#(advisable to do this first before drawing anything else...)

[aquanutart]

an upside-down truth / a fallen star

[m1ckeyb3rry]

── THE GLASS PRINCESS // ELEVEN

Series Synopsis: You wake up in a strange room with no memories, broken glass at your bedside, and a prince named Zuko as your only chance at figuring out who you really are.

Chapter Synopsis: Your evening with Lee is cut short by the arrival of a strange boy with hooked swords. Instead, you go to the fountain and reveal your greatest secret to the Blue Spirit.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Zuko x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 5.0k

Content Warnings: complicated relationships (strangers to friends to lovers to enemies to strangers to lovers to enemies to lovers), amnesia, alternate universe, lots of secrets and lying and mystery

A/N: i hope you guys don’t think i’m insane for how often i’m updating

Something amazing had just happened to you, and there was no one you wanted to tell more than Kuei. Your brother, who you loved more than anything. You could envision his pride already, the way his face would glow when he saw it, the way he’d pick you up and spin you around and tell you how happy he was.

It was as you ran down the carpeted hallway towards his chambers that you heard hushed voices coming from the room where your brother’s council of advisors met. He was still young, of course, a child as you were, and so the daily goings-on of the kingdom were managed by these advisors, who were all specialists in their field and had advised your father before Kuei.

Always more interested than your brother in this type of affair, you rested your back against the wall by the door, holding your breath so that you did not alert the men to your presence. They were speaking quietly, but they had left the door ajar by mistake, and so it was not very difficult for you to listen in.

“That boy is no king,” the first said. “Do you think his father would let Long Feng walk over him like that?”

“He is still a child,” the second said. “We cannot expect much from him.”

“Even as a child, he has no interest in learning statecraft, nor the history of his kingdom. He’s far too busy playing with his sister and drawing pictures of bears in his lesson book to absorb anything of use. I fear his reign will lead to the end of the kingdom as we know it,” the first argued. At this, the second sighed.

“You’re right about that much, to be sure. He does not have the power to back up the few proclamations he makes. What kind of general obeys a king like that?” the second said.

You swallowed, for these were words you knew to be treasonous. They were speaking ill of your brother, of the King Kuei, and they ought to lose their stations for it. There was nothing you could do, though; even if Kuei would believe you, who else would? Who would discharge two premier advisors on the words of a little girl?

“If only he were born an Earthbender,” the first said. “Then he could be trained. Then there would be a way that he could eventually gain the respect of the rest of the council.”

“There hasn’t been an Earth King who could Earthbend in many decades now,” the second said. “At this point, I’d even take a queen, if she could just do that much.”

“What do you mean by that?” the first said. The second huffed.

“You know. That sister of his,” he said. “If she shows some promise…if she can lift even a pebble…then we will do what we must in order for the kingdom to have a strong ruler.”

“You’d kill the king in favor of a queen?” the first said.

“If she can Earthbend, then I’ll kill anyone for her to rule,” the second said bluntly. “It’s about time that the world was reminded of why Shan’s line is so feared.”

“You are more daring than I thought, old friend!” the first said. “Let’s vow to keep an eye on the young princess. The moment she gives us a hint that she can Earthbend, we will strike.”

“And if she doesn’t?” the second said.

“Then we’ve lost nothing but a few spare moments spent caring for our dear king’s heir,” the first said. “It’ll only make us look better in the eyes of the royals. We really cannot lose in this scenario.”

“You’re right,” the second said. 

You didn’t stay to hear the rest of it. Staring at your palms in horror, those very palms which might lead to your brother’s death, you ran back to your room as fast as you could, pressing your hands over your ears as you chanted the same thing to yourself under your breath, over and over like it was a mantra.

“I am not an Earthbender. I am not an Earthbender. I am not an Earthbender.”

“You know, I had a lot of fun with you,” you said, pulling on the end of Lee’s sleeve to get his attention. “Lee, I really am being serious. I enjoyed it.”

The two of you had spent the rest of the afternoon doing random things around Ba Sing Se. You had bought lunch for you both, and Lee had argued with the vendor until he agreed to give you the food for half-price, after which you had sat by the fountain and eaten together. It was surprisingly nice, even though neither of you had spoken much. Oddly, you didn’t mind silence with him. It was alright. It was nice, even.

“Yeah, whatever,” Lee said. “I guess you could say I had fun, too.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to admit that you like spending time with me,” you said.

“It might,” he said.

“Oh, save it. At the minimum, won’t you say that it was better than working the afternoon shift?” you said.

“That much is true,” he allowed. “But it’s back to work for me now. It’s just about time for the evening round to start.”

“For shame,” you said. “Let this not be the last time we do something like this together.”

“Okay,” he said gamely. You were actually taken aback, not expecting him to agree so readily. Lee was one of those particularly contrary people, the type to refuse on principle, even if he harbored no real misgivings, so for him to just say yes was out of character. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Did you like your lunch that much?” you said.

“Huh?” he said.

“It’s just that I wasn’t expecting you to acquiesce so quickly. Normally, you would’ve pretended to deliberate over it for at least a minute or two,” you said.

“You told me a good story,” he said. “Do you blame me for wanting to hear more?”

“Ah, so I’m your new theology lecturer,” you said. “You should’ve said so from the start.”

“Not exactly,” he said, staring at his feet as he walked. “You’re something else.”

“Something else! And may I be privy to what that might be?” you said.

“No,” he said. “It’s for me to know, not you!”

By his tone alone, you could understand what that something else could represent, but you did not force him to explain further. He always gave you these considerations, never made you talk more than you offered, never demanded you elaborate, so you did the same for him, only humming a song your brother used to sing to you as you entered the tea house.

“This is where we must part, then,” you said when you and he reached the counter. Lee pulled his apron down from its hook and tied it back on miserably, already dimming, though you had not noticed until it was vanished that he had been close to happiness the entire time the two of you had been together.

“Lee, Y/N! You’re back!” Mushi said as he exited the kitchen. “How was it?”

You arched a brow at Lee, jerking your head towards Mushi, indicating that he had to respond in his own words. It was not just because it was polite; you wanted to hear it, too. What would he tell his uncle about the outing? What had he thought of it?

He finished tying the apron behind his back in a neat bow and rolled his sleeves up again, revealing his sinewy forearms. It was something you had always taken note of: he was far more well-built than you would’ve expected of an ordinary citizen. It was closer to the lithe musculature of the higher-ranked soldiers, but you had never come up with a satisfactory explanation for why he was like that.

“We had a good time,” he said shortly. “Am I serving or washing this time?”

“That is great to hear,” Mushi said. “I told you you would! And I think they want you serving tonight.”

He said something under his breath that you could not quite catch, but then he nodded, ducking beneath the counter to produce a tray. And though it meant that you would be late to the lighting of the fountain lamps, where you might meet the Blue Spirit, you found yourself lingering, trying to squeeze out every bit of time you could spend with Lee until you had to go for good.

You weren’t sure why you wanted to. It was a realization you were on the brink of arriving at, but you hadn’t quite reached yet. It just remained that that was how it was, that you preferred arguing with him to speaking fondly with anyone else, that you’d rather sit in silence with him than have an avid discussion with another person.

“Hey,” Lee said, pausing before you with the empty tray in his hands. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.”

“What a turn of events,” you said. “The very boy who tried to ban me from the shop is now inviting me back.”

“And the very girl who was once illiterate is now telling stories of her own,” he said with a wry half-grin. “Things change.”

The door slammed open, almost bursting off of its hinges, and you all but leapt out of your skin as a boy brandished a pair of hooked swords at you and Lee, a piece of grass sticking out of his mouth, incongruous with the rest of his regalia.

“That’s enough!” he shouted. “I’ve had enough of all of you! Since no one believes me, I’ll prove it myself!”

“What are you talking about?” one of the low-level militia members who frequented the shop said. “You have about ten seconds to drop those swords, boy.”

“That boy and the old man are Firebenders!” the boy shouted. “Judging by the girl’s closeness to them, she’s in on it, too! I bet she’s a Firebender as well!”

You thought it was ironic that he was accusing his own kingdom’s princess of being from another nation, but considering no one knew who you were, you could not share the humor you derived from the ridiculous declaration. Glancing at Lee, you saw that his mouth had set into a firm line.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about! You must be confused,” Mushi said.

“I saw you warming tea!” the boy said. Almost collectively, everyone in the shop rolled their eyes.

“Uh, yeah,” you said, speaking for the entire crowd when you did so. “He’s a tea-maker. They do tend to do that.”

“That’s not the point! How about this?” he said, jabbing his swords at the poor, defenseless Mushi, who backed away in concern. “I’ll just make you Firebend! If you do it in front of everyone, then there’s no way it can be denied any longer!”

As the boy rushed towards you, Mushi, and Lee, the militia man stood in your defense. Before he could do anything, though, Lee was taking the swords of the man’s back and pointing them at the boy.

“If it’s a show you want, then it’s a show you’ll get,” he said. You gasped as the two of them began to battle. Mushi took you by the arm, pulling you out of the way as Lee and the boy leapt atop the tables, slashing at one another with blows that were not meant to solely maim.

“What is happening?” you said as the clash made its way outside. “Since when can Lee use broadswords?”

“He’s a boy of many talents!” Mushi said as you followed the crowd outside. You hid behind him, peeping over his shoulder and clutching the back of his shirt when Lee sacrificed one of his swords so that the other boy would lose one of his.

“Will he be alright?” you said. You couldn’t understand the extent of your nerves, only that you were nervous. You didn’t want Lee to die, of course, but that was a natural reaction which any person might have. What was strange was that every time the boy’s hook whistled near Lee’s face, every time its wicked tip nearly caught on Lee’s arm, your heart leapt into your throat.

“He’s skilled, but this poor boy is confused. Someone, please help him!” Mushi said. “Oh, thank goodness.”

You weren’t sure why he was so relieved, but then you saw those familiar uniforms and squeaked before crouching behind Mushi. It was two Dai Li agents, come to take the other boy away — two Dai Li agents who, if they had turned their heads even a moment earlier, would’ve seen you and known that you had escaped the palace right under Long Feng’s nose.

“Are they gone?” you said as the crowd began to disperse. “Is everyone okay?”

“Yes, it’s all clear,” Mushi said. You looked around his legs, but he seemed to be telling the truth, so, straightening, you brushed yourself off.

“Thank Quynh,” you said with a shudder. “That was so frightening. Lee, are you fine?”

“It was nothing,” Lee said, wiping the sweat from his brow as he handed the militia man his swords back. His expression was still dark as he took off his apron and tossed it at his uncle. “I’m taking the rest of the day off, uncle.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you said, reaching out and placing your hand on his shoulder to stop him before he could stalk back into the tea shop. He whirled around, and you preemptively cringed back, already feeling sorry for asking, but it was too late.

“I said I’m fine!” he said. Upon noticing how you had already shrank away, though, his eyes widened. “Just…it’s fine. You should go, Y/N.”

“Right,” you said. “I’ll, um, see you around.”

He nodded, and then, before Mushi could convince you otherwise, before anyone could tell you to stop, you were running towards the fountain, the only place where you might find some solace, even if said solace had not come in so long.

Finding that familiar bench, you collapsed atop it, the stress of everything compounding until you were close to tears. What if Lee had really been injured? What if the Dai Li had not come in time and the boy had bested him? What if he ended up in the same state as some of the people you had seen in the Lower Ring? If he lost his arm or his leg, if another scar was sliced into his face, then what?

You had not been crying for very long when there were those same footsteps in front of you, the soft, light ones that you had all but memorized from how frequently you imagined them. Though you did not take your hands away from your face, you opened your fingers, peering through watery eyes at the figure squatting before you.

He tapped your wrists, and you let him pull your hands down, even though you were more than a little embarrassed to be found in such a state by the Blue Spirit, who always seemed so collected. Using your neckline to blot away your tears, you ignored your rational mind’s warning and threw your arms around his shoulders, resting your face against the crook of his neck.

“Things are so terrible, Blue Spirit,” you said, holding onto him as if he were an anchor. He was hesitant in reciprocating, but eventually, his own arms settled around your waist, keeping you in place if not pulling you closer. “My — my friend, have I told you about him? My friend, his name is Lee…I’d never say it to his face, but he’s someone I really admire. He’s so certain of himself and his opinions, and he’s not like Kuei or the servants at all — he’s really very witty, he can actually keep up with me and argue his own points when we speak instead of constantly bowing to my whims or dismissing them in turn! He’s my friend, my only friend, except you, but today he was attacked. Attacked! In my own city, he was attacked!”

The Blue Spirit patted you on the back. It was a little too rough to really be considered comforting, but you understand the intention and found that the effect was not lessened despite his ineptitude.

“I was so worried he might’ve been hurt,” you said. “What would have I done then? Who would I have if not him? You might not believe it, or maybe you might find it depressing, but I’ve really grown attached to him in the short time we’ve known one another. Besides you, he’s the only person who’s treated me normally, without reverence. I’m not her royal highness the princess when I’m with him. I’m just the frustrating Y/N who likes books and distracts him from his work.”

The Blue Spirit pulled away and shook his head at you. You laughed, though it was a thin, brittle sound.

“You don’t know the half of it,” you said. “It’s a wonder he gets anything done at all when I’m there. A testament to his character, maybe. Anyways, I think I’ve upset him.”

The Blue Spirit shook his head once more, but you could only stroke the cheek of his cool mask.

“Thank you for that, but I really have. It’s alright; I will apologize to him tomorrow. I was in the wrong for bothering him when he had been in such peril only seconds previously,” you said. “I’m sorry to you, as well, for burdening you with my troubles. It’s only that I hadn’t realized the truth of Ba Sing Se until now. I was told that the city was more dangerous than I expected before I came here, but until I experienced it myself, I didn’t quite appreciate what it entailed.”

The Blue Spirit nodded, using his gloved hand to swipe away the tear tracks which had dried on your face. You caught his hand and squeezed it.

“I want to show you something,” you said. “It’s a secret that I haven’t told anyone else in all my years of living, but since you’ve saved me twice already, I think that it’s alright if you know.”

He cocked his head as you trotted over to the fountain, fishing around in the water, pulling out one of the little glass lanterns that floated along the surface in the night, when the turtleducks had gone away to wherever they slept. Blowing out the candle, you smashed it against the ground, careful not to cut yourself on the twinkling shards.

“You see, the reason why I’ve been kept in the palace is because I’m a nonbender like my brother, like my father, like most of my family, in fact. It’s because I’m defenseless — or at least, because I’m thought to be,” you said. “But it’s not entirely like that. Er, the second thing is true, sadly. I am defenseless, or nearly so, but as for the rest of it…”

Gathering the pieces of glass in your palm, you concentrated on them, or, specifically, the tiny particles of earth which they were made of. It was not a feat of strength but of precision, and though you held no claim to the former, the latter was something you could proudly call yours.

Shielded by the Blue Spirit’s body on one side and the fountain on the other, the jagged edges of the glass smoothed and curled on your palm, melding together until they formed the shape you wanted them to: a sparkling lily, which you presented to the man.

“That’s the extent of it, I’m afraid,” you said as he held it up to the firelight. “Glass flowers and other such sculptures. I’m not particularly strong, you see, or if I am, then I’ve never been able to cultivate that strength. Bending exercises, repeated forms…I could not practice things like that for fear of what would become of Kuei if I did.”

He was obviously confused; you did not blame him. It was a confusing statement without the context behind it, so, staring at the rushing waters of the fountain, you began to explain.

“I was fairly young when I discovered that I could Earthbend,” you said. “I ran to tell my brother, but on the way there, I overheard a pair of his advisors saying that if I turned out to be an Earthbender, they’d kill my brother so I could take the throne. That was something I could not allow — he is my brother, you know. My only family. I could not let him die, too, so I swore off bending forever.

“I was not entirely successful. Bending is something that those of us who have it must perform frequently in order to be fulfilled, so my compromise was making things like that flower. Little artworks, which were innocuous enough that no one was ever suspicious as to their true origin. I didn’t have a traditional teacher, but Quynh — yes, the bear spirit, the patron of the Earth Kingdom, the great mother, that Quynh. I’m the princess, aren’t I? It only makes sense that she guided me. Anyways, she taught me that, if I could not train my power, then I had to refine my senses, so that I was sufficiently challenged without making my prowess obvious.

“At first, I only bent crystals, which are harder than pure earth but easier than glass to work with. Eventually, though, I grew bored of making small pieces of jewelry for Quynh, no matter how lovely she looked draped in diamonds and rubies. After that, I graduated to glass, and that’s what I do when I’m bored of reading and studying — I practice.

“I suppose you could call me the world’s only Glassbender,” you finished. “Not the first, but the only remaining, as Quynh was the only remaining bear. It’s not a very practical element, but it’s not like I’ll ever need to use it for anything but aesthetics, so for my own purposes, it’s suitable.”

The Blue Spirit admired the glass lily, and you laughed as he turned it over in his hands — a real laugh this time, not a despairing one. He was like a child, filled with such delight at the simple toy you had fashioned. For a while, he played with it, tracing each edge and crevice with his slender fingers, caressing each individual petal, and then finally, reluctantly, he offered it back to you.

“No, it’s a gift,” you said. “You can keep it. It’s not difficult for me to make more, and no matter how pretty it is, it’s really only glass. It’s not in rare supply by any means.”

He did not think twice, carefully tucking the flower away in the folds of his clothing. You smiled at him before raising your finger to your lips.

“It’s a secret, remember? No one can know I’m an Earthbender. No one can realize the truth, lest they depose Kuei and install me in his place,” you said.

The Blue Spirit offered you his hand, and for a moment you stared at it unsurely. It was a strange form of agreement, but then you understood — it was not his hand he was offering but his pinky finger. You interlocked your own with it, so that the deal was made, the secret sworn, and then you let go.

“Imagine how the civilians would laugh,” you said, sitting on the marble edge of the fountain and dipping your fingers in the water. “If they knew the truth. That name they call me is more apt than they realize, isn’t it? The Glass Princess. I really am one.”

He sat beside you, though he did not dip his own hand into the water. He only observed you, and though it might’ve been intense, uncomfortable, awkward, were it anyone else, it felt reasonable with him. Like that was what he was meant to be doing.

“Can I see your hand?” you said. He gave it to you readily, and you cradled it in yours, arranging it so that the palm was facing upwards, before pausing. “Is it alright if I take the glove off?”

You waited. For a moment, the night was utterly still as he thought about the request, and in that time, you came to notice things about the world which you had thus far been blind to.

The precise shade of his mask, which was a deep blue like sapphire-paint. It was something that you could never erase from your mind, the visage of your savior, the color which had stood between you and your death — but it was also the color that had unmasked the truth of your city to you. If it were not for the Blue Spirit, wouldn’t you still live in that same ignorance? You could not yet say you understood anything, but now you knew that there was something there which needed to be understood in the first place. Before, you were not even aware of that much.

The exact scent clinging to him, which was the delicate fragrance of the honey that some used as sweetener in place of sugar. It was not overwhelming nor heady; it was a soft, warm aroma, as gentle and inviting as candlelight.

The shushing rhythm of the fountain in the background, which was melodic in its sameness. It was another one of those sounds, the type that easily faded away when it was not on your mind but which was omnipotent when you paid attention. The steady flow of the water lulled you into another state — not sleep, because you could not sleep when you were so close to the Blue Spirit, but the opposite, a heightened awareness of both yourself and of him.

That was why time passed both agonizingly slowly and yet dizzyingly quickly, up until the moment that he nodded in agreement and whatever trance you had been in was broken.

Anticipation rushed through you as you took your free hand, the one not supporting his, and tugged on the end of the glove. It came off with a swift motion, and for the first time, there was the sensation of your skin touching his own.

“They say you can tell someone’s future by these marks,” you said, dancing your fingers along the creases of his palm. “It’s an ancient art. Very esoteric. I never learned much about it, but now, I wish I had.”

You wished you could read his future, untangle those winding ways into something comprehensible. The roadmap of the Blue Spirit’s life. You wished you could read it, could know if that destiny was one that included you in its course, but you did not say anything along those lines. You didn’t know what that desire meant yourself, and you didn’t want to frighten him, either, in case it sounded like something it was not.

Though his hands were surprisingly soft, there were calluses formed in the places where he gripped his swords. They were incredibly warm, too, though it was in a pacifying way, not with the sickly sense of fever. They were the hands of a warrior, but also the hands of vanity, and it relieved you to see that even the perfect, infallible Blue Spirit was prone to this fault.

“If only I were more like you,” you said. “Ba Sing Se is in such a state of disrepair, and I can do nothing but offer coins to those I come across, in the hopes that I might alleviate their personal struggles. That’s not hardly enough, though. For every one person I can help, tens of others do not get the same chance. Tens of others continue to suffer from a problem that I cannot identify. What princess does not even know why her subjects are in such pain? What princess can do so little about it?”

The love for your kingdom or the love for your brother? If you were the queen, would things be any different? Would Ba Sing Se be in a better position, or would it all be the same? Well, it was a moot point now. You were not an Earthbender in any way that mattered. The advisors had longed to instate you so that you could remind the world of the power of Shan’s line, but as it was, you would only make a mockery of your famed ancestor. The man who had established the entire Earth Kingdom, left with a great-to-the-nth-degree granddaughter who could only bend glass. That was his lineage. That was his legacy.

“My forefathers must be so ashamed of me,” you said. “What have I ever done with my life? What is there that I can still do? I am the Glass Princess, and that’s all I will be remembered as. King Kuei’s sister who would’ve watched Ba Sing Se fall if it meant she could keep her pretty jewels and fancy dresses.”

Taking another lantern, removing its candle, you twisted the glass into a miniature replica of the Earth Palace. It was meticulous and perfect; such was the training Quynh had given you, after all. Form over function. Accuracy over mass. Mental fortitude over physical fortification.

“That’s where I am,” you said, tapping the minuscule window. “All of the time, unless I am with you or in the tea shop. That’s the extent of my world.”

Two finger lengths long. That was your existence in summary. You put the Blue Spirit’s glove back on and gave him the model of the palace.

“In case you ever visit,” you said. “So you don’t get lost. Come see me if you do, won’t you?”

He didn’t offer you his pinky this time, but you figured that when he nodded his head in acceptance, he still meant it as a promise.

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[rukkiya]

losing control

(welt yang x reader)

tw: reader is uncomfortable with physical touch

“Welt and you will be going down for this mission. Please be careful, I advise you to stay close with him at all times y/n. The people you’ll be dealing with are anything but good.”

Himeko’s voice rings in your ears.

The crowd was only getting worse, the city you were at wasn’t like ones you were used to. Sure cities were busy and all but you were getting swept away by the crowd.

“Y/n! Grab me!” Welts voice comes out strained, people pushing you and him further apart.

The look on your face was making him desperate to get out of there. He knows you have a problem with having people too close let alone touching you, you looked utterly scared.

He doesn’t dare try and grab you; he doesn't want to scare you anymore than you already are hence why he’s telling you to grab onto him.

You reach your hand out to reach for his forearm only to feel someone else grab your arm, sweeping you further away from welt.

“Hey let them go!” Welt pushes forward seeing you squirm uncomfortably.

He would grab you, would bring you close to him but he knows just how uncomfortable you are with any sort of physical touch.

He first noticed it when you joined the Astral Express.

He picked up on your facial expressions and body language when you’d squirm away from the slighted touch. When others would accidentally bump into you even sometimes when March would hug you, though you tried your best to not show it, he noticed it.

You felt bad, didn’t want others to think you were uncomfortable around them exactly. It’s just you’ve never experienced it much and before you knew it when it would happen you found yourself wanting to get away from it.

It made you feel vulnerable, it made you scared for so many reasons.

Doesn’t help that the reason why you were in this mess in the first place was because you had already miraculously gotten on the bad guys side and now they were tailing you.

Welt and you were asking around about the city and it’s recent troubles with the gangs that run certain parts. Little did you know someone from one of the notorious gangs just happened to be listening in.

“Excuse me ma’am sorry to bother, I just wanted to ask you about your troubles with the city lately. Do you think you can tell me anything revolving around certain people?” You politely ask the old lady behind the counter who was serving coffee.

“My dear, please don’t speak so loudly of such people, you never know where they are I wouldn’t want you to get in-“

“Looks like todays your lucky day kid! I just so happen to be involved with the people you speak of. Now, what business do you outsiders have with us huh?” an older man clears his throat leaning next to you, making you lean back stepping off the stool you sat on. Welt’s shoulders come into view to block the man from getting any closer.

“We are here to ask questions, nothing more, please step back.” Welt clears his throat, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

“Wasn’t talking to you four eyes. You two are here to cause trouble clearly, anyone who asks about us has bad intentions your little friend there knows just what they’re asking.” The man laughs, making Welt sigh, talking to people like this was like talking to a wall.

“They mean no harm, please don’t start a ruckus in my diner.” The old woman behind the counter sighs, pushing a cup of coffee your way, a look of worry on her face as she looks over to you.

“Go out the back if anything happens.” She mouths and you nod your head, an uneasy feeling setting in your chest.

“Hey,” the older man clicks his tongue, hand reaching over for you. “I’m talking to you kid, don’t you know how to respect-“

In an instant the man’s hand and head were pinned to the table below you, Welt standing over him pinning him down.

The second the man’s head slammed the table around fifteen other men shot up from their seats, weapons drawing pointing at both Welt and you.

“Y/n, get the older woman and take her somewhere safe in the back, have her take you outside, I’ll be there right now.” Welt whispers, making you immediately shake your head no.

“I can’t leave-“

“Y/n you’ll be fine, I promise I’ll go out there for you right now.” Welt’s voice comes out a bit calmer this time, giving you a small nod.

You slowly nod back, placing both palms onto the counter.

“Now!” Welts voice urges you, making you push yourself up and jump over the counter, grab the old lady’s hand and run to the back.

“He’ll be fine.” You tell yourself over and over.

The noises coming from the dining hall were anything but pleasant making you all the more scared.

“Ma’am I’m sorry about all this. I’m taking you away from the fight so you won’t get hurt but I need you to tell me where the back door is at.” You make your way down the narrow hall with her behind.

“Leave me here around the corner dear, I’ll be fine, this is my dinner after all.” She slows down and you turn back to her.

“The door that leads to the outside is all the way down. Make one right and a left. It should lead you outside but beware of the crowded streets, it will however make it earlier for you both to escape. Now go!” She explains, pointing down the hall.

“I can’t leave you here, what if they-“

“I need to stay, they won’t hurt me, trust me. Besides I need to tell that boyfriend of yours where the back door is too!” She turns, hearing the hallway door open.

You open your mouth to say something but she only gently moves your forward to the back.

You quickly thank her once again and make your way down. The door to the outside soon came into view and your legs full on sprinted only coming to a halt when your arms reached out to push it open. You weren’t leaving without Welt.

However Welt was right behind you, the old woman had told him which back door to head out and managed to lose the guy who was tailing him.

Loud footsteps were heard from the corner of the hall and you held your breath.

“Where’s welt?”

“Is he ok?”

“What if it’s not him?”

“What if he’s hurt?”

Your mind racing with so many questions all at once, only does it stop when you see the familiar head of brown hair and glasses come into your view.

“Over here!” You push the door open and step out, waiting for him to fully exit to shut the door and block it from the outside.

As soon as Welts leg left the door, the man from earlier had turned down the corner and was running straight towards you.

You push the door forward with all your weight but it didn’t close fully, the footsteps were now much closer.

You lean back and throw your body against it to push it more but nothing happened.

Welt leaned over your body leaning over the door and shoved it closed just as the older man was about to burst through it.

“Thank you, are you ok?” You ask out of breath.

“Yes I am, they didn’t get me, don't worry I’m not hurt.” He replies equally as out of breath as you, you step close to examine if he’s actually ok or not but stop when you hear something hit the door.

A loud bang comes from the door you've just closed making you both turn, only to see the hinges fly off.

Welt and you made no comment, the second the bolts flew off the door you knew you had to leave.

Your legs waste no time, running down the dark alley and into the crowd.

That’s how you both found yourself in this predicament.

The old woman wasn’t lying when she said the crowded streets would make them lose you, only they proved to be more than you thought, you were losing sight of Welt as people swept you farther and farther away.

“Y/n!” Welts tone calls out laced with worry, his voice sounds so close yet far from all the muffled voices overlapping

The people passing kept bumping into you making you all the more uneasy, being so close to others wasnt something you were used to. You need to get out, the people around you were making it even harder for Welt to spot you.

“Welt! Welt where are you?!” You pull your arm towards you, away from the random person and push your way through the crowd, seeing Welt reach out his hand again.

You felt as if you were slowly losing control. You couldn’t keep your balance, couldn’t move, you were being pushed, grabbed, shoved it was all too much. It was making your skin crawl, burn in an uncomfortable way.

“Grab me, I'll try getting you out of here, just grab my hand or arm wherever you can!” Welt calls out and you manage to get closer.

“What if they can’t reach me?

“Do I grab them?”

“No, I don't want to make them any more uncomfortable than they already are.” Welt argues with himself as to whether or not he should but youre so close, just mere inches away.

You stretch out your arm again, fingers just brushing against Welts before gunshots are heard.

If the crowd was bad before, now, there was truly no way of getting out now.

“No I can't- don't take them.” Welts eyes widen when you get swept back further, your face falls into one of complete horror and he feels his heart drop.

Frustrated tears were now building up.

You had no choice, you know he was trying to respect you by not grabbing you himself. Everyone on the astral express knows and respects your boundaries, but right now you didnt want to be here.

It was strange, though you dislike physical touch right now having Welt grab you or being closer to him sounded so comforting.

“WELT!” you shout and his eyes widen when he sees you crying.

“Grab me! I can't reach you so grab me! It’s ok if you do! I promise it is, you can grab onto me!” You shout, seeing him lunge forward not a second after you called out to him.

You were trying to stop your legs from moving back, staying still getting shoved, pushed, grabbed onto for leverage, you stood your ground.

Welt was much closer than before, squeezing himself though the crowd getting ready to grab you and make it out of here.

This time was the last he'd let this happen.

He wasn't going to stand this anymore. Seeing you get shoved and pushed when you were already this scared.

Another particularly hard shove makes you stumble and lose your footing, you feel yourself slip before you can steady yourself but you never hit the ground.

Welts hand wraps itself gently around your bicep and pulls you close. His other arm barricades you into him as he tries his best to prevent anyone else from bumping into you.

His taller frame didn’t get swept away as easily as you did so he managed to hold his ground. Though it was still tough to force his way out, after what felt like hours he had managed to make it out of the crowd with you.

The gunshots were still going off, the yelling and screaming making everything, the whole situation way down on you.

If you’d only kept your mouth shut, only listened and took your time this never would’ve happened.

Welts legs didn’t stop moving, he still had a firm hold on your arm as he kept you in front of him as he made his way back to where the astral express could pick you both up.

After what felt like ten minutes of walking, Welt stopped and looked around, finding a small deserted area a good place to stay for a bit.

He makes his way to the small bench by the wall with you near, his hand reaching for his phone but stops when he feels your shaking arm intensify a bit.

He looks down at you and notices just how harsh the crowd was on you. Your sleeves were missing from your shirt from being practically thrown around pulled and pushed.

“Hey, hey y/n are you hurt? Are you ok?” He asks, moving back so you can sit on the bench so he can see if you were bleeding anywhere. Feeling the corners of his mouth tug downward when you look up at him with misty eyes.

“I- I’m ok. I just didn’t think it- it would turn out this way.” You stutter, looking back down at your arms laid on your lap, feeling your lips start to tremble.

“Everyone was just so close, I couldn’t stand it.” You shiver a bit, the cool air and memories were making you squirm. “I couldn't reach you. I’m so- I’m sorry I made this whole mess happen. I didn't mean to worry you.” You suck in a deep breath, you didn’t want to cry over this. It wasn’t their fault you felt that way about touching it being close to others. Everyone, including Welt and you were in a panic.

“You don’t need to apologize to me y/n you did nothing wrong.” You feel his hand gently let your arm go, strangely you didn’t even feel it on you. You had forgotten he grabbed you until he let go.

“It’s understandable why you are shaken up and nothing is wrong with that ok? It’s understandable to be uncomfortable in these situations, especially if you don’t like it in the first place. You did nothing wrong, this was out of both your control and my own.” He assures you, voice much softer than earlier.

“Here, if you’d like you can put this on for now. Your sleeves are missing and it’s cold, I wouldn’t want you getting sick too after this.” He shrugs off his coat, sitting next to you on the bench while putting it over your shoulders, being careful as he did so. You’ve taken too much already today he knows you need time to recuperate.

Your fingers clutch the fabric over you, pulling it closer to your skin. The familiar comforting scent makes you calm down a bit more.

“Thank you for saving me, for grabbing hold of me and for being considerate even in a dire situation like that. You didn’t have to wait for me to give you the ok, you could’ve grabbed onto me before but the fact you did makes me feel safer than I do with anyone else Welt, I appreciate it.” You send him a wobbly smile, letting out a long breath, feeling like you can finally breathe now that you’re both safe.

He can only offer you a soft smile back and a nod of his head in return. The smile you gave him and the genuine appreciation in your tone made him feel warm even though his coat was off. Right now at this moment he couldn't be more relieved that you’re safe to see you smile though he knows it’s affecting you more than you’re letting on.

He feels his phone buzz and sees a message from Himeko.

“How’s everything down there?”

He clicks her contact and dials her number, deciding to call and explain what exactly happened.

“No no, I’m ok, so is y/n they’re right here-“

His voice cuts off when he feels the weight of your head lean over on his shoulder, you fell asleep.

“Is everything ok?” Himeko asks and Welt clears his throat, slowly adjusting his glasses as he does so as to not wake you.

“Yes, everything is fine. They’re sleeping right now. They had a long day, I think it’s best we give them some time off when we get back up.” Welt smiles as Himeko hums in agreement .

“Well of course after all today was hard for them from what you’ve told me. We’ll give them as much time as they need. Now, we’ll be there right now to get you both, sit tight.” Himeko tell’s Welt before handing up.

Welt gently leans back into the bench and looks back down at you leaning on his shoulder. Smiling to himself seeing you look at peace for the first time this whole day.

“Get rest, we’ll be home soon.” He whispers as you subconsciously wrap his coat tighter around your frame.

_______________

authors note: helloo loves!! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و I finally wrote for this handsome man AHHHH welt, blade and yuan jing all have my heart in starrail but something about welt makes me- O-o HDHDHDSH GO CRAZY LOL I’ve been wanting to write this so a while now, this is something I personally struggle with as well so I thought I’d be ok to write it out to help idk lol it’s been getting kinda bad lately so it’s just a way to help me somehow if that makes any sense? ended it on a lighter note bc I need to give y’all a break with the angst hehe but I hope you enjoy! please take care and stay safe! ^~^<3 (also this is not proofread ahh so apologies for any errors!!)

[theindescribable1]

The Blog Battles

UPDATE: THE BLOG BATTLES CAN NO LONGER BE JOINED, AFTER JANUARY 5TH YOU CANNOT JOIN ANYMORE! ALL PARTICIPANTS WILL BE CONTACTED

Tw: possible gore and some creepy aspects (distortion)

If you are sensitive to any of the above, maybe don't participate in the Blog Battles or view it!

It has begun. A battle between blogs. You can join, but you may not survive.

This is a game between blogs! You may not know of it, because it was created by me, Carol, B.V, The GGT, and The LA. A.k.a, my friends. This was just a game between us, but now its become a battlefield.

This battle begins every November 5th. It will end when all the participants have finished the battle with their chosen blog.

You were just enjoying a normal day on your blog, notifications went off a few times, you got hearts, comments, or nothing at all! All the usual... but then, your blog started to glitch, YOU started to glitch. Something bad happened to you...But what? You look around to see your blog is completely glitched, and then you yourself glitched into a monster! You are darker now, a glitched and evil version of yourself. We refer to this version of you as your ALTERNATE self. You now want to kill, and if you successfully defeat your opponent, you will win!

Rules:

You can't just say; "*kills the others and wins*" and win just like that, this is technically an art war. And we want it to be fun, ok?

Don't be a sore loser if someone kills you.

Don't be personally offended if someone kills you, and do not hate that person for it, this is a mere game.

Play fairly, no cheating.

Just have fun and be supportive! :)

SURVIVE.

Oh and also, you have to tag your opponent before you start battling, because they have to know! Or else how is it fair?

There can't be more than one blog battling each other at the same time.

If you tag someone and they comment; "Aready In A Battle" Don't fight them. Pick another blog.

The blogs you battle must be in the game.

...SURVIVE!

KILL!

How To Successfully Kill:

Let's say you choose me, Theindescribable1, as your opponent. I have to do 5 drawings of you and me battling, and so do you. If I finish 4 of those drawings and make number 5 the one where I kill you, you are dead. But if you finish 4 before me and post number 5 of you killing ME, the. YOU win. Do whoever posts the death drawing first is the Successful killer and winner. You have to draw 5, I have to draw five. If you don't understand the rules or anything, you don't have to play! Its just a game for fun and no one is required to join.

Can I Come Back To Life?

After the battle, obviously everyone will come back to life... But if you mean if you can be revived while the battle is still ongoing...No. sadly you cannot return to life.

Can I Make A Truce?

Yes. You can make a truce with a blog. You unfortunately can't get that blog to help you target/kill another blog. The truce will only prevent you and the blog you decide to truce with kill each other.

Can I Betray A Truce?

Yes. You may choose to betray your truce and literally backstab the other blog. I advise you not to betray because there isn't much of a point to it, other then a headstart in the attack.

Other Questions?

Any questions you have, please ask me in my ask box or in the comments!

[wheresmymilliondollarman]

reader x xander Hawthorne please 🥺

xander hawthorne x fem!reader

hcs about meeting & dating xander hawthorne

a/n: HI IM BACK! & tysm for the request!! xander is so underrated 👎 thats my bae fr🫶 currently working on other stuff but wanted to do this request bc i immediately had ideas for this!! i still don't completely get how school worked in the books, so if there's any wrong info please bare w me. if this wasn't what you had in mind feel free to send a specific request! again, this is kinda fic like but still calling it hcs.

word count: 7.3k

warnings: long backstory again, mentions of death, sexual themes. (pls lmk if you see anything else that should be labeled as a warning)

you’ve always lived on the middle side class of things. you were, thankfully, never poor, but also never rich enough where you could afford the more luxurious things in life.

your mother owned a small bakery 3 blocks away from your home, while your father worked for an electrician company. both jobs were stable enough to provide for necessities and both your parents enjoyed their occupations.

your parents always told you to never worry about money, but it still made you reluctant to ask them for things you wanted in fear they couldn't afford it. which is why you always tried to fix your problems yourself.

if you ever needed money, you would work for your mother at her bakery in exchange. while it was still your mom giving you the money, it made you feel better that you earned the cash. 

you later found yourself working at the bakery even without needing money. you liked working with your mom, and it was fun to learn how to make different types of sweets. 

at school, you were always a studious person. you worked hard to get a's and never anything below. you wanted to make your parents proud and feel as if their hard work toward the family wasn't for nothing. 

you knew it would be practically impossible for your family to afford your college career without going into debt. so you always looked at scholarships and what they looked for in students, so you tried to make yourself appear well-rounded. 

you joined student council, mathletes (although math wasn't your forte),library club, chess club,art club, film club, yearbook, culinary club, asl club, and a few others over the years. to say your schedule after school was always booked was a major understatement.

although your favorite was always the art club. you never even knew you had an artistic side until you joined. you explored it more with your membership and soon became quite good. 

during your freshman year you took your first art class. you were excited to learn under a professional for the first time. 

after a few lessons, your first major assignment was realism project; draw somebody in your everyday life. 

you were both excited and a bit nervous. you had drawn people before, but never someone you knew, and you wanted to make a great first impression on your teacher. 

you ended up choosing your mother as your muse; your father could never stay still enough to be drawn. it took a lot of long nights when your mother wasn't working to finish your drawing. you could've just taken a photo of her and drawn that, but you pushed for the extra mile of drawing her from real life.

you were satisfied when you finished, and your parents were in awe by your work - telling you over and over how talented you were and your teacher would surely be impressed. still, you were anxious about turning it in the next day in class. 

your assignment was a big hit with your teacher, you got a perfect A+. she commented on your beautiful handiwork, noting that your drew from real life. she also advised how you should consider switching to an advanced class since it was obvious you were already beyond a beginner course. 

you wanted to decline at first, being intimidated by the thought of being in a class with others who were just as good or better than you - but your gut instinct told you it was the right choice to make. 

it proved to be right because by the spring you were already one of the best in your art class. you expanded into all types of art: abstract, realism, expressionism, digital, etc. your favorite and most notable works tended to be the realistic ones of people, place, and objects. art had become a part of your life in the best way. 

you entered a numerous amount of competitions and always come back on top; it got to the paint your shelfs had all been filled to the brim. you parents of course were elated with your success and were never prouder. 

you soon were able to make some money with your art skills as well. you got commissioned for mainly portraits of family and friends, mostly to give as gifts or to have in their household. it made you feel proud someone out there had a piece of your art and that people loved your work enough to want you to paint their family. 

the biggest commission you've ever taken was a 40x30 portrait of an older man. the request was anonymous, so you weren't sure who the man was or if the request was for himself or another person. 

the project took a few weeks due to your work load and having to paint such fine details on a huge canvas. you were happy with the outcome and were astonished to find out the anonymous buyer had given you 10k for your work. it was way over your normal pay grade.

your success didn't end there. in the summer before your sophomore year, you received a fancy envelope in the mail. it was addressed to you and sent from heights country day school. 

at first, you were confused as to why they would send you anything. everyone in texas knew of heights country day, it was one of the best private schools in the state. almost all parents want their kids to be a student there, but the tuition was awfully expensive, so if you weren't rich you were most likely not getting in. 

you didn't wait to tell your parents before your ripped open the envelop in anticipation. you unfolded the letter inside and skimmed over the introductions.

you were shocked to find out you were being awarded a full paid scholarship to attend heights country day school for the rest of highschool. 

your first thought was to assume it was a prank, or a scammer trying to get your info. but you examined the letter further; the seal of the school and the dean signature did look quite authentic. then you noticed the number listed on the bottom of the page. 

you figured you should just call and check for confirmation. you told yourself the worst case scenario would be they laugh at your face and tell you the letter isn't real. 

you definitely did not want to inform your parents until you made the call, that way if it wasn't real, their hopes wouldn't be crushed and they would never even know about it. 

it took an hour of pacing in your room to finally work up the courage to make the call. you kept tour expectations low to avoid disappointment. 

the secretary of the school was quick to pick up after two rings, and you briefly explained the letter you received. you held your breath for a second until she told you to "please hold for a moment." 

when she returned she informed you you were being transferred to the dean's phone. your nerves were through the roof at this point. you wanted to believe it was a good sign the dean wanted to talk to you, but maybe he wanted to tell you himself the letter was unfortunately a phony and they do not give scholarships to art students.

the dean finally picked up the call and you both exchanged greetings. from there he explained how the letter was, in fact, very real.

the school had seen a work of yours and dug deeper into your portfolio and academic career. they were very impressed with your achievement, especially given your age. the board was all unanimous in agreeing to offer you the scholarship because of your artistic talents and would love for you to become a part of their school. 

the rest of the call was a blur to you. when the call ended you stood stunned in your room for a minute. you had to pinch yourself to remind yourself this was real and happening. 

once you snapped out of it, you were jumping up and down in joy. you truly were elated to possibly be a student at one of the top private schools in texas or even the country. 

you wasted no more time informing your parents when they arrived home. they also thought you were just pulling their leg, but after you told them you had confirmation - you swear their jaws hit the floor. 

your parents were just as excited for you. your mother took the liberty of baking all your favorites in celebration, even lemon scones, which were your favorite.

before you knew it, summer was over, and it was time to get back into school. you spent the rest of your break prepping to attend heights - gathering books, supplies, and a uniform (which was mostly paid by the school). 

this was your first time wearing a uniform, and you were a bit delighted to wear it. it was a burgundy blazer with a navy crest embossed, with the school motto in latin, a white dress shirt, and a pleated plaid skirt. 

it screamed, "i go to a really expensive private school."

it was nerve-wracking that you were now going to school with some of the richest and elite children in america. you'd hope it wouldn't be obvious where your social class stood, or if it was, they wouldn't think of you any less for it.

you did your best to stray from stereotypical assumptions, but then again you've never interacted with people of a such higher social class - you really had no idea what to expect. 

nonetheless, you wanted to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, so you held your head up high when the first day came around. 

the school in no way looked like a regular public school, it shared way more similar qualities with college campuses. it was beautifully constructed, and you had a feeling the inside was even more stunning.

your parents dropped you off in front of the twin archways of the school, wishing you a good first day, and they were only a call away if you needed anything. you responded with your goodbyes and now stood on the pavement of heights day.

a part of you was glad your parents left so soon; you loved them to death, but their older modeled car stood out amongst the other deluxe cars parked and driving into school grounds. the last thing you wanted on your first day was to stick out like a sore thumb.

you took a deep breath before you took your strides through the front door.

you were happy to see no one gave you obvious looks and stares when you walked through, like those of a movie. everyone seemed preoccupied with their own things. you were silently thankful for that.

you made your way to the office on your own; luckily it was very near the front entrance with a big sign that said 'office of registrar'. making it very easy for you to find it without having to awkwardly ask another peer.

you walked to a desk of who you assumed was a secretary and gave her your name and stated your business. she instantly recognized your name and made a swift move to hand you your schedule.

the secretary informed you about the school's modular scheduling, which means they operate on a six-day cycle, and classes meet anywhere from three to five times a cycle. you were free to fit in lunch where you saw fit. you honestly didn't quite grasp it, but you figured you'd just learn along the way.

she also let you know another student had been assigned to show you around school. that's how you ended up meeting rebecca laughlin.

rebecca was a shy and a bit nervous girl, but seemed sweet nonetheless. you briefly got to know her as she showed you the different rooms; the archive room, the reflector (basically the cafeteria you realized), gym, the art center etc.

she was in the same grade as you, and had a twin sister named emily also in the school. from the small mention of her sister you sensed it was likely a sore subject. you took over from there talking a bit about yourself and your interests.

rebecca mentioned she was also new this year, having moved to texas just recently with her family but frequently visiting before that. she was able to go on a private tour with her sister over the summer, which is why she knew the place quite well already.

you two chatted a bit more until the tour ended. the last stop was the art center, and you were more than thrilled to go inside and check it out. rebecca was about to enter along with you before she saw her twin sister and people who you assume were her friends , a boy and a girl.

you turned around to glance at them and saw they were waving her over. you could tell rebecca was hesitant to just leave you for them, but you reassured her she provided an excellent tour. she reluctantly went off toward her friends, not before giving you her number and letting you know if you had any questions you could reach her.

you took a peak back at where rebecca and her friends were walking away. they all look straight out of a teen vogue catalog. emily was identical to rebecca, same red hair, eyes, and face. you could tell emily was more confident than rebecca however. there was another girl, dark eyes and even darker brown wavy hair - she was so beautiful it felt unreal. and lastly with them was a boy, he was quite tall, dark-skinned with light honey brown eyes, and a head full of curly hair. he was handsome and easily fit in with the rest of the model-looking girls.

you must've looked a second too long because he turned his head in your direction and you both made eye contact.

you quickly snapped your head away,not waiting for his reaction, and made your way to the arts center. you cursed yourself for being caught looking a bit, and now you were slightly embarrassed.

when you reached the arts center, you were amazed. it was a big building with different rooms, it was decorated as if was a museum, marble floors and pillars, archways, etc. and everything about it was engaging.

you took the time to explore the whole place; you found several different art rooms you assumed were open to students, different supply closest, classrooms for teaching, and even a few soundproof rooms. at some point you ran into a few teachers and got to know them and what they taught. you had a few of them in your schedule, so it was great to know where their classes were.

before you knew it, it was time for your first class and then eventually to your last of the day. for lunch you had opted to eat what you brought from home in the archive because you didn't feel like going through the anxiety of finding somewhere alone to sit in the refectory.

it ended up being ironic because you made a friend in there who was also eating lunch. you were sitting alone at small table when a blonde haired girl with her lunch approached you.

her name was mia, and you both instantly clicked. mia had noticed you eating at the table alone and thought she'd introduce herself since she hadn't since you on campus before. she was also a sophomore, seventeen, and she was part of height country day dance team.

she has almost always eaten in the archive since her freshman year; she enjoyed the quiet and privacy since few students ever ate or hung out there too long - you both had that in common.

after that great first meeting, the two of you became best friends. you would occasionally have a class or two with her depending on the schedule, but you both always made time to see each other throughout the day and eat lunch in the archive room.

she later on introduced you to a few of her other friends, that were now your friends as well. they were all pretty wealthy, but it didn't change the fact they were all genuine and friendly people. the fear of making friends at your new school was gone by the end of your first week.

that's set up the rest of your fantastic first year at heights country day school.

you fit in immediately with the art center and other art peers. you all carried the same passions, and it was very fun to learn from others. of course, you all intimidated to be around people so advanced and mostly rich, but it only pushed you to work even harder.

your teachers were all so great. they were also tough critiques, being professionals and all, but you took any critique you got with stride- making you a better artist.

your non-art-related classes were more difficult and work-loaded than you were use to, but you were quick to catch up with the rest of the class.

a few kids at school were stuck up and pretentious, but mostly the students weren't too far off from normal teenagers. and like high school there were cliques and popular people. you never bothered yourself with any of that, yet you always heard three reoccurring last names - hawthorne, laughlin, and calligaris.

you knew laughlin meant rebecca and emily, and it didn't take you long to figure out the other last names must belong to the other two people she was with during your first day. it made sense to you they were well-known, just their looks alone made you feel like they're superior to you.

you could've asked mia or literally paid attention to gossip around you if you wanted to know the first names of the boy & girl with the laughlins, but it honestly slipped your mind. frankly, you were too occupied with navigating your new school life to really care too much about it.

the most shocking event to happen that year was the dead of emily laughlin.

you weren't close friends with rebecca - you two did have a few chats and texts here and there; she once or twice joined mia and you in the archive. but you still felt horrible her sister died and felt the need to reach out.

you gave her your condolences when you saw her back at school, and let her know you were there for anything. she thanked you, but you could tell she needed space to grieve.

you still felt the need to do something, so you came up with the idea to make her a portrait and gifted it to her wrapped. you didn't see her reaction to it (she opened it when she got home), but she let you know she deeply appreciated it.

after that the rest of your year was quick to come and go. and before you knew it, it was summer again.

your summer stayed uneventful, but fun. you worked almost full-time with your mom in her bakery and spent time with your friends.

one afternoon, you were working the counter and you saw a familiar face walk in - a certain handsome, honey-eyed, curly-haired guy.

you greeted him as you normally did customers and asked for his order. he replied, asking for blueberry scones.

you nodded and went to get the scones from your display. that's when he spoke up again, commenting on how he'd seen you from school.

you were taken aback he’d remembered you but you nodded agreeing and replied you were new sophomore year.

"what happens to be your name, baker girl?"

"y/n. and what happens to be yours, new customer?"

he gave a dramatic offended look, hand over his heart - "you mean your telling me you don't know the name of the most dashing man at heights country day school?"

you shrugged, "i suppose not."

"when then i ought to fix that, the name is xander, milady," bowing down to give a kiss on the dorsal side of your hand.

oh he was charming alright. 

to hide your blushing face you busied yourself with packing his scones into a paper bag and rang him up to the register. 

"very serious question...how do you feel about blueberry scones?"

"they're good, but i think the lemon ones are better." 

you've never seen someone look so taken aback as xander did in that moment. he looked as if he'd just got the news his favorite boy band broke up. 

"are you alright-"

"what do you mean you prefer the lemon ones!"

xander then went into a tagent on blueberry scones stomp the lemon ones any day, and only psychos favored the lemons. you countered his claims, defending your favorite treat. you both were going back and forth until a bell rang throughout the bakery, signaling a customer has entered. 

"i suppose that's my sign to take my leave, but trust this debate is not over."

you rolled your eyes playfully, but you fought back a smile at the implication you two would speak again. 

he handed his black card to pay, and you tried not to look astonished at his casual display of the card. as you were swiping his card, he pulled a scone out of his brown bag and laid it on the counter in front of you. 

"here, it's my treat. this is the start of my fool-proof plan to convince you blueberry scones are far more superior." 

you tried to decline or offer him a refund for that scone, but ever the gentleman, he wouldn't allow it. he was out the door before you could protest anymore. leaving with a, "until we meet again," and a wink. 

you hated yourself for liking his annoying handsome beautiful smirk. 

as he requested, you did eat the scone. you admit blueberry is delicious, but nothing compared to the citrus of your lemon ones. plus, you found a new motivation to keep favoring them. 

that was the first of xander's many visits to the bakery that summer. always the same order, and always leaving one for you to eat. he really was on a mission to change your mind. 

sometimes out of spite you'd slip in a lemon scone into his bag to rile him up when he opened it. it always resulted in xander coming back the next day throwing a dramatic hissy fit. you kinda found it cute. 

you two continued your light banter about scones, but ventured into different topics such as school, hobbies, and exploding robots (his favorite topic). even as you worked behind the counter aiding customers, he was there talking your ear off. not that you minded at all, it was nice to have someone other than your mom to talk to. 

you found out xander was very smart; he builds replicas of star wars droids and was a three-time world champion at building machines. you'd never known someone with such intellect. whenever you brought it up, however, he'd brush it off saying it's a family thing and his brothers are much wiser. 

you briefly got a synopsis of his family, and it was quite intriguing. he had four half-brother; nash, grayson, and jameson - all sharing the same mother, but none of the boys' fathers seemed to be in the picture. all of them were basically raised by their grandfather, tobias hawthorne, who was obsessed with riddles and games. he sounded like an interesting man to say the least. 

you opened up to him a bit about your family and getting a scholarship into the school. which now looked not as impressive talking to a genius yet, xander was amazed at this, asking to see some of your work. 

you were suddenly self-conscious about your art. you thought a rich guy like himself probably had seen hundreds of artworks better than yours and done by people younger than your age. 

so, you lied and said you didn't have any pictures, and that you'll show him another time. you're gonna stall that as much as possible.

you guys later exchanged numbers, now being able to communicate outside your bakery hours during the week.

xander favorite thing was to spam you with pictures of himself eating blueberry scones, and you swore you were gonna block him everytime.

summer went by in a flash, and the school went back into session; you were entering your junior year. 

xander and you continued to hang out all the time, even more than you did with your own friends. he was always the one to find you around school, no matter the schedule you had that day.

he loved to sneak up on you and jump scare you, making your heart leap out your chest everytime. you would hit his arm in retaliation everytime and swore you were gonna unfriend him if he didn’t stop. you never actually did though.

xander made sure to pull you out your comfort zone. he sometimes dragged you (sometimes physically) to the refectory to go and eat with him. occasionally, his friends would join as well. rebecca was easy to talk to since you already knew her, and thea was…. complicated, but she had her good parts once she warmed up to you. 

you then demanded xander eat lunch with you and mia to compensate for eating at the refectory every now and then.

he obliged, but you told him it was better if he didn’t after he got kicked out the archive for talking loudly. he swore the archive keeper had it out for him.

he continued the ritual of giving you a blueberry muffin made by the chefs of his home. sometimes you'd bring your own lemon scone and give it to him, negotiating that you'll eat your scone if he eats his.

he'd always agree, but eat it begrudgingly. you swore he was warming up to the scone.

you two took your hangouts to after school. if you worked, it'd be at the bakery and if not, you'd go to the park and just walk.

you invited him over to your house one day after school, xander excitedly accepted. you were a bit nervous he'd think poorly of your home since you were sure he lived in a glorious mansion.

you introduced him to both of your parents, and they greeted him kindly, but your mom embarrassingly asked if he was your boyfriend.

you were quick to make a joke to cover your pink cheeks, "mom, we'd never work out we have complete different tastes in scones."

xander cut in, "well, you know what they say, opposites do attract."

was he flirting with you, or were you reading into it? and why did you like it.

xander ended up really enjoying your house; he even once said he found it more peaceful than his own. so, you guys now frequently hung out at your house after school to talk, banter, study, and or even help each other with projects.

even though you tried to avoid it, xander ending up seeing your art.

it was unintentional; you were seated at a table in an art space working on a sketch, of whatever came to mind, with your earphones in. you didn't hear xander walk in and call your name.

you noticed his presence when he swiped your drawing book. you quickly took out your earphones and tried to reach for it back, but he'd already seen your drawing. and to make matters worse it was a sketch of him.

you were mortified, but he just looked at it in admiration.

he asked if you made it, and you shyly said you had.

"can't believe you were trying to hide your talent from me. now, as an apology ur going to let me keep this."

you immediately said no, and went to take it out of his hand. but xander was quicker and took the page from the journal and held it above his head, out of reach.

after a lot of jumping to reach it, which was required because he's very tall, you gave up and let him have it. xander was pleased with that, and has carried it everywhere in his wallet since then.

he now always pestered you about your art, wanting to see it or wanting you to make a piece for him. you had to admit, you found it flattering.

to make it fair, you wanted to see him in action working on something. he was delighted to show you his robots, and some of his process making them.

you were amazed at his talent, but he could be careless at times.

for instance, you two were in the lab room and you were watching him working on a new formula to fuel his robots. he turned on bunsen burner and before you knew it, it exploded.

he ended up with a missing eyebrow, and you were laughing hysterically. you still have pictures of him without it much to xander's dismay.

you knew you'd grown a crush on the charismatic guy, but you were too scared to admit it.

you weren't sure if he felt the same way, and a part of you felt silly for even thinking he would.

you confided in mia about it, and she was convinced xander was head over heels for you. but you still weren't quite sure, and you didn't want to damage a really good friendship.

in middle of october, xander's grandfather, tobias hawthorne passed away.

he wasn't at school that day, but you assumed he was out sick or doing something important. it wasn't until you heard the news from peers talking about it did you put it together.

you immediately sent him a text sending your condolences and asked if he needed anything.

you didn't hear from him for the rest of the week, which worried you - but you knew, like rebecca, people tend to want their space when loved ones pass.

it was a friday night, you were studying for an upcoming test in your world history class on monday, when you hear a sound from your window.

you ignored it at first thinking it was a wondering animal or just trees against each other. but then you heard it repeatedly, and you realized it was sounding more like a tap against the glass.

you carefully slid your curtains from the window and took a peak outside. you then came face to face with the boy you hadn't seen all week.

it took you a moment to register it was him, you yelped at the first sight of someone outside. but then he started motioning for you to open the window and then you noticed it was xander hawthorne.

you unlatched the lock on your window and slide it open enough he could fit through. but it didn't stop him from tripping on your window still and falling onto the ground with a 'thud'.

"shh! my parents might've heard that!"

"wow, instead of helping a poor fallen man up, you scold him. what ever happened to warm hospitality?"

you ignored him and held your hand out to help him up. once he was stood up, you waited for him to explain why he was here.

he went on to say he didn't have a specific reason, he just needed to get out of his mansion home. "the first place i thought of to go was here, with you."

you swore your heart leaped when he said that. you were praying to whoever was listening that your face wasn't a tomato. how do you even respond to such a heartfelt statement?

luckily, you didn't need to respond to that because he was quick to follow up his words.

"actually, you seem to be the first person i think about every day. no matter what i'm doing, I'll start to think of what'd you be saying if you were there. anytime i see the sunset, my thought shifts to what it look like if you painted it. hell, i've even found myself eating, yes eating, lemons scones because they bring me reminiscence of you."

xander crept closer as his words flowed out. and you were frozen to your spot. heart pounding louder as he took another step closer to you - leaving less than a foot of space between the two of you.

unsure of how to react you said the first thing that came to mind.

"well, uh, maybe you should think about inflation that usually keeps my mind busy." idiot. why do you open your big mouth.

xander gives you a grin, obviously amused at your nervous rambling like the little jerk he is. he was so close to you, you were embarrassed at the possibility he could he your heart pounding.

he moves his right hand to the side of your face, brushing his thumb over your cheek - eyes never leaving yours. you didn't have the strength to look away or even move, as if he was a vampire who compelled you to stay still.

"i've never known someone to get red so easily as you."

you then realized how much of your face was burning, and then after that statement it heated up even further. stupid nervous system.

"i didn't think your face could get a deeper scarlet than it was a moment ago," he laughs, "it's quite adorable honestly."

oh, god. this guy had your heart fluttering at after calling you adorable.

"i wonder how red you'll get when i kiss you."

you did not have a moment to process what xander utter because at the next second his collided his lips upon yours.

nothing prepared you for how exhilarating kissing him felt. your knees gave out a little, and xander was quick to keep you steady. you weren't even ashamed, stuck in a trance by the kiss. it was as if a scene from a jane austen novel had come to life.

boy, was he a good kisser. it was unfair really, how perfect he could he at anything he wants.

when the two of you pulled away, he was the first to speak up.

"you're about as red as crayon right now."

that was enough to bring you back to reality and shove him.

immediately after that night, the two of you began dating.

at first you thought it was unsaid that the both of you were now dating, but you should've known better than to believe xander hawthorne would take the subtle way.

the following monday you were in the refectory waiting on xander, who'd ask you to meet him there. however, you hadn't seen him yet, so you just sat down at an open table.

suddenly, you hear some sort of a mechanical noises coming from behind you. you turned you heard toward it and nothing could have prepared you to see a life sized R2-D2 robot gliding straight towards you - holding flowers in its utility arm.

what the hell was in your breakfast that morning?

when it made it way in front of you, you were completely stunned. you could feel the gazes of people in the room also witnessing this. the robot look scarily realistic to the ones in the star wars movies, xander really was a genius.

the robot extended another arm to reveal a small envelope. you took it in your own hand, along with the flowers.

WILL YOU BE MY GIRLFRIEND?

a. yes

b. a

c. kiss me

you rolled your eyes at his antics, maybe genius was an overstatement. then you noticed some scribble at the bottom.

p.s. NUTR NUAORD

at first sight of the words - you thought you were having a stroke, but then you figured out you had to unscrambled it to reveal the words 'TURN AROUND'.

of course, xander was always one for puzzles.

you follow the directions of the note and saw the man himself standing before you with a basket full of both lemon and blueberry scones.

"a tough choice, i know. personally, option c is the most appealing."

you wanted to smack the smugness of out him, but instead you opted to answer with letter c.

dating xander was chaotic to say the least, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

you two were never allowed to go on ordinary dates, xander always made sure they were memorable.

for your first date he took you to an escape room, but reserved the whole thing just for the two of you. xander was obviously a pro at the game, but you were quick to figure things out as well. the two of you got the quickest escape time.

at the end of it, he gifted you gold chained necklace with an 'x' and a golden key. you wore it all the time after.

another time you were taken to a amusement park, also reserved for the two of you. you clung on to xander on the scariest rides, much to his enjoyment. it wasn't until the end you saw how there had been pictures taken of you both while on the rides - your expression being fear on almost all of them while your arm was tight grabbing xander's. of course his face was just his charming giant grin of excitement.

he made sure to keep them all and put it as had lock screen despite how much you told him not to.

xander was now way more lenient about the lemon scone thing, and you can proudly say he even enjoys them now. nonetheless, the tradition at lunch is still on-going.

the most nerve wracking part of your relationship was meeting his family.

you learned just how rich xander and his family are. you knew he came from a lot of money, but you were never informed he was related to a billionaire. you couldn't comprehend how having that much money was possible, but xander, of course, acted nonchalant about the whole thing. rich people.

his brothers were all pleasant to meet. nash was the nicest, similar to his brother, he was a charmer with a country accent. grayson was more closed off, and didn't say a lot, but greeted you nicely. jameson, was a wild card, he was a bit drunk, but everyone collectively chose to remain obvious to it. he was also very flirty with you, but you knew it was mainly to annoy xander.

apparently it worked because the following day jameson was found with green hair.

you were introduced to his aunt and mother. his aunt was also pleasant, keeping greeting formal. his mother was.... interesting... the interaction was small, but based on some remarks and backhanded compliments; she looked down on your lower status. xander was quick to defend you and apologize after.

you later were asked to open the front door with a jumble of keys that all looked the same. you assumed this was suppose to be a test of some sort, but you weren't a mastermind at puzzles games like the other hawthornes.

instead, you found a big rock near the front entrance and smashed it against the door locks until they broke.

the brothers looked all bewildered at your action. xander was the first to burst out laughing, come around you to wrap and arm on your shoulder and kiss your forehead.

"that's my girl. who needs logic when you have big rocks."

xander was your biggest supporter in everything. he loved every piece of art you made, and never let you scrap or throw any of it anyway. anything you ever drew or painted him, he would keep it framed and hung in a section of his room dedicated to your work.

he shows up to every art show you have, bragging to people around how his amazing girlfriend painted the work. you always blush in embarrassment, but it never failed to make you happy.

you showed the same support for his activities as well. you cheered him on at my robotic competitions and you were his assistant in helping with small tasks during his building and experiments.

xander made robots were mainly made for doing simple things in overly complicated ways. he also occasionally gifted you robots for small annoying tasks you would offhandedly mention to him.

for instance, xander was walking you to your next class, carrying your backpack as he always insisted it was his job to do. you joked about how you wished he was always around to carry your stuff so your arms wouldn't be so tired.

a few weeks later he gave you a small robot designed to carrying items such as a backup and books. he even gave it wheels so it could follow you around the school like a puppy.

with xanders extroverted personality, it shouldn't surprised you he is not opposed to any PDA. which thea always gags to in the background if she's there to witness it.

he always has his arm around you, preferably your waist, or interlocks your hands together. he loves to gives you random kisses on the forehead or cheek. xander's favorite thing is to surprise you with a kiss on the lips in public, just so he can see you blush.

your first time with xander was very romantic and he made sure it would be. there were candles all over his bedroom and rose petals scattered on the ground. 

although xander was known for being a bit cocky, he was just as nervous as you that night, wanting to make everything special just for you. 

once he made sure you were comfortable - it was like a switch flipped - his cocky persona was back ten fold. 

let’s just say the next day you couldn’t feel your legs, nor could you hide the multiple purple marks left on you. 

of course, ever the gentlemen he was - he made you breakfast in bed the next morning. 

you were even more shocked to find out that was his first time. why is he miraculously good at everything?  

you hung out a lot more at the hawthorne mansion, xander showed you different passages around it. the house was so huge it felt like you've only ever seen 50% of it.

you grew closer to the other hawthorne brothers, taking part in family game night. you after a game of their version of chutes and ladders, you were quick to turn down some offers to play a game.

you also became good friends with avery grambs, you had first met her at the will reading, xander inviting you for moral support. you related to how out of place her and her sister felt around highly rich people.

the events of the will were shocking, but you were happy to find out she'd be sticking around. her moving into the mansion made it easier to hang out with her. you helped her adjust to heights country day and became close.

you and xander both helped avery with what you could in solving the clues his grandather left behind for avery and the hawthornes. although, you kept quiet about the fact xander knew a lot more than he was telling.

however, xander was reluctant to let you join them on anymore research after almost getting shot at when you went along with avery and jameson.

you’d never seen him so mad at his brother, cursing him up and down for putting you in that situation.

xander was insistent for you to stay behind from then on, but you relented and kept tagging along with the others on their little scavenger hunts. xander realized he couldn’t stop you, so he forbid you from going on any clue hunts without him by your side.

it was cute how protective he was, but a little annoying too.

one day you were walking around the mansion with xander looking for jameson, who had wondered off to who knew where. you came across an unfamiliar office. you had asked xander who it belonged to and he informed you it was his grandfathers, now technically avery's.

the two of you entered the office space, you figured xander was curious if anything had changed since his grandfather's passing or if he had maybe left another clue behind.

you were looking around until you eyes came across something behind his desk - a large portrait of who you assumed was tobias hawthorne. upon further inspection, you came to realize another thing.

you painted this portrait.

"holy shit."

even beyond the grave tobias hawthorne keeps on spurring surprises.

[saints-who-never-existed]

Rereading The Terror

Chapter Fifty-One: Crozier

A reckoning approaches! My most frequent annotation in that chapter has been simply 'nOoOooOOoooOoO' and you'll see why soon enough.

They've arrived at Rescue Camp - about as far south as they can go on KWI before the coast turns north again - and the halt can't come soon enough. There are so many sick now that even the healthiest men are rapidly running out of strength to haul them along, and Goodsir has advised the Captain that no fewer than five men need their feet amputated, including Mr Diggle.

Crozier and Goodsir have also discussed, only among themselves so far, where to go from here and have proposed a gut-wrenching split. Goodsir will remain at Rescue Camp with the ill, while Crozier and the healthiest men carry on in hopes that they'll make it to rescue if they no longer have to haul their fellows behind them. "Crozier knew that the surgeon had voluntarily signed his own death warrant by volunteering to stay behind with the doomed men and Goodsir knew his captain knew it. Neither man spoke of it."

Out in the strait, the ice is in complete turmoil - "agitated and torturing itself" into mountainous peaks and troughs that Crozier believes even the indefatigable Manson to be incapable of hauling through or over.

And speaking of Manson, Crozier's thoughts soon turn again to the mutiny that's continued to foment. He hasn't trusted anyone nor been without the company of his most loyal men since the first mutinous stirrings a month earlier. But with tensions rising once more, Crozier has decided that when the time comes, it will be better to let Hickey et al go their own way and wash his hands of them - "The fewer men left at Rescue Camp the better, especially if it meant getting rid of the rotten apples."

Crozier calls a muster of all the remaining men (poor Mr Diggle dies just moments before this, bleeding out after Goodsir - with wee Tom Hartnell as his new assistant - amputates his foot). :((( Crozier has the bosuns draw in the gravel the outline of their long-lost ships' deck. "This allowed the men to know where to stand during the muster and gave them a sense of familiarity." They've apparently done this every time they've stopped in camp and been called to meet.

With the men assembled, Crozier once more reflects on who is now absent. He goes ship by ship and rank by rank from officers right on down to ship's boys. David Young is still alive in the book, as is George Chambers although he never recovered from the head injury he received at Carnivale and has been unable to care for himself or do anything but the most menial physical tasks ever since. Robert Golding is also still present - he's almost 23 now but is still "gullible in a boy's way" which is an interesting little detail.

On a lighter note, we learn that Mr Honey the carpenter is still clinging onto life in an oddly heartening, Blanky-esque way despite being riddled with scurvy and having just had both his feet amputated - "Incredibly, as of this assembly, the carpenter was still alive and even managed to shout "Present!" from his tent when his name was called at muster."

After a grim prayer, Crozier announces that from this point forward, each man may go his own way. Goodsir will stay with the sick, Crozier and the healthiest men will forge on for Back's River and if anyone else has an alternate plan, they're welcome to pursue it. It is then that Lt. Hodgson steps forward: "The captain just looked at the young officer for a long moment. He knew that Hodgson was a stalking horse [a fun phrase that I can't say I've ever come across before] for Hickey, Aylmore, and a few of the more rebellious sea lawyers who had been stirring up the men with resentment for so many months, but he wondered if young Hodgson knew it."

Hickey, Hodgson et al express once again their intention to return to the ship, and around sixteen men are counted in total when Crozier asks how big this doomed return part is set to be. As with David Young, we see some interesting differences from the show here - Morfin, Charles Best, and Billy Orren are among those sixteen men, and Gibson's mentioned too.

Three other men - Reuben Male, Robert Sinclair, and Samuel Honey step forward also but stress emphatically that they're not associated in any way with Hickey's band. They want to return to the ships also but will try to make it cross-country with only what they can carry on their backs.

Hickey announces - "folding his arms and standing legs-apart in front of his men like a Cockney Napoleon" - their intention to take poor brain-damaged George Chambers along with them, as well as the still-comatose Davey Leys (insisting that they've been taking care of him and want to continue to do so). "The hell you say," said Crozier. "Why would you want to bring two men who can't take care of themselves?"

It is then that Goodsir steps in to the fray (though it's a wonder he's able to do so given the absolute BAMF balls of steel he's got on him in the conversation that follows). "No" said Dr. Goodsir, stepping forward into the tense space between Crozier and Hickey's men, "you haven't been taking care of Mr Leys and you don't want George Chambers and him as fellow travellers. You want them as food."

Hickey is taken aback at that. He urges Manson into violent action but thinks better of it when the last few Marines, scurvy-ridden and barely able to stand, nevertheless raise their weapons. He settles for entreating Goodsir to come with them, insists that it's the only option for survival but Goodsir, preternaturally calm and collected, is having none of it and insists in turn that they don't need him for what they're planning... "Even an amateur can learn dissective anatomy quite quickly" interrupted Goodsir, his voice strong enough to override the caulker's mate's. "When one of these other gentlemen you're bringing along as your private food stock dies - or when you help him die - all you have to do is sharpen a ship's knife to a scalpel's edge and begin cutting." This alone is so SO interesting to me and I might have to write a separate post about it. It reminds me of his confession in the show - "if ever I was a doctor, I am one no longer" - for one thing. And it really does just speak volumes about how he views himself and the situation at hand. He's been self-conscious throughout the story in his skills as a lowly anatomist and his comparative lack of a "true" doctor's knowledge. But now he sees how little any of that matters. He's just chopped the feet right off five different men FFS - how could he not see himself as only a butcher now? How could he not see that butchery is all that's left?

He continues to describe the grisly processes of carving up a body for consumption, completely in control, his voice soft and never rising. Let's end on his gruesome, nightmarish climax, shall we? "...I recommend you put each other's bone marrow into a pot for cooking straightaway and let yourselves simmer before trying to digest your friends." "Fuck you." snarled Cornelius Hickey. Dr Goodsir nodded. "Oh" the surgeon added softly, "when you get around to eating one another's brains, it will be simplicity itself. Simply saw off the lower jaw, throw it away with the lower teeth, and use a knife or spoon to gouge and hack your way up through the soft palate into the cranial vault. If you wish, you may invert the skull and sit around it, scooping out each other's brains like so much Christmas pudding."

[ghostlynachopanda]

Nevermore's Guardian

a/n: So, I've never done this before but I did want to give it a shot just to see what it's like. feel free to tell me anything about this, I'm painfully aware it needs work

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader

---

How can you be a reject in a school full of outcasts? You don’t think there's anything that would set you apart from everybody else at school. You would consider yourself to be relatively normal, or as normal as one can get with being an outcast. You have powers, sure they're dangerous but can be helpful too. Typically only using them to help out around the school or Jericho. You've gained the title "Nevermore's Guardian", you would think the name would come with benefits. It's quite the opposite, there is no room for fuck ups and no one wishes to speak to you anymore. What a fucking joke.

There might be a rule that comes with the title, one that states no one can speak to you. Maybe the other students just don't care. The only person who does speak to you is Principal Weems, but she's the principal and all she does is give orders/advice. It’s better this way, having no friends. It makes it easier to do your job.

There's a transfer mid-semester, that's shocking. Weems told you to keep an eye on her and advised you to stay away. With a quick nod, you were out the door, no need for more words.  Fine, whatever Weems wants. After all, following orders is what you do best. Except it's harder than you thought it would be. Seeing her in the quad with her roommate was even more shocking. She sticks out like a sore thumb, and the black outfit really draws attention to her. You heard the rumors about her, Wednesday Addams. Maybe that's what makes everyone's eyes fall on her. It's refreshing, to see someone that's genuinely different from the others.

Wednesday noticed you almost instantly, and she starts seeking out your information. Wednesday starts by trying herself, then by asking people about you, the first person is her roommate, Enid. Upsettingly, all Enid knew was you were called "Nevermore's Guardian", how can she know so little when she writes a blog that gossips about everybody? Wednesday went to ask her other classmates, but they knew less than Enid. Wednesday even went to Weems, but she was also little help, only providing your first name. Simply put, you're an enigma. Wednesday can't seem to shake her growing curiosity, why doesn't anyone know anything about you? She sends Thing to follow you around after class, but it’s easy to lose him and disappear completely. It's weird at first, considering it's just a hand. But seeing Thing crawl into Wednesday's dorm tells you everything you need to know. You want to ask her what her issue is. It's better not knowing though, Weems seems to have her on a tight leash, so why even bother with her, with Wednesday-

A quiet sigh escapes your lips, walking through the woods always makes your thoughts run more than they should. Shaking your head slightly, trying to rid of these unuseful thoughts, turning your attention to the woods. The peacefulness of the woods goes unappreciated by most, it's beautiful when the moon is at its peak. Quiet enough to make you want to sleep, you can only guess your drowsiness and thoughts are what allowed her to sneak up on you.

"You're hard to track down, I'm impressed."

Your eyes widen and there's a small falter in your step. As minuscule as it may be, it's enough for her to notice, enough for her to know you heard her. 'shit, I didn't even hear her footsteps', you thought, angry with yourself.  Weems' voice rings in your head, 'you'll want to stay away'. Deciding it would be better to follow her advice, you keep walking, planning to finish the rounds and get back to your room. You hear footsteps behind you this time, they're quick, probably trying to catch up to you. "If you don't turn around I'll stab you.", she sounds mad, or is this what she always sounds like? This is the first time you've ever heard her voice, it's as beautiful as she is. When you don't acknowledge her there's a small huff and more footsteps, but this time they sound more like stomping. The crunching of the leaves and the snaps of the branches are too loud for this atmosphere.

Maybe this one time wouldn’t hurt, just this one and then go back to being alone. Hopefully, it'll sate her curiosity. Coming to a complete stop, she steps closer until she's within arms reach. Turning your head enough for her to get a side view, you pause for a second. You knew she was pretty, but seeing her up close is different from what you were expecting, even if she just threatened to hurt you. You look at her long enough to see her eyes travel your body, most likely judging the clothes you decided to wear. When her eyes find your face, you send her a gentle, closed-eyed smile and in an even gentler voice say,

"Sorry, Wednesday."

And you're gone, just like that, leaving her alone in the woods. Oh, how Wednesday plans to find out everything about you.

[cripplecharacters]

Hi! Do you have any advice specifically about writing a disabled character that wasn't born with their disability but that was critically injured? Like the first few months. The mindset of going from being abled to disabled and figuring stuff out. (I don't necessarily plan on writing from their pov because I can't speak on it but they're still a main character and having more knowledge about it would be helpful while writing!)

Hi there, thanks for your ask!

Keep in mind that the way you write this character will likely vary depending on what the injury is, and what the resulting disability is.

I'm going to answer this as someone who became physically disabled with fibromyalgia in adulthood due to a serious injury (spontaneous pneumothorax/lung collapse with long-term healing complications).

Here are some of the things I experienced that a newly physically disabled person might feel in the first months after their injury:

Some degree of confusion or denial. They might still wonder why they haven't fully healed from their injury and can't live their life the same way, because they've internalized their sense of ability so deeply.

They'll likely push themselves too hard multiple times, trying to test out how far they can push themselves without consequences.

They might initially refuse or be too afraid to ask for help when they need it and instead try to push through.

Experimenting with available treatments, like medications, physiotherapy, etc. These might vary depending on your setting.

They'll have a hard time letting go of anything that was important to them that they can no longer do the same way and search for alternative ways to do them where possible.

Reliance on their support system more than ever before. There will be good days and bad days. They might ask for reassurance more often.

They might feel frustrated and lash out when people try to push them past their limits, make insensitive comments about their disability, or draw comparisons between who they are now and who they were before their injury. Comments like, "Once you get better...," or "Stay positive, you never know what might happen," will make it harder for them to go through their natural grieving process.

They will notice ableism far more than they ever did before, especially if they now have mobility issues. If your story is set in the real world, this will feel overwhelming, depressing and infuriating to them, because ableism is everywhere.

They might re-organize their living space to be more accessible to them, and become more comfortable doing things in an unorthodox or unusual way if it works for them.

Re-evaluating their goals, values and desires. They'll start to let go of things they didn't actually want all that much, and focus more on the things they genuinely love.

Seeking connection with other physically disabled people! This will help them accept the changes in their life more than almost anything else.

Keep in mind that these are all personal, subjective, and dependent on a person's circumstances when they sustain debilitating injury. For example, it's easier to cope with acquiring a physical disability if you're financially well-off and can afford specialized medical care, compared to someone who can't.

Writing a newly disabled character can be very difficult as your instinct might be to write self-loathing, depressed characters. I'd advise to steer clear of this, and instead try to write characters exploring new lifestyles and learning new things about themselves in the process. Don't shy away from writing grieving characters, but that shouldn't be the only thing you depict the character feeling! Sure, my life might have been easier on the surface if I hadn't sustained that injury, but it's taught me a lot and I appreciate the emotional growth it fostered in me and the relationships I've built and strengthened in the process.

Overall, remember that a newly disabled character is struggling first and foremost with losing access to things that are designed to be inaccessible to disabled people. The problem the character is facing shouldn't be that they feel bad about being disabled, it should be the fact that they're now reckoning with societal inaccessibility and ableism in a way that they never had to before.

As always, this ask is open for input from anyone who's acquired a disability after an injury!

-Mod Faelan

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Assistant Peter or Best Friend's Ex Bucky?

Everybody Talks

Warnings: unwanted touches, suggestions of more.

Please send in feedback if so inclined. Thank you all 💜

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

"Rough night?" Peter sets down a steaming mug of coffee, the aroma drawing a sigh from your lungs.

You look up from your mindless scrolling and hide a yawn behind your hand. He smiles as he slides the cup closer and takes a step back, a portfolio under his arm. His youth irritates you as much as it piques your envy. He's always so chipper.

"Here you go, boss," he puts the leather folder on the other side of your desk, "this is the mock-up for the Winter spread."

"Mmm," you nod but make no move to take the folder, instead opting for the blonde roast with a touch of oat milk. He always gets it exactly right. "Thanks. Again, boss seems a bit... heavy."

"Sorry, habit," he shrugs and you notice the line of his shoulders, the way the line of his throat leads down below his collar, a hint at the broad chest that makes his buttons strain, "my old job was super strict."

"And we're not," you challenge, "Parker, you've worked here two years."

"It's gone fast, what can I say? And I still can't believe how lucky I am to have the best boss in the world."

"Calm down, you'll get a stellar reference you click on outlook and nearly purr as you have your first sip, "what is this?"

You look at the cup and give it a sniff.

"They had a new flavour in the lounge, sugar cookie."

"Ah."

"I know it's not the usual but we all deserve a treat from time to time."

"No problem, it's good," you set the cup down and rub your cheek as you cradle your chin in your hand, "thanks, Parker. You can get back to it."

He hesitates, lingering, "you sure you don't need anything else?"

"You know I didn't hire you to be my coffee jockey, you got enough on your plate."

"Yes, bo--" he stops himself and uses your name instead, "you know where to find me."

"Sure do," you say as your phone screen lights up and draws your attention. Another call from your husband. He can wait. Or rot for all you care.

❤️‍🔥

"Norman, I don't care-- No, no, I'm not one of your cronies. Or your son. Don't start that with me," you huff into the speaker, your screen saver bouncing against the walls of your monitor, "we talked about this already. You want to go, go. It will be alone. You've known about Paris all year. I can't miss it."

"Darling, you really are intractable. It's an anniversary gift and again, you want to work--"

"Yes, I do. It's my job. It's the same thing every year, Norman," you snap, "and don't begin to lecture me on work trips and family obligations, alright? How many nights have I slept alone while you're out schmoozing your business partners or late at the lab. If you want to talk about this, call Dr. Suzanne and I'll be happy to have her advise."

"Ugh, I do love your fire, dear, but it burns hot," he snarls.

"Oh shut up." You hang up and toss your phone on your desk and lean back in your chair with a growl. You don't know why you don't just go to the lawyer already. Well, you know, the same excuse as always. You're too busy.

You shake your head and roll forward, swiping away the idle screen and setting back to your itinerary. Before Norman, you weren't like this. You liked being home but he made work your only escape. It was an easy excuse not to be entirely alone.

❤️‍🔥

You're barely away as you slowly flip through the pages of the portfolio. The blue-tinted lighting of the editorial is lackluster. You don't recall giving Seasonal Affective Disorder as a theme. You scribble in your notebook and chew the end of the pen. You really don't want to have a whole new shoot but some of these photos are lit like shit.

There's a gentle knock and you lurch back in your chair. Most of the office is gone by now.

"Come in," you call over your desk as you rest your fingertips on the glossy page.

A bouquet of flowers enters. For a moment you don't notice the body on the other side. Peter holds the huge basket of petals in his arms as he angles through, his reddish hair barely visible over the top. He puts them down on the round table by the window.

"These came for you," he says as he faces you, giving a sniff to his shirt, "they smell nice."

"I can only imagine who sent them," you grumble, Norman's oldest trick. You're well past him buying forgiveness. "If it wasn't such a hassle, I'd have you dump them in the bin."

"If that's what you want--"

"Parker, no," you scoff, "what are you still doing here."

"I got a bit carried away planning for Paris. I didn't go last year so... I'm kinda excited."

"Yeah, I... guess I take it for granted," you roll the pen between your fingers and put it down, "you need to go."

"And what about you?" He counters.

"I'm headed out," you say as you close the portfolio, "promise."

He nods, his brown eyes warm and placid as he watches you stand. You give an awkward smile as your knee gives a pop. You're really starting to feel the long work days. He looks down, you assume because of the noise and you do too. Your wrap skirt exposes more than your knee but the top of your sheer stocking. You fix it quickly.

"Uh," his throat bobs, "yeah, I'll get going, boss."

You want to correct him but you're too embarrassed. You wait for him to go before you give yourself a thorough lookover. Everything else is exactly where it belongs. Great, just the young assistant seeing the grumpy old lady's thigh, no big deal.

🤛

It's rainy in Paris.

It hardly matters to Peter as you cross the airport with bags in tow and he babbles on about all the things he's read about. Lindy delayed her flight at the last moment and Howard always came early and left sooner. You try to be patient, try to remember when you were an intern in New York for the first time, but you're drawn thin. Norman didn't even say goodbye.

You get a taxi and give the Hotel's name. It's more expensive so the driver needs no direction. You tip him and Peter follows you out. He follows you up to the grand archway entrance and gives a noise of awe as you cross the lobby. You decide to give him Lindy's suite since she won't be there.

He gleefully takes his keycard and you check your phone. Yep, nothing. Norman's past hounding you. You're as infuriated as you are relieved.

"Here," Peter grabs your suitcase before you can, "I got it."

"They have bellboys--"

"I'm stronger," he winks as he wheels ahead of you, "this way, mademoiselle."

You could laugh at his little act. You trail behind him to the elevator and he lets you in ahead of him. The ascent has you slightly dizzy and you step off thankfully. You check your keycard and point him in the right direction.

You thank him, almost reaching for a bill from your wallet to give him, and catch yourself.

"Anything else?" He asks as he rolls your suitcase to stand against the wall.

"No, Parker, that's fine. Thank you."

"Peter," he says, "two years and you still call me Parker."

"I'm... sorry," you say softly, realising how you reproached him for simply calling you boss. "P- Peter, if I've been rude these last few weeks, I apologise. I've had a lot going on and it's not an excuse to take it out on you."

"Rude? No, like I said, best boss I've ever had."

You nod and let out a sigh, "well, I'll... see you tomorrow morning."

"Bright and early, mademoiselle," he grins, "have a good one."

He spins on his heel and strides out lightly. You close the door behind him and groan as it clicks, the hours in a plane seat twinge in your hips. You have to try to enjoy this trip, if only to spite Norman.

❤️‍🔥

"You can have Lindy's seat," you say as you lead Peter amid the crowds, "wouldn't look good to have an empty seat with our name on it. Especially in the front-- Maria!" You interrupt yourself as you great the silver-haired designer, "so wonderful to see you again. Thank you so much for the gift basket."

"Thank you for the editorial," she says in her lilted baritone, "oh my, have we traded in the old model?"

She tweaks a brow in Peter's direction and his cheeks redden as you peek over at him. You give a soft laugh, not enough to embarrass him.

"This is my assistant, Peter Parker. He's a photographer as well."

"Peter Parker," Maria drawls out, "what an... American name."

"I do happen to be American," Peter says dumbly.

"How absolutely adorable, I could spoon him up and eat him with a nice sorbet."

"Uhhh," Peter gives a squint.

"Don't let us keep you," you gently touch Maria's elbow, "we should find our seats."

She passes on as another voice calls out her name. You continue on to the crowded runway and edge along the front row. You sit and smooth your skirt, a vintage designer piece chosen deliberately for the event. An editor-in-chief can't look a mess even if they feel one. Peter looks good enough in a Gucci button up and slacks, hair tidy enough to seem as if he belongs. You can't help but notice the Louis Vuitton loafers.

"Are those new?" You ask.

"Oh, uh, have a friend who tends to hoard nice things," he shrugs, "and that dress?"

"Not new," you assure him.

"Still, it looks good."

"Comes with the territory. Everyone's here competing and in the front row, the press will be sure to get a couple snaps."

"Wow, is that Shaq?" He looks across the aisle, "I didn't think he'd be into fashion."

"Like I said, people come to be seen and they are seen," you say.

"Oh, right," he looks around and his eyes round. There's already a long lens aimed in your direction, "it hasn't even started yet."

"Yeah, there's really no start or end, it just happens," you say, "last year wasn't particularly great for us. Howard got a bit... tipsy so he's skipping it this year."

"Ah," he nods and smooths his shirt. You try not to pay attention as the fabric draws taut over his chest.

Another guest claims the chair next to you and you greet them, another editor, and settle in as seats begin to feel. The anticipation builds until the room grows dim. The runway lights up with shades of rose. The crowd quiets and Maria comes out to introduce her collection.

As the first model comes back, you make sure to keep your posture straight. You've done this enough times to be aware of every tick and move you make. You have a magazine to represent and right now, it's the only thing going right in your life. You watch the designs and give a thought arch of your brow, the colors are interesting but the cut doesn't quite fit.

You feel a tickle on your leg but keep your focus on the runway. Then the warmth spread across your leg and squeezes you through your skirt. You flick your lashes in shock as Peter leans over as he feels your thigh, "I like the colours..."

"What are you doing?" You withhold your chagrin as you move your lips subtly, focusing on keeping your composure.

"Just wanted to get your attention..." he whispers, "and the press. Imagine what they'll say."

"Peter, get your hand off me." You warn under your breath.

"It'll definitely piss Norman off, won't it?" He snickers as he leans even closer, retracting his hand, only to drape his arm over your shoulders, "an editor-in-chief with a younger man, too? The scandal."

"Parker--"

"This isn't appropriate."

"Don't worry, boss," he brushes his nose along your cheek, "it's not all for the press. I really am going to fuck you."

[equinox-86]

[HC] Yuma, Azusa, and Noctis playing Bloody Knuckles.

TW: Game involving mild violence, blood, and inflicting pain on the opposing player. I don't encourage playing Bloody Knuckles and would heavily advise against trying it. You're at your own risk if you try it out. You've been warned.

A friend told me that she played Bloody Knuckles some time ago, which is such an old game I completely forgot about, and it gave me a HC idea for DL.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It started out with a disagreement between Noctis and Yuma, which resulted in them playing Bloody Knuckles.

It's normal for Yuma and Noctis to play games ranging from play fighting to games that involve drawing blood.

After a few rounds, Azusa happened to pass by the living room. He was originally heading to the kitchen to hone his newest addition to his knife collection, but he was abruptly stopped by the sound of groans, metal clinking and the faint smell of blood lingering in the air and decides stop by.

He notices the two with their fists on the table, flinging coins at each other's knuckles. His eyes lit up immediately, and he begs to play along, as in his twisted perspective, 'it looks like they're having so much fun making new friends.' They refused to let him join at first, but the begging kept going on until he started spewing his usual nonsense and talking to Justin to the point they gave in and let him play.

Alternative scenario: imagine if Ruki was reading a book in the living room but the ruckus they made disturbed his peace, so he told them to let Azusa join before leaving. Like a mom forcing her older siblings to play with the younger one LMAO. He can't stop Azusa from being... well... Azusa, so getting bloodied knuckles would be better than whatever gruesome things Azusa suggests should be done to him.

So anyways, now they went from a battle stemming from a disagreement to challenging who manages to last the longest. By the end of the day, Noctis surprisingly offers them to lap up the blood from her hands because she figured that it would be more bothersome to have them team up against her and potentially have more blood forced out from her.

However, she still threatens to break Yuma's nose if he dares to bite down, but he's quick to call out the bluff, knowing that she wouldn't mess with 2 threats occupying her hands. He still decides to respect her wish for once, knowing that she's also a hassle to deal with if a fight were to break out.

It was getting late and in the end, Azusa had the most fun from inflicting and receiving pain.

If it wasn't for Ruki calling them for dinner, Yuma and Noctis would've kept going. Both are too stubborn to give up.

Meanwhile, Azusa is thinking of names for his new 'friends' and makes suggestions for Yuma and Noctis' new scars as well.

Ruki sighs in disapproval at Azusa's actions and reminds him again that he doesn't need to do these things anymore, since it's all in the past and that he needs to move on.

But Azusa was too caught up in his own world to pay attention to anything else but his thoughts.

[yandere-fics]

♡ What Are Their Kinks ♡

♡ The City Version ♡

(Excluding Veronia because I just did a whole alphabet for her that goes into more detail.)

♡ Overstimulation. Way more than anyone else on this list. She's gonna make you faint before she's satisfied. You're gonna wake up to her teasing you because she was unable to get her fill of you so you have to make up for that. ♡

♡ Definitely has a master thing going on but not explicitly. Loves abusing her power at random time to make every advisor leave the room so she can have you, but unfortunately they still have to stay in the hallway outside since the meeting has to resume after she finishes with you. ♡

♡ Oh and by the way, you'll have to sit on her lap, completely wrecked and covered in her cloak for the rest of the meeting, think of it as aftercare. The advisers put up with it because she's a very good leader and if this is what it takes to keep such a powerful leader on the throne, then they'll turn a blind eye and she loves knowing that they're forced to turn a blind eye to all of it. ♡

♡ Being as she's from a more modern world, and she has funds and magic at her disposal now, she can use that power to create any toy she wants but so much better. She loves toys. Has a whole collection of ones catering exclusively to your body. ♡

♡ It's accidental overstimulation, not necessarily her kink, she just has to keep going because a new shipment of her designs came in and she wants to test them out so badly. ♡

♡ A minor aftercare kink because it's just so nice and sweet and intimate. She wants to ruin you so that way after it's done she'll have you nice and complacent for her. ♡

♡ Exhibitionism. She doesn't want people to look at you two together but she loves doing it in places that people might walk in. Might get a bit degrading but you can ask her to stop and she'll feel bad and won't degrade you anymore unlike the other yandere's who like degrading. ♡

♡ This is no surprise but romantic night where she spreads flowers and lights candles for the two of you get her going more than anything. ♡

♡ Thigh riding. Particularly when she's just finished training, all the knights are out of the court so it's just you two. It has all her favorite things. It's so intimate because she has just proven her strength to you, her perfect lover, people could possibly walk in, although probably not since she did order them to go away, and she has you all to herself. You just look so cute whining that riding her thigh isn't enough stimulation. ♡

♡ Blood. That much should be obvious. She sits in her tower experimenting with the compounds in blood all day, it's no wonder that she might get off on experimenting with blood with her darling. Her blood, she can't hurt her precious baby girl. But she does want to drink yours if you would let her. No, what it's totally for research purposes. She's like Connor in Detroit Become Human, she must taste the blood to analyze it. She's not getting off on it, totally. Yeah let's go with that explanation. ♡

♡ Aphrodisiacs, with your consent beforehand. She likes the woozy feeling, and she'll even take them with you, but she wants to make sure you want it before so she's not taking advantage of you. I mean your love is obviously mutual and she wants to keep it that way. Doing it without asking could make you fall out of love at first sight if you discover you dislike her pushiness(So this is where she draws the line on pushiness, like damn she's always pushing your boundaries lol) ♡

♡ I mean magic but that's been said before. She can create magic gadgets that are even better than the things that Elisha creates, these bad boys are gonna wreck your soul. Not even joking, god is probably looking away in shame. ♡

[bythenineshards]

What Tamlin retcons are there, exactly?

@worldsnotsaid has excellent and incredibly detailed essays about this topic. I'd advise going to their blog and reading their stuff.

Recently, someone made a post (I don't remember who, but after I get done with this post I'll find it and mention them in a reblog or comment or something. But in it, they mention that any and all of Tamlin's behavior could be classified in the same boat as the behavior of all the Fae Males (cringe) in this series. He's not human and more animalistic. So something like Tamlin losing his temper when Feyre's wellbeing is threatened and threatening violence is pretty on par for the Fae. Cough cough Rhys loses his temper when Feyre's wellbeing (aka the ignorance he placed her under) is threatened by Nesta and he does what? Threatens to fucking kill her. It's all just Maas deciding whatever Tamlin does is bad but if Rhys does the same thing for the same reasons, he's good.

But you asked about recons.

I'll give you one that really grinds my gears. Tamlin's behavior Utm. A lot of people, Feyre included, like to twist what Tamlin did into something that it wasn't. And Maas thinks we're too stupid to notice. In Acotar, when Feyre shows up Utm, Tamlin has no power and is subservient to Amarantha. He is literally the same as everyone else (except Rhys). While Feyre does the trials, Tamlin is emotionless. Right? He gives Amarantha nothing. Thus keeping Amarantha from finding ways to hurt Feyre to get a reaction from Tamlin. He is saving her from torture.

Something like this sorta happens in PotC 3, don't judge me, but it shows what happens when you fail to deceive your opponent. Elisabeth and Barbossa go to Singapore to enlist the help of Sao Feng. While debating the situation, Sao Feng reveals he has Will. Barbossa pretends they don't know him. Sao Feng calls their bluff and goes to kill Will. Elisabeth gasps. This gives Sao Feng the upper hand. One tiny noise and favor falls to Sao Feng.

Tamlin holding this act for three months is actually a super effective action to show the reader that Tamlin cares. He knows this is going to be bad as is. He doesn't want to make it worse for her. In Acomaf, this is twisted as "He did nothing to help me" which is utter bs. The motive was clear in Acotar. No matter how much Maas wants you to believe this new angle she's pulling out of her ass.

The next part of this retcon is the last night before the final trial. Feyre complains in Acomaf that Tamlin did nothing to help her Utm and all he wanted was to fuck her. First off, shut up Feyre. In Acotar, she was down to clown. In fact, it's been a while, but I'm pretty sure she initiated it. He had no power Utm until Feyre solved the riddle. He had no idea what the trial was. And why would he do something as selfish as to leave everyone there to suffer? Why would he start asking a bunch of questions? It would draw attention to Feyre. You know, that person he's trying to protect by pretending not to care? Wouldn't anyone get sus that he's asking about that human he supposedly doesn't care about.

Also, within a book like this, it's pretty common to reiterate to the reader and MC what they are fighting for right before the climax. In Feyre's case, it's freeing the love of her life. So the reminder for Feyre of her goal before the climax is a climax (...sigh... Even I'm not proud of that and I'm an unabashed monster fucker). Having her get one final moment with Tamlin the night before the last trial is a reaffirming of her goal. Was it dumb in that situation? Yes. If this was a was a movie, I'd be sternly saying how stupid they are. Should it be twisted to make Tamlin look bad? No. Realistically speaking, with everything we know about the situation, it's unlikely he had anything to offer her other than to show her how deeply he cares for her. To show that despite pretending not to care, he does love her. I'd also point out that Maas never really has any other...methods of showing love other than sex. Her relationships are as shallow as a kiddie pool in July.

It can also be interpreted that he has faith in her to finish the trials. Which is refreshing and funny, considering if she didn't literally have the answer handed to her in the second trial, she and Lucien would be dead, and the Courts would be trapped forever under Amarantha. Honestly, besides the Wyrm, she's basically handed everything. But I digress.

I hope this was enlightening.

[coyotesamachado]

Wouldn’t you love to love her? 1/3

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw and Original Female Character

Then Hangman is telling him to follow her, and it takes a moment for him to blink out of his reverie. He scrambles out his seat and Phoenix barks out a laugh. No one knows who else is going on the mission, but they all know that Mac will be one of those pilots. A lot of them would be lying if they said that they hadn’t known that from the minute she walked into the Hard Deck that first night. While all of them were cocky pilots, outwardly so, Mac was just confident. The rest of them were quick to try and discredit each other's abilities, trying to make themselves seem bigger and badder, but she just simply let her flying do the talking. However, with her being a guarantee to fly, it means there’s a guarantee that she might not come back, so maybe that affords her a few little luxuries.

Long time reader, first time publishing something for other people to read. This was heavily inspired, loosely based on "Rhiannon" by Fleetwood Mac. Apparently there's just something about Fleetwood Mac and shirtless men with a 80's editing wash that just gets to me. I say semi-reader insert because the main character is never identified by anything other than her callsign.

Callsign is "Mac". I know I'm so creative.

It has been about two weeks since I saw the movie so if anything is out of whack in terms of sequencing, I apologize. I also want to apologize if there's any mistakes in Americanisms. I am Australian, and though I have been writing for very long time as American characters, sometimes the Australian still peeks through.

This is cross posted from my AO3, link in the source.

WC: 5560.

Warnings: eventual smut, explicit language, explicit sexual content, drinking, safety first, gratuitous use of commas. Under the cut because it is 18+ Reader discretion is advised.

Part two. Part Three.

Who will be her lover?

They watch her take off, can hear the smile on her face when she speaks over the comms.

They were brought back to Top Gun because they were the best of the best, as Phoenix reminded them the night before, but when Mac takes to the air with a lightness and grace, even Hangman has to admit that she’s the best among them. She has this air of coolness that when she’s in the air, nothing phases her. She deals with the g-force amazingly and her breath control is insane. Hangman would make a comment about it if he wasn’t so impressed. She breathes out slowly as she pulls the F-18 into a straight climb, narrowly missing being “shot down” by Maverick. She barely makes a sound over the comms as she shoots through the sky, where they could hear everyone else’s heavy breaths, snide comments, and quick rebuffs. She flips her plane easily, dropping down behind Maverick in their dogfight exercise, her sight set on him as she aims, but he drops out quickly before the kill tone can sound.

They fly around for what feels like hours before Maverick’s breathing heavy and Mac’s hands are shaking. He tells her to land her plane, calling it a draw, and the rest of the class are looking at one another wondering what that means for her push-ups. She has sweat dripping down the back of her neck, the tank underneath her flight suit heavily drenched. Her breathing finally seems heavy, her chest heaving despite the broad grin on her face. She grips Maverick’s hand in a firm shake, and he’s shaking his head at her with a laugh. She passes him her helmet and walks back into the hanger to the slow clap from the rest of the team with the exception of Rooster who is still completing his push-ups.

She waits there while everyone else is showering and when he doesn’t come back once the hanger is cleared, she goes in search of him. Hondo isn’t out there anymore, but Rooster is still doing his push-ups.

“They’re all gone Rooster, you can stop,” she says as she approaches, but he only gives her a grunt in reply and continues.

She goes to walk away when she hears the choked-out sob. She doesn’t turn to stare, instead she sits down on the tarmac looking out over the runways. She’s not too far away but she’s close enough that he knows she’s there if he needs her.

-

She moves easily through the crowd, spinning and ducking and weaving through the hands and voices trying to capture her attention. Her feet move with the agility of a dancer, and she supposes that she was in another life. In another life, she was dancing on the stages of the world, high on tip toe, graceful and delicate. But it’s not another life, it’s this one so she’s dancing through the crowded bar, four beer bottles dangling from her nimble fingers.

“MAA-AAAC!!!!” rings through her ears in a singsong fashion and she grins as she approaches her new friends. Rooster’s voice is loud over the noise in The Hard Deck and it only makes her chuckle. Passing out the beers to Bob and Phoenix, she holds Rooster’s just out of reach, teasing it back and forth, frustration etched in his forehead until she holds it out a little too long and he’s able to grasp it, snatching it from her. Her laughter rings out loudly, and Bob’s and Phoenix's joins it until after Rooster has swallowed his first mouthful and gets over it.

She sits with them and brings her own bottle to her lips, tipping her head back for a moment, and Rooster can’t help but stare for a moment as her throat bobs when she swallows. Phoenix coughs when she catches him, and Mac opens her eyes glancing at the woman she considers her closest friend here as she continues to down her beer. She misses the way Rooster’s eyes darken, but Phoenix and Bob don’t. A look is shared between them before Rooster blinks and brings his eyes to anywhere but her.

-

“You look like you need a dance partner, Mac.”

Hangman’s in her ear, and her hips stutter from their swaying movement, the skirt of her dress still moving despite the sudden stop.

“And you think that’s going to be you?” she asks, a smirk appearing on her lips. She twirls away from him, her laughter following as she sways her way over to the bar and parks herself next to Bob.

“How many times do men need to hear the word no?” she asks him with a sigh before picking out a peanut from his bowl.

“Some men, only once,” he states factually, “But men like Hangman, probably another dozen.”

Mac smiles at the smirk on his face, happy to see him enjoying himself. Anything to bring Hangman down a peg and prop Bob up just a little more. His quiet demeanor reminds her of her own. She appreciates having him at Top Gun, a grounding force when it should be so easy to fall into a cocky stride alongside the other pilots.

“Do you need another drink?” she asks him, turning back to the bar to get Penny’s attention. He barely has a chance to answer before she’s ordering two beers on her tab and passing one over to Bob. Then she’s standing up again and dancing away. He can’t help but be impressed that she’s the same on the ground as she is in the air. She’s calm, cool and collected, never staying in one place too long and constantly dancing away from scenarios. He admires that about her.

She finds her way over to Phoenix, her eyes fixating on the other woman from the moment they land on her. She takes a swig of beer as she shimmies over to her. When she reaches her, her beer is thrust into Rooster’s hand without a sideways glance before she extends her other hand to Phoenix.

“Dance with me?” she asks, her whole body swaying to the music. Phoenix lets out a laugh before she finishes off her own beer. She shakes her head but takes Mac’s hand, allowing her to twirl her before pulling her close and pushing her away again. The smiles are bright on both their faces as Phoenix sidesteps while Mac spins around her. She pulls the other woman close, rocking their bodies together in a dance reminiscent of a funky waltz. They move like that for the rest of the song and the next before Phoenix pulls away, breathless with laughter.

“No, I need another drink,” she says, walking away from a pouting Mac. The guys around them rush to look away, like the two women were not the center of attention for the last five and a half minutes.

Mac turns, her eyes scanning over the guys around them. They settle on Rooster, seated on one of the chairs by the pool tables in the back. She takes a seat on his lap, wrapping an arm around in neck in a comfortable manner. While she is relaxed in her seat, taking her beer from his hand, he is significantly less comfortable. Her proximity was making him more drunk than her beer that he had been drinking. When his hand rests on her knee with nowhere else to put it, she smiles brightly at him, and he’d deny that he sits up straighter, his body tensing. His lips still twitch up in a smile in return. She sips at her beer as her attention turns back to the bar. Her fingers tap out a rhythm on his shoulder, humming happily. No one says anything about it being the longest they’ve ever seen her sit still when she isn’t in a plane.

She signals to Penny rather than getting up, a surprise to just about everyone around them. Rooster doesn’t say anything as she hands both of them their beers, an eyebrow raised and a questioning glint in her eye. Mac is watching everyone around them carefully, daring someone to say something, anything, but no one does. She stays seated on Rooster’s lap, and he refuses to make any movement that would make her run away like a frightened cat. He knows he’s not the one in control right now. She watches Phoenix attempt to beat Hangman in pool, her nails scratching gently at the hairs on the nape of Rooster’s neck and his thumb starts rubbing circles over the fabric of her dress until it slowly begins to ride up. He stills when he makes contact with her skin, but she doesn’t stop her own comforting movements, so he continues.

The night slows out and when Mac finally stands, she spins quickly, the skirt of her dress flaring out. Everyone in their team sees when she presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, but she has the kind of cool confidence that allows her to walk over to the bar without embarrassment despite the whistles. She closes out her tab and waltzes out of the bar with a wave of her hand to Bob and Phoenix, without a look back at him.

Then Hangman is telling him to follow her, and it takes a moment for him to blink out of his reverie. He scrambles out his seat and Phoenix barks out a laugh. No one knows who else is going on the mission, but they all know that Mac will be one of those pilots. A lot of them would be lying if they said that they hadn’t known that from the minute she walked into the Hard Deck that first night. While all of them were cocky pilots, outwardly so, Mac was just confident. The rest of them were quick to try and discredit each other's abilities, trying to make themselves seem bigger and badder, but she just simply let her flying do the talking. However, with her being a guarantee to fly, it means there’s a guarantee that she might not come back, so maybe that affords her a few little luxuries.

-

Rooster follows her, a quick nod to Penny who is grinning like the cat who got the cream at getting to see this all unfold. He walks out into the parking lot and she captures his attention like she practiced it. She’s swaying to the beat inside her head as she starts walking back towards base. He wonders if that’s how she stays so calm in the air, some unheard tune playing constantly in her head. It would not surprise him if that were the case.

He catches up to her easily, an arm slung low around her waist. She looks up at him, that same easy confidence written over her face as she smiles at up at him.

“I wasn’t sure you got the invitation.”

“I didn’t. Hangman of all people had to spell it out for me,” he admits, and she nods slowly. They’re both silent as they walk, his steps nearly clumsy next to her’s as she seems like she’s floating.

“You good enough to drive me home?” she asks him and he nods, directing her towards his Bronco. It’s a quiet drive back to the barracks, but it’s a comfortable one. Her hand is warm and heavy, high on his thigh, making her intentions well known. It makes it incredibly difficult for him to concentrate on the road. She hums along to the songs on the radio while he sings quietly. It’s almost like they’ve been doing this dance for years, rather than a week or two.

-

His arm wraps around her again, pulling her close as they walk through the barracks and to her room. She unlocks her door, pushing it open before turning her attention back to him.

Just as she’s wondering if she’ll have to make the first move again, Rooster moves, the arm around her waist curling back towards himself and bringing her with him. She blinks up at him, her smile still so bright even though the night surrounds them.

“Mac,” he whispers, his other hand coming up to tuck the stray hair clinging to her cheek, back behind her ear. He’d call it a cliché if his heart wasn’t beating loudly in this moment. Her eyes glance down to his lips and he peeks his tongue out to wet them.

“Rooster,” she returns softly, her fingers walking up his chest until she can wrap her arms around his neck and press herself closer to him. “If you don’t kiss me soon, I’m walking in there and closing the door behind me.”

It’s a threat, and one they both know she’ll make good on. His laugh rumbles through his chest, and she can feel it from where she’s pushed herself up against him. She’s about to pull away, disappointment blooming through her, when the hand on the side of her face turns from soft and calming, to gripping her chin and tilting her face towards him. He still has to duck down a little, but then his lips gently touch her’s.

That’s all the gentle he gets before she pushes back hard, her fingernails scratching hard at the hairs at the nape of his neck. It’s reminiscent of only an hour before. She bites at his bottom lip and the gasp that follows is all she needs to push her tongue forward and deepen their kiss.

It’s dizzying, how fast the speed has changed, before Rooster remembers that they’re pilots. They’re both used to idling on a tarmac or ship before getting up to speeds fast enough to take off. Satisfied that he’s not going to run away from her now, Mac drags her hands back down his chest until she settles with toying with the hem of the tight, white t-shirt underneath one of his many Hawaiian shirts. Both of his hands drop to her ass, squeezing at her cheeks like most of the guys in their team had been longing to do. She huffs out a laugh into their kiss before she breaks it. Taking a step backwards, she tugs on the open sides of his shirt, dragging him along with her.

She turns them before they reach the doorway and pushes him through. She walks in after him with deliberate strides until she can kick the door closed behind them. Rooster doesn’t allow her to turn around and lock it before he’s pushing her up against it. He kisses her again, his hands tangling in her hair, pulling her to where he wants her. She reaches for the door knob behind her, flicking the lock and praying that Phoenix doesn’t come back early, or if she does, she has the decency to knock. But that’s the last she thinks of Phoenix as Rooster starts kissing down her neck, nipping and biting as he goes. She hums happily, her nails dragging down his back before she brings her hands back around to his front and slides the Hawaiian shirt from his shoulders. It catches on his elbows and he laughs, untangling his hands from her hair so he can drop it unceremoniously on the floor. While he’s there, she tucks her hands under his t-shirt and pushes it up as her hands run the length of his torso.

He pulls it over his head, and it’s joining his other shirt while she drinks in the sight of him without anyone around to judge her. Phoenix had caught her staring at him the day of dogfight football, and had specifically run at her, tackling her to the ground before any of the other guys could catch her. Could she really be blamed when he was dancing around like that after his touchdown? The two of them had stayed up that night gossiping, and she’d whispered quietly that maybe she wanted him.

She goes to move again, but Rooster’s shaking his head and stepping back into her, crowding her against the wall. His fingers are delicate as he slides the strings she calls straps on her dress down over her shoulders so the only thing holding it up is the zipper in the back.

She brings his lips back to hers with both hands on either side of his face, trying to bring him to her as close as possible. His mustache tickles at her nose but she finds herself not caring, it's certainly attractive on him. She arches her back, her head knocking back against the door, so she can press her chest into his. He’s smart enough to get the hint at that moment and his hands are hot on the skin of her shoulder blades. They’re only there a moment before he’s ripping the zip of her dress down and she falls back against the door so gravity can do its thing and her dress is sliding to the ground between them. He pulls away from their kiss, his eyes holding her’s like he’s too respectful to glance down. She expects that from someone like Bob, but not Rooster. Her hands trace up the curve of her own stomach, fingers dipping under the line of her breasts, softly caressing the skin until she’s tugging on her nipples and his attention is finally drawn downwards.

He blinks and swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing and she smirks.

“Come on Rooster, no need to be gentle, I promise I won’t break,” she whispers, like anything louder will break the tension in the room and bring him out of this. She doesn’t want him running now, not when she’s on the edge of death and he might be joining her.

He pushes her hands out of the way, grabbing them in one of his own and holding them above her head. He looms over her and kicks her legs wider apart, pushing his thigh up against her core. She moans deep in the back of throat, and the noise catches both of them off guard. But soon he’s smirking and his free hand returns to toy with her nipple, pulling and pinching until he’s happy with its pebbling. She’s rolling her hips against the strong muscle of his thigh, and if she wasn’t so turned on, she’d be embarrassed by how desperate she seems. He bites at the junction where her neck meets her collarbone and she gasps, snapping her hips forward.

“Please Rooster,” she pleads, and it sounds so foreign to him because he genuinely doesn’t think she should ever have to plead for anything in her life. But it’s his name, his callsign, falling from her lips in a breathless fashion, and he wouldn’t mind hearing it again.

But he decides to placate her, knowing that if he doesn’t, she’ll kick him out into the hallway with blue balls, leaving him with the knowledge that she’s taking care of herself.

His hand follows the line of her body from the curve of her breast to the dip at the top of her hip. He runs his finger through the top of her laced panties while their tongues battle for the dominance that neither of them are sure they want to win. It’s much more fun to fight for it. She whines and huffs, trying to move her hips so that he’s touching her right where she wants him. But he moves his hand back with her hips, teasing her the same way she teased him with the beer bottle all those nights ago. She huffs out a sigh and he finally pushes forward, his finger sliding easily between her folds. She sighs happily at the contact, grateful for more than just humping herself on his leg. It soon turns to a soft moan as he finds her clit and slowly runs his finger over it in circles. She wants it harder, faster, but she can only roll her hips so far because the grip he has on her wrists is just the right amount of tight that makes her body tremble.

“Bradley,” she whines by way of asking for more. He groans at his name falling from her lips that he practically bruises them when he kisses her again. He pushes a finger inside of her, his thumb taking over rubbing circles on her clit. He’s quick to add a second as she bucks her hips forward to meet his hand. Her own hands strain against his grip because all she wants to do is touch him, but at this point he’s so determined to make her come on his fingers that he doesn’t give a damn about how hard he is.

He adds a third finger and she comes undone. Her moans come out in breathless pants because she knows that she needs to be quiet but it’s just so difficult when his fingers fill her in ways her own can’t and the calloused feel of his thumb on her clit is enough to drive her crazy with desire. It’s so much better than anything she’d be able to do to herself. Her muscles relax and she falls back against the door, expelling the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding as her body stops trembling.

He looks down at her in amazement, a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips, and she tugs at the grip on her wrists again, desperate to touch him now. Rooster finally lets them go and she rolls them to get movement back into them.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly, and she shakes her head.

“Do not apologize for anything you just did,” she says sternly before dropping her hands to his belt.

Her nimble fingers have his buckle undone before he can blink, and she whips the belt from its loops, tossing it aside. She flips open his button and slides down the zip. Rooster sighs in relief from the strain of his erection against the denim of his pants. She chuckles as she slides her hand in and grips him, this time it’s him moaning as she surges up to kiss him and quieten him.

Much to his annoyance she removes her hand far too quickly for him to get any satisfaction. He groans unhappily, and she laughs into their kiss, pushing him back towards her bed. She slides her hands down the hard lines of his body into the back of his pants, pushing them down slightly as she grips the meat of his ass. When his legs hit that side of her bed, she pushes them the rest of the way down, and she follows them getting on her knees in front of him. Rooster moans at the sight, knowing what’s coming next.

One of her hands trace up his thigh until she reaches his stomach and she pushes him so he’s sitting on the edge of her bed and it’s easier for her to wrap her hand around his cock. She gives him a gentle tug, getting used to the weight of him. She adjusts her stance on her knees and before he can say anything to her, she licks a slow stripe up the underside of his cock. Rooster moans again, and Mac is smirking to herself as she wraps her lips around the head, her tongue swirling around him. He leans back on his hands, watching her as her hands wraps around the base of his cock and she continues working over the head.

A mean thought lingers through his head, a comment Hangman made after a drunken night out, and Rooster is far too tempted to try it. He tangles his hand in her hair, gripping at her skull, pulling slightly. He guides her gently, rather than the rough push Hangman would have given her if it had been him in this position. She pushes off, a line of spit connecting her lips to the head of his cock, and he groans at the lack of contact. If he had a chance to panic, he would. Instead, she breathes in deeply through her nose before taking him in her mouth again, her hand coming off and she’s guiding herself lower on his cock.

Her breath comes out in one slow puff as he feels her throat relax and her nose touch his stomach. A loud moan escapes him, and she swallows around him, extending it. His fingers tighten in her hair and she chances a glance up at him through her lashes. She can see, feel, that he’s holding back, and she bobs her head before pinching at the skin of his thigh. He hadn’t realized that his eyes were scrunched closed tight, that when he looks down at her, it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the sight before him. It’s heavenly and one he wishes he could take a picture of.

Then she’s pulling back again, pushing against the hand on her head.

“Come on Rooster, you don’t have to hold back with me.”

He groans at the thought but she’s back on his cock before he can think too much about it. She relaxes her jaw, her throat and pinches him again, her silent way of telling him to move. He pushes her off him, standing up. Before concern can blossom through her, he’s guiding her back towards him. He thrusts quickly into her mouth, and she chokes a moment before she adjusts and everything’s relaxed and open and Rooster can’t believe he’s fucking her throat. If he weren’t a gentleman he’d be inclined to boast about what was currently happening in the morning. Her fingers glide a gentle rhythm against his thighs, one completely juxtaposed to the speed at which his hips are snapping. He pulls her right up against him, her nose squished against the bone of his pelvis and he holds her there for a minute until her eyes start to water. He’s surprised that she doesn’t pinch his thigh and it just impresses him all the more. He feels himself edge towards the precipice of coming and he pulls her off him quickly, his hand pressing a tight grip to base of his cock as he lowers himself to the ground in front of her. He kisses her hard and fast, and it’s dizzying to go from a lack of oxygen to his tongue wrestling with her own.

“Fucking hell Mac,” he says, pressing their foreheads together, “that could have been the death of me.”

She smiles sheepishly, wiping a hand over her face to clear it of the tears and spit she felt. But he’s kissing her again before she can think too much about it. Rooster’s pushing her back against the floor and she’s laughing because there’s a bed right over there but they’re both impatient and they only have so much time before Phoenix comes back to claim her own bed on the other side of their twin room.

Rooster stays on his knees, and he pulls her panties off her finally before pulling her hips up onto him, but she rolls away.

“Uh uh, condom,” she says, shaking a finger at him before grabbing one from her bedside drawer. She throws it at him with a sweet smile.

“You keep condoms in your drawer? Who else do you sneak in here, Mac?” His voice is jovial but there’s a hint of jealousy tinging the edge of it.

She takes a deep breath, rolling herself back towards him.

“Safety first, Rooster. And no one. There’s two in my purse as well, just in case. But it’s a bit hard to want to fuck other people when there’s only one guy who has your attention,” she admits the last part softly.

Rooster glances up at her from where he’s rolling the condom on, and he smiles softly at her.

“It’s Bob isn’t it?” He jokes.

“Get the fuck out right now if you’re going to keep going down that path,” she laughs, and he’s back pulling her hips up over his thighs before thrusting into her.

She bites her lip, a weak attempt to hold back the moan itching at her throat. Instead, he rips it from her with a hard thrust, and it rings loud in both their ears. If anyone has come back to the barracks, she was going to hear about it in the morning. Rooster probably would too, since the entire bar had seen how they had left the bar earlier. He laughs, not feeling the same embarrassment that’s causing a pink blush to rise from her chest to her cheeks. But then he’s thrusting into her with a slow and steady rhythm until she babbling for more, her fingers grasping at the carpet.

He places her ankles up over his shoulders, changing the angle of his thrusts and she shoves her hand over her mouth to stop herself from crying out too loudly. He chuckles lowly, and fucks into her faster, his speed relentless against her. She bites down on the skin of her palm; he’s grunting with each thrust into her, and he feels a little bad that he won’t last all that long, but with the blow job she gave him before, could he really be blamed? He grips at her thigh with one hand and brings the other down to her clit, determined to make her come again before he does.

Her upper back is scratching deliciously across the carpet, as each thrust of his hips pushes her further away from him.

“Why you running away Mac?”

He pulls her close again, and she laughs. She’s breathing hard into the skin of her hand, it coming out in short puffs with each of his powerful strokes. He tilts her hips and manages to get just the right angle that she squeaks out a high-pitched moan. He can feel she’s close, her body tensing around him, and she’s dragging him with her. She comes with a cry, her body trembling but he can’t slow down as he chases his own release. Soon he’s following her over the edge of ecstasy. He has the foresight to let her legs down from his shoulders before he collapses on top of her. His elbows bracket her head, catching her hair as he brings hips lips to her’s in another kiss, this one sweet in comparison to the heated ones before.

She laughs happily, and it’s music to his ears.

“Bed,” she manages to choke out, her voice hoarse from earlier and fighting to bite back her moans. As he pulls out of her and gets rid of the condom, she stands on shaking legs and carries herself over to her bed. He goes to pass her the water bottle from her side table, and she gives him a sleepy smile, reaching out to grab it. Instead, he grabs her hand, turning it over so he can inspect her palm. There are teeth marks there and he rubs his thumb over it gently.

“You okay?”

“Better than,” she smiles, “lay down a moment?”

She doesn’t need to ask twice for him to put his underwear back on and climb onto her bed next to her.

“Won’t Phoenix be back soon?”

“Fuck Phoenix,” she mumbles, but she pulls a pair of clean underwear from her draw and her sleep shirt from under her pillow. She pushes him back onto the bed and lays down next to him, wrapping herself around him. His hand settles under her shirt, warm across her lower back.

They both fall asleep with smiles on their faces.

-

She wakes up before him, the smile still on her lips when she sees Rooster next to her. She can tell by the light of the room that it’s going to be morning soon. She rolls over, and he mumbles in his sleep, pulling her back against him. Phoenix’s bed is still made, their clothes are still strewn across the floor and despite how good it feels to wake up next to him, panic starts to seep in.

“Rooster,” she whispers in an attempt to wake him up, but his mumbles continue, so she slides his arm from around her, and slips out of her bed. How the two of them managed to sleep in a single bed together, was beyond her.

She throws on her work out clothes, a look at Phoenix’s clock telling her that it’s still too early in the morning for her flight uniform. She walks out into their common area, shoes in hand, ready to go for a run when she’s stopped by the sight of her roommate.

Phoenix looks up at her, a glint of mischief in her eyes, and Mac is relieved to see that she doesn’t look angry.

“Oh good, I can go get out of these now,” she said, gesturing down at the fact she’s wearing the same clothes she was in last night.

“Ah, not right now.”

“He’s still there?”

Mac nods, having the decency to look apologetic, but Phoenix grins at her.

“Tell me everything,” she demands, sinking back in the couch with her coffee mug in hand.

“I don’t know if you want to hear everything,” Mac counters, but they hear footsteps and Phoenix’s response is drowned out as Hangman walks into the room.

“She might not want to know, but I certainly do.”

[autumnalwalker]

Seven Snippets, Seven People

Thank you for the tag, @druidx.

Passing the(optional) tag to @dyrewrites, @ceph-the-ghost-writer, @talesofsorrowandofruin, @the-down-upside-finch, @theprissythumbelina, @junypr-camus, @korblez, and an open tag to anyone else looking for an excuse to share snippets.

Here's some snippets from the most recent POV cycle of chapters for Empty Names:

One: Chapter 17 - Embedded Media

“I appreciate the sentiment, but you do yourself a disservice in selling yourself too short.”  Glassheart pauses for a moment and then continues as serenely as ever.  “That said, it would be remiss of me not to advise caution in continuing down your current path.  You are recombining elements of disparate magic systems in novel ways and breaking rules seemingly without even being aware that they exist.  Some would call that reckless.  Some would call it offensive disregard for tradition.  Some might even brand it as sorcery, inherently dangerous or ripe enough for abuse to be taboo for all but the strongest-willed of mages to attempt.”

Lacuna attempts to examine Glassheart’s face for some hint of expression or emotion.  Is he saying that he finds the idea she just ran by him offensive?  She forces a nervous laugh.

“It can’t be that bad, right?  I’m just one amateur dabbler poking around in a lab finding overly-convoluted ways to do what’s simple for anyone else.  I’m not even a real mage.”

“It most likely is not.  But the rituals your system generates are unlike anything else I have encountered or heard of, and that which is unfamiliar ofttimes makes people nervous.”

“I… Thanks for the warning?  I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

Two: Chapter 17 - Embedded Media

She presses her thumb into the designated section of the scepter, gripping with intent, and the pre-recorded accelerated incantation begins emanating from the tube, causing the ornament at the tip to begin glowing in response.  The glow brightens, slides off of the ornament and coalesces into a fist-sized glowing ball floating in the air.  After having only run for a second, the near-static noise of the incantation stops but the floating mote of light remains.  It briefly flickers as Lacuna lets her concentration slip in a moment of astonishment that it worked on the first try, but quickly stabilizes when she refocuses her attention.

She repeats the process three more times at different spots in the testing chamber, and then on the fifth she allows the recorded incantation to loop long enough to draw the shaky approximation of a cat’s face in the air.  She laughs and the lights pulse in time to her voice.  It’s an unexpected side effect that causes her laughter to redouble until the lights almost wink out before she gets a grip on her concentration again.

The next time she runs the portable ritual it is with slightly different intent.  She points the scepter at an empty spot in the air and the previous conjurations begin to converge and orbit the target point in space.  She sweeps her arm and the lights move to the new focal point some yards away from the scepter.  At Lacuna’s will they draw closer and then move further out.  

Grinning wildly, Lacuna begins waving the scepter about and clumsily twirling around the testing chamber to the off-kilter rhythm of a half-remembered theme song.  The conjured lights trail behind her like streamers for a drunken ribbon dancer.  She stops for the briefest moment of catching her all-too-easily-winded breath while holding the scepter as straight up as her wobbling arms can manage so the lights begin swirling above her, and then she swings the scepter down to point at the training dummy on the other end of the testing chamber.  

Disappointingly, the lights don’t so much streak toward their target as drift in its direction at a brisk pace, but at least that gives Lacuna ample time to close her eyes when the first glowing ball misses its target entirely and bursts into a bright flash upon hitting the wall behind it.  When the floating cat face manages to clip the edge of the dummy, its dying flash is enough to leave her seeing spots through tinted goggles and closed eyelids.  

All in all, a successful test apart from her poor aim.  She’s panting and working up a sweat, but that’s to be expected with how she got carried away.  Maybe she should give joining Eris at the gym another try.  Her hand does seem even hotter than expected though…

She looks down at the scepter and realizes the metal tube is beginning to glow ever so slightly from heat and the incantation has dropped to barely audible instead of stopping altogether like it’s supposed to.  The heat gets painful even through her safety gloves and Lacua drops the scepter on poorly-trained reflex.  She has just enough presence of mind to turn away before the fragile 3D test print of the ritual ornament on the tip of the scepter hits the ground and shatters.

Examining herself after the ensuing flash, Lacuna finds that much of the color has been bleached out of the backside of her clothes.  Touching the back of her neck - exposed from putting her hair up as a safety precaution - she winces.  She’ll need to be sure to keep her hair down and in place for the next week or two so the others don’t notice the new sunburn.

Three: Chapter 18 - Mom Energy

“Somehow though, he looks at all of this, does the tactical calculus, and concludes that Hild is the biggest threat - or maybe he was just mad at her breaking free - so he points a hand at her and his fingers extend, shooting across the room.  Road realizes what’s happening in time to parry it enough to keep it from taking off her head, but the vamp mage still manages to rip a gash in Hild from jugular to heart.

“Here’s the thing about vampires that makes them so annoying to kill: Short of beheading or burning, they can recover from basically anything so long as they have the blood.  So pro-tip, if you find yourself fighting a vampire without a stake and you don’t think you can get a killing blow on them, hit them someplace that they’ll bleed a lot.  And it has to be external bleeding.  A decent size cut’s harder for them to recover from than broken bones or ruptured organs.  Get them in the heart or jugular and they’ll bleed out nearly as fast as a human if they don’t get the chance to feed in the next minute or so.

“On the flip side, if you’re ever trying to save a vampire, the number one most important thing is to give them something to drink; the fresher and stronger the better.”

Eris holds up the child-sized bite mark on her wrist for everyone to get a good look at again.  Damn, but does it feel good to watch the realization dawn on her audience’s faces.  Especially the ones who’d laughed at it earlier.

Four: Chapter 18 - Mom Energy

In the past fifteen minutes since Eris knocked on Lacuna’s door hard enough to chip the paint and wake the neighbors, she’s watched her best friend’s face change from terrified to concerned to embarrassed to anxious to worried to confused and now to utterly horrified.

“Oh goddess, I am so sorry.  I swear I didn’t think that would happen.  I knew there might be complications but I didn’t think that even could happen.  I’m sorry.  I should have seen this coming.  I should have run more simulations.  I shouldn’t have needed to.  It’s so -”

“Sis -”

“- obvious in hindsight.  Not even hindsight, it's just obvious.  How could I be so stupid?  I’m sorry.  I promise this was an accident.  Maybe if I - No that would be worse.  I swear I -”

“Hey -”

“- can make this right.  Or maybe it’s already showing signs of abating.  This is what I get for not taking a baseline model first.  Please don’t be mad.  I’m so, so, sorry.  I just -”

“Lacuna!”

Lacuna flinches at the not-quite-a-shout and goes quiet, shrinking back into the round papasan chair seated in her apartment’s living room.

“I’m not mad at you,” Eris lies.  Maybe if she keeps still enough and keeps being slow and deliberate enough with her words and breathing it will become true.  “I believe you that whatever this is was an accident and I’m not going to hold it against you.”  That part is probably true.  “Now please slow down for a minute and tell me what you think you did to me and what we need to do to fix it.”

Five: Chapter 19 - Shire

Sullivan counts the seconds to give the two of them just enough time to suspect he might be dead before standing back up.  He makes a show of it, letting his body go totally limp with the intent of being as unnerving as possible when he bends first one knee and then the other to get his feet flat on the ground before raising himself up simply by straightening his legs in defiance of the sort of leverage the human musculoskeletal system should be able to provide from that angle.  He allows his arms to hang and his head to loll back as he rises with deliberate slowness.

Six gunshots ring out in rapid succession just as his waist starts to bend forward again.  Six bullets trailing comet tails of brilliant green light tear holes in his chest and chunks out of his shoulders.  They fail to knock him back down.

The punch to his still-regenerating face from the doll doesn’t.

Rude.

Some people simply have no taste for the theatrical it would seem.

Six: Chapter 19 - Shire

“Now now, Mr. Whelan,” Morgan says, “are you really so sure you want to be so dismissive about the efficacy of threats in front of an accomplished witch and an infamous assassin?”

Lachlan quails, shrinking back into his chair.  Sullivan stands up, steps behind him, and slides the chair in closer to the table, pinning the shriveled little alchemist between the two.

“You bleeding idiots!” Lachlan shouts.  Frustrated, not terrified.  How curious.  “I’m tr-”  More choking on words.  “That w-  You can’t -  Idiots, the both of you!”

Morgan and Sullivan look from Lachlan to one another, back to Lachlan, back to one another.

Stella looks up, staring at some spot on the white popcorn ceiling.

Morgan slaps a palm to her forehead.

“Goddesses, Green, and Void, we are idiots, aren’t we?” Morgan says.

“You said it, not me,” Sullivan replies.

“It’s so obvious.”

“A classic really.”

“Why didn’t we see it sooner?”

“I would have expected better from a witch of your caliber.”

“I would have expected better from Bridgewood’s trophy husband.”

“Touché.”

“The most annoying kind of curse.”

“Or contract.”

“The one you can’t talk about.”

“Even worse than the one you can’t remember.”

“Are you familiar with the telepathy loophole?”

“Invasive, but effective.”

“It’ll be for his own good.”

“And you’re not worried about inducing geas rejection syndromes?”

“Eh, he seems to be fine despite us figuring this much out from his hints.”

“This is why I love working with anchor world mages.”

“Hold him still for me, please?”

“Since you said please.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, but why not have your doll do it?”

“Because someone broke her hands and the glue’s still drying.”

“And again, touché.”

“Want him unconscious?”

“It’ll work better if he’s awake.”

Lachlan looks up in what is finally fear at the two discussing him as if he weren’t there.

Seven: Chapter 20 - Changeling Child (coming soon-ish)

“Tell me Tam Lin,” Ashan asks, “what brings you here today?” 

The green hand twitches at the Name’s emphasis, even without any attempt at nominal magic infused into his voice.  Yes, definitely one of the fair folk, but why the guileless deception?  Why take such risk with a Name freely spoken, as sensitive as their kind are to that?

“The website,” Tam says,  “it said you can help with weird stuff like this.  You can help me, right?”

“Most likely,” Ashan answers, “but first we need to know more specifically what your problem is.”

“If I may,” Lacuna speaks up from where she has perched on an ottoman at the other end of the couch from Tam.  As she slips her phone back into her skirt pocket and intently looks Tam up and down all her earlier disorientation has vanished completely.  Ashan knows that eager, almost hungry look.  It is a look he has seen on experimentally-minded wizards presented with a unique specimen and alchemists greedily eying rare reagents.  And on children seeing their favorite animal in the flesh for the first time.

With only the slightest misgiving, Ashan nods in assent.

Lacuna’s eyes light up and she leans in even closer.  “Right.  So.  Tam.  Let me know if I miss the mark anywhere.  As a kid you saw all sorts of fairies and similar magic.  When you got older you wrote them off as childhood make believe, but ever since you had strange and vivid dreams about them.  Maybe you even were one in your dreams.  When you hit puberty, those dreams got more frequent.  More intense.  Easier to remember.  Almost a second life whenever you were at your lowest points.  Still just dreams at the end of the night though.  Nothing you couldn’t put out of mind and focus on the ‘real world.’  And then one day.  A recent day.  I would guess.  One or both of your parents died.  Ever since, you’ve started having those dreams every night.  And then every time you closed your eyes.  And then when you looked in the mirror, wide awake, you looked like you did in your dreams.  That’s when something started following you.  Not knowing where else to turn, you turned to the Internet, and found us.  No one answered your calls or the message you left.  That’s my bad.  Real sorry about that.  So you hopped in the car and drove all night to our address.”

Tam stares at her, eyes wide and jaw agape.  “My moms are still alive, but everything else is - how did you know?”

Ashan tilts his head, surprised and curious to know himself.

Lacuna slips back into her usual discomfort, awkwardly rubbing the back of her neck.  “Sorry.  That was weird of me, wasn’t it?  Got carried away.  Touches on a… special interest of mine.  So.  Basically.  You’re a changeling.  A fairy swapped with a human baby to be raised in its place to take its Name.”

“You’re joking,” Tam denies.

“You were quite literally shapeshifting in front of me,” Ashan points out.

“Not intentionally,” Tam says.

“It wouldn’t be,” Lacuna says.  “Historically speaking, most children accused of being changelings were just some flavor of neurodivergent.  The real ones tend to blend in as normally as the baby they swapped with would have, fooling even themselves.  Not that there isn’t overlap between the two from time to time.  A Name isn’t just the name it’s tied to, it’s a whole identity, physical and mental.  Most changelings have no idea they’re not human until something triggers a change, at which point whatever fae liege made the bargain will come to retrieve them.  Or send a servant to do so.  Kinder ones will be upfront about it and explain things.  Maybe even make an offer to continue living as you are.” 

“And crueler ones will send a hunting beast to drag you back kicking and screaming,” Ashan posits.

Tam’s nervous nod is all the confirmation Ashan needs as to what tripped the wards around the office.

[heliads]

TW imagine being Lydia sister and meeting Theo out in the woods because of your power and you tell him everything about the pack.

i am assuming this is in response to your earlier request, which i posted a few days ago. if not it is now <3

part one / masterlist

And so, through great premonition and an utter lack of grief, Theo Raeken comes to stay in Beacon Hills. He chooses his battles carefully, always orchestrating from behind the scenes. He’s set himself up perfectly to take over this town; after seeing a thousand battles, both past and future, you can appreciate when someone makes as few mistakes as possible. Theo is one of these seeming masterminds.

You wondered, once, if there was anything you could do to change the future you saw. By telling Scott that he could trust Theo, you thought that would be as sure a sign as any that things would start to change. It would be fascinating to see that, wouldn’t it? Would your old drawings crumple up and burn without your knowledge, pictures of a world that no longer existed? Would they scrub themselves from your memory, leaving behind nothing but blank pages that not even time could touch?

In the end, you’ll never know. Perhaps time has written and rewritten itself a thousand times before, all without your knowledge. It stuns you for the first time how shaky a grasp you have on your visions. You thought that the only thing that could haunt you was their irregularity, how you couldn’t control when they came or what you saw.

This, though? This changes everything. For the first time, you rewrote history yourself. You put yourself into the picture by advising Scott on what to do, you lied to him about what to expect so he would go in blind. That wasn’t in any of your pictures, but maybe you should check again. You have no idea what’s real and what isn’t, and neither does anyone else.

Least of all Theo Raeken, supposed friend and prophesied villain. He’s supposed to be setting his sights on tearing out Scott’s throat, fully centered around the McCall pack the way that all past enemies have been. No one takes note of you unless they’re so blind that they miss the main characters in this story.

It might be Theo’s natural skill at blending into the shadows that makes him finally notice you. He wasn’t supposed to, you didn’t count on that. It should have been the two of you ducking around each other until this entire world burns down to ash, when the curtains blocking both of you liars from view finally unravel to threads forever.

Maybe he looked up while you were both pulling strings and saw you at last. It feels like he’d be the first in a while, certainly. You were in the vast darkness that comes with not being in the spotlight, and suddenly Theo spotted you in a way that no one ever had.

He suspects you, you’re certain of it. Guilty hearts call out to each other like searchlights, practically blinding in their blame. Theo is the only one who could possibly see all the secrets you’re hiding, because he’s the only other person who has half as many skeletons in his closet as you.

In the end, he takes things into his own hands and meets up with you, alone, where nobody else can see. He’s terrified that you’ll reveal him, or worse, you won’t reveal something he needs to know. Theo Raeken has always been a scavenger, forever searching for some way to get ahead. He’s used to finding needles in haystacks, the perfect weapon in a sea of nobodies. And, using these gifts, he finds you.

You stumble upon Theo in the middle of the Beacon Hills Preserve, just as requested. You’re not sure where he got your phone number, or how, but you knew it was him the moment he texted. Every player in your fables has a specific sound, an energy that you’d recognize from a brush of fingers against ink. Theo seems like Theo from an unknown number alone.

He’s leaning against the trunk of a massive oak tree, face half in shadow from the bobbing leaves. The darkness casts shapes upon his face, blocking out his eyes like a mask. He straightens up when he sees you, although you’re all but certain he must have known you were coming from the moment you parked your car on the outskirts of the forest and started making your way in.

You certainly saw the familiar spark of attentiveness in his eyes from yet another one of your visions. Your hands are still faintly bleeding from the force of a pen crushed against your palm, one more last minute confirmation that this is where you’re supposed to be. At this point, you want to see this story end.

It already ended a long time ago, if you think about it that way. By the time you think this, your future is set in stone. This moment is a distant past, the future no more than memories. This story has happened before, and it will happen again. There is nothing you, even the seer of prophecies, can do to change that. This story will conclude as it so wishes, and even your most courageous heroes cannot fight this.

Theo will try, though. The villains always try, and their fights are the worst of all. The heroes are allowed to stumble for a few moments before they right themselves, the universe likes to see them suffer before they prove themselves. The enemies, though? They were doomed to die even before they were born. They harbor their motivations, and no matter what they do, they’ll never win. They can fight tooth and nail for a promise they will never be able to keep. Tell me, does that sound fair to you?

Perhaps that’s why Theo seems so taken with you, he senses a sympathizer. Surely he’s aware of it, his imminent loss, he seems smarter than the rest. You want to reach out and shake him by the shoulders, tell him that no matter how many tricks he plays, he’ll always come up short.

Instead, you keep your distance. You rather like this story, and although you’ll be sad to see him go, you want to see every clash of forces between Theo’s soon-to-be pack and Scott’s friends. No matter the tragedy, everybody loves a good show. This one might be one of your favorites.

Theo steps forwards, out of the shadows and into the sun. “I hear you’re something of a seer.”

You incline your head once. “I’m a Martin.”

Theo’s eyes are curious. He’s still used to figuring things out, assuming that he’ll have a solution to every problem. “More than that, I think. You know, I was trying to figure things out about this town, and I thought it might be helpful to ask you a question or two.”

He hesitates, gauging if you’ll put up a fight. Instead, you just lift a shoulder. “Go ahead.”

The corner of Theo’s mouth twitches up, victory on the Raeken front. So damn used to getting what he wants, that’s why he’ll hit the ground so hard when he falls.

“I’m confused,” he says, drawing ever closer to you, “why is it that someone like you could have so many gifts, and yet no one listens? You issue out predictions and Scott and his friends ignore them.”

You fold your arms across your chest. “Everyone likes to believe in what they think is right. It’s no fun if you know your story before it even happens. At least by ignoring me Scott can pretend that he has a fighting chance.”

Theo nods slowly. “Right, because otherwise you’ll advise them on what to do. Like you told Scott that he could trust me. You know who I really am, don’t you?”

His gaze is sharp, flint and steel. You try to bury the sparks before your chest can catch ablaze.

“You are Theo Raeken,” you say decisively, “you’re a chimera from the Dread Doctors and you’re here to tear this town to pieces. You’ll kill Scott McCall or else make someone else do it. At the end of the day, you plan on getting what you want. Power.”

Theo almost seems pleased. “So you do know. Why wouldn’t you give me up to Scott? Or at least stay neutral?”

“You want Beacon Hills to be yours,” you repeat, “I say take the place away. How does that saying go, ‘a child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth?’ I want the whole town gone.”

Theo’s definitely smiling now. He’s just a few feet away, looking at you like you’re the answer to all of his prayers. “Can I tell you something? You already know it, probably, but I want you to hear it directly from me. I came here to make my perfect pack. The Nogitsune, the dark kitsune. The Martin sister who could see the future. I don’t want Lydia, Y/N. I want you.”

You exhale quietly, although not without a touch of humor. “You want a promise that I’m not going to expose you.”

Theo shakes his head. “You know how this entire plan goes down. I want you by my side when this happens. You’re worth more than you’ve let yourself think, believe me.”

This time you do laugh. “I believe that you’d say whatever you needed if it meant you could manipulate me. It’s what you do best, Theo. I have a firsthand account. You make people trust you so you can get what you need. It won’t work for everybody.”

Theo raises his chin. “No?” It’s not a threat, but he makes it sound like it could be one.

“No,” you say, “I’m going to do what I always do, which is to stay in the shadows and let the world pass by. This is my favorite source of entertainment, Theo. I’m not going to risk my ability to see what happens next just because you want some insurance.”

Theo laughs too, almost impressed. “Your entire home could be destroyed, and you want to see it happen. What happened to make you hate them so much? They cut you out of a family, I get that. They like to pretend that they’re better than that, though. You’ve really seen enough to make you wish they were dead?”

Your smile drops away. “I don’t wish any of them were dead. That’s the best part of seeing everything, Theo, I know who gets hurt. I can sit back and watch because I don’t have to fear for them. I am furious because I tried one too many times to get involved and they didn’t let me, and that’s when somebody died.”

Your voice is quiet, and you have to take a breath to calm yourself. “There was one time when I didn’t see a death coming. Allison Argent. I regret that one. I tried to tell Scott that an attack was coming, and he wouldn’t listen to a single detail. I begged and pleaded with everyone I could to let me help, and their refusal meant Allison died. If they don’t want my advice, fine. They’re never getting it again.”

Theo nods. “I’ll be sure to ask you things whenever I can, then. Just in case.”

You almost smile. “I know you will.”

You remain true to your word, and stay out of the whole Theo affair. You were a little curious to see how Scott would react when Theo finally betrayed him, if he’d run to you and ask why you lied. In reality, he barely connects the two events. This only cements what you’d thought earlier– Scott would never truly believe you. No one ever would.

Then again, there is one person who did. You’re there when the fight finally ends, when the bad guy finally makes his one mistake and the universe is able to swoop in and reset the scales. Theo’s fate is terrible, though, and you hated to see it even from the beginning.

When Kira first opens up the chasm to Hell, Theo looks terrified. It’s a strange expression on his normally calm face. And, when he asks for help, he shouts first to you. There’s nothing you can do, he knows that as do the rest, but he still looks to you. Maybe it’s because he knows you’re the only one here who would legitimately care if he went.

You do say one thing, though, before Theo falls forever. “I’ll see you soon.”

There’s a smile on his face before he goes. Theo is the first person to ever believe you, and he does now. He knows he’s getting out, and all because you said it. It is a refreshing thing, to be trusted. It’s a shame that it’s only happening now. You could have done so much together. Then again, you still have time. You know that better than anyone.

teen wolf tag list: @thatfangirl42, @rogueanschel, @lovesanimals0000, @rafecameronswhore, @bellabadacadabra, @watchreadfangirlrepeat

[asksoldieron]

SO-16: And Here's the Action!!

If there's a lot of engagement on this, this post is liable to get real long, beware before you expand.

No art, and I'm pissed because I had a really cool idea for this one. Erik is playing with guns and guns are cool! I have played with some guns (in a controlled environment, don't get nervous) and I can confirm that they are very cool. Not cool enough for me to spend money spraying more lead indiscriminately around the environment, but if forty feral hogs habitually showed up on my lawn, I'd have me some fun. Well, I'll edit the art in later, at some point, hopefully.

*ahem*

Welcome to the Engagement Lounge, for The Chatterbox Massacre (SO-16) an instalment! Short comments can go in the replies, but there's a 475 character limit. Longer ones will need a reblog. Remember to @asksoldieron if you're reblogging someone else's reblog, so I can see it too!

😭Waaaaaah I wanted to draw St. George-in-Erik firing guns with magic but I just CAN'T yet! I mean, non-zero chance I'll screw up my first couple illustrations when I can draw again, so I probably shouldn't draw that one first anyway, but I wanna see it. Damn.

IRL, I'm not fond of violence as a solution, but as a writer I appreciate the expedience. BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG! Okay, and now we have a whole bunch of NEW problems. I suppose that's not really a solution at all, but it's still gonna look cool when you imagine it. That's how come they say it's not possible to make an anti-war movie. You script it and make it part of a narrative and put some good actors and effects in it, and it just looks cool. Can't help it, gotta roll with it.

On the other hand, while Erik certainly doesn't deserve to die for being who he is, you can see why the cops prefer to kill immies on sight. Look what they can do! But, on the third hand, look at what Maggie can do. Nobody's going to unload on her for being magical unless she does something and they see it.

Poor Maggie made a little error and punched Mordecai when she really didn't need to, but if you've been reading you may suspect who (or what) put their finger on the scale, and who helped her shrug off David's little god trick. But to tell you the truth, it's like that because I forgot how magic works when I wrote the first draft. I needed her to punch him in the face! Fortunately, their unseen observer needed her to punch him too. We'll get to that when they get home again.

I was surprised by how little time it took to actually kill everyone. (Ha-ha, there's another one of those things I can only say because I'm a writer.) I was worried it needed to be more epic. The spouse advised me that that's just how it is when only one guy has a working gun in a street fight. It's over. People are dead and that's forever. On to the next thing. Bleh. I don't like the idea of it, but it rings true enough.

John is... not doing well, is he? I'd been planning this scene for years but that caught me off guard. I didn't realize what the situation would look like to him until I got him back inside and George handed him a gun. Well, let's see, Erik's family are right there to help him and he knows that, and he's holding an object that will get him out of the way so Erik can go home. Uh, yeah, why wouldn't he? (Currently writing the next 6 and I've almost got him out of Prokovia, and the plot, for the time being. Jenny will put him back together and Rob will forgive him, but Billie might not...)

Next instalment goes up on Erik's birthday, and mine! It's not birthday-themed or anything, but after all this nonsense his family do finally have enough information to get him home. They just have to put it together!

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