"You're safe now, my darling" The knight rescued her precious princess from the evil Gabriel Agreste

=>>Reference that inspired this piece. :3 =>>Contact me through these socials if you like! <3

Cuddle Buddies (Bakugou x Black! Reader)

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                                   ~Chapter 7: Date~

0, 1, 2 ,3, 4, 5,6, 6.2

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(don't play the song yet 👩🏿‍🌾)

Waking up on a Saturday without music playing is truly a blessing(iykyk). After brushing your teeth and washing your face, you walk downstairs and you see mama on the phone.

"-es, I understand. Thanks for letting me know... Keep me updated."

"Who was that?" Startled, she turned around ready to hit somebody. "Don't scare me no more. Anyway, that was the principal, he said that you would need to move in the dorms by Monday because those damn villains are active again."

"Don't nobody wanna be there. I wanna be at home," you groaned. Plating your breakfast, you sit down and grab your phone, seeing a text from Bakugou asking if you wanted to go out later. Accepting his offer, you finish your food and go to get your morning routine started.

(this is your hair and outfit, don't like it then you can change it)

Walking downstairs, you got to find mama to tell her you're going out. "MAMA!" Walking towards her room, you knock on the door before opening it, just to let her know you're coming in.

"Now why are you yelling in my damn house?" she questions. oops... "My bad. Anyway, I'm going with out with Bakugou. I'll be back later, k?" Turning to walk away, you hear, "That's your man, ain't it?"

"Huh?" Is that really how it looks? That ain't my man... yet. "Girl you heard me. Is that your man?" This is mad awkward. How do I explain that that's my man but not formally my man but still my man?

"Um... Not yet I guess."

"And why not?" Dang, she do be nosy🖐🏽

"Because he ain't asked yet."

"Mhm.." she said looking at you like she knew better (y'all know that look you give when somebody lying) "Alright. See you later."

Big Head🐥 i'm ready

                                                     Bakuboy💥                                                      around the corner

Walking outside, you see a car pull around. Rolling down the window, you see Bakugou. "Get in!" Opening the door, you get in the well polished car.

"Hey-"

"What do you want to eat?" No hi, hello, how are you? just straight to the point I guess.

"I don't know... you pick." (if somebody asked me what i wanted to eat i will stay silent🖐🏽 ain't nobody eating then)

"Wings it is."

"Gimme your phone," you told him. "Why? Tryna look through my search history?"

"Um... no. Don't nobody care what you do in your spare time. Now gimme it" Handing you his phone, you go to spotify and click on a random playlist. Dmx Aaliyah Tupac Biggie King Von & more

"You got taste or whatever," you complimented.

"Duh look at me. Obviously I have taste." Here this cocky nigga go.

(play song now)

"Just say 'Thank you' and go," you rolled your eyes. Playing 'I Need A Girl' by Diddy (y'all don't know nun bout that) you start to sing along quietly.

I need a girl to ride ride ride I need a girl to make my wife I need a girl who's mine, all mine I need a girl in my life

As you start to rap along you hear Bakugou quietly rap along. Smiling at him, you turn the music up.

Yo, I'm internationally known on the microphone I got it all I really need a wife at home

Turning it up more, you both got louder. Enjoying yourselves and each other. This was something you craved. Having fun with someone you were close to and had a great relationship with.

Looking over, you see Bakugou glancing at you while singing the song. Glancing back, you smile at him and continuing to sing to him, him singing back.

Need a girl that can stand me, raise me a family Go from trips to Delancey to trips to the grammys

"What you know about this?" You we're still shocked that he had music taste like this. He looked like he listened to one Nba Youngboy song and called himself a gangster. ( tell me i'm wrong)

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Finally at Buffalo Wild Wings, you both step out of the car. Starting to walk towards the door, Bakugou entwined your pinkies together.

"What do you want to eat?"

"Hot wings and fries. What do you want?" you said, putting emphasis on 'you.'

"The same thing. Wanna split a 20 piece?" What type of stupid question is that? "Duh."

Waving over a waitress, Bakugou starts to order for the both of you. "Good afternoon, my name is CeCe and I'll be serving you today! What would you like?"

Noticing that she hasn't taken her eyes off of Bakugou since you both had walked in, you grabbed his hand and started to play with his fingers.

"Can we get a 20 piece hot wings and fries? You want f/d right?" nodding, you continue to play with his rings, "and a Coke."

"Ok," she 'subtly' brushed her painted nails on his shoulder, "I'll have that right out for you." Walking away, she turned back and glared at you. Glaring back, you flick her off.

"She being mad annoying already and we just got here," you complained.

"Tell me about it. She touch me again Imma blow this whole damn place down," he rolled his eyes. Grabbing you hand, he starts to play with your fingers as well.

"Where was Mama at?"

"Boy that ain't yo mama. And she was minding her business. Why?"

"I want her to cook for me," he said matter of factly.

"Why are you acting like you've been knowing her your whole life?" you asked, laughing at him.

"Because I can. She obviously liked me when I met her."

"Oh my god," you laughed, " what do you want her to cook for your oh so fancy pallet?"

"Surprise me."

"You gotta try soul food," you gushed, " it's so good on holidays especially."

"Here you are," the waitress said cheerfully. "Anything else for you?" she asked, only looking at Bakugou.

"No, we don't want anything else," you interrupted.

"I wasn't asking you."

"But I answered. Do we have a problem?" Who does she think she is? Imma need her to stop coming for my man.

"I said I wasn't talking to yo-"

"Listen, I suggest you back the hell off my girl before she lays yo stupid ass out, K?" he interrupted.

His girl? I like the sound of that

She huffed and walked off, obviously annoyed she couldn't keep flirting with him.

He started to eat, but you was still stuck on the 'my girl' thing.

"I'm your girl now, huh?"

Looking up at you, he wiped his mouth, "You should know this by now."

"Like I told you, you haven't asked."

"Whatever."

Continuing to eat and bicker, you both just enjoyed each other's company.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

After finishing the food and paying, you start to walk towards the car, him following behind you. Trying to open the door, you feel your hand get pulled and now your back it against the door.

Pinning you to the car, he leans in closer to you. "You're my girl, got it?"

Being bratty, you decide to test him a bit. "Nope. You haven't asked."

"Fine... Will you finally be mine?" That was straightforward. Don't really know what I expected though.

"... I guess," you said, sheepishly smiling. "Took you long enough."

"Shut up," he said leaning in.

Slowly entwining lips. Lips soft and lush against each other's. The kiss getting hot, he grabs your waist, pulling you closer. You more both trying to get closer to each other, if possible.

Trying to deepen the kiss, he started to slip his tongue in, again trying to pull you closer as if you would just disappear. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you too start to deepen the kiss.

After a while, you start to pull away, still slightly pecking his lips.

"Let's go-" more kisses. "We can't be-" more kisses. "-in front of everyone like this-" more kisses. Pushing him away slightly, you peck his lips one more time and push him off fully.

Getting in the car, you shuffle his playlist, quietly singing along. He put his hand on your thigh, lightly rubbing.

Leaning your head on the window, you start to doze  off little by little. Finally asleep, Bakugou turns the music down slightly and continues to drive you home.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"Baby, get up." You felt someone trying to shake you awake. "Move," you groaned, trying to slap away the hands shaking you.

"Ugh." Bakugou got out the car, going to your side. Opening your door, he grabs you out of the car, you wrapping your legs around his waist. Walking up the steps he knocked on the door.

"Who is it!" He saw your mother open the door. "I- did that damn girl fall asleep? Here, her room is upstairs to the right."

In your room, he noticed the posters and other decor around the room. Definitely her style. he thought.

Setting you down on the bed, he took your shoes and socks off, he put your head on the pillow.

"Goodnight Pretty girl," he kissed your head, pulling the covers over your body. He walked downstairs to let himself out.

"You must really like her, huh?" mama asked.

"Yeah, I do."

"Take care of her. This is the earliest I've seen her sleep in a long time," she smiled fondly.

"But if you hurt her, I'll hurt you so bad your own mother can feel it. Got it?" Her mood changes just like y/n's. Probably where she got it from.

"I won't hurt her. Promise."

"Alright," she started, leading him to the door, " get home safe."

"Thank you." And with that he was off. Getting home, in his bed and just thinking about your pretty smile and soft lips. He could definitely get used to kissing you like that.

                                                 ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

i hope you enjoyed this, i will be trying to update every sunday if i can. thx for reading ♥

Lovers Eye

Happy Valentines Day, everybody!! Hope you’re having a great day and finding great ways to celebrate love even if that love isn’t the romantic kind of love that society pushes is the only kind of love worth celebrating. Ironically, that’s what I’m doing here lol. But I’m also celebrating the platonic kind because IT’S @cosmicrealmofkissteria​‘s BIRTHDAY!!!! So I hope you like this humble birthday present I wrote for her! 

So a fun fact for everyone: in the early 1800s during the Regency Era in England, there was a trend where a person would give a loved one, usually a romantic partner, a necklace that had a close-up picture of their eye. It was called a “lovers eye”, and it was a way for their identity to stay a secret because only their eye was shown. It’s pretty dang romantic, if you ask me, and that’s how this story was born! Enjoy!!

Was it possible to feel like you were floating even though your feet were firmly on the ground? Because that was how Tomaziel had been feeling lately. 

He just couldn’t help feeling so happy, especially when Starchild was there. They had exchanged so many letters by now, so much he had lost count. But all of them were saved, tucked away in a dresser drawer if he ever wanted to reread them. And he had, many times. 

Even after months, a part of him still wondered if he was dreaming. He never thought in a million years Starchild would ever take a chance on him, and had been happy to simply be good friends and nothing more. He had even cherished that good friendship. And now, to have them become something more... it still felt like a dream. 

But it was real. The Spark was real. The romantic words Starchild wrote in his letters were real. The sensation of his heart fluttering whenever Starchild laughed was definitely real... and he knew because he was experiencing it right now as he watched Starchild clap a hand over his mouth to control the laughter threatening to burst out. 

It was late at night and they were in Tomaziel’s chambers, sitting on his bed and talking. Starchild was on a rather impromptu trip to Jendell, due to Princess Monique practically begging Ace to ask if he would visit on her birthday. It was only a day-long visit, and he would be leaving in the morning, but Tomaziel was willing to savor the time he could spend with him. 

Tomaziel couldn’t help smiling at Starchild and quipping, “You do realize it sounds like you’re laughing at Eric being hit on, right?” 

“I’m not laughing at that,” Starchild sniggered. “I’m laughing at what ended up happening.” 

“Well, what happened?” 

Starchild pushed back his hair and tried to control himself.  “Okay. So Eric told Ace that the man was trying to come onto him, and Ace said—” he wheezed and doubled over. “He said—I’m sorry,” he snickered. 

Tomaziel couldn’t help laughing himself. “Come on, tell me! What happened?” He wanted to know what was so funny. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Starchild giggled, pushing back his hair and trying to control himself. “Ace said, and I quote, “Let’s make out so he thinks we’re together and he’ll leave you alone.” And they did.” 

Tomaziel’s jaw dropped open in disbelief. “They made out?” 

“They made out.” Starchild looked like he was going to burst from the laughter he was holding in. 

“Right there in the club?” A wide, incredulous smile was forming on his face. Honestly, it did sound like something King Ace would do, but it was still a bit of a shock to hear. 

“Right there in the club!” Starchild finally gave up and burst out laughing, doubling over to hide his face in his knees. 

Tomaziel threw back his head and started laughing. “Was there—” he had to take a moment to contain his laughter long enough to finish. “Was there tongue?”

“I didn’t see, but I’m pretty sure there was.” Starchild giggled at the memory. “Oh, you should have seen Eric. He was shocked speechless. And Heather...” His smile faded for a moment, then reappeared with a light laugh. “She was laughing so hard.” 

“Ace just went for it, didn’t he?” Tomaziel asked knowingly. 

Starchild laughed again. “He did. He just swooped in and made out with him right there.”

“I wish I could have seen that,” he snickered. “Should we tell the Queen what Ace did?” 

“I’m not sure... Do you think we should?” 

“Oh, definitely. She would have a field day with this.” 

Starchild giggled. “I can tell her at breakfast tomorrow before I leave,” 

At that, Tomaziel’s smile faded a little. He didn’t really want to be reminded that he couldn’t spend more time with Starchild, not until he either went to KISSteria or Starchild found a reason to go on another trip to Jendell. 

He couldn’t help sighing and reaching out to graze Starchild’s fingers. “I do wish you could stay longer,” he said aloud. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m so happy to see you, but I just wish you didn’t have to leave tomorrow.” 

Starchild took his hand with a sympathetic look and squeezed it. “I know,” he agreed. “I’m sorry I never get to see you as often as I would like. Do you... Do you want to keep writing letters?” 

“Of course I do,” Tomaziel nodded immediately. “I love writing to you.” 

The smile that graced Starchild’s face made his heart flutter again. “So do I... I do understand wanting to see each other more.” He let out a sheepish laugh. “I keep sketching pictures of you.” 

Tomaziel grinned widely. “Really? Can I see them sometime?” 

“Of course; I can send them with letters.” Then Starchild’s eyes suddenly lit up. “Oh, that reminds me! I wanted to give you something before I left.” 

“Starchild, the Princess is the only one that’s supposed get gifts today,” Tomaziel reminded him jokingly as he swung his legs to get off the bed. 

Starchild laughed as he went over to his jacket, which was hanging off a bedpost. “I don’t think she’ll mind. Besides, it’s a special gift.” 

Tomaziel leaned in curiously as he moved to take something out of his jacket pocket. “What is it?” 

He took out a small black box and moved to climb back onto the bed, then handed it to him with an eager smile. “Open it,”

When Tomaziel opened the lid, he found a gold chain necklace sitting on a bed of dark blue velvet. The pendant was a simple gold oval shape, and contained an image of a beautiful brown eye with strands of dark hair falling over it. It suddenly occurred to him that the eye looked familiar...

He held up the necklace beside Starchild’s face and looked between the two. “Is this your eye?” he finally realized.

Starchild smiled and nodded. “It is. It’s called a lovers eye necklace. I had it made with an image of my eye for you. I thought... well, I thought it would be a nice gift. Do you like it?”

Tomaziel’s heart swelled as he gazed at the necklace. Somehow it was made even better by how it wasn’t too extravagant; just a simple gold necklace. Starchild knew he wasn’t the extravagant type. No one had ever given him a gift this meaningful before.

“Starchild, this... this is wonderful.” A touched smile bloomed across his face as he looked at Starchild. “I love it.”

Starchild smiled happily back, then laughed as he unfastened the clasp on the chain. “Are you putting it on right now?”

“Of course,” Tomaziel grinned at him. He fastened the clasp around his neck and turned the pendant around to look down at it with a smile. “I’ll never take this off.” 

His smile widened a little when Starchild’s cheeks turned pink and he let out a giggle. “Smooth talker,” 

Tomaziel chuckled. “Really, this is amazing. Thank you...” He gave a sheepish laugh. “I don’t know how I can repay you for this.”

“You don’t have to repay me,” Starchild shook his head. “It’s yours; don’t worry about repaying me.”

“But it’s beautiful... I feel as if I should.”

“Well...” Starchild’s smile turned impish. “If you insist... you can repay me with a kiss.”

Tomaziel laughed. “I can definitely do that.” He cupped Starchild’s cheek and leaned in to give him a soft kiss. He could feel the necklace around his neck and smiled into the kiss. Starchild probably thought he was joking, but he meant what he said; he was just so touched by this gift that he really never wanted to take it off. 

-KISSTERIA-

MANY YEARS LATER

It was early in the morning, too early to get up just yet. And yet, Starchild was awake and sitting up in bed. His head was leaned back against the headboard and his eyes were closed, savoring the quiet and calm before he had to get out of bed and be King for the day. 

At that thought, his eyes opened and he looked down at the man lying beside him and his lips drifted up in a faint smile. Tomaziel lay in bed, still sound asleep, and Starchild simply observed him, not having the heart to wake him up. He couldn’t help admiring his face in the daylight seeping through the windows, and almost wanted to get out of bed to grab his sketchbook so he could capture the beautiful, tranquil image. Even after being married to Tomaziel for many years now, the sight of his beautiful husband still took his breath away. 

His eyes traveled from his face down to his bare chest, and he smiled as his own eye gazed back up at him. The necklace showed signs of age; the gold had darkened, even after being polished many times, and if he looked hard enough he knew he would see a couple small dents. But there it was in the same place it had always been, still around Tomaziel’s neck and resting on his chest like it really did belong there.

He watched the necklace rise and fall with Tomaziel’s breathing with a fond smile. He had always figured Tomaziel would at some point take off the necklace. Maybe there would even come a day where the necklace was taken off and never put back on again. But that day never came; the necklace stayed around his neck, never taken off. Even after years, whole decades, Tomaziel really had kept that innocent little vow he’d made when Starchild first gave it to him. 

Starchild reached out and gently brushed away a few strands of hair that were stuck to Tomaziel’s mouth. At his touch, Tomaziel stirred, and after a few moments he turned his head and slowly opened his eyes. Starchild smiled at him when he met his eyes. “Good morning,”

“Mmph... Good—” Tomaziel was interrupted by a wide yawn, making Starchild smile affectionately as his entire face scrunched up. “Mmm, good morning,” he finally said, his voice low from sleep. “Is it time to get up?” 

“Not yet,” Starchild smiled playfully. “Have I ever told you how pretty you are?” 

Tomaziel gave a snort of a laugh. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the King of KISSteria was flirting with me.” 

“Oh, I only flirt with my husband.” He grinned at him and tapped his nose. “Oh wait, that’s you.” 

“Lucky me,” 

They shared a laugh, then Starchild fell quiet again as he looked back down at the lovers eye pendant. 

“I’ll never take this off.” His heart fluttered at the memory of Tomaziel saying the words. It was an innocent little promise, said in the heat of the moment, and yet... 

“What’s on your mind, love?” Tomaziel asked softly.

Starchild couldn’t help smiling at the tiredness in his voice. “Just thinking...” he delicately picked up the pendant. “I can’t remember the last time you took this off.”

“Neither can I,” Tomaziel smiled. “Have I ever taken it off?”

“You might have...” Starchild chuckled. “But I can’t remember.”

Tomaziel chuckled softly. “Well, I did say I would never take it off.”

Starchild smiled lovingly at his husband. “You did.” He kissed his forehead. “Why don’t you sleep a little longer?” 

His husband’s eyes were already drifting closed. He settled back into the pillows with a sigh, then mumbled, “I never did repay you for the necklace,” 

Starchild couldn’t help rubbing his thumb over the edge of the pendant. “Don’t worry, my Knight,” he murmured. “You’ve more than repaid me.” He smiled down at his husband as he dozed back off to sleep and kissed his forehead again. “I love you.” 

A smile crept over Tomaziel’s face. “I love you too,” 

Kim Possible AU

In which Marinette is in gymnastics, is childhood friends with Adrien, and somehow became an agent-for-hire when someone accidentally dialed her number to call for help instead of actual, professionally trained agents. That’s right, they called a preteen for help, didn’t have the time to call anyone else, and rolled with it.

Also Adrien is a total goofball with a hairless cat. He still has both his parents, who start out overprotective but gradually loosen the reigns when it becomes clear that his friend will keep him safe.

(The reason I put gymnastics and not cheerleading is because I’m pretty sure that’s an exclusively American thing? Besides, gymnastics kind of makes more sense, skillset-wise.)

Origins

     • Marinette took gymnastics since she was seven, mainly because her clumsiness had been turning into a bit of a problem. (Parents start to get worried when their child’s having genuine physical difficulty in not hurting themselves. They thought gymnastics would help her learn balance, and also allow her to burn off some of her natural childlike energy.) By the age of eleven, Marinette is the best in her class, and is thinking about entering competitions.

     • Adrien is Marinette’s childhood best friend. Along with gymnastics, Marinette also started taking ballet, which is where the two met. Adrien was taking ballet because both his parents had taken it, and also because he thought it would be fun. Since he’d been taking it longer than Marinette, he helped her out in class, and the two have been inseparable ever since.

     • Adrien helped Marinette build a website to help get her name out there when they were eleven. They took videos of her doing a couple moves, and added a contact number. Unfortunately, (or, rather fortunately, actually,) Marinette’s number is very similar to a number for a group of agents who do pretty dangerous, life-saving jobs. 

     • Marinette’s first call is from a man requesting for help at a rather big bank in Paris, not far from her house. Being eleven, she doesn’t really understand that this is probably something she should inform the police, rather than handle herself. So, she and Adrien (who she sneaks out of his house) rush over, and save the day themselves.

     • Adrien had videotaped the impressive gymnastics Marinette had pulled off in order to safely get through the security lasers and shut them off. After that video was posted, she started getting calls on a much more regular basis, all from people in need of help. It wasn’t the sort of attention she was looking for when making the website, but she can’t deny she doesn’t love her new job.

The Present

     • By the ages of 16, Marinette and Adrien have travelled all over the world, gaining favors from a bunch of grateful individuals, and are pretty dang famous. They aren’t necessarily given special privileges at school, but if things are urgent, then they’re allowed to leave and makeup missing work online. 

     • Adrien is still a model, still plays piano, still takes Chinese, and still does a lot of different sports. On his own, he’s actually pretty famous. However, in this world, it’s pretty much impossible for him to display the ‘perfect, gentlemanly son’ persona when most of the world has seen videos of him screaming at the top of his lungs, running around in his underwear because somehow his pants got pulled off again. Yeah, he’s a straight A student with the classic, rich people training, but he’s still an utter dork and everyone knows it.

     • Marinette, while still taking gymnastics, has lost interest in making it a life career when she already sort of does it already. She’s picked up other interests, one of them being fashion design when Adrien had introduced her to what goes on behind the scenes in his workplace. She’s good at designing stylish, yet very practical outfits, and made uniforms for herself and Adrien for their ‘side jobs’ as agents-for-hire. 

     • While Adrien isn’t necessarily incompetent, he’s more of the ‘do first, think later’ type of guy when it comes to their dynamic, which often leaves Marinette to do the planning and problem-solving. At this point, it’s kind of abundantly obvious that, while Adrien is academically more profound, Marinette is vastly more analytical, and probably has a ridiculously high IQ if they ever bothered to check. 

     • There isn’t a main villain. Papillion doesn’t exist because Gabriel is completely aware of what his son is doing, still has his darling wife, and has literally no reason to waste his money on illegal activities. He’s a big name in the fashion world, it’s not like he’s looking for world domination or something stupid like that.

     • (I’m sure you’re wondering why the fuck Gabriel Agreste would let his only son go off on dangerous adventures like that on a daily. Well, he didn’t at first, but over time Marinette proved to be a more effective bodyguard than Adrien’s actual bodyguard, so he became more chill. Also, Adrien’s the face of his company, and with all the brave and daring things he’s done alongside Marinette, his popularity ratings are through the roof. Son has fun, is well-taken care of, still performs exceptionally in all his extracurriculars, and does well by the family business? It’s a win-win on all sides.)

     • I would make Lila Shego, except Shego is an actually likeable villain who’s genuinely smart, badass, and fun to watch. So, idk who Shego is, definitely not any of the catty girl rivals Marinette has to put up with, but you can’t have a Kim Possible AU without Shego, so she’s definitely in there. 

     • Max is probably Wade. Honestly makes the most sense, but here’s a suggestion: Max and Kim are the ones who contact Marinette when she has a mission. Max is great with numbers, technology, etc, but Kim’s expertise in completely random shit like sports, terrain, and necessary gear needed for specific situations makes him a valuable asset to the team.

     • We all know who Chloé is going to be, I don’t even need to say it but I will anyways. Say hello to our Bonnie, everyone. She was probably in that ballet class with Marinette and Adrien too, years ago. 

     • While Tom Dupain is still a baker, in this AU Sabine Cheng went on to pursue her dream as a literal rocket scientist, and succeeded. So, Sabine is basically Dr. James Timothy Possible. 

     • Adrien has a hairless cat named Plagg. His father is allergic to fur, and Adrien’s allergic to feathers, so he was sort of limited to pets like fish or lizards, neither of which he really wanted. He found Plagg outside gorging himself on camembert by a dumpster. Having been previously a street cat, Plagg’s growth was stunted, so he stayed pretty small.

     • Luka is obviously Josh Mankey. Marinette and Luka date for a while, but eventually break up on mutual terms due to him not being able to handle some of the dangerous things that pop up in her life often. While he doesn’t panic when things go south, he’s not really physically equipped to protect himself... He’s a musician, not a fighter.

     • Listen, y’all can fight me, Marinette’s longest relationship before finally getting together with Adrien is going to be with Kagami. Kagami handles the dangerous things that go on in Marinette’s life perfectly well, and they date for several months. Eventually, they do break up, but still remain good friends. (This is the period in which Adrien realises he’s jealous of Kagami, and has feelings for Marinette.)

Get Together

     • For those of you who haven’t watched Kim Possible, (and honestly what the hell are you even doing with your life if you haven’t,) Kim and Ron get together at a school dance (prom, but I don’t think prom exists in France,) and share a slow dance with each other. Uhhh so basically think Despair Bear, except Adrien and Marinette are wearing fancy clothes, just got together, and share a kiss in the end.

     • Marinette had recently broken up with Kagami before the dance, and is a little upset over not having a date when she already made herself a dress. Adrien is dealing with his realisation that he likes Marinette romantically, but keeps quiet about it and gives her a shoulder to cry on because she’s hurt, and he’s not going to take advantage of that. He suggests they go to the dance together as friends.

     • Kagami is there, and Adrien confronts her as to why she had broken up with the most amazing girl in Paris. She tells him that she came to the conclusion that, though she loved Marinette with all her heart, Marinette clearly had someone else as her #1. Kagami was sick of having to compete for that position when the other person didn’t even need to try. Adrien is left baffled by this.

     • Marinette overhears this as she’s walking over to ask Adrien for a dance. Kagami looked past Adrien’s shoulder, directly into Marinette’s eyes, and smiled knowingly. Then she walked away, sipping at her drink. 

     • Adrien turns around, pretty green eyes latching onto hers, and Marinette immediately understands what Kagami had meant. A slow song comes on, and she asks him to dance. Things fall in place from there.

     • (Of course, after they’ve kissed and become a couple, some dumb villain is going to inevitably crash the party and try to kill Marinette, as usual, but they deal with it like they always do.)

Alright that’s the end! This was an almost completed draft of mine I had, and since I’ve been lacking on content recently, I thought I’d quickly polish this up a bit and post it. I also have some other completed things I could polish up on, but eh, don’t feel like it right now. Enjoy!

(And maybe tell me how you’d imagine your favourite KP episode would go with Marinette and Adrien as the protagonists instead!)

Home (Part 1)

Pairing: Stiles x reader

Word Count: 4,705

Warnings: angst, fluff

Summary: Stiles not-so-polished lacrosse skills end up hurting reader. Stiles and Scott try to help out reader and make sure everything is okay but the three end up getting themselves into a bit of trouble with each other. Scott and Stiles learn more and more about reader and they become protective. But reader realizes something important which causes the three of them to get into yet another argument. 

Notes: This is the beginning of a series which isn’t going to be super long, I think five parts, so I hope you enjoy. Also, when I was writing the summary, I accidentally typed “Scoot” instead of “Scott” and I found it hilarious for some reason. Anyway, thanks for reading and, as always, feedback is appreciated!

Tags: @screamxqueenx94 @snikstudies

“Look out!” someone yells, but not quick enough. Something that feels like it has the weight of a brick hits you in the side of the head and you fall to the ground, eyes fluttering shut. When they open again you find a pair of honey colored eyes staring down at you. The eyes belong to a boy who wears a lacrosse practice jersey. He kneels at your side. As you look around, he looks up to another boy who’s standing on the other side of you.

“Scott, I think she’s waking up,” the boy with the honey eyes says to the boy named Scott.

“We should get her to the bleachers,” Scott says.

Stiles looks back down at you. “We’re gonna try to get you over to the bleachers. Think you can walk?”

You nod and start to sit up. They pull you up and guide you to the empty bleachers. You sit down and rub the side of your head. You already feel a bruise forming.

“You okay?” the boy asks.

“I think so, a little dizzy but I’ll get over it. So, which one of you hit me in the head with your ball?”

They look at each other. Scott raises his eyebrows at the boy whose name you don’t know. The boy sighs and looks at you sheepishly.

“That was me. I’m not very good at lacrosse,” he admits.

“Obviously,” you mutter.

Scott laughs but the other boy doesn’t hear you.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” you tell him.

“What were you doing at the field, anyway? I don’t see you wearing a jersey,” he says.

“I’m a photographer. I was taking pictures of the team for the senior video at graduation,” you tell him.

“Hey, we’re seniors,” the boy says. You nod. His eyes widen. “Are you a senior, too?” he asks.

“Yeah. I know what you’re going to say, why didn’t you notice me? I get that a

lot. You could say I like to stay hidden. That way, I get the best candids,” you explain.

“Woah. That’s so...mysterious. I like it,” the boy says, and you blush.

“So, what should I call you, Mr. Not Very Good at Lacrosse?” you say, changing the subject.

“My name’s Stiles,” he says.

You give him a questioning look.

“Well, sort of. My real name is really complicated, and I don’t even know if I can say it. The only person who could ever say my name was…” he trails off and looks down at his feet. Scott puts a supportive hand on his shoulder. “Anyway,” he continues after a deep breath, “everyone just calls me Stiles.”

He looks back at you, his eyes showing a hint of pain and sadness. You try to give him a comforting smile, but you suddenly feel a pounding in your head. Your hands reach down, clamping around the edge of the bleachers with a white-knuckled grip. You look around to see the lacrosse field spinning. You try to focus on Stiles and Scott.

“S-Stiles,” you say before your eyes fall shut.

When you wake up again, you’re sitting against the wall in a room. You see the same honey brown eyes in front of you as before.

“Hey. How are you feeling?” Stiles asks gently.

“Considering I’ve been hit in the head with a lacrosse ball and passed out twice, pretty good, actually,” you say. You look around and discover that you’ve been taken into the locker room.

“That’s good,” says Scott. “You were out for a while. Stiles was starting to get worried.”

“So were you,” Stiles says defensively.

“How long was I out?” you ask them.

“An hour, maybe,” Scott says.

You can still feel the pain in your head and the bruise has turned into a huge bump.

“That’s so weird. I should be healing by now,” you tell them.

You can tell instantly by the confused looks on their faces that you’ve said something wrong. Your eyes widen when you realize what you did.

“What do you mean?” Stiles asks you.

“Nothing. I mean, something. Well, I guess...what I really mean is I don’t usually get headaches from this kind of thing. I’ve been hit in the head with plenty of balls before, I used to play soccer. I just don’t know why this is different,” you try to convince them.

The boys don’t say anything, they just stare at you for a minute.

“Why are you so scared?” Scott asks you, picking up on your chemosignal.

“Scared? Scared of what? I’m not scared of anything,” you say quickly.

What you don’t know is that Scott can hear your heartbeat getting faster by the second.

“Uh huh. Stiles, come here for a second?” Scott asks.

The boys walk across the room and behind a row of lockers. They start whispering to each other and you’re nervous. You listen in on their conversation.

“But what are the odds, Scott? Really?” Stiles whispers.

“It’s possible. It’s Beacon Hills. Anything’s possible,” Scott says.

“Seriously? There’s no way. There’s no way that the one time I interact with a pretty girl on my own, she ends up being a werewolf,” Stiles says.

“I wouldn’t say interact, more like injure,” says Scott.

“Either way,” Stiles says, slightly raising his voice, “I still don’t believe she’s a werewolf. Not until I have proof.”

“You want proof? I bet she’s listening to us right now,” Scott says.

Your heartbeat picks up again, but you don’t care if Scott can hear it. You need to get out of the locker room. The boys keep talking and you stand up quietly so that they won’t notice you leave. On your way out, you accidentally knock over someone’s lacrosse stick and it falls to the ground with a loud crash.

“Dang it,” you say under your breath.

Scott and Stiles go back to where you were sitting, not finding you there. They turn around to face the door. As soon as you make eye contact, you throw open the door and rush out. You get halfway down the hall when you hear the locker room door open again and then slam shut. Two pairs of footsteps echo down the hallway as the boys chase behind you. Thanks to your enhanced werewolf speed, you can run faster than a normal human can. They try to catch up to you but they can’t. Even before you were bitten, you were always the fastest runner in your class.

“Hey, wait! Wait!” Stiles yells.

“We’re not gonna hurt you!” says Scott.

His eyes glow red as he sprints down the hall. You reach the school door and push it open. You try to keep running but the fresh air makes you dizzy and then the world is spinning again. You slow your pace to a walk and stumble forward, trying to find something to hold on to.  You feel yourself begin to fall, but you have no way to stop it. Your body is too weak and you hit the concrete, eyes rolling back into your head as it slams into the ground. Seconds later, Scott is by your side, picking you up and carrying you over to a bench. He gently lays you down on the bench as Stiles appears next to him.

“What now?” Stiles asks, breathless.

“I don’t know. I was just chasing her and all of a sudden she collapsed. I think she hit her head, though, really hard,” Scott tells him.

“We should take her to the hospital,” Stiles starts to pick you up off the bench.

“Wait, wait. What if I’m right? What if she heals? What if she is a werewolf?” Scott asks.

“I-I don’t know, Scott. That’s not important right now. What’s important is that we get her to the hospital before she gets any worse,” Stiles demands.

Scott and Stiles pick you up and carry you to Stiles’s jeep. They put you in the backseat and quickly jump in the front. Stiles turns on the car and hurriedly pulls out of the school parking lot, rushing down the street towards the hospital. He has almost reached the hospital when you suddenly sit up and howl deafeningly. Scott and Stiles cover their ears as Stiles pulls over to the side of the road. Soon after, you shift back to your human form.

“What the-” Stiles starts.

“Is that enough proof for you?” Scott asks.

You quickly unbuckle your seatbelt and climb to the front of the car in hopes of escaping. Scott stops you, unintentionally shoving you into the backseat. The boys look at each other as you pull your knees up to your chest and hide your face. Stiles gives Scott a scolding look. Normally, you would fight back, but you feel too weak and too sick to do anything.  The tears that have threatened you finally come. You feel a gentle hand on your arm. You hesitantly look up and the boys see the tears on your cheeks. You look at Scott with so much fear in your eyes. Scott drops his hard look and assumes a sad one.

“Hey, shh,” Stiles says softly, “it’s okay. You’re okay. Scott didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You nod and wipe the tears off your cheek with your sleeve.

“You can talk to us. You can tell us anything. I promise you’re safe here,” Stiles tells you.

“You’ll just think I’m crazy,” you say.

“Trust me, we’ve seen a lot of crazy. You’re definitely not it,” he reassures you.

“Okay,” you take a deep breath, “I’m a werewolf, but I’m pretty sure you know that by now.”

“What about your pack? You don’t have a pack symbol, do you?” Scott asks.

“That’s the thing. I don’t really have a pack,” you tell them.

“So, you’re an omega?” Scott asks.

“I guess,” you say. “You’re not gonna kill me, are you?”

“What? No, why would you think that?” Scott asks.

“Because you’re the true alpha. Everyone told me that I should be careful around you.”

“But I don’t like to hurt people. Is that what everyone thinks of me?”

“No, not everyone. Just omegas. Most people don’t like omegas,” you look out the window as another tear slides down your cheek.

“I hate to break up all this progress we’re making, but the side of the road isn’t really the safest place to talk. Why don’t we go back to my house and we can figure all this out,” Stiles says.

You nod and buckle your seatbelt again as you calm down. The silence of the car and the smooth car ride lulls you to sleep. A few minutes later, the three of you arrive at Stiles’s house. Stiles turns around to help you out of the jeep. He sees you sleeping peacefully.

“Scott,” he says and Scott turns around to look at you.

“Should we wake her up?” Scott asks.

“No. Just help me get her out.”

Stiles unbuckles your seatbelt and puts his arm behind your back to pull you forward. Scott grabs you by your sneakers and gently pulls your legs forward. The boys situate you in the passenger seat and Stiles picks you up. He carries you to the front door and gives Scott the key. You subconsciously bury your head into Stiles’s chest and he smiles a small smile. Scott unlocks the door and pushes it open so that Stiles can go inside. Stiles brings you to the living room and sets you down on the couch. He grabs a blanket and delicately lays it over you. The boys sit in chairs next to the couch.

“What do we do now?” Stiles asks.

“Before we do anything, I want to find out more about her. What I want to know most is how we never knew she was a werewolf, let alone she existed,” Scott says.

“Like she said, she doesn’t get noticed much. But I get what you’re saying. I kinda feel bad.”.

Neither of the boys says anything for a moment. Then Scott breaks the silence.

“You like her, don’t you?” he asks Stiles.

“I-” he pauses, “I don’t know. Maybe. I mean, two hours ago I didn’t even know she existed. But then she nestled into me while you were unlocking the door, and I guess I felt like I needed to protect her, you know? Like I can’t just let her walk out of here tonight and then never talk to her again.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Scott says.

“I’m nervous, though. I’ve never felt this way about someone before; not Malia, not even Lydia.  I don’t even know her name but I feel like I’ve known her forever. I just don’t want to see her get hurt, at least not any more than I’ve already hurt her.” s

Scott nods. Suddenly, Stiles’s front door shoots open, but you don’t wake up. Another boy walks in.

“Hey, guys. What’s-” he starts.

“Liam, shhhhh,” Stiles cuts him off.

“What’s the senior photographer doing here?” he asks in a whisper.

“Liam, what are you doing here?” Scott asks.

“You guys were gonna help me with my biology homework, remember?” Liam says.

“Ah,” Stiles says, rubbing his face. “I forgot. Sorry, man.”

“It’s okay. But why’s she here?” Liam asks.

“It’s kind of a long story, so I’ll make it quick,” says Scott. “Stiles hit her in the head with a lacrosse ball at practice. Then, she passed out a couple times, tried to run away, and passed out again. We tried to take her to the hospital but on the way there she woke up out of nowhere and howled. Then, there was a bit of arguing, and on the way here she fell asleep.”

“How do you know who she is?” Stiles asks Liam.

“She’s everywhere. Haven’t you seen her? She tries to hide but it doesn’t work, at least not for me,” Liam explains.

Stiles sighs.

“Well, we should probably wake her up soon. We still need to talk to her and we should get her home before her parents notice she’s gone,” says Scott.

“I’ll wake her up,” Stiles decides.

He softly shakes your arm and you slowly wake up, seeing the honey brown eyes you’ve come to expect when you wake up.

“Stiles?” you ask groggily.

“Oh, good. You still remember my name,” he jokes.

You laugh lightly.

“We would’ve let you sleep longer, but we need to talk to you. But don’t be scared. We don’t want to hurt you, we just want to know a few things,” Scott says.

“Okay,” you say. You see another boy standing across from the couch. You sit up and look at Scott and Stiles. “Wait, what’s Liam doing here?”

“How do you know my name?” Liam asks.

“He’s just here to study, but we’ll do that later. What’s important right now is that we figure out what’s going on with you,” Scott says. You give him an uncertain look.

“Look, Scott, I know he’s your beta, but I just don’t know if I can trust him. I’m not trying to be mean or anything, I just...I’m not sure, that’s all,” you say.

“Okay, I know you like to hide, but how do you know so much about us?” Liam asks, but you don’t answer.

“I know that on the outside he seems...explosive, but he’s a good kid. I trust him. I know that really doesn’t mean anything to you, but I trust him. You can, too,” Scott says reassuringly. You look at Stiles and he nods.

“Okay,” you agree.

“So you said you’re an omega, right? What happened to your pack?” Scott asks.

“Well, it’s kind of a long story,” you look at them and they urge you on. “I was bitten when I was young. I was twelve, almost thirteen. I was the youngest and the smallest in the pack. No one was ever really my friend. They all treated me like a baby, and most of them ignored me. Then, it happened. It was a full moon, two months after I was bitten. I was still teaching myself how to control it because no one else would help me. They came at night, at the time it seemed like they came out of the shadows; the hunters. They came and they killed everyone, my entire pack. Somehow they didn’t see me, and I was able to escape. I ran back to my house, crying the whole way. When I got home my parents were waiting for me in the living room. They had these stern looks on their faces like they were mad at me.

“They yelled at me for being out late and it wasn’t until after their tirade that they noticed the tears and the blood all over me. I had to tell them. There was no way to hide it. I tried to explain it to them but they wouldn’t believe me. They just thought I was sick. When I kept reiterating it to them, they finally figured out I was serious. They were...they were afraid of me. They were afraid that I was gonna hurt them. I tried to convince them I wouldn’t but they didn’t listen. The next day, I came home from school and they were gone,” you start to cry. “Everything was gone. All of the pictures, the furniture, everything. Everything except my stuff. The whole house was empty. Mine was the only room that was untouched. They just took everything else and left. It amazes me that they were able to pack everything up so quickly. I don’t know where they went. The only thing they left was a note on the kitchen counter. It didn’t say much. We needed to leave, it said. We just needed to leave. We’re so sorry but we can’t live this way. This is the hardest thing we’ll ever do. We just want you to know that we loved you, so much. Goodbye, Mom and Dad. It said loved, not love. Loved.

“I cried that night. I cried so much I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to cry again. I packed up everything that was important to me: pictures of my family, my friends, some clothes, and the stuffed puppy my grandmother gave me before she died. At the time, I was so hurt that I didn’t take the note. Sometimes I find myself wishing I had taken it with me, but then I have to tell myself that it doesn’t matter because they don’t love me anymore. I didn’t know where I was gonna go. I didn’t have anyone left. I guess I could have gone to one of my friends’ houses but then I would have had to explain what I was and I didn’t feel like losing anyone else. So, I searched the house for all the money I could find and I came up with one hundred thirty-three dollars and twelve cents. I took all my belongings and said goodbye to my house for good. When I got to the bus station, I just waited. I didn’t really know where I was going when I got on the bus. I was just trying to get as far away from my house as possible. Two hours later, I ended up here, in Beacon Hills, with one hundred thirteen dollars and a suitcase and a backpack full of my old life.  

“I wasn’t sure where to go from there, so I just started walking. I walked for a while until I was too tired to walk any more. I sat down on the ground and slept. When I woke up in the morning, I was so hungry. I went around asking people where the nearest grocery store was. Most of them ignored me but a kind woman finally walked me over to the grocery store. I was so happy that I barely made it out of the store without eating the food before I paid. But I was smart about it. I told myself that I needed to make it last because I didn’t have much money left, and I didn’t know how long I’d need to last. I ate a bit and kept walking. I walked past a park where two boys were playing lacrosse. One wasn’t very good, he kept missing the goal. They reminded me of my friends back home, and then I was sad again. I kept walking, stopping to rest a few times. I didn’t get very far that day.

“The next day, I was walking again and I somehow bumped into a man who turned out to be the sheriff. He seemed nice and all but I was afraid that he was gonna arrest me. I tried to run but my bags slowed me down. He caught up with me easily and brought me to his sheriff’s car. I remember how kind he was to me. He said, ‘You don’t have to be scared. I’m just here to help. My name’s Sheriff Stilinski. What’s yours?’ but I was too afraid to talk. He took me back to the sheriff’s station. When we went inside I saw one of the boys who had been playing lacrosse the day before. When he saw the sheriff he immediately started pestering him with questions. He was like, ‘Dad, Dad, did you see any criminals? Can I come with you when you go out tomorrow? Hey, who’s that?’ It was funny. That was the first time I’d smiled since the night my parents left. The sheriff told the boy to wait in one of the chairs outside his office while he took me inside and shut the door. The sheriff asked me tons of questions but I never talked. I just nodded or shook my head. He asked me about my parents and I knew I would have to talk this time. I tried to explain it as simply as I could, so all I said was, ‘They left.’ He eventually figured out that my parents weren’t going to accept me anymore, so he took me to Beacon Hills Orphanage. I stayed there for two years. I never actually took eighth grade, I just stayed at the orphanage and became accustomed to my new life. When I was fifteen, I got a job and started saving to rent an apartment. It only took me a year, and I left the orphanage right after sophomore year.

“When I started at Beacon Hills High, I didn’t know anyone. At that point, I had learned to control my abilities during full moons, and I had gotten pretty good at hiding them altogether. I rarely used them, the one I used the most was the speed. Freshman year, I discovered I was good at photography. I liked that because it kept the focus off me and on everyone else. No one paid attention to me. Then, I overheard you two talking one day about true alpha stuff and I got scared and retreated even more into my own space. Fast forward to now, I’m sitting in a random guy’s living room and reliving my horrible past.”

Scott, Stiles, and Liam sit in shocked silence for a few minutes, making you feel awkward and very uncomfortable. Stiles finally speaks up.

“That was you? That was the day my dad was supposed to be looking for you and your parents. One of your neighbors issued missing person’s reports for you guys. I can’t believe that was you. And all I could think about was if my dad was finding criminals when you were standing right in front of me, in pain, and I didn’t even care,” Stiles says, running a hand through his hair.

“Stiles, it’s okay. We were just kids,” you say.  

“Why did you get so scared when you heard about me being the true alpha?” Scott asks.

“Well, my pack was never very helpful, but one thing they did tell me was that true alphas are dangerous. They get their power without killing their alpha, and omegas, like me, are pretty much everyone’s prey. I’ve always thought alphas were killers, like Deucalion’s pack. So when I heard about the true alpha, which is even more powerful than a normal alpha, I was scared to the point that I considered leaving Beacon Hills. Long story short, I was a very impressionable twelve-year-old.”

“Wow. You know a lot more than we thought,” Stiles says.

“I still wanna know how you know my name,” Liam says.

“I like to know things so that I can stay out of the way. I don’t have a pack to protect me. I find it safer if no one else knows what I am. I’ve been hunted before and I’d rather not be hunted again,” you say.

“Liam and I are gonna go grab some snacks, Stiles. Wanna come help?”

“I should probably stay with-” Stiles starts.

“Come on, Stiles,” Scott cuts him off.

They walk off into the kitchen to “get snacks” but they really have a quiet conversation.

“What do you think?” Scott asks.

“We could let her join our pack,” Stiles suggests.

“I don’t know if she’d be up for that, you know? After everything that happened she probably won’t want to be in another pack,” says Scott.

“She’s an omega? How is she even still alive?” Liam asks.

“She’s strong,” says Stiles, “strong enough to be in our pack.”

“I just don’t know if she can handle it,” Scott argues.

You don’t like when they have secret conversations. You listen in again.

“I know, but I care about her, Scott. We can’t just let her leave and go back to living her painful life. She needs friends. She needs protection. She needs us. I don’t know what’s out there but I can’t just leave her to get hurt again,” Stiles says.

Suddenly, you realize something.

“Oh my gosh. My camera! Guys! We need to go back to school. My camera, it’s somewhere on the field and I need it. Please!” you tell them.

“Okay, okay, let’s go,” Stiles says. You open the door and your heart sinks.

“It’s raining. The camera’s gonna be ruined! Ugh, you’ve got to be kidding me. Could this day get any worse?” you say.

“Come on, it hasn’t been raining that long. Maybe we can still save it,” Liam says.

“There’s no point,” you tell them. “It’s gonna be soaked by the time we get there. All my pictures will be gone. Now I have to start all over,” you complain.

“We can still try. You’d be amazed at what a bag of rice can do,” says Stiles.

“Do you know how long it’s taken me to get all those pictures? Years, Stiles! News flash, they’re not just from this year. I’ve been taking pictures since freshman year. Now, all because you suck at lacrosse and you can’t do anything right, I don't have any pictures for graduation. Everyone will be mad at me. Only me! They’ll have no idea that you’re the one who messed everything up. You only care about yourself, no one else. I don’t know if you’ll ever understand how it feels to hate having everyone’s attention, because obviously you love it, but my life was going fine until you showed up and missed the goal, which you were standing right in front of by the way. Now, my camera’s lost, my head hurts, I’m having flashbacks to my parents abandoning me, and I’m in a room with three people who didn’t even know I existed until two hours ago,” you say bitterly.

Your eyes glow yellow and you glare at Stiles.

“We do care, we care about everyone in Beacon Hills. I wish we could get your pictures back. I’m really sorry about that,” Stiles says.

“Stiles, just stop. I don’t need your pity. Leave me alone. I have enough to worry about in my life, I don’t want to have to worry about what kind of trouble you’re getting yourself into every day. I was perfectly fine being alone so just, please, get out of my life,” you say.

You get up from the couch and head toward the door.

Reward (safe/soft - GT - M/f-fluffy - platonic - vore)

A (mini) tale of the mystic woods

Premise: uhhh belly rubs good! Just a sweet story with my wizard Yonah and the Princess Sophia! 

Warnings: NONE!

—

In her hands she held up the golden-green spherical treasure, the noon sunlight glancing off the polished surface. 

“You ever think of selling these at The Market?”

Sophia had to wait for an answer as Yonah chose that moment to take another bite out of a perfectly ripe dvashi apple. And another. He finished the apple.

By Sophia’s count that made 15 apples eaten. Which at his normal size wouldn’t have been impressive but at his reduced size… it still wasn’t impressive. Still massive, she was sure he could still eat a bushel of apples. And bushels abounded, the trees sagged with apples. According to Yonah the trees flowered and fruited all year round, but still favored their normal season best of all. Surely Yonah didn’t plan to eat all of these apples? He could, but growing so many small apples was a silly thing to do if you were a giant. Maybe he would turn them into preserves!

And besides! He grew some varieties to be larger, about the size of his reduced head. Massive apples. Yonah said that he could grow them much larger, but by trial and error he found that sweet spot of size without compromising flavor.

“I do sell enchanted ones! But those are made to order.”

“I’m talking just the apples! They’re amazing and it’s not like there are many orchards in these woods.”

He looked thoughtfully down at the princess in his lap. Sophia wasn’t sure if he was actually considering her question or just thinking about how adorable she was.

“You know, I have never thought of that. Though I like to leave the trees full for the nomadic gnomes. The majority move house around this time.”

Sophia didn’t know that. She only knew city gnomes, who definitely didn’t move into new houses every year. They did take extensive vacations to places of cultural importance, probably to honor the tradition they gave up in the city.

“I do make preserves with the ones that can’t be eaten in time. I dont sell it, I normally take it on patrols and give it out”

HA! She silently congratulated herself for being right. But also DANG!?

“Aren’t you Evil!? You just… give away magical apple preserves? Isn’t that like, the opposite of evil? How do you manage to maintain your reputation?”

“I’m not that kind of evil,” Yonah said, getting a 16th Apple. “I’m not after money or power. I’m the cantankerous hermit Mage who curses people for looking at my flowers wrong. And the grumpy giant who terrorizes people for fun.”

“You do like to eat people, that’s for sure.”

Sophia suddenly didn’t feel like eating another apple.

Yonah did, as he took his 17th.

“Not my fault you smallfolk taste so good!”

He chose that moment to take a crisp bite of the apple and wink at her.

She elbowed him for his cheekiness.

At least if he was eating apples he wasn’t eating her. For now… she had her suspicions. And they were never wrong. But she knew he told the truth when he said he doesn’t eat people and food at the same time. Of course… that’s because normally he has to spit them up so quickly that he’d be spitting up his food too, what a waste and also… gross. With her ability to sit safely in his gut for hours that’s plenty of time for the food to be gone before she needed to be released. Thus it would only be gross for her.

So far that had only happened once, and it wasn’t completely purposeful. She didn’t like to think about that incident, and not because of the brief time spent sitting in food as it digested around her.

Ok enough of that line of thinking. This little picnic, even if it was just apples, was her reward for doing so well in today’s lesson! Changing the color of objects. That was really fun. She started out merely changing a white painted cube green, but in just a few hours turned the black ink of a letter to her father a shimmering pink! That level of precision was apparently very impressive, and should have taken her a week to learn. If Yonah hadn’t been lying to bolster her ego, and she was fairly certain he wasn't… Because she had studied ahead of time, having sneaked a peak at his lesson plans.

It wasn’t easy. With the giant’s sense of smell he could often tell when she’d been somewhere she normally didn’t frequent. But she spent more time by his mail than normal in preparation for her snooping.

Paid off! With a great performance in a lesson, he didn’t “punish” her with a time out in his stomach.

Instead she rested her arms and head on his pillow-like middle, rising and falling with his even breaths. The wind rustled the tree canopy, causing the sunlight to dance across the princess and the wizard. She let him wrap a warm arm around her as he lay back against the tree and closed his eyes.

When she awoke she felt no more wind, and there was considerable pressure pressing down on her, and she was laying on a soft squishy surface. And it was intensely warm.

For a moment she thought Yonah had swallowed her in her sleep. Before realizing how ridiculous that would be. There’s no way she could sleep through being literally shoved down his throat. And she was dry, and still made of flesh.

Yonah had returned to his normal size while they napped and now she was lying underneath his heavy palm. He was sound asleep.

Adjusting her stiff limbs she found a much better position, and promptly returned to her nap.

Yonah woke slowly, first noting that his arm was no longer wrapped around the princess, for she was snoozing under his hand. All curled up, just her head poking out so she could breathe. So serene and happy. Gosh she looked so adorable.

And smelled… so delectable.

His mouth watered. The apples seemed so long ago now. Especially now he wasn’t so small. That was the problem with size changing. He could fill up on food so easily when reduced, feel so full but never satisfied, and then feel so empty the moment he changed back.

However… he didn’t have to feel this way. But he didn’t want to spoil his appetite.

He fiddled with the bottle of glass paste on his belt. Sophia looked so peaceful. He didn’t know if he could disturb her… Then again. She can just as easily sleep inside his stomach as on top of it.

Gently, he applied the smallest amount of paste to his fingers and stroked Sophia’s side. She moved but did not wake.

Even when he uttered the spell. And….

Opening one eye he found the princess snoozing as if nothing happened.

She did not wake until he delicately picked her up and brought her to his face. And didn’t fully wake up until her torso was in his mouth and he was licking her thoroughly.

ARRRRGGGGHHH!!

He ignored her screaming.

The problem with turning Sophia into glass is she tastes like… Well… glass. At least, after he licked off the lingering layer of delicious human flavor! Mmmmmmm. Savory beyond belief.

Of course, as he licked off the flavor he had to swallow her down to reach the parts un-licked.

She was fighting against him, knowing she wasn’t strong enough; though it was a bit uncomfortable as her glass limbs scraped his teeth, sending shivers down his spine. But he didn’t care, as he worked the form into his throat and swallowed. No problem. The struggles and the stretching hurt, and not insignificantly but not enough to worry him or cause him to panic. The kicking feet were at his lips and he held them between two fingers as he gulped down more of the princess, the feet entering his mouth for him to enjoy, her glass shoes slipping off into his hand.

Soon there was no more human in his mouth, she was all in his esophagus. Well mostly, her arms made it to his stomach at the same time her feet dropped below his collar.

It was comforting that once she filled up his stomach she didn’t continue to scream and instead made herself comfortable. Lots of movement, feeling around his stomach for the best spot to flop down, and give him some nice kicks and punches.

He liked to watch his stomach as she did this. Marvel at how well she fit there, just full enough to be noticeable. Her moments occasionally visible as fleeting and minuscule dents. Once she settled he put a hand over the spot. The solid mass was still moving around, just less forceful.

There was a considerable amount of grumbling.

“Something wrong princess?” Yonah said in a soft singsong voice.

He earned himself some kicks with that remark.

“You mean other than the fact that I’ve been eaten alive?!” she growled, “I was enjoying the nice day, with my friend, outside!!”

“Well, now you can enjoy it inside your friend!” he pat his stomach affectionately, which made it bounce a bit, causing Sophia to unbalance as she bounced too. In his mind he imagined her smiling or frowning. Both were equally cute options.

“It’s not the same, Yonah!”

Exasperated!

Now he could picture it perfectly, and he rubbed at the spot where Sophia was once more curled up. Her glass form made her much more solid, and sat much heavier in his gut. It was a pleasant weight. She pushed back against his fingers. Poking himself in various locations, Sophia scrambled about to attack each spot, a little game that continued for an amusing minute.

“You don’t seem too mad with me,” he finally said, wanting to make sure.

The princess had done incredibly well in her lesson today. That meant she avoided detention in his gut. That didn’t stop Yonah from rewarding himself for a job well done.

“Yeah, well,” Sophia mused, playfully, “I saw the look in your eyes earlier. Would have appreciated you giving me more warning, even just nudging me awake first. ”

As she spoke she turned her back to the front of the stomach and pushed an open palm into the stomach walls, which forced her to stretch out as far as she could, stretching the stomach. Then she dragged the arm down and up. And down and up. She repeated this with her other hand as well. There was a rewarding shudder all around her.

Yonah closed his eyes, his face the picture of soft bliss as the princess stroked his insides. It wasn’t often she was this tender with him.

“I know you like messing with me,” she continued, and felt his little chuckle, “And you know I’ll get you back for this,” she switched to using her feet, bracing her arms to keep herself stretched out.

Yeah… He didn’t expect to get off scott free, but he really didn’t expect to be rewarded with belly rubs! Yonah pressed his fingers against Sophia, stroking her as she did him, letting her know he appreciated this gift. How he had ever lived without this he didn’t know, and it had only been a few months ago when he had!

Of course, when he first got this job he had never eaten a small folk, only tasted them. In fact, he couldn;t imagine ever eating one. Until the thieves started arriving. It hadn’t taken long for him to get used to the occasional snack.

But the princess was not an adventurer. They cried; she playfully protested.They panicked; she massaged. Thieves had to be spat up before they died (he prided himself in usually getting them out before they were harmed at all). Sophia could snuggle with him for hours, and she had. He could fall asleep with her tucked safely away within him, and she would fall asleep too.

Waking up with a still full belly… there was nothing quite like it. And he fell asleep looking forward to when he would.

It took Sophia a few more minutes to settle down to continue her rudely interrupted nap. First, she knew that she could put him to sleep fast by keeping up the massaging. Second, she wasn’t ready to sleep just yet. Turns out, stewing in your captors stomach provided the properly motivating environment to think up some sweet sweet revenge.

Even as she released the tension in her limbs and leaned back. For a few minutes she let the pulse soothe her, it was strongest at her back. She let the gently flexing walls rock her to and fro; slick and soft and warm, she let the heat of his body seep into hers. She had to admit, it was nice. Intensely, intensely weird, but nice.

This still warranted payback. She’d heard of a way to melt wizards, and according to those sources it didn’t kill them, it didn’t even hurt them.

But… she could think… later… sleep… now.

[FIN]

[Thanks for reading! please reblog/message me with feedback! for more mystic woods go to vore-scientist.tumblr.com/tagged/+mystic+woods+story or search ‘mystic woods story’ on my blog! For thief stories only search “MW Thieves”]

Stranded: Day 8 - SPYENTIST

OKAY I AM REALLY SORRY THIS CHAPTER IS A LEGIT MONTH LATE [feel free to blame my beta but actually please don't because she's got her own things that she's got to do]

I assure you [stares pointedly but not acerbically at GTA] that chapters will come out a lot more quickly from now on. The story's written. It just needs to be polished.

As always, enjoy!

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That was a really weird dream.

Gwen hoisted herself upright, letting her legs dangle over the edge of the bed. All she could think about was how bizarre her dream was. It had been some mashup of Star Voyage: Trekker and Guitar Villain, except everyone looked like Claire Foy. And her father was playing darts or something.

ATOMIC DISJUNCTION

She was jolted out of her thoughts by a short, painful spasm.

Based on the angle at which the light from the window landed on the floor, it was too early to be awake.

Gwen contemplated falling back asleep but ultimately decided that it would be better to remain awake. At the very least, she could rest. She flopped backwards onto her bed to think.

Her top priority right now was to find the other spiders. The question was, how?

SPYENTIST

Oh, for the love of… now her spider-sense was making terrible puns? Could it possibly get any less helpful?

YES

Gwen chuckled to herself. At least her spider-sense was making an effort, she supposed. It could be worse.

Hold on a second... Of course! Since the collider was located in Alchemax, the spider-people were almost guaranteed to go there and investigate it. She could go there to meet them. She still had the "borrowed" lab coat and glasses from two nights ago. She would blend right in and wait for the others to come along. Heck, they might even be there now. She had to hurry.

After a rushed breakfast, Gwen swung out of her dorm room window, wearing her disguise over her street clothes over her costume. She parenthetically wondered if the billowing white coat made her look even more ethereal. It didn't help her aerodynamics, but it would be worth it if she looked cool.

She reached Alchemax without incident and took shelter in a secluded niche on the rooftop terrace. She pulled off her mask and hood, tucking the latter under her shirt, and donned her spectacles. Despite it being Sunday, people were inside the building.

Gwen entered the building through the door on the rooftop terrace, unobtrusively passing through the cafeteria and nodding a silent hello to the security guard. A trace of paranoia lingered at the edge of her mind, a fear that someone, namely Dr. Octavius, would discover her presence. Nevertheless, she somehow managed to not freak out, and she passed through the stark white halls without incident.

Should she be here?

YES

Gwen smiled to herself. She was on the right track for once. Good.

However, if she was going to pretend to be a scientist, she also had to pretend to do a job of some sort. She didn't want to be deemed suspicious because of loitering. It probably wouldn't be easy to find some task that she could perform with her limited scientific knowledge, but…

"Hey, Miss! Ms. Osborn? C'mere!" A tall, gangly male scientist in his late thirties beckoned to her.

Gwen glanced at the name embroidered on the lab coat. "Yessir?"

"C'mere, I need your help with something."

That was fortuitous.

Gwen jogged after the man, who entered a smallish grey-walled room.

He proffered his hand for a handshake. "You're one of the new interns, right?"

Gwen decided to play along. "I, uh, yes, I am. Definitely. Uh, Gwen Osborn. Nice to meet you."

"I'm Rob Petrie. Pleasure to meet you as well. I need a bit of help with this experiment. Can you please bring me the little glass containers labeled 'Petrie's Dishes' from Room 4911? Put them on this tray so you can carry more, but don't stack them on top of one another."

Mr. Petrie handed Gwen a plastic cafeteria tray and ushered her out the door.

He seemed to be in a rush.

As Gwen navigated the maze of hallways, searching for Room 4911, she thought she heard something moving around in the ceiling. She was on the top floor. Was something, or someone, in the air vents?

It didn't matter. Time would tell. Right now, she had a job to do.

Room 4911 was on the opposite side of the building. It was near a room that she recognised as the one in which she had been held captive by Dr. Octavius. She could hear two or three people moving around and talking within it.

Gwen entered Room 4911 and found Petrie's dishes on a table located by the window. There were around twenty of them, and they all contained some amber substance that resembled Jello. She managed to fit them all in one layer on the tray.

She returned the tray of science Jello to Mr. Petrie. He placed it on a table next to a microscope and several glass jars of varying sizes. "Is that all of them?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, now, can you go back down and bring over my files? They're in three blue folders, same room, right next to where the dishes were."

"Sure thing."

There was a distant crash.

"Dang it, Spagna," Mr. Petrie muttered under his breath.

Gwen couldn't help but ask, "Spagna?"

"Guy in the org-chem department. Always ruining something. But he never seems to notice. Listen, he sees me trip over an ottoman one time, and I never live it… you know what, never mind. Just get those dishes."

Gwen nodded and walked out the door. It was clear from out in the hall that there hadn't been just one crash. There were sounds of fighting.

Was one of the other spiders here?

As Gwen walked towards Room 4911, the noises grew louder. Were they coming from Dr. Octavius' lab?

SOMETHING OLD SOMETHING NEW

...something borrowed, something blue? Gwen didn't recall being invited to any weddings as of late.

If only her spider-sense was a little less vague, she'd be able to get herself out of danger more easily. Her spider-sense was terrible at its job. Either that, or she needed to keep practicing.

She entered Room 4911 and fetched the files without a problem.

She walked quickly back through the hall, her head down, the files clutched tightly to her side. So far, everything seemed to be going smoothly, but as for how long that would last, she wasn't-

Smack.

Gwen tumbled to the floor. The files flew out of her hand, and the papers inside scattered across the tile.

What the-?

Somebody materialised in front of her. It was a guy about her age, wearing a cheap Spiderman costume and holding an entire computer. He sprinted down the hallway past her.

Was he one of the spider-people from the news?

Loud noises emanated from Dr. Octavius' office. Gwen heard two voices: that of Dr. Octavius, and that of a man whom she didn't recognise.

She abruptly saw the mystery man when he was shunted through the wall by one of Dr. Octavius' claws. He wore the same costume that Spider-Pete had worn, except for the sweatpants.

Was he another spider-person?

Gwen had to help these guys out. But first, she had files to deliver.

She picked up the scattered files and jogged back to Mr. Petrie, narrowly avoiding a stray pincer.

As Gwen placed the files on Mr. Petrie's lab bench and turned to leave, he called after her, "Hold on!"

Gwen paused. She heard laser fire and the yelling of scientists echo through the halls.

SECURITY CALL

Mr. Petrie handed Gwen a comically-oversized laser cannon. "Take this. There's been a security breach."

She took the cannon and hesitated for a moment. She switched it to stun and knocked Mr. Petrie into the workbench. Science Jello interspersed with glass fragments flopped onto the floor.

Gwen set down the gun and muttered to herself, "That's one foe taken care of."

She yawned. She felt inexplicably exhausted. It was probably just the effect of the disjunctions.

She ducked into a broom closet and changed into her Spiderwoman – no, her Ghost Spider costume. She could return for her street clothes later.

No, that was a bad idea. She'd take it with her and leave it somewhere else.

It didn't matter. She had to go. She could hear Mr. Petrie stirring.

Gwen came out of the closet and entered the halls. They were barren and strewn with glass shards. She followed the trail of destruction to the cafeteria. A gaggle of scientists (Herd? Gang? Flock?) milled about the cafeteria, toting laser blasters and looking towards the ones on the terrace. A couple of them turned and saw Gwen.

PERSONS TAKING NOTICE

Gwen dodged the first wave of blaster fire and made a mad dash for the cafeteria doors, webbing up nerds as she ran.

BREAD HINDRANCE

As Gwen burst through the doors onto the balcony, she tripped on a discarded bagel and fell flat on her face.

Fortunately, the bagel had sent her beneath the cannon fire. She attached a webline to the feet of one scientist and flung him into his coworkers. She stood up and hurried towards the edge of the terrace.

Two distant figures leaped through the woods, pursued by the unmistakable silhouette of Dr. Octavius. A platoon of white-coated people armed with laser blasters followed on foot. Gwen threw herself over the railing.

She swung through the snow-covered trees, observing the scene. She webbed a few of the ground troops up before they could hurt anybody and received laser fire for her efforts. She remained out of sight of Dr. Octavius, angling around her and heading to the spidermen.

The two spider-people swung side-by-side, holding onto the computer box. Gwen recognised it from Dr. Octavius' office. It must have held important data. She headed for them, hoping to expedite their getaway.

All of a sudden, the spider on the left glitched out and dropped the box. Both heroes plummeted to the ground. Gwen was too far away to do anything. She picked up the pace, hoping that they would right themselves in time.

Alas, they did not. Both spiders landed on a thin branch. The smaller one grabbed the cord of the computer console.

She started swinging as quickly as she could. Neither the branch nor the cord would hold for long. And Dr. Octavius was rapidly encroaching on them.

The cord gave way first. The console plummeted to the ground. Then the branch snapped, and the two spiders followed. Dr. Octavius caught the console before Gwen could react.

There was still time. She had to restrain the spiders before Dr. Octavius could pummel them into oblivion.

She darted through the forest, shooting weblines to string up the two spidermen. They exclaimed in surprise.

OCTAGONS

Dr. Octavius looked up and recognised Gwen instantly. Her face developed a wide, unsettling grin. She set off in pursuit.

Holy cuss word. She had SAWBLADES?

Gwen had to end this fight fast. Those blades had to be neutralised.

She changed direction and fired two webshots. Dr. Octavius' claws adhered to two nearby trees. The older lady abruptly stopped, gasping as her harness dug into her stomach. Gwen kneed her in the face.

One more hit should do the trick.

She leaped backward, then charged forward and slammed her foot into Dr. Octavius' solar plexus. The older lady dropped the console. Gwen webbed it to herself.

The ordeal was over in ten seconds. She wished her last encounter had gone so smoothly. Unfortunately, having recently been knocked out and sedated didn't help one's fighting tactics.

Gwen landed on a branch a short distance above the two spidermen, who were strung up like snared insects.

LIKE YOU

Could she trust these people? They might be spider-people like her, but they might not be good guys.

Then again, the enemy of her enemy was her friend.

She pulled off her mask and grinned.

"Hey, guys."

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Ghost!AU | Lee Minhyuk

Summary: After getting kicked out of your dorm, you find a cheap and amazing apartment not too far. The catch: a ghost supposedly haunts the room. But ghosts aren’t scary, right?

Genre: fluff, slight angst Word Count: 1,843

• sophomore year of college you get kicked out of the dorm you were living in along with 6 other people • no one ever really knew why: people assumed it was for freshman • that was when you decided you'd give no more money to the school and decided to live off campus • so, you start your mission on apartment hunting within the area • you stayed at your best friends dorm for the time being • with much help you decided on an apartment not to far away • it was like, maybe 2 minutes fast walking, 4 minutes normal walking • and it was cheap!¡ • the catch: all the other tenants reported that the place was haunted • you, being a college sophomore, weren't scared of minor ghost stories or so you thought   • you scheduled a walk though with the renter, asking to go the following week which she happily agreed to • skip to the walk though • the apartment complex alone was in a really nice area • now the room you had looked IMMACULATE • you didn't understand why a messily little ghost would make anyone leave • it looked well kept and very polished • "and this only costs $350 a month, right? furnished and everything?" • even after you signed the papers, moved in, and put everything you owned in it, you still couldn't believe what a score you got • two (2) months in and no signs of ghosts yet • it wasn't until the 4th month you started noticing things • it'd be as simple as a moved hair bush, or water left on • you'd thought you were just mistaken, you've always been a forgetful child • but when it kept happening for a month, you knew something was up • bigger things started to happen • pots on the stove that you didn't even pull out of packaging yet • blankets laid across the whole couch when you only sat in one spot, which became your spot • making your bed in the morning and coming home to it all messed up • but you pushed through • everything was fine and manageable until • you started hearing voices • more specifically, a boys voice • whenever you had music playing, which was quit a lot given you were a dancing major, you'd hear him it singing along • of course it freaked you out, how could there just be voices? • maybe the neighbors were singing along • nope. all your neighbors were either female or listened to completely different music • you did get info on the past people here • they reported the same things that happened to you, no one stayed for more than a year • "okay, you got this, maybe he just needs love, he's lonely" • nothing new happened for awhile • you surpassed a year!! • all was going good until you saw him • "OH MY GOD" • he tried to calm you done • when he pressed his hand to your mouth to stop the screaming, it did nothing • "YOU JUST WENT THROUGH ME, OH MY GOD THIS IS REAL" • in denial, even with him right there • you had questions, oh boy did you have questions • you left for a week, staying at your best friends dorm, gathering your thoughts • "okay, hi hello hey there, you're a freaking ghost" • he's bust out laughing, he was overjoyed you could see him • wait. you could see him. • no ones ever saw him • "YOU CAN SEE ME, AND HEAR ME. AAHHHHH" • boy was he a screamer • he never shut up • until you banged pots together, shutting him up quickly • "I need answers, I need background, I just need, of my god YOURE A GHOST, I'm talking to a dang ghost." • you still couldn't believe it • turns out he was just a small, 22 year old who died unexpectedly, named Lee Minhyuk • he used to own this apartment, hence why he "haunted" it • accepting this was your life, you decided to accept him • you two were quick to hit it off after getting through the whole ghost part • you honestly loved him being with you, it was like a personal friend always ready for you • he woke you up in time, helped you with homework, choreo, you name it • along the way, you guess you just sorta happened to maybe fall in love with the ghost boy • how could you not? it was like he was your boyfriend anyway • you guys did everything together • the way looked at you made you swoon, you wanted to help him not be sad that he was trapped in a transparent form • although you wanted to help him, he also wanted to help you • he'd get so upset and frustrated at the fact that he couldn't touch anything and actually help • he felt incompetent and thought you deserved to go out and live instead of dealing with a loud ghost that couldn't do anything • so he lowkey got you to go out with the boy across the hall • he's sneakily put packages or pieces of jewelry in his room, making you talk to him • he was cute, you admitted • you later found out his name was kihyun and went to the same college as you • you started to eat lunch with him, given the fact you always ate alone and so did he • soon you went out on a date and you thought things were going well • that was until you took him home • "we can watch a movie, I have the best ones" you beamed • so, taking the date home, you let him go home to change his clothes • you changed as well and made popcorn • while you made popcorn you gushed to Minhyuk on how you scored with this apartment • three knocks at your door made you jump a little bit and head towards the door • just as you were going to open the door, you stopped, a thought in mind • "wait, minhyuk! will he be able to see you or am I special?" • "I think you're special. No, I know you're special," he giggled, wiggling his eyebrows, making you throw your slipper at him, watching it pass through him • throwing open the door, you were met with Kihyun in a lose tee and sweat pants • man did he look fine • letting him in, you pointed him to the direction of your couch, telling him to "make yourself at home" • gathering the popcorn and retrieving your slipper, you looked down the hall and into you bedroom • you saw Minhyuk laying face down on the bed • before you had the chance to call him a kid, Kihyun asked if you were okay • shaking your head, you walked into the living room with a smile saying you were fine • finally you sit down next to him, popcorn in hit lap, movie playing • halfway through the movie, Minhyuk walked through the hallway to the kitchen • repulsively you said hey, which made Kihyuj look at you confused • "Uh...Isn't it weird how the main character-" you made up some lame excuse • feeling your eyes grow tired, you laid your head on Kihyun's shoulder • soon after you put your head down, you heard all the flames ok your stove go off • you jumped off the couch and ran into the kitchen, Kihyuj in tow • switching all the switches off, you sighed, spotting Minhyuk • fists balled, gazed locked on Kihyun, a scowl on his face • you had to remind yourself Kihyun was here, and yiu couldn't just talk to the air • mouthing, "what's wrong?" to Minhyuk, he stormed off towards the bed • you felt your heart crack, like something in him just switched • turning your attention back to Kihyun, you saw him putting his shoes on • "I like you and all, but I've heard the rumors about ghosts here. I just can't live with ghosts, I don't know how you do. See you around." was all he said before dashing across the hall • snorting, you locked your door before preceding to clean up everything • you were hesitant to talk to Minhyuk, and not cause you were scared that'd he'd curse you, but scared to hurt him, somehow • slowly, you walked towards the shard bedroom before knocking • you heard no response so you decided to go in • peaking in, you saw Minhyuk's body laying down, turned away from you, lighting shaking • "Minhyuk~ What's wrong?" sitting next to him and rubbing his shoulder, her brushed you off • "Nothing. Go back to your lover boy." • you were taken aback you just had to stare at his back • "is someone...jealous?" you piped up, making Minhyuk whip around and sit up • "no ones jealous. leave," • "then what's wrong, Minhyuk just tell me," • "fine. yes, it pisses me off to see you snuggled up with him on the couch, in our spot. I know I'm the one who set you up with him, but if I knew it'd hurt like hell I wouldn't have." • "wait...YOU SET ME UP WITH KIHYUN," you basically screamed out, getting closer to him • inching back, he looked sorry and scared • "s-sorry, I just thought you should go out and live, not be inside with a little gh-" • you kissed him. • you finally did it and boy did it feel good • his lips were so soft and felt am- • WAIT • YOU COULD FEEL HIS LIPS • before you could pull back to scream, his hand wrapped itself to the back of your neck, pulling you closer • seeing as his eyes were closed, you decided to freak out later and go along with it • so, you wrapped your own arms behind his head, fingers playing with the bottom fringe of his hair • kissing back, you couldn't help but almost go weak • moving his arms down to your waist, he firmly held you in spot • it was him who pulled back first, leaning his forehead on yours • "Minhyuk-" • "Shh, I don't know either, just,  just live in the moment" • turns out Minhyuk was in the middle of a curse, a literal representation of begging in the wrong place at the wrong time • the curse made him a ghost until he found love • since many thought you couldn't find love while you were dead but boy they were wrong • and that's how you met your ghost boyfriend • end.

"Are you scared? ... Then why won't you look at the screen?" (Prompt)

hey this got a little long… also im sorry it took 2 days

Movie Night

Taako’s sprawled out on the couch in their suite, painting his nails a shimmering blue and watching the world below through the now-exposed porthole that makes up most of the living room’s floor, when his Stone of Farspeech starts ringing where he left it on the coffee table.

He had expected this to be a quiet day. Apparently, in the aftermath of saving the world, nobody cares if you take a few extra days off work - Merle was planetside visiting his kids, while Magnus had gone to spar with Killian and Carey.

Whilst attempting to grasp for his Stone with semi-wet paint all over his nails, Taako drops the bottle of polish onto the counter, and the device is suddenly covered in tacky blue sparkles. He curses three different gods as he brings it up to his ear, inwardly praying that the person at the other end isn’t Brad ready to lecture him for thirty minutes about his use of expletives and how it isn’t beneficial to a teamwork environment.

It’s not. His sister’s voice crackles through the speaker, muffled by bad reception but still audible, and a grin spreads across his face.

“How’s it hanging, dork?” Lup asks. Taako can hear gravel crunching under her feet as she walks.

“Just chilling up here. What are you and the nerd up to, do-gooding in some random village again?” Lup and Barry had not been as blasé about the aftermath of the apocalypse as him and the boys - every day they were assisting a cleanup effort somewhere, trying to get areas that had been hit hard by the Hunger back in working order.

“Not today, actually, and that’s why I called. We aren’t scheduled to be in Goldcliff till Wednesday morning, which gives us, like, a day and a half free. Figured we’d drop by the moonbase and say hi. Want to hang out, or do you have better things to do?”

“No can do, sis, I’m busy curing cancer and making shoes for orphans - of course I’m down to hang out, who do you think I am? What time are you gonna be up here?”

“I just summoned a sphere, so.” The audio crackles a bit as she pauses, presumably to check her watch. “Around six, give or take?”

“Hell yeah. I’ll be in the suite. See ya then, goofus.” Taako puts the stone in his pocket, taking care to cap the bottle of blue polish on the table before hefting himself off the sofa.

The glass face of the clock on the wall has a large crack down its middle, but he can still make out a time that’s somewhere around 4:50 p.m. Enough time to whip something quick up, he thinks as he makes his way over to the kitchen.

Taako is halfway through mixing a bowl of dough for a yet-unfinished batch of glazed lemon cookies before he hears a light knock at the door. It’s much earlier than the ETA Lup had given him, but he trudges over, leans against the wall with one batter-sticky hand, and looks through the peephole.

In the hallway is Angus, newsboy cap slightly askew and clutching his wand to his chest. Taako is momentarily taken aback until he remembers what day of the week it is. Oh, shit. Monday is magic day.

He unlocks the deadbolt and pushes the door open with a flourish, feigning ignorance as to why the kid is here. “Hey, Django. What brings you to our neck of the woods?”

“Hello, sir!” Angus shifts from one foot to the other. “Uh, I’m sorry to trouble you, but I was just wondering if our magic lessons are, um, still a thing that’s happening? I mean, I totally understand if you’re busy, or if you’re finished training me now that I’m done being a Seeker and not really useful to you guys anymore, or-”

Taako cuts him off with a wave of his hand. “Sorry, kiddo. Don’t think we’re going to be able to do a lesson today.” Angus’s face falls and he opens his mouth to say something, but Taako continues, “Lulu and Barold are coming up for the day. Want to stick around and ask them all those nerd science questions you’ve been asking me? Might even be some baked goods in it for ya.”

He leaves the door open and turns around to retreat back into the kitchen, catching Angus’s “Th-thank you so much!” and the sound of the door shutting, then small footsteps following him inside.

“Now that you’re here, bubbeleh, I’m gonna have to put you to work. Child labor isn’t illegal if it’s on the moon,” Taako says, lightly clapping Angus on the back. “Want to go grab me a half tablespoon of vanilla extract so I can add it to this sick batter?”

Lup and Barry open the door an hour later to the sight of cookies left to cool on the stovetop and Taako sitting on the couch with Angus, teaching him some particularly nasty Fantasy Yiddish curses.

After a bout of small talk (considering the twins have fallen back into their old habit of constantly keeping tabs on each other for blackmail material, there isn’t much catching up to do) and a brief trip back to Lup and Barry’s makeshift moonbase quarters, Barry lays out a stack of old DVD cases on the kitchen table in front of Angus.

“It’s my movie collection from back on the Starblaster”, he explains. “First thing I salvaged once we got the ship back up here. We haven’t seen any of these in at least a decade, so take your pick, kiddo.”

Angus takes his time opening each plastic case and reading the blurb on the back. By the time he’s done, the other three are in an angry debate over the Fantasy Star Wars prequels (“They give context for episodes four through six, you uncultured swines!”), and Angus has to throw the case he’s chosen at Taako’s head to get their attention.

Taako looks at the case - Fantasy Alien. He briefly questions whether the whole chestburster thing is too frightening for an eleven year old boy, until he realizes that said eleven year old boy has fought eldritch abominations and been thrown off the back of a moving train. So much for childhood innocence.

“Good choice, Agnes,” he says, twirling the case in his hand.

Twenty minutes later, the lights are off and they’re all piled onto the couch under a knit throw covered in yellow embroidered ducks. Barry’s got an arm around his girlfriend and is staring at the screen with an expression of childlike wonder, Lup is whispering suggestive comments into Taako’s ear between mouthfuls of cookie, and Angus…

As the characters onscreen argue about what to do with the young halfling lying on the operating table with a squid-alien-thing on his face, Angus’s eyes are anywhere but on the action. The blanket is wrapped tightly around him up to his chest, and he’s staring directly into it.

Taako wrestles his right arm free from where Angus had pinned it while leaning on him and uses it to ruffle the boy’s hair. “Are you scared?” he asks softly. Maybe Angus is more squeamish than he’d thought.

“Oh, no, sir! If this were a real mission, they would have listened to containment protocol and prevented all this from happening. This whole situation could have been avoided if not for the sake of dramatic irony!” Angus responds, without looking up from his blanket cocoon.

“Then why won’t you look at the screen?” Taako lightly noogies him, then tugs on Angus’s piece of the blanket.

Out falls a small spiral-bound notebook with blue and silver trim, hitting the floor face-up with a small thump. Honestly, Taako doesn’t know what else he expected - he reaches down to pick it up, and surveys the page it opened up onto.

Below some indecent Fantasy Yiddish phrases (he’s both proud of the kid and terrified Lucretia will come after him once she hears Angus using said phrases in conversation) is a detailed sketch of a spacecraft. It’s surrounded by liner notes, detailing the workings of each part of the craft, its name - SS Nostromo - and physics equations describing what looks to be its capability for interstellar travel.

“Woah, is this the ship from the movie?” Taako asks.

“Yes, um. I’m sorry for not paying attention, I just thought it was a really interesting concept and-”

“Angus. It’s really dang good. Consider me thoroughly impressed.”

“Thank you!” Angus grins. “I’m just wondering, I know the Starblaster was made for hopping between dimensions, but did it have the raw power required for regular-old third dimensional travel on a larger scale like in this movie? Like, interstellar spaceflight?”

Lup, who has apparently been paying more attention to this whisper-conversation than Taako would have thought, turns towards Angus and wipes a few stray crumbs off her face. “See, the thing with bond energy is that because it’s freakin’ everywhere, it only takes a small core to process a huge amount of it. That’s how we could use such a small exploratory vessel. Of course, traveling in five dimensions takes a lot more power than in three, but if you factor in gravity and antimatter-”

Taako cranks up the volume on the television just as Barry shifts to face them, presumably to point out some obscure law of astrophysics. Adorable. They should set up their own little think tank. Taako smiles fondly at them as they continue their conversation, his face lit by the dim glow of the screen, then turns back around just as the alien bursts out of the halfling’s chest.

By the time the credits roll, both Angus and Barry are out cold - Angus holding his notebook and curled up against Taako’s chest, Barry clutching a throw pillow with a picture of a corgi on it. Lup has extricated herself from the cuddle pile and is raiding his pantry, and Taako is trying to figure out the best way to reach for the remote without waking up the two nerds asleep on his couch.

“You know,” Lup calls out from the kitchen, “I still feel kinda bad about blowing up his macaroons. He’s a good kid. You think it’d be cool if I made it up to him by baking him some more?”

Taako looks down at Angus, takes off his glasses, and places them on the coffee table. “I think he’d like that a lot.”

Quick recap of my playthrough ending.

A comparison between the level I completed and the level I hated the most and played barely any of before getting a headache from how it was laid out.

Overall I really liked Yooka Laylee, like a lot.

When I started playing it I was immediately hit with waves of charm and joy as I explored the first couple stages, but it all crashed a bit once I got to the casino level seeing as I didn’t enjoy that one at all. 

To just get it out of the way, Banjo Kazooie is better. It just is.

But this game was still fun to play through, albeit very different and with some questionable choices.

I'll just say the bad.

The minigames lack polish to make them actually fun

They aren't the worst as I've heard some say but they are reminiscent of the 'bad' toss in 2p games on N64 you found on occasion.

The Rail cart sections felt poorly balanced.

I say this as someone who hates DK cart sections and generally enjoyed these ones. The cart sections feel nearly impossible to ‘fail’ but also extremely difficult to ‘win’. You won’t die, but it feels iffy to get enough for the pagie. Possibly this is me whining about being bad.

The entire game doesn't follow the SM64 or Banjo model of a collectathon, they follow something I've seen more in SM64 hack games. The scavenger hunt, which I would describe as a mix between SM64 and Banjo design principles.

THIS IS NOT INHERENTLY BAD. I actually liked it for what it was as I wanted to explore these worlds and I kept finding little secrets of quills, but it really doesn't hold a candle to the Banjo rhythm you get in following those trails of notes leading you to mini platforming adventures. This wasn't a problem for me until the Casino level, which maintained the 100 quill scavenger hunt despite the level being RIDICULOUSLY HUGE (when upgraded).

Some people dislike the rolling ball move, and I did at first, but you CAN get better at it. You can. So instead of just saying "It's trash" I'll say it has a much more awkward and difficult to learn control style compared to the simple kazooie run of old.

This is worth mentioning as a bad thing as the VERY FIRST BOSS is a boss designed around the ball move. It’s difficulty makes this feel strangely unbalanced.

The world upgrade system wasn’t handled properly.

The upgrade system is an awesome idea in my opinion, and they described it as a “Banjo Kazooie to Banjo Tooie” system that gave the player choice on how they experienced the game. My problem is I don’t think it should have been a choice in the way they implemented it. Each world should have started small and only been given the option to upgrade once you nearly finished all of its challenges. This would have helped pacing and prevent an issue myself and others I’ve heard  in which we upgraded immediately and found some levels unpalatable. It is a rare instance of giving us too much choice too quickly and not considering what that could do to the gameplay experience.

For one reason or another I feel like with the quills not being handled in a traditional Banjo style and instead being a reward for scavenger hunting, we should have been given ‘missions’ like SM64. Outlining or hinting where each pagie is located would have made some of the levels (Namely one, screw you casino) less bothersome and would help a lot with getting those final few pagies per stage. If Yooka was attempting to take the best from platformer giants I feel it should have taken the mission system from SM64.

It's common for platformers to showcase things you can't complete yet due to lacking a move, like a huge gap or a grayed out red feather flight pad, but this game struggles to explain that that is what it's doing.

You find plenty of areas you can't complete yet due to lacking a move, and most make sense- like a security camera locking doors on you and you realizing that you can't do this yet. Others aren't so obvious which leads to you wasting your time. Really this is one major instance in the Icy-metric castle that I'm sure plenty are familiar with, but things like that shouldn't be so vague.

Other than that, the game is oozing rare charm and if you go in looking for fun you will definitely find it.

The platforming is great, the challenges are classic in most cases and interesting in others, the worlds are a blast ESPECIALLY the horror themed swamp and the space/pirate stage. Expanding worlds was a cool idea, even if it was poorly handled in a way as there wasn't much incentive to explore the smaller worlds.

I just ended up really loving this title in the end. I mean I loved it at the start as well as the charm really grabbed me, but things wore me down once I got to the casino and I had to take a break from the game. After returning I can confirm, I like it. I love the dang thing, I just think Banjo hit the notes (pun) a little better, but this is a very good platformer and a wonderful return to the genre in my book. It's sad to see so many are so negative on it, even insulting it's attempt at reviving the genre, but really I think it did a swell job and aside from the questionable scavenger hunt choice I think it did well enough.

Regardless, that's my take on it. You could say it’s scavenger hunt mentality ruins it or at the very least makes it feel ‘off’ from what you think of in Banjo or SM64. And that’s definitely not my favorite part of the game.

But it delivered a cute, fun, throwback collectathon game. And it had some decent humor in there from time to time as well.

Good on em. Now I’m really in the mood to replay Banjo.

Knights of Camelot

So...unoriginal title aside, this is a prompt from @angel-demon-princess who wanted some Merlin and Arthur being protective of the knights of Camelot instead of the other way around. I wasn't quite sure where I wanted this to go, but I just kept writing and this is what it turned out as. Also, I haven't watched Merlin in a while so I don't remember all of what happened around the time Uther passed and Arthur took the throne, so just roll with it. I tried catching up...but it didn't work out. I'm so dang sorry this took forever, and I really hope you like it!

"Hello Lord Kyner," Arthur greeted, rising from his throne. Merlin watched with a half interest as to who the lord was this time. This meeting was one of dozens as of late. With Uther's passing, Arthur was making quick work on maintaining and gathering nearby alliances. There had been nicer Kings and Lords who had honored their treaties with Uther, and therefor Camelot and Arthur. There had been some plotting and calculating Lords, ones who seeked the advantage of a new King of Camelot and a weakened morale as a whole. Merlin detested those Lords; he didn't care for their beady, sneaky eyes upon Camelot. In addition, they were all Lords or Knights or higher stationed, so most of them looked upon Merlin as if he were just a stable cleaner or below the King's servant and not one of the strongest magic wielders to be prophesized about. Not that anyone, save a few, knew that last bit.

"Prince Ar- Forgive me, King Arthur," the tall man greeted, tsking sadly. "I am truly sorry for your loss. Uther was a good king to Camelot and her people."

Merlin already disliked the man.

"He was, thank you," Arthur continued diplomatically as appropriate for his new station. "Why don't we get you and your knights settled for the evening. I'm sure you are exhausted from your long travels. My servant, Merlin, will show you the way as I make sure preparations for tonight's banquet is fit for this reunion."

Merlin wanted to narrow his eyes at the visiting lord. Something was amiss about him, and he couldn't tell whether it was just the man's condescending behavior, even towards Arthur, or if it could be something more sinister. Either way, he had learned to listen to his gut instincts long ago and he wasn't going to stop now.

The sounds of sword training drew Merlin forward. He was out walking Arthur's dogs around the castle grounds and enjoying a bit of sunshine. Arthur had been working Merlin to the bone with all the new guests. Apparently, he was to help service all of them with anything they needed, be it food, clean clothes, polished boots, or armor. Walking Arthur's dogs gave Merlin a much needed reprieve from everyone clamoring for something.

Around the corner and ahead of him, stood the Knights of the Round Table. Elyan and Percival were sparring with Gwain two-to-one, Gwaine being the single combatant. Merlin couldn't help a fond smirk; Gwain did always like the odds against him. A few of the visiting Lord's knights walked up to watch, their faces nearly mocking as they stood off to the side.

Merlin let the dogs wander a bit, letting their leashes fall to the ground. They were trained well enough that they wouldn't wander too far, and if they did, a simple command would bring them back. He slowed near the castle wall to help avoid possible detection from Arthur as he watched the knights spar with each other. Although, by what Merlin was watching, they didn't seem to be taking it too seriously. It seemed more like they were getting to know each other's fighting style; gauging their reflexes and movements more than anything.

Before long, the other knights started to chuckle and made rude noises as they watched the sparring match. After stopping, and some unsurprising challenging remarks from Gwaine, the visiting knights decided to spar with them.

Merlin watched more intently now, eyes slightly narrow. The feeling of initial dislike wiggled in the back of his mind, though he was still unsure as to why.

Gwaine decided to spar with one of the knights, just a one-on-one match. They circled each other slowly, Gwaine's steps lighter and smooth while the others were slow and calculating. After a few tense moments, the two finally lunged at each other, swinging their swords. Each clash rang over the field while the knights watched. Merlin noticed that the other knight was using a bit more force than strictly necessary for a simple sparring match. Gwaine quickly lost ground, caught unaware at how viciously the knight was coming at him. Not long after, Gwaine's sword was flung to the side to clatter to the ground while the other knight still stood posed to attack.

Gwaine conceded with grace, hands held up in surrender, and went to pick up his fallen sword. Only, as he was walking away, the other knight decided to lunge at Gwaine again while he was about to turn to walk away. The other Camelot knights shouted a warning as they all tried to sprint forward to help. Before Merlin could fully make a conscious decision, magic burst through him making the attacking knight go flying forward as if he had tripped while running.

"Gwaine!" everyone shouted, clammoring to know if the knight was alright. Thankfully, Merlin had intervened in just the knick of time. Percy and Elyan stood near Gwaine, somewhat surrounding him. Percival kept a side-eye on Gwaine, however, as Gwaine was looking ready to start a free for all brawl right there on the practice field.

Lord Kyner's knights picked up their fallen knight and brushed him off, then proceeded leave from where they came from. Merlin exhaled slowly, glad Gwaine was unharmed. Whistling for the dogs, he continued on his way back into the castle. He had to tell Gaius about what happened. Maybe the older man would have some insight on Lord Kyner and his knights.

By the time Merlin got a chance to ask Gaius, it was late into the night. Dinner had been... fair. Gwaine was still tense around some of the visiting knights and Percival and Elyan seemed to keep an eye on him, while Leon kept an eye on all of them. They didn't need to ruin any chances of a continued alliance with Lord Kyner, who was apparently a strong ally near the southern borders. Gaius had told Merlin later on, that Lord Kyner was a seeker of strength rather than integrity, which is why his knights had tried to attack Gwaine while he was unarmed. The knights were as ruthless as they were direct, which is why they held much land in the south.

Merlin still didn't like it. The knights of Camelot had all saved or helped him in some way at some point, even if he was just a servant. They acted like Merlin's family, and he'd be damned if he let someone hurt the people he cared about.

Which is exactly what happened a day later, when Arthur and Lord Kyner had taken a handful of knights to go hunting in the dense forests just over an hour's ride from the castle. Merlin had gotten all of Arthur's riding equipment together and was ready to go as well, when Arthur had decided to leave Merlin behind saying he'd only scare away all the game and make unnecessary noise or commentary. Merlin had been more than happy to comply, less time around Lord Kyner or his brutish knights was welcome. Maybe he could get some magic studies in while they were gone.

An hour into reading over his books again and trying some smaller spells inside his bedroom, he heard the door to Gaius' chambers burst open and voices talking quietly. Snapping the books shut and stashing them under the floor boards, Merlin jogged out to see what had happened.

"I swear if they don't leave soon, treaty or not-" Gwaine's voice whispered harshly.

"You'll do nothing," Leon told him, helping Percival onto a bench. Gaius made the knights move so he could look at Percival's arm.

"We can't just let them do what they want! I say we go give them a taste of their own underhanded tactics. They're supposed to be here for peace, not trying to take each of us out," Gwaine grumbled, pacing like an angry animal.

Leon sighed, rubbing his eyes. "I agree, but we do not need to be fighting with anyone right now." Gwaine went to interrupt before Leon continued. "Regardless if Camelot's forces are larger than theirs, they are still a formidable group who'd be better on our side. We have enemies, and we don't need to help them by sending them more forces against us. We can hardly tattle on them like children. We're knights and we should act accordingly."

"I hate politics," Gwaine continued to grumble, arms crossed. "How's his arm, Gaius?"

Percival forced a smile as Gaius tried moving Percival's arm around to test the limits of movement. "Well, it's not broken. You're lucky, but I'd recommend not using it for a few days to heal. How exactly did this happen?" Gaius asked.

"Lord Kyner's knights happened while we were hunting. Funny how we've never had an incident on our own before," Gwaine said with a sarcastic roll of his eyes.

"We were running down some game, and one of them pushed me out of the way down a steep hill," Percy offered. "It would have been fine but I landed hard on it and rolled a little ways."

The bowl Merlin had grabbed for Gaius shattered in his hands and fell to the ground in shards. He flinched and bent down to clean it immediately. "Sorry, a bit clumsy today," Merlin explained hastily, willing his magic back. The others, who had turned to see what the sudden noise was, continued on with their conversation. Merlin gathered what Gaius had asked for and handed the items over for Gaius to wrap the knight's arm snuggly. If only they knew he had magic, he could heal Percy's arm in less than a minute, but they didn't know. The less people who knew was safer for him, even if it killed him to keep his secret sometimes.

With the wrapping finished, the knights helped Percy up and to his chambers. Merlin told Percy that if he needed anything, to find him or have someone find him and he'd get it to the knight as quickly as he could.

By the fifth day, Merlin was nearly close to blowing his cover as a simple servant and revealing himself as a powerful sorcerer by throwing Lord Kyner and all of his knight's outside the castle and onto their asses. Not only had the visiting knights not offered any sort of apology (they'd even thought it necessary to blame Percy for not moving out of the way) they had continued to subtly insult the knights and cause small, yet infuriating, problems.

Gwaine actively avoided Lord Kyner's knights on orders from Leon. Gwaine had nearly gone after a couple of the knights when they had been blaming Percy and insulting Camelot's hunting styles and routines. Elyan was on Gwaine watch, and Percival was still healing, even if he didn't have the arm sling anymore. Leon was acting as buffer between the two groups, but it was beginning to get under the eldest knight's skin too.

What was worse was their cavalier attitude towards the knights when they knew their Lord or Arthur wasn't around. Dinners had an odd atmosphere around them while the Camelot knights and servants tried to avoid the visitors as much as possible without seeming rude. No one dared complain, however. The only people with a high enough station to complain would be the knights, but Leon had told them to just wait it out, that they would be gone soon. A bit of patience would be better than having insult anyone, and it seemed best to just avoid any form of confrontation for diplomacy sake.

Merlin was getting really tired of diplomacy.

On the sixth and almost final day of their visit, Arthur had called an informal meeting in the throne room. Merlin had been counting down the seconds until Lord Kyner would take his men and leave. A week was far too long for a visit from these people.

Trailing behind Arthur, Merlin stood off to the side as a few of Camelot's knights lined the walls official as ever, and then Lord Kyner appeared in the room. Arthur hadn't told him what the meeting was about, but he had said that Lord Kyner had wanted to discuss something with Camelot's new king.

"Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice," Lord Kyner bowed. His knights had filed in behind the man, standing tall and every bit as formidable as they were rumored to be.

"What could I help you with, Lord Kyner?" Arthur asked.

"I was wondering if you'd be interested in taking some of my knight's into your care to use as needed. I understand with the attacks you've had recently, that you've suffered a great loss to your forces."

"A great loss?" Arthur repeated.

"Yes, King Arthur," Lord Kyner continued. "Why else would you let men who are not of noble blood serve as knights? You must be desperate for men if you're asking peasants and near strangers to serve you. I mean no disrespect, Camelot has been through a great deal."

Merlin barely managed to conceal a scoff at the man's words. Camelot's men were worth at least ten of the Lord. And at least twenty of his knights.

"Lord Kyner," Arthur said, "you seem to be under the impression that my knights are not up to the task of protecting Camelot, protecting me. Is that true?"

"Of course, King Arthur. You're knights lack a certain... experience as knights to be of any effective use for the kingdom. They simply have not been taught and bred with the ways of a true knight," he explained, haughty as ever.

Merlin watched in his anger as several of the knights shot the Lord barely concealed glares. Gwaine's jaw was clenched as he just looked ahead of him, trying to focus on some spot on the wall. Elyan's eyes were narrowed slightly, hands clenched behind him. Percival looked resigned to dealing with the brutes for the indefinite future. Leon was watching Arthur dutifully.

The room remained quiet for a few moments before Arthur stood from his throne. "I'll hear nothing more from you, Lord Kyner. I will not have you insult my Knight's of Camelot further."

Lord Kyner went to say something before Arthur continued over him, his voice carrying through the room. "I have hand picked these men myself to fight for Camelot. They have more integrity and strength than you will ever know, and they have saved my life numerous times. They are more than worthy of bearing the title of Knight, and I am honored that they serve me so loyally. I will hear no more of these insulting remarks towards my knights or Camelot. Bearing that, I would have you leave Camelot within the hour."

Lord Kyner looked at Arthur with widened eyes and a semi-slacked jaw. "King Arthur-"

"No, I do not want to hear it. I've heard of your knights causing trouble all week and the rudeness they have displayed in my home. They have insulted my people, and therefore have insulted me, and I will not tolerate it. I ask you again to get your men and leave. The servants have already gathered your things and readied your horses for your travels."

The older lord watched Arthur closely. "And what of the treaty? Are you saying you'd rather not abide by it?"

"Not at all," Arthur replied, stepping down from the throne. "I would still like to keep the treaty in tact, but I will not have you insulting me any further. We will keep our relation between messengers and small visits, nothing more. Do you wish to break the treaty?"

Silence.

Merlin watched as every knight in the room shift nervously, watching each other closely.

Finally, the lord shook his head. "No. Camelot is still a good ally to have, even if our opinions differ. We'll be taking our leave now. Thank you for your gracious hospitality."

Merlin didn't hold back his snort that time as the Lord forced the neutral words from his mouth. He didn't particularly sound happy about what had happened, and Merlin couldn't help but enjoy every minute of it.

With that, the Camelot knights let out a collective breath as Lord Kyner and his knights made their way down to the stables to leave. Frankly, Merlin was surprised that none of them tried to argue or put up a small fight, but he was glad they didn't.

Arthur let out a long breath and stood there for a minute before Leon stepped forward to kneel before Arthur. "Thank you for the words, my King. We shall do our best to live up to your expectations." The rest of the knights in the room followed suit, kneeling in a flourish of red capes and shiny armor. Arthur bowed his head back in respect and acknowledgement. With a motion, the knights all rose to stand, more relaxed than before.

"Although," Arthur continued, looking around at his knights. "Gwaine, how did you not throttle one of them this past week?" he wondered. "If anyone would have thrown a punch, I figured it'd be you."

The knights all laughed, the tension draining out of the room quickly.

"It was a challenge," Gwaine declared dramatically. "And now I need a drink! Anyone up for a trip to the tavern?" Arthur nodded at them in dismissal, and several of them agreed, walking out of the throne room. Arthur said that he had other things to take care of, so he left after telling Merlin to get back to work.

"You alright, Merlin?" Leon asked, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm fine," he answered, watching as Arthur walked away. Besides Arthur telling Merlin to get back to work like he hadn't put up with the knights all week as well, Merlin still felt a deep respect for Arthur. It took a lot to potentially turn away a powerful ally for the sake of his knights. "But how did Arthur find out? " Merlin asked aloud, "I thought we all agreed to keep it quiet and wait for them to leave."

"Who knows, Merlin?" Leon smiled at him, patting his shoulder. "Who knows? It's just good that they're finally gone and away from Camelot."

After an almost-knowing smirk from Leon, Merlin looked up at the older knight. "Did you-?"

"Who knows," Leon shrugged, before smirking and walking away.

Merlin stood there dumbfounded for a moment. Leon that sneaky knight... He'd been the one trying to be the buffer between the two groups and telling everyone to be patient and just wait for the visitors to leave. "I thought you said tattling was childish?!" Merlin couldn't help but yell after Leon, chasing the man down to get answers.

Knights of Camelot

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: None

A/N: So…unoriginal title aside, this is a prompt from @angel-demon-princess who wanted some Merlin and Arthur being protective of the knights of Camelot instead of the other way around. I wasn’t quite sure where I wanted this to go, but I just kept writing and this is what it turned out as. Also, I haven’t watched Merlin in a while so I don’t remember all of what happened around the time Uther passed and Arthur took the throne, so just roll with it. I tried catching up…but it didn’t work out. I’m so dang sorry this took forever, and I really hope you like it! -Kristen

“Hello Lord Kyner,” Arthur greeted, rising from his throne. Merlin watched with a half interest as to who the lord was this time. This meeting was one of dozens as of late. With Uther’s passing, Arthur was making quick work on maintaining and gathering nearby alliances. There had been nicer Kings and Lords who had honored their treaties with Uther, and therefor Camelot and Arthur. There had been some plotting and calculating Lords, ones who seeked the advantage of a new King of Camelot and a weakened morale as a whole. Merlin detested those Lords; he didn’t care for their beady, sneaky eyes upon Camelot. In addition, they were all Lords or Knights or higher stationed, so most of them looked upon Merlin as if he were just a stable cleaner or below the King’s servant and not one of the strongest magic wielders to be prophesized about. Not that anyone, save a few, knew that last bit.

“Prince Ar- Forgive me, King Arthur,” the tall man greeted, tsking sadly. “I am truly sorry for your loss. Uther was a good king to Camelot and her people.”

Merlin already disliked the man.

“He was, thank you,” Arthur continued diplomatically as appropriate for his new station. “Why don’t we get you and your knights settled for the evening. I’m sure you are exhausted from your long travels. My servant, Merlin, will show you the way as I make sure preparations for tonight’s banquet is fit for this reunion.”

Merlin wanted to narrow his eyes at the visiting lord. Something was amiss about him, and he couldn’t tell whether it was just the man’s condescending behavior, even towards Arthur, or if it could be something more sinister. Either way, he had learned to listen to his gut instincts long ago and he wasn’t going to stop now.

The sounds of sword training drew Merlin forward. He was out walking Arthur’s dogs around the castle grounds and enjoying a bit of sunshine. Arthur had been working Merlin to the bone with all the new guests. Apparently, he was to help service all of them with anything they needed, be it food, clean clothes, polished boots, or armor. Walking Arthur’s dogs gave Merlin a much needed reprieve from everyone clamoring for something.

Around the corner and ahead of him, stood the Knights of the Round Table. Elyan and Percival were sparring with Gwain two-to-one, Gwaine being the single combatant. Merlin couldn’t help a fond smirk; Gwain did always like the odds against him. A few of the visiting Lord’s knights walked up to watch, their faces nearly mocking as they stood off to the side.

Merlin let the dogs wander a bit, letting their leashes fall to the ground. They were trained well enough that they wouldn’t wander too far, and if they did, a simple command would bring them back. He slowed near the castle wall to help avoid possible detection from Arthur as he watched the knights spar with each other. Although, by what Merlin was watching, they didn’t seem to be taking it too seriously. It seemed more like they were getting to know each other’s fighting style; gauging their reflexes and movements more than anything.

Before long, the other knights started to chuckle and made rude noises as they watched the sparring match. After stopping, and some unsurprising challenging remarks from Gwaine, the visiting knights decided to spar with them.

Merlin watched more intently now, eyes slightly narrow. The feeling of initial dislike wiggled in the back of his mind, though he was still unsure as to why.

Gwaine decided to spar with one of the knights, just a one-on-one match. They circled each other slowly, Gwaine’s steps lighter and smooth while the others were slow and calculating. After a few tense moments, the two finally lunged at each other, swinging their swords. Each clash rang over the field while the knights watched. Merlin noticed that the other knight was using a bit more force than strictly necessary for a simple sparring match. Gwaine quickly lost ground, caught unaware at how viciously the knight was coming at him. Not long after, Gwaine’s sword was flung to the side to clatter to the ground while the other knight still stood posed to attack.

Gwaine conceded with grace, hands held up in surrender, and went to pick up his fallen sword. Only, as he was walking away, the other knight decided to lunge at Gwaine again while he was about to turn to walk away. The other Camelot knights shouted a warning as they all tried to sprint forward to help. Before Merlin could fully make a conscious decision, magic burst through him making the attacking knight go flying forward as if he had tripped while running.

“Gwaine!” everyone shouted, clammoring to know if the knight was alright. Thankfully, Merlin had intervened in just the knick of time. Percy and Elyan stood near Gwaine, somewhat surrounding him. Percival kept a side-eye on Gwaine, however, as Gwaine was looking ready to start a free for all brawl right there on the practice field.

Lord Kyner’s knights picked up their fallen knight and brushed him off, then proceeded leave from where they came from. Merlin exhaled slowly, glad Gwaine was unharmed. Whistling for the dogs, he continued on his way back into the castle. He had to tell Gaius about what happened. Maybe the older man would have some insight on Lord Kyner and his knights.

By the time Merlin got a chance to ask Gaius, it was late into the night. Dinner had been… fair. Gwaine was still tense around some of the visiting knights and Percival and Elyan seemed to keep an eye on him, while Leon kept an eye on all of them. They didn’t need to ruin any chances of a continued alliance with Lord Kyner, who was apparently a strong ally near the southern borders. Gaius had told Merlin later on, that Lord Kyner was a seeker of strength rather than integrity, which is why his knights had tried to attack Gwaine while he was unarmed. The knights were as ruthless as they were direct, which is why they held much land in the south.

Merlin still didn’t like it. The knights of Camelot had all saved or helped him in some way at some point, even if he was just a servant. They acted like Merlin’s family, and he’d be damned if he let someone hurt the people he cared about.

Which is exactly what happened a day later, when Arthur and Lord Kyner had taken a handful of knights to go hunting in the dense forests just over an hour’s ride from the castle. Merlin had gotten all of Arthur’s riding equipment together and was ready to go as well, when Arthur had decided to leave Merlin behind saying he’d only scare away all the game and make unnecessary noise or commentary. Merlin had been more than happy to comply, less time around Lord Kyner or his brutish knights was welcome. Maybe he could get some magic studies in while they were gone.

An hour into reading over his books again and trying some smaller spells inside his bedroom, he heard the door to Gaius’ chambers burst open and voices talking quietly. Snapping the books shut and stashing them under the floor boards, Merlin jogged out to see what had happened.

“I swear if they don’t leave soon, treaty or not-” Gwaine’s voice whispered harshly.

“You’ll do nothing,” Leon told him, helping Percival onto a bench. Gaius made the knights move so he could look at Percival’s arm.

“We can’t just let them do what they want! I say we go give them a taste of their own underhanded tactics. They’re supposed to be here for peace, not trying to take each of us out,” Gwaine grumbled, pacing like an angry animal.

Leon sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I agree, but we do not need to be fighting with anyone right now.” Gwaine went to interrupt before Leon continued. “Regardless if Camelot’s forces are larger than theirs, they are still a formidable group who’d be better on our side. We have enemies, and we don’t need to help them by sending them more forces against us. We can hardly tattle on them like children. We’re knights and we should act accordingly.”

“I hate politics,” Gwaine continued to grumble, arms crossed. “How’s his arm, Gaius?”

Percival forced a smile as Gaius tried moving Percival’s arm around to test the limits of movement. “Well, it’s not broken. You’re lucky, but I’d recommend not using it for a few days to heal. How exactly did this happen?” Gaius asked.

“Lord Kyner’s knights happened while we were hunting. Funny how we’ve never had an incident on our own before,” Gwaine said with a sarcastic roll of his eyes.

“We were running down some game, and one of them pushed me out of the way down a steep hill,” Percy offered. “It would have been fine but I landed hard on it and rolled a little ways.”

The bowl Merlin had grabbed for Gaius shattered in his hands and fell to the ground in shards. He flinched and bent down to clean it immediately. “Sorry, a bit clumsy today,” Merlin explained hastily, willing his magic back. The others, who had turned to see what the sudden noise was, continued on with their conversation. Merlin gathered what Gaius had asked for and handed the items over for Gaius to wrap the knight’s arm snuggly. If only they knew he had magic, he could heal Percy’s arm in less than a minute, but they didn’t know. The less people who knew was safer for him, even if it killed him to keep his secret sometimes.

With the wrapping finished, the knights helped Percy up and to his chambers. Merlin told Percy that if he needed anything, to find him or have someone find him and he’d get it to the knight as quickly as he could.

By the fifth day, Merlin was nearly close to blowing his cover as a simple servant and revealing himself as a powerful sorcerer by throwing Lord Kyner and all of his knight’s outside the castle and onto their asses. Not only had the visiting knights not offered any sort of apology (they’d even thought it necessary to blame Percy for not moving out of the way) they had continued to subtly insult the knights and cause small, yet infuriating, problems.

Gwaine actively avoided Lord Kyner’s knights on orders from Leon. Gwaine had nearly gone after a couple of the knights when they had been blaming Percy and insulting Camelot’s hunting styles and routines. Elyan was on Gwaine watch, and Percival was still healing, even if he didn’t have the arm sling anymore. Leon was acting as buffer between the two groups, but it was beginning to get under the eldest knight’s skin too.

What was worse was their cavalier attitude towards the knights when they knew their Lord or Arthur wasn’t around. Dinners had an odd atmosphere around them while the Camelot knights and servants tried to avoid the visitors as much as possible without seeming rude. No one dared complain, however. The only people with a high enough station to complain would be the knights, but Leon had told them to just wait it out, that they would be gone soon. A bit of patience would be better than having insult anyone, and it seemed best to just avoid any form of confrontation for diplomacy sake.

Merlin was getting really tired of diplomacy.

On the sixth and almost final day of their visit, Arthur had called an informal meeting in the throne room. Merlin had been counting down the seconds until Lord Kyner would take his men and leave. A week was far too long for a visit from these people.

Trailing behind Arthur, Merlin stood off to the side as a few of Camelot’s knights lined the walls official as ever, and then Lord Kyner appeared in the room. Arthur hadn’t told him what the meeting was about, but he had said that Lord Kyner had wanted to discuss something with Camelot’s new king.

“Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice,” Lord Kyner bowed. His knights had filed in behind the man, standing tall and every bit as formidable as they were rumored to be.

“What could I help you with, Lord Kyner?” Arthur asked.

“I was wondering if you’d be interested in taking some of my knight’s into your care to use as needed. I understand with the attacks you’ve had recently, that you’ve suffered a great loss to your forces.”

“A great loss?” Arthur repeated.

“Yes, King Arthur,” Lord Kyner continued. “Why else would you let men who are not of noble blood serve as knights? You must be desperate for men if you’re asking peasants and near strangers to serve you. I mean no disrespect, Camelot has been through a great deal.”

Merlin barely managed to conceal a scoff at the man’s words. Camelot’s men were worth at least ten of the Lord. And at least twenty of his knights.

“Lord Kyner,” Arthur said, “you seem to be under the impression that my knights are not up to the task of protecting Camelot, protecting me. Is that true?”

“Of course, King Arthur. You’re knights lack a certain… experience as knights to be of any effective use for the kingdom. They simply have not been taught and bred with the ways of a true knight,” he explained, haughty as ever.

Merlin watched in his anger as several of the knights shot the Lord barely concealed glares. Gwaine’s jaw was clenched as he just looked ahead of him, trying to focus on some spot on the wall. Elyan’s eyes were narrowed slightly, hands clenched behind him. Percival looked resigned to dealing with the brutes for the indefinite future. Leon was watching Arthur dutifully.

The room remained quiet for a few moments before Arthur stood from his throne. “I’ll hear nothing more from you, Lord Kyner. I will not have you insult my Knight’s of Camelot further.”

Lord Kyner went to say something before Arthur continued over him, his voice carrying through the room. “I have hand picked these men myself to fight for Camelot. They have more integrity and strength than you will ever know, and they have saved my life numerous times. They are more than worthy of bearing the title of Knight, and I am honored that they serve me so loyally. I will hear no more of these insulting remarks towards my knights or Camelot. Bearing that, I would have you leave Camelot within the hour.”

Lord Kyner looked at Arthur with widened eyes and a semi-slacked jaw. “King Arthur-”

“No, I do not want to hear it. I’ve heard of your knights causing trouble all week and the rudeness they have displayed in my home. They have insulted my people, and therefore have insulted me, and I will not tolerate it. I ask you again to get your men and leave. The servants have already gathered your things and readied your horses for your travels.”

The older lord watched Arthur closely. “And what of the treaty? Are you saying you’d rather not abide by it?”

“Not at all,” Arthur replied, stepping down from the throne. “I would still like to keep the treaty in tact, but I will not have you insulting me any further. We will keep our relation between messengers and small visits, nothing more. Do you wish to break the treaty?”

Silence.

Merlin watched as every knight in the room shift nervously, watching each other closely.

Finally, the lord shook his head. “No. Camelot is still a good ally to have, even if our opinions differ. We’ll be taking our leave now. Thank you for your gracious hospitality.”

Merlin didn’t hold back his snort that time as the Lord forced the neutral words from his mouth. He didn’t particularly sound happy about what had happened, and Merlin couldn’t help but enjoy every minute of it.

With that, the Camelot knights let out a collective breath as Lord Kyner and his knights made their way down to the stables to leave. Frankly, Merlin was surprised that none of them tried to argue or put up a small fight, but he was glad they didn’t.

Arthur let out a long breath and stood there for a minute before Leon stepped forward to kneel before Arthur. “Thank you for the words, my King. We shall do our best to live up to your expectations.” The rest of the knights in the room followed suit, kneeling in a flourish of red capes and shiny armor. Arthur bowed his head back in respect and acknowledgement. With a motion, the knights all rose to stand, more relaxed than before.

“Although,” Arthur continued, looking around at his knights. “Gwaine, how did you not throttle one of them this past week?” he wondered. “If anyone would have thrown a punch, I figured it’d be you.”

The knights all laughed, the tension draining out of the room quickly.

“It was a challenge,” Gwaine declared dramatically. “And now I need a drink! Anyone up for a trip to the tavern?” Arthur nodded at them in dismissal, and several of them agreed, walking out of the throne room. Arthur said that he had other things to take care of, so he left after telling Merlin to get back to work.

“You alright, Merlin?” Leon asked, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m fine,” he answered, watching as Arthur walked away. Besides Arthur telling Merlin to get back to work like he hadn’t put up with the knights all week as well, Merlin still felt a deep respect for Arthur. It took a lot to potentially turn away a powerful ally for the sake of his knights. “But how did Arthur find out? ” Merlin asked aloud, “I thought we all agreed to keep it quiet and wait for them to leave.”

“Who knows, Merlin?” Leon smiled at him, patting his shoulder. “Who knows? It’s just good that they’re finally gone and away from Camelot.”

After an almost-knowing smirk from Leon, Merlin looked up at the older knight. “Did you-?”

“Who knows,” Leon shrugged, before smirking and walking away.

Merlin stood there dumbfounded for a moment. Leon that sneaky knight… He’d been the one trying to be the buffer between the two groups and telling everyone to be patient and just wait for the visitors to leave. “I thought you said tattling was childish?!” Merlin couldn’t help but yell after Leon, chasing the man down to get answers.

The Cubs’ bullpen is an obvious weak spot

The depth of the Cubs was a concern before Game 2 of the NLCS. It’s a serious concern now.

Gentle reader, my hope was that the Cubs would win a nail-biter in Game 2, outlasting the Dodgers. Not because of my partisan alliances, but because I already had my morning feature idea. The headline was going to read, “Yes, the Cubs won, but their bullpen is still a problem.” It was going to veer left when you were expecting a turn to the right. Ha. You wouldn’t have seen it coming.

Instead, no, the Cubs did not win. And the bullpen is still a problem. You’ll hear a lot about this today.

Before we get into John Lackey coming into the ninth inning with the winning run on base to face one of the game’s best hitters while the danged closer wasted away in the bullpen ...

[deep breath]

... let’s take a step back and look at the big picture. The Cubs have done a fine job acquiring the pitchers to start the games, they’ve had mixed results acquiring or developing the relievers needed to finish them. The relievers they faced in Game 2 went like this:

Rebuilt stuff-monster who was cheap because of an injury history (Brandon Morrow)

Rebuilt stuff-monster who was cheap because of an injury history (Josh Fields)

Known quantity, acquired in a trade (Tony Watson)

Dominant closer from the depths of Hades, someone who was signed as a catcher and turned into Magneto if he focused on cutters instead of metal (Kenley Jansen)

There’s a little bit of everything, there. It’s part garage sale-ing, part big-market bullying, and part internal wizardry. Compare it to what the Cubs featured:

Solid left-handed pitcher whose strikeout rate improved after being unshackled from the Twins’ pitch-to-contact philosophy (Brian Duensing)

Solid right-hander with control and command issues (Pedro Strop or Carl Edwards, Jr.)

Solid right-hander with control and command issues (Pedro Strop or Carl Edwards, Jr.)

A 38-year-old starter with six relief outings in 475 career appearances, including the postseason

It’s so close. Duensing most certainly is an example of the Cubs polishing an underappreciated reliever. Strop and Edwards, Jr. were acquired in two of the more lopsided trades in the last few years, and both of them certainly helped the team win a championship last year. It’s not like the Cubs are screwing up. There are a lot of teams that would be right to be jealous of this bullpen.

It’s just a bullpen without an unending procession of those guys. They can polish someone like Duensing, but they haven’t quite turned him into one of those guys. They stole the power arms of Strop and Edwards, but they haven’t turned them into those guys. Even when they tried to trade for one of those guys, Wade Davis, he was just one pitcher. One lonely pitcher.

This is how the Cubs ended up with John Lackey pitching with the winning run on second in the ninth inning, a sentence that’s as ridiculous to read as it is to type. Lackey had a fine second half for a starter, but he is still, empirically, verifiably John Lackey. He still led the National League in home runs allowed, and his 36 home runs were tied for the second-most in Chicago Cubs history. Whereas the Astros and Yankees are currently slapping each other with a procession of pitchers striking out 12 batters per nine innings, the Cubs had to use their fifth starter in the ninth inning with the winning run on base.

I don’t know exactly why the Cubs haven’t been able to find a bullpen filled with those guys, like the Royals of yore, or the three remaining teams in this postseason. They’ve tried. Justin Wilson came over in a win-now trade that was comparable to the Tony Watson deal, but he took 37 steps back after the Cubs got him. Hector Rondon wasn’t that far removed from Kenley Jansen a couple years ago, but now he’s someone who gets buried in favor of John Lackey on no rest. Justin Grimm tumbled off the face of the Earth, and Koji Uehara couldn’t outrace time. And so on, and so on.

(It is a little odd that the Cubs don’t have a single homegrown pitcher on the postseason roster. A spigot of 100-mph arms would be a useful thing to have right now.)

With all this mind, the only possible strategy the Cubs should have would be to ride Wade Davis as hard as sensibly possible. That’s what makes the decision to save him for a save situation on the road so baffling. If there’s any team that can’t afford that old-timey mentality, it’s these Cubs. If you want an explanation of why closers should pitch tie games on the road, the long version is here, and it goes like this:

In a tie game on the road, the closer isn't trying to save a win. He's trying to save a chance that the other team will screw up in the later innings.

Kenley Jansen was out of the game. The Dodgers were mostly out of those guys. The Cubs needed to see if any fastballs were left over the plate in the 10th. They needed to see if the Dodgers could bumble their way into three errors and a four-run inning that even Randy Wells could save comfortably. Instead, they kept their best chance to keep the game alive in the bullpen (where he warmed up before the ninth, by the way).

You don’t notice these quirks with a functioning, dominant bullpen. You wouldn’t notice much if the Indians kept Cody Allen out in the ninth inning of a tie game on the road. He’s one of several those guys, and the Indians can sprinkle them around however they damn well please.

The Cubs have just one, and even if he’s taken the tiniest steps back this year, he has to pitch in that situation.

What we have, then, is a war on two fronts. The Cubs haven’t built that Davis-Holland-Herrera or Miller-Shaw-Allen or Chapman-Green-Kahnle-Robertson monster that the other teams have. And the pitcher they do trust is still being used according to 2004 orthodoxy. It’s a brutal combination in contrast to the rest of the postseason.

And it led to John Lackey turning around and watching a ball sail over the fence for the 37th time this year.

The talk of the early part of last postseason was Buck Showalter letting his season end with Ubaldo Jimenez on the mound instead of Zach Britton, and that led to this headline:

Buck Showalter cost the Orioles their season, but at least the conventional wisdom will change

Nice thought. But apparently the conventional wisdom still has a long way to go. There are two options in the modern postseason:

Have a bullpen filled with trustworthy strikeout kings

Figure out the one or two trustworthy pitchers you have and use them wherever and whenever you can.

Maddon rode Davis hard in Game 5 of the NLDS, so he’s not allergic to the idea. But he doesn’t have the depth to feel comfortable doing it in every game, and it shows.

We might be here next year, lauding the praises of Anthony Shume and Perez Borabol, the Cubs’ late-inning tandem of death, who combine for 225 strikeouts in 150 relief innings in the regular season. Bullpens are fickle things, and the Cubs are a smart organization that is fully capable of developing late-inning behemoths or finding and repairing their own Brandon Morrow.

They don’t have one now, though, and it’s a problem. The Cubs aren’t dead yet, but if they win, they’ll have to score a bunch of runs or get their starting pitchers to prevent them. They can’t play the shorten-the-game game like the other teams. And it doesn’t help that their manager can be far more traditional with his bullpen than his reputation suggests.

“Blood of the Lamb”

Father Seamus was uglier than sin. He had posture like a question mark, crust in nearly every crevice of his sagging face, and unkempt eyebrows that eclipsed a pair of bloodshot eyes always pointed in separate directions. What little skin poked out from his vestments was jaundiced and decrepit. All the same, despite these unfortunate conditions, Seamus knew how to enthrall a crowd. His presence was commanding—prophetic even. When reading from scripture, the man would rock back and forth, waving his arms maniacally. He’d holler and shout and storm and stomp all around the altar, punctuating Bible passages with the slamming of a clenched fist. His booming “amens” would shake the stained glass in their panes. And when it came time to turn wine to blood and bread to body, Seamus would bring every parishioner to the edge of their pew all watching him with bated breath—as though it wasn’t a miracle they had seen every single weekend. Lord knows he relished the mysticism of it all. I remember every Sunday being the same ol’ bit, and while I didn’t know it at the time, I realize now, looking back, Father Seamus’ schtick was nothing more than a pithy act of dramaticism to maintain his rule over St. Joseph’s Catholic Church.

For the better part of my youth, I shared an altar with this character. To tell you the truth, I had never intended to get into the business of being an altar boy, but after a bit of pressure from my mother, and seeing how closely the garbs resembled those of a Jedi, I gave in and took on the role. (I know what you’re thinking, and it was never all that bad. Hell, it even gave me a strange sense of humility to sit atop the altar next to Seamus and his deacon, watching the crowd beg for forgiveness for this, that, and the other.) That’s just how it was, you know. Back in the 60s, most Catholic kids were roped into serving the church in one way or another. And even though I was a born agnostic, I didn’t mind it at all. Donning the robes and bowing my head every now and again was simply something to do—something to keep me busy. But this story isn’t about me, or even old man Seamus for that matter. It’s about Marcus Sanders, a total roman candle of a kid—the kind of kid who would’ve lit the world ablaze if given half a chance. Even those caught in his destructive wake would applaud him for the light. I was certainly one of them. To me, he was the alpha and omega.

Marcus had a ruddy red face with one of those sloping Roman noses. Even at twelve, wrinkles were etched around his eyes from the crooked smile he always sported. And for some reason, he usually smelled faintly of tobacco. Like me, Marcus answered the higher calling of servitude at a pretty young age. We were both from the same crop of kids enrolled in St. Joe’s Sunday School, so we had to endure the same slew of fire and brimstone stories. However, unlike the rest of us church-going kids, Marcus wouldn’t feign interest or any kind of solemnity. Not in the least. Instead, the budding heretic would fire off a torrent of questions at the teacher. Never know how to answer those “big questions,” our leader would defer him to a couple go-to Bible verses to quell that “silly imagination” of his. Responding in turn, Marcus would channel his contempt by distracting the rest of us kids, occasionally offering us apples as a joke. Marcus was the one to give a slingshot demonstration, showing us exactly how to take down a Goliath. (Deacon Paul sported an eyepatch for a few weeks after.) He was the one to snicker anytime we heard a story about Sodom. Marcus was the first one to crack a cannibalism joke back when we got our First Communion. He never gave into our straightlaced dogma. All this aside, though, Marcus’ most impressive feat to date was how he managed to survive all the biblical discipline which inevitably befell him. One toe out of line, and wham! The back of Seamus’ hand would come down on him with the blunt force of the Old Testament. Needless to say, this occurred quite regularly back then. Different times, as they say.

And somehow, amid all the beatings, the kid never believed he was in the wrong.

“It’s ‘cause my mom shot him down before he went into seminary,” Marcus would say. “Not that I blame her or anything—I mean, look at him. At the very least she could blow him a kiss every once in awhile. Anything to get him to cool off.” You may call this delusional, but back then, us Sunday school kids called it heroic. I suppose every good Catholic loves a martyr, and Marcus sure knew how to play messiah. For the most part, the kid tended to brush off Seamus’ brutalizations, proudly wearing his bruises like stigmatas. But at a certain point, his welts really began to add up. And that’s where his story picks up. At the end of each mass, when it came time to hang up our rope-belts in the sacristy, Marcus would usually want to put on a little pyrotechnics show with the candle lighter and napkins—just for the hell of it.

“Stop it, man. Grady’s going to smell the smoke,” I said one Sunday.

“Quit being such a pussy,” Marcus sneered. “She won’t smell a thing. There’s plenty of water in here to put out anything that catches too fast.”

As per usual, Marcus held the candle lighter to the wine-stained napkin, watching with captivation as the flame overtook the fabric. The fire would lick his pinched fingers, he’d release the napkin, and he’d stamp out the ashes with his polished loafers on the sacristy floor.

“See? No harm, no foul,” grinned the alter boy. “Now, let’s see how this bread fries.”

Marcus opened up the eucharist package, and worked out a wafer from the plastic. He clicked the lighter, and just as the bread began to brown, Dorothy Grady, St. Joseph’s humble administrator opened the door of the closet-sized sacristy. Her dentures seemed particularly too large for her mouth that day.

“Boys, are you almost done preparing for the next sermon? I’m just a minute or two away from locking up the building for the day,” said the frail woman, somehow oblivious to the pungent smell of burnt yeast. Marcus had the lighter behind his back—cooth as ever.

Aside from doing most of the practical and clerical tasks around the church, Grady functioned as Seamus’ number two. She had been around since before Seamus’ time, ostensibly since Adam and Eve’s day. Rumor had it that they made a pact back in the day to clamp down on the vile liberalism that began to sweep over Catholicism back then, and as such, they’ve long since imposed an impressive degree of draconian rule on St. Joseph’s. But thankfully, a healthy combination of senility and old-age pacifism had taken the fervor out of her sails—shame the same couldn’t have been said for Seamus. “Yes ma’am, just about finished,” I said, but Grady had already hobbled out of the small room. Marcus and I hung up our robes, washed the communion chalices, finished arranging the candles for Wednesday’s mass, and then made our way out of the church into a crisp autumn afternoon.

As Marcus and I walked home, exchanging kicks on a pebble, I noticed a fresh welt on his forearm. Purples and blues spread across his swollen skin.

“What was it this time?” I asked, breaking the silence between us.

“Ah, the back of my tie was showing from underneath my collar,” he said. “Something about it being the last straw.”

Marcus must have seen my wide-eyed disbelief because he added, “But you know, old man Seamus has said that a million times.” He tittered. “Boy, you should have seen the way his temple was pulsing. I thought he was going to explode!”

We both started laughing. A few kicks of the pebble later, Marcus cleared his throat and said, barely above a whisper, “I’m getting pretty tired of it all, though.”

I looked over at him. His typical cavalier expression had morphed into something grave. He stared at the pavement passing beneath our feet.

“Are you going to do something? Maybe tell someone about all this?”

“I think I might. The teachers at my school are asking more and more questions,” he said. “And I bet they’re going to call social services on my mom.”

“Dang, that’s the worst. Teachers are always so nosey,” I said unconvincingly. (I happened to love school.) “I know,” Marcus grumbled. “But I’m coming up with a plan. That jaundiced sonofabitch priest is gonna get what’s comin’ to him.”   Before I could ask what he meant, he gave a quick wave goodbye and turned down Pleasant Street where his ramshackled house was. I still had another couple of blocks to go.

Later that night, lying in bed, I started to think of all the things Marcus could nail Seamus for. There’d be no way anyone would care about a priest pushing a mischievous altar boy around every now and again. Priests have gotten off scot-free for a lot worse. Though, over the years, Father Seamus had been noticeably falling apart—he’d sure as Hell been rubbing certain parishioners the wrong way. Brenda Lee from my Sunday school class said that he had showed up piss drunk to give her grandma her last rights. According to her, the old man got a little spittle on grandma’s bedside and could hardly keep his composure. Another thing that rattled some chains was how often he’d would fall asleep in the confessional booth—even with someone bearing their soul on the other side of that curtain. I remember hearing something about old Albert Knox. I guess once he heard Seamus sawing logs from the booth’s other side, he rapped as loudly as he could on the wood paneling. Seamus jolted up, and out of reflex, told his parishioner to get to work on a couple Hail Marys. I think Knox became a Lutheran after that.

Little Johnny May, who’s a year behind me in Sunday school, one day said that he thought Father Seamus had been cursing people in Latin during mass. He knew because he began looking up dirty words in his Latin class at school, and it struck him how familiar some of the vocabulary sounded... But like Marcus, Little Johnny May was kind of a shit. The cursing thing might have been a rumor, but the fact remained that Seamus’ periodic use of Latin in his services didn’t sit well with quite a few people at St. Joe’s. Orders from the Vatican about ten years prior dictated that all masses were to be conducted in English. I suppose Grady and Seamus wanted to keep the old tongue for nostalgia’s sake. Just the same, despite all these faults and slip ups, Seamus was cherished by and large. For many of the parishioners, Seamus was their only connection to the heavenly beyond. For others, he was closest thing to God they knew.

                                               ~       ~       ~

The following Sunday’s mass began just like any other. The crowd was jammed shoulder to shoulder in the wooden pews, all stiff in their Sunday bests. The late summer air was thick, and the slow-spinning fans overhead did nothing to quell the stifling heat. Bells outside gonged over and over again—the clock had struck 11:00 am. Not a second later, the pipe organ rang with its powerful timbre. And right on cue, the parishioners rose in unison and began singing along to “The Lord’s My Shepherd.” Following the first verse, our holy cohort came onto the scene.

For the second week in a row, Marcus and I were the servers. Clad in our pristine white robes, we glided down the center aisle, leading the holy procession. I held the elongated crucifix as high as I could. Marcus was behind me, struggling to hold the heavy Holy Book with outstretched arms. Deacon Paul trailed behind, lazily swinging the incense burner. Wispy gray smoke rose over the pews, filling the nave with a pungent musk. And who else brought up the rear of the procession other than the showstopper himself, Father Seamus. On this particular Sunday, his matted white hair looked more disheveled than ever. Even at the front of the procession, amid all the singing and grinding organ, I could hear Seamus’ dead foot scrape along the wooden floor. As our cortege made its way through the church, I glanced around at all the sweating faces pressed into their hymnals. No one sang on key.

Once we made our way to the altar, the four of us bowed, walked on stage, placed our various materials in their proper place, and finished singing along to the solemn tune. At its conclusion, Seamus hobbled to the center of the altar, and began.

“Blessed be this day, my parochial people!” his voice thundered out. For a man who looked as though he’d just crawled out of a grave, he had the vocal chords of someone a third his age. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.” He raised a gnarled hand and gestured the cross over his sunken chest.

Mechanically, the congregation replied, “Amen.”

Seamus creased the back of his vestments, and took his seat at the top of the altar. The deacon, Marcus, and I did the same in our respective chairs, and in a chorus of creaks, the crowd followed suit.

Next came the Scripture readings. It was Mrs. Johnson’s turn to step up to the plate and recite a few riveting words from the good book. Johnson, bless her tired old heart, was a notorious mumbler. Even with the microphone millimeters away from her tightly pursed lips, perhaps every one in ten words would come close to audible. Worse yet, she was monotone. I swear, if ever an angry mob needed to be subdued, plop Mrs. Johnson center stage and give her a few verses to read over. Not a soul wouldn’t be sedated. “A reading from the... first letter... of Paul to... the... Corinthians...” she began, adjusting her coke bottle glasses as she stood behind the podium. And as per usual, this was about the point in mass when I’d check out and eat up time with some mental games—anything to keep me awake, especially that Sunday with the humidity. I began to look over the parish. Flies darted between the shifting bodies. Old women were fanning themselves with their bulletin pamphlets. At some point, a baby let loose a quick blood-curdling wail. The cry cut out—undoubtedly stifled by the mother.

“For what have I to do with judging... outsiders?” Johnson rambled on. “Do you not... judge those who are within the... church? But those who are outside, God judges... Remove the wicked man... from among yourselves...”

I began to hear a tapping from my right. I glanced over and saw Marcus clicking the sides of his dress loafers together. Like mine, his feet couldn’t entirely rest on the ground. I wasn’t sure how loud the clicks were, but they were persistent. None of the parishioners seemed to notice—their eyes were either rolling in the back of their heads or were lazily fixed on the woman behind the podium. Marcus’ toe tapping continued—out of boredom to be sure. From the corner of my eye, I swear I saw a blood vessel start throbbing on the side of Father Seamus’ blotchy temple. He cleared his throat. Still, click click click click. Johnson appeared to still be droning on. Marcus kept going. Suddenly, Seamus forced out a violent cough, and in one fluid motion, swatted his right hand against the back of Marcus’ head.

“Hey!” Marcus called.

“The Word of the Lord...” murmured Mrs. Johnson.

“Thanks be to God,” called back the congregation.

She shuffled off the altar.

Father Seamus heaved himself out of his ornate throne and lurched over the the podium. Time for the homily. No longer separated by old man Seamus, I looked over at Marcus. He grinned and shot me a wink.

Again, Seamus cleared his throat—only this time, his wretched throat conjured up to be what sounded like a loogie from Hell. He tugged on his clerical collar and hocked the vile wad somewhere down into his vestments. The old man looked over his parish (both sides of pews at the same time), licked his fingers, and smoothed out his bushy brows.

“My brothers and sisters,” he roared. “I stand before you fine folks on yet another glorious Sunday that our Father on high has bestowed upon us.”

I thought I heard thunder rumble somewhere off in the distance.

“I’m here, not to coddle you with more fanciful tales of hope and inspiration—thank you, my dear Mrs. Johnson, your voice is lovely as ever. No! Not at all, my brothers and sisters! As a proper prophet should, I am here to deliver the gospel straight from the eternal bosom of an angry God! Yes, our Father who forever arts in Heaven is unhappy. I look around at you miserable, fearful folks, and all I see is sin! You are enveloped in your licentious sinful ways! Fornicating instead of worshipping. Laughing instead of repenting. Smiling instead of groveling. God sees this. God sees this all, and he is not pleased. Not one bit, I tell you brothers and sisters!”

As ever, the parishioners appeared to be eating all this up. I could see women’s hats bobbing up and down in approval. Men with their stern, contemplative expressions. Jaws all clenched with guilt. Even the crying baby from before seemed to be all ears.

Their beloved prophet continued: “Who among us is exempt from this unholy lifestyle? Sure, you say, you’re changing... you’ve turned it all around. Yes, I see many of you Sunday after Sunday on your knees, begging for forgiveness for your countless transgressions against His will,” Seamus growled. “But I’m here to say—with God as the orchestrator of my voice—that it is not enough! And you know what, our children are the very proof of this shortcoming in piousness!”

And to punctuate his last line, he outstretched his crooked arm, dramatically gesturing toward Marcus and I—both sitting dumbfounded on the altar behind him. (Deacon Paul appeared to be asleep, so he didn’t care much about the priest’s insinuation.)

“Every day, I read stories about our decadent youth! They’re in the streets, terrorizing our families, disrupting the quiet tranquility of our fair village, painting obscenities on the walls, cursing to high heavens in the middle of the night! Oh, yes, I see it all. God sees it all! Behavior like that, and they’re bound for the brimstone, I can tell you that. Forgive them not, Father! For they know precisely what they do! Let us remember, my brothers and sisters, the brilliant wisdom we gather from Proverbs, chapter 13, verse 24: ‘He that spareth his rod hateth his son, but he that loveth him chasteneth him betimes!’ Indeed, the time has come to once again retrieve our fateful rods, and reacquaint our increasingly rebellious youth with their righteous might. Lest we leave the youngest of our kin behind come Judgement Day, we must whip them into shape, and bend their knees to kneel before our God.

“In the name of the Lord, we pray,” hollered Seamus, whose voice had been ground to gravel.

And instead of the reflexive “Amen,” the congregation erupted into applause. Not just any run of the mill clapping either. All the able-bodied folks stood up for a full on standing ovation. The baby seemed jubilant amid it all.

Marcus, under the cover of noise, leaned over to my ear and said, “Can you believe that guy, huh? What is he trying to do, start a crusade against us? Against me?”

“Right—what’s worse is that the whole freakin’ parish seems to be on board.”

“Don’t worry, just hang tight. I’ve got something good up my sleeve. Before mass started I ca—”

Marcus stopped as soon as Seamus reeled around and began lurching back to the Holy Table. The priest’s bloodshot eyes were fixed on the two of us, and his lips cracked into a heinous smile. Without saying a word, he pivoted, and placed his hands upon the white table cloth. Right on cue, the pipe organ came alive with “Agnus Dei.” The walls rattled from the slow, mournful melody. The crowd chimed in: “Lamb of God... You who take away the sins of the world... Have mercy on us...”

Father Seamus began preparing the eucharist. He held the bread high above the table, muttered something under his breath, and started to break the wafers into small little pieces. He made a quick sign of the cross, and then proceeded to divvy up the wine in the four golden chalices. Again, the muttering, then the cross.

“Lamb of God... You who take away the sins of the world... Grant us peace...”

The organist hammered the last chord, and the church fell silent. The thick air had grown near intolerable. There wasn’t a dry forehead among the crowd.

Seamus cried out, “Brothers and sisters, now join me in the Lord’s prayer for—”

“Step away from the altar!” bellowed a voice from the back.

The crowd gasped in sharp unison. A squad of seven police officers stood next to the choir, each with their glocks pointed at old man Seamus. He raised his knotted hands in the air.

“What on Earth—”

“Not another word, Father!”

Two officers sprinted down the center aisle of the church, guns still drawn. One grabbed Seamus by the scruff of his neck, the other crossed his arms behind his back and began fastening the cuffs. The parishioners, who finally seemed to be emerging from their shocked paralysis, started panicking. A wave of nervous whispers and murmurs echoed throughout the nave. Hands cupped mouths to ears, fingers pointed, women began to weep.

Seamus was now bent over the altar as one of the officers made one finishing click with the cuffs. He was led down the center of the aisle which split a confused and mortified congregation. The deacon, Marcus, and I were still atop the stage. The former was still somehow asleep despite the chaos. As for the two of us, we were watching these events unfold with mouths agape. Seamus was now being read his Miranda Rights as he was forcefully pressed against one of the stained glass windows depicting the Archangel Michael stabbing a serpentine demon. I met eyes with Marcus. Again, he shot a sly wink, and an enormous grin spread over his face. He began cackling, slapping his hand on his knee between breaths.

“Officers! Officers, please! What is the meaning of this nonsense!” gobbled Grady as she strode as quickly as she could to the scene. She had her hand over her mouth—I suppose to keep her teeth from flying out.

“Ma’am, please step back,” said one of the cops. “We have it on good knowledge that this priest—Seamus, was it?—was attempting to slip a little arsenic into the wine. He’s getting at least three dozen accounts of attempted homicide slapped on his record.”

“Wh-What?” Grady said. “That’s not... That can’t be possible. Father Adam Seamus has been leading the St. Joseph’s community for over four decades! This cannot be true.”

“I’m sorry ma’am,” the same cop continued. “We received a credible complaint from one of the parishioners here. The alibi was air-tight as far as we’re concerned. At the very least, we’re taking this creep downtown for some serious questioning, but based off some of the information the informant gave us, well... You should probably start looking around for someone to lead next week’s Mass.”

“This isn’t right! He’s innocent! He’s—”

And in that moment, something came over Grady. A grave realization perhaps. Her face flushed, and slowly it turned towards the back of the altar where Marcus and I were doing our best to stifle laughter. Her expression had shifted from frantic to malicious. Her eyes narrowed, she extended her bony finger and suddenly she called out, “You!”

As the police ducked Seamus out of the nave, Grady bounded toward Marcus with immeasurable aggression. Again, the crowd gasped in astonishment. I was frozen in my seat—the heat mixed with the tumult was almost too much. Grady staggered as quickly as she could towards us, muttering all kinds of unholy incantations under her breath. Once she reached the altar, she stepped up (neglecting to genuflect, mind you), and approached Marcus.

“Come here, boy,” she said with a wry toothy grin. “We’re going to have a little chat.”

Before Marcus could get out a single syllable, Grady pinched his ear with the strength and precision that only a Catholic grandmother could muster. She hauled the poor kid back down the center aisle, as he cried out, “Wait! Stop, no! I didn’t mean it! What are you going to do to me?” Grady hollered at the top of her hoarse lungs, “Ite, missa est! We’re through here, folks. Say your prayers, then get gone!”

The two frantic figures disappeared as they descended down the spiral staircase leading to the undercroft. A final pleading whimper echoed back up to the church where a silent and expecting parish sat. A few moments and some signs of the cross later, the bulk of the crowd genuflected out of their pews, and dispersed almost as if nothing had happened—as if their beloved priest didn’t just get carted off for attempting to poison them all, as if an altar boy hadn’t just been sentenced to some unknown fate perhaps worse than death. I remained seated, unsure of what to do next... Go home with mother, I suppose. What does one do when a friend gets dragged to a hell he probably deserved?

All the same, I never again saw Father Seamus after that day. I remember hearing a few days after that turbulent mass, he had been released—something about false charges and being “framed.” My guess is that guy had some lawyers come down from on high  and testify on behalf of his character. I don’t think anybody heard much from him after that, though. Someone told me he starting doing mission work near Lima, Peru. Even if he hadn’t actually slipped a little arsenic in the eucharist that day, my guess is he would have done it eventually. Lord knows he was fed up with all the insolence.

Not a whole lot has changed at St. Joe’s since the days of Grady and Seamus. The church cycled through a couple replacements, but no one really stuck until we landed on Father Simon, a younger guy from Santa Monica with a ponytail and a penchant for incorporating his acoustic guitar into his homilies. Aside from him, masses are largely the same as they ever were.

As for Marcus Sanders, I haven’t seen him around either—not since he was dragged kicking and screaming down that spiral stairwell. And, if you want to know the truth of it, I’m kind of thankful. Who knows what would’ve happened to me had I kept trying to keep pace with the kid. A couple folks from St. Joe’s started a petition to get him excommunicated—loyal acolytes of Seamus, no doubt. But the whole initiative was in vain because shortly after Marcus’ mother pulled him out of Sunday school, they moved to one of the Manhattan boroughs. He was soon enrolled in a science-oriented academy—at least, so I heard. And if you want to know about me, well, I’m still putting on my Sunday best every weekend at St. Joseph’s—along with most of my old Sunday schoolers. We all grew up, got ourselves married, had a couple kids, and fell into the kind of routine that can turn even the most ardent of agnostics into a pious stiff. We make sure our kids tuck in their shirts, we tell them to behave and to respect their elders. We tell them to bow their heads, and look towards the sky for their salvation. It’s strange how the pendulum swings, I suppose. In a way—now that I’m thinking of him—I almost envy Marcus for getting out. Catholicism has a way of grabbing ahold of passive fellas like me and never letting go. Sure, that ruddy-faced boy might have gotten burned a bit as he was expelled from the holy garden, but from the inside looking out, I can’t help but to wonder what it’s like out there. You know, beyond all the stained glass and the pomp. I wonder what it’s like in Peru. What it’s like in the academy. But above all, I wonder what what it’s like in the head of a man whose faith in himself cannot be broken.