#// but yeah i was thinking about how evelyn's died over the years and my mind just went to... 'Fire.'

[bellarkeselection]

It’s About Time

Request from Wattpad mackleann Kayce or Lee ( you pick ) where the reader is a family friend who comes to help with the cattle branding. The pair confese their feelings and get teased by the bunkhouse gang

Driving my truck underneath the Yellowstone Dutton ranch sign I pulled the vehicle to a stop just beside the main house porch. I opened the door seeing that the area of the ranch was already set up for the branding the next morning. Getting out of the truck I shut the door seeing somebody riding up in the distance. “Well I didn’t expect to see you here this weekend.”

Whipping my head around a huge grin masked my face seeing Kayce coming up to me on his horse. “I don’t know why you’re so surprised.”

“Maybe because I thought you’d be busy. But I am awfully excited to see you.” He began dismounting his black horse comic over to me with wide open arms.

Rushing towards him I laughed, throwing my arms and legs around his waist. “You better be excited to see me, Dutton.”

“Hey I said that I was you crazy rascal.” He chuckled at me while I was hanging off his arms. Kayce was struggling to keep me from falling on the ground.

I had been a close friend of the family for years. I had been there for the family when Evelyn died and when Kayce had gone off to serve the Navy. I had somewhat of a relationship with each of the Dutton members, but Kayce and I were closer. He finally sits me down on my feet getting my boots dirty. “You better be nice to me. You know I can kick your ass.”

“Oh yeah. Which one of us has training?” He teased me, tipping his hat slightly to me.

Putting my hands on my hips. “It doesn't matter. I know how to throw a punch pretty good.”

Kayce stared down at me since he was slightly taller than me. Honestly most people would say we were always attached to the other hip. And it wasn’t a lie. I’d basically lived my entire life on this ranch.

Kayce went over to his horse leading him to the barn by the reins. “Does my dad know you’re coming here this weekend to help with the branding?”

“I’d expect so. Why did you have plans to skip?” I asked him to follow him to the barn.

He shook his head. “Nah. But your company will sure make it better.”

Together we left the barn and went straight for the main house. He held open the door for me, hanging his black hat on the wall while doing so. Walking through the living room there was a fire going and I could see someone sitting on the couch. “What made you stay out late? Daddy told Gater to wait.”

“Well it wasn’t because he wasn’t hungry. He just had someone keeping him occupied.” Leaning over the back of the couch hair in my face I whispered in his sister’s ear.

She sat her glass down, turning around to me. “Did you finally take her out there in the barn?”

“Beth!” I scolded her, feeling my face beginning to turn red.

Her younger brother cleared his throat. “We aren’t dating and you know that.”

“Rip and I may have beat around the bush when we were kids. But he knows he’s mine. Everybody on this ranch knows who is with who. You two ain’t any different.” She crossed her arms on the back of the couch.

Tapping my foot on the wooden floor I tried to remain calm about this. I didn’t need it to be painfully obvious that I had feelings for him. I didn’t want to ruin the relationship we have if he doesn’t feel the same way. But Beth had a different mind than everyone else. She knew what words could sink someone into the ground. “I’ll think you’re wrong. Now did you say Gator had dinner?”

“Walking away just means we will have this conversation later, Y/n.” She called as I walked into the dining room.

Pausing in my tracks I holler back to her. “No it doesn’t, Bethany!”

Kayce eyed his sister but had nothing to say to her. He dropped his hands down at his sides. The young Dutton knew he felt something for the girl who walked around his family home like she was always meant to be there. Maybe because he’d seen her around his whole life. She had always been a Dutton in his eyes.

“Kayce, I’m going to have dinner in the bunkhouse. See if I can beat those boys at poker if you want to come with me.” I called from the kitchen, grabbing my jacket and a to-go bag of food that Gator made for me.

He turned his head in my direction. “Yeah sure I’ll come.”

“Don’t have too much fun you two.” Beth chuckled at the two of us watching us leave going to the bunkhouse.

By the time we had got to the bunkhouse we could hear them yelling and half the alcohol was almost gone from the fridge. Sliding in on the empty seat next to Ryan he smiled in my direction throwing his desk of card’s down. “Look who decided to join the party. The future mr and Mrs. Kayce Dutton.”

“Oh not you guys too.” I rolled my eyes not expecting them to be on it with Beth.

Colby fixes the deck, dealing me and Kayce each a hand to play in their new game. “We can’t help it if you make it so obvious.”

“What’s obvious?” Jimmy asked from his bunk.

Teeter, who was fixing herself some dinner from Gator spoke up, removing the spoon from inside her mouth. “They clearly want each other just like I know my baby wants me.”

“I am not your baby.” Colby replied to her.

She smiled, turning back to her food. “Stop lying to yourself baby.”

“I didn’t think you had a thing for her, Kayce. I just thought you two were really close friends.” Jimmy entered the conversation.

I moved my gaze to the center of the wooden table not saying a word. Shifting the deck of cards in my hands I really wanted them to stop with the teasing. But Jimmy clearly couldn’t read the room correctly, bless his heart. “We are really close and that’s all.”

“But they are burning to be more.” Ryan made a kissing sound into my ear.

Kayce hit his fist on the table. “Will you stop talking about that!”

“Ohh he’s getting all embarrassed.” Jake, another ranch hand, joined in pointing his index finger at him.

Kayce hit the table again. “I swear the next person who teases us will see me fly over this table.”

Jake, Colby and Ryan about lost their shit at that statement all cheering like he had just admitted he had feelings for me when he really hadn’t. Raising my hands up I sighed finally saying something. “Can we just get back to the game?”

“She’s still avoiding the moment.” Jimmy spoke up.

Kayce raised himself up to his feet stomping over to Jimmy. He grabs him by his shirt getting in his face angrily. “That does it! What did I say a few seconds ago, Jimmy.”

“Woah, when did poker become violent?” Lloyd came out of the bathroom shortly after Walker did. Both confused at what was going on here.

Forcing myself up from my chair I stomped over to the fridge throwing it open. “Cause I apparently can’t get a beer around here with all these gossiping girls dressed as cowboys.” I mocked them for drinking almost half the bottle of beer I had taken from their stash.

“Well then let’s start this card game.” Walker sat down in my chair and thankfully there was no more conversation like that when Kayce let go of Jimmy. He left the bunkhouse leaving me with the boys and Teeter for the rest of the night which made me think maybe they had gotten underneath his skin over something.

The next morning was crazy for everyone even though we had everything set up. Coming out of one of the tents we had set up I halted in my tracks seeing the blonde that had hit a rock after an animal protest talking with him. Summer I remember her name to be. “I don’t think this place is right for you.”

“Oh don’t worry. Once I get out of here I will leave. Besides I can sense somebody doesn’t care much for me being in your company.” She turned her head slightly seeing that I was glaring at the pair.

Kayce turned his attention to her, quickly walking away from her side. “See you around, Summer…what’s got you so angry?”

“I’m not angry over anything.” I crossed my arms over my chest.

He tilted his head. “Really cause you won’t make eye contact when you’re angry. You also hug your arms to your chest when you’re angry. So what made you upset?”

“I think I should be asking you that more than you asking me after what happened last night. You bailed on me Kayce, why?” I questioned the young rancher trying to figure out why all day but nothing came to mind.

He blinked a few times with silent passing between us. “I didn’t like what they were saying about us.”

“It was just teasing right or do you have feelings for me?” I blurted it out letting my curiosity get the better of me when it came to what he thought.

Kayce stepped closer to me reaching up with his hands to cradle my face. “I didn’t like the teasing because I wanted to be the one to tell you myself. But now I say fuck it.”

“Kayce-“ He cut me off short, pressing his lips down onto mine and after that point everything suddenly stopped. Throwing my arms around his neck I brought him closer, deepening the kiss.

He moved one hand into my hair tugging on it a few times. I moaned into the kiss, finding this is better than I could have imagined. Like we were always supposed to be like this together. “I told you, boys.”

“Wait a second.” I broke the kiss recognizing Beth’s voice.

Kayce kept one hand on my wrist when I remained close to his chest seeing that Ryan and Colby were standing off to the side with her. “What the hell did you have them do?”

“We bet her ten bucks that the teasing last night wouldn’t work.” Ryan reached inside his jacket handing her some money.

She took it from his hand proudly walking past us to go find Rip. “They lost obviously. It’s about time you two finally saddled your horses together.” Kayce and I shared the same shocked look but shortly laughed with huge smiles on our faces at the well thought out plan she had achieved.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[ritingsandwramblings]

im sitting here alone in darkness waiting to be free

Chapter Two of the hero who never ran Title from Solitude by Candlemass Previous chapter here

~~~

It was a few days before I saw Eddie again. After that first day he didn't come to school again all week, I didn't even see him around the halls after class that day. It was a shock to see him walk into Mr. Daniels classroom again that Thursday, eyes focused downwards, but unable to hide the bags beneath them. His long brown curls looked untamed today, as if he had just rolled out of bed for the first time since Monday, and he was missing the rings I had noticed before too. He was on time today, with other desks to chose from, but he glanced around and still chose the one right next to mine. I glanced over once he slumped into the chair.

"Hey, long time no see." He looked over and offered a solemn, closed-mouth smile back; now that he was closer I could see how bloodshot his eyes were, but I couldn't decipher if they were so red from lack of sleep or from some hidden emotion he spent the past few days crying out. "Are you okay?" I asked him quietly, hoping my sincerity was clear and that he didn't think I was being nosy or too pushy.

"Yeah... yeah I'm good, I'm fine," he mumbled back, putting his elbow up on the desk and leaning his cheek into it. He softly closed his eyes, and I decided not to push any further; I barely knew this kid, clearly he didn't want me meddling. I sat through the rest of class barely paying attention, letting my mind wander to the probably-half-asleep boy next to me, until the bell rung, making him jump a little. He grabbed his bag and left the classroom before I got the chance to talk to him again, but I wasn't quite sure what I would have said anyway.

Gathering books from my locker for my next class, I felt eyes on me before seeing someone approach my locker through my peripherals. Her name was Beverly, I recognized her from Mr. Daniels class, she usually sat in the back corner with a few other girls with similar perms and pink lip gloss.

"Hey, Evelyn, right?" Her voice is hushed, as if we're in the middle of a funeral. I can see her group of friends behind her whispering, trying and failing at hiding their glances over to us.

"It's Evyn, but yeah."

"Hey, I just wanted to warn you about that Eddie kid. I know you're, like, new, so theres totally no way you'd know, but he's kinda bad news," she looks around as if telling me this puts a hit on her, as if the FBI themselves are going to jump out of one of these lockers and take us both away.

"Bad news? How so?" I feel my heart rate pick up a bit at the adrenaline of finally, maybe finding out why everyone side-eyes Eddie at all times here.

"Well, last year a couple students here died, super crazy Satanic ritual type-shit; he was, like, suspect number one, and then the earthquake hit and the cops just, like, forgot about it. But, like, we all know he did it, I mean, Chrissy was literally found in his trailer." Her voice cracks at the mention of this Chrissy; I'm assuming they were friends.

"Ah, Satanist, noted," I raise my eyebrows sarcastically, always having been terrible at keeping a pokerface. Still, the confession worries me, and if the whole town thinks Eddie was sacrificing high schoolers to Satan that explains all the stares and hesitation, but her story still doesn't add up all the way. "Well, thanks for letting me know, I guess."

"I'm serious, look nothings happened since the earthquake and everything, but just, like, be careful, okay?" She glances again before going back to her friends. I watch her walk away before blinking the confusion from my brain, shutting my locker, and going to class. I try to focus in my math class, and then my history class, but my mind keeps going back to Eddie and what Beverly told me. I can't help but feel like theres another layer to the story, like theres a missing piece that Hawkins doesn't know about Eddie. I keep an eye out for him as I leave class to head to lunch, and just barely see a head of brown curls going out the big double doors that lead to the football field. At the risk of being a total creep, I sneak that way too, seeing the boy sit at a picnic table on the other side of the field, his knee bouncing beneath it. As I near him a twig breaks beneath my foot, causing him to spin around so fast I think he's going to fall right off the bench. He doesn't but his heart is clearly racing and it takes him a moment to catch his breath.

"Sorry," I mumble awkwardly.

"S'fine," he mumbles back, sounding forced. I walk over to sit across from him at the bench, hesitating before I sit down, "is it okay if I join you? I saw you come out here, and I don't really have any friends here to eat lunch with." He looks at me, almost shocked, before nodding a bit. I sit and open my lunchbox, taking out some chips. I notice he has a paper bag in front of him, but he hasn't opening it or taken anything out yet. We sit in silence for some time, before he inhales and looks up at me a bit.

"I saw Beverly talk to you, uh, at your locker? It was about me, right? She was warning you?" He asks quietly, immediately averting his gaze again. My heart speeds up again as I worry that my gut feeling about Eddie was wrong, that I'm the stupidest horror movie character ever for following a possible Satanist serial killer into the woods where we're completely alone. I nod at him a bit, humming a quick 'mhm' when I realize he isn't looking at me to see me nod. "It isn't true, I know everyone accused of murder says that shit, but I really didn't do anything. I get it if you don't believe me, but please just let me be if you don't," his voice is barely above a whisper, he looks on the verge of tears again, "I'm just trying to finally graduate and get out of Hawkins, I don't need another person spray painting my van or giving me dirty looks or yelling things at me, just, please; once graduation comes I'll be out of everyones hair and as far from Hawkins as I can fucking get." I let his words sit for a moment, allowing the sincerity of it to hang in the air.

"I believe you," I finally say, causing him to look up at me again, tears threatening to spill over still in his eyes.

"You do?"

"Yeah, look, no offense, you have the whole 'cool, rocker guy' look, but you don't seem like a killer, especially not one sacrificing kids to fucking Satan," he almost chuckles at that, and lets himself give me a small, but genuine, smile.

"Thanks... but, still, hanging around me will make them all treat you like that, like a freak."

I shrug, "oh well, I don't plan on being here long after graduation either, we can be freaks together until then." Again, he looks up and looks shocked.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why would you do this to yourself? Seriously, its okay to leave, I can stop sitting next to you in Mr. Daniels class and we can act like we never met. Trust me, you don't want the freak reputation in this town, it was bad before but bearable, but after Chrissy," his voice cracks mentioning her name too, just like Beverly's earlier, "and everything else, it just got worse. Plus the whole, uh, earthquake drove the few people that knew the truth out too."

"You just seem like you could use a friend. Besides, who cares what these people think about me, I'll never see any of them again after this year," I look at him with concern, "I think most of these people would think I'm a freak regardless of associating with you eventually, anyway." I offer him a sympathetic smile.

"Okay, well, in that case, thanks," he returns the sympathetic smile, and as I continue to eat my lunch I think about how I have more questions than I do answers.

Next chapter here

[ecoamerica]

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

[eternlle]

in 1897, evelyn was killed in the bazar de la charité inferno, alongside 125 other high - society women.     it was her worst death, and the most egregious injury she ever sustained.    without a doubt,  this was the most horrific experience of her life.

under the cut for a literal short story   (1,700 words, whoops)  about that one time evelyn died in a fire.   graphic description of burning included, so read at your own risk.

evelyn wasn’t actually supposed to be in paris in may 1897.   she’d planned a trip to brussels, which had been abruptly cancelled   ;   and, despite having plans to travel to cairo at the start of the next month, she felt like resting for a while.   the plan was to visit the city for a few days, then move south, on to langeais, where she could rest in her childhood home for a while.

she stayed because of the bazaar.   it was too great an opportunity to pass up.

amidst the sea of finely dressed ladies, tiny evelyn, without a title or an overflowing purse, didn’t stand out much.   she browsed the stands of trinkets and jewelry, had her picture taken, and watched a magic show in awe.   finally, her arms laden with new purchases, she was eager to see the cinema, playing a moving picture   ---  she’d never seen one before, and her heart raced at the very thought.    it should have been a perfect day...

until flames began licking up the walls.

everything happened so fast.  later, evelyn would not be sure when the panic started, or how people realized the danger  ---  only that she did not realize it fast enough.    the first thing she heard were the screams   ---   a game, surely, it must just be a game  ---  but people were running, shouting au feu, au feu  ---   and one woman suddenly crashed through evelyn’s corner of the tent, smashing into a stall, her dress aflame.    then everyone was running, crowding towards the building’s lone exit...   and there was no way out, no way to push through the crowd.

the blaze spread like hellfire.   at once, it was everywhere, sweeping along the walls and ceilings.    the smoke was choking, and she could not escape it   ;   the band was still playing to tranquilize the crowds, but it only added more chaos.   when the lights when out, a tortured wail rose up from hundreds of dying people, and panic increased threefold.

lost in the crowd, evelyn was jostled at every side, nearly swept off her feet.   her only thought was of the exit, now so hard to find in the dark...  but when someone pushed her back, evelyn stumbled back, into a towering man in a silk waistcoat.   he threw her away roughly, slamming her into a jewelry stall. when she tried to get up, the crush of people held her down   ;   she was pinned to the floor, kicked and trampled.   a boot caught her in the head, and she saw stars.   somehow, she was able to pull herself beneath the stall...   but that was only enough to escape the crowd, not the blaze.

evelyn was too injured to try to escape, even when there was no longer a way out.   with the exit overcome by fire, all the trapped souls remaining were left to huddle like rats in darkened corners, shielding themselves beneath tables and behind stages, awaiting salvation that would never come.   through half - opened eyes, evelyn watched people flee for their lives.   women collapsed in pillars of flames mere feet away, and she could only watch, unable to offer help.     one of her legs was shattered, her hand crushed to a pulp   ;   blood dripped down her face, running into her silent scream.

without warning, insistent hands hauled her up, pulling her from beneath the stall.   evelyn emerged into smoke - filled air, unable to hold herself up on her own   ;    only when she looked back did she realize her sanctuary had caught fire, and was burning just over her head.    singed and reeling, she braced herself against the arm of her rescuer.     ( that would be her clearest memory afterwards   ---  wide blue eyes, a purple coat, a grip that would not let her collapse, and a lady’s low voice encouraging her   ---   you must keep moving!  you must!  in the name of god, don’t give up now!   evelyn never even knew her name. )

they nearly made it   ;   they nearly found a spot free of fire, where the air was thin but not choking, where they might have survived a few seconds longer.   flameless darkness was in sight, and evelyn reached for it   ---   but a sudden collapse above their heads brought down upon them a curtain of flame.   something hard struck evelyn’s back, but she could not register that pain over the burning  ---  burning suddenly, burning everywhere, agony unlike any she’d ever imagined.   her companion let out a terrible wail   ;   evelyn shoved herself away from a flailing pillar of flame, crashing backwards into a stall of mirrors.   glass shattered around her   ;   she fell in a heap, still engulfed in flames, screaming until her tongue burned in her mouth and her throat burned to a crisp.

it took too long to die.   she is not sure how quickly death came  ---  maybe minutes, maybe seconds  ---   but it was far too long.

and so, she died.

and so, she awoke.

it was very cold.  that’s the first thought that crossed evelyn’s mind.   she didn’t...  feel cold, exactly, but she didn’t feel right at all, and cold was foremost on her list of concerns.   when she opened her eyes, it was dark as well...  and an unbearable stench hung in the air.   it choked her, and she tried to gasp, but her throat exploded in agony.    for a while, that was all she could manage  ---  the gasps of a dying thing, whimpering and moaning as though the very life itself were being drained from her.

in actuality, it was the opposite.   life was flowing back into her.   evelyn’s body ached, the majority of her body raw and vulnerable, like an open wound...   but the skin was closed, flesh tender where it was healing.   she still sported burns, but they were not as severe as they should have been.    her body was unrecognizable   ;   she’d been burnt to a crisp.     now, half - healed after more than two weeks of sleep, she was like a newborn bird, vulnerable and delicate, and a funny shade of purple.

within minutes, a strange man was hovering over her   ;   his hands prodded her, forcing her to bat him away with a moan of fury.   he raised a cup of water to her lips.   she gulped the liquid eagerly, and after a few moments, was even able to hold it on her own.

the rest of the fire victims had already been buried.   a few bodies   ---   the ones too burnt to be recognizable   ---   went unclaimed, and were set to be disposed of.   instead, the young man   ---   guillaume fleurot, a mortician, as he proudly stated   ---   recognized something strange in one of the bodies.   by the day, she seemed to be...  healing, with no assistance, no aid.     every time the sheet covering wrapped around her was pulled away, she’d regained a little more of herself.    by the time her chest began to rise and fall on its own, the man realized he had something more than death on his hands.  �� he spirited the body away from the makeshift morgue when it was liquidated, and brought evelyn instead to the mortuary for observation.

“observation”, he said.   more like a game of twenty - hundred questions, none of which evelyn cared to answer.

coming back from the dead is nasty business.    evelyn recovered slowly, returning to herself by the day.    for the first week of awareness, the pain left her insensate half the time.   medication did nothing for her, so she tried to sleep   ;   in her delirium, she sometimes rambled, and was even grateful for the attentions of her unwanted saviour.   she asked often, as guillaume told her later, after the lady in the purple coat.    if her body had been recovered from the fire, he replied, the purple coat was too burnt to be recognized.

there were moments when evelyn truly didn’t want to go on, when the agony was so overwhelming that she prayed death would just claim her...   but each time, she remembered that voice   ---  you must keep going!  you can’t give up now!   ---  and somehow, she found the strength to go on.   it wasn’t as though she had any other choice.

a month after the fire, every burn was healed.    her skin still felt tender to the touch, extremely sensitive to temperature, but it could as well have been a nasty sunburn.    she was able to speak, to stomach food, to move around on her own with ease   ---   it all may as well have never happened.

that was what she told guillaume when she finally insisted on leaving.   in typical evelyn style, she was able to laugh it off.   she’d survived  ---  what did it matter?      ( never mind that she could still taste smoke, and saw flames every time she closed her eyes.   never mind the dying screams which would ring in her ears forever. )     all she really wanted, after so long in hell, was to return home.   the young mortician, his eyes opened to an unprecedented world of scientific possibilities, did not want to let her go.    evelyn stole away in the night, escaping from under his watchful eye as he dozed in the next room   ---   if he wanted a case study to obsess over, he’d have to find some other immortal girl.

instead, evelyn returned to the woods.   the journey took her over a week.   when she finally found her childhood home, long since uninhabited and slowly being overgrown by nature, she spun around in its empty halls.   her first action afterwards was to run barefoot into the woods   ;   she ran and ran until coming to the lake, where she and her brother splashed so often as a child.   evelyn stripped herself of every shred of clothing, down to the very bone, and submerged herself in the waters.

it was cold.   it was blissful.  she felt reborn.

for the first time, when evelyn closed her eyes, flames didn’t lick the blackness of her eyelids.

[innuendostudios]

Thoughts on: Criterion's Neo-Noir Collection

I have written up all 26 films* in the Criterion Channel's Neo-Noir Collection.

Legend: rw - rewatch; a movie I had seen before going through the collection dnrw - did not rewatch; if a movie met two criteria (a. I had seen it within the last 18 months, b. I actively dislike it) I wrote it up from memory.

* in September, Brick leaves the Criterion Channel and is replaced in the collection with Michael Mann's Thief. May add it to the list when that happens.

Note: These are very "what was on my mind after watching." No effort has been made to avoid spoilers, nor to make the plot clear for anyone who hasn't seen the movies in question. Decide for yourself if that's interesting to you.

Cotton Comes to Harlem I feel utterly unequipped to asses this movie. This and Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song the following year are regularly cited as the progenitors of the blaxploitation genre. (This is arguably unfair, since both were made by Black men and dealt much more substantively with race than the white-directed films that followed them.) Its heroes are a couple of Black cops who are treated with suspicion both by their white colleagues and by the Black community they're meant to police. I'm not 100% clear on whether they're the good guys? I mean, I think they are. But the community's suspicion of them seems, I dunno... well-founded? They are working for The Man. And there's interesting discussion to the had there - is the the problem that the law is carried out by racists, or is the law itself racist? Can Black cops make anything better? But it feels like the film stacks the deck in Gravedigger and Coffin Ed's favor; the local Black church is run by a conman, the Back-to-Africa movement is, itself, a con, and the local Black Power movement is treated as an obstacle. Black cops really are the only force for justice here. Movie portrays Harlem itself as a warm, thriving, cultured community, but the people that make up that community are disloyal and easily fooled. Felt, to me, like the message was "just because they're cops doesn't mean they don't have Black soul," which, nowadays, we would call copaganda. But, then, do I know what I'm talking about? Do I know how much this played into or off of or against stereotypes from 1970? Was this a radical departure I don't have the context to appreciate? Is there substance I'm too white and too many decades removed to pick up on? Am I wildly overthinking this? I dunno. Seems like everyone involved was having a lot of fun, at least. That bit is contagious.

Across 110th Street And here's the other side of the "race film" equation. Another movie set in Harlem with a Black cop pulled between the police, the criminals, and the public, but this time the film is made by white people. I like it both more and less. Pro: this time the difficult position of Black cop who's treated with suspicion by both white cops and Black Harlemites is interrogated. Con: the Black cop has basically no personality other than "honest cop." Pro: the racism of the police force is explicit and systemic, as opposed to comically ineffectual. Con: the movie is shaped around a racist white cop who beats the shit out of Black people but slowly forms a bond with his Black partner. Pro: the Black criminal at the heart of the movie talks openly about how the white world has stacked the deck against him, and he's soulful and relateable. Con: so of course he dies in the end, because the only way privileged people know to sympathetize with minorities is to make them tragic (see also: The Boys in the Band, Philadelphia, and Brokeback Mountain for gay men). Additional con: this time Harlem is portrayed as a hellhole. Barely any of the community is even seen. At least the shot at the end, where the criminal realizes he's going to die and throws the bag of money off a roof and into a playground so the Black kids can pick it up before the cops reclaim it was powerful. But overall... yech. Cotton Comes to Harlem felt like it wasn't for me; this feels like it was 100% for me and I respect it less for that.

The Long Goodbye (rw) The shaggiest dog. Like much Altman, more compelling than good, but very compelling. Raymond Chandler's story is now set in the 1970's, but Philip Marlowe is the same Philip Marlowe of the 1930's. I get the sense there was always something inherently sad about Marlowe. Classic noir always portrayed its detectives as strong-willed men living on the border between the straightlaced world and its seedy underbelly, crossing back and forth freely but belonging to neither. But Chandler stresses the loneliness of it - or, at least, the people who've adapted Chandler do. Marlowe is a decent man in an indecent world, sorting things out, refusing to profit from misery, but unable to set anything truly right. Being a man out of step is here literalized by putting him forty years from the era where he belongs. His hardboiled internal monologue is now the incessant mutterings of the weird guy across the street who never stops smoking. Like I said: compelling! Kael's observation was spot on: everyone in the movie knows more about the mystery than he does, but he's the only one who cares. The mystery is pretty threadbare - Marlowe doesn't detect so much as end up in places and have people explain things to him. But I've seen it two or three times now, and it does linger.

Chinatown (rw) I confess I've always been impressed by Chinatown more than I've liked it. Its story structure is impeccable, its atmosphere is gorgeous, its noirish fatalism is raw and real, its deconstruction of the noir hero is well-observed, and it's full of clever detective tricks (the pocket watches, the tail light, the ruler). I've just never connected with it. Maybe it's a little too perfectly crafted. (I feel similar about Miller's Crossing.) And I've always been ambivalent about the ending. In Towne's original ending, Evelyn shoots Noah Cross dead and get arrested, and neither she nor Jake can tell the truth of why she did it, so she goes to jail for murder and her daughter is in the wind. Polansky proposed the ending that exists now, where Evelyn just dies, Cross wins, and Jake walks away devastated. It communicates the same thing: Jake's attempt to get smart and play all the sides off each other instead of just helping Evelyn escape blows up in his face at the expense of the woman he cares about and any sense of real justice. And it does this more dramatically and efficiently than Towne's original ending. But it also treats Evelyn as narratively disposable, and hands the daughter over to the man who raped Evelyn and murdered her husband. It makes the women suffer more to punch up the ending. But can I honestly say that Towne's ending is the better one? It is thematically equal, dramatically inferior, but would distract me less. Not sure what the calculus comes out to there. Maybe there should be a third option. Anyway! A perfect little contraption. Belongs under a glass dome.

Night Moves (rw) Ah yeah, the good shit. This is my quintessential 70's noir. This is three movies in a row about detectives. Thing is, the classic era wasn't as chockablock with hardboiled detectives as we think; most of those movies starred criminals, cops, and boring dudes seduced to the darkness by a pair of legs. Gumshoes just left the strongest impressions. (The genre is said to begin with Maltese Falcon and end with Touch of Evil, after all.) So when the post-Code 70's decided to pick the genre back up while picking it apart, it makes sense that they went for the 'tecs first. The Long Goodbye dragged the 30's detective into the 70's, and Chinatown went back to the 30's with a 70's sensibility. But Night Moves was about detecting in the Watergate era, and how that changed the archetype. Harry Moseby is the detective so obsessed with finding the truth that he might just ruin his life looking for it, like the straight story will somehow fix everything that's broken, like it'll bring back a murdered teenager and repair his marriage and give him a reason to forgive the woman who fucked him just to distract him from some smuggling. When he's got time to kill, he takes out a little, magnetic chess set and recreates a famous old game, where three knight moves (get it?) would have led to a beautiful checkmate had the player just seen it. He keeps going, self-destructing, because he can't stand the idea that the perfect move is there if he can just find it. And, no matter how much we see it destroy him, we, the audience, want him to keep going; we expect a satisfying resolution to the mystery. That's what we need from a detective picture; one character flat-out compares Harry to Sam Spade. But what if the truth is just... Watergate? Just some prick ruining things for selfish reasons? Nothing grand, nothing satisfying. Nothing could be more noir, or more neo-, than that.

Farewell, My Lovely Sometimes the only thing that makes a noir neo- is that it's in color and all the blood, tits, and racism from the books they're based on get put back in. This second stab at Chandler is competant but not much more than that. Mitchum works as Philip Marlowe, but Chandler's dialogue feels off here, like lines that worked on the page don't work aloud, even though they did when Bogie said them. I'll chalk it up to workmanlike but uninspired direction. (Dang this looks bland so soon after Chinatown.) Moose Malloy is a great character, and perfectly cast. (Wasn't sure at first, but it's true.) Some other interesting cats show up and vanish - the tough brothel madam based on Brenda Allen comes to mind, though she's treated with oddly more disdain than most of the other hoods and is dispatched quicker. In general, the more overt racism and misogyny doesn't seem to do anything except make the movie "edgier" than earlier attempts at the same material, and it reads kinda try-hard. But it mostly holds together. *shrug*

The Killing of a Chinese Bookie (dnrw) Didn't care for this at all. Can't tell if the script was treated as a jumping-off point or if the dialogue is 100% improvised, but it just drags on forever and is never that interesting. Keeps treating us to scenes from the strip club like they're the opera scenes in Amadeus, and, whatever, I don't expect burlesque to be Mozart, but Cosmo keeps saying they're an artful, classy joint, and I keep waiting for the show to be more than cheap, lazy camp. How do you make gratuitious nudity boring? Mind you, none of this is bad as a rule - I love digressions and can enjoy good sleaze, and it's clear the filmmakers care about what they're making. They just did not sell it in a way I wanted to buy. Can't remember what edit I watched; I hope it was the 135 minute one, because I cannot imagine there being a longer edit out there.

The American Friend (dnrw) It's weird that this is Patricia Highsmith, right? That Dennis Hopper is playing Tom Ripley? In a cowboy hat? I gather that Minghella's version wasn't true to the source, but I do love that movie, and this is a long, long way from that. This Mr. Ripley isn't even particularly talented! Anyway, this has one really great sequence, where a regular guy has been coerced by crooks into murdering someone on a train platform, and, when the moment comes to shoot, he doesn't. And what follows is a prolonged sequence of an amateur trying to surreptitiously tail a guy across a train station and onto another train, and all the while you're not sure... is he going to do it? is he going to chicken out? is he going to do it so badly he gets caught? It's hard not to put yourself in the protagonist's shoes, wondering how you would handle the situation, whether you could do it, whether you could act on impulse before your conscience could catch up with you. It drags on a long while and this time it's a good thing. Didn't much like the rest of the movie, it's shapeless and often kind of corny, and the central plot hook is contrived. (It's also very weird that this is the only Wim Wenders I've seen.) But, hey, I got one excellent sequence, not gonna complain.

The Big Sleep Unlike the 1946 film, I can follow the plot of this Big Sleep. But, also unlike the 1946 version, this one isn't any damn fun. Mitchum is back as Marlowe (this is three Marlowes in five years, btw), and this time it's set in the 70's and in England, for some reason. I don't find this offensive, but neither do I see what it accomplishes? Most of the cast is still American. (Hi Jimmy!) Still holds together, but even less well than Farewell, My Lovely. But I do find it interesting that the neo-noir era keeps returning to Chandler while it's pretty much left Hammet behind (inasmuch as someone whose genes are spread wide through the whole genre can be left behind). Spade and the Continental Op, straightshooting tough guys who come out on top in the end, seem antiquated in the (post-)modern era. But Marlowe's goodness being out of sync with the world around him only seems more poignant the further you take him from his own time. Nowadays you can really only do Hammett as pastiche, but I sense that you could still play Chandler straight.

Eyes of Laura Mars The most De Palma movie I've seen not made by De Palma, complete with POV shots, paranormal hoodoo, and fixation with sex, death, and whether images of such are art or exploitation (or both). Laura Mars takes photographs of naked women in violent tableux, and has gotten quite famous doing so, but is it damaging to women? The movie has more than a superficial engagement with this topic, but only slightly more than superficial. Kept imagining a movie that is about 30% less serial killer story and 30% more art conversations. (But, then, I have an art degree and have never murdered anyone, so.) Like, museums are full of Biblical paintings full of nude women and slaughter, sometimes both at once, and they're called masterpieces. Most all of them were painted by men on commission from other men. Now Laura Mars makes similar images in modern trappings, and has models made of flesh and blood rather than paint, and it's scandalous? Why is it only controversial once women are getting paid for it? On the other hand, is this just the master's tools? Is she subverting or challenging the male gaze, or just profiting off of it? Or is a woman profiting off of it, itself, a subversion? Is it subversive enough to account for how it commodifies female bodies? These questions are pretty clearly relevant to the movie itself, and the movies in general, especially after the fall of the Hays Code when people were really unrestrained with the blood and boobies. And, heck, the lead is played by the star of Bonnie and Clyde! All this is to say: I wish the movie were as interested in these questions as I am. What's there is a mildly diverting B-picture. There's one great bit where Laura's seeing through the killer's eyes (that's the hook, she gets visions from the murderer's POV; no, this is never explained) and he's RIGHT BEHIND HER, so there's a chase where she charges across an empty room only able to see her own fleeing self from ten feet behind. That was pretty great! And her first kiss with the detective (because you could see a mile away that the detective and the woman he's supposed to protect are gonna fall in love) is immediately followed by the two freaking out about how nonsensical it is for them to fall in love with each other, because she's literally mourning multiple deaths and he's being wildly unprofessional, and then they go back to making out. That bit was great, too. The rest... enh.

The Onion Field What starts off as a seemingly not-that-noirish cops-vs-crooks procedural turns into an agonizingly protracted look at the legal system, with the ultimate argument that the very idea of the law ever resulting in justice is a lie. Hoo! I have to say, I'm impressed. There's a scene where a lawyer - whom I'm not sure is even named, he's like the seventh of thirteen we've met - literally quits the law over how long this court case about two guys shooting a cop has taken. He says the cop who was murdered has been forgotten, his partner has never gotten to move on because the case has lasted eight years, nothing has been accomplished, and they should let the two criminals walk and jail all the judges and lawyers instead. It's awesome! The script is loaded with digressions and unnecessary details, just the way I like it. Can't say I'm impressed with the execution. Nothing is wrong, exactly, but the performances all seem a tad melodramatic or a tad uninspired. Camerawork is, again, purely functional. It's no masterpiece. But that second half worked for me. (And it's Ted Danson's first movie! He did great.)

Body Heat (rw) Let's say up front that this is a handsomely-made movie. Probably the best looking thing on the list since Night Moves. Nothing I've seen better captures the swelter of an East Coast heatwave, or the lusty feeling of being too hot to bang and going at it regardless. Kathleen Turner sells the hell out of a femme fatale. There are a lot of good lines and good performances (Ted Danson is back and having the time of his life). I want to get all that out of the way, because this is a movie heavily modeled after Double Indemnity, and I wanted to discuss its merits before I get into why inviting that comparison doesn't help the movie out. In a lot of ways, it's the same rules as the Robert Mitchum Marlowe movies - do Double Indemnity but amp up the sex and violence. And, to a degree it works. (At least, the sex does, dunno that Double Indemnity was crying out for explosions.) But the plot is amped as well, and gets downright silly. Yeah, Mrs. Dietrichson seduces Walter Neff so he'll off her husband, but Neff clocks that pretty early and goes along with it anyway. Everything beyond that is two people keeping too big a secret and slowly turning on each other. But here? For the twists to work Matty has to be, from frame one, playing four-dimensional chess on the order of Senator Palpatine, and its about as plausible. (Exactly how did she know, after she rebuffed Ned, he would figure out her local bar and go looking for her at the exact hour she was there?) It's already kind of weird to be using the spider woman trope in 1981, but to make her MORE sexually conniving and mercenary than she was in the 40's is... not great. As lurid trash, it's pretty fun for a while, but some noir stuff can't just be updated, it needs to be subverted or it doesn't justify its existence.

Blow Out Brian De Palma has two categories of movie: he's got his mainstream, director-for-hire fare, where his voice is either reigned in or indulged in isolated sequences that don't always jive with the rest fo the film, and then there's his Brian De Palma movies. My mistake, it seems, is having seen several for-hires from throughout his career - The Untouchables (fine enough), Carlito's Way (ditto, but less), Mission: Impossible (enh) - but had only seen De Palma-ass movies from his late period (Femme Fatale and The Black Dahlia, both of which I think are garbage). All this to say: Blow Out was my first classic-era De Palma, and holy fucking shit dudes. This was (with caveats) my absolute and entire jam. I said I could enjoy good sleaze, and this is good friggin' sleaze. (Though far short of De Palma at his sleaziest, mercifully.) The splitscreens, the diopter shots, the canted angles, how does he make so many shlocky things work?! John Travolta's sound tech goes out to get fresh wind fx for the movie he's working on, and we get this wonderful sequence of visuals following sounds as he turns his attention and his microphone to various noises - a couple on a walk, a frog, an owl, a buzzing street lamp. Later, as he listens back to the footage, the same sequence plays again, but this time from his POV; we're seeing his memory as guided by the same sequence of sounds, now recreated with different shots, as he moves his pencil in the air mimicking the microphone. When he mixes and edits sounds, we hear the literal soundtrack of the movie we are watching get mixed and edited by the person on screen. And as he tries to unravel a murder mystery, he uses what's at hand: magnetic tape, flatbed editors, an animation camera to turn still photos from the crime scene into a film and sync it with the audio he recorded; it's forensics using only the tools of the editing room. As someone who's spent some time in college editing rooms, this is a hoot and a half. Loses a bit of steam as it goes on and the film nerd stuff gives way to a more traditional thriller, but rallies for a sound-tech-centered final setpiece, which steadily builds to such madcap heights you can feel the air thinning, before oddly cutting its own tension and then trying to build it back up again. It doesn't work as well the second time. But then, that shot right after the climax? Damn. Conflicted on how the movie treats the female lead. I get why feminist film theorists are so divided on De Palma. His stuff is full of things feminists (rightly) criticize, full of women getting naked when they're not getting stabbed, but he also clearly finds women fascinating and has them do empowered and unexpected things, and there are many feminist reads of his movies. Call it a mixed bag. But even when he's doing tropey shit, he explores the tropes in unexpected ways. Definitely the best movie so far that I hadn't already seen.

Cutter's Way (rw) Alex Cutter is pitched to us as an obnoxious-but-sympathetic son of a bitch, and, you know, two out of three ain't bad. Watched this during my 2020 neo-noir kick and considered skipping it this time because I really didn't enjoy it. Found it a little more compelling this go around, while being reminded of why my feelings were room temp before. Thematically, I'm onboard: it's about a guy, Cutter, getting it in his head that he's found a murderer and needs to bring him to justice, and his friend, Bone, who intermittently helps him because he feels bad that Cutter lost his arm, leg, and eye in Nam and he also feels guilty for being in love with Cutter's wife. The question of whether the guy they're trying to bring down actually did it is intentionally undefined, and arguably unimportant; they've got personal reasons to see this through. Postmodern and noirish, fixated with the inability to ever fully know the truth of anything, but starring people so broken by society that they're desperate for certainty. (Pretty obvious parallels to Vietnam.) Cutter's a drunk and kind of an asshole, but understandably so. Bone's shiftlessness is the other response to a lack of meaning in the world, to the point where making a decision, any decision, feels like character growth, even if it's maybe killing a guy whose guilt is entirely theoretical. So, yeah, I'm down with all of this! A- in outline form. It's just that Cutter is so uninterestingly unpleasant and no one else on screen is compelling enough to make up for it. His drunken windups are tedious and his sanctimonious speeches about what the war was like are, well, true and accurate but also obviously manipulative. It's two hours with two miserable people, and I think Cutter's constant chatter is supposed to be the comic relief but it's a little too accurate to drunken rambling, which isn't funny if you're not also drunk. He's just tedious, irritating, and periodically racist. Pass.

Blood Simple (rw) I'm pretty cool on the Coens - there are things I've liked, even loved, in every Coen film I've seen, but I always come away dissatisfied. For a while, I kept going to their movies because I was sure eventually I'd love one without qualification. No Country for Old Men came close, the first two acts being master classes in sustained tension. But then the third act is all about denying closure: the protagonist is murdered offscreen, the villain's motives are never explained, and it ends with an existentialist speech about the unfathomable cruelty of the world. And it just doesn't land for me. The archness of the Coen's dialogue, the fussiness of their set design, the kinda-intimate, kinda-awkward, kinda-funny closeness of the camera's singles, it cannot sell me on a devastating meditation about meaninglessness. It's only ever sold me on the Coens' own cleverness. And that archness, that distancing, has typified every one of their movies I've come close to loving. Which is a long-ass preamble to saying, holy heck, I was not prepared for their very first movie to be the one I'd been looking for! I watched it last year and it remains true on rewatch: Blood Simple works like gangbusters. It's kind of Double Indemnity (again) but played as a comedy of errors, minus the comedy: two people romantically involved feeling their trust unravel after a murder. And I think the first thing that works for me is that utter lack of comedy. It's loaded with the Coens' trademark ironies - mostly dramatic in this case - but it's all played straight. Unlike the usual lead/femme fatale relationship, where distrust brews as the movie goes on, the audience knows the two main characters can trust each other. There are no secret duplicitous motives waiting to be revealed. The audience also know why they don't trust each other. (And it's all communicated wordlessly, btw: a character enters a scene and we know, based on the information that character has, how it looks to them and what suspicions it would arouse, even as we know the truth of it). The second thing that works is, weirdly, that the characters aren't very interesting?! Ray and Abby have almost no characterization. Outside of a general likability, they are blank slates. This is a weakness in most films, but, given the agonizingly long, wordless sequences where they dispose of bodies or hide from gunfire, you're left thinking not "what will Ray/Abby do in this scenario," because Ray and Abby are relatively elemental and undefined, but "what would I do in this scenario?" Which creates an exquisite tension but also, weirdly, creates more empathy than I feel for the Coens' usual cast of personalities. It's supposed to work the other way around! Truly enjoyable throughout but absolutely wonderful in the suspenseful-as-hell climax. Good shit right here.

Body Double The thing about erotic thrillers is everything that matters is in the name. Is it thrilling? Is it erotic? Good; all else is secondary. De Palma set out to make the most lurid, voyeuristic, horny, violent, shocking, steamy movie he could come up with, and its success was not strictly dependent on the lead's acting ability or the verisimilitude of the plot. But what are we, the modern audience, to make of it once 37 years have passed and, by today's standards, the eroticism is quite tame and the twists are no longer shocking? Then we're left with a nonsensical riff on Vertigo, a specularization of women that is very hard to justify, and lead actor made of pulped wood. De Palma's obsessions don't cohere into anything more this time; the bits stolen from Hitchcock aren't repurposed to new ends, it really is just Hitch with more tits and less brains. (I mean, I still haven't seen Vertigo, but I feel 100% confident in that statement.) The diopter shots and rear-projections this time look cheap (literally so, apparently; this had 1/3 the budget of Blow Out). There are some mildly interesting setpieces, but nothing compared to Travolta's auditory reconstructions or car chase where he tries to tail a subway train from street level even if it means driving through a frickin parade like an inverted French Connection, goddamn Blow Out was a good movie! Anyway. Melanie Griffith seems to be having fun, at least. I guess I had a little as well, but it was, at best, diverting, and a real letdown.

The Hit Surprised by how much I enjoyed this one. Terrance Stamp flips on the mob and spends ten years living a life of ease in Spain, waiting for the day they find and kill him. Movie kicks off when they do find him, and what follows is a ramshackle road movie as John Hurt and a young Tim Roth attempt to drive him to Paris so they can shoot him in front of his old boss. Stamp is magnetic. He's spent a decade reading philosophy and seems utterly prepared for death, so he spends the trip humming, philosophizing, and being friendly with his captors when he's not winding them up. It remains unclear to the end whether the discord he sews between Roth and Hurt is part of some larger plan of escape or just for shits and giggles. There's also a decent amount of plot for a movie that's not terribly plot-driven - just about every part of the kidnapping has tiny hitches the kidnappers aren't prepared for, and each has film-long repercussions, drawing the cops closer and somehow sticking Laura del Sol in their backseat. The ongoing questions are when Stamp will die, whether del Sol will die, and whether Roth will be able to pull the trigger. In the end, it's actually a meditation on ethics and mortality, but in a quiet and often funny way. It's not going to go down as one of my new favs, but it was a nice way to spend a couple hours.

Trouble in Mind (dnrw) I fucking hated this movie. It's been many months since I watched it, do I remember what I hated most? Was it the bit where a couple of country bumpkins who've come to the city walk into a diner and Mr. Bumpkin clocks that the one Black guy in the back as obviously a criminal despite never having seen him before? Was it the part where Kris Kristofferson won't stop hounding Mrs. Bumpkin no matter how many times she demands to be left alone, and it's played as romantic because obviously he knows what she needs better than she does? Or is it the part where Mr. Bumpkin reluctantly takes a job from the Obvious Criminal (who is, in fact, a criminal, and the only named Black character in the movie if I remember correctly, draw your own conclusions) and, within a week, has become a full-blown hood, which is exemplified by a lot, like, a lot of queer-coding? The answer to all three questions is yes. It's also fucking boring. Even out-of-drag Divine's performance as the villain can't save it.

Manhunter 'sfine? I've still never seen Silence of the Lambs, nor any of the Hopkins Lecter movies, nor, indeed, any full episode of the show. So the unheimlich others get seeing Brian Cox play Hannibal didn't come into play. Cox does a good job with him, but he's barely there. Shame, cuz he's the most interesting part of the movie. Honestly, there's a lot of interesting stuff that's barely there. Will Graham being a guy who gets into the heads of serial killers is explored well enough, and Mann knows how to direct a police procedural such that it's both contemplative and propulsive. But all the other themes it points at? Will's fear that he understands murderers a little too well? Hannibal trying to nudge him towards becoming one? Whatever dance Hannibal and Tooth Fairy are doing? What Tooth Fairy's deal is, anyway? (Why does he wear fake teeth and bite things? Why is he fixated on the red dragon? Does the bit where he says "Francis is gone forever" mean he has DID?) None of it goes anywhere or amounts to anything. I mean, it's certainly more interesting with this stuff than without, but it has that feel of a book that's been pared of its interesting bits to fit the runtime (or, alternately, pulp that's been sloppily elevated). I still haven't made my mind up on Mann's cold, precise camera work, but at least it gives me something to look at. It's fine! This is fine.

Mona Lisa (rw) Gave this one another shot. Bob Hoskins is wonderful as a hood out of his depth in classy places, quick to anger but just as quick to let anger go (the opening sequence where he's screaming on his ex-wife's doorstep, hurling trash cans at her house, and one minute later thrilled to see his old car, is pretty nice). And Cathy Tyson's working girl is a subtler kind of fascinating, exuding a mixture of coldness and kindness. It's just... this is ultimately a story about how heartbreaking it is when the girl you like is gay, right? It's Weezer's Pink Triangle: The Movie. It's not homophobic, exactly - Simone isn't demonized for being a lesbian - but it's still, like, "man, this straight white guy's pain is so much more interesting than the Black queer sex worker's." And when he's yelling "you woulda done it!" at the end, I can't tell if we're supposed to agree with him. Seems pretty clear that she wouldn'ta done it, at least not without there being some reveal about her character that doesn't happen, but I don't think the ending works if we don't agree with him, so... I'm like 70% sure the movie does Simone dirty there. For the first half, their growing relationship feels genuine and natural, and, honestly, the story being about a real bond that unfortunately means different things to each party could work if it didn't end with a gun and a sock in the jaw. Shape feels jagged as well; what feels like the end of the second act or so turns out to be the climax. And some of the symbolism is... well, ok, Simone gives George money to buy more appropriate clothes for hanging out in high end hotels, and he gets a tan leather jacket and a Hawaiian shirt, and their first proper bonding moment is when she takes him out for actual clothes. For the rest of the movie he is rocking double-breasted suits (not sure I agree with the striped tie, but it was the eighties, whaddya gonna do?). Then, in the second half, she sends him off looking for her old streetwalker friend, and now he looks completely out of place in the strip clubs and bordellos. So far so good. But then they have this run-in where her old pimp pulls a knife and cuts George's arm, so, with his nice shirt torn and it not safe going home (I guess?) he starts wearing the Hawaiian shirt again. So around the time he's starting to realize he doesn't really belong in Simone's world or the lowlife world he came from anymore, he's running around with the classy double-breasted suit jacket over the garish Hawaiian shirt, and, yeah, bit on the nose guys. Anyway, it has good bits, I just feel like a movie that asks me to feel for the guy punching a gay, Black woman in the face needs to work harder to earn it. Bit of wasted talent.

The Bedroom Window Starts well. Man starts an affair with his boss' wife, their first night together she witnesses an attempted murder from his window, she worries going to the police will reveal the affair to her husband, so the man reports her testimony to the cops claiming he's the one who saw it. Young Isabelle Huppert is the perfect woman for a guy to risk his career on a crush over, and Young Steve Guttenberg is the perfect balance of affability and amorality. And it flows great - picks just the right media to res. So then he's talking to the cops, telling them what she told him, and they ask questions he forgot to ask her - was the perp's jacket a blazer or a windbreaker? - and he has to guess. Then he gets called into the police lineup, and one guy matches her description really well, but is it just because he's wearing his red hair the way she described it? He can't be sure, doesn't finger any of them. He finds out the cops were pretty certain about one of the guys, so he follows the one he thinks it was around, looking for more evidence, and another girl is attacked right outside a bar he knows the redhead was at. Now he's certain! But he shows the boss' wife the guy and she's not certain, and she reminds him they don't even know if the guy he followed is the same guy the police suspected! And as he feeds more evidence to the cops, he has to lie more, because he can't exactly say he was tailing the guy around the city. So, I'm all in now. Maybe it's because I'd so recently rewatched Night Moves and Cutter's Way, but this seems like another story about uncertainty. He's really certain about the guy because it fits narratively, and we, the audience, feel the same. But he's not actually a witness, he doesn't have actual evidence, he's fitting bits and pieces together like a conspiracy theorist. He's fixating on what he wants to be true. Sign me up! But then it turns out he's 100% correct about who the killer is but his lies are found out and now the cops think he's the killer and I realize, oh, no, this movie isn't nearly as smart as I thought it was. Egg on my face! What transpires for the remaining half of the runtime is goofy as hell, and someone with shlockier sensibilities could have made a meal of it, but Hanson, despite being a Corman protege, takes this silliness seriously in the all wrong ways. Next!

Homicide (rw? I think I saw most of this on TV one time) Homicide centers around the conflicted loyalties of a Jewish cop. It opens with the Jewish cop and his white gentile partner taking over a case with a Black perp from some Black FBI agents. The media is making a big thing about the racial implications of the mostly white cops chasing down a Black man in a Black neighborhood. And inside of 15 minutes the FBI agent is calling the lead a k*ke and the gentile cop is calling the FBI agent a f****t and there's all kinds of invective for Black people. The film is announcing its intentions out the gate: this movie is about race. But the issue here is David Mamet doesn't care about race as anything other than a dramatic device. He's the Ubisoft of filmmakers, having no coherent perspective on social issues but expecting accolades for even bringing them up. Mamet is Jewish (though lead actor Joe Mantegna definitely is not) but what is his position on the Jewish diaspora? The whole deal is Mantegna gets stuck with a petty homicide case instead of the big one they just pinched from the Feds, where a Jewish candy shop owner gets shot in what looks like a stickup. Her family tries to appeal to his Jewishness to get him to take the case seriously, and, after giving them the brush-off for a long time, finally starts following through out of guilt, finding bits and pieces of what may or may not be a conspiracy, with Zionist gun runners and underground neo-Nazis. But, again: all of these are just dramatic devices. Mantegna's Jewishness (those words will never not sound ridiculous together) has always been a liability for him as a cop (we are told, not shown), and taking the case seriously is a reclamation of identity. The Jews he finds community with sold tommyguns to revolutionaries during the founding of Israel. These Jews end up blackmailing him to get a document from the evidence room. So: what is the film's position on placing stock in one's Jewish identity? What is its position on Israel? What is its opinion on Palestine? Because all three come up! And the answer is: Mamet doesn't care. You can read it a lot of different ways. Someone with more context and more patience than me could probably deduce what the de facto message is, the way Chris Franklin deduced the de facto message of Far Cry V despite the game's efforts not to have one, but I'm not going to. Mantegna's attempt to reconnect with his Jewishness gets his partner killed, gets the guy he was supposed to bring in alive shot dead, gets him possibly permanent injuries, gets him on camera blowing up a store that's a front for white nationalists, and all for nothing because the "clues" he found (pretty much exclusively by coincidence) were unconnected nothings. The problem is either his Jewishness, or his lifelong failure to connect with his Jewishness until late in life. Mamet doesn't give a shit. (Like, Mamet canonically doesn't give a shit: he is on record saying social context is meaningless, characters only exist to serve the plot, and there are no deeper meanings in fiction.) Mamet's ping-pong dialogue is fun, as always, and there are some neat ideas and characters, but it's all in service of a big nothing that needed to be a something to work.

Swoon So much I could talk about, let's keep it to the most interesting bits. Hommes Fatales: a thing about classic noir that it was fascinated by the marginal but had to keep it in the margins. Liberated women, queer-coded killers, Black jazz players, broke thieves; they were the main event, they were what audiences wanted to see, they were what made the movies fun. But the ending always had to reassert straightlaced straight, white, middle-class male society as unshakeable. White supremacist capitalist patriarchy demanded, both ideologically and via the Hays Code, that anyone outside these norms be punished, reformed, or dead by the movie's end. The only way to make them the heroes was to play their deaths for tragedy. It is unsurprising that neo-noir would take the queer-coded villains and make them the protagonists. Implicature: This is the story of Leopold and Loeb, murderers famous for being queer, and what's interesting is how the queerness in the first half exists entirely outside of language. Like, it's kind of amazing for a movie from 1992 to be this gay - we watch Nathan and Dickie kiss, undress, masturbate, fuck; hell, they wear wedding rings when they're alone together. But it's never verbalized. Sex is referred to as "your reward" or "what you wanted" or "best time." Dickie says he's going to have "the girls over," and it turns out "the girls" are a bunch of drag queens, but this is never acknowledged. Nathan at one point lists off a bunch of famous men - Oscar Wild, E.M. Forster, Frederick the Great - but, though the commonality between them is obvious (they were all gay), it's left the the audience to recognize it. When their queerness is finally verbalized in the second half, it's first in the language of pathology - a psychiatrist describing their "perversions" and "misuse" of their "organs" before the court, which has to be cleared of women because it's so inappropriate - and then with slurs from the man who murders Dickie in jail (a murder which is written off with no investigation because the victim is a gay prisoner instead of a L&L's victim, a child of a wealthy family). I don't know if I'd have noticed this if I hadn't read Chip Delany describing his experience as a gay man in the 50's existing almost entirely outside of language, the only language at the time being that of heteronormativity. Murder as Love Story: L&L exchange sex as payment for the other commiting crimes; it's foreplay. Their statements to the police where they disagree over who's to blame is a lover's quarrel. Their sentencing is a marriage. Nathan performs his own funeral rites over Dickie's body after he dies on the operating table. They are, in their way, together til death did they part. This is the relationship they can have. That it does all this without romanticizing the murder itself or valorizing L&L as humans is frankly incredible.

Suture (rw) The pitch: at the funeral for his father, wealthy Vincent Towers meets his long lost half brother Clay Arlington. It is implied Clay is a child from out of wedlock, possibly an affair; no one knows Vincent has a half-brother but him and Clay. Vincent invites Clay out to his fancy-ass home in Arizona. Thing is, Vincent is suspected (correctly) by the police of having murdered his father, and, due to a striking family resemblence, he's brought Clay to his home to fake his own death. He finagles Clay into wearing his clothes and driving his car, and then blows the car up and flees the state, leaving the cops to think him dead. Thing is, Clay survives, but with amnesia. The doctors tell him he's Vincent, and he has no reason to disagree. Any discrepancy in the way he looks is dismissed as the result of reconstructive surgery after the explosion. So Clay Arlington resumes Vincent Towers' life, without knowing Clay Arlington even exists. The twist: Clay and Vincent are both white, but Vincent is played by Michael Harris, a white actor, and Clay is played by Dennis Haysbert, a Black actor. "Ian, if there's just the two of them, how do you know it's not Harris playing a Black character?" Glad you asked! It is most explicitly obvious during a scene where Vincent/Clay's surgeon-cum-girlfriend essentially bringing up phrenology to explain how Vincent/Clay couldn't possibly have murdered his father, describing straight hair, thin lips, and a Greco-Roman nose Haysbert very clearly doesn't have. But, let's be honest: we knew well beforehand that the rich-as-fuck asshole living in a huge, modern house and living it up in Arizona high society was white. Though Clay is, canonically, white, he lives an poor and underprivileged life common to Black men in America. Though the film's title officially refers to the many stitches holding Vincent/Clay's face together after the accident, "suture" is a film theory term, referring to the way a film audience gets wrapped up - sutured - in the world of the movie, choosing to forget the outside world and pretend the story is real. The usage is ironic, because the audience cannot be sutured in; we cannot, and are not expected to, suspend our disbelief that Clay is white. We are deliberately distanced. Consequently this is a movie to be thought about, not to to be felt. It has the shape of a Hitchcockian thriller but it can't evoke the emotions of one. You can see the scaffolding - "ah, yes, this is the part of a thriller where one man hides while another stalks him with a gun, clever." I feel ill-suited to comment on what the filmmakers are saying about race. I could venture a guess about the ending, where the psychiatrist, the only one who knows the truth about Clay, says he can never truly be happy living the lie of being Vincent Towers, while we see photographs of Clay/Vincent seemingly living an extremely happy life: society says white men simply belong at the top more than Black men do, but, if the roles could be reversed, the latter would slot in seamlessly. Maybe??? Of all the movies in this collection, this is the one I'd most want to read an essay on (followed by Swoon).

The Last Seduction (dnrw) No, no, no, I am not rewataching this piece of shit movie.

Brick (rw) Here's my weird contention: Brick is in color and in widescreen, but, besides that? There's nothing neo- about this noir. There's no swearing except "hell." (I always thought Tug said "goddamn" at one point but, no, he's calling The Pin "gothed-up.") There's a lot of discussion of sex, but always through implication, and the only deleted scene is the one that removed ambiguity about what Brendan and Laura get up to after kissing. There's nothing postmodern or subversive - yes, the hook is it's set in high school, but the big twist is that it takes this very seriously. It mines it for jokes, yes, but the drama is authentic. In fact, making the gumshoe a high school student, his jadedness an obvious front, still too young to be as hard as he tries to be, just makes the drama hit harder. Sam Spade if Sam Spade were allowed to cry. I've always found it an interesting counterpoint to The Good German, a movie that fastidiously mimics the aesthetics of classic noir - down to even using period-appropriate sound recording - but is wholly neo- in construction. Brick could get approved by the Hays Code. Its vibe, its plot about a detective playing a bunch of criminals against each other, even its slang ("bulls," "yegg," "flopped") are all taken directly from Hammett. It's not even stealing from noir, it's stealing from what noir stole from! It's a perfect curtain call for the collection: the final film is both the most contemporary and the most classic. It's also - but for the strong case you could make for Night Moves - the best movie on the list. It's even more appropriate for me, personally: this was where it all started for me and noir. I saw this in theaters when it came out and loved it. It was probably my favorite movie for some time. It gave me a taste for pulpy crime movies which I only, years later, realized were neo-noir. This is why I looked into Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang and In Bruges. I've seen it more times than any film on this list, by a factor of at least 3. It's why I will always adore Rian Johnson and Joseph Gordon-Levitt. It's the best-looking half-million-dollar movie I've ever seen. (Indie filmmakers, take fucking notes.) I even did a script analysis of this, and, yes, it follows the formula, but so tightly and with so much style. Did you notice that he says several of the sequence tensions out loud? ("I just want to find her." "Show of hands.") I notice new things each time I see it - this time it was how "brushing Brendan's hair out of his face" is Em's move, making him look more like he does in the flashback, and how Laura does the same to him as she's seducing him, in the moment when he misses Em the hardest. It isn't perfect. It's recreated noir so faithfully that the Innocent Girl dies, the Femme Fatale uses intimacy as a weapon, and none of the women ever appear in a scene together. 1940's gender politics maybe don't need to be revisited. They say be critical of the media you love, and it applies here most of all: it is a real criticism of something I love immensely.

[whump-a-la-mode]

Gilded Cage - Part 7

I can only describe this as tooth-rotting fluff. Our whumpee deserves it!

Thank you so much to everyone for going through this story with me. I’ve had so much fun.

@worstcasescenariolullaby

CW//Hospital setting, medical talk, talk of broken bones, talk of surgery, altered states of mind, mentions of death, mentions of building collapses, conspiracy

“Are you sure about this?” Sidekick’s face twisted in a mask of concern.

“I’m sure.” Villain nodded.

“The Heroes...”

“The city won’t let this happen again. Come visit me in hospital sometime, okay? I’ll be okay.”

“Okay.”

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The felt piece on the bottom of the chess pawn had long since worn away, leaving a dull screeching noise in its wake as Villain moved the piece forward on the board. In expectation, they raised their head to their opponent, before gazing back down at the board. Examining the playing field. Furrowing their brows.

“Don’t hurt yourself.” Their opponent, Old Friend, spoke, their tongue filled with equal parts laughter and playful teasing. “And... there goes your rook.”

“What!” Villain’s gaze darted about the board, before grumbling and removing their fallen piece, adding it to a quickly growing pile. “You’re cheating.”

“How does one cheat at chess?”

“By being better than me. There, okay, there goes your pawn.”

“And there goes your knight.”

“Asshole. Come on, you have to have a secret. You gotta tell me.”

Old Friend smiled.

“You’re so intent on taking my pieces that you don’t worry about your own. Also, I was in the chess club back in school, so...”

“Nerd.” Villain stuck out their tongue.

“Alright, candle boy.”

“Hey! I told you-”

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just really funny.”

“I could disintegrate a candle-”

“I know, I know. It’s your move, dude.”

“Fine. Is turning the board to ash a valid chess move?”

“There’s enough fire damage on the pieces as it is. Candle boy.”

“At least come up with something better than that. Like... Like blowtorch. That sounds cool.”

“Blowtorch? What are you, like, seven?”

“Eh, there’s worse villain names out there.”

“You don’t have one yet, do you?”

“Nah. I’m not that breed of cocky. They just call me the arsonist, I think.”

“That’s pretty underwhelming.”

“Meh.”

Again, Villain studied the board a moment. They sent a rook forwards, knocking over a knight on the other side.

“Your move.”

Old Friend nodded, and, for a few moments, they sat like that. Accompanied by nothing but the sounds of the city and the scraping of pieces on the board.

“Did Violet ever have a name?”

It took Villain a few moments to register the question. They moved a piece before looking up.

“What, like a villain name?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think so. You could ask her.”

“Aw, man, you haven’t heard?”

Villain frowned, lips pursing together to form a thin line.

“She’s gone?”

“Bridge collapse. I was always warning her, taking roots out of the ground like that is gonna make something fall eventually. Just so happened to be right on top of her. It’s a shame, really. Gonna have to find somewhere else to get our lettuce, now.”

“Not funny.”

“I know. And... check.”

“What?”

“Checkmate.”

“Again?”

“Again.”

Villain shoved the board away from themself, sitting back and stretching their arms above their head. Old Friend swiped the remaining pieces from the board, beginning to once again set the stage for their next game.

“This time, think about the risk you might be putting your pieces in. It’s not worth it, losing a knight to take out a pawn, y’know?”

“I guess.”

“What’s got you acting so sad all of a sudden?” Old Friend looked up. “Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m gonna get a candle.”

“Okay. You good?”

“I just... I just need a candle.”

Villain stood, stiff legs aching with pins and needles as they moved across the small, damp-walled apartment. The kitchen, or what was little more than a countertop with a fridge and microwave, was barren, snack bowls long since left with nothing but crumbs.

They drew open the door of one of the wall-mounted cabinets, unveiling a series of shelves, stacked with white pillars of wax. Most lumpy and misshapen, the rest bent and folded in on themselves. Villain selected one, moving back to where Old Friend had just finished resetting the board. They sat in their spot, a place already well worn into the carpet.

“Do you want to play again?” Old Friend’s voice had grown quiet, concerned.

“Yeah... Just give me a second.”

“Need to let it out?”

“Yeah.”

The firebrand gripped the white-waxed candle in one hand, then the other. Feeling the film transfer from palm to palm. The flame in their stomach answered the call without hesitance. They had already felt the heat, struggling to escape into their veins.

It was slow, at first. The wax did not melt, simply molding itself, bulging and shifting as to allow Villain’s fingers to make their mark. Their eyes fixed upon the process: The control of it. The way in which the wax moved only on their call.

It helped them breathe.

“Violet...” They began, frowning again. “That’s the second bridge accident this year.”

“There’s a lot of bridges, to be fair.”

“But not a lot of collapses.”

“What are you saying?”

“It seems so much like a coincidence, but... How many have we lost, this year?”

“Violet and Argyle, uh, Aaron I think. Dana and Evelyn and-”

“And what month is it?”

“April?”

“Exactly.”

“I mean, we lose a lot, but...”

“And they’re always accidents. Car crashes. Building fires. Drownings. But they’re not accidents.”

The wax yielded with more readiness. A few droplets fell, deftly caught by Villain’s other hand.

“What do you mean, they’re not accidents? I don’t think people drown on purpose.”

“Well, yeah. But that’s not what I mean. If they were actually accidents, you would think they’d happen at random times. But-”

“It’s always when the Heroes are around. Always during battle.”

“Exactly.”

“I don’t think the Heroes are doing it on purpose, though. I mean, they wouldn’t just blow up a bridge to kill one villain. The battles just get too intense, I think. I mean, how many times have you almost died in battle?”

“A lot.”

“Same here. That’s all.”

“No. No.” Villain shook their head. “I’ve almost died many times. But I haven’t died. Because I’m not stupid. And the others weren’t, either.”

“I don’t think the Heroes are killing people, Villain.”

“Then what else are they doing?”

“I don’t know, protecting the city? Whatever nonsense they say.”

“Protecting the city from us. Supposedly. But it seems like they’re a hell of a lot more focused on these big battles.”

“That’s kind of our fault, to be fair.”

“Is it? Most of our didn’t choose this life.”

“We’re still doing, I mean, crimes. Like, we’re definitely criminals.”

“Then they should be taking us to prison.”

“Isn’t that what they do?”

“When is the last time you heard of anyone going to prison?”

“I mean, uh... What about Jared?”

“You mean the one they got in a van that then mysteriously exploded?”

“Oh. Right. What about, uh, didn’t they get Kara?”

“Yeah. And then pronounced her dead at the hospital.”

“Okay. Maybe... maybe you have a point.”

Between Villain’s fingers, a single droplet of candle wax fell.

“Yeah.”

Old Friend sighed.

“Do you want to play again?”

“Mhm.”

Villain drew the heat from their palms, allowing the remnants of the candle to solidify in their hands. They placed it down, then, though droplets of white still stuck to their fingers.

“I think...” Old Friend looked down at the board, considering their first move. “I think if the Heroes ever capture you, you’ll find they’re a lot kinder than you expect.”

Villain snorted in laughter.

“If the Heroes ever capture me, there will nothing left of my body to find.”

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“It’s a miracle.”

“It is. The damage they sustained... I can hardly believe that there’s enough blood left in them to keep them alive.”

“Hardly any blood. Hardly any body, either.”

“Yeah.”

“A real miracle. The guys down in Radiology, they thought we got the scans mixed up. They confused them for those of the guy in the other room. The motorcycle crash one.”

“That makes sense. To think that a human did this...”

“Not a normal human. A lot stronger than a normal human.”

“But with the same morals as a normal human.”

“You’d hope so.”

“Oh. Crap, looks like they’re waking up. Let’s give a bit more propofol... They need their rest.”

Villain’s closed eyes twitched, as though dreaming. At least, they did not think they were dreaming. It was hard to say, these days...

Had it been days? Or just a couple of hours? They tried to think, to remember, but the will to do so was deeply buried under blankets and bitter-tasting medicines. They longed to sit up, to move, to open their eyes, but those thoughts came from such a small part of their mind. The rest of them was so tired...

The numbness, now, was softer. Warmer. It was not a force of overwhelming heat, laughing at them and telling them to forget their pain, to keep moving. Instead, this time, the numbness was simply warm. Pleasantly so. Urging them to rest, to sleep, to ignore the taste of iron on their tongue that refused to go away.

Sleeping and wakefulness, to them, felt to be a sliding scale. They spent much time at the former end, in blissful unconsciousness, but had yet to find themself at the latter. They struggled for it, struggled to get close, but their anxious murmurs and twitching were always responded to with soft words and hands and more warmth in their veins.

Vilain was floating for a moment. Again, the hundredth time, they struggled to part their lips, but only managed to exert effort to no end.

“Their leg... I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“Are you sure they’re strong enough for this?”

“Yeah. We can’t wait any longer. The bone will heal wrong if we wait any longer.”

“Okay.”

The numbness was stronger, that time.

“Villain? Villain?��

Their eyelids twitched, again.

“They said you’d opened your eyes, earlier...”

There was more softness, in that tone. Not the pitying notes of a doctor or nerve-wracked surgeon, but the warm coaxing of a friend.

The hand on their wrist was cold.

Their fingers twitched, then their lips. They tried to utter out a syllable, but only managed a shaky breath.

“Yeah, that’s it. Thank you. Do you remember me?”

Did they? They weren’t sure what they remembered, anymore. They remembered being here. They remembered the blankets and the half-hearted attempts by the nurses to coax them into swallowing a spoonful of jello.

“It’s Doctor. Do you remember me? Do you remember Doctor?”

“Doctor?”

The word came out more like a croak. Their eyes twitched with more furor this time, until, at long last, the world flooded into sterile existence around them. They got distracted, a moment, by the pattern of white tiles above.

“There you go!” There was genuine pride in that voice. “I knew you could do it.”

“Mmm.”

“Can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” That cold hand moved from their wrist to their hand. Trying to hold it, to embrace their fingers. But Villain did not have the strength for such a thing. “I’m so sorry, Villain. I’m so sorry.”

“F- for what?”“

“I- I almost killed you! Had you stayed under my care... I’m sorry.”

Villain blinked a moment, trying to think.

“You...” Their throat felt so terribly raw. “You were right.”

“It wasn’t right to let Hero try to kill you.”

“No... Not that. You said, uh, about warmth. ‘Bout heat.”

There was a smile. Villain did not have to see it to know that it was there.

“You understood?”

“Yes. On th’stage.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you did good.”

“I get it, now. I think... Heat can, uh, it can destroy buildings.” Their words were awfully drawn out, hard to understand through their lengthy slurring. “But it can also... bake cookies.”

Doctor laughed, at that.

“You’re right. You’re right.”

Villain’s fingers finally agreed to move, wrapping around Doctor’s hand.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, Villain.” Another sigh. This one, warm. “Have you heard, what they’re saying about you? You lost so much blood. And your organs were all over the place. It’s a miracle that you survived.”

The grasp on Villain’s hand tightened.

“They said you only lived because you wanted to. Because you really, really wanted to survive. Is that right?”

“I... I think it is. Yeah.”

“Yeah. I’ll be back, okay? Get some rest.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

It was three weeks after, that they were allowed to have any more visitors. Three weeks of medicines and surgeries and treatments and x-rays. It all blurred in their mind, until the calendar held as little meaning to them as the results of their blood tests.

They weren’t healed. Certainly not. But wakefulness no longer felt like such a monumental effort.

The jello tasted like nothing as they placed it upon their tongue. Nothing but sugar and sweetener, desperately trying to mask the tastelessness of gelatin. By the time the door opened, which it did with such a force that Villain wondered if it had been struck with a battering ram, they were almost done with the cup of overly-sweet dessert.

They jumped, nearly dropping their plastic spoon as their gaze snapped upwards. For a split second, the figure in the doorway made their limbs begin to shake, a familiar pressure reviving on their neck. But, it only lasted a second.

Sidekick looked different. Their stature was the same, certainly, as well-muscled as ever, but it was no longer draped in any sort of uniform. Instead, a grey sweatshirt struggled to contain their form, marked with the logo of some sports team or another.

Villain took another bite of jello.

“Good news.” Sidekick’s smile had the same media allure that Hero once showed the cameras, sending a shiver down Villain’s spine. They strode nearer, confident steps striking the tile floor. Compared to them, Villain felt terribly small. “Come on, don’t you want to hear it?”

Another bite and the cup was empty. They placed it down on the small table next to their bed.

“Um... Yeah. Okay.” They could not muster up nearly enough energy to match that of their visitor.

“Okay, so, J- sorry, uh, you-know-who, they found the video. The real one. Without all the edits.”

“That’s... good.”

“Mhm. We have news stations willing to broadcast it, too. Put some doubt on the story, right?”

“Right.”

“You... Don’t seem as excited as I remember you being.”

“Sorry.” Villain’s gaze cast downwards. “I’m still just a little tired, and all.”

“Oh. Well, that makes sense. You got hurt pretty bad. Do you have any idea when you might be out of here?”

“Not really.”

“I’ll try to ask a nurse or something. When you’re strong enough, though, we’ve got this whole plan. You’re gonna be, like, our emissary. Between us and the villains, yeah?”

“Uh... why?”

“Well, I mean, the Heroes only really exist to stop you and the other villains. If we can just... convince them to stop doing villain stuff, then the public will start the see that the Heroes are, y’know, not all their cracked up to be.”

Villain struggled to suppress a smile. They couldn’t imagine trying to ask some of their former cohorts to all of a sudden go on the straight and narrow.

Still, even beneath the blankets and the medicine, they felt the smallest scrap of warmth return. A tiny ember, floating in their stomach.

The opportunity to turn their pain into something other than nightmares and tears in the hospital bed’s pillow.

“When I’m out of here... well, we’ll have to see, I guess.”

“That’s all we can really hope for. Now, uh, I kind of have to go. They’re about to notice I broke a window.”

“You w-”

“Sorry! Gotta go!”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

It was the smell that made Villain recognize their second visitor, more than their appearance.

They looked different. Quite different. Taller, slightly, with tight cords of muscle now curling about their neck. Nothing like the tiny twig they’d once known.

It looked like they’d finally hit their growth spurt, after all. A decade late.

The scent that they carried with them was one of freshly cut wood, the rural stench of sawdust, accompanied by the damp musk of a home long forgotten.

“Holy shit, candle boy.”

Four words. Four stupid words, uttered the moment Old Friend walked through the door.

Villain burst out laughing.

Not laughter of sorrow, or of venom. True laughter. The warmth that filled their chest this time had nothing to do with flame.

“So, am I allowed to hug you, or...”

“There’s no doctors here to tell us not to.”

“Good point.”

The warmth in Villain’s chest only increased with Old Friend’s embrace. Their friend buried their head in their shoulder. The tears wet quickly through Villain’s hospital gown.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“You didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“I should have-”

“It’s in the past, now. I’m just so glad you’re alive.”

“Just to be clear... you’re not a good guy?”

“I don’t know what I am. But I’m still your friend.”

“That’s all I care about.”

The embrace broke off after over a minute, though it was still far too soon.

“We have an apartment. Me and Aggie and some others.” Old Friend stepped back. “We have a room all set up. Even found some of your old stuff. I know it’s gonna be a while, but... you’ve always got somewhere to go, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The End

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

I can’t thank you guys enough for reading through this story and experiencing it with me. This is the end of this story, but I hope to make another one soon!

There is no next part, so there are no story paths to choose from for next time. But, I still have options to pick from. I want to hear what you think Villain’s choice will be!

A) Be a hero. Go with Sidekick, and liberate the city

B) Be a friend. Return to Old Friend. Make life good again.

[dakotasgreenkitchen]

Take A Chance On Me- Part 3.

“Florence?” Amelia called as she set the keys down onto the dish, placing Scout into his playpen.

“My room.” Florence answered back, her voice softer than Amelia’s.

“What did you do?!” Amelia exclaimed, her eyes wide as she saw the paint on the walls and tarps covering the floor.

“This room was plain, I made it better.” Florence said proudly, showing off the colorful almost retro flowers she had painted over the walls.

The white bed frame was now orange and the walls had a color palette of oranges, pinks and yellows. Amelia could clearly see Florence was taking advantage of being her own person.

“I didn’t tell you this was okay.” Amelia said firmly- like Evelyn told her once you’re building a boat.

“It’s just paint. If all else fails you can just get white paint and go over them a couple times.” Florence shrugged tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear.

“You really should ask permission. What if we sold the house or someone wanted to see it?” Amelia asked, her eyebrow raising.

“Oh so when Scout gets older and you get tired of having a random ass teenager you can give me back and won’t have to redo the house?” Florence pressed, was it stupid to argue with the woman giving you shelter and a life, sure. But Florence was never one to back down.

“We’re not going to give you back. I would just like some warning if you’re going to paint the walls.” Amelia said slipping her hands into her pockets, not willing to argue with a teenager- teenagers were scary.

“Okay then. Well I’m gonna keep painting and unless you want to inhale it I would leave.” Florence shrugged picking up the paint brush once more before making Amelia sigh as she walked away.

“I have no authority with her bubba.” Amelia pouted as she lifted Scout out of his pin.

Scout just babbled as he grabbed onto her scrub top, giggling at the faces Amelia was making at him. God babies were easy compared to whatever fight? Disagreement? That she clearly lost with Florence.

—

“I can’t believe you are the adult and you still lost an argument over the walls of our house with a teenager.” Link laughed as he stirred the sauce in the saucepan.

“I don’t know how far I’m allowed to push, technically I’m not her mother or I guess she doesn’t see me as that. I just don’t know how far I can push.” Amelia explained, her head resting in the palm of her hand.

“Well what did you do with Betty, how far did you push?” Link asked dipping the pasta and sauce onto plates.

“Well she was on drugs and like me so I knew how to handle that. But Florence as far as I know isn’t a drug addict. She’s just Florence.” Amelia sighed, leaning her head back facing the ceiling.

“Then just let her be Florence. She hasn’t done anything worthy of punishing her.” Link reasoned as he passed Amelia her plate.

“FLORENCE. COME EAT DINNER.” Amelia called as she walked the plates to the table along with their glasses.

“I’m here.” Florence said as she sat down at the table next to Scout’s high chair.

“What was school like. Did you meet anyone?” Link asked once everyone began eating.

Florence just shrugged. In her mind she wasn’t being rude, she never had sit down meals with adults who truly cared about her days.

Most days in the home was spent eating in the dining hall with one of her closest friends. Jolene. Jolene was much like the Dolly Parton song. Red hair and emerald green eyes.

Jolene’s hair curled into ringlets and Jolene had also lost both parents to a fire. Her and Florence had kept each other sane and was a shoulder to cry on and open mind to vent towards.

“It was fine.” Florence spoke quietly, moving her fork around her plate before taking a small bite.

“That’s good. Did you make new friends? I know it can be hard when you transfer.” Amelia said her voice supportive and kind.

“Yeah a couple, but I miss Jolene.” Florence sighed, taking a sip of her glass.

“Jolene?” Link asked, him and Amelia had never heard of a Jolene since Florence moved in.

“She was my best friend at the home. Her parents died in a fire too. We kept each other sane.” Florence said, Amelia and Link getting up to clean up the kitchen.

“Like your person?” Amelia mused, finally feeling like she could relate to the young teenager.

“Not really. Just my best friend.” Florence said, her brunette eyebrow raised as she placed the dishes into the dishwasher.

—

“Hey you.” Jolene smiled, glad to see her best friend’s face on the phone. They barely had time to talk since Florence went to school.

“Hi lovey.” Florence teased, her head resting on her knees.

“I miss you girl. It’s so fucking boring here. I thought Mrs. Lawrence would throw me out a window for my attitude today.” Jolene rolled her emerald eyes.

“Fuck her. She never liked me. Ever.” Florence laughed, propping the phone up as she walked towards her closet.

“She didn’t like either of us. The two bitchiest orphans.” Jolene chuckled, her ringlets falling out of the braid she had them in.

“Being bitchy kept us from being walked over. How is Dan. Or did you give up on him?” Florence semi shouted as she thumbed through her clothes, the patterns mixing as she moved quickly.

“I gave up. But some dudes who got married want to come meet me so. How’s the perky ones?” Jolene laughed as Florence sat back onto the bed, the phone in her hands.

Amelia passed by, Florence’s door cracked and she could hear them talking. Even though it’s a bad move; she had to learn more about her now daughter.

“They’re okay I guess. I just still don’t get why they wanted me. They have a baby. Like I’m way past the age of being wanted. But I think I got in trouble for painting the walls.” Florence said crossing her leg one over the other.

“Brutal. I don’t get that either but I don’t know why these guys want to talk to me. When I get out of here if I ever do I promise I’ll come see you Flo.” Jolene smiled sadly, even though Florence wasn’t that far, they had spent every moment of every day together since they were 8.

They had spent 7 years chained at the hip. And for the first time in a very long time, they were both virtually alone. Sure they had internet.

But that doesn’t come close to laying in bed at night, having snuck the communion wafers that night during mass. Laughing until they almost choked.

Or sitting outside, head on a shoulder just having a minute away from school or mass that they didn’t even believe in.

Using Amelia’s term- they were each other’s person. Jolene and Florence were the one constant in each other’s life. The one thing that was always there no matter the situation or time.

“Please do. I miss you lovey. It’s fucking weird not being able to just crawl in the bed in the middle of the night with the communion wafers.” Florence smiled, her head falling onto the pillows.

“You can say that again. Well phone time is almost up but I will call you tomorrow same time. Love you to the moon.” Jolene said waving her hand.

“And back every day.” Florence finished, her smiled fading as she hung up. Damn it, she missed Jolene.

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

[g0ttal0ve101]

Carl: Interviewing random people in the house gO-

-

Carl: George, if you could have anything in the world, what would it be? 🎤

George, playing: Umm…I would want…Aubrie and a trainnn…

Carl: A train?

George: So I could run over whoever hurts Aubrieeee.

Carl: …aLRIGHT-

-

Carl: Eddie, why do you love graves so much? 🎤

Eddie: Oh! Well that’s an easy answer! I love graves because they remember and honor the ones who have died. They’re beautiful and almost always have love poured into them, making the atmosphere in the graveyard absolutely full of serenity. It’s a lovely way to move onto the afterlife.

Carl: Damn, you need doctor Phil.

Eddie: I…what? Ó^Ò

-

Carl: Albert, what do you think of homosexuality? 🎤

Al: . . .

Carl: . . .

Al: . . .

Carl: . . .

Al: . . .

Carl: *dry cough*

Al: I think that if you’re gay.

Carl: Mhmmm?

Al: I don’t care.

Carl: Oh.

Al: And I didn’t ask.

Carl: Yeah b-

Al: I hate everyone the same. Even if you’re gay, you don’t get any extra points from me. I hate you. And your mom. And your grandma.

Carl: D a m n -

Al: And if you say I’m gay, you’re gay. 🚶‍♂️

Carl: Okay then-

-

Carl: Lucian, who do you look up to the most? 🎤

Lulu: . . .

Lulu: *puts the microphone in his mouth*

Carl: cUT-

-

Carl: Lucian, what would be your dream date? 🎤

Lulu: I wanna sleep on them.

Carl: …huh-

Lulu: Then when we wake up, I wanna drink hot cocoa.

Carl: U h m , what about the previous night? 😏

Lulu: Oh! I wanna fall asleep after eating yummy food!

Carl: Alright, that seems wholesome enough-

-

Carl: Evelyn, can I shake your hand? 🎤

Evelyn: *unsure British noises* Have your hands been washed at least six times today?

Carl: I just got a shower.

Evelyn: Alright, I suppose so. *puts on her gloves and shakes her hand*

Carl: Why are you so nervous about touching people?

Evelyn: Because people tend to be disgusting nuisances. Your sleeve is uneven.

Carl: dON’T…touch my sleeve, please.

Evelyn: Why not?

Carl: …ehehe.

-

Carl: Mom, how did you and dad meet? 🎤

Shanon: Oh, well I worked as a mortician in my family’s business. Eventually your father and I met because our father’s became good friends when we were very young. About six and seven years old. I don’t remember it very much, but I do remember he was much kinder back then. When he started working with dead bodies, I’m sure that’s what made him start to have issues. Seeing corpses doesn’t help a child’s mind develop whatsoever.

Carl: Yeah, you’ve tried to tell him that…

Shanon: -but he never listens. I guess it was because his father did the same. I do love him incredibly so. He’s just a bit much when it comes to tradition.

-

Carl: Dad, who’s your favorite kid? 🎤

Henry: I can’t tell you that, kiddo! I love you all.

Carl: Yeah, but it’s Eddie, ain’t it?

Henry: No, I love him equally to all of you.

Carl: Even though he works in the graveyard the most?

Henry: Y e s , he’s very hardworking, kind, uplifting, sweet, and cute.

Carl: What about Al?

Henry: He’s…smart.

Carl: o 3 o . . . there’s your answer, everyone.

-

[meltingangels]

As it’s been up on AO3 for a while now, I am making my first Cyberpunk fic available to read on tumblr!

Fic Title:

It's Not a Shrine

Fic Summary:

"What the fuck, V?" (I made a post on tumblr about how funny it would be if V was some kind of Samurai/Silverhand superfan. And how Johnny would react if he walked in and saw all these posters and shit on the wall. And I needed some serotonin, so here we are)

So I made this random post on tumblr and someone said they’d like to see it ‘made canon’ so here I am with this. Whether it progresses or stays as a oneshot depends on the reception.

Basically, I thought of what would happen if V was into older/indie rock music, and a big fan of Samurai- Johnny Silverhand’s group. And how he would react (if he didn’t show up in V’s apartment like he does that first time) if he walked in and there was this huge-ass poster of him on the wall.

Just have at it, lads. This starts off kinda serious, to set the scene. Also because I feel starting off serious makes the end part all the funnier.

Also because I don’t know how to do a short oneshot.

V figured that whatever was on that fucking relic had to be a pretty big deal, if Dexter Deshawn and Evelyn were willing to up against Arasaka to get it. Sure, it would have been nice to know exactly what that was, but given how much time and planning had gone into every other aspect of this insane heist, they’d just shoved any thoughts about the relic itself to the back of their mind. 

They just had to focus on somehow pulling this off, which...even with all the planning...was going to be a fucking miracle. Any aspect of the plan could end up getting fucked up, or someone could end up fucking them over, but the fact that a successful heist would propel them into the fucking stratosphere of Night City’s underworld- with a paycheck to match- was just...well.

Too much to resist. Who wouldn’t want to take up that sort of opportunity? They’d be insane not to try. Anyone who was worth anything in the sprawling underground network of the city’s gangs would know who they fucking were. 

It’d come with it’s drawbacks of course, but once people know they’d gone up against fucking Arasaka and stolen a relic from right under Yorinobu’s hands? 

Most wouldn’t even dare to touch them.

Yeah, the idea of ‘making it to the big leagues’ as Jackie had said it, was too much for either him or V to resist. Sure, they’d talked about it a hell of a lot, going over the risks and all. Which outweighed all their past jobs put together. What they’d done so far was small-time stuff. Just general merc business, nothing to be overly proud of. Certainly nothing to attract any big names. Truth be told, V still wasn’t sure how Jackie had managed to get them the gig in the first place. 

But they hadn’t questioned it. Just like they’d stopped questioning the heist when presented with Dexter’s plan and the hefty reward they’d negotiated. Which, again, was more than most of their past jobs put together. Given how much money and time was going into the heist, despite the fact it would take a miracle to pull off without a hitch, it seemed almost foolproof.

But it had gone wrong in every possible way. Despite claiming the plan was pretty much bulletproof, and he had some of the most reliable sources for all his information, Dexter had still somehow missed the fact that the fucking Emperor had come to talk to his son. A huge factor that had turned everything upside down. Not only had they been made unwilling witnesses to the heir of Arasaka murdering his own fucking father, the entire hotel going up on alert had sent literal shockwaves through their oh-so-foolproof plan. 

V and Jackie couldn’t get back out through the elevator and ended up shimmying along the literal edge of the balcony, with a fucking glass roof on one side, and a sheer drop on the other. And because everything had gotten completely screwed, they’d had to take the glass roof option. The rush of adrenaline and fear coming from sliding down the tilted roof, with dozens of bullets raining down way too close to their backs, was nothing compared to having pain ripple through them as every last breath was knocked out of them.

Then there had been the sense of terror, sending chills down V’s spine, when they turned to Jackie and saw the blood seeping through his white-collar shirt. The knowledge that they somehow had even less time than they thought. That was...honestly...V didn’t think anything could have been worse than that. Looking up from the scarlet red, to the sudden paleness of Jackie’s face. A face that looked more in shock than anything else, eyes hinting at the fear he quickly tried to hide behind his usual jokes and bravado. 

V had barely taken her eyes off of him the entire time, terrified that every time they looked over, he’d be dead on the floor. But, somehow, against the odds of that stomach-turning injury- and the countless waves of Arasaka guards armed to the teeth, they’d made it. Made it out, the chip safe and secure in Jackie’s head, to the relative security of the Delamain vehicle. Where V had almost let out a laugh at the fact they’d made it.

Only for Jackie to bleed to death in the back seat, while she was powerless to stop it. The feeling of his blood seeping out over her fingers, bunching her jacket up against the wound, had somehow been fucking nothing compared to how he’d reached out to touch her face and smile. That same crooked, warm smile, eyes shining like this wasn’t the last time they’d be doing so. Or how her heart had finally shattered into a million pieces when that hand fell down, and his body went slack. Honestly, no amount of alcohol or drugs that Night City could offer would ever get that out of her memory. 

V knew it would haunt her nightmares for years, if those ever stopped. Then there was those first moments without Jackie, with her stumbling out of the car covered in her best friend’s blood. With the scarlet fucking covering her up to the elbows, staining her own white shirt the same way it had ruined Jackie’s. 

She could remember stumbling into the motel, and before she had it in her to find her way to Dexter’s saferoom, there had been a thought just as terrifying as the idea of Jackie’s body being back in the car waiting for her. 

The thought of having to take Delamain round to Mama Welles’ place and show her that her son was gone.

And as if that wasn’t enough of a clusterfuck for her mind to deal with, she’d then been left reeling with the bitter sting of betrayal. Panicking in a way that showed the exact opposite of the slick, cool gangster he always portrayed, Dexter had shot her in the fucking head. After his goon had beat her to a fucking pulp. Which, of course, V assumed would be the end. A world class beating and a bullet to the brain did tend to bring an end to someone’s life. Well, the bullet would do that by itself. All the implants in the world couldn’t save you if your mind was completely fucked. 

But somehow she’d fucking made it through that. Left in a pained daze as confusion overrode any sense of fear or anger. Jackie had died. Why hadn’t she? There was a bullet in her head, so why the hell wasn’t she wherever you went when you died. If there was ever any such place, that is.  Why had she somehow survived, not only through said beating + bullet, but through the insane fucking car chase after? 

That had ended in a crash that almost took out the guy who pulled her through all that.

As if all of those events weren’t consecutive, metaphorical and literal hits to the heart, there was then the mind-fucking revelation that followed. That the relic wasn’t just any piece of fancy tech. No. Well, sure, it was a fancy piece of tech. But it was also so much more. As were the memories V had previously believed were some kind of hallucination. This piece of tech, buried in their own fucking head, was a digital construct. Something that was almost like a human soul . Which was mind blowing as it was. 

But then there had been the moment V realised the truth of what Viktor was saying to them. 

They had Night City legend Johnny Silverhand in their head. His construct had been what Dexter and Evelyn had risked everything for. What Jackie had given his life for. 

Yeah, the guy was no doubt a terrorist. But there had been some kind of method to the guy’s madness. And even with that, they couldn’t work out how to feel. Yeah, the idea of being wiped clean was fucking terrifying, but the fact that neither of them would be able to do anything about it? That changed things. V thought the tech was conscious in its decision to take over her body. But it was just that. A piece of tech, going on what it had been programmed to do.

Of course, they were still terrified. They’d beaten death once, only to have it looming at their back again. But there was some sliver of hope. The guy who saved them, Goro Takemura, had ultimately saved V because they were the only other living witness to the Emperor’s murder, but their first meeting had given V that hope. He’d given them some leads to follow, promising more information if V helped out on his end. 

And that had been just enough to keep V going. Whilst they’d yet to see any sort of physical manifestation of Silverhand’s construct, what they were dealing with outside of that was still more than any sane person would want to deal with. They’d found out, in the absence of her return, Delamain had returned Jackie’s body to his family. 

Meaning some strange, shot up car had arrived on Mama Welles’ doorstep, carrying her son’s broken and bloody body.

Facing the woman after that had been almost as terrifying as staring their oncoming death in the face. But she’d shown V compassion they still didn’t believe they’d deserved, including them in every part of Jackie’s memorial celebration, letting them contribute to the ofrenda and speak of just some of the many fond memories V had of her son. Who had been taken from the world far too fucking early, right when they’d really started their climb to the top. 

Then there had been the sucker-punch of emotions that resulted when the woman gifted Jackie’s motorcycle to her. The piece of hardware he’d saved up for months to get, buffing it up and tweaking it every chance he’d got. The one vehicle he never, ever, let V drive. 

God, that...that had been something else. Picking up the keys, turning them in the ignition, and being sent to their knees by the rush of memories that resulted. Memories that turned into an agonising blur, sending spikes of pain into their head, leaving V unable to move from where they’d knelt against the unforgiving ground.

That, of all places, had been the first time Johnny Silverhand had showed up. In the flesh, so to speak- standing before V almost as clear as a real fucking person. It was also the time they learned that a hell of  alot of the stories about the guy were true. If she had his memories, he had hers, so he’d no doubt have known the sequence of events that brought him here. 

But he’d still gone into some kind of rage, taking control of V’s body for a few terrifying moments, scattering some of the clutter that Jackie had clustered in every corner of his garage. Slamming her head against the fucking wall . The guy had been fucking terrifying, all but holding V by the throat, going off on some tangent about how he now had a chance to end the shit he’d started with Arasaka half a decade ago, with that fucking bomb that wiped out damn near all the tower- the blast of orange light shattering every single window in a several mile radius. 

A blast that had been powerful enough to shake the foundations of the buildings around the tower, in a way that signalled the start of something. Or what Johnny wanted to start back then, at least.

V shouldn’t have expected much more from someone who was a known anarchist, but they did. Because in a way they’d been dodging talking about, they knew a hell of a lot more about Silverhand than they were letting on. How he’d not seen certain memories, V wasn’t sure. But they were grateful to that twist of fate. Because yeah, they knew way more than they should. That was an understatement. When they’d been tossed from foster home to foster home after their parents died in an armed robbery, one of the few things V had been able to do to escape it all had been through getting into music. 

One of the handful of friends she had at her last home, before turning 16, had saved up from this little waitressing job they had at some tiny diner- all so they could gift V with a retro music player she’d been coveting. It was second hand, perhaps a few times over, bought from some old rocker- but it was one of the best gifts they’d received.

At first, they’d thought about using the tech skills they’d learned in their research outside of school to wipe the device clean. But something had stuck out. The device showed up the album covers on the screen, but would also play a holographic image of the main performers via a tiny projector in the device itself. And, bored of waiting for other music to download through the home’s crowded, outdated internet, they settled in to scroll through what the old rocker had left on there. One particular album had stood out to them amidst the black and silver of metal and old rock. 

It was a dark cover, upon which was set a distinct logo. A black and red Samurai-type mask, eyes seeming to be set ablaze even as a still image. When they’d selected it, they saw the projection. Admittedly, it was a bit fucked up- blurry and glitchy in places. Not in as high quality as the rest; clearly recorded by a fan in the audience. 

Patched together. But patched together in a way only a devoted fan could. 

That, and the bright-ass logo, convinced V to listen.

And that had been it, pretty much. They’d gone through the entire album in one sitting, and that was all they listened to for three days straight. At first, it was just the general tune and the lead singer’s voice that drew her in. But then she started really listening to the lyrics, and that’s what truly started her down that twisted rabbit hole. She started digging into who Samurai were, and, more specifically, who their lead was. They were a proper, kind of old school rock band, who had a pretty decent and dedicated following. 

But they never went mainstream. Which, given their lyrics and what happened with Silverhand, made sense. When V first read about how Johnny Silverhand started a one-man war against Arasaka, the figurehead of the monopolising corporations that had taken over the world, they were hooked pretty much instantly. They saw and heard way too many stories growing up on the streets, of shops being taken over and homes being demolished for shiny skyscrapers and luxury hotels. 

Of how the streets became laden with neon logos and signs blaring into your vision as far as your orbital implants could see. How they held a terrifying amount of control over the NCPD and major leadership positions. That the city was basically a monopoly board for the ultra rich to play in. To fuck with in whatever way they saw fit.

So yeah, like any sane person (or angsty teen) would do, V found themselves in Samurai’s music. And as the years went by, and they learned more about Silverhand and how he’d somehow managed to bring down Arasaka’s own fucking tower in Night City- at the cost of his own life now less- for the chance at bringing down the megacorporations ruining people’s lives, they found it being a part of themselves. Especially as they got into the mercenary gig at 18 and started working their way up, seeing the deepest and darkest parts of Night City’s underworld. 

Ok, it was kind of an obsession. 

But it wasn’t only an ideal that V could get behind, it was also an escape from the chaos of her life. 

Fucking hell, she even spent a huge chunk of her first well-paying job on tracking down and obtaining one of Silverhand’s original guitars. Sure, him and Samurai weren’t the only band with posters and memorabilia decorating her apartment walls (which she carefully took down and carried with her as she moved from place to place), but they were definitely the majority of it. There was even an original poster, taken and edited by a photographer who got into one of Samurai’s last concerts. 

A photo of Silverhand all but screaming into the mic, one hand on said microphone, and the other on a gun that gleamed as silver as his cybernetic arm. The crowd reaching out to him amidst a haze of blazing lights and dense smoke.

Which, after all that and a string of events that were like something out of an old Hollywood action movie, left V where she was now. After spending 3 days hopping around Night City, taking on job after job, and switching between motels, they’d finally gotten the courage to go back to their apartment. Because yeah, they were definitely still scared shitless about the idea of their brain essentially being wiped clean. But the immediate issue was that, in the few days she’d had with him cropping up everywhere, she’d gotten to know Silverhand a bit. 

The guy still scared her half the time; not that she’d admit that to his fucking smug (and annoyingly good-looking) face, but the other half of the time? He was pretty interesting. Definitely still holding on to a metric tonne of anger towards Arasaka, and more blunt and abrasive than any person she’d ever met, but interesting. Beneath the layers of anger and resentment, as well as more cockiness than one person should ever fucking possess, there was hints at the shit beneath all that. 

Of who Johnny was, beyond the legend attached to his name.

So yeah, that left them stuck outside the door of V’s apartment, Johnny crossing his arms as he leant back against the wall with a huff- the former being more than a little afraid to open the door. They’d lucked out with the memories of hers that he’d seen so far, but that was going to run out sooner or later. Especially with the both of them being on borrowed time. So it was better to get this shit out of the way sooner, rather than later. 

Didn’t make the prospect any more appealing, of course. She knew how Johnny felt about the so-called fanatics and groupies. Good for a one night stand, but nothing else. 'Just following the slightest sense of fame' as he put it. So V could only imagine how he’d react to not only seeing a room half full of Samurai memorabilia, but also the knowledge he was stuck in the body of the owner of said memorabilia. 

One of the ‘wild fans’ he’d said he despised. Sure, V wasn’t exactly ashamed of liking Silverhand’s music (or him, because fuck) but having your teenage hero seeing a room full of his band’s shit was on another level.

And she couldn’t even duck away afterwards. They were literally stuck together for the foreseeable future.

Fuck.

Fuckfuckfuckfuck fuckfuckfuck.

“Any reason you’re stood there with your eyes wide as hell, like your fucking brain already got wiped?” Johnny spoke up, abruptly bringing her back to the present.

“No. No reason.” V shrugged, hoping to appear nonchalant whilst internally screeching.

“Something in there you don’t want me to see?” Johnny showed up in the corner of her vision, leaning against the wall. “Can’t be any worse than the shit out here.”

“You that interested in seeing my apartment?”

“With the alternative being stuck in your head staring at a fucking door, yeah. I am.”

Okay, he was definitely getting more and more pissed off as the seconds ticked by. To be fair, she had been staring at the door trying to gather the courage to open said door...for about...five minutes. Truth be told, she was surprised Silverhand lasted that long. Guy wasn’t exactly one for being patient. 

Which was the understatement of the fucking century. But the idea of him fucking her up for making him wait was somehow, somehow, worse than the idea of who was basically her (he was an anarchist asshole, but damn if the guy didn’t make a good point sometimes) idol growing up, seeing her apartment plastered in his band’s memorabilia. There was already an onset of cringe overtaking V’s system, grimacing as she anticipated the barrage of fucked up questions that would be coming her way- but somehow she finally got in in her to swipe the key across her door. 

At least she hadn’t left it in a fucking mess like she normally did. 

That would be something.

When Johnny casually walked through her to examine the apartment, V stepped in after him, the door sliding shut agonisingly loud behind her. Those first few seconds were some of the longest of her life, and given all the shit that had happened recently, especially what got her to this bizarre fucking moment in the first place- that was saying something. Saying something. Which was, V realised, something that Silverhand wasn’t doing. 

In the few days they’d spent together, he rarely shut up. So this was about as miraculous as her rising from the fucking dead. Of course, the silence had it’s drawbacks- V could practically feel the tension rising...as Johnny scanned the room. As he no doubt saw the countless Samurai poster variations amidst the swathes of rock memorabilia. And, of course, landed on the huge fucking poster of him on the opposite wall. 

Which went literally floor to ceiling, beaming out amidst the cluttered apartment like the fucking neon lights of the city outside.

Something that made the silence all the more-

“Hey, V?” Johnny spoke up abruptly.

“...yeah?” V braced herself.

“What the fuck?”

V opened her mouth to say something, but all that came out was a nervous laugh. Sure, she was mildly terrified, but the way he just said it so deadpan and blunt as he slowly turned halfway- eyebrows raised so fucking high you could see it above those trademark sunglasses...it was honestly one of the funniest things she’d ever seen and heard. 

It somehow sounded simultaneously unlike him, without any of the usual spite or anger, but so much like what she’d expected all the same. He sounded a mixture of disappointed, and outright freaked the fuck out. Which was...understandable. The guy had been brought back from the dead, stuck in some random ass stranger's body, only to walk into their apartment to see half of the wall was like some fucked up poster shrine to him and his band. 

Yeah. V could understand his reaction. Didn’t make it any less hilarious. (Or make her any less scared of the inevitable fallout, but hey)

“You gone deaf or something? Relic malfunction?” Johnny tried getting her attention. “I said...what the fuck, V?”

“I...uh...can...explain?” V spoke hesitantly, hands raised in mock (no, totally real) surrender.

“Uh huh. Really?” Johnny didn’t look or sound convinced, arms crossing in front of his chest as he turned to fully face her. “Going to make this worse and tell me what I think is going on?”

“What...do you think...is going on?”

“This shit isn’t in bad condition, but I can tell its old as fuck.” Johnny gestured to the wallpaper-like swathe of posters. “And not because its Samurai shit either.”

“So…” V wrung her wrists together nervously.

“You’ve probably had it since you were like, what? A fucked up hormonal teenager?”

“I…”

“Great.”

“Look, this-”

“Is somehow worse than waking up in your body?”

“Hey!”

“How would you feel if you rose from the fucking dead and found a shrine to yourself?”

“It is not a shrine- ”

“Sure looks like it.”

“Don’t flatter yourself-”

“Says the asshole with a huge fucking poster of me on their living room wall.”

“How am I an asshole?”

“Because this shit is weird, V!”

“Liking a band is a bad thing?”

“No. Having a fucking shrine is-”

“IT’S.NOT.A.SHRINE!”

Yeah, V was definitely considering that she was going crazy. Here she was, after almost pulling off the most insane heist Night City in years, the death of her best friend- and rising from the dead...arguing with the digital construct of the guy she’d looked up to for half her fucking life. Over whether her (admittedly kind of oversized) poster of said idol made up the centerpiece of some kind of shrine. If you’d told her this was what her life would amount to, trying to defend her teenage-borne obsession with an indie rock band to their resurrected anarchist/terrorist lead singer, she wouldn’t have believed you. 

Not even after overdosing on every fucking drug Night City had to offer.

God, worse than the insanity was how fucking embarassed she felt. Because even she was starting to realise how weird it would be for Silverhand to wake up in someone’s head, only to walk into their apartment and see said person was pretty much obsessed with him. Because yeah, she had to admit to herself it was an obsession.

 How could you blame her? The guy’s music was pretty fucking awesome, he had somewhat understandable views on corporate overlords... and he was probably one of the most attractive guys to ever walk the streets of Night City.

But he hadn’t seen every poster yet. He’d turned back round, talking about something V couldn’t hear over the rising mix of terror and cringe running through her veins, fixated on that huge-ass poster of him on the wall opposite them. And he’d yet to almost crack his voice with another what the fuck , meaning yeah. He hadn’t seen every poster. 

Namely, the one she’d stuck on the square wall behind her bed. Which was worse than the gigantic one taking up a quarter of one of her living room walls. It was some reporter’s photo from a backstage venture at one of Samurai’s concerts. (Taking up that whole section of wall) Silverhand was sitting on top of an unused amplifier, looking at someone outside of the camera’s point of view. Signature vest top nowhere to be seen, leaving him shirtless. In those stupid tight leather pants and boots combo. With his trademark sunglasses on. Smoking a cigarette, smirking, skin shining-

Possibly the thirstiest fucking image that photographer could have taken.

“V?” Johnny snapped her out of it.

"What?" V bit back.

Shit, she’d gotten distracted by the somewhat spicy photo. (Another thing she’d take to her fucking grave) She had to move while his attention was still on the other poster. Because if she could just cross the few feet over to her bed, unnoticed, she could carefully pull the poster down and stash it under the bed. She could say some shit about how yeah, it was pretty fucking weird, and take down the other one after.

Yeah, if V could just make it across the floor, she’d get through this with at least a shred of her dignity intact.

However, Fate (the bitch) seemed to have even more fucked up plans for her.

Because today, of all days, in this one shitty moment…

Her foot landed on the creakiest fucking patch of flooring in the entire goddamn apartment.

Johnny instantly turned to face her, downed eyebrows raising once more when he took in her almost cartoon-like sneaking stance. Even though she knew she looked fucking ridiculous, V couldn’t quite bring herself to move. She was literally frozen in fear, knowing that any second now...

“The hell are you-” Johnny started, before turning his head.

As he started to follow her line of sight, V relaxed her cartoon pose and started slyly backing away, (Like that would help her. The guy was literally stuck in her head) following his gaze. When his eyes finally crossed over to her bed, V felt herself get struck with the hugest fucking sucker-punch of cringe she’d felt since she was the angsty teenager that had inadvertently gotten her into this mess.

But then Johnny finally fixed his eyes upon the shirtless photo of him, stuck up next to her bed of all places.

“Oh for fuck’s sake-”

[rainy-day-gracie]

Lego House

OMG this took a while to write but I’m very proud of the finished product :) special thank you to @aperrywilliams for helping me write it !!

Request for Reader and Spencer to be dating when the finale of season nine happens. 

Slight changes to the episode, but I tried to keep it as close as possible !

MASTERLIST

__

I'm gonna pick up the pieces And build a Lego house When things go wrong we can knock it down

“Preacher’s not answering,” Spencer said with a grim look on his face. 

“Keep trying, we need to tell him we know he didn’t do this,” Blake ordered from the front seat. 

“If Preacher thinks he’s cornered, he’s going to fight his way out whether he’s guilty or not,” I looked to Spencer, who had a worried look in his eye. 

“And when he does that, who knows what could happen,” Spencer patted my hand gently before trying the Preacher again. 

We pulled into the parking lot of the Mexican restaurant, Lorenzana waiting by her police car. 

“He’s been in there a good five minutes now, haven’t seen any movement yet,” she turned toward us, her hands on her hips. 

“What about patrons?” Spencer asked, pulling out his gun. 

“It’s closed.”

“How many entrances?” I asked, examining the rundown restaurant. 

“Two it looks like,” Lorenzana answered, her tone seeming cold towards us. For some reason it rubbed me the wrong way. 

“Question is, is he alone?” Blake wondered. 

Spencer placed a soft hand on my shoulder, offering me a small smile. “It’ll be okay,” he murmured so only I could hear. 

A bad feeling ran down my spine, and I couldn’t shake the worry weighing on my shoulders. 

“Guys, I’ve got movement, we should move in now Sheriff,” an officer called over to us. 

“Actually, we’re better off establishing the perimeter first, so we can open up a line of communication,” Spencer answered, one of his hands resting on my shoulder. 

“Alright, but Reid, we need to get around-” Coleman was cut off by a high pitched gunshot, and I saw a dark figure run out the back way of the restaurant before we ducked under the vehicles. 

“Shots fired, shots fired!” I yelled, aiming my gun in the direction the shot came from. “Came from-”

“YFN!” Arms wrapped around my waist as it turned into a shootout, and a pelting sound came from behind me. 

Spencer seemed to collapse on the ground in slow motion, and I had only begun to process the situation before I was pulled behind the door of the car. 

“Spencer’s down, pull him over!” I yelled to Morgan, and Morgan dragged Spencer out of the line of fire. 

“Hey, hey, just try and stay calm,” I whispered to Spencer, pressing my hand against his neck to stop the bleeding. “Stay calm, stay calm,” I was mostly just whispering to myself. 

Blake appeared at my side, trying to assess the gunshot. “Go help the others,” she said to me. 

“No, I’m not leaving him, Blake,” I answered, not even looking as she left to get a medic.  

A man walked past us, holstering a standard law enforcement gun at his side. “The hell...” I murmured.

“Go... go,” Spencer forced out. 

“No, Spencer, I’m not leaving you,” I lifted his head up enough to look in his eyes. They were glazed, unfocused. 

“Go.” 

Tears bit at my eyes when I kissed him on the forehead. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” I felt him nod slightly, and I left to chase the guy that walked past. 

He glanced back, and ran when he saw me chasing him. “FBI! Put your hands on your head!”

The man stopped and turned towards me. “You want me to put my gun down?” He asked with a sick smile. 

“Yes please.” I said, not once lowering my own gun. “Are you a cop?” 

The man dropped his gun lazily, kicking it to the side. I approached him to put on handcuffs, and he grabbed my arm, slamming my chest into a gated fence. “You should’ve just left alone, bitch,” he hissed in my ear. 

I still had my finger on the trigger pointed at the empty alley beside us. I fired the gun three times into the alley before he let me go, sprinting into the dark and disappearing. 

One of the officers found me, still breathing heavily by the chain link fence. “You need to get back to your team, one of yours is in trouble,” the officer said, and I took off running past him. 

My three words have two meanings There's one thing on my mind, it's all for you

The ambulance had just left the restaurant when I finally found my team. 

“Where did you go?” JJ asked, looking at my disheveled appearance. 

“Tell you later,” I murmured to her, wary of the officers surrounding us. “Let’s get to the hospital.”

The waiting room was worse than being at the restaurant, the smell of antiseptic overwhelming and the fluorescent lights seemed to burn my eyes. 

“He’s going to be okay,” Blake muttered, wringing her hands together. 

“I never told him I loved him,” I said absentmindedly. She looked over at me, rubbing my shoulder like a mother. “What am I going to do if he dies and I never told him I loved him?”

“Anything yet?” JJ walked into the waiting room, her FBI jacket slung across her arm. 

“No,” Blake and I said grimly. 

JJ sat, figeting anxiously. “Spence would’ve read like two books by now, maybe even three-”

“He pushed me,” I said simply, cutting JJ off. “He pushed me out of the way and now he’s on the table.” Tears brimmed my eyes, and I put my head in my hands. 

“It could’ve been any of us and he would’ve done the same thing, that’s just the person he is,” JJ reached for my hands, peeling them away from my face. “Do you know he wants kids?”

I smiled sadly, tears starting to fall down my cheeks. “Yeah, a boy and a girl, Sebastian and Evelyn. He loved the Little Mermaid as a kid, so he wants the name Sebastian after the little red crab. As for Evelyn, that’s what Diana would’ve named him if he were a girl.” For a moment, I let myself be swept away in that memory. Spencer looking so handsome in the early morning light, us just talking sleepily before work about anything under the stars. 

Blake smiled with me. “That’ll be the luckiest kid in the world.”

“No doubt,” JJ added. 

And it's dark in a cold December, but I've got ya to keep me warm And if you're broken I'll mend ya And keep you sheltered from the storm that's raging on now

I was lost in the dream of having kids with Spencer when reality crashed on me again. “What if he-” 

“YFN, he’ll make it.” JJ said, almost like a command. 

“I mean, he has to,” Blake reassured. 

I gave a short laugh. “I’ll kill him if he doesn’t. We just... we have so many plans for the future. Traveling, eating new foods, reading books together... I’m so scared we won’t get to do any of that anymore.” 

The man with the law enforcement gun came to my mind, and as I was about to tell the others Garcia’s heels clicked into the room, Cruz following close behind. Garcia pulled JJ into a hug. “Garcia, you made it.”

Her forced light tone offered little comfort. “Yeah, turns out we’re not the only ones connected, he knows somebody with a plane,” she explained, hugging each of us as she spoke. “How is he?”

“Still in surgery,” Blake answered heavily. 

“Y’all can see Agent Morgan now,” a nurse told us, showing us to Morgan’s room. “He’s been asking for a YFN?”

I practically ran into Morgan’s room, and he immediately snapped to attention. “How’s Reid?”

JJ sighed. “He’s still in surgery.”

Morgan grimaced, trying to take off the flimsy hospital gown. “No, what are you doing?” Garcia demanded. 

“You bet your ass I’m not just gonna sit around here, guys c’mon, get me outta here,” Morgan replied crankily. 

“Actually you are, just hang on a second,” Cruz said, explaining himself to Morgan’s death glare. “Just until we figure out what’s what, catch me up.”

“The three victims inside were dead before the shooting started, lividity had set in and there was no blood spatter.” Hotch answered curtly. 

“They weren’t killed there,” Rossi started. “Preacher’s car was clean, so there’s no way he transported bodies in it.”

Cruz nodded. “So you were right, he was being framed, but by whom?”

“The answers in the victims.” Hotch said. “Belinda Clark and Jessie Moore were both tied to prostitution like the others. Travis Henson was a regular at the Pool Hall but he didn’t work there.”

Hotch explained how the Preacher felt cornered and decided to shoot his way out, and that made me think of the first shot. The high pitched whistle that started this unfortunate series of events. 

“Guys, I don’t think he was the first one to shoot.” Morgan spoke up. “Whoever set him up was there.”

Cruz furrowed his eyebrows. “That’s ballsey, what makes you think that?”

“The high pitched whistle. The one that killed Coleman... why did you ask me in here, Morgan?” I spoke, looking straight at Morgan. 

“Did you see anything while you were with Reid? He said something about a man walking past and you chasing him when we were in the ambulance.”

The breath seemed to leave my lungs. “A man... with a law enforcement weapon in his hand. I chased after him, but he pinned me against a fence before he took off.”

The faces of my team seemed to darken. I seemed to be in a daze when Morgan explained the difference in bullets in his vest and the one that killed Coleman. 

This is really bad. 

While the team decided to find Dinah, I settled back in my seat next to Blake in the waiting room again. Garcia sat next to me, holding my hand as the team filed out on their own duties. “He’s going to be okay,” She murmured. 

After what seemed like hours, a doctor entered the waiting room. “Agents?”

I looked up to the doctor warily, terrified of what he might say. Blake shot to her feet. “How is he?”

“Incredibly lucky...” Relived tears streamed down my face that I didn’t even pay attention at what the doctor said after that. 

Spencer is okay. Spencer is okay. 

The doctor looked between Blake and I. “Another thing, he’s still asleep, but he keeps calling for a Kit Kat... we didn’t know what to make of that.”

I laughed through my tears. “That’s me... I was a Kit Kat for Halloween this year, so that’s his nickname for me.”

The doctor nodded, a slight smile coming to his face. “You can see him now.”

Blake and I stayed on the doctor’s heels, her calling the team that Spencer was alright. 

Even in his sleep, he still thought of me.  __

I'm out of touch, I'm out of love I'll pick you up when you're getting down And out of all these things I've done I think I love you better now

Garcia placed little figurines of Doctor Who characters on Spencer’s table with a bright smile. “It’ll be so great if he wakes up, and this is the first thing he sees.”

I smiled, sitting on the end of Spencer’s bed. “He does love his nerd things. That’s also one of the things I love about him.”

“Good doctor will always make him smile,” Blake added.

After a moment of quiet, Garcia spoke up. “It’d be really weird if he wakes up and we’re all - woo - staring at him, so... I’m gonna go stand over here.” Her heels clicked over by the window, and Blake had a sad look. 

“I know you two are close,” I said softly to Blake. “He really admires you by the way.”

Blake smiled, glancing at me from her chair. “Sometimes we have book club at the coffee shop, and you are all he talks about. He barely even comments on the book next to him, he’s always so eager to talk about how wonderful you are.”

If only he knew how wonderful I thought he was.

Spencer’s POV

YFN’s voice called me from downstairs. “Spencer! We need to get the kids to school or we’re all gonna be late!”

“Coming, Kit Kat!” Sebastian pulled on my blazer as I fluffed my hair in the mirror. “What do you need, little man?”

“Daddy, I don’t wanna be late for school, I need to correct the teacher today!” Sebastian whined, and I picked him up and slung him over my shoulder. 

“Don’t worry, I used to tell my mom the same thing and look at me now.”

YFN shot me a look as I met her at the bottom of the stairs. “How is it that the same exact thing happens every day? You get caught up doing your hair and I’m stuck making breakfast.” She passed me my leather satchel, and I grinned. 

“That’s why you married me, because of my hair, right?” I gave her a peck on the lips, opening the front door behind me. 

“Gross! That’s inappropriate!” Evelyn squealed, running out to the car. 

YFN’s eyes turned sad. “Spencer, I never married you.” The home around us disappeared, dissolving into darkness. Sebastian, who was slung across my shoulders playfully, vanished. YFN and I stood in darkness, all traces of light or happiness gone. “I never married you... because you died before I got the chance.”

Reader’s POV

All of a sudden, Spencer’s eyes opened, and he looked around, slightly panicked. He calmed when he saw me, sitting on the edge of his bed. 

“Oh my God,” I gasped, hesitant to hug him. 

“Come here,” he whispered, and I embraced him awkwardly around his shoulders. “I dreamed about you, Kit Kat.”

Tears feel down my face into his hospital gown, and I let go with a smile. “I know, you were talking in your sleep.”

“Welcome back, Reid,” Blake said, and I quickly backed away, letting the two friends have their moment. 

Garcia ran off to grab food, and I sat back in my chair. Relief spun in my heart, but I couldn’t shake the feeling something was wrong. 

Blake said goodbye to Spencer, and he turned his head to me. “You should go too, I’ll be fine. The team needs you.”

I rolled my eyes at his suggestion. “Hell no. I am not leaving you, ever. You should know that by now, Spencer. So don’t even try to talk me out of this.”

Spencer smiled softly, looking to Garcia with the tray of hospital food. “Okay, juice, broth, or jello?”

“Jello, my favorite!”

I'm out of sight, I'm out of mind I'll do it all for you in time And out of all these things I've done I think I love you better now 

Spencer and I talked quietly while Garcia typed away on her computer. 

“What dreams were you having... about me?” I asked softly, sitting on the edge of his bed. 

Spencer’s gaze trailed off, the way they did when he was remembering something. “We were married, and had two kids, Sebastian and Evelyn. We were late for work, or to drop the kids off at school when... all of that disappeared, and you said we weren’t married because I had died... before we got the chance.”

“Oh, Spencer...” I held his hand lightly, looking him in the eyes. 

“I was thinking maybe when this is all over... we could talk about that some more,” his palm was slightly clammy, and my heart was beating so fast that words weren’t forming. 

“Um.... yeah, yes, yeah... I would love to talk about that some more, with you.” A smile came to my face, and I  prayed that Garcia couldn’t hear us across the room. She looked up from her computer, seeing the full cup of jello still on the table. 

“Hey, eat that.” She ordered, causing both of us to chuckle. 

And if it's dark in a cold December, but I've got ya to keep me warm And if you're broken I'll mend ya And keep you sheltered from the storm that's raging on now

After a few hours, Garcia had gone to get coffee from the cafeteria. She was practically running when she got back, her heels clicking against the tile. 

I was about to ask her what was happening when she put her phone to her ear again. “Okay, I did that. Now what?” She paused, and I heard the sound of Morgan’s voice on the line. “Yes, yes, I can do that. I can do that.”  

I glanced over at Spencer, half asleep in the bed. A sinking feeling welled in the pit of my stomach. 

Garcia continued talking to Morgan, looking over at the wheelchair. “Um... yes.” Another pause, and her gaze shifted to Spencer. “That is not gonna be easy.” Another pause, and her face changed to something like fear. “Oh my God, what? Okay.”

“Oh, Jesus, we cannot catch a break,” I murmured, leaning my head against the wall. 

Garcia hung up, and looked to me with big eyes. “I’m gonna need your help. Bad cop down the hall.” We sprung into action. 

I rubbed Spencer’s shoulder, waking him up as Garcia readied the wheelchair. “What? What’s happening?” He murmured sleepily. 

“You need to get in the wheelchair, Spencer.”

His face went from confused to annoyed. “Will I die if I don’t?”

I rolled my eyes, helping him sit up in bed. “I don’t know, but I don’t wanna find out, c’mon. I’m sorry.”

Spencer grumbled, cautiously swinging his feet out of the covers. I held him up around his waist, and he leaned against me for support. We turned, and I awkwardly placed him in the wheelchair. He held his wound with a grimace. “Some bedside manner they have here.”

I wheeled him out of the room and down the hall, Garcia walking briskly ahead of us. She slyly pulled the fire alarm, and I caught a glimpse of an officer in a corridor before we passed him quickly.

“Oh, shit,” I breathed, wheeling Spencer outside the building. 

“Language,” he joked. 

I'm out of touch, I'm out of love I'll pick you up when you're getting down And out of all these things I've done, I'll love you better now 

After a couple hours, we were let back into the hospital. I wheeled Spencer back to his room while Garcia called Morgan beside me. 

“He is gone. They’re letting us back in.” She paused, listening to Morgan. “I lost a couple karma points, but, uh-huh, I did it.” I smirked at her phrase, and Spencer looked like he wanted to kill me. 

“This sucks,” he muttered, and I had to keep from bursting out laughing at his comment. 

We got him back in his bed with much groaning and struggle, and I couldn’t shake the feeling the worst wasn’t over yet. “You okay?” Garcia asked softly. 

“Yeah, I’m just really tired.”

“Of course you are, you need to get some sleep,” Garcia commented sweetly. 

“Beauty rest for pretty boy,” I joked, trying to lighten the mood. 

A doctor walked in, and Garcia and I looked at each other questioningly. “What’s the problem? He already had his meds an hour ago.” I said, looking back at the man holding the syringe. 

“Yeah, post-op antibiotics,” the man said, not looking any of us in the eye.

“Yeah, he had those too,” Garcia questioned, glancing from me to Spencer. 

“Which ones?” Spencer asked, reading the label on the syringe. “Carbenicillin? No, that’s not right. I have a severe reaction to beta lactams. I can’t have that.” Panic crept into his voice and I knew something was really wrong. 

The man took a small glance at his clipboard, putting it aside nonchalantly. “That’s not in your chart.”

All three of us looked to each other with wide eyes. The man stuck the needle into Spencer’s IV bag. “What are you doing? What are you doing?” We both tried to pry the needle out of Spencer’s arm, and Spencer quickly slapped the needle out of the man’s hands. 

The man bent over, revealing a gun tucked into his waistband. 

“Garcia, give me Spencer’s gun!” I reached behind me, praying she knew what I was talking about. 

She did. Garcia placed the gun into my hand, and I aimed, pulling the trigger right as the man pointed his weapon at Spencer. 

The man fell, and we all released a breath we all had been holding simultaneously. 

“Let’s never do that again,” I said, exhaustion from the night taking over me. 

“Agreed.” Spencer looked at me, a relieved smile coming to his lips. “Thank you for saving me.”

I smiled with him, dropping the gun on the ground. “Just returning the favor.”

He spread his arms as much as he could, and I leaned down to give him a hug. “Let’s get married,” he said, and we both laughed. 

“Sure,” I answered, pulling away with tears in my eyes. 

We suddenly remembered Garcia standing right behind us, looking like she was about to pass out.

“Oh my God,” she said simply. “My ears are ringing so bad that I don’t even care that he just proposed to you.”

Spencer and I laughed, knowing that this nightmare was finally over.

TAG LIST : @squirrellover1967 @yomama-umbridge @vixengustin88 @tiktokslut @ sknnymnne @pinkdiamond1016

[chilling-seavey]

Passchendaele WW2 Extension - Where We Were and Who We are to Become

September 12, 1945

Evelyn always whistled when she baked. Maybe it was a bit the piano student in her but it always seemed to brighten her spirits with a little tune on her lips. In her tiny London apartment, she had just slid her own birthday cake in the oven when the phone rang.

She wiped her hands off on the tea towel and hurried to the wall where the phone was hung and picked up the receiver, “Hello?”

“Evelyn.”

It was her mother.

“Oh, Mama, hello. I just put my cake in the oven. I know you suggested waiting until at least the day before but I don’t mind. I was just far too excited-”

“Evelyn,” her mother’s voice was quiet as if she was whispering into the phone and she sounded like she was crying, “it’s your brother.”

Evelyn swore her heart stopped in her chest and she gripped tighter onto the receiver in her hand, “What about him, Mama?”

“He’s come home, darling. He’s home safe.”

“What?” Evelyn choked out.

“He’s home. Charlie’s home.”

Evelyn didn’t need one more piece of information, “I’m on my way.”

She pulled the uncooked cake out of the oven, nearly threw it on the counter, grabbed her purse, and was out the door in an instant. Her legs couldn’t carry her fast enough but the city traffic wouldn’t have been any better so she resorted to running across the sidewalks of London to the train station.

Evelyn made it back to her childhood home on the earliest train she could – clocking in from apartment to porch in a record 45 minutes – and rushed right inside without even a knock. Elizabeth had seen her daughter running up the driveway and had stood up to meet her in the hallway but Evelyn pushed right past her and around the couch to where her brother and her father were sat.

One look at her big brother and Evelyn was stopping in place, her breath shuttering in her chest at the sight of him. He was older, that was for sure, but he wasn’t what she expected. He looked tired and frail and terribly frightened.

Evelyn was exactly how Charles had expected her to look. He left her as a girl of merely eighteen and he returned to her as a woman of almost twenty-five. She was grown now and she was beautiful and it shattered Charlie’s heart to have missed so much of his little sister over the last six years. His quiet crying fell back into emotional weeping and he curled into Daniel’s side shamefully.

“Charlie.” Evelyn whimpered, dropping her purse to the floor and she gently sat beside him on the couch. Her hand hesitated in the air a moment as if she were afraid to touch him but then she set her hand against his arm, “It’s okay, Charlie.”

She glanced up at their father as if needing to ask for permission to console her older brother but Daniel just held open his arm and she shuffled up close. She rested her head on Charlie’s shoulder and wrapped her arms around him, her brave big brother, and let her silent tears fall into the sleeve of his uniform. He had always been there for her for her whole life, Charlie was her protector from the moment she was born, but now he was the one needing her. Evelyn was grown up enough now to understand that…and to understand that no words had to be spoken to show it.

The Seavey’s sat on their couch together for at least an hour; parents holding their two children and thanking God for their safety and for allowing them the privilege of getting through the hardest six years they ever had to endure.

When the initial shock had calmed down, Elizabeth remade some tea and Evelyn helped her bring the teacups and the biscuits into the parlour. The two women paused for a moment together in the kitchen and shared a quick hug and a few tears before returning to their family.

Charlie refused to let go of Daniel and no one dared to ask him to stop – especially not Daniel. The young man rested with his cheek against his father’s chest, right over his heart, and clutched his shirt in his fist until he was creasing the fabric. Daniel only pet his hair and held him close without a word. Elizabeth couldn’t read her husband’s expression as he stared down at their son in his arms.

When Charlie was able, he sat up to have his tea; the china cup trembling in his hand as he lifted it to his mouth to sip carefully. Daniel tended to him without second thought, holding a hand to the back of his head and helped to guide his son’s shaking hand so the tea wouldn’t spill all over him.

“Good boy.” Daniel whispered.

Charlie only whimpered through his next breath and let Daniel set the teacup down on the coffee table. Elizabeth had turned the photographs back around while Charlie had been distracted in his initial return and now he stared up at the frames on the mantle with a flat expression, scanning each one as if it were his first time seeing it.

“Biscuit, Charlie?” Evelyn asked softly, holding out a small square tea cookie to her brother.

“Let’s not rush him, buttercup.” Daniel said gently.

“It’s okay.” Charles mumbled and carefully took the cookie from his sister. He took a tiny bite from the corner and savoured it in his mouth like it was the most delicious yet dangerous thing he had eaten his whole life.

His family watched him silently.

He ate half of the biscuit and then set the rest back on the saucer on the coffee table.

“What do you want to do now, darling?” Elizabeth asked.

“I didn’t mean to worry you.” Charlie spoke as strongly as he could but his voice wavered and broke at the end.

“We know.” Elizabeth tisked pitifully and set a comforting hand on his back.

“I was…I was distracted…” Charlie discreetly glanced down to his hand on his lap where the ring engraved with RB was tucked around his right pinky. The family held their breaths, the three of them knowing who that ring belonged to perfectly well. Charlie continued, “I was distracted and was shot down over enemy lines and…they took me prisoner.”

Evelyn curled up into her brother’s side as he recalled his last few months.

Charlie took a trembling inhale as he spoke to the floor, “They wouldn’t kill us because that would cause their prisoners in British control to be killed and they didn’t want to risk that but they…they kept us in a camp. I tried to write to you…I swear that I did…but…but we weren’t allowed. They barely fed us and they…they tried to treat us like…like we were nothing. I was…I was just waiting to die because a few men starved to death in the night and…and I didn’t know the war was over until the Russian’s liberated the camp a fortnight ago. I…We were in there for months after the armistice and…and I couldn’t write you. I didn’t think…I didn’t…I didn’t have anyone!”

He broke down in sobs, hiding his face in his hands as his whole body trembled and shook.

“Richie’s dead and it’s m-my fault!” Charlie wept loudly.

Daniel pulled his son’s hands from his face and gently but strongly turned him to face him, holding his cheeks in his palms, “You look at me, Charles Christian.”

Charlie blinked away his heavy tears to meet his father’s concerned expression.

“I wish I could have told you this the moment your brother died in your arms but I can only offer this now. That was not your fault.”

“Yeah, it was!” Charlie nodded helplessly, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks. “I was flying…I didn’t help him unbuckle…I could have…I could h-have-”

“Christ.” Daniel breathed to himself, trying to compose himself to somehow offer consolation to his son. He closed his eyes and took a breath before looking at him again. Charlie sobbed, his grown-up face still cradled in his father’s hands. “They have made you sit in this self-decided guilt for far too long. I know it well, Charles. I know it far too well. You don’t have to say one word to me and I know you cried yourself to sleep every night in that camp and I know that despite them starving you, you still refused to eat because the sight of food made you sick. I know that you hated every breath you took because he wasn’t there breathing with you.”

Charlie sobbed louder, nodding quickly.

“And you look at me right now, Charles Christian.” Daniel ordered with nothing but pure love in his voice.

Charlie sniffled as he stared pathetically at his father with his same light blue eyes, waiting for him to continue.

“I will tell you every morning and every night until you believe it; what happened to Richard is not your fault. You are not a bad person because of it and I am damn sure you did everything you could to try and save him.”

“He didn’t let me take him to the nurses station!” Charlie cried.

“But you held him, didn’t you?”

Charlie nodded.

“And you told him you loved him, didn’t you?”

Charlie nodded again.

“And you still remember the things he wanted you to pass on for him, don’t you?”

Charlie nodded, nearly drowning himself in his tears, choking over each breath.

“I know.” Daniel said. “Because you are a good brother and a good man and a good son and you make me so damn proud every single day of your life. Don’t you forget it.”

“It hurts so bad!” Charlie sobbed.

“I know.” Daniel pulled him close and wrapped his arms around his son, pressing a kiss to his cheek before clutching him to his chest. “It’s going to hurt every day for the rest of your life but it will get easier.”

Charlie, a grown man of twenty-seven laid helplessly against his father’s chest, crying into his shirt and clinging onto him like he was his only salvation. And Daniel held him close, not saying a single word, clutching onto his son as if his touch could take away his pain.

He stared over his shoulder to his daughter and his wife, Evelyn easily curling up with her brother to try to console him and Daniel held his two children securely. His eyes raised back to Elizabeth who was crying herself too but she smiled a tight but honest smile to her husband and reached a hand out to set over his one that was wrapped around his son.

“You…” she sniffled slightly, trying to keep her voice quiet for only him to hear, “You are the most incredible man I have ever known.”

Daniel held back his own tears for the sake of his grown-up children and mouthed an “I love you” to his wife which she returned. As the family held each other on the couch, Daniel let his tear filled eyes drift over to the mantle, lingering on the Victoria Cross sitting in its bed of velvet and the framed photograph of his brother smiling back at him.

His worst fear had come true: the evil of humanity wrapping itself around his son’s heart until his joy was suffocated out of him. An experience he swore never to even wish onto his worst enemy.

[what-is-your-plan-today]

Riding On Ch9: A Labour of Love

Summary: Fliss and Frank receive some news from Boston and Bean’s due date, arrives…and passes, with no sign of him making his bid for freedom just yet. Fliss is frustrated and poor Frank doesn’t know what to do for the best. 

Warnings: Bad Language words. Smut (NSFW, NO UNDER 18s!).

Pairing: Frank Adler x Fliss Gallagher

A/N:  Bean is just not playing ball, is he? As always, I hope you enjoy and I love reading all your thoughts. Chapter Song: Beautiful Day by U2 

Series Masterlist //  WIYPT Masterlist

Touch me, take me to that other place. Teach me, I know I’m not a hopeless case.

 August 2019  

The alarm had become a bit of a pointless feature in the Gallagher-Adler household, certainly over the last 2 weeks or so. As Fliss headed into the final throes of her pregnancy, her sleep patterns were all over the place. So it was no surprise to Frank that he felt her climbing out of bed at little past 5 am. Blinking sleepily he made a noise of protest because, after all, it was a Saturday, and she chuckled and leaned over to gently kiss his head.

“Stay here.” she instructed, “I’ll be fine.” He wasn’t going to listen, he really wasn’t but his eyes dropped shut of their own accord. When they opened again it was almost 10 and he gave a start, because Fliss was due to leave in little over an hour. She was off for a Pre-Baby pamper session with Verity, Roberta and Sian, which included a manicure, pedicure, haircut, facial and fuck knows what else. To be honest, Frank had zoned out when she'd reeled off the list of treatments last night over dinner and just nodded in all the right places because he wasn't interested if all truth be told. As long as she enjoyed herself. With that in mind, he jumped up and after a quick shower he headed downstairs.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” he asked as he wandered into the back of the house. Fliss, who was stood by the bay window seat, her eyes roving over the garden, didn’t answer.

“Lissy?” He spoke again and she jumped slightly and turned to face him as he chuckled and crossed the room to give her a kiss. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. Where’s Mary?”

“She went up to the stables for a lesson with Joanne before it gets too hot.” She replied, taking the peck he offered with a tight smile. Her voice was flat, emotionless and her entire demeanour unnerved him a little as he prided himself on normally being able to read her very well but at that moment he really couldn’t get a lock on her at all.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

 “I had a message from Boston Police…about John.”

Frank made an angry noise in his throat “What about him?”

She looked at him and Frank felt his mind whirring about what there was left that the ass hole could possibly put her through. He was inside, for a long time and he wouldn’t be getting parole this time round either but when she answered, he hadn’t been expecting her to drop the news she did.

“He’s dead.” Fliss said flatly as she looked at Frank. His face contorted into a frown as he looked at her.

“Dead?”

She nodded “Apparently got in a fight with another prisoner and it got a bit nasty. He was stabbed and…” she swallowed “Bled out. Nothing they could do.” Frank watched her carefully as she was clearly pondering something. He wasn’t sure how she was going to be feeling here. She had been married to him after all but, well, Frank was struggling to feel anything other than a sickening sense of satisfaction. If anyone deserved to die it was that fucker.

“You ok?” he asked her as he stepped towards her and pulled her into a hug.

“Yeah. I feel nothing.” she said simply, pulling back to look at him. “Absolutely nothing. I’m not happy he’s dead but I don’t care he is, either, and I’m certainly not upset about it.” She paused, biting her lip “Does that make me a bad person?”

“Bad?” Frank spluttered “Fuck, no honey, of course not” She let out a sigh as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head as she snuggled her face into his chest.  “If you think feeling nothing makes you bad then me feeling what I do means I’m going straight to hell.” Frank moved and tilted her face to look at him with his finger a thumb gently holding her chin “He was a nasty, vile bastard Lissy, and he put you through so much, not to mention nearly fucking killing you less than a year ago. If anything you have a right to be throwing a damned party now.”

“Not sure you’d find many places with Congratulations Your Piece Of Shit, Wife-Beating Ex-Husband Is Dead banners or balloons.” she quipped.

“The internet is dark and full of terrors.” Frank smiled back and Fliss snorted at the Game of Thrones reference “Never underestimate it.”

She stayed silent for a moment before she pulled back and looked up at him. “You know what else I will never underestimate?” she asked, and Frank was pleased to note that familiar shine had returned to her face and eyes and he arched an eyebrow. “The power of a back massage.”

Frank smiled “Good job you’re heading off for one then isn’t it.”

“Hmmmm…” she teased, her hands tracing his chest through his t-shirt. “Thing is, unlike your back rubs this one won’t have a happy ending.” “It better fucking not do.” He shot back and she grinned.

“I should go get ready.”

“Ok, you want any breakfast before you go?” he asked and she smiled

“We ate, but there’s some pancakes in the oven for you, you just need to warm them up.”

He smiled “You’re too good to me.” “I know” she shrugged, standing on her toes to give him a kiss. With a chuckle he watched her leave, Thor trotting behind her before he let out a deep breath.

“Does that make me bad?”

The fact that she was even asking that, after everything, was enough of an answer in itself. Bad? There was nothing further from the truth and he hated that she had even entertained the idea. But, as Frank realised when he poured himself a coffee, now the bastard was dead, there was nothing else he could do to her. That particular shadow was now well gone.

And Frank didn’t give a shit whether being happy or, dare he say it, amused at the fact the fucker had died in prison, made him a bad person or not.

*****

An hour later Fliss was collected by Bill, the poor bloke was on drop off and pick up duty and Frank didn’t envy him dealing with all 4 of women. Out of courtesy, Frank had offered to run one way but Bill had waved his offer off, pointing out that he had to collect his mother later that afternoon from the aiport.

He walked out to the car with them, taking a side glance at his girl who was dressed in a pale pink and blue maxi dress, which was quite low cut and made her pregnancy boobs look fucking amazing. He smiled as he opened the door for her, Fliss sinking into the front seat- being basically 40 weeks pregnant and ready to pop awarded her certain perks such as her mother surrendering her usual position in the passenger side.

“Have a nice time.” He said, leaning over to give her a peck.

“We will.” She smiled “I left Mary some Mac and Cheese for lunch, she was asking before so I pulled it out of the freezer.”

Frank smiled “I’ll fight her for it.” “No need.” She grinned “I got you some out too.” “You spoil me”

Smiling, she reached up and cupped his cheek before he straightened up and shut the door. Once he was sure it was closed he jerked his head to Bill who was bent giving Thor a pat and signalled for the man to walk with him a little, taking a few steps away.

“Everything ok?” Bill asked.

“Yeah, well, sort of. She’s probably gonna tell you herself but just in case she doesn’t, she had a call this morning. John’s dead.” Bill blinked, before he gave a snort “Good.” “Yeah, that was kind of my reaction too.” Frank scratched at his neck. “Fliss, however, well she says she didn’t feel anything. Not happy, not sad, just complete indifference. Which, to be fair, is probably a good thing for her. I’m just a little worried she’s numb because it hasn’t sunk in yet.” Bill nodded “If she doesn’t mention it herself on the way I’ll tell V on the quiet when we get there.” “Thanks.”  Frank smiled as the two of them headed back to the car. Frank grinned at Bill, as he could hear the chatter from the 4 women even through the closed doors and windows of the car.

“Good luck!” he said, nodding towards the vehicle.

Bill snorted before he frowned a little “How come you haven’t gone with Steve and the boys up to the Water Sports centre?” “Mary didn’t want to.” Frank said “I think she’s still a little, self-conscious, I suppose is the term, around the twins but she’ll come round. You know what she’s like” “Well, when they move over in January she’ll have plenty of time to get to know them properly” Bill shrugged “Right, best get this rabble to the hotel. See you later son.” Frank smiled, nodding at him. As the Range Rover pulled off up the drive he tossed a hand at the tailgate before he looked down at Thor.

“Come on boy, let’s go find Mary.” It didn’t take them long to locate her. Having finished her lesson she’d been busy grooming Monty and then helping Joanne with a few chores, or bugging the shit out of her Frank suspected but Joanne was always so patient with her. The young woman was god-send, having really stepped up over the last 2 months especially. Frank knew why Fliss liked her so much.

He practically dragged Mary home, but it really was getting ridiculously warm and he wanted her to have a few hours inside to keep cool a little. In the end, as always, they haggled reaching a compromise that she could have a little while in the pool provided she sat in the shade quietly to eat lunch. As always he was roped into the pool with her, such a hard life he led, and after 30 minutes of teaching her how to dive they both climbed out and ate before changing and heading to the airport to collect Evelyn who was coming to stay for a while.

He greeted her with the usual nod and smile as Mary gave her a hug, before he took her bag from her and they headed back to his truck, Mary gibbering on about anything and everything, his mother listening and replying when needed. The last time Mary had seen Evelyn she had gone to Boston for the weekend the previous month, something that had set Frank on edge after the last time, but as Fliss had reasoned with him, he knew that he couldn’t allow that to stop him from letting her go. This meant that Evelyn hadn’t seen their house since they had moved in back in June. Mary showed her round, Frank following, and when they got to Bean’s room he saw her stop and look round, smiling softly.

“You’ve done a good job, Frank.” She turned to look at him and he smiled back.

“You sound surprised, mother.” “Not at all.” She shook her head. “I expected nothing less.” “Makes a change.” He couldn’t help the sarcastic shot back and she narrowed her eyes.

“Are we not passed the sniping yet?” she said, tiredly.

Frank held his hands up, “Sorry.” After she’d seen the attic and Mary’s room, they headed back downstairs, Frank showing Evelyn to the Guest Apartment over the Garage which he had put the finishing touches to the week before. Fliss had stocked the fridge fully for her, meaning she had everything she could need for snacks and drinks, and whatever else she needed for a comfortable stay. He left her to unpack, telling her to come over to the main house when she was done, which she did a little over an hour later.

Frank poured her a glass of white wine, and they headed outside, taking a seat at the table as Mary was in and out of the pool freely as the sun wasn’t quite as high as it had been given that it was half four in the afternoon. Evelyn took the opportunity to ask Frank if they were ready for Bean to arrive and he smiled, shrugging.

“As ready as we can be.” He said, “We’ve had all the hospital tours and found the place Fliss prefers so…” “Where have you chosen?” Evelyn asked.

“Bayfront in St Pete’s” Frank said, pulling out his phone “They have a suite called the Baby Place.”

He flicked through his phone’s internet browser to the bookmarked page and handed it to Evelyn who put on her glasses to scan the information.

"The separate family lounge offers some of the amenities of home, such as a game table, bla bla bla and room enough to host celebrations and enjoy time with loved ones." Evelyn read from the website. "It looks like a hotel not a hospital" she mused as she handed the phone back to Frank. "Well, that's kinda the idea mother." He said, tossing his phone onto the table. "It’s actually a state-approved level 3 Regional Perinatal Intensive Care Centre." Mary appeared at the side of them, picking up her towel. "The program is one of only 12 in the state of Florida" Evelyn looked at her, cooking her head to one side as Frank gave a chuckle. "There is that too." He said as Evelyn turned to him. Mary, wrapped herself in the towel and hopped up onto his knee. "We originally discussed a birthing centre with the midwife but Fliss was too worried about what could go wrong or if she decided half way through she wanted an epidural..." he rubbed at Mary’s shoulders slightly, drying her off with the towel. “So when the midwife suggested this it seemed like a perfect compromise. She gets a private recovery area and should make her feel more at ease. She doesn't have fond memories of hospitals." He shrugged "Who does?" Evelyn looked at him, taking a sip of her wine. "Well Fliss has some particularly bad ones what with her back injury and operation, not to mention all the times he put her in one." Frank said, pausing for a second. That reminded him.

“Hey Stack, can you go grab me a can of soda?”

“Only if I can have one.” She bargained.

“Fine, but grab the no sugar. You’re already hyper enough as it is.”

Mary jumped down and headed through the door into the kitchen. As soon as she was out of earshot Frank looked at his mother.

“John’s dead.” He said bluntly “Fliss had a call this morning. He was stabbed in prison.” Evelyn looked at him for a second, before she gave a snort “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.” She said sarcastically “How has Fliss taken it?”

“Well she wasn’t leaping for joy but she’s not upset, says she feels nothing.” He shrugged, looking up as Mary came back. She handed him a can as she hopped back on his knee and opened the other one herself.

Evelyn studied Frank for a second as if she was considering something before she smiled "I take it the fact she's due to drop tomorrow is the reason you're on soft drinks and not beer." Frank smiled "Just playing it safe. I mean so are you right? That's why you're here for the next 2 weeks." Evelyn shrugged "is it a problem?" "No." Frank shook his head before he grinned cheekily "Why do you think I finished the apartment above the Garage?" "Bill says in England they would call it a Granny Flat" Mary said as Frank gave a snort. Evelyn chuckled a little. "I’m aware of the terminology, thank you, on account of being from England myself." She looked at Mary "You know, people build them on their property when they want their elderly relatives to move in with them so they can look after them." she turned to Frank, smirking "So I'm honoured, Francis..." "I didn't build it just for you." He rolled his eyes "it was half done when we moved in so it made sense to finish it." He picked up his can "It’s a place for anyone to stay, although I'd be lying if I said you weren't at the forefront of my mind when we did it" Evelyn looked at him, shocked, "me?" "Yeah..." he shrugged, grinning "Fliss told me that I wasn't allowed to let you stay in a hotel or at Bill and V's now we have room so this was the best way of actually keeping you out of the house..." "Oh piss off!" Evelyn looked at him, slapping his arm as he laughed. She shook her head and before she could shoot a sarcastic response back, the sound of an engine coming up the drive hit Frank’s ears and a soft smile crept across his face. His girl was home. Thor gave a loud bark and stood up, running to the gate, Frank following him. He opened it, striding out onto the path through the lawn which led round the side of their house to the front. He smiled as Fliss pushed herself out of her dad's range rover and he instantly spotted that her hair was a lighter colour than it had been that morning and was flowing round her face and shoulders in perfectly styled waves. It was evident she had enjoyed herself, as she looked relaxed for the first time in weeks. "Well I would ask if you had a nice time." He smiled, dropping a kiss to her cheek "but I can tell from the way you're grinning that you did." "Oh it was amazing." She smiled as his hands fell to her hips. “Just what I needed. I feel relaxed and absolutely ready to push a baby out of my vagina.” Frank gave a loud laugh as he shook his head. “Well, your hair looks great." "Aww thanks Frank." Roberta slapped his shoulder as she walked past him into the yard. He rolled his eyes as Fliss laughed, tugging on Frank’s hand as she led him to the trunk of Bill's car. Bill was stood with it open as Verity and Sian were looking in each of the bags before Verity pointed at one and handed it to Fliss, Frank immediately taking it from her. He peered inside.

"Because you don't have enough toiletries" he deadpanned. Fliss shrugged. "The lavender stuff they said would help me sleep, which in case you haven't noticed I've been struggling to do over the last 2 weeks." "Hard not to notice when you wake me up at 3:30 am to tell me" "I did that once because I felt sick. And besides, you did this to me..." she pointed to her now really rather large bump "...you should also be feeling the consequences" Bill snorted as he shut the trunk of his car and looked at Frank as he glanced at the older man, almost pleading for help "Sorry lad." Bill chuckled "You got her pregnant and wanna marry her, she's your problem now." "She is here..." Fliss glared at her father. "Oh, trust me Titch, we are all well aware you are." "Rude" Fliss looked at her parents as they headed into the garden. "Steve and the boys will be here in about 5." Sian looked at Fliss having just got off the phone to him. "Said to tell you he is picking up some real meat on the way over...whatever that means Frank?" Frank laughed "he means fillet steak. I got Sirloin. A man's cut. He's being a pussy" Sian looked at Fliss who simply shook her head. "Meat is a big issue for Francis." She said sombrely, patting his chest.

“I just know what I like.” He shrugged. They made their way through to the back in time to see Verity giving Evelyn a warm hug in greeting. It made Fliss smile softly, noticing how different it all was to the stiff handshakes shared when they met for the first time little over a year ago.

Frank dropped a kiss to her cheek and headed inside to put her bag away before he came back down just as Steve and the boys turned up. Then the usual thing that happened at BBQs went ahead, the men crowding round the grill, the women bustling in and out of the kitchen setting out the sides and accompaniments, the 3 kids bombing in and out of the pool.

“You should have come with us today Mary.” Steve said to the girl as she sauntered past in her bathing suit. She paused to look at him.

“What did you do?”

“We did Kayaking, skiing, the boys went bodyboarding but I sat that one out.” Steve said.

“I didn’t know if I would like it.” She shrugged, dropping her eyes slightly. Frank watched carefully as Steve crouched down.

“Me neither, but you know what? It was fun, and the best thing is, if there’s something you don’t wanna do, you can sit it out and watch.” Frank could see from her face she was mulling this over. She looked at Steve “Are you going again Uncle Steeby?”

“Next Friday.” He nodded.

“Ok, I wanna go next time.” She announced. “Mind your manners.” Frank instructed, gently, pointing the tongues he was holding at her.

“Please.” She added. Charlie and Joel both erupted into noise, demanding that their father allow it and Steve gave a chuckle.

“You’re welcome any time Stack, as long as Frank and Fliss say its ok.” He said, standing up. “Fine by me. In fact you can keep her if you want.” Frank shrugged and Mary rolled her eyes.

“You always say stuff like that, pretend you don’t want me here but we all know the truth. You do, that’s why you’re adopting me.”

“Smart ass.” Frank narrowed his eyes at her as she stuck her tongue out and ran off. Bill and Steve chuckled as Frank shook his head, snorting.

“Thanks Steve.” He looked at the man who waved his thanks away.

“You know, she’s getting more like Fliss was every day.” Bill said “you want to watch that, Frank. She was a sassy little swine as a kid.” “Mary was already a sass bag before she met Fliss.” Frank shrugged, turning over the steaks on the grill. “Lissy just encourages it.” “Have you had any luck with her biological father?” Steve asked and Frank shook his head.

“We’re not expecting to yet. We’ve only given him notification of our intent. I suspect when Greg actually starts the process officially we’ll hear something.”

“But you don’t expect him to object?”

Frank hesitated before he shrugged “I can’t see why he would. He’s never been interested in her, at all. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a slight worry but like Fliss keeps telling me, we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.” “No point worrying about something you can’t control.” Bill said wisely, before he drained his beer “Right, I need another drink. Anyone else want one?”

“Yeah, I’ll come with you” Steve said “Frank?”

“I’m good, thanks.” “You can have one or two, surely?” Steve looked at him.

“Leave him alone.” Bill said, shoving his son on the shoulder, “That’s your sister and my little girl he’s looking out for…” “Fuckin’ pussy…” Steve snorted playfully and Frank threw the burger flipper at him.

Bill and Steve walked away, playfully squabbling and a few seconds later Frank felt a familiar pair of arms wrap around him from behind, Fliss pressing her lips to the space between his shoulder blades.

“Hey gorgeous.” He said, moving so she could slide under his arm. He pressed a kiss to her head “You ok?”

“Yeah, fine.” She smiled, looking up at him. “You know I really do I love your hair." He said, taking in the lighter colour even more in the now closing light of day. Over the past two years, her vivid auburn had gradually tone down and was now a light brown, laced with copper and blonde.

“Thanks.” She said, a little shyly and Frank frowned.

“Don’t you like it?”

“No, I love it…it’s just, well, actually it doesn’t matter.” “Lissy.” He looked at her sternly, and she sighed, her hands worrying one another so Frank put the cooking utensils down and took them in his. “Tell me what’s going on.” “John hated me changing it.” She shrugged “Which is why I went so bright red in the first place. Once I left him I just fancied doing something wild. I’ve always liked it a bit lighter. He insisted I kept it dark…”

“Well you can do what the fuck you want with it.” He assured her, “Unless you want to shave it all off. Then I might raise some objections.” “Sorry. She said gently and he frowned.

“What for?” “Raising him again” she shrugged “We’ve been together almost 2 years now and…” “Hey.” He said, “Don’t ever apologise. I’d rather you tell me when you’re feeling like this. You know that.”

“Of course I do, I just wonder sometimes if it’s ever gonna stop.”

“So what if it doesn’t?” Frank looked at her. She blinked and he shrugged “I’ve told you, you can always talk to me. Nothing you say is gonna make me mad.”

She smiled at him as he dropped his head, gently giving her a peck. “I know, I just get fed up sometimes. Stupid little memories and flashbacks.” “I know.” He smiled at her, kissing her head softly “But they don’t rule your life anymore, not like they used to. They’re just…”he hesitated “A minor annoyance, a bit like him really, insignificant.”

“He’s even more insignificant now.” She grinned “He’s fucking dead.”

At that Frank let out a snort “I take it you’re not longer feeling numb then.”

She shrugged “Mum said exactly the same as you before, that we should be throwing a party so…”

Frank chuckled again, pulling her into him even further as he turned back to the grill.

******

Despite it being her due date the following day there was no sign of Bean. And he didn’t make an appearance on the Monday either. On Tuesday they headed in for an assessment at the hospital, and after an examination the Midwife smiled at Fliss as she lay on the bed.

"Well, Miss Gallagher... he is in the right position." The midwife smiled. “Dropped and ready.” "He needs to hurry up." Fliss grumbled "He was due two days ago.” "Your due date is never exact. I wouldn't worry. His heartbeat is strong, he'll arrive when he is ready." "Already taking after his father." Fliss shot a side glance at Frank who raised an eyebrow. "Ok so if there's no sign of him by the morning of the 28th then just call" the woman said and Frank bit back a smirk at the look of utter disgust on Fliss' face "We'll check everything and do a sweep to get things moving." "Is there anything we can do?" Fliss practically whined "Spicy food? Pineapple? Speed bumps?" The Midwife laughed "I'm afraid they're only old wives tales. The only one with a shred of credibility is sex." Frank grinned and Fliss shot him a glare. "Semen contains prostaglandins" the midwife shot Fliss a wink "It can trigger the release of oxytocin which is a hormone that can help contractions." At that it was Fliss' turn to grin. "So all I need is your sperm and a turkey baster Sailor. Unlucky." Frank rolled his eyes and mentally cursed the midwife for her damned scientific explanation. "But in essence if your body isn’t ready to labour, nothing you do will necessarily get you going." She smiled "Sorry, you're just gonna have to ride it out." Despite the joking there was no activity in the bedroom that night other than a lot of tossing and turning as Fliss was really struggling to get comfortable enough to sleep. Frank hated seeing her so tired and fed up but when at 3:30 am he sleepily asked her if she needed anything she simply asked for a cuddle which he was more than happy to provide.

“I’m sorry.” She mumbled.

“What for?”

“I know I've been a pain these last 2 weeks.”

“You’re heavily pregnant and fed up.” He said, kissing her head

“I wouldn't be able to do this alone. I don't know how my mum did.” She said softly. Frank sighed and pulled her closer, remembering how upset she had been a week or so back when their conversation one evening with Mary had turned to Frank telling her how he had been with Diane when she was born. Hormones be damned, it had set Fliss off about how nice it was that Frank had been there and stood by Diane and how she wished her own mom had that, but instead Verity’s parents had kicked her out and left her alone and pregnant at the age of 19.

Frank knew Verity had been young when she had Fliss, although he had never expressly asked he had worked it out from the fact she was 9 years Bill's junior. He also knew there was a lot of bad blood on that side of the family and that Fliss had never met her maternal grandparents, even when they reached out to her later down the line. She had rather impolitely told them to fuck off, Verity doing the same. When asked by Mary why she hadn’t forgiven them as they were family, Fliss had shrugged and simply replied that family isn't and never would be about blood, but instead it was about those people who saw you at your absolute worst and wanted you just the same. "You've nothing to be sorry for.” Frank gently soothed her, “And you're not on your own. You never will be." "I know." She looked up at him, smiling as he gave her a soft kiss.

Things continued much the same for the rest of the week. Every so often Fliss would get a twinge, and the pair of them would get excited, thinking this was it, only for nothing to happen. On the Friday, almost a week post her due date, Frank called the midwife who arranged for them to come in the next morning. Evelyn, who was being particularly helpful, even if Frank was loath to admit it cooked for them all that night, but Fliss had struggled to eat her meal, declaring she felt a bit sick. After a profound apology to Evelyn she announced she was heading for a bath and then going to bed.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Frank asked and Fliss shook her head.

“It’s not even 7. I might be back down in an hour or so if I feel better.” “Ok, can you manage-“

“Frank!” she said, exasperatedly. “I’m fine.” “Well, you’re-“ he began and Evelyn laid her hand on his arm and shook her head gently. For the first time in, well, as long as he could remember, he obeyed an order from his mother and stopped. “Alright. Just shout me then if you need anything.”

She gave him a kiss on his cheek, her way of apology for snapping and headed off.

“You won’t need that appointment tomorrow.” Evelyn said after a pause and Frank turned to her.

“What makes you say that?” “Because I felt the same the day before I went into labour with you.” Evelyn said “Queasy, tired, just generally off.” “Well, I hope you’re right because she’s fed up.” Frank sighed “He’s fully cooked now, just being a stubborn little bastard.”

“What was it you once said to me about an apple and a tree analogy?” she looked at him, arching an eyebrow and Frank snorted.

“Yeah ok, you got me there” he conceded.

Fliss didn’t come back down after her bath. Frank popped in on her a few times and she was simply led in bed, trying to get comfortable, tearfully complaining that her back ache was particularly bad. Frank led besides her for half an hour or so, gently working at the lower part of her spine that was giving her the trouble before he realised she’d fallen asleep. He left her to it, heading back down to his mother and Mary, before a few hours later, just before 10, they all decided to go to bed as it had been a long day. Fliss didn’t wake up when he slid in besides her, nor when he dropped a kiss to her cheek. He watched her for a moment as she lay, facing him, before he too closed his eyes.

***** His baby was sat on his knee, grinning up at him. He smiled down at the boy, whose hands were wrapped tight around his index fingers. He glanced up, looking around for Fliss but there was no sign of her. Nor Mary for that matter. Hoisting Alex up onto his hip he headed out to the garden and gave a start as he saw both Fliss and Mary floating face down in the pool.

“No, no…” he began to mutter, before his muttering became frantic yells “No, this…not my girls…not…”

With a start, Frank sat straight upright in bed, breathing deeply. He glanced at the clock on the side which read 23:30, damned he hadn’t even been asleep an hour! What the fuck…

He wiped his clammy brow and lay back, feeling Fliss stir besides him.

“Frank?” she asked softly, “Are you ok?” “Bad dream.” He mumbled, turning onto his side and sliding his arm under her neck, pulling her back into his chest.

“You wanna talk about it?” she asked.

He shook his head with the air of a small child, pressing his nose into her neck, breathing in her smell and comfort. As he nuzzled at her, he felt her sigh a little and push back further into him.

“Stop it.” She muttered.

“Stop what?” he asked.

“That.” She said, “On my neck…”

“Why?” he teased, his nose being replaced by his lips as he gently trailed open mouthed kisses up to her ear.

“You know why…”

“You ready to try what the midwife suggested?” he muttered, his mouth nipping at her ear and she gave a laugh.

“I'm willing to try anything. Just make it quick, I’m not bothered about coming. I only need your sperm.” “Charming…” he snorted as she gave a soft chuckle. His hand that had been resting on her bump softly moved down a little as he shifted, snaking his leg in between hers, opening her up slightly. He hooked her leg up over his hip, his fingers softly trailing up her bare thigh, shifting her sleep shorts to one side as he slipped his hand gently into her folds. She bucked harshly.

“Easy baby.” he muttered.

“Can’t help it.” she let out a soft sigh “Sensitive…” With a smile, he used his other hand to tip her head round so he could catch her mouth with his own, kissing her gently, his tongue softly sliding against hers, swallowing the moans and groans she was eliciting as he worked her with his hand. Had she been a little more with it, she might have been slightly embarrassed at how pathetically short a period of time it was before he had her clamping down around his fingers, shuddering as her release washed over her, but she was too gone to care. She’d hardly even come down from her orgasm when Frank eased her shorts down, then his boxers and with a gently push forward slid into her, the pair of them letting out hushed sighs as he began to slowly slide in and out of her. There was no haste to his movements, no rush, nothing, it was gentle, sweet, loving as he kept her held close to him, his lips lavishing affection on her shoulders and neck. Before long he heard and felt he breathing falling into that tell-tale staccato panting and she let out a low, quiet but downright filthy noise from her throat and Frank’s lips curved into a grin against her neck.

“Come on beautiful…” he mumbled, the heat in his own belly was sending spikes of fire up and down his body as he fought to keep control for a little longer “Come on.” And she did, her head tipped back and with a stuttering whisper of his name he felt her tighten around him, her legs quivering as he himself came, his hips slowing to a stop as he gently bit down on her shoulder. The pair of them lay still for a while, his hand softly curving up and around her bump, over her hip, down her thigh and back again, gently repeating the motion.

“You ok?” he asked and she nodded, humming in contentment. He pulled out of her, righted their items of clothing as Fliss hardly moved. He kept her pressed close to him as he closed his eyes, drifting off again.

He was woken 3 hours later, just before 4 am by Fliss shaking his arm.

“Frank…”

He groaned but didn’t open his eyes.

“Frank…Bean…I think he’s on his way…”

He let out a grin and turned over “My sperms worked then…” he mumbled into the pillow.

Fliss looked at him, waiting for the moment her words registered in his sleep-addled brain, which happened roughly 10 or so seconds later when he suddenly sat bolt upright, turning to face her.

“Penny dropped?” she asked arching an eyebrow.

He blinked “He’s…” She nodded, “Yeah…” He blinked again before he swallowed, and with a grin stuttered out a single word.

“Shit!”

[saiilorstars]

Hearts’ Limit

Current Masterlist // Masterlist of all OCs

Fandom: SVU

Pairing: Sonny Carisi x OFC

Story summary: Everyone has their limits. When she's placed at the center of a case, Emilia feels like she might just spiral. Sonny Carisi sees this & knows it, which is why he puts his best efforts to help ease her nerves during the case...but that's the only reason why. He knows his job as a detective but he also knows that Emilia explicitly trusting him shouldn't make him feel anything special. There have to be limits, boundaries, between them. Emilia has to constantly remind herself that as well because for some reason, it keeps slipping her mind whenever they’re together.

Taglist: @ocfairygodmother @anotherunreadblog ​ @maaaaarveeeeel ​ @stareyedplanet @perfectlystiles​ @averyhotchner​

Warnings: Due to the nature of the series’ plots, I do have to rate this as ‘mature’ for constant mentions of rape.

Emilia Hartley.

That was the name that came up as a prime suspect in SVU's latest rape-turned-murder case. As Amanda Rollins laid out the backstory of their victim - Evelyn Korami - across a pinboard, it was easy to see who could have helped aid in the atrocious crime.

"The M.E found a strand of hair from a second female at the crime scene," the blonde detective relayed what Melinda Warner had told her and her partner, Fin. "There was no DNA match in the system and it's definitely not the victim's."

"And where exactly does this woman fit in the scenario?" Olivia Benson inquired from her team. She put on her black-rimmed glasses and studied the DMV picture they had of one of their suspects.

"Emilia Hartley was Evelyn's daughter's kindergarten teacher," Nick Amaro replied since he was one of the two who came up with the possible suspect.

"Miss Hartley and Evelyn Korami had an argument at the school two days before Evelyn's body was found," Dominick Carisi - or Sonny, as he liked to be called - explained. "Witnesses report that Evelyn had to be escorted out of the school grounds and was subsequently banned from the school after that."

"The husband had to drop off and pick up their daughter from then on," Nick said.

"Him or the nanny," Fin added since they were talking about high class families.

"Is there anything that puts Hartley at the crime scene?" Olivia asked.

"That we know of, no," Amanda answered. "But maybe if we were to talk to her we might get some clues."

Olivia pulled her glasses off and looked over to Nick and Sonny. "You two are the ones who have a hunch, go follow it."

~ 0 ~

As Nick and Sonny walked through the hallways of the elementary school where their suspect worked. They could easily tell the place was built and ran by high class people. There were colorful boards on either side of them full of different activities offered to the students, as well as reminders for any parents interested in being involved with the school. There were other decorations that were student made, presumably by the older ones. They eventually came downstairs, to room four where their suspect was meant to be.

With the door opened, they saw a petite ginger woman shuffling some kids - who couldn't be more than five years old - into a line while a tall brunette woman was directing a couple other students away from the sink.

"You've all washed your hands now get in line." She seemed a bit frustrated but neither detective could confirm via her face. She was probably trained never to show that.

"Emilia Hartley?" Nick's voice drew the attention of the entire classroom.

The brunette woman looked up from the sink and saw the two detectives through the mirror. Her thin eyebrows raised in confusion before turning to look at them. "Yes, that's me. Are you parents? I don't think we have any meetings scheduled today." But then she thought of something and quickly looked at the ginger woman. "Do we, Alice?"

"No," Alice shook her head.

"This is about Evelyn Korami," Sonny said and it was all he needed to get Emilia's understanding.

"Give me one second," she walked the last students to the end of the line. "Miss Alice will be taking you to the playground. Follow the line, please," she addressed the students and gave the nod to Alice that they could get going.

The detectives stepped to the side to allow the secondary teacher to lead the students out the door. Emilia ushered the lingering students behind then promptly closed the door after they were gone. "What can I help you with?"

"Well, you could start by telling us where you were two days ago," Nick went right to it and got quite the reaction.

Emilia's mouth fell open in utter shock. "Excuse me? This is why you're here? To tell me I'm a suspect in the murder of my student's mother? You do realize I'm a kindergarten teacher, right?"

"Last time I heard, that didn't mean anything," Nick said, making Emilia's mouth fall further in a frown. "And we found a strand of female hair at the scene as well. We're thinking it could be yours."

Emilia folded her arms over her chest. "Should I have a lawyer present, then?"

"Look," started Sonny, "We know you had an argument with Evelyn two days before she was raped and murdered…"

"And that automatically means I murdered her?"

"That's not what I was saying—"

Emilia made a gesture for him to stop talking. "You should know that Miss Korami had arguments with the school every week. Just last week she argued with another of my student's parents in the office. With me—" Emilia crossed her arms. "—she argued because she wanted her daughter Marjorie to have a spotlight birthday this Friday."

"And what was the problem with that?" asked Nick, rather curious.

"We don't do anything for birthdays here," Emilia dropped her arms to her sides. "It's our way of respecting children who come from families that don't celebrate birthdays."

"But Evelyn didn't agree?"

"She shouted at me that I was an idiot right in front of my students and other parents. I was just following the rules the school instituted. If it was up to me, any child who wanted to have a spotlight birthday would get one."

"So the fact that Evelyn did all that in front of an audience didn't bother you at all?" Sonny asked. "You didn't feel like...you had to get some revenge?"

Emilia laughed. "No, because I'm a grown woman. Evelyn Korami was a difficult woman but I like my job, and I like my life, and Evelyn was not NOT worth it. If it WAS was my hair then it's probably from when she argued with me. Are we done?"

Nick exchanged a look with Sonny, both nodding in agreement of what their next move was.

"We're going to need your whereabouts 2 nights ago," Nick said. Emilia's face instantly dropped. That action alone was suspicious.

"Problem?" asked Sonny, finding it hard not to smirk. If she was hiding something, they would have her now.

"No," Emilia answered through gritted teeth. "But I'm sure you'll have a good laugh when you see the security feed."

"Excuse me?" Nick raised an eyebrow at her. He was in the belief she was being rude to them and that was the last thing they needed when they were just doing their job.

Emilia still didn't falter even when she realized how her words came across. She wasn't in the mood to remember two nights ago and she definitely wasn't in the mood to be a suspect in a murder either. "La Bernardin," she said, her teeth still close enough to grit. "Seven to eight. And then from there, Forlini's. All the way till they closed." She pushed past them out of the classroom afterwards without a care of being arrested for her behavior.

~0~

Later that afternoon, Olivia checked in on the progress of their case only to find their one lead gone.

"Emilia Hartley's alibi checks out," Nick said, sounding a bit disappointed the rude woman wasn't guilty at all. He leaned back in his desk chair and pointed at his laptop. "She was at Le Bernardin for an hour and then Forlini's until closing."

"An hour at Least Bernardin?" Amanda raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "That's a pretty fancy restaurant. Why would she only be there for an hour?"

"She wasn't," Sonny said. "She was in there for 47 minutes." He'd finished reviewing the security feed himself and closed his laptop with quite a face. "That was a...pretty terrible date."

"If it was only 47 minutes, it had to be," Fin seemed close to laughing.

Sonny didn't see the need to laugh at such a terrible time. Now he understood what Emilia meant by her last words. If he was being honest, he felt a bit sorry for her.

The guy had been a terrible date. Who flirts with the waitress in front of their date? That was a low move. But of course the guy hadn't stopped there. It looked like he'd ordered for himself and Emilia, judging by the fact he forced Emilia's menu down and she looked beyond pissed at him for it. Being ordered - force fed - a salad while the guy gorged out on a heavy dinner was yet another low blow, not to mention plain rude.

"So she's out," Olivia started counting off her fingers. "We've got no other suspects, no other leads…until we can get a DNA on the hair."

"Maybe we could go back to the places Evelyn visited the day she died," Amanda offered.

Olivia agreed. "Do that and also go back to the school, interview anyone who knew Evelyn, anyone who had a problem with her. Someone has to know something."

The squad collectively nodded and set out to do their tasks.

~0~

By the end of the school day, Emilia was more than tired. She and Alice were doing the last cleaning for the classroom before going home.

"Alice, you can go home," Emilia told her after noticing it was almost 4 o'clock. "You have plans."

"I know, but my boyfriend doesn't get out of work until 4 anyways," she shrugged.

"Yeah but it'll take you a good fifteen minutes to get there anyways," Emilia reminded. She walked up to where Alice was working and took the Lysol bottle from her. "I got it, promise."

Alice deliberated another minute before she agreed. She headed for her cubby to get her things. Just as Emilia was setting back to work, they both heard a light knock on the door.

"Oh God," Emilia muttered and started lysoling the shelves like she wasn't being visited by two detectives. "What can I do for you now, detectives?"

"Were you leaving?" Nick noticed Alice setting her purse over her shoulder. She nodded slowly, her hand stopping over her strap. "Don't. We're going to have to talk to both of you."

"Seriously?"

"Just precautionary," said Sonny.

Emilia didn't stop cleaning. She only called out to the pair instead. "Did you see my video?"

Sonny exchanged a look with Nick, both understanding the sour tinge in her tone. "Uh, yeah," Sonny answered eventually.

"Then you both know I didn't do anything," Emilia turned her back to them as she moved onto another shelf. "That strand of hair can't be mine. My co-worker has plans, detectives, why are you making her waste her time?"

"Hey," snapped Nick, "We're trying to figure out who murdered a woman. I would think you would want that woman—especially being the mother of one of your students—to get justice."

Emilia stopped working for a second to meet Nick's gaze. "Of course I do, but neither of us—" she pointed to Alice then herself, "—know anything."

"You don't know that," Nick countered. "Let us talk to you. The quicker we do, the quicker you can each go on your way."

"I mean...if it's to find whoever did this…" Alice glanced at Emilia with a shrug of her shoulders.

With a heavy sigh, Emilia put her things down and turned around again. "Fine. What do you need to know, detectives?"

"You mentioned that Evelyn had disagreements often with the school, right?" Sonny started before Emilia changed her mind.

"Yeah, she was a...very difficult person," Emilia said quietly, her expression indicated many challenges had been thrown her way by Evelyn. "She had petty arguments with everyone. I've lost count how many times she argued with me."

"And me," Alice frowned. "Over the smallest of things too. She got upset two weeks ago because her daughter, Marjorie, fell down."

"Well, that's natural," Nick shrugged. "I have a daughter too. If she were to fall, I'd be a little upset too."

"I get it," Alice raised her hands. "It's not uncommon but Marjorie tripped over her own feet. There was only a scrape and I had the yell of a lifetime. Would you do that to your daughter's teacher?"

Nick lowered his head. Probably not. Kids were clumsy and they fell all the time.

"We don't mean to speak ill of the dead, but Evelyn makes it very hard not to," Emilia grabbed the Lysol bottle again. Alice hummed in agreement and started getting her coat from her cubby.

"Alright, stop," Sonny told them both. He sensed they were feeding off of each other's hatred for Evelyn and it wouldn't give them anything for the case. "How about we talk separately?"

Nick agreed. If they kept the two women together, all they would get were more stories of Evelyn's unkindness. He waited for Alice to gather her things then followed her out to have a conversation outside.

Emilia watched Alice disappear out the door. "She didn't do anything, you know? You need to leave us alone."

"We will when we have everything we need," promised Sonny. "But you should really just answer our questions."

"The last time I answered the question, it was an embarrassing one for me." She referenced her terrible date that, by now, she was sure the entire NYPD had a good laugh at.

"It shouldn't be because it wasn't your fault," Sonny said. "He should be embarrassed."

"Hm, please tell me you wouldn't do that to your partner."

"If I had one, I wouldn't," he promptly promised.

Emilia side-glanced him and, for the first time, smiled. It was a small one but a smile nonetheless. It was the opening Sonny needed.

"Can I ask you questions now?"

Emilia shrugged. "I suppose...but I do have to clean."

"Sounds fair," Sonny motioned her to keep cleaning. "You've made it pretty clear that Evelyn had many arguments—"

"Countless," Emilia corrected. She lysoled the next shelf and bent down to make sure she got the bottom as well.

"Is there anyone that stood out?"

"What do you mean?"

"Anyone who may have taken it personally. A known grudge."

"The parents? I'm not sure," Emilia straightened on her feet. She set the Lysol bottle on top of the shelf. "I've been witness to some of them but...I know these parents. I've been working here for almost two years and...I don't see any parent capable of murdering anyone."

"You usually don't see them so clearly," Sonny said. "But is there anyone that stood out lately? Parent or staff?"

Emilia thought for a moment. "Not...really, no. Well…" She shook her head. "Forget about it."

"No, no, you thought of something," Sonny pointed at her. "What is it?"

"I don't know if it's relevant."

"Let us decide that, please."

Emilia sighed and nodded. "Okay. I started working here two years ago and the reason I was hired is because the teacher before me had a physical fight with Evelyn. Now, I don't know if she's capable of doing anything homicidal but...I heard it was bad."

"Do you know the teacher's name?"

"Umm, Rachel...Rachel Quinn I believe. I don't know what led to the fight, though."

"This is really good, trust me. Is there anyone else you can think of?"

"Like I said, Evelyn had arguments with everyone," Emilia shook her head. "It's funny how different her daughter is. Marjorie? She's a total sweetheart."

"Children aren't their parents—they're their own person."

Emilia shrugged. "Yeah…" She seemed to deliberate whether or not to say something else.

Presuming it was something else about the case, Sonny prompted her to speak up. "Anything helps," he reminded her.

"It's not really...I was just...do you think it was someone from the school?" Emilia turned to face the classroom. "I have five year olds here. I can't imagine working with someone who willingly hurt one of the parents. I don't even want to consider them being around me and my students."

Sonny could feel her growing fear of the idea. He didn't want to make it worse by telling her it could be true. Because it was. They had no idea if they were looking for a staff member or a parent. "Simply be cautious."

"Easy for you to say," Emilia grabbed the Lysol bottle and headed for the cabinets over the sink. "You carry a gun. That's not to say that I would ever want to have one but...it does guarantee some type of safety, right?"

"That's not always true, you know," Sonny went after her. "But listen, I know the school's already taking precaution. You should be safe."

"Promise?" Emilia said on her way to her cubby, having no actual intention of making him promise something like that.

"Promise," Sonny had blurted before he could think about it. Once the word left his mouth, his eyes widened. Where the hell did that come from? Emilia took it, however, with a bemused smile. It helped calm his nerves.

"You usually go around making those promises? I thought that was a big no-no for detectives," she grabbed her purse from her cubby. "I have a cousin in the NYPD."

"Uuh, I don't...I didn't mean to." Sonny was being very honest. "Not that I wouldn't try to keep that promise but I-I don't...I can't control what...you know…?" Where the hell was his vocabulary going all of a sudden?

Emilia chuckled as she closed her cubby. "I don't think I got your name…"

Sonny was less inclined to give his name up after that moment. For a moment, he considered giving Nick's name instead but then the idea of having Emilia think Nick was him didn't settle with him either. He'd like for her to know him instead.

"Carisi," he finally said, only then realizing he'd stayed quiet for too long.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Emilia but I'm pretty sure you already knew that." Emilia motioned him to walk with her. "I just hope you realize now that I'm not involved with this at all."

"Yeah, got that," he followed her into the hallway. Nick and Alice were finishing up their talk.

"Please catch whoever did this, and fast if possible," Emilia turned to face him. "I really don't like the idea of coming to work where there's a possible murder/rapist."

"We'll do our best," Sonny said. He reached inside his coat and pulled out a white card for her. Emilia looked at the card, bewildered for a second until Sonny explained. "It has my number to reach me in case you remember something else or...if you get into trouble."

Emilia's eyebrows raised together. "Oh, um...thanks." She reached for the card and took it, not paying attention to the way her fingers lightly brushed with his.

"Emilia?" they heard Alice call and for some reason, it jolted both of them.

"Gotta go," Emilia said with an awkward smile. Fortunately, Sonny had the same one. Emilia moved around him to meet Alice.

"We're good, right?" Alice asked Nick before they could leave.

"Yes," he nodded and walked for Sonny.

"What's that?" Alice noted the white slip in Emilia's hand.

"Nothing, just a way to reach one of the detectives," shrugged Emilia. "Something normal."

"Mhm, so how come you're blushing?"

"Am not, it's normal."

"Right, and he's also looking at you."

"What!?" Emilia glanced over her shoulder and did indeed catch Sonny staring after her, though he quickly looked away once he realized he was caught. Emilia smiled to herself until Alice smirked. "It's nothing!"

"Then why are you smiling again?"

"I am not!"

~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~

A/N: I'll be honest I have no idea how this story is going to end. I foresee it as a short story (unlike my Barba x OC fic) but who knows? I just wanted some sweet (possibly angsty) Carisi moments too :))

[the-jade-cross]

Knight of the Forest - Chapter III

“It’s not fair!” Margaery screeched, throwing her arms up in a tantrum as she stomped her foot angrily, ignoring Garlan who was trying desperately to calm his sister down but couldn’t get close due to not wanting to be swatted by her flailing arms. “I hate father! I HATE HIM!”

Willas sighed from where he was confined to the seat. After being crippled from the waist down a few years prior at a joust, he was unable to move from room to room without the assistance of Garlan or even teenage Loras who would assist him by use of his wheeled chair.

“Margaery, calm down,” he said firmly.

Margaery slapped Garlan’s soothing hands away from her and flipped her hair out of her face angrily, “Five years ago father sent Maya away because “her powers were attracting unwanted attention” and now he is sending Lillia away!”

“It was not entirely father’s doing,” Willas pointed out. “Lady Arryn was the one who finalized the decision to send Lillia to Kings Landing.”

“But Father was the one who ratted to Lady Arryn!” Margaery pouted, spitting as she yelled angrily. “He told her that Lillia wasn’t a “perfect lady” and you can rely on Lady Arryn to imagine since her imagination is so broad! Sure, Lillia is not the fine lady who walks around in gowns all day long, talking about stitching and husbands! Sure, she is better at hand-to-hand battle axe combat than any of our knights and sure she is not the best at sewing but that does not give father the right to talk trash about her and then suggest that she leave for Kings Landing!”

“You know she has a point,” Garlan pointed out to his brother. “Father does have a habit of feeding the lambs to the lions. But at least Lillia will have Evelyn there. She just recently moved there with Sansa and Arya when she was wed to Jaime Lannister.”

“I still cannot believe that her father agreed to that marriage,” Margaery huffed. “But that is beside the point and nevertheless, Evelyn left Kings Landing. Didn’t you hear?”

Both brothers frowned and shook their heads. “After Ned Stark was killed by Joffrey, Arya ran away and shortly afterwards, Evelyn disappeared. No one knows if she is dead or if she managed to escape the clutches of Cersei Lannister. Sansa is still stuck there poor thing.”

“Well then at least Lillia will have Sansa even if she was better friends with Evelyn.” Garlan soothed.

“Hey… as anyone seen Loras?” Willas inquired.

When Lillia finally located Loras, she wasn’t sure what she was going to say to him. She had been living with the Tyrell family for almost six years now and needless to say, her little crush on the youngest Tyrell had grown into something that Lillia knew was more than a crush… possibly even more than love. However, the only inclination that Loras gave her was that she was a friend in his eyes. Not once had he ever shown an interest in her other than his sword partner and playmate.

That was just how teenagers were right? The girls were the ones to fall in love with the one guy who was completely oblivious and thought nothing of her other than a friend. This was what was running through Lillia’s head as she gently knocked on Loras’s bedroom door.

When she got no answer, she assumed he must be asleep and hoping to possibly leave a note on his bed before leaving, she cracked the door open. That was when she realized her mistake. Loras was not asleep but rather sitting up on the edge of his bed, his front to her but his body bent so far in half that she couldn’t see his expression. His knees were pulled up, arms crossed over the caps of his knees and his head pressed into his arms.

“Loras?” Lillia whispered, watching as light from the hallway flooded the pitch-dark bedroom.

The boy’s head snapped up, obviously not having realized her presence or possibly even her previous knocking. Lillia took a full step back in shock at the expression on Loras’s face. His usually rosy freckled cheeks were stained with red lines from hot tears, his bright golden eyes were puffy from extensive crying. His unmistakably slender lips were puffy and trembling as more tears continued to flood his eyes but now, he was more shocked and embarrassed at the predicament that Lillia found him in to continue crying.

“I’m sorry…” the girl stammered, realizing that she had just invaded his privacy.

She stepped back through the door and moved to close it when she muttered to herself. “I am disgusting.”

Of all times to be thoughtless and barge into Loras’s bedroom was when he really needed privacy. Not only had she invaded his private den but also embarrassed him by finding him in that state.

As she closed the door behind her, she missed the confused and evidently hurt look on Loras’s face… unaware that only the last part of her muttering had reached Loras’s ears, making it sound like she had said: “Disgusting”.

Flashback End

"And Loras did not say goodbye?" Tommen asked.

Lillia shook her head, "For the past 3 years I have been corresponding with Margaery, Willas and Garlan but Loras has never answered a single one of my letters. I do not know what happened but... by leaving, I broke whatever it was that we had."

The young boy nodded, resting his plump chin in his hands as he thoughtfully stared out of the bedroom that Lillia had occupied for almost three years. "Maybe he was sad that you were leaving and thinks that it would be better to forget you. I mean, if I was really close with someone and the chances of me seeing them again were near to none, I would try to distance myself not only to protect my feelings but theirs."

"But that's the thing," Lillia sighed. "If he is trying to protect my feelings, he is doing splendidly because my feelings cannot get any more hurt."

Tommen smiled sadly at the girl who had become like a second sister to him since Myrcella had left for Dorne. "Well, since my uncle Stannis has died... and Margaery is coming to marry Joffrey... who knows, perhaps you can see him again."

Lillia nodded, "If the rumors about him aren't true..."

"What rumors?" the boy inquired.

"That he prefers men."

*********

“Ser Jaime!” Lillia called as she rushed into the blacksmith shop just outside the manor. “Bron said you wanted to see me.”

Jaime lifted his head from where he had been bent over the blacksmith table, trying to draw something with his left hand. He smiled at the girl before holding up what he had sketched ot the blacksmith.

“Do you think you could make that?” he asked the burly man, “out of this?”

Jaime placed a small block of metal on the table and both Lillia and the blacksmith gawked in shock.

“Valerian!?” the blacksmith gawked, “Where did you come by that Ser?”

“My father gifted me a valerian sword and the remaining metal from it,” Jaime explained before looking at Lillia.

“I need to talk to you about something,” the man whispered to her, “Come with me.”

Lillia followed the man into the back of the blacksmith shop before he began to pace back and forth.

“This will probably sound absolutely ridiculous to you but…” Jaime started, stroking his shaven face thoughtfully, “How do I put this?”

Lillia chuckled, “Ser Jaime, my childhood best friend can manipulate water and the boy I love since forever is actually into men so… very little sounds strange to me,” she assured him.

Jaime sighed, thinking over the best way to explain himself to Lillia, “Do you ever… have an instance where you see something that is so real, you think it could be real but its…” he started, only for Lillia to finish.

“Just a dream?” Lilli asked. Yeah, totally crazy in the eyes of someone who receives visions of three girls in the bodies of fire, water and wind. Totally crazy.

“Not dreams but…. Glimpses… visions,” Jaime replied, stopping his pacing, “I saw a vision of a golden dragon… small… but I felt like I knew it somehow and right aver the vision cleared, this picture… this idea kept appearing in my mind like a memory aching to be set free… to be remembered. The picture made no sense to me but I could do nothing but see to it that whatever the picture represented… saw the light.”

Lillia raised her eyebrows and had to blow a puff of air to get rid of a blond curl that had fell in her eyes. “Why did you tell me all of this Ser Jaime? Where did you get the idea that this was connected to me…. and how do you know I wont speak of this to others and then you’ll look like a psycho?”

Jaime strode over to the petite girl and grasped her shoulders, “Because when that picture appeared in my head… your face kept flashing before my eyes…. As if it were you telling me to do this.”

This definitely intrigued the girl who tilted her head to the side inquisitively, “What was the picture you saw Ser Jaime if you do not mind my asking?”

Jaime sighed, “A necklace… but… it was almost more of a second skin than a necklace… almost engraved into the skin, it was so delicate and intricate… and yet so deadly and simple. A twisting vine, wrapped around your neck with leaves of metal fanning out from the vine, standing against your skin… and… for a moment it almost looked like the leaves were real.”

Lillia frowned, “Why do you say that?”

“Because I could have sworn I saw the leaves move,” Jaime whispered.

The girl’s eyes widened and her face almost paled as a confused look crossed her round, rosy face.

“That is impossible…” she muttered. “Only land… and earth feeding life will be summoned… wait…. Ser Jaime,” She declared, breaking out of her mumbling. “Is metal a form of earth?”

Jaime furrowed his brow before he shrugged, “It is a type of stone I believe… an ore… why?”

The girl was out the door in a split second before the man could even blink, wondering what could have been so urgent as to require the girl’s hasty departure. Meanwhile, Lillia came sprinting into her room, checking under the bed, in the closet and even behind the curtains to make sure she was alone before locking her bedroom door. Rushing to the flower pots she had placed on her bedroom balcony with special plants for specific reasons, she plucked twenty petals each from the lotus, copal, anemone and rosemary. Plants before rushing back into her room, closing the balcony door as she went. Now completely alone, Lillia carefully sprinkled the petals on the floor in four individual sections before planting herself amongst the rosemary petals. She was just about o begin when she remembered something she had learnt the last time, the hard way. Rushing to a nearby flower pot, she scooped a few handfuls of soil before sprinkling the dirt amongst the rosemary. Dusting off her hands and looking at her preparations with satisfaction, she stood back over the rosemary and shut her eyes, breathing in deeply. She tried to picture it… the petals floating into the air of their own accord… moving with purpose… slowly she cracked her eyes open and she saw that it was happening. The petals were suspended in the air! First the First the copal petals burst into flames and the unmistakable tall but slender figure with short hair and glowing red eyes appeared. Next the lotus petals began to drip water like a perspiring brow in the heat of summer before a second figure came to light, the features made clear by the texture of the water’s shape, depicting long ringlets and a love face shrouded by a mask. Last but not least, the anemone petals began to spiral out of control, blowing around in a circle like a torpedo ripping through the land before it burst into an array of air and petals and what was left was a petite, short haired, calm faced girl made of air. Lillia grinned.

“You all made it!” She chirped.

“You caught me at a good time,” The water figure of Maya stated, “I was bored out of my mind!”

Lillia smirked before looking at Evelyn’s fiery burning, stoic figure, “Eve, if I have to lie about you to Ser Jaime one more time, I may have to renounce my elemental claim on this joining.”

Evelyn shook her head, “He cannot know Lils. Especially when I am under the training of Brisingr.”

“How is that going?” Nanteza’s airy figure inquired. “I have to watch my cousins cracking whips at dead men’s heads all day long.”

“It is well,” Evelyn replied calmly.

“He is harsh, firm but a good teacher and if I want to tap into the deep fire within me, I need to understand which elements represent what parts of me.”

“You’re lucky,” maya sighed. “You get to go on adventures while I am locked up here like a wild circus beast, having to hide behind chainmail and masks to keep people away from me.”

“I told you,” Lillia pointed out. “I can come visit.”

“Like hell!” Nanteza cried, interrupting Evelyn and Maya who were about to say the same. “That is no place for your Arryn.”

Lillia stuck out her lip in a pout before she remembered why she had summoned the pinnacle of life in the first place.

“Listen… do any of you remember that prophecy we saw… next to the one about us?”

“Oh the one on bonds?” Maya inquired. “Yeah… erm… four souls shall bind their hearts and minds to those of their beloved but the bond shared shall not be with their mate of the soul but with their spirit’s kindred.”

“Did any of us even figure out what that meant?” Nanteza inquired.

“yes,” Evelyn answered. “It is about our soulmates… for me it is Jaime… stating how our minds, souls and hearts will be bound with our soulmate but the “bond” will be shared with our spirit’s kindred… kindred spirits… like best friends.”

“So… like our soulmates will have a best friend in one of us?” Maya asked. “Why did you ask Lillia?”

Lillia shrugged, “Just that… Ser Jaime told me today of a vision he had of a gold dragon… and after the vision, he had this thought … or feeling to have something made from valerian steel and said that I was a part of the picture he saw…”

“Then you must be Jaime’s spirit’s kindred,’ Maya pointed out, “I wouldn’t be surprised if that makes Loras your soulmate considering that he and I are close siblings.”

“Oh shut up!” Lillia grumbled. “besides, he’s into men.”

Nanteza, Maya and Evelyn shared a knowing look before they one by one disappeared and all that was left were. Pile of petals. Lillia looked down at the petals beneath her feet and wasn’t surprised to find that in their place were twenty little rosemary blossoms.

“Yet again. I need to figure out how to prevent that!”

Due to her dropping soil on the floor, the rosemary hadn’t taken root in the floor like last time but the soil so Lillia easily transplanted them and cleaned up the mess. A few hours later, a package appeared outside her door and when she opened the wrapping, there lay a necklace of pure valerian steel, a twisting vine with fanning leaves.

“Now… to learn how to move metal!”

[nobleclover]

Evelyn (Sally Face Fanfic)

It was a nice Saturday afternoon, as Sally Face was hanging out at Larry’s place again, playing more of Clumpy the Mutant Monkey side by side. Both of them were traversing through toxic wastelands, slaying any flies that were flying in their paths. So far, Sal had died six times whereas Larry only died four times.

“Jesus!” Sal exclaimed, “this level is definitely the hardest! How’d you even finish it?”

“Time and practice, my dude!” Larry responded, “time and –“

A fly had struck Sal, causing him to lose more points.

“Maybe keep your eyes on the screen and try not getting distracted!” his friend chuckled.

He huffed in frustration as Larry smirked and continued on without any hassle. There were now green glowing flies showing up, that were definitely much bigger than the ones they had just ploughed through.

“Oh shit! Things are going to get crazy here! Hope you’re ready for this Sal!” he chuckled.

“Oh, you bet I am!” Sal replied enthusiastically.

Just as the gargantuan insects appeared on the screen, the TV suddenly turned off to the boys’ shock. Both of them were still gripping their consoles and looked at each other in confusion and bewilderment.

Larry stood up to inspect the TV, gently tugging at the wires while pressing the power button continuously but to no avail. He even checked any of the cords to see if anything was disconnected but nope, everything was intact, and he was pissed now.

“So what happened?” Sal asked, getting up.

“I don’t know man! It just fucking turned off by itself! Shitty thing must have broken wiring or something!”

“Oh damn, sorry about that.”

“No worries, I’m still amazed that we had this TV for this long, like 13 years,” Larry mused.

“Yeah well, hopefully, there’ll be some good ones on offer for you,” Sal replied.

“Mmm, true. Anyways, let’s do something different. What do you wanna do now?”

“Wanna walk around for a bit?” Sal posited.

“Yeah, maybe we’ll go for a walk; I just need to put some more stuff up in the tree house first. Some of it was my dad’s.”

“…Right,” Sal responded quietly. He really wanted to tell Larry the true reason as to why his dad, Jim Johnson, left him and his mother long ago, especially since he managed to salvage all the pages of the journal together which provided him the entirely tragic story.

But he can’t. Jim had somehow asked Sal in the final page not to tell them for their safety. He’d been wracking his brains every night as to how it was possible but couldn’t think of a straight answer. Given recent events, there certainly weren’t any straight answers to be yielded from what had transpired, especially since Sal and his friends had managed to uncover the cult’s temple deep below the depths of Addison Apartments, where he, Larry and Todd Morrison lived.

Larry adjusted his grip on the box by pushing it slightly up with his leg. Now that he had a firm hold, he headed out the door that lead to the grounds behind the apartments. Sal followed him up the steps leading to the door and noticed a small coloured piece of paper that had fallen out. His curiosity piqued, he picked it up and upon examining it, he felt his heart melt.

It read: “To my baby sister”, in wavy, crude handwriting that was covered in glitter with a childish illustration of a little girl holding a flower. Sal sighed sadly as he realised full well who this card was made for.

“C’mon slowpoke! What are you waiting for?!” Larry joked walking a little further. Sal quickly stuffed the card in his pocket and hurried along.

As soon as they reached the treehouse, Larry set the box down and was finally joined by Sal. He turned around and said, “Okay, so I’m gonna go up into the treehouse and you just pass the box up to me. Also, don’t worry, I can take it up easily! I’ve helped Mom with –”

“Okay, just let me put this in the box,” Sal interrupted, putting the folded up card down on top of the clutter inside the box. Larry blinked as he recognised what it was.

“Thanks, bud; let’s get this stuff up there,” he uttered quietly.

There was an awkward silence as Sal nodded in response while Larry climbed up the steps to the old treehouse his father built for him. After the box was finally up there with the rest of Jim Johnson’s possessions, the two boys set off down a small path that lead to a group of trees about seven kilometres away from the apartments.

For about ten minutes, they just trudged through the trees, nonchalantly kicking rocks and making meagre small talk along the way. Eventually, they reached a small, dead stump and decided to sit on it for a while.

The uneasy silence hung in the air around them like pollen from the surrounding grass. Sal felt it would be best not to discuss the card at all so he kept his mouth shut, all the while thinking something different to break the awkward silence between them. It was then that Larry spoke up.

“Hey dude, about that card…” he began.

“You don’t have to explain if you don’t want to,” Sal assured him.

“No, I think you ought to know. I honestly forgot that I still had that thing in my closet. Didn’t even remember it until now.”

“I see. Take your time,” he replied, pretending not to know how she died. He knew too well as to what happened as he recalled that saddening line from Jim’s journal: “Tragedy prevails once again…We lost the baby. Stillborn.”

He really didn’t feel comfortable asking about Larry’s sister, but he didn’t want Larry to know that he knew as he felt it would definitely make things worse. He couldn’t exactly explain why, but he was just certain it would only make things worse. Larry was still hurting after coming to the conclusion that Jim had abandoned him and his mother Lisa, but Sal didn’t want to disrespect Jim’s wishes about the journal’s secrecy. As much as he really wanted to tell Larry why Jim really left, he felt it would only cause more confusion and hurt for his friend, who was still healing.

“I was kinda excited to be a big brother. It’d mean I’d be the boss of somebody more little than me, heh,” Larry chuckled, “plus, I was also prepared to do what it takes to look out for her. My parents were even going to call her Evelyn, but…”

Sal didn’t want to prompt him to say more, he just wanted to allow his friend to open up as much as he wanted.

“She wasn’t alive…when she was born. I didn’t understand it at the time and thought my parents lied to me about getting a new sister. Like when a parent tells their kid they mightn’t be getting a new puppy after all due to…circumstances…”

“I’m so sorry, Larry,” Sal replied, “I can’t imagine how you and Lisa felt.”

“Well, I only felt bad about it years later, when I was old enough to understand. But I was just a kid, you know? I didn’t know better. Still,” Larry sighed, “I wish that I could…take back… being angry at them.”

He leaned forward and rested his face on his hands, letting out a sorrowful, weary sigh. Weary from all the bad luck that had plagued him as a child, before and after his father had unexpectedly left.

Without saying a word, Sal quietly put his hands across Larry’s torso and gave him a reassuring hug, which Larry returned along with a smile.

“Also, it’s strange but,” Larry hesitated “…I don’t miss her because I didn’t know her well but…I still want to mourn her properly…”

“Well, I think that talking about her like this is good enough. I often want to talk about my mom sometimes but I’m also afraid of upsetting Dad. So that’s why I felt more comfortable talking to you about her, because I trust you,” Sal explained, his hand now resting on Larry’s left shoulder.

“Thanks dude, I also feel a bit better now that I’ve talked about Evelyn. And yeah, I feel you on the bit about upsetting your dad, because I feel the same way about Mom. I think our folks probably need more time getting over these two events.”

“Yeah, definitely,” Sal agreed, “and if you don’t mind me saying, I’m pretty sure that you would’ve made a great brother, dude,” Sal assured him, “because that’s how I see you sometimes.”

“Aww, thanks dude, that’s real nice of you,” Larry replied with a smile, “I also see you as a brother too myself.”

“Thanks, now let’s go home.”

“Sure thing, Sal. Let’s go.”

Sure enough, the two of them started walking back to the apartments. Both felt that a big weight had been lifted from their shoulders, especially Larry. Sal, on the other hand, only felt that his big weight only got a bit lighter. His guilt on keeping the journal a secret wasn’t as heavy but it was still there. He remembered Jim expressing his fears in the journal that telling Larry and Lisa will only lead to them “digging for answers and that would put them in great danger.”

Given all the events that happened to Sal and his friends, there’s no telling what kind of danger lied ahead, even if the cult was currently dormant. Nonetheless, Sal was still determined to keep that promise to Jim and be as supportive to Larry as he had always been.

The End

[harrybabystyles]

Oh, Angel! (harry styles)

chapter one - m a s t e r l i s t -

warnings: sex, language and drinking

a/n: my first series, yay! I swear the chapters get better after this one lol, and I realize that I am not the best at smut so bear with me, also the gif below is what I imagined him looking like for this chapter :)

series intro: After a rough week, Anna decides to let loose with her friends, go out drinking and dancing, maybe even let a stranger take her home. She was starting to lose all hope when suddenly she runs into an angel -or so she thought- who actually turns out to be a tall, curly headed man with a thick accent, making her stomach twist in knots. When he asks to buy her a drink, she doesn’t hesitate to agree, how could she resist?

It was hot, and dense, like every other club I suppose, not quite suffocating, but close. Especially with the dozens of people packed in the small space, heated kisses being shared in corners and sweaty dancing happening practically everywhere you looked.

Normal for a Friday night, especially with the music fest happening only a few blocks away. After the concerts were over, the after parties seemed to always be carried here. Which, I wasn’t opposed to I guess, it happens every year, but the number of bodies increased ten fold, and this was my favorite club. 

My friends were always thrilled by it, it provided more options if one of them were feeling risky and wanted to find themselves under the sheets with a stranger, which they usually were. Matter of fact, I think I see Evelyn slipping through the front door, her arm wrapped around a burly man with dreadlocks draping down his back. I smile, she always found her a man within the hour. 

I wasn’t much of the ‘take a guy home every weekend’ kind of girl, I did it every once and a while, but frankly, I preferred to be alone.

However, tonight was not the night. 

Between being fired earlier this week, and finding out that my sister was moving across the world at the end of the month and there was nothing I could do about it, I needed a distraction, and I decided that taking a stranger to bed was the drug I needed. 

So, when I was getting ready for tonight, I went straight to the back of my closet and grabbed the tight black dress I wore only for occasions like these. 

Was it a little too revealing? Probably, but I didn’t really give a shit to be honest, I knew the kind of attention I wanted, and I also knew how to dress to get it. My friends squealed when I hopped into the cab, like they always did when I wore this dress, they know what it means. By now we had all broken off, I went to grab more drinks, and since I saw Evelyn leave, I’m guessing that Harper is probably rubbing up on some helpless soul. 

Harper is something else, always hooking up with whomever she pleases, whether its the bartender from downstairs or the girl with the shaved head and face tattoos, she can have almost anybody under her spell within minutes. 

But then there is Paige, she grew up on a farm out in Georgia, her christian mother was brought to tears when she told her she was leaving her southern life. She tends to get wild for the first hour or so, choking down a few drinks, but then she sits in the corner the rest of the night, and sips at a glass of water. Sometimes I don’t understand why she doesn’t let herself go more, but her modest dresses always stay puke free, so I guess that’s a plus, and she can take care of us in the morning when our heads our threatening to pound us out of existence. 

Bless her soul.

I’m pretty sure her parents would die on the spot if ever they found out she shared an apartment with Harper, or that we go out to drink almost every week. She enjoys the freedom, and the adrenaline of knowing her parents would drop dead if they ever found out, but even if she denies it, she actually doesn't like drinking that much. 

I should probably check on her actually. 

I step out of my place in line, the massive amount of bodies made getting drinks take ten years instead of ten seconds, and it wasn’t worth it anyways, it was getting late and I needed to pick out my target. I steady myself against the somewhat sticky railing, as my head spins a bit. I was always one the be able to hold my alcohol, but I certainly had a few more than I usually would tonight. My eyes landed on Paige, right where she always was this late at night, tucked into a corner, eyes scanning her phone, a half empty glass of water in her hands. I make my way over to her, but my phone buzzes in my purse and as I reach down to get it my body clashes into something hard, and before I know it I feel my body slam against the floor, and a weight crash on top of me. 

I blink, focusing on a pair of pale green eyes. 

My eyes grace over defined cheek bones, brown furrowed brows, a halo of dense curls bouncing around a defined face, and a pair of rosy lips, that made me subconsciously wet my own.

Then, my eyes focus back on the striking green in front of me.

I must have died, and this is an angel carrying me to my mansion of clouds, because there is no way this is real. 

But then my senses come back, the pounding of the music fills my ears, the smell of alcohol and sweat consumes my nose, and the feeling of the sticky floor under me makes me shift. 

I feel like my soul left my body.

I look around noticing how the man caught himself just before he completely crushed me, his hands on either side of my head. 

Damn his reflexes are fast, and I can’t help but heat up at the feeling of his body weighing down on me, his hips flush with my own.

“Uh...I’m so sorry” he faintly chuckles, the smell of alcohol on his breath slightly stinking my nose, his breath hot against my face from hot close we are. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, getting back on his feet in a wobbly manor, and offering a hand out to me, which I take and he pulls me to my feet. 

“Yeah...” I breath, still trying to pull myself together, “...are you?”

“Yeah...” he runs a hand through his thick curls, and looks down at his chest, “...damn” he whispers, and I notice the wet fabric of his dress shirt stained with whatever drink he was carrying, which leads me to notice the glass that is now on the ground, and the sticky substance that drenched the left side of my chest.

“Oh damn, me too” I look down at the darker fabric of my dress where the drink had spilled, “I’m so sorry” 

He gives a light hearted chuckle and looks up at where I’m helplessly trying to clean off the thick alcohol.  

“Here” he smiles, and motions his head to follow me. I take in his tall figure as I follow close behind him, and how his thick curls swayed when he would turn to look back at me, I gave him a small smile, and he would return it with a breath hitching one. 

I’m still not convinced this is actually real.

And if it is real, there is no way I’m letting him out of my grasp, he was drop dead gorgeous, even covered in sticky alcohol. He leads me back down the stairs and into the women's bathroom, to which he got several confused glances and a small laugh from me. 

He rips paper towels from off the dispenser, and puts them under the running water of the sink. He wrings them out, and I watch as the muscles in his ring clad hands flex, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man wear so many rings... it’s actually really attractive. 

“Here” he hands me a damp paper towel, “Sorry again” 

With the loud music of the club muffled behind the bathroom door, I notice his heavy accent, and butterflies can’t help but stir in my stomach.

“You from the UK?” I ask in shock of the accent that was hidden under the music. He flashes a smile, starting to wipe off his shirt, “Yeah, I’m from Cheshire” he shrugs, and I start to wipe of my shoulder where the stench of alcohol was radiating profusely.

“Huh” I reply, amused and baffled at the same time. 

“What? You never met someone from the UK before?” he questions me with a smirk, and my heart skips just a tad at the dimple that pokes into his face. 

“No, actually, and I definitely have never knocked over someone from the UK before” I say playfully, watching as he lets out a head spinning chuckle.

 “Its a first” I shrug. 

I feel him look up, a small laugh leaving his lips, and I smile when I slip down the strap of my dress, to wipe away the alcohol from my collar bone, and his whole body freezes. 

“What?” I smirk, looking up to find him jolt back into action, trying to hide his pause in motion, his eyes settling back onto his dress shirt. 

“Nothing” he shrugs, but he smirks again, and my eyes settle to where the white fabric of his shirt, due to the spill, clung to his torso, and my breath hitches at the taut muscles underneath. 

Fuck, he really is flawless.

My eyes go wide when he starts to unbutton his shirt, and my brows drop in confusion.

“Oh, you don’t mind if I take this off...do you?” He looks me straight in the eyes, and the devilish smirk that pulls up on his lips makes those butterflies in my stomach begin to take of. 

Is he teasing me?

I take a deep breath in, “Of course not”

I try not to watch as his fingers gracefully slip each button out of there holes, but I find myself struggling to keep my eyes away.Then, the door hits the tiled wall, and a husky voice echoes through the room. 

“No sex in the bathrooms, you both need to leave immediately” a built security guard looks between us, his face stern and gaze serious.

“Oh no, we aren’t...” I laugh at his hilarious assumption, but I look at how my dress strap is slipped down below my shoulder, and how his shirt is unbuttoned all the way down, exposing his toned chest and his...tattoos? 

Are those tattoos?

My eyes settle on a inked butterfly just below his chest, and flip shamelessly down to where dark leaves poke out from under his trousers, a slick black belt and the fabric of his trousers block the rest of the ink from my view. 

Oh damn.

“Sorry, we will take our business elsewhere” his accented voice interrupts, and I blush when I realize I am staring at his torso, and that he has noticed, giving me a smug grin. My teeth bite down on my lower lip as my cheeks heat up.

I pull the strap back over my shoulder, and he buttons up his shirt again, leaving several open like before, and we squeeze past the security, tossing our paper towels in the bin on the way out. 

“Who do you think snitched on us?” his voice rings in my ear, and I now notice the presence of his hand grazing my lower back. 

I giggle, “My bet is on the brown bob” I refer to a women with a short bobbed cut I noticed on our way in, “She was definitely glaring at us when we walked in” I play along, not telling him that she was the only face I even remembered from when we walked in, and he smiles.

“I agree” he replies, and he takes in a breath, his eyes momentarily glancing down to my lips, and those butterflies reappear in my tummy. 

“I’m sorry about your dress” he starts, pointing to where the strong smell of alcohol still soaked my chest, “If you’d like I’ll buy you a new one” 

My eyebrows shoot up at his offer, “Oh, don’t worry about it, it was worth nothing” 

Which was a lie, it wasn’t worth a lot, but it was still the most expensive thing in my closet.

“Well then at least let me buy you a drink” he insists, clapping his hands together, eyes scanning my face.

I try to make it look as if I’m really struggling to give him an answer, like I want to but I’m not sure if I should, even though I already knew my answer. 

“Sure” I agree, but a sudden scream catches our attention, and my eyes snap to our right where two girls are being held back by what looks like security guards, only they wore slick black suits instead of T-shirts. 

A sudden ghostly touch from his fingers on my shoulder turns my attention back towards him, “Wanna go somewhere a little quieter?” he asks scratching the back of his neck like he is suddenly uncomfortable, leaning forward just a tad. 

“Only if you tell me your name” I tease, raising my eyebrows at him in a playful manner. 

“Of course...” he covers his face with his hands like he is embarrassed, “I’m Harry” he holds out his right hand, “Excuse my manners”

“Hi Harry, I’m Anna” I shake his hand, and notice how much larger his was compared to mine. 

This man has no flaws, whatsoever.

“Pleasure to run into you, Anna...” he pauses for a moment and leans in , “...literally” 

I giggle and nudge his shoulder playfully, “Pleasure is all mine” I say back, putting a hand over my heart dramatically, to which he chuckles, and we start to walk towards the front door, his hand placed on my lower back as we weave through the crowd. 

The night air feels cold and brisk in my lungs, but it’s such a relief and I take in a deep breath, smelling the scent of rain, and cherishing the fresh oxygen. 

“Shall we?” he calls, holding out his arm for me to take, and I stumble a bit walking over to him, most likely due to the alcohol and the heels I’m in.

“Where are you taking me?” I ask playfully, but genuinely curious, and he keeps his eyes glued in front of us, but leans over, a smile on his face. 

“That’s for me to know, and you to find out” 

I scrunch my nose, pouting at him, “Fine” 

 I look ahead of us and notice both sides of the street are lined with cars, and as we continue to walk, I find that the line keeps going for several more blocks. 

Damn, I guess my favorite club just turned into a block buster.

“Here we are” he breaks the silence, reaching in his pockets to grab a set of keys, unlocking an old 1966 Mustang, my eyebrows raise.

“Nice ride” I comment, as he opens the passenger door for me, and gently shuts it, walking over to hop in the drivers side. 

“Thank you” he gives me a smile, starting up the engine, his eyes linger on mine for a moment, flashing back down to my lips before focusing on putting the car in drive, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. 

I lean towards the window, watching giddily as we pass building after building, traveling through several traffic lights before pulling off the road into a parking garage.

As we climb the levels, his old car somewhat struggling with each steep turn, my eyes land on him again, taking in his side profile.

Perfect forehead, nose, chin, neck, not to mention that sharp ass jawline he has got.

He really is perfect, isn’t he? 

 He must have noticed my gaze because he grins, that perfect dimple flashing as he glances at me from the side. 

I blush and look back out towards the window, how the hell did I get this lucky? 

We hardly speak as we step out of the car, and walk through a glass overpass that lead to the apartment building across a dark alleyway, we only exchange small smiles, his hand hardly leaving the small of my back the whole time. 

Walking through the doors of the apartment building, my jaw drops.

Between the red velvet sofas, and the gold detailing on the roof, the room looked like the inside of a palace, with painted ceilings and a small fountain in the center.

This wasn’t even the main floor.

I manage to close my lips, as he leads me towards the elevators, waving to several hotel staff workers, and giving the button number of his floor a gentle push as we step in. I was still in awe at the beauty of the place to even tear my eyes away, and even as the doors slowly shut, my eyes still wandered around the room.

Who is this guy?

When the doors did shut, I managed to let out a breathless “Whoa” from my lips, smiling up at him.

“Impressed?” he questions, and I couldn't help but pick up on the subtle gravel that laced his voice, and how it made those butterflies in my tummy reappear ten fold. 

“Definitely” I breath, crossing my hands in front of my hips, still gripping my handbag. His lips turn up in a small smile, “I’m glad”

I catch his dense green eyes again, but this time there is something flashing behind them, a shade of sparking desire perhaps? 

I hoped so.

His eyes don’t leave, and neither do mine as the moment drags on, making my tummy catch on fire as his gaze burns further into me. 

Holy shit, it was almost intimidating.

I became suddenly restless, biting the inside of my cheek, and fidgeting with my fingers, I felt like I suddenly stepped out into the desert, my body temperature rising alarmingly. 

I felt like I had a fever. 

His eyes tear away when the silver doors of the elevator glide open, and we shuffle out into the hall.

“This way” he guides, pointing to the right where a gorgeous hallway with only a few doors extended in front of us, and his hand settles back down on my back. As we walk I notice how far apart the rooms are spread out, and realize how big the apartments must be.  

We stop at the second door, and he grabs the keys from his pocket and unlocks it, swinging open the door so that I can walk in first. 

When the lights come on, I’m blown away.

Crisp walls enclose the space, a marble countered kitchen to my right opening up to a living room larger than my own apartment, with a huge TV mounted on the far wall, and dark grey sofas that surrounded a sleek glass coffee table. My heels click gently on the wooden floor as I mindlessly walk towards the floor to ceiling windows, the city stretching out like a sea of stars. 

I was entranced, the glowing white and yellow hues twinkling in the dark night.

New York never looked so alive, but at the same time, it was the most peaceful I’ve ever see the city be. You couldn’t hear the honking cars, bumping music, or loud profanities you usually couldn't get away from, just the shuffling of my heels as they hit carpet. 

The city below looked endless, with miles of soft blinking lights.

It looked heavenly.

For once it didn't seem like the dirty city it was, crime and poverty seeming to wash away under the gentle glow of apartment buildings and offices, which made a streak of hope tug at my heart, and I absentmindedly put my hand against the cool surface of the glass. 

I could feel the tears that rimmed my lashes, not falling, just letting me know they’re there, as my eyes continued to scan the scene. 

It was surreal to see the city like this, peaceful and elegant, like it was a place for angels. 

Even the red neon of the strip club down the street or the subtle blue of a raging bar seemed innocent, just another glowing light for my eyes to soak in. Just another stroke of the painting that was being etched behind my eyes. 

And for a moment I forgot I was some girl who was jobless, standing in a strangers apartment in my not so innocent black dress, looking for a distraction from life. So, I tear my eyes away from the glass, blinking back the tears that rimmed my lashes, I found his eyes looking at me with an amused smile, pouring alcohol into two glasses. 

“Tequila?” he asks, lifting his brows.

I clear my throat, suddenly feeling embarrassed at how emotional I got at the scene, “Please” 

He puts a lime wedge on the rims of the glasses and walks over to me at the windows, a small smile on his lips, but it drops and his brows furrow as he gets closer.He sets the glasses carefully on the coffee table rushing to me with concern.

“Are you okay?” he places his hands on my shoulders sliding his hands slowing down my arms in a comforting manner, his eyes flicking between my own. 

I can’t help but inhale sharply at the touch of his skin, or the warmth of his chest that was now only a few inches away. 

“Yeah...” I breath, heat flushing my cheeks at the realization of him seeing my teary eyes, “...the view” I explain vaguely, gesturing towards the windows beside us, letting out a nervous laugh.

“Oh...” he takes a moment to look out, a smile forming on his lips, “...heavenly, isn’t it?”

I nod, following his gaze back out to the open city, “Breathtaking”

“Don’t worry, I cried the first night I stayed here” his warmth leaves as he grabs the drinks from the table and hands one to me.

“You did?” I ask, shocked that he is telling me this, most guys would keep something like that like it was their darkest secret. 

“Like a baby” he adds taking a sip from his glass, and I raise my eyebrows, letting out a shocked breath.

“What? Guys can’t cry too?” he sounds offended, but the playful look on his face tells me that he is just messing around. 

“No, no, I just...most guys don’t feel like that, they feel like it makes them less of a man” I explain, taking a sip of my drink, feeling the thick liquid sting as it glides down my throat. 

“Crying is manly” he shrugs, taking another sip, and I can’t help but let out a laugh.

“Exactly!” I agree, still half laughing. 

A smile lights up his face, “So, Anna...” he lowers his voice, and a shiver falls down my spins at the sound of my name accented on his lips, and I tried to hide the feeling as it shimmers through me.

“...tell me something about yourself” his eyes glaze over with that same look from the elevator, dark and swirling, that makes me want to catch on fire as the back of his fingers ghost down my left arm, sending more chills spiking through me.

He brings his hand up to brush my hair off of my shoulder and behind my back, leaning in so that his breath is fanning over my ear, “Something no one else knows” he adds in a low whisper, before brushing a piece of hair behind my ear and leaning away, a devilish smirk of his face. 

I take a deep breath in, realizing I wasn’t breathing, and shamelessly look from his eyes down to his lips and back up again. 

“Well...” I begin, watching as he takes another sip of his drink, never breaking eye contact, “...I do this thing, when I can’t sleep, where I sneak up to the roof of my apartment building, and I try to see the stars” 

His lips tug up into a smile, and his eyes dance over me, I can tell he is intrigued by my answer, and I can see the curiosity flourish inside of him. 

“What about you, Harry from Cheshire, what do you do when you can’t sleep?” I drag out my words, my voice a notch above a whisper, and I take another sip from my drink, watching as he thinks. 

“Meditate” he smiles, and I quirk a brow at him, “I’m just kidding” he chuckles.

“I typically take a bath...” he answers confidently, “...simple but effective” he shrugs. 

I laugh quietly at his answer, taking another sip, “Maybe I’ll try that sometime” 

His eyes glance down over my body shamelessly, making my spine tingle as they travel back up to my eyes, and my heart jumps at the contact.

Inside the dense green, I can see it, all the lust and desire that is stirring up inside of him, and it makes me want to be lit on fire, heat spreads through every limb as we hold the contact, and when his fingers graze my arm, the heat of his skin mixed with the cool metal of his rings send fireworks exploding within me.  

“I like your dress by the way...” he whispers, his voice low and thick, “...fits you flawlessly” 

My breath hitches in my throat as my heart starts hammering, oh boy he is good.

I set down my drink, game on.

“Thank you...I’m still so sorry about your shirt...looks expensive” I whisper, reaching out to grab just above where the fabric folds down into the first done button, pulling gently until his body is almost touching mine. 

“I know I may never be able to make it up to you...” I look up at him, watching as he darts his tongue out to wet his bottom lip. I flatten my hands against his stomach, feeling his muscles tense under my touch, as I glide them down lower and lower until I rest them on the edge of his trousers, my fingertips slipping under the fabric just a tad, “...but I can try”

I smile when his breath hitches, and his hand grazing my elbow slides down to my hip, I slowly lean forward, and a plant a kiss in the center of his chest, where his the fabric of his shirt is not yet buttoned. 

I slowly kiss up his torso, and along his collarbone, all the way up to his jaw, which is set tight as he inhales sharply. 

I pause over the side of his face, my eyes tracing the shape of his lips as I bite my tongue, I can feel him watching, and painfully waiting for me to connect our lips, but I don’t budge, I just sit there tempting him with my breath.  

In a flash he sets his drink down, the loud clink startling me as he grabs my face and pulls it to his, the hand his drink was in wet against my skin due to setting the glass down so abruptly. His lips glide along my own, the feeling knocking the air from my lungs, and his taste explodes in my mouth as he deepens the kiss, tequila overpowering my senses. 

I tangle my fingers in his hair, pulling against the silky soft strands as he lets out a low grunt, causing a tornado of butterflies deep in my stomach. 

My fingers blindly find the buttons on his dress shirt and start to fumble with them, tearing them from their places one by one. He helps my hands slide the shirt off his body, our mouths never breaking, and I glide my hands over his torso, my stomach doing flips as I feel the taut muscles flex with every movement. 

I slip my hands under his arms to slide up and down his back, the smooth skin feeling like silk under my fingertips. 

His lips rip away from my mouth as they begin to nip and kiss along my jaw and down my neck, my lips part from the feeling of his tongue laying slick marks against the skin, as his hand smooth down my body. 

He breaks away, his breath hot against me as he begins to tug at the end of my dress, “Is this okay?” he whispers, slowly starting to pull it off. 

I nod frantically, and in an instant the dress is on the floor and his lips are back on my neck. His hands travel down to grasp my butt, and slide down the back of my thighs, signaling for me to jump, to which I jump up and wrap my legs around his waist. 

His lips refocus on mine as he starts walking, and I carelessly kiss him back as we walk down a hallway and into a room. He sets me down just before what I assume is his bed, and before he can push me back onto it, I flip around so that he falls with a surprised expression onto the soft covers, and I smirk. 

I lean down and begin to slip off my heels, and I notice his gaze never leaving me even as he sits up ans slides off his own shoes. 

He pulls me to him by the waist his large palms pressing into my hips slightly, as our lips reconnect. He slides his hands up my back, and slip his fingers under the latch of my bra. 

“Still okay?” he asks, and my heart melts at how innocent he sounds. 

I bite my lip and nod, “Yes” 

Then, his lips press in the valley of my breasts as he undoes the latch, and I gasp silently when he bites against the center of my bra and pulls it off with his teeth. 

Holy shit.

He smirks, and kisses me with a fury only pure lust could produce. As his hands grasp and palm over my body, a furious heat grows in my core, and with every heated kiss, I am more and more desperate to feel him closer. 

I lean back and with my lips tugging into a smirk, I push against his chest and he falls flat against the bed as I climb to straddle his hips.

I place open mouth kisses on his chest, over the butterfly tattoo, and glide my hands down his torso until I feel the cool leather of his belt and I start to unbuckle it when his hand stops me. 

“Wait...” he pants, “...are you sure?” he looks at me with concerned eyes, and I almost laugh at how absurd he sounds, of course I’m fucking sure.

“One hundred percent” I reply, my chest heaving as I struggle to catch my breath. He nods slightly and lets me continue. He helps me shimmy of his trousers, lifting his hips so that I could pool the fabric down to his ankles, his belt clanking when it hits the floor.

His jaw goes slack and his lips part when I palm the bulge that’s under the thin fabric of his briefs, and he starts to pant, his chest heaving. He grips my hips, his fingers slipping under the fabric on my hips as our lips collide again, a low moan rippling up from the back of his throat as my hands smooth over his hips, close to his core.

I break away, catching my breath, and taking a moment to look over his body.

Disheveled curls, perfectly parted lips, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat...down to his taut chest, sparrows rising and falling on his pecs, and the image of the ferns tattooed on his hips making my core heat up seeing them completely.

I trace my fingers over the vines and leaves, my eyes settling on his v-line as it goes down into his briefs.

He had to be an angel right? No one is build like that if they’re human.

I’ve got to be dreaming.

He sucks in a breath as my fingers graze the ink, and I look up to see his eyes traveling on my body as well.

“You’re so fucking beautiful” he says breathless, pulling his bottom lip in his mouth, and the rasp in his voice has heat pooling at my center.

I pull him back in for a desperate kiss, like his lips were oxygen and I was drowning, and he kisses back with just as must force.

In a flash he flips me around so that he is hovering over me, and I giggle into his lips.

“That’s better” his voice rumbles up from his throat, his hands hot on my hips, fingers pressing firmly into my skin as he connects his lips with my neck, leaving wet kisses down to my collar bone before pulling away to hook his fingers under the lace of my underwear, smirking up at me while he begins to pull them down my legs.

Once they are completely off he throws them over his shoulders, a devilish grin placed on his face, as his hands smooth up my shins.

He places a kiss on both my knees before starting to suck on the soft skin on the inside of my thighs, and I have to muffle a moan at the feeling.

“It’s okay love...” he whispers, his voice incredibly low, “...let me hear you”

My jaw goes slack as he starts sucking again, slightly higher up, and as the moan leaves my lips, a low groan leaves his own.

His palms push on my inner thighs, and I open them as he makes his way further and further up, and if I wasn’t totally washed away in pleasure I would have thought about the hickeys he was leaving on my skin, but I didn’t.

I couldn’t give a fuck to be honest.

I arch my back when I feel his tongue leave a slick trail just a hair’s width away from my folds, a soft whimper leaving my mouth.

“Tell me what you want” he says, voice low and lustful as he smirks at me, eyes blown out.

The throbbing in between my legs is almost painful, and I shift my hips to try and ease it, wincing when he continues to do nothing.

“You gotta tell me what you want, baby” He says and I glare at him, the heat in my core rising by the second.

“You” I breath, and he smirks even wider, “I don’t care how...God, I-I just want you”

I feel the presence of his fingers on my heat, and a moan leaves my lips. He sinks his middle digit deep into me, his cool rings making me gasp as he curls his fingers up.

“Fuck” I whisper, my eyes closed as he goes a steady pace, my head spinning, “N-need more” I gasp, and he slips in a second digit.

“N-no” I shake my head, writhing and rolling against his bed.

“No?” he questions, a smug tone to his voice and I force my eyes open to look at his.

“Not what I meant” I glare, and his smirk tells me he knows what I meant, but I can see the devil dancing in his eyes.

“Not your fingers, I need you” He bits his lip as he groans, pulling his fingers out of me to slide off his briefs, his member springing to his stomach.

“You want to feel me love, is that it?” he says low and raspy, reaching over to his bedside table to pull a shiny foil package out of the drawer.

My core is throbbing and I feel like screaming as more heat shoots through me, “Yes...need you now”

A dark chuckle rolls up from his chest as he rolls the rubber material over his hard center, sucking in a breath at the feeling.

“It’s okay, need to feel y’too” he whispers as he positions himself above me, my hips bucking and rolling, trying to ease the heat between my legs.

“Gonna have to hold still fo’ me” he says, one large palm pressing between my hips to try and limit my constant movement.

“Sorry-“ I pant, “It’s killing me” I whine, not even able to find embarrassment at how needy I am, all I could think about was the heavy throbbing at my core.

“All this for me?” he gasps as his head glides through the wetness at my center, and I moan at the feeling of finally feeling him, wrapping my legs around his hips, my heels pressing into his skin.

He sinks further and further into me, and I hadn’t realized just how big he was until now, he filled me up completely and I couldn’t help but whimper. He starts slow, pulling out and pushing back in at a painful pace, and I grab at the sheets under me.

“Faster, p-please go faster” I plead, and he sucks in a breath as he picks up speed, hitting all the right spots inside of me.

“God you’re so tight” he grunts, his eyebrows furrowed together in a mix of concentration and pleasure. He pace quickens and quickens until I’m seeing stars, the bed thudding from his thrusting.

“Feel good?” he pants, and I wonder how I’ll even get words out of my mouth with the pleasure rushing through me.

“Fucking amazing” I manage with a moan, my hands moving to grip at his shoulders, feeling myself almost to the edge.

“I-I’m-“ I gasp, but I can’t seem to speak as my head spins.

“You’re close?” he questions, stepping in for me and I nod furiously.

“Me too, fuck” he gasps, biting his lower lip, one hand landing on my hip to pull me against him harder, to the point where I ached where his fingers where, his nails digging in to my skin.

And that’s enough to send me over the edge, dirty noises leaving my lips as the coil in my belly snaps, my body shuttering around him as my vision blurs. I cuss and wrap my legs tighter around his hips, pulling him impossibly closer as he moans.

His thrusts become sloppy and broken as he cries out, his own release quickly following my own, and his head drops to the crook of my neck as he comes down from his high, body exhausted but still rolling into me. He rides out both of our orgasms, lazily sliding his hips into my own until he is almost too tired to move, but manages to slide out -causing me to gasp at the feeling- and plop down beside me.

We lay there, our bodies recovering, chests heaving and skin sticky with sweat.

When I finally regain some muscle movement I look over to him next to me, his back flat against the mattress one hand on his torso, one up by next to his head. A low fire begins to brew in my belly again at the sight of him, curls soaked with sweat, body glistening, muscles twitching and stretching as he struggles to catch his breath, lips parted and eyes shut.

I drag myself on top of him, tracing patterns on his balmy skin, “You okay?” my voice rasps, my vocal chords a bit overdone.

He swallows and smiles, “Yeah...you?”

I brush a hand through his damp hair, and he gives a satisfied hum.

“Yeah” I bite my lip, “...never felt like that before” he chuckles, and heat is already returning to my core as he opens his eyes, a lazy grin on his face.

“Me either” he admits, his hand beginning to run gently up and down my back, and I realize his rings are still on.

A shiver travels down my spine, and I bite my lip, “Think you could do it again?”

He raises his eyebrows at me, bringing his other hand to run down his face as he laughs.

“Christ! Already?” he exclaims and I blush a bit, still tracing invisible patterns on his chest.

“I made y’feel that good?” he asks, voice a bit lower, a sly grin on his face, and I give him a nod.

“Here...” I begin, “...you don’t even have to do anything, let me do the work” I say as I pick myself up from his body, ignoring my wobbly legs, and scoot down so that I am straddling him just above his hips.

“Okay...” he swallows, watching as I kiss his torso, right on top of the butterfly tattoo, laying a slick line with my tongue. His skin erupts with goosebumps and I smirk, sliding my hands down his body, placing my palms on his fern tattoos. I lay another kiss and another, until I’ve reached his belly button, and I scrape my teeth along his skin. A low groan leaves his mouth as his eyes close.

“Y’like that?” I ask, and his hands flex the sheets underneath him before he nods. I can feel his cock already hardening from behind my bum, and I lean up to suck on his neck, my teeth nipping his skin as I finish and his breath hitches. I scoot down and rub my wettening core on his length, which earns a soft whimper from both of our mouths, both of us still sensitive from our last round.

I reach between us as I glide my hands down his member, realizing he never took his condom off from previously, and giving him a slow pump as I watch his jaw slack as his length fully hardens in my hand.

“Feelin’ good yet?” I ask, and I graze my thumb over his head, a moan leaving his lips.

“Yes...keep going” he says, his chest already starting to heave again. I lift myself up, thighs shaking, and slide onto him just a tad, closing my eyes at the feeling, and I pause, my hands firm on his chest.

“K-keep going” he pleads through gritted teeth, and I don’t have it in me to tease him, my core throbbing for him. I lower myself down and I hear him suck in a breath as I completely engulf him. Then, finding it impossible to hold still, I lift myself up and back down, my lips parting at the feeling.

He was so big...and I loved it.

His hands settle on my thighs, gripping as I speed up, slowly bouncing faster and faster on top of him.

“Holy shit” he mumbles, grunting and I let out a small whimper, I was already so close.

“I’m close” I gasp, biting my lip and he nods.

Only a few more bounces and I’m shaking, throwing my head back as pleasure shoots through me, his hands now on my hips, pulling me down as he lifts his own up until he was moaning too, both of us trembling and gasping for air.

I lift off of him, and collapse beside him, opening my eyes when I hear him roll the condom off his body, and he goes to toss it away, returning to pull me under the covers and against his chest.

“You’re a minx, y’know that?” he laughs breathlessly, and I chuckle back, I was exhausted, and he was too.

“Made me feel amazing though, haven’t felt that good in a while” he whispers, a genuine tone to his voice, pressing a kiss to my forehead, “Thank you”

I furrow my eyebrows, did he just thank me?

No one has ever thanked me after having sex before, and I found it oddly heart warming.

“Let me know when you’re ready for round three” he smugly whispers and I raise my eyebrows pulling away from his chest to see the devilish smirk on his lips, he was either an angel or satan himself, and I’d be lying if I said the idea didn’t burn me up from the inside out with excitement and curiosity.

[milkcartonbastard]

Buttercups and Geraniums

Fandoms- My Babysitter's a Vampire (Benny x Reader)

Warnings- Violence. Language warning. 

Request- "...could you write something for Benny Weir? Maybe something where they are rivals or something where both aren't really nice to each other and somehow get close and ends fluffy?" Why yes, I can. Thank you for requesting, I hope you enjoy!

~~~

  You were epically pissed at Benny Weir. You had been for months, but it had come to a climax recently and you were honestly beginning to loathe him. First, he'd managed to give you a foxtail. You didn't even know he had magic until then, you had believed you were the only witch at school. It was surprising that Benny Weir of all people was since you didn't understand how he'd managed to keep it a secret for so long. Second, one of his spells- yeah, there was going to be a reoccurring theme here- had managed to cause all of your hair to fall out. You had no fucking clue what he was trying to do in the first place, but you were sure that hair removal wasn't it.

  You'd been hit by a lot of bad spells over the years, most of them your own, but you'd never once accidentally performed divination. Benny had tried to tell you what he'd been trying to do, but whatever it was never stuck in your mind. Especially, since you had been turned into an actual fox. His grandmother had to reverse that spell. Needless to say, you and Evelyn had not been happy. You'd coughed up fur for a week after that...

  So now you were sending passive-aggressive messages to him.

  You'd shown up to school about fifteen minutes early. Everyone usually tumbled in at five minutes before the bell, which meant your quick spell wouldn't be seen by anyone. Benny's locker was neat, which was a huge contrast to his personality, and it reeked of cologne. He didn't even wear cologne. You knew that because he always smelled like magic.

  Magic had a very distinctive odor, which was mostly like a dewy forest with freshly tilled dirt. You loved magic, the smell, the feeling, the preparation. You were particularly strong, but that wasn't uncommon in the community. You were happy to have your ability, thank you very much.

  You mumbled some words, just in case anyone overheard. The four books in his locker shot against the top of the metal container. You tugged against them, but they were attached like they had been welded against the metal. You smiled a little, before placing the flowers and note in his locker. You flipped your middle finger up in the air, so whenever Ethan touched the objects and saw this moment, he'd receive your message for him, too.

  You had tied up a small bouquet- buttercups and geraniums- for Benny and his grandma. The message of the flowers was for Benny, but the pretty colors and sprigs of sage were for his grandma. Buttercups meant the receiver was childish and immature. Geraniums meant the receiver was stupid and ignorant. Two flowers that represented Benny Weir very well. The note explained it well, so there wouldn't be any confusion on his side.

  You knew he would understand it without the card, though. He was smart enough to decipher the message without your help. He'd always been clever. You shut the locker at the clenching of your stomach. You didn't hate Benny. You couldn't. He was too cute and brave for that.

  You mentally gagged.

  You had been fighting off your crush on him since seventh grade. Recently, it was getting easier. Especially when he was hitting you with rogue and malfunctioning spells. You groaned and rubbed your temples. You didn't need to worry about a boy, you needed to worry about the Calculus test you had to take in twenty minutes. You sighed and continued toward your class.

~~~

  You were sat at your lunch table, nibbling on whatever the lunch ladies had plopped onto your tray. You were engrossed in this new book you had started. It had an odd combination of creatures in it. There were vampire-ish characters called Dark Hunters, demons, mermen, human voodoo dolls, witches, Seraphim, and even pirates. Even with the motley cast of characters, their dynamics were incredible and extremely vivid.

  A quick burst of movement tore your attention away from your book. Nobody around you seemed to notice anything weird, so they all just continued with their conversations. Not even a slight difference in the room appeared to any of your classmates. It said a lot for their senses of danger.

  Sitting on your lunch table, one you shared with a bunch of other kids who preferred to study and read over socialization, was a humongous, black, bird. It was a raven that towered above the people sitting with you. Its beak was sharp and a glistening black and its eyes were the color of nothing. You tried to contain your gasp when it cocked its head at you.

  A deep, guttural, squawk poured from the bird's belly. Just as suddenly as it appeared, a burst of blue flame erupted and enveloped the midnight feathers and nothing eyes of the bird. As the last bit of feathers burned away- you felt your skin boil near your wrist. You jerked your hand away from the table, just in time to see black lettering appear across your wrist. The lettering was a dark, scarlet, red and was facing you. It was a Latin word- you knew that much. You were pretty sure it meant 'claimed', but you could have been wrong.

  "Y/n, are you alright?" Malia Harrington, who had sat at the 'nerd' table with you since high-school started, looked up from her book. She was staring at you curiously. One of her hands was hidden beneath her book and she looked close to closing it. She looked concerned, but there was something strange flickering in her whiskey-colored eyes. It was almost like an emotion, but you couldn't tell what it was. You nodded your head and dropped your hand. You let the now tattooed part rest against your thigh, so Malia couldn't see the message.

  "Yeah, I just- pinched myself on the table. Just wasn't paying much attention, I suppose!" You forced a shitty laugh out, just waiting for more questions to come towards you. Luckily enough, she seemed to buy it- or just didn't care enough- and went back to her book. You quietly excused yourself from the lunch table and discarded your tray.

  You had gotten cursed. A big, fat, ugly, curse had been smacked against your left wrist. You weren't sure what kind of curse yet, but you would figure that out as soon as you got to your spellbook in your locker. You didn't know of anyone who would want to curse you or anyone stupid enough perform such a tedious ritual.

  You were slowing down, the floor seeming to sway under your feet. Your skin was beginning to get hot again like you'd been baking in the sun. A fever. You cursed softly, having to steady yourself against a nearby locker. You weren't too far from the water fountain, so you stopped for a quick sip. It seemed to perk you up a little and you continued forward.

  Your physical state was wavering, the curse was starting to make you sick. You scanned your brain- running thousands of scenarios through your mind. Most symptoms would explain the type of magic used in the curse- which would also explain the severity. Mirror magic wouldn't be so hard to counteract, candle magic would be a little bit more difficult, but not so bad. You were just pleading with whatever God or Fate-bearer out there that it wouldn't be a difficult curse to remove. The bird that had appeared had died in the spell, which wasn't too comforting. Was that what was going to happen to you?

~~~

  Benny was standing at his locker when you managed to drag yourself further through the school. He was wearing a striped shirt that reminded you of a grunge Freddy Kruger. Benny also wore a pair of plain jeans and his stupid crossbody satchel. His head was ducked low and he was talking to Ethan beside his locker. Ethan looked around, like whatever they were talking about was serious. Ethan's eyes met yours and they widened.

  Pieces clicked together.

  'Who was stupid enough to perform such a tedious ritual?' you had asked. You only knew one idiot and he had a bad reputation of spells backfiring.

 In a blink of an eye- you had Benny pinned to his locker and was glaring up at him. He yelped ungraciously and started trying to push you off him. You felt some unnamable emotion in your gut. Why would Benny curse you? Sure, you didn't think he liked you back, but you certainly didn't think he hated you enough to curse you.

  "You cursed me?! When are you going to learn to stop fucking-" You cut yourself off. On his wrist, the same dark, crimson, writing was slapped across his pale skin like a label. It was in the same position as yours and you released your grip on him. He was frowning down at you and fixing his now-messy shirt.

  "I didn't curse you! We thought you did this to us." You looked at his face, noticing red, blotchy spots on his cheeks and neck. His normally bright eyes were duller now. You felt your stomach curl up. He thought you had cursed them? Who was them?

  Your gaze traveled to Ethan, noticing the blotchy patches on his face as well. From the heat rising in your cheeks and neck, you assumed you looked similar. Ethan held his left arm up, and sure enough, a replica of your marking was stamped upon his skin.

  "You said curse? Benny was talking about that, too. How bad is it?" Ethan asked. Benny huffed, clearly upset that Ethan was asking you about magic-included situations. You felt a flush settle under your skin.

  "Did you guys see the bird, too? Or did you see something else?" A quick description of the raven was given and the boys nodded their heads. They'd had the very same experience. "I'm not sure about the important information. I was on my way to my locker to get my spellbook, but I'm sluggish."

  Benny opened his mouth to speak again when something going incredibly fast slammed into the lockers near the three of you. You jumped, trying to keep your scream behind your tongue. Sarah Fox bounced off the lockers and onto the cold floor. She groaned loudly, rolling onto her left side and nursing her right arm. Ethan and you moved to help her up. She wasn't exactly heavy, but her skin was so cold it almost burned. You jerked your hand away, but Ethan's hand had clenched down and he'd stiffened up.

  Sarah's fangs lashed out at the empty air in front of her and she clapped her hand over her mouth. She looked worse than the three of you, by far. But it was mostly because of the blood vessels in her face. They were blue and black under her dark skin, creating a spider's web look in her cheeks. Her eyes were gold, unable to change back. She cursed softly but was cut off by another hiss. You grabbed the arm Ethan didn't have ahold of, showing Benny the same marking you all had. He cursed softly and the two of you turned your arms for her to see.

  Ethan's white eyes returned to brown, but only for a second. You watched his eyes roll up into the back of his head. His knees buckled and Benny surged forward and grabbed him. Ethan didn't stand back up, but instead, he collapsed in Benny's arms. He was completely unconscious and Benny let him gently rest on the floor.

  "What is going on?" Sarah stopped hissing, but she still looked the same. Some students started walking into the hall, so you pulled the hood of her jacket over her head. She tilted her face towards the ground and the other students didn't stop walking. "I saw this freaky bird on my chemistry table and it caught on fire. Then my arm started to burn."

  "We've been cursed. We have no idea who or how they did it. We're on our way to Y/n's locker to get her spellbook." Benny kicked Ethan's side gently, but he didn't stir. His breathing didn't change but just stayed steady. Soon enough, two more people rounded the corner. One had a hood over his head and the other left her blonde hair dangling in front of her face. Erica and Rory.

  "Guys, I think Rory and Erica got cursed, too. Look, they look like Sarah." You jerked your chin in their direction and they jogged over. Sarah must not have known what she looked like, because her hand shot up to her cheeks and she recoiled.

  "What's wrong with Ethan?" Rory asked. His voice sounded stuffy, which meant his fangs were out, too. Something was affecting the vampire's appearance, but Sarah looked the worst of the three. Her inky veins were dark and prominent, the ones on Erica and Rory were faint.

  Your gaze flickered back to Ethan. His nose was starting to bleed, but the blood was black instead of red. You gasped and crouched beside Ethan. You were hit with a wave of dizziness, but you shook it off. Nobody else was bleeding, except for Ethan. Why?

 He'd used his ability- sure he didn't mean to- but he'd touched Sarah and got a vision from her. And Sarah looked worse than Rory and Erica because she's used her vampire speed to find them, instead of just walking. You swore again and wiped Ethan's black blood away with your sleeve. He gave a soft groan and tried to roll onto his side. Benny started trying to help him stand up, but Ethan wasn't exactly conscious yet.

  "Don't use your abilities! No running, no strength, no mind-control, no visions!" Your eyes widened and you looked up to Benny. He looked vulnerable like he was thinking very hard and trying to come up with an idea. His forehead creased slightly when Ethan pushed his hand away from his nose. He started to sit up though, smacking his lips and licking them. He was thirsty and Benny got the message.

  Benny held his hand up and was about to snap his fingers when you grabbed his hand. You ignored the warmth of his skin under your palm. "That means no magic. The curse's speed just increases and we get weaker. Don't use your magic, Benny."

  Pieces clicked.

  The color of the blood. The use of abilities increased damage and speed. Fatigue and fever.

  "It's a Death Curse. Someone's used Blood Magic to curse us. They're trying to kill us and using our magic and abilities will speed it up." You stood back up and saw Benny going to grab Ethan again. "Don't touch him!"

  Benny pulled his hands away, but he stayed crouched down. You grabbed his arm and hauled him up. He pushed your hand off of him. "We can't risk giving him another vision. We don't know if there's a certain number of times before it kills him."

  Benny's eyes widened, his blotchy cheeks making him look younger than he was. He took a step away from his best friend. "You heard Y/n. Nobody touches Ethan!"

 "How are we going to get him out of the hallway? The bell rings in eleven minutes. People can't see us like this, guys." Sarah bit back another hiss and started to shift her weight from foot to foot.

  "He only has visions when he touches our skin, right? So what if we don't touch his skin?" Rory asked. Benny nodded and started looking around the hallway.

  "Madison Fields is in the gardening club, right? Cause I have an idea." Benny walked across the hall to a random locker. He opened it- people without locks on their lockers are just too trusting- and started going through the contents. Soon enough, he pulled two sets of gloves out of a small bag at the bottom of the locker. He pulled a pair of gardening gloves on and hurried over to Ethan.

  Benny put the second pair of gloves on his best friend and pulled his sleeves down and over the tips of his fingers. Finally, he tugged Ethan's hood over his head and pulled the strings of his hoodie together and tied them.

  "What was the point of that?" Erica asked. She glanced up at the clock and back to the scene before her. You understood, so you hooked one Ethan's arms around your shoulders and helped Benny stand him up.

  "We can't touch his skin now, so he can't get a vision. Let's go, I think Grandma can help us."

~~~

  Benny's grandma took one look at the six of you and started chanting in Latin. It wasn't exactly a comforting thing to see an Earth Priestess doing as soon as she laid eyes upon you, but you were assuming it was necessary, given the fact black blood was drying on Ethan's upper lip and Sarah looked like a demon.

  "Grandma, can you please help us?" The six of you had managed to shove yourself into Sarah's car and get to Benny's house before Ethan had gained much more consciousness. It must have been a Hell of a vision and taken a lot of energy from him for the curse to hit him that hard. Evelyn nodded her head, but she locked the screen door for good measure. Ethan whimpered softly, resting his hood-covered head on your shoulder. You jerked your shoulder and he repositioned his head to rest on Benny's shoulder.

  "How long ago did this happen?" Evelyn asked.

  "Thirty minutes ago. Sarah and Ethan need help, Grandma. Please?" Benny got a slight pitch to his voice, almost like he was scared she wouldn't help. She eyed him, almost like she was trying to see through him. The screen door opened and she held it open for the six of you to trudge through the door.

  "Don't touch anything. I've got just the thing to help!" Evelyn shut and locked the door to her house again. She snapped her fingers and an ornate box with green writing appeared in her hands. She popped the lock on the box and pulled out two bars of soap.

  "You're making us wash our hands?" Erica asked. Her fangs lashed out and she clapped her hand over her mouth. Evelyn shook her head before tossing a soap bar to Sarah and Rory. Sarah caught it, but it hit Rory in the face completely.

  "Close. I'm making you wash your bodies. There are two showers. Split up into groups of two and make sure you wash your skin good. Pay close attention to behind the ears, the face, and above the heart. Those are the most affected places when it comes to curses. Go on!" Evelyn shooed you, Erica, and Sarah towards the downstairs bathroom and motioned for the three boys to head upstairs.

  "Let Sarah go first. She needs it more." You said. Erica nodded and the two of you turned your backs while she got into the shower. The water started and the curtain was pulled shut. Erica sighed and sat on the floor, resting her head against the wall. You joined her on the floor and tried not to pass out. Your head was throbbing and the heat that seemed to raise the hair on the back of your neck seemed to become unbearable. All you needed was to start coughing and this would be the worst case of the flu you'd ever had.

  "So how come you're cursed, too? You're not one of the frequents of this little nerd-pack." Erica asked. Her fangs were resting on her bottom lip and her eyes were still glowing. She hissed slightly and rolled her eyes. You could see Sarah's outline in the shower curtain; She was scrubbing her skin vigorously.

  "I have no clue. At first, I thought Benny did this to me, but it turns out it's somebody else's fault." You scoffed. Erica looked amused, but she closed her eyes and continued to lean against the wall. "This happens a lot, then?"

  Erica nodded drowsily. Steam was filling the bathroom slowly, so you clicked the overhead vent on. You rested against the wall for a while, with your eyes shut and the steady sound of running water lulling you to sleep. Erica hopped into the shower next, so you continued to sit where you were. Sarah's skin had returned to its normal coloring- no black veins or paled features. Her eyes were still a bright gold and her fangs were on display, but she looked healthier.

  "Evelyn's magic-soap does the trick. I feel so much better, but I'm so hungry. But not for blood? It's like-" Sarah gripped the sink basin when her legs wobbled underneath her violently. You sat up, watching her regain her balance. "It's like my blood sugar is dropping almost. Like I need real food. Human food."

  "You shouldn't ever crave that. Whenever you turn, human food has no taste after that. No appeal to vampires." You stood up and guided Sarah to sit on the lidded toilet. She patted your hand after she settled. "I think it's the curse."

  "What the fuck?!" Erica cursed from inside of the shower, the water stopped abruptly and Erica's arm shot out from behind the curtain and she started smacking things off of the top of a shelf. Sarah quickly handed her the towel she was looking for. Erica jerked the curtain back after she secured the towel around herself.

  "Erica... what's wrong?" Sarah asked. Erica was squinting hard and her eyes were their normal pale blue. She was gasping softly and holding her hands in front of her eyes.

  "My vision- it's blurry. I think-" You watched tears well into her eyes. "I think I need my glasses again."

  "You two are becoming human again. It's part of the curse- It's taking your powers!" Your eyes widened and you looked down at your hands. You closed your eyes and focused on the magic coursing through your veins. It was a constant feeling, that of a warm liquid trickling from your core outward. It was a comfort to you, something you always focused on when you were scared or overwhelmed- the strong and powerful feeling of magic inside of your veins.

 It was so much weaker. You cursed loudly and started pulling your shirt over your head. Erica handed you the soap and got out of your way. You were undressed and under the spray of water in less than thirty seconds. You rolled the bar in between your hands, making the soap thicken and spill over your skin.

  "If truly I am cursed today, let the water wash the hex away. If truly I am cursed today, let the water wash the hex away. IftrulyIamcursedtodayletwaterwashthehexaway. IftrulyIamcursedtodayletwaterwashthehexaway-" You continued to chant the words, each time with more meaning. It was very simple magic, water magic, so you were hoping you weren't increasing the curse's speed while doing it.

  "What's going on? What are you doing?" Sarah asked from the other side of the curtain. You growled and continued scrubbing your skin red with the soap bar in your palm. Soap-suds were rising off of the shower floor and swirling around you. You watched your veins flash to black quickly and you stopped automatically. The suds didn't drop to the bottom of the shower again but slowly slid down your body. Your skin returned to normal and your dizziness went away.

  "Nothing that worked. I just really hope Evelyn's soap works better than that chant did." You rinsed the soap off and stopped the water. You dried off and got dressed, the two girls turning their backs to give you privacy. You wondered why they stayed with you, but you saw Sarah's quivering legs and realized you needed to help her into the kitchen. You did and returned Evelyn's soap. She had you throw it in the bin, never once going to touch it.

  The boys were sitting at the table waiting for the three of you. You helped Sarah sit down and she gave you a grateful smile. Ethan's hand extended across the table before he remembered he wasn't allowed to touch anyone, so he quickly gave her a thumbs up.

  "What now?" Rory asked. Evelyn placed a sandwich in front of Sarah and watched as the teen vampire gobbled it down without much hesitation. Benny made a face.

  "She's not even supposed to eat human food. What's going on?"

  Grandma Weir grabbed something out of a drawer and hid it behind her back. "Hold out your hands. Palms up and in a straight line."

  The six of you did what you were told. Pressing the sides of your hands together with your palms facing up. You were about to ask her what the point of this was when a knife slashed across your palms at lightning speed. You bit back a curse, trying to spare your swears from Evelyn's ears.

  "Wha- Grandma!" Benny curled his hands to his chest and nursed them. Erica went to lick the blood off of your hands but stopped when she saw the dark grey color. You all shared the same color of blood. It wasn't as dark as Ethan or Sarah's had been earlier, but it wasn't healthy.

  "Just like I thought. My magic soap helped some, but the curse is strong. It's draining your life forces. Which means your magic. And your souls..." Evelyn cast a sad look at the vampires. Your eyes snapped to meet hers.

  "How do we fix it? Every spell has a reversal. Some curses are the same way." Your jaw clenched and you took a deep breath. You would be damned if you were going to cry. That wasn't going to get you anywhere. "Tell me this is one of them."

  "It is, but it's not a pretty one." Evelyn walked to the head of the table while the six of you wrapped your hands in paper towels. She ruffled her grandson's damp hair and avoided eye-contact. Your stomach shriveled, but you kept your brave façade up.

  "The six of you will have to work together to find the spell-caster responsible. The curse can only be undone when they are dead. Only then." Evelyn's hand paused in Benny's hair and dropped to the table. She pulled a chair out and sat beside you all.

  "That's not bad. We take out bad-guys, like, once a week." Erica scoffed and started to push back from the table. "I'll personally rip their throat out with my teeth- I can't see without my glasses again and I refuse to tell my mom I threw out my inhaler at the beginning of the year."

  "It's not that simple. The spell-caster is stealing your life force and adding it to their own. They won't be at their strongest until after you all are dead, but they certainly won't be weak. They're already strong- if the intensity of this spell has anything to say about it." Evelyn pursed her lips before she continued. "I dare to say they'll be unstoppable if they claim your lives. Way beyond anything I can, nor anyone I know, can fix."

  "So we have to stop them. It's us or nobody, huh?" The side of Benny's mouth quirked up. Hew had a determined expression on his face, one that you'd never seen his dorky face take on before. The gears behind his eyes were turning and, for once, he didn't look like a dumbass. You fought back the flush that washed over your body. Sarah looked over at you for a second but went back to her sandwich. You tried to play off the blush you knew covered your cheeks, so you directed your attention back to the matter at hand.

  "How long do you think we have?"

  "Hard to say, but finding and ending this tonight would be my best guess for your survival." Evelyn breathed out raggedly and you looked away. If you saw a single tear in her eyes, you were sure that you would become a sobbing mess.

  "Thank you, Benny's Grandma." Rory smiled from the opposite of her and she rolled her eyes playfully. She stood up and left the room, but you could tell by the stoop of her shoulders she was holding in her emotions. Oh, this was that bad then, huh?

  "There are tons of people in Whitechapel! How are we supposed to find the one responsible for this?!" Sarah pinched the bridge of her nose, trying not to scream out in frustration.

  "Yeah, it's like a needle in a haystack, but we're all blind idiots allergic to hay." Ethan dropped his head against the table but quickly sat back up. "But I guess having a Seer for a friend is a blessing, huh?"

  "No! You cannot have another vision! It's too dangerous, Ethan." Benny was shaking his head wildly, sending droplets of water onto the surface of the table. He looked a little bit like an overactive saint bernard puppy after a bath.

  "It can't hurt me if I already had the vision! Remember? I had it at school, right before I collapsed!" Ethan scrambled out of his chair but had to steady himself before he could move any farther through the kitchen. He found a piece of paper and a pencil and shut his eyes tightly.

  "Well, what did you see?" Rory rose from his seat to get a better look at the piece of paper Ethan was drawing on. Erica grabbed onto his shirt and yanked him back into his seat.

  "He's trying to show us. Be patient." Rory lowered his head like a scolded child. The pencil was flying across the paper, without Ethan even looking at the paper. He was done in about a minute and opened his eyes to look at the paper. He nodded his head and smacked the paper down onto the kitchen table you were all sat around.

  "This is what the ingredients that were used in the curse was kept in. A backpack, which means the person is a student and goes to our school." Ethan looked at the paper again, but this time his shoulders sagged. "Which means we have to kill one of our classmates."

  "I hope it's Milo Miller. He gets on my nerves." Erica reclined in her chair and squinted at the paper. She was far-sighted, but you doubted that she could see the drawing.

  It was of a backpack with those decorative pins from shows and movies on it. You saw a Daredevil and Doctor Who pin side by side. There were other pins there, but they were just meanless logos to you. Meanless, but extremely familiar.

  "I know that bag! I see it just about every day. It is a dark green color, right?" You demanded. Ethan nodded his head, eyes wide and mouth agape.

  "So you know who this person is? You know who cursed us?!" Sarah exclaimed. She went to grab Ethan's arm in excitement, but Benny grabbed her hand before she made contact with the Seer's skin. Ethan pulled his hoodie sleeves over his hand and his hood over his head. He took a step back from everyone as they crowded around you.

  "Yeah! Her name's- her name is Malia Harington. She sits with me at lunch every day. She's been in school with us since the fifth grade." You looked down at your hands. Why had she cursed you? You'd never done anything to her. You hadn't interacted with her that much, now that you thought about it. "She was with me today when it happened. She asked me if I was alright after I jumped out of my seat."

  "Malia? She's in my chemistry class! She asked to borrow a pencil from me today." Sarah was staring at the sketch of the backpack while she talked. The others looked around in bewilderment.

  "She did the same thing to me! She even gave me my pencil back after class, the bitch!" Erica exclaimed. Her fangs snapped at the empty air and she growled in annoyance.

 "Me, too!"

  "And me!"

  "So that's how she cursed us? She made contact with us when we were in class and what? She touched our skin and bam! we're doomed?" Ethan shook his head, lost deep in thought.

  "No, she would have to put something on us. Something physical for us to have on our persons. Like a hex bag or-" Benny cut you off while you were gesturing around the room, hoping for another example to pop into your head.

  "Like a small string inside of a mechanical pencil!" Benny exclaimed and rushed for his backpack by the entrance of the house. He came back with his lead pencil in hand. He pulled the eraser from the top and dumped the lead onto the table. Three small pieces of lead fell onto the table and one silver threading needle. A dot of red was solidified like wax at the end of the needle, almost like it was going to drop off the tip at any moment. It didn't.

  "That sneaky witch."

  "Good thing I know she has band practice after school. She's always the last one to leave, even after the teacher." Rory spoke up from the side of the table.

  "Why do you know that?"

  "Because Vampire Ninja knows all!" Rory waved his hand in front of his face, accidentally hitting himself in one eye. "I need my glasses. My depth perception is off..."

  "Guess this means we need to go catch us a witch, huh?" Benny asked. The five of you nodded your heads in response. You worried your bottom lip but stood along with the rest of them.

~~~

  You had been taking out bad guys- the weekly big bads as Erica put it- for a while. You usually did it solo and the problem was taken care of quickly. It was a lot easier that way. No one but you could get hurt, you only had to watch out for yourself. You were careful regardless.

  Whitechapel High was deserted. The lights in all of the rooms were switched off and the doors were all locked from the outside. You cursed and raised your hand to open it with a little magical assistance when Sarah's hand pushed yours down.

  "No magic. Remember?" Sarah tucked your hand into your hoodie pocket. You pulled it back out and crossed your arms.

  "How are we supposed to get in then? I doubt anyone here knows how to pick a lock!"

  "I can. Give me a minute." Ethan crouched down to the main door and pulled two pieces of metal out of his pocket.

  "Where did you learn to pick a lock?" Erica watched in confusion as Ethan wiggled the pick in the lock while keeping the other steady. Benny stood proudly beside his best friend.

  "Skyrim."

  "There is no way you learned how to pick a lock from Skyrim."

  When the statement left your mouth, an audible click resonated from the lock. Ethan pushed on the door and it swung open. Benny and Rory took turns high-fiving his gloved hands. You, Sarah, and Erica watched the three dorks off to the side.

  "Let's hurry this up, I've got places to be." Erica sashayed into the school building. You saw her narrowly miss the doorframe and wondered if she was getting dizzy. Your head was starting to hurt again like you needed to eat, but you weren't hungry.

  'Like my blood sugar is dropping.' Sarah had felt the same thing. So it was curse still working its dark magic. You nibbled on your bottom lip before following the other five into the school building.

  The air inside of the school was cold and stale. The taste of dirt and dust settled on your tongue. It was almost suffocating. It was very dark magic and you clenched your hand around the aluminum baseball bat you had.

 Since the six of you could no longer use your abilities, you'd had to turn to other means of defense. You and Ethan had baseball bats, Erica had a six-inch switchblade, Sarah had a crow-bar, Rory had a Batarang, and Benny had a nerf gun with pencils in the darts. You had no idea what the fuck you six were going to do.

  It didn't take long to find Malia. She was in the middle of the gym- where the band practiced since Whitechapel didn't have a band room- with candles spread into the five points of a pentagram on the floor with one candle in the middle. Hair and string were tangled into piles and she was sitting with a sewing needle weaving from one hand the other. You knew the making of a voodoo doll when you saw one, and that was definitely it.

  "What are we waiting for? Get her." Erica bared her human teeth at the outline if Malia. She surged forward with the switchblade glinting in the low-light of the gymnasium. Malia was humming something low, it was familiar, and continuing to sew the hair and string together.

  Ethan and Rory started moving towards her too, but you grabbed their arms. You could feel something electric tangled with the dust and dirt in the air. She was working magic, but it had nothing to do with the doll.

  "Erica, wait!" Benny called out. Erica stopped and threw an incredulous look over her shoulder. Malia never moved at the sound of Benny's voice. The song- spell- never stopped. Benny raised the nerf gun and shot Malia in the back. She didn't cry out, but only crumbled into a pile of black smoke. The lights coming from the windows blacked out and the flames on the candles burned brighter.

  Malia's laughter began to ring throughout the empty space. You pulled the two boys behind you and started walking forward.

 "You cursed us? Why?" You asked. The laughter stopped and a whooshing sound came from in front of you. The gym lights were turned back on and Malia was standing in front of you.

  "I'm sick of the vampires in Whitechapel. I'm sick of the monsters coming here because the humans are Meals-On-Wheels for any hungry creature cruising through town." Malia spat the words at you. You took a step back when you saw her face. Her skin was pale and her eyes were bright red. She snarled at you, showing her rotting teeth and forked tongue.

  "You're possessed." You whispered the words and she screamed in your face. She was possessed by her own Dark Magic. It was a common occurrence when witches went dark- some of them could handle it, but some of their souls just weren't made for it. Apparently, Malia's wasn't.

  "I am empowered! I am free of the veil that hid my eyes." She turned her gaze towards Sarah. "Your kind is a plague to humanity. The curse that the gods put on you should have wiped you out- not make you immortal. I intend to fix that."

  "In case you haven't noticed since you lost your veil-" Ethan waved his hands in front of his face, "But not all of us are vampires. Did you just pull names out of a pointy hat?"

  "You six are meddling imbecile who make a habit of getting rid of people with plans. I decided to wipe you all out before you got the chance to interfere with me." She scoffed and fluttered the arm of the cloak she was wearing and disappeared. It was like a shitty magic trick with actual magic.

  "Then you're too late. Cause we're here and we aren't leaving without a fight." Sarah raised her crow-bar and started forward. Malia cackled again and you were reminded of Jafar from Alladin.

  "You and what army?" With that, your weapons were yanked from your hands and shot to the ceiling. They hit with a very heavy clang and stuck there. You rolled your eyes.

  "That's my trick." You pouted and started to shuffle forward. In the blink of an eye- Malia was in front of Sarah and grabbing her throat. Sarah grabbed her hand and ripped it off her throat. Sarah kicked Malia in the middle of the chest and sent her soaring across the gym and against the wall on the other side.

 "Sarah!" Ethan rushed forward and grabbed Sarah, who was folding like a lawn-chair and collapsing to the ground. The veins in her face that had disappeared came back and throbbed like a heartbeat. You watched Malia stand up from the opposite side of the gym. Her face had the same veins as Sarah. She began to walk forward and stumbled. Your brain tried to grasp for something to do, but whatever idea had come to you vanished.

  Malia caught herself and the black of the veins absorbed and she stood up straight. She walked towards Sarah and when she got there, Sarah was kicked back into the wall with the same amount of force Malia had been sent flying with. Srah hit the wall and slid to the ground, groaning.

  Erica cursed and grabbed the witch by her hair. She yanked her backward and sent her to the ground. Erica stood above her and flashed her fangs. When she went to tear Malia's throat out, a blast of magic sent her in the same direction as Sarah.

  Malia stood and flashed her rotting teeth at Rory, who whimpered and surged forward. Rory threw a punch, but it didn't come close to landing and Malia caught his hand. She crunched the bones in his hand and he began to gasp for breath. Rory trying to get away, but she sent him to the ground. You saw movement out of the corner of your eye and Ethan was beside of her, bringing a book down against her head with surprising force.

 Malia screamed out in shock and dropped Rory's hand. Off to the side, Sarah and Erica were getting to their feet. You looked around for something to grab, but the only thing there was the bleachers and you certainly weren't going to be able to pick those up.

  "Ethan!"

  You turned back to the scene unfolding before you, just in time to see Malia's marble colored hand clasp the side of Ethan's face. Your eyes widened and you surged forward, but Malia lifted her free hand and sent you and the others backward. Ethan gasped hollowly before his body went ramrod straight. His eyes fogged over and black blood began to ooze from his nose.

  Benny screamed and tried to run forward, but was thrown against the wall once more. You watched the black blood vessels appear in their faces. Ethan was starting to slouch, but so was Malia. You saw Rory speed towards the two and tackle Malia to the floor. Benny went to grab Ethan, but you stopped him. The idea from earlier had resurfaced and you had a plan.

  "I know how to stop her. She's sharing our energy for a second before she takes it. That's why she keeps stumbling before she gets stronger. I think she messed up the spell when she was performing it. She intertwined our life forces and hers too closely. She gets weak before she gets strong!" You exclaimed. Sarah was beside you now, Ethan's unconscious body hidden behind hers.

  "Then what do we do?" Sarah asked. She tucked Ethan against the wall and crouch-walked closer.

  "She's like Rogue from X-Men! Whatever we throw at her, she can throw back just as hard. So how about we give her something she can't use against us?" Benny motioned to you and him. Sarah furrowed her eyebrows at the lack of her in the plan. "When she gets extremely weak, her magic should fail for a second and the weapons should drop from the ceiling. That's when you need to kill her. She won't be able to defend herself."

  You and Benny shot off of the floor and started toward the middle of the gym. You spread your fingers out with your palms toward the floor. You felt the Earth underneath the concrete and started pulling the roots of weeds and flowers to you.

  Using your magic felt like you were being drained slowly. Like you were walking in the desert and the sun was slowly starting to fall, taking with it the heat and leaving you in the cold. You saw cracks begin to spiderweb across the shiny floor and greenery start to rise from the darkness. You smiled when you saw Malia try to walk toward you. She stumbled- hard- and almost didn't catch herself.

  Benny's hands were palm-up and releasing butterflies into the air. Their iridescent wings fluttered in the rays of sun coming from the small windows at the tops of the gym walls. It looked like a colony of monarchs bobbing around the room. He was getting pale, just like you were.

  "You fools! You're just hurting yourselves!" Malia screamed the words, but you could see the amount of effort it was for her to remain standing. After all, you were starting to feel it too. You watched the stems of flowers blossom into full and vibrant geraniums. You bit back a chuckle.

  "Geraniums, really? And here, I thought we were friends." You could hear the teasing tone in Benny's voice, which was a strange contrast to the usual stupid one. You felt butterflies in your stomach- had you accidentally eaten one?- and you fought back another flush. You hated Benny. That was the only possible explanation for feeling that way from his words. You scowled in confusion.

  "Even if we were, you're still an idiot." You stated. You balled your hands into fists and thought about making something else. You felt your stomach pulling like something had been hooked behind your bellybutton and was reeling you in. You closed your eyes and concentrated.

  The wind started to whip around you, causing your hair to hit smack you in the face. You groaned, feeling your legs begin to wobble with the effort of keeping you standing. Your head was throbbing and you felt something trickling from your nose.

  You felt your feet leave the ground and the air hold you gently, like a mother cradling her child. You were levitating, which was something you had been working on for a few days now. You felt yourself getting cold and your lungs start to clench up. You tried to focus on the magic flowing through your veins, but the feeling was starting to get so weak. You cracked your eyes open.

  The first thing you noticed was the black veins traveling down your arms and into your hands. It looked like ink had replaced your blood. The blood running from your nose had landed on your t-shirt and you made a look of disgust. It looked like sludge.

  "I don't- I don't think I've got much more in me!" Benny yelled over the sound of the wind. He was on one knee, his arms outstretched and white light emitting from the tips of his fingers. There was snow falling gently around him, coating the gym floor in a thin powder. You looked at the ceiling. The baseball bats, switchblade, Batarang, and crowbar were still secured to the top of the gym. You could see one of the baseball bats wiggling with the wind. She was giving out and you needed to end this now.

  Malia was screaming. Her face was one, big, shitty, art project made by that quiet emo kid every school had. It was a mess of toxic blood, which looked like spiderwebs on her face, and marble pale skin. You felt a scream rising to your own lips, but it was because you felt like your arms were being ripped off. There was no way you were going to be able to keep this up. Another couple seconds and you thought you might die.

  The gym lights shattered overhead, sending shards of glass raining down with Benny's snow. The windows to the outside were drenched in the darkness crawling from Malia's presence. She was powerful, but you and Benny were taking a toll on her through the connection of the curse. She screamed again.

  "Y/n! Take my hand! Take my hand!" Benny sounded hoarse and weak, but his voice still managed to reach your ears. You watched him stand on his feet, a swaying mess, and he let his hand reach toward yours. You slipped your hand into his and felt his power. It was weak, but it was still there. You pushed your magic into his body and you could feel him doing the same with his. You were sharing the little energy you two had left.

  "'Darkness cannot drive out darkness. Only light can do that.'" Benny mumbled the words out and you felt the connection stir to life. Where had you heard that before? He was quoting something, you just couldn't think of what it was.

  Sunlight blossomed between your clasped palms. You couldn't think of anything to conjure up, so you focused on the beam of light connecting you to Benny. It faltered for a second and grew brighter. The light expanded, pushing outward and enveloping the two of you. You could see his face now.

  His veins weren't just carrying the black blood, he had it pooled in his cheeks, like sections of his face was rotting off. His cheeks were sunken in and his eyes had deep, dark, circles surrounding them. The pretty blue of his eyes was almost white now and they were bloodshot. Blood was dripping from his nose and ears. You knew you looked the same.

  Martin Luther King Jr. That was his quote that Benny had referenced.

  You watched as Benny's feet lifted off of the floor and he began to hover beside you. The light was pushing against the outer layer of Malia's darkness. You watched as the light stopped moving. It was like two magnets were pushing against one another. You watched as the loose baseball bat on the ceiling fell to the floor. The others were wiggling too now and you knew what you needed to do.

  "'Hate cannot drive out hate. Only love can do that.'" You finished the quote and turned your face towards Benny's. He was very close to you already, almost relying on you to keep him steady while the two of you levitated three feet off of the ground.

  You quickly pressed your lips against his. You felt his hand clutch down on yours and his mouth press back. The light between your hands became heat and you felt a surge of energy blast from your body. It knocked you and Benny out of the air and the weapons magically glued to the ceiling were sent crashing to the floor.

  "Now!" Rory shouted to Sarah. You wondered when he had been informed about the plan, but your attention was stolen away when the switchblade was swiped off the ground and plunged into Malia's chest. You watched her form flicker before she exploded, sending black goo splattering on the walls and floor.

  Everything was still for a second, but then your energy and powers came snapping back into you, like the end of a rubber band being released against a target. Your lungs gasped for a good intake of oxygen and a cloud of fatigue was seemingly lifted from your body.

  You watched the correct coloring return to your skin. You wiped the gross goo off your upper lip. The others cheered loudly. You heard Sarah make a quirky catchphrase that summed up the battle, but you couldn't hear it too well. You were exhausted. Curse or not, that amount of magic was draining.

  "So, uh, Y/n?" Benny spoke next to you. Your eyes snapped open- when had they closed- and you looked at him. A thin sheen of sweat was at the top of his brow, but his pupils were blown wide. The smell of magic- Benny's smell- was strong and you just wanted to melt into him. So much for getting rid of that crush, huh?

  "Yeah?"

  Benny ran a hand over the back of his neck while he avoided eye contact with you. You felt yourself shrinking slightly. He nibbled his bottom lip before he dropped his arm and gazed into your eyes. "There's this new movie out at the cinema and I was wondering if you would like to go with me? To watch it."

  "Like a date?" Your mouth quirked up at the side. It was his turn to blush and he nodded. You smiled and he returned it.

  "Exactly like that." You felt a burst of warmth in your palm and realized you had never let go of his hand. You weren't planning on it now.