, thanks for playing bodyguard,” I start to bid the vamp farewell as my door swings open. “I’ll see-” 

“Wait,” Spike grabs my wrist suddenly. 

I jump, thinking he says something in my pitch-black room. “What?!” 

“What’s this on your neck?” He releases my wrist and his fingers brush against my neck. 

Shit. 

“Oh, I uh...” I stammered, struggling to think of an excuse. “Willow was messing around and tried flat ironing my hair! She kinda got to close ya know,” I laugh nervously, moving to step inside my room. 

Spike grabs my forearm and I wince. Noticing my reaction, he frowns and swiftly raises the fabric of my sweatshirt’s sleeve. 

“Spike, don’t-” 

His sight lands on the massive, hours old, scrape that travels from my elbow to my wrist on the outside of my forearm. 

“What the hell is this?” He mumbles, peering up at me with hooded eyes. 

“From the last time, we fought a Big-Bad,” I explain plainly, taking my arm back and lowering the sleeve. “I’m not vampy like you, don’t heal as quickly.” I force a smile. 

Not buying the story, he nudges my shoulder aggressively and I bump into the wall of the hallway. He presses his palm against the wall beside my head and reaches for the hem of my hoodie. I swat at his hand away and he slaps it back like a cat. 

“Stop that,” he orders sternly. 

I turn my head to the side, clenching my jaw. I focus on a single piece of wood positioned at the end of the corridor. Swallowing hard, to distract me as Spike picks up the hem of my hoodie hesitantly. He shifts on his feet as the dark-colored bruise that coats my rib cage becomes fully exposed. For a moment that feels like an eternity, he examines the many clustered marks around my abdomen. 

He clears his throat and drops the fabric. Pushing off the wall, he paces away to the opposite wall. There’s a prolonged silence between us as I protrude far within myself. 

Spike spins on his heels to face me. “All of these marks from one fight where you had me, two mega witches, a Slayer, an ex-vengeance demon, and her lapdog to help you? What are you, a human or a peach?” 

I toss my head back in annoyance. “Just leave it, Spike!” 

“So, you’re just not going to tell me what happened?” He clenches his jaw. 

“I did tell you,” I defend calmly and go to enter my room. “Now, goodnight.” 

He rushes to the doorway and slams his hands against the frame. “I’m going to find out!” 

“See you tomorrow!” I dismiss, shutting the door in his face. 

Finally, alone, I slide down the back of my door and bring my knees close to my chest. Releasing a deep breath, I do everything I can to relax, even in the slightest bit. I’ve gone this long without any of my friends finding out, I just hope Spike doesn’t say anything. I’ve just never wanted to trouble them. I mean, considering we fight demons and forces of legitimate evil each day my problems don’t exactly match the level of priority. I can handle this. Besides, I’ve been dealing with it for a while now. I’m used to it. 

_________________________________________________

The following night, we all gather at The Bronze to celebrate another win against a demon. I really didn’t like this one, he gave IT vibes this his racks of teeth. Gives me the heebie-jeebies! 

At the bar, I wait patiently for my drink while the group is around our usual table just a few yards away. 

“Jack Daniels please,” a familiar English accent requests the bartender. 

I glance to my right and sure enough, there’s Spike in all his glory. He turns to face me directly and I stare ahead, watching the bartender make my drink. 

“You were good today, you know when you picked up Xander’s ax and whatnot,” Spike compliments awkwardly. 

“Thanks,” I mumble. 

“So you’re still not going-” 

“Nope,” I nod. “Still not gonna tell ya.” 

“Right then, fair enough,” he sighs, spinning on his heels to face the bar. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him tapping his black painted nails against the bar. After a second of fidgeting, he reaches into his coat pocket and reveals a pack of cigarettes. He slips one between his lips and holds the pack out to me. I give him a knowing look, he can’t be serious. 

“You know I don’t smoke,” I remind him. 

“You know I don’t smoke,” he mimics my voice, stuffing the cigarettes back into his pocket. 

I suppress my amusement, biting down on my lip. That impersonation was just horrid. Spike notices and continues his act. 

“Oh Spike, you’re just the best!” He says in a sing-songy tone. “You’re the evilest, most vicious vampire I’ve ever met. I just-” 

I swat his arm and he whines, rubbing the wounded area. 

“I don’t sound like that!” I laugh. 

“You’re right.” He takes a quick smoke of his cigarette and clears his throat. “Let me just get in tune here-”

I whine, “Spike, I-” 

“Well if it isn’t the SheMan!” 

My heart stops as soon as I hear the eery insult. It’s nothing original, I hear it almost daily, that’s not what makes me anxious. The part that has me so worried is I hear from the same group of asshole every day. They’re all in the same frat at UC Sunnydale. I have to pass their house to get to my dorm, that’s how I ran into the first time. They were are their porch and one of them recognized me from our English Literature class. 

The douchiest one of them all, the leader, appears at my side rubs against me. “We missed you in class today!” 

I turn my body to Spike, putting my back to the Frat guy. His friends circle us like a wall of steroid driven rage. Spike clenches his jaw, switching his sight between me and the group of guys. 

He removes the cigarette from his mouth and barks past me at the Frat leader. “Piss off you wanker!”

“Ooh, got yourself a boyfriend?” One of his minions purrs, making the others laugh. 

“Trying to compensate for something are we?!” Spike insults the group, unfazed by the dickwad’s insinuation. 

“Just ignore them,” I grumble to Spike. 

“I’m sorry? What was that you little tranny?” Another one of them snickers and shoves me into the bar top. 

The wind gets knocked out of me as I grip my bruised side. Sweet Lord, that hurt like a bitch! 

“Okay, this should be fun,” Spike remarks, having had enough. 

I push off the bar weakly, still suffering the shooting pain in my abdomen. I grab the vampire wrist pleadingly. “Spike, don’t!” 

He won’t always be there to play bodyguard and I’ll be the one left to deal with the consequences at school. Next year I’ll live in a different building and I’ll never have to see these pricks again. 

Spike is ready to drop-kick each of them and huffs when I stop with him. He opens to argue with me. “But-” 

“Let’s go!” I repeat sternly. 

We go to walk back to our friends, leaving the group of Abercrombie models by the bar. 

“Must you always be so patient,” Spike grumbles, his cigarette balancing on his lips. 

I can tell it’s taking everything in him to restrain himself. It’s not in his nature to leave a fight, baby steps. 

“I thought you liked that about me,” I laugh lightly. 

A faint smile appears on Spike’s lips, at least he’s easing up a little. Soon, we’ll be back with our friends and it’ll be fine. 

“Oh yeah, you run!” One of the boys shouts over the chatter of the club. 

Spike shifts to turn around and I press a hand to his back, urging him to keep walking. “Ignore them!” 

“You sissy!” Another adds, earning a series of laughs from his friends. 

“Alright fuck this nice-person bollocks!” Spike snaps, dropping his cigarette and smashing it with his boot. His face morphs into his vampy one as he allows his frustration to consume him. “I’m evil for Christ’s sake!” He spins on his heels and marches toward the group of guys gathered by the bar. 

“Spike!” 

Before I have the chance to stop him, he grabs one of the guys by the collar of his polo and punches him right across the face. The college boy falls into his friends then the floor with a grunt. He covers his face, his nose bleeding excessively. 

Spike leans over him with a wicked snicker. “How’d you like that you gutless tit?!” 

He stands up straight to address his circle of friends. “Anyone else what a goat it?! Suddenly I’m very thirsty!” 

Taking one look at Spike’s face, all of them scatter. I watch as they shove each other out of the way to get away and sprint up to the exit. They leave their friend on the floor moaning and groaning in pain. Spike brushes his hands over his gelled hair, sleeking it back. 

“Well, that was refreshing,” he sighs, dropping his arms at his sides. 

He rejoins me and presses a hand to my back to walk me back to the bar to where we were peacefully before. 

“You didn’t need to do that,” I mutter, nonetheless appreciate. 

“Of course I bloody did,” he debates. “If there’s anything I hate more than sympathetic, humanitarian namby-pamby, self-righteous prats! It’s weak high-and-mighty bullies!” 

Spike playing defender instead of the offender? What an interesting turn of events. After a moment, the bartender brings us our drinks. 

“Thank you,” I say to Spike before I forget. 

“Eh, don’t mention it,” he waves his hand, dismissing it as nothing. “And the next time any other prep-fest frat boy gives you trouble you tell me, alright! Promise?!” 

I nod, taking a sip of my drink. 

“And don’t worry, I won’t tell the others about any of this,” he assures me timidly as a side note.  

That truly comes as a relief to me. I wouldn’t want to deal with the constant questions and fussing that I’m sure would ensue. 

“So...do you wanna go join the others?” I suggest. 

“Nah,” he makes a disgusted face as he lights himself a new cigarette. “They all annoy me.” 

“I don’t annoy you?” I laugh, raising a brow. 

“No, you’re quite pleasant actually,” he compliments to my surprise. “You think I’d punch someone for just anybody?” 

“Umm, yeah?” I argue, not hiding my amusement. 

“Okay maybe you’re right,” he concludes. “But if it were Xander I’d let him get hit!” He rushes out to maintain his tough facade. 

“Oh, of course, certainly,” I agree, snickering at his sternness. 

There’s a comfortable silence between us as Spike finishes his cigarette and I sip on my drink. Then, out of nowhere, Spike pops off like a rocket, causing me to jump a little. Evidently, he’s been going over the events of the conflict with the boys. 

“I just don’t get why people get their knickers in a twist about some things?!” He complains to me. “And it changes with every bloody decade! One minutes it pre-martial sex and every other woman being called a harlot! That was real a drag for many centuries, let me tell ya! I couldn’t shag a girl without her panicking after! I was going through villages like I was on a damn pilgrimage! Then, a lot of the focus was shot at the gays for a couple decades following Stonewall and AIDS! I was in New York for that whole thing and people were down right bonkers! And the same people who were so pissy about it also blasted Freddie Mercury and Elton John from their boomboxes! Bet it came as a real shock to them when those closet doors swung open!”

Resting my chin my hand, I just listen to him rant and sip on my drink. 

He goes on, “it’s just a load of bollocks how you humans are so quick to attack one another! It leaves us vampires and demons with little work to do! Most of the time, we just sit back and watch the bloody shit show!” 

An amused grin appears across my lips as the decades old vampire bitches about closed-minded humans. He’s preaching to the choir here. 

“For thirteen years everyone was up in arms about alcohol! Alcohol!” He repeats, peering at me with raised brows. “Of all things! So, for thirteen fucking years we had to hide and sneak around because a group of Jesus loving women decided alcohol was the reason their husbands didn’t like them! Well, I have a hunch that it might of been their constant nagging and preaching!” 

He pants, catching his breath after his tangent. Honestly, it was quite amusing. I hope he has more. 

“My point is Y/N, if I’ve learned anything from my many years on this planet, it’s that humanity constantly evolving along with the world. In this point in time, you’re who you’re meant to be,” he tells me as he fidgets with the paper from his straw. “Only you can define who that is and fuck anyone who tries to do it for you. Be yourself, people will learn to fucking deal.” 

I sit quietly, processing his words and wait to see if there’s more. Then, he meets my gaze for the first time since his tangent. 

“Would... would you mind if we just sit here, have a few drinks maybe?” He requests. “Those nitwits have me all moody.” 

I struggle to hide the smile that’s forcing itself across my lips. “I’d like that.” 

For the remainder of the night, Spike and I sit at the bar. We talk about a ridge range of topics from my major to his life before vamping out. I try imagining Spike as William the poet, it doesn’t quite work out in my head. He tells me some funny stories about his experiences during Woodstock, and we laugh about them for a good hour or two. It’s unspoken between us, but it’s evident that this is the start of a real friendship. 

__________________________________________________

Masterlist

Tags: @mx-pibbles​

#spike x reader #spikexreader #spike #spike x buffy #spike fanfic #spuffy #buffy s5 #buffy summers #buffy #buffy the vampire slayer #buffy the vampire slayer imagine

[darksiderssin]

Question: Would you be up to writing a small drabble/scenario thing about a human and a demon being lovers in the middle of the apocalypse?

Idk if I can do just one nameless demon when we have so many to choose from. Hope you don't mind!

Vulgrim: It wasn't uncommon for Vulgrim to be doing business with the human survivors- everyone needs something, everyone's got something to trade. Really, business was booming for him. You were just one of his favourite customers, bringing him trinkets you came across on your scavenging trips into the ruined city in return for weapons, alcohol, potions, whatever you needed that old Vulgrim could offer you for the right price. You visited frequently, and while he thought it was simply because you had become dependent on him, the merchant came to enjoy your visits, the look of fascination on your face as he appraised your findings, told you what they were for- you'd even found him a few interesting trinkets belonging to demon lords that had fallen during the End War, he'd rewarded you well for that. Your campsite moved closer to one of his Serpent Holes, the cavern rather safe. Vulgrim didn't mind having a neighbour, really- he just didn't expect to fall for this little human.

Vulgrim likes to bring you fine trinkets, saves his best wares for you if he knows it'll keep you safe. He once tried taking a human form to see how you'd like it, and while it was rather handsome (a/n: a personal faceclaim for this is Mr Gold from OUAT), imagine his surprise when you kindly shook your head with a smile and a chuckle and told him he didn't need to change himself for you. So this, Vulgrim thought, was love, as you kissed him once the glamour was gone. He'd be sure to keep an eye on you, his greatest Treasure of all.

Samael: Well, he's broken out of prison, Lilith certainly isn't in his corner anymore. Honestly, Samael was happy to build up his army, maybe turn some of the simpletons once under the command of the Destroyer to his side, take his place on the throne of Hell by force, as was his right. Bit of a list there, lots of steps. The Horsemen were no longer his concern, the Charred Council already cast in an unfavourable light and keeping whatever heat that could have been directed his way off his back- small victories should always be taken with gratitude. Then, there was you. Snooping about his little corner of the ruined city where his former prison had become part of his new castle, until your curiosity ended up with you stumbling into his new throne room. Well, he wasn't particularly hungry at the time, and when you were done begging for your life, Samael asked just how you got in here. And hey, if the Horsemen could have their own little human pets, why couldn't he? 

Of course, him being a colossus compared to tiny little you in scale often made you worry. You told your stories of school days, times with friends and family, and Samael seemed interested when you told him what different parts of the city used to be. He found this information most useful, and quite fascinating- the city maps had to be redrawn, of course, but your wealth of knowledge was very much useful. And, with time, you leaned that Samael wasn't as bad as he seemed to be at face value- he could be honest when it suited him, and the fact that he didn't beat around the bush made you think he was somehow worth trusting. "A horrible decision, really," Samael had chuckled, but it was interesting to think that a human could come to consider him a friend. What a peculiar human indeed. He will protect you with his life.

Dis: Finally free of Vulgrim after so long, Dis decided she'd find her own little spot of paradise on the shattered Earth since it was practically free real estate, probably just stay out of trouble and figure out what to do with herself. Sadly, that little spot in the woods she picked that she thought would be a great place to set up was near your camp, and while Dis wasn't expecting neighbours, she wasn't too interested in getting to know you at first, mostly because she didn't want much to do with anyone. Though not keen on introducing herself to the neighbourhood, she caught a few glimpses of you working on your shelter during the day or heading out to scavenge for stuff, and at night she'd catch a whiff of whatever you were cooking at night, though really, it wasn't much. And dammit, you were cute. Too cute to be eating whatever the hell you called that scrawny thing you were cooking over your measly campfire. So, considering she couldn't take looking at you feeding yourself something that could barely be considered a meal, Did decided to make her presence known, waltzing on into your camp, hauling you over her shoulder and dragging you back to her little hidey hole. Of course, you weren't too happy about being abducted by a demon, kicking and yelling until Dis sat you down and put a proper meal in your lap and told you to eat, that she doesn't do this for just anyone.

Though she didn't talk much while you ate, mostly just paying you a glance now and then in between bites of her own meal, which was a leg of a Stalker she'd ripped off and was eating raw, mostly to make sure you were eating the food she'd cooked for you herself, and you were. Good. Now you wouldn't be bothering her with how little you ate. This act of neighbourly generosity led to you feeling a little more comfortable with Dis hanging around, and eventually you got her to open up about her past and how she ended up on Earth; you shocked her when you said you wouldn't mind helping her set up or keeping her company. If she didn't want to be dealing with any other demons, you could help with that, too. Soon, you went from neighbours to roommates, in a way, the two of you making a home there in the woods as Dis made sure you were fed and protected and you helped to find things to add to the shelter that was slowly being built; some necessary, some more for comfort's sake, but Dis made sure you never went without. This symbiotic relationship made Dis treasure you more and earned you the nickname of "sweet thing". She only hoped you understood how she would rend Creation itself if it meant making you happy.

Abraxis: Some lesser demon had brought you up as a human plaything along with the plundered treasure he'd taken from his murdered rivals, an offering to his smooth talking superior. With a dismissive wave of his hand, Abraxis had promised the hopeful supplicant that he would see about elevating his position, and soon it was just you and this tall demon, tail lazily swaying side to side like a cat, and a snap of his fingers broke your shackles. No, Abraxis's tastes were not as perverse as some of his counterparts who took human slaves into their beds and used them until they broke or died- instead he offered you a meal and a drink, and encouraged you to dine with him and tell him your story. Really, a demon of his standing shouldn't care much for a lowly Dustborn such as yourself, but he was interested as to how you ended up how you did in his tower. He’d expected humanity to have died off by now, but your story of being in the wrong place in the wrong time, what you'd been doing when you'd been snatched up, what you expected to have happen to you? Abraxis hadn't expected it to be so entertaining, especially when you added that you hadn't expected to be "wined and dined" by a demon that you thought would kill you as soon as look at you. No, he assured you, he would rather not kill without reason. He explained his purpose here on the Shattered Earth, let you glimpse the tower slowly being constructed, but supposed it wouldn't interest you. The problem was, he wanted you to stay longer, tell him more stories and to enjoy your company a little more. He didn't have the time for a pet, so he knew he'd have to turn you loose eventually- but that didn't mean he had to let you go completely.

In a gesture that he didn't afford to most beings in Creation, Abraxis had offered you a small token to remember your time here- a stone inscribed with a rune that would bring you to his lair again, should either of you desire the other's company. And really, he'd grown fond of you over your little lunch date, and invited you over a few more times over the following months when he had a moment to spare, and you two would eat or play cards or chess- he told you that it was one of the few parts of human culture the other realms tolerated or enjoyed- and sometimes he'd let you win to see that look of accomplishment on your face. Oh, how Abraxis loved to see his favourite human smile. Sometimes if he came across anything interesting, he would pass it on to you as a gift, let you stay in his bed for the night while he worked on things regarding his hefty commission that was floating some miles away. If he ever joined you, he was sure to be out of the bed before you woke up, though he was loathe to pull his eyes away from your peaceful face as you slept, all cares lifted off your shoulders if only for a few hours. He didn't expect to care so much if there was a new scratch or injury on you, demanding to know what gutter trash had dared put his paws on you once when you were sporting a cut that you'd bandaged and an impressive black eye. You'd both been quite surprised, and Abraxis insisted that you stay while you healed so he'd be able to keep an eye on your recovery. Of course, the one responsible had been gutted and left for the buzzards, he made sure of that. No, he wouldn't let anyone dare to touch his dear little human ever again.

(I can't think of a reason Lilith might take a human pet without pissing off Death, so I might have to revisit this at a later date!)

#darksiders sin #vulgrim #samael #dis #abraxis #Anonymous

[muchadoaboutbucky]

Baby, Just Say Yes

Bucky keeps asking you to marry him… but you want him to do something before you say yes.

PAIRING: Bucky x Native American!Reader

WARNINGS: fluff, implied smut

NOTE: Edited by @crispychrissy​. Do not save or repost my work without my consent. My prompt was: “I want to do something for her… but what?” / “Well, there’s the usual things: flowers, chocolates, promises you don’t intend to keep…” -Beast and Cogsworth, Beauty and the Beast

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Bucky has no idea how he’s gone two years without marrying you. It’s been sweet and charming, being able to wake up next to you every morning, nestled in soft, warm sheets and dot each other’s cheeks and lips with sticky kisses. And then to make love in the same bed hours later and fall asleep entangled in each other’s arms. It’s been two years of that, living as lovers destined to never grow apart, and you’ve been happy. 

But Bucky wants more. He wants rings, a white chiffon dress, a black tux, a pretty bouquet of flowers, a three-tier cake, the words “I do...”

No matter how many times he jokingly hints that he wants to marry you, it always gets brushed aside. He understands why—weddings are expensive and anything could throw a wrench in your plans. Missions, injuries, the nightmares of moving too fast, babymaking, baby raising… ugh, fuck.

He’s been trying for a while, playing with the little jokes: “you know, if we got married we could…” and “the Bahamas look like a good honeymoon destination.” Each time you play along, working into his fantasies only to push them away for the right time. 

After six months of playing around proposals, too scared to go for some huge romantic gesture that might pressure you into saying “yes,” Bucky’s stuck. He has no idea what he has to do to get you to marry him, and it’s driving him nuts. 

He finds you in the library, curled up on one of the large couches with a cup of coffee and a heavy astronomy book Thor had brought from Asgard that you’ve been infatuated with for weeks. With you being one of the few non-Asgardians able to read the text, Bucky makes sure to praise your intelligence every opportunity he gets, taking pride in being able to get in on the who-has-the-better-girl thing that Thor and Tony always have going on. 

“Hey, smarty-pants.” He plops down next to you, leans in to give you a smooch on the cheek, and takes a peek at the symbols etched on delicate paper. “What’s going on?”

“Reading some deep-space astronomy facts.” You turn to face him, smiling wearily. “Why?”

“Just wondering.” Bucky slings his arm across the couch behind you. “I was thinking, if we got married we could have our cake made with all these little symbols on it.”

“That would be so tacky,” you giggle, “they’re pretty, but they don’t belong on a cake, babe.”

Bucky groans and drops his head on your shoulder. “You could design the cake, then?”

“What if I want pie?”

“Who has pie at their wedding?”

You lean forward to set the book on the coffee table. “My aunt did.”

“Blegh.” Bucky buries his face in the crook of your neck and kisses the sensitive spot that always makes you squirm. “Nothin’s better than cake. This bakery in Brooklyn used to make this vanilla spice cake with buttercream. I bet you’d never taste anything better.”

You laugh as he leans forward, pressing you down into the couch and sitting himself on top of you, hips lazily slotted between your thighs. “I don’t know, the cupcakes Wanda made the other night were pretty top notch.”

“Maybe she could make our cake.” Bucky kisses you, long and deep, not stopping until your palms press against his chest. “What do you think?” he continues, “chocolate or vanilla?”

“Why do you want cake so bad?” You giggle when his fingers creep under the hem of your sweater. “I think there’s still some cupcakes left.”

Bucky grumbles. “I want wedding cake. Probably as much as I want you to marry me.”

“Babe—”

“What do I have to do to get you to marry me, honey?” Bucky gazes down at you, pulling the best puppy-eyed expression he can muster. “Please, just tell me.”

You cock an eyebrow, gazing up at him with the mysterious, wicked gleam in your eyes that he loves so much. “I think you’re smart enough to come up with something.”

Bucky frowns. “What?”

“I trust your imagination.” You rub your foot along the side of his thigh.

He lowers his head to bury his lips against the side of your neck. “You’re playing with me.”

You giggle in his ear. “I’m not.”

Lifting his head, Bucky rakes his eyes over your face. There’s the playful tease there, of course, it always is, but there’s something else… desperation, maybe?

“Hmm.” He kisses you again and pulls away. “What kind of surprise d’ya want?”

“Any kind.” You reach for your book and flip back to the page he’d interrupted. “Pizza for dinner tonight okay?”

He nods. “Definitely. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

***

He finds Tony an hour later, busy in the lab with a new piece of technology for Pepper’s suit. Tony barely glances up as Bucky enters, but sets down the tools in his hands.

“Your arm need fixing, again?” Tony casts a quick glance at the black and gold glint of Bucky’s left arm. 

“Not this time,” Bucky replies. “I, uh, I need your help.”

Tony reaches out in front of him, swiping through the suspended display hovering over his work table. “Y/N giving you trouble again?”

“A little,” Bucky replies with a nervous chuckle, “I need to get Y/N to marry me.”

Tony chuckles. “She hasn’t said yes yet? You’ve only been asking her for the last… how long has it been?”

“Six months.” Bucky tucks his hands into his pockets. “All I did was ask her what I have to do to get her to marry me, she said to surprise her, so… I want to do something for her… but what?”

Tony pulls a heavy leather glove off his right hand and rummages in a half-finished bag of trail mix. “Well, there’s the usual things. Flowers, chocolates, promises you don’t intend to keep…” 

Bucky sighs, shaking his head, and braces his hands on the worktable. “I don’t know what she could want. Not a car, we have one that we barely use… maybe a vacation?”

“Well, the Bahamas are nice,” Tony suggests. “You can always use the jet.”

Bucky bows his head, racking his brain for all the little hints you could have made. Sure, you’ve made hints about wanting a vacation someplace nice, or mentioned staying abroad the next time you went on an international mission… maybe you’re tired of being around people almost twenty-four seven. Maybe you want a place to call your own, where you and Bucky can be as messy and loud and as free as possible…

“A house.” He steps back, flexing his fingers by his sides. “I should build her a house.”

“Then build her a house,” Tony finishes. “Lemme finish this thing for Pepper, then we can talk. I got some old blueprints for safehouses I never finished.”

“Got it.” Bucky steps back as Tony picks up his tools to resume work on the piece of armor in front of him. “D’you mind not telling her? I wanna keep this a surprise.”

“No problem.” Tony waves him off. “See you ‘round, Barnes.”

***

It takes almost two weeks to get everything organized. After a long night of indecisiveness, Bucky settles on plans for a two-bedroom cabin and starts flipping through catalogues of furniture. It becomes a little easier to spread things out and organize when you and Natasha head off on a weekend getaway to the city.

By the time you return, Bucky’s got everything settled. Steve and Sam jump on the bandwagon to help get the place built just a little faster, and Tony works on constructing a false month-long mission, just as an excuse to keep you and the others unaware. 

As usual, you wake Bucky early the day he’s supposed to head out, kissing him long and slow as he slowly flickers into consciousness, one hand working on his morning erection until he flips you over and settles inside with long, slow strokes that have your toes curling. After the third alarm goes off, you finally stumble out of bed and into the shower, where you spend more time kissing and touching than actually showering. 

“I don’t want you to be gone a whole month.” You perch on the edge of the bed, hair wrapped in a towel, one of Bucky’s henleys shrouding your torso. “Not fair that Tony didn’t ask me to come along.”

Bucky smiles, bending down to kiss your forehead. “Just think ‘bout how much fun we can have when it’s over?”

“You’re only making it worse.” 

“Mmm.” Bucky hikes his jeans up around his waist. “It’ll be over before you know it.”

***

It takes the better part of their given month, but the moment the final stone on the front steps is laid into place, Bucky’s heart soars. The house had come along much better and faster than they’d expected it to, and the construction crew had been more than happy to have the help of two superhumans to move heavier materials into place. 

With the crew finally cleaned and gone, it’s down to the four men to set up the furniture. It takes the better part of the day, but eventually the empty house is left full of brand new furniture, the greatest piece (in Bucky’s opinion, at least) being the massive bed perched in the bedroom. Tony had graciously contributed a plush foam mattress as a housewarming gift, complete with soft linen sheets and pillows large enough to serve as backrests for the couch. 

They head back to the tower after proclaiming the house fit to live in, and Bucky pockets the key to the front door with a smile on his face.

You spring into his arms the minute he steps off the Quinjet, peppering his cheeks with kisses as he cradles you against his body.

“How was your mission?” You cup his face, stroking the growing beard on his cheeks. “You haven’t shaved.”

“Mmm.” Bucky leans in to press a scruffy kiss to your lips. “Lemme take a shower and I’ll tell ya all about it.”

***

The following day is spent mostly in bed. Bucky doesn’t have a care for anything in the world other than reconnecting, and you only leave the privacy of your bedroom to grab snacks from the kitchen. Bucky admires the way your nightshirt falls to cover the tops of your thighs, but he can’t wait for you to not have to dress at all.

When the sun begins to set, Bucky swipes the keys to his personal car from the hanger by the door and slips the little black velvet box into his back pocket. He finds you in the kitchen, bickering with Sam and Steve over the best way to prepare the sauce for spaghetti night.

“Babe.” He winds an arm around your waist and presses his lips to your temple. “Get your shoes on.”

“Why?” You turn in his arms, watching him give Steve and Sam pointed looks. “These guys don’t know how to prep sauce, I’m trying to teach ‘em.”

“I wanna go for a drive.” He pats his metal hand against your ass. “Let’s go.”

You grumble and step into a pair of flip flops, following him obediently down to the garage. The Mercedes Bucky had bought the year before sits in the furthest stall, holding three months’ worth of dust on the silver paint and tinted windows. 

“Where are we going?” you ask, sliding into the passenger seat. “You hate driving in the city, are you sure you don’t want me to—”

“Nope.” Bucky lowers himself into the driver’s side and slides the key into the ignition before rummaging in his jacket pocket and handing you the sleep mask he’d snagged from your bedside drawer. “Put this on.”

You giggle, accepting the blindfold and slipping the band over your head. “I wanna know where we’re going.”

“It’s a surprise.” Bucky leans across the console to kiss you and tugs the blindfold the rest of the way down. 

“Well, how long do I have to keep this thing on?”

Bucky glances down at the ETA on his phone. “An hour. I’ll let you know when to take it off.”

He waits for the garage door to open and watches traffic almost instantly come to a stop behind the automatic red lights Tony had build in front of the tower. The city’s still wildly lit, and he clenches his fingers on the steering wheel as he turns down the road, heading to the closest highway onramp. 

***

He pulls onto the newly paved driveway just over an hour later, heart pounding hard in his chest. The lights in the house are off, and he parks far enough away for you to not hear the sound of the front door opening. 

“Stay right here,” he directs, “and no peeking. Got it?”

“Got it.” You duck your head down, overcompensating for the no-peeking rule, and Bucky climbs out of the car, jogs up onto the porch, and unlocks the front door as quietly as he can. The lights flicker on in each room, and he makes his rounds to check for cleanliness before coming back out. You’re still hunched over in the passenger seat, and he opens your door, reaching in to help you out.

“I smell grass,” you remark, “don’t tell me you’re gonna kill me and bury my body out in some field. I deserve my own mausoleum.”

“I would never.” Bucky pecks your cheek and pulls you back, standing far enough away from the house to get a full view. “There we go… on three, you can take your blindfold off.”

You giggle and bounce excitedly. “I’m beyond ready, get to counting.”

“Okay.” Bucky wraps his arms around your waist and presses a kiss to the shell of your ear. “One… two… three.”

Lifting the mask off, you blink several times to let your eyes adjust, and then you let out a little squeak and cover your mouth.

“Is this…” you gasp, fanning your face excitedly, “holy shit, Bucky, is this….”

“Our new house?” He hums and lets you turn in his arms. “Definitely. You really think we went on a month-long mission?”

Tears bloom in your eyes, and you cup his face, stretching up to kiss him. “I can’t believe you built a house, babe.”

“Well, I did,” he replies proudly, reaching into his back pocket. “Laid each stone on that porch myself. And since I got that out of the way…”

You let out a sniffle as he drops to one knee, flipping a little box open to reveal the small silver band nestled inside. “Oh, Bucky…”

“I’ve loved you for the last two years of my life,” he says, “I wanna spend every minute I have left with you as my wife. Will you marry me?”

You nod, and Bucky breathes a sigh of relief, slipping the ring onto your finger and discarding the box on the ground as he rises to scoop you into his arms. “I love you so goddamn much, honey,” he murmurs as you bury your face in his shoulder, your body trembling with sobs. “Wanna go inside?”

You nod excitedly and squeal when Bucky hoists you up, carrying you bridal style up the stairs and over the threshold. He turns, gives one last look at the darkened sky, and kicks the door shut, sealing you alone in a brand new chapter of your perfect little life.

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[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

Winter Whumperland Day 6: Mistakes

Summary: Written for Winter Whumperland Day 6. Set in a Modern AU, follows up on Day 5 'Animals'. As they arrive at their destination for the trip, Hiccup manages to slip away long enough to tell someone where he is.

Rating: Mature

Characters: Hiccup, Eret, Viggo, Ryker

Pairing: Vigcup, past-Hiccstrid

Words: 7 768

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: “Branding”

Whumpee: Hiccup

Author’s Notes: Please read the tags.

I think this is the darkest fic I've written to date, which Day 6 probably taking the cake. (Unless a future Day tops that and I may now which one, but that is just my opinion) I think this counts a dark fic, doesn't it? I've surprised even myself! I've had a dark fic in mind that I've been working on, never thought I would write this one before I finish that one!

Constructive criticism is appreciated! Including on the tags! I tried to tag everything under the sun, but I might've missed some.

Enjoy!

I almost want to tag this as a coffee shop AU.

@amonthofwhump

Ao3

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Hiccup is ashamed to admit that he's quiet the rest of the way. As they sail towards their vacation destination, he thinks of his friends, his parents, Gobber, Toothless, and White Spot, too.

Will he ever see them again? He won't if he doesn't get away from these two madmen, because submitting to Viggo simply isn't an option.

He certainly tries to persuade him. He can see that Hiccup is quieter then usual and he wants to make use of the emotional turmoil he must be going through after being told how this little trip can possibly end. He's even quiet compared to his time spent in the basement and his ribs were broken back then, not allowing for much breathing space.

There's an empty look in his eyes as Viggo tries that he quite likes. It's quite promising, he finds, and so he's been persuading him with promises of letting him leave the house once in a while. They have a big yard, they can let him sit outside for a few minutes. So long as he does it quietly, of course. Cars still pass their home on occasion, so they can't let him make too much noise.

And maybe, when he's really good, they can even let him call his family or that blonde girl that clung to him.

They can spin a little story, make it seem like Hiccup's been found by them, the Grimborns, after having been missing for years. But only after it's been years. Surely by then, they'll have conditioned Hiccup enough to not leave them and not betray them. They can even give their tale the exciting twist that Hiccup now forever clings to "his rescuers". So that when Hiccup is given the generous opportunity to see his loved ones again, they won't be too suspicious when he inevitably chooses to stay with the man who rescued him rather than the people who lost him.

It's a horrible, horrible thing, truly disgusting. The worst part is, Hiccup is actually tempted by the sweet, sweet promises. He doesn't look forward to the years more of pain and misery, but he does so long to see his friends and family again. But the fact that more suffering seems more tempting than fighting that suffering is just one more reason why he can't submit.

The whole reason for them being here is to get him to do just that and if he submits, he's lost.

The steady decline of trying to physically oppose his abusers followed by the decline in opposing them verbally until all that remains is secret rulebreaking that was never secret to begin with, actively using Viggo's desire for him to save himself from hurt or the threat of returning to the basement, not correcting those men at the party when they told Viggo how lucky he was to have Hiccup... These past months have been a gradual descent to a broken spirit.

Hiccup can feel the cracks desperately trying to glue themselves back together again. He wasn't aware of it until now, after this kick while he's down, but they might've been trying to ever since he got to see the light again. The cracks were already there, they've always been there, and they can't put themselves back together. Every time they try, more of them appear, and all the more impossible it becomes to lose the pieces.

Something else that makes it difficult to keep this fight up is that Viggo can actually be called nice for once.

Of course, Hiccup is smart enough to figure out that this is just another ploy to manipulate him. Viggo knows he's close, he just needs to reel him in.

Besides the empty promises replacing the very true threats, he hugs him when he feels lost. It's nothing like the forced cuddles after sex and Viggo isn't an affectionate man either, which makes this one feel almost sweet.

How easily he sinks into the hug frightens him. How he lies his head on his shoulder and feels the tears burning in his eyes frightens him.

Though he never wants to be touched by either man, especially not the younger brother, this is the first time he realizes how deprived of affection he's been throughout it all. The sex was empty to him, when it was consensual, and besides that, there were only bruises, broken bones, and burns. His blistered hand itches terribly underneath its bandage.

In that moment, he begs for his father then. He wants him to show up out of nowhere and pull him out of this nightmare. Or maybe his mother can come down with a dragon and whisk him away back to the sanctuary. Either way, he wants them to come for him before he's lost forever.

In the final minutes of their trip, Viggo holds him, and then they land on the docks of a snow-covered fishing Town by the name of Port.

It's small and Viggo has probably chosen it because of how small and remote it is. Maybe he hopes the news of a missing 19-year-old hasn't reached this place yet or maybe he hopes the sudden appearance of a clearly very rich man scares them out of being nosy about the oddly dressed person with them.

Because just before they dock, Viggo releases him and a pair of sunglasses are shoved onto the bridge of his nose and the hood of his hoodie, and then his coat are pulled over his head. It's to keep people from recognizing him and the Grimborn's presence is supposed to scare them off. One brother rich, the other clearly trouble.

Hiccup says nothing as they dress him up in this little disguise before they land and leave the boat after anchoring.

The docks are busy. It makes sense, their biggest income comes from fishing and not the tourism their beauteous little landscape would probably attract. On a more normal day, Hiccup would appreciate the view of the mountain in the very back with the vast and wide forest at her base, but this isn't a normal day.

But he's not quite as gone as the Grimborns seem to think he is, because he notices that neither of the two is holding him. Have they been lulled into a false sense of safety by his quietness? They couldn't even drive him to the boat without blindfolding him and tying his wrists together.

But then, aren't many criminals caught because they made a mistake?

Unfortunately for them, Hiccup sees an opportunity and he takes it.

"HI- HENRY!" By the time he hears that fake name, he's already disappeared into the crowd of fishermen and dock workers.

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

Minutes later, he can finally breathe. Crouching in a little alleyway between two buildings, he pants and attempts to recover his lost air. It's not easy to run with a prosthetic, but his is self-made and it was made with the intention to allow running. There's a system with a spring to allow a bit of ankle movement, too. Can't chase unruly dragons if he can't run, can he?

He dares to peek around the corner, staying low and not quite leaving his safe haven behind a trashcan, but he sees neither Viggo, nor Ryker.

Are they... gone?

Overwhelmed by the feeling of relief, he sits back against the wall, staring straight ahead of him.

No, this can't be real. He can't have really just escaped, right? This has to be some sort of prank or a joke. It can't have been that easy.

But he checks again, this time daring to peek out a bit farther, and he still doesn't see either of them.

They're gone. And not just at work gone, they're gone gone!

He feels emotional and it's so easy to lose himself in that emotion, but if he doesn't get back up and start moving, they won't stay gone for long. That's the only reason why he manages to get back up on his feet and face the public outside of the alleyway.

Scanning his surroundings a third time, the people who pass him by are staring, but he gets why. He's wearing sunglasses in the middle of the Winter in a small town that probably isn't used to much.

So he gets moving and wonders what his next move is.

They've only traveled along the shore, can he grab a cab or travel back by bus or train somehow? Though, there is the problem that those options require money, which is something he doesn't have.

The police? No, he feels strangely distrusting of them after their failure to find him for so long.

The hospital? That means finding out if Port even has one and if he can navigate his way there before he's caught.

But then he comes across a little story, a fishing and bait shop, and something promising catches his attention through the window.

A poster with his face on it. A missing person's poster!

He walks in urgently, nearly ripping the door off its hinges in his hurry, the bell above it jingling loudly, and removes the hood of his coat.

Unfortunately, there is only one person present in the story and he, a man with black hair tied back in a ponytail and a blue tattoo with meaning on his chin, he doesn't look at him with the most welcoming of frowns.

Can Hiccup blame him? Who comes into a calm store in the middle of Winter with sunglasses and a hood on? And nearly breaks the door on his way in, too! Still, he doesn't waste any time as he makes his way to the counter.

"Listen, Bub, I don't know what you're planning on doing, but if it's trouble you're looking for-" The man speaks with an English accent, but he's cut off when Hiccup reaches him.

"Please," He begins, removing his sunglasses and pulling the other hoodie down. "You need to help me, I'm-"

But he barely needs to say anything, the second he reveals his face, that of the young man's changes to one of shock and he whirls around in his spot, immediately searching for and finding the poster hung on the store's bulletin board.

"You're him?" He asks, pointing first to the poster and then to Hiccup. Hiccup nods, happy that someone recognizes him. This man, Eret he reads on the nametag that is a sticker on his sweater, recognizes him.

"You're actually alive? I followed the news, they said that they caught the guy and that they were sure you were dead because the guy wasn't giving up where you were!" He talks to him and Hiccup finds that to be news to him.

"If they caught the guy, then who have I been held captive by since June?" He asks, quietly sarcastic instead of loudly sarcastic like before, and runs a hand through his hair in frustration.

Is that why they never came for him? Because they just put someone in jail and called it a day?

"Please, you have to help me. The people who kidnapped me, the actual people responsible, they want to kill me!" As if he wasn't already alarmed enough before, he certainly is now. But Eret seems to take it in stride and nods understandingly.

"Don't worry, you're safe here." He tells him, briefly grabbing his fist to squeeze it reassuringly. He draws back and pulls his phone from his pocket. "Do you want to call the cops?"

His thumb is ready to dial, but Hiccup hesitates and thinks of the likelihood of them showing up when they arrest some guy and then assumed he was dead just because they couldn't be bothered to actually solve his case. The media attention hounding them for answers must've annoyed them instead of urged them to find some.

So Hiccup shakes his head.

"Can I have your phone for a sec instead?" He asks and Eret, figuring he might try to call someone who can be of actual help, decides to hand it over after unlocking it.

"Thank you," Hiccup thanks him and leans on the counter to spare his stump his weight for a moment. He sags in relief, holding a phone without consequence for the first time in forever. With Eret here, he already feels a bit safer.

But Hiccup doesn't immediately call for help, instead signing in into the first social media account he can think of to find the first person with an account he can think of.

Astrid.

Perhaps, the smarter idea would be to call his dad or someone who can come get him. Maybe he could've called his mom to tell her where he is and maybe then the "whisked away by dragon" dream isn't so farfetched after all.

But that's not what he does and he can't quite explain why he didn't either. He'll kick himself for it later, but all he wants is to see his friends.

When he finds Astrid, he notices that her head has changed since the last time he's seen it. It's no longer her and Stormfly, now it's her and him. And as he scrolls through her page, she hasn't posted much of her usual stuff, instead there are just pictures of him and pleads for any tips. He's always known that she has a library full of him, none of these were taken without his permission.

So he's right about one thing. His girlfriend and friends have been looking for him in one of the few ways they think they can. And his dad, well, he doesn't have an internet presence, but he doesn't need one for Hiccup to know that he hasn't given up on him yet either. He hopes so, at least.

There are those emotions again, he must be tired.

Eret watches him, sees him wipe at his eyes with a sleeve quickly to avoid spilling the tears they both know are there. There are blue bruises surrounding a cut on his cheekbone and staining his jawline. It appears his left hand is bandaged, too. Even without the context of the escaped abductee, Eret can still tell he's been through the wringer and so he walks away from the counter.

Hiccup hurriedly looks up, too alert.

"You want something to eat while we wait? Something to drink? We only have snacks, but I think they"ll keep you going until we can get some actual food in you. You want a coke?" Eret asks as he stands before the fridge, wondering if he can lift his spirits with a little food. He does look awfully thin.

"That would be great, but I don't have any money on me." Hiccup informs him that he can't pay for anything for the time being. Turning to a different screen on the smartphone, he quickly finds the call function with the intention of dialing his dad's number.

"It's on the house!" Eret opens the fridge to take a coke from. Next on the list will be a candy bar and he'll probably go for the one with the most calories.

Hiccup smiles at him and for once his smile isn't forced. It's small, but it's certainly there.

Behind them, the door to the store opens, and the little bell jingles. Eret barely responds to it, it's a sound he's heard so many times before. In his search, he disappears behind some shelves.

"You own this place?" But Hiccup looks over, taking his eyes away from the phone, away from the number he's only just dialed a mere three numbers of.

He finds them and he can tell by the built and the clothes who it is. He doesn't need to see his face to know, his bald head covered by the hood of his jacket. And as he spots something gleaming in his hand, he simply freezes in place.

This store is too small and Ryker is upon him too soon.

"No, I don't, my dad runs this shop, I'm usually out at sea. So it won't be a problem, I'll take care of it!" Eret replies to Hiccup's question, completely unaware of what's transpiring before the counter. Behind those shelves, he isn't quite close enough to hear or to see what's going on.

Ryker's too close to run away from without making a scene and the brothers hate making a scene. If he does anything stupid, the man kind enough to help him out will get hurt. Eret doesn't look particularly weak, but Hiccup knows Ryker isn't and he doesn't want to take any unnecessary risks. Not when someone else's life could depend on it.

The tip of the knife pushes into his stomach, threatening to pierce his coat with ease. It certainly looks sharp enough for the job.

"She hasn't been in your sight for a few days and you already forgot her? Don't think that just because she's in a shelter that she's safe." Ryker is so close Hiccup can smell and feel his breath as he whispers in a growly voice.

He did think that White Spot being out of the picture meant that they couldn't use her against him. Apparently, he was wrong.

"And what's worse, dragging an innocent man down with you, are you? You better be quiet and follow my lead or your new boyfriend is going to die in a mugging." Ryker threatens him with Eret's life If he takes the money from the register, people are probably not going to link a presumed mugging case to a kidnapping case. And if there are cameras, well, Ryker isn't so stupid as to leave those intact.

"You're-" Hiccup wants to tell him that he and Viggo are sick for playing with the lives of a two-month-old cat and an innocent, but Ryker raises a finger in warning and he quiets down.

"Hiccup?" Upon not receiving an answer, Eret returns with an armful and lays eyes on the other man, too.

He'd welcome him, as he would any customer, but he doesn't like the close proximity between him and Hiccup.

"What's going on here?"

Ryker wraps a strong arm around Hiccup to pull him against him and the young man jumps when he can feel the knife be pushed into his lower back now. It's with such pressure that it makes him gasp in discomfort.

"You'll have to excuse us. My brother's partner here thinks he can get attention by pretending to be that poor missing boy. Not the first time, he's been in and out of institutions for years. He's an addict, too, so please don't be angry with him." Ryker uses the fakest voice he can muster as he excuses Hiccup's behavior before he pulls him along.

"Hiccup-" Eret is ready to jump in, but Hiccup stops him.

"It's Henry, actually. And he's right, I should be going." It hurts to accept that false name for his own, no matter how briefly, but he feels like he needs to. It's bad enough that White Spot's sole purpose in life is to be used as leverage, he doesn't want Eret to get hurt just because he made the stupid decision to go into the first shop that had his face in it.

Eret doesn't give chase when Hiccup is pulled out of the store, he's left to watch them go. The jingle of a bell has never sounded as ominous as it does at that moment.

"Maybe making an addict out of you wouldn't have been such a bad idea. At least addicts don't run." Ryker growls into Hiccup's ear and he can't help but feel like he talks out of experience.

Inside the store, Eret leaves his armful of delicious goods on the counter. His gaze is still on the door and he debates running after the two all the same. He's weighing his options, how risky would that be?

But then he notices that Hiccup left his phone and picks it up.

"He never even got to call anyone." Unlocking the screen, he notices a partial number. He takes a screenshot of it, maybe it can still be of use later, and then swipes the phone app away to see a stranger's social media page.

"Astrid Hofferson?" He reads out loud and sees the number on one of her posts asking for tips.

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

Maybe asking Eret for help was a mistake, maybe the decision to go with Ryker was the mistake, either way, Hiccup can't say he regrets it. There were too many uncertainties in that situation, too many risks, he feels like he made the right choice.

After a... reunion with Viggo, they take their bags and stuff them into a rental car. It's the nicest and most expensive one Port has to offer and it makes Viggo sneer in disgust, but it'll have to do.

While Ryker has seemingly calmed down a bit, as a matter of fact, he almost appear expecting something, Viggo's anger is so thick it's palpable. The whole ride to their destination, there's pressure inside Hiccup's chest, a pain, and it's difficult for him to keep breathing. And while neither brothers are chatterboxes, the silence is unusual even for them, and that makes the storm brewing on the younger one's face all the more concerning.

What is supposed to be their home for the next two weeks is a cabin far, far outside of town. It, too, is way below the younger Grimborn's usual taste and it further rubs in the fact that this vacation isn't supposed to be a vacation.

The second they enter and the door closes behind him, another hit, this time on his other cheek, and a pair of hands wrap themselves around his throat.

"No!" That is all Hiccup can choke out before his airways are closed off and he's pushed into the nearest wall.

"What about last chances did you mishear, Dear?!" The temper flare Viggo's been holding in on the way here bursts free and he squeezes.

Ryker watches for a moment with little care, only glad that Hiccup isn't getting out of this without consequence, and he's soon off to find his usual room. Viggo may think this place beneath him, but Ryker quite likes it.

"N... n-" Hiccup would respond, except he can't. He can't draw a single breath and he can't exhale one either. His lungs are burning to do both, the pain in his chest worsening. All he can do is try to remove those hands from his throat and that's hard to do with one hand burned. His good foot is standing on its toes, too.

"What do I have to do to make you submit to me, you stubborn boy!" Viggo shouts. He would squeeze harder if he could without irreparably damaging something important and it's taking him everything to hold back just that.

"St... st-" Hiccup continues to try, pulling on his abuser's hands, attempting to curl his fingers beneath Viggo's without luck. He's begging him to stop, face red, teary-eyed, and saliva with nowhere to go building up in his mouth.

Is this how he's going to die? By being strangled to death? Surely, Viggo isn't willing to give him up quite yet? Why put all these months in him just to throw him away?

Black dances at the edge of his vision, threatening to consume him. He wants air so badly. He wants the pain to stop.

And then Viggo's glare softens lightly as an idea comes to mind. His eyes fall on the fireplace on one end of the room.

"Ryker, light the fireplace. I may have an idea." His hard gaze goes back to Hiccup, who is only moments away from losing full consciousness, while Ryker returns and does as he's told.

Hiccup passes out soon after, the hold on his throat relinquishes and he crumples to the ground.

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

When he comes to, it's to his hoodie being pulled on, alarming him.

"No... No-no!" He croaks out a protest, weakly attempting to pull those hands away from him now, but in his current state, he's no match for them.

He's pinned to the ground on his front by Ryker, his face pressed into the wooden floorboards beneath the fire.

"Oh, stop your struggling, you know it's pointless." He tells him and Hiccup can't reply to that, his throat in too much pain. The hurt inside his chest is horrendous as well.

"Please-"

"If you want to be let go, then either you undress for us or we'll have to use force," Viggo says, crouching by the fire. What he's doing there, Hiccup doesn't know and can't see, but it's can be good. It sounds like he's playing with the fire, poking the wood inside. Is it a fire poker?

Hearing no more protests from him, Ryker releases him and Hiccup somehow manages to get up on his knees. He glances towards Viggo and what he's holding doesn't seem like a fire poker to him, but he can't see the entire thing.

"I'm waiting, Hiccup, don't test my patience any more than you already have," Viggo warns him and, reluctantly and with difficulty, Hiccup does as he's told and slowly removes both the hoodie and the t-shirt underneath. At his belt, he hesitates.

The clothes they made him wear, he's just noticing that they're the ones he wore the day he was abducted.

What a time to notice that.

"That's enough. Now, back to me." Viggo tells him, standing up with the rod he holds as it's glowing a bright orange. At the very end, there are the distinct letters of 'V.G' and they're the brightest part of all.

With horrible dread does Hiccup realize that they plan on branding him. Him! Like cattle! Like property! As if they couldn't treat him like any more of a personal slave, they want to do this to him.

"No!" His throat hurts as he speaks. When he makes a move to stands up, Ryker is quick to take an arm and twist it behind his back, making an end to his futile attempt to escape.

A cry rips out of him, worsening the pain. He can squirm and writhe, but all it does is convince Ryker to test the limits of his elbow. Cringing, Hiccup can feel the joint's want to pop apart.

With just this move alone, he's completely restrained and Ryker grabs his hair with his free hand and pushes his head down.

Though never an overly prideful kind of person, Hiccup had dignity at some point. That seems to be gone now as he has no problem begging them not to do this to him.

"No, please, not that! I'll behave! I swear I'll behave this time, just don't brand me! Viggo!" He hates those words, hates that they even need to be said, that he needs to beg for something so inhuman to not be done to him. His voice comes out hoarse and there are cracks with every other spoken word.

But Viggo doesn't care to listen to his pleas. While the iron is hot, he comes to stand by him and with one swift motion does he choose a spot and presses the branding iron on his right shoulder blade.

The feeling of flesh searing away is instant and Hiccup screams. Whitehot agony sets his nerves ablaze and they scream with him.

Viggo holds it there for a second, two seconds, three, until a total of five have passed and that's when he removes it. Those five seconds felt like an eternity and Hiccup's life has been changed all over again.

He doesn't need to see it to know that it's there, he can feel it on his skin. He's been branded to be someone's property and after everything that's already been taken from him, Viggo might as well make him something akin to furniture.

The figurative cracks bleed and they give up on trying to fix the damage.

Ryker releases him and Hiccup brings a hand to his arm, folds over, and cries, his forehead pressing into the floorboards.

He's been defeated. What more needs to be done to him to prove that? He never stood a chance.

Viggo stands over him with a smirk, certain that his young captive has finally been broken.

"Get me the medical supplies, Ryker, we don't want that to get infected." The younger brother tells the older one and he leaves to search the luggage for them. They'd certainly come prepared for this.

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

"If you'd just been smart and stayed out of trouble, this could've been avoided," Viggo tells him sometime later as he puts the finishing touches on the dressings covering the fresh brand. Honestly, Hiccup has no one to blame but himself. If he hadn't been so stubborn, this wouldn't have been necessary.

As for the brand, it's been properly cooled, cleaned, and there's a healing and disinfecting salve on it. All that remained were the dressings and Viggo has been applying them gently.

They're sitting on the bed they'll be sharing together for the next two weeks and he's faking being nice again. He's acting like a net, there to catch Hiccup at his lowest moment thus far, like he was on the boat. Like he was the day Viggo let him see sunlight again.

Hiccup doesn't respond to him, which is quite fine with Viggo. He usually has an answer for everything, very annoying, so silence from him is a good chance of pace.

The dressings are in place and Hiccup doesn't shy away when a kiss is placed on the back of his neck, his hair moved out of the way. The hand stays on his neck, thumb rubbing his spine.

In as much pain as he is, Hiccup doesn't even feel the usual cold shivers those touches give him.

But then thick lips come down on him again, meeting with his hair, the skin on the back of his neck, and then his shoulder. They're placed deliberately slow and Hiccup can feel his heart sinking. He can already tell what's about to happen, what his wanna-be owner wants from him. The same thing he's wanted from him since the very beginning, that which he's used as a shield more times than he'd like to admit.

"Lie down on the bed, on your front." Viggo growls into his ear, this time not in anger, but in desire. His hand caressing Hiccup's back and coming too close to the overly sensitive area surrounding his shoulder blade, he can only listen.

He kicks his shoes off, brand pulling beneath the dressing, and removes his prosthetic before he gets further up on the bed. He lies down, his arms wanting to wrap around a pillow only for him to yelp when the initials on his back don't agree with him. So now two letters have more say over his own body than he does.

That hand returns to his back and he can feel its fingers tracing his spine upwards, going ever so slowly until they reach his hair and then they go back down. Going lower and lower, they reach his belt and that's when they leave.

He can hear the other remove his shoes, a belt that isn't his be undone, and then he's straddled. All he can do is bite into the pillow and hope it'll be over soon. That is how his first evening on this trip ends.

The fight has entirely left his body.

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

The next morning, Hiccup is certain he's finally been broken. The brand and last night's sex, if it could be called that, after he thought for a short moment that he was free is what it took.

Every single day since he's seen sunlight, he's had to wake up at 5 am, every day without fail. While Viggo showered and went on with his morning routine, Hiccup was expected to lay his clothes out for him, make the bed, and then make breakfast. Every single day.

So imagine how strange it must feel to wake up and see that it's light out. It's winter and so the sun shouldn't even begin to rise until after eight. Have they let him sleep in?

His head is heavy, his everything is heavy, and the brand, while still painful, doesn't burn quite as much as it did the night before.

Reaching for the watch on the nightstand, he sees that it's 11 am and that is even more troubling. And yet, Hiccup can only decide to take whatever punishment must be awaiting his tardiness. What's the point of fighting it?

He gets up and dresses in the same clothes as the day before. He doesn't know yet if he's allowed to shower or even wash up, so he attempts to ignore how uncomfortable he feels, feeling sticky with sweat and whatever else, and he finds his way to the living room and then the kitchen.

As he walks, he doesn't feel like he's the one doing the walking. He doesn't feel like he's entirely awake either, though he's certain he is. It's like he's stuck somewhere between reality and a dream.

When he finds the kitchen and the Grimborn Brothers, it's not him who tells them good morning with a sore throat and a barely audible voice, and neither of the two even mention how long he's slept in.

On autopilot, Hiccup leans down and presses his lips to Viggo's in a good morning kiss. There is no feeling behind it, certainly no love, not even the slightest hint of something akin to like. Though he's almost certain good morning kisses used to have a spark to them once upon a time, in a long distant past.

They talk to him, like they would talk to a person, and Hiccup doesn't hear himself respond, but he does. He's too out of it for the words to reach him, though it's him that they leave.

He's starving, but he gets to work on lunch for the two older men first. Because that's expected of him, because what he is to them, what he was taken to be, was nothing but free personal labor. A one-dimensional companion with a select desirable attributes and personality traits. Someone willing to give it up for free and without complaint whether he feels like it or not.

A slave, that's what they searched for in him, and a sex slave is what Viggo was specifically looking for. One they could have the pleasure of personally destroying until nothing was left. One Viggo could occasionally play chess with if he wanted to.

The thought should hurt, but if it does, his mind is too far away to realize it.

Are minutes passing? Before he realizes it, lunch is over. Ryker has left while Viggo is with him as it's his turn to eat, their hands together on the table. And then lunch is over and he's unpacking their stuff while they're each off doing... he can't remember what Viggo told him.

Hours are passing and it seems like time is no longer a concept he can perceive as it goes by like a blur. It seems like his mind and his body have separated from one another, though still very much in touch.

The day goes by and he can barely remember it, though it still somehow goes so agonizingly slow. He sits around for most of it, only leaving his designated spot on the couch when he's told to go do something.

Somewhere inside of him, the very notion that he's been broken saddens him, but he's all out of tears to shed. And even if he shed some more, who would care? Viggo would see it as more proof of his victory. He'd use it against him, comforting him as he'd done on the boat and after the branding. And Ryker, he would just find amusement in it after all the trouble's caused them.

It isn't until evening creeps up that he seems to be snapping out of his trance. He's been washed by then and it's like he's waking up from an hours-long slumber.

It's time for dinner and as Hiccup is finishing it up, the brothers are sitting at the table waiting for him to be done. They're talking, almost completely ignoring his existence. Or rather, Ryker is talking and Viggo occasionally hums in response while not bothering to actually listen.

Ryker is complaining about having had to go through all of this and needing to travel all this way just to break one person.

"I told you, Viggo, you should've stuck to female. If he were one, he'd be knocked up and known his place already. Like a woman would." It's a disturbing thing to say and Hiccup feels sick to his stomach, almost counting himself lucky that he was born a male.

And now he finds himself thinking about the phrasing Ryker uses. "should've stuck to." Hiccup has had his suspicions, of course, but this means he definitely wasn't the first. And this cabin that is Grimborn property, but has gone unused through most of the year as it is far beneath their standards, and where he would have his last chance to become theirs for good, is probably a murder cabin.

Does that mean all those previous people, mostly women, but without a doubt, there were men amongst them, too, have they all been buried here? With these two, Hiccup doubts they were even allowed to identify as themselves under their roof.

No longer paying attention to the food, his gaze goes downwards and sticks to the wooden floor. Are they outside? Or is there someone beneath his very feet?

"Henry!" Viggo uses what is apparently not only a fake name for in public, but also a new and permanent name. He has to stand in a hurry to shut off the stove, the fish in the pain falling apart and burning to a crisp.

To do so, Hiccup is shoved aside and the pain falls, landing on his toes.

"Oh fuck!" A yell leaves him, his foot off the floor as a terrible pain radiates from the limb. It's cast iron, so he can expect his toes to be broken, if it's just that.

This must be the universe spitting on what remains of Hiccup haddock. What else could this possibly be?

"It's your own damn fault for being such a clutz." Ryker can't stop his chuckling. "Another reason why we should've stayed with girls, Viggo, at least they know how to cook."

"That is so insulting." Hiccup mutters as he leans on the kitchen counter, he doesn't even realize that he said anything.

But then, he's not supposed to speak unless spoken to or unless explicitly given permission. Like a dog told to bark on the command, but to otherwise keep silent.

Ryker stares at Hiccup in surprise. Meanwhile, as Viggo was trying to salvage their dinner, he stares at his pet project, too. Only then does Hiccup realize he's spoken. Those were just four simple words, but they rock all three of them.

"What was that, my Dear?" Viggo challenges him to repeat himself, to show if he's brave enough to speak up again and prove that he isn't quite as there as they first thought he was or if he'll prove that he's mistaken.

Looking up to him, Hiccup can feel his heart pounding in his ears.

"I'm-I'm just-just-I'm just saying that-that it's... that's it's- you know- sexist to think of women in such a way." Hiccup can hear his thoughts shouting at him to shut up, to finally, for once in his goddamn life, keep his trap shut if he doesn't want a repeat of last night.

But the words are out before he can stop them and his sentence isn't a mere four words like his previous one.

Does that mean... that he isn't as broken as he felt like he was?

"I suppose thinking you could still come around was a mistake." Viggo is surprisingly calm as he speaks up again. There is the undeniable undertone of anger, however.

Ryker recovers quickly, figuring he isn't entirely surprised by this turn of events.

Hiccup hasn't been given them sass for months for nothing, after all, even he recognizes that. To date, Hiccup's been the most troublesome one by far. Viggo's methods have been much too damn slow. Him and his meticulous planning... If it were up to Ryker, that boy would've been broken long ago.

But the laughs. He laughs because this means only one thing.

"You see this, Viggo? You know what this means, don't you? We get to kill that boy, after all!" He laughs, almost relieved with this surprise.

When the laughter abates, Ryker grabs Hiccup by his hoodie.

"And after we ride ourselves of you, it'll be my turn to choose your successor and I've had my sights set on a pretty lass for months already." Once again he's in his face, close enough for Hiccup to feel the spit on his skin.

Who? Who is this girl that's going to be next?

"Remember that girl of yours?" At the mention of Astrid, his eyes grow wide and he grows colder than he's ever felt than in all the time he's spent with them.

"Blond, pretty, good curves, tits, and ass, if there's something I can respect you for, it's that you have good taste. And when you're dead and buried, we'll be taking her next." Never in all his life, no matter how short it's about to be cut, has anyone ever dared to sum Astrid up using only her body.

"And don't you worry, I'll take good care of her as I personally make sure she's broken before her first month is up. I'll tell her all about y-" When Astrid and Ryker's apparent plans with her are brought up, it sparks something inside of Hiccup he thought he'd lost. The urge to punch someone in the face so hard that they lose a tooth.

So the biggest proof that he can still get up while he's down no matter what, is without a doubt when his reaction to such a horrid thing is to follow up on that urge and punch Ryker in the jaw with such strength and anger that he ends up flooring a man bigger and stronger than him.

It is... such an invigorating feeling.

"Don't you... Don't you dare talk about her like that. I don't care what happens to me anymore, but don't you dare think about hurting her, my friends, or anybody that I love the way you've hurt me!" He warns them, growing louder with every word to the point that he's shouting.

And it feels so, so good.

He wants to cry and this time out of pure relief, out of the sheer overwhelming flow of emotion coursing through him.

For once, Ryker is the one too frozen to move. Never has he been flattened by anyone before, let alone someone like Hiccup, who is looking all too energized by his achievement.

But while his attention is entirely on the elder of the two, the current object of his hatred, it's the younger one to takes action before Hiccup can get any more ideas. He uses the fallen frying pan and lifts it high before bringing it down onto his skull.

The pain erupts, but it disappears quickly as Hiccup passes out, temple connecting with the kitchen counter on the way down.

Either way, it's suddenly black before his eyes.

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

"Abysmal." Breaking the silence for the first time since they started playing, Viggo does so with an insult.

"You're not the most supportive of winners, are you? You could've at least given me an "you did your best, kiddo!" instead if giving me that." Hiccup isn't a sore loser. He can be a bit of a boastful winner at times, but he's not a sore loser. Still, when that is what he gets to hear upon losing at chess, again, he does feel a little sore.

Viggo is a very critical man, it seems.

"I would never say such a thing. You have to earn it first and your poor chess skills make me nauseous." Hiccup rolls his eyes, feeling even sorer.

His left leg is up on a chair, complaining after being on his feet all day. Maybe Astrid was right and he should've listened when she told him to come home with her. An evening with her and Snotlout, maybe even Fishlegs and the twins if they feel like coming over, definitely sounds 100 times better than this.

But Viggo is clearly a lonely man or he wouldn't be spending his after work hours on a young adult who can barely play the game he wants to play with him.

He pulls his phone out, realizing what time it is.

"I'd ask Viggo, the greatest chessplayer of all time, to teach me some of his tricks, but it's almost 11 and I haven't eaten anything yet. Astrid's going to kill me if I don't go home now." He tells his opponent, missing, the dangerous disappointment on his face. He misses it as he's texting Astrid to come to pick him up.

He's perfectly capable of walking himself home, but Astrid clearly insisted on her and his friends coming to get him, so he listens. She can get a bit overprotective of him at times ever since the whole Dagur incident and he hates worrying his loved ones.

The text message sent and slouching in the chair, Hiccup looks up to Viggo as he cleans their game up.

"A great chessplayer never just reveals its secrets, Hiccup." He tells him when he finishes and their eyes meet. "But you would do well to learn from him if you intend to survive even one game."

"Now if you'll excuse me, I believe I need to head home myself." With the folded chessboard and work briefcase in hand, he takes his leave.

As he reaches the door, Hiccup briefly stops him.

"Sometimes being smart isn't enough, Viggo. You'll see, someday my stubborn butt will beat you!"

Hand on the door, Viggo takes a moment to look at Hiccup, who will, without mercy, roast someone so badly they'll need an actual burns unit, but somehow can't bring himself to say the word "ass." He's a funny one, for sure, and Viggo only holds so much weight to his words.

"Goodbye, Hiccup." He tells him and exits the coffee shop.

#amow winter whumperland #12wwday.6 #chestnuts roasting on an open fire #branding #httyd movies #rtte #modern au #hiccup haddock #hiccup whump #eret son of eret #viggo grimborn #vigcup #one-sided vigcup #ryker grimborn #implied one-sided ryker/astrid #tw: broken bones #tw: abuse #tw: manipulation #tw: non-con elements #tw: non-con touching #tw: non-con relationship #tw: implied rape/non-con #tw: dubious consent #tw: branding #my fanfics #mistakes

[profoundsheepbarbarian]

A Beginner's Guide To Acoustic Treatment

An account of an acoustic newbie's journey from bare walls to a well‑balanced, sonically pleasant space.

The physics of the propagation of sound is immensely complicated, and when the assortment of materials that make up the walls, floors and ceiling (plus any windows, doors and furniture) are added to the equation, it's very difficult to predict what will happen to sound waves once they've left their source. What's more, every room is different, and it's not just the dimensions that will dictate how the room will sound... Imagine two rooms of the same shape and size. One has two‑metre-thick concrete walls, and the other a single‑layer plasterboard stud-wall. Even with those brief, albeit extreme descriptions, you probably know already that the two rooms will sound very different. Add in the multitude of room shapes, sizes, wall‑construction methods and surfaces found in home studios, and it becomes impossible to provide a one-size-fits-all guide to acoustic panel treatment.

The subject of acoustics is regularly discussed in SOS, but plenty of readers still ask for the subject to be covered from a much more basic starting point. What follows is a look at installing acoustic treatment from a complete beginner's perspective: some basic, essential information, along with a bit of advice from acoustics professionals that should give you the confidence to get started. I'll follow this up by taking you step by step through my own recent experience of treating a room.

Why Bother With Acoustic Treatment?

Untreated rooms have an uneven frequency response, which means that any mixing decisions you make are being based on a sound that is 'coloured', because you can't accurately hear what's being played. In short, you can't possibly tell how your mix will sound when played back anywhere else. It isn't just an issue for mixing, though, because any recordings you make of acoustic instruments will bear all the hallmarks of the space in which you record them. That may be a good thing if the space in question is Ocean Way or SARM West, but probably preposterously bad if it's your living room or bedroom. So, if you want your mixes to transfer well, and your recordings to be free of room 'honk', you need to pay attention to the acoustic properties of your environment — no matter how good the gear you're using.

First Things First

The first thing to grasp is the outcome you want to achieve. It's a common misconception that acoustic treatment with acoustic ceilings or acoustic baffles should kill all reverberation, and that you want a room covered floor‑to‑ceiling with foam tiles: this isn't what you're aiming for. You also need to bear in mind the limitations imposed by space and budget: most home studios are small in comparison with the Abbey Roads and AIR Lyndhursts of this world, and many home‑studio owners simply don't have the funds for bespoke treatment solutions.

So what is the aim? Andy Munro, acoustic design specialist, remarks, "acoustic design is the science that restores a neutral sound balance”. Applying that science means interfering with the path of sound to control the sound energy. Jorge Castro, chief acoustician at Vicoustic, says that "in the case of affordable treatment, we need to control the energy of the sound first. Then we can take care of the sound quality. With small spaces, bass frequencies are always a problem, and we should control the low frequencies as much as we can.” In fact, he continues, "In small rooms, I've never heard people saying they have too much absorption of low frequencies.”

Absorption & Diffusion: What, Where, Why?

To achieve the right balance, there are two main approaches: absorption and diffusion. Products that have absorptive properties include foam and rigid mineral-wool (see the 'DIY & Rockwool' box), and they 'soak up' the sound energy, turning it into heat, through friction. Most effective on high‑frequencies, absorption is essential for reducing flutter echoes and for taming bright‑sounding or 'ringy' rooms. Bass trapping is also a type of absorption, but is specifically designed to absorb low‑frequency energy. A clever combination of soft, hard, thick and thin materials, including air, is used to make the most efficient bass trap, and an empty gap between the wall and the back of the trap helps to make it even more effective.

Diffusion is the scattering of sound energy using multi‑faceted surfaces. Diffusers are commonly made of wood, plastic, or even polystyrene. Jorge Castro explains: "diffusion helps in energy control and improves the sound quality in frequencies throughout the middle and high range of the spectrum, and also improves sweet‑spot image.” The 'sweet spot' is the place between the speakers where you should be sitting to get the best stereo image (imagine that your head and the two speakers form an equilateral triangle). That pretty much concludes the theory: now for the practice!

Getting Started

Before undertaking this project, I'd read plenty about acoustics, but had never attempted to properly treat a room myself: the nearest I'd come was propping foam panels against the walls to tame flutter in the spare‑room‑cum‑studio of my rented house. I hadn't been able to glue or screw anything to the walls, for fear of incurring my landlord's wrath, and the thought of retouching the paintwork after tearing strips of self‑adhesive velcro pained me too! So this was very much a learning experience.

The space in question included an area that would provide a reasonable‑sized live room, and another that would serve as a small control room, and although both were important, I really wanted to get the performance space right. I decided that I'd buy commercially available panels, because I simply didn't have the time, space or inclination for the DIY option. Most manufacturers of acoustic products also offer a consultation service, and they often have free on‑line calculators to help you decide on a suitable treatment option, too, so even if you choose the DIY route this can be a sensible place to start, and fabric acoustic panels are also available.

I chose to get my treatment from Vicoustic, a company relatively new to the UK acoustic‑treatment market who make a range of products for studios and home theatres. I told them that, as this was the only live room for a small project studio, it needed to be quite versatile, with both a 'dead' corner for dry recordings and a more ambient space to liven up acoustic recordings where needed. I'd expected a solution with almost complete wall coverage, foam panels and diffusers covering every square inch, but Vicoustic came back with a plan that surprised me, which suggested that total coverage wasn't necessary.

In fact, Jorge says that the typical home studio needs only between 30 and 40 percent coverage to adequately treat it. So don't go over the top: remember that we're trying to control the energy, or "restore the natural sound balance,” and not to kill the sound completely.

As for the proportion of diffusion to absorption, Jorge says, "some believe it should be 50 percent absorption and 50 percent diffusion. In the home studio, because of budget and space constraints, the actual proportion can vary considerably.”

Planning

So, you've decided on your acoustic foam treatment, you've had it delivered, and it's piled in the middle of the room. The next step is sticking it up on the walls, right? Well yes... but you also want to make sure that it goes in the right place, partly to optimise its acoustic performance, and partly because you don't want it to look like it's been put up by a two‑year old! As a first‑timer, I found it useful to have the 3D drawings Vicoustic had supplied, as they enabled me to plan precisely where each panel would go. You can create a computer‑generated version of your room yourself using a freeware 3D drawing programme such as Google Sketchup (http://sketchup.google.com). This may seem a bit over the top (sketches on the back of an envelope would do the job), but it can provide a useful guide to print out and use like a map during installation. What's more, you can plan the look of a room, moving tiles and panels around on the computer instead of having to rip them off the wall if they look silly.

Measure Twice, Stick Once

With my 'map' in hand, it was time to mark up the walls. The Vicoustic plans showed the panels equally spaced along the walls, but without any dimensions or measurements to indicate how to space the tiles, so I measured the whole room and planned the position of all the panels supplied. A quick and easy formula for plotting the position of a row of equally spaced panels soon emerged. To calculate the distance between each panel, and between the end panels and the walls, you just measure the length of the wall, subtract the total width of all the panels to be fixed to it, then divide that figure by the number of gaps between panels (or by the number of panels plus one). Marking up is then a cinch, but to get things looking good, you'll need to mark the corner points and will require a spirit level and a spare pair of hands. Once plotted and marked, it's also a good idea to double‑check that you have the same number of actual panels as you have on your plan!

Stick 'Em Up!

With the planning done, it's time to stick the panels to the walls and ceiling. The way you do this depends on the type of treatment you're applying. Large, framed panels will come with brackets and (hopefully) sturdy fixings, whereas foam‑based tiles will need to be glued, using an aerosol‑based product or a tube of paste‑like glue that needs a skeleton gun. Spray‑mounting can often give less than satisfactory results, so I was glad to discover that the Vicoustic delivery included the tube variety. With just two tubes supplied, though, I soon had to resort to alternatives, and found that the sticky gunk used to fix mirrors to walls worked exceptionally well.

To prevent the glue squidging out from the sides of the panels, I piped the glue on no less than an inch from the guide line on the wall and on the back of the panel itself, in different patterns, to increase the adhesion. With this kind of glue, I found that it would begin to set in about a minute, allowing just enough time to pull the panel off and turn it if it was the wrong way up. When sticking panels to the ceiling, I took the same approach. It was a textured ceiling, which called for lots of glue and a firm hand to seat the panels: again, it's useful if you can get a friend to lend a hand.

Hearing The Result

Once in place, the Vicoustic treatment worked very well. The main part of the room is now nicely controlled, if a bit on the 'live' side, and the diffusers ensure excellent intelligibility of speech: a sure‑fire sign of good acoustic control. I had a few spare corner traps, which were put into the dry corner, to make it even more 'dead', and it will be easy to add a few smaller foam tiles to dampen the sound further if it's found to be too 'roomy' further down the line.

Having tried some recordings in the room, I'm happy to say that excellent sound barrier can be achieved between acoustic instruments and vocals by using the different areas of the room. Because the sound inside the room is controlled, the ambience can be used to good effect if a roomy sound is desired on the recording.

Ultimate Control

So far, I've only addressed the dedicated live/recording space, and most home studios are single rooms, with both the monitoring and performance areas in the same space, so I asked Andy Munro to explain how to approach treating such a space. "The best approach,” he said, "is to sketch the room out, then divide each dimension into thirds. If the mixing position is on a third ratio, and so are the speakers, they will not stand on any of the half or quarter 'standing' wavelengths that cause a peak or trough in the bass [see the 'Standing Waves' box for more information]. The result will be a smoother sound, with fewer problems when the acoustic absorption and sound barrier is added. Ironically, most professional rooms are set up about the centre line, which tends to result in a 'hole' at certain frequencies.”

Also important in monitoring rooms is the control of early reflections. When a speaker cone is driven, it disperses acoustic energy to the listener's ears directly, and also to the walls and ceiling of the room, and the best example may be acoustic diffuser. Uncontrolled, these early reflections bounce back into the room and reach the listener a few milliseconds later than the direct sounds, because of the additional distance they've had to travel. Unless in a large room, this delay is not perceivable as a different sound; instead it disturbs the phase, and therefore the clarity, of the sound. To keep early reflections on a tight leash, the 'mirror points' of the room should be identified and treated. To do this, sit in the listening position and 'guesstimate' where a mirror would have to be placed to enable you to see each monitor cone from the sweet spot. Then apply absorption to these points. A 'ceiling cloud' can be positioned in a similar way, to control vertical reflections.

Conclusion

No matter how much you spend on instruments, amps, speakers and recording gear, you still need to pay attention to the space in which you use them. The treatment of home studios is tricky, because of their size and the construction materials used, not to mention the budget of the average home‑studio owner. It's impossible to get a 'pro-studio sound' from a space that's built as a spare bedroom, mainly due to the laws of physics, but also because 'proper' studios might have big bucks spent on acoustic design with soundproof materials. But if you can get your head around what you're trying to achieve, you can still make such a space perfectly usable, with only a small amount of money, some forward planning and a little bit of knowledge.

[amerrierworld]

Curtain. (iii)

Carol (2015) fanfiction

Pt: 1 | 2

Word Count: 1,884

"Hey, T, you alright?" Dannie said as they got back to Therese's place. He leaned against the wall as she struggled to get her keys out.

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, ya seemed a bit distracted during dinner. Did something happen? Was it Richard?"

Therese hesitated in answering as her hand halted on the door knob. Sure, Richard was always a pain in her ass. Their respective jobs kept them apart, thank God, but Therese was never the keenest on keeping exes in her circle of friends. In this case she had no choice.

"Yeah, kind of. I mean, he's always been a misogynistic asshole, don't you think? I can only handle him for so long at any given time," Therese said, breezing inside with an air of nonchalance. Dannie wasn't having any of it as he followed her.

"Or was it a certain blonde boss that was keeping you from enjoying the night?" he asked as he followed her up the stairs.

"Shut up, Dannie," Therese quipped back without looking at him. "I'm stressed, alright? You might get a bit of a break now that the show's done, but I've got a new job coming up and that shit's never easy."

"Right, sorry, T, I didn't mean to upset you."

Therese sighed as they got to her door, turning to face him. "No, it's okay. I'm being weird, I know. It's just... well, sometimes I get confused, y'know? Like I just don't know what I want, and I get swept up in all these things and people around me, and I can't say no to any of it. Now what am I doing? I'm barely out, and barely paying my rent, and not doing the jobs I originally wanted to do. I never planned to be an art teacher of any kind. And it all just piles up."

She was staring at the ground, brows furrowed as she thought things through. Though she wouldn't tell Dannie the real aggressor of her overloaded thoughts was in fact the director, it was the only thing truly on her mind. She hadn't looked at anyone properly or found anyone as attractive as the blonde woman who she didn't even know the first name of. It scared her.

Two strong arms wrapped around Therese firmly and Dannie hugged her during her brief ruminating session.

"I can't imagine what it's like, T," he said, his chin on her hair. "I know it's probably tough, Phil's had a hell of a ride with figuring himself out and that took a toll on him. You've had it almost worse in my opinion, cause it took being with a shithead like Richard-"

Therese snorted.

"... to make you realize that you deserve more, and better."

"Being gay is the best thing in the world," Therese sighed. "But also the worst. No girls I look at ever know what they want. Or what they like. Or they're just experimenting. And, you know, homophobia..."

"Ignorance."

"Hate."

"Yeah, but girls."

"Yeah. Girls," Therese cracked a smile and Dannie did too. He bumped her arm playfully and she opened her apartment door.

"You wanna come inside for a drink?"

"Nah, I better head home. Phil's probably done his shift so I gotta make sure he eats at least something other than Redbull before he crashes on the bed."

"Gotcha."

"Let me know if you need anything, okay? I'm just a call away."

"I know, Dannie. Thank you."

"Goodnight T, have some sweet... blonde... dreams!"

Therese tried to swing her purse at him but missed as her best friend went cackling down the stairs.

-

September - before the first day

"Oh, Miss Belivet, is it?" asked the elderly lady at the front desk. Therese nodded, pulling at her skirt, her bag swung over her shoulder as she stood by the reception desk of the school- her new school.

She'd been working tirelessly the past week to really get herself in order. She even had a plan for the kids; themes accompanied with the crafts, and lessons in the art they were doing, not just mindless cutting and glueing. God, she definitely wasn't getting paid enough for this. Therese hoped her work would at least be appreciated.

"I was called to see the school today with Mrs... Robichek, I think it was?"

"Yes, you're right, I'll just page her down."

Therese waited by the receptionist, wandering a bit as she took in the school's architecture. Despite its clear technological advances of the relatively up-to-date phones, computers and printers, the school itself still had an old architectural feel to it, like something out of the 50s. The floors had a horrendous tiled pattern and the walls' pale green colours had faded into something ghastly.

Shuffling caught her attention and Therese turned to see a small, old lady with thick framed glasses in the doorway of the office. Though she looked just as ghastly as the school's design, she had a peppy smile on her face.

"Welcome, Theresa," she began. Therese's own smile faltered a little but she couldn't be bothered to correct her new colleague. Robichek, or Ruby as she introduced herself, gave Therese a tour of the small but well-regarded school.

"Now, you've got it easy, Theresa dear. You'll just need to be here everyday after school, no need for those 8am calls! Hah!"

Therese zoned out a bit as she watched the janitors and teachers bustle about the school, preparing for the new year and welcoming all the kids. Teachers with boxes filled with notebooks and markers. Desks being shuffled around and moved. The janitors cleaning the windows and floors thoroughly, making the tiles shine so brightly it gave Therese a headache.

"Here we are," Ruby suddenly piped up, entering a small classroom. Therese did a full turn once inside, noting the sink at the back of the room, handy, she thought. A selection of about 20 seemingly unused easels were propped up against the far wall, making Therese's hands itch with excitement.

"Now, usually this is Mr. Tucker's classroom. After 3pm, you've got it for yourself. You won't be allowed to move or touch his desk, but do whatever you like with the rest of the set up, as long as you move it back at the end of the day."

"What does Mr. Tucker teach?"

"Hm? Oh, during the school day he teaches the eighth graders, mainly. He's also coach and teaches gym, so he barely uses this room for his own things; that's what the gym office is for."

Therese wandered around the room for a bit, wondering if she was invading someone's space by being here. But no, she was only playing babysitter for kids after school. Administration insisted it still needed a curricular focus, according to Ruby, that's why they wanted an art-focused program rather than just letting kids waste their time for an hour or two.

"Between you and me, I think they're also doing it so they can cut some of the art funding during the regular day. This is technically outside of school hours so they don't have to worry about it, but they still count it as the curriculum being met," Ruby scoffed. Therese hummed in response, knowing how little arts were appreciated in schools nowadays, especially for younger years.

"Well, I think that's it, my dear! There's room in the teacher's lounge for your things once you start tomorrow. You needn't worry about taking up anyone's space, so do what you like."

"Thank you, Mrs. Robichek."

"Not a problem."

"Can I ask one question though? Where are all the art supplies?"

"Ah, that. Well. You see, I'm afraid this is as much as you're gonna get. It's an art club, Miss Belivet. The school board isn't going to be buying supplies for you."

With that, Mrs. Robichek walked out, leaving Therese to her own devices. She wandered about, checking the drawers in the cabinets and by the sink. A box of broken crayons and old Crayola markers was all she found. Some scissors, half a pack of construction paper, a couple glue sticks... The only real asset were the easels at the back of the room. Someone probably funded those with good intention, but no one seemed interested to use them properly.

As she crouched by the sink, rummaging through the last few piles of flimsy paper and boxes, the door opened. In walked a beanpole of a man- thin glasses framing his beady eyes. He was dressed in a suit that seemed to hang off of his body, old and boring in every way. He had a box in hand that he set on the desk before noticing Therese at the other end of the room.

"Who are you?" he asked immediately. This, Therese assumed, was Mr. Tucker.

"Oh, hello, Mr. Tucker. I'm Therese Belivet, I'm-,"

"The new art teacher, yes I know. I suppose we're sharing this classroom for the year, hm?"

Therese nodded bleakly as she got up, a forgotten glue stick in hand.

"I'll have you know I have a very strict way with my things, Miss Belivet. I will not allow you to move anything off of my desk. This need for art after school nonsense is ridiculous in my opinion, but I will mostly be in my separate office by the gym. Do what you like with those things,"  he nodded to the easels, "but don't make a mess of my classroom."

Therese was stumped by the man's arrogance and haughty behaviour so she clasped her hands in front of her instinctively, like she was a student back at boarding school. "Of course, sir."

He gave her a pointed look, not moving from his spot. Understanding the cue, Therese hurried out the classroom as fast as her feet would carry her.

God, what a weasel of a man, she thought, taking a breather as she headed back to the main office. She wouldn't be needed until 3pm the next day, which opened up her mornings nicely. She waved goodbye to the receptionist, who she learned was named Patricia, and walked out in the late summer evening air.

Therese hurried to get a cab, texting Dannie on her way back to her apartment.

met 3 new colleagues today. 1/3 was actually bearable

Dannie replied within a few minutes.

no shit, eh? what are they like?

receptionist is nice, does her job and didn't ask any questions. this one other lady teacher seems to be like everyone's overbearing grandma (good thing she teaches kindergarten i guess??) oh and the last guy seems like a total creep- really uptight

what does he teach?

gym. he's the coach of whatever teams they can even have here. it's such a small school.

damn, he's not ripped is he? if he creeps you again i could take him down, maybe.

lol nah he's a stick more than anything. doesn't seem to like me, or art for that matter. i have to share a classroom with him.

bummer. maybe paint the walls a sick fluorescent magenta? that might send him a message. kids would enjoy it too

Therese snorted at her phone, though the message gave her an idea. She hastily sent a reply to Dannie before directing the cab to the nearest art supply store.

A/N: Two updates in one day. I couldn’t help myself :3 Hope you like it folks. It won’t be long until our two leading ladies meet, I promise.

#carol #carol aird #carol movie #carol fanfiction #carol x therese #therese belivet #cate blanchett #rooney mara #sarah paulson #The Price of Salt #patricia highsmith #carol 2015 #wlw #lgbt #lgbtq #lgbtqia #merry writes

[mastrmiscellaneous]

Son of Smintheus, Daughter of the Forge

Description: It is an average day at the beginning of summer, 2008, until some old nightmares return, with a vengeance.

in other words, two new demigod are introduced to their new reality.

Word count: 6805

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Justin and Lucille Peters were never exactly ones to fit in well with their peers. They always felt different for so many reasons, including their family type, especially for where they lived, a small town outside St Cloud, Minnesota. All they had was each other and their mother, a wonderful woman who made instruments for a living. What made that worse for his family was that Justin and Lucille looked incredibly different, due to their different fathers. Justin was pale and blond, his hair the colour of pure gold, with shining, icy blue eyes, whereas Lucille had darker skin, as if she spent every minute of her life outside, which was far from the truth, with copper brown eyes and bronze coloured hair. Neither of them looked like their mother all that much physically, but it was clear with how they held themselves. The three of them were calm and confident, always wore a smile, and were very people oriented.

However, they still had their problems. Justin had terrible dyslexia, and had a reputation around his peers that he was cursed. You see, people seem to get very sick, very quickly if they upset him. Sometimes it was just throwing up for a few days. other times it was so much worse. obviously, nothing could be traced back to him, so his journey through school was rather simple, but he was always alone, for the safety of others. Sometimes he felt like the curse was real. Luckily, he always had his family. Lucille loved her brother, always wanting to play, and just enjoyed being in his presence. He kept her calm, and made her feel safe, which was rare for her, as she had ADHD, and had a terrible case of red-green colour-blindness. This led to a lot of bullying from her peers, due to her awkward nature and easy confusion when it came to colour. But their mother always offered comfort, and they always had the friendship between them, so they were perfectly happy.

That was, until the first week of summer, when a strange creature appeared, throwing their lives out of balance forever.

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

Justin woke to the sound of his mother knocking on his bedroom door and calling for him to wake up.

“Justin! It’s ten o’clock, wake up!” Sounded her melodic voice. despite the rush in her voice, she still sounded sweet.

“Ok, mom!” Justin called back through a yawn. He sat up and stretched, rolling out of bed, and quickly changed out of his pyjamas and into a pair of blue jeans, a grey t-shirt, and his favourite blue jacket. Stretching and flexing his muscles, Justin trudged down the stairs to the kitchen, where he found his mother, Diana, and his sister, Lucille, siting at the kitchen table eating breakfast. Lucille seemed distracted, as always, fiddling with some cuttings of the E-string of a guitar, paper clips, and buttons between bites. Despite the fact she was joyfully playing with her materials, she looked tense, her movements stiff and little shoulders squared. Her copper eyes kept darting towards the window, as if she were expecting someone to be peering in through the window.

“Morning, sleepy head!” Diana teased as Justin emerged from the corridor. He grabbed a glass and poured himself some juice, them prepared himself some toast for breakfast.

“Morning, mom. Hey Lucille!”

The 8-year-old looked up, just realising her brother had arrived, and smiled wide, immediately bouncing on her seat and greeting. She was definitely the morning person between the two. The tree shared pleasant conversation, Justin attempting to wake up quickly, as they were going to be working in Diana’s shop that day.

Diana owned a music shop, selling, making, and repairing instruments of all kinds, and sometimes teaching music. The siblings loved working in the shop, but they had very different reasons for it. Justin loved the music side of it, practicing on the instruments, making sure everything was tuned perfectly, and helping with researching the types and makes of instruments they sold. Lucille, on the other hand, liked the making and repair of instruments. Lucille, despite her young age, is a master with tools, and knows exactly what to do to fix even the worst of damaged goods, making it seem as if brand new. Lucille was a good musician in her own right, but simply preferred the construction of it all. She struggled a little with finding the specific tools she needed, as she was colour-blind, with protanopia to be specific, so struggled to differentiate between the tools, as they were colour coded, so her and Diana had come up with a system and ordered the tools in a very specific way, so they could find everything easily. Everything was in order, and everything had it’s place.

The three of them finished with their breakfast and were fully dressed and ready to leave, out of the door and starting their small walk to the main street of their small town, when Lucille started getting squirmy and clingy. She was grumbling and gripping her mother’s hand tighter than usual, pulling on her sweater with her other hand, and looking around frantically.

“Are you ok, Lucy?” Justin asked, trying to follow her eyes, but they changed direction constantly, so that was pretty much impossible. Lucille replied with a simple concerned groan, and quickly turning her head towards the woods on the other side of the road, nuzzling closer to her mother as they walked.

“What’s wrong honey?” Diana asked, slowing down and kneeling down. The older two believed she was either under or over stimulated, that happened a lot, but the girl was not acting how she normally did. Instead, she appeared... fearful?

“Hear something...” She mumbled, slipping her hands into her sleeves for protection.

Diana sighed and brushed a lock of hair out of Lucille’s eyes. “Honey, there’s nothing dangerous around, trust me. I know you’re on edge because of your nightmare, but you’re safe with me. I’ll always protect you.”

Lucille glanced at the wooded area one more time, but returned her gaze to her mother, who offered her a comforting look. Justin followed Lucille’s stare, just to see if his sister was just being paranoid. He inhaled sharply when, for the quickest second, he locked eyes with a woman, pale as fresh winter snow, with sleek black hair, hiding in the bushes on the edge of the woods. As quickly as Justin spotted the woman, she disappeared, almost as if she dissolved into the shadows.

“Right Justin?” Diana snapped her son out of his daze. “We’d never let anyone take your sister, right?”

“Um, yeah, of course!” Justin smiled down at Lucille, who’s nerves had seemingly fizzled out, as she looked up at her brother with hope. Justin puffed his chest out and put on a brave face, making her laugh. “I will always save you, dear sister!”

Lucille laughed and smiled at her brother, comforted by his protectiveness.

“Alright, not that that’s settled,” Diana stood and took Lucille’s hand. “Let’s get to the shop, we open pretty soon!”

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

The trio spent the day doing average shop work, occasionally seeing to a customer and their needs. Lucille was in the back room, happily fiddling with a broken stand that usually holds about eight guitars. It had been knocked over accidentally by a customer a few days prior, damaging the joints and hooks, so Lucille had a perfectly stimulating job to do for a few hours. Her neatly ordered tools were sitting on her workbench, ordered by type and size. Justin was busy tuning the string instruments that had just been delivered, preparing them to be displayed and sold. Diana was logging the shipment into their system and tying labels with a description, barcode, and price on them. All was good, and all was peaceful.

After a few hours of working, a woman walked into the shop and looks around. She consistently glanced at Justin, who was carefully watching her, trying to think of where he knew her from. She was strangely dressed, wearing a long flowing, silk dress, shining a dark green. That would be fine on it’s own, but she had matched it with a deep purple velvet cloak that trailed down to her ankles, with long, flowing sleeves, and a long pointed hood. She had thin, sleek hair, as dark as the night sky, greased back tight. Her pale skin could be matched with a piece of paper. Her chin was pointed to an abnormal extent, the bridge of her nose wide, reminding Justin of the snout of a cat, and her black eyes were sunken into her head.

Diana finished logging a particular shipment of Benson guitars, and went into the back room to check on Lucille, leaving Justin alone with the strange woman. She saw her chance as the other adult left and she approached the boy.

“Hello, Justin...” Her voice was quiet and raspy, she spoke with an abnormally large and toothy smile, her canines scarily long and sharp.

How did she know his name? Justin was certain he would remember that face. She was certainly familiar, but he could not place it for the life of him.

“Who –”

“My name is Mormo...” The woman hissed, her smile never faltering. Justin stepped back from the counter as she leant over it. Her gnarled, clawed hands gripped the counter tight, her nails digging into the wood and permanently scratching it. “I met you when you were young...”

That’s it. When Justin was eight, he dreamt about a woman with a cat like face and gnarled hands, who would lean over his bed late at night, whispering about him coming with her, how he would have fun with her. She would take him to her world, she would tell him. Luckily, she would disappear every time he called for his mom.

“Mom!” Justin yelled through the shop, panic striking though his voice. He never broke eye contact. He didn’t think he could. The woman recoiled as he shouted, shooting her stare at the door, as Diana rushed through, Lucille close behind. At the sight of the little girl, Mormo’s smile returned, showing off her vampiric fangs. Lucille squeaked and stumbled back, fear enveloping her face. Diana rushed forward towards the counter and pushed Justin behind her with one hand, and placing the other under the counter, seemingly reaching for something.

“You!” Diana raged, her normally melodic voice gruff and furious. “Get away from my children!”

Mormo growled and hissed. “They are wanted by the titan! They belong to him!”

Diana grabbed what she was looking for and lunged over the counter, tackling the creature and pushing her into a line of keyboards, knocking them all over and pinning her to the floor, holding a bronze pointed dagger to her throat. The beast shrieked and, deafening the two children, and thrashed on the ground, kicking and clawing at Diana. She finally gripped the back of Diana’s polo, digging her claws into her back. Diana called out in pain, but kept her form well enough to keep the monster on the floor, away from her children.

“The titan king has called for them! He will receive them, whether you like it or not!”

Mormo dug her claws in deeper and ripped Diana off her, throwing her to the side. Diana hit the wall with a crash, making the bass guitars displayed on the wall crash to the floor, and she dropped the dagger as she slumped to the ground. Mormo rolled to the side and crouched like a cornered animal, hissing at Diana, then stood, slowly, her too-wide smile returning, this time aimed at Lucille, who was half hiding behind the doorframe.

Hell. No.

Justin meant what he said earlier that day. No one was going to hurt his sister on his watch. He let his instincts take over, and vaulted the counter, landing beside his mother, grabbing the dagger and turned towards the creature. Mormo had leapt towards the door with clear intent, but Justin was surprisingly quick. He trusted his instincts, reaching out with his left hand, tensing his fingers into a clawed shape, imagining the pain he wanted to inflict on the creature who hurt his mom and threatened his sister. No one hurts his family. The creature dropped to the floor, choking on air as she kicked and scratched at the floor. Her mouth started to fill with a thick, lumpy, golden liquid, and her eyes started to stream with tears. These tears turned to gold as the creature writhed in pain, choking on her golden liquid, her coughs spraying the liquid across the room. His right hand held the dagger. Before he could think, he marched towards the woman and thrust the weapon down towards her face, stabbing the blade through her piecing black eye.

With a deafening shriek, the monster reached out with her claw and scratched Justin’s bicep. Before his eyes, his old nightmare crumpled to ash, leaving a thick coat of grey on the carpet floor, partially covered by the velvet cloak. Justin’s breath was deep and rapid. His hands shook at what he had just done, and he dropped the dagger in the dust.

“Justin?” The quiet voice of Lucille echoed from the doorway, as she peered out. Her lower lip was shaking, and tears were filling her eyes.

“Lucy... Come here, it’s ok!” He reassured, opening his arms for a hug, and she rushed into the embrace. “We’re ok. I wont let anything hurt you.”

The children heard shuffling behind them and the turned to see their mother shuffling to her feet.

“Mom!” The two cried, rushing towards her. Justin helped her up and guided her to a stool. Lucille sat beside her, hugging her and crying into her side. Diana comforted her daughter, stroking her short bronze hair, muttering comforts to her. Justin rushed into the back room and grabbed the first aid kit, offering to clean the wounds on her back. Diana agreed, trusting her son more than most would expect, but told him to put up the closed sign and put the window cover down so customers would not see. She removed her shirt and hugged her daughter close, wincing at the sensation of the cleansing alcohol whilst comforting her daughter. Justin dressed the wound, it was relatively long, but shallow, so no need for medical intervention, and Diana put her shirt back on. Lucille had stopped crying, but not it was Justin’s turn to be emotional. However, crying was not his response.

“What in the world was that?” He yelled, his voice cracking mid sentence.

“That was Mormo, an Empousa.” Diana sighed sadly.

“Im sorry, what?”

“A creature from ancient Greece. She’s been after the two of you for a long time.” Diana was avoiding eye contact with her children. “Both of your fathers told me she would be.”

“What are you talking about?” Justin’s voice cracked in desperation. Lucille looked between her family members, fear in her copper eyes, her gloved hands gripping her sweater tight. “Our fathers? Ancient Greece? Mom, what are you not telling us?”

“You two are special in some very specific ways. It’s your fathers’ doing. I knew it would happen eventually, but I hoped it wouldn’t be so soon.”

“Mom...”

“We have to go home. You two need to pack. I’m taking you somewhere safe.”

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

After two hours of packing the bare essentials into duffle bags. Justin packed spare shirts, another jacket, jeans, shorts, and pjs, along with his pan flute, a notebook, and his wallet. Lucille packed the same amount of clothes, along with a notebook of her own, some tools, and stray materials to make things with. They both grabbed a blanket, and Lucille took her teddy bear, hugging it close to her chest as she watched her mom pace around the room. As Justin lugged the bags to the car, Diana made a phone call. She spoke in a hushed tone, sounding panicked and upset the whole time. The call lasted about ten minutes. Once she was done, she called the children to the car and they set of on a long journey.

The mysterious trip took all night and all day. Lucille slept with her head on Justin’s lap the whole night, and a good way into the morning. Justin barely slept. He tried to engage is mother in conversation, but she refused to explain what was happening.

“All I can say is it has to do with your fathers…”

That is the only explanation she could muster. Her voice cracked as she spoke, Justin knew not to probe deeper. Therefore, he decided to play with Lucille’s short hair to distract himself, making her nuzzle into his lap and groan a little. The little 8-year-old never failed to make him smile. For the rest of the trip, Justin fell in a chasm between being asleep and being awake. This was not a fun trip at all.

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

“Mom, where are we?” Justin asked. He looked around the area they had stopped. It was a small clearing in the thick pine woods just off the main road, at the bottom of a tall hill. Justin adjusted the straps of his backpack to fit better on his shoulders as his heart started to flutter with nerves. His mother was making sure Lucille was fully awake, and tying her shoes. The little girl looked very scared, hunched over, and hugging her teddy close to her chest. Justin locked eyes with his sister, her copper eyes starting to fill with fearful tears. Diana looked up at her daughter, noticed the tears, and quickly wiped them away, whispering comforts to Lucille as she pulled her out of the car.

“We’re meeting a friend of your fathers. Both of them. He will help you with the recent… problem…” She sounded extremely apprehensive. She squeezed Lucille’s hand and pulled Justin close to her.

“You mean the monster?” Lucille squeaked, hiding her face into her bear. Diana breathed sharply and forced a smile.

“Yes honey. I mean the monster.”

“Mom, we’re in the middle of the woods! There’s nothing around here!”

“We just have to climb that hill. That is where he said to meet him.”

All Justin could think was ‘Is my mom sending us to our deaths?’. She was being so cryptic, nothing like her normal chipper self. She was stiff, constantly looking around. Justin swore he could see tears starting to fill her eyes as she pulled Lucille out of the car. She took her daughter by the hand and put a hand on Justin’s shoulder.

“Let’s go.”

They climbed the hill, Justin carrying his duffle, Diana carrying Lucille’s, slightly slipped off her shoulder to avoid the wound on her back. The short hike uphill was quiet, only filled by the sounds of the forest, and the laboured breath of the three. They stopped at the peak of the hill, next to a giant pine tree with a golden fur laying at the base, and stood at the base of a wooden arch, with writing carved into the banner. It appeared to be in Ancient Greek, but for some reason, Justin could read it clearly.

Camp Half-Blood...

“Miss Peters! You have arrived!” A man’s voice sounded from a few feet away, making Justin turn. He jumped at the sight of the man. Well, half man. Before him was a pure white stallion, but where the head was supposed to be, there was the torso of a man with shoulder length curly hair and a thick, neatly trimmed beard. “Thank the gods you are all safe.”

“Well, I’d like to keep it that way. If only I could wait...” Diana responded. She was definitely tearing up now.

“You do not have to worry. Your children will be safe here.” The half-man looked between the children, who were staring at him in utter awe. “You must be Justin and Lucille! It is a pleasure to meet you!”

Justin just continued to stare, clear shock on his face as his icy eyes glanced up and down between the two halves of the man. Lucille spoke up.

“What are you?” She spoke with fascination in her voice, slightly bouncing on her feet. The man chuckled and the horse half leant down on it’s front legs.

“I am a centaur, young hero. Half man, half horse.” He smiled a kind smile, He reminded Justin on a wise grandfather. “My name is Chiron. I’m going to keep you safe for a little while in my camp.”

The centaur and three humans conversed for a while, explaining what exactly was happening. Apparently, the Greek myths were real, and their fathers were not just deadbeats, but they were deadbeat gods! Not only that, but this was a camp meant just for kids like them, other children with a godly parent, Demigods. Their mother was going to leave them here for the summer, she would come back for them in late August. Here, they would train to defend themselves against monsters, like Mormo.

Justin and Lucille were wanted by an evil group of people for some unknown reason. Chiron guessed they were particularly powerful. He said he could sense it. That power was desired by someone named Chronos. That was apparently a terrible thing.

This is the summer that changed their lives forever.

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

Diana left her children in the care of Chiron, tearfully saying goodbye to them, and staying at the top of the hill waving them off. Lucille was holding her bear close to her chest, and Justin was gripping her hand with intense strength. Not enough to hurt her, but it was tense. Chiron took them to a large wooden house, and sat them down on a soft, long couch and continued their chat, introducing them to the crazy world they now lived in. Lucille was cuddled into Justin’s side, mostly staying quiet, but occasionally making noise if Chiron made her laugh. Justin was far more serious, keeping a level head. He needed to, or he’d break.

This took all afternoon. The two new demigods were hungry. Luckily, it was close to dinner time now. Chiron had called for an older camper, a boy named Conner Stoll, who was apparently the Head Councellor of the Hermes cabin, where the children of Hermes, the children of minor gods, and the unclaimed kids stayed. Conner introduced himself and took them to the mess hall to meet the rest of the cabin residents.

Justin perched on the end of the crowded table, with Lucille practically sitting on his lap, their meals left untouched in front of them. Justin tried to converse with Conner and Travis Stoll, but there were so many interruptions from the rest of the table that conversation was essentially impossible. Instead, he focused his attention on Lucille. She was nuzzled into his side, quietly playing with a piece of wire she had in her pocket. Justin tried to engage her in conversation, asking about what she wanted to do with her wire, but she could not speak to him. She missed their mom. As did he.

After an hour, the siblings had managed to eat half of their plates, Justin almost forcing food down his sister’s throat so she would not be hungry in the middle of the night. The centaur, Chiron, cleared his throat and dismissed the demigods to the amphitheatre for a sing a long and campfire. That made the siblings perk up a little, Justin liked to sing, and Lucille liked campfires. The atmosphere that announcement brought was full and exciting, which made them more excited as clearly that meant this campfire was going to be fun. Justin took Lucille by the hand when the Hermes table stood and they followed the other campers through the dim evening light towards a classic style, three quarter circle amphitheatre with a large bonfire in the middle, waiting to be lit. as the campers entered the arena, laughing and joking about with each other, the pile of wood burst into flames, a bright yellow and orange colour, quickly growing larger the more campers entered the theatre.

“The fire is controlled by surrounding people’s moods.” Justin’s thoughts were interrupted by the feminine voice of a camper Justin did not recognise. She was beautiful, to say the least. With dark hair, shining brown in the fire’s light, and eyes that were an unrecognisable colour, switching between blue and brown with every flicker of the flames, Justin struggled to think of how he would describe her to people. “The happier the camp is, the bigger and brighter the flames. I’m Silena, Counsellor of the Aphrodite cabin.”

“Urm,” Well done Justin. He snapped back into reality when he felt Lucille pull down on his hand, the way their mom had taught them to do when they needed to snap Lucille back into reality. He finally found his voice and responded. “I’m Justin. This is my sister, Lucille.”

“Well, hello there, Lucille!” Silena’s perky voice made Lucille smile properly for the first time that day. Justin silently thanked the gods that apparently existed for that smile. “And hello Justin. Do you know who your godly parent is?”

“All I know is they’re different guys.” Justin shrugged. “Mom never told us about them.”

“She probably doesn’t know herself, sadly.” She sighed slightly, but her smile never faltered. “It happens a lot. Don’t worry, I have a feeling you’ll get claimed pretty quick.”

At that, the trio turned to the voices of several people, Silena was being called by her cabin, and the siblings were being called by Conner. They bid their goodbyes and went to sit with their cabins. Chiron and Dionysus stood in front of the fire and greeted the campers. Chiron continued to speak, talking about the events of the week. Justin was not really paying attention, he was too focused on holding his sister close to his side, and scanning the pavilion, trying to see where they would fit in. The campers were sitting in eight groups, all with incredible similarities. It was all very overwhelming. What made it worse was when he heard his name.

Chiron’s speech had ended with him acknowledging the two newest campers, which sadly were him and Lucille. Lucille hid in Justin’s arm, and Justin smiled awkwardly, waving a little, as the campers all turned to look at them. Many of the girls cooed at the image of the small girl hiding in her brother’s arm. The boys chuckled a bit at Justin’s awkward behaviour.

“Justin and Lucille Peters, our newest campers, came to us earlier today, escorted by their mother. Let us pray for a quick claiming for the two of you!”

Once Chiron had finished his speech, the sing-along started, orchestrated by the Apollo cabin. it lasted for a long time; it was pitch black by the time they were to go back to their cabins to sleep. Lucille was drifting off by this time, and was leaning on Justin as they stood to walk back to the cabins. the crowd was bustling and thick. That is why it was so obvious when it stopped, and everyone stared at Justin. He was confused at first, not noticing what was happening since he was concentrating on his sister, but he quickly realised there was a bright yellow glow shining above his head. He looked up, seeing an apparition floating above his head.

“What the—” He muttered, then looked around for an explanation. Chiron was the one to give him one.

“Well, it looks like half our prayers have been answered!” He smiled and clapped his hands together. “Praise Justin, Son of Apollo!”

A cheer erupted from the crowd. Justin just squeezed Lucille’s hand. He knew this meant their first night away from their home would be spent separated from each other. How fun.

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

After collecting Justin’s belongings from his spot on the floor, he was escorted out of the Hermes cabin to be taken to the Apollo cabin by the counsellor, Lee Fletcher. Lucille was next to him, looking extremely anxious and upset. Justin hitched his bag over his shoulder and went to stand up, but was lightly tackled by Lucille before he could. She whimpered into his shirt, her shoulders shaking as she hugged him as tight as she could.

Justin was to collect his items and be escorted to the Apollo cabin by their counsellor, Lee Fletcher. He was struggling, as Lucille had caught on to what was happening, and was not letting him. She was attached to his side, seemingly attempting to stop him from moving. The rest of the cabin avoided looking at the scene. The demigods are used to heartbreak, they are used to untimely death, but watching this scared little girl be separated from the only person she knew, from her brother, this was truly heart-breaking.

Justin finished grabbing his things and flung his bag over his shoulder. He attempted to stand, but Lucille is surprisingly strong for an eight year old. It helped her case that Justin did not want to leave her. But sadly, he had to. You have to sleep in your godly parent’s cabin once you’re claimed. Justin couldn’t help but think this was a dumb rule.

“Come on, Lucy, I have to go...” He muttered, half-heartedly.

“No.” Lucille hid her face, holding on to him tighter. Justin leg his shoulders sag and he crouched down, pulling her into a tight, enclosed hug. She almost disappeared in his embrace. He held the back of her head, tangling his fingers in her short hair.

“I’m sorry Lucy, I have to go. Trust me, I don’t want to, but I have to.” He sighed and pulled a way, wiped escaped tears from her eyes, forcing the kindest smile he could. “Don’t worry, I’m only two cabins down, and ill see you in the morning!”

“Promise?” She said quietly.

“I promise.” He gestured vaguely to the other people in the room. “While I’m gone, you gotta trust these people, they’ll make sure you’re ok. They’ll keep you safe.”

“Justin, you coming?” The voice of Conner Stoll echoed from the door. Justin called back he’d be a second, then pulled Lucille into another hug, kissed her forehead, and said goodnight. As he stood, Lucille whimpered.

“I love you...”

“I love you too, Lucy.”

And off Justin went, escorted to the Apollo cabin to spend his first night away from his mother separated from his scared little sister, and in a cabin with a group of other kids just like him. He did not sleep well. He was too worried about Lucille.

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

Lucille watched as her brother left the cabin. As soon Conner closed the door, tears started to flow out of her copper eyes. As she started to cry, She felt a hand on her shoulder, and heard shuffling at her side. She looked up, and locked eyes with a girl about the same age as Justin, with tanned, mocha skin, icy blue eyes, and what Lucille safely presumed was deep brown hair. Her colour-blindness at least let her see dark brown properly. She looked kind, soft, comforting eyes staring at Lucille as the little girl let some tears flow.

“Hey, I’m Clara.” The girl introduced herself. Her voice was calm and sweet, deeper than expected coming from her small, slim frame. She had an accent Lucille could not place, all she knew was that it was not totally American. “It’s Lucille right?”

Lucille nodded, sniffing and wiping her eyes.

“Nice to meet you.” She said, followed with a sigh. “I know it’s scary being her all alone, but you’re safe her. Why don’t you come with me, me and another new kid are gonna play a game before bed. Wanna join?”

Lucille nodded and followed Clara to sit with a boy with shaggy black hair and shining dark eyes. They played a card game called MythoMagic for a while, Lucille struggled a bit, as the attacks were organised by colour, and well, being colour blind is so fun, but she memorised the order they went in. The trio had some fun before sleeping soundly. Lucille found that Justin had left his Jacket on her bed roll. She slept curled up, covered by her brother’s jacket.

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

The next day, Justin arose to a room that appeared to be glowing in the morning light. The sudden change from darkness to light hurt his eyes, the room appeared to be glowing in the morning light. Whether that was because of the bright white and yellow paint covering the walls and furniture, or because the building was actually glowing, he could not tell. He would not put it past this camp to have glowing buildings. He swore the silver cabin across the courtyard (Artemis’ cabin maybe?) was glowing last night.

“Wakey wakey newbie!” Lee Fletcher bounced up to Justin’s bedside, far too happy for this early in the morning. “Breakfast is soon, and I have to show you around the camp today!”

Justin grunted and gave Lee a thumbs up in acknowledgement.

“Not a morning person, huh? Good luck with that.”

At that, Lee went off to get dressed himself. Justin took another then minutes to get himself up, only encouraged by the thought of greeting Lucille. He pulled on an orange camp tshirt and blue basketball shorts, with blue canvas shirts. It wasn’t long until it was time to march their way down to the mess hall for breakfast, and for Justin to see if his sister was ok.

 -----------------------------------

Lucille was woken up by the girl from the night before, Clara. She was told to get dressed, as breakfast would be soon, and Clara gave her a small tshirt coloured a strange greyish yellow, with the words Camp Half Blood on it. The residents of the Hermes cabin got dressed and slowly filtered out to the mess hall, Clara waiting for Lucille as their cabin mates passed them. Lucille was slow, still tired from her late night, and it showed. She was yawning constantly, and her eyes were drooping.

“Hey Lucille, you gotta hurry, we’ll be late to breakfast.” Clara was hungry, but remained calm with the little girl. She knows how she feels, Clara had come to camp alone the year prior. Being young and coming to terms with staying here is daunting. She looked out of the window and smiled as she saw a familiar blonde haired boy exiting the Apollo cabin. “Justin’s outside, we should go meet him before eating!”

That made Lucille perk up. She rushed to put on her shoes, messing up the laces and needing Clara to fix them before they left. Lucille rushed outside and ran to her brother, who had waited outside to greet her. They shared a strong embrace and spoke quietly to each other, Clara waiting behind Lucille as she they caught up. Clara zoned out to give them privacy, focusing on the bustling crowd of campers wandering to the mess hall, until her heard her name being said by the little girl.

“She did, did she?” Justin looked up to her and smiled. Noticing she had zoned out and didn’t hear them, he elaborated. “You comforted her last night?”

“Naí, of course.” Her accent caught Justin off guard. She sounded vaguely European to him, but he could not place it 100%. “I’m not exactly going to let a little one suffer. I’m Clara Ostá, unclaimed.”

“Great to meet you.” Justin stood and smiled at Clara.

The trio wandered to the mess hall, Justin joining his godly siblings at their table, promising to meet up with the girls after his tour of the camp. Clara promised to look after Lucille. Breakfast lasted for an hour and a half. Chiron made an announcement before the campers were allowed to leave and go on with their day, basically explaining that there was something new in the lake, and the heads of the Ares and Athena cabins must come to speak to him. After that, he motioned for them to leave, but everyone stopped suddenly when a red light appeared above Lucille’s head. Lucille looked extremely confused, the red light appearing a dark yellow and blending in with the yellow sunlight, so was near invisible to her. The symbol within the light was a flaming hammer, which apparently shocked one of the tables, as they muttered between each other about her being so small. Chiron broke the silence the same way he did last night with Justin.

“What a pleasant start to the day! Praise Lucille, daughter of Hephaestus!”

The campers clapped for Lucille, the table that was muttering cheered. They must be children of Hephaestus too. As the campers dispersed, a tall, muscular kid, several years older than Justin, walked over to Lucille and introduced himself as Beckendorf, the Head Counsellor of the Hephaestus cabin, and her eldest brother on their dad’s side. Justin, along with Lee Fletcher, walked over to the pair, and Justin immediately congratulated her for being claimed. After some explanation of who Hephaestus was, Lucille got extremely excited. Justin joked that her fiddling with materials and affinity with tools made so much sense now. Clara bid her goodbyes, saying she was going to train, but would meet the two later in the day.

The two Counsellors took the siblings on a tour of the camp together, hyping up all of the training facilities and leisure activities, as well as the classes like ancient Greek, and the Introduction to Myths and Monsters. Suddenly, this whole event was a lot less scary, and so much more exciting. They passed the amphitheatre where sword training was taking place, where they saw Clara thrashing her opponent with immense strength and grace. Justin’s jaw dropped slightly, but he was snapped out of the trance when Lee patted him on the shoulder as they moved on. They stopped at the archery range, where Lee told Justin to have a go, to see how natural his skills were. Lee coached him on how to stand, hold the bow, and draw an arrow without hurting himself. His first arrow was a bullseye. The two counsellors got extremely excited and applauded him. Lucille did too, but she definitely did not know what was happening. She was too busy fiddling with a spring. They had Justin shoot a few more arrows, all hitting the bullseye, before they moved on. As they walked to the forge, where Beckendorf said Lucille would likely spend a lot of time, the counsellors asked what brought them to camp. Justin explained the monster attack, adding on the details of what Mormo said, and how he dreamt of her when she was young. Lee explained the dreams were normal, and what she said was concerning, but she was dusted, so they should be fine for a while. However, when Justin explained how he killed Mormo, thrusting out his hand, and her writhing in pain, the older campers shared a concerned look.

They reached the forge, and Beckendorf turned his attention to Lucille, explaining what they did there. Justin interrupted, explaining that she was colour blind, and Beckendorf acknowledged this, reassuring the Peters siblings that he would do anything in his power to make her experience on the forge more accessible. That made Justin feel better.

“Hey Justin, why don’t we leave these two to investigate the forge?” Lee offered Lucille appeared extremely eager to explore, and Beckendorf seemed trustworthy and eager to introduce her to her siblings, she he hugged her goodbye and promised to see her later.

Lee beckoned for Justin to follow him. He explained that they needed too talked to Chiron, as how Justin defeated Mormos was not a normal Apollo power, and he needed an explanation. Justin was worried about that. Had Apollo made a mistake in claiming him? Was he actually the son of some other God?

Le and Justin appeared at the main cabin, called the Big House. They spoke to Chiron, who had hidden his horse half in a wheelchair, explaining the story of the monster attack in full. The centaur questioned Justin on his past, asking about any incidents involving his emotions and people getting sick. Justin explained the many unexplainable times someone had gotten a headache, or thrown up, or even fainted when they annoyed or upset him. Chiron became quiet and pondered this information for a moment.

“That explains why the titans want you.” Chiron brushed a nervous hand through his hair. He kind eyes turned serious as he stared into Justin’s soul. “You, my boy, are the son of Smintheus Apollo. You have inherited Apollo’s abilities of plague. Children like you only appear once every century. You, Justin Peters, are the Plague Bearer of the 21st Century.”

#justin peters #lucille peters #clara bones #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo ocs

[writerapprentice]

Goodbye, My Love (Ethan Ramsey x MC)

Title: Goodbye, My Love. 

Words: 2,029

Book: Open Heart (After the end of book 1)

Characters: Ethan Ramsey x MC

Summary: Dr. Maya Garcia finds out Ethan is leaving for two months.

Hey everyone!! Guess who’s back?! Lol After taking an involuntary break from Tumblr due to work, I couldn’t stop myself from writing this piece after playing chapter 1 from the second book fo Open Heart. Enjoy! 

NOTE: As always, If you decide to give it a try, THANK YOU!! If you liked my writing, I would mean a lot to me if you shared it with others who might be interested. Any constructive criticism, suggestions, and/or comments are more than welcome. I hope you enjoy it :)

Some of the characters portrayed in this story belong to Pixelberry Studios and they are borrowed. I don’t own “Open Heart” or any of the original characters. 

________________________________________________

Everything felt like a dream. The day before, Naveen had appointed you as a junior fellow in the diagnostics team but that left you a little concerned. On one hand, this was all you had worked for these past years. Your dream was finally becoming true. All the sleepless nights spent studying, all the stress, all those years working hard to be the best you can be. It was not only you. You carried the dreams and hopes of generations of your family everywhere you went. After all the sacrifices your parents made for you, you were finally able to say to them “we made it”. But, at what cost? The day before was also the day your heart broke in million pieces after Ethan set boundaries with you. “It makes sense,” you say to yourself as you turn around in your bed. The pillow next to you still smelled like him. “It’s best for both of us to keep a distance.” On the other hand, it is easier to say something than to actually do it. You knew that working directly under his supervision was going to be hell. How could you resist being so close to him and not being able to touch or kiss him?

Today was your free day at work but you wanted to go to the hospital to get some studying done and get used to your new position in the diagnostics team. Deep down you knew the real reason why you were going to the hospital and his name was Ethan Jonah Ramsey. It was very different going to the hospital on a day where you were not going 100 km per hour getting tests done and taking care of your patients. After saying hi to all your coworkers you finally reached the fourth floor and made your way to the office you knew so well. You knock on the door a couple of times and received no response. 

“Excuse me, have you seen Dr. Ramsey?” you ask one of the nurses passing by after standing a few minutes outside. You recognize nurse Kelley. You had interacted with her a few times but you knew she hated you because she was in love with Ethan and she had noticed that he only had a soft spot for you.

“You didn’t hear?” she questioned me. “He’s leaving.”

“What?!” Your face began getting red and you swear you could hear your heart beating. 

”I’m surprised he didn’t mention it to you,” she said with a smile forming in her face, “I thought you two were united.” 

You left her talking alone in the hallway and began running towards the elevator. The hospital suddenly felt asphyxiating and you needed fresh air. How could Ethan leave and not tell you anything? Just the day before you two had talked and agreed to make your relationship extremely professional, you were going to make it work but without telling you anything he decided to run away. The day was really rainy but that didn’t stop you from running outside and standing in the pouring rain calling for a taxi. After arriving at his apartment complex, you called his apartment through the intercom but there was no answer. 

A sweet, old lady opened the door of the building and you took the opportunity to enter. The closer you got to Ethan’s apartment the more indecisive you became. Was this the correct thing to do? Maybe it was the best thing for both of you to spend some time apart to clear your minds and focus on what’s important: your careers. Without realizing it you had reached his door. You stood there for a couple of minutes unable to raise your hand and knock on the door. When you finally turned around and were about to leave someone opened the door. Ethan stood there surprised to see you there. 

“Dr. Garcia?”

You flinched as you heard your last name. Damn it. You were no longer Rookie or Maya, now you were Dr. Garcia.

Once you saw him there standing by his door you were unable to get any words out. He was wearing a part of black jeans and a red long sleeve shirt. You looked past him and saw a luggage bag sitting on the floor right behind him. 

“What are you doing here?” Ethan asked you while looking around outside his door and then looking you up and down he added, “are you hurt?”

Yes, you were hurt but not in that way.

“I heard you were leaving again.” Not so long ago you thought you were losing Ethan forever. He had resigned and distanced himself from everyone when Naveen was dying. This time it was different because you knew it wasn’t forever, but still, a lot of things could change in a couple of months. He could get over you and your relationship or, even worse, fall in love with someone new. 

Ethan held the door open and stepped back letting you come inside. He brushed his hair with one hand while he closed the door and you could tell he was carefully choosing how to answer your question. He finally cleared his throat. “It’s only a couple of months. There’s an outbreak and things are getting pretty rough.”

You walked across his entrance, passing next to his luggage bag, and stopped right in front of his couch. You turned around to face him and tried to say something but no words came out. All you were able to do was stare right at those deep blue eyes hoping that your eyes would transmit to him all your questions.

“A friend who works at a hospital in Rio asked me if I could come and give them a hand with an outbreak they’re unable to control and I couldn’t say no,” he replied when he realized you weren’t going to say anything. Once again you only stood there unable to say anything. Did this man not understand how painful it was for you to be away from him? His forehead became wrinkled with confusion as he tried to decipher the reason why you had come to his apartment. “Your position in the diagnostics team doesn’t start until a couple of months from now, so if you’re worried about how this emergency trip will affect it, then don’t worry because it won’t.” How did this man manage to always make everything about work?

You finally found your voice. “That’s not why I am here,” you replied a little hurt from his implication. 

“Then, why are you here?” he questioned you. You could see his forehead had relaxed a little bit and he was a little relieved after hearing you talk. 

“It’s an outbreak. It is very dangerous.” 

“Have you noticed we both work in a hospital surrounded by hundreds of patients with dozens of different contagious diseases. We’re in danger at work every day.” 

“But, there’s no cure yet. Hundreds of people are dying, Ethan.”

“And that’s precisely the reason why I should go. In case you already forgot, we made a promise when we became doctors to help as many people as we can.”

Sigh. “What will happen to your patients? You can’t leave them just like that, they need you.” I need you.

“They’ll be alright,” he replied as he walked to the closet next to his door and took out his dark leather jacket. “I talked to Dr. Estrada and Dr. Robinson, they’ll take care of them while I’m gone.”

You opened your mouth to make another excuse as to why he should stay but he was faster than you and replied to your inexistent question before you could even say it. 

“Naveen is also okay with it. We talked and he agreed to give me permission to be absent from the hospital for a little bit,” he said with a suspicious tone and narrowing his eyes. “Why are you really here Dr. Garcia?”

You had tried really hard to keep your real intentions hidden but he was always able to see right through you. You hid your face with your hands and fell down sitting on his couch.

“I don’t want you to leave. We finally got over all our problems, my ethics hearing, Naveen’s illness. We are back to working together in the hospital. You can’t leave now. The hospital needs you! I need you!”

You were too afraid to show your emotions that you kept your face hidden. After a brief silence, you felt a pair of warm, rough hands grab your wrists and uncover your face. There he was. Ethan was kneeling right in front of you with a worried look on his face. 

“Maya, please don’t do this.” You could see a fight occurring inside him between what he really wanted and the ethical thing to do. 

“No, Ethan. You’re the one making this unbearable.”

“Do you think I am happy doing this? Do you think I like being away from you? The time I spent away after I resigned was the worst. I wished I could be with you every day! I wished I was able to hug you and make your pain go away but I couldn’t!” His face getting closer to yours after every statement. “Don’t you see how much you mean to me?! I am unable to function correctly if I’m not close to you.”

“But, then why-”

“I keep building walls between us because, unfortunately, we’re not meant to be together.”

A knot formed in your throat. Your eyes began watering and after he let go of your wrists you allowed one of your hands to touch his cheek. Your touch calmed him down.

“If I leave for this work trip, it will be better for both of us in the future since we will have to work together every day. Our patients come first and it is time we both understand that.” 

A small tear began to drop down his right cheek. Involuntarily, you got closer and kissed the path his tear had left on his cheek. Your faces were a few inches away. You could feel his warmth. The smell his cologne as too familiar. You could see the walls he had mentioned just seconds before tumble down between both of you. In a compulsive move, he grabbed your face and kissed you. You could feel all your emotions burning our skin. There was a sense of familiarity in the way your lips met, the way one of his hands held your cheek and the other one traveled down to your waist pulling you closer. You grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer to you. You ran your hands through his brown wavy hair, his beard, and down his chest. The kiss grew deeper and more passionate. You could feel your heart beating so hard that you thought it was going to burst out of your chest. His breath was intoxicating. He began pushing you back on the couch, positioning himself on top of you when the intercom system rang. Both of you stopped breathless. He broke the kiss and stood up quickly to release you. The intercom system rang again. 

“I called a taxi,” Ethan replied trying to catch his breath and fix his composture while he walked towards his luggage. “I’m sorry, its time for me to go.”

Everything had happened so fast. It hurt a lot to see him go, but you remembered his speech about your dedication to your patients. Your brain understood where this decision came from, but your heart still declined to accept it. Without saying anything you stood up from the couch and walked towards the door passing next to him. You grabbed his hand and squeezed it. Then, you gave him one final small kiss on the lips. 

“Goodbye, my love.” 

“Goodbye, Rookie.”

And you finally let your hand drop to your side and walked through his door. As soon as you put one foot outside his apartment, you knew the next two months without him were going to be hell.

TAGS: @togetherwearerapture  @perriewinklenerdie @msjpuddleduck  @paulfwesley @isabella-choices  @x-kyne-x  @dr-brianna-casey-valentine  @jooous  

#ethan ramsey x mc #ethan ramsey #open heart #choices #pixelberry #open heart fanfiction #open heart second year

[koala-otter]

oh god this got long and maybe isn’t nearly as light-hearted as we hoped?? but here’s female friendship and bonding--it was honestly really fun to write just the girls all together

thank you so much for the prompt, and I hope you like it @it-is-the-female-federal​ !!

the girls of the gaang at ember island 2.3k words

“Oh, my gosh, Suki, I’m so excited to see everyone again!”

Suki looks away from the approaching ship to Ty Lee standing next to her on the dock. Or, more accurately, jumping up and down on the dock. The two have traded their heavy Kyoshi uniforms for the light, midriff-baring style popular on Ember Island. 

“Me, too,” Suki says warmly. “It’s been so long since we’ve all been together.”

“And I’m so glad they convinced Mai to come, too,” Ty Lee adds. Her eyes widen and she erupts into a squeal as the ship reaches the dock, and a staircase lowers from the shipside to the ground in front of them. After a few seconds, Mai comes down the stairs, followed by Katara guiding and holding Toph’s hand. All are dressed in the bright reds of the Fire Nation in styles similar to Suki and Ty Lee’s.

“It’s so good to see you both!” Katara cries once they reach the bottom, running to hug Suki.

Ty Lee enwraps Mai in a bone-crushing hug, crying, “You have no idea how happy I am to see you!”

“Move over, Sweetness,” Toph says to Katara, “I wanna say hi to Suki, too.”

Suki laughs as she hugs the younger girl, then pulls back, asking, “Wait, where are the guys?”

Toph smirks. “They couldn’t make it,” she says. 

Katara smiles sympathetically at the disappointed look on Suki’s face. “There’s some problem with the new Fire Sages temple,” she explains. “Sokka’s overseeing the changes to the construction, so he has to stay behind with Zuko and Aang while they figure it out.” She tilts her head toward the beach. “But we can still have fun without them.”

“If anything,” Ty Lee says energetically, looping her arm through Suki’s, “it just got more fun. Now it’s a girls’ trip!”

“Yeah! Girls’ trip!” Toph yells, throwing her arms in the air. A rock shoots out from the ground beneath them and through the dock, sending the staircase sailing back onto the ship. A moan of dismay sounds out from the deck in response.

“Yay,” Mai says in a monotone.

Katara glances at Mai, almost disapprovingly, before taking Toph’s hand again. “I think a girls’ trip is just what we all need,” she says.

“Well, then what are we waiting for?” Ty Lee says excitedly. “Let’s go to the beach!”

“I thought this was supposed to be the off-season,” Toph says, her face turned down toward the sand and her arms crossed.

The girls look around themselves. The beach is teeming with islanders, from little kids playing in the water to young adults like them playing volleyball. The sounds of lively chatter and playful shrieks pollute the air.

“I can’t even see a space to put our stuff down,” Katara says.

“You were right, Mai,” Suki says, “we should have stayed at the private beach.”

Mai shrugs. “We can always go back,” she says.

“Let’s do it,” Toph says commandingly, “my feet are getting serious sensory overload right now.”

“Can’t we just stay another minute?” Ty Lee begs. “There’s gotta be a spot somewhere.”

Right on time, a young man in swim trunks and a top knot approaches Ty Lee. “My name’s Zang,” he says. He points behind himself at a group of young men lounging a few feet apart on the beach. “Need somewhere to lay your towel out? We’ve got some extra space.”

“Thanks!” Ty Lee beams at him. “There’s room for my friends, too, right?”

Zang notices the other girls all at once and balks, but quickly begins to nod. “Of course,” he says, almost smoothly. “Anything for a group of such lovely ladies.”

Katara grins when she sees Mai roll her eyes. 

Once they’ve set out their towels, the girls leave Zang and his friends behind, running for the water’s edge. Katara rushes into the waves, as usual, and Ty Lee follows, Katara creating a board of ice for the two of them to ride together. Suki stands with Mai with the water up to their ankles, watching as Toph bends the sand around them into various figures. 

“Wow,” Mai says after another round of creation, “it looks exactly like the old guy staring at us.”

“Down to the tiny shorts,” Suki comments.

Katara and Ty Lee ride back in on another wave, both of them laughing breathlessly. 

“That was so much fun!” Ty Lee cries once she’s caught her breath. She turns to the other girls. “You guys have to try it.”

Toph shakes her head. “No way. I wouldn’t be able to see a thing.”

“Yeah, no, thanks,” Mai says disdainfully. 

Katara frowns.

“I would, but maybe not here,” Suki says, looking around at the rest of the beachgoers. “There are a lot of eyes on us.”

“All right, all right,” Ty Lee agrees, “let’s go back to Zuko’s beach.”

“Finally,” Mai says. 

The girls go back to collect their things and bid farewell to the young men, but Zang stops them.

“Ladies, what’s the rush?” he asks, his arm around one of his friends and a flask in his other hand. 

“We’ve got plans somewhere else,” Katara says in explanation.

“Somewhere far away,” Toph continues.

“Aw, don’t be like that!” Liquid splashes out of the flask and onto Zang’s leg. He wipes it away with his hand. “Look, you girls have got everyone’s eyes on you at this beach,” he says. 

Mai, Katara, and Suki exchange looks. 

“I’m just saying,” Zang continues, “I’m a promoter at this little hot spot in town. It’s called the Dragon’s Lair.”

Katara tries to hold back a laugh. 

Zang continues, unfazed, “We’re having an event tonight, ladies drink free. I think you’d all have a lot of fun if you came.”

Ty Lee brightens. “That sounds great!” she says. 

“I think we actually have plans tonight,” Mai interrupts. 

“What? No, we don’t,” Ty Lee says. 

Suki nudges her arm. “I’m pretty sure we have a dinner to go to.”

“Come after dinner,” Zang says casually, “or come whenever. The party’s all night.” 

“Come on, girls,” Ty Lee says to her friends, “This sounds like just the right thing for a girls’ trip!” 

“I’m in,” Toph says, a mischievous grin on her face, “as long as there are actually free drinks.”

Katara sighs. “Maybe we’ll just go for a little while?” she says, glancing at Suki and Mai.

“An hour,” Suki says sternly.

“At most,” Mai adds.

“Great!” Zang says with seemingly genuine delight. “I’ll get a table for you all. My treat.”

The girls arrive at the Dragon’s Lair in outfits chosen by Ty Lee. Even Toph wears a swipe of eyeliner, courtesy of Katara, on each eyelid. 

“One hour,” Suki reminds the group before they enter. 

“If that,” says Mai.

They step through the curtain in the doorway to find a crowd of people their own age. Groups of them clump around tables, moving between them and the bar, carrying bottles and trays of drinks. Loud cheers erupt every once in a while, and the general din and low lighting makes it difficult to navigate the space.

“Hey! Over here!” 

Zang waves at them from a table nearby, and holds his arms out as they draw near. No one goes to embrace him. 

“How nice of you ladies to join us,” he says, looking a little dejected. He claps the shoulder of a young man next to him. “This is Muzu.”

The girls all nod at him politely. He winks at Katara. She avoids looking at him.

“Can I get you all some drinks?” Zang asks. He grins. “Remember, ladies drink free.”

“Yes,” Toph answers immediately.

“But, Toph, you’re not sixteen yet,” Suki hisses.

“Just let her order like the rest of us,” Mai says in a bored tone. 

“We’ll each have a rice wine and a beer to start,” Ty Lee says brightly.

“All right,” Zang agrees, getting up to go to the bar.

A worried look crosses Suki’s face. “I’ll go with you,” she offers hurriedly and follows after him.

The rest of them stand in an uncomfortable silence with Muzu. He turns to Katara. 

“So, where are you from?” he asks.

“Southern Water Tribe,” she replies.

“Oh, wow,” he says, cocking an eyebrow. “Cold down there?”

“Very,” she replies curtly. She turns to Ty Lee. “Hey, you didn’t finish telling us earlier--how are your chi-blocking lessons going?”

Ty Lee takes over the conversation, gushing about the Kyoshi Warriors and what great students they are, and praising Suki for her leadership and ability to pick up the technique quickly, until Zang and Suki return with the drinks. A look passes between Suki and Mai, and the two pass out the drinks themselves.

The conversation continues easily, floating mostly between the girls. Zang even becomes a decent guy once he has a drink in him, listening actively to Suki explaining the difference between fan and sword-fighting, and even asking Toph to explain her metalbending process.

“I will,” she promises, “as soon as you get me more to drink.” She pulls on his arm. “Let’s go.”

They take off, and Muzu asks the group, “She’s really blind?”

“Yes.” Mai barely looks up from her drink to reply, though when she does, the contempt is clear in her gaze.

Katara feels like her head is swimming after her second drink. She shakes herself. “I’m going to go to the bathroom,” she whispers to Suki. 

Suki looks at her, concern clear in her eyes. “Are you okay? Do you need me to go with you?”

Katara shakes her head and smiles. “I’m fine.”

Mai watches her go.

In the bathroom, Katara splashes her face with cool water and looks at herself in the mirror. Her eyes are bright in the dim light, and her cheeks carry a slight flush. She smiles and dries herself off, opening the door to go back out.

Someone is on the other side of it.

“What are you doing?” she demands when she finds Muzu in front of her.

“Don’t worry,” he says sleazily, running his free hand through his hair, “I feel it, too.”

“No,” Katara says forcefully, shoving him away. She feels hot and dizzy as she begins to walk back to the table.

“Are you sure?” Muzu asks, grabbing her wrist.

“Yes,” Katara says, ripping it free from his grasp. “I have a boyfriend.”

Muzu smirks. “He doesn’t have to know,” he says, and steps forward to go after her one more time. 

Suddenly, he’s pinned to the wall behind them, his eyes wide with shock. Four knives stick out of his clothing around his shoulders and waist. Katara stares at him, her brain still fuzzy and trying to make sense of what’s just happened.

“She said no.” Mai steps out into the light, another knife glinting in her hand. “I’d take it for an answer, if I were you.”

Mai walks forward and holds the knife to his throat. “We’re going to leave, and you’re going to stay right here until we’re gone, and you’re never going to talk to her, or any of us, ever again.” She twists the knife threateningly. “Understand?”

He gulps and nods desperately. 

Mai moves over to Katara and puts her arm around her shoulders, guiding her out of the building. “Are you okay?” she asks quietly. 

Katara nods mutely. Once they’re outside, Mai helps her sit down on a curb and squats in front of her. “Just breathe,” she says in a low tone. She looks up and then back to Katara. “Suki’s coming now. We’re all going to go home, and we’re going to get you some water.” She puts her hand on Katara’s arm, and Katara looks up at her with wide eyes. 

Suki comes out and puts her hand on Katara’s shoulder. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Katara says, though her voice is thick.

Suki nods and looks back at Mai. “Toph’s really drunk. Ty Lee and I are trying to wrangle her, but it’s going to be a couple of minutes.” She squeezes Katara’s shoulder. “But then we’re going to go home right away, okay? I promise.” She runs back inside.

Mai holds Katara’s hand to help her rise, then puts her arm back around her, holding her close. “I’m here,” she says as Katara wipes at her eyes. “Whatever you need.” 

A weak smile makes its way across Katara’s face. “Thanks, Mai.” 

The girls all drag their mattresses into the largest room in the house and lay them out in a circle, a fan spinning lazily above them. Bowls of snacks fill the empty space in the middle of their mattresses, and they all wear bright green facemasks made from the Southern Water Tribe’s most antioxidant-rich seaweed.

“This is way more my style,” Katara says. 

“Mine, too,” Mai says from the mattress next to hers. 

They exchange small smiles. 

“You said it,” Toph says, kicking her feet up and lying on her back. Her hair has been tied back in an elaborate braid by Ty Lee, her bangs pinned back out of her face to keep clear of the face mask. “My head is killing me.”

“Have more water,” Katara says to her, bending some from a pitcher on the floor into Toph’s glass. “It’ll be even worse tomorrow.”

“Speaking of which, what should we do tomorrow?” Ty Lee asks excitedly, rolling onto her stomach and facing them all.

“Maybe we should take it easy,” Suki says cautiously. “We can sleep in, spend the afternoon on the private beach.”

“Oh, Katara, we’ll have to do more ice-boarding,” Ty Lee says. “I wanna see if we can do more flips.”

Katara nods, smiling lightly at Ty Lee. “Of course.”

“I’d try it again, too,” Suki volunteers, reaching for another sweet rice cake. 

Ty Lee beats her to it, and pops the treat in her mouth. She grins mischievously at Suki. “I’d ask you to join, Mai, but I guess we can never expect you to get wet,” she says. 

Mai chuckles lightly and reaches for a cream candy. “Not normally,” she says slowly, popping the candy into her mouth and sucking on it for a little while. “But I might be willing tomorrow.”

“Oh, yay!” Ty Lee cheers. “We’ll have so much fun.”

Katara smiles at Mai. “Yeah, we will.”

#my writing #ask #atla fanfic #fanfiction #atla #katara #mai #suki #toph #ty lee #it-is-the-female-federal

[oh-boleyn]

catherine / infamy

words: 5733, one shot, language: english

anne / jane /  katherine / catherine

this was posted on ao3 some days ago and I have been since debating to post it here or not. except for this series I will stop posting here probably, and just move to my ao3

TW: I think this one only has as tw Catherine's story (kidnapping, dying in childbirth, etc) plus self deprication... if anyone thinks this one needs more tw please tell me 

the commentary between scenes are things I got from internet about Catherine Parr

Catherine Parr will always be known as the queen who got away.

(…)

Her breath is heavy, the air denser than it should be.

But it slowly gets better, to the point she opens her eyes and the light doesn’t hurt. Sitting, she can recognize Katherine Howard, the girl for who she was a lady-in-waiting. Anna of Cleves is also sitting, a lost expression on her face. A woman with blonde hair that makes her think of the various portraits she saw in the palace. Just by counting the people in the room, she can easily assume who the rest of them are.

After all, she was the last of them.

(…)

Catherine’s father died when she was five years old and so her education was left to her mother, who educated Catherine to a high standard. 

(…)

Catherine never loved moving.

Usually she got too attached to a place, and changes were definitely not her favourite thing.

(Moving centuries felt like a torture – not that she would ever admit it out loud.)

Their new house was small, smaller than any castle she ever lived in. She had to share a bedroom with her godmother with whom she never had a relationship, and the third queen, mother of the kid she saw getting the crown.

Sometimes at night the house made her think of Snape Castle. Of nights fearing for her life. Being the survivor didn’t mean her life was any easier. Those nights she preferred to avoid sleeping in case the faces of John and Margaret might appear in her dreams.

Instead she would just scroll through articles and articles on her phone, trying to understand any actual device that was out to the public, or what did spot on meant. At least being productive made her feel less useless. After years of new information missed, she could really use new research.

(…)

Sometimes alternatively spelled Katherine, Katheryn, Kateryn or Katharine.

(…)

Catherine can’t help but feel powerless when thinking about Katherine Howard.

She was just a child. A teen, who Catherine couldn’t save. Her mind didn’t work fast enough to help the girl, who died such a tragic, grotesque death, leaving Parr her place as queen. Maybe if Parr was smart enough, she could’ve done something else.

But she wasn’t.

She loved to lie, to make everyone believe her, but deep down she knew nothing more than that, a lie. An elaborated act that took years to construct. A character, a fake line, an improvised scene that went day after day. Because Catherine didn’t think of herself as intelligent, just a very good actress, fooling everyone into thinking she was smart.

She wished it was true.

Instead she had to live with the guilt of knowing what she did. She was not the hero, not the survivor, not the scholar queen.

Catherine Parr was a fool who couldn’t save Howard, nor Margaret, nor Elizabeth, nor Lady Jane Grey. Her hands were filled with the blood and tears of all the girls at her care; she never had the chance to rescue, instead just assisting to their downfall. And her mind won’t stop her from repeating the names time and time again.

(…)

Catherine was known for her love of learning and for her fluency in languages such as Latin, French and Italian.

(…)

“What do you want to know?” The last queen questions.

Her godmother had been moving the whole night, buzzing around her. It was almost becoming annoying, except that there was a warmness, an incapability of getting mad knowing how close her mother and the woman once were.

“What makes you think I want to know something?” Aragon retorts.

“You seem nervous, if you want to know something just ask ahead. I won’t get mad.”

She internally prays for Aragon not to ask her something about Spanish, or worse, Latin or Italian. Languages felt more complicated and overwhelming in the twenty-first century, featuring strange mixes between them.

(Apparently, Spanglish was a thing.)

She is not sure if any other question would be good, at all. Catherine is supposed to know all the answers, to be educated, to distinguish, to be useful. Since arriving in this century her mind has been confused, mixing up languages and dates. Blocked, broken.

“Curiosity is not such a good trait.” The older woman speaks, almost robotically, just repeating words she probably heard time and time again.

Catherine would be lying if she said that was the first time she heard those words. Her curiosity was not exactly an attribute in her past life, but she maintained it through the end of her days, always looking forward to learning. A craving for intelligence heavier than the one for safety.

“It’s alright, really.”

“What happened when I died?”

The question comes out quickly, making Parr hold a breath.

“When you died…” She starts, trying to remember only important details. “Anne and Henry were still married, but she lost the pregnancy. She had three miscarriages. You can imagine how Henry reacted.”

Catherine nods, aware of Anne’s thick scar.

“Jane went next. I can’t remember a lot from her reign, for it was short and I wasn’t at court at the time,” she winces, trying not to show her stiffness when talking about it, “Henry asked for her to be painted in every family portrait, even after she died. He really tried to secure the line of succession for Edward, what a shame he died so young. In his attempts to have another son, Henry married Anna. She wasn’t bad, just probably a lot for him to handle.”

“She seems like a lot.” Catherine speaks, judging tone in her voice.

“Don’t say that, she is actually sweet. Henry couldn’t kill her, politics involved, so they settled for an annulment. Then Katherine came. She was naïve, a child. I was a lady-in-waiting for her, and it is true she might have been childish, but she was –is, I suppose– a good person.”

“I feel like all of them know more than me,” Aragon explains, “but I don’t want to read about them, it’s like invading their privacy.”

“I did. Most sources are from after we died, none of them completely true.” Catherine admits. “We should be able to tell our story.”

“We should.”

(…)

Catherine is known for reuniting Henry’s children with their father and bringing them back to court. 

(…)

The opening night for the show is nerve-wracking to say the least.

Anna almost cursed at Catherine because, after all, it was her idea. Parr stays silent, knowing that the fourth queen is nervous to her very core. She also knows that the show has to be done.

They could only live off doing interviews for some time. She learnt that the internet worked in mysterious ways, and nothing stayed new for too long. People grew tired, and interviews were less and less often.

But after the play, it feels right. Even her godmother is smiling, her own reluctance to create the play long forgotten. People cheer around them, the band still firm on their spots but clapping their hands.

For a moment it feels good to be in the spotlight.

(…)

Catherine was an attractive and intelligent woman, who combined the intelligence and wit of Anne Boleyn with the prudence and diplomacy of Catherine of Aragon.

(…)

“Anne, wake up.”

Boleyn opens her eyes. Her hands were still holding her phone. That little technological device that holds so much information about everything. Catherine wonders what she was doing, what could have been so important that she didn’t go to bed.

“You should go to your room, Kat and Anna might be waiting for you.” She says with a soft voice, trying not to wake anyone else in the house.

The second queen has big, bright green eyes. There is a sparkle of wit that Catherine can’t shake her head off. She looks like Elizabeth, the same curiosity shining through. The way she carries herself, as if she still was the queen. The secrecy, how every word holds another meaning.

Anne stood up, going to her bedroom.

“Goodnight Anne.”

“Night, Parr.”

Elizabeth is dead, and they aren’t. Catherine never had a chance to amend their problems, instead she died. Never getting to see Elizabeth as queen was going to be something she would always regret.

The internet said she was a great queen, and it didn’t surprise Parr at all.

(…)

Elizabeth was won over by Catherine’s warmth and intelligence.

(…)

Catherine Parr was never a protagonist, and she prided herself on it. Being a writer was more important to her. Narrators lived long enough to tell the heroes stories. She was observant. Silent, but good at knowing all the gossip. Being invisible was an advantage, it could keep you alive.

(That is if you didn’t die because of childbirth, obviously.)

Even in the play, she made it known. Her make-up in earthly tones, and she wears a blue costume. Blue was serene, trying not to be noticed. She didn’t talk as much as the other queens, relegating her story just to her last verses.

Catherine Parr was a narrator, not a protagonist, and she was aware of it.

That was why, when watching the queens, she felt so inclined to give them as much attention as she could. Catherine wouldn’t write their stories, that would be not okay if she tried to keep the fake peace that reigned the house, but she could surely find striking inspiration at any moment.

She discovered that none of them were having the best time in their new lives. They didn’t treat it as a brand-new chance to be happy, instead they were bonded to the past, to their own time. It felt like whatever brought them back just did it so they could act as robots half of the time, not trusting each other to talk seriously for more than a couple of minutes.

Catherine wonders if the other queens also notice how much she is struggling.

(…)

However, the quick-thinking Catherine Parr managed to save her head by pleading with Henry and persuading him that she had only argued with him in an attempt to help him forget about the pain caused by his leg ulcer and to learn from him.

Henry forgave her.

(…)

They move. Again. She knows it’s for the better, but she can’t help feeling weirded out by the new house. At least it allows them each to have a room of their own, a privacy she certainly craved.

She takes the basement, which is the colder room in the house. It feels comfortable, after all the years of living in palaces makes you feel that way about cold, big rooms. Her bed, even if it is double size, doesn’t fill more than a quarter of the room, leaving her space for a big desk and a bookshelf.

Catherine counts all the books once before starting packing, twice after saving them and another time as soon as she arrives. The feeling that she probably lost one doesn’t disappear, even if she doesn’t know what book she lost.

(Maybe because most of her books are destroyed after five hundred years of not caring for them.

Not like those books are useful anymore.)

(…)

According to Foxe, she began “frankly to debate with the king touching religion, and therein flatly to discover herself; oftentimes wishing, exhorting, and persuading the king.”

(…)

Doing research is exhausting to say the least.

The bright white screen makes her eyes ache after watching it for a while, and her hands don’t work quickly on the keyboard. She can’t even write as fast as she could in her old life, her letters clumsy and often having problems with gripping the new pens.

What makes it the worst, is that she feels so stupid when trying to do it. Languages vary when time progresses, that much she always knew, but trying to read an article sometimes becomes impossible, with words such as quantum entanglement or Newtonian physics. It infuriates her, not being able to understand.

Once upon a time she knew it all, about God, history, languages. But now it felt as if her brain just stopped working. Everything went faster than she could, leaving her behind, useless to a new world into which she never asked to be brought.

Sometimes she hates modernism and its complexity.

Still, Catherine puts on an act every day, talking about penicillin and ibuprofen, explaining history to Anna and focusing on appearing smart. Because, after all, that was all she ever knew. All she ever had was owned for being smart, to know how to play a King’s game, and getting away with it.

If she wasn’t smart, she was nothing.

(…)

Catherine certainly believed herself to be in danger and, had she not acted decisively, it is likely that Henry would have allowed her to be arrested and, perhaps, executed.

(…)

“Cathy, por favor, ayúdame con esto.” Her godmother asks, while going through some files. “I know you were good at Spanish.”

Parr holds a breath. She once could speak it fluently, but lately it’s pained her into having problems with it.

“I was reading this book, and wondered if della and del were still being used? Or is it old Spanish?”

Catherine didn’t know the answer at all. How was she supposed to? If she could barely understand it. She wanted to scream, to explain that she had no actual clue. She wanted to pull away her façade of being smart and just admitting that it was too hard for her.

“I think it’s safer to use de la instead of a contracción.” Cathy says, praying to be right.

“Gracias querida.” Aragon winks at her.

Parr was really hoping she was right.

(…)

Catherine Parr - The Scholar Queen.

(…)

Catherine was a writer, she even went as far as publishing books under her name, the name of a queen, in a patriarchal society.

Catherine Parr was a writer because it was all she had ever done. Every reason why she wanted to be remembered was because she was a writer. She didn’t care about her husbands, not even Thomas who she truly thought she loved. She didn’t want to be remembered as a queen, only as a writer.

(She sometimes thought that if being a writer was enough for her, in that case, she would’ve lived longer, but of course she needed to have a man in her life.)

Talking about her past as a writer gave her the peace of mind she didn’t have for standing behind men her whole life.

Behind a great man, there is always a great woman.

Except that she was behind John Neville, a distant catholic cousin who’s actions ended up with her being kidnapped; Henry the VIII, an egomaniac poor excuse of king who got as far as killing two of his wives (almost her killed too); and last but not least, Thomas Seymour, a power starved moron.

Was she just like them? Was she the only one guilty of her past life? An egomaniac who couldn’t save Katherine Howard? A power-starved former queen who let harm come to her most loved stepdaughter? Or just a moron who couldn’t protect anyone, not even herself?

Catherine was a writer, because thinking about her own mistakes was harder than just doing what she always did, telling other people’s ones.

(…)

Catherine Parr was in fact the cleverest and most passionate of Henry VIII's six wives, says Derek Wilson.

(…)

Catherine wasn’t a big fan of the rain.

She didn’t mind it, and enjoyed the sounds of the water drops when she was writing, but being in closed spaces sometimes became too much, too claustrophobic. She loved walking just a little every day, going to the theatre in the afternoon or to the grocery shop, but with the weather it wasn’t possible.

Usually on days like that she would just get herself isolated from the queens, her anxiety building up as she tried to behave and not explode. Try to pass as if she doesn’t even exist, guarding her feelings and nerves to herself.

She told the queens she would be writing in her room, and to just call her when it was time to eat. No one checked up on her. No one gave her tea, or coffee. Even when the clock hit the time for dinner –she had been staring at it for the last five minutes, hyper aware of the time being–, they called her up three minutes and fifty-two seconds later than what she would have liked.

(…)

In her will, dated 23 March 1545, Margaret stated that she was unable to render Catherine sufficient thanks 'for the godly education and tender love and bountiful goodness which I have evermore found in her Highness'.

(…)

It feels harder on her than the rest of the queens. The feeling of not belonging, of not understanding. Even with Jane their relationship is not close — not that it can be, the third queen always storming off or barely talking.

She feels like an outsider, not knowing where she is standing.

Catherine has always been cordial, but there’s a thought in the back of her mind that says that it is only out of duty. Of an old debt to her mother, and not real love. Even after long talks over tea, and trips to the mall, Cathy feels that their relationship is still empty. Out of place, fake.

Parr can’t help but dream about feeling loved again, truly loved, something that she has not known for a long time. But it scares her, Margaret ended up dying young, Elizabeth had to suffer, Jane Grey had a horrible death.

Maybe she didn’t need their love, because each time someone loved her, they ended up dead.

(…)

Catherine enjoyed a close relationship with Henry's three children and was personally involved in the education of Elizabeth I and Edward VI.

(…)

She enters the kitchen, just to see Anne and Anna with an apple pie in the middle of the table.

“I want pie.” She states.

“Magic word?” Anne teases her, a smirk on her lips.

“Je t'aime beau cul.”

Boleyn laughs, in a way that it makes her stomach turn. It’s mocking, clearly not laughing with Catherine, but rather at her.

“What? What did I say wrong?”

“You pronounced the last part wrong, it’s beaucoup, no beau cul.”

Catherine can feel her face turning red, almost burning. Of course, she was going to mess up pronunciation after years without trying. Now Anne was mocking her, and she felt ridiculed, uncomfortable.

“Why is it so funny?” Anna interrupts, maybe picking up the humiliating situation, “she just messed up pronunciation, it’s not that bad.”

“Instead of saying ‘I love you so much’ she said “I love you, nice ass’.”

Parr chuckles painfully, dreading Anna’s giggling.

“Don’t worry, mon petit chou.” Anne grabs a plate and settles a slice of the pie. “A sweet, for a sweetheart.”

She winks an eye to Parr, easing the air around the writer.

(…)

The dowager queen promised to provide education for her.

(…)

Catherine tries to get it out, to calm herself down after a nightmare.

She takes some paper and a pen, even though it feels uncomfortable in her hand, and tries to write about it. Catherine forces the memories on her brain. Attempts to remember every detail, the face of fear Margaret held, frustrating not to confuse it with the face of the girl dying. Parr thinks of John, of the aggressive men he became.

And she writes messy and clumsy letters, focusing only on what she has to say and not how she says it. Working hard distracts her for almost the whole night, finishing with a good amount of paper in possession, and her hand smeared with ink.

Catherine considers reading it, but ultimately decides against it, walking to the kitchen as fast as she can.

She lets it burn, page by page, word by word. Parr lets it burn as if she never cared for it, something so personal that it won’t be good for even her to read. She knows that the queens will ask the next day, but she can’t help herself to care. She lets it burn.

(…)

She loved fine clothes, jewels and intelligent company.

(…)

Catherine wishes she had a real idea of when to stop, but apparently, she wasn’t born with it.

Most of the time, the queens won’t shush her, instead acting as if they hear what she has to say. Acting being the key word. Once Cathy was so into her monologue, she would discover how uninterested her eyes looked, wandering around the room and just humming in response instead of talking actual real words. In that moment she would try to cut herself short, wrap the idea quicker than expected.

Anna would try to keep up, being amicable enough, but the inadequacy was something the survivor couldn’t shake off. Even when the fourth queen tries to talk, Cathy will already anticipate the truth. She pitied her, knowing how her life was and ended, and it was just a way to show it. She pushed Anna away, not telling her any weird facts. She didn’t want to be a poor fool.

(…)

In 1543, she published her first book, Psalms or Prayers, anonymously.

(…)

“I’m just… so afraid to talk sometimes.”

Catherine thought that, but the words didn’t come out of her mouth, but rather from Boleyn’s.

“I got killed for that, and I can’t help it. I feel like I need to control everything.”

“But you don’t.” Parr confirms. “Also, you can’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“You can control yourself, with whom you hang out, you can control things such as the tone of your words, but if someone wants to hate you, they will. You can’t control nature, not yours, nor from others.” Catherine ponders.

She wishes that she could follow her own advice, but it’s hard. That doesn’t mean that Catherine is not hoping for Anne to do so, to be happier than she is. Maybe that if she can help the woman, Parr can redeem herself.

“Thank you, I think I needed to hear it.” The green-eyed talks.

“Don’t worry, I’m here for you.”

She brushes off the guilt of being egoistic that tries to settle on her mind.

 (…)

According to biographer Linda Porter, the story that as a child, Catherine could not tolerate sewing and often said to her mother "my hands are ordained to touch crowns and sceptres, not spindles and needles" is almost certainly apocryphal.

(…)

Catherine wants to give up writing, knowing that it doesn’t feel the same anymore. Everything is too personal, too old, too weird. Old languages long forgotten mixing with new ones, words that haven’t existed before now complicated to use.

Apparently, Shakespeare by himself invented around a thousand seven hundred words. Just by one person.

The idea of the new vocabulary overwhelms her mind. So much she doesn’t know and is not sure if she ever will. But a part of her longs for it, for the feeling of release that writing could sometimes bring. Catherine has faith about being able to be valuable, to tell stories, to do good, to give something to the world.

Parr decides to just take her time, to write as best as she can. She can’t do more than her best.

(…)

Between October 1536 and April 1537, Catherine lived alone in fear with her step-children, struggling to survive.

(…)

“Are you okay, Catherine?” Kat asks.

It was her third attempt at it. Nothing she wrote felt right. There was just so much missed, so much to do. She couldn’t focus on the paragraphs.

“Yes, just can’t seem to get this done.” She straightens her spine.

Did always sitting hurt as much?

“What is it about?” The teenager wonders.

“Just about Spain history, and the colonies.”

“Can I read?”

“Yes. I will make tea.” Parr handles the computer to the girl.

She stretches her spine and goes around preparing the drink.

Catherine is not sure if she would let any other queen read what she wrote. Katherine is different, had always been. Even in her time as queen, even when it all happened. She was smart, but not outspoken. Polite yet truthful.

“It is good, really.” Howard says.

“I can sense a “but”.” Catherine laughs anxiously, dreading the critic.

“You are only taking one side; you should know how Spain sent a lot of people from the church on missions to re-educate the natives. Las misiones Jesuitas. Politics and religion were more connected than what this made it look like.”

“That’s… Very true.” She feels bad about not emphasising it as much but brushes it off for the sake of the conversation. “I didn’t know you were interested in history. It’s great,” she insists when Katherine looks at her with big eyes, “if you ever want to work together, you know where to find me.”

(…)

Her second book was a success and widely praised.

(…)

Organizing was never her favourite thing to do. She loved to be messy, scattered paper all around her. Pens out, in the most unexpected places, just in case creativity strikes unexpectedly. The way her manuscripts could look so good, better now that she gave herself time to practice her letters surprised when people saw the chaos in the one she wrote.

Jane was the opposite, neat, having high expectations of finding whatever she left in the place she left it. She was exigent, hard on herself to be organized, in places where Catherine couldn’t care less. That was until everything became way too much and she had to just clean a little. Parr admired Jane, appreciated how much she did, how smart and balanced she had learned to become.

With her papers settled, her pens saved, she gives a look at her room. It feels quiet, harmonized.

(…)

The popular myth that Catherine Parr acted more as her husband's nurse than his wife was born in the 19th century from the work of Victorian moralist and proto-feminist, Agnes Strickland.

(…)

Someone knocks the door to her room twice, and Catherine gets surprised. Almost nobody came to her room, it being almost the farthest one from the rest of the queens. She also never gave any indication of having nightmares like Katherine, so no one would check on her.

“Come in!” She says, despite her wonder.

“Hey there.” Aragon greets. “I just got Kat to sleep.”

“Another nightmare?”

“Yes, but those are getting better, I think. Therapy is helping.” She explains. “But I wanted to check on you.”

Catherine makes room for her in the bed, which she quickly understands. The divorcee sits in the bed, and the survivor wraps herself, getting comfortable in the hug. It’s familiar, an old memory from court in a past life, but a good one. A peaceful, tranquil moment before knowing better.

“Oh, hermosa.” The first queen squeezes her goddaughter. “What’s going on?”

“I’m just… so tired.” She confesses.

She doesn’t precisely know of what she is tired. The intrusive thoughts of hundreds of years, Thomas and how she was a fool. Of hiding her silliness, trying to be better, always better, but never reaching an end. She is tired of feeling bad, of feeling locked into her own expectations. She feels tired of trying to be happier, to be smarter, to be liked.

And there are so many feelings that she just breaks, sobbing into her namesake’s arms.

“Even geniuses need sleep, amor.”

“Don’t call me that.” Cathy bickers.

“Call you what?”

“A genius. I’m not.” She cries. “I want to be dumb; I want to stop overthinking for a second. I’m not smart, I promise you I’m not but please stop expecting things from me I can’t be a disappointment.”

“Mi vida.”

Aragon makes a pattern on her back, trying to soothe her. It doesn’t precisely work, instead she just continues sobbing, letting lots of tears that she has saved for such a long time flow freely. She sniffles out of pure frustration, of having so many thoughts that she can’t even process them.

“I love you, so much.” She affirms. “You have literally blown me away. I know I might not say a lot, but you were always special, since you were little.”

“Don’t say that, I don’t want to be.”

“But you are, and you have surpassed all my expectations, always. You can breathe now; you get to take a break.” She kisses her forehead. “I love you, and would still love you if you are the smartest person in the world or the stupidest. You are so smart, you don’t have to always stick out, or be good at everything. You deserve to just fool around sometimes, and that won’t change who you are.”

When Cathy collects the courage to look her in the eyes, she can swear that there’s a sparkle of pure love and affection in the eyes of her godmother. A sparkle directed at her.

(…)

Biographers have described her as strong-willed and outspoken, physically desirable, susceptible (like Queen Elizabeth) to roguish charm and even willing to resort to obscene language if the occasion suited.

(…)

She doesn’t know how, but something in the air feels lighter, it feels better. Life becomes easier, the house now slowly becoming a home, with the six queens slowly getting better. Catherine can notice how much cooler it turns out to be once they started learning more about each other, understanding something no one else would.

(After all, nobody else was a five hundred years old reincarnated Tudor queen.)

Parr wishes for it to mean that she could live her life relaxed, joyful. But instead she cries every time she notices how lucky she was, the guilt of knowing that she hurt so many people she cared for. A heavy backpack she won’t ever be able to get out.

She doesn’t think that she deserves forgiveness for her acts. And it pains her, hoping for a reality where she was good, for one where she was just the survivor, to one not full with the tragedy her life was.

Each time she says gold star for Cathy Parr, she feels numb. With a bit of luck, she convinced the audience she merits it.

(…)

Catherine's good sense, moral rectitude, compassion, firm religious commitment and strong sense of loyalty and devotion have earned her many admirers among historians.

(…)

There is a silence, and for a moment they stay like that. But the survivor speaks up: “Did you love him?”

“Yes.” Anne states easily. “Or no. I probably didn’t, and he most certainly didn’t either, but I think we both believed we did.”

“Do you love him?”

“No, do you?”

“Never did.”

“Be careful, your neck is quite delicate… I don’t think it would be hard to cut with a sword.”

Catherine tries to mask her thoughts, releasing a faint “Funny.”

Anne probably doesn’t know; she is aware of it. With all the fake comments about the second queen that were a lie, she had decided to not look for much information about her fellow queens, and Catherine was not willing to tell her about how her life nearly ended. It felt selfish, it was just a close call, not a real one like Anne’s or Katherine’s. Still, the idea of her head being amputated from her body followed her, like the ghost of a broken promise. The thought of her life in danger of ending still at the back of her mind.

“Did she love me?” Anne asks, surprising Parr.

“I think she did.” Catherine waits for a moment, before continuing. “I’m sorry for what I did to her.”

With those words she breaks down, trying to hide her tears. She has no right to cry for her own wicked acts, to be comforted by Anne, but that’s what is happening now.

“It’s fine.” Boleyn says, her voice just above a whisper. “I forgive you. She forgave you. We were different people back then.”

“But I did it. No matter what you say, I did it.”

“And I wasn’t an angel either. I acted the wrong way because of my fears. To gain and maintain power. I’m not proud of it,” her eyes, that until that moment were lost, now staring intensely Catherine, “but if you keep living in the past you can’t become a better person in the future.”

(…)

Parr is usually portrayed in cinema and television by actresses who are much older than the queen, who was in her early 30s when she was Henry's wife and was about 36 years old at the time of her death.

(…)

Catherine wished her story was better, for it to have a happy ending. To say that she married Thomas after Henry, and that it was like a dream, that they had children and grandchildren, grew old together and she was loved until the end of her days. She longed to say that she could remember her baby's face, or her first steps or words. Desires to tell everyone that she taught her everything she knew. But in reality, it was not true.

Catherine Parr never had her happily ever after like a queen from a children’s book.

The survivor indeed never had her happy ending, not even when coming back to the modern times. She still put more pressure on herself than what she should've. Tried to always be trusted, to always be useful and to help her everyone. Pushed herself to the edge, trying to be the best version of herself. Got more stressed than necessary, stayed up sometimes too late for her liking, drank more tea and coffee than she should’ve.

Her life became a bittersweet one, a balance found between her tragic story, the guilt she would always feel, and the chance of a new beginning.

Some days were happier than others, some talks were lighter. Freedom and restriction battling over, but giving her enough cheerfulness to go back when things got harder. Working with Katherine over the history they both knew and missed, discussing the newest scientific discoveries with Anna and Jane, grabbing lunch with Anne and tea with Aragon.

Her life was not happy, but it was relaxed. It gave her the chance to just let herself feel emotions, the good, the bad. To write without deadlines. To be calm, to live this new opportunity fully. To learn about herself, to be the protagonist of her own story.

To be loved.

#six the musical #six fanfic #six fanfiction #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #catherine parr

[buzzdixonwriter]

Ellison’s Law

Even for the early 1960s, Burke’s Law was a silly gimmick show.

The gimmick?  Millionaire Amos Burke, despite inheriting fabulous wealth, always wanted to be a detective so he joined the LAPD and worked his way up to captain of the homicide bureau.

Basically Batman without the trauma or costume.

And like Batman of a few years later, an exercise in camp.

The show was rigidly formulaic, but for practical reasons.  It relied heavily on stunt casting celebrities as suspects or witnesses and as such it had to be flexible enough to handle rewrites and re-castings in the middle of production.

The typical episode began with someone found murdered or shown getting killed in some unusual manner, cut to Amos Burke flirting with a lady only to be called away by his police duties.  Cue the opening title as Burke and his driver hurry out of his relatively modest Beverly Hills mansion to his Rolls-Royce (actually producer Aaron Spelling’s car which he rented back to the production) as a sultry female voice incants:  “It’s Burke’s Law” then after the first commercial break Burke arrives at the scene of the crime and finds clues pointing him to four or five suspects.

Said suspects are the celebrity guest stars, recruited either to give them some manic scenery chewing time or -- more rarely -- an intense dramatic scene.

After three more commercial breaks, Burke intones one of his “laws” (“Burke’s law:  Never ask a question where you don’t already know the answer.”), pulls a rabbit out of his hat / solution out of his butt, and fingers that episode’s duly appointed murderer.

The problem with the series as a whole is that it could never quite decide on what tone it wanted to take and stick with it consistently.  The British series The Avengers found the perfect balance of tongue-in-cheek / derring-do but Burke’s Law bounced all over the spectrum, frequently in the same episode.

So why bring up this mediocre TV show at all?

Two words:  Harlan Ellison

. . .

I’ve posted many times before on Harlan’s career and the impact of his writing and friendship on me.

He was in the mid 1960s at his zenith as a TV writer, and while his writing career as a whole encompasses so much more than that, his brief run as one of the meteors streaking across the Hollywood sky only lasted 4 years.

Oh, he kept writing for TV after that, but the old zing was gone.  He supplied stories for other series, created and fought hard to keep The Starlost on track but eventually had to walk away from that heartbreak, adapted several of his own short stories to a Twilight Zone revival, as well as numerous development deals that went nowhere (including two great ideas for The Name Of The Game, another Gene Barry series, that would have fit perfectly into that show’s oeuvre).

If you find his second book of TV criticism, The Other Glass Teat, check out his first draft for “The Whimper Of Whipped Dogs” episode of The Young Lawyers (not to be confused with his short story of the same title).

It’s one of the most powerful / gut wrenching things you’ll ever read…

…but by the time the studio and the network got through with it, the final product was virtually unrecognizable…and unwatchable.

Such was Harlan’s fate after 1967 in Clown Town (as he referred to it).

But from 1963 to 1967, he was golden.

. . . 

Harlan’s rocky personal history went through many highs and lows before coming to Hollywood in 1962.

Harlan’s first breakthrough as a writer was with his series of stories and essays on juvenile crime in New York in the early and mid-1950s..

Drafted in 1957. following his discharge, he settled in Chicago with his second wife and her son, editing Rogue magazine, a  Playboy imitator.

Feeling his personal life becoming untenable, he called in favors from a friend, drove out to California with his soon-to-be ex-wife and stepson (aware the marriage was over, she also wanted to relocate away from Chicago), made his first sale to TV (his short story “No Fourth Commandment” to the TV show Route 66), then briefly found a sweet spot with Burke’s Law, writing four teleplays for their first season.

Burke’s Law is a good crucible for examination because of its silly, gimmicky nature and rigid format requirements.

These scripts represent a pivotal point in Harlan’s writing career, but more importantly, they mark the only sustained run he enjoyed on a non-anthology show, and as such make a good benchmark in comparing his growth as a writer and how his unique perspective played out in in relation to the constraints of episodic television.

While a couple of Harlan’s better science fiction / fantasy stories were written before 1963, the meteoric rise of his career in those genres began with his classic short story “’Repent, Harlequin!’ Said The Ticktockman” in 1965, followed by a host of other groundbreaking short stories and novellas, and his original anthologies Dangerous Visions and Again, Dangerous Visions in which he recruited other science fiction and fantasy writers -- many of them already well established pros -- to follow the path he blazed in the genre.

His experience on Burke’s Law occurs squarely between what he once was to what he was becoming, and as such is worthy of attention.

SPOILER: There are no great hidden gems here.

There’s a lot of amusing writing, and a few flashes of the emotional intensity Harlan could provide, but by and large this is journeyman level stuff:  Better than most, but not the best.

. . .

”Who Killed Alex Debbs?” was his first script for the series, and he pitched it to producer Aaron Spelling at a cattle call after a screening of the show’s pilot episode.  

Harlan jump started the pitch process by improvising an idea off the cuff at the end of the screening, and Spelling took him to his office to hear how Harlan planned to resolve it, then hired him on the spot.

It’s unclear if Harlan was actually a staff writer on the series or simply hung out at the studio a lot, but he used his skills as a quick study to start working his way up the food chain.

His first script fulfills all the requirements of a Burke’s Law episode and shows off two of Harlan’s main strengths:  An ability to hone in on intense emotion and a keen eye for the culture around him (in this case, very specifically Hollywood of the early 1960s).

On the downside, logic gaps render this story more implausible than most -- and as noted, Burke’s Law as a series wasn’t famous for its plausibility.

A flaw of almost all Burke’s Law episodes is that the victim is typically found dead under mysterious / bizarre circumstances, and the impression we get of them is constructed entirely through the words of suspects and witnesses.

It’s not an unworkable approach, but not the best suited for episodic television.

In this instance. victim Alex Drebbs is a Hugh Hefner-like men’s magazine publisher and monarch of a mini-empire of key clubs ala the Playboy Clubs of the era.  Harlan captures that milieu well but here’s where the logic gaps hit hard:  There’s no way a Hefner-like figure would be alone long enough for someone to kill him without being noticed, there’s no way his disappearance wouldn’t be immediately noticed by employees needing his attention, and it sure as hell wouldn’t have happened in a deserted club on the afternoon of its big opening.

On the plus side, there are some great character scenes including Arlene Dahl as a bitter ex-investor in Debbs empire now reduced to licking saving stamps to keep her decay mansion in repair, Burgess Meredith as a men’s magazine cartoonist who is nothing but a  bundle of neurotic twitches and tics, and finally Sammy Davis Jr as Cordwainer Bird, the humor editor for Debbs’ magazine.

This was at the Robin Williams stage of Davis career, when all you had to do was point a camera in his direction and let him go.  Harlan supplied the corny gags but Davis launched them over the top with his antics, and while he brings the proceedings to a complete disruptive halt, his brief scene is the most entertaining in the entire series.  (Harlan later used Cordwainer Bird as his WGA pseudonym when he wanted to indicate displeasure at what had been done to his scripts.)

By his own account, Harlan had less luck with Diana Dors -- “the British Marilyn Monroe” -- and treated her condescendingly during the shoot.  (By comparison, William Goldman in his memoir Adventures In The Screen Trade shows a much more sanguine / roll-with-the-punches attitude, and that might explain part of the reason his screenwriting trajectory was far different than Harlan’s.)

All in all, an uneven example of both the series and Harlan’s abilities.

. . . 

”Who Killed Purity Mather?” was Harlan’s second script for the series and one of the few that played with the rigid format of the series insofar as the victim is seen alive for a few moments before being killed in a rather sadistic and spectacular manner (splashed with acid then trapped in a burning house, and the high angle shot used to show her demise must have been incredibly risky -- and thus costly -- to film).

It also drops a very subtle clue that I’ll reveal in the footnote.*

This is Harlan going so far over the top he emerges on the other side.  Plotwise it features more logic gaps than his first script, but the whole thing is so silly it’s pointless to complain about it.

Purity Mather is a professional witch (!) who speeds up the investigation into her own demise by mailing Amos Burke a recording saying she’ll be killed along with a list of five possible suspects (that she doesn’t mention them by name in the recording reflects the show’s desire for standalone scenes, enabling them to recast and rewrite plotlines more easily; the scene where Burke reads the names to his team was doubtlessly shot after the guest cast was locked in).

Burke & co. start shaking down suspects, including Telly Savalas as Fakir George O'Shea, a Muslim holy man / cosmetics chemist (!!); Charlie Ruggles as I. A. Bugg, an eccentric elderly millionaire who likes to chase -- but not catch -- prostitutes around his apartment while dressed in lederhosen(!!!); Wally Cox as Count Carlo Szipesti, vampire for hire (!!!!); and Gloria Swanson as Venus Hekate Walsh a fright wig bedecked self-proclaimed goddess of free love (!!!!!).

The episode might as well have had a laugh track.  It’s amusing with several daft touches only Harlan could provide, but the daftness comes from his take on Hollywood culture of the time.

I’d go so far as to say elements of Cox and Swanson’s characters were based on real life people living in and around Hollywood at the time, in particular some science fiction fans Harlan had come in contact with.

It’s a romp but a disappointing one.  The logic gaps are too big in this one (case in point, if you’re the captain of the homicide bureau and you come home to see a masked figure climbing out of your second story window in broad daylight, you don’t simply shrug and let them run off) and the ending is one of those annoying ah-yes-now-that-you-caught-me-I-will-admit-everything-even-stuff-you-don’t-know cappers that Joe Ruby and Ken Spears would have rejected for Scooby Doo.

In short, a script whose parts are better than the whole.

. . .

”Who Killed Andy Zygmunt?" is another slight story that pays off with an insight into Hollywood pop culture of the era.  The victim is “a pop artist” (no, he’s not; he an assemblage sculptor) impaled on his own artwork.

He’s also revealed to be an extortionist who acquires embarrassing evidence that he affixes to his assemblages then blackmails his victims into buying the art to keep their secrets safe.

Once again Burke is conveniently handed a list of suspects, in this case the people who bought the last five pieces of art from the exhibit.

This is one of the few times the series had more than one suspect in the same scene as there’s a big gathering in Burke’s office midway through the story (it also includes Michael Fox, a semi-regular on the series playing the coroner, so it represents a pretty sizeable filming day for the show).  The suspects include Macdonald Carey as Burl Mason, the star of a popular TV detective show (Harlan gives his scenes what we would now call a meta-fiction touch by playing off Barry’s fictional TV detective dealing with a fictional fictional TV detective); Jack Weston as Silly McCree, a kid’s show host who destroys his career with an on air anti-child rant; Ann Blyth as Deirdre DeMara, a rival “pop artist” who creates her art by spraying women with paint and having them roll around on giant canvases (a gimmick later used in the bizarre 1966 Ann-Margaret comedy The Swinger); Aldo Ray as Mister Harold, former pro-wrestler turned poodle groomer; and Tab Hunter in a surprisingly well done scene as a sky diving playboy.

Hunter’s scene in particular shows Harlan getting his hyperbole under control, much more laconic and evocative than other characters he wrote for the series.  As mentioned above, Burke’s Law occurs just on the cusp of Harlan’s huge success in print; he’s beginning to harness the lessons learned to maximum effect.  (He would have some setbacks, too, in his screenwriting career, and to be honest part of that can be attributed to his failure to consistently apply the lessons learned, part of it can be attributed to his reputation preceding him, and part of it can be attributed to just bad luck.)

The motives this time are fairly edgy for a 1963 TV series, and combined with the slices of Los Angeles life Harlan provides give a fair example of the cultural zeitgeist of the era.

. . . 

”Who Killed ½ Of Glory Lee?” can be explained as Benjamin Glory, half owner of Glory Lee Fashions, with Gisele MacKenzie as the other half, Keekee Lee.

After breaking the budget with his spectacular demise of Purity Mather, Harlan staged this murder as an inexpensive off camera elevator plunge.

This time the plot is a wee bit more plausible, with control of a profitable business being the apparent motive for the murder.

But Harlan loaded up this episode with a more powerful emotional punch than most of his others, and while the dénouement may feel a bit farfetched, it certainly rings true emotionally.

He certainly gave Nina Foch and Anne Helm plenty to work with regarding their characters’ complicated mother / daughter relationship, yet at the same time found room for a playful scene in which Buster Keaton pantomimes his answers to Burke’s questions.

Yet at the same time one senses an impatience behind the keyboard.  The opening scene has a squad of female elevator operators (yes, once upon a time there needed to be somebody in the elevator to push the buttons for you) discussing pop culture references of a generation before -- Harlan’s generation.

And while the key emotional conflicts are played out well, several of the other scenes feel rather perfunctory…yet at the same time this is probably the most cohesive whole of any Burke’s Law script, whether written by Harlan or not.

It’s as if after a brief but profitable run on a network series, Harlan realized he’d absorbed as much of the practical end of the business as he could and his next moves should be into broader, edgier territory.

   © Buzz Dixon

   * SPOILER: Purity Mather is the murderer; she connives a career nudist (!!!!!!) to participate in a magic ceremony then disfigures and kills her, leaving evidence that she hopes will convince the police the body is hers.  The subtle clue Harlan drops is the victim, wearing a long black negligee, complaining about how she doesn’t like the feel of the clothes.  A nice touch, but undercut by Purity then going to the nudist camp her victim operates and waiting in the buff by the front gate for the police to show up and question the career nudist -- whom Purity has mentioned as a suspect in her faked murder.  While it works insofar as Purity doesn’t try to pass herself off to anyone else at the camp as the career nudist, it doesn’t scan that she would know when the police would come to investigate or if they could be easily convinced at the gate and not come in to question other patrons.

#Burke's Law #Harlan Ellison #Aaron Spelling #Gisele MacKenzie #Buster Keaton #Nina Foch #Also Ray #Tab Hunter #Ann Blyth #Macdonald Carey #Jack Weston #Telly Savala #Carlie Ruggles #Wally Cox #Gloria Swanson #Sammy Davis Jr #Cordwainer Bird #Burgess Meredith #Arlene Dahl #writing #screenwriting #television