#adding those tags for the reminder that trying to force things into Black/White or Good/Bad either or options is a logical fallacy

[aroaceconfessions]

I was reading Bell Hooks' Talking Back and reached the part "about self recovery" and there she speaks about having to speak using the language of the oppressor and on the first moment I'm reading it as a poor black woman in university, surrounded by middle class and rich white men but then it hits me "Right, that's not the only thing queer about me in this situation".

And reading it I understand how the value is attributed according to hegemonic culture, forcing the oppressed to share their experience under some kind of translator so that we can transmit it in a way that fits the standards of the oppressor, we force ourselves to feel in a way that they can understand, to act on our feelings in a way that is acceptable for them and it's about being a black woman yes but is no different for me as the experience of being aspec.

Actually, while reading it I could only think about this part of me. I feel safer around poc and around woman and around people who are not going to look down on me for the price tag of my clothes and my cellphone brand and because of where I live I'm usually in safer spaces, I have spaces where I can feel my anger and pain unapologetically. But amongst many things there's this one that I don't, this one I have to speak about as if it's a minor inconvenience, no matter where I am I can not run from the agony and I can't express it, there's no place where I can feel safe, where I can forget for one single second that I'm different. I won't ever belong.

I am aromantic.

See? It's underwhelming. Because we never talk about how it feels to be Aro using the big words, for the good and for the bad. When we try to explain what we are, who we are, we always need to lessen our feelings — unconsciously from what I've seen online — so that others will listen.

Because I'm not allowed to feel intensely about my own identity much less my own oppression, they don't understand, because they think it doesn't matter. There are dozens of posts just in this blog, I bet from all around the world, about institutional, political, nationwide laws and societal organizations that establishes something that hurts aro, aces and non-partnering people, and since I can't speak strongly against the big shit imagine if I do so about the "lesser" problems (in quotations because when it comes to caring for Aros everything is a lesser problem).

I am not even allowed to say they are making privileges for partnering (specifically abled) peopel on taxes because they won't see it as a privilege, it's a "little help", sometimes it's even a "reward". I'm (not really) sorry but a reward is only a reward when everyone has the chance of achieving it, if the opportunity is not the same then it is a privilege for those who can try to achieve and a reminder to the rest — to us! — that we are in the wrong and living the way we do is not how it is supposed to be.

You know the worst part? Is not explicit. It's something people don't even realize. Like I said, we've read many confessions here, living costs, hospitals, job seeking, health treatments, everything is so incredibly amisiac not in an "I hate you" way, or "you are not allowed to this" way, in a "I don't recognize your existence, not because I want to exclude you, but because the possibility that something like this exist doesn't cross my mind and even when it does I just dismiss it because that's not how real people are in real life" way.

It's that point where you feel the neurodivergent, the disabled and the non-partnering experience slightly converging, when you see the world being built around you and you can't fit. They are not even making an effort to keep you out, this is not like a bar with a little sign that says you are not allowed in, is more like a tavern from a magical world with a natural barrier against you. You can't force yourself in, you can't ask them to change, you need to convince people to leave it.

And by it I mean our cultures, our societies, because adding our flags to pride and making teachers learn sign language is great, but June is here and no one else talks about us and when we talk about ourselves no one else hears and all our classmates can't even sign a hello so it's no different than learning alone.

And I can't be angry about it! Not strongly at least, I can't be intense, I can't be scary, I can't be loud about it, because if I do I'm turning it into a big deal and it shouldn't even though it is very much a big deal despite it not affecting you specifically. So I gotta lower myself, I can't be direct, I can't say that your viral speech about love is harmful to loveless people just because it was said with good intentions, because they are advocating for a good cause, because "the world is lacking in love and that's why it is this way" is trying to push for the good and I'm in the way of it.

What the world needs is more respect, that is the opposite of hate. Your "love"? It is harming me. Actively. I'm being painted as a villain and I'm not even allowed to be mad about it. I can't say a single fuck, literally, if I use the word fuck I am in the wrong.

Somehow I am as much part of the problem as the ones spreading hate. So if I, the Aspec, speak out of line, if the Aspec doesn't take lots of care with each word used, the tone, the expressions, the gestuees, then you have every right to step on me and, I know this from years of experience, no one will stop you.

[The Bell Hooks anon here again, got a bit anxious about someone misunderstanding me so I just wanted to say that what I was talking relates to the self-recovery explained in the book, which is a way to find or create the language needed to talk back and speak up, and what I meant was we cannot find this self-recovery as a community if we don't find ourselves (being aspec, the individuals and not being aspec the victims, the invisible beings), and since there's no self prior to amatonormativity and amisia (no matter how nice your family is and how protected you've grown, like I said, the aphobia is not explicit so people don't even know they are being aphobic), to find a full self we need to talk about what is like to be us, we need to create a collective, we are so very different but we are still one single community, and that includes talking about what hurts us, and we need to be truthful about it so we can find what it is that pain us as a whole, what it is that can be changed and find means to create change, actual tangible change that can function intersectionally but also independently. It won't work if we are not allowed (by others or by our own conscious) to talk about it in the way we feel it. Adding to that the issue of breaking from the oppressor she talks about, you can't be afraid of educating and even calling out someone for something aphobic even if minor, the prejudice can only be solved when the person doing it changes, we've been silenced before, we lost any sense of unity and it's great we have a space like this to ease our minds and vent like I'm doing right now but we need to know what is it we want to say then make ourselves heard. And no one hears when you whisper in the middle of a hurricane.]

[anjuschiffer]

Amira Wayne - Chapter 18

Chapter 18 is finally here! Damn this was one hard chapter for me...enjoy!

Chapter 18: Heroes

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P.Tag: @theatreandcomicfreak @damianette-is-life @toodaloo-kangaroo @elijahcrevan @vixen-uchiha @nathleigh

Tag: @we-want-mini-mini @ramos123 @bluesimani @redscarlet95 @greatcatblaze @promiswords @fantasiame @corabeth11 @anonymously-odd @alexandriamw @officiallydarkgeek @galla02006 @maleive07

-

MASTERLIST | FIRST | PREV | AO3

Gris sighed as she watched her various clones run off to different directions, slumping against an empty can of cat food.

It’s been two hours since Marinette became Banshee.

There was no sign of Ladybird and with Queen Bee out of commission, Gris wondered if they were even able to take this Victim down. 

While Master Fu assured her that things will work out, Gris couldn’t help but feel-

“Mice have been deployed. How are things on your side?” Gris said into her comms, waiting for her partners' updates. She let out a deep breath, watching it merge with the fog. 

She can’t let herself lose hope...not yet.

“It’s difficult to ensure that no one will get swept up by my plan.” Ryuuko spoke. “Because I have thought of one.”

“There aren’t any civilians in the streets in our area at the moment. Carapace and I just confirmed that.” Chat managed to answer. “So if you have a plan, go ahead and try what you have in mind.”

“On it.” Ryuuko said, the girl looking at the fog covering all of Paris. “Wind Dragon!” 

She watched herself turn into the wind, flying up until she bursted through the layer of fog. Returning half of her body into her original state, Ryuuko summoned her katana, only to find out it had turned into an epee. 

It reminded her of the one she often carried in her civilian form, a fencing sword that had been passed on from her grandfather to her mother, and then to her. The only difference between the two were the colors. While the family heirloom was red in color, the one in her hands is black.

Only the handle and button were two other colors. The tip was now white while the handle was decorated in gold and white.

Realizing she was distracted by her epee’s elegance, Ryuuko meditated for a while before her eyes shot open.

Letting out a battle cry, Ryuuko let out an attack, the slash not making a single effect at the dense fog beneath her.

Returning to her wind form, Ryuuko decided to move on to Plan B. 

Stretching out her hands, she focused her strength and summoned gusts of winds, the streams of wind circling around all of Paris.

“Ryuuko! What are you doing?” She heard Chat yell at her through the comms. “If you continue to do that, you’ll-”

“Do not worry Chat. I’ll make sure to not exert myself.” Ryuuko promised. With an ‘alright, be safe’ and a click, Ryuuko went back to work.

—

Wally didn’t know how long he was sitting on the cold ground, still trying to process what the hell happened to him.

“-y! Wally! Can you hear me?” Wally managed to recognize Barry’s concern, pulling his hands out of his hair and instead wrapped them around himself. 

He was still shaking. 

He can’t give them a reason to barge in...even if he -and possibly the Miraculous Team- were in dire need of help. “Wally.” He heard him say again. 

Tiredly, Wally chose to finally answer him. 

“I’m alright.” Wally tried to assure. He hated how he was able to hear his own scattered heartbeat despite talking through the comms. 

“Wally. We know-” 

“No, you don’t know what’s going on here.” Wally growled, trembling as he attempted to get up, only for his legs to give in.

“Wally, we do.”

“No, you don’t.”

“A miraculous wielder going out of control is not something to be trifled with.” He heard Diana say in the background along with what seemed to be chairs slightly scraping the floor. 

“Do...do you have me on speaker?” Wally asked, his anger slipping out. 

“Wally. It’s all over international news.” He heard Barry say, Wally feeling his heart stop and anger dissipate. 

Was it always on the news? He was pretty sure Amira-

“She’s the one who was in charge of blocking the media.” Wally muttered, getting up from his spot on the ground. “Amira was doing damage control all this time and-“ Wally let out a groan and a huff. “Barry, I need to go.”

“Wally. Don’t you-“

“Amira is in trouble and you guys aren’t allowed to help because some people decided it was a good idea to force her to join the Justice league…” Silence came from the other end of the comms. “But even if you guys aren’t allowed in Paris, I know of a few who are.”

“Wally, please-”

“I know what I’m doing. They’re the only ones who can help Amira right now.” With that, Wally turned off the comms and took a deep breath. “Forgive me, Amira.”

—

Barbara dropped the cup of coffee in her hand, the chair she was in toppling over when she quickly got up. She listened as fine china got crushed with each hesitant step she took towards Tim.

“Amira...Amira got what?”

“Babs, listen. Amira-” Tim started, only to be grabbed and made to face Barbara.

“Isn’t that bad? To be akumatized? At least that’s what B’s reports say-what exactly-” 

“What happened to Amira is none of your business.” Dick replied for Tim, Selina following right behind him. Judging from their getup and the duffel bags slung on their arms, they were heading somewhere...but she knew where. 

Paris. 

“Let me go with you.” Barbara demanded, setting Tim down. “Please, Richard. Let me help you. Let me help Amira. She’s-”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Selina cut off.

“Please!” Barbara begged. “Amira is my friend, we need to-”

“We,” Dick said, gesturing to himself and Selina, “will be the only ones who will be going. You and Tim are to remain-”

“No.” Barbara said, taking in a deep breath. “I’m going with you.”

“Barbara. You and Amira didn’t exactly end on good terms. If you go and she sees that you’re-”

“So that’s why you don’t want me to go.” Barbara stated, curling her hands. “You think I might agitate her more and cause her to cause more damage if she sees me.” She took his silence as a yes. “Then at least...at least let me help you through the comms. After all, you’re going to need as many eyes as you can in this mission.”

Richard looked over his shoulder, Selina’s huff and smirk being enough to let him know her opinion. 

“Alright. But you are to listen to all my instructions to a ‘t,’ understood?” Dick commanded, Barbara wanting to grin at her small victory.

“Yes!”

Tim watched as the trio walked to the zeta beam, Selina graciously setting the coordinates to the one in Paris.  

Within a few seconds, they were on their way to rescuing Amira. 

--

Carapace hit the back of his head against the brick wall as he leaned back to take a rest. 

“Where the hell can she be?” He asked himself, wondering where Banshee hid Lila. 

He had already checked all the possible places she would have hidden her, but didn’t find the missing girls. 

The school was empty. 

The bakery was empty. 

The park was empty. 

The zoo also held no clues. 

All of the museums had no sign of Lila being there nor Banshee. 

Not even Grévin Museum, Marinette’s favorite place to go during her free time.

He had looked at every possible place Marinette had gone or visited in Paris and he hadn’t found Lila, not even a single clue that could lead to finding her. 

Carapace went to reach his comm to update the team about his dilemma, only to find his hand simply hovering over it. 

“Why exactly did you choose me, Ladybird?” Nino asked her one night, Ladybird looking at him in curiosity. “Why me when there are so many other people who are more well equipped for this?”

He watched as Ladybird hummed, her eyes seeing something he could not.

“Not every person who I saw as a candidate was as loyal and protective as you were. Half tried to stand their ground, only to give up. Some quickly backed down when they realized the possible consequences if they kept trying to defend their beliefs or friends. But you,” Ladybird smiled at him. “You stood your ground while doubt circled around you. You remained undeterred and firm when others criticized your choices. That’s why I picked you.”

“Because you had the courage to protect what was important to you.” Carapace reminded himself, frowning at himself.

He couldn’t just give up...he had to keep looking.

Surging with new confidence, Carapace decided to update the others. “Still got nothing on Lila or Banshee. I’m going to start checking other locations, but if anyone else has any ideas on what other places-”

“What places have you checked? Perhaps we can help.” A new voice said within their comms, startling the team. For Chat, it sounded oddly familiar.

“Chat, what’s going on?” Ryuuko asked, Chat realizing that she asked him through her miraculous’ comm.

Who was this? And...English? Chat thought as he went back to answer the newcomer.

“Identify yourself.” Cat Noir demanded, wondering how this person got into their system.

“Who we are doesn’t matter. We came to help you.” Another voice joined, Chat wondering how many had hacked into their system.

“How do we know you aren’t on Hawkmoth’s side? How can we trust you if you-”

“Marinette is my friend. I can’t just sit by and do nothing while I know there is something I can do.” The second voice said, Gris being able to hear the frustration in her voice.

“Chat, it seems like they actually want to help us.” Chat heard Gris tell him through her miraculous. 

“That isn’t enough to convince me that you’re on our side.” Chat told the newcomers.

“We know how her powers work.” Another voice joined in, this time, male. He sounded as if he was around their age. Perhaps a year or two older than them.

“So do we.”

“We also have an idea of the item where the akuma is hidden.” Another male voice said, caused Chat’s mind to come to a halt. Why did it sound familiar? “Adding on to the akuma power, those are the two main facts we have to help bring Marinette back.”

Carapace waited with baited breath as he awaited for Chat’s response, wondering what exactly was going through his mind. 

“Seems like you’re on our side. But even if you don’t want to drop your names, at least give us some code names we can refer to each of you.” Ryuuko heard Chat say, letting out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

So they’re allies.

“Alright. I’m Corvus.” The familiar male voice replied.

“Osprey.” The first female voice said.

“Oriole.” The other male responded.

“Felis.” 

“Alright then.” Chat replied, quickly changing over to the miraculous comms. “Team, we have new allies. We’ll be using our translators while using the regular comms to ensure our communications go smoothly and prevent confusion.”

“How exactly do we-”

“Don’t worry. I’ll explain it right now.”

--

“Do you think we got through to them?” Wally asked, watching Barbara not lift her eyes for a second from the monitors in front of her.

Her hands moved quickly across the keyboard, not leaving a single room for error as she hooked up a program to hack into the Parisian street cameras and home security cameras. 

Wally had hesitantly agreed to letting Barbara use Amira’s computer to hack into the team’s comms and then this.  

Hope Amira didn’t mind. 

“I hope we did.” Dick confessed. “Also, why Oriole?” 

“Well, you started with Corvus and then Barbara said Osprey so I said Oriole to keep with the bird theme.” Wally replies, hearing Selina’s chuckle through the comm. “Of course, I should’ve known-”

“Corvus.” Dick heard Chat say, Wally annoyed that he was interrupted..

“Still here.”

“Welcome to the team...now, let’s review what each of us know about the situation while Carapace and Gris continue to search for Banshee.”

“Alright.”

—

It was cold. 

It was dark.��

She hated it...and that’s saying something from a Gothamite who’s used to the dark. 

Amira lifted her eyelids, watching as she climbed stairs she never once climbed. After all, she always used to just zip to the top. She tried to stop herself, but could barely control her own body. 

“Banshee.” A voice whispered to her. She’d recognize that voice anywhere.

“Hawkmoth.” She acknowledged, stopping mid flight.

“How are things going?” 

“Wonderfully.” She answered back...but she knew it wasn’t her... “Lila is getting what she deserves just as we speak. That harlot will pay for-“

“As wonderful as that sounds, there is still one part of the deal that is yet to be completed.”

“Don’t worry. I’m working on it. Just be pa-” She heard herself snarl when she felt a ring pang through her head, causing her to fold over. 

She clutched her head between her forearms, wanting the pain to go away as it intensified with each passing second. 

“Were you just about to say patient? Must I remind you who the one in charge here is?” 

Banshee let out a whimper as she felt her body stiffen. “I suggest you hurry up and keep your end of the deal. After all, I kept mine.”

Banshee growled as Hawkmoth released his control over her, allowing her to relax. But just as she had been let go, she could feel something whirl within her. It was frustrated, annoyed, pissed...hurt.

In that split second, Amira could actually see what was in front of her. 

She was able to feel the vile power running within her. 

Looking down at the pitch black dress on her, Amira let out a horrified gasp, feeling all the memories surge up into her mind at once. She didn’t register the tears that ran down her face nor her raspy breaths as she brought her black laced hands closer to face.

She could feel the rapid rises and falls of her chest as she slowly observed how vile the black felt on her. How disgusted she was in herself.

She finally let out a scream, wrapping her arms around her, not thinking about anything else but the consequences of having shown her emotions earlier that day.

How naive she was to believe she could handle being a vigilante…

How wrong she was…

No wonder…

No wonder her father said those things to her...because he saw...

He saw how flawed she was…

How immature she had grown to be...

How stupid she was to think she was in the right all these years when in reality...he was the one who was right…

Who is right...

She really wasn’t prepared…

Not prepared at all…

She was no hero, not even a vigilante…

She was a damn failure from the very start...

--

“-also check places where- what the hell is going on?” Corvus whispered into the comms as he stopped himself from jumping onto the next building. As much as he feared the shaking ground, there was something else that he feared.

The fog beneath him was starting to thicken even more, spots that were lights were now dimmer, almost invisible. He couldn’t move any further with all of this!

“Everyone! It seems like-” Ryuuko was about to speak, only to be cut off by a shriek in the comms.

“Oriole!” Osprey yelled, Gris hearing screams and things being thrashed around heard in the background through Oriole’s side. “Oriole! What’s going on!”

“Osprey! What’s-” Dick could feel his panic rising.

“Oriole -he just - he just collapsed and started screaming, calling for...Mimi. He won’t stop-” She was cut off by some static, the team wondering what the hell was going on. 

‘Mimi? Must be some dear to him.’ Gris thought to herself, but she couldn’t help but notice how quiet the Birds and Cat Team got, wondering why they weren’t worrying over their teammate.

That made her wonder...

Why were they willing to help them to try and help Marinette so badly? What exactly is their relationship with her? Because as far as Gris knew, Marinette didn’t have many friends. 

But then again, even with the friends she did have, Marinette wasn’t exactly open with them either. Yes, they’ve known her for roughly four months, but even then, they didn’t know much about their beloved friend.

“It’s Banshee.” Gris heard Ryuuko said shakily. “She’s enhancing her strength by using her own powers against herself!”

“We have to stop her!” 

“But how?”

“Leave that to us.” Ryuuko heard Felis say. 

“Is Oriole-” Chat started, only to get cut off.

“He’s alright. But he also confirmed one of our theories that would help us to counter Banshee’s power.” Chat heard Felis say.

“Counter? How exactly-”

“Don’t worry about the how. Worry about the when.” Chat heard Corvus say.

“When? Don’t tell me you plan on going right now?”

“Of course not. If my team heads now, then we won't be able to know where Rossi is hidden.” Chat listened as a glass clinked together on Corvus’ side. “We’ll wait for Carapace, Gris or Oriole to locate the girl first. When we know she’s safe, that’s when my team will strike.

We need to make sure that Rossi is safe or else our entire plan will fail.”

--

Lila clawed at her throat, trying to scrape away the itchiness within her. To try and get rid of the dry lumps that were growing by the minute. 

She couldn’t breath. It hurt. It burned.

Her eyes continued to sting, Lila feeling the tears continuing to pool beneath her. They hurt even with the low amount of light around her.

The only thing that had managed to ground her a bit was the cold ground her body was so desperately against. 

A cold embrace that gave her a break from the endless insults thrown her way for the past...hours? Days?

Lila froze when she heard a sound in the distance, curling into herself. She covered her face with her arms, trying her best to not let out a single whimper. 

She bit her tongue as she heard the sound get closer to her, daring herself to sit upwards.

She listened as the sound began to become clearer...listening as footsteps drew near to her.

Lila didn’t dare to lift her head to see whether it really was someone coming or not. She wasn’t going to risk to keep seeing the illusions, the hallucinations she’s been hearing all this time.

After all, compared to all that she had been going through, this was a nice change of pace.

She listened as the footsteps grew louder, each step echoing throughout the dim place she was in.

She listened and listened, each passing second causing her heartbeat to quicken. 

Then they stopped. 

Stopping right in front of her.

They placed a hand on her shoulder.

So it wasn’t just another nightmare. This was real.

Slowly lifting her head, Lila had wished this was just another nightmare because the minute she saw that needle in the man’s hand, she felt her heart stop.

Letting out a piercing scream, Lila tried to get away from the person in front of her, but her legs gave in.

Lila screamed and tried to claw herself away from the person who pulled her closer to them, but all that she managed to grasp was the gravel that dug into her palms, blood seeping from the wounds.

She continued to scream even as she was then pinned down beneath the man, feeling something stab her arm.

As soon as the needle pierced her skin, Lila felt a wave of relief. A peace so needed, Lila relished in the ecstasy, feeling herself drift to sleep.

--

Bruce looked at the girl beneath him and then at the syringe in his hand. 

To think that Amira was the one who caused all this. And to think that worked perfectly against Banshee’s powers…

He had to report back. Taking out a phone, Bruce quickly typed into it and then tucked it away. 

He looked at the girl who was now peacefully sleeping on the ground, knowing that he had to leave soon despite wanting to take the girl to a safer location.

Squeaks started to become audible, Bruce taking that as his cue to leave. 

--

“Gris! We have a possible clue to where Rossi might be!” Carapace heard Osprey exclaim.

“Where?” And how? She wanted to ask. 

Carapace and her had tried every possible way to track Lila, Carapace having checked different surveillance cameras while Gris deployed all of her clones to search for her, only for their efforts to be in vain. 

How did they easily find her within an hour?

“She’s in the catacombs.” Gris sucked in a breath. The catacombs? As in-

“Are you sure that’s where she’s at?” Gris managed to calm herself, sending a signal to the closest clone to check it out. Why the catacombs of all places?

“Yes. Some home security cameras managed to capture when Banshee took Lila there through one of the many entrances scattered throughout Paris.” 

“I’m on my way!” Gris reported, switching perspectives from her original form and the one closest to the catacombs.

She ran down the dusty steps, running past the narrow tunnel that felt like it could come crumbling down at any moment. But when got to the end of that tunnel, Gris froze. 

Is this why?

Is this why Banshee kept Lila down here?

Gris stood face to face with a wall of human skulls and bones, arranged in symmetrical patterns. Skull, bone, bone, bone, skull. Each skull was placed equally away from each other, the bones in between neatly arranged to be pointed in the same direction. 

The musty air and debris free floor kept Gris from moving forward, but she knew she couldn’t just stand there. She had to find Lila and now.

Taking a step forward, Gris let out a wail as she mustered the courage to take the other. 

But the stare of the eight foot wall of skulls looking back at her…

Prying her eyes from it, Gris ran past the wall, turning corners only to face another structure with the soulless remains of those before her.

Columns, archs, pillars and even crosses appeared before her, causing Gris to feel goosebumps emerge on her skin.

If that wasn’t enough, every corner that Gris took, she just couldn’t seem to get out of the loop she placed herself in. She even tried to stop and recollect herself only to realize that each fork in the path looked the same. Each corner and pillar she passed looked just like the one before.

Was…

Was she lost?

“-is! Gris! What’s going on? You haven’t talked to us in the past half hour. Gris!” She finally heard Chat saying, Gris coming to a halt.

Half an hour? She had been running around this maze...for half an hour? 

Dropping her transformation, Sabrina slumped to the ground and brought her knees to her chest, letting out a shuddering breath out. 

“Sabrina.” Mullo coaxed. “Are you alright?”

“Gris. Are you still there?”

“I...I can’t…” Sabrina sniffled out, digging her head further into her knees. She held back a wail, biting her tongue in hopes to shift her attention from her thoughts. But it failed. “I can’t…” A hiccup escaped her as she hovered her hand over her comms.

“Gris...where are you?” She heard Carapace ask her a second before she turned off her comm, not wanting to hear anyone at the moment. “I don’t know about you, but I asked Ladybird why she chose me.” Sabrina jumped when her burner phone talked, Sabrina taking it out to see the message flashing across the screen.

Chat said Ladybird had planned on giving it to her the next time they met, but Chat saw it just to give it to her now.  

A phone especially created by civilian Ladybird just for those that were part of the team. 

Team...like if she even belonged in it.

“Sabrina, we have to keep-”

“What’s the point Mullo?” Sabrina wiped off her tears, letting out another sniffle. “I’m useless. Worthless. I should’ve been able to track down Lila’s location, but I couldn’t. Osprey, on the other hand, was able to locate her in less than an hour! Don’t you see Mullo? I’m supposed to be the brains of the team like Osprey, but I messed up! I messed up even more when I got lost, mocking Osprey’s hard work of finding Lila’s location. What’s the point of continuing if I’m just going to keep holding everyone ba-”

“Snap out of it!” Mullo yelled, Sabrina feeling paws rest against her hand. “This isn’t like you Sabrina! Not one bit!” Sabrina pursed her lips, throwing her head back into her knees. “Sabrina! Don’t you remember why Ladybird chose you? You, the girl that no one sees?”

“Well, thank you for the-ow!” Sabrina yelped, retracting her hand from Mullo’s mouth. “Why did you bite-”

“Ladybird didn’t choose the quitter sitting in front of me! She chose the girl who’s ambition to make friends through kindness caught not only her attention, but heart as well. The girl who’s info gathering and intelligence flourished and allowed her to achieve the goal she wanted. A selfless girl disguised as a selfish, ambitious one.” Mullo nuzzled against Sabrina’s cheek. “Ladybird needs you to help the team and keep them moving, we need you to make this fight a victory and as for Marinette,” Mullo looked straight into Sabrina’s eyes, “Marinette needs you -her friend- to save her.”

Sabrina watched as Mullo smiled at her. “So then Sabrina...what’s your decision? Will you continue to mope around here or continue to fight alongside your friends to save a friend? Which will it be?”

Sabrina looked down at the mouse miraculous around her neck, placing the pendant in the palm of her hand. The silver locket was opened with ease, displaying Sabrina and her father on the left side while a picture of her, Chloe and Marinette were on the other.

“Isn’t it obvious, Mullo?” Sabrina got up shakily. “Mullo, get squeaky!”

--

“-not picking up.”  Osprey heard Chat say through the comms, wanting to say something to comfort them, but what can she say?

She didn’t know them, neither as the vigilantes they were now nor their civilian forms. What can she say to comfort them in a time like this? When a friend is the force they’re up against?

“Sorry everyone. Had to replenish for a bit. But I found Lila! The target has been secured! Quickly transporting to the designated destination.”

Felis heard an audible sigh of relief echoing within the comms, letting herself smile at this tiny victory. After all, this was just one step towards the big one.

“Phase one has been completed. You know what this means.” Corvus relayed.

“Ryuuko, you’re up.” Chat cleared up.

“On it.”

--

It was cold. Colder than usual.

Heavy fog was sitting all around her, but Banshee didn’t care.

Banshee looked at her hands, finding them covered in tears. Frowning at them, she shook them off before continuing her ascendance up the stairs, smiling at the fact that she was able to make Lila feel the same pain as she did. 

But her victory was short lived. 

The high whistling of wind snapped her attention, her eyes narrowing when she watched the fog starting to gather near the UNESCO World Heritage Centre, watching as the accumulated fog swirled in circles. 

She snarled when a large hole in the cloudy sky appeared, allowing that morning’s sunlight to pierce through, dispersing the fog into nothing.

The city of Paris is now clear of her terror. 

Now there, hovering in the air, was a single hero.

A hero...a ray of hope.

Banshee gritted her teeth together, feeling her annoyance starting to spike. 

“Banshee. It seems as if they’re onto you. But this is it. Takes this chance to engage them and  take their-”

“Banshee!” A voice called out, a voice that sounded...familiar…

Banshee remained still while her eyes darted around to see who dared to face her. As she scanned the area, she found them. Standing a flight above her was a man cladded in black, the only color on him was the blue domino mask across his face. Escrima sticks were prying from behind him.

“Who are you?” Banshee asked, not moving a step. 

“Who I am shouldn’t matter. What should matter is the fight that is about to happen!” 

Banshee scowled as the man charged at her, Banshee managing to dodge all of his attacks. But she wondered, why didn’t she want to touch him? Why did she hesitate to place a hand on him?

In that self monologue, she must’ve gotten distracted, feeling a hand connect with her stomach, causing her to stumble, her side hitting the railing beside them. She felt bile daring to rise to the surface.

“Mi!” The man yelled, grabbing Banshee by her wrist, his hand over-

“You let your guard down!” Banshee grinned, clasping her hand over his wrist, causing the man to let go of her and slump. She watched as the man cowered away from her, murmuring incoherent sentences. 

“Corvus!” A voice yelled, a woman now appearing, wearing a skin-tight unitard, Banshee feeling something in her head begin to ring. She watched as the woman took out a needle with what seemed to be clear blue substance. She began to inject it into the man, something clicking inside Banshee.

“Dad. What’s that?” Amira asked her father, watching as he packed away some vials into his utility belt. It was another day of keeping Gotham safe, Amira already planning on bringing some homework to keep her company while she awaited for her father’s return.

“Antidotes that work against Scarecrow’s Fear Toxin.” She heard her father say, watching as he double checked his equipment. 

“Have...have you ever been...hit by it?” Amira dared to ask, already knowing the answer to that. 

“I have...it’s one of the worst feelings in the world.” Bruce said, placing his belt back into its case.

Amira watched as her father ran a hand over the case before turning his attention back to Amira. “Why don’t the two of us go see if Alfred needs any help in the kitchen? How does that sound?”

“He’ll probably kick us out. Remember what happened last time?” Amira referred to the last time her father tried to help Alfred make pasta. She watched as her father let out a laugh, a laugh that made her follow along and laugh as well.

Banshee was snapped from her thoughts when she felt something mere inches away from her face. 

She tried to avoid the incoming fist coming at her but noticed a whip constricting her movements. So instead of taking a step back, she took a step to the side, connecting her heel with the back of Corvus’ head and twirled her way towards the woman.

Making it seem as if she was about to use her leg again to attack, Banshee let out a laugh when the woman prepared to block her kick only for the two to connect foreheads. With the slight release of hold, Banshee freed herself and held the woman’s hand between her hands, grinning as the woman looked at her with tears pooling in her eyes.

“Mi!” Banshee clicked her tongue as she watched Corvus come for her again, the two exchanging blows, Banshee dodging all of the blows her way but not being able to land one herself. “Mi! You have to stop this! Fight it back!” Corvus yelled, Banshee noticing that he was by the woman’s side, administering the same needle she had seen just moments ago.

“My name’s Banshee. I’m not this Mi you speak of.”

“Mi, try to remember! Remember!” Corvus yelled, this time taking out his escrima sticks, Banshee taking a step back when she saw the tips of them spark. “Mi, I don’t-”

“I’m not Mi! I’m Banshee!” Banshee yelled, charging once more, feeling her mind muddle even more.

She kept fighting, exchanging blows with Corvus and avoiding the woman. She often got close to landing a blow on either of them before someone in the distance would interfere.

Glaring at the hero in the distance, Banshee knew she wasn’t going to be able to win this fight unless she thought of something...and fast!

When Corvus once more charged towards her, she tried to grab him again, only to be grabbed by her wrist and pinned down.

Banshee squirmed as the woman approached Corvus, Banshee glaring at her as she did. 

“Felis. Give the signal.” Corvus told Felis, Banshee remaining still as she watched Felis talk with someone else on the other end of their comms. “Banshee. No...Mi. Just wait a little longer. We’ll get you out of this-”

“Fools, the lot of you.” Banshee said, grinning. “You two were so worried about being touched by me that you forgot one thing.”

Corvus let those words sink in as he watched Banshee look down to her hands that were-

“Don’t do it!” Corvus yelled, watching as Banshee clasped her hands together, letting out a shriek so deafening, it caused both Corvus and Felis to collapse, their screams scattering into the wind. 

--

Just when things were turning for the better, it went back to square one.

Seconds after Corvus and Felis had managed to take down Banshee and gave orders to commence the next phase, Chat watched as fog started to pour down from the top of the Eiffel Tower followed by a piercing screech. 

“Corvus, what the hell is going on?” He demanded, but got nothing on his end. “Corvus! Give me a-“

“He’s down!” Osprey replied, Chat hearing rustling in the background. He could also hear clicking and glass clink against one another. 

“What’s going-”

“Banshee used her power against herself, meaning she revitalized her control on those she’s touched. In other words-“

“She managed to escape our hold.” Chat gritted his teeth. 

Just when they were so close! “We need to hurry and-“

“Don’t you dare go after her right now.” Osprey threatened. 

“You can’t-“

“If I remember correctly, Lila wasn’t the only one affect by Banshee’s power. Wasn’t there someone else?”

Chat froze. 

How did he forget about Chloé? And not only once, but twice! “Guessing by your silence, there is. I’ll be going to your location to drop off an antidote that’s been confirmed to work against Banshee’s power.”

“Antidote? Confirmed?” Chat whispered. 

“Remember how we told you that Oriole was touched and had relapsed? Well, back where we come from, we face a villain with similar powers, but without the magic. When Oriole told us how Banshee’s power worked, we wondered if the antidote we made would work in this case. Corvus managed to prove our theory correct. They do indeed work the same way.”

Chat remained stunned, soaking in the new information.

They weren’t Parisians? They fought against people who were just as powerful as Banshee...but without magic? “Oh! Carapace is right here! I’ll just send Carapace your wa-”

“No. He’ll be giving the straight to both Lila and the other victim.” Chat found himself saying, crouching towards the floor. 

He couldn’t face Chloe right now...he just couldn’t.

“Sure?” He heard Carapace asking him.

“Yea.”

“With that settled, I’m going to be moving to Plan B. Meet you at the rendezvous!” 

With that last order from Osprey, Chat got back up and let a single tear fall down his face.

He’s supposed to be the one in command and yet here he was, just sitting at the sidelines, doing nothing. 

“Just what kind of leader am I?”

--

“Amira.” A voice whispered to her, Amira wondering who was calling her. “Amira.” There it was again, and as much as Amira wanted to know who it was, she couldn’t open her eyes to see who it was. She couldn’t move a single muscle, not being able to respond to the voice that kept calling her. A voice that begged her to wake up.

A voice that she’s never heard before but for some reason, she felt as if she’s heard it once before...many, many years ago.

--

Banshee felt heavy, exhausted, watching another tear drip off of the tip of her nose and join the pool of tears by her hands.

She never registered the yells and shouts of Ryuuko attempting to get rid of the new fog surrounding the Eiffel Tower.

“Amira.” A voice called out, causing Banshee to look up, noticing the lack of a neon purple mask around her face.

Was it not Hawkmoth who called out to her? “Amira.”

There it was again. “Amira.”

“Who’s talking?” Banshee yelled out, getting up to see no one in front of her nor behind her. She walked up the stairs, hearing the metal creak beneath her feet.

“Amira, did you forget me already?” The voice called out, Banshee turning to see who spoke to her.

“Ja...son?” Amira could feel herself losing herself when she saw him in front of her. “Jason...what are you doing here, in Paris?”

“Amira...why are you doing this?” Jason asked her, stepping closer to her, causing Amira to step back. 

“Sta-stay back! I might hurt you!”

“You say that and yet there’s already so many you’ve already hurt before me.” Jason told her, causing her to freeze. “Or am I wrong?” 

Amira felt her voice stuck in her throat. “N-No! I didn’t-”

“Are you really going to deny hurting Selina? Dick? Are you?”

“N-no! I-I! It wasn’t me! It was Hawkmoth! He-”

“He may have given you the power, but in the end, it was your decision on whether or not to use it. And you decided to use it against not only your family, but on friends as well...like Chloe...and Wally.”

Amira hung her head, feeling the tears spilling without her permission. “I didn’t-”

“Stop making excuses, Amira! Open your damn eyes!” Jason yelled at her, shaking her shoulders. “Are you even Amira? The Bat’s daughter, my sister?” Jason asked. “What happened to the Amira I knew? Where did she go?”

“I-I!” Amira tried to find the words, but none came out. “Jason, listen, I- Jason?” She called out when she saw no one in front of her. All she saw was her akumatized bracelet on the floor in front of her.

“-chance Banshee! Use this to get Chat Noir’s mira-”

Had she been hallucinating this entire time? Didn’t matter, she had something far more important to think about.

“NO!” Amira yelled, disgusted by the neon purple mask hovering against her face. “There’s no way in hell I’m going to help-”

She collapsed to the floor once again, her head on the verge of exploding.

“Banshee! I am the one who gave you your powers so you are to do-”

“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” Banshee screamed as her head began to ache, a ringing that wouldn’t dare stop. 

“How dare you defile me! I’m the one who gave you power, I’m the one who is allowing you to-“

“You...gave me...nothing.” Amira snarled between waves of pain. “All you’ve done is manipulate me. Nothing more, nothing less. You took advantage of my anger and rage, took it and made it into a weapon. 

A weapon you had planned to use against Ladybird and Chat Noir. Using me to gain some measly-“

“Oh dear child. That’s where you’re wrong.” The neon purple mask hovering over Banshee’s face flowed even brighter, allowing Banshee to see in front of her. “Ladybird and Chat Noir’s miraculouses are more than just magical pieces of jewelry. 

When placed together, they grant a single wish. As for what wish, you will know it once I get-”

“Get your hands on? As, in on the miraculouses?” Amira chuckled. “Well, guess what? I won’t let you.” Amira declared, getting up. “I won’t let you hurt my friends anymore for your own goal, I won’t let you get your hands on those miraculouses! I won’t let you win, Hawkmoth! I wo-!”

Amira screamed as she fell to the floor once again, resisting the urge to clutch her head to soothe the pain.

“Foolish girl! You don’t-”

“It’s you who is the fool!” Amira reminded, sitting up, almost falling back down as her arm almost gave in. She watched as the neon purple light around her face flickered. “You may think you are the one in charge, but you aren’t. I am!” Amira yelled, grasping the neon light mask hovering above her face, causing the mask to shatter to tiny pieces of glass and for her to writhe in pain.

She continued to kick around as her heart was being wrung, silent screaming escaping her as she gasped for air. 

She watched as she continued to flail, wondering if anyone would get to her in time.

She wonder if this is how-

“Amira!” She heard someone yell, but she couldn’t turn to see who it was. Didn’t matter as Wally’s face soon made it to her vision, Amira feeling her chest hurt even more when she saw how red his eyes were. “Amira, don’t worry! We’ll-”

“Smash it.” Amira found herself saying, looking over to where Wally had barely missed stepping on the akumatized bracelet. 

“What?”

“Step...on..it…” Amira said again. “Then take my earrings.” A wince. “Tikki will help from there.” She managed to say in two breaths.

“But what-”

“Hurry!” Amira wheezed out, hating how her vision kept swinging between pitch blackness and her tunneled vision. 

At least she was able to hear Wally crush her bracelet and Tikki’s voice before finally succumbing to the darkness.

“Amira!”

--

“Don’t be bemused! It’s just the news! 

After seven grueling hours, our heroes have finally done it!” The news channel showed off the Eiffel Tower, free of fog and a swarm of ladybugs gathering at the top. “They’ve placed evil back into its place!” Then, the ladybugs dispersed, many Parisians watching how little there was this time around compared to other fights. ”They’ve once more proven to be a team to be reckoned with. 

Thank you. Thank you for keeping us safe, Miracle Team. You guys are truly Paris’ pride and joy...our heroes!”

Next

[katymacsupernatural]

The chauffeur

Jensen x Reader AU

1400 Words

Written For: @spnfluffbingo2019, @spnaubingo, @spnkinkbingo

Squares Filled: Royalty AU(Fluff) Royalty AU,(Genre), Virginity (Kink)

Summary: As the daughter of a Duke, you’re expected to marry well. But little does your Father know, you have your eyes set on the chauffeur.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, loss of virginity, smut, backseat sex...

The sleek black Rolls Royce pulled to a stop in front of the Manor house as you carefully made your way down the steps. Your Dad held your arm, acting as if he was guiding you down the steps. Instead, he was whispering all sorts of warnings in your ear. Warning you to act demure and polite. To not make him look bad in front of everyone else. 

“Why don’t you come along then?” You shot back. Grinding his teeth together, he grabbed your shoulder, forcing you to face him. 

“You know I can’t,” his words were low, mean. “But this means everything to us. You need to make a good match, girl.” 

You wanted to scream back at him. To remind him that it was his fault your family was this way. That you didn’t care about the money, you just wanted a normal life. But you stayed quiet, knowing it was the smartest thing to do. 

“I know you’re a good girl,” your Dad continued, loosening his grip as the chauffeur climbed out of the front seat, opening the door for you. “But you’re too headstrong. You know that you’ll be ruined just as much as me if today doesn’t go well.” 

He pushed you towards the car, and you didn’t miss the narrowing of eyes by Jensen, the chauffeur. Trying hard not to let your father see you cry, you slid into the seat, letting Jensen shut the door.

The car was already running, and Jensen smoothly pulled away from the curb and down the long drive. The gates parted, and you were free from the house that had become more of a prison cell than anything else.

"Straight on then?" Jensen asked, his eyes intent through the rearview mirror as you hastily whipped away a tear. 

You shook your head, knowing that while your Father would be furious, you needed time to collect yourself before you made your way to what was nothing more than an auction. Sure, it was written off as a tea for upper-class daughters, but you knew the main reason. There were plenty of wealthy men there, looking forward to finding some pathetic woman who would help their stature rise. Which is exactly what your Father expected. 

"Our normal then?" Jensen offered you a smile, and you shook your head once more, barely able to speak. Sure, Jensen was your chauffeur, but he had quickly become a friend, and then more.

Speeding the car up, Jensen swerved around another vehicle, turning down the next street. A couple of turns later, he stopped in front of another gate, quickly entering a key code. Driving through, he parked in a dark garage, empty of anything but the two of you in your Father's car.

"Thanks, Jensen," you whispered, watching him closely as he came around the side, sliding into the backseat with you. "How do I tell my dad I don't want anything to do with those pompous idiots? All i want is…,"

Your words were quickly muffled by Jensen's plump lips against your own. Turning in the backseat, you let him pull you onto his lap. Your dressed bunched awkwardly around your thighs, the silky material refusing to give. The heels you hated wearing dug into the leather of the seats Jensen's hand wrapped around your neck, holding you still so his lips could plunder yours. 

"Jay," you whispered against him, pulling away slightly.

"Y/N, you know you don't have to go through with this," Jensen pleaded with you, his hands dropping to your waist, bunching in the silk of your dress. "Just say the word. You and I...we'll run. To the U.S., or wherever. I don't care."

You wanted to, more than you cared to admit. But you couldn't do that. Not when it would leave your younger sister and brother suffering.

A tear slipped down your cheek, and he quickly brushed it away. "I hate seeing you like this. Let me know what I can do to help. Please."

"Just help me forget," you sighed. "At least for a little bit. Show me what's it like to be loved for me. Not because of who my Dad is."

"You sure?" Jensen asked. "Because…,"

"Please," you pleaded. "At least I can give this to someone I decide. Please, Jensen, show me what it's like."

Breathing heavily, Jensen laid you down on the spacious backseat, his bottom lip between his teeth as he stared down at you. “Y/N, as much as I want this, I don’t want you rushing into things. You know what could happen if…,” 

You took matters into your own hands, reaching down and pulling his dress shirt up and over his head. The overhead light was the only thing illuminating the entire car and building, and you could barely see his forest shaded eyes before he was pulling your dress up and over your head. Carefully hanging it over the driver’s seat, he turned back to see you laying there, wearing your plain white bra and panties. “Beautiful,” he mumbled, his thumb brushing against the tender skin of your hip. 

You were nervous, never having done this before, but Jensen was gentle, brushing his fingers lightly across your skin, his lips following suit. Up your stomach to your cotton clad breasts, pulling the cups down until he could press kisses to the underside of your breasts. 

His other hand slid under your knee, pushing until you lifted it up, your foot barely on the seat. Running his fingers up your inner thigh, he cupped you through your panties, driving a moan from your lips. 

“I’ve been wanting to do this for so long,” he mumbled against your skin, running his tongue along your nipple. “Sure, there’s been the touching when your Dad’s not looking, but I’ve wanted more. Even though I always knew it would be out of my reach.” 

“Jensen, please,” you insisted, reaching for and threading your fingers through his hair. “I’ve dreamt of this happening.”

He smiled up at you then, raising an eyebrow. “Really?”

You nodded. “I’ve always known it’s you that I’ve wanted to be my first, and I’ve dreamed about it more than once.”

“I wish it could be more than just in the backseat,” he apologized as he slid farther down the seat, almost crouching in the corner so his head was level with your hips. 

“I don’t care Jay.” you closed your eyes and threw your head back when his fingers slid under your panties, pulling them down before tossing them somewhere on the floor. His fingers traced your folds, barely brushing against your bundle of nerves, and you clenched around nothing, needing more. 

“As much as I want to take this slow, you’ll be missed if you don’t show up soon,” Jensen groaned, barely pushing against your entrance. Pressing in, he watched as your mouth shaped into an O, your hips arching off the leather seat. Jensen pressed your hips down, gently curling his finger deep inside you before sliding back out. In and out he slid the finger, driving you wild. Hovering over you, he added another finger, stretching you while his lips found yours. 

Suddenly you were empty, as his hands fumbled down below. Then he was back, the tip of him pressing against your entrance, sliding in.

Reaching up, you grasped his shoulders, gasping as he pushed through in one motion. You felt a slight twinge but it was gone as he fully sheathed himself inside you. “Okay?” He asked, his eyes searching your face. 

“Perfect,” You answered. 

Jensen set the pace, and you let him take control, reveling in the feelings he sent rocking through your system. The windows started to fog up, your perfectly coiffed hair unraveling around your head. But you didn’t care. All that mattered was the feel of Jensen on top of you, inside you. And you knew, that no matter what happened this evening, no one could take this moment away from you. 

Dean/Jensen Tags: @acortez82 @acreativelydifferentlove @adoptdontshoppets @a-girl-who-loves-disney @akshi8278  @bebravekeeponfighting  @brindz30 @cap-just-said-language @colette2537   @deansgirl215   @its-not-a-tulpa @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @just-another-winchester @karouwinchester @keikoraventeller  @krys198478 @librarygeekery @misspygmypie @mlovesstories @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk  @mrspeacem1nusone @nothinbuttrouble2 @ria132love @ruprecht0420     @sortaathief @superseejay721517 @squirrelnotsam @team-free-will-you-idjiot @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @torn-and-frayed @tricksterdean @wonderfulworldofwinchester @woodworthti666

Forever Tags: @aditimukul @alexwinchester23 @algud @amanda-teaches @andreaaalove   @artisticpoet @atc74 @be-amaziing @camelotandastronauts @caswinchester2000 @chelsea072498  @closetspngirl   @docharleythegeekqueen @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008  @esoltis280   @gh0stgurl @goldenolaf25 @growningupgeek  @heyitscam99 @hobby27 @horsegirly99 @internationalmusicteacher @iwriteaboutdean  @jayankles @jensen-gal @lowlyapprentice @karlee-fay-my-wayward-son @lifelovelaughangell123 @li-ssu @linki-locks11 @littleblue5mcdork  @lowlyapprentice   @maui137 @mogaruke @monkeymcpoopoo @musiclovinchic93  @nanie5   @percussiongirl2017 @plaid-lover-bay25   @roonyxx @ronja-uebrick @roxyspearing @samanthaharper2018 @samanddeanmyheroes @sandlee44 @shamelesslydean @simonsbluee @sillesworldofwriting @sgarrett49 @spnbaby-67 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @spnwoman   @superbadassnatural @thatcrazybookwormgeek   @thewinchesterchronicles @vvinch3st3r @wecantgiggleitsafandom @whimsicalrobots @winchester-writes @zombiewerewolfqueen

[writingsformuse]

So Be It (part ii)

SUMMARY: (Crowley x Reader series) 

You turned her head to glare at the demon next to you. A newer face, but familiar somehow. He stands tall with his shoulders back, looking in the same direction you had been gazing at moments ago. What struck you most were his pitch black wings, a standing contrast between the angel’s white wings and your own brown ones. His feathers looked soft, but they seemed burned at the edges.

Oh, right- you think- the fall.

WORD COUNT: 1373 words

AUTHOR: Lydia

NOTES: here ya go! enjoy, and feedback/reblogs are loved dearly. message me if you wanna be put on the tag list!

part i

It was the seventh day of the world, and you were growing rather tired of the view ahead of you. Sand, blown by wind and shaped into haphazard dunes for miles upon miles upon miles. As to why anyone would put an oasis of a garden here was beyond the celestial being, but that must be part of God’s “ineffable plan” the angel in white next to you continues to muse over. This angel, so pure and built to God’s image perfectly, but you could sense an ounce of speculation in his heart.

Good, you’d think when you’d notice him think for himself. Be you.

Your eyes focused on the two humans walking. It hurt your heart, watching those two first humans be forced from Eden. Your heart ached, not for their punishment, but for the trickery- the warping of free will for an agenda evil. Or maybe, more than Hell’s doing, you were more upset with God Herself for placing a forbidden tree in the center of a luscious garden with no way of stopping a new creature with free will.

Yes, that you were made about. Temptation, from both sides. 

More than most, you were aggravated at yourself for not catching the serpent on time. The serpent, a demon no doubt, gliding across the Garden floor growth to the fate of humanity. You were upset you weren’t around to remind Adam and Eve they could make (and should make) their own choices for their own good.

“Well, that went down like a lead balloon.” 

You turned her head to glare at the demon next to you. A newer face, but familiar somehow. He stands tall with his shoulders back, looking in the same direction you had been gazing at moments ago. His hair, long and red and tucked into curls, was blown behind him gently by a wind coming from the east. The most peculiar of all was the stark resemblance of the snake he had just formed from; the serpent that tainted the Garden of Eden, you recognized. His eyes were slated down the middle, a jaundiced yellow around the black crevice. Snakes adorned his face under his sideburn, and you found it amusing. What struck you most were his pitch black wings, a standing contrast between the angel’s white wings and your own brown ones. His feathers looked soft, but they seemed burned at the edges.

Oh, right- you think- the fall.

“Sorry, what was that?” the angel, Aziraphale, asks. He, too, watches the humans in worry. You found it humorous the immediate difference between him and the demon- two sides of two very distant coins. You were somewhere in the middle- you were the middle.

“I said, ‘Well, that went down like a lead balloon,’” the demon repeated. You still stare at him as he looks past you to the angel.

“Yes, yes, it did, rather.” Aziraphale’s voice is laced with concern, and it’s rubbing off on you. Your eyes travel back to Adam and Eve.

“Bit of an overreaction, if you ask me.” The angel looks at the demon with a side eye. “First offence and everything.” You understood though, you would almost say you agreed. “I can't see what's so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil anyway.” You furrowed your eyebrows at that, thinking about the fallen’s words.

“It’s not about knowing the difference, it’s about falling for temptation to act upon a side.” Your first words aloud grab the demon’s attention, and he cocks his head ever so slightly as he looks at you. Studying, you would say, but he looks away before you can pin the look.

“Well, it must be bad…” the angel started.

“Crawley,” the demon informs him.

“-Crawley. Otherwise you wouldn't have tempted them into it.”

“Oh, they just said, ‘Get up there and make some trouble,’” he says nonchalantly, and you chuckle shortly. 

“Well, obviously. You're a demon.” The nerve of the angel, you swear. “It's what you do.”

“Not very subtle of the Almighty, though,” Crawley begins. “Fruit tree in the middle of a garden with a ‘Don't Touch’ sign. I mean, why not put it on the top of a high mountain? Or on the moon? Makes you wonder what God's really planning.” You avert your gaze back to him, and he’s already looking at you. Studying, indefinitely, you decide. He knows you agrees.

No wonder this one fell, you think.

“Best not to speculate. It's all part of the Great Plan.” Aziraphale, in every way, looked like he was trying to convince himself the same. “It's not for us to understand, it's ineffable.” And he looked mighty proud of using that word to a new person.

“The Great Plan's ineffable?” Crawley asks. Now he was studying his angelic counterpart who still has not made direct eye contact.

“Exactly. It is beyond understanding and incapable of being put into words.”

“Awfully funny was of having a plan if you can’t share it,” you mumbled, and Aziraphale shot you a look of caution. “Oh, I’m down here for a reason-”

“Didn't you have a flaming sword?” Crawley asks, and you look to Aziraphale. 

“He did,” you muttered, scanning the garden.

“It was flaming like anything. What happened to it?” Aziraphale releases a soft “uh” and you chuckle again. “Lost it already, have you?”

“Gave it away,” you informed him.

“You what?” the demon gasps. 

“I gave it away!” Aziraphale says, standing his ground. “There are vicious animals, it's going to be cold out there, and she's expecting already.” Again, trying to convince himself.

“And heavenly said, ‘Here you go, flaming sword. Don't thank me!’” you half-mocked.

“‘And don't let the sun go down on you here,’" he added, and you nod to confirm the tale. “I do hope I didn't do the wrong thing.”

“Oh, you're an angel,” Crawley whole-mocked. “I don't think you can do the wrong thing.” In your mind, you ask as always, what makes wrong so wrong? But it’s a question for another time, a question for possibly other entities rather than the ones on each side of you.

“Oh, oh, thank you,” the angel stammers. “Oh, thank you. It's been bothering me.”

A lion roars across the dunes, and you gaze to the beast in front of the humans. You shifted your footing, watching anxiously. The flaming sword in the man’s hands adds strength to the felt fear, and you frowned deeply. Oh, how badly you wanted to go and help them.

“I've been worrying, too.” You look to the demon on your left at the sound of concern in his voice. “What if I did the right thing with the whole ‘eat the apple’ business? A demon can get into a lot of trouble for doing the right thing.” What makes right so right?

More importantly, you thought, Is this free will speaking? But you pushed the thought down, saving it for a day long away.

The man lands a fatal blow to the lion’s neck, and it falls heavily. You relax your shoulders, shifting back to your previous stance. 

“It'd be funny if we both got it wrong, eh? If I did the good thing and you did the bad one.” Both chuckle at the demon’s words, but you remain silent. Both of you could do what you want, not what you think home office will want.

Aziraphale stops laughing as soon as he realizes the implications of consequence behind the joke. “No, it wouldn't be funny at all.”

Suddenly, thunder sounds over the dunes behind Paradise. You flinched, and quickly look at the demon beside you. You raised your wings, one over Aziraphale and one over Crawley, more worried about whether or not what’s about to fall is holy water, worried if this being next to you might singe and wither at the slightest raindrop. 

The rain falls softly onto your wings, and it feels adequately normal. But you kept your wings high, both of the men comfortable under the shelter and you fine with the rain. Crawley looks above him at your cinnamon-colored wing. He gazes at you, eyebrows furrowed, and nods. You release a soft smile, and look out over the dunes yet again at the humans.

[royallyprincesslilly]

Late (7.4)

T’Challa X Black Reader

Warning: Angst, Cursing

Note: Reader works for the Udakas as an International Political Advisor. The attraction has always been there but neither every acted on it. Will it be too late?

——————————————————————————————

“You do not have to accept it. I’ve done it.” You responded.

“I do have to accept it. You forget this is not America. This is Wakanda. I am the King of Wakanda. I have the say of what goes on here.” He informed. You turned to look at him and saw his authoritative face had returned. There was no vulnerability on him. He straightened his posture and clenched his jaw. This was The King you were speaking to now. Not the man who’d just eluded to the fact that he loved you. Not even the man who had your juices smeared across his lips not too long ago. He was King T’Challa.

“I reject your resignation. You will remain here.” He ordered.

“I will not. You can’t do that.” You protested like a child.

“I can and I have. I am the King of Wakanda. What I say the people have to do.” He cockily said. You narrowed your eyes.

“I am not Wakandan, as your council love to remind you, I am an outsider. I do not have to do what you say.” You declared showing the backbone your father built in you from when you were old enough to walk.

“You are in Wakanda though and you signed a contract. If I understand correctly and I do, the contract says that the only way you are to vacate this position is if the King is displeased with your service and voids it and your services, or death. Otherwise this contract is standing for it’s duration which I am sure the black and white says 10 years.” He raised, never backing down. You opened your eyes wide.

“You can’t do that…don’t do it.” You said in a strangled voice. Complete shock he would do this.

“Seeing as you are not dead and I have not voided the contract you are still contractually bound. You are a lawyer I am sure you know you are legally bonded to.” He added. You felt the air being sucked from your lungs.

“Don’t do this, please don’t do this.” You pleaded.

“I am the King, you serve Wakanda and me at my pleasure. Therefore that means you are not going anywhere.” He finished. You glared at him and if looks could kill he would be dead.

You backed up a few steps. You were in complete disbelief how this flipped. You were supposed to have the upper hand.

“Don’t do this T’Challa, please don’t do this.” You begged tears beginning to spill onto your cheeks.

“It is already done.” He responded with a stern voice but his face betrayed him for a moment and you saw the anguish.

“No. You can’t do this, you can’t force me to stay here. That is called kidnapping.”

“That is an American concept and one that does not apply here. You signed this contract and since it has only been 6 years, that means you have 4 more on your contract.” He finished.

Your heart sank, the pit of your stomach was in knots, not excited ones, but dreadful ones. Your back bumped into Ayo and Okoye.

“No.”You whispered.

In an act of irrational desperation You slipped past them and began to run to the jet-ship, desperate to leave. Desperate to stop the pain. You didn’t even make it 6 steps before Okoye grabbed you and pulled you back. You screamed into the night sky.

“No, no, no! Stop it! You can’t fucking do this, you fucking can’t!” You shouted hysterically as Okoye pulled you back to look at T’Challa. You continued to struggle trying to get away, you slipped past Okoye again but Ayo grabbed you putting your arms behind you through her spear.

“Ah, no!” You screamed. She tightened her grip on the spear restricting your actions but not trying to hurt you.

“Stop Y/N.” T’Challa pleaded.

“You stop. You can’t keep me here.” You repeated.

“Y/N.” He began.

“What is your goddamn bright idea? Keep me here against my will? I will always try to leave, always.” You spat out.

“Y/N, please.” T’Challa begged.

“Let me go.” You shouted trying to wiggle free with more force. They gripped tighter and you began to cry more.

“What would you like done my king?” Ayo asked through gritted teeth.

“She is right, she will keep trying.” Okoye added, there was a hint of pride in her voice.

“Take her to her chambers. Lock the door from the outside.” T’Challa ordered.

You screamed and resisted with all your remaining energy.

“No. Don’t do it. Don’t!” You shouted over and over. Ayo and Okoye began to move you away from the jet-ship back to the palace.

“No, no, Okoye don’t do this. Please, help me Ayo. You both know this isn’t right.” You pleaded on deaf ears.

“Please!” You sobbed again as they continued to try to move you. You were going to make them work for it if they weren’t going to help.

“Don’t fight Y/N.” Ayo advised.

You shouted out once more. Your voice echoed through the hanger bay.

“Wait, wait, T’Challa, wait.” You requested.

“Wait.” He said walking closer to you. He stared down into your face and he looked as if he was remorseful.

“Okay, okay let’s make an agreement.” You offered.

“What agreement?” He asked.

“Let me go, I won’t resign, I will continue my position but from outside Wakanda. I will fulfill my contract, all of it, but not here.” You bartered. He studied you.

“T’Challa please. Please.” You groaned out.

“This will kill me. This will be pure torture, it will kill me. Please don’t kill me.” You begged tears streaming down your face. He lifted his hand and wiped one of your cheeks with the back of his hand. You closed your eyes at the softness you felt. You remembered how softly he touched you that night, you remembered his soft kisses, his tender words, the way he looked at you as if you were the most important thing to him. Without knowing it you cuddled your cheek closer to his fingers wanting to be closer. T’Challa found himself lost staring at you. He heard the pain in your voice, he felt your pain, your anger, he felt it but still he couldn’t let you go. He truly felt like a selfish human being.

“You will remain here. I cannot let you go.” He quietly whispered.

It took several moments for the words to resonate. You opened your eyes and looked at him allowing his words to sink in. In an instant you flipped a switch. You fixed your face in the most vicious scowl and stepped closer to him. Ayo and Okoye restricted the action as if they knew you were up to no good.

You had a moment of weakness as you saw deeper into him, you recognized his heart, it was his heart you fell in love with. You scolded yourself before going back to the bad bitch you were raised to be. You glared into his eyes.

“I…hate…you!” You spat at him with the heat and force of 20 flaming blades. You saw him flinch and he made up his face as if he felt the impact of those blades and your words. He flared his nose and you saw his Adam’s Apple bob as he gulped down.

“I will never forgive you, ever!” You spewed venomously.

"You don't mean that." T'Challa said. He sounded as if he was breathless as if I'd taken the air from his lungs. You tried to step closer, you only managed half a step before Ayo and Okoye stopped you. Your face was so close to him. So close you could smell him. The rain watered down his scent but he still smelled like the best thing in the world to you. You looked over his features briefly. Water was dripping from him. You wondered if this was how he looked in the shower. You'd had too many dreams of him in the shower and they all ended with you screaming his name. You clenched your jaw reminding yourself to hold on to your anger. You didn't need much reminding.

"When I tell you something, I mean that shit!" You responded to him in a low resentful voice. The moment you said it you saw his eyes flash yellowish green. This one was different though.

He looked down and nodded to Ayo and Okoye. They tugged you away back to the palace. You resisted the whole way, through every hall, every corridor. When they got to your chambers they placed you inside and saw the entire unit was trashed. They looked to each other unsure what to do. That was when T’Challa approached and saw the damage and specks of blood around the room. He frowned.

“Take her to another room, send someone to clean this up. When they are finished bring her back, and lock her in.

“My king.” They responded before leading you down the hall. T’Challa stood there and looked around at the damage he had done.

“Give me strength.” T’Challa whispered in the empty room.

To Be Continued....

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[monkeysatemylastrolo]

Safehouse Ch.2

(Previous chapter) (More to come. Eventually.)

Previously: Sam came to the decision that Dean’s abusive behaviour to Jack wasn’t something Jack deserved to be around, so he and Jack left and moved to an old Campbell cabin in Montana. This chapter covers their first week there. 

The next week passed with surprising ease. On the day after their arrival, Sam got them both up early and, leaving the car from the Bunker covered, they hiked to the nearest town and travelled (using several buses) to meet up with a woman Sam had found on something called “craigslist.” The cheap, slightly rickety car they bought from her (a preventative measure, Sam said, to ensure Dean couldn’t ‘track their plates’) made the trip back to the cabin much easier- and proved even more useful when they stopped along the way to stock up on food, bottled water and various fruit juices. Then, later that evening, Jack watched as Sam checked, repainted, and improved on the cabin’s wards, listening intently as the older man explained what each design meant, and what they either defended against or shielded them from.

After that, and for the first time since before he had first heard the all-encompassing screeching of Angel Radio, it wasn’t long before Jack started to feel somewhat solid and safe. Discussions about the wards led to discussions about his powers and, from there, to Sam clearing up the ‘Interdimensional Can Opener’ comment which had been pressing at the back corners of Jack’s mind ever since he’d heard it. With a new understanding of why Sam had been so eager for him to train (and a new sense of freedom in it when Sam also told him that he didn’t have to train- or help- if he didn’t want to), Jack, fuelled by a new sense of clear purpose, threw himself back into the (admittedly still frustrating) exercise of trying to master his latent skills. For one hour every morning, and one every evening, he worked under Sam’s tutelage, fine-tuning his control over the pencil. By day three, he could use it to write large, shaky letters in one of the notepads they’d bought just for this purpose. By day five, those letters had become smoother. Smaller. By day seven, Sam announced that he thought it wouldn’t be long before they could move onto larger items (and, further down the line, to more complicated tasks).

In between the training, they had plenty of downtime. Jack continued to work steadily through the Harry Potter books, while also watching the ‘Clone Wars’ series recommended to him by Netflix. Sam spent his time either on his laptop, reading from the large collection of texts lining the cabin, or working through his daily exercise routine. And, in the midst of all that, they talked. About anything and everything, really- whatever came to mind. The ever-changing order of Jack’s list of favourite foods (though nougat still remained firmly at the top). The moral strengths and weaknesses of the Jedi Order. The life cycles of everything from the yellow-breasted birds (Western Meadowlarks, a google search informed them) which sometimes flew nearby, to the very stars themselves. Sam was knowledgeable about any number of topics, Jack quickly discovered, and what the Hunter didn’t know he was always more than happy for them to research together.

It was during one such discussion on the fourth day, while Sam was telling Jack about which creatures from Harry Potter he knew to be real (and how they differed from their book counterparts), that the subject of potentially going Hunting first came up. Sam seemed uncertain at first- that distant, mournful expression which always cropped up when something reminded him of his brother returning in full force- but nonetheless, after a few minutes of silent consideration, he admitted that maybe going out in the field would help Jack not only to see more of both the world’s good side and its bad, but might also help him in mastering his skills.

Which was why, from that day forth, a third ‘training’ session was added to the afternoons. Sam would provide a topic, or introduce a particular computer skill and, at the end of the hour, Jack would perform whatever test (whether it be a verbal quiz or a demonstration of his digital ability) Sam thought necessary to check his progress.

And every single part of it was fascinating. The monsters. The patterns. The stories of old Hunts. (Sam was always careful to stress the importance of nuance, though. No case, he said, was entirely black and white. Even ‘monsters’ had their reasons most of the time, and neither of them should ever let themselves forget that. Remembering how Sam had tried to defend him against Dean’s and Donatello’s judgements, and how eager that had made him to prove Sam right, Jack could say quite easily that he agreed with the sentiment.)

So yes, overall, and much to Jack’s surprise, days spent in the cabin could quite reasonably be described as… fun

The same could not be said, however, for the nights.

Jack found the nights… hard. It was more difficult, somehow, to keep hold of that secure sensation he felt during their daytime activities when all of that ground to a halt and, all alone in his room, the darkness wormed its slimy way in. His body grew too tense, his mind too cluttered. Every flutter of wings from the birds outside marked the arrival of another Angel- another piercing Voice ready to drive him to his knees. Every flicker of light was Asmodeus’ eyes, the Demon come to slither his way in and trick Jack again with more false promises of redemption and peace. Every shifting shadow was Dean, emerging from the dark with Fury in his eyes and a weapon of untold power in his hands. Every whisper of wind was filled with hissed accusations, his mother and Castiel calling from beyond the grave to taunt him with their disappointment- their certainty that they had been mistaken all along, and that he had always been destined to fail and fall and turn.

And every hoot or chatter or croak carried in on that wind was Lucifer. Agreeing. Laughing.

Jack really hated nights.

Despite that fact, however- despite the seemingly endless hours it took for sleep to finally claim him each time- Jack found that he didn’t want to mention any of his fears to Sam. Not because he thought the Hunter wouldn’t help (on the contrary, he was fairly certain Sam would do every single thing in his power to fix it), but because… he didn’t want to hurt Sam. He knew how much Sam loved his brother. He knew how much it pained him to have made the choice to move away. And he also knew that, somewhere down the line, Sam was hoping for a reconciliation. That he would never stop hoping for a reconciliation.

How could Jack possibly ruin that hope that by admitting that he was, if anything, even more scared of Dean now than he had been before?

It was on day eight, when Jack had just successfully answered Sam’s series of questions about how to identify, locate and stop ghosts, that he noticed Sam eyeing him steadily. Appraisingly. Instead of starting his usual pattern of closing (or bookmarking) the tags (and books) he had been using for his research, Jack halted instead, staring straight back.

“What is it?”

“How would you-” Cutting himself of with a bite to his lip, Sam studied Jack for a moment more before nodding to himself. “Do you think you’re ready to try going on a Hunt?”

Biting back his instinctive, enthusastic ‘yes’ (because he knew Sam was asking for a more deeply thought-out answer here), Jack considered it. Was he ready? Sam wouldn’t even be bringing this up if he hadn’t already found something he thought Jack could handle, but Sam didn’t know about all of the fears and weaknesses Jack was hiding from him…

He thought he’d be okay at night if Sam was in the same room (which would, he knew, be the case at any motel they stayed at), so hopefully that wouldn’t be an issue. But what if they got separated? And what if he lost control of his powers in some way? Just because he could control a pencil while in a quiet cabin, that didn’t mean the same would necessarily be true during the dangers of a Hunt.

On the other hand, though, what if he did have enough control? What if there was some person out there, right now, who Jack’s powers could save? What if going on a Hunt helped him master the next level of control even faster than they had thought? (He’d almost been able to open that pit for Asmodeus, after all, and his desire to help had been fuelling that.)

What if he gained enough control to help Sam get his mom back?

Squaring his shoulders, Jack looked Sam dead in the eye. “I don’t know,” he admitted truthfully. “But I’d like to try.”

The small, proud smile which tugged at Sam’s lips told him he’d answered correctly, and Jack felt his own face respond accordingly. A few moments later, Sam reached down to pick up his own laptop, propping it on one arm as he directed the screen in Jack’s direction. On it were two pages from the same online newspaper- the first with the headline ‘Local man murdered in home’ displayed in clear letters, the second ‘Local woman killed by dead son?’

“Then I guess we’re going to Madison,” Sam said.

(I know that it was originally Dean who found the Hunt in ‘The Big Empty,’ but in this story he’s kinda busy with other stuff. I did, however, decide to slightly adjust the timing so Sam found the Hunt a little later to make up for it- hence the second article.)

Thanks for reading!

[graceverse]

Of Nightmares and Dreams

Rating: Teen and Up Audience Fandom: Game of Thrones (TV)A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin Relationship:Jon Snow/Sansa Stark Characters: Jon Snow, Sansa Stark, Robb Stark, Arya Stark Additional Tags: Cannon divergent

Well, now! A proper fic at last. Hope you guys enjoy this. 

Summary: Now, Jon was the one left to take care of Sansa. Now she was his to protect.Such a possessive word. His.It scared him. It thrilled him. Just thinking of it made his lungs hurt, it was like he was drowning and could not breathe, it made him sick to his stomach.  

Jon’s nightmares had never left him. At Castle Black, they came every night: bones as cold and bitter as ice, clawing at his face, tiny strips of his skin falling slowly on the ground. Beyond the wall, the dreams changed, they became more difficult to remember but it terrified him nonetheless, the nightmares that he couldn’t recall. White and blue light flitting past his eyes, shadows lurking around him, things that he couldn’t fight, that couldn’t be killed by any kind of weapon.

The most recurring nightmare was about arrows pierced through hearts and eyes covered in red hair, kissed not by the sun, but by blood. He wanted to reach out and save her, but he couldn’t. Arms were holding him back, black faceless shadows surrounding him as they repeatedly stabbed his already dead body. He tried to move, to run, but his feet were tangled from the mangled and rotting bodies around him, the stench of death and decay, smothering him. Brothers of the Night Watch. Free folk. Direwolves. Giants. All dead and rotting.

The nightmares always visited him at night. Always. Without fail.

Months and weeks had passed. He was no longer a Brother of the Night’s Watch. He was no longer a Free Folk. He was back to being Jon Snow. Some would call him Lord Snow, others would still mutter ‘bastard’ beneath their breaths, soft enough that he would often wonder if he had really heard it. But it does not matter. He was back at Winterfell, surrounded by new faces.

Jory was gone, Hullen, gone, Mikken and Farlen, Maester Lwin, also gone. Those that had marched South with his father and sisters, those who had stayed and fought off Theon and the Boltons, all those that he had dreamt and prayed of seeing again, all of them were now gone.

There was only one person left who still reminded him of home. 

She gives him precious little smiles, some doesn’t even reach her eyes, and so he strives most days to bring her good news: the Free Folk, especially the women, settling happily in the castle, glad of the warmth and the stone walls that will protect their children. The sections of Winterfell that were slowly being rebuilt. He has found a master sculptor to repair the beheaded Direwolves that were guarding the crypt. Ramsay had a different kind of cruelty and Jon often wondered how much Sansa had suffered under his hands.

It didn’t take long for him to find out. 

Their chambers were not too far from each other, unlike before when he was almost nearer to Jory’s and the rest of his father’s most trusted men. Now his chambers were but a few steps away from the Lord’s Chamber.

He heard her screams, the terrifying heart stopping wail of pain. The first time he heard, he had bolted from his bed running straight to her chambers. Brienne was there – she was always there – and had told him that Sansa was fine and that there was no need for Longclaw. Jon hadn’t even realized that he held his sword so tightly, his knuckles had turned white.  

“Who is it?” The voice that asked could not have belonged to Sansa, not the the Sansa who had boldly told him she will take Winterfell back with or without his help. Not the Sansa who had told Ramsay that he will die tonight. It was a voice of a little girl, barely a woman, scared and trembling.

Jon stepped forward, ignoring Brienne who had also moved to bar him from entering Sansa’s bedchambers.

“It’s me. Will you let me in, please?”

There was no answer but the door opened and Jon met Sansa’s blue eyes, weary and darker, bruised by the tears that had stained her cheeks. “Jon…I…I’m fine. I’m sorry to have wakened you, My Lord.”

That made him angry. She need not hide from him, this wounded girl haunted by nightmares. He had promised her protection and there were many things he could never be able to protect her from, nightmares just one of the many, but he could at least offer her some sort of comfort. “Sansa –” the warning tone on his voice made her nervously swallow. “Please.” He added, gentler this time.

“Perhaps you should put on some clothing first, my Lord.” Brienne said and it took Jon a second to realize that he wasn’t wearing much. He could feel his whole face turning red, suddenly infuriated at himself, at Sansa and at Brienne all at the same time.  

“It’s fine. Here.” Sansa answered, handing him a thick fur coat. Belatedly, Jon realized it could not have been hers, it was far too heavy and it was only when he had shed the cloak in his room did he realized who it belonged to.

It was Ned Stark’s. An old one. Sansa had probably found it when she had taken their father’s room. 

It was their father’s, aye, but it smelled of her. Clean and lemony and faintly sweet. Something he had never smelled before, something he couldn’t name, but he could easily recognize as Sansa.  

Jon hadn’t meant to stay longer than needed, hadn’t meant to wait until Sansa had fallen back asleep but it had become a routine, only the next time it happened, he made sure he wasn’t running half naked inside her room.

At first, she would tell him little about her nightmares. She said she didn’t remember but he had the patience for that. Nights of standing guard on top of the wall, doing nothing but staring into the snow had taught him patience. 

Slowly, gently, he pressed and prodded and persisted, until she started to share small details: Lady, her gentle direwolf, howling mournfully, red blood gushing from the cut on her neck.

They made father kill Lady. She was kind and good and never hurt anyone.

Sometimes, the nightmares brought her back in King’s Landing. She was kneeling before the Iron Throne, being stripped naked in front of the whole jeering court, the sound of tearing fabrics filling her ears, until she realized it was her skin that they were slowly tearing apart and Joeffry was gone and it was Ramsay who was holding her hair, so he could force her face down on fur pillows that still faintly smelled of Robb.

He took Robb’s room. He tied me up on Robb’s bed. He…

And Jon would have to stop her from telling him more because she was gasping for breath and Jon could feel his own blood singing inside his ears, could feel his fingers digging deeply into his clenched fists, wanting and needing to hurt Ramsay and everyone that allowed all the horrifying things that had happened to Sansa.

Sometimes, I dream of father and mother. They never smile at me. All I ever wanted was to save father and be like mother, but I’ve done so many horrible things, Jon and I can’t take them back and they would be so ashamed of what I have become…the things I had to do…

This was her worst nightmare and Jon would have to force her to look at him every time he tells her that father and Lady Catelyn Stark would never think that way, they would be happy that she was alive, they would be so proud of her. She had taken Winterfell back and everyone loved her.

But I am hateful!

Jon would have to bite back the angry growl, would force himself to remain calm. Nothing could be more wrong, and Sansa needed to understand that. “Promise me you’ll never ever think like that again. Promise me Sansa.”

She would nod and shove her face into his chest, sobbing quietly. He wanted her to actually swear it, with words, but she would only shake her head and tell him that she was so tired and he’d wordlessly tuck her into bed, kissing her forehead.

It was fight he had not yet won. But soon enough, he will convince her that she was never hateful. She was young and naïve, too trusting, but she had always been kind when it was kindness that was needed.

“Do you never have nightmares, Jon?” She sleepily asked him the other night and Jon merely shook his head. There was no sense in burdening her with faceless brothers killing him, the army of dead trying to claw off his face, dead lovers with arrows piercing their hearts.

She especially did not need to know about the nightmares that would visit him as soon as he was back in his chambers.

“That’s good. That’s good, Jon. I’m glad.” She murmured and ever slowly, she leaned forward to tenderly kiss him on his eyes, the one with the scar. Jon’s heart stopped beating and didn’t start back up again until Sansa had snuggled deeper into her pillow, sleeping almost immediately.

He sat there at the edge of her bed, watching her for a long time, just looking at the way her eyelids would flutter, the gentle curve of her cheeks, the long chin, the only Stark feature on her otherwise Tully face. He sat there, without really thinking of anything, just gazing at her and trying to remember her as a child.

Her being happy at his apparent lack of nightmare was something he could connect to that little girl. She thought she had been awful to him but Jon couldn’t really remember anything specific that stood out from his memory. Maybe it was just time playing tricks on them, maybe it was what they all had to endure when they left Winterfell that rendered childhood transgressions inconsequential. 

But really, there wasn’t a time that Sansa had physically hurt him or had verbally abused him. She had called him half-brother, but he had been called worst. She couldn’t have been that bad. When she was a little, she cried about injured birds and would grow pale at the sight of blood. Theon once sneered at that and Robb was quick to bloody up his nose. Sansa hadn’t really paid him any attention when they were children and maybe he had taken offence then, but looking back now, it all seemed petty. He didn’t pay her any attention either. Her daily activities didn’t intersect with his. Rarely was she allowed outside, especially when she was growing up. She was the only daughter of Lord Stark, before Arya was born, so of course, boys were not allowed near her.

On the rare occasion that they were allowed to play together, she never turned her nose up at him, would always choose him as one of her brave knights, not her champion of course, that was Robb, but he was never turned away. It wasn’t until when she finally understood his status at Winterfell that she started avoiding him. And it wasn’t just him. She snubbed Theon too. She only tolerated them to please Robb.

Perhaps more than anything, this was the reason why Jon never really became close to Sansa. Robb had long ago claimed her as his sister and was his to protect and to take care of. She didn’t particularly need Jon to help her as she tried to walk on her own, or when she was old enough, to learn how to ride her horse or when she was older, when she was trying to teach Lady tricks. Robb had been there for all that. 

Robb had been the one who came to her when she had nightmares, was  the one who would berate Old Nan for telling Sansa stories about giants and dead wights coming for little girls who refused to sit still so that her hair could be braided. Robb had been the one who comforted Sansa whenever she was mercilessly teased by Arya or Bran. Robb was the one who made sure Sansa did not get any inappropriate, lingering looks from anyone, including Theon.

Sansa had always been Robb’s from the moment she was born and presented to him, their father solemnly telling Robb that he was to be responsible for her sister’s well being. Which was exactly what Robb did. He doted upon Sansa. More than that Robb was devoted to her.  

And though Robb loved Arya just as much as he loved Sansa, Arya very rarely needed saving, she had been born fiercely independent, so different from Sansa. Arya was proud of the cuts and bruises she would get from playing roughly with the boys. She loathed it whenever Robb tried to defend her from the very same boys who had reluctantly agreed to play with her in the first place.

Arya had so thoroughly confused Robb and Jon hadn’t really been very helpful, he had let Robb thought Arya the same as Sansa. 

Jon had observed amused, as Robb tried to give Arya gentle praises for looking lovely, even though Arya’s hair refused to be tamed in the morning and would end up being all messed up and filled with hay by noon time. 

Jon had seen a bit of himself in Arya, not just because they seemed to have the same face – lean and severe, dark hair, dark eyes, but she didn’t seem to fit in with what Robb thought little sisters should be.

It had taken Robb a while to figure out how Arya was different from Sansa but by then, Arya had already bonded with Jon, who was happy to have someone he could secretly take care of. 

He’d laugh with her whenever she triumphantly defeated the boys she would play swords with. Of course he always had to glare at those boys over Arya’s shoulder, so they knew not to hit too hard, not to move as quickly as they could. Arya need not know that and it boosted her confidence. She shared with him her glorious victories over the secret war she waged against the Septas. Escaping their boring lectures on sewing and cooking and trying to manage the household had been her biggest adventure.

Arya idolized her brothers, Robb and Jon, both. She had seen them practice with their arrows and swords and longed to best them. Sansa on the other hand saw her brother as her hero, but only Robb. After all, a lady only needed one true hero. Of course, Robb was still Arya’s true brother and it wasn’t long before Robb had managed to charm Arya over to his side. Although Jon was certain that he was – and will always be Arya’s favorite.

It hurt to think of Arya. There was always a bright throbbing pain inside his chest whenever he thought of her, lost to him now. Gone, just like Robb.

Now, Jon was the one left to take care of Sansa. Now she was his to protect.

Such a possessive word. His.

It scared him. It thrilled him. Just thinking of it made his lungs hurt, it was like he was drowning and could not breathe. It made him sick to his stomach.  

Sansa was like Winterfell. He’d wanted Winterfell ever since he was a boy, but he would never have thought of trying to take it from Robb and yet he is now, Lord of Winterfell, King in the North.

He would never have thought of bearing the responsibility of Sansa’s well being, her happiness – that used to be Robb’s too and yet here he was, comforting her every time nightmares would plague her, listening to her counsel, seeking her approval, sharing the burdens of managing not just Winterfell, but the North and the Free Folk who were now also under their protection, wanting her smile, needing her presence.

It was all too much to think about. It was late, they both needed their sleep. He had been staying in Sansa’s room longer and longer, lingering until Brienne would loudly cough outside.

Jon leaned down to gently press a kiss on her forehead, just as he had done countless of times before. “Good night, my sweet girl.” He added, briefly running his thumb along her scalp in a soothing gesture.

Sansa blinked up at him, her blue eyes bright, her face sweet and calm, “Good night, Jon. Thank you. I’m so happy you’re here with me.”

He hadn’t expected her to have heard him, he had been terrified of the thought that she would not want to be his sweet girl, but she had smiled at him, that soft smile that made her eyes light up. She had not protested, had not denied him of that. And even if she was half-awake, it meant something to Jon and he held on to that.

It was the only bright thing in the darkest night, when nightmares haunted him.

Jon’s nightmares had never left him. It had changed, but it was always the same. It always started the same way. Inside the dungeons that once held Bolton’s hounds.

Bolton is always there, as though waiting for him, half of his face missing, bits and pieces of flesh falling off as he grinned. Sitting quietly beside him was the largest black dog Jon has ever seen. It’s bigger than Ghost and its eyes were dark and round and huge and friendly, it almost seemed harmless, except for the fact that it was chewing on what appeared to be Ramsay’s nose.

“Bastard,” Ramsay welcomes him, giving him a gruesome smile. “Come and see.” He urges and Jon, unable to stop himself, unable to swing Longclaw, wordlessly follows. It’s a long silent walk, the dungeon becoming a hallway and then a crypt and then, he is led up stairs, towards the Lord’s Chamber and already, he could feel his stomach churning.

“No.” He manages to say, making himself stop beyond the door. He had won the Battle. Ramsay is dead. Sansa is safe.

“Come and see, Bastard.” Ramsay’s mangled face looms before him and suddenly, there were no more walls, just darkness all around him. There were at Godswood but inside a castle. They were both outside and inside: it was cold and it was snowing but there were candles everywhere, shadows dancing beneath his feet, dead Bolton soldier standing around him, faces torn, bellies opened, arms and limbs missing. A boy, Rickon’s age when they had left Winterfell, is sitting by the weir tree, arrows sticking from his whole body. Beside him, a man with a direwolf head is carefully, slowly taking the arrows out. In a comforting voice, he tells the boy that their mother would come home soon and everything will be alright.

“Here she is my lovely bride.” Ramsay sweeps an arm with more bones than flesh across the room, revealing Sansa, her auburn hair just as it had looked when she had arrived at Castle Back, curling lovingly against her temple. Her cheeks were smudged with dirt and tear stains and she looked awfully young, so terribly easy to hurt.

Bile rises up to Jon’s throat, slowly filling his mouth. No. No this is wrong. This is NOT what happened.

“Jon.” Sansa’s voice sounded broken and Jon feels his heart violently thrashing inside his chest. He had promised that he won’t ever let Ramsay touch her. He had won. Hadn’t he?

Hadn’t he?

Ramsay is beside him, handing him an intricate dagger that he had never seen before. “Do you like games, Bastard?”

Jon didn’t answer. He couldn’t take his eyes away from Sansa. “Don’t cry, please.” He begs her, “It will be ok. I’ll protect you, I promise.”

“You can’t protect her.” The boy with the arrows said.

“Aye, you can’t protect her.” The man with a direwolf for its head solemnly agrees.

“No one can protect me.” Sansa echoes her voice already without hope.

Jon made a move to grab Sansa, to take her away from this nightmare. He willed himself to wake up, but he can’t. He knew what was coming next. He turns towards Ramsay, pushes him with all his might, “I already won! Enough!”

Ramsay almost stumbles to his feet, laughing good naturedly. “Let’s play a game, shall we?”

“No!” Jon closes his eye and desperately tried to take control of this dream. He’d never done it before, had never successfully escaped his nightmares, but he tries, every fucking time. It was all that he could do, try.

“I will give you three choices,” Ramsay continues, whispering into his ears. Ramsay’s voice was just as Jon had remembered it: smooth and strangely comforting. There was almost a musical quality to it. It sent shivers down his spine and he helplessly stares at Sansa, who has her arms wrapped protectively over her. She’s now wearing the new dress she had sewn, the direwolf sigil hidden as she drops her head, crying softly.

“Three choices, bastard, because I’m generous like that,” And to prove it, Ramsay plucks out one of his eyes and hands it over to his dog, who happily laps it up. Jon could only watch in horror, his heart painfully slamming inside his ribs. “You will watch as my soldiers take turns raping your sister. Or you can kill her with that dagger.”

Jon looks down and somehow, he was holding the dagger, its jewels blinking up at him. He wants to throw it away, to be rid of it, but he is unable to move.

“Cut her throat. Make it quick. I don’t care.”

Jon swallows hard. No. Not like this.

Please, wake up. Please wake up.

“And the third choice?” Sansa asks in a small pitiful voice.

“I won’t hurt you.” Jon promised her once more. “I’d rather die.”

Ramsay’s laughter ricochets around the darkness that surrounded them. “Oh, you’re going to like the third choice, bastard.” Ramsay walks around Sansa, stopping to the trace the curve of Sansa’s chin, his fingers were sharp, stark white bones against Sansa’s pale face.

“Don’t. Touch. Her.”  Jon angrily raise the dagger and furiously stabs it into Ramsay, who merely took it out and coolly hands it back to him, cold fleshless fingers wraps around Jon’s wrist, as Ramsay pulls him towards him, leaning to whisper in his ears, “you can fuck her.”

Jon staggers back, wrenching his arms off Ramsay’s clutch, his whole body suddenly feeling cold, like had had swallowed a whole frozen lake and his blood had turned into pure ice.

“That’s it bastard.” Ramsay said with shrug, “Watch you sister get raped. Kill her. Or fuck her.”

No.

Jon starts backing away, unable to look at Sansa.

No. No. No.

“Choose and choose wisely, bastard.”

Ramsay’s soldiers stirred and then slowly started to move towards Sansa, encircling her, hands reaching out to touch her. She doesn’t say anything, but he could see her shaking, her eyes wildly darting from one dead soldier to another. Panic rising into his chest, Jon angrily slashed at them; barreling through the dead, until he is able to reach Sansa.

She mumbles his name against his cheeks and Jon could feel the warmth of her breath, the heat of her tears. “I’m sorry Sansa. I’m so sorry.” He tilts her face up, so he can look into her blue eyes before gently pressing the blade against her neck. She surrenders herself to him, lifting her chin, a flash of understanding burning bright in her eyes before she bravely nods and closes her eyes.

But he can’t.

And he won’t wake up.

Why can’t he fucking wake up?

“That’s not the rules, bastard. If you’re not going to kill her…”

“Shut up!” He roars, pressing Sansa closer to him and he whispers endless apologies…because, he could feel her melding her body to his. The sweetness and fullness of her curves, the way she had her lips partly opened as she gasped for breath. He held her closer and closer to him until he was certain that she could feel how utterly depraved he was and how he wanted her… how could wanting her be better than killing her or watching her be dishonored?

“Please Jon,” is his undoing. That softly worded plea, the way she nestled deeper into his embrace, “it’s alright…”

And suddenly ---- they were all gone. Ramsey and his half eaten face, his dog, the dead Bolton army. The boy with the arrows. The man with a direwolf head. The snow. The darkness.

It was just him…

And Sansa…

And fire.

The flames licked every corner of the room, burned down the weir tree, instead of snow falling down on them, it was ashes, gray and soft. The fire turned Sansa’s copper hair almost blood red and Jon expect to burn and he could only try and cover Sansa, his whole body pressing close – much too close, so close...

But he did not feel the searing pain of flesh burning; instead, he felt not heat, but warmth. And soon, he discovers that the fire had burned everything around them.

Everything.

Their clothes had turn into nothing but cinders. There was nothing was between them just skin against skin.

Sansa’s blue eyes stared into him and he watches as she swallows, her throat working exquisitely. He could not take his eyes from her face…and breathlessly, Jon leans down…wanting – no needing – to kiss her, to know her warmth, to let this fire consume them both.

Did she speak his name?

He felt it more than heard it, and he answers back with her name whispered against the back of her ears. Jon couldn’tt close his eyes, did not want to, did not force himself to do anything in this dream… just chant her name: Sansa. Sansa. Sansa.

It was a prayer. A plea. An incantation that can somehow save him from – save them from this.

Because Jon knows that once he allowed himself this dream, he will never be rid of it. It would be a torture so sweet and overwhelming and this dream will replace all the other nightmares. He will want this dream; he will wish it every night.

“Do you never have nightmares, Jon?”

No.

Not anymore.

And slowly, slowly, careful not to frighten her, Jon cups her chin and he captures her lips…

Jon Snow wakes up from his dream, breathless, panting, wanting, needing, despairing and so, so, so… fucked.

[the-fox-knows]

Passing of Time

Prelude to Change (1)

Everyone has their thing. That specific detail of their life that defines more than just their personality and their likes and dislikes. It is something that resonates within them, giving a sort of meaning that only they alone can understand. It is something that has always been around, but with the rise of pop culture it has become bountiful as well as instantaneous. What I speak of are stories.

Stories have been something that have been in existence since the dawn of time; influencing and inspiring those that it touches. For some it is charging the Black Gates of Mordor with Members of the Fellowship; or travelling through space and time in a curious blue box; or perhaps sipping tea with stiff upper lips in the company of the Dowager Countess Grantham.

For me, it is sharing the walks of Elizabeth Bennet and experiencing all the changeable emotions that carry her through the book until the very end when she and Mr. Darcy come together in blissful union. All expectations of happiness and love fulfilled.

The only problem with that is it has altered my perception of reality, thus ruining my love life. When men like Mr. Darcy, Knightley, and Tilney are lingering in my mind it’s hard to not compare them to men of my general acquaintance. Especially those who are brave enough to ask me out. Not to say I'm a particular catch, in fact I’m quite the reverse as I am the proud owner of a reputation that precedes me. While I may not be as extreme as Jane Hayes from Austenland nor guilty of having hallucinations of the back of my shower being a doorway leading to the Bennet’s household, I am known to be a most . . . enthusiastic fan of the Austen era. To summate the meaning of my dedication to the long dead authoress and her equally inanimate heroes the blokes that do take me to the pub around the corner are not quick to repeat the offer in any way, shape, or form. 

I don't consider it much of a loss. I have my hopes for men more romantic then the sole aim to get me to the nearest ale house and then, well...

Though, I suppose I'm not being fair. There was one who was different from the others. But it was finished with my mistake.

Mum worries though; she's always been one for grandchildren and as I’m her only child all her hopes rest on my reproductive organs. Every now and then, when I visit, she'll bring out my old cot for a 'dusting' as she tells me of the new couples that are filling the flats around hers. I usually keep my thoughts to myself at these points in time. At least she's not like Mrs. Bennet. She doesn't arrange blind dates for me or push me to get close to my GP or some of the other things that would be the norm of a modern day Mrs. B. My mum let's me do things in my own time, though she does like to give me little reminders of the ticking clock.

I can't help remind myself of that same ticking clock, but I'm stubborn and have high expectations. What woman doesn't after a generous dollop of Jane Austen. In all fairness, it's that lady’s fault.

I reckon I should properly introduce myself seeing as I'm rambling to strangers about the goings on of my personal life. You should at least have a name. It's Sophie Devon, named after my great-aunt on my dad's side. I've never met her, but I'm told that I have similar features to her so I guess inheriting her name is fitting. I'm a 23, almost 24, year old Londoner with a life not unlike thousands of others; not even my obsession of Austen is unique, though when not with like minded people it can sometimes feel like I am the only one who appreciates the lady’s writings in this modern age. And since it is rare that I am with like minded people I feel myself clinging to my dreams and imaginings stronger and stronger.

When I am forced to detach myself from my telly, filled of Mr. Darcy glowering at all he sees, I can be found working my days in an office — HR to be exact — and what more can I say on that subject other than - Agh! I complain but it's not all bad. My mate, Jules, works just a few desks down within talking distance and is my polar opposite. She has no qualms with men in general, pubs round the corner, or the ... 

But you know what they say about opposites and attraction.

The day was Friday and when I had woken that morning nothing suggested itself to me of a mystical nature. Everything was as it had been everyday before and, to my mind, it would continue in that fashion.

It was December and the annul office Christmas party was that night. It was a thing of mild excitement. I avoided it, but some around the office have assured me that it has improved since the last time I attended.

"Sophe, you going to the office party tonight?" Jules asked across a few drooping heads.

My computer screen showed me that I shouldn't, that I should prepare myself for a long night and wake up tomorrow with the workload considerably lighter and my weekend freer.

"Are you going?" I looked up. She shrugged and spun lazily in her chair. Our co-workers were in varying states of attention. Slack hands holding up nodding heads and drooping eyes only staying open by the sprightly voice of Jules. Friday's were never fast around here.

"I was thinking of it. Dan will be there." She mentioned the name with something of playfulness in her voice.

"Dan is always at those things. It's not surprising," I said, bringing my eyes back to the lit screen. Jules, however, had caught the scent and was intent on pursuing it.

"He said he'd look out for you. Maybe save you a dance."

I gave her a look which she only laughed at. "Fine. Don't dance with Dan. Break his heart some more."

"Keep your voice down, would you," I whispered, darting my eyes around to make sure that no one was paying too much attention to our conversation. I really wished Jules understood the concept of 'there's a time and a place.' Unfortunately for me, she was yet to make that discovery.

"Please, they're all half dead anyway," she motioned widely with an arm.

"Yes, but it's the other half that you have to watch out for," came the quiet voice of Jonny. He sat in the corner of the wide office space and was one of the few who was still diligently working. He paused his typing fingers to look over at us with a smirk. Jules was highly amused by this and let out a crowing laugh as she spun in a full circle, sitting slouched in her chair. I too, found myself smiling.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"So, is it a yes or a no?"The glass doors of the building opened for us and we were hit with a cold blast of air. Winter was well on its way and people all around were bundled snugly. I had my own scarf wrapped tightly around my neck while my hat was pulled low over my ears. I groaned in answer to her question.

"Oh, come on, Sophe. If it's because I teased you about Dan, I'm sorry. But don't let it stop you coming and having a good time."

I stopped and had to give her an arch look. "An office party? A good time?"

"Hey, for you that would be living it up." She hooked her arm through mine and forced me to keep walking.

"Why the sudden urge to go to this Party? You've never been this keen before."

Jules was capable of many things; running every morning before work, applying make-up flawlessly in under five minutes, fooling co-workers into covering for her while she slipped off to treat herself for a longer lunch break. The one thing she was not able to do was lie to me and she knew it.

"Look, I'm worried for you."

I sighed but she went on more strongly. "Ever since you and Dan split you've become more of a recluse."

"I have not," I interrupted. Now it was her turn to give me a look, though it smoothed quickly into one of sympathy.

"I understand. You were never easy to please with all your 'Austen Standards,' and then Dan happens and you began acting like a regular human being.”

I snorted.

"But it’s been six months. That's half a year," She implored.

"I am aware of the amount of time that six months elapses," I mumbled.

"So don't you think it's time to start testing the waters again?"

I didn't answer her straight away and after a huffy sigh, she didn't push for a response. We got onto the tube and remained silent, each contemplating our own matters. She had probably dropped the argument thinking it hopeless. I, on the other hand, was repeating her words through my mind. Everything she said was true. Dan had been great and I had relinquished (somewhat) my grip-hold on Pride and Prejudice and the implacable gentleman that was Fitzwilliam Darcy.

But then I had screwed it up and let my own obsession cloud my judgement. Trying to change someone, especially when that person doesn't need changing, is always a mistake. A horrible mistake.

Jules and I got off the tube and walked the few yards it was to the flat we shared. The jingle of my keys alerted Jax to our presence and, as per usual, we walked in to see him siting right in front of the door, swishing his fluffy white tail.

"Hi Jax," I greeted. The dainty cat ran over and arched his back, happy to accept the petting. Jules walked past and dumped her purse on the chair nearest the front door; her clacking pumps leading her to the small kitchen. 

She and Jax had never seen eye to eye. I had found him sheltering under the flap of a damp cardboard box in the pouring rain looking very forlorn. He had clearly been underfed and had no tags so I had no apprehensions in tucking him under the safety of my raincoat and bringing him back home.

Two years later he's my shadow and sleeps gratefully on the edge of my pillow.

"And how have you been today?" I cooed in a voice I knew annoyed my flatmate. He nuzzled his head against my hand and let out a loud purr.

"Yes. Let's get you some dinner." 

I unwrapped my scarf and doffed my hat, adding it to the pile on the chair; my handbag acting as the cherry on top before I followed Jules to the kitchen. Jax trailed behind, rumbling like a little motor.

"Ugh. Does he have to walk all over the worktop?" she asked, distastefully eyeing the white fluff that had jumped up and was pacing beside the sink.

"Come on, Jax. Down." I clapped my hands and motioned for him to jump to the floor. He did as he was told and began twining in an out of my legs.

"You should really teach him not to do that," Jules said, scooting out of the kitchen. "You'll trip over him." 

A second later the telly was on and I heard the tune to EastEnders fill the flat.

"I won't trip over you, will I?" I smiled. He only pawed at my leg, entreating me to hurry with his food. I grabbed a can from the cupboard, popped the lid, and served the cat food in Jax's personal bowl.

"I'm going to take a shower," I called out to Jules. She mindlessly waved her hand in acknowledgement.

After a weeks work of the same routine - point A to point B and back to point A - it was nice to just sit a moment with my eyes closed, lying on my bed.

The weekends to me always presented possibilities. My time spent during the week always seemed so formal, so laid out with a lack of possibilities of alterations. My job was a senseless one. It was automatic with a ready made solution to any problem that may arise. There was no testing my abilities nor a need for my brain to think past the boundaries of the four walls of the office. I wanted something different - only I didn't know what it was yet. But it was out there, just like my Mr. Darcy. Patience is all that is required.

With one thought leading to another in a hazy circle of remembering all that had happened that week and what I needed to do to prepare for the next, I opened my eyes and stared up at the ceiling. Jax came up a moment later, joining me as he fit himself in the nook of my shoulder and neck. Idly, I stroked his fur.

‘Perhaps I should go to the party,’ the thought snuck its way into my considerations. It wouldn't hurt and if Jules was entering the realms of being 'worried' then it would be a step closer to putting her anxieties to rest. And if Dan does come and ask for a dance (though, I'd wager it was only Jules saying that) then I'll deal with it in the mature way that I know I'm capable of. After all, I work in bloody HR. I have ready material in dealing with other humans.

With my mind made up, I discarded my clothes and stepped into the shower. The warm water soothed my chilled skin and once I had lathered my body with soap I stood under the spout letting the streams of water run down my shoulders and back. It was numbingly pleasant to just stand there and feel the hot steam build in the room creating a faux sauna that I hoped would seep to the rest of the flat.

When I had finally finished I could hear Jules rummaging around both our cupboards, no doubt searching for something to wear. "You can wear my blue top if you want," I called as I squirmed into my robe and switched on the hairdryer, blasting the warm air into my face. The sooner I warmed up, the better.

"The one with the sweetheart neck?"

"Yeah."

I ruffled my medium length hair, aiming the warm air at the nape of my neck, sending a jolt of gooseflesh down my arms.

"What do you think?" Jules appeared at the door holding up a pair of slim black trousers and the blue sweetheart neck-lined blouse.

"Nice."

"Oh," She slumped her arms, frowning.

"More than nice," I amended, shouting over the droll of the machine in my hand. "The blue will really bring out your eyes."

Said eyes lit up as she examined her outfit. I examined her with furrowed brows.

"You're really putting an effort into tonight," I commented nonchalantly. My hair was becoming relatively dry so I turned the hairdryer off and put it away.

"Well, you know, it's good to make an appearance to show..." she looked up for a second but immediately brought her gaze back down to the clothes as I watched, amused, as she struggled for the word that could possibly explain why she was so eager for an office party.

"...togetherness," she came up with at last.

I turned away, trying my best to hide the grin that was widening fast. "Togetherness," I repeated. From the corner of my eye I saw Jules shift uncomfortably. She was on the verge. Just a second longer.

"Oh, shut up. It's Henry, alright," she blurted.

Sweet victory.

"Henry Ellis from I.T.?"

"Yeah," she came in and sat on the closed lid of the toilet.

"He's been helping me with my computer, as you know, and I don't know. I hadn't really looked at him before - he's not re-"

"Really your type," I finished for her.

"But he's been very sweet," she continued, "and I was hoping that tonight - "

"Tonight you might have the chance to see what he shaves with tomorrow?" I interrupted again.

"No," she said immediately. Then she cringed a little. "Well, maybe a bit. But I don't want it to be just one night. I -" she hesitated.

"Yes?" I stopped my flossing and stared at Jules's reflection in the mirror. She looked up, shrugging her shoulders.

"I want to know him."

I didn't answer at first. I wasn't at a loss of words, but I knew Jules and I knew her temperament. If I gave her a sweet sappy line she'd huff to cover up her moment of vulnerability. Strange ways does the mind work. So I waited for her to follow up.

"That's one of the reasons I wanted you to come tonight."

I tossed the floss into the rubbish bin, slid my tongue smoothly over my clean teeth, and turned to face my uncomfortable friend on the toilet.

"Not to worry, dear one," I playfully patted her head, "I'm coming with you." I then pranced out, leaving her on the throne and went to search for something decent to wear.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

My memory of the last office party was a pathetic one. Half the people were drunk and the other half were on their way there. The dancing had been non-existent unless you counted bodies loosely pressed together moving in a lazy circle, looking more like two forms just trying to keep each other propped up. The food had been passable but the music was the playlist of a fifteen year old hormonal teenager.

That was three years ago. Presently, I had to admit that improvements had been made. There was a tolerable amount of alcohol but not enough to get the entire gathering inebriated; actual couples were dancing in rhythm to the music, which was, thankfully, pleasant to the ears. The only thing that remained the same was the food. But still everyone had something in their mouths; eating mainly because it was there rather than anything else.

Jules, never a timid one, and bolstered by my accompanying her, had succeeded in getting Henry to ask her to dance. Though he seemed very willing. She winked at me with a flirtatious smile spreading winningly across her face as they passed by me. I rolled my eyes and turned away. Best not to encourage any bad behaviour on her part.

Night stood guard at the windows; dark, yet brilliantly illuminated by the added lights of the season, providing its glow even to us who were on the seventh floor. Pedestrians, cars, double-deckers, and all the rest of the multitudes that made up London’s lifeblood looked incredibly small from this height.  

As of yet, I'd seen no hint of Dan. I nearly convinced myself that I wasn't looking for him, but by the time the doors leading to the hall opened for the tenth time and my head spun around to see who it was coming in, I knew that, despite my best efforts, I was anticipating him.

My plastic cup was in need of refilling so I slowly took my time to the punch table. There was only one other person there handling the ladle but they were quick with filling up their cup and walking away. I stepped forward and reached for the handle when my hand collided with someone else's.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't see - " I looked up to be met with a grinning Dan. He was the same as ever; great hair, charming smile, big blue eyes and all it did was remind me of how stupid I had been.

"Hi Dan," I attempted calm, therefore it was unwise of me to reach for the ladle again. You would think that I'd be used to seeing him as we work in the same building, but our offices are on different floors so our paths rarely crossed. With neither of us seeking each other out as we used to, we could go a good month before we caught sight of each other.

"Hey Sophe," he gently pulled the ladle from my clumsy grip and poured out the punch into my waiting cup. He then did the same for himself.

"How are you?" he asked, not looking at me.

"I'm good. You?"

"Oh, you know. I'm always fine." He deposited the ladle and took a sip of the warm liquid.

"I see Jules is still making her conquests." He motioned with his cup towards the pair now with their arms completely wrapped around each other. I couldn't help but laugh, feeling much lighter as I did so.

"Yes, well, she claims her intentions are entirely honourable. I guess we'll just have to take her word for it."

"Ooh, always a dangerous thing to do," he said. Setting down his cup, he extended his open hand to me. I looked at it blankly.

"Care to?" he asked. I raised my eyes to his - thinking. He watched the wheels turning just beyond the barrier of flesh and bone, waiting with a slow smile touching just the side of his lips. Steeling myself, I hastily placed my cup beside his and accepted his hand.

He led us to the side of the dancing, no doubt remembering my shyness in the area of 'movin' and groovin'. The song currently playing came to an end and was succeeded by a much slower one. I gulped inconspicuously as I felt his hand come round my waist while his other held my right hand in a firm hold. We swayed slightly, moving in an easy circle. I kept my attention on the dancers, too nervous to look up into Dan's face. I knew he had his eyes on me, I could feel it and it just brought back old emotions and feelings that stung with a prevalence that brought a guilty flavour to my mouth.

The hand on my waist tugged me just a tad closer and I put my hands softly on his chest; finally looking up at him.

"I'm sorry, but I can't. I'm just...not ready yet." All my HR training left me to deal with my personal life. Suppose fair's fair when I never liked the job anyway.

He dropped his hold on me and nodded once, an accepting expression appeared on his face that wasn't quite a grin, but he tried nevertheless. Step by step I retreated, continuing to apologize.

"I'll see you around," I finished weakly. He let out a good-humoured bark and shook his head.

"You won't. But it was nice to see you tonight, Soph."

I smiled. "You too."

I slipped behind some dancers and went in search of Jules. I found her and Henry sitting closely together at a table in the corner. They were oblivious to the rest of the room and were completely unaware of my presence standing not a foot away.

"Ahem," I dramatically cleared my throat.

"Sophe," Jules tore her attention away from Henry, an apparently difficult task to accomplish.

"I think I'm going to go home," I told her. That gained a larger portion of her attention."

"What? Why?"

"Headache," I lied. "I'll see you later." I saw that she was of two minds; she clearly wanted to get the truth from me, but neither did she want to let Henry slip away.

"Alright, see you later then," she decided, though her eyes told me that she'd be asking later. I nodded, bid the pair goodnight, and then began the trek home.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Jax was cuddled up snugly in my arms, purring contentedly. I couldn't say I shared his ease of mind. Though I did have a remedy for it. 

Pride & Prejudice was loading within the antique chambers of our dated television; a mug of hot cocoa was held comfortably in both my hands, and my favorite red blanket was draped over my knees. The expansive sofa was as comfy as ever.

"Ahh," I sighed, already relaxing as the first notes of the 1995 theme of the mini-series played out of the telly. Time past and I was on the third episode, wishing that I could enter that world and escape from all things modern; jobs; relationships; food (well, some food), when my bladder made itself known. Jax was none to pleased at having to depart from his warm spot, but he didn't have much say in the matter.

I slid down the cramped hall in my socks and consequently nearly lost my balance. With my duty done, I washed up and was just walking back into the sitting room when I unexpectedly tripped over something and came tumbling to the floor. My head painfully grazed the side of the wall and I saw stars momentarily. When my vision cleared I looked to see what it was that had tripped me.

"Jax!" I exclaimed. An ironic laugh escaped my lips as I thought back to Jules's earlier comment just this day.

"Our flatmate may have some hidden powers Jax. Unless it's only that you can understand us and thought it would be a good idea to prove her right."

I scooped him up, bringing ourselves back to the sofa. My head spun suddenly, though, and I had to shut my eyes as I dropped down on the cushions. Jax squirmed out of my arms and went somewhere behind me. I lowered my head into my hands and grumbled out Jax's name in a very accusatory tone. My only response was a loud purr.

"Well this won't do." 

I opened my eyes and cautiously made my way to the kitchen in search of some paracetamol. Finding my target, I turned the cold tap on and filled a glass to the brim. Popping the tablet into my mouth, I had the water chase it down.

Meanwhile, I noticed the suspect lounging luxuriously on my red blanket, grooming himself with gusto, utterly unaware of my glaring eyes. I turned the telly off, yanked the blanket from under him and stumbled to my room, catching the shocked growl. I smirked.

My bed welcomed me while my pillow enveloped my spinning head in soft comfort. The edge of my mattress dipped slightly, announcing the disgruntled presence of Jax. Though a bit miffed, he still curled himself up by my head.

"Night, night Jax," I murmured.

Sleep claimed me swiftly, yet my dreams were turbulent with shifting images of Jules, Dan, Henry, Pride & Prejudice, and a shadowy version of Mr. Darcy made up entirely of animate sentences — everything that had been swirling in my subconscious for the past twenty-four hours. The strangest part came when I appeared to be in a dark, circular tunnel moving fast. I could see nothing distinguishable to prove this, although there was a whip-like wind rushing into and past my face. The speed almost became overwhelming and I felt myself starting to waken.

But suddenly there was a light coming from the other end of the tunnel. I watched as it seemed that this light and myself would collide, though I was surprisingly calm about it. The light grew closer and from its glow I saw a figure flying towards me. It was a young woman, probably near to my own age, with rich brown hair and shining eyes. I didn't notice much else as she and I were about to crash. We both saw the other and looks of astonishment passed our features before all went black and my sleep continued undisturbed.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The sun streamed into my room, sprawling across my bed and shining strongly onto my closed eyelids. I lifted my arm to cover my face and rolled on my side reaching for Jax.

"Jax?" 

I moved my hand around with my eyes still shut. When I couldn't feel him, I opened my eyes and looked around.

I was struck immediately by the foreign room I was currently lying in. The furniture were all antiques, though to my untrained eyes, the pieces were in wonderful condition. There was a wash stand in the corner and an ewer sitting beside it. A small writing desk was positioned near a display of windows and the bed that I lay stunned in was a four poster with sheets and covers that were definitely not mine.

I blinked. Then blinked again. I rubbed my eyes and another wave of shock hit me. Instead of the loose jumper and baggy trousers I wore to bed, I was presently dressed in a nightgown with flared cuffs.

"What?!" I breathed.

There was no sign of my red blanket nor Jax. But one thing at a time. Gingerly, I uncovered my legs and swung them out of the bed. Crumpled slippers lay waiting to be worn so I complied and stood shakily on my feet. My head felt better in regards to the fall last night, but with my new surroundings an all new sort of dizziness was coming over me.

'Maybe I'm still dreaming,' I thought. I pinched myself. 

"Ow!" 

Not dreaming then.

I rubbed the sore skin on my arm as I warily walked over to the writing desk. There were a couple of quills, a spare nib and an ink stand, but no papers. Pulling open the drawers I found a trove of letters. Before I scanned any of them my attention was caught by the view provided outside the window.

The city was gone. Buildings, lights, noise - vanished and replaced with the quiet calm of the country.

"What the -?" My voice scratched but I ignored it. Before allowing myself to freak out fully I picked up a letter, unsent by the look of its creaseless body,on the very top. It was addressed to a ‘Dear aunt’ but it was the signature at the bottom that numbed my fingers and had me seriously questioning my sanity.

Your loving niece

~Elizabeth Bennet

"Elizabeth Bennet?" I whispered. The letter fell from my hand with a quiet shuffle as I spun around to observe the room anew. Quaint, simple, elegant, things generally acquainted with the heroine. Atop the wash stand there was a mirror and I tripped over to it.

I thought I might scream. Not only was the city gone - I was gone. This face that stared at me in the reflection was not my own. The brown hair, the big brown eyes belonged to somebody else. The curving lips and pert nose were the expressions of another person entirely.

"What?!"

Hands that were not mine obeyed my thoughts and brought the limbs up to clasp the face of the stranger's, pulling it in every direction.

"What the hell is happening?" I said a tad louder. The hands grasped the throat and the big brown eyes widened. It wasn't even my voice!

I stumbled back until the back of my knees met the curve of the bed and I sat down, or, should I say the body sat down.

I was scared. I was scared of where I was. I was scared to leave the room. I didn't know what may be out there, so I deliberated. I thought of last night and a torrent of memories flooded back of all the strange dreams I had had. 

That tunnel with that girl. 

It was her! 

That was Elizabeth Bennet?!

"That means," I said aloud, marveling at the strange tone that emitted from me, "I'm in Elizabeth Bennet's body!"

Once spoken my mind reeled and I had no choice but to fall back and pass out.

[kmozymoz]

Chapter One

I startled awake as the tiny plane touched down on the runway with a labored shudder, the wings shaking against the force of the brakes. It started to slow, and I lifted the shade on the window to look out. Clouds blanketed the sky, but enough light was shining through to glisten off the water in the distance, nestled beneath high mountains. In some ways, it already reminded me of home — covered in pines and surrounded by mountains.

I stepped off the steps onto the runway and headed inside the airport to collect my suitcase. I already had a heavy backpack slung over my shoulder, and I thought again about how I had probably overpacked. But everything I read said it was better to be overprepared than to find myself in a bad situation without items essential to survival.

I moved through the crowds inside the airport to wait at the carousel for my bag. People around me chatted excitedly, discussing their own plans for hikes and sightseeing. Some were dressed like they expected it to be below zero outside at all times, decked out in sweaters and heavy winter coats with matching boots. I wondered how they would feel about those choices in the 50-degree September weather.

I pulled my bag off the carousel, and almost dropped it as I suddenly noticed the tag hanging off the side handle.

Beaufort Sisters’ Grand Adventure 2018

I was mostly pre-occupied with packing my backpack for this trip, and had somewhat blindly tossed things into my suitcase once the backpacking materials were in order. I hadn’t really looked closely at this luggage in almost a year. I had forgotten the tag existed, let alone realized it was still attached to the side.

Eve was so excited to give it to me with my birthday present. She ordered it off one of those crafter websites through a custom order, making sure to get it in our favorite colors — blue and green — and carefully choosing the right balance of fun and tasteful in the font choice. She added an opaque shape of a bear and a tree on the outsides of the script as extras.

I rolled the bag to a seating area and dumped it over on its side, quickly removing the tag and unzipping the bag to shove the tag into a pocket out of sight. Zipping it up again, I moved fast toward the exit and tried to ignore how tight my chest felt.

I got halfway across the parking lot before realizing I needed my rental car. With a frustrated sigh, I turned around and went back to the rental car area inside the airport. There was no line and two tellers open, and I walked up to the man with the friendly smile, which I returned half-heartedly.

“How can I help you today?” he said.

“I have a rental car reservation.”

“Last name?”

“Beaufort,” I said, spelling it for him. “Grace.”

He tapped the keyboard a few times, then looked back up at me. “Do you need to add any other authorized drivers?”

“No. Just me.”

“All right,” he said cheerfully, “I just need your driver’s license please.”

I dug the card out of my wallet and slid it over the counter to him. He picked it up and examined it with focus, then excitement.

“Colorado, huh? I spent some time there one summer in college, what a beautiful state,” he said. “You from Denver?”

“Boulder,” I answered.

“Oh, even better! What brings you up here to our neck of the woods?”

I started to wish I had picked the teller without the friendly smile. “A trip,” I mumbled, pretending to look at something on my phone.

He got the hint and kept typing, then told me what car to look for on the lot and the rest of the relevant information. He handed receipts and other information over to me.

“Welcome to Anchorage, enjoy your stay!”

I nodded and took the keys, and found the parking spot he’d pointed me to. It was a small lot, and the black SUV wasn’t difficult to spot. I loaded up and plugged the hotel address into my phone. It was only about fifteen minutes away, and just enough time to see some of the city before dusk.

I arrived in my room just in time to watch the sun start to dip below the horizon, sending brilliant flares of color splashing across the sky. I specifically requested a top floor room on the west side of the building so I could watch the sunset — tonight, and the last night.

Thirteen sunsets to go.

—

I woke before the sun came up the next morning and took a hot shower, knowing it might be my last good shower for a while. I ran over the contents of my backpack one more time, double-checking for the flashlight, head lamp, snacks and hunting knife. I doubted I would need half of it, but I didn’t want to risk not being able to die on my own terms. I might have deserved to starve to death or get eaten by a bear, but I was too much of a coward to go out that way.

I hauled my things down to the first floor and ate breakfast, then made my way to the lobby area where I was told to meet up with the group. Several people were already gathered there, similarly loaded down with gear and belongings. Two pairs looked to be couples, while three others looked like a group of friends. The couples were probably in their late 30s or early 40s, while the other group looked college age. We all subtly took each other in, trying to read as much as possible without words. We exchanged polite morning greetings, then the groups turned back to each other and glanced around for the tour guide.

Two others joined a few minutes later, and I guessed they were brothers or cousins in their 20s. They looked like the type to take the most difficult trail or climb a sheer mountainside just to prove they could do it without breaking a sweat. Those types could be found in every corner of Colorado.

Soon enough, a van approached the front of the hotel and parked, and a tall, athletic man with salt and pepper hair and a trimmed beard hopped out and came through the front doors. He let out a shout and pumped his fist in the air upon seeing us gathered together.

“This looks like the best group ever, ready for the best adventure ever!” he said, prompting a few smiles. “You’re all here for Alaskan Grand Adventure, right?”

We nodded, and he feigned a huge sense of relief. “I was afraid I’d go to the wrong hotel and take a bunch of people on a really long trip in the woods when they thought they were going on a cruise.”

He introduced himself as Peter, and we followed him out to the van to place our things inside. The morning air bit with an icy edge, and I knew it would be worse in the mountains. Maybe I was wrong to silently mock the people in parkas and sweaters. Small spots of frost dotted the parking lot and patches on the back of the van, which had been scraped to visibility.

We departed on our four-hour trek up to Denali National Park, with Peter narrating the drive. He told us about Anchorage’s history with the railroad and oil discovery, and told us the square mileage of the city alone was equal to the state of Delaware.

As he talked, I took in the landscape rushing by. It was drizzling outside, but that didn’t stop the vibrant colors of fall on the trees — amber and every shade of green imaginable showed up on the trees and shrubs, lush in every acre. Once we left the city limits, it was obvious how much of the state was still mostly untouched in development. It felt limitless, wild, and above all — free.

This is what Eve had looked forward to most. She wanted to see as much of the state as possible over the next ten, fifteen, or twenty years, knowing full well we’d never be able to see it all in a lifetime. That was part of what intrigued her about it; knowing there were parts of Alaska that no living person had probably ever seen before. The place is twice the size of Texas, and much of it isn’t even accessible. But she wanted to try.

On our drive to Seattle for that trip, we stopped at so many places along the way. We passed through Salt Lake City and its surrounding areas, and up into Idaho, where we stopped for trails and odd tourist traps. I still have hundreds of pictures stored in my phone from all of those stops. She wanted to see everything we possibly could in the time we had.

Maybe she knew what was coming.

I dozed off a couple hours into the drive, having not slept much the night before, and when I woke we were almost to the lodge where we would stay for the next three nights while exploring the surrounding park areas.

“Where are you from?” I heard a voice say next to me, and I sat up straighter and looked over. It was a woman, one of the couples, who looked motherly but in a tough love sort of way. She had short blonde hair coiffed neatly a few inches above her head, and she wore dark eyeliner, light pink eyeshadow and red lipstick. She wore outdoor gear that looked brand new, and I wondered if she’d just bought new gear or if this was an uncommon outing for her. If it was the latter, she might be in for a long trip.

“Boulder,” I said. “Colorado.”

“Oh, wonderful!” she said. “We’re from North Carolina. This is much more familiar to you than it is to us. I’m Vicky, by the way.”

I shook her extended hand and smiled. “Grace.”

“How come you’re here all by yourself?” she asked in a drawl. “Shouldn’t you have a fella or a friend with you?”

I felt my expression sour, and Vicky could see it too. “Oh I’m sorry, my big mouth. There’s no shame in seeing this beautiful place with just yourself along!”

“It’s fine,” I said. “I was supposed to come here last year with my sister, but it never happened. So I just came by myself.”

“Good for you. Life is too short to wait on other people. But if you’d like to tag along with Joe and me at any point, he’s my husband over there, you are more than welcome.”

“Thanks.”

We pulled up to the lodge, a huge structure made of light, refined wood and plenty of bay windows on each side. It was a stark image in front of the green-covered mountains behind, which were already tinged with white snow at the tops. But the sky was clear and the air was even more crisp as I climbed out of the van.

Colorado air is generally clean and clear, but something about the air in Alaska felt even more pure. Like it didn’t know what pollution was like, had never experienced such a blight in its atmosphere. I took a deep breath and smelled notes of pine and sage.

Peter explained a few logistics and plans before we headed inside as a group, telling us to meet for dinner later in the kitchen area, where we would meet the rest of our tour guides for the events in the coming days. I walked in, feeling myself momentarily hesitate at the doorway. I wasn’t sure I was ready to do all of this alone.

The floors were a similar light wood, polished to a shine, and the walls were adorned with rustic decorations, including a stuffed moose head on the wall above a grand fireplace that was encased with large, smooth stones. Plush chairs and sofas were positioned around the fireplace, along with cozy-looking blankets and a bookshelf with classic titles like White Fang, The Hatchet and other outdoor-focused or Alaskan novels.

The rooms were dotted along a hallway to the left, and I made my way toward my assigned suite. I hadn’t cared at the time what room I received, so when I opened the door, it was startling to see two queen beds. I imagined it was rare for someone to truly come on this trip alone, so single bed rooms probably were either hard to come by or nonexistent.

The room was a comfortable size, with a window looking out at the crowded mountains in the distance. The comforters on the bed were a dark red with forest green blankets at the foot of the bed. A few scenic pictures adorned the walls, including a bear catching salmon in the middle of a river, and moose in the middle of a marshy expanse. I walked toward the window and saw a trail was situated maybe a quarter mile from the lodge marked by a trailhead sign amid a few tall grasses.

Eve and I once hiked a trail in Fort Collins where we didn’t get any cell reception, and five miles in, we were completely lost. It was a steep trail that was smattered with muddy areas that made it difficult to keep our footing, and dark clouds loomed in the distance, threatening a thunderstorm. I guessed we had taken the wrong fork about a mile back on the trail, but we couldn’t seem to find it again. We half-jokingly blamed each other for the confusion and held each other’s hands through the muddy spots, laughing and yelling out when our feet slipped beneath us.

The thunderstorm reached us just before we found the fork again and started to backtrack, and rain poured down in steady sheets. I tried to pull my jacket up over my head for cover, but gave up after becoming drenched anyway.

We both screamed as thunder boomed overhead and drowned us out. We reached the car at last after at least 20 minutes in the storm, and I fumbled with the keys to the car.

“Hurry up!” Eve had shrieked from the passenger side.

“I’m trying!” I yelled back, and popped the door open. We clambered inside and shut the doors, and immediately started laughing. We both looked awful, with mascara running on our cheeks and hair sloppy and soaking. My shoes were waterproof, but enough water had seeped into my socks that they felt like sponges on my feet.

“You look super attractive right now,” Eve told me.

“You should talk. Take a look.”

I flipped the passenger side mirror down in front of her, and she collapsed into giggles.

Because Eve and I were always hiking trails and going on trips, it wasn’t difficult to convince my mother that I was just going on a trip that I had intended to take with Eve. I told her I knew Eve would have wanted me to go, and that was enough for her to understand. She would worry, but she always worried. She had no real reason to expect anything other than seeing me in a couple months again for winter break.

I covered my tracks as well as I could when it came to school. I hadn’t attended since last fall, right after Thanksgiving, but I managed to get my hands on copies of syllabi through my friends so I could keep up pretenses when my mother asked about school work and progress toward my natural resources degree. I looked up the name of counselors at the university and found one I claimed to be meeting with once a week. She had enough she was dealing with on an emotional level that she didn’t have the space to recognize if I was lying or ask for more details, which was good, because I wasn’t a very good liar when pressed. She also had two other children to focus on.

Growing up, we were a close family, including my father. We often went camping in a small RV that my parents would sleep in while the rest of us slept in a tent outside, staying up until all hours playing card games and eating copious amounts of candy while trying not to bicker too loudly and get in trouble. My two younger siblings, Olivia and Caleb, were often the targets of the bickering with Eve and me. Since Eve and I were only a year and a half apart and Olivia and Caleb were twins four years younger than us, it was often a two-on-two battle with the four of us. The older “We were here first” army against the younger “We shared a womb” force. But there was nothing we wouldn’t do for each other, even if we grumbled about it in the process.

Camping as kids is what sparked Eve and I to take our own adventures in the past four years, once we were on our own and going to the same college. Olivia and Caleb enjoyed camping, but they weren’t as interested in the outdoors in general. They were seniors in high school now, and Olivia planned to study nursing while Caleb wanted to be a web developer. Both of them had bright futures ahead of them, and they were young enough that they could move past losing a sibling. Or two. They had each other, and eventually Mom would be okay too because she had them. They would all be better off in the end.

I wasn’t sure when or if my father would ever know what happened to me. He abruptly left my mother and us for another woman when I was 15, and I hadn’t spoken to him in years. Olivia talked to him occasionally, but as far as I knew, she was the only one who bothered. He sometimes sent birthday cards and Christmas money, but that was it. None of us ever understood exactly how he could leave all of us behind and for the most part not look back. I overheard my mother say “mid-life crisis” a few times to her friends and Aunt Terri, but she made sure all of us understood it wasn’t our fault and she asked counselors at our schools to meet with us and make sure we were doing okay. And we were, because we had my mom. My dad had never really been anything but a buddy to us — she was the rock and glue.

I changed from leggings and a top to jeans and a sweatshirt to look more presentable for dinner, and ran a brush through my hair. In the morning, we would head out on a two-day backpacking excursion into a remote area of Denali, so I sorted through my things and set aside what I wanted to bring in my backpack. As I was strategically stuffing long-sleeved shirts and pants inside, my cellphone started to vibrate on the bed.

I debated for a minute whether I wanted to answer, but picked it up anyway.

“Hi Caleb.”

“Hey!” he greeted, moving from a noisy area to a quieter one. I guessed he was leaving school. “I just wanted to say hi and see how Alaska is so far.”

“It’s good,” I said blandly. “I haven’t been here long, we’ve mostly been driving today. I’m headed down to dinner in a little bit.”

“What’s for dinner?”

“I don’t know,” I said, trying to hide an irritated tone. “Probably salmon or something.”

“Cool.”

He was quiet for a minute, and I raised my brows even though he couldn’t see them. “Did you need something?” I asked.

Finally he let out a soft sigh and dropped the overly friendly tone for a more serious one. “Look, I just wanted to give you a head’s up that Melissa knows you dropped out of school last year.”

I felt a flash of panic, but it quickly dissipated with the thought that it wouldn’t matter in a couple weeks anyway. Melissa was a friend of Mom’s who had a daughter in her first year at the same college Eve and I went to, so I wasn’t surprised that someone eventually found me out. Her daughter, Jenny, had contacted me a few times to see if I could meet for coffee and show her around, and I made up excuses until she stopped asking. I stupidly told her which classes I was supposedly taking this semester, and she must have asked around with people and found out I was lying.

“Well, I’ll just have to deal with the consequences I guess,” I told Caleb. “It could only go on for so long anyway. It’s time to fess up.”

“Melissa will probably call you first is all I’m saying,” he said. “I just didn’t want you to be blindsided.”

Tears pricked at my eyes, but I bit them back. “Thanks, Caleb,” I said as normally as I could. “You’re a good brother.”

“Shut up, sap.” He was quiet again, then asked gently, “How are you, you know, doing with things up there? This whole trip and all.”

“I’m fine,” I answered a little too forcefully. “It’s not a big deal. You don’t need to worry about it.”

“All right, just thought I’d ask.”

I hated this conversation. Every second of it. I hated keeping this secret, knowing I was going to hurt them, even if ultimately I knew it was better for them. He truly was a good brother, and I was going to let him down just like everyone else. I wanted to explain it to him, but I couldn’t find the words that would make him understand.

“I should probably get going,” I said. “Say hi to Olivia for me, okay?”

“Okay, I will. Don’t get eaten by anything out there. Talk to you later.”

“Caleb?”

“What?”

I looked outside momentarily, out at the clouds hanging over the peaks. Knowing this was probably the last time I would ever speak to him.

“I love you, brat.”

“Love you too, jerk. Bye.”

[abandoned-acct]

he’s just so annoying!

prompt: Dan thought it was clear why he hated Phil. He was so annoying and nosy, always teasing him when he was around. Louise can shut it because he isn't a “drama queen”. He's being harassed!

tags/warnings: hs au, punk phil, jealous phil, teasing. just a sorta love/hate relationship.

note: sorry i havent written anything in a while. im going through some pretty stressful stuff right now but it'll get better. im probably gonna have to put off working on my chaptered hs fic but i’ll get around to it when everything is settled. thanks for being patient with me :) ao3 & masterlist links!

-

“Go away.” Dan uttered with a harsh look on his face as he strolled up, a smirk on his stupid face and something mischievous lighting up his eyes. “Seriously,” He scoffed, “Leave me alone, Phil.”

Of course, it was Phil, it always was. Dan disliked him with passion nothing else could amount to – his dumb black hair, tipped in dark blue. The sharp look in his blue eyes (which, let him remind you, were absolutely not attractive. Not at all) as he would flick his piercing back and forth with his tongue (also, gross).

He found his way, against Dan's wishes, into his life and made a nest he refuses to leave. Dan thought it was clear why he didn't like Phil. He was so annoying and nosy, always teasing him (about the way he dressed, his friends, etc) when he was around. And not to mention the flirting! Louise can shut it because he isn't a “drama queen”. He's being harassed!

“Aw, come on Princess,” Phil said, smiling wider when Dan sputtered at that nickname, the one he really hated, “Don't pretend you didn't miss me all day.”

Rolling his eyes he muttered, “As if I would miss you.”

Phil went on, ignoring the words coming from his lips, “I promise I tried to see you earlier at lunch but you ran off with Sebastian. Now,” He said, stepping closer until Dan was pushed up against the brick wall of the school and grasping Dan's chin in his hand hand firmly as he forced him to look him in the eye, “Why would you do that? Especially with someone as boring as him.”

He stared silently into those striking blue eyes, gulping as Phil matched his stare. He yanked himself away, swatting at Phil's hand, once he realized how close they were. Why did he let him do that? Phil's way too annoying, he wouldn't want to catch it from him (somewhere in the back of his mind, an annoying voice that sounds an awful lot like Louise is telling him he's acting like a seven-year-old).

He knew he was blushing. Probably so bright red – with anger, of course – that he looked like an ugly tomato. “I ran cause I didn't wanna see you!” Dan hissed out, annoyance bubbling in him as something warm filled his chest. “And shut up! Don't talk about my friends like that.”

“I only tell the truth,” He replied nonchalantly with a shrug, “He's a loser who wants to tap your ass and then leave it. I'm just trying to make you see the light.”

“No, you're just trying to be an asshole,” Dan said, glaring at Phil who just raised his eyebrow at him.

“I might be an asshole but he is definitely a fuckboy,” Phil said. He pressed back into Dan, caging him with his hands.

Dan sighed. His cheeks on fire and a headache forming. He wasn't interested in playing games, especially if Phil was just gonna say shit about Sebastian. Though part of him was stung by the thought of one of his friends using him the rational part – that part that took notice of the flirting, the casual way he'd hint at things, and how everything he said was a little bit dirty – of him suspected it. The fact that he knew Phil was really right (though he'd never admit to it) just annoyed him even more.

“Go away,” He tried to sound firm, even as he didn't keep eye contact, but his words came out whiny, “I'm tired of talking to you. Leave me alone.” He said.

“You should date someone who's gonna love you for more than just sex, don't you think?” Dan rolled his eyes, hating the caring out Phil was putting up (an angry part of him thought isn't what he said just a little ironic?).

“Oh, and what – you think that someone should be you?” Dan tossed back sarcastically.

Phil froze for a second, looking at him with widened eyes and Dan reveled in catching him off guard for a few seconds before a smirk found Phil's lips again, “I do, actually.”

Dan chuckled, ignoring the way his heart pounded wildly in his ear and how his stomach jumped at Phil's words. He glanced up at Phil who had a look on his face (he looks serious his thoughts offered), “You're not nearly as funny as you think you are.” Dan said.

“Yeah, well maybe, but,” Phil said, leaning in close until his cool breath was fanning Dan's lips and their eyes were locked, “I'm not trying to be funny. I'm being serious right now. I know I'd be better for you, Sebastian's no good, half the boys in this school are no good.”

Dan didn't respond as he took in Phil's words. He wanted to date him? Since when? And why? (and did he seriously just say that out loud?)

He was prematurely brought out of his thoughts by Phil interrupting him. “I've always wanted to date you. Ever since Pj's party. You looked so cute and different from everyone else in the room in that cherry blossom sweater and those white jeans.” Dan listened to Phil with confusion filling his head, that didn't make any sense. That was a year ago!

“You looked so young and naive though – clearly I was wrong,” Phil said and Dan chuckled (and whoa, was he really laughing with his enemy?), remembering well how the next part goes. Phil walked over to him and tripped over an empty cup, of all things, and splattered his beer all over Dan. They were new pants and the sweater was his favorite so of course, he went off on Phil, cursing up a storm.

“Uhm...” Dan chewed at his lips as the laughter faded and he realized he had no idea what to say next. Did he like Phil? Did he want to even be friends with Phil? Dan supposed that he never really did anything too bad to him. It wasn't as if he ever hit him or truly said anything that actually hurt Dan. He was mostly just annoying.

Phil watched him with a look Dan had never seen on his face before, one of nervousness. “You can think about it. I don't need an answer right now but I'd like to take you on a date.” He added quickly, “Only if you want, of course.”

Dan thought about it for a second. A date would be a good way to see if he wanted to take this further. If they would even work. It wouldn't hurt to at least give it a try he thought.

“I'd like that.” He said hesitantly.

Dan never seen Phil smile at him before, certainly never look this happy and pleased. He let out a noise of surprise when Phil pulled him close and crashed their lips together.

[twisted-broth]

Jealousy pt 2- Lafayette x reader

Reader Gender: Female

Warnings: Swearing

A/n: I will hopefully have a part three of this up very soon! School is out so I should be able to post much more frequently.

Part One  Part Three

You had been living with Lafayette a little over three years. Well, as much as you can live with someone when they've been serving for two years.

Almost everyday while he was serving, you would receive a letter from him. It was the little things he would say that would make your day. Even if he was only talking about what had happened that day, his passion never ceased to make you smile.

But you were still much happier when he came home.

You flung your arms around his neck, not letting go until he forced you off.

“Oh ma Cherie, how I've missed you. I have seen horrible things. But everyday I think of you and my faith is instantly returned.” He said, tears forming in his eyes.

“Oh now you're just flattering me.” You laughed.

He laughed lightly, “Maybe so, but it's all true. In fact, I have something to ask you. Will you take a walk with me?” He held out his arm for you.

“I would love to.” You said as you laced your arm with his.

You two walked through the small path by his house, the one that was guarded on all sides by trees.

As you reached as small clearing near the center of the path, he pulled you into it. You had always loved this clearing, it was covered in wildflowers and a few more that you had planted. You'd come down here everyday at noon, when the sun hit perfectly through the trees. You had always come here by yourself; it was a relief to come with Laf.

As you stood, admiring the purple tulips in the corner, your attention was brought back to Laf as he got down on one knee.

“Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette, what in gods name are you doing?” You asked, your voice trembling the slightest bit.

“Y/n m/n l/n, I have loved you from the moment I met you, that night at the ball. I couldn't imagine a life without you in it. Y/n,” he pulled a ring out of his pocket, “will you marry me?”

“Yes! Holy shit, yes!” You screamed as he slipped the ring onto your finger.

You pulled him up and crashed your lips into his. You stayed there for what could have been ages until you had to pull apart.

“I love you.” You sighed as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“I love you, too, mi amour.” He said.

 The Guest List

 “Alexander for sure.” Lafayette said, writing A. Ham on the sheet of paper in front of you two.

“Well that means Eliza.” You added  E. Ham to the sheet.

“And we should probably add the other sisters.”

“And respective husbands.”

“Hercules and John?”

“Of course. What about Aaron and Theodosia?”

“Do we have to?” He groaned.

“Oh shush, they're not all that bad.”

“Fine. I'll send a letter to my parents, though I'm not sure they can make it.”

“Oh. Right…” You sighed, thinking back to your parents, more specifically your dad and how disappointed he was.

“Hey,” Lafayette said, placing a hand on your shoulder, “we can still invite them. They might want to see you.”

“Yeah I guess. Can we invite my sister, too?”

S/N had always been a great help to you throughout life. She was always supportive of you and hated Charles almost as much as you did. You hadn't had the chance to talk to her after you had moved in with Laf but, odds are she was still on your side.

“Of course! Anyone else? Oh! The Washington’s!”

“Sounds great, Laf.”

 The Dress

 A few weeks after you sent out letters, you had gotten reservations from everyone but your parents and sister. Laf’s mom could come but his father was too busy with work.

You had gathered up Eliza and Angelica who had come down from England to go upstate with Eliza. They had a few days before they left and would come back down for the wedding. But for now, they were here to help you pick out a dress.

As you were about to leave, you heard a knock at the door. Still talking with the sisters, you went to open it.

“Y/n!” A woman screamed as she flung herself on you, nearly knocking you off your feet.

“Who the-” you cut yourself off as you got a better look at the person on top you you, “S/N?”

You stared in amazement at your sister as she got off you and helped you up.

“I came as soon as I heard!” She exclaimed.

“All the way from Jersey? Damn.” You had come down from your house in Jersey for the ball all those years ago.

“Anything for my sister! Oh, it's been so long!” She said, hugging you again.

“Who's this?” Angelica asked, coming up behind you with Eliza.

“Angelica, this is my sister, S/n. S/n, this is Angelica and Eliza.” You explained.

“It's good to meet you.” S/n said, shaking their hands.

“We were just about to go dress shopping. Come with?” You offered.

“Is that even a question? Of course!” She strangled you in another hug.

You four chatted excitedly in the coach on the way to the store.

“Y/N!” Hercules greeted you as you entered his store. “I thought I'd be seeing you eventually!”

“Well I'll be damned if I get my wedding dress from anyone less than the best tailor in New York!” You exclaimed, embracing him.

“We got Angelica, Eliza and who's this?” He asked, nodding his head in your sister's direction.

“This is my sister, S/N.” She extended her hand to Hercules who shook it.

“So I'm gonna need a dress for me, my maid of honor,” you gestured to Angelica, “and my bridesmaids.” You gestured to Eliza and your sister.

“Got it. Do we have any scheme in mind?” He asked, pulling out a notepad.

“We have a black and white theme. So I'll have a white dress, Gilbert will have a black suit. Alexander, his best man, will be in white and Angelica in black. Then the groomsmen will be in black with the bridesmaids in white. Is that too complicated?” You asked.

“No, no, you're fine.” He laughed. “Let's start with the bridesmaid dresses.”

He led you to a few racks of simple white dresses which you spent about half an hour looking through and having Eliza and S/N try on. You eventually decided on a strapless dress that reached to mid calf. It was very simple with only a few sewn swirls around the base of the dress.

After Hercules had measured Eliza and your sister, he laid the dress on his desk and led you to a rack of slightly more complicated black dresses.

It took about an hour and Angelica trying on nearly every dress possible for you to settle on one. It was another strapless dress which just barely brushed the floor. Small pyramids of cubic zirconia lined the neckline of the dress with white lace on the base.

After more measuring, you were onto the main event.

You stared in awe at the beautiful dresses, reminded again at how much of a genius Hercules was. You spent so long trying on every dress there that Hercules was forced to leave and help another customer.

“Ugh,” you groaned, “we’re never going to find one.”

“C’mon, Y/N, hang in there. We've still got three we haven't tried.” Eliza said, holding up another dress.

Hardly looking at it, you grabbed the dress and went into the changing room again.  When you came out and looked in the mirror, your breath caught in your throat.

“Oh my god.” Eliza breathed as she looked at your reflection in the mirror.

“What- holy shit.” S/N gasped as she joined Eliza.

“It's perfect.” You decided.

“Mulligan!” Angelica yelled.

“Hot damn, girl.” Hercules whistled as he rounded the corner.

“Get this beautiful woman her beautiful dress.” Angelica ordered.

The dress somehow fit almost perfectly so Hercules only needed to make minor adjustments to it. It was long and trailed on the ground behind you. It had elbow length sheer sleeves with beautiful designs on them. Pearls made intricate patterns on the soft satin fabric with tulle softly looped on the base of the dress.

“You got it.” He said.

You were soon out of the store with the promise to have your dresses ready in three weeks. One week before the wedding.

 Stress

 4 more weeks.

You ordered a cake from an old friend of yours. Four tiers with black and white icing. Little black buttercream flowers were dotted here and there.

3 more weeks.

You and Laf put together a menu and met with a caterer. You also booked a venue, a nice place in a large, open grassy field.

2 more weeks.

Hercules brought your dresses. You worked out decorations.

1 more week.

Flowers. Tables. Chairs.

Everything was ready.

Are you?

Hamilton Taglist

@kirstentheineffectiveemo

@snowbubby1

@mistypancake10666

@fulmoonwulf

@spaceoutloud

Let me know if you want to be tagged!

[saltwife]

Uliro Week, Day 5: Sick/Healing

The Way to A Man’s Heart

No Archive Warnings Apply. Rated G.

Relationships: Shiro/Ulaz (duh)

Other tags: Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Comfort Food, Relationship Advice, First Dates, Healing, Cooking, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Uliro Week 2017, uliro, shulaz, the effing cutest

After Ulaz is injured saving Shiro's life, Shiro contemplates how he can show his appreciation...and maybe how he feels.

The prompt I chose was ‘Healing.’ I got three cavities writing this, and now I have diabetes.

The Way To A Man’s Heart

Ulaz looked so peaceful floating inside the healing pod, Shiro could almost forget why he was in there, almost forget what the white medsuit was concealing. Almost.

The mission had been successful, on the whole. Ulaz, Pidge and he had been able to infiltrate the Galra outpost, and Pidge had hacked into the Empire’s network through the communications systems. The intel and files they’d been able to retrieve would be an incredible asset in the battles to come, but they had paid a price. Well, Ulaz did. Ironically, it hadn’t been the Galra that had posed the greatest threat to them, but the local wildlife. On their way back to the Lions to make their escape, they’d been ambushed by of a pair of electrically charged lizard-bear… things. One of the creatures had released a pulse that had disrupted the connections in Shiro’s arm, making it nothing but dead weight hanging from his shoulder. While he was off-balance, the other beast had launched itself at him, snarling and flashing. Ulaz had shielded him with his body, grappling the monster while its jaws snapped barely inches away from his nose. His strength was incredible, but when it discharged as well, he fell to the ground, twitching and smoking. If Pidge hadn’t managed to scare the things off with her bayard, they would have both been done for.

Shiro’s arm had come back online after just a few minutes. Ulaz had not. He’d been in the tank for almost a quintent now, and Coran had said it would probably be that long again before he was ready to come out. He knew, logically, that there was no reason for him to visit Ulaz like this, that Ulaz didn’t know whether he was there or not. It was more for his own benefit - to remind himself that Ulaz was still here.

“Shiro?” Startled out of his thoughts, he turned to see Hunk standing in the doorway, holding a covered container of some sort. He was surprisingly light on his feet; Shiro hadn’t heard his approach at all. “Keith said you’d probably be down here.”

“What is it, Hunk? Everything okay?”

“Uhh, yeah,” Hunk shrugged, “it’s just that you missed dinner…” Shiro could practically hear the unspoken ‘again.’ “So I thought maybe I’d bring you something.” He held out the container he’d been carrying. “Can’t have our fearless leader wasting away to nothing!” he added cheerfully. Shiro took it, feeling the warmth seep through to his hand, and peeled back the lid.

“Thanks,” he said, sincerely. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was; and whatever was inside the bowl smelled amazing.

“It’s soup! I, uh, forgot to bring you a spoon, though,” Hunk added sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. “Sorry.”

“That’s alright,” Shiro replied with a low chuckle, “I’ll just drink it.” It tasted as good as it smelled. Something about the umami flavour of the broth reminded him of home. “What’s in this, anyway?”

“Trust me, it’s probably better if you don’t know.”

A companionable silence fell between them for a few minutes as Shiro finished his soup. His gaze returned to Ulaz, still floating serenely in the pod. Shiro wondered what home meant to him.

“So, how long are you just gonna like… moon over Ulaz and not do anything about it?” Hunk asked, breaking the silence. Shiro almost choked on his last mouthful.

“Wh-what?” he managed to sputter. “What do you mean?” Surely it couldn’t have been so obvious. Not when he barely understood his feelings himself.

“Oh come on.” Hunk rolled his eyes. “Everyone knows you’ve got it bad for him. Well, except Ulaz, maybe. And you, apparently.”

“It’s not like that,” Shiro protested feebly. “We’re… colleagues. He saved my life.” 

“Yuh-huhhh…” Hunk laughed.  “Colleagues, sure. Colleagues who make sad puppy eyes after each other when one leaves the room. “

“I do not --”

“He’s as bad as you are, y’know. ‘Oh, Shiro’s leadership brings hope to us all!’” Hunk latticed his hands under his chin and batted his eyelashes, while doing an almost passable imitation of Ulaz’s accent. “‘He’s so brave and strong and did I mention handsome?’” Shiro covered his face with a hand, somewhere between irritated and mortified.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough.” He sighed. “So I’m really that transparent, huh?” Hunk shrugged again.

“Why don’t you just, I dunno, ask him out on a date?”

“It’s not that simple… “ Shiro’s voice trailed off as he grasped for the words to explain. “I just don’t know how much of this is just me - or us, I guess, feeling indebted to each other. And then there’s the whole, uh, ‘fraternization’ thing.” He ought to be setting an example for the others, not acting like an infatuated teenager.

“Oh please,” Hunk waved his protests away with a dismissive gesture. “Lance is already trying to pick out your smush-name.”

“My … what?” Shiro blinked, baffled.

“Anyway, that’s what dates are for, man! To figure out how you feel about someone you think you like!”

Shiro turned away to look at Ulaz again. A small smile crept over his face. A date… with Ulaz? Now he really did feel like a teenager again… but in a good way. His mind raced with possibilities he hadn’t allowed himself to consider before. What would he even like? he wondered. Then, it came to him. He glanced down at the empty bowl in his hand.

“Say, Hunk… When you were all at the Space Mall, didn’t you work at a Galra food place?” He had missed out on that particular excursion, but Lance and Pidge had been telling the stories for days afterward.

“Yeah! Vrepit Sal’s! I wonder how ol’ Sal is makin’ out now…” Hunk mused with an air of nostalgia, as if he hadn’t been pressed into indentured servitude to start with.

“Do you think you could maybe… show me how to make something? For Ulaz?” Hunk’s face lit up as though Shiro had just promised him a million GAC and a puppy.

“Oh my gosh yes!” Hunk gushed. “This is gonna be great.” He threw his arm excitedly around Shiro’s shoulder. “I know just the thing, too. The way to a man’s heart, right? Allez cuisine!” As Hunk steered him towards the door, Shiro hoped he wasn’t making a terrible mistake. He glanced back once more at the pod, and his heart fluttered. If this was wrong, well…

Quiznak it.

----

Coran usually liked to be in attendance when a patient came out of the healing pod, but today he was curiously absent. Shiro suspected Hunk might have had a hand in that. They’re probably all in on it now. He tried not to think too much about the other Paladins’ interest in his love life… It’s not like there’s much for them to do but gossip when we’re not fighting Zarkon. He checked the ticker he’d borrowed from Coran. Almost time. He straightened his shirt and flicked his hair out of his face, old nervous habits.

There was a sharp hiss as the tank’s seal released, and the force field surrounding Ulaz dropped. He lurched forward, unsteady, his eyes still closed. Shiro moved to catch him, pulling one long arm over his shoulder.

“Whoah there,” he cautioned, bracing himself against Ulaz’s considerable weight. “Take your time.” Slowly, Ulaz opened his eyes, looking first around the empty room, and then down at Shiro.

“Shiro,” he said, his expression inscrutable. Those solid yellow eyes made Galra damnably hard to read sometimes. “I am pleased to see you in good health.” Ulaz drew himself up to his full height, taking his weight off Shiro.

“Me too.”

“Were you waiting for me?” Ulaz asked, with the barest tilt of his head. Shiro felt his cheeks flush, blazing heat spreading across his face. “Oh. Are you also unwell? You appear fevered.” Ulaz remarked, sounding concerned.

“Uh, no.” Shiro shook his head. “No, I’m fine.” It’s now or never. “But Coran always says you should eat something after you come out of the pods, so I was wondering if -” he scratched the stubble at the back of his neck, feeling more nervous than when he’d first approached the Black Lion, “- if you’d want to get some dinner. With me.”

“A meal.” Ulaz blinked. “Yes, that seems like sound medical counsel.” Oh god damn it. Am I this dense too? Still, he’d come this far, and he was determined to see this through.

They found the mess hall suspiciously empty; now Shiro was certain that his shipmates were colluding together. At this time of day, there were almost always a few people hanging out around the table, sharing a snack and conversation. Ulaz didn’t comment on the anomaly.

“You just have a seat and I’ll finish getting this ready,” Shiro instructed. Ulaz’s ears pricked up slightly, in what Shiro thought was interest, or curiosity; he sat down, watching him closely. Shiro took the plates he’d prepared out of the warming unit, and applied the sauce the way Hunk had showed him. Here goes nothing, he thought as he set the first dish down in front of Ulaz, and then took the seat beside him. Shiro watched his face, trying not to look too eager, as Ulaz picked up his fork and looked down at the food.

“This… this is korial.” He turned his head to look at Shiro, his yellow eyes wide. “How did you…”

“Hunk showed me.” Shiro smiled. “Is it... Is it okay?” Ulaz scooped some onto the fork and lifted it to his mouth. He closed his eyes as he chewed and swallowed, then opened them to look at Shiro.

“It is delicious.” Shiro couldn’t help but beam. I owe you one, Hunk. “You did this for me?” Ulaz seemed puzzled. “Why?” Shiro’s face felt very warm again; his heart was pounding in his chest.

“Because… I like you. As more than a colleague,” he added, to clarify. Ulaz sat back in his chair, setting down his fork.

“Oh,” he said; then, with a dawning realization, “oh. This is a courtship ritual?” Finally.

“Yeah.” Shiro chanced a nervous grin at him. “A date. Sort of. Is that okay?” Ulaz lifted one massive hand and reached slowly, tentatively towards Shiro, until the pads of his fingers barely brushed the side of his face.

“It is very much ‘okay’.” Ulaz spoke in a low, almost purring tone Shiro hadn’t heard from him before. It seemed to resonate with something inside his chest; either that or he was just buzzing from the relief and excitement flooding through him. Shiro placed his right hand over Ulaz’s, pressing his cheek into his palm, then outstretched his right to caress the line of his jaw. “I had not dared to hope,” he murmured. “You humans are very difficult to read.”

Shiro almost laughed out loud at the irony. Instead, he drew Ulaz down for a kiss.

[beneaththewillowtreewriting-blog]

Sweet moments

So this is just a little thing (based on a bigger thing) that I made for a friend for her birthday. Nothing too bad so there’s not drop thing, but still enough to get her fangirl blood warm heh heh

Happy Birthday Boo! I’m sorry I didn’t get this done in time but I hope you like it! You’re such a good friend to me and I wouldn’t have been able to finish this without thinking of your excitement, feeling so relived from your understanding near the end, and seeing your reaction. Love you @boocup​~ I hope this tagged or mentions you properly cause I’ll be pretty mad if I mess it up lol.

PLEASE DON’T REPOST THIS WITHOUT MY PERMISSION OR AT LEAST PUT A LINK TO THIS BLOG OR I WILL FIND YOU. And if I made any grammar or spelling mistakes I’m sorry. I’m learning to write better so bare with me.

 The walls of the master bedroom, located on the second floor of the spacious family sized home, was painted a light and refreshing shade of pastel green, covering every corner of the room from the bottom white molding to the ceiling. At this late hour of the night, it looked soft and gentle touch in the darkness. Furniture and material items were scattered on the stained wood floor; an overstuffed dresser against one wall, a bookcase crammed with reading materials and nick-nacks stood against another, clothes scattered on the floor in a small pile, recent tossed in close proximity to the large bed on a pale brown and cream-colored rug on another. And framing them were white painted windows that looked out beyond at the world, each one like a picture.

 Past the deathly still curtains and a few books, papers, and potted plants that sat on the different ledges, was the endless night sky and the world as the men who lived in the home knew it. The different views from the bedroom consisted of the other houses, the edge of trees from a nearby forest, and the distant lights of a city far beyond the roofs and treetops. Up above the earth and the world of the living, the stars twinkled in a rainbow of colors next to the other celestial bodies of the planets, some in blues and reds, some in solid shades of white, and some no more than pinpricks holes in a deep blue and black blanket. Like gems from the bottom of the sea, their light grew and shrank as they seemingly danced, but never flickered out. Some shined brighter than others, but they were all equally beautiful in the glorious night sky.

 And like how people gaze and watch them, come of the scattered nocturnal lights watched the two lovers; peeking through the cream curtains with eternal eyes from their places so high above. They watched the two men lovers caught in a moment of passion so strong and sweet, even the gods of old could marvel and wonder if was real, how one could love another with so much truth in their hearts.

 Both of the men in the room of springtime leaves had blonde hair of slightly different shades and styles. One was a paler wheat color with a slight wave to his locks, while the other had more golden sun kissed hair, falling straighter in comparison. Both sporting hair that seemed to either curl like a witling flower or stand up like a cowlick, which only added to their appeal.

 Physical, their arms and long legs were thick with just the right amount of muscles to convey strength and beauty while their stomachs and lower torso could have been inspired from the abdominal muscles of classical marble statues. And finally, between their nicely toned thighs (one set being bigger than the other wink) was their members. Both were easily eye catching, but not only for their girth and length, which they could both be considered above average, but for how they can blow past all other men when they used it. They knew how to make people say the most sensual and gratifying noises using their one of a kind bodies. And when they knew the all the things that turned a person on, they’d give them one hell of a ride. One they won’t forget.

 But with two bed breakers in one room, it’d be understandable to image what they can when combining their abilities in…those matters. But tonight, the men claimed these precious moments for a sweet fluttering experiment rather than heart racing ones. A drizzle of rain before the heavy thumping of the storm is always appreciated after all.

 They were both utterly naked on the bed together, their bodies pressed in a loving embrace as they gave small kisses to each other’s cheeks and more passionate ones on their lips. The only evidence that there was anyone there in the dark room was their soft, but deep breaths and the rustle of the blue sheets. The man on top, Matthew, whose wavy hair framed his astonishing amethyst purple eyes, held one Alfred’s hands, whose own eyes were as clear and blue as a summer sky. Both men had pale complexions and normally wore matching square glasses. They also had similar looking faces and contrasted personalities. Matthew was the quiet but kind type and more likely to be worry or concerned over something small, while the latter was loud and cheerful, with a smile that could melt anyone’s heart. Even witch such varying personalities, they didn’t repel each other like magnets.

 They were like the old saying, that opposites attract, like no other two forces in this world. This force both strong as steel and sweet as sugar water. That’s how to describe them and their connection.

Looking closely at them, at the breathless and curious scene of the two utterly smitten lovers in bed, it can make the mind wander with images that invoke familiarity. Some might think, in the wildest and freest of ways, that the two powerful men with bodies so beautifully craved like great Greek and Roman statues, could be imagined as great warriors, caught in a moment of passion after a long and hard-fought battle. Leaders of opposite armies who have come together for a night of long, sweet passion., built from the newly bloomed love.

Laying there, with their hands clasped tightly together and their mouths captured in never-ending kisses, their hearts beating like drums to a great, booming song. Harder and faster the rhythm went, shaking their chests with dizzying breathes. When they first ever kissed and took their feelings to the next level the beating was irregular and hardly coordinated. But slowly, as time when on, it became a strong bass duo, their minds communicated through their eyes, with growing pupils like eclipsed suns, and their hearts knew how to follow. And even with their eyes closed, they knew the song by heart.

 But, while they wanted this night to be calm and romantic…it wasn’t enough. The time they’ve spent together, about a few hours as of this moment, had barely satisfied the fiery desire that lingered deep in their muscles and veins. The eternal whispers of urging sung deep in their bones; tempting them to swiftly take the other in shared mutual passion.

 Laying on the bed together like this, their legs touching each other’s skin on the soft sheets, the beasts of their nature slowly shifted from their slumber once again in the warm darkness of their bodies, sending shivers under their pale skin in anticipation of what awaits in the reminder of the night.

Alfred placed a hand on Matthew’s bare chest and gently nudged him back with his palm, looking up with red kissed lips that were tilted to a smile. It made little wrinkles form in the corners of his eyes, causing Matthew to smile back in response to his sweetheart. He was a sucker for Alfred’s smiles, especially when it was in a peaceful and tender moment like this.

 Their heavy breaths mixed and made each other drowsy from their natural scents, warm and damp on their cheeks and lips in the nearness. They panted as if they’ve just run a thousand miles for this embrace and not from the heated kiss. Matthew’s hand released Alfred’s and touched the smooth, heated skin on his thigh, trailing his thin fingers till his sexy cheerful lover gasped from the sensitivity as he reached between his legs.

 His smile changed into a smirk the moment his thumb touched the tip of Alfred. “I get to lead the dance this time you know. So, don’t even think about trying to switch on me, or else I’ll make the walls shake~” He said, and Alfred saw the glint in his eyes change like a shadow, a not so visible sign that Matthew’s beast had awaken, and that it was hungry for him.

Fin~(maybe)

[plasticoveredfurniture]

inktober d12: dragon

pairing: yoongi centric, platonic ot7

words: 1513

tags: tattoo artist au, everyone is lgbt, trans characters

It started on his shoulder with a tail that looked like it was about to wrap around his throat and it developed all across his back. A huge dragon in bold colour that looked ferocious and thirsty for blood. That had been Yoongi’s first big piece. A bit cliche, but he never regretted it. He got it as soon as he moved to New York. He wanted that piece to merge between his culture and the one that his craft had him basically marrying into. So he settled for a dragon, a benevolent symbol in his culture, and made it look angry and evil, like western cultures portrayed it and felt to young foreigners like Yoongi. 

He decided to move in order to turn his dream of becoming a tattooist into a reality, but the reality was that the industry was not friendly at all, especially towards young, asian, gay men.

Many people had lived the struggle before him, he was aware of that, what he wasn't aware of was that there was a place exactly for him. In Greenwich Village there was a parlour created in the mid nineties for people exactly like him. Daniel Lee, known in the industry as Tablo, had decided that once he'd built a name for himself he wanted to open his own shop and make it somewhere where artists were picked based off of talent and not any other form or bias. The only requirements for people to be eligible for a spot at Eternal Sunshine tattoos were being a person of colour and/or part of the lgbt community.

When Yoongi found out about Tablo and his one-of-a-kind parlour, he'd already been in NYC for about a year. He'd worked in passing in about 20 shops and he'd only been able to tattoo a handful of people. The frustration was starting to get the best of him and he was contemplating catching a flight back home and just giving up. Until he saw it.

He'd moved to a small one room apartment in Greenwich Village and one fateful morning, as he was wandering around the streets of the neighborhood, he stumbled upon Eternal Sunshine tattoos. 

The name intrigued him, but what got him to walk into the shop was the pride flag hanging outside.

"Good morning and welcome to Eternal Sunshine tattoos. I'm Joon, how can I help you?"

Yoongi was greeted by a grey haired man with dimples so deep that Yoongi thought he could fit a whole finger in there.

"Oh, hi. I was just walking by and I noticed the flag." said the artist sheepishly while rubbing the back of his neck.

"Yeah, it's pretty neat, isn't it? Are you familiar with Eternal Sunshine?"

"Actually, no"

Joon smiled.

"I have a story to tell you then"

They sat down and Joon told him the whole story while sipping on a cup of tea that had gone cold by the time they were done.

"That's" Yoongi paused, looking for the right words "so fucking cool" he breathed out, very eloquently.

"I am actually looking for a place to practice, but for the past year every parlour has rejected me after a month max because I'm gay and Korean."

"Do you have a portfolio?"

"Yeah, I have one at home"

"Then bring it here by the end of the day and tomorrow you might have a job"

Yoongi had never run that fast in his life, but it was so worth it when not even four hours later he got a callback saying he now has a home at Eternal Sunshine.

The following day he got to meet all of the resident artists there, some of which became his own chosen family in the two months after.

He found that he was one of seven Koreans working at the parlour. One of them being Joon, who lived their life free of all sorts of labels except for a cute little pin they always wore to specify that their pronouns were they/them. (After seeing the pin on Joon, everyone started wearing personalised pronoun pins because they didn't want those who specified their pronouns for not being cis to feel hyper conscious)

Then there was Hope, the most outgoing and hyper ball of sunshine Yoongi had ever met. They specified in bold and colourful new school and, to be honest, Yoongi wasn't surprised.

Out of the Seven, capitalised because Tablo was all about advertising Korean excellence especially since the tattoo scene in Korea itself is a very difficult one, only three also worked as piercers.

The first one, Tae, was the second friendliest person Yoongi had ever come across. Second because no one could ever beat Hope. Tae loved wearing skirts and makeup, but never really cared much about gender so he didn't feel uncomfortable being referred to with female pronouns, nor gender neutral ones. His pin though, said he/him.

The second one, was Jungkook. He was the youngest so everyone teased him for it and never missed a chance to call him bunny instead of his actual name. At first glance, Yoongi was a little intimidated by the younger because of his tall and broad body paired with long hair and numerous piercings and art adorning his body, but he was quick to realise that the boy was just a soft little twink at heart, just like him.

The last of the three piercers was Jin. She was the most beautiful woman Yoongi had ever laid eyes upon and, for a solid second, he felt bad he wasn't into women. Jin had moved to the States in order to transition, but discovered Eternal Sunshine in the meanwhile and decided to apply for a visa. There was nothing left for her in Korea anyway. She soon became Yoongi's closest friend out of the seven. Yoongi appreciated her honesty and horrible sense of humour. Plus, no one can stop a gay and a lesbian after they join forces.

The last of the seven was Jimin. He, too, had moved from Korea in order to transition and decided to stay after getting tattooed by Jin. 

Being surrounded by so many amazing artists with such inspiring stories became Yoongi's biggest inspiration. His job wasn't just about his art and craft anymore, but also about the amazing family he had found, to the point that it no longer felt like a job.

And, being the sentimental little shit that everyone knew him to be, he decides to ask them for a rather simple gift for his 30th birthday.

He asked each of them to design something for him so that he could dedicate a whole sleeve to them. He had been planning it for a while, but no one ever thought to ask why nearly every inch of his body except for an entire arm was covered by ink. 

They worked together to make it as cohesive as six different tattoos in six different styles could be. Yoongi wanted it to be messy and almost patchwork-like, but that didn't stop them from trying.

Kookie did a black and white forest landscape that wrapped all around his lower forearm; Joon added a whale that looked like it was made of flowers on the back of his arm, just above his elbow; Hope did a new school moth on his hand in black and white with a few hints of yellow; Jimin added a crescent moon wrapped in flowers above Joon's whale; Tae designed a geometric astrology design in which he added the Pisces constellation; Jin added to the side of his upper arm a sword with a vine wrapped around it to keep the plant theme going and as a reminder to Yoongi of the conversation they'd once had.

("You're all warriors, noona. I am not half as strong as the rest of you are. I don't understand why I feel like I fit in so much, I don't deserve to."

"Yoongi-chi, we're all warriors. Never forget that."

"But-"

"You're not a white cishet man, Yoongi-chi. You're a warrior.")

Then, just for shits and giggles, they added a few dumb doodles to fill in the empty spaces.

They added "warrior" in pretty script above the inside of his elbow, they added a half-peeled banana that was actually a penis underneath, they put a bunny in there, the wlw symbol, and many more stupid little things that reminded them of one another.

Yoongi couldn't have been happier with the finished product. He had never been a crier and he ways took pride in how well he could conceal his emotions, but this time they got the best of him.

He was happy. A kind of happy that he never thought he could achieve when he was a small gay boy from Daegu who had just moved to New York. Bu there he was. Older than he ever thought he'd be, as a successful and renowned tattoo artists from Eternal Sunshine, with a whole family of wonderful people that had his back no matter what. Life wasn't so bad after all.

[irish-gail-blog1]

50 Inspirational Movies

Wadzanai Nenzou50 Inspirational MoviesSelf Help Articles | March 20, 2009Hello there here's the list of some of the picture that get me the most. I love picture and some movies have inspired me more tan most and here is that list I breathe a sweetheart of movies. I have decided to list the top inspirational movies for me. These are not the alone movies that inspire me they go on to be some of my top movies ever. Have fun.1. PURSUIT regarding HAPPYNESS- A rages to riches fantasy about a man who goes for his thought and used let his circumstances land in the way2. remind The Titans- In the 1970S a black and white high school are closed inferior and onyx and regalia are disordered together. over all the racial force a jet coach is chosen to head the newly separated football team3. FOREST GUMP- The fable of a man with a depressed IQ who rose raised his challenges, and proved that determination, courage, and love are more necessary than mental ability4. dramaturgic COLOR PURPLE-Its based on the life and trials and woe of an African african woman in the recent 1900's5. RUDY: About a huge soccer fan who always wanted to performance for the Notre miss Football team. He is told he is additionally small for the game but he perseveres on6. ALI-Based on the accurate story of great battle champion manmade Ali7. LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL-It's the information of a funny and carefree Hebrew man who uses his comic art to safeguard his descendant from the realities of Nazi occupation8. BRAVEHEART-Story of William wales a laborer who strengthen the 13th Century Scottish in their battle to overthrow the English rule.9. ERIN BROKONVICH- About an unemployed private mother who becomes a legal colleague and roughly on her own take down a California talent company implicated of foul a city's water supply.10. THE SHAWSHANK REDEMPTION- Two men in prison chain over a number of years, they find possible redemption finished acts of decency.11. REDEMPTION: The stand Tookie loams Story-Based on the truthful story of the co founder of a thoroughfare gang the crepes. about death string he is able to find redemption12. THE HURRICANE- The biography of a talented boxer who is wrongly convicted of felony and his fight for his innocence13. BILLY ELLIOT- 11 moment old lad who needle the mill ring and onto the ballet floor. He light many examination as trim triumphs as he perseveres to advance his fails narrow inclined set ways, inner conflict, and continuing on his own feet14. A magnificent MIND-A bio of the rise of John forbear Nash Jr., a math genius adept to determine problems that baffled the greatest of minds. moreover how he was competent to overcame years of suffering from schizophrenia to win the Nobel outstanding in 199415. GANDHI-True fable about Mohandas Gandhi a prominent injun leader16. Chariots Of Fire-About athletes who compete in the summertime Olympics around their endurance and triumph.17. PHILADELPHIA- prevail a show dealing with HIV/AIDS and homosexuality and it highlights the homophobic and stain of the two18. FRIED GREEN TOMATOES- Its a recollection flick where an older girl recalls the story of two women their struggle and heartache and long-lasting friendship19. RAIN MAN- around a greedy man who finds out his origin left his millions of dollars to an elder brother he didn't square know existed20. THE NOTEBOOK- A marvelous love information which ending decades21. TITANIC- Is a movie specified on the ill destined Titanic ship and inherent about a love story that promote on the ship22. SEA BISCUIT- truthful story of the undersized Depression-era racehorse whose sweep lifted not only the spirits of the company behind it but likewise those of their nation23. RAY-True growth story of Ray charnels and his amazing story of reduce the impossible24. PAY IT FORWARD- around the unbelievable story of how a young child changes the lives of many nation through the simple move of good deeds25. comic BUCKET LIST- About pair old timers who set to accomplish all the things they have constantly wanted to do before they die of their terminal illnesses26. MILK- back the activity of Harvey Milk the first plainly gay guy elected to public commission in North America in the 70s. attractiveness is backward his rap on the gay business movement. singular of the best picture I have ever seen.27. COACH CARTER- About a high institute coach who perseveres in changing the lives of his students who have bad demeanor towards heart in general.28. RADIO- back a diffident mentally try man who inspires a community29. right WRITERS- in reverse a teacher who scholar rough close city youth who fights to compose a diversity in the students heart and bent them on a better path30. NORMA REA- backward a mill worker in a southerly textile group who sentiment up for the better working conditions of her workers and herself.31. breathtaking DIARY like ANNE FRANK- Based on the heart of ante Frank who hides from the NAZI during the invasion32. GLORY : The story of the antecedent company of black soldier in the American local war33. heart SUPPORT- the story of a origin with STD who beaten crack shot becomes an AIDS activist in her community34. BABE- A pig which is raised by sheep bitch learns whence to mob sheep35. WHATS LOVE win TO DO WITH IT- The unbelievable life biography of the great entertainer Tina tener and the amazing restriction that she overcame36. tavern RWANDA- The true get-up-and-go story of a son who shady thousands of Rwandans meanwhile the Rwandan genocide from danger and death37. G1 JANE- breathe about the first daughter in avow in the navy imprimatur and tremendous obstacles in her way38. TO KILL A MOCKING BIRD- established in racially torn 1939 Alabama and its in reverse the perception of a black fellow accused of raping a white woman39. GLORY ROAD- Is occupying on the true fable of the first all black basketball line-up for the 1966 NCAA civil basketball tournament title40. SARAFINA- About the Soweto puberty riots facing apartheid in South Africa41. AMISTAD- breathe about an 1839 revolution of slaves on a slave ship42. SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE- The fable of a slum infant who widen up and plays the Indian form of Who wants to be a millionaire43. AMERICAN HISTORY X- A corrected Neo-Nazi get out of prison and tries to stop his younger relative going the same lane he did44. THE PIANIST- A manist tries to survive the Nazi invasion45. SCHINDLERS LIST- Based on the true story of the work man orcas cmovieshd who saves millennium of mews from the Nazi apparatus during world war 246. BOYS refusal CRY- A story round the spunk to be who you truly are in the midst of horrible opposition47. CHOCOLAT- in reverse a creator and daughter who shift into a conservative limited minded graze town in 1960 and shake stuff up48. MALCOLM X- affecting true life story of Malcolm unidentified an influential black mortal rights activist49. OLIVER TWIST- Based on Charles adolescent movie round a youthful orphan child and the troubles he finds as he shot to remain in a harsh world50. THE JESSE OWENS STORY- The genuine story backward Jesse omens the Negro American player who tested Hitler mistaken about the Aryan real superiorityI emotion these movies. If you have not seen part of of them check them out you have scratch to lose. To your life! substance Tags: Inspirational Movies, biography About, normal Story, activity Story Wadzanai Nenzou acquire Been Interested In narcissistic Development For Years. mother Has ad Website devoted To Inspirational Quoteshttp://www.inspirational-quotes-change-lives.com